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One morning, centaur Steve woke up feeling a deep cold in his bones and a profound weariness in his heart. He was wildly successful as a soldier, performing great feats of bravery and defending his world against those who wanted to destroy it. Now nothing could cheer him up, not even a defeat of his enemies. Retiring heaped with honors, he set off on a long journey home to the sunny Elysian Fields.
During his travels, Steve came across a large weeping willow tree near a sparkling small river, surrounded by sweet scented grass. Shifting his knapsack over his shoulder, he sighed and debated hard about pushing on into the night or sleeping in this welcome spot. It couldn’t hurt to sleep under the cover of the leafy tendrils of the willow. He wasn’t likely to find a better tree further on and it was dusk already. He slung his knapsack and laurel crown over a convenient branch, tamped the dirt down for a bed, and let himself be lulled to sleep by the music of the splashing water.
“Hello!” A shout startled the centaur.
Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Steve looked up to see a faun standing nearby. He had glossy black flanks and hair, well-trimmed hooves and beard, polished tan horns, a glowing light set in his chest, and lively blue eyes full of intelligence. He wore a laurel crown tipped with gold and threaded with red silk. A flower fairy with auburn hair followed behind holding a chalkboard.
“Hello. I see you’re awake now,” the faun repeated.
Steve stumbled to his feet, unlike his usual graceful self. “Um, hello.” He flicked his tail a couple of times and ran a hand through his tousled blond hair, pushing it into place as best he could.
“Hey, Gorgeous, ordinarily I’d love the view, but I have to ask you to move. I’m starting construction today and you’re in the way.”
“Maybe he was staying here,” the flower fairy piped up. “We can put your machine elsewhere.”
The faun examined Steve a little more closely. “You do look worse for wear,” he observed.
“I’m just passing through,” Steve protested. But the alluring scent of the sweet grass and sound of the river tugged at him. His constant weariness was in the heart more than in his sturdy centaur body. He wouldn’t mind staying for another night.
The faun waved his hand. “Stick around if you like. As long as you don’t mind the construction a few feet over there.” He took the chalkboard from the fairy and studied it. “I’m Tony, by the way.”
“Steve.”
“Steve the Centaur, nice to meet you. And this is Pepper, my assistant.” The fairy nodded.
He had traveled the world and seen many strange sights, but he had never seen anything like Tony the Faun. After a pleasant breakfast of cheese, bread and fresh water, Steve settled down by the river bank to watch Tony scurry about giving orders to a small army of gnomes. He thought hard about what he knew about fauns, but couldn’t come up with much beyond some vague idea of them prancing about playing pan flutes.
Tony definitely didn’t prance. He dashed with purpose around the strange contraption he was building near the river bank. Pepper flitted around him, taking notes on the chalkboard as Tony talked a mile a minute to her, to the gnomes, to himself. And his little tail flicked back and forth.
Steve blushed as he noticed how that little tail highlighted Tony’s shapely rear.
At noon, the gnomes broke out their lunch pails, sitting on the river back with their legs in the water. Tony joined Steve under the tree and offered to share his lunch. He leaned against Steve’s golden coat eating an apple and studying his chalkboard.
“What are you building?” Steve asked.
“A wind-powered wine press,” Tony replied. “The grape harvest starts soon and I’d like to have this ready.”
“But isn’t making wine the regular way okay?”
“I like my wine with a lot less hoof taste,” Tony replied. “I’ve designed a modern way of pressing wine, using wind power.” He excitedly explained his wind-powered press, the wooden pistons, and the special carved chute for the wine.
“That’s impressive,” Steve said.
Tony pushed a lock of black hair out of his eyes. “You think so?”
“I’ve traveled wide and far and have not seen a wind-powered wine press. That’s fantastic.”
The faun shrugged. “All in a day’s work really.” He smiled at Steve.
Steve had not planned to stay long under the willow tree near the small river. He was journeying to his home on the far side of the Elysian Fields, to the warm cave he visited in his dreams. But to be honest, he wasn’t in a hurry and no one was expecting him. He could stay and see what Tony was building.
He found that the wide open sun-splashed meadows nearby were perfect for an early morning long gallop and cool river water lovely to swim in. He especially liked to splash an agitated Tony sputtering over his gear ratios. Tony always vowed revenge.
Late one afternoon, Steve was brushing out his coat and tidying up his home under the willow tree. For a short stay, he now had a surprising amount of furniture in his little camp -- a new chest, a bin to keep his apples, and a chair for Tony. Actually Tony was the source for all the furniture since he brought a new gift for Steve nearly every time he came over for dinner. Tonight was no different as Tony arrived with a set of shelves.
“Tony, you shouldn’t have,” Steve exclaimed as he examined the shelves.
“You needed somewhere to put your combs and brushes,” Tony said dismissively.
Tony sat down in his chair and opened up his dinner pail. “Here, you’ll like this,” he said offering Steve a cheese-filled pastry.
Steve listened as Tony told him latest news about the wine press and what his plans were for the next day. It was pleasant under the leafy umbrella of the weeping willow with the stars shining bright in the dark night sky above and Tony leaning against Steve in the flickering light of the small fire.
“I’ve been wondering – why aren’t you one of those centaurs off teaching demi-god children or fighting wars? Are you even a proper centaur since you don’t play a lyre?”
Steve chuckled. “Not my skill. I’m an artist. Before I went to fight giants.”
“Show me,” Tony demanded. They spent the rest of the evening looking at Steve’s sketchbook and Steve told Tony about his soldiering days. The tired ache in Steve’s heart eased at the sound of Tony’s laugh.
Back to leaning against Steve in his now familiar spot, Tony said sleepily, “There’s an abandoned temple near the grove where I live. We could fix that up for you. You know, for winter or something like that.”
“Maybe,” Steve said. Tony fell asleep curled up against his flank, softly snoring. Steve looked down with wonder at Tony who had brought warmth and light into his grey life. The temptation to stay even longer filled Steve’s mind.
A couple of days later, Tony was vibrating with excitement. “The vat is arriving,” he said to Steve as if Steve knew exactly what the vat was.
Steve looked around the worksite and over the rolling meadows. “Vat? From where?”
“There.” Pepper pointed to a figure lumbering over the horizon. The figure turned out to be a large green ogre with a mop of unruly black hair toting a large wooden vat on his back.
“Bruce! Right here,” Tony shouted, pointing to the wooden foundation. He waved Bruce closer until the ogre held the vat in perfect position. “Lower, lower, slow, Bruce, slow. Yes! Right there.” Tony bounced back and forth on his hooves. “Thanks, buddy!”
“Anything else, Tony?” Bruce asked.
“Do you have any ideas about the windmill? I’m setting it up over here and could use some help.” Tony showed Bruce the windmill frame laid out and ready to put together.
At the end of the day, Tony, the gnome army and Bruce had built the windmill. Even Steve helped out by pulling ropes to raise the frame. During a wonderful dinner with Pepper and the gnomes, Bruce told stories about Tony and his engineering projects. After a second jug of wine passed around the table, Steve noticed that Tony had slipped away from the table.
He found Tony sitting near the vat under a lantern filled with fireflies. He was tapping his chin as he sorted out a pile of wooden gears. “We missed you at dinner,” Steve said.
“Oh, yeah, that. Bruce will understand. Just got this idea in my head that I can’t shake.” He moved the gears around. “I’ve got to rework my gears to get more power from the windmill.”
Steve patted Tony’s shoulder. He said encouragingly, “I’m sure you’ll work it out.” He looked up at the windmill now looming over them. He knew it was going to be an amazing sight in operation, being convinced that Tony could work miracles.
The next day turned out to be hot and sunny with the perfect amount of wind. Tony was ready to try the wind-powered press. He made a show of orchestrating the delivery of a wagon load of grapes and the loading of the vat in front of the gathered crowd of fauns, gnomes, sprites, fairies, pegasi, Bruce and Steve. Pepper handed him a decorated rope. Tony pulled the rope and let the windmill free.
And it worked beautifully, just Tony promised. The crowd was fascinated as the pistons pounded the grapes and the grape juice poured out the chute. They never even noticed the quickly gathering storm clouds on the horizons. It was Steve who shouted the alarm as thunder boomed and a flash of lightning filled the sky. The crowd scattered and ran for shelter.
Steve had to pull an anxious Tony away from his wine press. They had barely made it to the willow tree when the wind picked up. Steve and Tony watched as a burst of wind ripped through Tony’s carefully built windmill.
“No!” Tony shouted. “After all that work!”
“It will be fine, Tony,” Steve said. “We can rebuild in the morning.” Steve put his arm around the despairing Tony’s shoulders, tucking him in closer.
“But there’s a large party tomorrow. The grape harvest -- they’re depending on me.”
“You can fix it, Tony, we’ll all help.” Tony put his head on Steve’s shoulder and sighed. And Steve’s heart beat a little faster.
When Steve woke in the morning, Tony -- who never woke up early if he could avoid it -- was already working on the wine press. Steve walked over being especially careful around the wood lest he break something by stepping on it. “Tony, any luck?”
Tony shook his head. “I can fix most of the damage. But windmill … that’s a complete loss.”
Steve walked around the wine press and the ruins of the windmill. “Tony, could you yoke me up to the wine press?”
“What?” Tony asked.
“I could make the press work. And maybe Bruce could help out too.”
Tony jumped up on his hooves. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve pulled plows before,” Steve admitted.
“I could kiss you, Steve,” Tony said excitedly.
He immediately summoned Pepper to bring him rope, leather and padding for straps. He worked furiously to fix the wine press so that Steve could power the press by pushing a rod around the vat. Tony fussed over Steve as they tried out the new contraption. “I would hate to hurt you,” Tony said as he pulled on the leather straps hitching Steve to the rod. “And bruise that perfect skin of yours.”
“I’m a tough old soldier,” Steve replied.
Fauns, gnomes, and fairies began to bring in the grape harvest in wagons and carts over the meadows and on little boats down the river. Pepper directed them where to put the grapes while Tony dashed about adjusting the wine press. Steve majestically pushed the rod to make the press work. Bruce spelled him over during the hot day. Tony and Pepper brought them water, grapes, cheese, anything they wanted to eat. They all worked long and hard, only finished when there wasn’t any more grapes to press and the grape juice filled all their jugs.
The grateful grape harvesters laid out a large dinner with music for Tony, Pepper, Bruce and Steve. A tiny faun put a grape leaf crown on Steve’s blond hair. Food and wine flowed freely during the evening. Tony made a point of standing next to Steve at the table.
The full moon in the dark sky sailed high above the dancing crowd. The last traces of Steve’s weariness seeped away with the warmth of the lanterns, crackle of the bonfire, and sound of music and laughter. He looked down at a happy Tony, who was tapping his hoof in rhythm to the dancing.
“You promised me a kiss earlier,” he blurted out.
“A kiss?” a startled Tony replied.
Steve blushed. But he wasn’t a centaur to back down. “Yes, you said you could kiss me earlier.”
Tony looked speculative for a minute. “Yes, I did,” he said with a laugh.
Steve bent down and pressed a kiss on Tony’s wine-sweet lips.
“Hmm,” Tony replied. “You need more practice, I think.”
“I’m perfectly good at kissing.” He kissed Tony again. “But practice does make perfect.”
“Do you think you might stick around to work on it?” Tony bussed Steve’s lips.
“I hear there’s an abandoned temple in the neighborhood I could move into.”
“I could help you with that, fixing up the temple.”
Steve smiled broadly. “And the kissing?”
Tony leaned in close, breath warm on Steve’s neck, and slipped his arm around his waist. “We can start working on that right now.”