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Ulf took aim and threw his spear right at the neck of the jarl. At the same moment, a grey-clad Jom surged towards the aft castle steps with a bellowed roar. The spear struck him instead of Sigvald. The Jom's garbled cry of surprise disappeared as he clutched his ruined throat and fell to the deck with a spastic kick.
“Thane Ulf!” One of the forecastle warriors grasped the thane's sleeve and pointing with a hand axe out to sea. “The Danes are making straight for us and another fleet sails from the headla-”
Ulf grabbed him by the collar and pulled him forward, “Forget them, kill the nithinger! Kill him, butcher him, skin him! Leave none of his ilk alive!” From his position on the forecastle he watched as Olaf and his retinue defended the narrow staircase leading up to the tiller.
The thane grasped a fallen spear and made his way towards the bulwark wall overlooking the mid deck. Ready to heave the weapon against the hated traitors, he saw them rushing up the steps with their mighty two-handed axes as more of Sigvald’s Jom warriors spilled aboard. One of Ulf’s own kinsmen stepped in to block the way up the stairs, flaring his shield out and poising his sword for a short stabbing thrust. The onrushing Jom swung his axe, slamming the killing edge into the top of the shield and bearing the Norse warrior to the ground under the shuddering impact. Ulf's throw caught the traitor high in the chest and split the mail clean open with a flurry of metal links. The prostrated Norse warrior stabbed out with his sword, sliding it under the helm of the Jom before kicking the lifeless corpse down into the onrushing horde.
A dark cloud fell over them, along with the alarmingly sweet odours of woodsmoke and burning pine pitch. Turning back to the sea, Ulf looked on as the Crane was set ablaze. Its mainsail was already rife with flames that curled the edges and sent up a towering column of smoke while its forecastle cabin belched an oily cloud. “The seer!” Ulf called, knowing the danger that the blind creature was in.
“Juo-Daaaaan!” The terrifying bellow echoed out across the ship. Another Jom bulled over the Norse warrior guarding the steps, others clambered past like dogs baying for blood. Swinging his hand axe hard, it slammed into the metal cheek plate of the traitor rushing up the steps, knocking him back with the dull axe blade. The man recovered quickly and swung the great axe at neck height. Ulf ducked under the hewing edge and slammed his blade down on the Jom's unarmored foot. Sigvald’s warrior howled and tumbled back, leaving the majority of his foot next to the axe blade embedded in the deck.
Wrenching the weapon loose, Ulf unslung his shield and glanced back to the vessel alongside them. The Crane still burned and bellied lower in the water as a Danish longship slammed into its bow with the crackling buckle of timbers and planking. Then, Ulf saw the seer as he rushed from the smoke-spewing mouth of the cabin. The equine’s habit was scorched and streaked in ash, but the creature ducked and weaved, dashing blindly to the stern of the vessel. He looked left and right, in a blind panic that Ulf had never seen before. Clover placed his hooves upon the railing, oblivious to the carnage around him as a dozen of Sigvald's mens hacked through the Crane's defenders while others callously butchered the wounded laid out on the deck. Beyond them, the various vessels of Olaf's fleet were beset. The Bleaksea had been cut free from the formation and burned on the open ocean while the Trana’s forecastle spewed smoke and its decks were devoid of any sign of life.
“Ulf!” His lord's voice called over the fray. The thane flung himself to the railing and barely ducked an arrow that whistled overhead. Olaf and Kolbjorn defended the aftcastle, side by side, hewing down the mass of traitor warriors as they pressed up the narrow steps. They were all that was left, a pair of red clad warriors standing like a breakwater against the tide. The shield thane was bedecked much like his lord, encased in gilded armour and hefting a thick emerald shield which turned aside the stinging arrows that streaked out like gnats. Beside the protective thane stood the puissant lord cloaked in his finest polar furs. Olaf’s sword hewed down any Jom that surged over the precipice, the fallen warriors adding to the heaped pile of corpses that spattered and sullied the hems of the cloak. “Ulf, can you get to Clover?”
“No, my lord!” They were hemmed in as the sound of grappling irons echoed behind him. The Danes would be on them shortly and only by the Nornar were two of his remaining warriors able to contain the baleful traitors on the forecastle. They could barely hold their position, let alone break free from it.
Sigvald bulled his way up the steps and towards the pair of slender warriors who reaped a bloody toll at the top. The towering figure bellowed, “Juo-Daaaaan,” drowning out almost every other sound in a ragged roar. The massive warrior surged forward and swung his axe like a madman. Kolbjorn and Olaf ducked and weaved in the enclosed space to avoid the murderous edge. The Norse warriors cut and slashed, opening up small nicking cuts in the jarl’s chainmail. Olaf's sword thrust took the jarl in the leg, drawing another roar as he lashed his foot out and caught the king under the chin. Olaf was spun back, head cracking into the wooden bulwark. A second sideways slash skipped across the shield thane’s side. It glanced off the mail, but the veteran warrior yelped in pain and sloughed awkwardly to the side, hip almost certainly crushed by the blade.
With one last bellowed cry, Sigvald sent his arcing axe cleaving downward. Its edge slammed just wide of the king's chest, cutting through his heavy cloak and pinning him to the deck. Sigvald pulled the axe, but it stuck fast as Olaf flexed his grip around his sword and stabbed out. Sigvald was caught in the shin, under the fringe of his hauberk, splitting his leg to the bone. The jarl howled and loosed his grip on the embedded axe before taking a lamed step back.
“Olaf?!” Clover's cry pierced through the din. The frightened and confused Unicorn backed away from the raging flames that licked up the deck just ahead of the waterline as the stern rose higher into the air.
It drew the king's attention as Ulf watched, remembering the seer's words from that morning, “a choice,” he murmured. Olaf hesitated for a moment, torn between slaying the treacherous jarl or trying to save his seer. The king took his sword and slid it up near his own neck with a distinct ping, shearing both his cloak's clasp and the silvered thong holding the precious horn.
Olaf still had his sword while the jarl had nothing. The king used the wooden siding to rise to his feet, watching as the jarl’s hand shot out to grasp his weapon. Olaf called out one word, “Clover!” He dove from the aftcastle into the icy main just as the Crane's keel cracked and sent the rear of the vessel crashing down. It spat up a great plume of water which showered back down on the bloody decks of the Long Serpent.
“Olaf jumped!” Panic set in immediately and Ulf shook in horror, no man, not even one as mighty as Olaf, could swim in so much armour.
“Ulf!” Kolbjorn shouted. Ulf grasped the edge of the wall and looked towards the rasping voice “They won't have our king, they won't have our treasure!” Kolbjorn threw something that sparkled in the air, just as the Joms descended on him, axes upraised to finish their bloody work. Ulf reached out, snatching the silver thread, feeling the long sprig of ivory rap against his wrist.
The king was dead, claimed by the sea, and all around descended into chaos. Danish warriors pulled themselves aboard using limpet like grappling hooks while Jom traitors streamed up the steps and into the holds, slaughtering and butchering as they went. Ulf, and five other warriors on the forecastle, was all that was left aboard the Long Serpent. The Crane was gone, and Danish warriors swarmed over the decks of the Flind at their side. “Don't let them have our treasure...”
Ulf's panting rasp was the only indication that he steeled himself up. Looping the horn around the thong of his axe then took a running leap towards the sea. The thane barelled into a Danish warrior clambering up on the deck and sent them both hurtling off into the void. Ulf felt the sickening sensation of weightlessness and heard the howl of the wind rushing past his ear as he plunged into the bitter embrace of death. “I wish I was in a place of peace and plenty.”
There was a sudden flash, a painful burst of heat, and then nothing but the voracious darkness.
♣
“Here ya go! Chocolate chip and banana biscuits, ahoy, and honey tea!” A bouncy personality, happy smile, and even that oblivious spring in her step often made Pinkie Pie appear to be mocking the downtrodden. You consider how many times in the past you’ve watched her cavort and sing around the depressed and the infirm but it was hard to see how it could help. Nevertheless, something intangible chases away that darkness. Perhaps it was those wide eyes, her jovial warmth, or maybe it was just that confident half-cocked expression and unreserved smile that makes you feel like you were the only one who mattered at that moment. Pinkie Pie's oddities finally began to make sense as you stare down at the tea cup and serving plate in your lap. A hesitant sip gets you to blink and hum in surprise. Pinkie didn’t lie, but she had omitted that the tea had ginger, cinnamon, and a few other additives.
Pinkie, never change.
It was giving you a moment or two of silence to ponder the previous night. You had awoken in a sweat with a dizzying feeling of vertigo. Unfortunately, the belaboured breathing and rapid thump of your heart made it nearly impossible to get back to sleep. Each time you shut your eyes that sickening feeling returned. Then, as if by magic, you felt a pair of hooves wrap around your chest from behind. A quiet nuzzle had pressed against your cheek before a soothing ‘shush’ brushed your ear. That vaguely familiar lavender scent had calmed you and once more guided you back into a quiet and surprisingly restful sleep. Naturally, in the morning you weren’t sure who to thank. Worse yet, you couldn’t quite tell who it was either. Given nopony brought it up, it might be better to keep it like that.
Now you were sitting at the small table enjoying breakfast with Rarity and Fluttershy. Biscuits, tea, and a short, albeit accessible, table made the arrangement agreeable. “Thank you, Pinkie. Are you going to come join us?” Fluttershy lay down opposite you. Rarity canters up and down in the adjacent room, the only clue as to what she’s doing is the rustle of saddlebags and the crystalline hum of magic.
“Nuh-uh, gonna help Twilight. She's been staring at pages since sun up.” Pinkie concludes with a whistle which halts a moment later and turns into a hum when picking up a thick baking cloth in her teeth. She takes the hot kettle off the iron ring suspending it over the fire before setting it down on the stone floor.
Rarity’s sigh of relief is probably a good thing, “Rightly, dear, I found your pack. You know, those socks are positively dreadful. I’ll see what I can make up for you when we get back home. Anyway, hold perfectly still, I know exactly what I’m doing.” Even as you reflexively turned to look there was a gentle tap against your shoulder, “Ah-ah-ah, rester immobile s'il vous plaît.” It was something about ‘immobile’ so that was probably ‘hold still.’
The gentle clack of a tea cup on a serving plate is a little louder than you hope, but nopony seems to mind. “So where's AJ and Ra-”
There was a faint prick at the side of your head as a hair was plucked out. There was a quiet tutting voice, “Rightly, dear, stay still. I can't possibly get your mane straight if you keep twisting and turning like a, like a... hmm, J'ne c'est qua...”
“Squirrel eating a bag of caramel peanuts on a ferris wheel?” Pinkie’s offer seems right but bewildering. Still, she doesn’t break from gathering up some more biscuits, though that was the second batch of the day.
“I, uh, suppose that will have to do. Yes, like a, um, squirrel eating a bag of caramel peanuts on a… ferris wheel. Hah-hah..” Rarity’s feigned laugh of politeness doesn’t stop her from running a brush through your hair as small twists like a gentle breeze leave a residual snap of magical sparks.
You start again, “Where are Rainbow Dash and Applejack?”
“They’re still looking. After their silly little raid to capture a Gremlin last night, Pinkie and I found a few more books. Unfortunately, it was nothing that Twilight could work with. Naturally, that duo of hallions presumed they could find something that we couldn’t. Hmmph.” Rarity’s little ‘humph’ was almost certainly accompanied by an upturned nose.
Fluttershy chimes in, “They’re still looking. Applejack bet Rainbow couldn’t find something useful before her, so they’ve both been working like madponies to prove each other wrong.” her heavy sigh is enough to settle the conversation back into a few awkward moments of silence.
“What was wrong with it? The books, I mean.” You eventually ask, realizing that your thoughts are starting to form better with that gentle stroke of a hairbrush and Rarity’s soft lilting hum in your ear. There’s something about that dream that bothers you but you can’t put your finger on it.
Fluttershy answered with a quiet slurping sip from the tea cup, “She's looking for another copy. The others were ruined.”
“Ruined? Ho-Oww!” The quick reflex to straighten up met with a painful yank on your scalp as the hair bush tore a few strands free. Rarity chides with a simple tisk to say 'told you'. “What happened?”
“Hmm?" Fluttershy looked over, "Oh, nothing happened, it was just left open and the ink faded. Most of the books were just blank. Now Rainbow and Applejack are looking for any extra copies while Twilight has been staring at empty pages for the past hour. Poor dear, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so tired.” Languid lines of worry work their way onto the Pegasus’s face, weighing her down as she stares into her teacup as if trying to read the leaves.
“Rarity, this might be a weird question… but can a Unicorn horn alone cause teleportation?” It made sense how Ulf got here, you’d seen Twilight simply vanish in a burst of light and reappear on the other side of the room.
Ulf… white beard...
“How dreadfully macabre.” Rarity awkwardly squirms back, breaking that soothing rhythm of the hairbrush. “But I really wouldn’t know, Twilight is the mare to ask regarding that sort of thing.”
Ulf had a brown beard...
“Uh-huh.” You distractedly mutter as something begins coursing through your mind.
Pinkie obliviously transfers another batch of biscuits from the baking sheet to a platter, “Uh-huh, Rarity can’t even do that if she wanted. If her horn could, that might be a little insulting, don’t you think? Did you name your horn, Applejack named her legs, have you name anything, Rightly?”
It’s hard to tell who’s inadvertent gasp was louder, your sound of awkward shock at the potential implications, or Rarity’s breathless note of indignance. “I… I beg your pardon?” Rarity found her voice before you.
“Nah, that’s okay, you didn’t do anything.” Pinkie’s smile swallows up the tittering bluster of confusion from the fashionista.
There's a croak as the door slowly creaks open. Another Pegasus shoulders her way in, “Hey, I heard you were having cookies or something.” Rainbow Dash comes in with that same strut that she usually has, stopping only to snap up one of the biscuits and flop down next to the table. She gives you a simple wink as if to say ‘don’t worry about it.’
It left you confused and you can’t help but stammer, “A-aren’t you supposed to be helping find a copy of some book?” You ask as the Pegasus mare hums in interest and pulls the rest of the plate of biscuits over towards her. Thankfully, you have a firm hold on your tea cup that borders on possessive.
“Nope. Well, yeah, kinda’. I guess I'm supposed to, but it's not there, so it doesn’t count. I didn't see any other big creepy folder things made out of skin.”
“Skin?” ask three voices at once, including your own.
“Yeah, tough skin with a cord thing and papers inside. It was creepy enough to be in a museum with shrunken pony heads.” Her uncaring shrug coupled with a small huffing sound as she pops a whole biscuit in her mouth.
“I better go see Twilight. If this doesn't work we'll need to find another way.” You slowly rise and reluctantly leave the tea cup’s half-finished contents. “Here, on the house Dash. Oh, and I'll put on the water.” While standing, it is enough to just nick Rainbow Dash’s shoulder with a light jab for stealing the biscuit. Crumbs are strewn across her muzzle and several fleck down on her chest as Rarity’s look of shocked repugnance is probably good enough payment while the uncaring Pegasus looks as happy as a clam.
It didn't take more than a few seconds to empty a bucket of water into the small cauldron and place it back on the metal arm suspending it over the fire. Quickly stoking the flames again, you turn to your bedside right in the midst of six other sleeping bags to pick up your coat and socks. “Hey, Rainbow?”
“Yeah?” She calls back before loudly slurping the tea.
“Do you still have that newspaper? You know, the one with the Slasher on it?”
“Yeah, it’s in my bag, just on the inside left, next to the Wonderbolts calendar. It’s that one over there.” She waggles her hoof in the direction of her sleeping bag. There was only one emblazoned with the winged lightning bolt of official Wonderbolt merchandizing, so it was obvious which she was talking about.
“Rainbow Dash! You told me that you had gotten rid of that awful thing.” The Unicorn fixes her athletic Pegasus friend with a fiery glower.
“I did. I got rid of that one. That’s a new copy, I figured Twilight might need it.” It’s met with a growl as you stoop to rifle through the simple canvas bags. Popping out a glossy Wonderbolts calendar, you find the paper folded up next to it and look at the front image. Despite the hazy monochrome picture, the lurking ‘Unicorn Slasher’ did have a white or grey beard.
Ulf has a brown beard, or had a brown beard. Something's not adding up.
“Thanks.” You stuff the paper back and set off for the library, letting the door close behind you with a reverberating ‘clack’. As you head into the library it was hard to imagine any individual willing to stay in an ice box like this for hours on end.
“Ya’ sure, suga'cube?” AJ's distinct voice echoes through the empty chamber. “Well, alright. Ah'll be sure ta' put on a warm blanket. Why not take all of these upstairs? Ain't no use freezin' here.” There was no reply loud enough for you to detect. The tap of hooves say a lot as you hustle down the stairs.
You descend the marble steps and head straight through the first aisle. Other doors lead off to the right, two or three with the same great archways, but the focus is still the great shelves upon shelves of books around you which dwarfs everything else. Taking a quick left turn, you nearly slam into Applejack.
“Sorry there. Just gonna’ go warm up.” Her bright grin couldn't hide that faint stiffness of irritation. Evidently, nopony found another copy of Clover's works.
“Nothing? I thought after a challenge like that, Rainbow Dash would forge one to win.” You wink and get a bit of a chortle from the cowpony in return.
“Heh, yeah, someth'n like that. I honestly thought we were gonna’ find it. Ah guess we might have ta’ go right to the royal library after all. But if Twilight didn’t find it there last time, ah doubt we will next time, either.” You smile and give her chilly shoulder a pat.
“Go warm up, Applejack. Toss an extra blanket near the fire and I'll come pick it up for Twilight in fifteen minutes.”
“That ain’t a bad idea there. Right, ah'd best get that ready.” Applejack’s quick nod gets a second motion as she tilts her head and inclines it towards where Twilight is likely sitting. Keeping her voice down she whispers back, “And if ya can talk her inta’ seein’ some sense, ah’d be real grateful.” The farm pony trots right back past you, giving your hip a friendly pat to say thanks.
The sound of her steps fade ever so slightly as you make your way down the aisles. On either side of you is large twelve foot shelves with row upon row of dusty books piled on sagging boards. The streaming light from the dull grey outdoors still makes the immense hall an incredible sight. The shadowy light softly illuminates the top of the bookcases and rests on great banners of blue and white that hang from the walls. While many are still chipped and broken, paintings of figures from Equestria's history adorn frescoes on the tallest vaults in number and splendour to match the rounded caps and restored chapels of Italy. Intricately carved heads of various ponies protrude from the buttresses and tower over the hall like slumbering sentinels.
It would have been overwhelming at the peak of its grandeur but even diminished, it’s a tremendous sight to behold. Much had been simply abandoned and lay in ruins few could appreciate. That Gremlin’s threat seems to have some unpleasant gravity to it.
As you approach the nave you spot the great round table. A lone Alicorn still pours over the countless tomes resting in stacks a score high and spread over the entirety of the massive oaken surface. Candles burn next to her in soot stained candelabras as book after book is skimmed through with the flutter of pages, quicker than the eye can possibly catch.
This was Twilight's idea of a good time: books, a challenge, and the need for accuracy and detail. Sunken sockets and a deep frown cast a gloomy pall over the library. She flicks her ear every few seconds, then stops to rub her eyes before blinking and peering back at the dusty pages. Each time a book is scoured through without result, her wings slump a little more until the pinions reach the floor like the boughs of a weeping willow. She places another grey tome down with a resigning sigh and wearily reaches for a mug near one of the candle holders.
Stalking up behind her wasn't that difficult. While you are sure you are going to regret this in time, you will regret it for far longer if you don't. Shrugging your coat off, you drape it down around her shoulders which garners a whinny of surprise.
“Trouble with something? Well, anything close?” She still gazes at you through glassy red eyes as you drag a seat over and sit down. “Hmm, glad they have some decent chairs here.” Tthey were still a little small, like the furniture in a kindergarten class.
Twilight's long defeated breath made it sound like she was deflating, “No. I've gotten close but nothing in here related to any sort of relevant ritual. And no, I didn't find anything about looking back to what Olaf saw either. It seems there's a veil between worlds that nopony can cross.”
“It’s not Olaf, it’s one of his cadre named Ulf who was teleported here because of the horn…” Her blink was nearly unreadable. It’s as if she recognized you were talking but you had been spouting jibberish. “Can a horn do that? Oh, and you mean nopony but princess Luna and that mirror thing, right?”
“Does that change much? I don’t know, I suppose it’s possible for a horn to do that. But one question at a time, Rightly, please? I’ll ask somepony, maybe a friend at Pranceston University might know. Now, Princess Luna said she'd spent a tremendous amount of time just getting dreams through and even more trying to induce enough for your friend to write that note in her sleep.” Twilight’s lingering sigh isn’t encouraging as she drinks deeply from her mug.
Ah, that's what happened with Twila.
Well, it was still impressive in a sense. Luna didn't seem to be in the best frame of mind, and it was apparently a difficult task. “It has to have some bearing. Is there any reason to think that a Cloud Gremlin would know?”
A flick of her muzzle says she was thinking about it. “Why would they? I mean, theoretically yes, I suppose, but I don't know too much about them. They are a generally malicious and reclusive species that feeds on depression and despair. Really, they aren’t tremendously different from Changelings except they consume different emotions. Opposite emotions actually, now that I think about it.” Her pensive glance towards book-lined walls of the library makes it seem as if she’s about to start another search. Even in the dim light, her bloodshot eyes look terrible and her coat lost its velvety lustre.
“That's fine, don't worry about it. We'll send Rainbow Dash to rough one up and drag it out of them. Here, I'll help you take some of these books upstairs. You look a bit cold. Something to eat sounds pretty good, doesn't it?”
Instead of conceding the point, she just points to the biscuit and drink not far away. “I’m fine, really. I feel better than I did at Zecora’s.”
Twilight, you can be as stubborn as a mule.
You snort and try to keep the irritation out of your voice, “I mean a full meal. I bet AJ can make something and I'll help with those books, too.”
“We don't have time for that. Lives are on the line and every moment we delay is a moment that could be used to save somepony else from harm. It’s my duty and responsibility to see that we don’t waste a single second.” It is a good point but she seems to be having trouble just keeping track of which pile she skimmed through.
The stacks are an unsightly mess of black, blue, red, and green covers. Elaborate gold etch had come off most of them but they are in fair shape despite the physical size of the works themselves. There has to be between three hundred and maybe five hundred volumes spread out on the wide table. But a small group catches your eye, a half dozen manuscript folders. The old things were scorned and left on the other side of the table.
“Are those all the manuscripts?” You ask and point to the six leather-bound folios.
“Yeah, macabre, only seen one or two books like it in Canterlot and one, ugh, one had a face on it.” she grimaces in distaste. “But I suppose skin would keep the rain away from sensitive early papyrus print, they must have tried many mediums before moving on to waxed canvas, wood bindings, and proper paper. Frankly, I'm surprised that Clover the Clever didn't think of that one with his writings. But no, he used manuscripts whereas Star Swirl kept scrolls and a few early proto-books.”
“... You're telling me those manuscripts are Clover the Clever's personal documents?” Something about it makes your heart skip a beat as your synapses spark in one forlorn hope.
Twilight must have seen that glint in your eye, her quizzical squint and inquisitive ‘hmm?’ isn’t as guarded but still puzzled. “Yes. It's not going to do you any good, they're brittle and so badly faded that I can't read a single word. I tried all last night.”
“These are the hoof written documents of Clover the Clever... with no words..” You get up quickly and slam your knee on the underside of the table in haste. The awkward limp slows your pace, but you hurry towards the stack of neglected manuscript folders. It took only a moment to untwist the fragile gut string from around a small button loop.
It was easy to see what Twilight meant when you open the cover. Only the faintest writing in the margins was visible as the rest of the blue ink had disappeared from the brittle wager-like pages. The aged sheets would surely be priceless to collectors if they had anything written on them, but there was no trace of ink and no identifying mark except for a single three leafed clover on the first page.
“Biscuit!” You shoot your hand out, palm up and open.
It has to be, it just has to be!
“Here, I'm not too hungry any-hey!” You grasp the proffered biscuit and and roll it in your fingers as the tiny crumbs fall to the paper. “Those were still good!” Twilight’s protestation fades, though she still seems baffled.
Chocolate smears between your fingers, but most of the dry bread was pulverized. You flick the paper, sift it, and carefully shake the flat page. The fine crumbs had settled in a number of faint grooves, showing the old uninked glyphs of Equestrian writing that span the whole sheet. “Clover, you magnificent bastard!”
Twilight pushes herself up from her seat and ungainly lopes towards you. As she brushes your side, her eyes snap open wide and stir with a reinvigorated light as brilliant as the brightest constellations in the night sky. “T-there are… no… words…” An awkward chortle escapes her throat, followed by a giggle, then an all out laugh that rings to the loftiest vaults of the hall. She wraps her hooves around you from behind, ducking her head under your arm and looking at the texts with all the glee of a giddy schoolgirl. Admittedly, she is still clinging like a limpet, but at least she was a happy one. Another errant thought crosses your mind.
She's not the one from last night.
“Twilight?” A chorus of concerned voices call from the steps but there was no need for an alarm. In a way, Twilight was wrong, there most certainly were words. The first seven read clearly:
From the hoof of Clover the Clever
♣