//------------------------------// // Part 16 - 2nd. Day of the Third Month, Year 12 AE // Story: Book of Days // by Warren Hutch //------------------------------// A Note from the Translator: After some serious deliberation on my part, I have decided to skip ahead somewhat in my translation of Lady Clover's journals. Following the happy day that our esteemed authoress recorded after the lighting of the magical beacon that came to be known as the Steadfast Diamond, life at Paradise Estates settled into the convivial routine of a household of that era. While notable events like Dame Pansy's wedding to Fletching [1] and Dawn Heart's first birthday celebration at Midsummer occurred during these passages, I've decided that they aren't entirely relevant to this study of the Princesses' early lives and could be reasonably excised from this text. This decision was partly the result of a frank discussion between myself and this tome's royal subjects (no pun intended) about certain interjections being made with distressing regularity in the hoofnotes. The account of certain understandable but unfortunate excesses of youthful exuberance at my former mentor's first birthday party was bartered out of the book along with an incident involving her royal sibling and a certain metallic container meant for the transporting volumes of liquid which shall remain henceforth unmentioned in exchange for fewer unwarranted intrusions into this text.[5] Chapter 16 - 2nd. Day of the Third Month, Year 12 AE I know, O diary, that you are unaccustomed to the light of the morning sun shining across your pages as I mark the day's events with my quill, as opposed to the contemplative glimmer of the candle and mayhap the gleaming of the moon thru my study window, but today I feel I must give testament to a dream of such significance that I have not even paused to brush my mane nor curry-comb my coat after flinging aside my covers on this chill morning. If my script shows the signs of an unsteady horn's glow, it is not the cold but a swirl of thoughts and emotions that is the cause. [2] But enough portentous circumlocution, I shall come to the point. Dawn Heart has a sister. There is another fledgeling goddess aborning in the sky above Equestria, deep within the glimmering core of the Steadfast Diamond. I know not when she shall be joining us, touching her delicate hooves upon the soil of our beloved land, but I am certain now that she exists. I have met her in my dreams. 'Twas three nights ago that it began, on the night of the Leap.[3] It is a night to be wary, yet open to strange revelations, as any spellcaster from the humblest hedge-mage to the exalted luminaries who steer the sun and moon through the heavens well know. After I closed your covers for the night, O diary, I took the precaution to meditate and go through the exercises that prepare the mind for lucid dreaming ere I laid my weary head upon my pillow. My mind's eye opened in that timeless, formless space, and I felt myself being pulled through the impression of mists toward a place of dim illumination. Presently I touched hooves down upon a plane lit from beneath by a soft blue glow. Stars hung above in a velvety blackness, glimmering in endless depths above that a soul untethered could fall through for untold eons. The gleaming surface beneath me gave the impression of a winter field, yet mildly warm and unyielding 'neath my hoof falls, which left no prints behind me. Tiny sparkles played across the plain in answer to the stellar majesty above, like upon sand or snow in bright sunlight. For a time unknown I wandered, as is the way in dreams where a moment may be a century and an age passes in an instant, gazing at the ephemeral constellations above and yet feeling safely grounded below. My ears pricked to a sound, a voice like a newborn foal crying for its dam. For another time unknown I searched, with the plaintive wail's growing loudness the only sign I was coming closer. Then, there ahead of me I saw her, a dark shape curled up upon the glowing plane underneath the vault of stars. She was a tiny filly, indeed a newborn foal with downy, featherless wings folded upon her back and the velvet covered nub of a horn upon her broad forehead. Her coat was a most unusual shade of indigo, with dapples of black across her hindquarters, and her silken mane was a vibrant, cornflower blue. [4] As I approached she stirred, and raised her head unsteadily to gaze at me with unfocused eyes the color of the exotic turquoise stones brought hither by wide ranging pegasi explorers to my lady Queen Platinum's treasure vault as gifts from the mighty herds of buffalo who thunder across the desert lands far to the southwest. The little creature let out a pleading moan of such loneliness that I was at once moved to rush to her and take her up in an embrace. Soft as the fuzzy skin of a peach and light as a feather, she snuggled in to my breast with a sigh of sweet contentment as soon as I held her. As I stroked her gossamer mane, it seemed as though the glow around me had become warmer, and the filigree of stars above answered with a cheerful twinkle as the mysterious filly drifted to sleep. For an unknown time I sat there, cradling this tiny waif and feeling the soft tickle of her breath upon my chest, until I gently faded from the dream as if falling asleep in reverse. I awoke the next morning and thought little of it as I set about my daily round of tasks. Mayhap, I conjectured, this dream was the result of a bit of yearning for a foal of my own to cuddle, especially now that Pansy's belly is beginning to herald the approach of her firstborn. That such a dream should happen upon the Leap I put down to mere coincidence, or at best a hopeful portent of a change in my fortunes regarding the blessings of motherhood. I cast these musings aside and made ready for the day. As dearest Cookie is wont to say, breakfast was not going to make itself, and I had one earnest colt whose geometry and cartography lessons needed going over, three fillies who needed drilled on their multiplication tables and verb tenses, and another colt who was learning his shapes and colors ere they each got to what chores awaited them. The following night, as the count of days fell back into its accustomed rhythm, I had the dream a second time, the same in almost all aspects save that the blue filly was watching for me. As I approached, she called out to me with a loud whinny that echoed in the vast stillness. She pulled herself along on her belly in the manner of infant foals in the waking world with her nubby wings flapping urgently. She gave a sigh of profound relief as I took her into a hug, and cooed sweetly as she curled against me once more. I brought it up to Cookie and Pansy as we tended the pots and chopped the vegetables for breakfast, noting the strangeness of there being continuity betwixt dreamings. Usually, if a dream recurs, it plays itself out the same, as a play being performed repeatedly over several nights, albeit with whimsical changes in the casting or props and perhaps beginning at different points in the script and looping upon itself in strange ways, as if the dramaturges thoughtlessly shuffled the pages after overindulging in elderberry wine. As a mage trained in the art of lucid dreaming and prophecy, I am well acquainted with the shadows that populate our nightly journeys of the mind. They are as the figures in a painting, or words in a book, carrying image and meaning but no true awareness. I wondered at the convincing illusion of life I was experiencing from this dream filly. My wise friends could make nothing of it, although thinking back on it now, Cookie cast several thoughtful glances in Dawn Heart's direction as the dear poppet helped her daughters set the table. Of course her intuition takes a back seat to no pony, and I will own that there are times where all of my intellectualism blinds me to what is plain before the snout on my face. Methinks we shall have a most interesting conversation over the cook fires today. It took this third night for me to make the connections, and here the dry, weary voice of the old grump comes upon me with its jingling chorus. The third time that becomes the charm, the point where incidence and coincidence transform into precedence. "Look to find the pattern, Weed! You have two eyes and a horn, look past the tip and see what it points at!" And so as my waking body slept in my dear Crimson's warm embrace, my dream self was cantering over the glowing field, seeking the filly out as she called to me. And lo, when I came upon her again her dusky face lit up with such a smile as I remembered upon the pale visage of the dear child I now understand is her elder sister when I first met her on that wond'rous Midsummers Eve seeming ages ago. As soon as I saw it, and heard the joyful sound she made, I knew. This was no figment of my dreams, no phantasm of a yearned for child. This was a presence, a new life, with only one other like her in the whole world. At this realization, I entered a place beyond lucidity, and with clarity welling in my mind like the storm clouds billow at the hoof of the pegasus warrior, I knew at once what I was next meant to do. After uncounted moments of deliberation in the timeless dream space, I decided. She must be named. My dream self spoke the name I bestowed upon her, and she answered with a contented sigh as she snuggled against my phantom self, seeming a bit warmer, a bit more real, the flutter of her heartbeat pulsing softly against my breast. As the sun crested the horizon and I sat up in my bed with my dozing husband at my side, her name was the first words I spoke in the hush of our chambers. And now, I write them in my diary. O honored parchment that receives this testament and contains my initial musings on this new mystery. Well met by evening, Sweet Dream. Translator's Hoofnotes: [1] An excellent account of Dame Pansy's wedding and subsequent life with Yeomane Fletching can be found in her autobiography "At the Wing of the Storm - An Account of My Life and My Small Part in the Founding of our Land" which has seen several translations over the years. I recommend Parsley Sage and Rosemary Thyme's translation as striking the best balance between accuracy and readability. Having studied the original drafts of said memoirs personally in the Royal Archive while translating this journal, I suspect that Lady Clover might have had a hoof in helping her dear friend prepare them, as I recognize the prose style and the horn-writing as that of our illustrious authoress. Other samples of Dame Pansy's writing speak more to the plain spoken, utilitarian style of a largely unlettered pegasus warrior, more accustomed to relaying orders via hastily mouth written scraps of paper passed unedited to swift winged couriers than writing a long form memoir. It's another demonstration of the unwavering love and support these mares gave one another. I'll add that Lady Clover's private reactions to the dramatic revelations at the wedding ceremony, particularly the well documented reunion between Pansy and her long lost earth pony mother Primrose, are quite true to form. In those less enlightened days, apparently children of mixed tribal backgrounds was something known but never spoken of. Lady Clover expressed nothing but joy and approval at Pansy and Primrose's reconciliation, and was vehement in their defense against those among the three tribes who were scandalized by this development. Her regard for Commander Hurricane was also raised considerably following the pegasus warlord's own fiercely unquestioning embrace of her former right hoof mare's lineage. Frankly, a hoofnote can hardly contain this subject. I think I have an inkling of what my next historical treatise will be. [2] The hornwriting of this passage was indeed indicative of a high degree of agitation, requiring a bit of extra care in translating it properly. Lady Clover was chomping at the bit, as it were, to get her impressions down. Several partially completed, scratched out doodles of a small, dark face with brightly shining eyes and a gleaming smile stare out at me from the margins, each one apparently not quite conveying the impression our authoress was hoping for. They are notable as the first attempts, albeit unsuccessful ones, to depict our esteemed Princess of the Moon. [3] In those ancient times before the princesses rectified the calendar and gave us our accustomed three hundred and sixty day year, there was a bit of inaccuracy in the counting of days composing a year versus the monthly cycles of the moon. The Solar and Lunar Guilds, those august bodies of unicorn arch-mages who regulated the sun and moon, were often at odds with one another politically and therefore a bit out of sync. Some months had thirty one days, and the second month was shortened to twenty eight days, if you can believe it. To fit into the Solar Guild's mandate for a three hundred and sixty five day year, an extra day was added to this short month every four years to keep things properly lined up. This twenty ninth day was known as the Leap. A lot of superstitions and statistical oddities built up around this extra day, like ponies born on this Leap day technically being only one fourth their actual age if one went by official birthdays alone. (And to put my good friend Pinkie Pie at ease: Ponies born on this day usually just celebrated their birthday as normal on the 28th. but got to have an extra special birthday every four years. Nopony was missing out on their birthdays. There's no need to try to dig up that Time Travel spell. So please stop pestering me about it.) [4] I learned something extraordinary while discussing this passage with the princesses. So extraordinary that the spray of tea spots my publisher doubtless discovered on these pages was from yours truly. After many long hours of deep consideration and in depth deliberation with our co-sovereigns, it was decided that I could share this revelation. Like the ancient donkey king Golden Touch's barber who discovered that his ruler concealed beneath his headdress a pair of strange monkey ears brought about by a curse, I must tell this secret, although I bury it in my hoofnotes rather than whisper it into a hole in the ground. A casual comment on my part about Lady Clover's reaction to the infant Princess Luna's coloration led their highnesses to let slip the fact that in those days ponies' coats generally came in shades of grey, brown, russet, and beige, often with spots and dapples. The truth, they told me, was that the multicolored hues common today were magically imposed on the pony populace by Discord during the era of his misrule. [12] When they had gotten me upright again and settled on a couch, the princesses and I talked about this at length. As time went by, memories faded, and ponies coming in every hue in the rainbow became the new normal. Princess Celestia said that she personally found her multicolored subjects quite beautiful to look upon, and Princess Luna stated that it despite its origin it was merely a change, neither good nor evil. In the interest of thoroughness (and at considerable risk to my mental well being, I might add) I broached the subject with the aforementioned draconequis at a brunch my friend Fluttershy kindly held at her cottage for that very purpose, after extracting a solemn vow that he would not meddle in this manuscript or insert any unwarranted hoofnotes. He merely shrugged diffidently whilst pouring an entire pot of tea into his ear, and said that it seemed like a good idea at the time, and that we all should be grateful he was done with his "plaid period" by then. I honestly don't know what sort of explanation I was even expecting to hear when I asked him. After talking it over with my friends around Ponyville, the general consensus was that ponykind's coloration might not be what nature had intended, it did us no harm, and was part of what makes us unique as a species. As my friend Applejack said in her typical straightforward fashion. "A pony's a pony, no matter what color they are." So I'm proud of my lavender coat and purple and pink mane, and whatever color your mane and coat are, dear reader, you should be proud too! Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote: [5] A pity, since both tales are quite amusing, but in the interest of averting another "Raspberry War" in our royal court I'll gladly agree to the terms laid out. As I said to Twilight during our "negotiations" I think my dearest little baby sister has been growing more and more impatient to see herself appear in this narrative, hence her tendency to inject herself into your hoofnotes at the drop of a tiara. Hurrying along to that point will hopefully pacify her more thoroughly than threats of describing a certain deplorable yet hilarious embedding of certain bits of a certain princess' anatomy within certain water carrying devices under certain dubious circumstances which by agreement shall remain unelaborated upon. [6][7] Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnote: [6] Gird thy undercarriage, thou long shanked, sugar fueled apocalypse on hooves. Verily, it is most assuredly ON again! [7] Translator's Hoofnote: [7] You both PROMISED! Am I going to have to bring Pinkie Pie into this? [8][9][10] Translator's One Friend Who Takes Promises VERY Seriously. Like, Making Sure You Remember Everypony's Birthday Seriously No Exceptions Even If You Accidentally Feed Your Day Planner To Your Pet Alligator's Hoofnote: [8] Yeah! Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote: [9] My faithful student, I swear upon my royal honor that I absolutely did not pen that hoofnote. I keep my promises, especially to those as dear to me as you are. Luna knows this as well. (And I will even forgive her that flyby raspberry she gave me while I was receiving the delegation from Cloudsdale.) There is no need to escalate this any further, or to involve Miss Pie. [11] Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnote: [10] I most humbly apologize, Twilight Sparkle, to both thee and to my esteemed sister for my intemperance. (Thankfully the Mayor of Cloudsdale and his wife were quite understanding and took it all in good humor.) I too shall honor my vow from here on out. I begin to suspect a certain other infuriating party precipitated the apparent breach of our agreement to which I overreacted. Restrain thy roseate avenger, please. Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote: [11] I only said that *I* wouldn't insert any gag hoofnotes in your book thingy. Not Princess Celestia, who I totally am and not some roguishly handsome, deviously clever fellow who's uncannily good at forging her hornwriting if I might say so myself. I mean herself. Whatever. [13] [12] I'll even ignore that crack about my "misrule". I mean, Discord's "misrule". 'Cos I'm absolutely Princess Celestia writing this. See all the cake crumbs everywhere? There's your proof that it's her. I mean me. Yeah. [13] I also promise that random copies won't spontaneously turn into pepper-jack cheese sandwiches on sourdough bread. There, see, I'm being exquisitely reasonable about all this. [14] Publisher's Hoofnote: [14] We offer our heartfelt apologies to any ponies whose copy of this book spontaneously transformed into a swiss cheese sandwich on pumpernickel. We offer this replacement volume free of charge with our compliments, and for what it's worth we hope you enjoyed the sandwich.