The Children of Planet Earth

by Chicago Ted

Essay - Straight from the Horse's Mouth

On 30 June 1997 (ship time, to account for any general-relativity differences), the interstellar colony ship Zodiac-Altair arrived in orbit of a world mankind named Rhysling. Per Commander Louis Darcy’s orders, a probe was dropped onto the lush surface, but contact was lost almost immediately. While exhausting every other means of regaining contact with the equipment to retrieve its data, short of physical intervention, by serendipity the crew had also discovered evidence of an extraterrestrial civilization on the surface as well.

Thus Commander Darcy had sent the author alone to the surface, to make contact with the Rhyslinger Indigenous and document their language in a way that the rest of the Zodiac-Altair crew could learn. This process was not an easy one, considering how closely language and culture are tied to one another, not to mention an assumption of a complete and utter lack of commonality between their language and those on Earth.

That assumption proved correct in some areas, and misguided in others. After discovering their language is articulated orally, with phonemes produced by air moved by a diaphragm through the oral and nasal cavities, it became clear that, in terms of mechanics, it would be possible for a human to speak as the Indigenous do, and vice versa – an amazing discovery, considering the beings with which we were communicating were largely equine in appearance.

In terms of grammar, however, it proved a challenge for the author to master. It took a natively-printed codex, along with guidance from a native speaker (to whom insisted be taught English), to master the Indigenous language – which the author had later come to learn calls itself Ơhqer (may also be spelled “Eochqer”), or literally the Harmonic Voice (ơh [ɤx], “harmony” + ner [neɹ], “voice,” “speech/language”). A fellow colonist humorously suggested “Equestrian,” and against better judgment, this paper will be using such a term.

[Fitting, then, that the equines’ nation should call itself Ơhesti (“Eochesti”), or literally the Harmonic Empire (ơh + esti [esˈti], “state,” “nation,” “empire”), but naturally the author digresses.]

After weeks of practice with reading, writing, and speaking the Voice, the author was able to negotiate his own Imperial citizenship and a colony site for the rest of Zodiac-Altair – a site later dubbed New Tacoma, after the author’s birthplace. He had also been tasked with providing an easier avenue for the rest of the colony, and mankind at large, to learn Equestrian. This paper shall attempt to serve an introductory purpose, with supplementary materials to further mankind’s understanding of the language, and any necessary errata should the need ever arise, all to be produced at later dates.

Here is documented its phonology, its grammar, its dialectology, its writing system, and other miscellanea that the author feels the reader ought to know to further his or her fluency in the language, all checked against a native Equestrian speaker, one Ãtir Ḷsapa [ɑ̃ˈtiɹ l̩sɑˈpɑ], alias Twilight Sparkle, whose contributions before and during this paper had proved major enough to warrant her coäuthor status here.

Equestrian is an extraterrestrial language spoken by about ten million sapient equine analogues (hereafter “ponies”) who compose the Harmonic Empire on Rhysling. Genetic relationships with other Rhyslinger languages have yet to be determined. Most Imperial citizens are monolingual in Equestrian, only using other languages when interpreting with other political bodies.

A few phonological and grammatical principles remain, despite the language being open to borrowing words from other languages. Indeed, it has not been determined yet if Equestrian is a creole of multiple other languages. It is also unknown at this time where the language originated within the Empire, or indeed if the language is native to the region.

However, as the Empire comprises the largest and most powerful native political body on the planet, it would be pertinent for the time being at least to use Equestrian in communications with the Empire, then rely on Imperial interpreters to communicate with the rest of Rhysling.

Equestrian has a set of fourteen vowels – seven oral and seven nasal – and two syllabic consonants, neither of which can occur nasally. Given the language’s total lack of polyphthongs, this gives a total of sixteen possible syllable nuclei.

Figure 1a: The Equestrian vowels.

Figure 1b: The Equestrian syllabic consonants.

Equestrian also has a perfectly regular consonant series.

Figure 1c: The Equestrian consonants.

Differences in phonology are detailed further in Section 4. Please note that Equestrian does have a native writing system, details of which are found in Section 5; for ease of readability, this paper will use the Romanization system shown in the phonological charts presented ante, along with any IPA transcriptions of newly-introduced Equestrian words.

Neither in the consonants nor in the vowels is any length distinction made – even allophonic length is not present in the language; e.g. dḷgãgru [dl̩ɡɑ̃ɡˈɹu] (“I need to go”), in combining dḷgã [dl̩ˈɡɑ̃] + ak [ɑk], drops the vowel from ak, assimilating the second root into the first, a sandhi process appearing to be present even in slow, careful speech. Further, the final vowel in the first root determines whether it is oral or nasal, simply by remaining in the state in which it is, i.e. a theoretical word dḷgagru combining dḷga + ãk would keep the oral vowel in the vowel sandhi.

In fact, any phonemic length appears to be in free variation, e.g. [ɑ], [ɑː], [ɑːː], and even [ɑ̆] are all phonemically /a/. The reason(s) why is/are not certain at this time, but it is possible it had always been this way. My current working theory is that lacking such a feature would let the language work better in song (see Section 5).

Equestrian vowels and consonants work in strict harmonies, both with rules that can never be violated; even loanwords are made to comply with them.

Each harmony has ‘dominant,’ ‘recessive,’ and ‘neutral’ categories, each specifying their own writing rules. The ‘dominant’ harmonies are assumed to be the default, and need no special markings. The ‘recessive’ harmonies require special diacritics to indicate the harmony; they only need to be marked once per word, and only on the first relevant glyph. The ‘neutral’ harmony does not influence the harmony into either direction, but has every vowel explicitly marked in writing.*

As Equestrian presents an agglutinative grammar, there arises the question of how the harmonies are applied in compound words. The harmonies in a given word are determined by the first root; even prefixes comply with the first root. This means that even a ‘recessive’ harmony can influence its corresponding ‘dominant’ harmony to comply, if the first root has the recessive harmony.

Vowels are divided along a rounding harmony, into these categories: ‘solar,’ ‘lunar,’ and ‘rainy.’ ‘Solar’ vowels are unrounded, and serve as the dominant harmony. ‘Lunar’ vowels are rounded, and serve as the recessive harmony. ‘Rainy’ vowels, while unrounded, are neutral.

Figure 2a: The Equestrian vowel harmony.

Consonants are divided along a pharyngeal harmony, into these categories: ‘aquatic,’ ‘terrestrial,’ and again ‘rainy.’ ‘Aquatic’ consonants are voiced, and serve as the dominant harmony. ‘Terrestrial’ consonants are voiceless, and serve as the recessive harmony. ‘Rainy’ consonants, while voiced, are neutral.

Figure 2b: The Equestrian consonant harmony.

An astute reader might notice that the neutral consonants and vowels not only share the same term, but also almost perfectly reflect each other. Section 5 further emphasizes this relationship, while Section 4 presents a few dialectal deviations from this pattern.

Equestrian phonotactics are quite simple, albeit not without its complexities. A few rules exist in the language, and loanwords do not appear to be exempt from any of them.

The syllable structure is (C)V(C). Any consonant can serve as an onset or a coda; the nucleus can be any vowel, oral or nasal, or either syllabic consonant. As stated before, no diphthongs, triphthongs, etc. exist in Equestrian; for instance, any falling diphthongs ending in [i̯] are really analyzed as a sequence of a vowel followed by [j] as the syllable coda. If a loanword has a consonant cluster larger than two syllables, or if it has two syllables not straddling a syllable break, one or more [e] or [ɑ], depending on the vowel harmony (see Section 2.1, ante), are inserted to break up the cluster.

The primary stress always falls upon the final syllable of a word, unless it is a monosyllable, in which case it is not stressed at all. Only a single tone exists in Equestrian: a simple rising tone, placed upon the final syllable. Unlike the primary stress, it also applies to monosyllables. It does not matter whether the tone is [˩˥], [˩˧], [˧˥], or any other rising tone; it only matters that the tone ends higher than when it started. Consequently, it may be encoded in IPA transcriptions with the tone diacritic [◌̌], as its weakness of ambiguity perfectly suits Equestrian’s purposes. (See Section 3 for its grammatical purpose.)

Corresponding ‘rainy’ vowels and consonants do not appear next to each other. Which is to say: [​i] and [ĩ] do not appear adjacent to [j]; [ɹ̩] does not appear adjacent to [ɹ]; and [l̩] does not appear adjacent to [l].

Nasal consonants do not assimilate position based on the following consonant.

Equestrian grammar, while paralleling many Terrestrial languages, is markedly different from most. This section will explain how the language functions. The reader should take note that it will assume one specific dialect (traditionally associated with the farming caste); any dialectal deviations from this norm are listed in Section 4. Additionally, to simplify this paper, the affixes will all use the ‘solar’ and ‘aquatic’ phonological harmonies.

Equestrian nouns are sorted into three classes, of which ‘animate,’ ‘magical,’ and ‘inert’ are the closest English translations for the language’s internal terminology. This is not to be confused with ‘masculine,’ ‘feminine,’ and ‘neuter,’ as nouns are not divided along gender lines per se; in fact, sexual differences are not expressed anywhere in Equestrian grammar at all. Another thing to note is that the definitions given here are not perfectly strict, and many exceptions abound – either through cultural definitions, or from a possible older noun-class system; the true reason(s) is/are not known at this time.

‘Animate’ nouns, as the term suggests, include living organisms, including the ponies themselves, and geographical locations. Some inanimate nouns are included in this list, such as ṛyli ([ɹ̩jˈli], “rain”), whose natural fall is seen as a force of life itself, rather than gravity forcing the water down (despite modern Imperial science and technology having perfected weather manipulation and control).

‘Magical’ nouns are a little harder to describe, as their definitions are clearly and deeply tied into Imperial culture. By and large they are composed of items one might consider ‘animate’ or ‘inert’ instead, along with celestial objects both local and distant, events, and any technology with which they are not familiar, either through sheer novelty, or those introduced by mankind. It would seem Arthur C. Clarke’s Third Law best describes this last point: “Any sufficiently-advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” Perhaps in that vein, some of these items truly are magical, as their underlying mechanics demand further human scientific study to understand.

‘Inert’ nouns are the miscellanea class; anything that does not fall into either previous class. Certain items we know to be ‘animate’ are classified as inert, i.e. microörganisms.

Important to note is that these noun classes are not marked on the nouns themselves at all, which suggests this noun class may have been invented, either by the Imperial state, or by a single location from which it organically spread. Noun classes instead are marked on the verb, as the agent (the object, if any, being irrelevant in class).

Nouns have a simple case declension system, composed of merely six (although some additional cases are detailed in Section 4): ergative, absolutive, genitive, dative, comitative, and prepositional. Note that these case endings do not change with the noun’s class, but may change based both on consonant and vowel harmony and according to any conflicting ‘rainy’ vowels and consonants.

The ergative (null) and absolutive (-ley [ˈlej]) cases also illustrate Equestrian’s morphosyntactic alignment, although the ergative case is very rarely evoked, save for a few special circumstances, including official government speeches and where the agent needs to be indicated.

The genitive and dative cases use the endings -zḷ [ˈzl̩] and -we [ˈɣe].

The presence of a comitative case (-ez [ˈez]) is unusual, especially since while the language also has an instrumental case, said case is strictly dialectal. The presence of the comitative case in all dialects appears to reflect the close-knit social structure in the Empire’s culture.

The prepositional case (-il [ˈil]) is a ‘catch-all’ for any other cases that are expressed by a particle placed before the noun. This includes any cases that are also expressed as an affix in other dialects.

Nouns decline for four numbers: singular, dual, paucal, and plural. These suffixes are -imẽ [iˈmẽ] for the dual, -ize [iˈze] for the paucal, and -ye [ˈje] for the plural. The singular is unmarked. Each of these numbers are placed directly after the noun but before any applicable case suffix.

Occasionally, due to the ‘rainy’ sound rule, these endings would have to be changed. If the noun ends in either syllabic consonant, [ɹ̩] or [l̩], the dual suffix changes to -ymẽ [jˈmẽ] and the paucal suffix changes to -yze [jˈze]. If the noun ends in [​i] or [ĩ], the suffixes are assimilated as -mẽ [ˈmẽ] for the dual, -ze [ˈze] for the paucal, and -e [ˈe] for the plural.

The paucal number covers sets of three, four, five, or six items. This is a strict grammatical rule, one suspected to be tied into Imperial culture.

Equestrian recognizes five different pronouns, three of which are divided into the four numbers as detailed in Section 3.3, ante. These are the first person, the second person, the third person, the indefinite (also known as the zero person), and the reflexive.

The first-person singular absolutive pronoun is ṛs [ɹ̩s]. Its dual form is ṛsiþẽ [ɹ̩siˈᵑʘe], its paucal ṛsise [ɹ̩siˈse], and its plural rsye [ɹ̩sˈje]. Ṛsiþẽ functions as the ‘royal We’ in older and official speech.

The second-person singular absolutive pronoun is vẽ [ʙẽ]. Its dual form is vẽymẽ [ʙẽjˈmẽ], its paucal vẽyze [ʙẽjˈze], and its plural vẽye [ʙẽˈje].

The third-person singular absolutive pronoun is mưl [mɯl]. Its dual form is mưlimẽ [mɯliˈmẽ], its paucal mưlize [mɯliˈze], and its plural mưlye [mɯlˈje].

The indefinite absolutive pronoun is wo [ɣo]. The reflexive absolutive pronoun is ezeg [eˈzeɡ].

Equestrian works on a senary counting system. Body counting is done first on the knees, then on the ears. Sãlu [sɑ̃ˈlu] indicates one item, iþã [iˈᵑʘɑ̃] two items, kurso [kuɹˈso] three, deñe [deˈŋe] four, uru [uˈɹu] five, and iza [iˈzɑ] technically six, but in the context of the language it is best understood as ‘ten’ items. Numbers beyond 10₆ combine roots in a specific order, in a fashion not too dissimilar from Japanese: 11₆ is izazãlu [izɑzɑ̃ˈlu] (note the consonant-harmony compliance), 12₆izaymã [izɑjˈmɑ̃], 20₆ is iþãysa [iᵑʘɑ̃jˈsɑ], and so forth. 100₆ is ayla [ɑjˈlɑ], and 1000₆ is awidṛ [ɑɣiˈdɹ̩].

An astute reader can note the parallels between the numerals and the grammatical numbers, which I suspect makes me think of a strong conscious influence from a governing body. One should note that awidṛ does not have an equivalent grammatical number, but it is also used to mean ‘countless,’ in a similar vein to Greek μῡρίος (mȳríos, ‘ten thousand’). For most day-to-day usage, these numbers will suffice; however, for actual mathematical usage, which frequently exceeds these basic limitations, awidṛ can be partially reduplicated, i.e. awidṛwidṛ [ɑɣidɹ̩ɣiˈdɹ̩] for ‘1,000,000₆.’ This technique does not appear to have an upper limit save for practicality.

The Empire heavily favors this counting system, primarily for its mathematical advantages over decimal, but applies it as well to all their weights and measures, including timekeeping and datekeeping, upon which I will elaborate further in the following subsections. It may initially appear to be a digression, but the reader should bear in mind that this facet of their civilization is important to recognize when dealing with the Harmonic Empire.

See Section 5 for the Imperial mathematical notation.

First, the reader should note that the Rhyslinger day is exactly two-thirds of a Terrestrial day, and somehow not one second more or less. While oddly coincidental, this provides an excellent basis upon which to compare perceptions of the progression of time.

The Imperial clock works similarly to ISO 8601, but nonetheless divides the Rhyslinger day differently. First is the kãtṛtal [kɑ̃tɹ̩ˈtɑl], which lasts eight Terrestrial hours. The word has no direct equivalent in English, but can be understood as a ‘half-day;’ traditionally, the dividing line between one kãtṛtal and the next was the sunrise and sunset, though naturally when these occur vary from day to day. The equinoxes are the only days of the year when they are perfectly half-and-half.

From there, each kãtṛtal is divided into six (6₁₀, 10₆) ‘hours,’ or izãdal [izɑ̃ˈdɑl], each of which lasts eighty Terrestrial minutes. One can see that the unit is derived from the root for ‘10₆,’ a pattern that will continue to follow.

Each izãdal is divided into thirty-six (36₁₀, 100₆) ‘minutes,’ or ayladal [ɑjlɑˈdɑl] (a word again derived from a number, this time for 100₆), each of which lasts two Terrestrial minutes and two-ninths of a third.

A very recent cultural trend has meant dividing each ayadal into two hundred sixteen (216₁₀, 1000₆) seconds. This unit, however, is too new to have a common name, though if I had to guess, it would be named the awidṛdal [ɑɣidɹ̩ˈdɑl], following the trend of the previous units of time.

Traditionally, the units smaller than the kãtṛtal were determined by a water clock. The specific design is not one seen on Earth – well, not one used for such a purpose in any case. The clock ran on a pair of sōzu – Japanese deer-scarers – with one emptying into the other. A smaller one filled up within one ayadal before dumping its contents into the larger one; the resulting noise when it fell back into place counted one ayadal. The larger one held thirty-six times the smaller’s capacity, so it would fill up within one izãdal before spilling out, with the resulting knock counting one izãdal. The tentatively-named awidṛdal derives from the flow of water from the clock’s source; again, this is where the word’s dual definition of ‘1000₆’ and ‘countless’ come into play. For obvious reasons, this clock did not track the kãtṛtal, as its progression was manifest.

The Imperial calendar year is divided into nine months, each with six weeks, each week with six days. No intercalation occurs at all; it is unclear if Rhysling’s rotation-revolution pattern is simply that perfect, or if the Empire sees no need for intercalation.

Each year is also divided into four seasons, with the same spring-summer-autumn-winter season differentiation as with western civilization. Spring, summer, and autumn each occupy two months; winter occupies three. The calendar year starts on the vernal equinox. The summer solstice is celebrated as an Imperial holiday as well; it is unknown if the winter solstice is treated the same way.

The names of the seasons are derived from the general climate in the northern hemisphere. Spring is considered ‘wet’ with the seasonal rains,* summer is considered ‘hot,’ autumn is considered ‘dry’ – which proves perfect for the farmers’ tradition of burning the refuse and inedibles from their crops, then using the ashes to fertilize crops the following year – and winter is considered ‘cold.’

The traditional working week is five days long, with the sixth and final day of the week reserved either for rest or for transactions – either in a town market, or on the last day of each month, when the ponies traditionally conduct the actual transactions, insofar as currency is transferred.*

Equestrian color categories are best plotted within a cone. At the base is a color disc, with a white (ñalab) center and a black (ebơni) outer edge. Five categories are recognized between them – red (katja), yellow (hṛtjĩ), green (sila), blue (pele), and purple (tưsḷ). Occupying the third dimension is a category (zanja) only ponies can see, extending from the disc up to the tip – but as it approaches the tip, the other colors are expressed less.

Equestrian verbs conjugate almost entirely for the subject/agent – four people except for the reflexive, and four numbers for each except for the indefinite – and four tenses: present, past, future, and cyclic, which is used for events that happen repeatedly or habitually. Curiously, no distinction in temporal aspect is made in Equestrian. Conjugation is perfectly regular across all verbs, except for the copula al [ɑl], which is not negated; instead, a negative copula ơzưñ [ɤˈzɯŋ] exists.

The first-person conjugation is marked with -rư [ˈɹɯ] for the singular, -rimẽ [ɹiˈmẽ] for the dual, -rize [ɹiˈze] for the paucal, and -ṛye [ɹ̩ˈje] or -rye [ɹˈje] for the plural. Two different endings exist for the plural, in part due to the approximant rule, and in part due to the syllable structure, both of which are detailed in Section 2.2. For brevity’s sake, this is a pattern that repeats throughout each of the other grammatical people, for similar reasons.

The second-person conjugation is marked with -vư [ˈʙɯ] for the singular, -vimẽ [ʙiˈmẽ] for the dual, -vize [ʙiˈze] for the paucal, and -vie [ʙiˈe] or -vye [ʙˈje] for the plural.

The third-person conjugation is marked with -mư [ˈmɯ] for the singular, -mimẽ [miˈmẽ] for the dual, -mize [miˈze] for the paucal, and -mie [miˈe] or -mye [mˈje] for the plural. The third person also conjugates for the noun classes; the conjugations given ante apply to the inert noun-class. The animate noun-class uses -djemư [ɟeˈmɯ] for the singular, -djemime [ɟemiˈme] for the dual, -djemize [ɟemiˈze] for the paucal, and -djemye [ɟemˈje] for the plural. The magical noun-class uses -njemư [ɲeˈmɯ] for the singular, -njemime [ɲemiˈme] for the dual, -njemize [ɲemiˈze] for the paucal, and -njemye [ɲemˈje] for the plural.

The indefinite-person conjugation is marked with only -wư [ˈɣɯ], with no number distinction.

The temporal conjugations are expressed with prefixes. The present tense is unmarked, the past is marked with zjơ- [ʒɤ], the future with il- [il], and the cyclic with ḷzj- [l̩ʒ].

The negative affix is -zữ- [zɯ], placed between the verb and the person/number marking.

A handful of mood particles exist. The indicative mood is unmarked, ama [ɑˈmɑ] marks the subjunctive mood, elsi [elˈsi] marks the conditional mood, and þesơ [ᵑʘeˈsɤ] marks the imperative mood.

A verb without any markings is infinitive. However, Equestrian has a rather unique conjugation behavior that I have taken to calling ‘compound verbs.’ Simply put, instead of leaving an indefinite verb adjacent to a conjugated one, the two verbs are agglutinated and treated as a single verb. To return to a previous example, dḷgãgru (“I need to go”) combines dḷgã (to need) and ak (to go), then conjugates the entire word for the first person, the singular number, the present tense, and the indicative mood.

Asking questions is a simple affair in Equestrian – the last syllable in a certain word receives a rising tone (see Section 2.2 for intonation). If it is a polar question, the tone applies to the verb; otherwise, it applies to the interrogative particle.

Equestrian has three dialects, divided along historical tribal lines. While there exists mutual intelligibility between them, their differences are still pronounced, and can even serve as shibboleths.

The rest of this paper assumes Common Equestrian, but this section in particular will take a closer look at the other two dialects, Courier Equestrian and Arcane Equestrian, and the chief phonological and grammatical differences between them and Common Equestrian.

Courier Equestrian is spoken by winged ponies, ones we might call pegasuses in English. Compared to Common Equestrian, their palatal stops [c] and [ɟ] are actually postalveolar affricates, [t͡ʃ] and [d͡ʒ]. Courier Equestrian also forbids null onsets; where they occur in Common Equestrian, Courier Equestrian instead uses [ɦ], transcribed as ħ when appropriate. This is considered a ‘rainy’ consonant, even though it does not have a vocal equivalent.

Thankfully, there are no grammatical differences between Common and Courier Equestrian.

Arcane Equestrian, spoken by horned ponies (ones we might call unicorns in English), is trickier in some ways to master when coming from Common Equestrian, and easier in others. In either case, both the phonology and the grammar of Arcane Equestrian are radical departures from Common Equestrian.

Instead of the bilabial trills [ʙ̥] and [ʙ] like in Common and Courier Equestrian, Arcane Equestrian uses bilabial fricatives – [ɸ] and [β], respectively. Also instead of the trademark clicks ([ᵑʘ], [ᵑǃ], [ᵑǂ], [ᵑǁ]) of the Common and Courier dialects, Arcane Equestrian uses true voiceless nasals – [m̥], [n̥], [ɲ̊], and [ŋ̊].

The Arcane dialect also has a palatal lateral consonant [ʎ], occurring as a merger of [j.l] in the other dialects (the merged [ʎ] becomes an onset, never a coda). This sound is transcribed as lj when appropriate. This is also considered a ‘rainy’ consonant and, as with the Courier dialect’s ħ, does not have a vocal equivalent. However, unlike with ħ, it has its own glyph in the native script (see Section 5).

Unlike between the Common and Courier dialects, the Arcane dialect features its own grammatical features. For the most part, they are four additional grammatical cases – namely, the locative -ơme [ɤˈme], the lative -ơwe [ɤˈɣe], the ablative -ơzle [ɤzˈle], and the instrumental -edj [ˈeɟ].

There appears to be an additional rule when used in official capacity (as Arcane Equestrian is also the administrative lingua franca) – a total lack of pro-dropping. However, since this usage is limited to two individuals, both of whom are rumored to be extremely long-lived, it is best to assume this is merely a register for said individuals, perhaps left over from an archaic form of Equestrian.

However, a human speaker need not pronounce these sounds exactly as prescribed. In particular, I have been experimenting with using labiodental fricatives [f] and [v] in place of [ʙ̥] and [ʙ] – Twilight Sparkle assumed I was developing a lisp, but could otherwise understand me. It is also acceptable to use the [t͡ʃ] and [d͡ʒ] from Courier Equestrian, and to forgo all the other dialectal differences from Common Equestrian.

Equestrian is written with a featural alphasyllabary.

Figure 3: A sample of the Equestrian script. This spells “Ãtir Ḷsapa,” Twilight Sparkle’s native name.

The vowel order, assuming solar harmony, is as follows: e, ư, ơ, i, ṛ, ḷ. The consonant order, assuming aquatic harmony, is as follows: ħ, g, ñ, w, dj, nj, zj, d, n, z, b, m, v, y, r, l. Note that ħ represents the null consonant in the series, even though it is pronounced only in the Courier dialect. In the Arcane dialect, lj is collated between y and r.

Most of the letter shapes (save for lj) are optimized for stomagraphy, as this is the main method of writing for two of the three tribes of ponies, and as such are composed of a handful of regularly-applied sub-elements. Moreover, Equestrian has a native music notation system, similar to western staff notation, but obviously developed independently from Earth.

Before the Empire was founded, two other scripts existed – one used for the Arcane dialect, the other for the Courier dialect. The Arcane script was written using rods held in a unicorn’s telekinetic grip,* while the Courier script was strongly pterographic. The Common dialect was traditionally unwritten, and indeed most of its speakers were illiterate even in the other two scripts.

One day long ago, a gardener named Zenedjưge [zeneɟɯˈɡe] – literally ‘climbing-flower,’ but better translated as Wisteria – had to stay inside from a sudden rainstorm. When the rainstorm cleared, Wisteria neglected to redon her boots, so she had to work barehoofed. The shoes were meant to keep her hooves clean, and more importantly to keep her frogs from being damaged by stray twigs and thorns.

She felt herself step on one such twig, but when she recoiled in pain, she noted the pattern of the hoofprint and twig in the muddy soil – and inspiration struck. Within the space of a day, she was able to produce all the shapes of the modern script using only her hooves and a rod held in her mouth.

Wisteria found her script quickly adopted by the rest of her tribe, but she found resistance from the pegasi and unicorn tribes. They were both content with their own forms of writing, and thought it beneath themselves to adopt a ‘lowly’ script like Wisteria’s.

It was not until she demonstrated the new script to the leaders of a budding Harmonic Empire that it finally received greater adoption, as all of their initial laws and proclamations were written in Wisteria’s hoof.

The consonants have two elements: a large circle or semicircle to define the place of articulation, and a secondary element placed inside the semicircle (but never the circle) to define the manner of articulation.

There are four directions in which the semicircle can point (insofar as the rounded loop is concerned): up, down, left, and right. The right-pointing one defines velar consonants, the up-pointing one palatal consonants, the left-pointing one alveolar consonants, and the down-pointing one labial consonants.

Standing alone, these semicircles represent voiced stops. There are three elements that can be placed inside, however. First is a smaller circle, to create nasal consonants. Second is a vertical line, to indicate fricatives. Third is a horizontal line, to change the consonant harmony from ‘aquatic’ to ‘terrestrial,’ i.e. to devoice these sounds. It need only be marked once per word.

The approximants are represented with their own symbols. These are L-shaped glyphs, with no subglyphs written within them. [j] is written with the bend in the upper-right corner. [ɹ] is written with the bend in the lower-right corner. [l] is written with the bend in the lower-left corner.

[ʎ] is uniquely written as a Z-shaped curve, likely ligated from [j] and [l]. This is not easily written with stomagraphy, and is likely a unicorn invention.

The vowels are written with a series of marks placed outside of the circle or semicircle consonant-element.

An unmarked consonant carries the inherent vowel [e]. Placing a vertical line on the right side changes it to [ɯ]. Placing a vertical line on the left side changes it to [i ]. Placing vertical lines on both sides changes it to [ɤ]. Placing a curl on the right side, heading down and to the left, changes it to [ɹ̩]. Placing a curl on the left side, heading down and to the right, changes it to [l̩].

Above the consonant, a small crescent shape can be placed to change the vowel harmony to ‘lunar.’ It need only be marked once per word. Below the consonant, if a syllabic consonant is not indicated, one can place a dot to signify a nasal vowel, or a horizontal line to mute the vowel altogether.

Punctuation is sparse; only two marks are used – first a colon-like mark, meant to end an utterance, itself seeming to be a recent development, as it is frequently dropped. The other is more obligatory – a spiral shape, resembling a backwards 6, placed above the consonant (to the left of the lunar-harmony mark, if applicable) in a word where the interrogative tone is applied.

Numerals use a place value system, marked with dots arranged in specific patterns, similar to dice pips. Zero is marked with two thick vertical lines. The senary point uses a thin vertical line.

Dots can also be arranged in triangle shapes. Pointing left is addition (+), pointing right is subtraction (-), pointing up is multiplication (×), and pointing down is division (÷).

Solid triangles are also used in mathematical notation. One pointing left is a greater-than sign (>), pointing right a lesser-than sign (<), and pointing down an equal sign (=).

A solid triangle pointing up represents exponents, roots, and logarithms all at the same time. The base is written in the lower-left corner, the exponent in the top corner, and the logarithm in the lower-right corner.

There also exist symbols specifically for negative values, π, φ, e, i, ∞, and -∞.

Instead of lines, as with western notation, Equestrian music is plotted on a grid. Each grid is four lines tall, and stretches the full width of the page.

At the start of the grid, a symbol is placed to indicate the key signature. Dots and lines are inserted along the interstices of, and above, the grid. A single dot indicates a note played; vertical dots indicate chords. Horizontal lines indicate a longer note; diagonal lines indicate a slur or glissando. A lack of dots and lines indicates a rest.

Dynamics are noted above the grid. Instead of a time signature, each vertical gridline after a number is thickened, to indicate measures. Unlike with western notation, the ‘basic’ note in an Equestrian time signature is always the smallest; this is implied to be the key signature.

It is the understanding of the reader that key and time signatures typically do not deviate, but if they ever do, they are marked with a new time signature at the start of the next measure, or the next measure is a different length, whichever applies.

One should also note that Equestrian music is traditionally on a hexatonic scale (usually the whole-tone), and will need some significant tinkering to make it work for other scales. One ad-hoc solution for non-hexatonic scales is to use numerals over the clef.

Figure 4: The Japanese folk song “Sakura” using the Equestrian method. Note the numeral 5, which indicates a pentatonic scale. This transcription was provided as a courtesy by a musician living in Ginzol.

Despite being untold light-years apart and therefore having no previous contact with one another, I find that Equestrian is not terribly different from the languages we speak regularly on Earth. It shares several features with those found on every continent, and yet employs its own innovations that, while alien, are still remarkably human.

While I have endeavored to document everything I have found so far, I realize all the same that I still have so much left to go – to say nothing about the other languages spoken in the Harmonic Empire, never mind on Rhysling.

Still within the scope of Equestrian, I am left with a few personal curiosities. For one, why distinguish what are essentially two animate classes? For another, why do they place so much emphasis on phonological harmony? Even though the three tribes have apparently set aside their differences, they still maintain their respective dialects, for reasons yet unknown.

Perhaps most curiously of all, qapata [ᵑǃɑpɑˈtɑ] (‘friendship,’ also ‘hello,’ ‘goodbye’), an obvious abstraction, is classified not as inert, but as magical. . . .