The old mare could always be found in the same place, sitting beside the riverbank. Nopony in town ever saw her arrive, and nopony ever saw her leave. But she could always be found there, every single day, without fail. She wore a heavy cloak of scarlet whose hood she always kept up. She’d bring a basket with her in which she’d carry her simple lunch of a sandwich and a flask of water. And there she’d sit, all day long. Sometime around sunset she would toss something into the water, then vanish again. Likely back to her little shack on the edge of town.
And then the next day, she would do it all again.
Nopony ever bothered her. She’d been doing it so long that the townsfolk just accepted her as part of the natural ambience of the place. The smaller children would tell tales about her. They would tell each other that she was a witch, and she spent all day by the river conversing with her familiar spirits. They would dare each other to approach, to try and scare the old mare into falling into the softly flowing waters. But none were ever daring enough.
Until, one day, one filly changed her mind.
Her usual playmate had the feather flu, and this filly happened to have nothing else to do that day. So, in the spirit of sheer boredom, she decided to do what generations of her peers had never had the courage to do; approach the old mare by the river.
The hooded head perked up at the sound of approaching hooves, and the old mare turned and offered a gentle smile from beneath her hood. “Well howdy there, sugarcube. Been a while since anypony came over to say how-do-ye-do.”
It took the filly a moment to process the old mare’s words. Her accent was strange. She must have come from far away. “I’m not bothering you?”
“Not at all!” The old mare patted the grass beside her. “Come on down and sit a spell. It’d be nice to have company for once.”
The filly, driven by childish curiosity, did just that. She still made sure that she sat a couple feet away from the mare. The old mare was rail thin, pretty weak and frail looking, but still she was taking no chances. “What are you doing down here?”
“Oh, just watchin’ the water.” The old mare continued smiling as she did just that. “I don’t sleep well, always got thoughts runnin’ through my mind, and the sound of the rushin’ water helps me to tune ‘em out. Calms the old nerves. You know how it is?”
“I… don’t. Sorry.”
The old mare chuckled. “You will one day when you get to be my age.” The earth pony looked at the unicorn and took in her small form. “How old are you anyway?”
“Ten.”
Something flickered in the old mare’s eyes, and she turned back to the waters. “Ten. Mighty fine age.” She took a deep breath. “I… I knew a filly a long time ago. When she turned ten, she told me that she was old enough that she didn’t need me or her Pa watchin’ over her no more.” The old mare swallowed back something that might have been a sob. “She was wrong, a’course.”
The two ponies sat there together for a while in silence, the running water the only thing in the air. The filly watched a bass leap for a dragonfly that buzzed too close to the river’s surface. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”
“Well, depends on what you mean by from. I mean, I reckon I’ve been here for sixty or seventy years. Hard to keep track of things like that when you get to be my age. But, no; I ain’t from here originally.”
“Why’d you come here then? It can’t be just to sit by the water all day.”
The old mare chuckled. “Ain’t got a filter, do ya? No, I came here because…” The old mare trailed off. “Well, it’s a bit of a story. One I ain’t told in a mighty long time. One I might not rightly remember.”
“I like stories.”
“Yeah? Well, most fillies your age do.” The old mare sighed and slumped slightly. “Hell, why not. Who knows how much longer I’ve got? Might as well tell it to somepony.” She reached into her basket, removed the flask of water, and took a great draw. “Lemme ask you, girl; what’s yer faith of choice?”
“Faith?”
“Your religion? Or your family’s, I mean.”
The filly cocked her head. “I… don’t really know.”
The old mare snorted. “Just as well, I s’pose. I’ve spent decades in this town and I can’t make heads or trails of what ya’ll follow. Maybe that’s one of the reasons I came all the way out here. You get far enough away, the things that used to be so important stop bein’ so important at all.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Maybe you’ll never have to.” The old mare took another drink. “Well, I came from a place where everypony followed the same faith. The same religion. It was a good place. A happy place. It was that way for a long, long time. But nothin’ lasts forever. Things… things started going bad. Nothin’ real bad at first, but… I dunno. You could just barely taste somethin’ rotten on the wind. And a’course all of us in town didn’t want nothin’ bad to happen, did we? So a whole bunch of us figured that we could keep the happy times goin’ by… by playing a little game.”
“A game?” The filly smiled. “I like games. What kind of game?”
“The game of the hunted leading the hunter.” The old mare smiled bitterly. “An ancient and holy game.”
The filly had never heard of such a game, but something told her she didn’t want to know more. “Who won?”
“We did. Or… we thought we did.” The old mare sighed and took another drink. “Ya see, we made the mistake of thinkin’ we knew the will of the gods. We thought we could influence them, manipulate them. With blood.” Something flickered and sparked in the old mare’s eyes. “With fire.”
The filly said nothing, but a cold shiver went down her spine.
“But you can’t influence the gods. They’d decided that the happy times were over. Problem is… some folks in town didn’t want to accept that. They believed that we had just picked the wrong… play mates. That if we played the game again and somepony else lost, then the happy times would come back.”
“And did you?”
“Did we what?”
“Did you play again?”
“Oh, they did.” The old mare’s smile was long gone now. “But a few of us didn’t really want to play this time, so we decided to leave before the game got started. But they… they didn’t accept that. They wanted me to play more than anypony else. Me… and my family.”
“Who won this time?”
“Nopony.” The old mare’s voice was dead. “That was the lesson we learned that season. That when it comes to the gods, nopony wins.” She reached into her basket and pulled something else out; a shiny red apple.
The filly loved apples. She licked her lips at the sight. Her stomach rumbled.
The old mare smiled at the sound and noted the filly’s obvious interest. “You want it?” When the filly nodded enthusiastically, she extended her hoof and offered the fruit. “You can have it… but you gotta promise me somethin.’”
The filly would’ve promised her soul if asked. She’d missed lunch. “Anything.”
“You stay away from faith. From religion. Let the gods, all the gods, fade away into the night where they belong. The old ones and the new ones. Their days are done. They had their chance. They had their time. But those days are done, and the sooner we all leave them to it, the happier they’ll be.”
The filly nodded and took the apple eagerly. She didn’t quite understand the promise, but it didn’t sound too complicated. The sun was starting to set as she took her first bite. It was juicy and perfectly sweet. She held it out towards the old mare. “You want a bite?”
“Nah.” The old mare waved her off. “I haven’t eaten an apple in a long, long time. I usually throw ‘em in the river.” Her lips twitched. “But after today? Not anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s like I said; it’s time to let the gods go. No more games, no more offerings. Not even ones as small as apples.” She looked back to the water. “You better get goin.’ It’ll be dark soon.”
The filly nodded, stuffed the apple in her mouth, and turned to leave. “Fanks for the apple, ma’am.”
“Thanks for listenin.’” The old mare said without turning.
The filly left, and the sun continued to set.
The old mare sat beside the running river for a while after. She didn’t like to be out after dark. Even after all these years she found herself afraid of the shadows just on the edge of her eyes. She knew they were all dead now. Had to be dead now. Probably killed each other in their frenzy to restore their little patch of paradise. The old mare knew they were all dead, but that didn’t stop her from being afraid. Afraid that some of them might have survived. Afraid that they were still out there, looking for her.
So for years and years she’d been making her daily offerings. Just in case.
But no more. Not after today. Telling her tale to that filly had made her remember that terrible night outside of her nightmares for the first time in decades. Even now she could see all of them, her friends and neighbors, standing before the effigy in which she’d been placed. They’d been singing, their muzzles still red and caked in the gore that had been her brother.
She could still see Rarity leading them, her eyes glinting malevolently at her from within the hooded cloak that had just the day before been her own little daughter. Sweetie Belle was beside her, singing twice as loud, her late best friend’s bow now tied into her own mane.
They should’ve left the day before. Gods above, why hadn’t they left the day before?
Escaping the wicker mare had burned her, scarred her, but still she’d escaped. She’d left her hat behind. Left everything she’d ever known behind. She’d run as fast and far from Ponyville as she’d been able. She’d found this place. She’d hidden. For years upon years, she had hidden.
A life of solitude, fear, and misery. Such was her reward for her years of faithful service to the gods.
In disgust, she pushed her basket into the river. It splashed in and sank like a stone, and when the ripples faded she could see by the sun’s last light that she was no longer alone. She couldn’t quite make out the mare’s face, but she could see the bow in her mane.
The old mare sighed heavily. “We were both wrong, Twilight. In the end, we were both so wrong.”
The next morning, the filly came back hoping to see the old mare again. She found her on the riverbank, just as she’d always been. Only this morning the old mare was face down in the water.
With an old stetson hat, its edges long burned, placed gently beside her.
Held in place by a shiny, red, ripe apple.
Author's Note
