The Wind in His Sails (Short)


                                            >Be Windy Whistles.

                                            >It’s been just over a year since the young master’s mother passed.

                                            >And only seven moons since you became his slave.

                                            >Slave feels like a strong word for your situation; you willingly crossed through the portal when news broke that Rainbow’s battalion didn’t return from Earth.

                                            >Without your daughter, the light of your life, Cloudsdale - Equestria even - just didn’t feel like home any more. Every moment of being in your house full of Rainbow Dash memorabilia was an agonizing reminder of what you had lost, the ghosts of once-pleasant memories lurking behind every corner to shock you into a deeper grief.

                                            >The double-punch to the gut of losing Bow at the same time meant that you had lost not only your precious family, but your entire support system for dealing with this kind of wrenching grief.

                                            >You were alone.

                                            >Completely.

                                            >And so you couldn’t stay in Equestria.

                                            >When you crossed through the portal you had packed your saddlebags lightly, choosing to bring nothing but a warm sweater and your favorite picture of your family. Inside the frame your husband lifts you and your baby daughter into the air as you laugh, heads thrown back in the bliss of feeling safe and loved.

                                            >A reminder of better times.

                                            >Just because you couldn’t stay in Equestria didn’t mean you wanted to completely forget what you had built there.

                                            >But you’re in a new part of your life here on Earth and you’re working on how to best fill this new role.

                                            >In all honesty the repetitive daily motions of being a housemaid are a good way to keep you sane; it keeps you moving, keeps you busy, prevents you from slowing down and focusing on what you don’t have anymore.

                                            >You’ve also taken measures to make sure that you focus on what you do have rather than what you’ve lost.

                                            >Every morning you wake up to your 7am alarm and trot downstairs to set a kettle of water on the stove for coffee.

                                            >Coffee.

                                            >The beverage was always available to you in Equestria, but you never took to it like you do here. The humans seem to really rely on it, your master included; you think their bad habit has started rubbing off on you.

                                            >As the water boils you sit at the kitchen table with a used pad of paper and a nubby pencil in hoof, (note to self: go to the stationary store and get some better pencils), and write a list of what you’re grateful for.

                                            >They don’t have to be big things.

                                            >You usually start with ‘I am alive. I am healthy. I am comfortable.’

                                            >Just basic stuff, but you know that other ponies have it harder than you so you make a point of listing those first.

                                            >Then you can start getting a bit more elaborate.

                                            >‘The sun is shining and it’s nice and warm on my muzzle.’

                                            >‘I showered today and I love feeling clean.’

                                            >‘The neighbor’s pony brought over fresh eggs from their chickens and they’ll make a delicious breakfast.’

                                            >You stream of consciousness list everything you can think of until the kettle whistles and you pour the boiling water into the french press on the countertop, the kitchen filling with the sharp scent of freshly-made coffee.

                                            >You go over the list again, take a deep calming breath, and exhale, ready to start your day with a smile and a little bit of positivity.

                                            >And a cup of coffee, of course. Or two!

                                            >The young master will continue sleeping for several more hours and while you wait for him to get up you drink your coffee and start puttering around the house, taking care of whatever needs doing. Usually it’s taking stock of what’s in the fridge and planning out meals for the upcoming week; making a grocery list; putting away dishes from the dishwasher; throwing in some laundry; watering the plants.

                                            >The plants were extras you tacked on to various grocery orders to try and make the apartment feel more alive. You thought maybe some greenery might cheer your master up, plus it would give him something to care for since you yourself are very self-sufficient.

                                            >But he barely seems to have noticed their presence even though they’ve slowly accumulated into at least a dozen pots between the kitchen and his bedroom.

                                            >When the leaves first started to wilt you took them under your wing and their care has been incorporated into your daily routine. You’re pretty pleased with the results.

                                            >Maybe your cutie mark should have been in gardening!

                                            >By the time your master finally gets up the first pot of coffee has always gone cold and you rush to put the kettle on again so he can have fresh.

                                            >That first sip of coffee is one of the few times in a day that he allows a smile to grace his face, so you’ve learned to savor that increasingly rare glimpse of his happiness.

                                            >This morning he’s slept in until 2pm and you cast a sideways glance out the window at the sun already starting to lower itself into the western part of the sky. Only about 2 hours left of daylight if you’re using the past couple of weeks as an accurate measurement.

                                            >Sunlight makes everypony feel better and your master could certainly use more of it.

                                            >You aren’t sure how to approach him about it, though.

                                            >“Morning Windy.”

                                            “Morning, Sir!”

                                            >You grab one of the thick ceramic mugs from the cupboard and fill it to the brim with steaming coffee before trotting it over to his eager, awaiting hands.

                                            >He clutches the cup as if it were a sacred relic and takes a deep sip, (probably burning his mouth in the process, he didn’t even let it cool!) eyes closing as he soaks in the smell of his morning caffeine.

                                            >“Mm.”

                                            >You offer him the same question that you pose every day, resting a hoof gently on his arm.

                                            “How are you feeling?”

                                            >He offers you the same empty response with a shrug.

                                            >“Fine.”

                                            “Good to hear.”

                                            >Since he’s still waking up you give him some space, ducking into the fridge to grab supplies for breakfast against your motherly instinct which is to press him for more info.

                                            >You know that you can be overbearing and you’ve been working on trying not to smother the young man sitting at the breakfast table too much.

                                            “Pumpkin Patch from next door brought us a couple eggs this morning. Can I make you a fried egg with toast?”

                                            >He nods absent-mindedly and without enthusiasm, as if his acceptance of your offer were a chore being done only to make you happy.

                                            >Which is probably the case.

                                            >Sometimes you think he eats just to prevent disappointing you.

                                            >Technically, you wouldn’t be disappointed, you’d be more like...

                                            >Well.

                                            >Truthfully, you pity him.

                                            >Life happened to give him a couple of hard hits all at once; his mother dying, losing his job, discovering a mystery illness that plagued him frequently.

                                            >It’s a lot for anypony to handle, but you suspect he was already a little sad before everything happened and this simply made it worse.

                                            >You know that he inherited the house from his mother when she passed so he doesn’t have to pay rent, but groceries, heat, electricity; all these cost money (gee, living on Earth sure is expensive!).

                                            >You aren’t sure how he pays for it, but it’s not really your business or area of expertise, so you keep your eyes peeled for deals at the supermarket and make sure to use coupons when you can. Every little bit helps, you’re sure.

                                            >As you’re frying up the golden-yolked eggs, you decide that you should try to get your master out of the house.

                                            “Say Sir, can we go for a walk after breakfast? My legs could sure use a good stretch after the rainy day we had yesterday.”

                                            >He looks up from scrolling on his phone, glancing outside to notice the difference in weather and nods.

                                            >“Sure. Give me a couple of minutes to wake up though.”

                                            >A couple of minutes usually means an hour or two, but you brighten up anyways, ears perked in delight.

                                            >Sometimes you have to rephrase how you say things to him so that it sounds like he would be doing YOU a favor rather than the other way around.

                                            >Like right now you know some fresh air might do him good, but if you suggested that to him he would get defensive and retreat back into his room for hours.

                                            >But if you ask nicely for him to take you out because you want some fresh air, he’s usually fairly obliging.

                                            >If feels a little manipulative, but it’s what works for now and you think that maybe he’s aware of it and doesn’t mind.

                                            >You hope.

                                            >In any case you shoot a grin his way and give a heartfelt

                                            “Thanks!!”

                                            >He doesn’t respond, continuing to sip at his coffee and scroll through the apps on his phone.

                                            >The kitchen is quickly filled with the smell of buttered toast and fried eggs as you prepare breakfast (and your lunch) and for just a second a sense of feeling at home sinks over you.

                                            >It surrounds you like a warm hug and disappears in the blink of an eye, but you’re struck by it, staring blankly into the pan of eggs and feeling like you’ve just been slapped.

                                            >You suppose that this is home for you now and the feeling should be natural and yet... It feels like a betrayal to your past, your family.

                                            >The sudden weight of the collar around your neck punctuates the thought that you were wrong about feeling at home.

                                            >You shake your head to clear away those confusing thoughts and focus on the present instead. You have a young man who needs breakfast!

                                            >With a smile you slip him a plate of over easy eggs and buttered toast and you’re given a rewarding pat on the head - no eye contact, though.

                                            >“Thanks, Windy.”

                                            “Of course, Sir!”

                                            >You have to bite back the impulse to cheer him on for taking a bite of toast; it would come off as demeaning no matter how genuinely proud you are of him.


                                            >By the time your master has “woken up”, the sun has almost faded and the autumn evening chill has started to pick up, sending shivers along your back. You’re glad that you ended up bringing along a scarf because you sure need it now.

                                            >Unfortunately your walking companion did not bring a scarf (or a coat) and you’re already starting to worry about the goosebumps rising along his arms.

                                            >The leash attached to your collar jangles softly as you two walk along the man-made woodland path, side by side in silence.

                                            >Silence is something new for you and it’s taken a lot of getting used to it.

                                            >You’ve always been a talkative pony and before now you’ve always had somepony to chat with, or at least, other ponies who didn’t mind your constant chatter.

                                            >Your master is very often silent, swept up in the noise of his own thinking; he lives mostly in his head and sometimes the outside world can irritate an already irritated mind.

                                            >After bringing you home all those months ago it only took him a couple hours to ask you to “shut up, please.”

                                            >It stung at the time, but now you know him better and understand how overwhelming you were being.

                                            >You’ve adapted to his way of communicating, which is through action rather than words. You know how much something like making his morning coffee or doing his laundry means to him.

                                            >It’s been an adjustment for sure.

                                            >So now you can walk in a comfortable silence - save for the clink of the leash on your collar - together and admire the beautiful scenery made up of gently falling leaves in scarlet and gold.

                                            >Autumn is truly beautiful.

                                            “You know, back in Equestria the leaves needed a little help coming off the trees.”

                                            >Well. He can’t expect you to always be quiet. You’re still yourself after all.

                                            >“Hmm?”

                                            “In Ponyville there was this festival called the Running of the Leaves where ponies would race through the Whitetail Woods to help the leaves fall off the trees before winter. It was fun! I never joined in, but I watched a bunch of times.”

                                            >You’re given a rather blank stare in reply.

                                            >“Yeah?”

                                            “Mmhmm! It’s still a little weird to see the leaves just coming down themselves sometimes.”

                                            >A faint ghost of a smile appears on your master’s face and you leap at the chance to keep him smiling.

                                            “Should we have our own Running of the Leaves?”

                                            >“What?”

                                            “Should we get running to help the leaves fall?”

                                            >“Like, right here? Now?”

                                            “Yeah! Why not?”

                                            >“I don’t want to run, Windy…”

                                            “Ohh come on, just a little jog! It’ll be fun!”

                                            >You hope you’re coming off as playful and not pushy; sometimes you feel like you’re trotting on eggshells with him.

                                            >“I don’t think so…”

                                            >You can already see him starting to retreat back into his shell and your heart sinks. Horseapples, you were too pushy!

                                            >You scramble to backtrack.

                                            “M-maybe just a trot then? Not like a real race. And I promise I’ll go easy on you! I won’t even pull on the leash.”

                                            >A pained expression crosses his face and he stops in his tracks, causing you to tug at the leash unintentionally.

                                            “What’s up?”

                                            >“God Windy, why are you so-”

                                            >He struggles to form the rest of his sentence.

                                            >“Why are you like this?”

                                            >Oh Celestia, now you’ve done it.

                                            >You flatten your ears in shame, biting your lip as if you could suck all your words back into your mouth to prevent them from hurting him.

                                            “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to-”

                                            >“Just stop. Stop talking.”

                                            >He kneels and swiftly unclips the leash from your collar before turning his back on you, hands trembling.

                                            >“Go.”

                                            >... What?

                                            >Your heartbeat increases, the blood rushing in your ears as a wave of anxiety crashes over you.

                                            >“Get outta here, Windy. I can’t- I don’t-.”

                                            >This feels like it’s coming out of nowhere and the sudden uncertainty of your future only increases the ball of anxiety forming in your gut.

                                            “Did I do something wrong?”

                                            >“No I just. I don’t deserve you, Windy. You should be with someone who treats you right.”

                                            >His hands are still trembling and you aren’t sure if it’s from cold or being overwrought or both.

                                            >You rest a hoof on his arm.

                                            “Sir, that’s not true.”

                                            >He pushes you away.

                                            >“Just because I bought you doesn’t mean that you should belong to me; I can’t do anything for you. I thought getting something to care for would make me feel better, but I don’t! I’m still just a useless piece of shit with nothing to contribute to society who needs his pony to cook his meals or else he just won’t eat. I’m holding you back from being happy, Windy. So get out of here and stop making me feel even fucking worse about myself.”

                                            >The words spill from his mouth like a river that’s been dammed up for too long and explodes through the weakened barrier, crushing you under the weight of their flood.

                                            >You need to be careful with how you word your response and try to hold back your hurt.

                                            >You stand tall and take a deep breath.

                                            “Sir, with all due respect, you don’t know how I feel. And you won’t really know unless you ask me or I tell you first. Trust me to tell you how I feel. I promise I will, always.”

                                            >You pause, swallowing hard. You hope you’re balancing delicacy with truthfulness here.

                                            “By making assumptions about how I feel you’re only justifying your own miserable narrative and hurting yourself more.”

                                            >Your tone softens and you approach him again, leaning your cheek against his thigh.

                                            “I’ll admit that I’m not ‘happy,’ But it isn’t because I feel stifled by you; I miss my family. I miss how my life used to be and what I thought my future would look like.”

                                            >Tears prick at the corner of your eyes.

                                            “But... I’m content here. I came to Earth willingly to escape the memories of my past before the war. This is just a new chapter of my life and… Don’t take that away from me. I’m here for you now because I want to be.”

                                            >He’s silent, glaring at something off in the distance and you tentatively nuzzle his thigh in support.

                                            >After a moment he offers you a curt

                                            >“Sorry. That was… Unfair of me.”

                                            >He fidgets with the leash in his hands before stuffing it messily into his pants pocket.

                                            >“Should I-”

                                            >He trails off, still processing everything you said.

                                            “I don’t need the leash, Sir, but that’s up to you.”

                                            >A responding shrug. The leash stays in his pocket untouched.

                                            >You walk home together in slightly awkward silence, both wrapped up in your own thoughts.

                                            >It’s even colder than before and you notice from the corner of your eye that your master shivers, wincing against the chilly breeze.

                                            >Your heart melts and you slip a feather under your scarf, unraveling it from around your warm neck and offering it up in your wing to the young man.

                                            “This might help.”

                                            >He shakes his head and continues onwards, which elicits a giggle from you.

                                            “What, too cool to stay warm?”

                                            >He rolls his eyes and accepts the scarf.

                                            >“Don’t need to tell me twice.”

                                            >Wrapping the pony-sized scarf around his neck, he sighs in contentment from your residual warmth.

                                            >“Thanks.”

                                            “No problem - my sweater is nice and toasty, so don’t worry about me!”

                                            >He almost smiles and instead of grasping at the chance to keep him smiling you leave him be, happy just to see that faint grin.

                                            >“Sorry. Again.”

                                            “It’s okay, Sir. Things will be okay. I promise.”