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>Ice Elation shifted the saddlebag at her flank and sighed - the way was well-trod and signalled a return to her home.
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>In the still of the winter’s night, there was no other to be seen still travelling though she suspected she would not be the last who returned to the village.
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>Only the sound of her booted hooves crunching on the snow and her quiet breathing disturbed the peace and she clung to it dearly with every step.
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>Still, it wouldn’t be long now until the village was in sight and she would once more see those ponies for whom she travelled so far.
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>Little Niveous who was insistent she was not so little any more; Podzol who would no doubt be ready to puff out her chest and claim she could single-hoofedly defeat the dreaded drift burrower; valiant Frostbite, who could well make an attempt herself.
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>Crackling Fire, going about the village and making sure the lights to guide travellers home still burned; Pine Ponder, most likely still tirelessly working on her contributions to the village’s centrepiece; and, of course, her sister, Cold Shoulder.
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>Ice touched the saddlebag and smiled - it’d been difficult to lie to Cold about the nature of her return journey to the far north but—Ice knew—would be well worth the good-natured deceit.
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>The filly—
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>She paused in her steps; no, it’d been a long time since her sister was a filly and it did no good to still think of her as such.
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>Those childhood worries of a loved one departing were replaced by the more reasonable adult fears of knowing exactly where she was headed.
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>Far from their forested home, to a different place with far stranger forests.
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>Where cold blue eyes would stalk between crystal trunks at night, banished only by that haunting voice from deeper in the valley.
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>This time was different, however.
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>The valley was quiet. Cirrus’ pilgrimage north had been fruitful but one Ice cared little to keep her mind on and so set her hooves back in motion.
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>No, much better to think of things closer to home.
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>The glinting ice stars of the northern tribes, lit by the fires of their villages and sending their light cascading out into the plains.
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>Though she was no native, she’d been welcomed with hooves just as open.
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>As one approached the long night, hospitality was extended further into it.
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>In those few places where she returned regularly, the ponies there had brought out the best from their store for their friend.
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>A warm belly did much to ward off the frost but a warm heart did more.
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>But ahead, shining already as she passed into a clearing, lay the outermost painted star of the village.
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>The southern tribes could grow the flowers for the precious dyes, kept for this time of year to renew the colours.
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>”As the stars guide our way home,” Cirrus had said so long ago, “so too do we pay homage to the Great Pony of the Sky by lighting our own with our love.”
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>Cirrus Wisp.
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>Who, it seemed, had not aged but a day since Ice was a filly.
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>Many were the strange and, at times, even alien things she saw in the north.
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>But none were as confounding or alluring as that mare.
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>How could she hold those thoughts against her memories, though?
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>Memories of lying snug against Cirrus’ side as she spoke of the stars and the Sky, of the great singing cave of the northern tribes, and the things that lay beyond.
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>But one memory, now, stood out.
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>”Do you know why it is that we carve stars from wood and light fires by them, little one?”
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>She’d wanted so badly to answer, just as much as she knew that answer must lie beyond the village with the tales she’d heard.
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>”Do you remember when I told you of the Great Pony and how She created Her beautiful stars to guide us?”
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>There was not a pony in the village who didn’t speak with much warmth of hearing that tale in their foalhood.
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>And especially the kind smile and tender embrace of Cirrus.
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>”They light each night so wonderfully, do they not? And none more so than the longest and darkest of them. It was so very long ago that a young filly, much like you little one, who gazed upon those lights in the sky and wished only that she might add her own.”
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>She remembered squirming against Cirrus’ side as she furrowed her brow, deep in thought.
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“But Cirrus, a pony can’t make a star, can they?”
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>”No, little one; try as she might, the filly could find no way and no pony who aided her could offer the answer to her question.
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>”She went to the shaman of her village but was told we are ponies of the earth and could not, nor should we, take the stars of the sky. But another kindly soul heard of her quandary and offered his aid - he was skilled in the working of wood and would cut for her the finest star.
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>”It was beautiful indeed but did not shine with love, as the filly hoped. But she was determined,” Cirrus had said, sparing a glance to Ice Elation who raised her head and cocked her ears at those words, “to find a way.
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>”So, when next the travellers of her village departed to their southern friends to trade, she accompanied them and took with her the star. There she asked the ponies skilled with the flowers of their plains, for surely they who knew so well the beloved of Sky would know His secrets.
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>”But they too could offer no answer. When they asked, in turn, why she had come so far and brought such a precious gift, they were moved by her words and offered what aid they could. Using precious dyes from their flowers, they coloured her star like those that hang above. Now it glowed in the light but still, the filly was unsatisfied. It did not shine and did not hang above.
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>”So to the west she went, then, to our friends of the mountains and their knowledge of the gifts of the deep places of the land. They too turned their hooves and hearts towards the crafts they knew and created another star for the filly - one that gleamed in the light of the fire and shone almost, but not quite, like the stars of the sky.
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>”The filly thanked them but struggled to hold back her tears; her mother had long since travelled north with the other fishers, keen to make the best use of the fading light of the season to provide for the village. The filly hoped to have a beautiful star of her own, to help guide her mother home and to tell her of the one whose love it shone with.”
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>To the southern plains and western mountains, the tale was enthralling to Ice.
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>How was a filly allowed to travel so wide and far? How could her friends not understand that allure?
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>”The shaman of their village came to the filly and told her - little one, do not cry so, there is yet hope. For in the north are the tribes of the sea and the ice, who know the ways of calling the water and turning it to ice. Surely they might create for her a star worthy of her love.
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>”Not to Snowpitt did the filly travel, no, but further still, to a small village on the far northern shores. To a place where an elderly shaman awaited her. Waiting and holding in her hooves a glittering, gleaming, shining star of ice.
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>”The spirits had whispered to the wind and their words were carried to her - there was one who had gone to the south and the west, from forest and valley, mountain, and to the seas. One whose love lent her the strength to do so, though her little hooves grew tired.
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>”It was the sight of that ice star, shining at the edge of the village that helped lend her that strength for it shone with the love of the villagers who each had added to it.
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>”And the shaman asked her, little one, do you not see now? The stars do not shine because they are wood or dye, iron or ice, they shine because they are made with love and given with love, to guide straight and true.
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>”For the night the filly arrived at that village, the skies were clouded and the stars hidden but still, light shone from the ground and lit her way.”
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>The filly had returned home after, but not before she stopped at each village she’d been to, to thank them for their kindness.
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>But at each, stars made there were hung at the edges and lights placed near them. The villagers had been so taken with the filly’s suggestion that they put up their own - to help light her mother’s way back to her home and to announce that she was welcome among them.
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>And they shone, oh how they shone indeed, for so taken was the filly with trying to recreate the stars in the sky, she never noticed that in the lights of the villages’ fires, the stars glowed with the love of those who had made them.
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>And so Ice’s village, like the other forest tribes, would take the finest woods and carve them in the shape of every star that shone.
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>Especially the fillies and colts - there was nothing quite like seeing a little face light up upon hearing their star was to be hung from the ‘tree’ at its centre. Which was, of course, a great carving made communally by the woodworkers of the village.
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>But the stars were not carved, no, for young and inexperienced hooves lacked the strength and skill to do so.
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>No, it was the kind and gentle Pine Ponder who retrieved the most widely opened cones and kept them for this night.
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>The tree at the village centre was daubed with ash so that it might capture the darkness of the night sky, while the fillies and colts painted the cones the colours of the stars.
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>Just as Ice could see now, those stars hung near the village’s edges were illuminated by the fires and the light would only grow as she neared and those that hung from the homes and the village centre added to it.
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>Soon there would be one more to join them.
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>But first would come the great giving.
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>It was an ancient, ancient tradition, one that possibly even predated the carving of the stars.
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>Certainly, among the ice-shaping tribes of the north whose stars any village would consider a peerless treasure to have only one, the exchange was just as sacred.
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>And it was when she was still a filly that they first heard of it.
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>”It is almost time once more, little ones, for the great giving.”
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>Back when she and Bundle Up and all her friends were still young enough that they crowded into Cirrus’ home to hear those stories.
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>”Oh, it is far more than that, Frozen Harvest, it is a reminder that we give of ourselves and of our store to everypony - freely, gladly.”
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>Ice smiled, remembering the story of the stallion who heard of the fishermare who wished only for a carved fish, to remind her of her friends in the north.
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>But she wouldn’t ask the carpenters to create one, the winter was long and harsh and only the wood that could be spared for necessary crafts was kept from the fires.
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>The stallion, however, knew that just as everypony of the village would gather together on the day following the long night to share in the store of food and warmth, other exceptions could be made.
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>He was skilled in working fibre and fur, setting warm cloaks to cold backs and helping craft comfortable beds, but still he knew that mattered little.
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>If one of his tribe in the village would not ask for what her heart desired, he’d do his best to provide it himself.
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>It was difficult to get the tools in secret, in such a small village, but after explaining his plan to a friend among the woodworkers, he was given what he needed.
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>And he took from his own store of wood for his fire, selecting the finest cut to be used for the craft.
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>Night after night, when his work was done, he set about carefully carving away the wood until it resembled something that looked like a fish. At least, fish-like enough that it shouldn’t be mistaken for anything else.
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>It was before the long night, before the time when the village would gather together in a great huddle to share their warmth with each other, tell tales, and sing the songs that gave life to their hearts.
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>An ordinary night, much like any other, where his breath misted before his face as he clasped the carefully concealed item between his teeth.
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>He only wished the fur he’d cut to wrap his gift in was matched by what it held but at least it’d help to keep his part secret, for now.
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>Outside her door, he left the bundled item and then departed just as quietly, hoping it might provide the mare with even a fraction of the joy he’d felt in its making.
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>Though the chisel had slipped many times and the knife bitten his hooves, each shaving that dropped away was another step closer to revealing the carving hidden away inside.
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>Going out so late, when the village was abed, he was late to rise the next morning and did so to some commotion.
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>The mare was standing near his house, cradling the carving in her hooves and excitedly asking another if she knew who made it.
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>Two of the village woodworkers were with her but she didn’t ask them - must be that she’d already done that and they knew not to reveal the secret.
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>Still, there was only one in the village with his skill with furs which was why now, he knew, he must go to meet with her.
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>Did he make it?
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>Those were the words that greeted him as he stepped outside.
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>Or did he at least know who made it? Because even the humblest student of the woodworkers could produce better and even after asking, none knew of the one who carved it.
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>It took her a moment but after studying the fur the carving was wrapped in, she knew he had at least some part in it.
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>And in time she’d find out but not until—
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>Reminiscing would have to wait, however, Ice Elation knew, as she could already see a few ponies standing at the edge of the village now.
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>One who was, unmistakably, her sister, Cold Shoulder.
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>And by her side, if the torch gripped between teeth was any indication, was Crackling Fire.
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>Between them was a small fur bundle, probably extra blankets brought by Cold who was sure Ice would be frozen from her long trip.
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>She couldn’t stop herself from nickering at the thought and how much time had tempered her reaction to it all.
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>It was good, all the same, that one from the village wasn’t with them. How long had it been since she’d felt so excited to share something with Cold?
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>But as she drew closer, she could see her sister’s face caught somewhere between a scowl and something that put more pace into Ice’s hooves. An expression she could always pick out no matter how well Cold tried to hide it but at least, those times, spoke of her holding better control over it.
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>Fear.
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>She was moving at a canter by the time she pulled up in front of the two, sparing a glance at what she now realised wasn’t a pile of furs but a pile of fillies with furs atop them.
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>”Where were you?” Cold asked, before Ice could say anything.
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>Crackling Fire turned away and set about placing her torch down more carefully than strictly necessary.
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“Travelling here.”
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>Ice tried to keep her tone even but every moment she thought of how long Cold must have felt that worry, enough that she couldn’t conceal it…
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>”By the stars, Ice, I know!” Why? Why did her voice quaver like that?
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>For the same reason, no doubt, she leapt forward and wrapped her forelegs around Ice Elation.
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>”You promised you’d be back in time!” Cold’s voice was a hoarse whisper and muffled as she buried her face into Ice’s mane.
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>The hooves that clung to her felt cold even through her cloak. How long had Cold stood here?
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“And I am.”
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>”Barely.”
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>Her own foreleg quickly found its way up and around Cold, whose back she rubbed vigorously, hoping the shiver she felt was only from warming up.
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“If I had to beat back the windigos, I’d return to you, Cold.”
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>That was a poor choice of words, if the way the mare tensed up was any indication.
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>”Please tell me you didn’t.”
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>Ice pulled her closer.
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“The way was clear, except for a few lost puffins who needed help getting home.”
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>She’d never admit it to anypony else, but Cold had a soft spot for the little birds.
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>No matter their stature, they never allowed themselves to be cowed.
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>They went to places few others did.
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>And reminded her of her sister.
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>So Ice breathed a silent sigh of relief at the chuckle her sister let out, no matter how forced it might’ve sounded.
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>She was feeling better enough to do that, at least.
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>”Was that all?” She pulled back from the embrace, her eyes glistening in the flickering light of the nearby fire but a tentative smile on her lips. “If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have had to keep this lot here.”
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>She waved a hoof at the fillies under the furs, all soundly asleep as they huddled together.
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>Ah, Frostbite, Snowfall, and Niveous - the valiant Tundra Trekkers, always ready to assist anypony lost in the snows.
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>That would explain Crackling Fire’s presence, who was only now returning from setting her torch down.
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>But there was another filly in the pile - one with a mane like charcoal and who, if Ice’s memory wasn’t failing her yet, was under the care of Crackling. What was her name?
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>Dry Kindling?
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>The last time she’d been in the village, on the night of frights, she and Frostbite hadn’t exactly seen eye to eye, as the older filly told her. Apparently Dry Kindling had, not for the first time, gone a bit too far in scaring some of her friends.
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>Now the two lay side by side, with Frostbite’s foreleg stretched over Dry Kindling, holding her close as they slept.
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>How lucky she was to call such a place her home.
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>Where even the youngest were willing to risk mane and tail just to rescue her. No doubt they would have trekked all the way to the far north, if it proved necessary.
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>”Ice, tell me the truth,” Cold said quietly, pulling the other mare’s attention back to her, “what happened up there?”
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>It was easy to smile, knowing the truth of the words she had to speak.
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“Nothing. Nothing except what I went for.” Cold made to ask but Ice continued, “I know I’m late and I am sorry, but the preparation of this gift took longer than I expected.”
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>She tapped at the saddlebag at her side for good measure.
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>”Then will you at least tell me what it is?”
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>Ice looked about carefully - Crackling nodded to her and the fillies all still lay asleep.
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>Good, the one whom her gift was destined for was most likely asleep herself with her own charge held close.
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>And so reaching into her saddlebag, Ice delicately extracted the item that sat within it.
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>To gasps from both her sister and Crackling.
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>”An ice star!”
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>The small star glimmered brightly in the light of the fire, casting its refracted light all about the three as Ice shifted it in her hoof.
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“Not ice.” She shook her head. “Crystal.”
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>Well the two might look confused, for in all the lands there was surely not a village who could claim to have even seen such a thing. Not even among the northern tribes.
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“This was why I took so long.” She held the star out to Cold, who took it reverently in her hooves. “I had to go beyond the northern shores. And what I brought back… Even the most experienced ice shapers had difficulty with it.”
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>And where had that crystal come from?
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>The journey to the far north had been long but mercifully less perilous than on other occasions, but it would have been worth braving even another crystal caller to secure the small pouch of shavings from one of the crystal trees.
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>Which had only stymied the ice shapers of the north who were accustomed to working with water and even already solidified ice.
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>Oh, the shavings were beautiful and there wasn’t a one among them who didn’t express a desire to help but none knew of what they might do.
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>At least until the eldest of their number roused from her sleep and came forth, explaining to them that no, it was not ice and so needed a different approach.
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>The trees may be crystal but they were still living things, which the tribes of the southern plains could help with for they were the ones who tended to the growing things of the earth.
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>It was lucky, then, that she counted them among her dear friends and who had shared some of their secrets with her.
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>Still, the task was not an easy one and would take time and care to produce a result worthy of the pony who had braved that place for her friend.
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>Now, as Cold passed the star to Crackling who shook her head in awe of it, Ice allowed herself a smile.
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>The texture of the star resembled bark rather than smooth ice and for one whose love of the forest easily outstripped all others, what greater gift could be given than a reminder of that place she’d been to but once?
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>”How long ago did you ask Cirrus?”
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>Cold’s question wasn’t something Ice expected.
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>Being away from the village so much and for so long, she couldn’t take part in the normal festivities where the shaman would give each pony the name of the one the spirits had whispered would be their ideal match in the great giving.
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>Rather, she had to tell Cirrus of the one whom she had in mind to give to, or at least ask after one who would appreciate the gift she’d decided upon and needed to leave to secure materials and assistance for.
-
>Still, the shaman would just smile and tell her the spirits already came to her and spoke the name for they knew her heart.
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>Pine Ponder had been who she was thinking of and the way Cirrus spoke the name, even before Ice told her why, still made her shiver.
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“Shortly before the winter.” But too much else took her time. “It was really only after the last time I was here that I could work on it.”
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>Crackling Fire stepped forward and carefully passed the crystal star to Ice, who just as delicately placed it back in her saddlebag.
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“And I’m just glad I’m back in time.” She lifted a foreleg to her sister’s shoulder. “To see you.” And looked over to Crackling, then the fillies. “All of you.”
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>”You know,” Cold said with a shake of her head, “if you weren’t, even I wouldn’t have been able to stop them. Not that I would’ve, I’d probably be joining them.”
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>Crackling, too, nodded.
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>Ice could say half the village would set off but she knew the truth - every one of them, young and old alike, would make sure none were absent from the feast.
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>Where Pine would unwrap the gift Ice still had to seek Bundle Up to conceal.
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>Where another would present her with a wrapped gift of her own, in the days before it.
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>Where the village stores would be opened and shared, to remind themselves that it was when the days were harshest that they must nourish their spirits just as well.
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>Where those who drew her home again and again would be found, and their warmth would outstrip even the mightiest blaze.
by HeavyHorse
by HeavyHorse
by HeavyHorse
by HeavyHorse
by HeavyHorse