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// I Am Ushered Into the House by My Mother 
// Story: Her Eyes Reflect The Stars 
// by Lynwood 
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I am ushered into the house by my mother gently, but firmly. She looks strange without the strands of silvery-pink mane in her face. "Alright, your manecut is all done. Come on now, Shiny. It's time for little colts to go inside." 

I tell her that I'm a big colt, not a little one, and I don't have to go inside this time. She pushes me in anyway and closes the door. I quickly press my ear against the crack between it and the cloud wall, where the sound outside isn't so muffled.

"Okay, Soars, we're all ready."

"About time." The annoyed grumble can only come from my uncle. "Come on, girls, let's get to work."

A moment later I feel the clouds beneath my hooves begin to move and I steady myself with my wings. Nothing happens for a long while, and I get very bored. I can hear talking outside, but they're too far away, even for the crack.

Then the house stops. I rush to the crack and I catch the barest snippet of words. "...head down to the machine..."

My eyebrows jump up! Little colts have had to go inside more times than I can count, but I never knew they go down. Are we over something? We must be― why else would anypony want to go down to the water?

Quick as a flap, I dive to the corner, where the floor is easiest to pull apart. I jam my hooves into the clouds and a minute later I feel the cool sea air against my coat. I put my eye as close as I dare.

The house is lower than normal. The ocean below is broken by some kind of island, but it's not the kind that we visit. There are no trees or sand, and the whole thing is a slimy gray. There are no gentle swells or curves, either, it's all strange, unnatural angles, like something half-sunk. A shiver climbs my spine. 

I spot my family just as they set down on the strange island. My uncle has a tan bulge on his shoulder. It takes me a moment to recognize it at such a distance: the sack. I'm not supposed to touch it because we only have one. I saw it not an hour ago when my uncle was cutting our manes.

My uncle walks to the island's unnatural shore. He stops at the water's edge and I see him overturn the sack. A little multicolored pile appears next to him and he canters away without skipping a beat, empty bag in tow.

A moment passes.

Five strange tendrils creep up from the ink-black water. They're made up of too long, many-jointed segments and I'm baffled until they finish rising— they merge together at the base. The fingers of a claw.  They hover over the pile of our mane clippings, hesitating briefly before curling around it. Then it drags it into the black water and vanishes.

My family and I wait.

The fingers emerge again, their tips together, and touch the shore of the island where the clippings used to be. Then they split and slip into the ocean once more. 

The spot glitters in the sun, and I realize the owner of the claw left something.

Then my uncle swipes it up with the sack, and before I know it everypony is flying back. I mash the cloud back together and move far away, praying that nopony saw.

The door opens and my mother smiles. "Well, Shiny, I hope you're ready to visit the island!"