I flicked a few needles out of my feathers as I sat back from the tree’s trunk. A colony of bark beetles had been trying to take up residence inside it, and needed to be cleaned out. I peered into the hole to make sure I’d gotten them all, before I jumped off the branch. It was only a short drop, fifty feet or so, and I set down the beetle jar before I lightly carved an ‘X’ into the bark. Two other marks, fresh made, had already been carved into the bark, but I had to make sure none of them had snuck back into the burrow.
“Alright, that’s all the whites, maybe I should go check the yellows again,” I muttered as I reached into my bag for a quick snack. My claws found the bottom of the bag first and I tilted my head in confusion. “I could have sworn I brought more...” My stomach growled as I glanced up to check the sun, and was startled to see it already touching the horizon. It’d always nagged at me, how Celestia knew when to start lowering the sun. Oh sure, now there were clocks that were finely tuned to the solar cycle, but what about when clocks didn’t exist? I’d asked Yew about it once, and her reply had always stuck with me
“I suppose she just knows.” That’d always been her response, in some form or another. She was just so... relaxed about everything. At first it was aggravating, but as time went on it became a sort of rhythm between us, a little ritual for us to needle each other teasingly about our early years.
I curled my paws in the dirt, claws dragging furrows through it as I stared blankly at the sunset. It’d been three short days since it happened, but felt like three years. “Why, Yew? Why’d you have to leave?” I asked myself, with only the wind to answer me.
My ears twitched as I heard somepony approaching, and I turned my head slightly. “What do you want, Spring?”
“Aulus, you feathered dolt, it’s time for you to come inside,” Spring Pine said tiredly. “You’ve been out here for three days now. I think you’ve checked on every tree in the stand at least twice, and you need to eat. And sleep. Not to mention that we still need to get your daughter’s room ready for when they release her from the hospital.”
I sighed. “I should have done something, Spring. Listened when the doctor suggested going to Canterlot for that exam, something, anything!” I felt my wings slump. “And even worse-- because of my decision, my own daughter doesn’t have a mother...”
Spring snorted. “Alright, that’s enough.” With a quiet hum, her horn glowed with emerald light and I felt an all-too familiar tingle as she grabbed me by a tuft. “On your claws, mister. You are going to come to the house, eat some fish, and then get some sleep. We’ll deal with the rest in the morning.” Not even waiting for me to get to my claws, she started dragging me toward the house.
“Ow ow ow ow ow! Spring, let go!” I screeched until she released me. I rubbed the side of my head in irritation and started to open my beak to give her a verbal thrashing. Her glare suggested I keep it shut. “Fine, you win,” I mumbled with only a trace of annoyance.
She nodded sharply, then inclined her head toward the house. As we walked up to it together she took a shuddering breath. “She was my daughter as well as your wife, Aulus. You don’t have to grieve alone.”
I was silent, but draped a wing over her back as we entered the house.
I sometimes wondered if Celestia somehow knew the exact angle to raise the sun so it would shine inside as many windows as possible. Such as right into my face. I grumbled in exhaustion and rolled over, opening my eyes blearily as the expected bulk wasn’t there. “Yew?”
Hmm. She must’ve gone for coffee, or an early morning snack. It’d been a bit of her habit lately, with the foal growing and all. Hopefully she didn’t bring anything back to bed this time, I could still feel some crumbs underneath my talon. Weird thing was that the bed was cold. Even if she’d gone for a shower, she didn’t like being all that mobile, what with the foal coming. And the shower wasn’t running ...
After a few seconds it hit me why she wasn’t in our bed. That she’d never be there with a smile again. I warbled weakly and pulled the pillow over my head, wishing again that this was just some cruel nightmare.
“Aulus, I need your help in here.” Gold’s voice echoed from down the hallway. I didn’t have to guess that he’d be in his granddaughter’s room. The one Yew and I had spent months getting ready.
With a sigh I threw the pillow off and crawled out of bed, closing my eyes briefly as I climbed across her side. I shook off a few stray crumbs that stuck to my talon, then gently scooped them back onto the sheets. It was a weird gesture, and a little tricky, but... She’d left them there. So they should stay there.
I went out and down the hall to the new bedroom. “What do you need, Gold?” I asked as I walked into the room, eyes half-closed as I tried to ignore the little griffons and ponies we’d painted on the walls. Feathers, that took forever, even with talons. I have no idea how Yew managed to put eyes on every last one of them with just her her mouth and a toothpick.
Gold Pine grunted as he held a side of the crib up. “Just grab the short side, let’s get this thing built. We got a letter from the hospital: they’re releasing Aurelia today, so we’re going to go get her once we have the crib-”
“Her name is Aspen,” I said quietly. I lifted a short side and fastened the latches.
“But you’d settled on Aurelia’s name months ago,” Gold objected. A quick shake of my head reminded him of how fickle things like names can be. Or titles, for that matter. Husband, father, widower, foal-bump, cub … parentless. His eyes closed halfway as he nodded. “It’s a fine name, son. But we need a place for her to sleep when she comes home.”
“Yeah,” I muttered as we moved to the other two sides. “Gold, I’m sorry I’ve been acting like I have the past few-”
He snorted gruffly. “Horseapples, boy, she was your wife as much as she was my daughter. If you didn’t miss her, I’d be throwing your sorry flank out of my house and taking my granddaughter with me. Just not used to seeing folks grieve by spending every waking moment tending the trees.”
“Well, it’s just something we do back in Alatelum,” I replied as the last fastener clicked into place. “If we pour our grief into growing life, we imprint it with some of the departed so that they never truly leave us. The final step is to plant a sequoia seedling from the survivor’s pride over their grave.” I felt my talons extend, and struggled to keep from gouging the floor. “Although my family won’t allow one of their seedlings to leave Alatelum, especially not to plant over a non-griffon.”
“Did you even try asking?” Gold asked quietly as we picked up the extra parts.
“No.” I pointedly scratched the twin scars across my eye ridges.
“Stars above, even if they’ve treated you like dirt, you can at least ask. Worst they can say is no,” he said as he trotted for the door. “Now come on, we need to get going.”
I followed after him, giving the empty room one last look.
I’d never liked hospitals. Hard to believe, I know, but the combination of a hospital’s obvious function and the staff’s cheerful attitudes always put me on edge. But today, I’d have given anything to have them use a feather duster to trick me into thinking I was molting. I could still remember the satisfied smirk on Yew's face the first time they'd pulled it off.
“Alright Aulus,” the nurse said quietly as he led me and Gold down the hallway. “She’s still a little weak, but we were able to move her out of isolation into the spare outpatient room.” Before us was a simple door, a hoofmade ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign hanging on the handle.
Gold put a hoof on my shoulder. “You go ahead, son. I’ll get started on the release forms.” He nodded to the nurse, and they both returned down the hallway, leaving me alone in front of the door.
I felt indecision setting in, and took a deep breath to try and calm myself, though to no avail. This would be the first chance I had to hold her. My- our daughter. Yew and I had seen Aspen at her birth, but they’d rushed her into intensive care almost immediately ... and then the rest of the day had unfolded. I still burned with shame at how I’d put three orderlies who were just doing their jobs into their own hospital. I hoped Yew had at least not seen it, or would at least forgive me. The fact that the staff already had just made it worse.
The door creaked as I pushed it open. Sorrow melted away as a curious, gurgling warble came from the foal-bed in the middle of the room, where a tiny, feathered miracle squirmed and tussled with its blanket.
I took a hesitant step into the room, then another, until I finally stood over the bed, staring down at my daughter. Mine and Yew’s daughter. She noticed me looming over her and paused in her mauling of the blanket to chirp curiously. Her eyes were a light emerald, with just a hint of Yew’s blue visible, feathers tinged vibrant yellow and her coat a darker shade, like pine needles about to drop. I was still amazed at how she’d been born with as prominent a pony half, over the feline body all griffons bore. Even more amazing was how her tail still retained a lion-like shape, though it was the same dull yellow as her coat.
“Hello Aspen,” I said weakly. I realized that those were the first words I’d spoken to her, and wanted to kick myself. All the words in both Equestrian and Alatelic, and I choose ‘Hello’ as the first thing I’d say to her. I could practically hear Yew’s laughter and hung my head, eyes closed as it all hit me again.
After a few seconds, I heard Aspen warble a second time, before a slight weight abruptly collided with my face. I opened my eye to see Aspen, overturned from her attempt to groom me, start to sniffle.
“It’s alright,” I said reassuringly as I gently righted her and preened mussed feathers back into place. “There, see? All straightened out.”
Aspen warbled, tiny wings awkwardly splayed out as she leaned to forward to try and preen back. And nipped a new feather, right next to my beak.
For the rest of my life I’d hold it a mark of pride that I managed to keep my profanity inside my head and settled for a pained smile. “That’s my girl...”
“Don’t smile at her like that boy, you’ll just confuse the poor dear,” Gold said from behind me, his voice rough. “Now let’s get going, her paperwork’s all filed.” He trotted over and helped settle the custom foal-carrier we’d been given across my back. Once I’d made sure it wasn’t going anywhere I gently lifted Aspen in a talon. She squawked in alarm, but once she realized she wasn’t going to fall she calmed down and let me put her into the basket.
I craned my head around to give her a once-over. “You ready to go home?”
She responded with a chirp and tried to preen another feather.
“Yep. You definitely take after your mother,” I said, a mixture of pride and regret in my voice. “Come on, I bet you’re hungry, and I don’t think hospital milk is any better than the rest of their food.”
The kitchen was a mess: bowls and plates stacked ignobly by the sink, while a pot of bubbling water sat on the stove. They’d given me the instructions for how to feed her when we left the hospital, which still sat on table. They’d said to make sure to check the temperature once, on your foreleg, though I’d been nervous, and made absolutely sure it was the right temperature.
Although, I should probably have used less milk to test it. At least then I’d have had enough to quiet Aspen’s squalling.
“Yes, yes, I have more coming, sweetie!” I pleaded as I paced in front of the oven, watching the second bottle attentively. “Come on, come on!” I decided the bottle had been in long enough and took it out. I carefully dribbled a little over my tail, having learned after her first feeding that my forelegs wouldn’t work for testing temperature. “Perfect!” Whirling about, I grabbed the new nursing top Weaver had made me. We’d anticipated a beak from the viewings before Aspen’s birth, but not that it’d be as sharp as mine.
Aspen immediately quieted as the bottle came into view, eyes alert as she tracked its approach. She started to mewl insistently, little talons reaching out in desperation. I crouched down beside Aspen, gently cradling her in a foreleg. The wet spot on my tail still felt too warm as I brought the bottle to her tiny beak, but her insistent mewling reminded me that ‘testing’ another full meal would just leave her hungry longer. Eventually, paternal nerves lost out to paternal instinct as I helped her lift her head up. Formula dribbled down her chin as she eagerly pounced the plastic nipple.
Rather than gobble it down like I thought she would, she coughed and spat it back up almost instantly, covering my chest feathers. Her flecked emerald eyes looked up at me expectantly as she warbled in protest. I thought she just needed a moment to settle in to eat, but every time I tried again, she’d take a few experimental sips and then push the bottle away.
Maybe I’d mixed the formula wrong? I didn’t want to test it any more than I already had, given how much the two of us had already wasted, but I dabbed a few drops onto my tongue. It tasted---well, like cattle’s milk, in a way. A bit plasticky, but I guess that comes with being an artificial mix.
Oh.
She knew. Days old, and somehow she could tell the difference between what she had and what she couldn’t have.
“I know, sweetheart. I know.” A keen bubbled up into my throat, and for a while I just held Aspen against me, rocking her. It was the best meal I could offer for her right now, and--and it just wasn’t good enough. Here we were, parent and child, and we were still alone. We were supposed to be three.
Yew had left a hole in our family that couldn’t be filled.
“Please, sweetheart.” I gently ran my beak over her head, wincing as she obliviously plucked another feather from my chest. “I know, I know. I know it’s … it’s not her. But please. Try it anyway.” I held the bottle in front of her, hoping that hunger would win out over filial wants. “For Daddy?”
A few gentle prods and her increasingly loud stomach finally won out. Aspen accepted the bottle--grudgingly at first, but before long her beak closed around the reinforced nipple as she settled in for her first real meal at home.
I leaned back, happy to just watch her, and more happy to see her no longer crying.
“Ah, it’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it?” Spring asked as she trotted in. “Although I see you’re still working on getting the formula right.”
I huffed defensively. “It felt too hot to me.”
She laughed lightly and continued across the room to nuzzle Aspen. “And how is my sweet little-” she reared back as Aspen tried to nip at her mane, then dove back in for a quick raspberry, “grandfoal today? Lively as ever, I see.”
Aspen giggled, then resumed her breakfast. She was still getting used to being home, but was doing remarkably well for only her second day, . According to Spring, Yew had spent the first two months doing nothing but crying, eating and sleeping.
“Spring...” I hesitated a moment. “I’d like to take her to-”
She cut me off with a quiet nicker. “I figured as much. Just let her-” She was in turn interrupted by Aspen, who started mewling piteously again, “finish.” She levitated her onto her shoulder and patted her gently with a hoof. “There you go, just get it out.” Aspen obliged with a resounding belch.
“Well, looks like she takes after me after all,” Gold said with a yawn as he entered the kitchen. “So, you taking her?” he asked me.
I nodded. “Yes. I wanted to do it yesterday, but well...”
Gold waved a hoof. “No need to explain yourself to me, son. Just let Yew get a good look, now.”
I shrugged the foal-carrier on and gently deposited Aspen into the basket. “I’ll help with the dishes once we get back-”
“Don’t you worry about it, take all the time you want,” Spring admonished. “Isn’t the first time we’ve had to deal with the dirty dishes. And you’ll have plenty more chances to come.” She smiled as her magic started to lift the dishes into the sink. “Now get going, or she’ll fall asleep before you get there!”
“Alright, alright,” I grumbled, a small smile on my face as I walked out the side door. The sunshine was warm as I made my way along the path, toward a secluded part of the yard. It could almost be called nice, with birds chirping and the tree stands visible from the top of the hill. If not for its purpose, I’d have loved to sit here with Yew to watch the sunset. The cemetery itself was fairly small, with only a few dozen headstones in even rows. Many of them bore signs of age, but the names were lovingly maintained so that none would be forgotten.
We stopped in front of the newest one, a simple affair, and I helped Aspen out of the foal-carrier. She immediately started trying to explore, and I carefully herded her back to sit in front of me. “Not today, Aspen. Today I want you to meet someone very special. You’ve seen her once, but she didn’t get to say hello back. Her name was Yew, and she was your mother. She loved both of us very much, and I know she’d want to be here right now-”
“She sounds like quite the beauty, to get you to talk like that,” a familiar voice said from behind me.
I froze. There was no way that voice should be here, but nonetheless it had spoken. I sat up and turned my head, keeping one eye on Aspen. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Titus.”
“Well, you know, when I hear about my older brother being stubborn as limb-rot, I can’t very well let it fester,” he replied as he walked forward to stand beside me, a carrying harness strapped to his side. “So, tell me about her.”
“Why are you here?” I asked, one talon instinctively curling around Aspen, who stared at Titus curiously.
Titus’ neck feathers fluffed up slightly. “I’m here because you’re too damn stubborn, you know that? Yes, the congregation declared you exsilium, and yes, Father closed our eyrie to you. But we’re still family, Aulus!” He flexed his talon angrily, digging furrows through the dirt. “You could have talked to me, sent a letter, anything!”
“Be quiet,” a quiet, but authoritative voice cut through the brief pause as Gold trotted up the path. “This place isn’t for raised voices and tempers.” He looked at me, expression unreadable. “I sent him a letter, explaining things a little. Didn’t expect him to make it here this soon though.”
Titus inclined his head, a smirk on his beak. “Don’t underestimate our airship captains. Although, had to leave almost as soon as I got the letter. Barely had enough time to stop and pick something up on the way.” He reached back into the carry harness and pulled out a tiny box.
My heart practically stopped. The silence was overpowering as I stared at the tiny object he held delicately in his paws. “Titus... I.... how...?”
He chuckled. “You always did ask the obvious questions. I said it before, we’re family.” He held it out to me. “Now come on, you know how long these survive in a transport pot. So let’s plant it.”
I reverently took the sequoia seedling and just stared at it for a moment. Its needles waved gently in the breeze, and I could, for a moment, smell the ancient stands back home. Finally, I turned back to the headstone and gently set it to the side. Aspen chirped and sniffed at it while I dug out a small hole. “Now, do you want to help Daddy, Aspen?” I asked as I carefully lifted the seedling free of the transport pot, and dumped the dirt to the side. Aspen warbled as I lowered it into the hole, and I guided her forward with a talon. “Here, just like I’m doing.” I pushed some of the dirt into the hole, forcing myself to pretend to smile at Aspen. “Now its your turn.”
Aspen stared at me, then the dirt, the hole, before she tried to push the dirt with her head. A little fell into the hole before she sneezed, spraying dirt everywhere. She squawked in anger and shook her head, wings splayed as she glared at the offending pile. I almost gouged myself as I suppressed a laugh. Here my baby was tucking her mother into her grave, and I found anything about it … funny?
I fought to keep my eyes clear as I gently preened a clod loose. “That was great, sweetie. Now let’s finish up.” I guided her talon to the pile, and together we pushed the rest of the dirt into the hole. Finally, we patted the dirt down and sat back. Aspen warbled at the seedling one more time before she yawned and snuggled against me. I gently picked her up and set her back into the foal-carrier. “Why don’t we go back inside and let you have a nice nap, hmm?” I looked at Titus and Gold, and together we started back toward the house. Not wanting to jar Aspen, I kept my pace slow, glancing back every few steps to make sure she was still asleep
I stopped to close the gate, feeling my feathers rustle as the wind began to pick up. I instantly furled a wing over Aspen to shield her from the sudden breeze, and glanced in the wind's direction. I couldn't see anything out of the ordinary at first, and started to dismiss it when something caught my eye. I almost couldn't believe what I was seeing as the seedling's needletips slowly yellowed, until it bore a striking resemblance to… to Yew's coat. Another soft keen escaped my throat, even as I felt a smile break out on my beak.
"Goodbye, Yew."
