It was a beautiful late-summer Saturday morning as the unicorn stallion walked happily through the White Tail Woods. The leaves had just begun to turn various shades of gold, red, yellow and brown and the temperature was a very comfortable seventy-two degrees. The sun was just high enough to burn off the excess cool from the previous night as well as provide plenty of light to see by. The forest canopy blocked out the direct sunlight for which the wandering pony was glad. Autumn may have been just around the corner, but it was not quite there yet and at that time of the morning direct exposure to sunlight would have caused him to overheat.

The stallion thought to himself as he trekked through the serene wood. He felt he was going through another metamorphosis after a fashion. This one was more metaphorical and possibly spiritual than the physiological one he went through fifteen years prior; that had been traumatic to say the least but he survived. Not that he was given much of a choice. The Great Mother herself imposed his current form upon on him much to his chagrin, but when an entity of pure spiritual and ætheric power says to do something you do not argue. So, he wisely did not.

‘Penance’ she had told him was to be his plight: he must live his life for the betterment of all. She did not give him any more explicit instructions on what or how he was supposed to do that. Then with a blast of light from her sea-green horn he was a biped no more. He spent the next five years undergoing extensive yet concentrated training on how to be a pony, how a unicorn’s magic worked and not least of which an intensive course on Gaian cultures which especially focused on Equestrian cultural assimilation.

Once released from that particularly exhausting hell, the human-turned-stallion began to wander Equestria. He found plenty of ponies who needed help throughout his travels, but there was always some sort of tug on his heart that kept him from staying too long. Once, and only once he tried ignoring that pull. He found himself experiencing such pain as he had only ever once felt before after nearly breaking an Unbreakable Vow. Whatever the Great Mother had done to him, it seemed she had bound his very soul to the task.

He was not angry. Had he been in her position he would have done the same. In truth, he would have done much worse, but then that was the whole point of his penance to begin with. Given all that he had done he was surprised the Great Mother had shown him any mercy, much less compassion. Merlin knew that the Great Mother’s daughter certainly was not happy with that but there again one does not contradict a goddess. Not even the goddess’ daughter.

The wayward pony had chosen to forsake his previous life insofar as his identity. He gave up his name and his title and any claim to a familial heritage; not that any of those things still existed but it was a matter of principle. He could not give up his magic as that was as much a part of him as his head on his neck. The Great Mother, not being an imbecile, therefore recreated him into a unicorn. Of course, if he was fully honest with himself, he did not want to give up his magic. True it was his power that let him commit those heinous and despicable acts, but it was not the power itself that corrupted him. Rather it was his upbringing combined with more than a few very bad choices that led him astray.

The nameless stallion felt comfortable that the threat of divine retribution would help keep him from falling again, but he was under no delusions that if he was not careful he could do serious harm before the wrath of the Goddess took his soul. To use an old human idiom, he was given just enough rope to hang himself with. He thanked both Merlin and the Great Mother every day that he had not gone that far again.

Some days were worse than others. Dealing with Griffons was especially difficult. Their society had fallen so far that they could not fathom accepting help from anyone without being bled dry of their bits. He almost ended up being put into indentured servitude to the whole kingdom of Griffinstone. After a few morally questionable deceits and manipulations he managed to avoid that fate without putting any undue hardship on anyone else.

At the beginning, there were more occasions than not where he had made things much, much worse before he made them better. Often his own self-appointed quest to recollect the dangerous ancient artifacts left from the old world would interfere and produce calamitous results. This meant he had spent more time fixing what he broke than whatever was wrong to begin with.

After ten years, he got fed up. Not enough to quit completely—he admitted he was selfish enough to want to remain among the living—but his haphazard and random methods nearly drove him to insanity. He had been there once and had no desire to return. He decided that recovering human artifacts would be less of a priority than he had originally made it. While dangerous, they were quite far and few between so could be addressed when they actually cropped up. Plus, he was no longer going to try and force people to accept his help. Oh, he could manipulate them, cajole them, even peer pressure them, but if at the end of the day they rebuffed his efforts then so be it. He felt that the best way he might help others was to teach them—if he was able—how to help themselves. He remembered an old human proverb: Give a man a fish and feed him for a day; teach a man how to fish and feed him for a lifetime.

The traveling pony had been so deep in thought that he had wandered well off the path. When he realized this, he looked around and determined that he was a little lost. This did not worry him as if all else failed he could apparate—or teleport, as the Royal Academy insisted he call it despite having a completely different arithmantical base function—back to familiar territory.

As he continued along he hummed a happy traveling tune and occasionally broke into actual song. His voice was a deep baritone but while he could hold the tune reasonably well, it would have been clear to anyone who listened that he would not be contending in the Equestria’s Got Talent competition any time soon. This fact did not bother the pony in the slightest.

The unicorn’s contentment did not last long as loud screams in three distinct voices came from above and rapidly closed with his position. It was so fast that the stallion only had enough time to move his horn away, lest he harmed the fillies that just crash landed on him.

“See anythin’?” one filly asked in a drawl that most would have placed from the country.

Another filly wiped away some of the tree sap that covered her flank. She smeared the sap even further into her fur, but cleared enough to see that her flank was still blank. Her voice was very tom-boyish. “Tree sap and pine needles, but no cutie mark.”

“Plan B?” asked the third filly with a slight squeak to her voice.

“Yeah,” the second filly replied, “You know where we can find a cannon at this hour?”

“No,” the cobalt blue stallion answered from underneath the pile of fillies, “but if you plan to continue using me as your crash net, we need to negotiate a contract. I hope you have lots of bits because hazard pay is not cheap.”

“Woah!” all three fillies shouted in surprise as they jumped off their accidental landing pad.

The stallion then stood and stretched. Several of his joints popped loudly as he did. When he was finished, he stood quite tall and his physique was somewhat muscular and moderatley toned. His dark cobalt coat contrasted with his primarily dark rust mane which was accented by a single thin copper colored stripe. The stranger’s tail was a half-and-half blend of both rust and copper. The saddlebags he wore were a plain burlap brown and had no designs or markings. The most unusual feature the fillies could see was his eyes. They were a dirty brown, not quite dark but not quite light. It was almost as if his eyes were grayed with age.

The cobalt-furred unicorn gazed upon the three fillies that accidentally used him as a fall-breaking cushion. To say that they were the very definition of adorable would have been an understatement. All three of them had expressions of awe, wonder, and child-like curiosity. The fact that those children were born from an already excessively cute species just made them all the more adorable. The wandering pony felt if they were any cuter he would suffer a hyperglycemic reaction and fall into a coma.

“Wow, mister! Yer almost as big as my brother.” This earth pony filly had a butter-yellow coat and strawberry-red mane with a large pink bow tied between the forelock and crest. Her eyes were a two-toned orange which complimented her fur and mane and were full of curiosity. She pulled seemingly from nowhere a couple of buckets of water for the three to wash up in.

“Taller with his horn,” the squeaky voiced unicorn added as she started to clean the sap off her marshmallow-white fur. Her mane was a soft lavender and pink as was her tail and both curled at the ends.

“You don’t count the horn, Sweetie Belle,” the tom-boy pegasus retorted. She made no move to clean herself up as she almost glared the stranger with her expressive purple-gray eyes. Her coat was a not-quite-garish orange contrasted with an equally not-quite-garish magenta mane and tail, each styled to look wind-swept.

“Why not?” Sweetie Belle asked gruffly as she finished cleaning off, “You count the wings for pegasi so why not the horn for unicorns?”

“The wings only count while they’re flyin’,” the yellow country filly interrupted, the sap already cleaned off, “otherwise they don’t count.”

“The wings always count, Apple Bloom!” the magenta-maned filly barked at her yellow-coated friend as her wings buzzed in agitation, “It’s not like they just disappear when we’re not flying.”

“If the wings count, Scootaloo, then so does the horn,” the white unicorn pouted, “Isn’t that right, mister?”

The three fillies were now looking at him expectantly, as if his opinion would decide the fate of the world. The orange pegasus began to clean the sap off her fur but kept her half-suspicious, half-curious almost glare on him.

“To be honest,” the stallion said slowly as he took the time to ponder how best to answer. He did not want to escalate the situation, “I have not really thought about it. I suppose to be fair, when measuring body size itself, be it height, width, or length then neither the horns nor wings should count, though a tailor might suggest differently. But if you are measuring for something more esoteric, such as clearance space for a flight way or tunnel, then both should absolutely count.”

All three foals nodded thoughtfully with a soft “Oh!” as the Wisdom of The Adult was bestowed upon them. The stallion took the opportunity to clean what little sap had befallen him in the crash.

“If I may be so bold as to ask,” the cobalt unicorn continued, “who are you and what could three young fillies like yourselves possibly be doing that would cause you to end up landing on a poor unsuspecting traveler?”

“We’re really sorry for crashin’ into you, mister,” Apple Bloom said sincerely, “Ah hope you weren’t hurt.”

“A bit bruised, perhaps,” he replied as he cleaned the last of the sap from his mane, “but nothing too bad. I hope you three are okay. You certainly do not appear hurt.”

“We’re fine,” Sweetie Belle answered back as she pointed to herself and her friends, “I’m Sweetie Belle. This is Apple Bloom and Scootaloo. And we are...”

“THE CUTIE MARK CRUSADERS! Yay!” all three fillies shouted at the top of their lungs, loud enough to create a gale force wind that blew the stallion’s mane, fur and tail straight back. He quickly shook off the stun effect after they had stopped shouting but had to sit back on his haunches while his inner ears throbbed.

“We’re tryin’ to get our cutie marks,” Apple Bloom continued, “We were zip-linin’ when the rope broke.”

Sweetie Belle jumped excitedly in between Scootaloo and Apple Bloom. “We’ve tried lots of things but so far no cutie marks.”

“And surprisingly often, we end up covered in tree sap,” Scootaloo groused.

“I do not think trying random things is the way to get a cutie mark,” the cobalt pony said.

“How else are we supposed to find out what we’re good at?” the orange filly asked.

“Yeah,” added the other two Crusaders.

“Practice?” the stranger countered, “If you work at something long enough, you will usually find that you can be good at almost anything.”

“But what about our destiny?” Apple Bloom asked in her drawl, “Our cutie marks would show us what we’re destined to do.”

The stallion dropped his head down, shook it, and sighed. “There is no destiny other than what we make for ourselves. Your cutie mark cannot tell you your destiny any more than it could bake a cake. A cutie mark only shows everyone else something about you that you already knew.”

“How can we already know something when we don’t know what it is?” Scootaloo asked.

“And if we already know it, then why haven’t our cutie marks appeared yet?” Sweetie Belle added.

“When you realize you know it,” the unicorn answered, “that is when your cutie mark appears.”

“That don’t make no sense!” Apple Bloom said gruffly.

“Yeah,” Scootaloo said, “What if we never realized it? We could go our whole lives without a cutie mark.”

“Can you imagine how awful our lives would be as adults without our cutie marks?” Sweetie Belle shuddered.

“It cannot be as bad as you think,” the older unicorn replied, “I have gone my whole life without one and I have done pretty well so far.”

“WHAT?!” all three Crusaders shouted.

The stallion stood up and turned to the side to the three fillies. He shifted his saddlebags up to reveal that his flank was well and truly blank. “I have no cutie mark; I have never needed one.”

There was a brief silence. The cobalt unicorn compared it to being in a vacuum that was about to experience explosive decompression. Much to his chagrin, his assessment was quite accurate. As one, all three Crusaders embraced one another and screamed at the top of their lungs.

“If he don’t have a cutie mark, that means we might never get our cutie marks!” Apple Bloom frantically cried to her friends.

“We’ll be the laughing stock of Ponyville!” Scootaloo added in a total panic.

“I don’t want to be a blank flank forever!” Sweetie Belle’s shrieked as tears literally showered from her eyes.

The stallion cringed at his gaffe. Now he had three distraught fillies clinging to each other as if their lives depended on it and did not know how he could calm the situation down. One thing about Equestrian magic he never could fully embrace was the cutie mark being tied to fate or destiny. The whole concept reeked of prophecy and divine micromanaging. Yes, he had personally met the Great Mother, but despite his brief exposure to her presence she struck him as being far too busy with keeping reality held together to worry about any given individual’s personal fate, his own notwithstanding.

But cutie marks were magic and magic was something he knew quite a bit about, even if it did act differently from what he was used to. He thought he might be able to use that to his advantage.

“Calm down, girls,” he said in what he hoped was a soothing voice, “Cutie marks are magic and that is one subject I am very well versed in. I am confident you will all get your marks. You just need to be patient.”

“That’s what all the adults say!” Apple Bloom screamed, fully panicked, “But it hasn’t happened! All the other fillies in school got theirs!”

“What’s wrong with us?” Sweetie Belle screamed, her high-pitched voice pierced right into the cobalt stallion’s ears.

“What do you know anyway?” Scootaloo shouted with tears that also fell fast, “You’re a blank flank!”

The stallion stood at his full height and charged his horn with magic. He released the charge high up into the air and it exploded in a very loud and even more colorful burst. It was loud enough to startle the fillies out of their hysteria. He took a few steps back and with a flourish of his head followed up the star-burst spell with a sparkling snap dragon spell. Bright green sparks popped from his horn in the form of a small dragon-like creature and it flew around all the ponies. As it moved it popped, crackled, snapped, and hissed. The three little ponies stopped screaming as they became enraptured with the mesmerizing spell effects.

“That is what I know,” the stranger replied confidently as the non-flammable fireworks spell floated around the three fillies, “I may not have a cutie mark, but cutie marks are magic and I know magic. Magic takes will and focus of mind. Without them…”

The spell ended in a very tiny explosion of sparks.

“I am positive that you will all three of you get your cutie marks eventually. You certainly have the will for it as evidenced by your valiant yet marginally insane efforts in zip-lining. The only thing you lack is the focus of mind and that takes lots and lots of practice and patience.”

The Cutie Mark Crusaders calmed down a bit, their cries turned into sniffles.

“Are ya sure?” asked a shaky Apple Bloom, the other two still hugging her.

“I am as sure as I am a unicorn,” his confidence and calmness projected through his words, and he smiled devilishly as he asked, “or do I need to cast another spell to prove it?”

The Crusaders giggled lightly as the last of their upset left them.

Heavy galloping hooves fell on the four ponies’ ears. That they were that hard and fast indicated the runner was putting a lot of effort in closing the distance.

“That sounds like mah brother,” Apple Bloom said with concern as all four ponies turned toward the hoofsteps, “Our apple farm is close by and he knew we would be out here this morning.”

“Should I be concerned?” the cobalt unicorn asked with not-in-the-least-bit-ironic concern.

“Umm…” Apple Bloom pondered for a brief moment, “Probably not, but best to take a few steps that away just in case.”

The stranger stepped away from the Crusaders in the direction the yellow filly indicated with her hoof. That it put the three fillies in between him and the incoming brother was not lost on him. As soon as he moved, a large strawberry red stallion with a deep orange mane burst out of the brush, alert and ready for a good throw down if need be. The newcomer was just taller than the unicorn stallion, but much more concerning was the amount of pure muscle that adorned the massive red pony—well developed and toned muscles that were used to being put to the test and succeeding every time. The look in his eyes reminded the unicorn of a mother bear protecting her cub and of all the things the cobalt pony knew about survival, among the top was you do not mess with mamma bear… ever. He kept quiet, hoping the fillies were not brats who liked to get others into trouble. He did not think they were but one could always be wrong.

“Apple Bloom!” the atlas-esque stallion yelled as soon as he saw his youngest sister and her friends. He took a quick glance at all three to ensure they were not outwardly hurt. Once he determined that they were okay he then took in all the secondary signs of their distress and noticed that all three of them had been crying. His glare turned onto the cobalt-furred stranger, ready to bring his full might if need be. The wandering pony gulped.

“Are you three alright?” he asked with his eyes locked on his potential target. He used his peripheral vision to keep the fillies in his sight as well.

“We’re okay, Big Mac,” Apple Bloom said with conviction, “just had a little fright, is all.”

Big Mac relaxed instantly as he knew his sister would not sound so sure if there were anything actually going on. He still did not let his gaze leave the stranger who was still an unknown. Mac noticed the blue-coated stallion relax a little as well as he turned his gaze slightly toward her, but kept the other stallion well within focus. His silent prompt was immediately understood by his sister.

“Well ya see, it’s like this…” the yellow-coated crusader began. Mac internally rolled his eyes. Whenever she or any of the crusaders started a sentence like that it meant that they had gotten up to their muzzles in the usual crusader mischief. Apple Bloom retold the Crusader’s escapades for that morning with the occasional interjection by Scootaloo or Sweetie Belle. When they got to the part where the unicorn stallion had no cutie mark, Mac did a double take. At this, the unicorn stallion shifted his body to reveal that he truly had no mark. He then spoke.

“I am so used to not having a cutie mark that I keep forgetting how important it is to other ponies,” the cobalt unicorn explained, “In hindsight I should have been a little less cavalier in how I revealed that I do not have one. When they started to panic, I cast a star-burst spell because I hoped it would startle them out of it. I am sorry for frightening them and giving you cause to worry.”

Mac considered the pony standing in front of him who stood confidently, but not challenging: a full-grown stallion who had no cutie mark. He did not know what to think of that, but despite that oddity Mac had no reason to treat him less than courteously. With the exception of accidentally scaring the crusaders, for which he apologized, the unicorn stallion had done nothing to warrant hostility. However, Macintosh had questions and he would get some answers.

“Eeyup,” he said simply and the three Crusaders all smiled brightly. This in turn let the stranger relax more, but Macintosh was not done with the unicorn yet. “What’s yer name?”

The cobalt stranger sighed slightly. “A name is merely a label; something to be used as a convenience for identification. I could give you all sorts of different names and none of them would answer the question you are really asking, which is ‘who am I?’ Alas, I no longer know the answer to that question.”

“Did ya ferget it?” Apple Bloom asked.

“My name?” the older unicorn answered, “No, I did not forget my old name. I do not suffer from amnesia or anything like that. It is more that I forgot who I was supposed to be”

“Well that doesn’t make any sense!” Scootaloo said emphatically, “Your name is who you are. If you remember your name, then you remember who you are.”

The stranger chuckled. “Life often does not make any sense. If it did, what motivation would we have to figure things out for ourselves? I would posit that who we are is much more than can be summed up in a simple name, or a cutie mark for that matter. For a time, I was not the pony I was meant to be; I had forgotten the values that defined me—my sense of purpose, if you will. Due to circumstances that are far too numerous and complicated to keep track of, I can no longer be that pony and subsequently I feel I can no longer use that name.”

“What happened?” Scootaloo asked, her eyes wide with fascinated curiosity and a little worry.

“Can you keep a secret?” the wandering pony asked. When the three fillies eagerly nodded, he motioned for them to lean in close so he could whisper the knowledge they craved. Big Mac leaned in as well and the cobalt unicorn made no move to stop him. When all their heads were near touching, he looked around quickly to insure they were alone, then he leaned back in. He took a breath and right as he was about to speak, he stopped, flashed them all a wicked grin and a wink and stage whispered, “So can I.”

The three fillies groaned at the joke. Macintosh’s eyebrows furrowed in mild annoyance but said nothing.

“So, what do we call you then?” the white unicorn filly squeaked in frustration.

“I seem to pick up a new name each town I go to and none of them I particularly fancy. Perhaps you can give me a name until I can find one of my own?” the stranger answered.

The three fillies quickly huddled up and whispered to one another. The cobalt unicorn looked wryly at Big Macintosh who just stared blankly back at him. The wry look dropped from his face as he understood Macintosh was less than pleased with his antics and only remained silent so as not to involve the fillies. The Crusaders broke their huddle.

“Since you’re kind of a mystery,” Scootaloo started, “We think your name should say that.”

“But we don’t want to call you ‘Mister Mystery Stallion’,” Sweetie Belle added, “There’s a word that supposed to mean mystery but I can’t remember what it was. I’m sure it would be perfect.”

“Hmm…” the older unicorn tapped a fore-hoof to his chin as he pondered, “Puzzle; secret; conundrum; riddle—no, I do not like riddle at all.”

“Enigma,” Macintosh said simply.

“That’s it!” all three Crusaders loudly yelled at once which caused both Macintosh and the cobalt stranger to wince.

Once he recovered, the unicorn now named Enigma said, “I think Enigma is a perfectly sufficient sobriquet. Thank you all very much.”

“And then instead of calling you Mister Enigma we can shorten it to Mister E!” Scootaloo punned.

The other fillies groaned and Macintosh sighed while Enigma scrunched his brow as if suffering from a headache.

“Miss Scootaloo,” he said in a kind but authoritative voice as a teacher would speak to a student, “If I am to go by Enigma as you suggest, then I will thank you kindly to grant me the courtesy of using my new moniker properly.”

The orange filly’s ears folded back a little in reflex as she was admonished.

“Yes, sir,” she apologized, “Sorry, Mister Enigma.”

The cobalt unicorn smiled warmly, “Apology accepted, Miss Scootaloo.”

“You three go on,” Macintosh nodded ahead, “I’d like to talk to Mister Enigma in private.”

“Okay, Big Mac,” Apple Bloom replied happily.

“Miss Apple Bloom, Miss Sweetie Belle, and Miss Scootaloo,” the cobalt pony said with a bow, his voice overly genteel with the hint of a pompous accent, “Despite the unusual nature of our initial meeting, it was truly a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Perhaps our next encounter will involve more salutations and less contusions or frights.”

This prompted another giggle from the three fillies. “Bye, Mister Enigma!” all three Crusaders said loudly as they waved.

“This town is full of ponies who have their cutie marks,” the yellow filly said excitedly, “Why don’t we ask them how they did it?”

The Cutie Mark Crusaders kept chatting away happily as they trotted off towards town. When they were out of earshot, Big Macintosh turned his attention to Enigma.

“I’m not sure if you lied,” he started, “But I am sure you didn’t tell the whole truth.”

Enigma nodded in agreement. “I even admitted as much, but it was not meant maliciously or with ill intent. Precocious as those three are, they are still very young, and the truth is very complicated and more than a little inappropriate.”

“I’m not very young,” Mac retorted.

Enigma shook his head. “It is also very personal.”

“Trust has to be earned,” the red stallion challenged.

“Trust is a two-way path,” the unicorn countered, “I may not have earned your trust but you also have yet to earn mine. For my part, I can only give you my word, such as it is, that I have no ill intent towards you or your sister and her friends.”

“What about yer lack of a cutie mark?” If Macintosh seemed uncomfortable talking about such a strange subject, he did not let it show. “I’ve never heard of anypony over sixteen not having one.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” The cobalt pony shrugged. “I suppose I just have not figured out my special talent yet. I know it will be magic related because that is what I am best at; I just have not gotten the right type of magic yet. To be honest, I have never really worried about it all that much. It was always too distracting from learning new magic and frankly I do not believe in fate or destiny in the same way that most ponies do. I believe our destiny is what we make, not what is preordained by some cosmic mystical entity or magic.”

“And what’s yer business in Ponyville?” the farmer asked suspiciously.

“Are all the ponies in Ponyville this suspicious of outsiders?” Enigma groused, a little annoyed at being questioned, “I understand why you would be: a total stranger frightens your little sister and her friends, that is definitely grounds for interrogation, I get that. But if I am going to be given the third degree from very pony in town I think I will just skip it and head on down to Dodge Junction.”

Enigma knew that he would not as Dodge Junction was far off southeast and he needed to resupply, but he was tired of being grilled and felt a tiny guilt trip would move things along. Macintosh had the graciousness to be a little embarrassed by his behavior. After a noticeable pause, Macintosh replied “They’ll probably give you funny looks bout yer lack of a cutie mark, but most folk’ll be friendly enough. Some’ll be downright curious.”

“Not an unexpected reaction, though irksome,” Enigma sighed, “I suppose I should be used to it by now. As for my business in Ponyville, it is the same I have with any other town I visit: Do some trading, get some quick work if possible, pillage and plunder the library; standard tourist stuff.”

Macintosh could not help but snort at the unicorn’s ‘plunder the library’ comment and observed, “You have an odd sense of humor.”

“I am, by admission and with much delight, a very odd pony,” Enigma replied with a smirk, “Why else do you think I was so quick to accept my new moniker?”

Macintosh gave Enigma one last assessing look as he suppressed another snort. Whatever it was he was looking for he seemed to find after a brief time, for he nodded. “Eeyup. For the time being I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“That is the most I could reasonably ask for.” Enigma offered his hoof to the red farmer.

Macintosh shook the other pony’s hoof without the slightest hesitation. “I’m Macintosh,” the red earth stallion cordially replied, “Welcome to Ponyville.”

“Thank you, kindly,” the unicorn stranger returned, “Do you know of anypony who might be in need of temporary help? I am fairly multi-talented when it comes to menial tasks and I am always willing to learn new things.”

Macintosh nodded. “I could use another strong back to help me clear the south field. You look like you aren’t afraid of some hard, physical work.”

“The body needs attending to as does the mind and spirit,” the unicorn replied sagely. The raised eyebrow he got in return prompted him to continue, but with a grin, “I know; I occasionally sound like a fortune cookie. It is one of my quirks. Feel free to tell me to stuff it anytime I become too pompous.”

At that, Big Mac did chuckle, “Yer sense of humor may be odd as yer lack of a cutie mark, but at least you have one. How much were you looking to earn for a day’s work?”

“I am not greedy and have learned to economize my spending. Whatever you think is fair or barring that whatever you can afford,” Enigma replied, “I would not have you unduly burden yourself or your family.”

Macintosh threw the cobalt stallion a look of curiosity. “Yer very trusting for a traveler,” the farmer noted, “Most folk in Ponyville’s honest enough but elsewhere you might not be so lucky.”

“Hence why I became good at economizing,” Enigma quipped, “But I believe in letting ponies prove themselves, be it for good or ill.”

Macintosh nodded his approval. “I’ll pay you 5 bits for the day. Granny Smith will probably insist you stay for supper. Best not argue with her if she does. She can get quite ornery.” The red giant motioned for the unicorn to follow and trotted off towards the farm. Enigma kept pace with Macintosh though he knew if the larger red pony wanted to leave him in the dust, he could.

“That sounds good,” the cobalt stallion replied.

“So, your past is off limits,” Big Mac said as the two ponies made their way through the peaceful woods, “How about your present? What kind of pony is Enigma?”

“I suppose ‘curious’ is the best description, and by curious, I mean my disposition is inquisitive. I am interested in learning all sorts of new things. Not just magic, either. Just three weeks ago, I learned how to crochet.” Enigma pulled out a poorly crafted conglomeration of yarn. It resembled nothing that the farmer could recognize. “Yes, I know it is a disaster. Knowing the mechanics of how to do something is considerably different than having the precision telekinetic control to do it.”

“So, what was it supposed to be?” Mac asked as the affront to crafted goods everywhere was once again hidden into the depths of Enigma’s saddlebags.

“Pot holder. Yes, the simplest design imaginable was beyond my ability but I will have you know it was not for a lack of knowledge, just a complete absence of skill.” The light-hearted tone he spoke in told Big Mac that he was not embarrassed one bit by his failure. “But I chose to learn the art of crochet not only because it can be handy making your own crafts, but because I need all the help I can get with telekinesis.”

“You really are odd,” Mac replied, “Most unicorns learn fine telekinetic control when they’re foals. It’s a commonly known entrance requirement for magic schools.”

“That it is,” Enigma replied coyly, indicating he was not going to discuss his schooling, “but then you are also talking to an adult pony who has not gotten his cutie mark yet. The expectations you might have for any other unicorn, or any type of pony for that matter, will not necessarily apply to me. But enough about my freakishness and more about my mundane side.”

As the two stallions walked through the green-canopied woods, Enigma talked about his love of all kinds of music, his other attempts at various crafts and hobbies and the tendency towards utter failure due to his lack of telekinetic ability, and even about some of his past adventures as a pony. Macintosh did not speak much, usually replying with only a ‘eeyup’ or ‘nnnope’ when he did. Occasionally Big Mac did ask a question but was mostly content to let Enigma blabber on. Mostly.

“Must’ve been real itchy wait’n fer all yer fur to grow back,” the farmer teased after hearing about the unicorn’s plight with an experimental sunblock cream.

“The sunburn was much more problematic,” Enigma responded, “I was nauseous for three days and was peeling like an onion for a week after that, all on top of the incessant itching. But what really irked me the most was my medical bills cost three times what I had earned in that product test. If I ever see those twins again… traveling sales ponies nonpareil my flank.”

Mac could not help but laugh at Enigma’s antics, which he was sure was the unicorn’s intention. The red stallion still did not have all the answers he wanted, but he was much more comfortable around this new pony and was put at ease from his earlier suspicions. Normally Macintosh was quite introverted and shy. He did not like to interact much with anypony outside his family even if he had known them for a while. Although he did not do much talking, especially in comparison to Enigma, he had spoken a lot more than he usually would have. Sure, the cobalt-coated stallion was handsome, but that usually made things more difficult for the quiet earth pony.

Ponyville was very accepting of mares having relationships with other mares. This was to be expected as the mares outnumbered the stallions five to two. But two stallions having a relationship had not been heard of in the small town and Macintosh was afraid he would be ostracized. Plus, he did not want to upset Granny Smith. She was expecting he would get married and raise some foals to keep the farm going after she passed on. A pony could not exactly do that if he was dating another stallion. Lastly, he was not sure how he could explain it to Apple Bloom. Applejack was the only pony he knew who would not have an issue as she already knew and had made firm her love and support.

Big Macintosh looked over at the strange unicorn who was still muttering half-hearted curses under his breath. One utterance was so absurdly outlandish and profane that the farmer almost tripped, such was his shock. Enigma noticed the face-plant near miss and silenced his invectives with a blush. The farm pony let himself chuckle again, enjoying the stranger’s company.

It was not long before they exited the woods and arrived to the apple farm. Enigma was awed by the sheer number of apple trees that stood before him so much he gave an appreciative whistle. “If I did not know any better, I would say there are more apples in your orchard than stars in the night sky.”

“Eeyup,” Big Mac replied with pride as he pointed out the different apple orchards, “We grow almost every variety of apple known. There are only a few that we can’t grow in this climate or would require more maintenance than we can provide. We also grow a small crop of corn, carrots, and some other vegetables, though those are mostly used to fill our winter stores.” He pointed out the various non-apple crops on one side of the farm.

“We harvest apples from Midsummer through Midautumn,” the farmer continued his lecture as he led the unicorn through the fields of apple trees, “Cider season is the last harvest before winter. The exception is when we harvest the zap apples in the Spring. We have a few days before the next crop is ready. Until then, we have to remove as many trees from the south field as we can.”

The two ponies had arrived to the south field and the question Enigma had on his mind about zap apples was forgotten as soon as he saw the orchard. Every last tree was dead or near dying. It was quite a sad sight.

“What happened?” the unicorn said, shocked.

“Not exactly sure.” Macintosh led the other pony to a collection of saws, axes, and other cutting implements. “We’ve been havin a problem with this field for over eight decades now. We’ve checked the soil, the water tables, everythin’ we can think of. The trees grow just fine until they produce apples and then after one crop, they just die and we have to start all over again. We can’t sell the apples from that crop because no matter the type of apple they always taste bittersweet, almost metallic even. The one good thing about them is the hard cider I can make. They add a real kick which is very popular. But even with the profit from the hard cider, the losses have been compounding and it’s getting worse. We may have to hire a magic assessor to find out if there is a problem with the ley lines or if it’s somethin else.”

“I take it from your tone that a magic assessor is expensive?” Enigma queried.

“Very,” the farmer replied as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders, “Even the most basic assay would cost over a quarter of our annual profits. More in-depth test run much higher and this problem would likely require several detailed assessments just to determine what the cause might be. We split the farm’s profits among the entire Apple family so a lot of ponies would be left short.”

“How can a unicorn justify charging so much?” Enigma shook his head in astonishment.

“It’s a seller’s market,” Macintosh sighed, “Magical Assessment is a highly-specialized field. Only the most magically gifted of unicorns can learn it unless it’s their special talent and that is extremely rare.”

Enigma took a notepad and pencil from his saddle bags, quickly jotted down a note to himself, and put the writing tools away. Mac quirked an eyebrow as he grabbed a two-pony hoof saw. It was odd that a unicorn would write a note without using magic.

“I already told you I am looking for new magic to learn,” the unicorn said with a mischievous grin, “This is my list of things I have not quite gotten to. Knowing how to do magical assessments could prove quite useful in the future.”

“You have a mighty big opinion of your abilities.” Mac walked over to a dead tree and motioned for Enigma to follow. “Or do you think that might be yer special talent?”

“I am quite certain it is not.” Enigma stretched out all of his limbs before he took one end of the saw. They began to cut down the tree. “But if you will excuse my blatant arrogance for a moment, magic is something I know very well. There are many aspects to it in which I lack skill, such as precision telekinesis, but there are many more in which I excel. This may or may not be one of them; I will not know until I try. Either way it will be fun to attempt. Of course, I am no slouch when it comes to raw magical power so that might help.”

Rather than reply, Macintosh just snorted.

“Let me guess,” Enigma chuckled as they slowly made progress cutting down the dead apple tree, “You have heard the ‘I am so powerful’ tale spun before?”

“Canterlot unicorns,” Mac replied, “Some have the skill, some have the power, some even have both. All of them have the ego. Most don’t brag outright, but that don’t mean it ain’t there.”

“Then I shall endeavor to keep my bragging in check,” Enigma said with a grin. Mac just nodded and the unicorn took it as a sign to concentrate on working.

The two ponies worked hard throughout the day, felling tree by tree. Macintosh only spoke when he needed to, usually to explain how to do a particular chore. When Enigma would stretch between each tree, he said nothing but could not help but stare at the athletic unicorn flexing and stretching, but after the fifth one the unicorn noticed. Thankfully he mistook Macintosh’s lusting gaze as one of curiosity.

“I am not used to the heavy work load you are,” Enigma explained, unaware of the effect his actions were having on the other stallion, “If I did not stretch every now and then I am sure I would pull some muscles and then I would be useless.”

Macintosh nodded and tried to keep his eyes in check for the rest of the day. It was late in the evening when they stopped. Enigma took a look at the progress they had made; they had felled over forty trees.

The cobalt unicorn gave a low whistle. “I honestly did not think we could have done half that in twice the time.”

“Strong backs and a sharp saw,” Mac replied, “I’m surprised you didn’t use magic in the end.”

The two ponies began walking back towards the main barn.

“It would have done more harm than good.” Enigma stretched as he walked. “As I said earlier my telekinetic control is limited. I can throw objects of various sizes and weights from one place to another quickly and fairly accurately, but precision work such as hovering and holding things is much more difficult, especially multiple items at one time. I do have a spell that would probably fell a tree in a single blow, but it does not cut, it explodes. Plus, it takes a lot of power for a single cast; I would have exhausted myself after ten trees or so.”

“With the understandin that I ain’t askin about your past, I still think it’s odd you don’t have better control of your telekinesis. Most unicorns don’t like mouth writin since they can’t talk and write at the same time.”

Enigma looked at the large red stallion as they walked. They both had worked hard and were covered in perspiration, but Macintosh did not seem to be very tired from their exertions. The cobalt unicorn stamped down a pang of jealousy at the earth pony’s obvious endurance. He also stamped down a brief wave of lust as he examined the fine muscular form of his employer. It would be best not to poke that particular dragon, he felt.

“My initial training apparently lacked the core subjects most unicorns would receive,” the unicorn replied, willing to answer at least that much about his past, “And I have been playing catch up ever since. I am getting better with my telekinetic skills; the crocheting has helped me improve just in the short time since I learned the skill, but I have quite a long way to go. But regardless of that I find myself of mixed feelings about the idea of using magic for something mundane as writing or eating. One one hoof, it can be quite useful, but on the other it seems kind of frivolous. Magic can be an extremely dangerous power if not respected properly, and frivolous use should be kept to a minimum.”

“Alternative magic trainin?” the farmer commented more than asked, “More to the mystery.”

“One you may yet solve, but not today,” Enigma replied coyly, “Oh I am going to need to soak in a really hot bath for a while.”

“We got a large tub you can use next to the barn, but no way to heat the water.” Macintosh motioned over to a large tub as they neared the barn.

“That is quite all right. I have a spell for that.” The unicorn’s horn ignited into flames the color of bluebells. Macintosh quickly mastered his surprise. The color of the flames that seemed to consume the other pony’s horn complimented his cobalt coat nicely. It lent an eerie beauty to the already handsome stallion. Big Mac quashed his attraction in favor of giving the mysterious unicorn a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, it can be considered a frivolous use of magic.” The flames subsided leaving no trace of any sort of damage to Enigma’s horn. “I yield the moral high ground in the face of full body muscle cramps.”

The farmer let loose a hearty chuckle, and laughter being contagious, Enigma joined him.

“Hey, Big Mac!” shouted an orange mare walking up the path leading up to the farm, Apple Bloom right next to her, “Who’s yer friend?”

“That’s him!” Apple Bloom jumped up and down excitedly. “That’s the unicorn we were telling you about. Hi Mister Enigma!”

“Hello, Miss Apple Bloom,” the cobalt unicorn replied in a genteel fashion, “I am pleased to once again make your acquaintance.”

“This is Enigma,” Macintosh introduced the unicorn to his second youngest sister and vice versa, “And this is my other sister, Applejack.”

“Well howdy there, Enigma.” Applejack began to shake the unicorn’s hoof rapidly. “We do love makin new friends here at Sweet Apple Acres. Have ya met Granny Smith yet?”

Enigma was able to extricate his hoof after short while but still felt the reverberations of the hoofshake throughout his body. Applejack sure had one hell of a grip.

“Nnnope,” Big Macintosh replied for the unicorn, “We just got in from the south field.”

A dark look fell across Applejack’s face. “Oh, Ah sure wish we could figure out what was happenin out there. It really hurts to lose so many apple trees. How many did ya get cut down?”

“Forty-three,” the red farmer answered.

Applejack looked suitably impressed. “Whoowee! That’s pretty good. Yer horn must be near spent, I reckon.”

“I did not use magic,” Enigma replied, “I would have collapsed after the tenth tree.”

Applejack gave the unicorn a real long hard discerning look. He was certainly more muscular than most unicorns she’d met, and he was almost as large as her brother. That was not unheard of but was highly unusual. To hear that a unicorn had helped fell as many trees as they did, she would have suspected that he was half earth pony if such a thing were possible. Apple Bloom seemed to share that thought.

“Wow, Mister Enigma,” the yellow filly said excitedly, “Are ya sure yer not part earth pony?”

Enigma smiled warmly. “If I understand pony genetics correctly, the only way I could be a hybrid would be if I was an alicorn. I am definitely not an alicorn as you can see by my lack of wings.”

“That’s still mighty impressive,” Applejack said, “To be honest, were it not for yer horn, Ah would’ve thought ya were an earth pony, too. But if ya don’t mind me sayin, you two smell like Winona after chasin down some varmints in the swamp. Y’all need to go scrub down in the tub before supper or Granny Smith will have a fit.”

“Eeyup.” Macintosh nodded his head towards the tub and trotted off. Enigma followed close behind. Apple Bloom made to follow the stallions but was herded off by her sister.

“Oh no ya don’t, Apple Bloom,” Applejack said, “Yer bath is upstairs. Ya can talk more with Mister Enigma at supper.”

“Aww!” was the last thing Macintosh and Enigma heard from the filly as she was ushered off to the house by the orange mare.

“She is a hoofful, is she not?” Enigma asked the farmer as the latter drug the hose over to the tub.

“Eeyup,” Mac replied with a small smile as he tossed the end of the hose into the tub. He then went over to the water pump and began pumping water into the tub.

Enigma waited until the bottom of the tub had about an inch of water in it before his horn lit up and the surface of the water caught fire. The flames had the same bluebell color as before, only they did not extinguish as Big Macintosh continued to pump in more water. Nor did the water evaporate on contact with the flames. The farmer watched in fascination as the water level rose above the flames, completely submerging them.

“The flames do not require combustible fuel beyond oxygen,” the unicorn explained, “so they will not actually burn anything. It is very useful for creating portable heat sources; just cast the spell inside a jar with an aerated lid and you are set. It can generate a lot of heat though so I would never cast this spell in a dry forest. I am keeping the fire hot enough to heat the water but not enough to evaporate it instantly, though you still do not want to touch the flames directly.”

Mac nodded as the tub continue to fill. He reached over with one hoof and tipped over a blue bottle with bubbles on the label. The flames extinguished immediately as the tub became full. The soap solution was soon mixed with the water as Enigma cast a whirlpool spell. Both stallions climbed into the hot bath.

The farmer took a little longer to fully immerse himself as he was used to cold still baths, not hot whirlpools. It was not that the water was too hot for him, only that he was not expecting it. Once he did fully enter the bath he relaxed almost immediately. He let out an uncharacteristic sigh, heavy with relief. Enigma followed suit with a sigh of his own, his joints and muscles screaming for the soothing massage of the whirlpool.

“A one hundred percent frivolous and decadent use of magic,” Enigma moaned as his muscles began to loosen, “I should be ashamed of myself.”

“Eeyup,” Mac replied almost sleepily.

“If you fellers wanted a day at the spa,” Applejack crowed in amusement, snapping both Big Mac and Enigma awake, “all ya had to do was say so.”

Both stallions thanked the heavens for having such dark coats to help hide their respective blushes. Not that Applejack was fooled in the least. The two climbed out of the tub and Mac expertly tossed the end of the hose up into a hook set in the side of the barn, creating a makeshift shower. He nodded to Enigma to go first as he began pumping.

“Whoa, that is brisk!” the unicorn exclaimed as cold water rinsed over him. He shook himself to let the rinse water clean off all the excess soapy water. After less than a minute the two stallions switched places. Big Mac showed no signs of discomfort in the cold shower as he quickly rinsed himself off.

“How long were we out, anyway?” Enigma asked the orange mare who still had a very bemused look on her face.

“Not long,” she snickered, “A little over twenty minutes, Ah reckon. Ah’d have let you stay there for a stretch longer since it looked like ya both needed it but supper’s almost ready and Granny is actin up.”

The two stallions quickly shook off the excess water from their fur. Enigma cast a quick dry spell on both of them, giving Macintosh a bit of surprise as his coat was now completely dry. Applejack had seen that spell in use several times before, including once or twice on herself, and she recognized it instantly.

“Careful ya don’t spoil him, Enigma,” the orange mare teased, “soon he’ll want a hooficure and next thing ya know he’ll be joinin Rarity and Fluttershy on their spa dates.”

Macintosh did not appreciate the teasing in the least. His face took on a very dark and angry look.

“At least then I’d have been on a date,” the red stallion growled as he walked past his sister.

Applejack scowled as her cheeks became flush with color and she took several deep breaths to try and calm herself down. Enigma was unsure whether or not he should follow the red farmer inside the house but the yellow-maned mare solved that conundrum by nodding her head toward the home. The unicorn wasted no time following her unspoken command.

The interior of the home was exactly as Enigma expected it to be: rustic, homey, and very welcoming. The living room had the usual trappings of comfort. A cozy couch sat in front of the front picture window. A coffee table and large throw rug sat in front of that. There were a couple of comfortable chairs that sat in the southeast corner with a small end table and lamp that sat between them.

Directly across the entrance, a large hearth took up most of the west wall. Numerous family photos crowded the mantle along with more than a few rodeo trophies and various award ribbons.

The south wall to his left held the staircase that led to the upper floor. More photos adorned the stairwell wall. In the southwest corner, between the staircase and the fireplace, sat an aged rocking chair in which Enigma had no difficulty imagining a wizened old mare spending a considerable portion of her time. The unicorn half expected it to be already occupied.

To the north, a large entry way led the way into the kitchen and dining room. Inside the Kitchen, Macintosh moved bowls of food from the counter to the table. The dark look he acquired after Applejack’s teasing had not left. Apple Bloom had just placed the last setting on the table, which brought the total settings up to five. She smiled brightly when she saw him again but did not say anything given the black mood that the red farmer projected. A key lime-coated mare, wrinkled with age and with her white mane and tail each wrapped in a bun, sat at the table muttering to herself oblivious to her grandson’s anger.

Apple Bloom excitedly motioned him over to sit between her and her grandmother. Granny Smith finally noticed the stranger as he sat.

“You the hired help?” she said in her ancient voice, “What’s yer name, sonny?”

“I am called Enigma,” the unicorn replied with a friendly smile, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Missus Smith.”

“Call me Granny,” the old mare replied, “everyone else does.”

“Of course, Granny.” Enigma nodded.

“So what’s a unicorn like you doin on a farm?” Granny gave him a disconcerting look. Disconcerting in that she had shoved her muzzle directly into his and looked him eye to eye. Apparently, the wizened mare did not concern herself with personal space. “Shouldn’t ya be tryin to pull rabbit out of a hat?”

“I would, except my rabbit quit to form a progressive folk duo with a mongoose,” the unicorn replied without hesitation, “I hear their first album is expected to go gold.”

Apple Bloom giggled at Enigma’s reply. Granny Smith just pulled her head away from the unicorn and Enigma swore he caught a glimpse of a slight grin on the old mare’s face as she did.

“So yer not a trickster,” the Apple matriarch continued, “What’s yer special talent, then?”

“Oh I could very well still qualify as a trickster, even without a rabbit,” Enigma explained as he pointed a hoof to his blank flank, “but I just do not know for sure. I have not discovered my special talent yet.”

Granny Smith gave his flank a long look before she returned her gaze back to his face. “So what’s wrong with ya?”

“Granny!” Mac gave a low hiss. Apple Bloom Gasped and Enigma just laughed; he had caught the slight twinkle in her eye.

“Nothing at all, Granny Smith,” the unicorn replied jovially, “I just know the value of patience.”

Granny gave a hearty laugh. “Yer a sharp one. You’ll do nicely.”

Enigma’s thought processes skipped a beat. For some reason, Granny Smith’s declaration made him wary and the gleam the old mare had in her eye when she said it left him with a heavy sense of foreboding, as if she was not talking about his employment. The unicorn suppressed a shudder.

He was rescued from his thoughts by the entrance of Applejack. Enigma could tell that her eyes were a little watery, but not a single tear had fallen as her cheeks were bone dry. She no longer looked angry but was still upset and sad.

“Applejack,” Big Mac said quietly before she could say anything, his head hung low and his ears uncharacteristically pulled back, “I was out of line. I know you were just funnin me, but I was tired and with my mind worryin bout the south field, I just didn’t think. I’m sorry.”

A very awkward silence followed while Applejack digested the apology. After what seemed like minutes but was less than one, the orange mare nodded and walked over to her brother and gave him a hug.

“Ah know, big brother,” she said as she embraced him, “We raised those trees since they were seeds; they’re like family. Ah’m sorry too.”

Before he could reply, Big Mac’s stomach growled loudly and ruined the moment, though it did induce a round of laughter from all but Granny Smith. She merely scowled at the younger ponies.

“If yer all done arguin like foals, let’s eat!” The old mare banged her hoof on the table hard enough to knock one of the roasted ears of corn from the serving bowl onto her plate.

“You betcha, Granny!” Applejack said with a happy smile. She then took Granny’s plate and filled it up with a little bit of everything, though she made sure to decobb the ear of corn. Big Mac did the same for Apple Bloom only left her ear of corn as it was. He motioned for Enigma to serve himself up and soon everypony had food on their plate.

The unicorn was about to start eating when his left hoof was taken up by a smaller one. Enigma looked down at Apple Bloom who looked back at him with a bright smile. His right hoof was then grabbed by Granny Smith and by the time he looked over to her, he saw that all of the family had taken up the hooves of the ponies next to them.

“Ah’m thankful Ah have good friends to share crusades with,” Apple Bloom started their nightly pre-supper ritual.

“Ah’m thankful Ah have a loving family to come home to,” Applejack continued, “Even if mah brother can be a bit of a bozo.”

Light laughter filled the room.

“I’m thankful I met a new friend,” Macintosh said. Enigma expected Granny to take her turn, but the silent stare she gave him told him otherwise.

“I am thankful three little fillies decided to use me as a crash cushion because if they had not, I might not have made as many new friends as I did today.” Enigma winked at Apple Bloom as she blushed.

The wizened mare the closed out the pre-meal ritual. “Ah’m thankful my arthritis didn’t flare up, and that my corns went away, and my hemorrhoids...”

“Granny!” all three younger Apples cut the old mare off.

“At a hundred’n three, Ah’m thankful for whatever ah kin get,” Granny Smith said unabashedly, “You will be, too.”

Enigma could not help but chuckle at the old mare’s antics as the five ponies then dug into a most scrumptious meal.