Heart of Gold

>You are a fluffy pony.
>You are not a beautiful fluffy pony: your fluff is of a metallic - and not particularly pleasing – shade of blue,
your mane and tail are dullish red and your left ear is nothing more than a mangled stub. But you don’t care.
>You’re strong and tough… As much as a fluffy can be, obviously.
>And, most importantly, you’re a guardian. You’ve sworn to protect the place where you live at the cost of your
life, from whatever invader may come.
>You’ve never lost.
> “Fowwow smawty! Smawty fin’ gud pwace fo’ hewd! Wossa gwassies, no munstas!”.
>From your hiding place behind your favourite bush, you look at the herd trying to invade the sacred field. How foolish!
They will pay soon enough.
>The “smarty friend” leading them is a lilac unicorn stallion. Some toughie friends trot alongside him, looking
around all menacing. One of them is almost as big as you.
>You’re not worried. You’ve fought against bigger herds, after all.
>One of the smaller stallions of the herd – he was probably considered just a colt until a couple of dark times ago
– tries to take a timid nibble from the grass around him, but he’s promptly smacked on the snout and left sobbing on
the ground by one of the toughie friends. “Stupit stawwion!”, the smarty friend sneers at him. “Nu can eat untiw
smawty an’ toughie fwends eat! Den fwuffy mummas can eat, den west of hewd!”.
>“S-sowwy…”, the young stallion whines, sniffling. “Nu wan huwties…”.
>You can see there are a couple of round fluffy mummas, being rolled around by dutiful attendants and babbling about
their soon to be born babies.
>You silently hope you won’t need to hurt them to make the herd go away.
>Some seconds later, the worst possible thing actually happen: the smarty friend notices the patch of sacred flowers.
>“Smeww pwetty nummies!”, he exclaims, eagerly approaching it. “Wan’ eat dose”.
>Oh, no, you won’t.
>No fluffy will eat a single one of the sacred flowers, not until you stand on guard.
>You jump out of your hiding place, putting yourself between the patch and the smarty friend. “Smawty fwend go ‘way
now”, you growl at him while you lower your head, preparing to charge at him in case he doesn’t comply.
>They never do.
>“Stupit fwuffy go ‘way, ow smawty gif big ouchies!”, he says, puffing his cheeks. He’s trying to look
intimidating.
>You’re not impressed.
>A couple of the toughie friends could maybe be a problem, but as you said, you fought worse battles. Your missing left
ear is the proof of your valour in combat.
>“Go ‘way”, you repeat, slowly. “No wan’ gif ouchies, bu’ gif if haf to”.
>The smarty chuckles derisively. “Smawty gif biggest ouchies den”. He then charges at you, along with his toughie
friends. The rest of the herd just stares at you from afar. They look concerned, especially the fluffy mummas.
>You prepare yourself for the upcoming fight. At least the smarty friend isn’t staying behind the front line, this
time. Last one you had to fight tried to use a fluffy mumma as a shield. You gave him biggest ouchies for being such a
spineless coward.
>The first toughie friend tries to bop your nose with one of his front hooves. He’s a earthie, just like you, but not
quite as big. You avoid his attack and manage to buck another one of the toughies – a red and green pointy – right
in the side. You hear a satisfying “Oooof!” coming out of his mouth, and he crumbles on the ground, crying about
“bewwy bad owwies!”.
>One of the other toughie friends seemingly forgets he’s fighting against you and tries to hug his hurt friend. A hoof
to his face takes care of him.
>Now only the smarty and one of the toughies still are in condition to fight. The lilac unicorn starts looking uneasy
and concerned. “S-stop gif huwties to toughie fwends!”, he barks at you. “Fwuffy meanie, fwuffy bad!”.
>The toughie, meanwhile, tries to sneak around you, probably to held your tail so that the smarty could give you face
ouchies. You immediately notice what he’s trying to do, however. In the past, you’ve lost a ear for getting
distracted while fighting, and that’s a mistake you won’t repeat again.
>So you wait until the henchpony is behind you and then deliver a strong kick to his snout.
>The smarty looks around in panic: his toughies are lying on the ground, mewling pathetically and trying to hug
themselves in a futile attempt to stop the pain. “N-n-nuuuu! Dis hewd pwace now! Why stupit fwuffy huwt toughies?”.
>You look down at the smarty. You’re a good head taller than him, after all. “Smawty take hewd an’ go ‘way NOW.
No wan’ gif huwties to mummas, but gif if haf to”.
>The unicorn starts trembling and mumbling something, then he suddenly turns about, running towards his herd and crying.
“Nuu-huu-huu! Dis bad pwace! No wan’ stay hewe, hewd come wiff smawty!”.
>Less the five minutes later the twenty or so fluffies have left the place, even the toughies you gave ouchies to. You
look at the patch of sacred flowers with a prideful expression on your muzzle: you performed your duties as a guardian
as perfectly as always.
>The door behind you opens. “Lancelot, have you done playing? Dinner’s almost ready!”.
>Your eyes sparkle. “Yay! Nummies!”. You dart inside the house, and – albeit unconsciously – a subtle yet
radical transformation occurs: you’re not the strong, mean guardian, terror of the feral herds anymore; now you’re
just a big, scruffy, goofy house fluffy.
>Your mommy looks down at you, smiling. “You must be really hungry for playing all day, dearie… That’s why I made
you spaghetti!”.
>You start wagging your tail. “Sketties! Wanswot wuv mumma!”. You hug her shin, being as careful as a fluffy pony
can be. She has white fluff on her head, so you know she’s old. That’s why you protect the sacred flowers for her.
“Wanswot pwotec’ fwowers today! Meanie fwuffy hewd wan’ eat, bu’ Wanswot gif them sowwy ouchies!”.
>Your mommy pets your head fluff, gently. “Thank you, Lancelot, you’re my knight in shining armor”. You aren’t
sure of the exact meaning of those words, but you guess they’re a human way to say that you’re a strong and brave
fluffy.
>You eat your foodies in front of the TV. You mommy has a plastic table, and you have your bowl on the ground; when
you’ve finished your spaghetti you climb on the sofa and nestle alongside mommy. She always gives you some yummy
treats and scratches you behind your ears when you do that.
>You still remember the moment when mommy adopted you: you were a lone stray, and you were so hungry, and the flowers in
that backyard smelled so pretty and seemed SO yummy…
>But then you mommy – even if, well, she wasn’t your mommy at the time yet – came out the back door, and saw you
eating the flowers. She didn’t get angry at you, she didn’t make loud noises or tried to make you sleep forever; she
just stared at you, and she seemed so sad… And that broke your little heart.
>And you know what? The flowers weren’t even good. They smelled pretty, but tasted yucky.
>But after you told her you were sorry many and many times, your mommy smiled at you. She scratched behind your ears,
she gave you a bath, a name, nummies and lots of huggies.
>And so your promised yourself something: that you would have never, ever let some other fluffy eat the flowers. Because
mommy loves them, and you love your mommy.
>Your mommy is the best mommy ever. And sometimes, she does something that makes you hug her with all your might,
something that makes you feel happy and bubbly inside.
>She calls you “beautiful”.
>But that’s not something the other fluffies have to know, right?