A Mighty Demon Slayer Grooms Some Ponies

by D G D Davidson

6. Megan Grooms Applejack

VI. Megan Grooms Applejack

Sun Tuesday came again. Megan and the little ponies, loaded with food and gifts and with the big brothers in tow, walked eastward through the field of giant sunflowers on the way to Flutter Valley, where they would join the flutter ponies in paying homage to Mister Sun. Last time, the ponies had walked this road in joyous celebration, but now it felt more like a forced march. Wind Whistler led the way.

Appropriately, the sky was clear and the day was hot. The sun’s rays pulled the moisture from the ground and into the air, and the heavy humidity matted the ponies’ fur against their skin and made Megan’s hair feel like a lead weight. The sunflowers, their golden faces turned upward, spread a rich fragrance and provided shade, but the air beneath them was thick, still, and suffocating.

The group emerged at last from the sunflower forest and followed the winding trail up the stony crags guarding the valley of the reclusive flutter ponies. Now that they were exposed, the sun beat more intensely against their necks, but a faint breeze touched their sweat-moistened skin and provided some relief. Passing single-file through a narrow gap between the granite peaks, they entered into a lush valley filled with flowers and trees and dotted with simple cottages. Here, the air became cool, and the sun, its heat diffused by the flutter ponies’ magic Sunstone, became bearable. Already, the flutter ponies flitted like butterflies around the high dais at the valley’s center. Perched on the dais, the Sunstone itself glowed with concentrated sunlight.

In reverent silence, stepping lightly, the little ponies joined the flutter ponies and bowed their heads in respect to the sacred stone. Queen Rosedust, her regal plume bobbing above her forelock, gave a small nod to Megan, lowered herself to the ground, and announced, “The sun is the lamp that lights our valley. It gives color to our fields and flowers and spreads beauty and love with its warmth. As Rosedust, queen of the flutter ponies, I declare this day Sun Tuesday. Let the celebration begin!”

Flying in concentric circles above the Sunstone, with their delicate wings sparkling like dew on a spider’s web, the flutter ponies sang in somber tones:

From the sun comes light,
From the sun comes power,
It’s the sun up high in the sky,
That makes the flowers flower.

From the sun comes warmth,
From the sun comes daytime,
It’s the sun and its light beaming bright,
That brings the fruit at May time.

Winter, summer, spring, and fall,
The sun shines through it all.

From the sun comes warmth,
From the sun comes daytime,
Here’s to the sun up above,
From the sun, from the sun, from the sun,
Comes love.

Rosedust bowed her head and whispered, “Amen.”

The little ponies had prepared cakes and pastries. As soon as the ceremony was over, they spread their treats on the grass and invited the flutter ponies to eat.

Megan sat alone. Nibbling on a cupcake, she stared into the north toward a solitary column of white cloud. Topped with a feathery disc hundreds of miles wide, the cloud stretched into the sky like a pillar to the gods and spun like a slow-motion hurricane. Beneath that cloud, she knew, Bumbleland lay locked in perpetual winter.

With one hand, she shielded her eyes against the sun as she peered toward the valley’s fringe, where she spotted some of the bee-like bumbles. Their heavy, round abdomens quivering and their sword-like stingers waving, the bumbles cast occasional dour glances toward the ponies’ celebration as they harvested flowers in accordance with their treaty with the flutter ponies. They had heaped an enormous pile of lilies, hyacinths, tulips, and roses onto a large litter they were presumably preparing to carry home to Queen Bumble, who would feast on the flowers’ nectar.

Megan started when Rosedust sat down beside her. For a minute, the two were silent as they stared to the north. Finally, Rosedust said, “The greatest things in life are beautiful, powerful, and fragile. A flutter pony’s wings are made of gossamer and morning dew: I have not enough strength to carry a rider on my back the way a pegasus can, but I can produce the Utter Flutter, which is strong enough to drive back even the greatest weapons of the witches. Yet, merely reach out your hand and break my wings, and I shall become powerless.”

She turned and gestured toward the Sunstone. “Our valley is a beautiful gem in the midst of a wasteland, preserved by a stone that can burn to ash most anything it touches. That same stone is the link that bonds Mister Sun to our world, making him rise in the morning and go to bed at night. Remove it from us for only a single day, and our lovely valley will become full of thorns, brambles, and mires, and cannot be recovered.”

She lowered her hoof, turned her head, and looked directly at Megan. Megan couldn’t meet her eyes, but instead kept her gaze on the roiling storm in the north. “You too are beautiful,” Rosedust said. “You have saved the ponies countless times and have stood against countless monsters, yet you are only a young girl. What would it take to break you, Megan? I suspect it would not take much.”

Megan finished her cupcake and wiped the crumbs from her hands. “Nobody’s broken me yet.”

“Nor me.” Rosedust opened her translucent wings wide so that they fractured the light from the Sunstone and spread glints of color across the grass. “Perhaps it is only a matter of time. Where are your brother and sister?”

“I thought it best to leave them home for a while.” Megan nodded toward the distant cloudbank. “Why is Bumbleland always covered in snow?”

Rosedust shook her head and her lips twitched with a sad smile. “No one knows. Queen Bumble and her swarm used to live in Flutter Valley until we had to drive them out. Some say the coldness of the bumbles’ hearts keeps their land covered in snow and ice, but you know how rumors are. A few of my flutter ponies claim that, at night, you can hear monsters howling in the clouds, monsters who feed on hatred and envy.” Her smile grew larger. “I’ve never heard them myself.”

“If all it takes is a little resentment to freeze a land,” Megan said, “Dream Valley might soon turn cold.”

Rosedust chuckled. “It can’t be too cold. I understand Buttons just had foals and Truly is expecting—”

In spite of her dour mood, Megan laughed and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “That silly pony. She thought she’d just been getting fat, but it turns out she’s bred. I guess, since the little ponies have never had foals before, it’s understandable, but still—”

“I’m sure Tex is pleased.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s full of himself. He’s already named the babies Milkweed and Tumbleweed—”

“Two of them?”

Megan laughed again. “He’s sure that, if Slugger could sire twins, he can too.” She shook her head. “Boys. They think it’s a competition. Honestly, I was shocked when Buttons foaled two: back home, I’d expect that to kill a mare, or the babies, but I guess things are different here. Everyone’s excited—some of the baby ponies just got their first teeth, and they claim that makes them old enough to babysit the newborns.”

Rosedust smiled, and her broad, flat teeth flashed in the sunlight. “I predict that these newborn twins will be spoiled rotten.”

Megan paused, frowned, and leaned back on her hands. “I just realized I’ve never seen a stallion in Flutter Valley. How—?”

Rosedust gave a short sigh and arched an eyebrow. “We do things differently here, Megan. Our stallions don’t rove about unchaperoned the way the big brothers do. We keep them sequestered, as is proper for males.”

Megan fell onto her elbows, pulled a long stem of grass, and put it in her mouth. “Doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

“Fathers belong at home with their infants. That’s why I keep telling the sea ponies to go home, but they don’t listen.”

Megan knitted her brows together and turned her head to look at Rosedust.

“Didn’t you know?” Rosedust asked. “The sea ponies have a kingdom of their own, Megan, far out in the Sparkling Sea. The last time they went home, they told me, Majesty created the baby sea ponies from a magical tree so that the little ponies wouldn’t get lonely.”

Megan nodded. “Wind Whistler mentioned that.”

“But they have their own babies—their real babies—back home, left behind with their mothers.”

“But the sea ponies are mares—”

“Among sea ponies, it’s the stallions who bear the young. That is why their kingdom has a king, since every pony knows that only one who has the qualities of a good mother is fit to be a ruler. Alas, like the stallions of the little ponies, the mares of the sea ponies wander hither and yonder, shirking their responsibilities.”

Megan lay down, tucked her hands behind her head, and spat out the grass she was chewing. “Yeah. It’s hard to keep fathers at home, isn’t it?”

“Like I said, we lock ours up.”

“Like I said, that’s a good idea. Maybe Dream Valley deserves to freeze.”

“There is an old saying amongst flutter ponies: ‘Mister Sun sheds his light on the evil and on the good.’ I don’t believe there are any cold monsters hovering over Bumbleland; if Dream Valley is in danger of freezing, the danger probably comes from fellows like that penguin king you confronted. But I think it isn’t cold weather you should be concerned about right now.”

Megan merely stared quietly at the sky.

“I’ve heard about your troubles, Megan. It’s not easy to be a queen—”

“I’m not a queen.”

“Are you sure? You’re young for one of your race, I know, but I have noticed that you have the qualities of a mother.”

Megan didn’t answer for a minute. “Did you know Majesty?”

Rosedust shook her head. “We had no contact with Dream Valley until you found us and insisted that we destroy the Smooze and drive the witches back to the Volcano of Gloom. I never met Majesty, but I am certain that the little ponies view you as her—”

“I’m not. I’m a girl, like you said.”

“And yet—”

With a sharp snap, Megan sat up. “I just want them to learn to take care of themselves.” Realizing that her voice had gotten louder than she wanted, she took a deep breath to calm herself. Glancing around, she saw that some of the little ponies were watching her.

Rosedust leaned close and whispered, “You want them to, but will you let them?”

Looking down at her hands, Megan rubbed a callus at the base of her thumb. “Who asked you to speak to me?”

“Galaxy. She has concerns.”

Megan tasted acid in her throat. She clenched her fists until she could feel her nails digging deep into the skin of her palms. “Galaxy can talk to me herself. She knows that.”

“Does she?”

“I know what she’s worried about. I’m trying to deal with it.”

“Perhaps that is your mistake. Perhaps the time has finally come for you to stop trying. Be a queen or be a girl, Megan, but do not try to be something in between. You must choose your destiny, or it will be destiny itself that breaks you.”

When Megan returned from the backside of the barn, the last thing she wanted to do was groom another pony. Feeling heat in her face, struggling to keep her fists at her sides and her breathing even, she stomped into the yard and glared at Twilight Sparkle and Applejack, who stood by as Rarity finished tying up the pinwheel she’d made in Pinkie Pie’s tail.

“It’s really not in fashion, but I made it work,” Rarity said. “Braided tails with pinwheels were all the rage about fifty years ago, but that’s old enough to be retro, don’t you think? Perhaps we could bring back the trend.”

Megan swallowed, took a deep breath, and said with forced calm, “It’s appropriate for a jumper, and it’s not out of fashion here.” She leaned over to examine the continuous braid in Pinkie’s mane. Holding it in place were steel bands, beneath which, Pinkie’s hair bulged and quivered as if it were trying to break out.

“Will these hold?” Megan asked.

“Well, it is Pinkie,” Rarity replied. “Who can say?”

“Where did you get them?”

“I always travel with a styling kit, darling, in case of hair emergencies.”

Pinkie giggled and snorted.

Megan righted herself and brushed her hands down the front of her jeans. “Well, it’s the jumper class. She’ll only be judged on her jumping, not on how she’s turned out, so if her mane gets loose, it’s not the end of the world.” Twisting her mouth, she shook her head, pressed a hand to her left temple, looked down at the ponies, and said, “But I’m being ridiculous. I’ve been talking like you’re actually going to enter this show.”

“Shoot,” said Applejack, “we are enterin’, ain’t we? What else we been gettin’ all gat up for?”

“Yeah,” said Pinkie. “We’re gonna have a super-duper meet-the-humans-for-the-first-time welcoming party! Ooh, after the show’s over, we could throw an after-show party and make a big cake and we could hide inside the cake, and then we could—”

“There’s not going to be a show. As soon as you six show up at the fairgrounds . . .” Megan shook her head. “Never mind. You’re bent on it, so let’s get it over with.” She turned to her table of supplies to see that everything Danny had scattered around the yard, Rarity had picked up and organized into neat rows. She smiled in spite of herself.

Danny, eyes red, walked around from behind the barn, gave Megan a brief but rage-filled glare, and marched straight toward Pinkie.

Apparently sensing the tension, Twilight glanced back and forth between Megan and Danny before laying a foreleg across her breast and dipping her head low. “Hail Danel, mighty warrior—”

Danny ignored her. He bent down and whispered something in Pinkie’s ear. Pinkie replied with a wide grin and a giggle. Then, humming to herself, she bounced along after Danny as he headed toward the house.

“Hey!” Megan called. “Don’t run off! We don’t have much—”

“We’ll be back in a few minutes, sis!” Danny shouted. When Pinkie paused for a moment in her jumping, Danny climbed onto her back, and she ran at a full gallop up the drive toward the county road.

“Dammit!” yelled Megan, snatching Molly’s brush from the table and hurling it to the ground. “He’s gonna wreck her braids, get her coated in dust—”

She stopped herself, took another deep breath, and muttered, “But it’s the jumper class, so it doesn’t matter.” More loudly, she added, “All right, who’s next?”

“That’d be me, I reckon,” said Applejack.

Megan nodded and said to Twilight, “Your Highness, why don’t you go find Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash? And see if you can track Molly down while you’re at it. We need to leave soon.”

“I’m on it,” said Twilight. She spread her wings wide and, with a furrowed brow and obvious signs of strain, took off into the air. She circled overhead once before swooping toward the forested creek.

“She doesn’t fly like a regular pegasus, does she?” Megan asked.

“Ain’t never noticed,” Applejack replied. “I been up in a few balloons, o’ course, but I’m happy to keep my hooves on the ground.”

“She’s much more majestic than a regular pegasus, I’d say,” said Rarity as she began the complicated process of folding her portable salon back into its case. “Not that there’s anything wrong with a regular pegasus, of course.”

“Must be the wingspan,” Megan said as she found the brush she’d thrown. “She flaps less, glides more . . . well, never mind that. Applejack, come here, and if you give me any grief, I swear I’ll kill you.”

Applejack lifted a hoof, leaned back, and opened her eyes wide.

“I don’t mean it,” Megan added. “I’m just mad at Danny right now.”

Applejack paused only a moment longer before trotting to Megan’s side. “You just do whatever you need to, an’ I won’t give you no trouble.”

“Then, for starters, I’ll need to take your hat.”

Applejack stepped back. “Beg pardon?”

Megan put her fists to her hips and glared. “You just said—”

“Sure ’nuff, I did. My hat. Here ya go.” Applejack doffed her Stetson and held it out on one hoof. It was dusty, misshapen, and frayed, but Megan, familiar with the attachment farmhands could have to their hats, laid it carefully on the table. “I’ll take good care of it, but horses around here don’t wear hats unless we’re trying to make them look silly.”

“Silly? ’Scuse me, but—”

“It looks fine on you, but as I said, our horses don’t wear them.”

“Well, I s’pose I can live with that. Had t’ leave my hat behind when we went to Aquastria, too.”

“Aquastria?”

“Kingdom o’ the sea ponies and mermares. Out in the Sparklin’ Sea. Took a trip there ’bout a year back or more. Couldn’t wear my hat under the water, o’ course.”

“Sparkling Sea,” Megan muttered. “That sounds familiar. So the sea ponies are still around? How long have they been in this Aquastria?”

“Well, Twilight’s the one knows her history, but they been there always, far as I know. Sea ponies are a mite different from the land tribes, an’ I don’t think they were in the Exodus from the Valley o’ Dreams, if I remember my schoolin’.”

“Exodus? Is that when everyone left because of the windigoes?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Megan took up her curry brush and began going over Applejack’s coat. Unlike the velvety fur that covered the other ponies, Applejack’s coat was coarse, more like an ordinary horse’s, perhaps due to long hours of outdoor labor.

“Whoowee,” said Applejack, a dippy grin passing over her face, “that does feel mighty fine. I ain’t quite so big on the spa trips as Rarity here, but a massage from time to time helps get the stiffness out.”

“This isn’t a massage,” Megan said. “The idea is to get any dirt out of your fur, though it might be superfluous, since most of you seem pretty clean. Well, except Rainbow Dash.”

Applejack chuckled.

“I do massage my horses, though,” Megan said. “I’ve got special tools for that.”

Rarity now stood with her front hooves on the case of her collapsed salon, which she was struggling to force closed. Though obviously straining, she looked up for a moment and said, “You see? Like I told you, darling, you could come to Equestria and open your own spa.”

“Sooner or later, I’m going to get certified in equine massage therapy, but I haven’t done it yet,” Megan replied. To Applejack, she said, “I figure I’ll put you in the western class. It doesn’t require braids, but, ordinarily, I’d have to thin your mane and comb it flat against your neck, so I assume you’d rather I braided it instead.”

“Uh, thin my mane? Thin it how?”

“By pulling most of it out.” Megan took up her mane comb and held it in front of Applejack’s face. “See, I’d wrap this around the hairs and—”

“Let’s just do the braid, then.”

“I thought you’d say that.” Megan put down the comb and continued currying. She paused for a moment when she reached Applejack’s right haunch, and she carefully laid a hand over the cutie mark there, as if checking to make sure it was real and not dyed into the fur.

Applejack turned her head and looked back at her. “Problem?”

“No, it’s just . . . is Applejack a common name?”

“Well, I reckon there’ve been a few Applejacks ’mongst orchard folk. If’n I rightly recall ol’ Granny’s stories, I had a great-great-auntie named Applejack—”

“Wait, did you say orchard? Rarity said you were a farmer—”

“Yes, ma’am. Sweet Apple Acres. We got the finest apple crops in all of Equestria. Growin’ apples has been the family way for, well, I don’t even know how long. An’ those o’ my kin what weren’t growin’ trees were seed collectors an’ settler ponies an’ such.”

When Rainbow Dash had first introduced the other ambassadors, Megan had hardly heard the names Rainbow’d listed off because she had been too busy staring at Applejack. When Rainbow had actually said, “And this is Applejack,” Megan had come back to her senses as a knife had twisted in her chest, and she had turned away to hide the tears that had begun forming in her eyes.

Now Megan stepped back to examine Applejack in profile. The orange coat, the unkempt flaxen mane, the symbol on her hip, and the freckle-like spots in the fur of her cheeks certainly resembled those of the Applejack Megan had known in Dream Valley, but the resemblance ended there. The old Applejack had been plump and clumsy, and her face had usually been set with a morose frown or a good-natured but vacant grin. This Applejack was sturdy and lean: Megan knew how to admire a horse, and she could certainly admire Applejack’s defined musculature and rounded hindquarters. And though a good-natured grin did sit on Applejack’s muzzle, it was not vacant; her bright green eyes shone with cleverness.

“I used to know a pony named Applejack,” Megan said. “She looked a lot like you, and she had an apple orchard, too. In fact, she did a lot to help the ponies start growing their own food. She was one of the first earth ponies to really learn how to care for the land.”

“Well, don’t that beat all,” Applejack said. “Why, then, I reckon the Apple family must go all the way back to the Valley o’ Dreams. I never would o’ guessed. Our stud books—”

“Don’t go back that far. I know.” Megan stepped in again and continued currying. “It keeps surprising me, but maybe it shouldn’t. I suppose the ponies I knew have to be your ancestors.”

The day after Sun Tuesday, Megan walked into the Mystificent Forest, where she could find relief from the burning heat. The black earth, laden with twigs and fallen leaves, was moist, and its dampness cooled the air. The sunlight struck the forest floor only in occasional shafts of gold between green-tinted shadows cast by the leafy canopy. Moss grew thick on the bark of the oaks and elms, and tufts of Spanish moss hung like women’s hair from the branches. Rhododendrons and vine maple grew in thick, tangled patches, but between them were clumps of low bear grass where it was possible to walk.

Megan stopped before a stump crowned with jagged, upthrust chunks of shattered wood. Perched atop the stump was a fat banana slug, its little optic tentacles waving in the air. Megan hunkered down and peered at it.

Applejack, her mouth twisted in a pensive frown, had joined her on this walk. Although the forest was cool, the two had only been able to reach it by trudging through sun-drenched fields buzzing with flies and midges, so sweat now matted Applejack’s coat and made the seven apples of her hip symbol glisten as if they were real. “Heavy hooves, Megan. This forest isn’t safe. Shady says the Dell Dwellers live in here—”

“I know,” said Megan, still watching the slug. “I’m hoping we can find them. They shape the rocks and make the trees grow. They might be able to teach you and the rest of the earth ponies how to take care of nature the same way they do. Then farming will be less of a problem. They can help you with your orchard.”

Applejack paused, shifting back and forth on her thick hooves. “Are they safe?”

“Wind Whistler says they are.” Megan turned her eyes from the slug and stood up. “The trapdoor to their realm should be near here, if I understood Fizzy rightly when she gave me directions—”

“Applesauce! You asked Fizzy for directions?”

“Probably not my brightest moment, I admit.”

“Fiddlesticks, Megan! We’re gonna get lost!” Applejack, eyes wide and teeth clenched, took a step backwards, and the forest floor creaked under her hooves.

Megan frowned. “That wasn’t a twig. That sounded like—”

Applejack gasped as the ground gaped open beneath her. “Megan!” she screamed, and then she slid down into darkness.

Without a hesitation or thought, Megan pointed her hands and leapt as if diving into deep water. She slipped through the trapdoor just before it snapped closed.

A stream of leaves, twigs, and dirt fell with her. She struck a hard, smooth surface tilted at a steep angle. It knocked the wind from her lungs, and she began to slide. Gasping, she thrust her arms out and tried to grab something to arrest her descent, but only met more of the same surface. Unable to find a purchase, she plummeted headfirst into pitch darkness.

She sucked in air and rasped, “Applejack!”

Applejack, somewhere down below, shouted, “Megan! Not the dark again! Not underground again!” Her voice was shrill, edged with panic.

Again. Megan’s mouth went dry. Applejack and the twinkle-eyed ponies sometimes spoke fearfully of darkness and close walls. She knew only sketchy details of the reason why. Something about a mine and a wizard—

Her body slid partway up a rounded wall as she struck a curve. With a hand, she found a lip and thereby discovered that she was sliding down a trough rather than a tube. She tried to grab the lip, but her momentum was too great, and it slid from her grasp and took skin off her fingers.

“Megan!” Applejack shouted again. She sounded even farther away.

“You’re all right!” Megan shouted back. “I’m here. You stay calm, Applejack! Just remember, Megan’s right here!”

The darkness lessened, and Megan could now see stalactites, edged with green light, glistening overhead. The light was coming from down below, where, over the lip of the trough, she could see an army of tiny men with white beards and pointed hats. Standing in assembly lines before conveyors, they trimmed stones, watered potted seedlings, and ground rocks into earth.

“The mines!” Applejack shrieked.

“Stay with me, Applejack!” Megan called.

The trough grew steeper, and Megan hit her face hard on the bottom, scraping a patch of flesh away from her chin. Up ahead, Applejack, her orange coat looking like dark rust in the greenish light, shot out of the end of the trough and crashed into a barrel, turning it over. All at once, all the gnome-like men threw away their tools, ran, and shouted in panic until the walls and ceiling of the enormous cave echoed with their screams.

Megan crossed her arms over her head to cushion the blow, squeezed her eyes shut, and slammed into Applejack’s backside. Her weight was barely enough to move the pony, but Megan felt the shock run all the way from her arms to the balls of her feet, and she bit into her tongue as she felt her shoulders wrench.

Rolling onto the floor, she suppressed a scream, but choked on her own blood. Sharp, burning pain stretched from the tops of her shoulders down to her chest. Struggling to sit up, she spat out blood and tried desperately to breathe.

For a moment, she thought she was hallucinating. Floating through the air before her eyes were tiny bubbles in every color of the rainbow. They swirled around Megan in a vortex, buffeting her. Everywhere they touched, she felt a shock of wet, cold viscosity, as if the bubbles were made of chilled slime.

And each bubble had a face, and each face was turned up in a sneer, and from each bubble’s mouth came derisive laughter that never changed nor faded, as if it had been caught on tape and played in an endless loop.

As the bubbles touched her, she felt everything slip away: her moods, her desires, her mind, her very self leaked out of her body like sweat from her pores. But they didn’t leave her empty. Something else was leaking in.

Blood and spit dripping from her chin, she looked up and met Applejack’s eyes. The pony’s face had changed. The vapid smile had disappeared, replaced by something more clever, more aware.

“Applesauce,” said Megan. “We’ve really done it this time.”

“Stay calm,” Applejack answered. “I’ll think of something. I always do.”

“I could really go for an apple right now.”

“Silly human.”

Memories flashed through Megan’s mind as Applejack’s personality overwrote her own: she could feel what it was to walk on four hooves, to manipulate things with her mouth. These were not foreign to her, but things she had always done. She forgot that she once walked on two legs; she had never done so in all her life. She stared stupidly down at her body and wondered why it was so light and frail, why her orange coat was gone, why she was clad in these uncomfortable overalls, and why she was so cold.

She wanted an apple very badly. She always liked to eat apples when she was stressed. She tried to stand, but her hind legs were too long and her front legs were short and shaped wrong. She fell on her face and started bleeding again. But that was okay: she fell on her face all the time; that was why everyone called her a silly pony. Like that one time when Lemon Drop yelled at her for knocking over the jumps. And then Firefly yelled at her for knocking over her bubbles.

Streams of memories flitted through Megan’s mind. Memories of tripping, falling, being made a fool of, being laughed at, gorging herself on apples in secret to take the edge off the other ponies’ mockery.

Megan sucked in her breath. She remembered Queen Majesty—a beautiful white unicorn whose coat shone like the full moon. Majesty’s face, both terrible and serene, emanated a sense of worlds beyond worlds, as if heaven touched earth in her presence. She was frightening and horrible, yet lovely; Megan wished both to gaze upon her for eternity and to run, screaming, away from her. Unable to do either, she prostrated herself in imagination before the memory of the immortal queen of the ponies, the deathless one who had died in single combat to protect the ones she loved.

In her mind’s eye, Megan watched, helpless, as Tirek the centaur, a great monster with a stern, red face and curving, razor-sharp horns, opened a sack that pulsed like a heart. Tirek boomed, “Behold the Power of Darkness!” Before Megan’s eyes, black smoke enveloped the white queen. As her flesh peeled back, her bones charred, and her face blackened and flecked away like seared paper, Majesty released a piercing shriek that almost rent the world.

Megan remembered, too, being a clumsy pony on a rickety bridge leading to Castle Midnight, Tirek’s high fortress. Beside her was a gangly but lovely creature with pink skin and a flowing yellow mane. This creature, small and weak, but soft-voiced and kind, had vowed to be the ponies’ new champion.

A rotten plank cracked beneath Megan’s hooves. She and the new champion plummeted into the churning waters below. Megan couldn’t quite understand what happened next: the water was shockingly cold, striking like a thousand knives through the hairs of her coat. Like a vice, the water closed over her barrel, pushed against her ribs, and stole her breath. The soft hands of the champion slipped from her mane, and the world fell silent.

But then there was air and warmth, and from everywhere came enchanting voices singing together, “Shoo be doo, shoo shoo be doo, shoo be doo, shoo shoo be doo.” With the champion, she sat in the mouth of a giant clam at the bottom of the river, yet she could breathe, and all around were sea ponies dancing and singing, their long tails curling and uncurling as they promised comfort and aid.

Another memory hit Megan like a hammer to the skull: it came from the time when Majesty still ruled, a time when Megan had learned a very great secret that the other ponies didn’t know, a secret that, Megan thought, perhaps even Majesty did not know—at least until it was too late.

Megan had been especially clumsy that day. She’d tripped over everything until the other ponies, exasperated, had driven her off. Weeping, she ran away into the forest in the hopes that perhaps she could get Witch Knows-a-Lot to enchant her and at last remove her ungainliness.

She wandered and stumbled for many hours until the day was almost over. The sun was a golden beacon perched on the rim of the world, and Megan, now lost, found herself in a rocky waste with no clear memory of how she had made her way there. Unsure in which direction Dream Valley lay, she shivered partly from fear and partly from the chilly air. A harsh wind swept across the badlands, picked up dust and grit, and flung them in her face.

“Applesauce,” she muttered. “I best find some sheltered place to sleep.”

She leaned against a rocky wall and gasped when, with a harsh, hollow noise like grating stone, the wall opened to reveal a dank tunnel full of inky darkness.

Megan trembled again, but not from cold, as she stared into the black. Still, the opening promised shelter from the wind, so she stepped inside. As soon as her tail cleared the entrance, the stone again ground shut.

“Fiddlesticks,” she whinnied. “I’ve really gone and done it this time!” Though she couldn’t see, she could hear a steady clanking up ahead, as if metal were repeatedly striking against stone.

The floor of the cave was slick under her hooves. Several times, she fell as she tried to make her way. Fragile soda straws and helictites shattered to dust when she stumbled against them. She fell through shelfstone and plunged up to her knees into cold, slimy water. Still, she climbed from the water and kept walking.

Gradually, she began to be able to discern shapes in the dimness. Cave pools, often surrounding lumpish, glistening stalagmites, glowed with soft green light. Layered draperies of calcite pulsed and shimmered with color, but fringed the mouths of pitch-black tunnels. Hints of red and blue shone from shafts overhead. Some of the stalactites twinkled with faint inner fire, as if they were made of crystals encasing fireflies. Megan found one hanging as low as her nose; cautiously, expecting it to be hot, she reached out and touched it, but found it cool. As soon as the toe of her hoof struck its surface, its glow disappeared, and it turned to dull, gray rock.

The glow grew brighter until it became like reddish dusk, and the details of the cave’s delicate formations were plain to Megan’s eyes. On the center of a great shelf above a vast pit, the bottom of which Megan could not discern, stood a tall throne covered in bright, uncut jewels of every color, and sitting on the throne was a wizened old man with a long beard. In his gnarled fingers, he held a rough oaken staff.

Her knees shaking, Megan approached the throne. “Excuse me, sir, but I seem to have lost my way. Could you—?”

With long fingernails filed to points, the man stroked his beard just below his chin. His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Ho ho, what have we here? Another pony to dig my jewels.” His voice was musical and gentle, but roughened slightly with age. It was like the voice of a doting grandfather.

Megan’s knees shook so hard, she fell back on her haunches. “Who are you?” she cried. “Where am I? Heavy hooves, I want to go back home!”

The old man, leaning on his staff, rose slowly to his feet and pointed at Megan. “I am the Jewel Wizard. Welcome to my Cave of Jewels. You will stay here and dig jewels with the other ponies.”

“Other ponies—?” Megan stood and tried to run, but was shocked to find that the old man, in spite of his feeble appearance, had rushed upon her and seized her by the mane. Megan couldn’t pull free of his grip. As if she were nothing but a sack of grain, he dragged her across the cave and into a tunnel where several other ponies were using their hooves to smash stones and reveal the glowing jewels within.

“They will show you what do to,” the Jewel Wizard said. With one hand, he tossed Megan, leaving her in a heap. Then he slipped away into the darkness.

Megan rose shakily and walked to the nearest pony, an earth pony with three gingerbread men on her hip. “I’m so glad to see you,” Megan said. “We’ve got to get out of here—”

Megan gasped when the pony turned a dirt-streaked face toward her. The pony’s eyes shone dully in the dim light: they were blank, without irises or pupils, as if someone had spooned egg white into them.

“Too late for us,” the pony whispered, her voice as hollow as if she were speaking through a brass tube. “You need to get out while you can still see.”

Megan whinnied loudly when she felt a whisker-coated nose rub against her shoulder. She turned to see a pink pegasus pony with atrophied wings dragging along the ground. The pony’s feathers were matted and filthy, and her eyes, too, were white and blank. “We’ve been in the dark so long,” she said in that same hollow voice. “In the dark, in the dark, in the dark . . .”

Megan screamed.

The Jewel Wizard had magic whips. When Megan refused to dig or failed to dig fast enough, an invisible lash fell across her back and seared like fire. Tears poured from her eyes as she smashed her hooves into the stone walls of the cave, monotonously chipping and scratching, burrowing like a mole in search of those glistening crystals for which the wizard lusted. Whenever exhaustion overwhelmed her and she collapsed, the whips were there to goad her on again.

Her hooves became cracked and jagged, her coffin bones bruised. She could barely walk, let alone dig, but the whips didn’t care. Still they smote her and drove her into narrow, twisting tunnels where she crawled in pitch blackness as the rough stone ceiling scraped fur from her back and the rough stone floor scraped flesh from her legs and belly, until at last she saw a glimmer of red or green or blue up ahead, and at last she placed her hooves against the stone encasing it and chipped away for hours or perhaps days. Then, unable to turn around, she wearily crawled backwards with the glowing jewel in her mouth.

She could not discern the passage of days and nights. She did not know how long she was forced to work, but every so often, just when she thought she could not lift her burning legs to take another step, the whips ceased, she fell against the cool ground, and nothing struck her to make her rise again. Then the Jewel Wizard appeared and laid before her muzzle a bowl of watery gruel that tasted like oats. Sometimes, he whispered kind words of encouragement and scratched her behind the ears. Somehow, the sweetness of his voice and the pleasant lines of his seamed face made the torment all the more horrible.

When she was allowed to sleep, she nestled with the other pony slaves, who always slept close together for warmth. There were sixteen of them, they were all blind, and they all had hollow voices, as if they were fading into ghosts. Coughing and wheezing echoed through the cave in which they slumbered, but Megan slept anyway, being too exhausted to be kept awake by the noise.

The one with the gingerbread men on her hips was named Gingerbread. During one sleep period, she nestled against Megan, pressed her nose to Megan’s cheek, and whispered, “Can you still see?”

“Yes,” Megan whispered back. “For now.”

“Soon you’ll be as blind as we are.” Working her mouth as if she were nibbling short grass, Gingerbread gently ran her velvety nose and hard, dry lips over Megan’s face. “I think you must be very pretty.” Her voice cracked as she added, “I know I was pretty once, long ago, before the Jewel Wizard found me. If you can see, tell me please, am I still pretty now?”

Megan could dimly discern Gingerbread’s outline in the dark. Gingerbread’s ribs showed through her sides, and her haunches had become bony and wasted. Grit was smeared over her face, and fluid, now caked with dirt, had run in rivulets from her useless eyes. Her coat was mangy and dirty. Crisscrossing her body were cuts, abrasions, and scars. Her joints were swollen and bruised, and on her legs were running sores.

“Yes,” Megan said. “Yes, you’re still very pretty.”

Gingerbread smiled, closed her blank eyes, and slept.

One of the blind slaves, Sweetwater, was especially thin, and oftentimes her high-pitched, wheezy cough would echo through the darkness. Megan noticed, when the gruel was served, that the other slaves did not finish theirs, but left half an inch in their bowls and, silently, by feeling their way along the ground, pushed those bowls in front of Sweetwater and coaxed her to drink. Megan’s stomach gnawed her, but she knew she still had a plump body from eating heartily in Dream Valley. Guiltily, she began to push some of her rations in front of Sweetwater as well. Sweetwater coughed and, urged by her friends, ate as much as she could, which was often not much.

When Sweetwater stood and walked from her meal, Megan looked at her frame: all of Sweetwater’s ribs stood out through her mostly hairless skin, and her belly hung from her spine like a loose burlap sack.

That pink pegasus with the dragging wings, whom the others called Whizzer, whispered, “Sweetwater doesn’t have long.”

“She’ll go like the others,” Gingerbread whispered back.

“Long for what?” Megan asked. “Like what others?”

They didn’t answer, but the time came when Megan, staggering back to the sleeping cave from another long session of digging and pain, found Sweetwater stretched out on her side as if taking a nap.

“You can’t sleep here,” Megan said. “Come on home.” She bent close and nuzzled Sweetwater’s cheek, but no breath came from Sweetwater’s nose, and her white eyes didn’t blink. Her lips were spread back from her worn teeth.

From somewhere up the tunnel, Megan heard a hacking cough and then another. She understood: the ponies had dust in their lungs from digging in the tunnels. That was why their voices sounded hollow. That was why they coughed. She breathed deep and realized her chest felt heavy and tight. She murmured and realized her voice was beginning to sound hollow as well. Soon, she would be blind. Soon, she would begin to cough. In time, she would become like Sweetwater.

Sometimes, as she worked on the edge of one of the cavern’s many dark cliffs, Megan would look down to see needle-like stalagmites jutting upward through the darkness. She would get dizzy, and the stalagmites would seem to leap up, as if they were reaching for her. She tried not to think about it, but she couldn’t help but imagine how it would feel if she were to fall and those sharp fingers of rock were to gouge into her skin, pry past her ribs, and dig deep into her body. The thought always gave her a sickly, crawling sensation. That same sensation ran across her flesh now. The muscles under her skin quivered and shook as if a horde of flies were on her, for she realized the thing she had never realized before, the secret even Majesty didn’t know, or might not: she was going to die. Somehow, soon, whether on a rock or through slow starvation and lung-sickness, she was going to fall down and not get up.

When that revelation struck her, the world changed shape, and all at once the magic whips of the Jewel Wizard no longer mattered.

Wincing as her bruised feet sent shocks up her legs, she marched into the sleep chamber and said to the gathered slaves, “Follow me.”

Whizzer raised her head and blinked her opaque eyes. “Follow? Where?”

“Just do it.”

“Now is a moment of rest,” said Gingerbread.

A pink unicorn, Galaxy, didn’t even bother to move. From the spot where she had stretched out on the floor, she said, “Why make efforts now? There will be work and pain enough tomorrow.”

“Applesauce,” said Megan. “I’m going for help. Let’s get out of here!”

“Stay,” Galaxy said. “Don’t try to fight. Don’t try to resist. It will all be better if we just give in.”

“At least try!” cried Megan. “Please! What can he do to us? Kill us? We’re dying anyway. Let’s die trying to reach freedom instead of while toiling as slaves. If you love freedom, if you even remember freedom, then rally to me.”

For a moment, the slaves were silent, but then Whizzer, though her knees wobbled, rose to her hooves. “I remember freedom: once I was the fastest pegasus in the air, and I chased clouds and sunbeams all day long.” One of her limp wings twitched. “I know I’ll never fly again, but I still want to be free. I will follow you.”

Gingerbread, grunting, took to her feet as well. “In deep winter, at the time of Yule, frost would hang heavy on the fir trees. Snow would glisten on the ground like diamonds, but crunch to powder underhoof when I ran across the fields. I would snort and whinny and watch my breath turn to crystals on the air. I baked gingerbread ponies and made gingerbread houses. Whole towns, whole cities, I made from sweets, and ponies would come from all around to taste my work. The kitchen was so warm, and the smell of sweet ginger filled it. I may never bake again, but I still want to be free. I will follow you.”

Another pegasus named Masquerade was so thin she was almost a skeleton. She tried to stand but couldn’t. Hearing her stumble in the dark, a unicorn named Fizzy lifted her to her hooves and propped her up. Masquerade said, “I used to throw lavish, beautiful balls in late fall when the leaves adorning the trees were gold and red and orange like flame. The leaves floated to the ground on the breeze to remind us of the snow to come, and they crackled under our hooves with a sound like fire in pine logs to tell us of the warm hearths around which we soon would sit to sing carols and drink from steaming mugs of cider. All the ponies came to my autumn parties, and I gave each one a special costume, made just for her. For that night only, every pony could be somebody else. I may never be able to sew again or design another gown, but I still want to be free. I will follow you.”

One by one, the others rose as well. Each spoke her story. Each declared her need to be free. At last, only Galaxy remained on the floor.

“It’s not worth it,” Galaxy groaned. Through the darkness, Megan could see fresh tears streaking Galaxy’s cheeks. “We’re blind. We’re blind! I used to spend all night gazing at the stars—they were scattered across the heavens like beaten sugar thrown from a bowl across black silk, but they burned and shimmered like orbs of fire. I could gaze at them for hours, and I wept at their beauty. What does it matter if I am free? Everything that was dear to me I have lost and can never have back again.”

A tear ran down Megan’s own face. “Heavy hooves,” she said. “I can’t give you back your eyes, but at least take back yourself. This wizard’s taken so much of you already. Don’t let him have the rest.”

“Come with us, Galaxy,” Gingerbread whispered. “Please.”

“In the old times, Galaxy,” said Whizzer, “you were never one to give up, no matter how hard it was.”

“Please,” said Masquerade.

“Please,” said Fizzy.

“How?” Galaxy asked. “Without our eyes, how can we find the way?”

“I will sing to you,” Megan answered, “so you can follow.” She looked back and forth among the blind, exhausted, sickly ponies. Though her throat hurt, her chest felt heavy, and her voice sounded rude and ungainly in her ears, she began a piping chant to Mister Sun. She turned and walked, and she heard the slow, steady beat of hooves behind her.

Megan picked her way across the broken cavern floor until she found the glowing, jeweled throne where the wizard sat.

The Jewel Wizard stood and said in his gentle voice, “What do you want, slaves? Now is the time for sleep. Return to your place.”

“No,” Megan answered. “No more.”

“You will not work?”

She shook her head.

“Then you will suffer.”

As she had expected, the invisible whips lashed against her back. Her knees and hocks buckled, and tears fell from her eyes, but she kept her hooves, gritted her teeth, and said, “No more.”

“Then you will die.” The Jewel Wizard raised a clawed hand, and lightning arced from his fingertips. The bolt struck Megan in the breast, and she fell back onto her haunches and howled.

“I give you one more chance,” the Jewel Wizard said, his voice soft and kind and reasonable. “You may dig stones for me and sleep and eat your meals, or you may perish in agony. Choose.”

Megan didn’t answer. She only rose and took a deep breath. She winced against the burning pain stretching across her chest. Trying to ignore how much they hurt, she dug in her back hooves, and, with a snort, she charged. She ran straight at the wizard, reared, and, lashing out blindly, struck him across the face. A streak of bright red stretched from his forehead to his left cheek, and his eyes opened wide in mild surprise as he staggered backwards, slipped, and tumbled from the edge of the cliff. He fell into the deep pit, of which Megan could not discern the bottom. He did not scream. He made no noise at all, but he disappeared into darkness, and Megan never heard him strike.

But a few seconds after he tumbled, his high throne split in half, and then the two halves exploded with a roar.

Shards of crystal blasted into the air. Megan turned, covered her head with her hooves, and closed her eyes. Something sliced her left side, feeling like a hammer pounding against her ribs and refusing to let up. A similar blow slammed into her left hind leg.

The explosion echoed from the cavern walls, and stalactites cracked and fell, shattering with a sound like breaking glass. After a minute, all was silent except for the quiet trickle of gravel and the hiss of settling dust. Megan raised her head and opened her eyes to a scene of new horror.

The slave ponies sat in a row before the ruined throne. Every one of them had long stringers of blood dripping from her face. Every one of them had her mouth hanging open in a silent scream of pain. Every one of them had shards of crystal lodged in the sockets of her eyes, and, from around the crystals, blood bubbled up like water from a seeping spring.

Tears poured from Megan’s own eyes. “Oh, Majesty,” she moaned. “Oh, Majesty, where are you? Why have you left me here? Will it not end? Will none of this ever end?” She turned her head and vomited on the cavern floor.

Then began the endless trek. With acid burning in her throat, she walked, though her hooves were cracked to the very bone and sent pains like knife cuts straight up into her skull, and though festering wounds on her knees wept pus. Her head throbbed, and her chest, burned by the wizard’s magic, blazed as if struck by a branding iron. Behind her, the slave ponies followed. In too much pain to scream or moan, they merely breathed in rhythmic gasps as they stumbled in the dark. They were past the point of crying, past the point even of giving up. They walked and kept walking because the act of lying down to die would have taken too much thought, too much will: their decision to follow had drained the last of their energy, and they now staggered on because they had suffered until they could do nothing except suffer further.

After what seemed like years, decades, or centuries, they turned a corner in the cavern, and Megan beheld a blinding white light from outside. At last, the dusty, suffocating air of the cave fell away, and she breathed fresh, clean air for the first time in more days than she knew. She fell down at the cavern mouth, kissed the ground, and wept.

But, without slowing, the slaves staggered on and walked around her. They stepped out into the wasteland, stood together in a row, and faced the sun, which cut its lonely trail across an empty blue sky. As one, they fell to their haunches, and then Galaxy, whose blood still ran down her face like tears, shrieked in a voice that would haunt Megan’s nightmares for many years after—

“I can see!”

When Megan came back to herself, she was no longer looking in Applejack’s face, but in Wind Whistler’s.

As usual, Wind Whistler was calm, and her expression was unreadable. “You are injured,” she said, “but your wounds, though unsightly, appear to be minor.”

Megan blinked. The memories of being Applejack grew hazy, as if they had been a vivid dream from which she had just awakened. “Wind Whistler—?”

“Applejack ran into Paradise Estate. She was talking like you. She quickly explained what had happened, and I realized we could resolve the predicament by means of the same method we utilized on the previous occasion. I brought Fizzy and Shady for the purpose.” She nodded back over her shoulder, where Fizzy the twinkle-eyed unicorn and Shady the earth pony stood beside a dazed-looking Applejack.

Megan rose slowly to her feet and massaged her temples. “It’s like Applejack and I traded places—”

“That is the effect of the frazzits,” Wind Whistler answered. “It is necessary for the frazzits to remain inside their barrel in order to maintain the order of nature. Knock over their barrel and release them, and the first thing they do is switch the personalities of anyone nearby. You can ask the Dell Dwellers about it.”

Megan turned to find several of the gnome-like men facing her. She hastily rubbed at the caked blood on her chin. One of the Dell Dwellers, with a face deeply etched as if whittled from wood, gave her a deep, solemn bow.

“So, this Applejack you knew way back when, what was she like?”

Rarity had finished packing her salon and had dragged it back to the flying boat, after which she’d disappeared into the boat’s cabin, so Megan and Applejack were alone for the moment. Megan walked to her table and set down the curry brush. Facing the cracked, weather-worn paint on the barn wall, she said, “She was strong. And smart. And brave.”

Applejack chuckled. “Well, I’ll—”

“And nobody knew it.” Megan took up the body brush, returned to Applejack, and began going over her coat again. “They all thought she was foolish, or at least most of them did. Except the twinkle-eyed ponies.”

As Megan brushed down Applejack’s fur, Applejack’s eyelids lowered and her lower lip twitched. “The . . . uh, sorry? You lost me.”

“We lost them, too.”

Apparently unable to maintain her concentration in the face of Megan’s brushing, Applejack snorted faintly and swished her tail. “Um . . . what?”

Megan shook her head, chuckled softly, and sighed. “Never mind. It’s a long story, and I don’t think I can tell it now.” She tapped her chest. “It still hurts.”

Applejack opened her eyes wide again and winced.

“Sorry,” said Megan, “am I brushing too hard over your withers?”

“No, no. You’re doin’ just fine. But I’m mighty sorry ’bout askin’ ya questions an’ all. It’s easy to forget it weren’t that long ago for you. For us—”

“It’s ancient history.”

“Yes’m. Just t’ warn ya, Twilight’s likely t’ grill you somethin’ fierce. She loves readin’ and research an’ whatnot, an’ havin’ you—”

“I know. I’ve been putting off dealing with her, and I think maybe she’s been putting off dealing with me, too.”

“If’n ya want, I can talk to her—”

“Don’t bother. I think we can come to an understanding.” Megan continued brushing in silence for several minutes. She could sense Applejack relaxing, and in time the pony dipped her head almost to the ground.

“You must be tired, too,” Megan said. “I guess being an ambassador is probably stressful work.”

“Well,” Applejack mumbled, “I can’t claim t’ be cut out for it. Been a farm pony all my life.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Why? Well, for Twilight, o’ course.”

Megan finished with the body brush, returned to the table, and picked up her finishing brush. “You don’t have to do what Princess Twilight says, do you?”

Applejack frowned. “Ain’t never gave it much thought. She is a princess, but it ain’t like she orders me around—”

“So why are you here?” Megan walked back to Applejack and made sweeping strokes across her body to smooth her coat.

“We’re friends,” Applejack said. “That’s all. It can be hard sometimes, an’ I admit I don’t feel quite right without my hooves in the soil, but we got hired help on the farm now, so’s I can rest easy on that score, at least.”

Gently taking Applejack’s chin, Megan made a few strokes across her face and made sure the fur was clean around her eyes. “It’s very kind of you to help your friends. And thank you, too, for being so understanding with me.” Smiling, she shook her head. “You really do look so much like her.” Without a thought, she leaned down and kissed Applejack’s nose.

When she drew back, she saw in Applejack’s eyes an expression of shock, and she felt her own face turn warm.

“Uh, sorry, sugar cube, but what—?”

“Sorry.” Megan quickly turned around, walked back to the table, and made a clatter with her supplies. “I kissed ponies all the time in Dream Valley, and they kissed each other, and you look so much like—I just didn’t think—I mean, hell, I kiss my own horses—”

She glanced over her shoulder when she heard Applejack chuckling.

“Well, I don’t kiss much o’ nopony,” Applejack said, “’cept Apple Bloom or Granny on occasion—”

Megan put a hand to her face and began laughing as well. “Wow. Things really have changed.”

Still in a daze, Megan had spoken with the Dell Dwellers for almost an hour. They had thanked her and the ponies for returning the frazzits to their barrel and restoring the balance of nature. They had agreed to teach the earth ponies how to tend to the trees and other plants, and how to grow and shape the forest’s stones by means of an art they called “rock-farming.” Megan had thanked them dully and shaken hands all around before she and the others had finally made their way out of the Dell Dwellers’ underground home.

Now Megan lay in the midst of a patch of feathery ferns in the middle of the woods. Having pulled the ribbon out of her hair, shaken out her ponytail, and propped her head on a mossy rock, she gazed between the leaves overhead and watched the wispy clouds dart across the sky. The air was warm, but every so often, a faint breeze, cooled by the moisture of the forest floor, prickled her skin.

Applejack lay with her heavy head resting on Megan’s left shoulder. She made Megan’s side, from her armpit down to her knee, uncomfortably hot. With eyelids half lowered and her tangled forelock hanging low over her face, Applejack breathed steadily and deeply as if asleep. Megan dug a hand deep into Applejack’s mane and squeezed the pony tight. She laid her other hand against Applejack’s barrel to feel the smooth texture of her coat, the muscles twitching under her skin, and the rise and fall of her ribs.

Megan had often lain with a pony tucked against her this way. The first time she had spent a night in Ponyland, she had nestled under downy covers on a bed soft as a cloud and smelling of lavender. She had been alone when she’d lain down, but had awoken the next morning from a deep and dreamless sleep to find Sundance’s nose against her cheek. It has seemed strange to her at first, but in time she had realized that the ponies, in some ways, were not much different from dogs or cats or, for that matter, miniature horses kept in houses, all of which would climb into bed with a sleeping human if allowed. The little ponies could talk, but they were still herd animals, and herd animals were always hungry for company.

“How much did you see?” Applejack whispered.

“Everything, I think. But it’s all jumbled up now, faint, like a dream.”

“I knew what it was like to be you. To walk on two legs. My back felt funny.”

Megan chuckled quietly.

“And I saw Tirek again,” Applejack whispered. “I knew how you felt . . . it was so different from how I felt. I mean, when I was me.”

“I know what you mean.”

“I never knew you were so scared.”

“I was scared,” Megan said, “but I tried to do the right thing anyway.”

Applejack paused, but then slowly shook her head. The whiskers on her muzzle tickled Megan’s chin.

Megan frowned and looked down into Applejack’s eyes. Applejack’s nose was an inch from her own. “You didn’t want to do the right thing,” Applejack said. “It never crossed your mind at all. I mean, it did before. But when you were there in front of him, you didn’t care about doing the right thing. You were just angry.”

Megan swallowed. Her hands trembled. “Yes. . .”

“And you killed him.”

“Yes.”

“I saw Grogar, too—that awful old ram with the glowing eyes. He shot lightning from his horns, he had you pinned under the bridge in Tambelon, and you were afraid you’d die or go to the Realm of Shadows.”

“Yes.”

“You rode North Star’s back until you found Grogar’s magic bell, and you struck it and sent him and his city away.”

“Yes.”

“But you weren’t thinking about saving the ponies. Not one bit. You were just angry then, too.” Tears welled up in Applejack’s eyes. She blinked, and the tears spilled over onto her cheeks. “I did the same, once . . .”

Megan tilted her head back, letting the soft moss close around her ears. She took a deep breath. “I saw. I saw the Jewel Wizard, and I saw how you saved the twinkle-eyed ponies.”

“Heavy hooves, Megan. Heavy, heavy hooves.”

“You did the right thing.”

“But he died, and he died because I pushed him—”

Megan gripped the sides of Applejack’s head, placing her thumbs and index fingers around the pony’s ears, and kissed Applejack’s mouth to quiet her. Applejack tried to pull her head back, but Megan didn’t let go until Applejack gave a faint whimper from the back of her throat, as if gasping for air.

Megan released her and said, “He deserved to die.”

Applejack lowered her head back to Megan’s shoulder and nestled closer. “Majesty killed sometimes to protect us. She turned monsters into trees or made them bubble away into the air. It was like, for a moment, I was her, like I was in her place. She wasn’t there, so I did what she did, and I was angry, like how you get angry. Just so angry I could kill. But then I did kill, and I wasn’t angry anymore. I felt awful, and I realized I wasn’t angry at the Jewel Wizard so much. I was angry at Majesty because she wasn’t there when I needed her.”

Applejack’s tears ran down her face until they soaked into Megan’s overalls.

“She left us and never came back,” Applejack said. “I know it’s bad, but I got mad at her again when she left us, even though I know she was trying to save us from Tirek. Because we needed her so much.” Applejack’s eyes turned wide and pleading. “I need her. Who’s going to make sure I don’t eat too many apples if she’s not here to tell me it’s bad?”

Megan kissed her again. “Majesty didn’t leave you on purpose, Applejack. I saw that, too. She wanted to protect you.”

“You saw her?”

“Yes.”

“She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”

“Yes. Very. I loved her very much . . . and I guess that came from you, too, didn’t it?”

“Yes.” Applejack closed her eyes as if trying to sleep, or perhaps recapture a vision. “Yes, I loved her. I think having her must be what it’s like to have a mother. And I think sometimes how lucky Buttons is to be a mother, and I wonder if Suffles and Snookums will love her like that.”

“I’m sure they will.”

The pony’s mouth twisted and became wistful. “And I wonder if I’ll ever—”

“You might.”

“I don’t think Tex likes me as much as his other mares.”

Megan’s stomach clenched. She gave Applejack a halfhearted pat meant to be reassuring. “I’m sure he does. Someday you’ll have foals of your own. And you love Baby Applejack just as if she were your real baby, don’t you?”

“Megan.” Applejack’s voice was almost a whimper as she met Megan’s eyes. “You hate your father, don’t you?”

Megan’s stomach clenched again, but now it stayed clenched and became a hard, painful knot. She chewed her lip a moment before she answered, “Yes.” The word came out as a low, long hiss. She looked away from Applejack and watched the sky again.

“Could you not, please?”

“What?”

Applejack touched a hoof to Megan’s sternum, right at the base of the pink heart sewn onto the front of her overalls. “It’s just that you hurt people when you get angry.”

With a smile, Megan ran her fingers through Applejack’s forelock, pushing the hair back from the pony’s forehead. “Don’t you fret, Applejack. I’m not going to hurt anybody.”

Having finished with Applejack’s coat, Megan pulled the ribbon out of Applejack’s ponytail, shook out her mane, and began brushing with Molly’s hairbrush. “You ever have braids in?” Megan asked.

“Well, a number o’ years back, Twilight took us all to the Grand Gallopin’ Gala in Canterlot, an’ Rarity made us dresses for th’ occasion. I wore braids then.”

“What style of braid?”

“Uh, regular style? ’Fraid I don’t know that kind o’ thing. Rarity put ’em in.”

“Judging from what she did with Pinkie, she knows what she’s doing. I hope you’re as happy with my work.”

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

After she finished brushing, she moved Applejack closer to the table so she could easily reach the needle and thread. Then she threw a leg over Applejack’s back and climbed on.

“I know I’m too big for you, but am I too heavy?”

“No, ma’am. I’m a sturdy pony, if’n I may say so.”

“You may. I thought you looked strong, and I’m glad, too, since it’s easier to get the braid straight from this position.” Taking clumps of Applejack’s hair in hand, Megan began making a continuous braid along her crest.

“Years an’ years o’ apple-buckin’,” Applejack said, “and not to brag, but I am the rodeo cham-peen o’ Ponyville.”

“Hmm. You should do all right in the western class, then. You memorized the forms, right?”

“Yes’m.”

“And you understood them? The lead changes?”

“That’s where I switch which foot I lead with, I reckon. Should be second nature to me by now.”

Megan took a deep breath, and some of the tension in her chest eased up. She realized then that Applejack even smelled more like a normal horse than the other ponies did. “Ah, this is nice. This is more like what it’s usually like.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Grooming a horse—or pony. All my horses here are well-behaved, and grooming is usually relaxing. Today’s been awful, though.”

“Mighty sorry ’bout that. I think we all just imagined, well, that you was different, and that this would be different. We ain’t quite known how to act.”

“You are the first to live up to her promise to cooperate, that’s for sure.” Megan finished the braid and tied it in place with yellow twine. Then she climbed from Applejack’s back, walked in front, and began braiding her forelock. “I think a minute ago you mentioned a granny—”

“Granny Smith.”

Megan chuckled. “Really? And is she actually your grandma?”

“Shore is.”

“Tell me about your family.”

“Well, there’s quite a few of us. I got kin from Manehatten to Appleloosa, but right there on the farm, there’s just Granny, me, my li’l sister Apple Bloom, an’ Big Macintosh—he’s my big brother.”

“Ah, big brother. Yeah, I get you.” Megan finished Applejack’s forelock and walked behind, keeping a hand on the pony’s haunch out of habit. She pulled the ribbon out of Applejack’s tail and, clutching clumps of hair in one hand and working in small sections to avoid pulling the hairs out, began brushing. Applejack shuffled her hooves a bit, but otherwise didn’t react.

“You have any foals yet?” Megan asked.

“Who, me? No, ma’am. Ain’t even married.”

Megan lost her grip and accidentally yanked with the brush. “Did you say married?”

“I said I ain’t married.”

“But you used the word?”

“Yes’m. What—?”

“But you said you had a big brother—”

“I do. Big Macintosh.”

“You mean he’s actually your brother?”

Megan took hold of Applejack’s tail again, but Applejack snatched it from Megan’s hands and wheeled around. “What in tarnation did you think he was?”

“A lead stallion, of course. Of a herd—”

Applejack’s cheeks turned bright red, her ears lay back, and she bit her lower lip as if struggling to restrain herself. Her grip tightening on the brush, Megan stood and backed away.

“Land’s sakes,” said Applejack, “you think we live like goats or cows?”

Megan paused. She had been serene a moment ago, but now she found anger again boiling up in her chest. “Your ancestors lived like goats or cows, including Applejack the First. Her ‘big brother’ was Tex, and he had about ten or twelve other mares, including Truly, North Star, Gusty, Bow Tie, Bubbles—”

Applejack clamped her mouth shut and shook. “I don’ wanna hear it.” She turned around again. “An’ hurry it up back there.”

“Gladly.” More roughly this time, Megan resumed brushing.

Her back was still sore from the trip to the Dell Dwellers, so Megan winced at each footfall as she rode Wind Whistler through the woods to the home of the bushwoolies.

“We are making excellent progress,” said Wind Whistler. “We should have asked the Dell Dwellers for their assistance when we first encountered them.”

“So why didn’t you?”

Wind Whistler snorted softly. “I must admit, I was not myself at the time.”

“Who were you?”

“Fizzy.”

Megan laughed. “I wish I’d been there to see that. You and Fizzy are about opposites—”

“And she’s twinkle-eyed,” Wind Whistler murmured, her voice barely audible.

Megan leaned down over Wind Whistler’s neck. “Did you see . . . ?”

“Her memories? Yes. I did. Though, if you are thinking of the memories I assume you are thinking of, there was nothing to see, strictly speaking.”

Megan sat straight again and stared into the trees as she rubbed at a knot in her left shoulder.

“And you saw Applejack’s memories, I presume,” said Wind Whistler.

“Yes.”

Wind Whistler nodded. “The others are hard on her, but in spite of her lack of coordination and tendency toward gluttony, I have always known Applejack was a strong pony. Fizzy’s memories confirmed my opinion.”

“She saved them from the caves.”

“Believe me, I know. I endured the entire ordeal, working the mines until my hooves cracked and my eyes festered and went bad. I felt my gut wither and wrap like a knot around my spine, felt my tongue swell in my mouth. Worst of all, I could feel my eyeballs pop like grapes when the jewels from the throne lodged in my head and sent fiery pains straight to the tip of my tail. I’ve never felt anything like it, Megan, and hope never to feel it again.”

“Stop a moment.” Megan slid from Wind Whistler’s back and knelt in front of her. “Why did you try to lock up Masquerade if you knew—?”

Wind Whistler raised one eyebrow. “I wasn’t planning to, Megan. I was planning only to punish Surprise, who, mind you, is not twinkle-eyed. I would have been more than happy to leave Masquerade alone if she hadn’t been insubordinate.”

Megan shook her head. “I’ve always known you to be reasonable and logical, Wind Whistler, but I’ve never known you before to be cold.”

“I’ve been mulling over some things, Megan. I have come to certain conclusions.”

“But we’re already fixing the problem. We’ve gotten organized. Buttons has foaled, Truly is going to foal, and I’m sure other ponies will soon. Maybe even you.”

A small smile settled on Wind Whistler’s mouth. “I have decided to attach myself to 4-Speed. He’s rather coltish for my tastes, but, of all the big brother ponies, he seems, with his impressive mechanical aptitude, to have an intellect comparable to mine; or at least he could if he’d make better use of it.”

“Are you happy?”

“Are you asking me if I am emotionally uplifted by the prospect of breeding? Certainly not, but I am willing to submit to it so long as 4-Speed washes beforehand and I am allowed to wash afterwards. I am foregoing my own interests for the good of the group, Megan, and I do not understand why others cannot do the same.” She drew close and placed a hoof on Megan’s shoulder. “You, especially. When we discussed the problem of our replacement rate, I was certain you and I were on the same page, so to speak.”

Megan began to fondle one of Wind Whistler’s ears, but stopped when she remembered that Wind Whistler didn’t like that. “I understood what you were concerned about, and I guess I thought of it as being a lot like horse-breeding back home . . . but you’re not horses. Not really.”

“Of course we are horses. Just as you are an ape. Nothing significant separates us from other animals.”

“Well, you talk—”

“And what is the significance of that?” Wind Whistler took her hoof from Megan’s shoulder and pointed it into the trees where robins were chirping. “Do not the birds communicate vocally? And you forget that, in Ponyland, many creatures talk. The trait is hardly unique.”

“But you live in a house—”

“Your own horses live in houses, and they wear shoes, and in winter they wear blankets. We are all animals, Megan. Some of us may have more highly developed mental faculties than others, but that is a mere difference of degree. And advanced mental faculties are of no advantage if the species that possesses them dies out: a stupid animal that produces a hundred offspring is superior to a smart one that produces none. We ponies are accustomed to talking about compassion and love and friendship, and we act as if these emotions and sentiments are good things to be cultivated for their own sake, but once we are dead, they come to naught: in the end, there is nothing except survival and succession; therefore, ‘good’ cannot refer to amiable feelings, but only to those traits that tend to lead to longevity and progeny. This is the conclusion I have reached in my meditations.”

Megan stared into Wind Whistler’s deadpan face. “I . . . but, I mean, don’t you think love is good—?”

“I think it leads to cooperation and reproduction, so, yes, I think love is good—but only up to a point. When love becomes overdeveloped, it can be counterproductive, as in the case of Heart Throb’s infatuation with human monogamy. Then it should be suppressed.”

Megan winced.

“You feel guilty on account of her,” said Wind Whistler. “Guilt also serves a useful social function, but it too can be counterproductive. I suggest you suppress yours.”

Megan had nothing more to say. In silence, she and Wind Whistler pushed their way through the low bushes until they reached an earthen mound topped by a tall, black walnut tree. The tree’s thick, tangled roots framed a doorway of rough stone, against which Megan knocked three times.

“Who is it?” a scratchy voice called. Immediately following, several other voices chorused, “Yeah, who? Who? Who’s there? Who’s knocking at the door?”

Megan laughed. “It’s Megan and Wind Whistler.”

A little blue ball of fur pulled the door open. “Hiya, Megan! Hiya, Wind Whistler!”

“Hello, Hugster,” said Megan. “May we come in?”

“Yeah, come in!”

Behind Hugster, other voices called, “Yeah, come in! In! Come inside! Wipe your feet! Come in!”

Megan ducked under a thick root and half walked, half slid down into the bushwoolies’ grotto, a spacious room equipped with a few sofas and chairs. In one corner stood a fireplace with a brick chimney, but since the weather was hot, the hearth was cold.

Wind Whistler slid in after.

In the middle of the room, seated on a divan, was a pink pig. Formerly heavyset, she had long jowls that hung down to her shoulders, and great flaps of empty flesh folded in rows across her middle. In a front hoof, the pig held a brush, with which she vigorously combed a little pink bushwooly named Cheery.

The pig looked up and offered Megan a small smile. “Hello, Megan, dear.”

“Hello, Porcina. How are you?”

“Oh, we’re getting along fine.” She patted her middle, which jiggled. “On a diet of bushmelons and woolycakes, I’ve certainly lost weight.”

Hugster pushed up a chair opposite Porcina and invited Megan to sit. Wind Whistler lay on the floor. Megan sat down, and Hugster, without asking permission, climbed into her lap. Chumster, staggering under the weight, waddled in with a tea set balanced on his head.

Megan quickly leaned over and took the tea set before Chumster could spill anything. She placed the tray on an end table and poured three cups.

Porcina finished brushing Cheery and patted him on the back. He leapt from the divan. “I’m afraid I didn’t quite understand the message you sent,” Porcina said, “probably because the bushwoolies had garbled it by the time they brought it to me. Something about the crowns?”

“Crowns, yeah, crowns!” Hugster cried. He leapt from Megan’s lap, causing her to slop the tea, and ran off. “Bushwoolies, get crowns!” The bushwoolies turned into round balls and rolled quickly out of the room.

“The bushwoolies’ crowns came from the Heart,” Megan explained, “the center of all of Ponyland’s magic. The princess ponies have to place their magic wands in the crowns from time to time to recharge them. After Lavan the lava demon stole the wands, the princess ponies had to kill him, and then they decided to give the crowns to the bushwoolies for safe keeping, since the Heart is connected to the lava demons’ caves.”

Porcina sighed and shook her head as she took a cup of tea. “It’s starting to make sense. The bushwoolies said something like that when they came back here with those things, but I couldn’t quite understand them.”

Wind Whistler said, “The princess ponies have the most powerful magic in Ponyland, and, in fact, they are responsible for maintaining the balance of nature. I’ve dispatched Whizzer and Firefly to the Royal Paradise to contact them in the hopes that they might be able to grant us some of their abilities. We assume we’ll need the crowns for that purpose, so we’ve come to borrow them.”

Porcina frowned. “But what exactly do you—?”

“The Dell Dwellers are teaching the earth ponies how to shape rocks and make the trees grow,” Megan said. “The Moochick is teaching the unicorns how to learn more magic. We’re hoping the princess ponies can teach us how to manipulate the weather the way they do. We can change the weather with the Rainbow of Light, but it’s dangerous to use the Rainbow very often.”

“I assume they can teach this magic to the unicorns,” said Wind Whistler, “but I am holding out some small hope that they might confer their talents on the pegasus ponies. Considering that we can fly, the ability to alter the weather would be of great advantage to us.”

Porcina gave a deep chuckle, and her rolls of flesh shook. “What are you up to, Megan?”

With an uncertain frown, Megan glanced at Wind Whistler and then back at the pig. “Me? Why?”

Porcina laughed, drained her teacup, and set it down. “Come, on, Megan. Don’t play coy.”

Megan must have looked blank because Porcina cocked her head and paused a moment before adding, “Don’t you know your reputation in Ponyland?”

“I don’t get out much, Porcina. When I’m here, I spend all my time with the ponies.”

“I knew it even back before we first met, when I had the raptorians kidnap some of the ponies for me so I could take their hair and make myself a new magic cloak. I didn’t believe it at the time, but I had heard whispers: the little ponies of Dream Valley have a protectress, they said, who looks like a human but has more power than an elf. You disturb the ponies at your peril.” Porcina’s smile faltered. “When I saw you, I wondered if the rumor was true, yet I thought to myself, surely this little girl is no threat. But then you took the cloak from the raptorians and used it on them—”

Megan rose halfway out of her seat. “It ripped, Porcina. The cloak ripped! I didn’t want to do that to them, and you were the one who said we should leave them that way—”

Porcina nodded. “Oh, yes. Oh, yes. I finally figured out what they wanted: they had convinced me to use the cloak to change Dream Valley to glass so they could have it for themselves, a dead wasteland where they would have to tolerate not a single other living being. But when I saw you and the ponies, I realized what a horrible thing I’d done.”

Megan’s heart thudded in her ears. “That’s why you decided to change Dream Valley back. Because you realized the ponies were people, like you.”

Porcina shook her head. “You really don’t understand? I changed Dream Valley back because I saw you, and I realized that, if I didn’t do something quick, I’d be next, and you’d deal with me just as you did with the raptorians.”

“That was an accident!” Megan shouted.

“You didn’t even blink!” Porcina shouted back. “Accident or not, you have the heart of a killer, Megan. And when I suggested that leaving them as statues was the easiest way to prevent their further mischief, I got not a word of protest from you!”

Megan and Porcina had both risen out of their seats, and now their noses were almost touching. For a moment, they glared in each other’s eyes in silence. Megan glimpsed her own reflection in Porcina’s wide pupils, and, to her shock, she saw that her face had become a mask of rage. Embarrassment wrapped around her chest like a tight band. She turned her head to see the bushwoolies, clustered in a group, holding their crowns in their hands and staring at her in shock.

Wind Whistler also watched intently, though her face was calm and unreadable. She took a sip from her tea.

Porcina lowered herself back to her seat and, as if she were touching up her makeup, reaffixed her calm smile to her face. “When I realized I had destroyed lives, Megan, I undid it. I tried to make everything right again. But you—you don’t ever stop until the job is good and done. Why do you think I agreed”—she swept her forelegs in a broad circle—“to live in a hole in the ground and groom the bushwoolies for a living? Because I knew if I didn’t show you I’d had a change of heart, you would have done me in, one way or the other.”

With a sad expression on his fluffy green face, Friendly rolled to Porcina’s hind feet and gazed up at her with eyes wide and moist. “You no like grooming bushwoolies?”

Porcina clucked. “Oh, of course I like you.” She picked the bushwooly up and placed him in her lap. For a few minutes, she combed his fur, but then looked up and said, “As you know, the bushwoolies have a hard time making good decisions, since they always agree with whoever spoke last. They let me make their biggest decisions for them, so tell me exactly what you’re after, Megan, before I give you the crowns.”

Wind Whistler placed her front hooves on the armrest of Megan’s seat and raised herself up. “This was my idea, Princess Porcina, not Megan’s. I have come to the conclusion that optimal success of a species is measured by prolific reproduction, maximal utilization of resources, and robust health, all of which are interdependent.”

Porcina paused on an upstroke, her brush hanging in the air with a few wispy strands of green fur dangling from it. “Can you say that in Ponese?”

“I’ll make it simple,” said Wind Whistler. “The way to ensure a reliable supply of resources is to manipulate the environment. This is the theory underlying agriculture, but we intend to take it a step further: the ponies are interested in nothing less than absolute control of nature.”

Porcina’s brush clattered to the floor. “What? Why?”

“The goal will change as the project evolves. First, it will be simply survival. Then security. Then prosperity.”

“And then?”

Wind Whistler smiled. “Power.”

Megan cleared her throat and clasped her hands together. “I didn’t like the sound of it at first, but imagine if there were more ponies, Porcina. Imagine what they could do with their special kind of magic: think of a world without witches or wizards, without dragons razing people’s homes. Imagine the monsters being pushed back into the forests. Imagine a world that’s peaceful and safe.”

Porcina glanced at Wind Whistler before returning her eyes to Megan’s face. “You think the little ponies can do that?”

“I don’t know,” said Megan.

“But I know,” said Wind Whistler, leaning forward and licking her lips. “It is improbable, perhaps, but not impossible. A benevolent pony empire—that is my goal. I will found it.”

Porcina’s lips spread wide in another easy smile. She sat back on the divan and shifted her shoulders. “Don’t you mean ‘our,’ little pony? Don’t you mean ‘we’?”

“The vision is mine,” Wind Whistler replied, “though I confess I cannot make it a reality on my own. Ponies are accustomed to following their whims—that is, you might say, our creed. So our creed must change before this project can succeed: we want discipline, trained intellects, and well-ordered appetites.”

“This world has seen a lot of would-be emperors,” said Porcina, struggling around her excess flesh to bend down and grab her brush. “The knights errant have toppled some of them, and, if memory serves, the ponies have toppled several as well.”

Wind Whistler snorted faintly. “Such would-be emperors were small-minded; they wanted personal wealth or personal power, or they wanted to destroy all but their own kind without heeding the consequences. Take your raptorians, for example: where would they have found food in a dead land of glass? They never seriously considered their goals, but only followed their emotions. Ponies typically do the same, but our emotions, fortunately, are superior to those of other species: we incline to love and tolerance rather than greed or enmity, which means we are already better attuned than most to receive the lessons of reason. Our goal will not be a world for ponies alone, but a wholesome, well-regulated empire open to all who value peace and order.”

Porcina raised an eyebrow. “With the ponies at the top?”

“Yes, unless reason indicates that someone else is better suited to the job. Ultimately, it will be logic that rules us.”

Porcina shook her head. “But I still don’t understand why you want to control nature.”

“Is it not obvious?” A gleam appeared in Wind Whistler’s eyes, and, on the chair’s armrest, she shuffled her front hooves. “To make deserts bloom, to bring water to dry places, to ensure abundance for all. Look at the barren hills and dry wastelands around us here: imagine the Jewel Desert bursting with life, Bumbleland green, the Purple Mountains covered with trees. Once people have learned to love reason and obey it, and once they have assented to the mutual respect that logic demands, nothing can pit them against each other except scarcity of resources. So we shall have logic, reason, and also abundance—and with them, peace.”

“And how good are people at learning to love reason?” Porcina asked, her smile turning to one of patient amusement, as if she were listening to a prattling child. “Those would-be emperors we mentioned, were they good at it?”

“People follow the dictates of reason when they know them,” Wind Whistler answered, her tone now carrying a note of impatience. “No one commits evil except through ignorance. All anyone requires is education. That is all you required. But we can worry about that later; our immediate concern is the princess ponies’ crowns.”

Porcina chuckled again, and soon her chuckles turned to deep, throaty laughter. Her whole body waggled with it. “This will come to nothing, but if the princess ponies are going to want their crowns in the near future, it seems to me they should have them.” She called to the cluster of bushwoolies, “Do you want to let Megan and the ponies borrow those crowns?”

The bushwoolies immediately clamored, “Oh, yeah. Borrow. No, loan. Loan and borrow. Hand ’em over.”

Porcina looked to Megan and shrugged. “I guess there’s your answer.” She set Friendly on the floor. “Friendly, Cheery, Chumster, Eager, Hugster, and Wishful, why don’t you bring your crowns here?”

The six bushwoolies named put their crowns on their heads and waddled forward. Megan took the moment to drink her tea, which had turned cold. It tasted faintly of cinnamon.

Hugster walked in front, and he said, “If princess ponies want crowns, bushwoolies come with you. Crowns given to bushwoolies for safekeeping.”

“Safekeeping,” the others replied. “Keep together, keep safe, guard ’em careful, safe.”

“Of course,” said Megan.

“It is admirable that you take your responsibility so seriously,” added Wind Whistler. “Assenting to duty is the first step toward enlightenment.” She finished her tea, glanced to Megan and the bushwoolies, and added, “Should we take our leave?”

Megan had braided Applejack’s tail in silence, but now that she was sewing the braid into place, she said, “I don’t understand what you’re so mad about.”

A few seconds passed before Applejack answered, “Tellin’ me I’m just like somepony you knew, then tellin’ me she lived all indecent—”

“I’m just telling you the truth.”

Applejack snorted faintly.

“Look, a lot’s changed in five thousand years. Don’t expect me to know how you do things now. I’m just telling you how it was when I was there.”

Applejack sighed. “Well, shucks. I s’pose I can respect that rightly enough. Didn’t mean t’ get so sore. It’s just—”

“Does a stallion in Equestria marry only one mare?”

“’Course he does.”

Megan finished sewing, stood straight, and stretched her back. “When I was in Dream Valley, there just weren’t that many stallions, though I’m not sure why. I guess Majesty didn’t make many of them. Maybe she didn’t want bachelor herds running around.” She looked down at Applejack. “Do you have enough stallions now?”

“Whadda you mean by ‘enough’?”

“I mean, is there a stallion for every mare?”

Applejack laughed. “More, or less, I s’pose. Ain’t never thought much on it—”

Megan walked around Applejack to examine her work. “So you still don’t have bachelor herds, I suppose.”

“’Fraid I don’ know what that is.”

“That’s probably just as well, but I’m wondering why things changed. Why would ponies get married, and to only one other pony?”

Applejack frowned. “Why, cuz you told us to, o’ course.”

Megan stopped walking and stared toward the airship in front of the house. “Me? No, I didn’t tell you that.”

Rarity, humming to herself, appeared over the bulwark of the airship’s gondola. She smiled, waved, and then hopped to the ground and walked toward the barn. “Oh my, Applejack,” she said as she approached, “you really should go in braids more often. You look simply marvelous. Megan, darling, you’re doing a wonderful job. Why, I must continue to insist that you return with us to Equestria and be a stylist full-time.”

“Maybe I will. Rarity, you remember that pony I told you about? Heart Throb?”

“Yes—?”

“She won.” Megan put her face in her hands and started chuckling. “She won. Damn it all to hell, she won and I lost, and I couldn’t be happier.” She tipped her head back and laughed toward the sky. “Rarity, damn you, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what, darling?”

“That she won?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Megan threw up her hands. “It doesn’t matter. It just—marriage in Equestria, what’s it like?”

Rarity and Applejack frowned at each other.

“Well,” Rarity said, “the bride needs a dress, and it should be simply stunning. White, of course, with a long train and perhaps some gold trim. Some embroidered patterns can be quite chic. Oh, the groom must look smashing as well: a tuxedo is standard, but if he’s in the Royal Guard, he simply must wear his uniform. And the bridesmaids need dresses, each one designed just to suit her. The groom usually has a best mare, and she—”

Megan shook her head and punched her fist against her palm. “That sounds like how we do it here. Dammit, yes, that must have been Heart Throb. She was reading all my books.” She began pacing. “I think maybe I can guess how this worked: the arrangements we had back then made sense because Majesty had created mostly mares, but Heart Throb introduced the idea of monogamy, and it must have caught on over time as the population ratio evened out. By marrying just one mare, stallions didn’t have to fight over harems—”

“Hold on just a minute,” said Applejack. “What’s all this about things changin’ over time? They got your Ordinances on a big stone in the middle o’ Canterlot, right under your statue, and it says on there—”

Megan stopped pacing, turned to Applejack, and scowled. “What Ordinances? What are you talking about?”

“Tarnation! Your laws! The laws you set down!”

“No. No, I didn’t set down any laws.”

Rarity and Applejack looked at each other again, and now they looked worried.

“Surely you’re mistaken, darling,” Rarity said. “You carved two stone tablets out of a mountain, and you inscribed them with your finger—”

“I think I’d remember if I did something like that,” Megan replied. “I was too busy driving off dangerous monsters to take up sculpture.”

When Megan had first met them, the princess ponies had spent all their time arguing over which of them ought to be queen—though queen of what, Megan had never figured out. Beyond the rim of the Jewel Desert, the princess ponies apparently lived alone in the Royal Paradise. They had at last ended their perpetual bickering by agreeing to be queen in turns, and, since they had nothing to rule, this awkward solution presumably caused them few problems.

As it happened, when the princesses answered the call of Whizzer and Firefly to visit the little ponies in Paradise Estate, Tiffany, the only pegasus among them, was queen for the day.

High on her head, Tiffany wore a peaked lavender damsel hat topped with waving blue tinsel. Both her coat and mane were of purest white, and the symbol on her hip was not a symbol at all, but a real sapphire embedded in a silver setting and sunk into her flesh. The jewel flashed in the sunlight as if pouring forth blue fire. Megan hadn’t known it the first time she’d met her, but Tiffany much resembled Queen Majesty.

At Tiffany’s request, all the little ponies gathered in front of Paradise Estate. The princesses, without a word, walked among them and, with nudges and light champs, separated out all the pegasi, who at first stood together in a knot, but, after a sharp bark from Wind Whistler, finally organized into rows.

Tiffany set her star-tipped magic wand on the grass at her hooves and said to Megan, “I am this day the queen of the Royal Paradise, and my magic is in the ascendant. The request you have made of us is difficult, but since I am queen, and since I am a pegasus pony, I am able, for this day only, to bestow upon the pegasi of Paradise Estate a small portion of the princess ponies’ magic.” She looked to Wind Whistler. “The rite may be dangerous, and I cannot guarantee your safety or the results. Will you submit?”

“We will,” Wind Whistler answered. “The pegasus ponies of Dream Valley are trained to face danger without flinching.”

Tiffany nodded and called, “Then let the bushwoolies stand forth.”

The six bushwoolies, with much shoving, whispering, and stumbling, waddled to the sides of their respective princess ponies and offered up their crowns. The princesses placed their wands into the crowns’ centers, and a faint buzz filled the air, making the little ponies’ eyes twitch.

With arms crossed, Megan stood by the Estate’s front gateway and watched. Near her, Applejack shuffled her hooves in the grass.

“Are they going to be okay, Megan?” Applejack whispered. “If anything happens to Masquerade or Whizzer or Sweet Pop—”

Megan laid a hand on Applejack’s forelock. “They’ll be okay. Princess Tiffany won’t let anyone get hurt.” Megan heard grass bend and sensed someone walking up behind her. When she turned, she saw Galaxy stepping out through the gate. Galaxy nuzzled Applejack, and then the two ponies stood together, not speaking, with their cheeks touching. As always, Galaxy’s jeweled eyes were unreadable, but Megan could tell she was tense.

The princess ponies, holding in their mouths the wands freshly charged by the magic crowns, slowly circled the gathered pegasi. Together, the princesses began to sway their heads, weaving the wands back and forth. Light like liquid gold flowed into the wands’ tips and left shining patterns in the air. The patterns hovered for a few seconds, but then broke into fragments like tiny stars and faded as they dropped to the grass.

Overhead, storm clouds gathered. The clouds did not appear out of thin air, but flowed in a long, slender stream from somewhere in the northeast. Directly above Dream Valley, the stream coagulated into a heavy, dark gray whirlpool. The hairs on the back of Megan’s neck stood up: she could feel static in the air, and the heady smell of the grass and flowers became more intense, as if it were about to rain. The storm looked like the beginnings of a tornado. Megan thought she heard a distant howl, as of some savage animal, but she might have imagined it, or it might have been only wind.

Applejack, eyes wide and worried, looked up at her. Megan realized she still had her hand on Applejack’s head, and that she’d been clenching a fistful of Applejack’s hair.

“It’ll be okay,” Megan said again. She said it quietly, but the meadow had grown silent, so her voice sounded loud and intrusive. A few ponies glanced at her, and her cheeks warmed.

All together, the princess ponies dipped their heads with a sharp jerk and touched the ground. Their wands flashed, and lightning cracked from the clouds. Several ponies ducked, quivered, and covered their heads.

“Now!” Tiffany cried. “Now, pegasus ponies! Fly! Fly to the clouds! Take them!”

The pegasus ponies looked back and forth at one another, their brows furrowed.

“Now, or it will be too late!” Tiffany shouted. “Gather the storm clouds and beat them back, or they shall destroy you!”

Unthinkingly, at this announcement of a threat, Megan let go of Applejack, balled her fists, and stepped forward. But she could see nothing to fight.

Wind Whistler spread her wings first. She leapt into the air, turned in a tight corkscrew, and headed for the center of the cloudy whirlpool, but Whizzer and Firefly outpaced her and disappeared into the storm. Soon, the other pegasi followed. The rest of the ponies, mouths hanging open, watched from the ground.

“Megan . . .” Applejack’s voice cracked.

Megan clenched and unclenched her fists, rubbing her thumbs back and forth across her knuckles. A minute passed with no sign of the pegasus ponies’ return. From overhead, that howl came again, and this time it sounded nothing like wind. For a moment, Firefly broke from the clouds: she twisted her body and swung her limbs as she wrestled with a vague shape made of shadow. Megan could see her for only a moment before the roiling clouds hid her again.

Megan’s right hand slid up to her collar.

Wind Whistler appeared then, dropping straight out of the clouds in a tailspin. She corrected, twisted around, and shot upward. The cloud reached out to meet her, and she kicked at it with her forelegs before she disappeared from view.

Megan found the chain around her neck. She tugged it and pulled her locket out from under her shirt.

Squealing, Surprise rushed from the cloud in obvious terror, but the cloud shot out a tendril that enwrapped her like a hand and yanked her back in. Heat lightning flashed back and forth like the steady pulses from a heavy gun.

The sound of wind faded, and everything in the meadow slowed down. Megan became keenly aware of each blade of grass, of the position of every pony, of the intense smells of flowers and closely crowded horseflesh. Her heart hammered loudly but steadily in her ears. Pulling the locket, she snapped its chain. Her arm trembled as she held it up, and her thumb found the catch—

“Stop, Megan!” Tiffany shouted. “Stop, or you’ll ruin everything!”

“They’re going to die in that storm!” Megan shouted back. “The wind, the lightning—”

“No! They need to fight it! If they don’t—”

Megan flicked the catch, the locket opened, and with a blinding flash, the Rainbow of Light flew out and arced into the air.

“Princesses!” Tiffany called. Together, the princesses raised their wands and fired golden beams, which coated the Rainbow in a fiery glow. The trapped Rainbow writhed like an enormous serpent.

Tiffany spat out her wand. “Megan, please! Call it back! It’s not too late!”

“Tell me what’s happening in that storm first!” Megan shouted.

Tiffany looked back and forth across the meadow as if hunting for an answer. “It’s . . . it’s like a butterfly, Megan. Like a butterfly! If the butterfly doesn’t struggle as it leaves its cocoon, its wings won’t finish growing and it will never learn to fly!”

Megan could feel the Rainbow of Light tugging against her heart. She could feel it breaking free of the princess ponies’ magic. A flash of purple and green appeared for a moment in the writhing golden snake.

Tiffany walked to Megan, reared, and laid her hooves on Megan’s shoulders. “Please, Megan. They must fight this battle themselves. You cannot save them this time.”

As if it were mud washing off in a rainstorm, the gold surrounding the Rainbow bled away. The Rainbow circled lazily in the air, awaiting its order.

Megan looked into Tiffany’s eyes and saw worry and fear, but a small smile touched Tiffany’s lips.

“Please, Megan.”

Megan met and held the princess pony’s gaze. “Rainbow,” she said, “do your stuff.”

Tiffany dropped to all fours, squeezed her eyes shut, and dipped her nose to the grass. “Then it’s over,” she hissed. “The pegasus ponies could have had their new power, and Bumbleland could have at last been free! Oh, Megan, what have you done?”

Like an arrow, the Rainbow shot upward. All at once, with a white flash, the clouds burst apart and dissolved into thin air, revealing the pegasus ponies, all of whom were locked in absurd poses with hooves thrust out or teeth bared, as if they had been engaged in close combat. Their wings were folded against their backs, and together they fell toward the earth.

Megan called to the Rainbow to catch them, but there was no need: the pegasi opened their wings and flew together in a circle before landing on the grass. As soon as they landed, they all began talking at once and jumping back and forth in excitement as the rest of the ponies clustered around them.

“That was so amazing,” Whizzer yammered, “I could hold the clouds in my hooves, and when I kicked, I made lightning, and I slammed that weird ghosty thing right in the face!”

“I could squeeze rain out of the clouds, and it was like I was swimming,” said Firefly. “I could use this in a bunch of new stunts—”

“I was really surprised!” Surprise cried.

“Attention!” Wind Whistler barked. The pegasi immediately ceased their chatter and gathered again in rows. Wind Whistler turned and offered a small, controlled smile to Tiffany. “Your Majesty, it appears we have acquired the ability for which we asked: I believe, with some practice, we will be able to create any weather patterns we want. This is indeed a bright day for Ponyland.”

With a tear running down one cheek, Tiffany said, “Then most of the spell was complete. Thank Mister Sun for that, at least. But there may be dark days ahead, little ponies, not for you, but for your grandchildren or your great grandchildren: the power that locked Bumbleland in misery is free, and though it is weak now, in time it may gather strength unless your hearts remain—”

But none of the ponies were listening. Galaxy whistled loudly, pushed past Megan, and marched up to Wind Whistler. The twinkle-eyed earth ponies galloped to Galaxy’s side, and the twinkle-eyed pegasi broke rank to join her.

Galaxy bowed her head first to Tiffany and then to each of the other princess ponies. “Your Majesty and Your Highnesses, thank you for this gift you’ve given to the pegasus ponies. Now that they have it, and now that the earth ponies have the art of plant-growing and rock-farming, and now that the unicorn ponies have many new forms of magic, we shall take the portions of these powers that belong to us by right, and be on our way.”

Wind Whistler, eyes narrowed, stepped toward Galaxy, but the twinkle-eyed pegasi, faces blank and jeweled eyes glistening, gathered close and blocked Wind Whistler’s path.

“What is this?” Wind Whistler demanded.

“We would have left earlier,” Galaxy replied, “but Whizzer, Masquerade, and Sweet Pop didn’t wish to miss out on the chance to gain power over the storms. We agreed to take our leave as soon as the ritual was ended.” She turned toward Paradise Estate and called, “Applejack? Have you made up your mind? You know you are welcome to join us.”

Tears ran down Applejack’s face. “Heavy hooves, Galaxy,” she said.

Megan called the Rainbow out of the sky and drew it back into her locket. Tucking the locket into a pocket of her overalls, she walked toward Galaxy. The twinkle-eyed ponies made way for her, but quickly closed in a circle again, shutting the rest of the ponies out. “Galaxy,” Megan asked, “what’s going on?”

Galaxy smiled, stretched her neck, and nuzzled Megan’s cheek. “Place your hand under my thigh, Megan.”

“Why?”

“Do it, please.”

Megan knelt beside Galaxy and reached a hand behind one rear leg. Galaxy’s flesh was hot and soft, but Megan’s hand came upon something strange.

“Do you feel it?” Galaxy asked.

“Yes. Some kind of growth? A swollen gland? It’s cold, and it feels like stone—”

“It is stone, Megan.” Galaxy turned her head and nudged Megan’s cheek again. “The jewels in my eyes are alive. They’ve been growing, spreading their tendrils throughout my body. I’ve known this for some time, and it’s happening to all of the twinkle-eyed ponies. Who knows? Perhaps someday our bodies will be nothing but living crystal.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No, thank the stars. But I think it likely that we will pass this, whatever it is, to our offspring. We do not know what it will mean in the end, but if our children interbreed with those of the other ponies, it could mean that, many generations hence, all ponies will be made of stone. We do not wish to see that happen, so we have decided to separate ourselves.”

Galaxy stepped away from Megan, and the twinkle-eyed ponies let her through. She walked to Applejack’s side, turned, and called, “You all know of His Elevated Eminence, do you not?”

“Of course,” said Wind Whistler. “He is a living mountain in the Purple Mountain Range, and he created Crunch the Rockdog. Why—?”

“I have spoken to him,” said Galaxy. “He is dying, so he cried out to me.”

A murmur passed like a wave through the crowd of ponies.

“In a cave at his base is the Heartstone, a heart-shaped jewel that contains his feelings. He made Crunch to protect it, and he gave Crunch a piece of black onyx from the Volcano of Gloom so that the Rockdog might be invincible. It was Megan, Buttons, and Wind Whistler who added to that onyx a fragment of the Heartstone so that Crunch might have feelings of love like his master’s. A month ago, Crunch came here, asked me to ride on his back, and took me to the Purple Mountains. There, His Elevated Eminence told me he wishes the ponies to take the Heartstone and carry it to a distant land to which it will lead us. There, he said, we will be able to infuse the stone with our own feelings of love, and that love will spread across all of Ponyland. We must do this soon, for if His Elevated Eminence dies before the Heartstone is removed, its magic will disappear and it will become a mere lump of rock.”

“But what happens to His Elevated Eminence when you take the stone?” Megan cried. “When I had to take the stone last time, he turned mean and angry.”

Galaxy sighed. “And he said he fears it will happen again, but he told me he would rather die in a fit of rage than die knowing he lost the chance to bring hope to all the world.”

“Then his wits are fading with his life,” said Wind Whistler with a deep frown on her face. “Logic dictates that it is the goal of a good life to die well. The first time he lost what he calls his feelings, he lost his reason also. That is too precious a thing to willingly give up.”

“He is giving it up for our sake,” Galaxy answered, “and I agreed to take it. The twinkle-eyed ponies must separate themselves; we are leaving Dream Valley, and we are taking the Heartstone to its new home.” She turned and smiled at Applejack, whose eyes ran with tears. “I hope, too, that we are also taking our savior.”

“You forgot something,” called a boisterous voice.

The little ponies parted, and, from their midst, the big brothers cantered forward. “If you’re going to settle a new land,” shouted Slugger, “you’re going to need stallions!” The rest of the big brothers laughed and whistled.

“Ah, yes,” said Galaxy with an amused grin. “Silly of me to forget. Barnacle, Chief, and Wigwam—are you ready to go?”

Out of the knot of big brother ponies walked a blue stallion with an orange sailboat on his hip, a white stallion in a red fireman’s hat, and an orange stallion wearing a headdress full of yellow feathers. They nodded to Galaxy.

Tex tugged on his neckerchief and clapped Wigwam on the shoulder. “I’m gonna miss playin’ with you, pardner. You promise t’ be good to your twinkle-eyed mares, y’hear?”

In a slow and solemn voice, Wigwam answered, “And you be good to your mares also. Take care of Truly.”

“I will, and if you can maybe come back sometime for a visit, I’ll introduce you to the foals.”

Wigwam smiled. “Are you still convinced you will have two?”

“Of course. Slugger can’t beat me at anything.” Tex shook his head. “I envy you. You’re travelin’ again.”

“Yes,” Wigwam said with a nod, “but I think, over the past several months, I have realized that the goal of traveling is to find a place to put down roots, a place to become part of the land. I have enjoyed our adventures, but I now know that adventures have an end. This is your home, Tex, and, if all goes well, soon we will find ours.”

A few tears appeared in the corners of Tex’s eyes. “Still, toastin’ marshmallows, playin’ Cowboys and Indians—they won’t be the same without you.”

“Of course they won’t. They will be better, for you will do those things with your children instead. Let us make a pact, friend: we will not be sires merely. We will be true fathers to our foals.”

“Blood brother oath,” said Tex. “Just like when we were little.”

Each of them nipped a patch of skin off his front right fetlock. They raised their forelegs and intertwined them, pressing the wounds together.

“Gross!” cried Fizzy. “What is it with boys and blood?”

Megan laid a hand on Galaxy’s neck. “But, Galaxy, you’re supposed to be princess of the unicorns.”

“Ah yes,” said Galaxy, “that. I have already appointed my successor.” She nodded to the group of big brothers and said, “Slugger, think you’re up to the job? You’re a father now, so can you be a leader?”

“I’m going to do my best,” Slugger replied. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll knock it out of the park.” He smiled at Megan. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, Megan, about how I need to act like a father. Well, I’ve decided you were right, and I’m gonna give it my level best.”

“If you just can’t understand unicorn ways,” said Galaxy, “you ask Buttons, and I’m sure she can help.”

“Oh, I already go to Buttons for everything,” he answered with a wide grin. “I don’t call her my boss mare for nothing.”

Megan stared at Slugger. “Surely you don’t mean—”

“That is right,” said Galaxy. “The unicorns now have a king. Twinkle-eyed ponies, are we ready to go?”

The twinkle-eyed ponies nodded and turned around to face the woods.

“Hold it,” said Wind Whistler, spreading her wings, leaping into the air, and landing in front of Galaxy again. “Three of your ponies are from my ranks. If they leave in this manner, they are deserters.”

“They were twinkle-eyed ponies before they were your toy soldiers,” Galaxy answered. “And twinkle-eyed ponies stick together. You don’t understand what we went through.”

“I do,” Wind Whistler said. “I know.” She nodded toward Fizzy. “When we accidentally released the frazzits in the Dell Dwellers’ caves, I lived Fizzy’s life. I experienced everything you experienced in the mines of the Jewel Wizard, but that doesn’t—”

“And yet you cannot sympathize,” Galaxy said. “That was always your problem, Wind Whistler: you simply don’t know how to sympathize.” She looked around at the rest of the ponies before adding, “You can go ahead and build your little empire here. We’ll build our own somewhere else.”

Wind Whistler’s mouth worked as if she were trying to formulate words, but she made no further sound.

The twinkle-eyed ponies, one by one, walked to Applejack. Each one dipped her head to the grass in thanks and then lightly rubbed a nose against her cheek.

“We want you to come,” Gingerbread said.

“It won’t be quite right without you,” said Sweet Pop.

“We could have adventures and go really fast and now we can even move clouds and make rain, or, well, I can and Sweet Pop and Masquerade can, and isn’t that great?” blurted Whizzer.

Fizzy giggled. “We could have all kinds of fun!”

Speedy said, “We could skate together—if you’re not too clumsy, of course!”

“Whatever you choose,” said Masquerade, “know that you will always be special to us.”

Applejack, eyes glistening, looked around at all of them. She almost choked as she said, “Oh, applesauce. I wish we could all be together forever, but . . . I can’t. I just don’t want to run out on Tex, and he has to stay for Truly and the foals.”

“You taught me to be myself again,” said Galaxy. “The twinkle-eyed ponies look to me, but I look to you. If you come with us, we shall make you our queen.”

Applejack chuckled. “No, Galaxy. I just want to grow apple trees, harvest their produce, and enjoy the fruits of my labor. That’s what Majesty made me for, and that’s what I intend to do.”

“Maybe we’ll visit,” Whizzer said. “I can fly really, really fast, so even though our new home will probably be really far away, I bet I can come see you.”

“You’ll be welcome if you do,” Applejack replied. “I’m going to take up baking, so if you come back, you’ll get apple pie.”

The ground shook, and the ponies gasped when the trees of the wood rustled and creaked as if a heavy wind were pushing them. All except the twinkle-eyed ponies shrank back when an enormous bulldog, his thickly muscled body made of living granite, walked out of the forest and into the meadow. His muscles were round but rough like windswept boulders, and on his ten-foot mouth sat a toothy grin. When he saw the ponies, the grin widened even further and he bowed. With each movement came a sound like that of brick dragging across concrete.

“We must go!” cried Galaxy. “Twinkle-eyed ponies, rally to me: it is time to seek freedom once more!” Together, the twinkle-eyed ponies, with their three big brothers trailing behind, gathered around Crunch the Rockdog. Crunch lowered his head so each of the ponies could give him an affectionate nudge, and then he raised a heavy stone paw toward Megan. She, numbed and bewildered by all that had just passed, raised a hand in reply. Then Crunch, surrounded by his ponies, turned and disappeared amongst the trees.

In the meadow, all was silent for several minutes.

“But I can sympathize,” Wind Whistler murmured. “I really can.”

Tiffany heaved a deep sigh and gazed up into the empty sky where the storm had earlier gathered. “I see,” she said, “that it has already begun.”

“Perhaps,” Rarity suggested, “you didn’t carve the tablets yourself, but had somepony else do it for you?”

“I don’t remember any tablets,” Megan answered.

“Well, you wrote the laws down on parchment, then. After you left, somepony must have—”

“I didn’t write anything down. Never even crossed my mind.”

Rarity paused, and her brow furrowed. “But whatever can it mean? You are supposed to be Magog the Mighty. You were not just a warrior, but a judge. Why, if you didn’t lay down the Ordinances, then whoever did? And if the laws aren’t your laws, then—”

Megan stared into the blue sky and twisted her mouth back and forth. “You’d already figured out that I’m not everything your legends say.”

“Oats an’ apples, this is different,” said Applejack. “This ain’t about whether you wore bardin’ an’ had a spear, or whether you stood fifty hands high. None o’ that really matters, but this is basic stuff. This is about friendship an’ marriage an’ treatin’ parents right an’ bein’ honest. We’re s’posed to do all those things because they’re your laws. If they ain’t your laws—”

“So what?” Megan turned back to the ponies and threw up her hands. “So what if they’re not my laws?”

“Well,” said Applejack as she toed the ground, “why follow ’em, then?”

“How should I know? Maybe they’re right. Maybe they’re good. Maybe they work. I don’t see any reason you should follow a batch of rules just because you think I’m the one who gave them to you. Do these Ordinances of yours work? Are they good?”

Rarity and Applejack exchanged looks again. Rarity raised a hoof as if to toy with her mane, but only touched air, as her usually full hair now lay flat against her neck. “Well, I am certainly inclined to think so, for the most part.”

“Then there you go.” Megan snatched up her hoof knife, pinched one of Applejack’s fetlocks to raise her leg, and began picking out her hoof. “I did what I could for the ponies. I didn’t have time to go writing down laws, and I was a kid, anyway. I wouldn’t have known what to write. I still wouldn’t.” She glanced up at Rarity. “But I did teach them some things. Who knows? Maybe somebody wrote some of it down. I guess somebody could have. So maybe you’re right, in a way: maybe a lot of what I said is mixed into these Ordinances of yours.”

Megan felt some tension go out of Applejack’s leg. “Well,” Applejack said, “then they really are your laws, I reckon.”

“They can’t all be mine. I already told you I didn’t set down the marriage thing.”

Applejack’s leg stiffened again, but Megan ignored it and continued to pick. Applejack’s hooves weren't in quite the good condition Rarity’s had been in.

“I would like to know who carved your tablets,” Megan said, “but I doubt I could find out. My guess is, ponies added to the Ordinances over time, and someone only carved them into stone after a long while.”

“Your teaching could still be the basis of the laws, then,” said Rarity.

“Sure, if you like, though I don’t know why that matters to you. And, Applejack, let me tell you something: I know their behavior might seem strange to you now, but the ponies I knew were good ponies. And that first Applejack might have been the best of them. She did more than I ever did. She even suffered terribly to save the twinkle-eyed pones from an evil wizard.”

“You mentioned them twinkle-toed ponies before,” said Applejack, “but who were they?”

“Good friends of mine. I hated to see them go.” Megan paused a moment and tapped the pick against Applejack’s heel. “I wish I could say what happened to them. They left us to settle a new home because their bodies were turning to crystal, but—”

She sensed something passing between the ponies, so she looked up from Applejack’s hoof. Rarity and Applejack were looking at each other again, and their eyes and mouths were slowly widening into grins. “The Crystal Empire!” they both shouted at once.

Megan looked back and forth between them. “The what?”

“Oh, it’s a marvelous place!” Rarity cried. “Everything is crystal, and the crystal ponies are the most beautiful and glamorous ponies in all of Equestria!”

Megan blinked. “Really? Crystal ponies? You mean, made out of crystal?”

“Yes, darling, of course! And with their Crystal Heart, they spread love and hope over all the land.”

Returning to Applejack’s hoof, Megan shook her head. “Well, I’ll be damned. They did it. Congratulations, Applejack: your ancestress founded an empire. Indirectly, at least. You asked me about it before, and I didn’t want to say, but now I think I’d better tell you.”

Applejack chuckled. “Well, don’t that beat all?”

Rarity laughed as well, and Megan soon joined in, but after the laughter died down, as she continued working on Applejack’s hooves, Megan told the story of the first Applejack and of how she saved the twinkle-eyed ponies.