November 20th, 3891. Twenty-two minutes past noon on a gray snowy day.
It was a very good time to start.
Layers of frost crunched beneath the little filly's hooves as Scootaloo trudged up the hill. She was far from alone. Looking out across the snow-blanched fields of Ponyville park, she saw dozens of fellow villagers enjoying the wintry wonderland. Little foals in woolly gear chased each other and launched snowballs merrily at random, giggling and shouting from their frosted bastions. Mothers and fathers huddled with their nervous children by the frozen lakeside, teaching them how to skate for the first time. Couples sat side by side on park benches, cradling steamy mugs of hot cocoa in their fetlocks.
It was the first winter snap to touch Ponyville that year—an early one at that—and the townsponies couldn't be happier. They gathered in droves to enjoy the extra-long weekend, afforded them by an inclement blizzard. In just a few days—no doubt—the thicker layers of the snow would melt and they'd have a week or two of trudging back to work. But—for the time being—they were free to enjoy the crisp, cool spontaneity of the moment, and it drew almost everyone out of their homes and into the fresh air.
All things considered, there were just far too many citizens and onlookers out and about. If Scootaloo was smart, she would have postponed for another afternoon.
But there was nothing smart about what Scootaloo was about to do.
Holding her breath, she continued her uphill march. In spite of the cold, she was sweating. This had less to do with the thick purple-striped scarf around her neck and a lot more to do with the huge, heavy sled that she was lugging up the snowy embankment behind her. A tarp had been curiously thrown over the vehicle, weighed down by a heavy saddlebag stuffed full of even more things than a little pony might need for a casual afternoon stroll in the snow.
A few ponies glanced at her, arching their eyebrows at Scootaloo's conspicuous cargo, but they swiftly returned to whatever enjoyable business they were conducting. The air filled with laughter and chuckles. Soon, the voices dwindled—for Scootaloo was putting a great deal of distance between herself and the heart of the crowd. With dogged determination, she made a beeline for the tallest snow-capped hill in the park, leaving two thick lines in the frost behind her.
At last, after much vaporous huffing and puffing, Scootaloo reached the top of the ridge. Even after stopping in her tracks, her heart beat all the faster. It was all downhill from here... in more ways than one.
The filly threw the straps of the sled limply to the snow and made a mental count of things. Saddlebag full of bare necessities? Check. Helmet? Check. Goggles? Check. Scarf? Check. Extra scarf? Double-check. Sled...?
Scootaloo turned around to face the shrowded object in question. But just as she reached for the tarp...
...her forelimb brushed against a crystalline pendant dangling around her neck. A sliver of sunlight through the clouds caught a midnight purple glint that tickled her vision.
The feathered filly couldn't help but pause. She took a deep breath, gingerly feeling the pendant in her hoof. She stared at the slender rock's glazed, violet surfaces—ensnared in a web of gold bands wrapping all around it like spider silk. Scootaloo's amber eyes fluttered shut, and—for a brief moment—her mind went back in time to twenty-four hours ago... when a large package arrived at her door... along with a letter...