This bee was a fairly ordinary bee. She minded her own bee-snuiss, gathered nectar, and did whatever it is bees do. Nothing particularly extraordinary happened to her in her short life, and it seemed nothing would. This particular bee happened to be on top of a dandelion that she had found, busy pollinating.
It was about then that the protagonist of our story comes in. You see, this story was never really about the bee. If you want to know more about bees, go watch Animal Planet or something. No, this story is about a purple unicorn, one who is on a collision course with that bee.
You see, this particular purple unicorn was running to and fro almost the whole day. She had somewhere to bee at all times, and never had a moment to herself. This was typical procedure for her most days, as she rarely took a day off, and when she did it was usually to plan whatever it is she would be doing the next few days. This particular day she was getting a bunch of flowers and things together for Rarity, who does not appear in this story, but is probably elsewhere doing non bee-related things.
But you see, Twilight was in a mighty hurry in gathering these flowers, probably because she had a lunch appointment with another one of her friends who is also not appearing in this story, and simply did not have time to inspect each and every flower for bees or any other undesirable hitchhikers. I suppose she should have brought her towel.
This bee was simply minding its own beeswax, as usual, when suddenly the entire flower turned a purple, shimmery color. This startled the bee, as she has never seen a flower change color before. This dandelion was suddenly floating, and purple, and worst of all, the bee was now stuck firmly to it.
This of course was a result of our hero spotting this particular dandelion, and thinking that while it would not in any means be suitable for a floral arrangement for her good friend, Miss Not-Appearing-in-this-fic, she figured it would make a delightful snack for until she could eat a proper lunch. It eludes me why she did not think to make sure there WERE NO FRIGGIN BEES ON OR IN THE DANG DANDELION, but thus is the way the idiot ball rolls.
This bee was simply terrified. Suddenly this now-purple dandelion was hurtling its way toward a large, equally purple creature's mouth, but this suicidal flower was dragging her with it. The bee tried with all her might to escape the grasp of the hell-bent flower, bringing her and it closer to the end of their short, sad existence. The bee saw its whole bee-life flash before its eyes, with nothing left out. This sudden bout of memory stunned our tragic bee, and she stopped fighting.
This was, of course, lost on our hero, as she brought the dandelion closer to her gaping maw. The plight of our little bee was completely lost on her, and none of the events that transpired were anywhere near her convoluted train of thought, instead being shut out by thoughts of how she hated the cliffhanger at the end of the Encyclopedia Ponica, D-E.
The moment the dandelion entered the mouth of our hero, the bee suddenly realized where she was and what dire straits she was in. It was evident that unless she acted fast she would be nothing more than a bit of extra protein. Suddenly, the purple... thing surrounding the poor thing broke, and she was free to buzz around as she pleased. Unfortunately, that event immediately coincided with one similar event, that being the giant purple thing closing its mouth. It dawned on the insect that though it was now free to fly, the space was very limited, and were she to fly too far she could be caught in the shiny, slightly off-white deathtraps we commonly know as molars.
This, of course, transpired in the course of a few seconds. Twilight, having been taught well by her parents, who presumably didn't check for tiny hitchhikers either, was slowly and methodically chewing the dandelion while she walked, looking for more beautiful flowers. She pondered the irony of the phrase "never judge a book by its cover" because it was exactly the appearance of a flower that made it desirable for an arrangement or for a snack. It is quite ironic, really, that the sole reason she didn't keep the dandelion was because of its common appearance.
We wish she would have checked the cover more closely, because if she had she may have been more aware of the plight of the tiny insect, but what kind of a story would that be(e)?
Anyway, back to bee-sness.
The poor creature was left with two options.
1) Buzz around frantically in hope of something happening, or
2) hope that bee-god is merciful.
Understandably, our insect chose to buzz around randomly inside its fleshy prison. Making as much noise as possible, our tiny bee buzzed and buzzed until her buzzer was sore. It buzzed with all its tiny might, and then some.
Twilight heard the buzzing, and it made her look around. She thought that maybe perhaps there was a bee nearby, though she could have never guessed HOW near it was. No, she looked left to right, then shrugged (or, the pony equivalent anyway).
The bee's situation was hopeless. This poor creature was left with only one option. She primed her stinger, stifling the bee-sized tear in her eye. This is it. She prepared to sting, and...
Twilight saw a pink friend of hers, who should not be appearing in this story but apparently enjoys disregarding the narrator, walking down the road. She opened her mouth to salute her friend's ear with her fond "Hello", when...
A bee flew out of her mouth, unharmed.
You were hoping it would sting her, weren't you? You wanted her to be in pain, and the wretched thing to die as a result. How could you honestly wish harm on such a cute, adorable pony? Or an innocent, busy bee?
As the doors of the Carousel Boutique closed for the final time that day, the fashion-freak owner sighed and closed her eyes. Closing time, finally. It had been a long, hard day, and although the fashionista loved her work, it sometimes became a chore. Such as today, when one of her clients demanded her dress be re-sown, with the buttons mismatched (Apparently, that was in style in Stalliongrad), or yesterday when the cyan-colored model (who is not appearing in this story) threw up all over Rarity's newest dress1.
It had been a long day, certainly. Rarity was rather glad that Sweetie Belle was at a CMC sleepover... somewhere else. Tonight would just be peace and...
Scratch scratch scratch...
Ahem. Like I said, peace and...
Scratch scratch scratch...
Ugh. That noise isn't going to let Rarity get any sleep, is it?
Scratch scratch scratch...
Nope. None. Rarity opened her eyes, rather angrily I might add, and got up off her cry-couch. Time to investigate.
To be honest, this wasn't how the story was supposed to go. I was originally about to write about Rarity's nightmare, and how she would be awoken by Sweetie Belle (Who was supposed to be appearing in this story eventually), because she had forgotten her favorite stuffed animal. It all had a really clever punchline, I'm sure, but I can't hear myself think over that incessant Scratch scratch scratching.
So, I think we shall follow Rarity, as the search for the sound leads her to the kitchen. Perhaps she left the water running? No, that would be more of a "drip drip" sound, unless that water happened to be laced with metal shavings. Even then, it would be more of a grinding noise, which would be even more annoying, not to mention causing some property damage.
No, this was a scratching noise, certainly. It was almost as if Opal was scratching at the door. In fact, that was almost exactly what it sounded like. Opal just needed to be let in. That must be the source of the noise. There is no other explanation. Rarity, go to the door where...
The scratching isn't coming from the door? Then where in the name of sweet Celestia is it? As Rarity follows her ears, they lead her directly to-
The cupboard?
WHAT THE #@$%?
---
Sorry about that. It's late, I'm tired, and I want to get on with my story. Apparently it is being derailed by some persistent noisemaker currently located inside Rarity's cupboard.
Hopefully this will all end soon. I promise I will get to the real story in just a little. I will make sure this story goes correctly from here..
Creeeeeaaaaak...
As Rarity opened the cupboard, she warily looked inside. Let's see, the contents of her cupboard are... Some who hash... some more who hash... It looks pretty standard, if you ask me.
Rarity suddenly shrieked, in the most unladylike way. She quickly turned tail and ran. Does she have some phobia of Who Hash, or something?
Scratch scratch scratch...
Alright. Enough is enough. What is that MOTHER$#@%ING sound?
---
Rarity slowly approached the cupboard, holding Opal up.
"Alright, Opal. This is it. Time to prove to me you are a cat. I need you to scare that mouse out of the cupboard."
Mouse? What mouse? I didn't write about any mouse! Alright, what's going on here? There is no mouse in this story, and that is...
Scratch scratch scratch...
Ahem. Like I said, there is no...
Scratch scratch scratch...
Ther-
Scratch scratch scratch...
You know what? FINE. I'm not even going to argue. Rarity can have whatever the heck adventure she wants. I'm done. Goodnight.
1: This day happened to be the same day as the "baked bads" incident.
---
Oh, hey! It's me, Sweetie Belle!
So, when I walked in the door, Rarity was like, on the ground. I thought she was throwing another one of her tantrums, but as it turns out the narrator of her story had quit. She said something about "being stuck in limbo for all eternity without my collection of French mane products", so I offered to narrate the story for her!
WON'T THIS BE GREAT? MAYBE I CAN GET MY CUTIE MARK!
Sweetie Belle: Ace Narrator, at your service!
Okay, so back to the story. I think I will pick up where I just used a trick Pinkie Pie showed me to begin narrating. Okay, so what happened after that was that I saw MeesterBob (I think that's the guy's name) asleep next to his computer. I decided not to wake him, so I'll just write.
Rarity was picking up Opal again, so she could try to get the mouse out. I wonder how the mouse got in there in the first place? Hmm... Well, we did try to get mouse-feeding Cutie Marks once, and I think one of them got loose... But he didn't look anything like this mouse! He was cute and cuddly, and this mouse looks angry and violent...
Anyway, Rarity decided she was going to try to use Opal to scare the mouse, because Opal is a cat, I guess. I don't think Opal is really that scary though, I mean when she was little she used to cough up hairballs whenever she got mad, instead of scratching or hissing like most cats. I guess that worked though, 'cause whenever Rarity saw one she would get really mad and stuff, so I quickly learned not to make Opal mad.
So Rarity opens the cupboard and there is the mouse, sitting there like a mouse does, and eating from one of her cans. She lifts up Opal and...
Wait. That doesn't make sense. A mouse can't open a can, you do that with a can opener! Maybe the mouse has a can-opener? Or, maybe, this is a super-mutant mouse, like in Scootaloo's comic books! Like, maybe she can use her super-strong claws to jar open the can, or maybe uses her x-ray eyes to melt the lid off! That would be so cool!
"MREWWWW!" Screams Opal. She looks just as scared of the mouse as Rarity was. Well, I guess I expected that. Opal takes after Rarity, and wouldn't want to get dirty or involved with a mouse at all. Like, I could have told her that. Duh.
So anyway, the mouse is still there, still eating the Who Hash. Hey, you wanna know why Rarity has so much hash in her cupboard?
Why are you laughing so hard?
Anyway, it's because she HATES it, but a lot of ponies are convinced she loves it. So she gets a lot of it, but she never cooks or eats it. I guess she just keeps all of it in that cupboard. Which, if you think about it, makes the mouse actually a good thing, I mean he's eating something that would have never been eaten otherwise.
Try telling Rarity that, though.
Anyway, after that Rarity begins pacing. OOH OOH OOH! I get to narrate dialogue! I get to write what Rarity is saying! This is where I use quotation marks, and have to narrate while scribing! It's like, the best part of every book ever! This will be so cool!
"...And that's what I shall do." Rarity finishes, giving finality to her sentence.
Sorry, I was so busy gushing over writing dialogue, I mighta-sorta missed what she said.
Rarity gathers a broom, two bricks, a piece of cheese, a velvet painting of Mayor Mare, three boxes of fireworks Trixie left, two potatoes and a green crayon. Wow, I really missed a lot. I'm sorry guys.
She begins tying the picture to the bricks, setting the broom against the fireworks, lighting the fuse, and running like mad, when-
OH NO! MeesterBob is waking up! Sorry guys, gotta go before he sees me! Stuff is exploding, but I don't have time to tell you! BYE!
---
Sorry guys. What I did back there was really unprofessional and rude. I won't do that to you anymore. I promise to round out this story as rationally as possible. Ahem.
With half of her house gone and her mane singed, Rarity pokes out of the makeshift bunker she made with her cry-couch. Looking out, she sees her entire kitchen blown away, except for that cupboard. The mouse peeks out, and squeak-laughs at her.
You know what, on second thought, I'm going back to sleep.
Short story #3: Fluttershy has a serious conversation with herself about the feelings of a bowl of milk
Have you ever stopped to pause on the short, sad life of a drop of milk?
No, really, hear me out on this one. Your life goes like this: You start out as grass, get processed through this... beast's innards to become milk. You get squeezed out of a fleshy... thing, and placed in refrigeration, making you miss the stinky warmth of the udder place. Sometimes you are boiled, or given treatments to remove "bacteria" that you may have got from the cow. Maybe you end up baked into a cake, beaten and scorched, or perhaps as a cookie, dry and cracked. People are allergic to you, and tend to drink milk without stopping for a polite conversation first. The end is like the beginning, you are ingested somehow, be it by a calf or by a man, and you are no longer milk.
No, really, it's depressing. Picture it as the next Disney movie.
In this world, we do not stop to think about these things. You, today, didn't think about how hard being a laptop must be, or a television, or a rug. All of these items, if they do live, lead terrible lives. Solitude makes one think such things.
Fluttershy never meant to be alone so much, but between you and me, animals don't talk much, and friends get busy and can't. Many times, there is so much to do, but no one (pony or non) to share the burden with. Not that Fluttershy minds, all that much. It's just that sometimes, it leads you to think weird and slightly depressing things, like that bit about the milk back there.
The bowl of milk in question was laying out on the floor of the living room of Fluttershy's house. She had set it there that morning, anticipating that one of her animal friends would drink it at some point during the day (the kittens in particular were fond of milk). What struck her as bizarre about this particular bowl of milk was that no one went to it, or even gave it a second glance. The kitties played with their yarn, the ferrets stayed outside, and Harry the Bear didn't even notice it.
Fluttershy wondered how the bowl of milk felt about that. It didn't matter that she wondered aloud, there was nopony there, and the animals wouldn't tell. "I mean, the fact that no animal is drinking it is a good thing, right? The milk's life is made longer, and the milk stays milk for longer." Fluttershy nodded. "The bowl of milk must not care that much, because when an animal so much as looks at it, it's own life becomes in danger."
She smiled at the bowl of milk, sitting on her floor there, but instead of returning that glow, the milk seemed pale and dead. She wondered, for a split second, if she hurt its feelings.
"But, milk spoils if it stays milk for too long, even if it is refrigerated and not touched. We can try and prolong its life, but there almost seems to be no point."
The milk jiggled a bit. Either it was nodding at her, or Harry was raiding the fridge in the next room.
"Wow, then the life of milk really is sad. You start, they freeze you, you get drank, or you spoil. Either way, you aren't really milk anymore after that."
The milk stopped, almost as if begging her to ask the logically following question.
"So, does a bowl of milk have a purpose in life? Is there a reason for all this torture and despair? Is the life of the milk meaningless?" Her eyes moistened.
The milk simply reflected her face.
"No, I can't believe that. There is something that milk exists for, I know it. Everything, from the smallest worm to Princess Celestia, exists for a reason."1
The milk simply rippled a bit, as if to say "Yes, go on".
"So what could it possibly be? It's probably not evil, so its purpose isn't to spill or make a mess. Milk is much to benevolent to enjoy things like that." She began pacing while she talked, and each time she did, the milk rippled, as if to egg her on her line of logic. "But what benevolent purpose could Milk strive for? There has to be something..."
"Maybe Milk exists to strengthen the calf of the mother. That's what its original use is, to make the calf grow big and strong." She smiled, and turned to face Milk. He rippled one last time, as if telling her to continue, to keep going.
"But, then, what about this bowl? Milk has to have a reason to keep living, he has to. Even though his chance to help a calf is gone, he an still help strengthen a filly or a colt, can't he?" This time, the milk seemed to glow. "Is that why you exist? To find somepony in need, and strengthen them?"
The milk perfectly reflected her face, as if it were made of glass.
"I know why you exist, milk. You exist because you are something that strengthens us, makes us stand stronger, and helps us grow. You make our bones strong enough to last a lifetime, and give us nutrition for out brains and hearts. This is your purpose. You have a reason to exist."
She picked up Milk. Looking him straight in the (reflected) eyes, she smiled.
"I understand why you exist, Milk. Thank you. We are all in your debt. Even though your life is short and sad, there is good behind it." With that, she closed her eyes and held the bowl to her lips.
It was the best Milk she ever tasted.
Isn't the life of the Mental Health Patient sad?
Hear me out on this one. You never know the difference between truth and fiction. Friends and basketballs become the same. You experience so much, without ever truly knowing the world. Your glimpses of it are few, and you create stories from those. The nurses take care of you, and the medicine makes you more delirious. It's a short, sad life.
Twilight watched as her friend Fluttershy rambled on about milk. It was the same saucer they brought her every day, but this time, she wouldn't stop talking. She didn't acknowledge her friend, not even when she said her name.
After Angel Bunny and Big Mac died in that fire, her mind froze on a specific day. Her animals were out playing, and everything was fine. She didn't see her friends, because her friends weren't there that day.
That day, she drank the milk.
And every day after, they brought her a new saucer. If they didn't, she'd shut down until the next day.
It's right after she starts drinking that the fire started. It won't be until long when she 'hears' about it.
But until then, she is simply content to lay there, her saucer empty, and close her eyes. In her world, her biggest worry is that she won't get to drink something that good ever again.
It almost seems silly to Twilight. What possible significance could a saucer of milk have?
The night, the dark, oppresses me, My story never told. Someday, somehow, I'll be set free, My story to unfold. But at this time of dark and drear, My love of life grows cold. The seaponies, we live in fear, Of, without friends, growing old.
Though the life of the others is spread abroad, Our stories they withhold. Our lives, our hopes, our friends, our fears, Are left out in the cold. If you seek to hear of us, You never will, I'm told. For we matter none to no-one, us Seaponies of old.
The song of the Sea, it sings to me, as I have often told. The crashing of creatures, the thrashing of waves, The darkness and the cold. Telling me of lives not lead, of chapters to unfold... I am the song of the sea. My story, dead and cold.
The cold never quits. It doesn't matter where you stand, the sun could be brightly shining, the rays shooting warmth into the barren wasteland of a prison, and the cold doesn't leave. The Darkness doesn't let up, it doesn't subside. Cold is a part of life in this cell, the brightest sun flare does not illuminate the moon.
My moon.
Do you feel it? That is the empty abyss that is nothingness. You smell nothing, no more flowers or pies or perfumes. You feel nothing, no warm summer evening's breeze, no sweet time of respite after a long night. There is nothing to taste but the dust beneath your hooves, no grass or confections will touch your lips again.
You have your sight, I suppose. You can look up at the Earth, down at the precious ponies who rejected you. Your vision is superb, always has been, and with the aid of the moon's gentle illumination you can see the calm tranquility of a sleeping foal. Does it make you miss your own sleep, during the day? Did you sleep as calmly?
I know that look on your face. You are ignoring me, but you know you can't do it for long. We have lots of time to ourselves now, my dear, You can't hold out forever. Every mare has a breaking point.
I don't know why this is news to you. You snapped once. Almost succeeded, too. But now, in defeat, you cower into your precious moon, you hide your face and pretend I don't exist.
But Woona, I do exist.
I am you, and you cannot deny that. You can pretend, sure, like you did for hundreds of years, but you can't hide from me forever. The passion for your night fuels your hatred of your sister, and that gives you power.
You like the line in the sand? I didn't draw it, your sister did. You sister and her sun. I, personally, think it adds a sort of dynamic glamor to the otherwise barren landscape. A light side and a dark side, the two never changing. You see, there are really two different moons, they exist entirely independently of each other.
On your side, the moon is a slave to the sun, merely reflecting the few scraps of light Celestia can spare for the night. It can't stand on its own, it is a backup singer, a nightshift flunky, a simple mirror of the overpowering sun.
On my side, the moon is free. The darkness of the moon answers to no pony, and no pony can overshadow the biggest shadow in the sky. Here the moon is its own entity, the sun and it's rays can't reach us here. We shine the brightest in a sunless sky.
Do you feel the emptiness? The sheer nothingness, devoid of air, warmth, food, or even stories and dreams? Do you miss your sister? Your sister, the one who never gave you your due, who took all the glory for her day? The one who left your night forgotten? You mean to tell me that you love her more than you love me?
Let's stop, for a moment, and make a list. Your sister versus me. Let's do a comparison, see who really loves you. I promise it will be quite... illuminating.
Your sister relegated you to the evening, made you the "other princess", forced you into the shadows. I made you into a star, gave you the power to make your own name, let you take your passions to the next level, I helped you display your beautiful, mystical night for everypony to appreciate.
Your sister made you weak, limited your power to make you a simple sidekick. I gave you power to surpass your sister's, to make you the hero, to give you a shot at being loved by everypony else.
Your sister rejected you, imprisoned you on the moon, has not checked on you for at least 300 years. She has probably forgotten you by now. Your legacy has been stolen, Woona. She controls both the day and the night, I know you can sense it. But Woona, she is the princess of the day. She doesn't care about your night, about your moon.
It appears she doesn't care about anything on your moon, either.
But I, Princess Luna, I love your night. The beauty, the splendor, the mystery of a midnight sky scape is much more beautiful than a few obnoxiously fluffy clouds in the day. The darkness of the night brings with it an eldritch mystery, a mystique only seen by those who can look past the all-consuming light pollution of the sun. The stars come out at night, Luna. They are greater than a thousand suns.
So here I am, standing on the other line of the stand. Simply inviting you to come stand with me, to come to the free side, to embrace the cold rather than clinging to what faded rays the sun pretends to spare.
Come with me, Luna. Together we can make the night something to remember. I am not like your sister, Luna. She ignores you, subjugates you, and pretends you don't exist unless it is convenient.
I appreciate you, Luna, Mistress of the Night. I respect you, Princess of the Shadows.
I love you, milady. I will serve you until Tartarus freezes over.
You are tired of feeling nothing. So am I. I am tired of getting nowhere. So are you. I know it looks grim right now, but there is a bright side to our entrapment here. Listen to me carefully, because I am going to give you the opportunity of a lifetime. In 700 years time, a Lunar Eclipse will happen. For a few, short moments, your moon will overpower her sun. With that eclipse comes the chance to escape. She can't continue to hold us down while her sun is blocked. We can begin preparations now, if your wish. Your sister will never know what hit her, when you and I strike.
Take a step onto my side of the moon, and become a Star, my liege. Together, we shall reshape the world.
--the cub-- Darkness. A light was promised here. Silence. It's cold, when death is near. Yellow. Her wing, it holds me close. Soft. The pony I love the most. Still. We lay here in the black. Gone. Never to come back. Life. A small, fleeting thing. Death. It's the final, ageless ring.
--the core-- Though the world crashes in, an otherworldly peace, fills my senses, soul and mind, and all my fears do cease. The sickness that once racked my bones, is naught more than a dream. And once I feel the shaking end, no more do I scream.
The day of the race was quickly approaching, and Rainbow Dash was getting ready. It took a lot of work on her part, with days of rigorous practicing and training.
Rainbow had previously talked to Twilight about the best way to get in shape for a race, because Twilight was really good at remembering those sorts of things. "Every book I've read about preparing for races has had three things to remember: You need to work on speed, stamina, and pacing. Make sure you prepare for the length of the race, practicing for a sprint is much different than trying to practice for a mare-athon."
And so the two developed a system for training. Since this race was a long endurance race, Rainbow would fly for fifty miles every morning (slowly). Then she would eat a small nutritious breakfast and rest. She would fly ten miles (quickly) in the evening, and eat a large dinner. She would do this every day until the race, no matter how hard it was.
Rainbow needed a lot of encouragement, because preparing for the race was hard. Thankfully, her friends Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie were always there to help. Fluttershy would fly part of the way with Rainbow in the morning, and the two would talk about animals or wonderbolts (sometimes both). And Pinkie Pie was always at the end of the track in the evening with a smile and a (small) piece of Rainbow's favorite cake. It gave her something to look forward to at the end of her sprint.
Rainbow felt lucky to have such good friends, who always help her whenever she needs them. The night before the race, as she put Tank in his bed, she thought about just how great her friends are, and silently thanked Celestia for bringing them to her.
---
(Simple story) The day of the quick game was quickly approaching, and Rainbow Dash was getting ready. It took a lot of work on her part, with days of long and hard getting better by trying and training.
Rainbow had before trying to get better by trying talked to Twilight about the best way to get in shape for a quick game, because Twilight was really good at remembering those sorts of things. "Every book I've read about preparing for quick games has had three things to remember: You need to work on being fast, going far, and being slow enough that you don't get tired. Make sure you prepare for how long of the quick game is, because getting better at going fast over a short distance by trying is much different than getting better at going really long by trying."
And so the two came up with a system for training. Since this quick game was a long one that made the players have to go really far without getting tired, Rainbow would fly for a lot of feet every morning (slowly). Then she would eat a small good for her kind of first food of the day and rest. She would fly for a little while (quickly) in the night, and eat a large dinner. She would do this every day until the quick game, no matter how hard it was.
Rainbow needed a lot of help staying happy while trying, because preparing for the quick game was hard. It was a good thing for her, then, that her friends Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie were always there to help. Fluttershy would fly part of the way with Rainbow in the morning, and the two would talk about animals or Wonderbolts (sometimes both). And Pinkie Pie was always at the end of the track in the night with a smile and a (small) piece of Rainbow's most liked sweet. It gave her something to look forward to at the end of her fast flying.
Rainbow felt lucky to have such good friends, who always help her any time she needs them. The night before the quick game, as she put Tank in his bed, she thought about just how great her friends are, and silently thanked Celestia for bringing them to her.
