CWiE: Clan Wolf in Equestria

by DrAngryslacks

Chapter 2: In Far Country

Cadet Flynn was in a tough situation. Not only was he having the most bizarre day of his life, but it resulted in him being lost in the middle of an unfamiliar desert. Somehow, on the way to beating his first BattleMech in combat. The MechWarrior's Firemoth was hacked and subsequently fired upon. The last thing he can remember was his 'Mech falling over behind a fake structure. Next thing he knew, he woke up where he was.

Am I dead? Flynn thought aloud, holding up his hands before him and flexing his fingers. He did not feel dead, but that may have been attributed to the fact that he did not know what death felt like, or of there being an afterlife.

Flynn never did spend much time on what would happen to his soul when he died. Some members of his sibko said they would join the Founder and the Great Father among the heavens, others just thought of oblivion. What they all agreed on was that whatever the afterlife may hold - if there was one - was not to influence their actions in life. Otherwise it may put their genetic legacies in jeopardy.

There was nothing here that signified importance, and the Cadet decided it was time to explore and gain his bearings. He sat up in his chair, his nausea was all but gone but his headache was only beginning to ebb away. It would be an uncomfortable ride, but it would not be a disabling one. Flynn went through a pre-startup check and activated his 'Mech

One of the things he picked up at some point during his training was that upon startup the onboard computer would state the name of the planet, its ambient temperature and the local time. This only happened if the 'Mech was on the planet for the first time or had otherwise been off world. Therefore, if he was still on Circe, the computer would say nothing.

However, Flynn was in for a serious surprise. The reactor powered up, making a progressively louder hum before stabilizing at a certain volume. The Firemoth stood up straighter than it already had, to which Flynn recognized by the cockpits view leaning upwards slightly. What shocked the Cadet was not the fact that he was somehow off-planet, but rather the planet that he ended up on.

“Planet: Earth. Ambient temperature: Nine-seven-point-three-four degrees. Local time is: Ten-fifty-nine-twelve GST. All systems nominal.”

Terra...

He was on Terra.

Cadet Flynn gripped the ends of armrests tightly, and sat in his chair staring blankly at the control panel. The only company he had in the cockpit was his own heavy breathing and the occasional beep from the computer. In what was meant only as a casual announcement for his location had resulted in being a revelation that shook him to his core.

The first thing that came to mind was that he was deceased, and in a way that allowed him no honor from his Clan. Whatever - whoever had done this set him up, and yet, there were no significant suspects. Any potential enemy with technical knowledge of a BattleMech was somewhere else and likely had more pressing things to do than murder a Cadet. That, or a potential saboteur failed miserably in their mission and he was merely collateral.

Both theories were far-fetched at best and absurd at worst. There just was not enough fruit worth to bear either way.

Flynn took a deep breath and cleared his thoughts. He was dead, there was nothing he could do about it. However, he was obviously privileged enough to be allowed to see Terra, and he would not waste this opportunity to explore his true home, regardless if his Clan now saw him as dezgra. Flynn shook his head at the last thought, he seemed unable to defeat his worries now, but he could at least cast them aside for the time being.

The Cadet glanced at the wireframe representation of his Firemoth's status: an all blue trace of the front of his 'Mech. Flynn switched to the HTAL readings, the outline of his 'Mech morphed into a series of solid green bars under the letters, H, T, A, and L: head, torso, arms and legs respectively. His 'Mech did not have a scratch on it, Flynn was briefly surprised by the readings - the fall his 'Mech had would have at least busted an actuator somewhere - but quickly realized that his rules did not necessarily apply anymore. Every other system, from radar to weapons was in a similar state of ideal condition.

Having determined everything was set, Flynn decided it was time to get out of the middle of nowhere and find civilization. The Cadet depressed the throttle and the Mech took a step forward, followed by another and a third after that. Within seconds the Firemoth darted across the desert at its top speed of 150 kph.

Flynn swayed gently to the sides as his 'Mech ran, a subtle reminder to him that even in death he still had skill as a pilot. He denounced the impulse belief that he would never need these skills quickly from his mind. To exist in an afterlife without battles, war or otherwise conflict would be regarded as eternal punishment to any Clan warrior. I wonder to whom I shall be honored to fight, or at least meet. Flynn thought, thinking up of three people.

The first was the Great Father himself, Aleksandr Kerensky, Protector of the Star League. It was he who led the Star League Defense Force into involuntary exile as the Inner Sphere collapsed into itself. Sadly, even he could not keep the deep wounds of civil strife at bay amongst his followers. However, his son, Nicholas, could heal these wounds. In creating a second exodus and taking eight hundred warriors with him, the Founder created the Clans and retook the Pentagon Worlds in Operation Klondike. Of these eight hundred, the first Khan of Clan Wolf and the founder of Flynn's bloodline, Jerome Winson, was at the head of the Eden front.

It was settled, he would meet the three most important people to him in the afterlife. All that remained of his goals was to find out where they would be. Flynn slowed his Firemoth to walking speed to allow himself to think harder. The capital of the Star League was Unity City, located somewhere around an area called the Puget Sound on the continent of North America.

His mind went blank at the realization that he knew little about the native geography of Terra. He could tell that he was on the North American continent, considering that the local cacti was similar to the genetically modified cacti on Circe, and the cacti on Circe was based on a North American species. But that was it, the Puget Sound could be at the northern or southernmost extremes of the continent, or anywhere in between.

A new thought entered Flynn's mind, when - and if - he reached Unity City, would the Kerenskys even be there? After all, the Great Father and his two sons were born in Moscow, a city in a continent called Europe, and even Flynn knew that would mean Moscow was on the other side of the planet.

And yet, what if that was somehow a test? Maybe meeting the Founder required tests of faith, loyalty and courage so difficult that only the warriors who not only were the equals, but possibly superiors to the eight hundred could accomplish. Flynn agreed with himself that that was the case, it would at least give greater meaning to his traveling than simply finding one's way out of the desert.

Flynn returned the Firemoth to full speed, the cloud of dust quickly turned into a swollen, tan streak of sand, dirt, rocks and things kicked up by the 'Mech's heels. Remaining vigilant, Flynn would twist the torso of his 'Mech to the left and right regularly to scout the landscape.

Still nothing but cacti, sand, and mesas as far as he could see.

Flynn knew that as long as he kept in one direction long enough, he would assuredly find a road, or otherwise some path to civilization. Once he found a road, he would then follow it to where his next challenge awaited. If not, at least he would have found a better idea of where to look.

“Neg,” The MechWarrior said aloud, recollecting a quote from the Founder. “True warriors do not follow paths, they make them.”

Flynn realized at that moment that if he were to use a road as a guide, he would surely fail. He had to make his own path, a path to civilization not laid out by laborers and architects, but by unwavering devotion and perseverance.

And for a half-hour he did just that, he ignored the railroad he crossed, or the beaten dirt roads likely made from generations of traveling merchants. He even gave nothing more than a cursory glance to the herd of buffalo resting near an abandoned, primitive settlement. All he did was run in one direction: forward.

To his satisfaction, the fruits of his dedication had been literal. During the last few minutes of his trek across the wastes, a sage green rim emerged over the horizon in front of him. As he drew closer the rim morphed into a forest, no, an orchard of trees. When he zoomed in with his HUD, tiny light green and crimson specks dotted the flora.

Not far from the orchard were a cluster of wooden buildings. Their design was practical for a small trading post, even if it did look archaic to Flynn. It did raise another question to his list of unanswered queries: If Terra was the most industrious city in the Inner Sphere, neg, known space. Why would such a town still use structures easily centuries old, more importantly, why would it even exist at all? Would the inhabitants not realize that other towns were more advanced and move there? Or perhaps, the townspeople only saw technology as a means to an end, and avoided it when possible.

Whatever the reason, Flynn had reached the outskirts of the orchard. He had made his path, now he needed to know where to make his next.

“Shutting down.” The computer chimed, the reactor hum made its finale in a fading whir. The HUD vanished from sight and the lights dimmed in the cockpit. Flynn took off his neurohelmet and set it on the floor to the side of his chair. He then unfastened his safety harness, got up from his chair and stretched. He did not know how long he was seated, but to stand up and move about was well-appreciated.

The Cadet stepped to the entrance, the cockpit was small and cramped, but still large enough to carry a second person in relative comfort. The door released and the dry desert air wafted into Flynn's nostrils. The air was incredible, it was crisp, clear and fresh, unlike the stale, heavily recycled air in the cockpit or the hellish atmosphere of Circe.

He could not spend all day being distracted by smelling the sacred air of Terra, however. He needed to stay on target, he needed to reach the Founder. A retractable cable ladder unfurled beneath the door and stopped only a foot or so from the ground. Taking one final deep breath of the air, he slowly descended the ladder.

When he reached the bottom step he paused for a brief moment, he was just about to step foot on Terra, the mere thought was simply shocking to the young MechWarrior. He was about to do something that every Clansman before - and certainly many after - him dreamed of since the first Exodus. It was by no means an easy step to take from his ladder.

A moment later, and Flynn was on the ground, having discarded the fact of the earth he was standing on now. Yet another test, he thought. Maybe this test is to determine my willpower by presenting me the beauty of Terra, all in an effort for me to stray from the Way of the Clans.

The Cadet stepped toward a tree a few meters away from his Firemoth, and looked back at his 'Mech. Was it really a good idea to leave it there? It was not like someone could hijack it - again - while he was at the town. However, the townspeople may, for apparent reasons, be terrified by the fact that a ten meter tall war machine was parked just outside their orchard.

But perhaps Flynn was over-thinking all of this. BattleMechs had been around for centuries, it was practically impossible for any civilized world, let alone Terra to be ignorant of the machines. He needed to go to the town and stay focused while doing so. He could not afford to see the forest for the trees right now, even if it was technically an orchard.

Flynn paced down column after column of trees until he reached the town proper. He looked around, and not a single soul was in sight. He knew there were people here, - the orchards looked too well maintained to be wild, he just needed to know where.

The sound of a piano playing gave him the hint he needed, he traced the music coming from a saloon around the center of town, across the street from what seemed to be the town hall. Flynn walked up to the structure, taking a look at the slightly tinted windows, he would be unable to see inside from them. That was not his concern, and the MechWarrior walked up the fronts steps and through the sliding doors.

As soon as he passed the doors, Flynn froze wide-eyed in place. Sitting at the tables were... Horses, of varying colors, all staring back at him. They wore ancient laborer attire one would expect on humans, specifically that attuned to ranching. Even more surprising was that there were mugs, plates of half-eaten meals, silverware and playing cards at the tables, and that some of the horses inexplicably held these items by their hooves.

Flynn began to step forward towards the counter, most of the horses returning to their meals and games without uttering a peep. He sat down at a bar stool and quickly assessed the situation. There is no way they could be real horses, he thought, massaging his head. They just look so... docile. The only equines Flynn knew of were the Hell Horses of Circe. Large, highly aggressive beasts with an affinity for caves. They lived up to their name and then some - no less thanks to being genetically engineered - as no one had ever tamed a Hell Horse.

These things, however, were the exact opposite of Hell Horses. For one, they were much smaller, their bodies seemed to have been “rounded”, for want of a better word, in every sense. Their eyes were much too big for their head and took on a myriad of colors. Their manes and tails, too were unnaturally colored and some frankly looked too... human to be on a horse. The most unsettling aspect of all was that, these things were obviously smart, too smart for horses to possibly be. They used tools, they looked at him directly with full attention, and they dressed in human clothing seemingly tailored for them.

Flynn was not intimidated by the idea of sentient horses inhabiting the afterlife, not if their appearance was any indication of their nature. If they were only eying him suspiciously, and not panicking or attacking on sight of him, it would mean that these horses had been around humans before. Flynn grunted at the thought of fighting these animals, perhaps if they were determined enough, they could swarm him like a pack of cowardly carrion eaters without too many losses.

“Well howdy, partner, don't reckon Ah've seen anypony like you around these parts.” A voice to Flynn's left called to him in some malformed dialect - certainly nothing resembling proper Star League Standard English. The Cadet jolted upwards from his slouching position and bolted his head to the left.

One of the horses, a light yellow colt with a long golden mane had just greeted him. He took a better look at the horse, it had thin green irises in proportion to its massive eyes, its mane and its tail seemed to be two different, even shades of yellow. It wore a slanted hat Flynn would expect a tender of livestock in the Laborer Caste would wear, and some kind of beige leather vest to go with it. The last notable trait was that a picture of an apple was grafted onto its sides like a tattoo - probably an identification mark made by the owner of the horse.

Still, the horse did ask who he was. Flynn got up from his chair, towering over the horse by a solid two and a half feet, and introduced himself. “I am Cadet Flynn of the Wolf Clan, to whom do I address my queries to?”

The horse looked confused initially, but enthusiastically responded once it seemed to understand Flynn's words. “Well, mah name's Braeburn, and you're happenin' to be stoppin' by the best eatery in-” The horse stood on its hind legs and kicked its forelegs in the air. “Appleloosa!”

“Appleloosa?” Flynn asked, not particularly phased by the pun.

In the wake of everything so far, having a two-sided conversation with a horse may not have been as shocking as it should have. It felt almost like a dream really, but Flynn's instincts suggested that it was all very real, and Flynn knew well to trust his instincts.

“That's right! 'bout a few months ago we all set up our orchard out here in the Mild West.” Braeburn pointed one of his hooves to the other horses in the saloon. “I'd say thing has been goin' pretty good so far.”

“For a bunch of freebirth laborers, maybe.” Flynn spoke loud and clear for Braeburn to hear, if he was going to insult the horse, he would at least do it to its face. The MechWarrior was not pleased at the fact that Braeburn was butchering his language with contractions, but what could he expect from a talking equine?

“Hey, don't have anythin' nice to say 'bout our home, don't say anything at all.” Braeburn furrowed his brow at the Cadet's snide remark.

“And you think that just because you said so that I am going to become mute? Especially from a horse?” Flynn crossed his arms and glared down at Braeburn, “If you want me to respect your crop, you must earn it in battle.”

Braeburn looked Flynn straight in the eye. “Mister, we don't like roughhousers around these parts, Ah suggest you finish your business in this town sooner rather than later.” Flynn could hear other horses getting up from their meals and games, perhaps the equines were not as big as pushovers as they first seemed.

It quickly dawned on Flynn that while he was interested in testing the horses combat skills, he knew there was no honor in fighting civilians over petty squabbles. “Surkai,” the Cadet said, resting his arms to his sides. “I ask for the Rede of Forgiveness from you for my actions.” Flynn then quoted three lines from the Remembrance, the ongoing epic depicting the history of the Clans. “Laborers to till the land, to do the tasks: They shall have our undying gratitude, For they are the muscle behind us all.”

Braeburn just stood there not sure what to do. “Um, apology accepted?”

“I thank you, I await the punishment you intend for me to accept.”

“Um...” Braeburn looked around the room nervously until his eyes focused on something next to Flynn. “Well, you need to, uh, drink a whole mug of apple cider within ten seconds.” It was the best punishment he could think up without actually trying to hurt his guest - at worst he would get a bad case of hiccups.

On cue, a bartender horse took a mug and held it under a barrel's spout as cider poured into the container. The barrel's contents were apparently drained as the spout sputtered and the stream turned into progressively slower dripping. Nonetheless, there was still enough fluid to get the mug nearly full.

“Down to our last barrel, Braeburn.” The bartender shouted, looking back at the horse. “Sure you still wanna give him the cider?”

“Yeah, it's on me.” Braeburn fished into an inside pocket and pulled out a single gold coin, and exchanged it for the mug with the bartender. Braeburn then slid the mug to Flynn. “Ah'l count the time.”

Flynn clutched the mug by the handle up to his nose and smelled the contents, it was apple cider for sure, but he hoped that the beverage was not alcoholic. Flynn did not want to get drunk just yet, not before celebrating his unity with the Kerenskys - and likely not even then.

“Ready,” Braeburn announced, keeping his eye on a clock across the room. “Go!”

Without hesitation, Flynn chugged the mug of its contents, it was then that he realized how thirsty he really was. He knew being in the desert for who knows how long can result in dehydration without drinking water constantly, but it was not like Flynn really needed to worry about dying twice.

Flynn slammed the mug down onto the counter with one second to spare, Braeburn's eyes widened even further in surprise. “Ah guess that means you are forgiven, partner.” The Cadet breathed heavily for a few moments before willing himself to normalcy. “You're not from around here are you?”

“Neg,” Flynn replied, sitting back down in his stool. The Cadet felt he should not stay in Appleloosa for any longer than necessary and continue his journey. “Horse, I-”

“We're ponies, sir.” Braeburn corrected.

“Pony, I request the location of Unity City. Do you know where I may find it?”

Braeburn did a gesture that Flynn assumed was a shoulder shrug. “Sorry, partner, doesn't ring a bell.”

Perhaps I should not expect the ponies to be smart enough to know of the Founder. Flynn thought, But I may as well try again. “What about Moscow?”He asked.

“Moscob?” Braeburn readjusted his hat with a hoof as he leaned his head to one side. “Shoot, that's on the other side of Equestria.”

“That is what you use when referring to Terra. Quiaff?” The Cadet queried as he leaned forward slightly in his stool.

“Come again?”

“Query affirmitve?” Flynn clarified.

“Ah guess so,” Braeburn walked over to one of the windows. “If that's where you're headed, the next train to Canterlot is due in a half hour, if y'all willin' to wait.”

Flynn was starting to lose his patience, why did he keep referring to puns and false towns? “I do not wish to go to 'Canterlot', pony. I wish to meet the Great Father at his place of birth! Not dwell further among more horses.”

“Sorry, Flynn was it? Ah didn't think you'd like runnin' around like a chicken with its head cut off either.” Braeburn lifted up one of his forelegs in an unnatural angle and put his hoof up to his chin to scratch it as he paced in a small circle. “But I do know somepony who can help ya.” The pony faced Flynn and pointed the hoof in the air at the announcement.

“How so?” On the inside, Flynn questioned himself if Braeburn was really suggesting going to another horse for help.

“Well, mah cousin Applejack in Ponyville said in a recent letter that she made a new friend, who happens to be the new librarian. Maybe if you went to her, she could help ya out.”

He did.

Flynn got back out of his chair and crossed his arms. “Are there better alternatives available?”

“If there were, Ah would have told you those instead. Ah'm sure Applejack's friend could answer your questions better than me.” Braeburn began searching inside one of his inner pockets. “Want me to pay for your ticket?”

“Neg, just inform me of where I must go to find 'Ponyville'” Flynn replied, tapping his fingers to lazily create air quotes

“You're really gonna walk the whole way?” Braeburn asked, more concerned at the claim than surprised. He trotted over to the window again and urged Flynn to follow. “See those train tracks there?” He raised a hoof to point at a set of tracks a few dozen meters away. ”Just follow them to the east until you hit a Y-junction, then go right, should be a straight shot to Ponyville from there.”

“My gratitude, pony, but I must go. The Founder awaits my return.” Flynn proceeded to leave through the door he came in from.

As Flynn neared the entrance, he could hear Braeburn call out to him. “Come back soon! There's always plenty to do in Appleloosa!”

---

Braeburn paced up to the stool Flynn was sitting at and got on it. Well that was peculiar. He thought, Oh well, you never know who you're gonna meet out here on the frontier. Braeburn had little reason to be too surprised by the visitor. While ponies had known about dragons and griffons for as long as recorded history goes, most of the planet they lived on was unexplored, and it was not unheard of for explorers from distant lands to show up every now and then.

The bartender placed a plate of food onto the counter in front of Braeburn with his. “Here you go, Braburn. Desert fruit salad sandwich with sun-dried hay on the side, the usual.” The bartender said in a gravelly tone.

“Thanks, Barleycorn.” Braeburn accepted, his voice suggested he was not paying full attention. Barleycorn grunted an Mhmm and went to the back of the saloon to fetch the last barrel of cider.

Wonder where that fella's from, Braeburn returned to his thoughts, munching on a strand of hay in the process. Celestia's sun probably don't shine there too often, he sure didn't seem too civilized. He swallowed the last of his piece of hay and put a new piece in his mouth. And what the hay is a 'wolf clan', isn't that what Trots say when referin' to their families? That'd mean he was raised by wolves or somethin', heh, probably explain his manners.

Out of all the traits about the... thing, the way he just apologized so quickly to Braeburn and quoted some poem was the most unsettling. He looked so eager to start a fight, then he just changed his mind without a second thought. It just didn't make any sense, he's insultin' us one minute and asking to be punished the next? Good thing he did change his mind though. That's the last time me and the colts try intimidatin' somepony out of town that's for sure. We'd all be in big trouble if he called mah bluff.

Braeburn grabbed his sandwich with both hooves, reached up and took a small bite. His taste buds danced about in his oral cavity from the tangy stimulus.Sure beats the carrots back in his old home, still can't believe it's all we had for month once... With another bite in his maw and old memories flowing back, his encounter with Flynn was cast aside.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“There's that thumpin' sound again,” Braeburn put his sandwich down on his weakly rattling plate and listened, the other ponies in the saloon noticed the sound too and tried to locate it before quickly ignoring it and returning to their business.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

It's gettin' louder, closer, like it's just outside the town, near the train tracks. Braeburn pondered on what it could be, Maybe it's Flynn on some kind of ridin' animal, a big one. It'd make sense, it started low and got louder for a while, then it stopped when Flynn walked in, and now it's back louder than ever. Braeburn got off the stool, leaving his food half-eaten and returned to the window. Wonder what it looks like.

Braeburn peered out the window to see a massive, bipedal titan of steel jog past, hugging the train track as it went. It had roughly the same shape as Flynn, minus a head, its arms were raised in the air at a forty-five degree angle with the forearms pointed forward. The last detail that he could make out before it ran out of view was the picture of a red wolf on the side.

“Oh buck...” Braeburn dashed behind to the counter and tore out a blank piece of paper from a notepad used for records keeping. “I gotta tell AJ he's comin' before he starts a panic.” He snatched a pencil with his mouth and hastily wrote a letter:

---

AJ,

Not much time to explain. Giant metal thing headed for Ponyville, has someone inside it. He wants to meet your new friend for help. Show him around Ponyville, but make sure he doesn't make a scene.

Braeburn

---

Braeburn rolled up the impromptu letter and tied it shut with a loose string of fabric on his vest. Now Ah just need to send it. He ran out the saloon and scanned the town. He quickly looked at the post office before turning elsewhere. Post office would take too long. He then observed a lever cart, and too looked elsewhere. Not fast enough. When Braeburn turned around, he saw just who he needed.

A pegasus colt with a coat blue as the sky walked out town hall, though that didn't tell Braeburn anything about him on its own, his blasted-back indigo mane gave him away.

“Soarin!” Breaburn dashed up to the pegasus, who turned to the sound of the voice calling him.

“Am I really that easy to spot out of uniform? Soarin asked, having a look of concern and slight embarrassment on his face.

“Doesn't matter, Ah need you to send this letter to mah cousin Apple-”

“Hold on there, buddy.” Soarin waved his front hooves in a slow down gesture. “I'm not a mailpony, and I'm on vacation.”

“Didn't you see that thing run by?!” Braeburn shouted, shaking in place out of urgency. “I'll pay you to deliver the letter!”

“What kind of payment?”

“A new pet chicke-”

“No chickens!” Soarin shrunk back, shaking his head in terror.

“How about an apple pie?!”

“Well, I do like pie,” Soarin scratched his chin, “Still, Ponyville is pretty fa-”

“An apple pie and a whole barrel of cider! JUST GO!”

“Okay, okay!” Soarin conceded, “Just have it ready when I get back.” He took the letter, put it in his mouth and took off into the air.

Braeburn slumped to the ground and took a deep breath. Though he was relieved that now he may have just prevented Flynn from terrorizing Ponyville, he only finished the easy part. Now he needed to convince Barleycorn and the whole town why having to go without cider until their first harvesting season was worth it. He knew he would have an easier time talking with the buffalo.

On an unrelated note, Soarin was scared of chickens, who knew?

Comments

[Biker_Dash]

Hmmmm... So, the Grey Death Legion wont be making an appearance in this story?

[DrAngryslacks]

2466808

Probably not. I just noticed that there are few (and by few I mean one) other BattleTech/MLP crossovers featuring the Clans in a significant way (that I know of) and I wanted to change that. I am sorry to disappoint you.

If you could also give me your opinion on the story so far, I would appreciate it.

[Biker_Dash]

2467973 Well, it is on my Read Later list. I would have read it, but I have been working on my own HiE story, which I just started writing today. Later on tonight, I am certain I shall be looking at this one.

Myself, I find that I preferred the old school mechs, with the Maruader being one of my personal favorites, as well as the Locust for scouting missions. (If you cannot have massive PPC's and a 120mm autocannon, you better be like a GSX-R 1000 with your legs! LMAO!)

[The Well Dressed Ninja]

I'm not sure why people are hating this. Some parts seem a little over the top, but I think the 2nd chapter is pretty solid.

[earthrise]

2469086 2467973 I think people are hating on this because of the title's similarity to "My little Dashie". You would do well to change the title, I think. Aside from that it seem pretty well written and enjoyable! Good job!

[DrAngryslacks]

2470052

Thanks for the heads up. The title was meant to be a reference to the story, and when I thought it up I saw no harm in it. (Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, right?)

But if it is really that big of an issue, I would gladly change it as soon as I can think up something.

[Bronzer]

Flynn began to step forward towards the counter, most of the horses returning to their meals and games without uttering a peep.

Finally! A "realistic" take on HiE! The ponies deal with various species regularly, so it would be no surprise to them to be visited by a species they have never seen before. The human might just be like "screw it, I'll just take it in stride".