A Game of Snake and Chicken
At dawn, I pace the floor, distraught,
Recalling dreams uncertain, fraught
With hazy figures, muffled sounds
That pushed me hard from Luna's grounds.
I wouldn't call them nightmares quite,
But still, they struck me far from right.
Adventure's prelude: that's the thing
That dreams like these will often bring.
Ambivalence, to put it mild,
Engulfs my thoughts. I'm seldom wild
About adventure. Still I'll brew
A helpful potion, maybe two,
To pass around when others seek
A thrilling challenge. Call me weak,
But nothing good has yet occurred
Whenever mine's the hoof that's stirred
To crash and tumble, leap about,
Explode with action, scream or shout.
So now with morning coming on,
My thoughts are darkened, woebegone.
And then a voice I almost know
Arises sure as sunup's glow:
"Ms. Zecora? Are you awake in there? I'm really, really, really, really sorry to come by so early, but I really, really, really, really need some help, and I think maybe you're the only one who can. Help, I mean."
Temptation stirs—I still could run
Around the back and jettison
The chance to get my eyeballs pecked.
But also, yes, my self-respect...
I push the door and step outside,
My every fiber urging, Hide!
Instead, I sigh and raise my head,
Afraid tonight will see me dead.
The pink, bedraggled hippogriff
Upon my walkway gives a sniff:
"Oh, Ms. Zecora! I just don't know what to do or where to go! Except to do this and come here... 'Cause I've been looking all night, and I don't know what to do or where to go! Except, I mean, like I said, this and here."
I lift a hoof in mystic style
But can't unfold a simple smile.
"Distress expands to fill the space
We leave within when lacking grace."
Or other rhyming blatherskite
That sounds profound though really trite.
The hippogriff, her beak agape,
Inflates her eyes to twice their shape.
"I...I don't know what that means, Ms. Zecora. Except that you're definitely the right creature to help me!"
She claps her hands, and suddenly,
Her grin's so bright, it's blinding me.
"And now that I'm a senior, I'm s'pposed to be responsible! So maybe this'll start me getting the hang of it!"
Without a wince, without a scream,
My brain recalls her: Silverstream.
I gesture back, invite her in,
Abandon hope with great chagrin.
"Be welcome, Princess. Please forgive—"
Her laughter's less than tentative:
"Oh, I'm not a princess, Ms. Zecora. I'm kind of in line to be a duchess, I think, if Queen Novo ever retires and lets Skystar take over, but that'll be a long time from now."
I bow my head and don't express
My view that royalty's a mess.
"I'll brew some tea, we'll break our fast,
And you can share your recent past."
Again, her mood and manner shift
In ways unusual and swift.
"That's right! I'm in the middle of a crisis! Edith's gone missing, and I've got to find her! Partly because, you know, she's a cockatrice, but mostly because that's what you do when your friends disappear!"
A cockatrice. I sigh. Of course.
Destruction swirls to stormy force
Within my thoughts. When monsters call,
It's not by halves: it's full and all.
Except—unless I heard it wrong—
A word she spewed among that throng...
"Excuse me, please. You can't pretend
You call a cockatrice a friend?"
Another instant change of mood
Displays a surly attitude,
Her narrow eyes aflame with sparks
That crackle, almost leaving marks.
"I don't know who you've been talking to, Ms. Zecora, but I have a lot of really good friends! And I'm really good at making them, too!"
The crackles crack and fall away;
Her anger melts, becomes dismay.
"I mean, yes, it's hard sometimes when most everycreature's always so stony and frozen. But I try to slow down so I don't overwhelm them! I really do!"
Emotion flaps like feathered wings,
Expands, then shrinks, complains, then sings,
Her face aswarm with flowing piles
Of wrinkles, creases, frowns, and smiles.
"And my real friends get that, Gallus and Smolder and Yona and Sandbar and Ocellus! And Edith! Maybe especially Edith!
"'Cause she's always and exactly who she is! She doesn't hafta be anything else for me, and I don't hafta be anything else for her!"
She clasps her claws before her chest
With teary eyes and fallen crest.
"The Everfree can be kind of dangerous, and I'm really worried about her! So please, Ms. Zecora? Please can you help me?"
I stand transfixed from mane to shoes,
Resigned within. I shan't refuse.
The kettle shrieks. I grab and pour,
Attempt to tally up the score.
"You've tamed this cockatrice, perhaps?
You've stopped her stare? She won't relapse?"
I push the cup. She takes a sip
Despite her lack of any lip.
"It's not that she's tame, really. It's more that she doesn't mind pretending that I'm a cockatrice, too, because she likes hanging out with me and cockatrices are solitary by nature."
Which doesn't make a lick of sense,
But that's of little consequence.
"She knows you, though? Enough to not
Entomb you right upon the spot?"
The sigh that Silverstream emits
Disturbs the steam that gently flits
Above her cup. It swirls about
And tosses certainties to doubt.
"I'd like to think that we have a special bond, but, I mean, can I really say that? I'm not an expert on, well, on anything to be honest! I'm just a silly little—"
"You've known this creature moons by now,
And yet you're not a statue. How?"
She startles back with blinking eyes.
I find a shock can banish lies.
"Convince me, child, you lack for skill,
Befriending beasts whose gaze can kill."
"They don't kill, Ms. Zecora! I mean, yes, they'll petrify insects and small rodents, carry them back to their nests, and depetrify them so their babies can eat them, or sometimes they'll petrify bugs to swallow and use as gizzard stones, but otherwise it's purely a defensive tactic! In fact, my observations have shown that cockatrices are actually quite gentle when other creatures respect their territories!"
At last, my muzzle finds its smile
As Silverstream declaims a mile
A minute. Information flows,
Entrancing sure as magic glows.
I touch her claws. Another shock,
It stops her, makes her give a squawk.
I whisper: quietness, I've found,
Commands attention more than sound.
"Behold your knowledge: marvelous,
Extremely helpful, glorious.
Behold the fruits your work has earned,
The truth that only you've discerned.
"Behold your understanding heart,
And self-assurance shan't depart.
Behold yourself, and don't allow
A grouch to dim your sense of 'wow.'"
I think I've got it, think I've spun
Away from paths except the one
That lets me stay at home instead
Of stumbling forth to join the dead.
"You hold the power deep within
To run the course and seize the win.
Beside you, none can dare compete!
You'll lead your foes to straight defeat!"
By now, I've pitched my voice along
With overtones designed for strong
Reactions. Full of confidence,
I stress my fervent vehemence.
"Your friend's perhaps in danger! Go!
Retrace her steps! They'll surely show
Direction, speed, the time she went!
Allow for no impediment!"
Her face has risen, paced the sun
As morning's fullest light's begun.
"Oh, thank you, Ms. Zecora! I knew you were the creature I had to come and see! 'Cause with both of us working together, Edith's already as good as found!"
In fifteen minutes, all agog,
I find myself commenced to slog,
My saddlebags across my back,
With Silverstream, that maniac,
A bouncing, chirping beast that strides
Ahead, above, on all the sides.
"This is so great! I'll take you right to the last spot I saw her! And even though that was, like, ten or twelve hours ago, between us, I'm sure we'll get this mystery solved!"
The rustling branches seem to laugh,
A sound that writes my epitaph.
The Everfree is always quick
To welcome every lunatic...
Avoiding spots where danger lurks,
I guide our course by means of jerks
With teeth upon her streaming tail.
But turn her back? At that, I fail.
"We're just going right up there, across the rope bridge to where the Castle of the Two Sisters used to be."
Expansive waving arms upset
A flock of vulturines: a threat.
"Oh, hey! Vulturines! I've been wanting to look more closely at some to see if they're animals or citrus fruit!"
The fangs they brandish don't allow
Discussion: time to grab her now!
The orange flying predators'
Attempt to do the same confers
A certain, swirling urgency.
A body check against a tree
Removes my charge from snapping range,
Presenting me in fair exchange.
Alas—for them—I came prepared,
A vial smashed, a potion aired
That wafts a bitter scent about.
They flap away, a total rout!
Alas—for me—my charge objects
In ways my weary soul expects:
"Ms. Zecora! I'm trying to study nature here! And yes, I know, vulturines can get kinda bitey sometimes, but, well, we're none of us perfect, are we?"
"Imperfect? Yes, I fear it's true.
When next a monster swoops to chew
Your face and body, I'll decline
To offer tasty chunks of mine."
She blinks before she looks ashamed.
I take a breath, my wrath misaimed.
"A modicum of care is all
I ask you lest the worst befall
"And spin us crashing end to end
Without a chance to help your friend."
The morning light between the leaves
Distributes dappled spots, achieves
A stretch of quiet quite unknown
Where monsters threaten hide and bone.
"You're right, Ms. Zecora, and I'm sorry. I just...I get so excited pretty much all the time! There's so many things in the world, y'know? And they're all just so great!"
Again, I feel a smile emerge:
I know myself that very urge.
"The world is vast and wonderful.
Ignore its pull? Impossible.
But wisdom needs to guide our course:
Delight and caution can't divorce."
She nods so hard, I almost think,
I hear her head go clatter-clink.
"You just keep on being right, Ms. Zecora. I mean, I remember how gentle and quiet I had to be when I first started getting to know Edith, and I—"
Her eyes enlarge; she clasps her chest;
Familiar moans comprise the rest.
Across the bridge and up the stair,
Her lamentations fill the air.
"I just get so distracted by all of the everything that's everywhere! That's another great thing about Edith: when you've got a cockatrice on your desk, you pretty much hafta pay attention!"
The castle courtyard, strewn about
With rubbled ruin, seems to sprout
An arching flow of colored light
Amid the stone. It's quite the sight.
"That's our clubhouse, Ms. Zecora, or I guess maybe our treehouse since the Tree of Harmony made it for us. Lemme show you inside where I last saw Edith."
Within, the architecture soars,
Enclosing dreams in walls and floors.
"Astounding, Silverstream! You say
The tree provided space this way?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am! Tree's really great! She doesn't come out and talk with us all that often, but I'll be happy to introduce you if she does!"
I almost think I'm glad I came,
My scientific heart aflame.
To meet the Tree of Harmony?
Her hidden depths revealed to me?
Despite my partial daze, I nod
And follow, more than slightly awed.
"We were just back here, Ms. Zecora, Edith and me. This is the desk I sit at when I'm here working 'cause I'm not usually here working, so I like to have a place when I am."
The desk is tucked beneath the stairs,
A spot I wouldn't say declares
Itself the best for study's needs:
The lack of walls perhaps impedes
A proper flow of reasoned thought—
Except with students, maybe not...
"Edith and me, we were trying to see if cockatrices could turn inanimate objects to stone the same as they can animals and stuff. Like if she could turn a sandwich to stone, y'know?"
This seems a silly thing to me,
And yet, she speaks so earnestly,
I hold my tongue, forbear to say
She ought to lock herself away.
Instead, I take a step ahead,
Examine close the place she said.
Aromas linger, dry and odd
And mingled through with scents of sod.
I straighten, wave a hoof around
To indicate their pleasure ground.
"This treehouse: tell me, Silverstream,
You know it well from base to beam?"
Confusion tugs about her beak,
But still, she's quick enough to speak:
"I...I suppose so, Ms. Zecora. I mean, I've been inside every part of the treehouse for just about as long as it's had parts, so if you're trying to find something—"
"We're seeking grass and fertile soil,
The kind that nurtures, doesn't spoil
The plants within it, doesn't cause
Their leaves to turn to wings or claws."
Another bout of wrinkled brows
Dissolves as fast as breath allows.
"Ocellus has her little greenhouse garden thing downstairs. She's always saying how careful she has to be to stop Everfree dirt from getting in and magically changing her plants. Is that what you mean?"
"Exactly, Silverstream, so please,
Direct us there. No guarantees,
But based upon my findings here,
I think your friend is somewhere near."
Her happy dance is somewhat brief.
I grin, decline to give her grief.
Observing ruin hasn't struck,
I hesitate to call it luck...
She leaps to hover, makes me sigh,
Reminding some I cannot fly.
Descent upon the stairs is next.
I follow slow, my thoughts perplexed.
This cockatrice remains a beast.
Perhaps the love she's felt decreased
Her fearsome nature, made her tame,
But instinct rules her, has to claim
The larger space within her heart.
Unsure, I rifle every part
Throughout my knowledge base. Perhaps—
I startle back when someone claps.
"Here we are, Ms. Zecora!"
She shouts the words with blasting force
For stealth, it's clear, is not her course...
"Ocellus says the windows here are perfect for growing stuff!"
I glance about and must agree:
A frond's a bush, a bush a tree,
A tree a tower sprouting limbs.
The lushness spreads and overbrims.
I crouch and motion, indicate,
I hope, she'll join me, stay sedate.
"Within this place, I've more than guessed,
Resides your Edith and her nest."
She doesn't shout—I'll give her that—
But drops beside me, almost flat,
Collapsing nearly, seems to faint,
But then I hear her hissed complaint.
"That's impossible, Ms. Zecora! Edith can't have a nest! She doesn't have a mate or a husband or a rooster or whatever male cockatrices are called when they become daddy cockatrices!"
I hesitate but still believe
The strange account the facts conceive.
"I ask you please, remaining calm,
To view this news as less a bomb
And more a tribute, full of praise,
For how you've brightened Edith's days."
Before, uncertainties had dripped
From all her pieces, slowly slipped
Among her feathers. Now, they burst
To twist her features, just the worst.
"I'm not getting whatever you're talking about, Ms. Zecora. I mean, first it sounded like it might be bad like a bomb, but then, it sounded like it might be good? So what—?"
"I'll say it quick and say it true.
Her husband, Silverstream, is you."
I haven't seen an avalanche
With mountains tumbling root and branch.
I haven't seen volcanoes rage,
Destroying land despite its age.
But watching mass emotions flit
Across her face, I'm sure of it,
Displays the same explosive force.
She waves her arm and screams, of course.
"I can't be Edith's husband! We're not the same species for one thing, and yeah, that doesn't really matter when folks're in love—I mean, look at Yona and Sandbar! But I don't have husband parts! And as great as Edith is, she's not a person like you and me and other creatures you can get into a conversation with, y'know? Her brain's a completely different sort, and that makes the whole thing just— Icky! Icky!"
She thrusts her tongue and twists her face;
I try to save a bit of grace.
"Her brain is not the same, but still,
She has emotions, reason, will.
"She knows you patient, knows you kind,
Observes in ways that intertwined
And brought about the current state
Where you're her guardian and mate."
To call her visage horrified
Misleads, I think. There's more beside,
Around, and under. Something lurks
That understands the way this works.
"You're saying Edith sees me, all big and friendly and feathered, and part of her brain tells her I'm, what? Courting her or something?"
"Exactly, Silverstream. To her,
Experience and truth concur.
"Her actions—deep, instinctual—
Respond to triggers. Should we pull
The one that startles, her alarm
Will flood her till she does us harm.
"She's learned your presence—gentle, smooth—
And thus reacts because you soothe.
She looks and sees you fill the role
Assigned to 'mate' within her soul.
"Propelled by cues that pass the test,
She therefore seeks to build her nest."
I turn, the landscape unbesmirched—
And see the cockatrice is perched
Upon a branch a step or two
Away, her blazing eyes a clue
That her reaction's rather strong,
Beholding something here that's wrong.
The wrongness? Well, to her, it's me,
Inflaming passions jealously.
She spreads her wings and gives a squawk,
The concept clear though lacking talk.
Attempting motion clatters. Stiff,
I crackle, watch the hippogriff
Display her tonsils once again,
I hope inhaling oxygen.
With wings outstretched, she doesn't leap
But steps while speaking slow and deep.
"Edith, it's OK. Really. Ms. Zecora's a friend, and everything's fine, I promise. We're just talking, her and me, so you can stop turning her to stone, all right?"
The cockatrice is unconvinced,
Her glare declares, my vision minced,
Kaleidescoping, shattered, gone—
Until I blink and stretch a yawn.
Before me, grinning Silverstream
Is rubbing Edith's neck, the gleam
Of malice vanished. Clucks abound
Ensconced within a hissing sound.
"I'm so, so, so sorry, Ms. Zecora! I was maybe a little freaked out by what you said, so I didn't even notice Edith in the tree till she'd already started, y'know, turning you to stone..."
Her voice is quiet, quite serene
As benefits a sort of queen.
I could, of course, become irate,
Denounce her fully, stoke the hate.
I wouldn't, though. I'm not the type
To stab myself or suck the pipe...
Instead, I take a couple looks
At something only seen in books:
A cockatrice, her eyelids curled,
Without a care in all the world.
"Edith's really sorry, too, Ms. Zecora, though, I guess, she doesn't really look it, does she?"
The creature's looking fat and pleased
As one appears whose heart has eased.
"And I...I think you might be right about Edith seeing me as her mate, too."
Acute discomfort tugs her face
But flashing fast, deserts its place.
"I'd been thinking for all these years that she looked at me like a parent or something, but, well, after she turned you to stone, she flew back into the undergrowth, and there's her nest. See?"
I'm slowly coming more awake
And feeling less inclined to break.
I bend my neck—it hardly creaks—
Employing certain stretch techniques.
Below the tangled plants it sits,
A nest indeed. The place emits
An air of care I can't ignore,
And nestled there? I'm counting four
Bespeckled eggs of greenish hue.
And Silverstream has seen them, too.
"Edith hasn't ever really been away from me long enough to, y'know, mate with an actual male cockatrice, so those'll be empty or unfertilized or whatever you call them. Like eggs you buy at the store."
I force my breathing not to stop,
My heart to cease its flip and flop,
My voice to whisper, eyes to blink,
Mentality to stir and think.
"This sort of egg is more than rare,
Imbued with charms beyond compare,
Astonishing in every way,
Fantastic magic's pure display."
Beside me, Silverstream has gasped;
I look to see her foreclaws clasped.
"But Ms. Zecora, they...they're never gonna hatch, and if Edith keeps hanging out with me, she's never gonna know what it's like to be a mom. That's more sad than magical when you think about it..."
"Forgive me, please, a slight dissent.
The key concern is discontent.
Observing Edith makes me say
Her happiness is plain as day.
"We thinking creatures whirl and spin
Among our options. Freeze? Begin?
But instinct's power won't allow
For questions whether 'why' or 'how.'"
I'm scenting Silverstream's alarm,
But all's remaining free from harm.
Again caressing Edith's throat,
She keeps security afloat
And speaks with measured, careful tones
That almost mask her heartfelt moans.
"But what does it mean, Ms. Zecora? She's not really my pet 'cause I'm pretty sure it's illegal in Equestria to keep cockatrices as pets, but what else can she even be to me? Really and truly?"
I reach a hoof, but then retract
Unsure how Edith might react.
"You called her 'friend,' and that's the word
To keep in mind. She's not a bird
"Within a cage to beg for treats,
And neither cat nor dog secretes
The petrifying magic she
Emits by glaring angrily.
"Acceptance shows the way she feels;
Her actions' beating heart reveals
A depth that words can never reach,
A truth that crushes meager speech.
"Those eggs express her love for you,
Unusual, it's very true,
But deep, abiding, spread beyond
A pet's devotion, small and fond.
"She knows they'll never hatch, and yet?
She gives them here without regret,
Producing signs as best she can
Of strong rapport, connection's span."
Throughout my talk, her eyes expand,
But Edith never leaves her hand,
The cockatrice relaxed but still
Alert in ways that spark a chill.
The silence stretches on and on
But doesn't prompt a need to yawn.
Then Silverstream begins to nod,
Her measured tones a sure façade.
"I'm just so happy right now, Ms. Zecora, that if Edith wasn't here to maybe get a little upset, I'd be jumping around like crazy, kissing you and her and the trees and the bushes and everything. Which, again, is why Edith's so great. If I'm not extra careful and calm and mellow around her, everycreature—her and me both totally included—are gonna end up having a real bad day."
Her motions slow and purposeful,
She moves her claws to give a pull
At Edith's cheek, a gentle tug
That makes the cockatrice look smug.
"It's just that Edith doesn't know how to do friendship, and that makes a lotta sense if you think about it. I mean, from everything I've seen and read, cockatrices don't like each other very much, and most other creatures are just so scared of them, they just plain don't have any experience being friends. So the closest thing in Edith's cockatrice brain to having a friend is having a mate."
I nod myself but don't allow
My face to raise a single brow.
Internally, I set my hope
To roll along the barest slope.
"Which is great, like I said, but, I mean, I just don't know, Ms. Zecora. 'Cause if these eggs aren't ever gonna hatch, what're we s'pposed to do with them?"
She asks in perfect synchrony;
A puppet stretched across my knee
Could not have spoken half as well,
Providing space I'll use to sell.
"Permit me, please. I might suggest
A way to possibly invest
"And use the magic here entrenched
To find the lost, to rouse the quenched.
Ingredients as pure as these
Will grow beneath my expertise."
"Grow?"
She perks. I wince, aware at once
I chose the word ineptly. Dunce!
"You mean you can get the eggs to hatch, Ms. Zecora? 'Cause that'd be—!"
"Forgive my inexactitude.
The eggs, alas, are unimbued
With quickened life of any kind:
The fact of that's been underlined.
"Their magic, though, remaining strong,
Could serve another sort of song.
A potion mixed with these as base
Will reach beyond the commonplace,
"Increase the final potency
A hundredfold, I guarantee,
And bring about effects so rare,
I almost hesitate to share.
"The love and friendship each contains
Will multiply a potion's gains
And help intensify the core
In ways we've never known before."
Believing firmly helps convey,
I hope, the truth of all I say.
And Silverstream appears convinced—
At least she hasn't blanched or winced...
"So Edith and me, we could be a part of making your potions even better than they already are? 'Cause everycreature knows yours're the best. And if we could help..."
She looks to Edith's crimson gaze,
And if the beast perhaps relays
Some information, who can tell?
She doesn't hiss and doesn't yell,
But Silverstream returns a smile,
My heart emboldened all the while.
I set the eggs upon a shelf
Within my hut and tell myself
It's not a dream; they're really here,
The means to reach a new frontier
Concerning magic potions brewed
In ways to make the present crude.
And better still? A fixed supply
As long as nothing goes awry,
Disturbing such unlikely friends
So jealousy or strife descends,
A happenstance I truly doubt.
I'd almost call their bond 'devout,'
A dedication stretched between
The two I've simply never seen.
A monster feared for centuries
Develops ties that somehow please
Its inner instincts, make it tame
In some respects, although its aim
To petrify continues true—
I can't deny the residue
Of that experience'll haunt
My dreams for weeks. But still, this jaunt
Perhaps can show the benefits
Adventure gives...providing wits
And luck are equally employed.
I grind my teeth, my thoughts annoyed.
Because in fact I almost died!
Determined more to step aside
From future such entanglements,
I thank the hoof of providence
And go to start the cauldron fire,
Experiments my one desire.
Author's Note
I've done bits of:
Poetry here and there around the site before. My collection, "Ponyville & Other Poems," for instance, has just over 40 little poems about the various inhabitants of Equestria. I've written Zecora as a character a couple times, too, like in "A Fallen Star" where she teams up with Ember, and "Creation's Echo Softly Sounds" where she's the POV character so the whole story—except for other characters' dialogue—is told in rhyming couplets like this.
But you've gotta got back 11 years to "The Laughter and the Night" for the last time I tried an extended narrative poem, and this one's a couple hundred words longer than that one! And basing it on the "Student Counsel" episode, the one where they keep talking about the Spring Solstice when the correct term is Spring Equinox? Madness! Madness!
But that's what we all like about Pony, isn't it? The madness it inspires in us all?
Mike
