I live alone with nothing but my home, my axe, and the wood I diligently chop to stoke the fires to keep me warm. I also use the excess wood to send up to that fancy place on the mountain. And so, I repeat the process every day for the rest of my existence. It's a humble life, at least.
Whilst working, I began my daily remembrance. It was something small I haven't seen in quite some time. It came from a large building over yonder that rests in front of a bountiful field of colorful flowers.
I remember a small filly playing out in the fields one summer day. It was hot and windy, the grass blew in the wind, and there was not a single cloud in the sky. She was one of them, y'know? From that building where you don't have parents to care for you.
I remember a small filly went to the fields to play by herself every day. From my little home, where I chopped wood and stoked fires outside, I could see that filly jumping and laughing from afar in the blooming flowers. I felt sorry for her, to be in the kind of situation she was in without a choice.
I remember what she wore every day. She wore a tiny white frock that flitters rapidly in the breeze. I never saw her wear anything else. Naturally, I became curious despite my general indifference. Maybe that's all they had for her to wear.
I remember one day that a filly was crying out of the building. She was distraught and disgruntled. Then I saw two large stallions in white lab coats exiting the facility to collect the filly, however, they didn't run or chase after her. Perhaps a show of kindness and sympathy, I don't know. The filly just sat in the field for an hour before she willingly, with the two stallions, went back inside the building. Squinting, the filly exhibited a tiny sense of reluctance.
Something in my gut told me everything changed from that moment forward, and just like the other times, my gut showed itself to be right.
Every day I looked over yonder to see if I'll see her playing outside, but that was the last time I saw the filly for a long time. I was in my early twenties. It wasn't until my mid-thirties that I saw a meandering figure trotting unhurriedly outside the building.
There was an aura of sadness when I stared at her. Perhaps it was another unfortunate pony who was dealt the wrong hoof. As lovely as Equestria was, orphans were a common occurrence, at least 'round these parts of Cerulean Cape.
Squinting, I could deftly discern her features, making these skillful eyes of mine more useful. It was a mare with a lanky autumn mane and a furry brown coat. She swayed side-to-side in a drowsy type of way, like she was depleted of energy, or perhaps missing something.
Although the cold never bothered me, I was glad it was the end of Winter when I saw the mare. Hopefully, this dreary cape can regain its luster in the coming weeks. The grass was dark and covered in melting snow and frost. The sky was gray with clouds, and the horizon beyond her was pale and faded white. It was in the fields the mare would sit alone. All the flowers were wilted; dead.
In some horrible of wry humor my mind created, the depressive scene had a fitting tone. Immediately after I felt bad.
It was that single day that the mare turned in my direction as I watched her while cutting wood and stoking the fire, as usual. Although she was afar, when I blinked, the moment my eyes opened back up, I saw her looming over me. Startled, I fell on my flank.
She was much taller than I expected, like Princess Celestia stature of tall, and the way her black eyes stared at me was enchanting in a way, but when I looked a bit deeper, they were glossy and wet. She had been crying recently.
She did nothing but gaze at me for ten minutes. I didn't see her breathe or blink, however, she slowly grew a tiny smile on her face, and then it hit me. I knew that smile. She was the filly I saw over 15 years ago.
She looked so much different from before; her mane, tail, even what she wore was different. It was a black, silky frock. I wanted to say something to her, but before I could get a word out, she smoothly placed her delicate hoof onto my lips, keeping me silent. She was warm and elegant; I thought I was in the presence of a graceful monarch or motherly matron. Her lanky mane flowed gently through the chilly wind, her eyes bore deep into my soul, but it felt pleasant. It felt like magic.
I started to feel unusual, more benignant, and peaceful. I like it very much, and I didn't know why. What did she do to me? I feel so relaxed like any tension inside me was swept away. I don't know what she did, but I welcome it.
I saw her mouth stretch open, uttering a few words, but I couldn't infer what she was confessing. She spoke in some broken language I never heard before. When her lips stopped moving, I blinked again, and I saw the mare in the fields trotting back into the building, but this time she had a little pep in her step. I looked toward the field and saw a single flower blossoming.
To this day, I see the filly that became a mare roaming outside of the building and sitting on the fields. When I worked, she would glance over and watch me from afar. She would appear suddenly next to me and watch me work up close. It was nice to have another pony around, and I am certain that she also appreciates the company.
I remember a filly who grew up into a mare. She lived in a building where those without parents live. She goes outside every day to sit in the fields for hours before returning inside. Sometimes she visits me and watches me work.
Maybe I should make her little wooden figurines.