“Kiddo… happy birthday.”

When Trixie Lulamoon looked down at her adopted son, she saw the best years of her life and living, breathing reminder of her long recovery. With him, she saw evidence of her own generousity, her kindness, her laughter, her honesty, her loyalty… and yes, even her magic. Their relationship represented the great Equestrian Virtues With him, she had found her greatness, and that splendiferous magnificence was altruism.

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But it is slow going.

My writing has been distracted by the events in my life. Recently, I found out that I am losing my health care. This is kind of a problem, as you could imagine. I've started up an appeal process, but as of yet, nothing has happened. My EBT benefits got terminated as well. Overall, this has been a very stressful time and it has done a nasty number on my mental health. There are other things as well that have me maxed out on the old stress-o-meter.

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I have a chapter ready to go... almost.

Alas, no sign of my editor.

Real life has been intruding upon my work efforts. My most sincere apologies.

Everything was peaceful, perfect, the night was wonderful, that is, until Sumac yawned.

Under these circumstances, yawning could end a pony, and even as Sumac was closing his mouth, Twinkleshine said the following: “It’s way, way past your bedtime, Sumac Apple.”

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Mind you, this is a rough copy, expect for bits to change. Editing still needs to take place. Blah, blah, blah.

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This:

Pebble: you both act like hot plot-nuggets.

(Hidden Rose frowns, turns away, and rolls her eyes)

Ambrosia: a’ight, sometimes we do, but that’s different. Afore, Sumac wasn’t hurt and now he is. We’re not gonna act like butt-dumplings when he’s like this.

Pebble: I don’t believe you. (Gestures at Meg and narrows eyes at Apple sisters) If I were you, I wouldn’t do anything to upset Megara.

(Apple sisters both gulp)

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Pebble: you both act like hot plot-nuggets.

(Hidden Rose frowns, turns away, and rolls her eyes)

Ambrosia: a’ight, sometimes we do, but that’s different. Afore, Sumac wasn’t hurt and now he is. We’re not gonna act like butt-dumplings when he’s like this.

Pebble: I don’t believe you. (Gestures at Meg and narrows eyes at Apple sisters) If I were you, I wouldn’t do anything to upset Megara.

(Apple sisters both gulp)

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“Did you have a nice visit with your grandmare?” Pebble asked while Sumac lowered a gingerbread roof down upon a gingerbread schoolhouse. “I was worried the whole time. Father was pacing the floor and Octavia got fed up with him moping and she threw a couch cushion at him and hit him in the head. Then, stuff happened and it was nice to my father and Octavia playing again. It’s been a little tense since the… you know. Everything that’s happened.”

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A chapter of Winter Break.

It now awaits editing. This is gonna be a good one, mm-hmm.

I can't wait to post it.

Life, it seemed, was a never-ending series of humiliations, each one building up intensity from the last. Sumac found himself in the most embarrassing, most awful, most terrible, most unthinkable, most unfathomable pickle that anypony could imagine: he was sandwiched between two mares that had just betrayed him by bathing him. Both were fuzzy, soft, and stank of lilacs, or lavender, or some other horrendous floral feminine fragrance. They were also sound asleep.

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The water cascading against the pale-green claw-footed enameled cast iron tub made a thunderous sound while it filled. The bathroom was already filling up with steam and Pebble was eager to get into the tub, where it would be warm. She was too little to get in by herself—she had to be eased in just a little bit at a time—and if she just plopped in it would hurt far too much. But a little at a time? The sting—and the anticipation of the sting—was delightful.

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Current chapter of PTSSFF:WB is killing me. Send help. Can't breathe. Chest pains. Spots in vision. Left arm numb. Can't see computer screen. Can't feel keyboard.

I moight have corssed a line. Halp.

One pebble after another, row after row, careful, thorough, meticulous effort. Such was the way to perfection. Oh, Sumac could no doubt glue on whole bunches of little pebbles at a time, but then there might be gaps, flaws, clusters of tiny pebbles that were all the same colour. This was an instance where patience would be rewarded.

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It didn’t matter that the room was cold, all Sumac could feel was an exquisite, life-affirming warmth that seemed to radiate through his bones. Tarnish and Maud were dancing, a slow-moving yet still spirited dance. Watching them made Sumac feel funny, as if he would be overcome with emotions, and for reasons he did not understand, he kept thinking of Pebble.

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Pebble’s bed was crowded, but Sumac didn’t mind. He was sandwiched between Pebble and the wall, in s spot where he was safe from rolling out of the bed and falling down to the floor, which was a pressing concern. At home, his own bed had a rail on the side of it, a rail that would remain until such a time he was recovered.

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“Oh look, they didn’t even make it till dinner,” Tarnish said in a low, soft whisper while he gestured over at the little fuzzy (and one scaly) bodies piled on the couch. “We should do something to mess with them.” Turning his head, he began checking for approval amongst the various ponies present in the living room.

“Oh no,” Lemon Hearts moaned, shaking her head. “I would be wrong to violate their trust. We shouldn’t mess with them.”

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When you meet your very best friend in the whole wide world for the first time.

He didn’t mean to be scared, he didn’t want to be rude, but something about her slow, predatory gait was terrifying. Sumac wiggled a bit and pressed himself against Maud, thankful for her presence, and he tried to control is breathing. Manticores were dangerous, devious monsters, and most of his foalhood had been spent fearing what every foal feared; manticores.

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The trip home was all the more pleasant because the snow had eased off a bit and the sun was almost shining. In the distance, an army of pegasus ponies decorated Twilight’s castle, stringing lights all over it, along with beautiful garlands made of varying colours of tinsel. Ponies, both foals and adults, played in the snow together. There was a festive mood that hung over the whole town, and this sense, this feeling that everything was secure.

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The rice pudding at Sugarcube Corner was perhaps their most spectacular seasonal treat. It was an extraordinary dish, fit for royalty, and there was nothing else quite like it. Slow cooked rice pudding, with dried, dehydrated cherries for sweetness, crystallised ginger for a bit of zing, and a sprinkle of cayenne pepper for zowie. Sugar was sprinkled over the top and then burned with a torch, melting it and forming a thin, hard shell of caramelised goodness that had to be shattered with

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