Trees. Hundreds upon thousands of them swaying in easy time to a metronome that couldn’t be heard. Yet, Sea Scroll sensed it as surely as he did the ebbing and flowing tide of Horseshoe Bay. As his hooves plodded along the glorified bridle trail, he could not help but wonder how they were doing back home.

This expanse held a fierce, rugged independence that his sleepy little town had long since lost. All around, cedar trees taller than any bungalow grabbed greedily at the mountains, as if shouting, ‘someday, someday!’ Here the wind did not drift lazily across the forest nor blow as the coastal breeze before a typhoon. It tore through the heart of it, swirling, dancing, and cackling like some witch doctor and her cauldron.

He flinched, narrowly avoiding tripping over a large root and jamming his long horn into the dry earth. How ponies enjoyed living in such a remote hole in the ground was beyond him. Walking for hours upon hours from the station had left his hooves cracked and irritatingly stiff. Sea Scroll could not tell the time if this place even kept time. All he could note were the shadows, reaching ever closer with each passing minute.

A stupid part of him grew restless at their encroachment. In a densely packed forest like this, he might very well get his first taste of pitch blackness. The thought sent shivers up his spine. He shook his head. Get it together. His horn lit up, summoning a pink light and the shadows scurrying for cover.

I’ve got to be getting close . . . Sea Scroll levitated a letter from his saddlebags. He read the pitiful excuse for directions this Phineus fellow had given him.

My nose? What, does the town smell like garbage or something? Just on cue, a wicked blast of North wind slammed into him. Sea Scroll scrambled to pocket the letter before it joined the loose leaves on their journey south. Once the initial shock had passed, he paused as an unexpected, undeniably wonderful scent drifted his way.

Cedar and not the kind he had been passing all day, but a deep, sweet scent buried deep inside their twisted trunks. The smell of his mother’s hope chest, the one sailors used to keep rodents from their uniforms, the undeniable scent of freshly worked cedar.

It did not skirt around him as he passed, but embraced him, gradually taking over his senses until he thought he might drown in it. Not a second too soon, he noted the outskirts of the town. Judging from its remote location, he half expected filthy saloons, whore houses, and a few stallions slugging it out in the streets. What he got took his breath away.

Sea Scroll had never been one to romanticize the past, but now he found himself lost in it. The entire town looked had been caught up in some kind of architectural time warp hearkening back when natural woodwork surpassed gaudy paint jobs in popularity. Even his more refined taste could appreciate the oxymoron of elegant utilitarianism governing the town’s structures.

A few minutes in Saddlewood reflected what had been apparent the moment he heard its name. These ponies did not work with wood, they breathed it. Cedar and various hardwoods stored under massive awnings, freshly sawn timbers stacked on carts, shops full of wooden toys, and not a single brick or stone building to be seen.

Sea Scroll started as a voice like a thunderclap broke through the otherwise tolerable buzz. On the opposite side of the street, a master carpenter continued to berate his young and obviously harried apprentice. If the townponies’ perfect indifference served as any indication, this display was hardly a novel one.

His presence however, had set something of a ripple through the town. Not a hostile buzz, but a careful calculation as if he were a stray dog wanting to join their pack. Sea Scroll chose to ignore them, focusing instead on finding town hall.

It only took a second looking up to note its presence. A massive, almost perfectly circular tower constructed of vertical oak planks had been positioned in what looked to be the dead center of the otherwise modest town. As he approached, it became apparent that Saddlewood had not entirely escaped from grandiose architecture. Intricate carvings wrapped their way around the building, showcasing the craftsponies’ talent to its fullest while its many windows sparkled with a brilliant sheen that the late afternoon sun bestowed upon it. Opulent to be sure, but he would not go so far as to say it was gaudy.

Taking a long, deep breath, Sea Scroll swung open the massive oak doors and stepped inside the building. Despite the relative summer warmth outside, the temperature dropped dramatically inside the antechamber. As his hooves struck the polished hardwood, he nearly did the splits, wincing at the unexpected strain on his already sore muscles.

A quick glance around the otherwise empty antechamber assured him that his slip had gone un-noticed. With a little more caution than before, he tracked around. There were no windows on this level save for the massive skylight at the top, reflecting the floral design etched into its surface.

Pictures and various paintings of the town hung in gilded frames all around the chamber, complete with plaques stating their title and date. Taking into account that and the all-pervasive smell of antiques and woodwork, the place could have been a museum. Perhaps it was . . .

Sea Scroll glanced around, finding a kind of half-spiral staircase. Guess the mayor’s office is up a floor . . . He made it halfway to the stairs when the sound of hoofsteps stopped him. Sure enough, a stranger made his way down the steps, and sauntered over to join him.

Nothing could have prepared him for the living contradiction standing before him. An incredibly muscular earth pony dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit adorned by a violently red corsage. But all his eyes could focus on was the off-white mustache that constituted over half the pony’s face.

The mustache wiggled to one side in what he could only assume was his version of a wry smile.  “You wouldn’t perchance be Mr. Scroll, would you?”

Sea Scroll would have answered immediately if he had not been so distracted by the pony’s high-pitched, almost feminine voice. Kicking himself into action, he continued in a sarcastic drawl, “No, I’m just a fellow who happened to arrive in town the exact same evening you had an appointment scheduled with him. "

There was a mischievous twinkle in the middle-aged stallion’s eyes, “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that you are indeed him.”

“Corr-correct.” What kind of dimwitted rednecks elect a freak like him into office?

The stallion held out a hoof and Sea Scroll took it grudgingly. “Name’s Phineus, mayor of Saddlewood and president of North Woods Logging company.”

A logging company? Seriously? Sea Scroll could only give a half-hearted attempt at a smile. “Ni-nice to meet you.”

Phineus jerked a nod, wheeling around to face the staircase. “Do follow me, Mr. Scroll.”

Sea Scroll took a step forward but froze, too stunned to speak. He’s a gelding?

Phineus turned back to him, mustasch wiggling, “Are you coming?”

“Ye-yes, sir.” Or ma’am or whatever the heck you call yourself . . .

Sea Scroll shuffled up the stairs, careful not to slip and make an idiot of himself. When he reached the top, Phineus greeted him with a respectful nod. Geesh, I’m not some dignitary. Though, he had to admit, the gesture was refreshing.

Phineus motioned for him to walk beside him and they set off around the circular walkway. It soon became apparent that the gelding kept the pace slow for his benefit. Generally Sea Scroll hated such leisurely strolls, but, with his hooves so sore, he could only be appreciative.

“Forgive me for being blunt, but I must say that you are exactly what Saddlewood has been needing for some time.”

Sea Scroll looked towards the doors lining the outer portion of the walkway, smirking. “Yes, well I’m sure many things fall under that category . . .”

For an instant, it looked as though Phineus might call him out, but his mustache merely twitched. He started to prance a little as he continued enthusiastically, “You see, Mr. Scroll, though we are a lumber powerhouse of Equestria, outsiders can’t seem to shake the unfortunate assumption that we’re some sort of . . . ‘backwater shanty-town.’”

“Backwater. Really?” The gelding covered his mouth with a hoof, practically giggling. After clearing his throat, he turned to him winking. “Bringing publicity to our local authors, artisans, and craftsponies through the paper will certainly discourage those . . . unfortunate assumptions.”

He raised an eyebrow, “I’m not here to create tourist bait, if that’s what you have in mind. I only seek to enlighten ponies about the arts.”

The mustache shifted again, “Oh, of course, Mr. Scroll. I’m sure you’ll find that this will beneficial to both the town and your more personal ambitions. I do so love a win-win situation.”

As they reached the foot of the next stairway, Phineus held out a hoof, jerking his head towards a large window. Curious, Sea Scroll followed him over and took in the sprawling town below. It looks like a model . . .

“What do you see, Mr. Scroll?”

Sea Scroll rolled his eyes. “A matchbox town in the middle of nowhere.”

Phineus giggled again, shaking his head. “Oh, there’s more to it than that.” He pointed to a large, industrial-looking building way off in the distance, hugging the banks of the river while a substantial wheel churned its white waters. His eyes fell to the ridgeline off in the distance, “The sawmill workers and the lumberjacks I employ. And then we have the craftsponies of course. Tell me, Mr. Scroll, do you see the dilemma yet?”

Dilemma? What’s he on about? “No,” he said rather more curtly than he intended.

Phineus turned to him with an unreadable expression. “All those ‘factions’ if you will have their own agendas. They could care less about the town as long as their faction is taken care of.”

He sighed, attention returning to the window. “Then there are ponies like you and me. Ponies dedicated to the town because its survival is directly linked to our own.”

The mustache parted enough for him to see an almost predatory smirk. “You see, Mr. Scroll, it is not love or concern for others that drives Saddlewood to prosper. I should not like you to be left ignorant in that regard.”

Phineus stared up the stairs and Sea Scroll followed. “If you know what is best for yourself, you will keep those . . .  ambitions personal, understood?”

“Ye-yes, sir.”

He paused just before they reached the top. “Oh, and one last thing.” Sea Scroll shifted uncomfortably as the gelding regarded the area between his legs. “You are a stallion; we have mares working in this building. You will keep your . . . ‘assets’ to yourself. I do not approve of fraternization of any kind on this premise, consensual or no. Do I make myself clear?”

Sea Scroll nodded, instinctively tucking in his tail. ‘Assets’? Hell, just because I’m a stallion doesn’t mean I bang my co-workers on a daily basis.

Phineus’ continued up the stairs as if the subject had never been broached at all. When they reached the top, the impressive double doors of the courtrooms had been replaced by a row of utilitarian office doors.

Sea Scroll followed him into the first office through the open door. Once again, he had the distinct impression stepping into the past, or at least a museum. The woodworking in the antechamber was impressive but it paled in comparison to that inside the office. Every inch of trim work had been carved into a classic leaf motif as had the opulent desk in the center. Sea Scroll didn’t envy the poor sod who had to carry that behemoth up the stairs.

Phineus cleared his throat, “Well, then, here we are, Mr. Scroll. Raven has a key waiting for you. The office is B6. ”

Sea Scroll jerked a nod, eyeing the ghost white mare peering through her mountain of paperwork like a frightened rabbit. Well, this is comforting . . .

Another of Phineus’ giggles broke the awkward silence that had fallen. “Well then, I must be off. Important business to attend to before the day is over.” He started towards the door, but paused, turning back to face him. “Oh, and best of luck.” With that, he strode away with an almost stately grace.

Sighing, Sea Scroll walked up to the desk. Raven twitched, regarding him with through her over-large glasses until she looked more like a brown eyed barn owl than a mare. “You must be the new stallion. Uh . . . hi-hi,” she squeaked.

Sea Scroll stood, tapping his hoof impatiently. So? You gonna make me stand here all day? He leaned closer, causing her to cringe as if he were a wolf looking for his next victim. Admittedly, with his wavy black mane and untrimmed sideburns, he probably did look a little like a wolf.

After nearly two solid minutes of gaping, the mare broke her trance. “Oh, how rude of me! Wel-welcome to Saddlewood offices. If there’s anything you need, or if you have any questions about the establishment, don’t hesitate to ask.”

He rolled his eyes. I’m surrounded by imbeciles. “Well, to begin, I’d rather not like to be locked out of my office. Care to help with that dilemma?”

Raven squeaked again, obviously avoiding his gaze. “Your key, right. Duh . . . Let me just . . . get that for you.” She dug in one of the drawers, glancing occasionally up at him as if uncertain of his intentions.

“Well?” he snapped. Yet another twitch, and then it hit him. She’s scared of my voice? Not again . . .  His unusually deep, smoky voice tended to make mares either fawn over him or treat him like a serial rapist on the loose. “I’m not trying to seduce you, I just want the damn keys,” he snarled.

This resulted in a nervous chuckle, “Of-of course. Sorry . . .”

“Right . . .”

Finally, the mare reappeared, pushing the key quickly towards him. “Here you go, remember that your room is B6. That’s on the next floor up.”

“I know, I don’t suffer from short term memory loss.” He started to leave when the mare released yet another squeak. What now? “Yes?”

“I-I gave you the wrong key.” She chuckled sheepishly, “That’s the key to B7.”

“Either you have a bizarre sense of humor, or you’re just really that absent-minded. I don’t know which disturbs me most,” he breathed through gritted teeth.

Blissfully unaware of his remark, Raven handed him the correct key. “There we are! This is the right one for sure.”

“One can only hope,” he growled, levitating it into his saddlebags.

“Mr. Scroll? One last thing, if that’s okay with you.”

Celestia give me strength. Sea Scroll sighed heavily. “What?”

“Well, the mayor assigned me to help you get the hang of the place, but . . . I-I think that job should go to Florian.” She glanced at the mountain of paperwork, still avoiding his gaze. “Er, she’s in B8, right next to you. She’s-she’s better suited for greeting newcomers than I am.” Then, she gave a genuine smile that compensated for her otherwise homely features. “The office is like her turf.”

Pushing the creeper off on somepony else, huh? How gallant of you. Still, the thought of this other mare treating the office like her ‘turf’ struck all the wrong cords with him. “I’m not some foal who needs to be given step-by-step instructions to function properly in a new workplace, Ma’am. Miss ‘Florian’ can put aside her pride and start acting like an adult.”

“Oh . . . okay then.”

“Thank you.” With that, he wheeled around and exited the office, glad to be rid of her at last. Following along the curve, he tracked the doors with some interest. Though uniform, they had been ‘enhanced’ with a variety of personal pictures, comic strips, and the odd children’s drawing. Sea Scroll cringed when he read the bronze plaques above the doors.

Publisher? Psychologist? Accountant? Well, no wonder ponies have such a poor perception of your hole in the ground town, Mayor Phineus. Sea Scroll grimaced as he read a handpainted sign sticking out in the hallway. ‘Personal Financial Consultant’ This whole building’s like some giant grab-bag! What? They can’t afford to put accountants in say, a bank?

Resigning himself to the sad reality of working in a glorified garage sale, Sea Scroll plodded up the stairs to B-floor. Any hopes of organization vanished when he entered the hall. The hodge podge from below seemed to have found a soulmate and inundated the entirety of the floor with its love children. Why me?

His hooves struck the smooth floorboards with a mechanical rhythm that echoed in the otherwise unoccupied antichamber. He reached his assigned door, surprised at the plaque above it. ‘Publicity Consultant’ It had a decent ring to it, though Sea Scroll had a sinking suspicion that tourism consultant might be closer to what Phineus wanted.

Opening the door, he almost started back. After living in a college dorm for the past five years, he had grown accustomed to tight quarters. This office, though narrow, was easily twice the square footage of his room at the dorms. Like the rest of the building, the lingering scent of antique woodworking and parchment hung in the air.

There were two beautifully carved shelves on either side of the room and a dated, but impressive maple wood desk sat atop an elegant rug. Sea Scroll had to hand it to Phineus, this town knew how to dress up an office. Placing his saddlebags on the desk, he strode over to the window and gasped.

Of course, he expected a decent view, but this took the cake. He found himself sitting on the wide window sill just to afford a better view of the place. An impressive sunset had started to bathe the Western mountains and set the forest alight in its glow. His eyes followed the river as it snaked through the valley, traveling to the sea.

Shaking loose the sentiment, he stood, striding over to his desk. Phineus had at least been considerate enough to give him a unicorn typewriter, though it was as antiquated as the desk it sat upon. Sitting on the highbacked chair, he started to explore his new workspace.

Quills, pens, pencils, plenty of parchment. And . . . what the hell is that? Sea Scroll levitated the strange metallic object. It took staring at it’s base, rubber with little numbers stamped on it like a roller to register what it was. Oh, a date stamp! He sighed, tossing it back into the drawer. Seriously?

His eyes fell to the neat stack of books in the corner of the desk. A small handwritten note rested atop them. ‘Some local literature to get you started. —Phineus’

“Oh, goody,” he drawled sarcastically. More than a little skeptical, he levitated the first title, which read ‘The Earth Beneath Your Hooves’ and  portrayed an Earth Pony filly looking distraught in a field of wheat on its hardback cover. Oh brother. This was all-too familiar, the only thing missing was the words “instant classic” written at the bottom as a feeble excuse for a review.

Another run-of-the mill ‘Earth Pony Empowerment Novel.’ Why am I not surprised? The approach they used made it blatantly apparent that the author was hiding his—or more often, her— bitterness underneath a false attitude of ‘pride and tradition.’ As if the lack of a horn or wings automatically makes one a strong, independent individual.

Sea Scroll snorted, rolling his eyes. And they claim it’s the unicorns with a superiority complex! Acting like an oppressed minority while they live in a nation founded upon mutual cooperation between the three tribes . . . ridiculous.

He shoved the novel aside next to his typewriter, levitating more selections from the stack. Further searching proved fruitless as every book appeared to be just as unoriginal as the one before it, if not worse.

‘Winchester: The Story of Two Underdogs.’ This cover depicted a disabled stallion stroking a golden retriever in the manner that one would stroke his lover. Pathetic.

Sea Scroll slammed the book to the desk. This is just insulting to my intellect. The utter lack of quality in any of the books hugged the narrow borderline between ‘troll fics’ and novice authors’ works. Though, he very much doubted the unreadable gelding was the joking type, not on this scale anyway. An unfortunate outbreak of ‘village idiot’ had hit Saddlewood and he had just the vaccine.

Let’s take a look at our first patient . . . After running through his meager options, Sea Scroll levitated ‘The Earth Beneath Your Hooves’ from the stack. Gritting his teeth, he began to read. As he moved into ‘the zone,’ his mind became entirely focused on the text before him, soaking it in.

After a good fifteen pages, he finally stopped, placing it on the desk. “A historical drama, huh? How unoriginal.” Though, his eyes kept darting back to the page he left off at. He smirked, levitating the book back into his hooves. “Hmmm. Maybe I’ll bring some ‘publicity’ to this one first.”

It must have been a solid twenty minutes before he realized he lost himself. Shaking his head, he slammed the book against the desk, trying to stop the genuine smile threatening to break from the corners of his mouth. “Stu-stupid. I knew it would be.” He tapped the book with his hoof. “That’s exactly why historical dramas can never work. Think after a quick once over of their high school history textbooks, they’re qualified to write a detailed account from the past.”

The book swayed in his pink magic like a drunk frat boy. “Throw an overdose of estrogen into the narrative and you have a gross amount of focus on romance during a period where ponies were hell bent on killing each other.” A soft thud sounded as it slammed back down on the desk. “Borderline disrespectful, that.”

Drawing the typewriter closer, he loosed his magic on its porcelain keys. Sea Scroll almost giggled with the efficiency a unicorn typewriter brought. Canterlot University’s ‘equal access’ policy forbid the use of school funds to purchase equipment that could only be used for a single race.

So he had slogged through five years of clunky earth pony typewriters, pressing the same key until the roll landed on the correct letter before hitting the other to confirm. How in Equestria earth ponies got jobs as secretaries was beyond him.

After a few sentences, he paused, losing focus. His eyes fell back to the window at the now late sunset. Guess I should call it a night. Reluctantly, he got to his hooves, slinging his saddlebags over his back. He paused after turning out the lamp. Raven’s words from early returned. ‘I think that job should go to Florian . . . The office is like her turf.’

Just who is this ‘Florian’ mare anyway? Sounds like another sugar coated control freak. Sea Scroll chuckled, imagining a wizened headmistress with an overbite. Typical for those types to have timid young ponies wrapped around their hooves.

He felt a twitch of irritation at the schoolyard tactic. “‘Florian.’ Heh! She might be asserting her ‘dominance’ to the poor, naïve newbies, but I’m not going to give her that pleasure.” With a flick of his tail, he left the office, locking it behind him. Her ‘turf’ indeed!

Striding over to the next office, he got his first look at his ‘neighbor.’ The plaque above the door read, ‘Therapist,’ but the gaudy layer of children’s drawings plastered to the door read soccer mom. He raised a hoof, taking a deep breath. Let’s get this over with . . .

A curt voice replied to his knock, “Come in!”

Bracing himself for whatever lay beyond, Sea Scroll opened the door and strode inside. The moment he did so, a concoction of roses, lavender, and Equestria knew what other flowers drowned out what little sense of smell he had left from the old building.

The sound of a chair shifting drew his attention to a smaller desk than his own pressed against the far wall. There a chalk white pegasus bolted up from her seat, staring at him with all the air of a frightened doe. “You-you’re not Raven.”

Under any normal circumstances, Sea Scroll would not have hesitated to shoot a snide comeback. However, this—there was no other word for it—angelic mare walking over to him stole what little whit he possessed. Younger by at least a few years and blessed with a natural grace in her movements, Florian had to be the exact opposite of the cantankerous old fraud he expected. His heart leapt at the way her coat actually glistened in the waning light filtering in through the window.

Oh, he had seen plenty of mares in college, but all the bimbos and sorority girls together could not hold a candle to the simple elegance contained within this one mare. Suddenly, Phineus’ warning made a lot more sense. The gelding’s fierce glare shook Sea Scroll’s wayward thoughts loose. Focus, focus. 

“Fig-figured that one out all by yourself?” Sea Scroll stammered, attempting to regain his confident composure. “Raven suggested I introduce myself to you, though. I hope I’m not intruding.”

He could only hope that she wasn’t frantically analyzing the implications like he was. Of course I choose to come into her office at seven-thirty in the evening with almost everypony else gone home for the night. That doesn’t scream ‘creepy’ at all.

“Not at all, Mister . . . ?”

“Sea Scroll. And you must be Florian, correct?” Better to slap an extra edge of formality on for good measure. Anything to keep her from thinking the worst of him.  

“That’s it! Nice to meet you, Sea Scroll.”

“Likewise,” he replied somewhat robotically, turning his gaze from the mare’s dandelion and pink mane wrapped in a perfect bun to the wall behind her. Hanging there—rather smugly, in his opinion— was Florian’s degree accented by a carved, wooden frame. More wood? Geesh, even personal items have no artistic individuality here. I wonder if there’s some sort of design enforcement . . .

Forcing himself to focus back on the matter at hoof, he looked back at her. “Raven did tell me that you’re somewhat of a leader here . . .”

To his surprise, Florian barked a laugh. “I don’t know about that. Anypony in their right mind can see  that role goes to Mayor Phineus. But, I guess I’ve been here for awhile and know the place pretty well.”

You ‘guess?’ Your attempt as humility is noble, but I am above falling for such tricks.

There was a brief silence before Florian spoke again. “Oh, you weren’t looking for an introduction to the place were you? Because I’m always open for showing new ponies around, but it’s getting a little late right now and—”

“Actually, I’ve found it perfectly easy to to function here thus far without a tour of the whole building, thank you.” Her need to tend to grown adults like children couldn’t have been more obvious if she stamped it on her forehead.

I’ve got you now. An irrepressible smirk stretched from the corners of his mouth. “Unless, of course, you feel the need to give such tours, in which case I will happily indulge you.” If that didn’t knock her off her self-made pedestal, he didn’t know what would.

“Er, no . . .” Florian replied, cheeks reddening. “Glad to hear you’ve adapted so quickly, though,” she growled in an annoyed undertone.

Oh, I’m sure you are.  “It’s a must have skill for any professional, Miss Blossom.” Truth be told, he did not mind taking a while to adapt. Walking the same halls to the nearly identical classes several times a day for five years tended to make one crave a little unfamiliarity every now and again.

Florian gestured to a cush, mahogany-colored sofa across from her desk. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

She certainly had a clever way of evading uncomfortable subjects and disguising it as etiquette. ‘Clever’, that is, if you take subtlety out of the equation.

“Is this where you have your clients lie down and confess their sins?” Sea Scroll asked with ill-concealed distaste. He could see the cloth faded where many ponies had laid their heads, possibly ponies with lice. Alcoholics and former criminals also came to mind, or any other unfortunate soul desperate enough to run to a ‘therapist’ for help.

“Don’t worry, it won’t befoul your own untainted soul,” The mare laughed.

His eyebrow raised ever so slightly. So, she has a sense of humor. Not knowing exactly what to make of this, Sea Scroll obeyed her and uneasily took a seat. Florian settled into the upright chair in front him, a small signal to assert her position as the alpha dog, no doubt. That came as no surprise. He stared blanky back at her calm, condescending expression until it became one of slight discomfort.

She adjusted her weight, twitching ever so slightly. Sea Scroll smirked even broader. I’m getting to her. 

Her hoof ran over the bun, trying to fix what obviously needed no adjusting. “So . . . you’re the stallion Mayor Phineus hired to lure in all the art-crazy tourists, right? Kind of like . . . what’s-his-face, the guy who travels around Equestria and writes for magazines?”

Out of all the ways one could start a conversation, she had chosen to compare him to a foppish hipster with ambiguous heterosexuality. Whether her remark was passive-aggressive or merely misinformed, it rubbed him the exact wrong way.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Sea Scroll stated through gritted teeth, forced connectedness coming out nearly  acidic. “While that idiot Trenderhoof will talk completely out of his ass to make a piece of roadkill sound interesting, my job involves heavy analysis and a good deal of background knowledge. And tourists are at the bottom of my priorities.”

The fact that she responded to this with yet another laugh sent a familiar wave of antipathy wash over Sea Scroll, despite the captivating quality of her laugh.

“I can see you’re at least very passionate about this,” Florian said, though he could’ve sworn she was smirking. “I guess you and Mayor Phineus have two very different ideas of what you’re here for.”

I’m well aware of that, thank you. “Is that so?” Sea Scroll asked innocently, deciding to play along.

A kind of discomfort flickered in her eyes becoming unreadable again. “Yeah, he’s passionate about debunking a certain ‘image’ ponies tend to have when they think of an old boom town in the middle of nowhere. It’s as if he identifies with the town or something.”

“That’s perfectly understandable, perception is everything.”

“That’s a rather shallow point-of-view for a ‘deep literary analyst,’ isn’t it?”

“I—”

She gave him a small smirk of her own. “Are you saying that as long as a book has a promising synopsis, the actual content doesn’t matter?”

What’s with this bitch anyway? “Don’t twist my words. Towns and books are two entirely separate entities. It would be a crying shame if I applied the same ‘say all, be all’ philosophy to ever critique I produce. Besides, if a book is excellent, who’s going to bother reading it if the synopsis isn’t ‘promising?’”

“Point-point taken . . .” An almost sheepish expression came over the young mare. She reached for a glass of water on her desk, taking a sip.

Well . . . this is awkward. As their stalemate continued, he looked for a new target and found it hanging on the wall behind her. “Sooo . . . you’re a psychology major?”

Her playful wink made his heart skip a beat. “Yep.”

“Whe-where did you study?”

The mare’s standoffish attitude melted in an instant. “Canterlot University. I actually got there on an art scholarship, but, as it turned out, I was more interested in psychology. So that’s what I ended up majoring in.”

Sea Scroll blinked, taken aback by the sudden outflow of conversation. Then he began to digest the words. His stomach sank as he put two and two together. “Canterlot University?”

She gave another of those irritatingly enchanting giggles. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

Realizing he was losing ground, Sea Scroll clamored to think of a comeback. “That’s odd. I attended Canterlot University for quite a long time and never saw you there.”

“That makes sense. I was pretty much at the bottom of the foodchain there.” That giggle again. “Luckily, not being caught up in a social life gave me more time to focus on my studies.” She gave a wicked snarl. “You were probably too busy hanging out with your ‘important intellectual friends’ and professors to notice me sneaking around the campus.”

I’d remember you even if you only passed by me. Celestia, she was captivating. Still, Sea Scroll twitched at the blatant slight. “Yes, I suppose we were on such different edges of the spectrum. Might as well have never attended the same school.”

He bit his lip as her smirk widened. Almost instinctively, he snapped, “But it is terribly ironic that an aspiring therapist would actively avoid interaction with other ponies, don’t you think?”

“Good point, you gotta appreciate the irony there.” Her whole face radiated the warmth of her laugh, driving him nearly mad.

Stop doing that! Then there were her snarky little remarks. Why didn’t she back down like the rest of them? What is she, an attack dog? He had to think of something, anything to even the playing field. “Humor aside, I wouldn’t go around telling ponies about your social . . . inhibitions during college. That might lead them to think ill of you, as though you don’t deserve your place as a social worker.”

The smug smile only intensified. “They can suck my left wing for all I care. My work speaks for itself!”

Sea Scroll’s ear flicked in her direction. Was he going mad or did this angelic creature just say spout a vulgar sentence. So much for feminine charm . . .

Unable to bear it any longer, he got to his hooves, pacing around the office. The now brilliant light of the setting sun filtered in through the red sheers, bathing the modest office in a fiery glow. As if by some unseen magnetism, the beams gathered in her irises, transforming the pale, stagnant pool into a sparkling azure stream.

Sea Scroll felt his legs grow weak as he stared transfixedly into her eyes. Then, realizing how stupid he must look, he shook his head and tried to find a suitable distraction. He found it in an instant. The entirety of the wall across from Florian's desk had been papered with paintings of various ponies from all walks of life.                                                 

Intrigued, he took a step closer. Strange, there's no family resemblance. Ah, oh course. He turned back to her, "I see you paint portraits of all your clients, Miss Blossom."

She puffed out her chest, snow white hairs continuing to glisten with a crystalline brilliance. "Damn straight, curly!"

Curly? Rolling his eyes, he turned back to the paintings, examining them as he did all artists' works. "Hmmm."

Florian trotted forward, cocking her head to the side. "What?"

Sea Scroll continued to examine the paintings. They were exceptionally detailed, and a great deal of time had obviously been spent on them, but their was no passion to them. "Decent portraiture, but somewhat lacking in . . . creative flare," he murmured, still glancing over the portraits.

The mare stamped her hoof so loudly that he jumped a little. "Excuse me?"

He leaned closer, getting a lungful of her overbearing floral perfume. "I'm just saying that all I've seen of your work is an exact reflection of the way things are in real life . . . and that's a good thing, but," his mouth parted in a condescending sneer, "you're missing the whole 'expressionism' and 'escapism' that art is."

To his annoyance, Florian leaned in closer, eyes drawing him in as surely they drew the light. "I don't believe in embellishing reality!"

Miss high and mighty, eh? "Well then, you can hardly call yourself an artist, now can you?" he said smugly.  

With an unexpected force, the mare slapped him on the flank. "Get out! I don't want to see your smug little face in my office again!"

He moved to the door, smirking back at her. "Oooh, touchy." Before she could complain further, he made his way outside the office. Wandering back down the deserted halls gave him the chance to think. But, try as he may to ponder the more important issues at hoof, his mind continued to drift to the mare's eyes. It was a pity she had all the social graces of an irate five year old, he would have liked to give her a chance.

Saddlewood did not deserve the title of middle of nowhere. No, to get there you had to first go to the middle of nowhere, then take a back road. After about three hours of that, you had to cross a flooded creek, wander through an endless sea of trees, and go until civilization was at least three days away. Yes, Saddlewood had no more claim to the middle of nowhere than they did to being a beachfront resort.

After all that, Sea Scroll had hoped—expected—to finally be done with going yet further out. Oh how wrong he had been. His hooves plodded along the dusty trail, struggling to make out anything beyond the narrow beam of light emanating from his horn.

After wandering around town looking for the boarding house, he had finally broken down just after nightfall and asked for directions. Well, apparently, Saddlewood had its own boondocks and that’s where he would be staying. After following the arrows of a peeling signpost, he made his way up a rather substantial hill towards this so called lodge.  

His walk proved a great deal more taxing than he anticipated. The day long journey had weakened his admittedly tender hooves, making the root and rock strewn path nearly unbearable. He had started to see the pitfall in being a Canterlot college student. Sure he exercised as the school gym, but this place required all the agility and endurance of a mountain goat.

His scanned the darkened woods around him, keenly aware of the eyes glowing back at him from the shadows. He always assumed night in the countries to be peaceful, but he could not have been more wrong. A cacophony of crickets, frogs, owl hoots, and various unnamed creatures replaced daytime’s far more tolerable music of bird calls and humming insects.

Sea Scroll jumped when he heard a low, mournful howl from somewhere far in the distance. Wolves? They have wolves? His heart pounded a little fast than he cared to admit as he quickened his pace. Best to leave nature as quickly as possible. Besides, all he wanted now was a warm bath and a bed to crash on.

Finally, the trees began to thin as the ground leveled out. When he came into the clearing, he got his first glimpse of the boarding house. It’s . . . different. Different in that it looked better suited for a horror movie set. The massive, three story lodge had obviously seen better days, but still clung to its once illustrious past.

Walking up to the oversized cabin, he noted a walkway wrapping around the entirety of the building on each of its three floors. Judging from the ostentatious pillars and impractically huge front doors, it had been some kind of resort or hotel in its prime. Now it resembled a sad, likely termite ridden shell. Even the sign in the center of the driveway had fallen into disrepair. In the light of his horn, he could make out the faded black lettering. ‘Hilltop Lodge’

Sea Scroll snorted, “More like hilltop shantytown.” Driven by exhaustion more than desire, he walked slowly up the stone steps to the front door. Now that he stood in front of it, he gained a new appreciation for the sheer scale of its construction. Made of what looked like oak, the doors reached almost to the height of the second story. Pretentious much?

Rolling his eyes, he rapped loudly on the door. After waiting a few minutes, he knocked again.

A young, male voice echoed from inside the building as a response. “I got it, I got it!”

“Jet, let me handle this. I think it’s the new stallion—”

The sound of hooves clattering against a hardwood floor could be heard and then a loud thud as if someone had fallen.

“Hey!” the younger voice cried out.

Oh joy, this is looking to be my own private hell. Sea Scroll contemplated if he would be better off with the wolves before thinking better of it. At least the lodge was a private hell with running water and a  room where he could retreat to if things got too rambunctious. Unless that was setting the bar too high for Saddlewood boarding.

Seconds later, a tan stallion flung the door open and greeted him with a gigantic smile. The first word that popped into Sea Scribe’s head was ‘homely.’ The blocky stallion possessed what his mother would have referred to as ‘kind eyes.’ Judging from his goofy grin to his floppy grey and powder-blue streaked mane, he possessed every social quality Sea Scroll lacked in spades. “Good evening, sir!” he exclaimed a little too loudly.

After this day, it was anything but a good evening. “I beg to differ,” Sea Scroll stated flatly, eager to just get his saddlebags off and settle in for the night. “May I come in?”

The stranger looked around him, then flushed, quickly stepping aside. “Yea-yeah . . . uh . . . you are the new stallion, right?”

There that insufferable term was again. “If I took a shot every time somepony has called me ‘the new stallion’ today, I’d be well beyond tipsy. The name’s Sea Scroll.”

“Sorry, sir . . .” The stallion said, lowering his ears. “Welcome to Hilltop Lodge. My name’s Coppertone.”

Coppertone, huh? Odd name . . . better than ‘Raven’ at least, I wouldn’t want to be named after an oversized crow.  “Thank you Mr. Tone,” Sea Scroll grumbled weakly, walking into the building with an air of caution. As if Fate was determined to dash all hope of not smelling the town’s signature product for once, the scent of burning wood immediately hit him.

Rustic . . . The entire entry room looked like an advertisement for ski resorts gone horribly ary. Heavy, rough-hewn furniture in various states of decay were scattered around a roaring stone fireplace taking up the majority of the opposite wall.

Apparently Saddlewood could not comprehend any flooring other than hardwood as it covered the entire lounge. Though, rather than the glossy, almost polished finish seen in the town hall and Canterlot, this floor was of a rough, time-worn variety that could easily cause a careless pony to stumble. To further the rather depressing atmosphere, numerous moth-eaten rugs lazed about the floor at odd angles, sad ghosts of their former selves.

Sea Scroll’s attention fell to the impressive double staircase, flanking the fireplace on either side like two wooden snakes. The second floor must be the sleeping quarters, though, inconveniently, there didn’t appear to be a front desk.

“Isn’t there a place where I can check in?” This place was technically a business, wasn’t it?

Coppertone shook his head and smiled in a ridiculously charismatic manner that made his skin crawl. “You already checked in, goober! When you reserved a room a few weeks ago, we marked it as yours and made sure nopony came in. A stallion needs his privacy, right?”

There was no denying that truth, no matter what insulting nickname he had just been called. “I can’t even begin to stress that enough . . .” Sea Scroll said rigidly. I highly doubt I’ll be getting much here, though.

Coppertone nodded. “You’re in luck, then, because there’s only four of us here on this floor.” He chuckled, then continued, “Hilltop Lodge is out of business, which is why the rent is so cheap.”

“. . . Four of us?” Three housemates is less than I expected, at least. And even if there were thirty, I don’t have to bunk with any of them. The thought made him perk up a little.

“That’s right, you’re part of the family now.”

‘Family’ . . . right. Because sharing a living space automatically guarantees a bond as strong as kinship.

Without warning, Coppertone yelled on the top of his lungs. “Boys!”

This was met with a collective groan coming from the couches nearest the fire.

“Guys, come and meet Sea Scroll! You don’t want to be rude, right?”

When there was no response, Coppertone turned to Sea Scroll, giving a sheepish chuckle. “Ehehe . . . I’m sorry, they’re both tired. Come with me.”

These two sound like a barrel of fun. Sea Scroll followed Coppertone over to the fireplace. Looking over the edge of the couches, he was surprised to see two smallish stallions sprawled across the cushions as though they had just come back from a long hike. Though with how far the lodge was from the rest of town, that wasn’t too far-fetched.

Sea Scroll was instantly reminded of two wispy storm clouds. Both were that same, dull grey. The first had his snowy white mane pushed upwards by a grungy, unflattering hachimaki headband while the second’s unwashed black mane practically oozed grease.

They had sprawled themselves across the aging furniture as if modeling for a Backstreet Colts pinup poster. Something told him these two were quite popular with the fangirls . . .

Sea Scroll almost gasped. They’re teenagers. I didn’t sign up for this!

Coppertone gestured to the colt with the black mane. “Sea Scroll, this is Jet.”

With a put-upon air, the stallion turned reluctantly towards him, lazily extending a hoof. “Oh hey man, what’s up?”

Everything about this colt rubbed him the wrong way, from his slang language to his smug casualness. I never addressed my elders that way when I was his age. “The second story is ‘up,’  if that’s what you’re asking, but if you’re inquiring after my well-being, I’m fine, thank you.”

The colt couldn’t have been over sixteen—Celestia knew what he was doing away from his parents—but it was up to somepony to teach him how to properly use the language, and Coppertone was obviously not going to fill that role.

Jet smirked. “You’re a smartass . . . I like that.”

Sea Scroll pinned his ears. Who do you think you are, kid?

“Jet!” Coppertone scolded.

Finally, some discipline. Foals these days.

Jet, however, showed no signs of remorse. “What?” He shrugged, voice cracking in a grating fashion, “I didn’t say it was a bad thing!”

Coppertone apologized for Jet before Sea Scroll could retort. “So sorry about that.” He pointed to the colt sporting the hachimaki. “This is Beulah. He’s not really into talking with ponies, but, he’ll come around.”

Beulah? Is that the name your parents gave you, or the name you found in your Granny's book and decided to run with?

“Only because there’s nopony here worth talking to,” Beulah shot back, scowling. Sea Scroll couldn’t figure out how Coppertone tolerated such insolence on a daily basis.

Coppertone frowned. “You can at least make eye contact when you’re being introduced to someone.”

“You’re not my dad.”

“Beulah, I swear—” Coppertone inhaled sharply, then exhaled, turning back to Sea Scroll. “Well, this is the whole motley crew. But I’m sure you’re tired and want to put your things away.”

“How’d you guess?”  Not that meeting his new housemates hadn’t been . . . interesting, but Sea Scroll didn’t see himself playing cards with them by the fireplace any time soon.

Just as he was heading upstairs to his room, Jet called out, “If you’re really quiet, you can hear the girls on the upper story!”

“Jet!” Coppertone snapped.

On second thought, he didn’t see himself playing cards with them by the fireplace ever. Continuing up the tall staircase, he sighed in relief. Today  he had dealt with possibly the most unnerving stallion he ever met, an an angry mare, and now two teenagers. There was only so much one pony could take.

After climbing the stairs, they stood in a secondary, smaller lounge area sans the fireplace, though the chimney still radiated heat from the fire below. On either side of the building were two staircases, likely leading to more housing. Coppertone ignored them, proceeding down the left hallway. Sea Scroll found himself limping a little despite his best efforts, though he kept up with the slightly older stallion.

They passed a glorified closet that constituted a laundry room and the rather expansive washroom before Coppertone paused by the last door on the left. “And here we are, your room. Er . . .” He glanced between Sea Scroll and the door. “I think your key’s in the room. He, he.”

Sea Scroll wanted to snap back with a witty retort, but that damn mare had sucked them all out of him for the evening. All he could do was nod, opening the door with his magic.

“Oh, and Sea Scroll?”

Celestia, what now? “Yes?”

“If-if you need any help settling into town, just ask, okay?”

As if I want to settle into this dog and pony show . . . He gave a reluctant nod, walking inside and closing the door. It came as no surprise that the scent of cedar had seeped into every inch of the room. He supposed the large, cedar-lined walk-in closet to the right of him was to blame.

With some relief, he noted his typewriter on the desk. There was a window behind it, though it had been covered in thick, embroidered curtains that resembled some moldering tapestry in the Canterlot Art Museum. Sighing, he glanced over at the bed pressed against the back wall of the closet. It, like every other piece of furniture in this bloody town resembled an antique or, more likely, was an antique.

Though, he wanted nothing more than to rest, he started to unpack. As a single, fresh-out-of college stallion, it took next to no time to empty the three boxes. The large bookshelf taking up a portion of the left wall made his modest collection of novels look rather pathetic. Though, he had to admit, some books were better than no books.

He took great care to organize his office supplies properly. Nothing irked him more then not being able to find a tool when he needed it. Satisfied with his job, he removed the small notebooks from his saddlebags, aligning them carefully on the corner of his desk.

Then, levitating the newest one and a pen, he settled down on the bed to write. The heavy comforter might have seemed a bit excessive under normal circumstances, but tonight it was a welcome change. His entire body felt weak and numb. After a few lines, he felt the motivation leave as quickly as it had come. Groaning, he turned off the light and curled up into a tight ball on the covers.

His stomach began to churn at the blank walls and unfamiliar furniture. Nothing about Saddlewood felt like welcoming, not even his own room. Though he hated himself for admitting it, he longed to go home. Back to the coast, back to the smell of the sea, the sandy beaches and the waves. But, like it or not, Horseshoe Bay could no longer be considered his home. This place . . . this place was home now.

Sea Scroll groaned, trying to stop the shaking in his limbs. I don’t want to be here. I hate this place. Everyone here’s an idiot or a freak. Why had he even agreed to come here? ‘I’ll help you settle in,’ huh? Settling in wasn’t something that others did for you. It must be done by oneself and . . . that took time. From what he witnessed today, it would be a long, long time before any part of this town felt like home.  

Next Chapter: Wormwood and Gall Estimated time remaining: 58 Minutes