Starring Stripes - 3

You knew that something wasn’t right, but you couldn’t place it.

When you woke up the next morning you could feel it. It wasn’t putting you off balance, or making you feel ill, but something was different. Different in a way you couldn’t explain. You worried to yourself that it was this foreboding illness that Zecora had alluded to the previous day. Speaking of Zecora, she seemed to be in a spirited mood when you awoke, laying out a breakfast for the two of you.

She reserved any further comment on what happened the previous night until you’d finished. You hated eating at other pony’s houses in town because they always served salad, or salad that had been fried and compacted into a thin mockery of a hamburger. You like your fruit and veg, but not on it’s own, and not every day.

Zecora has a novel solution. She likes to boil things into various kind of soup. It’d be mean to imply that it’s because of her job as a shaman. Zecora is an attentive mare and noticed how much more you enjoyed the warmer meals versus the cold ones. It made it a little more bearable. You put the bowls into a bucket of water when you finish. Zecora might live in a tree trunk but she likes things clean.

“To see your skin is not pale or white, did you have a pleasant night?”

“Yeah, no problems here. I mean, I feel a little different…”

Zecora smiles but says nothing more. Which his strange. Zecora is a chatty zebra – she loves to talk your ear off about whatever she’s working on at the moment. The organized chaos taking place on all of her shelves suggests that she’s been commissioned for something.
Zecora completes the rest of her morning routine as you sit back and wait. She fixes up her mane that was messed up in her sleep and adorns herself with the golden bands that usually cover her neck and leg, just the one leg and not any of the others. You feel like you’re intruding on something private because you are but Zecora never complains.

“A chilly morning, but the sun blooms bright, may I make some use of your human might?”

“Sure. I’m happy to give you a hand.”

“Scour the forest and search for a seed, your severed limb I do not need.”

“It’s a figure of speech Zecora, I say it all the time. What kind of seed are you looking for?”

“A yellow seed that seldom lingers, a grain small enough to slip between your fingers. A single piece of Yellow Fright, for us to continue our night borne flight.”

So she needs it to put you into a weed coma again? How complicated was this divination of hers. There is no time for questions as she picks up her bag and trots out the front door, you stumble after her and duck under the low ceiling. She was right, it’s much colder this morning. You shiver slightly as the cold air nips at your skin.

“I wish I had fur sometimes. I’m curious, how does this reading work? Since I’m the one in the dream – what do you see?”

“The stars are a canvas and your mind is a brush, they contact each other and come aflush. For a talented eye can see arisen, that which in a dream is usually hidden.”

“So, just from what I described to you, you can look up and predict the future or something?”

“A simple explanation will do for now, a tale for later is the matter of how. I do not wish to be aloof but let us focus on the task at hoof.”

“Fine. Is this the spot?”

Zecora has brought you out into a clearing. A gentle stream of clear water runs nearby. If it weren’t for the twisted trees it’d almost be a nice spot to get away from everything for a while. “Yellow Fright is an allusive foe, but where it grows is what I know.” Zecora, struggling to come up with a rhyme to properly explain, bends down and begins to rifle through the undergrowth. Rocks, leaves, branches, they’re all overturned and discarded into a nearby pile.

That’s your cue to join in. For almost an hour you get down on your hands and knees and squint at the ground. Zecora was not joking when she described this stuff as elusive. Even worse was the idea that it could easily be blown away if you moved to hastily.

“Why are we searching in this spot specifically? There aren’t any flowers here.”

“A shifting tide that cycles anew, from what wind did the seed blew? There is nothing here now, but soon there will be, a field of flowers like a yellow sea.”

“Wait, I found some!”

Zecora trots over as you carefully and painstakingly turn over a small wooden log, revealing a small ditch filled with small seeds that have been blown through. Zecora wastes little time in gathering them. Your dexterous digits make the job much easier.

“Alright, how many do we need?”

“The find you present is no bluff, this amount is more than enough.”

With a full load you both travel back to the hut. “I have some other things to do today, so I’m going to need to head out soon. Do you want me to come back here again tonight?” Zecora nods. “Alright, same time. I’ll see you then.” You shake your head as you walk down the well-trodden path back to town. Zecora’s assistance sure does take a long time…

You need to complete some of your chores for the day. Food, cleaning the house, etc. Unfortunately the only good place in town to get bread is sugarcube corner. You resign yourself to your fate and walk through the front door. Pinkie waves from behind the counter. At least she didn’t pounce on you this time.

“Morning Pinkie. Is it still morning? I lost track of time.”

“My Pinkie clock says that it’s only ten! You’re fine! You look a bit messy, have you been on an adventure?”

“You could call it that, Zecora wanted my help with something.”

“You should have invited me! I love adventures.” Pinkie already knows what you want, she bags up a pair of loaves and hands them to you. She squints at you, “Did you do something with your hair? It’s all woah! Instead of being flat like plplplp.” Pinkie mimics the sound of a deflating balloon. “And that white stripe is pretty daring too! Do you think I could pull that off?”

It’s just Pinkie being weird again. “No, I haven’t had a haircut in a while.”

“Hm, if you say so!”

You thank Pinkie again and allow the pony behind you to place their own order. What a weird girl. The rest of the day is similar though, with several acquaintances questioning why you have a new hairdo. You have no idea what they’re talking about. But it persists, there isn’t a single pony who doesn’t comment on it. You feel like you’re being targeted with some kind of weird rumour or prank.

By the time you get home you’ve definitely gotten tired of hearing it. You sigh, put away your purchases and rush into the bathroom. You didn’t realize how dirty you were from all that effort. You bathe yourself and put on a fresh set of clothes. Finally you walk over to the mirror and look at yourself.

Normal face, normal body, stripy hair… Now that you mention it, something does feel strange. But you still can’t place what it is. It’s really frustrating, you should know this. It’s on the tip of your tongue.

No it’s not. It’s gone. Slipped away from you. Whatever, you’re getting worked up over nothing. You’re going to Zecora’s again later. It’s time to clean up the place. And maybe take a jacket if it’s going to be cold again. You idly wonder how many times you’ll need to undergo her “treatment” until she reaches a conclusion.