There are hills outside of Ponyville, and on them are many wild trees. They stand tall against the backdrop of the Equestrian sky, proud figures of the ancient past. Their branches provide plentiful shade to stretch down from the hills to the valley below, and even more, on some days.

But these trees are not just old effigies of ancient times. They now act as “mailboxes” for ponies who wish to receive mail. Not mail of the traditional kind, though; mail that rides in on a different route, one that pegasi often ride, but never heed.

If one wishes, they are to go to these hills and wait, for their package will come in time. It may be today, or tomorrow, but never never. The package is always delivered, and always right when you need it. Very few have actually waited forever, and not all have deemed it necessary to wait, and have sought answers elsewhere.

But if you ever need a gift delivered to you, when you need it with all your heart, this is the place to wait.

A side-story to Streets of Sin and sequel to A Prose By Any Other Name; however, I have tried to make sure that reading those two is not necessary to understand this one.