The Brave Little Pony

by Sebastian

Author's notes: Well... this ought to have all the usual warnings, but all I can say is... have a bucket handy. Thank you to Dr. Ruthless, for her strong stomach being able to beta this farrago, and thankyou to Realitycek, for inspiration and to all fans of ponyboys. It is... well, how should I know? I have never written other than an A. It's whatever is the most innocent. (E for Everyone)

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If you had gone into the playroom, you might have thought all was quiet. Silvery moonbeams cast white ribbons across the thick carpet, whose delicate pink would not be revealed for many hours yet, for night had only just fallen. The toys were all still motionless; sometimes a human would come back to the playroom after little Emma had gone to bed, in search of a favourite teddy, or a story to read to the little girl, at bedtime.

But if you crept very close to the 'My Little Pony' stable, you would have heard a quiet sobbing, for one of the ponies was unhappy.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

Big Walter was dozing, before the night's playtime. He was the first pony that Emma had ever had, and remembered the time when the ponies were kept in a box, and didn't have their very own stable. He was chunky, strong-looking and the design of little oak-leaves on his hindquarters was nearly rubbed away, for Emma had had him since she was a tiny tot. Worse than this, only a few wisps of his once-thick black mane and tail were left, most had been torn away by the little child's clumsy hands. But he never complained, instead he took pleasure in combing the other pony's hair, when Emma forgot to do it herself, particularly that of Foxglove, whom he thought the prettiest pony of them all.

Foxglove had the longest, glossiest mane and tail of all the ponies. It was a rich purple, and made the dainty mauve of his body look almost translucent against its beautiful, deep glow. His hindquarters were dotted with tiny, cunningly drawn foxgloves, so perfect in their miniature beauty you expected a bee to come buzzing by to explore their dew-drenched depths.

But, this evening, Foxglove wouldn't let Big Walter finish brushing his lovely hair. Though he was a very vain little pony, and loved to be pampered, there was one pony he loved more than himself, and that pony was missing. It was poor Foxglove that cried.

The little snuffles woke Big Walter, who was standing next to Foxglove that night. He blinked open his big brown eyes, and turned to look at Foxglove. Huge teardrops were running down his elegant nose, and plopping on the ground. Big Walter nuzzled Foxglove's neck, and whinnied quietly, "Why are you sad, Foxglove?"

Foxglove looked at the empty stall beside him and sniffled. He was too upset to speak, but Big Walter understood immediately. Russian Dancer hadn't been put back into the stable this evening, and Russian Dancer was Foxglove's most special friend.

From the moment Russian Dancer had arrived, for he was one of the newest ponies, he and Foxglove had been inseparable. They loved each other so much, that neither would even consent to pull the Pony Cart with any other pony when it was time for the Grand Pony Parade. Russian Dancer was emerald green, with aquamarine tresses that sparkled like gossamer gems, and an intricate pattern on his haunches, like a Faberge egg. When he had been bought, he had four tiny little leather boots over his hooves, and, as his name implied, loved to dance, wild, peasant dances that made all the ponies very excited.

But Smoky the cat had got him one day and played with him. The cruel cat had chewed off one of his forelegs, all but one of the tiny boots had been lost, and Russian Dancer could dance no more. However, Foxglove loved him more than ever, and tried to make up for the terrible thing that had happened with extra cuddles, and by giving him his share of lollipops whenever the ponies had treats.

At last Foxglove whispered, "Emma didn't put Russian Dancer to bed tonight, Big Walter. She was playing with us in the garden, along with Lady Scarlet and Grey Stranger, and I thought she'd brought him in, but she didn't." He began to sob forlornly. Big Walter was really very worried, but didn't want to make Foxglove more upset.

"He'll be alright, I'm sure. Maybe she took him upstairs with her."

"No," Foxglove whimpered. "He's outside, I'm sure. He'll be so frightened, and the cat may get him again, or the horrible dog that lives next door. I have to find him, Big Walter. Let's go out, and see if we can rescue him."

"We can't do that, little Foxglove," said Big Walter sternly. "It's against the rules."

"I don't care about rules," said Foxglove. He was petulant and stamped his foot. Truth to tell, being the prettiest of the ponies, he was a little spoilt. "I'm going to find him." Before Big Walter could grab his tail in his mouth to stop him, Foxglove had galloped out of the stable and over to the door of the playroom.

Big Walter wondered whether he should go after him, but he didn't like to disobey Emma, his owner, or break the special rules that let toys play on their own at night. He was quite sure, too, that Foxglove would take one look at the big, scary, dark world that lay outside the playroom at night and come running back just as fast as his little hooves would carry him.

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Foxglove's tiny hooves took him quickly to the door, which was slightly ajar, but when he cantered on out into the tiled hallway, the clip-clopping of his little feet on the hard floor sounded loud and echo-y in the huge space. The moonlight didn't get in here, and the only light was a bright band under the living-room door where the grown-ups were. Foxglove knew he was being very naughty, and slowed to a walk, trying to tiptoe as best he could towards the front door. No toy was supposed to move around until the grown-ups were safe in bed, too.

He knew he could get out. There was a big cat-flap in the door for Smoky, who was a huge fluffy grey Persian with sharp teeth and claws. The cat-flap was very high for Foxglove to reach, however, and it was quite a scramble for him to hook his front legs through and wriggle out onto the cold stone doorstep.

Outside in the garden, it was really scary, and poor little Foxglove trembled when he saw the eerie grey light, and the strange moon-shadows. The beautiful, welcoming garden looked like a different, nightmare world without the warm sun shining down on it. He'd heard about the dangers. Apart from the local pets there were wild animals and worst of all, Owl, who came swooping down and abducted little toys to take home to his nest. The few who ever came back were always very quiet, and never smiled any more.

Also in the garden were the Three Lawn Gnomemen; ugly plaster models made like humans. They had never hurt a toy, but they loved to tease and scare them. Foxglove knew that they would probably see him passing through the garden, and that made him worried, too, but he knew he had to be brave for the sake of his best friend, Russian Dancer.

He jumped down from the step and onto the concrete path, and began to walk down it, his huge eyes, which seemed to change colour like dark opal, looking out for enemies. As he walked by the pond, a croaky voice made him jump. It was Froggie, one of the Gnomemen. He sat by the goldfish pond all day, pretending to fish while the humans were watching. He didn't want to catch any really, because all the lovely golden fish were his friends.

"Where are you going, horsey?" the rough voice demanded.

Foxglove wanted to run away, but Froggie was much bigger than he was, and would catch him easily. "I'm trying to find my friend, Russian Dancer," he said in a quivery voice. "He's a My Little Pony, like me, but he is coloured green. He's lost in the garden. Please Mr. Froggie, have you seen him?"

"No," croaked Froggie, "but my friend, Ringo, may have." He pointed to the gatepost, high above Foxglove's head, where Ringo, who looked more like an elf than a gnome, sat clutching a big metal ring that the gate hooked into. "He sees everything from up there."

"Ringo!" he shouted, and Foxglove cringed, looking for a place to hide in case the noise attracted some nasty monster that liked to eat Little Ponies.

"Yeah, Frog-dude," answered the other Gnomeman, looking down at the pair.

"Little toy here wants to know if you've seen another one like him, that's got lost in the garden."

"Bummer," said Ringo, and then he smiled. "The girl Emma was playing this afternoon over by the sundial. Maybe that's where he is."

Foxglove remembered the sundial, but didn't know where it was. He was so small he couldn't see over the flowers and plants alongside the path.

"Where is it, please, Mr. Ringo," he called as loudly as he dared.

Ringo pointed across the garden, and said, "Just follow the path, little dude. You'll get there."

"Thank you," said Foxglove nervously; Froggie sniggered, and went "Boo" at him, in a loud voice. The Little Pony backed away, his heart pitter-pattering as if it would burst, and galloped off down the path as fast as he could.

He soon saw the sundial, a huge rough-hewn pillar with a big square stone tablet balanced on its top. He hunted all around, despite the big, silent moths that brushed against him with their wings like velvet ghosts, and the long, slimy slugs slithering along the damp leaves of the dahlias and gladioli. He looked on the grass nearby, too, but he didn't find Russian Dancer. At last he decided he would have to be really brave and call for him.

As soon as he had called, there was a distant muffled reply, "Foxglove, I'm here!" and Foxglove plunged into the flowerbed to follow the voice. Right at the base of the sundial was a rabbit hole, and down at the bottom of the hole was Russian Dancer. He was covered in mud, and his lovely mane was all tangled, but his bright eyes blinked up at Foxglove, pure and shining, for Russian Dancer, instead of painted-on eyes, had deep green faceted jewels that twinkled and sparked in the dimmest light.

"Oh, Russian Dancer, thank goodness I've found you safe," said Foxglove, overjoyed despite the danger he was in. "But why are you down that hole?"

"I can't climb out," said Russian Dancer, in a choked little voice. "It's because I've only got three legs, Foxglove. I'm trapped."

"Don't worry," said Foxglove. "I can rescue you." Now that he had come this far, Foxglove was sure he could do anything.

He jumped down in the hole beside Russian Dancer, and rubbed his neck lovingly against his friend's, nibbling at his skin, and huffing in his little pointed green ears. For once, Foxglove didn't think of how dirty he was getting, or about the twigs and grime caught in his lush mane and tail. His only care was his friend.

He turned round. "Hold my tail," he said, "and I'll pull you out." Russian Dancer took Foxglove's silky tail firmly in his mouth, and, with great determination Foxglove dug his hooves into the soil of the steep tunnel, and slowly began to heave Russian Dancer out of the hole. It was very hard work, and Foxglove had to force himself to try very hard, harder than he'd ever tried to do anything before. But with Russian Dancer helping as best he could, and a few short rests, at last they emerged back into the moonlit garden.

"Foxglove, you were so wonderful, thank you for saving me," whinnied Russian Dancer, capering and rearing around his friend. He was very tired, but so excited and happy; he longed to be able to dance again for joy.

"You don't need to thank me," said Foxglove, lovingly. "I wouldn't ever be happy again without you. I would have searched for you all over the world if I had too." He looked at his friend, and then arched his head back over his own body, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the slime and mud, which discoloured them both.

"We can't go back to the playroom like this," he said. "Emma, or her mummy would be very suspicious. We must clean ourselves up."

"Roll in the dewy grass," said a sensible voice from the shadows. Both ponies backed away and neighed in fright.

The third Gnomeman emerged. He was called Shears, because he always held a big scissor-like tool of the same name in his hands, and he lived in one of the flower-beds, and pretended to prune and weed. The ponies found him the most frightening of all, because when the humans weren't looking he would run after them, pretending he wanted to cut off their tails.

"Don't be scared," he said, snapping his blades together a couple of times and then laying his tool on the ground. "It's very late for toys to be out in the garden, and I know you want to be back inside in the safe, warm house. If you roll on the lawn the dew will wash off all that dirt, and you'll be clean enough to go home."

The little ponies walked forward tentatively, and Shears took a couple of steps away from his big scissors, sitting down. "Alright," said Foxglove, feeling bold. "We will."

He lay on the grass and wriggled around, scrubbing his back against the cool, wet blades, and, after a minute, Russian Dancer copied him, until their lovely colours showed bright and clean again. Standing up, they looked over at Shears and thanked him for his idea.

"You are so pretty," said Foxglove, walking round the emerald pony and rubbing his flanks against his smooth skin. "I love you from your cute turned up nose to the end of your long, turquoise tail."

"And I love you too, Foxglove. You are not only the most beautiful pony, but you are brave too."

Suddenly Shears hissed, "Hide!" Startled, the pair dashed under a huge rhubarb leaf behind the gnome, and hid in the shadows. Pacing silently across the lawn was the monstrous cat, his paws leaving a trail of dry prints, like stepping-stones across a grassy river.

Foxglove could feel Russian Dancer trembling as if he thought death had him right in his eye. "Shhh," he whispered and rubbed his head comfortingly along the other's neck. "Just keep quiet."

The cat walked on past, oblivious, incurious, looking for more unlucky prey, the little mice and shrews that bustled about in the garden after dark. At last he was out of sight, and the ponies re-emerged. "I bet you wish I was big enough to cut off his tail, don't you, Little Pony?" said Shears to Russian Dancer. "I saw what he did to you."

"Yes," said Russian Dancer, fiercely. "And now Foxglove has shown me how brave ponies can be, I'm going to make a plan to show that cat it should leave us alone."

Foxglove was rather startled. He had never heard Russian Dancer speak like that and hoped his friend wasn't going to be rash. "That will have to be a very careful plan," he said. "And we can't do it tonight. Let's go home and show all the other ponies that you are safe. They will all be worried by now."

It was a struggle to get up the doorstep and through the cat-flap with Russian Dancer. Foxglove had to push hard on Russian Dancer's hindquarters to help lever him over the obstacles. When they arrived back at the Pony Stable at last they were both exhausted. Big Walter fussed around them and insisted on combing out their manes and tails before they slept, for all their lovely hair was dreadfully tangled.

"Oh, no," said Big Walter, when he got to Foxglove's tail. "It's all ragged, and a piece has been pulled out." The effort of pulling Russian Dancer from the hole had torn the tresses, and his strong teeth had bitten through a lot of the strands.

"It doesn't matter," said Foxglove, yawning. And it didn't. Foxglove did not need to be proud of his pretty looks any more, because now he could be proud that he was the bravest Little Pony in the world.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

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