Wind Song awoke to the delicious scent of cooked carrots and potatoes mixed with the spicy odor of various herbs. The jarring “CLANG” of what he could only assume were pots or pans made his hazy thoughts come into focus.

His eyelids felt heavy as lead, but he dragged them open and found himself in a large round room, dimly lit, about eight yards across. Looking up, he saw a solid looking timber framework rising in the shape of a cone to a peak in its middle about fifteen feet above the floor.

From where he lay, covered in a thick woolen blanket, he could see that at least half the room was surrounded by small dark windows. The sharp tapping of rain on glass came from the windows which rattled in their frames as a gale outside tore over the meadow. For the first time, Wind Song noticed the dull roar of heavily falling rain and mighty gusts of wind from outside, which came together in a frightening cacophony of sound.

He sat up and looked about. At the far end of the room, with back to him and bent over a large pot which stood boiling on a wide hearth, stood the same cloaked figure Wind Song had seen on top of the hill before he had fainted. This time, however, the pony’s hood was drawn back to reveal a shaggy lead-colored mane, still damp and glistening with residual rain water, hanging sloppily over a coat of cloud grey.

“Ah, you’re awake at last, my son. Are you hungry?” the pony said without turning as he poured several whole carrots from a large wooden bowl into the pot.

Wind Song, caught off guard, made no reply.

“He can’t be talking to me.” Wind Song thought.

The strange pony reached out with one hoof and took down a large wooden spoon from the wall and began to stir the delicious smelling concoction.

At once, Wind Song’s stomach let out a loud growl at which the other pony replaced the spoon on its wall hanger and turned to face him. The face he beheld bore two understanding eyes that were a shade of blue so bright they almost seemed to glow. Beneath these, the stranger bore a smile so full of compassion and love that Wind Song immediately felt at ease. Wind Song noted no horn on the pony’s brow.

“He must be a pegasus or an earth pony.” Wind Song mused quietly.

“Perhaps I am mistaken, but that was the rumble of a hungry pony’s stomach, and not of thunder.” the other pony said with a chuckle. “Would you not agree, Wind Song?” he asked, the gentle smile on his wrinkled old face never wavering.

Wind Song’s eyes went wide with surprise, at once regaining his sense of wariness as he pushed the wool blanket off of him and stood, adopting a defensive posture. How had the stranger known his name?

“Where are my friends?” Wind Song asked cautiously, fearing the pony would refuse to answer.

The stranger immediately nodded toward somewhere behind Wind Song, who turned quickly before letting out a sigh of relief. His pent up tension eased somewhat as he beheld Moonlight, Willow, Snow Star, Orange Blossom, and Honeybell all lying on the floor, either sleeping or unconscious and covered in blankets much like Wind Song’s own. At once Wind Song turned back to the stranger.

“I guess I should thank you.” Wind Song said. “But who exactly are you? And where are we? How did you get us all inside? How did you know my name? What did you…”

Wind Song was interrupted by a kindly chuckle from the old pony.

“All in good time, my son. All in good time. First, you must eat. You’ve all been through quite the ordeal today and if you don’t get some sustenance in you I’m afraid you’ll pass out again and by the time you wake up the stew will be cold.”

As the pony said this, he turned back to the pot and, picking a large ladle from the wall by the hearth, drew out a large scoop of russet colored stew, steaming and loaded with chunks of vegetables. This he poured carefully into a wooden bowl on a large rectangular table behind him to his left. He did the same for the other six bowls which, Wind Song now noticed, were arranged neatly at the table in front of six identical stools.

“And now, I suppose, it’s time to wake your friends as well.” the pony said, turning back toward Wind Song. “I was going to let you all sleep a bit longer, but you happened to wake up before I finished. It’s an uncanny ability you pegasi have, resisting the foul influence of these bell storms.”

“Ah. ‘you pegasi.’ So he’s an earth pony.” Wind Song thought to himself. “Are they still unconscious?” he asked aloud.

“No, no. Only sleeping, albeit very soundly I’m sure. After what you’ve all endured today it’s a lucky thing you’re still alive.”

Wind Song nodded.

“Well,” he said. “I guess I’ll wake them up then.”

“No need, my son.” the pony said. Then, in a low voice, he spoke a word in a strange language Wind Song had never heard before.

At once, Wind Song heard a stirring behind him accompanied by a yawn or two. He turned and saw that his friends were awakening.

Startled, Wind Song turned back to the stranger who had returned his attention to preparing the table as though nothing had happened.

“How in Celestia’s name did you do that? You’re no unicorn.” Wind Song demanded as the rustling of blankets behind him told him that the others were probably listening.

“My son, if you think unicorns are the only beings in Equestria capable of magic then I’m afraid you’ve been sorely misinformed.” the stranger replied gently.

“But, you’re a pony, aren’t you?” came a voice from beside Wind Song.

Wind Song turned to see Willow standing next to him, her eyelids still drooping with the heaviness of her sleep.

“Aye, that I am, daughter.” the pony replied with a smile. “Magic takes on many different forms in each of us. Unicorns simply have the most direct way of drawing it out. That does not mean it lies beyond the reach of the rest of us.”

Snow Star, Orange Blossom, Honeybell, and Moonlight had also risen and stood beside Wind Song.

“Now come, all of you, and eat with me.”

Together, the six friends joined the old pony, who had settled himself at the table. After they had each seated themselves in front of a bowl of stew, they all looked up their host, waiting politely for his permission to begin. However, a loud slurping and gulping from the far end of the table interrupted their attempt at diplomacy as Orange Blossom, whose last meal had attempted to eat her, submerged her entire snout in the delicious smelling stew, abandoning all pretense at decorum.

Orange Blossom’s five friends sat with their mouths agape, staring at her. Chagrined, Honeybell turned to the stranger to apologize, but before she could do that, a bark of throaty laughter came from the direction of the old stallion.

The wizened pony was shaking with mirth as he raised his cup of carrot juice and sang, “Dig in!”

All seven ponies fell to with gusto, though none quite so enthusiastically as Orange Blossom. The meal, which was the first decent one they’d had in two straight days, was delicious. Wind Song was left in awe at the old pony’s ability to cook as every bite of the stew revealed a flavor that had escaped him before.

Each pony wordlessly devoured four full servings of stew, except for Orange Blossom who had eaten five, before the ladle scraped the bottom of the now empty pot. As the fire on the hearth burned low, seven ponies sat contentedly around the table, bellies bulging slightly. Honeybell released a burp that reverberated around the room.

“Thank you for the meal, um...sir.” Snow Star said to the old pony. “Assuming Honeybelch over here is able to resist blowing your house up, I’m not sure how we can ever thank you.”

“No thanks are necessary, Snow Star.” the pony replied. “It was the least I could do for the six ponies of whom the winds have sung these last several moons.”

At this, the six friends’ eyes went wide and they looked at each other in turn, confused.

Their host, however, continued as though nothing were amiss, “And now, I suppose you would like to know who I am.”

This drew their attention back to the gray pony.

“Oh, yes please!” Orange Blossom said.

The stallion nodded.

“Know then that my presence here is a closely guarded secret. While I will not force you to swear silence on the matter, I respectfully ask that you do not speak of me to anypony.”

The six friends nodded earnestly.

“Thank you.” the old pony said appreciatively. “I would tell you my name, but that is a secret I share with no one. Please don’t be offended, though. Not one pony from the lowest beggar to the loftiest empress knows my name. To the few who do know of me, however, I’m known as the Hermit of Harmony Hill.”

The hermit leaned forward and took a sip of carrot juice before continuing.

“Now, as you may or may not know, I am aware of your predicament, for which I am in no small way responsible.”

The hermit raised one hoof to silence the sudden slew of questions which were hurled at him. Once they were all silent again, he continued.

“As I said before, I have known of your coming for some time now. For what purpose I knew not, however. At least, not until nearly two days ago when Black Rose overwhelmed the powers of Canterlot and took the throne for herself. I warned Twilight Sparkle two months ago that something was coming, but what exactly it was to be was hidden from me.”

Unable to resist the urge to speak, Wind Song asked, “Please, sir. Who is Black Rose?”

“Alas, of that I am unsure.” the hermit said, for the first time beginning to look grave. “While I know more of the present situation than most, of Black Rose I know little or nothing. I also did not know where these events would take place. I received enough notice of some impending danger to Equestria to warn Twilight ahead of time so she could make necessary preparations for an attack. I was also told that six ponies from Ponyville would be our greatest chance of survival.”

“Who told you about us?” Moonlight asked curiously.

The hermit smiled.

“The winds.” he said simply. Seeing the confused look on the six friends’ faces, he continued, “The winds blow everywhere all across Equestria and the lands beyond. They carry the worries and words of the world’s inhabitants with them and sing about them to those with the will to hear. That is how I heard of you six. Wherever Black Rose came from, however, she must have been either very far away or concealed in a place where wind does not blow and, therefore, could not detect her preparations.”

Wind Song and the others still looked uncertain and a bit confused, but nodded nevertheless.

The hermit continued, “When I heard that six ponies of Ponyville would be those on whom the fate of Equestria may rest, I contacted Luster Dawn who alerted Fairweather. They kept the matter a secret, but prepared a cleverly disguised escape route through which you would be able to get out of Ponyville when the time of need arrived.”

A collective “aaah” of understanding made its way around the table.

“In spite of my warnings, however, Princess Luster Dawn attempted to take the task of seeking out and destroying this danger, this Black Rose, into her own hooves. It has now been nearly three weeks since I last heard tell of the princess’ whereabouts. Her prospects, I’m afraid, are poor when not even the wind can find her.”

The six friends’ faces fell, their curious gazes turning to looks of dismay when the hermit said these words.

Wind Song stood abruptly, bumping the table and causing his own empty cup to fall over.

“We have to save her, then.” he said with conviction.

The hermit, however, only shook his head and said, “Don’t be foolish, my son. Wherever Luster Dawn is, she is far beyond any of our reach. Her life lies in the hooves of fate and your expedience in defeating Black Rose.”

“You see, mister hermit,” Honeybell said, a hint of trepidation entering her voice, “that’s something we still don’t quite understand. How is it that when Princess Twilight and the whole derned council got their flanks handed to ‘em by Black Rose, you or anypony else think that six normal ponies are gonna be able to give her what for?”

“That is yet another aspect of this whole thing that remains beyond my ability to understand. Whatever the case, the collective forces of Equestria, both great and small, believe you can bring her low. I expect as you continue on your journey, the many pieces of this puzzle will begin to fall into place.”

“So, what you’re saying is that because some mystical voices came on the breeze and said we could defeat a literal goddess, the most powerful being in the world, we’re just supposed to believe that and march to what is almost certainly a very slow and painful death?” Willow asked skeptically, her rudeness startling even Honeybell, who until this point had always been the most blunt of the six.

“What I’m saying, daughter,” replied the hermit levelly, “is that if you shrug off this burden, the hope of all Equestria falls with it. If that is the case, we all might as well slit our own throats for we will all meet the same end and save Black Rose the trouble of doing it herself. You are the only hope this unhappy land has left. No others exist who can challenge Black Rose. Of all ponies, I believe you and your husband should understand what tragic events await Equestria should you fail.”

At this, Willow and Snow Star looked stricken. The hermit was right. This was no time to turn from the task fate had assigned them. A long silence ensued as the hermit simply looked at the two unicorns. His gaze, however, was not one of anger or indignation, but a sympathy so deep as to be almost tangible.

A lone tear slid down Willow’s cheek as she replied, “I’m sorry, father.” Her tears began to flow freely as she sniffed, “I’m so sorry. You’re right. I’m...we’re...we’re just so…”

The hermit again held up one hoof, silencing her. “You have no need to explain yourself to me, my daughter. Few could have withstood what you and your husband have endured these last few days.”

The hermit’s own eyes glistened as Willow and Snow Star held each other close and silently wept.

Then, standing, he said carefully, “What you have both seen and felt is not something I can remove, but perhaps, if you will allow me, I can dull the pain for a time and make your burden an easier one to bear.”

Willow and Snow Star both looked at the hermit in amazement.

Snow Star said hoarsely, “Can you...would you...really?”

Willow simply choked out, “Please. Anything.”

The hermit nodded and, stepping slowly back across the room toward the six blankets on the floor, beckoned and said, “Come here, my foals.”

Willow and Snow Star stood and walked eagerly toward the hermit as though they were parched and thirsty and he held a bucket of cool clear water.

“Now, please know that what I am about to do will only last for a time. I cannot hold off this terror forever, and I’m afraid that as long as Black Rose is still alive, and perhaps even thereafter, your condition will only worsen. This, however, will not come to pass until you have had the opportunity to defeat her.”

Willow and Snow Star nodded.

Adopting a more stable stance, the hermit steadied himself and began to chant in that same strange language Wind Song had heard him use earlier to wake his five friends. Only a few seconds passed before Willow and Snow Star both jumped in surprise. Their horns began to glow of their own accord. Each horn began to exude what Wind Song could only describe as magical sludge. The brownish green substance had no glow of its own, but was obviously insubstantial as it floated in apple-sized globs toward the hermit. As the magical substance approached the hermit, it did not go toward his head as Wind Song had expected, but rather toward two points on either side of his back near his shoulders. The old hermit grimaced in pain as it diffused through his russet cloak and into his back.

Ten seconds passed, twenty, thirty...finally, after more than a minute, the glow of the unicorns’ horns subsided and the flow of magic ceased.

“Wind Song.” said the hermit.

Wind Song wrenched his attention away from Willow and Snow Star, whose heads were tilted back and eyes closed in some sort of blissful ecstasy, and said, “Yes, father.”

“Would you please bring me one of the chairs from the hearth?”

Wind Song nodded and, picking up one of the wood chairs, carried it in his mouth, setting it before the hermit who immediately sat down and buried his face in his hooves.

“Thank you.” the hermit said simply.

“Are you okay?” Honeybell asked the old stallion.

The hermit took a few moments to reply. Looking up at Honeybell, he said with a weak smile, “I will be, my daughter. Thank you.”

Then, looking up at the two unicorns, he said, “And now, you both may rest easy. If you wish, I can place upon you a dreamless sleep where not even the faintest shadow of a nightmare will disturb you until you wake in the morning.”

Snow Star, who was still revelling in the bliss of relief, replied, “Sir, thank you. I...we, that is, Willow and I can’t possibly repay you for everything you’ve done for us tonight. If it’s within your means and you’re willing, a dreamless sleep would be amazing.”

“Then make yourselves comfortable.” said the hermit.

After Snow and Willow were settled next to each other in their blankets, the hermit stood again, this time far more unsteady on his hooves than he had been.

Looking intently at Willow and Snow Star, he said with all the deliberation and authority of an emperor, “Be at peace.”

At once, the unicorns’ eyelids drooped and closed. For the first time in nearly two days, twin smiles graced their faces and they slept. A short while later, Wind Song and the others joined them in the world of slumber, but the hermit himself remained awake, keeping watch. After the rain stopped, he opened a window and sat back upon his chair. A fresh cool breeze wafted in from the outside, surrounding the hermit who spoke in a low whisper until Wind Song finally drifted off to sleep.

No sound of birdsong graced the quiet meadow as the sun rose the following morning. Outside the windows of the hermit’s home, the gray hills of Bell Meadow faded into the hazy distance. The first rays of the new day were reflected in the mist which hung over the meadow like a blanket, casting their light into the old building and waking Wind Song from his deep slumber.

To Wind Song’s surprise, he felt an unusually potent sense of well-being as he dragged off his blanket. The hermit sat before one of the long east-facing Windows, watching the sun outside as it crept slowly into the sky and talking in whispers to Moonlight, who stood quietly next to him. The dew drops on the grass glistened in the sunlight like millions of tiny crystals. As Wind Song stood, one of the floorboards let out a harsh “creeeaaak” when he put his weight on it. Both Moonlight and the hermit turned.

“Ah, good morning, Wind Song. How are you feeling this gorgeous morning?” the hermit asked.

“Good.” Wind Song said. “Really good, thank you. In fact, I don’t think I’ve felt this well since before I went to Canterlot.”

“That’s wonderful news, my son.” the hermit replied. “You’ll all need all the strength you can get for the task before you. Miss Whisper here has just been telling me about your adventures these last few days.”

“I’d hardly call them ‘adventures’.” Wind Song scoffed. “More like ‘A pony’s guide to being in the wrong place at the wrong time...repeatedly.’.”

Moonlight giggled and the hermit let out a loud bark of laughter which caused the hitherto sleeping ponies behind Wind Song to stir in their blankets.

After the hermit’s laughter subsided, he turned back to the window and gazed once more at the hills of Bell Meadow.

Letting out a great sigh, he said with a touch of melancholy, “It has been nigh on ninety years since the blessing of humor graced this house, Wind Song. It makes these old bones feel young again.”

“Ninety years?” Honeybell asked incredulously from behind Wind Song. “Exactly how old are you?”

The hermit turned back toward the others and for the first time, Wind Song saw the depth of the creases and wrinkles of age about the old stallion’s eyes. Though they bespoke many long years amongst the hills, he certainly didn’t look to be a day older than fifty.

“Three moons ago,” the hermit replied. “I celebrated the one-hundred twenty seventh year since I first drew breath and the ninety-eighth since I first stepped through the front doors of this cottage.”

The six younger ponies gaped in amazement, but did not question his statement further.

“Father, if I might ask, what exactly brought you to build a home in the middle of Bell Meadow of all places?” asked Willow curiously.

The hermit chuckled, “Build it? I did not build this place. The Cottage of Harmony Hill was here for many decades before I was forced to settle here, although it wasn’t called such when it was first constructed. Nearly four centuries ago, after the insurrection of Manehattan, a few refugees fled that once great city and settled here on the largest hill in the vicinity. They called it ‘Hominy Hill’, so named for the corn they grew for sustenance, and built this house into its steepest side.”

Wind Song looked around him and, for the first time, realized that there were no doors or windows opposite the one the hermit was sitting in front of. He never would have guessed that the cottage they were standing in had been built into the side of a hill.

“Why is it called ‘Harmony Hill’?” Orange Blossom asked.

The hermit paused in his speaking and reached for a wooden mug on the window sill and, after taking two deep draughts, replied, “Travellers knew this place well, for this was back before Bell Meadow had turned wild and dangerous to ponykind. When the travellers stopped here for a meal and a rest and heard the name of ‘Hominy Hill’ spoken in the thick Manehattan accent of the settlers, it sounded to the travellers like they said ‘Harmony Hill’, and so the name stuck. But, enough chit chat. Isn’t it time you were all on your way?”

Wind Song sighed aloud when he heard these last words. The short time they’d spent with the old hermit had been, well, wonderful. He felt rested and at peace here and he was loathe to leave what he felt was the last sanctuary he and his friends were likely to find before their journey’s end.

In spite of his reluctance, however, Wind Song nodded and said, “Better late than never, I suppose.”

The Hermit of Harmony Hill gave Wind Song an understanding smile. He stood with a grunt and, walking to the front door, propped it open. One by one, he pulled six saddlebags down from pegs on the wall beside the door, and handed them to each of the six friends as they preceded him out the door. He also gave to each of them a moss-green cloak with which, he explained, they could shield themselves from unfriendly eyes as they drew near Canterlot.

Once they were outside, the bright morning sunlight and cool damp air gave new life to what would have otherwise been a regretful parting. To his left, Wind Song saw the jagged outline of the nameless mountain on which Canterlot was built, and the dim shape of the royal city itself, perched as ever on the mountainside. The wet grass was crisp and green and let out a pleasant ‘crunch’ as seven sets of hooves traversed the cottage’s yard. The fog of the morning was lifting and, as they made their way past small beds of various fruits, vegetables, and flowers, Wind Song felt his spirits rise.

“I expect you can find your way from here?” the hermit asked.

Wind Song grinned and replied, “I think we can figure it out.”

“Father, thank you again for everything.” Snow Star said humbly. “I, I don’t know what we would have done without, well, you know.”

This drew nods and similar words of thanks from all present.

“The pleasure was mine, my foals. The world is cruel enough without at least some of us doing our bit to make things better.” the hermit acknowledged. “May your burdens be light, your journey easy, and may the wind rise ever under your wings.”

The snippet of the old pegasus blessing surprised Wind Song. It was too seldom spoken these days, even amongst the winged races of Equestria. To hear an earth pony speak those ancient words, words first spoken by Rainbow Dash as she drew her final breaths, was unheard of.

Just then a gust of chill wind blew from the north and caught the hermit’s russet cloak. The hermit quickly turned and caught the side of the cloak in his teeth, pulling it back over himself, but not before Wind Song saw two large scars on either side of the elder pony’s back just below his shoulders.

“You’re a pegasus!” Wind Song exclaimed in surprise.

“That may have been true once, my son, but no more. It has been near a century since the winds bore me on their backs or I felt the cool mist of the clouds in my mane.” The hermit said these words with a sad smile.

Wind Song heard a note of deepest regret in the hermit’s voice. He couldn’t imagine being parted from his wings...to be unable to fly, to feel the wind or hang in the firmament between the ground and sky. The thought was so alien and so horrific that Wind Song felt tears of shame welling up in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry.” Wind Song whispered quietly.

“My burden is not yours to bear, my son. It is not our lot to dwell on the past, but look to the future.” the hermit continued. “My winglessness and banishment here are both tokens of a punishment I earned for myself many years passed. Each moment of each day that I can still draw breath are treasures I never deserved. I only hope that by my presence in this place I can somehow begin to atone for the crimes of my youth.”

“You mean somepony did this to you on purpose? What did you do?” gasped Moonlight, eyes glistening.

“My daughter, as I said, we must all look to the future. To recall my past faults for any but my own conscience would be more shame than I could bear.”

Moonlight and Wind Song both nodded.

“Farewell, my friends. The hopes and wishes of all Equestria go with you.”

Author's Note

The Thorn of Equestria - Chapter 8

The Thorn of Equestria

Chapter 8

By Wind Song

REVISED 30NOV20