It looked as though everypony was preparing to go north. Some of the sky chariots had been converted into wagons. The unicorn guard present (there were a few) would have to carry the wagons as they traveled overland until they reached the road. It looked as though it would be a major undertaking.

“Somepony got their itch scratched,” Octavia said in a knowing voice as Maud and Tarnish drew nearer.

“Yeah, but we cuddled first,” Maud replied.

Ears perking, Octavia’s head tilted off to one side. “You cuddled? Before doing the deed?”

“Yeah.” Maud sat down in the grass and her now curly mane bobbed in the light breeze.

Octavia’s serene expression changed to one of mild irritation. “Would it kill you to give me a cuddle first?” she asked as she took a swipe at Vinyl. She snorted in annoyance as Vinyl pronked out of reach. “It’s always let’s get down to business with you, you never make good with the cuddling!”

Vinyl’s unspoken response was to stick out her tongue and the vibrant shade of orange contrasted against her pale albino pelt. She pronked again, going from side to side, staying close to Octavia, but just out of the frustrated earth pony’s reach. Octavia made a lunge, but Vinyl was prepared.

“So, I take it that Vinyl is the, uh, stallion in your relationship?” Tarnish asked.

“No,” was Octavia’s terse and somewhat crabby sounding response.

Realising that he had done something wrong, Tarnish made ready to apologise. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend, it was just a question and I didn’t know that I was going to—”

“I’m not upset with you, you’re delightfully innocent,” Octavia said as Vinyl stopped pronking and stood still, now looking serious. She looked at Tarnish, her expression softening, and her momentary anger melting away. “I’m bothered that society insists that one of us has to be the stallion in our relationship. There is this silly standard that must be upheld.”

Mind blown. Tarnish sat down in the grass and tried to process everything going on inside of his head at this moment. Upon thinking about it, he realised how upsetting what he had said could be to somepony. It was, so he thought, a harmless question, but to Octavia, it had rubbed her the wrong way.

“You know,” Tarnish said in a low whisper, “I think Maud is the stallion in our relationship.”

Octavia leveled a steely gaze upon Tarnish and one ear twitched as one eyebrow raised. The corner of her mouth twitched downwards as she fought to hold back a disapproving frown. Meanwhile, Vinyl had the opposite reaction, and she struggled to hold back a smile, her lower lip quivering as her cheek muscles twitched.

“No, really,” Tarnish insisted, risking Octavia’s displeasure. He looked over at Maud.

“I am pure, unbridled sexual aggression,” Maud deadpanned.

Perhaps it was the way she said it, but Maud’s words were too much for Octavia. She began to snigger, fighting to keep a serious, stern face, but it was a losing battle. She sniggered, she snorted, and then she began to chortle as Vinyl pressed up against her.

“Making love to an earth pony is sort of like making love to a bear trap.” Tarnish paused, cleared his throat, then continued, “You know it’s dangerous, but you think the risks are worth the rewards, so you do it anyway. And then you go around strutting about it, because hey, you just squirted some foal frosting into a bear trap and lived to tell the tale.”

Octavia made a ‘whoop!’ sound, grabbed Vinyl, and squeezed her eyes shut as she guffawed. It sounded as though she was having trouble breathing as she wheezed with laughter. Vinyl, hearing Octavia, came undone as well. Octavia, being more solid and the heavier of the pair, fell over and pulled Vinyl down with her as she tumbled into the grass.

“That’s the most flattering thing you’ve ever said about me, Tarnish.”

“Hey, what’s so funny?” a sleepy looking Twilight asked as she came over to investigate.

Tarnish, being a helpful sort, told her, repeating everything that had just been said…

There was now a lull in the day. Some were sleeping, some were resting, others were preparing for the journey ahead. Twilight appeared to be having a nervous breakdown and kept muttering about bear traps. Down in the depths of the mine, the dead had been burned, their bones and ashes now laid to rest. The forge flame would soon be extinguished, but Kabuki would carry the fire of her tribe as they headed north.

For Tarnish, this lull was the perfect chance to satisfy his curiousity. Shivering with disgust, he unrolled the leather scroll so that he might have a good long look at it. The first thing he noticed was, every image, every letter, it was all burned on to the leather. Somehow, Kabuki had done this without making a single mistake that he could see. She had taken time and care, it showed that she was knowledgeable.

The fine calligraphy was somehow all the more impressive knowing that it had been burned on to the leather. Tarnish didn’t know how the little pup had done it. It dawned upon him that Kabuki (and Long Ears, no doubt) was an exceptional individual. He didn’t know how old she was, but there was no way that he could have written this well as a foal. Her lettering was beautiful, flawless, and perfect.

After looking over the scroll, he found what he was looking for, the mending stitch. The complex knots were shown from several angles, with helpful arrows showing which way to guide the thread. It was difficult, but not too hard. He knew that with some practice, he could master this.

Staring at the knot, he wondered if he could sew these stitches onto an effigy so they could be used for healing when dealing with full body injuries, such as a myriad of scratches, scrapes, and gashes, like the aftermath of battle. Some magics could be merged, like effigies and alchemy, so he was hopeful that this might work as well. It might not though, and he was prepared to accept that. Magic was a complex thing that he had very little understanding of.

There were other stitches as well; waterproofing, self cleaning, stitches that made clothing warm, stitches that made clothing that would keep you cool, and then, in the corner, he found a most curious stitch. A fine series of knots that would make fabric as hard as iron. His eyes darted back and forth as he read the flowing script. The knots had to be laid out in a grid to form a mesh and the entirety of the garment had to be covered. Anything not covered by the knots would be regular, weak cloth.

Sure, unicorns had shield spells, but the minotaurs had figured out how to make regular fabric become as strong as iron. Tarnish quailed as his intelligence kicked in; he realised that it would take hundreds of hours of labour on one good sized garment to offer protection, it was like constructing a suit of chainmail and interlocking thousands of tiny rings. Meanwhile, a unicorn could enchant a piece of clothing to do much the same in far less time.

Also, one bad stitch, one spot that was less than perfect, a mistake made during a moment of boredom, fatigue, or distraction would leave behind a weak spot. It was a craft that would require artificer levels of dedication to make work.

He looked at other knots, other stitches. For the stitches that made clothing warm or cool, it only needed to be applied to the hem, but it had to form a completed circuit for it to work. Lifting his head, Tarnish thought about all of the trial and error that minotaurs must have endured to figure all of this out. He wondered how the journey to knowledge had even begun. Perhaps one minotaur made one particularly artistic stitch and then noticed a hint of magic. How had they noticed?

Lowering the leather scroll, Tarnish looked over at his wife. She was napping, sprawled in the grass, with Octavia and Vinyl beside her. His eyes focused upon her smock. Tens of thousands of tiny stitches… and perhaps, if he did everything just perfect, he might be able to protect her. Or he might keep her cool while she walked during the summer, or warm during the winter.

While a part of him craved power, he was aware of that now and acknowledged it, a much more vocal part of his mind demanded practicality. This scroll had power. Practical power. It would give him an edge over the hazards of life on the road. He could throw down upon the dangers of exposure. Something about this realisation appealed to his very nature as a unicorn, and a newfound sense of defiance awoke within him.

He rolled up the scroll, tied it shut, and slipped it into his saddlebags. He stared down inside and saw the faint blue glow of his orb. He grasped it in his magic, pulled it out, and peered into it. Almost right away, his mind calmed and his thoughts became clearer. He was doing what was right and good. He was learning how to live in balance and harmony in the world. The stitch magic was an extension of that. His eyes took on a strange, unearthly blue glow that matched that of the orb that he held.

Sighing, his troubled mind succumbed to the overwhelming sense of calm. Vague thoughts, notions, strings and streams of consciousness wove their way through his grey matter. The druids shunned their own magic, using it only when absolutely necessary, and they relied upon the magic of others. The centaurs had their own magic, but they had been the masters of magic, with some of them able to absorb the magic of others directly. Tarnish realised that he was following the old way, he was becoming a druid. He was tapping into the magic of others. He had a little unicorn magic, which was distinct and different from his poison joke magic. He was learning a little zebra magic. He was dabbling in alchemy. The scroll of stitch magic was tucked away in his saddlebags.

Tendrils of blue mist rose from the orb and snaked their way into Tarnish’s nostrils. He inhaled them, and in doing so, his body became heavy and drowsy. His heartbeat slowed and he became aware of the sensation of his own blood flowing through his veins. He could feel it in his ears, his ears were full of blood right now, which circulated through his body, gathering heat, and dumping it out through the thin flesh of his ears with the aid of a cooling breeze.

The horrors and trauma of battle faded from his mind, like excess heat dumped out into the wind through his ears. He thought of his mother, how he loved her, and then he thought of others. He thought of Cloudy, and missed her. Igneous’ face could be seen in his mind. Limestone and Marble, he missed them and wanted to see them.

His breathing slowed even more, and then his consciousness collapsed in upon itself.

Tarnish found himself in a field of sunflowers. The air, if it could even be called that in this place, was sweet and fragrant. He looked around and there were sunflowers as far as the eye could see. Soft, moist earth compressed beneath his hooves. After looking around, he didn’t see any sign of Grrrr or Princess Celestia, but he knew that this had to be part of her realm.

He slipped between the tall sunflowers, not knowing which direction he should go, and not caring. This was a peaceful place, a place of rest and respite. This was the place he needed. He had come here without effort, slipping off to this place with but a thought. He thought about his previous encounter with Princess Celestia here in this place.

Ears perking, he heard humming. He followed the sound, overwhelmed with curiousity, stopping and listening every few steps so that he might find his way. The humming grew louder, and louder, and then, the sunflowers parted. Tarnish found himself in a clearing. In the middle of the clearing was a massive sundial and sitting on a small wooden bench next to the sundial was a zebra. The zebra was older looking, hunched over, and had long, shaggy dreadlocks.

Tarnish was quite surprised to see him at first, but then remembered what Princess Celestia had said. Zebras were common visitors to the astral realms. He stood there at the edge of the clearing, staring at the dreadlocked zebra, who stared back at him. The zebra had stopped humming.

“The traveller comes—with a tale of woe has he—ask me your questions.”

“Your speech is strange,” Tarnish said. “Who are you?”

The zebra said nothing, but the corners of his mouth curled upwards into a sly smile. He brushed his dreadlocks out of his face, revealing weird dark eyes that made Tarnish shiver. Holding out his hoof, the zebra made a gesture for Tarnish to come closer.

“Um, do you have a name?”

“Pay attention, colt—heed my words, my way of speech—my name will be known.”

Confused, Tarnish shook his head. There was something odd about the zebra and the way he spoke, but Tarnish couldn’t put his hoof on what it was. He thought about Zecora, he had heard that she only spoke in rhymes.

“Hoodoo of zebras—a warning I have for you—before darkness comes.”

Tarnish’s hind legs gave way and his backside was planted in the cool, moist earth. He sat there, enraptured by the peculiar zebra mystic sitting near the sundial. A soft breeze rustled the sunflowers around him and Tarnish noticed that there were multiple shadows on the sundial, all pointing to different times.

“Harm your enemy—with your effigy magic—self harm will you do.”

Taken aback, Tarnish thought about what he had done to his tormentor. Right away, he was overcome with guilt. He had done wrong and now, he could feel it in his very bones. Unable to keep looking at the zebra, he focused on the sundial instead, trying to make sense of the mess of shadows, all which reported a different time.

“Too late it is not—be mindful in your thinking—and never do harm.”

Ears drooping, Tarnish felt like a scolded foal. “You don’t understand, she had that coming… and I really didn’t hurt her, it was a prank, okay, it was a mean spirited one, but I could have done much worse. I could have drove a paralysing thorn through her effigy’s heart—” Tarnish fell silent when he saw the look of pain and disgust upon the zebra’s face.

He understood. Effigies were all about thought and intent. He had a glimmer of understanding and he felt ashamed of what he had done. If he was capable of thinking about it, what might he be capable of in a moment of heated passion?

“Listen well, Seeker—hoodoo was made for healing—so now, go and heal.”

“But I was defending myself—”

“Not friend, but a foe—so you say, it matters not—heal your enemies.”

“But… how do I do that?” Tarnish demanded.

The zebra made no reply, but resumed humming, his head bobbing, and his thick, ropey dreadlocks fell back down over his eyes, hiding them from view. Tarnish stared at his mystic instructor, trying to understand what to do, and trying to make sense of the zebra’s peculiar method of speech. The zebra made a come hither gesture with his hoof and Tarnish was compelled to come closer, so he did.

He rose, crossed the distance, and sat back down. The zebra said nothing, but the quiet wasn’t so bad. Taking a deep breath, Tarnish contemplated the silence and lapsed into a quiet state of meditation as the sunflowers swayed in the breeze around him. The quiet and the calm was just what he needed, and he felt a tranquil state of peace overcome him. Overhead, the strange sun shone brightly and continued to cast perplexing shadows upon the sundial.

A more aware observer might realise that time had no meaning here in this place.

Author's Notes:

- I still can't believe he said that.