Ambrosia and the Mystery Mark

The Injured Stag

Ambrosia stumbled for a moment, nearly causing everyone to fall over. She corrected herself quickly, but was worried nevertheless.

"Is it much further to your cottage, Fluttershy?" asked Ambrosia. "It's getting harder and harder to hold this thing."

"It's not far," she answered, "should be right over there."

Sure enough, shortly afterwards, they came upon Fluttershy's cottage not far down the path. It looked like a place that was trying to blend into nature as best it could, with its grassy roof, less manicured surroundings, and the babbling brook full of lilypads and small fish that curved around it. The two ponies lugged the injured stag around to the back of the cottage and set him down gently on the soft grass, a great reprieve from the tough, brambly floor of Everfree Forest. The stag lied down on its side, relieved, as the two ponies set him down. Ambrosia lied down next to the stag, resting after her strenuous task.

Fluttershy, however, was not slowing down.

"I've got some things to treat him inside," she said, "you'll watch him while I'm gone?"

"Sure thing," said Ambrosia. Fluttershy nodded quickly and went into the house. After seeing her go, Ambrosia laid her head down on the soft grass, next to the stag, and sighed.

"Such a strange day," she said to herself, "I finally get my clue about who I'm meant to be, and I can't make heads or tails of it. And now here I am, lying next,to a giant animal from the Everfree Forest, helping to fix his leg. How do things like this happen?"

"Well, if it makes any difference," answered a deep yet gentle male's voice, "I appreciate your helping me."

Ambrosia perked her head up suddenly in surprise and looked quickly around, her eyes wide.

"Who said that?" she said, as she darted her head back and forth.

"I did," came the voice again. Ambrosia looked suddenly over at the stag, her mouth open. The stag's head was up, his deep brown eyes looking right at Ambrosia.

"...You did?" she said. The stag nodded in reply.

"Don't tell that little yellow one though, please?" he requested. "I don't went her to overreact, or anything."

"Um, sure, no problem," Ambrosia said, still pretty flummoxed about the talking deer.

"You didn't seem like you would overreact," the stag pointed out, "in fact, you seemed like you needed someone to talk to."

"...Puh-pardon?" she stammered.

"I couldn't help but overhear," he went on, "you seem troubled by something called a 'Cutie Mark'. That's not that little pattern on your rump, is it?"

"Um, yes" Ambrosia said, her rear making a slightly self-conscious movement. "It... appears there, when I find out my great talent, or passion in life. It's usually something obvious, like a paintbrush or a party balloon, but mine is... well..."

"It's a group of white things," pointed out the buck, matter-of-factly.

"Yes," Ambrosia said.

"You're uncertain of what that is?" he asked.

"Not just uncertain," she answered, "I'm completely in the dark about it. I have no idea what it is, or what it means. The only clue I have is that I saw these shapes in a dream , before I woke up with this Mark."

The deer hummed noncommittally.

"I don't know much about dreams," he mused.

"I make paintings every now and then," Ambrosia said, "and everyone has been wondering why I didn't get something related to painting, like a brush or a palette. I told them, although I'm good at painting and I enjoy it, it doesn't feel like my... my..."