Author's Note
Gentle Harvest is coming in for dinner after a hard day’s work. His mind wanders back to the early days, when he’d first arrived on the farm as a young colt, lost and uncertain. On how things changed with time.
***
When I got him, I decided that Harvest would be a foster foal who lives on a farm with a ton of siblings, either that still live there or have since moved on. I wanted to flesh that out a bit. The other names are random, and I don’t actually have designs or details about anyone else. But for the sake of telling a bit of his story, I needed something.
Hopefully it reads nicely. :)
Home
“Dinner’s ready!”
The unicorn lifted his head, a recently-plucked carrot still hanging from his muzzle. His ears flicked away the small, buzzing flies of summer as he tossed the vegetable into his basket. His hooves pawed the ground near more of the vibrant fronds, unearthing the orange tops of more carrots beneath. Some of them were too misshapen to pull easily from the ground, but a quick bolt of magic did the trick.
Gentle Harvest didn’t call back—ma knew he’d be in soon. He wanted to finish this row. There were only a few carrots left, half a dozen or so, and most seemed to have grown normally. Earth pony farming was like this; you never quite knew what you were going to get.
He leaned down, tugging another carrot free from its earthy cradle. It was tossed carefully into the basket beside him, just as the last one had been. Just as the next few would be. It was a slow, mindless task that soothed his soul.
It had been strange, at first. Coming to the farm as a foal had been frightening. He’d been introduced to the other foals living there, and the family caring for them, but he’d been too shy to interact with them at first. Moving to a new place was hard for anypony, but for Harvest, it had been particularly difficult.
His quiet, careful nature was met with love and patience. The other foals—his foster siblings—didn’t tease him like the foals back home. They all seemed like him, melancholic and tentative; navigating the world with careful steps, as if the ground would break beneath them. He felt the same way. It had broken once before, after all, swallowing up everything he thought he knew.
Another carrot found its way into the basket. This one had a growth on its side, two carrots trying to grow from one frond. It was still perfectly serviceable as a carrot, but it likely wouldn’t sell at market. That was fine; he enjoyed giving them to Ma, who delighted in cooking with misshapen and unloved vegetables.
He raised his head, taking a moment to shake the accumulated dirt from his light, gray-tan coat. From his hips down his fur was even lighter, making the dirt all the more visible. It matted his fetlocks and took the shine from his hooves, but he didn’t mind.
His face was this way, too. The top of his head and muzzle was light, while his fur darkened from the jaw down. Before he’d come to the farm he had been mocked for it. Some cruel fillies had said his facial markings looked like a pony’s skull that was missing its jaw. He didn’t think it did, but it hadn’t stopped their teasing. Even now, the assertion stung.
Gentle Harvest lifted his basket of carrots with his teeth, beginning his slow trot back to the farmhouse. He could hear their chickens fluttering about their coop, clucking and pecking at the ground. The lowing of cattle sometimes drifted down from the hills, where another farm sat. He closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the farm, of his hooves in the grass as he made his way back home.
This was his home, after all. He had come here as a foster foal, but had taken quite well to farm life. Outsiders had found it strange for a unicorn to be so interested in the earth. He had no need for magic beyond its most simple, straightforward uses—his hooves could do anything he truly needed to do. Working with them felt natural.
The carrots were placed beside the front door, in a shady spot where they would be safe while he cleaned up. It would have been rude to bring them in all dirty during dinner. Likewise, he needed to clean himself up.
Gentle Harvest pushed open the door with his knee. The smell of hearty, spiced soup reached his nose and he inhaled deeply. The smell reminded him of his first nights in that big, scary farmhouse, with all the strange foals around him. His fears had abated a little with that first bite of a home-grown meal, made with such devotion and love. A part of him attributed that moment to his decision to stay, even after he was old enough to enter the world on his own.
Ma was standing by the stove, her ears perking up as he entered.
“How’s the Harvest, sweetie?” She said, stirring a large pot of soup with a contented smile.
“He’s fine, but he needs to clean up. And the carrots are well, too. Save some for me,” he smiled back, passing the table and carefully picking his way through the living room, hoping not to deposit too much dirt. He made his way up the stairs, the old creak of the sixth and tenth steps reminding him of one of his brothers.
Although they were all battered by life, his siblings had been more mischievous than him. One brother in particular had enjoyed sneaking into the barn at night. Having a bed had been new to him back then. The hay floor in the barn was so much more familiar, more welcoming. Gentle Harvest had followed him a few times, worried that his brother might get into trouble. But Ma had known, and had let them go.
His brother would eventually come to choose the bed over the barn floor, though it had taken time. Gentle Harvest remembered the first night his brother had fallen asleep in their shared room. He’d watched him for hours before he himself succumbed to sleep. And when he awoke that next morning, his brother was still there, sitting up and playing with a wooden duck that some kind stallion had gifted the family many years earlier. Its yellow paint had been faded and cracked even then.
He passed one of his sisters, Lily Wish, as he made his way to the bathroom. She shoulder-checked him as he went by, and Gentle Harvest stumbled. He turned his head to snort after her, meeting her kind eyes with a smile. Her palomino coat glistened, and he had to wonder how she kept so clean while working on the farm.
Gentle Harvest stepped over the ornery orange tabby napping near the bedroom door, careful not to disturb it. It was the only barn cat that had insisted on being an indoor pet, and once its demands had been met, it had delighted in sleeping in the most inconvenient places.
He carefully nudged the bathroom door open, quieting its old creaking by a small margin. He didn’t bother closing it behind him. Gentle Harvest stepped up to the short wooden tub, its make having long since gone out of style, and turned on the faucet. He waited a few minutes for the water to warm before stepping in, scrubbing his hooves clean of the day’s grime. His unshorn fetlocks extended the task by a minute or two, and even after toweling off, they remained damp. There was just no taking the water out of them quickly, short of using a blowdryer.
Now clean, he retraced his steps, making his way over the cat, past the bedrooms, and down the creaky stairs. One of his new brothers was just rushing inside, a wooden duck carried in his teeth even as he leapt up into his chair. Ma gave him a look, but neither she nor Gentle Harvest scolded him. It was good for a foal to be excited for a meal, after all.
“About time, the both of you,” Ma smiled, reaching out a hoof to ruffle Harvest’s soft orange and yellow mane. He accepted the affection readily, smiling as he took his usual seat at the table. Each portion of food was already set, except for Ma’s.
“Goldie! Don’t even think about it ‘til everyone’s at the table!” Ma said, still ladling herself a bowl of warm, hearty soup. Golden Moon, their most recent foster, paused mid-bite, his small wings extended in excitement.
“Aww, Ma! Hurry up!” Goldie whined, dropping his spoon back into the soup with an audible clink.
“You be patient, young stallion!” She said, topping her bowl off with a collection of recently-plucked greens. She lifted the bowl to her nose, taking a long, deep breath before meandering over to the table. The bowl was set with nary a sound against the table, her chair squeaking as she sat herself down. She reached her hooves up to fix her curly silver mane, brushing stray strands from her pale green eyes. Only once she was finished did she give a slight nod to Goldie.
The pegasus colt grabbed his spoon, shoveling warm soup into his waiting maw. He splashed some onto the table and himself, failing to keep the spoon steady. His little wings flapped with hungry excitement as his pale yellow coat became flecked with broth.
Ma rolled her eyes.
“Glad to see you eating, Goldie,” Harvest said, his tone warm. “You don’t have to eat so fast, though. We have plenty for seconds, and thirds if you want.”
“You’ll always be welcome to as much as you want.” His sister nodded next to him. When Lily Wish had come to the farm she had struggled to eat. For the first week, no one was sure if she was eating. It was only when Pa caught her stealing food from the cupboard and stashing it away beneath her pillow did they find out. In response, he had started leaving food out on the counters and table. Sometimes he’d even place bowls of fruit in the living room, nibbling at it during the evenings after a long day of farm work.
Eventually, Lily Wish had begun sitting with him. Once in a while she’d take a small piece of fruit, a grape or a plum, and nibble on it beside him. Years later, Pa would express how hard it had been for him not to cry the first time she did this. And a few times after, even. Perhaps more than he was willing to admit.
“Can I take Ducky to the pond after dinner, Ma?” Goldie asked through a mouthful of soup. Little pieces of carrot and potato speckled his lips.
“Only if one of your big siblings goes with you,” Ma said, looking to Gentle Harvest and Lily Wish.
“I’ll go. Some bugs got into the cabbages, so we can feed them to the ducks,” Harvest volunteered, slowly working his way through his meal. He ate slowly, savoring more than just the food.
“We can both go,” Lily said. She shook her cream-colored mane out, using one hoof to smooth it down. Gentle Harvest wasn’t sure it could get any smoother. “I want to feed the ducks, too. And maybe we’ll see big brother Sweetroll on his way home. I’m sure he’d appreciate the welcome party.”
“Well then, sounds like you get to head out to the pond, Goldie,” Ma said with a playful tap of her spoon. “And if you see Sweetroll, you tell him I kept the soup warm for him. And Pa, too, if he doesn’t get back too late tonight.”
“Yes, Ma,” Gentle Harvest and his sister answered in unison. Goldie was too busy stuffing his muzzle into the bowl to lick up the last of the soup to pay them any mind.
“Can I have more?” He asked, thrusting the empty bowl forward. Ma’s chair squeaked as she moved to stand, but Gentle Harvest beat her to it.
“You have corn in your ears,” he said, lifting the bowl from the colt’s hooves with a soft orange glow. He took the ladle, too, pouring his youngest brother another generous portion of soup. He made sure to get more potatoes and carrots, as well as dropping some of Ma’s collected leafy greens on top.
Goldie didn’t seem to notice or care. When the bowl was returned to him, he ate just as enthusiastically as he had before. They all knew he’d need to be taught better table manners at some point, but for now, seeing him adjust to their home was much more important. He’d had a rough time before coming here. He deserved to be given some leeway.
“Lovely as always, Ma,” Lily Wish said as she took her emptied bowl to the sink. She took a moment to wash it, setting it down on their large drying rack.
Ma thanked her, and the family ate in relative quiet—except for Goldie’s enthusiastic slurping—until the youngest member had finished. Goldie jumped down from his chair, using his wings to slow the fall even as he snatched up Ducky in his teeth and started galloping off.
“Don’t run right after you ate!” Ma called after him, but it was too late. Goldie was already out the door.
“I’ll catch up with him, don’t worry,” Lily Wish said, trotting off after him. Gentle Harvest was left to wash his and Goldie’s bowl, making sure they were nice and clean before he joined his siblings.
“I swear, that colt!” Ma said. “He’ll be a wild one when he’s older, won’t he? I hope those wings don’t give us too much trouble.”
“Like my horn?” Gentle Harvest answered fondly.
“Oh, Harvest, you never once gave us a problem. But you keep your hooves on the ground—Goldie doesn’t! Pa found him on the roof the other day, playing with that old wooden duck. About gave him a heart attack!”
“Pegasai do prefer to be higher up. I’m sure he’ll be fine. When he’s a bit older, we can let him take a trip to Cloudsdale. Maybe he’ll see the Wonderbolts.”
“He does like them. I hope he doesn’t get it in his head to be one! Such a dangerous thing, those stunt-ponies!”
“I think he likes ducks more than aerial stunts. And he’s too much of a night owl to be a Wonderbolt. I hear they’re pretty strict.”
“I hope you’re right. You need any help with those cabbages?”
“No, there wasn’t too many. You just keep the soup warm for Pa and Sweetroll.” He leaned over to give Ma a kiss on the cheek before making his way to the side door. Ma watched as he trotted out after his siblings, a soft smile on her face.
The pond sat nearer to the front of their property, their long, winding driveway passing right beside it. An old wooden fence had been constructed around it, though it was in disrepair. Lily and Goldie were already there, the former sitting in the grass while the latter ran back and forth across the bank, exciting the ducks.
Two baskets of bug-eaten cabbage were slung over his back. The ducks were already waddling up onto the bank, ignoring Goldie’s excitement in favor of the promise of food. A few quacked and flapped their wings at him, but the colt only laughed and jumped and bucked, happy to be playing with his favorite animals.
“Here, Goldie. You give them some,” Gentle Harvest said, reaching back to grab a small cabbage and passing it to him. Goldie took it in his hooves and walked upright to the ducks, dropping onto his haunches as he started peeling the leaves back. The ducks were already snapping at the cabbage, Goldie giggling excitedly as they snatched bits of it from his hooves.
Gentle Harvest shrugged the baskets off his back, picking up two with magic and bringing them to Lily. He sat beside her, placing one cabbage each in front of them. He began methodically pulling leaves from the cabbage, careful not to squash any bugs as he did so. They were a nice little treat for the ducks, and he didn’t want to smush them.
“Ma was worrying about his wings again,” he said quietly, glancing sideways to his sister.
“What else is new? Us earth ponies don’t understand wings or magic too well,” she said.
“Give yourself more credit, Lily. You’ve never had a problem with it.” Gentle Harvested handed a cabbage leaf off to one of the older ducks, who took it gratefully.
“Yeah, and they’re good, too. But you know how it is, right?”
Gentle Harvest nodded. Foals placed into foster care were usually placed with similar families. It wasn’t to keep ponykind apart, but to ensure each foal was given the time and care they needed. It wasn’t the only qualifier for where foals were placed, though—their temperament and unique situations played a much larger part in placement. Gentle Harvest himself had first been passed around Canterlot until it was decided that he’d do much better in a quieter, more rural home.
“I remember when I got here, Ma was always worried about your horn. Like one day you’d just spontaneously combust or something. She was scared to death that you’d hurt yourself practicing those spells the agency sent you.”
“The ones I didn’t practice?” Gentle Harvest said, chuckling as his hoof was nipped by a duck.
“The very same.”
He sat with Lily Wish for a long time, feeding the ducks and watching Goldie run out his boundless energy. His gold and white coat shimmered as the sun began to set, and Gentle Harvest couldn’t help but think that Goldie had a bright future ahead of him. A future outside the farm, somewhere bigger and more capable of reining him in. A place he might go to visit sometime, but wouldn’t stay.
This farm was his home. It had taken time, but now it was certain. This is where he belonged. Tending to the vegetables, trotting down long dirt roads, and being present for the next generation of ponies to come. When Ma and Pa were gone—pray it be many years before that time—he and some of his siblings would stay. Sweetroll’s bakery only took him from the farm in the daytime, after all. Every night he returned there, to his own room, his own bed. It must have been much nicer than the hay floors of the barn.
When the sound of plodding hoofsteps came from behind, down the long dirt driveway, all three ponies turned to greet their brother. And he, too, stopped to sit with them, watching Celestia’s sun set on the horizon.
Yes. Gentle Harvest would be here for a very, very long time.
