Greetings. I am Rosedust, acknowledged Queen of the Flutter Ponies.
As current ruler of these precious ponies, I reside in a verdant valley of no name. Perhaps one day someone will create a title. I love these plant filled-dales we found. The tranquility has been much sought for, after all these harrowing years. The isolation and freedom is not something I can emote properly, on papyrus. That my kind can live quietly in peace for the first time since our foals took flight.
They are beautiful darlings. The way the light sparkles on each translucent filament. When they fly in groups it’s like rainbows. These tiny flowers of the future give me hope from my memories and terrors. My heart soars with the youngest, the ones born right here amongst the marigolds, morning glories, tiger lilies and white irises.
It would perhaps do all well if I explained the need for such isolation. Why I lead the others like me here, away from all those nasty creatures. The ones I would gladly blow away until my wings break off my back. That I would beget a war the likes not seen since the battle with . I will begin with the memories I recall most. As perhaps I should.
I do remember a time before the nightmares. Few moments when I first recall things.
It was the time I woke upon a river’s edge, broken cattails singing me awake. I blinked eyes against a too bright sun, everything blurry. My head was too heavy for my body. I then shakily stood on spindly legs. Waited for my wings to unroll, as a strange bipedal creature gathered me in it’s appendages. I knew not what was happening. All I could do was accept the actions of a strange world around me. My body too frail to fight, and my mind unprepared for what would happen. Alone and afraid, I was unprepared for all the events and experiments that were to come.
I became a service pony. A slave to their whims. The reasons never mattered why, I knew when others of my kind arrived, I was set free of knives, bars and shocks. I was put to work pulling carts across the land and sky.
I refuse to put the worst on record. Some things should fade into the abyss of time. If I could blow them away I would. I would fight them till my last breath. Then stomp on the bodies as I laughed victoriously.
I hated it, all the suns, moons, and seasons I lived/worked there. Everyday when the sun rose, they soaked my wings. Hitched me to a land chariot, so I could pull dead ponies to the giant fires. When those flames dried my wings, they allowed me a flight “home” pulling their screaming offspring along. Some of the ones fashioned after my body were kept as mounts until the offspring grew too heavy to fly. At that point wings would give out and they fell from the sky.
I yearned for a different life. Wished for my pale yellow coat to shine in the sun. Prayed that the others like me would stop crying pleading with me to save them.
The others were not as fortunate as me. The rest of the ponies were no better than experiments. The wingless ones, plowed the earth: digging until their hooves stained the ground red. Eventually they just collapsed in the fields. Poor things are quite strong and work hard for many years. Still they age and die, that is when I see them. In the morning carts.
Horned ponies, unicorns, were forced to use magic to defend the town from giant beasts. Most are consumed or die in large explosions I hear in my nightmares.
I’ve heard there are others living in the water, with beauteous voices. That is until I see and smell their meat on cookstoves.
There are another flying pony with wings of feathers, also given over to experiments, but only allowed to fly when the rains come. Those that survive the experiments, that is… I have heard of them traded to other lands.
Now a free pony, I dread the times I sleep and see them once more. Many faces, too many, so many I ask why I lived. What made live so long, when others died. Living far harder lives than I. Those nights I wake and gently seek everypony here just to be sure all are safe.
In any case, the culture died. We fled in many directions. Even took names for our different forms. The water dwellers are now called: Seaponies. Those that worked the land: Earthponies. The horned ones became Unicorns and created a fortress called: Tambelon. Then there are the feathered flyers, one told me they’d been named Pegasus. As for us we decided to call ourselves after the way we travel in the air, the Flutter pony.
Perhaps we should not imagine we escaped. It could be these words do not exist. This could be a dream, reality is the nightmares I live every night. Is it possible, perhaps the death I long for is my only escape. It is also possible I never left their torture tables.
I stated before it was the fall of their way of life. That allowed us to flee. As I was the first and then last to leave, I say this confidence. As well as a heavy heart for all that were burned, eaten, traded, skinned, imploded and so forth.
(The ways a pony can die are too numerous and gruesome. I refuse to list the actual depth, as I know not who will read this.)
I believe that it is important to keep a record, of most things. The next queen may need or want to know where we came from. An answer as to why we live, and where I want the others to stay here.
The history of our enslavement and the reason I’ll not let them leave this valley. It is why I begin this arduous task. My reason to learn a time consuming frivolous skill.
This scroll shall be the first of many one day. As such I see this as an exercise to remind me of where my little ponies have come from.
Author's Note
Any resemblance to other ponies' stories is coincidental.
These one-shots are an adjunct to my original story. They do not push that story forward. I just thought it would be an interesting writing exercise.
Greetings from Queen Rosedust I.
It has been many, many seasons now since I led my little ponies away. My nightmares are lessening. Right now a generation seems to last little more than 30 seasons. At the age 13 seasons, the mares go into their first cycle, begin foaling at 16 seasons, then leave on adventures their great grandmares would never dream of seeking.
I’ve tried to warn them of the dangers to be found beyond the swamp ringing our valley. That Witches lurk, casting spells on the unwary. Ogres plot to trick them with riddles, before making soup from their dead bodies. There are sneaking shape-changing lizards, waiting to enslave them. In your day there could be more, possibly more now. I know not and fear to leave to find out the truth.
The main truth I need to know is that when my little ponies leave; they never return. As of now that is all I need to know, to protect my ponies.
The swamp around us is growing bigger with every new Spring. In your day we may no longer live in this idyllic place. So, I record the name the others have decided to call it: Flutter Valley. A lovely for this land. We plant more and more flowers every season. They are beautiful and bring much joy to me. So much so, that many ponies are taking the names I give them and adopting their favorites. Preferring to grow one over any other, at least they do, until they leave me.
I still fear the outside world, the idea of leaving is an anathema to me. I have no desire to follow my wayward subjects, nor a desire to understand why they leave me. I warn them of the past. Shown them the rotted remains of the carts I once pulled. They laugh and call me an old mare.
After this many sunrises, I feel like an old mare. Many is the time I watch my little ponies fly away and ask my own self if I have the courage to follow. Then I look to foals, see them gently fluttering for the first time… I know they need my guidance. I will not leave them, not now or ever.
I am far older than I feel I have the right to be. My experiences of the world are not theirs. They have been made here, born here, fallen in love and begun this cycle again; all in a peaceful valley, far from my foal-hood. That does not make me wrong. Does not make my warnings any less important. I remember those days I pulled the cart, the smell of Seapony flesh, of rotting meat burning in a pyre. Still have the nightmares.
My little ponies refuse to believe me, they leave the valley. They will not return. Any of the numerous horrors, I remember, could have happened to them.
I wait for the return of my little ponies. I hope you will know what happened to them. My wish is their safe return, while I try to convince the others to stay.
I wish you better luck. Mayhap a young mare or stallion will get them to stay in our safe home.
Author's Note
Well... What do you think? Is she right or is she letting the past color her world? Is the land outside her valley safe? Or would a new ruler have taken a different route?
It is many season since my little ponies have settled here. My little pones have now gotten strange marks on their flanks and faces. It happened shortly after a strange gentle sol calling himself "The Moochick" arrived in our land. A funny creature, barely taller than I, he runs about examining everything in the valley. His companion is a sleepy baby bunny that likes to nap on his bag of books. The walking stick is also quite curious, an enchanted object that jumps to his hand whenever it's needed.
I have found no reason to deny his request of a peaceful stay. He knows not when he will leave, but his smile is happy. He has brought a small measure of peace; as well as hope that my little ponies have come to no harm.
I miss them dearly still. Will remember all that leave but I am now eased.
The Moochick has been a fount of knowledge. Telling tales of a young white unicorn pony that stole a set of golden horseshoes. Of creatures called elves that live in clouds. Crabnasties, guardians of the oceans. Walking lizards, whom like to change shape, while remaining companions to peaceful cats. He spoke of how my horrid past was not the end of those creatures. That they changed while forgetting their evil past deeds. He tells many more tales, mainly of how the ponies I saved have changed and forgotten our mutual past.
How could they forget?
How could they just ignore what was done in the past, when I know everything and remind my little ponies of the past all the time. The past is not just a collection of foal stories, it is real, is happened. My nightmare re-confirm my memories.
The old wooden cart still rots where I left it. The leather harness has long since crumbled away, but most of the woods has still survived. It... disturbs me why I can't remember more.
I must, I must calm down and remember that they are not my problems. Not anymore. We all agreed to flee in different directions, just incase those creatures enslaved us once more. So they are not my responsibility.
Surely some other pony has taken charge of them. I have my little ponies here to worry for, I cannot be responsible for the safety of unicorns, pegasi, earth, or seaponies. In truth I have given little thought to what happened to them. (I must.)
Sometimes I do worry for the seaponies, as I remember them being a delicacy to meat eaters. The pegasi with their beauteous feathers and joyous temperament. I might worry for unicorns if not that most can wink in and out of existence. I do not worry for the regular earth pony for they disdained my kind, scoffed at my tears.
No. I will not worry for those not of my kind. We have parted ways and you as my successor, should keep that well in mind. Do not worry for any but our own.
