THE REVOLUTION HAD begun, though the time for conflict and battle was not yet at hand, the time for plans and placement was in effect. To a more unprepared soul, this would be an impossible task, luckily though, Reik had drawn plans for a projected revolution, but he had only enough time to hide them from prying eyes before the guards banished him. Reik now only hoped that his plans and writings had survived his absence. But why now? Reik asked himself this question fairly often. Why begin the war when he could simply bide his time and wait for allies to gather below his currently empty banner? To him the answer was simple: his current efforts were for naught. They gained nothing, and were nothing more than a waste of time. It saddened Reik to know that his time in exile had been for nothing, it angered him that no one listened, it angered him that they toiled away doing the bidding of those who had never laid hands upon a working tool in the time of their meaningless existence. It was only logical to move the next step. It was still a daunting task, to infiltrate Canterlot, move through its labyrinth of tunnels and hallways, steal several papers, and escape all under the Princesses nose. Regardless of these truths, it was his only choice. He could not falter, he could not fail, and he would be merciless, he would die or succeed.
THE DAYS OF fall were near their end, and winter was quickly approaching. A chilling cold that could pierce a pony’s very soul had engulfed the land. It had been four days since Reik left the last village and the cold paired with his exhausted rations, dulled his sense of directions. Reik had given up trying to track his movement on Equestria’s roads and trails. He had given up wondering why he continued to walk, not that it bothered him, for the cold had long since numbed the burning pain in his legs. He stopped repeatedly, almost ritualistically, to check on the manifesto. It was the only item that occupied the tattered bag slung across his back, the weathered straps breaking constantly forcing him to tie and mend them on the road. He was a miserable sight, drawing many pitiful stairs from the few travelers that crossed his path. At times he joked with himself with the thought that these events where trials meant to test his conviction, meant to test his conviction and faith. Suddenly, on the fifth day of his pilgrimage, a stream came into view, its waters where as clear as the purest crystal and its waters lapped and sloshed with a sound that seemed like a loving lullaby to Reik. He broke into a run and collapsed at the rivers banks, sending small stones splashing into its depth. He satisfied his thirst at the river in a primal frenzy, barley getting enough air between mouthfuls of water to remain conscious.
After gorging himself on the rivers bounty, he looked upon its surface to examine himself. His reflection was freighting, his once clean and brushed black mane was now a greasy, tangled mess, similar to looking at a once well tamed yard turn into a non traversable maze. His blue colored tail lay in tatters of his rear like a ruined flag. His blue eyes were deep and bottomless, where once they contained sparks of intuition and intelligence, they held cruelty and malice. A sea of anger quickly rose in Reik; they had driven him to this state, they had done this to him. Reik plunged a shaking hoof into the reflection, not wishing to see the sight again, his jaw shivered with barley controllable emotion. Reik felt a single burning drip of anger, sadness, and doubt flow down his cheek. Reik pulled his head up, hoping these feelings he viewed as weak below him. The sight before his eyes pulled him out of his sinking pool of misery. Before him was a village, not large, but at the same time not small, thatched roofs covered many of the structures along with overhanging platforms jutting out from second and third story rooms. A snaking river flowed through the heart of the village. A large pavilion in the towns square and an extensive apple farm resting on a gentle rise where all that existed in terms of landmarks, above all this, a Pegasus could be seen weaving and rolling in the sky, casting a colored stream behind it. Even though this was the first time he had laid eyes upon this settlement, Reik felt a sudden feeling of warmth and welcoming, as if this village was calling to him to join it. But all these where not what lifted his hopes, no it was what lay beyond it. In the nearby mountain, resting on the mountain side, as if placed there like a mother placed her young in a crib, lay Canterlot, its great spires of white stone seemed to compete with each other as climbed higher and higher above its mighty foundation. The clouds seem to part and halt as they approached save for a thin and foggy haze that drifted between the castle and its viewer, the effect was mystical. Had the premise of his departure been more favorable, Reik may have felt some form of happiness. But Reik was only reminded of the hate and pain he had felt when he had last set eyes upon the fortress. Perhaps it had been a stroke of luck that he mishandled and gave up on tracking his movement. Perhaps his past ordeals had been a trial to test his faith he thought… perhaps. His right ear exploded with a sudden high pitched voice, he yelped and jumped at the ambush.
“HIYA, WATCHA DOIN, are you new here, I’m Pinkie Pie, this is Ponyville, I’ve never seen you, what’s that cutie mark, it looks silly, oh, you know who loves silly things, gummy you should meet gummy, who are you anyway?” The words spilled out of the pink pony’s mouth like water over a cliff. Reik turned to get a better look at the speaker. She stood in sharp contrast to Reik and the surrounding forest. Where he was dark, bleak, she was uplifting and cheerful. The air and light seemed to intensify with positivity in a small aurora around her. Her mane hung in an organized, all most planned, disheveled mess. Three small balloons where embedded upon her flank.
“Soooooo, watch doin, hmmmmmm, you don’t look like any regular pony I’ve ever seen, why are you here? Why are you talking to me? Wait, you’re not talking to me, why aren’t you talking to me? Her face inched closer and closer to his, like an interrogator. Her eyes seemed to bulge with the last few words. Reik was at a lost. He could not remember when he had last engaged another being in conversation that wasn’t relevant to communism or the revolution and his skills in casual conversation where severely lacking. Pinkie pie stared at him waiting for a response, her head cocked sideways and a cartoony look of accusation on her face. He needed to remain unseen, his remarks would need to be satisfying but at the same time not too differentiable from the other phrases she would hear throughout the day. Reik needed to be just another face in her thoughts, nothing more.
“Err… I’m”. Reik paused, searching his mind for its categories of believable false names. “Simon, and your right I’m new to this, um” he verbally staggered. “Ponyville silly” Pinkie interrupted. “Yes, Ponyville”, he rolled the word across his tongue rendering and memorizing the phrase, he quickly created a history to go with his name. “I’m visiting from my home town to check up on my grandmother. She is very ill and thought she could use some company”. Behind his calm expression, Reik was panicking, mental systems began planning for the contingency where she didn’t buy his ruse, and he chose which method of disablement would be most efficient and silent. Reik shifted his stance slightly to prepare for the planned attack. Suddenly, against all calculations and assumptions, the pink pony withdrew with a smile. “Ooooooookay, hope your grandmother gets better, should I come with, I can be quite helpful, I remember the other day I helped fixed two dozen broken arms on half a dozen squirrels. Wait, what? No it was the other way around, or was it that way around. Uh, what was I talking about? Oh no! I forgot to feed gummy!” Pinkie Pie immediately broke into a sprint through the river. Reik cringed at the thought of plunging into such freezing waters himself. Pinkie Pie crossed the body of water at an athletic speed and soon disappeared over a mound, her cries about forgetting to feed gummy echoing in the distance. To Reik, the echo lasted for much longer than was naturally possible. Reik made a mental note to avoid that Pony before setting on a path around the river towards Canterlot.
GEORGE STRUGGLED WITH the weight of the cart. He was too old for this; his bones ached with each step. The unnaturally cold afternoon air sapped his strength and with each step, he felt as if the distance between his home and current location grew instead of shrank. Ever since his son left their small farm on the outskirts of Ponyville for his schooling in one of the cities in Equestria, things on the old man’s farm had quickly deteriorated. Since his wife stooped working to care for their home, things only got worse. George could barley meet his weekly quota of his employer and suffered payment deductions regularly. Over time his once extensive farm shrank and shrank, swallowed up by those with superior organization and status. Now with winter approaching, he was barely getting enough food from his miniscule fields to put on his plate. The weight of the wagon finally overcame his ebbing strength and George collapsed. Perhaps he should just lie there, he thought. Maybe the world would forget about him, forget about his troubles and obligations. He cursed himself for entertaining such ludicrous thoughts, he had to continue, he had to stand up. The straps and buckles around George’s body fell away with a clinking ring. Perfect, he thought, now my cart is breaking as well. George turned to gather up the harness but instead was shocked to find them tied and fixed to the body of another pony, one black and lean, with cold calculating eyes and a tattered back slung across his back, concealing his cutie mark. “Who are you?” the words stumbled over of George’s old and weathered lips. Apparently Georges question sounded accusatory, for the black pony responded like a child would respond to a parent who questioned their actions. “I’m sorry comrade, I saw you here lying on the ground and wanted to aid you. Ill carry this to its destination, please, lead the way comrade.” George was suspicious of this pony, no one came to anypony’s aid in this wilderness, it was unnatural, and that term ‘Comrade’ it was alien and unknown to George. But he was glad to have the burden lifted from his shoulders, so he continued along the beaten trail leading to his home; the black pony carried the cart without objection.
George urged the black pony to step inside his home so he could properly thank him, give him some food, and even let him stay for the night. The black pony politely accepted the offer for food but insisted he had important matters to attend to. Once inside George sat him at their table and asked his wife to prepare the last of their bread and vegetables for their guest. “Sorry if I’m being impolite, but why do you seem so” the guest paused as if planning his verbal moves with great care, “distressed”. “Well, it began after Applejack first began to annex our farm.” George began on the long chain of events that lead to his current state of his miserable excuse for a farm and yet the guest listened with great intensity, like a son listens to his father’s rambles. “We were forced into this state, there was no other option he.” he finished, his head dropping as if a weight was tied around his neck. The guest nodded and spoke, “Im sorry to hear that, very tragic.” The guest spoke in a tone that hinted he may have also been in a similar situation; it was a comforting yet powerful tone. “Yes very sad, but I believe I can help you with your problems.” The guest reached into a bag at his feet as Georges wife arrived with bread and cooked vegetables and withdrew a small iron bound book. “Tell me comrade" that odd phrase again thought George, "have you ever heard of socialism?”