Crackship in a bottle

by Shrink Laureate

Rating: teen
Tags: Gummy, Fluttershy, Random, Anthology, Sunset Shimmer, Applejack, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Princess Luna, Comedy
Length: 21056

A collection of short, bad story ideas

A collection of short, bad story ideas. Updated whenever.

The Silent Patient, read by Dr Wolf himself

Thanks to Solstice Shimmer for editing.

Join The Herd
Applejack is blessed with a big family. Can she convince Fluttershy to join it?
(A misguided attempt to turn Lauren Faust's trolling tweets into a serious story)

You Were Killed By
Button Mash is an online gaming legend, until he gets his flank kicked by a newcomer claiming to be Princess Luna.

The Silent Patient
Dr Wolf recently opened his psychiatry practice in Ponyville, but his latest visitor isn't what he expected.

Raising The Moon
Celestia encounters a young soldier while raising the moon. First chapter of a story project that is on hold.

.eq - Preamble
A conference on how to bring the internet to Equestria. First chapter of another long-term story project.

The Truth
An older professor confronts his former student over a question of science, progress and the truth.

Second Best
Twilight and her friends have competition.

Stranger Than Fantasy
A struggling author receives an unusual offer.

All Change
Excerpts from an abandoned story about the changeling civil war.

Published 2016-04-16 22:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2020-12-14 01:45:22 UTC

Join The Herd

Author's Note

A misguided attempt to turn Lauren Faust's trolling tweets on the plans she had for ponies' love lives into a serious story.

This story is intended for comedy, and the opinions expressed in this story are not necessarily those of the author. I neither endorse nor condemn polygamy or polyamory. Please don't flame me.

Join The Herd

Applejack stirred in her sleep, her nostrils pricked by the scent of breakfast wafting towards her. Judging by the smell, it was Cinnabon’s turn today. That was good. She had a busy morning ahead, and a hearty breakfast was just what she needed. Autumn Leaves had been trying to get them all to eat a more ‘healthy’ diet lately, and Arrow Smith had a habit of trying to make meals that were stylish rather than satisfying.

She slipped out of Storm Swirl’s strong hooves, leaving the deep red stallion asleep in the hay. His wings fluttered nervously as he dreamt. Applejack lingered a moment, tenderly stroking his cheek till he settled. She still had a nagging worry that, just maybe, she’d married him because of his resemblance to Big Mac. But they were married now, and she wasn’t going to let something like that get in the way of what they had.

Stepping carefully between the other sleeping ponies and trotting quietly into the kitchen, she saw Cinnabon at the stove cooking up a big batch of porridge along with three dozen fresh buns. He took a small taste of the porridge, taking a moment before he poured a little more maple syrup, a pinch of cinnamon and a hoofful of dried apple slivers into it and stirred the big spoon with his magic.

“Lemme get a taste of that, sugar cube,” she said, giving him a slow kiss. His tongue tasted of spices, apple, sweet maple and oats. He leant into the kiss, appreciating it.

“You’re having lunch with Fluttershy today, right?” he asked, turning back to the stove.

“That’s the plan, so long as she ain’t held up looking after all those cats of hers. Again,” she sighed.

“And you’ll ask her again?”

“Ah can try, but ya know she probably won’t bite. Fer somepony so timid she sure can be stubborn.”

Cinnabon nodded.

“’sides, you bored of us already?” teased Applejack, nudging him with a hoof.

“I just worry about her. Living alone out there on the edge of the forest.”

“We all do,” agreed Applejack. “Ah’ll see if Ah can explain that to her.”

They were interrupted by a gaggle of colts and fillies running through the kitchen and around their legs, screaming, laughing and neighing.

“Oi! Settle down, ruffians, it’s time for breakfast,” shouted Daisy Petals from the foals’ room. She staggered into the kitchen with three little foals asleep on her back.

“Hey there, Daisy. How are my little sweetums?”

“They’re a hooffull, I don’t mind telling you,” replied the green coated mare. “But right now they’re still asleep.”

Applejack laid a quick little kiss on the foreheads of each of her new foals, then a longer, lingering kiss on the lips of the mare carrying them. “How’s Autumn Leaves?”

“Still snoring away,” said Daisy, looking back at the door with an affectionate smile.

The little colts and fillies did another exited circle through the kitchen, rounding the big dining table twice and dodging between the adults’ legs. Applejack scooped up a cream coloured filly with an orange mane as she passed.

“And how’s my little Golden Delicious today?”

“My name’s not Golden Delicious, it’s Golden Harvest,” the filly giggled.

“Really? But you look so delicious, that has to be your name. Ah’ll tell you what, why don’t we get Miss Twilight over here and have you officially renamed?”

“You’re silly, mommy Applejack.”

“And what are you all so excited about today?”

“We’re going to see the Prince!”

“Are you really?” asked Applejack.

“It’s true,” replied Daisy Petals, picking up scattered toys from the kitchen floor. “Prince Spruce Mane is coming by the school today to talk to the class, as part of his big tour.”

“Alone, or with Princess Luna?”

Golden Harvest wriggled out of Applejack’s grasp and ran off to rejoin the kids that were noisily waking up the rest of the family.

“Alone, I think. Just him and his butler and a whole bunch of the Lunar Guard.” Daisy held up a stray chess piece: the black lunar guard, with bat wings and armour. “Sure you don't want to go swing by the schoolhouse and claim one of them?”

“Hey, I ain't greedy,” said Applejack. “One bat pony is all I need.”

“I never did understand that name,” said Cinnabon. “Spruce Mane. I mean, his mane is kind of dark blue, right? Does it smell of spruce? Does he spruce it up somehow?”

“It’s just a name, sweetie,” said Daisy, sidling over to take a sniff of the breakfast pot. “It’s not like ponies’ names are prescient of who they’re going to be or anything.”

Cinnabon nuzzled her as he asked, “There isn’t going to be any trouble, is there?”

“Trouble?” asked Daisy, nuzzling back.

“You mean with all those nobles who weren’t so happy about their Princess marrying an earth pony?” asked Applejack as she laid out bowls and plates. Cinnabon nodded. “If’n so, Ah don’t see why they’d bring it to Ponyville, of all places. ’Sides, I think most of em got over it when they realised she were marrying a very rich earth pony.”

“It is amazing how many doors that can open,” said Cinnabon with a chuckle.

Moon Jive pushed the door open and walked in, brushing the dirt from his hooves. The morning dew dusted his dark coat like a field of stars. He trotted quickly over to Applejack, swept her up in a dramatic embrace with his bat wings as the made a show of nibbling down her neck.

“Stop that,” giggled Applejack. “You got them strawberries all bagged up right? Don’t want ’em freezing.”

“Every last one.” Moon Jive lifted his muzzle, suddenly distracted. He sniffed the air and followed it to the stove with an exaggerated sideways wriggle. He draped himself over Cinnabon’s shoulders and stuck his muzzle into the pot, drawing a deep breath. “Mmm, that smells good.” Cinnabon lifted the spoon so Moon Jive could take a bite.

“Ugh. Are you lot at it again?” They turned to see Apple Bloom wander in from the old farm house next door, her serious black saddlebags filled with school books and slung over her back. Her bright red mane and tail were completely straight, each dyed with two neat black streaks.

“Ain’t nopony up to nothin’, sugar cube,” said Applejack to her sister.

“Yeah, right. That hay’s bin so damned rolled in y’all could make bread with it.”

Cinnabon winced at the analogy. “Would you like some porridge? If so, bring a bowl over,” he said.

“Nah, just gimme one a’them buns. I gotta scoot today.” She grabbed a fresh steaming bun from the tray in her teeth and trotted out the door. She could be just seen jumping on the back of Scootaloo’s latest contraption just before it zoomed off.

“Would it kill that filly to slow down a little?” asked Daisy.

“Ah reckon she don’t entirely approve of our lifestyle,” said Applejack. She dropped a bowl next to Cinnabon. “Gimme a big hot one, bad boy.”

“I’m sorry I’m late, Applejack,” said Fluttershy, sliding quietly into a seat at the café table. “Opalescence needed looking after again. I’m afraid she had another fight with Gummy last night.”

“Another one? That little kitty has more fight in her than an alligator.”

“I think she deliberately provokes him. She forgets that even without teeth he can still hurt her. And Gummy forgets how big he’s grown now.”

“Is Gummy okay?”

“He’s got a few scratches on his nose. Hopefully enough to remind him to be more careful. The only one that can put him in his place now is Angel Bunny.”

The waiter approached their table. Fluttershy smiled and buried her muzzle in her menu. “Um, o- orange tea please,” she squeaked to the waiter. “If that’s all right.”

“Ah’ll have the chilli pepper nachos extra hot, the deep fried cheese sticks and a block of salt lick.”

“Certainly, madames,” he responded, trotting off with their order.

“You’re getting cravings?”

“Yeah, Ah’ve got them pretty early this time,” said Applejack, sliding a hoof over her belly.

“I’m amazed you’re willing to do it all again. Wasn’t triplets enough for you?”

“Tell the truth, Ah weren’t planning on playing the same game again so soon. But it looks like mother nature had different ideas.”

“Do you know what it is yet? And, um, whose it is?”

“Yeah, Twi did her scan thingy and said this one looks to be a pegasus colt. So he’s probably Storm Swirl’s or Moon Jive’s. Not that it matters.”

Fluttershy blushed and looked away.

“So how long are ya goin’ ta be looking after Opalescence, anyhow?” asked Applejack.

“Oh, a little longer. Derpy dropped by to play with the cats this morning,” Fluttershy said with an adorably frustrated frown, “and to give me a letter from Rarity. But mostly to play with the cats.”

“What’s Rarity say?”

“That she’s held up in Vanhoover for a few more days sorting out the paperwork.”

“No doubt because that Prince Walnut is deliberately makin’ it all difficult for her.”

“That’s not a nice thing to call him, Applejack,” scolded Fluttershy.

“Good, cause Ah weren’t anglin’ to be nice. He ain’t a nice pony. Never were.”

“It does seem like Rarity’s had terribly bad luck with stallions.”

“What does that make it now? Four?”

“Five.”

“Five princes. Five divorces. And every one o’ them worse’n the last. That girl needs to learn how to pick ‘em better.”

“You can’t make a pony’s decisions for them, Applejack. Especially when it comes to love.”

“Ah know,” Applejack admitted.

The waiter returned with a tray on his back bearing a teapot and cup. He expertly flipped it onto the table then poured the tea.

Fluttershy waited till he was gone before continuing. “Besides, at least she’s able to find somepony who likes her,” she muttered.

“Aw, honey, you’ll find somepony. Ah know you will.”

“Are you sure? Because nopony seems to be in a rush to ask out the crazy cat mare,” Fluttershy said with surprising vitriol as she nursed her teacup.

“Ah know where ya could find a dozen or so,” commented Applejack.

Fluttershy turned away. “I’m sorry, Applejack. I really don’t think I have what it takes to be part of your...”

“Herd. The word is ‘herd’. And are you sure? Cause from where Ah’m sittin’, it seems like you’ve got the right qualities in spades. All six of them.”

Fluttershy frowned. “Six? I... don’t really see what you mean.”

“Well, folks always think what we do must be mighty complicated. Turns out it’s actually real simple so long as you keep a few things in mind.

“Kindness is a good start. Everypony in the herd looks after every other, even in ways that ain’t obvious. You give to everypony and they all give back to you. Sometimes you notice the sweet little things a pony does for you, and sometimes you don’t, but they make life better anyway. You don’t keep score, you just make sure to do plenty, and it all adds up.

“Loyalty’s important. Bein’ part of a herd ain’t like an open relationship, or just screwin’ around. It’s a marriage, just with a few more ponies than usual. You have to respect that, and really mean it too.

“Generosity matters too. Sometimes you have to do things that ain’t just best for yerself, but what’s best for all o’ ya. But you end up better off as a result. Give up a bit of selfishness, and you get so much more back.

“Laughter’s a big part of it. I dare say we have a lot more fun than a lot of ponies out there, ’cuz there’s always more of us to cheer each other up. And when times are sad, there are more ponies to share the sorrow with.

“And Ah’ve found the thing that makes all of that work out right is a big healthy dose on honesty. See, even when they’re all in a herd together, ponies can still get jealous, or put upon or hard done by fer some reason or other. And the best solution to that is just for everypony to talk about their feelings honestly.”

Fluttershy seemed torn. “You make it sound so nice, Applejack. But I still don’t think I could do...” – she stammered – “th- that with so many different stallions.”

“Ain’t nopony forcing you to. Heck, Ah don’t think Daisy or Autumn have ever been with anypony ‘cept each other, even though we married them both a couple of years ago. Those two would probably fit together well enough if it were just the two of them.”

“So why are they even...” She trailed off.

“Because two don’t always work out right. When times are tough, everypony needs to rely on somepony for help. Only that pony needs somepony to rely on as well. When there’s just the two of you, sometimes there’s nowhere to turn. But with a herd all together, nopony’s ever alone. And that’s the sixth quality that makes it all work out: the magic of friendship.

“See, we all know what we’re doin’ ain’t exactly normal. That it ain’t supposed to last more’n five minutes before it all comes crashing down leaving a big empty barn an’ a lot of hurt feelings. The reason it don’t is that we’re all friends, before and after everything else. And you, Fluttershy, you’re the best friend a mare could have.”

You Were Killed By

You were killed by KnightOfTheMoon!

Button dropped his controller and sighed. It wasn't even frustrating any more. No matter what approach he tried, he simply could not defeat this new player. Whoever it was, they had appeared on the net just a month ago and quickly climbed to the top of the tournament rankings.

Button had tried a direct assault with massive fire grenades and plasma weapons, but she always had a shield or a teleport ready, and used the smoke and confusion to catch him from an unexpected direction. He'd tried sniping her from the other side of the map, but she always managed to move at the last moment. He'd tried launching artillery, but she somehow managed to plant a dud shell and he blew himself up.

He'd tried laying magical ice traps to freeze her in place, but she burned her way out before he could finish the kill. He'd tried to slow her down with poison gas, but she always had exactly the right antidote ready. He'd tried laying an anti-magic field, layered on top of an anti-ballistic field to stop her firing any guns or rockets, but she took him out by throwing a knife instead. To make it worse, he was fairly sure it was a blunt butter knife.

He'd tried luring her in with bait, but she'd sent an illusion of herself to get caught in her place, then circled round to catch him from behind. He'd tried hacking the equipment supply drone and dropping an armoured carriage on her head, but she dodged it and rode the carriage right up to the control cabin he was crouched in. He'd tried teleporting right into her for a pyrrhic victory that would gib them both, but ended up half way through a wall instead.

He'd tried playing as a unicorn, a pegasus or an earth pony. He'd tried with a rare gryphon skin. He even attacked her with a dragon skin briefly, although it was a one-shot perk and the game only let you play it for a short time. He swooped down on her, closing the distance across the map in a few seconds, breathing a massive gout of flame across her position; but she teleported onto his back, got two hooves under his scales, and rode him into the nearest tower.

The net was awash with speculation about who this player could be. Not much was known: she only played late at night. Her avatar looked vaguely like Nightmare Moon, if you squinted. She played an alicorn (but anypony could unlock the alicorn skin if they played long enough, and it came with the serious downside of a mana drain every second).

Button had been killed dozens upon dozens of times now. He'd rocked at this game for the first few months, held a respectable place on the global score boards; until she appeared and barged her way straight to the top, smashing through every other player in her way. A few players had rage quit early on. Button had stuck at it longer than most, kept coming back for another try, but now he’d had enough.

As Button was shutting down, a message popped up:

KnightOfTheMoon sent you a PM. Click to read.

Really? They were pinging him? This should be good.

He clicked. The message popped up. Just like their game avatar, the player's icon was of Princess Luna. Though looking closer, he saw it was a stylised picture of the black princess chess piece.

gg!
a/s/t/l?

OK, that was a fairly standard gamer's greeting. It said, in abbreviation, Thank you for a good game. Could you tell me your age, gender, pony tribe and location? There was, of course, no reason to assume that anypony would tell the truth, but Button had no reason to lie. He replied:

15/m/ep/ponyvil
u?

I'm an earth pony stallion, fifteen years of age, currently residing in Ponyville. And yourself?

1371/f/al/canterlot

I'm an alicorn mare, one thousand, three hundred and seventy one years of age, living in Canterlot.

Whoever this pony was, they were clearly intent on playing the part of Luna. They had her age right, sure, but that was public record - or rather, history. His class had covered the Reign of Discord just a few weeks ago - until Discord himself turned up in the classroom uninvited. He'd first started correcting the facts as the saw them, then when he got bored of that he went back in time and changed some of the facts retroactively, to the increasing annoyance of their history teacher.

The chance of this player actually being Princess Luna was, of course, nil. The Princess had all manner of duties, the details of which Button Mash wasn't entirely clear on, but he was sure she couldn't spare hours every night to play a game like this.

Button toyed with the idea of playing along with the story, but it wasn't a gamer's style to swallow a lie like that. He had to call it.

srsly? prove it.

The reply came almost instantly.

ok. meet irl? sat?

Wait. What? She wanted to meet him? On Saturday? THIS Saturday? Talk about calling his bluff. Whoever this mare - or stallion - really was, they were willing to risk meeting him in real life. He'd see then who had the cajones to use Luna's identity online. He had to admit, he was curious. Of course it was probably going to be some insufferably pompous colt who just wanted to lord it over the pony he'd beaten. Still, it wasn't every day an offer like this came along, and his curiosity was burning.

He glanced at the clock on his wall. As of two hours ago, it was Friday morning. He didn't have anything planned this weekend, since the tournament he was going to compete in had been cancelled (something about parasprites in the server room). He could get on a train to Canterlot easily enough.

sure. canterlot? when?

He was expecting a lunchtime or afternoon, but the reply suggested meeting much later.

10pm. fountain square by library. nr donut joes.
ne Qs?

Do you have any questions? Hell yeah, he had questions. What sort of idiot approaches somepony online, knowing basically nothing about them, and arranges their first meeting in the middle of the night, in the quietest part of town...

Wait, was this... dangerous? Was he being set up? Should he hang up now, block that user, walk away? Or tell them he'd be there but not turn up? Or should he bring backup - somepony who could call the cops if this turned weird? He considered his options.

Sweetie Belle? No. He couldn't bring his ex along to what might turn out to be a date. That would be beyond rude. Besides, where one of the crusaders went, the other two were sure to follow, and screw everything up when they got there.

Rumble. No. The colt would tease him endlessly if he got wind of this, and he never really understood this whole gaming thing. He could hear himself trying to explain it for the umpteenth time.

His mother. No! A world of no.

Pipsqueak. Small, nimble, easily overlooked, surprisingly fast, good with a camera. Loyal and a little bit gullible. Yeah, he was probably the right choice. Button would ask Pipsqueak at school tomorrow.

just 1. why me?

This time the reply took a few minutes to arrive. He was about to give up and shut down when it popped up.

I find that you can tell a great deal about somepony from the way they play a game. In my day we would often challenge ambassadors and foreign dignitaries at a casual game of chess, to gauge the level of their duplicity. Your history books won’t mention this, but we foiled the Yak invasion of 103 AC through the judicious use of a pegasus piece. Lately the choice of game has changed, but not its significance.

You never gave up. Every loss spurred you to further ingenuity. You challenged me with innumerable strategies, remained ever surprising, forced me to improve at every step. Even in your dreams you conjured up new ways to outwit me. This online contest would have lost its shine long ago were it not for such a worthy opponent.

These are exactly the qualities I look for in my Lunar Guard. Their numbers are few, but each one of them has the wit, the cunning and the strength of character to overcome an army of idiots.

In short, I like you, Button Mash. And I'd like to offer you a job.

Huh.

The Silent Patient

Author's Note

In case anyone doesn't know, Dr Wolf is a maker of pony videos, who among other videos has posted semi-animated therapy sessions with ponies in the main cast. You can find his channel here. This little chapter is set shortly before Pinkie Pie's therapy visit.

Now with an audio reading by Dr Wolf himself!

The Silent Patient

“It’s good to be helping,” sighed the doctor as he bade goodbye to another pony.

He carefully slid his patient notes into a folder and filed them away under ‘R’. Pushing the filing cabinet drawer closed with a paw, he turned to see that he had another guest in his room.

“Oh, hello. I didn’t see you there. Is there anything I can help you with?”

The baby alligator said nothing, simply looked at him with unflinching eyes. He was sitting on the small, round table by the window, overlooking the streets of Ponyville. In front of him sat a chess board, left mid-game by a previous patient.

“Well, I have no other patients this afternoon, so I suppose you can stay here.”

Doctor Wolf sat down in the chair opposite his guest. He found that pony furniture, while serviceable, wasn’t really designed for the lupine form, so shortly after signing the lease on his new office he’d asked Davenport, the proprietor of Sofas & Quills, to order some chairs in specially from a supplier in Canterlot.

The alligator sat on the table and licked his own eyeball.

The sound of a low bell filled the room, its echo fading slowly. The alligator turned to look past the doctor at the tall grandfather clock that continued to tick away seconds.

“Yes, I suppose it is fairly quiet here,” said the doctor. “But that’s quite all right. I’m sure business will pick up once ponies in this town realise that there’s nothing wrong with getting advice from a wolf.”

The alligator stared at him, unblinking.

“No, I just need to be a little patient with them.” The doctor looked away. “Everypony’s nervous about talking about personal matters at first, particularly to a wolf, but they quickly get used to the idea of it once they give it a go.”

The alligator looked to the door.

“Roseluck? She was just worried about a friend who she thinks is suffering from delusions. I was able to reassure her that a lot of ponies enjoy flights of fancy and it doesn’t necessarily mean they have a problem engaging with reality. Still, it might be a good idea to arrange a session with Mr Time Turner if I can – provided I can do so without violating patient confidentiality, of course.”

The alligator turned his head slightly.

“Well, a preoccupation with time travel could be a mark of regret. It could stem from a desire to avert some past event or change a wrong decision in a pony’s past,” clarified the doctor. “After all, every one of us makes mistakes on occasion, and we have to live with the consequences. Sometimes we’re able to correct those mistakes, or make up for them, and sometimes we can’t. So it is possibly that he’s holding onto lingering regret for some mistake he couldn’t fix. But of course, that’s only speculation. I’d have to hear his side of the story first.”

The alligator looked down at the object on the table in front of him.

“The chess board? That was left here yesterday by Miss Twilight Sparkle, one of my first patients. She apparently finds it relaxing to play while she talks. And of course she left it here in case other ponies find it relaxing as well. That’s just the sort of pony she is.”

The alligator flicked his tongue out, nudging a piece on the board. With a small smile, the doctor reached forward and obediently moved the intricately carved black pegasus two squares toward him, one square to the side.

“A bold move. You’ve trapped both my unicorns, since I need them to defend my princess against whichever direction your pegasus goes next. But let me see how you respond to this?”

The doctor slid a white earth pony piece forward across the left side of the board, threatening the black princess.

The alligator stared at the board for a while. His eyes faced different directions. It wasn’t clear if he was thinking or simply staring into space. Just as the doctor was starting to feel silly, the alligator flicked his tongue twice against another piece.

“Hmm,” thought the doctor as he moved the small bat two squares forward to stand in the path of the white earth pony. “That does block me from taking your princess, but it also leaves a gap in your defences here.” The doctor moved his solar guard forward to where it could launch a diagonal assault on the black princess.

The alligator again took his time to stare at the pieces. Eventually he flicked his tongue against his lunar guard, then turned to look at the far corner of the board.

Uncertain of the indicated move, the doctor slid the lunar guard four squares. “Here?” The alligator blinked. “Oh, you mean here?” A flick of the tongue. “Yes, that does make more sense. In fact it, uh...”

Putting the piece down, the doctor stared at the board around it as the pattern of future moves dropped into place. He tried playing through a number of paths in his head, but each one came up short. Eventually he realised the inevitable.

“In fact, that’s mate in three moves. Um... congratulations?”

He looked at the toothless little baby alligator with a new respect.

The alligator looked back blankly. After a while he turned to look out the window instead.

The doctor looked out as well, watching the daily life of Ponyville trot past. He noticed that the alligator’s closely eyes followed one pink pony that was prancing past, cheerfully waving hello to everypony she passed.

“I see, that’s Miss Pinkie Pie, isn’t it? Is she perhaps your owner?”

The alligator briefly looked at him before turning his gaze back to Pinkie Pie, who had started singing a song and somehow dragged a couple of dozen ponies into it with her.

“All right, I suppose ‘owner’ was a bad choice of words. Nobody wants to be owned. Even when we’re dependent on others in so many ways, we still want to feel like we’re the masters of our own fate.”

He followed the little alligator’s intent gaze.

“At the same time, we all have a desire to be accepted, particularly by those whose opinion matters to us. I’ve heard Miss Pinkie Pie is a very friendly pony, so I’m sure she’s good to you.”

The doctor watched the alligator; the alligator watched the pink pony as she danced and played and sang with all the other ponies.

“Are you concerned that she’s having fun without you? That perhaps you can’t engage with her on the same level as her pony friends...”

The doctor trailed off. He looked around his consulting room with a sad look in his eyes. It struck him, not for the first time, that no matter where in Equestria he went, no matter how many patients he helped, he was always going to be a wolf among ponies. He was always going to sit in differently shaped furniture. He was always going to eat his meals in private. He liked ponies, and he liked helping them, but that barrier would always be there.

He turned back to his guest, to find the little alligator staring at him.

“I think perhaps you understand me better than any pony in town.”

The door of the doctor’s office burst open. “Gummy!” shouted Pinkie Pie.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You must be the Dr Wolf I’ve been hearing about. I thought ponies were being silly, but you really are a wolf! Is your name actually Wolf or is it just a title? Did you get called Wolf because you’re a wolf, or did you get turned into a wolf because you were called Wolf? How did you become a talking wolf? Did you make Discord angry? Did he turn you into a wolf? Or did you accidentally touch a magical crystal and it made you into a wolf? Or did you fall in some poison joke and it hasn’t worn off yet?”

“Er, no, actually I’ve always—”

“Anyway, since you’re new in town I’m going to throw you a party! Tomorrow night, at Sugarcube Corner. You’ll be there, right? Right? Right? Cause there’ll be streamers and punch and cake and music and lights and glitter and dancing and little funny umbrellas.”

“Oh, well, I’m not really the party sort of—”

“Great! See you tomorrow, Doc! And thanks for looking after Gummy, I’m sure he appreciates it.”

With that she grabbed the little alligator, plonked him on her back and bounded towards the door.

“Um, before you go, Miss Pie?”

She turned and asked, “Yes?”

“If it’s all right with you, I’d welcome another chance to talk to Gummy some time.”

Pinkie’s grin widened until it threatened to take her whole head off. “Awwwww! Gummy, you made a friend. I’m so proud of you!”

Raising the moon

Author's Note

This is the first chapter from what was to be a much longer story. However, that story has drifted so far down my writing queue now that it's unlikely to see the light of day, so I'm publishing this much just because I like it. That means that it's woefully incomplete as it stands.

For context, this is set about six hundred years ago.

Raising the moon

Ponies believe I raise the sun in the morning. That would, of course, be ridiculous. The sun weighs vastly more than I do, more than the whole world and its moon put together a hundred thousand times over. Not even the most powerful unicorns who ever lived could push that object around. Were I to somehow grip the whole sun with my power and shove it as hard as I could, all I would achieve would be to fling my own body into the air or crush it into the ground.

Nor could I hope to move the world beneath our hooves, which has travelled around the sun in a pattern older than the air we breathe or the water in our blood, and will continue to do so far longer than anypony will ever be alive to see it.

What I can do is to nudge…

I was taking a stroll through the third pool garden, letting my hooves gently sink into the damp moss as the water trickled from one pool into the next. The low sun filtered through the trees into sharp patches of golden light that rustled amid subtly shifting shadows. I kept half an eye on them, counting down till the moment I would need to raise the moon again.

The day had been taken up with negotiations with the Zebra ambassador, while the evening was to be occupied by a banquet and ball in celebration of our new friendship – both, of course, requiring strict adherence to intricate rhyming structures. Even now, my dress, jewellery and make-up for the evening were being prepared by Celery Stalk and Tea Leaves, while the royal ghostwriting team were frantically brainstorming my speeches.

This brief window of peace was all the respite I would get. With the war in Cloudsdale still fresh in everypony’s memory, I would typically be accompanied by at least one guard everywhere I went, but I’d asked the fellow to wait at the entrance to the garden to allow me just a few minutes of solitude.

Not for the first or last time, it bit me like a chill wind to have to face this and every other trial alone. I was of course surrounded by ponies: courtiers, guards and servants, advisors and experts in myriad fields, as well as the endless ranks of aristocracy from a hundred bickering kingdoms. But none of them could take the place of my dear sister. None were ready to listen to my worries, nor could they read my mood the second they saw me and cut straight through it with a few sharp words.

I stepped carelessly off the path and my hoof settled into the mud with a satisfying squelch. Tea Leaves would not be pleased at the extra cleaning he’d now need to make my appearance perfect for the evening, but even so I took a moment’s pleasure in the honest feel of earth and water sliding around my hoof. I was tempted to simply dive into the pool, shallow though it was, and let loose; but that would make a terrible mess of Tea Leaves’ hard work. I contented myself with a graceful trot.

I gradually became aware of the sound of shouting and pursuit approaching from the direction of the statue garden. You may be surprised to hear that this wasn’t particularly unusual.

It was common in those days for young trainees in the city guard to be challenged by their new colleagues to break into the palace gardens after dark in order to place a piece of fruit on Discord’s nose. Less than one in four succeeded in the challenge, and even fewer then evaded capture as they fled, but those who made valiant effort had at least proven their courage. I don’t know who started the challenge, but it had survived enough years of recruits that now many of their instructors and commanding officers had faced the same task in their youth. There was a certain rivalry between the palace and city guards over it, but Royal Guard Captain Prime Thunder considered it to be good training and did rather less than he might have to discourage the misdemeanour.

I don’t believe that any one of them was aware of who or what Discord really was. Even if they’d heard the story, they would have assumed it was simply a fairy tale, and the target of their prank was merely an ugly statue, not the spirit of chaos himself. I imagined that Discord would approve of both the stupid prank and the uproar regularly created in his name.

So it was not at all unusual for evenings in the palace to be punctuated by chases across the royal garden, and the staff habitually managed the chaos to make sure sensitive guests were kept out of the way. This time, however, my peaceful walk was interrupted by a blurred shadow that appeared from the undergrowth, flew straight across my path, and would no doubt have vanished into the trees on the other side of the garden and made its escape had its trajectory not taken it directly through my mane. It instead thrashed at the impediment and sploshed unceremoniously into the pool.

A stallion had landed at my feet, all four of his legs sticking up in the air, his wings and mane submerged, his face directly underneath my own – and a massive goofy grin spread across it. I leaned down to look sternly at his upside-down face.

“I take it thou placed an apple ’pon poor Discord’s snout? Or a banana? Perhaps, for variety, a bunch of grapes?”

“No, Princess,” he replied through smirking satisfaction.

“No?”

“’Twas a durian.”

I stared implacably down at him. He grinned back at me. I stared at him. He grinned at me. The foul scent from the statue garden started to tickle my nostrils. I managed to hold my straight face for just a few more seconds before collapsing into a giggle, in which he quickly joined me.

“What is thy name, guardspony?”

“Swift Justice,” he replied, adding “Corporal in the Fifth Lunar Company.” I nodded. One of the many units from across the Equestrian kingdoms that were gathering in Everfree.

A frantic scrambling of hooves on gravel told me somepony was headed down the path towards us. Quickly making my decision, I levitated a pair of large fern leaves across to hide the fugitive, whispering, “Stir not from here,” just before my personal guard and two others charged round the corner.

“Princess! Art thou well?” the leader called as they skidded to a stop in front of me. “Has the assailant disturbed thee?”

“I remain quite unassailed, as thou may plainly see,” I responded calmly.

“Hast thou seen or heard the intruder? He was last seen fleeing this direction.”

“I have not.” I tilted my head as if to convey that this seemed like a silly line of questioning.

“Then if thou may excuse us, Princess, we must continue pursuit forthwith. Please be on guard.” Two of them then resumed their search, one by air and the other turning around and leaving quickly by the same path they’d entered. My personal guard remained, an exaggerated attentive look screwing up his face as he scanned the bushes.

“Ahem.” I coughed pointedly.

“Fret not, Princess. I’m here to keep thee safe.”

“A service that I do generally appreciate, Storm Smoke, yet I would prefer to spend these next few minutes alone. ’Tis almost time for me to raise the moon,” I reminded him.

“I swear I shall not disturb—”

“Alone,” I said more forcefully.

He hesitated, then withered under my glare. “As thy Highness wishes. I shall await nearby.” He trotted nervously back to his post, casting conspicuous glances at the undergrowth as if expecting to find a whole flock of gryphons lurking there.

Once sure that he’d gone, I lifted a sprig of fern to reveal my nervous fugitive. He hadn’t moved, though he’d started shivering and his grin had faded a little. Perhaps leaving him sitting in cold running water hadn’t been the best idea? The nights were getting cooler.

“They’ve left,” I said. “But I would remain quiet lest they hear thee.”

He nodded and scrambled to his hooves, allowing me to notice two things. First, that my assailant was somewhat pleasing to the eye. My guards are typically well muscled, even as recruits, since they train so hard – particularly with the threat of another war hanging over the kingdoms – but this stallion had a sinewy strength suggestive of a broader active lifestyle. He shook the water from his grey coat and his striking white mane and tail, in a way that made the cute little white tufts at the end of his ears…

And second, that he was in fact a lunar pegasus (referred to colloquially as a ‘bat pony’). This hadn’t been evident while his wings and ears were submerged; his eyes were such a dark shade of gold that in the fading light I hadn’t discerned their cat-like shape.

That at least explained why he was so cold: without feathers, his wings lost heat much more quickly than ordinary pegasi, particularly when held under cool running water while trying not to breathe too loudly.

He did look rather bedraggled as he dripped into the stones. I cast a quick spell to dry him out and warm up his fur, and suppressed a chuckle as I saw it fluff up. “That should relieve the chill.”

“I am grateful, Princess,” he replied politely.

“Now if thou might excuse me, I have a trifling matter to attend to,” I said, turning my attention to the sky. Swift Justice stepped back as I hopped nimbly onto a slightly raised mound and faced the setting sun.

I lit up my unicorn magic, letting the invisibly small crackles of power explore outwards, guiding them out through the layers of the atmosphere, across the vast gulf between worlds until they found the angry chaos of the sun, locked in its eternal battle between explosive rage and gravitational collapse. The myriad tendrils of magical potential explored their way across the vast landscape of its boiling surface until they collapsed into a single chain that snapped tight, tethered to the mass of the sun like a vast immobile anchor.

 …my hooves touch down upon the roiling, billowing surface. A lake of fire stretches out around me, impossibly bright, ebbing and flowing in endless waves so large they feel slow, endlessly collapsing and reforming. Around me erupt storms and whirlpools large enough to swallow my world. High above my head stretch the enormous fractal curls and buttresses of an impromptu cathedral, boldly licking into space then crashing down. A sudden sheet of lightning tears across the sky, passing over and through me in its passage. Looking down, my own hooves are aglow, a pony of white fire…

I sent similar questing flickers of power toward the moon behind me. As always I searched the colourless landscape for any sign of my sister’s spirit, but found only the lunar dust, scoured of its soul by the harsh winds of space. Digging deep into its lifeless surface, I connected the two into a solid channel of magic reaching across the cosmos and passing straight through me.

 …with a flap of my wings against the aether, I alight on the cold, grey surface of an empty world. Even the gentle touch of my landing launches a scattering of dust that will take minutes to settle. There is no wind in my mane, no scent in my nostrils, no sound in my ears, no echo in my horn save my own heart. There is no life here, no air, no magic. My legs feel cold, every touch leeching life’s heat out of my body. I stand in a crater, the scar of an ancient impact that time and weather have never been able to erode away. Only one living thing can be seen here, the hauntingly intricate blue world rising over the horizon…

Turning my attention down to the ground, I explored it with threads of my earth pony magic, working it deep into the ground. Latching my power deep within the earth, I connected it to the channel of power I’d created.

 …sinking ever faster through convoluted layers, through roots and soil and clay and chalk, through the resting layers of underground lakes, through caverns and cavities and fractures and fissures. Past the many undiscovered little creatures that live their dark quiet lives too deep underground for any pony ever to see. Into the shaking, shifting, bottom edge of the world where solid gives way to an ocean of molten rock held in place by its own pressure…

Fluffing my wings slightly, I braced myself against the atmosphere with pegasus magic. It would not do to let myself be dragged indignantly along the ground while doing this.

A perfectly balanced system, like a million-mile-long rod resting on the end of my hoof; and all I needed to do was nudge it slightly to make the whole system turn. With the faintest whisper of command from my horn, a truly staggering amount of natural magic power began to flow between these great bodies through the channels I had laid for it. This sudden rush of energies through me was dizzying, intoxicating. A mare could lose herself in it.

With one more whisper, the astronomical forces exerted their own pressure, transferring a little of their momentum into the crust of the planet, causing its rotation to accelerate just a fraction. This had the visible effect of making the sun, which had been slowly approaching the horizon, appear to drop more quickly behind it in a blaze of brilliant hues.

Something in the churning interior of our world seeks stasis, constantly slowing the surface’s rotation. Left unattended, it would soon run down entirely; the sun’s progression across the sky would falter over a few days or weeks and gradually slide to a stop at one place in the sky; then one side of the world would burn, the other would freeze, and savage storms would tear across the boundary between them. Only with pony intervention was this world kept alive, kept spinning.

Before the reign of Discord, teams of unicorns worked together at full strength to make sure the planet’s rotation stayed on track. Unicorns would burn their magic out permanently through the exertion. The reason they had to struggle so hard to achieve it wasn’t through lack of magical force, though as an alicorn I have an advantage over them both in raw power and the addition of earth pony and pegasus magics; rather it was because they tried to do everything the hard way. They tried to shove the celestial bodies to where they wanted with force, when all they really needed to do was ask nicely. Most days all it needs is a gentle nudge at dawn and dusk to keep the whole system ticking along.

I knew even then that the job couldn’t be mine forever. Some day I would hand in my crown, surrender the Elements of Harmony to their next bearers, shed my ethereal mane, and let somepony else take on my celestial duties. I would have to find and train that pony before it was too late. But not yet; that was a task for another century. For now I must work on building a peaceful land out of the fractured tribes of ponykind.

It was at this point that I realised Swift Justice had been staring intently at my rump for the last three minutes.

“Something intrigues thee, soldier?” I asked, turning to face him.

Rather than expressing even an ounce of shame or fear for gazing so intently upon the royal hindquarters, he seemed thoughtful. “Art thou aware that thy cutie mark glows when thou doest that?”

Honestly, no, I didn’t. I suspected it was merely an excuse. “Doth it truly? It would seem amiss that in the centuries I have spent raising the sun and moon each day, nopony has ever thought to mention the fact.”

He remained uncowed. “Perhaps they each believed thou must already know?” he asked cheerfully.

“Perhaps. Yet still, nary a word?” He wasn’t budging, and neither was I.

“’Tis a mystery, Princess.”

“’Tis indeed.” I noticed him still shivering, despite the drying spell earlier. “Thou’rt cold,” I said sternly.

Hesitantly he replied, “I am, Princess. Forgive me, for I am not yet used to the climate here.” He expressed more regret in these words than in the preceding exchange, as if admitting to his physical weaknesses were shameful. Was that a part of lunar pegasus culture? I had to admit, my knowledge of their tribe’s traditions was lacking.

Nonetheless, it would not do for a loyal guard to suffer unduly. I stepped over to lay a warm wing around him, gently pulling his flank next to mine. “Thou’rt with the Fifth Lunar?” I asked quietly. He nodded. I continued, “For the time being, at least. I expect we’ll be moving thee into the new hierarchy soon enough. How many lunar companies have we?”

“Three, Princess. The first and fifth Lunar, and third Stellar.”

“Is third Stellar not the company the defeated the minotaurs two years past?”

“I believe so, Princess, though they took some losses in the encounter.”

“If they want for soldiers to form a full century, then we may have need to combine them with another company soon.”

“Mmmm,” he responded as he nestled into my wing. He was snuggling with a little too much familiarity, but I tolerated it.

My curiosity overtook me. “Tell me, soldier, from whence did thou pluck a durian?” I asked. “They are not native to Everfree, nor to anywhere nearby.”

“From the zebra stall that appeared in the marketplace yesterday. They peddle all manner of strange goods from other lands.”

At a hefty profit, no doubt, since the exotic always fetches a premium. “Interesting. I wonder if they came here with the zebra delegation. Did thou catch the shopkeeper’s name and whence he hails?”

“Baishara is his name, from the city of Marephis. He has an assistant also, who I believe is named Siri. I heard Baishara say his brother was a captain in the hussars.” Swift Justice was a good listener, it seemed, having learned that much in only a day. I made a note that he may prove useful.

“That brother is probably Captain Haraka of the Pharaoh’s guard. ’Tis most interesting that he’d bring his own brother along yet fail to introduce him at the palace,” I mused. “Perhaps they intend to garner the word on the street, in hopes of an advantage in negotiations.”

Again we were interrupted. “Princess! Princess, art thou here?” came a voice shouting across the gardens. That sounded like Tea Leaves, the poor stallion as distraught as ever. He clearly wanted to get my mane styled properly before the ball.

“Discord’s horns,” I swore under my breath. I had been amused to hear that in the centuries since acceding the throne an increasing number of ponies had taken to using my name as an expletive, but taking my own name in vain wasn’t an appealing option for me. So when need arose I typically fell back on the curses of my youth.

Swift Justice looked up at me. “Princess?”

I pulled my wing back to my side. “I fear that I may’nt tarry any longer, for I am required to go and be boring. I take it thou can find thy own way out?”

He nodded. I took two steps away then launched into the air.

Even in those days, lunar pegasi were rarely seen in Everfree. Their bloodline hadn’t yet blended into the general pony population, and the prejudice their tribe faced led them to prefer isolated communities where they could live in peace.

I’m sorry to say that my sister was inadvertently part of the problem. When she commissioned the Lunar Guard entirely of bat ponies, it was seen as a great honour, and there were parades down the streets in their honour. Barely more than a century later, her transformation and the temporary loss of the sun shocked ponies with fear. Worse, many of the bat ponies sided with her, and there was blood shed before the incident was finished.

Since then, the other tribes have been frightened by them and their ‘bat-like’ appearance. It probably wouldn’t help matters if I pointed out that their origin had more connection to dragons than to bats.

Still, we had three companies of them to integrate. Third Stellar in particular had useful combat experience that should not be squandered. Perhaps I could assign the fastest and stealthiest of pegasi to make up their century? Call it an honour, let them learn from the best.

The other two companies of lunar pegasi would need breaking up and merging with a dozen other kingdoms’ forces, finding the best place for each pony to perform their best and allocating each company a suitable balance of tribes and home lands – all while ensuring each pony ended up with at least equivalent rank in the new structure, to avoid insulting either the soldiers or the lords who supplied them. To show favour to one kingdom or tribe over another – my own Everfree included – would cause resentment to fester. To allow any one kingdom’s forces to remain whole or make up the majority in one part of the army would risk outright rebellion and the collapse of the new accords. To slice their forces up too fine, separating comrades and sowing confusion, would demolish their ability to fight together.

A legion built from this balancing act of politics and practicality. Ten thousand stallions and mares divided, shuffled and reassigned, their fates decided by the stroke of a quill. Would the proud unicorns of Canterlot willingly serve a lunar pegasus captain? Would the earth ponies of Manehatten take orders from unicorns? Or would the whole edifice collapse at the precise moment it was first needed?

It was a mad game I was playing, yet it was the only way I could conceive to end the squabbling wars of the past and defend the Equestrian kingdoms against the growing threats abroad.

Was I making an irrevocable mistake?

The ball that evening went as well as could be expected, which is to say that it was dull beyond measure.

Tea Leaves fussed over my mane, tail and hooves while Celery Stalk ensured my dress was immaculate. Meanwhile I memorised the polite words I’d be speaking later.

Complements were due to the pair of crack poets that were holed up in the library churning out speeches in the zebra style. Timbre and Crystal Wit had between them delivered enough apt verses on the subject of peaceful trade and cultural exchange, subtly witty without being offensive, while leaving out all the ones that started ‘There was a young mare from Vanhoover.’ I wondered if I could get a few of those smuggled to my suite later.

Canapes were eaten, words were spoken, staid dances were danced, and absolutely nothing of importance was talked about. I imagine for a bright-eyed filly from the countryside such a ball would have been thrillingly romantic, but I found it vapid and tedious.

I quietly longed to invite Discord to one of these events. It would no doubt spell the end of ponykind, but it would at least be interesting for a change. I suppose I could have asked for his statue to be moved into the palace for one event, but I didn’t have the heart to invite him in his current form. Being forced to watch a dull event like that without the freedom to change a single thing would be too cruel, even for a monster.

I was relieved when the evening ended and I was able to retire to my quarters and order some real food from the palace kitchen. I suspected many of the guests were doing similar, keeping the army of cooks from their beds.

A pile of scrolls were waiting for me, both notes for the morning’s negotiations and status reports on the reorganisation. I start to leaf through them, but could not prevent my mind wandering.

Was I doing the right thing? Would a unified military truly help bring the Equestrian kingdoms together as I hoped and forestall future conflict? Might it not instead prove a useful tool for some future Sombra or Nightmare Moon? Might the other kingdoms – gryphons, yaks, minotaurs or even zebras – see it as a challenge?

My thoughts were brought sharply back to reality as a weight rested on my muzzle. Crossing my eyes to focus, I realised that something had been placed on my nose. I jerked back in surprise, letting it thud off the table and roll across the floor. I narrowed my eyes as it came to rest and I saw that it was a small, ripe mango.

Casting around to catch my assailant, I saw the tail of a shadow disappear off the balcony into the night. A few moments later, I heard a shout as the royal guard caught sight of it and took chase, filling the night with the familiar sound of pursuit.

I had a suspicion for who had placed it there, but I haven’t ruled for centuries by being an idiot. From a safe distance I carefully scanned the mango for enchantments, spell effects, potions, poisons, explosives and radiation. It showed up as nothing but ripe and delicious.

Keeping my eyes on it, I walked over to ring the bell. A few moments later my hoofmaiden trotted into the room. “Yes, Princess?”

“Orchid, hast thou ever eaten a mango?”

.eq – Preamble

Author's Note

While I'm at this, here's the first chapter (prelude in fact) to another long story that's sitting deep within my queue. I absolutely want to write the rest of this, but first I need to learn a lot about how to write HiE that doesn't suck, as well as about TCP/IP and related topics.

.eq – Preamble

Bright Spark landed in the seat beside me with an ungainly thump. He had sleepy eyes and an even bigger mug of coffee than mine.

“Morning,” I ventured.

“Merblughl,” came the approximate reply. He set his mug down, sucked in a deep breath as he stretched all four legs and both wings out to full in a big yawn, then settled back down. He was like a cat sometimes. I’m sure that attempting to tickle under his ears would earn me scratches and bite marks.

He murmured, “Did I miss much?”

“Nothing you don’t know already. They’re still getting the noobs up to speed.”

“Fine.” He sagged until his muzzle landed in the coffee, and stayed there getting soggy.

I cast my eye around the lecture theatre. This was a keynote, so it was in the largest conference theatre.

Some of the delegates had tablets or laptops or pads of paper, and were halfheartedly taking notes. About two thirds of the audience were human, peppered throughout with various colourful ponies. The Google delegation looked to have the most ponies out of the terran companies, followed closely by CloudFlare, with RackSpace and IBM trailing a little behind. The Vodafone, Fujitsu and Atos parties were entirely human. I wondered what that said about each company’s culture, and whether the presence of ponies who couldn’t have more than a few years’ experience in networking was anything more than a publicity stunt for them.

Near the front right sat the Equestrian government group led by Princess Twilight, looking disconcertingly bright and cheerful for this time of the morning, and the Crystal delegation next to them.

A few rows in front of us and to the left were the ‘others’ delegation, consisting of a minotaur cow, two gryphons that looked to be twins, a zebra stallion, and a dragon named Ember taking up two wheelchair spaces and half the aisle. She had a lot of empty seats around her. I felt a little sorry for the hotel chefs required to feed a growing dragon among all the other special dietary needs they were dealing with this week.

The professor on stage was still recapping ancient history. “As you know, RIPE began allocating from their last /8 A block in 2012, coincidentally just a few months after first contact with Equestria. In the decade since then, smaller A blocks have been exhausted, and trade in IP ranges has picked up, with the price of even a /24 block now reaching critical levels. At the same time the canonical routing table has been broken into smaller and smaller chunks, exceeding the capacity of some older routers and requiring patches and an unreliable system of sub-routing. Uptake of IPv6 continues to lag behind the tipping point. The deployment of carrier-grade NAT has meant an increasing number of consumers that don’t present a unique IP address…”

Nothing I didn’t know already. The important vote wouldn’t be for another two days, but we all knew the likely outcome. Forward-thinking companies like Google, Apple and the Equestrians would say Yes; a few of the old-fashioned tech companies would say No, because they wanted the extra money that a more complicated installation would entail; nobody was certain how the “others” would vote, even themselves, but it mattered little. With or without them, we were almost certain to agree on an IPv6-only solution for Equestria. Except for a few tunnels to make sure important domains like gov.eq were reachable over IPv4, of course, and all the other exceptions that would no doubt turn up.

Bright Spark pulled his laptop out of his saddle bag and opened it up. It was a professional-looking black slab, a human type with a full keyboard. It had his cutie mark, a stylised radio tower, stuck on the back.

Despite their clumsy-looking hooves, ponies can be quite ingenious. Most traditional typewriters in Equestria had just two big keys, on which ponies could tap out a combination – left-right-right-left-right – for each letter. There was a space bar, that could be double-tapped for line feed. The fancier models had a lever on the side to switch between the earth pony, pegasus and unicorn scripts. That mechanism didn’t adapt very well to English though, since it has more letters, more punctuation, and mixes upper and lower case. There were various models of chording keyboards coming out that were made especially for hooves, and typically resembled a pair of oversized gaming D-pads, but there wasn’t any real agreement yet on the design. Learning the Apple input method was useless when you switched to one from Canonical or Microsoft or any of the other versions. For now, that meant a QWERTY keyboard was still the mark of a pony with real work to do.

The pegasus deftly strapped on a pair of finger-boots – little elasticated hoof-boots each with a short finger-like protrusion sticking out – and started pecking away. When a human pecks at a keyboard with two fingers it annoys me, but for now it’s the best a pegasus or earth pony can do, and Bright Spark was quick and accomplished.

I just had a tablet out myself, and was using its stylus to doodle caricatures of the other delegates. I had a particularly good rendition of Fleur de Lis in minimalist pink line art, capturing her aristocratic polite boredom. I turned my attention to Professor Dullard, or whatever his name was.

“Highlighted in red on this slide are the regions that have begun allocating IPv6 only connections, while in green are those with a remaining stockpile of IPv4 addresses. As you can see, the western countries were allocated the lion’s share of IPv4 addresses early on, and are now among the last to fully migrate…”

“Eugh,” my colleague sighed in contempt as he quickly took a picture of the slide with his laptop and used an app to apply a weird colour filter to it.

“You want to file a complaint? You’re probably not the only colour blind guy in the room.”

“No point,” he replied wearily. “It won’t be the same guy who makes that mistake next time. Besides, I know the material better than he does anyway.”

I added a few wrinkle lines, making my caricature of the speaker notably less flattering, and showed it to my partner. He snorted a laugh.

The event host stepped back onto the stage. “Thank you for listening, everypony, and thank you Professor Duryard for the information. Next I’d like to welcome Princess, I mean, Dr Twilight Sparkle to the stage for her keynote speech about the OSI Reference Model and how it applies to the forthcoming Equestrian deployment.”

After the keynote we were herded into the lobby to ‘mingle’. A few companies had fixed stalls with big logos and uniformed representatives, but most of us just loitered. The more dedicated engineers had slipped out to hit the bar early.

I found Bright Spark in a secluded corner with his laptop out and an uncharacteristically lovey-dovey look on his face. “I love you too, sugarcube. I’ll see you soon.” He blew a kiss to the screen. I caught a brief picture of a blonde woman before the call ended.

“Was that your wife?” I asked as he shut the lid.

“Nah, just one of many mistresses,” he said sarcastically. Of course his wife.

“She’s hot.”

“And don’t I know it. Hands off, sleazebag.” Such a way with words, that pony.

I wasn’t kidding though, Felicity was blonde and gorgeous, with a sexy accent – Swedish or something. They’d been married less than a year, and our jobs kept us travelling to exciting basements and office blocks around the world, so the two had been kept apart for too much of that time. I knew they talked online a lot, but that was the first time I’d actually seen her.

“Anyway, I’m gonna go get some sushi with Gossamer and the twins. You joining us?”

“Nah, I’m good. The hotel’s put together a barley salad that doesn’t suck too much. I’ll see you for the afternoon session.”

As the stacks of little colour-coded plates piled up, minus their delicious little fish fragments, I was increasingly glad that this meal would be going on expenses.

We were, of course, the centre of attention.

Since first contact a decade before, humanity’s collective attitude to ponies had moved from shocked disbelief, through fear, suspicion, mistrust, novelty, enthusiasm, disillusionment, and was now well on its way toward humdrum normality. There were a few rabid bible bashers preaching the end of the world, a few conspiracy nuts shouting for us to shut down the portal before we get invaded by brain-sucking alien monsters, but even they were dwindling to normal levels.

This town in particular was close enough to the portal that it had a growing pony population as well as a regular trickle of ponies passing through on their way to places more interesting, and equally of human ambassadors, traders, adventurers and pioneers on their way to the portal. Some tourists still stopped in the street when they saw a pony, pointing and taking photos, until the locals pointed out how inconsiderate they were being and might they please consider finding a less obstructive place to stand, such as the middle of traffic.

Restaurants that could cater to pony diets had quickly adapted, typically offering lower chairs and tables and adding dishes based on hay and flowers (the first iterations of which were, I’m told, shockingly bad). Some restaurants had hired pony chefs, but if they were any good they’d quickly move to jobs at better restaurants in bigger cities. Apparently they’d started building pony-specific toilets as well, though I was a little vague on the specifics of those.

The other sort of restaurant and bar, the sort that specialised in steak, ribs, burgers, fish and other unpony foods, had doubled down as being human only in contrast, a refuge for all those not entirely sold on the way the world was headed.

This network conference was the big thing in town right now, occupying the whole conference centre and practically every hotel room. In just the last week pony trade had picked up significantly, and every joint in town had pony customers now.

Even so, a party consisting of one minotaur, two gryphons and one plain old human male was an unusual sight, particularly in a restaurant whose primary ingredient was something ponies would never touch. The customers, sushi chefs and staff were all staring at us with varying degrees of subtlety and attitudes ranging from curiosity to horror (though to their credit, we still got good service). Parents moved to protect their children, whether from dangerous animals or difficult questions.

Or it might just have been our table manners.

“What’s wrong?” asked Tovi, throwing another couple of salmon maki into her beak.

“I thwallowed thomething hot,” replied Gossamer Threads, reaching desperately for her tea. She was a shapely older minotaur cow with pale turquoise fur, and surprisingly soft-spoken.

“Poor little minotaur can’t handle a little wasabi,” teased Sofi. She at least was using chopsticks, and surprisingly adept at them with her talons. The gryphon twins were both a striking white with black spots all over. I wasn’t sure what creatures they took after – some sort of falcon and an ocelot perhaps? - but they both looked sleek and predatory.

It wasn’t hard to get a waitress’ attention, distinctive as we were, and ask her for “some more tea please.” The little oriental woman scuttled off obediently, glad to have escaped.

“You were saying?” I prompted.

“Thank you, yes,” continued Gossamer, fanning her mouth. “With the minotaur tribes as scattered as that, marriage prospects are always somewhat limited. Many a young heifer has had to settle for the first bull to come along, regardless of whether they match at all in intellect, in temperament or,” she coughed politely, “in the sack. You probably think we’re terribly backward for living like that.”

“Not at all, there are plenty of human communities with the same problem even now. For some, the net has helped with that, connecting young men and women over long distances,” I added. “It’s also helped keep some ancient traditions and minority languages alive, even at the same time that it’s endangered others.”

“Which is precisely what I hope to bring to my people. Assuming we can find a way of connecting the hundreds of nomadic tribes in the wilderness without mains electricity. And without using any satellites either, of course.”

“Yeah, that bit of the treaty isn’t going anywhere,” I said wistfully. Our job would be so much easier if we could just throw a few communications satellites into orbit. They didn’t even cost that much any more.

“I didn’t expect this job to be easy,” she said proudly.

“So is that what happened to you?” I asked. “An arranged marriage?”

“No, I never married. You see, like ponies, our gender ratio at birth is somewhat uneven, typically at least two to three cows for every bull, a fact exaggerated by the tendency of young bulls to do foolish and dangerous things. And like the ponies, our ancestors used to live in ‘herds’, but have largely rejected that in favour of monogamy. More or less. But even before then, our tribal myths are replete with stories of two cows – sometimes sisters, sometimes friends – who lived, travelled, worshipped or faced danger together. That even extends to two of our goddesses who lived in the same cave. With hindsight it’s clear that from antiquity the minotaur species has had a strong undercurrent of sapphic relationships, understood but unstated. That too is something I hope the net can help with.”

I blinked for a second, putting two and two together. “Oh. Er, I see.”

Tovi whooped, “You go, sister!”

Her sister Sofi interjected with “Indeed. But you’ll probably find something else happens, if you do manage to connect all those tribes.”

“And what is that? Oh Tavi, could you pass me that blue plate before it goes away? With the tuna, yes. Thank you.”

“Once they can see all the exciting stuff the worlds have to offer, your calves are going to find things to be interested in that aren’t obediently raising a family,” warned Sofi. “Far from matchmaking, you’re going to get a whole generation leaving the desert behind to settle in pony towns. Or even on Earth.”

“And would that be such a bad thing? It’s long past time we integrated better into civilised society. Anyway, Graham, does that answer your question?”

“Thank you, yes. I do hope it works out for you.” I turn to the gryphon sisters. “So, your turn now. What are you hoping to use the net for in Gryphonstone?” I asked the twins.

“Meat,” replied Tovi.

I frowned. “Er, you are aware that you can’t take food of any sort through the portal, right?”

Sofi answered, “Of course we are. What my charming and tactful little sister means to say is that she and I are in the business of meat distribution. We travel long distances to connect supply to demand, and arrange transport routes across the gryphon lands, as well as to a number of discreet suppliers within Equestria.”

“And we can use the net to do that better,” her sister added.

“You see, many gryphons are only adept at hunting in one style or in one place. A territory may only have limited variety, but it isn’t healthy for a gryphon to eat the exact same thing all the time. So they trade and barter for more variety, but the two of us were among the first to do so on a large scale. We buy, sell and transport meat over long distances, and in doing so we increase the quality and variety of meat available.”

“And a better diet means better health, right?” I confirmed.

“Right. Everychick wins. But right now we have a communication problem. Without confirmed bookings, we simply have to guess what supply and demand will be for the coming year.”

“Which means some of it gets wasted, or gryphons have to put up with different stuff than they wanted,” added Tovi.

“If we had instant stock tracking and the ability to talk to suppliers and customers directly, we would be able to cut down waste and get more variety into the talons of more gryphons for a lower price, as well as enabling more gryphons to specialise in other professions. We can improve life for Gryphonkind – while expanding our own business tenfold.”

“What sort of exotic things? What do gryphons actually hunt?” I asked.

“Rabbits, stoats, badgers, birds, fish, eel, snakes…”

“I could go for some eel right now,” chirped Tovi, scanning the conveyer belt.

“Good idea,” said Sofi. “Hey, Sensei! Got any eel?” The elderly sushi chef (who was, if I remember correctly, Korean) grunted and started some eel grilling.

“Anyway, it’s a big world out there, full of weird and wonderful creatures. Who wouldn’t want to try eating every last one of them?” asked Tovi.

“I’m fairly sure ponies don’t.” I frowned and quietly asked, “Umm… Did gryphons ever eat ponies in the past?”

Tovi replied sombrely, “Not in hundreds of years.”

“Six hundred years,” added Sofi.

My frown deepened. “That’s oddly precise.”

“Yeah. You can ask the pony princess about that one, if you’re ever brave enough.”

I must have looked confused. By way of explanation, Sofi asked me, “Have you ever wondered why Celestia calls herself ‘Princess’ rather than ‘Queen’, despite being the ruler of all Equestria?”

“I never did quite understand Equestrian politics. I assume it’s some sort of historical leftover from before the unification, when Canterlot was just a city state?”

“More or less, but she’s had centuries to change that if she wanted. And Canterlot has its own separate royal family, lots of little princes and princesses. All the other bits of Equestria have left over aristocracy too. A few of them call themselves ‘Prince’ or ‘King’ or even ‘Emperor’–”

“Like that Crystal Empress up in the mountains,” added Tovi.

“–even though they’re part of Equestria. But the real queen of it all just gets called a ‘Princess’.”

“Okay, so enlighten me. Why does she keep that title?”

“As a threat. It’s a reminder to everypony who might try to challenge her, from within Equestria or outside it, that she’s a lot more powerful than she lets on. She draws attention to her power by understating it. She’s stopped more revolutions with a well-placed word than with all the royal guard put together.”

“I’m… still confused. Surely that’s just symbolic power? She’s got a bunch of titles, but what real force is there backing it up?”

“That’s what the Gryphon Emperor thought six hundred years ago, when he launched the last pony-gryphon war.”

“I take it he wasn’t successful?”

“You could say that.” She changed tack. “You know how gryphons like to roost in high places? Up mountains and in the branches of massive trees?”

“Sure. It never seemed very practical to me – what happens if you fall out?”

She waved a talon dismissively. “It’s not about being practical. Anyway, the world-famous Grand Eyrie Palace once stood atop a massive tree growing on the highest peak, overlooking the whole kingdom of Gryphonstone. When that war was over, its ruins lay at the bottom of a canyon so deep and so filled with treacherous winds that no gryphon’s ever successfully flown to the bottom of it to see them since.”

“You mean the whole palace just got pushed into the canyon?”

Sofi shook her head. “There was no canyon. That entire mountain was ripped in two by alicorn magic, right under where the palace stood.”

I was impressed. I knew the Princesses had a lot of magic, but ripping a mountain in half was a new one. “And that was one of Celestia’s predecessors?”

“Nope, it’s Celestia that did it. The same pony, Lady Sunbutt herself,” replied Tovi.

“Wait, seriously? You’re saying she’s how old?”

“Nopony really knows how old she is. But our historians make sure we don’t forget what she can be like when she gets angry. Celestia The Terrible, they still call her, and with good reason.”

I slumped back in my seat. Note to self. Never make Celestia angry.

I left a generous tip. Our group grew quiet as we walked back to the conference centre, weaving through the gawking tourists. Like most people I’d assumed the whole ‘immortality’ thing was just propaganda. Who wouldn’t? Ponies don’t have super long lifespans, right? I’ve certainly seen elderly ponies around, and the ponies whose ages I do know are the same as humans.

As we walked, I noticed a small church had recently opened up, the Temple of Celestia Sol Invicta. It seemed to have a wedding going on. I couldn’t see the bride or groom as we passed, but the guests included both humans and ponies. I guessed this would be the place to hold an interspecies wedding.

The traditional religions on Earth hadn’t quite caught up with the idea of interspecies relationships yet. Just recently the Pope had issued a decree reminding his flock not to fall prey to the sin of bestiality (and the fact that it was called a ‘papal bull’ led to some unfortunate memes flooding the net for a few days). But the economy abhors a vacuum, so somebody’s going to fill the gap. A new church to cater to the new reality.

Feeling a buzz, I pulled out my phone. Damn, that was my boss. Reluctantly I called him back. “John? What can I do for you?”

“You’re still at the conference, right? You and Bright Spark need to get through the gate right now. We have, ah… something of a situation on the other side.”

“What do you mean, ‘situation’? Can you be a bit more vague please?”

“Anything for you, Graham. Apparently the Mayor’s organising a big protest against the construction work. She doesn’t like our plan for laying cables through the Everfree.”

“She never did, but the crowns approved of our route. What’s changed now?”

“What’s changed is that she’s gone on a hunger strike. She hasn’t eaten in three days. It’s made quite an impact on the locals, and now there’s dozens of them camped outside the castle. So far it’s stayed peaceful, but we need to fix this before it gets out of hand.”

It’s impressive that the Mayor of Ponyville would stand up to the crowns as well as the Earth governments and construction companies. But why a hunger strike? Why would it matter that Mayor Fluttershy was… oh.

Oh, ponyfeathers.

The Truth

Author's Note

The following was inspired by a conversation about how the rate of scientific progress would be different in a world where getting your cutie mark can serve as a clear, Harmony-given indication that you're on the right path.

The Truth

Isotope opened his door to find his old mentor standing there. “Wood Phase? Golly, what are you doing out this late?”

The older stallion seethed. He wore neither coat nor scarf, despite the weather. His mane was unkempt, his fetlocks mussed, his eyes wild. He stood on Isotope's doorstep amid the gathering snow as wind whipped through the dark night.

Isotope tried again. “By the Princess, old chap, what happened to you? Nopony knew where to find you.”

“What happened to me? You want to know what happened to me?” Isotope nodded. “The truth! That’s what happened to me.”

“I… I don't understand. Look, please come out of the cold.”

“I can’t!” shouted his mentor. “Don't you see? I can never escape it again. And it's all your fault.”

“My fault? Dear fellow, please explain. I've never harmed you in any way, have I? On the contrary, I admire you. After all, you taught me everything I know. You taught me to always search for the truth.”

The older stallion barked a short, bitter laugh. “I did, didn’t I? The truth…” He turned, exposing his flank in the doorway. “What do you see here? This cutie mark, what do you see?”

“I see... your cutie mark. The five elements, in a cycle of overcoming and mutual virtue. Conflict and cooperation in balance.”

“That's right. Five elements. Not sixty-three.”

“Oh… Oh, I see. Is that what this is—”

“My whole life!” shouted Wood Phase. “My destiny. My career. Dedicated to a lie!”

“Really, that wasn't—”

“A lie! A lie that was just exposed by you. Or will be in a few days when everypony reads that accursed paper of yours. A single dream is all it took for you to reveal the sand on which my castle stood.”

“Do you want me to recant? Is that it?” asked Isotope. “My paper surely hasn’t reached the publishers yet, if we run now I believe we can intercept it.”

“No…” The older stallion’s legs gave way and he slumped on his student's doorstep. “No, no, there’s no point. Somepony else will discover the same thing eventually. And even if they never do, I would still know. I can never stand before my students with the same pride as before. Not when I’m branded with a lie.”

Isotope knelt down to Wood Phase's level. “Come in and have a brandy, old chap. I’m sure we can sort this out.”

Wood Phase nodded, sighed, and allowed himself to be led to a comfortable chair near the fire. Isotope poured a pair of generous brandies, levitated them over and sat down next to him. The older professor cradled his glass in both hooves, hunched over it.

“I owe it all to you,” said Isotope. “You taught me to see the patterns in reality. You taught me to look at the evidence rather than my own assumptions. You taught me to look for the truth, in the face of a world that doesn't want me to. This is your triumph as much as it is mine.”

“I know, I know,” said Wood Phase. “And I meant every word of it. I tried to get all my students to look for the truth, even if you were always my most promising. I just… never expected it to come back and bite me on the rump like this.”

Isotope’s eyes drifted down to his mentor’s cutie mark, a pentagon with five symbols in circles and ten arrows arranged between them in circular symmetry.

“I still remember learning about the history of the five elements. How ponies only thought of the world in terms of angry spirits or magic spells, but never thought of what objects were made of – until Quince observed the interactions of materials and deduced the elements from which all things are made.”

“But it wasn’t true,” muttered Wood Phase. “The world isn't made of fire and air and metal. She made a mistake.”

“Did she? Earth pony culture thrived in the centuries that followed. Working with the five elements allowed them to smelt new metals, harness the power of the elements, treat diseases they couldn't have before. Only the sacking of Terrina by Commander Bluewing stopped them.

“A theory may not be the whole and final description. But it doesn’t need to be if it gives you power over the world. A theory should usefully describe the world in a way that allows you to make testable predictions.”

Wood Phase stared down at his brandy, warm colours from the fire glinting through the cut glass. A faint smile touched his lips. “First year, third month. I didn't think you were listening. I thought you were too busy passing romantic missives to Perrivale.”

“I wasn't,” admitted Isotope. “But Perrivale took excellent notes. I caught up later.” He glanced at the wooden stairs, flickers of firelight casing them in warm colours. “Don't tell my wife that, please? She and Perrivale are still friends. I'd hate to upset that.”

“Of course not,” said Wood Phase. He took a slow breath. “It doesn't change anything, though. Useful or not, the five elements theory isn't true.”

“And you're certain my new periodic table is?”

“I saw the draft of your paper, Isotope. It explains everything we've seen in our experiments, even things I hadn't considered. And it predicts the existence of other elements we've yet to find.”

“But I hear Professor Valance over in Fillydelphia has been working on a periodic table of elements very similar to mine, but which places Phlogiston and Celestium on the top row rather than the left column.”

“He has? I didn't think the old fart had an original idea in him.”

“That's actually why I rushed my paper to print, before he could preempt it. But it may yet prove to be a better description than my own. And in another century or six, who knows? Another revolution may upset all our apple carts.”

“You make it sound like you don't believe in your own theory.”

“As the ultimate truth, forever? No. There are things my theory doesn't yet explain, and while it’s sure to be refined, no theory lasts forever. A good theory can still push the bounds of pony knowledge.”

Wood Phase twisted to look down at his flank. “And you think the pony on the street will understand that distinction? Surely they'll just see a symbol of a defunct theory, marking me as belonging to the past.”

“You give them too much credit. I doubt most ponies will know the difference, even in this town. And the minority that do will know you by your reputation. You've taught a lot of young stallions and mares. Many of them will remember your lessons as I do.”

Wood Phase drained the last of his brandy and set it down on the low wooden table that sat before the fire. He had to nudge a cluster of apparatus out the way to do so, and frowned as he looked at it.

“What’s that stuff about? Are you starting a miniature dragon hoard?”

A small square of gold leaf was suspended in an upright wooden frame. A pair of crystals sat nearby, one dark grey and one light green with a thin hole drilled through the middle. A movable frame contained what looked like a canvas.

“Oh, something one of my own students has been working on. The hematite gives off magical radiation when stimulated, which she focused onto the foil then used the fluorescent screen to see how it’s scattered.”

“Fairly predictable, I’d have thought. It’ll blur out a little because of the magical charge.”

“That’s what we both expected. Turns out, though, some of it gets reflected back.”

Wood Phase’s frown deepened. “That’s odd. I wonder why. Mistake in the experiment?”

“It could be. You have to minimise your magic around it, the screen picks up everything. She did it a bunch of times though, so she’s fairly sure it’s real. I don’t suppose you have any thoughts why it would do that? Because I'm stumped, really.”

Wood Phase scrunched up his greying muzzle. “Well, I suppose I have one idea. It's a bit unconventional, though…”

Second Best

“Princess Celestia! Are you alright?”

Twilight Sparkle burst through the antique gilt doors into Princess Celestia’s nineteenth tea salon, her wings outstretched, her hooves ahead of her. In the process she left an indelible dent in the centuries-old woodwork, which would never be the same again. She was shortly followed by a bevy of out-of-breath guards who clogged the doorway behind her.

“I’m fine, my dear Princess Twilight,” replied Celestia, a teacup at her lips. “Why on Equestria would I not be?”

One of the guards collapsed wheezing on the floor, but Twilight Sparkle barely paused for breath. She landed and paced frantically around Celestia’s tea chair. “I just heard that the king of the diamond dogs had kidnapped you and demanded a ransom.”

“Oh, that. Yes, that did happen.”

“I’m glad to see you escaped somehow. I came straight here because I thought you’d need our rescue.”

“Of course, and I appreciate the effort. But don’t worry about it, Twilight. I had the B team take care of that one.”

Twilight stopped her pacing around the salon, one foreleg raised. “The… B team?”

“Yes. The group of six close friends with unique and interrelated personality traits who are there to go on adventures and save the world when you and your friends are otherwise occupied.”

Twilight wasn’t sure whether to be offended or curious. “You have... a second set of us?”

“I suppose you could put it like that. It’s not like they’re exact replicas of you six, though.”

“Oh. Well, good.”

“Although they do each embody one of the elements, and come from a variety of trots of life. And they’re also six distinct colours, for extra marketability,” she volunteered.

“Market… what?”

“And of course, there are two pegasi in the group, two earth ponies and two unicorns. We have to balance the tribes.” Celestia frowned at Twilight’s wings. “You kind of screwed that one up, honestly.”

Twilight turned to inspected her wings with a frown.

“We had to introduce some side characters into the line to rebalance it.” She took another sip. “Hmm, this tea’s getting cold.” With a dash of magic, fresh steam rose from the cup.

“I don’t believe it,” Twilight gibbered, half to herself.

“I can’t be seen showing favouritism.” She sipped her tea again. “Much better.”

“I... I thought we... I thought I was special...” sobbed Twilight.

“Oh, Twilight.” Celestia rested a gentle hoof over her student’s withers. “You mustn’t feel that way. You were never second best.”

Twilight sniffed. “Thank you, Princess. I know you wouldn’t—”

“You were about fourth or fifth.”

“WHAT?”

“Or possibly sixth?”

“Sixth?” squealed Twilight.

“Honestly, I’ve lost track of how many teams we’ve lost over the years. Was it one team we lost during the wedding or two?”

Twilight blanched. “Lost? As in…”

“Ah yes, I remember now. It was two. The imposter completely drained them of their life force, their mystic energy, their spiritual essence. And also their blood. Totally desiccated. What with all the clean-up work and general confusion, it was nearly a week before we found them under the stage.”

Twilight stood up sharply, planting her hooves solidly. “How can you be so cavalier about ponies’ lives?” she spluttered.

“Well, it’s a dangerous business, saving the world,” said Celestia, matter-of-factly. “A few casualties here and there are to be expected. Honestly, it’s a wonder your own team is so nearly intact after these years.”

“What do you mean, ‘nearly’?”

“Oh, nothing much, really. I mean, one Pinkie Pie is as good as another, surely?”

“Wh- what happened to Pinkie Pie?” pleaded Twilight.

Celestia sipped her tea. “Which one? Also, Fluttershy didn't used to be a changeling. We don't think.”

“Fl—” Twilight was about to object again, but backed down. “Okay, I did have my suspicions about that one,” she muttered.

“By and large, though, your team has done remarkably well. You faced Sombra, Tirek, Discord, other threats to the realm. Your performance has been significantly above average.”

“We’re… above average? What average? How many hundreds of teams do you have?”

“Hundreds? Don't be silly, Twilight. Dragon eggs are expensive.”

“You mean they all have dragons? I thought Spike was the only one! That’s why we know so little about dragon culture and physiology.”

Celestia tutted. “If they didn’t all have dragons, how would I keep in touch with them all? How would I keep track of emerging threats? How would I receive all their friendship reports?”

Twilight slumped, unable to stand any more. “They send you friendship reports? But that’s…” Her voice dropped to a barely-audible whimper. “That’s our thing. Isn’t it? It’s our special thing.”

Celestia leaned down to Twilight's ear, a smirk on her lips, and whispered, “Happy April Foal’s Day, Twilight.”

Stranger than Fantasy

Author's Note

Oliver’s recent Points Of Canon gave me a story idea, one I don’t have time to do justice to. Normally I just throw ideas like these on Discord, but this one’s fleshed out enough to make it worth posting.

I don’t have any idea where to take this story kernel from here, so if you’d like to adopt this story and take it places, it’s yours.

Stranger than Fantasy

Anna put her pen down with a sigh. The words just weren’t coming today.

In truth, the words had been eluding her for some time. Since the publication of her first novel, she’d been starved of usable material, a situation not helped by the increasingly high-pitched squawking from her editor. “Strike while the iron’s hot,” he insisted as if it was that easy.

The iron didn’t feel particularly hot. It was clear to her now that she needed to take another trip, if she was ever to gather enough creative juices to fuel another novel. She just hoped her royalties would be enough to cover the air fair.

A flutter of feathers distracted her from her internal ranting, particularly when it was followed by a muffled thud of impact. “Is there another bird stuck in the chimney? Damn these old houses. Best let the dumb thing out.”

Pushing away from the desk and its accursed blank pages, she stood up ready to help the bird, but the fluttering had stopped. Instead she heard a clop of hooves from the direction of the front door. “What the... Is somebody here?”

She strode to the front door, but before she could open it she heard another flutter of wings, this time heading swiftly away. “Sounds big. An eagle or something?”

Whatever it was, it had gone by the time she hauled the big old wooden door open. She peered out into the dusk sky and down the forest trail, but saw neither bird nor horse nor visitor.

It was getting cooler at nights, cool enough that she was eager to shut the door, but as she did she noticed a package on her doorstep. “Is that for me?” Picking it up she found no address or postal marks. The envelope was fat, like it contained a thick ream of paper.

She brought it in and shut the door with a shiver, pushing the stubborn thing to with both hands. “I’ve really got to get that fixed. One more expense.”

The package was made of brown paper that felt old-fashioned, and wasn’t even glued shut but sealed with wax. She broke the seal and spilled its contents on the table. What emerged was a wad of pages, all slightly different sizes as if they were made by hand, and written in what looked like a fountain pen. The top sheet bore the title: Daring Do and the Quest for the Sapphire Stone, by A. K. Yearling.

“The hell... Is this fanfiction? They should know better than to stick my name on things.” It wasn’t the first time fans had sent her gifts, though the standard arrangement was to send them through her editor, not drop them off at her own house.

She tried to ignore the ignominy of knowing that an amateur had been able to crank out a second Daring Do book before she’d even outlined her own. She flicked through the story. It was written in a fairly close approximation of her own style, and a few of the turns of phrase even made her smile despite herself. Then her eyes caught on a few words that seemed strange.

“Daring Do stuck her tongue out. ‘Sorry, Caballeron, but I’m not that kind of mare!’ she called as the rope lifted her to safety. The stallion leapt for the bottom of the rope with a snarl, but his hooves weren’t able to find purchase…”

She flicked through the story again, finding more and more passages with references to hooves, wings and tails. “So what, this is some kind of crossover with a kid’s show? I mean, I’m flattered, but seriously?”

She checked the envelope again, and found the folded letter she was presumably supposed to have read first.

“Dear Miss Yearling,” she read.

“I hope this reaches the right person. The mailmare promises me she can deliver anywhere, even to Tartarus itself, but I don’t know how much stock to put in her confidence given the distance between us.

“I recently learned of your existence through correspondence with a fan who, it turns out, has trouble keeping secrets. Though we’ve never met, we have a great deal in common – more than you’d believe, if what I’m told is true. At the same time, I’m told you’re younger than I am, and your career is not yet as developed as my own – please forgive me if that sounds arrogant.

“Or rather, I should say careers…”

She dropped the letter as the next few lines spelled out her secret. This fan, whoever wrote this, knew about her archaeology field trip, about her unexpected adventure, the alter ego she’d assumed, and the scoundrels she’d defeated in that deserted temple. They knew just how much of her own life had made its way into her first book.

With trembling fingers she picked it back up to read the final lines.

“I’ve included the original manuscript of my own first novel, the first now of a successful series. Feel free to use it as your own, though it may need adapting to your world.

“I would be interested in reading some of your own work in return. This could be a productive arrangement for both of us. If you’re interested, simply leave a letter or parcel outside where the mailmare can find it.

“Yours, A. K. Yearling.”

All Change: Crash Landing

Author's Note

'All Change' was going to be my entry into the Imposing Sovereigns III contest, with the tags of Thorax and War. It was going to tell the story of the civil war within the hive following Chrysalis' defeat, between those changelings who wanted to go back to their way of life before "the tyrant" corrupted it, and those who want to move forward with the pony-friendly way of life. It would have been told from the perspective of an old soldier with plenty of blood on his hooves, who's trying to do the right thing for his successors.

Image by Inuhoshi.

Ultimately the story got too political, at a time when real world politics was increasingly bad for my state of mind. I realised I'd never be able to write it in the unbiased way it needed to do it justice, so I reluctantly decided to cancel it.

These scenes are flashbacks to during and just after the failed Canterlot invasion.

All Change: Crash Landing

“Where's Thorax gone?”

The tower above us exploded, raining white marble bricks and gilded roof tiles onto the cobbled street below. Ponies screamed, and ran about in all directions.

“I don't know, sir!” shouted Pharynx. “He was right behind us.”

“Shit! Shit shit shit.” I turned around, taking in the chaos of an invasion gone wrong. I couldn't help growling in frustration. “How are we supposed to hit key targets in this mess?”

“It's the other hives, sir. They're not following the chain of command.”

Who could have predicted that launching a massive invasion on the ponies' capital city with an army of changelings from a dozen different hives, half of them not even loyal to us, would lead to a breakdown in discipline like this?

Well… anybody. Most of us had an inkling something like this would happen. If only we thought the tyrant would listen, any one of us could have told her.

“Pharynx, do you still have that map?”

“Yes, sir.” He pulled a street map of Canterlot from his saddlebags and laid it out on the cobbles, and we all leaned in to see. It must have seemed surreal to the panicking ponies, to see a cluster of fearsome changeling warriors crouched over a street map in the middle of the battle.

“Is that the bath house over there?”

“No, wait… the fruit market's north of here, so the bath house must be… behind this wall here. Which would put the opera house over that way?”

Canterlot is an old town that's been rebuilt countless times over the years, leaving it full of twisting alleyways and nonsensical layouts. It's all but impenetrable for any creature not familiar with its streets. I was one more wrong turn away from just stopping a passing pony and asking them for directions to the opera house. With menaces, of course.

Petiole fluttered down to us. “I think it's over there, sir. You see the big blue dome?”

“Good enough for me. Come on, everyling, we're flying to that blue dome. Stay in formation. And remember, keep your eyes peeled for our targets.” They each replied in the affirmative as we took to the air.

(Insert some other scenes)

I awoke in pain. For a time I tried to identify the source of the pain, but quickly gave up since the answer seemed to be 'everything'. The light hurt my eyes when I opened them, then again when I closed them.

It was evening, judging by the colour of the light filtering through the trees. The leaves were moving in the breeze.

Standing up proved to be complicated by the presence of a sharp stone across which my limp body had been draped, but I managed it. For all the pain shooting up and down all my limbs, I had remarkably few actual injuries. My wings were too crumpled to bear my weight, so I hobbled to the top of a bluff, hoping to get my bearings.

I stood for a moment, distracted by how pretty the pony lands were, so near their capital. Rolling fields, scenic streams and waterfalls, curved stone bridges, neat cut paths. I could still see Canterlot perched atop the cliff, pouring a torrent of cooling water into a pool below.

I turned away from the shining city. Whatever our fate now, I knew it wouldn't be in Canterlot. That battle was lost.

I followed a scent of hunger, and soon found the source. Another changeling had fallen through the branches of a tree and landed in a crumpled heap between its roots. I assumed the rest of the swarm must be in a similar state, scattered across the landscape. Those who survived would scatter. How many of them would limp back to the tyrant, and how many would just disappear into the pony population? We might never have a full accounting.

The changeling was alive, though badly hurt. He looked how I felt, in fact, and I watched as an arc of pink magic flashed across his body, making him arch his back in renewed pain.

The pony princess's magic still lingered. That, at least, I could do something about. I stepped forwards and lit my horn, pushing past the pain to pour what little magic I had into him. With a soft puff of pink smoke, the pony magic was expelled from his body. He gasped, then began breathing more evenly.

“Th– thank you, sir,” he said shakily, rising to a sitting position.

“It's Thorax, isn't it?”

He nodded. “Aren't you hurt too, sir?”

“Sure, I am,” I admitted. “We're both pretty much drained. We'll need to see what we can harvest on the way back to the hive.”

“MONSTERS!”

Talk of Discord, and he appears.

There was a pony standing between the trees, a young green mare. She brandished a shovel in her mouth, and was visibly trembling.

“Don't move!” she shouted though the handle.

Neither of us moved. We hadn't the energy for it honestly. The pony stepped closer, one step at a time, keeping her weapon up.

“I don't—”

“Shut up! You're… you're monsters!”

She smelled of fear, of course; worry, frantic panic and just a hint of jealousy. There were tears at the corners of her big pony eyes, and her weapon wavered.

She reached close enough to hold the shovel blade near my head. Calmly and slowly, I lifted my hoof and pushed the weapon aside. She looked confused, and her eyes turned to the side, following my hoof.

I lit my horn in a flash, and caught her mind in my magic. She fought me all the way down into her dreams.

The face of a stallion emerged, sky blue with a dark blue mane and a huge grin. He had a tender voice that made promises. Memories emerged of him walking side by side with another mare – with other mares. Arguments, tears, running, reconciliation, shame.

This mare was so awash with love that she didn't know what to do with it all. I would have loved to sip it gently over weeks, drawing out the best aspects of the flavour, but needs must. Instead I drank as I never had before, letting the vacuum within me fill. The mare's wail of pain subsided as she dropped to the grass with a glassy expression, barely breathing.

My joints popped, my chitin stretched back into shape. I took a deep breath and spread my tattered wings, the holes in them filling in as the power of that mare's love spread through me.

I turned back to Thorax, who'd watched this quietly. He had a confused, pitiful expression; even more than usual.

“Come on,” I said. “It's a long way back to the hive, and I don't plan to wait around for the ponies to find us.”

He hesitated. "Will she be alright?"

I shrugged. "I took most of what she's got. She'll probably survive. Won't be moving for a few days, enough for us to be getting back."

Thorax still had years to go on his training before he would be ready for a war like this. I wouldn't normally have brought such a young warrior on any actual missions.

But then, the tyrant didn't ask.

A few miles down the road, I paused in my limping, and discovered that Thorax was gone. I scanned the sky, and found a retreating speck in the distance. Going the wrong way.

He wouldn't survive long, starved as he was. I turned back to the hive.

All Change: Civil War

Author's Note

(continued)

And here are have some scenes from the present day, including my own favourite scene with Ocellus.

All Change: Civil War

Prelude

We are warriors.

Our Queen bred us to be warriors. Thousands of Her children, made of the strongest stuff she could muster. Our ichor sings with the exhilaration of battle. We were taught that strength was justice, that love was something we had to take, that we should rely on nobody but our Queen, and that She was all-powerful. She led the swarm to conquer Her enemies and seize control of the land from weak ponies.

She failed. She was expelled from their city by the power of love, and we Her warriors were expelled with Her. Those who survived the battle limped home, confused. How could the gullible, naive, trusting ponies have defeated us? How could love, of all things, have defeated Her?

Thorax showed us another way. A way to give and accept love instead of taking it. A way to make life better for all, the strong and the weak together. He became our new King, not through conquest but through example. We found a new purpose under His leadership. A new ideal for which to strive.

But no matter our ideals, our nature remains.

We are warriors.

I leapt from the ledge dressed as an eagle. By the time I landed I was a razor-toothed liger. I pounced on the nearest changeling, slicing limbs from her body, then turned, ready to disembowel the next. He was a bugbear, his stinger turned ready to impale me.

We both hesitated.

Is he one of us, or is he one of them?

I could see the same question in his eyes. Neither of us wanted to hurt an ally; but were we allies, or were we foes?

We stood mere hooves apart. Around us the battle raged, changeling fighting changeling.

Now that we had each other's attention, we were locked in place. Neither of us could turn away without risking death – if the other was the enemy, or even if they thought they were, for mistakes in battle are commonplace.

There was one simple way to tell whether we were on the same side: transform back into our real form. Whether cheerfully coloured or stealthy black, our allegiance would then be evident. But whichever of us revealed themselves first would place themselves at a disadvantage, both in information and armaments, should we happen to be enemies.

And so we stayed focused, great beasts standing muzzle to muzzle, slowly turning around each other in the middle of the fray.

Very slowly, without releasing eye contact, I backed away. My opponent didn't move, but his eyes narrowed. I could see the calculation in his eyes: were my actions those of a knight, or those of a rebel? In a flash he leapt, just as I turned into a phoenix and darted out of his reach.

I turned into a roc and plucked Petiole from her own battle, depositing her safely on the ridge overlooking the dry riverbed.

I returned to my own form – a light green with autumn-red tinges – and my opponent returned to his – black with spiky red ridges. We were enemies after all.

I nodded to him, and he to me. Then he and his changelings fled back into the tunnels.

They left behind the cocoon they'd been carrying. It was fresh; the skin was soft and the pony inside was still twitching. With any luck they'd be able to go back to their life with nothing more than mild amnesia.

“Somebody's still alive,” said Petiole. She always had better eyes than me. She pointed down into the mess of bodies.

“Let me take a look.”

I flew back down into the battlefield, and moved cautiously up to the bleeding changeling, stepping over broken limbs and scattered entrails. It was possible that it was a trap, so I didn't approach too quickly.

She hissed as I approached, and I realised she was the one I'd wounded moments before. “Why don't you finish me off already, traitor,” she snarled. Ichor drooled from her mouth.

I cast a spell to numb the pain, and another to close her wounds.

She looked confused. “What are you doing? We're enemies.”

“You were in my class, weren't you? Elytra, isn't it?”

“You—” She coughed, spraying deep yellow liquid on the ground. “Instructor Maxilla. You remember me?”

“I trained you to be more aware of your surroundings,” I admonished her. “You should have looked up.”

“If I had, you'd be dead.”

“That's no excuse.”

She dropped her head to the ground. “Don't bother. It's too late now. You got me.” Her words were becoming blurry. “I never thought it would be you that got me. You taught us how to fight, and now we're fighting you. We should have seen how stupid that is.”

“Is it so different from before? I taught you all to fight, then I sent you out into a cruel world full of danger. So many of my students never came back. I set them on a path to their death, as surely as if I'd fought them myself.”

“We're changelings. That's what life is,” she said.

“It doesn't have to be. There's another way now. A better way.”

“Not for me. I must be such a disappointment.”

I leaned in close to her. “I'm sorry,” I said.

“So am I.” She drew in a deep, sudden breath, and then her eyes widened. She began to glow, light radiating from her skin and pouring from her open wounds. The light enveloped her, lifting her off the ground, wrapping her in a spectral cocoon. When it dissipated a moment later she was a changed changeling.

Her transformed form was beautiful. Her colours were now a pale indigo with yellow ridges and green wings. The holes in her legs had filled in.

A shame it came too late. Her wounds remained as fatal as they had been. She settled back onto the ground and released her final breath.

Petiole stepped up behind me, keeping a respectful distance. “Sir?”

“I need to take the cocoon back. Can I ask you to bury her, Petiole?”

“Yes, sir. What should her marker say?”

“Here lies Elytra, Knight of The New Hive.”

“I… yes, sir.”

I turned to the nearest of our troupe. “You two, with me. The rest of you, stay with Petiole.”

Within the cocoon, the pony's eyelids were fluttering. A sweet dream? I didn’t want to disturb them, so I brushed gently against the pony's mind. There was another pony in them, cherished memories swimming past on repeat. That was the source of the love that the other changelings had been drinking.

Moving past that, I found images of a village by a river, with a water wheel and orange trees. The sort of place ponies loved. It was remembered from a lot of angles, jumbled together, but centred on the place where this other pony could be found.

I hoisted the cocoon in my magic and took to the air, flanked by my two allies. It would be a long flight.

Ottoman

I closed the entryway to my suite.

There isn't a lot of privacy to be had in the hive – my sleeping chamber doubled as my office, and as a meeting room. It was decorated with mismatched hangings representing the various lesser hives we'd absorbed during the tyrant's reign, and were now trying to respect. The banner most obviously missing was the black and green of Chrysalv.

There was a big table in the middle of the room, carved from dark brown marble that rippled with interesting patterns, and around it four low cushions: orange, green, blue, violet and black.

I kicked the fifth cushion as I walked past. It squeaked.

“Hey, Ottoman,” I called out. “Black isn't a good colour to pick if you're trying to fit in. Not in this room.”

The cushion transformed into a small black changeling. She rubbed her horn resentfully. “My name's not Ottoman,” insisted Ocellus.

“And nor is it Maxilla Junior,” I said, turning to face her. “What are you doing here?”

“It's comfy here,” she replied.

“On the floor. Pretending to be one of my cushions.” I sighed. “You know, I could have mistaken you for a spy. Or sat on you.”

“How do you know I'm not a spy?” she pouted.

“Because you're not the sort, Ocellus.”

“I'm on the other side, you know,” she insisted, though without conviction. “I have every reason to hate Linntalv. And Thorax. And you.”

“The little nymph I met in Speltalv wasn't capable of hate.”

“The little nymph you kidnapped, you mean.”

There was a general agreement among the transformed changelings of the hive that our new lives came with a complete amnesty on any and all crimes committed in service to the tyrant.

It was true that, under the tyrant's direction, I had stormed the doors of Speltalv at the head of our swarm. I had kidnapped Queen Proboscis and her daughters. I had dragged them back to the tyrant as political prisoners, hostages to ensure the smooth integration of the changelings of Speltalv into the tyrant's army.

And when the tyrant started executing her prisoners and assassinating her rivals, I was the one that had smuggled Ocellus to safety.

Thorax assured us that only our actions going forward mattered, but I couldn't help but feel like my actions before and after were measured in a great balance – and Ocellus was an important weight on that balance.

Linntalv, the ‘hidden hive’, is what we'd been called before the tyrant's egotistical rebranding. Chrysalv is what we'd been called as a conquering swarm, growing as it absorbed hive after hive. After the tyrant's defeat, lots of changelings had wanted to go back to the old name; but Thorax hadn't considered either name appropriate when he stepped up, so instead he'd dubbed us Amicalv, the ‘friendly hive’. Still, there were some – especially among the untransformed – who kept using the old name.

“This place isn't Linntalv any more. It's not Chrysalv any more either. It's Amicalv now. And the tyrant isn't coming back.”

“How can you be sure she won't?”

“Even if she did come back here, changelings wouldn't follow her. Old or new, none of us want the tyrant back.”

She looked so frail – no doubt from years of starvation – that I could never really be mad at her. I sat close and wrapped my forelegs around her.

She didn’t return the embrace, merely leaned into it. I held her for a minute before letting go. I could see there were words in her throat that she was holding onto, but dragging them out wouldn't help.

Eventually she drew in her breath and said, “I tried… changing. Into one of you, all colourful. I tried walking around like that, to see how it felt. To see if changelings treated me any differently.”

“And did you learn anything from this?”

“I learned that everyone knew who I was anyway. They weren't fooled by my shape at all, just confused. I hate being a queen.”

“You can't blame them. With the other queens dead—”

“I don't,” she interrupted. “I don't blame them. It's just the way it is. I'm the only queen they've got, and I'm not even from Linntalv. They have to keep me safe. It's me or… the tyrant.”

“I told you. She's never coming back.”

“She's not dead, you know.”

I frowned. I did know, but that information was classified. We had teams keeping a careful eye on the tyrant, of course, reporting on her crazed ramblings; but they were under the strictest secrecy.

“How do you know that?”

“I can hear her, singing in my head.” Ocellus winced.

“Singing? How often?” I didn't want to interrogate the poor nymph, but it was hard not to.

“All the time,” she replied.

She'd never told me about this before. “Is she nearby right now?”

Ocellus shook her head. “No. It's just a whisper. She's miles away. But it's always there.”

“Do you think she can hear you?”

“No. She's never heard anyone but herself.”

It hadn't occurred to me that the old connection between queens might still be there, especially between Ocellus and Chrysalis, who can't have met more than twice. It was a relief to know that the tyrant couldn't hear is; but if other changelings knew that Ocellus could hear the tyrant's thoughts, what would they do? What would the enemy do? What would we do?

“I think it's probably for the best if you don't tell anyling else about this.”

“I know.” She looked up at me. “I can't trust anyling. Anyling but you.”

I never could understand what made Ocellus trust me. I was the warrior who'd taken her from Speltalv, who'd delivered Queen Proboscis into the hooves of the traitor.

“Are you sure I can't stay the night here?”

“Only if you want me to sit on you,” I threatened.

She appeared to consider that option before reluctantly slinking away.

I swear, queens will be the death of me.

Thorax snaps

I found King Thorax in the broken throne room at the top of the hive, watching the dawn.

A change had come over the scenery in the few months since our transformation, just as surely as over the hive itself: greenery had started to return, recolonising the wasteland that had previously been drained of life. In just the few days he'd been away, the patchwork of brown had turned a few shades greener. Some vines had even started to grow up the broken walls up here in the former throne room, encouraged by the upswelling of magic.

Thorax sat on the platform where that horrible black throne had been. It was the highest point in the hive, and from it one could see the world around us. He seemed lost in thought. He didn't even have a guard with him.

I stepped cautiously up to the platform. The king's new form was taller than any of us, as tall as the tyrant had been, as tall as one of the pony princesses; and the raised platform where he sat only added to that. I approached the pedestal and coughed.

“Good morning, Maxilla,” he said.

“Good morning. How was your trip to Equestria, sir?”

“It was… instructive.” He sat still, looking out and not back at me. His voice had a dreamy tone to it, as if he were looking at something more distant than that green horizon.

“…sir?”

“I met the new Dragon Lord there,” he said. “She gave me some, well, interesting advice about ruling.”

“She did? I wouldn't think changelings are much like dragons. They're fearsome and individualistic, while we're subtle and social.

“You'd be surprised. There are more similarities than differences, I think.”

(Insert some lines here)

“Stop!”

Thorax spun around, dropping into a low pose that brought his face closer to mine. I stopped.

“Do you think I'm stupid?” he snapped. “Do you think I'm blind?”

The king's cheerful smile was gone, replaced by an animalistic snarl that would have felt more in place on the changelings we used to be. He crouched low, like a cat ready to pounce, stalking slowly down the steps towards me.

“I… sir, I–”

“Do you think I can't count the number of changelings that go on ‘long trips’? That I can't smell the fear gripping everyling behind their smiles? That I can't see the results of your fighting all over the hive?”

I hung my head. “I'm sorry you had to see that, sir.”

“Wrong answer, Maxilla! You're supposed to be sorry for doing wrong, not for getting caught.”

I bridled at this accusation, possibly because it hit home. “I am sorry, but it's necessary, sir. For the good of the hive, we have to curb the crimes of the untransformed.”

“You do? Why? Why can't you set your differences aside? Explain it to me, Maxilla. If it's the good of the hive you're fighting for, why are changelings fighting changelings?”

“Because they're still capturing ponies to drain them!” I declared.

“I know that,” he said.

“You know that. And what do you think will happen when Equestria learns that changelings in our hive are still abducting their ponies? You think they'll respect the new friendship? You think they'll give us more time to work it out for ourselves? You think they'll send a friendship ambassador? No. If the other races get so much as a whisper that changelings are the same predatory creatures we used to be, they'll never forgive us. If that happens then Amicalv is doomed.”

“You're desperate for the other races not to see us as violent, and that somehow justifies violence?”

“We can't let the rebels keep taking prisoners like this. Don't you see? They'll bring ruin on us all.”

“You think doing battle with them is going to change that? You think violence is going to teach them how to love? We have to find another way, Maxilla. A way that doesn't make enemies out of our fellow changelings.”

“And are you going to apologise to the families of ponies who die while we're looking for a better way? Send them a polite letter?”