Chapter Text
Tubbo is a child of Spring. He was born as the buds bloomed, as the snow melted and turned to rain. His dam shows him the flowers, the bees, the life of Spring, and tells him that she is glad to have him as her calf. He is too young to respond, still stumbling on young legs, but she tucks him into her side anyway.
Tommy is born of Summer. The sun beats down upon his newborn flank, yet he takes his first steps running. His sire and dam watch, laughing lightly at him as he trips and falls, and help him back to his hooves. He is shown the brook, hidden under the shade of the foliage, and he chases after the small silver fish.
It’s when Tommy is three months old that he officially meets Tubbo. The older calf, recently weaned, is laying in the shade. It’s early Autumn yet the heat of Summer clings to them like a particularly annoying bur, and Tubbo is obviously not having it. Tommy doesn’t hesitate to lay next to him, huffing as he plops down.
“It’s hot,” Tommy states, like Tubbo doesn’t already know. “I can’t wait for it to get colder. I mean, my dam says I shouldn’t be complaining, I’m Summerborn and everything. But I think I’m allowed to be uncomfortable.”
Tubbo only looks at him once he stops speaking, having been staring out past the treeline. “I’m glad It’s still this hot, honestly. More time for crops to grow and be harvested. They think this Autumn will be short.”
“Oh, yeah. That makes sense.” Tommy looks towards where Tubbo had been staring, finding nothing but the same plains that have always been there. It makes him uneasy. “Do you think something’s happening out there?”
Tubbo’s gaze returns to the horizon, brows furrowing slightly. “I don’t know. I think I’m just anxious.”
“Anxious about what?”
“Nothing, probably.”
–
Autumn turns into Winter. The ground hardens and the grass dies, and Tommy regrets asking for colder weather. Tubbo doesn’t seem too bothered by it, that Springborn bastard. The older calf spends his days helping finish up the last of the Winter preparation, setting away the food and helping move bundles of cloth and fur needed for shelter.
Tubbo’s grown well, though he isn’t tall. He sure is broad, though, the beginnings of a good bull. Tommy himself is still scrawny. He isn’t too thin, but he seems to have mostly grown upwards. Tubbo makes fun of him for bumping his horns into things he wasn’t able to reach during Autumn, so while Tubbo helps bring the supplies, Tommy helps put them up. He takes his dam’s place, lets her rest, and his sire thanks him.
The work goes quick, there's twelve of them in the herd and ten are capable of assisting in the setup. Soon enough, before the first snow, their camp is transformed into something that will keep them safe from Winter’s embrace. Which, of course, gives Tommy plenty of free time to throw snow at people once it comes.
Tubbo is his main target, naturally, though he never goes down without a fight. Tommy gets used to watching his back, though he doesn’t get any better at avoiding snowballs. If anything, Tubbo just seems to be getting better at taking revenge. Sadly, one bad throw from Tommy takes away their snowfight privileges, and so they move on to bigger, better games. Such as tag. Of which they also lose their privileges after a sharp turn that landed Tubbo into an abandoned rabbit burrow. He tried to continue playing even with the sprained ankle.
So by Midwinter, their idea of fun shifts towards simpler things. They go back to their spot overlooking the plains.
“Do you think we could… go out there?” Tommy asks.
“Absolutely not.” Tubbo answers.
They share a look.
Their first steps outside of their herd’s grounds are taken together. Tommy gets ten steps out, Tubbo thirteen, before they rush back into the trees. Tommy grins, laughs, jumps and prances in so much excitement from their one moment of rebellion that Tubbo can’t help but join him. Tubbo is quickly reminded of his barely-healed ankle, and so they make their way back to their herd, promising to never speak of it.
–
It starts becoming a daily thing. Tubbo and Tommy step outside the herd grounds, a few more hoofsteps at a time, slowly distancing from the treeline. It’s freeing and suffocating at the same time. The world is so much wider than they knew, and with every step it becomes wider.
“Do you think it stops at those trees over there?” Tommy asks, pointing at the forest opposite theirs. “I mean, it’s gotta stop somewhere, right?”
Tubbo raises his neck to look as far as he can before relaxing with a shrug. “I mean, probably not. It might go on forever. I bet there’s probably more trees after those trees. A lot more trees. Maybe more herds beyond those trees.”
“More herds? Tubbo, you’ve lost it. Absolutely lost it, Tubs. How could there be any more herds out there?”
“What, you think our herd is the only one?”
“Well, yeah. Naturally.”
Tubbo gives him a rather unimpressed look. “Tommy, I think you’re the one who’s lost it.”
“Whatever, agree to disagree.” Tommy says, huffing and crossing his arms. He stomps a front hoof irritably.
“Whatever,” Tubbo mocks, snorting. “Come on, we should get back. My dam is probably worried, we’ve been gone all morning.”
That stifles Tommy’s mood, and he turns quickly towards the treeline. “Oh, yeah. I told my sire I’d help him with something earlier. I completely forgot.”
Tommy starts moving back towards the herd, but a few hoofsteps later he realizes Tubbo isn’t following him. He turns his head to call over. “Hey, Tubs, what’s wrong? Come on.”
Tubbo stays, unmoving, staring out at the horizon. “Tommy, do you see that?”
“See what? Now I’m sure you’ve lost your mind,” Tommy goes back over trying to follow Tubbo’s gaze.
“No, Tommy, I’m serious. Do you see that?” Tubbo points over and Tommy follows the direction, pausing at something in the distance. Black clouds, rising from the ground, just past the start of the forest across the plains. “Tell me you see that too.”
Tommy’s never seen clouds like that. He’s seen storm clouds, from deep gray to green, but he’s never seen clouds that are pure, rotten black. They rise from the ground like lifting fog, buffeted by the wind. That’s not normal.
“We should- we should tell the headmare, right? She’ll know what to do.” Tommy stumbles back, fear coiling in his chest, urging his hooves to move. Tubbo follows, then takes the lead back towards their herd.
It’s a quick run to their herd, and Tubbo is the one to tell their headmare. The headmare, along with half of their herd, follows Tommy and Tubbo back to the treeline. They’re still young, unknowing, their herd mumbles. The word “smoke” is rotated among them with a hint of fear. There’s no thunderstorms this time of year, that is no wildfire.
“What does that mean?” Tommy asks, hesitant. Humans, comes the answer.