a Sudden Train Ride to Hoofington

by bearcat

far flung epilogue

In the prologue of the Annals of the Time of Two Leaders, my five-times-great grandmother penned these words:

There was a spring, many years before today, that aliens came to Equestria in space-traveling ships, and tried to collapse all pony society. They were not humans, however. I have through very careful research learned something of humankind, and here is something the reader must understand, if they are to research it themselves.

There are no humans in Equestria. There never will be. Not because the world was closed, nor because no human dared defile the pony's lands. Not even that the alicorn race kept some magical barrier in place against intrusion. There simply were no humans in Equestria. And there never would be.

If a human were to pierce that veil, he might find it more a semipermeable membrane than a solid obscurity. Twice ponies had crossed into America, walked on two feet alone and wondered at their five tiny hooves on each forelimb. The "great and powerful" Trixie had absorbed her acerbic and humorless wit in the streets of Man-hattin' but no one there knew the street performer knew real magic, once.

If a human were to cross that membrane, he'd find he was something native. A pony, most likely though sometimes the land declared them a gryphon. No pony alive had put this spell in place. The land simply declared your nature, and put hair or feathers on you, to reveal to other Equestrians who you really were.

Except for some times. If you were resourceful enough, and determined enough, and even a little bit lucky, you could choose your form. Choose wings, and a heavy winter coat suitable for the upper reaches of the atmosphere's impenetrable cold. Choose a horn, to wield at whim the very magic that accepted your ponyhood on entry.

Choosing both at once was harder, but it was not truly unheard of. Instead, it was simply very expensive; paid out of your soul, your future, and probably your past as well.

Thus it was, that Daniel Hanssom, programmer and database analyst, became the alicorn Crescent War-snath. Without his assistance the war against the invaders would have gone very poorly indeed. But that spring was without invaders by summer, and only a very few already weakened ponies died during the siege of Ponyville.

If you are reading this, gentle pony (or strong human), then we have all lived past the ordeal that followed. I write this tome that some day it will be read by those curious about the plains known as Everfree, though there be no forest. I write my memories knowing only too well how strong magic can corrupt, obscure, and also pardon or eradicate what was once clear to all.

I know not as of this writing, whether to suggest you seek the blessings of the princess Celestia, or the prince Crescent. Only time can tell that tale, and I am well into my upper years already. I must write now, what has transpired, while my eyes and my quill permit. Perhaps my successor will, as I have, stand in the gap between these hard headed beings of almost pure magic. May the Creator have mercy on her soon to be tortured soul.

the historian of Celestia's library and the sooth-sayer of Crescent's grand-court,

Swirling Stars, eighteen-times grand daughter to Star Swirl the Bearded