“Father! Father!”

A unicorn colt, hide as black as the bottom of a well, charges across a freshly harrowed field with wild abandon - the haste of his passing throwing up a cloud of dust that swirls and sparkles in the late afternoon sun.

The farm is a modest affair, as is typical for rural ponies; a cozy home, an outbuilding or two, and a couple fields for proper crop rotation. The entirety of the property is just enough land to keep the family fed and have a little extra for the community.

“Father!”

The colt sees the whitewashed split-rail fence that cordons off the cottage from the fields and kicks up his heels happily. With a wide grin he puts forth a burst of speed; hooves flash as he leaps the fence, his white mane and tail whipping behind him as he clears the obstacle with room to spare, and slides to a stop at the front door in a cloud of dust and dirt.

He prances a bit, tossing his head and shaking out his mane excitedly before stopping his bouncing long enough to begin carefully wiping his hooves on the well-worn mat.

With heavy creak the door to the cottage opens in front him, and he looks up to see a large draft pony of steel blue coat and cloud white mane standing in the doorway.

“Welcome home m’boy! What’s this here ruckus all about?” He asks with a warm smile.

The colt grins, bright green eyes flashing, “Father! I was accepted! They want me back in Canterlot in a week to start formal classes!” The colt bucks a bit, excitement returning with his words.

His father crosses his front legs and with exaggerated nonchalance leans his rather large shoulder against the doorframe. “Well now, here ya had me thinking something interestin’ were going on, like the neighbor’s forge on fire again…”

The colt looks a bit crestfallen at his father’s lack of exuberance.

A moment passes; his father looks down at him with the stallion’s typical stoic earth pony expression - ears forward - as if expectant of the real reason for the colt’s gamboling and ruckus, before laughing heartily.

“Oh heck son, ya did good! Getting’ accepted into that there school for talented Unicorns ain’t no easy feat. I’m mighty proud of ya!”

He looks down at the colt from the doorway and points a hoof at him, “I suppose this means ya found a way out of plantin’ this year after all.” He says with a sly wink.

The colt rolls his eyes, “Father. You know what this means for me!”

“Aye that I do son – that I do… Just playin’...” He looks off towards the well pump, “Now, do me a favor a’fore ya come in – I was on my way to fetch the water for dinner, but if you can fetch it for me, I’ll go and get supper on a bit early,” he looks back down at the colt, “it looks t’me like they don’t feed ya very well up there in Canterlot as you’re nothin’ but hide and hooves!”

“Father… I’ve always been,” The colt drops his chin to his neck and gruffs up his voice imitating his father, “So skinny he’d have to stand up twice to make a shadow.”

There’s a slight pause, then they both break out in laughter. “Git goin’ boy – I’ll be in the kitchen…” And with that the father turns from the door and enters the shadows of the house as the colt trots off to fetch the water.

The father ponders the news as he walks the shadowed main hallway of the cottage - so much had changed since last year…

His son had always been good with school, getting good marks in his writing and math; better so than his sire ever got truth be told. But even so the boy had always been more of a farm pony – knowing more about crop rotations and planting schedules than parlor tricks and pointy-hat wizardry.

Sure, the boy had always been a bit small for the jobs around the farm - unicorns did tend to be smaller overall than earth ponies; was their nature. This of course meant he got no end of grief from the bigger colts in school… And when one lives in a farming community out on the border of Equestria and the Free Lands, there’s an endless supply of bigger colts.

But he made up for it with his quick wit and boundless enthusiasm.

The father enters the common room of the house and looks up at a painting above the mantle – the portrait is of a young mare of all black coat and mane, with a long ebony horn and brilliant green eyes. He smiles at her, “He’s probably better off for all the hassles they gave him - but still, I wish you was here ta’ see how he’s grown … and he could really use your wisdom right about now.” He looks out the window at his son; the colt’s horn glowing as the well pump's handle bobs up and down of it’s own volition, “I don’t know my hoof from my tail when it comes to this magic stuff…”

Looking back to the painting he continues, “I’d always just assumed the boy would take over the farm from me some day, probably have those big bullies from school workin’ for him too, no doubt.” He says with a nod.

“But that all changed last spring, when the boy’s magic just started really workin’.”

He smiles wistfully, “You should’a seen the way he got on – stuff floatin’ all ‘round the house and him in the middle of it all grinnin’ like a cat with a fresh caught mouse.”

He shakes his head with a chuckle, “Took some talkin’ to get the boy to do his chores the right way without all the flash and sparkle. He’s a good boy though, understands the value of a day’s work… Better’n most unicorns I’d venture.”

Looking up at the painting he smiles, “No disrespect darlin’.”

“Even so, them referral letters from his teachers at school – those were completely unexpected...” He sighs, “Even more unexpected is his acceptance today…”

“He’s all a-flutter about it m’dear, as he should be I suppose. I hear tell that school Celestia runs is plumb difficult to get into.” He pauses for a moment, in thought, and then to himself, “He’s growin’ up and soon’ll be leavin’ the nest for good…”

He sighs again and looks back out the window at the colt who is trotting back to the house, “I sure do miss ya darlin’.”

The colt returns and trots lightly down the short hallway trying to not spill any water from the bucket held in his mouth. He subconsciously skirts the squeaky board near the door that has been his personal nemesis his entire childhood, and this causes him to pause a moment to smile and nod; it is good to be back home.

The cottage itself is good sized, even though when his father built it there were just the three of them; his mother, father, and himself. But his father keeps adding a bit to it here and there every year, so it continues to expand. Still, coming back from Canterlot it all seems so small.

In a handful of strides he reaches the end of the main hallway: to the left, the kitchen and common room of the house, straight ahead, his father’s room, and to the right – sanctuary!

He enters the kitchen and carefully places the bucket near the sink, “Here you go father.”

His father looks, “Good, good. Now go get yourself squared away. Dinner’ll be ready in a bit, I’ll come find ya…”

The colt nods, turns, and heads across the hall.

His father’s voice floats out of the kitchen behind him, “I kept yer room the way it was when you left – didn’t want you ta come back to a store room or anythin’.”

The colt smiles as he enters his old room, his horn glowing faintly as he removes his saddlebags and places them neatly by the door, and then carefully levitates his books out of the bags and stacks them neatly on his desk.

He looks around and lets out a bit of a sigh... He’s been gone the whole winter in Canterlot, testing and re-testing, and trying to find his pace in the capital city – no easy feat for a country colt that’s used to his closest neighbors being a full candle mark distant.

He walks around the small room once, just looking at everything, and he feels an odd mixture of familiarity and strangeness. This is his room and he knows every item it contains intimately, but he’s been gone for so long it all feels, somehow, like he’s looking at someone else’s life…

His whole childhood, up until recently, is here in this room; the stuffed ponies on the dresser, bits of arts and crafts from school, the box of treasure he assembled from his adventures in the nearby forest – colored stones and other bits that triggered the imagination of a young colt – and, of course, his desk where he spent so many evenings studying.

And the clock…

The clock is unique in the collection as it’s not some bit of fluff from an over-imaginative colt or some detritus from a past class project.

It is obviously very old… It sits on a six-sided base covered in fine filigree metalwork and tiny gems that allow the myriad tiny gears and shafts in the mechanism to peek through. The clock’s face itself is silver, with four concentric rings of runic designs, and polished to a mirror’s shine. The hands that radiate from the middle of the dial are made of bright gold; each ending in a different color of crystal.

It was beautiful to look at; obviously a masterwork from some clockmaker in Canterlot, but what made it most unusual was that it had four hands. The typical hours, minutes, and seconds as any other clock, but with an additional hand for... Date? Year? It was impossible to say.

It also simply refused to keep the correct time… The hands of the clock were perpetually moving, slowly, but without any rhyme or reason that the colt could discern.

He had found it wrapped carefully in thick black velvet and secured in an ironbound oak box, hidden in the hollow of a fallen tree in the forest last spring.

Since he found the clock it has had a place of prominence on his desk, right near the window so that it’s polished face and gems can reflect the sunlight up to the ceiling - where it creates all manner of spectacular patterns and colors. Last summer he spent a great deal of his free time laying in his bed watching the interplay of colors, light, and shadow created by the clock – imagining far off places and deeds of daring do…

He smiles at the memory and reaches out with his magic, adjusting the clock a bit to catch the last rays of the sunset, when it suddenly ignites with a bright flash of radiant colors... Instantly the room fills with light, making the small flecks of dust glint and sparkle as they float gently in the air. Above, on the plaster ceiling, brilliant streaks of orange and yellow light and deep amber shadow dance and shimmer.

He shies backwards a bit in surprise, but the patterns above catch his attention as they dance – such depth to the colors, almost pictures…

He sees the image of a coastal village expanding before him as if he is flying towards it at a high rate of speed. Hundreds of ponies below him appear to be gathering for some sort of party and as he catches a glimpse of a banner; it’s the solstice celebration!

Another flash and the ponies scatter in all directions as the buildings behind them catch fire and burn. To his right ancient standing stones flicker and flash in shades of red and orange as strange creatures crawl up from the ground between them; they are long, thin beasts - like strange dragons with wicked looking spears.

The scene swirls like smoke and is replaced by four concentric rings of strange glowing runes that rotate slowly. One of the runes flashes with a brilliant orange light and the ring is sits upon stops, and then the others begin to spin faster.

He feels so very tired all of a sudden...

Out of nowhere a shadowy black unicorn leaps into his field of view, startling him as her smoky form moves across the ceiling. She prances a bit in agitation, and then lowers her horn and moves menacingly towards the runes. Her horn glows with intense blue green light and the runes dissolve back into formless shapes and colors.

She nods with finality and turns to look at him, holding him transfixed in her emerald green gaze. Her eyes flash and sparkle in the darkness, and he feels the lethargy lift from him.

She releases him, and her expression changes to one of sadness as she tries to say something, her lips moving silently, but he can’t make out the words. Suddenly she turns and leaps into the perceptual distance, vanishing back into the shadows as the scintillating lights fade.

Her eyes… “Mother?”

“So is it just how you remembered it? The room and all…”

The colt blinks and looks around at the room hastily; the fading sunset casts a dim shadow of the window across the desk and floor, and faint splashes of color on the ceiling from the clock – but he sees nothing unusual…

“It’s… It’s, yes, just like I left it. Father? Did you see anything odd just now? I thought – for a moment…”

His father sticks his head in the room and looks around, “Hmm… Nope. The floor could use a bit of sanding and a fresh coat of varnish though. You okay son?”

The colt nods his head; “I’m just a bit giddy from my acceptance, I suppose – tricks of the light…”

His father noses the colt’s shoulder as he turns, “Dinner’s ready. Come on into the kitchen and let’s get caught up - you can tell me all about Canterlot…”

The colt looks around the room once more and quietly mutters to himself, “I’ve always been a bit of a daydreamer, but that – that was something else entirely…”

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