The Fluffy Colony Next Door (Ambitiousleather8309)
The Fluffy Colony Next Door Part 2 (ambitiousleather8309)
Two toughies hauled the makeshift litter of leaves and flexible green twigs towards the magnificent burrow under the old oak tree. Less a shining city on a hill and more a cozy hovel, the colony of the Old Friend’s population had grown by a single member this bright time.
The two toughies stopped to catch their breath. Even hauling a frail, sickly poop eater was a lot of work for a fluffy pony.
“Cawefu, Wocky! Dis fwuffy so sickies migh faww apawt!”
“How bou Bwick be cawefu, big dummeh puww tuu muchies!”
The two toughies eventually were able to deliver their burden to the bestest hug-betto, the colony’s resident medic, Sparkle. The beautiful, midnight blue pegasus stallion was methodically chewing a mouthful of blueberries as he listened to the toughies’ report on the patient.
The splorin’ fluffies had returned many hours before, having found a roving fluffy herd decimated by barky munstas. The sole survivor protected by the powerful stink of the latrine he was forced to live in.
The pegasus spat the chewed blueberries into a broken, curved clam shell and inspected the emaciated fluffy. “Bwick, Wocky, pwease git smeww gud weafies and hewp cwean. Teww Spawko ib fine buggies or booboos.”
The two toughies gagged but obeyed, taking up dried bundles of sage and mint and briskly brushing the bony pony, careful not to get poop on themselves.
The toughies made quick exits before any more orders were directed at them, both shuddering as Sparkle did the unthinkable.
The Pegasus began giving the starved, nearly dead fluffy licky-cleans.
Upon opening his crusted eyes, the poopy fluffy flailed, unfamiliar with affectionate touch by others. Too weak to resist, the pony simply laid there unsure how to react.
Sparkle nudged the bowl of mashed blueberries towards the weak stallion and urged him to eat.
“Swowwy! Nu tuu muchies. If you make sickies yu gun eat dat sickies. fwuffies nu waste nummies undo Ole Fwen’s Twee.”
The poopy obeyed. The berries were sweet and rich purple, the most delicious thing the fluffy had ever tasted. Was this the sketties all fluffy knew about but had never seen?
“Namesie Sparko. Am make hug-bettow fo hewd. Watchu namesie?”
“Onwy ebba caww Poopy.”
Sparkle scoffed. Of course he didn’t have a name. Even seeing the aftermath of fluffy cruelty every time there were newcomers, the disgust rose in his craw like it were fresh offense. “Weww, dat wun do. Ole Fwen say nu am poopy. Onwy fing poopies is poopies. Hmm. Yu kinna yewwo wike da gwassies at de big Wawa. Yu am Sandy nao. Sparko wub da big Wawa, gun take yu dere wen feew beto.”
Sandy recovered quickly under the care of Sparkle, learning about his new herd and his new home. There were no smarties under the tree, but it was universally acknowledged that Butter was the smarty in all but name. There were also no poop eaters. The only munstas dwelled in the woods, alicorn phobia was a thing of the past.
Sandy lived with Sparkle in his spacious, sweet smelling den full of dried herbs and flowers. In time, Sandy became strong enough to help with chores. Another rule of Old Friend: Everyone helps, everyone eats.
High summer meant even the cool, dark interior of the burrows were warm, and Sparkle had several broken sippy cups full of a fine white powder. Ash, from the last forest fire. Sparkle’s ancestors learned to collect the ash from where the biggest trees burned. Sandy assumed it was some kind of medicine.
The two fluffies carried the Ash deep into the winding caverns.
The smell hit Sandy before the sight. It was a poopie hole. A disgusting, fetid latrine. The most rank, foul betrayal. It was foolish of Sandy to believe life would be any different in this clean, thriving colony. How horribly stupid he was to hope.
“Nu! Nu num poopies! Spawko meaniest WIER. Yu wie…”
Sparkle looked back in surprise. Sandy’s eyes were glassed over. The Pegasus healer fluffy had seen this before. Sometimes a fluffy was stuck in forever ago, and not in the right now. Sandy shied with tears welling as the dusk colored Pegasus reared up on his hind legs.
And gave sandy a warm, gentle hug.
“Yu safe. Yu cwean. Yu got nummies. Su many gud nummies. An fwens. And yu gud hewpo. Spawko fowgot dat Sandy was poopie. Nu mean gib saddies. Spawko smeww spwace nu wowk. Spawko got hit in da smeww pwace as babbeh. Dats wai Spawko work wit da dirty fluffies and da poopies. Spawko Sowwy fowgit Sandy can smeww, Fowgit Sandy weawwy weawwy nu wike poopies. Wets fine diffwen wowk fo Sandy.”
The two fluffies shook the ash over the latrine. And set about brainstorming a solution. Well not brainstorming, it’s fuckin ponies, maybe brain drizzling, for a solution together.
Sandy looked at the herbs drying in Sparkle’s nest and had an idea. But Sandy would have to be very brave.
Getting stronger every day, Sandy tasked himself with learning everything he could about nummie finding. It was so many forevers, but Sandy gathered the best of the best and climbed the rocks on the north face of the hill and presented his case to the terrifying specter, The old Friend.
The old friend’s voice was a deep, crackling, whisper that filled the dark, cold cave, and seemed to suck the warmth right out of Sandy’s fluff.
“Who disturbs me?”
“Am, am … am Sandy. Sandy wan s…”
“I know you want something. Why else would you be here?”
Sandy puffed his little chest and spoke up. “Sandy wan say fank you. Fank yu ole fwen fo gib fwuffies bewwies an gud stwon housie. Fank yu for gib Spawko da… da Now-idge maek fwuffy bettaw wif meddysins. Sandy dun wan nuffin fo Sandy, wan now-idge gwow smeww pwetty meddysins fo Spawko.”
The dark, shadowy tentacles inspected the offering. Berries. Lavender. A few choice mushrooms. The old friend had seen the tenacious newcomer doing his best to fit in. Admirable really.
“Yeah i suppose i got time. It’s not like they’re going to put Frasier reruns on the t.v any time soon. “
The next spring after a heavy rain, Sandy was up before dawn at the appointed location. The Old friend rose from his cave and drifted down the little trail carved into the earth by a thousand fluffy hooves. The ancient evil wrapped his tentacles around a decaying stump and ripped it clean from the earth, leaving a muddy bare soil in the center of a meadow.
Sandy tilled that earth with a stick, and planted flower seeds. Herbs. All manner of pretty green grassy thing. Sandy worked from sunrise to sunset,. Over the years his tawny brown fluff bleaching blonde in the sunshine.
He lived his whole life tending that fluffy garden, supplying the descendants of Sparkle with the medicine that bandaged wounds and cleared infections and kept bugs out of everyone’s fluff. He fetched seaweed from his namesake sandy place by the big Wawa, and made compost to feed his garden.
When Sandy died, an ancient old grey fluff, his apprentices buried him where he fell in the flower meadow, and piled upon his earthly remains the prettiest rocks and brightest flowers. He was born in a pile of shit, but left this mortal plane buried in wild clover, lavender, sweet geraniums and coneflowers.
It is said, if a filly will sleep next to Sandy’s pile of stones, she will dream of her special friend, and have babies as pretty as the flowers of the garden.