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// Entry the Last 
// Story: It was a Different Time... 
// by OneCoolBrony 
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	We buried our dead last night. Ten bodies each, and then everypony was allowed to sleep. I... I couldn't tell you which one was Gilded Armour's. He's gone now, and... and I don't know what. It's... wrong... without him here. Hearing, or rather not hearing, his bitching makes me wonder about things probably best not being wondered about, at least where I know I'll need my morale. 

What really has me pissed is that they want us to march another attack on the beasts. Today. They're saying to strike them while they lick their wounds...

It' not my place to question. I'm a soldier. I'll do what they tell me and when all's said and done, I'll write it down in my journal. I don't know, though. Something feels off this time... I'm sure I'll figure it out. Ah, there's the bugle. Time to go. 

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The fillies three stared at their teacher. For a moment they were confused. Then Scootaloo urged, "Well?" Miss Cheerilee managed to hide the tear sneaking out of her eye. "There is no more, girls. That is where his diary ends, and the beginning was so worn with time that this was all that they managed to copy. I'm sorry girls, that's where it ends." 

The three sat there for awhile. Apple Bloom was the first to understand. She was visibly sad, but that was the extent of it. She didn't know why but she was. It wasn't even like she cared for either Spell Sword or Gilded Armour. Just the thought of ponies dying, though. It was... sad. 

When the other girls had gotten it, only Sweetie Belle had cried. Miss Cheerilee had gladly answered any questions the fillies had had, though they numbered few. She sighed as they walked out of her school. She thought she already regretted sharing these few entries with them, perhaps she was wrong. 

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The sun set on another day in Ponyville, and on the beautiful meadow outside of the village limits. Between the small pony settlement and the evil forest. The meadow that had once been a battlefield, then a graveyard, now a field. The sun set on it indiscriminately. Wishing the weary souls rest among the flowers.