Description:
Here's a further chapter of "The Story of Moorsavage", again with a drawing that illustrates it :D This time I went for a more classic comic appearance. Let me know what you think! And I hope you enjoy the story if you read it.
Previous chapter: >>2921274
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Previously, on "The Story of Moorsavage": Stendhal Syndrome shelters an injured feral pony in his house. Together with his cousin Fresca Lemonade, he takes care of her wounds and attempts to teach her to speak. He soon realizes speaking isn't the only subject the wild creature could use some lessons in…
And why did he ask him to meet him in such an isolated place? And so late at night? Illy had no idea, but as he reached the outskirts of the city and turned left, he supposed it had to be important.
Stendhal was waiting for him, walking nervously. He put a hoof on his shoulder as he greeted him.
- Hey.
The white pony jolted a little.
- YIKES! Ah! Hello, Illy. Thanks for coming on such short notice.
- Of course. What’s the matter?
Stendhal looked left. Then right. Then left again. Finally, he leaned closer towards him.
- Listen, I have a favour to ask you. I’m in a really… let's say, unusual situation. And… I’m not quite sure how to deal with it on my own.
- Okay, sure. I can help you.
- Wait, not so fast! First, you have to promise me you’ll keep this between us. I’ll explain everything, but I need you to promise. I don’t want ponies around knowing about this. Ponies talk. Even when they’d better keep their muzzles shut.
Illy placed his right hoof on his fluffy chest. He didn't like mystery, but not as much as he despised leaving a friend hanging.
- I promise. I won’t tell anyone, unless you ask me to or allow me to.
Stendhal looked relieved.
- Thank you. Ok, here goes…
He started to whisper in his ear. Illy’s eyes became the size of a watermelon.
- What? A savage pony? Into your house??
- Shhh! What did I just tell you? Keep it down, loud mouth…
- Sorry, it’s just… wow.
- I know. Now you see why I can’t have other ponies know about this? Who knows what some of them might do, they… they might want to… I don't know, study her, like she's some kind of… equine guinea pig! The poor thing is already terrified, she’s only just starting to trust us two…
- Yeah, of course, mate. I hear you and I'm with you on that. But how are you going to handle this?
- Fresca and I have been trying to teach her. Speaking, gesturing, basic interactions… that sort of things. But… there’s something we can’t teach her. You see, she’s a unicorn…
Illy understood why he was there.
- Oooh…
- And neither Fresca nor I, well… heh…
Stendhal put a hoof on his forehead, squishing his large tuft of brown hair.
- …no horn.
- Yeah, yeah, I see what you mean. So basically, you are asking me to… be her professor in magic?
- Yes.
- Me. A pony called “Illiterate”.
- Please. I don’t know who else to ask to. Plus, don’t be modest, you are quite amazing with magic, after all.
The purple unicorn pondered. He was NOT quite amazing: when he was a colt, he accidentally turned his corneas black while performing a basic spell and no one had been able to revert that condition ever since. But Stendhal looked so tormented, he was basically begging him…
- I have never taught anypony anything, except when Boozey asked me how to play chess. But you know, Stendhal, you and Frisky are my friends. And if there’s something that even an illiterate like me knows is that you should always help a friend in need. So yes, I’ll do this.
Stendhal could barely contain himself. He jumped to his friend’s neck and hugged him.
- Yes! Thank you, Illy! Thank you! I knew I could count on you.
- Don’t mention it, buddy-bud.
- …okay, don’t ever call me that again, please. That’s cringy.
They both laughed.
- Are you free tomorrow?
- Yeah, I am free all day.
- Then… how about you start tomorrow? The sooner the better: you could come to my place at sunset.
- I can do that. I’ll see you tomorrow then.
- Awesome! I have to rush back home now. Thanks again, Illy! I owe you one.
And he galloped away into the night, leaving his friend smiling to himself and shaking his head. Professor Illiterate… would you believe it. What could be next, flying donkeys?
Previous chapter: >>2921274
—-
Previously, on "The Story of Moorsavage": Stendhal Syndrome shelters an injured feral pony in his house. Together with his cousin Fresca Lemonade, he takes care of her wounds and attempts to teach her to speak. He soon realizes speaking isn't the only subject the wild creature could use some lessons in…
And why did he ask him to meet him in such an isolated place? And so late at night? Illy had no idea, but as he reached the outskirts of the city and turned left, he supposed it had to be important.
Stendhal was waiting for him, walking nervously. He put a hoof on his shoulder as he greeted him.
- Hey.
The white pony jolted a little.
- YIKES! Ah! Hello, Illy. Thanks for coming on such short notice.
- Of course. What’s the matter?
Stendhal looked left. Then right. Then left again. Finally, he leaned closer towards him.
- Listen, I have a favour to ask you. I’m in a really… let's say, unusual situation. And… I’m not quite sure how to deal with it on my own.
- Okay, sure. I can help you.
- Wait, not so fast! First, you have to promise me you’ll keep this between us. I’ll explain everything, but I need you to promise. I don’t want ponies around knowing about this. Ponies talk. Even when they’d better keep their muzzles shut.
Illy placed his right hoof on his fluffy chest. He didn't like mystery, but not as much as he despised leaving a friend hanging.
- I promise. I won’t tell anyone, unless you ask me to or allow me to.
Stendhal looked relieved.
- Thank you. Ok, here goes…
He started to whisper in his ear. Illy’s eyes became the size of a watermelon.
- What? A savage pony? Into your house??
- Shhh! What did I just tell you? Keep it down, loud mouth…
- Sorry, it’s just… wow.
- I know. Now you see why I can’t have other ponies know about this? Who knows what some of them might do, they… they might want to… I don't know, study her, like she's some kind of… equine guinea pig! The poor thing is already terrified, she’s only just starting to trust us two…
- Yeah, of course, mate. I hear you and I'm with you on that. But how are you going to handle this?
- Fresca and I have been trying to teach her. Speaking, gesturing, basic interactions… that sort of things. But… there’s something we can’t teach her. You see, she’s a unicorn…
Illy understood why he was there.
- Oooh…
- And neither Fresca nor I, well… heh…
Stendhal put a hoof on his forehead, squishing his large tuft of brown hair.
- …no horn.
- Yeah, yeah, I see what you mean. So basically, you are asking me to… be her professor in magic?
- Yes.
- Me. A pony called “Illiterate”.
- Please. I don’t know who else to ask to. Plus, don’t be modest, you are quite amazing with magic, after all.
The purple unicorn pondered. He was NOT quite amazing: when he was a colt, he accidentally turned his corneas black while performing a basic spell and no one had been able to revert that condition ever since. But Stendhal looked so tormented, he was basically begging him…
- I have never taught anypony anything, except when Boozey asked me how to play chess. But you know, Stendhal, you and Frisky are my friends. And if there’s something that even an illiterate like me knows is that you should always help a friend in need. So yes, I’ll do this.
Stendhal could barely contain himself. He jumped to his friend’s neck and hugged him.
- Yes! Thank you, Illy! Thank you! I knew I could count on you.
- Don’t mention it, buddy-bud.
- …okay, don’t ever call me that again, please. That’s cringy.
They both laughed.
- Are you free tomorrow?
- Yeah, I am free all day.
- Then… how about you start tomorrow? The sooner the better: you could come to my place at sunset.
- I can do that. I’ll see you tomorrow then.
- Awesome! I have to rush back home now. Thanks again, Illy! I owe you one.
And he galloped away into the night, leaving his friend smiling to himself and shaking his head. Professor Illiterate… would you believe it. What could be next, flying donkeys?
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