The Pines of Roam

by Clarke Otterton

Rating: teen
Tags: Drama, Fluttershy, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe
Length: 3800

Alone with her regrets in the pine forests of Roam, Ministry Mare Fluttershy contemplates the nature of solitude.

Fluttershy, Mare of the Ministry of Peace, travels to the Zebra capital of Roam to discuss a new treaty. But the pine forests outside the city beckon her in to where, alone with her regrets, she contemplates the nature of solitude.

A Fallout: Equestria story, inspired by Ottorino Respighi's The Pines of Rome.

Rated teen for the somewhat heavy subject material and one instance of profanity used purely for historical accuracy.

Featured on Equestria Daily, 5 January 2021.

Published 2020-10-14 19:40:00 UTC
Last updated 2020-10-14 19:40:00 UTC

The Pines

The airship was crowded. Far too crowded for my tastes, but I wasn’t about to raise my voice to complain. I at least had a whole row of seats to myself. One of the perks to traveling for official Equestrian business, I suppose.

Travel between Equestria and the zebra capital of Roam had been booming in the past years, ever since the de-escalation of the war reopened the borders. Being a pegasus who never particularly cared for flying, I turned my attention to pony-watching in the cabin rather than outside my window where a blue sheet of ocean passed steadily by. Honestly, I would rather have braved the illness of vertigo over the uneasy atmosphere that hung over the passengers.

On one side sat the ponies, brightly colored and smiling amongst themselves. A trio of fillies were playing cards and their laughter at each other’s brilliant plays or misfortunate hands carried over the hum of the propellers. On the other side, the striped groups of zebras lounged, chatting in an exotic tongue my ears could not pick up on. But the aisle between the two rows of seats remained empty, and no pony or zebra dared to cross it, lest they break the self-imposed segregation that kept the tension from becoming more than just tension.

I sighed. My heart ached because I knew the divide in the airship’s cabin, and indeed the larger cold war between the two nations, was my fault. I had wanted to be kind. But this is what my kindness caused. And that was why I sat alone.

I decided to forego pony-watching and instead look outside. We were now flying over land, which made my stomach feel better.

The landscape the zebras called home was beautiful. I had never been before this trip, but occasionally in the springtime I got to talk with some of the southern birds who have, and they describe it as a magical place, not unlike Equestria. I wondered what kind of creatures scurried and grazed on the yellow grasslands that passed below, or what it was like to live beneath the canopies of jungle that appeared as a dark green mass beyond the rolling plains. The prospect of meeting new animals in this foreign place led my heart to flutter. I let myself daydream of exotic new friends, but soon the colorful smiling creatures were replaced with the pouting eyes of the familiar animals I knew from Ponyville. I missed them. The image of my little bunny Angel was the last that crossed my eyes before the dull noise of the engines lulled me to succumb to my weariness.

I must have dozed for several hours, for when I woke the airship was beginning its final approach into Roam. The city, in all its imperial splendor, sprawled between hills and rivers for miles. Stately government buildings, standing square and proper, rose between an irregular patchwork of older, more organic structures that comprised the city’s unique architecture that was influenced by all corners of the Empire. It was said amongst the zebras that all roads led into Roam. How the zebras remained united amidst such diversity always amazed me, but then again Equestria was similar. We had our ideas of harmony and friendship between the earth, unicorn, and pegasus ponies.

The airship banked onto its final course into the aerodrome on the outskirts of the city. The turn brought an expanse of pine forest into view of my window. My heart fluttered again, although I blamed it on the turbulence as the airship crossed over the hills. I was normally nervous during landing, but looking outside at the pines that caught the golden rays of late-morning sun on their branches, I felt a sense of calm and perhaps a bit of excitement, too.

The southern birds had always spoken well of these pine forests, and visiting them was the reason for my trip to Roam. Officially I was here to discuss new terms for a treaty to help prevent re-escalation of the war, but I would never have convinced myself to get on the airship with that reason. The thought of talking, even arguing with others over the war, and especially my particular contribution to it, terrified me. The prospect of a day alone in the woods was more inviting.

“Can I get you anything before we land, Ms. Fluttershy?” The voice was that of Major Contra Chord, my military escort for this trip. I wished her presence, as well as the ten other khaki-clad ponies she commanded, was not necessary. But a ministry mare was a target, even if she professed only of peace as I did.

“Oh no, I am perfectly fine, thank you.” I fastened my seat belt as the airship descended lower towards the aerodrome. The pines outside grew taller until the green clusters towered beyond the frame of my window. The airship touched down with a gentle bump then became quiet as the engines shut down. The silence was broken quickly, however, by the movement of ponies and zebras as they rummaged for luggage and filed through the aisles to deboard. The segregation remained in effect, I noted, as everypony left the cabin. I grabbed my hat and was the last to leave.

The field we had landed in was bustling with activity. At least three other airships in various stages between arrival and departure were parked next to ours, the roar of engines competing with the roar of the holiday-seeking crowds. Most of the crowd filed their way to the terminal building that stood on the edge of the field, where they hired carts to take them and their luggage into Roam proper. Just beyond the waves of grass that shimmered from the prop blast stood the dark forms of pines that surrounded the aerodrome. They beckoned to me, unlike the crowded terminal.

“Shall we head into the city, ma’am?” Major Chord asked me. That was the last thing I wanted to do. I came here deliberately, and that was for the pines. I thought of an excuse.

“Um, yes. But actually, I think I left some luggage in the cabin, silly me. The little green bag. Could you retrieve it? If that’s ok?”

“Certainly, ma’am. Just wait right here.” She trotted off and disappeared into the airship. I spread my wings and made my escape.

The dark columns of pines loomed before me as I landed on top of the hill on the other side of a tall wire fence. I didn't notice the sign with red lettering that hang from the fence, but rather saw past it. I took one last look at the sunny field behind me, and felt glad to be leaving behind the noisy, windy aerodrome with its mass of ponies and zebras. I took my first step into the forest.

A shiver ran through my fur as coolness replaced the warmth that had come from the sun, which was notably absent here. The colors which had been a glaring yellow were here a muted green. What light did filter through dappled on the floor of ferns and fallen needles in patches of faint cream. A dirt path wound through the great hall of trunks, suggesting that others had likely trod this forest with the same idea I had. I followed it.

Little branches cracked beneath my hooves, the abrupt noises startling me. But perhaps they startled me so because of the unusual silence that sealed the pine forest away. I perked my ears but could not even distinguish the expected warble of a songbird or chirp of a cricket. It was as if their attempts to penetrate this pine sanctuary with their songs were being dampened by the thick blankets of pine needles. I was truly alone here.

I know this was what I wanted, but somehow it felt sad, empty, or perhaps a bit oppressing just like the ragged branches that reached toward the trail. I tried to look for critters that might be hiding among the ferns, and when that failed, I tried to picture them there instead. But I only found my thoughts, and they scared me more than the branches I kept stepping on.

The forest was turning unexpectedly thinner as I walked farther along the trail. The ferns became more like weeds, and very few of the pines had branches below the height of several ponies stacked on top of each other. I used the excuse of wondering what had caused the change in the undergrowth to force the lurking thoughts of loneliness away. A clearing ahead gave me my answer.

The trail led to the edge of what had once been a raging fire that ravaged acres of the pine forest. Blackened hulks rose, disfigured and grotesque, from a bed of ash. The fire had consumed nearly everything, leaving only a few living but heavily scarred survivors to stand in solitary mourning over the dead. The scene was awful; I wish I could say it shocked me. But it didn’t, because I had seen it before.

I could no longer avoid the conversation my conscience so desperately wanted to have. It was on a war-scarred battlefield, so much like the fire-scarred remains of the pines before me, that I felt my greatest regret. Of course, it wasn’t supposed to be that way, but rather should have been my greatest moment, the culmination of years of work within my ministry.

The war did terrible things to ponies and zebras alike, the fire of its violence licking away at them until they became grossly disfigured shells of their former selves. I wanted to bring my kindness to douse that fire, to soothe the wounds, and to hopefully prevent another blaze from burning out of control. But my kindness only rekindled the fire, and even when that one too was doused, my kindness now kept the coals warm.

The words of my friend still echoed in my ears. “Fluttershy, do you know what you’ve done?” My eyes watered. “Do you know how many ponies died here today?” A lump clogged my throat. “And now we have to fight the damn battle all over again.” My tears dripped down my nose to splatter into the ash at my hooves, the droplets raising little puffs of dust with each strike. I cried for the ponies I had saved that day only to die again because of me. I cried for the unbridgeable gap that emerged between pony and zebra because of me. I cried for the remains of the pines, somehow also because of me. I cried because I was alone. I cried because I wanted to be. It was what I deserved.

I wondered what those ponies would say to me, if they could speak from beyond the grave. Would they thank me for carrying on the spirit of kindness in the midst of terrible hatred, or would they curse me for only prolonging their suffering? Or perhaps what I feared most is that they won’t say anything at all, that everything my heart has led me to do means nothing in a meaningless world.

I kicked the ground at my hooves to express my regret. I was expecting my hoof to graze through the loose ash instead of the solid lump I actually encountered. It squealed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, little guy,” I said to the perfectly camouflaged creature that cowered at my hooves. I felt awful; my first time meeting an armadillo and I kick him. I sighed and wiped my eyes dry. “It’s ok, I just didn’t see you there.” He unrolled from his armored shell to look up at me with his beady, innocent eyes. I dried my eyes a second time.

I looked around again at the scorched remains of the pine forest, wondering what in this place could have any value to attract the little creature. Sure enough, scurrying between charred hunks of wood were beetles and other insects of the wood-boring variety. Their black bodies and tiny legs stirred the ash, making it seem to twinkle with life. A few bugs climbed the shoots of white and yellow wildflowers that peeked through the ground. My ears picked out the rapping of a woodpecker, perched on a half-blackened pine that stood beside a ravine at the edge of the untouched, healthy part of the forest.

My armadillo friend gestured at me to get my attention. He pointed to where the fresh green pines grew at the edge of the fire’s wasteland. “Do you want me to go over there?” I asked. He started waddling in that direction, so I assumed his answer was “yes”.

Several lengths away from the forest I spotted where the trail resumed its trek through the columns of pines. The light was considerably warmer here as I entered, perhaps because of the sun’s moving position in the sky or likely due more to the contrast with the harsher tones of cool gray I had just come from. His mission complete, the armadillo left me to search for more bugs buried in the ash. Spots of shadow and light dappled on his shell as he waddled away. I was alone again, but I felt better somehow. I walked forward. The path ahead was clearly lit.

A stream trickled across the trail, the clear water flowing from a spring hidden further up the hill. My eyes followed the sparkles that indicated its progress down towards the valley where I believed it eventually joined the river that ran through the center of Roam. I knew I needed to be there soon, but my stomach protested with a bout of faintness. The forest still called to me more than my duties in that city.

This call became more audible as I moved past the gurgling sounds of the stream to where the sweet chirping of a songbird carried through the forest. I followed it, trying to filter out this particular bird’s distinctive patterns of four chirps followed by a playful roll from the sounds of squirrels that scampered between trees as I passed them and the tweets of other birds that acted in counterpoint to mine. Cresting a hill, I saw the bird, a stately cardinal, perched on a tree near a rocky outcropping. His red breast puffed as he belted his song into the valley that opened up below his perch. I took a seat next to his tree.

Before me two wooded hills overlapped each other, the tops of trees reflecting the light back with a tint made orange by the nested pockets of hardwoods that were giving way to the changing season. The urban sprawl of Roam smudged the land between the two hills, occasionally shimmering as bits of roof and water caught the sun. An airship floated above the city, slowly rising with another load of passengers destined for places far away. The sound of the engines drifted through the valley, growing fainter and lower as the airship moved deeper into the clouds. From this distance, it was hard to imagine that I had been crammed into one of those tension-stuffed airships earlier today. As I sat here alone, the whole world seemed at peace.

I retrieved a tiny cast-iron teapot and a Stable-Tec heating pack out of my saddlebag to treat myself. I had picked up a lovely cherry variety of tea before leaving Canterlot, and this seemed as perfect a spot as any to try it out. I pulled out a well-worn teacup while the water warmed up, then got out a second one as I saw that the cardinal had landed next to me.

“That was a wonderful song,” I said. I thought I noticed the cardinal blush, but then again, he was already red. “Would you care for some tea?” He nodded. I poured the tea for both of us, lowering my head to sip the soothing liquid as my cardinal friend did the same.

“You have such a lovely home. I don’t think anything could make it more peaceful,” I said. I felt warm, perhaps because of the tea or the sun’s rays, but also because I was at ease. The cardinal looked at me but then flew off. I watched him go and sighed, but I had already offered him what I had and could not make him stay any longer than he needed to.

I supposed that is all that I could do. I could no more will him to stay with me than I could will the fighting to stop, or for ponies and zebras to be friends again. They must make the choice on their own. But I could at least offer my kindness, to give them a better choice, or to make it easier to make the right one. Looking into the peaceful valley below, it became clear to me that this is why my ministry existed. I have done things I regret, but that doesn’t mean I should give up trying to be better and abandon what I believe in, the kindness that makes me who I am. Deep down, I know that I am a good pony; I have to be.

The cardinal returned with several friends, two nightingales and a jay. The little quartet sang to me, the chirps and whistles drowning out the sound of another airship departing over the valley. It was the most beautiful music I had heard in a long time, and it made me teary eyed from the joy that carried through to me on their harmonies. I sat and listened, simply allowing my thoughts to drift with the rise and fall of the melodies. A single thought stood out amidst them: kindness begets kindness.

The music stopped suddenly, the startled birds flying off. I came to my hooves, startled as well first by the abrupt silence then the fear of what the birds had seen. Or rather heard. My ears picked up the clamoring of bugles and drums from the other side of the hill.

I dashed into a nearby bush to hide from whatever was approaching. Subtle vibrations moved through the dirt and tingled up into my hooves, the motions regular and abrupt. The sounds became louder and the vibrations more intense as the thing moved closer; soon the clank of metal and clop of hooves joined the mix as the first figures appeared into my view through my bush’s leaves.

A full zebra legion was marching along my trail; I recognized their uniforms from the battlefields I had visited, except the wool on these was remarkably clean and pressed unlike the tattered, often blood-stained uniforms I had seen before. Sunlight glinted off their metal helmets and equipment, blinding me whenever it angled just the right way. Seeing them reminded me that I wasn’t supposed to be out here; I had a mission to do in Roam.

The legion halted. An officer shouted in the same exotic language I had heard on the airship, except with a noticeable tone of formality. Small groups of legionnaires peeled away from the column, looking around trees and poking their rifles into bushes. I didn’t need to understand the zebra language to know what the officer had ordered; the zebras were looking for me. It didn't matter who I was, except that I was someone, somepony, who shouldn't be here. I could no longer stay out here alone.

I crawled out behind my bush and made my way to the outcropping. If I was quiet, I could reach the drop off and sneak away into the valley below. But I wasn’t quiet. I stepped on a branch. I squealed. The sharp crack may have alerted the zebras that something else was in the forest, but my squeal that accompanied it definitely let them know that something was me. The calm of the pines was shattered by more shouts and pounding hooves as the legionnaires spun around and started running towards me. I cantered away down the trail.

At first, I thought that I was stepping on a bunch of branches that littered the trail, but a quick glance down proved that the trail was clear. The cracks I heard were from the legion’s rifles. Bullets smashed into trunks and shot up plumes of dirt around me. It wasn’t the first time I had been shot at, but it still terrified me.

I turned a bend in the trail and then veered left into the bush to where the land dropped at a ravine. I leaped head-first down the slope. Twigs and pinecones scraped at my fur as I tumbled. I recovered as soon as I reached the bottom and started up the other side when a squad of legionnaires lined the crest, rifles pointed straight towards me. The others that were chasing me appeared on the other crest. I was out of options. If I didn’t act soon, I would be caught in the crossfire. The two lines opened fire just as this thought sounded in my mind. I ducked and ran, zig-zagging through the pines to throw off their aim. It broke my heart that these zebras in their practical indifference didn’t care who I was, or what I believed in. To them, I must just be somepony who was in the way, a trespasser venturing to places I shouldn't. But I cared. And I was going to survive to show them that I did.

A patch of blue broke through the canopy of needles. I spread my wings and took the opportunity. The air buffeted around me as I darted upward, breaking free of the legion’s encirclement and into the sunny sky. I looked back towards the ground for a brief moment, but there was nothing else for me to gain from there. I turned my nose towards Roam and let my wings carry me over the wooded hills.

My time alone in the pines was over. I had a life to lead and could no longer spare any time there. I knew what I had to do, and I believed, no I knew, that I could do it. No matter what mistakes I have made, what regrets I carry, what friends I make, or what others may try to destroy, I will always strive to do one thing, to live up to who I am. I will always care.

Author's Note

I got the inspiration for his story after re-listening to The Pines of Rome by Ottorino Respighi, a piece I've had the opportunity to perform several times. It's a wonderful work which I recommend giving a listen. My story is not related to the story Respighi uses for his work, but I do follow the mood and general outline of the movements.