Starring Stripes - 2

The Everfree forest is an intimidating place. The kind of intimidating that would scare young children. Curling branches and wildflowers, trees with faced contorted into agony. But for you this is nothing special. You elected to depart early, so as to avoid navigating the place at night. The path to Zecora’s hut was becoming well worn, regular visitors from the town would go to her for advice and to purchase her work but only if they felt brave enough.

The tangled undergrowth poses no challenge for your lanky stature. The trees that would tower over a normal pony are half as intimidating as they should be. And the animals in the area rarely venture this far. That being said, it’s still much more dangerous than your average forest – and it makes sense to stay away from it in the dead of night.

But this time, that’s why you’re here.

You didn’t know that Zecora had an interest in Astrology, or whatever name she gave it, the principle is the same. In your old world you’d have scoffed at the idea and written it off – but this is a world of magic and spirits, so maybe her words have more truth to them than you realize. That curiosity is why you agreed to visit.

Through the fading light of the evening you finally spot it, the soft glow of a yellow light breaking through the trees. You hop over one last log and enter a clearing, in the trunk of a great tree is a home made for one. With windows and a door, and open flames that might pose something of a problem inside a building made entirely of wood.

But the inhabitant is not inside of the tree house, she is out front, whittling away the time by whittling a piece of wood into the form of a pony or zebra. You remain silent as you watch her chip away at the wood with a chisel, not wanting to break her concentration. Even so she speaks to you, “A visit from a friend in the dying light, I hope you don’t mind spending the night.”

“If you’ve got a bed for me, I’d be happy to.”

You take a seat on the ground next to her and look up to the sky. There are no electric lights out here, which means that there’s no light pollution. On a clear evening there’s a rich tapestry of stars painted across the night sky. It’s beautiful and awe inspiring, and it’s attributed to one Princess Luna. The extent of her influence on the night is in constant flux depending on who you ask. She can gaze into dreams and tear the power of fusion from the heart of a star, or she’s a rambling mad mare who is being played up by people who don’t know what she can really do.

“So how does this work exactly?”

“Inhale the smoke of a plant most bright, open your mind to an incredible sight.” She wants you to get absolutely rammed. A suspicious number of her remedies end with you inhaling something. “A single leaf of Dark’s Abarr will make you twist and bend the stars. A word from your mouth, an observation of fact, I will fill in for the knowledge you lack.”

You might be a little bit too blazed to tell her what you’re seeing – but maybe there is a reason to the madness. You shoot the shit with your favourite Zebra for a while longer until the stars come out. She looks up, and nods. She leads you into the hut and pulls out a single purple leaf. Dark’s Abarr is one of the reagents you can only collect in the forest, named for the unfortunate fellow who consumed one of them and fell down a cliff.

She lights a flame using a piece of dry kindling and a candle, holding the leaf over it until it catches alight. It lets out a plume of dark smoke. “Lean to me and inhale this deep, to grant the mind a restful sleep.”

You hesitate as the acidic smell of the flower tickles your nose. But you trust Zecora to know more about this than you do. You dip inwards and allow it to fill your senses. It doesn’t have any immediate effect beyond smelling pretty bad. But when you pull away you feel a bit lightheaded. Zecora says nothing, extinguishing the flame and the leaf. She leads you outside where a cloth has been laid on the ground.

You get down into a crawl and roll onto it. The night’s sky is in full bloom now. Zecora’s muzzle hovers at the edge of your vision. “Speak to me friend and do not delay, tell me what you see upon the milky way.”

You remain tight lipped. You simply admire the twinkling stars above you. A cool breeze rolls through the clearing. You feel yourself slipping into a trance. The stars blur into white lines. You feel you grip on your surroundings falling away. Slipping… Slipping… A warm gust rolls over your body.

“I’m alone.”

A blazing field of orange grass. The shimmer of low-lying water. An oasis in the middle of a savannah.

“That is not a strange thing to be, tell me now, what else do you see?

You sit up and realize just how powerful this illusion is. It’s almost like you’re really here. You can feel the heat of the noon sun, and the way that the grass pokes and prods at your exposed skin. In the distance, a trail of smoke. Life.

“There’s a fire.”

On unsteady feet you walk, worried that at any moment you’ll fall over an unseen root or smack into a tree. The freedom of movement is beyond rationalisation. You walk for nearly five minutes until your target finally crests the horizon. A small hut made from mud and straw. A chimney pokes through it’s rustic façade.

“And a home. I’m in some kind of savannah.” The words feel like cotton in your mouth.

“The savannah is great and not for the meek, perhaps it is a zebra of courage you seek?”

A zebra. Zebras have been on your mind recently. Haven’t they? You wonder if this place, a mockery of the savannahs of Africa conjured from childhood viewings of the Lion King, bore any resemblance to Zecora’s own homeland.

“The only Zebra I know is you, Zecora.”

She says nothing. You approach the entrance to the hut and pull away the beads that cover the door. Your anticipation is left wanting, as there is no one inside. The interior is similar to Zecora’s home, covered with various mementos designed to ward away spirits. You peruse the items, picking up a colourful totem in the visage of a rainbow striped Zebra. “A zebra with rainbow stripes huh?”

“An odd colouration, but in life it would attract admiration. A blessing from the spirits – a prophet of beginnings, stay your hand and discard your winnings.”

Translation: put it down and get on with it. You place the statue back into it’s rightful place and leave the way you came. But unlike the bright savannah that you started in; you instead cross the threshold into a bustling festival. It was so sudden that you almost missed it. You look back and see that the hut is gone, and there was no door to come through in the first place. Normally noticing something like that would wake you up. But the leaf you inhaled is known to calm the nerves, sometimes to dangerous effect.

The festival is taking place in a village made of dozens of similar buildings. They are decorated with tapestries of complicated patterns. Zebras of all shapes and sizes dance and sing. Again – you aren’t sure whether there’s any truth to this. This is just the bias of a human’s brain. You’re not so presumptuous to think that Zebras are an analogue for people who lived in Africa.

“There’s a village, and they’re having a party.”

“A festival to celebrate a turning wheel, focus and regale, how do you feel?”

As you watch them go about their business, you can’t help but feel a little jealous. You haven’t had the chance to celebrate with friends like this. Your entire social circle, and all of your family connections were wiped away. You had nobody.

“I… I wish I could join in.”

“Your admittance is a promising start, the greatest ill is a lonely heart. Yet still we venture on, there is much to see before the night is gone.”

You nearly jump out of your skin as you feel a hoof touch your arm. You look down to meet the azure gaze of a zebra mare, she smiles, not displaying any fear to your alien appearance. Her mane is decorated and tied with golden bands. She speaks no words but pushes you deeper into the gathering until you’re brought to one of the fires. Several zebras busy their mouths and hooves decorating and trimming the others.

She pats the dusty ground as if to motion you to sit with her. “A mare is offering me a place.” You sit down in front of her and bend your head so she can reach. She runs her hoof through your hair and begins speaking in a language you don’t understand. A muddled mess composed of terms you’ve heard from Zecora over the months but have yet to comprehend. “She’s doing something with my hair.”

“To the vain a meaningless task, to the weary a bond that will last. To a place or a name we do not belong, through our similarities only do we grow strong.”

You sit and bask in the heat of the fire. The mare seems to struggle to style your hair in the same way that the other Zebras do, it’s just too short to do much with. Having dreadlocks or a mohawk never appealed to you. She slicks back your fringe with some kind of gel and trims the sides, leaving it slightly shorter than when she started. A single white strange dangles in your periphery.

White? Did the gel dye it too? You aren’t too concerned, none of this is real after all. But it’s a curious point. You’re almost certain that Zecora’s two tone mane is natural. A mirror is held up, and you admire the new style. It makes your forehead look way too big… and it has a bunch of white stripes in it.

“An… interesting look.”

“A question that I hope does not earn ire, is it the appearance of your heart’s desire?”

“I never really thought about it.”

“Not everything you see will be profound, do not fear taking new ground. The stars align for your sake alone, seek the ill for which you must atone.” Unless you find a vision of yourself in a hospital bed, it seems unlikely.

“Didn’t you say that these visions were the future?”

“A dash of truth in times of need, the eyes of another will plant the seed. A cryptic sight of a land unfound, open your ears and eyes to the sound.”

So they’re a metaphor. Would it have killed her to put it bluntly for once? “I don’t see why hanging out at a Zebra party would reveal my future.” Zecora keeps any further explanation to herself. Leaving you to wander between the narrow pathways that are bustling with waist high zebras. There’s a band playing music in the middle of the village, and several partners dance and shuffle in a big circle around the central bonfire.

“I’m getting flashbacks to my first party,” stood around on your own like an awkward moron.

“These zebras have given you a chance, could you not join in and dance?”

You run a hand through your hair, what a silly question! You’re way too tall for them! How could a biped dance with a quadruped anyway? You’d have to hold them up by their front legs and swing them around. You turn around and are suddenly face to face with the mare who styled your hair just a few moments ago. Her blue eyes light up with excitement. She says something and tugs on your arm, something doesn’t feel right.

You follow her into the circle, noticing the appraising eyes of the other couples. They laugh and joke, and yell at her. She blushes bright red.

“Speak with me now and do not sleep, there is a danger with falling too deep.”

“A mare is trying to dance with me, she has a crush on me which is weird. Because I’m just a monkey man…” What in hell are you talking about? Zecora must be laughing her flank of out there. “…Do you think I’m attractive?”

“A matter of anxiety, separated from society. For as broad as the ocean and deep as the sea, the judgement of others will cause them to flee. For a world apart conformity is the price, to see the faces of others and nice.”

Not grammatically accurate, but you’ll give her one freebie. “Sometimes I feel like I want to ‘conform,’ but there’s not much I can do about it. The body isn’t as malleable as the mind. The best I can do is to put on a brave face and make my own friends.”

The fires blur into lines. You stare into the eyes of your dancing partner. You move uncertainly, trying not to step on any of them. Not that it matters anymore – they’re the same height as you after all. Round and round. Round and round.

You blink.

The night sky greets you.

“Zecora?” The mare hovers on the edge of your vision, “That felt real.” You’re back in the world of the living. “I’ve never felt anything like that. Not in my life.” She holds a hoof on your chest as you try to get up, shaking her head.

“The leaf’s sight is still in effect, it’s hold on your senses you must respect.”

You don’t really know what just happened. Did Zecora see you running and dancing in your sleep like a dog? Did you get magically transported to an insensitive pastiche of African clichés that your stupid brain stuck together? And how on earth is this related to Zecora worrying about your health? You have more questions than answers. Zecora doesn’t seem too forthcoming about answering them right now.

“I feel fine Zecora. I still don’t get how this is meant to help though.”

She smiles, “Immediate results the dream will not show, what you said was more revealing than you know. An ill of body may not be our quarry, an ill of the mind will be your inflammatory.”

“So it’s a brain problem, because I’m pretty sure I already knew that I had that,” you joke.

“Another sighting there will not be, this coming night visit my tree.”

You groan and sit up, your sense of balance thrown into wack by lying down for too long. How long have you been here? She escorts you inside and allows you to climb onto a makeshift bed she’s constructed. You wish her a good night, but sleep doesn’t come so easily after that experience.

A white strand. There’s a white strand there. What is that doing there? The white strand that’s above your head.