After millennia of slumber, the ponies of Tambelon have awoken. For good or ill, they set their sights on the surface.
Tapper and Canary walked towards the trough. The bell had never chimed but work needed doing. Laziness was always punished.
Tapper had been a stubborn unicorn, thinking it a trap.
Thankfully, Canary was stubborn enough to risk speaking.
“Let’s go,” her singsong voice whispered through the darkness.
Tapper had nodded and followed. When somepony dared to speak, you simply listened.
The torches were all unlit, unusual for that time in the morning. Or afternoon. Or evening. Tapper wished that she still had her sun.
Tapper and Canary and many others arrived at the troughs and...
Something was clearly amiss.
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