Arrive as a guest, leave as a friend

Springtide had always liked the welcome sign in a window of the 'Stromness Hotel' down at the harbour. It would make a beautiful greeting at the northern entrance to their little town. Somehow that had never happened and maybe it was time to change that.

She was a self confident mare who still showed some of her forebears' fjord pony traits, although she was a good bit shorter than them. Her muzzle was a little smoother and elongated compared to old Scapa, and her build more graceful. Her sea green coat had lighter and darker patches here and there, depending on the light and the angle one got to see her from. The pale yellow mane and tail were streaked with dark grey and white. Down her spine there was the shadow of a stripe.

She turned away from her reflection and looked north along the road. It occurred to her that she'd never thought in earnest about doing something about that sign when Scapa still had been around. Had she been afraid of doing it without his explicit permission? Which she hadn't sought because he'd always been so busy with important things?

You silly mare, does it matter? I’ll just finally have it done now. Good thing the sign had stayed dry and been painted in some resilient paint and still looked good. Now she just needed to find the right spot to put it.

With a spring in her step she trotted northwards. The road led out of Stromness, northeast to their fields, meadows, and pastures. She trotted past the ruins of dwellings that the old folk had called 'developments', as Moorland had once told her. They weren’t much more than mounds with house bits sticking out.

She gave a happy nod to a pair of sweating ponies who were pulling a trailer into town, stacked high with bundles of hay. She caught a whiff of the delightful smell of that sweet and savoury first cut of the year and smiled. They nodded back with friendly smiles as well. They had their ears flat against their heads though, against the din of the cart’s bare rims.

It must have been nice to have tyres to ease the job and eliminate the awful noise. She’d asked Moorland about that once and had received an apologetic smile in return. According to him, the last of those had become brittle and deflated before she was even born. At least the aluminium frames and panels would probably last forever.

Why was she in such high spirits, when by all rights she should have been grieving? That question had popped into her mind several times over the last few days. Yes, she was so very proud of Dawn and how he'd managed so far, something no one had tired of telling her yet at every opportunity.

'A fine leader to come, well, with that kind of father', 'Just like his father', 'Old Scapa sure raised him well', 'You sure gave the old stallion a fine son', 'One to carry his father's legacy'. It felt good to see him accepted like that.

Was that the reason for her good mood? If that was all it took to not taint the memory of her late beloved mate with sorrow, then that was fine by her! She'd much rather remember him with joy instead of painful longing.

“A job well done,” she could almost hear him say in that gruff voice that passed for his complimenting tone.

She slowed to a walking pace, then halted after a few more steps. Was it that? A job well done that she’d raised four wonderful sons and secured his legacy? That she could be happy about the present and could let go of the past with confidence?

A job well done. Something like turning the remnants of the old road to their fields into something you could pull trailers on.

They’d lost good people to injuries. Lost good people to a winter with too little food, because they’d spent so much time on that monumental project. Afterwards, they never had any trouble getting over the winter months again. Nothing had gone to rot on the muddy fields anymore, just because they couldn't bring it in in time.

A ‘job well done’ was something vital. Something important.

Not like, say, putting up a welcome sign for the odd stray individual. Most newcomers wouldn’t be able to read it in the first place. It would occupy three capable members of the herd a whole day, or maybe even two. It needed a little roof to protect the sign from the worst of the weather. It needed to be solid, as to not blow over in a winter storm. It would make her happy.

She found the spot where it should go. Just over there on the embankment where its bright colours would be visible from a mile away. No matter if one came over the northern or the eastern approaches, he or she would see it. A weary sigh escaped her as she looked out over their territory.

“We don't have the hooves to spare for nonsense like that,” her mind whispered at her in a familiar tone.

But they wouldn’t have to pour all their resources into all those hard projects now. Several of them, all at once. I can just do it now. For the first time in three weeks there were tears in her eyes. That was where her good mood stemmed from then. She stomped a hoof in frustration. It wasn’t fair.

She'd earned that sign! No, not earned. That would imply she'd done something to be allowed that little happiness in return. Been good enough to be allowed to waste valuable resources on something silly as a reward.

It's not silly!”, she exclaimed. “It's a good thing!” Some things couldn’t be assigned a value. Shouldn’t be assigned a value. She deserved that sign.

Everyone here deserved that little smile it would bring when you pulled that heavy, noisy trailer past it. Or when you dragged yourself along the road, exhausted after a day's toil in the fields. Or when you limped home on a sprained fetlock because you'd finally overdone it this week.

And now she was sitting here in the bright sunshine in the middle of the road, crying over such a silly, happy little thing. Allowing that stupid, happy little thing to sully all her fond memories. Allowing it to tell her she was free now.

With a frustrated cry, she kicked a stone into the meadow with a hind hoof. She’d ask Dawn. She'd definitely ask Dawn. She'd do so right away. Now.
She marked the spot she'd chosen with a few pieces of asphalt. She took a deep breath, turned on her hind hooves and galloped back towards Stromness.

As she rushed along the piers, she spotted her son in front of the Stromness Hotel. Dawn turned when he heard her hooffalls around the bend up to main street and waved to her. She laughed and galloped up to him, remembering a little too late why she often scolded foals for doing that on the stone paving. When she tried to stop, she skidded. Dawn caught her with wings and forelegs and they both almost toppled over.

He hugged her and laughed, a sound she heard far too seldom. Who knew that being rebellious could give such joy?

“What’s going on Mother?”

She gulped for air, swallowed, and tried to catch her breath. She grinned. “Dawn! I just remembered something I’ve wanted to do for years. You know that sign in the window over there with the welcome message? I really, really want that put where everyone who comes into town can see it, you know, where both roads join on that round spot and where you would be able to see it no matter where you approach from? Do you think you could somehow fit that into the schedule? I know it’s silly, but it would make your mother really happy and I’m certain a lot of others-”

He grinned and held up a hoof. “Stop Mother, stop!”

A sinking feeling crept up on her and her ears began to droop. She should have known.

“I’m sorry Dawn… I know…”

“I said, stop,” he interrupted her. “I just so happen to have planned for this little endeavour and was only waiting for you to ask.”

“Y- you have?!”

“Yes. I've told Harvest to find something else of importance to do with his team when the day arrives. You know, something they can do without their tool specialists. We'll have your sign up by tomorrow evening, at the latest!”

Joy welled up in her, joy that she tried to keep in check just a little longer. “Aren’t there more important things? It’s just so silly, and I don’t want- I mean, are you sure there is room for that?”

“Absolutely!”

“...!” Her heart felt as if it wanted to jump out of her chest, and had he not cried out for help, she might have crushed him in her hug.

The next morning was overcast and a little chilly, but dry so far. Moorland and Harvest had both left early, the latter with a promise to send over three of his team to help. She wanted to savour this day and had asked Dawn to have a proper breakfast with her.

“So,” she said after putting bread and first cut on the table, “What are you up to?”

He sat down on his haunches and smiled at her. She realized it had been a long time since she’d last had a private meal with anyone of her family. This was going to to be a good day.

He cocked his head. “You really interested?” he asked and took a bite of the bread.

“As a matter of fact, yes, I am.” She leaned forward and nibbled at some of the tender grass.

“Alright then,” he said with a bemused smile. “Remember how Moor was going on about how we only have just enough linseed oil to conserve all the window frames but nothing else?”

She nodded. His brother had a tendency to be overly dramatic. She was never sure how bad something in fact was when he complained about it. Especially when it concerned something technical. “Have you come up with something?”

He gave her a brilliant smile. “I have! There’s a wood paint called Falu Red we can make ourselves. It’s from Sweden- hm? Sorry. That was a country on the other side of the North Sea. Anyway, it was made with copper mine tailings.”

“Tails?” She blinked. “Oh, no. So… what is that?”

He looked embarrassed. “That’s- mmm, the Old Folk could mine copper. But there’s not all that much of it in the rocks, so you have to get it out first. All that rock you’ve extracted it from is worthless and you dump it. That’s a whole lot of stuff and that is called tailings. But there’s still a little bit left in it, and also a lot of other things. Like hematite.”

She cocked her head and lifted her forehooves with a little laugh. “You’ve lost me, Dawn.”

He continued anyway. “That’s a form of iron and it’s the pigment you need! You just grind the tailings into a powder, add some rye flour and cook it in water and then you have paint that preserves wood, especially weathered wood, and it’s also easy to apply! And it’s also a nice red colour.”

“That sounds lovely.” She hesitated. At this rate, his breakfast was going to wilt before he was finished. He reminded her of his father on a good day. She smiled. “But how are you going to get these- these ‘tailings’? She tried some of the grass as well and savoured the taste. It was delicious.

“That’s the best thing!” he said with a happy grin. “There’s a deposit of poor copper ore up at Yesnaby. And they tried to mine it once, but gave up on it because of the low quality. So all the rock on top of it is already removed. We can just take it and grind it up and make all the paint we need! I guess there’s more copper in it than necessary, but I don’t think that’s a problem.”

“But isn’t that really hard stone up there?”

“Well, yes. But I’m certain that Moor-”

A speckled mare from Solstice’s team trotted through the entrance and interrupted him. “Hello-” she began, then remembered who she was talking to and gave a little bow.

Springtide gave the pony a sour look. Of course she knew that the chance of having an uninterrupted conversation with her son always was slim. Still, she’d held out some hope anyway.

He sighed. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that we need Solstice Spirit and he hasn’t shown up yet.”

“I haven’t seen him today,” he replied and turned to his mother. “Have you?”

“No, but I have a suspicion.” She cast a longing look at her breakfast, shook her head and stood up. “Give me a minute,” she said and left the lobby through the doorway to the kitchen and back rooms.

She walked down the short corridor, stopping at the last of the three doors on the left side. Soft snoring could be heard from behind it. Of course he has to do that today. With an irritated snort she pushed open the door and stuck her head inside.

Solstice lay sprawled out on his mat, a blissful expression on his face. One of his legs twitched at the sound of her entering. She took a deep breath, stretched out her neck, and whinnied.

He jerked awake and hit his head on the back wall with a wooden smack. “Ow! Shit! Son of a-”

“Solstice Spirit!”

“-what? Mom?!” Draping his forelegs over his head, he looked up to her. “That actually hurt,” he muttered.

“What are you still doing here? There’s a mare outside who says your team is waiting for you. Get up!”

“Ah dammit, that was today?” He pressed his muzzle into the hay, burying his head halfway. “I thought we’d agreed to start on that new house tomorrow.” A few pieces of hay drifted away as he snorted into it and rolled onto his belly. “Give me a second?”

“No. Get up, now.”

“Alright, alright.” He disentangled his legs and got to his hooves with a groan. “Guess breakfast isn’t an option?”

She looked up to the ceiling with a sigh. “I’m sure you can find something when you get there.”

“Yeah. Some thistles between the debris.”

“It’s not my fault, is it?” She sighed and continued in a softer tone. “Have a look in the kitchen, there’s still some bread left. Not much, but it’s something.” She gave him a wink. “Just don’t tell anyone.”

He grinned. “Thanks! You’re the best!” With that, he trotted past her and disappeared into the kitchen.

A moment later she heard the back door slam shut. She shook her head and went back into the lobby to the waiting mare. “He’ll be there in a second. Now off with you.” After the mare was gone, she turned to Dawn and saw that he’d finished his breakfast. “Hey, how about we go for a little walk down to the harbour? I’d like to talk about my sign!” She grinned. “I’ll finish breakfast later.”

Side by side, they walked down main street to the harbour. When they reached the ‘Stromness Hotel’, another mare hailed them from a distance and walked up to them. She recognized her as a member of Harvest’s team. Dust and greenish spots covered the white fur on her legs up to her knees. She wasn’t one of Harvest’s best people.

The mare gave a little bow, looking uncomfortable. “Hi… Harvest sent me.”

Springtide had a sinking feeling. “What is it? When can we get my little project done?”

“About that,” the mare said, looking at her hooves. “Harvest says he can’t spare anyone, because there’s a chance it might rain and-” She took a shallow breath. “-And because we need to sow the next batch of carrots as long as the ground is easy to work.” She bit her lower lip and finished in a small voice, “And he said I should tell you there’s nothing he could do without them anyway ‘cause it’s all too technical for us without them.”

“But- can’t you cut more hay instead?”

“Harvest says we can’t.” The mare had her tail between her hindlegs now.

“But-”

“You can go back now,” Dawn cut her off. “Thanks for relaying that.” Watching the mare trot off, his ears began to splay back. His head slumped, as if someone had placed a heavy weight on his neck.

“But-” It was difficult to talk with the sudden lump in her throat. She turned to look at him, and her heart sank.

He had that empty look in his eyes, that of the eager foal that had been scolded for not having done well enough. Even though the colt had given his best. No no no! “Dawn,” she tried, “I’m sorry that was so unlucky timing.”

Dawn grit his teeth. “Need to check the schedule again and rework it. I’ve got time on my hooves now.”

“I can wait a little longer! We’ll just find a slow day and have it done then!”

“Slow day?” he said in an empty voice. “I’ll see what I can put Harvest’s team to do. Maybe I can give them all the whole day off, and maybe the next one too. Why not. We’ll just make up for those two days somehow.” He turned away. “Don’t worry. You’ll get that sign,” he bit out and trotted off at a brisk pace.

There was a lump of ice in her belly as she stared after her son until he disappeared around the bend further up. The soft wind played with the strands of her mane. What just happened?
She still sat on the spot where Dawn had left her when Solstice came cantering down the road a few minutes later.

“Hiya mom,” he greeted her, “Thought I'd catch Dawn with you.” He looked around with a puzzled expression. “Moor sent me over to tell him that he'd come help with some important sign. Told me he's given his whole crew the day off tomorrow, no idea. Anyway, gotta run, colts and fillies are waiting for the chief!”

He nuzzled her and was off again.

She found Dawn upstairs in Scapa's study, staring out the window. The desk's well-worn top was empty except for three 1:25000 topographical maps and a thin book. ‘British regional geology: Orkney and Shetland’, it said on the cover. The schedules, assignments and lists of projects that at most times filled every open space had all been swept away. Now they littered the floor, several of them smudged and with hoofprints on them.

For the first time, she noticed that the shipwreck relics on the wall behind the desk were missing. They were nowhere to be seen, but their outlines were still visible like inverted shadows.

Curled half around him on her bed of sweet smelling meadow hay, she held her crying son in her forelegs. With a deep sigh, she beheld their image in the gold rimmed floor to ceiling mirror, that still hung on the salmon coloured wall beside the dark hardwood door.

She hummed a slow and sweet little tune, like she had done for each of her foals when they needed comfort back in the day. Nuzzling his head, she gently stroked his shoulder and forward part of his barrel. Another sigh. Until a few hours ago, she'd been certain he'd make it through to the point where it all became routine. He’d gotten off to such a good start after all.

She'd already apologized for the stupid little sign idea, but he would have none of it. “If we can't have even that little, what then?!”, he'd bit out and told her in no uncertain terms to drop the issue. Then he'd closed his eyes and started crying.

She rested her head on a bundle of hay that had a few dry flowers sticking out of it and studied the naked floor-boards above. The ancient pinewood beams carrying them differed in width and shape, forming an intricate pattern.

Dawn, with his sociable, open and forgiving nature, was so different from his father. Sometimes she was afraid that no matter how well he did or how well liked he was, the wings were all that most members of the herd really saw when they looked at her son.

Because of them, they expected a natural talent for leadership and wisdom beyond his years. She was convinced he already had more of the latter than was good for one still so young. Though she had understood Scapa's need to teach his son as much as possible before he would pass the leadership on to him, she had never been very happy about it. It was just about the only thing they had ever argued about.

Maybe aged before his time was a better term to describe his personality than wise beyond his years. In many ways she felt guilty about it and harboured a heartfelt desire to talk to him about the things that weighed on his soul.

What kind of mother am I? There’s so much I don’t know about him. She sighed but then nodded to herself. I’ll change that! She wasn't even sure how today's events had led up to this breakdown, only that she felt awful for being responsible for it in some way or other.

The hay rustled as she stretched her neck a little bit. He'd positively radiated joy at his successful surprise present. How was it possible for a beautiful day to derail like this? That stupid little thing. Let it rot.

Only half awake as he was now, he'd flinch a little when she touched the smooth feathers resting along his back. Everyone wanted to see their new leader fly one day. Expected to see their new leader fly one day. And they would want to see that soon. Everyone assumed that Scapa suffered an injury in his early days that prevented him from using his wings. That would of course have been long before they themselves had even been born.

Dawn was young and strong and a grown stallion. Thanks to the stories told on long winter nights, it was regarded as common knowledge that pegasi could take to their wings when they reached adulthood. Except they might not, she worried. She bit her lower lip. What if Scapa- No. Her mate would have told her. It still worried her. He never talked about that injury. If only she’d asked him. No. He would have told her. He wouldn’t have left his own son hanging like that. He never spoke to him about flying. No!

She shook her head, causing him to turn his head a little and look up to her with one red-rimmed eye. Her gaze softened as she smiled at him.
“Shh... it's alright. I was just thinking of days long gone.”

He looked so frail right now. Once again she wished she'd done more to make his father understand that the young colt before him was, in fact, still a young colt. She knew he had loved and treasured his son. If only he'd shown it a little more.

“Who was he, really?” Dawn whispered, his voice hoarse.

She cocked her head, ears pointing forward in attention.

“Father. Did he tell you?” He turned in her embrace to face her.

There was so much hope for mother to make everything alright in those blue eyes it nearly broke her heart. She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed.

“Or wouldn't I understand?” he added when she didn't immediately respond and laid his head back down.

She winced. “I-” she started and shrugged awkwardly, “Where do you want me to start?”

“At the beginning?” he replied, a sliver of hope in his voice.

“I- uhm. Please believe me, but I don't think I know as much of Scapa's history as you think I do. He didn't like to talk to me about the past either. There were times though when your father was in a grey mood, just... everything seemed so bleak to him. I got a few glimpses then, when he seemed to have the need to tell someone about it. After you were born though, those moments became fewer and further between.” The memory brought a smile to her face.

“Just my luck, I guess.”

Her smile fell. “This isn't as easy for me as you seem to think Dawn,” she muttered before continuing, “And I don't know where he came from, if that is what you expect me to tell you. No one knows that. The mare who adopted him might have known, though I doubt it.”

“He was adopted?” Dawn's ears perked up.

“That’s what he said. Well, he said that 'found and kept' would be the better term. No, that’s all I know. He never elaborated... I think he regretted he'd brought it up the moment he did.”

Her son looked dejected. “I'd always hoped there'd be a journal somewhere, some record of sorts, anything. How come no one ever wrote anything down about him anyway?”

“I very much doubt that anyone was able to write back in those days, or if anyone would have written something down in the first place. He never talked about it.” She sighed. “He was the only one left who'd have been able to read and understand Old Whinny anyway.”

“Maybe I could figure it out!” He suddenly seemed awake. “He taught me New Whinny to talk with the tribes in their own language! They never really write anything down though. But maybe some of them still know that old speech and could teach me...” He seemed to contemplate that for a few moments, then shook his head. “Did you ever ask about his mark?”

She briefly closed her eyes. “I pestered him about it once, for an hour or so... I think that was the only time he ever yelled at me.”

Dawn bit his lower lip. “I always thought you were keeping something from me.”

“It's alright,” she sighed. “It was a very sore spot for him, even if I don't know why. At least he loved me in the here and now as much as I loved him,” she said with a small smile that brought back the fond warmth to her eyes, “That's something I know I should be thankful for.”

He gave her a bewildered look. “What?”

“My mother was worried when I told her about that he’d asked me to become his mate. She said that he’d seemed more or less indifferent to the mare he’d had before me. Maybe even the one before her as well. As if he’d only selected them for some reason. It all sounded strange to me.”

“Probably had some long term plan,” he deadpanned.

“Dawn!”

“What? You said he became happy after I was born! That was one of the few plans that worked out, I guess,” he grumbled, a sudden dark expression on his face.

“Please,” her voice wavered, “You're getting this all wrong! Your father lived a lonely and unhappy life for a very long time. I know that much. You were a foal of love! You all were! Why are we even discussing this?”

“Because it matters to me!” he bit back and wriggled out of her embrace. “Because I want to know if I was more to him than his heir and- and a way to cross that thrice cursed Firth!”

She stared at him with wide eyes and attempted to reply something, but he wasn't finished yet. There were also tears forming in his eyes again as he rose to his hooves and turned on her.

“I want to miss him! I do miss him! But I don't know who I'm missing! I don't know what he really wanted me to do for everyone here besides 'carrying on his legacy'! That's grand! Great speech, Dawn! What's it even mean?!

He didn't manage to finish his great dream. I have to do it now! He made me promise and I believed in it. I still do, dammit! But this here settlement doesn't run itself! There aren't enough hooves to go around for his grand scheme!”

She rose to her hooves herself, worry in her eyes. “Dawn, please calm down!” she tried. “I know today has been bad, but we're a family. You don't have to do this all alone just because Scapa insisted on doing it that way.”

“Damn well I have to! Most of the herd think I can just magic away any problems or disputes or uncertainties. Because I know everything and have a great plan. Because I'm the son of a damn legend! Because I’ve got wings! Family?” He took a deep breath. “Those bloody useless brothers I'm so blessed to have? They won't lift a hoof to help me. Not! One! Fucking! Hoof!”

“That's enough, Dawn!” She raised her voice as well. “I will not have talk like that in here! Have you even asked them?” she demanded in a shaky voice.

“You've seen what happens when I ask! You'll have your present and I'll have their mess to manage for a week! So father led a lonely life? Well, I know the feeling! He dumped it on me to the best of his ability!”

“Dawn, please stop!” she pleaded with tears in her eyes. “Listen to me!”

“But I wouldn't understand! And I don't understand! Not even you know anything or asked anything or understood anything!” His voice cracked and turned shrill. “I didn't even see you cry for him or anything! But who cares, right?! Feathers! You gave him that bloody foal he selected you for and -”

Her right forehoof hit him hard enough on the side of his muzzle to draw blood.

He reared up and stumbled backwards, wings flaring out as he tried to keep his balance. She was in his face in an instant, ears flat against her head and her teeth bared, snarling. He gaped in shock and fell to his haunches, a horrified look replacing the helpless anger of moments before.

Tap-ClopClop-Tap

As usual, Solstice was already halfway through the door before he'd finished his signature knock. “Hiya, you wouldn't know where Dawn is? We need to check his plans for… uhm. Oh.”

His little brother shot out of the corner she'd backed him into and almost knocked Solstice over as he forced his way past him and through the door. One wing caught on the doorframe and the impact sent him shoulder first onto the floor boards with a pained yelp.

She heard him scramble to his hooves again and tip over a table with a crash. Then his frantic hoofbeats vanished as he fled the Royal Hotel. A pigeon blue down feather drifted through the air and settled at Solstice's hooves.

“Uhm.” He looked around. “You... uh... should I go look for him?” he ventured.

Springtide shook her head, closed her eyes and sat down with a thud. Then she began to sob.