Journey to the West

by Isuvyw

Rating: teen
Tags: Original Character, Adventure, Violence, Death, Sad, Drama, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 5128

A stallion travels from the dark depths of the misty East to the land of Equestria.

A young stallion battles swords and storms to reach Equestria after his life is shattered by the flames of war.

Written as a sort of self-lore. Also gives me a chance to develop my OC. Hope you enjoy!

Special thanks to Dawnstar of Dawnsomewher and TheAncientPolitzanian for editing.

Published 2022-06-12 14:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2022-08-08 13:17:15 UTC

Chapter I: Hello World

It was raining that day, as it had been for the past ten days. Only that on this day, it was heavier than normal.

Mother lay in discomfort, breathing heavily as she eased herself against a sack of rice. The Mid-mare was by her side, ready to assist at a moment’s notice. They had both come into the barn when the sky was but merely overcast; they would now have to stay put until the rain died down.

The sky flashed brightly as a tendril of lightning slashed its way across the horizon, followed by a boom of thunder. Mother groaned as the first contraction seized her. The Mid-mare immediately sprang into action, believing that the thunder had induced the birth. Another flash of lightning, followed by a rush of thunder, and the second contraction tore through Mother’s birth canals, sending her into a frenzy of pain as the Mid-mare cheered her on. By the third clap of thunder, a soft brown head popped out. By the fourth, its forelimbs. By the fifth, the rest of the foal came spilling out in a mix of birth juices, blood, and sweat.

I was born. Barely breathing, but alive.

The rains swelled suddenly, then abated slowly, gradually becoming no more than mere drizzles that reflected the sun, emerging from behind receding clouds. Outside the barn, birds chirped, while a cool wind blew from east to west.

“It seems that the weather has favored his arrival,” remarked Mid-mare.

“Yes, it seems to have…” sighed Mother, as she cradled me in her hooves. She gazed upon the foal that she’d just given birth to. Small, diminutive, naked, and vulgar; a big brown head with tufts of red hair, and large round eyes shut behind wet, fragile eyelids. She brought a tired hoof up upon my little head, gently stroking the small patch of carmine hair.

“What will you name him?” asked Mid-mare.

“Hmm…” ruminated Mother. “He was born in a thunderstorm. Why not called him ‘Thunder’?”

“Thunder…it sounds strong!” exclaimed Mid-mare. “But he looks a little…tiny. Er, ‘wee,’ perhaps. Do you think such a name suits his size? I mean no offense, though.”

Mother smiled instead. “Yes. He is rather small, smaller than a normal foal should be. Yet” – she turned towards me – “though he’s small and physically wanting, I want him to be strong in mind and spirit.”

Mid-mare nodded understandingly. Mother chuckled. Her chuckles echoed in my ears as I slowly opened my eyes, taking a first glance around the new world.

I became scared. Where was I? Why was it so cold? How was everything so bright now, when all I had been seeing was dark?

Then I met her eyes – big, lime green ones meeting her soft, ruby-red ones. They were kind. They were loving. They reached out towards me. And in response, my heart lurched to meet those two kind eyes. It clicked. At once, I knew that this mare would love and protect me. Whoever she was, I was safe with her.

Relieved of my initial fear, I stretched out two scrawny limbs to meet Mother’s nose, successfully booping her. Her two eyes sparkled with delight, and she booped me back, both of us giggling all the way. It soon devolved into a booping fest, both of us exchanging blows to our noses and seeing who would outdo the other.

Mid-mare spoke something, and Mother stopped our little game. I did not understand anything that they said of course, as I was yet to be gifted with speech, but I didn’t want to stop playing. I turned to Mother, pleading with my eyes to continue booping me, but she didn’t comply. Instead, she balanced me on one hoof, while with the other she began fumbling with her clothes.

I became upset. Why didn’t she want to play?

I whimpered, then sniffled, and then cried. Mother cooed, whispering softly, all the while pulling at her clothes. Of course, I did not understand anything she was whispering, so I continued crying, harder and louder.

I felt movement. I was being lowered. Then pushed into something. Something soft and fleshy. It crashed into my nose, before chaotically maneuvering over to my mouth, still wide open from my bawling.

Something sweet and sticky kissed the tip of my tongue. I had never known taste before, but whatever this was, it was…good.

I stopped crying, suddenly more interested in this sweet thing than with booping Mother. I wanted to try it again. I opened my eyes, still clouded with tears, and saw a piece of protruding flesh. I bit on it, feeling that it was the right thing to do, and sure enough, like an open tap, the sweet thing filled my mouth. I swallowed it heartily, earnestly suckling on the piece of flesh for more. Mother chuckled at how intensely I was nursing, although occasionally grunting when I bit too hard.

“Nurse him at least twice a day,” instructed Mid-mare. “Only feed him rice when he reaches two years, and make sure that it is watery; solid rice can come when he is three.” Mother nodded with a smile.

“Thanks, Mid-mare.”

“Oh please, it’s nothing. I helped your mother deliver you; it’s only right that I help you in turn, hm?” answered Mid-mare with a shrug.

I finished nursing. Mother brought me up to her face and gently nuzzled me. I responded with another little boop on her cheeks, causing her to giggle softly. My desire for milk satiated, I curled myself into a little ball and eased into her cradling hoofs, the first strokes of sleep caressing me into a deep, dreamless slumber.

***

I do not remember waking up. I was aware that I was not asleep anymore though.

Everything was still blurry – patches of bright orange twinkled like stars in the night sky, and shadows lurked in the deep corners of my vision. It was hot too; I likened the heat to an overload of love, because I felt that Mother’s love was warm. I wondered if she was hugging me too much.

Shapes began to form. In particular, a reddish-black glob caught my attention. I rolled over to the side, fixing a fiercely curious gaze on the shifting, palpitating thing floating in front of me. It rolled, danced, and hopped up high into the air, before dissolving into a fixed shape and size.

My vision cleared. I was laying on something soft, cradled within a pair of hoofs. Mother’s lap. To her side was a small candle, a flickering orange flame atop its melting head. And directly in front of me was a small, red-black clay bowl, set there not more than a second ago by somepony else; Mid-mare likely.

It looked rather cute, I felt. It was small, unevenly curved, and was a little chipped on its edge. The candlelight danced freely on the black external surface, uninhibited by the ominous color. It was the only source of light in the room; no wonder shadows lurked in the corners of my vision.

The bowl was attractive. It held a certain luster that I couldn't describe. Maybe…maybe if I could just touch it…

I tried pushing Mother’s hoofs off of me. They were slack and heavy, and it was quite the battle to get them off, but I eventually won. Mother was sleeping perhaps, else I would not have escaped her tight grasp.

I landed on the floor, crumpling like a heap of cloth because I had yet to be gifted with the ability to stand. It didn't matter. With natural ease I stretched my forehoofs, planted them into the floor, and pulled hard. I felt movement. The bowl came an inch closer to me; or rather, I came an inch closer to the bowl. I repeated the process again and again, ignoring the itch of the rough floor grazing my barrel.

I heard a little chink. Ears perking sharply, I looked up, bonking into something hard, and something black.

It was the bowl. Triumph bubbled inside me. I had reached the bowl! Pushing myself up, I collapsed on my butt and sat upright, resting my front hoofs on the small crockery. It felt smooth on the outside, but bumpy on the inside, with little grooves circling the inner surface. I ran a scrawny hoof over the grooves, giggling with delight at how satisfying it felt. This I did for a long time; for how long I don’t know really.

I decided that from then on this bowl was mine, and mine only, giving it a small but earnest hug to stamp my possession upon it. I would love and protect this bowl, just as Mother would love and protect me.

Thus I made my first friend – a small, red and black clay bowl. Heh.

Chapter II: Once I was Seven Years Old

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.

Chapter III: What is Love?

I sat for dinner, but did not eat. I had my bowl in hoof and spoon at the ready, but I was not scooping up the millet and putting it into my mouth to consume.

No, rather, I was mindlessly swirling the spoon around the mushy food, staring into space. Well, I looked like staring into space. I was actually thinking. Thinking about what? About…

“Thunder, are you alright?” asked Mother, concerned.

“Hmm…yeah, I’m alright…” I answered nonchalantly.

“Are you sure..?” asked Mother with extreme doubt.

“Ngh...”

“Thunder!”

“Yahh!” I cried, accidentally throwing my bowl high up into the air. Hot steaming millet spilled all over me while the bowl landed on my head with a loud and painful ‘thunk.’ The spoon…well, it landed in Mother’s bowl, spraying some of her own food onto her as well.

I peeked from under my clay helmet. Mother would surely get angry.

“I’m sorry Mother…” I whispered, feeling her gaze upon me. It was surely an incensed gaze.

“Hm…mm…mhahaha!!” laughed Mother. “Hahaha!”

For a brief moment I sat there confused, unsure if I should relax and join in her mirth or prepare for an absolute mother-son slaughter-talk. For some reason, rebelling against my own mental protests, I joined the laugh, filling the night air with a joyful din.

It died down as quickly as it had started though.

“Go clean yourself up, you’re a mess,” said Mother.

“So are you!” I riposted, jabbing a hoof at the glob of millet sliding down her neck. She smiled nervously.

“Oh, it seems I am!” she grinned, retrieving a cloth to wipe herself clean before passing it to me.

Clean-up was quick and easy. Its aftermath was not. I desperately hoped that Mother wouldn’t ask me what I was–

“So, Thunder, what were you thinking about so hard that you launched your food into the air?” asked Mother with a devious smile as she poured a fresh cup of tea.

I tried to keep a level face. “Ah…it’s nothing, r-really, um…I was just, you know, thinking!”

It was unconvincing, really. I was aware of it. Mother certainly was too. Perhaps she decided to play along.

“Really? About…what?”

She leaned in closer as she asked that question. A bead of sweat began to trickle down my brow, certainly not caused by the hot steam rising from the cup Mother just hoofed to me.

I chuckled nervously. “Well, I uh, was thinking about thinking! You know, like those great philosophers who spend their time thinking about…thinking?”

Mother raised an interested eyebrow. “Ooh, my son wants to become a philosopher?”

“Hehe, y-yeah..!” I responded as quickly as possible.

“Hmm…I thought you liked to draw.”

Shoot. “U-uh, yeah, that t-too! Yeah, uh, philosophy and drawing! Ha!” I grinned, trying to give substance to my lie.

I apparently hadn’t learned that nopony bought lies because they were very expensive. To be fair, I was never the business type anyway.

Mother scowled with a face between utter incredulity and amused venality. She obviously saw through my bluff and was perhaps deciding whether to punish or praise me for entertaining her.

There was no hiding this time, no clay helmet to shrink away in. I sat there bare and open to Mother’s conflicted expression.

Unbeknownst to me, she cracked a smile.

“Poorly played son, but I enjoyed it. Well done!” she commented.

I looked up confused for the second time. “You’re not…mad at me?”

She giggled. “Is there reason to? Your lie was sooo unconvincing that I never thought of it as a lie in the first place!” She then collapsed to the ground in a fit of loud laughter. I didn’t join her this round, because I was more confused than amused.

“What’s so funny, Meiko?” called a gruff voice from next door.

“Oh, it’s none of your business Fugu! Go back to your mare!” laughed Mother.

“Wha– I don’t even have a mare!” riposted Fugu.

“Awww, are you…mareless? Haha!” mocked Mother.

“Sh-shaddap! I have a daughter, you know!”

“Well, if it comforts you” – she pointed a hoof at me – “Thunder here is mareless too!”

I could hear the cringe from next door. “H-he’s fourteen! Of course he’s mareless!”

“Hah, you’d be surprised. He’s actually been spending lots of time with your daughter!”

I sat there, staring at Mother, my hoofs so frozen still that my tea should have turned ice-cold. I flushed an alarming red, and my lungs had been squeezed dry of moist air. I was rendered speechless.

Mother flashed me a cheeky wink as Fugu collapsed into a fit of hysteric confusion.

***

It’s not like those romantic novels where the stallion bumps into the mare and they fall in love at first sight, or some small saintly filly with angel wings hides behind a bush and shoots a heart-tipped arrow into a stallion passing by. Those scenes can be considered miraculous at best, absolute crap at worst.

Tama and I grew up together. We played a lot, sat in class together, and…well, grew up together.

I do not know when, why, or how I began to wonder if we could be more than friends. It just came. Time only told when I realised it.

I was fourteen then. Fugu mentioned he’d gotten married at sixteen. Millet, the rice merchant, said he’d done it when he was thirteen. Well, that was all I ever remembered of marriage in the village. I’d grown up around more mares than stallions though.

I tried not to think about it when Tama said she’d made rice balls for me. Lots of them. I was not bothered. She did this occasionally.

Took me by surprise when I realised she said that it was “just for me.” And with a timid smile. Huh, she even shuffled her hoofs when she said that…how can I even remember all of this?

Well, I said my thanks and she left me to enjoy it. Turns out, they tasted the same. But what wasn’t same was that really, really weird feeling tickling my inside. I could’ve laughed out loud then.

She did that quite often, often enough to catch some questions from Midmare or some of the others. They didn’t say anything, but their eyes said it all, I swear. They smiled and winked at me. Oh, they knew.

I said nothing. She said nothing. The mares said nothing. Well, either one had to say something.

I count it a blessing that neither Conch nor Abalone caught wind of it. The entire land – I’m not kidding, the entire land – would’ve known of this unspoken romance had it been otherwise. On the other hand, it would at least serve the authorities something to feed upon other than war, war, war…

That evening, she came again, bringing the rice balls that she made just for me. I decided that I couldn’t keep the secret any longer. She would come and then go. It could be otherwise today.

“Thanks Tama,” I said with a smile.

“It’s no trouble,” she grinned. She turned to leave. C’mon, there was my chance!

“Hey, um…why don’t we share? I can’t finish it all by myself.”

Truth is, I could. But, not today.

“O-oh, um…are you sure, Thunder?”

“Yup. Plus, why don’t you taste your own work too? Enjoy yourself as well.”

She hesitated. Oh my goodness, the sunset painting her face..! It made those big eyes shine beautifully…

“U-um, ok.”

I moved a bit to give space on the log. My heart beat a little faster. Crap, I hope I don’t make her uncomfortable.

“Here, you go first,” I offered. She accepted it with a small dip of her head. I found that pretty cute.

Her face lit up at the first bite. “I never thought it tasted that good…” mused Tama. I giggled.

“You thought it tasted bad?”

“Oh, no, of course not! But I thought it would never match up with your mother’s, or any other mare’s cooking, for that matter…”

“Well, I like it, really.”

“Y-you do?”

I nodded with a smile. “Yup.”

She turned away, trying to hide that abashed face. “T-thanks.”

“Although, you could do better on the salt.”

She giggled, turning to face me. “I thought you said it was good!”

I opened my mouth to reply, but stopped myself to observe her face. A few grains of rice stuck to her mouth just under her nostrils, and the chewed remains of a flower hung lazily from her bottom teeth. Together with her big eyes and choppy, chocolate-brown mane, she looked…

Absolutely stunning. Cute perhaps, dorky even.

“Heh, you look really cute.”

***

“So, how long have you two been a thing, Thunder?” asked Mother with an interested, almost hungry, look. It looked kinda scary, obviously.

“A-a-a-about…a…m-m-m-month…” squeaked I.

“Tsk, needs to be longer.”

“Y-y-y-yeah.”

She turned to Fugu, who’d calmed down by now, though I doubted it would last long. They whispered in hushed tones, and I could only pick up questions like, “So, what’d you think..?” or, “Nah, it wouldn’t…”

I sat there, opposite the two parents, like a prisoner of war awaiting his fate. I’d been coerced into telling everything about Tama and me to the two of them, and now I was waiting for their sentence. My heart was beating pretty hard in my chest, and somewhere down there I felt the urge to pee…

“Thunder,” called Mother.

“Y-yes?”

“I’m very upset.”

I looked down, trying to appear submissive, in the hope of obtaining a more lenient punishment. “Yes, Mother.”

She took a deep breath. “I’M VERY UPSET THAT YOU’VE A BETTER LOVE STORY THAN MEEE!!!” She broke down and wailed.

Fugu joined in. “I TOO AM VERY UPSET THAT YOU GOT A MARE AT SUCH A RIPE AGE, MUCH LESS MY OWN DAUGHTER!!!”

Then, they both said together as one voice: “WE APPROVE!”

This scene can be considered exaggerated, like, something straight out of a comic. But their approval is no exaggeration, nor my absolute surprise. In fact, I consider the power of that approval more than enough to create and destroy worlds, universes in fact.

They calmed down pretty soon after. I was still trying to process the fact that they said yes. Mother, though, had one thing to say.

“Before you continue, Thunder…”

“Y-y-y-yes?”

“Apologize to Fugu for not obtaining his permi–”

My head immediately crashed into the ground.
“MrFuguIsincerelyapologizefornotaskingyourpermissionpleaseforgivemeThankyousomuchforyourapproval!!!”

Fugu leaned in and nodded his shaggy head, stuttering a pathetic “Yes.”

Why they approved just like that, I’ll never understand. But it seemed that Tama and I were actually a thing now.

I couldn’t wait for our next rice-ball date.

Author's Note

I enjoyed writing this chapter.