//------------------------------// // Pareidolia and the Search for Meaning // Story: The Ninety-nine Nectars of Princess Luna; Or How Twilight Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love Her Wings // by NoeCarrier //------------------------------// Chapter Three “Pareidolia and the Search for Meaning” The 303rd floor of the Cloudsdale Weather Factory was a place few ponies ever ventured. Nestled just above the gargantuan halls of the Thunder Nursery, the sheer volume alone prevented tour guides or nosey employees from finding it. Most of the floor itself was relatively innocuous; some unused storage spaces, conduits for the rainbow outflow, several large rooms filled entirely with chairs, and the usual archaeological strata of broken filing cabinets and used hailstones. One corner, however, was not. Secreted away behind noise-cancelling enchantments and big, unicorn made locks were the unsuspecting offices of the Dramatic Atmosphere Management Agency, its employees tasked with that most vital of duties; providing appropriately atmospheric weather for seriously dramatic events. If a lover were to change his mind at the last moment and chase after his beloved as her train pulled from the station, bright sunny skies and gusting, hopeful breezes would be contrived and rushed into place. If two sworn enemies confronted each other in the dead of night in the ruins of an old cathedral, by chance the place where first they met, dread thunder and lightning and driving rain would be scooped up from nearby weather systems and airlifted in by DRAMA's stalwart teams.  Weather Master Strati Form was taking tea in the otherwise secluded seniors lounge when his adjutant burst in, wings fluttering in consternation, face a vision of panic. Form merely peered over the top of his glasses, awaiting an explanation for the interruption. The adjutant was a highly competent officer, a veteran of four successive Hearts and Hooves' Day Campaigns, but he had an alarming tendency to catastrophize things. “Master Strati Form, sir,” he gasped, quite out of breath, as though he'd been flying for some considerable time. “The hourlies have just come in from Canterlot. I don't know what on Equestria happened, everything is very muddled up, nopony seems to know what's going on, but-” “Spit it out, Intra Cloud, pull yourself together.” “We've got a Drama Condition One, sir!” Form nearly choked on his tea. He felt his heart begin to hammer, and fought against the ancient pegasus urge to seek safety at higher altitudes that started to push against his thoughts. Instead, he cleared his throat and set the porcelain tea cup he had daintily held between the pinion feathers of his left wing back onto the service. “You're quite sure?” he asked, hoping perhaps that he had misheard the terrified young stallion in front of him. “Yessir, absolutely. The hourlies from Canterlot, West Wingshade, the High Bank and Mareton-by-Nazeby all say the same thing. We've triangulated a ninety percent accurate reading right over the capital!” “Very well,” Form said, gravely. “Alert the Weathersmiths and the Meteorological Council. I want a special session of the Tripartite within the next hour.” “Aye sir!” As soon as the adjutant had gone, Form took off his glasses and began to polish them absent-mindedly with the downy tips of his new growth feathers. May Celestia have mercy on us all. * Ante Diluvian was an old pony. During the span of his life, he'd greeted over thirty thousand dawns, seen the Princesses age with the grace of stars, survived four Changeling invasions and witnessed the return of the Nightmare herself. But even his many years did not compare to the age of the Ginnungagap. Diluvian's father had always told him that the mighty chasm was older than the whole world, that at its bottom was the seed of magic that held open the rip in reality between this place and the next. He didn't know if that was true, he'd never been as much of a believer in those sorts of things as his father had been, but that point of view was very understandable. From where Diluvian made his home, the far side was invisible. Impossibly vast streamers of multicoloured magical energies burst up from the depths, roaring into the air with an unrestrained ebullience befitting the sheer potential they embodied. With them came the occasional glob of molten rock, hewn from the walls of the Ginnungagap somewhere in the fathomless pit below, heated by the force of the magic and lofted skywards by the same. However, where those chunks of mundane lava lost their impetus at a few kilometres in height, the magical plumes continued upwards until they petered out somewhere in the stratosphere, though some of the more powerful impulses could reach the upper bounds of the mesosphere.  Diluvian was busy trotting up the narrow steps toward the edge of the Ginnungagap. The slope was considerable, and the path was cut in zigzags deep into the glittering mafic rock, so it was taking him some time. In his worn leather panniers he carried the same tools he'd been carrying with him since that day some ninety years previously when, as a foal, his father and grandfather had shown him the void for the first time. The noise it made rose from a dull roar to a more piercing shriek. Although to most the Ginnungagap would have been audible from thirty or forty kilometres away, Diluvian's dutiful decades guarding and watching the gap had made him almost entirely deaf. All he heard these days was the banshee wail of the chasm, and nothing more. As he rounded the last zigzag corner and came out onto the small observation platform built by some distant ancestor of his, he paused to catch his breath, pulling a flask of water from out of his panniers with his mouth. Unicorns and pegasi could not come this close to the Ginnungagap; their inherent magic was too strong and focused. Only the general, homogenised nature of earth ponies could stand it, and even they would begin to suffer after a little while. Though it was not as if the gap itself received many visitors. Tourists were contained in the town of Brightbeam, a hundred kilometres to the north, where the local gryphons plied a wild trade in obsidian weapons and ornaments, and ex-patriot pony magisters performed strange variants on their art, made possible only by the relative proximity to a magical exhaust such as the Ginnungagap. Now refreshed, Diluvian set down his panniers and retrieved from them the primary article of his trade. Affixed to a special extending pole, which folded out as he gripped its central point with his mouth, was an array of crystals, inlaid with iron and copper to connect them. Each crystal in the array was tuned to a particular frequency of magic, and would vibrate when it came into contact with it. He had inherited the device from his father, who in turn had inherited it from his father, and so on. For how long, Diluvian didn't know, but the crystals were bright pink, with blue facets and inclusions, and those sorts of rocks were found only in the Crystal Empire. With a care that had been practised down the ages, Diluvian sidled over to the edge, moving the business end of the device into the stream of pure magic. He had long learned not to look down, and so closed his eyes to wait for the familiar vibration that would tell him all was well with the world. His mind drifted to the coolness of his hut, and the filling meal that his wife would be preparing for him for when he returned. Instead, as soon as the array touched the mana flow, a sharp judder came down the rod, jarring his teeth. Stinging pain slashed at his cheek. Absolutely stunned, Diluvian opened his eyes and stared. The array was gone, and the remaining part of the rod bent and buckled, burned around the edges. Oh dear, he thought, blinking, as blood trickled over his eyelids. This is not good. * “So this is an apple orchard?” Luna said. “Remarkable. We had always wondered what the state of modern agriculture was. In our time it was not as organised.” It had taken surprisingly little persuasion to get Spike to agree to helping her return the Elements to their normal states. Apparently this sort of thing went on quite a lot in Ponyville, as he had solemnly retrieved a large binder from underneath Twilight's bed marked 'Contingencies In Case Of Mind Control'. Alongside it was a book called Mental Shenanigans: What To Do If You're Not You, which seemed to have been heavily read, as it was worn around the edges and contained many hoof-written notes and corrections scrawled in the margins. Although Luna could hardly call what had happened to the Elements 'mind control', it was probably the best place to start. The cure for these sorts of problems was the same, anyway. The two of them were now creeping through the south field of Applejack's farm trying to remain unseen, which was quite a task for a green and purple dragon and a midnight blue lunar Goddess. “Yes, it is, now shut up,” Spike grunted. He was still annoyed at not being filled in on the situation right away, but Luna suspected it was just out of concern for Twilight. The two of them shared a unique bond, quite unlike anything she'd ever seen before. “Sir, yes, sir,” Luna said, giving him a sarcastic salute. “You've got no reason to be laughing,” he said. “This is all your fault anyway.” “Oh come now, Spike, we meant no harm of it.” “Why did you even tell them all that stuff? You could have just told them about this booze of yours and stopped there!” “Admittedly, we did go too far. It is not like us at all. We are just very anxious. Twilight must not be allowed to continue the way she has. It will bring ruin to folk of all nations, we are sure of it.” “She always used to say you were the Goddess most in tune with the thoughts and feelings of actual ponies.” “We are. Today we have acted more like our sister,” she threw up a sarcastic hoof and frowned. “Oh Ordered Goddess, so high and mighty, not deigning to understand the emotions of others unless to further her own ends!” “It doesn't sound as though you like her very much.” “That is not the thing of it,” Luna sighed. “She is a most noble and goodly protector. But she does so only because that is her nature. We do what we do because we love our little ponies. Celestia has no motivations in that sense. She is a force of nature, and can no more love, or hate, or feel emotion than a hurricane can. She simply is.” “Then why be angry with her, if she can't help it?” “Because she was not always this way. Once she was a better pony. She gave that up to-” “Ssh! That's Applejack!” Spike tugged Luna's flowing mane and pulled her down into the grass. Up ahead of them, between the trees, a dusty coloured mare wearing a Stetson hat was sitting bolt upright on her haunches. She seemed to be in a bit of a daze, as her head bobbed back and forth in time to an inaudible rhythm. “Okay, you stay here, I'll go talk to her,” he said. “She probably won't react well to seeing you again.” Spike crossed the remaining distance in a few moments. Luna couldn't hear what he was saying, but it took a moment for him to get Applejack's attention. When he did, she immediately began sobbing, throwing a hug around the put upon reptile. Spike patted her on the back as she started talking. Presently, and apparently after much in the way of promises to return, he ambled back to where Luna was hidden. “Well? How is she?” “She says you opened her eyes to the unbearable, undeniable truth of reality, that she's realised her entire life is utterly meaningless, that the apples have been lying to her all along, and that nothing makes sense any more.” “Applejack said that?” “More or less.”  Spike shrugged. “I don't get it. You told me the exact same thing.” “In hindsight, it's a very pony reaction to that sort of revelation,” Luna said, pawing at the ground with a hoof. “Herd animals, and all that.” “Yeah, well, I'm an honorary pony, and it didn't affect me. I mean, so what if the-” “Don't say it!” Luna snapped, the voce rex fully invoked. Birds fled screaming from the apple trees, and there were a series of sharp cracks as their bark shattered. Thankfully, Applejack didn't seem to notice. “Ahem. Sorry. Your never know who might be listening.” “No worries. Twilight's been snoring like that ever since you gals alicorned her,” he said, scratching his chin and looking thoughtful. “I wonder when she's going to stop worrying and learn to love those wings.” “'Tis the question of the hour,” Luna said. “So what did you tell Applejack?” “What exactly could I say? She was totally cut up about it! Why don't you just mind wipe her?” “Too much time has passed. Memory alteration is only safe within four minutes of the event itself. After that things get unpleasant. She could end up a cabbage if we tried.” “What, you mean she could lose her mind?” “No, we mean she might turn into an actual cabbage.” “Yikes. You better not do that then.” “What did that book say we should do?” “Doesn't have anything on traumatic memories.” “Hmm. This may be more tricky than we thought. It may require an altogether different approach,” Luna ruminated, sitting up out of the grass and peering into the sky. “Say, dragon, have you ever ridden on the back of an alicorn?” Spike grinned. * Discord watched Spike and Princess Luna take off from behind the illusory guise of a nearby apple. All according to plan. They'll never work it out in time. Oh, but won't this Thiasus be just divine? Only the worms and the sparrows heard the resulting manic laughter amidst the smell of the blossoms and the rustle of the trees. *  “It can't be this easy. There's a catch somewhere, there has to be.” Whom and Twilight were sat together in the courtyard of what the pink alicorn had called Baroque Number 47, which was actually a remarkably accurate reconstruction of Canterlot Castle built entirely from slate grey blocks of granite. Twilight was too busy to take proper notes on it though, because she was staring intently at one of the courtyard's many planters. Contained within it were exactly twelve Lunar Nightshade plants, arranged in a neat, evenly spaced row. “I eat those for breakfast sometimes,” Whom said, helpfully. With her castle-flying-to lust sated, she'd adopted a strange, doped up expression. “They're spicy.” “She'll have put a trap on it somewhere,” Twilight muttered. “As soon as I touch them, probably as soon as I even think about touching them, a giant six headed lunar salmon or something will come bursting out of the ground.” “Our salmon have two heads, and they only burrow during the breeding season.” “What?” Twilight said, taking her attention off the suspicious flora for a moment. “Oh never mind!” “Why are you trying to make her drinks, anyway?” “Because the normal kind don't work on me.” “Yeah, I know that, you said it like five hundred times, but why do you want to get drunk in the first place?” “Because it's fun?” “Nightmare Moon never looked like she was having fun,” Whom said, looking distant. “She just got sad. Real sad. Like all the sadness there could possibly be in the whole Universe was in her head.” “Look, I'm just trying to come to terms with my incipient immortality, all that stuff.” “She was trying to deal with something like that too, before she came to the moon.” “I didn't know that,” Twilight said, trying to decipher Whom's body language. It was strange and awkward one moment, then free flowing and casual the next, as though she'd learnt it all from a book but had forgotten how to read halfway through and had made up the rest. “We were always told at school that she got banished because she felt ponies weren't appreciating her night, and tried to make them appreciate it.” “Nah, she went nuts after what that big war did to her sister.” “War? What war?” “The one against that snake goat thing she had the hots for.” “Discord?” “That's the guy!” “Luna had the, had...” Twilight fumbled the words like they were shards of glass in her mouth. “She had the hots for Discord?” “Psh, yeah, isn't that obvious?” Whom said, rolling her eyes. “It was because she had to become this big, totally lethal, no quarter given embodiment of war to balance out her sister's natural pacifism, and like, if you spend too long staring into the funny yellow googly eyes, I guess the funny yellow googly eyes stare into you?” “I see.” “Yeah, so anyway, after the war Celestia saw what her sister had turned into and tried to take on some of those responsibilities, but to do that she had to fiddle with the, uh, the underlying fundaments of reality, or something, 'cause the whole warmaking thing was totally not in her nature, and that's a big deal for Gods.” “Something went wrong then?” “Majorly. Nightmare Moon never really told us what, exactly, but it seriously bummed her out, because she cooked up her brews and well, nopony really remembers what happened after that, not even her.” “See, that's what I want. I just want to be able to forget, relax, unwind at the end of a day, you know?” “I'm sure you know what you're doing.” Whom said, completely sincerely. Twilight nodded, with equal sincerity, and went back to studying the planter for traps. * “I think I've figured it out!” Twilight finally shouted sometime after lunch. It was hard to tell the time properly in the Lunar Principality. The light seemed to sneak out from behind things when you weren't looking, like a chastened dog which had just made a mess on the carpet; certainly there was no analogue to the sun or the moon travelling across the silvery sky. “Figured what out?” Whom replied. She'd taken up a comfortable spot on the lush, black, grassy lawn near the edge of the courtyard and variously snoozed or gambolled about chasing imaginary butterflies. Currently she was lying on her back peering at Twilight. “The sinister arcane mechanism Nightmare Moon left to ensnare me,” she said, a bead of sweat dripping down her cheek and off the bottom of her chin. “It's a double inverse Gygax-Starswirl pitfall, and if I just do this it'll disarm itself!” Twilight's horn glowed purple as she squinted in concentration. Nothing happened. “Damn and blast!” Twilight said, furrowing her brow. “This thing is more devious than I thought. Who knew you could pack so much intricately woven magic into a simple planter? That's clearly the beauty of it though. Totally innocuous, right up to the moment you touch it, and then suddenly you're having your flank chewed on by giant killer moon fish.” “B-but I've been eating out of that planter for years!” Whom whinnied, looking genuinely scared all of a sudden. “It's been there all this time?” “I'm afraid so,” Twilight said, sagely. “I'm going to need some scrolls, five hundred metres worth, and about forty litres of number two India Ink. And a small goose, for quills.” “Nightmare Moon's study has those! I'll fetch them!” Whom jumped to her hooves and went galloping off as fast as they could carry her. * The day wore on into the night, which translated to a slight but noticeable dimming of the ambient light. The courtyard was now covered in great piles of used vellum, every spare inch scribbled over with bizarre diagrams and hastily written notes in several different languages. In the middle of it all was the planter, surrounded by a ring of red duct tape applied to the floor; and some distance back from it was Twilight, standing bolt upright, staring at it. “My education has failed me,” she mumbled. “My magic has failed me.” “W-what do we do now?” Whom whispered. She was hiding behind Twilight, which looked very silly, as Whom was at least as tall as Princess Celestia, if not slightly more so. “There's only one thing for it. I'll grab the flowers, and as soon as I do that, we make a run for it. Whatever monster from the Stygian depths of Tartarus comes at us, we can outrun it. I mean, we're two alicorns! We can take on the world!” “I'm scared, Twilight!” “We'll be fine. Just stay with me, no matter what. We'll get through this. Ready?” “Oh skies above!” Twilight closed her eyes, and with the solemnity of a priest administering the last rites, she plucked the leftmost flower from its bushy stem with the deftest of telekinetic touches. The sound it made as it came apart was almost audible above the hammering of two divine hearts. Twilight heard Whom gasp as the little blue bloom floated hesitantly into the air. Nothing continued to occur, as it had been doing quite happily for the previous eight or nine hours. * “I think it would be best if we never speak of this incident again.” Twilight and Whom were wandering somewhat aimlessly through the expansive grounds of Baroque 47, taking a moment to recover from the pointless activities of the afternoon in the warm embrace of the gardens and concourses. Now that she had a moment to consider it, the castle was turning out to be a rather grand sort of place. Nothing in the many flowerbeds or ranks of marble statues spoke of being mass produced; each one was a symphony of careful artistry and thoughtful design. Oddly, there seemed to be nopony else about. Back home, a castle such as this would have had a staff of a hundred, mostly gardeners and hoofmares, but here the halls were deathly quiet and untrodden. “Speak of what again, Twilight?” “That's the spirit.” Presently, they passed into an arched gatehouse through a low but very thick limestone wall. Despite having spaces obviously designed to house a dozen guards, nopony was there to greet them. On the other side, rolling black and silver fields glimmered in shades of the night as the strange unlight washed over them. Thin tracks criss-crossed between those neat squares to link them, and on the distant horizon stands of trees slowly gave way to a forest that appeared to eventually enclose the entire castle and its lands. “It's really quite beautiful here, isn't it?” Twilight remarked, as the two of them paused to take in the view. “I guess so,” Whom said, sitting down on her haunches and producing a small rectangular box from inside the recesses of the obnoxiously yellow collar she wore. “But I've lived here all my life. It just goes on forever, no matter how far you fly,” she waved a hoof at the horizon, simultaneously opening the end of the box and pulling a long, tubular thing from it. “There's just more fields and forests, even big mountain ranges sometimes, rivers that go on and on without an end.” she magically placed the tube in her mouth, and then set fire to it with a surge from her horn, causing Twilight to blink in confusion. “You just get so bor-” “Hey, what on Equestria are you doing?!” “What?” “Why did you set fire to that thing in your mouth?” “This? I'm just having a cigarette.” “What's a cigarette?” “You don't have these back where you come from?” Whom asked, puzzled. She took a drag from it and exhaled a long stream of coppery smoke. “No, we don't.” “Oh, I see,” Whom said, offering her the pack amiably. “Would you like one?” Twilight peered at them suspiciously. The smoke washed over her, bringing with it a flood of odd memories. Evenings by the fireside with her parents, lost in study. The sharp but merry chill of a winter's day. Then came more palpable sensations; the joy of knowing, the feeling of acceptance that had come when she'd first made friends in Ponyville. Without thinking, she found herself reaching out with her magic, drawing one from the pack and copying Whom in lightning it. “Nightmare Moon used to make them as a hobby,” Whom said, replacing the container back behind the collar. “There's not many left, actually. Oh, I've been meaning to ask you, you don't happen to know where she's gone do you?” Twilight placed the cigarette between her lips and inhaled. Her eyes began to water, and a strange itchy feeling raced down her throat. A few seconds later, this was replaced by something not unlike menthol, one of Twilight's favourite flavourings. “You don't know?” she said, breathing out the copper smoke. “She just vanished one day. I was surprised you didn't ask who she was, but, uh, I thought you might really have been her, just in disguise.” “I'm definitely not Luna,” Twilight said, rotating the cigarette around in front of her so she could examine it from all angles. “She tried to attack our world a few years ago. Me and my friends used the Elements of Harmony on her. She's a good pony now, runs the place along with her sister.” “Oh.” Whom suddenly looked crestfallen. “I thought she hated her sister.” “Well, she did, but the Elements made her good again. I can't believe she just abandoned you here all alone. Let me tell you, if we'd any idea all this stuff was up here, we'd have come sooner.” “We're not alone,” Whom sighed. “My other sisters are here too.” “Yeah, you mentioned them. I haven't seen anypony else. Where are they?” “They don't go out much.” “Can I meet them?” Whom bit her lip and stared off into the middle distance, as if deep in thought about something. “If you like,” she said, finally. * Double Emboss was pouring through a thick tome of ancient and forgotten lore when his wife arrived home with their foals. She worked down in the little unnamed hamlet that had once been a service town for their manor, but which was now a trendy locale for Canterlot's elite to summer in. That never stopped Emboss from feeling as though he were a modern monarch of the glen, however, even when he saw some effete snob pay more for a round of drinks than he made in a year. “Good evening, dearest husband,” Absolute Truth smiled, prodding him on the shoulder to break his studious transfixion. “You're home early.” “Oh, sorry darling,” Emboss said, putting down the book held aloft with his magic and giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I didn't hear you come in.” “So do you know what's going on in the city? It was all anypony could talk about today, but nopony had anything more than rumours and gossip. Mrs Briar-Dell said some drunk blew up the civic centre.” “Yes, they did. It's been an absolute nightmare today,” Emboss said, cautiously. “We were, uh, sent home as a precaution. Health and safety, and all that.” “Well, I'm glad you're okay,” Truth said, absent-mindedly tidying the study as she trotted about. “Let me tell you, the number of ponies who came into the shop today who thought the sky was falling...” For the next twenty minutes, Emboss listened intently to her varied anecdotes of village life. Truth ran a small boutique café, set up to cater entirely to the moneyed whims of the seasonal inhabitants. When it wasn't beset on all sides by the upper classes, it converted to a far more homely and down to earth sort of place, and as it was the only venue of its kind, thus became a one stop shop for gossip and trading in community spirit. This would usually be the part of the day when he'd have to work hard to pretend to be interested. It was not that he found his wife boring, far from it, it was just that the village barely changed except between the summer and winter. There was really only so much in the way of stories about Mrs Sheen's dodgy left hoof the average stallion could be expected to endure. Now, however, it reminded him of a kind of normality that seemed so distant. He allowed himself to become lost in it, and so it ended far too quickly. Truth's motherly skill set was soon demanded elsewhere, namely in the cooking of dinner for a pair of ravenous foals, who had clearly not eaten for several weeks if one were to judge by the strength of their protestations alone. It was a pity that he had to keep the truth from the one he loved in life more than anything, but the guilt now turning over in his head was almost as old as he was. Emboss could probably have tolerated it, had he not been so instrumental in its orchestration. Few understood the power of the Equestrian bureaucracy. Those fateful quill strokes in a ledger made decades ago which had granted the legitimacy of House Cupid to a pony that should not have had it. As far as most were concerned, reality itself had been altered, and made to fall like a line of dominoes in the exact direction Celestia wished it to. Not this time. I'll haunt Tartarus before I see this come to pass. * It was midnight, and the moon arced high over Emboss' manor. For an evening in midsummer, the air was surprisingly cold, probably due to the complete lack of any cloud cover. The not inconsiderable estate provided many nooks and crannies to hide in, and having extricated his young from the more bizarre spots on more than one occasion, Emboss was quite familiar with them. The plan hadn't taken much time to fall into place once he'd come to terms with what Dunya had told him. It was all relatively simple. Travel to a town on the Dauphin sea, hop on a ferry heading to a Gryphon autonomous region friendly enough to allow access, then head underground into Zebrica. Don't think about the fact you've never even been on a boat before, let alone crossed the Dauphin. Don't think about the fact that there are restaurants in Gryphon countries that actually serve meat, and especially don't think about the fact you hate confined underground spaces. No, if we don't think about any of that we'll be absolutely fine. “Mr Emboss, are you there? We have very little time to spare.” Dunya carried on her rhyming scheme, apparently even when whispering out of the shadows. The sinuous and willowy zebra mare blended in well with the darkness, which was surprising, considering one might have thought the inverse to be true. Emboss had never really seen her in the dark before, and had often wondered why her race called the deeps of the earth their home. Now he realised how they survived and prospered in such a place; it was clear Dunya was only visible because she wanted to be seen. “I'm here. Did you get everything we needed?” “At such short notice, it was not easy. Luckily, your friend was needy.” “I, uh, I see,” Emboss said, unsure of what to make of the inflection. “Are we rea-” The bushes suddenly exploded with a blinding light, cutting its way through the leaves and branches. There was an aura mixed in with it, the tell tale sign of magelight. He immediately recognised its burnt orange pastel hue. Absolute Truth's horn poked into their little cubby a few seconds later. “Late night liaisons in the shrubbery? With the staff, no less,” her voice intoned, in a guarded and imperious mix of humour and coldness, as though she were a Goddess deciding on the fate of a mortal soul, who's next response would condemn or sanctify him. “What am I to make of this?” “It's not what you think!” Emboss squeaked. “Well then, husband, you had best explain.” “Oh ponyfeathers,” he sighed, rubbing his temple with a muddy hoof. “Yes, I suppose I better had.”