The horizon was dim despite the harsh glare of the sun above. Dark clouds had stanchioned themselves around the city. The last outpost fell a moon ago and the city was now cut off from the world and weeks had passed since there had been any news of the outside world. The last correspondence came from Prince Blueblood who led the southern forces. A black fog barred their path and neither magic nor pegasai could breach its edges. Soon after, the gloomy nebula had completely ensconced the empire, cutting off the hope of connecting with Canterlot forces. Anypony she has tried to teleport outside the city and behind enemy lines, with the hope of meeting a supply convoy, has been left on the outskirts in pieces. Any scroll sent had burst into blue flames instead of the usual green with no way to know if it reached the sender.
They were under siege and the scant supplies were waning further. There was little land within the city prepared for farming and crops took a while to establish. Despite her best efforts any arcane food she conjured held little weight in the hungry ponies' stomachs. She spent most of her free time when she wasn’t trying to send messages beyond the barrier or reinforce Shining’s shield, taking stock of their dwindling supplies. They’ve had to post a watch on the castle’s larder where the last of their food stores turned into crumbs.
She stood on the balcony now, overlooking the fairgrounds that surrounded the castle. Some ponies whose house lay closest to the castle had sought refuge in their homes but the masses gathered below the lean-tos and hasty tents crowded together. The ponies themselves milled about gaunt with dull fur and frightened eyes. A couple of guards wondered about handing out oranges. The fresh fruit brightened their spirits only for a moment, stale oatcakes having worn their welcome.
She dared not tell them where she got those citrine orbs. She feared if they found out that they were now tearing into transmuted flesh, they would turn to panic. Not that it mattered much. The city’s ponds had grown quiet and soon her supplies would run out. She didn’t want to rob them of the hopeful birdsong quite yet and the mice had already vacated with what oats they could carry. Ponies who tried to flee the city became scorched by the green lightening that would spark out of the clouds, left like grotesque cairns at the edges of their prison.
Determination greater than hunger gripped her stomach. She would get them through this but she feared more would be lost to hunger and fear than the enemies' grip if they didn't figure something out soon.