The Rescue Service

In the later years, after recordings began making it back to the mainland to become unexpected cult hits, it became fashionable among a certain faction of the avant-garde in Canterlot and Manehattan to travel to master classes on Windhowl Key during the summer moons, braving the elements. The ponies who went came back full of inspiration and anecdotes to tell their friends.

Yes, it was clear even to one who hadn’t seen the pictures that she must have been beautiful in her youth. Her teaching was captivating, otherworldly, magnetic – even if she never raised her voice and her lavender eyes always wore the same melancholy expression. No, they couldn’t explain it.

That wasn’t what the audience wanted to hear about, of course. “Is it true what they say?” they asked, again and again. “Did she try anything?”

The returning students would grin nervously before admitting that they didn’t know. They’d all had the rules drilled into them on the ship, and if one or two were curious or rebellious enough to break them, they certainly weren’t fools enough to admit it afterwards.

Always walk in pairs. Carry a whistle. Don’t answer personal questions. Never be alone with the Maestra.