//------------------------------//
// Virgin Green Fields 
// Story: Assorted Short Stories 
// by Titanium Dragon 
//------------------------------//

	“Just another mile, Cookie, and you’ll be able to see what’s over the horizon,” the stallion said to himself as he put one hoof in front of the other, the long grass crunching beneath his hooves with every step. It was a whole new world: free of unicorns, free of pegasi, and maybe, someday, even free of Chancellor Puddinghead. Lifting his head, Smart Cookie looked up into the sky; was it always such a dazzling blue?

Another step. A cool breeze flowed across the slope, carrying the crisp, dewy scent of grass to his snout. As the emerald hillside rippled and swayed at the whims of the wind, Smart Cookie half-lidded his eyes, letting his imagination carry him up to the top of the hill to behold the land the earth ponies would claim.

Virgin green fields, untouched by ponies, stretched out in every direction as far as the eye could see. He could almost taste the sweet patches of clover, fresh and uncut, growing wild as nature intended.  The soil was rich and moist, but just firm enough to be perfect for plowing. Seeds would be sown, the fields watered and tended to, and soon they would bear fruit for the very first time.

With so much food, and no one to share it with, the earth ponies would finally find the prosperity they had always longed for. They would build towns of their own – towns without arrogant unicorn landlords and pegasi casting dark clouds overhead. 

Without the pretentiousness of unicorn intellectuals, their own intellectuals would grow – ponies would no longer hide their books from guests, or deny that they were educated. Without unicorns around, ponies would have to learn, to keep account of things beyond their fields, and, most of all, to admit to it. Foals would grow up without the idea that learning was for unicorns, not for earth ponies. They would know that there was more to life than scratching at the dirt, and go into politics, engineering, and all the other fields which had long been dominated by unicorns. Smart Cookie would propose the construction of a library, and a collection of all the books that the ponies had brought with them so that all could read and be enlightened. And then – and only then – would ponies come to see the foolishness of Chancellor Puddinghead for what it was, and put a good, sensible pony in charge.

Smart Cookie snorted to himself. “A pony can dream, can’t he? Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.” He smiled ruefully as his eyes focused on the world once more, the slope no longer so steep as he neared the crest of the hill. The sky stretched out endlessly above him, with not a cloud to be seen, and below, he could start to see the valley, green as he had dared dream. Slowly, he turned his head, only to start as he met a pair of blue eyes.

“What the?”

The eyes narrowed at his exclamation, and Smart Cookie realized they belonged to a green unicorn mare, her emerald mane blowing in the wind as she lay in the grass, an open book lying between her front legs. “I thought you unicorns were… I mean…” He shook his head, lifting one hoof to adjust his hat. “Er, howdy.”

Well, so much for paradise.





Clover the Clever’s ears twitched at the sound of approaching hoofsteps. Tearing her eyes away from her book, she glanced back over her shoulder at the sound, tilting her head slightly, her eyes widening at the sight of an earth pony frozen mid step.

“What the? I thought you unicorns were… I mean…” The stallion stumbled over his words, his voice thick with the fields. “Er, howdy.”

Clover narrowed her eyes. “Hello,” she said, before she looked back to her book, sighing and lighting her horn to turn the page. Of course it was some slack-jawed earth pony yokel. She should have expected it. Why would they strike out to find their own land when they could follow the unicorns, who, thanks to her guidance, found this place?

Clover shook her head. It didn’t matter. Her eyes flicked away from her book, back to the stallion, who was just staring at her dumbly. To think, for a moment, she had dared to hope it would be a fellow intellectual climbing the hill so they think things through on their own. Was it too much to ask for somepony worth talking to?