The skies were shrouded with clouds of dust. Little rain had fallen on the weary land of Equestria for years. The ground was parched, and the streets of Ponyville mostly deserted. Few but the farmers remained, and they barely had time to rest as they worked nearly nonstop to produce enough food for a country at war.
Ponyville was one of the last farming towns. It also ran a small center of clothing production, as three of its residents had the means to manufacture uniforms, blankets, and other cloth necessities: Fluttershy, who raised and sheared sheep; Loom Rhythm, who wove the wool into cloth, and Rarity, who sewed the final products together. Between the three of them, they figured, at least a few more resources were being produced for the war effort. For Fluttershy, at least, it was the best she could do from her home. No matter how disastrous the situation became, nothing could drive her away from her little cottage at the edge of Everfree.
Her life had become routine: Wake at dawn to feed the chickens, have a light breakfast of canned apples and grainy bread (the entire kingdom was on rations, after all), then go out to tend the sheep and shear those whose wool was long enough. She’d spend all day working with them, stopping only for a brief lunch, then deliver the day’s harvest of wool to Loom Rhythm. It wasn’t particularly hard work, but it was solemn. She had a lot of time to think; a lot of time to worry.
Today, a bit of rain blew over from the Everfree Forest. It meant a slight change had to be made in the schedule, as all the sheep had to be moved into the small barn Fluttershy owned, so that the wool wouldn’t get wet. She hustled them inside with whispers and murmurs, but hardly heard her own voice; a longing had come over her, a deep longing to stand in this cooling rain and let it wash her toil away. She dreamed of diving into the Everfree and letting its powers merge with hers, leaving behind the war and the dryness and the terrible, terrible quiet.
That day, something inside her woke. Something that had long been sleeping, buried under monotony and worry, that had died a little each day until she’d been left almost empty—silent, but for the dry whispers that issued automatically from her throat to speak with the sheep and chickens. Her whole world had rung with silence, and her mind had been occupied with worry. But today, it rained.
Even within the barn, she could hear the rhythmic beats as each drop fell, beating down the dust in the air and causing a smell of freshness, of life, to rise from the grass and the trees. And a feeling sparked inside her, a feeling of hope, of wanting, wanting to live again. And so did a feeling of pain arise, sorrow for the years that had been wasted in this way, for all those who had lost their lives either to fighting or to feeding the fight. This isn’t fair, this isn’t right, she thought. So many lives wasted. And a strange feeling started to grow inside Fluttershy, the gentlest of ponies, who had only ever sought peace: rage. And the rage woke old memories.