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// Gilda 
// Story: Hoof Hoof Hoof 
// by Karkadinn 
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Gilda was enjoying a nice breakfast of squirrel over toast and coffee (dark, no creamer, no milk) when a pony she'd dearly hoped to never see again burst through her front door and fell prostrate before her, hooves grasping around talons.

“Help me, Gilda, you're my only hope!”

Gilda choked on her coffee, burning herself.  “PINKIE PIE?!  How did you find out where I live?!”

“You're listed in the phone book.  Oh great hand-waving birdy Gilda, this is important!  I've tried everything else, it's up to you to teach me how to do hand gestures!  I beg of you, rock paper scissors as we know it depends on your boundless font of mercy!”  The pony rubbed her face into Gilda's legs, sobbing.

“Get out.”

What proceeded from that point was a messy, noisy and entirely breakfast-ruining affair that climaxed with a certain pony being dropped off a certain mountaintop and into a river that carried her off like a log flume.