//------------------------------//
// A Grand Flight 
// Story: A War 
// by Comma Typer 
//------------------------------//

The sunset soon turned to night and Canterlot—and all of Equestria—began its uneasy slumber, the first night of war. The sky shifted from its hopeful orange and yellow to a calming dark blue; stars twinkled into light, some bigger than others; and, of course, the moon was full in all of its brightness, its soft shine. As time went on, the moon drifted through its course—from early night, through midnight, to the extremely early hours of the next day's morning.
Past the spires, towers, and roofs that gleamed with that faint light—the grass shone, too. Outside the walls of Canterlot was the grass, the vast fields of grass laid before the city.
Over there was the railroad.



Manehattan was a long way from Canterlot, the railroad traversing through plains, forests, hills, and mountains before reaching the metropolis of Equestria.
The train crossed a bridge composed of suspensions held together by horseshoe-shaped structures.
And thus, one would enter, albeit with less time to adore the sights since taking a ferry would give the average pony more time to look around and behold Manehattan in its urban splendor.
The city itself was on an island. A network of roads and streets both narrow and wide zig-zagged around the buildings, making mostly uniform blocks along the way.
The high-rise skyscrapers were even taller than the castle back in Canterlot. They overshadowed anypony that would fall under these massive edifices of state-of-the-art pony construction and engineering thought. Though not all that was in Manehattan was as tall as them, they were what made Manehattan symbolic and distinguishable from the rest of the cities (in the minds of a tourist).
And, since it was nighttime, they were made even more astounding by the array of lights they brought upon the streets down below.
Before the island itself, there was the large Mare Statue—that statue of a mare in one robe, holding up a book and a torch and wearing a crown. She was smiling.
Now, going to the island, one would recognize such landmarks as the Crystaller Building, an immense corporate work of art made of glass, metal, and wood, all topped by a stylized horse's head; the Bridleway Theater District, where a collection of surpassing structures overlooked a huge intersection where carriages were running to and fro and where the famous Bridleway Theater was sitting beside; and, Manehattan Park, the biggest park in the entire city, where an acre or two of green stood in the midst of the metropolis—trees, grass, benches, dirt paths, rivers, lakes.
Beyond the great landmarks, the streets of Manehattan were filled with not only carriages going about (the yellow taxi being one of the most common) but were also bustling with ponies on the sidewalks even at this early hour. Ponies wearing business clothes and bringing suitcases and bags, ponies with casual clothes and travelling to whatever diner or restaurant was available, ponies standing behind booths and stands with tired eyes as they waited for the day to rise so that there will be that influx of customers.
A griffon flew past all of them at great speed.
Over the carriages, past the buildings, over heads, ignoring protests from the flightless ponies that shook their hooves at him for disturbing the night.
The griffon landed in front of the train station—the Maneway Station, in fact. It was not as tall as the skyscrapers that were not so far away from it. But, it still stood out—while what was beside it were of dim colors, the station was a white green and had green-tinted windows. A clock was over the staired entrance—the entrance having multiple glass doors.
The griffon blasted his way through the doors, past the main area, up the escalators, past the ticket-checking station—where he dropped his ticket and the pony there grabbed it before it flew away—and zipped into the train a second before the doors closed.
Then, the train moved.
"Ugh! Zis train again?" Gustave le Grand complained in that fancy accent of his. He stroked his mustache with his claw as he flapped his wide wings toward an empty seat; he was wearing a red scarf tied to look like a bowtie and a small toque blanche on his head.
The pony beside him, a violet pegasus stallion, widened his eyes at the sight of him. "Hey! Aren't you the guy who made those bread...thingies?"
The griffon groaned. "What bread thingies?"
"You know, sir—those long bread stick things. With the sweet dressing on top—"
"Zat is an éclair, and what you speak of as a 'sweet dressing' is not so! Zat is icing!"
"Oh."
The two remained silent as the landscape of Manehattan faded away.
Murmurs arose from the seats—passengers exchanging rumors, thoughts, opinions, all with a smattering of the word "war" every so often.
The griffon, unfazed by it all, tapped his paw.
"So, uh, where are you going?" the pegasus asked. "My name's Silver Script, by the way. I, uh, write things on the newspaper. I'm from Ponyville."
Gustave sighed. "I am headed back to Griffonstone. Recent events have pushed me to it."
"You mean the war—"
"Precisely!" he said, raising a claw to the air as if to emphasize that one and only word.
"That's...good."
"Hmph! I need all my concentration! I do not want to be unprepared the moment all the griffons must say 'Aux armes!'"
"Uh, do griffons really speak like that?" Silver Script said, turning his head a bit.
Gustave sighed again. "I was born with zis accent unlike most other griffons, and I shall be proud of it!"
Silver Script turned his back on him and looked out the window.
Out there was the wide open sea past dozens of meters of land and a cliff. It was a calm sea—there were no visible waves going about.



Silver Script stepped on to the platform and saw the train quicken its way back to full force, pushing its way through to the horizon before it disappeared.
While the other ponies who had gotten off went down the platform straight away, Silver Script stood still as he looked at the great wonder before him.
Behind him: the great sea, the ocean.
Before him: Horse Falls.
Here was Horse Falls. The narrow stream of water was plunging its way down to the bottom, creating a spectacular formation that changed constantly. The morning sun made it even more spectacular—little rainbows appeared throughout the falls, attracting the cameras of a few tourists who stood at the fence that separated them from the lake (and prevented them from falling there).
Beside the lake was a small waterfall town. A few paved streets and several houses and stores and that was all. The cliffs around the town gave it an isolated feel, though the train station was there to dispel any actual isolation to be seen. Over there, right outside a house, a white pegasus in his yellow armor had tears rolling down his cheeks as he hugged his family—his father, his mother, his sister. He wasn't holding his spear—it was laying flat on the ground beside him.
Silver Script entered the town, passing by a sign that proclaimed: "Leftlead! The town beside Horse Falls! Enjoy our kindness!"
The roads were damp—he could feel it with his hooves. Yet, he did not complain; rather, he said nothing.
He entered a diner framed in wood and having many glass windows.
As he entered, he could smell the delectable smell of roasted carrots and cabbage—all enhanced by the grilling garlic sizzling behind the counter as smoke rose from there.
The cashiers were also the cooks—the grillers, so to speak. A pony on a swivel chair in front said, "Two carrots," and a cashier took the bits, grabbed the carrots, grilled them, and placed them on a white platter, then hoofing it to the customer who had to move nowhere at all.
The restaurant—or, more appropriately, the grill café—was of an alluring, wooden style: the tables and chairs and floor and walls and ceiling were made of wood both out and inside. Rugs were strewn across in a disorderly fashion, making the room even more cozy and comfortable.
However, it had only a hoofful of customers, and they were not talking that much, if at all.
It was quiet—no music coming from a speaker, no songs being played by a band on stage. Only the rush and the splash of the water from outside.
"Oh! I didn't expect to see you here—of all the ponies I could ever come across."
He walked up to a mustached pony—his mustache being very rough and unkempt. The pony had a shirt with lots of leaves displayed on it. Wearing a visor, he also sported a camera around his neck.
Silver Script sat down in front of Globe Trotter whose table was filled with empty plates and a crumpled yet open newspaper.
Globe Trotter made a slight smile. "A familiar face, Silver Script. How's your...uh, science fiction piece going?"
Silence as Silver Script looked about here and there—eyed the plates with crumbs and tiny morsels, eyed the dirty utensils.
"Uh, aren't you gonna order something, sir?" one of the cashiers asked from afar.
Silver Script gulped.
"I'll pay for it!" Globe Trotter spoke, raising a hoof to catch her attention,
The cashier smiled back and she went back to serving the customer in front of her.
"Sorry for that," he said to the pegasus, hoof-brushing something imaginary off the table. "But, I'm sure I'm not the only pony in the world that's being bothered by what just happened."
Silver Script sighed. "Not this again. You mean the war?"
"Not just that," he said. "Haven't you read the news about what happened last night?"
"Last night?" he repeated. Then, a gasp. "Are you saying that—"
"First battle of the Crystal War—that's what the Ponyville Express is calling it."
Then, he pushed the newspaper to him.
There was the fancy yet bold font of the Ponyville Express—their title, their name. Right under that was the headline in even bolder (and less fancier) words: "Crystal Mountain Battle Ends in Equestrian Loss! Tens of Thousands Sent to Military Hospitals!"
"Already?!" SIlver Script exclaimed, holding it closer to his eyes. "How?!"
"Read it for yourself, kid."
And his eyes went over more of the article:
The very first battle of the Crystal War against King Sombra is also the first battle to favor the Crystal Empire in a decisive victory against the E.U.P. Guard and other Equestrian military forces.
From reports of war correspondents, the battle began with an unannounced ambush from the Equestrian side only two kilometers from the Empire's borders. A few minutes later, Crystal Empire soldiers—described as wearing faceless masks—attacked from almost all sides. King Sombra arrived a few more minutes later, magically building black crystal walls as weapons against the Equestrian military.
It was half an hour after the battle's commencement when all Equestrian forces were ordered to build trenches to defend themselves—the first time in Equestrian history where trenches were used in actual combat. Despite the novelty, Sombra's soldiers invaded and refilled the trenches with ground.
Not more than an hour later, the E.U.P. Guard holding the Central Crystal Mountains were ordered to trench a few kilometers back.
Subsequent ambushes and rush attacks from the Crystal Empire were repulsed sufficiently after that.
"And, just like that," Globe Trotter said, gesturing about. "It begins with us losing."
Silver Script sighed again as he read the rest of the article.
Globe Trotter picked the remains of his food on the plate with a fork, watching the pony across read and read.
Then, the pegasus put down the newspaper.
"That's...brave of the Princess to let all of us know about this."
"Secrets are no good thing these days," he said. "Any secret she may be holding is as dangerous as a secret would ever get in its entire lifetime. Good thing that she is as clear as a mirror if this newspaper doesn't speak for itself." He grabbed the newspaper, yanking it away from Silver Script, and held it up.
The pegasus scrunched up his face. "So...what's next?"
"Keep it up," Globe Trotter said. "The Crystal Empire is small—like, what, a city wide? Maybe as wide as three cities, but nothing more. There may be many Crystal ponies but not even a tenth of what we got."
"You're saying it's all a matter of time, then?" Silver Script asked. "Just...waiting for the other side to get tired?" He sweeped a hoof across and toward the window as he said that.
"Any prediction on when it's gonna end, Globe Trotter?"
A hopeful smile on his face, his mustache letting it flourish. "Give it a few months. It'll be over before you know it. If the Princess and everypony else know what exactly to do with those new-fangled trenches, then we're gonna be fine."
Silence.
"Uh, you came here for food, didn't you?"



Globe Trotter stood at the edge of the rocks.
A hoofstep away was the lake.
Calm, soothing, peaceful. The roaring waterfall only a stone's throw away (an Earth pony's stone throw away, that is).
The waterfall itself was sided by more rocks—craggy rocks—and moss and other green plants that managed to survive and thrive way up there without any visible soil. Even a tree was growing right beside the waterfall, giving the waterform a noticeable green distraction.
He took up his camera and snapped a few pictures of the lake—angled here, now angled there, just the waterfall, now with the lake as well, and then a full shot that brought the sky over, too.
Globe Trotter placed the pictures in his mouth, put them into his shirt pocket, and wiped his mouth.
He looked on at the lake.
Then, he turned away.
Several of Leftlead's inhabitants were ambling about outside. A few were talking on a balcony, sitting on metal chairs as they discussed intensely over a game of cards. Three pegasi fixing a broken roof whacked with their hammers and their nails, drowning out whatever comprehensible ideas those card-playing ponies were sharing. An Earth pony pulled a cart selling apples; his country accent might have given his heritage away. And, a unicorn was, with his magic, putting up posters on the walls of public buildings.
Globe Trotter furrowed his brows at that one.
He walked up to the unicorn who was carrying bundles of tape alongside his cart of folded posters. His cutie mark was a bucket of blue paint.
"Ah! And, what are you doing that for?" he asked, taking on a brighter tone.
"Government work," he uttered in a monotone voice. "It's a side job."
Globe Trotter watched as a poster was floated to the wall, being taped before it stopped glowing.
The unicorn took a step back, admiring it.
The poster showed a silhouette of a typical guard pony—white pegasus in yellow armor—raising his spear high. The words "Keep Equestria Safe! Keep Friendship Intact!" were exhibited in simple, uncompromising letters.
"Propaganda?" Globe Trotter asked.
"I wouldn't say that," he said. "'Encouragement' is the correct word. That's what I've been told."
Globe Trotter then walked away, leaving the unicorn to his devices and to setting up more of the posters in Leftlead.