//------------------------------//
// Chapter 2 
// Story: Broken Horn and Yellowstar 
// by yrupostinthisgarbage 
//------------------------------//


If this was fate, then surely the stars on that flank—


I galloped as fast as I could, but I could barely keep up with her. It took us nearly half an hour before we reached the forest.


—are the same that shone upon my cursed birth.


She stopped at the entrance of the forest, seemingly in perfect condition. I walked over as I approached, winding down from the journey exhausted and gasping for air.

Before I could finish catching my breath, she said, “They fled into the forest...”

I inquired, trying to make sense of the situation, “What happened, Yellowstar? Why would they ever steal your pendant?”

She then began to tell me of the theft of the pendant as we entered the forest.

“I had a dream that I was in Canterlot's tallest tower. I looked up and there were stormy clouds above! I felt my ruby around my neck—it slipped right off of my neck, floating towards the clouds! I tried to reach it—” She stumbled over her words. I looked in the bushes. “But instead I tumbled over the bannister—and just before I would hit the ground, a bolt of lightning struck the tower, jolting me awake!”

She was evidently quite distraight. “Lightning struck the Canterlot tower?” I pressed on.

“Yes, and when I woke up, the thief was in my bedroom, clutching the ruby pendant!”

Ah-hah! So that was it.

“That's an ill omen if I ever heard one! Dreams hold real power, even over the waking world—” As I peered over the bushes that flanked the river, I saw a figure. “Wait—hold up!” I whispered, “I see someone up ahead. If we keep it down, we might be able to take them unawares!”

I waited for a few moments while observing the unclear figure of the pony holding a shining object. “Look, they're crossing the creek on that log—and that looks like your pendant! I'm surprised they didn't hear us chasing them, we weren't exactly quiet.” I looked to my side, trying to find a way to reach the floating log. “Wait, they're picking up spee—” I couldn't finish my sentence, because the mare I was talking to was floating away on a log of her own some distance away.

I leaned over the bushes and called out, “Wait for me! Don't go it alone!” As I stepped down on the ground again, the ground ceded under my weight and the dirt shifted under my hooves into the river.

“Oh no! The dirt edge is loose!”