❤
Admiral Biscuit

It was nearly midnight on Hearth's Warming Eve, and the Pie house was virtually silent. It would have been silent, but for the quiet pops and creaks of an old house settling in for the night, the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room, and the soft crackles of the dying fire in the fireplace.

The living room itself had been properly prepared for the holiday. Upon the mantle, above the last embers of the fire, a row of stone ponies awaited the morning. Outside, fresh snow was falling, covering the farm in a fresh mantle of white that glittered in the faint moonlight filtering through the clouds.

In this silent winter wonderland, two ponies sat side-by-side. They did not speak, for they had no need. There were not words which could describe the feel of coat against coat, or the feeling of the slow rise and fall of their barrels as they breathed. No troubadour had yet sung a ballad that described how the warmth they shared more than offset the chill of the dozing house, nor could the entirety of Shakespony's sonnets even scratch the surface of what they saw in each other’s eyes.

Marble Pie and Big Mac sat in the living room, quieter even than the snow spattering against the frosted windowpanes. Their love was so deep that it could not be expressed in words, and so it was not.

Author's Notes: