Ponyville Monologue

•The skin of her hand felt warm as breath against his cracked, gray-callused palm. He readily lifted her to her feet, holding onto her hand for a moment longer than he should have, as if concerned that the wayward wind might simply gust her away straight into the air, small and winged as she was. She seemed flustered by his quick recognition, the strong retention of his memory, more so than she should have been. Most of the townsfolk had at least a peripheral idea of who she was. Given that Ponyville wasn 't an overlarge town, the slightest breath of information about her would have been relayed from one end to the other, factory-line fast and easily intercepted, or at least that 's what Able had led him to believe. He hoped this conspiratorial trade wind might be turned in his

Then, in answer to her subtle request, he said, "And it 's no trouble, I was just on my way there. Or, trying to, at any rate. What a rat warren this part of town is . . . I have never felt more mentally and spiritually dispossessed..." Carrying Able 's long package under his arm like a wedge of lightweight timber, he began to retrace his steps up the road, waiting for her to follow, his strides unevenly shifting to suit her natural pace. He didn 't wish to leave her behind.

After they had walked a short distance, he looked down at her again, his eyes wincing away from the unsightly state of her gift. With a sage nod, he said, "You should try covering it with thicker paper next time. You can buy paper bags at the grocers for five cents apiece."

He saw the hint of a bookcover peeking out of the torn wrapping and his curiosity got the better of him. "So, are you fond of reading?" he asked. He found it hard to imagine her immersed in a book, this simple act of repose beyond his mind 's comprehension. Did she have a taste for romanticized literature, or did she perhaps enjoy her novels colored with history, as he did: bracing multi-generational epics, or brief vignettes of