The next half month passed, not in a blur, but in the softest fuzz, like fresh peaches.

In the beginning, it was strange for Pastel to have somecreature so near to him all the time that wasn't Spike. He quickly acclimated to having a mare around himself at all times, though, likely from all the feminine presence in his life, and the change was an easy fit.

At first, he found himself unsure of how to treat Roxie. The first decade and some of his life, he'd been around ponies who spoiled their partners with gifts and expensive distractions, but he knew that would feel artificial and straining on the new relationship. And besides, he'd heard firsthoof just how shallow those relationships were from Rarity.

He felt like Roxie would appreciate a courting like AJ and RD's more, without perhaps the constant testing and competition, but Roxie didn't really have an orchard he could laze about all day, nor did she have the constant streak of showmareship of Dash. They already spent quiet time together daily, so he needed to look elsewhere for inspiration.

He dared not attempt to sum up or mimic Fluttershy and Discord's relationship.

None of his friend's relationships instilled any sort of wanting in Pastel, but that didn't really surprise him.

If each of his friendships were different, it would make sense that any other relationship would be similar after all.

Still, that left him wrong-hoofed and awkward, and it was obvious.

Luckily Roxie took it in stride, each day gently teasing and drawing Pastel out of the constructed shell quicker and quicker until he could shake off the need to put on a show for her at all.

And so, instead of trying to act for her, he dropped all pretenses.

Instead, he started asking his own little questions, learning more about her family and upbringing. Who her grand-sires and granddams had been, where they came from, how her family operated within the wagon on those long hauls, he'd barely even tasted.

"It can be hard keeping quiet when I'm not as asleep as they think I am," she said with a blush. "Might be sure to be camping with you as much as possible."

And then he was blushing.

In return, he fed her little details of his own family, leaving out names, of course, but giving her details on traits and mannerisms he could remember from his foalhood years.

"Like, apparently, I get my eyes from my grand-dam on my mother's side while my mane's streaks are in line with my father's great-great-grand-sire," he said, using his hooves to pull gently on the rosy strands in front of his eyes.

"M' still jealous of your feathers," she said, gently stroking along the gradient of his wing. "Mine just looks like I just got dipped in paint..."

"But the colors work really well; it's like chocolate and cream. Mine's just boring, pink into lighter..." he said, running a hoof along one of her pinions.

And then they were both touching each other's wings, and after an awkward realization on Pastel's part, they hemmed and hawed until Pastel continued with his abridged genealogy.

And during Pastel's jump-into-the-deep-end burgeoning relationship, they broke through the forest line, and he was surprised to find a lovely view of horizon-spanning water. A freezing wind blew into the caravan, ruffling his bangs playfully before washing over his back.

Dusk shivered at the onslaught, breathing into the cold reminder of the season. Grey fluffy clouds in the distance promised a long overdue snowfall on the thin streak of grassland between the mostly empty trees and the completely bare ocean. Glancing up and down the treeline, he saw wagons beginning to circle up just outside the trees and fluffed his wings for warmth as he started making camp in his usual spot.

Roxie showed up just as he was digging out his firepit, shivering under a blanket. They shared a quick nuzzle before she jumped into his wagon. He heard her rattling around with the dishes he'd been practicing with, and by the time he was finished digging and tamping down dirt, she'd pulled together the pewter kettle and mismatched mugs he'd tinkered out.

He chuckled when she produced the casks that held the dried leaves for his teas, as well as the sweetener leaves.

"If you keep going through those, I'll run out before they start growing again," he said, filling the kettle and placing it over the empty pit on his cooking stand. Rubbing up against her with his side, he stood on his rear legs to reach into his wagon and pulled out a cord of kindling and logs, getting them set up beneath the kettle.

"Maybe I can buy some at Baltióg," she muttered.

Pastel snorted, mouth opening to correct Baltimare before he remembered that this was nearly a thousand years in his past, and it was probably called something else.

"That our next destination?" he asked as he set up his tinder, a tight ball of dry, entwined hay strands with dried grass filling in the gaps. "Haven't been there before. Is it very big?"

"It's trying to make itself into a trade port, but right now, it's just a two-dock village on the bay," she said with a shrug. "Still big enough to have a warehouse and a general store, so I guess it's doing okay. Maybe a hundred ponies all told, mostly earth with a couple of families of the other two races from what I remember."

"Sounds like you've been," Pastel chuckled as he sparked his flint mechanism, using his body to block the wind steadily blowing the clouds in from the sea.

She watched him bring the fire into being, covering the logs from the wind until the flame wouldn't be put out by an errant gust.

"We nearly settled there," she said when Pastel sat by her, snuggling into the outside of her blanket. "Me and ma and dad. He nearly got a job on a boat that was passing through on its way from down south up to the settlement up north, the one full of pegasi that flew to that island."

Pastel tried to wait her out, but after a couple minutes, asked, "Something happen?"

She snorted. "Council was led by the nose by a unicorn. Decided he liked mom too much, dad socked him good, and he banished us from the village."

Pastel snorted. "Good on your dad. How long ago?"

Rock Sugar squinted into the fire, watching it crackle for a bit before saying, "Maybe two, three years?"

Pastel hummed, leaning into her. "So are we gonna stay outside while everypony else goes into town, or are we chancing him getting kicked out a couple months ago?"

"We nothing," she said, nudging him. "You've got fancies to sell and materials to buy. We can sit out on our own; we'll be—"

Pastel leaned over and kissed her cheek. Staring into the fire, he began, "I know you'll be okay. But I can have Shadow sell some junk for me, he knows what it's worth, and I'm sure he knows where to get metal. And then I get to spend more time around you three," he finished, glancing towards her.

She rolled her eyes but couldn't hold back the smile as she said, "Sappy colt."

In the end, it wasn't a problem. They came across the unicorn before they came to the city, though he was hard to identify after being in the pillory for so long.

After that, the caravan sent a small group ahead to ensure the caravan's unicorns would be safe. The trio of pegasi returned without issue, and the unicorns were permitted, albeit under constant watch by the entirety of the town. Several of them stayed with the wagons anyhow so that the foals could be kept safely away from anypony still itching for revenge against anypony with horns.

Roxie came along with Pastel, pointing out landmarks and waving at ponies she remembered.

The ponies of the caravan set up in a marketplace near the docks, around a pair of trees and a patch of very yellow and very dead grass.

They were allowed to rent a set of empty stalls run by the general store. Roxie described the vegetables and animal products that would fill the stalls in the summer, squinting at the pony still taking up a single stall.

"Oh, Celestia," she murmured, ducking behind Pastel as he filled up the shelves on one of the stalls. "That's Wool Prickle, son of the local shepherd. His dad must've started making him run the stall. I had the biggest crush on him when we lived here; I hope he doesn't remember how embarrassing I was..."

"Embarrassing? You, Roxie?" Pastel said with a grin, setting the last of his gadgets on the top shelf.

"Shut it," she grunted with a blush, elbowing him gently.

He snicked quietly before giving her a quick peck on her cheek. "Hey, would you mind helping me mind the stall? I don't know what prices should be, and I need to find a supplier for metal too."

She quickly pointed out a particular smokestack on the short skyline, where there was an established blacksmith, and told him to take twenty gold bits but only show twelve to the smith.

"She's got quality stuff, but she'll overcharge the second she thinks she can get away with it. But you might have to compete with Shadow for it. He's got you beat by five minutes already," she teased, waving him off with a hoof and a smirk.

Shadow was still there when he arrived and had indeed bought enough of the smith's extraneous iron and steel stock that she wasn't willing to sell much more. Luckily she had stored some bronze, brass, and pewter and was more than ready to get rid of most of that stock.

"Hate making spoons," she'd muttered, taking his gold and nodding to him.

Shadow traded him for use of his wagon in exchange for pulling it, which Pastel was more than happy to do.

Before leaving, he got permission and looked over the smithy's workshop, specifically the forge and a large tubular kiln she used to heat metals into alloying range.

Tickled at his questions and poking, she even sold him an old set of crucibles and their equipment, giving him pointers. She even told him about sand casting, warning him many times of the dangers that came with it.

Pulling the wagon back out to the caravan so Shadow could empty it, he pulled the old stallion into a conversation about casting and its uses that lasted the walk back to the marketplace.

He was surprised when he saw the stall he'd set up empty, with Roxie nowhere in sight. Taking a deep breath, he looked around and saw one of the weavers of the caravan, Reed Strands, waving a hoof at him. The old mare smiled when he trotted over.

"Yer mare sol' all those lil metal things ye make," she told him, "seems the general store wan'ed them. She shoul' still be in 'ere, haglin'."

"Thanks, grannam," he said with a smile before walking over to the large store and walking in.

"One second, sir," called over a voice from behind a large counter in the corner, from a thin stallion with a tight, thin voice, "be right with you."

Roxie glanced over her shoulder before turning further and smiling at him. The smile was tighter, tenser than he was used to. "Oh hey, Pastel! I'm glad you came by," she turned to look at the stallion behind the counter, "this is the creator; he's who I wanted you to talk to."

"Ah," he said flatly, his own smile becoming tenser and more forced, "I see."

"He wants to buy your entire stock," Roxie said, giving the merchant a side-eyed glance.

"Oh, wonderful!" Pastel replied, giving both of them a confused look.

"It's a little more, well, complicated than that," the stallion said with a stilted smirk. "What I wanted was to draw up a contract to continue buying you stock.

"All of it," he said, leaning forward over the counter. "I see quite the market for your inventions, you see, and—"

Pastel held up a hoof, frowning now. "What prices would you place on them?"

"Oh, they would sell for plenty," the stallion said, "and of course, y-you'd get a p-portion," he quickly added when Pastel raised an eyebrow.

"But what price would you sell them for?" Pastel asked again after a moment had passed.

"Oh, well, this one," he said, holding up a simple lighter that held a chunk of flint that, with a press of a hoof, a hunk of steel would drag across to make sparks, "it would sell for several gold per piece, and then—"

Pastel shook his head. "That's too much."

The stallion flinched slightly, fumbling with the lighter. "E-excuse me?"

"That's too much," Pastel said, taking the metal gently and placing it back on the counter. "I didn't make these things to get rich," he said, gently picking up the items he'd put the last weeks of his time into. "I made these so that anypony could use them to make their lives better or easier. If anypony couldn't afford them, I wouldn't feel right about it."

He looked back up at the baffled stallion.

"So, if you like, you could buy these items from me and turn around to try to sell them at a markup. But," he said, shaking his head and leaning forward, "if you tried that, I'm afraid I'd have to just stick around a while and make more to sell at my price.

"So, are you buying?" he asked, straightening his back and staring into the stallion's eyes.

He could only shake his head slightly; his muzzle dropped as he looked at Pastel like he was some sort of monster come walking out of the wilderness.

Pastel grabbed the things on the counter and walked back out to the stall, Roxie behind him. He hummed lightly as he carefully replaced the items on the plank, pausing to look at his marefriend when she cleared her throat.

"That's a pretty noble speech you gave back there," she said, carefully turning one of his creations on the shelf. "He offered quite a bit of gold before you had him promising you a cut."

After a bit, she said, "Enough to settle down, even."

Pastel looked over at her.

Her legs were slightly too close to each other, and her mane was falling across her muzzle, hiding her expression as she fidgeted with a primitive block and tackle he'd carved and riveted together. Her wings were loose and high, almost like she was ready to take off any moment.

Pastel cleared his throat, and she jumped a bit, the hair on her spine rising and relaxing.

"Do you want that?" he asked softly.

She dropped her hoof, looking down at the ground. "Don't you?"

Reaching over, he gently took her chin in a hoof and pulled her to look at him before he shrugged.

"Maybe eventually," he said, looking around the market at all the ponies from the caravan displaying everything from quilts to clay pottery to woven baskets. "But I don't think I'm ready to just drop all of the ponies who've been kind enough to take me in.

"And besides that, there's you," he said, turning back to her. "Even if I did settle down, there's you and your parents... I'm not going to ask you to make that decision. Not anytime soon."

She smiled at him before wrapping her forelegs around his neck and hugging him tightly.

At the end of the day, he'd sold not only all of the things he'd brought but also some of his time. Several ponies had run home and returned with their own items, broken or merely in need of a cleaning, and he'd also promised to do some home visits for larger items over the next days.

After finding Drifting Hollow and making sure the wagons wouldn't be leaving anytime soon, he found himself walking around town with his full wagon of goods, performing small services from sharpening old tools to making three custom stamps for a woodworker.

Luckily he'd been training himself with the files he had.

At the end of a week, he'd made a small name for his finer-scaled smithing and even gotten an apprenticeship offer from the smith he'd spoken with before (declined).

"Gonna buy anything fun?" Roxie asked, watching him hide away the second bag of coins in the floorboard of his wagon.

"Maybe," he said with a shrug. "I'm mostly saving, but I'm honestly not sure what for. Maybe I could have another little cart built so that I don't have to drag the entire wagon around these towns. Or some bricks for a kiln, that'd be useful for making my own alloys and for casting more intricate things like—"

He stopped when he heard Roxie gently laughing before she leaned on him.

"You," she accused, poking him in the chest, "need to relax some. You've got enough to eat off of for months now, a place over your head, and tools enough for plying a trade. You're living the life right now, Pastel. Buy something nice, maybe a bottle of cider or another brandy. I know you can read; maybe there's some books in the store?"

Pastel chewed gently on his bottom lip, looking at the store in the distance.

His ear twitched as an idea came to him, and he smiled at Roxie. "Hey, one of my friends used to make something from cider. Ever heard of applejack?"

With a bit of work, Pastel soon had a small barrel full of apple juice that he'd personally squeezed and boiled. Adding in some honey that had taken more of his coin than he liked, he also went out of his way to find a local brewer and bought a bit of their brewing 'cake', the yeast that actually made their drink ferment.

"So, it's not going to be ready for a bit," he said, glancing at Roxie when she groaned.

"Then you didn't buy something for yourself to enjoy! You just bought another chore!" she laughed, wacking Pastel's shoulder as she leaned on him.

"I bought something for me to enjoy later," he told her, laughing lightly as he pushed her back upright. "And you, unless you keep laughing at me. I know you'll like it; it's like cider but more alcoholic."

She hpmf'd at him but kept any other complaints quiet.

In addition to the cider supplies, Pastel bought himself a scarf and light jacket on the third day, when light snow began to fall and didn't stop. After that week, the caravan pulled up stakes and started heading southwest.

Author's Note