Trixie’s sides were heaving as she pulled the wagon. Sumac walked beside her, worried, knowing that he was too small to help. He had slipped into the harness once, which didn’t fit him at all, and found that he couldn’t even make the wagon budge. Trixie was having trouble getting the wagon up the incline. She’d been having a lot more trouble as of late.

It was one of the many things Sumac worried about. Everything they had depended on the wagon. They moved from town to town, place to place, crossroads to crossroads, and everything they had was in the tall, narrow, creaky wagon. It was almost painful to listen to the squealing of the axles, both of which needed to be replaced. The wheels needed replacing too; they had been broken and repaired with magic so many times that it was now difficult to piece them back together. Each new break caused all of the old repairs to come apart, turning the wagon wheel into a puzzle that had to be put back together whenever it broke.

There was a lot to worry about; if the wagon broke and could not be fixed, they would be in trouble. If Trixie could no longer pull the wagon, they would be in trouble. It would be the end of everything and there was nothing that Sumac could do about it. He was far too little to pull the wagon and lacked the magical skill to make serious repairs.

As Sumac walked beside Trixie, he wondered if ponies who lived in houses worried about their houses. He had never lived in a house, ever. From what little he knew about his parents, Flam Apple and Belladonna, they had been on the run when he was born. He had little memory about that time in his life, he had trouble remembering how old he had been when Trixie had become his guardian and his teacher. Had he been a yearling? The only thing he could remember was that he had always been on the road.

Now, years later, he had walked all over Equestria, he had walked over every hill, every rise, walked through every valley, he had been everywhere, from Winsome Falls to Equestria’s most picturesque volcano, Mount Maud. For Sumac, the wagon was home. It was where he rested his head. It was where he and Trixie took shelter when there was a deluge. The wagon was important, perhaps the most important thing they had, but Sumac lacked the means to express just how important it was to him, or why.

The only thing he could do was walk beside Trixie, a worried scowl on his face, wishing that he could share the load, wishing that he was bigger, stronger, not a little colt but a stallion, and his mind entertained strange notions of somehow being able to provide for Trixie to make up for all of the ways and means she had provided for him.

As they made their way to Ponyville, Sumac had been reading Trixie’s journals, Trixie had written down much of her story of life on the road, even the unflattering awful stuff. The low points, back when she was still The Great and Powerful Trixie, something that Trixie as she was now was embarrassed about. It was fascinating reading about her and seeing when the changes had taken place. Almost every change that had happened was because of him, in some form or another. In Trixie’s writings he had gone from the whiny little colt that wouldn’t stop crying to something precious that she fretted a great deal about. Entire journal entries detailed Trixie’s fear of not being able to provide, her fear of failing as a teacher, her dread that she wasn’t giving him the kind of life he deserved.

Trixie had changed and her journals contained a roadmap of her many changes. Reading them had left Sumac feeling weird, confused, and comforted. He had an understanding of where she had come from, where they had been, but he had no idea where they were going.

“We’ll be in the White Tail Woods soon,” Trixie announced. “I think we might make it to Percheron’s Palisades. After that, it will be downhill, for the most part, until we get to Ponyville, which is just beyond the White Tail Woods.”

“What’s a palisades?” Sumac asked.

“A type of fence or fortification,” Trixie replied, almost panting.

“Is it a fort?” Sumac peered ahead, trying to see through the trees, wondering if he could catch a glimpse of it before they reached it.

“No, well, yes and no. Percheron was a noble knight, a pegasus, and his best friend, a minotaur named Henry David Taureau, came to the aid of a group of ponies. At the time, the settlement had no name, it was just a collection of farms and a windmill.” Trixie gulped in some much needed air and her gait slowed down a bit.

Looking up at Trixie, Sumac felt a little bit worried.

“Percheron and Taureau discovered that these ponies were being bullied by a group of bandits, a gang of baddies that roamed the woods.” Trixie licked her lips as a look of determination crept over her face. “Taureau was something of a lumberjack, he had a big axe and he went to work, cutting down trees. He made a fence of sharpened logs around the windmill, making a place for the ponies of the settlement to go if there was trouble.”

Sumac, entranced, listened with rapt attention. Trixie knew so much lore from her travels. Trixie had the real history of Equestria, tales told by the fireside after a long day, stories exchanged by old timers and lorekeepers. For Sumac, it was one of the best things about being on the road, at the end of a day of hard work, there were usually stories to be told.

“The bandits were an awful bunch, a group of ponies and some diamond dogs. They didn’t see the point in farming… they just took what they needed with no care for how they hurt others. Percheron, a knight errant, decided that it was time for the bandits to meet their end and he made plans to defend the farmers.”

While Trixie had slowed down a bit, she was still moving at a regular pace, her mind now distracted from her labours. She walked with a smile even though her sides heaved from her efforts.

“He and Taureau taught the farmers to band together and tried to teach them how to fight. Percheron was educated, he was charismatic, and he said the words that the farmers needed to hear to give them courage, to make them brave, he inspired them to fight.”

Charisma. Trixie often used it on him when he was feeling down. From what he understood, charisma was word magic of some kind. Trixie was good at word magic. She was great at giving him confidence when he was down in the dumps. She had a knack for getting him to believe in himself, that he could do something, even if it seemed impossible. It was something that Sumac loved about Trixie, because he always had so much fear and doubt.

“There was a big battle, farmers versus bandits, the bandits came to teach the farmers a lesson… the bandits had to fight… if the bandits didn’t fight, other farmers might get brave and start standing up to them, so they had to teach the farmers a lesson. The battle was fierce. Percheron flew around Taureau, trying to protect him, and Taureau used his big axe not for cutting down trees, but for cutting down bandits. Some of the farmers lost their nerve, they became fearful and they fled, running away from the battle. Others held on, believing in what Percheron had told them.”

As he listened, Sumac wondered what he would do in a battle.

“Battles are terrible things,” Trixie said as her smile turned into a frown. She kept her eyes focused on the road ahead and her ears bobbed up and down with each step she took. Little puffs of dust came up off of the road with each hooffall. “One of the diamond dogs ran Percheron through with a spear, impaling him, and killing him. In a rage, Taureau cut the diamond dog in half, going berserk upon his enemies. The farmers, seeing that Percheron had given his life for them, gained a new ferocity. Percheron had died for them, he had died trying to protect them, and he had asked for nothing in return for defending them. His death gave them strength, a strength they did not know they had, and with this strength, they won the battle.”

Sumac mused on Trixie’s words; there was a lesson to be learned here, an important lesson. He thought about everything that Trixie had said, trying to piece together the lesson he had been given. The little colt’s face scrunched up as he concentrated.

“Taureau was devastated by the loss of his friend. He buried his best friend and then to deal with his grief, he rebuilt the farms that had been burned down during the battle. He built more fences. He chopped down trees and he built a city. And every day, he mourned beside the grave of his best friend. The minotaur remained, never leaving the community he protected. The town prospered under his guidance and his protection.”

It was a sad story, but it had a good ending. Sumac liked it a great deal. It gave him a lot to think about as he walked, which would save him from boredom. These were the best sort of lessons, or so Sumac believed, these times when Trixie told him stories and tried to teach him something as they walked. It made the miles bearable.

“The story of Percheron has a meaningful lesson, Sumac… can you tell me what it is?” Trixie, her knees creaking, continued forwards, pulling the heavy wagon towards Ponyville.

“His death made others brave?” Sumac replied.

“Correct.” Turning her head, Trixie glanced at Sumac and gave him a pleased smile, then turned her eyes back upon the road. “Almost nothing is known about Percheron. He was knighted by Princess Celestia and he roamed the countryside, doing what knights do, and nopony paid him very much attention. Knights were supposed to do good deeds, that was expected, so he wasn’t very special compared to other knights. Nopony wrote down his works and his deeds because he was doing his job.”

“But by dying, he got noticed,” Sumac said, understanding what Trixie was trying to teach him.

“Percheron is remembered because of how his life ended. He died trying to defend others, trying to do the right thing, not for fame, not for glory, not to be magnificent, but because it was the right thing to do. Percheron is also remembered for his friendship with Taureau—they were fast friends, close, like brothers, their friendship touched others, it became a story for the ages. Percheron’s death inspired others to live… to have good friends, to be brave and true, to be fearless and selfless. Almost nothing else is known about his life, but it was his death that was important.”

As he and Trixie continued down the road, Sumac wondered what it would be like to be a knight.

Staring, wide eyed, Sumac Apple stared at the grave marker. An obelisk now stood where the original grave marker had once been. Carved on the obelisk was a pegasus and a minotaur, standing together, the pegasus had his wings out, looking ready, while the minotaur was holding a large axe. There were a few weeds around the obelisk, the stone was worn and faded. Seeing it this way made Sumac sad, but he didn’t know why.

Sumac set to work pulling the weeds, using his magic, which might have been weak but was more than strong enough to yank out the offending weeds. He tried to tidy up, he wasn’t very good at it, but that never stopped him from trying. He just needed practice.

As he moved about the memorial, pulling weeds and trying to make things look better, he found another stone, this one short, squat, and rectangular. It was covered in vines. He pulled the vines away, ripping them off, trying to get a better look at the stone beneath.

He saw letters carved into the stone, small letters, small fine letters, a lot of them. He pulled away more vines and puffing out his cheeks, he blew on the marker stone, trying blow off some accumulated dirt. The stone told the story of what took place here, a reminder of the noble knight and his best friend. Frantic, Sumac continued to try and clean the memorial.

He felt something warm, soft, and a bit wet brush up against him. It was Trixie. She was damp, sweaty, hot from her labours. She had parked the wagon and was now beside him. The scent of sweaty Trixie was strong in his nose. The vines were cleared away and the dirt was removed. Sumac, watching Trixie, tried to mimic her technique.

“Sumac, if Twilight Sparkle was here, she would talk about how friendship was the defining element in this story. It was Percheron’s friendship that made his end meaningful. If Percheron had died here, and he did not have Taureau as his friend, then Percheron would have died, the farmers might have been defeated, and for all we know, Percheron might have been forgotten, lost to history. There is a lesson to be learned here, Sumac.”

A hot, clinging, uncomfortable lump rose in Sumac’s throat. He looked up at Trixie. She was tall, a comforting shade of blue, and the closest thing to a mother that he had. “Are we friends?”

“Of course we are, silly,” Trixie replied as she picked dirt out of the letters on the memorial stone. “You are my very best friend. You might just be the only friend Trixie has, if Trixie was to be honest.”

Hearing Trixie’s words, Sumac felt very small all of a sudden, the world felt much larger than it was. Confused by his own reaction, lacking the means to express himself, he said nothing, but pressed up against Trixie’s leg.

“When Trixie dies, it is Trixie’s sincere hope that she will be remembered. That at least one pony will remember her fondly. Trixie used to hope for a whole lot more, but life has worn ol’ Trixie down. Trixie has simple aspirations now, like getting the wagon up a hill, having a nice meal, and making sure you are provided for. Trixie has fallen down quite a ways.”

Blinking, Sumac felt a rush of emotion, making it difficult to think. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to express. He wanted to make his feelings known. His mouth opened, and he felt the words spilling out, but not the words he wanted.

“When you get old, how will we move the wagon? What if I’m not big enough or strong enough?” Sumac cringed, feeling very stupid, and hating his own mouth just a little bit. He heard Trixie sigh. It was getting harder to breathe and he sort of felt like crying.

“If the wagon survives that long… I’ll admit, my knees are giving out. I’m no earth pony. Pulling a wagon is hard on a unicorn. It scares me, Sumac, that one day, either the wagon will give out or I won’t be able to pull it. I don’t know what I’ll do. We have to keep moving if we hope to find work. This is a part of my life that I hope that nopony remembers.”

“But this is the best part of my life… I want to remember,” Sumac said. He reached out and touched the stone marker with his hoof, tapping on it. “Without you, I wouldn’t know about stuff like this. This means something. Somepony has to remember how Percheron and Taureau were friends because it keeps their friendship alive. I want to remember them. I want to remember you… I don’t want you getting old and I don’t want our wagon breaking down.”

Her tired knees finally giving out, Trixie sat down in the dirt beside Sumac. She draped a foreleg over Sumac’s withers, pulled him close, and then sat with him, staring at the stone marker that told the tale of Percheron and Taureau.

Author's Notes:

Perhaps releasing this on Christmas was a terrible idea. We shall see.

I'd love to know what you think about this.