Winter Solstice 2021: Skill Proficiency

Fog glanced at the window for the third time this minute, squinting through the mist emanating from his mane. He worried that his letter had not made it to the Icy region on time. That is, if he had sent the letter at all?

He returned to watering his plants, busying his hooves so that his mind could freely retrace his steps from the day it all started.

Shortly before the Solstice, the white stallion had received a letter bearing the official crest of the Regional Deities. (Fog assumed it arrived so late because of the difficult terrain of his home region and his home placement.) He had wasted no time reading it. For one, he never received mail ever. For two, it’s content was obviously very important if it had the crest. He was disappointed to find that the letter wasn’t directly addressed to him, however. His disappointment didn’t last. It was a call to all quirlicorns to request the help of a group horse to learn a new skill in preparation for incoming year. 

The second he had read those lines, the stallion immediately knew what he wanted to learn, and that skill would definitely require some help. Preferably from an experienced quirlicorn, which he presumed all group horses were. If the next quirlicorn in line hadn’t grumpily pushed him away from the mail counter, Fog would have written his request right then. 

The stallion clearly remembered the long walk home. He had been so excited that he hadn’t stopped to look for the bird’s nest that was in the branches of that long-dead yet still sturdy oak tree. As soon as he made it to his small shack, he had pulled out an almost dried out inkwell and a crafted quill to pen his letter. As it turns out, rain prevented him from making the run back to the post office. 

So he waited. 

The next day, the rain stopped so the stallion could come out without fear of damaging his letter. 

Now certain that he had correctly sent the letter, the stallion was at peace. Of course, there was no information on how long it would take for the deity to dispatch a group horse to his area nor how long it would take said horse to make it to his house. It was times like these that made Fog regret building his garden in such an isolated part of the region. Although… He did appreciate the serenity of this specific parcel of land. Not to mention that the soil was perfect to grow his plants-

The stallion quickly glanced at the calendar that hung by the window. It had already been over a week since he had sent his letter. 

“Perhaps they won’t find my home,” he thought. “Perhaps they got lost in the swamp.” The stallion promptly set out to inspect the perimeter of his home, just in case. Just like he had done yesterday.

 Not too far away, King wandered around the swamp aimlessly, muttering about the mud and mosquitos under her breath with every step. Why did Haukea send her here of all places? It was far from her deity’s salty and cool region; instead, the air was heavy with humidity. “The fellow didn’t even specify what skill he wanted to learn,” she grumbled. “I hope it’s something worthwhile, like jewel appraisal or jewel making.”  

The mare felt her voice choke up, although her throat felt just fine. It was then she realised that she could no longer hear those pesky mosquitoes. That would have been fine by her if only the frogs and birds also hadn’t suddenly become mute. She stopped in her tracks. Was some monster lurking for all the creatures to decide it was best not to be noticed? Was that monster perchance Keir? The group horse locked her ankles in place, refusing to shake in fear. “Keir?” she called, her voice being reduced to a whisp of what her authoritative tones had been. Unlikely that anyone further than a few yards away could hear her. Becoming paranoid, she checked all the shadows around her for a sign of the swamp deity. Finding no clues of his presence, she dared make a few more steps to check the foliage surrounding her. While she checked behind a fallen tree, she was overcome by a very bad feeling. “He’s behind me, isn’t he?” she gulped. She slowly turned her head.

“Eek!” She quickly hid being the fallen tree. Behind her was not Keir, but a ghostly red-eyed quirlicorn. She could easily deal with a deity, but a spirit? No thank you. 

The ghost trotted to her. “I’m… I’m sorry. I wasn’t- I didn’t mean to fright-scare you,” it whispered. Looking into its eyes, King realised that it was mostly a live quirlicorn and not a dead one. She quickly composed herself. “Are- are you the- a group horse?” the non-ghost asked. King deduced that it possessed the spectral coat mutation and that it was male. 

“I am,” King lifted her nose at the stranger. “I was sent by Haukea to fulfil a very important mission.” She hated that her voice was being choked up like this. It was hard to take herself seriously when she sounded like she was in some old, boring library.

The spectral stallion’s eyes lit up. “I- I’m the one who asked for you-you. I… thought you might be-be-”

“You did?” King cut him short. “Excellent, we can train a little and then I can finally leave this horrible place.” she swatted a mosquito with her tail. It was a lot harder to keep them away now that she couldn’t hear them. 

“Would you… like to have some- a cup of tea, first? I can show you- bring you to my gar-house.”

King rolled her eyes. “If you must.” Then she thought: “Great, I can barely understand him and I don’t even know where I am. This day keeps getting better and better.”

She followed the stallion who had taken off in the opposite direction of the fallen tree. Trotting beside him she asked: “I still must verify your identity. What is your name?” She tried remembering the name and description she had received in her assignment. Dominant white on black with moonlight, she thought. Well, the stallion certainly met that description, but he had forgotten to indicate his spectral genes. Now, hopefully the house she was being led to would also match the address or else who knows what would happen to her.

“My name is Fogslay. I live over there.” He gestured to the shrivelled shack surrounded by a lush garden. King nodded. Everything was in order. She wouldn’t be murdered in a shack in the swamp afterall. Not that this was a possibility, she could easily fight off any quirlicorn who tried. She snorted. Now, if only the house could have matched the garden in regalness and tidiness! 

“It’s a good thing and I went out looking for her,” the stallion thought to himself. Although he had noticed that the group horse was a bit snappy, he attributed that fact to fatigue. “One cup of my secret herbal tea recipe and she’ll be all patched up.” He wondered if he should add a spoonful of sugar to the mixture, as it had a faint aftertaste. It would be the first time someone else tasted the product of his tea besides himself, so he wanted to make sure everything was perfect. He groaned, suddenly remembering the condition of his kitchen. 

When they finally entered his shack, Fog quickly busied himself to make the tea, not noticing the grimace King had made upon seeing the patches of potting soil on the table. When he finally turned to face her with two warm cups, he saw her staring at the half dead sapling he had worked towards reviving that morning. He quickly put it away.

“So you want me to teach you some gardening tricks, I assume,” she sniffed. Fog realised that this was the first time they had spoken since they had entered the shack. He internally berated himself for being a horrible host as he answered her question: “No need, I have everything- I need… No… I want, need…” He breathed for a second, clearing his head. “I- I want to speak be-be-tter.” He regretted his decision to rush through the sentence: that came out wrong. (“Although that’s not too far from the truth,” he thought.) 

King blinked, pushing her cup away from her. “Sorry, I’m not a doctor. You’ll have to see a professional about your speech impediment or something,” she said flatly. “Is that really why you made me come all the way here? I couldn’t tell. You should’ve chosen to work on making your writing legible as a skill.” She stood up. “Thanks for the tea, by the way-” she hadn’t drunk a single drop. “-now if you’ll excuse me, I have other quirlicorns that need my help.”

“N-no, w- stay!” He jumped to block the door. “I need your help!” His plea for help came out like a whisper. King’s eyes widened.

“Are you the one manipulating sound? I should’ve known. Stop it right now, I can’t hear a single word you’re saying!”

Like a naughty foal caught in the act, Fog immediately released his magic. The sound of crickets and the cawing of crows surged into the shack at a disproportionate volume compared to what their voices had sounded like moments ago. From the corner of her eyes, King noticed jars filled with crickets and other insect specimens on the stallion’s shelves. “So, not a ghost, not a murderer, but still a freak,” the mare thought.

The two quirlicorns stared at each other. 

“Why am I here?” King demanded.

“I just- I want- I wasn’t-”

“Cut it out-” It came out much harsher than she meant. Plus, it’s not as if the poor stallion could help it. It finally dawned on her that she had been raising her voice all that time. Remembering her purpose and the deities’ power, she collected herself and took a sip of the tea she had initially rejected to soothe her throat. “I apologise for my outburst. Please sit down and let’s start over.” Fogslay lingered at the door, then finally sat across from her.

“How can I help you?” she asked. Her voice had shrunk to a whisper again. “Please raise the volume a little bit. That’s better.”

The stallion took a long sip from his cup, avoiding eye contact.

“I asked y-you to come-” he spoke slowly, visibly spelling out his sentence like one would spell out a word. “Because I couldn’t think of anyone else to help me.” King wanted to ask why he didn’t have friends, but instead nodded her head encouragingly. “Everyone else thinks I’m a freak. If you have any advice so I can at least have one conversation, I’d be happy.” 

“Why-” King bit her tongue. What her student could have possibly done to offend the swamp region was worrisome, but that's none of her business. “Who knows what other magic he wields,” she thought. She looked at the stallion, who was fiddling with his empty cup.

“If you can’t… it’s okay- okay.”

King thought it over. Her mind wandered back to Haukea. She sighed, then nodded. “I think we can dissect our interactions from today and see what you learn from it.” Fog’s eyes lit up. “First things first, your sound manipulation: most quirlicorns like being able to hear what’s going on around them. I don’t know what your deal is, but you need to tone it down so that it only affects you and no one else, if that’s possible. I had a hard time even hearing you speak most of the time.”

“I-I can try.” The stallion said apologetically. 

“Secondly: you introduced yourself a little when you met, but you didn’t immediately offer your name, which is quite rude, especially considering that we were meant to work together.”

Fogslay slowly nodded. “I still don’t know your name, though.”

Shoot.

The mare took a deep breath. “I’m King. Do as I say, not as I do.” “Third, I  can understand you just fine right now, but when you speak too fast, your words become muddled and I lose track of what is being said. Please keep this in mind.” The stallion had started scribbling down notes on a dusty piece of parchemin similar to the letter she had received. “Finally, I commend you for inviting me for tea. This was good manners and you treated a lady with the respect that is due to her rank. Although I would recommend having good hygiene and regularly cleaning your- erm, shack regularly if you want quirlicorns to feel more comfortable in your presence.” Fog was taking notes like crazy. “Any questions?”

He nodded eagerly. “Must I call- address quirlicorns by honou- surnames or honorifics first?” King smirked.

“Usually, it’s preferable to address quirlicorns with whom you are less familiar by honorifics and ask permission before calling them by name. Anything else?”

“No, I-I think that’s all I could think of right- right now.”

“Great. One last thing. You look like a beaten foal when you look at the ground like that. At least look at my nose or horn so you can pretend to look at me.” Fog nodded. 

“Great,” King thought. “I’m done here. I can go home, right?” She stood up. “Well, it’s been nice visiting you. If that is all, I’ll be on my way.”

“Wait!” Fog jumped out of his chair again. “Can- can you help me p-pra-practice?” he asked sheepishly. King rolled her eyes.

“Yes, fine.” She wondered how one was supposed to practice speaking, of all things. “Talk to me.” The stallion blinked. “W-what do I- What should I talk about?” 

“I don’t know! Tell me about your ugly little bugs. Pretend I’m your good looking neighbour or some peasant in town, I don’t care.” Fogslay thought for a moment.

“H-hello, miss, I would like to m-mail- send this l-letter, please.” His voice cracked.

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m-m practising mail-li-ling a letter. Last time- When I mailed you the requ-letter I-I didn’t say a s-s-single word.” He blushed, embarrassed. 

“Careful, you’re speaking too fast again.”

“Sorry.” He bowed his head.”

“It’s fine, you were only practising.” She sat down again. “May I please have some more tea while you’re at it?”

“Of course! Did you like it? I might make it with locally harvested lavender and mint, among other things. The mint has some properties-”

King mindlessly listened to the stallion talk while she contemplated how many more quirlicorns she had to visit in the swamp region. If she was lucky, this one would release her before nightfall and she could find a liveable accommodation in town. There was no way she would stay here for the night and listen to the bugs do their… bug sounds while she slept. 

At one point, she noticed that Fog had stopped talking. Not knowing exactly what he had been saying but determined to keep him talking so she could claim he had practised enough to excuse herself, she prompted him with a simple comment. “So you’re a botanist?” 

He went on about how he actually also studied bugs and birds, and he also talked about his sound manipulation for a while. The second King saw the sunset outside, she stood up. “It’s getting late, I should really get going this time.”

Fog was smiling. “Thank you for helping me! May I accompany you to the town.”

King wanted to decline, but remembered getting lost getting here. “Well, I suppose I could use your help.”

And so, the quirlicorns set out to the nearest town, where King let Fog check in her accommodations (actually, he insisted in the guise that this was a good occasion for him to apply the skills she had taught him). His voice was a bit shaky and he did mumble quite a bit, but at last, King was allowed into a dimly lit room with, presumably, running water. 

“You… talked well. Keep it up,” she told the stallion. He grinned.

“I-I’ll try. I h-hope to see- we will meet again.”

“I don’t,” King thought. She nodded courteously and closed the door. Finally. She couldn’t believe she had spent the day talking. Just talking. As part of a deity’s assignment.

“Well,” she said as she laid down on her soft mattress. “Maybe this isn’t as bad as I had envisioned.” She smiled to herself.

Meanwhile, Fog quickly returned to his garden, navigating the foliage and pounds with ease. He believed he knew the way so well he could walk to and fro with his eyes closed. In any case, the stallion was hoping to fully take advantage of the solstice before the sun was set. He remembered being told about some quirlicorns dabbling with magic and finding out their callings as the sun’s exemplified power on that certain day equally empowered the magic of quirlicorns. If he was destined to one day master magics of any kind, today would be the best time for him to find out. 

As he exited the town, he lowered the volume of his environment, feeling more at ease in the serene silence of his bubble. He could practice localising the effects to him alone some other time. Although he was immensely thankful for the group horse’s help to communicate more efficiently with strangers, he preferred being left alone by a long way. Perhaps if he developed telepathy one day, he would be more inclined to speak to other quirlicorns. Speaking of which…

The stallion stopped in his tracks, having spotted a crow. “Hello! Can you hear me, sir?” he thought. Not only did telepathy avoid him the embarrassment of stuttering, but it also allowed him to speak even when he was short-breathed. The crow, though, seemed unaware of all of this. Fog tried again. “Hello?” He thought a bit louder, if that was even possible. The crow noticed him staring at it. After eyeing him for a short moment, it flew away. “I wonder if telepathy must be paired with zoolingualism in order to work on animals,” the stallion thought. He went on his way. He should have attempted telepathy back in town, where he had the chance to test it on another quirlicorn, but he was simply too eager to return to his precious garden. 

Once there, he figured it would make the most sense to test Keir’s magic first. He tried them all: from shadow manipulation to invisibility, only taking care to avoid plague magic as he didn’t want to ruin his plants. None of them manifested themselves. 

Wait a second… his plants! That’s it! Perhaps the deities had noticed his inclination for plant life and had granted him Plains region magic instead (then again, he was uncertain as to his lineage; he may have some Plains blood in him from the beginning).

He tried rejuvenating his sapling, without success. This failure, although it was to be expected after he had failed to manifest any other magic, was more painful than the rest. It would have been so useful for his garden! He lamented the future loss of his sapling. He had tried everything so far; fertility magic would have been his last chance at saving it. 

He glanced out the window. The moon was almost fully risen, bringing with it the end of the solstice. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the plant, laying his head beside it on the table.

“Don’t be,” A little voice whispered back. “I’m thankful. For everything.”

The stallion nearly jumped out of his seat. As the moon rose and fell in the sky, it finally dawned on the stallion that the voice belonged to his precious little plant. 

“The secret language of plants,” he mused. “Plant magic!” He jumped around his shack excitingly. “I have plant magic! I have plant magic!” he chanted. “I’ll be seeing you all soon.” He told his plants, while mentally making the resolution to practice his magic skills in the incoming year.