Betrayed by their partner and left in the wreckage of the train, Tizzy Humbug and Mort Swain returned to the cabin to collect their belongings. The Tenochtitlan Basin was only a few kilometres away now, and whether they had Quip Pundit or not, they still had to find their leader.
The two ponies set off at a steady pace of 7.402982 kilometres per hour, not stopping until they had reached the edge of the forest just 96.31304347826088 minutes later.
The sun was just above the horizon now, the shadows of the trees dashing away from it in long dark pillars. Dust-like water droplets filled the air in a gentle mist which obscured the ancient structures of Tenochtitlan as a gentle breeze whistled through the crevices of eroded crags. Echoing through the vast rainforest was the call of exotic birds, welcoming the new day in a delightful symphony known by all that lived there. If this was where the sought one lay, it was doubtful that she would wish to return, for who could bring themself to leave an immaculate paradise such as this one?
Much as they desired to, there was no time to admire, for they had only enough cheese in their bags to last a few days, and staying beyond that point would require them to hunt for food. Tizzy Humbug was quickly reminded of the many things she had forgotten to pack for her journey. Although she had an exceptional array of cheese knives, she had forgotten to bring any for herself, a tragedy which could evidently be felt by every creature nearby. Not a single beast could be seen, not only from the thick fog which enveloped them, but also from their lack of existence in the first place. Aside from the few birds still singing in the light of dawn, the forest was entirely devoid of life.
The two crept forward with great caution, or at least, Tizzy Humbug did; considering her nonchalant attitude toward life, it was nigh impossible to tell for certain whether Mort Twain truly took anything seriously, and at this moment, she appeared to waltz about the eerily quiet forest carefree.
Irritated by her actions, Tizzy Humbug called out to her, “Be careful, Morty! You’ll get killed if you keep carelessly strutting through the fog like that!”
“Why should I fear death? I was dead for billions of years before I was born; I’m still fine.”
Lo and behold, her warning was immediately succeeded by a shrill cry as Mort Swain fell into a deep ditch. Tizzy Humbug rushed to where she had last seen her companion and peered down into the great trench which now confined her.
“I can’t help but feel like this was easily avoidable,” said Tizzy Humbug, visibly frustrated by her foolishness.
“Well, there’s no way you slept well enough last night to be able to help me out with magic, so how am I supposed to get out?”
Tizzy Humbug hesitated for a moment, deciding at last to use her magic to lift Mort Swain from the muddy trench. However, just as she began to raise her, Mort Swain shouted at her to stop. She, of course, followed this order instantly, violently dumping her friend back into the sordid hole. She began to dig around in the dirt there, scraping away the earth to remove a small, crusty clue. It was a pink and purple feather, caked in mud, yet still without a doubt belonging to Our Friend and Liberator Cadance. She must be in the area.
Mort Swain called her down to search with her, but unfortunately, she could not come for a number of reasons, too many to list here, so she sent her friend along to search on her own while she remained at the cleaner, drier surface.
Mort Swain worked her way through the maze of tunnels that followed from her location, diligently examining every crevice which could hold some form of clue. Tizzy Humbug, too, inspected the dirt beneath and upon her hooves, in case some microscopic trace of their leader had manifested itself within the dirt that lightly coated a portion of her leg.
Her exhaustive search was then interrupted by a cry in the distance. It was Mort Swain, calling for her to help. Carefully avoiding the perilous pits of mud, Tizzy Humbug made her way into the trench to meet her friend.
It was a miracle! Our Friend and Liberator, Cadence, was tightly bound to a boulder, deep within the corridors of the abandoned bunker. They rushed to help her, chewing through the sturdy cords which ensnared their beloved leader, and removed the mass of moss melding the muscles of her maw together. With a great gasp, she thanked them emphatically and implored them to help her return to their homeland. The two nodded and dragged her out of the pit to begin the journey home. Before exiting, though, Mort Twain’s boundless curiosity got the best of her, and she couldn’t help but ask:
“Our Friend and Liberator, Cadence, what happened? Were you kidnapped by an evil possessed murderer trying to throw our glorious union into total anarchy?”
She was eager to find out, but her leader simply turned her head and changed the subject to how unbefitting of a unicorn those old trenches were, later correcting herself to “pony,” as she had originally intended to say. This reply disappointed her immensely, but she ignored this overwhelming sensation and conversed as she wished her to.
The road ahead was long, and with no train to carry them to and fro, it would surely take them several days and nights to return to their dwelling in the Frozen North. There was no time to waste, and thus they set out once more, this time having to carefully ration their cheese, now distributing it to Our Friend and Liberator, Cadence, as well. Marching forward along the path, the mist cleared to reveal the vast expanse of kasaya-orange sand that lay just beyond the paradisiacal jungle which once housed them; it would be a long journey.
Onwards they marched for hours upon hours, out of the desert and into the swamps ahead; Forwards they advanced, through woods, and fields, and woods again. Quickly, the days seemed to pass them by, the sun making great leaps from horizon to horizon in its circadian journey, not once looking back toward the day before. Indeed, the journey was long and tiresome, and none could deny the constant sensation of hunger and nothing more. Towering above them with colossal grace, the mountain ahead proved too daunting a task for the starving ponies, and the journey had been extended yet again in their choice to venture around it, but in the end, the three arrived at the gates of the Frozen North.
The final stretch awaited them, and into the infinite storm they trekked, now used to the constant aching of hunger, and with a full day of icy winds and layers of snow, they arrived at the shining towers of Crystal City. At long last, they had made it.