John crept through the dark, imposing forest. He wasn’t sure where he was, or how he got there. All he knew was that he had woke up, surrounded by oppressive trees and bushes, with a lump the size of a grapefruit on the back of his head. After he sat and let the swelling go down, he stood up, and walked in the first direction he felt was promising. He hefted a large branch in one hand. It wasn’t exactly his longsword, but it felt good in his hands, and the gnarled end could really put a hurt on something.
Thankfully there was still daylight popping up between branches, so he could navigate fairly easily. As he walked, he listened to the forest around him. It was deathly quiet aside from a nervous skittering of paws or chirp from a bird, but this didn’t surprise him. After all, he was a stranger in their home, and the wildlife wasn’t sure what to make of him. He stopped at a small stream and drank deeply. Looking at his reflection, he noted several scratches and such, and his normally tied back brown hair was framing his strong features and green-blue eyes. He looked like something that had been thoroughly put through the wringer. John elected to take a bath as soon as he could find somewhere to do so. Since he still had no memory of how he got here, he figured he might as well make some progress before midnight.
Looking at his clothes, he was similarly stunned. He still had his Adventurer’s Clothes on, albeit ripped and torn here and there. Straightening up the symbol on his chest, he admired it lovingly. A bright red Phoenix, on a Black shield background, trimmed with the same red as the phoenix. His dark blue shirt fell lightly on him. A woven leather vest was over top of this, the symbol proudly in the middle. His black trousers were worn in the knees, though not torn yet. He would just patch it up with leather squares after that happened. His heavy trail boots felt uncharacteristically light, also.
Masterwork equipment was nothing to sneeze at, and it took him months of scrounging in dungeons and selling any loot his companions didn’t take to afford his leather vest and boots. His masterwork longsword (which he missed dearly) had nearly cost him a year to save for. Enchanted with arcane energies, it shocked anything it cut into, which was usually enough to chase away whatever had decided to fight in the first place. But there its’ scabbard still hung, well worn. He was young yet, roughly 25 years old. He simply took up the idea of adventuring on a whim a number of years ago. He had nothing to hold him back, so he left home. He never regretted it either.
Done admiring himself for the moment, he noticed a familiar smell on the air. Fire usually meant a person, if not civilization itself, and smiling with glee, hoping to be offered a bite to eat, he followed it. What he did find surprised him. A small cottage, made of simple materials, stared back at him. It resembled many of the tribal societies he had come across in his adventures. Smoke was filtering through a hole in the roof, and he could hear strange chanting from inside the structure. Approaching slowly, and regrettably dropping his tree branch, he was careful not to stumble over the various tufts of long grass and scattered twigs. He peered into the window, barely letting his head peek out over the window hole.
A Zebra was pouring and pinching odds and ends of who knows what into a large pot. Blinking, John was unsure what to make of this. Obviously, it was speaking Common, but it was standing on four legs. And chanting in a singsong manner, he could only describe as speaking backwards. He had seen bipedal animals before, and that would have surprised him a lot less than this. He saw the Zebra’s ear cock toward him, and he ducked.
Zecora could have sworn she felt somepony staring at her. But when she looked, nothing was there. Going back to her pot, she continued brewing some fresh thistle tea for her friend Fluttershy, who only lived right on the edge of the forest. She had made a journey to ponyville at least once a week, and always stopped to visit Fluttershy and her little animal friends. Occasionally she could also render her herbal medicine skills if one of Shy’s animals were particularly sick. Fluttershy, as her namesake, was a shy pony, but quite friendly once she knew you. Zecora finished adding the needed ingredients, and allowed the brew to steep while she cleaned up the organized chaos that was her cottage.
John exhaled, none too quietly. That was a little close for comfort. Even though he was eager to find civilization, and some answers, he was not about to be hexed or something by this mysterious shamanic Zebra. He had a feeling, judging by the sheer amount of plants growing about its cottage, and the amount of pots and jars inside, that this Zebra was a little too familiar with less-than-desirable side effects of certain plants. John’s Nature lore wasn’t spectacular, but he knew by the smell and appearance of some of these plants he almost sat in would paralyze or numb him if he touched them, if only for a brief few moments. Breathing a few times to steady himself, he approached the cottage door, hoping he wasn’t turned into gelatinous ooze or a bugbear or something. After all, he had no clue how this world worked.
Zecora opened her door and stood there, dumbfounded. Standing before her was a human, hand half raised as if he were going to knock on her door. She blinked, he blinked, and they both stood there. The Human was the first to speak. “Hello, my name is john, and I need some help” Zecora nodded at him, and motioned for him to come inside. He was unarmed and she felt no magic from him, so she assumed he was safe to have around. Humans weren’t entirely unheard of in Equestria, usually arriving by some means of magic or science, and being aided by the bearers of the elements of harmony. Afterwards, goodbyes were said, and they were sent about their way. Apparently the other dimensions’ walls were not so hard to break as everyone thought. Just look at Pinkie Pie. She broke the fourth wall several times a day, and probably dozens of times a week. Humans weren’t an uncommon sight. Thankfully Lyra never found any. She was obsessed with the slightly-hairless apes.
