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Luna and Celestia walked through the open field, the smoldering caldera receding into the distance behind them.
"Look, I said I was sorry," said Luna, not meeting Celestia's eyes.
"Do. Not. Speak. To me. Not right now," she said through gritted teeth. Streaks of dark ash marred her creamy white coat, and her partially-incinerated mane still sizzled away, down from three colors to two.
"You can't blame me for what happened. I don't even know where the cultists found that much jam living inside a volcano, much less how they kept it from going bad." When her sister didn't reply Luna let the silence descend over them again.
"You could have warned me about the ferrets, at the very least," said Celestia. "And then to top it all off this 'epic artifact of immense power' turns out to be-"
"The book didn't mention that!" protested Luna. "I don't know what the Order was thinking! I don't even know how you'd do that to a spatula!" She shuddered. "Those poor, poor quiches. Their sacrifice shall never be forgotten."
"Oh, yes it will. Because we are never going to speak of this again. Ever. Especially not to Twilight. Do you understand?"
Luna's ears drooped. "I suppose, if you feel it's for the best."
"I certainly do. Now please, I have a splitting headache. Let's just... walk quietly for a bit."
And the tale of the enchanted spatula faded forever into legend.