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#Post#: 460--------------------------------------------------
A Stitched Past
By: Patches Date: January 7, 2014, 10:18 am
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I am a blade in the dark. My movements are mere shadows to my
true intentions. I strike without remorse, but mourn my
opponent's memories. I take up my blades to cast down those who
would seed Equestria with evil, and nopony would hear my name or
deeds uttered in even the most remote locations. I am a
Samareai...
I am alone.
----------------------
Forty years earlier...
A long way for a mare to come, but it was nothing to Patches.
The years melted under her as she continued her life in sad
solitude and grief that she had become accustomed to. Her
dramatic life story that plagued her conscious day in and day
out had to begin somewhere, and sometimes, she would relive
certain parts of it, even though when she woke up the memories
would escape her again, leaving her wondering if the visions
were really her memories, or more conjurations of her frail mind
to help fill the void left from her lack of closure.
A very young light grey mare sat on the doctor's table,
patiently waiting with her parents for the doctor to come in and
see them. It was a very barren room, even for a family doctor.
The only interesting thing the now two year old mare could look
at were the colourful and graphic diagrams of various body
systems. They were vibrant, but Patches could barely see them.
The room was lit by very harsh fluorescent lights, and she had
to squint incredibly hard to be able to stand the bright light.
Getting to the clinic was an entirely different story, the young
mare had to balance atop her father's back, covering her eyes
with both legs, whimpering from the shocking pain that her
sensitivity to light caused her. This was the entire reason they
were there, to figure out why the young filly could not go
outside in the sun.
She sat on the thin paper sheet that covered the doctor's table,
looking nervously at her two parents as they sat together on the
couch, smiling reassuringly as they looked back at her. Even in
the dream world, she could not remember her parents' exact
features, and at most, she saw two vaguely pony shaped blobs
with horns jutting from their heads. The three of them looked
toward the door as a knocking was heard and the doctor stepped
in, also very indefinite in his own features. He trotted into
the room cheerily, putting on a smile for the child that sat on
the table. She did not smile but instead, shrank away as far as
she could. This was entirely new to her, and she did not know
how to react. The doctor only continued to beam at her before he
turned to face her parents to talk.
He flipped open a blank page on his clipboard and dipped a quill
in some ink, poising it at the ready as he asked the parents
several questions. To Patches, it sounded as though it were
white noise. She did not pay attention as she continued to try
to make out a poster about the digestive system that hung on the
wall by the door. She could not understand any of it, but it was
more interesting than the talking the grown ponies were doing.
Finally, the doctor stood up and Patches looked at him fearfully
as he approached.
"It's okay Patches, let's see if we can figure out why it is so
hard for you to see." He gave her a reassuring smile as he
dimmed the lights. It was darker, and her eyes opened
comfortably now. She could see as well as anypony in the day
when it was dark like this, and the room was suddenly
interesting again. The doctor noticed this pique in interest as
she became more alert, giving a curious and light, "Hmm..." as
he started with a regular checkup. Ears, mouth, heartbeat,
lungs. He saved the eyes for last, looking into them carefully
before warning, "Alright hon, I want you to be very brave and
try to keep your eyes open as long as you can." She nodded
quietly and the doctor smiled again as he reached over to the
lights and started to slowly brighten them again.
He watched her carefully, noting how little her pupils dilated
as they were exposed to the light. Finally with a pained squeak,
she closed her eyes and started to rub them with her hooves,
trying to get the sharp pain out. The doctor gave a more
serious, "Hmm..." this time as he frowned, doing the experiment
again to make sure he was going to give a proper diagnosis. When
he finished, he turned to the parents again after writing a few
more notes on his clipboard. He looked up to them and said,
"This is indeed very strange. This isn't photophobia like I
originally thought when you described her behaviour to me. She
doesn't avoid the light by choice, but rather because it
physically pains her. As I brightened the lights, her pupils
should have begun to dilate to adjust to the gradual change. Her
pupils did not dilate at all. I must say that while this is
often a sign of more serious ailments, she checks out completely
and is as healthy as a horse. I have honestly never seen this
before. The only thing I could suggest for this is magic eye
surgery, but she is still young, she still has a chance that she
may outgrow it. All I can say is give it time."
She remembered her parents gave her just that.
Four months after the the doctor's visit, Patches sat in her
room in the dark, staring out the window from the shadows. It
was a bright and sunny day, and the window of the shophouse that
her family lived in overlooked the playground. She sat quietly,
sadness and longing in her sensitive emerald eyes as she watched
the other fillies play together, running around and shrieking in
delight as they enjoyed the sun. Not Patches.
She sighed in sorrow as her eyes welled up with tears as they
always did when she realized that she would never be able to
have fun with other ponies like that. She could barely leave the
house without crumpling to her knees in a fit of pain from being
exposed to the light. She could only sit in the dark, only a
single stuffed mare was her friend, and she had seen better
days. As Patches sat in the window, she finished stitching up
the stuffed mare's chest that was ripped open when it caught on
something. Fixing cloth came naturally to her, and it helped to
pass the lonely hours that she had to herself while her parents
worked the shop during the day.
She pulled the final thread through the rip and tied it shut.
Thirty seven stitches. Patches smiled sadly and pitifully as she
hugged the stuffed mare tightly to herself, quietly sharing her
pain and grief with it as the cloth soaked up the tears that she
now quietly cried. She was a prisoner of her own body, not able
to leave the confines of her forced darkness during the day, and
not allowed to go outside during the night. She had no
friends... save for the false one.
She didn't glance up as the door to her room opened. She didn't
feel like showing her face to the world as it was buried in the
shoulder of the stuffed mare that was almost as big as her. She
could hear the hoofsteps of both of her parents walk up to her,
and she could hear her mother give a sad sigh as she saw her
daughter like this. She spoke up softly, "Patches, did you want
to try something for us? We couldn't help but notice how sad you
are up here, so we decided to make something for you that we
hope will help you go outside..." Patches didn't saw anything,
but instead glanced over to what her father was levitating in
front of him.
It was a very shallow cone shaped wicker hat. The wicker was
woven skillfully by her father in a strong and sturdy fashion.
Two lengths of cord ran down from under it, meant to tie under
her chin to secure it to her so she wouldn't have to worry about
balancing it. It had a very wide brim, almost as wide as she was
long, but her father had made it big enough for her to grow
into. He held it towards her and her mother motioned with her
hoof to her daughter to come and try it on.
Patches set the stuffed mare down and walked towards them. Her
father set the hat atop her head and carefully, but firmly tied
the hat to her head. She tried to look up at them, but as soon
as she lifted her head, the hat slid off of her head and rested
comfortably on her back, held onto her by the cords. Patches
carefully replaced the hat and followed her parents out of her
dark room into the dimly lit hallway, to the brightly light shop
house that was closed for lunch. Normally she would have to
squint to see here, and she almost did out of habit, but she
slowly opened her eyes, able to see clearly as the shadows cast
by the hat shielded her eyes from the harsh lights. She gasped
in surprise and her parents smiled heavily as she slowly made
her way to the front door.
She pushed her way out of it and stepped outside, looking around
with wide eyes. She had never seen the world from this
perspective before, and it was a whole new world of wonder to
her as she wandered about in a shocked stupor, admiring the
colours from the shadows that her shader cast on her face. She
turned around and looked back to her parents with wide, gleaming
eyes, no longer red with tears but glimmering with joy as she
ran up to them and hugged them tightly. They laughed lightly to
each other and her father turned to her mother and said, "See, I
told you she'd like it. Now she can actually enjoy the world
like the rest of us. Say, why don't we celebrate by going
camping for the weekend? I hear the Everfree Forest is very nice
this time of year." Her mother nodded in agreement and smiled
lovingly as her child embraced her, happy that she had cured
Patches of her tears. Patches soon ran off to play with the
other children, joining in immediately as she ran around, happy
as could be.
#Post#: 491--------------------------------------------------
Re: A Stitched Past
By: Patches Date: January 8, 2014, 2:46 pm
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They were gone.
In nothing but a few seconds, they were gone from her life. By
some wicked twist of circumstance or stroke of luck, whichever
one seemed to favour the mortified filly, she was caught up in a
tree instead of on the ground. Whether more mercy was offered to
the young filly, whose young and sensitive eyes now stared
widely at the grisly site of her parents getting ripped limb
from limb, was debatable. With the screams of her beloved mother
and father, and the hungry barks and howls of the timberwolves,
her life had changed.
Patches stayed up in that tree for several hours until the
timberwolves left, dragging what little was left of her parents'
bloody and broken bodies with them. After that, her mind that
still refused to believe that this was happening, finally
cracked. The filly buried her face in her legs and cried, her
soft cries and sobs punctuated with vain calls for her mom or
dad, in some small hope that they would come back and console
her with a warm hug and tell her it wasn't real. No such comfort
came.
Eyes still bleary with tears, she climbed down the tree and
looked around the camp, hunger forcing her to search for
something. The cooler that was already broken open was mostly
empty, but she did find a sandwich. As she ate it between her
choked sobs, she was constantly reminded of her parents and how
they were no longer there. She didn't stay at the camp, she was
too terrified of the monsters returning, so she ventured out
into the forest, wandering aimlessly. She did not know the way
to civilization, and it hadn't yet dawned on her that she was
doomed to fall to either hunger, thirst, or injury.
The filly wandered for several days, hunger, thirst,
sleeplessness, exhaustion, and sorrow being the dominating
factors of her journey. She was without hope, and every so often
she would choke out a quiet, teary cry for her mommy or her
daddy. When the pangs in her stomach became unbearable, and she
cried dry tears, she curled up at the base of a tree, nuzzling
up next to it as she used her hat as some sort of blanket,
trying to imagine her parents embracing her and tucking her in
for bed.
They weren't coming back. Patches was to die there. That
realization only gave her a sad hope, at least she would see her
mommy and daddy again. With a sniff and a final session of
strained tears, she rolled onto her side and closed her
sensitive eyes for what she thought was the final time. She did
not hear the pony that approached her, slowly so as not to
startle the little filly, and her head lifted in surprise to see
the one she would soon call teacher.
"Now, now child, it's alright... What is your name? Why are you
so far away from home? Where are your parents?"
#Post#: 514--------------------------------------------------
Re: A Stitched Past
By: Patches Date: January 9, 2014, 7:39 pm
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"Now, now child, it's alright... What is your name? Why are you
so far away from home? Where are your parents?"
Patches looked up at the strange brown stallion, too weak to
cry, only whimpering lightly from the pain in her empty stomach.
She was terrified again, she was lost, and her parents were
still gone. She wanted to start crying all over again, to
embrace this stranger's leg and just cry away her pain, hoping
for something better than what had already become of herself.
She could not move though, her legs were too weak to even stand
on their own now.
So she answered him, speaking in a tiny voice that was dry and
hoarse from not having anything to drink in a long time, "P...
Patches..." The stranger gave her a friendly smile once again
and knelt down beside her, looking the emaciated filly over with
concern in his eyes as he continued in his oddly gentle voice,
"Patches? That's a very pretty name. Tell me, young Patches,
where are your parents? Are you lost?"
The light gray unicorn filly opened and closed her mouth to say
something, but as she thought about her parents once more, she
nearly broke down into tears again, and she choked up once more,
only nodding in answer to his question, managing to meekly
whisper, "Mommy and daddy... they're go... g..." Taking another
deep breath, she started sobbing once more and she choked out,
"...gone..."
The stallion looked at the emotional wreck of a child and gave a
sad and sympathetic sigh. He sat there with her for a second,
watching Patches cry before he pulled her close, giving her a
gentle hug and gently shushing her to try to get her to calm
down. The filly only clung to him, as he was the first one to
try to comfort her in the past three days since her parents
died. Her tears soaked into his coat, and after a while, she
could not cry tears anymore, and simply whimpered loudly, until
finally she just trembled against him.
He lightly brushed her head and stood up, picking up the weak
filly with his magic and placing her on his back, giving her a
smile as he said, "Come along then, young Patches, let's get you
something to eat then, and you can tell me what happened. My
name is Edge. You need not fear me, I am your friend, and I am a
Samareai." The filly stirred a bit, ears perking up slightly at
the mention of food, her stomach growling loudly as it demanded
it. Her shaky and weak voice asked the brown unicorn stallion,
"What is a Sama.. Sama... Samamai?"
He let loose a throaty chuckle at her adorable butchering of his
title, explaining back to her, "A Samareai is a defender of the
weak, young one. We are trained from a young age to defend
ourselves so that we may defend those who can't. We are a blade
in the dark. We take up our blades to halt others, and strike
down those that would seed Equestria with evil, and inherit not
a single deed to our names. That is what a Samareai is, and that
is what you are to become... young apprentice."
#Post#: 538--------------------------------------------------
Re: A Stitched Past
By: Patches Date: January 10, 2014, 11:55 pm
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"... and this is where you will be sleeping, Patches."
The young filly looked around the barren room wide-eyed. Where
were the toys? All there was was a bed, a table, and a picture
of some mountains on the wall. It was so much different than the
colourful room she had before, even if it was incredibly dark
all the time, and it almost always had something in it to keep
her occupied. Not this room. There wasn't even a single stuffed
mare that she could call her friend...
"Do you have any questions, young one?"
She looked up at the stallion, and then over to the door that he
did not point out yet, and he followed her gaze to it. His
friendly voice took a unexpectedly cold turn and he looked at it
for a few seconds before apathetically addressing the young
unicorn.
"That is my study. You must promise me that you will never set
hoof in there without my permission. Ever. Do you understand? If
you disobey this, there will be consequences, child."
The filly backed up slightly, whimpering a little bit from the
sudden change of his tone, managing to stammer out, "I-I
promise, M-master." He stared her down for a good ten seconds
and she waited, terrified of what he would do, until his face
finally softened once more and he gestured to her room.
"Good. Now get some sleep, student. Tomorrow, we will begin the
first steps of your long journey to becoming a Samareai, a
warrior like myself."
Patches walked into the room obediently and he shut the door
behind her, leaving her standing in the barren and dark room. It
was eerily quiet, and already she was afraid of things in here.
It was too foreign, it was too quiet, it was too dark, it was
too blank, it was not a room fit for a child, it was a room
built for a minimalist, no place for a child.
After a few more seconds of standing there, she sulked over to
her futon, her stomach now full with all the rice she ravenously
ate to satisfy her three days worth of hunger. She wriggled
under the covers and rest her head on the pillow, looking up at
the ceiling and around the room before she rolled onto her side
and closed her eyes. Almost immediately, she could see her
parents being gruesomely ripped apart, and tears started to form
in her eyes once more. She couldn't sleep. Not after witnessing
that horrible event. She just wanted her mommy and daddy back so
they could all go home together. She didn't want to be a
Samareai. She didn't want to be a warrior. She just wanted to be
Patches.
Tossing and turning a little bit more, wishing that she had her
stuffed mare with her to hold onto, she finally resorted to
bunching up her sheets in her legs and holding onto those. She
closed her eyes and hugged them tightly, wishing that she had
some sort of friend that she could talk to, some sort of friend
that could protect her, a friend that would listen to her
troubles and always tell her that everything would be alright.
Patches hugged the blanket tighter the more she thought of this
friend, what they would be like, and what they would look like,
what they would sound like, becoming lost in the
absent-mindedness of a child's imagination until sleep finally
took her. The last thing she thought of was what this imaginary
friend's name would be. She couldn't figure out a proper name
before she was finally unconscious.
#Post#: 550--------------------------------------------------
Re: A Stitched Past
By: Patches Date: January 11, 2014, 9:07 pm
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Patches woke up at the crack of dawn, a time beaten into her to
wake up at. Almost without hesitation, she sat herself up and
shook her head lightly to wake up. She had to wake up quickly,
otherwise she would miss her breakfast completely and she would
go hungry until lunch. Her master wasn't so lenient with some
late risings, and she had to adapt her internal clock quickly to
wake up on time.
Quickly, she grabbed her shader and pushed onto her head before
walking over to the wall where her new training katana was. She
struggled to wrestle the belt around her waist, finally getting
it on after a few sighs. The slightly dulled sword was still a
little big for her four-year old body, but she was growing
quickly in both stature and strength, thanks to her master's
training.
Ever since her episodes of magic impulses were over, and she had
established control over her own unicorn powers, her master had
given her this dull katana that was meant for her training. She
was a little hesitant about getting such a weapon, and it kind
of scared her, but her friend calmed her down and told her that
if her master thought that she was ready, then she was ready.
Since her first night in her master's care, when she was sent
off to bed, sore from the day's exercises, she would climb onto
her bed and go back to imagining about her friend that would
tell her that everything would be alright. Just imagining a
conversation between the two of them with Patches either crying,
venting her frustrations, or pondering her confusions seemed to
make anything better, almost as though she was talking to a real
friend, especially when she was scared about her sudden surges
of magical energy and she could not control what she did, she
would just focus on her friend, and what a hug felt like when
she last felt it.
Walking quickly out of her room with her katana dragging behind
her comically, she walked into the kitchen just in time to see
her master sit down at his end of the table, just starting his
bowl of rice. "Good morning, Patches," he said flatly between
bites of rice, to which she responded just so, "Good morning,
Master." He then gestured to the seat across the table where
another bowl of rice was set, and she eagerly crawled onto it,
eating the rice quickly so that her master wouldn't be upset
with her for dawdling.
When they both finished, she washed the dishes as she always
did, as she was still too young to cook yet, and she followed
her master quickly and quietly out the front door to the small
field outside the shack. He turned to look at her, and she
stared straight ahead, standing up straight and respectfully,
just like he shown her. It was at this time that she would learn
her lessons, and knowledge would pass down to her from
generations before.
"Alright student, show me what you have learned yesterday."
All hint of softness and gentleness left his face as he said
that, and he took on the stern look of a teacher. Patches bowed
and drew her practice katana, and went through bit of the form
that she was taught yesterday, the katana wobbling in her weak
magical grasp as her steps struggled to go where they were
supposed to go. When she finally finished, she looked at her
master, waiting for orders on what to do next.
"Sloppy. Try it again, one stance at a time. You will get this
right before I let you go for lunch."
And so she dutifully resumed her training with more focus,
trying her best to get it to her master's standards. She wasn't
going to miss another meal, that she was sure of. She was still
young, and as a result, her training had yet to become
intensive.
#Post#: 597--------------------------------------------------
Re: A Stitched Past
By: Patches Date: January 15, 2014, 1:17 am
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Patches stumbled into her room, broken in both body and spirit.
She was fifteen now, and training had started to hit its peak in
difficulty. Most of her day was spent practicing her forms and
running the exercises that her master would plan out for her,
seemingly without end. These exercises left her sore, and
sometimes with broken limbs if she wasn't careful. They were
demanding, challenging her strength, dexterity, and endurance
every day in some new way and she always ended the day tired,
collapsing in bed and falling asleep immediately.
The mare could put up with challenge, she had been training for
thirteen years of her life now and she expected some sort of
twist to her exercises, they left her body broken. What broke
her spirit however, was her master. He did not tolerate failure
well. With every time that she failed one of his tests, he would
hit her and tell her to do it again, and again, and again until
she got it right. For the first few days he started acting like
this, it took her completely by surprise, and she wasn't sure
how to react. That night, she spent in her futon, silent tears
streaking from her young face as she tenderly poked at the
bruise, asking her imaginary friend why this was happening.
Her friend would say nothing as she sat beside her on that
futon, the gray mare seeming to be off in her own world reading
a book with an oddly familiar title as Patches silently cried,
clutching at what little warmth she could find as the pain
caused by her mentor made her remember just how alone she was.
It was harsh, and the pain stabbed through her soul like an
icicle made of razors, slowly burning its cold way through her
insides, shredding her to pieces almost gently. The more this
happened, the more she relied on her friend to fill in the gap,
talking to her more and more to try to give herself some form of
comfort. She would listen, offering her a smile every so often,
but she just seemed so distant all the time as though she wasn't
listening even though Patches knew she was, she was her friend
right?
Tonight was no different. She simply collapsed on the bed, her
head hitting the pillow, wincing as her aching side throbbed
once more in dull pain.
"Another rough day Patches?"
Patches simply nodded, not turning over to look at her friend.
She was probably just reading another book, maybe "Lost Hearts
in the Everfree" or something along those lines. She could tell
just by the passive tone in her voice. Patches knew her friend
inside out, it wasn't that hard to imagine what she was doing.
Perhaps not. She felt an unexpected pressure on the other side
of the futon and a hoof graze over her side in a comforting
manner.
"How long has this been going on for now?"
Patches opened her eyes, rolling her head over to look into the
apathetic face of her only friend. What kind of question was
that? She had been with her this entire time, she must have
known how long. Patches sniffed and said in a weak and tired
voice that was hoarse from crying, "I don't... know..."
Her friend simply arched her eyebrows, giving her apathetic face
a somewhat sarcastically amused look.
"You don't know? Alright then how about this then, you spent all
of this time here, thirteen years by my count... and what do you
have to show for it?"
Patches paused for a second in thought. Her friend seemed to be
acting incredibly strange with this sudden interest in what she
was doing. Patches opened and closed her mouth a few times
before laying her head back on her pillow in defeat, not saying
a word. She knew she had nothing but bottled up pain and misery
to show for it, and that was just as good as nothing at all.
There was silence for a long time, until Patches opened her eyes
and saw her friend in front of her, holding a particular book in
her magical grasp, ghostly white just like her own, and set it
down in front of her, flipping the pages open to a certain page.
Patches opened her emerald eyes and sat up, looking over the
book. She recognized it as one of her master's spell tomes,
taking a quick peek at the cover to find out that it was
"Advanced Blood Magic and Practical Applications". Patches
frowned and looked up at the blank and apathetic face of her
friend who was now seated beside the futon and asked, "What is
this for?"
The mare stared at her unblinking and said flatly, "Patches, I
have known you since you were two years of age. I have seen you
sad, I have seen you angry, and I have seen you happy. The later
however, seems to be happening less and less often now." The
mare tapped a hoof on the page she left it open on and added,
"Read."
So the unicorn took the book and started reading, muttering
along under her breath, "'Come to Life' and it's uses in
smithing..." After a few minutes of reading, she looked up in
shock, realizing what her friend wanted her to do as she met her
gaze, only this time, she was smiling a mischievous half smile.
Patches looked at her, unsure and somewhat shocked at the
thoughts running through her head, "You... you aren't suggesting
that I... MAKE this!?"
Her friend nodded and said once more smoothly, "Yes, Patches. I
know you are perfectly capable. You have so much raw emotions
flowing through you, I would know. You can put those to good use
by making yourself a weapon that reflects your anger, your rage,
your grief, your sorrows, and when the time come for your final
test, you will use it against your master. Beat him with the
cruel irony and the suffering that he inflicted upon you. Show
him that you are more than what he thinks of you."
Patches looked from her to the book again. It sounded too
simple, but she knew it wasn't. The reagents for this weapon
would be painful and draining on her very soul to acquire, and
enchanting something with 'Come to Life' can have dire
consequences if it isn't done right. What she had in mind
required her to cast it so many times she would lose count. She
was so unsure of herself that she started trembling lightly at
the very thought of creating something like this and the
hardship and pain she would have to go through.
She felt that comforting hoof on her shoulder again, and she
knew her friend was behind her once more, hugging her tightly
like she always did whenever Patches came to the bed in tears or
frightened, as it had been since she was young. She could hear
her friends smooth voice whisper softly into her ear, "Trust me
Patches, I have been your friend for so long now, don't think
that I don't know you are capable of this. You must try, these
emotions are killing you, they have to be vented somehow. Think
about it, but for now, you must sleep."
Patches let out a sigh and rested her head back on the pillow,
accepting her friend's warm and comforting embrace as sleep
seemed to almost force its way into her mind, taking her away
from her pain for the night.
#Post#: 900--------------------------------------------------
Re: A Stitched Past
By: Patches Date: January 29, 2014, 2:20 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Patches stared out one of the lone windows by the kitchen table,
listening to the dead silence as she sat there, bored out of her
mind. One of her hind legs was in a splint after she broke it
during one of her master's excercises, and now she was stuck
until it healed. She could not continue her training until it
healed, and she couldn't even keep herself occupied with chores
around the house. She had nothing to do, and she had already
read all of the books that her master kept in the shack.
So she sat there, just waiting for her leg to heal. She had been
like this for about a week now, and her master said it should
take about two or three months to heal on its own, and then it
would take a few more weeks to get used to it again. It was its
own kind of torture, to be confined not by a room but by your
body's physical limitations; and it was something that she knew
all too well.
It was just about time that her master would finish working in
the forge, and she could hear him starting to tidy it up.
Rubbing a hoof across her face, she looked at the door just as
her master walked in. She looked at him with a apathetic yet
somewhat downcast look on her face as she said in as even a tone
she could muster, trying to hide her boredom, "Hello Master."
He looked at her and cocked his head curiously. There wasn't
much that she could ever hide from him, he just seemed to know
what she was thinking most of the time, so she could never
really surprise him. After a few seconds of looking at his
crippled and bored student, he sighed and a more concerned look
crossed his face as he asked, "My student, how are you faring?
Be honest with me."
She looked at him again and took a deep breath. She always tried
to hide her discomfort from him as complaining was a sign of
weakness and disrespect, but he was asking what was bothering
her, so she figured it was okay to answer, "Master, my
apologies, but since I broke my leg, I have been confined to
either this chair or my bed. You have forbid me from doing any
training or doing any of the chores around the house so that my
leg can heal properly, but I feel helpless. Is there nothing I
can do while I wait for my body to heal?"
Her master hummed in thought as he stroked his chin, looking
from the floor to the ceiling in thought before finally looking
at her and narrowed his eyes, as though deliberating whether
what he was thinking was good enough. Finally he spoke up again
and said, "I will be back, my student."
She watched as he disappeared into his study, the one that was
forbidden to her for a few minutes. Her eyes were glued on the
wood of the door as she strained to listen to what he was doing
in there, but she couldn't hear his silent hoofsteps. When he
finally stepped back out from it, he was holding something that
she had never seen before, and she looked at it curiously as he
walked over to the table, setting it down on it for her.
Patches looked from the object to her master and asked, "What is
this, Master?" He smiled and answered in kind, "It is a violin,
Patches, an instrument that is used to create music. I'm sure
you have noticed how quiet it gets in here, so why don't you
take this time to learn how to play it?" He must have noticed
how unsure she looked, because he stood up and levitated it
towards her chin and said, "I will show you how to use it. Hold
it here like this..."
He then showed her the basics of playing the violin, showing her
a few simple notes and how to glide the bow across the string
properly before he left her alone with it, going back outside to
finish cleaning up the forge. For the following weeks, Patches
strung together and experimented with all of the notes on her
free time, creating a few songs that gave the silence of the
shack something pleasant to listen to in its stead.
When the three months were up, and her leg was fully healed and
out of the splint, she sadly went and fetched her violin,
offering it back to her master since she no longer needed it.
When she did this, he laughed and said with humour in his voice,
"Patches, you can keep it! I have not the time to play the
instrument, let alone as well as you. You have shown me that you
have the dedication and patience to learn it, and I do not wish
to take the ability to take something so beautiful as music away
from you." His smile widened as he watched the smile on his
student's face grow wider. He patted her on the shoulder and
said, "Now go put that in a safe place and come along outside,
we must see if your leg still remember your forms after all its
time spent healing."
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