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// Series Epilogue: To Whom it may Concern 
// Story: The Flower Mare: Unbroken 
// by Flammenwerfer 
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The War would fade into obscurity... out of the minds of the ponies who were in no way affected by it. This I expected. Instead of an event we can reference as an experience, it will be relegated to textbooks for schools. 

Artifacts that held sentimental value for those who partook will slowly be claimed by museums and personal collectors. 

Stories of grand heroism and sacrifice for noble virtues will be looked upon academically, rather than as a medium for expression.

It is only natural with the passage of time... that our hardships in what we hoped were our parts in making the world a better place, will be swept aside by the trotting-in of the newer generations. And eventually, although we are quite numerous, the last of us... our kind... will be laid to rest.

It's the case with all wars, isn't it? So easily are the lessons forgotten, that... perhaps not the next, but the generation after... will take up arms again for such perceived, 'noble' virtues. They are the products of forgotten teachings. Teachings inscribed in our blood on the stones of our graves.

But, three young mares showed me that the future was not as set as I'd have thought. Though we lost everything, we can truly be, in a sense, immortal.

The fields of the Seele Plains will regrow to their former majesty, obscuring and reclaiming the rusted metal and abandoned artillery cannons. 

The poisoned lakes of the 'Fair Dunes' Forest will purify again, and the remnants of the '21 Days of Gas' will be properly cleansed.

The ice of The Windigo Valley will crystallize over the wounds in the earth, inflicted by our incessant barrages.

Those who perished during the War... during all wars, would be returned to the earth from whence they were birthed, and seed new life where so much of it was taken.

We, as the ponies who lived, don't get the luxury of rebirth.

However... 

With the help of three ponies in particular... Sweetie Belle, Apple Bloom, and Scootaloo, I truly believe we can finally achieve what we all want in this world.

Perhaps I'm idealistic. Perhaps, having come back from the throes of death and my own war-induced insanity, I place my hopes too much in the next generation. Perhaps I'm one of only a few anomalies.

But with the help of these three, beautiful, amazing young mares... they've shown me that, perhaps there is something to hope for. 

Our voices can finally speak.

Our stories can finally be heard.

Our tears can finally be dried.

And as soldiers, we need not hang our heads in shame or sorrow... but we can finally hold our heads high. We can be that shining beacon that calls to those who still suffer in silence that they, too, can find solace what I firmly believe is not impossible:

We will be remembered!

Our sacrifices weren't for naught!

And that beacon of light calls even to you. 

So long had I wanted to hate you... but I could never bring myself to pass my own guilt upon another. Like myself and my comrades in arms, you have your own stories. Different for certain, yet stories that I cannot imagine from a perspective I cannot wield.

You may not think it. Others may refuse to believe it. But you matter as much as any of us in this. I can only hope that you have found some modicum of what you are looking for... wherever you may wander now. And I can only hope this finds you based on the credible tip I received of your whereabouts.

My story has been told. And now, my question to you, like so many others who were touched by Equidae, is:

"What's your story?"

So... Regenfall,

I write to you.