The disease known in Equestrian since antiquity as “the Wasting” goes by many names throughout known nations, but is a universally-dreaded disease. Affecting griffons, yaks, ponies, and with reported cases among even the rare buffalo and dragon travelers through known lands, the progression of the disease begins with a cough and fever. After several days, the coughing intensifies and is accompanied by muscle cramps, weakness, and loss of balance as the fever breaks. From this point, depending on the age and health of the afflicted, the disease can proceed rapidly towards death within a week or linger for weeks to months. Those ill require constant care to stay hydrated and fed; most cases remain too feeble to do anything but talk or perhaps some handicrafts in bed for the duration of their illness.
While most deaths from the Wasting are young children and the old and infirm, the weeks-long convalescence and constant attention required by healthy adults is a bane to farmers and families everywhere. Long bedrest atrophies muscles and for many their breathing is never back to normal; this shrinking of the muscles and body from long unmoving periods of illness is what led ponies to coin its name. An epidemic of the Wasting often leads to famine as fields lie fallow or unharvested, their owners bedridden.
“Now, ain’t it a great thing to see you out and about,” the old farmer chuckled. “I’m glad to see the Wasting lose its hold so quickly.”
“Only due to your generosity, sir,” Rosetta replied with a bow. “I was lucky to come upon a homestead in my time of need, and I hope my services have been sufficient compensation in return.”
“Your stories were more than enough to keep a lonely old stallion entertained, and your letters of recommendation will save me a pretty penny next year at the winter’s-end fair for some scribing. There’s no debt ‘tween you and I,” the farmer replied. “In all honesty, I’m a bit sad seeing you off, after so many weeks.”
“Hopefully, my time in the north Emerald homesteads will be brief, and I will be able to see you off at the autumn fair in Canterine on my return south,” Rosetta said warmly. “’Twould be nice to catch up at that time.”
“Well, I’d best get you to town right quick, then!” the farmer replied, closing the latch on his cart and locking it. “Hop on in, and we can get you there ‘fore dark.”
Carefully, Rosetta settled themselves in the bed of the cart, wincing at the toll the Wasting had taken on their muscles. The strength from nearly a half-year of trekking through the eastern Empire had been eaten away by the six weeks of bed rest it’d taken to fight the Wasting off, and Rosetta was not looking forwards to the first few weeks of resuming their travels.
The north Emerald watershed was, at the least, not especially hilly compared to the terrain between Snowybury and Aquavitae, they thought. And if the timing was right, the downriver raft caravan for the fair would take off half the distance back to Canterine and take them out of the hills entirely.
Digging in their pack, hiking it up over the obelisk emblazoned on their flank, Rosetta retrieved their journal and began to review. Speaking the frontier dialect with their benefactor was all well and good, but he was only one pony, and every town had its own little quirks. It was best to be as prepared as possible to avoid any… mishaps.
They settled down and lit their horn, beginning to slowly flip the pages as the fields of the isolated homestead slipped out of view behind the endless expanse of conifers that gave the valley its name.
Emerald Vale, named after the valley it was nestled in, was barely even marked on Rosetta’s map. A small community of a few hundred ponies, to a head crystalline, sat next to the Emerald river. Farms and homesteads spread across the valley meadows to the edge of the forests, irrigation works taking the marshy area around the river and turning it into rich soil. The verdant valley’s only hint as to the harsh fall and winter approaching were the steep roofs that covered the barns and shops of the town.
The town center was not much more than a smithy and a mercantile store, perched next to the trail leading into town and a simple pier on the river, with a few crude log barges tied alongside. To Rosetta’s surprise, a few brown tents were camped on the grass along the riverside, flying a small flag of the Crystal Empire. A patrol through these areas wouldn’t have been expected until the harvest festival sent barges of food south to the fair, so why was there a squad here, in early summer?
They peered over the edge of the cart and spoke to the farmer, “Does Emerald Vale have a mayor, or some sort of leader?”
He scratched at his chin for a moment, slowing his pace as they neared the farmland. “Ain’t really a leader or anything, but the one who solves problems between ponies is usually Fuller, the smith. And from your stories, if you’re looking for someone to guide you on a wander around the smaller towns to the north, the only one in town who ventures far into the woods is Snowhoof. Not sure where she lives, so best ask Fuller.”
The cart slowly made its way down to the town center. “Now, you’d best be catching Fuller before he heads to bed—always did like to tuck in early, he did.” As Rosetta hopped out of the cart, the farmer tied the cart up to a pole and waved goodbye as he stepped into the store. “I’ll be looking for you at the autumn fair, friend!”
“I look forwards to it!” Rosetta replied, taking a moment to stretch and heading across the path to the smithy.
As they knocked, then pushed the door open, she found a burly brown pony at a grindstone. Sparks flew as he pushed a scythe against it, honing the edge, and without looking away he grunted, “Welcome, give me a moment to finish up.”
Happily, Rosetta noted that he spoke much as the farmer did. They took a few seconds to glance around the room, seeing all the typical tools of a small-town smith hung on the walls or scattered on workbenches. They returned their attention to Fuller as the grindstone squeaked to a halt and he set aside the blade, turning towards them. “Greetings,” the smith said, raising a hoof for a bump. “Name’s Fuller, and welcome to Emerald Vale, stranger. Where d’ya hail from?”
“Greetings, Fuller,” Rosetta replied, bumping his hoof. “I am Rosetta, from Equestria.”
“Mighty far north for a unicorn to be wandering,” Fuller said, raising an eyebrow.
“I am engaged in charting the dialects of the Crystal Frontier,” they explained. “I spent the spring in the villages near Canterine, and plan to spend the summer in the Emerald Valley before returning south to Canterine and then to the southeast during the winter.” Rosetta smiled slightly. “As you can imagine, I don’t think myself well-suited to a north Crystal winter.”
“You can say that twice,” Fuller chuckled. “Not as thin as you’re looking. I am surprised you’re still around instead of turning tail and heading south as fast as you can trot, though. You must really love your job.”
“Why would I be heading south?” they questioned. “Apologies, I have been laid up at a nearby homestead recovering from a bout with the Wasting for several weeks.”
Fuller grimaced. “Ah,” he said. “See those troops outside? They brought some unwelcome news. General Sombra’s staged a coup and taken the capital. The army’s split down the middle, and they say both sides are calling up levies for a short campaign before the first snow this year, to try to end things quickly.”
“And the Empress?”
“Nopony knows,” he replied. “The Prince is in Snowybury, but the patrol’s spent five weeks getting here, only a few days after the coup. What’s going on down south is a mystery, and will probably remain so until we make it down to Canterine for the fair.” He picked up the sharpened scythe and slotted it into a bin on the other side of the small room. “Not that it matters all the way out here; taxes twice a year is about all we saw from the Empress, and Sombra’s not likely to be much different.
“No idea about you southerners, though. Will your Princesses risk war to reseat the Prince, do you think?”
Rosetta shook their head. “Not unless Sombra was foolish enough to damage the trade routes or invade.”
“You’ll probably be fine wandering around up here, then, long as you don't make trouble,” Fuller said with a nod. “Best not spend too much time poking around near the borders, though, or the Duke might decide you’re a spy.”
“I’ll take that advice into account,” Rosetta said.
“Now, there’s not exactly an inn in our fair town,” Fuller said. “Where are you planning on staying?”
“I was planning on offering my scribing services or labor for a bed at a nearby homestead,” Rosetta explained. “I was told you’re somewhat of the local elder, and I thought you might be able to point me to some good options.”
“I’ll have to give it a bit of thought,” Fuller said. “Anything else?”
“I’ve also been told that if I were to hire a local guide, to seek out a Snowhoof.”
“You’re in luck, then!” the smith replied. “My next piece of work’s actually for her, so she should be around sometime around this evening to pick it up.” He moved over to another bin and pulled out a large knife. “Not too unlike the one you’re packing, but Snowhoof likes to give it a bit of a professional touch on the rare occasions she’s in town. A whetstone by the light of a campfire only goes so far, after all.”
Casting about for a moment, Fuller set aside the knife, pulled out a chair, and dumped the load of metal scraps on it to a nearby table. “Take a seat if you’d like, won’t be much more than an hour or two.” He wiped his brow. “Then again, with the forge lit it might be more comfortable if you took this outside. Up to you either way.”
“Thank you for your hospitality,” Rosetta replied. “I think I’ll spend some time taking notes outside.” Waiting for Fuller to take his hoof off the proffered chair, they lit their horn and floated it an inch above the ground, taking it outside.
Taking out their journal, Rosetta began to take notes on the short conversation, comparing it to the farmer and noting any differences, along with quirks to investigate with their host in the future. They hadn’t realized it, but six weeks with only one other pony to talk to had left them starved for some work; by the time Rosetta looked up from their notes, they’d used several pages and the sky was… brightening?
Wait a minute, that wasn’t right. Rosetta knew they could get lost in their work, but there was no way they’d spent all night out in their chair taking notes. Glancing up, they were transfixed by the sight of a massive ball of fire making its way across the sky, turning the evening sky as bright as noonday.
It was headed northeast, right over town, and in its wake it left a massive trail of clouds. Rosetta had never seen anything like it. As it swept down towards the horizon, it continued to brighten, so much so they had to close their eyes against the glare. Then, as suddenly as it came, it dimmed and disappeared, leaving only a line of clouds to mark its path.