My Sister's Song

Harthwarming was always a happy time for me growing up. It was the the single ray of sunlight in my otherwise cloudy school year. It was a time when my parents would finish their work at the concert hall and we would go to our private cabin out between Canterlot and Ponyville. For me, that cabin was a magical place and still is to this day. My family still goes there at Harthwarming just for the sake of keeping up the tradition. But I will never forget for as long as I live and breath that one Harthwarming when my father came rushing in with the greatest gift he could have ever given my family.

It had been another long semester at the Canterlot Music School. The only good thing about it was that I had gotten my cuttie mark. I know that at the age of twelve I was a little on the old side for trying to find a cutie mark and probably should have moved on to looking for a different sort of talent. After all how could an earth pony, the daughter of two unicorns, do anything with an instruments without being a unicorn herself. But I knew that something with music had to be my talent, both my parents had one in music. Why couldn't mine?

Well lets forget about that little story as it isn't the one I want to tell. I did get my mark while writing my first song for the cello, but it is not as good of a story as what happened latter that year. For you see I had finally been let out on winter break. Which meant as always we were staying at our cabin. It wasn't a super fancy cabin like most people would believe with how much money my parents made. Instead it was rather simple. It only had four rooms: two bedrooms, a living room/kitchen, and a bathroom. But even at that, it was perfect. It was a get away from all the noise and wildness of the big city.

It was my second day of vacation and we had already moved into our cabin. It had only taken the previous night of sleeping in the cabin to change us from the city folk we where into the country bumpkins as people called those who lived in this area. But we didn't care. It was late afternoon that fateful day. I was playing a happy tune for my mother on my always trusty cello. She herself was busy at the fireplace using her magic to stir our dinner of celery soup. Father was off in the woods near the cabin chopping enough firewood for the rest of our stay.

The smell of food was so strong that eventually I had given up my focus on playing.If you knew my mother, her food would have the same effect on you.

"Mom, may I please have just a small bowl while we wait for dad? Please?"

I put on the biggest puppy eyes I had ever done with a grin on my face. It still didn't work. Of course it didn't work. Only with dad...

"Now Octavia," Here we go again... "You know the rules. No one eats until everyone is present. You father should be here soon."

"Humph..." Of course. If looks could kill, then in my fillyhood I would have been a mass murderer.

My mother eventually stopped stirring the soup and walked over to the window. "Looks like it has started snowing again. Oh where is your father? He should be back by now."

I walked over to join her by the window. It was indeed snowing again. I looked over at my mom. Worry was in her eyes. It was never like my father to be late. He was always there, right on time no matter what. Every concert done at our family concert hall always started right on time. My dad made sure of it.

As soon as I looked back at to the darkening world out the window, a lone figure against the snow was running towards the cabin. My father. Something was off though. His coat he had worn was draped across something large on his back and his usually smiling face was now covered with fear. He was running as though his life depending on it. My mother bolted to the door as he raced in nearly crashing into the wall on the opposite side of the room.

"Honey! 'Huff' Grab 'huff' as many 'huff' blankets as you 'huff' can!" He quickly walked over to the fire and set the thing still under his coat on the floor. Mom came rushing back into the room with magic holding a large bundle of blankets. As soon as she got to him, he lifted his coat up.

My eyes nearly popped out of my head. There, lying in front of the fire, was a white filly. She was unconscious and was shivering badly. Her mane was an electric blue and she had a strange looking music note for a cuttie mark. She looked to be my age.

My father quickly wrapped the shivering filly up in the blankets and then proceeded to hold her in his hooves to keep her as warm he could. All my mother and I could do was stand there with jaws on the floor. We where both speechless.

My mother was the first to speak up but her word where came out as if she had lost all the air in her lungs. "Stephano Philharmonica, what is the meaning of this?"

My father looked up at us and and began the tale. "I was about a mile off from the cabin near where I usually get the wood for the fire. I had just finished when all of a sudden I heard someone crying softly and begging for help. I looked around and about a hundred feet from me was this little one I am now holding. She was barely crawling on the ground and was shivering badly. I raced over to her but by then she had passed out. I quickly took off my coat, placed her on my back and put the coat over her. I then made a sprint here as fast as I could."

My mother had the biggest smile on her face I had ever seen he ended his tale. She quickly walked over and gave him a huge hug with the white filly in between them. They stayed like that almost the whole night keeping filly warm.

Who knew that night would be a huge changing point in my life.