Once, someone asked Petunia why she cared about dead bones. She shrugged helplessly.
Beforehand, when Petunia visited the graveyard, she found a marble tombstone, fresh and white. On it was carved: “Here lies Azalea. Born to sow smiles. Died peacefully in her sleep.”
When Petunia dug into the Hill Park hill outside Ponyville, she unearthed the bones of an “Amborella Dynasty” pony. Consulting her guidebook, she learned the bones were blackened with plague.
When Petunia visited the Unnatural History Museum of Manehattan, she examined the Clubmoss tribes-pony skeleton. Covered with spear marks. Disappointingly, the museum only displayed a cast; real fossils were too delicate.
And when Petunia read books on dinosaurs, ancient fish, and trilobites, they all seemed to kill or to be killed. None had museums, or parks, or graveyards.
Again, someone asked Petunia why she cared about dead bones. Being a foal, she didn’t know. She just cared.