//------------------------------//
// A Heart 
// Story: A War 
// by Comma Typer 
//------------------------------//

And then, it was night. The stars and the moon appeared once again, gracing the sky.
Chirps, hoots, tweets from across the railroad, from the vined forest covered in thick leaves—strange vegetation on that ground. A muscular pony nailed a sign on the one-story train station: "Nopony goes to the forest! It's dangerous!"
The chugging and the whistle of a leaving train faded away as the recently-arrived passengers walked off the station—newly varnished, a little shiny and a bit more beautiful by reflecting the moonlight at its corners and edges.
All of those ponies wore some kind of bag or pulled some sort of luggage. A few had reddened eyes, others held back tears—mouths closed shut, eyes fluttering whenever they could. A mare dearly held a picture in her hooves as she was carried over by some Earth pony assistants wearing hard hats and orange vests—a picture of her, her husband, and two foals. Smiling.
"This is the place?" the husband said—he had geled mane and a bowtie.
"It's the place," one of the construction workers replied, holding the wife's forelegs. "Chillwater."
The two foals—one colt, one filly—eyed that worker. They said not a word but then looked at their father.
"It's going to be OK," he said as he patted the heads of his children—a weak voice, as if straining to get the words out of his lips.
"Will Feuil Leaf be alright?" the filly asked—eyes moistening. "We were supposed to meet up and share some toys."
The father looked up to the sky. Then, with a sigh: "Don't you worry about her. You're best friends. You'll meet up with her soon. Her family took a later train, remember?"
"But, D-Daddy...didn't those evil guys hurt those tall buildings? Maybe they hurt the train station and Feuil Leaf might be hurt, too."
The colt glanced at him—worried.
He noticed it—and became crestfallen. "Bosket," he said to his daughter—an attempt at soothing tones— "she will be fine. You two've gone through worse stuff than this."
"What's worse than...leaving home forever?"
And it ended with a choke—eyes moistening.
"You're a big girl and...big girls don't cry." He hugged Bosket, catching her in his arms—carrying her. "Don't cry for Daddy—show me you're strong!"—in an encouraging manner.
And the colt broke into tears, gripping one of his forelegs.
And the filly, too, cried.
His wife, their mother, then burst out into sobbing once more, holding the picture closer to her face and kissing it madly; the construction workers carrying her winced as they trudged on.



Chillwater was an interesting case. If there was anything that could describe the town accurately in one sentence, it was: "A frontier town in the heart of the city." Or: "If Appleloosa was built right beside Canterlot or Manehattan." It was surrounded, at least on three sides, by open plains, with a dirt road leading out to the train station and, across the railroad, to the Everfree Forest.
The jarring architecture was one thing going for Chillwater's being unusual. Instead of the thin apartment-like houses of the city or the cozy cottages of the village, there were the shelters that looked like they were straight out of an emergency plan: blocky brick houses with unpainted walls and floors, only the bare necessities being the objects inside—no fancy rugs, no clean air-conditioning, no shelves or cabinets, no musical instruments. Only beds, stoves, microwaves, bathrooms, and one electric lightbulb. In short, it was livable and that was enough.
The other buildings in Chillwater fared no better. Retail stores and shops had narrow selections—the "supermarket" touted two aisles' worth of items with a shopping area no bigger than a typical suburban backyard. The "shelter shelters" were obvious aboveground, gray slabs of concrete sticking out from the green grass even at moonlight. Sirens were installed on those "shelter shelters".
There were the incomplete walls of future homes—the first stages of a house. Yet more construction workers and supervisors were present there, pulling and pushing materials into their needed places, each minute making their art look more like some place to sleep in.
Then, there was the river that ran by the town. It was a tumultuous river—blue and white since it moved so fast, crashing against the rocks for a brief moment before it moved on to another rock. A fish would leap out of the river only to land back inside, disappearing in the rush.
At an open space, a bonfire cackled and cracked. Many ponies gathered around it—the pile of sticks and timber, warming themselves.
"Nopony wants to stay inside," one of the visiting ponies—a white unicorn stallion with blue hair, too, but lighter; a thin mustache, a monocole, and a suit he wore—said to Mayor Mare, walking past the bonfire. "Have you noticed that?"
"I know," the mayor responded. "It may prove to be detrimental if they decide to attack Chillwater."
"There is nothing to be gained by taking Chillwater," Fancy Pants, the visitor, said. "There is not much to fear."
"But, what if it's not for the strategy?" Mayor Mare suggested. She stopped and placed a hoof to her head, fearful. "What if it's just to instill—"
"That would do them no favors in swaying adherents to their side," Fancy Pants interjected. "If you want ponies to stop fighting them, you'd have to convince them that he's not that evil. Attacking this faraway town would not help their campaign in the North, anyway. Only mass teleportation of a substantial amount of forces on the other side of Equestria would even begin to make such an attack feasible—"
"Help!"
The two ponies looked back and ran.



He woke up. Snarled, hissed at the bright light.
Looked at his holey hooves—chained to the wall.
"Wake up!" a soldier yelled beyond the light.
Only saw nothing but the light and the approaching soldier, holding the light—a reading lamp.
"You're in prison!" the soldier shouted. "How foolish of you and your queen to infiltrate Equestria with your love-stealing abilities at such a time as this!" And smacked the table.
He saw the glimmer of a spear's tip on the table.
"We'll be sending you to Canterlot straight away," the soldier continued, toning it down a notch. "I and my platoon don't know how to manage you, so off to the Princesses you go."
"T-the Princesses?!"" he exclaimed—apprehended.
The soldier raised an eyebrow. "That's weird. I was expecting a more gravelly voice from you, changeling. You sound just like a young stallion."
"Please!" the changeling shouted—as if begging, yanking his chains to no avail. "You don't know what it's like to starve all the time!"
"Every changeling is love-starved all the time," the soldier said, lowering his voice to conversational volume. "If you think I'll be tricked into letting you go out of pity, you'd have to try harder than that."
"I have a name, sir! If you could just let me go, I'll leave you alone, I promise!"
"Leave this town alone but not the rest of Equestria—that's what you mean!" He shook his head.
"Oh, if there was only another way that I could—"
"There is no other way!" the soldier shouted, banging the table, causing the lamp to shake a bit.
The changeling closed his eyes at the glare.
"You're a changeling! As far as we know and as far as you know, the only way to not get hungry is to steal love! It doesn't matter if you have a name!"
"But, I'm Tho—"
"No interruptions!"
And the changeling whimpered.
"You're good at disguising and acting," the soldier said, calmed down again. "If you weren't so bad, you would've been featured in all the plays at Bridleway—you're that good at fooling ponies. And, I'm not letting a runaway tarnish us"—as he pointed to himself.
The light turned off.
"Take him to the cage." Hoofsteps coming. "Princess Luna will know what to do—let's leave it to her."
"Wait!" the changeling yelled. "What was the whole talk for?!"
"To introduce you to your prison guard, that's what."



All four hooves chained to the cage's bars. Creaky wheels, a slowly changing landscape under the night—the calm moon with its soft light once more. His opal eyes—no obvious pupil to be seen—shone a bit of that, too. Unfamiliar lights, thought-out walls and roofs, tall and dizzying streetlights.
"What a wicked monster!" a clothed mare shouted in a haughty accent.
"Hmph!" went a suited stallion who stormed off the very street.
Most fled. Others stayed to jeer, to mock, to throw some tomatoes at him although a spear was stopped mid-air by one of the unicorn guard's magic grip—turning a blur into a clear weapon glowing his aura's color.
Thorax held a hoof up. Covered his eyes—a whimper.



Escorted inside, he saw the immense hallways—the rows of columns, the stained glass windows, the red carpets, the polished checkered floors, the golden and silver door frames, the intricate doors, the valuable paintings, the floral perfume of royalty, the bouquets of lavenders, the many guards who cast their suspicion on him with their leery looks.
His four hooves were shaking. His teeth racketed except for his fangs—visible to the guards and to anyone else who saw him.
Past an open door, another similar hallway.
Thorax looked out the windows.
He saw Canterlot at night—a subdued scenery of towers and roofs that reflected or, perhaps, increased the moonlight on their tips. The gloomy clouds only made the moon outstanding—to dominate and to capture attention since many stars could no longer be seen. It heightened the bluish colors on the capital, only crumbling underneath the yellow lights—their contrast. The greenery that he was able to see—the flowers, the bushes outside—stood still, never bending.
A scratching sound. The double doors in front, opening.
Saw who was in front of him—and trembled.
The red carpet ended at the throne which stood on a golden platform. More lavender flowers resided in the metal bowls on each side of the carpet, in front of that platform—they smelled sweet, relaxing. A short fountain continued its outpour of gentle water beside the throne.
Ignoring more stained glass windows, banners, columns—his eyes were on Princess Luna, her ethereal mane still flowing.
And she was not smiling. Nor was she frowning.
Instead, she merely looked upon the caged changeling.
He shivered.
Guards went forward and bowed down.
Luna remained standing, looking upon him.
Staring at him.
She walked down the red carpet, down the platform—level with the changeling.
Closer and closer.
She motioned a hoof.
One of the guards raised his head as if wondering.
She nodded.
He looked at some of his fellows and they nodded.
Four of them went to the cage, opened it, and unchained Thorax.
The rest readied their spears and arrows—aimed at the changeling.
The moon shone on their metal tips and on Luna's streaming mane and on his eyes.
"What is your name, changeling?" Luna asked.
Thorax gulped, looking down on his hooves—shaking. "I-I'm Thorax, your Majesty."
Her stoic face remained. "What crime have you committed tonight?"
He stammered—spitting out some syllables, some sounds, but not a word.
"Well?"
Cleared his throat. "I—I was desperate!"
"A strong pony is one who resists against his instincts," Luna said, "if he knows that giving in meant evil and wrong."
"But how would I live? Survive?!"
"I am sure that there is another way." She took a step forward—closer. "I know."
Thorax looked up—his shuddering intensified. "Y-You can't be serious, Princess! How would y-you know?! You've never known a changeling's plight!"
"A changeling who is willing to admit that he is even a little wrong," Luna answered. "You are such a changeling." A pause. "Unusual."
A subtle smile. "Does that mean y-you'll let me go?!" Then, he fell down to the floor. "Princess Luna! Give me a place, a job, anything in Equestria! If that means I'll have to disguise myself as a pony forever and take on a new identity—please! I know that you're kind, you pony folk are kind! There's something about your love that's—that's—"
Luna retracted a reaching hoof. "I can't."
Stepped closer. "Princess, I plead to you! I plead! I'd rather stay here for the rest of my life—I won't even show my changeling form to anyone! No, I won't even revert back to my true form, my true appearance! If that's what you want, Princess, then accept it! Accept me!"
She sighed. Closed her eyes and looked down.
Thorax banged the soft carpet—screaming. "Princess! You can't let me return to her! She will know that I tried to defect! She will know! Her punishments, Princess—do you know them?!"
Luna kept looking down—eyes still closed.
The guards closed in on the desperate changeling.
Luna held up a hoof.
The guards looked—and stopped.
Thorax breathed heavily. Audibly. His head faced a myriad of directions, his vision becoming fuzzy.
Tears streaming.
Fainted.



"What did you call me for, Princess?" Shining Armor asked, bowing down to her—still wearing his armor.
The wind blew just outside the castle, at the bottom of the steps to the entrance. The dark roads and the sparse lights gave the place a sad atmosphere.
It was cold.
"We've captured a changeling spying around," Luna said. "His name is Thorax. We already have guards watching him sleep, but I'm telling you so you'll be aware and alert." She looked beyond him, over his shoulder. "I must go—there are many nightmares and I cannot delay in my duty."
Her horn glowed.
And she vanished.
Shining Armor was alone in the middle of the street.
The wind became a gale and he shot a hoof to his hair—realized that a helmet was protecting his hair from the breeze.
He walked away.



His mansion was a humongous one: four stories tall with three chimneys. Its front yard was twice as big—spanning yards upon yards of lawn that had been mown recently. Fountains, umbrellas, trees: these lined the illuminated stone path to the entrance which was guarded by two guards wearing armor—one wore a six-pointed star, another wore a blue heart; both were on their chestplates.
Princess Cadance—a pink alicorn of pink, purple, and yellow—sat on the stairs leading up to the big white door, rotating her crown in boredom with her blue magic aura.
She looked up. Her face changed. "Shiny! What's happened? Is there an emergency? Do we have to leave?"
"It's alright, Cady," he said in a relieved tone. "It's only Princess Luna giving me a heads-up about a notorious suspect—he's now in custody."
"Who's he?" she asked, standing up—curious.
"She gave me his name." He scratched his head. "Thorax."
Cadance leaned her head slightly. "That's interesting. But, what is she going to do in the morning? Give it to Celestia for further investigation?"
"Imprisonment if not invenstigation." He muffled his own laughter with a hoof.
Cadance's smile diminished. "That's disappointing. Maybe he could've at least joined our pony spies. He would be indispensable."
"He? Join us?" He placed a hoof on her shoulder. "I hope you're not getting sick, Cadance. It might do things to your thinking."
Then, he galloped up the stairs and into the mansion.
Cadance looked at the door left swinging open. "Shallot Leek," she said to the guard wearing the blue heart on her armor, "what time is it?"
"Five ten."
Cadance exhaled and looked up at the sky.
It was no longer such a dark blue. Dawn was to arrive.