Cheerilee stood at the doorway, giving farewells to each of her students, wishing them a fine afternoon. When at last she had finished, she turned to see three fillies who remained seated, eagerly awaiting her attention.
"Girls, can I help you?" Cheerilee spoke to three self-dubbed Cutie Mark Crusaders.
"Ms. Cheerilee," spoke Scootaloo, "remember?"
Cheerilee eyes lit up with recollection, and then her ears splayed back at what the question had been.
"Scootaloo, this is a very dreary subject. The same warning goes out to you girls, if you are not one-hundred percent sure, please take the time to think about it."
She hoped that they would change their minds and go back to their Cutie Mark acquisition, rather than pursue this terrible side of history. Even she, being an experienced teacher, knew fairly little on the matter and what she did know troubled her greatly.
"Ms. Cheerilee, I'm fully ready for this. For some reason, I just have to know, okay?" Scootaloo seemed to have a genuine desperation for this knowledge within her, and Cheerilee almost thought it criminal to not indulge this sudden craving for education.
Cheerilee sighed. "Fine. But a few things first. One: It is very dark and sad aspect of our history, and not all ponies are able to handle it. I would ask that you not share this information lightly."
The trio nodded in agreement, accepting the first term. Cheerilee nodded back hardly believing that she was consenting to this taboo knowledge.
"This story..." Cheerilee found herself struggling to decide whether or not to carry on or to abandon the project and keep the fillies innocent. She decided on continuing, "This story will be filled with... vulgarities. What I'm going to tell you comes directly from a journal kept by a soldier, and a soldier does not think about fillies reading what he's writing, so it may be inappropriate. Are you girls mature enough to handle that?"
The three eyed each other suspiciously, then after a brief consultation and an explanation of the word "vulgar", the CMC agreed to Ms. Cheerilee's terms. After apologizing in advance, Ms. Cheerilee began,
"There is something you must understand first, girls. Equestria was a diff... Neigh, the world was a different place. Before the Great Alicorn Monarchy, there was the Republic of the Three Tribes.
"Uneasy peace was maintained between the races, and even thought they did not fight each other, the world was still a very dangerous place...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Spell Sword sat outside his tent, enjoying his rations as the other ponies idled by him. Each believing that where they were sent was the most important task they could have to carry out.
"You're a racist asshole."
With that a pegasus walked out of the mess-hall tent a few feet away from him, taking to the air and shaking his head.
Ugh, sounds like Gilded Armour is at it again
Like a devil being summoned, Gilded Armour stepped out of the same tent as the pegasus, laughing heartily at his own hilarity. Turning to the side he saw Spell Sword and called out to him.
"Spell Sword! Did you see that Feather get mad at me like that? They can be so immature."
"Don't call them that." Spell Sword said it loud enough to be heard, but knew he would be disregarded.
"It's not that I don't like them, it's just their kind."
Spell Sword was by no means a friend to Gilded Armour. In fact, if it were up to him, Spell Sword would have fixed the day they ever met, mending the moment they became "Friends".
Spell Sword quickly finished his drink and set his cup in his tent. He got up and started on his way, Gilded Armour following closely behind.
"So," Gilded Armour began, though Spell Sword really wished he wouldn't. "I overheard a couple of Dirt-Molesters talking, and apparently there's a push of monsters at the edge of the forest. Chances are we're likely to deploy tomorrow."
Spell Sword sighed, he had been in the military far longer than Gilded, and it showed. Gilded Armour only saw glory and adventure, while the older unicorn saw the pain and loss that was inevitable in the military. He'd lost friends, he'd seen stallions he barely even knew die in his forelegs, asking him to tell their special somepony that they loved them. It was tragedy.
After a walk around to refresh himself, Spell Sword found himself tiring, and that the day itself was coming to an end. He retired to his tent and bid Gilded Armour goodnight.
"Don't let any of those Wingers take your stuff while you sleep."
Spell Sword sighed and reminded Gilded Armour. "Your race makes you no better than they just because of it."
Crawling into his tent, he climbed into his bedroll, knowing that all of his daily duties had been finished and Lights Out would be called in not long. Closing his tired eyes, his lids fell over the grey that had once been a brilliant blue, and he found himself slipping into sleep.