In the middle of a snowy field stood a zebra in olive drab garb. His head was ducked, his eyes looking to what rested in his open hoof. A stopwatch, simple, rugged and reliable, sat atop the dark patch on his foreleg, the faint dips in his coat hiding the scars he’d earned in some battle or another.
Faded with time, time being the essence of his life.
Past the cracked glass, seconds ticked by as the hands swept across the face of the clock within. His eyes followed the slimmest hand, a stark red, as it dashed around again and again. In his line of work, the very moments matter. In his mind, a countdown was sounding amongst several others. It served as the background melody to an arrangement of calculations that flooded his thoughts. He accounted for everything.
The speed of the air. The distance across the valley before him. The number of creatures under his charge, the direction marked in degrees shown by the glorious flag the fluttered over the encampment. The composition of the vanguard ponies along with the distance they had traveled towards meeting the foe. All of this information was of course vital, but ultimately secondary, to the prime duty of his command.
To his left, and to his right, as far as the eye could see, were lines of mortars, ballista, and mangonels. His mind raced with the technical specifications. The speed of the projectiles, the travel time of their arcs, the average periods for reloading, the amount of ammunition they could allot to this assault, all these details and more.
He sought a singular purpose to all this.
Unification, in more ways than one.
Through coordination, all these disparate factors could be brought together into a whole. One singular span of time, a glorious meeting place. Their goal accomplished in one fell swoop of tactical brilliance. Just a few more details to consider, a hoofful of details to account for, and his orders could begin.
The hands of his stopwatch spun.
His troops had paused as the enemy began to advance.
He waited. It was not yet time.
A harsh wind swept across the camp, kicking up his collar as it strained the ropes that tied their tents to the ground. He watched as the flag, the symbol of the Boreal Grove embroidered upon it, snapped back with the wind. The last piece slotted into place, he clamped the stopwatch closed, the hands now slightly obscured by the branches of the Grove. The enemy’s advance halted as they encountered the vanguard, those mighty earth ponies armored with the very blessings the taiga standing firm against them. They were shielded by the bark and vine granted to them by the taiga they sought to spread. They were shielded not against the foe before them, but from the allies behind. The Grove could never harm their own.
The synthesis was almost upon the battlefield. The zebra turned to his companions and gave them a series of orders, final adjustments to be made. Armaments to be lowered or turned, munitions to be exchanged for new purpose. Then, the sequence could begin. His creatures knew the order. All he had to do was tell them when and the teams would fire on their marks.
He raised a hoof. Moments passed before he brought it down. The air around him was filled with the hollow thumps of mortars being fired. Their arcs were the highest, their load the slowest. They would arrive the same second as the others.
His hoof rose and fell again. About him were the dry snaps of restraint levers being pulled loose before the creak of the wooden arms slinging their burden was let out by the catapults.
Shortly after, he signaled with his hoof for the last time. The air was filled with the violent twangs of the ballista launching their thorned bolts. The mortars and catapults would shake away the packed snow and soften the earth beneath, allowing the arrows to drive deep and cover the battlefield in a blanket of thorns.
All the better for winning this battle and spreading the roots of the taiga. It would see every corner of this tundra under its canopy before his people would rest under its benevolent care. He looked to his pocket watch, hidden beneath the visage of the Grove. He smirked.
What a fitting sight. With time, all would understand what his people already knew.
The Grove cares for all.
Ten seconds had passed. The mortars would soon reach their mark. He turned to hi-“Peps”
His subordinate befor- “Pepperpot.”
She felt somepony shake her. Her eyes blinked away from the table.
She looked beside her to see the store owner pointing to the clock.
“Your train leaves in ten minutes, Cap.” the rocin grumbled before walking away, saying something about her getting caught up in the game under his breath.
“Oh buck,” she exclaimed, slinging her saddlebags onto the table and scooping up an assortment of figures. She glanced across the way and apologized “I’m so sorry, this has been terribly fun and whi-”
The unicorn merely chuckled as an aura lifted the models closer to him towards her case. “Don’t worry about it. Rematch whenever you’re back in town?”
“Of course, of course,” she muttered, hastily grabbing her things, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Her hoof scooped up the last miniature, a solitary figure. It was a simple zebra, an artillery master looking at his weapon of war. An intricate chain affixed it to his front pocket.
She gingerly placed it in the satchel in the space reserved for him alone. She threw it over her back and rushed towards the door. At least until a box on the wall caught her attention and slowed her pace. It was a new release, the symbol of the Grove marked on the upper corner over the picture of a massive trebuchet. Why, it must be able to cover the entire table and she’d be surprised if it had less than six die for-
“I’ll put it on your tab, now get out of here!” the owner yelled from behind the counter.
She rose up on her hind legs and placed a hoof against the wall, looking behind her. “You’re the best.” she chirped before grabbing the box with her mouth and sprinting out of the store.
The door swung absently in her wake, the bell gently chiming.