Golden Writ sighed, sitting at the entrance of the fifth flimsy shelter that the herd was able to build. These ponies were accustomed to stone, not plants.
The good cheer from Thunderstruck’s rescue was short-lived. Ponies were still processing their long absence from the surface and the newest adult of the herd seemed destined to leave it already. Ponies were acting mechanically, moving without any purpose or emotion.
The herd was simply too far behind the rest of the world, lacking the tools and supplies to properly stabilize. Of course, there were ways to “obtain” supplies.
Raids always raised morale…