> Little Donkey
>  by 8_Bit
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter I - On The Dusty Road
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Those fucking birds, I swear.

It's five in the morning, the sun won't be up for hours. So, why the bloody heck are they chirping their little hearts out like it's the Royal Variety Hour? What exactly is it that they've got to be up so early for? I mean, they wouldn't like it if I snuck up to their nest at stupid-o-clock in the morning with a male voice choir. Would they? Three choruses of Beethoofen's Ninth Symphony would have them laughing out the other side of their beaks. A jenny can dream, though. In a stubborn manner my kind are somewhat famed for, I grab one of my pillows and slam it hard over my head. A vain attempt to muffle out the birdsong.

For a brief moment, I do ponder if it would be easier to smother myself and be done with it. They wouldn't even need to let a priest in, I'd be content with them shouting last rites through the window. Something to get the neighbours chatting, make the local newsletters. Anycreature who says they don't like drama? They are talking out of their arse. The moment anything interesting happens, you can bet they'll be there snooping. There was this one B&B I stayed in somewhere outside Sydneigh, where the ponies in the room next door got into a loud argument around midnight. Lucky me, laid out half-asleep and being treated to my own little radio soap opera. And when they spilled out of their room into the street below, all I had to do was sit up in bed and glance out the window. Thus, my radio show was upgraded to a theatrical performance with box seating. I felt like Trotler and Whindorf.

'Wake up you old fool, you slept through the show'.

'Who's a fool? You watched it.'

Ahem. Regardless, the pillow muffling must have worked and the smothering must have failed to work. The next thing I know my alarm clock is ringing, the sun is shining in through the window, and I am still breathing. I slam my hoof down and stop the incessant beeping that is making big owies on my primitive early-morning brain. Hauling myself up into a sitting position, I pull the duvet tighter around me. My neck makes some grotesque clicks as I twist my head around to work out the stiffness. All my own fault, by habit I tend to sleep with two pillows, and technically I just did. However, given one of those pillows had been on top of my head and not supporting it, now my neck is going to be achey all morning. Oh, terrific.

Batting aside an awkward droopy ear that lops down in front of one eye, I reach for my glasses. They're a little steamed up with morning dew in the cold room. Pretty much on par with my standard level of luck, finding the one inn without decent heating. I slide them up the bridge of my muzzle nonetheless. A little wipe with a fetlock clears them up well enough, even if leaving them a little smudgy. I roll out of bed, dragging my duvet with me and wrapping myself up in it as I walk to the window.

Hoofington. Hardly anywhere to get excited about. My first and only thought when I'd arrived during dusk yesterday, was how much inbreeding must go on here. It's not a huge town, but nor is it small, and it definitely lacks in any kind of culture. One bloodline occupying a single postal code, that's more or less the impression I got as I walked through it. Still, folks around here seemed friendly. And by friendly, I mean they only looked at me with distaste. As opposed to looking at me with distaste as they reached for their nearest firearm. When you're a wanderer, you've got to take the little victories. For example, the stallions here probably only have eyes for mares that are a second cousin or closer to them. So they'll likely let me pass by and, at most, expend the energy to shoot me an icy glare.

Now with proper daylight, I realise there is another elephant in the room that I had completely missed yesterday. Dense cloud banks sit motionless above the hamlet. I can make out brutal colonnades, rising towers and sprawling bridges all built out of the good old white fluffy stuff. Rainbow waterfalls cascade down all around, provoking imagery that would make a right-wing nutcase spout nonsense about poor influences on their children. This hick town literally sits in the shadow of Cloudsdale. Now say all you want about donkey stubbornness, but it is in fact earth ponies who live here. In a town that, I assume, is subjected to regular bouts of yellow showers and brown hail from the pegasus city above. I like to think us donkeys are quite rational by comparison, because all I can think of to that idea is 'bollocks to that'. Still, it's another excuse to leave, even if I wasn't exactly fishing for one.

Keeping my duvet wrapped up around me, I set myself to work repacking my saddlebag. Granted, I didn't exactly unpack a great deal of stuff last night, but I do a lot of travelling. I've seen some shit. Let me never speak of the youth hostels in Prance. So I hope it goes without saying, that on a regular basis I will double-triple-quadruple check I've got all my gear with me. Water, dry rations, a towel (never leave home without one, trust me), in addition to a small tent and sleeping bag for emergency use. Plus, a little pouch full of bits. Far be it from me not to lubricate the wheels of capitalism, in exchange for food and shelter whenever possible.

When I'm content that my saddlebag is packed nice and proper, I take a rapid series of steeling breaths before I fling the duvet off me. Even with my pelt, the cold air stings at my body. How the bloody hell does the landlord of this inn think this is a suitable ambient temperature? With teeth chattering, I haul my saddlebag loosely onto my back. I go to strap it into place, but since I'm only going downstairs, I decide it's not worth the effort. Making my way out of the small bedroom, I listen to the door lock click behind me and then head towards the stairs. Breakfast time.

After giving the room key back to the pony running the front desk, a greasy-faced teenager who doesn't seem able to tear his eyes away from his comic, I head towards the restaurant area. Passing through a wooden door paned with frosty glass, the warmth of the room brings instant bliss. I don't bother restraining myself from letting out a quiet sigh. Oh, sweet cosy warmth, what a relief. The room is loud and bustling though, lots of rowdy ponies sat eating and drinking as waiting staff veer through narrow gaps between seats. With nocreature there guiding clientele to their tables, I guess that it's a case of 'find your own'. And because I have a habit of trying not to make too much of an inconvenience of myself, I head for the only table in the room that is set for one occupant.

Unfortunately for me, it's a high table with a barstool. And though I'm only a little below the average height for jennies, this translates to being very below the average height for mares. So I make a complete twat of myself, trying to climb up into the seat. I've no doubt that this town is likely full of big, strong stallions keen to help a jenny in need. Prove that chivalry isn't dead, y'know? To my misfortune, at this moment they must all be out buying lager and cigarettes, because not one sodding horse in the restaurant offers me a helping hoof. So I have to resort to putting my saddlebag on the floor, and using that as a step-up to get myself settled on the stool.

I start rifling through the menus, but I can't seem to find a breakfast one. It's not even half eight yet, they must still be serving breakfast, surely to goodness. It takes a few minutes, and several instances of 'oh-I-just-waved-at-the-waitress-but-she-kept-on-walking-right-past-me-like-I'm-a-bloody-chameleon''. But finally, an earth pony mare with a pale green coat and brown mane stops at my table. She looks me up and down as she pulls out a pen and notepad from her apron, but she seems reluctant to initiate any kind of conversation. So, I venture to speak first.

"Good morning."

Whatever opinions I may hold regarding the average IQ in this town, I still have a deep-rooted inability to give waiting staff anything less than the very best manners I can muster. I'm not sure if it's cultural or generational, but I feel like asking to speak to a manager would be akin to committing seppuku.

"What'll it be?" she drawls back at me.

"Umm, yes, hello. I... errr... well, I can't seem to find the breakfast menu, could you get one for me please?"

One of her eyebrows lifts up as her tail flicks. "You ain't got one there?"

I glance back at the little wooden rack where the other menus sit. "Daytime menu, Sunday menu, specials menu, drinks menu, I've got all of those here. But the breakfast menu? No sign of one, I'm afraid."

"Just tell me what you want, we'll fix you up," she replies. Her eyes roll back, and I get the distinct impression that she'd rather be licking hot coals in Tartaurus than here taking my order.

"Umm... do you guys serve a Full Trot?"

"A what?"

I cough, starting to feel very awkward. "A Full Trottingham breakfast? A fry-up? Veggie sausages, hay bacon, tofu scramble, fried tomatoes, hash browns, mushrooms and toast? Most places offer it with baked beans, but I don't really like them so I go without."

You ever find yourself halfway through a sentence, realise that said sentence is going on for too long, but find yourself unable to stop talking so you just kind of... trudge the rest of the way? Yep, that was me just then. And when I'm done, all I can do is answer her withering glare with a sheepish grin.

"So, you want a regular breakfast?" she asks. "We can do a regular breakfast, no need to break it down for me again. But I'm guessing from that there fancy accent of yours that you'll be wanting a cup of tea with it?"

My stomach churns. "Umm, actually I'll pass, thanks. I'm not always good at adhering to those stereotypes, in fact I don't really like tea at all. Do you guys do energy drinks here?"

She tilts her head towards the bar. Behind the beer taps, I see a large fridge with a transparent door. Inside are rows of bright-coloured cans, stacked in neat rows for the world to see. My mouth salivates on cue. Doctor Pavtrot may have been famous for studying dogs, but I could make a convincing argument that his research can be applied to most sentient quadrupeds. If only to make myself feel less guilty for going weak at the knees at the prospect of a good hit of chilled, fruity caffeine.

"One can of Crazy Lychee, please."

"Crazy Lychee, right away," she mumbles.

The mare returns the notepad and pen to her apron pocket. Then she turns on her hooves, and heads toward the bar with an air of indifference that seemed almost palpable. And, to be frank, a little bit insulting. By all means, come back and smack me in the face if you wish to punish me for the cheek of existing. Oh, and should you so desire, let me splay myself across the table. Then you may deliver ten lashings across my back, lest I dare ponder the possibility of insulting you once more by expecting to be fed at your restaurant.

Pre-caffeine, my mind goes to some weird places.

As my thoughts wander, I tuck my tail under myself and feel a light strain on my neck as my ears wiggle around above me. Something that ponies with their teeny tiny ears don't have to worry about? How the weight balance on your head can shift around, when larger ears subconsciously start picking up on different conversations around a crowded room. One time, I think in Whinnyapolis, I was minding my own business in a little café when some mares at a table next to me started discussing their coltfriends. Specifically, and with little care about the possibility of being overheard by creatures around them, their coltfriends' 'dimensions'. Almost gave myself whiplash with that one.

It's awkward as well. Imagine you're the one having a conversation, and then you look around. Even if I'm not looking at you, my ear is. Well, not looking at you per se, although I did freak out some stallion in a Chineighse restaurant by putting pairs of googly eyes on each eartip. In my defense, I was very drunk on baijiu at the time. But like, when I'm facing forward and my whole ear is facing you. Like it's leaning in to ask for an interview. Folks tend to notice that. Every single one of those ponies must know what it's like to deal with selective hearing, but without big ears like mine they at least can hide it. I don't get the benefit of subtlety.

Today, my ears are more awake than I am. There's a lot of noise here. Clinking cutlery, rowdy fillies and colts, conversations of varying topic and volume, and at one point there's a loud smashing as a plate falls to the floor. At that last one in particular, I have to remember where I am and suppress the urge to cheer and erupt into raucous applause. Don't ask. All the while, my ears dance around above me, without any conscious input on my part, as they pick up on different sounds. I know from experience that while the straining on my neck makes it feels like the movements are big and exaggerated, an outside observer would only see subtle shifts in angle and orientation. No matter how much I tell myself this, my ear movements always make me feel self-conscious.

Reaching up with a hoof, I push my glasses back into place on the bridge of my muzzle as a light huff escapes my nostrils. A roaring fireplace against one wall accounts for the cosy warmth of the room. But I can't wrap my head around how the bedrooms above can be so cold, when there's such a strong source of heat right below them. Whoever built this place probably didn't know the first thing about thermal insulation. To be fair though, I don't know the first thing about thermal insulation either.

Gotta love having a mind that wanders easily. As my eyes drift upwards to the ceiling, a loud thud hits the table in front of me. I near-enough fall out of my seat in surprise. Looking down, I see the waitress has plonked down a colourful can right between my front hooves. And done so with pretty much all the love, care and affection I've come to expect from the ponies in this town. I give a nod of appreciation, as she turns to walk away without a word.

"Alright, good talk," I whisper to myself.

The can pops open with a musical hiss that grabs the attention of both my ears. Easy, girls, give me a bloody chance. Talking of whiplash. When the first droplets of fruity fizzy liquid run down my throat, my senses come alive with a small wave of energy that rushes up through me. I raise the can higher, gulping down mouthful after mouthful of lychee-flavoured caffeine until my lungs begin to protest. Returning the now half-empty can back to the table, I smack my lips in satisfaction as my nostrils flare with heavy breaths.

"Ahh..." I murmur, feeling a goofy smirk spread across my face. "Normal again."

Before too long, the cheerful waitress graces me with her presence again, this time carrying a tray on her back. Deftly reaching around with a hoof, she transfers a steaming plate from the tray to the table in front of me. Cutlery, wrapped in a neat little napkin, follows suit, as does a mug of steaming brown liquid.

"Regular breakfast," she announces in a monotonous tone, as if reciting a script. "Comes with a coffee. Enjoy."

One of my eyebrows rises of its own accord as I watch her walk away. Now, don't get me wrong, food service must be a thankless job. Wait, what am I saying, 'must be'? I bloody well know it's a downright awful job, I've done it a few times in a few cities. Just, you know, times on my travels where I've needed a few extra bits. And if she was serving a customer with attitude, fair enough, but I've at least tried to be polite to her. Unless she can read my mind and see exactly what I think about this town, there's nothing I've done that would call for this kind of treatment.

Wait. Earth ponies can't read minds, can they?

A grumble from my tummy draws my attention downwards, and my eyes fall upon the plate. Okay, attitude problems with the front-of-house staff aside, this breakfast looks amazing. Hay bacon curls around the edges of the plate, framing the veggie sausages that bear some fine looking grill marks. A large mound of scrambled tofu, with some textbook hues of golden brown, nestles itself between hash browns, slices of mushrooms sautéed to perfection, and toasted bread positively dripping with melted butter. I reach for the ketchup.

In a flurry of movement, and an orchestra of ringing fork tines and knife scraping, the breakfast disappears. I'm not sure it even touches the sides of my throat. And come to think of it, I'm not even one hundred percent certain if I stop to breathe at any point. The bacon is the right balance of fatty and crunchy, the sausages just as tasty inside as they look outside, the hash browns are crispy, and the mushrooms balance it all out with earthy tasting goodness. And the whole lot gets washed down with further glugs of Crazy Lychee. A bit of sweetness on top of the savoury never hurt anycreature, right?

The coffee goes cold though. To be fair, I never exactly asked for it, and I don't particularly like it. If other (and better tasting) sources of caffeine are available, coffee will always be sidelined. That being said, I'm not above drinking it if I need the pick-me-up. This jenny has standards. They aren't high, but I've got them.

By the time I finish, leaning back in my chair and suppressing a belch, the breakfast rush must have passed its peak. The room seems a little quieter than it had been before. The bustle has ebbed, or at least it appears that way. A few less tables are occupied now, and those that still have ponies sat at them are engaging in conversation that is a bit more subdued. Less din to have to shout over, methinks. Funny how that works. One stallion in a booth, sat reading a newspaper, casts a glance in my direction as I push my empty plate aside. Our eyes meet for a fraction of a second before we both look away. I hate when that happens. Now I have to not look at that side of the room at all, or else I risk looking like a maniac.

The rest of my time in the restaurant area passes by pretty much on par with how it had gone so far. Stoic waitress brings me the bill. I spend an awkward thirty seconds trying to hook onto my saddlebag with a hind hoof. Realise it's in vain and I'll have to get down off the lofty stool to reach my bag of bits. Stubbornly try again anyway, straining at full stretch to hook a leg around a loop of my bag. Still can't manage it. Try to lower myself off the stool without making a complete twat of myself. Fall off the stool, indisputably making a complete twat of myself. Place a small pile of bits on the table. Don my saddlebag, pulling the straps into place. Leave, ears folded backwards against my shoulders and probably looking as red as a beetroot.

Yep, I'm a classy gal.

The cool morning air bites at my pelt as I step outside. I imagine that somewhere, in a place that isn't Hoofington, it's quite a warm and pleasant day. However, and to my best guess as a result of being literally in the perpetual shadow of Cloudsdale, it's fucking freezing here. No sense in waiting around then. The clatter of my hooves echoes around the narrow streets as I set off at a brisk walk. They join a chorus of other hoofsteps from the citizens of the little township. Noises that are largely drowned out by the sound of my own teeth chattering. The ebbing bustle from the restaurant appears to have merely migrated outside. All around me, quaint little shops have sprung open their doors and extended colourful awnings that had been shut when I'd first arrived.

Maybe I'd been a bit harsh in my judgements last night, regarding the town and its inhabitants. It actually seems alright in the light of day. As they do so enjoy doing, my ears perk this way and that above me. Snippets of jovial conversation from shopfronts and ponies passing by catch their attention. Given that donkeys aren't the most common sight when travelling around Equestria, I draw a fair few eyes as I pass by. Not that I'm going to judge them, I'm used to it at this point. Though as I'd learned in my early days of travel, it isn't the big ears that they notice. Nor is it the long, tasselled tail that you might more often associate with lions and griffons. It isn't even the large cross-shaped pattern on my back and shoulders. No, it's my lack of a cutie mark.

In short: not having my arse tattooed is something that marks me as an unusual sight. Such is life.

Following the signs that lead out of town, eventually the buildings become spaced further apart. Cobbled roads widen, and soon I find myself passing large gardens and grassy parks. Finally, the hick town gives way to open countryside, and in the distance in front of me I can see the long, low roofline of a train station. Cloudsdale Junction, as it is formally known, even though it links both towns. Its primary function is to serve the pegasi that need to travel long distance, but don't really like flying long distance. Which, judging from the steady stream of winged bodies descending from the sky, is a lot of them. A line of chariot taxis also sits out the front, and I see one lift off in the direction of the cloud city. Non-pegasi I guess? Or lazy pegasi. If it's the former, I hope they know cloud-walking magic. Otherwise the town below might be treated to some unexpected packages dropping from above.

More or less as I expected, when I step out from Cloudsdale's shadow into direct sunlight, the air temperature rises. I'm able to both slow my gait and bring my chattering teeth under control. By the time I cross the open, clear stretch of pathway between Hoofington and the station, I'm no longer cold. In fact, a bead of sweat trickles down my forehead. It's uncharacteristically warm for an autumn day. What the bloody hell are the pegasi up to? Awfully convenient little coincidence there. The one race that bears the most capability in dictating weather patterns? It somehow manages to have perfect weather around their main city hub.

My glasses fog up again as I step into the shaded canopy outside the front of the station. Not enough to blind me. Just annoying enough that the little voice in the back of my mind won't shut up until I do something about it, though. With both ears twitching in irritation, I reach up and wipe at the lenses with a fetlock. A dusty fetlock, as it turns out, as it leaves behind a grim looking splat of dirt and grime.

"Oh for fucks sake," I groan, reaching up and pulling the glasses off of my muzzle.

I am now, for all intents and purposes, blind. The world around me is a blurry mass, resembling a vague oil painting. So I make to step up against a nearby wall, out of the way of any passers-by. And it is at this point that a blurry purple mass steps past, giving a disapproving 'hmph' noise in the process. For a split-second, I'm confused as to why the distasteful attitude. That is, until she (I'm just assuming a she by the sound of her voice) is followed by two equally purple but much smaller purple masses. Ah. Swearing in front of foals, my bad. Here's hoping they're getting a different train out of here.

I fumble around for a few seconds in one of the outer pockets of my saddlebag. Retrieving a microfibre cloth that I keep accessible for emergencies such as this, I set to work. It takes a little while. Alternating between rubs with the cloth and holding the lenses up to the light to inspect yields little in the way of cleaning. I have to resort to also pulling out a little spray bottle of cleaning fluid, which finally does the trick. Though I frown when, after putting the cloth and spray away and returning my glasses back onto my muzzle, one lens is sharper and clearer than the other. I resolve to clean the other, once I'm on my train.

With a brief consultation of the schedule framed on the outside of the station building, I find the long distance service I'm looking for. Terminal station at Canterlot, with stops along the way at Feathernest and Ponyville. Checking the timetable and looking at the large clock hanging by the main doorway, I can see I only have a short fifteen minute wait before the next train arrives. Plenty of time to buy a ticket and have a sit down at my platform. I head inside and make for the ticket office.

Despite travelling for a few years now, I've never actually been to Canterlot. A city famed for prestige, with elegant architecture and a level of sophistication that, to be honest, I have no place in. But it's somewhere I've always at least wanted to visit. If for no other reason than to cross it off the bucket list of places I've seen. And you know, for a giggle, know that my being there knocks the average net-worth of creatures inside the city down by a significant margin. I'm often among the poorest creatures in any place I've been, but I've never been the poorest. New experience, sounds like a laugh. But then I can say I've done it, and move along to the next thing.

The station building is a curious blend of rustic and modern aesthetic. A middle ground between the quaint, old-worldy charm of Hoofington and the striking brutality of Cloudsdale. It makes for quite a nice place to wait for a train. Though not to knock the hard work and effort of the architects, the only thing that concerns me about train stations is whether the toilet facilities are sanitary. With my lips pursed as I exited, shaking a short length of toilet paper off of a back hoof, I rate it at a three out of a possible ten on the cleanliness scale. I resolve to get on with my day.

Descending into the tunnels between platforms as a non-stopping express raced through the station, I can't help but allow a bubble of excitement to build up inside me. Canterlot, oh my days, I'm finally going there. Sure, I won't be able to afford so much as an entrée in even the most financially accessible restaurants to outsiders. And I will probably end up having to put my tent up somewhere I can get away with stealth camping. But to finally be able to see the crown jewel of Equestrian cities will make it all worth it. Like, literally the crown jewel, it's where the Royal Castle is. I'm pretty sure I read somewhere that you can take tours on certain days, but I'm kinda happy to rock up and find out for myself. The allure of the unknown, and all that rubbish.

I emerge out onto a semi-crowded platform. Expectant ponies stand up along the 'Don't Cross This Line' line in anticipation of an imminent train. Among the crowd I see a purple mare travelling with a filly and a colt, both of whom possess a similar purple colouring to their mother. On spotting this, I turn tail and head for the opposite, but also crowded, end of the platform. All the benches are occupied, standing room only. Lovely. However, luck turns in my favour as a train whistle sounds in the distance, rousing the crowd of ponies on this platform even further. Less than two minutes after stepping hoof on this platform, my train is pulling in. Very well timed, if I do say so myself.

It's quite a long train with plenty of carriages, so I'm able to find an unoccupied window seat pretty much straight away. I pull the straps off of my saddlebag, retrieving the microfibre cloth and cleaning spray before tucking it under the seat and settling down. By the time I've cleaned both of the lenses on my glasses to a sharp, high fidelity level, the train has given a gentle rumble as it pulls out of the station. Re-donning the glasses, I'm able to watch as the distant monolith of Cloudsdale passes by, stationary and hovering over the dark shapes of Hoofington. Jeez, I really hope the cloud city diverts sewage away to anywhere besides straight down. And then an awful thought occurs to me: what is in those rainbow waterfalls?

Sadly, this dreadful contemplation is interrupted by something worse. Like, much worse. In this half empty carriage, full of many empty pairs of seats, a bulky stallion decides that the one next to me is his best option. I am outraged by this indignity, so I do the only thing a jenny in my situation could do: awkwardly shuffle closer to the window without saying a word. And as I lean down to put the cloth and spray back in my saddlebag, the worst happens. The stallion notices me.

"Well hey there," he coos, giving me a wry smirk. "Where's a pretty filly like yourself heading today?"

I scoff, and turn away from him.

"Hey hey, no need to be so hostile, I'm just trying to make conversation."

"Conversation?" I laugh, staring at his reflection the glass as his front hooves rise in a placating gesture. "Well then let me start by correcting you. It's jenny, not filly. I'm a donkey, you see the ears?"

He clears his throat. "Well I beg your pardon, it's a pleasure to meet you, Jenny. And what a lovely name that is, might I add."

A distinctive twitch in my ears pulls the weight of my head around as my eyes roll upwards. "No, no, that's not my name. Jenny is the word for a female donkey, in the same way you might call a female pony by the word mare."

"Alright then, little jenny, what is your name?"

I turn to face him, taking in his hulking frame, bristled face, and mane full of grey hairs. And grimacing at his stale breath. "None of your bloody business, that's what my name is. And I feel like I should probably add: it's super creepy for a stallion of your age to be going around, introducing yourself to a stranger and calling them a 'pretty filly'."

The stallion chuckled, a low rumble that echoed in the quiet carriage in a way that only doubled down on the creep factor. "Touché, little miss. Sorry for the misunderstanding there. Just thought I'd strike up a friendly chat, you know?"

I narrow my eyes, not buying into his attempt at charm at all. "Friendly chat, huh? Doesn't seem all that friendly to me, invading a stranger's space."

"Fair point. My apologies for barging in. Was hoping to pass the time on this long ride, and that accent of yours is too darn adorable to resist. But if you'd rather have some peace and quiet, I can respect that."

"Well first, it's not that long of a ride. And second, as a matter of fact, I would much rather have peace and quiet."

He nods. "Got it. No more chatter from me."

For a few awkward minutes, there is silence between us. The train accelerates faster and faster, leaving Cloudsdale junction far behind us. Rhythmic clitter-clacking of metal wheels against the tracks grows in speed and intensity. The landscape passes by with great haste, rolling hills in the distance traversing slowly as trees by the side of the rails whizz by in a green blur. I actually dare to relax. No stranger to creeps, I've found they rarely sit in quiet acceptance after being put in their place. All they have to do is sit there, keep their hooves to themselves and their mouths shut. But that's often too much to ask. With my gaze still fixated out the window, I begin to reach down towards my saddlebag with a slow hoof. My eyes watch the passing terrain as I make for the travel journal I keep in one pocket of the bag. Sadly, the stallion's mouth opens again.

"Say, little jenny," he begins, his tone shifting towards faux-apologetic. "I couldn't help but notice your gear. Traveling alone?"

My eyes clench shut as a colourful assortment of curse words flash through my mind. "Yeah, I am. And I prefer it that way."

The words were out, before I could process what an idiotic thing it was for me to say. I don't know this dude. I sure as heck know better than to blurt out the fact I'm a lone traveller to strange stallions taking a keen, disturbing interest in me. Why the fuck do I always speak before I think?

"But I... err... I'm meeting with some friends when I get off the train," I say, hoping the obvious lie is only obvious to people with more brain cells than him.

"Oh is that a fact? You going far then?"

"What's it to you?"

"Making conversation."

"And I'd like to end that conversation, please."

He holds up his hooves again. "Fine, fine, no offence intended."

I cross my hooves and turn to face the window again.

"Canterlot's a fine city, if that's where you're heading."

Hoping he'll take the hint, I don't reply.

"Well, if you're ever looking for a guide or some company, I know Canterlot like the back of my hoof. Been there more times than I can count. Happy to help out a pretty little jenny such as yourself," he says, failing to take the hint.

"Thanks, but I'll manage fine."

"You sure? I've been told I'm a pretty swell guide."

"Adamant. No thank you."

"I'm especially good at guided tours of what's between my legs."

Nope. "Right, I've had enough of this," I declare, rising to my hooves. "Creepy old perverts like you make me sick, and I'm out of here. Don't follow me, or I'll have to guide a potted cactus between your legs, and if you don't take the hint I'll do so without lube. Got it?"

The ferocity of my outburst takes him by surprise. He sits bolt upright in his seat with a horrified expression as I barge my way past. Pausing, I lean back across the seats, grabbing my saddlebag from under the chair. I make to walk away, but halt myself a second time. One more thing.

"Oh, and by the way, learn what a fucking toothbrush is. Honestly, your breath smells like Discord's nutsack."

I twirl on the spot, my saddlebag splaying outwards with the momentum and smacking him hard against his muzzle. Judging my the metallic clatter my bag makes, I think I nailed him with my coin pouch. I don't look back. I march forward, satisfied by the crashing sound of his skull against the window. His moans of pain follow, as several of the other passengers in this carriage shoot me looks of sympathy.

"Oh don't look sorry for me," I chastise. "None of you were very quick to jump to my rescue now, were you?"

Judging by the pained looks of guilt and shame, especially on the various stallions, that struck the right nerve. I made my way downtrain, leaving the carriage behind and passing through a dining car, before I reach another passenger carriage. This one is much emptier, with only a pair of chatting unicorns and a lone pegasus engrossed in a book. I grimace as I recognise the infamous cover, 'Fifty Shades of Hay'. Well, if it keeps his attention, then it could be the bloody Kama Hoofta for all I care. Finding another empty window seat, I make a second attempt to settle down for the journey ahead.

The next hour passes in comparative ease. When the train stops in Feathernest, only a few ponies enter the carriage. Thankfully all of them see the common sense in finding vacant pairs of seats, leaving me in peace. After we set off again, I take some time to flick through my travel journal, scribbling down some notes and observations about Hoofington. And actually, if I can figure out who to talk to about cloud-walking magic, I would quite like to come see Cloudsdale for an proper visit. Up close. Not just my view from the morning, being subjected to the sight of its taint from below.

I'm in the process of smirking to myself at my own brevity, when a sudden jolt rocks the entire carriage. Deafening, metallic screeches reverberate through my skull, and my hooves race to my ears to cover them. Dropping my journal in the process. As the momentum of the slowing train thrusts me forward, my head collides with the back of the seat in front of me. To put it in simple terms: ouch.

As the the screeching noise abates, I glance out the window to see the train has drawn to a complete stop, the passing scenery frozen in place. We're currently somewhere in a dense forest. Tentatively, I inch one hoof away from an ear, and am relieved to find that no more screeching noises can be heard. Yeah, ponies don't seem to appreciate how much more sensitive big ears like mine can be to high pitched noises. The screeching brakes just now? That hurt my eardrums about as much as the tray table hurt my cranium. Thank fuck it was stowed away, if I'd had it flat and unfolded, I'd have bust a rib as I crashed into it.

The carriage, previously a din of conversation, rattling and rumbling, is eerie in the silence that follows. My fellow passengers murmur and mumble among themselves, posing questions and theories about our predicament to each other. In the distance, I hear a loud steamy hiss. From the engine, I assume.

My assumption is confirmed a few minutes later when a conductor proceeds through our carriage. He announces a mechanical issue with the locomotive, one that needs a bit of time to try to rectify. I let out a resigned sigh, and rise to my hooves.

"Excuse me, mate," I call out to the conductor, causing him to stop in the doorway leading to the next carriage behind us.

"As I've explained, Miss, we're sorry about the delay," he reiterates, turning back to me. "We'll be back under way as soon as we can."

I nod. "Yeah, yeah, that's fine and all. I was just wondering where we are? Like, how far from the next stop."

The conductor straightens up, letting the door close behind him as he turns to address me. "Well according to the driver, we've stopped just before the three-mile marker on the approach to Ponyville."

"Three miles, huh?" I muse aloud, my gaze drifting to the distant horizon as I mull over the distance. "That's closer than I thought."

"Yes, Miss," he confirms, his tone maintaining a gentle patience that I can recognise as being well-rehearsed.

"So what if I wanted to walk the rest of the way?"

His measured façade slips for a moment; there is a subtle widening of his eyes, and a momentary pause, before he composes himself to respond. "Umm... well, I guess if you wanted to, there's a road alongside this section of track that leads straight into town. But, I'm sure we'll be moving again any minute now, if you'd rather ride the rest of the way."

I tilt my head, letting my ears loll to one side as I mull over the options laid before me. "Nah, I'm good," I reply with a casual wave of a hoof. "I'll sort myself out, it's still a nice day outside. Walking will be nicer. A bit of fresh air, it'll do me some good I reckon."

It elicits some strange looks as I grab my saddlebag and move to the door. To be honest, I'm surprised none of the pegasi join me. First, it's only a few miles outside town, not exactly a marathon distance. And it's not like they’d get lost on the way, all you have to do is follow the tracks and you're there. Second, I've done more than my fair share of cross-country rail travel. I happen to know that 'any minute now' is industry slang, roughly translating to 'an undetermined period of time ranging from several hours to ten working days'. Sit around waiting? Bollocks to that. If I'm gonna be stuck waiting anywhere, and the options are either a train in the middle of nowhere, or a town with a pub? Well, it's an easy decision.

I stick my head out of the door, breathing in the forest air. A moist, earthy scent intermixed with the distinct aroma of pine needles. Tossing my saddlebag to the ground, I turn around and descend the short ladder built into the side of the train car. My hooves touch damp grass. Huh, it's bright and sunny out, so we must have missed a rain front. Some pegasi weather scheduling in my favour might well have saved me from getting soaked on this walk.

Hauling my saddlebag into place on my back, I tighten the straps and make my way to the small gravel road besides the rails. My hooves cause it to crunch as I take my first steps on it. Well, if the train was heading towards town, the locomotive end will be pointing in the right direction. I set off, counting carriages as I go past them. From inside, many curious faces gaze out at me. By the time I pass carriage number seven, the sounds of gravel underhoof become interspersed with a distant, consistent clinking of metal against metal from somewhere up ahead.

Squinting in the mid-morning sunlight, I see the locomotive with smoke still pouring out of the funnel and steam gushing from pipes all along the length of it. Atop it, several engineers clad in blue overalls huddle around some kind of inspection hatch. They seem engaged in what looks to be a meticulous inspection. One of them is leaning into the hatch, half of his body venturing into the bowels of the locomotive while only his hind legs stick out. The others confer with each other in low tones, likely discussing the issue at hoof. At least, I hope they are. When one of them is halfway inside a boiling death machine, it's not exactly the best time to start discussing hoofball results, is it?

Still, I walk with caution as the path draws near the engine. Luckily I can confirm that I've never been in the vicinity of one of these metal goliaths going kaboom, but I've seen pictures of the aftermath. It ain't pretty. So when I get closer and see metal hatches open along the side, bearing its innards to the outside world, I can't help but walk with a smidge more hesitation. A whoosh of steam erupts from a valve, causing me to stumble and let out a yelp.

"It's alright, ma'am," one of the engineers calls out. "It normally looks worse than it is. You walking into town then?"

"Yeah, didn't fancy waiting," I shout back. "Should I go to the station when I get there, see if they want to send anycreature to help out?"

The engineer laughs. "Well I hope it doesn't come to that, but if you beat us there, we'd appreciate it for sure!"

I can't help but marvel at his nonchalance, but I guess it's his day job. This probably isn't an unusual situation for him. Not wanting to interrupt their work any further, I set off at a brisk walk down the road, heading for town. The sounds of tools against metalwork and the discussions between engineers fade into the distance behind me as I walk onwards. With the sun on my back, a cool breeze rolling across me, and the foresty scents tickling at my nose, all in all it makes for a rather pleasant atmosphere. A lovely day for a stroll in the woods.

"Welp, Ponyville here I come, I guess."
> Chapter II - Keep Plodding Onwards
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

'Three miles' my arse.

According to the Ogres & Oubliettes Players Handbook (Fifth Edition), a 'Normal' walking speed assumes your distance travelled in an hour to be roughly three miles. Or two miles if you want to travel slow and stealthy, and four miles if you're in a hurry and want to rush. But if you do rush, you take a minus five penalty to Perception rolls. Luckily, donkeys get the benefit of the Auditory Alertness racial feature. This makes us immune to such penalties, and also grants us advantage on any Perception checks that rely upon hearing. Git dem ears, scrub.

Why yes, I was a total dork as a teenager. However did you guess?

What's even more embarrassing, though, is how long it takes me to clock onto the fact that something is wrong. I don't help myself, really. Even though I only had breakfast a few hours ago, I feel peckish again already. I figure I can walk at a brisk pace. That way I can get to Ponyville in under an hour, then find a café and have a sandwich or something until I can figure out a Plan B to the current train situation. Maybe the speedy semi-trot and my culinary desires skew my sense of time? It's made worse by the fact I don't even own a watch, so the only measure of time I actually have is the sun's position in the sky.

Yep, it sure is up there.

It shines down with an air of smugness as I walk quickly. Golden rays that dance through the leaves of the trees around me, and reflect off of the railway tracks in a rather painful manner. Aggressive, piercing light that forces me to squint as I walk. So I breathe a sigh of relief as the path I'm walking on diverges away from the rails. For a moment, this concerns me. Being led away from the one directional reference I have, across meandering terrain. Soon however, the trail reaches a signposted crossroads. And sure enough, the sign pointing the way I came from reads 'Feathernest'. The sign marked 'Ponyville' points to my right, and I set off again in that direction.

The path twists, turns, rises and falls. Dense woodland occasionally gives way to sprawling fields. Birds chirp in relentless melodies overhead, which normally I would appreciate. But today it only serves to irritate me after my unrequested early-morning wake-up call. It being the earliest throes of autumn, the leaves still cling to the trees, but there's a distinct discolouration to the vibrant greens that should be present. And there are a few early risers... or should that be 'fallers'... dotted around the roots of some of the largest trees. Wait, is that why some creatures call it Fall instead of Autumn? A few of the leaves skitter across the path in the gentle breeze. If I'd done this walk in the middle of summer, I'd be driven to paralysis by hay fever right about now, so days like this I can actually appreciate the scenery.

Yes, I suffer from hay fever. Like, really bad hay fever. It's worst between May and August, and I can't begin to describe how nightmarish it can be. Anycreature who has the cheek to make a molehill out of a mountain by calling it 'the sniffles' can fuck right off. Come talk to me when you sneeze yourself into rigor mortis. You'll probably find me hiding in a dark room, plugging my nostrils with wet wipes.

It's around the point I'm thinking about this annual botanical bukkake, that my mind starts to consider two options. Either an hour is a lot longer than I expected, or three miles is a lot further than I remember. Maybe it feels longer and further because of unfamiliar terrain? Yeah, the chirping of crickets is soothing and all. And when I pass by the weir of a small stream, the gurgling of water makes a calming backdrop for me, to sit and have a few refreshing sips from my drinking bottle. But honestly, by this point I must have been walking for at least an hour, and I can't see any sign of Ponyville. The path hasn't diverged since the crossroads. No side roads or offshoots I could have taken a wrong turn at. How much further can this bloody town be?

Not long after I set off again, the terrain becomes even more hilly. And lucky me, the path heads straight upwards at a steep grade. So, logic dictates that I will crest this hill, and at last the town of Ponyville should come into view right in front of me. Right?

Oh look, there goes another flock of flying pigs.

When I reach the top of the hill, and Ponyville stubbornly fails to reveal itself, I feel my ears fall level with the side of my head as I stamp a front hoof. Ahead of me: more fucking hills. The path stretches out, following the peaks and dips of the terrain like Equestria's shittest rollercoaster. Country roads, take me to the nearest pub already. Seriously, I could use something cold and alcoholic right now. Then my ears perk up again as a shrill whistle sounds across the sprawling countryside. A very familiar sounding whistle. Looks like the engineers won't need me to send them a rescue party after all.

"Oh goody goody gumdrops," I mutter to the winds. "Should have stayed on the fucking train, shouldn't I?"

The next few hours pass by in an imperceptible haze. While I had been able to maintain the swift pace for a while, the precipitous terrain and the prolonged journey has sapped a good chunk of my energy. And even with my lacklustre meteorological judgement, I can quite clearly see that the sun sits much lower in the sky than it had when I'd disembarked the train. Fuck everything, Canterlot can wait for all I care, just get me to any form of civilisation already. I don't mind being out in nature if I'm at least prepared for it, but this wasn't the plan at all. Each step gets heavier than the last. My saddlebag becomes a dull weight on my back. I stop several times for water, and even pull out a small bag of trail mix when I feel my energy levels are starting to struggle. Just bringing hooffuls of the dried fruits to my mouth becomes an arduous task.

Mercifully, after what I can only describe as a 'slighty fuzzy' length of time, I arrive. Clambering to the top of one more hill, a picturesque little township finally has the decency to show itself through a parting in the trees below. Where was it several hours ago? The absolute cheek, turning up on the road this late and expecting things to be copacetic between the two of us. It better have somewhere with decent food and some strong liquor, or I might have to rethink whether or not it's even a place I want to be.

I may have gone a teeny bit loopy in my agitation.

That being said, the sight of the town on the horizon does rejuvenate me. I draw closer and details become clearer, as colourful rooftops become distinct from each other. Landmarks become visible too, such as a rounded rooftop that rises high above surrounding cottages. The town hall I guess? I start to see individual shapes of town-goers as well, small blobs among the distant buildings, going about their lives in the warm late-afternoon sun. My fatigue begins to ease off, overshadowed by the prospect of finding an establishment capable of pouring me a cold pint. My stomach rumbles too at the thought, and I make a mental note that nourishment should also join intoxication on my list of personal priorities. This jenny needs nutrients.

Though my ongoing travel plans also linger in the forefront of my mind. And as if to illustrate this, guess what else comes into view? Canterlot. I knew from my readings that the whole city perches on the side of a cliff, but I had no idea that you can actually see it from Ponyville. The whole-ass mountain sits right behind the little town, like a daunting sentinel. And there, clear as daylight hanging off of one side like a dingleberry of white marble, is the capital of Equestia. Taunting me with its inaccessible proximity. So close but yet so far. I really need a pint of something strong now.

One thing at a time. When I finally arrive at the edge of the town, I spot railway tracks again. My gaze follows them off to one side, and just a hop-skip-and-a-jump away I can see a small building with a single platform. I still need food and booze before I'm ready to move on from this place. But, with the station literally a stone's throw away right now, I figure I may as well go get the low-down on my onward travel options first. Though I get closer, and there's nocreature in sight.

"Hello?" I call out as I step up onto the platform.

A stallion in a blue uniform pokes his head out the window of a small booth, shooting me a polite smile. "Why hello there! Anything I can help with, ma'am?"

"Yeah, uhh... I think a train came through here a while ago, heading to Canterlot from Cloudsdale Junction?"

"It certainly did," the stallion nods. "Well, from that route, we've had several come through today."

That is... not helpful. I bite my lip as I try to formulate a suitable follow-up question.

"Wait a sec," the stallion continues, narrowing his eyes at me. "You don't mean the train that broke down for a while, do you?"

"Yeah, that's the badger."

He blinks, inclining his head. "Badger? What badger?"

Oh yeah, different lingo around here. "Sorry, it's just an expression from back home. What I mean to say is: yes, that's the train I'm referring to."

"Ah, I see," he says, letting a chuckle of awkwardness slip out before he clears his throat. "Yes, that train passed through around two hours ago."

Two hours?! Fuck me sideways. My shoulders sag and my ears droop to full slump, flopping against either side of my head.

"Come to think of it, the engineer did mention a donkey who had decided to walk the rest of the way after the breakdown. He asked me to send his apologies."

"Meh, I gambled on them not getting it fixed before I made it here, and I lost. Shit happens."

"Yes, well, err... that's not what he asked me to apologise for. He said that he told the conductor that the train had been forced to stop three miles outside town, but then it turned out that he misread the mile marker sign."

Eh? "...what do you mean, he misread the sign?"

"Apparently it was actually mile marker number thirteen."

My back legs give out and I fall to my haunches as the words hit me. "Are you... are you saying that I just walked thirteen miles to get here?"

"Yes ma'am."

Well, at least there's a legitimate explanation to why that took so long. It wasn't my perception of time, nor was it my judgement of distance. No, the engineer misread the sign, causing the conductor to pass bad information on to me. If I'd known that the actual walk was three and a bit times further than had been promised, I would have stayed on the damn train. For fucks sake. No point shouting and screaming about it, though, not when I could be drowning my frustrations. Methinks my plans for quantities of alcohol need to be doubled down on.

"Well," I say, maintaining a calm composure in my voice. "What's done is done, I suppose. Did they say what the problem was anyway?”

“Apparently the driver dropped his pocket watch and it slipped through a grate in the floor. They had to stop so suddenly because it might have caused some serious damage if it got pinched into the wrong place.”

I frown. “Right. Of course they did." Clumsy wankers. "So, when's the next train to Canterlot?"

"Not until tomorrow morning, I'm afraid. But your ticket should still be valid."

"Ah. Wonderful." Oh bugger.

"Oh! And I just remembered. The conductor left this here, he said he believes it belongs to you, ma'am."

The stallion's head disappears back into his booth. It emerges a few moments later, followed by his hoof. Held aloft in it is... my travel journal? How the fuck did that get... oh, wait. I dropped it, didn't I? When the train screeched to a halt. I had to cover my ears to block out the sound of the braking, but in my haste to get off the train and start walking into town, I'd completely forgotten to pick it up again. Damn, the last few years of my life are detailed in that thing, and I hadn't even realised I'd lost it. Pretty decent of the conductor to make sure it got back to me.

"Thanks," I say, taking the journal back. "So, what time's the first train tomorrow?"

"To Canterlot? Nine in the morning, Miss. It's only a small town here you see, services aren't that frequent, but there'll be a few others during the day if you miss the first one."

I nod. "Well, I'm pretty hungry after that walk. Don't suppose you have any recommendations for places to eat?"

"If you've got a sweet tooth, make a beeline for Sugarcube Corner. You won't regret it."

He gives me directions to what he describes as 'the best bakery this side of the Everfree' and wishes me a good afternoon. Apparently it's a very distinct building that is impossible to miss, whatever that's supposed to mean. Following the frustrating revelations regarding the local rail network, I figure that ambling through the new town will be a welcome distraction. I'm pretty surprised, as I go to leave the station, to see the time on a clock hanging from the wall. Half past five in the afternoon. Jeez, where did the day go?

It's only a short trudge from the station, and it takes me through a market square. Dozens upon dozens of ponies wander the cobbled streets, going about their business. Market stalls sit in neat rows, though it being near the end of the business day, their stock levels are all running on the low side. Even with the market winding down, the energy is still palpable. Ponies roam about, some haggling for the last of the day's produce as others appear to simply be enjoying the last hour of sunshine for the day. A few vendors pack up their stalls, giving me friendly 'good afternoon's as I pass by. It's a lively atmosphere for such a quaint little town.

More often than not, I can get a good feel for the vibes of a town within the first few minutes. As is the same with most places I go where us donkeys are a rare sight, I draw some attention. But it's less a 'squeal, jenny, squeal' kind of vibe, and more of a polite curiosity. It's hard to put my hoof on, but... I dunno, I just get a good feeling about this place. Making my way through twee streets, there's an undeniable warmth in the air. And I don't mean from body odour, though that's probably my bad. It's not just the gentle rays of the setting sun, but a feeling that permeates the very essence of the sleepy little town.

Passersby offer genuine smiles, and a few even nod in greeting, their gestures a silent but reassuring welcome. I catch snippets of conversations as I walk by: two mares discussing their latest gardening projects, a group of fillies eagerly planning a weekend adventure to try to earn their cutie marks, and even some stallions loudly debating the best pie recipes. It's a symphony of everyday life, and my ears jerk this way and that as they pick up on every detail of it. I find I don't even notice the aching in my legs. In fact, I'm pleasantly surprised for the turn of events that excreted me into this little slice of nowhere-in-particular.

I've experienced opposite ends of the spectrum, when it comes to arriving in a new place. Small tribal villages in Indoneighsia that treat every new arrival like royalty, adorning you with trinkets, praise, and honestly some of the best food I've ever had in my life. It's classy treatment, yeah, but it feels... ostensible? Conversely, there's pretty much any tumbleweed town in the Buffalo Lands. Know that cliché of walking through a saloon door, and everycreature inside turns silent and shoots you a death glare? Yeah, you can call it a cliché all you want, but trust me. It isn't fun having a room full of buffalo, at varying levels of inebriation, look at you like you'd be good target practice for their shiny new twenty-two calibre.

Ponyville? It's like the happy middle ground between the two extremes. Nocreature is thrusting uncomfortable praise upon me, but nor are they eyeing me up like a saucy little rump steak. To most of the residents here, I'm just another in a sea of faces. Those that do notice me, just offer me the same courtesy they would anycreature else. The town seems to embrace its visitors, inviting them to be part of the tapestry of its daily happenings, if only for a moment. It lifts my spirits, walking through the harmonious bustle without feeling like an outsider. You'd be surprised how few towns manage that.

Then the unmistakable scent of freshly baked goods wafts through the air. I bring myself up onto the tips of my hooves, craning my neck to try and look over the crowd of heads. Bollocks, I'm too short to see much. But it's not a completely wasted effort. Now I can see exactly what the stallion at the train station meant, when he said Sugarcube Corner is impossible to miss.

The entire roof is designed to look like that of a gingerbread house. White frosting frames all the edges, and above the main structure, a circular tower rises even higher, topped with a multi-tiered dome that looks like a pink iced cupcake. Three giant artificial (I hope) candles are the cherry on the lofty cake. As I weave through the crowd and get closer, I see that even the detailing on the ground floor is straight out of a dentist's worst nightmare. Shocking, candyfloss-pink windows framed by candy cane support pillars add to the saccharine aesthetic. I can only imagine the architect had a nervous breakdown during construction. But the smells coming from inside are amazing, and some particularly aggressive noises from my tummy are enough to draw my thoughts back to the matters at hoof. Time for noms.

I push through the doors, a jingle of bells announcing my arrival as I step into the large room. Display counters in front of me bear a vibrant selection of cakes and pastries of all shapes and sizes, gazing out invitingly through a layer of glass. My mouth waters as the irresistible aroma begins to overpower my senses. My stomach grumbles again as I take in the sheer variety on display. There is significant risk of leaving here in a food coma. Worth it.

Off to one side, an large archway leads into another room full of tables for the customers. It’s busy in here, enough so that my ears actually turn to face away from the rowdy dining area. The cheerful ambience from the assortment of ponies is infectious though. Laughter and chatter rolls through the little café as its clientele dine down on sugary indulgences. I turn my attention back to the counter, spotting a currently-unmanned cash register. So I lean in closer, my eyes scanning the delectable selection of treats behind the glass display as I try to decide what I’m in the mood for.

*whoosh*

My ears pick up on the faintest of noises in front of me, and I straighten up. I could have sworn that, in the background behind the display case, I saw something move. Weirdest part though, it had been almost unnaturally quick. A blur that was, get this, bright pink. If it wasn’t for the distinct little whip of air that my ears had registered, I might not have even noticed it. My eyes seem to lag a fraction of a second behind, and it’s only after I stand straight up that my mind connects the dots between noise and movement.

I glance around, leaning slightly over the counter to scan the floor on the other side, trying to locate the source of the disturbance. Nothing. So I lean back again, my ears folding themselves down low as a frown crosses my face. What in Equestria was going on here? This bakery doesn't have pests, does it? None of the ponies in the dining area seemed to notice, as their conversations continue unabated.

Time appears to slow down as a chill runs down my spine, causing my tail to quiver and my ears to twitch. Did I just feel a gust of wind against my cheek? And why is one side of my glasses fogging up? I dart my eyes to that side, and am greeted with the sight of a mare’s face hovering inches from my own. She occupies my entire field of vision to one side, with bright pink fur, a poofy mane of a slightly darker shade of pink, and inquisitive blue eyes the size of dinner plates that pierce my very soul.

“Hi there!” she squeals.

”Haawwww!” is the noise I make in reply.

Ahh fuck, that’s embarrassing. Contrary to what ponies seem to think, we donkeys don’t actually bray that often. We prefer to use our words. But in moments of shock or surprise, sometimes the odd noise slips out. And since it’s a pretty goofy noise, most of us get a little self-conscious about it. To a lesser extent when we’re largely in the company of other donkeys, but much much much more so when, oh I dunno, we’re in a new town full of ponies and suddenly a room full of them has fallen silent and turned to stare at us.

But through awkward silence, the mare continues, talking at a few thousand miles per hour. “Well ‘haawwww’ right back at’cha, new frienderino! Welcome to Sugarcube Corner, my name is Pinkie Pie, and today I will be performing the dual role of serving you anything you’d like from our selection of baked goods, and of being your new friend!”

“Err… hi there.” Oh please, don't tell me I've bumped into the village idiot already. My luck isn't that bad, is it?

“I’d normally roll out my welcome wagon, but I had to take it in for some repairs after my triple-twisted caramel velvet cake got jammed up in the gears and a whole load of parts got all broken and smooshed up with fondant. So, I’ll just have to improvise. First order of business, new friend. What’s your name, huh?”

The conversations in the next room have all resumed. I guess that this mental case accosting newcomers isn’t a rare or unusual occurrence. Before I can even open my mouth in reply though, a pink hoof rushes to cover it.

”Wait!” she orders. “Let me guess.”

My ears twitch and I raise an eyebrow, but she doesn’t seem to take the hint. She wants to guess my name? Alright, you’re on, almighty sugar-fuelled pink hurricane. Gaze into the aether and deduce what name I go by, if you think you’re up to the task.

“Is it..” she thinks for a few seconds. “Grumpy Doodle Donkey?”

The fuck? “I… whuh… did you just call me Grumpy?”

“Moody Doodle Donkey?”

”Excuse me?”

”Angsty Doodle Donkey?”

”Where are you getting the name ‘Doodle’ from?!”

“Stroppy Dingle Donkey?”

”That’s even worse!”

“Pouty Dimple Donkey?”

"I don't even have dimples!"

"Snippy Dastardly Donkey?"

"Dastardly?! Do I look like a Saturday morning cartoon villain?"

"Crabby Disingenuous Donkey?"

”It’s Tara!”

I don’t exactly intend on the half-shout that escapes my mouth. But fuck almighty, that was starting to get downright insulting. Starting? The whole fucking lot of name ideas was just a quickfire series of one insult after another. Note to self, if a hyperactive pink pony ever gets in my face again and asks to try and figure out my name, don’t indulge them in their guessing games.

To make this situation even more fun, the whole dining side of the room has fallen silent again, and stopped to stare at me again. I gaze out over the room, taking in the looks of surprise and confusion. Then I turn my attention back to the pink nuisance.

”My name is Tara,” I reiterate, at a more conversational volume. “Not Tara Doodle Donkey. Not Tara Dingle Donkey. In fact, not any sequence of randomly chosen, mildly-insulting words starting with D for a middle name, bookended with the word Donkey. It’s just Tara.”

She inclines her head. "Huh, Tara? That's a pretty name, though it's kind of a weird one too."

"No wait, silly me, I forgot. Sometimes when I'm among ponies, I go by the name of Thundertwonk the Four-Legged Twat Crumpet. Much more sensible, wouldn't you say?"

"Alrighty then," she says, scratching her chin. "Well, it's very nice to meet you, Thundertwonk."

Oh give me strength. "No... no, that was a joke. Your sarcasm detector isn't really up to snuff, huh?"

"Dunno, never had one."

"I can tell."

"So, you're saying I shouldn't call you Thundertw..."

"No," I cut in. "Please, just call me Tara."

"Okey dokey lokey Tara, welcome to Ponyville! You know come to think of it, I'm pretty sure my friend Twilight knows a Tara, but she's never mentioned if her Tara was a donkey or not."

"Hasn't she? Well since I don't recall ever meeting anycreature named Twilight, we'll have to conclude that hers is a different Tara," I say with a shrug.

"Yeah, it must be! Say, I love your accent, you talk a lot like my friend Octavia. She's this amazing cello player, and she lives right here in town with her marefriend. Ooh, do you know her?"

"Yes I do, now that you mention it. Everycreature with a Trottingham accent knows each other, we're all part of the same collective hive mind. We meet up for tea and sandwiches every other Tuesday at the Vicar's house."

Her eyes go wide. "You... you do?"

Okay, I'll admit, this one was my bad. The problem with having a sense of humour that defaults to sarcasm or dry wit? When you encounter creatures that don't understand when you're not being serious, it tends to drag out conversations.

"No, sorry, once again that was just a joke," I explain, starting to get a little flustered. My stomach growls once again, this time drawing her attention downwards.

"Oh dear, that's a super loud grumbly tumbly you got there," she giggles. 

"Yes, it is," I reply pointedly. "If only there was somecreature who works here that could allow me to proceed with some kind of transaction and help me quell my hunger, eh?"

She blinks twice. "Oh! Oh-oh-oh! I work here!"

"Well lucky me! Please, Miss... err... sorry, I'm pretty sure you did say your name, but I have to admit that I've forgotten it."

"Oh, that's okay! My name is Pinkie Pie, and it's super duper good and great to make your acquaintance, Tara!"

"Right, Pinkie Pie, of course that's your name. Well, Pinkie Pie, would you be so kind as to take a food order for me?"

To be honest, I mentally check out for the next few minutes. I don't believe for one moment that Pinkie Pie has an ounce of malicious intent in her heart. But sweet haystacks and heehaws, her energy levels are off the fucking charts. If it wasn't for the simple misunderstanding over signs and distances earlier, I might have had the energy to appreciate her novel personality. Cynical as I can be from time to time, I can't deny there's something endearing about her. There's a boundless positivity, and her xenial nature seems to balance her curiosities with attentiveness to her customers.

In fact, as she starts preparing my grilled cheese, she spots a small table in the next room being vacated. I barely have a chance to blink. Then she's already cleared the empty cups and plates, given the surface a wipe with an antibacterial cloth, and ushered me into one of the two chairs. I don't recall unstrapping my saddlebag, but somehow it appears under the table. Not even a minute after that, and she's back again carrying a tray. She delivers a grilled cheese sandwich cut into triangles, a gigantic cinnamon roll that is completely lathered in frosted icing, and a steaming mug of hot chocolate supporting a small mountain of whipped cream. With a nod, Pinkie Pie vanishes back into the the other room, leaving me to my food and my thoughts.

I begin with taking a huge bite out of the grilled cheese. The bread is crispy and warm, and the cheese is creamy and bursting with flavour. As was the case with my breakfast, which now feels like an eternity ago, the entire sandwich disappears in a matter of moments. The sweet, chewy nature of the cinnamon roll forces me to slow down, but this lets me savour it for a bit longer. And oh my days, it's good. The flavour balance is just the right side of sweet to spicy, and the frosting is just the... well, the icing on the cake, I guess you could say. Even being forced to slow down, the roll is soon reduced to crumbs. It's gone so quick, the whipped cream on my hot chocolate hasn't even had a chance to melt.

Cradling the mug in my hooves, I bask in the warmth that rises through my aching limbs. Oh, I definitely pushed too hard on the walk today. Still, it means I can enjoy some indulgent treats and not have to worry about feeling guilty for them. Then, all of a sudden, I become aware of a figure standing in my periphery. As she clears her throat, I quietly wonder if I'm about to be subjected to a further dose of saccharine Pinkie Pie hyperactivity.

"Excuse me," a mare says, her voice distinctly not Pinkie Pie's. "I was wondering if anypony was sitting here? It's just, all the other tables are full."

Turning to face the newcomer, I am greeted by the sight of a lavender-coated unicorn. A two-toned purple mane hangs to her shoulders, and she's looking at me with a hopeful smile. Held aloft in her magic is a mug, with a small teaspoon swirling the mixture inside. The motion sends the sharp aroma of roasted coffee towards me. I'm not feeling especially social after the big walk, the news about my train, and having dealt with Pinkie Pie. But I've been in this same situation, with roles reversed, plenty of times.

"Please," I say, gesturing to the empty seat. "Help yourself."

She pulls out the chair opposite me, settling down with a contented sigh. "Thanks so much! It's been a busy day at the market, just finding an open spot was tougher than wrangling hyperactive foals."

I nod, offering a polite smile. "You run a stall, then?"

"Oh yes!" she beams, pausing to gently blow at her coffee before taking a sip. "I sell hoof-made jewellery. It's kinda my speciality, one day I'd like to open a shop of my own. But for now, the market stall helps keep the bills paid."

"Well if the crowds are normally as bustling as they were today, I bet you do good business."

"Absolutely," she agrees, taking another sip. "It's always lively around here. So, are you new in town? We don't get many donkeys, and I've definitely never seen you around before."

"Just passing through," I say with a small chuckle. "I had a bit of a train mishap and ended up hoofing it here. Name's Tara, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Tara! I'm Amethyst." She extends a hoof across the table, and I reach over to shake it. "I love your accent, by the way."

"Why thank you, I made it myself," I reply with a grin, a quip that earns me a giggle in return. "What about you, are you a local?"

"Yep, born and raised Ponyville native, that's me!" Amethyst nods, her smile widening. "It's a great town, even if it does tend to attract more than its fair share of drama. But, best sweet treats anywhere in Equestria right here."

I nod down towards my now-empty plate. "Oh, absolutely. That cinnamon roll was so good."

"It's one of my favourites," she agrees. "So, what brings you to Ponyville, even if it's just passing through?"

"Well," I begin, leaning back in my chair. "I was actually on my way to Canterlot, but, as luck would have it, my train decided it needed an extended stop that was supposedly three miles away from here."

Amethyst's eyebrows rise in surprise. "Three miles, huh? That's quite a trek!"

A wry chuckle escapes my lips. "Funny thing, turns out it was actually thirteen miles. A slight balls-up in communication from the train's crew, you could say."

"Thirteen miles?! That's... that's a lot further. Must've been a doozy of an adventure."

"You could say that," I agree with a grin as I stifle a yawn, my hoof lifting my mug of hot chocolate to my mouth. "I daresay that said adventure wore me out more than I think I realized though."

My fatigue must be clear as day, as a look of concern flickers across Amethyst's face. "You sure look like you could use some rest. Are you planning to stay the night in Ponyville?"

I nod, rubbing my eyes. "Definitely. I hadn't really thought that far ahead, but I think a good night's sleep might be just what I need."

"You should check out the Hoof & Hearth Inn then. It's a cute little place, and they make the best pancakes in the morning," Amethyst suggests with a smile. "It's just a short trot from here."

"That sounds perfect, actually." My outlook brightens at the mention of pancakes. "I could use a comfy bed and a good breakfast."

"You'll love it there. Merry and Holly run the place, and they're just the sweetest couple. They'll make sure you feel right at home."

"Well, I think I'll finish this and head on over," I say, nodding down to my mug.

Amethyst thinks for a few moments. "Well how about this. I'll finish my coffee, and then I can walk you there? Show you some of the sights along the way, tell you a bit more about Ponyville."

My smile widens. "Yeah. That sounds great, thank you!"

Our drinks recede at a steady pace as we talk. Amethyst shares tidbits of the towns history with me, including recent goings-on. She claims that Discord, the lord of chaos himself, only recently broke out of a statue he'd been sealed in for the last however-many-years. What followed was the transformation of this sleepy town into his own eldritch playground of oddities, to put it in Amethyst’s words. I'm impressed by her imagination, to be honest, but it's a long-winded tale. It's a nice town, and I can appreciate it just fine without her needing to come up with wild stories to entertain me. Still, there's a pleasant energy that radiates from her as she describes more and more recent events, some plausible but most clearly also fabricated. A giant dragon raiding the town, then regressing to infancy by recognising a pony he's got a crush on? I think she got that straight out of an O&O module.

And apparently, Pinkie Pie's bizarre guesses at my name? She based them on another donkey who arrived in town not that long ago. A donkey named, and I nearly spit my drink out when Amethyst tells me, Cranky. I mean, right off the bat, you can tell that his parents didn't like him that much if that's the name they burdened him with. Though apparently his temperament improved when Pinkie reunited him with his long-lost love, Matilda. Another donkey who lives in Ponyville. Gosh, it's a population explosion. Amethyst explains they're currently celebrating their reunion with a sunny trip to Portucolt. I nod in approval at that, there's some damn nice beaches around there where you can relax without seeing another soul for miles around.

This little tale also cements my initial impression of Pinkie Pie: well-meaning, with a good heart, but no control over her energy levels, and definitely no filter. I bet you any amount of bits that she's the type of creature who can be wide awake at the crack of dawn and not need caffeine. Insufferably alert. Though I shudder at the prospect of anycreature like Pinkie Pie having access to energy drinks. My initial dismay at her antics wanes as I see her zipping between tables, attentively keeping all the ponies smiling, fed and hydrated.

In return for Amethyst, I delve into some stories from my years of travel. Places I've been, creatures I've met, excursions I've taken to see landmarks big and small. She listens to every detail, hanging on my every word. Occasionally she pauses me to ask a question, for me to elaborate on a point or explain something she doesn't understand. But otherwise, she seems to revel in my recounts of the nomadic life I've been living for the past few years.

Time races by as I engage her in lively conversation. It only feels like a few minutes have passed by when I glance out a window and see that the orange sky is gone. The deep blue shades of dusk replaces it, with flickering streetlights illuminating one by one as darkness begins to envelop the little town. We take this as our cue to leave, thanking Pinkie Pie and bidding her a good evening as we go. Though I have to stifle another yawn, I can't help but feel a tug of curiosity in my gut when Amethyst offers to lead me to the inn on an indirect route. One that shows off a bit more of the town than we'd otherwise see if we walked straight there. Based on her wild stories about the place, my curiosity is indeed piqued.

Once outside, the cool early-evening air bites at me, but after the warm day it feels pleasant and rousing. All the 'sights' that Amethyst shows me fall somewhat in the realms of mundanity. But her excitement and energy about her home town is palpable, and she does manage to keep my attention. There's an elegant looking building, decorated with merry-go-round horses, that Amethyst identifies as Carousel Boutique. She says it's ran by a fashionista who is allegedly the very pony that stopped the dragon rampage. Pfft, yeah sure. Then there's the Town Hall, pretty standard, one of the towering buildings I'd spotted as I'd approached the town. And then we pass a shop called Quills & Sofas, which sells... wait, can you guess? Well not to spoil the surprise, but it sells sofas. And quills. Who'd have guessed?

After a hefty bunch of small shops that you can find in most every town, almost all of which come with accompanying anecdotes, I once again find myself struggling to suppress yawns. Amethyst gives me a polite chuckle, says she won't keep me from a warm bed any longer, and bids me to follow her. She sets off at a march, and as I am blessed with being petite, my little legs have to move twice as fast to keep up. Luckily, small town, we get there quick.

She leads me towards, to my surprise, a tree. Actually, correction, a building carved from the insides of a tree. Like somecreature found an old oak tree, slapped a door and windows in haphazard looking locations all over it, threw a balcony on one or two branches for a dash of whimsy, and called it a day. It looks like something straight out of a story book, and honestly, I can't help but be in awe at the sight of it.

"This... this is the inn?" I gasp. "The inn is an oak tree?"

"Hmm? Oh no, no no no," she says with a laugh. "This is the library, see? The Hoof & Hearth is just around the back of it."

As we get closer, lo and behold, a sign above the doorway becomes close enough to read. In swirling letters, I can make out the words 'Golden Oak Library - Where Magic Meets Knowledge' in the glow of firefly lanterns. Amethyst walks right past the door and leads me around the side of the tree... library... treebrary?

"It's funny, actually," Amethyst says as she leads me around. "Most of the crazy stuff in this town didn't start until we got our new librarian. Twilight Sparkle, she's one of Princess Celestia's students you know? She ended up staying here and studying friendship magic."

"Oh, is that right?" I mutter politely. 

Their librarian is the student of a literal alicorn goddess? Now I've heard everything. Although I do wonder to myself if this is the same Twilight that Pinkie Pie had mentioned to me earlier. 'Friendship magic' though? I've definitely stumbled into some kind of story book.

"Ah, here we are," Amethyst declares.

I round a particularly gnarled looking root that sits exactly at the right height to be a serious trip hazard, and draw up alongside Amethyst. Sure enough, pretty much directly behind the library is a cosy-looking tavern. If you were to look up the word 'pub' in any dictionary, and it had an accompanying picture? That picture would look exactly like this. A small, two-storey brick building with a haybale roof. To one side, a chimney emits a steady plume of smoke as the windows pulse in a pleasant, orange glow. A little sign hanging above the door reads 'The Hoof & Hearth Inn'.

"Well, I guess you're all good from here, then," Amethyst says, turning to smile at me. "It was nice meeting you, Tara. Come find me if you're ever back in Ponyville, okay? I bet you've got loads more stories to tell from your adventures, and I'd love to hear them."

I laugh. "Okay, deal. Thanks for showing me around, it's a really nice town you've got here. I think I might even be a little bit sad to head off tomorrow, but Canterlot's been calling me for years now. I've put it off for long enough."

"Safe travels then! Bye, Tara."

"Bye, Amethyst."

She pulls me in for a tight hug. As a result of our height difference, my face is pressed into her sternum. And it feels like my eartips bat her in the face. I blush, but if she feels awkward about this, she doesn't let on about it. When she lets me go, she turns around, and strolls off into the night. Something tugs at my heartstrings as I watch her silhouette become one with the darkness. With a sigh, I turn on the spot and make my way over to the inn.

By this point, the days exertions are well and truly starting to catch up on me. As I step through the door, a butter-yellow unicorn greets me from a small desk. It's a quiet time of year for the B&B aspect of their business, so I have no problem getting a room even at such late notice. And they quote me a reasonable rate for the night, cheaper than most places. The unicorn, who introduces herself as Merry, passes me the key for room number three. She gives me directions to it, and bids me goodnight.

Although, I did make a promise to myself earlier today. And I do like sampling local drinks, when I can. But I'm too tired to get completely sloshed, so just one drink won't hurt. Right?

I nip up the stairs, removing my saddlebag and dropping it just inside the door of my room. I also have a quick shower, relishing the chance to de-stankify myself, then head back down to find the bar. Thankfully, it's quieter here than the dining room of the tavern in Hoofington was this morning. I manage to scoot along the bench of a small booth, one I have all to myself. The crackling fireplace in the corner makes for a very relaxed atmosphere, its warmth tickling at my damp mane.

Having a quick peruse of the menu, I see a plethora of ciders, all apparently sourced from a local farm. Too many to sample in one night, not with a train journey in the morning. So I settle on just one. How do I decide which one? Highest alcohol content, naturally. A frosty white pegasus, one named Holly, takes my order. She also recommends the vegetable stew, if I fancy anything to eat. The grilled cheese and the cinnamon roll didn't quite fill me up earlier, so I shrug and ask for a bowl. 

It's good, hearty, homecooked stuff, with a bread roll that is still oven warm, and it fills me up good and proper. Oh, and the cider? Phenomenal. Absolutely delicious. I find my preference for ciders, fruity or dry, tends to alternate. This dry cider goes down so smooth, it's almost easy to forget that it is, in fact, alcoholic. It's only when I stand up to go pay my bill, tummy full and head spinning, that the strength of the cider truly hits home.

Soon after, I'm splayed out on the bed in my room. The very comfortable bed, I must say. And the room is pleasantly warm. A bit on the small side, but it's adequate for the night. I turn out the lights, and as I go to remove my glasses, I look out the window. There, framed on the distant horizon, Canterlot sits like a glowing jewel on the side of the mountain.

"Tomorrow," I whisper. "I'm almost there."

My glasses chink as I set them down on the bedside table, and I sigh contentedly as I flomp my head down on my pillow and burrito myself into the blankets. Yeah, this town is nice. Welcoming, rustic, picturesque, and everycreature who lives here seems happy. Pinkie Pie, overbearing as she may be, did eventually put a smile on my face. A bemused smile, yes, but a smile nonetheless. And Amethyst, she takes so much pride in being able to say she lives here, and even took the time out of her day to share her love for the place with me.

But, I'm leaving tomorrow. That's all there is to it, it's decided. Though I do think I'm not going to bother setting an alarm, after the unpleasant awakening this morning. If I miss the train, big whoop, I'll catch the next one. But no matter what the irksome tug in my gut says, about how I feel more accustomed to Ponyville than I’ve been anywhere since I left home, my mind isn't changing. And as I drift off to sleep, my ears give some gentle twitches as I resolve to commit myself to the journey ahead.
> Chapter III - Through The Winter's Night
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ahh, now that was a good night's sleep.

I peek an eye open, one ear instinctively tilting forward to shield me from the bright light coming in through the window. The small clock beside my bed is, not remotely to my surprise, blurry. Reaching a tentative hoof out of my precious cocoon of blanketed warmth, I prod at the place where my glasses should be. Roughly. But instead, I only touch countertop. So I lift my hoof slightly and shift it around the surface of the bedside table, searching. Which is when the worst thing happens. I feel my hooftip brush against something. Then a moment later, there is the sound of something small and metallic clattering onto the wooden floor.

"Oh, bollocks."

Thus, two options remain to me. Number one, remain in position. The outside world is overrated anyway, who needs food, drink, or even vision? Especially when this bed is so warm and so comfy. Or number two, get out of bed, find my glasses, and get started with my day. Honestly, this is a harder decision than you might expect. Such was my efficiency in my construction of a blanket burrito, the temperature difference between the inside and outside of my bedsheets is stunning. Even in the well-insulated rooms of the inn, the air feels cold by comparison. And for a few moments, I whip my exposed foreleg back into the safety of the thick duvet. There's some intense thinking going on. And when I say intense thinking, I mean my pre-caffeinated brain repeating the words 'bed comforble' over and over. Yes, I know 'comforble' isn't a word. But it's early, give me a break.

Alas, the saga between missing glasses and cozy comfort can only go on for so long. With some heavy reluctance and some mental steeling, I slowly unfold myself from the layers of my blanket fortress. My limbs protest immediately, as they are one by one exposed to the slightly-less-warm air outside the protective burrito. But I figure, just get it over with already. Once I'm slightly less mummified, I throw one corner of the duvet aside. There's an urge to hiss against the sudden temperature change that hits my entire body, though that could be the melodramatic side of myself yearning for attention. I tell myself not to be such a big foal, roll over, and pull myself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed.

The floor clops underhoof as I settle down onto it. Then, exhaling through my nostrils, I lower myself into a crawling position to look for my glasses. A yawn forces its way out of my mouth, as I fumble around behind the bedside table with an outstretched hoof. They can't have ventured too far, could they? Wait, that's stupid. It's not the first time I've accidentally knocked my glasses off of my nightstand, and it won't be the last. I know for an undisputed fact that it's a fifty-fifty chance that they're either just sat where they first hit the floor, or that they've bounced and fucked off into the unknown. Why is it, when I'm at my most blind and vulnerable, my glasses hit the ground running and take off on their own little sightseeing tour to Vietmane?

Worrying amounts of time pass by, before my ears give the most barely perceptible little flutter as they catch onto the faintest clink sound. With as much tender care and grace that my dopey, just-woken-up self can muster, I nudge them closer so I can raise them aloft in my hoof. Success! I squint at them, checking for dust or cracks, before triumphantly sliding them up the bridge of my muzzle as I stand up. Ahh, sweet high definition vision, how I took you for granted! The blurry room brings itself back into sharp focus. I glance at the clock sat on the small stand next to the bed, noting the time. Twenty-five to nine. Cool, not bad by my standards.

Then I turn to the window. It's all fogged up, so I take a step forward and wipe a patch of condensation away, revealing the morning view. Ponyville is bathed in a fresh blanket of snow, the streets and houses transformed into a winter wonderland straight off of a holiday greetings card. The ponies continue about their day-to-day lives, wrapped up in thick scarves and heavy coats as their every step leaves deep imprints on the pristine snow. A group of foals can be seen, giggling with delight as they chase each other around throwing snowballs. I spot Holly as well, shovelling a clear path to the front door of the inn as other ponies passing by bid her a good morning.

Oh? Right, yeah, so it turns out I decided to stay in Ponyville. At least, for a bit. And I've been here for... well, a while. Two months it's been now, to be exact.

What happened? Fair question, I suppose. So yeah, I went to bed that night with that feeling deep down that I should stay for a while. And all I've done in the last few years is follow my gut. Yes, the intended destination was Canterlot, but I couldn't escape the idea that I should stay in Ponyville for a bit. Unwind, kick back, all that fluff and rubbish. So in the morning I just... stayed. Paid for an extra night, went out into town and just took in the (limited) sights. Went to see Amethyst at her market stall. Tried a few more treats at Sugarcube Corner, where Pinkie Pie was curiously absent. Sampled some more (by which I mean, a lot more) of the local ciders, and went to bed absolutely steaming drunk.

Next morning? I was having a stack of pancakes to soothe my hangover, when one of the innkeepers, Merry, deposited the morning newspaper at my table. When I'd extended my stay the day before, I'd told her that my plans had originally been to set off for Canterlot, but I'd had a change of heart. So, the morning after, she thought it prudent to show me the morning headline: 'Changeling Invasion Wreaks Havoc'. Yep, the very day I was supposed to be in the city, a swarm of shapeshifting insect-equine monsters had attacked the exact place I would have been. The motherfucking queen of the Changelings had set her eyes on some royal wedding, and her subjects had taken it upon themselves to start attacking civilians on the streets. I didn't dodge a bullet, I dodged a fucking barrage of cannonballs. Now I'm not superstitious, but this turn of events? When combined with my gut feeling, the message from the universe seemed pretty clear.

'Ponyville seems like a cool place, you just hang out there for a bit, yeah?'

So I did, and here I still am. I have a reasonable quantity of bits to my name, but those bits are still a limited resource. Merry and Holly agreed to let me keep my room, paying my fee in advance on a weekly basis. And with the promise to give a weeks notice if I was to end said agreement. Safe in the knowledge that I wasn't going to be without a roof over my head, I was able to start making efforts to keep that bit supply afloat.

It started off straightforward, taking on odd jobs around town. Haul a cart here, assist with repairs there. The market proved to be a big money-maker too, as ponies would pay a decent sum for a reliable face to watch their stalls while they went for lunch. Or to help out during busy periods. And frankly, I owe a lot to Amethyst. More than half of my time helping market runners was at her stall. Her praise by word-of-mouth carries a lot of weight around town, so my services were soon in high demand. I actually had to buy a little diary, just to keep my day-to-day duties in check. There were two instances where I was so busy, I ended up forgetting to allot time for a lunch break. A mistake I never made again, I can promise you that much. On both occasions, Pinkie Pie caught wind of it and materialised by my side with a sandwich. Giving me two instances of heart palpitations in a singular working week.

Here's the rub though. I'm a fast learner. So it was very quick that, off by heart, I knew the names, faces, jobs, dispositions and even the goshdarn coffee preferences of at least a dozen ponies about town. The ones that utilized my services the most, that is. And I've gotta say, they've all wormed their way into my heart. It's gonna be a bitch of a task to say goodbye once I'm finally ready to leave town. Still, I'll burn that bridge when I get to it, at least I think that's how the saying goes.

Things took a big turn a couple of weeks ago though. Merry and Holly must have gotten wind of the positive word I'd built for myself, because one morning they sat down with me at breakfast, and offered me a job at the Hoof & Hearth. Thankfully on the Breakfast side of the business, not the Bed one. I'd be a terrible maid. When it comes to making beds, I'm as reliable as a politician's promises. And I don't think I'd suit the outfit, black and white tends to clash with the dual greys of my pelt. But I digress. No, they asked if I would take up a part time position as a bartender during the evenings, and a sort of 'jenny-of-all-trades' during daytimes. Clean a floor, help out with food prep, take the wagon and collect a delivery. You know, a bit of everything. All on shift patterns of course, give me some breathing room and time to unwind. In exchange, I get room and board, and enough of a wage to sustain myself.

I just finished my first full week of the arrangement, and it's going great. Working behind the bar during the evenings is especially good, because all the ponies I've grown to know around town caught wind of it being my new job. While the market ponies were sad to be losing me, they magnanimously decided to support me in my new endeavour by showing up in the evenings and getting jolly well sloshed. Sure, I've had to bring in a small stool for me to stand on when filling steins at the taps, otherwise I can't reach. But the sight of the tops of my ears zipping back and forth behind the bar seems to be one that the locals find as entertaining as they do endearing. The tips for each night go in a communal pot for everycreature working, front and back of house, and they all say they've noticed an uptick in bit count since I started. Kerching!

Still gazing out the window, I catch a glimpse of myself in my reflection on the glass. Heh, bed mane. In a word, I look rather scrunkly this morning. So I take a few minutes to neaten myself up before I head out. As I run a comb through my mane, my eyes fall on a small barrette sat atop a chest of drawers, one bearing a pink butterfly formed from thin strips of metal. As ever, old memories tug at my chest, but I push them to the back of my mind. When my head looks slightly less like it's been mangled, I give a nod of resignation, and make my way downstairs.

When I step through the doors leading into the small kitchen, I find Holly dishing up a plate of breakfast food for herself. She nods to me with a smile, her mane damp from being outside, as I make my way over to a corkboard in one corner. The weekly rota has just been pinned up. I consult it, noting which nights I'm scheduled to be at the bar, as well as any daytime chores assigned to me. For today, I'll be serving drinks from six in the evening until closing at twelve. Additionally, I've been marked down to collect a shipment of cider from Sweet Apple Acres, but the collection time isn't until half ten. Cool, I've got time to nip down to Sugarcube Corner for something to eat. The pancakes here at the inn are top tier, but they're very filling. Some lighter pastries are calling to me this morning.

"That chiropodist was here again last night," I say, causing Holly to look up from her food. "He keeps asking after you, you know?"

"For the last time, Pitter Patter is not a chiropodist," she replies, her mouth full of hay bacon. "He's a hoof fetishist, there's a big difference."

"Eh, semantics."

"I already know he was here, Merry said something about him when she came to bed. I'll tell you what I told her: he's a creep but a total lightweight."

"Accurate statement," I confirm with a laugh. "Two ciders and he was falling asleep at the bar. I cut him off when he started making noises like a seagull."

"Good. Speaking of cider, you see we've got a shipment due that Merry's assigned you?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna go grab something to eat first though. I'll be back in an hour to grab the wagon."

She nods. "Wrap up warm, it's sunny out but it's crazy cold today."

"You got it, boss!"

I head out, grabbing my pink woollen hat and scarf from the coat stand in the reception area as I go. You ever get cold ears in winter? Now imagine your ears are about ten inches longer than those of the average citizen. So yeah, donkeys in winter don’t always have the most pleasant time. Back home, we often wore special hats with long sleeves to accommodate our ears, but those are hard to find in pony towns. So I have to resort to balling mine up underneath the baggiest beanie hat I can find. The matching scarf is a bonus, as is the fact that it makes for a cute ensemble.

Fun fact! Common donkey lingo around winter time refers to how the tips of our ears are often the first to feel the worst of the cold. When temperatures drop below a certain threshold, exposed eartips are likely to suffer frostbite. So when you hear a donkey say ‘I’m freezing my tips off’, that’s how you know it’s really fucking cold out. Although from what I’ve gathered on my travels, the phrase gets misused a lot by creatures who replace the word ‘tips’ with something far less innocent.

My breath rises in front of me with every exhale as I press onwards through town, en route to Sugarcube Corner. With every hoofstep the snow lets out a satisfying crunch that, along with every other ambient sound right now, is oddly muffled through my bundled up ears beneath the thick beanie hat. It makes everything around me seem more subdued. Calmer, quieter, more ethereal.

This tranquillity is broken with startling rapidity, though. I round a building and see a white orb barrelling through the air towards me. I duck to the side, feeling a lick of cold brush against the side of my head as the snowball skims past. My assailant, one of the three fillies who dub themselves ‘The Cutie Mark Crusaders’ grins sheepishly at me. Before I can even drum up the energy to shoot her a disapproving frown, she is pelted from both sides with further snowballs that smother her entire face. She shrieks, falling backwards and scrambling to scrape the cold mess from her visage. Karma is a cruel mistress.

Saying that, they’re sweet foals and ultimately harmless, but they haven’t yet mastered the intricacies of tact. Nightmare Night took place only a few weeks after I first arrived in town, and while it’s not a celebration I ever particularly gelled with, it can be a good laugh. Amethyst held a small party for friends at her house, and invited me along to introduce me to her group. It was a ‘costumes optional’ dealio, and I opted out. Not enough time, and not really something I wanted to spend money on. While I was walking over, the orange pegasus filly stopped me to ask me where I bought my costume ears from.

Cheeky little so and so. I was half-tempted to loosen the wheels on her scooter for that one.

With my teeth beginning to chatter, I sight the candy cane columns and gingerbread roof of Sugarcube Corner. A new addition to the decor, one that I haven’t seen yet, is the fairy lights and decorative icicles that adorn every inch of the rafters. At least, I hope the icicles are just for decoration. It wasn’t that cold last night.

I sigh as I step into the warm, rowdy bakery, the temperature rise hitting me like a brick wall as the wave of aromas dances through my nostrils. Mr Cake greets me as Mrs Cake stands vigil at the cash register, working her way through a (thankfully) short queue of customers. Pinkie Pie is nowhere to be seen, but I stay on high alert nonetheless. She has an uncanny ability to jumpscare me, and I don’t think it does my nerves any good. What does bring me some relief, is when I spot Amethyst with Bon Bon, sitting at a booth in the back of the room. She gives me a wave and nods her head down to the table. A silent gesture over the din, inviting me to sit there. I incline my head towards the queue, and mouth the words ‘give me a minute’, which yields a wide grin from her as she turns to resume her conversation with Bon Bon.

To my relief, when Pinkie Pie appears, it is as she walks out of the kitchen carrying a tray of fresh glazed doughnuts. Without her teleporting to my side and scaring me half to death, I’m actually able to be pleased to see her. She offers me a frantic wave of greeting as she swaps the empty tray on the display rack with her full one, before she returns to the kitchen again. The queue passes swiftly, and before I know it, Mr Cake has presented me with my mocha, a raspberry turnover, and a sour cream glazed doughnut. Carrying my sugary breakfast on a tray, I make my way into the dining area and slide into the booth where Amethyst and Bon Bon are midway though a riveting discussion about a book they’re both reading.

”I still think Detective Piper went way too far in the interrogation,” Bon Bon says, nodding to me as I sit. “You can see he was getting in way too deep, compromising himself. Emotionally invested, that skews your judgement, y’know?”

”Well, yes and no,” Amethyst replies. “He was wrong to start throwing furniture around, no arguments there. But it worked, didn’t it? That griffon sang like a canary to save his own tailfeathers.”

”It didn’t make any difference in the long run though! Just led them back in a circle, left them without any idea who did it.”

Yeah, Amethyst and Bon Bon do this little book club thing every now and then. Following on from Nightmare Night, they picked up this murder mystery novel the exact size and weight of a slab of paving granite. No thank you! Too much to take in. Though judging from the positioning of their bookmarks, they’re both more or less three quarters of the way though the hefty volume of pages.

“True, they don’t know who did it, I have a theory though.”

Bon Bon perks up at this. “Oh yeah? Who?”

“I mean, it is just a theory, I don’t want to spoil it for you,” Amethyst says with a chuckle.

”Go on, spill” Bon Bon insists. “You’re always pretty insightful with this stuff, I wanna hear what you think.”

Amethyst sits up straight, clearing her throat. “I think… it was that snide little creep of a griffon, Cousin Rosemary.”

“Oh yeah? She does give me the heebie-jeebies, but I don’t know if she's got the chops for murder.”

”Okay, so the old griffon was found in his greenhouse, where he was known to grow his own herbs. And he was found clutching a bundle of leaves in one claw. They never said what kind of leaves, right? I think he grabbed a bundle of rosemary leaves as he was dying, as a clue about who killed him.”

I scoff. “Well, good thing he wasn’t killed by his Uncle Dick, then.”

And there I go again, operating without any filter. Both Amethyst and Bon Bon shoot me looks of incredulity as I try to deflect by taking a hasty glug of my mocha. Which is way too fucking hot. I feel my eyes shrink to pinpricks as my tongue becomes roughly the same texture and temperature of the ninth circle of Tartaurus. At least the caffeine hits quick, since Mr Cake always gives me an extra shot of espresso.

“Well, despite that bit of input, I’m actually glad to see you, Tara,” Amethyst says, rolling her eyes at my fruitless attempt to play down my reaction to the inferno that has taken a hold of my mouth. “There’s something I wanted to ask you about.”

’Oh yeah, what’s up?’ is what I try to say, but it comes out as a wheezy splutter. Thankfully, she must speak this particular dialect, as she continues.

”So for Hearth’s Warming, my sister’s taking her family on a skiing trip. And this puts me in a pickle, since I normally have them around my house for the day, so it’s left me without anypony to host for. So I thought, why not host a Friend’s Warming? It’s pretty much exactly what it sounds like, Hearth’s Warming but with friends instead of family, and I wanted to see if you’d like to join? Just get together at mine, have dinner, some drinks, play some games and make a good day of it.”

”That… sounds… delightful…” I croak, as I try to fan cool air into my mouth.

“Wonderful!” Amethyst beams in reply. “So it’ll be you and me, Bon Bon and Lyra, and Vinyl and Octavia. We’ll be doing a Secret Exchange for gifts so you don’t have to buy for everypony. Now that you’re onboard, we can get together and draw names some time this week!”

”Awesome.” The burning now has receded to a mere persistent tingle. “I didn’t have any plans, so it keeps me out and busy. Merry and Holly were offering me the day off, at least now I have good reason to accept it.”

Bon Bon tilts her head. “Do donkeys even celebrate Hearth’s Warming?”

“Ehhhh… sorta,” I say, rocking a hoof back and forth in the air. “Not many of us really buy into the windigo story. I guess from our perspective, it’s more of a fable than it is fact. Your standard message to be good to each other and all that stuff. Honestly though, the majority of us just use it as an excuse to give out presents, eat good food and crack into some festive booze. Since it follows right on the tail of Frostfire Night, we’re all already gathered together anyway.”

Amethyst and Bon Bon share a glance of confusion, before the latter speaks. “What-fire Night?”

“Frostfire Night,” I repeat, feeling one ear droop. “You guys must know about Frostfire Night?”

They both shake their heads.

Huh, well today I learned a thing. I always grew up thinking it was a tradition that everycreature celebrated. Even though Hearth’s Warming was a celebration my family only took semi-seriously, it never actually occurred to me that the traditions we do take seriously might be comparatively unknown to the rest of the world. Talk about eye-opening.

”Okay, I’ll bite,” Amethyst says. “What is Frostfire Night?”

And for a moment, I'm a little too stunned to reply. Some things are so ingrained in you as quote-unquote normal, that it becomes an utter novelty to actually have to explain them to another creature. But, I summarise it as succinctly as I can, in between bites of raspberry turnover.

"So in short, it's what we donkeys call the night of Winter Solstice. There's a lot of small intricacies to the celebrations, little traditions, but it all centres on a bonfire. It being the longest, darkest night of the year, the whole family gathers around a bonfire to symbolise the warmth of our bonds with each other, resilience during the difficult times, and how even the darkest nights must eventually yield to light."

They both look... surprised? I'm not sure what they think they were expecting to hear, but it clearly wasn't that.

"Is it every family that lights a bonfire?" Bon Bon asks.

"Uh-huh. Collectively, the familial bonfires light up the whole town. If you like the smell of wood fires, then you'd love it back home around this time of year. The smell lingers until after New Years, it's great. As you might expect, the fire departments are always on high alert around Frostfire Night. But it's also tradition that every family pitches in some money towards their Hearth's Warming ball, as a thank you. It's a night that brings the whole town together."

"Huh, that's really sweet," Amethyst mutters, a faint smile crossing her face. "Do you go home for it each year then?"

My ears both falling down low gives away my reply before I can even move my lips. In case it's not obvious, I don't ever try to play poker. My 'tell' is as subtle as a howler monkey with a megaphone.

"You... don't?" Amethyst gasps.

"No, not since I started travelling," I admit. "I haven't been home at all since then. And I haven't... haven't..."

"Haven't what?"

I sigh. "I haven't celebrated Frostfire or Hearth's Warming with anycreature since then, either."

If it wasn't for the constant background noise of the café, the silence at the table would have been deafening. And for a few awkward moments, I stare at my tray.

Amethyst breaks the silence first. "Oh, Tara. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry, if it's a difficult subject for you." She reaches out across the table, resting her hoof on top of mine. My cheeks immediately begin to burn as my heart gives a flutter.

"Well then," Bon Bon says. "Why don't we have a Frostfire Night here?"

Amethyst's eyes go wide as her face broadens in an impressive grin, shaking my hoof encouragingly. "Say, yeah, that's a great idea! It'd be just super to see your traditions, if you wouldn't mind walking us through them?"

There it is again, that tugging sensation in my gut. 'See, I told you Ponyville was a decent place.' Only this time, it extends upwards from my gut and spreads into my chest. There's no equine way of stopping the smile that contorts my face, pulling my ears back upright again as my eyes feel irritatingly watery.

"That... that would be amazing," I gush. "There's a small garden at the back of the inn, I could ask Merry and Holly if I could host it there?"





As the sun dips towards the horizon, a few weeks after the first discussion of the idea in Sugarcube Corner, I find myself at the far end of the Hoof & Hearth's beer garden. Unfazed by the light flurry of snow, I am tasked with leading a group of ponies in stacking lengths of wood into a carefully arranged pile. Amethyst, Lyra, Vinyl and Merry are all levitating the logs into place with finesse, as me, Octavia, Bon Bon and Holly drag them across the garden from the storage shed. It had taken most of the last few weeks to gather a pile of wood sufficient to do the job. I'd called in some favours as well, asking some of the market ponies to donate firewood and kindling, but the result will be worth it.

Afternoon sun quickly recedes, and by the time we have a neat stack of various cuts of wood, it's pitch black outside. Merry starts passing out polystyrene cups, gesturing towards a large insulated flask the size of a dustbin that Holly carries out. They've prepared some piping hot vegetable soup, one which soon attracts a queue as each pony takes their turn ladling out portions for themselves. I let them all go first. They're the ones helping me out, after all. And while they all sit, tenderly sipping at their steaming cups, I slip away.

I return a few minutes later, carrying a wicker basket, one which I've filled with metal lanterns. Tradition calls for more ornate lanterns, ones specially painted by each respective member of the family participating in the ceremony. But due to time restraints and limited budget, I salvaged these from a variety of junk shops and one or two from a scrap yard. The appearance of the lanterns is of no consequence to the outcome of the ceremony anyway, all that matters is if they can be lit or not. I'd tested these myself. Though they're a bit rusty and beaten up, the wicks still light just fine. I lay all eight in a row, a few paces away from the unlit bonfire as the ponies at my back look on in curiosity. When I'm done, I turn to address them.

"Right! Thank you all for coming, it... it means a lot that you're all here doing this with me. Now it's pretty cold, so we'll get cracking, shall we?"

The whole group nods, giving quiet words of support and affirmation. Apart from Vinyl, who whoops loudly and claps her hooves.

"So, normally it's the dad of the family that lights the fire, but in absence of any father figures, I guess it falls to me. To prepare for this role, I've lined up some dad jokes."

They all groan in unison.

"Hey hey, cheer up," I laugh. "I've got a burning desire to make sure this goes well! Last thing I want is to be a hot mess right now. But as far as introducing a new tradition to you all goes, I hope you can embrace it with a warm welcome. And..."

"Okay, okay," pleads Amethyst. "You can be dad tonight, Tara. Just... don't make us listen to any more of those jokes!"

"Hey, those weren't that bad," Vinyl says. "I've heard much worse from Octy when she's had enough scotch."

The ice successfully broken, thank you Vinyl for the backup, I start preparing the hefty branch I selected for getting the fire lit. While doing so, I gesture towards the lanterns and encourage each of the group to take one, but also advise them not to light them yet. Though Amethyst briefly forgoes this, instead opting to help me wrap a paraffin-soaked rag around the end of the branch. Once that is tied on, I hold the branch steady as she lights it, and then I push the small flame into the base of the kindling.

With that done, I take my place in the line of ponies stood behind the row of lanterns. In the cold night air, and through the bursts of snow dancing in the wind, it takes a few minutes for the fire to really catch. The subdued flickering begins to intensify and spread. Heat slowly emanates from within the pile. What was once a dark garden to the rear of the inn is flooded bit by bit with a comforting orange light, as the flames take hold. The crackling sounds seem to hold a hypnotic allure, drawing us closer as warmth chases away the chill of the night.

"This time by the bonfire is intended for us to reflect on the year we've had," I explain. "The challenges we've overcome, the joys we've experienced, the lessons learned, all of that stuff. It's a moment to appreciate how far we've come, individually and together."

The ponies share brief glances with each other, but seem to take this instruction in their stride. Amethyt's eyes have a distinct glint in the orange glow, while Lyra wears a contented smile as she keeps darting her eyes towards Bon Bon. Octavia lets out a small sigh as she leans her head against Vinyl's shoulder, somepony whose expression is hard to discern behind the sunglasses she still won't take off, even at night. Merry and Holly intertwine their hooves, turning to face each other and resting the tips of their muzzles together.

As for me? Since my last Frostfire was when I left home so, so long ago, I've got multiple years of reflection to catch up on. Departing my home county, bound for far off lands on a ship crossing the Nostrum Sea. Vineyards in Prance. Scaling mountains on the Iberneighan peninsula. Relative plain sailing until reaching the backstreets of Buckarest. Less said there, the better. Then there were the long train journeys, countless miles of frozen wilderness between Stalliongrad and Foalgorod. Seeing the Dragon Kingdoms. Surviving an earthquake in Neighpon. Being stuck in Neighpon before being able to make my way to Indoneighsia. Fucking hell, that was an ordeal, just trying to get on that boat. Being trapped in an area struck by natural disaster is not something I'd reccommend.

"This is nice," Lyra murmurs, snapping me out of my mental recount of my travels. "Thanks for this, Tara."

"Yeah, agreed. Thanks, T," Vinyl adds.

"Please don't call me T."

That gets a laugh out of the group. It's been a few minutes now, adequate time for reflection, and the flames on the bonfire have grown to be huge. All the snow at the base of the wood pile is beginning to sizzle and steam, and my face begins to swelter. I pick up my lantern and take a couple of steps backwards, an action that seems to rouse the ponies out of their stupor, as they all do the same.

"Anyway, who's ready to light these bad boys?" I say, holding my lantern up high. "Each of you grab a match, but wait on my word, as there's a bit more to this as well."

"Please, no more dad jokes," Merry says, with a wink.

I laugh in reply, unable to fight the smile forcing its way onto my muzzle. "No dad jokes, I swear. No, as you light your lanterns, I want each of you make a wish. And when your lantern is lit, hold it up nice and high. It's a way of sending our hopes and dreams out into the world, together."

A chorus of sharp cracks follow, and in quick succession the lanterns around me are lit. Each pony leans in close as they light their match, whispering quiet promises to it. A technically unnecessary part of things, but if it makes the process easier for them, so be it. One by one, they raise their lanterns to the sky. Even the unicorns refrain from using their magic, holding the lanterns up in their hooves. Once all seven of them have done their bit, I do the same. The match lights, the flame is lit, my wish is made, and my lantern joins the group in being held aloft.

"This feels... magical," Bon Bon whispers.

"We're doing something really special here," Amethyst agrees.

"So... what now?" asks Holly. "Do we share what we wished for?"

"What? No!" Merry gasps, sounding scandalised. "If you say what you wished for, then it won't come true."

"That's birthday wishes, it's completely different."

"Umm... is it, Tara?"

The group turns to face me, and I find myself momentarily lost for words. Back home, we never said our wishes out loud, but as far as I know there wasn't any rule saying you shouldn't. At least, that was the case for my family. Other families might say them out loud, I have no idea. We never exactly exchanged tips and tricks for Frostfire, we just got on with it. I think for a few seconds. Yeah, I'm bringing my home traditions to far off places right now, but why do we have to do things exactly the same way?

"If you want to say them out loud, go for it," I decide. "Share your wish with the world."

There's a brief, awkward pause as none of us speaks. Not wanting to go first, no doubt. Tense moments pass, only soundtracked by the roaring crackle of the bonfire, until finally a voice speaks up.

"May our friendship grow stronger with every passing day," Amethyst says.

"May kindness and compassion find its way into every heart," Bon Bon follows.

"May I find the courage to live my life as my truest self," Octavia adds.

"May my next album blow Neon Lights' album out of the water," is Vinyl's tasteful addition.

"May we all become more accepting of the eccentricities of others," Lyra murmurs.

"May the bonds of community spirit grow stronger and stronger," Merry gushes.

"May Merry stop snoring at night," Holly finishes off, with a scandalous giggle.

As another wave of laughter washes over the group, I hesitate, feeling the weight of their anticipation. The fire crackles reassuringly, casting a warm glow on all of us as I fidget with my lantern.

"I only heard seven wishes," Amethyst says, her voice gentle but with obvious traces of expectance. "Somepony's holding out on us. Or should that be somedonkey?"

Octavia nods in agreement. "Oh yes, Tara, you must share it with us. You've guided us through this beautiful ceremony, we'd dearly love to know what more you might wish for."

A mix of emotions swirls within me. Gratitude for their support, and a touch of vulnerability at the thought of speaking my mind. Which, for me, is rare. I glance at each of their eager faces, a sense of warmth spreading through me from their persistent camaraderie.

"It's just... it's not as grand as any of yours," I begin, trying to downplay the significance. "Or as specific as Holly's."

Vinyl nudges me. "Come on, spill the beans. We're all ears!"

Taking a deep breath, I let it out. "Okay, fine. My wish... it's for a sense of belonging. To find a place where I truly feel at home."

There is a pause, a moment that seems to stretch as their gazes meet mine. The fire continues to crackle in the background, its warmth a comforting presence in the chilly night.

Bon Bon's voice is soft with empathy. "That's a beautiful wish, Tara."

Merry chimes in, her smile full of warmth. "You've already found a home with us."

"Have I though?" I couldn't help but blurt out those words, breaking the brief silence that follows Merry's heartfelt statement. My voice wavers slightly, betraying the tumult of emotions swirling inside me.

The sincerity in Merry's eyes and the warmth of the firelight around us contrasts with the uncertainty that still lingers within. I want to believe her words, to embrace the sense of belonging that they've all found in this tight-knit circle. But there is a whispering doubt, an echo of longing that hadn't yet found its resolution.

"A few times, these last few months, it has felt like I've found a home, but then..." I trail off, my gaze shifting to the rising flames, the bonfire casting fleeting shadows across the snow-dusted ground.

A part of me remains unmoored, seeking an anchor that eludes me still. Merry's expression shifts, a mix of concern and empathy, and I wish I hadn't opened my stupid fucking mouth. I don't want to cast doubt on the beauty of this moment or the sincerity of their friendship. But the pull within me, the yearning for permanence, persists, and it seems impossible to ignore. As the snow continues to fall softly, I turn to face Merry again, a bittersweet smile tugging at my lips.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I have found something close to a home here, but..." I pause, struggling to convert thoughts and feelings into spoken words. "There's still this part of me that's searching, that's not quite settled yet. Four bloody years, I've been ambling from place to place. Going where I wanted to go. But I never found anywhere I wanted to stay. So when all of a sudden, I feel like I've found somewhere I'd like to belong to, how can I trust myself enough to know whether or not I'll want to stay here for good? Dare I call this place a home?"

The words hang in the wintry air, carried away by the whispers of the night. Merry reaches out, placing a comforting hoof on my shoulder, offering silent support.

Amethyst's gentle voice breaks the weighty silence that had settled around us. "Tara, finding where you belong isn't always a clear-cut path. It's like piecing together a puzzle. Sometimes, you find a few pieces that fit perfectly, and other times, you're still searching for the right ones. And that's okay."

Her words carry a reassuring wisdom, and I feel a soft tug at my heart. The warmth in her eyes mirrors the flickering flames, offering solace in a moment of introspection.

"We all have our journeys," she continues, her voice carrying a soothing melody. "It's about embracing the connections we've made and cherishing the moments we share. Home isn't just a place; it's the creatures who make you feel whole."

I glance around at the gathered ponies, each one holding their lantern aloft, faces illuminated with hope and camaraderie.

"I guess you're right," I murmur, a sense of acceptance settling in. "And maybe I just need to appreciate what I've got here for what it is. Right now, it's a nice place to be. And if I decide I need to move on, it's good memories to take with me."

Merry squeezes my shoulder, her gaze filled with empathy. "Tara, wherever your path takes you, you'll always have a place here among us."

The sincerity in her words resonates deeply. Amid the quiet of the night and the glow of lanterns, I realise I should focus on embracing the present than seeking an elusive future. The comfort of companionship, the shared dreams, and the genuine camaraderie that, in itself, is a haven I can cherish.

My mind wanders back to the miles I've covered, the landscapes I've traversed, and the faces I've encountered along the way. There's an undeniable thrill in the unfamiliar, a sense of freedom that comes with exploration. But beneath the allure of new horizons, I can't shake this persistent thought. Perhaps in chasing the world, I've been fleeing from something. Each new town, every distant shore, carried promises of fresh beginnings and untold stories. With every farewell bid to a place or a creature, I found myself in a perpetual cycle of departures, leaving fragments of myself scattered across the globe.

It's a peculiar notion. Searching for a sense of home in the ever-changing landscapes, never allowing roots to dig too deep. Was I escaping a past I can't reconcile with? Or was I running towards an uncertain future, avoiding the need to confront the uncertainties that lay ahead? There will always be missed opportunities. Lost chances to forge lasting connections. Moments where I could have paused and let myself belong. Yet the nomadic life, in its transient beauty, offered comfort in its freedom.

As the warmth of the bonfire envelops us, I can't help but feel a twinge of uncertainty mingled with the longing for stability. A place where I could be tethered. The comforting embrace of familiarity teases at the edges of my wanderlust, inviting me to consider the prospect of settling. Of staying still long enough to reconcile with what internal conflicts drive me forward.

Amethyst, ever perceptive, senses the turmoil brewing within me. With a tender gaze, she steps closer and envelops me in a hug. Her gesture catches me off guard, but it's a warmth I hadn't realized I needed.

"You're not alone, okay Tara?" she murmurs softly, her words a gentle echo in the night. "We're here with you."

Her embrace, a silent reassurance, triggers a chain reaction. Slow at first, then all at once, the rest of the group gravitates toward us, forming an unspoken circle of support. Bon Bon, Lyra, Octavia, Vinyl, Merry, and Holly. They all close in, their hooves embracing us in a shared moment of solidarity.

There's an inexplicable comfort in this closeness, a sense of something I've yearned for without realizing it. Holly, who had been the source of boisterous humour moments ago, now stands close, offering a quiet smile. Vinyl, usually wrapped in her own cool demeanour, joins the embrace, an unspoken understanding passing between us. Octavia, with her serene presence, offers a nod of solidarity. Bon Bon and Lyra, their bond evident in the way they hold each other, add their warmth to the collective hug. And Merry, ever the beacon of optimism, gives me an encouraging squeeze.

The group forms a tight pack around me, each pony lending their silent support. Their presence speaks volumes more than any words could convey. In this embrace, amidst the flickering warmth of the fire and the gentle snowfall, the faintest traces of belonging wash over me.

"Thanks guys," I mumble, fighting back the onslaught of tears.

Yep. They got me all emotional. Sneaky bastards.
> Chapter IV - Don't Give Up Now
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ahh fuck... my head. Ow.

Sleep dust obscures my vision as I pull myself up into a sitting position. Or rather, push myself up, as I'd somehow fallen asleep face down. On the floor. Surrounded by confetti, streamers, and discarded paper cups. At least I'd had the good sense to put a pillow down to rest my head on, but everything still aches. Every limb I stretch out makes hideous cracks and pops as I bring myself up onto my haunches. Some thin piece of fabric slides down my back, and I reach around to hold it aloft in front of me with a trembling hoof. I squint, recognising the tattered remains of the banner that previously read 'Happy New Year'. In its present state, it now says something more along the lines of 'Ha p ew ar'.

Hehehehe... it was a really good party then. Because my memory of it cuts off somewhere in the rough vicinity of nine in the evening.

Another wave of pain echoes through my skull, and I drop the banner as I let out a low moan. This aggravates the bitter dryness of my throat, which also feels tight and constricted for reasons known only to itself. I consider standing up, but this seems like a gargantuan task right now. So I settle for lying back down again, rolling over to lean my head against the pillow as I look upwards to the ceiling. Then my ears flop down over my eyes, blessing me with sweet darkness. A single, somewhat melodramatically mournful bray slips out of my mouth.

"Hell of a party, huh?" groans Lyra's voice, with a croaky undertone that I can wholeheartedly empathise with.

"Shh shh shh, am eepy donkey," I moan back, holding a limp hoof up in a placating gesture. "No can do much the talky thing right now, less of the mouth noises please thank you."

"Woah, oh mare," Vinyl's voice enters into the fray. "Why is everything so damn blurry?"

"Because you're wearing Tara's glasses," Octavia replies with a yawn.

Huh. That's strange. I can feel the weight of glasses pressing down on my muzzle, so I had reasoned I must have passed out last night while still wearing them. But if Vinyl's wearing my glasses, then...

I reach up with a hoof, brushing my ears off of my face. The darkness is wiped away, and I can see the ceiling again. Was it always purple? It is sleep dust making my vision blurry, right? What are the symptoms of a stroke again?

Oh, wait. "It would appear that we may have exchanged spectacles in our drunken hijinks," I explain, making what I feel to be a rather valiant, but fruitless, effort to enunciate.

I hear the creaks and squeaks that normally accompany some poor soul trying to climb off of an air mattress. Hoofsteps follow, growing closer and closer, until Octavia herself draws into my line of sight, a grey splodge gazing down at me. Even when I can't see her clearly, I can still tell she looks rough. The black outline of her hair points outwards in all directions like a bobbing, mangled afro.

"Here, trade you," she mumbles, holding a hoof out to me.

Reaching out blindly, I feel something small held in her grasp. Mouthing a 'thank you', I take it and remove Vinyl's glasses from my muzzle. In an instant, the light in the room becomes several times more painful. My eyelids slam shut in protest, and I hold Vinyl's glasses out to Octavia as I return my own glasses to their rightful place.

"And if you're quite finished with it," Octavia adds, taking the purple frames. "I'd like my bow tie back, please."

Huh? My hooves shoot to my neck, and feel around. What with the hangover, mind fog makes the movements difficult. Confusion sets in for a moment as my hooves scratch only at my coat, but then the soft touch of silk confirms the presence of the missing article. I don't even wear bow ties, so the antics last night must have gotten particularly wild if I'm the one who ended up wearing it. With some uncooperative hooves, I eventually manage to untie it. Delicate in my attempts to not tangle it up, I pull it from my neck and hold it up for Octavia.

"Sorry, here you go," I murmur, feeling the tightness against my throat lift as the offending bow tie returns to its rightful owner.

"Thank you," she replies with a nod of gratitude.

"Anypony else feeling like a herd of buffalo stampeded through their head?" Vinyl groans from across the room.

"Maybe we should think about having a little less booze next time," Lyra shoots back.

"I second that motion," Octavia agrees, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

One by one, the rest of our motley crew begin to rise from their pseudo-slumber. With a collective effort, we begin the arduous process of hauling ourselves up onto sofas and chairs. Half-hearted attempts are made to start the process of clearing the detritus from the room. These all, invariably, end up with us retreating to the safety of comfortable seating. During this time, whispered promises of a quieter celebration next year trudge from mouths to ears. 

Pfft, fat chance.

"You know," I moan, slumping against a cushion. "At times like this, I wish I listened to what my grandparents told me when I was younger."

A short pause precedes Vinyl's reply. "And what did they tell you?"

"Dunno, wasn't listening."

Before any of the several lethargic equines can process this thought, the final weary face, Amethyst, finally emerges down the stairs from her loft bedroom. "I believe some water would do us all some good," she proposes, glancing around at us in our zombie-esque state.

"I think that'll perk us up just right," Bon Bon chimes in, nodding vigorously (and regretting it immediately, judging from her pained expression).

Vinyl, who is still unsteady on her hooves, gestures toward the kitchen door. "I'll grab us a pitcher. No more mix-ups this time," she declares with a lopsided grin.

As she heads towards the kitchen, the others begin a collective effort to regain some semblance of order in the room. Bon Bon, still somewhat bleary-eyed, starts picking up the scattered cups and placing them on a nearby table. Lyra, with a sheepish grin, gathers the torn remnants of the banner, chuckling softly at the sight.

I make an attempt to sweep up crumbs, but it quickly ends with me lowering myself onto the sofa and resting my head in my hooves. A dull throb continues to echo through my skull, but the prospect of hydrating seems like a beacon of hope amidst the haze of the morning. Water first, cleaning after.

Vinyl stumbles back in, a pitcher of water precariously balanced in her magic. She places it on the table with a satisfied smile. "Success! No mix-ups this time, I promise."

"Thank you, Vinyl," Octavia says, her voice noticably carrying a hint of amusement. "I'm sure we're all quite grateful for your diligence."

With a collective sigh of relief, the group gathers around the table, each grabbing a glass and taking a long, refreshing gulp of water. Amethyst delivers a cup to me, and I sip delicately at its contents. The cool liquid feels like a soothing balm to our parched throats, alleviating some of the lingering effects of the night before.

As we sit there, contemplating the morbid horrors of late morning on New Years Day, one by one we start to resume the cleaning. The room begins to regain its usual orderliness, and the disarray of the party is slowly replaced by the familiar comfort of our shared space.

"We should probably avoid too many late-night celebrations in the future," Bon Bon suggests with a smirk, breaking the momentary silence.

"Agreed," Amethyst says with a nod. "But where's the fun in that?"

"Another year done, another wild party," muses Lyra. "Guess we'll be done with winter soon."

"Oh, that's a good point actually," Amethyst replies. "Everypony got their assignments for Winter Wrap Up?"

"Well, I'm on the animal team this year, as usual," Lyra says with a cheeky smirk. "Gonna help wake up all the hibernating critters in the park. Last year was hilarious. I accidentally startled a family of groundhogs. You should've seen them scatter!"

"I'll be working with the plant team again," Octavia adds. "I do so enjoy nurturing the flowers and ensuring they're ready to bloom for spring."

"Cleaning up the old nests and homes for our returning bird friends, that's me this year," Bon Bon shares. "I like knowing I'm helping them settle back in comfortably, and it's fun working with Rarity."

Vinyl, with a grin, exclaims, "I'm leading the music team! New addition for this year, gonna be blasting tunes to keep everypony energized and motivated. Can't have a good Wrap Up without some sweet beats, right?"

"Say what?" Bon Bon scoffed. "They're allowing that?"

"Yeah! Ponyville FM is loaning out portable stereos for the day to anypony who wants one. They've got me lined up with some other DJs to get everypony fired up for the whole day."

"What about you, Tara?" Amethyst asks.

The fact that this question is aimed at me, is a fact that registers in my head much in the same way as a Griffonian Gnat registers the intricate complexities of Working Tax Credit in the nation of Coltugal. Which is to say, with my head slumped in my hooves and my eyes squinted against the sunlight filtering in through the window? The question passes in and out of my brain without being paid the slightest bit of attention.

"Tara?" Amethyst ventures to ask a second time.

"Forty-two," I mumble, feeling my consciousness starting to slip away to somewhere cosy.

"Tara!"

"Huh, wazzit?"

"I asked, what are you doing for Winter Wrap Up?

I try to shrug, but my shoulder muscles don't seem to be up to the task. "Dunno. Whatever job they give me, I guess."

"Well, what are you good at?" Amethyst presses on, her voice taking on a strange tone that I imagine she reserves for dawdling customers at her stall who are 'all touch but no buy'. Which, to be fair, I probably deserve right now. "What did you do during Winter Wrap Up when you were growing up?"

"Nothing." Why so many questions before I've had any caffeine, Ammy?

This answer takes the room by surprise, as the assorted noises of ponies cleaning up after a night of jolly good festivities cease. Scattered whispering shreds of micro-conversations fall silent. Oh fuck me, I've said something controversial again, haven't I?

"What do you mean, you did 'nothing' during Winter Wrap Up?" Lyra asks, sounding almost offended. I suppose to them, it sounds like I spend all of the transitional period between Winter and Spring laid around on my arse. Which is only half-true.

"I mean, we never did Winter Wrap Up when I was growing up. Or... well, ever, as far as I know. It's a pony thing, I guess donkey society decided a long time ago we wanted no part of it."

Blissful, if awkward, silence hangs in the air again for a few delightful moments.

"Wait, seriously?" Amethyst breaks the silence in a rather tactless manner. "You never did Winter Wrap Up? That's like, the most fun tradition in Ponyville!"

I shift on the sofa, suddenly very aware of the weight of the gazes focused on me as my ears give a twitch. "Yeah, well, donkeys just have a different way of doing things."

Bon Bon, still holding a stack of cups, raises an eyebrow. "No Winter Wrap Up? So, what did you do in the run up to spring, then?"

I ponder the question for a moment, the haze of the hangover making it difficult to summon clear memories. "Honestly? Not much. Maybe some general maintenance, but nothing like the whole town coming together for a big event."

"Well... well..." Vinyl stutters, clearly chasing a thought process that is a few paces in front of her and therefore just out of reach. "Then how does spring come around, huh?" Well caught.

Ponies are adorable sometimes, even if slightly on the arrogant side.

"What do you think happens around the world in places where pony society is less prevalent, or absent altogether? The seasons are capable of changing all by themselves, they don't need ponies to interfere. Sure it's more convenient, in the socioeconomic sense, to bring about seasonal changes and compact it all to a single working day. But the world doesn't implode if you fail to do that, it got along just fine before ponies started bringing their traditions along, didn't it?"

Once again, the room sinks into silence. Welp, if dropping truth bombs is the key to getting momentary interludes where my throbbing head can sit and not have to participate in just about anything? So be it. It's a fair price.

"So, what, you just stay out of everything?" Vinyl asks, taking up the mantle of silence breaker.

Ooh, 'Silencebreaker'... note to self, good name for a homebrewed O&O magical weapon. Write up some stats for it when I don't feel like the entire Equestrian Naval Fleet is playing 'Let's Spin Around Making Whirlpools' in my stomach.

"I mean, yes and no," I explain patiently. "Like, you see a newly built nest fallen out of a tree? You pick it up, it's not like a nature book where the author has to let things take their course. And we occasionally had to go lend a hoof at local farms to clear snow for crops because, newsflash, we need food in the valiant pursuit of not-starving-to-death. But otherwise, the snow melts on its own. The weather gets warmer. The migratory birds come back. Life, uh... sort of 'gets on with it', you know?"

Octavia, having finished straightening up a nearby shelf, approaches with a thoughtful expression. "It's fascinating to learn about the cultural differences. Myself, I've always enjoyed the sense of community during Winter Wrap Up, be it Ponyville or back home in Trottingham. Everypony working together towards a common goal, it really is most invigorating to partake in."

Amethyst, who had been silently observing the exchange, adds, "And it's not just about the work. It's about welcoming the new season, breaking free from winter's grip and ushering in the warmth of spring. Doing it all with the ponies you love most."

Vinyl, having regained some of her usual energy, spins around and grins. "Well, if Tara here missed out on the fun when she was growing up, we'll have to make sure this year's Winter Wrap Up is extra special for her! Right, everypony?"

Oh bugger, they aren't going to put me in any kind of bloody spotlight, are they?

Amethyst, taking charge as usual, announces, "Alright, Tara, we're assigning you a special task for Winter Wrap Up this year. Something to make up for all those missed opportunities."

The thought of a 'special task' doesn't exactly fill me with excitement, but I play along. "Sure, what do you have in mind?"

With a mischievous glint in her eye, Amethyst declares, "I'll put in a word with the Mayor, you can be in charge of the hot cocoa station. Every hardworking pony deserves a warm treat, right?"

The idea of being responsible for hot cocoa sounds far more appealing than wrestling with groundhogs or cleaning out bird nests. I nod in agreement, though I can't currently account for the evil look on her face. I really hope she's not pulling something cheeky.





She was pulling something cheeky.

Okay, so further elaboration needed. I get up the morning of Winter Wrap Up, walk into the town centre with Merry and Holly. Find my assigned team, Support Staff (same as Vinyl), and report to my team lead. She gives me an orange vest that is slightly too large, Equestrian Small being a bit bigger than Donkeyan Small, and brings me to my station. Well, I say 'station', it's a cart. A large catering cart. It holds several of the vat-sized insulated flasks that you normally see at well-attended outdoor events. As well as cocoa, we have tea and coffee. Also included in my equipment for the day is a folding table, several boxes of paper cups, and an assortment of condiments like milk and sugar. For a bonus, little packets of biscuits for dunking. Or cookies, as the Equestrians inaccurately refer to them as.

Well, I call it my equipment for the day. I mean our equipment for the day.

See, it's a mobile job. It follows a circuitous route around Ponyville and the outlying areas, stopping at a number of pre-determined locations throughout the day. Stop, set up the hot drink station, warm up the frozen denizens of Ponyville working in that particular area, move on to the next. Keep going until we run out of stock. Head back to a little tent in the square, refill, pick up where we left off on the route. Then when we've done a full lap, we repeat the route. All day. And the cart, with three big tubs of liquid, is heavy. It's not a one-creature job, hauling it around, so the cart has two sets of harnesses. And I guess an extra pair of hooves at each stop will make lines move faster.

The exact moment it dawns on me that Amethyst had pulled something cheeky, is as I am strapping myself to the wagon, and my partner for the day saunters over. When I spot her, she is in the process of losing herself in fits of giggles as she dons her own orange vest. Desperately excited at the prospect of a day stomping around in the cold, while serving warm drinks to the shivering masses. Her face takes on a whole new light of excitement as she spots me.

"Hi Tara!" exclaims Derpy.

Aw fuck.





One-eighth of a mile.

That's how far we made it, more or less. Then I had to pull the emergency release on my straps, dash away in a frenzy, and lower my posterior into a cold snow bank to relieve myself of the intense burning pain that had suddenly washed itself over me.

Or, to be more specific, over my arse.

"I just dunno what happened," Derpy mumbles to Nurse Redheart, a frosty-pelted mare in charge of the first aid station. "I checked the lids on all the flasks before we set off, one of them musta come loose somehow."

"Derpy," I say through gritted teeth, as the nurse rubs cooling salve too close to my unmentionables to mention. "I told you that I already made sure they were tight enough."

"Yeah but I double checked," Derpy reasons. "So now we're doubly sure that they were tight enough."

"And how did you check them, exactly?"

"Turning them, duh."

You cross-eyed nitwit... "Which way did you turn them, do I dare ask?"

"Uhhhh.... the tight way." she declares with a sense of confidence she has no right to wield.

"The tight way?"

"Yeah! 'Lefty tighty, righty loosey', that's how the poem goes. Right?"

Winter may be wrapped up, or at least about to be in the process of being wrapped up, but right about now I could sure do with a snowfall heavy enough to hide a corpse.

"Okay, Derpy," Nurse Redheart interjects before I can let loose a colourful string of expletives. "How about you go make sure the coffee flask is refilled, and see that all those flasks are super tightly sealed, then get yourself strapped into the wagon? I'll finish up with Tara while you do that, kay?"

"Sure thing, Nursey!" Derpy beams, giving us both a salute as she gallops off back across the square.

"You got any morphine?" I grumble as Nurse Redheart starts wrapping my butt up in white bandages, like an especially naff Hearth's Warming gift.

She chuckles as she tucks lengths of bandage neatly into place. "You know, Tara, Derpy has a reputation for being a bit... accident-prone."

"Really? You don't say."

"It's one of those things you get used to when you're around her," she adds, glancing across the square to where Derpy had dashed off to refill the coffee vat.

I wince as I adjust my position to allow her hoof access to... well, I won't say where. But the bandage needed to be wrapped in proximity. "This is my first time experiencing it firsthoof, and I must say, it's quite the introduction."

"Derpy means well, she really does. She just has an uncanny ability to find herself in unusual situations."

"I've noticed," I deadpan. "But seriously, is she always like this?"

Nurse Redheart (badly) suppresses a chuckle. "Pretty much. But you get used to it. And to be honest, Ponyville wouldn't be the same without her. Derpy may be a walking disaster, but she's also one of the most genuine and caring ponies you'll ever meet."

"It's funny how many ponies here manage to walk that fine line," I sigh. "I suppose I'll have to learn to navigate her unique brand of chaos then. On top of my other responsibilities for today."

"Just give it some time," Nurse Redheart advises. "You might find that her quirks add a certain charm to the day."

She gives my bottom a gentle tap, indicating that she's done. It also is clear that whatever she's done has helped, because her doing so doesn't send jolts of pain through me. When I pull myself to my haunches, adjusting myself so I'm not sitting on my own tail, I am also the recipient of some reassuring shoulder rubs.

"You'll be fine," she promises. "And don't worry too much about Winter Wrap Up. It's all in good fun. Just be prepared for a few unexpected moments along the way."

"Oh goody goody gumdrops, I don't know how many more of those I can take," I mutter, feeling my ears droop.

Nurse Redheart gives a quiet, genuine chuckle, and bids me on my way. I make my way across the square, through crowds of ponies that are slowly beginning to disperse as they prepare to head off to carry out their assigned tasks. A number of them completely and utterly fail to be subtle about the fact that they're staring at the large bandage covering my arse. But each of them clocks on to the icy stare I'm shooting them, and suddenly become very interested in a nondescript piece of scenery somewhere in the opposite direction.

As I round town hall, the hot drinks cart draws into view in front of the supply tent. Anxiety and trepidation fills me as I watch Derpy hover above it, screwing the lid onto the coffee flask, but somewhere deep down I can't help but find the amusement in the scene. There's a distinct look of concentration in her face. One eye fixed on the vat. The other flailing wildly around in an attempt to locate it. Her tongue poking out as she puts all her willpower into (I hope) making sure we don't have a repeat incident.

"Need some help with that, Derps?" I call out, approaching cautiously.

She glances up at me. "Oh, hi Tara!" she exclaims. The eye that had previously been looking for the vat has now found it, while the eye that had been staring it down is now in fact staring me down. "Nah, I got this. Just making sure it's super tight this time. Did the nurse make your butt better?"

For fucks sake Derpy, don't make me laugh when I'm trying to be annoyed with you.

"Yes, she did," I chuckle. "I'll supervise you then, shall I?"

Derpy nods eagerly, and continues to try and tighten the lid of the steaming flask of coffee.

"That poem you mentioned, it's 'righty tighty', by the way," I say, feeling it my civic duty to inform Derpy of this. For the health, safety and general wellbeing of every creature in a five-mile radius.

She hovers there for a moment as my words sink in. Then she holds both her front hooves aloft in front of her, looking back and forth between them as she mutters silently to herself. Her focus seems to fixate on the left one.

"Your other right," I explain.

This draws her attention to her right hoof, the correct hoof, and a wide grin spreads across her face. She returns to her task of tightening the lid of the flask, turning it... yep, to the right, she's learning. There's a noticeable sense of satisfaction about her with this. And don't get me wrong, I'm still pissed about her scorching my arse. But watching her joy at accomplishing simple tasks... I dunno, something melts inside me a little.

"You know, Derps," I say, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth as my ears fold themselves ever-so-slightly backwards. "I'm starting to understand why they put me on hot cocoa duty."

Derpy tilts her head at me in confusion. "Why's that then?"

"Because apparently, I have the perfect partner for it," I reply, earning a giggle from the grey pegasus.

I carry on supervising her as she double and triple checks the lids on all three flasks. When I'm satisfied that they are all, in fact, tightly sealed, we buckle ourselves to the front of the cart. Then we head off through the snow in the direction of our first stop. Sweet Apple Acres, as well as providing the apples that were the bedrock for the founding of the town, also is home to many acres of farmland for crop cultivation. Thus, it is a high priority for Winter Wrap Up. The ponies assigned there have been working since before sunrise, and get first dibs for a warm beverage.

Above us, the sky begins to empty itself of clouds as the weather ponies bring sunlight back to the town. Under the gentle morning sun, we traverse from the bustling square en route to Sweet Apple Acres, the heavy cart in tow. As we make our way through the snow-covered streets, the remnants of the festive season linger. Which is to say, I over-indulged and now regret it immensely. There's a good reason that donkeys leave Winter Wrap Up to the ponies: we know better.

"Well, this is one way to burn off those party calories," I jest, glancing over at Derpy, who is taking in the sights of the town hard at work. "Who needs a gym when you have Winter Wrap Up, right?"

Derpy responds with an enthusiastic nod, her eyes perpetually wandering in different directions as she processes the comment. Her infectious joy and unbridled optimism, if a little apropos of nowhere in particular, are in fact growing on me. Let's face it, the start of this collaborative effort was... let's be generous and say it was 'a bit rocky'. But if Derpy can at least learn from her cock-ups, maybe there's something endearing to be said for her.

We trot along the snowy path, the crisp air tinged with the freshness of a new day. Sweet Apple Acres comes into view, a sea of apple trees adorned with a light dusting of snow. The hardworking ponies on the farm greet us with smiles and waves as we approach. I can't help but appreciate the picturesque scene, even if the weight of the cart on my back is a constant reminder of the day's responsibilities.

Mind you, my only task for today is hauling a cart from A to B. Then either onwards to C, or back to A again depending on the supply levels when we finish at B. D will have to wait, and E is just too far off to bother thinking about right now. F has drawn an even shorter straw there, and Luna forbid we even mention G. Comparatively, the workers on the farm are having to clear snow, plough and cultivate fields, and make sure the newly planted seeds are evenly distributed in land that is suitable to encourage growth. Too much responsibility, I'm content with mine and Derpy's game of 'Join The Dots' on a municipal scale.

As we near the designated stop, Derpy's enthusiasm bubbles over. "Tara, look everypony at work! It's great so see the whole town come together like this."

"Yeah, Derps, it's pretty great," I reply, trying not to let my sore muscles dampen my appreciation for the spectacle. "Let's get this cart set up, so those ponies can warm up a little."

We find a spot just a short distance from the main gate into the complex of farm buildings. It's slightly more central, giving us a good eye over rolling fields to one side and an apple orchard to the other. After unhooking ourselves from the cart, we go about the process of setting up our stand. Derpy is buzzing with excitement, her eyes darting around to take in every detail of the farm. Despite the cold, the atmosphere is warm and welcoming, as distant shouts go out to the ponies working the fields about the arrival of warm drinks.

It isn't long before the first farm pony approaches, a mare wearing a green vest with several markings to identify her as the head of the agricultural team. I offer Applejack a friendly wave as a crashing sound from behind me alerts me to the fact that Derpy is attempting to set up the folding table.

"Morning, y'all!" Applejack asks in her stereotypical twang, apparently not too distracted by Derpy's furniture mishap. "Miss Tara, Miss Derpy, thanks a bunch for bringing some warmth to our chilly morning."

"No problem at all," I say, inclining my head back towards Derpy. "Just errr... give us a few minutes to set up and we'll be with you."

"Whut happened to yer keister?" Applejack inquires, a touch of concern creeping into her voice as her eyes linger on my bandaged flank.

"Err... long story."

As the ponies line up for their drinks, I help extricate Derpy from the spindly legs of the folding table. Her focus shifts from the gathering crowd, to the surrounding orchard, and back again. She begins humming a tune to herself, seemingly lost in the rhythm of the farm, as I set up the table myself.

The process of getting everything else sorted goes smoothly for a while, with ponies expressing gratitude for the warm drinks and exchanging cheerful banter. But then, with the growd growing larger, I can't help but notice something missing.

"Hey, Derps, where's the box of paper cups?"

"Err... which box was that?"

"The box with 'paper cups' written on it."

"Well..." Derpy says, her brow furrowed as she searches the depths of her memory. "There were a whole bunch of boxes in the little tent next to where we picked up the cart."

"Yes," I say, exhaling deeply through my nose. "The extra boxes for when we need to go back to the square to resupply. I put two boxes on the back of the cart, one for the condiments and one for the paper cups."

Derpy thinks for a moment. "Well, I had to put one of the boxes back in the tent so I could climb onto the cart to tighten the lids."

My brow twitches. "...but you're a pegasus, you can fly."

"Yeah, I know that already," she says, her voice shifting to a tone of somecreature trying to explain something to a child. "It was only when I was flying that I could get the leverage to tighten the lid."

"So why did you need to move the box?"

"I... err... hmm." She stops again to think for a few moments. "Good point, I musta just had a brain farty moment."

"And why didn't you put the box back when you were done? Or tell me that you'd taken it off?"

"...another brain farty moment?"

Oh give me strength. "Right, wait here Derps."

As I turn away, I catch her expression turning crestfallen in the corner of my eye. It appears she's finally done the mental arithmetic and arrived at a conclusion that is at least close enough to the ballpark for her to realise that she's cocked up. Again. But, for the time being, we have a job to do and no cups with which to do it. So two options currently present themselves, one of which is me making a dash all the way back to the square to retrieve a box of cups. Pursuing the other option, I spot the Stetscolt-clad mare near the front of the crowd.

"Hey Applejack!" I call out over the ruckus. "Long shot, but I don't suppose you've got any spare disposable cups laying around? Seems we missed a trick and left ours back where we started."

Applejack furrows her brow. "Well, ain't that a pickle. We don't usually stockpile any cups at the farm, but... oh, hold on a sec." She breaks into a grin. "'Ah reckon we might have some leftover from the most recent Apple family reunion."

My eyes widen in delight. "Any chance you could go check? Save me running all the way back to town."

"Sure, gimme two secs, 'ah seem to recall Granny Smith stashing a box or two in our cellar. Y'all sit tight, 'ah'll be right back."

She disappears into the crowd, and I breathe a sigh of relief. "Hopefully avoiding another disaster, eh Derpy?"

No reply.

I tilt my head back, twisting my ears backwards, venturing to ask again. "Derps?"

Still no reply.

Looking around, I see Derpy making a feeble effort to conceal herself from the crowd, and from me, behind the large back wheels of our cart. Her effort to hide is somewhat impeded by the fact that her tail is sticking out for all to see, but I can see the faintest of trembles jostling the hairs.

"Derpy?" I ask again, causing her to flinch away from me.

"I just keep feathering everything up."

I blink. Was that the pegasus equivalent of an F-bomb?

"Err... would you kindly elaborate?"

"The coffee lid! The table! The box! Just like always, I'm nothing but a useless klutz. All I want is to help out with Winter Wrap Up, and all I've done all morning is be a nuisance. No wonder I'm always asked to sit out of Winter Wrap Up..."

Oh bloody hell... I'm not the best at encouragement but... well, I hate to see a creature so down in the dumps.

"Derps, we all make mistakes," I say, taking a step closer to Derpy and doing my utmost to sound comforting without being too condescending. "It's life. And yeah, maybe things didn't go perfectly, but that doesn't mean you're useless. You're here, you're helping, and that counts for a lot. Besides, it's Winter Wrap Up, not a military operation. We're all learning as we go."

She peeks out from behind the cart, one eye locking onto mine, and the other eye making a valiant effort to do so. "You really think so?"

I nod. "Absolutely. And look, Applejack's fetching some spare cups for us. We'll get through this, okay?"

"But... but..." Her expression falls again. "I'll just mess up again like I always do."

I take a step closer. "Look, we're a team. We'll figure things out together. And trust me, the ponies here appreciate your effort. You might be a little clumsy sometimes, but you're also genuinely caring and kind. Ponyville loves having you around, Derpy. You're adored by the townsfolk."

Her eyes widen at my words, a mix of surprise and disbelief. "Adored?"

"Yes, Derpy," I emphasize. "Adored. Your quirks make you unique, and the ponies here wouldn't have it any other way. You bring a special kind of joy to this town, and they see that. So, let's shake off these little mishaps, and keep spreading warmth and cheer together, alright?"

Derpy hesitates for a moment, processing my words. A small, hesitant smile begins to form on her face. "You really think they like having me around?"

"Absolutely," I affirm, putting a hoof on her shoulder.

"Hey, over here Miss Tara!" twangs Applejack's voice, catching both mine and Derpy's attention. The mare in question emerges through a parting in the crowd, an apple-emblazoned box sat atop her shoulders. "These should do the trick. Leftovers from Granny Smith's mulled cider toast."

"Absolute legend, cheers," I gush, accepting the box and pulling out stacks of paper cups adorned with little apple prints. "Thanks a bunch, Applejack. You're a lifesaver."

At this point, the crowd seems to sense that their ability to receive warm beverages is teetering towards imminent. Thus, in a manner that is equal parts hypnotic and disturbing, they organise their writhing mass into something that more or less resembles a queue. A disorganised queue, but a queue nonetheless.

"Hi there, Carrot Top!" Derpy exclaims, taking up position next to me as the first pony approaches, one I recognise from her market stall. "Oh you got your mane cut, it suits you! I hope you're having a fantastic Winter Wrap Up! What can we get you today?"

"Thanks Derpy. Yeah, s'going okay but I'm already beat. Some coffee wouldn't go amiss though!"

"One jug of hot caffeinated bean water, coming right up!" I declare, eliciting giggles from Derpy and a look of bemusement from Carrot Top.

And... well, that's pretty much how things go. Derpy greets each pony, one by one, and I serve them their drinks. Though interestingly, for a pony as scatterbrained as she might appear to be, Derpy knows each and every one of them by name. And bear in mind, these are ponies working in sub zero temperatures (that's Celsius, not Fahrenheit, you plebian) and have been going flat out since before sunrise while I was still tucked up warm in bed. If anycreature has the right to act grumpy, it's them.

But instead, each and every one of their faces seems to light up as Derpy calls them by name. She'll drop in an anecdote. Ask about an ill relative. Inquire if their significant other appreciated their Hearth's Warming present. In short? Derpy may be a clumsy oaf, but she has a real knack for reaching out to every pony she meets and maintaining a genuine connection. Certainly better than I could ever manage.

Derpy's interactions are a spectacle to behold. Ponies approach her with smiles and friendly greetings, and they seem to genuinely enjoy her company. Whether it's a casual chat about the festive season or a quick exchange of pleasantries, Derpy effortlessly connects with the ponies one by one. Her infectious enthusiasm seems to bring as much warmth as the piping hot beverages we serve them.

The vast number of ponies working the farm pretty much clears us of our stock, so we need a resupply before we head to the next one. As we make our way back to the Town Hall to replenish our supplies, I find myself looking at Derpy in a new light. The initial frustration I felt over her mishaps has transformed into a genuine appreciation for her role in the community. I notice the subtle gestures of gratitude from the ponies we served. A pat on Derpy's back. A whispered 'thank you'. All reinforcing the idea that her presence is genuinely cherished.

Derpy, oblivious to the impact she has on the townfolk, strolls beside me cheerfully. She hums a tune, even breaking into spontaneous fits of laughter when we refill our cart. She grabs the box of paper cups, and gives me a exaggerated wink when she puts it on the cart. Which gets giggles from me. It's during these moments that I realize Derpy's connection to Ponyville runs deeper than I initially understood. She's not just a character of chaos. She's a symbol of community, resilience, and the beauty found in embracing life's quirks.

And apparently she's able to get me to wax poetic in a way I can normally only achieve with absinthe.

The remainder of our Winter Wrap Up continues with a sense of camaraderie between Derpy and me. Her joy proves to be a valuable asset, lifting the spirits of both the townfolk and, I must admit, myself. Her genuine interactions create an atmosphere of unity and connection as we make rounds through the picturesque town. The route bring us all across town. From the market square, to the schoolhouse, and even to a little cottage on the outskirts owned by a zoologist named Fluttershy.

Her pet bunny is something demonic, I swear. I do not wish to elaborate further.

When we finally approach the square to conclude our rounds, the cart significantly lighter now, a sense of accomplishment washes over us. The sun, having fully arched across the sky and beginning to bathe the horizon in orange, casts a warm glow over Ponyville as the afternoon leans closer to evening. The snow-free landscape begins to sparkle with condensation, twinkling with the shared efforts of the community. Every muscle in my body aches, but I feel pretty bloody pleased with myself.

Pulling up next to our supply tent, we spot Amethyst walking across from town hall wearing her Organization Team vest. Her eyes light up as she spots us unhooking ourselves from the cart, and she gives us an enthusiastic wave as she gallops towards us.

"Tara! Derpy! How'd it go?" she asks, that mischievous glint burning in her eyes.

I exchange a glance with Derpy, and we share a subtle, knowing smile. "It was quite the adventure," I reply. "A few hiccups here and there, but we made it through."

Derpy chimes in with a cheerful nod. "And everypony was so nice! We even played with some bunnies!"

Amethyst chuckles, her eyes flickering between us. "I can only imagine. Derpy, you've got a knack for turning any task into a character-building experience."

Derpy beams at the compliment, seemingly unaware of the deeper meaning behind Amethyst's words.

As we tidy up the cart and prepare to wrap up our Winter Wrap Up duties, Amethyst takes another moment to express her appreciation. "You two did an excellent job. The town is buzzing with positive energy, and I've heard nothing but praise from the residents."

While Derpy gives herself a self-satisfied little squeal of joy, I take a moment to check the flasks on the cart. To my surprise, there's still a decent amount of cocoa left in one of them. A smile plays on my lips as I realize we have a chance to savour the fruits of our labour.

"Hey, Derpy," I call out, catching her attention. "Looks like we've got a little cocoa left. How about a celebratory cup?"

Derpy's eyes light up, and she nods. "Oh, that sounds wonderful, Tara! I could use a warm pick-me-up."

I grab two paper cups from the nearly-empty box, carefully pouring the rich, steaming cocoa into each. The aroma of chocolate fills the air, and I can't help but feel a sense of contentment as the tap gives a small sputter. Just enough for two cups. As I pass one to Derpy, I raise mine in a toast.

"To a successful Winter Wrap Up and unexpected adventures," I say, spotting an amused twinkle in Amethyst's eyes.

Derpy grins, clinking her cup against mine. "To warmth, friendship, and the joy of a little chaos."

We sip the hot cocoa, the warmth spreading through us, both from the delicious beverage and the shared camaraderie. The town square bustles with ponies, wrapping up their own tasks and exchanging laughter. The sun continues its descent in the sky, casting a golden glow over Ponyville.

"So, Derps, what's next for you? Any plans for the rest of the day?"

Derpy shrugs, a carefree expression on her face. "Not really. After the Mayor does her closing speech, I thought I'd just go with the flow, see where the evening takes me. Maybe visit a few friends, or just explore. How about you?"

I chuckle. "Sweet fuck-all, Derpy. And it'll be bloody lovely."

Her eyes widen at my foul mouth, but a smile replaces it as she lets out a scandalous giggle. "Oooh!" she exclaims, pointing a hoof into the crowd. "Oooh, I can see Minuette and Berry Punch! I'mma go say hi!"

"Go on, Derpy," I encourage with a smile. "You bugger off, now. We can catch up later."

Derpy beams at me, gratitude evident in her eyes as the Trottingham-esque slang passes her by. "Thanks, Tara! You're the best! And Amethyst, thanks for letting me be a part of the Winter Wrap Up team. It was a blast!"

Amethyst chuckles. "You were a great addition, Derpy. Feel free to join us anytime. Have fun catching up with your friends!"

"So..." I murmur as Derpy merges into the crowd. "You let her be a part of the team?"

"I did indeed," Amethyst nods, looking distinctly and disturbingly pleased with herself.

"You decided Derpy should be allowed near boiling hot liquids."

"Oh pssh, don't be so dramatic," she laughs with a wave of her hoof. "I already spoke to Nurse Redheart about what happened, she says you'll be fine in a few days."

"It still bloody hurt though."

Amethyst smirks. "Well, consider it a lesson in the unpredictable nature of Winter Wrap Up. Besides, you handled it like a champ. Now come on, looks like the Mayor's ready to give her speech."

We make our way towards the centre of the town square. The crowd gathers around the podium where Mayor Mare stands, ready to give the closing speech to mark the end of Winter Wrap Up. We find a good spot to stand, and join in anticipation as the Mayor unfurls the scroll that I'm guessing holds her speech. It's a whopper, by the looks of things. The sunlight begins to wane, exaggerating the warm, golden glow over Ponyville. Mayor Mare clears her throat, and the crowd hushes in anticipation.

"Ponies of Ponyville!" she announces with a beaming smile, her voice carrying across the square. "What an extraordinary Winter Wrap Up we've had! Today, we worked together, side by side, to usher in the joys of spring. Each and every one of you played a crucial role, and I couldn't be more grateful for your hard work and dedication. Our fields are prepared, the skies are clear, and the enchantment of spring is upon us."

The crowd erupts into cheers and applause, a collective celebration of the collaborative effort. Amethyst and I exchange smiles, sharing in the sense of community pride that permeates the air. Mayor Mare continues, starting a spiel where she thanks all three primary pony races in succession. I only catch the first few lines, as Amethyst nudges my shoulder.

"Actually, what if we slip away and carry on our celebration over a few drinks? A little relaxation after a day of hard work?" she asks wickedly, with a wide grin.

"Oh yeah, what you feeling?"

She raises her eyebrows. "Pub?"

This mare, she knows how to speak my language.

"Pub," I confirm.
> Chapter V - Ponyville, Ponyville
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

You ever get a pretty strong sense that it's not going to be your day, just purely based on the first sentence you hear in the morning?

Some of the cosier little inns I've stayed at, particularly in places like rural Germaneigh, they really know how to treat a guest. One lovely little establishment in Gallopingen, I recieved my requested wake-up call right at the designated time, and was delivered breakfast in bed by the charming elderly mare who ran the place. 'Guten tag, ve haf prepared our speciality breakfast for you, vould you like tea or coffee vith it?' is, on the whole, a pleasant sentence to hear first thing in the morning. Contrastingly, and as I frequently heard in youth hostels across the world, 'Oh yeah, harder, harder, harder, ahhh~' is a more disturbing sentence to hear when you wake up. Especially when said sentence originates from the bunk bed directly beneath yours.

As a result, I can only openly discuss my experiences sleeping in youth hostels with a chill running up my spine and holding a strong beverage in my hoof. Sometimes they were all I could afford, but still better than sleeping in the cold and damp. More or less. Thankfully, Ponyville has been kinder to me. Though not as kind as Germaneigh, I have found that the thick walls of the Hoof & Hearth Inn mean I haven't yet been woken up in the morning to the dulcet tones of a lovey dovey young couple playing 'Hide the Sausage' in a neighbouring room.

Still, this morning I figure I can take it easy. I worked a late shift last night, and I'm not scheduled at all for today, so I let myself have a lie-in. When I wake up, I take a few minutes to allow myself to be warm and cosy. Wrapped up in my bedsheets, snug as a bug on a rug getting hugged by a thug pug with a ugly mug. But, I do resign myself to the fact that while there's technically nocreature to stop me from lazing around in bed all day, it's better for my mental wellbeing (and for my sleep pattern) to get up and get on with things.

I fumble around with a hoof, holding my glasses up to my face and peeking through them at my clock. Quarter to ten. Well, too late to meet Amethyst for breakfast. She knows my schedule is a bit wibbly, somewhat hard to predict, so we have an understanding. She always gets breakfast from Sugarcube Corner before setting up her market stall for the day. On days where my schedule permits, I join her. But realistically, it's getting a bit late for breakfast full-stop now. By my reckoning, and also given I'm not feeling too hungry just yet, I figure it's best to hold on until noon, then see who might be around for lunch. I vaguely recall Lyra and Bon Bon saying they could be free today, so there's a possible plan. 

Maybe I can run some errands in the meantime. Holly asked me to return a book to the library for her, so I can do that. Given that the library is right next door to the inn, I’m not entirely sure why she can’t spare the thirty seconds it’ll take to nip over to drop it off herself. But I said I would, so yeah. Then I can just donder around town for a bit, see what happens. There we go, awake for five minutes and I've already got at least one third of a plan. And my primary school teacher said I would never amount to anything. Well, look who's being productive now, Miss Wisebray!

First things first though, I need a shower. Returning my glasses to the bedside table, I grab a towel from my closet and make for one of the communal washrooms. No point bringing my glasses, my vision may be shite, but I can see enough to get from here to there and back again. And they'd only steam up for the brief time that I'm there. Once I'm in the washroom, I lock the door, crack the window open, and turn on the taps to the shower head. A breeze blows in through the open window, uncharacteristically warm for late spring, but it's pleasant nonetheless. I guess the weather ponies are feeling generous today. Resting my towel on the rack next to the tub, I fold my ears downwards and step into the steaming downpour of water.

Things about donkeys that ponies don't consider, number nine-hundred-and-eighty-seven: our big ears are basically huge funnels. If we don't fold them downwards when in a shower or outside during rain, then they'll fill up with water. It's uncomfortable, and it opens us up to potential infections, but it does make listening to local politics moderately more tolerable. When rain comes down, listen to the ground. That's what Nan always used to tell me.

Warm water that doesn't go in my ears, and instead is used in conjunction with the application of Hazel's Mane & Tail, invigorates me. By the time I have thoroughly cleansed myself, in the physical sense and less so in the moral sense, I feel wide awake and a bit more willing to face the day head-on. Shutting off the water, I step out of the tub, grab my towel, and go about the lengthy process of drying myself off. Though at one point my ears incline backwards, drawing my squinted attention towards the window, but I don't think I see anything out of the ordinary there. Burst of wind, maybe?

When I'm dry, I head back to my room, grab my glasses, give myself a once-over with a brush, and check the clock again. Half ten. Guess I must have had a bit more of a luxuriant shower than I originally intended. Ah well, I feel better for it. I'm freshly showered, well-rested, last night's shift was busy but I brought in lots of tips, and hopefully I'll be meeting some good friends for lunch. 

My positive outlook for the day is strong, stable, and ultimately lasts for around four minutes. 

See, I head downstairs, making to pop my head into Merry and Holly's office. Grab that book that Holly wanted me to return. When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I'm greeted by a peculiar sight. A mare I recognise as a local window cleaner, name of Prism Shine, turns to leave in a huff. Merry is sat at the front desk, looking apologetic. Her tender expression follows the window cleaning mare out, but then her eyes fall on me, and immediately her face twists into a scowl.

"Tara," she seethes as the front door slams shut. "Did you indecently expose yourself to the window cleaner?"

There's that first sentence of the day I was alluding to. 

For the first few moments, I'm too stunned by the question to even attempt to formulate a thought. My jaw lowers, steeling itself to excrete words that my brain has failed to conjure. It hangs there for a while, generating a vague noise of no apparent meaning, until it thinks better of its current position and rises up again. As it does this, my brain starts to fire up, signalling my jaw to cease its upwards retreat, and lower itself again. However, somewhere in deep dark synapses, the thoughts that my brain is trying to conjure seem to think better of making themselves known. They retreat into the void, never to be seen again. Once again, my mouth is only capable of making unintelligible noises as it hangs open. 

Simultaneously, my ears are also acting of their own accord, twitching occasionally atop my head as the left one slowly begins to fall limply forwards. As it enters my vision, the movement gives my brain the genuine kickstart it needs to pull itself out of the stalling situation that Merry had thrust me into. Finally, words reach the mouth. Imperfect words, but the best words I can manage given the current circumstances.

"You... uh... you wanna run that by me again, Merry?"

Her scowl deepens. "You heard me, Tara. Prism said she saw you... ugh, handling your private parts."

Now, not only having had some time to process Merry's words, but also with the additional context, my brain shifts up into next gear.

"Handling my... oh, you don't mean she was cleaning the windows while I was using the shower?" I moan, my ears now tilted all the way backwards as the weight of the situation dawns on me. That noise at the window when I was drying myself off...

"I didn't know you were in the shower," Merry huffs. "All she told me is that you were being real inappropriate."

"Merry, I wasn't handling my privates, I was drying them with a towel! What the bloody hell else am I going to do, grab a newspaper and squat over a radiator for twenty minutes while I bring them up to temperature? I've already managed to suffer burns in that general vicinity once recently, I don't much fancy going for a birdie. Anyway, that's a bathroom window, what does she expect she'll see? Her fault for peeking."

"Oh, heck it all!" Merry bursts out, burying her face in her hooves. "Look, Tara, we've had a lousy breakfast run this morning. And now you've caused a lot of grief here that I really don't have time to deal with, but I'll still have to go smooth things over with Prism once the dust settles. Just... just... ugh!" Her horn ignites, and she levitates a book in my direction... at very high speed. "Look, go take Holly's book back to the library, and get out of here until I've had a chance to cool off."

Yeesh, who pissed in her cider this morning? But, no matter how gifted in the art of tactlessness I'm capable of being, I'm wise enough in this instance to take the olive branch she's offering to me. 'Fuck off until I'm not angry at you' is an entire mood, one I can relate to. Doing my utmost not to wheeze at the force of Holly's book impacting my sternum, I flash Merry a cheesy grin. By all rights I shouldn't, there's a time and place, but my face contorts before I realise this. Then I make haste for the door.

Something's definitely off. Like, Merry has always been Mrs Chilled, for as long as I've known her. Holly is the one to lose her rag, and Merry is the one to talk her down. And you'd think that a window cleaner must be used to seeing all kinds of sordid stuff on her rounds. I was drying my bits off with a towel, it's not like I was going to town on myself over a bottle of wine and a lingerie magazine. 

I pull the front door open, pondering if there's something bigger at play today. What I'm not prepared for, though, is just how immediately I get an answer to said pondering.

It's not the yellow pegasus haphazardly riding through town on a unicycle that astonishes me. It's not the fact that she's accompanied by a crowd of grumpy looking ponies, yowling obscenities and jostling each other that astonishes me either. It's especially not that the yellow pegasus is attempting (and failing) to juggle several particularly large fish that leaves me in any form of astonishment. Maybe I failed a perception check, because I barely notice any of it. No, it's what's happening in the sky that really catches my attention.

"Merry," I call back into the front room of the inn. "Is there a good reason the clouds are in a chequerboard pattern this morning?"





I've been around. I'm well travelled. I've seen some pretty cool stuff. There are many things that I still can't quite confirm in my head that I have actually seen, even if I know I have in fact seem them. What I completely cannot understand, though, is a phenomenon that seems unique to Equestria. It might be present elsewhere, but I never encountered it until I reached Equestria. Nocreature ever actually acknowledges it, and yet it's such an ingrained part of society.

It's a phenomenon without a formal name, so I've taken to calling it 'The Magic of Music' if I'm feeling kind. And 'Tunes of a Deranged Populace' if I'm not.

In short, it is the infrequent occurrence of the outburst of song. Sometimes by one pony, sometimes by more than one pony. Songs that, as far as I can tell, they're making up on the spot. And yet they all know the lyrics, the rhythmic structure, everything. If the universe decrees that the moment calls for it, it conjures up a musical interlude and uploads the song directly into the brain of the pony (or ponies) involved.

My first actual encounter with this phenomenon, full-stop, was not that long before my first arrival in Ponyville. I was in Salt Lick City, stopping to quench my thirst in a dive bar. On the early days of my travels I would have avoided places like that, but over time I learned (often the hard way) how to defend myself. In this particular establishment, two stallions very loudly took a disliking to each other over each of their favoured Equestrian Hoofball teams. 

I'm sure you can imagine the type of stallion, the kind with a Hay Burger in place of a brain. Now put two of them in a scenario where they disagree with each other. Yep, we've all seen the type.

Regardless, they got themselves worked up, egging each other on, drinking more and more of the cheap piss that the locals laughingly had the nerve to call 'beer'. In the back on my mind, I was watching the whole thing expecting the two of them to either start shanking each other, or start shagging each other. Nope, neither was correct. They starting singing to each other. 

At this point, I must make a confession: I love country music. 

So when they both simultaneously broke out into a ditty that, as far as I could gather going by the chorus, was titled 'Honky Tonk Tussle' ? I was amused, bemused, and engrossed in equal measures. Like, it was a genuine bop, my tail started swishing in rhythm with the banjo music and everything. Where the banjo music was coming from, I have no idea, not a single pony in sight actually had one. 

Looking back, I do wonder if they put hallucinogens in my cider.

Out of absolutely nowhere, these two stallions were singing along to a song. Pulling new lyrics out of thin air. Singing in unison to a chorus that they can't possibly have both already known, and yet they did. And on the final run of the chorus, the entire bar actually joined in. I noped out of that bar when the music died down, and the two stallions shared a hearty laugh and patted each other's backs. The catchy music wasn't enough to counteract how creeped out I was by the whole ordeal.

I can't say for certain whether or not witnessing a stabbing would have been less traumatic.

My second exposure to this phenomenon, happened in the afternoon of the day I'd accidentally played with my no-no parts in plain view of the window cleaner.

As it turns out, there was a good reason the clouds were in a chequerboard pattern that morning, just not a satisfactory one. The librarian, the one who I had been unwilling to believe was the personal student of an immortal goddess? As it turns out, she was the personal student of an immortal goddess. Go figure. And the night before, while I was serving rowdy patrons in the bar of the inn, she'd been fucking around with dark magic.

Well, I say dark magic, but rumours about town are that she'd been working on unfinished spells from Star Swirl the Bearded. I only vaguely recall that name from history class, but I do remember enough to know that if there's one thing you don't fuck around with, it's old magic. And apparently, she'd been fucking around with that magic in proximity of some magic crystals that were connected to the spirits of some of her friends, rewriting their intended destinies and swapping their tramp stamps in the process.

Which sounds an awful lot like dark magic to me.

The bewildering cloud pattern that morning was the result of a switch up between a high-ranking member of the weather team and a local fashionista. Said fashionista was then single-hoofedly altering the weather across town, with the number of casualties she caused as a result simply a minor problem not worth concerning about. But there must have been a lingering eye for patterning and details, resulting in her causing the chequerboard cloud pattern for a fifteen-mile radius around Ponyville, with the rest of the weather team nowhere to be seen for reasons known only to themselves.

You following me? Because I had to have it explained to me several times, imbibing more and more whiskey on each attempt, just to make the story sound remotely feasible.

Anyway, that morning I tried to return Holly's library book. But the library was closed, the librarian out and about trying to fix up her fucky wucky. Almost all the ponies in town were in a foul mood, as a result of the weather that was alternatively flash-freezing and chargrilling them. I managed to avoid most of it by pretending to have a lounge that needed redecorating, and spent several hours 'thoroughly inspecting' everything that was part of the Spring Sale at Quills & Sofas.

I eventually managed to slip away without having to commit to buying anything, grateful for the distraction of an impromptu parade storming past the shop front singing 'a true true friend helps a friend in need'. Definitely the tune of a deranged populace.

That was a few months ago now, and it's coming up to half a year I've spent living here in Ponyville. Yeah, the townsfolk are absolute nutters, but they've all got good hearts. Despite the peculiarities of this town and its inhabitants, there is a certain charm to it that wraps around me like a comforting embrace. I'm kinda struggling to pull myself loose from it, to be honest.

Today, the summer sun bears down on Ponyville with unyielding warmth, causing sweat to form beneath the straps of my harness. The air is filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the distant hum of cicadas. As I approach the town border with the land that makes up Sweet Apple Acres, the familiar scent of ripe apples joins the sweet scents wafting through the air. The occasional fly buzzes towards me, but my ears are expert fly swatters. They bring the buzzing bastards down without any conscious input on my part. When the time finally comes for me to shuffle off my mortal coil, I'll have a lot of explaining to do to the ferrymare.

The wagon I'm pulling rattles along, unburdened by any cargo. It's a collection day today, more cider for the inn. I'll probably have a pint of it myself when I finish the job, I normally do. Especially on a warm day like today. The thought of this does spur me on, encouraging me forward towards the farm. Though an overheard conversation does linger in my mind, a customer at the inn mentioning to Merry that they were worried for upcoming supply levels in regards to Apple family products. Apparently they'd been having pest problems.

Hopefully the problems aren't too bad, the Apple family are a good sort and I'd hate to see them stuggle. Plus, this jenny loves their varieties of cider, and I'd very much hate to deal with withdrawal.

As I stroll along the dusty path, I pass by familiar sights. A weathered scarecrow standing guard at the edge of the fields, rows of meticulously tended apple trees, and the red barn in the distance. The vibrant blue sky stretches endlessly overhead, interrupted only by the occasional fluffy white cloud lazily drifting by. I feel a sense of peace and contentment I've grown used to in this town as I continue my leisurely walk, the warmth of the sun kissing at my pelt.

Then I pause as my ears give a twitch that is in no way related to flies. Is that... singing? 

I bring the wagon to a halt, in a spot that, curiously enough, is the same spot I set up the drinks stall with Derpy during Winter Wrap Up. Without the sound of the wheels crunching over the gravel trail, I can hear it very clearly. Glum, moody singing, coming from behind a row of trees nearby. My interest piqued, I pull the sweaty straps off of me, and head over to investigate.

Nosy? Yeah, fair enough. But the ponies of this town have grown up with this music magic dealio, it's still new and novel to me. 

I hop over a fence, passing through a grove of trees that look a little on the sickly side. I guess there may be some truth to the rumours about pests then, as I also have to make tender steps to avoid the rotting carcasses of what I assume were once apples. Now they litter the ground at the tree roots, kicking up an unpleasant smell as I walk past. The singing grows louder and louder as I get nearer to a large clearing, but a shrub blocks my vision when I reach the edge. I fold my ears downwards out of sight, and crane onto hooftips to peek over it.

Six mares are there, one of them stood cowering as the rest of them march around them in circles. I recognise Pinkie Pie straight away, looking jolly as ever, but hardened scowls cover each of the others' faces. Applejack is there too, identifiable by the hat she never takes off. In the centre, piggy in the middle, is the zoologist Fluttershy. And interestingly, a princess joins the intimidation circle.

Oh? Yeah, the librarian who ballsed up Star Swirl's spell got made into an alicorn princess as a reward for cleaning up her own mess. Yes, seriously. No, I don't get it either.

Princess Twilight Sparkle is chanting along with them. By all accounts, a pony who should know better than to gang up on a cowering mare, owing to the fact that she's supposed to be the 'Princess of Friendship'. Then there's the town fashionista whose name escapes me, and a rainbow-maned member of the weather team.

'Stop the bats! Stop the bats! Make them go, and not come back!' they chant.

I back away from the shrub. "Nope, bollocks to that, I know a cultist chant when I see one," I declare to myself, turning on the spot and heading back to my wagon. 

After what I just witnessed, I need that glug of cider more than ever. Conclusive evidence has been achieved, it's most definitely the tunes of a irreparably deranged populace. 





I wake up, after noon, to a splitting headache.

Let's establish things straight away, no it's not a hangover. I do actually have some semblance of self control, I only drink socially. Or to counter moments of crippling loneliness. No, included in the optional extras I was encoded with at the time of my birth, as well as deteriorating eyesight and an abhorrent aversion to grass pollen, I seem to be one of the lucky group of creatures susceptible to summer migraines. Heat, when mixed with certain changes to ambient pressure? Gives me the spicy headaches. 

Well, anycreature who suffers migraines can tell you that 'headache' is an accurate descriptor, much in the same way that 'a bit of a bump' is an accurate descriptor of falling from the roof of a four-storey building into the path of an oncoming train. But for the sake of simplifying it down for the folk who think they understand, we'll just continue to refer to it by the 'splitting headache' euphemism.

As I said. I wake up, after noon, to a splitting headache. Tail tucked firmly between my legs, I venture down to the small office behind the inn's front desk. Holly locates the medical supplies, and finds me the kind of medicine you'd offer a stampeding elephant that needs to mellow out. It helps.

That is, until, the disturbingly loud music starts outside.

As my ears make a daring effort to retreat all the way into my skull, Holly tries to comfort me with back rubs, and explains that this is actually the third musical interlude to take place in the town today. I guess that I was just so deep in slumber, that the previous two had failed to rouse me. It's the birthday of one of the weather ponies, the rainbow one, and so Pinkie Pie had been in the stages of planning a party. Until another party planner had showed up, and initiated what I can only assume to be a turf war.

Musical interlude number one, a whole gaggle of townsfolk, singing proudly on parade about how Pinkie Pie is Ponyville's most powerfully proficient party planning pony.

*ahem*

Musical interlude number two, was the interloper arriving out of the blue, and flamboyantly explaining how he is actually the superior party planner.

Even in my state of droopy eared foggy brain, I'm able to make a wild stab in the dark. This third musical interlude to spill out onto the streets? It will be the two of them locked in mortal combat, to determine which of them is the party planner for all ages. As if that is a measurable metric.

I'm not drunk enough for this shit.

Though my biggest mistake occurs when I saunter over towards the door of the inn, morbid curiosity winning out as I tell myself: even if I feel like I've been beaten up by an Ursa Major with its eyes on my pocket money, any turf war involving Pinkie Pie is something I have to see. So I open the door, sticking my head outside and following the noises to their origin down the street.

Next to a cheese wedge shaped parade float with two live cows on it, a thirty foot high red and blue tank is trundling down the street. Its cannon, roughly four or five times longer than the tank is tall, is pointing along the street with the rainbow pegasus dangling from its muzzle. Slightly closer to me though, a crane is trundling between the rows of houses. Hanging from it is an eight-tiered, rainbow coloured piñata that is about the same size as all the buildings surrounding it.

I have about two seconds to process this rather substantial quantity of visual inputs, the whole time wondering what was in the pills that Holly just gave me, as the words sung by Pinkie's interloper roll down the street.

"...of the cheese supreme cannonball surprise!"

At which point, the cannon on the tank fires.

My entire vision turns white. The sound of the cannon firing echoes and pings back and forth through my skull with an endless barrage of ricochets. As the decibels surge, my temples pulse with a rhythm that mimics the beat of war drums. Each soundwave feels like a dagger penetrating the very core of my being. It isn't just noise. It is a monstrous force. With each reverberation, my stomach churns in protest, and my hooves shoot to my head as if trying to shield it from an invisible assailant. 

As I collapse on the floor, I become dimly aware of Pinkie singing in reply to the cannon fire, as she dances around atop the giant piñata.

"¡Dale, dale, dale, no pierdas el tino, porque si lo pierdes, pierdes el camino!"

Then the entire piñata falls, landing atop the rainbow pegasus (who had apparently survived the cannon blast to the face), with Pinkie leaping clear and landing with a roll a short distance away. For a brief moment, my addled mind does spare a brain cell or two to be concerned for both ponies. However, Pinkie is brushing herself and looking fine. And given the piñata is made of cardboard and paper, it doesn't seem to have hurt the rainbow one any more than the cannon did. I just about make out her expression. In a word: inconvenienced.

Oh, you poor little lamb.

What happened after that though? I'm not too sure, to be honest. First thing I did was stagger towards the nearest toilet stall in the Hoof & Hearth, the communal downstairs ones, and made a long distance call on the porcelain telephone. Then, according the Merry and Holly, the drugs really started to kick in. They had to help me back to my room, where I slept for another twenty hours.

It was a very spicy headache.





Saturday afternoons are the best.

In an attempt to give me something resembling a routine, Merry and Holly agreed fairly early on during my tenure working at the inn, that Saturdays are to be my one guaranteed day off a week. The rest of the week, I'm on a flexible and changing schedule to best fit when they anticipate I'm needed most. Sometimes I'll be working super duper late Friday night and will have a lie-in on Saturday morning. Or, I'll be starting first thing Sunday morning, and will need to get to bed at a sensible time. But Saturday afternoons, consistently, are mine to enjoy.

This particular Saturday afternoon, I find myself at a booth with Amethyst, Lyra, and Bon Bon. Holly is working the bar, and brings drinks aplenty on trays balanced on her spread wings. I'm next on shift for Sunday afternoon, so I have some lovely wiggle room to get a little bit sloshed. Just not too sloshed.

All our schedules seem to align for Saturday afternoons as well. The market only operates on a half-day on Saturdays, as do many of the shops in Ponyville. So, Amethyst is freed up from her stall. Lyra isn't tied down at the music shop. And since, by definition, Bon Bon's homemade sweets business means she works from home, she has the most flexibility of any of us.

The only absent faces from our standard group are Vinyl and Octavia. Apparently they're off on some trip to Trottingham to visit Octavia's parents. Shame, it would have been nice having them here. Plus they both seemed a bit apprehensive about going in the first place. Problematic relatives, I guess. I can relate.

Still, we have a pleasant time. Conversation flows easily between us, and we share some good laughs. Periodically, both Merry and Holly drop in to add their own bits of chatter, but since they're both working today they can't linger too long. I go through several ciders, enough to get me at the 'pleasant tingly lightheadedness' level of drunkenness. Where everything is chill, silly, and feel-good. If I can just maintain this exact level of buzz, it'll be a great evening. And I shouldn't wake up with too bad of a hangover, as long as I down a couple of cups of water before bed.

Huh... is it the drink playing tricks, or has Amethyst scooted closer to me since we got here?

Before I can really unpack this thought and give it a more meticulous examination, a bustle outside the window draws my attention. Our attention, as my three companions all turn their heads to glance outside as well. A crowd of townsfolk is filing past the window, all marching in the same direction. Excited chattering and laughter can be heard, which draws the attention of the several other ponies littered around the bar area of the inn.

I pull myself up in my seat, stretching to get a good look. In doing so, one of my hooves comes to rest atop one of Amethyst's on the table. She glances to me, then immediately recoils her hoof, turning back away from me and blushing as her eyes dart back to the window. Interesting behaviour, but my curiosity is drawn outside right now.

"Where are they all going?" Lyra asks.

Bon Bon cranes her neck slightly. "Looks like the Northern road out of town."

"Hospital escapees?" Lyra adds.

"You what?" Amethyst scoffs. "What makes you say that?"

I just nod to the window. "She's right, look at them! Most of them are trussed up like wounded soldiers. Like I was during Winter Wrap Up. Either Ponyville General just lost half its population, or foreign fashions are starting to make a splash here."

And that's not just me being facetious. It's actually a fashion trend. I saw it when I was in Neighpon, small gatherings of ponies and dragons with eyepatches, bandages, splints, you name it. After an awkward discussion with a local in a bar, over a bottle of sake and a Neighponese translation dictionary, I learned that the subset is named Guro fashion. It's a bit wild, sure, but they're out there living their best lives I guess.

For a few moments, the four of us sit in silence. Processing the sight of the walking wounded converging in the same direction. Then we exchange a few glances. Knowing glances. We're all thinking the same thing.

"Follow them?" Lyra and Bon Bon ask in sync.

"Follow them," Amethyst and I agree.

Depositing a pile of small golden coins on the table, we make to leave. I'm initially a little woozy and unsteady on my hooves, owing to my volume of imbibed ciders, but Amethyst is quickly by my side to steady me. She's a good egg. We pass by curious faces of bargoers, bidding Merry a quick wave goodbye as we pass the front desk and head out into the street.

Almost instantly, we're swept up in the crowd. And being at least a head shorter than any of the ponies in said crowd, I'm immediately lost to where we're going. My ears dance around above me, picking up on snippets of excited conversation, but with all the noise around us there's nothing discernible I can filter out. But there is something else, above the conversations. In the distance ahead of us, presumably the sound that drew the first dregs of a crowd in the first place. Is that... calliope music?

With the sheer mass of bodies, I struggle and strain to keep Lyra and Bon Bon in sight, but Amethyst never once leaves my side. With the slightly elevated level of intoxication I'm dealing with, I do actually have one or two moments of feeling a smidge overwhelmed. Occasional glances back to Amethyst, just to confirm I have a companion in the immediate vicinity, helps maintain my calmness though. But she keeps looking away any time I look at her. Peculiar.

Eventually, as we get further out of town and the roads become wider, the density of the crowd lets up a little bit. At least, in a sense that allows me to grab all three of my compatriots and pull them to the outer edges, letting us traverse with a bit more breathing space. If we were to use density in reference to IQ level, that topic requires more speculation. We do, in fact, get an answer to where the crowd is leading, as we crest a ridge in the road right on the furthest edge of town, and a big top tent reveals itself in a field in front of us.

And I do mean furthest reaches of town. I've not been out this far very much, haven't had much need to, but I recognise the wire mesh fencing that denotes the outer boundary fencing of Sweet Apple Acres. Given the significant span of land that the farm covers, we've managed to head quite far out of town. The big top is set up in a field right next to the Apple family's land.

"I didn't know the circus was coming to town," Bon Bon gasps.

"It isn't," declares Amethyst. "At least, there aren't any circuses approved to be running in town right now."

She would know, to be fair. On top of her day job at the market stall, Amethyst seems to be very involved in the general running of the town. At least, as involved as a creature can be without it becoming her career. It's fair to say she's in the inner circle of a great many ponies of power, including the Mayor. Plus, she seems to know much more than the average citizen about upcoming town events. Sometimes it can be fascinating to hear her insights on current affairs.

Going with the flow, we join the crowd heading down the hill and through the parted curtains of the big top. Inside, a wide space for an audience faces a large stage, with some funky looking machine on a wheeled wagon sat atop it. We don't have to wait long for an explanation, as only a few minutes later, the firefly lanterns dim. A green aura of magic turns the handle on the big machine. Floodlights illuminate two silhouettes.

"Thank you, one and all, for your attendance, and we guarantee that your time here will not be spent in vain!" one announces.

"In fact, we think it will prove to be the most valuable time you've ever spent!" the other adds, as the curtain rises revealing two showponies in straw hats and bow ties.

"Nope," I declare, turning to walk away, dragging Amethyst, Lyra and Bon Bon with me.

"Huh?" Amethyst baulks.

"What?" Bon Bon asks.

"C'mooon," Lyra begs.

"Nope," I repeat as I haul them out into daylight, putting as much distance between us and the tent as I can. "Look, I've seen crooks like that a dozen times. If they have to set up a seedy pavilion on the outskirts of town to peddle their product, it's a scam."

What follows is a minute or two of Bon Bon telling me to give them the benefit of the doubt, Lyra asking me just to go and see what they're selling, while Amethyst umms and errs on account of swearing that she recognised the two of them from somewhere. The whole time, we're treated to a musical backdrop of their dodgy sales pitch. I think I hear them mention a tonic.

"Guys," I say, cutting them all off when they start talking over each other. "If you want to go in there and fall for their silver tongues, fine. But I don't need any snake oil from Tosspot and Wankstain. On your own wallets be it."

At this moment, almost as if to highlight what I was try to get across, the singing gets louder as a different voice joins in, getting closer and closer as it exits through the curtains of the tent.

"I won't need these crutches to dance out the doooooooooor~" the stallion sings.

Then, right before our eyes, he breathes a sigh of relief. Coughs into a hoof. Turns on the spot, and heads off around the back of the big top, apparently failing to notice us.

"Whu... what just happened?" Lyra asks.

"Audience plant," I explain. "He must be in on the act. Gets called up to the stage, they work their magic on him, he's cured! Ba-da-bing, they sell their product to the gathering of suckers."

The three ponies just gape in disbelief.





"I dunno," Amethyst sighs as we stroll through the park. "All life is for me right now is work. Work, work, work. I swear, I'm like the poster filly for adulting."

I scoff. "Seriously, adulting should come with a manual or something. One that's actually legible, preferably. Not like the manuals you get with flat-pack furniture."

"Ugh, don't even remind me. I ended up with a bookshelf that looks like it's doing yoga. But hey, it's standing, so close enough. You up to much this weekend?"

"Actually, for once, I have both days off. Either I could bum about town, or do something productive. And as much as I regret it when I don't occupy myself, a good old hecking laze does sound pretty therapeutic."

"Orrrr..." Amethyst drawls. "Maybe we hit up the spa at last?"

I let out a groan, stopping in place. "Ammy, you know I don't go in for all that girly shit."

Amethyst answers my groan with an indignant scoff as she turns to face me. "Tara, it's not just for girls, plenty of stallions go there too."

"Oh good, I can whip my dong out without fear of judgement."

"Huh," she mutters, narrowing her eyes at me. "You know, sarcasm is the lowest form of humour."

My ears fold back. "Lowest form of humour? Amethyst, my entire species is burdened with the nickname of 'ass', there's no form of humour below me."

ZAP!

I blink, suddenly aware of a heavy weight pulling me down, like my entire body has rapidly packed on a double dose of winter pudge. My ears lean in a direction somewhere behind me. I whirl on the spot, spotting a cackling white unicorn mare, skipping merrily away pursued by... is that the baby dragon that lives in the library? Oh right, he's got the hots for the fashionista pony who runs Carousel Boutique. 

Wait... oh no... fashionista? No...

With a gulp, I glance downwards.

"Amethyst," I gasp, gawking at the frilly pink gown that now adorns my form, complete with ribbons and lace. "What the heck just happened?"

Amethyst, similarly dressed, bursts into laughter, doubling over with glee. "Oh, Tara, looks like we've been magically dolled up! And might I say, you make quite the adorable filly!"

"Jenny!" I howl. "And why the fuck am I wearing a dress?!"

Amethyst wipes a tear from her eye, straightening her own gown. "Come on, Tara, lighten up! Rarity's dresses are renowned across Equestria, her waiting list is way over a year long. And we just got gowns for free! Isn't that, like, an honour or something?"

I huff, tugging at the lacy frills of the dress. "An honour? More like a curse! I'm not exactly the poster donkey for fashion statements, and now I'm parading around in this... this... monstrosity!"

Grabbing, pulling, wriggling, I do absolutely everything in my power to get the garish pink affront to nature off of me, but I can't get any purchase on it. The whole time, Amethyst just sits there, admiring her own gown in a manner that is self indulgent, but with notable traces of schadenfreude that manage to slip through. Her eyes keep darting to me, and she bites her lip in a blatant attempt to hold back further laughter.

I tug. I wrestle. I grasp. The dress stays on. In one last effort, I say goodbye to what tattered shreds of dignity I may have had bustling around in my pockets with loose change and lint. With a mighty heave, I hike the back of the dress upwards, trying to lift it up as I reverse out of it. Instead, as I lean down to give one more attempt to wiggle out, my calculated risk demonstrates for me my lack of mathematical skill. 

Having misjudged the sheer weight of the gown, I'm startled as I feel my back legs lift off the ground. My face slams down as my front legs buckle. In one snowball of pink satin, frilly lace, and a very unamused donkey, I roll forwards, flipping over into a heap on the ground. Pain erupts down my spine as I land hard on my back, with pins and needles shooting from my neck to my tail. Air is yanked from my lungs as I am lost in a tangled, dark, silky world. Reaching up with my shaking front hooves, I pull the dress back down again. Amethyst stands above me, looking down with a toothy grin.

"What?!" I demand, puffing and wheezing.

Her eyebrows rise by a fraction of an inch. "This is the best day of my life."





Everything hurts.

I lie in bed, surrounded by the comforting embrace of darkness, seeking solace from the world outside. The room, dim in daylight thanks to blackout curtains, provides a sanctuary from the day's demands. Merry and Holly took one look at me this morning, excused me from my shift, and sent me straight back to bed. But no matter how comfortable, even my bed can't protect me from this. A sudden tickle seizes my nostrils, and before I can brace myself, a violent sneeze erupts, shattering the silence like thunder in the night. 

"BWWWAAAHHHCCHHOOOOOO!"

Each convulsion reverberates through my frail frame, sending shockwaves of discomfort through every sinew. It feels as if my entire being is caught in a storm. The darkness offers no refuge as my body convulses, leaving me gasping for air. My eyes, once the conduits to the dimly lit world around me, now betray me with an unbearable itch, urging me to claw at them in desperate relief. Every blink feels like rubbing salt into an open wound, exacerbating the agony that intensifies with each passing moment. The only option is to keep them tightly shut, with their puffed swelling adding insult to injury.

My ears twitch as they detect hoofsteps coming up the stairs nearby. Moments later, a knock on the door echoes through my dark sanctuary. There's a slight creak, presumably as the unseen arrival steps in, but I dare not open my eyes to see who. It stings too much.

"Hey Tara," whispers Holly's voice, gentle and sympathetic. "Merry went out and got you these antihistamines, strongest ones the drug store would sell her. You take them and rest up, alright?"

Two gentle sounds, a clacking rustle and a high pitched clink, indicate that she's put the pills down on my bedside table, and brought a glass of water too. Merry, I owe you so much. I attempt to conjure a voice, a mere whisper of gratitude, but my throat feels too constricted. I manage only a faint whimper of thanks. Or at least, what I hope Merry understands to be the closest I can manage to thanks right now.

When the door clicks again, signalling her exit, I reach out blindly towards where she put down the water and the pills. But I feel it again. Oh no... please... my neck hurts so much from the repetitive motion...

"Bwuhh.... uhhh.... uhh... BWWAAAHCHOOO!"
> Chapter VI - Follow That Little Star
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The only thing funnier than a conspiracy theorist is a very drunk conspiracy theorist.

"I'm telling you guys, seriously," Lyra insists, her words a slurred mess. "They're not made up. They are totally, one *hic* hundo percent real."

Bon Bon nudges Lyra with an elbow. "Listen hun, don't you think you've had too much to drink? Because I really don't think everypony wants to hear about humans again."

"Huh?" grunts a response, as Lyra's head lolls forward to peer into her half-drunken stein. "Not yet I haven't, Bonnie."

With a scrunched face that screams equal parts apology and bemusement, Bon Bon glances around at the rest of us gathered around the table. A silent plea for support? Definitely.

Adjusting her sunglasses, Vinyl chimes in, as her own frothing mug hovers in front of her. "Lyra, love ya babe, but humans? Really? I mean, come on, I've performed all around Equestria. Never seen a human."

Lyra waves a dismissive hoof. "No, no, no! They're real, and they have hands! Imagine what we could do with hands, like... like playing the lyre with fingers instead of hooves! Or brushing our teeth! Or picking things up! Just, like, can you imagine the *hic* possibilities?"

"But you're a unicorn," Amethyst points out. "You can do all that stuff with magic."

Quietly sipping at her own (non-alcoholic) drink, a very subdued-looking Octavia treads lightly in to the conversation. "Perhaps Lyra has stumbled upon some forbidden ancient texts about mythical creatures in her musical studies."

This elicits a guffaw from Vinyl, who has a foreleg wrapped around Octavia. "Hey, there's an idea. Maybe she's onto something. I mean, who's to say what's out there beyond Equestria?"

"Tara, I believe," Amethyst chimes in. "Well travelled as she is."

Five pairs of eyes fall on me. The background noise of the Hoof & Hearth suddenly becomes deafeningly loud, as my group of friends look to me, expecting an answer. And I can only deflect them so long by sipping at my cider, but luckily, Lyra steps in again.

"C'moooooon guys," she implores, right as I reach the last dregs of my stein. "You all believe in *hic* donkeys, right? Why not in humans."

I swallow my drink. "Well, for one thing, there's a donkey sat right here in front of you. Case of point, me. I'm sat here right in front of you." Making a big show of it to get the point across, I give my ears a waggle. "And you should also take note of the fact that any humans that might or might not exist have resolutely failed to join us for drinks tonight."

"Potato tomato."

"I don't think you're in the right frame of mind for debates."

"I'll debate your mom!"

Alright then, the point was lost in transit and most definitely failed to reach Lyra. Next time I'll pay for expedited delivery.

"And I think that's enough cider for you tonight, sweetie," Bon Bon interjects, pushing Lyra's drink into the middle of the table. 

Amethyst seizes the opportunity to redirect the conversation. "Well, if we're on the subject of mythical creatures," she begins, flashing a mischievous grin. "Did you all hear about the elusive Diamondback Dragons that supposedly live in the Everfree Forest?"

Going by the subtle rise in her eyebrows, I assume that Vinyl's eyes light up with intrigue. "Diamondback Dragons? Seriously? Now that's something I'd pay to see at one of my gigs."

Octavia, halving Vinyl’s efforts, raises a single eyebrow as her interest piques. "I must admit, I've never heard of Diamondback Dragons. Are they dangerous?"

Leaning forward, Amethyst mutters in a conspiratorial tone. "The legends say they guard hidden treasure troves deep within the forest. Some say their scales are made of pure gemstones, and if you catch a glimpse, you're in for a lifetime of good luck."

"Diamondback Dragons, you say?" Lyra perks up, the mention of mythical creatures capturing her attention once more.  "Do they have hands, too?"

This elicits a nudge in the side from Bon Bon. "Lyra, not everything needs hands. Besides, we're talking about mythical creatures. Who knows what crazy anatomy they might have?"

I chuckle. "I wouldn't mind some good luck. Perhaps we should organize a daring expedition into the Everfree Forest and try to spot one of these 'Diamondback Dragons'."

"Hey, that'd be an idea!" Amethyst gasps. "How about a camping trip, just the six of us?"

Bon Bon reels backwards, ears falling limp. "W-what? You mean, actually go find dragons in the Everfree Forest?"

Before I can stop myself, my eyes roll in their sockets of their own accord. There's no way they can actually believe the yarn that Amethyst spun just now. But, according to the uncertain eyes on most of the ponies' faces (at least the ones that aren't wearing sunglasses), they seem to believe her. So she strings them along even further.

"Well firstly, Diamondback Dragons aren't aggressive to ponies," she explains. "And secondly, I've been trying to suggest we go camping for years now, and we always say we'll do it but never commit. Well if we have to declare it an expedition for us to actually go, then let's just take a leap and do it already!"

Murmurs of agreement roll across the table. Except from the corner where Vinyl and Octavia are sat. I try not to stare, Octavia's been real down in the dumps all night. At a guess, the trip to see her parents didn't go so well. Vinyl, meanwhile, has been very outspoken tonight, bantering with us, but very subtly shifting the conversation away from certain topics. The unspoken message has been crystal clear.

'Don't ask.'

And in my periphery, I see Vinyl leaning backwards to whisper in Octavia's ear. She seems to mull over Vinyl's words for a few moments, and then gives a very gentle shake of her head.

"We'll sit this one out, guys," Vinyl announces. "Both our schedules are just, completely full. Go without us."

The rest of us exchange some glances. We seem to collectively agree not to press the matter. It bums me out, sure, but they're grown mares. Whatever's up, I'm sure they'll talk about it when they feel up to the task.

"Only if you're sure," Amethyst says, her tone dropping to one of reassurance. "Obviously we'd love you both to be there, but if you can't, that's okay. You're welcome to join in on our plans if you... err... find time in your schedules."

While the rest of the group nod their heads in affirmation and support, Octavia leans over, now whispering in Vinyl's ear.

"And I think we're gonna head home now," Vinyl says. "Gettin' real tired here."

As the pair of them shuffle out of the booth, digging out bits to pay for their drinks while Lyra and Bon Bon start wishing them a good evening, I turn to whisper in Amethyst's ear.

"Diamondback Dragons, seriously?"

She giggles before whispering back. "Yeah, seriously."

"You know that's just Chineighse mythology right?"

"I do, as a matter of fact."

"So what makes you think we'll find any in the Everfree?"

"I don't. It's just to keep Lyra interested."

Amethyst, you're too clever for your own good sometimes.

When Vinyl has dug out enough bits from her purse to cover the drinks she and Octavia had bought, we all rise to give them a proper farewell. With Vinyl settling for hoofbumps, and Octavia accepting gentle hugs from each of us. Normally she's quite big on the goodbye hugs, despite what I gather to be quite a formal and respectable upbringing, the kind where public displays of affection are held in the same light as public defecation. But tonight, my comforting squeeze is met with a feeble press in return. 

I really hope, whatever's getting her down, she can either work through it or open up to us about it soon. 

Returning to our booth after their departure, Bon Bon's eyes momentarily flicker towards the exit where Vinyl and Octavia disappeared. She evidently decides to address the unspoken tension.

"Maybe we should check in on them later, see if everything's alright," she suggests.

Amethyst nods in agreement, her playful demeanour giving way to a more serious tone. "Yeah, you're right. They've been through something pretty rough, that much is obvious. We should make sure they're doing okay."

"Any idea what happened in Trottingham?" I ask.

Lyra shrugs. "No idea, they'll probably *hic* open up to us when they're good and ready. We should be supportive, but it'd *hic* probably be best if we didn't pry."

Looks of resignation flicker across Amethyst and Bon Bon's faces. Though away with the faeries, Lyra has a point. It wouldn't be fair of us to force an answer out of them, not if they're not comfortable talking about it. I feel like we should steer the conversation elsewhere. So I grab the wheel and yank it, hard.

"Well," I announce, forcing an edge of cheerful notes into my voice. "Camping. If we're going to do it, we'll need to decide when. Ideally a couple of weeks notice would be good for me, if that's okay, just so I can let Merry and Holly know."

"You guys know I'm pretty flexible," Bon Bon says with a shrug. "Just tell me when."

Amethyst and Lyra look thoughtfully at each other. The booth falls into silence as each pony ponders the prospect of an ideal time for the camping trip. Eventually, Lyra breaks the quiet, if only to let out a quiet belch. Right in Bon Bon's face.

"Well," she slurs, as Bon Bon swipes at the air in front of her with her hoof, her muzzle scrungled up at what I can only guess is the putrid smell of Lyra's breath. "I still gots plenty of holiday time at the *hic* store I haven't used yet, I can put a few days in with about two weeks notice as well?"

"Sounds good to me," Amethyst agrees, biting her lip to hold back laughter at Bon Bon's evident suffering. "And Flitter owes me a favour, I'm sure I can persuade her to watch the stall for a few days. I can't wait to explore the Everfree Forest and hunt for those Diamondback Dragons!"

Lyra nods enthusiastically, reaching out with a fumbling hoof to try and grab her unfinished drink. "Yeah, let's do it! Maybe we'll even find evidence of *hic* humans while we're out there."





In the end, Merry and Holly didn't argue about me having a few days off. In fact, I'd yet to have more than two off in a row, and they were only too happy to accommodate my request to have some of those off-days in a row to occur on days of my choosing. And so, on this quiet Monday afternoon, the four of us venture off from Ponyville into the Everfree Forest. 

Amethyst leads the way, the local expert that she is. I didn't realise that said expertise extends to the forest as well, but judging from the way she talks, she's camped in there before. Family trips in particular, she has a young niece that she takes camping on a regular basis. She said, and I quote, 'there's a cute little spot on the banks of the Whispering River that I know, that'd be a swell place to set up a base camp'. It seems she's keen to keep up the pretence of searching for mystical creatures, if for no other reason than for Lyra's benefit. 

There’s something of a lack of a grey area, regarding how the locals perceive the Everfree Forest. Either it’s a place of eldritch nightmares where walking horrors will maul you to death before you can even crunch a pinecone under your hoof, or it’s just a regular woodlands. I have yet to encounter a pony whose opinion is anything but one of these extremes. Suffice it to say, Amethyst’s stance needs no elaboration.

I follow closely behind her, with Lyra and Bon Bon bringing up the rear. Between us, we've done a decent job of packing enough supplies for the few days we'll be gone. Each of our saddlebags has the bare essentials each of us needs. Sleeping bags, air mattresses, personal toiletries, all that stuff. If we're going to have to be doing our business into a hole in the ground, at least we've splurged on decent paper.

On top of that, each of us is carrying communal stuff. Amethyst has a four-mare tent, I have emergency medical stuff (just being prepared for the worst), Bon Bon has all our food, and Lyra all our water supplies. Bringing loads of water didn't make a lot of sense, given we're camping right by a river. So we're bringing some big, collapsible canteens that squish down flat when empty, and some water purification tablets to make sure it's safe to drink. See, big brain move that was. My idea!

Why am I carrying a first aid kit while the three of them are burdening themselves with heavy necessities? The three of them agreed on it, given my petite stature. I guess their hearts are in the right place, but still, I'm not fond of being coddled like that. 

Excitement hangs in the air as we cross the threshold from the outskirts of Ponyville into the waiting woods. The trail we follow is narrow, surrounded by dense foliage, and occasionally marked by rustling leaves along the edges, stirring in a soft breeze. Shafts of sunlight pierce through the thick layers of branches above, casting an pleasant glow on the path beneath our hooves.

The air is moist with the heady scent of earth, moss, and the delicate perfume of wildflowers that adorn the forest floor. As we delve deeper, the ambient sounds of Ponyville fade away, replaced by the symphony of nature. The gentle babble of distant streams blends with the melodious chirping of crickets, creating a peaceful soundtrack that resonates through the woodland. The breeze carries with it a cool freshness, a welcome reprieve from the bustling town we left behind.

Amethyst, our guide through this bewildering territory, navigates the winding paths with a confident stride. Bon Bon, bearing the weight of our meals for the next few days, moves forward to trudge beside her. Lyra and I follow, taking in the ever-changing tableau of flora and fauna. Despite knowing for a fact that I have indeed packed them, I still need to reassure myself several times that I do have my antihistamines with me. It’s only because I took one this morning that I’m currently able to breathe.

Minutes roll into hours, and the foliage gradually thickens, creating a lush tapestry that envelops us in a cocoon of greenery. Sunlight filtering through the intricate network of leaves creates patterns of light and shadow that dance upon the forest floor. Every now and then, a sunbeam spotlights a patch of vibrant flowers, their colours vivid against the muted hues of the underbrush. As we ascend a gentle incline, the trees begin to thin, unveiling glimpses of roving woodlands extending for miles and miles beyond the immediate foliage. 

Starting to struggle from the gradual ascent, Bon Bon turns to Amethyst. "How much further until we reach that 'swell spot' of yours by the Whispering River?"

Amethyst glances back over her shoulder at me and Lyra. "Not too far now. It's kind of a hidden gem, you could say. Once we get there, you'll see why I call it perfect for camping."

I practically hear the *ding* of Lyra having a light bulb moment next to me. "Maybe we'll find evidence of..."

"Wait!" I cut in. "Don't tell me. Evidence of... humans, per chance? 

"Yeah," she gushes. "I bet they'd love a riverside camp spot!"

I chuckle, appreciating Lyra's unwavering commitment to her fascination with humans as much as I enjoy her inability to detect sarcasm. "Well, Lyra, if there are humans around, I'm sure they'll appreciate a scenic campsite as much as we do."

As we continue, the trees gradually thin out, and we emerge into a small clearing bathed in sunlight. The soft murmur of the Whispering River reaches our ears, and Amethyst points ahead. 

"There it is, girls. Our camping spot."

The sight that greets us is nothing short of breathtaking. The river gently meanders through the clearing, its crystal-clear waters reflecting the sunlight. The grassy banks are adorned with vibrant wildflowers, and a few butterflies flit about. A large flat section, backed by a small rocky ledge, bears the tell-tale signs of having previously been camped on. Most prominently, a trio of felled logs arranged around a small circle of stones denoting a designated spot for a campfire. To one side of that, the large imprints of flattened grass seem to suggest that tents have been erected there before, maybe even fairly recently.

Amethyst begins by directing Lyra to help her with setting up our own tent on the flattened area, a sensible distance away from the campfire circle. Bon Bon carefully unpacks our food supplies, stacking the tupperware neatly next to all our bags. She's even taken great care to label each tub by the day, and which meal it is. I, meanwhile, see an opportunity to help out by heading out in search of firewood.

Delving into the forest, the trees close in around me again. The underbrush rustles, distant sounds of unseen creatures going about their business. My ears perk up as I hear the distinct crack of a twig. The darker, attention deficit slices of my brain ponder the notion of giant, donkey-eating animals. But for now, I push those thoughts away, my mission is clear. Gather enough firewood to keep us warm through the chilly night. 

If anycreature is going to eat me, I reason, they'll at least have to go away and find out how best to season me first. Don't eat an ass without some good paprika.

As I scan the area, I look for fallen branches and dry twigs. My hooves crunch on the fallen leaves as I walk, and the scent of pine surrounds me, kicked up with every step. It doesn't take long before I find a promising spot, where the ground is littered with suitable firewood. Like an arboreal massacre took place above me. 

Either that or some timberwolves had an orgy down here.

I begin to gather fallen branches, snapping them into manageable pieces with my hooves. The repetitive task allows my mind to wander, thinking about Vinyl and Octavia. I can't shake the feeling that there was much more to their reluctance to join the camping trip. Lost in thought, I nearly miss the sound of approaching hoofsteps. I turn to see Amethyst, a tiny smirk teasing at her lips.

"Need a hoof?" she offers, one eyebrow loitering slightly higher than the other.

I chuckle. "You trust Lyra to put that tent up alone?"

Amethyst gives a dismissive wave. "Yeah, we're just about done. When I left her, she was sat down and Bon Bon started snuggling up with her."

"Well in that case, sure. The more, the merrier."

We go about collecting branches and logs, as the sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows through the trees. By the time we have gathered enough firewood, is has dipped below the horizon, casting the Everfree Forest in a soft twilight glow. With my hooves laden with branches, and larger pieces aloft in Amethyst's magic, we make our way back to the campsite. The clearing greets us with a cool and inviting ambiance, as Lyra and Bon Bon are engaged in a not-so-subtle smooching session. 

As we deposit our firewood into a small pile, Amethyst grins up at the tent. "There we go! Home sweet home for the next few days."

Lyra, coming up for air after her kisses with Bon Bon, grins at us. "I'm gotta admit, this is the perfect spot. Here's hoping we can find evidence of these Diamondback Dragons." She tilts her head up, muttering to the sky. "Or, you know, humans."

This earns her a playful eye roll from Bon Bon, as she nuzzles Lyra's neck. "Let's focus on fire and food. We can indulge in dragon and human talk later."

"Okay then!" Amethyst says with gravitas. "Let's get a fire going then!"

When enough of the gathered wood is neatly arranged in the fire pit, Amethyst prepares to light it. She produces a small bundle of dry kindling and a couple of magical sparks. The dry twigs catch fire, flickering and crackling as the flames erupt into life and slowly grow. They dance and leap, casting a warm glow across our campsite, the forest around us seeming to embrace the burgeoning firelight. 

Settling herself onto a moss-covered rock, Bon Bon watches the flames with a contented smile. "There's something magical about a campfire, isn't there? It's like a little piece of home, no matter where you are."

Amethyst adds another log, the flames licking at the fresh wood. "And it keeps the night at bay. The Everfree can be a different place after dark, but with a good fire, we'll be just fine."

I watch the wood blister and blacken in the heat, as warmth seeps into the air around us. "It is comforting, especially in the wilderness. I admit, the Everfree has a few more legends about it than most wooded areas I've travelled through, but it seems a bit more welcoming with our own little campfire."

As the fire grows stronger, we settle closer to it, sitting on the logs as the crackling flames punctuating our quiet conversation. The fading sunlight paints the forest in hues of amber and gold, creating a blissfully picturesque backdrop for our gathering.

"It's so... so quiet and peaceful here," Lyra remarks, scooting closer along the log to lean against Bon Bon.

I chuckle. "Maybe it saves its wild side for nighttime? We'll find out soon enough."

"No, we'll be fine," promises Amethyst. "Yeah, the Everfree has its share of wild animals, but they won't come near a campfire. We're safe here."

With her assurance hanging in the air, Amethyst casts a satisfied gaze over our riverside haven. Then a glint appears in her eyes, and she casually strolls toward a particularly large rock near the edge of the clearing. She reaches down and shifts a bunch of leaves aside. To this, I just exchange a look of confusion with both Lyra and Bon Bon.

"Girls," Amethyst announces with a triumphant flourish. "Prepare yourselves for my incomparable forward-thinking." She produces a wooden crate, which presumably is what she'd found beneath the pile of leaves. As she lifts the lid, the tell-tale clinking of glass bottles reaches our ears. 

My pulse quickens. I know that clinking.

Lyra's eyes widen. "Is that...?"

"A stash of the finest Sweet Apple Acres cider," Amethyst confirms. "Carefully hidden away for this very occasion!"

Laughter and cheers erupt as her surprise is met with delight. She distributes the bottles with the precision of a seasoned sommelier, each one gleaming in the fading sunlight. The hoof-written labels on the bottles exude a country charm that is utterly unmatched, in my experience. There's enough bottles in the crate to last us several days, as long as we don't go overboard. 

Amethyst, you legend.

We each eagerly take a bottle, settling down around the now-roaring campfire as Amethyst raises hers in a mock toast. "To dragons!"

A reply of 'to dragons' fills the air before we sip at our ciders, the crisp sweetness a welcome tonic to my weary body.

Lyra, taking a hearty gulp, grins. "This is perfect! Just what we needed after the trek through the wilds."

"Amethyst, you sly mare," Bon Bon chides. "How long have you been planning this?"

"Let's just say a few days ago, I had a feeling we'd be in need of a little pick-me-up while we were here. So I stashed a couple of crates."

I almost choke on my drink. "A couple," I gasp. "Jeez, Ammy. What's your plan, vultures to find us dead of alcohol poisoning?"

"I can think of worse ways to go," she replies, sliding down to sit on the ground and reclining against her log. "So, how's everypony enjoying the Everfree experience so far?"

Bon Bon, resting against Lyra, lets out a contented sigh. "I never knew this place could be so... serene. I always thought it was all about spooky creatures and untamed chaos."

"It's a pleasant surprise," Lyra agrees with a nod of her head. "I guess the Everfree has its quiet, beautiful spots too."

I hold my bottle up, watching the orange glow of the fire permeate through the dark brown glass. "It's not my first night in the woods, but it's my first time doing it with friends. So yeah, I guess as far as experiences go, it's not too shabby so far."

Amethyst grins. "See, I told you this camping trip would be worth it. It's all about finding the hidden gems, and I'm not just talking about the cider stash."

"Speaking of hidden gems," Lyra says, turning to Amethyst. "Have you ever come across any mystical creatures in the Everfree during your camping trips?"

"Well, the Everfree is full of wonders, but we haven't seen Diamondback Dragons yet," Amethyst laughs. "Or humans. But hey, who knows what we might discover during our stay. Anything is possible!"

"Next time we do this, we'll definitely bring..." Bon Bon murmurs, her voice trailing off.

We're all thinking it though, Vinyl and Octavia's absence is a quiet undercurrent. We skirt around the topic, not wanting to intrude on their personal space, yet the concern lingers in the air. Amethyst, sensing the unspoken tension, gently steers the discussion towards lighter subjects.

"Alright, enough about mythical creatures and the mysteries of the Everfree for now," she declares, raising her cider bottle. "Let's talk about something else. Anypony up for a game, or maybe a story, something to pass the time?"

My stomach growls, drawing my attention downwards. "Actually Ammy, I'm starving, I haven't had anything since lunch."

"Oh that's right," Bon Bon gasps, scrambling to her hooves. "I've pre-cooked some pasta for us, it just needs to be reheated in a pot over the fire. Let me go get that set up."

While she busies herself with setting up the food pot, the scent of the forest and the crackling campfire begins to enhance the anticipation for a warm, hearty meal. The flickering firelight casts dancing shadows across the clearing, and the sounds of the night creatures start to emerge as the sun dips further below the horizon. I sit back, taking in the comforting warmth of the fire, my cider bottle nestled in my hoof. The unspoken worries about Vinyl and Octavia linger, but for now, we bask in the tranquillity of the Everfree Forest.

Bon Bon expertly arranges the pot over the flames, carefully positioning it so the heat will ensure the pasta can warm through without burning. The aromatic promise of a home-cooked meal wafts through the air, and my stomach growls in response. I share a sheepish look with the others, and a chorus of laughter echoes through the clearing. 

Some time passes, and as the pot bubbles over the fire, Bon Bon dishes out the piping hot pasta into our bowls. The savoury aroma fills the air, making our mouths water in anticipation. The first bite is a burst of flavours, sweet, crunchy vegetables and slightly spicy tomato sauce, and I can't help but express my appreciation with a contented sigh.

"This is so good, Bon Bon! Your cooking skills are on point," I compliment, talking through mouthfuls of food in my eagerness to chow down.

Bon Bon blushes, the dancing flames reflecting in her eyes. "Well, I do try my best. Glad you all like it."

The night unfolds with a symphony of whispers from the rustling leaves, distant calls of nocturnal creatures, and the gentle crackle of the campfire. All noises that fill the silence left by all of us silently ploughing through our bowls of food. When we finish, the conversations re-emerge and transition into relaxed banter and shared laughter as we each crack in to more bottles of cider. Except for Amethyst, who's still sipping at her first one.

After polishing off the final dregs of their fifth and second bottles of cider respectively, Lyra and Bon Bon exchange sleepy glances, their eyelids heavy with the warmth of the food, the comforting ambiance of the campfire, and most predominantly the rise in their blood alcohol levels. 

Lyra yawns, her hooves stretching in a languid manner and offering Bon Bon a rub to the shoulder. "I think I'm ready to hit the hay, guys. The Diamondback Dragons can wait until morning."

Bon Bon chuckles, leaning in to Lyra's embrace. "Agreed. After that walk, I'm pooped."

With farewells and wishes of sweet dreams, Lyra and Bon Bon make their way to the tent, disappearing into its cosy confines. The forest seems to grow quieter as the night settles deeper over us. Amethyst and I remain by the fire. The warmth contrasts sharply with the cool night air, creating a perfect equilibrium. Amethyst scooches closer to me, resting her head on my shoulder. Which, given our height difference, must be a strain on her neck.

"Quite a night, huh?" Amethyst muses, a soft smile playing on her lips. "You know, I brought something else besides the cider stash. A little surprise for later. Care for a midnight snack?"

Intrigued, I raise an eyebrow. "A midnight snack in the Everfree? My lady, now you're onto something."

With a foal-like grin, Amethyst reaches into one of the tupperware tubs, and pulls out a bag of marshmallows and a pack of chocolate. "Ever tried making s'mores under the stars? It's a campfire tradition!"

I chuckle. "I can't say I ever have, actually. You really know how to keep the night alive, Amethyst."

The fire crackles and pops as we skewer marshmallows with long sticks, holding them over the flames. The amber glow illuminates our faces, casting playful shadows on the forest floor. Amethyst, an experienced camper, demonstrates the perfect technique for achieving the ideal marshmallow roasting. 'A slow and steady rotation above the flames' she explains.

"See, Tara, it's an art form. You've got to find that golden balance between a crispy exterior and a gooey interior." 

I attempt to mimic her technique, but my marshmallow seems to have a mind of its own. It wobbles on the stick, threatening to escape into the fiery abyss below. With a sudden lurch, it droops and plummets into the flames, eliciting a burst of laughter from Amethyst.

"Well, that's one way to do it," she chuckles, retrieving a fresh marshmallow from the bag. "Don't worry, it happens to the best of us."

"What, everycreature's marshmallow commits seppuku at some point?"

Amethyst playfully nudges me. "No worries, Tara. We'll just call it a sacrifice to the campfire gods."

Undeterred, I try again, fixated on redeeming myself. This time, I manage to roast the marshmallow to a perfect golden brown, its sweet aroma wafting through the air. But then, in testament to my hubris, I get overconfident and misjudge things. Instead of leaping into the fire, the flames instead climb up onto the marshmallow. A panicked bray slips out of my mouth, and I frantically wave the sugary fireball around trying to extinguish it.

But, such is life, it's too late. The perfectly browned exterior is now a blackened husk of its former glory. Amethyst, ever the shoulder to lean on, raises her stick in a mock salute.

"That's still edible!" she declares, clinking her stick against mine. "Room for improvement, huh Tara?"

We proceed to assemble our s'mores, sandwiching the marshmallows between squares of chocolate and cracker. The melted chocolate mingles with the gooey marshmallow, creating a deliciously messy treat, even if mine does have hints of charcoaly flavours to it.

Amethyst takes a hearty bite of her creation, smacking her lips in approval. "Nothing like s'mores under the stars to make a camping trip complete."

"So," I say, still chewing my s'more, my ears giving a flick as they pick up on twin sets of snoring coming from our tent. "You're a history buff then?"

"Oh yeah, big time. You know exactly, why don't you?"

"Diamondback Dragons," I confirm, digging deep for the memories as my ears wave slightly to illustrate. "Chineighse mythology. I saw some actual shrines to them, you know? While I was there, they had these beautiful statues of mighty reptiles with gigantic diamonds for spinal fins. The dragons were symbolic, the ponies associated them with wisdom, spiritual energy, and prosperity."

"You forgot one thing," Amethyst coos, jabbing me playfully in the side, with the marshmallow-free end of her stick.

"Oh yeah, what's that?"

"The diamond fins were thought to represent the stars in the sky," she explains. "Legend has it that these dragons would soar across the night sky, higher than any pegasus, their diamond fins reflecting the brilliance of the stars. Ponies believed they brought good fortune and protection to those who revered them."

I nod, appreciating the added insight. "It's a beautiful interpretation. And it's fascinating how myths and legends can shape a culture's beliefs and values."

Amethyst leans against my shoulder again, gazing up at the clear night sky. "Exactly! That's why I love exploring these stories. They give us a glimpse into the way ponies perceived the world around them, and it's not just about creatures. It's about the meaning behind them."

"I loved seeing Chineigh," I mutter, glancing upwards as well. "The food, the ponies, the culture. It's one of my best memories from my travels."

"You're so lucky, Tara," Amethyst sighs. "Like, don't get me wrong. I love Ponyville so much, but I wish I could see more of the world. Like you have."

We  find ourselves in a quiet moment, our eyes directed up. The air feels charged with a gentle intimacy, a shared understanding that goes beyond words, one that I can't quite put a hoof on. Amethyst breaks the silence, her voice a soft murmur that blends seamlessly with the nocturnal serenade. 

"You know, Tara, these moments by the campfire, they're special. There's something magical about sharing stories under the stars, about being surrounded by the quiet beauty of the night."

"Yeah," I agree with a nod. "It's moments like these that make you appreciate everything you've got."

"And there's more to the Everfree than the legends and the mysteries. It's a place where friendships are forged, where the boundaries between the known and the unknown blur, and where the quiet moments become memories."

I give a small chuckle. "Like the forest itself is telling a story. We're its characters."

Amethyst's next words are spoken in a hushed tone, as if sharing a secret. "I brought you here because I wanted you to experience the Everfree. Not just as a place of curiosity but as a place of connection. To connect with nature, with friends, and... with me."

My gaze shifts downwards from the stars to the campfire, watching the dancing flames as I think over her words, her slow breathing gently pressing against me.

"And I wanted to ask you something as well," she adds.

"Oh yeah?"

"Why don't you ever talk about your home? I mean, yeah, you told us about some of your traditions when we did Frostfire Night with you. But you've never even told us where your hometown is. Are you hiding something?"

"No," I answer sharply. A little too sharply. "Sorry, I... no, I'm not hiding it. I'm just not presenting it openly either."

"Oh," She seems to recoil for a moment, but she leans back against me, reaching around with a hoof to offer me some comforting back rubs. "It's okay, Tara. Well, if you don't mind me asking... where are you from?"

A fair question, I suppose. I've been in Ponyville long enough that eventually somecreature would have to ask me directly about my life before I was a traveller. Somewhere deep down, I feel almost relieved that it's Amethyst asking.

"So, think about how far away Trottingham is from here," I explain. "Go through it, keep going until you're about as far away again on the other side of it. That's where I'm from, Cantshire. A little town called Rambleford. It's a donkey town, always has been, but there's a small community of ponies that also live there. They're basically a minority though. But like here, everycreature knows each other, the sense of community doesn't really give a toss about any species barrier."

"Rambleford," Amethyst repeats, her tone hushed and gentle. "What's it like?"

A genuine smile forces its way onto my face. "A lot like Ponyville, to be honest. Nestled by the Trottingham River, with rolling hills and meadows stretching beyond the horizon. On the outskirts of a large city, the port of Newhaven. It also started off as a farming community, but grew exponentially from there. I guess I just never expected to be so close to home, and find somewhere that feels so much like home without actually being home." I pause, as my brain catches up to the words I'd said. "If that makes any sense?"

"Huh, kinda. No wonder you never got around to leaving Ponyville, if it has the same vibes as where you came from. What made you leave?"

For a moment, I freeze up. I want to tell her everything, I really do. And deep down, I do make a conscious effort to open up to her. But it's not her that's the problem. I am. I can't bring myself to say it. A comfortable half-truth, that seems like the best compromise.

I exhale slowly. "I guess I've always had a yearning for adventure. Rambleford is a great place, but I wanted to explore, meet new faces, and... just see what's out there. So, I travelled. All the way around the world. Ponyville was going to be one of the last stops before getting back to terra firma. Last thing I expected was that, in its own way, it's become a home away from home. And I wasn't even aiming to be here. I was heading for Canterlot, just couldn't bring myself to leave here. Still can't."

Amethyst's hoof gently rests on mine. "Hey, there's no rush. I'm glad you found a second home here."

Her head rises from my shoulder, and I turn to face her. "Me too, Ammy." 

Her sparkling eyes rest just inches from mine, burning with some fierce passion as the flickering flames bounce off her irises. And her smile, though small, is gentle, kind, and supportive. Everything I've come to appreciate from Amethyst.

"You know, Tara," Amethyst begins, her voice softening further still. "This camping trip... it means a lot to me."

"Oh? Why's that?"

She sighs, glancing back at the fire. "Because... because I've been wanting to spend more time with you. To get to know you better. It's not just about the camping or the stories or even the s'mores. It's about being here with you, under the stars. I wanted to let you know that Ponyville feels different when you're around. And it's not just because you're a donkey in a town full of ponies." A frown creases her eyebrows as the seems to think over the words she's already spoken. "Sorry, I'm normally good with my words, but I don't know how to put this across."

"Go on, Ammy," I chuckle. "You're doing fine."

Glancing back at me, a hint of a smile graces her lips again. "It's just... I never expected to feel this way. It's like you brought a different kind of magic to my life, and I don't want it to end with this camping trip."

She's really sweet. I didn't realise that she felt this way about a friend. Like, I've only been here for... what, eight months? Guess I've made a real big impression in that time.

"I've never really felt like this before," Amethyst continues, her gaze fixed on the flickering flames. "It's a bit scary, but it's also... exciting. I care about you, Tara. More than I thought I would. And I wanted you to know that."

Her vulnerability resonates with me, and I reach out, placing a reassuring hoof on her shoulder. "Ammy, you don't have to be scared. I appreciate your honesty, and I... I care about you too."

"Thanks, Tara," she giggles, her eyes level with mine again.

I'm so stupid for not seeing it coming.

It begins with the most barely perceptible movment. Her head leans in towards mine, closer and closer. A slow exhale flares her nostrils as her eyes fall shut. And then her lips, curled in that littlest of smiles, press outwards towards mine. In that suspended moment, the air feels charged with an unspoken energy. The crackling of the campfire, the gentle rustle of leaves, the distant whispers of the night creatures. They all fade into the background. 

Oh, heck.

She pauses. Not for any hesitation on her part, if anything she seems certain in her action. She only had the one cider, she's been sipping slowly at it all night, so it's definitely not liquid courage. There is no doubt at all, she is fully cognizant. And subtle actions from her flood into my brain, small moments pushed aside in my memory. Scooching close to me at the booth in the Hoof & Hearth. Small, stolen glances my way, only to suddenly look away and blush. The fact that she hugs me a tiny bit longer than she does any other pony. So it does break me a little to give her cause to stop, intercepting her pursed lips with my hoof.

Her eyes snap open with a mix of surprise and confusion. I quickly withdraw my hoof, and we both sit there in an awkward silence, the once lively crackling of the campfire now sounding like an uncomfortably loud reminder of the situation.

"Oh stars, Tara, I... I'm so sorry," Amethyst stammers, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I-I shouldn't have assumed, and I didn't mean to make things awkward. I thought... I thought we had a connection, but I shouldn't have presumed."

"Ammy, it's not about you assuming anything," I assure her, my voice gentle as my heart sinks somewhere past my spleen. "I appreciate your honesty, and it's not awkward. I just... I wasn't expecting it, that's all."

Amethyst takes a shaky breath, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. "I didn't mean to make things weird. I just felt... in the moment, and I got carried away. I'm really sorry, Tara."

"Ammy, it's okay," I say, trying to offer her a reassuring smile. "Look, for what it's worth, it's not a hard 'no' per se, it's just... well... I'm ace."

"Well, yes I know that, it's just..."

"No, no," I cut in. "Ace. I'm asexual. At least, that's the closest label I have for it. For what I am. I don't really know for sure what team I play for, heck I don't even know if I want to commit to a team full-stop. But I guess if I was to play for any one team, it'd probably be the girls team? Maybe? Honestly, I never really stopped to fully figure it out."

Amethyst's head tilts, and she bites her lip. "I mean, I've heard the term asexual before, but I've never really heard anypony talk about it in depth. What does it mean, like, for you specifically?"'

Taking a deep breath, I meet her gaze again. "Being asexual means that I don't experience sexual attraction," I explain, choosing my words carefully. "It's not that I don't appreciate deep connections and friendships. I do. But the desire for an inherently sexual relationship just isn't something I feel."

Amethyst nods thoughtfully. "So like... does that mean you're not interested in romantic relationships, at all?"

I smile. "No, not necessarily. Asexuality is a spectrum, and people who identify as ace can still have romantic attractions. Some asexual individuals are aromantic, meaning they don't experience romantic attraction either, but that's not the case for me."

Amethyst's curiosity shines through her eyes. "So, you could still fall in love, just without the... physical aspect?"

"Exactly," I reply, laughing at her careful word usage. "For me, it's about emotional connections and shared experiences. I can form deep bonds and care about someone profoundly. It's just without the sexual component."

"Oh, I see," she says, biting her lip in thought. "Well, that's pretty neat to know. And you're still you, Tara. I should probably have said something instead of just diving in head-first, but I'm glad you opened up to me. It doesn't change how I see you."

As the flames continue to dance in the fire pit, I can't help but feel a sense of gratitude for Amethyst's unwavering support. I reach over and gently place my hoof on hers, a silent statement of gratitude for her acceptance.

"Amethyst," I mumble. "Thank you for being so understanding. Your acceptance means the world to me. Our friendship is incredibly important, and I want you to know that being asexual doesn't change how much I care about you. And, for the record, I am a little flattered by your forwardness."

For once, she doesn't recoil her hoof with mine atop it. "Tara, I'm grateful for our friendship, too. You're an amazing fil... sorry, jenny. I'm lucky to have you in my life. Nothing can change that."

I smile, feeling a profound sense of comfort. "Exactly. I know I can count on you. You're not just my friend. You're... you're my best friend, Amethyst."

She turns to me, her smile wide, and we sit there. Hoof on hoof, enjoying the moment. The night continues around us, filled with the sounds of the forest and the crackling of the fire. In that moment, I realize that our friendship had weathered a new revelation, emerging even stronger than before.

Aww shit, the ponies in this town really do bring out my sappy side.

We sit side by side, eventually reclining back against the wooden log. Amethyst repositions herself, half laid down against me with her head resting on my chest. One of my ears droops down towards her, and she bats at it playfully. Honestly, I don't mind all that much. Not with all our cards out in the open. Together, we gaze up at the vast expanse of the night sky. The warmth of the campfire envelops us, casting a gentle glow as we marvel at the brilliance of the stars above.

"It's incredible, isn't it?" Amethyst whispers, her voice conveying her sense of wonder.

I nod, captivated by the celestial display. "I've always found comfort in the stars. They only come out from me when I'm far away from bustling towns and big cities. Like a reliable friend, welcoming me back to serenity."

"And look," Amethyst says. "I think I see a Diamondback Dragon."

"With a human on its back?" I ask.

She glances up at me. Our eyes meet for a fraction of a second, before we both burst out in fits of laughter.