I find myself in my little corner of the room, sitting on my haunches on the floor, staring at the decision tree diagram pinned to the wall in front of me. It's an authentic map of organized chaos: brightly colored sticky notes and red strings crisscrossing in every direction, branching out into paths that stretch across the entire wall. Each string connects ideas, hypotheses, and future plans.

This time was supposed to be dedicated to schoolwork, but that was a piece of cake. I’ve just started primary school, and the exercises are so simple they only took me a few minutes. Solving single-digit addition problems feels like a joke when you have the mindset of an adult. I finished before I even realized it, grinning at how easy it all was. It’s almost like cheating. So, with the homework out of the way, I’ve got plenty of time before it’s time to help out on the farm. Usually, I pretend the homework takes me longer than it does, using the extra time to focus on something more interesting: my decision tree.

Alright, there are several options I’d really like to try. While I could tackle them one by one, I think it’s time to consider something more radical and expansive. I believe it’s time to venture into nature.

Out there, I could try out different activities that might bring me closer to my true talent and, hopefully, my destiny. Fishing, climbing, studying botany, collecting samples, interacting with animals, hiking, swimming… the possibilities are endless!

The problem is that Rockville isn’t exactly famous for its lush, vibrant forests. It’s more like a dry woodland, with dull trees and foliage that looks like it’s given up on life. But, as always, you have to make the most of what you’ve got. Still, I’m quite young, and I can’t just wander into the woods without permission. Being dependent on others is starting to get frustrating, as it limits what I can do. But I suppose that’s one of the drawbacks of being just a colt.

To avoid unnecessary trouble, I have no choice but to try to convince my parents to let me go. And, while it may seem harder than math homework, it doesn’t mean it’s impossible. Convincing my parents to spend a weekend camping will be tricky. After all, they’re serious and hardworking ponies who rarely allow themselves a break. But I’ve talked others into more complicated things before… how hard can this be?

Determined, I grab my completed homework sheet in my mouth, walk out of the room with my chest puffed out and my steps steady. I make my way down the hall to the living room, where I see Pinkamena and Marble getting help with their homework from Maud. I simply show Maud my completed work, and after a quick nod of approval, I set it aside and head out of the house.

A few steps later, I spot the rock field where the rest of my family is already working. It’s not unusual to see Limestone here, but not this early. Usually, she takes a little longer to finish her schoolwork and sometimes secretly asks for my help in exchange for larger portions at dinner. Rock training requires energy, and that means more food. But today, it seems she didn’t have much homework or finished it quickly because she’s already out in the field.

I ignore this small surprise and head towards my mother, who’s on the west side of the field fixing the wheel of a cart that seems to have broken during work. When she looks up and her eyes meet mine, I catch a flicker of surprise in her expression. She must be wondering why I’m here so early, considering I should be busy with homework.

I approach my mom, my heart beating with a mix of nerves and determination. I know this conversation will be tough, but I have to try—I’ve got a couple of tricks up my hoof that I hope to use at just the right moment.

“Mother,” I start, using my sweetest voice, “I’ve been thinking… what if we go camping this weekend?” Straight to the point. None of that beating around the bush, which is common in the Pie family.

She barely glances at me, keeping her focus on the tools in her hooves. Her response is quick, curt, like she already had it prepared.

“No. I don’t see the need. We have plenty of work here, and it’s not the kind of distraction we need.”

Okay, I knew this would be difficult, but a flat-out “no” so quickly? I’m not giving up that easily. I pout and pull out my best trick: the puppy-dog eyes. I widen my eyes as much as I can, giving them that “please” sparkle I’ve mastered. At first, Mom seems to ignore it, but I notice a small crack in her expression. I’ve caught her attention, even if just a little.

“Please, Mom…” I murmur, letting myself slump as though the idea of her saying no is a personal tragedy. “It wouldn’t just be for fun. It could be a great chance to… you know, try new things and maybe discover something important.”

Mom sighs and looks at me more closely. I notice her expression is now somewhere between curiosity and... understanding.

"Let me guess," she says, raising an eyebrow. "This has something to do with that chaotic pile of papers and notes hanging near your bed, doesn't it?"

I feel myself blush a little; I didn’t think she had noticed how much I’ve been focusing on this. Still, I nod, unafraid to admit it.

"Yes, partly," I answer. "The other reason is something very important..." I pause dramatically, letting the suspense build. It’s time to play my secret weapon—the one thing I know will hit a soft spot. "It’s also to help me find and earn a Cutie Mark! I've tried so many things here on the farm and… while I’ve enjoyed some of them, none have felt like the one. Maybe at camp, trying new activities, I could discover something that brings me closer to my Cutie Mark."

Ugh. I know how important Cutie Marks are and all, but I still hate the name. Why not call it a Stallion Mark or something cooler? It feels embarrassing to even say it out loud.

My mom studies me in silence, clearly still unconvinced. So, I decide to play my final card.

"Besides, if it’s about money, I can help cover the extra time on the farm," I offer.

She takes a deep breath, and for a second, I think she’s going to turn me down again. But instead, she crosses her forelegs and looks at me in a way she rarely does.

"Echo," she starts, her tone steady but with a faint warmth, "you’ve been doing excellent in school—you’re at the top of your class. And here on the farm, you’ve also been putting in a lot of effort. You even seem to enjoy most of the work..." She pauses, and I catch the faintest trace of a smile on her face. It’s not much, but it’s something.

My ears perk up, brimming with hope. Is she actually considering it?

"I’ll think about it," she finally says. "But for now, you need to finish all your chores today without any distractions. Head to the east field and help your sister. Afterward..." She raises a hoof in a patient gesture, "I’ll talk to your father at dinner about this."

A wave of excitement washes over me, but I force myself not to jump and shout with joy. Instead, I nod eagerly. "Thank you, Mom! I promise I’ll get everything done. Thank you so much!"

She just nods and goes back to her task, and I dash off toward the east field of the farm.

Just like school assignments, this will be a piece of cake. After all, I’ve been training with the heaviest rocks on the farm since I was a foal. Sure, I can’t exactly toss giant boulders around like they’re feathers, but by now, I can handle rocks almost twice my size without much trouble. Compared to other colts my age, that’s already an achievement.

When I reach the east field, I see my sister Limestone hard at work. She’s moving rocks from point A to point B, stacking them neatly before loading them into a cart for transport. I don’t need anyone to explain the job to me; with a quick glance at the setup, I know exactly how to jump in. I walk over to the pile of rocks and pick out a medium-sized one, then start rolling it toward the collection site.

Life on a rock farm is unlike any other type of farming. There are no green fields or bountiful crops waiting to be harvested—just the sound of stones being dragged and the quiet stillness of the gray mountains. In Rockville, everything feels more… mineral.

The rocks here come in all kinds. Some are smooth and rounded, as if polished by centuries of water, while others are rough, with jagged, uneven edges that are hard to grip and even harder to move. There are volcanic rocks, lightweight and full of holes, almost like they’ve been scorched, and there are dense granite stones that require every ounce of strength just to nudge them a few feet.

Each type of task comes with its own strategy. For volcanic rocks, I can carry them outright, walking carefully to avoid scraping myself on the sharp edges. But for quartz or granite, the best approach is to roll them slowly, using gravity to my advantage. Today’s job seems straightforward: gather small-to-medium stones and bring them to the pile, where they’ll later be transported to the village workshops or picked up by a distributor. I focus on the task, pushing one stone after another, feeling the weight under my hooves. Sometimes I pause to use my hindquarters for extra momentum, recalling the exact movements Dad taught me to avoid injury.

Limestone notices me, though she doesn’t say anything at first. I can tell she’s a little surprised—I usually don’t jump into work this quickly. But Limestone being Limestone, she’s not one to be outdone.

I smirk as I catch her sneaking glances at me. True to her stubborn nature, she starts moving larger rocks—probably trying to show me up. Typical Limestone. If Maud or I ever handle rocks bigger than hers, she always makes it her mission to drag something even heavier—or worse, stack multiple rocks at once.

I shake my head, amused, and keep rolling my own rock, focused on my goal. The sooner I finish here, the closer I get to my weekend in the nature.

This job isn’t easy for just anyone, and that’s something that binds us together as a family. My parents always say that working on a rock farm isn’t just about physical labor; it’s about discipline, consistency, and a deep respect for the land and its mineral secrets. Any other pony might think we’re just moving stones from one spot to another, but for us, there’s something special about this work. Every rock has its purpose—whether it’s being crushed for construction, carved into crafts, or sent to the master stonecutters’ workshops in Rockville.

I keep pushing, letting the rhythm of my breathing blend with the sound of rocks scraping against the ground. There’s no rush. The work may be heavy, but I know that by the end of the day, it will all be worth it.

When my sisters finished their homework, they joined in on the labor immediatley."

After a long day of moving rocks under the sun, the sky begins to glow a deep orange. The distant call of my father signals it’s time to head home.

“Come on, it’s time for dinner,” Limestone says, stepping toward the house in her usual serious tone.

Marble and Pinkie drop their shoulders in relief before following behind us toward the door.

As we enter, Mom greets us with a nod and the faint aroma of rock soup. “Dinner’s almost ready. Wash your hooves, and I’ll call you when it’s time to eat,” she says in her usual firm, steady voice while stirring the pot with care.

I head to the sink, climbing onto the bench to reach the faucet. As the cold water flows over my hooves, my thoughts keep circling back to the conversation I’m hoping to hear tonight at the dinner table: the weekend camp. This is my big chance. I imagine all the activities I’ll get to try, each one a potential path to discovering my special talent.

My mind drifts to the possible Cutie Mark I might earn. Could it be something nature-related? The idea is appealing—peace, serenity, maybe something that reflects useful wilderness skills. But then I wonder if a Cutie Mark like that would be all that practical in other areas of life. Sure, knowing how to tie knots or survive in the wild sounds impressive around a campfire, but… would it really help beyond a camp setting? Imagine this: “Hi, what’s your special talent?” And I, with the most serious face in the world, respond, “Oh, me? I have the extraordinary ability to tie unbreakable knots—strong enough to hold a spaceship together.” Ha! That would be pretty hilarious.

On second thought, though, a survival talent wouldn’t be so bad. You never know what the future holds, and having a skill that lets me fend for myself, even in a dark, unpredictable forest, could come in handy. Hopefully, I’ll never face anything that extreme, but… you never know. One way or another, every talent has its use, and if it doesn’t, I’ll figure out how to make it useful.

That’s why camp is my best option. I can try out different activities and, with luck, increase my chances of finding my Cutie Mark. Plus, it’ll help narrow down some branches of my decision tree—a crucial step toward making my life as organized as those charts on my wall.

Dinner on the farm always carried a solemn tone, almost like a ceremony. Each of us took our usual spots at the table: me seated between Pinkie and Maud, while Mom and Dad occupied the heads of the table. No one needed instructions or reminders. From the moment we sat down, we knew exactly where to sit, what to do, and, most importantly, how to behave. In this household, even something as simple as dinner was approached with a sense of discipline I had long since accepted as part of my life.

The table was large and made of solid wood, unadorned but full of character. Its surface bore scratches and stains from years of use—marks that only we could interpret. These imperfections told the story of our lives here, a perfect reflection of our family’s resilience and simplicity.

Mom and Dad wore their usual expressions: serious and focused, as if every moment at the table was just as important as any task in the field. Even Maud, who helped serve dinner, distributed portions with the same precision she used to sort rocks during the day.

The food was simple, maybe too simple, but after a day of physical effort, it gave it a special value. The aroma of the rock soup filled the air, as absurd as it sounds, I can really eat it. At first it was complicated and in fact if I hadn't seen my parents and surprisingly Maud, even though I was so young, eating them, I wouldn't believe that you could eat "rocks." But after a while, you get used to them. In fact, you realized that those minerals gave the food a unique flavor, something that really complemented the food. Eating a bite of the rock was like taking a piece of the earth under our hooves, a direct connection with the working life on the farm.

Dad gave his usual approving nod and said, "Everything’s ready; start eating." That was our signal to begin. In silence, Mom cut small pieces of her bread while the rest of us started on our plates. The only sounds were the crunch of bread or the quiet slurping of soup.

Occasionally, if something noteworthy happened during the day—something truly out of the ordinary—it might spark a brief conversation. But even those moments were rare. Maud wasn’t one for enthusiasm. Limestone stayed quiet unless provoked, and even then, it was usually just a sharp glare. Pinkamena was unusually subdued, and Marble was far too shy to speak up.

Despite all the seriousness, there was a kind of warmth in these moments, a strange comfort that brought a sense of peace. The soft crackle of the fire in the stove filled the kitchen with a soothing warmth, and the aroma of soup and bread felt like a gentle embrace. It was as if the very air whispered, “This is home.” Sure, we didn’t talk much during dinner, but even the silence had its own language—a quiet affection that didn’t need words to be understood.

As I ate, I glanced at Mom out of the corner of my eye. My thoughts drifted back to the camp. We’d had a brief conversation before dinner, and she’d promised to discuss it with Dad. But in a family like ours, these things weren’t decided lightly. Everything required careful thought, and though I was excited about the prospect, I knew I had to be patient.

Looking up, I noticed how the orange hues of the sunset filtered through the window, casting a warm glow that filled me with a sense of calm.

Even with the calming effect of the sunset, I couldn’t shake the anticipation of the conversation about the camp. So, yes, while the sun sank below the horizon, my mind stayed fixed on the discussion that was sure to come.

Dinner reached its peak, with the clinking of utensils against plates and the occasional crunch of edible rocks creating a rhythm that filled the room. My father, seated at the head of the table, paused to take a sip of water, dabbing his mouth with the neatly folded napkin he always kept at his side. Everything seemed to follow the usual routine until my mother broke the silence.

“Igneous,” she said in her neutral tone—the one she used when she was about to say something that demanded everyone’s attention. My ears perked up immediately. I knew exactly where this was going. “Echo mentioned something about a camp this weekend. He wants to go.”

Dad looked up from his plate, his expression hardening slightly, though he didn’t seem surprised. “A camp? Out in the wilderness?” he asked, setting his spoon down with a soft click. “Why would he want to do something like that? I don’t see how it fits with our priorities.”

Limestone, clearly intrigued by the conversation, nearly choked on her food for a second. Pinkie and Marble simply looked up, silent as usual, while Maud… well, Maud just shifted her gaze toward the conversation without showing any other sign of interest.

“It’s more than just camping,” I interjected, trying to sound calm but determined. “There are activities—things we can’t do here on the farm. It could be a good opportunity to… try new things.”

“New things?” Dad asked, his tone more curious than critical, though still skeptical. “What kind of new things?”

“Climbing, learning to navigate, even outdoor cooking,” I said quickly. “Things you can’t experience here.”

His expression didn’t change much. For a moment, I thought he’d dismiss the idea outright without giving it any real consideration. But then he spoke, his tone still firm.

“And what’s the need for that? There’s plenty of work to be done here on the farm, and everything you’re describing sounds more like a distraction than anything useful.”

“But it could be useful!” I insisted, sitting up straighter in my chair. “Dad, what if I discover something I’m good at? I might even find my Cutie Mark! I’ve been working hard here, but I don’t always get to try new things. This could be a great opportunity.”

My mother, who had remained quiet until that moment, added, “We understand what you mean, son, but… camping out in the wilderness? That’s… extravagant, to put it one way.”

“It’s not just about me,” I added quickly, dramatically putting one foot on the table.

“Echorellian!” my mother exclaimed.

Stepping back to my seat and a quick apology, I continued, “What I mean is that what I learn at camp could benefit us all. I could come back with new skills, maybe even something that could help make our work here more efficient.”

That seemed to give my father pause. He stroked his beard with a hoof and let out a heavy sigh, as though he were evaluating a particularly difficult boulder.

Dad finally spoke, crossing his hooves on the table. “Echo, I’ll be honest. I’m not convinced camping is… safe. Nature can be unpredictable—that’s why we’re rock farmers. If you’ve been working this hard for it,” he murmured, almost to himself, “maybe…”

“Igneous,” my mother interjected, her gaze steady on him. “Perhaps he has a point. Maybe we should give him a chance to explore… even if the idea unsettles me.” Her eyes drifted to the side, and I could almost see the wheels turning in her mind as she considered all the terrible things that could happen.

Dad closed his eyes for a moment, as though reflecting deeply. Then he spoke again, his voice deliberate. “You’re too young to be worrying about a Cutie Mark—those things take time. But…”

There was a long silence. Finally, he nodded slowly, though there was a note of hesitation in his movements. “Fine,” he said firmly. “I’ll discuss the details with your mother. But there’s one condition: the farm chores must not be neglected. If you finish everything assigned to you by the weekend, then we’ll all go.”

Before I could react to his decision, Limestone leaned forward over the table and exclaimed, “You mean all of us?”

Dad responded with a simple nod, his expression neutral.

A smile spread across my face before I could stop it. “Thank you, Mom, Dad! I won’t let you down!”

“You’d better not,” he replied, though there was a faint glimmer in his eyes, like he was enjoying my enthusiasm more than he wanted to admit.

As dinner wrapped up, the silence returned, but the atmosphere around the table felt a little lighter. I even caught glimpses of surprise on my sisters’ faces—they still seemed to be processing the fact that Dad had agreed.

And me? My mind was already on the weekend, racing with all the possibilities waiting for me.

It was a great opportunity, a brief escape from the routines of Rockville, where the chances to do anything out of the ordinary were as limited as the range of colors in a pile of gray stones. Around here, it wasn’t like you could stumble upon something new every day, let alone something that might help you discover your purpose. But camp… there, I could try different things—things that, hopefully, might ignite that spark of revelation about who I truly am.

Life? Well, life is complicated. I knew that before, and I know it now—probably better than anyone. In my past life, I was always running from one thing to another, like I was caught in an endless race, constantly wanting to try everything, touch everything, live everything. It was an insatiable hunger for experiences, but also a problem. Because while I wanted to do it all, I also understood how life works: you can’t do everything.

And even if you only choose a few things, there’s always something that holds you back. Maybe it’s out of reach. Maybe you lose the drive. Maybe others think you’re crazy. Maybe there’s just never enough time. Or maybe, you simply can’t afford it.

I ended up trying so many different things but without direction. It was like wandering in circles with my eyes closed. In the end, I never really accomplished anything meaningful. That indecision, that lack of purpose—it led to my downfall. Literally.

Now, here I am again. A new body, a new world, but with the same old problem: What am I supposed to do with my life? It’s ironic. In my past life, I used to spend sleepless nights questioning myself. Always the same dilemmas, over and over again. And here, though the setting has changed, the question remains the same.

It seems questioning the future is something inevitable—something intrinsic to being alive. I’ve learned that well.

Since arriving here, I thought things would be different this time. That I’d be able to set a clear goal right from the start. But six years have passed, and, to be honest, I haven’t made much progress. I always find myself stuck in a maze of ideas, each leading to a new fork in the road, and there’s never a path that doesn’t end in a wall. Because no matter how many options I consider, there’s always the chance that everything will fall apart in the blink of an eye.

That’s why I want to make sure that whatever I choose is solid—that I get it right from the beginning, without mistakes that could cause everything to crumble.

And then there’s this whole system of Cutie Marks. It’s fascinating—almost miraculous, when I really think about it. In this world, ponies have something that literally reflects who they are, a kind of internal compass pointing them toward their purpose in life. Something so simple, yet so profound. A special talent, unique to each individual—a mirror of what you carry inside.

It’s exactly what I always sought in my past life: something to tell me, “This is who you are. This is what you’re meant to do.”

That’s why I’m determined. I’ll seize any opportunity that increases my chances of discovering my Cutie Mark. If it means joining the camp and exploring the wilderness, then so be it. Nature is vast, filled with possibilities, practical skills, and valuable lessons. Maybe my Cutie Mark is out there, waiting to be found among the trees, rivers, and stars.

Author's Note

This chapter delves a little deeper into Echo's daily life, showing how he uses the extra time he gains by finishing her chores quickly and efficiently, working at the rock farm, and what afternoons are like at the Pie family table.

As for the camp, it’s essentially inspired by the CMC’s camping episode.

This chapter kicks off the next arc set in the nature, which will play a very significant role later on.

Fun Facts:

Initially, there were two chapters planned before this one, but they’ve been moved much further ahead in the story. They weren’t particularly relevant at this point, so only minor adjustments were needed to this chapter to keep the pacing tighter and move the story closer to the more crucial events.

Thank you for reading!