Chapters Part 1: Instantaneous Infatuation
You don’t believe in love at first sight.
It’s one of those fairytale things. It’s impossible to look at any mare who happens across your path, and say to yourself, “Gee, I sure would like to live until my dying day with that lady who I’ve only just met, and don’t know the slightest thing about.”
See? Saying it out loud to yourself, it just sounds so stupid. So childish. You’re not childish! You’re a mature, responsible stallion! Your mother said so herself! Granted, you grew up and moved away from Cloudsdale years ago, so that’s not really a relevant point anymore. Hmph.
All the same, this ‘love at first sight’ thing is so absurd. Yet here you are, lying awake in your bed, counting the tiles on your bedroom ceiling with only one mare on your mind.
Oh, and here’s the kicker; she’s not a pony.
She’s a zebra. Slightly larger than the average pony, but only very slightly. An inch or so at most, if you’re being generous. Plus, they’ve got these stripes on them. At least the only zebra you know has stripes. You’ve not really looked into zebras much. For all you know, the other zebras could have polka-dots or chequered patterns or smiley faces on their coats or something. You should really ask her that when you see her tomorrow.
No, wait, you’re getting ahead of yourself. Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? Let’s go back to the first time you spoke to her.
*******
It’s a great day to be mingling in the bustling and chattering crowds of Ponyville market. You’ve got a saddlebag full of bits from doing the usual weather-pegasus duties. The ringleader of your group, Rainbow Dash, sure has been… less fiery with orders during your workday, despite your usual tardiness. It’s like she’s got her mind somewhere else, especially when that new kid’s around. What does she keep calling him again? You can’t recall. You don’t care; she’s happy, meaning you’re let off easy.
Anyway, you’ve got your payment, and now’s the time to start stocking up on supplies as usual. First stop, the hay and veggie stalls. Then the seasoning stalls, because woe betide them running out of spices before you get there!
There’s a particularly long queue for the chilli pepper powder stall, you notice. It’s popular among those who are either used to shovelling pure heat down their throats every lunchtime, like you, or among the more daring members of Ponyville. You suppose you’d better get in line.
Little do you know, you settle in just behind a certain striped equine. She has a two-toned mane and tail that compliments her coat. Body adorned with outlandish rings and trinkets. A zebra, you remember her being called once.
You have no idea that what’s about to happen, right there in the line of a market stall, is going to change your life forever. Corny, I know, but true.
“What do you mean, ‘the price is three bits’?” the mysterious mare in front of you demands the stall-owner; a suspiciously scrawny and twitchy male pegasus, “The pony before me only paid two for his!”
“I, uh, I’m sure you heard wrong, ma’am,” the pegasus on the other side of the counter says, “It’s three bits per bag, always has been. I know I’ve not got a sign like most of the other stalls, but three bits is a fair price for something so sought-after.”
“But it’s not actually food, it’s merely a seasoning!” the striped mare argues back, “This ridiculous price raise is beyond your reasoning!”
“I’m sorry, but the price is three bits, take it or leave it.” the pegasus drawls, “There are plenty of other ponies in line willing to pay that if you won’t.”
The foreign customer throws a disapproving glare at the stall keeper, before dropping one, two, three bits on the counter. The pegasus scoops away the money, and allows the now-silent zebra to carry away the small bag of seasoning she had hoped to buy at the price of two bits.
After she trots away with a huff, it becomes your turn to buy one of the few bags left on the counter.
“So it’s three bits for this?” you say casually to the stall keeper, fishing a few coins from your saddlebag, “It’s a little bit much for some ground-up peppers, isn’t it?”
The weedy pegasus peeks toward the dejected zebra a short distance away, as if waiting for her to be out of earshot. A moment later, he leans over the counter and whispers; “Nah, it’s not three bits. Not for you, at least. Just one.”
“Huh?” You could’ve sworn it was three bits. You could’ve sworn you heard a whole argument confirming the price.
“You’re a pegasus, right?” the stall keeper seems to be taking on a shadier and shadier manner with each word he says, “Me too. Us pegasi have to look out for each other. It’s two bits for the earthies and unicorns, though.”
“And why was it three bits for the zebra in front of me?”
The merchant scoffs, “Pfft, because she’s not a pegasus, earth pony or unicorn! At least the other two are still ponies of some kind, she’s a zebra. Same goes for donkeys too. Anyway, it’s just the one bit for you to pay, buddy.”
“No thanks.” you tell him without a second’s hesitation. Looking at the way he does business, you really aren’t comfortable giving him a single penny of your fairly-earned bits, even if you would be getting a bargain from it.
“Whaddya mean, no tha- Hey!”
Too late. You don’t even give him the pleasure of letting him finish before you flex your wings and dart off into the sky.
“Get back here, I’m giving you a good deal! Whatever, you missed out on it, that’s your problem! Damned zebra’s probably gonna use that pepper to turn ponies into frogs somehow anyway. Considering the stories I‘ve heard…”
You’re already too far away to hear his ignorant ramblings. Hopping from one lazily drifting cloud to another, you scan the market, the park, anywhere, looking for the greyscale mare who had been ripped off. You could see nearly every colour of pony there, all except for the one you’re looking for. Maybe she went home? Perhaps you should check the rest of Ponyville to see if she’s on her way to a house there…
Just as you’re about to turn away, a glimmer catches your eye from below; the gleam of gold rings, necklaces and trinkets. It’s her. She seems to be heading away from Ponyville, which strikes you as strange. Even stranger, she’s making a beeline for the Everfree Forest in the opposite direction.
No time to think about that; you’ve found her, so you suppose it’s time to do your good deed for the day. Rearranging yourself in mid-flight, you make a zebra-bound dive.
You call out to her once you’re close enough to be in earshot, while she’s right at the edge of the forest. By the time she turns around, you level yourself off and make an acceptable landing right in front of her.
And that’s when it happens. The first time she had ever made direct eye contact with you. The feeling is akin to… getting whacked around the head with something very nice. Her turquoise irises, the unique shape, the inquisitive, cautious, yet courteous way she looks you up and down. As precise as a sewing needle in your mind, and they leave just as much of a mark.
“I recognise you from before,” she says with a careful eye, “what do you need my attention for?“
“I… uh… ah…”
Jump-starting your thoughts back on track, your reach into your saddlebag and pull out three of your own bits. You’ve never willingly given money to a stranger before, but the thought of someone as striking as her getting ripped off had made a chip on your shoulder, and there was only one way you could think of smoothing it out.
“A minor miscalculation at the pepper stall,” you tell a white lie, “this money’s yours, the store guy says he’s sorry for the mix-up.”
“I know the money you offer is your own,” the zebra flatly counteracts, “Just spare me your charity, and head off home. Being swindled is just another thing I’ve survived, but being in somepony’s debt? I can’t abide.”
Wow, she saw right through that. Perhaps you shouldn’t have taken the money out of your own saddlebag right in front of her. You aren’t the cleverest of ponies.
“I don’t want you to be in my debt,” you respond, “I just want to make it up to you for what happened back there. And if I can’t pay you back for what that jerk did to you, what can I do?”
The zebra thinks for a moment, a light- and dark-grey hoof scratching her chin. “It’s incredibly sweet that you’d want to atone,” she says, “Meet me back in the market tomorrow, and come alone. I have an idea in the back of my mind, to get back at that slimy merchant’s hide.”
She doesn’t say much else, apart from bidding you a farewell for now and turning towards the forest.
“Wait!” you call out. The zebra casts a glance back to you. “I never got your name.”
*******
Zecora. The name suits her well. Rolls off the tongue nicely too.
You wonder why she’d want you to meet her back in the market. Why she chooses to live in the dangerous forest hugging the outskirts of Ponyville. Why she even took an interest in your generosity at all.
Check the clock. Three in the morning, and you have work tomorrow. You make one last attempt to roll over in your bed, and let your mind rest. Three guesses on who you’re thinking of right before sleep takes you.
Part 2: Bluff the Bigot, Cherish the Chilli
It isn’t hard to find Zecora the next day after work; you have two wing-shaped advantages when it comes to looking for somepony in a crowd. You exchange small greetings with her upon landing, and she tells you more about her plan to bestow comeuppance upon the fraudster.
A few short minutes of muttering and whispering later, you understand exactly what you need to do. This is gonna be brilliant.
“Ah, come crawlin’ back, have you?” the snake of a salespony smirks as you approach, “Can’t turn down a deal as good as mine, huh?”
“You’re also the only chilli pepper stall in this market,” you remind him, “but to the point, are you still offering a bit per bag?”
The stall owner look around suspiciously, making sure nopony is in earshot, before leaning over the counter.
“Yeah, I’m still offering that. A bit each, but only for pegasi like you an’ I. Can’t extend that kind of offer to every pony that walks by my stall, or else I’d be making a major loss instead of a profit. You in or what?”
“Oh, I’m in, alright,” you try to mask a cheesy grin as you dump just enough bits onto this stall, “and I’m taking the whole lot. A bit each, just as you agreed.”
“Whoa, hold on a minute now!” the merchant rises his hooves in protest, “I can’t accept you takin’ my whole stock. Especially not for so cheap! I can let you buy two bags, maybe three, but unloading the whole thing for a bit each is gonna wreck my revenue!”
“C’mon, you’re already on bad terms with all the unicorns, earth ponies, donkeys and zebras here,” you barter, “the last thing you’d want is for the pegasus ponies to feel ripped off too. That’s just bad for business.”
“The pegasus ponies wouldn’t hate me for that,” he counters. He’s about to back up his statement before you cut him off.
“Maybe so, but how many pegasi in this town would defend you if, say, Mayor Mare at the Town Hall heard about what you’ve been doing to the other races? I heard being equinist can cost a pony his business…”
“So that’s what this is about? You wouldn’t dare-” his smug rant stops before it even starts; he noticed the genuine expression on your face. “You’re being serious, aren’t you?”
You nod.
“Darnit, you’re a bigger snake than I am!” he grimaces, “Fine! It’s a deal! It’s wrecked my business for now, but it’s better than losing my sales licence altogether!”
He scoops away the bits you gave him - not nearly as many bits as he would have made selling to any other kind of pony - and lets you take away every last bag of chilli pepper powder from his stall.
“Just don’t expect this to happen again for you.” he growls, “Once I get my stall refilled, it’ll be three times the price for you!”
“So be it,” you mumble before openly waving a hoof. Taking that as her cue, Zecora herself steps out from among the throng of ponies in the market. She’s wearing her usual hoof-woven saddle-basket. A saddle-basket that you’re happy to open and throw all of the fairly-bought seasoning into.
“Wh- whaddya you think yer doing?”
“Oh, nothing, just giving away your entire stock for free to this zebra.”
The look of sheer horror on that greasy merchant’s face. How you wish you could have taken a picture.
“B- b- by Blueblood’s bloated backside! You- she- but- argh- wha- grr-!”
You both chuckle and leave the traumatized salespony to stutter himself stupid. Or stupider.
*******
You’ve never felt anything quite like that. The fact that you did something good for an individual in need, and actually helped knock a slimy fraudster down a peg. You’re still grinning like an idiot by the time you accompany Zecora to the Everfree Forest’s outskirts to part ways. And then you realise something.
“Um, Zecora? I’ve got been thinking…”
“What do you think? Do you need something?”
“No, I’m just wondering what we’re going to do with a whole stall’s supply of chilli pepper seasoning to ourselves.”
“Hmm… how about you come to my place?” she asks, “I’ll show you a few techniques for a good taste. After helping me with that unpleasant chap, it’s the least I can do to pay you back.”
“Your place?” Your eyes drift towards the silent, looming forest ahead. Even in the broadest of daylight, its unnatural air seems to keep the very night itself locked in. But if Zecora can live here safely, it can’t possibly be as bad as you think, can it?
“Lead the way.” you say as coolly as you can manage.
In less than minute’s walk, you’re already feeling a chill creep down your spine. The dense trees here don’t just block the sunlight; even the sun’s heat is lost amongst the branches, leaving the forest as cold and dark as any cave.
You could’ve sworn you just saw something move from the corner of your eye. Nah, it’s probably nothing. You’re pretty sure it’s nothing.
Dear Celestia, please let it be nothing.
You try to take an example from your striped companion. Zecora doesn’t seem fazed by her surroundings in the slightest, her every step showing well-practiced caution. You decide it’s best to continue the trek unabated, keeping an eye on your zebra friend in case she spots something amiss with her wary senses.
Better yet, just having her in your sights helps take your mind off the Everfree Forest’s eerie atmosphere.
And with good reason; those bright, sharp eyes, such an unusual, yet beautiful shape, with a turquoise iris that seems to glisten like the waters of a wild spring, even in this near-complete darkness. The hairs of her mane and tail, two separate shades of light and dark that stand out so differently from one another, yet they go so well when combined. Her dark, prominent markings that adorn her light coat, each and every stripe proudly declaring to the world who she is; the zebra of the Everfree Forest. Zecora.
To top it off, like a cherry on the most exotic of cakes, is her spiral sun Cutie Mark, a design so complex - nothing like the doodles that an average pony would have - yet so simple; one colour, one image. A perfect addition to her eye-catching, well-rounded flank that sways from side to side with each stride she makes. Back and forth, back and forth, back and f-
“You seem distracted, is something wrong? If the forest unnerves you, you don’t have to come along.”
Oh royalty-damnit, she caught you staring at her ass!
“I, um, I was just… dozing off slightly!” you cough an unconvincing chuckle in an attempt to change the subject, “It’s so dark, it feels like night time here! How far away are we from your place?”
“We’re here, my dear.”
“What the-?”
You turn your head, only to discover her home, hidden in plain sight. You guess it’s true what they say. The best place to hide a tree is in a forest. Even more so if you live in that tree.
“Come inside, the drink’s on me,” she smiles welcomingly, “We’ll boil some water, brew some tea. So please, just make yourself at home. It’s been a while since I’ve not been alone.”
Stepping through the doorway to Zecora’s abode, you feel a warm sense of homeliness wash over you. It’s almost like it keeps the cold, unforgiving dread of the Everfree Forest at bay just by walking in. Zecora’s no unicorn, yet there’s that odd, familiar tingle of the arcane about the place. Trinkets, souvenirs, curios and oddities are strewn about the place, many of them reminiscent of her homeland. On the far side of the house, there’s a large, black cauldron, sitting by several shelves of various bottled drinks and liquids.
Something tells you those bottle are not for the sake of refreshment.
“I’m a herbalist by nature and trade,” she explains, taking off her saddle-basket, “but Zebrican potions are sometimes made. Some heal, some help, some give you a kick, that’s mostly due to nature’s tricks. I sell what I can to folks with an interest, but ponies rarely delve into the forest.”
“Maybe you should set up a stall in the market?” you recommend, “I’d be interested.”
She shakes her head, removing the bags of chilli powder and putting them in a nearby storage compartment. “I would, but I don’t find it necessary. I prefer to just dabble with my alchemy. Plus, there’s always the risk of an effect gone awry, and I wouldn’t want a pony’s intentions misapplied.”
“Wait, so some potions and herbs here are dangerous? As in, have they killed ponies before?”
“No, but one time this filly, insecurely, tried to gain her Cutie Mark prematurely…”
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.
Every day with Zecora is an interesting one. A few days ago, you stopped her home from being washed away in a flood. The day before that, you were dancing to her drumbeat and laughing alongside her. And the day before that, you met her for the first time, in line for some pepper seasoning.
It’s really no wonder you keep coming back to her.
By the time a week or so had passed, you’d learned to fly through the Everfree Forest quite proficiently, weaving in-between the trees until you reach her hut. There, you’d just give the lonely zebra company; something she’s always welcomed each and every visit.
Some days, she’d leave the Forest to meet you on the outskirts. From there, you’d just stroll around Ponyville together, visiting shops, ticking various supplies and ingredients off her list and greeting any friendly locals kind enough to throw a smile your way.
Listening to Zecora talk is fascinating. How the rhymes seem to roll of her tongue, a second nature to her, without her needing to pause for thought. Some days, you’d have to watch your tongue in case you made an accidental rhyme of your own. You’d never want to offend her. Never.
But one day, as she’s showing you the basics of alchemy over her cauldron, you let your curiosity get the better of you.
“And finally you add some blue-leaf petal, which cures any sting from wasp to nettle.” she turns away from the mixture with a triumphant smile, indicating the end of her handiwork, “Now leave the whole concoction to bubble, and it’s a simple wound-closing potion, no trouble.”
“Incredible.” you watch the strangely-coloured broth swirl in the cauldron, turning the surrounding air heavy with heat. You think about how best to bring up the subject of her speech, “Uh, hey Zecora? There’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you.”
“A question you say? Well then, ask away!”
This is a smart move, now that you think about it; there’s a whole cauldron of a minor healing potion right there in front of you, so if she hoofs you in the face for offending her speech, tradition and possibly race, you’ve got a quick fix! Hoorah for thinking ahead there.
“Why do you rhyme?”
There, that wasn’t so bad. When she inquisitively (and, although you’d never say it to her face, quite adorably) tilts her head to the side a little, you decide to elaborate.
“Do you rhyme your sentences naturally? Is it something you have to constantly think about?”
You were expecting her to pull an insulted expression, maybe with a hint of disgust for your blatant pointing out of her own habits. Instead, she simply exhibits a mutter of realisation in her native language before answering.
“Ah, of course, I see what you mean now; I forget about my speech more than I should allow.”
“You… forget?” That didn’t make sense to you. How could something like rhyming every sentence just slip your mind?
She nods, carefully handling a ladle with her hoof, and pouring the steaming potion into various bottles. “Zebrican speech has an enlightened philosophy, that explains itself quite modestly. You ponies occasionally break into song, during heightened emotions of right or wrong. Like in major events, without needing conduct you sing, so we zebras strive to make that a permanent thing.”
She begins to stack the latest batch of potions on a nearby shelf. She doesn’t object to you helping her.
“You mean whenever we ponies sing during, I dunno, Winter Wrap-Up or the Grand Galloping Gala, it’s because of the high emotions running at the time? And zebras learn to rhyme constantly to keep those emotions around?”
“That is about the gist of it, yes. A tradition that interests foreign guests.”
That… made a lot of sense, actually. It’s like their own language is a charm to bring happiness to them.
You stifle a sudden yawn that takes you by surprise. You’ve started to adjust to the Everfree Forest recently. At least, you can finally tell the difference between night and day under the forest’s all-cloaking branches. Mostly it’s a case of listening to the forest’s ambience - it becomes suspiciously quieter at night - and checking your own body clock to estimate the time that‘s past.
“Hey, have you got the time, Zecora? It’s going to be dark soon.”
“It’s quite late, as you can see. I’ll need to get up early. There’s a plant deeper in the forest I could use, and it would be a shameful thing to lose.”
“Really? What sort of plant?”
Zecora turns her eyes to the ceiling of her hut, as if trying to see the skies beyond it, “A rare tulip that only grows after a storm. And where lightning strikes, it grows and takes form. It looks as though it’s silver-suited, and its magical properties are undisputed.”
“It only grows after a storm, where lightning strikes? You mean the flash flood from a few days ago?”
“That’s precisely what I mean,” she confirms, “And it created a flower like you have never seen. Alone, it may be hard to recover, but I can’t leave such a thing undiscovered.”
You don’t even hesitate; “You’re not going alone though. Are you?”
She gives you a look you’ve never seen from her before. Almost like she’s torn between not letting you go with her, and accepting your company. It’s a face of uncertainty. That’s the first time you’ve seen Zecora, of all Equestrians, look genuinely unsure of something.
“I know you’re better at navigating the forest than I am,” you continue, before she decides to turn you down, “But what if you put yourself in danger? It’s a big forest out there, there’s probably things you’ve never seen before! If you’re hurt, who’s going to be around to help? I don’t want to spend all of tomorrow worrying when I could be helping somepony I… care about.”
Those last two words linger awkwardly over you both.
“If… if you really want to take the risk,” she slowly breaks the silence, “I’ll admit your company would be missed. It’s going to be a dangerous task, but I’d love somepony to have my back.”
“So we’re setting off tomorrow morning then?” you ask, “The both of us?”
“The both of us, yes, you are right.” As she steadily trots to her sleeping quarters, you may have seen a smile form on her lips. “I guess you’ll take the hammock tonight?”
“As always Zecora. Goodnight.”
********
Yeah, it sure is beautiful, isn’t it, Zecora? It’s almost as beautiful as you.
No. I mean it. You really are. Trust me when I say this, Zecora, I… I love-
What-? NO! ZECORA, GET BACK!
No. Oh gods no! Zecora, please wake up! I looked away for a second! And now this!?
Why aren’t you moving!? Why aren’t you… breathing?
What have I done!? Help! Somepony! Anypony!
Please… please wake up, Zecora… I’m sorry..! It’s all my fault!
Part 5: Petrification Panic
Your aching eyes open; the ceiling of the zebra’s humble hut.
The pleasant scent of a boiling stew makes your nostrils twitch. You turn in the hammock, stretching out your wings and limbs instinctively, to find Zecora stirring her trademark cauldron. Alive and well.
“Oh, you’ve woken up, my friend,” she greets you, as if everything’s fine and dandy with the world, “I’ve just finished stewing a vegetable blend.”
Your weary legs leave the hammock and touch the soft floor. As much as you’ve rested, you can’t help but feel drained. Not sure whether it’s physically or emotionally yet.
“Are you alright? You look a mess.” the zebra says as soon as she’s close enough to pass you a finely-carved wooden bowl of soup, “There’s something wrong, I’d hazard a guess.”
“No, no I’m fine,” you insist, accepting the hot broth and taking a few sips. A good soup overall, substantial, flavourful and invigorating. “I just had a rough night. I think it was just a nightmare or something.”
“What’s this, you had a bad dream? What about, if I may be so keen?”
You close your eyes, trying to remember the horrible, vivid dream you just had. It was definitely about… about… huh.
“I don’t remember. Guess it can‘t have been that important. Sorry.”
Zecora watches the chopped vegetables swirl around in her stew, “Hmm, it’s a shame you can’t recall, sometimes a dream can say it all. A concept we zebras are taught, is that dreams can unlock buried thoughts. But that’s in the past now, I agree; are you still willing to come with me?”
“Of course!” you perk yourself up with a grin, “How far are we going to get this… silver tulip you need?”
“We’ll need to search where the lightning struck, and it should be growing on that spot, with any luck.” the zebra tightens the straps on her saddle-basket, readying herself for the journey, “We’re heading a little southeast for the flower, it shouldn’t take longer than half an hour.”
That’s not so far. A mile, maybe more, navigating the forest at a steady pace, compensating for any foliage and branches that might slow you down.
“Since the Everfree’s unpredictable, we’ll travel light and steady,” Zecora says once you’d finished your meals, “Prepare yourself, and we’ll leave when you’re ready.”
“In that case,” you give her a gentlecoltly gesture towards the door, “Shall we?”
Upon leaving the warm safety of her hut, you both set forth to find this allegedly magical silver flower. Zecora leads the way, since she knows the forest far more than you do.
And that’s when you both walk. And walk. And walk.
You’d try to make conversation with Zecora, if only to take your mind of whatever keeps moving in the corner of your eye, but she hushes you, reminding you that making a noise would disturb the wildlife. And that some wildlife doesn’t like being disturbed much.
So it’s back to silent walking. Funny, since you’re sure that it’s a bright, sunny morning just above the overarching trees. You’ve never understood how it can still be night in a place like this. And why do you have the feeling you’re being watched?
Occasionally, Zecora would freeze on the spot. She’d just stop in mid-trot, as if she were about to tread on a landmine. Your common sense tells you to stop when she does. A moment later, Zecora would inspect the forest right ahead of her; the tree layout, the rocks, the bushes. And then she’d walk around them, with the request that you’d exercise caution too.
You didn’t notice anything wrong with that patch of trees. They looked ominous, sure, but in the Everfree Forest, that’s not exactly something that stands out. How did she know there’d be danger?
Okay, you know you saw something move just now. You only caught that back end of it; a scaly tail, but far too small to be a dragon.
“Zecora,” you whisper, trying to keep calm, “something’s following us.”
“I know. For the past ten minutes it’s followed.” she whispers back, “Just don’t look straight at it, else you’ll be met with sorrow.”
“I found it,” your hushed tone tries to hide your fear and excitement, “It’s in that bush, maybe I can scare it off.”
“That’s not true; it’ll just scare y- wait!”
Too late; you’re so sick of that burning feeling of being watched. The desire to just scare the thing away, to just be over and done with the tension is overwhelming. As such, you’d already driven your rear hoof at full force into the creature’s hiding place.
A high-pitched squawk of surprise and shock emits from the bush, a pair of leathery wings thrash out in a fluster, and the creature finally shows itself as a whole for the first time. A pair of claws dig into the dirt below. Its midsection is entirely made from a snake’s scales, like chain-mail. And the creature’s head…
“Zecora, this is the creepiest chicken I’ve ever seen! Zecora?”
You cast a look towards your friend, whose striped forelegs are raised to cover her tightly shut eyes.
“That isn’t a chicken, you fool! Look away! Else your flesh will turn into stone of grey!”
“Turn into what?”
A flash of red from the creature catches your attention. Two flashes, from each of its eyes. For a moment, you’re frozen on the spot, transfixed by the monster’s menacing gaze. Then you discover why.
“My hooves! What’s happening to my hooves!?”
You cannot move anything beneath the knees of your forelegs. You can’t even look away from the glowing beads of red to see why. The cold feeling rises higher and higher, until it overtakes your forelegs in their entirety.
“It’s petrifying you, avert your eyes!” you hear your friend call, “If you don’t, you’ll meet your demise!”
You can’t avert your eyes. You can’t even blink, despite the dry, burning desire to. The cold feeling has reached your chest and beyond, freezing your ribcage and wings. With a final breath as it reaches your neck, you scream.
“HELP ME! HEEELP!”
The sound of rapidly beating hooves grows louder and louder behind you. Out of nowhere, at the last moment, a familiar double-grey striped hoof hits the creature’s face with a satisfying crack. The squeal of pain echoes all around the forest as the monster fall back, clutching its beak with its wings.
Before the monster makes its escape between the many trees, you notice a large fracture in its beak. Even long after its retreat, you can still hear its agonized cries.
Your body heat comes flooding back, and whatever frosty grip that had you bound seems to fall away. Taking a deep, thankful breath, you look down and notice the remains of your stone prison littering the ground.
You look up to your friend. Zecora’s breathing heavily from the adrenaline rush of running up and kicking a monster in the face, trying to recuperate from what just happened. Your pulse is racing as well, but that does little to numb the feeling of embarrassment weighing you down right now.
Your stupid antics nearly turned you into a statue forever. Stupidity. The one thing a wise mare like Zecora would hate. It would have been an awkward silence, had the forest’s ambience not acted as filler.
“Can you do me a favour, my pegasus friend?” she grumbles with a furrowed brow once she has her breath back, “Never provoke a cockatrice again.”
“I’m sorry, Zecora,” you whisper with a shamefully lowered head, “I’m really sorry. I just… I was getting nervous. I just wanting that thing to go away, and I just wanted to scare it off, make our lives easier.”
You expected her to berate you for you dumb actions that nearly cost you an eternity in stone. Instead, she drops her stern demeanour and places a hoof on your shoulder.
“I know you’re just trying to help me out,” she says softly, “but I don’t want you to feel nervous or in doubt. If you want us to head back to my home-”
“No, it‘s alright,” you shake your head, “We can’t be far now. Let’s just get that silver flower and head straight back.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, “Will you endure?”
“Of course I will,” you show your best ‘look how tough I am’ face. You hope she fell for it. “We can’t be more than five minutes away now.”
Zecora just smiles, with a faint glimmer in her eye. That pretty face alone give you all the encouragement you need.
And so you both keep walking. Hopefully that - cockatrice, she called it? - will be the last incident you’ll have to face today.
Part 6: Finding the Flower
Alright, now you’re getting finicky again. You should have found that silver tulip ten minutes ago! And there’s no sign of it anywhere.
“Maybe we missed it.” you suggest, “I mean, it’s pretty dark here in the Everfree Forest. It always is. Maybe we just walked right past it.”
“If we passed the silver tulip, we’d know,” your friend replies, “You see, this mythical flower can… glow.”
She draws to a halt, her eyes blinking at something beyond the trees. Something bright. Something glowing.
“Is that it? The flower we seek?” she gasps, “I told you we wouldn’t miss its mystique!”
Despite the anxiety that surrounds you in this forest, the sight of the mature and wise Zecora trying to hold back her excitement was just endearing. Cute, even.
“Ladies first,” you chuckle, “You’re the one with the basket after all.”
Your friend gracefully takes the lead, pushing away the last few bushes between you and the object you both sought.
And there it is; the silver tulip, nestling in the middle of the black stump of an ash tree, marking where the lightning had struck days and days ago. Its gentle white glow lights up every tree, bush, rock and vine of the forest. And best of all, it lights up a certain zebra.
The glowing source of light causes each and every piece of her jewellery to glisten, but none of them compare to the twinkling in those bright, wary eyes of hers. Despite walking through a forest of monsters and menaces, she’s just as pristine as she was when she left her hut. Each hair of her mane is still in place, bristled upwards, only adding to her height, and furthermore, her beauty. Her lips are perfect too, curled up in a gentle smile, be it from finding what she was after, or simply seeing you smile as well.
She’s absolutely gorgeous.
“Our treasure is found,” she beams, “We’ve done our duty. What do you think of this glowing beauty?”
Okay, screw it. You have something to tell her, and you’re going to tell her right now.
“Yeah, it sure is beautiful, isn’t it, Zecora?” you divert your gaze towards the silver tulip itself; you’re finding it nerve-wracking to look into her eyes any longer, “It’s almost as beautiful as you.”
There. You’ve said it. You hear her gasp a little. For all of her wisdom, serenity and knowledge, she’s never been one for taking a compliment in terms of her beauty. But if you didn’t tell her now, you never would have.
“I… I, um, don’t know how to respond…” she stutters, “Are you just being polite, or are you… genuinely fond?”
“No. I mean it. You really are.” You never take your eyes off the glowing plant, for you fear Zecora may be giving you a look of confusion, or even disapproval. All the same, you keep spilling your true feelings, “Trust me when I say this, Zecora, I… I love-”
Something’s not right. Something’s very wrong. You’ve been here before. You’ve seen this all before.
It’s right behind her.
“What-? NO! ZECORA, GET BACK!”
It all happens so fast. A flash of sharp, white teeth appear just behind Zecora’s back. So many teeth. A threatening hiss was the only warning it was going to give before pouncing.
You grab Zecora. You hold her close, covering her with your body and your wings, sheltering her from the incoming attack. In that split second, you see the attackers; several heads, all of them in the form of marble-white cobras. At least four of them. Their neck combine lower down, ending in a single tail.
This isn’t four cobras attacking you. It’s a single four-headed beast.
A rush of pain shoots through you as a pair of fangs penetrate your neck. If you hadn’t jumped in front of Zecora at the last moment, it would’ve been hers.
Another bite, this time on your lower crest, sending another sting through your spine. And another on your hind leg. And a fourth and final snap of jaws on your left wing. You yelp from the pain of its many vice-like jaws, but no matter what, you keep Zecora safe.
Once you’re certain that she’s safe from the monster’s onslaught, you throw yourself onto your back. You feel a crunch as one of the snake’s heads is crushed beneath your sheer force. The other three heads hiss in agony, releasing their toothy grip on your flesh.
Before they can recuperate for another attack, you pick up the monster’s tail with your own bared teeth, and swing it with all your might into the nearest rock. Another crunch from another one of its heads. You keep swinging the snake around, hitting it on a tree until the third head stops responding. And finally, you throw it onto the floor, crushing its final head under a rear hoof, grinding it into the dirt.
And just like that, it’s all over.
Ignoring the rapidly spreading throbs where you had been bitten, you turn to the zebra. Her jaw’s dropped at the sight of your actions.
“First the… stony-chicken thing… and now that!” you croak playfully, just as your legs start to weaken, “I don’t think much of your neighbours, Zecora!”
Your eyes roll into the back of your head. Your legs give in. Your stomach retches. And you collapse on the spot. A moment later, you choke and vomit.
Well, so much for telling her your true feelings and being all tender and loving in front of the magical glowing flower. Now you’re writhing on the ground, in searing agony, in a pile of your own sick. Well done. Smoothest romantic confession ever. Dumb ass.
Without a second’s hesitation, Zecora’s hooves roll you onto your stomach. She doesn’t take long inspecting the bite marks - Argh, that one hurt! - before trying to pick you up and hoist you onto her back.
“Four bites, four! From a Lernaean snake! We’re heading back now, before it’s too late.”
“What… are you doing?” your voice is so rough it can scarcely be heard. You grunt in pain as she settles you on top of her. “Get that flower. It’s right… there…”
“Your life’s more important than some glowing plant!” her voice shivers. She’s panicking. Or trying hard not to. “Flowers can grow somewhere else. You can’t!”
It took a moment, in your blurring mind, for what she was trying to say to sink in. Poison.
She’s already galloping at full speed through the forest, each bump and scrape making you feel more and more nauseous.
“You're going to be alright, just hold on to me tight! I know the antidote’s recipe, just stay alive! Stay with me!”
You do as she says, holding on as tightly as your feeble body can muster. You’re so weak your wings droop pitifully either side of you. You don’t want to fall off. You don’t want to slow her down.
You don’t want to die. Not like this.
The temptation to conserve your energy… to close your eyes and sleep, just for a little while… it’s overwhelming. But so is the fear of never waking up.
So you try to keep your eyes open. Every now and then the feeling of Zecora rushing through some trees or leaping over a bush jolts you wide awake, but only for a few scant seconds at most.
Your vision starts to cloud over. The only sound you can hear is your friend’s frenzied galloping, accompanied by the occasional fearful whimper. Poor Zecora. All she wanted was a pretty flower. She doesn’t deserve this.
She doesn’t deserve a stupid fool like you. Just close your eyes and get it over with. She’ll be better off spending her life without having to stick her neck out for you.
The noise of your surroundings fade. The dull, poisonous pain grows numb. Your tired eyes and your hazy mind welcome the incoming black.
Part 7: The Bedridden and the Beloved
Your tongue and lips burn.
You choke and try to sit up from your lying position, trying to cough up the scalding hot substance that’s pouring into your mouth.. A calm hoof can be felt gently pushing into your shoulder, preventing you from spilling the vile liquid.
“Drink up, pony of the sky. Unless it‘s your intention to die.”
Ugh. Whatever, you’re far too weak to object to it.
Stifling a grunt of discomfort, you swallow the near-boiling broth to the last drop. As… invigorating as it was to drink, you wouldn’t ask for seconds. The potion sets to work immediately, restoring your strength. You suddenly feel strong enough to… half-open your eyelids. Just a smidge.
Judging by the face you’re greeted with, you’re beginning to regret opening them.
As you’d suspected, you’re back in the familiar hut, lying in the owner’s bed this time, rather than the usual hammock. You suppose hammocks wouldn’t make the best recovery beds. But as cosy as that is, you doesn’t shake the discomfort in seeing poor Zecora.
She‘s still panting slightly, recovering from hauling you a whole mile at a sprinter’s pace without stopping. Her lips are curled into an unamused scowl. Her eyes are sore and reddened. You know it’s not from a lack of sleep.
“I know the antidote guidelines say ‘wait for it to cool’,” she says, setting the now-empty container aside, “But since you were poisoned, that would mean the death of a fool.”
So that’s why it burned so much.
You want her to know how sorry you are. How bad you feel. Not enough strength for that. Not nearly enough. Instead, you just sink lower into the covers, trying hard not to look at her out of embarrassment.
“You should get some rest, it’ll help you get well.” Zecora continues, “When you awaken, maybe, you’ll have your thoughts to tell. The antidote’s efforts should work overnight, and on the bright side, there are worse creatures to fight.”
Her encouraging words don’t offer you much encouragement. A better pony wouldn’t have been bitten in the first place. A better pony wouldn’t have nearly turned himself into stone by a scaly chicken either. The worst part? On both occasions Zecora had to intervene and save you while you were screaming in fear or throwing up from the poison.
You’d apologise to her, if your vocal chords weren’t so weak. All you’ve been is a burden this whole time. Well, not anymore. Tonight, as soon as you’re capable of standing on your own four hooves, you’re going to slip out of the door, and out of her life. It’s for the best. Save her the grief.
*******
Zecora had spent the rest of today looking after you, cooking up some easily digestible soup or going about her own business out and around her hut. You spent the rest of today silently wallowing in disgrace. She’d asked you several times if everything was okay, as to which you’d reply with a fake grin that you were just recovering from the attack.
Now that night has finally fallen, she’s preparing to rest herself. She even let you stay in her bed while she took your hammock instead.
She’s so kind to you. You certainly don’t deserve her. You don’t deserve her antidote, you don’t deserve her bed, and you definitely don’t deserve her love. Just… go. As soon as you’re able.
You’ve already been asleep for hours today. You’re not sleepy at all. Instead, you just lie there, eyes closed, until you hear Zecora’s gentle breathing as she sways gently to and fro in the hammock.
She’s out like a light. You can imagine sprinting through the forest with a near-dead stallion on her back had taken a lot out of her, let alone whipping up an antidote and caring for him for a whole day.
Slowly, silently pulling yourself out of bed, you try to regain the balance in your legs. At least you can walk now.
Keeping as quiet as your awkward lack of stealth will allow, you pass by Zecora, far away in her dreams. You hope they’re pleasant ones.
You make sure to take one last look at her before making your leave. Look at how peaceful she is, even when she’s in a hammock instead of her own bed.
In your last minute with her, you quietly lean forwards and peck her on the forehead. A goodbye kiss, and the only one you’ll ever be able to give her. She stirs ever-so-slightly, but she doesn’t wake. That’s good enough.
You turn around and slowly hobble for the door, feeling your heart writhe with each step you take away from her. You suppose you’ll be safe enough through the Everfree Forest at this point, especially if you’re just heading straight towards Ponyville.
“Don’t go.”
Those words strike your heart like numbing ice. You wouldn’t have believed it was her, had you not known that her instinctive rhyming was more out of preference than obligation.
You turn around. There she is, wide awake. An awkward moment later and she’s already out of the hammock. You fight the temptation to just bolt right out of the door.
“I… I can’t do this,” your rough voice can barely be heard, “I can’t keep being a burden to you, Zecora. Just let me leave before I become a bigger embarrassment.”
“You’re not an embarrassment,” she retorts, “At least not to me. What would you have done differently?”
“I… I‘d just do things, things in general, differently. I guess.” That didn’t seem to answer her question well enough. You search your still-addled mind and pull out the nearest example, “I wouldn’t have kicked that monster that turns ponies into stone-”
“A brash mistake, sure, but with noble intention.”
“-and I wouldn’t have screamed like a little filly when it attacked-”
“I’d have done the same thing, I should mention.”
“-and I wouldn’t have gotten myself bitten by that four-headed snake-”
“Would you rather the victim was me? At least I had the antidote recipe.”
“-and I wouldn’t have collapsed into a pile of my own sick-”
“But you almost died! Stop worrying about your pride!”
“-and I wouldn’t have screwed up confessing my feelings for you so badly!”
You stop to catch your breath, and give your raw throat a rest. Zecora, taking one step at a time, trots up to you as if you‘d run at the slightest sudden movement. You certainly felt that emotionally fragile.
A striped hoof lands on your shoulder. Two bright, blue eyes stare back at you. Despite her humble, calming expression, you know she’s being serious.
“You’ve done so much for me already,” Zecora’s voice, as gentle and soothing as it is, still gets your heart racing, “and your well-meaning deeds are far from petty. Even when we first met, you offered me aid. Remember that con-pony who tried to rip off a trade? And again with you risking your health against a storm; if you hadn’t helped, I’d have no home at all! Everything you’ve done for me shows how you care, and if there’s one quality I like in a stallion, it’s there. If you fear my love is something you didn’t gain, what is stopping you from trying again?”
She’s right, you know. She’s right about it all, that wise mare she is. You’ve helped her out so much that you hadn’t even realised it as something to take notice of. It was just you being yourself. Your first attempt seemed so perfect - the glowing flower lighting up the forest in its unique way - that you were scared that you’d never find another time to tell her.
You know when would be a good time? Whenever you’re truly ready.
Zecora knows that too. The hoof that she placed on your shoulder wraps around you, bringing you into her comforting embrace. In return, you hold her as tightly as your feeble forelegs can, burying your head in her shoulders. Your quivering wings cradle her as much as they can.
“As soon as I’m better.” you whisper. “As soon as I’m better, I’m taking you out. A date around Ponyville, just the two of us. If you’ll let me.”
“That sounds like a marvellous idea,” your cheek feels moist; a pair of warm lips push up against them, “Tomorrow evening it is, my dear.”
Your eyes are tightly shut from the sting of tears, but you don’t care. They’re tears of joy.
For the rest of the night, Zecora didn’t need to sleep in that hammock. Her bed was more than capable of being shared by two equines in love.
Part 8: A Serum of Sensuality (Mature)
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