Bramble Keeps the Mist — Before sunrise, when the reed marsh smelled of cold mud and mint, Bramble set himself a challenge: he would not step from his grass tuft until the hidden bell under the water rang. Read the full story →
Before sunrise, when the reed marsh smelled of cold mud and mint, Bramble set himself a challenge: he would not step from his grass tuft until the hidden bell under the water rang. The other ponies had wandered off to breakfast, but Bramble kept his hooves planted. Drip, drip went the fog on his ears. His long mane tickled his neck, and a pale strand slid over one eye.
The bell did not ring at noon. It did not ring when gnats stitched silver loops above the puddles. Bramble was about to stamp when he heard a tiny clink, not below him, but beside him. A moon-moth, damp and trembling, had caught its wings in the sharp reeds. If Bramble moved too fast, the reeds would tear them. So he lowered his head inch by inch, letting his forelock fall like a soft curtain between the moth and the glare.
“Stay in my shade,” he whispered. The moth dried, fluttered free, and struck the old bell with one powdery wing: ding. Ever since, ponies have kept long forelocks, because patient eyes are sometimes best hidden behind a curtain of hair. Next time you see Bramble’s shaggy lock, see if you can spot the secret shade it makes.