//------------------------------//
// Winter 
// Story: Society as We Know It 
// by Comma Typer 
//------------------------------//

Months later


A cover of snow.
The trees of the forest over there were nigh lifeless—dead branches with no leaves in sight. So were the bushes' husks—void of anything green or pretty or edible, they stood there, only serving as an obstacle lest injury would come forward.
Not everything was under the white, cold blanket. The small cliffs and crests, for instance, showed some strutted ground rising up only to meet the snow at the surface. Any underhanging protrusions of land from such ground had small, simple plants growing out of it, still in their own patches of grass but under the shadow of a soil ceiling.
Some weeds and a few thorns stuck out from amongst snow, sprinkling the clean landscape with bits of color other than brown.
Some changelings—wearing beanies, jackets, sweaters, scarves, anything that would warm their bodies—were plowing the snow with their snow scoopers, collecting some snow and putting it all into small metal boxes.
The hive, though mostly unotuched by the snow, still had some craggy, rocky tips of white.



A logfire burned in the middle of the open area as yet another cold, chilling wind flew past.
Several changelings around it shivered, clattering their teeth despite the layers of clothes they were wearing. Others held on to being comfortable by moving around, walking or flying about and doing whatever was being done—at that time, craft time was still ongoing with the changelings there making even more popsicle stick trees, games of chase and catch were being played as the players laughed in their frantic fun, and even some sport was being conducted.
This sport equipped all those involved with long wooden branches and a black round puck. The changelings wore hard helmets and plastic joint guards as they duked it out on an ice rink just outside—as a few ponies wearing construction worker uniforms (with their own hard helmets) sat on the bleachers and drank scorching coffee or chocolate.
Back to the hive, however:
There were yet even more changelings doing other kinds of work and this work was to decorate the hive in the festive festivities of Hearth's Warming. Some boxes of jingling bells just arrived by pegasus delivery and after a few signatures were signed, the boxes were opened and impatient carollers snagged some of the clanky instruments and, well, jingled them. After a while, Pharynx, without saying a word, confiscated all the boxes and took them away from any prying hooves.
On a more positive note, other changelings were setting up tall pine trees (both real and fake) with hanging socks and reflective spheres and fun images of the changelings themselves—this one depicted a changeling throwing a snowball at another, this one displayed many changelings huddling together for one big smile, and this one showed Pharynx being disgusted at Thorax's collection of pine trees.
Wires and more wires were strewn across the ground, then climbing up like the vines beside them—in some cases, being completely entagled with the vines beside them—culminating in a string of colorful lights that alternated between green and red although it was still daytime.
Evergreen wreaths with red ribbons (and some having lights of their own) livened up the hive even further.
Through it all, a familiar smell permeated the entire hive: a savory and sweet smell.
In the kitchen area, tens of chefs were hurrying to this and that spot, commands were being ordered across the culinary range, and all that comprised a respectable Hearth's Warming feast—jelly, dim sum, roasted beetle, hot soup, apple pie, apple cake, and soda.
In another part of the hive—farther away from the logfire center—a group of ponies and a group of changelings were talking to each other as the ponies plopped down crates and more boxes from their carts. The open boxes showed what they and the rest contained: bright, multi-colored, smaller boxes wrapped in gift wrapper and tied up neatly in a ribbon. Receiving their gifts of varying sizes and weights, the changelings exclaimed their thanks— "Thank you, guys!" "Wow! There's so many we're getting!" "I don't know what to say! How can we give back to you?"
Rarity shook her head, lifting a hoof as she lowered her head. "You don't have to. I am quite content with seeing you fulfilled. What is Hearth's Warming without some selfless giving, anyway?"
And with that, the ponies waved the changelings good bye and the changelings waved the ponies good bye.



"Thorax!" Pharynx yelled as he landed in front of the unoccupied wooden throne, landing on a thin sheet of snow. He was holding the confiscated boxes of jingling bells. "I've seized some nuisances in the form of these bells. I suggest that we refit them for the guards so that they—"
Thorax turned around, looking away from his decorating work of his many pine trees. "Pharynx!" he yelled, alarmed. "That's for the Hearth's Warming carols!"
"These are musical items?" Pharnyx asked, puzzled as he raised an eyebrow and showed a confused face.
"Yes!" Thorax said, rushing to the boxes and placed them on the snow. "It's a Hearth's Warming tradition—in Equestria, it's a custom for ponies to go around town and sing the holiday carols."
"That is a disruptive practice, Throax," Pharynx said, picking up the boxes. "Bells don't produce nice melodies. They're loud, annoying, and hurt my head."
"You're thinking of a different kind of bell," Thorax said, calmer now as he pulled out a bell. He jangled it around, letting it jingle.
Pharynx gritted his teeth and covered his ears and closed his eyes, hovering over the ground. "Make it stop!"
Thorax threw the bell back into the box.
Pharynx landed on the ground again and opened his eyes. "You dare use a weapon against your own brother?!"
"It's not a weapon!" Thorax said. "It makes pleasant, gentle sounds."
"Pleasant?!"
"OK, maybe pleasant to some..."
Thorax made an awkard smile.
"Sorry, brother."



Blue Alarm flew over to the logfire, landing right in the middle of the crowd gathered around it. The ones in front stretched out their hooves toward it, rotating them around as they let their forelegs bask in the cozy warmth.
He inched forward, moving slowly but surely, and finally reached the front row. He let out a sigh of relief as he did what his fellow changelings did—stretching out his hooves and warming them in front of the fire.
"Woah. Didn't see you there, Blue Alarm," Red Noise said.
The blue changeling looked to his right. "I did see you, though."
"What else should I expect from you these days?" He smirked. "You have a sharp eye and you keep honing that skill of yours."
Blue Alarm nodded.
"Have you ever wondered about...what exactly is the use of it?"
He looked at his friend.
The fire cackled, hushed conversations and exchanges of whispers—the whirl of the wind failing to snuff out the fire.
"Of my observational talent?" Blue Alarm asked, pointing to himself—a slight downward play of his lips.
"Yeah, Blue Alarm," Red Noise said, patting him. "You know what you're good at. But, how is it going to be useful?"
Blue Alarm shook his head as he smiled. "Ah, always a little brash no matter how polite you try to be, Red Noise."
"You're my friend," Red Noise said. "I can't be too polite with you—feels distant."
He nodded. "However, you should at least try to break it down to your friends, too, in a nice way."
"And, what, you learned it from one of the Elements of Harmony?" Red Noise said, leaning away.
"I still take my lessons from them," Blue Alarm said, "even if it's just the lessons. They are good at friendship and all."
"But, that's not what I'm talking about." He placed a firm hoof on his shoulder.
The fire cackled on.
"What else are you going to use your good eye for?"