The pale purple glow of River Swirl’s horn provides just enough light to illuminate the parchment laid on the desk. From her seated position, she reaches a hoof into a side compartment of the knapsack beside her chair and produces a pair of reading glasses. With the assistance of a bleached white handkerchief, the mare polishes the glasses and dons them. A couple blinks put the paper into focus, allowing her to squint down at the elegant, loopy penmanship.
Coltstream Rural Agriculture Modernization Program
Proposed by: Ms. River Swirl, HSR
Friends of the River Republic! On behalf of the Harmonic Party of Rijekograd, I have come to speak with you today regarding my proposed Rural Agriculture Modernization Program. I am River Swirl, teacher at the Central Rijekan Foals Schoolhouse, graduate of the School for Gifted Unicorns in Equestria, and aspiring candidate for your vote in the HSR primaries this Spring. I hope that my propositions inspire you, and together, we can create a bright and beautiful future for Coltstream and the Riverlands! Firstly, I shall discuss the current mechanization of farming equipment north of the Griffking River. Field research conducted by the River Republic Department of Agriculture concludes tha-
“Miss Swirl, are you still here? It’s getting dark out.”
The voice startles River out of her studious review. A short gasp escapes her muzzle, and her eyes dart to the shadowed doorway of her classroom.
“Yes, Headmaster Brook. I’ll be on my way before long.”
Headmaster Silver Brook, an aging unicorn with an almond coat and a shuffling gait, steps into the classroom. With a great sigh, she rests herself on one of the chairs in the front row. Her muddy brown eyes, concealed behind narrow and foggy glasses, assess the visage of the young mare seated across from her.
“I wish we could give you some more light, River. Can’t read anything when the sun goes down. You know about that fancy lamp oil though, it’ll cost you a hoof to get just one bucket… It’s just not in the budget.” the Headmaster spoke in a weary cadence befitting her frame.
Nigh-involuntarily, the crisp glow of River’s horn envelops her glasses, which float away from her face and gently rest on her desk. Her vibrant purple eyes, unbridled by the removal of those pesky specs, pierce right through her boss’s countenance and into the brick wall behind her.
“Well, Headmaster, it’s really just an issue of scale. If we committed to imports from Bakara and invested in Rijekograd refineries, we could afford all of the oil we need.” River states her case in a factual tone, with a lively zeal unbefitting the dreary ambience. For just a moment, the classroom becomes her stage, and the Headmaster her audience. “We already have all the maritime distribution channels we need, our domestic infrastructure just can’t handle an influx necessary to fix the oil shortage.”
The elder mare takes a moment of protracted silence. Only the creaks of her battered chair break the peace. Like every instructor in the Central Rijekan Foals Schoolhouse, she could use a rest from River’s invigorated political imagination.
“That Princess Celestia taught you too much. You haven’t tortured the foals with all that Harmony hay, haven’t you?”
“Well, I think the youth should know about our government,” River continues her tirade, sparing no time to preach. She places her front hooves on her desk to rest upon her manicured manuscript, as if to absorb the speech's knowledge and speak it to life. Her eyes, as wide as those of the foals she bombarded with lectures about Bakaran trade relations, revel in her audience of one. “All of us should learn more about it. But, finding informative literature for foals isn’t easy. The Rijekan textbooks don’t do a very good job…”
River motions a hoof towards a shelf along the side wall. A couple dozen textbooks, weakly bound with twine and smothered in dust, lay orderly and untouched. Mandatory texts recount the history of the Grand Principality of Rijekograd, the legacy of the abolished monarchy, and a passing mention of some diplomatic union titled the Treaty of Coltstream. River promptly regrets her decision to inform her superior of the unused literature, drawing a hoof to her muzzle and sliding back in her seat.
Silver Brook meets River’s transgression with a labored chuckle. “What do you think I’ll do, fire you? You’re the brightest mare east of Dubrovneigh,” she speaks with no trace of malice, putting the teacher’s fears to rest. But before long, her induced smile fades back to an all-too-familiar indignation, stamping the fatigued administrator back to an acceptable level of stimulation.
The Headmaster slowly rises from her chair, bracing herself with a shaky hoof. She shuffles up to the front desk, and drills her gaze into the sheet of paper protected by River’s hooves. She reaches forward and swipes the parchment into her view. “I’m just not sure if those farmers in Coltstream will see that. I don’t think anypony knows what a… ‘commodity surplus policy’ is.”
River reaches a hoof behind her ears, intimidated by the critical eyes of her boss perusing the script. “Well, this is just a draft, I’ll have a few weeks to consult with some Rijekan policy makers before bringing this speech to Coltstream. But… I think they’ll appreciate the modernization plan. Those farmers have hauled plows and fumbled with archaic tools for decades now.”
“Even if they’re perfectly content as is? They’ve worked in the fields for generations.”
River adjusts to a more stern tone, pressing her hooves to the desk and tilting her chin up to match Silver’s unconvinced glare. “They don’t know what they’re missing. I spoke with the wheat farmers in Equestria under Princess Celestia, their machinery was incredible! They could spend more time with their families, or studying, or relaxing. Rijekan farmers deserve that too, Headmaster.”
Headmaster Brook breaks River’s impassioned speech, sliding the paper back and offering a final glance. She gives her employee one last wayward gaze, before turning towards the door. “Not every place needs to be like Equestria, River. Go get some sleep.”
Without any further words of protest, the elder mare departs alongside the yawning creaks of the floorboards. She slips into the darkness unobstructed.
River Swirl takes the departure as her own curtain call. Her gaze tenderly fixates on the speech draft, which she carefully folds in her hooves with rigid creases. She deposits the text and her reading glasses into her satchel. With an aching groan, River stretches her hindlegs and stands for the first time in many hours.
Shutting the front door to the schoolhouse behind her, River inhales a deep breath of crisp, cold autumn air. A steady breeze drifts down the street, and occasionally crescendos into a howling gust. Tumbling leaves fill the role of automobiles barreling down the paved cobblestones, as little else remains awake to occupy the street.
The schoolteacher’s modest uniform fails to combat the chilling wind. Her pace livens to a steady trot.
Located in the heart of Rijekograd’s residential quarter, the mare’s return from work allowed the observation of all the city’s rustic glamor and grit. Short apartment buildings line the tight cobblestone streets, and the light from the oil lamps fail to penetrate into the narrow alleyways between the constructs. The flickering path of illumination leaves little room to stray into the less trodden side streets. River observes little motion from within the residential buildings, as sundown marks the end of a Rijekan pony’s waking hours.
A pair of weary stallions, clad in sooty gray garments and flat caps, pass River in the opposite direction. Factory workers - recent phenomena in Rijekograd that arose under the Harmonic Party’s economic developments. Within the city, a small handful of assembly plants produce limited quantities of consumer goods for domestic use. With little legal infrastructure in the way of workers’ rights, the impoverished laborers face difficult conditions - conditions which drew ire from the HSR’s critics. Such were the growing pains of a city on the precipice of industrialization. These stallions, weathered by the burdensome working environment, walked with half-shut eyes and matted manes caked with dust.
River strayed a wide berth from them.
Concealed behind the white and purple mane blowing in her face, a pensive scowl accompanies River as she voyages the deserted streets. Her mind fails to shake Silver Brook’s comments. Why didn’t she get it? Elder ponies in the River Republic seldom received any form of higher education, let alone formal training in economics and politics. But River’s ambitions were foolproof! Any foal worth their two bits could understand how to fix the River Republic.
River sighed, her breath visibly accumulating in a cloudy puff. Brook’s opinion didn’t matter to her. The only ponies that mattered to River were the farmers in Coltstream that she’d meet at the end of the month.
A troublesome and fickle demographic, the droves of farmers in the River Republic represented a crucial voting bloc for all aspiring legislators. The Harmony Party held a tenuous grasp on the rural voters’ loyalties, with a majority that grew slimmer and slimmer with each election. Calls from Harmonic Party factions to upend and modernize the countryside increased tensions with the traditionalist masses, and the HSR feared the loss of its greatest voting asset.
Such concerns failed to dilute River’s ambitions. To her, the Harmonist bureaucrats had failed at the principal aspect of trust - communication. No amount of newspapers, parliament transcriptions and flyers could replace physical presence. River saw the upcoming harvest as a perfect opportunity to spread her message to the rural ponies in person, and the bustling Coltstream Farmers’ Market as the perfect locale.
Unfortunately for her, the whole of the Riverlands had the same idea. From politicians to salesponies to theater troupes from Lake City, demand for the podium at the Coltstream Farmers’ Market skyrocketed during the autumn months. As such, the River Republic Department of Agriculture organized the position directly throughout the season. Many slots went to Harmonic Party officials, who would rattle off streams of feckless propaganda to a crowd too busy making pastries and hammering signposts to care. River's lack of communications within the party cost her, and she didn't receive any of the amenities. But after twisting some hooves at the department’s offices, she managed to secure a timeslot at the market - The largest scheduled gathering outside of Rijekograd. River wouldn’t let the opportunity go to waste.
River fishes a key from her satchel and opens the door to her ground-level apartment. Her humble nest consists of a bedroom, washroom, and a cramped common room, in a dated building yet to receive some of Rijekograd’s limited electrification. A few candles and a smolder from the fireplace just barely illuminate the condition of her home.
Lived-in yet dutifully maintained, River’s home reflected her devotion to Equestrian-style decor. Landscape paintings, depicting the sweeping mountains and glittering blue rivers of the Riverlands, cover the exposed brick-and-mortar walls. Alphabetized books rest on a shelf against the wall, with contents ranging from Equestrian magic textbooks to fillies’ fiction novels. In the center of the space, fountain pens and crumpled papers rest on a wooden table.
River takes a step forward, only for her hoof to slip beneath her on the hardwood floor. An envelope, slid from under the front door, lays in her path. With an exhale, she retrieves the letter and places it on the table, alongside the satchel draped across her shoulders.
The mare proceeds to her kitchenette, neatly brushed clean and furnished with bleached white handkerchiefs. A teapot lay in the sink, already filled with tap water for this evening ritual. River’s horn glows, and the purple light envelops the kettle. The pot levitates across the polished stone countertop and comes to rest on the gas burner, which shortly comes to life with a small orange flame.
River shifts her gaze to the sealed envelope resting on her table, right beside the crumpled scraps of notes and failed speech drafts. What could the message contain? Perhaps a response from the economics professors at Rijekograd University? Or maybe a continuation of the correspondence with her friends at Celestia’s academy in Equestria? Only a couple years separated River from her time in Equestria, but memories of the peaceful monarchy seemed so distant to her. How badly she wished to hear from her friends, if only the River Republic Post wasn’t so lousy and archaic…
The whistle of the tea kettle snaps River from her mesmerized glance. Returning her attention to her candlelit kitchen, she once again levitates the pot to pour a cup of steaming water into a cup infused with herbs. As the water tints a deep red, the abode fills with the aroma of lavender and rose. River draws a deep breath of the herbal mixture, and brings the cup over to the table.
River gently blows on her tea, before closing her eyes and taking a dainty sip. With both of her hooves free, she splits the envelope and extracts the paper. A sheet of typewriter paper, not commonly seen outside official spheres in Rijekograd, slips out of the envelope. River squints her eyes to examine the ink.
Dear Miss River Swirl,
Greetings. Due to scheduling conflicts, the River Republic Department of Agriculture can no longer authorize your public appearance at the Coltstream Farmers’ Market on SEPT. 21, 1000. You are allotted a replacement at this location on SEPT. 4, 1000 at 12:00. Please adjust your transportation schedule accordingly.
Glory to the River Republic.
RIVER REPUBLIC DEPARTMENT OF AGRICULTURE
OFFICIAL NOTICE
River spits out her tea.
Today was September 3rd.
Eyes wide in shock, she sets down her recently-refilled cup and launches out of her seat. Pens clatter against the floor, swatted off the table by River’s tail. Wadded speech notes and loose paper currency crinkle as she shoves them into her knapsack. Dashing to her bedroom for the few hours of sleep she could obtain, River sets an alarm clock for 6:00 and dives into her sheets, not bothering to change out of her schoolteacher’s uniform.
The cup of tea rests on the table, its surface undisturbed.
