//------------------------------// // Chapter 4 // Story: The Nightmare Tree // by The Ancient Wyrm //------------------------------// The Nightmare Tree Chapter 4 Through the dark clouds a single figure tumbled. Pale and almost transparent blue, the tiny figure of Pipsqueak clung with all the might his little legs could to a still lit pumpkin, his face carved into it. Over, under, and sideways he corkscrewed through the black and blue ether, and what seemed to be a maw opened in the cloud banks, swallowing the lone colt whole. Not far behind, a cape less, well-dressed, pale-yellow unicorn flew in behind him, and was then followed by the CMC and Featherweight pin wheeling, the missing cape’s four corners tied around their front hooves. The dark cloud leered and lunged forward, swallowing the four airborne foals in a fiendish gulp. A clap of lightning was seen and thunder felt as the four broke through again to another skyline, with Moundshroud now wearing the cape. Moundshroud led the friends over the new landscape, which was sprawling hills, lakes, and clear rivers. In the distance, a castle of rounded stones could be seen, lit with an inner light. “Time to celebrate, foals!” Moundshroud glinted over his shoulder. The gliding procession flitted over the castle wall, “Happy New Year!” Moundshroud crooned. Down in the keep, a myriad multitude of stallions, mares, colts, fillies, rams, ewes, and lambs were dancing in rings about bon fires and feasting on fruits. “What do you mean New Year?” Scootaloo interjected. “Yeah! It’s Nightmare Night!” Featherweight intoned. “Well yes, maybe in our time it’s Nightmare Night,” Moundshroud shrugged, “but in this time, it is the celebration of the true end of summer and the cold start of winter; Happy New Year!” Featherweight fought with the wind to crane his gaze downward. “Hey! Down there in the crowd, is that Pipsqueak?” Applebloom, more feeling than seeing pointed upwards with her free hoof. “No! He’s up thar!” Corkscrew losing altitude, the blue tailed orange comet fell into a far off wheat field. Moundshroud gathered his cape over his shoulder and pulled forth, smiling steel. The four foal weights squeaked in surprise as the pale unicorn pulled them to the ground. The wheat was tall, almost to Moundshrouds’ eyes. Eight eyes peered about the stalks that obscured each other. “Where are we Mr. Moundshroud?” asked Applebloom. Fssssssssiiiiing “Hmm” he puzzled, “I should know where, but I can’t be certain when.” Fssssssssiiiiing “How can you know where but not when?” Scootaloo mused. Fssssssssiiiiiing Moundshrouds horn cleared away the wheat around them, revealing a rather exasperated scowl. “Quite simply, I do not know when we are, as it could be one hundred-” Fssssssiiiiiiing “-or a thousand years before our time. We travel through both space and time to find Pipsqueak, so anything could happen!” Fsssssssiiiiing “And what in Equestria is that infernal sound?” Moundshroud stomped. He raised his bald head above the wheat, and blanched more so than he already was. “Oh no! Quick foals! Hit the ground!” Moundshroud flattened himself and the foals against the field with no small sense of urgency. Moments after, a great bone blade sped over the prone figures, reaping great swaths of grain. Sweetie Belle was just about to squeak in surprise when a long, trilling “Kssssssssssssssk!” came from Moundshrouds’ lips. “Not a word or a peep foals!” he whispered, eyes searching upward. “And keep your eyes shut, it’s about to get nasty.” Fssssssssiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnng! And another ream of grain was reaped from the field. Guttural sounds were heard, babblings of thick liquids, crags of scabs newly opened, and the slow crawl of vast weight. However, the worst sound above it all was the muted cries and screams of ponies that were unseen. The four foals lay prone, eyes shut tight as the sounds continued, only to feel the touch and crawl of small slimy things. A coiled mass began to sift through Appleblooms’ wrappings, many legs were prodding through Featherweights’ mane, and armored backs rippled under Scootaloos’ belly. Poor Sweetie Belle felt the touch and searching of something long and skinny on her back. Overhead, the scything talon continued its’ shrieking song, Fsssssiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnng, always near. Each time the scythe came down, the sounds of small, wretched things were heard again. Nearby, something large and wet pounded the ground, and took away some mass of unfortunate creatures. Thousands of crickets sang a death dirge as they were hauled to some distance in the air. “M-m-moundshroud, is that you?” Sweetie Belle asked. “Kssssssssssssssssssk!” Moundshroud hissed in her left ear, “Quiet or he will find us! I am here, no need to fear, but we must remain quiet!” Again, the great bubbling of thick, gooey liquid was heard, again the squelch of something chewing, and again the sound of mourning and agonizing voices filled the air around them. The long, many legged creature stirred on Sweetie Belles’ back. She stiffened. The thing began to crawl, first along her sash, then winding up to her shoulder. Sweetie Belle pulled her hoof over her mouth, silencing whatever cries she could. Slowly, the legs made their way to her neck. A few muffled cries escaped her mouth, but were shut tight by her second hoof coming down on her mouth. The coil began to lean to her right ear, inching closer and closer, until finally it stopped. Sweetie Belles’ heart was thumping loudly in her throat, all of this was far too much, and the gorging overhead, the scythe, and now this thing on her back she couldn’t see! Now the thing poked its’ head into her ear, and then… “Help me!” it whispered. Sweetie Belle shot up, abandoning all sense of self-preservation and screaming to the four corners of the earth! A mass of centipedes fell from her, and the other foals shot up in surprise; Applebloom shook off leeches, Featherweight dumped spiders, and Scootaloo scraped off beetles. Only after the four friends had finished their wild movements did they notice the lack of any sound, and looked up. Looming overhead was a great grey shadow. A fat, putrid gut made up the trunk. Long, sinuous arms leapt from either side of the bulk, crowned by claws. The longest claw resided on the pointer fingers, curved and wicked ancient bone. Mercurial eyes leered from above a wide mouth, cragged with dried spittle and overflowing with the chewed remains of bugs, wheat, and small animals. Wheat stalks wound like smoke through the air, trapped by the all-encompassing, vast wings. They fell to the earth, only to touch the grain heads and twist and knot into small chickens, pigs, wolves, cats, and all manner of bugs. The ground writhed and wriggled with all sort of animals, all no more than the size of a nose, scampering away from the awful terror before them. The behemoth leered through wheat dust, and began the long arch of his right arm. Moundshroud leaped up from his hiding spot and shouted, “Fie foals! Run! Run for your lives!” In an instant, the unicorn had put himself between the foals and the beast, pushing the trick-or-treaters with all his force away. Quickly, the CMC and Featherweight cantered, and then ran in front of Moundshroud, screaming all the way. The chase seemed to stretch for hours, as the behemoths’ arms scythed away at the motley group. Each time the bone blade came down, Moundshroud would wail “Left!” or “Right!” and veer to dodge the blow, taking the foals with him. Occasionally, a great tongue would pound the earth, and Moundshroud would order “Jump!” to get away. Soon, the CMC and Featherweight were sobbing pleads to Celestia and Luna, hoping for the nightmare to end. Moundshroud ducked low into the field, scooping the four into his cloak and made an abrupt b-line to the right. A great stone face was standing in a meadow, lone and silent, behind which Moundshroud fell in, squeezing the four foals to his chest. Gasping to control his breathing, Moundshroud waited until the beast lumbered past, scything his field in search of them. Only then did the quiet of night settle in, and he released the sniffling foals, sighing “I must admit, of all the times, I hated this one the most.” “What… what was that thing?” Applebloom shook. “I never want to do that again!” Scootaloo blanched “I… I heard that centipede in my ear! It sounded like a pony!” Sweetie Belle sobbed. “What about those other things, and the screaming ponies?” Featherweight trembled. “Were those ponies or something?” Moundshroud raised a hoof to the foals, then continued behind hooded eyes, “I will tell you, but not right here. There is a safer place up ahead, and I believe Pip has made his way there.” Slowly, Moundshroud trotted up ahead, to a small hill capped by something. The four foals cantered behind Moundshroud, eyeing the strange stones that littered the way. First one, then another, tall and proud stones of blue, all seemingly to be gathering to the hills’ crown. Eventually, the foals and Moundshroud made their way to the hilltop, and into the shadow of monoliths. There, the stones were easily five ponies tall, and two broad. Each stood perpendicular to the ground, and another stone was perched upon the two, making a square. These squares were then arranged into three concentric rings, each within the other, surrounding an altar that seemed to exude time itself. “Where are we?” a gaping Sweetie Belle asked, “When are we?” “Ancient time’s dears,” Moundshroud sighed. “These are the Standing Stones of Scoltsland, where older entities have been long forgotten, even to the alicorn sisters.” Mounshrouds’ cape gathered about him as the moon was scared by the long spears of cloud above. “You’ll need all your courage and bravery tonight foals” Moundshroud slinked to a monolith. “It’s the Discordant Ages, and tonight is the longest, darkest night in all those chaotic times” Moundshroud faintly finished, dispersing into the monolith he had been leaning against. The four friends began to look about franticly for safety, but there was no cover to be found, even the great Standing Stones were too inconspicuous. Then sounds began to come from the shadowed stones, faint scurries and hoofsteps. Featherweight perked his ears at the sound, and realized the small, pitter patter of the hooves. “Pipsqueak? Is that you?” A shadow leapt from one monolith to another. “There he is!” cried Scootaloo. The shadow of Pipsqueak didn’t stop there; instead it crept about the rings, making circles around his friends. Eventually the four foals were back to back next to the altar. “Um, Pip, that is you right?” asked a nervous Sweetie Belle. Pipsqueaks’ shadow didn’t stop; instead it began to run faster and faster through the monoliths. “In these dark times,” Moundshrouds’ voice fluted in from both everywhere and nowhere, “it was believed that the spirits of those who had died the year before were turned into beasts. Wild animals!” At this Pipsqueaks’ shadow changed instantaneously. “Wild boars, wolves, chickens, insects,” as each was named, troves and packs of the creature shadows assailed the blue stone, scrabbling along the time worn surface. “Or worst of all, cats!” and a great yowl was heard from behind the friends. “Black as bad luck, black as sin!” The head of a black cat could now be seen, peeking around a stone leg. “Pip? Is that you?” Sweetie Belle gasped. The cat leapt forward, bounding to the top of the altar, and then to the top of a ruined leg, yowling to the moon in panicked fright. “Black as night!” Moundshroud finished. “Whoah there, Pipsqueak!” Featherweight called. “Hold on, I’ll get ya!” Scootaloo began to buzz her wings. “No no! I’ll get him!” Sweetie Belle offered. “Besides, living with Opal should make me better at this anyway.” Sweetie Belle scrambled up the altar, and then attempted to make her way up the ruin. “Here Pipsqueak,” she cooed, “come here.” Pipsqueak instead hissed loudly and jumped to the ground, where he sped off out the stone rings to the fields beyond. “Oh Pipsqueak” Sweetie Belle whined. Nearby, where a sliver of moonlight reached the stone, shadow was beginning to fold and knot upon itself. The concentric, intertwining shadows soon made the thin form of a unicorn, as if painted from an illuminated manuscript in black ink. Moundshroud stepped out from the stone face, in full color, and sighed. “It seems he got away again, but we must stay here for a moment longer foals. Here with the great Standing Stones, which have stood sentinel from a time long before pony or sheep can remember. I think now they will show us some of the passage of time.” At this the stones began a carousel dance around the five figures, sliding in opposite directions of each other. Between the passing legs, the foals could see the form of the ancient behemoth that lorded over the fields, growing closer with each slide. The Behemoth stopped, and turned its weight to a set of cloaked ponies and rams, the foremost had a scythe leaning against his horn. “Oh great and powerful Cichul!” the ram cried. “Lord of all Scoltsland and the dead! Please release our dearly departed and accept this sacrifice instead, so that our friends and family might rest in peace!” And one of the stallions threw a torch upon a great pile of breads, cookies, cakes, and other cereal grains. As the sweet smoke wafted into the air, Cichul smiled, closing his wings and inhaling the incense into him. All about the fields, all manner of small animals curled up and sighed their lives away, to spectrally rush about the fields. “To the afterlife! To the Otherworld!” the scythed ram intoned. “Follow where the old year passes!” and he motioned to a set of stallions dressed in green robes, holding holly branches. The two waved the branches in the air, and the ghosts sped between them, channeled into a stream that led out to the seas beyond. Cichul was gorging upon the sacrificial smoke, and did not notice the appearance of a jigsaw figure behind him. Nor did he notice the set of rams and stallions run away, cowering to the forests. A mismatched horned head looked to the fleshy mountain before him and cleared his throat. Cichul pivoted lazily to meet Discord in the eye. “What are you doing in my domain, on my sacred night draconequis?” the behemoth sneered in a guttural, throaty voice. “That’s it? No ‘hello’ or ‘You fiend!’? I had forgotten how grim you could be, good thing neither I nor Scoltsland will be seeing anymore of you soon enough.” The leviathan chuckled heartily at that, “Dethrone me? I am lord of this land, not you. Go back to the mainland, leave me be.” “You see, that’s the problem, you aren’t doing anything with the ponies aside from demanding tribute. I just want a few new play things, and all you seem to do is gorge on cakes.” Discord chided the fleshy pile, undaunted. “And what would you do, oh lord of chaos, against death itself?” Discord smiled and cracked his knuckles, “Just play a little ball!” And with that the draconequis grabbed Cichuls’ wing and wound it about his palm. Faster and faster he grabbed at the form of the leviathan, stuffing it into the small space between his claws until Cichul was little more than the size of a softball. “Did you think yourself some great being of death? No, you are merely a little shard of it, a savage brute to be honest” Discord mused, rounding Cichul between his claws. “I am all of chaos and disharmony fool!” Discord smirked. For a moment, he dribbled Cichul upon the ground. Then he wound up his arm, “Make way for the big one! This is going straight to Tartarus!” and with that he threw the ball of death into the horizon. Discord leaned in; cupping his eagle claw to his ear until the sound of a large vault could be heard shutting. Careening backwards, legs kicking in the air, the draconequis laughed with great mirth. “Now then,” he smiled, “what to do about those ponies?” His laugh began again as storm clouds came into view overhead, and great flames leapt to life about his figure. “This went on for many years’ foals, but look over there, over the hills!” Moundshroud motioned to the left. There was a familiar sight to them, the Everfree Forest. And within, a great light was beginning to shine. Twin figures flew into the sky, one pure and serene as the moon, another blazing and proud as the sun, with five stars skimming between them like a necklace. The entities bore down on the lord of chaos and sealed him into an all too familiar stone statue. Then they and the statue retired back into the Everfree, which sank back into the distance. “And so the alicorn sisters put down one of the worst villains known to pony kind, and now it is safer for us to go out.” Moundshroud began down the hillside with the four trick-or-treaters. Slowly they made their way to the field, where Moundshroud began to enter. Quickly, he noticed he was alone, and turned about to see the four foals cowering by the border. “Come along, I assure you there is nothing to worry about in the fields any longer; Cichul is long banished to Tartarus, and Discord bound into stone. Come in, come in.” The four foals cautiously entered, remaining as close as possible to Moundshroud. Eventually they began to hear the sounds of ponies at work, and came into a great opening within the field. There the stallions, mares, rams and ewes were hard at work with sickles in mouth in the broom works. It was an immense traffic jam of brooms for witches to perch upon. It was as if all of Equestrias’ forests gave up their branches in one boom and fling. Then, scouring Autumn fields, cut clean and throttled tight, such cereal grains as made good sweepers, thrashers, and beaters. Silently, the group lurked behind the workers, to where the finished brooms were tented upon each other. Sweetie Belle was the first to poke her head out this time, smiling at the brooms. “Hey! I know what this is!” she squeaked jubilantly, and then crawled forward to the nearest pile. “This is a broom festival! But they aren’t making ordinary booms!” “Go ahead dear, take one” Moundshroud encouraged from behind, smiling his small sharp smile. Sweetie Belle picked herself up, looked upon her costume and grinned to Moundshroud. “These brooms are for witches, aren’t they!?” “Yes yes dear, for witches, and for you!” Moundshroud again smiled. Sweetie Belle bounced up and down in surprise for a good minute, then she reached out a hoof to the nearest broom. The moment she touched it, the boom was enveloped in a faint orange glow, and leapt into the air. “Oh my!” Sweetie Belle shouted, her smile still upon her face as the broom began to turn in the air. Then her brow furrowed as the stick turned down towards her, and shooting between her legs lifted her up backwards into the air. “Waaaaaaaaaaait!” she screamed into the air, dress and hat fluttering over her eyes, as her hooves clutched at the handle. With one hoof, she turned her hat up and peered down to the ground below, regretting it immediately. She jumped into the air and spun around, clutching the handle in a vice grip that threatened to snap the handle, and turning the flight path into a corkscrew. Eyes shut tight, Sweetie Belle and broom swept down over her friends heads, squealing the entire way. “That’s it Sweetie Belle!” shouted and emphatic Scootaloo. Applebloom pumped her hoof into the air, “Ride ‘em girl! Ya got the bull by the horns!” As Sweetie Belle began to cross Lunas’ moon, Moundshroud chuckled wryly. “Anypony else care for a try?” With a simple tap of his left hoof, three more brooms illuminated gold and bronze, and then shot underhoof of the three foals. Moundshroud cackled as the skeleton, beast, and unraveling mummy were sent skyward, “Remember, foals, when attacked by a broom, the only thing to do is hold on tight!” And with that he spread his cape and flew skyward after them. In the air, the beast was laughing the entire time, driving her broom about with the deftness she handled her scooter. The skeleton was trying just to stay on his, more concerned about his distraught friend ahead. Bandages were coming loose as the mummy struggled to remain on her bucking broom. Up ahead, a frightened witch was flying a slowing broomstick, mumbling frightened words to herself. “Open your eyes Sweetie Belle!” Scootaloo cheered, “This rocks!” “No!” Sweetie Belle cried, “Just put me down on the ground! I can walk on the ground just fine!” “Now where is your spirit of adventure?” Moundshroud swooped in from under them all, surprising Sweetie Belle into opening her eyes. “Witches have nothing to fear from their brooms.” “Hey, Sweetie Belle!” Applebloom called from behind. “Ah betcha it’s no different than when Scootaloo taught ya how to ride her scooter!” “She has a point, just try it” Scootaloo stated in agreement. Sweetie Belle looked from her friends to Moundshroud, then again to her shaking hooves. “Riding a scooter, just like riding a scooter…” Sweetie Belle mumbled to herself. With quivering lip, she leaned forward, then right, then left. With each turn, she found that the broomstick stayed firmly under her, and would not let her fall. “You’re right!” Sweetie Belle beamed, “This is like riding Scootaloos’ scooter!” She zipped back and forwards, over her friends and chasing Scootaloo for a while as Moundshroud laughed in his piped pitch. Then, gathering his cloak about himself, Moundshroud crowed “How about a game of ‘follow the leader’?” He sped off into the distance, followed by a witch and three friends. Moundshroud led them over thatch roofs, through barns, under bridges, and even through a chicken coop! A yellow mare and red stallion gaped at the five figures and tried franticly to gather their chickens back. The motley group laughed heartily at the thrill of the ride, and soon found them alighting over a great forest none of the foals had ever seen. Deep within the dark shadows of the forest, ponies of all kinds were gathered about cauldrons, mixing brews, tracing runes in dirt, and gazing into crystals. Sweetie Belle was so enthralled with the spectacle that she nearly hit a tree. Turning to the right quickly, she ducked down onto the ground, having to trot in order to stay up. Her friends landed in front of her, dismounting their brooms and trotted up to her. “What was that fer?” Applebloom asked. “Did you see Pip?” Featherweight hoped. “No!” Sweetie Belle smiled. “I saw witches! Real live witches!” “Of course you did!” Moundshroud alighted before them. “It can’t be Nightmare Night without witches.” “So there really were witches?” asked Sweetie Belle. “Well,” wavered Moundshroud, “yes and no.” “Could they ride broomsticks?” she asked. “Not really.” “Betcha they could talk to the dead!” Applebloom piped up. “Nope.” “Make ponies sneeze and hack up fur balls!” Scootaloo leapt to her back legs, waving her front hooves menacingly. “Um, afraid not.” “Make ponies jump by sticking pins in dolls?” Featherweight questioned. “Not to my knowledge.” “Well what the hay could they do?” Sweetie Belle fumed. “Nothing.” “Nothing?” the four friends repeated unanimously. “Oh, plenty claimed they could,” Moundshroud admonished. “But that was a means to protect their privacy.” He began to walk towards the cabal, foals in tow with brooms over their shoulders. “Anypony ever wonder what the word ‘witch’ really means?” “Well, no,” Sweetie Belle admitted, “not until you just mentioned it.” The cabal came within view, showing all the ponies practicing their art. “Wits, knack, information. In the old days, anypony with half a brain and the sense to use it had their ‘wits’ about them. And anypony too smart for their own good had their ‘wits’ about them, and was therefore called…” “A witch?” Sweetie Belle answered, unsure. “Exactly dear! And the really smart ones, the ones with the ‘wits’, called it dark magic!” “So anypony that was smart could be called a witch?” “Yes indeed dear! Witches didn’t have any real power like the stories, though some dreamed they did. No, tis sad but true.” Moundshroud smiled his hard, small smile, teeth glinting in the moonlight. “Now, up into the air, Pip is not here, and there may be one more piece to this puzzle yet.” All five again rose into the air, over the cabal they went, but not before hearing a strange song that followed them. “The Broomworks makes The Broom that looms On sky in gloom and rising of the moon That broom which, groom to witch, flies high On harvestings of stormwind grass With shriek and sigh to motion it In ocean-seas of cloud, now soft, now loud…!” Beneath, the broomwork was in full swing, binding brooms that shot up sparks and were mounted by mares and ewes alike. “Did witches feel the night wind in their bed And reel and dance with devils and the dead? No! But that is what they bragged and claimed and said! Until whole continents, hellbent Named ‘witches’ of the Innocent, And did conspire To burn old mares, foals, and fillies in a fire.” Mobs ran and raved through streets, chasing figures down to be dragged to bonfires that raged and roared from St. Petershoof to Canterbury. “Through all of Germane and Prance, Ten thousand so-called evil witches Hung to kick their final antic dance No village but what shared a dread uproar As each side named the other for a draconequis’ pig, Old Discord’s sow, the Demon’s maddened boar.” Witches rode wild pigs along rooftops, snorting fire and glinting sparks as the split hooves struck the tiles. “All Equestria was a cloud of witches smoke. Their judges often bound and burnt with them For what? A joke! Until; ‘all stallions are spoiled with guilt! All sin, all lie! So, what to do? Why, everypony must die!” In a flicker and flash the whole night landscape died. Smoke chocked the sky and foals. At every crossroad, and every town square, dark forms hung from ropes and in cages, many timed cloaked in a mantle of carrion ravens. The foals hung from their brooms, gawking at the carnage before them. Minutes passed in silence, for none could shake themselves from the grisly visage below. Finally, Moundshroud broke the silence, “So, does anypony want to be a witch?” “N-n-n-no, not me” Sweetie Belle shook. Moundshroud turned to her mid-flight and frowned. “No fun, eh?” “No,” Sweetie Belle silently sobbed, “No fun at all.” The troupe went on in silence for a while longer, before a puzzled Sweetie Belle found her voice again. “Mr. Moundshroud? I don’t understand, how this all could have happened. With Princess Celestia and Princess Luna protecting us, how did all this happen?” Moundshroud again turned in flight to face the foals. “You must remember dear, that Princess Celestia and Princess Luna may be powerful alicorns, but they are still only two ponies. Even with the power to raise the sun and moon, they could only do so much. Also, the early ponies were not keen to trusting their new rulers so much, to be honest, most despised the two princesses early on. Even the royal guard turned a blind eye to the witch fires until it was too late. It’s unfortunate to say the least, so many ponies died because others couldn’t listen to the princesses when they said to ‘love and tolerate’.” Sweetie Belle began to think, and turn this new information over in her head. “Is that why we wear costumes like this on Nightmare Night? Because witches remind us of the fears we had of ponies different from us, and remind us of what we fear we could do again if we don’t tolerate and understand others?” “That is a deep and mature thought dear, a very mature thought indeed” Moundshroud acknowledged. “I believe for some ponies that is indeed the case. But quiet, up ahead is the last piece of the puzzle.” Up ahead, a great turmoil was erupting in the Everfree. It seemed as if a great and vile darkness was spreading to the sky, summoning storms into it. In rose a midnight black alicorn, one that the CMC had seen once before, back on the Summer Sun Celebration. Nightmare Moon was wheeling through the sky, shooting lightning at her sister Celestia. Celestia dodged, hovered, and appeared to simply hover just within earshot of her sister. Eventually, the attacks became more desperate, until finally, five stars joined Celestia from below, and a ray of light sealed the dark alicorn into the stain upon the moon. “You see foals; the whole mess of reuniting Equestria fell upon those twos’ shoulders. Even though the ancient ponies once distrusted the two, they did indeed come to appreciate them in time. Celestia had the easiest job; she raised the sun, the great benefactor and grower of crops. Luna, however, raised the moon, which brought the night, the shadow, and the predator. Still, just as they did long ago in the Poinylithic, the ponies of old Equestria feared darkness and few if any came out then. Luna was chastised as the harbinger of witches and vile enchantment, and was shunned more and more with each year. Her sister hated the way the other ponies treated her, tried her best to show them how hard Luna worked, but none would listen. Even you foals can’t tell me that you were unafraid of the night; how many of you slept with a night light in your early years? Or wriggled closer to your parents when the night came, wishing for only the light of day?” At this the foals began to think hard. Yes, they had all done those things in younger years. And were they not afraid of the riverbed in Everfree earlier that night? Why, when they had played there so often in the day was it so scary at night? And poor Luna, why she wasn’t so bad once you got to know her; sure she was loud when she arrived in Ponyville last year, but all she wanted was to be liked. “Eventually, jealousy, greed, and wrath won out on tired Lunas’ mind, and Nightmare Moon took over. There was no choice but for her to be sealed into the moon, but that is a story for another night. Now however, you see that the name of the holiday doesn’t matter, it’s the spirit! Once it was the Sacrament of Cichul, then it was Discords’ folly, then it was Nightmare Night. One fear exchanged, rolled up, or combined with another, one fear to follow another fear.” Just below the group, a blue figure streaked by with an orange gourd. Pipsqueak was sailing past clutching both his jack-o-lantern, and a broom that was little more than an ash sweeper. “Look! It’s Pipsqueak!” cried Featherweight. “Good!” Moundshroud unsheathed his smile, “Let’s play catch!” And with that he was off like and arrow after the receding shade. Moundshroud flew under Pipsqueak and then swept up in front of him, spreading his dark cape out in the wind. “Now then Pipsqueak, the pumpkin doesn’t belong to you anymore!” Moundshroud lunged forward, and grabbed the pumpkin, grappling with Pipsqueak for the prize. He lifted up, to the right, and to the left, all the time with Pipsqueak holding tight to the pumpkin. Eventually, one of Pipsqueaks hooves kicked against Moundshrouds, sending them tumbling in opposite directions. Moundshroud went backwards, head over heels, while Pipsqueak now plummeted, screaming down to the ground below. “Hold on Pip!” Sweetie Belle cried, diving after the falling colt. Pipsqueak realized Sweetie Belle and reached for her, catching her outstretched hoof just as she was passing. “That’s showing him!” cheered Scootaloo. “You got him!” Featherweight cried. “Heh, I honestly have to say, I never expected this out of you Sweetie Belle!” Pipsqueak smiled. “Come on Pipsqueak, you need to hold tighter!” Sweetie Belle grunted. Their hooves began to slip away from each other because, contrary to popular opinion, hooves are indeed not the best of grasping appendages. “Hold tighter Pip! I know I’m not as big an adventurer as Applebloom or Scootaloo, but I would miss you just as much if you left! You were even nice enough to set up a karaoke party for my birthday with Pinkie Pie at Sugarcube Corner! You helped us get Fluttershy up on stage to sing with me! I want to do that again next year! We need to do that again next year!” “Come on now Sweetie Belle, you’re just embarrassing me now!” Pipsqueaks’ cheeks flushed a deeper blue. “Besides, you’re selling yourself short; it takes a special filly to keep up with those two, and you are doing grand at it!” Moundshroud flew next to Sweetie Belle, flitting his pocket watch out. “Come on Pipsqueak, the fun and games are over!” Pipsqueak released Sweetie Belles’ hoof, dropping. “No they’re not! Follow me if you can guys!” And with another spin of the pumpkin, Pipsqueak was gone into the horizon. “Ah, fer goodness sake!” Applebloom moaned. “Where do you think he’s going now?” Featherweight asked. “I don’t know,” Sweetie Belle sighed as Moundshroud sped after the colt comet. “But he sure seems to know, so we should probably follow him after Pip.” “I don’t know, we always seem to get Pip, then Moundshroud comes along and Pip runs off again” Scootaloo noted. “Still, Sweetie Belle is right; we have no chance of finding Pip all on our own, but maybe we can get him before Moundshroud does!” Featherweight retorted. “Either way, we’re following you on this one, Sweetie Belle.” Sweetie Belle opened her eyes in realization, then a smirk came across her face as she sped off after Moundshroud. “Follow me then!”