On the outskirts of Ponyville there was small amount of debris. While not a picture of total devastation, it still spoke of some sort of aftermath. There were a few things that, from a resident’s point of view, would have appeared to definitely not belong there.
First of all, there were the fragments of marble littering the ground. They seemed to be portions of pillars, perhaps ones that had happened to be in the way. There were only a few, but they probably didn’t originate from the grassy hill they now lay on. Certainly they would have caught the attention of any Pegasi flying overhead if there had been any. The Sun certainly glinted off them harshly, as if angry at them for what they implied. However, as strange as this seemed, it still wasn’t the oddest item there.
Nor was it the scraps of red velvet cloth that littered the ground as well, though they did speak of affluence and some great occasion. They gave a bit more of a hint as to the reason for these peculiarities. The regal pieces were marred by several unsightly tears. They had been disfigured by either a fight or some form of vandalism. Nonetheless, it still didn’t explain what had occurred.
No, the greatest anomaly was what lied amongst these things, and it was breathing. The breath was slightly haggard, but still had a somewhat peaceful sound to it. The sound only made when one is having a particularly relaxing dream. This unconscious creature was definitely worse for wear, but the dreams did not care. They lavished the being with fond memories of happy times, joyful times. After a period of time marked only by the passing of the sun and a few gentle breezes, the creature stirred. Its breathing grew more distressed, and its eyes scrunched as the face unwittingly took on the expression of fear. Hooves were raised in front, and to any onlooker, it would appear that this previously content individual was now fending off terrors unseen, ones that can only appear in the worst of nightmares.
As the sun settled beneath the horizon, its parting rays cast frightful shadows around the hill. The creature’s writhing on the ground became more intense as a battle of epic proportions occurred that could only be seen within the poor tormented being’s mind. The moon appeared as it peaked over this scene, its benign radiance unaware of what had caused so much damage in the light of day.
The individual finally seemed to have reached a climax in their imaginary fight, and they bolted up from the ground gasping for air, and hissing. To anypony close enough to witness this, of which there were none, it would have been immediate cause for alarm. The oddest thing of all the debris, laying in a small indentation in the ground, looked for all the world to be part of what had recently created no small stir in Canterlot: a changeling.
The conclusion would be easy to attain. While attacking the city, changelings had frightened many ponies. They had been defeated, ironically, by the one thing that they had come to steal and harvest: love. One mare’s love for a stallion had given him the power to remove a foul presence from the land of Equestria. If you were to ask somepony who had been there for it what was going on here they would immediately have told you something you would have no apparent reason to doubt. The changeling must have been blasted here by the powerful magical shield said stallion had conjured. Depending on who you had asked, the pony might go on to say that this one, should be captured, perhaps slain, or maybe just driven back to changeling territory. You would have no reason to disagree with their conclusion. None at all. Changelings had already proven themselves to be harmful and disgusting parasites (unlike parasprites which took adorable and turned it into a defense as well as a weapon). Yes, you would have no reason to doubt that this was a vile creature of evil. Neither would the pony you had asked.
At least, you wouldn’t have to doubt this until the changeling did something very extraordinary for a changeling. What happened would appear to any educated pony to be impossible. They would immediately be confused at what occurred. They would be speechless in fact.
The changeling, after throwing terrified glances all around itself had relaxed and then stiffened again. It put one of its front hooves to its head and seemed to concentrate, worried, listening to what clearly was not an enjoyable sound. Then there was a flash of light. In the place of a changeling now lay a moderately sized unicorn stallion. This was the impossible, a changeling taking the form of a pony not within their current sight. Clearly, this was no ordinary changeling.
The now stallion was of a peculiar appearance. His coat was like lightly colored sand, and his mane and tail were as white as a cloud. His eyes, if there had been enough light to make them out, would have been the color of a clear sky. Again, however, these were not the strangest portions of him. On his flanks were a pair of marks. If you weren’t familiar with this concept, a pony would tell you about cutie marks. The marks that appear on everypony when they discover the one thing that made them truly unique. The marks that show to the entire world what a pony’s special talent was. The marks that often determined even a pony’s career. This stallion’s cutie marks, or, as more proper Equestrians would say when referring to a male, stud stamps, were of a sort that had not been seen ever by the inhabitants of Ponyville, though a very few number of residents of Canterlot would be able to tell you of them. This stallion’s stud stamp was a picture of a changeling.
The stallion looked up into the sky, then over towards a nearby mountain, and followed this by staring at his upraised hooves for a moment. He lowered them and opened his mouth to speak. If you had been watching this you would likely be curious. What would he say? Would he reveal some deep secret that would set him on an adventure? Would he pine after somepony special to him but now lost? Would he swear revenge for some insult? The moon certainly seemed curious at this specimen. It appeared to lean in as the words came from his mouth. The wind ceased as if to prevent anything from drowning out what was to be heard by nopony at that time. Even the grass, which had been enjoying its day before the crash, seemed to lean in expectantly. A scowl appeared on the stallion’s face. A single word came from his lips, almost seeming to float in the air.
“Crud.”