At Home Where the Daisy Grows

by Clarke Otterton

Rating: everyone
Tags: Original Character, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 3246

A young mare spends her last day at home.

In every life there comes a day when one chapter ends and another begins. The daisies that grow in the deserts of Equestria know this, their rugged beauty lasting only as a flash in the landscape. For one young mare, today is that final page of the chapter she calls home. And today is going to be a good day.

Published 2020-09-15 01:40:01 UTC
Last updated 2020-09-15 01:40:01 UTC

The Desert

The sun rose, shining over the escarpment and across the open desert into the bedroom window of the small house. The light filled the room, painting the ordinarily whitewashed walls in tones of warm orange and brilliant pink. Already the sky was turning a deep blue, crystal clear save for the sun which burned away the previous night’s coolness. Daisy opened her eyes, smiling at the freshness of dawn being painted outside her window and inside her room. Today was going to be a good day.

She threw her covers off and jumped to her hooves, the four simultaneous clacks creating a squeaking echo of wood that sounded in unison with the bed springs. Daisy walked over to her dresser and pulled out a rickety stool, the seat several inches too small for the mare. On top of the dresser was a single daisy, the pedals still fresh. Daisy read the note that was attached. The carefully neat writing of her father spoke to her, “I wish I could see you off today, sweetie. Know that I love you and am so proud of you. Oh, and the daisy I picked from Ponyville. You should have seen the fields of them that we flew over – some of the best in Equestria.”

Daisy carefully plucked the flower in her hooves and placed it in her mane. The mare gazed into the mirror to see the filly she once was, the transformation completed by the daisies her father had always brought home for his little filly to wear. She finished brushing her coat and turned her attention to the bed, smoothing out the covers and tucking in the corners. She placed each of the stuffed animals carefully, following a pattern she knew by heart. The little bunny and otter always went together, because they were friends, but the bear need to be alone so he could stand guard, protecting the plush dolls of the Princesses that sat atop the pillows to rule over the kingdom of felt and cotton. Daisy did her impression of each one’s voice as she placed them, chuckling to herself.

Satisfied, she walked over to the closet, tripping over boxes of books and old art supplies to get to the uniform hanging amid dresses too small or outdated to wear anymore. She laid the uniform on her bed, checking that the buttons were shined and all the insignia and collar devices in the right place. She ran a hoof through the wool, the coarse material still new and itchy. The tunic needed some wear and tear as well as some getting used to before it became comfortable. Daisy finished preparing her uniform by laying out her hat and equipment, ensuring that every piece was accounted for and in inspection-ready order.

The smell of pancakes and fried apples beckoned her downstairs to the kitchen. Daisy’s mother was humming away in front of the stove, wearing the same once-white apron she always did. She smiled as she heard Daisy enter, gesturing to a plate of steaming pancakes. “Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?” Daisy nodded, taking a seat while looking at her mother as she sat across from her. She doubted the redness in her eye was from the smoke of the fried apples. “Are you ready for today,” her mother asked.

“Yes, mom, I’m ready. It’s finally happening,” Daisy replied. She knew she was not sure of her answer, but she manufactured extra excitement in her voice anyways to ease her mother.

“I see you got your dad’s daisy,” Mom said, reaching a hoof across the table to stroke Daisy’s mane. “It looks so pretty on you. Your dad wishes he could be here, but the notice was so short, he couldn’t reschedule his flights. But he wanted you to know that we are so proud of the mare you’ve grown up to be.” A tear rolled down her cheek to be caught by the depression of her smiling lips. Daisy put her hoof on her mother’s shoulder, trying to let her own smile overwhelm her mother’s tear. Today was going to be a good day.

Daisy thanked her mother for breakfast, kissing her on the cheek before running out the house’s weathered door. The burst of hot air buffeted Daisy’s face, but it was not an unpleasant feeling and one that she would miss. She started down the familiar trail that led into town, allowing the rhythm of her hooves to carry her while she took in the little vistas around her. Little families of quail darted across the trail and in between spiky cylinders of cactus and thick growths of bush. A trio of deer wandered farther out, ducking under the outstretched arm of a cactus while their noses searched for the tasty flowers that were starting to bloom in the desert now that the first rains of the season had arrived from distant Cloudsdale. The heavily laden clouds would appear every afternoon over the ragged peaks of the mountains to douse the landscape in life-giving water, thanks to the favorable monsoon winds that only occurred twice a year. Now, though, Daisy only saw the constant and pure blue of the sky over the mountains, save for a few thins wisps of cloud remnants.

The town came into view several miles later as Daisy crested a small foothill. The central market was already bustling with brightly colored ponies with even brighter faces. In one corner a pair of buffalo were selling colorful textiles and crafts, while a small band arranged around a fountain serenaded ponies that examined crops in the shaded archways of the adobe building that framed the market square. Daisy smiled at the ponies who greeted her and complimented her flower. She ducked into one of the archways, drawn to a stand that displayed beautiful paintings surrounded by colorful collections of paint tubes.

“How can I help you, miss,” the stand’s clerk asked, noticing Daisy’s admiration.

“Oh, just looking,” she replied. “I used to paint a lot when I was younger, but all the tubes and brushes and canvases and easels are just too much to drag around now that I won't be home much.”

“Hmm,” said the clerk, rummaging through her stock until she found the product she had in mind. “Perhaps you could try these pastels. Perfect for the traveling pony.” She opened the compact tin to showcase the rounded sticks of pigment. Daisy’s eyes widened. “Just got these in from Canterlot last week. They are all the rage in the galleries up there.”

“I’ll take them,” Daisy exclaimed, tossing several bits to the clerk. She slipped the tin of pastels and a pad of paper into her saddlebag, squirming with the excitement that she could take her art with her now. Leaving the art stand, other vendors exclaimed their wares to Daisy as she walked past, including the town’s news pony. His paper held headlines about the ongoing trade war between Equestria and her neighbors. Talk of escalation into full conflict was on everyponies’ mind, but no one dared mentioned it. And for today, Daisy chose to ignore it. Today was going to be a good day.

Daisy wandered through the town a bit more. She stopped by the old manor turned library to return some books, mostly sappy romances novels but also a few works on her favorite subject, history. Her next stops were quick, simple errands to pick out some stationery for Mom, a new scarf for Dad, and little trinkets for her friends. A rumbling in her stomach reminded her of the lunch she was supposed to be having with them. Finishing the last purchases, she trotted into the street towards a café on the edge of town. The sun was halfway through the sky. Daisy was considerably sweatier when she reached the café.

“Daisy, over here!” a trio of ponies shouted in unison while waving from under the shade of a willow. Pricklie Pear turned to talk to Daisy first as she took her seat. She was a pretty mare whose purple coat had always reminded Daisy of the fruit she was named after.

“I went ahead and ordered us some lemonade. My family’s treat!” she grinned, then spotted the waiter bringing the drinks from across the patio. “And here they are. Thanks, dad!” Pricklie said, reaching up to peck her father’s cheek as he slid the glasses around the table. Daisy leaned forward to her straw, greedily slurping the sweet, pink liquid.

“Anything for my little plum and her friends,” he said. “I hear you’re leaving soon, Daisy?”

“Uh, yes, tonight actually. My orders came through yesterday evening,” Daisy replied, returning to the cool bliss of her lemonade after spurting out the words.

“I’m sure you must be so excited.” Daisy nodded this time with her lips firmly on her straw. “Well, if there is anything else I can get for you ponies, just holler.”

“Do you know where you are going?” Cholla asked, the green mare having already downed her lemonade. Daisy knew the location, but operational security forbade her to disclose it. Besides, it was a place she had never heard of nor knew what to expect, so she replied with a somewhat truthful “no”.

“Sounds like a bit of an adventure to me,” Sonorae chimed in. The roan colored stallion had always had a flair for excitement.

“Ooh, you’re right, Rae!” Pricklie said. “Daisy, do you remember that time we all snuck out at night to climb up to Mt. Lime observatory so we could get our cutie marks in star-gazing?”

Daisy could hardly forget it. The excursion had been a disaster from the start, with nopony knowing how to ready a map or navigate the desert at night. “I don’t think we ever made it up to Mt. Lime, as I remember. We ended up on some mountain two miles away. And we never did get those cutie marks.”

“And somepony forgot the snacks!” Sonorae belted. Pricklie laughed.

“But didn’t you get yours that night, Daisy?” Cholla asked. Indeed, that had been the night she had gotten her cutie mark, a spiky cactus with its arm outstretched over a bunch of daisies. Daisy had been clambering down the mountain on a separate trail than her three friends, when she looked over to see a pack of coyotes following them. Daisy did not pause to think; she ran through the bush to her friends and kicked and bucked the animals into several cacti until they scampered off. She had learned that night that the most precious things in life, things such as her friends and her home, are like delicate little flowers, and that they needed protection. Daisy only wished that did not mean having to leave them behind her to do so. But she changed the subject. Today was going to be a good day.

“So, Cholla, I hear your special somepony popped the question on you,” Daisy said to a blushing Cholla.

“Oh, yes! I just have to tell you girls, and Rae, all about it.” Cholla shared the story of how her fiancé had taken her to the brook that wound around the town, placing the ring on a stuffed bear in teddy bear cholla cactus, a clever visual combination of their names. The conversation turned to gossip around town as Pricklie’s father brought out plates of cheese-stuffed peppers that had been deep-fried, Daisy’s favorite. Between bites Daisy laughed at the tale, brought up to the mayor by a concerned Ms. Carotene, of the “mysteriously” disappearing carrots from the patch next door to the Cottontail Sanctuary, and how the town’s farrier secretly had a crush on the schoolteacher, which naturally everypony knew about. Daisy finished her food while Pricklie passed around dessert, a puffy pastry filled with apples and honey. Sonorae was overambitious with his pastry, creating a sticky mess of honey that dripped down his muzzle.

“I’m going to miss you, you goof,” Daisy giggled as she handed the stallion her napkin.

“We’re going to miss you, too,” Pricklie said through her frown.

“Promise us you’ll write,” pleaded Cholla. The wetness of her eyes glimmered with the bits of sunlight that peaked through the willow.

“Always,” Daisy stated. The ponies got up from their chairs, exchanging hugs. Each embrace warmed Daisy more than the sun that was now starting its downward descent in the sky. She held back tears as she left the café patio and waved back to her friends, not wanting to cry, not yet. Today was going to be a good day.

Daisy decided to take a different trail home, preferring the shade it provided against the final rays of the afternoon sun. The trail was several miles longer than her morning route, but Daisy was in no hurry. She examined the variety of plant life along the way, noting the colorful burst of cactus blossoms and the intricate interweaving of the cholla. Very few creatures stirred in the bush, not wanting to brave the heat of the day. The warning sound of a rattlesnake sunning on a rock startled Daisy and reminded her that the animals were in fact still there. She scooted past the snake and continued up the trail for another quarter mile until she stopped to smell a growth of daisies. Unlike the Ponyville daisy she wore in her mane, these flowers were rough and hardy, yet still beautiful, perhaps even more so given the juxtaposition with the harsh environment they thrived in.

Daisy stopped here for more than flowers. Jutting up in the midst of the patch of daisies was a rounded stone, the word “Papa” inscribed on the surface. Daisy’s Papa. “It’s time for me to go, Papa, just like you told me you did so many years ago,” Daisy said. Her grandfather had always been there for his little “Desert Flower”, showing her the desert he loved and recounting tales from his time in service. “But I am scared. I know you came back, but what if I never do? The world is so different now.” Daisy was on the verge of crying, but she held back, encouraged by a determination within her. “But this is something I have to do. For my friends, for you, for my home. The harmony of this place is worth fighting for.” Daisy sat quietly for a while, allowing the sun to pass and cast lengthening shadows over the landscape. Then, just as the light started to transition shades, she took out her pastels and paper and started to paint.

Daisy started with the sky first, for its presence tied everything in the desert together under its blue dome. The afternoon thunderheads hung over the mountains, boiling clouds of dark and light hues that scattered over the peaks and rapidly reached across the sky, consuming the pureness of the blue. The red and deep purple shapes of mountains were the focus, as they were in numerous variations across all of Equestria, the solid and true forms keeping protective watch over the ponies who resided next to them. Daisy scrumbled in the valley next, trying to capture the surprising lushness of the bush and the way the light played with the subtle rises and falls of the foothills. It was a challenge, considering how dynamically the light changed. She quickly marked in a coyote that scurried across the landscape. A bolt of lightning cracked its way around the mountain and onto a tall cactus, which Daisy captured on her paper. She feathered in the sheets of rain with a gray colored stick. The wind picked up, buffeting the paper. Daisy felt the damp coolness on her face, followed by the petrichor. A deep rumble of thunder echoed in her ears. Then another one, much sharper. The clouds burst open.

Daisy hurried to pack up her painting, shoving it in her saddlebag and taking flight towards home. The rain soaked through her coat, blowing into her eyes as she cantered. The wind whipped through her mane, threatening to tear the daisy from it, but the flower remained. Lightning struck a cactus in front of Daisy, toppling it onto the trail ahead. She leaped over it, nearly losing her balance on the landing. Daisy could barely make out the familiar shape of her family’s little house in the distance. She increased her gait, trying to close the distance. Then, as quickly as it started, the storm passed. The sun reemerged as Daisy slowed down to a walk and tried to calm her breathing. She was completely dry by the time she reached the front door.

“Nasty storm came through here, dearie,” Mom said, opening the door. “I hope you didn’t get caught in it.”

“No, mom, I was alright,” Daisy replied. She paused at the doorway to take one last look at the desert before going inside. The land had turned completely red as the sun set beneath the horizon, its last rays coloring the clouds brilliant shades of warm orange and lavender which stood in contrast to a darkening blue. Then it disappeared into twilight, leaving darkness to roll over the desert. Daisy went up to her room. It was time.

Daisy walked up to her bed, pulling the woolen tunic over her. She fastened the buttons and buckled her equipment. She waited to remove the daisy last, placing it gently on the dresser where it had appeared this morning. She braided her hair and tied the regulation bows. The transformation was completed as Daisy placed her hat on her pole, checking the angle in the mirror. The mare that looked back was no longer a filly, but rather a stranger. Yet, it was a stranger Daisy had chosen to become. Daisy took her first step out of the door. Then she hesitated. She turned around. She picked the daisy up from the dresser and placed it in her tunic’s pocket. Then she resumed her walk outside.

Mom was in tears as she hugged Daisy goodbye. Daisy kept a stern expression, but her heart echoed her mother’s face. She did not want to go, but her hooves carried her anyways. The moon had risen over the desert to shine the way along the trail. Daisy followed its light which softly bent around the cacti and illuminated the creatures which now had come out to work the night. Several coyotes played in the distance, their yelps ringing through the cool air, while a pack of javelinas munched through a bush. A bobcat bathed itself, having just returned from a successful hunt. Even a few birds nested in the trees, singing sweetly to the pony on the trail.

Eventually the trail led to the town's train station which loomed darkly before Daisy. The waiting locomotive was already belching smoke into the night. Daisy handed her ticket to the station clerk, then boarded the train. She took a seat and watched the landscape jolt past as the train carried her away, blurring the desert she knew as home.

Daisy did not look back, for she did not have to. The memories were secured in her heart. She could cry now, because her last day at home was over. And yesterday had been a good day.

Author's Note

This story was inspired by an actual horse named Daisy, whose sweet spirit reminds me of the innocence and warmth with which I remember that first chapter of my life.