There are few animals that dwell in the forest wiser than an owl. Owlowiscious was a prime specimen and example, in spite of his youth. Though his years were few, they were filled with experience, and with experience, not age, came wisdom.

Owlowiscious knew the poisons of jealousy. He could educate entire lecture halls on subject of proper communication. He could explain the underlining morals behind the traditional tale of the Tortoise and the Hare better than any other creature, with the exception of perhaps Tank the tortoise.

His greatest feat, however, was mastering the ability of discerning when and whether a question was worth asking, a skill few woodland creatures and even ponies could boast. So when what appeared to be a bright orange fruit hopped past him, young Owlowiscious merely shrugged his wings before closing his eyes for an afternoon nap. Some questions were worth inquiring. This, Owlowiscious decided, was not.

And so the orange hopped, blissfully unaware of a certain owl's apathy or, rather, of anything. The orange had no eyes, no noticeable ears. At times she would hop right into the trunks of trees standing defiantly in her path. Every time the fruit fell back, she would pick herself up, dust herself off, then bow politely in the direction of the obstacle before bouncing off again, sometimes directly into another tree trunk.

"Sorry," the orange would occasionally croak. When she did, she would wait patiently for a reply, perhaps an assurance that no damage had been done or a indignant cry of anger at the orange's clumsiness. She would have even settle for a tired grunt.

The wooden trunks had been silent. The orange would leave when the awkward silence grew too painful for her to endure.

The orange had been thinking as she hopped throughout the forest. Her thoughts confused her, frightened her even, and she longed for a companion to share her troubles with. She did not care for how her companion might appear; she had no eyes, after all. As much as a conversation would be nice, the orange did not care for how her companion would sound, or what he or she would say. She had no perceivable ears, so perhaps she could not even hear anyways.

Could she not hear? Was that the reason why everything she had accidentally jumped into had been utterly mute? The orange's latest revelation troubled her, and she began to stumble in her hops. Blind, potential deaf, and very distracted, the poor orange took one frustrated bound and collided against something hard.

The orange staggered back. Her precious juices remained intact, her peel had not been broken, but she felt a bruise spreading across her soft body. She had not crashed into another tree. No, this thing, whatever it was, felt different, harder, less smooth than wood.

"Sorry," the orange croaked, slowing getting to her feet. She prepared to continue on, but suddenly interrupted herself in mid crouch.

"Did...did you just say it was alright?"

Only the wind answered her.

"Oh, I'm sorry if I sounded rude. It's just, you're the first thing I've ever heard before. I've been running to trees all day and apologizing, but they never seem to answer back. Oh, you're not a tree? What are you then?"

Only the wind answered her.

"A rock?" the orange croaked. "Really? I've never met a rock before. Oh, you have a name? Tom, is it? What a lovely name, may I please call you Tom?"

Tom was silent.

"Thank you, Tom. What's that? What is my name? I...I don't know if I have one. If I do, I must have forgotten it on the way here. How long have I been traveling? Since the day I was born." The orange began to laugh. "No, seriously, I've been hopping all my life. I don't remember doing anything else. Hm? Where am I going?" The orange took a moment to respond. "I don't know right now. I'm just hopping forward, I guess. Speaking of which, would you mind moving to side real fast, Tom? I should probably get going."

Tom was silent.

"What's that?" the orange gasped. "We're on the edge of a cliff? How high, you say? Oh my, how dangerous. I could have fallen. If you hadn't been there..." The orange sat herself down next to Tom the rock. Her tiny feet dangled over the edge. "If you hadn't been there, I would have fallen. Tom, you...you saved my life."

Tom was silent.

"Oh, don't be so modest, Tom," the orange croaked. "Does it really matter that you happened to be in the right place at the right time? I don't think it does. Tom, you're my hero. I'm not exaggerating, you really did save my life here. No one's ever done anything like that for me. Tom, do you mind if I sit a little closer to you? I'm a little scared."

Tom did not say no.

"Thank you, Tom, you're a really nice rock, do you know that?" The orange inched closer to Tom. "I feel much safer now Tom, thank you. Is it a nice view from up here? I can't see very well. Well, I can't see at all, really. Can you tell me what you see? What's at the bottom? What's in the horizon?"

The bottom of the ravine was filled with ragged broken pieces of stones, sand, and a small dying stream of water. On the other side were trees, with song birds darting to and fro from the branches, chirping to one another as they made their merry way.

Tom said nothing.

"How amazing," the orange breathed. "How wonderfully amazing. It sounds so beautiful. Do you suppose we'll be able to see the sunset from here? You do? Have you seen it before? You have? I've never seen a sunset before. Could you describe it? No, why? Oh, yes, that makes sense. You're right, Tom, I could always just wait and watch it myself. Would you mind if I waited for the sunset, with you by my side?"

Tom did not say no.

"Thank you, Tom. I really appreciate this. I've never seen a sunset before. I've never seen anything before. Is a sunset beautiful? Is the sun beautiful? What was that, it is? You say the sun looks like me? You think I look pretty?" The orange began to blush. "Oh my, Tom, how sweet of you to say."

Tom was silent.

"Could you describe yourself for me, Tom?" the orange asked shyly. "You sound so handsome, so kind, so strong." The orange drew closer to the rock. "Please, tell me what you look like. I want to know. Don't be embarrassed, Tom. Please, I want to know."

Tom was a rock, big and rocky. He was not smooth, like some stones, but rather was covered in dents and blemishes here and there. Layers of dust and dirt clung stubbornly to the hard exterior that protected his hard interior. Tom looked like a rock, through and through.

But Tom did not say so.

"Oh, don't call yourself ugly!" the orange cried out. "You sound lovely, really, you do. I wish I had eyes. I want to see you. I want to see your grayness, your points, your jagged edges. Can I...can I feel your edges? I want to know how you feel? Please, Tom, may I?"

Tom did not say yes.

"You feel rough. Oh, please don't take that as an insult. It's just something I noticed, that's all. Don't be so silly, I don't mind. I-I think I like how you feel," whispered the orange, growing quieter. "You feel so strong, so powerful. I can't help but feel safe at your touch. Don't say you look ugly, Tom. I think you look wonderful. Oh, how I wish I had eyes. I wish I could see you."

Tom did not blush.

"I didn't mean to embarrass you, Tom," the orange said quickly. "I'm sorry if I did. But I'm being honest. I think you look very handsome. What's that?" The orange blushed. "I'm flattered you think that, Tom. Do you really believe I am that pretty?"

Tom did not say yes.

The orange's blush darkened. "Oh my, Tom. I-I don't know what to say. We've only just met, and I...I am a troubled orange. Would you still take me, knowing that I am troubled? Would you accept me with all my problems? Would you be willing to help me carry them, to shoulder them yourself?"

Tom did not say yes. But he did not say no.

"Tom, I don't know what to say," the orange croaked, close to tears. "I don't know what to do. We've only just met. I've never even met another thing before until I bumped into you. Please try to understand, Tom, this is going far too quickly for me. I'm so confused, it's all too fast. Please Tom, give me some time."

Tom was silent.

"Oh Tom, please don't be upset. I care for you, I truly do. I just need some time, that's all. I hardly know you, after all. You understand, don't you? Perhaps we should start off as friends. Yes, let's first be friends. Won't you be my friend, Tom?"

Tom was silent.

"Thank you, Tom. I'm sure we'll be the best of friends, don't you agree?"

Tom did not agree. But he did not disagree.

"Yes, I believe so too. What was that, Tom? Do I have many friends? Well, no, I suppose not. In fact, you are the first friend I've ever had. Oh dear, perhaps we made this decision too quickly. What if I'm not ready for this? I've never even talked with another thing until today. Can we truly even be friends, even when we--"

Tom was silent.

"Yes, you're right, Tom." The orange took a deep breath. "Does it really matter how much experience I have? Everything has to start somewhere, and if there's anything I'd want to be my first, it would be you, Tom, my first friend. It's strange, don't you think, how we've only just met, and now we're suddenly so close. I don't understand this feeling, this connection between us. It feels warm just to be near you. Do you feel that connection, Tom? It feels like fate." The orange drew closer. She leaned against Tom's hard side.

Tom did not complain.

"You're right, of course. We might not know much about each other right now, but that can easily change. We are friends, after all. Tell me, Tom, tell me about yourself. Oh, I know what you look like already. Tell me more, tell me about your hobbies, your talents, your likes and dislikes. Do you have any family or friends? What do you like to do for fun? Do you normally stand here all so vigilantly, patrolling the edge? Is this a habit of yours, Tom, saving young little oranges like myself? Do you have any dreams, any fears?"

Tom was silent.

"A musician, really? How amazing. You have a wonderful voice, Tom, I should not be surprised. Would you sing for me, please? Just a little song, that's all I ask for. I just want to hear you sing."

Tom was silent.

The orange gasped. "Incredible," she breathed. "Oh, and so humble. Tom, you mustn't be so hard on yourself. You are really talented. Have you ever considered a career in music? Why, I'd imagine you could go far down that path. What's that? Me, sing? Oh no, I couldn't, I simply couldn't. Well, I suppose I could dance for you instead. Would you like to see me dance?"

Tom said nothing,

"Oh yes, you're right, dancing wouldn't be very safe right here. Perhaps another time then, when we aren't so close to the edge," the orange said with a sigh. "I'm curious, Tom, are all rocks a lot like you? Why haven't I met any before? What was that? You have a secret? Well, of course you can tell me. I'm your friend, remember? Of course I will keep it a secret, I promise."

Tom did not speak.

"A-a diamond? What is a diamond? Oh my, that sounds beautiful. Really, that shiny? And you say you were once one? That sounds so fantastic. Oh no, please don't take any offense," the orange exclaimed. "I didn't mean I didn't believe you. If you say you were once a diamond, then I will believe you. Is that why you act differently from other rocks, because you were a diamond in the past? What was that life like? Why did you change? Didn't you enjoy being a diamond?"

Tom did not speak.

"No, I understand. It was something out of your control. I'm sorry to hear that. But you're happy as a rock now?" the orange asked, confused. "But why? Wasn't life as a diamond grand? How could you ever be happy as a rock after being something as amazing as a diamond?"

Tom was silent.

"I...Tom, I have a secret as well. Remember when I said I had problems, that I was a troubled orange? Remember when I asked you if you'd be willing to help me with my issues? Will you listen to me, Tom? Will you help me?"

Tom did not answer.

"I...I was once a frog. At least, I think I was once a frog. I can barely remember my life as one now. There was a pond, a lily pad, there may have been a family, I can't recall. I don't know how or why I became an orange, but now that's all I know how to be. I can't remember what it's like to be a frog anymore," the orange wailed. "All I know now is how to be an orange. But I don't want to be a fruit. I miss being a frog, even if I can't remember how to be one. I miss my pond, my lily pad, my might-have-been family.

"Tell me Tom, how can you stand it? How can you accept becoming a rock after your life as diamond? Don't you miss that life? Don't you miss being a diamond? Please, Tom, help me," the orange pleaded, "I don't know what to do with myself. What can I do?"

Tom was silent.

"No, I cannot accept that!" the orange cried. "I refuse to believe that this is what I'm supposed to be. I'm a frog, not an orange! I can't be an orange. I refuse to be an orange. This isn't my destiny! Please, Tom, say it isn't so! Tell me I'm more than just an orange."

Tom said nothing.

"Then I will take destiny into my own hands," the orange declared. "I will not be a slave to fate. If I can no longer be a frog, I will not be just an orange either. No, I will become a bird. I will leap from this cliff and spread my wings and fly far, far away from here." The orange turned to Tom. "Surely you aren't satisfied with being a rock. Don't you want to move, to see the world beyond? Tom, won't you join me? We'll both be birds, free as the wind. We will soar above the clouds, together. Will you be at my side?"

Tom did not speak.

"I'm scared, Tom. We're so high up, if we fall...Tom, will you be by my side? I will jump if you jump. I will fly if you fly. Will you, Tom? Will you leap?"

The sun set. The orange fell.

And Tom was silent.