Chapter 1: In Which The Author Is Fined For Not Also Providing a French Translation
Day 150 in Caneighda
You are Canadanon, lone human interloper in the beautiful lands of Caneighda. When you first arrived under mysterious circumstances, the ponies of this new world treated you with suspicion. However, after a very well-written adventure in which you aided the Elements of Apology in banishing an ancient evil, you were welcomed with open arms. Hooves. Forelegs? In any event, you were formally included in the awards ceremony, wherein you and your colorful companions were recognized for your exploits . Your mind drifts to the events surrounding your moment of glory.
Approximately Five Months Ago:
You kneel deferentially in the grand hall of Caneighda Castle situated in the capital of Caneighda, Ontarioat. The plush red carpet gently cradles your knees, while lining the halls are the Caneighdian honor guard, decked out in their traditional red and black dress armor. Alongside you are the six ponies you aided in banishing the evil Chinook - a dreaded spirit of Spring that would bring warm winds and mild temperatures to the prairies after cold and bleak winters. Turns out the whole thing had been some kind of logistical mistake. The Chinook was supposed to be dispatched to Equestria, far to the south. However, whomever had filled out form 174.2-A (Request for Supernatural and/or Mythological Beings for the Purpose of Weather Manipulation - Winter Wrap-Up Subdivision) had listed a ‘Princess Celery’ as the recipient of said services. Unable to find her client, the Chinook had simply assumed she was to go to the place with the most snow. It had taken nearly three days and nights, but you and your new pony friends had managed to convince the Chinook that you were truly, terribly sorry that her time had been wasted, and could she please take this pleasing edible arrangement and assortment of fine Caneighdian cheeses as a token of your sincere apology. Miraculously, the gambit had paid off, and Caneighda was saved from the looming specter of temperate weather. Not only did you save the day, but you had a new best friend in one of the Elements of Apology: a very unusual mare by the name of Maple Syrup. Maple was a unicorn mare - sort of. While she had a relatively normal dark tan mane and tail, her body was...syrup. You’d learned not to question it, as any inquiry would just result in her or other ponies throwing up their hooves and saying “It’s magic.”. Still, despite her unique nature, she’d been an excellent friend; just one that meant you had to shower after hugging her.
A hushed nicker from Maple, kneeling next to you, snags your attention. “Psst! Pay attention eh! The Princess is talking to you!” You snap your head up and meet the gaze of HRH Princess Poutine, beloved Monarch of Caneighda. The Princess looks upon you with a regal, beatific smile. Her golden-brown coat is complimented by her soft white and brown mane, the colors swirling together as they seem to melt and flow in a nonexistent current. A maple leaf, the symbol of her people, adorns her flanks. Her scent is that of the highest quality fried potatoes and gravy. Beholding such majesty, a single tear escapes your eye and trails down your face.
“And last but most certainly not least,” she addresses you, “is our unusual but most welcome visitor, Canadanon. For conduct becoming of pony-kind, for valor in the service of Caneighda, and for bravery in the face of almost certain sobriety, I award you the highest honor of our people: The Molson Medallion.” Using her magic, she floats a white and red beer can towards her from a nearby dais. With a satisfying click-hiss the can is opened, and the undisputed ruler of the land chugs the perfect golden brew down like a frat boy on pledge day. Finishing in record time, she withdraws the can from her lips with a small smacking and a pleased sigh. After a moment, her eyes bug out and her cheeks bulge as she prepares the Royal Ontarioat Belch, the highest form of respect that can be shown a foreign dignitary. As her maw opens, a sound akin to a fog horn being played over a chainsaw slowed down to 1% speed is produced. You are barely able to hold your ground as warm, hoppy waves of air blast over you, the scent clinging to you and marking you as favored by the Princess (until your next shower). Wasting no time, princess Poutine steels herself and uses her magic to smash the empty can onto her horn, flattening it and leaving a hole in the centre, through which a platinum chain is woven. Dutifully, the now-complete medallion is placed over your head, coming to rest comfortably around your neck. “Arise, Canadanon, friend of Caneighda!” she exclaims, the grand hall filling with hoof stomps and polite cries of “Sorry!”, a traditional Caneighdian cheer.
For your service, you were granted citizenship and a beautiful log cabin in the fine Caneighdian city of Prince Albert. When you asked your new friend Maple Syrup about the prince the city was named after, she just snickered and kept walking. It wasn’t until much later and being laughed at a number of times that you discovered the true meaning of the town’s name.
Back in present day, you are drawn out of your reverie by the pleasant crunch-crunch of approaching hooves in the snow. As it has been an unusually warm spring and summer in Caneighda, there is only a single metre of snow on the ground. The approaching pony is none other than Maple Syrup; her dark golden brown payload sloshing within her as she trots merrily your way. Her liquid-esque nature was off-putting at first, but after the fateful day that she adorned your pancakes with syrupy perfection straight from her horn, you’d become inseparable. Sure, the times where she asked you to drink straight from the source seemed a little weird, but when in Roam, right?
“Heya there buddy!” your equine friend exclaims, with a friendly wave and chipper swish of her tail. You’re immediately driven to respond that you’re not her buddy, chum, but that thought is squelched when the part of your brain that handles thinking helpfully reminds you that you are, in fact, her buddy.
“Oh, not much, just thought I’d take advantage of this bee-yootiful weather by heading down to the lake.” you muse, your hand on your gloriously bearded chin in thought.
Maple looks at you quizzically, one of her ears cocking out sideways while her head tilts adorably. “A mite overdressed, aint’cha?” She’s not completely wrong - in this weather, the toque you’re wearing alongside your swim trunks is definitely overkill. “Seriously tho, you look like a total hoser wearing that in Summer!”
“You’re the hoser, hoser!” you bite back. “Or did you forget that you needed my help to get that chesterfield unwedged from your front door last time you moved. Seriously, how did you even get it wedged like that? Didn’t help that the whole thing was caked in syrup and practically glued to the carpet.”
Maple wilts slightly under your retort, ear splayed outwards. “Okay, okay, don’t get your swimmies in a knot, eh. Let’s just get down to the beach before all them Hewfie tourists clog it up. Damn Hewfies.” she grimaces, shaking her hoof angrily. You nod in approval. Casual bigotry against ponies from Hoofoundland was expected and encouraged in polite Western Caneighdian society.
The walk to the beach was peaceful. Your unusual height allowed you to navigate the snow with ease, but Maple Syrup and other ponies had to resort to adorable, pony-sized snowhorseshoes to remain above the surface, or else brave the snow. Much of the main town had been cleared, but you could occasionally spot a mane or horn winding its way through the drifts as a pony forged their own furrows.
However, before you make much headway into the 1.6 kilometer journey to the beach, the sound off flapping wings alerts you to an incoming pegasus. It’s none other than your friend Double Double, local coffee monger and another Element of Apology. Panting out of breath, he lands by you, immediately sinking up to his neck in snow.
“Sorry to bother you out of the blue like this-” he begins breathily.
“No, I’m sorry.” You reply, in proper greeting etiquette.
“- but a telegram arrived from Ontarioat. The Princess wants to meet with you!”
Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “What could she possibly want to talk to me aboot?” You look down at Maple, but she simply shrugs at you. “It’s not like I’ve done anything of note since that whole Chinook thing. I mean, the most impressive thing I’ve done is absolutely devastate all of you at basketball.”
“A PART OF OUR HERITAGE.” Maple and Double drone reverently, their hooves to their hearts.
“Right. But seriously, it’s pretty darn easy seeing as how you’re all half my height and the peach baskets only come up to my armpits. It’s not as though I’ve done something impressive like invent standard time-”
“A PART OF OUR HERITAGE.”
“-or Supermare-”
“A PART OF OUR HERITAGE.”
“-or anything like that.” You scratch your head in confusion, but also because the woolen toque is itchy. Proper toques are itchy.
Double Double gives you a searching look. “I don’t know, maybe she wants to show you off at the Caneighda Day celebration in a few weeks? I mean, why else would she want the Abominable Snowman around?” he grins at you cheekily.
“Pfft, you’re just jealous that I get to see the Princess again.” you shoot back at him, placing a hand on his head and shoving it under the surface of the snow. He pops back out a moment later, sputtering out bits of snow while Maple giggles at him. “Either way, best not to keep Her Cheesiness waiting. C’mon Maple.” You quickly turn back towards home, your semi-liquid friend trotting merrily at your side. Double struggles to free himself from the neck-high snow, but can’t make any headway.
“Uh, a little help here? I’m kinda stuck.” The only response to his cry for help is the sound of snow underhoof and foot as you and Maple leave him for the mooses. Meese? Moosen. Yeah. Double Double struggles, his wings barely breaking through the surface of the snow. “...guys?”
Author's Note
I'M SORRY 
If this gets any interest, I'll make more! 
