//------------------------------// // Epilogue: The Painter and the Pegacorn // Story: Love, Sugar, and Sails // by DSNesmith //------------------------------// Tyria Strudel reclined beneath a palm, watching the moonlit leaves sway in the breeze. Her hat lifted slightly in the wind, but her hoof firmly pushed it back down over her mane and the strap of her black eyepatch. To her right, the sounds of a sizzling pan and crackling fire melded with the gentle breaking of the waves on the beach a few meters away. Rye was still humming the refrain of The Mountain, the Mare, and the Dragonslayer as he worked, occasionally punctuated by the staccato raps of a food turner on the metal pan. Tyria hummed a few bars along with him, lifting her sketchpad up in the flickering firelight and flicking her charcoal pencil across the page with a swift head motion. The wind shifted, and suddenly the scent of dinner was carried across her nose. “Mmm, Rye, that smells fantastic.” “Oh, it’ll taste even better, trust me,” he said. With a steady eye, he jostled the pan over the beachfront campfire. “Just a minute or two longer.” Tyria gave a habitual glance down the beach to check on their craft. The little sailboat rested in the shallows, bobbing up and down as the waves rolled in. They could likely have bought one outright with the proceeds from the ongoing gallery showing of Lost Reef and the seapony money left over from the wedding; but it would have been difficult to take with them back to Canterlot, so instead they’d settled on a three week rental. She yawned happily. Two weeks out so far, and she was enjoying every minute of it. Even Rye had finally gotten his sea legs for the most part, though she had continued trying to take them through calm seas for his sake. “I’ve been thinking,” she said, making another stroke of charcoal on her sketch of the moonlit beach. “Maybe I should get a glass eye. An expensive one, with a magic iris that looks wherever your real one does. Very realistic.” “Hmm.” Rye lifted the pan off of the camp grill, setting it aside to cool. “Looking for some variety?” “Well…” Tyria felt her cheeks heat self-consciously. “It’s just... if I don’t, you’re probably going to get a lot of strange looks back in Canterlot walking around with a one-eyed mare.” Rye strode over with a small ceramic bowl, filled with the best-looking stir fried vegetables Tyria had ever seen—or smelled. “I wouldn’t worry about that. I’m used to strange looks.” “Oh... I suppose you are. Thanks.” She set her sketch aside and accepted the bowl, digging in with gusto. Rye lay down beside her, under the palm. Idly munching on a fried green bean, he traced a circle in the sand with a hoof. “I could help you pick one out, if you really wanted, but…” He flashed her a grin. “I kind of like the whole corsair look. Especially that eyepatch.” He gave a low purr. Tyria smiled despite herself, tugging on the brim of her hat. “And you told me mares thought scars were exotic.” “Well now I know why.” He leaned over and kissed her. “I think you’re perfect as you are, Tyria.” She lifted the bowl and took another bite of cooked pepper. “Keep cooking like this, and I’ll think you are, too.” Rye snorted. “So, how are the sketches coming?” “Very nicely. I’m going to have plenty of reference material by the time we head back to Equestria. I’m thinking of doing it as a new series. Islands of the Zebras.” “Destined for the gallery circuit, no doubt.” She pushed him away with a hoof. “Oh, stop; they only put the last one up because the pirates stole or destroyed half the old exhibits.” Rye gave her a look of mock-severity. “Now, now, what did we agree about the unwarranted humbleness?” “I…” Tyria smiled reluctantly. “All right, I admit it. It was a pretty good painting.” “You're going to be the next Fillyric Church, if I heard that gallery owner right.” “Now that is pure, excessive flattery,” she said, chewing another bite of food. “Besides, most fine artists don’t get famous until they die.” “Surely losing an eye is close enough to qualify. A half-blind painter—it’s inspiring, like Beethoofen.” “Ha.” Tyria stared regretfully at the bowl, which was emptying far too quickly. “You didn’t happen to make a second helping of this, did you?” Rye shrugged. “I could, but we do still have seven days left before we reach civilization again.” “Better save the food, then.” Tyria sighed, looking out at the dark ocean horizon. “It’s strange… I’ve wanted to go back home for years, but now that we’re actually leaving…” He dipped his head in a meditative nod. “I know the feeling.” “I’m going to miss the isles,” she said quietly, feeling the breeze play across her face. “It’s so beautiful out here.” “Yes…” Rye scooted up onto his elbows. “But there’s a lot of other beauty out there in the world. The mountains of Sleipnord… the forests of Elketh… the plains of Zerubia… It would be a shame to only visit one.” “I wonder how many we’ll get to see?” she said, taking another mouthful of food. “That depends on Celestia,” said Rye, patting his stomach contentedly. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll be headed to Antellucía next. I hear they have a little pirate problem these days.” Tyria laughed. “I don’t know that I can handle any more pirates.” Rye chuckled, before looking over at her with a nervous smile. “You do still want to come with me, don’t you?” “Of course,” she said, lightly bopping his nose with a hoof. “You’re not going to leave me behind in Canterlot while you go getting all the good vistas to yourself. I can only paint the Sun Castle so many times.” She finished off her bowl. “Besides, what if you get into trouble? I’d rather have a head start on rescuing you.” Rye gave a relieved laugh. “Diplomatic missions aren’t usually as exciting as this one was, you know.” “Oh, I have a feeling that with you, they will be,” she said with a wink. It was tricky to do with one eye, but she was swiftly becoming a master. “Certainly more interesting than usual,” he said, smiling. “I’m glad you’re with me, Tyria.” “Always.” She set the bowl aside and leaned down to kiss him. They lay there for a while, lips pressed together, listening to the sounds of the ocean. Tyria lifted her head slightly with a coy look. “I have a confession to make.” “Oh?” his eyebrow rose. “Remember when I showed you our honeymoon route through the archipelago?” “Yes…” She glanced innocently up at the fronds of the palm above. “Well, I left this stop off of that map.” Rye rubbed his nose against hers. “And what, pray tell, is so special about this island?” In reply, she pointed over his shoulder with a hoof. Rye craned his head back, and she felt his little jolt of surprise when he spotted the distant outcropping of rock where a tiny stream trickled down into the sea. “Hang on…” “I figured it couldn’t hurt to restock on fresh water while we’re doing all this sea travel,” she said, the corner of her mouth curling into a smile. “Good thing we already know an island where there’s plenty of it.” Rye lunged at her, grabbing her with his hooves and tickling her furiously. “You little—” Giggling uncontrollably, she fought him off, leaping to her hooves. “Race you to the hot springs!” “Oh, you—” He scrambled up after her, slipping in the sand. “Hey, no fair! You’ve got longer legs!” “Loser does what the winner saaaays…” she taunted, galloping into the underbrush. Rye chased her into the greenery. Their laughter rose from the foliage, rolling away into the night as the waves came in to shore.