How strange, to look around and find someone as quiet as I has a follower. There are no stories of ponies here. I had little to say of them beyond "Behold," and my own dreamings were little more than a lonely unicorn in a forest.

If you would read something by my hand, then remember that through you I discovered the charcoal feathers. I had something to say, then. On the Old Home Bulletin Board, search for "Wild Rose, Black Swan." Those are my thoughts from another time.