In Whitetail Wood, there lives a creature of legend. Few ponies have seen it; still fewer believe it to be more than a myth. Sassy Saddles, however, will come to believe.
The legend is known throughout Equestria, but there are few who believe. Those who claim to have seen the beast are dismissed as crackpots and madponies. Those who bring evidence before the world are dismissed as histrionic deceivers. There are those who have seen, however -- those who know -- and they will forever cry out their warning from the back seats of filthy, old train cars, even to those who dismiss them, who revile them, who ignore their warnings unto their own mortal peril.
"The sasquatch is real!" they will cry forevermore, even as nopony believes.
But from this day forward, Sassy Saddles will believe.
Written on a dare. I apologize for nothing.
Wherein Sassy Disregards the Warning of a Wisened Hobo
Sassy Saddles stood beside a broken-down train in Whitetail Wood, deep in thought. Her face glowed with the intensely radiated light of a nearby arc welder.
What alliterative exclamation would best express my displeasure at this wretched predicament? she thought. Oh, bother; I can never think of one when I'm trying. Best to just ask; it will come to me when I need it.
"How long do you intend to take in repairing this infernal machine?" she finally asked. "You've been at this for half an hour already!"
The engineer lowered his welder from where he had been patching the locomotive's boiler, and lifted his welding mask.
"Does this look like something that can be repaired in half an hour?" he asked.
"I have no idea," said Sassy. "I don't know anything about locomotives."
"Uh-huh," said the engineer, rubbing at his chin, which was filthy with coal dust. "Well, if you'd like, I can stop what I'm doing and tell you a little about 'em."
"Are you being passive aggressive with me?" asked Sassy.
"No," said the engineer. "I just really, really love trains. I love them so much that I would stop in the middle of vital repair work that puts me well behind schedule to explain how this hole makes this one completely impossible to operate. Somewhere along that explanation, I would probably get to the part where I would tell you that it was an incredibly bad idea for you to be watching me weld so closely without eye protection. Like, that could literally, actually, for-reals-yo drive you blind."
"Caparisons and Cataracts!" shouted Sassy. "Why didn't you warn me!?"
"I was being passive aggressive," said the engineer.
"Well-played," said Sassy Saddles.
The engineer only shrugged.
"Whatever the case," said Sassy, "I will need to know how long of a wait I can expect. It is three in the afternoon now, and I have a vital business meeting in Ponyville at six this evening."
"Not anymore you don't," said the engineer. "Not unless you're gonna hoof it."
"Hoof?" asked Sassy. "You imply I should walk?"
"I have to patch this hole, refill the boiler from the river -- by bucket -- and stoke the fire back up," said the engineer. "You ain't making Ponyville by six on this train, but it's only maybe five or so more miles. You could walk that in a couple hours, easy. Just follow the tracks."
"I see," said Sassy Saddles.
"For now you do," said the engineer, tapping the arc welder on his hoof with a wry grin.
"Bravo," said Sassy. "Very droll. I congratulate your wit, sir, but I fear I must leave you to the remainder of what I am certain is a magnificently solitary and unfulfilling existence."
"Ouch," said the engineer. "Was that even called for?"
"No," said Sassy Saddles, and with that, she turned and headed back to her train car to retrieve her things.
Passing through the door of the car, she found the same four ponies she had left there a few minutes earlier. Of the four, only three were awake: June Bug, a young earth mare and florist on her way home to Ponyville, Eaglequick, a spectacular athlete from Cloudsdale, and Rula Thirtyfoura, a tall, sumptuous unicorn mare whose profession shall go unmentioned for reasons of decency. These three ponies' names and the brief versions of their life stories Sassy had learned inadvertently by overhearing their conversation on the train ride thus far. This is not to say that Sassy cared; it was merely that such matters were mentioned within earshot of her seat.
The remaining pony, who lay covered in newspapers on the rearmost seat of the car, was the train's obligatory hobo, as dictated by Celestia's "maintenance of proper atmosphere in rail travel" act, passed some twelve years prior.
Without speaking a word to anypony, Sassy went to her seat, and began to collect her things and place them in her saddlebag. She was nearly done when June Bug spoke.
"Where are you going, Ms. Saddles?" she asked. "There isn't a stop around here."
"Garters and Gabardine!" blurted Sassy. "I am walking to Ponyville to make an important business meeting with a valuable client! Are there any more of my private affairs that you need explained in detail?"
"No, not really," said June Bug, quite clearly unaware of Sassy's irritability. "It's just that I'd really like to get home, and I was thinking that if somepony else was going to walk, I might just go along."
"Yeah, me too," said Eaglequick. "It's boring here."
"Perhaps I should walk with you as well," said Rula Thirtyfoura. "I have an important client to meet in Ponyville, myself."
The train car fell silent, except for the sound of Eaglequick clearing his throat. Awkward glances were exchanged, and Sassy began to parse her vast mental rolodex for words that would alliterate well with "promiscuity."
Something that starts with a P... Something obscure, archaic; a word nopony uses anymore... Preferably related to clothing on at least a tangential level... Oh, blast; I just know I'll think of it later. As soon as I step off this train car, there it will be, clear as day.
"Well," said Sassy, finally giving up, "I would actually prefer..."
A filthy, gray hoof clapped down onto her shoulder, causing her to yelp in surprise and leap forward, wheeling around to face towards the rear of the train car as she did so.
"Y'all don't NEED to go walkin' in none of these here woods!"
It was the hobo. He was an ancient, gray unicorn stallion with his horn broken off half a hoofwidth above his forehead, a greasy beard slicked down to his chest and full of moldy breadcrumbs, an obvious eye infection, three gold teeth, an old and much-faded tattoo of Princess Celestia done as a pinup girl, a ragged canvas duster, filthy wool socks on all four hooves that were torn out so that the tip of each hoof protruded, the last vestiges of the butt of a cigar suspended on a toothpick, a pair of denim trousers held firm to his waist by no more than a narrow piece of frayed rope, and a crow that rode on his shoulder, itself having a tiny, corduroy jacket over a pair of tiny, patched overalls, a frayed toboggan hat so threadbare as to be worn completely through at the crown of crow's head, minuscule soiled rags wrapped around its feet, a sling on one of its wings, and a tiny flask of some unidentifiable liquid, presumably inebriatory in nature, from which, at that moment, it took a swig.
"My goodness," said Sassy, and that was all.
"T'ain't no good what's ever come out walkin' this stretch of the tracks here in Whitetail Wood!" cried the Hobo.
"CAW!" cried the crow on his shoulder.
"I seen thangs, I tells ya!" he shouted. "I seen a shadder that moves in the shadders 'longside the tracks! A thang as unnatural as Discord's own bathmat -- a thang likin' to an ape what glances back over i'shoulder whilst passin' just far enough away as to keep ya from gettin' closernuff t'get a good pitcher!"
"CAW, CAW!" cried the crow.
"Oh, you mean the sasquatch," said Rula Thirtyfoura. "That was a hoax, sir. Everyone knows that."
"Yes," said Sassy. "They used an out-of-focus camera and shot the footage from a distance to make it difficult to validate its authenticity."
"Say as y'all will!" bellowed the hobo. "I'm a certified itinerant railroad bum! I been ridin' these trains for nigh on a week, now! I know thangs what y'all don't -- what y'all cain't! I seen it all from this here railcar, and there's thangs in this world y'all sheltered city ponies ain't imagined in all yer darkest nightmares!"
"CAW, CAW, CAW!" the crow erupted, but this time its cries broke down into a fit of coughing.
The bird doubled over at the waist, hacked, spat, and cleared its throat. It beat on its chest with its one good wing and coughed several more times. It grunted in obvious discomfort, and continued to expectorate and wheeze for several more seconds, until all eyes in the train car were fixed on it. Finally, standing upright, it gave a final, mighty clearing of its throat, and drank again from its flask.
It said nothing.
"Mark these words, and mark 'em well," said the hobo. "The sasquatch is real, and if y'all go out into them woods, sure as Celestia sits on her throne, you'll find him -- Or he'll find you!"
"Dusters and Doublets," said Sassy Saddles.
You see, she thought. You can do it when you're not being such a try-hard.
"This has all been a splendidly quaint display of whatever it is you are," said Sassy, meaning to continue, though the hobo cut her off.
"I'm a hobo," he said. "My cutie mark's even one-a them sticks with a sack on it what you carry throwed over a shoulder to tote your few worldly p'sessions in it. Wanna see?"
He began to fumble at the frayed rope that supported his trousers.
"Thank you, but I quite believe you without a demonstration," said Sassy Saddles. "Now, the fact remains that I have a meeting to attend, and no silly urban legend is going to stop me from seeing to my work."
She turned to the others.
"Furthermore, though I have no particular attachment to any of you, I'm going to invite the rest of you along just to defy the rantings of this very clearly unhinged old stallion and his tubercular crow. Will any of you deign to accompany me?"
"No thanks," said June Bug. "I think I'm good."
"Yeah," said Eaglequick. "This old guy's crazy, yeah, but he seems pretty legit."
"Indeed," said Rula Thirtyfoura, "Look at his eyes... his empty, desolate, weary eyes. Those are eyes that have seen things, and I've seen eyes that have seen things, let me tell you."
"I'll bet," said Sassy.
"And he does have the crow," said June Bug. "I mean, does that crow look like it would hang out with someone who wasn't some sort of ill omen?"
"Caw," the crow grunted, and it took another swig off the flask.
"Fair enough," said Sassy. "I shall make the trek alone. All the better to enjoy the scenery -- the most certainly sasquatch-free scenery -- of Whitetail Wood. Good day to you all."
Nopony made any effort to stop her as she finished gathering her things, though the hobo did speak once more.
"Afore ya go" he said, "don't suppose ya got a spare can-a beans?"
"No sir, I do not," said Sassy.
"Yeah," said June Bug. "Nopony really carries a thing like that."
"Dang," said the hobo.
"Caw," said the crow.
Without a further word, Sassy Saddles turned to leave the car, and as soon as her hoof touched earth, it came to her.
"Pleated," she said. "Pleated Promiscuity; there it was."
She sighed, and shook her head slightly.
"File it for later," she said, and set off down the tracks towards Ponyville.
It must be mentioned that Sassy Saddles was not a mare of little brain. Nor was she wicked of heart, malicious of mind, or in any way morally deficient by the standards most ponies hold. She was merely sassy, and the old hobo's attempt to dictate her behavior, however well-intentioned, had offended certain deep-rooted sensibilities she held in regards to her own autonomy. So it was that she found herself trotting along the railroad tracks towards Ponyville, fuming at the memory of the hobo's melodramatic warning.
"Nopony's going to tell me what to do," she said. "Well, not without paying me, anyway, which would clearly fall under the purview of contractual obligation. That's an entirely different matter. Nopony's ever going to find my signature on any contract written up by a filthy old hobo with a..."
Her monologue ground to a halt as she caught a brief glimpse of something in the woods nearby. She saw it for only a moment, but it was tall and ape-like in form. It strode by, stopping for just a moment to glance back over its shoulder at the unicorn, who responded according to her custom.
"A filthy old hobo with a penchant for spreading ridiculous urban legends about imaginary creatures that could not even be supported by the local ecology!" she nearly shouted, staring at the copse of trees into which the thing that most certainly could not have been a sasquatch had just disappeared.
"Bodices and bullhockey," she grumbled to herself, continuing to trot forward. "If that idiotic creature thinks I'm going to believe in it merely because I've seen it, it is mistaken."
She continued forward, fully aware that she had seen the sasquatch, yet still choosing not to believe in its existence. It was perhaps rather arbitrary of her, and in point of fact did call into question the precise parameters defining the concept of belief. To Sassy, however, these concerns were tertiary at best. In effect, failure to maintain her state of skepticism would be tantamount to a failure of sass. There were few things in the world that Sassy Saddles could not endure, but to know that she had allowed even a momentary lapse of sass was indubitably one of them.
Sass was the essence of her being.
Not ten minutes later, she saw the creature again. This time, it stepped from the woods some thirty yards ahead of her. She did not stop moving along the tracks, however. To do so would, in some capacity, have meant acknowledging the creature as real, and Sassy Saddles would have none of that.
As she drew closer, she got a clear look at it; perhaps the first such look of anypony, ever. Cryptozoologists the world over spent lifetimes waiting for moments like these. They endured accusations of quackery and fraud in search of financiers with the whimsy -- nay, the hope -- left in their hearts to give them research grants. They crawled through mud, risking disease and courting failure, all for the dream of one brief glimpse of such a creature as this.
Sassy Saddles passed it by with no more than a sidelong glance.
It was a hideous thing, overdeveloped in its musculature, with bulbous forearms, flabby lips, small eyes, and a vacuous expression on its round face. It stood scratching its posterior with one hand, and gnawing on a tree branch clutched in its left. It turned its head to watch as Sassy Saddles passed it by.
"Eating wood, eh?" she said. "A gallant effort at disproving my statement in regards to your unsuitability for the local ecology, but all you've done now is imply that you are most likely a mutant beaver."
The creature bit off a chunk of the tree branch, gave it several solid chews, and swallowed it, producing an audible gulp.
"UWAH!" it yelped.
"'Uwah,' indeed," said Sassy. "As if any real undiscovered marvel of nature would have a cry so boorishly inelegant."
She continued on her way, ignoring the would-be sasquatch, which for the moment seemed content to finish eating its tree branch.
"When I tell her this story," said Sassy, continuing forward, "Rarity is going to have quite a laugh about how thoroughly I did not believe in that sasquatch."
It was no more than a mile further before she reached her next obstacle: a rail bridge over a wide river. There, right at its center, as if awaiting her arrival, was the thing that according to no natural law could ever in all the realm of possibility occupy a state of being equating to sasquatchhood.
"Because sasquatches do not exist," said Sassy Saddles, having just had this precise thought.
The not-squatch waved at her from where it stood on the bridge.
"UWAH!" it cried.
"Myths and mittens," she grumbled.
"Uwah?" blurted the thing.
"I am crossing the bridge," said Sassy Saddles, "which I would most certainly not do if there was a sasquatch standing on it."
She walked forward, continuing to speak.
"Ergo," she said, "you cannot be a sasquatch, for if you were, I would not be doing what I am doing."
"Uh.... Wah?" said the creature as Sassy drew nearer.
Had she not been so deeply invested in enforcing her own disbelief, she might have noticed that the beast held out towards her as she passed a large, round rock which had been emblazoned with a crude smiley face, painted thereupon with some substance best left unidentified. Now, what the weird ape-beaver believed the significance of this rock to be is impossible to discern. Perhaps it was some sort of offering; a token of a desire for friendship. Perhaps the creature had been smitten with Sassy, and it was a gift given in deep, heartfelt affection. Perhaps it was something the beast found behind the Ponyville schoolhouse while raiding the trashcans, and it was trying to play a game of show-and-tell.
Whatever the case, Sassy's decision to ignore the proffered stone was met with a crestfallen expression and a meek, quiet "Uwah."
At this, having already made it several paces beyond the thing that was not a sasquatch, Sassy stopped, and spoke over her shoulder.
"Don't pout," she said. "Matters could be worse. After all, you could be a sasquatch."
The apish thing seemed to think this over for several seconds, its head tilting ever more slightly to the left as it did so. It blinked several times, grunted and groaned under its breath, and finally gave a slight shrug. With a resolute, affirmative "Uwah," it tossed the rock into the river. The rock was several times larger than most ponies' heads, and it produced a splash well in accordance with its mass. Much to her dismay, several droplets landed on Sassy's dress.
"Desecrating Deluges!" she exclaimed, turning to face the giant, hairy ape that, despite constituting a more than adequate match to all extant descriptions of one, was still, beyond a shadow of a doubt, not a sasquatch. "This is suede trim! Do you have any idea what you could have..."
She was halted by a peculiar sound. It was most readily likened to a cement mixer full of goats, and it was coming from the not-squatch. The thing was giggling, she realized, and also clapping its massive, oar-like hands.
"What are you laughing at!?" she growled. "Blouses and Buttonholes, I ought to..."
The creature's giggling intesified, and it began to clap more vigorously.
"Wait a moment," said Sassy, her left eyebrow raising slightly. "French cuffs and frock coats."
The goats in the cement mixer brayed more insistently than ever, and the five-fingered paddles slammed together with such force as to produce a noticeable breeze, even from where Sassy was standing, several paces away.
"You like that, don't you?" she said. "I suppose it takes all kinds."
She gave the creature a smile and a nod.
"Nice to have met you, mutant beaver, but I must be on my way."
"Uwah!" barked the mutant beaver.
She turned and walked onward. Before she had made it more than a few paces, however, the creature had stridden up beside her, and was keeping pace, as if it meant to accompany her for the duration of her journey.
"Very well, whatever you are," said Sassy Saddles. "You may walk with me to Ponyville, but I recommend against allowing yourself to be seen there. You might be mistaken for a sasquatch, and that could cause a panic."
What followed Sassy's acceptance of her odd traveling companion was a long, one-sided conversation about the merits of satin versus lace in creating a sense of elegance and refinement. It will not be recounted here because it was perhaps the single most boring thing that has ever happened since the dawn of time, but it did happen. It happened, and the creature that Sassy did not acknowledge as a sasquatch listened to every word, giggling and clapping its hands at every inane alliteration, always with a gleeful "UWAH!"
This of course only spurred Sassy to new heights, so that she went into greater and greater detail, alliterating more and more often until at long last she reached that fabled realm of seamless, flowing perfection known for eons unto ponydom as "the zone." Therein, she managed not once but thrice to place in immediate succession words that began with the letter X. It is a feat unrivaled in all the history of the spoken word, and to dare replicate it here, even in mere text, would threaten the reader with the permanent ruination of all cognitive function. Sassy Saddles, for those few minutes, was more than sass and more than saddles. Indeed, for that brief flicker in the infinite continuum of time and space, Sassy Saddles was nothing less than a goddess!
Then, Sassy Saddles went blind.
She had most definitely noted her eyes' slowly developing sensitivity to the afternoon sun, along with a mild pain that had continued to escalate in intensity as she had given her rousing disquisition. When at last the pain became unbearable and her vision failed her fully, she ground to a halt, the howling laughter and thunderous clapping of the mutant ape-beaver not-squatch enduring several seconds beyond her cessation of both speech and motion.
"Jeopardizing jodhpurs," she mumbled, producing one final chorus of goats and clapping. "It would appear I've gone quite blind."
"Uwah?" grunted the ape thing.
"There was a welding accident earlier," explained Sassy. "I was not aware of it as such at the time, but in considering my current circumstances, I am forced to the opinion that it was, in fact, an accident."
"Uwah," said the ill-defined ecological anomaly.
"Yes, 'uwah,'" said Sassy. "There is a crow I know of whom you simply must meet, but for the moment that is neither here nor there. What matters is that I am still on the railroad tracks. So long as I maintain my current direction, and stay between the rails, I should make it to Ponyville without incident."
Undaunted, Sassy Saddles strode forward, tripping only seven times as she went, and even fewer which she would admit to herself as having been proper instances of tripping. "Stumbles" she decided they were more fitly called; hardly trips at all. Still, given her current destitution of vision, it was only a matter of time -- or rather of distance -- before some peril or other befell her. The distance in question was some eighteen paces or thereabout, (wherein all of the aforementioned stumbles took place) and the peril was a small hole next to a cross tie.
Now, this was no ordinary hole. This hole, of all holes beside the cross ties of all the railroad tracks throughout Equestria, was certainly the most unique, owing to a long, sordid history that began some two hundred years prior.
There had been a band of rats, themselves not ordinary rats, but avaricious bandit rats; highwaymen of the worst order, responsible for foul deeds to chill the blood of even the most stalwart. They had dug this very hole as the entrance to their hideout, though the railroad had of course not been present at that time.
In the course of all their robbery and pillage, these rats had accosted a rat princess with whom the bandit rat king had fallen deeply in love. So smitten was he with the young rat maiden that he sent her away unharmed, taking only her signet ring as a memento of their meeting.
When her father, the rat king* of the greatest rat kingdom of Whitetail Wood, in the course of a banquet at his great rat castle, discovered the signet ring missing from his daughter's tiny rat claw, he sent word throughout the kingdom that any rat who should bring it before him should be given his daughter's claw in marriage. There was little question as to why he would promise such a thing; it was simply the sort of thing kings promised in those days when princesses and priceless artifacts of the state were involved.
By and by, the bandit rat king heard of this offer, and said to his band of rat bandits, "We shall go to the castle of the great and noble rat king to receive our share in the kingdom!"
But it was a trick, for the rat king's spies had seen the rat princess' meeting with the bandit rat king. The bandit rat king and his band set out to the castle, and upon their arrival found themselves surrounded by a hundred rat guards. The rat king stepped forth to demand their surrender, but the bandit rat king refused, and a terrible battle was waged, wherein the rat king's forces, being substantially greater in number, quickly gained the upper claw. For the rat bandits, this action eventually devolved into a fighting retreat.
As they tried to make their escape through the woods, the rat bandits were struck down one by one until finally only the bandit rat king remained alive. Grievously wounded, he dragged himself back into his hideout. As he lay dying, he clutched the signet ring, his one memento of his life's only true love, to his chest. With his last breath, he lay a curse upon the ring, the hole, and himself, swearing that if anyone for the rest of time should enter into this place to take from his grasp this, his one last, most precious possession in all the world, the hole should collapse upon them and bury them alive. This he swore, and gave up his spirit, and for two hundred years not so much as a single ant -- not so much as soil to fill it in -- had dared to enter that hole, so heavy and ominous did the bandit rat king's spirit linger upon its entrance.
Until Sassy Saddles stepped in it.
In keeping with the curse, the hole immediately collapsed around her hoof, sealing it there as firmly as a well-rooted tree. It is worth noting that this was still a rat's curse, and what seems like an especially terrible curse to a rat is often not quite so lethal to a creature as large as a pony. As such, the whole incident would probably have constituted a mere inconvenience, except that, unbeknownst to Sassy, the engineer had exaggerated the repair time on the locomotive, mostly in an attempt to get her to leave.
So it was that as she stood there on the railroad tracks, blind and with her right hind leg buried to well above the hock in the collapsed hideout of a forgotten bandit rat king, Sassy Saddles heard the distinct chugging of an approaching train, growing louder by the second.
"Cliches and Culottes!" she cried, but this time the not-squatch did not clap or giggle.
"UWAH!" it shouted.
"I KNOW!" shouted Sassy.
"UWAH!" it shouted.
"I'M TRYING!" shouted Sassy.
Indeed, she was trying, pulling with all her might in an effort to extract her leg. To her misfortune, however, the life of a fashion diva had left her with precious little might to spend in the endeavor, so that she made little headway. Being a unicorn, she might have dug herself free with her innate telekinesis, but that would have required her to be able to see where she was digging.
As she stood there, hopelessly stuck, she heard over the growing roar of the oncoming train the sound of its whistle. By its volume, she knew it must be close, now. Fueled by adrenaline, she tugged even harder, but it was to no avail. At last, out of ideas and certain of her impending doom, Sassy broke down.
"What did I do to deserve this!?" she whined, collapsing to her belly. "I'm not a bad pony; I'm just sassy! Astonishingly, irascibly sassy with a mildly obsessive love of a single poetic device that I perhaps overuse from time to time!"
Here, she realized that she had allowed herself to lay down in the dirt, still clothed in her fine, suede-lined outfit.
"And now my dress is probably dirty!" she whined. "I'm going to die in a dirty dress!"
With that, Sassy Saddles began to cry, wailing in a most undignified and in no way alliterative fashion. She had been at this for no more than a few seconds when she felt something scrubbing violently at the dirt around her trapped leg. There were a pair of them -- huge, flat, and firm. They were hands, she realized; the hands of the mutant beaver ape.
The whistle squealed -- close, so close! The hands dug -- huge, weird, and so not belonging to a sasquatch! Death was upon her! It was the end of all things chic and worthy that Sassy Saddles would ever know!
Then, something yanked her free from the ground, and she was tugged suddenly through the air. She rolled down a hillside, not knowing where she was or where her tumble would end. The air around her was full of the squeal of the train's whistle, the screech of its braking wheels, and her own screams. Darkest amidst all of these, however, there came one agonized "UWAH!?"
Then, after what had been the space of mere seconds, it was over. She was sitting upright on the ground, trembling and thankful to be alive. She could hear the faint hiss of steam escaping from the train's boiler, and she sniffled and rubbed at her nose, not even caring if she did so elegantly.
"Beaver?" she said.
There came only silence.
"Mutant Beaver!?" she called out again.
Silence.
"Mufflers and miniskirts?"
Only silence.
She was so obviously in shock from the experience that nopony from the train made any effort to talk to her until they arrived in Ponyville a few minutes later. An ambulance was fetched from the hospital, and shortly thereafter, courtesy of some medical magic and a pair of sunglasses, she could see again, even if her eyes did still hurt a bit. The nurse who was tending to her kept giving her odd looks, and Sassy found herself wondering repeatedly whether it was because of her filthy dress, of which she was now doubly conscious, being able at last to see it.
"If there was a more interesting name for a nurse's cap," said Sassy, "I would find a way to alliterate it -- sassily."
"Hmm?" mumbled the nurse, a white earth mare with a medical cross and four red hearts for her cutie mark.
"To show my displeasure at being scrutinized," said Sassy. "What is the problem?"
"They're just telling some really weird stories about you downstairs," said the nurse. "The police took a report from the other passengers, and ... well ... Eh, they'll get around to asking you about it; don't take my word for it."
In keeping with a brisk narrative, a police officer stepped into the room at nearly that exact moment, and gave her an even stranger look than had the nurse.
"Okay," he said, "So far all I've got is a few 'I don't know what I saws,' one 'You mean I missed her?' one 'Y'all know what it were!' and one 'Caw.' There was some kind of thick, brown fur they found on the front of the locomotive, and all the passengers say some kind of big, hairy animal was seen running from beside the tracks. You wanna tell me what's going on?"
Sassy slumped down in her bed, and sighed.
"I believe it was a sasquatch," she said.
"Great," said the police pony, throwing up his forelegs. "I'm gonna ask to be put back on drug enforcement; this is too much."
He turned and left the room. As the door swung shut, they heard him grumbling about how he should have gone to business school, and then he was gone.
"Sasquatch?" asked the nurse.
"Sasquatch," said Sassy.
"You sure you didn't hit your head?" asked the nurse.
"I'm fine," said Sassy, "and if possible I'd like to leave so I can make it to my meeting; even if I will be late."
"Well, you're cleared to leave whenever you want," said the nurse. "Go right ahead; nopony's going to stop you."
Sassy gathered her things, and exited the hospital by the front door. Outside, she found a curious thing: two orderlies trying desperately to move a large, heavy rock from the middle of the main walkway.
"What's all this?" she asked.
"We have no idea," said one of the orderlies. "It just appeared here like half an hour ago."
As she walked around the rock, she found something that gave her a shock, and brought a smile to her face. There, painted on its side in some substance best left unidentified, was a poorly-rendered picture of a unicorn walking beside a large ape creature along a set of railroad tracks. Notably, the ape creature seemed to be giggling and clapping its hands.
She stared at it for a moment, and chuckled quietly to herself.
"Uwah," she said. "Now, how could I alliterate that?"
