Two weeks after coming home, the novelty of the new foals had worn off, and reality set in hard. Little Chart may not have been able to attend a prestigious school, but he was learning several new things.

For starters, newborn foals didn’t sleep through the night for the first six months. One of the twins woke up every few hours, they always cried when they did, and it always made the other cry, too. The thin walls ensured that he would wake up with them, stuff his pillow over his head until his parents tended to them, or go care for them himself if he could tell he wouldn’t be getting back to sleep.

The other thing he learned is that foals couldn’t process anything but formula or mother’s milk for the first six months, either. That’d be fine if Rosewood didn’t need extra food to regularly nurse the twins or if foal formula wasn’t so expensive.

To that end he found himself scrounging through the garden for anything worthwhile, sweat pouring off him as the hot summer sun shone above. He pulled another tiny carrot out of the ground and tossed it in the bucket. As he worked, the pit of guilt in his stomach had returned. It felt like it was eating away at him as much as ever, and it was made all the worse by physical hunger. It was a constant reminder that there would’ve been one fewer mouth to feed if he’d just succeeded. Sometimes it was easy to ignore and put out of his head, other times it felt like a bottomless pit ready to swallow him whole.

With every vegetable he took he buried a seed in its place, poured some water from the well over it and silently pleaded for it to grow strong. He looked at the gathered vegetables and groaned, disappointed at the meager pickings. He frowned, resisting the temptation to just eat them raw. He couldn’t be selfish like that, other ponies needed to eat, too.

He grabbed the bucket’s handle with his teeth, stomping the dirt off his hooves before heading back inside. As soon as the thought of a hearty vegetable stew crossed his mind he was practically drooling. There was enough for two servings, maybe three if they stretched it. Add some day-old cornbread on the side and lunch was served.

When he entered the house he saw his mother in the kitchen already, sitting in front of a bowl full of grain and apples, peeling the outer layer off with a knife. He smiled, trotting up and setting his bucket down.

Rosewood regarded Little Chart with a brief glance before her gaze drifted to the gathered vegetables. He could see her salivating for a moment before she went back to her task, running a knife through an apple. The crisp sound of its flesh splitting almost made him drool as he trotted beside her, trying to ignore it and stay focused on his task.

She set her hoof on his head when he was close enough. "Look at you, working so hard." She had only fondness in her voice. "And what a haul." That was, the two both knew, a bit more than the truth.

“Where’s Dad?” Little Chart asked as he set a pot on the stove and started loading small bits of dried wood.

“He’s trying to finish Husker’s crib before he starts having magic surges,” Rosewood answered, cleaning the available fruits. “For Rainshower we just need a lid, but Husker is a bit trickier. Once he starts getting magic surges he’s probably going to end up breaking that crib. If your dad isn’t finished before then he could end up hurting her.”

The idea that Husker could hurt Rainshower horrified him. “He wouldn’t do that, they’re twins.”

Rosewood seemed amused. “He’s a baby, sweetie. He wouldn’t do it on purpose, but foals can’t control their magic surges. I still remember when you just disappeared in a flash and we found you on the roof. You thought it was so funny, scaring us half to death like that.”

Little Chart blushed as he put a pot over the stove, poured in some broth, and stretched it with water, waiting for it to heat up as he prepared the gathered vegetables. “We can take Dad a bowl of this while he’s working, I bet he’d love it.”

As Rosewood looked back at her son, she caught him snatching a mushroom from the pantry and munching on it as he worked, already close to halfway done with his soup. The sight of his ears back as he kept his attention focused on cooking was strangely cute, though she remained quiet about the tiny morsel. "Bring it to him when you're done. He’ll be happy to see you."

He looked down, taking another carrot in his magic and levitating it up to eye level, spinning it slowly to take in every little detail, all of the lumps and imperfections that it had to offer. They wouldn’t change how it tasted in the end. He chopped it into pieces and added it to the pot.

A soft crunch reached his ears from beside him.

He looked over at his mother. She held a piece of carrot between her hooves as though to offer him a bite.

Little Chart didn’t need to be tempted to lean in and take a bite, with Rosewood tossing it in with the other vegetables before he was even done chewing. “Ew! Mom, I just took a bite of that!”

“It’ll be fine, dear,” Rosewood turned and swished her tail as she took some wooden bowls out of the cupboard, setting them beside the stove. “It’s almost ready.”

“Almost,” He confirmed with a nod, waiting as the heavenly smell wafted over him. His mouth watered, but he resisted, waiting for the stew to heat up to where it wasn’t quite scalding but hot enough to draw out all the flavors its ingredients had to give. As soon as he deemed it ready, he grabbed a ladle and carefully poured it out into the waiting bowls, scraping as much as possible out of the pot. “Good to the last little bit.”

He took one bowl in his magic and passed another to Rosewood who accepted it eagerly and quickly took a sip of the warm broth, savoring every morsel that crossed her tongue. Her son carefully walked behind her and darted for the door, balancing the two bowls he had. "He'll like it." It was as much a prayer as any amount of promise.

The warm day greeted Little Chart as he made his way around the back of the house and spotted Hewn Oak working hard to chop logs into more usable wood segments. Little Chart trotted up and waited for his father to spot him, sitting patiently with one bowl between his hooves and the other floating silently.

Hewn Oak grunted as he brought his axe down on the felled tree’s branch again, and again, and again. Finally, with a strong yank, it came off. He wiped the sweat from his brow, setting his axe aside as he dragged the severed branch towards the stump before he noticed his son standing a safe distance away with a steaming bowl of something.

“I brought you some stew, thought you were hungry,” Little Chart said as he floated over the bowl and spoon. “I did what I could with what we had.”

Hewn Oak accepted it with a thankful smile, enjoying the aroma as he sat on the tree stump and took a bite of the his son’s concoction. His smile widened, the simple stew a wonderful treat for him.

Seeing his father’s reaction, he sat in front of him and took a bite, his face lighting up as he suddenly ate with gusto. Little Chart wasn’t as hungry as when he scarfed down the sandwich Stellar Flare had gifted him, but hungry enough that the stew didn’t have a snowball’s chance in the Dragon Lands.

“You and your mother did an excellent job,” Hewn Oak commended between bites.

“Actually, I made it myself,” Little Chart beamed with a sense of accomplishment, but the reality of things made itself known to him and brought his mood back down. “Enjoy it while you can, that’s all there is. It took all the vegetables we had in the garden and some of the mushrooms in the pantry.”

His father briefly paused in eating, going back to a much slower pace as he thought. "Ah guess... Ah'm eating the first fruits of your labor." That made him chuckle just a little. "Still, you have been industrious in helping to provide." He patted Little Chart on the back. "You're becoming a stallion of the house."

Little Chart’s frown deepened. “Some stallion… I can’t do much here. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have a horn, then I’d be able to help the crops grow, or to water them better.”

Hewn Oak drowned and put his hoof under Little Chart's chin, making his son look at him. "Ah want you to always remember, the only pony to never mess up is the pony never tried to start something. What you do for us is enough, unicorn or not.”

"That's why I worked the garden, it’s all I can do." He said, deflated.

"And Ah right appreciate it." Hewn Oak took another slow sip. "All we can do is enjoy what we have right now, and try for more for later."

“There won’t be more later,” Little Chart gestured to the crops in the distance. “This is going to be the third crappy harvest in a row. Cornwood is dying a slow death and no one wants to even talk about it.”

Hewn Oak suppressed a sigh of exasperation. His son was right, although he was loathed to admit it. “Cornwood is our home, son. It’s where Ah was born, mah father was born, and his father. Our family’s roots run deep here.”

Little Chart was about to rebuke his father’s stubborn traditional attachment when another stallion’s voice interrupted them.

“Excuse me, do you happen to know where- oh, hello again.”

Both ponies turned to see Neighsay standing at the property’s fence, dressed in the same black robe he’d worn for the entrance exams and sporting a pair of saddlebags.

Hewn Oak turned toward the source of the voice and scowled. He set down his remaining stew in favor of his axe and stood close to his son as he faced the unfamiliar unicorn. “Who are ya? Rampart send ya?”

”He’s one of the proctors from my test.” Little Chart’s eyes narrowed. “He’s the one who failed me, even though it wasn’t my fault!”

If Hewn Oak had been scowling before, his gaze now nearly had enough intensity to ignite Neighsay’s attire. “Little Chart, go inside. Now. Bar the door behind ya.”

Hearing the severity in his father’s tone, Little Chart rushed inside and put a thick board into the metal slats on either side of the frame. His mind raced with a million questions about why he’d come here, but he set them aside in favor of finding his mom.

Hewn Oak kept a tight grip on his axe as he approached the fence, his gaze never leaving the unicorn. The fur on the back of his neck was standing up, and that only ever meant trouble. “Mah colt said you were there for his test in Canterlot, so tell me, who are ya, and what’re ya doin’ here halfway across Equestria?”

Neighsay took in the size of the earth pony before him. He felt a bead of sweat run down his brow and not just from the heat. Hewn was a whole head taller than his horn and held his heavy axe with the same ease he might hold a stick. “My name is Neighsay. I was the lead proctor for the entrance exams on loan from the E.E.A. I was there to ensure all the foals were held to the same standards and rules.”

One part of the question answered, one more to go, Hewn Oak’s expression didn’t soften. “Get to the point. What is your interest in mah foal?”

“Right,” Neighsay cleared his throat. “I’m here to offer your foal an apprenticeship.”

Hewn Oak stood silently, his expression becoming unreadable. After a few seconds, he finally spoke. “Why? And why should Ah let you anywhere near him?”

“The test was to lift a large bowl of water and balance it; your son lifted the water itself out of the bowl. That much natural talent is practically unheard of in a foal his age, but potential without proper education is wasted. He could grow into a very successful mage with the proper tutelage, even if it’s not in a classroom setting.

All that did was make Hewn Oak snort and swing his axe into the dirt, burying the blade with enough force that it supported itself. “If he’s such a natural, then why did he fail your lil’ test?”

“I’m afraid the test was levitating the bowl, not the water. On a technical matter, that was a failure,” He saw Hewn Oak’s scowl returning, hurrying before he thought to reach for his axe again. “I understand you may not be happy with me, but it was my whole job to make sure every candidate had the same standards, I couldn’t make an exception just for him.”

Seeing the larger stallion relax a bit, Neighsay continued. “Think about this. You clearly want your son to have a better life than what Cornwood offers. I would be happy to help with that.”

Hewn Oak’s gaze somewhat softened, and he heaved a heavy sigh. “Ah do. Being a unicorn here is hard living, and Cornwood’s fallen on hard times.” He looked skeptical despite his admission, raising an eyebrow. “And Ah understand y'all have rules, Ah do too, but there’s a point where they just get ridiculous. But mah own pa taught me nothing is free in this world. What exactly would mah foal be doing for ya?”

“Between magic lessons and general education, he would be expected to do chores, run simple errands,, and accompany me when a situation allows for a learning experience.” Neighsay traced Hewn Oak’s face for any signs of doubt. “Before I was a proctor, I was a professor myself. I assure you that I am fully capable of teaching Little Chart everything he needs to know.”

The large earth pony stood silent, his mind mulling over everything he’d heard. It did seem promising, but they’d already had one opportunity slip through their hooves. Nearly a full minute had passed before he spoke again. “And mah foal will learn enough to get by? Ah’ve never been to Canterlot, but Ah hear it’s a hard place to live.”

“It can be challenging for those who are not prepared, yes,” he admitted. “But in time he will learn everything he needs to harness his talent. He’ll grow to feel as at home there as any other unicorn. What do you say?”

“I don’t, it’s not mah choice,” Hewn Oak reached forward and undid the gate latch, effortlessly flinging it open. “You’ll have to go through your whole pitch again with him.”

Author's Note

Happy weekend everyone! Hope you’re all staying warm. Here’s another chapter for Little Chart’s story, and approaching the beginning of his journey.