The summer sun set in the west, burning the sky orange and red; the clouds aflame. Two ponies somberly entered through the gate. There were vague smiles on their faces, mist in their blue eyes. One moved with a small bounce in her step that betrayed her old age, the other trembled at each hooffall. The Earth pony’s candy-striped mane was swept back in a loose bun, as it was too curly to do much else with. The cream-coated pegasus carried with her a picnic basket, red-checked blanket draped over it. A pair of sunglasses sat atop each forehead. The mares closed the wrought-iron gate behind them carefully.
They continued through the yard, one holding her breath past each group of stones, the other glancing to read the larger, more notable ones. Names and dates, times and places. Each held a life story. The stones varied in size, shape, and age as much as fine wines. Finally the two mares passed a familiar oak tree, ancient and grand. They had arrived at their destination: a slab engraved with a pair of wings and a lightning bolt.
The pegasus set down the basket and began spreading out the checkered blanket. From her saddlebags, the pink mare retrieved three balloons, yellow, blue, and pink, then tied them to a nearby stake in the ground. The paper plates were set up. A bouquet of juliet flowers was propped against the stone, a family photo placed in front. A slice of angel cake was served for each attendee. The two mares ate in silence. The last piece went untouched by anypony.
After the meal, Pinkie Pie rose, and helped Fluttershy to her feet. The sun sank over the horizon, and the two lowered their sunglasses over their eyes. They whispered solemnly.
“Dat plot.”
