//------------------------------//
// Chapter 1: Setting the Stage 
// Story: A Dragon's Gift: Fair Trade 
// by Eriniou 
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Excerpts of the collective knowledge of Dragonkind, as compiled by Princess Celestia

Treatise on Dragons by Aristrotal the Thoughtful 1453 PC (Translated by Sir Trotsland 606 PC)

	Dragons are creatures of stone, animated by flames within their chest, similar to those that move us, but of a far greater intensity. Wear we must burn softer things such as grass, a dragon can tend it’s flames with pure stones from the earth. When we breathe out, only the heat of a candles flame remains on our breath, but when a dragon breaths out, great gouts of flame are expended. A dragon’s intense flame also means that it will live much longer than any pony, and most likely any other non-fire breathing creature…





Cutey Mark Crusaders: Mountaineers was, by and large, one of the girl’s largest and smallest failures combined together. Consisting of a brave and perilous climb up less than a dozen boulders using improvised climbing gear and no real challenge, it should have been simple and fun. Instead, it had ended in a loud failure, a sprawl of flailing hooves, and several bruised flanks.

Upon further review of the plan, Scootaloo could only shake her head and place it at the top of the list for the “crusading feats to revisit” pile. She was compiling the list as a part of the final cutie mark attempt of the year, Cutie Mark Crusader Accounting Buddies, a true sign that the list list slowly taking shape to her left was needed. So far, the pile of good ideas was only three deep, and the pile of bad plans and catastrophic failures was taller than any filly in the room. Or any two combined, for that matter.

‘Well, at least I don’t need to account for the lost marbles and jacks from the toy chest’ Scootaloo thought despairingly, ‘Poor Sweetiebell’.

It was the end of the semester, and only two weeks before Heart's Warming eve day, also known as the last chance she and her best friends would have to find their special talents before Sweetiebell and Rarity would be going on vacation with their family. And to make matters worse, the list of potential talents was at an all time low. The CMC had reached a dead end, one that spelled weeks of boredom. 

“Scoots, Sweetiebell, Ah finished the adventure gear inventory, and we’re short three kneepads, two 15-hoof poles, four widgets, and a box of bandaids” Applebloom hollard from the roof of the club house. “We also picked up box of swim fins from somepony and Ah never wrote it down.”

“Pst, Sweetie,” the orange pegasis whispered, “what’s a widget?” 

“It’s a term used to describe an object of unknown purpose. The better question is, what did we use them for?” the pale Unicorn replied with one eyebrow slightly raised above the other. This would have been all well and good, if it were not for the fact that turning to give a look at her fellow crusader set the neatly arranged piles of jacks tumbling to the ground, making a miniature pool of hoof hurting, child grade caltrops.





Spike could only sigh as he watched the snow fall; after all, being cold blooded made it hard to enjoy the cold. Oh sure, there were half a dozen reasons that dragons couldn’t freeze to death outside of extreme circumstances, but really, just cause it can’t hurt, does not mean its pleasant. Like a stubbed claw, or a loose scale that just wouldn’t drop off.

“Well, Twilight wins this round, its time to...” Spike visibly shuddered, “study... more...” and finally slumped down off his perch by the window and made his way back to the stack of books that Twilight had gotten, or more accurately forced on, him over the last two months. Each book contained first hoof reports of dragon behavior, biology, and magical theory, and each was penned by a pony from at least a miles distance away. In other words, it was the same level of scholarly worth as Lilly's gossip circle was used to. ‘Maybe a mug of hot coco with quarts will make this less… annoying.'

Twilight had tasked Spike with reading all of the books here and making a list of the things he knew were incorrect, listing the page number and title along side of them. At first, it was really interesting to read ancient pony myths involving dragons, and even better, there was no need to fact check them, cause they were all made up anyway. Once he had gotten to the “enlightened” writings of the Unicornia scholars, Spike was shocked by the horrible things that they said almost as much as the foolish things they believed. And not a one of them ever talked to a dragon before they began their work. 

‘Seriously, Cloppernicus actually wrote about how melting a dragon's gold would be the same as lighting a pony aflame’ Spike thought as he aggressively dropped the quarts chips into a steaming mug. ‘well sure, it would be something that most dragons hated, and it might shrink a greed fueled dragon, but come on, we are fireproof for Celestia's sake’. 
After that little gem (pun score Spike-1, ancient racist unicorns-0) had come up, Spike had snorted flame so hard the book nearly went on a one way trip to Celestia’s drawing room. After that, Twilight had made it clear that she wanted him to read them in order. No skipping to the end, because it would ‘ruin your ability to enjoy the most important event in dragon research’ whatever that meant. 

All it took was one sip of the warm coco to lead Spike's mind away from the task at claw and off into the realm of fanatasy. He often visited this particular province when surounded by pure white and gemstones, a wonderland also known as 'the Rarity dreamscape'. In a couple weeks, Rarity and her family would be beginning their first family holiday in nearly three years, and in doing so, leave him with Twilight and a pile of books taller than the baby dragon could see over.

'Sigh' “If only there was some way to get out of here and have some fun with Rarity...”





“If only there was some way to go crusading without leaving Sweetie behind...”

Scootaloo had been racking her brain for the last ten minutes, yes ten WHOLE minutes, of her trip home from Sweet Apple Acres trying to find a way to be Mountaineers, Sculptors, or Kiakers in the middle of winter, without leaving town, in the next few days. So far, ask for help was the best idea she had, unless you count the one about getting Pinkie to take them to the space between walls again, and pop them back out in a clay mountain with a fast running river.

But after the Chocolate incident, there was no way she would ever, ever, Ever go back there without a set of hockey pads, a snow blower, and a light weight jacket. 

'Only one thing to do now' a now decidely more sinister looking pegasis thought as the edge of a smirk formed on her lips 'if you can't crusade without her here, find a way to crusade where she is'

The snowflakes around her went from lazily falling down to blurring horrizontally as Scootaloo broke into a full on sprint, making good time straight for the library of one history loving, scholarly, and altogether easy to manipulate egghead. With the bits to arrange an educational trip to a resort town in Whinnypeg on short notice. All she needed was a plan... and maybe some backup.





	Dragons in the Smoke: field journal and academic report on mountainous creatures as observed in their natural habitat. By Jane Geldall, currently unpublished due to the missing status of the author.

May 1 

…for nearly a month now, the rookery has been quiet, only the nest guarding mothers remain, the males having returned to their scattered dwellings in the surrounding country and beyond. The mothers are lethargic, only waking to check the eggs every few days, and falling back to sleep within 12 hours of awakening. The duty is handled in shifts, one watching while the others rest…

May 4 

Four diamond dogs attempted to raid the nest of one of the females, the blue I have named Fins, by sneaking in during the dining periods of the guarding female. One looks like the alpha, do to size and attire. So far, the dogs have neither been noticed or successful, but they come closer each time. Why do they want a dragon’s egg? Perhaps as a right of passage or cultural trophy…