//------------------------------//
// Book of Quarrel, Canto 2 
// Story: Fallen-Song 
// by Chicago Ted 
//------------------------------//

By long they’ve gone an extensive distance
Beneath a foreign sun, whose brilliance
Pierct all they saw – and yet, its fiery heat
Prov’d nought more than a troublesome nuisance.

“Have we yet reacht our end? I wish to meet
Our next soul.” Luna’s voice was dry, yet sweet.
“Be he a pony or another being,
Whoever he is, it would be most neat

To see another. In lieu of a spring –
Not that we’d need one – one’s company bring
More than one reckons worth its weight in gold.”
“We’ll soon arrive – and if he be a king?”

The baker askt. “When you spake ‘weight in gold,’
Meant you that he would judge by that same mold?
I’ve nary to my name – but you might do;
As princess, wealth’s a quality so old.”

The princess roll’d her eyes. “I have no clue
Whom we shall meet, but I shall assure you,
Should he try something quite so low as that,
He’ll have to answer to me. He’d be through!

In all my years of rule, I’ve not begat
Resentment ’mongst my subjects for such flat
Measurements. All are welcome to come speak
To me or my own sister too thereat.”

“Sounds quite th’ relief,” the baker said. “How bleak
’Twould be if otherwise.” “You son did seek
Me,” Luna said. “He told me of your ill,
And if I could in your dreams take a peek.

Well, I think you would know what that would spill.”
“Indeed,” said he, “’twas quite a nasty chill
When you entered right into my head.
I’ve wonder’d why he’d ask you for that skill,

When you yourself have mention’d what to dread
To th’ end.” The baker, bless him, nearly shed
A tear at his son’s efforts. “Even so,
If you’ve sav’d me from hanging by a thread,

I’ll know he made the proper choice – to go
And seek your wisdom, e’en when th’ sun is low.”
He sigh’d, adjusting his cloak. “Yet alas,
I fear the worst may’d come to pass – but no,

I shan’t abandon hope so soon. To pass
So unprepar’d indeed would be so crass,
Especially from something like my ail
I hope that here we would not e’er trespass

Upon another pony on this trail.”
“Why not?” askt Luna. “As these hills we scale,
I’d be so grateful for the help of more,
E’en if they’re as lost as us in the gale.

You’ve plact your life in mine hooves, as you swore.”
“But I seek also egress – through that door,”
He did insist. “We need keep pacing on.
Perhaps you may not buy into my lore,

But I suggest we tread forth to the dawn,
Before somepony sees that we’re both gone.
Imagine blossoms dancing in the wind –
Perhaps you’d like to happen ’gain upon?”

“Why yes, I dearly would!” The baker grinn’d.
“If, my Princess dear, I have never sinn’d,
Unlike the gryphon we have earlier met,
Back in Equestria we’ll both soon have shinn’d!”

“Ahead of ourselv’s let us never get,”
The princess cautioned. “We’re stuck here yet
Without the stratagem to seek an out.”
The baker said, “As long as you abet,

I see no challenge we can never flout.”
The silence past again, as on their route
They staid and kept a lookout for that one
That Glister mention’d at that riverspout.

To their left, Luna watcht sand as it spun
So calmly in the air, along barren
And dusty hills, to places left unseen –
Another gesture that they weren’t done.

Perhaps, she thought, the baker may have seen
The blessings of my sister’s day. I’ve been
Too busy with the moon and nightly court
To witness light of day, and hills of green

Surrounding us. – And yet, within our fort
We hear the pleas – long days, and nights so short!
Can truly they appreciate my art
Of bringing forth the night? Could they exhort

At all a longer interval of swart?
E’en just an hour! How, then, would they e’er start
Their so beloved day, when their sleep would
That spark which energizes them impart?

Ah, Luna sought once how to show the good
Of that heavenly art, why ponies should
Admire the night, just as they would the day.
Instead, what she got were just those that stood

With heads tipt to the sky at her display,
To seek the patterns, messages at play,
A further meaning to her nightly show,
And offer their interpretations. “Nay!”

She always had told them, “these scrawls are so
Nonsensical, ridiculous, as though
You cannot e’er accept the mix as key –
You seek a pattern i’ th’ sky? Now you know!”

That may, in retrospect, had crusht her plea
To have the ponies understand, to see
The dark as something more than baneful plight –
And thus to this day, ponies nightly flee.

So she resign’d to Princess of the Night,
To play the part of wickedness and fright,
In contrast to Celestia, whom they long
To see – her coming golden morning light.

How Luna sang her soft and dreary song
Of solitude, neglect, and glum. How strong
She was to push aside her sullenness,
To bring forth ev’ry night. – But was she wrong?

This question she could not answer, unless
She somehow found a pony who would bless
The work she did. Of course, no pony was.
Her question’s answer then is but a guess.

“Have you a thing to say? Your lengthy pause
Does worry me,” the baker said, “because
You may soon miss the sight of our next mark.
Dispel your doubts, look past whatever flaws

You see within yourself.” This free remark
Snapt Luna from her reverie. “And hark!”
Honeycomb pointed yonder. “There he lies,
Abask in this land’s blazing sunlight stark.”

Indeed, the princess could see with her eyes,
Another pony laid i’ th’ sand. To th’ skies
His muzzle pointed, perfectly unmov’d
By sand, heat, or wind – or so was his guise.

His fur was white, although it’d be improv’d
With scrubbing, so that dust may be remov’d.
His cutie mark betray’d physician skills –
Be he back home, he’d surely be reprov’d

For his unkemptness. Even as the hills
Of sand clos’d in on him, he saw no ills
In keeping still. “What troubles him?” askt she.
“Does he see no impending doom, no chills

Along his spine?” “Perhaps, if you would see
A fair bit closer, you’d find easily
A number o’ open wounds along his hide –
Be this not clear, he’s wounded terribly!”

Indeed, as Luna’s eyes went fully wide,
The poor physician struggl’d on his side.
Perhaps he knew of the impending sand,
But could not flee it. – Who was she t’ deride?

If Luna had enough of mana, and
If ev’rything she conjur’d went as plann’d,
She’d snatch him up in her magical grip
And transport him to much more stable land.

She lit her horn, and loosed from her lip
A vocal spell to safeguard on his trip.
With that achiev’d, her magic grabbed him
And set him down without a single slip.

And just in time as well – the gap grew slim
Where he before was. It was worth the vim,
She told herself, when the alternative,
Had she left him be – it would be too grim.

“I should have died – so then, why would you give
Your magic to save me? What’s your motive?”
Askt he. “’Tis simple,” Luna then shot back.
“I pulled you out so that you may live.

What be your name? Surely that you would not lack.”
“My name is Bonesaw,” so he said. “Alack,
The pain from the sand entering my veins
Would be unbearable. You should not slack

With what you seek, for I have many pains
That keep me from following you. It strains
Me even now to speak. Now leave me here!
I’ve nothing more to do that lie i’ th’ grains

Of sand.” “But nay!” said Luna. “We both fear
That you would suffer pain much more severe
Without us.” “More,” the baker said, “we seek
A way back home, with Luna as our seeër.

Perhaps you’d know a thing we don’t? ’Twould pique
Our interest if you had a tale to speak.”
And Bonesaw sigh’d. “If you insist, I shall
Begin my story. This one shall sound bleak,

And you will become revolted at all
That I have fully done before my fall.
I shan’t spare any words; it must be told
In full.” He propt himself up, sitting tall

Against the sun behind his back. “Behold,
You know me right as a physician. Old
Had I become, yet I improv’d no more –
Yet my advice is worth more than you’ve gold.”

“Sounds high and mighty,” spake she. “I implore,
What may your words be?” “Gather here – before
I start, have you encounter’d other beings?
Some may impart more for your goal, more lore

Of their own tenures here. Well, this tale brings
But sorrow only – speaks of my failings
As a physician – forsooth, I was not;
O e’en now, I lament my forct endings.”

“Were they your fault?” askt Luna. “Have you wrought
Ill practice on your ward?” He said, “I ought
To speak the truth – indeed, I have done this:
In my pursuit for intellect, I brought

An untold suffering on many. Bliss
Seem’d not to conjure in me. I’m remiss
E’en now, without a way to reconcile.
I’m sure to tell would do nought, my Princess.”

“Tell all the same! We’ll be here all the while
To hear. We’re in no rush to leave this pile
Of sand.” “Well, Luna seems so resolute;
I do suggest you start us off. Sessile

We’ll both be, so your silence would be moot.”
He said, “My cruelty was absolute;
It brings anon great shame divulging such.”
“Perhaps when you tell, we shall then dispute.

Until that may pass, you shall insomuch
Not judge thyself.” The regnant’s words did touch
Him deeply in his psyche. “As you say –
You’ve pried my words from my emphatic clutch.

I shall start from the dawn of my first day:
When I first came into that earthly fray
Call’d life, I thought I’d do some gloried thing
As my own father had ’fore me. – But nay,

My father soon past on, without telling
Of how he did this, in one dreary spring.
In his remembrance, then, I sought a path
T’ apothecaryhood. I had to bring

A great amount of will, to face the wrath
That was apprenticeship. By my own math,
It was a long five years and seven weeks
Before I could start out. Equestria hath

A convoluted way; why, where one seeks
A method or cure newer, first it piques
Th’ attention of my peers, who go and find
If what I have works, or if it needs tweaks.”

“Indeed,” the princess said, “that is the kind
Of work one sees in medicine – and mind
When I say your complaints have no place here –
First comes the life of your ward; be not blind

To whate’er suff’ring is to you made clear –
Hence caution in new medicine. I fear
That you’ve forgotten that one exercise
In your pursuit for a great elixir.

Your father may have sought to realize
A likely similarly-treasur’d prize,
But forget not what I have said before
Of finding magic cures – were he more wise,

He would not have sought such anymore,
E’en if tradition seemed like a chore.”
“And furthermore,” the baker chimed in,
“Suppose he sought that thing in days of yore –

Would it have workt back then? The odds were thin
E’en then. It would be like a thing akin
To spellcraft, something you and I know nought
About at all. – So where would he begin?”

“Beseech me nary longer!” Bonesaw shot.
“I did not once forget what I was taught,
But focust on my patients, ill or well,
By any means at all – and so I thought,

Where most physicians line their bags to swell,
I just desir’d to help – how could I tell?
’Tis simple – I would never try a wile
Where I did not see merit. – And to quell

Whate’er doubts you may have, all was worthwhile
What I have done. Perhaps you’d call it vile,
But in the end, I’ve saved more in life –
So surely that would not grant you a smile?”

Yet these two found themselv’s in ethic strife.
“That may be so,” said Luna, “but the knife
That cuts the rot away can also kill –
As you forsooth would know. Your time was rife

With conflicts such as these, my doubt is real
That you’d make your accomplishments worth nil
If you proceeded with your studies. Why,
Of bloodwork ’lone you’d never have your fill.”

“That may be so – ” And Bonesaw lookt to th’ sky
In wistfulness – “and I will seem so high
And mighty, but I still insist that none
Have ventur’d more on breaking through than I!”

He sigh’d. “But still, you’re here, and not to shun.
I’ll tell you more, but know it won’t be fun:
As rightly you have indicated me,
I’ve been most cruel in my inquisition.

“My first of these incidents came by sea:
A shiphoof sought relief from his scurvy.
Of course, the cure was simply citrus fruit,
But then I thought: why pluck fruit from the tree

When in its stead the citrus-thing would suit?
I then extracted from a lemon its sour loot
And mixed an elixir for the horse
Whose teeth did threaten to fall from the root.

The shiphoof did not like this thing, of course –
Who would? Its taste would leave a princess hoarse!
But he complain’d of bitterness long since –
Said citrus that’s extracted from the source

Was medicine most foul. He had to rinse
For fourteen days and fourteen nights ’fore glints
Of his jaw show’d again. And ne’er again
Would he show his face to my practice. Hints

Of my supposed cruelty and my pain
Soon made the rounds as fast as that arcane
Sense travels. I dispell’d whiche’er I could,
And for a time, that seem’d to stop my bane.

I did not give up, as they claim’d I should,
But rather show them what I did was good.
Another soon sought, this time with a foal
Who claim’d some poison joke – and as it would,

It made his hide and fur as dark as coal.
I askt him where ’twas. He said from a knoll
Along the riverbank, where his friends play’d
Their games – their folly once left their control,

And that poor thing tumbl’d into the shade
Where it grew. And when he emerg’d, he paid
The price at once in sunlight strong – ’tis how
The poison joke conducts its noxious raid.

So when they came to me, I gave a sough –
I askt them, and they said they would allow
Whatever measure I saw fit to save
Him from his own predicament – and how

I went about this was so plain: the knave
Would have t’ endure the cold whilst I would shave
His damag’d fur away. With that aside,
I told him that he would have to be brave

For sev’ral weeks since. After all, I’ve tried
To help howe’er I can. Yet he decried
My methods; thus, I had no further choice
But force him to hold still, whilst from his hide

I took his damag’d coat away. His voice
Pierct high to th’ heavens. – But again, what choice
Had I? No matter what, I had to get
It done. And he of course would not rejoice –

When it was done, his hide was drencht in sweat.
For all the work that I have done, I’d let
My reputation turn afoul once more.
But now, the ponies seem’d not to forget.

For everything I’ve done, it seem’d that poor
Old me would be left on that bitter shore.
Nopony would see me, no matter what
Their ails be. Thus, for medicine, I swore

That no other option would e’er be shut
Away. ‘To fix at all costs;’ no limit
Would be consider’d. Put this into act,
And with luck, it would pull me from my rut.

I mov’d house, and to my relief, they lact
The knowledge of my older pactice. Tact
Would carry me for quite some time, I thought.
And soon enough, my ward would soon be pact.

In medicine, these ponies knew of nought,
Which did allow me to try what I wrought
Within my lab’ratory. As it were,
These foreign patients soon to me had taught

That memory indeed was great power
That little I could do could make me stir
Away my past experiences. So
The years flew by in such a profound blur,

I barely now remember what I’ve t’ show.
And yet, forsooth, these wound of mine all know
Full well what I have done. I cannot tell
If you remorse or have contempt; ergo,

Should you find me at fault, then cast your spell
And banish me from misery – or, well,
Do not, and let my suff’ring do the work.
If not, then please do not let my pain dwell.”

“You truly are to be despis’d. That quirk
Of yours is part of those shadows that lurk
Where hope shin’s not,” said Luna. “Take what you
Have done, what patients you have cur’d, and murk

Them in the filth beneath your hoov’s. In lieu
Of progress, you have caused suff’ring to
Your ward, such untold suffering upon
Your hoov’s. Such venom I have left to spew,

But I’ll leave it unsaid, for it would dawn
Soon on you just what vitriol you’ve drawn
O’er intervening years of medicine.
By skies above, I’m glad your use is gone!”

“As much as I would hate to misalign
Myself, I must agree with Princess Mine,”
The baker said. “If you e’er saw my colt,
I’d keep on you a watchful eye so fine.

I’d ne’er forgive myself once if you molt
His fur, or anything else in his holt.
And now, my Princess, let us go, I plead;
I do not wish to lay eyes on this dolt

Again!” “I understand, but you still need
To calm yourself. Your rage would not grant speed
On this our journey.” The baker took some air,
But this did not ease his storm. “To impede

On our quest – we shan’t spring your pathic snare.”
“So be it,” Bonesaw said. “I shall not spare
Another moment of time. Move along,
And please forget that I was ever there.”

As they went on, the baker said, “How strong
You must have been to hinder your vile-song.
Were I in your place, I’d not hesitate
To up his suffering.” “But that’d be wrong,”

Said she. “I can recall one whom I hate –
So long ago, when our Equestria great
Was founded, I and sister had to see
A frightening physician. How the wait

Was long, and how the both of us did plead
For mercy from this stranger. Yet with glee
He did his work. In hindsight, I should thank
Him. Were it not for him, we would not be

Here, raising sun and moon.” She saw her flank,
An indication of her task and rank
Of bringing forth the night. “If you’d pardon?”
The baker askt her. “If I could be frank?”

And Luna nodded, and he went on, “None
Should ever fear physicians. Whom we’ll shun
Did have a point – they only want to save
Lives. Who are we t’ deride them just for one?

But still, I’m not about to turn to th’ knave
And grant him any mercy. He’s not brave
Enough to stick to our traditions. Why,
I’d be amaz’d if anyone forgave

Him for the things he’s done to them. By sky
Above, I’m through with him.” He gave a sigh.
“But not the others – unlike you, I’ve had
Kind medicine. I shall not vilify

My own physician, e’en if he’s a tad
Forgetful.” He then laugh’d. “You should be glad
Indeed for what he’s practict unto you
And sister. Lest he drove your young selv’s mad – ”

Then Luna burst out laughing at this cue.
She sigh’d, reliev’d. “Perhaps ’tis true –
I ought to overcome my foolish fear.”
The baker nodded. “Take another view:

Those foolish ponies see your night as blear,
Yet even though it penetrat’s all here,
It does not kill them. Thus, these questions stand:
Wherefore do they still gallop ’neath a clear

Night sky? If darkness droops across the land,
Seem they to not remember daylight and
Its golden brightness?” “That does seem the way,”
The princess answer’d. “I think day as bland,

Where ponies take for granted, work or play
The whole time. Of course, ’tis ne’er here to stay,
But soon set down by us in due moment.
The difference ’tween them be – well, night and day!”

They both laught at this quip – such amusement
Was what they needed both, with these frequent
Halts on their winding path in desert heat,
Which both endured on their tiring hunt.

“If,” Luna askt, “the end we’ll truly meet,
If no force cosmic e’er will help us greet
The dawn again, then I can rest my soul
To know that some physicians are a treat –

Not just for ailments, but to play a role
In one’s community as well. A stroll
I’ th’ park for some, but others find it odd
To chatter of nought. – My physician stole

Nought from me, caused nary fraud.
To this extent I am most grateful.” Broad
She scann’d th’ horizon. “I still wonder oft
If never that had come to pass. – But flaw’d

Would be my logic in this case.” “But soft,
My Liege,” the baker said. He briefly doft
His cloak, to shake the sand loose. “’Tis alright
To dwell on these fleeting thoughts.” Luna scoft.

“How could you think of that at all, in spite
Of what I’ve said to you?” she askt. “You slight
Me.” “Soft now, there’s no reason for a brawl,”
The baker told her. “We must not lose sight

Of that sweet thing we both seek – ‘home,’ we call
It. And when we both push up past that wall,
We’ll both be free – free to return to our
Own lives, you in your court, me in my small

And humble bakery.” And at this hour
Did Luna ponder what had made her sour:
Honeycomb, Bonesaw, or another thing.
Regardless of this, they still had to scour

These endless sandy hills for their saving.
This talking goaded her on rememb’ring
Those times Celestia saw that stallion gray.
Not Star-Swirl, nay, for this one had a wing

Upon his back, the other cut away
Some years ago. He never told that day
To them – it likely was, then, for the best,
She thought – regardless, care was his forté,

And care was all he practict without rest.
She never once forgot his humor, lest
She reminisce as well on horrors deep.
He meant well, she knew, yet that did not wrest

Away her old concerns. She let them seep
Into her mind, those memories, to keep
Her on their path. Celestia was not scar’d
Of him as much as she was – she would weep

At first sight, begging him that she be spar’d.
By consequence, her sister always far’d
Before her, yet she never once complain’d.
They ne’er had cause to let their fright be air’d,

However: he had diligence ingrain’d
Into his mind, so never had he strain’d
Himself to get two alicorn foals calm.
And with their full attentiveness sustain’d,

He never either got from them a qualm.
In just a matter of mere minutes, from
His place they both emerg’d, both much improv’d:
If their fur be worn, he had just that balm;

If thorns in their skin, they were soon remov’d;
And for what others ail’d them, he reprov’d
The malady. “Perhaps,” the baker said,
Which did disturb, though Luna was unmov’d,

“You could speak more of what lies in your head.
Your stable silence – that is what I dread
The most of all.” “Pray tell, how is that so?”
She askt, her head atilt. “The life I’ve led

Has shown to me that silence may asow
The seeds of bitter conflict. Tell, what know
You that I don’t?” Yet she did not speak.
“So be it then, but do not let me slow

You. We’ve much ground to cover yet! That peak
O’er yonder does approach. What we both seek
May be right at the top, so let us leave.
E’en if we never find another creek

Like where we met the gryphon. Don’t deceive
Me, much like how he did the same – relieve
Yourself o’ th’ truth.” “Alright, I shall!” she cried.
“I’ve mull’d over your words. You won’t believe

What I’m about t’ impart. Recall that guide
We’ve met.” In pond’ring her next words, she sigh’d.
“In one sense, he reminded me of that
Physician we once had. I bear no pride

Of what I’ll tell of next.” Her voice fell flat.
“Whene’er we went to see him, there he sat
Awaiting to probe us sans end. And yet,
I only have him t’ thank, for he begat

Our future wellness. All our fears he’d let
Run in abandon – then when we were set,
He’d take a gentle manner, to our shock,
And all our nervousness we’d soon forget!”

She laughed alongside him – and on their walk
He added, “Seems we’re not so different – talk
Of foalhood fears like those is commonplace.
You must bear shame in this. I won’t mock –

For I bear something similar.” His face
Droopt down. “In my youth, during my slow pace
Of baking as a foal, there came a smith
Not known for delicacy. I’d efface

And make myself scarce in the kitchen with
Some mindless busywork. He was no kith
Of mine, yet Father forct me to face him
One day – and that turn’d out to be a myth;

That smith was by far pleasant, full of vim
Of someone younger than he to the brim.
He wanted just t’ see who made his sweet bread –
To think that we met only on a whim!”

He laught aloud, and firmly shook his head.
“How I regret not seeing him instead
When he came ’round – a coward was I, yes!
To hid myself with really nought to dread!”

“O soft,” said Luna, “there’s no need – unless
You choose t’ regret, you need not have such stress.
And wherefore do I say such things, you’d ask?
E’en as a princess, I’ve not virtue’s bless.

You’ve heard my surgeon’s tale – I did unmask
It as unfortunate; he had the task
Of looking o’er two rather raucous foals.
I fault him not now, but now merely bask

It in regret. This is part of my tolls
As Princess of the Night. I’ve many roles
Besides, but you’d need not to be concern’d
With any of them. My point is, the holes

In my personal narrative have burn’d
Away within my heart. And if I’ve learn’d
Correctly of your life, then you’ve too shame
Wi’ th’ smith. And yet, I’m sure you have well earn’d

A place among your village – not for fame
Nor wealth, but merely to survive all th’ same.”
“This much is true,” the baker told her, “but
I wonder what impact I left. I blame

Myself for my own cowardice – for what
Else me convinct? I was left in a rut.”
And this time, he induced the silence,
For Luna had nought more t’ add. They did strut

On through the sandy hills, asearch for whence
They came. The gryphon surely had the sense
To know of other creatures in the sand –
They had to seek them out amid the dense

And shifting hills. She notict high o’er th’ land
The sun was starting to get dim. A band
Of dust did start t’ occlude its brilliant sight.
“Is this the norm?” the baker then askt – and

She had no answer to give him. The night,
Perhaps? But that would be convenient. Might
A blinding sandstorm bear down onto them?
This to her sounded likely – for no light

Could pierce through to the ground. O what a gem
This day has been! So far, their stratagem
Has forct them ever onward, as they must
Brave through the foreign elements. “Ahem!”

She had to clear her throat, for choking dust
Had swarm’d around them – and a mighty gust
Of wind kict up. The princess wondered how
They stood it – though the baker never fust

About his situation, but did plow
’Longside her through the sand. She would endow
In due time greater aegis from this trial,
She vow’d – but knew this’d be an empty vow.

“Can even you see in this?” he call’d while
He stumbl’d ’round. His voice came from a mile
To th’ left of her, or so she thought at first.
She saw that this storm would take quite a while

To dissipate. She pull’d her cloak – the worst
Was clearly yet to come. This land had curst
These two and many more with untold pain.
She wonder’d if whate’er damage can be reverst.

To trample through the hills proved a strain,
As both they found their hooves stuck again.
Held fast in sandy wind – ’tshould not be so,
Lest all their ankles get a crippling sprain.

With little power she had left, she let go
A burst of magic – but not just for show:
She found herself amove again, and
So did the baker. “Aye!” he call’d. “Let’s go

Already, Princess Mine!” And through the sand
Once more they went. When carefully she scann’d
What little she could see, she found a way
Both safe and clear. Her uncloakt fur was tann’d,

But she knew not to stop, for what delay
Could e’er stop both of them? They should not stay
Here in the storm, for here lied certain doom –
They could be swept off their hooves, and away!