Bucket felt warmer than he’d ever recalled doing. It was a soothing, almost healing sensation, the warmth that had enveloped his body, yet soft and smooth like purest silk against his skin. He never wanted it to end.

The little pony rolled over on his back from his prior position on the side, and felt the comforting blankets follow his body as he did. He stared up into a wooden ceiling, and with a deep yawn, he stretched his hooves up towards it.

His limbs no longer felt numb, and he could hardly even feel the pain in his leg anymore, where the arrow had hit him earlier. It was strange, he remembered the arrow, and he remembered the pain, but the moment he woke up his mind had completely shut out all existence of it, and he didn’t notice it until he tried walking and collapsed.

As he laid there in the cold snow, feeling his eyes well up from the pain in his legs, he suddenly felt a strange tingle down his spine. As if somepony was watching him. He’d been right, and that was the reason he now laid nestled into a warm bed, staring up into the ceiling, where the rays of sun shining through the window caused particles of dust to dance before his eyes.

Bucket wondered if it was oak. Or maybe spruce.

Even though he wanted to just remain there in that infinitely comfortable bed for as long as he could, he told himself he couldn’t stay for too long, that he would have to leave as soon as possible. Still, no use in denying the comforts he was offered for as long as he stayed.

So after feeling awake enough, he removed the blankets and slowly crawled out of the bed. The moment his hooves touched the floorboards, he could feel his entire body craving to return to the blankets and that soft pillow.

The room that he was in wasn’t the nicest one, but it still felt like home, in an almost cosy way. Apart from the bed, there was also an open fireplace on the opposite side of the room, in which a warm fire still roared. Next to it sat a couple of dusty old shelves filled with countless books and parchments. Bucket wished he had the time to read through every single one of them.

A little ways to the left of the fireplace stood a desk, brimming with everything from parchments and papers to quills to inkwells; basically everything you’d expect from somepony doing a lot of writing in their spare time. The top shelf of the desk was covered in candles and melted wax which dripped down the edge in frozen formations that made him think of icicles.

Covering the floor was a beige rug, adorned with strange patterns along the sides and in the middle, as well as images of leaves and vines. On the walls hung various paintings, and even a map of Equestria.

Bucket couldn’t for the life of him understand how the pony living in this house could have it so well, when the rest of the land was in such an horrendous state. He’d never seen a house with so many things, so much to see and explore and touch and smell. As he slowly walked towards the door leading out of the room, he envisioned this as the last homely house in all of Equestria.

He wasn’t sure if the thought was soothing or not.

When he exited the room, his nose was instantly attacked by a myriad of smells, all of them wonderful. He found himself standing in a small kitchen, and the smell was undoubtedly coming from a group of pots of varying sizes, all cocking on a stove right to his left. The air was thick with the fumes and so many smells that it almost made his head spin.

He took in a deep breath of it all, and felt the sensations fill his throat and lungs before evaporating into his body like a coating of pleasure. It took him a few seconds to even notice the pony standing next to the stove, a unicorn, stirring a ladle in one of the pots with a faint blue glow of magic. She had her back towards him, and didn’t seem to notice him. Regrettably he pulled himself out of the daze that the smell had put him in.

Bucket cleared his throat to make his presence known, but she didn’t seem to notice it. He tried it again, louder this time, but still no reaction. Just a calm motion as she stirred what he guessed was some sort of soup.

Completely dumbfounded and unsure what to do, Bucket cautiously made his way to the table that sat in the middle of the room, pulled out a chair and took a seat. When he did, he noticed just how old the mare before him looked. Her legs where thin and scrawny, spindly even, and her coat could probably have been blue at one point in time, just like her fading mane. He figured she might have a hearing problem.

As he sat there, observing the old mare, he tried to understand just how she managed to get him here. He remembered very little of the event, just the pain in his leg, and the feel of being dragged and tossed around, after the pain had gotten the better of him and caused him to pass out. Maybe she was stronger than she looked, if she could bring him here. Then again, she was a unicorn, and maybe her magic could handle it.

Bucket looked around the room a little bit more, but there wasn’t much odd to notice about it. It looked like any kitchen, albeit one full of food and various appliances, tools and utensils. She looked to have it good here, and food seemed to be the least of her worry. Whoever that was possible. To his right, he spotted another door, one which he guessed was the front door of the house, and next to it rested an old coat hanger, on which a dusty Stetson hung.

In the corner of his eye, he barely noticed movement from the stove.

“Oh! You’re awake.”

Her voice was a deep one, which took Bucket by surprise, not at all as weak as the rest of her body looked to be.

“Yeah…” Bucket said slowly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, I just-“ He began to stand up mid-sentence.

“Sit down, sit down!” The old mare quickly responded, waving with one of her hooves towards him. “No guest of mine is ever rude.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Bucket said before sitting down again.

“So what’s your name, dear? Oh, and before I forget, mushrooms or corn? Never mind, you can have both.”

“Bucket, ma’am.”

“What kind of a name is that, now?”

“That’s what my friends… call me.”

“Not a very nice nickname, is it?”

“Suppose not. Never liked the name my parents gave me, anyway.”

At the last words he spoke, Bucket found his eyes traveling downwards, where they eventually plastered themselves to the table. He never talked about his parents, and was at a complete loss of words as to why he told her those things. Besides himself, only one other pony knew his real name, and he knew that Crescent would take it to his grave unless he told him otherwise.

“I’m guessing it has something to do with flowers?”

Bucket looked up at the old mare when she spoke to him again. First, he didn’t even want to respond to her question, but realized that would be rude. He sure didn’t dislike her or the generosity she was showing him, but it really wasn’t any of her business, his former life. Still, he opted not to be rude and nodded solemnly.

“Thought so, what with that cutie mark and all.” The old mare said with a smile as she pointed the magically floating ladle towards him. “It’s a rose, right?”

“… A bouquet, actually. Of roses, yes.”

“Oh, come one now, no need to look so gloom!”

Bucket’s heart skipped a beat or two when a bowl of soup slammed down on the table in front of him. Some sort of stew, and it smelled heavenly.

“Eat up, dear; I’m sure you’ll feel better in no time. Food always helps, one way or the other.”

The mare took a seat in the chair on the other side of the table, and watched his reaction with that big, reassuring smile that hadn’t left her lips since she saw him. Slowly, Bucket dipped his head down over the bowl and took another breath of the smell fumigating from it. No more than a second later, he grabbed it and let the first gulp flow into his mouth. His eyes instantly shot open as so many sensations coursed through him the moment it hit his tongue.

He couldn’t hold back and almost gleeful smile.

“That’s what I like to see!” The old mare chuckled. “Good, isn’t it?”

Bucket placed the bowl down and wiped his mouth with a hoof, and couldn’t do anything but nod. “It’s… it’s amazing. How did you do it?”

“I’ve always had a hoof for cooking. A dying art nowadays, I’m afraid. No pony but me to enjoy the flavours.”

“Oh, I wish that Crescent and the others could’ve tasted this, ma’am…”

She gave him a wondering look. “This Crescent-pony… seems important to you. A… lover, if I may ask? You said her name in your sleep.”

Bucket shook his head. “Crescent isn’t a mare. And no, we’re not lovers…” He once again found himself staring at the table, this time down into the bottom of the now completely empty bowl.

“But you wish to be?”

“I…” Bucket suddenly felt the urge to deny everything she said, and a desperate need to get away from her. His friends wasn’t any of her business, least of all Crescent, and his thoughts about him.

“I should probably go, I-“ He made a move to stand up.

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to offend you.” The mare said quickly. “Please, stay a while.”

Bucket sighed, and sat back down again. “Fine.”

“Maybe you could tell me what you were doing all alone down by the river, hm?”

“We got separated. Me and my friends.”

“And Crescent was one of them?”

He nodded. “He’s our leader. The leader of our group, I mean. We’re Stalkers from The Heart, and we were tracking these… footprints.”

“You don’t really look like a Stalker.” The mare said, smiling again. “You’re a bit too small.”

Bucket shrugged. “Then we were ambushed by Bleakers and ran towards the river, I was shot, and… I don’t remember anything else other than waking up later. I don’t even know if the others are alive…”

“They might be, if the Bleaklings took them.” The old mare said. “But all the way out here? They rarely come here; they usually stick to their territory. The closest is up in Manehattan, a couple of days away. They sometimes drug their prey to carry them longer distances.”

“How do you know all that?” Bucket asked, raising his eyebrows in wonder.

“I have my ways.” The old mare responded, and for just a moment, Bucket thought he could see something else in her, hidden behind her smile. Something much darker.

Bucket gave her a long look before speaking. “You’re… an odd mare, ma’am.”

“I’ve heard that one before, dear.” She responded with an almost sorrowful laugh. “In my youth, I was… quite famous. Or infamous, I should say. Oh! That reminds me! Wait here.”

She quickly stood up and hurried across the room to a cupboard close to the door. Her magic opened it up, but Bucket couldn’t see past her what was inside. She rummaged around for a while before turning around and walking back to the table, now levitating a small bundle of cloth in her magic, which she then set down on the table.

“What’s this?” Bucket asked as she slowly unwrapped the odd package.

She averted his eyes from him when she answered. “You’re not the first Stalker to cross my way, little colt. Many years ago, another one came to me, offered his services. I was old even then, and I suppose he felt some sort of obligation to help an old mare like me out. He would come by every week with supplies and the gift of his company. He was a gentle colt, always polite and well-mannered. Much like you, in fact.”

Bucket watched the contents of the bundle spill out unto the table. He found himself staring into the blank, expressionless eyes of some sort of mask.

“But then one day, he never showed up. So I went out looking for him, and found him by the river, just like I did you. He was badly injured and on the brink of death, but I brought him back here and did my best to nurture him back to health.”

The longer she talked, the more Bucket noticed a change in her voice. Subtle at first, but then more and more tangible. It was clear that the memory still plagued her.

“I did what I could, but… In the end, it wasn’t enough. He left these as a memento for me, to always remember him by. Come on, let me see them on you.”

“What? No, I- I couldn’t possibly-“

She ignored his protests, and the following minute Bucket remained still as she dressed him with the help of her magic. First she draped an old tatter cloak over him, and despite its apparent old age, the smell of wool was still strong and fresh.

Then, she forced the mask on his face. The moment it slid shut, his breathing changed into a loud wheezing, like that of a gasmask, but it was still surprisingly easy to breathe. Saddle bags strapped around his back, accompanied by several other bags, pouches and gadgets around his legs. She wrapped the blanket that it had all been in around his neck, and finished off with pulling the hood of the cloak over his head.

“There…” She said slowly. “Now you look like a true Stalker, my dear.”

“Ma’am, I can’t possibly accept this-“

“Oh, shush. It’s a gift; you wouldn’t want to turn down an old lady, now would you? You’ll need it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can get to Manehattan in a day or two.” The mare said. “You’re going to find your friends, are you not?”

“Well yeah, but I- Why give it all to me? Your last memories of that other stallion...“

“You’ll have more use of them than I will.” She responded before signalling him to follow her to the main door. “If you leave now, you might catch them before they even reach Manehattan, provided they’re slow.”

“I don’t… This is moving a bit too fast for me!“

The mare stopped. “You remind me of him.” She whispered carefully. “I’m sorry if I’m a bit too pushy, I just… I don’t want to see another dead colt. Especially not one so much alike him…”

“Who was he, anyway?” Bucket asked, his voice somewhat distorted by the mask he wore.

“… I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. His name was Mystical Duet.” She looked Bucket straight into the eyes. “And he was my son.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, it must’ve been terrible…”

“Indeed it was, little colt. Now please, don’t make my heart break a second time; take what I’m offering you and save your friends.”

Bucket nodded slowly. “I will. Thank you.” He made a cautious move towards her, stretched out his arm. “May I…?”

The old mare nodded as well, mimicking his response. Without another word, Bucket reached forward and gave the mare a hug. He felt sorry for her, knowing what she’d been through, and the fact that she would give away her memories in such a way to a complete stranger, simply because he reminded her of her son.

“I’m probably not cut out to be a Stalker…” Bucket whispered. “To tell you the truth, ma’am, I only joined because…

“Of course, I understand.” She said back to him before she broke the embrace. “Now go, find Crescent.”

“I will. And once I do, I’ll come back to see you again.”

“Just tell him what you really feel. Don’t waste your opportunity to be happy, or you’ll live the rest of your days as a miserable, lonely stallion with nothing but regret.”

“I promise.” Bucket turned his head to look at the door. It was enveloped in a faint blue aura of light, and slowly drifted open before him. Carefully, he took a peak outside. Not surprisingly, he saw nothing but white snow covering the ground and trees surrounding the house.

“By the way, you never told me your name, ma’am.” He took a few careful steps out into the snow, feeling the presence of the old mare behind him. He was sure was was standing in the doorway behind him.

“Oh, my name was forgotten a long time ago, little pony.” She said with a meek chuckle.

Bucket took a few more steps into the snow, but didn’t turn around to look at her. The cloak flowed around his legs in the light breeze, and he was glad that it was thick enough to keep him warm.

“Once, many years before you were even born, things were different.”

The air being sucked in through the mask felt clean and fresh, completely eliminating the usual sting that the cold brought with it.

“In those days… I was both great and powerful.”

“What-?”

Bucket turned around, and was left staring in confusion.

In front of him was nothing but the old remains of a cabin, partially buried in deep snow.

And the mare was nowhere to be found.