The Poison of Passion

It’s hard to pinpoint where the time goes from there - you just spend hours upon hours listening to the forest-dwelling mare recite her past experiences with flawless rhyming couplets. You pitch in your own stories from time to time, although they aren’t nearly as interesting.

Meanwhile, high above the thick, stifling branches of the Everfree Forest, the sun sets over a mountainous range.

And storm clouds gather.

You don’t know this, nor do you care. The blanket of darkness in the forest gives the impression of a dark night anyway, and before long, you’re laughing the night away with your newfound friend, sipping drinks made from exotic fruit juices and helping her cook a huge pot of steaming hot, vegetable curry with the recently-gained spices.

As the night draws ever nearer, and your bowl of pure heat has finally been eaten, Zecora dusts of a strange cylinder from the corner of the room, among the strange masks and bamboo furniture. It looks like a drum of some kind. She calls it a ‘kpanlogo’.

“I occasionally play this to pass the time,” she says, settling down with her hind legs crossed, her forelegs resting on the drum’s rawhide, “but few ponies have heard this rhythm of mine. If I could play to you for a while, it would give this humble zebra a smile.”

“Go right ahead,” you smile. You had no idea today was going to turn out like this, but hey, you like the spontaneous path every once in a while.

Zecora closes her eyes, and bounces her hooves off the drum in a slow, heavy beat. Within minutes, the tempo rises and rises, and soon enough the rhythm is strong enough to cause the liquids on her potion shelf to ripple. Your mind, still buzzing from a heated bowl of spiced curry, can’t help but give in to the music that shakes the whole tree-hut. You sway from side to side at first. You flutter your wings in time to the blood-pumping tune. And finally, you get up to dance, abandoning your worries and thoughts in the moment.

That wasn’t the only thing; watching Zecora pound at the drum, lost in the trance brought on by her own Zebrican melody. Maybe she’s thinking of home. Maybe this is just a form of meditation. Or maybe, just maybe, this is her letting go of the day to day stresses of being the only zebra for miles.

Either way, she seems to be in a state of Zen despite the adrenaline-pumping sound. She’s calm. Tranquil. Happy. You feel kind of the same way as you dance to her music.

The dancing went on for who-knows-how-long. By the time you’re finished, you’re exhausted. But lo and behold, nothing can sneak past Zecora’s keen eyes.

“While it would be awkward to share my bed, I have a spare hammock to rest your head. If you‘re too tired to reach home at these late hours, the pleasure of your company would be all ours.”

She sure does like to surprise you, doesn’t she? How can you say no to such a generous mare like her?

With an aching set of legs from dancing all night, you agree. A gently-swaying hammock sounds far too tempting to pass up. A great end to a great night, with a great new friend you’ve made. As you drift off to sleep, you wonder how tomorrow could possibly compare.

*******

A sudden, deafening shatter causes you to fall out of your hammock.

A moment is wasted as you regain your bearings - ah yes, you’re in Zecora’s home, not your own - before you try to find the source for the loud noise that shocked you awake. Shocked? Of course! It was thunder!

Wait, where’s Zecora!?

As if on cue, the door to the hut slams open, and the zebra herself stands in the doorway. She’s soaking from head to hoof, her hooded cloak offering little protection against the pounding rain that flows by.

“By Celestia’s flesh and blood!” the fear is prevalent in her shaking voice. Either that or she was too cold to keep herself from shivering. “A thunder storm! A flash flood!”

Before you can react, she slams the door shut and orders you to grab some nearby towels; the water seeps through the smallest of cracks in the door, dampening the hut’s floor.

“I don’t understand it!” you yell over another thunderous rumble, “There’s not supposed to be a storm today!”

“The Everfree Forest doesn’t have rules!” she shouts, trying to stuff the towels into the door’s gap with little success, “It rains and pours wherever it will choose!”

Of course, you forgot about that! Some days you even had to clear the weather from over the forest yourself to prevent Ponyville from suffering… unwanted… storms.

An idea occurs. It’s a stupid idea, but it’s better than sitting around doing nothing as the kind herbalist’s home is washed away.

You open the nearest window. Instantly, the howl of the wind and rain greets you. “I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, what are you-?”

Too late; you’re already on the outside of the hut, closing the window behind you to stop the rain from making Zecora’s situation any worse.

The freezing water flows almost like a stream, weaving and pouring through the leaves and branches above you. Flexing your wings, you kick off with your hooves, and launch yourself directly upwards, ignoring the snags on the branches as you pass them. You’re already too cold and wet to feel the pain anyway.

The first thing you notice as you rise above the last of the Everfree’s treetops is the blinding brightness of the outside world. Was outside always this bright!? The sun isn’t even showing due to the blanket of black rain-clouds, yet you can’t help but squint your eyes at the sudden intensity.

A flash. A roar. Another bolt of lightning tears free from the black clouds, striking forcefully into the forest below. Luckily, the strike was far from where Zecora’s hut would be. Most likely a whole mile away, considering the split-second delay between the bolt and the sound.

It doesn’t take too long for your eyes to adjust. The storm was large, no doubt about it, but you’ve cleared (and sometimes created) bigger storms alongside your weather team comrades.

The bad news? Alone, you’re not a weather team. The good news? You know exactly who the captain of said team is. And she’s never slack when it comes to danger.

Turning your gaze towards Ponyville, your suspicions are confirmed amongst the heavy, pelting raindrops; already, there’s a flurry of brightly coloured dots flying out from the town. The Ponyville weather team, accompanied by a cluster of pegasi volunteers. At the head of the pegasi swarm - with no surprise to you - is your weather-team captain, using her impressive speed to zoom ahead of all the others.

Rainbow Dash, you show-off.

“Wait, slacker!?” she calls you by your oh-so-endearing nickname once she gets close enough, “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be the last one to arrive, as usual!”

“And what took you so long?” you answer back as nonchalantly as you can muster, considering the freezing downpour, “I’ve been waiting forever!”

“Whatever!” your boss clearly didn’t like being shown up; beaten to the storm by, so she says, the laziest weather pony in years. “Let’s just wrap this up before the others get here.”

Rainbow Dash decides, in her infinite wisdom, to heroically charge at full-pelt towards the storm clouds. A resounding crash of thunder is the storm‘s rebuttal. She flutters away from the cloud, letting the rain extinguish her lightly singed wings.

“Or you know what? We could just wait for the others to catch up.”

*******

It took most of fifteen minutes to wipe out the storm clouds once the rest of the pegasi had arrived. Over half of that was just arranging the ponies into formation; Rainbow Dash was a cocky and foolhardy mistress, but everypony knew well enough to listen to her. The plan involved the mass-pegasus corkscrew technique, which was mostly used to clear away snow at the end of Ponyville’s winter season. This plan worked without a hitch, dispersing the clouds as if they were made of vapour.

Your boss reminds you of how correct you are in that description. You tell her to hush.

Once the last of the storm clouds had been dealt with, you give a quick farewell to Rainbow Dash, giving her the excuse of “checking for damage” to the Everfree Forest. As soon as she gives you a dismissive nod, you fold up your wings and make a carefully calculated drop towards the trees below, disappearing amongst the branches and leaves. And, to your irritation, the snagging twigs.

You land comfortably (well, define “comfortably”) outside Zecora’s home. Good, it’s still in one piece. Hopefully the flooding didn’t cause too much damage. You lift a hoof to knock on her door, becoming acutely aware of the numb pain in your joints from the biting cold.

When the zebra opens her door, she breathes a sigh of relief, knowing you’re safe from harm. She welcomes you back, the wet, shivering wreck you are, into her home as a sign of thanks for helping with the storm.

“Thank you for your helpful deed,” she smiles, “Is there anything you need?”

“H- have you got a towel?” you stutter weakly, “A dry one?”

She pauses, before giving you a sheepish look. The very last of her dry towels had been used to soak up the water leakage during the storm.

“Um, the supply for your request is few. Perhaps a warm fire and a hot curry will do?”

“Even better,” you return a grateful grin. You could get used to this.