> Flights of Fantasy: A First Readers Book for Young Pegasi
>  by NoPonysLand
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> Flying High: an Introduction to the Seventh Edition by Windy Rhyme
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Flying High: an Introduction to the Seventh Edition by Windy Rhyme

Friends, readers, I am proud to present to you the now completed seventh edition of the much loved Flights of Fantasy collection. I can not begin to express the honor I felt when I was offered the opportunity to write this introduction. My early foal hood memories are filled with the adventures of ponies past, of tales of kings and great dragons, of the quirky Starbuck and the sharp Spring. My days were spent, in large part, in the pages of the sixth edition, and I would have never thought that one day I could write my own stories. Here I am, thirty-five years later, author of two bestselling series, finally getting to do the one thing I had always wanted to: get my words into this collection.
The seventh edition of Flights of Fantasy carries with it the tradition of the past six iterations, with stories to excite the mind and get our new generation of little pegasi reading. The intention of this collection is not, and never has been, to teach our foals to read. It is to instill into them the love of reading itself, the greatest gift one can give in my opinion. It exists to show our children (yes, fillies and colts, that's you) that reading can be as exciting and wonderful an experience as any other activity, not simply a tool to be used for scholarship. Contained in these pages are tales of excitement, love, loss, and fear; of success, failure, pain, and pleasure; there is something in these pages which every foal will love, cherish, and grow with.
I am also pleased to announce that the seventh edition has followed in the hoofsteps of the sixth by continuing to branch out in the types of stories collected. Nearly half of the stories contained in these pages come from outside Equestria's borders, bringing fresh and wonderful new styles to the collection. Unfortunately, a few of the stories from the previous editions could not make it, but they still exist in the old books. We can keep our memories, but I for one welcome the new stories into the collection, to be presented alongside those which have been included from the very beginning.
A note to the reader: these are stories. Some involve real historical figures, such as Discord or Celestia or Firewind or Spring, but all are fictional. I was embarrassed more than once in history class in my youth due to quoting facts about historical figures who never did what I had claimed, or never existed in the first place. Heed my advice, and keep the history to the history books.
This collection exists to be enjoyed in any way that best suits its readers. That, I've come to realize, is the most important thing, after all: to show you, readers, that reading is, above all else, fun. Go have an adventure.


Windy Rhyme,

author of the Farlander and Days Long Past series.
> The Iron Hoof
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The Iron Hoof

Once, in the high hills beyond the forest, in a clearing between two calm and pristine rivers, in the shadow of a waterfall lived a mother and her four daughters. They made their home alone in the caves below the falls, which, through constant habitation, had been made quite homely and comfortable. It was not the most glamorous house, but Aurora, always the caring mother, was loth to move until Aria was a little older; she was only fifty-seven after all, still a child.
Aurora took care of her four daughters, and loved them all very much. She sat through their arguments and their tantrums, taught them to read and write and do magic, consoled them when they were sad or hurt. Spring and Grace, the twins, fought constantly over everything, and the smallest imagined slight could set them bickering for hours. The middle daughter, Serenity, kept to herself if she could, though she was always a joy to converse with. And then there was the youngest, Aria, who was outgoing and boisterous and always on everyone's nerves. But they loved her still. Aurora sat through any and all that they could give, treated every fight with kindness and justice, and tried her utmost to give her daughters the best upbringing she could. Her daughters respected her and loved her too, with as fierce and wonderful a love as she had for them, in all ways but one: it was agreed, between all the four, that she was far too protective of them.
One day when their mother was out, Aria was atop their home, playing with the waterfall, putting her hoof through the stream and watching the cascading patterns of turbulence in the water. She was ruining her mane, wings, and coat in the mud, which Aurora had spent hours cleaning and preening, but she didn’t much care. Manes, after all, can be washed and fixed, but the sunlight would perhaps never again cascade across these patterns in just this way, even if she spent one thousand years here. So Aria played, drawing her hoof slowly through the water.
Shortly thereafter, from her perch atop the waterfall, Aria spotted Spring and Grace, making their way down from the hills in the distance, purpose clear in their rather expedient movement. Not one to be left out of happenings, Aria, with a last look at the water, ran to catch them. She was hardly subtle about it, and found the twins paused, waiting for her in a clearing, obviously expecting her.
“Could you perhaps be slightly louder next time?” Asked Spring sarcastically. “I bet you only woke up two or three dragons with that. Hardly enough for the three of us.”
Aria blushed. “Sorry. I just wanted to catch up quickly.”
Grace slapped Spring on the foreleg, glaring. She turned to Aria quickly, a smile on her face. “You're fine, Aria. Just Spring being herself.”
“You know I'm just kidding.” Spring said, laughingly. “Come on, join us! We're going on an adventure!”
Aria looked back to the house on the hill. “But didn’t mother tell us to stay here?”
“Aria, come on! I'm four hundred thirty-seven. Do you really think I'm going to listen to that? There's a world out there!” Spring laughed, nudging her.
“We can take care of ourselves.” Grace said kindly. “So can you, you know. We won't force you to come with us, but I think the experience would do you some good.”
Aria paused for a moment longer, then nodded and skipped up to the others. “Where are we going?” She asked.
“Let's find out!” Said Spring, running ahead.
For three days and three nights, the party came across nothing but woods, streams, and fields. One night it rained, and they all got terribly wet, but beyond this no harm came to them. One day they found a shear cliff face, studded with crystals and gemstones; Aria got a small amethyst to take with her. The next, they came across a large bog with emerald flame burning on the surface; Aria felt as if she was being watched at all times, but nothing of note happened. On the final day, they reached the edge of the woods, and spent the time looking up at the constellations which lit the night sky. And so their time passed, and Aria was introduced to a few of the world's wonders.
The fourth day dawned bright and clear, waking Aria with the sound of birdsong and the light from the sun. After stretching and standing up, she was surprised to find that she was the only one of the three currently awake. After a short period of deliberation, she decided to take it upon herself to fetch some water for the group and prepare breakfast. Looking around, Aria noticed that there were no streams, springs, or rivers in any direction which she could see. So, this being the case, she struck off in a random direction, with the hope to find some water soon.
Aria trotted calmly in her chosen direction for nearly an hour. By this time, the sun was full in the sky; she couldn’t imagine that the others would still be sleeping at this point. She was just about to turn around, when the sound of burbling water reached her ears. Moving towards the sound, it was but a short time before she found herself before a pool, fed by a small spring on the rocks above. The water shimmered beautifully in a golden light, though Aria was quick to notice that no sunlight was illuminating the pool. Still unperturbed, she leaned down and drank a small sip from the pool.
“Hmmm. And who are you, who drinks from my pool?”
Aria started, standing up quickly and looking down into the pool, from where the voice was coming. There was a young stallion upside down in the pool, peering up at her. He wore fine clothes and impressive golden adornments, with the exception of his front left leg, which was in what appeared to be a slightly rusted iron hooflet, like one you might see on a old suit of armor. His face was not unkind, and he seemed curious about her.
“I asked you a question. Can you not understand me? It would be ever so irksome if we spoke different languages.” The stallion said.
“No, you just startled me.” Aria said. “My name is Aria. Who are you?”
“Now now,” said the stallion, “you drank from my pool, so I get to ask the questions. I haven't seen one as young as you in a long time, Aria. Most of those who come here are warriors, knights, or princes, out to prove their worth. Yes, it has been a very long time since I've had a visitor so young.”
“I'm not young! I'm fifty-seven!” Aria said, defensively.
“Are you indeed? You don't look a day older than nine.” The stallion quipped. “But it is no matter. I suppose you've come here to attempt to claim the iron hoof?”
“The what?” Aria blinked twice. “I came here to get some water for myself and my sisters. I don't know about any iron hooves.”
“Don't play games with me.” The stallion said, for the first time expressing some amount of annoyance. “One can only find this pool if they are here to challenge me. I set it up that way so that no random traveler would just happen upon it and draw me here.” His face became kinder. “Did someone else force you to do this? It's okay, I won't tell. You can leave if you want.”
Aria was about to insist, once again, that she had no idea what the stallion was talking about, when a thought struck her. “You said that adventurers come here often?”
“None have succeeded in claiming the prize, though many have tried.” The stallion said. “I haven't had somepony make it to the third trial in, oh, three hundred years now.”
“So it's challenging, then.” Aria pondered for a moment. She couldn’t care less about an iron hoof, or really see why ponies would be so interested in it, but a strange magical pool connected to trials sounded an awful lot like an adventure to her. And she was here to go on an adventure, after all.
“Sure. I'll take your challenges.” Aria said.
The stallion blinked twice, obviously not expecting this response. “Are you sure?”
“Yep!” Aria said, smiling. “It sounds like fun.”
The stallion blinked again. “You realize that this is very dangerous, right? You could get very hurt, or even killed.”
“Of course!” Aria giggled. “It would hardly be an adventure if there wasn’t some difficult and dangerous challenge to deal with.”
“Well, when you put it like that...” The stallion murmured, flexing his hoof and gesturing at the pool with the hoof in the hooflet. There was a flash of black light, and the stallion reached out, took Aria by the hoof, and pulled her through.
The water was cool and refreshing to sink through, and very clear. Aria could see the stallion pulling her through the pool just up ahead. A few seconds in, and she had the strangest sensation of flipping, though she never moved, and suddenly she was rising, up and out of the water.
When she pulled herself out of the pool, Aria found herself in a vast hall made of marble. The stallion was standing there, beckoning her forward.
“Come, come! The feast is already prepared!” The stallion said, opening the door and leading Aria along large hallways. The building was obviously a vast and well-kept palace, though Aria never encountered any servants in the halls. They progressed through kilometers of corridor, up and down many flights of stairs, and took turns at so many different branching paths that Aria was very soon completely lost as to where she was. The whole walk took almost an hour, and the stallion never slowed down or paused, continuing constantly at a brisk pace that forced Aria to nearly run to keep up. Finally, they came to a large door, which the stallion opened.
Beyond the door lay an enormous table, filled with many hundreds, if not thousands, of delicious dishes. Some were simple, some fancy, some Aria had seen before, some she had not, and all smelled wonderful, stimulating every pleasure of scent that Aria could imagine. Past the table was a large, purple bed, with rich silk sheets and beautiful fluffy pillows, that seemed to beckon Aria to their folds after an hour's trot.
The doors slammed shut behind her. Aria turned, looking around for the stallion, but couldn’t spot him. She wanted desperately to begin eating, but knew it was very rude to do so without your host. She waited by the door for nearly five minutes, before a voice came from the wall.
“Good, so you haven't started yet. It would have been a shame to have you fail the first trial before you knew what you were supposed to be doing.” 
The voice was clearly the stallion's, though Aria could not see him nor tell exactly from which direction the voice was coming from. A platform opened in the ceiling, lowering down a massive hourglass. “This is the test of willpower. You must stand still, right where you are, until the sand finishes its journey down the hourglass. You won't be failed for, say, twitching, but if your hooves ever move, you lose. It's that simple.”
The hourglass flipped, the white sand slowly trickling downwards into the bottom. “I wish you the best of luck!” said the stallion, and then the voice was gone.
Aria paused, looking around. After a few minutes of intense scrutiny, she determined that the room had nothing in it beyond the feast and bed. She was quite surprised at this. Sure, the feast looked good, and the bed comfortable, but all in all, the test seemed easy enough. The hourglass was large, sure, but at the rate it was progressing, it would last but eighteen hours. It would not be the most comfortable day of her life, but Aria failed to see the difficulty of the trial. Perhaps, she thought, the future trials would become exponentially more difficult.
After about eleven hours, Aria's head began to ache. It started small, but intensified slowly over the course of an hour. She began to feel lightheaded and dizzy. Her legs began to tingle, her hooves responding slowly to her commands to flex. She began to feel faint. She looked around for signs of magic effecting her and found none. She drew confused even as it became harder and harder to remain conscious.
Dully, she noted a feeling of something dragging across her flank. Lethargically, Aria turned her head to see her pouch slip out of her saddlebag and onto the floor. The amethyst crystal popped out of the bag, though it did not travel far. She, in better circumstances, could likely have reached it without moving her hooves. Absent mindedly, Aria leaned down to retrieve it.
Within a few seconds, Aria noticed her head clearing. Her cheeks went flush with blood and she nearly passed out then and there. Mastering herself, she managed to stay awake. The feeling passed, leaving in its wake a sense of well being. Aria had no idea why, but whatever had been effecting her before had passed. She grabbed her amethyst with her mouth, and put it back into her saddlebag. Standing up, she felt fine; shortly thereafter, the lightheaded throbbing came back. Eventually, Aria decided to get into a crouching position, where she found she could stay without any ill effects.
Aria fought through the pain in her legs and her growing fatigue with some considerable effort, but the eighteen hours passed without any major incident. Eventually, the last of the sand fell into the chamber below, and the hourglass was lifted back into the ceiling.
“Now, that was rather entertaining.” The stallion's voice said. “Most ponies pass out around the twelve hour mark. Saved by a loose pouch, lucky little Aria.”
Aria attempted to stand up, and found that she could not. So instead she lay down, letting her legs extend out in front of her. They burned like fire after staying still for so long, but she noticed nothing else out of the ordinary.
“You can have as long as you need before the second trial.” The stallion said. “When you are ready, knock on the door and I'll come get you.
Aria looked around her. The food was still inexplicably warm, and the bed was still soft and inviting. But she was finding this adventure to be far less fun than she had anticipated, and really just wanted to get it over with at this point. So she concentrated, and healed herself in a flash of light.
“Ah, so you can do advanced magic. Interesting.” The stallion said. “Unfortunately, that's cheating. I'll have to take that away from you for now.”
As soon as he said this, Aria found herself surrounded in a black aura. She felt her power being locked beyond a black gate, and almost collapsed in pain as it was drawn from her.
“Well well well, you're quite the little power source, aren't you?” The stallion said. “Haven't had anypony here with that much power in, well, ever, actually. Sorry if that hurt a bit.”
Aria got to her feet, turned, and knocked on the door. The stallion opened it, peering at her.
“Are you sure you don't -”
“Just get on with it.” Aria said. “Bring me to the second trial.”
“Alright.” The stallion said, shrugging. He led her down another set of corridors, although they got to their destination more quickly this time. Aria was once again faced with a large door, which opened before her. In the room beyond lay an enormous pile of small pebbles and a small desk. Aria walked up to the desk. On it was a knife, a spoon, and an hourglass. The doors closed behind her.
“You have until the hourglass runs out to get all of the pebbles onto the flagstone in the opposite corner of the room.” The stallion said. “You can never come into contact with the pebbles yourself, and must only use the tools in this room to carry them. Good luck.” And then the voice was gone.
Aria sat where she was for a few seconds, looking at the pile of stones. Though the pile was only about as big as she was, given the size of the pebbles she wouldn’t be surprised to find that there were one hundred thousand of them, perhaps more. A spoon could only carry one safely at a time, and the hourglass looked as if it would last her three hours at most, not even close to enough time. It had to be a puzzle, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what it could be.
She looked down at the spoon and knife. What could she use the knife for? It had to be here for a reason, after all. Aria sat, with the spoon in one hoof and the knife in the other, and thought of what to do.
After a few minutes, she drew bored of staring at the knife and spoon, and turned to look at the hourglass. The sand fell slowly into the bottom, her time slowly depleting as she idly sat. It trickled and swirled in some ghostly internal current, the sand slowly filling the bulb.
Aria stood up. That was it; the solution to her problem. She could only use the tools in this room, but there were three tools here, not two. Aria went to the hourglass and, gripping it carefully in her hooves, used the knife to score it around the thinnest part. After pausing for a second, she then scored it on the other side slightly lower. Banging it lightly, she snapped the bottom bulb off of the hourglass, the new slant of the neck slowing the progression of the sand by half. Aria wasted no time, scoring around the top of the bulb and breaking it to make a fairly large glass bowl. Using the spoon, she quickly but carefully brushed the stones into her bowl, moving hundreds with each trip. It was still slow going, slow enough, in fact, that had it not been for her misdirection of the sand she would have likely run out of time, but through constant effort and care, she managed to move all the stones with a little time to spare.
About one minute after completing the task, Aria heard a clapping noise coming from the walls.
“Very good. You really think outside of the box, little Aria. I've never had anyone do it like that before. Most of them pick up the table and push the stones across the room, or remove the flagstone on the other side and slide it under the rocks. But that was an... interesting way of approaching the problem.”
Aria beamed. That challenge had been much more fun. A little boring, but fun. “Two down, one to go!” She said.
“Eh, no. Two down, two to go,” The stallion corrected. “Why does everyone think that trials must always come in threes? No, there are four trials to claim this prize, little Aria.”
“Oh.” Aria paused. “Okay then. Lets go!”
The stallion paused. “Are you sure you don't want a break before the next trial? It's a very difficult one, and you should be at your best before starting it. You haven't slept in over a day, you know.”
Aria paused for a few seconds, considering. It was true, she was getting tired. However, it had been slightly more than a full day since she had left her sisters, and they were likely getting worried about her. She really should do this as quickly as possible.
“No, I'm good.” Aria said.
The stallion paused, then sighed. “Suit yourself.” He once again led Aria down many corridors, although Aria noticed that the palace seemed to be somewhat worse for wear than it had been just a few hours ago, as if it had aged by a couple of decades in the interim. The walls seemed to be losing some of their luster now, and dust occasionally kicked up as they walked to their destination. It was only a short time before Aria was once again at a large set of doors. This time, the stallion motioned for Aria to open the door herself, which she did. The doorway was very dark, and Aria could see no more than a few meters into the room beyond; unperturbed, she entered without reservation. The door, as per usual, shut behind her, this time plunging Aria into complete darkness.
Aria waited for a few minutes for instructions, but no voice came. After about ten minutes, her eyes began to adjust to the gloom, enough to spot a small oil lantern in the corner. As soon as she picked it up, it sprang to life, casting a weak but sufficient light about the enclosure. There were a few dividers and walls in the room, which was quite large, although it was too simple to be considered a maze. There was an old rusty sword on the floor by her, laying on top of a piece of paper. Aria picked up the sword, finding it of a comfortable weight, if somewhat large, and examined the paper. Written in elaborate but readable scrawl was the short message: Survive until the oil runs out.
Aria looked at the oil lamp in her hoof. It had a very small reservoir of oil, so small that she would be surprised if it lasted a full hour. There had to be some catch. There always was.
Just then, a deep growl filled the room, causing Aria to take an involuntary step back. There was a glint in the dark, and a large creature stepped forth. It had the body of a lion, the tail of a snake, the face of a bear and the eyes of a wolf, and stood nearly three meters tall. It trained its eyes on her, growling.
Aria faced it. She could see that it was wary of her, which was only to be expected – most things were instinctively wary of alicorns. It seemed agitated, growling and snapping at her, but it did not come any closer. Aria paused, breaking eye contact and examining it more closely. It had scratches and scars across it, and seemed to be in some pain. She noticed it moving, and quickly reestablished eye contact. It had closed half of the distance between them, and was now pacing around her, waiting for her to become distracted. Aria thought quickly. The enclosure had enough small passageways and gaps that she might be able to avoid it for a while, but such a tactic would only delay it. She doubted very much that she could kill it, armed only with a short sword which she had never used before. There was really only one action left to her.
Aria dropped the sword, not breaking eye contact with the creature. Taking a deep breath, she took a single step forward. It flinched, but did not move away. Slowly, she covered the distance between them. She paused a few decimeters from it. It was looking nearly straight down at her now, curiosity in its eyes. Slowly she extended out her hoof, and stroked it. The creature flinched at the contact, then relaxed with an audible sigh. She stroked it again, cooing to it softly. Within a few minutes, it had curled up around her, purring.
“Oh, come on.” The stallion said. “That's just not fair. I was hoping for at least a little entertainment from that. I suppose I should have expected something of the kind from you, little Aria. There's really no point in having you stay here for the remainder of the trial. You've obviously got the thing warped around your hoof. Now I'll have to get a new creature.”
“Oh, really?” Aria said, disappointed. “I thought I would get to stay here for a little while.”
“Aren't you the one in a hurry?” The stallion said.
“You're right.” Aria gave the creature one last stroke, then got up and knocked on the door. The stallion opened it, and beckoned her outside. Aria looked at him curiously. He had aged considerably since they had last met, twenty years at least by the looks of it. The palace was doing even worse now, appearing as if it had been neglected for a century. The corridors were dimly lit, and the air was moist and humid.
“The final trial, Aria. Come this way.” He led her again down the corridors, but this time only three turns; less than a minute later, they came to a set of somewhat decayed doors. Beyond them lay what Aria could only assume was the throne room. There were piles of dusty artifacts of many different natures and appearances, and dead center was an ornate iron throne. It seemed slightly rusted to her eye. The stallion entered the room before her, and sat upon the throne. He then turned to face her, clapping his hooves together.
“Now, Aria, for the most difficult trial of all. Using only the items in this room, make me cry. Tears of joy, sadness, or pain all qualify. Obviously, being as this is the last trial and all, no one has ever succeeded. I'm old, Aria, over fifteen hundred years old. I don't tear up easily.” The stallion paused. “This trial, however, has no time limit. If you decide to start, you must stay here until you make me cry, or for the remainder of your natural lifespan.”
“Here... forever...” Aria said.
“I though it might be.” Muttered the stallion. “You are allowed to leave now, if you so choose, but as soon as you enter the room, you are mine until the contract is fulfilled.”
Without hesitation, Aria crossed the threshold, and the doors closed behind her. The stallion sighed. “Good luck.” He said drily.
Aria looked around the room. There were an assortment of objects, sure, but they seemed to fall into three categories. There were props and costumes, likely used in performance; but a drama of one rarely if ever draws tears. There were stacks of paper, ink, and quills, likely used for compositions; but though an epic tale can draw one's heartstrings, writing one would take months, if not years. The final pile was filled with musical instruments. That was a vector which she could, perhaps, make some progress with.
Aria rifled around in the pile, looking for inspiration. She saw a glint out of the corner of her eye, and found herself looking at a golden flute. She picked it out of the pile. She tried it, and found that it sounded like rocks scraping together. Peering at it curiously, she found that there was a sheet of paper rolled up inside. Taking it out, she found a short musical piece inscribed on the sheet. The words were in a language she could not read, but the notes were in standard notation. Unable to think of a better idea, Aria played the song.
The melody was hauntingly beautiful, filling the air with music which could move rivers and cause mountains to lean in to listen. Whether it was her concentration or some property of the flute, Aria never knew, but she missed not a single note of the performance. By the time she was half way through, she was herself crying. Eventually, she finished.
“Well, that was certainly enjoyable,” said the stallion. “I haven't heard that song in nine hundred years. But if you want me to cry, you'll have to do better than that.”
Aria, through her tears, looked down at the sheet of music. The flute clattered to the floor. It had been beautiful, played perfectly. What could possibly top that performance? Aria began to despair of ever leaving this place. The words danced around on the page before her eyes, her tears of joy being joined by tears of sadness.
Aria closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and raised the sheet. The performance had not been perfect. The song had words, and it was made to be sung, not played.
So Aria sang, weakly and haltingly at first, as she got used to the strange syllables, but stronger, smoother, cleaner as she progressed. Her voice was angelic. The rivers would not move for her, they would leap their banks to join her. Mountains would not lean in to listen, they would tumble to the ground in awe. She filled the room with such music as to make the walls tremble, to make the glass bend and shatter, to draw in the light and the dark and make them dance together in harmony.
Eventually, she finished. A single tear ran down her cheek, one mirrored in kind by the stallion.
“My, my, little Aria.” The stallion said at length. He had been aged by the song, another twenty years at least present in his features. “You've done what no one has ever done before.” He paused. “Congratulations. Unfortunately, as it turns out, I don't want to die; and this iron hooflet is the only thing keeping me alive. I hope you don't mind if I kill you now.” He smiled darkly. “Yes, you've won, but I like being ahead, and I'm not afraid to cheat a little.” He pointed his iron hoof out at Aria. “Sorry about this.” A wave of black energy burst from him, and struck Aria clear across the side, enveloping her in the black aura...
… and did absolutely nothing to her. The little goddess smiled, and slashed back at the darkness, expelling it. Aria felt her power surge back to her, even as the stallion cried out. He had aged another twenty years, and looked to be nearly eighty at this point. Aria went over to him.
“I suppose that's that.” The stallion said. “Can you really blame me for trying? But it's yours, of course. I've had my time here. Take the iron hoof.” He slipped it off his bony hoof and presented it to Aria. “With it, so long as you stay in this hall, anything you want will be yours. An infinity of riches, pleasures, and amusements can fill your time, for as long as you maintain control of the hooflet, you can not die.” The stallion said, paused, then laughed. “Though I suppose that's less of a boon to you than most, little Aria.” He coughed loudly, then continued. “What do you desire? Simply wish for it, and it will be yours.”
Aria paused for a second, looking around. The only thing that remained of the palace was this room. She could recreate it, make it better, more beautiful. She would never have to worry about anything ever again, for as long as she lived. Everything she ever wanted could be at her hooves, to pluck at her leasure. Aria slipped on the hooflet. It fit her perfectly, and felt soft and warm. Anything she could ever want, forever...
Aria flexed her hoof, and a piece of paper appeared before her. She took it, bowed to the stallion, and exited the room, following her newly created map to the exit. The pool was still there, waiting for her. Inexplicably, so was the stallion. “Wait,” he said. “If you leave, the hooflet will be nothing more than a trinket. Its power only works here.”
“You say this hooflet can give you anything you want, yet you're here all alone.” Aria said, and without stopping plunged back into the pool.
Climbing out, Aria found the sky to be dark and dreary, as if it were sunset on a rainy day. Aria wasted no time, flying back to her sisters. She had thought that she had been gone for a day and a few hours; this day should be no later than noon, not nearing sunset. How long she had been gone for, she did not know. She had a terrible premonition of having been gone for as long as the stallion had seemed to age; after all, sixty years would not have effected her very much.
Twenty minutes later, she came crashing through into the place where they had made camp, whenever she had left. Spring was there, and seemed startled at her arrival.
“Aria!” She called, running up to her and pulling her into a deep hug. “Where have you been? We've been looking for you for three days!”
Aria smiled. “I'm sorry. I got... detained.”
Spring seemed to be simply happy that she was okay. “Grace will be back in a few minutes. We took turns looking for you, in case you made your way back to camp.” She noticed Aria's hooflet. “Where did you get that?”
“I went on a little adventure.” Aria said. “I'll tell you about it later.” Aria looked around, the wind pulling at her hair. She smiled up at Spring. “Besides, we've still got quite a lot of adventure ahead of us, right?”
> Zephyr and the Dragon
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Zephyr and the Dragon

Zephyr was having a great day. How could he not be? The sun was shining, its golden rays illuminating his outstretched wings as he glided across the equally majestic forest below him. It was the middle of fall, and today was one of those days you get where it seems, perhaps if only for a day or two, that summer is returning. A pleasant breeze flowed in from the west, and Zephyr was content to let it carry him eastwards in its gentle flow. The mosaic of reds, oranges, and yellows below him was stunningly beautiful, and brought with it a sense of joy so rarely seen in these times. Oh, the wonders of flight. Zephyr truly felt bad for the earth ponies and unicorns, who would never be privileged to feel the freedom and majesty of-
-CRASH-
Although, were they capable of flight, Zephyr was sure they would crash into things at high speeds far less often.
Shaking his head to clear his vision, Zephyr decided that it might be for the best if he went for a while on hoof. The beauty of the forest was very distracting, and Zephyr was easily distracted. Smiling, Zephyr descended to the the forest floor. Although the view from the ground did not share the same stunning, jewel like quality, it was still wonderfully pleasing to observe. As he walked, Zephyr began to hum. It was no tune in particular, but it was pleasant and fun, and the day was brighter for it.
Some time later, Zephyr found himself in a clearing. The sun had since passed its apex, and was now making its journey westward to set to his side. This seemed perfectly natural to Zephyr, as north had always been his direction of choice. What did not seem natural was the mountain, rising up in front of him. To his knowledge, which, to be fair, was often wrong, he had not covered nearly enough distance to reach the mountains, and certainly not the northern mountains. When starting his journey, Zephyr had been sure that the mountains were a two hour flight east, or sixteen by hoof. But he had not flown for more than an hour and a half, and had been walking for less than four.
This was all very confusing to Zephyr.
One thing was certain: as confusing as it may be, the mountain was there. Another breeze passed over Zephyr, a warm but pressing wind, seeming to urge the pegasus onward. Zephyr felt calm, but full of a barley contained desire to explore, to know, to do. He was familiar with this feeling, for he had felt it before, many times. The explorer called it drive, the scientist called it hunch, the warrior called it initiative. Whatever it may be, it was his, and he would use it.
With this new energy bubbling through his veins, Zephyr extended his wings and took flight, streaking towards the mysterious mountain. It was not long before he touched down on its surface, and had a look around.
The mountain did not seem like anything particularly special, a bare rock face with a few small shrubs clinging to the sides. It was not astoundingly tall, nor surprisingly short; there were no weird scars or great, strange rock formations; it was not strangely smooth or exceedingly course. All in all, it appeared to be a perfectly ordinary mountain, save for one thing: a large cave, situated almost exactly half way down the mountain's side. Being the only object of interest, Zephyr decided that the best course of action would be to enter the cave, and see if there was an adventure to be had.
Alighting on its edge, Zephyr gazed deep into the dark chasm, gleaning little from its depths. No light shone down to its bottom, no metal glittered, no sound emanated from the cave, no hints were present as to what it contained. The entrance hung there, six meters above Zephyr's head, dark and foreboding.
Zephyr paused for a second, then entered. After having traveled for no more then thirty seconds, the cave drew too dark for sight to be of much use. Feeling his way along the wall, Zephyr negotiated the sharp and chaotic turns, hooves echoing lightly on the stone. After he had been going on for a while, the paths became easier to follow, and Zephyr began to enjoy himself. He was always fond of exploration; discovering new things gave him great joy.
Zephyr presently found himself in a large, open cavern, with two exits. The walls were glowing slightly in the blue-gray light being emitted by clusters of crystals, scattered around the rock face. His interest perked, Zephyr wasted no time in examining the crystals. He thought their glow was quite beautiful, and decided to take some. After prying against them for some time with little success, Zephyr sat down, temporarily defeated. It seemed as if getting the crystals was not to be, as Zephyr knew that he would have to think in order to get them, and thinking would take him far to long. The crystals were not that important. Somewhat disappointed, Zephyr tried prying them loose one last time, then turned his attention to the fork in his path.
The paths were largely indistinguishable, and Zephyr paused for a moment, considering which branch to take. The one to his left displayed a greater number of crystals, though not significantly, and the one to his right was wider, though only marginally. Neither seemed to have obvious advantages over the other.
Zephyr had not spent ten seconds thinking before he heard a distant rumble coming from deep within the right branch. Naturally, this caused Zephyr to loose his train of thought; Zephyr had a hard time keeping one under the best of circumstances. Confused, Zephyr stood still, mind wandering, trying to grasp his situation. After a few seconds, he refocused, snapping on to the memory of the rumble. Deciding that the presence of noise greatly increased his chances of an interesting encounter, Zephyr immediately turned to the right and continued his journey.
After a while, the cave began to taper off, slowly shrinking in size. Ever so often, Zephyr would hear the rumble again, each time  louder than the last. After about ten minutes, the caves size stabilized, though the paths it took became increasingly more chaotic. Zephyr was enjoying this adventure greatly. The cool cave air was very calming, and the crystals were dazzling. Absent mindedly, Zephyr began to hum.
Suddenly, without warning, and all at once, Zephyr's ears were assaulted with a cacophony of disharmonious tones, and his eyes registered a substantial increase in light, this time of a orange hue. He halted his progress, standing still whilst the event, whatever it was, concluded. After a few seconds had passed, Zephyr perceived a sharp increase in temperature, causing him to inhale quickly. The dry, hot air tickled his throat, making Zephyr cough loudly.
The noise came again, even louder this time. Zephyr recognized it as the rumble he had been following, and felt a surge of adrenalin course through his body, clearing his head. This is what he had come here for. Knowing that, whatever it was, it surely knew of his approach, Zephyr wasted no time in accelerating through the cave and into the large room beyond.
It took Zephyr's eyes a couple of seconds to adjust to the increase of light. A great many fires burned in the cavern, which was lined with precious metals and gems. The ceiling of the cavern stretched fifteen meters above his head, the far wall almost eighty meters distant. And sitting in the middle of the room, was a great dragon.
Its scales glittered gold, and they shown gleaming in the light of the fire. Its great wings were folded against its side, a rich dark velvet color. Its claws glistened, each one longer than Zephyr was tall. It lowered its head towards Zephyr, extending its neck. It drew up close to him, its eyes each easily bigger than he was. It opened its maw; Zephyr could have performed an aerial roll in the cavernous space. Its breath came out, warm and sticky, almost knocking Zephyr off of his hooves.
It closed its mouth. Zephyr shook, unsure of what to do. This was by far the largest dragon he had ever seen, and he had none of his weaponry with him. Given his experience with dragons, he had about two seconds until it turned him into ash.
Quickly darting to the left, Zephyr took off and flew on top of the dragon. Landing on its back, Zephyr looked around wildly for any sign of  a way out of the cavern. From what he see, the only such exit appeared to be the way he had entered.
That could not possibly be right.
Zephyr scanned the cavern again, but with the same result. It seemed that the tiny entrance he had come through was the only way in and out of the cavern. Zephyr might not have been the most intelligent pony, but even he knew that there was no way a dragon of this size could fit through an opening that small. He was missing something.
The dragon's body roiled as it attempted to stand up. Zephyr dived off of the dragon's side, avoiding being crushed as it pressed itself against the roof of the cavern. It turned slowly to face him, the grating of stone echoing loudly through the chamber, shrapnel showering Zephyr lightly. He tried to maneuver himself out of its line of sight, but the great dragon's body was far to large. It filled the cavern, giving him not nearly enough space to move. Zephyr steeled himself to perform a dodge when the fire came.
But when the dragon had pivoted itself so that it could see its guest, it only moaned softly and laid its head down, looking tiredly at the tiny pegasus.
Zephyr looked into its eyes, staring deep into his. He felt a shudder pass down his spine. It seemed so, so very tired. The dragon moaned again, a deep moan which built up from its base and shook Zephyr to the core.
Zephyr did not really understand what was happening. He kept his eyes on it, waiting for it to make a move. It was toying with him. Perhaps it was hurt, or maybe nopony had come to it recently. Dragons liked to play with their prey, and Zephyr was not about to let this dragon, as large as it may be, get the best of him. He trotted side to side, maintaining eye contact with it at all times.
After about fifteen seconds, it moved. The dragon extended its neck, lifting its head towards Zephyr. He rolled out of the way, barely escaping the dragon's strike. Or, he would have, had the dragon desired to strike. It was instead paused some two meters above his previous location, its head slowly turning to look at him.
Zephyr wasted no time, flying quickly through the opening which the dragon had opened by its movement. He was now on the other side of the beast, nearly twice as close to the exit than he had been. If he could keep this up, he might just escape.
The dragon turned slowly, its great claws tearing through its great piles of gold, its back scraping against the roof. Again, it locked eyes with Zephyr. This time, it did not draw close. It roared, letting out a jet of flame into the ceiling, before turning back down and staring at the pegasus. It did not move, except to let out another soft moan.
Something clicked. Something finally clicked.
Still cautious, still unsure, still wary of the possibility of deceit, Zephyr approached the dragon. It looked at him, slowly lowering itself to his level. After thirty seconds of slow, slow approach, Zephyr was within only a few centimeters of its muzzle.
Zephyr put his hoof on it.
It moaned again, much lower and more pitiful than before. Zephyr panned around the cave one last time. There were no ways in or out for a dragon of its size. At the rate dragons grow, there had not been for hundreds of years at least.
It blinked at him slowly, just looking at its pony companion, unmoving. Zephyr sat down. He was unsure how to proceed. There was very little he could do, one way or the other. He had not the tools nor the time to figure out how to solve this problem.
So he sat there, listing to the great dragon simply breath in and out. It opened its mouth, licking Zephyr lightly. He shivered, but it was very gentle and warm. It began to hum deep in its chest. The sound was melodic, pitching up and down slowly as Zephyr stroked its nose. Every fiber of his being told Zephyr to be scared, but he slowly found himself unable to maintain that fear, fading slowly away as he sat there under its old gaze.
He sang to it, one of the old songs of flight he knew. Though he was sure it could not understand him, it still fluttered its wings from time to time. It hummed lightly, showing Zephyr to its greatest, most precious treasures. Two hours passed. Then three. Zephyr began to become tired. He could not stay here much longer. He still had a return journey to make. Yet, he felt as if leaving would be a great injustice. There had to be something, anything, that he could do.
Out of the corner of his eye, Zephyr spotted a steel sword, sticking out from top of one of the great treasure piles. He hesitated, then went towards it. There was only one thing he knew well how to do in regards to dragons. He might as well offer.
The dragon watched him go, saw him pick up the blade. It watched him draw near it, watched him level the sword slowly at it, its eyes filled with fear. It did nothing to stop him. It closed its eyes briefly, shuddering with relief. It lifted its neck slightly.
It was over in three seconds. Very quick, very little pain. Zephyr knew how to kill dragons quickly. If you could not, they had a habit of staying alive long enough to kill you too.
Zephyr left the cavern, trotting up through the cave to the surface. He had gone looking for adventure, and he had found it. It was not what he had expected, but, after all, that is why he went out in the first place, to find new things, to experience the world. He had slain the dragon, discovered the treasure, and escaped unscathed. His saddle bag was filled with enough gold an gems to live off of for a year or two. He even managed to win himself a keen steel blade, a fine weapon of great quality. All in all, a perfect end to a perfect day.

So, why, then, was he crying?