//------------------------------//
// Flight of fancy 
// Story: House of the Rising Sunflower 
// by kudzuhaiku 
//------------------------------//

Canterlot! The impossible city built atop the Canterhorn, a city made possible by the extensive use of magic. The city where the Goddess Sisters held residence, Celestia and Luna, the Royal Pony Sisters. A city of wealth, of culture, a place where it seemed that anything was possible, the capital city of Equestria. Narrow streets offered access to shops beyond the imagination, stately tower homes, and all of the various fortresses of governance. In all the world, it was said, no other city was quite like it, a great glittering jewel somehow affixed atop a mountain, a precarious, yet enduring existence.

It was unlike anything Sundance had ever experienced; to live in a city and to look down upon the clouds below in contempt. Over one mile straight up from Ponyville down below, with many parts of the Canterhorn nothing but a sheer, smooth drop. There were peculiar updrafts here, both atmospheric and magical. Though Sundance had never experienced magical updrafts while living in the city of Baltimare, he was aware of them now, he could feel the tingle in his wings and the minute vibrations in his delicate primaries. This had caused him some sense of awakening, restoring his long-slumbering connection to both land and sky. Why, it could almost be said that he was more of a pegasus now than he had ever been during the entirety of his short life.

Canterlot was so lofty that water boiled at an even two-hundred degrees.

Drifting, circling, his wings spread wide, Sundance considered going home, which waited for him down below. He was allowed to leave at any time he felt ready, and while he wasn’t sure if he would ever be ready, the sooner he got started, the better off things would be. He could fly and return to Canterlot at any time. A courier had been sent ahead, days ago, informing the tenants of his land of his impending arrival. Fancy Pants had repeated many times that he was ready, but Sundance had his doubts. Still, he was no shirker of duty though, and there was the matter of the strange, irresistible compulsion that lurked in the back of his mind, a compulsion that he believed came from his cutie mark. For the past few nights, his dreams of sunflowers had been overwhelming, vast, endless fields of them, a promise of what might be.

Angling his wings so that they were swept back behind him, Sundance dove, ready to make the plunge.





The clouds were so thick he found himself punching them, just for fun, and Sundance dropped due east with the distant mountains ahead of him and the Everfree to his right. His legs were tucked tight against his belly and he frolicked in the air, still very much a colt in mind, if not in body. Sundance believed himself to be a good flier, having grown up in the bustling inner-city, having dealt with a dizzying number of obstacle courses on a daily basis. Flying slalom between the smokestacks of the Utility Muffin Research Kitchen was a favourite pastime, and the eye-watering stench that came out of the vents was all part of the challenge. Many a pegasus had crashed into the smokestacks, blinded by the nostril-raping aroma wafting from the industrial bakery.

The last layer of clouds was smashed through, leaving streaming ribbons of cloudlets trailing behind Sundance as he plummeted towards the ground. He had to readjust his course a bit, knowing that the main keep of his barony was a little further east and not straight down at the base of the Canterhorn. His keep was nestled in the foothills of the Foal Mountains, giving him access to lush valleys watered by snowmelt, but not much flat land around the immediate vicinity of his new home.

Below him was the furthest reaches of his land, which ended at the base of the Canterhorn in a vaguely pie shaped section. He saw meadows, woods, creeks and waterways of all kinds. The outer edges of the Everfree gnawed upon his land, no doubt devouring it a little at a time, the slow progress of nature that went unnoticed by mortal eyes. His sharp eyes spotted train tracks winding through the woods, skirting the edges of the Everfree, and alongside the track a dirt road could be seen.

Sundance followed these, remembering that there was a railroad depot down in the lowlands. He skimmed the treetops, noting the difference of the healthy, normal forest, and the twisted, distorted trees of the Everfree. Strange magic tugged on his wings, beckoning him, luring him closer to the dark majesty of the Everfree, but he resisted the pull. The road meandered for some reason, twisting and curving around trees, but the tracks ran straight, heading east towards Baltimare and Fillydelphia.

The railroad depot would be the key to his success and he would need to move goods down from the foothills. What goods? He had no idea, having never farmed a day in his life. But to do this, he would need wagons and stout earth ponies. Was that tribalist thinking? His wings went still and for a time, he skimmed on faint currents, gliding with no effort, wondering if it was tribalist to expect earth ponies to pull wagons to the train depot. This was a dreadful dilemma, as the last thing that Sundance wanted was to be accused of tribalism. It was a phobia that had lingered all through foalhood and persisted even now that he was a young adult.

His mother would kill him until he was dead thrice over if he did something so uncouth, and his father, an earth pony, would be disappointed with him. But… earth ponies were stocky, stout, and capable of pulling heavy loads. Sundance knew that this was something he would never be truly comfortable with, and maybe, just maybe, that was the point.

Far ahead, Sundance’s keen vision caught sight of something grey, something like weatherbeaten wood, and with a flap of his wings, he zoomed off so that he might have a better look at what he thought was the train depot.





This wasn’t a train depot. No, this was barely even a stop. There was one splintery bench beneath a lean-to shelter that appeared as though it might collapse at any minute. A tall pole—the grey wood he had seen some distance away—had a plank that could be raised to signal the train to stop. The plank was more a suggestion of red, faded, peeling, and rotting. There wasn’t even a raised platform, much less a lift or a crane to assist in getting goods onto the train.

The sight of it was crushing, because this was his train depot. He owned it. Each bit of rotted wood, each splinter, each rusty nail, the flaking red paint, all of this was his. Sighing, he stood on the dirt road that lead to the train stop and tried to dismiss his doubts. This wasn’t the end of the world, even if it was disheartening to a degree that he was unfamiliar with. Never in his life had he ever felt the way that he felt right now.

Deep ruts could be seen in the road, old ones left rounded by the weather. This road hadn’t seen traffic for quite some time, Sundance guessed, because grass was growing, sprouting up from the soft-packed dirt. Frustrated, he kicked at a tuft and thought about swearing. It would accomplish nothing, of course, but it might make him feel better and Officer Mom wasn’t here to give his ear a yank.

With a dejected sigh, Sundance spread his wings and took to the sky.





The flat lands gave way to boulder-strewn meadows with rising swells and gentle slopes. It might have almost been marshy, with the sheer number of creeks and streams, but the water flowed swift, clearly in a hurry to leave this place. This could be farmland—well irrigated farmland even—but it would be a monumental task to clear away the thousands of rocks strewn about. Stubby trees and thorny thickets dotted the land below, and some of the scattered rocks almost appeared to be old crumbled ruins that had spilled over.

Rocks could be valuable, Sundance knew this, but he had no idea what sort of rocks these might be. They were kind of white, some of them, while others were a bit grey, and some appeared to be speckled. He had a lot of rocks, an abundance of them, he was rich with rocks. The road was a squiggle that wound between the bounty of rocks and the many flowing streams of water. It would be an absolute nightmare to haul a loaded-down wagon through this place, with all of the turns and twists.





What dreadful place the road had lead him. These weren’t foothills, no, these had to be something else. Crags? When Sundance heard the word ‘foothills’ he imagined gentle, rolling hills, beautiful and pastoral. This place… this place… was abominable. The reek of sulphur filled the air and vents hidden deep in the bottom of vast, craggy clefts spewed yellow mist into the air, redolent with the foul miasma of rotten eggs. Had he inherited the gateway to the underworld? To Tartarus?

It was as if some titanic being had shattered the land and left it in ruin.

But there was green here, so much green, and patches of the blackest black soil dotted the land like spilled ink pooled into puddles. In the distance, a crooked, leaning tower rose from a spur of rock, a tower that had seen better days. Woodsmoke rose from buildings not yet seen. Beneath the tower, farms could be seen, farms on an almost vertical slope, terraced into the very rock itself.

Eyes watering, Sundance blinked a few times with the hopes of clearing his vision. He gained a little altitude and more of his holdings became visible beneath him, spreading out like a vast tapistry. The tower was built at the very top of the spur of rock, which overlooked a deep ravine, the floor of which was the greenest thing that Sundance had ever seen. Each side was terraced—a staircase for titans—and Sundance was just able to make out a few small buildings that dotted the landscape. Heart racing, he surveyed his barony while being assaulted by the very stench of it.

As he drew closer, the sound of a tolling bell could be heard, the echoes of which pealed though the crags and cracks. An enormous waterfall became visible in the distance, with the bottom obscured by mist. Below, a small herd of ponies were gathering, but moving with no great hurry. Sundance had twenty three residents in his barony; twenty two earth ponies and one unicorn, with the unicorn being his retainer, a position of some importance, according to Fancy Pants.

It was time to introduce himself to the ponies of his demesne.