//------------------------------//
// 2 - The Departing 
// Story: Cammie 
// by Jarvy Jared 
//------------------------------//

The carriage moved in two distinct ways, depending on the type of road they were on. The dirt-back roads that had snaked lazily out of Bridlewood offered a rickety yet familiar bounce, while the gravel pavement on which they now rode was of a smoother variety. It was a small thing, not worth noticing when compared to  the disappearance of the ancient, eldritch tree line, the sparkling shade, or the mistiness of the forest. Chamomile supposed that she only took notice of the difference in how the carriage moved because it reminded her more poignantly and presently of the fact that, in the end, she had made the decision to leave Bridlewood behind. 
Penny had been good to her, despite how things had ended last time. She’d still asked if she was certain this was what she wanted, “and if it is, I’ll support you, one-hundred percent, guaranteed.” Penny was perhaps a bit too sincere for her own good, but it had warmed Chamomile’s heart a little. 
Telling Juniper was a different matter altogether. Explaining why she was leaving was a complicated manner. She didn’t want to say she was leaving in order to get back his magic, because she didn’t think it right to get his hopes up for something she, herself, had little faith in. In the end, she simply told him that she was starting a new job, and that for the time being, the tea shop would be closed. 
“Can I still sleep in our room?” he asked.
“No—I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone.” Alone with that cold shop and the memories. “You’ll be staying with Ms. Penny—she has a nice house—and the shop will be closed, so you don’t have to worry about anything, I promise.”
Those final words—“you don’t have to worry about anything, I promise”—troubled her upon reflection. Parenthood was full of promises, but Chamomile knew that that meant that it was also full of unfulfilled ones. Could she really tell him not to worry at all, when she knew there was much to worry about? But a parent must say that to their child sometimes, if only to preserve their view that the world makes sense and that the parent knows all there is to know. Perhaps, too, that was for the child’s sake, as much as  it was for the parent’s herself. 
When she arrived at the edge of Bridlewood, she found another unicorn there already.  “Clip Styles,” he’d said quietly after she asked him who he was.  Dark blue with a pale silver mane and horn, he had been a part-time mane stylist back in Bridlewood; Chamomile recognized him as one of the four barbers who’d occasionally trimmed Juniper’s frequently unkempt mane. A black comb and a silver-cobalt pair of scissors denoted his Cutie Mark. He’d been waiting at the edge of Bridlewood, not necessarily for her, but for the vehicle in which they were now sitting, and had spoken only that note of introduction. Like her, he’d packed a small bag, but unlike hers, which bulged with its contents, his was thin and spartan. The advertisement hadn’t given them a sense of what to pack aside from the essentials, but Chamomile wondered if she’d gone overboard. 
Not long after she’d arrived, other unicorns had come, also carrying a few bags of belongings. While some words of greeting were exchanged, afterwards, all kept to a hesitant silence—for none of them knew what exactly to expect. Then, several vehicles made their way into the forest. It was like creatures from another world had arrived. The cars, with their four wheels, long, sleek frames, and rumbling engines, were unlike anything she’d seen in Bridlewood, causing her to reflect on how secluded Bridlewood had been before unification. She’d hardly had time to dwell on the matter before the unicorns were divided up and carted into the cars, Clip and Chamomile going together. 
That was when Chamomile saw that there were two others: a pegasus and an earth pony. That they had been in the car before she and Clip had gotten on could only mean that the car had gone through Zephyr Heights and Maretime Bay first before arriving in Bridlewood, but they didn’t look like they’d been traveling for long. The pegasus was white like an enoki mushroom, and he’d greeted her and Clip with a confident, almost brazen smile. “Polar Blast,” he said, in a baritone voice, shooting one of his wings out so sharply that it nearly struck Chamomile on the nose. His Cutie Mark seemed to interpret his name literally, because it looked like a snowflake with squiggly directional lines around it.
“Oops,” he then said when he saw her flinch back; he was laughing, too, a bit impishly, which made her think that despite his voice, he was still quite young. “Sorry. Sometimes I forget not everypony has these things.”
That left the fourth individual, the earth pony. She was an azalea pink, with a long, poofy, honeydew mane tied into a braid. The mane was so fair, it was almost transparent. Chamomile guessed she was probably around the same age as her. But she hadn’t introduced  herself; she’d only briefly glanced at Clip and Chamomile when they’d gotten on, and even after Polar had spoken, she’d remained reticent, couched on the other side of the car, distinctly separated from the rest of them. By the time they’d left Bridlewood’s dirt road behind in favor of  the smoother roadway, she had done nothing but sit, as though stuck in a trance, gazing out the window of the car. 
For a time, quietness seemed to be something they were all content with. Clip had his head bowed, as though sleeping, and Polar was absentmindedly picking at some of the feathers in his wing. The earth pony remained where she sat, watching. 
Chamomile looked out her own side’s window. The trees of Bridlewood were receding into the distance and lush rolling hills that spoke to spring’s recent arrival replaced them. The other cars were following closely behind, dust and smoke flying out from under them. 
She glanced at the unspeaking mare, wondering if she was simply shy, or if she was somehow afraid of them. Even though the division between the tribes now seemed like a distant memory, perhaps certain weeds had planted their roots far below where the eye could see, the heart could touch, could feel—perhaps echoes of who they once were, what they feared and hated, still lingered in the back of their minds. Like ghosts, really—ghosts of the secret shame they were all privy to, which no words could put to rest… ghosts…
Her mind was cast back to that morning, when she’d thought she’d seen Astral standing in the grove. Just as quickly, she banished that thought, returning her gaze to the inside of the car.
She was surprised, then, to see that the mare was looking at her. Or rather, her horn. It seemed odd that she should be surprised, for wasn’t it true that in Maretime Bay, there were unicorns already living there? Just as quickly as Chamomile had noticed this, the mare’s gaze traveled down and met her own. 
The moment could not have been long, yet it seemed pulled to its limit and then some. The mare’s eyes were a sparkling blue,  so rich in hue, it was like looking at shiny sapphires. 
The moment passed. The mare, realizing she was staring, made a small sound in the back of her throat, one of shock, then lowered her head and hid behind her mane. For whatever reason, Chamomile felt her cheeks burn as though she was the one committing the social faux pas, and she, too, averted her gaze.
“Well!” Polar said. 
Chamomile looked sharply at him. He was smiling. It was unclear if he’d been watching the little exchange between them. “This is exciting, isn’t it?” he continued. “Have any of you ever been on a train before?”
Clip was not yet asleep, for he answered somewhat tersely, “Never.”
“What about you, Chamomile?”
Surprised to be addressed, it took her a moment to find her tongue. “No. This is my first time. Or, it will be.”
“I’d guess that’s probably going to be the experience for a lot of ponies,” Polar said. He swiveled around to look at the other mare. “What about you, er…” His smile turned apologetic. “Sorry, I don’t believe I actually asked for your name. Rude of me to ask again.”
She turned her head in a sudden, whipping manner, and surprise shone clearly out of her face. She looked at him, then at the other two, and her gaze seemed to linger on Chamomile a little longer before she sighed. “No, it’s… it’s fine. I probably should have told you before, if you did ask.” She cleared her throat before introducing herself: “I’m Gaea.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Gaea,” Polar said. That early brazen attitude that Chamomile had detected appeared to be gone; she reasoned, perhaps, that that was because he was not actually a brazen pony, but simply an enthusiastic one, and her earlier trepidation about him began to fade. “Now, about my question…”
“What was it, sorry?”
“Have you ever ridden on a train before? I know from a few friends in Zephyr Heights that Maretime Bay has some… what do you call them… carts?”
“Oh, you must mean the trams.” She nodded a little. “Yeah, I’ve ridden on them a few times before, when I had to… But no, I’ve never actually ridden on a train train before. So this is new for me.”
Polar nodded, and went on asking a few more questions about the tram—it seemed he was fully capable of drawing this Gaea out of her shell, for after a few minutes she’d managed to converse with him over a few topics. But Chamomile had noticed that moment of hesitation on her part, when she’d trailed off so suddenly. 
“It’s exciting, though, isn’t it?” Polar then repeated, looking at each of them.
“I guess so,” Chamomile said. “I just don’t really know what to expect. The pamphlet only gave out so many specifics about what we’ll be doing, not necessarily how we’ll be doing it. Or what’ll it be like.”
“Typical for an advertisement,” Clip said. Chamomile couldn’t decide if he sounded bitter or if this was his natural tone of voice. 
“Still!” Polar’s eyes gleamed. “I mean, this is basically a big adventure, isn’t it? Going on a train north? Seeking out the frontier?”
His enthusiasm reminded Chamomile of Juniper, for how pure it seemed. And this caused two feelings to well in her chest: amusement, and then also regret at having to leave her son behind. She smiled, though, attempting to hide it, but sensed Gaea looking at her. 
“I tell you, I never thought I’d be doing something like this,” Polar went on. “Back home I was just a simple courier, flying from door to door. Though, I guess before that, I walked door to door. No magic, you know? Oh, that reminds me!” He turned back to Gaea, his grin never once failing. “Is it true what they say?”
“What… What they say?”
“You know! Your magic! Zephyr Heights doesn’t get a lot of earth ponies coming around, but I’ve spoken to a few, and they say that yours came back! The flower power stuff, right?”
“Oh…” Gaea nodded. “Flower power. Right.” Suddenly a self-conscious smile came across her face, and another sound that was half-sigh, half-giggle, came out of her. “Frankly, I think that’s a bit of a silly name, but Posey made it up on the spot, and, well, I guess it’s popular with all the florists.” 
“Like you?”
Gaea started, looking at Polar with a confused expression. “Your Cutie Mark,” he said. “That’s a flower, isn’t it?”
She looked at her flank as though she had forgotten her Mark even existed. It was not exactly a flower by traditional definition. Rather, three stalks with tear-shaped leaves jutted out from a central point.
“Wheat, actually,” Gaea said. She’d become subdued, and a shadow crossed her face, though it was unclear if it was out of distaste for her mark, or for the conversation, or something else entirely. 
Polar at last noticed her change in demeanor. He winced once, but managed to keep smiling. “Sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”
“It’s fine,” Gaea said. “It’s true that I work as a florist, but…” Then, in a quick stream of breath, she changed the topic back to the former one: “But, yeah, we have magic again. It’s strange, seeing how we’d gone for a while without it.”
“All of us were like that,” Chamomile said. “It took us unicorns some time to get used to it.”
“And I can’t tell you how many times I crashed into clouds trying to get my wings to work.” Polar laughed, bright again. “Makes you wonder, though, why they invited ponies from all the tribes to come work?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I can’t imagine what being able to fly will do to help build a railroad. So I don’t really know why pegasi are here. Earth ponies, well, you can grow flowers, but—” He paused, catching himself. “Believe me, I’m not trying to downplay any of us. It’s just… well, when I think about it, it’s just a little strange. You’d think unicorns might be better at laying down tracks, just because they can lift stuff.” He looked at Chamomile’s horn to emphasize the point.
Chamomile had to admit that was a question she’d had in the back of her mind. “I’m sure they have their reasons for this,” she said, noting privately that “they” sounded ominously ambiguous. Next to her, Clip made a noncommittal grunt, but she couldn’t tell if he disagreed on any point. “Maybe they need each pony race’s specialty.” But saying that out loud seemed like rhetoric from a different time, a divisive time, and she regretted bringing it up. 
Polar shrugged. “I guess we’ll learn more when we get there.”
“Wherever there is,” Gaea said. 
From up front, the driver, apparently taking the tone as prompting, turned and told them that they would arrive at their destination in about an hour, which he described as a station of some sort. “You ponies had better rest up while you can—you’re probably going to need it.”
This, for whatever reason, signaled an end to the conversation. Polar settled into his seat, humming absentmindedly for a time before he lowered his head and fell into a quick nap. Clip was much the same as ever, though Chamomile didn’t think he was sleeping, based on how every now and then she’d catch his eyes snapping open and glancing at the non-unicorns with a sparkle of curiosity. Gaea returned to watching out the window, though there didn’t seem to be anything of interest to her out there. 
Chamomile tried to rest, as well. But her mind was adrift, like a riverboat on the sea. She was thinking at once of what lay ahead, and also at once what lay behind. Her hoof clutched her bag, inside of which was, among her other items, were two photos: one of herself and Astral, and one of Juniper, which she had taken almost out of a superstitious fear that she could forget what he looked like.
She nestled into her seat and closed her eyes, trying to rest. She thought she felt somepony looking at her, but eventually, whatever gaze there was, faded into the recesses of perception. The smooth rolling of the car pulled her towards a somewhat peaceful rest. 











In about an hour, the convoy of cars reached its destination. The early noon sun had risen to its zenith, shining upon Chamomile and waking her. Her companions had also stirred, and were looking out the window of their car.
It was some kind of supply yard, recently constructed. Pipes, bricks, and other building materials lay under sheets tied to them with thick rope, and workers were taking out the material to set up on the end in which they’d entered. Large barrels and boxes were pried open to reveal machinery and equipment that were taken slowly and carefully out of their containers in order to be set to work. The cars did not stop here, however; they followed a straight path lined by cones that led to a depot station made of concrete and brick, with tall dark windows obscuring any view inside.
Once the convoy came to a stop, everypony inside, sans the drivers, got out. An earth pony construction worker wearing an orange vest took notice of them. He came forward and spoke to one of the drivers, who waved a hoof towards the whole disembarked group. The worker nodded, then began to direct them towards the depot itself. His tone conveyed a certain impatience; he wanted to get back to work.  
They passed a rumbling industrial engine carrying steel girders somewhere and other such contraptions of mechanical origin. Supports stretched high into the sky, metal and imposing, and catwalks and scaffolding stretched between them, on which scrambled workers to and fro, bits and pieces and tools jangling in belts, in holsters, or in mouths and magic. All of it reminded Chamomile of a forest—albeit a forest made of concrete and steel, a forest that swelled under not a canopy of thick leaves, but an open ceiling of sky and sun. 
When they approached the wide-open entrance to the depot, she felt the train’s steam before she saw it. A loud, snake-like hissing noise preceded the steam that poured over the platform. Unprepared, Chamomile breathed it in too fast and coughed hard, and a few of the other ponies there also began to cough. The rest, including Polar Blast and Clip Styles, managed to continue forth, their coats and manes eaten up by the thick whiteness.
“You okay?” somepony murmured to her. Though her coughing, she saw that it was Gaea.
“I’m fine,” Chamomile wheezed. “Just give me a few moments. You go on ahead.”
But Gaea simply shook her head. “No, that’s all right. I can wait for you.”
A little kindness. It was enough to make Chamomile start, or she would have, had she not been fighting to get her coughing under control. Something in her turned in an odd manner—almost like the feeling one gets when they sense that the atmosphere in a room has changed ever so slightly—but she quickly forgot that feeling when the coughing returned. 
Eventually, though, she was able to overcome her coughing. By that point, a lot of ponies had passed them, few sparing concerned looks her way. All the while, Gaea had stayed by her side, and though she seemed a little awkward, there was something a little sweet about the endeavor.
“Thank you,” Chamomile said softly.
Gaea nodded. The white vapors had come in—she’d gotten used to them so she didn’t cough—and they covered bits and pieces of her face. But Chamomile could have sworn she saw something faintly red peek out of her pink cheeks. “Come on,” Gaea then said, turning away. “We’d better catch up.”
Past the thick fog, the other ponies stood, facing the train. It was a violet steam locomotive, idling proudly in the lot like a victorious king. Two engineers stood in the cabin, their faces streaked with sweat, waiting to be told to start the engine. A long line of cars was attached to its rear, stylized for a certain aesthetic—rather than the wooden ones she’d seen in the pamphlet, they were pink and purple with white roofs on top, white like frosting. 
On the platform, in front of the other ponies, was an earth pony conductor. He was checking his golden chain-watch and surveying the crowd. The steam had made him start to sweat under his cap, and the heat from the engine had warped his curly mane. He blinked rapidly. A couple of construction workers trotted past, and he stopped them to speak in indecipherable tones; they responded, likely, in the negative to some sort of question, for his lips twisted into a frown and he glanced back at the crowd with even clearer nervousness than before. Standing behind two earth ponies, Chamomile ended up listening to their conversation:
“What’s going on? I thought we were set to depart.”
“The conductor said he’s waiting for their commissioner.”
“A commissioner?” 
“Apparently somepony involved in getting all of this together. Not sure if it’s the same pony paying us…”
“You don’t think they’ll stiff on us?”
“Don’t know. Can’t say I like how some of those pegasi and unicorns look.”
The other earth pony huffed. “Better stow that attitude, now, you know. We’ll all be working together.”
“Assuming we actually start working soon.”
They moved away, allowing an open space. Stepping into it, Chamomile was surprised to bump into Gaea again. She turned her head and caught her gaze. . Evidently, Gaea had heard what was said about Chamomile’s kind, and her eyes betrayed a soft kind of concern. Chamomile shrugged, not quite smiling, not quite grimacing, because she was not sure if she was or was not bothered by such remarks. 
Then the conductor’s head turned so sharply, everypony noticed. He was focusing on something in the sky. While the pegasi murmured about some kind of shape, the rest, Chamomile included, saw nothing of interest except for the fact that the sky was cloudless. 
Chamomile blinked. In that second, a white, graceful pegasus mare rocketed towards them.
A few ponies screamed (only a little, later they’d say), as did a few pegasi, but these latter ponies screamed, “Princess Zephyrina!” just as she landed in front of the conductor.
Princess?
Old stories returned to her, the kinds that had been passed down to unicorns through oral tales. Older than memory, older than generations of remembering, these stories spoke of platinum princesses of old, so magnificent that they could only exist in fairy tales and myth. One such princess had brought their kind to what would become Equestria, leading them with her grace, her beauty, and eventually her heart. Such myths had created for Chamomile the idea of a princess as naturally being a unicorn—she knew this was already a false view ever since magic had returned—as well as the idea that to be a princess, one must have that same kind of saving grace about them; they must conduct themselves as though they knew of their own importance, neither extolling it needlessly nor humbling themselves before others recklessly.
This Princess Zephyrina appeared to fit that definition. When she’d landed, she’d raised her head and spread her wings in a grand display of multicolored feathers. Her eyes had the kind of lofty regality best associated with royalty, and her mouth formed into a considerably neutral frown—one that did not betray either her thoughts or her emotions. She had the semblance of a leader, of somepony who could take charge of a situation, and, perhaps this, along with the other observations, caused some instinctual urge to bow to rise up in Chamomile, which she only just managed to resist.  
The resulting gust blew back everyone’s manes and fur. Chamomile felt the flap to her bag open up, and, frantically, she closed it, just in time to see the princess smile abashedly. 
“Heh… sorry, everypony. Flight school went on longer than I expected. Had to seriously pump my wings just to get here at some point.” 
In an instant, that fairy-tale image of a princess—well, it did not quite shatter, but it did pop and wheeze out the last of its vitality. The way this pegasus spoke was not like how Chamomile had imagined a princess would speak. There was no refinement. And there was a clear youthfulness to the voice, an eagerness that suggested a regent-in-training, not a regent-in-reign. 
The princess looked at the conductor. His mane was even curlier than before, and his cap ever more lopsided. “How are we doin’ on time?” she asked
He composed himself in an impressively short while. “We are still right on time, Princess Zephyrina.” Chamomile was surprised to hear that he had a bit of a country accent, and how he drawled out her name seemed a tad bit humorous.
She held up a hoof. “Please. Just call me Zipp—even my mom calls me that, now. That goes to the rest of you, okay?” she added, looking back at the crowd. There seemed to be a silent “please” tacked onto that statement. 
While it appeared that the crowd was perfectly willing to accept these terms, the pegasi all appeared quite excited. They were pointing at Zipp with their hooves and their—what was the term; cell phones?—and clamoring and whispering among themselves. A few phones flashed—photos had been taken—and Zipp looked more abashed now than before. The conductor, noticing this, cast a stern gaze over the crowd, and all the phones were put away. 
A princess who doesn’t like getting her photo taken? So there was more to this pegasus than what Chamomile thought she knew about princesses. Suddenly, it dawned on Chamomile that the easily lofty manner in which Zipp had appeared was but one kind of performance, and this embarrassed demeanor was yet another. Perhaps it was the truer one, given how she seemed to fall into it without effort or strain.
Chamomile tried to see if Polar was also as excited as his fellow pegasi. She scanned the crowd, looking for him. There he was, off a little ways, and he was looking at Zipp. But, unlike the others, who’d almost fanatically squealed, he was silent, staring at her with a thunderstruck expression, like he hadn’t expected her to drop out of the sky.
Because Chamomile was up front, she could just make out Zipp’s voice:  “Have they… you know…” 
The conductor shook his head. “No, Pr—Zipp. They only jus’ arrived.” 
Zipp frowned. “Ah. Well, then…” She cleared her throat, then took a step forward. The movement was enough to cause all the excited murmuring to dissipate, and everyone looked expectantly at her. 
Zipp pushed her nervousness aside. “This might seem like a silly question, but do any of you know what you’ll be doing?”
Clip’s distinctively dry tone rang out: “Building the railroad.” Some pegasi turned and gave him dirty looks. There was, however, a contingent of earth and unicorn ponies who laughed a little. Clip seemed to notice none of these reactions. 
Zipp looked confused. “I mean, yeah, but… Wait, are you saying you don’t know?”
They mirrored her look. A furrowed line came over her forehead, and she looked at the conductor. “Do you have one of those pamphlets on you, by any chance?”
He hadn’t—the call went out for one. Gaea, being closest to the raised platform, took hers out of her bag and held it up. “Here. I’ve got mine,” she said—her voice seemed to echo plaintively within that depot. 
Zipp took it with a grateful nod. She skimmed its page for a second, then her eyes widened. “Oh, ponyfeathers.” (Chamomile privately added that to her growing list of discrepancies—a princess who cursed?) “Did you all receive this kind of pamphlet?” she asked the crowd.
They said they did. Zipp groaned. “I can’t believe it! They sent you the wrong ones! Argh, I knew I should have overseen the actual send-off myself!”
“The wrong ones?” Clip asked, suspicion lacing his voice.
Holding the pamphlet out with an outstretched wing—the dexterity was remarkable—Zipp said, “These are for one of our normal railroad constructions—back when we were just starting to connect the three cities by train.”
Normal railroad construction? Chamomile frowned. She slid her own pamphlet out of her bag and flipped through the pages. No, it was still the same one that Penny had given her—there was no mention of building between the three cities. There was only the point about them laying down tracks northward.
Zipp was now whispering something to the conductor, who was whispering something back. Both their faces were twisted with consternation. The other ponies were no better, caught between confused murmurs and somewhat angry tones of voices. Chamomile glanced at Gaea, whose eyes had gone wide and whose body was shaking.  Chamomile’s gaze swiveled to look at everypony else, who all had their pamphlets out to compare—and from what she saw, all were the same as the one Zipp had just presented as wrong. 
All, except for hers. 	

“Excuse me,” Chamomile said. 
She hadn’t said it very loud, but for some reason, Zipp managed to hear her anyway. “Yeah?” she asked, unable to hide her frantic tone.
Aware that some were looking at her, Gaea included, Chamomile nonetheless pushed the feeling aside and held her pamphlet up in her magic. “I actually have a different job advertisement. I’m wondering if it’s the right one?”
“You do?” Zipp took it in her wing and opened it. She flipped through it, then flipped back, then flipped more slowly through it again. Her eyes widened again. “Wait! This is the right one—the one we were supposed to send out!”
“It is?” The conductor asked to be given it, and after he had, he let out a low whistle. “Well, I’ll be! There it is—Expedition to the Frozen North: Railroad Workers Wanted. Yes, yes! This is the right one!”
The response was predictable—a clamoring of voices, all rising and confused, striking against the walls of the depot, echoing, echoing in their aimless way. Frozen North? Expedition? Some were troubled. Others were angry, and of them, a few made remarks to the effect of leaving altogether. 
“Ponies, please!” Zipp shot both wings out, so sharply that they slapped the air and made a concussive sound. Instantly, that image Chamomile had had of what a princess could be returned. Zipp’s voice, which managed to carry over the turmoil brewing before her, quelled everypony. They looked up at her, expectantly.
“I know you are all confused,” she said. “And upset—you might feel like you were cheated out of a job. But please, let me at least explain what this was supposed to be—before you all decide to leave, okay?”
When silence met her, she took this as permission to continue. She folded her wings back and cleared her throat. She began to pace back and forth across the platform, tail swishing in an almost dramatic manner. Her voice took on a tone of intrigue. “You may have seen on your way here that there are a few railroads already constructed. These lead between the three tribes’ and their cities: Maretime Bay, Zephyr Heights, and Bridlewood Forest. A good portion of Equestria has therefore been reconnected thanks to these railroads. But there’s one area yet to be furnished… an area in the frigid north.” She paused, looking them over. One might have thought she was pausing merely for dramatic effect, except that her face was utterly grave and devoid of the joy of storytelling. “My friend, Sunny, has said how in ancient Equestria, there used to be a series of tracks connecting the rest of Equestria to a frozen kingdom. We’re going to be building towards those tracks, if not the frozen kingdom itself—whichever one we find first.”
Facing them directly, she allowed herself a sigh. “That’s what we’re building towards. I won’t lie—it won’t be easy. It’ll probably be one of the most exhausting things anypony has to do. I understand if that’s not what you signed up for—if you feel like this isn’t what you want to do, then I won’t stop you. You’ll still get paid, I’ll personally see to that, but…” 
She raised her head, looking at them, each individually, as though meaning to captivate them all with but her brilliant blue eyes. “I can’t stress how important this could be—it’s more than a job; it’s a chance to do something amazing! It’s about rediscovering the past and uncovering answers to explain why things have been how they’ve been. It may even lead us to discovering how to prevent us from separating again. This!” She stomped a hoof, not aggressively, but in a manner as to punctuate her point. “This—this is bigger than you. This is bigger than me. Than all of us. That’s why I need you. We need you. Equestria needs you. So if you want to go, go, but it would mean the world if you stayed, if you helped us out.”
Then her voice faltered, and that regality which had swept up her personality with the grace of a zephyr vanished under sudden silence. The steam that the train lazily exhaled drifted up through the open ceiling of the depot, and a few birds flew across it, dark triangular shapes against the vacuous vapors. 
Who was she waiting for? Them, Chamomile knew; but all of them? Was she expecting one of them to speak for them all? Who could, though? Who had that right?
And then a voice declared, “Well, I’m with you all the way.”
It was Polar—and even he, when Chamomile looked sharply at him, seemed surprised he’d spoken. But soon after his face adopted a determined expression. His wings pumped excitedly, he seemed about to salute Zipp, but something held him back, and so he simply directed his determination towards her and gave a fierce nod. 
“Me, too.” Chamomile started at the sound of Gaea’s voice, quiet yet no less determined than Polar’s.
“Us as well,” came the collective voice of a group of earth ponies on the other side. 
Presently similar assertive remarks rose out of the crowd, and it became apparent that nopony, despite their misgivings, thought about walking away. Something had called them—was it duty, responsibility, simple curiosity? Chamomile looked at Gaea but could not tell what it was that had driven her to say so. 
Not that she was about to walk away, either. She thought of her son, and the decision was easy. 
Zipp looked at them all, wonder in her eyes. Then she shook her head in amazement. “Heh… Ponies after my own heart. Thank you,” she said, bowing her head a little, “all of you.”
“But it will be quite cold up north,” somepony mentioned, somewhat in an offhand manner.
The conductor, hearing this, stepped forward, reclaiming a bit of his authority. “Don’t worry, y’all,” he said placatingly. “You’ll all be stocked with enough parkas and blankets t’ make a capybara jealous.” A few laughs broke the tense air like water through cracked earth.  “Plus, this here train’s stocked with all the hot cocoa we could need!”
“Not that you should be needing any of those things for a little while,” Zipp said. “We’ll be heading slowly north, so the cold shouldn’t reach us until we’re basically there.”
“You’re coming with us?” somepony asked. A few of the pegasi also expressed excitement and surprise. 
Zipp grinned. She was back to herself, Chamomile supposed—whichever self that was. “‘Course I’m coming along! After all, I was one of those who commissioned this!”
This seemed sufficient enough explanation, and spirits returned to a high point. Zipp nodded at the conductor, who took out his chain again, checked it, and nodded himself. He waved a hoof at somepony in the front of the train, and the doors to the passenger cars opened.
“Saddle up, everypony,” he said. “We’d best not delay any longer if we want daylight to be our friend.”