Book of Days

by Warren Hutch

Rating: everyone
Tags: Twilight Sparkle, Princess Luna, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Princess Celestia, Slice of Life
Length: 55862

Excerpts from the diary of Clover the Clever, regarding the birth and early days of Celestia and Luna. As translated by Twilight Sparkle

Centuries ago, Clover the Clever recorded in her personal diary the events surrounding the origins and early lives of Celestia and Luna. Now, thanks to the princesses' gracious consent and the scholarship of Twilight Sparkle, this account may now be read by modern Equestrians.

Published 2013-04-30 18:40:02 UTC
Last updated 2016-10-24 23:01:56 UTC

Part 1 - Summer Solstice, 10 AE

Translator's Foreword :

Greetings and salutations, friends!

I have of late found myself heaped with honors that I hope in my heart that I am worthy of, and one of these is the product of many long weeks of painstaking work that you now hold in your hooves.

It's difficult for me to express the gratitude I feel to my mentor and sovereign, Princess Celestia, and to my dear friend and co-sovereign, Princess Luna, for graciously allowing this account of their birth and early lives, as penned so many centuries ago by one of the very founders of our fair nation, to be translated to modern Equestrian and published for the edification of scholars and interested lay-ponies alike.

I wish I could convey to you in the mechanical medium of print the sense of pure history that wafted like perfume from the pages when I first opened the unassuming, canvas and cedar wood bound folio that Princess Celestia presented to me from among her most carefully kept personal effects, now so delicate from long years that only eyes and magic may safely touch the aged and tenuous parchment, and then only in the presence of carefully controlled atmospheric conditions created by the highly trained and dedicated pegasi of the royal archives and illuminated by a light spell of the proper heliothaumic balance.

The mechanical precision of modern moveable type on milled paper will scarcely do justice to the palpable imprint of Clover the Clever's personality writ on each page in delicate yet concise High Monoceric script. Add to that the astounding clues left behind by the legendary authoress of her moods and thought processes: Words, sometimes even entire passages, scratched out and rewritten. Precious doodles in the margins. (Lady Clover was fond of drawing spirals when thinking deeply upon a subject, or floral designs if she was at peace. When a whimsical mood took her, her little caricatures of her friends and family are at once charming and awe inspiring, when one realized that they oft times depict figures from history that we all reverently study in school.)

One discovery that simply took my breath away was the realization that certain pages bore what could only be the marks of Lady Clover's tears, falling on the pages that contained some of her most emotionally charged testimony. (Honestly, if I hadn't foalishly squandered my single use of the Time Spell enshrined in the Starswirl the Bearded Wing of the royal library, I would have been sorely tempted to use it to go back and give her a hug.)

This is all to say nothing of the prosaic details that chance and daily use left behind: The frequent dribbling of beeswax from late nights under the light of a candle. The staining rings of drinking vessels carelessly placed on a page (For shame, Lady Clover!). The occasional splatter of ink from a snapped or overloaded quill.

This book had lived, by which I mean it was a part of the endless actions and reactions, causes and effects, the ever forward march of changes with the passage of time, bound up with the trajectories of the objects and ponies around it. What's more, it had lived before and alongside some of the oldest beings now in Equestria.

As I studied this priceless book, I came to feel as though its authoress was hovering at my withers, serenely floating among the cloud of reference materials I needed to translate the text. I hope in some way you can experience that feeling yourselves as you read this. She is a comforting presence, and I personally would like to think I would have gotten along quite well with her. Both princesses have said to me that I would have, with knowing smiles on their faces I can only begin to fathom with my comparatively tiny store of experience.

Speaking of their highnesses, I should probably write a bit about the subjects of this manuscript now that I've hopefully introduced its authoress. (If I should be so bold as a subject of said subjects. Ha ha!)

For those of us living in the modern era, Princess Celestia has always just been. A fixture, a center, our benevolent ruler, as unchanging and steady as her sun in the sky, and yet unknowable because of that ineffable combination of distance and familiarity. She is ever present, and therefore we think we know all we need to know about her.

Princess Luna is, as I have discovered is often the case, the equal and opposite of her royal sister. Her absence from history, save as a dimly remembered cipher obscured by the distorted shadow of the folkloric bogeymare her fall from grace left behind (that dark reflection further divorced and abstracted from the mare herself by her redemption and the healing of her heart by the blessings of love and harmony), has made her a mysterious figure in the eyes of the ponies of Equestria.

Thus it is my hope that by presuming to select specific passages from Lady Clover's diaries, a narrative might be put together to cast a bit more light, so to speak, on these marvelous mares who raise the sun and moon for us. Their origins, while rather unusual and definitely quite magical indeed, are what tie them to us all and to our land and history.

It is with great love for them, and a desire that understanding might translate to deeper love from you the reader, just as I have tried to translate Lady Clover's High Monoceric into modern Equestrian, that I present this narrative.

Thank you for reading. Sincerely yours.

Twilight Sparkle.

Chapter 1 - Summer Solstice. Year 10 AE.

I take up my pen in a state of amazement, o diary, for the events of this longest day have given me much to ponder.

I am weary to my very bones this night, and yet I do not think I would be capable of sleep. Even if I had drunk Castle Canter's royal cellars dry of strong spirits. Even if my husband were playing the sweetest of airs upon his viol. Even if I were attending one of the old grump's[1] lectures on a hot day with all the tower windows shuttered against light and fresh air. I am almost painfully awake, and thus I have risen from my bower and returned again to my study.

The castle is still, save for the scratching of my quill, and the light of my own horn shall have to suffice for writing, as I do not wish to further disturb those who may have borne this day and had better luck in laying their heads down to rest, or those who are not so lucky and now strive to slip from wakefulness. For my part, I must find solace in pen, ink, and page.

A great change has befallen our newly forged land, and yet I know not what to make of it.

Were my dearest Cookie here at my side, rather than in far off Mane Hat (I am too numbed now to even comment on that particular flight of her esteemed ladyship the Chancellor's boundless fancy, but as usual, o diary, forgive my digression on this subject. Mane Hat. The mind still reels.) I think in her plain spoken, earth pony wisdom, Cookie would tell me to keep my eyes, ears, heart and mind open to take things as they come.

Darling Pansy is even now on the wing to that distant port city, to retrieve those earth pony worthies and bear them hence via sky chariot to our mountain fastness. She would probably again urge caution (which is indeed her answer even to choosing which relish to pour upon her portion of greens at the feasting table), but her quietude should in no pony's mind betoken timidity, for she is as the veritable iron horseshoe 'neath velvet stocking. Even the Commander, in all her bluster, flash and thunder, is well aware of the steadfast strength her faithful former batsmare provides us all.

The old grump would urge me to be methodical. I smile to myself as I write, realizing that in his obnoxiously inscrutable way he still speaks to me through the wise council of my friends. If I think on their hypothetical advice and imagine the jingling of bells to accompany it, it all becomes clearer to me.

Thus shall I be methodical, and start at the beginning as I record my testament of these momentous events.

It all began the night before, as we all kept the late watch in observance of the solstice, awaiting the dawn that we might do honor to the Solar Guild and their work bringing forth the sun on every other day of the year, with voices raised in song and flagons raised in celebration.

I was doing more to honor the Stellar College and their sometimes thankless work, seated in my usual spot atop the high tower with Crimson[2] at my side, observing the stars through the wonderful arrangement of precisely ground Veneightian glass lenses and brass tubes that my royal lady the Queen had bestowed upon me in her boundless generosity at the last celebration of the founding. I still marvel at the ingenuity of this device, a product of collaboration between earth ponies and unicorns. Yet another symbol of the bounty bestowed by cooperation and friendship.

Far below us in the castle courtyard, the strains of the late night terpsichore could be distantly heard, with my lady Queen Platinum leading the dance amongst the flowers, ribbons, and fairy lights of our Midsummer revel, bedecked as were her court in the most splendid of finery. My husband and I had begged her majesty's leave to withdraw from the dance to make merry in our own fashion, which had been granted with much jest and knowing winks from the courtiers, all taken in good humor. (In truth, I am by no means a dancer, having been born with four left hooves. More sport would indeed have been made at my expense from my staying on the dancing green than from taking my leave of it.)

That is not to say, o diary, that mayhap stargazing would not be the only activity my beloved and I might get up to atop the tower, so to speak. It wasn't long before my stallion was playing his usual game, composing sonnets comparing me to the stars and constellations and doing his level best to bring a blush to my cheeks and get me flustered and giggling while I tried to record and catalog the movements of the celestial bodies. Between the jug of red wine between us, the heady warmth of midsummer, and the steady pink glow of the Warming Heart over the castle, my face was indeed quite as rosy as my beloved's cutie mark.

Alas, this was a night for a different sort of magic, of much greater portent for us all.

It was Crimson who noticed it first, his poet's glib tongue going still as I attempted to sight the gazing glass on the constellations above the western horizon. With an urgent press of his hoof upon my shoulder and a hushed voice, he bid me to behold the fiery beacon that had graced our skies since that frigid night when the bond between our three tribes was forged.

For ten busy, exasperating, heartbreaking, joyful years as we went about the work of building this our new nation, it had lit our sky along with the sun and moon, a constant symbol of harmony between ponies of all kinds. As I turned my head my eyes grew wide and my mouth hung agape. The great heart of pink, magical flames had started to pulsate, growing larger and smaller in a steady rhythm. I felt a pounding in my very chest that matched its tempo, and at once the realization came upon me like dawn breaking over the distant hills.

The Warming Heart had begun to beat.

Our attention was positively riveted upon the pulsing, so much so that we scarce noted the rising of voices and clattering of hooves in the castle below. Thus my husband and I were quite startled as my lady Queen Platinum herself burst through the trapdoor.

I had never seen her in such a state of agitation, her finery in disarray and her flaxen hair trailing in loose strands 'neath her crown, her fair features flushed, gasping for breath from galloping all the way up from the courtyard. My husband, a true gentlecolt and a courtier to the last, laid his blanket across her withers and presented her with a glass of wine, then averted his eyes from this understandable lapse of the royal dignity.

When her majesty had recovered herself somewhat, she demanded to know the meaning of this strange portent in the sky, asserting that I had cast the spell that had created the Warming Heart, and should know what was going on. I replied that I knew not how this change had come to pass, and was as mystified as any as to what it meant.

Would that I did know, for the look of dismay that overtook my lady liege's harried visage at my answer was most piteous. Truly, the only thing worse than turning to one whom you trust to have all the answers in a time of trouble and hearing them say 'I do not know', is to be the one so trusted and be forced to give that answer.

A chatter of fear stricken voices arose from behind her majesty in the silence that passed between us, and I realized that a train of servants and courtiers had followed the Queen up the spiral stairs of the tower, with her ladies in waiting craning their necks through the trapdoor, looking as piteous as their queen in their disordered gowns and headdresses. I look back on that moment with great pride in my lady, as she regained something of her regal bearing and bid them be still.

She turned back to me, a look of clarity on her face, and asked what I would advise. Wait and see was my reply, and now as I pen these words I again hear the jingling of the old grump's bells as accompaniment to my answer. This her majesty accepted, and so it was that she joined Crimson and myself in an anxious vigil on the highest tower after she'd dismissed her servants with some guardedly reassuring words.

A wary silence had fallen over the formerly celebrating castle, and many of its denizens did retreat to their bolt holes, barracks, and bowers, to tremble away their wakeful midsummer's eve 'neath blankets or even their entire beds.

Through the remainder of the night did we three abide beneath the open sky, fear giving way to cautious watchfulness, watchfulness in turn giving way to weariness and boredom as the steady beating of the magical beacon became almost hypnotic. Soon I found myself keeping watch alone with my thoughts, as my husband and her majesty each in turn nodded off. (One of them snores like a dragon, o diary, although as my lady's loyal servant I shall keep mum on which of them it might be.)

Presently, I remembered my ingenious gazing glass, and turned its lenses upon the Warming Heart, watching it pulse as the pink flames played across its surface. At the time I was uncertain as to whether I was seeing things, due to my attenuated state of wakefulness and the wine bottle now drained to its dregs at my hooves, but an impression of something stirring inside quite held my fascination through the small hours of the night.

I awoke my companions with a cry as the first rays of the sun shone gold in the eastern sky. We three, and surely many other pairs of wondering eyes about the castle if not across the face of Equestria, all watched as the Warming Heart, still beating a steady rhythm, began to sink down toward the main courtyard below.

Her majesty and I wheeled and bolted to the stairs, leaving Crimson lunging to catch my treasured gazing glass as I sent it toppling in my haste. (Earning him a kiss when he later told me of its rescue. In spite of all that has transpired I would have been heartbroken to find it shattered on the stones of the tower.)

After half tumbling down the stairs and tearing through the halls of the castle like pegasi through the clouds, we threw open the oaken doors leading onto the green. (Regrettably banging the noses of the guards who stood their posts outside. I must remind my lady to join me in making amends to those two unfortunate stalwarts for their bruises.)

Once there, we found a ring of wary servants and guards, keeping their distance from the Warming Heart, which now hovered a scant three hooves above the grass. There it sat, diminishing in size with each beat as wisps of its pink flame sublimed into the hazy morning air.

O diary, here my pen shakes in the grasp of my magic, as I think back upon what happened next. As the sun's golden light poured over the castle's battlements, the last of the Warming Heart's fire faded, leaving behind a pair of downy wings, as white as fresh fallen snow, which unfurled from around the slender body of a filly, her sleeping countenance wreathed 'round with silken tresses of the same glowing pink hue as the vanished beacon. A tapering horn that shone like a flawless pearl in the dawn adorned her serene brow. What manner of creature might this be? This I asked myself for the first time today, and as yet I have not discerned an answer. I have ne'er seen her like in all my days.

She settled gently to the green grass, her long legs folding beneath her in a motion so graceful I am near breathless at the memory of it, and lay still in the silence that had fallen over us all.

For long moments all the ponies stood watchful, with more and more glances being cast toward myself and my lady the Queen along with low murmurs of uncertainty. With her majesty close behind, I swallowed hard and willed my shaking legs to bear me forward toward this unearthly vision, who stirred at my tread upon the turf and raised her head, her eyelids fluttering open to meet my fascinated gaze with eyes the color of a pristine rose gleaming with drops of dew.

Again, o diary, my breath catches in my throat as I recall and try to describe the smile that lit up this gleaming creature's face at this moment. Scratches of ink on dull parchment can scarce convey the innocence, joy, and love that animated this Elysian filly's countenance.

She let out a wordless exclamation, not quite a laugh, nor a whinny, nor quite the cooing of an infant foal, but containing the sweetest essence of each, and struggled to her hooves, her wings flailing as she came blundering toward me rather like a tall stool that had been cast down a staircase. I was knocked back upon my rump as she reared up and threw both forelegs and wings about me in an embrace that nearly squeezed the very breath from my lungs with an uncanny strength for such a delicate slip of a girl.

Lacking any better course of action, as the Queen and her other subjects looked on in wonder, I went ahead and hugged this mysterious newcomer right back.

Whoever, or whatever, she was, she certainly seemed friendly enough.

Translator's Hoofnotes:

[1] Lady Clover is referring here to her mentor Starswirl the Bearded in a difficult to translate Monoceric colloquialism that has largely dropped out of modern Equestrian usage. While it could be translated as "grandfather", "old stallion", or "greybeard", it doesn't imply direct kinship, it is also not purely neutral in tone, carrying as it does the implication of a mildly disrespectful or chiding tone. Modern readers should consider it a gentler, masculine version of our term "nag". While samples of Lady Clover's more formal writings refer to her teacher in highly honorific terms, it can be seen in her personal diary that the reverence that modern histories ascribe to our authoress was not quite as pronounced in reality. I find this quite wonderful, actually, as it adds something of a more equine element to these distant figures of history and legend.

[2] Here I feel I should give a little context regarding Lady Clover's husband Crimson Rose, who is largely obscured in the historical record by his wife's illustrious career. What records survive to our time tell us he was a lesser scion of a lesser branch of the Chromatic Houses of the old unicorn nobility, which are now not as widely known outside of certain rarified quarters of Canterlot. Remote from any hope of inheritance or title, but still highly educated and well brought up by his family, he'd become something of a bon vivant and poet in the royal court of the unicorns.

From what I've been able to glean from sections of Lady Clover's diaries not referenced in this account, it may have been Queen Platinum's hoof that nudged them together, and it's often inferred that the match was beneficial for them both on a social and economic level. Both families approved the marriage for their own reasons: Lady Clover, as is well known in our histories, was a daughter of the artisan class.

She hailed from a prosperous but humble clan of candlestick-makers, for whom marriage ties to one of the lesser noble houses was a considerable boon. For the house of Crimson, familial bonds with one of the Crown's closest advisors and a mare of such political prominence was highly desirable.

I'll also note, and I don't think Lady Clover would consider this a breach of her privacy, that based on clear threads of evidence woven through her diary, the clear headed scholar and the courtly poet were passionately in love with one another, a fact confirmed for me in discussions about the text with my sister in law Princess Cadance, whose word on such matters I trust implicitly.

Part 2 - Summer Solstice, 10 AE

Chapter 2 - Summer Solstice. Year 10 AE.

Scarce had the mysterious filly and I shared a moment's embrace, before she nuzzled my cheek and then pushed away, knocking me flat on my back with her preternatural strength. In but a moment my eyes uncrossed and I looked over to see her stumbling like a drunkard well into her cups toward my lady Queen Platinum.

I fear that her majesty is of a delicate temperament and quite unused to unbidden physical contact since she ascended to the high throne, and thus seeing the newcomer bearing down upon her, she let out a shriek rather unbecoming a monarch and tripped over the trailing hem of her gown in her haste to back away. I watched aghast as my lady toppled rump over horn and wound up as I did with her hooves in the air. The filly laughed with glee and leapt atop her, causing her majesty to wail quite indecorously and thrash as she nuzzled her face and giggled.

At this point some clot headed, half-wit mooncalf in the guards cried out that my lady the Queen was being attacked, and the greensward shook with the thunder of iron shod hooves as a gaggle of her majesty's knight destriers forced through the gathered herd of onlookers, horns ablaze and shields aloft, ready to rescue their lady liege from her distress. (As well as court her royal favor, in hopes of romancing their way onto the throne[1]. Would that they knew that my lady is well aware of the ulterior motive for their gallantry and makes more use of them for her advantage than they might use her for theirs. At the least she and I would not have to listen to so much boasting and bad poetry that way.)

With nary a thought save that which makes us pick up our hooves at a full gallop in times of desperation, I leapt forth to place myself between this new arrived innocent atop my lady the Queen and her majesty's o'er eager defenders, calling out frantically for them to stay back, and to not do the child any harm.

As I now sit in my study in quiet contemplation, I can scarce believe what I then proceeded to do when they showed no sign of listening to my entreaties. First, with a surge of primal force that rose from my very hooves and set my own horn alight, I wrested one of the warrior's shields from his magical grasp.[2]

Then, did I somehow manage to bat aside their thoughtlessly loosed spell bolts, although I am not one to talk of thoughtlessness, as the errant blasts did much damage to the garlands and banners that adorned the courtyard, and smote the weathervane off of the roof of the lord treasurer's counting house. With a cry of panic the servants and courtiers took to their hooves and fled in all directions, bearing away some of the laggards among the guards who converged upon the scene.

Their magical missiles loosed, several of the destriers gave pause at my strident entreaties to stand down, whilst others of a more single minded nature required more direct persuasion, having drawn swords and continued to advance. This reasoning I delivered by means of my borrowed shield, which rang like a tower bell as I applied it forcefully to their addled noggins. I fear at this time I'd fallen into an inexplicable state of fury that had put reason to flight, and somehow transformed me from a mild natured scholar into a raging amazon, and so I fetched them a bludgeoning they would not soon forget, all the while cursing like an earth pony draft team.

Why, I ask myself yet again, did I become as the berserks of the wild Mustangian herds, or the whirlwinders of the pegasi, in defense of this filly that I had only just met? Not one of my lady's knights could stand against my onslaught, nor could they wrest the shield from my magical grasp, and soon even the most eager among them quit the green lest they have their horns bent and their backsides paddled like wayward yearling colts.

A trembling presence at my side just as suddenly banished my wrath, as I looked down to see the filly pressed against me and looking up with her eyes wide and frightened, pleading wordlessly as she seemed to look right into my very heart and soul and beg me to do no more harm to my fellow ponies. At once the uncanny fierceness drained from me and I dropped to my knees. The shield I had been wielding fell to the sward with a clatter as I stilled my horn. She let out another cooing exclamation, at once frightened and consoling, and gently embraced me as tears started in my eyes.

The next sound I heard was my lady the Queen's shaken voice, commanding her guards to take the filly and myself to the dungeons. As I met her majesty's gaze, I could see she was fighting as hard as I had just fought her defenders to regain her composure. As they closed around us, my lady bid them do us no harm, and to bear us gently to our confinement, and to make sure we were treated kindly. A look of understanding passed between us. This was the best my lady liege could do to settle things down, and so I nodded my assent and prepared to go quietly. My raging had caused her majesty's knights destrier no small measure of dishonor, and only accepting punishment would assuage them.

A grunt of surprise and the thud of a halberd hitting the turf sounded beside me, and I wheeled to see the filly had reared up and was hugging one of the guards, causing the old stallion to go quite red in the face as he clearly had no idea how to respond.

Thinking quickly I stretched forth my neck and gripped her nearest wing in my teeth, gently pulling her away from him, much to his relief as he sheepishly sparked his horn to retrieve his polearm. I twined my tail with the filly's and beckoned for her to follow me, stomping a hoof in hopes of making her understand I would brook no argument.

I was much relieved when she fell into step beside me, or more like tumbled into half steps as her gait was still quite wobbly indeed. She laid her wing at my side to steady herself, as she haltingly placed one dainty hoof before another, and I took advantage of this to lead her where the guards would have us go.

I took one last look back at my lady Queen Platinum, who'd fallen into a swoon among a passel of courtiers that gathered about her as quickly and as thickly as ants around dropped slice of pie, plying her with soothing words and restorative food and drink. My stomach rumbled at the thought of the coarse bread and water I would be having to break my solstice fast. A far less festive repast than anticipated, o diary.

I looked away and hung my head with a sigh as they escorted the filly and myself away. I could not keep a smile from my lips as I heard the dear girl child let out a sigh of her own in imitation of mine. I bent my head to nuzzle her cheek, as we were marched off of the greensward by her majesty's stallions-at-arms.

As we were led into the lower precincts of the castle, we passed into shade, and then into shadow as we went down those rough carved steps into the dungeon. The filly shrank in to my side with a low moan of fear and uncertainty, her faltering steps ceasing as the darkness closed around us.

As I think on it now, I imagine this was her first encounter with darkness, if she was truly born within the bright flames of the Warming Heart. It strikes me as surpassing odd, those of us who are born the normal way, emerging from darkness into light, and this creature emerging from light and now being led down into darkness. What a world to enter as an innocent.

As we stopped on the stairs, the senior of our guard escort entreated us to continue. The filly was not budging, staring uncomprehendingly into the gloom, and uncomprehending of all entreaties as well. I was quickly coming to understand that this mysterious newcomer knew no language. After a moments thought, I lit my horn with a golden light, which brought forth another sweet smile upon her face and she kept close to me as we continued our descent.

Mercifully (be it my lady the Queen's mercy or mere provenance), the cell we were led to had a small window, a mere three hooves diameter and warded by bars of iron and thirty hooves depth of stone from the thick wall it was set in. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating the rough hewn chamber, casting stripes of light on the floor from the iron bars separating it from the narrow corridor.

The floor had fairly fresh straw strewn upon it, which made the space fragrant enough to be tolerable. Two rough pallets lay on the floor on thicker heaps of straw, along with a privy pot and a chipped basin and bowl near to a drain in the corner. There was also such graffiti on the wall as I was glad the innocent creature abiding with me in this place was unlettered as well as without knowledge of speech.

They slammed the door behind us and marched away, leaving the old stallion whom the newcomer had hugged upon the green to stand guard with his helm and halberd. His name, as I came to find out, was Turnstaff, and he was most kind to us from the start, assuring us as soon as his fellows had left that he was positive our lady the Queen wouldn't keep us there for long, and if she did he would do his best to see us as comfortable as he could manage. I thanked him most kindly in return.

Of course the filly did not understand his words, but she cooed to him and nuzzled him through the bars when she heard his tone of voice. The old guardspony was clearly quite taken with her, confiding to me that he had granddaughters, and she reminded him of them. (I smile as I write this, as I think on a grandsire's affection and how brightly indeed those dear fillies must shine in his eyes. It makes me recall yet again how my own grandsire used to dote upon me and call me his clever little candle. But I digress yet again, o diary.)

When he gave me their names, Tansy and Teasel, it occurred to me that this newcomer (newborn?) should have a name as well. It was Turnstaff's suggestion to call her Dawn Heart, which seemed fitting considering when and how she emerged among us.

Having decided a name, I endeavored to teach it to her, tapping her gently upon her breast and speaking it. At first she was puzzled, and then she began to imitate me, poking my chest with equal gentleness (thankfully, it now strikes me in retrospect) and repeating the word as I said it.[3] I then decided to introduce my own name to the process, as well as Turnstaff's, and was rewarded with her understanding.

From there, we fell into a game of pointing and naming, which I must confess, o diary, somehow turned our dreary surroundings into a place of wonder and discovery as Dawn explored every nook and cranny of our cell and took in the names of things with an astounding facility, and bless her if she didn't remember each one as I took my turn pointing at things and letting her name them back to me. Straw, bed, blanket, bowl, pitcher, pot, cockroach, helmet, halberd, window, bars, door, lock, all in turn were found, named, and learned.

Poetically, o diary, upon learning the word lock as part of the door, she came to understand that things were composed of other things that could be named, and we had soon moved on to pointing at different body parts and naming them. (I again smile to myself as I think back to this strange dungeon idyll in the middle of such a day as this, and recall her giggling and prancing with hilarity at each saying of the word "elbow".)

We had gotten to "wings", which puzzled the dear filly anew as she found she could only point to her own set and find none on myself or old Turnstaff, when we heard the sound of hooves clattering from down the corridor in something of a hurry. A delegation of stallions at arms hove into view with Lord Cleristory, her majesty's right honorable chamberlain, at their lead bearing the Grand Key of Castle Canter in his magic rather than letting it hang upon its chain about his neck. By the looks on their faces, something urgent had arisen, and I gently pushed Dawn's hoof down as she pointed at them for names and bade them speak.

My lord Cleristory hastily unlocked the cell as he hastily explained. A force of pegasi, girded for battle, had landed with Commander Hurricane at their vanguard, demanding (which, in truth, is as close as her excellency gets to what we would term "asking") to know why we had lowered the Warming Heart. I let out a sigh of exasperation and brought my hoof to my brow, but was relieved to hear that Pansy was among them. My lady the Queen had ordered my release and desired me to join her at the utmost haste.

When I asked him what of the filly who shared my confinement, my lord chamberlain shook his head and said it would be best if she stayed here for now. Reluctantly I agreed, and Turnstaff begged our pardons and said he'd see she was kept comfortable and occupied. I gave Dawn a hug and smoothed back a lock of her silken mane, bidding her be a good girl and stay here with the dear old guard stallion. I then picked myself up and followed Lord Cleristory and the guards down the corridor as the poor dear filly called plaintively after me, my very heart wilting in my breast to hear her charming mispronunciation of my name[4] echoing off of the dungeon's cold walls.

We froze in our tracks at the sound of a great wrenching and tearing of metal, and spun to see the fading of a golden glow of magic about the filly's pearlescent horn, as she trotted up the hall after us with a pout on her little face and a ruffling of her wings. The bars of the cell had been bent awry and broken, curling like the petals of a great rusted iron flower around a gaping, circular opening. Poor old Turnstaff sat with his jaw agape and his eyes as wide as saucers, his halberd toppled to the floor beside him.

I could only boggle, o diary, as Dawn came up to my side and leaned against me, saying my name with an undertone of insistence that I gathered was a demand to not be left behind. I entwined my tail with hers and gave her a wary nod, shrugging helplessly to my lord chamberlain and his escort. Old Cleristory wisely agreed to suffer the filly joining us, with a clear implication that whatever happened it would be my responsibility. I rolled my eyes and assented, and thus did we hie ourselves to my lady's royal audience chamber with this strange creature, at once adorable and terrifying, in our company.

Translator's Hoofnotes:

[1] Histories of any analytical depth make it quite plain that after Princess Platinum ascended to the throne of the unicorns in 4 AE her unmarried status became a considerable political tool for the young Queen, as a plethora of stallions from the upper echelons of the nobility vied for her hoof (and the crown of her father King Aurum).

While it may seem rather cynical in this modern age, and a bit sad as well that she went for so long without a special somepony, Queen Platinum's sly maneuvering and playing of one suitor off of another was a considerable help in integrating the unicorns into the body politic of Equestria.

As anypony with a high school education knows, it wouldn't be until 14 AE that she finally married Prince Blue Steel, Captain of her knights destriers and a distant cousin of both her mother the Queen Dowager Argent and of Lady Clover's husband Crimson Rose.

[2] A note on the spellcraft behind Lady Clover's choice of defense here. Spherical force fields, much like the spell my brother Shining Armor is well known for, weren't to be invented for another seven hundred years. Hence encasing the newborn Princess Celestia and Queen Platinum in a bubble of magical force was not an option.

The only practical protective spells against physical threats in the Founders' era were a forceful burst of focused wind, which served for deflecting projectiles or dragon fire, and the deft manipulation of a wood or metal shield to block attacks.

This latter method was commonly what unicorns in the knights destrier were trained in, wielding a shield in combination with either a sword or mace with their telekinesis for hoof to hoof combat in those often violent olden times. (They also commonly armed themselves with a primitive version of the modern horn blast, which could only be used once as an opening volley before the destriers closed with their opponents, due to its slow and inefficient recharge rate.)

The most adept among the knights destrier could wield multiple shields and weapons, making them almost one stallion armies. The legendary Sir Liftsalot, for example, was said to be able to levitate ten items at once.

In a conversation with my big brother about this passage, he conjectured that the element of surprise probably played as large a part in Clover's defeating the guards, who found themselves suddenly and very vehemently facing the brunt of their own tactics from an otherwise notably calm and collected advisor to the crown.

I imagine Lady Clover received this sort of training from her mentor Starswirl the Bearded as an exercise in focusing one's concentration. (Although I wonder if he was also simply teaching her to take care of herself in a sometimes hostile world.) Certain fragmentary records of the great mage's early life imply that he himself served in his youth among the knights destrier in the court of King Plumbum the Unhurried.

[3] I, for one, find it uncannily appropriate that Princess Celestia's first word was probably "Dawn". It was often common in those olden times for a foal to be given a name at their birth that would be replaced by a new, "adult" name when they attained their cutie mark. This indeed is what happened in both princesses' case, as will be detailed in future chapters.

[4] My curiosity was piqued by this passage, and so during one of our frequent discussions over the course of this project I asked her highness if she remembered at all what this "charming mispronunciation" might have been. Well, while the original pronunciation of "Clover" in High Monoceric and its rendering by Princess Celestia's inexperienced tongue would be rather academic to you the reader (academically adorable to me the translator), the modern Equestrian equivalent would be our little alicorn pronouncing Lady Clover's name "Kwovuh".

As of this writing both princesses are still calling one another "Cewestia" and "Woona" in private as a result of that conversation, and I'm making good on my threat to put this fact in one of my hoofnotes if they didn't stop calling me "Twiwight".

Honestly, sometimes you'd think they both weren't over a thousand years old. [5]

[5] Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote.
Twiwight, my dawling student, you weally do need to wighten up. - P.C.

Part 3 - Summer Solstice, 10 AE

Chapter 3 - Summer Solstice. Year 10 AE.

There was a palpable tension in the very air, o diary, that I could feel in the roots of my mane and tail as I entered my lady the Queen's audience chamber. It was as if the pegasi who now stood in a smart v formation before the dais had brought the ominous feeling that pervades the air in prelude to one of their thunderstorms inside with them but left behind all the black clouds, rain, and lightning.

Her majesty's knights destrier were out in force, girded in their splendid barding and glaring fiercely at the pegasi warriors, but for all their grandeur and pomp, I could sense an underpinning of nervous bravado in my Queen's noble defenders. It was a nervousness that I shared. In these ten years building our unified nation of Equestria, I have come to know and like many of our winged pony brethren, but even the mildest of them possess a certain wild, dangerous quality that makes me feel a bit skittish in their presence.

Her excellency Commander Hurricane stood at their forefront, pacing back and forth before my lady's throne, clad in the well worn armor she often wore on border campaigns with her helmet tucked 'neath one of her wings. This I took for a hopeful sign, as when the Commander's helmet is on there's simply no way of getting anything[1] through her head.

Dearest Pansy was standing at the rear right of the v, watching quietly as is her fashion, as Hurricane and her majesty Queen Platinum groused at one another. I could tell she was troubled, but I was relieved to see that steady look in her eye that said she would see to it that nothing got out of hoof.

All heads turned as the herald tapped his ceremonial staff on the flagstones and announced my arrival. The Commander wheeled to face me, and I believe she was about to ask what was the meaning of the disappearance of the Warming Heart. I braced myself for the usual wave of bombast and gave a respectful curtsey in greeting.

When her eyes fell on little Dawn, who trotted obediently at my side with her tail twined in mine, they went wide in what I took as outrage and she pointed at the filly and essentially demanded to know "What is that?" (I paraphrase, o diary, for she embroidered her question with some language that I consider highly inappropriate for court, especially when there are foals present, and thus unworthy of being recorded here.)

Bless her if the dear poppet didn't immediately take up the game she and I were playing in the castle dungeon, loudly proclaiming her name and bounding forward to begin pointing out parts of her and Hurricane's bodies after a brief introductory hug, taking considerable joy in comparing their wings. This her excellency submitted to with remarkable forbearance, or so it seemed to me at the time.

My words of admonition for little Dawn died on my lips as I studied the old warrior's face, gone still like a mask as the newcomer gamboled about her, poking and prodding at her and breaking the otherwise stunned silence with joyful shouts. I looked to the rest of her cadre, and saw that to a pony the pegasi had lost their fierce bravado and had gone wary and watchful, awaiting their leader's response.

I met Pansy's eyes, and saw none of the usual meekness and deference that I often see when we find ourselves at court functions, instead seeing the clarity and strength that emerges in times of danger or desperation. She broke ranks from her fellows and approached Dawn and the Commander, calling out the filly's name.

When Dawn saw her, she bounded toward her with a joyous squeal, knocking poor Pansy onto her rump just as I had been bowled over this morning, and I could not help but wince, for this time 'twas on the hard flagstones of my queen's audience chamber rather than on the soft grass of the courtyard. Ever the stoic, dearest Pansy made no cry but nuzzled the filly and gave her smiles and soft words of greeting. 'Twas most incongruous, to see them there on the polished stones in the midst of the court and the warriors of two tribes, Pansy herself in her coat of mail and dark cloak, her spear and helmet slung across her back, playing with the strange filly as a mother and foal would by the hearth.

The pegasi watched all this in gaping shock, until the Commander's bellow called them to attention with such force that even the flabbergasted unicorns of her majesty's court snapped alert. She bade them stand at parade rest, and then approached me with the strangest look in her eyes, and in a low voice requested to speak to me in private council. Perhaps requested is by far too delicate a term on my part, in truth it was an order that would brook no refusal.

She turned on her hoof and I followed, pausing only as my lady the Queen got to her hooves with understandable indignation, demanding to know where we might be going. Never one for the niceties of my people's royal court, Hurricane bade her to come if she wished, or to shut her mouth if she didn't. This, of course, loosed a flood of offended gasps and mutterings of disdain from my lady's faithful courtiers, which in turn caused her excellency's cadre of winged warriors to bristle in return.

Acting quickly to diffuse the situation before an intertribal incident occurred, I took a knee and begged my lady's pardon and permission to speak in private with the Commander, as I begged her patience with a look shared between us. This she granted with an imperious wave of her horn, and I thanked her majesty profusely and bowed and scraped as much as I could as I hurried to keep pace with the rapidly walking leader of the pegasi. I shared a last look with Pansy, who gave me a nod of stern encouragement as she kept Dawn busy by tickling her belly.

As soon as we'd passed through the curtains into one of her majesty's private council chambers, I was startled as Commander Hurricane dropped to her knees, panting and shaking like a leaf, her wings unfolding and flopping limp on the carpet. Thinking she'd been struck by some sort of fit, I was at once at her side asking if I could render aid.

She turned, and presented a face the like of which I'd never seen nor expected to see on this mare, who'd led armies clad in thunder and lightning, who'd cleft the skulls of great and terrible monsters with her spear, who'd set dragons fleeing like birds from a roughly shaken tree. It was the face of a frightened foal, cowering beneath her blankets as a thunderstorm raged in the skies above, rather than of a battle scarred general who mastered the tumult from atop the black, boiling clouds.

Here the resemblance to a child ended, however, for with very un-foal-like strength I found myself lifted by my cassock up off of my front hooves as Hurricane once again demanded to know what Dawn was. After I'd breathlessly persuaded her to let me put all four hooves on the ground once more, I proceeded to tell her of all that had transpired that morning.

When I had finished, the Commander sat in silence, brooding as she held a goblet of water I had floated to her in armored hooves that still trembled slightly. In these ten years of dealing with Hurricane and her tribesponies, I had learned that for all her bluster and bravado, a forthright question would serve as well as a carefully chosen inference or an elaborately couched leading of the subject would with my lady Queen Platinum, so I asked her directly what had put her in such a state.

I have been thinking much on her reply since then, o diary. She looked at me with a furrowed brow, and said "You unicorns... So much magic, and yet you have no understanding of power."

At my puzzled look, she elaborated in her brusque way. As fighters and cloud shepherds, she told me, pegasi learn to sense the formidability of a foe. They develop the ability to tell at a glance how fierce a beast to be subdued might be, or how much deadly lightning might be pent up in the depths of a black cloud. With the slightest of wry smiles she said that a lopsided runt[2] like her would never have risen to the position she had among her tribe if this instinct were not finely tuned indeed. She owned that this was a strong quality in dear Pansy as well, and what made her her most trusted advisor, although her general approach of kicking harder the bigger they were was the exact opposite of her former batsmare's habitual caution.

This hint of candid mirth disappeared like a moment's breeze as she told me that the sense of raw, primal power that filled the chamber as soon as dear little Dawn had entered the room had so terrified her that it had taken all of her willpower to stand silent and accept the filly's embrace rather than taking wing and hurling herself through the window or emptying her bladder on the spot.

I must admit, o diary, that I marveled at this. I had seen Hurricane look dragons in the eye without flinching. I'd seen her backhoof griffon warlords and make them apologize for scuffing her greaves. I'd seen her fly through hailstorms as if they were gentle spring drizzle. She looked me in the eye and asked me if I'd ever seen her bend steel, or emerge from a giant heart of magical flames.

This, I agreed, was among many strange things about this singular filly, but I daresay I stomped my hoof with conviction as I asserted that Dawn was a sweet, innocent child, and meant no harm.

Hurricane shook her head, and replied that one may not mean to do harm and still do it, particularly one such as Dawn who had the careless mind of a foal and the power to level mountains. Most nonplussed, and resolving to myself to try some simple scryings upon the little filly when we returned to the court, I asked the Commander what she would suggest we do.

A blow across the cheek that set my skull ringing out to the tip of my horn was the next thing I was aware of after she gave her answer, and when my eyes uncrossed I found myself staring into Hurricane's wearily smirking face, with my hooves grasping her armor peytral and shoving her against the wall, with mysterious cracks in the plaster radiating from behind her head. With a voice of strained patience, she clarified what she had just said, saying that while quietly getting rid[3] of Dawn might be the sensible thing, it wasn't the right thing, and she wasn't suggesting it in earnest.

As I sheepishly allowed her back onto her hooves, I noticed that she'd kicked off her iron spiked boot before she struck me, and I thanked her for that consideration. This elicited a chuckle from Hurricane, who wryly owned that she wasn't the same pegasus she'd been ten years ago. I bore a further comment that I was pretty strong for an egghead with as much grace as I could as my cheeks burned and my ears drooped.

She stepped to the window and gazed out it, and said to me with a sidelong glance that in a further departure from the Commander Hurricane of the old days, she thought our best course would be to summon our friends among the earth ponies so that all the tribes of Equestria might take council and decide on what might be done with this stranger among us. Her eyes became distant as she looked again to the sky, and she said to me that Dawn's arrival was of great portent to our nation. She knew not how or why, but said with implacable certainty that she could feel that significance in her very bones.

Our private council ended, we returned to my lady the queen's audience chamber, where we found her majesty's courtiers milling about uncertainly as Hurricane's pegasi stood like statues and Pansy played patty hoof with Dawn on the red carpet. That worthy pegasus mare stood with a respectful salute to the Commander as she approached them. I gave a nod to my lady the Queen, in promise that I would tell her all of what had transpired.

What Hurricane did next, o diary, still surprises me as it utterly flabbergasted all in attendance, save Pansy who gave the slightest nod of approval that mayhap only I noticed. The proud warlord of the pegasi hosts took a knee before little Dawn Heart, touching her nose to the ground at the filly's feet. For her part, our mysterious foundling let out an tiny giggle at what doubtless seemed to her some new kind of game and bent to kiss Hurricane on her forehead.

The Commander rose to her hooves, and spoke in a voice that I'd heard her use to cry orders across the peaks of thunderheads, and this, o diary, is what she said. "I hereby swear an oath upon these my wings and the winds that bear them skyward, that no harm shall come to this child, for she is under my aegis until such time as the leaders of the three tribes may take council regarding her place in Equestria."

My lady the queen stood upon her dais in the stunned silence that followed, and not being one to be upstaged in her own theater, sparked her horn in the colors of royal decree. "Hear ye, my subjects. We hereby declare this waif a ward of the crown, and offer her our protection and the hospitality of our court as well."

As the Commander stepped to the head of her cadre to formally address Queen Platinum, I surreptitiously crossed to where dearest Pansy stood with little Dawn, who bounced on her hooves and hugged me with her wings in greeting as I said a quiet hello to my pegasus friend. I was part way through thanking her for so ably dealing with Dawn and helping to keep things from getting out of hoof when the little filly startled me by pulling me to my knees with that uncanny strength of hers to kiss me at the base of my horn as she'd kissed Hurricane.

Pansy and I shared a guarded glance as she knelt to allow Dawn to kiss her forehead as well. At that moment, I thought on my recent conversation with the Commander, and decided then and there to cast a small detection spell to see if I could detect something of what she had claimed to sense with her pegasus instincts using my magic. I gently called to Dawn and met her open, innocent gaze as I softly lit my horn.

A corona of pink flames seared my inner eye and all was white light and the peal of a trumpet the size of the world, and then all was silent and black.[4]

Translator's Hoofnotes:

[1] I use underlines rather than italics for emphasis in keeping with the horn written nature of the original manuscript, and the method Lady Clover herself used for emphasis.

[2]The common popular image of Commander Hurricane as a long maned amazon off the cover of a Red Ponya comic book is quite different from the image of the actual historical mare who appears in glimpses through Lady Clover's journal.

In this account, Hippolyta Hurricane was rather short and stocky, and contemporary sources corroborated by a set of her personal armor held in the royal archives tell us that her left hind leg was a bit shorter than the right, and unshod she would have walked with a pronounced limp. However, this probably wouldn't have been much of a hindrance to her as a pegasus, especially one who was reputed by all accounts to be a superlative flyer.

Said armor is also quite brutally functional, consisting of a streamlined helmet and peytral plate, greaves, and a set of spiked platform shoes, with a little extra height on the rear left shoe. While the pegasi wore cloaks to travel, they would never wear them in battle, and wore quick release buckles that would loose the cloak if a fight was imminent and they hadn't time to roll them and stow them in their packs. The elaborate ceremonial helmet crests and dramatically looping and fluttering capes we see in the Hearth Warming costume is a post-Reneighssance affectation further distilled through the historical plays of Shakespony's day.

In addition, in all likelihood Commander Hurricane and other pegasi warriors of the time would probably have worn their manes quite short, so as not to get them tangled or produce extra drag in aerial battle. The flowing manes and tails of classical antiquity are an invention of the Romanetic era, more popular with poets, novelists, painters, and playwrights than they would have been with the fighting ponies of the actual historical period.

[3] This passage is interesting, and a bit chilling, as Lady Clover wrote down a much more detailed description of just what Commander Hurricane off-hoofedly suggested, which involved a dagger, a sack, and the Saddle River. This she crossed out so vehemently she splattered the ink, and filled in with a more vague phrase. I, for one, and many generations of ponies besides, am quite glad that Hurricane was merely being facetious (albeit in a grim, medievally violent fashion).

As I spoke to Princess Celestia about this particular footnote, she asked me not to think too harshly of the Commander, as she was the rough product of a wilder, less civilized time, and pointed out that were it not for her hoof in the process of building Equestria, talk of... getting rid[5] of somepony who troubled you would be a commonplace and casual thing rather than unthinkable in these peaceful, civilized times we find ourselves in.

[4] One of Lady Clover's endlessly charming doodles appears in the margins by this passage, showing her face with little spirals in place of her eyes and her tongue sticking out, with another doodle of a bearded stallion with bells on the brim of a large hat frowning at her, accompanied by the high monoceric equivalent of our modern pejorative "numbskull" underlined three times. (Don't be so hard on yourself, Lady Clover. I would probably have done exactly the same thing in your horseshoes.)

[5] I can no more bring myself to write it out than Lady Clover could, so I'll borrow the term she used.

Part 4 - Summer Solstice, 10 AE

Chapter 4 - Summer Solstice. Year 10 AE.

I awoke some time later, with my horn still throbbing slightly in its socket and twirling spots before my eyes that fled as I opened them to see the ceiling of my bower above me. By the length of the streaks of light coming from the window, I estimate it was sometime mid afternoon, which meant I had been out for hours.

I felt a stirring against my side, and looked down to see little Dawn nestled against me, her sleeping face streaked with tears, which explained the damp patch on my belly. I reached out to stroke her mane, so piteous did she look, but my hoof froze as it came back to me how I had come to be here.

What to my waking eyes seemed a small filly in troubled sleep, I now recalled as the blazing font of raw magical power I beheld with my dreaming eye, and knew full well the fear that Commander Hurricane must have felt, having sensed the vast thunderhead hiding within this tiny puff of cloud with her pegasus instincts. My own instincts whinnied at me to bolt from my bower and flee to the fastness of the dungeons, so strongly that I began to tremble.

This caused Dawn to awaken with a whimper, and when her eyes fluttered open to meet my gaze, she sighed my name with such sweetness, with such a look of relief on her little face, that my heart melted and bade my fears to gallop far away while I sat up to take the dear poppet into my embrace and nuzzle her cheek.

I turned with a start at the sound of my dearest Crimson asking for some of the same for a faithful husband who'd sat vigil at my bedside. And lo, there he was, looking worn and haggard as I doubtless looked, but he could have been thrice rolled in a hogs pen and still be ravishingly handsome to me for the love that shines in his eyes, and thus did I grasp his hoof and pull him close for a kiss.

When our lips parted, I became aware of a soft clearing of a mare's throat in the doorway, and looked to see dearest Pansy standing there, clad for travel with her pack and saddlebags secured for swift flight. She begged our pardon in her usual deferential way, and approached my bedside to give my hoof a squeeze and my cheek a quick, sisterly kiss. She explained that she was about to set out with a small detachment of pegasi for Mane Hat to bear Chancellor Puddinhead and whatever other delegates the earth ponies thought it prudent to send, meeting my eyes with a nod of promise that she would make well sure that darling Cookie would be among the party even if she had to bundle Powdermilk and all of the foals in a wagon and haul it herself overland.

I held her hoof to restrain her and begged her tell me what had happened in my lady the Queen's audience chamber before she left. Pansy assented with reluctance, telling me that she'd held off departing on the long journey to the coast until I'd awakened, but it takes little beyond a pleading, pouting face to get her to acquiesce in such matters.

She related to me that I'd met little Dawn's eyes as if I were about to speak to her, while my horn glimmered with the dim light of a minor spell. (It still amazes me, o diary, how perceptive our pegasi brothers and sisters are. That Pansy, while knowing naught of practical unicorn magic, could discern by sight how powerful a spell might be. Truly, they have eyes like hawks or falcons. But I digress.)

A moment later, she said with a shaking voice, I let forth a shriek like a banshee, and a flaming beam of pink light, so bright that it hurt to look upon, shot from my horn and cut a burning black swath in the vaulted ceiling above, while more pink light streamed out of my eyes, ears, nostrils and mouth. She said, in truth, I looked like one of the carved turnip lanterns the earth ponies make to fend off bogies and bogworries on The Night of Wandering Spirits[1]. Then, she said, I reared up violently and fell flat on my back with my legs rigid and my face utterly blank.

I must confess, o diary, that my face was doubtless just as blank when she told me this, for my magical aura is usually more the green of my namesake flora. I cast another wary glance down at little Dawn, who seemed for now to be content to let me hold her in the crook of a foreleg.

Noting the direction of my gaze with her sharp vision, dear Pansy said that seeing me struck down by this mysterious fit had a terrible affect on the poor little filly, who stood staring in horror at my prostrate form with trembling legs and wings, and then broke down with copious tears and loud wailing. As she stood and wept, she began to glow with a white light, her pink mane flowing and blowing in a strong wind that not even the pegasi could feel.

Pansy gripped my hoof a bit tighter as she breathed a sigh of pent up tension. She told me that all the ponies in the audience chamber were on the verge of panic, with some of her comrades in Hurricane's guard taking wing and hurling themselves out the very windows. The audience chamber rang with cries that the newcomer had struck me down where I stood, and the pitch of terror rose as they wondered if they might be next.

There would have been a stampede for the exits had her Commander and my Queen not taken hold of the situation when they did. Hurricane unslung her spear and ascended over the heads of the assembly, brandishing it and ordering all in attendance to keep still and silent, and threatened that the first pony who tried to bolt would get skewered like a roast apple at the harvest bonfires. I cast another nervous glance at Dawn when I heard this, o diary, wondering what her reaction would be if she saw the Commander make good on this threat. Still, a palpable threat apparently trumped a hypothetical one, and the courtiers and remaining pegasi warriors subsided to a skittish stillness.

My lady Queen Platinum, Pansy told me with a gentle smile, was on her hooves and galloped to my side, casting off her crown so that she could listen at my chest. She on the verge of tears, my dear pegasus friend told me, when she arose to declare she could hear my heart beating, and that I should be borne forth to rest in my bower and be seen by the royal doctors forthwith. She declared her parley with Hurricane adjourned, and bade her court to disperse peacefully and return to their homes.

Darling Pansy, in her usual self effacing way, said she helped a little by getting Dawn to calm down, taking her into her wings and holding her tight. She stopped glowing and subsided to sniffles and sobs as she buried her face in Pansy's shoulder. I gave the dear filly a gentle squeeze, which caused her to give the sweetest of coos and snuggle into my side with a sigh.

I cannot help but marvel at this quiet pegasus' bravery yet again, remembering her steadfast embrace when she, dear Cookie, and I huddled together on the frigid edge of extinction with the windegos closing in around us to lap up the last sparks of warmth from our hearts. And now her embrace cooled the raging inferno of this strange foundling's unknowable power, and she gave it despite the chance that she too might be smote senseless or dead by its capriciousness.

This I told her, which caused her in turn to blush softly and give her usual shrug and soft smile. Would that she could give me one of her comforting hugs now, but alas I shall have to wait until her return, as she pulled her hoof free from mine and took her leave, desiring to be on the wing to Mane Hat before the sun sank below the horizon. I wished her xasteriá in the fashion of the pegasi and she departed from us with a final kiss on little Dawn's forehead.

I sat in thought for some time, before I was jarred from my reverie by a loud growling from my stomach, with attendant pangs that reminded me with some vehemence that I'd not taken any food nor drink since last night's stargazing session with Crimson. Little Dawn stirred, her face alight with puzzlement, and pointed at and named my belly with an unmistakable note of question in her voice.

Almost as if on cue, my beloved husband returned, having slipped discreetly away while I spoke with Pansy, bearing a platter and a pitcher in his magic. With a flourish he laid the tray beside Dawn and I, and my stomach growled even more forcefully as I saw it was laden with a tall stack of honey soaked barley cakes and bowls of freshly picked blackberries and clotted cream. The pitcher bore cool, clear water from one of the castle's cloistered springs. This, he poured into a hovering goblet for me and a small cup for Dawn as she and I gazed at the bounty that he'd brought, me in hunger and she in curiosity.

I plucked a blackberry from the bowl with my magic and proffered it to her, but she merely stared at it, repeating the name as I told it to her. Seeing that I needed to perhaps demonstrate the concept of eating to her, I took up another plump berry and popped it into my mouth, chewing and swallowing it with relish. Mystified, she imitated me, snapping the floating morsel out of the air from my magical grasp.

O diary, the look upon her face when she tasted its sweetness, I daresay she was as thunderstruck by the new sensation as when I had been when I'd attempted to scry the depth of her power. She met my gaze, her voice trembling in awe, as she breathlessly repeated the word "bwackbewwy"[2] to me.

My spirits were instantly lifted at this display of innocent joy, and with a laugh I picked another juicy looking one, this time dipping it in the clotted cream before offering it to her. I was taken aback by what she did next, as she pinched her lips closed and averted her little snout. She then met my gaze and pointed at it and said "Cwovuh bwackbewwy." Bless her heart, I realized that it was my turn to eat, and so eat it I did, savoring both the sweetness of the berry and the sweetness of this child as well. She was on her hooves and bouncing as I dipped another berry in the cream and gave it to her, and its taste sent her prancing and gamboling in a little circle on my mattress as she sang the new words she learned. And thus, between us, we licked the platter clean and emptied the pitcher, as my dear Crimson watched with a bemused smile on his face and a gleam in his eye.

As he stood to take away the empty dishes he leaned in to whisper in my ear that he looked forward to the day when he could watch me nurture foals of our own so well.[3] I blushed and bade him stop being such a knave and go fetch us warm water and a washcloth to clean the purple stains that commemorated our solstice meal on our muzzles. He gave me a bow and a flourish and another kiss on the cheek, then sallied forth on his new quest with a merry laugh.

Dawn and I were still sticky with honey and berry juice when my lady Queen Platinum appeared at my door, eliciting further blushes and a flustered bow from me as the clever little filly pointed at her majesty and called her name based on my startled exclamation at my lady liege's arrival.

Lacking any better ideas, I proceeded to give my lady a more formal introduction to little Dawn Heart, apologizing for our unseemly state. Her gracious majesty tossed her flaxen mane and assured me that I needn't be so formal since we weren't at court, and dismissed the knights and ladies in waiting who attended her outside with a flick of her horn, slamming the door behind them in a most perfunctory manner with her magic.

She then lifted her crown off and set it on my bedside table, unclasped her stately cloak and laid it across my old dowry chest, removed her jeweled shoes, and then climbed up on the mattress with Dawn and I, letting out a sigh of surpassing weariness as she settled down beside me. She sat patiently as the little filly clambered across me to give her a kiss on the cheek and a hug with a wing, not seeming to care that the eager child was smearing berry juice on my lady's immaculate pale coat.

Dear Platinum turned to me and asked me in a soft voice to speak to her of all that had transpired that day, and give her my honest thoughts on what it would mean to the realm and to the ponies who abided therein. She told me that she'd spoken at length with her high ministers of the court as queen and advisors. She'd spoken with Commander Hurricane as states-mares and leaders of their respective tribes. Now she wished to speak to her most trusted friend.

And thus we spoke mare to mare, with little Dawn nestled between us with her wings spread across our withers, listening intently if not understanding as we talked. Crimson returned, startled then solemn as he left a vessel of warm water and a cloth, then backed out with a bow. I told Platinum of all I'd observed and experienced this night and day, of all I'd discussed with Hurricane and Pansy, and of all I hoped Cookie and even Puddinhead, in her inexplicable way, might help us to make clear.

As I made myself useful cleaning the cloying remains of our meal off of Dawn and myself, while the dear filly wriggled and giggled in my grasp, Platinum became pensive and digested what I had said as she dabbed away the stains of our newcomer's kisses. She said she understood what Hurricane had said about power quite well, expounding that physical or magical force weren't the only sorts of strength that could do great good or wreak great woe if used capriciously. Political and social power could ruin lives if wielded selfishly or without thought. I will own to moistened eyes as she met my gaze and thanked the maker above that she'd had me around to help polish and shape her with my wise council into a more thoughtful ruler than the flighty, arrogant princess she was in her youth.

She cast a wary look at Dawn and took my hoof in her own, and said that it was imperative that this child be brought up with wisdom, kindness, and humility. She feared for Equestria and ponykind if a being of such power and innocence were allowed to become corrupted by that power.

Therefore, she said, that when the earth ponies arrived and we convened our meeting, she would recommend that I be appointed official tutor, mentor, and guide to Dawn Heart. Well it was, o diary, that I was laid upon my bed, for in truth the immensity of what she asked came crashing down upon me and would have sent me tumbling to the floor for the second time today had I been standing.

The stunned silence was broken as Dawn's little tummy rumbled, and she declared in her simple way that more blackberries and cakes were in order. She giggled in innocent glee as her charming request caused Platinum and I to break into uproarious, honest laughter.

With a wry chuckle still on her lips, my lady the queen arose and put on her raiment once more, and bid us come with her to partake of the midsummer feast, which was well underway by now. When I demurred at the thought of little Dawn causing an uproar among the nobles and courtiers, my queen nodded thoughtfully, and then declared that we would repair to her majesty's personal chambers, where we might enjoy our repast in less hectic surroundings.

And thus did I while away the rest of the day in the pleasant company of my beloved husband, whom in her graciousness my lady the Queen sent for to join us, and the mysterious filly whose arrival brought with her I know not what changes for our new forged nation. These worries I strove to set aside for later as they laid us out a splendid table in her majesty's opulent chambers.

Little Dawn learned many new words and the fine dishes that they were attached to, marveling at each new flavor with untrammeled wonder. (Although I am not surprised, o diary, that the dear poppet has a tremendous sweet tooth, and a tremendous appetite as well, which rivals her physical strength and magical power in how shocking it is to behold.[5])

My lady the Queen was mostly involved with the main festivities going on in the grand hall, but made a point to stop in and visit with us for a time. Her excellency Commander Hurricane also stopped in, having been persuaded to spend the night as a guest of the royal court rather than return to her encampment on the western border, since tomorrow the earth ponies would join us. She slipped into the room and settled by the window as Crimson tuned up his viol and played for us, her normally stern face glowing with a soft smile and gently misted eyes as she sat and calmed her fierce warrior's heart to the sweet airs my beloved could spin from his instrument's strings.

Dawn was enraptured as soon as he began to play, drinking in the melodies with her ears as eagerly as she'd emptied the bowls of blackberries my lady the Queen's servants had been bidden to bring us. She laughed and pranced and capered at the lively, merry reels, and went still and sweetly attentive at the slow, sad ballads and rustic folk tunes of the old lands.

Finally, as the sun glowed red on the horizon at the end of its longest day, the soft strains of Crimson's viol weighed down the dear filly's eyelids, and in turn did her head fall gently into my lap as we sat together on one of my lady's brocade cushions. Bidding us good morrow, Hurricane took wing to find a cloud to sleep on, while Crimson and I thanked my lady's servants and retired to our rooms, carefully carrying Dawn with us in a cloud of magic. We emptied my old dowry chest and removed the lid, and then filled it with pillows and blankets to make the little filly a bed, laying her gently down in it and then bidding one another good night.

I lay awake, unable to sleep, thinking hard on all that had happened, until the distant sound of revelry in the castle dimmed down to the stillness of the late hours. And thus I come to where I began this entry, and so I wonder if

Dawn is awake and wants to sit up with me. More to come later, o diary. Good night. [7]

Translators Hoofnotes:

[1] The Night of Wandering Spirits was an ancient precursor of what would eventually be known to modern Equestrians as Nightmare Night, although it was much more a vigil against the numerous ephemeral creatures that haunted the remote corners of Equestria. "Bogies" is as close as I can translate Lady Clover's generalized term for a class of scary or mischievous spirits that could be driven off with hollowed out turnips or gourds carved with funny faces. These eventually evolved into the jack-o-lanterns we carve from pumpkins in modern times.

Bogworries are a dreadful cousin of the windegos and dust devils (thankfully just as rare in these peaceful times), that appear as inky black equine specters with a sinuous tendril growing from their forehead like a twisted unicorn's horn. They haunt lonely bogs and swamps, and feed on fear just as their horrible relatives feed on hatred or despair. They are particularly averse to laughter and smiles, and will flee if boldly ridiculed. So if you ever meet one remember to "giggle at the ghosties" as my dear friend Pinkie Pie would say.

[2] Still adorable. Again, I'm paraphrasing from the original High Monoceric.

[3] Sadly, Lady Clover and Crimson Rose's union thus far had been childless, which was not for lack of trying as some very private passages attest.[4] I say "sadly" for Lady Clover's sake, even though in light of her accomplishments as a luminary, mage, and politician she lived a truly full and remarkable life, because she deeply desired to raise a family as well, and the passages where she dwells on the possibility that she can't are frequently passages where I discovered evidence of her tears that I mentioned in my forward. I wish, from my historian's perspective, that she could read ahead in her diary and see what was in store for her.

[4] I must beg Lady Clover's posthumous forgiveness for even partially reading these, and I promise they were hastily moved past as soon as I'd realized what they spoke of. I also must thank Princess Celestia once again for her patience and gentle guidance in getting my face to return to its normal shade of lavender afterwards.

Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnote:
[5] Poor old Clover didn't know the half of it. I find it endlessly ironic that I was the one who wound up with a reputation for gobbling things up.- P.L. [6]

Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote:
[6] Quiet you!- P.C. [8]

Translator's Hoofnotes:

[7] Lady Clover cut off suddenly here, the addendum with explanatory note was much more hastily scrawled.

[8] With all due respect, your highnesses, I'm going to stop letting you proofread my monographs if you're going to clutter up my hoofnotes with this sort of nonsense.

Author's Note

Switched from asterisks to numbers for the hoofnotes, as they were getting harder to follow the more recursive they got.

Part 6 - 22nd. Day of the Sixth Month, Year 10 AE

Chapter 6 - 22nd. Day of the Sixth Month, Year 10 AE.

Morning broke a bit literally, o diary, to the sound of something fragile shattering on the floor, accompanied by a soft cry of distress. This was followed by me letting out a groan, as my mind stumbled sluggishly from the vale of slumber into the clear light of the waking world. I found I was the sole occupant of my bower, which in turn meant little Dawn Heart had awakened and gotten up, which in turn meant she was poking about my chambers and had knocked something off of one of my shelves. Which in turn meant that my troubles were far from over.

A thick smell of lavender filled my nostrils, leading me to guess that it had been the perfume bottle from distant Araby[1] that Vetch had given me as a wedding present[2]. I felt the beginnings of a headache gather at the base of my horn as I rolled over to face the wall and dragged a pillow over my head, counting slowly to myself to keep from exploding with anger at Dawn's unthinking carelessness. She is but a foal, I lectured myself. She knows not what she does, which was the entire problem with foals, I seethed. I know not how long I lay there and stewed, and as I look back on it now and put pen to parchment, mayhap I was being more than a bit childish as well.

Presently, an uneasy feeling crept over me as silence filled my bower. Too much silence for comfort, in truth, to use the old turn of phrase. I unburied my head from 'neath my pillow and perked an ear, and heard the faintest of sniffling in the stillness. I propped myself up to look about, and was at once moved to soft laughter and a welling of pity in my heart, as I saw the dear filly sitting solemnly in the corner where I'd banished her last night for her last destructive outburst, a tiny penitent with bowed head and drooping ears. My resentment drained away at once at this small demonstration of contrition, and I remembered this child's sweet temperament and loving heart, much more precious than any vain bauble, no matter how treasured.

She perked up as I called to her and rounded upon me with a woeful look upon her sweet face and more tears in her eyes. I arose and went to her, taking her into a hug and then bade her show me what she had done. She led me to a spot on the floor near one of my shelves, where the cloying scent of lavender essence wafted from a small, oily puddle amidst shards of painted glass, that glittered as the morning sun's light streamed in the windows and washed across the faceted surfaces.

I stroked her tousled mane and floated the privy pot over to cast the glass fragments into it, plucking them off the floor in my magic as Dawn watched, wide eyed in fascination.

Would that I had taken more care, as her boundless curiosity caused her to reach out a dainty hoof toward one of the larger pieces of broken glass. The privy pot joined the perfume bottle in shards on the floor as her piercing cry broke my concentration, and I wheeled to see her rear up and tumble backwards onto the floor beside me, thrashing and kicking and beating her wings.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl, as I saw drops of blood, like the clearest, most flawless rubies ever prized from the earth, trailing from the frog of her front right hoof. My heart chilled in my breast as a fearsome glow lit Dawn's slender body, radiating from inside her like a bright flame inside a frosted glass lantern. Winding motes of light flickered in the air like fiery dust motes, as the chips of the broken bottle and pot and the various bits and bobs that scatter across a floor in need of sweeping began to float in an aura of gathering force. My head began to throb, as I felt the welling of raw magical power coalesce around us.

Again, I thank the Maker that I had dear Pansy's brave lead to follow, as at once I laid hooves upon the stricken filly and drew her into a comforting hug, pulling her tight to me and stroking her mane as I pleaded with her to be still and calm once more. Further mercy came from above in that my caress seemed to bring Dawn back to herself, and she lapsed into ragged sobs as she trembled in my embrace, her wounded hoof held out beneath the pit of my foreleg as if she were trying to push the hurt she doubtless felt as far from her as she could.

Poor little thing, making pain's acquaintance so soon after entering this mortal world. Mayhap I should sit in the corner a while myself for being so careless. Were I able I would spare her that first introduction for all time, but alas such grace is not mine to bestow, and such endless days are not mine to command.

Crimson stumbled into the room with eyes wide in alarm, demanding to know what I had been doing to the child that would make her cry out so loudly. He understood as soon as he saw her bloodied hoof and the fragments of glass and pottery on the floor, and went to retrieve the leech's chest that old Starswirl bade me always keep at the ready when I left his tutelage.[3]

My dear husband returned shortly, bearing a pitcher of water and a hoof full of cloths, as well as the precious casket of medicines.[4] After a brief consultation, it fell to me hold and comfort the whimpering filly as Crimson tended to her wound, drawing forth the slivers of glass from her tender little hoof as gently as he could as I breathed a steady cadence of soothing words in her ear. Bolstered by my assurances, Dawn watched through her tear blurred eyes as my good stallion cleaned and dressed the wound, only wincing and moaning a little as he applied essence of thyme to stave off blackening of the blood.

As he finished securing a pad of lambs' wool in the cup of her hoof with bindings of clean linen, he smiled and winked at me (the rogue) and bade me kiss her hoof as the final step in the process. This I did, and thus it was that Dawn learned the word "better" with a fragile, tear streaked smile. (Although I think, o diary, that she believes it is a verb, as she proudly told Pansy upon her return that "Kwovuh Betta Dawn" when showing her the bandaged hoof.)

We got her to rise, balancing precariously on three legs with wings outstretched as she favored her wounded hoof. Before she had a chance to become upset at her impairment, darling Crimson swept Dawn up in a cloud of magic and placed her on his back. He gave me another wink and set off at a high stepping trot, boldly declaring it was time for brave little fillies to eat blackberries and cream for breakfast. This brightened the dear poppet's mood immensely, and she flapped her wings and giggled with glee as my adorable fool of a husband spontaneously sang a song of the sweetness of the fruits of summer.

I sat wearily on my haunches and smiled and waved as they went, calling after Crimson that I would join them as soon as I'd cleaned up my chambers and run a brush through my hair, and to make sure Dawn got something hearty in her as well, like some oatmeal or timothy hay. As their laughter and song receded down the stairs, I flopped onto my side, my meager night's sleep already used up on the brief morning's fresh tumult. I'd only known this child a day and a night, and yet it already felt like I'd aged another decade.

As my head settled on the flagstones of my chamber, I beheld with wondering eyes that the spots where Dawn's blood had spilled were sprouting tiny blossoms of golden yellow and pink, with delicate leaves of vibrant green that rustled in my breath as I drew close to stare. I had never seen the like in all my born days. Yet another mystery to add to the growing tally, although this one I hoped dearest Cookie might be able to shed light on when she arrived, for the ways of the green and growing things of the land are known well to her tribe. Additionally, I wanted other ponies to see this lest they think madness had alighted upon the tip of my horn.

After cleaning up and composing myself, I made my way down to the castle's feasting hall, where I found Dawn and Crimson at one of the trestle tables among Hurricane's troupe of pegasi, who lounged about with their tribe's typical rough informality, laughing loudly among themselves with much striking of hooves upon the planks and rattling the platters as the servants bustled about.

By my dear husband's posture, I could tell he was more than a bit nervous, as pegasi have a bit of a reputation for taking violent offense to an ill considered turn of phrase, but bless him and his ever ready wit, he was jesting as easily with these fierce warriors as if he were among the bards and glib courtiers of my lady the Queen's court.

The Commander herself was seated beside little Dawn, in what appeared to be a rapt conversation. As I came near, I realized that the pegasus mare had laid aside her scarlet tunic and was giving the filly a guided tour of the scars that crisscrossed the hide of her barrel and flanks like lines on a well traveled map. Dawn turned to face me with a grave look on her sweet little face, as she pointed a dainty hoof at the war mare's side and informed me that this was a "dwagon skwach" and that was an "assins dagguw" and another was from a "gwiffon speaw".

My ears laid back in shock and indignation, and I stomped a hoof and demanded to know how Hurricane could countenance showing such terrible things such an innocent child. Her troops fell silent at my raised voice, as poor Crimson gave a nervous chuckle and flicked his ear trying to signal me to be still.

The Commander merely met my gaze with one of her accustomed smirks and shrugged, asking me if I'd rather pretend to Dawn that such things never happened, or show her that while they do happen they can be gotten over. She took up her tunic and pulled it on over her head as I stood and sputtered, and then genially invited me to sit down and break my fast before little Dawn gobbled up every blackberry in reach.

Indeed, the dear filly's muzzle was stained purple with dribbling streaks of the same running down her chin. I grumbled as I sat down beside her, thanking the stars that they at least thought to tie a napkin about her neck so that her chest remained unstained. I'd already had quite enough of bathing her for one day.

The rest of the meal, and in truth the remainder of the morning passed uneventfully, by the grace of the powers above. The rhythm and rote of life in the castle continued as it ever had, although my usual role in its workings was unfulfilled as I was much too weary and distracted to be of much use in her majesty's archives or at council.

I stopped in briefly at my lady the Queen's chambers to beg her pardon for another day's idleness, which my generous sovereign freely gave on condition I make a detailed report in privy council of last night's assorted goings on, especially regarding the new window the castle had suddenly acquired in its western wall. In faith I detected more pity in her majesty's gaze than umbrage as I pawed sheepishly at her red carpet and hunched my withers in abject penitence, weakly offering that it would be a fine place to install a balcony with the commanding view it offered. My lady deigned not to comment, and dismissed me from her presence with a bob of her horn.

Upon my quitting her majesty's apartments, I sought after Crimson and Dawn, and found them in the castle garden, where my dear husband kept our troublesome waif's rapt attention with the pleasing strains of his lute as he sang her more of his boundless store of old songs and poems. After whiling away the morning thusly, our bellies bade us seek a midday meal among the flowers that bloomed there, and once we'd refreshed ourselves in the fountain, the dear filly and I turned once more to the simple pleasure of our game of learning the names of things.

I was watching Dawn as she stared engrossed at a ladybird beetle crossing a broad green leaf when the calm was broken by the sound of trumpets from the watchtowers. Rising to my hooves, I peered eastward with hoof over eyes, and was awarded with the sight of several pegasus drawn wagons approaching.

Our esteemed friends the earth ponies had finally arrived.

Translator's Hoofnotes:

[1] Ponies had been exploring and trading with other peoples of the ancient world for centuries before the great migration from the old lands. Before the unification of Equestria, it was the wide ranging pegasi tribe who'd established initial contact, although given their warlike nature that contact wasn't always welcome or friendly. As the influence of harmony and cooperation between the three tribes led to a greater emphasis on diplomacy, boat and wagon loads of goods began to flow in both directions across our kingdom's borders in an ever growing stream.

[2] The lamented perfume bottle Lady Clover refers to would have been a fine gift indeed. What records survive to the present identify Vetch as Lady Clover's elder brother, who also abandoned the family trade of candle making to become a civil engineer. Based on Lady Clover's occasional mentions, he was deeply involved in the construction of many of Equestria's early roadways. She clearly took a fair bit of pride in her big brother, from the tone of her mentions of him in her diary, and considered him one of her best friends from her childhood and onward.

[3] It's quite interesting here that Clover reverts to a more neutral tone in referring to her mentor, as opposed to her usual use of the High Monoceric jibe that I translate as "the old grump". I think her gratitude and relief at having what we would term a first aid kit handy tempered her usual mildly exasperated attitude toward her former teacher.

[4] The exact contents of this chest are lost to time, as "leech-craft" as the ancients termed it was superseded by modern arcane medical techniques. I had several fascinating conversations with my good friend Zecora, a zebra mare who makes her home in the Everfree Forest and whose knowledge of herbal medicine and folk remedies is unmatched in all of Equestria.

Zecora's conjecture on what herbs and emergency supplies Starswirl the Bearded would have instructed Lady Clover to keep at hoof would fill another book and is a bit outside the scope of this manuscript, but the abbreviated list would have included an assortment of natural disinfectants, pain killers, and palliatives that would have been kept in powdered form for maximum storage time and efficacy, to be mixed into broth or tea or thick pastes if they were to be applied to wounds as a poultice.

Lambs' wool and linen, as well as silk thread or waxed linen thread and silver needles, washed and boiled then sealed in wax paper, were kept handy for the dressing of wounds. The ancients had yet to invent the sort of spells that would allow viewing of microscopic germs, but they understood how to prevent sepsis and that clean wounds just healed faster regardless.

My zebra friend had a good natured laugh at my squeamishness at the idea that what our ancestors called leech-craft probably involved actual leeches. (In fact, she had to give me some camomile tea to settle my stomach after our discussion.) While it sounds horribly primitive and really, really gross, she told me that there was a sound basis for their use, as the anesthetic properties of their bite and ability to cleanly drain fluid buildup was very helpful when dealing with bruising and infection. (I'd still have to be pretty desperate before I let anypony put one of those nasty things on me, though.)

Zecora and I both recommend "Super Naturals - Natural Remedies and Cure-Alls that are Simply Super" as an excellent resource for further study of the pharmacopia that grows in the gardens and forests of Equestria, and some of the herbal remedies detailed within doubtless date back to Lady Clover's time and even earlier.

Part 7 - 22nd. Day of the Sixth Month, Year 10 AE

Chapter 7 - 22nd. Day of the Sixth Month, Year 10 AE.

I twined my tail with Dawn Heart and she and I and dear Crimson trotted to the castle courtyard, where we found our travelers from Mane Hat disembarking from the wagons as the pegasus teams unhitched themselves with help from their comrades who'd flown escort.

A small herd of ponies had already gathered about the lead wagon, and sure enough her excellency Chancellor Puddinghead was among them, shaking hooves and exchanging glad greetings and jests with all and sundry without even bothering to remove the ridiculously long scarf and heavy woolen coat she'd apparently donned against the chill of a night on the wing. (It is still remarkable to me, o diary, how easily that mare can have a herd of ponies eating out of the cup of her hoof, be they exalted nobles or the humblest of peasants.)

She spotted us and bounded over, leaving her coat and scarf draped over the withers of one the endlessly patient earth pony landsknechts who accompany her as bodyguards (and minders) wherever she goes. Before I could even bid her welcome or introduce Dawn, she'd taken the little filly up in a hug and rubbed noses with her as they both giggled with glee.

When her excellency finally set Dawn back on her own hooves, she turned to me and matter-of-factly told me she could tell right off that this filly was something special, because she's got lebkuchen coming out of her ears. With a flourish she produced a specimen of said baked good from behind the child's ear and presented it to her with a winning smile as the dear poppet blinked in amazement and reached up a dainty hoof to feel the spot where it had seemingly materialized.

Puddinghead gave me a conspiratorial smile and nodded toward the wagons as Dawn devoured her conjured treat, and said she'd brought a Cookie for me as well, although she was a bit big to pluck from behind my ear. And lo, there she was, climbing stiffly off of the second wagon, helped by dearest Pansy. I left the Chancellor and my husband trading bon mots and sly jests over Dawn's head as the earth ponies' supreme tribune pulled another lebkuchen from behind the dear filly's other ear and proffered it to her.

Smart Cookie's weary face lit up as I approached, and she told me with a wan smile that I was looking a bit haggard, and asked me if I'd been getting enough sleep as we embraced. I laughed and chided her for her talent for understatement, feeling such relief to have her and dear Pansy at hoof that I could have wept. I welcomed my favorite pegasus back with a hug as well, thanking her for for her fleetness in bringing us all together once more.

Getting right down to business in her typical no nonsense manner, Cookie pointed across the sward at Dawn, who was receiving a high stepping pony ride on the Chancellor's back with much laughter and flapping of her snowy wings as her horn gleamed in the late afternoon sun, and asked if that was indeed the filly in question. Were she not like a sister to me and dearly to be welcomed, I mayhap would have waxed sarcastic in the sheer obviousness of the question, but I am well accustomed to my friend's direct approach to the world and its conundrums, (and also well aware that when sarcasm comes into play Cookie wields it like a greatsword whilst my own blade is but a tiny dirk.) and thus I led her over to make an introduction. [1]

Dawn let out a whinny of glee at our approach, and leapt from her excellency the Chancellor's back to tackle Cookie in a hug. This was not unexpected, although I was surprised to see she caught a bit of air with her wings and glided most of the way. My estimable earth pony friend reared up and caught her with ease, grunting a bit in surprise as she was driven backwards a few hooves, digging divots in the turf. She held the child for a few moments, then set her down on her own dainty hooves as Pansy and I drew up.

Dawn reared and tapped her peytral, giving her name, and then turned and hugged me as I sat on my haunches, and introduced me by name as well. She then turned to Cookie and pointed, looking at me expectantly. With a smile on my weary face I gave my dear earth pony friend's name to her, and couldn't help but laugh as confusion washed across the filly's face as she said the name and she mimicked eating an actual cookie.

This caused a smile on Cookie's face, and she responded by reaching into a pocket on her jerkin and pulling out another lebkuchen , whilst casting a rather rueful glare at her Chancellor, and clarified as best she could, between a yummy cookie, and Smart Cookie. She gave it to Dawn, who took it and pensively bit into it, and you could almost see the wheels turning in her little head as she tried to sort out that different things sometimes had the same name.[2]

Cookie shared a similar expression as she turned to Pansy and I, and declared to us that Dawn had the wings of a pegasus and the alicorn of a unicorn. Before I could respond with a good natured "no foolin', Fetlock" [3], she pressed on, saying that she also had "the tread of an earth pony".

Pansy and I exchanged puzzled glances, and our friend elaborated. I had never heard of this before, o diary, but it appears to be of that vast and inscrutable store of wisdom that our friends the earth ponies merely know in their bones without e'er cracking open a tome or even being told by their fellows.

Struggling to explain in words, Cookie informed us that there is a sort of connection between earth ponies and the land, flowing between the soil and their hooves and giving them a feeling of presence. The best example she could give compared the earth to a lodestone and its namesake ponies to bits of iron or steel, and yet that was inadequate, as it wasn't just sticking them down.

Pansy compared it to the intangible flow of wind that the pegasi feel sifting through their wings as they fly, or to their ability to walk upon clouds as if they were solid ground. I offered that mayhap it was like the current of energy that connects betwixt horn, aether, and inner eye for the unicorns, directing our will into spells upon the very stuff of the universe. To both these Cookie shrugged in her laconic fashion, saying if it helped us get the picture it was fine with her, but she could not say because she was neither a pegasus nor a unicorn. Then with a face both wondering and grave, she reached out and stroked Dawn Heart's cheek, and declared that somehow, this filly was a scion of all three of the tribes at once.

Almost on cue our reverie was broken by a blare of trumpets, and we looked to see Queen Platinum and Commander Hurricane approaching, each in their finery and each attended by bodyguards, my lady the queen with her two most favored knights destrier, and the Commander with two of her fierce pegasi warriors. Chancellor Puddinghead snapped into focus and stepped forward to greet them as her accompanying landsknechts hustled to take up positions at her flanks.

With great formality, the three leaders of the pony tribes performed a flawless Triune[4], although as I often speculate, o diary, that after ten years of practice all three of them would be able to do the thing just wakened from a deep sleep. When they landed back on their hooves, Puddinghead in her usual extemporaneous fashion reared up and dragged her majesty and the pegasus' supreme warlord into a hug (I daresay, she might be the only pony in the world who would be able to do such a thing without getting thrown into the dungeon or cast over the border at a high speed and altitude.) She wheeled to face our little group of trusted advisors, all gathered about the foundling Dawn, and began to march over to us as Hurricane and Queen Platinum puzzled over the lebkuchen they suddenly found in their possession.

Before I knew it her excellency the Chancellor was pumping my hoof and greeting me in her usual infuriating misappropriation of my name. [5] What passed for formalities finished, she laid a hoof across my withers and explained to me that she and her people would be glad to sit down to some food and maybe a couple of hooves of cards, and then everypony should get together and talk about what to do about little Dawn, and also about getting another Warming Heart up there in the sky as soon as possible so that the nation wouldn't fall apart from internal strife or suffer outside invasion.

With that, she just as abruptly wheeled and headed back to the other leaders, brightly asking her majesty what was for lunch today. All I could do is stammer a stunned "What?" as I sat heavily down on my haunches. Cookie let out a sigh, closed my jaw for me, and she and Pansy helped me to my hooves and led me after the grand procession that followed in the wake of Queen, Commander, and Chancellor in the direction of the feasting hall.

I sat through the meal, and subsequent hoofs of Ruff and Honors with a stunned expression on my face, scarcely responsive as my poor mind reeled at what I realized they would be asking me to do, in addition to the responsibility of taking care of Dawn Heart. I felt as though I were faced with a raging inferno upon my alchemy lab table with but a small cup of water at hoof to put it out. (And I shan't mention that particular incident any further, o diary.)

My quill trembles in the grasp of my magic as I write down the very same words that I said as soon as we'd convened our grand meeting of the tribes in one of my lady the Queen's high council chambers:

I don't remember how I created the Warming Heart! It just happened spontaneously! It was a spell cast in desperation as the ice crept up my horn and the light faded in my eyes! What if I couldn't do it again? I had no idea how I did it in the first place!

My lady Queen Platinum rose and voiced her full confidence that I was more than enough of a mage to accomplish the task, and that the full resources of the kingdom would be put at my disposal to aid me. She stressed how important a symbol of our harmonious new nation the Warming Heart had become. It was upon all our heraldry, it was upon the backs of our coins, our cavalry raised it upon their standards and wore it over their own hearts when sallying forth to defend our lands and ponies.

At this Commander Hurricane chimed in, agreeing that the Warming Heart was a beacon and rallying point for her forces. All the land that the magical flames illuminated was ours, and if her warriors could see it in the sky, they knew that it shone for them, and took courage from the awareness that they had friends among the ponies of our land.

She also vowed that should I need assistance, she and her pegasi would fly to the ends of the world to find what I needed, be it materials, knowledge, or even helping hooves. Her excellency even suggested that a force of pegasi could seek out the old grump in his wanderings, and bring him hence if I so desired it. This is one of many, many things I am most conflicted about.

In desperation, I seized on other lines of protest. I pointed to Dawn, who currently was fast asleep in the cradle of dear Pansy's wings after a full belly and a bit of boredom overcame her. She had been born from the Warming Heart. For all I knew, after ten years the heart beginning to beat and then bearing forth what amounted to an infant goddess was the full and natural course of the spell. I scarce knew what to do with the one we've got now, what would I do in ten years with another one? Or it might not even take ten years. Who knew?

Puddinghead took the floor with a thoughtful expression as I ground my hooves on the tabletop, and conjectured, completely out of anypony's depth as usual, that perhaps I could put something else besides a heart up there. Something that wasn't going to come alive and undergo aponytheosis. (What? WHAT?)

She began to pace and think, and then make suggestions as my chin sank toward the table and my hooves reached up to clutch my poor throbbing head. If not a pink heart, then perhaps a yellow moon, or an orange star. No, she decided. "Too much like the stuff that is already up there."

What about a green clover? "Give props to the mare who made it happen." she said while giving me one of her crowd pleasing smiles. My eyes must have become even more haunted than they already were, as she dismissed the idea with a shake of her head, abandoning the path of flattery.

When she suggested a blue diamond, my lady the Queen spoke up, saying that she rather approved of that idea, saying it would indeed be a fine symbol of the beauty of our kingdom. Hurricane agreed, chiming in that it was also a sign of permanence, and of strength. Puddinhead rapped her hoof on the table to carry the motion, nodding sagely in concurrence with her fellow leaders.

So in short, o diary, they wanted me to recreate this powerful spell I had no memory of casting, with nothing but the cohesion and status of the kingdom at stake, and to alter its final appearance to reflect their whims and hopefully preclude any further surprises like the powerful and mysterious Dawn Heart, who, by the way, I was supposed to take care of. All I could do at the time is pull my cassock over my head and groan.

I felt a soft touch of a hoof on my shoulder, and heard Cookie's blessed voice speak up, stating that the spell wasn't cast by my horn alone, but by the friendship and shared hearts of herself and darling Pansy. None of these burdens would be mine alone to bear, but shared by these my sisters of different mothers, and furthermore by all ponies in the kingdom when it came to it.

I dare say, o diary, that my cheeks were much bedewed when I raised my snout from the table and met that dear mare's eyes. I felt Pansy's gentle nuzzle upon my neck on the other side, and met her soft smile with my own grateful one. Little Dawn stirred on her back and murmured my name in her slumber with a sweet smile of her own.

I met the gazes of our country's leaders with a firm resolve stiffening my spine and hiking my tail proudly, and rapped my hoof as I agreed to do my best, and to place a great gleaming blue diamond in the firmament.

So now I find myself ensconced in a veritable fortress of books, emptying my shelves and filling my study with as much lore as I can bring to bear. Cookie and Pansy have already made good their promise by taking little Dawn off my hooves for the night and allowing me the peace and quiet to properly think things through. (Methodically. Jingle jingle.) This entry is my last bit of ~~complaining~~ whining before I center myself and begin thinking clearly on the matter at hoof.

And thus I close, for there are other books that I now must concern myself with. Good night.

Translator's Hoofnotes:

[1] Lady Clover often makes note of Smart Cookie's ability to clarify a complex situation with a cutting remark, once referring to her talent for sarcasm as "bluntness so profound that it travels 'round the globe and arrives as self contradiction" and another time as "a blade so sharp one only sees the back edge of it". A bit of the great statesmare's trenchant wit survives to this day in the text of the Hearth's Warming pageant and the literary Smart Cookie's frequent asides to the audience.

While I mention the pageant and how the characters of the founders become distilled over time, I can't help but dwell a moment on Chancellor Puddinghead, whom time has made into a comical, almost clownish figure (given even further heights of ridiculous whimsy whenever my good friend Pinkie Pie performs her part. Pardon the alliteration.)

Lady Clover's relationship with the Chancellor is a complex one. It's often clear from her writings that she found her queen's earth pony equivalent infuriating to deal with, given to odd turns of thought or flashes of convoluted quasi-logic. As the ever stringent Cookie was once quoted about her senior administrator's flourishes of rhetoric. "If you can't bedazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bull muffins."

Regardless, there is a strain of grudging admiration for Puddinghead's deft hoof at populist politics. The chancellorship of her tribe was an elected position, and somehow, year after year, she won out over all challengers by making her constituents agree with the cut of her gibberish. I have a sense, based on Lady Clover's writings, that beneath the jokes, eccentricities, and non-sequiturs, Puddinghead possessed a razor sharp mind and a natural gift for making sense by revelation rather than direction, for leading ponies to water by making them think, as well as winning their hearts by making them smile.

[2] Another doodle sits in the margin of this passage, and I think I was perhaps too hasty in declaring the earlier drawing of a moon maddened Lady Clover to be my favorite. It's also significant as it's the first depicting Dawn Heart. In fact, it's the first image of Princess Celestia ever made, and while not as grand as the wall sized paintings, frescoes, and stained glass windows of the Reneighssance showing her in all of her regal glory, it is as charming a thing as you'd ever hope to see.

It depicts the wide eyed, innocent face of a little filly with a flowing mane, with the High Monoceric equivalent of a question mark over her head. Beneath her is a cookie, and the face of a pony recognizable as Lady Clover's usual caricature of her friend Smart Cookie.[6]

I squealed with such glee at seeing this little drawing for the first time that one of the royal archivists was forced to shush me, although she squealed just about as loudly when I showed it to her. I shushed her right back, and we called it even. (I take a moment to tip my horn to my friend Bookmark, who provided me a wealth of supplemental research on many a long night in the archives. You take such good care of the books, you deserve to have your name preserved in at least one.)

[3] Here I'm forced to use the modern idiom for a pony scoffing at a glaringly obvious statement, as the phrase Lady Clover uses, involving a pheasant and a butter churn, has been rendered nigh incomprehensible by time and cultural shift to the modern reader.

[4] The Triune was a gesture of mutual respect and acknowledgment developed in the early days of Equestria and used by its leaders to establish that all three tribes were on an equal footing and that each respected the others.

The princesses demonstrated it for me one evening, and it goes thusly: All three leaders would face one another, and then bow down to one another in tandem, taking care to always meet eye to eye and nose to nose with nopony's head higher than the others. They would then straighten up, bump hooves, give a toss of their mane, and make a small hop in the air, which symbolized the earth ponies, unicorns, and pegasi respectively.

The practice obviously fell out of use as the Princesses ascended to the throne and the polity of Equestria formalized into the parlimentary system, the judiciary, and the ministries of the crown. You still see the occasional hoof bump, head toss, or hop in the procedures and rituals of the various branches of government, however.

Now you know, dear reader, why they do that.

[5] Chancellor Puddinghead frequently referred to Lady Clover as "Mrs. The Clever", and it drove our esteemed authoress right up the wall.

(Rather like two eminent ponysonages who are on really thin ice right now after the following exchange in this chapter's hoofnotes. I'm going to complain to my publisher if this keeps up. See if I don't!) [10]

Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnote:

[6] See! The filly couldn't tell the difference between a pony and a baked good! And yet who gets accused of gobbling up ponies for hundreds of years? I rest my case. -P.L. [7]

Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote:

[7] Methinks the princess doth protest too much. You certainly have no complaints about all that free candy you get every year because of that particular folk tale. -P.C. [8]

Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnote:

[8] None save how much of it seems to disappear when you're around, sister dearest. I suppose I should be grateful for that as well, lest the crescent upon my flanks become a full moon. -P.L. [9]

Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote:

[9] You'll get the crescent of my horseshoe back there if you don't quit butting in to Twilight's hoofnotes, Woona. - P.C.

Publishers Hoofnote:

[10] We apologize, Twilight Sparkle, but it's not our place to excise the writings of their royal highnesses. If the princesses want it in there, then we put it in there, no questions asked.

Part 8 - 12th. Day of the Seventh Month, Year 10 AE.

Chapter 8 - 12th. Day of the Seventh Month, Year 10 AE.

O diary, it has been far too long since last I cracked your covers and opened your quietly attentive parchment face to the light of sun or candle. I have burned many candles indeed, pursuing my research in neglect of the quiet reflection of recording and musing upon the day's events, and now even research is denied me in favor of feverish preparations of a different sort.

There has been much ado, one might even go so far to say a hurly burly is ahoof. Were you not at the bottom of a stack of books I was bundling, mayhap the scratching of my quill upon your pages would be even longer stilled, mayhap indeed until the unpacking was completed at the other end of my upcoming journey.

But I set the cart afore the drafter, o diary. (An apt turn of phrase indeed.) The matter of note is that I am being compelled to move with my darling Crimson and dearest little Dawn Heart, by royal decree, to the distant settlement of Fort Everfree, so as to raise her, as my lady the Queen puts it, in a more "peaceful, bucolic environment".

If I may be so bold as to make a frank comment on her majesty's couching of the situation: "Peaceful and bucolic" my aching rump! What she means is "a safe distance from a major population center" or "far away so that no further holes might be blown in the castle walls 'nor craters blasted in the gardens." [1]

I have had a drink of spiced wine and calmed down somewhat, o diary, and I apologize for besmirching your patient pages with my choleric scrawlings.

I am loath to dwell in detail upon the second incident of Dawn Heart's incontinent use of her vast powers. Mayhap someday when my hooves no longer shake upon thinking of it. The new reflecting pool her majesty has ordered built at the site shall serve to assuage the memories of that day to those who shall continue to dwell in the castle and I hope its quiet beauty will dim the vision of a mighty oak tree, uprooted and tumbling high over the castle wall. [2] That is one silver lining upon the cloud, to use the pegasi idiom, and another is that Dawn has learned conclusively that bumblebees are to be left alone to go about their business.

It had been hoped that in the capable hooves of her majesty's maidservants, little Dawn would be properly cared for whilst I divided my attention between her and studying to recreate Equestria's beacon. Cookie and Pansy had stayed on a few days to see that the dear filly's days were settled into an orderly, wholesome routine. (The very act of privy training a newborn goddess is a feat of skill and bravery that has earned my earth pony friend an exalted place upon the Equestrian Scroll of Heroes, by my lights. Would that I could think of a decorous way to phrase such a nomination.)

Thus did little Dawn's days pass in a steady rhythm and thus did she thrive. Rise with the sun. Use the privy. Wash face and hooves and preen the wings. Eat a wholesome breakfast. Play in the gardens. Have a hearty lunch. Take some quiet time learning her words. Lie down for a nap in the afternoon. Use the privy. More play in the gardens. Take a light supper. Use the privy, followed by a warm bath. Finally, listen to a story or an air on Crimson's viol, then to bed as the sun set.

Alas, dearest Cookie had to return to her own children in Mane Hat ere they missed their loving dam o'ermuch, and darling Pansy had to return to her Commander's war flight after conveying Cookie home. Thus I was left alone with Dawn, and thus in a moment of inattention disaster struck. Suffice it to say that this unfortunate ~~explosion~~ ~~accident~~ indiscretion on my charge's part was the proverbial straw that o'ertipped the haywain, and my regal lady's hoof was forced.

Heretofore, my regal lady had given the appearance of taking Dawn's presence among us in stride, and in turn doing what she could to see that her subjects accepted our foundling among them. However, it had become increasingly clear to me, even in my state of distraction at my studies, that her court and the servants were quite ill at ease with the dear filly. Even her majesty's bravest knights-destrier quivered in their horseshoes at her gamboling approach, and others, most heartbreakingly those ponies who have foals of their own, shied away from Dawn, dragging their children behind them in furtive retreat.

It came to a head after the incident in the garden. The maids feared to go near her, the nobles and knights and ladies of the court all took whispered council, and petitioned her majesty the Queen to take measures. And thus it was that my dear lady came to me in my chambers alone the next day after, weeping at the powerlessness of a monarch to forestall what had been demanded, and tearfully telling me what she would in turn command. She swore to me on her crown and the crowned heads of her line and lineage that she would do her utmost to soften the burden upon us as much as she could.

I blame my dearest majesty not for what is to be done, but the circumstances and upon whom the blame falls still anger me beyond reason, for Dawn Heart's nature is a sweet one, overflowing with love for any pony she meets. To use her excellency the Chancellor's oft spoken motto, Dawn has "Never met a pony she didn't like." She does not understand why ponies avoid her, and I have had to do my best at times to console or distract her from this heartless shunning. She wouldn't harm a single hair on their manes. She was born, as far as I might conjecture, from the fires of friendship. It is her very essence. Cannot they see? Cannot they be the friends she craves? Cowards! Dullards! Tremulous fools! It is not fair!

And the injustice increases when I think on what my family and friends suffer in company with me. Crimson, bless his loving heart, is putting on a brave face at our imminent exile from court (which it truly is, although they do not call it thus), saying that he is pleased at becoming a landed country squire with the granting of an estate near the fortress and quipping brightly that he is moving up in the world. [3]

Fie, I say, and berate him for the glib knave he is. He is a courtier, a minstrel, a socialite. Mark my words, o diary, that my poor darling is going to go mad with boredom, and will likely take me with him. We are moving from a castle at the center of unicorn society to a forsaken hut in the wilderness. I have awoken in many a cold sweat at night from ill favored dreams of what sort of swamp or thorn choked thicket we shall find ourselves taking possession of after our long journey down the Saddle River. [4]

He merely shushes me and kisses me at the base of my horn, and says that while he will miss the courtly revels somewhat, he shall relish the quiet time to write and compose, and that I shall benefit from the solitude in researching the elusive spell I have been charged with repeating, and that our new home will probably be a paradise, and that that is exactly what he shall call it.

Paradise Estate. In my deepest heart I nurture a prayer that the name shall not turn out to be a bit of irony worthy of my dearest Cookie.

And speaking of that inestimable mare, she and her family shall be joining us in our remote new home, as will darling Pansy, at the decree of their respective leaders. Shortly after my lady Queen Platinum made her decree that we be ~~banished~~ relocated to distant Everfree, missives were sent and parleys made among her fellow leaders, and the plan for raising Dawn Heart was revised.

While I will admit part of me is overjoyed beyond words that they will be at my side rather than scattered across Equestria as we have been lo these past ten years, and while I shall probably be needing them at hoof to help me bring forth another magical beacon over our lands, the unfairness of being compelled to uproot themselves, o diary, is yet more coals in the brazier of anger that burns in my breast, and these flames are further fanned by how blithely they accept their fate.

Pansy, bless her heart, says that she is not being uprooted at all, for she has lived the wandering life of a pegasus warrior all these years and one place is the same as another to her. She is unmarried and without close relatives, and she owns no possessions save that which she carries upon her back on campaign with the Commander. She says it will be "nice" to settle down somewhere, and maybe try her hoof at raising a flower garden.

She also says that the future site of Paradise Estate is "nice" as well, having done us the kindness of scouting it out last week as well as carrying some correspondence between myself and Cookie. I must confess, o diary, as a pegasus I do not entirely trust her judgment in regards to a land based dwellings, and furthermore it is her way to soften and downplay bad news, and thus a "nice" from her could well equate to a "nightmarish" from another pony.

Smart Cookie is much the same, saying in her recent letters to me that she and her family relish the chance to get out of the hustle and bustle of Mane Hat's sea port and into the country where they can set their hooves on grass and soil instead of cobblestones, and that they all look forward to getting some honest farming done. In faith, o diary, I cannot tell if this is her trademark sarcasm or not.

Cookie reports that preparations for her family's move are proceeding apace, although she wishes her excellency the Chancellor would stop trying to "help" her, mainly by throwing open the city's storehouses and loading them down what one might very charitably term "largesse". She says there have been some tense moments from refusing, as politely as possible, her leader's flights of misguided generosity (examples of which include an inlaid banquet table capable of seating twenty ponies, an entire wagonload of musical instruments, and a life size bronze sculpture of a moose[5]) in favor of practical boons like a complete set of well crafted tools for both building and farming, a goodly supply of warm blankets and soft bedding, and stocks of seed for planting as well as casks of salt and other spices for preserving their produce.

It is her plan, she tells me, to fit everything, including the foals, into two wagons that she and Powdermilk will be pulling themselves, and to that end she has been as quite busy giving unneeded things away to all and sundry and "reducing their hoofprint" as she puts it. Pansy says their house in the city, which was sparsely furnished albeit comfortable when last I visited three years ago, is now as empty as a granary at the end of winter.

Were that I could be as on top of things as dearest Cookie. My world is a mountain of books and papers, enough to bow the axles of several wagons, and that's not to mention my laboratory and all the delicate equipment that must be carefully packed to travel. Crimson has suggested (in jest, or else he shall regret it), that we release a bumblebee in our chambers and let Dawn take care of everything once and for all, a flippant statement that earned him a duly deserved evening of flattened ears and cold stares from his long suffering wife.

Dawn herself has been good as gold, as the perceptive child is aware that something important is ahoof, even if she doesn't completely understand what it is. I warrant she thinks all of our packing and organizing is some sort of elaborate game that grownup ponies play. She has even helped me on occasion, with that uncanny strength of hers, carrying bundles of heavy books down from my apartments to the gatehouse.[6] She craves my approval so deeply, and I am pleased in turn to give it to her for being such a sweetheart.

It is Dawn's sweet nature that has given me what little comfort comes to me these days, as well as the love of my husband and the kindness of my dear friends, as I am forced to balance the responsibilities of raising a preternaturally powerful wonder filly, researching this ineffable spell to conjure a new magic beacon for our skies, my long neglected duties in her majesty's court and how I might pass them on to whose who might replace me, and now moving my household to a distant settlement at the far end of the valley.

Confiding in your pages, o diary, is an edifying habit I have let slip too long, for in penning that last passage I am reminded that I do not suffer these privations alone, and reminds me of the comfort that putting my thoughts in writing can bring.

But alas, I must close now, as all of this clutter in my study still taunts me, parading unboxed and unorganized before my weary gaze as I contemplate the thousandfold tasks at hoof. Thus I bid thee good night and safe passage on your journey, as I pray the same for me and mine.

When next I open thee, it shall be in Everfree.

Translator's Hoofnotes:

[1] Several lines of fairly blistering high monoceric expletives follow, which I have declined to translate and excised from the text so that any librarian that would be kind enough to consider adding this manuscript to their collection won't have to keep it in the "mature" section.

I honestly don't believe Lady Clover would have minded my taking this liberty with her writings, considering the state in which she wrote them. There are some very telling tear stains on this page.

Asking the Princesses what some of those terms even meant was one of the most regrettable conversations I've ever had in my relatively short life, especially when they proceeded to "expwain" in that horn-curlingly annoying baby talk to the accompaniment of much giggling quite unbecoming of the immortal rulers of our nation, in my opinion. [7]

[2] The site of this reflecting pool is currently beneath the royal ballroom, and with the use of a judiciously applied See Through Stone spell, I could make out its vague outline along the colonnade where that Broncosi statue of Princess Celestia stands (in spite of a certain out of control Grand Galloping Gala I still go a bit red in the face remembering.)

Using the princess' vague recollections of the incident, my friend Rainbow Dash and I took a surveyors scope onto the roof and took a sighting. My suspicions about the trajectory and landing spot of the unfortunate oak were confirmed, and my pegasus friend was willing to admit that it was pretty impressive.

There is a mountainside tavern on the northern face of Canterlot known as the "Tipsy Oak" that takes as its coat of arms an upside down oak tree. The owners, an elderly unicorn couple named Mr. and Mrs. Tipple, claim the original inn was built using lumber from a tree that fell from the sky and nearly knocked Mr. Tipple's great to the tenth power grandfather off the mountainside where he was gathering elderberries.

The tavern has been torn down and rebuilt several times, and most of the original wood is long gone, save for one venerable cask used for aging cider, the product of which is said to have a bit of extra "kick" and leaves a lingering feeling of warmth in a pony's tummy.

Rainbow Dash and I sampled some and found it quite good, although Dash still maintains Sweet Apple Acres cider is the best there is.

[3] Most of the lands around what would have been the location of Fort Everfree, which in turn became the Castle of the Royal Pony Sisters in later years, have been swallowed up by the infamous Everfree Forest, and are lost to history. Zecora, my wise and brave zebra friend and sometimes mentor, probably knows the depths of the Everfree better than anypony alive today, and has come across occasional house foundations and disassociated stone walls in her roving, buried under twisting roots and layers of moss and lichen.

One discovery that fascinates me with its implications is her description of a clearing containing traces of a compound of dwellings that sounds intriguingly like the layout of the estate Lady Clover describes renovating and moving into in the following entry. It may well be what remains of the house where Princess Celestia, and later Princess Luna, spent their foalhood.

I would dearly love to have Zecora lead me to this site, but she has demurred in the name of safety. She tells me a particularly fierce grove/pack of timberwolves lair in the area and are best avoided.

[4] River travel tied most of Equestria together in those days, as roads were rudimentary and overland travel was slow and dangerous in a kingdom that was mostly wilderness.

While the pegasi were excellent at carrying messages and small parcels between the widespread communities that the united tribes had settled, they hadn't quite wrapped their heads around the idea of air drawn wagons for hauling freight, beyond carrying small cart loads of food to their cloud cities from earth pony farms. Only as more and more of them gave up the warrior lifestyle and became integrated with the other tribes did those sorts of commercial enterprises begin to appear.

Thankfully for Lady Clover and her cohort, the Saddle River, which runs the length of the valley and passes through both Ponyville and the Everfree forest, flows southwest, so the journey would have been fairly easy until they had to make landfall and transport their belongings the rest of the way by wagon.

Flatboats and barges were the most common water craft used by ponies in the ancient era, hoof poled or drawn from the shoreline by sturdy hoofed earth ponies. Sails were not as common until a few decades later, generally being a result of collaboration between earth pony and unicorn shipwrights and pegasi to improve maritime transportation.

[5] The head of this bronze moose survives to this day and watches over the doors of the Manehattan Stock Exchange, where it was installed about three hundred years ago. The tip of its nose has been worn down and burnished to a bright sheen by countless traders rearing up to rub their hoof on it for luck. As a result they call him "Old Gildersnoot"

I dug this little factoid up by chance while paging through a copy of "Cosmarepolitan" magazine in the waiting room of the Ponyville Spa. I include it just to show that history can be delightfully weird and whimsical, and that sometimes some very strange connections can occur as time marches on.

[6] This gatehouse was destroyed during the uprising against Discord. Based on Princess Celestia's description, there were several storage rooms that served as a staging area to secure freight or luggage until it could be loaded for transport. While this particular structure held no particular sentimental attachment for her, she did say that she still regrets having to bring the venerable edifice of Castle Canter down after it had stood strong for so many years. Much of the stone was recovered and bits of it can be found all throughout the buildings of Canterlot.

Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote:

[7] Now now, Twilight. Luna and I apologized in earnest for that, and in fairness how would you have me react when my brightest, most adorably serious student ever turns to me at a lovely brunch on the veranda, and with a perfectly innocent and inquisitive expression asks me what {excised by royal order} means. -P.C. [8]

Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnote:

[8] Yea verily! The cloud of tea and royal saliva that burst forth from my sister's lips and nostrils was truly impressive. 'Twas the best brunch ever! - P.L.

Author's Note

I find myself honored once more by a kindly troper on TV Tropes with an article about one of my fanfics, which can be viewed here

Thanks for making the correction! Now it's perfect and I can't be more thrilled! :pinkiesmile:

Part 9 - 18th. Day of the Ninth Month, Year 10 AE

Chapter 9 -18th. Day of the Ninth Month, Year 10 AE.

And here we are. Finally.

I shall spare you, and myself, my accustomed bemoaning of the absence of my truant pen upon your waiting pages, o diary. The span of time betwixt the dates is testament enough. The move has been completed, and while we are still unpacking, I think I can say with certainty that we are mostly settled in here at Paradise Estates.

I suppose I should speak of our journey to our new home, which was as arduous as travel is wont to be, but less so than the long trek to the fertile lands that would become our fair nation of Equestria, when I accompanied her majesty's expedition from the old countries. The mountain roads that radiate from the castle are much more passable than the bare trails we followed lo these ten years ago, and the walk much more pleasant in the warm days of late summer than the frozen wastes that we traversed with the windegos at our heels. Were we not pulling wagons loaded with all of our worldly possessions, it would have been like a jaunt in the countryside.

Our party consisted of myself and Crimson and little Dawn Heart, whom I daresay journeyed half again as far as the rest of us from her constant curious excursions hither and yon as we progressed down the mountain. Darling Pansy was with us as well, and proved invaluable in preventing our inquisitive filly from getting lost or left behind by keeping an eye upon her from above.

Several doughty earth pony drafters had been hired by my lady the Queen as well to ease our journey, and it is they who pulled most of the weight on the first leg of the trip. I blush a bit, o diary, at how much of that was the contents of my library. To think when I first moved into my chambers in Castle Canter my books fit neatly in a cart I could pull by myself. This time around my little cart was loaded with the contents of my laboratory, which I felt I should take sole responsibility for.

I will digress a moment to note an amusing incident when we finally came to the river port at the hoof of the mountain.

Dear little Dawn was quite curious about the whole process of hitching oneself to a cart or wagon and pulling it, and as our trip had gone on had begun to pester us a bit to try it out. Once we had secured a nights lodgings (again, thanks to Queen Platinum's largesse) at the Riverside Inn, we finally relented to her constant entreaties of "Dawn pull cawt?" and hitched her up to one of the larger wagons. I had to make some extra holes in the straps of my own harness, which was the smallest one we had, so that she could get hooked up properly.

I am sure our stout teamsters thought it a gentle bit of sport to watch the slender little slip of a filly strain and struggle against an immovable weight, and learn that there are some tasks best left to the grownups. O diary, I can scarce describe the looks on their faces when the massive wagon loaded with several tons of solid books rolled along behind little Dawn as if she were skipping ahead of a toy cart full of fresh picked flowers. [1]

Somehow one thing led to another, and I'll warrant that my dear husbands' generosity in purchasing summer cider and small beer for our drafters had some part in it (greasing the wheels, he called it), and a contest of strength was initiated, with Buckboard, Tumblewheel, Half Ton, and Bracer hitched to one end of a stout rope and Dawn hitched to the other for a tug of war. The dear poppet was near beside herself with glee at this new game, hopping about on her hooves and giggling and declaring "Dawn pull ponies!"

And pull them she did, as soon as the kerchief was dropped, our quartet of drafters found themselves pulled backwards across the inn's courtyard, dragging furrows in the dust with their hooves. A crowd of teamsters and stevedores had gathered as the spectacle played out. One by one they joined our team of drafters, gripping ropes in their teeth and pulling alongside them, until a veritable herd of mighty thewed stallions were pulling in vain against one slim little filly foal.

Pansy, Crimson and I could only watch with growing concern, as what at first seemed another harmless game had somehow swept up everypony staying at the inn that evening. More and more ponies seemed to have come out of the woodwork to watch, babbling excitedly and making wagers among themselves as each new stalwart joined the contest.

The whole proceedings was brought to a sudden halt as the rope snapped, sending poor Dawn tumbling forward onto her snout and leaving her opponents in a tangled, groaning heap of ponies. Bless her dear little heart, she only sniffled once and blinked away her tears before she was among them, helping them up and giving hugs with her wings and kissing bruises, all the while ignoring her scuffed knees and muzzle.

I am both proud and relieved to be writing this, o diary. She has grown more resilient over her happy days in the castle gardens, and while I am saddened that she now is acquainted with pain, she deals with it more admirably than some full grown ponies that I know.

Dawn's bravery wasn't my only source of relief, however. I was also relieved to find the simple river folk we found ourselves among were much less prone to skittishness than the nobles and servants of the high castle. They accepted our little marvel in good spirits, with much laughter and the trading of wagered bits and the buying of drinks as the assembly of musclebound oafs cheered and tossed her into the air to much giggling and flapping of her snowy wings.

We put her to bed soon after, with the dear poppet only keeping her eyes open long enough for some extra kisses on her knees and nose before she fell fast asleep, all worn out from a busy day.

Of course, she was still up with the sun the following morning, her boundless store of energy renewed and sending her bouncing about the room while we all groaned into action with a thousand aches assailing our bodies.

Dawn was terribly excited to ride on a boat. She had been introduced to the idea by way of toy boats in the baths, and was fascinated to see them so much larger in real life when we drew our wagons down to the riverside and loaded them on the flat bottomed barge my Queen had commissioned for our transit to Fort Everfree.

Our initial passage on the river was largely smooth and untroubled, as the patchwork of cultivated farmland all around us gave way to wild, rolling hills and stretches where the forests raised a canopy of sun dappled green atop gnarled wooden pillars. Crimson pulled his viol out from his wagon, and played a merry accompaniment to the rough songs of the boat ponies as they labored with our team of drafters to steer the boat. The swift currents of the Saddle River did most of the work, with only a few deft applications of the poles and one point where they towed the barge from the shore to navigate around some rapids to keep us on course.

Little Dawn seemed to be a thousand places at once, leaning over the edge and dragging her fore hoof or horn in the water, clambering among the wagons' wheels and moorings, chasing dragonflies across the deck, and watching the crew ponies at their work.

I only had to scoop her up in my magic to keep her from falling overboard twice, with two more such rescues going one apiece to Crimson and Sand Bar, the rough earth pony mare who was the owner and captain of our barge. Bracer the draft pony's quick reaction with the tie ropes kept the dear poppet from getting a wing caught beneath one of the wagon wheels as she shimmied through the tight spaces 'neath our gently listing cargo. A stern admonition from me kept her from getting much more than a light singeing across the snout and another lesson in leaving insects alone to go about their business. The crew ponies bore her in good humor, although she was more than a bit underhoof.

She is indeed blessed that in addition to all her prodigious gifts of strength and magic that she is heart meltingly adorable, else we would have locked her in a chest and loaded her on a wagon for the duration of our journey.

It was as much a relief to those of us confined to the boat, as well as a new adventure for little Dawn, when Pansy offered to take her up on her back for a bird's eye view of the river. The notable respite from the dear filly's enthusiasm became all the more notable when Pansy's sharp pegasus eyes espied a substantial obstacle on the course ahead of us, in the form of a large fallen tree blocking the river with a veritable barricade of flotsam and debris collected around it.

We on the boat heard of it when our brave pair of aerial scouts doubled back and gravely reported what they had seen. Sand Bar grimaced in disgust and spat a gob of chewing weed [2] over the rails. (Which in turn caused me to grimace in disgust, but not so she could see it. I was a guest on her barge, and it is meet for guests to keep the manners of their host, unseemly though they might be.) Our able skipper grimly reckoned that it would take a few days hard work to clear the blockage.

At this, Pansy stepped forward with a suggestion, that Dawn use her magic to clear it. I bade our captain to drop anchor as I pondered this notion, weighing the risks with the potential benefit.

Our dear filly's power was vast, and I was well certain she could clear this fallen timber as easily as she sent the oak tree flying over the battlements when the bee stung her. But this vast store of magical force was uncontrolled. All of her outbursts had been thoughtless reactions to distress or frustration. It was the whole reason we'd been sent ~~into exile~~ to our new home at Everfree. Perhaps it would be meet to see if she could do it when asked, and perhaps by observing I could gauge what manner and extent of control she had, and mayhap come up with a method to train her so that control might increase.

Having decided, Pansy and I took Dawn aside and tried to impart to her what we wanted her to do. When we had gotten her to understand, she was most hesitant. She did not want me to yell at her and make her sit in the corner, bless her dear heart. I drew her into a hug and assured her that I would not be angry, as long as she was careful.

Careful. Now there was a word hard won in her vocabulary, painstakingly taught through endless repetition during our days in Castle Canter.

With charming solemnity, she declared "Dawn be caewful." I kissed her at the base of her horn and sent her aloft on Pansy's back, with a nod of trust between myself and my dear pegasus friend.

We on the barge gathered at the prow, hunkered down behind the rail at Crimson's wise suggestion. I watched breathlessly, opening my inner eye as well but taking care to shield myself with mystic barriers the old grump had taught me. I wished that my viewing glass was not packed deeply away in my little wagon, so that I could see more than the distant shape of Pansy and Dawn, like a tiny snowbird carrying a dollop of its namesake on its back.

We watched them circle a few times, and in my dreaming eye I saw a corona of gold flicker and grow stronger around the point of focus I knew to be Dawn's horn, pulling at the aether like a weight laid upon a stretched span of cloth. I could feel the hairs of my mane and tail going rigid as the buildup increased the tension. Bless her, Dawn was trying to be careful. Long forgotten sensations from my early studies flooded my awareness, remembering when I was little and trying to thread a needle with my magic. I think the tip of my tongue unconsciously protruded from the side of my mouth as I slipped into a sympathetic state of concentration.

Then came the release, a snap across the aether and a blinding flare of pink and gold that forced both my gazing and dreaming eyes tightly closed and left my back teeth buzzing like bees. The cries of amazement around me made me blink open my eyes once more to behold a billowing plume of white cloud, like a great mushroom rising over the forest.

A moment later we all winced from a blast of wind rushing down the riverbanks, as the flow beneath us quickened, causing the anchor ropes to groan as the current increased. Not long after that we all ducked down and covered our heads as chips and splinters of wood fell upon us amongst a sudden, rain like shower of river water and dollops of mud.

After a few more moments of stunned silence, Captain Sand Bar climbed to her hooves and urged her crew to weigh anchor and stand ready with the poles, before retiring to her little cabin at the back of the barge to obtain a fresh plug of chewing weed to replace the one she'd just swallowed. I was uncertain whether the queasy expression on the rough mare's face was from that or from the shock that was also folding her ears tightly back against her cap.

As we forged ahead over the whitened water of the river through a haze of sudden fog, we presently saw a laden pegasus approach, but as they came closer we realized it wasn't Pansy and Dawn alone, but a roan stallion clad in a green cloak and leather jerkin, carrying mare and filly on his back as he came in for a landing among us.

All three of them were in something of a state. All were clearly shaken, with Dawn in tears and Pansy ashen and trembling slightly with pain as she held her right wing at an angle that told me at once she'd broken it. Without any delay I bade Crimson run to his wagon to retrieve the leech's chest, as I rushed forward to render aid.

With the stallions' help, both dear Crimson and the stranger's, we set and splinted it, with Dawn clinging to Pansy so tightly she would not be pulled away, and thus we worked around her. Ever the stoic, our dear pegasus friend explained through her gritted teeth that she'd been tumbled into a treetop from the back draft of Dawn obliterating the blockage, and then the blessed fool of a mare had the bottomless gall to apologize for making everypony worry. By the powers, Pansy could be run through with a lance and apologize for dripping on the carpet. Sometimes she makes me so frustrated I could hug her within an inch of her life.

A flask of something that smelled as though it could peel the mosaics off of the Stellar College's Hall of Constellations was brought forward by the barge crew and given to Pansy to dull her pain, although I do believe that the redness that bloomed on her cheeks after the violent coughing had subsided was just as much from the pegasus stallion taking her hoof in his and expressing his dearly wished hope that she would soon be on the mend, and that he was thankful happenstance had allowed him to render aid so quickly to so winsome a mare.

(For this I scarce blame her blushes. My darling Crimson is the apple of my eye, but I have enough of an appreciation for other fine produce, if you know what I mean, o diary, and I believe that you do. Yowza! [3])

After tearing his eyes away from her, he stood and saluted, introducing himself as Fletching, a yeomane scout in the service of Fort Everfree. He explained that he'd been attached to an expedition of yeomane foresters who'd been sent to clear the blockage at Serpentine Bend in anticipation of our expected transit. He bid us all welcome to the neighborhood, and then begged his leave to let his comrades know how it came to be that the area they were trekking toward was no longer so much a river bend as it was a small lake.

He took Pansy's hoof again and kissed it, bidding her farewell and promising to check on her as soon as his duties allowed, and then took to the sky. Poor Pansy went even redder, I think for other reasons than the second pull she took from Sand Bar's flask, judging by the unfurling of her unsplinted wing. And I do not think that the pain in her wing was the only cause of her unfocused gaze.

Having seen to Pansy, Crimson and I turned our attention to Dawn Heart, who finally released her hold on Pansy and fell sobbing into my embrace. I shushed and cooed at her, while my dear husband checked her over for any hurts. It is a tribute to my brave pegasus friend's aerial skill that of these the little filly had none, save for being scared and full of remorse.

In a piteous voice she insisted "Dawn not caewful. Dawn hurt Pansy." and I did my best to assure her that it was not so. I told her she had done well, and that I knew she tried hard to be careful, and that accidents can still happen even if we are careful, and that I would help her learn to be more careful in the future. Pansy would be all right, and she still loved Dawn as much as I did, a fact that my dear pegasus companion confirmed with a bit of a slur in her voice as she haphazardly draped her good wing across both our withers as we laid on the deck at her side. I did not blame her for the light yet palpable blow to the back of my head from her pinions, which I think I rather deserved.

To tell the truth, o diary, I think this is a case where I could have been more careful. Dawn's training must begin in earnest very soon, although a bit of time has been bought by her reticence to use her magic after the incident at Serpentine Bend. I must be careful not to view her as just another thaumaturgical experiment, but as a dear heart with a gentle soul within, and a shining light that must not be frightened 'neath a bushel through my missteps in understanding her magic.

How I wish I didn't have to spend this time researching this interminable blue diamond spell. But I digress, yet again, o diary.

We came upon the now inappropriately named bend in the river and its newly ~~blasted~~ made clearing by late afternoon, and were met by a delegation of green cloaked earth ponies bearing axes strapped to their saddle bags, led by a jolly fellow with a pheasant's feather in his cap who introduced himself as Captain Leaf, leader of the yeomane foresters of Fort Everfree.

He bid us welcome, and informed us that "Fletch" as he called the pegasus stallion who'd rescued dear Pansy from the treetops, had been sent ahead to report to Count Greensward and the garrison of our arrival and the circumstances surrounding the unexpected explosion on the river.

As the fort was still several miles away and evening was approaching, it was decided between Captain Leaf and Captain Sand Bar that we'd make camp on the lakeside and then head out for our intended destination on the morrow.

Translator's Hoofnotes:

[1] Here one of Lady Clover's doodles depicts four flabbergasted stallions' faces, looking on with gaping mouths and wide eyes at a tiny winged filly prancing ahead of a huge wagon that's probably about ten times her size or more.

[2] Chewing weed isn't as common in the more built up areas of Equestria these days, but is still fairly common on the frontiers, I've been informed by my dear friend Applejack (who has relatives who partake, although she herself never has).

In Lady Clover's time tobacco hadn't yet been discovered and brought back from more tropical zones, so Captain Sand Bar probably was chewing a mixture of chicory and mint leaves. For whatever other gross side effects of her habit, her breath was probably fresh and sweet.

Princess Celestia tells me, with a notable air of distaste, that chewing weed hit its greatest vogue roughly a century and a half ago, a time she facetiously refers to as the "Age of Spittoons".[4] While she never outright banned the practice, she did gently guide most municipalities to pass ordinances discouraging ponies from expectorating on the sidewalks.

I, for one, appreciate that as much as her daily raising of the sun.

[3] Here's another point where I'm forced to use a modern idiom, as the equivalent High Monoceric exultation involving a stile and a caber is just plain weird and definitely a subject I'm not going to bring up at brunch with the princesses anytime soon. [5]

Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnote:

[4] I suppose that goes to show that there are some eras during my thousand year exile that I do not regret missing so much. -P.L.

Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote:

[5] A note to my faithful student and to the publisher. I sincerely apologize for the misting of tea droplets staining this particular section of the manuscript. I'd just taken a deep sip from my cup when I read the hoofnotes.

I heartily concur, Twilight, that explaining that particular phrasing would be a rather delicate conversation. And it would probably be best to either forgo beverages altogether or else pour ourselves something a bit stronger. -P.C. [6]

Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnote:

[6] I'll bring that excellent claret from my personal stock if you let me sit in on this! Mark my words, there will be repercussions if you don't invite me. (If only there were some way to accompany text with ominous thunder.) - P.L. [7]

Translator's Hoofnote:

[7] Suffice to say, dear reader, that there are more annoying things than tea to get all over one's manuscript.

Part 10 -18th. Day of the Ninth Month, Year 10 AE.

Chapter 10 -18th. Day of the Ninth Month, Year 10 AE.

We abided 'neath the stars that night, wrapped warmly in blankets around a blazing fire, as our yeomane escort kept watch against the deeper darks beyond the ethereal ghosts of the tree trunks that surrounded us.

The cries of owls in the night and the wind rustling through the leaves drew my mind back to our exodus from the old lands. That rootless feeling, as dear Cookie often called it, stole upon me, lying under an open sky with the trail beneath one's hooves having neither an end ahead 'nor a home behind to return to. To be cast adrift, with one's self and soul but a tiny mote of being in a vast, unheeding, uncaring world.

But these musings could not linger, for reminders of the differences from those cold, weary days of a decade ago came to me in the warmth and soft breath of my beloved Crimson at my side and the stirring and gentle sighs of dear little Dawn Heart in my embrace. I knew that indeed I did have someplace I belonged, in the hearts of those I loved and who loved me, and there would I find my comfort and give the same in turn. I would almost venture to say I felt an inkling of those intangible roots which Cookie found lacking before we came to settle in Equestria. It was a peaceful sensation, and it quickly lulled me into a deep slumber.

The next day we rose with the sun and boarded Captain Sand Bar's barge to sail onward to our destination at Fort Everfree. The stout yeomane foresters hitched themselves side by side with our drafters and barge crew, marching at a brisk pace down the forested riverbanks and towing us to our destination.

It was midmorning edging toward noon when we finally laid eyes on the stockades looming over the teeming docks and thatched huts of the surrounding village, the flag of our fledgeling nation fluttering high above. (Although I must confess, O diary, that the blazon of the Warming Heart filled me then, as it does even now, with a gnawing sense of my obligation to hang another beacon in the sky somehow.)

As we approached, it became clear that the activity we could espy from afar on the river front was more than just the usual industrious day's work that goes on in such places. A veritable throng of ponies, I daresay I would estimate almost the entire local populace, milled about excitedly on the boardwalks. There were rough hewn woods-ponies, hard bitten river folk and dock workers, weather-beaten pegasi cloud cutters and stern faced warriors, prospectors, pioneers, wanderers, and tramps, all rubbing barrel and flank in an unruly mass of curious pony-kind.

A ripple of chatter arose as our barge put in to the pier and the gangplank was lowered. The herd parted as a column of earth ponies in chainmail wearing the green and white livery of Count Greensward marched out to greet us. At their head, a formidable looking stallion clad in steel barding and the trappings of a high ranking knight of the realm called for the company to halt, and then greeted us with a formal bow, introducing himself as Sir Briar, commander of the garrison. He bid us welcome on behalf of Count Greensward, and invited us to accompany him to meet with his excellency.

Dear Crimson and I stepped up and returned his greeting in courtly fashion, but the formality of the occasion dissipated as Captain Leaf of the yeomane foresters came forward with a boisterous laugh and clapped hooves with the imposing knight. I saw at once that these two were brothers, although it was clear Briar had gotten the dour version of the family visage whilst Leaf had gotten the jolly one.

With a furtive smile lurking upon the bulwark of his face, the garrison commander wheeled and barked orders to his troops, who with the help of the yeomane warders proceeded to shoulder the milling throng of ponies aside to form a cordon along the road between the docks and the fort.

While the soldiers and foresters of Everfree went about their work, we gathered the rest of our little party and bid our farewells to Captain Sand Bar and her crew while our stout drafters put their backs into unloading our wagons with the help of the local dock wallopers.

Pansy was looking a bit peaked from the pain of her broken wing making it difficult to sleep, but bore up under duress in her usual quietly assured fashion and looked every bit the proud pegasus warrior in her cloak and helm. Crimson sidled up to me and asked if he should offer to assist her, for he too could see thru her stoicism to the weariness beneath.

I advised him to be near at hoof and watchful should she falter, but also cautioned him that it was meet to only offer a convenient side to lean against without any pleasantries or comment, and that the niceties a gentlecolt might extend a unicorn lady in such a situation would cause a typical pegasus mare to apply a hammer lock and forcibly introduce his face to the ground, whilst possibly casting uncalled for aspersions on his parentage and stallionhood. [1]

Dear Dawn Heart was positively buzzing with excitement like a snowy little hummingbird. I allowed her to clamber up on my back, where she stood with her dainty hooves braced and wings flared while she stared in amazement at the crowds and repeatedly declared "So many ponies!" in an awestruck voice. I secured a promise of good behavior from the dear poppet, and steeled myself for our procession through town.

As we made our way toward the gates of the fort, the crowds beyond the cordon of green and white clad soldiers and foresters watched us pass with a mixture of fear, wonderment, and a certain reverence. Dawn, for her part, answered their stares with smiles and waves of her hoof and blown kisses, still repeating the phrase "So many ponies!" in childish glee.

Midway along our walk, Fletching circled above us and called out a merry "Well met, friends!" He landed lightly at Pansy's side, which caused a bit of color to return to the dear pegasus mare's ashen cheeks. With a gleaming smile and a gallant flourish, he requested the honor of escorting her and offered his assistance.

I glanced back at Crimson, who from the look on his face was bracing for a thunderclap. Instead Pansy merely let out a slightly giddy sounding giggle and leaned into the handsome forester's side, throwing her good wing across his withers and blushing all the more as he laid his wing across hers in turn, and thus they made their way to the fortress gate.

I could only give my dear husband a slight shrug as he came away from them and fell into step beside me with that ineffable smirk of his that said he would be giving me a thorough measure of japery about all of this later. I warned him with a half-smile of my own that I could do a passable hammer lock as well if I were given sufficient reason.

Our group was greeted in the courtyard of the fortress by m'lord Greensward and my good lady Countess Blossom, who smiled kindly at us with a third variant of Leaf and Briar's family facial features, one that was handsomely feminine. The Count himself is an unassuming unicorn stallion of middle age with a very measured, deliberate manner.

He welcomed us cordially to his frontier fiefdom, saying plainly that while it was his duty to my lady the Queen and their excellencies the Chancellor and the Commander to do so, it was also his pleasure. In response, my darling Crimson stepped up with a deep bow and pledged his loyal service as an esquire and vassal. Count Greensward accepted this with a wry smile, commenting that such courtly manners were an rare pleasure in the rough wilds of the frontier, and predicted that he and his dear lady Countess would very much appreciate our company sometime in the future. You will pardon my blushes, O diary, as I recall the compliments he paid me in speaking of the regard he held for my service in her majesty's court and the role I had played in the founding of our nation.

Then the Count turned his attention to little Dawn Heart, saying that he'd been quite curious about this filly, about whom so much had been written in missives from Equestria's leaders. A shiver of alarm ran down my spine and bristled my tail as I saw him spark his horn to life and begin to raise a dwimmer loop [2] from the pocket of his doublet. I hastily flared my own horn and snatched it from his magical grasp before he could bring it to his eye.

M'lord Greensward was justifiably taken aback by my sudden bout of grabbiness and the volume at which I had shouted "NO!" at him, as a murmur went through the assembly of vassals and soldiers around us. I hastily stammered my apologies and explained that gazing thus upon dear Dawn's intrinsic magic aura would be tantamount to expecting to take a sip of water from a goblet and getting the entire Saddle River pouring into one's face. I assured him from hard experience that it was quite overwhelming and most ill advised.

After giving me and my little passenger a long, appraising look, the Count shrugged it off with a wan smile and took his loop back into his horn's own glow. He cast a glance past me with a pensive furrowing of his brow and said it was no matter, for a prominent local expert on the subject of magic with whom he often consulted on such matters was approaching even now.

I heard the bells before I could even turn to look.

I am sure that my withers must have bunched up like a knotted oaken burl beneath Dawn's little hooves, because I remember vaguely hearing her say my name with a note of confusion and alarm. Mostly I heard the bells. Those inevitable bells, implacable in their approach and steady tempo, bearing with them equal measures of enlightenment and horn-ache.

And of course as the bells stilled then came the voice, dry and gruff with a wagonload of sarcasm on the side, the likes of which my dearest Cookie's trenchant wit is but the cooing of a yearling babe in comparison.

I remember clearly what the old grump said to me, because I always somehow remember exactly what he says, even if I have ushered day into night and back again to morning at my study desk and am so addled that you could set a hen on my head and hatch forth a trout.3

And thus did the great Starswirl the Bearded, magus supreme of the unicorns, speak unto me: "Tut tut, Weed. What sort of mess have you stirred up with that wickless candle you call a horn?"

Charming as ever. [4]

I turned and greeted him as gently as gritted teeth might allow. Dawn leapt lightly down from my back and approached him curiously, ruffling her downy wings as he loomed over her like a gnarled oak tree, staring intently at her just as he'd gazed at many a student treatise of mine. My dear poppet, in turn, looked him over with her usual inquisitiveness, tentatively pawing at the wisps of his unruly beard with her dainty hoof or making one of the bells on his cloak jingle.

Presently I saw his horn sparkle with a divinatory spell, but my warning died upon my lips as he held up a hoof for silence with a sharp glance that I also knew far too well. Fine, I thought. Go ahead and get that shaggy skull of yours lit up like a lantern. Perhaps I would be ashamed to enjoy seeing an elderly stallion fall thunderstruck to the ground, but I still would enjoy it.

The old grump gave the barest of flinches and a soft grunt as his eyes momentarily lit up bright, glowing pink, but then it passed and he stood there with a grin spreading across his wrinkled face (the infuriating old goat). He threw back his head and laughed, a booming sound that I could feel coming up from the ground through my very hooves, a sound that I had rarely if ever heard coming from him. He laughed long and loudly, as all the assembled ponies around him could only stare in consternation.

The glow about his horn intensified as he floated his bell brimmed hat off of his grey, tangle maned pate and set it aside, and then painfully went down on his knees and touched his horn to the dirt before her dainty hooves as the bells of his cloak softly jingled.

After an uncertain pause, she leaned down and kissed the top of his head. At this, he raised his eyes and gave her a smile that conjured memories of my dear old grandsire when I would visit him at his bedside. Dawn gave a musical giggle and hugged him with both forelegs and wings.

Presently he gently pushed her off and rose slowly to his hooves, floating his hat back onto his head. His eyes flashed as he spoke in a booming voice that echoed over the battlements of the fortress. "Listen well, O ye ponies of Everfree! Do not fear this child! Welcome her! Teach her! Cherish her! For she shall illuminate this land, saving it, protecting it, and guiding its destiny in her day!" [5]

As his pronouncement sank in, he twined his tail in hers and led her back to me. He met my eye with a knowing smile on his wizened face that somehow made me want to bolt for the inner keep and throw down the portcullis, and this is what he said as he leaned in to murmur in my folded ear. "Well done, my clever, clever girl. Well done indeed. I shall stop by for a visit once you and your foppish fiddle player of a husband get settled in to your new dwelling place."

With that, he turned and made his steady, jingling way back past the wondering assembly of ponies and out the gates of Fort Everfree, vanishing once more into the world beyond my ken.

Translators Hoofnotes:

[1] Pegasus mares of the time from all walks, or should I say flights, of life had a reputation for fierce pride, amplified by a martial culture that tended to view what the courtly unicorns of the time considered good manners as an insulting implication of weakness. As a common saying of the time remarked "Hold a door for a pegasus mare, and you will soon find yourself wearing it."

I must admit I was a bit puzzled to find as observant a mare as Lady Clover would traffic in that sort of stereotyping, especially having been very close friends with Pansy for well over a decade. It is indicative, I think, that for all the progress made in the name of intertribal harmony, old preconceptions still took a long time to change, and I also suspect, and my sister-in-law Princess Cadance supports this hypothesis, that Lady Clover might have had the ulterior motive of making sure her husband didn't turn his considerable charm on other mares, even dear friends, too freely.

[2] A dwimmer loop, for those layponies not versed in magical theory and practice, is a simple monocle-like device used for aura gazing and other basic divinations. It was typically assembled out of a rondel of polished pink quartz carved with focusing lines and generally mounted in a braided band of copper and lead. It didn't give a very clear reading, but was a decent stopgap for unicorns who were unversed in more advanced detection spells.

When I was discussing this chapter with Princess Celestia, she surmised that Lady Clover did Count Greensward a considerable favor in wresting the loop from his magical grasp, as looking through it at her younger self would have been like gazing through a telescope directly at her sun[6], a very unpleasant sensation that I myself have had the misfortune of experiencing. (A long and rather embarrassing story that is irrelevant to this text.[7] All I'll say is thank goodness for emergency eye patches.)

Dwimmer loops have been superseded in modern times by precision instruments such as thaumoscopes and calibrated glimmer gauges, but they can still be found in magic and curio shops for reasonable prices. I've got a small collection of them myself. They make very nice window decorations.

[3] I imagine you can guess the meaning of this old Equestrian turn of phrase from the context, dear reader. It was just too fascinatingly bizarre for me not to translate word for word. I've had my share of all-nighters like that, many whilst working on this translation.

[4] This passage bears a caricature of Starswirl in the margins, glowering with crossed eyes from under the brim of his bell ringed hat and sticking his tongue out. As I've observed before, Lady Clover's at times contentious relationship with her mentor was quite different than what I have experienced in my own education (Thank Celestia. Literally!). It gave me a chuckle to see our authoress get a bit of her own back in the margins of her journal.

[5] This quote from the great mage himself about my mentor makes my heart leap every time I read it. What an amazing historical document this is!

[6] Of tangential note, our conversation regarding divinatory devices led to the Princess allowing me to look at her through a small dwimmer loop I keep as a lucky charm in my panniers, as well as an elementary grade thaumoscope my elder brother gave me for Hearth's Warming one year when we were children.

Suffice to say after several thousand years of practice her control of her aura is frankly amazing, as she can dim it to invisibility as well as make it so bright it's almost uncomfortable to look at, as well as manifesting it in a variety of stripes, whorls, and geometric patterns. She also burned a sizable hole in a playing card by pointing my thaumoscope's viewfinder at it and "turning up" her expressed magical field as far as she dared without melting the lenses of my little keepsake. It was still slightly hot to the touch when I put it back in its case.

The Princess called it a mere parlor trick, one she hasn't gotten to do in ages. I call it astounding, if you'll pardon my gushing a little. (That playing card (a Princess of Hearts, ironically) has joined my little cache of treasures, by the way.)

Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnote:

[7] Of course, Twilight Sparkle. This text is about my sister and I's long and embarrassing stories, is it not? -P.L.[8]

Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote:

[8] This is merely a drop in the bucket, sister dearest. -P.C. [9]

Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnote:

[9] Alright. No need to go there. I'll be good. -P.L.

Part 11 - 18th. Day of the Ninth Month, Year 10 AE

Chapter 11 -18th. Day of the Ninth Month, Year 10 AE.

As the lingering sound of the old grump's bells died away in the murmur of the crowd, Count Greensward took a hold of the situation by clearing his throat and inviting us to come inside for a midday repast.

We were led to a nicely appointed if small feasting hall. I could see the signs of a mare's touch, striving valiantly to impose some measure of refinement on the rough conditions of life on the frontier. The fare they served us was hearty: dark, crusty trenchers filled with a soup of dried wildflowers that I'd never tasted at Castle Canter, hard cheeses embedded with crushed acorns and walnuts, fried mushroom slices as large as two hooves across and three barleycorns thick, and some of the most exquisitely sweet apples I'd ever eaten. Little Dawn devoured these with considerable relish, declaring they were better than her beloved "bwackbewwies". (And praise the Maker above for that, as they don't stain her coat when she gobbles them down. [1])

As the meal progressed, I took more and more note of my lady hostess' strained composure: the fixed, slightly desperate edge to her smile, the ease at which her ears laid back, the constant begging of our pardons for the simplicity of their hospitality. In a flash of insight, I realized that Countess Blossom, bless her heart, was trying very hard to please this troupe of high horses from Castle Canter that had landed on her doorstep. It was surpassing strange, O diary, to find myself inexplicably looking out from inside the highly buttressed social wall that the upsnouts of her majesty the Queen's court erect between themselves and the rest of ponykind. This would not do at all.

Sensing an opportunity to set her at ease, I intentionally bobbled my goblet and spilled a bit of the fine early cider within upon my cassock. The poor dear was at once on her hooves and leading me personally to an antechamber whilst calling for water and towels.

In the brief interval I had alone with her before the servants arrived, I laid my hoof upon her shoulder and confided that she need not tie herself in knots on my account, for I was but the humble daughter of candle makers, and had married quite above my station. She protested that I was the high counselor and court magician of the Unicorn Queen, to which I replied that I was my dear Queen Platinum's friend, and would be hers as well if she would stop fretting about impressing me and just welcome me into her house as I would wholeheartedly welcome her into mine. From the look in her eyes and the relieved smile on her face, I could see that I had made a fast friend in the mistress of Fort Everfree.

We left my cassock in the care of her maids, and I returned to the table unadorned save for a garland of fragrant local wildflowers that Lady Blossom had done up in my mane. As I took my seat, I met Count Greensward's gaze, and saw a glimmer of gratitude in his eyes and a subtle smile on his face. I think I made a friend of our newfound liege lord as well at that moment. I believe he and I should be getting on quite well, for in our conversation at lunch I found he takes a great interest in magecraft, and we spoke a bit of notable books on the subject.

The rest of the meal was most delightful, save for one small, sour note afterward when I bade my darling Crimson to call for his viol and play us some airs, mistakenly referring to his favorite instrument as a fiddle. The frown that creased his rosy brow and folded back his ears told me that the old grump's parting crack had rubbed him the wrong way. Of course, this sort of thing is hardly unusual whene'er the cantankerous old fusspot appears in your patient pages, O diary. [2]

Suffice to say that it took a few songs to completely cheer my dear husband up again. I think the last of his dudgeon vanished as darling Dawn got to her hooves and capered upon the reeds before the great fireplace. A laughing Lady Blossom was moved to join her, taking little hooves in her fetlocks and spinning her as her flowing green skirts and golden tail billowed about her. As the merry reel wound down, Dawn hugged our lady liege and promptly fell asleep in her embrace. The dear poppet was gently laid on the cushioned bench beside me with her head in my lap, and we whiled away a bit more time in quiet conversation as the servants cleared away the platters.

A pleasant repast finished, our most gracious Count excused himself, for his duties called. He bade his brother in law Captain Leaf accompany us with a small band of foresters to our new household and see to any needs we might have when we arrived. Yeomane Fletcher stood with a salute and offered to join us in our trek. I met dear Pansy's eye and gave her a wink, which caused her to blush hotly and giggle into her hooves in the most adorable way.

(I do not wish to scribble scandals into your pages like some moon-eyed teenaged filly, O diary (Although if not here, then where?) but I do believe my worthy pegasus friend was fairly deep into her cups by the end of our luncheon. I do not recall seeing her refuse any strong cider or wine that was offered her. In fact the only time I didn't see her with a flagon or glass to her lips was when she was letting the toothsome Fletcher hoof-feed her slices of apple. Indeed, O diary, the girl has fallen quite hard, and I do not mean into the branches of that fateful tree. I cannot wait to tell Cookie of this. On the other hoof, I do worry about what will occur when Commander Hurricane finds out. But, for now, I digress...)

Without much further ado we bid our leave from Fort Everfree, having secured our key and documents stamped with Count Greensward's crest from his excellency's seneschal. We hitched up and set out on the wooded road, with little Dawn fast asleep in Pansy's lightly snoring embrace atop one of the larger wagons. It was a brisk trot of maybe an hour before we rounded the hillside and gazed upon our new home.

The estate is an expanse of rolling, overgrown fields, with a small orchard and some copses of trees dotting here and there. At its center there lies a grassy lot containing two long houses with a gated courtyard between them, both roofed in ruddy terracotta shingles.

We unhitched before the wood lattice gates (which could use a lick of paint eventually, I'll note) and Crimson floated the brass key to the Count's Mark and broke the door-binding that held them. We looked in at the weed choked paving stones of the inner court, taking in the canopied pool at the far end opposite us with its carved marble sea ponies smiling at us with their blank lapis lazuli eyes and tarnished bronze manes, the pillars and roof of their shelter and they themselves quite wrapped round with ivy and wilted clematis flowers. We stood and stared back at the stony guardians for some time.

Before I could say anything momentous, I let out a startled squeal as my blessed fool of a husband darted his head beneath my barrel and hoisted me up onto his back like a sack of millet. (Confound the rascal! He knows I am ticklish under there and he was quite careless with the tip of his horn.) He then proceeded to bounce us both across the threshold of the gates with a high kneed trot whilst whistling "Lo! Yonder Doth the Bride Approach!" After blithely ignoring my intemperate language and well placed kicks to his cutie mark, he sat down and allowed me to roll off over his tail, then helped me to my hooves with that saucy grin of his whilst bidding me welcome to Paradise.

We turned as an echoing squeal rang out beyond the gates, and saw dear little Dawn hopping up and down on her hooves and fluttering her snowy wings, saying "Carry me! Carry me!". Beyond I could see poor Pansy looking groggily at us from atop the freight wagon with a befuddled smile on her face. She laid her head back down on her bedroll and dozed off again, which was understandable, as she had already taken the measure of the place.

I cast Crimson one last scathing glare as he winked at me, then turned and allowed the darling poppet to clamber up upon my back and high hoofed it into the courtyard, forgoing the whistling and instead opting to to sing "Ladybugs Awake!"[3], shaking Dawn off inside to more giggling as her dainty hooves touched down in our new home for the first time.

I twined her tail in mine and we set off to explore the premises whilst Crimson undertook the task of directing the drafters and yeomane foresters in unloading our wagons. Pansy was laid out on a pallet in one of the front rooms where she could rest and be out of the way, while Fletcher was called from her side and pressed into service with the other stallions to much good natured ribbing from his rough and tumble comrades.

Fresh rushes had been laid in all the rooms, and the walls had been whitewashed, although I noted some signs of minor roof leaks that would take some seeing to, probably once Pansy's wing mends. There is a fair amount of light from large windows to the east and west, which suited me well. The shutters are a bit loose on many of them, which again will need some hoof work when the time is ripe. There is a fine fireplace built of local river stone in the main room in the west wing, and some of the foresters were dispatched to gather wood for later that night.

Little Dawn was particularly fascinated by the pool, which I found to be fed by an artesian well, which was good, and choked with reeds and lily pads, which was bothersome. The water was pure, and would serve us in good stead in the warmer months once we mucked out the litter of leaves that had accumulated in the bottom. I obtained our dear filly's solemn promise to stay away from the water unless one of the grownups was around to watch her.

Beyond the pool we saw there is a fenced off space suitable for fairly large gardens, which our earth pony cohabiters would be quite happy to see when they finally arrived. A tumbledown shed and free standing oven occupy the far corners of the back lot, the former of which is empty save for a profoundly rusted old plow that probably dated back to before the founding, and the latter is in dire need of sweeping out. I expressly forbade Dawn from entering either, which she accepted with minimal complaint. I also forbade her from having anything to do with the wood pile that lurks beside the oven beneath a blanket of ivy, making a note to ask our yeomane companions to check it for snakes before they headed back to Fort Everfree. [4]

We continued our tour to the orchards, which I'm sure will be lovely in a few seasons once Cookie and her clan have done their earth pony magic upon it. It contains a mix of different fruit trees, the treasure of which is a venerable apple tree that as a welcoming surprise bore a few of those wonderful apples that seem to grow in these parts. I shared one with Dawn, as we sat and listened to the birds singing and the bustle and clatter of our stallions unpacking the wagons.

The sun was drifting ever westward as our contingent of laborers finished their work, and we set about getting a fire lit in the main room. When the coals were hot enough, we toasted a rarebit for ourselves and our companions, which we washed down with a fine ale from her majesty's cellars that Crimson had brought along in a small cask all the way from Castle Canter. There were just enough apples on the old tree for us to make a fine dessert of them, and we all bedded down among the boxes and crates, weary of limb and warm in our bellies as one by one our happy crew drifted off to the dreaming realms.

The following morn we arose with the dawn. (Literally and figuratively, in faith I am coming to believe that in addition to kinship with the three tribes of ponies our little wonder has a bit of rooster in her as well. Upon further consideration, probably not. Roosters have been known to sleep late once in a while.) [5]

Poor Pansy was a bit hung over and gently crabby with one and all, although only those of us who knew her quite well were able to notice any change in her demeanor. She exchanged a blushing, coyly grinning farewell with Yeomane Fletcher as he departed with Captain Leaf and his foresters, and then went right back to bed.

We bid a fond goodbye to our faithful drafters shortly afterward, wishing them safe journey back to Castle Canter. Crimson tipped them generously with some extra silver, and I entrusted them with a hastily written letter to my lady the Queen thanking her once again for her kindnesses and assuring her we had arrived safely and were making the best of it. Their part in our story thus concluded, they trundled away down the road singing one of the songs that my dear husband had taught them on the journey.

And so there we were, just the four of us in a house full of boxes with nopony else around for miles. The birds were singing gaily all around us, but otherwise there was just this howling quiet hanging in the air, bracketed round by the gentle rustle of the trees. Quite an unaccustomed sensation for ponies like myself who've always been in bustling cities or busy castles. Crimson and I sat and stared at one another before the cold embers of last night's fire, the awareness that we were here, for better or worse, settling upon us like a thick blanket of winter snow.

Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote:

[1] Not a word, Woona. Not. A. Word. -P.C. [6]

Translator's Hoofnotes:

[2] It became quite apparent in earlier, un-related parts of Lady Clover's journals that Crimson Rose and Starswirl the Bearded didn't exactly get on very well. Before the writings I have chosen to include in this text, the couple's last meeting with the great mage was at their wedding, where apparently "the old grump", while making a toast at the reception, had un-ironically threatened to turn Crimson Rose into a rabbit if he ever broke Lady Clover's heart.

While our esteemed authoress found this quite exasperating, I kind of get the impression she also found it somehow endearing, and almost complimentary in a back-hoofed way. While Starswirl was very brusque and often disparaging with his protege, he was also very protective of her, and for all his grousing about her inattention or lack of skill, he also considered her too good for even a stallion of the noble classes.

As you may infer, dear reader, their relationship was a complex one.

[3] I knew this was an old rhyme, but I had no idea it was that old. My sister-in-law was just as amazed as I was when I discussed this passage with her, as she and I used to do it often when she babysat me.

[4] Free standing, wood fired ovens, separate from the main body of the house, was a fairly common feature back in ancient Equestria. They served two purposes.

First, they cut down on the risk of fires destroying the entire household. Before the eventual development of municipal pegasus weather crews and their civil mandate to fight fires in the areas they serve, and especially before the unification of the tribes, the best hope for ground bound ponies to get a rain cloud over a house fire was to hire pegasi mercenaries, whose services did not come cheap.

Second, they allowed baking to go on without overheating the house during the warm summer months. With the advent of gas or magic fired ranges and better ventilation, the free standing oven fell out of use.

[5] This passage has another of Lady Clover's charming doodles in the margin, depicting a plump little rooster body with a slightly wild eyed caricature of Dawn Heart for a face, saying "Wake up, Cwovuh! Wake up!" whilst standing on a blanketed figure with a horn and a set of weary eyes peering out from the shadows underneath. It gives me the giggles every time I think about it.

Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnote:

[6] I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about, Cewestia. What might "gobbling" possibly have to do with either of us? -P.L. [7]

[7] One might consult with the royal pastry chef on this particular matter, if he wasn't so unaccountably busy all day. -P.L. [8]

Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote:

[8] Donut Joe might shed some light on the question as well, sister dear. I hear his place in Canterlot is open all night. -P.C. [9]

Translator's Hoofnote:

[9] Great. Not only am I getting fed up with all this nonsense in my hoofnotes, now I'm hungry. [10]

Translator's one friend who just happens to work in a bakery which is like the bestest, yummiest job in the whole world's hoofnotes:

[10] I'll bring you some chocolate chip cookies right away, Twilight. -P.P. [11]

[11] Why are these things called hoofnotes anyway? Do you guys all have accordion horseshoes or something? Where can I get a set of those? -P.P. [12]

Translator's Hoofnote:

[12] After extensive consultation with my publisher and the princesses, none of us have any idea how that last set of notes got into the final printing. The cookies were good, though.

Part 12 - 18th. Day of the Ninth Month, Year 10 AE

Chapter 12 -18th. Day of the Ninth Month, Year 10 AE.

The following hoof full of days seemed to pass excruciatingly slowly, O diary, as we essentially camped out inside a house, living like vagabonds among our boxes of belongings. It did not seem meet to begin unpacking in earnest until dear Cookie and her family joined us, so that as one we could decide how our new found dwelling would be divided among us.

I was most impatient to return to my research on the confounded sky beacon, but I dared not begin in earnest lest I would be obliged to stop again and throw in a hoof at helping to set up our household once our erstwhile earth ponies arrived.

Thus, I mostly laid out in the fields around Paradise Estate with Crimson and his viol, passing the languid late summer days watching little Dawn caper and explore among the wildflowers. Well, in truth I did not lay so much as pace furrows in the ground and grump to all and sundry. (And thus the student becomes as her master. Mayhap I should stitch some bells upon my cassock.)

Sometimes poor, patient Pansy would be with us, sometimes not. As the time wore on my dear pegasus friend and I became increasingly vexed with one another, and it was all darling Crimson and sweet little Dawn could do to dull our edges as they scraped and sparked like the blades of my lady Queen's knights-destrier on the tourney field. When it became too much for her to bear, my long suffering friend would take herself off alone to brood. (And to punch the occasional hole in the wall with a fore hoof, which Powdermilk and Crimson are busy repairing even today as I pen this ere the cold weather approaches.)

I must own that when I feel stymied and out of my depth I get more than a little ~~snide~~ ~~snippy~~ ~~snarly~~ intemperate in my speech. Pansy, for her part, is well known for her patience and stoicism, tempered like steel over her long service under Commander Hurricane, but the lingering pain of her injury combined with its precluding her from taking a relaxing high altitude flight in the usual pegasus fashion made Pansy a bit less patient or stoic when dealing with my sass. [1]

Of course, my dear, long suffering friend wasn't always wandering afield to cool her temper. She was just as often in the company of the toothsome Yeomane Fletching, who seemed quite adept at finding reasons to stop by. He usually claimed that he'd been sent to "check up" on us at the behest of Captain Leaf or m'Lord Greensward. Uncannily, O diary, my liege and his chief warder's greatest interest appeared to be dear Pansy's general state of health and well being, which seemingly could only be ascertained through extensive private interviews as they walked the half-wild grounds of our estate, or lay holding hooves in the orchard.

Naturally, O diary, like a bored, vexatious fool I took it into my pointed head to needle her about it.

It all came to a boil at noontide one day, shortly after our pegasus warder had taken his leave with a promise to return later that afternoon. I off-hoofedly suggested that it would mayhap be more expedient for Fletching to perform a direct and thorough physical examination of our dear Pansy and report the results back to his lord and master, and went on to say I would be glad to write up his account into a report for my lady the Queen, the Chancellor in Mane Hat, and of course her Commander.

Pansy's face went so red we could have sent her aloft as a replacement for the Warming Heart had her wing not been healing. Her voice came as cold as the caves in which we all sheltered from the dread windegos, and in turn she off-hoofedly suggested that perhaps I would like to perform a direct and thorough examination of the top of the tallest tree in the orchard, and that while her broken wing precluded her carrying even a scrawny little nag like me to such a height, she would be more than glad to buck me up there were I to tee myself up upon my horn. [2] I replied that she was more than welcome to tee herself up on my horn. (Which when I think on it now makes me blush a bit at the ramifications of what I was saying. My dear mother would have whacked me with her broom for that sort of crass talk.)

Crimson, bless him, interjected with a hasty offer of more rarebit, which was something of a tactical error on his part because by then we were all becoming so heartily tired of rarebit that it only served to spark up our ire rather than cool it. (Among her many sterling qualities, Pansy is a most excellent cook, especially over an open fire like one would find in a warrior's camp in the field, but there is only so much one can do with the bread and cheese that made up the bulk of our stores.)

The next moment there was rarebit aloft, buffeted by wing and tossed by green sparkles in all directions (mostly in my poor husband's startled face), and Pansy and I had lunged across the table at one another. Of course, I am not what one would call a physical paragon by any stretch of the imagination, and Pansy is, of course, a seasoned pegasus warrior, and thus did I find myself in an unbreakable headlock hissing like a cat and vehemently refusing to say "uncle" whilst buffeting her about the face and ears with a tin flagon held in my magic while we rolled about the tabletop breaking stoneware and getting oily cheese and bread crumbs mashed into our coats.

A few moments beyond that we were enveloped in a golden magical aura and hoisted apart and into the air, each hanging like a kitten in her mother's mouth and blinking in surprise as little Dawn's strident bellow of "NO!" filled our ears. Stunned out of my fury, I babbled an entreaty to the poor dear to put us down, which was met with a louder "NO!" and a bit of shaking up and down for the both of us that was making me quite ready to part with the rarebit I had already partaken of.

She stamped her little hoof on the table with her sweet face screwed up in anger and her wings flared, her horn aglow with a beacon-like corona as she glared up at us with her rosy eyes and spoke to us in a child's voice that was as heavy with command as any dictum I'd heard from Commander Hurricane since the founding, or even from his resplendent majesty King Aurum when I was but a shy little filly among his humbler subjects. "Cwovah and Pansy be nice! Be caewful! No hurt! No yell! Be NICE!"[3] she said to us as we floated helpless in her incredibly strong yet somehow soothingly warm magical grasp.

Dawn seemed ready to shake us again for good measure when suddenly her ears perked up at the sound of a loud "Haloo!" from the courtyard. With equal suddenness her anger at our petty scuffle dissolved to an expression of glee as she shouted out Cookie's name and skipped from the room as the auras around Pansy and I flickered out and dropped us unceremoniously to the floor.

Crimson stood regarding us with his eyes narrowed and his lips a tight line as we lay groaning on the floor, then spun on his heel with a dismissive flick of his tail and said he was going to get a broom to clean up. Then silence, golden but perhaps a bit tarnished, as the happy sound of greetings and laughter sounded from outside.

Pansy and I lay facing one another for a while under the table. Presently, I inquired as to whether she was all right. She replied that her wing ached a little, but she was unharmed, and then asked after my health in turn. I replied that there was nought a bottle of brandy wouldn't fix. Then silence, followed by two grown mares who have been friends for over a decade and who should have known better than to let things get this out of hoof exchanging heartfelt apologies to one another for our behavior.

After helping each other to our hooves and brushing ourselves off, we trotted out to greet the third mare of our triune household and welcome her as civilly as we could manage. Now that we were all assembled the time for such petty squabbles was well past.

(Indeed I have spoken before of dear Smart Cookie's deft and trenchant wit, and we were now as two stripling page-colts jousting with green reeds against one of the grand war dukes of old arrayed in full plate barding and wielding a cold forged lance charged with lightning and tipped with a thrice enchanted diamond. In brief, O diary, we definitely didn't want to start anything like the sniping the two of us had been up to over the past few days with her around the house. In faith I do not think there would be enough left of us to fill a thimble if we did.)

We found our long awaited friend helping her twin daughters Sugar and Ginger down from the buckboard with the help of her thoughtful eldest colt Oatmeal, while her infant son Graham fussed in his basket demanding his turn to be brought down. Meanwhile, my dear Crimson was helping Cookie's huge, stolid snowbank of a husband Powdermilk unbuckle himself from the harness of his own huge wagon, trading twenty words for every one he got in return as was usual when the two of them spoke.

I could not help but marvel at how large the children had all gotten since last I'd seen them. (In truth, though, if the boys took after their father at all largeness was quite inevitable. Even the girls were a bit bigger than their age would warrant. Such is the way with earth ponies, it seems.)

Cookie turned with a start and smiled at us warmly as I sparked my horn to life and floated her youngest, basket and all, down to her waiting hooves to save her from having to climb up onto the wagon again. She looked thoroughly weary and was covered with a blanket of trail dust and grime, beneath which lay an accumulation of cuts, scuffs, and bruises from her long journey, and yet still she greeted us by remarking on our disheveled state, chiding us that we looked like unmade beds. In particular she fussed over Pansy's injured wing, demanding the full story once she'd had a moment to clean up and get "the lay of the land" as she often says when arriving at a new place for the first time, be it palace, parliament, public house, or peasant hut.

While we said our welcomes to dear Cookie, her children were sizing up little Dawn for the first time. My ears laid back flat and my blood froze in my veins as young Ginger, who takes more than a little after her mother, looked up at her and asked point blank whether Dawn was some sort of simpleton. [4][5] Mercifully it was a phrase that hadn't found its way into our wonder filly's vocabulary yet. And in truth she is much too young and innocent to conceive of what an insult even is.

Cookie rolled her eyes and gave her daughter a swat across the bottom with her tail, then asked the filly how many times had she explained that while Dawn Heart might look older than them she was younger than her baby brother Graham, and then added that Dawn was a quicker learner than Ginger seemed to be.

At that point, sweet natured Sugar, ever the peacemaker, suggested that she and her sister teach Dawn how to play hop score. This seemed to mollify her twin, and the three fillies galloped off to find a suitable stone to skip with their elder brother in tow to draw the court for them at his sister's urgent insistence. Crimson and Powdermilk went after the thundering herd of children at a nod from their wives to go keep an eye on them.

There then followed in quick succession Cookie washing herself off in our water lily choked pool, taking a moment to chat and have a bite to eat while she sat feeding little Graham, burping and changing the tiny foal, and then a brief tour of the house and grounds as he fell fast asleep in his basket atop her back once more. Then she returned to her wagon, tied on an apron and bound a kerchief upon her head, handed her son to Powdermilk to mind, and then set to work.

And when I say an earth pony sets to work, O diary, it is the same as aerated phlogiston vapors being set alight, although one might say it is even more explosive. It wasn't long before all of us were swept up in the brisk labor of unloading the wagons and moving things into rooms at Cookie's relentless direction. Even Fletching was ensnared upon his return, although he was soon delegated to assisting Pansy with moving boxes from room to room after I'd whispered a few choice bits of information in my earth pony compatriot's ear. (She was in gleeful agreement with me as to the juiciness of this particular development, and likened it to a sapling that needed to be carefully nurtured so that it might bear the best fruit in the fullness of time.)

By sunset, the kitchen had been almost completely set up and a salmagundi of diced peppers and potatoes was bubbling in a great cast iron pot over a blazing fire while the stallions finished tightening the ropes on everypony's beds in preparation for a good night's sleep. [6] We ate heartily and turned in early under our relentless taskmistress' orders, expecting an early start the next morning.

By the end of the next day all of our goods and luggage had been moved to their destined rooms with as much careful deliberation as the parliaments of learned peers mapped out our fair Equestria upon the founding.

The day after that most of our boxes had been unpacked and our rooms merely wanted organization. On the fourth day I was finally in position to set up my laboratory and study, with young Oatmeal's conscientious help in moving books and furniture. Crimson, Fletching, and Powdermilk were set to work dredging the pool, while Cookie threw herself into the sooty task of cleaning out the oven, leaving Pansy to mind the girls in the orchard. Meet it was indeed when the water was cleared of scum and lily pads, for we were in dire need of a bath by evening time. It was an evening of some celebration, as we splashed together under the gaze of the carved sea ponies and drank toasts to the founding of Paradise.

And now it is the fifth day since our earth pony cohabitants' arrival, and twelve days since my knave of a husband rolled me off his back in the courtyard. My work spaces have been set up to my satisfaction, and now I sit by soothing candle light at my writing desk once more, a small island of familiarity in our unfamiliar surroundings. Thus situated I pour the details of our journey to this our new home onto your waiting pages, O diary, as I collect my wide scattered thoughts and prepare myself to attack the problem of the diamond beacon tomorrow. All of the others have been shooed off to bed by Cookie, who gave me special dispensation to keep my own hours. (She was smiling when she said this, but I felt that she was not speaking the least bit in jest. Perhaps it was the faint sound of jingling bells I thought I may have heard that gave me that impression.)

My horn fizzles and my eyes grow weary, and a glance at the candle now pouring and dripping like a waxen waterfall from its sconce tells me that it has become later than even Cookie might countenance. I know not when I shall next return, as I fear I shall be spending all of my time with your siblings, my workbooks and laboratory journals.

I shall doubtless come crawling back into your waiting embrace when anything of note happens, or when I need merely to ease my mind in your confidences.

Thus do I bid you goodnight, O diary.

Translator's Hoofnotes:

[1] Lady Clover used a rather... vulgar choice of words here, pertaining to certain substances left behind by male cattle in the meadows where they live. Again in the interest of keeping the tone more suitable to an academic publication, I substituted a less offensive term, and pray both you my gentle reader and our esteemed authoress' forgiveness for a minor bit of bowdlerization.

[2] While "teeing up" might seem like an anachronistic term to the casual reader, and I will admit I used a more modern turn of the phrase in this translation for the sake of clarity, aficionados of the sport are well aware that the pegasi invented the game of golf during the late paleo-pony period, long before the unification. Allegedly the game originally used a large hailstone and a bronze war club meant for pacifying quaray eels.

Certain ancient chronicles note that Commander Hurricane was an avid player of the game and that Dame Pansy often served as her caddy. Other accounts, from pre-unification unicorn and earth pony records, assert that her cries of the ancient equivalent of "Fore!" and the answering thunder that followed were a well known signal for ground bound ponies to get under heavy cover as expediently as possible.

Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote:

[3] And after all these long centuries, and all the miles and miles of ink and acres and acres of paper containing the length and breadth of Equestrian law, this remains the most basic, central tenet of my rule. - P.C.

Translator's Hoofnote:

[4] Lady Ginger Cookie, as anypony who's studied history is well aware, went on to become one of Equestria's premiere diplomats and one of the Princesses' greatest, most eloquent supporters in the court of Queen Platinum's heir King Chromium. At the time of their meeting when she was but a precocious filly of five years, she definitely had more than a few rough edges that needed to be smoothed out.

Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnote:

[5] That is the very question I asked myself, O my illustrious sister, that one night I found you in the royal kitchens with your entire head stuck in a cake. - P.L. [7]

Translator's Hoofnote:

[6] In the days before box springs, the mattresses of pony beds were supported on a wooden framework atop crisscrossing grids of rope that needed to be periodically cinched up as they sagged over time under the weight of their occupants. This is the origin of the old phrase "Sleep tight."

Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote:

[7] Oh Woona, that was simply ages ago. We really should stop cluttering up Twilight's manuscript with superfluous anecdotes. -P.C.[8]

Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnote:

[8] That was last Friday. -P.L. [9]

Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote:

[9] Right... Well, we also had cause to ponder your mental acuity that time we found you in the gardens with your other end firmly wedged in a {excised by royal order} {un-excised by royal order} {re-excised by royal order under threat of night eternal} Oh all right, fine. Be that way, you hyper-annuated brat. -P.C. [10]

Publisher's Hoofnote:

[10] As far as we can tell the translator intended to follow this exchange with a hoofnote, but all we found on this draft of the manuscript was an indecipherable scrawl of ink after the relevant number and what appeared to be bite marks on the lower edge of the page. It would be helpful if we could get a clarification from Twilight Sparkle before we went to press. [11]

Translator's Hoofnote:

[11] Thank you. It's fine. Everything is fine. Really. I went to the spa in Ponyville (highly recommended) with my friends Fluttershy and Rarity after they got me down from the ceiling and I had a lovely massage and a soak in the hot tub and a pony pedi and I'm fully relaxed and in complete control of my emotions and all is right with the world. I'm just going to ignore those last few hoofnotes as if they're not even there and the reader should too and I know you're not going to cut out any of the Princesses' incessant malarkey so you can do what you like with them.

Part 13 - 30th. Day of the Twelfth Month, Year 10 AE.

Chapter 13 -30th. Day of the Twelfth Month, Year 10 AE.

O diary, my ever patient confidant, woe that the dust lay so thickly upon your cover now that I finally return with quill aglimmer.

Much has gone on in the long months since last I turned your pages to put thoughts to parchment. The lingering glow of late summer was burnished to autumnal gold by the ever busy hooves of our earth pony brethren, passing with rich harvest feasting and the thundering of hooves to shake the leaves from our as yet untamed orchard. With the typical industry of their tribe dear Cookie and her family laid in plentiful supplies, filling Paradise Estate's larders near to bursting. Then snug as mice we tucked in for winter's coming.

It was a far gentler draping of the white veil than those of us who lived through the Great Migration recall, O diary. Now the crisp air rings with the laughter of well-fed foals playing in the snow and the rustle of friendly pegasi wings marshaling the soft grey clouds overhead rather than the growling of empty stomachs and the joyless exultations of the windegos at pony-kind's muttered grudges.

For my part, I have spent much of the time shut up in my study, hard bent at my research, listening with suppressed yearning to the muffled sounds of daily life going on outside like echoes of a distant, partly remembered dream. I ruefully look back on the days of my fillyhood, when many was the time I would have given the tip of my horn for a chance to shut myself away from the hurly burly of my family's household with a book in my hooves. How different is solitude when it is forced upon one rather than sought. In frequent moments of weariness I thought that I would switch places with my younger self in an instant.

But I have my duty to my lady the Queen and her co-rulers, and to all of the pony tribes, and to our brave new-founded land, and thus I soldier on at the task of plumbing the mysteries of the Warming Heart and seeking a method to reproduce it. The work is slow and tedious, and I shan't dwell upon it in your patient pages, O diary, as I have emptied enough vessels of ink onto the parchment of my laboratory notebooks in detailing my painstaking progress, if indeed progress it can be called.

I have come very close to success on the eve of the Feast of Hearth's Warming, now but a few days past. One might almost call the date ironic were it not chosen specifically on the chance that by some vagary of magic making an attempt on the same day might increase our chances of making the thing come to pass. And that was not the only way in which we attempted to reproduce the circumstances of the first appearance of the Warming Heart.

Cookie, Pansy, and I fasted the whole day, a colossal undertaking in itself as we took a hoof in preparing the customary founding feast for the benefit of our respective families. (Or families to be. More on that later, O diary!) By dear Cookie's wan reasoning, spending a day cooking up such sumptuous fare for our loved ones while not touching a single bite surely equaled the hard months of near starvation on the seemingly endless road from the Old Lands to Equestria. We resolved to celebrate a second feast when a new beacon adorned the skies that night, or at the very least to gorge ourselves on the day's leftovers in consolation for a failure whilst drowning our sorrows in mulled cider and brandy. With this promise we kept our spirits up and tried to focus on making the best of the day for the foals' sake.

It was indeed the joy of the little ones that sustained us as the hungry hours dragged by. Our darling Dawn Heart was almost incandescent the entire day, as it was her first Hearth's Warming and every experience was new and wondrous for the dear filly. She helped Crimson, Powdermilk, and Fletching locate and drag in a massive log for the hearth. (The latter handsome swain has become an ever more frequent guest here at our little manor house, even though dear Pansy's wing has long since completely healed. But once again, more on that later!) She capered with Cookie's children as they decorated the traditional earth pony Winter's Promise tree, its brightly painted wooden fruits and strings of cranberries signifying the return of bounty once the snows had been cleared in the spring. [1]

I shall never forget how caught up in the caroling she was. Our dear poppet is a great lover of all music, as I have oft attested before, but the Hearth Warming songs we have sung since the founding seemed to touch her especially deeply for some reason. She sat enraptured as we all raised our voices to the pleasing strains of darling Crimson's viol, joining in beautifully as she learned the words with much repetition.

I suspect that the songs sung in the presence of the Warming Heart on its first day among us resonate on some deep level with Dawn Heart's being. Would that I could capture sound in your pages, O diary, to please the ears of future scholars who might read this account long after we are all gone. Alas, they shall never know the sweetness of her voice. [2]

Once the feasters had been sated and the table had been cleared and gifts retrieved from the stockings hung on the hearth's mantle[3] and the foals sent to bed, we three miserable mares, grumbling from both our mouths and our stomachs, repaired to the fenced gardens behind the house, now sleeping frozen beneath a glittering blanket of packed snow. There we shivered together, sheltered from the biting winter wind only by our cloaks and a makeshift shelter of stones and ice that I had bidden the stallions to build, representing the bleak cavern redoubt where pony kind weathered its darkest hour on that desperate night a decade ago.

Presently, Cookie entreated me to start working my magic before she lost all feeling in her posterior. At my other side a soft clearing of the throat and the scrape of a hoof pawing at the crusted snow indicated that even stoic Pansy's immense patience was wearing thin. So I began, sparking my horn to life as I instructed my faithful friends to concentrate on the mental image of the Warming Heart. As I have related in my laboratory journals, my task was to channel my magic and to focus on transforming the flaming pink heart into a blue diamond as it manifested.

We huddled together, our brows furrowed and our hooves interlocked, trying with all our power to will a blue diamond version of our nation's magical beacon into being. I felt some echo of the power of that first Warming Heart surge through us, but it was different in a way that I strain to describe. It was sort of cool and crystalline, reflective rather than radiant. As suddenly as I felt the sensation it dropped away, and we all gave a start as something landed at our hooves with a thud. I opened my eyes and stared in disbelief.

There, lying at the center of our little half circle, was a lump of pale blue crystal, about as large as a pony's head, and shaped like a faceted heart. [4]

Our shocked reverie was broken as Cookie burst into uproarious laughter, flopping back onto her back and kicking her hooves in the air. A scowl darkened my countenance as my ears levered back, but before I could say something intemperate, I felt Pansy's gentle hoof on my shoulder. "Well." Said she, in her ever-tactful way. "It was a really good try."

At that, my frustration and annoyance instantly evaporated as the absurdity of it all struck me. We had indeed produced a blue diamond version of the Warming Heart, although a bit more literally than our leaders had perhaps hoped. I started to giggle, then chortle, then chuckle, then with a peal of mirth I flopped onto my back next to Cookie, dragging Pansy down with us where we three madmares proceeded to roll about in the snow in a fit of uncontrollable hilarity.

Eventually Cookie clambered to her haunches, shivering as she produced a stout flask from the folds of her cloak and proffered it to me, saying it was a bit cold outside to be doing this sort of thing. I brought out my little bottle and traded her, taking a swig and then passing it over to Pansy in exchange for her own secret vessel of spirits, observing that it was perhaps not a good idea to partake of strong drink on such empty stomachs. As one we resolved to go inside and break our Hearth's Warming fast, bearing the object with us as a pretty ornament to grace the tree. We placed it at the top, where it sparkled like the contents of my fair lady Queen Platinum's jewelry box.

The evening's final surprise came a bit later, as we gathered about with our stallions in the glow of the fire after plundering the larder for a much less grand but just as scrumptious reprise to the prior day's foregone feast. As we sat together afterward, talking softly of the day's festivities and our magical misadventure whilst admiring the way the light of the fire and candles reflected on our newly conjured decoration, I recall an almost palpable feeling of mutual affection suffusing the room.

All of a sudden, Fletching rose from his place beside Pansy and turned to face her, then took a knee with visible shivers coursing through his wings. In a faltering voice that gained strength as he spoke, he asked her for her hoof in marriage, saying something poetic to the effect of his heart drifting like a cloud but feeling suddenly blown by an inner wind to pledge his troth to her.

With no sound but a gasp of breath Pansy leapt to her hooves and took the handsome stallion of her fancy into a passionate kiss, the sudden flaring of their wings wafting a warm breeze around the room from the rosy embers of the hearth. Not to be outdone, we married mares turned to our mates and tenderly kissed them as well, and after many toasts raised and well wishes for our newly affianced friends we all retired to the warmth of our beds.

In the ensuing days I have returned to my research, performing experiments on the crystal and cross referencing my notes. It occurred to me today, O diary, to bring you forth from your undeserved exile to make note of my personal impressions of this first failed experiment.

I'll close now, as Pansy has requested that Cookie and I help her craft a letter to her excellency the Commander breaking the news of her betrothal without resulting in the breaking, so to speak, of her betrothed. A challenge, to be sure, as Hurricane will surely hold any stallion with the temerity to woo her right-hoof mare to a punishingly high standard.

Xasteriá and good morrow for now, and hopefully, O diary, the dust shall not be so thick upon you when I return.

Translator's Hoofnotes:

[1] Astute readers will doubtless recognize the Pre-Equestrian origins of what we now know as the Hearth's Warming Tree. Time, fashion, and cultural iteration have changed the decorations that we hang on our holiday trees in modern times. I find it a fascinating study of how the three tribes distinct cultures have melded. The earth ponies' symbolic evergreen is now adorned with colored lights, glass spheres, and metallic gemstones from the unicorns, while the pegasi contributed tinsel, flocking, and stylized snowflakes. Some ponies still hew to the old ways, however. My dear friend Applejack's family decorates their tree in a fashion that would be quite familiar to the earth ponies of Lady Clover's era.

[2] Princess Celestia smiled at me when we were discussing this passage and declared that ponies hadn't invented irony yet. As is often the case I have difficulty telling if she was being facetious or not. [5]

[3] The tradition of stockings hung over the hearth and placing small presents therein on Hearth's Warming Eve originates among the unicorns. I find its mention here very interesting because we begin to see the early stages of cultural amalgamation, as all the members of Cookie, Clover, and Pansy's household contribute their tribes' unique ingredients to the this microcosm of the Equestrian melting pot.

As the least physically hardy of the three tribes (and as the inventors of knitting) the wearing of stockings under winter boots was quite common in the old monoceric kingdoms far back as the Paleo Pony Period. Naturally during the winter months these stockings would be hung over a warm fire to dry after their wearers came inside.

As a culture, the tribe of my birth is known, perhaps fairly, perhaps not, for a certain amount of ostentation. The hiding of small, heartfelt presents in pockets, under pillows, and eventually in these hanging stockings was a way to avoid extravagant shows of generosity in favor of just brightening somepony's day a little. Minor teleportation spells were often employed to secret sweets, money, or small gemstones without the recipient being any the wiser.

Suffice to say, around Hearth's Warming it further behooved a pony to check their socks before putting them on.

[4] One unforeseen trend that I have noticed while discussing the content of this manuscript with friends, mentors, and family is its capacity for causing princesses to give vent to recently swallowed beverages in the form of an aerosolized cloud. This was the unfortunate result of me informing my sister-in-law of the events detailed in this passage over chilled glasses of crystal berry punch.

Princess Cadance was quite as amazed as I was at discovering an eyewitness account of the origins of the Crystal Heart in the words of one of Equestria's founders. When we later pressed Princess Celestia about it, she merely smiled that inscrutable smile of hers and replied that it certainly was interesting, but little more than trivia until the Crystal Empire resurfaced. Now that our sister kingdom to the north has returned, I believe this shall be a very interesting question to research further. [6]

Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnote:

[5] Aye, and doubly ironic that after so many years there are ponies who yearn to not hear her voice once in a while. -P.L. [7]

Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote:

[6] Most ironic indeed that you refer to the Crystal Empire as our sister kingdom, my faithful student. -P.C.

[7] Especially when I get all gossipy and start talking at length about a certain baby sibling of mine when she {excised by royal order} -P.C. [8]

Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnote:

[8] You shut up about {excised by royal order} -P.L. [9]

Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote:

[9] Whoopsie! You nearly gave it away yourself that time, Woona. Now who doesn't know when to stop talking?-P.C. [10]

Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnote:

[10] AaaaAAAAaaaugh!!!! -P.L.

Author's Note

This chapter probably would have been more appropriate over the holidays, but it's too late to cry over spilled eggnog. Enjoy, as I try to get back into my pony groove a bit. :twilightsheepish:

Part 14 - 9th. Day of the Third Month, Year 11 AE.

Chapter 14 -9th. Day of the Third Month, Year 11 AE.

We have done it.

The new beacon has risen in the skies of Equestria. Huzzah and glad tidings to all pony-kind. Long may our kingdom stand and prosper.

Do not mind the tears that stain your pages, O diary, they are naturally tears of triumphant joy, not of shame and regret.

And gratitude.

By all the powers, the price that I might have paid for this to come to pass would have been more than I could bear.

I have little doubt that even now our praises are being sung in the vaulted halls of Castle Canter, among the high colonnades of Cloudsdale, and atop the roofs of Mane Hat, and for their part Cookie and Pansy are well deserving of the accolades, but I would that my name be struck from the roll of honor.

I most certainly do not deserve to be known as "The Clever" for what I have done this day.

While glad I am that the cool blue light of the great diamond now shines among the stars, it will always be a reminder of this night to me. And so, O diary, I will write an account, blurred by my tears and jumbled in my weariness, so that the truth shall ne'er be forgotten. The wrong I have done, and the grace that I received despite it all, I shall carry with me to my final rest.

Once again I must begin by filling in the gaps in my reminisces caused by my extended dereliction of my chronicler's duties. The long months of the winter wore heavily upon me after the events of Hearth's Warming, and my days were marked with growing frustration. I was like a chained dog, constantly straining against my tether and barking at any who came near.

My careful study of the crystalline heart produced by our last failed effort produced little of relevance, as I have exhaustively detailed in my lab journals. Deciding it was a needless distraction, I had Cookie pack it away among the other Hearth's Warming decorations.

Would that other distractions would be so readily shut away, that was my attitude during those bleak months. I look back with chagrin and understand that in my obsession with completing my task I was becoming more and more distant, impatient, and irritable. The interruptions seemed constant, coming from all directions and at all times.

The occasional clamor of the children, particularly on days when it was too cold or wet for them to go outside, would scatter my thoughts like a stone cast among the fish in one of the reflecting pools in the gardens of Castle Canter. I would bear it for a time and try to ignore it, hunching over my desk with quill biting deeper and deeper into whatever parchment lay before me, until my intemperance would burst like a chestnut upon the fire and I would shriek like a harpy over my shoulder and slam my door. Often repeatedly for emphasis.

Cookie, bless her, took stern steps to ward my study from these outbursts, but at times she would become cross with me, comparing me to her sire, a who by her account was the sort of stallion who would come home from his day's labors to settle in like a brooding dragon in its lair, compelling all in the house to walk on tip-hooves and speak in hushed voices lest they rouse him in wrath from his rest. As the months wore on, she became more and more fed up with my peevishness, and now I shudder to think what might have happened between us had I the temerity to directly upbraid one of her foals.

The racket of the children scarce compared to the uproar when her excellency Commander Hurricane arrived, flush with our carefully composed letter regarding Pansy's pledged troth to Fletching crumpled in her pack. I found my pegasus friend's husband to be hiding beneath my desk shortly afterward, quietly pleading for asylum.

Having no patience for such tomfoolery I cast him out of my study, callously plugging my ears with sealing wax at all the subsequent screaming, shouting, and shaking of the very rafters as Hurricane got the drop upon him. He managed to slip out of her hammer lock and dive out a window, I was told, and led her on a frantic chase across the broad skies of Equestria. I did notice that Pansy was a more than a bit cooler in her attitude toward me afterward.

All was mercifully quiet after that, until Hurricane brought the poor stallion back some days later, trussed up and half out of his wits. I was thereafter compelled to attend a large, calamitously noisy celebration that started in the main hall and spread to the courtyard, the roof, and the clouds above when Hurricane declared Fletching "acceptable" and summoned all of her warriors to drink to Pansy's health and toast her upcoming union.

And if that weren't bad enough, during her stay, the Commander would frequently barge into my study and demand to be appraised of my progress on recreating our nation's beacon, spinning ominous tales of griffons, dragons, and other barbaric creatures massing on our borders to rumors that we ponies had lost our magic and were ripe for attack. Her final words to me before she returned to her troop formations on the northern border was to "snap it up". As though the pressure upon me was not already unbearable.

Most irritating to me of all, however, were visits from the old grump, who would turn up in my study without a sound save the clatter of his bells to peer over my withers at my work like he'd done in my bygone student days, leaving me fuming with naught but the clicking of his tongue or a wry shake of his head as he left.

Part of me wanted him to just give me the answers I was so painstakingly seeking, although he told me with a dismissive chuckle that he knew nothing of the spell I was researching when I snappishly demanded them from him. Part of me desperately wanted to see him sat upon by an immense, incontinent dragon, a desire that was received with just as many chuckles on the day I snarlingly made it known.

Since our brief meeting at Fort Everfree, he hadn't darkened the doors of Paradise Estate until shortly after the New Year was rung in. Then all of a sudden on one blustery day he showed up and somehow inserted himself into the household with all the brazen aplomb of a stray cat inviting itself inside a creamery. And even more infuriatingly they all took to him almost instantly, especially the children, who called him "Gaffer Jingles". Even Crimson declared to me that he was "An affable enough old fellow once one got to know him". It was many days before he saw ought but my back as we lay in our bed after he said that.

The one benefit to his being underhoof, that even I in my intemperate mood would admit, was that he had undertaken Dawn Heart's beginning tutelage in magic. They would walk among the sleeping trees of the orchard, or wander the forest, speaking of everything and nothing at all. Far and wide did they range, sometimes as far as Saddle Lake or Fort Everfree.

And thus were the seeds of my terrible mistake sown, as the dear, sweet poppet would intrude on my solitary toiling to proudly show and tell me what she'd learned. Now I would own that she had been making remarkable progress, for while the tricks she was learning were simple foal's lessons: levitating small objects, lighting and extinguishing candles, changing the color of a kerchief and the like, when one considered the vast power she was keeping under control without something exploding I should have been quite effusive indeed in praising her.

Instead I was at best cordial to her, but increasingly brusque as I would hustle the poor filly out of my study as soon as she'd gotten to the point, with hasty, wooden expressions of approval, followed by the door slamming shut and the bolts being thrown.

I think there was a festering jealousy underlying my thoughts, among other things, as I envied the old grump stewarding this precious child in my chosen calling rather than me. I would like to pretend that my affection for little Dawn kept me from being too harsh with her, but now I know it was but a flimsy veneer over the senseless poison that I had been accumulating in my heart.

It was early in the afternoon when poor Dawn came bounding into my study, disrupting my papers with her flapping wings and excitedly proclaiming that she was able to float more than one thing at the same time. Barely looking up from my work, I muttered something vaguely complimentary but pointed, both in tone and in the direction of the door.

Her enthusiasm undimmed, she began to pluck up random objects in the golden glow of her magic and cause them to float lazily about my little chamber. By chance I looked up to see her lift my confounded star-gazing glass from its bracket to join the books and bric-a-brac drifting like flotsam in the air.

Something inside me drew taut like a bowstring, and my temper flared. I shouted for her to put the accursed thing down with such vehemence that it startled her, and she let everything drop. The gazing glass, my gaudy treasure, the vain symbol of a lowborn candle maker's daughter risen to undeserved heights, fell to the floor with a sickening crunch, the casing burst and the lenses shattered.

I almost cannot go on, O diary, but in penance for my shame I feel I must. In my foolish heart 'twas like when my alchemy table was set alight in my clumsy youth. The hot rage filled me, boiling up and vomiting forth as a tirade that now leaves my insides feeling like the shards of blackened glass that were left behind.

I called her a little monster. I called her a freak of nature. I called her Nemesis. I accused her of ruining my life. I told her she was responsible for uprooting me from my home and casting me away from all I had known and out into the wilderness. I called her a curse on my days and a bane on the existence of all pony-kind who destroys everything she touches.

Then, may my hoof shrivel and blacken in the ice of an endless winter, I struck her across her sweet, innocent face.

It is etched in my minds eye, O diary, the blank look of stunned betrayal that washed over her bruised visage, then she turned with a sob and fled. Wretched fool me, still drunk with self-righteous anger, I slammed the door behind her and turned, muttering invectives under my breath as I set to cleaning up the mess in my study, scarce realizing what I had done, and scarcely taking notice of a noise like a peal of thunder that shook the house a few moments later.

As I knelt, contemplating the ruins of my oh-so-precious gazing glass, the study door exploded into flinders, bucked aside by Cookie. A whirlwind filled the room, tossing papers in all directions as Pansy charged in. With a growl like an enraged wolf she lifted me by my throat and shoved me hard into the wall, demanding to know what I had said and done to Dawn Heart.

I choked, O diary, not from my undeserved friend's iron grip, but on a surge of sick realization that rose from my wilting heart at the depth of the wrong I had just done. I broke down, and confessed all to them through a torrent of bitter tears that has not yet quite abated, begging them to take me to the poor filly so that I might plead for her forgiveness.

My blood chilled in my veins when Cookie informed me in a cold voice that they did not know where Dawn Heart was, as she had fled the house. I took to my heels and galloped to the courtyard, staring out past the twisted, smoking wreckage of the front gate in wide eyed horror at the empty fields and bare trees blowing in the wind of a gathering, late winter storm.

Edging into hysteria, I begged them to summon the stallions so that we might search for her, in turn pleading with fate to be kind as I declared she cannot have run very far.

My wretched heart sank further as Pansy gave a terse shake of her head, reminding me that she had been teaching Dawn to fly since convalescing from her broken wing. Cookie gave a well deserved twist of the knife at my incredulity, flatly stating that the poor filly could barely get me to acknowledge her achievements in magic over the past several months, thus it stood to reason her learning to fly escaped my notice.

Desperation seized me, as visions of a thousand terrible fates befalling the filly buzzed in my head like hornets, their stings all the sharper with the fear that I would never get the chance to tell her I was sorry.

Scarcely pausing to throw on a cloak, I lit my horn like a blazing torch and charged pell mell into the frigid rain, frantically calling Dawn's name at the top of my lungs. Dear Pansy took wing to try and catch me, but I flung her aside with a surge of thoughtless magic, and glad I am now that I did her no harm save a roll in the cold mud of the courtyard. I heard Cookie telling her to forget me and go instead to Fort Everfree to summon the yeomane warders while she roused the stallions.

I know not how long I stumbled aimlessly through the fields, shouting myself hoarse after my precious Dawn. Hours and hours, I should think, as the grey light behind the clouds began to fade and fill the cold air about me with a deepening gloom.

Ever more the fool I strayed into a marshy valley, the cold turf subsiding to frigid mud that clung to my weary legs and dragged me deeper with every laboring step. Undaunted in my frantic search, I pushed on, howling for Dawn as exhaustion numbed my body more insidiously than the cold. Unaware of my situation until it was too late, I suddenly found myself stuck fast.

O diary, how my heart guttered like a dying candle when a hissing voice bubbled up from the creeping mists, telling me that dawn would not be coming for me. I thrashed, frantically glancing about in the greenish light of my horn, going still but for my panicked, panting breaths as a terrible black thing, like a swaybacked, bony horse made of oily smoke and tar, rose up from the muck that I had sunk in up to my chest.

It slithered in a gyre around me, whispering dread rhymes to kill all hope and courage. The thing's words are burned into my memory, O diary, and I fear I shall hear them in my nightmares for the rest of my days. "Grindeylow, down, down ye go, drowned and gone where none will know. In too deep, who will weep? Evermore yer bones will sleep."

It came to a stop before me, and extended a pulpy tentacle from its forehead as it fixed my gaze with the milky white eyes of a corpse. This horrible appendage it stroked ever so gently down my cheek, leaving a chilling trace of slime like the path of a snail. It gave a mirthless chuckle, whispering that my fear was exquisite. I could not move. I could not even scream.

I was never so grateful to hear the jingling of bells.

Then came a booming laugh, that caused the fiendish thing to flinch like it had been whipped. "Bogworry! Go back to your slurry! You've come to the end of your luck! We've naught to fear, begone from here, flee back to the slime and the muck!"

The creature puffed itself up like an adder, lashing the tendril on its forehead as it hissed its defiance, only to let out a shrill shriek a moment later as it burst into an inferno of blue flames. It thrashed convulsively and dove beneath, leaving only a soggy hiss and a lingering, acrid curl of smoke to mark its passing. The blue fire remained, radiating calm and assurance from Starswirl's proud horn as he towered over me with a stern look on his face, his beard fluttering in the fitful breeze.

I fell weeping hysterically into his embrace, nearly knocking him onto his rump, as soon as he'd lifted me with his magic out of the mire and set me on my shaking hooves. With unaccustomed gentleness he rocked me and stroked my back. "There there, poppet. All will be made right."

I blubbered about poor Dawn Heart, bitter self-recriminations and apologies pouring from me with every ragged breath. The dear old grump smoothed my sodden mane, and told me not to fear. He had a strong suspicion as to where she was, assured me she was safe there, and said he would take me to her.

Then, laying a hoof alongside his snout, he gave me a knowing grin as his horn flared with a blinding white light, and I suddenly felt like I'd been yanked tail first upward through a chimney, tumbled about like dice in a cup, then unceremoniously dumped out onto my croup on the rounded stones of a gravelly riverbed with a loud snap of magical energy.

Blinking soot out of my eyes as the smell of smoke lingered in my nostrils, I cast about to find my bearings, and saw the stockade walls of Fort Everfree atop its promontory in the near distance. My jaw dropped in shock. What magecraft was this, that we had traveled so many miles in the barest blink of an eye? I looked up with awe at my old mentor, and he let out a chuckle and gave me a smug wink.

I struggled to my hooves as the old grump casually brushed his jingling cloak off with his tail. I realized we were standing at the mouth of a grotto in a cliff wall. A soft, pale glow was emanating from inside.

Cutting off my stammered questions with a toss of his head that waggled his tangled beard, and bade me follow him in, keeping still and silent until he said otherwise. Too worn out to argue, I did as he commanded, and fell into step behind him.

Inside all was quiet, save for the soft sound of a filly weeping. Starswirl held out a hoof and shushed me, stopping me short as I nearly bolted forward. There before us, dear, beautiful little Dawn Heart sat, her wings drooping and her head hung, in the gentle, radiant light of a crystalline sapling that glittered with iridescent colors, all the shades of the rainbow, at the tips of its delicate, diamond shaped leaves.

Now solemn, he approached her, his bells hushed and comforting with the steadiness of his gait. He spoke to her in low, gentle tones, too low for me to hear even in the silence that pervaded the air.

Dawn saw me, but I could not bear to meet her gaze as she rose to her hooves and cautiously approached me. The words stuck in my throat as I forced them out over bitter sobs. I was sorry I hurt her. I did not mean the terrible things I said. I was a horrible, wretched failure as a caretaker and as a pony. I begged her not to hate me. I begged her to forgive me.

And she did.

She kissed my dirty forehead and hugged me and told me she loved me. Forever. No matter what.

I never shall be worthy of such boundless love, O diary. But what else can I do but accept it as the gift that it is?

I love her. Forever. No matter what. [1]

It was some time before I was able to stand upon my hooves and see clearly, but when I finally did I looked about and noticed that the strange little tree was glowing brighter, and that tiny berries of red, purple, and pale pink had appeared on three of its branches. In a hushed voice, raw from my day's exertions I asked my old teacher these questions: What was this place? What was that mystical tree?

He turned to admire its gleaming loveliness. "This, my dear, is the reason I have been spending so much time loitering about the backwaters of Fort Everfree. You are only the second mortal pony to ever lay eyes upon it. I discovered it as a mere seedling when I wandered these new lands after the Founding, and have been both guarding and studying it ever since." (As I write this now, O diary, I must wonder at his reckoning of my being the second mortal pony to be here, in regards to what I am next about to write. What about Dawn? I know she is not a normal filly, but what might that mean?)

I went on to ask him how he knew Dawn would be here as she nestled in to my side with a wing over my withers. Said he. "I have often brought little Dawn Heart down here to see how the tree reacts to her presence. She likes it here, and from what I can tell it likes her. It is in some way attuned to her, although I am unclear how."

This my dear, forgiving poppet affirmed with a weary nod. As I looked her over with the mist of overwhelming emotion receding from my eyes, I saw that she was nearly as bedraggled as I, with grime dulling her pale coat and burrs and nettles tangled in her lank mane and ruffled plumage.

Starswirl smiled down upon her and lit his horn to lift her onto his back, then beckoned me to follow. "We ought to be heading back. Alas, we will have a bit of a walk ahead of us, my dear. I don't believe any one of us are up for another apportation spell." (I must press him more about this in the future.)

As we trudged through the receding drizzle on the road to Paradise Estate, the dear old grump spoke softly to me over the steady rhythm of hoof falls and jingles, keeping his voice low so as not to rouse a slumbering Dawn. "Have you ever wondered why I wear these bells, Clover?"

I admitted that I had, my curiosity perking my ears despite my bone-deep weariness. It was a question that like so many others usually brought only a brusque dismissal and a command to pay better attention to my studies. "Before this child appeared among us, I was the most powerful wielder of magic in all the lands. This is no vainglorious boast, merely an observed and quantifiable fact. I have worn these bells since my youth, because ponies feared me, and wanted advance warning when I approached."

After a few more jangling hoofbeats he continued. "I have always been an outsider. I do not know much of friendship, or of the closeness of family. That is my lot and I bear it. I strive for the greater destiny of all pony kind."

He leaned in and met my eyes with a bleak gaze, cold as distant stars. "That is not to be this child's fate. Never do anything like this ever again."

I swallowed hard and and nodded emphatically, and we went the rest of the way in silence, save for the warning rattle of his bells.

We were welcomed warmly and with great rejoicing by those keeping vigil for us at Paradise Estate. Captain Leaf was there, and took up his horn to blow the signal for "all is well", which soon echoed in response over the hills and vales. In straggling groups the searchers returned, gathering around the dear old grump by the fireside as mulled cider was brewed and tales were told.

Cookie bundled Dawn and I into a hot bath, and as I held her and combed the tangles from her silken mane I remembered the first bath we shared together mere months ago, recalling the lessons I had learned back then. Then we dried off, each had a bowl of Cookie's hearty vegetable chowder with fresh baked bread, and were put to bed.

But sleep eluded me, O diary, even as the house went quiet with the departure of the warders and the settling in of the husbands and children. I arose after having merely rested for a time, wrapped in my blanket, and wandered out into the gardens. The sky above had cleared of clouds, and now the stars twinkled in a velvet blue firmament, accompanying the pale glow of the moon.

A gentle voice called out to me from above, and I turned to see dear Pansy perched upon the roof wrapped in her dark wool warrior's cloak. She fluttered down beside me, as the crunch of hoof steps in the snow behind us heralded the approach of darling Cookie, who came from the kitchen's back door wrapped in a shawl and kerchief. With wry smiles they both declared that they had been unable to get to sleep.

For a while, no words passed between us, only the closeness of three old friends who'd been tested once again. Presently, I whispered my apologies for the wrongs I had done, and once more I was blessed with the gift of forgiveness. The warmth of reconciliation rose within me, from my broken, mended heart, and I felt it rise up to my horn and blossom forth as a flickering flame.

Our eyes wide with wonder, I gathered my wits at Cookie and Pansy's urgent reminder of the wishes of our leaders, and concentrated on the shape and color of the brightening corona of light, bidding them to join me in doing so. As if in a lucid dream it shifted to a serene blue color, and assumed a four pointed shape, rising like a great kite above us until it gracefully took its destined place in the heavens, at home among the stars and companion to the moon.

More tears rolled down my face as my friends, my sisters by other mothers, rejoiced and embraced me.

We have done it.

My beloved compatriots have since gone to bed. I snuggled in beside my darling Crimson but to no effect, as the events of the day still roiled and rattled in my head.

So again I rose and found my way to my study, lit a taper, and strove to take down my account into your waiting pages. Now, O diary, I am all but empty, having poured it all upon you. I think at last I shall be able to sleep, and pray that my dreams are untroubled.

Until next I lift my quill, goodnight.

Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnote:

[1] I must humbly apologize, Twilight Sparkle, to you and to the publisher for the droplets of moisture that spilled upon this portion of the manuscript. I accidentally spat out a mouthful of tea I was drinking due to some unexpected revelation that is not worth mentioning. That is absolutely what happened. -P.L. [2][3]

Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote:

[2] Of course it was, my ever beloved sister. It is good to keep a hoofkerchief handy in case of just such an occurrence. -P.C.

Translator's Hoofnote:

[3] Don't worry about it, Princess Luna. I "spat out my tea" several times as I was translating it. No real harm done.

Part 15 - 10th. Day of the Third Month, Year 11 AE

Chapter 15 -10th. Day of the Third Month, Year 11 AE.

It has been a long time, O diary, since I have had so glorious a day.

I am like a pressed flower that has by some magic regained the vibrancy and fragrance of a bloom in the field upon being removed from betwixt the pages of the book that had been used to flatten it.

Morning arrived on dainty hooves and fluttering wings of snowy white, as darling Crimson and I found ourselves pounced and then pranced upon by my dearest Dawn Heart, to a merry refrain of "Wadybugs Awake!" and glad exhortations to "Wake up, Cwovuh! Wake up, Cwimson!"

Defending the sovereign territory of our bed from this winsome invader, I let out a battle cry like a diving pegasus warrior and with a mighty heave overturned the dear filly onto her back. Striking like a quaray eel, I threw off my covers and went in for the tickle, blowing a veritable bushel of raspberries into her tummy to much squealing and flailing of legs and wings. [1]

While the routed besieger of Castle Clover gasped and giggled in my grasp, I looked up to see Cookie standing in the doorway to our bedroom with a wry smile on her face. With a chuckle she said it was high time that Crimson and I had our turn being awakened in this fashion.

With the probing mien of a magistrate questioning a scofflaw brought before the bench I asked my dear friend if she had put Dawn up to this, calling for order in the court with another raspberry to the belly. She merely laughed and beckoned me to come to the kitchen to help prepare breakfast.

I gave Dawn an earnest hug and bade her follow her co-conspirator to the kitchen while I performed my morning ablutions, telling the dear poppet I would be joining them shortly.

Arising, I gave my darling Crimson a peck on the cheek as he settled his head back upon the pillow for a few more leisurely moments abed, and then tarried a bit longer as he drew me into a less perfunctory kiss. Indeed, O diary, it had been far, far too long since I had had the time to be so wifely with my beloved. Far too long.

I threw open the shutters and gazed out the windows of our bedroom as I washed my face. Through the diamond shapes formed by the glazing I marked the long sought and finally realized blue diamond as it flickered dimly against the grey-white of a late winter sky. It seemed pale and ephemeral in the daylight, faded to near invisibility against a firmament lit by the stronger light of the sun.

Its true glory would always be at night, thought I, as I pondered it on this first day of its existence, but t'was meet, as the darkness by its very nature has more need for illumination. Those fearsome foes of pony kind who move against us in the shadows would see it and know we fear no longer.

Dawn once more intruded upon my woolgathering, having been sent by Cookie to hurry me along to the kitchen. I took the occasion to point out to her our newly wrought beacon in the sky above. Her rosy eyes lit up, as she stared up at it with a gasp of awe, her hooves upon the window sill.

Then she turned and hugged me. "I love her!" she said, before bounding from the room with a flutter of wings and rustle of little hooves on the dry reeds laying upon the floor. [2]

By the introspective light of a candle as I pen this days testament I must take a pause at this, O diary.

"I love her?"

"Her?"

Were I a simpleton I would pass that off as merely a giddy filly's careless misspeaking. Alas, the bliss of ignorance has always eluded me, and I do not rest easily in its comforting shadows.

Is this the inevitable result of this spell? Have we called forth a sister for our miracle child, who will alight among us in a decade's time? Or sooner? Or longer? There is much as yet unknown, that only time will tell in its fullness.

Welladay. Perhaps next time her excellency the Chancellor will be more easily dissuaded from demanding I hang a great purple horseshoe or something up among the lights of the heavens. Methinks I shan't press this issue for now with our nation's illustrious leaders. I shall take council with Cookie and Pansy, and otherwise we shall just have to wait and see.

Unconcerned by these possible omens from the mouths of babes, I hied myself to the kitchen and was soon swept up in the hustle and bustle of the household that I heretofore had been shut away from among my charts, tomes, and crystals.

I am an indifferent cook, having developed just enough skill to not starve or poison myself during my student years, but I had a marvelous time lending a hoof under Cookie's culinary command. Soon we all sat down to a hearty meal of wonderfully fluffy scrambled eggs, thick slices of rye toast spread with sweet honey-butter, and creamy porridge topped with more butter, spiced with nutmeg, and mixed in with raisins, crushed walnuts, and precious slices from our dwindling supply of the autumn's delectable harvest of apples.

While our breakfast was indeed celebratory, I also make note of it as the first time since breaking our all day fast on Hearth's Warming that I truly enjoyed a meal. Too often I had merely shoveled down a cold plateful of whatever Crimson or Cookie brought me in my cloistered study as I sat miserably poring thru my grimoires or rendering a parchment into a tangled, inky bird's nest of charts, glyphs, and equations.

Excused from cleanup duty ("For today." said Cookie with a gimlet eye and a half smile), I went outside with the foals to play in the snow that had freshly fallen in the night sometime after we had all finally gone to bed. I don't think I have ever had so marvelous a time since I was a tiny filly in the snow covered courtyard of my family's house in the old lands. It was many years, O diary, before those of us who lived through the terrible, endless winter before the founding of our fair land could take any pleasure from the sight of snow falling.

We rolled up a snowpony of prodigious size with the help of Dawn's burgeoning magic. It truly was a sight to see when Powdermilk came outside to check on us. Oh how we laughed when we saw him gazing stolidly up at our hoofwork, looking like a miniature copy of it. Methinks I saw a smile and heard a chuckle from him as he escorted us back inside for mulled cider and a bite to eat for midday.

Pansy returned in time to join us, having gotten up before the dawn (And before dear Dawn as well.) to join Fletching for early cloud clearance duties over Fort Everfree and parts East.

As we made a meal of Cookie's incomparable rarebit (A dish we all have forgiven and learned to love again since the tribulations of moving to our new home. In Cookie's hooves it is a sublimely hearty and satisfying lunch.) talk fell to planning for Pansy's upcoming nuptials.

Pegasi, it seems, are rather informal in their wedding traditions, with the gathering and temporary hosting of a widely flung and extensive roster of friends and relations being the greatest logistical challenge to undertake. Apparently, blood feuds lasting for generations have resulted from a failure to invite every last conceivable acquaintance to bear witness and feast afterward.

Dear Pansy said something about not having to worry about her mother's side of the family in that regard, but didn't elaborate further. Here is another thing said in passing that strikes me oddly upon putting it down upon your pages, O diary. I shan't pry, but it does make me curious.

As I lent a hoof cleaning up that delectable meal, with minimal protest and much thinly veiled approval from Cookie regarding my day's granted respite from such chores, my inestimable earth pony friend and housemate asked a most flattering favor of me.

Since, said she, I was free of my burden of recreating the warming heart, and since, she hoped, I was not so thoroughly sick of books that I wanted to wall off my study and library and forget they even existed, perhaps I would see fit to undertake the instruction of her children in "unicorn book learning" as she half-jokingly put it.

Cookie went on to explain that while foals of her tribe are taught such basic letters and numbers as they need to function in the marketplace or go on to learn a trade, any further education must be painstakingly sought after on one's own time and at one's own expense. She hoped it wasn't too much to ask, since we were all living together out here on the frontier, that I might share some of the knowledge contained in my vast store of books and scrolls, and give her sons and daughters a "leg up" to use her phrase. [3]

Of course I told her I would be both honored and immensely pleased to do so. The look of genuine gratitude on her face when I agreed was all the reward I would need for such a labor of love.

Well I know what such a thing would mean for her daughters and sons, and for her. As I have often remarked in your pages, O diary, my dear friend has revealed to me much of the depth and breadth of her knowledge, but with the telling gaps and inconsistencies of the self-educated.

Again I marvel at how this remarkable mare has taught herself rhetoric, civil law, mathematics, philosophy, at least five languages, and has gained a passing familiarity with classical poetry and the history of all three tribes, all acquired by the sweat of her brow in the precious intervals when the steady cadence of earth pony life allowed.

To have a patient guide through these thickets of information, who can impart context and clarity, that is the value of being taught, and the sacred duty of the teacher. I shall endeavor to do my best, hopefully with more kindness than the old grump ever mustered in my time under his tutelage.

Thinking upon it, I see further benefits to this arrangement. Dawn Heart will be in need of education in "unicorn book learning", and will probably benefit greatly from learning alongside Cookie's children.

Thinking upon the old grump, I must consult with him when next he comes jingling among us regarding our wonder filly's magical instruction. I make no pretensions to being as qualified as he is when it comes to teaching so prodigious a pupil, but if there is any way I can be of assistance I would gladly stand ready to do so.

I spent the afternoon cleaning and organizing my study, carefully filing the notes from the crafting of the beacon spell in anticipation of their being bound into more suitable tomes. Books needed shelving, dust needed sweeping, puddles of wax needed to be scraped from my desk so that it might be recast into candles. It was a most productive and salutary endeavor, another step on my return to normalcy, rather like that first bath and brush down after spending long days abed recuperating from an illness.

Then back to the kitchen, where I was swept up into the hurly burly of preparing our supper along with Pansy, Powdermilk, Crimson, and Cookie's girls. As I have already noted, O diary, before I entered my lady Queen (then Princess) Platinum's service and became accustomed to the castle staff taking care of me, I found cooking a tedious chore at the best of times. How different it is when a kitchen full of happy, chatting ponies shares in the tasks together.

Tonight's repast was a fine pie of leeks, turnips, and carrots stewed in red wine and baked in a crust, served with fried oatwurst and pickled cabbage. I rather suspect that Cookie has studied alchemy as well, for how else but magic might she turn the shriveled, late winter contents of our root cellar and the dwindling stocks of our pantry into such culinary gold?

Afterward we saw the sun down with music and word games by candlelight, putting the children to bed in waves to ease their passage from wakefulness to sleep with minimal protest. First little Graham is laid in his cradle, then Dawn and Cookie's girls (the most chaotic of the bedtimes, especially if Ginger is in one of her moods, so Cookie informs me), then young Oatmeal, who by virtue of his age and general good behavior is allowed to stay up for an entire extra hour longer than his siblings.

I spoke more to the young lad tonight than I have since we all moved in, back when he assisted me most ably in setting up my study and library. He's a thoughtful young fellow, as I have noted before, prone to long pauses as he carefully chooses his words. We spoke of the prospect of my teaching him, and I asked him what subjects he was most interested in learning. He informed me, after the expected pause for thinking, that he was keenly interested in geography and natural philosophy. [4]

I do recall his fascination with my collection of atlases when we installed my books in their new repository. At his mother's prompting I brought out my folio of maps from the old lands, and taught him the names of countries we'd abandoned to the encroaching ice and snow in the great migration before it was time for him to go to bed.

And that brings me to the present moment, as I sit in the glow of the embers in the main hall with quill and journal, listening to Cookie and Pansy quietly chat while my beloved Crimson plays a calming air on his viol and Powdermilk sits quietly and bestirs himself to answer with a nod or a monosyllable to his wife's periodic entreaties to stir the fire. I find I am filled with a warm feeling of contentment, surrounded by dear friends and at peace.

Cookie has just declared it is time for us all to be retiring, informing me that my special dispensation to stay up as late as I wished had ended when the blue diamond ascended. With a wry smile she told me I would need the sleep if I was to be ready for the break of Dawn tomorrow.

Thus I shall close, O diary. I met my darling Crimson's eye shortly after Cookie's final rap of a hoof on the floor, and all I shall say is that while I may now be under orders to go to bed, I won't necessarily be going to sleep anytime soon.

Good night.

Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnote:

[1] Indeed, 'tis quite true that Princess Celestia of Equestria, Sol Equus Invictus, Grand Protectress of the Realm and Regent of the Sun, is exceedingly ticklish, especially in the general area of her abdomen. I must commend my most dignified royal sibling on her bravery in allowing this chink in the royal armor, as it were, to be revealed. Especially now that she is tall enough for one of our subjects to reach this spot without even having to bend one's neck very far. I would gladly bestow a peerage upon the pony brave enough to try it. -P.L. [5]

Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote:

[2] And I still do, despite a marked tendency for excessive sass I'm seeing expressed in these extraneous hoofnotes, Woona. Are you trying to give poor Twilight another conniption? -P.C. [6]

Translator's Hoofnotes:

[3] Universal education for young ponies of all types was established roughly fifty years after the Royal Pony Sisters' defeat of Discord, initially established as a Ministry of the Crown under Princess Celestia's auspice, with schoolmasters and schoolmarms trained in Canterlot and installed in schoolhouses across Equestria under the supervision of a Minister of Education.

It was at this time that the early precursors of the Pegasi Flight Schools were also founded. Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns was established much later, shortly after the beginning of Princess Luna's exile. The public school system as we know it now was reformed and organized into its current state roughly eighty years ago as of this writing.

Princess Celestia informs me that these initial forays into teaching all the foals of Equestria their "three R's", regardless of their social class or background, were very strongly influenced by her memories of learning at Lady Clover's hooves alongside Smart Cookie's children. Curricula and class sizes have changed, but the emphasis on group learning and a positive atmosphere of sharing knowledge guided by a patient, dedicated teacher is a tradition we have maintained. I have only to look at the wonderful work my friend Cheerilee does as Ponyville's schoolteacher to see Lady Clover's legacy still carrying our fair land into the future.

Hello, Cheerilee. I hope you enjoy this text and can use it to enhance your history classes. (Certain obnoxious interjections that I am still ignoring notwithstanding.) I bet you didn't realize the flowers that make up your cutie mark were perennials.

[4] This chapter is quite full of foreshadowing, isn't it? Students of history should be well aware of the daring exploits of Captain Oatmeal Raisin-Cookie, one of the founders of the Equestrian Rangers and the determined leader of the explorers who mapped upper Equestria and parts north on hoof. One particular text I recommend is his memoir: "'Oatmeal, Are You Crazy?' Being an Account of My Adventures on the Northern Frontier and the New Lands I Discovered Despite the Neigh Sayers"

Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote:

[5] One would have to be a brave pony indeed, with a predilection for enclosed spaces in exotic locales. -P.C. [7]

Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnotes:

[6] I'm merely attempting to provide a bit more context to this account, O sister beloved. You and I are living relics, after all. Like you, I have come to prefer emphasizing the "living" rather than the "relic" part of that. -P.L.

[7] I assure the readers it would be well worth it, for the sake of historical scholarship alone. I warrant the sound my sister makes when properly raspberried in her midsection has not been heard for untold centures. Surely your inquiring mind wants to know, Twilight Sparkle. Perhaps the next time we have you over to dedicate a stained glass window or something you might have an opportunity. -P.L. [8]

Translator's Hoofnotes:

[8] Such an inquiry would hardly be relevant, or particularly informative, especially in the medium of print. I would like to assure my esteemed mentor and immortal sovereign that I would never, ever succumb to such a ludicrous impulse. Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye! [9]

[9] And just to be clear in case my prior hoofnote caused any undue confusion at an apparent contradiction of intent, I am still ignoring these intrusions into my hoofnotes. [10]

Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote:

[10] Not to worry, my dear student. Even if you attempted such an inquiry, I've learned some fairly effective blocking maneuvers with my wings over the years, and my reflexes are still pretty good for a multi-centinarian. Rest assured my royal undercarriage shall remain safely un-rasberried. -P.C. [11]

Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnote:

[11] I know a challenge when I read one. We'll just see about that. -P.L. [12]

Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote:

[12] Bring it on, Princess Squawks Like a Plucked Phoenix When Goosed in the Brisket. -P.C. [13]

Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnote:

[13] Verily, 'tis most assuredly ON! -P.L. [14]

Translator's Hoofnotes:

[14] Still ignoring them. Still ignoring them. Still ignoring them. Still ignoring them.

Part 16 - 2nd. Day of the Third Month, Year 12 AE

A Note from the Translator:

After some serious deliberation on my part, I have decided to skip ahead somewhat in my translation of Lady Clover's journals. Following the happy day that our esteemed authoress recorded after the lighting of the magical beacon that came to be known as the Steadfast Diamond, life at Paradise Estates settled into the convivial routine of a household of that era. While notable events like Dame Pansy's wedding to Fletching [1] and Dawn Heart's first birthday celebration at Midsummer occurred during these passages, I've decided that they aren't entirely relevant to this study of the Princesses' early lives and could be reasonably excised from this text.

This decision was partly the result of a frank discussion between myself and this tome's royal subjects (no pun intended) about certain interjections being made with distressing regularity in the hoofnotes. The account of certain understandable but unfortunate excesses of youthful exuberance at my former mentor's first birthday party was bartered out of the book along with an incident involving her royal sibling and a certain metallic container meant for the transporting volumes of liquid which shall remain henceforth unmentioned in exchange for fewer unwarranted intrusions into this text.[5]

Chapter 16 - 2nd. Day of the Third Month, Year 12 AE

I know, O diary, that you are unaccustomed to the light of the morning sun shining across your pages as I mark the day's events with my quill, as opposed to the contemplative glimmer of the candle and mayhap the gleaming of the moon thru my study window, but today I feel I must give testament to a dream of such significance that I have not even paused to brush my mane nor curry-comb my coat after flinging aside my covers on this chill morning. If my script shows the signs of an unsteady horn's glow, it is not the cold but a swirl of thoughts and emotions that is the cause. [2]

But enough portentous circumlocution, I shall come to the point.

Dawn Heart has a sister.

There is another fledgeling goddess aborning in the sky above Equestria, deep within the glimmering core of the Steadfast Diamond. I know not when she shall be joining us, touching her delicate hooves upon the soil of our beloved land, but I am certain now that she exists. I have met her in my dreams.

'Twas three nights ago that it began, on the night of the Leap.[3] It is a night to be wary, yet open to strange revelations, as any spellcaster from the humblest hedge-mage to the exalted luminaries who steer the sun and moon through the heavens well know. After I closed your covers for the night, O diary, I took the precaution to meditate and go through the exercises that prepare the mind for lucid dreaming ere I laid my weary head upon my pillow.

My mind's eye opened in that timeless, formless space, and I felt myself being pulled through the impression of mists toward a place of dim illumination. Presently I touched hooves down upon a plane lit from beneath by a soft blue glow. Stars hung above in a velvety blackness, glimmering in endless depths above that a soul untethered could fall through for untold eons. The gleaming surface beneath me gave the impression of a winter field, yet mildly warm and unyielding 'neath my hoof falls, which left no prints behind me. Tiny sparkles played across the plain in answer to the stellar majesty above, like upon sand or snow in bright sunlight.

For a time unknown I wandered, as is the way in dreams where a moment may be a century and an age passes in an instant, gazing at the ephemeral constellations above and yet feeling safely grounded below. My ears pricked to a sound, a voice like a newborn foal crying for its dam. For another time unknown I searched, with the plaintive wail's growing loudness the only sign I was coming closer.

Then, there ahead of me I saw her, a dark shape curled up upon the glowing plane underneath the vault of stars. She was a tiny filly, indeed a newborn foal with downy, featherless wings folded upon her back and the velvet covered nub of a horn upon her broad forehead. Her coat was a most unusual shade of indigo, with dapples of black across her hindquarters, and her silken mane was a vibrant, cornflower blue. [4]

As I approached she stirred, and raised her head unsteadily to gaze at me with unfocused eyes the color of the exotic turquoise stones brought hither by wide ranging pegasi explorers to my lady Queen Platinum's treasure vault as gifts from the mighty herds of buffalo who thunder across the desert lands far to the southwest.

The little creature let out a pleading moan of such loneliness that I was at once moved to rush to her and take her up in an embrace. Soft as the fuzzy skin of a peach and light as a feather, she snuggled in to my breast with a sigh of sweet contentment as soon as I held her. As I stroked her gossamer mane, it seemed as though the glow around me had become warmer, and the filigree of stars above answered with a cheerful twinkle as the mysterious filly drifted to sleep. For an unknown time I sat there, cradling this tiny waif and feeling the soft tickle of her breath upon my chest, until I gently faded from the dream as if falling asleep in reverse.

I awoke the next morning and thought little of it as I set about my daily round of tasks. Mayhap, I conjectured, this dream was the result of a bit of yearning for a foal of my own to cuddle, especially now that Pansy's belly is beginning to herald the approach of her firstborn. That such a dream should happen upon the Leap I put down to mere coincidence, or at best a hopeful portent of a change in my fortunes regarding the blessings of motherhood.

I cast these musings aside and made ready for the day. As dearest Cookie is wont to say, breakfast was not going to make itself, and I had one earnest colt whose geometry and cartography lessons needed going over, three fillies who needed drilled on their multiplication tables and verb tenses, and another colt who was learning his shapes and colors ere they each got to what chores awaited them.

The following night, as the count of days fell back into its accustomed rhythm, I had the dream a second time, the same in almost all aspects save that the blue filly was watching for me. As I approached, she called out to me with a loud whinny that echoed in the vast stillness. She pulled herself along on her belly in the manner of infant foals in the waking world with her nubby wings flapping urgently. She gave a sigh of profound relief as I took her into a hug, and cooed sweetly as she curled against me once more.

I brought it up to Cookie and Pansy as we tended the pots and chopped the vegetables for breakfast, noting the strangeness of there being continuity betwixt dreamings. Usually, if a dream recurs, it plays itself out the same, as a play being performed repeatedly over several nights, albeit with whimsical changes in the casting or props and perhaps beginning at different points in the script and looping upon itself in strange ways, as if the dramaturges thoughtlessly shuffled the pages after overindulging in elderberry wine.

As a mage trained in the art of lucid dreaming and prophecy, I am well acquainted with the shadows that populate our nightly journeys of the mind. They are as the figures in a painting, or words in a book, carrying image and meaning but no true awareness. I wondered at the convincing illusion of life I was experiencing from this dream filly.

My wise friends could make nothing of it, although thinking back on it now, Cookie cast several thoughtful glances in Dawn Heart's direction as the dear poppet helped her daughters set the table. Of course her intuition takes a back seat to no pony, and I will own that there are times where all of my intellectualism blinds me to what is plain before the snout on my face. Methinks we shall have a most interesting conversation over the cook fires today.

It took this third night for me to make the connections, and here the dry, weary voice of the old grump comes upon me with its jingling chorus. The third time that becomes the charm, the point where incidence and coincidence transform into precedence. "Look to find the pattern, Weed! You have two eyes and a horn, look past the tip and see what it points at!"

And so as my waking body slept in my dear Crimson's warm embrace, my dream self was cantering over the glowing field, seeking the filly out as she called to me. And lo, when I came upon her again her dusky face lit up with such a smile as I remembered upon the pale visage of the dear child I now understand is her elder sister when I first met her on that wond'rous Midsummers Eve seeming ages ago. As soon as I saw it, and heard the joyful sound she made, I knew. This was no figment of my dreams, no phantasm of a yearned for child. This was a presence, a new life, with only one other like her in the whole world.

At this realization, I entered a place beyond lucidity, and with clarity welling in my mind like the storm clouds billow at the hoof of the pegasus warrior, I knew at once what I was next meant to do. After uncounted moments of deliberation in the timeless dream space, I decided. She must be named.

My dream self spoke the name I bestowed upon her, and she answered with a contented sigh as she snuggled against my phantom self, seeming a bit warmer, a bit more real, the flutter of her heartbeat pulsing softly against my breast.

As the sun crested the horizon and I sat up in my bed with my dozing husband at my side, her name was the first words I spoke in the hush of our chambers.

And now, I write them in my diary. O honored parchment that receives this testament and contains my initial musings on this new mystery.

Well met by evening, Sweet Dream.

Translator's Hoofnotes:

[1] An excellent account of Dame Pansy's wedding and subsequent life with Yeomane Fletching can be found in her autobiography "At the Wing of the Storm - An Account of My Life and My Small Part in the Founding of our Land" which has seen several translations over the years. I recommend Parsley Sage and Rosemary Thyme's translation as striking the best balance between accuracy and readability.

Having studied the original drafts of said memoirs personally in the Royal Archive while translating this journal, I suspect that Lady Clover might have had a hoof in helping her dear friend prepare them, as I recognize the prose style and the horn-writing as that of our illustrious authoress. Other samples of Dame Pansy's writing speak more to the plain spoken, utilitarian style of a largely unlettered pegasus warrior, more accustomed to relaying orders via hastily mouth written scraps of paper passed unedited to swift winged couriers than writing a long form memoir. It's another demonstration of the unwavering love and support these mares gave one another.

I'll add that Lady Clover's private reactions to the dramatic revelations at the wedding ceremony, particularly the well documented reunion between Pansy and her long lost earth pony mother Primrose, are quite true to form.

In those less enlightened days, apparently children of mixed tribal backgrounds was something known but never spoken of. Lady Clover expressed nothing but joy and approval at Pansy and Primrose's reconciliation, and was vehement in their defense against those among the three tribes who were scandalized by this development. Her regard for Commander Hurricane was also raised considerably following the pegasus warlord's own fiercely unquestioning embrace of her former right hoof mare's lineage.

Frankly, a hoofnote can hardly contain this subject. I think I have an inkling of what my next historical treatise will be.

[2] The hornwriting of this passage was indeed indicative of a high degree of agitation, requiring a bit of extra care in translating it properly. Lady Clover was chomping at the bit, as it were, to get her impressions down. Several partially completed, scratched out doodles of a small, dark face with brightly shining eyes and a gleaming smile stare out at me from the margins, each one apparently not quite conveying the impression our authoress was hoping for. They are notable as the first attempts, albeit unsuccessful ones, to depict our esteemed Princess of the Moon.

[3] In those ancient times before the princesses rectified the calendar and gave us our accustomed three hundred and sixty day year, there was a bit of inaccuracy in the counting of days composing a year versus the monthly cycles of the moon. The Solar and Lunar Guilds, those august bodies of unicorn arch-mages who regulated the sun and moon, were often at odds with one another politically and therefore a bit out of sync. Some months had thirty one days, and the second month was shortened to twenty eight days, if you can believe it. To fit into the Solar Guild's mandate for a three hundred and sixty five day year, an extra day was added to this short month every four years to keep things properly lined up.

This twenty ninth day was known as the Leap. A lot of superstitions and statistical oddities built up around this extra day, like ponies born on this Leap day technically being only one fourth their actual age if one went by official birthdays alone. (And to put my good friend Pinkie Pie at ease: Ponies born on this day usually just celebrated their birthday as normal on the 28th. but got to have an extra special birthday every four years. Nopony was missing out on their birthdays. There's no need to try to dig up that Time Travel spell. So please stop pestering me about it.)

[4] I learned something extraordinary while discussing this passage with the princesses. So extraordinary that the spray of tea spots my publisher doubtless discovered on these pages was from yours truly.

After many long hours of deep consideration and in depth deliberation with our co-sovereigns, it was decided that I could share this revelation. Like the ancient donkey king Golden Touch's barber who discovered that his ruler concealed beneath his headdress a pair of strange monkey ears brought about by a curse, I must tell this secret, although I bury it in my hoofnotes rather than whisper it into a hole in the ground.

A casual comment on my part about Lady Clover's reaction to the infant Princess Luna's coloration led their highnesses to let slip the fact that in those days ponies' coats generally came in shades of grey, brown, russet, and beige, often with spots and dapples. The truth, they told me, was that the multicolored hues common today were magically imposed on the pony populace by Discord during the era of his misrule. [12]

When they had gotten me upright again and settled on a couch, the princesses and I talked about this at length. As time went by, memories faded, and ponies coming in every hue in the rainbow became the new normal. Princess Celestia said that she personally found her multicolored subjects quite beautiful to look upon, and Princess Luna stated that it despite its origin it was merely a change, neither good nor evil.

In the interest of thoroughness (and at considerable risk to my mental well being, I might add) I broached the subject with the aforementioned draconequis at a brunch my friend Fluttershy kindly held at her cottage for that very purpose, after extracting a solemn vow that he would not meddle in this manuscript or insert any unwarranted hoofnotes. He merely shrugged diffidently whilst pouring an entire pot of tea into his ear, and said that it seemed like a good idea at the time, and that we all should be grateful he was done with his "plaid period" by then. I honestly don't know what sort of explanation I was even expecting to hear when I asked him.

After talking it over with my friends around Ponyville, the general consensus was that ponykind's coloration might not be what nature had intended, it did us no harm, and was part of what makes us unique as a species. As my friend Applejack said in her typical straightforward fashion. "A pony's a pony, no matter what color they are."

So I'm proud of my lavender coat and purple and pink mane, and whatever color your mane and coat are, dear reader, you should be proud too!

Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote:

[5] A pity, since both tales are quite amusing, but in the interest of averting another "Raspberry War" in our royal court I'll gladly agree to the terms laid out. As I said to Twilight during our "negotiations" I think my dearest little baby sister has been growing more and more impatient to see herself appear in this narrative, hence her tendency to inject herself into your hoofnotes at the drop of a tiara. Hurrying along to that point will hopefully pacify her more thoroughly than threats of describing a certain deplorable yet hilarious embedding of certain bits of a certain princess' anatomy within certain water carrying devices under certain dubious circumstances which by agreement shall remain unelaborated upon. [6][7]

Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnote:

[6] Gird thy undercarriage, thou long shanked, sugar fueled apocalypse on hooves. Verily, it is most assuredly ON again! [7]

Translator's Hoofnote:

[7] You both PROMISED! Am I going to have to bring Pinkie Pie into this? [8][9][10]

Translator's One Friend Who Takes Promises VERY Seriously. Like, Making Sure You Remember Everypony's Birthday Seriously No Exceptions Even If You Accidentally Feed Your Day Planner To Your Pet Alligator's Hoofnote:

[8] Yeah!

Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote:

[9] My faithful student, I swear upon my royal honor that I absolutely did not pen that hoofnote. I keep my promises, especially to those as dear to me as you are. Luna knows this as well. (And I will even forgive her that flyby raspberry she gave me while I was receiving the delegation from Cloudsdale.) There is no need to escalate this any further, or to involve Miss Pie. [11]

Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnote:

[10] I most humbly apologize, Twilight Sparkle, to both thee and to my esteemed sister for my intemperance. (Thankfully the Mayor of Cloudsdale and his wife were quite understanding and took it all in good humor.) I too shall honor my vow from here on out. I begin to suspect a certain other infuriating party precipitated the apparent breach of our agreement to which I overreacted. Restrain thy roseate avenger, please.

Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote:

[11] I only said that *I* wouldn't insert any gag hoofnotes in your book thingy. Not Princess Celestia, who I totally am and not some roguishly handsome, deviously clever fellow who's uncannily good at forging her hornwriting if I might say so myself. I mean herself. Whatever. [13]

[12] I'll even ignore that crack about my "misrule". I mean, Discord's "misrule". 'Cos I'm absolutely Princess Celestia writing this. See all the cake crumbs everywhere? There's your proof that it's her. I mean me. Yeah.

[13] I also promise that random copies won't spontaneously turn into pepper-jack cheese sandwiches on sourdough bread. There, see, I'm being exquisitely reasonable about all this. [14]

Publisher's Hoofnote:

[14] We offer our heartfelt apologies to any ponies whose copy of this book spontaneously transformed into a swiss cheese sandwich on pumpernickel. We offer this replacement volume free of charge with our compliments, and for what it's worth we hope you enjoyed the sandwich.

Part 5 - 22nd. Day of the Sixth Month, Year 10 AE

Chapter 5 - 22nd. Day of the Sixth Month, Year 10 AE.

May the Maker above bless Cookie and Pansy for all their days to come for being my steadfast islands of calm and comfort in these days of tempest and turmoil. I am beset on all sides with questions and demands, and weighty responsibilities undreamt of on the eve of the Solstice now pile upon me as the tomes and grimoires piled upon my work table whilst I was under the old grump's tutelage. Were it not for my dearest friends' honesty and kindness, I should think I would be out in the hay fields barking at the moon right now, driven to madness by the commotion, conundrum, and contention I have endured this day. The hurly-burly of Midsummer Day pales in comparison. [1]

I suppose I should elucidate, o diary, rather than fill up these pages with endless ~~whining~~ complaining, and as much as I would dearly love to forget the whole beastly business and bury my horn 'neath my pillow 'til the autumnal equinox, it is better that I write down these events clearly and methodically (always methodically, and again I hear the bells faintly jingling). As my dearest Cookie advised me, this chronicle will be, to use her earth pony idiom, "a seed wisely planted, that shall bear fruit in due time".

I cannot help but smile ruefully at my hastily scrawled closing from yesterday's entry upon sitting down to write, for I knew not what awaited me when little Dawn Heart sought me out in my study. Cookie has volunteered to care for her tonight, and thus I should be able to write my account and go to my bower in peace. I suppose Dawn's arrival in my study is as good a place as any to start.

The child was uncharacteristically shy and subdued when she called to me from the doorway. At first, I assumed that it was her unknowing fear of the darkness, which she had shown when we were being led into the dungeons, that was the cause of her voice being so tremulous and her demeanor so tentative.

When I rose from my seat and approached her, she shied a bit from me, but acquiesced to a comforting embrace. That was when an acrid odor made its presence known. I let out a weary groan when the realization of what must have occurred came to me. I floated my candle closer to look our foundling filly over, and sure enough I was right. She'd made quite a mess of herself indeed.

It stood to reason, of course. She'd just learned of eating and drinking the prior afternoon, naturally she would be completely unaware of its eventual consequence. Would that I could kick myself in my own rump for not foreseeing this when we put her to bed.

The poor little creature began to weep and shiver as she saw my displeasure, and became so abject that my annoyance was washed away and I could do nought but take her into another reassuring hug, stroking her mane as I shushed and consoled her. Once a fragile smile returned to her face, I got to my hooves and bid her follow me.

Together with my hovering candle, we crept down the servants' stairs all the way to the castle baths [2], which in the lateness of the hour were completely deserted. This was both good and bad, for there was nopony about who might be distressed by our presence, but the fires that warmed the ingenious pipes 'neath the calidarium had long since been put out, so it seemed Dawn's first bath would have to be a cold one.

I filled a washtub from the cistern tap and gathered a scrub brush, a cake of soap, and a towel from the supply closet, all while Dawn watched me curiously and learned the names of various things in our now accustomed fashion. When all was prepared, I beckoned her over and bade her climb in, splashing my hoof a little in the water. Uncomprehending, she bent to drink. I stopped her, and with more emphasis told her to get in. She imitated me by splashing her own hoof in the water, fascinated at the ripples she made.

I must own the shame, o diary, to say my patience failed me at that moment, and I lit my horn and lifted her up in my magic to place her bodily into her bath. From there, a chain reaction worthy of the most inept quack alchemist's laboratory took place.

As soon as her hindquarters touched the cold water, she began to thrash and kick and cry out. Her own horn flared with an almost blinding golden light, breaking my levitational envelopment and dropping her roughly into the washtub, which then exploded with such force that I was thrown across the room to land with a tremendous splash in the tepidarium (now not quite so tepid as shockingly cold). I surged to the surface, drenched and sputtering, and saw her sodden tail disappearing out the door trailed by her loud wailing and the clatter of her galloping hooves. With an epithet on my lips that I shan't write down here I scrambled up the steps of the pool and gave chase.

I cringe, o diary, at the terrible racket we raised as I pursued the errant filly through the halls and galleries of the lower precincts of the castle. Our hoof falls echoed like hailstones striking a slate roof in the early morning stillness, while little Dawn howled incoherently and I howled marginally less so in my strident entreaties for her to stop running and come back.

Groggy, grumbling ponies poked their heads from out their doors, rudely awakened by our wild chase through the stone corridors. In my unthinking haste, I bade somepony, anypony, to catch Dawn as she passed. A burly earth pony whose name I later learned was Bellows made a dive for her, only to be bowled head over tail into the opposite wall as she shrugged him off with her preternatural strength. He lay groaning in a heap with tiny stars circling about his head as I galloped past, calling out an apology over my shoulder.

My anger chilled in my breast as I realized that in her panicked state Dawn might do grave harm to somepony by accident. My desperate pleas changed at once from begging somepony to stop her to begging them to keep clear and not get in her way. I will own that my mind was not entirely clear, o diary, for I was still pursuing her, and it didn't occur to me until I'd cornered her in a dead end corridor that I was as the proverbial dog chasing the chariot. What did I plan to do when I caught her?

She turned at bay, her eyes wide and tears flowing down her cheeks, as I staggered toward her, panting for breath with what was doubtless a grimace of fear, anger, and exhaustion on my face. With a plaintive wail she turned away, her horn flaring bright gold once more, and with a deafening crack the wall before her exploded outward in a shower of gravel. Beyond was the night sky and its constellations dancing slowly over the distant watch lights of Fort Everfree on the far western border. A chilling night breeze blew away the clouds of masonry dust and whistled down the hallway as Dawn clambered up on the jagged edge of her newly created exit, flaring her untried wings. There was nothing I could do to stop her.

There must have been something in the tone of my voice, however, as I called out to her one more time, sobbing as I begged her not to leap into the darkness. She turned back, and saw me as I collapsed on the floor, weeping into my fore hooves as my frustration, weariness, and guilt overcame me.

I looked up through my tears at the sound of her dainty hoof falls on the flagstones of the corridor, and saw she was standing a short distance away, clearly torn between fleeing and staying. Composing myself, pushed myself up on my haunches and threw open my forelegs, calling to her gently and doing my best to show her a calm, non-threatening demeanor. After a seemingly eternal moment of uncertainty, she acquiesced, whispering my name as she embraced me with both forelegs and wings.

The sound of hooves scuffing on stone drew my attention toward the hole in the wall ahead of me, and there I beheld Commander Hurricane, perched on the jagged edge with her spear held ready in the crook of her foreleg. She was unarmored, clad only in her loose, wine colored toga, but the look in her eyes clearly showed she was quite ready for battle should the need arise. Two of her contingent of escorts hovered behind her, glaring through the faceplates of their helms and ready to attack at their leader's command.

With a terse exchange, I explained all that had transpired, and apologized to her excellency for the interruption of her sleep. A wry smirk settled on her weathered face, and she proceeded to tell me where, by her lights, I had gone astray.

I was far too weary and distraught to take umbrage at this unbidden helping of pegasi high-horsedness, and could only listen with flattened ears as she said the key to commanding obedience is to follow the rules oneself, and that a little consistency was worth a great amount of brute force. Her troops knew that she wouldn't send them into any breach that she wouldn't fly through herself. When I petulantly asked her what that might mean, she replied breezily that ponies called me "the Clever", and that I should figure it out myself. With that, she flew back to her undoubtedly comfortable cloud, leaving her warriors to stand guard at the breach that Dawn had made in the castle wall.

My pride still stinging, I decided to make another go of it, and asked the little one if she was ready now to take her bath. With a trembling lip, she nodded, stringing together an acquiescence in the words "Kwovuh Dawn baff." I twined my tail in hers to lead her back to the baths, not caring that it was still soiled from her late night misadventure. I supposed that I would merely have to join the poor poppet in the tub, and it was then that I understood what Hurricane had been getting at.

Dawn learned by imitating me, and by trying to make her do something I had not first done myself, I had broken the trust that she'd had in me. I resolved to rebuild it as I set about cleaning up her mess and mine.

There, I found a few of the braver servants picking up the flinders that remained of the first wash basin, mopping up the water, and marveling at the small crater that had been blown in the tiled floor. Ignoring their hushed whispers and stares, I bid one of the unicorns to help me levitate a larger tub down from the wall and fill it, and asked another to heat up a kettle to warm it up.

In short order another bath had been drawn, and I climbed with brush and soap floating at hoof in my magic. I did my best to keep an even expression and not wince as the cold water closed around my own hindquarters. (At the time, I could not help but notice how the water rose ever so slightly as more of me went below the surface. This bears more scrutiny in the future, but for now, I digress.)

Dawn watched me intently, quailing a bit as I beckoned her to join me. Sure enough, however, she gingerly came forward and clambered over the edge of the tub, allowing me to gently help her in. I gave her another hug and nuzzled her cheek as we sat and shivered together in the chilling bath, and then set about scrubbing the both of us with brush and soap, first myself and then her.

As we acclimated to the coolness, she began enjoy the experience, splashing the water with her dainty hooves and wings and giggling as we wreathed ourselves in bubbles. Presently, the servants brought a kettle of hot water and poured it slowly into the tub, making it much more comfortable when it came time to rinse off. In fact, o diary, I had to be a bit insistent with Dawn when it came time to get out. I was loath to admit it, but for all her bluntness Hurricane had been quite apt in her advice.

I toweled the dear poppet off, leaving her fluffy and clean like a spring lamb, as I allowed Sandalwood the bath maid to dry me in similar fashion, then in turn a brisk curry comb and brushing, leaving our damp hair gleaming and our coats glossy in the lamplight. I thanked the servants heartily and gave my most profuse apologies at the disruption we had caused as I led my dear, troublesome charge back to my chambers with our freshly brushed tails entwined, intent on getting to bed for a few hours before the rooster crowed.

However, my early morning travails had not yet ended (or late night if like myself you keep hours with the owls instead of the roosters). When we returned to my private apartments and I led Dawn back to the little bed we'd made for her out of my poor old dowry chest, she stopped in the doorway as soon as she laid eyes on it. I heard her intone the word "bed" in a voice of such simmering anger and resentment I was taken aback, and thinking back on it now I fancy that her childish mind somehow conceived that it was the cause of all that had transpired since she had awakened all wet and smelly[3] for no reason she could understand. In the moment, however, I barely had time to shriek and drop to the floor as Dawn's horn flared suddenly and the dowry chest exploded in a blast of splinters, goose down, and shreds of soiled linen.

Instinct seized me as soon as my ears had stopped ringing, and in retrospect I thank provenance that a measure of wisdom underlaid my actions as well as a measure of foolhardiness, as I was instantly on my hooves and dragging poor Dawn by her ear over to the smoking crater in the floor, pointing emphatically at the destruction she'd wrought and upbraiding her with fierce stridency until she broke down weeping once more.

My fury spent, I sat her down in the corner and told her to think about what she did while I tried to collect my thinly frayed wits. Soon after Crimson came stumbling from his bedchamber, agog at the wreckage strewn about the room and little Dawn sniffling to herself with her face to the corner. When he asked me in a shaking voice what had just happened, I slouched to my haunches and brought a hoof to my face with a heavy sigh.

(In relating this tale to Cookie and Pansy later that afternoon, after their arrival from Mane Hat, my sensible earth pony friend opined that of all lessons for our Dawn Heart to learn, not magically obliterating everything that vexed her was an important one to impart early. My cautious pegasus friend in turn observed that it was most fortunate that learn it she did, before my yelling caused her too much vexation. I was at once encouraged and chilled by this conversation.)

After I'd explained what had happened to my dear, long suffering husband, we set about cleaning up, gathering the bits of my shattered family heirloom and scattered fluff and shreds of cloth and bundling them up for the servants to remove on the morrow. Dawn watched us work over her shoulder when I was looking elsewhere, hurriedly turning back to the corner when I would catch her with a glare or a word of remonstrance.

Presently, I released her from her penance, taking her into a hug and soothing her a final time on this tumultuous night. Weary beyond words, I kissed my husband good night once more, and led Dawn to my bower, where we laid down and fell asleep.

I do not remember the full measure of my dreams, o diary, after I had finally sunk into a deep slumber, but I seem to recall glimpses of myself standing on an ice covered lake, holding a slim cord that was tethered to the blazing sun itself and flying it as if it were a kite.

Translator's Hoofnotes:

[1] Lady Clover filled the remainder of the prior entry's final page with doodles. These were done, I think, as a way to relieve some of the stress she was undergoing at the time. Much of it is jagged lines and ink splatters, but there is a drawing, which I must confess is one of my favorite of her doodles in spite of the duress she did it under, that depicts her capering clumsily in a field with a wild mane and googly eyes, beneath a gibbous moon that subsequently received a beard, a wide brimmed hat with bells on it, and a grumpy face gazing down at the dancing mare with disapproval. The little Clover figure is shouting "Woof woof! I have no idea how I did it the first time! Woof woof!", and the Starswirl caricature is responding "Blunt horned ninny! Why don't you ever pay attention?" The meaning of these statements will become clearer as we progress through the diary, dear reader.

[2] Despite certain snobbish historians' assertions, early Equestrians weren't as unwashed as many modern ponies believe. Public baths were quite common, and most villages had them near the best source of clean water, be it a river or a well or spring. The humblest of them in simple farm communities were free for all to use, and the locals usually made their own soap from seed oils and common astringents and herbs.

The common bathing procedure of the time was to clean off with soap and water in a washtub out front, and then proceed to a common pool to soak and socialize with your friends and family. Fancier baths in larger communities had access to luxuries like heated water or magically driven massage jets and wave pools or hoof crafted pegasi rain clouds for pleasant showers. They often charged fees to pay for these amenities, as well as providing food and drink and entertainment to their patrons. A considerable amount of business and politics at the time was conducted withers deep in soothing water.

The baths of Castle Canter weren't extravagant, but they were quite pleasant and functional, to judge from other mentions in Lady Clover's diary. Fed by one of the many mineral springs that riddle the mountain, it was equipped with a wood fired boiler that piped heat into a network of pipes beneath one of three different temperature pools, as well as a special cistern that allowed the castle's denizens to draw hot water from a system of pipes and fountains. Lady Clover considered the whole affair quite a marvel of technology for her day, and made a point of visiting at least once a month, whether she needed it or not.

The old chambers that housed the baths are located in a section of the castle that the tours never visit. The original boiler and pipes were dismantled, the pools were drained, and the spring feeding the chamber was diverted into the modern indoor plumbing system we use today. They serve as storage now, mostly holding folding chairs, tables, and trellises for functions in the royal gardens. (In fact, I think the first time I was ever down there was after cleaning up my brother's wedding. At the time it was just another dusty old storeroom to me, one of many throughout the castle.)

The only signs of its prior function are three stepped, sunken areas, the tiled floor, and the cobweb covered mosaics adorning the ceiling depicting ponies with fish tails capering among the waves. The princesses tell me that those were added about a century after Princess Luna's exile, and at the time of Lady Clover's writing it would have been simply polished granite.

I visited the old baths while making this translation, and found a mismatched section of tiles on the floor of what would have been the washing up area (after moving a few boxes). I'm convinced that this spot is where my mentor Princess Celestia had her catastrophic first bath. Amazing.

[3] I debated long and hard with myself about translating and publishing these passages, as the last thing I'd ever want is to embarrass my esteemed mentor and teacher, but the Princess herself insisted that I do so.

In her own words: "One of the main purposes of of this translation is so that our beloved subjects get to know and understand my sister and I better, and part of that understanding is realizing that exalted as we are by our station and powers, there are many ways we are just like anypony else. We do not age, and we have been tasked with ordering the heavens, but we live, breathe, eat, and undergo bodily functions, and have grown up from infancy the same as any who walk on hooves beneath my sun or Luna's moon. Besides, we're both many, many centuries old, and I, for one, am far too old to feel any shame at the humbler follies of my youth. " [4]

Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote:
[4] That being said, there had better not be any wiseacre hoofnotes about this part of the story from a certain moon moving mare of my long acquaintance. - P.C. [5]

Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnote:
[5] I wouldn't dream of it. Nor would I include a note about how busy you kept the royal laundry with your bedding that first century or so. - P.L. [6]

Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote:
[6] That's all well and good, sister dearest, and in return I probably won't march down to Hoofton Mifflin and give my royal decree that an appendix detailing "The Bucket Incident" from your own indecorous foalhood be included in the next edition of their Equestrian history textbook. - P.C. [7]

Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnote:
[7] You wouldn't dare! One more word about that and so help me I'll drop a meteorite on your orbitally visible rump. - P.L. [8]

Translator's Hoofnote:
[8] AaaaAAAAaaaugh!!!! [9]

Translator's Co-Sovereign & Mentor's Sister's Hoofnote:
[9] Did Twilight just write out "AaaaAAAaaaugh!!!!" in her hoofnotes? - P.L. [10]

Translator's Mentor's Hoofnote:
[10] Perhaps she was dictating. Either way, that's an alarming number of exclamation points. We should pwobably tone it down a bit, Woona. -P.C.