Sturdy Foundations are Laid in Time
You can’t bring yourself to look away.
The market is flourishing to the delightful tunes of the spring weather. The trees are still soggy from the well-weathered winter of the week past, but the Canterlot-raised sun serenades the southern town. It is a pleasant, ripe day for both work, and play. A true, perfect spring day.
It is a fine day in Ponyville, Equestria.
And you’ve spent thirty minutes watching somepony lay bricks.
Somebody, you remind yourself.
You’ve spoken to him before. Many times. He’s been in town for three years now. In that time, you’ve heralded the return of an entire empire, defeated and reformed a Lord of Chaos, brought peace to a corrupted and troubled diarch, saved your capital from an invasion, and most importantly, made some friends.
The most Mason has done is adopt his ‘pony-based’ name.
And build this wall.
Well, not really. He’s nowhere near done.
A tent of non-equine design is pitched over the current incomplete section of the wall. There, shaded neatly away from the princess’ sun, are three things: a sturdy wheelbarrow, brimming with a special mixture of mortar; a canteen; and a relaxed, half-naked Mason.
You hear metal clinking as he sets his mortar trowel on top of a finished column. The column is twice as tall as a pony—about Mason’s height. Then, you watch Mason bend down to arrange yet another set of bricks. You’ve seen walls built—you weren’t that shut-in—and this is just one stage he processes differently. With his gloved hands, he wields a pair of bricks. He meticulously lines them into place on the double brick-wide wall. Pulling his hammer from his belt, he carefully taps the bricks into the wet mortar of his stone foundation, tinking as gently as Fluttershy would a birdhouse.
It’s frustrating, to say the least. He could do it so much faster, but he opts to be needlessly precise. In the beginning, you respected it, but three years to finish just-shy of fifty hooves of wall is downright crazy.
It’s at this point you recall that he’s the project’s sole laborer.
Applejack, and even some of the town’s construction ponies, have offered to aid him, for free, no less. Of course, Mason was stubborn: he wouldn’t be three years in if he’d accepted the helping hooves. You yourself had intervened… and Applejack herself had stayed you. Tradition is a special thing; your first Winter Wrap Up had hammered that particular lesson in after the fact.
His fiery glower doesn’t come up anymore, but from where you stand, twenty hooves away, you are more distant than ever.
Yet, by no means is he an unsociable grouch. When his eight-hour workdays are complete, he often spends his time roaming Ponyville. Sometimes, he speaks with ponies, gentle with his mannerisms. Often, he simply watches, calm, and seemingly at peace. When the day ends, he retreats into his princess-ordained home before you, and rests for the good work ahead.
Mason rarely stops working. It takes a thunderstorm of bad weather to send him inside; simple showers don’t deter him. Sometimes, you worry about your neighbor—you’ve had some pretty bad storms rock Golden Oaks. But Mason is as sturdy as his wall. For as much judgment as you’ve given him, the results can’t be brushed aside.
Now, Mason replaces the hammer for a spirit-level. After a quick check, he puts it away. Grunting, he stands, and steps to the side of the wall, only to crouch down again. Once more, he reaches for a tool: a piece of curved metal, an edging tool. Just as graceful as his hammer, he carves away at the gaps of mortar between the bricks. It’s something of an art to Mason, and while he’s said that he’s only done brickwork once before in his life, you can’t help but feel his talent is what brings comfort to the ponies who see him daily.
You watch Mason stop for a drink of water. It’s noon—three hours in—and you’re peckish for lunch. He doesn’t eat lunch, at least not that you know. He just drinks water. You’re not even sure of the breadth of his diet… occasional sweets, if Pinkie Pie’s goods are indication enough.
Suddenly, you lock eyes with the brown-eyed human. It’s the first time in a long time. You surprise yourself with the shiver of slimy fear that coils through you.
“Twilight?” he asks. “Got a minute?”
You blink. Is he…?
He waves.
He is!
Giddily, you trot over to him, easily fitting under the tent with him. He gives your behavior a glance, before settling on finished bricks. You follow, planting your rump beside him. You start to—wait! Don’t. Mess. Up.
“Did you leave town? I saw Spike dealing with the girls’ pets.”
He noticed? “Yes, we went to the Crystal Empire!” You smile; that mix-up was something.
“Twilight…” he starts.
You lean in. “Yes…?”
Mason stops to think. “You wanted to know why I’m building this wall, right?”
“O-of course!”
“…It was the last thing my dad and I did together.”
Your smile falls. “Did he…?”
“No. He’s fine. I hope.” Mason sighs, looking away. “When I got here, we were almost done with our wall. We never got to finish.”
“I’m sorry, Mason.”
He breathes. “I just want you to know, Twilight, that I’ve always admired you.” He pauses, then laughs low. “Somewhat. You get annoying.”
“Given the circumstances, I’ll let that slide.”
He smiles. “Good ‘ole Twi.” You scrunch at that, but he continues. “Listen… big things are coming. For you. Life-changing, like me. And I really want you to know, that you’re a good pony.” He closes his eyes.
“Is something bad going to happen?”
“No… everything’s going to be just fine. But I want you to remember one thing above all, Twilight. Like my dad, and our wall.”
“Yes…?”
“Don’t forget your past.”
“…I Pinkie Promise I won’t.”
He laughs. You smile.
It is a fine day in Ponyville.
And it always will be.
Author's Note
Thanks for reading. Be a good neighbor. Do pony. Be well.
