Year 1 ETS
June 2nd
Today I am scheduled to enter the Everfree for the first time. Unfortunately, the caravan I was supposed to rendezvous with has already departed. After I cursed them bitterly and shook my hoof at their stale wagon tracks, I crossed paths with a pegasus mare named Sharpeye who told me the caravan left yesterday. Yesterday, on the first. The travel agent clearly stated that the wagons would roll out on the second, and Globe Trotter's Tremendous Travel Agency is not known for flakiness. They must still be following the old Unican calendar, blast them. I finally get it right and it immediately bites me in the flank.
Until I decide what new course of travel to take, I have made camp in the hills near the forest's northwestern edge. My original plan was to follow the caravan through the forest itself. Now I wonder if I might need to go around. The main issue with going around is that, if I depart from the few clear landmarks I have, my shoddy map will leave me hopelessly lost. The forest's boundaries are also known to grow and shrink at random, so the castle site could just as easily be along the southern edge as it could be right in the middle. Depending on the Everfree's fickle spasms of growth, going around may add many unnecessary hours to my trip. I may also run into some insurmountable obstacle that isn't charted on my map. I will need to find out more about woods and the shape of the land before I choose my next course of action.
I have agreed to let Sharpeye camp with me tonight. She seems trustworthy enough, though her appearance is frightening at first glance. Her eyes have thick round pupils surrounded by a thick band of amber, giving them a hawkish look; I can see how she acquired her name. Her deep orange mane is cut even shorter than is fashionable among pegasi, leaving her with an inch thick stripe of hair running down the back of her neck. Her tail is cut to a bob and bound with black fabric, and her butter yellow coat is smeared with mud, presumably for camouflage. Her hooves are roughshod with short spikes along each shoe's bottom. I have read of such shoes before; they are popular among earth ponies for travel over soft or wet ground, but I wondered why a flying pony would need them. I asked Sharpeye, and she told me spiked shoes are better for kicking with.
Before I could think better of it (and before I asked about the shoes), I told her my name and that I was going to meet my teacher in the Everfree. Hopefully my name is common enough, and my quest vague enough, that I have not set myself up to be foalnapped for ransom. Master Starswirl would never waste his coin to save me from my own foolishness.
I asked what business brings her to the edge of the Everfree, but she dodged my questions with compliments for my dandelion stew. While I welcome any boosts to my confidence in cooking (my attempts either go very right or very wrong), I wish I could have gotten a direct answer. For while she seems friendly and is a thoroughly fascinating pony, Sharpeye has the markings of a mercenary. In addition to the spikes on her hooves and the small knives strapped below her hocks, she wears a vest with tools hanging from various straps. Some of these items can be explained away as tools of her woodcraft; others are clearly made to taste blood. I dare not ask what she keeps in her pockets.
She may not have told me what she's doing here, but she did reveal her origins. She is one of many in the Windsool clan, one of the pegasus families that previously guarded the ranges just north of the Crystal Mountains. Their clan was one of the first to venture southward during the great migration, a bold choice to make when the land was mostly uncharted. Her tales of discovering new landscapes and creatures fills me with wanderlust, though I am sure I will be completely wandered out by the time I reach my destination.
Sharpeye Windsool is a very interesting mare, and if she wanders as close to the castle grounds as I suspect she will, I may just make a friend out of her—if she doesn't betray me first. I am distrustful of any pony who is so reticent about their manner of employment, especially when such a pony has sharp things strapped to every limb.
She noticed my wariness, but if anything she seems to respect me more for my caution toward her. She gave her honor as a Windsool that she'll protect me well during her watch tonight, and if I know anything about pegasi, it's that they take such vows very seriously. What she does after her watch is another story, but I will worry about that after my sleep. Until then, I am in safe hooves.
Alas, it is hard to write by firelight, and my companion has warned strongly against the use of hornlight. I am told that lighting magic attracts several unsavory creatures from the nearby forest, and sends some beasts into a mindless rage. I am curious whether it is magical energy or pinpoint light that attracts them, but I am not so fool as to test and find out.
Sharpeye has volunteered for first watch. She assured me that a watch is very necessary even this far from the woods' edge, and I am inclined to trust her advice. She says she will wake me for my turn in seven hours, and then take three hours rest for herself. I wondered if that might be too little sleep for her, feeling it unfair to take twice as much sleep for myself. Before I could ask, she informed me that pegasi sleep differently from the other tribes. It's quite fascinating, actually. She says pegasi take several naps throughout the day and night, rather than taking their rest all at once. By taking a half dozen naps throughout the day, they get at least as much sleep as any other pony. I asked her whether she's ever tried sleeping like the other tribes do, but she claims it doesn't work for her; she always wakes up hungry within a few hours.
I wonder what Sharpeye's sleep patterns could imply about her biology. She says she wakes up hungry; perhaps pegasi need to eat more often than other ponies? I wish the existing manuscripts on tribal differences were not so poor. Recorded knowledge of equine racial variation has been poisoned by bigotry and bias for too long. Someday I would love to write the first accurate, fair account of tribal differentiation, though I am not certain Equestria will ever be ready for such a book if relations stay as strained as they are.
I must away to bed now, as I am not a winged pony who can wake well-rested on three hours of sleep. I have decided to enter the Everfree on the morrow, and for all I know, I may not sleep again until I reach the castle.
Year 1 ETS
Morning, June 3rd
My watch last night was uneventful, other than a massive beast flying overhead, blocking the moon as it flew over our campsite. I woke Sharpeye quietly, but after swiveling her ears and listening to the wind for a moment, she assured me it was nothing to worry about. Apparently massive creatures near the Everfree are only a concern if they linger; according to Sharpeye, the thing that flew overhead (her guess was a dragon) was either already full or not inclined to eat ponies. If he were hungry for pony flesh, she said, we wouldn't have seen him until he tried to snatch one of us. She feel back asleep almost instantly, and I was left with my mane standing on end, jumping at shadows for the rest of my blessedly short watch.
She may be awful at soothing my worries, but I am grateful for Sharpeye's presence. If she had not been here, I would not have slept at all last night. I suspect my journey would have ended quickly had I not met Sharpeye, as I would undoubtedly have attracted all manner of beasts by using my hornlight as soon as the sun had set.
With her help, I have plotted my next course. She says the caravans rarely come more often than once every two weeks, and sometimes two months pass without one; I cannot wait that long. I would run out of supplies within the week, and be forced to return to Canterlot for more provisions. Then I'd have to bear a second farewell to my friends, and I hate saying goodbye. Once was hard enough. For these reasons, I have chosen to traverse the forest on hoof.
Sharpeye has shared some of her knowledge of the local topography with me, marking some crucial locations on my map. The waypoints she has marked should allow me to travel through the forest in relative safety and comfort. If I can find my way and keep a good pace, I will reach my target in about two days. Sharpeye has encouraged me to hire a guide, but why bother with a guide for a two day trek? She also seems to have little faith in my navigational skills, for she has marked many more waypoints than the ones leading directly to the castle site. She told me not to panic when I get lost, as if my getting lost is inevitable.
She has offered to accompany me to the first waypoint, and as soon as I break my camp (Sharpeye has nothing to pack away), we will set out for the forest, the most dangerous part of my trip. I keep worrying that I've forgotten something, but after all the supply checklist rechecking I've been doing, that may only be nerves. I do hope I am prepared.