Journey to the West

Nopony knows Broken Pine Village. Crushed in a kink between two great mountains and choked with overgrowth, it is far too small and hidden to be on any map. The old wooden plaque bearing its name had long rotted away, and the only sign of its existence were its four little rice paddies located on the plain far below.

I was playing in one of these paddies. I sat in the mud, hoofs fashioning a small model pony from the squishy clay-like soil. It was an activity I loved doing; I’d lost count of how many hours my butt had stewed in the sludge and filth whilst sitting so long. I didn’t mind it though; when you’re doing something you love doing, nothing else matters.

“Thunder..!” cried a distant voice across the field. “It’s dinner time! Quick!”

That one mattered, though.

I sighed. Guess it was time to call it a day; my stomach was rumbling quite loudly, actually, making me wonder just how long I had been staying in the paddy. Standing on my fours, I stole a regretful gaze at my little model, and kicked it into a heap of wet soil and stomped on it, in order to integrate it back with the soil from which it had been made. Then I turned tail and headed west, towards the jagged forest where home and dinner awaited me.

The sun dimmed as I entered the forest, hot-blooded orange light cooling to a crisp purple-blue shade. A cool breeze tussled my carmine hair with a playful jig, while leaves whispered and wooed. I hopped into the old gully that led to the village, skipping over buried rocks and dead branches that littered the way. Tall, ancient pine trees postured the steep slopes, and every now and then a bird would call, its sad cry echoing toward the distant mountains.

The wooden palisade emerged. Smoke began to choke my nostrils. The soft evening din grew louder with every step. Slowing down my pace, I shuffled through the open village gate, wondering if the dinner that awaited me at home would taste any better today…

***

I started the morning at dawn, when the mists had not cleared and the sun had not risen. Mother was already up by then, and was with the other mares outside cleaning vegetables and boiling rice while gossiping about stallions. A fire had been lit, bringing some much-needed light and warmth into the otherwise dark house.

Of course, I hated early mornings, not wanting to leave the safety and comfort of my little bamboo mattress, but Mother had taught me that laziness was a vice; the short cane hanging by the door was a somber reminder of that. So, trying to not get grouchy, I forced myself up and rolled away my mattress, before trotting towards a bucket sitting by the door. I took a deep breath, then plunged my head into cold, hard water, rinsing out the crusts in my eyes and the mucus on my nose that had built up over the previous night.

After drying my face I stripped myself of my night clothes, dunking them into the bucket to give them a wash. The chilly morning air assaulted my bare body like pinpricks, and the cold sloshing water only added to my misery, but I steeled my seven-year-old self to bear with it as I lifted the soggy piece of clothing and squeezed it dry; it would be warmer later in the day, so I certainly could handle a little cold.

I trotted outside to hang up my washed clothes. Mother was sitting by the fire with her company of early-morning mares. They were all very different from each other, mostly the same age as Mother, though I can’t remember all of them. There was Conch, a greenish-bluish mare who hailed from the seaside region; she was right now washing a bunch of withered beans for breakfast. Next to her was Abalone, another seasider; I forgot what her color was. Opposite them, next to Mother, was Mid-mare herself, a wrinkled and haggard mare. Despite her mane being as white as snow, she had a stout spirit and a commanding influence; she was the village matriarch in all but name.

“Good morning Mother, good morning everypony,” I greeted.

“Good morning Thunder,” they chorused.

“Good to see you up early, honey,” Mother complimented while peeling some disfigured carrots; I giggled nervously.

“Good, you’re growing up, son,” smiled Mid-mare.

“Thanks,” I responded, blushing with a little pride.

“Remember to spread out your clothes,” reminded Mother.

“Yes, Mother,” I answered, grabbing the piece of wet clothing with my mouth and tossing it over a wooden stump, spreading it out to prevent wrinkles as Mother had said; it would be dry by eventide.

I trotted over and sat next to Mother. The fire was warm and welcoming, casting bright amber countenances on everypony present. “Here,” said Mother, setting some vegetables and a knife before me. “Help me with these. There’s lots to wash, peel, cut, and boil. Last to finish has to eat a double serving of pickled veggies.”

“Ulgh, I’m gonna beat you to it,” I exclaimed with distaste.

“We’ll see, Thunder,” smirked Mother. “We’ll see…”

***

Four hours later, I cringed as Mother heaped two gigantic spoons of pickled greens onto my bowl of steaming millet, all with a victorious smile.

“Not fair! You’re older and faster than me!” I grumbled.

“Ah-ah, age and experience doesn’t matter. I won fair and square,” chimed Mother.

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did n–”

“Uzeeeeee!” bellowed Mid-mare. Mother and I shut up instantaneously.

“Ara-ara, Mid-mare is angry ~” sang Conch.

“Better not to disturb her…” cheekily warned Abalone.

“Shaddap you two!” squeaked Mother.

While the three mares argued, I swallowed the rest of my food, albeit reluctantly, as my tongue did not welcome the pickled veggies whole-heartedly. The soup was delicious though.

We washed and put away our bowls, and the company dispersed from the smoking embers of the dying fire. By then the sun had merrily coursed up quite high into the sky, though not high enough to bring noon yet.

The village was alive with activity. Stallions headed for their rice paddies with hoes strapped to their bony backs. Mares like Conch and Abalone departed for the next village to find better-quality vegetables, if there were any. Dams like Mother stayed back to manage the village; they did everything for everypony, like cooking them lunch, or mending their clothes, and breastfeeding each other’s babies and teaching their foals.

“Come honey, it’s almost time for class,” chirped Mother.

I looked up from my drawing with a pout. “Aww…so soon?”

“Yes, Thunder. Come on, clear your things. You can finish drawing the mare after class, ok?”

“Ok…”

She trotted out of the house, perhaps to attend to something else. I set my brush down and gently put the thin paper into the drawer. Then I retrieved a fresh piece of paper and sat down near the door, idly looking around while waiting for Mother to come back.

The house was small, if it could be called a house at all, that is. It was really just a cramped section within a house, because we shared the building with another family. The only thing separating us was a thin wooden partition that barely touched the roof, which was thatched and arguably not the best shield against rain or cold. Such was the condition of all housing in this village; nopony ever owned a house to themselves.

Our section was an oblong space. At one end was the eating area, with a small shelf to hold our bowls and a small drawer below to store household amenities. The other end provided our sleeping and living area. The door was located at the eating space, and faced west; there were no windows, only cracks in the wooden walls and holes in the thatching. The whole space was perhaps enough to fit three adult ponies standing side by side.

You think, perhaps, that I was poor. I was. And I do not despise my poverty. I had a loving mother, what else did I need?

That was on the forefront of my mind as I idly waited for Mother. I had her, and she had me. Nothing else could top that…

“…under…”

“Thunder…”

“Thunder!”

“Yee!” I cried out, startled back to life by whoever was calling me.

“You were dozing off to sleep, son,” said Mother, a little bit concerned.

“Hmm…was I?” I asked, doubtfully.

“Yes you were.”

“Nooo I wasn’t.”

“Yes you were!”

“Nooo!”

“Yes!”

“Are you suuuure?” I dragged.

“Yes, now quick, class is about to begin,” she announced, moving over toward the far end of the house, while I shuffled closer to the wall. “We’re gonna be practicing kana.”

“Again?!”

“Yes, again. Now shut up and get your paper ready.”

“But we’ve practiced it like hundreds of times!”

“And you still can’t read!” cried Mother exasperatedly.

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh!”

***

The words “azuma” repeated in my mind like a broken record as I finished up my food, washing it down with a bowl of hot soup.

“Thanks Mother,” I said as I put my bowl down with a small burp.

“It’s no trouble honey,” she responded with a giggle, collecting the clinking cutleries and taking it out to wash.

I rolled onto my mattress with a sigh, idly letting my thoughts wander…

“Put the brush gently against the paper. Let it flow…”

“Draw a line across…”

“Then another line down the middle, with a little tick at the end…”

“Start from the right, up there…good, now draw it round through the middle line…yes, that’s correct, like a little knot!”

“What does it read, son?”

“A...su…ma?”

“A-zu-ma, remember the ‘z’.”

“Wait, that’s my name!”

“Yes, it is!”

I heard chinking and hoofsteps; she was back in the house. I turned to her.

“Mother?”

“Yes?”

“Why did you name me Thunder?”

“Oh, well” – she set the cutleries down – “You were born in a thunderstorm,” she said, turning to me with a smile. “You slowly came out at every ferocious clap of thunder,” she added with flare.

“Was it scary?”

“Yes it was, but Mid-mare helped me through it.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

I turned away and closed my eyes, listening to the soft melodious chink of bowls being put away while Mother hummed a lullaby to herself. It was a short, graceful melody, but one that sounded otherworldly. A single note repeated like a bell, almost hypnotically, before climbing up excitedly and falling back down dejectedly, repeating again its entrancing chant.

Sleep began to caress me. I welcomed it willingly. Mother closed the drawer with a soft click, still humming her tune, before blowing out the lone candle, extinguishing all light within the house. With a sigh she trotted to the ragged mattress and lay to rest.

I felt a pair of hoofs snaking around me, and out of reflex I tugged at it, assured that it was Mother. I began drifting onto the dreamy sea, safe and sound within her warm embrace.