This next one-off will feature the great North state of Yakyakistan and their daily ritual of the yak march. The yak march is to represent their deep respect for the snowy environment and to give tribute to the current rulers of the great yak species.
At the northern borders of Equestria, the royal regiment of Yakyakistan perform their morning ritual. If one were to trot close enough to the troops, one could hear their low-pitched chants melodiously ringing out from their ranks.
“Hup, two, three, four! Hup, two, three, four! Hup, two, three, four! Keep those front hooves up! We aren’t Prince Rutherford’s bodyguard because we’re weak and sickly!” The hairy yak shouted. His regiment shouted back with a resounding ‘Yes!’ The brigade lifted their hooves higher and stomped the ground all the harder, marching underneath the cold, grey sky.
The winds howled, but that didn’t deter them. For their main calling was to protect their proud leader from anything, even if it meant death. The royal guard of twenty-five in square formation roared out in song,
“For our Prince we live
For his honour we give
Our unending allegiance
And unrelenting obedience.”
The yaks garnered in wooden plated armor and silver-horned helmets continued trotting onward, e’en as the first snowflake dropped. But suddenly, the leader yak stopped giving out the marching calls. The bulky yak slowed his pace, his soldiers following suit until they came to a complete stop. A moment of silence descended upon the regiment as more snowflakes fell from the sky.
“My fellow yaks. We now take this time to commemorate all that Prince Rutherford and Yakyakistan has given us. The yaks who moved south mocked our kind for braving the harsh conditions of the cold north. But here we are. We stand strong, forming a nation that all shall revere,” recalled the leader Silesia. His regiment nodded back, saluting Silesia with their front right hoof.
The yaks then stood silently, letting the winds sing its melody with its gusts and howls. Its song was accompanied by the occasional wail of the Winterwolf and the tinkling of the snowflakes that gently touched the growing snow patches. Surrounding the regiment was a vast expanse of white that never seemed to end. The yaks hummed a short, solemn tune, one that gave homage to the gods of snow and harvest, adding to the growing winter orchestra.
Silesia huffed and puffed. The regiment stopped humming. In unison, Prince Rutherford’s bodyguards lifted their front hoof, slowly marching forward. Their marches grew progressively faster and mightier until they reached full speed. The yaks gave out a loud roar, defying the gusty winds and falling snow with all their might. Not even the pale Winterwolf was going to stop their march from reaching completion. Should one cross them, their hooves would flail them back down to death and the abyss.
“Company march!” Silesia commanded. The regiment continued trotting forward away from the Equestrian border and towards the north.
The winds now blew at their hardest, and the stormy clouds pushed its snow head on to the squadron. The yaks used all their might to maintain their marching pace. Even when the snow piled up and lowered their visibility, the yaks moved forward. Nothing was going to stop them from completing their morning ritual.
A small pack of Winterwolves ambushed the prince’s bodyguard. One by one, the wolves were slammed down by the yaks’ booming voices and hearty punches. The yaks threw their bodies as far as they could in any direction they pleased. The Winterwolves were swiftly defeated. The regiment and their leader huffed and puffed as the snow faded. The yaks marched away to the horizon. For them, this was all part of a day’s work in Yakyakistan.
THE END