Continued from The Fluffy Colony Next Door (Ambitiousleather8309)
“Woo it! Woo mu mu!” Brightball mumbled around the stick in his mouth, eager to show his mummah, Plum, how big and strong he was. The bright red colt almost stumbled, which made his mummah give him a stern look. Brightball had already been warned that it wasnt safe to talk while carrying sticks. Smarty Butter had given the little fluffy family very clear instructions on how to forage safely.
Behind the dull purple pegasus, a pale pink filly struggled carrying a single twig on weak little legs. Sweetie marched carefully with their burden held tightly between their pony teeth. Smarty Butter said that everyone helps, even little fillies, and Sweetie could help by learning and watching.
Plum herself was still adjusting to life in the fluffy colony on the hill, and had much to learn herself. these fluffy ponies had never known humans, living a hundred generations or more on this land, with the blueberry patch on the sunny south face and the mysterious “old friend” living on the north side of the rocks.
The fluffies of the hill were often the subject of raids, lesser bands of more warlike ponies attempting to take the rich territory for themselves. but the old friend would drive them away. the shadowy monster would always leave one survivor to warn others.
Plum remembered the day vividly. A lone toughie stumbled back into the nests, recounted the tale of the shadowy monster that snapped the necks of their leader and all the toughies like they were nothing. While the other mares wept their doom, Plum was quietly rejoicing. Plum was no longer the enfie mare for a belligerent red smarty, she was free. the babies growing in her belly would have a chance to survive.
Plum walked for days, her pregnancy slowing her down, before she was found by a scouting party led by Smarty Butter himself. She was placed in a warm burrow dug out from the roots of a large tree, and was attended by the mares of the colony like she had always belonged. Not long after her salvation, Plum delivered two healthy foals; Brightball, who was red like his sire, and Sweetie, who was a pale pink like a sweetie nummie flower Plum had seen in a tree once.
Once the foals were walking it was time to start contributing. Forage was easy enough a skill, even for a fluffy. small sticks in the small stick pile, big sticks in the big stick pile, leafy nummies, mushy nummies from the piles of rotten leaves, all laid out in piles for Smarty Butter to inspect.
The fluffy ponies used large leaves as improvised sleds for carrying things, as well as bright plastic sippy cups for carrying water, but most of the work was done by one fluffy, carrying one thing at a time. It was high summer, and Smarty Butter was busy arranging just the right sticks to support the largest, cleanest leaves, upon which they lay blueberries to bake dry in the sun. This is how the colony survived the winter, with enormous food stores, per the instructions of the old friend.
Walking back to the clearing with her foals yet again, Plum paused. There he was.
Branch was hauling an enormous uprooted sapling of at least three fluffies in length into the burrow. His dusky sage green fluff shimmered in the bright summer noonday, the thick muscles of his back rippling as he tugged the huge piece of lumber into the den, the tempermental swish of his thick blue tail in concert with the grunts of his effort. The other toughies would help him maneuver the big stick upright to support the sagging roots where the tree had decided to grow lopsided.
It was too close to cold times to be thinking about babies and special friends, but enf it all, Plum had never seen such a beautiful specimen of stallionhood. Watching him lap at a cup of water sent a shockwave from her heart to her special place and back, wondering what it would feel like if Branch licked her ear in an affectionate kiss. In her old herd, she never had a choice about such things. Perhaps a pretty, strong, courageous special friend would be too much to ask, after being so graciously accepted into the fluffy pony utopia. Plum didnt want to seem ungrateful, or push her luck in pursuing anything more than friendship with the dashing Branch.
Little Sweetie grew tired quickly and Plum retired to the burrows with her small, exhausted offspring. Brightball lingered outside a little longer, playing with the colts who were close to his age, playing games like huggie tag and chattering excitedly about who was bestest at what.
Across the clearing two grown stallions who had once played as colts sat in conversation, admiring the days hard work.
Smarty Butter was hauling a decrepit easter basket, (the kind made of the strips of plastic that will never biodegrade) full of berries to be dried in the sun. With no room to further dry the fruits, and how quickly things spoil, Butter decided it were best to eat as much as they could and scout out another place to plant more blueberries. Branch confided in his lifelong friend.
“Yuu Knyo, Butto, so muchies bewwies means fwuffy can mebbe… pwant odda gawdens, mebbe? Hewd has nuff nummies for so many fowebas … maybe ask Ole Fwen bout spwit da hewd, maek new nesties, mebbe make woom for mo babbehs, can has spechu fwens widdle bit into cold times…”
Butter looked over his shoulder at the dull purple newcomer and her two foals, scoffing at Branch and his not so subtle hinting.
"Butto no am dummeh, Bwanch, yu been finkin bout dat mawe since hewd found mawe. Yu wan spechu fwen and cold time babbehs? BWANCH gun tawk to Ole Fwen. " Butter tapped his best toughie in the chest with one leathery hoof. “Butto nu am smawty of Bwanch’s nunu’s.”
Branch playfully nipped and growled at his best friend as the two grown stallions momentarily chased each other like foals, laughing and squealing through the maze of sun dried berries.
“Otay otay, yu win, Butto. Bwanch gun tawk to Ole Fwen next bwite time. gun hab hewd fo Bwanch and Spechu Fwen and bestest babbehs.”
Dark times fell upon the fluffy pony paradise to a symphony of crickets and a gentle cold breeze.
Plum and her foals joined the other mummahs with small foals in the largest den, lit by a single shaft of moonlight. The den stank of sour milk and baby farts, but it was the warmest part of the winding caverns in winter, and the coolest of the nests in summer, protected by tunnels and burrows that made up the fluffy pony city under the hill.
To Plum’s delight, it was Branch’s turn to guard the entrance to the mummah nest. From her vantage in the fluff pile, she admired his strong limbs and healthy, fat cheeki… oh poopies he looked right at her. Branch gave her a lopsided smile and whispered, “Pwum wike Bwanch?”
In the dark he couldnt see Plum’s face burn crimson under her fluff. she squeaked out a tiny ‘ye.’ he continued. “Bwanch have big thinkie place pwans fo hewd. Gun tawk to Ole Fwen in da bwite time. Wan Pwum tu hewpsies.” He gave her a playful wink and turned away from the fluff pile, “Nanite, Pwum…”
How the enf was Plum supposed to sleep after a conversation like that?! Sleep, indeed, eventually found her. The fluffy ponies slumbered warm and safe deep in the earth. far away from whatever troubles might be brewing on the surface. This night they all dreamt of babies and playing in fields of flowers, the distant memory of sketties danced on the edges of their collective subconscious.
