The Forgotten: Travelerby JatheusChaptersChapter XVIIChapter XVIIIChapter XIXChapter XXChapter XVIIOnce upon a time in the magical land of Equestria, there was a young mare who encountered a tree that feeds on sorrow and sadness. The tree drank too deeply, and the mare was so heartbroken that she completely lost her memory. A wise old unicorn magister took her in and retrained her to speak, read, and many other things. Within but a year, the wise old unicorn passed away, leaving the forgotten mare alone. The seasons changed, and after intently studying the books that had been left behind, the mare set out on an adventure to discover clues to her forgotten past. Soon, she found the nearby city of Hollow Shades, where she made friends and searched for anyone who remembered her. After exhausting hope of any meaningful discovery and having learned many useful lessons, she began traveling Equestria to continue her quest. This is the story of Mestra Amymone... Mestra Amymone sat in the shade of a great oak tree, wiping the sweat from her brow. The afternoon summer sun scorched everything that strayed beneath its rays. She took in a deep breath of humid air, letting the scents of grass and earth fill her lungs before letting it go. Four luminous golden butterflies, Mestra’s constant companions, strayed from the safety of the shade, dancing all the brighter to birdsongs in the sunlight before quickly darting back to rest on the mare’s wide brimmed hat. She removed that covering, careful to not disturb the butterflies as she set it beside her in the shade. The faintest cool breeze tickled her mane, though it was not enough to really make her comfortable. Mestra thought back, recalling to her imagination when she and her friend Stormy had played in the rain. … “Ah! Aah!” Mestra had called. “It’s just rain,” Stormy shrugged. The forgotten mare pointed, “Fat rain!” And indeed it was. Plump raindrops fell somewhat sporadically, making satisfying smacking sounds as they hit the ground. It was unlike any precipitation Mestra had previously seen. A mischievous smile curled Stormy’s lips, “Let’s go!” Filled with exhilaration, Mestra and Stormy charged through the house, bolting through the door and into the rain. Stormy’s mother was shouting after them, but they didn’t pay her any attention. They danced around the big drops of water, splashing in the forming mud and laughing as they went. The pair confined their cherubic revelry to Stormy’s front yard, but that did nothing to dampen the glee that was unleashed at their frivolity. One of the massive drops smacked Mestra’s head, making her gasp after it ran down her nose. … Mestra Amymone couldn’t help but smile at the memory. It did make her less aware of the heat, though not actually any cooler. Reasoning that she had time to wait for the sun to ease its scorching, she rummaged in her saddle bags for paper and pencil. Shifting into a less comfortable but more functional position, she began to write. ‘Dear Stormy and Misty, it has not rained here. It is hot. No pony in the last town knew me. It was a small place. I stayed there for a week. I have bits for a month. I will stop for a job soon. Mestra.’ A hot breeze rolled across the plain before her, and the forgotten mare put away her things and dozed for a while. As the afternoon wore on, Mestra Amymone continued her trek down the road. She would still have several hours of light before she needed to stop. Walking in the dark was far too difficult, especially on nights with little moonlight to see by. Just before sunset, she happened upon a small stream. The water looked and smelled clean, so Mestra filled her canteen. Taken with a need to cool off and a certain whimsy, she splashed in the water, giving herself a proper soak that chased her butterflies away. Considering whether she should go ahead and give herself a proper cleaning, she was taken in another memory from her time with Stormy and her mother, Misty. … “Oof!” Stormy scrunched her muzzle. Misty sniffed the air, wrinkling her nose as well. “Stormy, would you show Mestra to the bathroom?” The younger mare let out a sigh, “Yes, momma.” Returning her attention to their guest, Misty continued, “No doubt you’ll want to get cleaned up now that you’re back around others and not living alone in the wilds.” “Ah?” the forgotten mare asked, unsure of the implication. Stormy looked at the visitor and then back to her mother, the sleepiness in her expression giving way to bewilderment. Misty took a breath. “When you don’t have the opportunity to keep yourself clean, one can develop an... an unpleasant odor.” “Ah?” “To be blunt, you smell too bad to be inside, so you need to take a bath.” “Ah!” Mestra finally understood what the others were getting at, “Mestra can bath. Mestra know how.” The others seemed relieved, and Stormy led the way to the bathroom, showing Mestra where to find the soaps and towels she would need to complete the task. The mare was quite pleasantly surprised to find warm water, as much as she could want, coming right out of the wall at the turn of a knob. At her Magister’s cottage, they’d had a wash tub that they had to fill, first heating the water over a fire. This more luxurious way of bathing was much to Mestra’s liking. Her butterflies found a place to hide from the shower atop a mirror near the sink. Mestra was surprised by the amount of dirt that washed from her coat. It compelled her to wash her mane a second time. Though she made no effort to hurry, she had nearly finished when Misty interrupted. “Are you finished in there?” “Ah!” … A thorough washing completed, Mestra Amymone left the small stream behind. Her butterflies reunited with her, making their perch on her hat again. Much comforted by her memories, she continued her journey toward the next town. Chapter XVIIIIt was another hot day. Pleasantly, Mestra Amymone finally reached the forest that she’d been heading towards, and so the road on which she traveled was shaded from the worst of the sun. Even so, the humid air had an unpleasant way of pressing in all around. The mare had been warned more than once about straying into the forest. The woods around Hollow Shades hadn’t been exactly dangerous, but the farther away she walked, the more keenly she became aware that there were wild creatures that might find a pony traveling alone to be an enticing meal. It was quite a frightful thought, but Misty had assured her that so long as she stayed on the road, she shouldn’t encounter anything dangerous. Mestra Amymone stopped near midday to consume a little provender from her bag and drink some water. She was well coated in sweat, but couldn’t spare the water for anything but drinking. The glowing butterflies that never left her alone were gliding around in no particular direction. She liked to watch them. It was almost as if they danced in the air. Rather suddenly, they changed from their random flitting, all returning to the mare and landing on her large hat. It was then that her ears picked up a noise. Fear was her first reaction, but she remained calm. The sound was a rhythm, like the sound of a pony walking at a steady, almost leisurely, pace. She stood and turned toward what her ears reported. From the direction she had come, a lone stallion walked around the bend and into sight. He was an earth pony with a brown coat that was broken by a white blaze on his face. His dark brown mane hung low, almost obscuring one of his bright blue eyes. He stopped when he noticed her. The many large bags with which he was laden shifted slightly. He seemed to have no trouble bearing them. “Hello there,” his voice was smooth and inviting. “Hi,” she replied, remembering her manners. The two gazed at each other for a long moment before he spoke again. “I must say, you are a lovely surprise to find on this road.” Mestra felt her face grow warmer. It was not the first time she had been flattered, but it was not a sensation to which she was accustomed. “Usually this path is an empty one, and the distance between towns can make it rather lonely.” She stood silently, still observing the stallion. “Those are the most beautiful butterflies! How do you get them to stay on your hat?” The mare shrugged, “They just follow me.” “Where are my manners?” the stallion struck his head. “My name is Brill, explorer and world traveller extraordinaire. Presently, I find myself a spice merchant; I am carrying spices from the far east and selling them across our very own Equestria. I suppose with as many occupations as one such as I have dabbled in, you might call me a Jack-of-all-trades.” “I am Mestra Amymone.” “Are you named for the butterflies?” She tilted her head quizzically at him. “Your name,” he continued, “it is shared by a species of butterfly that lives in the south.” “I did not know.” “I see. Well, it is a beautiful name for a beautiful mare.” She felt her face go hot again. She realized she was blushing, but she wasn’t sure how to make it stop. “Please don’t think me presumptuous, but we seem to be heading in the same direction, at least for a while. How would it be if we shared the road? I have little to offer but my company and perhaps stories of my travels.” Mestra wasn’t generally suspicious by nature, but this stallion had already made her blush twice in a matter of minutes, a most uncomfortable sensation. This was enough to cause her to hesitate. “We could also share food if you’d like a bit of variety. I have some spices here that will make even the most mundane oats dazzle like a gourmet dish from the finest restaurant in Manehattan.” Sampling new food sounded nice enough. However, it occurred to Mestra that his knowledge of Equestria could be useful to her quest. This is what ultimately helped her decide. “Okay,” she finally replied. “Excellent!” he closed the distance between them. “Shall we go then?” “Ah.” They started walking, and he began talking. “From the burning sands to the south, beyond the salty east seas, and to the frozen tundra in the north, the stallion Brill has traveled. I’ve been through hill and dale, town and country, marshland and open sea. I’ve seen where the timberwolves den deep in the Everfree Forest. I have discovered the roosts of dragons, high in the mountains. I spent the night with quarray eels in their cavernous canyon dwellings. I even once spotted a hydra resting in a swamp. The road may be long, but I assure you, I have tales aplenty to last until we part ways, my lovely companion.” Mestra felt herself blush again, but she didn’t reply. Her butterflies flitted about the newcomer, but eventually returned to their place on her hat as they walked on, the stallion speaking all the while. It didn’t take long for her to become entranced by his stories. The places that Brill had been and the things that he had seen were nothing short of amazing to the forgotten mare. “In a faraway land live a race of equine called the Kirin. Now, most ponies will call me a liar and claim they don’t exist, but I have seen them with my own eyes. They live in beautiful harmony with magic and nature and with each other, and it’s a good thing too. For nearby can be found the most frightful creature, a kind of fire demon that they call the Nirik. I was able to establish a rudimentary understanding with one of their stallions, and he took me to the very place where the Nirik had destroyed a village once before. Ashes were all that remained, and…” Brill trailed off as if distracted. “Oh, here’s a problem,” he stopped short. The butterflies darted ahead across a river that crossed in front of the pair. Remnants of a wooden bridge were clearly visible on either side, but they were no longer connected. “Ah?” the mare asked. “That rain last week must have washed the bridge out.” Brill seemed to be speaking to himself as much as to Mestra. He began looking around, his eyes eventually fixing on something upward. He tentatively walked out onto the broken bridge, cautiously testing it. Mestra was about to follow, but then she thought better of it. The care that Brill took made her wary. “It will be doable, but difficult,” he said. “If I were not on something of a schedule, I’d go around, but that would take at least a day to reach the nearest crossing.” Brill unloaded the numerous bags he was carrying. He rummaged in one of the smaller ones until he pulled out a large coil of rope. Turning his attention back to the river, he spoke. “That’s at least ten yards.” Finding a strong piece of railing, the stallion tied off his rope and tested the knot. Seeming satisfied, he turned to the mare. “By my estimation, this is but a minor inconvenience to our journey, one that I will have us across shortly. I would have suggested that we swim, but the current seems a little too fast for the baggage we carry, and so I deem it most fruitful to tie off the rope on the other end, and we can slide our bags across one by one. Then you can cross last. Is this agreeable to you?” “Ah…” “Brilliant, now, I need you to be ready to pull me back up if I should get into trouble. I don’t expect any mind you. Do you understand?” “Ah.” Brill nodded, tying the other end of the rope to himself. He was uncharacteristically quiet as he descended the bank, using the rope to steady himself. He swam, being pulled downstream as he crossed. He didn’t seem to have any trouble, and Mestra wondered whether she could learn to swim like that. Brill remained silent as he climbed up the other bank, making his way to the other side of the broken bridge. He shook water from his coat, though he was so thoroughly soaked that he continued to drip afterwards. The little glowing butterflies flitted across the gap, circling Brill once before heading back to Mestra. “Well hello there, little friends,” the stallion chortled as he brushed his mane out of his face. “Utterly fascinating!” He quickly untied the rope from himself and found a place to secure it, making the line taut. He then pulled a knife from a pouch and cut off the rest of the rope. The part tied across the gap may have been a third of the total length. Next, he made a large loop around the suspended rope and tied it to hold its shape. Finally, he took the other end of the rope, making a snarl of a knot that was the size of a large grapefruit. “This is called a monkey fist,” Brill said. “Mohn… kee… fist.” “Quite. It is just a name. It’s a trick that a sailor taught me once when I sailed Maretime Bay. That’s a story for another day, but it makes it easy for us to toss the rope across to one another. You understand?” Mestra cocked her head to one side, not completely sure she saw how they were going to use this setup to get across the water. “I will throw the monkey fist to you,” Brill explained, “then you pull the length of rope over. Tie my saddle bags on at the loop end, then throw the monkey fist back to me. I can pull my bags across. Then I’ll throw it back and we can do it again, and again to get everything across. Well… how are you at climbing?” The mare looked at the rope, and more pertinently at the water below. She shook her head, heart pounding. Deep water was the last place she wanted to be. Having once fallen through ice and nearly drowning, Mestra was quite respectful of the danger. “I see. Well, like I said, you can go to another crossing, but it is a bit out of your way and I certainly don’t have the time. While I would be much saddened to be robbed of your company… If you would be good enough to at least tie my bags on, I’ll get them across one by one and be on my way.” Brill tossed the rope across the river, the monkey fist smacking the side of the bridge nearest Mestra and skidding onto the road. She picked up the knotted end of the rope, and examined Brill’s saddle bags, running the rope through a strap before realizing that she had not pulled the loop across the river yet. “Mestra sorry,” she said as she left the bag to pull the length of rope to her side. “Oh, that’s hardly necessary. You’ve done nothing to give offense, I assure you!” She worked quietly, making a simple square knot, or something like it. Feeling satisfied with her effort, she threw the monkey fist directly into the river. She felt her face flush in embarrassment. “Not to worry,” Brill laughed. “Just pull it up and try again. I’m sure that rope has been wet before, no harm done.” The mare pulled the soggy length of the rope back up and inspected it. She reared back and lobbed it hard. The butterflies scattered from her hat at the sudden motion, and the monkey fist sailed through the air until the length of the rope was spent. It went tight and then the end bounced back, falling well behind a laughing Brill. “All or nothing with you, I see. But you got the job done and that is what counts after all.” He worked quickly to remove his bag, easily undoing the knot that Mestra had made. The mare felt conflicted within. She did like the idea of keeping her new friend at least until the next town, but she was afraid to climb across the rope. “Safe?” she asked. “Safe? You mean to cross? Why, of course. You see how I pulled my bags across. I can pull you across in the very same way. There’s really nothing to worry about once you are tied to the rope.” She took a deep breath and said, “I cross.” They repeated the procedure until all of the stallion’s things were safely across the river. His own bags removed, Brill tossed the monkey fist back to Mestra. She picked it up warily and slowly pulled the loop back to her side, her heart pounding all the while. She wondered what Stormy would do. She gulped, considering Stormy to be fearless. Mestra began to tie the rope around her shoulders. “It might be more easily done if you send your bags first. It makes less weight on the line and no chance of getting tangled.” That made sense to the mare, but she had just managed to get herself tied quite securely in a knot that she didn’t know how to undo. She looked up at him sheepishly. Brill smiled, “I’m sure that’ll do just fine. Your bags are far lighter and smaller than mine.” She threw the monkey fist back to Brill, and he pulled up the slack and waited. Mestra wanted to go forward, but her hooves remained firmly planted on the bridge. “Are you alright?” He asked. Mestra nodded even as her legs began to quiver underneath her. Brill waited a moment longer; but the mare simply couldn’t move. “The rope is strong,” he said soothingly. “Just watch.” He dropped his end of the line, and then slowly climbed out on the secured rope, hanging over the river for a moment. He pulled up and bounced himself twice to demonstrate that it was secure before climbing back up. “Besides that, you’re tied on. You can’t fall. And if anything goes wrong, I’m right here to help.” Mestra Amymone tried to swallow, but a lump had formed in her throat. She forced her leg forward, shaky and weak though it was. Her butterfly companions were circling her head, beckoning her to follow the other way, away from the bridge. She ignored them. She took a deep breath, summoning what reserves of courage she had. Her heart pounded, deafening even beyond the gurgling of the river below. She forced another step, and another until she stood at the edge. There was nowhere left to go but down. A cold sweat covered her body as the mare committed her weight to the rope. The thin line seemed utterly tiny and inadequate to hold her. She eased forward, testing it. The braids creaked under the strain but showed no signs of breaking. From the other side, Brill gently pulled up the slack in the line until it was nearly taut. Mestra pulled herself along, suspended over the rushing river below. Inch by inch, she eased across the gap. It seemed somehow farther away than when she had started. A breeze kicked up as she swayed over the drop. Mestra’s mouth had become dry. She wished she could take a drink, but it would have to wait. She forced her breaths into an even rhythm, a trick Stormy had taught her to remain calm. “There you are,” Brill grinned as he reached out and helped Mestra climb up onto the far side. Standing upright, she looked back across the void and her legs buckled, forcing her to fall unceremoniously onto her rump. Brill let out a hearty laugh as he began working at the knot to untie the mare. Her heart pounded still, though it was beginning to slow. A twinge of elation worked through Mestra’s body at the accomplishment, causing her to shiver. “Come now, it wasn’t really all that bad, was it?” Perhaps not, but Mestra Amymone would be quite happy if she did not have to do anything like that again anytime soon. Chapter XIX“You know,” Brill said, “I’m not sure what kind of knot you made back there, but I have never seen a snarl like that.” “Ah…” she replied. “I’m serious,” he chuckled, “I have seen all kinds of knots, so for you to nearly stump me is quite the rare day indeed.” The butterflies rested on Mestra’s hat as the two continued their journey. “In fact, the only other time I can remember seeing a knot like that was when I visited the plains buffalo far to the south. Now, if you’ve ever heard stories about them, most likely you were told that they are mindless savages, but they actually have quite a complex social structure that in many ways is not that different from the way we interact with each other.” “Well, I found out the hard way just what happens when you break one of their taboos. At the time, I was exploring more than trading, and inexperienced as I was in life, I had a tendency to be a bit cavalier and impulsive. Not that I ever meant any harm, mind you. I only mention it for context. You might say I was young and foolish.” Mestra nodded, and then realized he was not looking at her as they walked, and so she vocalized sheepishly, “Ah…” “So, there I was,” he continued as if unaware of her lack of social graces, “wandering the wilds of the south, when I found myself out of water. By the time I fully grasped the seriousness of my situation, I was well aware that going back was scarcely an option. So I did what I could to increase my chances. I slowed my pace, rested during the heat of the day, began traveling by night, those sorts of things.” “I was beginning to think that the desert went on forever when I stumbled upon, what I later found out, was a buffalo burial ground. Now, there being nothing to constitute shade in such vast reaches, I was amazed to find tall structures, though you might think them crude at first glance. The point is, they were suspended in the air a few yards and were a perfect place to hide from the sun.” “What happened next is a bit fuzzy in my memory, as I had passed out from exhaustion. I awoke near evening, surrounded by buffalo. When they noticed I was awake, they gave me water, which contented me in a temporary sense to be at their mercy.” “Well, as it happens, they revere their grave sites far more than we do, and hold them to be sacred. My trespass in using them for shade was quite ill taken, and so they delivered me to their chief to see what would be done with me for the offense.” “I did my best to explain that I had no knowledge or intention to dishonor their ancestors, but they were quite unreasonable about the whole affair. In the end, the chief did give a bit of leniency since I was, in his words, filled with child-like stupidity. So, rather than bury me up to my neck and leave me for the ants, as is their custom, they tied me to a cactus with some formidable ropes.” Brill laughed, “That suited me just fine, becoming a pincushion notwithstanding. I think I was removing spines for a year or more. Anyway, being something of an expert on knots, I attempted to free myself, but found this quite nearly impossible. It was made only more difficult by getting pinned by the cactus with each move.” “I had to employ every rope craft trick I ever learned, and I did eventually, through no small effort, free myself. At that point, I apparently earned some level of respect, and the buffalo accepted me as a guest. They taught me their customs, how to find water, which is more plentiful than you might expect in such an arid climate, and after a few months, I was on my way….” Listening to Brill’s stories made the day slip by. Before Mestra knew it, the sun had gone down, and the pair found a small clearing by the road that made for a soft place to camp for the night. Brill helped her light a fire, talking all the while. She didn’t mind that in the slightest, for she was rather enjoying hearing about his adventures. Eating dinner was the first thing that brought substantial silence between them since she’d agreed to share the road, and Mestra Amymone found it somewhat unsettling. Her butterflies danced around their little campsite, carefree as usual. Brill provided apples, and Mestra offered some oats, which they made into oatmeal with a bit of brown sugar and cinnamon from his spices. “I’m afraid I’ve been an awful traveling companion,” Brill eventually broke the silence during their meal. “I’ve been going on for hours and never thought to ask where you’re from.” Mestra Amymone took a breath as the memories of the last two years worked through her mind. She couldn’t remember much from before she’d found that cabin in the woods where her Magister had taught her so many things. Her time with Misty and Stormy, and the friends she’d made at school were far more fresh. But where was she from? That was a question to which she had no answer. She looked up at the trees, vibrant and green in the midst of spring, though painted somewhat ominously by the firelight. She shifted on the undergrowth, which crunched and released its earthy scents. “I do not remember,” she finally ventured. Brill let out a small gasp of surprise, “Not at all?” “No.” “Now that is interesting. I’ve never met somepony who didn’t know where they were from. I suppose you could begin with what you do remember, if you don’t mind telling your story, that is.” She took another deep breath, “The butterflies. I remember they led me into the forest. I met my Magister at his cabin. He taught me numbers and letters. He said I should try to find somepony who knew me from before. I was in Hollow Shades for a year. Nopony there recognized me. I made friends.” “Fascinating,” the stallion stared at her, lit by the flickering of the fire. Brill seemed as mesmerized by her words as she had felt by his, though Mestra doubted whether she was telling her story with anywhere near the skill that he had shown. “Now I am going to the next town. Maybe someone there will remember me.” His eyes glinted as a smile filled his face. “I have no doubt that you’ll succeed. A pretty mare like you couldn’t have gone unnoticed.” Mestra felt herself blush again. Confused feelings grew inside her. She felt both good and bad at the same time. His expression softened, and he looked away as if he were aware she had become uncomfortable. “The forest is coming alive. Can you hear it?” The mare listened. There were nocturnal insects and beasts of all sorts making calls across the night. She nodded. “If you would like, I could tell one last story before we get some sleep.” “Okay.” “I’ve been in many forests in my travels. This one most reminds me of the northern end of Hayseed Swamps. Now, the southern end is where it gets its name. That whole area is quite marshy, a bog that never dries out, but the northern end is rather nice for three seasons of the year. Not that it gets terribly cold that far south in the winter, but without the foliage in the trees, the wind can be a bit biting.” “In any case, I found myself there one evening as the sun was going down. The closest town would have been Dodge Junction, which was a fair distance from the forest anyway, so I decided to camp for the night. I went to bed shortly after Celestia lowered the sun, but I awoke in the darkness to discover a cooing sound that I had never heard before.” “I was a bit frightened at first. Not that the unknown frightens me, but I have learned to be a bit wary of uncertain situations. Timberwolves and ursas are bad enough, but sometimes there are foul creatures that sleep in the forests. It is always good to know the sounds and signs of them to ensure that one steers clear.” “I cautiously left my bedroll to investigate, and I discovered something akin to fireflies. They were a bit larger to be sure, almost the size of grapes. They flew about like hummingbirds and lit up the night in all different colors, from pinks to blues, purples and greens. They were definitely the source of the noise, which was more like a humming once I got among them. It was as they luminesced that they sang to each other. I never did find out what their right name was, but I called them forest sprites since they reminded me of fairies...” Mestra Amymone’s imagination began running wild as she stared into the dwindling flames and listened to the story her companion was telling. Hayseed Swamps certainly sounded like a magical place that she must visit should she ever pass nearby. She strained to listen, but her eyes grew heavy as her loquacious companion prattled on at some length. Eventually, she was unable to fight it, and sleep took her for a while. Her dreams were filled with fairies and fireflies deep in a magical forest where the plants glowed and sang in the darkness. Chapter XXMestra Amymone stirred, awakening to near total darkness. She looked up, and Brill was crouched over her, his outline just visible by orange ember-light. He made a shushing sound as her butterflies began swarming his face, casting their faint glow to reveal his features. A look of either concern or fear filled his eyes. “Did you hear that?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. Mestra shook her head and strained her ears. “I could have sworn I just heard a saber-cat chuffing,” Brill spoke in a ghostly voice. The mare’s mouth went dry as her pulse quickened. She was suddenly wide awake. She stood up as quietly as possible, each movement crunching the dead vegetation that covered the forest floor. The pair of ponies stood side by side, looking opposing directions deep into the darkness that was the forest. Mestra’s blood pumped loudly in her ears with each heavy beat of her heart. Her breaths became short and shallow in anticipation of what was coming. The moment stretched on, Mestra licked her lips, watching, waiting…. Nothing happened. Mestra slowed her breaths and took them deeply, trying to regain a more level disposition. There was a quiet, but for the normal sounds of night creatures that are commonly heard in a forest. Crickets and bats and other crawling things were going about their routines, unbothered or unaware of any potential threat. Eventually, at about the time the mare began to suspect that there was no danger, it was Brill who broke the silence of the ponies. The stallion shook his head and sighed, “I’m sorry I got you all worked up. I must have been mistaken.” He let out something like a giggle and returned to his side of their campsite and stirred the ashes, revealing more hot glowing coals. Within a minute of adding more wood, he had the fire going again. Mestra sat down, shaking a little from fright, but not sure what to do about it. Her butterflies landed in her mane, tickling her ears. The night air was cool and damp. She turned to her companion. “I am scared.” He looked at her, clearly concerned, “I’m sorry. I really thought I heard something. I would never scare anypony like that. Especially...” He didn’t finish. He sat across from her, staring. “What?” she asked. “Forget it. I’m sorry.” The mare felt strange. She didn’t know what was churning inside her, but it was something akin to the longing she experienced when she wanted to remember her past. The two exchanged another locked gaze before he spoke again. “I could, I mean, if you want to... I could come closer.” Mestra’s heart began beating much faster again. She felt a weakness in her limbs, but she nodded. The stallion came close to the mare, and he sat beside her. Their bodies were just touching; it felt good. As relief from the tension washed through the mare, she calmed herself enough to lie down. Brill laid beside her, back to back. “I’m sorry I scared you,” he said. “Ah… It is okay.” The pair remained silent for the rest of the night. Brill was still for a long time, but he stirred once or twice before the sun came up. Daylight chased the shadows and the fears of night away, but the mare was exhausted. It didn’t take the two long to clean up their camp and saddle up for their day’s journey. Brill was strangely quiet as they walked. The mare wondered whether he had run out of stories. She didn’t mind the silence as they plodded along the forest road. There were plenty of birds and other cheerful daytime creatures making melodies on the wind. They made good progress, and by mid-afternoon, they had reached the eastern edge of the trees, where the wild terrain gave way to farmland. The cultivation stretched to the horizon, offering a breathtaking view. “Look at that countryside,” Brill said. “I see it,” Mestra replied. Brill cocked one eyebrow up, “What? No, I meant it’s pretty.” “Oh... yes it is.” He looked at her, his expression turning into a slight grin, “Look at that mare.” Mestra Amymone felt herself blush again. “Thank you….” He took a step toward her. She didn’t back away. “You know something? In all my travels, I think I’ve not found anypony quite so easy on the eyes as you… that means pretty.” The mare wondered if there were degrees of blushing. If it were possible, she must have found a high, bright red, level of it. She said nothing. “There is one thing I’ve been lacking,” he continued. “In all of my travels, and in all the stories I told you, didn’t you notice that… In every one of them, I was alone?” She hadn’t noticed. But now that he mentioned it, she realized that it was the case. She nodded. “I think it never really bothered me until last night. Sitting with you by the fire... I... I don’t like the thought of being alone again.” Mestra’s heart quickened and began pounding like a drum. He took another step closer. She felt a great anticipation, but of exactly what she was uncertain. While her lessons on dating and courtship had not been forgotten, her lack of experience in such matters left her befuddled. “Since you’re traveling the road like me, we could go together. Then neither of us would have to be alone.” They were nearly nose to nose now. The mare’s mouth felt impossibly dry, and a lump had formed in her throat. She felt like she should say something, but she didn’t know what to do. “I think,” he paused for a long moment. He looked like he might be reconsidering, or perhaps searching for courage. Those bright blue eyes were looking away now, uncertain. “Go on,” she finally managed. He locked her gaze again. “I think… I’m falling in love with you.” If there were a maximum amount of blushing, Mestra Amymone was certain she had attained it. Brill closed the remaining distance. She thought her heart would burst. She was about to tell him that she did not need foals at this time. Then his lips kissed hers, delicately at first. All coherent thought was lost. A fire was lit in the mare’s soul that burned like the fireworks on the first day of winter. The pair leaned in to each other. The two were locked together for an eternal moment, and a surging of power roared within the mare. The pale longing she’d felt before became a torrential force. It was as if a dam had burst in her soul, letting out an ocean of feelings that she hadn’t previously known. Worlds could have lived and died in that moment, and she might have cared nothing for it. Such was the overwhelming power of the unfamiliar sensations. Brill stepped back and smiled at her. Mestra Amymone felt giddy, almost drunk on the new emotions that had been unleashed. She blinked, only to realize that she had trouble focusing on the stallion. He had become blurry. Perhaps she’d neglected to breathe in all of the excitement. She abruptly sat down as her butterflies darted in front of her face. Brill said something, but his voice sounded far away, so very far away. Her head still swimming, she laid down, though it almost seemed more like the ground rose up to meet her. Everything slowly drifted away like leaves on the wind. … The first light of dawn stabbed Mestra Amymone’s eyes. They opened slowly, as if fighting her. The world was gently spinning in the mare’s vision, and she struggled to stand upright. She was groggy and quite confused. The last time she had felt this way was at a harvest gala where she’d quite unintentionally had too much strong drink. “Brill?” she called out. But nopony came. She turned, only to have the world spin faster. She held her head, moving cautiously to scan the area. She was alone, but for the butterflies that were resting on her hat nearby. Not only was there no sign of Brill, but her bags were also nowhere in sight. Where could he have gone? Morning birds sang, which seemed obtrusive and loud to the mare. She picked up her hat and put it on her pounding head. On the ground, beneath her hat, she discovered a note and her water bottle beside a small pile of oats. Mestra sat down and unfolded the paper. ‘Mestra Amymone, you really should be far more careful in whom you place your trust. You could find all manner of unsavory ponies on the road that would mean to do you harm. I understand if you’ll hate me for this, but you fell asleep because I drugged you, and I’ve stolen all of your money and belongings.’ So stunned was Mestra Amymone that she had to stop reading. She couldn’t believe it. Brill, a thief? He had seemed so nice. He had helped her across the river. He had awakened her when he had heard the saber-cat… if he had actually heard a saber-cat. A burning rage ignited within the mare and hot tears began leaking from her eyes. She struggled to regain her composure and finish reading the note. ‘Now, I may be a thief, but I like to think of myself as an honest thief. I left your water and a little food, which is more than enough to get you to the next town. I trust you’ll have no trouble finding work. I wish you well in your travels and hope you discover the truth of your past someday. Until then, travel a little more warily or you’ll be taken advantage of again or worse. Most Apologetically Yours, Brill.’ The mare’s head was throbbing in a mix of anger and residual effects of whatever the stallion had drugged her with. She looked ahead to the dawn across the countryside. A whole night had passed since Brill had knocked her out. He’d likely be long gone, and even if not, how could she get her things back? Gathering what little remained, she was most distressed to realize that even her winter clothes and the book that she’d taken from her Magister’s house were gone. Mestra eventually started walking, tears streaming down and burning her face with each step. More than every insult the stallion had delivered, she felt stupid and ashamed for falling into his snare. Her magister, as well as Stormy and Misty, had warned her many times about other ponies not all being friendly. While she had met those that didn’t like her, this was the first time she could remember really experiencing this… being used… for herself. It was horrible. She knew that the butterflies would try ease her mind, to lead her to the place where she could forget, but that wouldn’t help anything. She’d just get robbed by another pony later, and she knew it. She needed to remember. A few hours were spent allowing her tears to work themselves all out. As she pressed on toward the next town, the forgotten mare hardened her resolve to discover the secrets of her past in spite of the upsetting setback she had endured. That is how she would succeed. She wouldn’t let scoundrels like Brill get the better of her again. She would be ready. Author's Note I’m afraid that’s all for this adventure of Mestra’s, but there are more tales of her journeys yet to come… Thanks for sticking with me!
Chapter XVIIOnce upon a time in the magical land of Equestria, there was a young mare who encountered a tree that feeds on sorrow and sadness. The tree drank too deeply, and the mare was so heartbroken that she completely lost her memory. A wise old unicorn magister took her in and retrained her to speak, read, and many other things. Within but a year, the wise old unicorn passed away, leaving the forgotten mare alone. The seasons changed, and after intently studying the books that had been left behind, the mare set out on an adventure to discover clues to her forgotten past. Soon, she found the nearby city of Hollow Shades, where she made friends and searched for anyone who remembered her. After exhausting hope of any meaningful discovery and having learned many useful lessons, she began traveling Equestria to continue her quest. This is the story of Mestra Amymone... Mestra Amymone sat in the shade of a great oak tree, wiping the sweat from her brow. The afternoon summer sun scorched everything that strayed beneath its rays. She took in a deep breath of humid air, letting the scents of grass and earth fill her lungs before letting it go. Four luminous golden butterflies, Mestra’s constant companions, strayed from the safety of the shade, dancing all the brighter to birdsongs in the sunlight before quickly darting back to rest on the mare’s wide brimmed hat. She removed that covering, careful to not disturb the butterflies as she set it beside her in the shade. The faintest cool breeze tickled her mane, though it was not enough to really make her comfortable. Mestra thought back, recalling to her imagination when she and her friend Stormy had played in the rain. … “Ah! Aah!” Mestra had called. “It’s just rain,” Stormy shrugged. The forgotten mare pointed, “Fat rain!” And indeed it was. Plump raindrops fell somewhat sporadically, making satisfying smacking sounds as they hit the ground. It was unlike any precipitation Mestra had previously seen. A mischievous smile curled Stormy’s lips, “Let’s go!” Filled with exhilaration, Mestra and Stormy charged through the house, bolting through the door and into the rain. Stormy’s mother was shouting after them, but they didn’t pay her any attention. They danced around the big drops of water, splashing in the forming mud and laughing as they went. The pair confined their cherubic revelry to Stormy’s front yard, but that did nothing to dampen the glee that was unleashed at their frivolity. One of the massive drops smacked Mestra’s head, making her gasp after it ran down her nose. … Mestra Amymone couldn’t help but smile at the memory. It did make her less aware of the heat, though not actually any cooler. Reasoning that she had time to wait for the sun to ease its scorching, she rummaged in her saddle bags for paper and pencil. Shifting into a less comfortable but more functional position, she began to write. ‘Dear Stormy and Misty, it has not rained here. It is hot. No pony in the last town knew me. It was a small place. I stayed there for a week. I have bits for a month. I will stop for a job soon. Mestra.’ A hot breeze rolled across the plain before her, and the forgotten mare put away her things and dozed for a while. As the afternoon wore on, Mestra Amymone continued her trek down the road. She would still have several hours of light before she needed to stop. Walking in the dark was far too difficult, especially on nights with little moonlight to see by. Just before sunset, she happened upon a small stream. The water looked and smelled clean, so Mestra filled her canteen. Taken with a need to cool off and a certain whimsy, she splashed in the water, giving herself a proper soak that chased her butterflies away. Considering whether she should go ahead and give herself a proper cleaning, she was taken in another memory from her time with Stormy and her mother, Misty. … “Oof!” Stormy scrunched her muzzle. Misty sniffed the air, wrinkling her nose as well. “Stormy, would you show Mestra to the bathroom?” The younger mare let out a sigh, “Yes, momma.” Returning her attention to their guest, Misty continued, “No doubt you’ll want to get cleaned up now that you’re back around others and not living alone in the wilds.” “Ah?” the forgotten mare asked, unsure of the implication. Stormy looked at the visitor and then back to her mother, the sleepiness in her expression giving way to bewilderment. Misty took a breath. “When you don’t have the opportunity to keep yourself clean, one can develop an... an unpleasant odor.” “Ah?” “To be blunt, you smell too bad to be inside, so you need to take a bath.” “Ah!” Mestra finally understood what the others were getting at, “Mestra can bath. Mestra know how.” The others seemed relieved, and Stormy led the way to the bathroom, showing Mestra where to find the soaps and towels she would need to complete the task. The mare was quite pleasantly surprised to find warm water, as much as she could want, coming right out of the wall at the turn of a knob. At her Magister’s cottage, they’d had a wash tub that they had to fill, first heating the water over a fire. This more luxurious way of bathing was much to Mestra’s liking. Her butterflies found a place to hide from the shower atop a mirror near the sink. Mestra was surprised by the amount of dirt that washed from her coat. It compelled her to wash her mane a second time. Though she made no effort to hurry, she had nearly finished when Misty interrupted. “Are you finished in there?” “Ah!” … A thorough washing completed, Mestra Amymone left the small stream behind. Her butterflies reunited with her, making their perch on her hat again. Much comforted by her memories, she continued her journey toward the next town.
Chapter XVIIIIt was another hot day. Pleasantly, Mestra Amymone finally reached the forest that she’d been heading towards, and so the road on which she traveled was shaded from the worst of the sun. Even so, the humid air had an unpleasant way of pressing in all around. The mare had been warned more than once about straying into the forest. The woods around Hollow Shades hadn’t been exactly dangerous, but the farther away she walked, the more keenly she became aware that there were wild creatures that might find a pony traveling alone to be an enticing meal. It was quite a frightful thought, but Misty had assured her that so long as she stayed on the road, she shouldn’t encounter anything dangerous. Mestra Amymone stopped near midday to consume a little provender from her bag and drink some water. She was well coated in sweat, but couldn’t spare the water for anything but drinking. The glowing butterflies that never left her alone were gliding around in no particular direction. She liked to watch them. It was almost as if they danced in the air. Rather suddenly, they changed from their random flitting, all returning to the mare and landing on her large hat. It was then that her ears picked up a noise. Fear was her first reaction, but she remained calm. The sound was a rhythm, like the sound of a pony walking at a steady, almost leisurely, pace. She stood and turned toward what her ears reported. From the direction she had come, a lone stallion walked around the bend and into sight. He was an earth pony with a brown coat that was broken by a white blaze on his face. His dark brown mane hung low, almost obscuring one of his bright blue eyes. He stopped when he noticed her. The many large bags with which he was laden shifted slightly. He seemed to have no trouble bearing them. “Hello there,” his voice was smooth and inviting. “Hi,” she replied, remembering her manners. The two gazed at each other for a long moment before he spoke again. “I must say, you are a lovely surprise to find on this road.” Mestra felt her face grow warmer. It was not the first time she had been flattered, but it was not a sensation to which she was accustomed. “Usually this path is an empty one, and the distance between towns can make it rather lonely.” She stood silently, still observing the stallion. “Those are the most beautiful butterflies! How do you get them to stay on your hat?” The mare shrugged, “They just follow me.” “Where are my manners?” the stallion struck his head. “My name is Brill, explorer and world traveller extraordinaire. Presently, I find myself a spice merchant; I am carrying spices from the far east and selling them across our very own Equestria. I suppose with as many occupations as one such as I have dabbled in, you might call me a Jack-of-all-trades.” “I am Mestra Amymone.” “Are you named for the butterflies?” She tilted her head quizzically at him. “Your name,” he continued, “it is shared by a species of butterfly that lives in the south.” “I did not know.” “I see. Well, it is a beautiful name for a beautiful mare.” She felt her face go hot again. She realized she was blushing, but she wasn’t sure how to make it stop. “Please don’t think me presumptuous, but we seem to be heading in the same direction, at least for a while. How would it be if we shared the road? I have little to offer but my company and perhaps stories of my travels.” Mestra wasn’t generally suspicious by nature, but this stallion had already made her blush twice in a matter of minutes, a most uncomfortable sensation. This was enough to cause her to hesitate. “We could also share food if you’d like a bit of variety. I have some spices here that will make even the most mundane oats dazzle like a gourmet dish from the finest restaurant in Manehattan.” Sampling new food sounded nice enough. However, it occurred to Mestra that his knowledge of Equestria could be useful to her quest. This is what ultimately helped her decide. “Okay,” she finally replied. “Excellent!” he closed the distance between them. “Shall we go then?” “Ah.” They started walking, and he began talking. “From the burning sands to the south, beyond the salty east seas, and to the frozen tundra in the north, the stallion Brill has traveled. I’ve been through hill and dale, town and country, marshland and open sea. I’ve seen where the timberwolves den deep in the Everfree Forest. I have discovered the roosts of dragons, high in the mountains. I spent the night with quarray eels in their cavernous canyon dwellings. I even once spotted a hydra resting in a swamp. The road may be long, but I assure you, I have tales aplenty to last until we part ways, my lovely companion.” Mestra felt herself blush again, but she didn’t reply. Her butterflies flitted about the newcomer, but eventually returned to their place on her hat as they walked on, the stallion speaking all the while. It didn’t take long for her to become entranced by his stories. The places that Brill had been and the things that he had seen were nothing short of amazing to the forgotten mare. “In a faraway land live a race of equine called the Kirin. Now, most ponies will call me a liar and claim they don’t exist, but I have seen them with my own eyes. They live in beautiful harmony with magic and nature and with each other, and it’s a good thing too. For nearby can be found the most frightful creature, a kind of fire demon that they call the Nirik. I was able to establish a rudimentary understanding with one of their stallions, and he took me to the very place where the Nirik had destroyed a village once before. Ashes were all that remained, and…” Brill trailed off as if distracted. “Oh, here’s a problem,” he stopped short. The butterflies darted ahead across a river that crossed in front of the pair. Remnants of a wooden bridge were clearly visible on either side, but they were no longer connected. “Ah?” the mare asked. “That rain last week must have washed the bridge out.” Brill seemed to be speaking to himself as much as to Mestra. He began looking around, his eyes eventually fixing on something upward. He tentatively walked out onto the broken bridge, cautiously testing it. Mestra was about to follow, but then she thought better of it. The care that Brill took made her wary. “It will be doable, but difficult,” he said. “If I were not on something of a schedule, I’d go around, but that would take at least a day to reach the nearest crossing.” Brill unloaded the numerous bags he was carrying. He rummaged in one of the smaller ones until he pulled out a large coil of rope. Turning his attention back to the river, he spoke. “That’s at least ten yards.” Finding a strong piece of railing, the stallion tied off his rope and tested the knot. Seeming satisfied, he turned to the mare. “By my estimation, this is but a minor inconvenience to our journey, one that I will have us across shortly. I would have suggested that we swim, but the current seems a little too fast for the baggage we carry, and so I deem it most fruitful to tie off the rope on the other end, and we can slide our bags across one by one. Then you can cross last. Is this agreeable to you?” “Ah…” “Brilliant, now, I need you to be ready to pull me back up if I should get into trouble. I don’t expect any mind you. Do you understand?” “Ah.” Brill nodded, tying the other end of the rope to himself. He was uncharacteristically quiet as he descended the bank, using the rope to steady himself. He swam, being pulled downstream as he crossed. He didn’t seem to have any trouble, and Mestra wondered whether she could learn to swim like that. Brill remained silent as he climbed up the other bank, making his way to the other side of the broken bridge. He shook water from his coat, though he was so thoroughly soaked that he continued to drip afterwards. The little glowing butterflies flitted across the gap, circling Brill once before heading back to Mestra. “Well hello there, little friends,” the stallion chortled as he brushed his mane out of his face. “Utterly fascinating!” He quickly untied the rope from himself and found a place to secure it, making the line taut. He then pulled a knife from a pouch and cut off the rest of the rope. The part tied across the gap may have been a third of the total length. Next, he made a large loop around the suspended rope and tied it to hold its shape. Finally, he took the other end of the rope, making a snarl of a knot that was the size of a large grapefruit. “This is called a monkey fist,” Brill said. “Mohn… kee… fist.” “Quite. It is just a name. It’s a trick that a sailor taught me once when I sailed Maretime Bay. That’s a story for another day, but it makes it easy for us to toss the rope across to one another. You understand?” Mestra cocked her head to one side, not completely sure she saw how they were going to use this setup to get across the water. “I will throw the monkey fist to you,” Brill explained, “then you pull the length of rope over. Tie my saddle bags on at the loop end, then throw the monkey fist back to me. I can pull my bags across. Then I’ll throw it back and we can do it again, and again to get everything across. Well… how are you at climbing?” The mare looked at the rope, and more pertinently at the water below. She shook her head, heart pounding. Deep water was the last place she wanted to be. Having once fallen through ice and nearly drowning, Mestra was quite respectful of the danger. “I see. Well, like I said, you can go to another crossing, but it is a bit out of your way and I certainly don’t have the time. While I would be much saddened to be robbed of your company… If you would be good enough to at least tie my bags on, I’ll get them across one by one and be on my way.” Brill tossed the rope across the river, the monkey fist smacking the side of the bridge nearest Mestra and skidding onto the road. She picked up the knotted end of the rope, and examined Brill’s saddle bags, running the rope through a strap before realizing that she had not pulled the loop across the river yet. “Mestra sorry,” she said as she left the bag to pull the length of rope to her side. “Oh, that’s hardly necessary. You’ve done nothing to give offense, I assure you!” She worked quietly, making a simple square knot, or something like it. Feeling satisfied with her effort, she threw the monkey fist directly into the river. She felt her face flush in embarrassment. “Not to worry,” Brill laughed. “Just pull it up and try again. I’m sure that rope has been wet before, no harm done.” The mare pulled the soggy length of the rope back up and inspected it. She reared back and lobbed it hard. The butterflies scattered from her hat at the sudden motion, and the monkey fist sailed through the air until the length of the rope was spent. It went tight and then the end bounced back, falling well behind a laughing Brill. “All or nothing with you, I see. But you got the job done and that is what counts after all.” He worked quickly to remove his bag, easily undoing the knot that Mestra had made. The mare felt conflicted within. She did like the idea of keeping her new friend at least until the next town, but she was afraid to climb across the rope. “Safe?” she asked. “Safe? You mean to cross? Why, of course. You see how I pulled my bags across. I can pull you across in the very same way. There’s really nothing to worry about once you are tied to the rope.” She took a deep breath and said, “I cross.” They repeated the procedure until all of the stallion’s things were safely across the river. His own bags removed, Brill tossed the monkey fist back to Mestra. She picked it up warily and slowly pulled the loop back to her side, her heart pounding all the while. She wondered what Stormy would do. She gulped, considering Stormy to be fearless. Mestra began to tie the rope around her shoulders. “It might be more easily done if you send your bags first. It makes less weight on the line and no chance of getting tangled.” That made sense to the mare, but she had just managed to get herself tied quite securely in a knot that she didn’t know how to undo. She looked up at him sheepishly. Brill smiled, “I’m sure that’ll do just fine. Your bags are far lighter and smaller than mine.” She threw the monkey fist back to Brill, and he pulled up the slack and waited. Mestra wanted to go forward, but her hooves remained firmly planted on the bridge. “Are you alright?” He asked. Mestra nodded even as her legs began to quiver underneath her. Brill waited a moment longer; but the mare simply couldn’t move. “The rope is strong,” he said soothingly. “Just watch.” He dropped his end of the line, and then slowly climbed out on the secured rope, hanging over the river for a moment. He pulled up and bounced himself twice to demonstrate that it was secure before climbing back up. “Besides that, you’re tied on. You can’t fall. And if anything goes wrong, I’m right here to help.” Mestra Amymone tried to swallow, but a lump had formed in her throat. She forced her leg forward, shaky and weak though it was. Her butterfly companions were circling her head, beckoning her to follow the other way, away from the bridge. She ignored them. She took a deep breath, summoning what reserves of courage she had. Her heart pounded, deafening even beyond the gurgling of the river below. She forced another step, and another until she stood at the edge. There was nowhere left to go but down. A cold sweat covered her body as the mare committed her weight to the rope. The thin line seemed utterly tiny and inadequate to hold her. She eased forward, testing it. The braids creaked under the strain but showed no signs of breaking. From the other side, Brill gently pulled up the slack in the line until it was nearly taut. Mestra pulled herself along, suspended over the rushing river below. Inch by inch, she eased across the gap. It seemed somehow farther away than when she had started. A breeze kicked up as she swayed over the drop. Mestra’s mouth had become dry. She wished she could take a drink, but it would have to wait. She forced her breaths into an even rhythm, a trick Stormy had taught her to remain calm. “There you are,” Brill grinned as he reached out and helped Mestra climb up onto the far side. Standing upright, she looked back across the void and her legs buckled, forcing her to fall unceremoniously onto her rump. Brill let out a hearty laugh as he began working at the knot to untie the mare. Her heart pounded still, though it was beginning to slow. A twinge of elation worked through Mestra’s body at the accomplishment, causing her to shiver. “Come now, it wasn’t really all that bad, was it?” Perhaps not, but Mestra Amymone would be quite happy if she did not have to do anything like that again anytime soon.
Chapter XIX“You know,” Brill said, “I’m not sure what kind of knot you made back there, but I have never seen a snarl like that.” “Ah…” she replied. “I’m serious,” he chuckled, “I have seen all kinds of knots, so for you to nearly stump me is quite the rare day indeed.” The butterflies rested on Mestra’s hat as the two continued their journey. “In fact, the only other time I can remember seeing a knot like that was when I visited the plains buffalo far to the south. Now, if you’ve ever heard stories about them, most likely you were told that they are mindless savages, but they actually have quite a complex social structure that in many ways is not that different from the way we interact with each other.” “Well, I found out the hard way just what happens when you break one of their taboos. At the time, I was exploring more than trading, and inexperienced as I was in life, I had a tendency to be a bit cavalier and impulsive. Not that I ever meant any harm, mind you. I only mention it for context. You might say I was young and foolish.” Mestra nodded, and then realized he was not looking at her as they walked, and so she vocalized sheepishly, “Ah…” “So, there I was,” he continued as if unaware of her lack of social graces, “wandering the wilds of the south, when I found myself out of water. By the time I fully grasped the seriousness of my situation, I was well aware that going back was scarcely an option. So I did what I could to increase my chances. I slowed my pace, rested during the heat of the day, began traveling by night, those sorts of things.” “I was beginning to think that the desert went on forever when I stumbled upon, what I later found out, was a buffalo burial ground. Now, there being nothing to constitute shade in such vast reaches, I was amazed to find tall structures, though you might think them crude at first glance. The point is, they were suspended in the air a few yards and were a perfect place to hide from the sun.” “What happened next is a bit fuzzy in my memory, as I had passed out from exhaustion. I awoke near evening, surrounded by buffalo. When they noticed I was awake, they gave me water, which contented me in a temporary sense to be at their mercy.” “Well, as it happens, they revere their grave sites far more than we do, and hold them to be sacred. My trespass in using them for shade was quite ill taken, and so they delivered me to their chief to see what would be done with me for the offense.” “I did my best to explain that I had no knowledge or intention to dishonor their ancestors, but they were quite unreasonable about the whole affair. In the end, the chief did give a bit of leniency since I was, in his words, filled with child-like stupidity. So, rather than bury me up to my neck and leave me for the ants, as is their custom, they tied me to a cactus with some formidable ropes.” Brill laughed, “That suited me just fine, becoming a pincushion notwithstanding. I think I was removing spines for a year or more. Anyway, being something of an expert on knots, I attempted to free myself, but found this quite nearly impossible. It was made only more difficult by getting pinned by the cactus with each move.” “I had to employ every rope craft trick I ever learned, and I did eventually, through no small effort, free myself. At that point, I apparently earned some level of respect, and the buffalo accepted me as a guest. They taught me their customs, how to find water, which is more plentiful than you might expect in such an arid climate, and after a few months, I was on my way….” Listening to Brill’s stories made the day slip by. Before Mestra knew it, the sun had gone down, and the pair found a small clearing by the road that made for a soft place to camp for the night. Brill helped her light a fire, talking all the while. She didn’t mind that in the slightest, for she was rather enjoying hearing about his adventures. Eating dinner was the first thing that brought substantial silence between them since she’d agreed to share the road, and Mestra Amymone found it somewhat unsettling. Her butterflies danced around their little campsite, carefree as usual. Brill provided apples, and Mestra offered some oats, which they made into oatmeal with a bit of brown sugar and cinnamon from his spices. “I’m afraid I’ve been an awful traveling companion,” Brill eventually broke the silence during their meal. “I’ve been going on for hours and never thought to ask where you’re from.” Mestra Amymone took a breath as the memories of the last two years worked through her mind. She couldn’t remember much from before she’d found that cabin in the woods where her Magister had taught her so many things. Her time with Misty and Stormy, and the friends she’d made at school were far more fresh. But where was she from? That was a question to which she had no answer. She looked up at the trees, vibrant and green in the midst of spring, though painted somewhat ominously by the firelight. She shifted on the undergrowth, which crunched and released its earthy scents. “I do not remember,” she finally ventured. Brill let out a small gasp of surprise, “Not at all?” “No.” “Now that is interesting. I’ve never met somepony who didn’t know where they were from. I suppose you could begin with what you do remember, if you don’t mind telling your story, that is.” She took another deep breath, “The butterflies. I remember they led me into the forest. I met my Magister at his cabin. He taught me numbers and letters. He said I should try to find somepony who knew me from before. I was in Hollow Shades for a year. Nopony there recognized me. I made friends.” “Fascinating,” the stallion stared at her, lit by the flickering of the fire. Brill seemed as mesmerized by her words as she had felt by his, though Mestra doubted whether she was telling her story with anywhere near the skill that he had shown. “Now I am going to the next town. Maybe someone there will remember me.” His eyes glinted as a smile filled his face. “I have no doubt that you’ll succeed. A pretty mare like you couldn’t have gone unnoticed.” Mestra felt herself blush again. Confused feelings grew inside her. She felt both good and bad at the same time. His expression softened, and he looked away as if he were aware she had become uncomfortable. “The forest is coming alive. Can you hear it?” The mare listened. There were nocturnal insects and beasts of all sorts making calls across the night. She nodded. “If you would like, I could tell one last story before we get some sleep.” “Okay.” “I’ve been in many forests in my travels. This one most reminds me of the northern end of Hayseed Swamps. Now, the southern end is where it gets its name. That whole area is quite marshy, a bog that never dries out, but the northern end is rather nice for three seasons of the year. Not that it gets terribly cold that far south in the winter, but without the foliage in the trees, the wind can be a bit biting.” “In any case, I found myself there one evening as the sun was going down. The closest town would have been Dodge Junction, which was a fair distance from the forest anyway, so I decided to camp for the night. I went to bed shortly after Celestia lowered the sun, but I awoke in the darkness to discover a cooing sound that I had never heard before.” “I was a bit frightened at first. Not that the unknown frightens me, but I have learned to be a bit wary of uncertain situations. Timberwolves and ursas are bad enough, but sometimes there are foul creatures that sleep in the forests. It is always good to know the sounds and signs of them to ensure that one steers clear.” “I cautiously left my bedroll to investigate, and I discovered something akin to fireflies. They were a bit larger to be sure, almost the size of grapes. They flew about like hummingbirds and lit up the night in all different colors, from pinks to blues, purples and greens. They were definitely the source of the noise, which was more like a humming once I got among them. It was as they luminesced that they sang to each other. I never did find out what their right name was, but I called them forest sprites since they reminded me of fairies...” Mestra Amymone’s imagination began running wild as she stared into the dwindling flames and listened to the story her companion was telling. Hayseed Swamps certainly sounded like a magical place that she must visit should she ever pass nearby. She strained to listen, but her eyes grew heavy as her loquacious companion prattled on at some length. Eventually, she was unable to fight it, and sleep took her for a while. Her dreams were filled with fairies and fireflies deep in a magical forest where the plants glowed and sang in the darkness.
Chapter XXMestra Amymone stirred, awakening to near total darkness. She looked up, and Brill was crouched over her, his outline just visible by orange ember-light. He made a shushing sound as her butterflies began swarming his face, casting their faint glow to reveal his features. A look of either concern or fear filled his eyes. “Did you hear that?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. Mestra shook her head and strained her ears. “I could have sworn I just heard a saber-cat chuffing,” Brill spoke in a ghostly voice. The mare’s mouth went dry as her pulse quickened. She was suddenly wide awake. She stood up as quietly as possible, each movement crunching the dead vegetation that covered the forest floor. The pair of ponies stood side by side, looking opposing directions deep into the darkness that was the forest. Mestra’s blood pumped loudly in her ears with each heavy beat of her heart. Her breaths became short and shallow in anticipation of what was coming. The moment stretched on, Mestra licked her lips, watching, waiting…. Nothing happened. Mestra slowed her breaths and took them deeply, trying to regain a more level disposition. There was a quiet, but for the normal sounds of night creatures that are commonly heard in a forest. Crickets and bats and other crawling things were going about their routines, unbothered or unaware of any potential threat. Eventually, at about the time the mare began to suspect that there was no danger, it was Brill who broke the silence of the ponies. The stallion shook his head and sighed, “I’m sorry I got you all worked up. I must have been mistaken.” He let out something like a giggle and returned to his side of their campsite and stirred the ashes, revealing more hot glowing coals. Within a minute of adding more wood, he had the fire going again. Mestra sat down, shaking a little from fright, but not sure what to do about it. Her butterflies landed in her mane, tickling her ears. The night air was cool and damp. She turned to her companion. “I am scared.” He looked at her, clearly concerned, “I’m sorry. I really thought I heard something. I would never scare anypony like that. Especially...” He didn’t finish. He sat across from her, staring. “What?” she asked. “Forget it. I’m sorry.” The mare felt strange. She didn’t know what was churning inside her, but it was something akin to the longing she experienced when she wanted to remember her past. The two exchanged another locked gaze before he spoke again. “I could, I mean, if you want to... I could come closer.” Mestra’s heart began beating much faster again. She felt a weakness in her limbs, but she nodded. The stallion came close to the mare, and he sat beside her. Their bodies were just touching; it felt good. As relief from the tension washed through the mare, she calmed herself enough to lie down. Brill laid beside her, back to back. “I’m sorry I scared you,” he said. “Ah… It is okay.” The pair remained silent for the rest of the night. Brill was still for a long time, but he stirred once or twice before the sun came up. Daylight chased the shadows and the fears of night away, but the mare was exhausted. It didn’t take the two long to clean up their camp and saddle up for their day’s journey. Brill was strangely quiet as they walked. The mare wondered whether he had run out of stories. She didn’t mind the silence as they plodded along the forest road. There were plenty of birds and other cheerful daytime creatures making melodies on the wind. They made good progress, and by mid-afternoon, they had reached the eastern edge of the trees, where the wild terrain gave way to farmland. The cultivation stretched to the horizon, offering a breathtaking view. “Look at that countryside,” Brill said. “I see it,” Mestra replied. Brill cocked one eyebrow up, “What? No, I meant it’s pretty.” “Oh... yes it is.” He looked at her, his expression turning into a slight grin, “Look at that mare.” Mestra Amymone felt herself blush again. “Thank you….” He took a step toward her. She didn’t back away. “You know something? In all my travels, I think I’ve not found anypony quite so easy on the eyes as you… that means pretty.” The mare wondered if there were degrees of blushing. If it were possible, she must have found a high, bright red, level of it. She said nothing. “There is one thing I’ve been lacking,” he continued. “In all of my travels, and in all the stories I told you, didn’t you notice that… In every one of them, I was alone?” She hadn’t noticed. But now that he mentioned it, she realized that it was the case. She nodded. “I think it never really bothered me until last night. Sitting with you by the fire... I... I don’t like the thought of being alone again.” Mestra’s heart quickened and began pounding like a drum. He took another step closer. She felt a great anticipation, but of exactly what she was uncertain. While her lessons on dating and courtship had not been forgotten, her lack of experience in such matters left her befuddled. “Since you’re traveling the road like me, we could go together. Then neither of us would have to be alone.” They were nearly nose to nose now. The mare’s mouth felt impossibly dry, and a lump had formed in her throat. She felt like she should say something, but she didn’t know what to do. “I think,” he paused for a long moment. He looked like he might be reconsidering, or perhaps searching for courage. Those bright blue eyes were looking away now, uncertain. “Go on,” she finally managed. He locked her gaze again. “I think… I’m falling in love with you.” If there were a maximum amount of blushing, Mestra Amymone was certain she had attained it. Brill closed the remaining distance. She thought her heart would burst. She was about to tell him that she did not need foals at this time. Then his lips kissed hers, delicately at first. All coherent thought was lost. A fire was lit in the mare’s soul that burned like the fireworks on the first day of winter. The pair leaned in to each other. The two were locked together for an eternal moment, and a surging of power roared within the mare. The pale longing she’d felt before became a torrential force. It was as if a dam had burst in her soul, letting out an ocean of feelings that she hadn’t previously known. Worlds could have lived and died in that moment, and she might have cared nothing for it. Such was the overwhelming power of the unfamiliar sensations. Brill stepped back and smiled at her. Mestra Amymone felt giddy, almost drunk on the new emotions that had been unleashed. She blinked, only to realize that she had trouble focusing on the stallion. He had become blurry. Perhaps she’d neglected to breathe in all of the excitement. She abruptly sat down as her butterflies darted in front of her face. Brill said something, but his voice sounded far away, so very far away. Her head still swimming, she laid down, though it almost seemed more like the ground rose up to meet her. Everything slowly drifted away like leaves on the wind. … The first light of dawn stabbed Mestra Amymone’s eyes. They opened slowly, as if fighting her. The world was gently spinning in the mare’s vision, and she struggled to stand upright. She was groggy and quite confused. The last time she had felt this way was at a harvest gala where she’d quite unintentionally had too much strong drink. “Brill?” she called out. But nopony came. She turned, only to have the world spin faster. She held her head, moving cautiously to scan the area. She was alone, but for the butterflies that were resting on her hat nearby. Not only was there no sign of Brill, but her bags were also nowhere in sight. Where could he have gone? Morning birds sang, which seemed obtrusive and loud to the mare. She picked up her hat and put it on her pounding head. On the ground, beneath her hat, she discovered a note and her water bottle beside a small pile of oats. Mestra sat down and unfolded the paper. ‘Mestra Amymone, you really should be far more careful in whom you place your trust. You could find all manner of unsavory ponies on the road that would mean to do you harm. I understand if you’ll hate me for this, but you fell asleep because I drugged you, and I’ve stolen all of your money and belongings.’ So stunned was Mestra Amymone that she had to stop reading. She couldn’t believe it. Brill, a thief? He had seemed so nice. He had helped her across the river. He had awakened her when he had heard the saber-cat… if he had actually heard a saber-cat. A burning rage ignited within the mare and hot tears began leaking from her eyes. She struggled to regain her composure and finish reading the note. ‘Now, I may be a thief, but I like to think of myself as an honest thief. I left your water and a little food, which is more than enough to get you to the next town. I trust you’ll have no trouble finding work. I wish you well in your travels and hope you discover the truth of your past someday. Until then, travel a little more warily or you’ll be taken advantage of again or worse. Most Apologetically Yours, Brill.’ The mare’s head was throbbing in a mix of anger and residual effects of whatever the stallion had drugged her with. She looked ahead to the dawn across the countryside. A whole night had passed since Brill had knocked her out. He’d likely be long gone, and even if not, how could she get her things back? Gathering what little remained, she was most distressed to realize that even her winter clothes and the book that she’d taken from her Magister’s house were gone. Mestra eventually started walking, tears streaming down and burning her face with each step. More than every insult the stallion had delivered, she felt stupid and ashamed for falling into his snare. Her magister, as well as Stormy and Misty, had warned her many times about other ponies not all being friendly. While she had met those that didn’t like her, this was the first time she could remember really experiencing this… being used… for herself. It was horrible. She knew that the butterflies would try ease her mind, to lead her to the place where she could forget, but that wouldn’t help anything. She’d just get robbed by another pony later, and she knew it. She needed to remember. A few hours were spent allowing her tears to work themselves all out. As she pressed on toward the next town, the forgotten mare hardened her resolve to discover the secrets of her past in spite of the upsetting setback she had endured. That is how she would succeed. She wouldn’t let scoundrels like Brill get the better of her again. She would be ready. Author's Note I’m afraid that’s all for this adventure of Mestra’s, but there are more tales of her journeys yet to come… Thanks for sticking with me!
