Back from the final Bronycon, more on that later. In the meantime, enjoy some horsewords. Bonus points for reading aloud.

Beneath a blackened sky, the pale milky moon cast a pallid glow across lands steeped in shadow.  A sea of muted grey from mountains thrust high, to plains fertile and fallow.

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So here I was, minding my own business. I can't get two lines into a new story without having to stop and try to figure out a cooler sounding name than "Castle of the Two Pony Sisters"

THEN THIS SHIT HAPPENS

The hot humid musk of Baltimore suffocates you like God's enormous unwashed ballsack the moment you step out the door. A sea of brick beckons the journey of a thousand steps between the gleaming glass zoo of migratory humans and the organic hive of stone and streets known as Charm City. You put your best foot forward, feeling it stick slightly against the pervasive brownish ichor of regurgitated alcohol and caramelized human waste. Once more unto the breech, you think sympathetically of

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Bronycon after-action report.

(Confound these ponies, they drive me to drink)

Had an absolutely tremendous time. Got to hang out with a few interesting people, such as..

Admiral Biscuit (Hail Biscuit!)
Arad
Archonix
Axis of Rotation
Bad Horse (not a very nice fellow)
Bradel
Cerulean Voice
Drax99
Horizon
Jake The Army Guy
Jedi Master Ed

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(Wrote a few thousand words today. Here's some of them. CH16 inbound)

It was a slow day in Ponyville.

It couldn't be fast enough for Scootaloo.

The wind whipped through her fuchsia mane as the grass receded behind each sharp stamp of her hooves.  Her short wings buzzed as they bit into the air, pushing herself with every erg of energy she could muster.  

Tap tap tap.

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(I'm not dead)

Not to be confused with the sledgehammer, though one could easily make the tongue-in-cheek comparison.

The Sledge is like a sled. A sled for starships. Not that a modern starship needs such an anachronistic device from a time when interstellar travel was measured in decades and logistical resupply was measured in equally impractical numbers.

But one day, the Sledge had one very important, and very special purpose.

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"Fluttershy. Hangar Six, please," the artificial Equestrian voice spoke softly in her ear.

She recoiled further beneath the rumpled mound of blankets, whimpering softly through short sharp breaths.

"Fluttershy, please." the electronically tinged voice repeated. It spoke nearly perfect Equestrian, with a subtle mimicry of Trent's vocal inflection.

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"This one is real," she broke the long silence.

Dornier snorted. "Ah, I shall assure you that they are all real. There is not a piece on this wall where I did not personally meet with the artist."

"No. Um, I'm sorry. It's just that I meant," she gestured at the scene within the small hardwood frame. "This was real."

"Perhaps you can enlighten me. Why do you say that one in particular, is real?"

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This is a little excerpt from the upcoming chapter. Expect a few changes between here and there

"We're almost done! Just one last thing. Are you ready for this, Fluttershy?"

"I... Um, I think so." she smiled.

"That doesn't sound very enthusiastic. Come on, let's hear some excitement!" Trent clapped his hands together.

"Oh, um. Yaay?"

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So little free time to actually do it.

The backlog of things to put to paper is starting to make me physically ill.

Sorry for the delay.