The Search in Winsome Falls

by MagLocal

Rating: everyone
Tags: Princess Luna, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Adventure
Length: 73635

Princess Luna sends a couple of ponies to Winsome Falls. Their job is to search for something there.

Who could resist the allure of peaceful grass in their rolling fields, or the freshness of the crsip water in the rivers and the lakes, or the sight of rainbows falling down to the ground like a waterfall?

Winsome Falls is a beautiful place. Untouched by pony settlement, pure in its magnificence, astounding in its features, Winsome Falls has often been told as the perfect camping spot, the perfect field trip destination, the perfect party venue (for some parties, not for others).

Yet, one group of ponies came here not to camp with their siblings or some friends. They didn't come here to organize a field trip for a school. And, they didn't come here to hold a party.

Instead, they came here, under orders from Princess Luna herself, to look for something, to clarify.

Takes place before the Season 7 "Shadow Play" finale.

Published 2017-10-03 14:50:06 UTC
Last updated 2017-12-04 14:11:25 UTC

Overview

The extent of the setting sun's light encompassed the entirety of the sky, bringing to Canterlot yet another dusk to experience before the night arrived with its stars, its moons, its lights, and its dreams. Though the panic of rushing pegasi moving clouds was present, it did not do much to detract from the sunset's elegance over a royal city, a royal capital.

Ponies with wealth strutted along on the sidewalks with their heads raised and their eyes closed—well, some of them, certainly not all of them. Displays of conspicuous opulence—towering hats, exquisite jewelry, posh suits, styled manes all on display for the tourist ponies—identified by their casual shirts and their cameras—to feel envious for as could be seen by the souring of their faces.

The streets had that smell of a mixed fragrance—an assortment of unique perfumes and colognes wafting into the air, coalescing into a combination that one pony caught a whiff of, opened his eyes wide, raised a hoof in the air, and went to full-tilt gallop, shouting "I have the greatest idea, yet! Just wait 'till they listen! I must go get my smell jar to catch it, first!"

At other streets, though, this grand fragrance encountered the culinary aromas of the various restaurants. The savory smells of flat noodle soup, grilled vegetables, baked goods, steaming pizza, hot spaghetti—among others—brought about a scent that permeated the air with a delicious beckoning to come inside and eat, which more than a few ponies were more than willing to go for as they went off their path towards the entrances of those buildings.

Then, right in front of an enormous white and gold and purple castle—with its many protrusions of towers and of large rooms—there were the steps that led to the only obstacle that stood between the common pony and royalty: doors. If one could get past not just the stairs but also the guards with their expressions of fierce stone, the reward would be being just a step closer to the land's leaders.

Of course, with the castle being so big, one would have to first know where those leaders were. A collection, a vast array, of hallways—carpeted with red, decorated with lavender, spacious in size—didn't help matters. It was nice that one of the guards, armored in yellow just like the rest of his friends, held a castle map with a hoof, smiling at the few ponies who do manage to get inside and waving the map in front of them.

"Uh, sirs and ma'ams?" the guard called.

The group of four stopped, smiling back at him as all of them stood inside the massive hallways whose ceilings reached high up with their columns reaching so.

"You might get lost here," the guard said, "so, here's a map."

He hoofed the stallion in front the map.

"Thanks, kind sir!" the stallion said in return—mustached, wearing a visor and a shirt with pictures of leaves on it, and holding a camera.

He looked at his friends behind him: an Earth pony stallion with a hat, a bandana around his neck, and a half-baked apple for a cutie mark; a pegasus mare with curly and curly tail, both red, and perhaps a liking for strawberries as could be seen on her strawberry cutie mark; and, a unicorn mare with a curious stare that moved around at her surroundings—she had pink mane and pink tail, both curly as well.

"Now, we're gonna accompany Half Baked Apple and Strawberry Sunrise here," the mustached pony went on, "on the tour, Twinkleshine. Just as we planned it, alright?"

"Just don't go ahead of yourself, Globe Trotter," Twinkleshine said. "I know that you're prone to going on lots of speeches about various places, so, keep it down, OK?"

"Heh."

Then, the group went on past the guard, with Globe Trotter slinging his camera around his neck and holding up the map.

"It's been some time since I've been here," Globe Trotter said. "Maybe they added some new locations here. Well, it's going to be up to the moment, then."

The guard watched the group leave his sight.

He sighed.

And, he looked out one of the tall windows that stretched from top to bottom.

He saw, once again, that orange sunset sky.

The two alicorns—one white, one blue—stood at the balcony, held off by only a short yet thick marble railing.

The view that the two commanded was a sweeping one: exhibitions of royal, old-time architecture—spires, rooks, and slanted towers accompanying the houses and the stores—coupled with modern-day lights even at an hour too early for nighttime; shows of simple greenery in the range of bushes, of flowers, of other plants that adorned the streets, the sidewalks, the windows, giving off that natural perfume that may or may not be better than the ones manufactured by ponykind; splendors of the mountainous landscape that surrounded the Canterlot that wasn't surrounded by no land at all, shielding Equestria from the conventional, easy attack.

The two looked upon what was in front of them.

Seconds of silence passed between the two, their gazes fixed and focused on the fascination.

Then, Princess Celestia looked at her sister.

Princess Luna responded with a look at her sister.

They looked at each other.

Luna nodded.

Celestia nodded.

Then, Celestia looked at the setting sun.

Her horn glowed yellow.

The sun went down behind the mountains.

Sunset became twilight. Then, twilight became night.

The city became darker. More lights turned on.

Then, Luna looked at the sky.

Her horn glowed blue.

The moon went up over the mountains.

Stars twinkled in view. Then, the moon shone in all its brilliance.

The city became a little brighter. The subtle glimmer of the moon could be seen on the roofs.

Then, both sisters' horns stopped glowing as they both took a sigh of relief.

They looked at each other's faces again and smiled.

The alicorns hugged.

A few seconds of loving silence passed.

"That's impressive," a gruff voice said, punctuating the moment. "I know that you raise the sun and the moon everyday, but, seeing you two do it this close? Ugh, Now, I sound more sappy than usual!"

The two let go of each other.

"It's understandable," Celestia said as she approached the dragon. "It amazes even us after all this time. You don't need to hide your amazement of it."

"I have a standard to keep up, Princess," the dragon said, maintaining a serious look on her face. "It wouldn't be right for the Dragon Lord to let her guard down even if it's just for a moment or two."

"What's wrong with being a little awed by the rising of the sun or of the moon?" Celestia asked, pacing the circular bedroom with its single yet huge bed and the windows that enclosed the bed with moonlight, that soft glow.

Celestia then let off a short chuckle.

Luna eyed her sister, smiling.

"Anyway, I hope that your stay here in Canterlot was a pleasing one. Are you sure that you haven't missed anything? Any landmarks, or maybe a park that you might want to visit one last time before you leave?"

"It's alright," the Dragon Lord said. "I've already sneezed more than enough times because of all the things going on in the air. I still have to get used to the fact that you ponies like decorating everything in pretty, even the air."

"I could offer you a spell that will mitigate that for you," Celestia said.

"No, no, I'm fine!" she replied, holding up a hand to block Celestia as if in self-defence. "I'm totally OK. I'll just make a quick dash out of here to avoid the smells."

The two alicorns nodded.

"Thank you for your time here, Ember," Celestia said.

"And, I thank you, too," Luna quipped.

Ember, in the middle of hurrying to the balcony, looked back. A smile crept up her face. "Thank you, too."

The dragon took off into the night sky with its many stars and its prominent moon.

They both looked off to that distance where the dragon was flying. Soon, she disappeared in the night.

Celestia turned around to face Luna. "So, anything you want to say before I go to bed, sister?"

A tense face on her.

Silence.

"Luna?"

"I have been meaning to tell you this for quite some time now," Luna began.

"What is it, then?" Celestia prodded, smiling. "There's nothing to worry about."

"There is something strange, something off, about a certain place."

"You want to investigate it?" Celestia's smile went away, but her kind voice was still there. "What about putting it off until a later date? There are still plenty of ponies' dreams to be watching over tonight."

Luna trembled a little, glancing at the sky for a brief moment. "If I do put it off, then when shall I perform the investigation?"

"Is it that urgent?" Celestia asked. "Tell me, Luna: what makes you suspicious about it? A mysterious pony or two? A villain hiding out there? Or, is it just a hidden treasure that you suspect?"

"Nothing precise, sister," Luna answered, her trembling halting. "All I know is that there is an unusual thing about Winsome Falls."

"Hmm." Celestia placed a hoof on her chin as she looked at the sky, wondering and thinking. "I can see reason as to why there might be something out-of-the-ordinary there. Nobody visits it often. Closest pony settlements are a few stray cottages here and there in the forests nearby." Then, taking a step forward and toward her sister, she said, "Even if you have nothing specific in your head, what do you think that the thing you're looking for is?"

"It is unclear," Luna responded, facing her sister and without even the slightest turning of her head. "What I want may end up being more about the clarifying and the solving of the mystery than the mystery itself."

Celestia walked to the bed, looking upon it. Turning her head to Luna, she said, "I don't know, Luna. We usually send investigators there to solve a mystery, not either of us. As pressing as the matter may be to you—" She placed a hoof on her sister's shoulder "—I'm sure that it will be solved with little hassle by our experts in the field."

Luna eyed the caring hoof on her shoulder.

Their manes flowed ethereal, both sparkling under the glimmer of the moon.

Then, the hoof retracted, catching a yawn.

"Well, if it can be resolved quite swiftly, then I shall delegate it to those who are duly prepared for it," Luna said, the smile coming back to her face though only a little.

Celestia nodded, her eyes now half-open and slightly baggy. "Now, take care of everyone in their sleep, Luna," Celestia said, heading her way to the doors inside the room, farther inside the building; she was looking at her sister all the way. "I know that you will do a great job tonight." Then, another yawn to catch and cover with a hoof.

Luna chuckled a little.

Celestia replied with a little chuckle of her own. "Now, I'm really going to bed."

The doors opened, glowing that magical yellow. Celestia went past them.

She turned her head around, getting one last glimpse of her sister.

They were both smiling.

The doors gently closed.

Luna was alone. Though the sounds of scattered talk and spread out carriages occupied Canterlot, they were muted—perhaps subdued—from where she was standing.

That sweeping view was now hers and hers only for the moment. Canterlot, in this nightly hour, was awash in both gas and electrical light, in contrast to the star's and the moon's, and brightening the city against natural darkness. The rush of wind that the occasional pegasus produced could be both seen and heard. Laughter accompanying the muffled jokes, cheers following celebrations unknown, discussions inspired by fuzzy thoughts—these filled the air in sound.

Luna was smiling.

Her horn glowed blue, she closed her eyes.

Then, she disappeared.

A rugged stallion—unicorn, since his hat didn't cover his horn,—loafed around in the grand hallway.

The hallway, though in the middle of the morning hours that weren't exactly morning, exuded still that noble grace; maybe, the solace of the room—with only that stallion and a few guards whose eyes weren't failing or slipping in the slightest—coupled with the soft and gentle touch of moonlight gave the hallway a better visage than its daytime counterpart.

Tall windows of stained glass, each depicting a theme. Over there, a mainly yellow and orange one displaying the sun with a smiling face. Moons or planets touching curved lines while stars adorned the entire thing. Beside that window, there was a primarily blue pattern going on. A sun, also, but the focus was more on the round planet near the bottom of the window and close to the polished (even reflective) white floor.

Columns of simple design served to spruce up the place, while the red carpet that rolled from the throne near the end of the hallway—itself held up by several levels of gold platforms—all the way to the big double doors at the other side.

It was a broad, roomy place.

It was also quiet. Awfully quiet. Except for the hoofsteps of the guards.

The stallion sighed as he forewent standing on all four hooves and sat on the floor.

The guards took notice of this action. With those fierce stone faces, they quickly looked away from him and went back to periodically scanning the room. Two guards walked from their posts and went on their patrolling routes throughout all of the room.

The stallion merely eyed each of the guards in succession. Though the guard looked back sometimes, there was no conversation. Only eye contact. Then, that contact was broken just as soon as it was made.

He grumbled.

A guard looked at him. He looked away.

"This is what I get for being early," he finally mumbled. "The Princess of the Night herself says, 'Come here at three o' clock in the morning.' I thought I would get the reward for being early by finishing my business early. Turns out, I'm the one who's valuing this whole 'get-up-early' thing too much!"

"Would you please quiet it down?" one of the guards spoke up in his deep baritone voice. "We must have it as quiet as possible in order to catch any possible intruder."

The stallion groaned. "Fine. Have it your way."

"Sir, you know that this is not just for your good, but it's for the good of all Equestria. What happens if somepony kidnaps the Princesses? Somehow? Again?"

"You have yourselves to blame for that, not me," the stallion replied, cracking a smile.

The guard sighed.

"Nothing to answer me back with, huh?" the stallion asked. "I hope the Princesses at least brought you up under some low-level rank. I mean, there's not much to steal here. Maybe the better guards are in the more valuable places."

"Just keep quiet so we can do our job, Watts Onion."

Then, Watts Onion groaned again, resigning to just sitting on the floor, waiting for Princess Luna.

About the Call

A closer inspection of Watts Onion and his features: He was a bright yellow unicorn, having on him a green mane and a green tail with no other color on them. His tipped hat was a straw hat—a simple one, with no ribbons, flowers, or any other acessories or embellishments. The color of his irises was green just like his mane. His cutie mark consisted of two parts: an onion bulb and a bolt of lightning.

Right now, he had a gruff look upon his face, his eyes slightly bagged and tired, though the shadow from the hat hid much of the work implied.

"Watts Onion, why exactly are you here?" the same guard from before asked, still in that deep baritone voice but with a suggestion of peaked curiosity. "I didn't expect an onion farmer to be called here by the Princess herself."

"I don't know, either," he answered. "I thought you would know. You're the guards around here, right?"

"Look, Watts Onion," the guard said, firming up his tone and pointing a hoof at him—eyes narrowed dead straight. "I will not deny the recent string of defeats that the E.U.P. Guard has suffered. But, that is no excuse to disrespect and to mistreat us."

The stallion gulped, his rough attitude cracking.

"Do you understand, sir?"

Watts Onion sighed. "Fine. There, I said it. I'll mindlessly obey every—"

"And, subtle insults also count against you."

"OK, I'll dismiss that, too."

"Ambiguous talk can be used against you, too."

Watts Onion flailed his front hooves in the air. "What am I supposed to agree to, then?!"

"Stay calm, stay behaved. If you can follow those rules, then I'm sure we'll have a good time."

The stallion gave one more sigh before he resigned himself again to just sitting down on the royal castle floor.

A few minutes later, a creak.

Everyone inside looked at the door.

Shining under the early morning moonlight, glistening in its soft brightness, beaming with subtle sparkle—that was Princess Luna, entering the grand hallway, her mane and her tail flowing in their ethereal movements.

Everyone bowed down to the Princess of the Night, inlcuding Watts Onion.

A tense, thick silence.

Hoofsteps as the Princess walked on the red royal carpet.

Finally, she stood in front of the called for stallion, Watts Onion.

He was trembling, shaking. Teeth clattering, eyes closed.

"I am Princess Luna," she began, holding in her sway that commanding voice of a leader. "But, I believe that you know that already, Watts Onion. And, I have also observed one thing from you already."

Watts Onion merely peeked out from his shivering state. "W-what is it, Princess Luna?"

"That you haven't me before," Luna answered. "That I have only read your name and your credentials, never actually meeting you in person whether it is in this world or in the dream realm, though I do know your appearance from quick glances."

The stallion was still in that trembling terror. "OK, Princess. OK!" he managed to blurt out. "Now, w-why did you call me here, Princess Luna?"

Luna assumed a straighter position. "Watts Onion, you are to be tasked with the objective of investigating Winsome Falls for anything that is of note. Whether it be of suspicious activity committed by anypony or anyone else, or it be of some historical, long-forgotten treasure or relic that has been abandoned for reasons unknown."

"Why? W-what's wrong with Winsome Falls?" the stallion asked, slightly stuttering.

"I have garnered no specific reason," Luna replied, now pacing the floor but keeping her eye on Watts Onion. "The only thing that I am sure of is that there is a mystery, a peculiar anomaly, that must be solved and that must be cleared up. It may prove to be an embarrassment if it reveals itself to be a false alarm, but if it is something worthy of further interest and action, then it must be handled with almost immediately."

Then, she stopped pacing.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Princess, but I don't understand."

Luna sighed. "You understand what I just said, right?"

"That, I do. But, w-why me? I-I'm just a simple unicorn farmer who plants and h-harvests o-onions. I've never done some i-investigating in my life."

"If you are concerned about there being not enough ponies to finish the task, then you are more than free to bring in some friends who you think are capable of solving the mystery or, at the very least, figure out what's going on over there."

"But, again, Princess—I a-apologize for further delaying your night duty, b-but, w-why me? Am I going to b-be the leader of the group?"

"For now, you are."

The guards merely watched, seeing the quavering stallion still in that nervous bow to the calm and collected Princess of regal composure. Some of them looked astounded, eyes wide at that proposition that the onion farmer was to be a leader of a group ordained by the Princess.

"I don't k-know what to say, Princess," Watts Onion finally said, his voice trembling still as he slowly stood up to a stand. "I f-feel overwhelmed by it all. What will my f-family say about this? M-my friends? The other ponies i-in town?"

"I am certain that they will almost be envious of your post," Luna said. "But, it is not to be held lightly—stumbling upon truths may unnerve the ponies unprepared for the act."

"I f-fully and I want to really, Princess," the stallion replied—though still shaking, was now more stable and brought about a smile on his face. "Whatever it takes to do w-what's right and good for E-equestria."

"So he says," a guard muttered under his breath and beneath suspicion.

Watts Onion bowed again, prostrating himself on the floor—trembling.

Everyone else looked upon this singular act.

Silence.

Luna took a few steps forward—slow, gentle steps.

She brought a hoof to the stallion's chin.

The stallion looked up.

A moonlit smile on Luna's face.

In that quiet night.

Yellow carriage fast on the lonely dirt road in the middle of the quiet night. The stars were still in their full number, the moon was still in its brightest condition—both shone their light upon the solitary landscape as a cool breeze brushed by, sweeping the fields of grass and the branches with leaves with its wind. Chirps of the crickets, hoots of the owls—they decorated and topped the land in its night.

The creak and clamber of the wooden wheels dashing, rotating in quick succession. The burly puller of the carriage galloping, speeding past the groups of apple trees and the bushes of flowers. Pants and gasps for air, although they didn't stop him from staying the course and maintaining his pace.

Inside the carriage, on the cushioned seat, lay a sleeping and snoring Watts Onion with a pillow on his head. A smile was across his face in between snores. Through the bumps, the twists, the turns—all that was sudden—Watts Onion slept soundly through it all, and even had a smile on his face.

Soon, buildings appeared in the distance—a settlement, a village of thatched cottages covered in hay roofs. Several lights were on, though not that many as could be seen from the not-so-near location of the carriage. Though, cresting over the hill, the pulling stallion finally came into a complete view of the town.

It wasn't a big town. It was quite small.

Fields of produce were at the outskirts—trees and ground crops were together in this place. Most of the buildings looked similar to each other, having those two characteristics that were there in other towns as well—thatches and hay roofs. Streetlights illuminated the town and, at this hour, they were the primary source of light since most of the building lights were off.

However, it was too far away to ascertain any more details of the town.

The carriage got nearer and nearer, pulling in at great haste.

Finally, it went past a wooden sign. The sign proclaimed, in bold letters: "Welcome to Ambling!"

A closer look of the town yielded a fuller result.

At the very early hours of the day, a few hours before the sunrise with its heralding of a brand new day in blue sky and white clouds and luminous sunshine, there weren't that many ponies outside. The ponies that were outside gave Ambling an amicable and amiable atmosphere to allay tiredness in: good cheer and loud yet courteous laughter being shared by groups of few yet close ponies, rumblings of carts and boxes as preparations went under way for the markets to open in the morning, interior lights showing ponies either writing now-unseen letters or reading novels at candlelight.

The road was still dirt, but it was now smoother and cleaner—less trash.

The pulling stallion slowed down, going from a gallop to a walk as he took in copious amounts of fresh air, passing by several houses.

Past a few glaring streetlights, past several ponies who gave the carriage no deep thought with a long look.

Then, stop.

The stallion, still tied to the carriage, walked up to the door, jumped up to the inside, and looked upon the resting Watts Onion.

A tap on the shoulder.

He groaned and yawned as he stretched his forehooves, his eyes opening with a leisurely start.

"I hope you had a good sleep back there," the pulling stallon said. "Now, it's time to go."

Watts Onion looked at the pony with a rested but haggard face.

"Come on, sir," he went on, urging him with an impatient hoof wave. "I don't have all night."

Watts Onion groaned again, stretching his forehooves again as he once more yawned.

"Will you stop with that?" he asked. "You're not making good use of me being as fast as I could."

"OK, OK!" the passenger answered, annoyed in tone and waving the driver off with his own hoof. "I'm sorry, but I have an important thing going on in this place right now, and I need every moment of the day to think about it and to plan well."

"Doesn't look like it when you're only sleeping."

"Eh, it'll seem the same," Watts Onion remarked as he hopped off the carriage. He turned to the stallion who then jumped off after him on to solid ground. "You're already paid, right?"

The driver nodded without a word.

"Then, I guess there's nothing else for you to do here," he said. Smiling, he went on. "Thanks for the ride."

"No problem," the driver said, smiling back as he pulled the carriage away, driving it farther down until he turned around at an intersection, finally disappearing behind a row of cottages.

In the morning

Kites—those flying shapes of different colors and of different materials were in the air, adorning the sky with their free range of movement and their freedom of creative expression as each one was different from the other. Those kites gave the Ambling sky a touch of uniqueness like when the other towns had, at times, brought out their own kites with their own flavors and their own styles. Of course, when there were pegasi in the clouds, managing the weather of the day, the town's sky was livened up more as those flying ponies went here and there, bringing in and bringing out clouds of various shapes and sizes to create what was supposed to be a very good sky, perfect for the inhabitants of the town on the ground.

What was there on the ground besides the houses and the stores and the dirt roads? Alongside the aforementioned market—which was small yet teeming with activity as the small crowd gathered there making a lively noise—there were some other attractions and locations inside Ambling that gave its citizens a colorful life: over there was the city park, arrayed in flowers and bushes and trees so arranged as to maximize the beauty that could be gained from the small square which also had a river and a few benches; a little bit beyond the park was the train station, which was merely a simple wooden structure half-surrounding a section of the railroad, providing passsengers a place to alight from a train and a place to board on to a train; a building in the middle of the town that served a public purpose by being purposefully spacious and sparsely decorated with things such as furniture, as it was a building in which any kind of event or occasion could be held in—on the wall was a recorded hoofwritten history of the events that took place there in recent, modern times like the wedding of more than several couples, the birthday parties of a few celebretees, the venue for many a simple blow-out just because it could be done; a simple auditorium where, from time to time, classical music was played with its symphonic melodies and its organized auditory delights as the strings, the brass, the percussion, the winds all played their part in bringing forth the music that sprinkled a typical Ambling day way into the night.

These were only but a few of the several interesting sights and sounds of Ambling.

Now, at a bench, feeding a few ducks on the sidewalk from his place at the bench was a pegasus. He held a bag of breadcrumbs, throwing what's inside on to the ground as the ducks happily ate what was there. There was a smile on the pegasus's face as he continued filling the ducks' bellies.

Watts Onion approached the pegasus as he walked into view. "Hello, Isobar."

Isobar gave the unicorn a smirk. "What are the goings-on lately, Onion?" he asked as he shooed the ducks away.

Onion sat up on the bench. "Not much. Well, it is much, but, hopefully, it'll all be over in a jiffy."

"What's supposed to be over in a jiffy? Got some new hybrid of onion or something? You're the type who likes to try out something new—I wouldn't be surprised if you got some quick-growing onions about you."

A short laugh. "As much as I want to try that one out, I don't think I'll have the time to research on quick-growing onions."

"So, what's the business, then?" Isobar asked, scratching his head which had his white mane. "You've got too many onions so I have to help you?"

"It's not time, yet. Usually." A pause as Onion looked upon the row of buildings in front of him. "Actually, it's more complicated than that."

"How much more? Like, are we going to be going to other kingdoms in search for onions?" Isobar let out a snicker.

"Not that complicated, but it's somewhere on that level."

"So, it is that complicated."

"Not quite."

Isobar gave his friend a slightly less happy look. "What is it? Spill the beans."

"We're going to Winsome Falls," Onion answered.

"Good!" Isobar yelled, grinning and holding his hooves up in the air. "We're going camping! I've always wanted to camp with some buddies. Too much time in the sky made me a bit far-out when it comes to appreciating what you see on the surface. I even bought a new camera for just such the occasion—we can take pictures of the natural plants and animals. After that, I might get too tired of that and I have to get back up to the sky."

"Floating on a cloud throughout the trip wouldn't be so great, would it?" Onion gave Isobar a knowing look. "But, that's beside the point. We're not camping at Winsome Falls. We won't be having picnics and we won't be relaxing at the lakes and at the rainbow falls."

"Then, it's gonna be boring," Isobar said. "What are we going to do there if it's not for camping?"

Onion gulped. He cleared his throat.

That caught the attention of the pegasus who tilted his head in confusion.

"We're going there," Onion replied, "to investigate something."

Some seconds of silence as the pegasus expressed the shock on his face.

"You're joking, right? This is just a joke, right?"

"Why would you think it's a joke?"

"Why else would you wanna say that you're investigating Winsome Falls? What kind of news is going on there? Tell me, huh?" He brought his front hooves to the air in playful protest. "What, huh?"

"What if it was an order by none other than Princess Luna herself?" Onion said.

Now, Isobar gulped. "Princess Luna told you to investigate Winsome Falls?"

"Well, she also told me that I can bring along some friends to help me out. So, by extension, you're also under her orders now since you're one of the friends I'm bringing along."

"Wait, wait, what?!" Isobar yelled. "You're getting way too ahead of yourself! I know that if the Princesses tell us to do something, we should really do that something because it must be for good reasons. But, do you have any idea what we're supposed to be—"

"Luna herself wasn't so sure," Onion said. "All she knew was that there was something that looked a little off in Winsome Falls." He adjusted his hat, looking up at it as he rotated it a little. Then, back to talking to the pegasus: "That's not helping much, and it would be great if the Princess herself would accompany us there, but she does have the rest of us to watch out for in our sleep."

Isobar merely looked at his unicorn friend in dumb-foundment. "Did you think this whole thing through, Onion? Because, I don't want you to be jumping at opportunities left and right just to—"

"It's not that. I wasn't looking for a job from the Princesses. Princess Luna specifically called for me."

Isobar gasped. After a short while, he said, "OK, now you're cooking! Well, you being a natural talent at handling onions both in farming and in cooking, it sort of makes sense that you would be cooking with both onions and garlic since garlic is just a variant of the onion if you take the word 'onion' in its broadest sense and—"

Onion was looking at his friend with a stern face.

"I thought you didn't know what the joke was about. Had to be safe." He shrugged and smiled.

"I know what you were talking about," Onion said. "And, honestly, this is not the time to be making jokes on the fly. Princess Luna wouldn't be telling anypony to go to Winsome Falls for a silly reason. There must be something big at work in the place, or at least it would look like there's something big at work there. Even if it's just the weather, at least we would be giving some peace to the Princess's mind."

"Yeah, that would be awesome to place on the wall. 'Watts Onion, the pony who gave peace to the mind of Princess Luna.' Then, there would be a portrait of you on the paper. It's just like a diploma!" He spread his front hooves wide open as if to display the imaginary diploma in front of him.

"Didn't I just tell you to knock the joke-telling off?"

Isobar shrugged again. "Probably?"

Onion sighed as he got off the bench. "I'll think more about this, alright? In the meantime, think about it as well. You're a very good friend and that's despite you and your busy work with your organization."

"And, you're also a very good friend and that's despite you and your busy farm work," Isobar said back.

"Huh? Was that friendly sarcasm?"

"Only for you to find out, my kind friend!"

Onion sighed as Isobar laughed on the bench.

He walked away.

At the wooden desk, sitting on a chair, head rested there as his hooves held his hat in front of him.

The room was mostly made up of wood, brick, and mortar. A single bed lay over there, with a simple and plain blanket and pillow. A bookshelf with various books was at the wall alongside a few family pictures showing what they were: on one picture, a stallion and a mare in each other's arms, facing the camera—an Earth pony stallion and a unicorn mare alongside four children, two stallions and two mares. They were all smiling, all beaming with happy grins.

Posters on the wall of Daring Do and the Power Ponies, covering up much of one wall and bringing a little bit of variety to the room. The windows let in the bright sunshine, bringing in rays of light. Over on the side were the stairs.

Watts Onion sighed, still holding his hat. "What have I gotten myself into? Yesterday, I was just minding my own business, taking care of the onion crops. Now, I'm on a mission as if I'm some sort of detective. Of course, a detective would need his assistants—not a single assistant, because I have no idea how this will actually work. Then, there's the journey to Winsome Falls which isn't hard, but I can't just take a taxi to the place. No airships—that's out of the question; too expensive, and I wouldn't want to waste money in getting there because, even if we do get there, what are we going to do? Just see if there's anything fishy and report to Princess Luna? I know that it's not going to be that simple—there's more to it than just telling Princess Luna what's over there. I hope that it's just a false alarm like what she said, because if it's a false alarm, then we would be over with this business fairly fast."

Then, Onion stood up and kept his hat on the desk. He paced the room, looking at the window as he did so with its bright blue sky just beyond the wall.

"She didn't sound urgent," he said. "It's not like I have to go there right away. She's probably expecting me to take a few days at most to get all I need and to bring in all the friends I could get for the task like how she said it." Then, a halt to his pacing. "Maybe it would end up being nice—Winsome Falls is beautiful, after all. Surely, Isobar would be glad to bring in his new camera there no matter what."

Then, he dropped himself on his bed.

Onion groaned.

"I'll just see what's gonna go on later."

Excitement

The royal hallway, lined with those tall columns and that long red carpet and those baskets of sweet-smelling lavenders, was under the light of the morning sun, complementing and accompanied by the clear blue sky in which only a few pegasi were at, flying about and transporting themselves to here and there. The sound of hushed talk from another room across the end of the hallway, the smoothness of the clean and polished floor—all completed by the lavenders' fragrance filling the hallway.

In that hallway, Princess Celestia and Princess Luna were walking.

"So, sister," Celestia began, "what did you do about your Winsome Falls anxiety? Have you managed to decide on something about it?"

"I have," Luna answered, an air of confidence around her though keeping up a serious face. "I've chosen a leader to head a group of ponies to investigate Winsome Falls."

Celestia nodded. "You've done the right thing, Luna. You don't need to stress yourself too much; I'm sure that you've entrusted this to ponies that you think are able."

Luna smiled. "I think so, sister."

Celestia smiled, too. Then, she giggled. "Well, now that you don't have to worry, we can settle other, more pressing matters at hoof."

They were at the end of the hallway, the hushed talk at its loudest before the next room.

Celestia and Luna opened the double doors together, with Celestia magically holding one side and Luna magically holding the other, the double doors glowing in both yellow and blue.

"Watts Onion!" a voice called out from downstairs. "Time for breakfast!"

"Coming!" Onion called out as he leaped out of his chair at the desk and rushed down the stairs—or, rather, slid down the railing of the stairs.

Jumping off from the speed, landing on the wooden floor, galloping past one room and then finally entering the dining area.

It was a cozy place. The brown, wooden table matched the brown, wooden floor and the brown, wooden chairs and the brown, wooden cabinets and shelves. The cabinets and shelves contained, among other foodstuffs, onions of various kinds—red onions, white onions, pickled onions, even some onion flowers which were white, small, and numerous at the end of the sturdy stem.

Then, there was the table itself and the food that it held. On the long table was a lineup of some dishes all cooked with onion: brown fried onions on platters, small white pickled onions in a large bowl, sugar onion cakes, onion fritters, onion gravy for the other vegetables like cabbage and lettuce and tomatoes and the onion fritters, roasted whole onions, and a big onion pie at the middle. All were steaming hot, emanating that savory onion aroma with a hint—but, it was a noticeable hint—of garlic.

At the table was the rest of the family: the burly Earth pony stallion wearing a straw hat, the quaint and dainty unicorn mare with some flowers on her yellow mane, another Earth pony stallion that was younger and was also wearing a straw hat—bearing a striking resemblance to his father—another yet younger unicorn mare wearing a full-on dress, and there was an even younger Earth pony mare who merely looked at the onion buffet and was grinning.

"Alright, Watts," the father said, placing the straw hat on the table. "Take yer' seat and little Onion Bulb can eat—she's been eyeing the grub for a long time."

"Heh," Watts let out as he hopped up to the only empty chair and as everyone else dug in, grabbing plates and utensils with either hooves or magic. It was a peculiar sight: half of the items there were being moved by hooves, the other half were being moved by unicorn magic. It was a sight that wasn't that organized.

Watts, lighting up his horn, magically held his own plate which glowed a blue glow. Taking a few lettuces and a few pieces of fried onion and a lot of the onion fritters and putting it all on one plate.

"You must be hungry!" the younger stallion said. "I didn't expect my little brother to be eating this much for breakfast! Guess the Princess must've made you tired!"

"Not exactly, Onion Chutney," Watts said, placing on a sheepish smile, nervously glancing at his family members.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" the younger mare yelled. "I almost forgot you had an audience with Princess Luna! How was it?!"

"Forecast," the older mare said, placing a tender hoof on her shoulder. "You've got to learn how to calm down about these things."

She turned to Watts Onion. "Now, I know you must've been very excited that Princess Luna herself called you for a clearly important subject. I also know that you also hold some massive responsibility with the orders of the Princess. But, don't get yourself too tense about it, OK?"

"Besides," the older stallion spoke up, "what's this business about anyway? If my son is going to work directly for one of the Princesses, then we deserve to know some of the details." A smile appeared on his face.

All eyes were on him.

Watts gulped. "Well, precisely—ah—uh—I—eh—"

"Quit that stammering, brother!" Chutney said. "Get to it!"

Watts quickly breathed in some air and said, "I'm going to clear up something in Winsome Falls."

"Clear up what?" the older mare asked.

A few seconds of silence. Even Onion Bulb stopped her chewing on the food as she, along with everyone else, looked at Watts.

"The Princess thinks that there's something going on in Winsome Falls. She doesn't know what exactly, but she knows that it's unusual. She said that I could bring in some friends along for the journey and the search but, other than that, that's all I know about it."

The family kept quiet for yet another few seconds.

The father smiled. "Well, not only are you going to be working for Princess Luna herself, you're also going to be uncovering a mystery! When you do find it out, that's going to bring in some good to you—'Watts Onion the final key to the Winsome Falls Mystery!' Just imagine the news!"

"Yeah!" Chutney yelled, hugging his brother and almost making him fall off of his chair. "We should ask somepony to take a picture before you leave! Too bad nopony was there to take a picture of you and Luna! That would've been amazing!"

"Amazing?!" Forecast shouted. "That's more than amazing! I'm going to go crazy over this if he doesn't go right now!"

"Hey, hey, calm down," the older mare said, holding her frizzled daughter with a hoof.

"Heh," the father said. "Just like you when you were younger or so I've heard, Arc."

She only gave a smile at that.

"Does that mean I can still eat?" Onion Bulb asked, holding her plate up in the air while still at her seat. "I don't want to wait."

The family went quiet again at this.

Then, laughs.

Watts Onion sat on his solitary bed.

It was quiet in his room.

"My family's OK with it," he said to himself. "More than ecstatic, actually." Then, he looked at his forehooves. "But, what's next? Even if I do get the friends I need, will I be able to come back the same?"

He sighed as he got out of bed and looked out the window, seeing the ponies walking on the street.

It was a sunny day in Ambling. No wheeled carriages except for the occasional taxi; almost everypony was on the street, talking with each other as they smiled. Several ponies were at the park, chasing each other and playing around, sitting down on a picnic mat and having an outside meal, handling and flying kites.

"What am I gonna find there?" he asked himself, still seeing the beautiful landscape in front of him.

Then, another sigh.

"I hope it's just a false alarm."

Organization

Isobar, pushing a cart of lawnmowers, called out to the colts and the fillies on the street. "Everypony! Want to help spruce up Ambling? Tired of it being stuck in stagnation? Then, fear no more! Some honest work, some honest and good work's up for the taking and for the grabbing, children!"

Not all of them went off to the cart, but a great number of them did—clambering their hooves on the cart as they attempted to hold on to the contraptions inside, all the while making a big noise as as they shouted and screamed.

"Hey, everypony, let's do this in an orderly fashion!" Isobar said. "We don't want to ruin these fine machines, do we?"

A mixed collection of "No!"'s went out from the young, youthful crowd, though not all of them said it. Others paid no attention, still jostling the lawnmowers about in a try to yank them out.

"If that's what you want, then let's get this cart rolling to good old Dandy Soda!"

Murmurs of positive, cheery delight surrounded the cart as it wheeled its way on the street, circled by a throng of foals with Isobar at the helm, having on him a subtle smile.

At the outskirts of Ambling, near a lush hill of the countryside, was a small cottage out of brick. It was tiny compared to the large houses back in the center of the town—one floor, a measly bungalow with three windows and a tight door. At the foot of the walls outside were a bunch of flowering bushes, giving life to the cottage.

The lot, however, was quite expansive. With no fence or other sign of a boundary for the house, its yard was, theoretically, infinite in its seamless fields of grass. The wind accentuated this point by moving the huge array of grass into a shared sway, standing in stark contrast to the rigidity and the stability of the lonely cottage in the middle of rurality.

The bustling sound of an approaching band of young ponies and the loud creaks of a cart's wheels became more audible as both of them neared the cottage.

Then, at where the dirt road stopped, the band and the cart stopped, also.

Festive, vigorous hushed murmurings was much of what Isobar heard as he looked at the young crowd around him. With a nod of his head, he walked towards the small house with the herd of foals following him.

At the door, Isobar knocked.

A moment of silence. Rufflings. Hurried hoofsteps getting louder.

The crowd hushed completely, now in its own silence.

The door swung open, revealing, besides a small wooden hallway with a few choice landscape paintings and ways to other rooms, a kind smile on the face of a sturdy stallion whose bushy mustache, top hat, and bowtie distinguished him from the ponies just outside. "Why, isn't it nice to see you?!" He clutched Isobar's hoof, surprising him slightly as could be seen by the sudden widening of his eyes.

"Yes, it's nice to see you, too, Dandy Soda," Isobar replied, going along with the strong greeting gesture. "Uh, how would you like it if you paid these foals for trimming your lawn? Better than just loitering about, right, mister?" He nodded throughout his request, his smile growing as it went on.

"Why not?" Dandy Soda said, taking his hat off and throwing it at the foals who, at once, jumped and ran to obtain that fancy top hat. The stallion let out a haggard laugh. "I earn too much, I guess," he then said, his smile fading away, though that wistful and wishing glint on his eyes was still there. "What's the use of all this money if I don't see the value of it?"

"Kind of strange coming from a pony who's gotten quite rich from what I've heard about you," Isobar said.

"It was what they call new wealth," Dandy Soda explained. "Some tried to deride it, saying that I'm profiting off of making foals' teeth unhealthy. Truth is, all candies do that and nopony complains unless it's clearly too much." Then, brushing something off with a hoof, "Nah, that's besides the point. Here I am, helping you helping these folk. I'm proud that you look after them as if you had children of your own." Finally, a grin with closed eyes.

Isobar smiled, too, the noise of colts and fillies still trying to get the fancy top hat for themselves persisting in the background.

"But, of course, you've got to get them to mow my lawn first, buddy!" Dandy Soda said, playfully pushing Isobar away and motioning a hoof towards the cart of lawnmowers.

"Heh, it must've slipped my mind, sir!" Isobar said in a nervous yet relieved tone as he trotted towards the cart and looked on at the anarchy of tumbles and turns and runs and chases and petty fights over a top hat that merely exchanged from one set of hooves to another in quick succession.

"Alright, everypony!" Isobar said. "That's Dandy Soda's hat, not yours, OK?"

After almost an hour of hard work and of questions about where Dandy Soda's property ends—which also meant questions bout where the work of mowing the lawn ends—the ponies, drenched in sweat but beaming with a job well done, walked to Dandy Soda who was now sitting on the dirt road, having watched the entire business from its start to its trimmed completion.

Laughter, chuckles, giggles; small talk, chit-chat, and discussions; jokes, shouts, expressions of awe—all these sprout out of the youth that bundled and huddled around Isobar as they all approached the stallion who was holding several stacks of bits along with sacks of bits as well nearby.

"That's it!" Dandy Soda said as he stood up and immediately shook Isobar's hoof, surprising him again and almost making him trip over and fall—through all of that, Dandy Soda smiled. "Look at that fine work you've all done there, cleaning up my place!"

Everyone looked behind them.

The grass, though disorderly just an hour ago, was now of equal height and stature. It was a muster of well-organized plants, all standing up to beautify the small cottage which remained the highlight of the location.

Dandy Soda took in a breath of the fresh countryside air.

Isobar, looking at him, did the same and closed his eyes.

A hoof on Isobar's shoulder.

As the crowd of foals descended into charged conversation and noise—now with the topic of having mowed somepony's lawn added to their repertoire of ideas and memories—Dandy Soda said, "If only the rest of them could think just like you do, Isobar. These ponies play, but in their play, I sense an endeavor to be gained. I sense an energy that would vitalize and shake this town to a grand morning, one that will rejuvenate this little village and bring it to the prominent forefront of our society if only we older ones stop thinking to ourselves that these younger ones have only minor desires in mind. Curiosity and inquisitiveness—the drive and the strive to cause a storm of innovation, freeing it from its indefinite laze. Oh! That you would bring this about in just a day, Isobar, but not everypony has this mindset and, if I were to be honest with you, it pains me at times whne I think of the wasted potential all because of this old-fashioned thought." He hung his head down, that glistening in his eyes remaining though dim.

Isobar looked at the stallion. "I don't know what to say, sir. But, I'll try, Dandy Soda."

Dandy Soda lightned up. "Good, Isobar."

Isobar then looked at the foals who were then back to squabbling and chasing each other and fighting—though, Isobar noticed that there were more smiles among the colts and fillies.

Isobar, flying past the buildings of Ambling, feeling the wind stream past him as his fur stuck out even if with not much notice, was moving about in town as the sun at its setting phase shone its sharp orange light on to the land, its rays more visible than ever.

Over there, a mare holding a box of chocolates. She was walking beside a stallion who was holding a box of chocolates. They smiled at each other, laughing at the little things they said that Isobar was too far away from to hear with clarity.

And, over at some other place, there was a group of foals flying some kites—running about, even, on the street as they went along with the curve of the road, their kites above somewhat following their direction and their path.

Also, over here, some ponies planting a few plants just outside the dirt roads, patting the ground where the plant finally was when all was said and done.

Isobar landed in front of a medium-sized house and folded his wings.

The house was two-storied. Like the other houses, there were wooden thatches—framework. The roof was made of hay. The family mumblings and mutterings from behind the walls and past the windows were of a hearty, upbeat kind.

Isobar knocked on the door. "Hello?!"

Then, rough and rapid hoofsteps, from the second floor to the first floor. A skid, a slide. Louder hoofsteps. The door glowed blue and it opened, revealing a tired yet smiling Watts Onion.

"Well, well, look who decided to show up just when I was thinking about that!" Onion said, pulling Isobar along and yanking him inside the house and closing the door with his magic, continuing his moving of the pegasus now with pushing instead of pulling.

"Who's that?" his father asked from inside the kitchen and unseen.

"Isobar!" Watts replied. "We're going to be upstairs and talk about the you-know-what!"

Not a word in response.

The two stopped midway through the stairs, both of them looking down.

"That's good! Fixing up your plans and thinking it all through before you make the first move, though it would've been better if you'd done it sooner. Unless he was busy beforehoof. But, anyway, go along!"

Watts faced Isobar and smiled.

"You're getting any crazy ideas, yet?"

"Just move!"

And Watts pushed Isobar up the stairs.

Watts Onion paced the floor, looking down at it with hoof on chin. He went here to his bed's side. Then, at the window. Then, at the railing of the staircase. Then, at his desk. Then, at his posters. Then at his bed's side again.

"Can you tell me what's going on?" Isobar asked. "You've gotten, well, unusual about this Winsome Falls mystery or case or whatever!"

"Well, do you want to pass up on such a royal opportunity?" Watts shot back, arching his eyebrows at his friend. "Besides, it's important official business we're dealing with here. If things go too bad, we call in the royal guards as backup, OK?"

"I can't believe you're viewing this in both ways and still be mistaken!" Isobar responded, approaching his friend and grabbing hold of him.

Watts gulped.

"I don't know what you've been doing, but you're not supposed to be thinking about this in crazy ways! Yes, this is important—no doubt about that. Yes, Princess Luna is the pony who ordered you to go to Winsome Falls and do something about what's there—I don't think you're just going there on some royal vacation. And, yes, I'd be willing to take this up when you're all prepared and set to go. But—" He let go of his friend and then raised a hoof in the air "—I also have my own life to think about! After a few hiccups, I've finally got the ball rolling on my organization work—brought a lot of the foals here some hard-earned money for mowing Dandy Soda's lawn. To take me out of the picture right after that would be sending these foals a not-so-good message."

"Well, you at least inspired them," Watts said, "so, let's just hope that inspiration is enough to let them fly on their own."

"That's not how you talk about these young ponies!" Isobar said.

"What's going on?" Watts' mother asked from downstairs.

The two looked at each other, throwing away their angry expressions and rushing to the railing.

"Nothing!" Watts yelled. "We're just, uh, having our friendly shouting match!"

"Friendly shouting match?"

Isobar held Watts's shoulder. "What were you thinking?!" he whispered.

"What?!" Watts whispered back. "I was running out of ideas!" Then, he faced away and towards the first floor. "Uh, Mom! It's a new thing that we've made up! It, uh, brings us closer together as friends! Just like the Princess of Friendship would recommend!"

"We have the Journal of Friendship and that seems pretty out of place."

Watts gulped. "Twilight Sparkle and her friends learn something new about friendship everyday, right? It's one of those new things that haven't made it to the book in time!"

Silence.

Both of the stallions upstairs looked at each other. Watts was biting his lip, sweat going down his face.

"OK. That sounds weird, but if it's what the Princess of Friendship says, then that's what she says."

A few more seconds of silence between the two.

Then, both of them let out a "Phew!"

Watts Onion jumped to his bed and lay there, face up. He let out a sigh of relief.

"We don't have to worry about shouting at each other now, I guess," Isobar said, returning his angry face though not to its fullest extent. "But, my point still stands. You have to wait for me to have some free time in my hooves before I can really help you."

"What if I just tell Princess Luna about, hm, insubordination?"

"You haven't sent a letter to Princess Luna about it, so you've already lost that opportunity."

Watts sighed. "Help me out here, Isobar!"

"Looks like I'm staying here for some time, huh?"

Isobar let out a sigh of annoyance.

"So, Electric Arc," the father said as he resided at the table, holding a guitar though not playing it, "what was that all about?"

The mother sat down beside him. "Lacrimal, I think Watts is getting too excited about his royal orders from Princess Luna."

"What makes you think that?"

Electric Arc giggled a little. "Who thinks there's 'friendly shouting matches'? I don't think the Princess of Friendship would approve of such a thing, anyway."

Lacrimal placed a hoof on his head as he rested his shoulder on the table. "Give him some time. I'm sure he will simmer off."

Expectations

Outside the window, the sun was ever getting nearer to the hoirzon and to the day's end. Quiet yet near were the flicks of switches as, one by one, lights turned on from inside the many buildings—whether they be house or store or some other kind of building—lighting up, with the streetlights, the wooden and brick rows that spoke of the simple present.

The sky was, second by second, turning slightly more orange or more red. The sunlight lessened, darkening the town yet making prominent and distinct what made ponies see well for many a night before and for the night incoming. The kites and the pegasi in the air slowly turned into mere figures in the distance.

Finally, the rolling of carriage wheels and the open talk of free ponies at the night's onset ushered in a social party that was not celebrated with shouts of announcement but rather with the silent assent of the ponies that, yes, this is now the time to rise up from their chairs (after dinner has been eaten) to breathe in the welcoming cool breeze of the dim hour and to relish in the revelries of what had been planned from before: actual parties in which ballons and streamers and confetti decorated the ponies who danced and sang and just talked in the midst of the fun, walk-outs where a group of stallions and mares would huddle together and walk about the streets of town with the intent of engaging in whatever was in the majority's thought to engage in as they passed by parks both big and small along with several shops and friends' houses, taxis ordered to rein in either family or friends (or both, which was the least common but the most anticipated as could be heard by loud and happy greetings of many from just across the street) into a carriage or two in order to whisk them away to some town or city in Equestria or even beyond—from the murmurings across the street, one could glean a yelled "Manehattan!" followed by a row of gasps and whoops.

Of course, it all seemed the more premature when the sun did set.

For that better part of the minute, the hurried starts of activity halted as the incremental darkening suddenly sped up. Ponies looked up, seeing the sun quickly descend behind the hills and the mountains over yonder, the sky turning a contemplative purple or lavender as stars twinkled into view and as the moon slowly yet obviously ascended to bring about its soft glow and shine upon the land, its glimmer being reflected on the borders of the roofs and on the blades of grass.

There were expressions of "Ooh!" and, also, expressions of "Ahh!" throughout it all, still bedazzling those who looked up with eyes of wonder and smiles of amazement, of a mind that did not want to cease being amazed by what was otherwise seemed to be mundane.

With that, the night's revelries continued in earnest, finding, in the beginning of the night, its official start of things.

All this Watts Onion and Isobar observed as they both looked out the window, standing beside each other as, now, the moonlight was on their faces.

Silence between them, background noise throbbing with its pleasant fervor of hoofsteps and hurried, excited verbal exchange.

"Alright," Isobar said, "there's that. Which reminds me—" He looked at Watts Onion "—of Princess Luna." A pause. "So, as much as I want to stay here and help you out with this Winsome Falls search or adventure, I only have, what, half an hour? Tell me, Onion, how bad is it going to be? It can't be that bad, otherwise Princess Luna would've sent you with immediate orders to rally ponies up for the cause, but you aren't doing that."

"But, it's the Princess of the Night we're talking about!" Onion countered, raising in front of him a balled up hoof as if to make or to emphasize a point there. "I don't want to be lazy about it and make myself a bad name in front of her!"

"Princess Luna is wise," Isobar said. "If she didn't sound very worried about it, then she thinks it's not urgent." He sat on the bed, still facing Onion. "Come on, think about it! Give it a few days of preparation and just relax and unwind, Onion."

"But, there's the—"

"No more excuses, Onion," Isobar said, standing up from the bed with force and speed, placing a hoof on his friend's mouth.

Onion's eyes looked at the friend in front of him.

"Lots of heroes and heroines of Equestria didn't go rushing about to get recognized as such. Most of them didn't expect to be given those nice titles—they wanted to do what they were doing because it was their passion. Now, here you come and you're not really that serious about solving whatever is going on in Winsome Falls, are you?"

"Of course, I'm serious about that," Onion said, now calming down as his voice shrank into a manageable volume. "Who would want Princess Luna to be constantly troubled in the head for a month or two?"

"Neither did our heroes," Isobar answered, "yet did they stress themselves out when they shouldn't? I don't think so. They had to be in good condition to do the great feats that we end up learning in history class, and being stressed all the time with lots of overthinking is surely not a part of that. Nor is wanting the fame more than the actual job." He shot a smirk at his friend. "Now, which of the two are you, really? Unless you're stressing about the possible fame you want to get."

"You know me more than that, Isobar," Onion said before letting out a nervous chuckle and a slow shaking of his head. "It's just, I'm being thrust into this and I'm aware of what you're saying but...it's—it's all—"

"Don't try to be talk your way out of this," Isobar said.

Silence again as Isobar sat on the bed again.

Onion, sighing, took a seat on the bed, sitting beside Isobar as they both looked out the window.

Over there, the dark blue night sky with its stars and its bright moon and not a single cloud to obscure this alluring and charming view, that view extending all the way to the boundaries that stretched far away.

With one more sigh, Onion looked at his friend. "So, anything else to demoralize me or what?"

"I'm not trying to demoralize you," Isobar answered, a hint of unease in his voice. "I'm just telling you to see the reality of it: You can't just grab me out of the day I planned out to join your 'little' adventure and, no, I know it's not little but—you're making too much out of this. I'm already trying to help you—I'm thinking about what day to join you within this week, probably entrust my responsibilites over the foals to Lobby Bud. But, he has his own life going on as well—printing the local newspapers at the press station and all. If I get yanked into your adventure and if Lobby Bud gets yanked into my organization and if we don't do this right, there's going to be some angry ponies at my doorstep—and I won't be there to help them!" A sudden smile before it went away, back to that concerned look. "Alright?"

Onion nodded.

Isobar stood up. "You've camped with your family before. I'm sure you know how to arrange all we need before we go. In the mean time, ask a few more to join you—we need more than just the two of us to get around to something concrete for the Princess herself."

Onion nodded again, his lips quivering slightly.

"Wakes Week and Dally News—why don't you try asking them?" Isobar then spoke up, a turn up of cheerfulness in his voice.

"Oh. Why didn't I think of that?" Onion scratched his head.

Isobar smiled. "Now that you have it in your head, go ask them tomorrow. As for me—" He rounded to the top of the stairs "—I must go."

Onion smiled back. "Thanks for that, Isobar."

"And—" Isobar saluting his friend with a raised wing to his eyebrow "—thanks for listening. If things go well, I'm hoping to meet you on Thursday."

Onion nodded and waved him a goodbye.

Isobar did so, too, before he flew down the flight of stairs.

Onion continued smiling as he heard the hoofsteps that rushed to the dark yet brightly lit outside. He scampered to the window and saw the pegasus spread his wings again and fly in the air.

"And, I hope to be seeing you help the Princess as well, Isobar," Onion muttered before turning to his bed.

He sat on the bed again.

Placing a hoof on his chin, he wondered and pondered and though. Looking out the window, he saw that night sky again with its star and moon.

"Maybe a night out will calm my mind down," he said to himself.

A few more seconds of looking out of that window.

Then, he got up.

"Uh, I'm gonna go out, guys!" he shouted down the stairs.

Stepping outside and closing the front door, he was in the open, feeling the chilling wind go past him but not shivering at all. Rather, he kept his small smile about him as he walked away from his home and into wherever he was going to.

The buildings near his house looked quite similar to that—made of brick and wood, consisting of two floors or stories. The variations that were there were minor ones that did not attract much attention to the mind: a different color of paint, a different door, a different smell emanating from inside through the windows. To these, the Earth pony didn't look at or dwell upon that much.

Across the street in front, there was a smaller park fenced off mostly by concrete and metal but, otherwise, kind and accommodating by the fountain at the center around which a few ponies were at either at the benches or on the ground. The fountain made that continuous noise of rushing and flowing water, being only an ornament to the water that crashed gently at the bottom with its fresh look.

Now at the fountain itself, he dragged a hoof across the water, feeling its smooth texture while passing through it.

And, as soon as he had went there, he went away from the fountain, now observing the ponies who were already in the park.

There was that group of planters looking about as if they were not supposed to be seen. Then, a shout of "Go!" from one of the mares and the ponies digged, planted, patted, and hurried out from their act of guerilla planting, exiting the park in gallops.

On one of the benches, a few ponies were talking to each other while, sometimes, looking at the sky in their short pauses between lines of dialogue.

There was a pony, prepared with stage light and easel, painting a portrait of the park as it was. He was calm—never saying a word but only painting, painting, painting, a look to see the park once again, and then back on to painting.

Several foals were playing in the park even in the nightly hour, chasing each other in an attempt to catch one of them. Laughs and smiles were in this game, youthful innocence displayed in this.

And, as Watts Onion exited the park and went on to the road again, he looked at his surroundings, seeing the several ponies in their different activities—eating and drinking, riding and pulling a carriage, writing or reading, strumming or listening, cooking or smelling, selling or buying, telling or knowing, and the rest, too, as all of this was being done under the lights of stars, moons, streetlights, and building lights and in the different backgrounds of street, park, restaurant, diner, house, and so on in Ambling.

A carriage carrying bundles of thick and blank newspaper, all grouped and collected under well-tied rope.

The night in Ambling was, as of now, not in a state of snooze or large slumber. Rather, it was bustling with that level of movement that characterized the start of a night's happy plans with whatever's joyful being shared around to each and every creature who was in sight, eliciting smiles at the freshness of the hour as that chilling wind gusted past once again, bringing back to mind the fact that the night was cold.

Watts Onion looked up, seeing, again, the moon and its stars in their places, adorning and beautifying the sky and the night overall.

Then, a shudder, though he kept his smile intact. "What if Princess Luna visits me in my dream tonight? I don't know how to react to that! OK, maybe it's not too serious." He sighed. "Just to check on me, that's all. Nothing that's going to break my mind or anything. Just to check on me and to ask if I'm making any progress. That's if she checks on me at all druing the night. What if it's something else? What if—no, that's me thinking it all too much again. Gotta listen to Isobar: I should be calm and relax and not think about it too much while I do my best to prepare for the adventure at hoof. No panic attacks, no stressing out, just relax like what he said." A grin appeared on his face as he walked about on the street. "Maybe a trip to the bakery would calm me down even further—take me away from the thought of it all. Or, just the diner. Yeah, a diner would be nice to stay in."

It was a greasy place. Loud sizzles of frying food as hayburgers were cooked up and served under one minute and horseshoe fries in less than a minute's half as the servers did not walk but ran their way to the customers who were of varied descrptions—Earth ponies, pegasi, unicorns were all there; frazzled manes and combed manes were there, too; suited and unclothed ponies were there, also; ponies tapping their hooves in anxiety and impatient and ponies who merely looked about and observed their surroundings were there.

But, the hurry must continue on in this diner: Bells were rang both on the counter and at the door, hoofsteps both quick and slow (loud and quiet), slurps and chomps of rude manners, shouts of orders and commands to this or that pony behind the counter as each and all of them were moving about in ordered haste, all the while that familiar smell of fried food wafted throughout the entire diner, almost completing the atmosphere of that diner as what's typical for such an establishment. Ponies entering and ponies leaving in a fast fashion, diner staff clothed in white and red while wearing smiles that served to brighten up anypony's night—this was what was going on inside.

Sitting at a counter on a small swivel chair, swinging about nervously, he took a hold of his hay burger and took a bite off of it. Chewing on it, enjoying the tasty experience—crisp and fried hay crunched and crackling inside as the added flavors inside burst, providing a savory flavor to that crisp; fresh lettuce and tomatoes giving that succulent zest; buns providing that cushion on which what was between them could be unified into one singular yet diverse taste of the hayburger.

And, on the counter, too, was a bag of horseshoe fries—fries shaped like horseshoes.

"It's just another night," Onion said after gulping in the first bite. "Don't worry too much about it—but how can I if it's something super important? And, of course, there's the fame—why did he have to mention that? Now that I know for certain that I'll be famous if I pull this one off right, I want that fame and I want it very soon! Imagine all the pictures of my face on the history books—" Then, he slapped himself on the face. "No!" He balled up his front hooves and let go of his hayburger. "I'm here just to loosen up and to get away from the task for a while. Then, a good night's sleep, dreaming of something else—hanging out with my friends and maybe going on a trip to some big city like Vanhoover or Fillydelphia, not dreaming about journeying to Winsome Falls. I don't want to spend too much time there." Shivering a little, he looked at his hayburger again and took another bite off of it.

Eating alone at the counter, though surrounded by tables of ponies happily telling each other what was on their mind, gesturing and gesticulating with their forehooves at times. The sizzle went on in the background as Watts Onion munched on his hayburger, smiling as he enjoyed it. After that, he wiped his mouth clean from any culinary stain.

"But, planning ahead won't hurt, right?" he asked. Some moments of pause. "No. I'll plan it all tomorrow. Right now, it's time to do whatever I want and what I want now is to eat my hayburger!"

Several ponies then looked at him with strange, weirded-out looks.

He looked around him, seeing the ponies' response to his sudden outburst.

"Uh, whoops! I'm sorry!"

Not a word was said for a while. Quiet hoofsteps and sizzles.

"I'll...just go b-back to my food, huh?"

Slowly turning away with some shuddering, he returned to eating his food.

The chatter around him went back in full force, bringing the diner back to what it was before: a good, homely and cozy place to eat in.

Laying on his bed, moonlight on the floor. Posters on the wall, not much going on downstairs as hoofsteps punctuated what was otherwise a quiet night.

Eyes wide open; no sign of a struggle to keep awake. The blinks were fast—as what would be expected from a pony who still had some energy left.

Looking up at the ceiling, seeing the wooden parts and materials of it.

"Just don't worry," he said to himself. "Don't stress too much about it. Everything is going to work out as planned—if I don't have a plan, then I'll plan it tomorrow. Everything will work out the way I will plan it, then."

He sighed.

His breathing apparent. Clear in the middle of the quiet night.

Some hoofsteps outside the house. Carriages rolling by. Some sentences and questions from the street.

Placing his hooves on his eyes, closing them.

Yet, he moved about, going to one side then to the other.

He woke up, opening his eyes.

"How long has it been?" he asked.

So, he looked at the clock on the wall.

"One minute? How am I supposed to go through the night if one minute feels like thirty? I have to think of something else for a while!"

Then, a bright smile. A hoof raised. "I have an idea!"

Rushing off to a shelf, he grabbed two things: a Daring Do book and a Power Ponies comic.

Throwing them on to the bed, he then leaped on to it, avoiding the pieces of literature as he landed. Getting a hold on the Power Ponies comic, he opened it and read.

"This ought to get Winsome Falls out of my head," Onion said, attempting to assure himself.

On the cover of that comic was that famous group of six ponies: the Power Ponies. Masked Matter-Horn, in sleek red and gray and goggles with somewhat flowing mane; Radiance, in flashly style and, well, radiance in the form of beauty accompanied with a costume that had depictions of gems and crystals all over; Mistress Mare-velous, suited in red and equipped with her long lasso known for stopping several baddies; Fili-Second, costumed in white with arrows telling whoever saw the cover that she was very fast (even her sharp mane and her jagged tail exemplify that); Saddle Rager wearing a suit which had flowery ornaments on it while bearing a scowl on her face; Zapp, lightning on her hooves and a dashing expression; and there was Humdrum, as small as a colt, donning cape, boots, and a mask standing beside the famed Power Ponies.

Yet, despite the strength, the agility, the wit, the smarts, and the friendship that they have bonded over the past years or issues, they weren't enough to keep Watts Onion occupied with the action-y story that promised to bring his mind away into a fantastical yet realistic adventure.

His eyes would wander off away from the pages of the comic book and into reality—reality with floors, walls, stairs, clock, and window that showed to Onion the night sky with its stars and its moon.

But, he turned his head around from that beautiful view and back to the comic.

Eyes struggling to stay focused on the words—they would sometimes dart back outside of the comic and into what was real and bringing into his mind what was supposed to be done the next day. A clinched jaw and a refocused try at reading the comic, he stormed on, re-enjoying that story inside.

After a while, without having opened the Daring Do book, he placed the comic and the book back on to where they were on the shelves. A long look at the shelves and the books that were there—from the comic books and the adventure novels to several dictionaries and thesauruses, there was a respectable collection of literature on those shelves.

Pacing the room once again, keeping a watch on the window, he sighed. Walking toward it, he looked out again through the window and saw what was outside once more.

Like before, some ponies and some carriages and some lights and some clouds though not too many to obscure the night sky.

Then, he hopped on to bed, lay on it, wrapped a blanket around himself, placed his head on the pillow, and closed his eyes.

What was in his mind then? That simple adventure of the Power Ponies—defeating the bad guys, saving Maretropolis from evil, and keeping the ponies safe from harm and danger.

About to Go

Thursday

Tapping a hoof on the ground in front of Watts Onion's, Isobar waited, carrying a saddle bag.

Cool morning air was around, chilling the town of Ambling with its pleasant wind. Only some were out at this hour.

The pegasus tapped and tapped his hoof, now more rapidly as his expression became tainted with an impatiently downward expression.

Then, hoofsteps surging down.

His ears went up.

Door opened.

"Oh, hi!" Watts Onion said, smiling as he held up a hoof. "You don't need to come inside—I've gathered all the necessities that we need for Winsome Falls!"

Isobar sighed, rolling his eyes. "I was expecting a 'How do you do?' or something along those lines."

Rubbing his friend's head, Watts said, "Well, we've got to get to it right now! No time to waste!"

Isobar reacted by keeping up his serious, unfazed face. "Alright."

Turned his head around, then turned back to him. "Wait here!" Watts exclaimed as he started with a halting walk/hop hybrid and then switching to a full-blown gallop up the stairs.

Isobar sighed again, not taking a step inside the abode.

"Ah, don't forget the Power Ponies and Daring Do!" he could hear amidst the clatter and the clack that was going on upstairs. "And—where's my—yes, there it is! My box of chocolates and also the rest of the necessities!"

"A box of chocolates is necessary?" Isobar muttered, gazing toward the window up there. Raising an eyebrow, he said "What is he thinking?"

This racket continued on for a few more minutes, with the pegasus's tapping returning.

After that, it stopped, replaced with the rush of those same hoofsteps down, though accompanied with the squeaking of something—which brought with it more of that clatter and clack.

Finally, open door again, revealing a tired, panting unicorn and a wagon behind him.

Eyeing the wagon, Isobar said, "Are you completely sure that you have everything, Onion?"

Watts nodded eagerly, grinning through it.

"Enough food to last us a month if need be?"

"I brought lots of onions and a cooking pot!"

Isobar moaned.

"Of course, I'm also bringing other food. What, just because half of my cutie mark is an onion it means that I can only eat onions?"

"Oh, no, I was expecting to eat batteries as well."

Onion bended an eyebrow at that, examining his friend with scrutiny. "Did you do something?"

"What? It's humor!" Isobar said, smiling.

"We're not having jokes about my destiny or my talent, OK?"

"Hey, you're the one who kept joking about me liking the Power Ponies!"

"I mean, with a collection as big as that, I'm not surprised that you might end up being Ambling's premier Power Ponies's expert. Imagine it: Lines of ponies coming from all over Equestria to ask you whether this background pony who appeared in this issue has appeared again later on."

"I'm not that knowledgeable!" Onion complained, then pulling the wagon closer with his mouth and grunting.

Isobar looked at the sturggling unicorn.

Then, a tap on the horn.

"Uh, you know you could use your magic, right?"

Onion's grunting stopped at that as he opened his eyes. "Oh. Right." Letting out an anxious chuckle, he lit up his horn with that blue magical glow and levitated the wagon to the outside, everything landing smoothly with nothing falling.

"Wait," Isobar began, pointing a hoof at him, "does that mean you just picked up all those things for the wagon upstairs without using your magic at all?"

"Uh, probably?" Onion scratched his head, beads of sweat pouring down his face as he put up a sheepish grin.

Isobar looked at him with a severe face. "You've been overthinking it, haven't you?"

"Well, I wouldn't exactly say that I was overthinking it, Isobar, but, please, it was an important that couldn't just get out of my head!"

"So, you didn't even try?"

Onion slapped his head with a hoof, looking up. "I did!"

"Did you keep on trying, at least?"

"That's why I'm bringing the comics and the novels!" Onion countered. "I'm not going to be bored in the trip, even though I shouldn't be because it's a trip that Princess Luna wants us to have!"

"Trip or search?" Isobar asked, moving his head a little.

"What's the point, Isobar? Can I just get on with you asking me if I have this or that inside the wagon so we won't be missing something utterly important?!" He ended this with a flail of his forehooves and an exasperated face of shrunken irises and slightly shaken mane.

Isobar blinked, remaining calm for some seconds. "Alright, Onion." Sighing, he went on, in a more drawn out tone:

"Enough water to last for a month, in case we might get stuck in a place with no water?"

Onion nodded.

"Jackets, sweaters, thick hats, and firewood to keep us warm if we get trapped in a freezing location?"

Onion nodded.

"A good stash of bits we can use to pay for anything additional along the way to Winsome Falls?"

Onion nodded.

"Four tents to shelter us plus an emergency tent?"

Onion nodded.

"Those are the essentials," Isobar said. "We're not going to be calling for help anytime soon."

"Now we can—"

"Not yet, Mr. Fastguy," the pegasus interrupted, placing a hoof on his friend's shoulder. "Do we have paper to write letters on? We'll use them to report to the Princess about any new discoveries and findings."

"I brought tons of paper!" Onion answered with excitement as he jumped up to the air.

"Did you really have to do that?" Isobar asked when the unicorn finally landed.

"Well, what if I have to detail everything? And, what if I bore the Princess if I write too short or in a certain way that isn't allowed? Is there a royal way of writing to the Princesses when it comes to reporting on official business?"

Isobar, once again, sighed. "Look, you're worrying too much about this again. The Princesses don't like too much of a royal attitude, especially Princess Celestia. Just respect them as the Princesses they are and write."

"But, you only said 'especially Princess Celestia'!" Onion responded, sounding hysterical. "Maybe Princess Luna likes royal attitudes more and I have to write differently to—"

"You're not writing to the two Royal Sisters; you're only writing to one of the Royal Sisters, so don't worry about what Princess Celestia might think of your approach in your letters."

"But, even if we have that, we also need to have a sure line to send our letters through!"

"If you were worried about that, why didn't you think about something before today?"

"I checked my history books and—"

"You should've asked somepony," Isobar said. "Because I asked one of the mailponies yesterday if there was postal service in Winsome Falls and he said 'Yes.'" A pause as he placed a hoof to his head, his face a mix of annoyance and concern. "Instead of wasting hours scouring the pages of history books—which, I'm sure, must be big, and I don't know why history books—you could've just spent like, what, twenty minutes looking for the right pony who knows the answer."

"I was speeding things on!" Onion yelled.

Isobar, once more, sighed, now shaking his head. "This overthinking, this stressing out over something, yes, important but not too important—I mean, you're not out to save Equestria or the entire world. You're just being sent to investigate something in Winsome Falls—nothing more, nothing less. If it's just an unfounded fear that the Princess has, then it's alright—maybe there's some ponies who are pulling off pranks at tourists there. We'll just step in and say, 'Hey, you're not supposed to be doing that!' If we have to fight, well, I'm sure you know some defensive spells at least, right?"

"Some." Onion grinned.

Isobar stared at his friend with a penetrating glare. "We're going to Wakes Week and Dally News now. Let's settle this on the way, OK?"

Up the narrow, escalating flight of stairs that reeked of musty timber; hoofsteps echoing and hallowing. Doors on the sides at stoppers—flat sections, interruptions, before the next flight of stairs; long stretches of hallway.

Walls of yellow, carpet of a simple blue design, and windows letting in the light at the end of the hallway.

One door—then, Watts Onion knocked on it.

"Hello?" he hollered. "Is anypony inside?"

"Yes! I'm coming over, just wait!"

Onion shot a glance at the pegasus.

Isobar shrugged.

So they stood in the middle of the otherwise empty hallway, faint tones of other hoofsteps and noises from within the other rooms.

Rattling and shaking of the door. Then, it opened.

An Earth pony mare with frizzled mane and a pretty red face at the door, smiling. "Onion! Long time, no see!" She gave the unicorn a little hoof wave.

Onion nodded, a shivering smile trembling on his lips.

"And, Isobar—you, too!" She gave him her own little hoof wave.

Isobar merely smiled at that.

"But, in all honesty, Wakes Week," Onion spoke up, "it wasn't so long. Just a few weeks of absence, that's all."

"A few weeks might as well be a few years if you're not communicating with the both of us! You haven't sent us a single letter!"

"We live in the same neighborhood," Onion answered, beaming somewhat. "You could've just walked your way—"

"I could say the same for you," she barged in, tensing her voice. Then, brightening up: "But, the past is in the past. Now, we're all together!" A nervous chuckle. "Well, most of us. Come on in! I promise you that the room's not as bad as it was last time."

The two entered, both of them not looking around and opening their mouth in wonder. Instead, they just looked forward to the bed which was cramped and surrounded by lots of paper on the walls—on some were scribbles, on others were sketches, and still on some were a combination of both as they almost covered the wall in a storm of paper. The rest of the room, however, was clean: The wooden floor was clean, even showing a little reflection because of the varnish; the two desks at the far end of the room were free from any dust, grime, or any other form of trash. The garbage can was right beside the bed and a short table which had a classic lamp on it and two pictures—on both of them were groups of ponies huddled together, hugging each other while managing to face the camera, all with smiles and grins that were wide. Labels were on the frames—one was "Wakes Week" and the other was "Dally News." A light, not on, was hanging from the ceiling and a bit close to the ponies there. Some shelves and cabinets dotted the walls and they were also covered with paper, with the knobs sticking out. Finally, there was the window which let in ample light that filled the room with bright clarity and a slight glimmer to the ponies' eyes.

"Dally News is going to be late," Wakes Week said, looking out the window, with a little pout. "Big news day today."

"The four Princesses at the Changeling Hive?" Isobar blurted.

"Yeah." She leaned on the wall. "The four of them meeting King Thorax and Pharynx for a special meeting about expanding changeling businesses and accommodating changelings who want to live outside of the hive."

"They should just let them in already," Isobar said. "Both changelings and their stores. It's hard to think that they were this slow to encourage them. They already heard of the big corporations going around and actively recruiting changelings into their workforce, but encouraging changeling business should've been done months ago—way back when everything was just starting out."

"However," Wakes Week replied, "you know that businesses are more complicated and complex than just 'Hey, I want to make money so I'll buy some things to sell!' There was no possibility of a changeling business thriving at all in the first few days right after the whole changeling reformation thing went on and over. Infrastructure was basically destroyed to bits and pieces, their whole way of living was uprooted and replaced with something else, and, even if the changelings wanted their new life—and they did—they were still ignorant about how that new life actually worked. Culture disputes and misunderstanding weren't going to give these changelings an easy time in anything at all, much less having a working economy all from changeling-grown markets."

"That's where you get it wrong," Isobar countered, adopting a tone of offense. "You just leave it at that and assume that everything is going to go bad unless they take their time. Except, if they took their time without asking for instant help from Equestria, then they wouldn't be having that time of slow rebuilding. If they asked for help when they didn't, then they would've—"

"Not so fast!" Wakes Week yelled, raising a hoof in protest and wearing a ready smirk. "What kind of help? They sent ponies and materials—"

"And, keep going," Isobar said. "Soon, you're going to get to—"

Wakes Week glanced at Watts Onion. "Uh, are you OK?"

Isobar looked at the unicorn.

He was just looking at the two of them, darting from one to the other. "I was, uh, out of the loop. What's this all about again?"

Isobar groaned. "Yet more consequences of thinking about this too much."

The look on Wakes Week dampened, facing the unicorn with a disheartened air around her. "Really, Onion?" Taking an umbrella and giving it to him, she said, "Don't let that bother you."

Onion, receiving the umbrella, said "Uh, thank you, Wakes Week."

She laughed a small a laugh in return. "Always the one to do that, huh? Some things never change about the both of you. And, today, you can properly worry about it."

"Yeah," he said, nodding before examining the umbrella given.

It was red, matching the mare's coat. It was also just red—no design, no other color, even. Just red.

"Do you have another umbrella of another color?" Onion asked.

"Not really," she answered. "The other one's with Dally News."

Isobar, eyeing and reading some of the papers tacked and taped on to the wall, turned away and said, "Before we go, Onion, I was thinking about saying our farewells to our families."

Onion gulped, sweating again and sporting that nervous and anxious laugh, looking left and right with shrunken eyes.

Isobar frowned. "Caught up so much that you even forgot to say your good-byes. That's very sad."

"Don't go shaking your head at me, Isobar," Onion said, raising his voice as he backed up close to one of the paper-covered walls.

Wakes Week stepped closer to him.

"I was just make sure that everything is perfect and ready to go for the trip—I don't want to miss a single thing!"

"Not at the expense of giving your family one last hug before we all go, Watts Onion," Isobar said.

Onion and Wakes Week looked on at the irritated pegasus.

Sighing, breathing slower, losing that aggravated attitude, he said, "Let's get back to your house, Onion, and say good-bye to them. Is that fine with you?"

Onion nodded.

Wakes Week placed a hoof around him.

Family Farewells and What's Ahead

Walking down the dirt byway beside the dirt road, the three ponies were together, Isobar and Wakes Week talking about a variety of topics: the headline of today, how Ambling is working out, Isobar's organization for foals and of foals, Wakes Week's umbrella-making business, her friend's time at the newspaper station, how the Princesses are doing what they were doing for Equestria, neighboring kingdoms such as the Dragon Lands, the Changeling Hive, Griffonstone, and Yakyakistan; spontaneous singing, plans for a short week-long stay at a big city like Vanhoover or Manehattan, and whether they were hungry or not and where to eat if they were.

Amid this casual chatter that elicted from the two talkers smiles and the occasional laugh, Watts Onion paid attention to the conversation without saying a single word. A little pout went on to his face though he kept his pace and did not look anywhere else. For a while.

After that, he looked at the other ponies across the street. Ponies talking there, too, even between open windows. Under the sunny blue sky, most of the ponies that he saw were with somepony else. Whether they talked or not did not matter to him—they were with each other.

"Uh, we're here, Onion," a voice said.

Onion tossed himself around, his breathing quickening. "What was that?!"

Isobar and Wakes Week merely looked at each other before looking at the crazed unicorn. "We're at the house now, Onion. Say your good-byes to your family—don't forget to hug them, alright?"

Wakes Week twisted her mane, eyeing him and smiling as she motioned a hoof towards the wooden door.

Onion gulped; sweat was going down his face in beads.

The other two ponies did not say anything.

Onion ambled his way—or, attempted to, since his hoofsteps were uneasy and inequal—and opened the door, walking inside and through the hallway.

The smell of cooked garlic and onions wafted outside.

The two left outside looked in. "Should we enter?" Wakes Week asked.

"I think we should let this be a personal thing," Isobar answered.

Approaching the long dinner table, he saw his parents at the kitchen area with his father at the stove and his mother at the toaster. The savory smell only intensified as Onion walked nearer.

Lacrimal turned around from his heated big pot. "Watts!" he shouted in a good-natured tone.

Electric Arc turned around, too, seeing him. "Let me guess: You've been rounding up some friends and preparing for the big journey ahead of you. Am I right?" She smiled wider.

Watts smiled back and nodded, getting even closer to them. "Actually, we're almost done. There's just one more thing I have to do, mom and dad."

The smiles on both of the parents' faces disappeared.

The smile on Watts disappeared, too.

Silence—tense silence, loving silence.

"I know what you're going to say," Electric Arc managed. A pause, glancing away from him for a while.

"It's time to leave, isn't it?" Lacrimal uttered.

No verbal answer. Only that same frown.

The boiling of the pot, the ticking of the toaster, and not much else.

Hoofsteps going down. Several.

"When's lunch gonna be ready?" Onion Chutney asked as he appeared and the rest of his siblings appeared in the hallway. "I'm going—" The three of them stopped right behind Watts. "Oh."

A collective silence gathered at the hallway and at the dining room.

"I think we should step in," Wakes Week whispered from the outside.

"What?!" Isobar shouted in a hush, looking at her with terrible amazement. "And ruin this family moment?"

"If we're going to help Watts in his journey," she replied, "we might as well help him say his farewells first."

"But, he can do it on his own and—"

"And, if we're there," Wakes Week interrupted, continuing on, "we can make the farewells even better. He doesn't have to be solitary about it."

So, she walked in.

Isobar just blinked as he watched her stay inside. Groaning and rolling his eyes, he went inside though on quiet hoofsteps.

"Watts?" Chutney said, slowly nearing his brother and his sisters following him. "Is everything OK?" He looked at their parents who slightly turned their gaze upon him. "What's happening?" he asked them.

"He's going to go," Lacrimal said.

The older sister gasped and placed her two hooves on her cheeks. "Watts is leaving already?! Why wasn't I told about this before?!"

"Forecast, calm down," Lacrimal ordered, adopting a gruff tone before turning his face immediately back into a concerned pout. Looking at the younger sister, he said, "And you, Onion Bulb, please don't do anything bad with the storage. We wouldn't want to sour this moment with missing food."

"What's that for?" Wakes Week whispered.

A shush.

The entire family looked at the two newcomers in the hallway and near the entrance, including Watts who opened his mouth in surprise and shock.

The pegasus, in the act of shushing Wakes Week, opened his eyes wide at the sudden attention; his irises shrunk at that and so did Wakes Week's as they both looked back at the Onion family before them.

"Run?" Isobar asked.

"Run," Wakes Week replied.

And the two ran out of the house.

Hoofsteps stopped quickly.

Everyone in the family kept looking at the open door.

Then, Lacrimal turned his gaze back upon his son. "You don't have to say goodbye to us, Watts. We know that you're coming back."

"And, don't forget to write us letters," Electric Arc quipped. "Knowing that you're still in good condition is going to assure and reassure us throughout your search."

Chutney laughed, leaped and hugged his brother, Watts staggering and almost falling to the floor. "Watts, don't you dare leave us guessing!"

"I'm going to make sure that we have all the papers ready!" Forecast yelled. "Everything must be accounted for! We need to prepare for turning the living room into a room where ponies will stay in to meet the one-and-only Watts Onion! I know that you haven't become famous yet, but that's why I added the word 'yet'! It's a 'yet' thing that's going to take place in the future and I know it will take place in the future because I know you're going to come back because—think about it—it can't be that bad in Winsome Falls, right?"

Everyone else just looked upon the semi-hyperventilating Forecast; Chutney stopped hugging Watts, though he kept smiling at his brother.

"What? That's not the only thing I'm excited about! Winsome Falls souvenirs are cool to own! They have this cool painting of Winsome Falls at the last town before you get there—I forgot the name, but it's still cool to have that painting up on the walls and everypony visiting you, Watts Onion—" pointing a hoof at her brother "—everypony is going to know that you're the hero who saved Equestria from uncertainty!"

"'The Hero who Saved Equestria from Uncertainty,'" Watts repeated, looking at his older sister. "Now that has a charming ring to it."

Forecast burst into guffaws, leaning on her Onion Bulb who responded with an irritated face as she endured the laughter.

The parents smiled a little, though that melancholy on their faces did not go away.

"Are you sure you have everything?" Lacrimal asked.

Watts nodded.

"Are you really sure about that, Watts?"

Watts nodded.

"Really, really sure?"

Watts nodded again.

Lacrimal sighed.

Silence once more.

The boiling of the pot, the ticking of the toaster, and not much else.

Then, a hug.

A family hug.

Silence, though it was not a tense silence. It was a loving silence, a silence that required no words to express what was being shared and shown here: a familial love.

Seconds, even a minute dragged on, yet the hug was still there with not much movement.

A tear went down Watts's cheek.

The squeeze tightened.

Silence gave way to whimpers.

Whimpers gave way to cries.

Cries gave way to sobbing.

And so, first the parents and then Watts and Forecast and Onion Bulb and, finally, the stalwart Onion Chutney who looked up throughout it all finally succumbed, bawling his eyes out as he embraced his brother in full—Watts returned the favor.

The family ascended to tears.

An ear peeked in. Then, it went away.

"Yeah, it's full-on crying now," Isobar said to Wakes Week.

She had an aghast face. "Are you recording this all? That's not how you remember your friends' important events!"

Isobar shushed her with a glare.

"Oh, I'm not going to be intimidated," Wakes Week muttered as she turned away from Isobar.

No words were said. Only the moans and the weepings that resounded through the hallway and out past the open door. All the family was in one embrace, Watts in the center of this loving and caring hug. All eyes were closed as they poured down the streams of tears that rushed like a river down their faces, dripping to the floor or to another family member—but, they did not mind nor care, for they went on crying no matter how many tears were on their coats or manes.

Finally, after a few more minutes, the tears dried up as they sniffled and rubbed their noses, letting go of each other yet now smiling.

"I can just tell y-you right now, you're gonna make it back home better than ever!" Forecast proclaimed, raising a hoof in the air and jumping. "Don't let us hold you back, but don't forget us as well, little brother!" Rubbing Watts's mane, she grinned.

"She's right," Lacrimal said, standing more proudly than before, facing his son with an honored look. "We're going to be missing you and I know that you'll be missing us, Watts, but this is something that, if I were to be honest about it—" He looked up, pausing "—sounds greater than growing some onions in the middle of some town in the middle of Equestria."

"Don't you think they'll get angry if they get wind of what you just said?" Chutney asked, sounding somewhat worried.

"Who? My parents?" He gave a vigorous roar of laughter, disguising the dried tears on his face. "I've already told them that and they're quite fine about it, thank you very much!"

Onion Bulb, sniffing, spoke up: "So, is he gonna leave yet? Because, I want to tell him something."

The parents looked at her affectionately—tender eyes and mouths. "Go on, sweetie," Electric Arc coaxed.

Bulb gulped. Then, facing Watts—who was also now facing her with anticipation in his face—she said, "I brought some stacks of paper and several quills and ballpens." She took the saddle bag off of her and plopped it on the floor, right in front of Watts.

Watts eyed the small brown bag with its few pockets.

"For letters," Bulb said, smiling as she looked at Watts. "We'll rotate whoever writes the letters. You could also have your friends write letters to us as well and to their families as well."

Watts took the bag and opened it, fumbling his hoof about before picking up several pieces of paper and a clean white feather.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you that there's ink, too. How can you write letters without ink, anyway?" She grinned.

Watts chuckled as he rubbed Bulb's mane.

She giggled at that.

Lacrimal's eyes went wide open. "I almost forgot!" Then, he rushed to the stove, picked up the steaming pot and dropped it on the table, causing some drops of soup to splatter on the table. "You have to eat a heavy lunch, son!" he demanded with a happy attitude. "You can't go straight away to Canterlot or to Winsome Falls on an empty stomach!"

Electric Arc, eyeing one of the shelves in the kitchen, also took off and grabbed some candy and chocolate bars and hoofed it to Watts. "And, some sugar to get you going! Good for those long trips and when you have a long day of investigating and other searching around in that place!"

"I'll also write on the newspaper about how Ambling is behind you in all of this!" Forecast declared. "We're going to haev a grand celebration as you leave, and then, after that, we'll get you some clothes when you have to enter those freezing cold areas and—"

"There's no freezing cold areas between here and Winsome Falls," Chutney said. Placing a hoof to his head, he went on: "I should know. The maps have gotten to my head."

"What if somepony made the path freezing cold? Anything can happen and who knows?!" Forecast yelled, flailing her forehooves in the air in half-panic.

Chutney placed a hoof around Watts's neck. "And, don't worry too much about us, brother! We're going to be OK while you're away. I admit, it's gonna be quieter without you around, but it's going to be a few months at most. Just a few months—and, after that, having you will feel much better." Then, he gave his brother one more hug—this one was quick, however.

Watts smiled as one more tear went down his face. Choking up a little, he let out: "Thanks, guys."

The rest of the family smiled at him in reply.

Silence. Loving silence.

Dandy Soda sat on his rocking chair in the middle of his green lawn, resting and look up towards the sky. The breeze went through the place, swaying and bending the small blades of grass. The fancy hat he was wearing on his head flopped and wavered but never completely fell from his head as a steady hoof kept it fixed and positioned there to give him that old and kind look.

The distant sounds of bustling Ambling—with its collected chatter, its verbal exchange of topics and ideas and opinions, its creaking of carriage wheels, among others—finished the atmosphere that Dandy Soda was in: in the middle of his yard, far enough from a growing village.

A loud creak.

Dandy Soda sat up and instantly looked at the source of the creak.

A wagon or a cart pulled by three ponies. The contents of the wagon was covered by a cloth, but the ponies who were walking were conspicious and obvious in the open.

"Isobar!" Dandy yelled, getting up from his seat and walking to the group.

They stopped. Watts Onion and Wakes Week looked surprised, Isobar had a pleasant face upon him as he walked towards the old pony.

They shook hooves without saying a word. "And, I guess they must be the ponies you're helping in that Winsome Falls business!" He nodded at them. "How are you?"

Watts Onion nodded back at him without saying a word.

Wakes Week asked with joyful mood, "How are you, sir?"

"More than merry about Ambling's youth!" Dandy said. "I feel happy myself about not keeping the immense wealth to myself! If Isobar wasn't here, I wouldn't have brought that up into my own mind but—Isobar has become the figure for everypony here to follow when it comes to raising foals!"

"I notice you have a zeal for them," Watts finally spoke.

"'Zeal' is the right word for it," Dandy said, extending a hoof and offering a shake.

Watts spent a few seconds examining the stallion's hoof.

Then, they shook.

"My money's going to a good interest, that's why!" He grinned, putting his fancy mustache on display as it made that grin all bushier and the more genuine. "Investing in the future—well, isn't it all?" He let off a hearty laugh punctuated by hoarse noise. "But, I shall not bother you with what may seem to you unnecessary details and other such things. I've already heard of your special duty to fulfill, isn't it so, Mr. Onion?"

"Uh, yes, yes, Dandy Soda," Watts said, stammering a little.

Dandy Soda took a long look on the valiant young stallion. "Ah, if only the rest of Ambling's youth were just like you!" he announced. "That marvelous undertaking I have dreamed of ever since I was awakened to the idea—the very thought!—of it is a force that must not be reckoned with." Then, he took off his top hat and looked at it. Glancing at the confused Watts Onion, he said, "I must sound quitee monotonous to you if I stick to one topic, but it has been in my mind for days."

"Yeah, Onion," Isobar said, placing a hoof around his friend's head. "He's been very excited over the prospect of the organization."

"And, I guess you already called in your friends about helping the foals here, didn't you?" Wakes Week spoke up, having an inquisitive attitude in her voice.

"My philanthropist buddies have affirmed their approval of the matter," Dandy Soda said, "although only time will tell if they will truly pull through and send in the necessary materials and resources—not just money!—to bring those foals to enjoy worthy productivity."

Wakes Week smiled.

"But, I shall not delay you any further about Isobar's fine organization and group." Turning to Watts again and putting back his hat on his head, he said, "How do you feel about this momentous mission ahead of you?"

Watts moved his hoof around through the short grass as he stayed silent, moving his eyes around, too. "Well, I'm supposed to be happy and glad."

"Supposed?" Dandy asked in bewilderment.

Isobar and Wakes Week looked on him with earnest faces.

"But, Mr. Onion, I understand your predicament," Dandy said, walking to him. "I have had my share of lonely times away from family and friends. There, in those new locations, with only myself there. It was liberating in one sense, but it also only confirms that ponies aren't at their best when they're by themselves. Besides—" His smile grew larger as he pointed a hoof to the friends beside him "—you're not completely lonely! You have two friends who, I'm sure, will be right there for you every second of the way!"

"Actually," Wakes Week interrupted, gesturing with a rotating hoof, "we're supposed to be four, but Dally News told us that we'll just meet her when we get to Canterlot. She will catch up by train."

"The more the merrier, then," Dandy said. Looking up to the sky, he then said, "I wish we could stay and talk more but you have your royal task to fulfill and I wouldn't want to be impunctual against the Princess of the Night."

Watts gave a subtle sneer before reverting back to his polite smile.

"Now, carry and make haste!" Dandy yelled, rushing back to his chair as he did so.

The three ponies then waved their hoves at them.

"Goodbye!"

"Have a good time there!"

"Enjoy the day, Dandy Soda!"

And, they left, leaving Dandy Soda alone once again in the middle of his vast green lawn of grass with only that small cottage of his beind what was different besides himself and his rocking chair.

He relaxed and lay down on the chair as it swayed back and forth in a slow yet timely manner.

"These foals," Dandy said. "When I was young, both young and old encouraged each other. Now, it's a weird thing when the young go about doing what seems to be the realm of heroic deeds!"

The dirt path winded here and there, turning left and right, sharp and smooth its turns and curves through the hills and the small mountains that boasted of their great height and their forestry which adorned it with a finesse that only many trees could give with their woodland animals—the birds chirping their simple music was there, indeed—infusing vitality and fervor into the illustrious forms of land.

At the sides of the path were the smaller plants; though they were smaller than the trees, they were nonetheless as beautiful if not more so with their budding flowers and their enticing berries that decorated the bushes with a color other than green and brown. Flowers, too, abounded there, furnishing the path in their little natural etiquette and poise. Tulips and sunflowers were only a few among the many kinds of flowers that flourished in full splendor, bringing varied and diverse paint to the road.

Fields of grass and only grass were aplenty beside the route. Areas of bliss and of peace, the place for plain activities like a tiny picnic with several friends, eating a few sandwiches and some donuts or some other dessert, laughs and wonderful conversation being the norm on that friendly hill.

There were clouds in the bright morning sky though they weren't too many to cloud the day. Instead, they were, like the bushes, adorning the sky with their beauty. Some pegasi were there, fixing and arranging the clouds to this or to that position with distant orders being given to move this or that cloud to a certain place. That did not detract from the calmness of the landscape—rather, it added to it, providing it a sense of work, a sense of moving about despite the relative stillness.

There were signs along the way. Most of them were wooden signs but some of them were metal. All of them told of directions and of locales' names—villages, towns, cities, other regions that would interest the adventurous or curious pony. One of them had the words "Canterlot: Forward"

And when one would look forward, there was that royal city where a good chunk of it was hanging over open air with the ground some distance away. A tall yet smooth mountain was beside it; with it there was a waterfall which created that streaming sound of rushing water finally resting at the end to become a temperate, clear, and fresh river.

As one would approach the city, one would notice that the path became conrete and paved at some point on the way. Yet, the plants did not disppear from sight. Rather, they helped beautify the path even more since they were of a different kind as well: more than just the bushes and the flowers, there were also some short trees dotting the pathway, emitting from them the fresh smell of the land.

As one would get nearer to Canterlot, one would also heard the city noises becoming louder—words and carriages, among others. They blended in with the natural melody, forming something unique: a normal sound that was yet different and, as other ponies might claim, never being heard elsewhere.

The three ponies were approaching and nearing Canterlot, getting closer to the drawbridge crossing the river and, beyond that, a big gate with its white walls and towers.

Isobar asked, finally, "Why didn't we take the train again, Watts Onion?"

"It's practice!" Watts shouted with a happy character.

Wakes Week sighed. "We could've saved a lot of time if we just boarded a train. Plus, we would've saved lots of energy, too. Instead of walking, we could've sat down and built up more energy."

"But, it's still practice for the Winsome Falls journey!" Onion insisted.

Early

Over there, far up ahead and above solid ground was a wooden bridge over a waterfall's descending, crashing river. On it was a train chugging along, rolling on with its wheels and its puffs of ringed smoke. The train was bright in its different hues: light brown and purple, pink and cyan, blue windows and yellow accents with a bit of white on top. Windows and lights shaped like hearts completed the friendly look of the train.

Over the rushing waterfall and its zooming waters, past the peaks of the smaller yet craggy mountains, closer and closer now to the stable and calm grass with the smooth river beside them. That thunderous clashing of the wheels and the railroad only added to the atmosphere of busy Canterlot in such a busy yet peaceful morning.

Now inside the city proper, past several of those buildings of white and yellow and purple—of that royal architecture and style, too. Whizzing through the combined airs of the fancy streets—a mixture of perfumes and colognes that conveyed wealth and status, of aromas and odors that told of cooked and fried foods, and of fragrances that were natural such as those from the roses and lavenders nearby, lining up a florist's store helmed by a mare with a lavender herself on her purple mane—she was behind a table that displayed her array of bouquets that boasted of more than just roses and lavenders for there were ribes, dandelions, hawksbeards, robinias, tulips, and yet many more, but anyone who was inside the train could only catch a few seconds at most before they could summarize in their heads a good majority of what those flowers were.

More structures of regal standing and gleaming windows and ornaments, more ponies in their posh and proper suits and gowns and arrogant faces pointed upwards—these were passed by the train as it slowed, decelerating as the wheels' clanking quieted and slowed, too, until it arrived at the train station in full stop.

The train station of Canterlot was, like most of the buildings in the capital, was made of that fancy elegance of those three colors: white, yellow, and purple. Tall glass windows and facades decorated with diamonds and other symbols of prosperous opulence, showing brilliance and the interiors inside which had checkered floors, potted plants at strategic places, waiting benches were more than a few ponies were, well, waiting with suitcases and briefcases and bags and a longing gaze past the window and upon that vibrant train, doors not yet being open. Already, several ponies took their belongings and trotted their way outside and stepping on to the flat wooden platform that stood as the meeting place that united and reunited friends and family—even one pony, an Earth pony stallion with a somber fedora and a monochromatic suit and a colorful cutie mark that had an image of balloons and streamers, held a picture close to his eyes: a picture of him, a mare, and two foals all smiling happily at the camera behind a wide waterfall with its white tips and its roaring yet beautiful figure yet more beautified by the rainbow falls in the background.

A smile played on his lips as the doors opened.

The mare and the foals that matched the descriptions.

"Honey!" he shouted, taking off his hat and revealing a curly yellow mane, bringing his smile into full-blown grin.

"Aww, I hope you had an OK time here, Ribbon Tail!" the mare yelled, hugging him and pulling the foals into the loving embrace.

As pleasantries and pleasant exchanges were made between the members of the reunited family, there were more ponies and other creatures stepping on to the platform, exiting the train. They were mixed with those who were in a hurry to get inside, dashing and going. Among those who just left the train, there were some griffons here, a few changelings there, and lots of ponies at the train station, either already with the ones that they were looking forward to or looking here and there.

One of them was a mare with a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and straight mane. She was part of the latter group, straining her eyes as she lighted up her horn and adjusted the glasses with her magic, not lifting a hoof to even touch it. Tilting her head and leaning over here, she examined the inside of the train station, checking each and every bench that had a pony on it without even entering the place.

She let out a groan. "Where are they? They said that they'd be here by now." Seeing the grand clock on the wall with its audible ticking and tocking, she shook her head. "Train's on time, so it's not my fault." Going for a second round of checking the benches, she drew in some breath but, without saying a word, exhaled, looking a little forlorn.

Looking up, she saw, in another building, a small white balcony. An umbrella and some overgrown flora, a green bush over the fence hanging over the streets. "Hm. Not there, either."

The platform cleared out, she being one of the few who were still there.

The doors closed, the chimney puffed out more ringed smoke, and the wheels' clashing and clanking started again and the train got moving, slowly at first. Then, it was out of the station.

"Hey! Dally News!"

Dally News turned away from the station, and round to the ponies who were across the railway.

Letting out another groan, she hopped off of the platform, traversed the tracks, and was in the company of Watts Onion, Isobar, and Wakes Week along with a cart of covered things and items.

They were in the middle of a casual furor in Canterlot—the fancy unicorns walking on the sidewalk and strutting whatever they had at hoof while tourists took pictures of this and that which somehow caught their fancy (and, of course, there were the tourists who pointed hoofs at an incessant pace); guards in their uniform armor stood with neutral and blank expressions with their eyes expertly tracking ponies of interest and shifting from one to another, and then there were more guards who were on their patrols, walking or flying at a manageable speed and observing their surroundings in their act of guarding and patrol. Amidst it all were the rest of the ponies who weren't fancy unicorns nor curious tourists (whether taking pictures or pointing at things or both) nor armored royal guards. They were in no rush—despite the flurry of activity around them, they trudged on and advertised their wares, bought some products, played some tunes, talked amongst themselves about the weather and the day's politics and the events depicted by a newspaper. Speaking of newspapers, newspaper stands were in front of some buildings, most of them restaurants and laid-back eateries; there were those that were close to empty and then there were those filled to the brim with various names in bold, special fonts such as "The Canterlot Chronicle," "Canterlot Daily," "Inkwell Gazette," "The Canterlot Sun," "Ponyville Express," "Ponyville Chronicle," as well as magazines and comics like "POWER," "Cosmare," "Vanity Mare," and so on.

"So," Watts Onion began, addressing the three ponies, "let's get on our way to—"

And Wakes Week and Dally News hugged each other, giggling and then laughing as they exchanged words of expressed of friends' miss.

"OK," Onion said slowly, watching the two let go of each other as they went on to questions of how one was and answers to that sort of question. "I'll let you two girls be while I try to find my way to the—"

Isobar stopped him with an outstretched wing. "No, sir. Princess Luna can wait. In fact, she's probably sleeping."

"It's called 'early,' Isobar," Onion argued.

"I'm not letting the journey turn bad before we even begin," Isobar said. "And, with the excess amount of time we have to ourselves because of you not thinking this through, there's plenty of opportunity of things going awry."

"It's going to go just fine," Onion shot, becoming more expressive with his forehooves.

"That's what everypony has said about bigger problems," the pegasus replied, sporting a smug and annoyed face. "They surely didn't get out of it the same ponies in the end."

Onion sighed, placing a hoof on to his head. "Alright, Isobar, you win this fight!"

"I'm not fighting," Isobar said, sounding more irritated. Then, sighing as well, he placed a hoof around his friend's head and put on a smile. Glancing to this and that side, he said, "Alright, remember: We shouldn't let petty disagreements like this take over and stain our friendships. I mean, we're ponies! We shouldn't be punching each other over ice cream flavors! We have a Princess of Friendship!"

"And it's not like we follow all of the lessons she learned with her friends," Onion said, sporting a smug smile. "I bet you were unfriendly at least once despite her being the Princess of Friendship."

"That's not the point," Isobar said, raising both of his hooves in protest. "Twilight Sparkle herself, plus her friends, sang an entire song about being flawless and imperfect. They become unfriendly at times and we view them as the poster ponies of friendship."

"But, if you're saying that to excuse yourself, then your point is moot and invalid at the same time." Onion then crossed his arms and gave Isobar a rival glare.

The pegasus stomped the clean pavement with a hoof. "It's not excusing yourself if I could prove that my point is valid and not moot."

"Then, prove it." Onion raised his eyebrows and kept his eyes half-open.

Isobar grunted at that. "It's—uh, it's—well, you're not making a good point yourself!"

"I thought it was about attacking the argument and not the pony!"

"I am attacking your argument and not you!"

"Uh, can you stop your arguing?" Wakes Week said. "I can't even hear my own thoughts with all that ruckus going on."

The two mares were now staring at the two stallions caught in mid-fight. Their eyes with shrunken irises were focused on the accusing stares.

Dally News, still in her mean stare, magically adjusted her glasses again. She muttered, "I think I need to get a new pair of glasses."

Wakes Week glanced at her, then slowly nodded, turning to the stallions. "Well—" putting on a wide grin "—let's enjoy Canterlot while we're here! Onion, you said that we cannot visit Princess Luna until sunset, so let's see where the day takes us! Not to mention that it's Dally News's third time being here outside of professional business reasons."

Dally News hummed and nodded in response. "Yeah, let's mellow down, shall we, boys?"

Onion gulped.

Then, a slap on the face by a wing.

"You got yourself into that first," Isobar said, putting on a smirk as he followed the mares now walking away.

Onion, blinking, then went at their pace and rejoined the group of friends.

Beside a diamond-checkered house where a few mares were watering the plants at the windows' fronts, there was a white and pink and yellow shop. Tall windows adorned this one and a solid yellow canopy housed a big model strawberry donut in the sight of all that were passing by.

A simple wooden door with a simple lamp hanging above led one inside into, first, a grand sweet smell of sugary delight. Checkerboard walls with yellow-green walls and graceful lights that weren't lit; wooden pink tables and wooden chairs of pink and brown; more lights hanging from the wall, reducing the crampness of the huge room; the tall windows letting in the bright, ethereal rays of sunlight shining upon the customers at their tables at the line leading to the counter.

The counter and the area behind it had a donut abundance: plain donuts, chocolate donuts, strawberry donuts, vanilla donuts, sprinkled donuts, caramel donuts, blueberry donuts, orange donuts, glazed donuts—added on to these were whole donuts and bagels and more, and when one would also bring in the numerous combinations of the above, the variety of donuts available was nigh limitless.

And the pony behind it all was a unicorn with somewhat rough brown mane and baker's clothes: a white shirt and a white hat.

With the pony in front of him leaving and holding a paper bag with her mouth, the baker looked at the next customer in front of him.

"First time I've seen you around here," the baker said in a gruff voice which was still lively. "I'm Joe and what donuts do you want?"

Watts Onion quivered his lips as he eyed the donuts inside the glass heat display. The labels told him what they were and their price: "Plain Donuts, half a bit," "Chocolate Donuts, one bit," "Strawberry Donut, one bit," "Orange Caramel Glazed Donut, three bits."

"Uh, I know you're new here," Joe interrupted, "but do you mind speeding up? There's a long line behind you."

Onion looked back.

More than a few ponies were in line. One was checking the wrist watch on his hoof, another coughed, and still another was glaring at him with angry eyes.

Onion shuddered as he quickly turned away and at Joe and then back at the dounts.

His eyes rested upon each line of flavors. Sweat poured down on his face, his teeth slightly clattering.

"Are you OK, sir?" Joe asked. "You don't look well—"

"I'm fine, sir," Onion said, holding up a hoof at the baker. "I'm completely fine, sir! I just, uh, choose my donuts with, uh, precision?"

Joe sighed. "Is this your first time eating a donut?"

"W-what? No, it isn't!"

Joe gave him a bothered look. "Your second time, then."

Onion hurriedly nodded.

Joe sighed again. "What if I just give you an assortment of, say, a dozen? I assure you that you'll like the selection."

Onion nodded, saying "Yes, yes, I would like any donut right now!"

Joe gave the unicorn one last strange look before, using his tongs, he brought a hoofful of donuts from here and there within the glass display, placed them inside a large box in neat order, and then closed it with his magic, his horn glowing. Hoofing the box to Onion, he said, smiling a little, "I hope you end up enjoying it! That would be twelve bits."

Onion's horn glowed and out of his saddle bag came twelve bits that he placed on the counter. Taking the box with his magic, he walked away.

Joe looked on at the pony. He had a curious look. "Huh."

"So, we've went to the glasses store, took a walk in the park, took a stroll on the streets, went to the library, visited a museum, checked out what's going on in the opera house, and went all the way here to buy some donuts to eat and it's not even noon?!"

"Don't go asking me," Dally News said, now wearing a thinner pair of glasses.

Onion sighed at the table. Looking at the gathered friends, he said, "At least we could enjoy this time together."

"And you better enjoy it," Isobar said. "Take your mind off of Winsome Falls for a while and relax with us."

"Yeah, Onion," Wakes Week said. "We have many hours to spend with each other! We already talked about the journey being a chance to strengthen our friendships, so why not try to strengthen them right now?"

Dally News nodded at that.

Onion looked at all three of his friends there.

Then, he opened the box.

Thinking This Through

Darkness.

Then, eyes open. Slowly open.

Unclear, blurred.

White bright.

A little blue.

Princess Luna was awake. Her mane was flowing with that starry quality—in stark contrast to the how everything else was still and not moving.

Curtains drawn and closed beside tall classical columns and intricate banners of in-depth design and articulation.

Light hanging over the crescent ceiling of the bed's roof.

She yawned and covered her mouth.

Lights that appeared to sprout of trunk and branches growing from beneath the carpeted floor of swirling violet and purple. On her right was a round blue mat with the shape of a crescent moon. On that mat were four bed slippers, all identical and bearing that same crescent shape.

A single pillow that looked like half a cake. A blanket with stars, covering much of the bed proper. What surrounded the bed was a crescent shape as if the moon itself were riding upon the waves of the clouds—sailing. Beside the bed, a desk of a clock—with a crescent shape protruding from it—on a stack of a few large books.

Luna gazed upon the double doors, the only ones in the room. The pair was itself a work of art: studded with three diamonds or crystals, the doors were angular at the top and smoothened the closer it got to the floor. A simplistic, minimalistic design of a full moon could be seen on the doors while, as if standing on the floor, a diamond shape with two more crescent shapes.

She looked up. She adjusted her small black crown adorning her head and her flowing mane.

A smile on her face as she got off of her bed and stood on the ground on her four hooves—which were already equipped with metal hoofguards.

A breath in, a breath out.

"It is soon to come. Another night over which I shall guard, another night under which I shall protect."

Her horn glowing blue, she magically opened the doors and went outside.

The piercing rays of the sun penetrated through the tall glass windows and shone their thick light upon the checkered floor and its long red carpet with depictions of tulips and hearts. Yet, it was not just orange sunlight inside this ostentatious hallway of sparse wealth. Beside the plain glass windows were the stained glass ones—ones that showed in a single blow, a culmination and an outpouring of history.

Over here was a stylized image, in colored window panes, showing two alicorns—one blue, one white— circling a chaotic draconequus who seemed to be cackling about them. The background appeared to be a split of the sun and of the moon, but closer inspection yielded otherwise—though clouds and waves and a cutie mark could be discerned, abstractness was chief here.

Over there, a purple and green dragon surrounded in blue and white as the blue ground brought forth icy cyan spikes; up above, in the center, a blue heart emitting great light upon all.

And, over here, the draconequus from the first mentioned stained glass window trapped in a purple sphere powered, apparently, by magical lavender rays beaming from six colorful ponies who were all looking up towards the strange creature. Two Earth ponies, two pegasi, two unicorns—close to each other.

There were more like these throughout the hallway.

The columns that were beside the windows had, at the top, banners sticking out from them. All of them bore flags that were the same: two purple flowers on a dark violet background. Below the banners were held bouquets of lavender that brought in, again, that fresh fragrance of cool beauty infused into an attractive and calming smell that filled the room.

Beside the Princess of the Night—who was standing in front of one of the plain windows and was viewing the great Canterlot spectacle with its tall buildings and the mountains beyond topped with a sky that was partly cloudy but otherwise nice—was a cart of lavenders.

It was a quiet sunset.

"Early, huh?"

Luna turned around. "Sister?"

Celestia was silent for a while, only smiling at a bewildered Luna. "I didn't expect you to prepare the lavenders while the sun was still high up. What's with that?"

"It is not much, Celestia," Luna answered. "I have decided that a few more minutes in taking care of a pony in the dream realm could be gained by the act of arranging these flowers earlier."

Celestia nodded. "Interesting that you haven't thought about it before."

"You know that a myriad of other things and matters occupy my mind," Luna replied, raising a hoof halfway to her head. "Dragon Lord Ember and King Thorax seek an audience with me this week concerning the dreams of their subjects, and that is the first thing on my list."

"Your recently expanded list of things to do?" Celestia said with a tinge of smugness in her tone.

Luna nodded. "There has been, for lack of a better word, a spike of dream activity in recent days but not in Equestria. Most of it is coming from the kingdoms outside here—Yakyakistan, the Dragon Lands, the Changeling Hive, even the lands beyond Southern Equestria are giving reports of an unusual rise of dreams lately."

"The 'dream dreams' or the nightmares?" Celestia inquired, her tone becoming sober.

"A mix of both," Luna said. "And that is what bothers me. It cannot be defined by a single definite cause that brings about only good dreams or only bad dreams."

Celestia tilted her head a little to the side, her streaming mane adjusting to match. "What do you plan to do about it? Do you need my help?"

"Your help is to be appreciated," Luna said, becoming stricter. "But, I believe that I can handle things as they are now."

Celestia took a step back.

She smiled.

"That's good," Celestia said. "It's good that you're OK. I was just thinking that maybe I could take some of the load off of your back."

Luna smiled, too. "No, no." She waved a hoof casually in front of her. "It is quite alright, sister. There is not much else that burdens me right—"

The double doors opened, hoofsteps rushing, armor clanking against itself.

"Princess Luna!" the guard in golden armor and white coat yelled as he galloped to the two sisters, stopped, and bowed down before them. "And Princess Celestia!"

Luna had an open mouth; she looked concerned.

Celestia cracked a small smile and looked down upon the guard. "You don't have to do that."

The guard slowly stood up from his prostrate position.

"Now, what's wrong?" Celestia prodded.

"Four ponies are seeking an immediate audience with Princess Luna," the guard answered in that stringent manner and deep voice.

Luna's eyes widened at that and placed her hoof close to her open mouth.

Celestia glanced at her sister, giving her a knowing look.

"Is this is of great importance, Princesses?" the guard asked, still stringent but now shaky, too.

Silence between the three of them.

"Not really," Luna said, putting down her raised hoof. "It is a business that I have instigated personally. It is nothing too unsettling."

Celestia frowned for a second but quickly reverted back to a caring and listening smile as she faced the guard.

"What shall I tell the four ponies?" the guard asked.

"Tell them that I will see them in a few minutes inside the royal hallway where we have our audiences."

"I shall do so, Princess," the guard said, taking a quick bow before heading out of the hallway back the way he came—rushing and galloping.

Luna looked at her sister.

Celestia was already looking at her—worry on her face. "I hope that it really is nothing too unsettling. Are you a hundred percent sure about that?"

Luna nodded solemnly and with closed eyes. "I am sure."

Celestia straightened up.

Their manes, flowing in the air, glittered under the orange sunlight of the setting sun.

"After that, we'll lower the sun and raise the moon together?" Celestia asked, sporting a kinder and more playful accent.

Luna nodded, giggling a little. "Yes, we will sister."

The two parted ways, Celestia staying inside the hallway with the grand view and the sunlight permeating the interior and Luna walking her way through the magically open double doors.

Celestia looked upon the view.

She looked at the cart of flowers beside her.

Then, she glanced at her sister.

A few seconds and she was out of view.

"I really hope she's sure," she said. "I hope it's just something petty in the end."

Report Zero

Once again, Watts Onion was inside that aristocratic hallway of multi-faceted stained glass windows, of tall columns that morphed into curved dark purple wall extensions with blue stars and yellow diamond studs, of lengthy ribbon-like banners sporting checkered and pseudo-diamonds and backgrounds abstracted in a monochromatic scheme, of silk red carpet flowing on the polished floor, of golden throne enriched by refined fountains and bowls of flowers—and, added to this was the immense size of the room, the sparseness of it furthering its sheer royalty.

However, the time now was dusk and was not within the (very) early morning hours. The sun gave the hallway an awe-inspiring glow as its rays broke through the stained glass windows, bringing upon the floor a festival of soft colors to always be seen but to never be felt—and the rays themselves weren't just orange anymore for they were the first to adopt that festival before the floor did, providing the splendid corridor a dance of various hues that did not explode in one's face but rather graced one's vision, increasing the architectual artistry while not distracting from it.

The eyes of the ponies there along with the armors of the guards gleamed under the diversity of light. The guards were keeping a close eye on the four ponies on the carpet—especially Watts Onion since, unlike the others, he was sitting on the carpet rather than standing on it. They were also keeping a close eye on the cart or wagon the ponies had brought along with them inside.

"I can't believe it," Isobar said, turning his head around slowly as his words echoed. "In a few moments, we're all going to be in the presence of Princess Luna herself. It's cool enough to be in Canterlot, and then we have this!"

"It's surprising that anypony could go here and I haven't stopped by here even once," Wakes Week commented, sulking a little.

"It would be an honor to have our newspaper be read by even just one of the Princesses of Equestria," Dally News said. "That would be a sign of our reputation growing!" A pause. "Oh, and embarking on this great task, Watts Onion—" She patted the sitting Onion "—that's...great, too!"

"Uh, shouldn't you at least be a little bit more happy about this?" Isobar said. "You're the one that Princess Luna chose for the job. Come on—get some smiles working and loosen up!"

"Not after the last time I had a scuffle with these guards," Onion said.

"I'm not falling for that one again," one of the guards said calmly in his deep voice. "Sir, do not disturb the peace and you will not be arrested."

"Wow," Onion let out. "It's just the first mention of the word 'guard' and you're already jumping to arrest me the very second I do, what, something petty?"

Wakes Week gasped.

Dally News gasped, too, and adjusted her glasses with her hoof.

Isobar covered his friend's mouth and faced the guard in question, wearing a sheepish smile. "Heh-heh-heh-heh, my friend here was just joking, you see? Amateur comedian—doesn't know when his jokes go too far!"

"His cutie mark doesn't say anything about being a comedian," the guard said, pointing to it.

"Well, uh, why can't a farmer also be a comedian?" Isobar went on, keeping up his anxious voice. "The Element of Laughter is a baker but also a comedian!"

"Her cutie mark is about throwing parties," the guard said. "Being a comedian almost comes with the territory."

Onion's eyes were darting back and forth between his friend and the stern-faced guard; so, too, were Wakes Week's and Dally News's eyes.

"But, you're forgetting the fact that ponies, in general, can have hobbies and talents other than, uh, what their cutie mark signifies!"

"Of coure, everypony knows that except for a crazy few."

"Ah, maybe you are part of the—" Then, he covered his own mouth with a wing.

"Oh, so his friends start speaking badly about the E.U.P. Guard," the guard said, his voice becoming more aggressive.

"That was just the slip of the tongue, sir, my kind sir!" Isobar said in rapid pace, raising a hoof in self-defense. "My train of thought can go to tracks like that if I don't police myself, and I'm very sorry for what I was about to say and may I plead you to please pardon my friend Watts Onion of anything bad he did to royal guards like you. Kind sir."

A bit of silence.

The guard looked at Watts Onion.

The eyes of the rest of the guards narrowed on the group.

"I don't know why Princess Luna would choose somepony who doesn't have good taste regarding us," the guard said, "but, perhaps, she didn't know back then. Now, though, she had already received our reports about you but she still insists that you and your friends are the ones to solve whatever is in Winsome Falls ailing her mind. I don't understand, but the Princesses are wiser than all of us here."

The rest of the guards nodded.

"Doesn't mean you should treat us like we're worth little."

Isobar finally stopped covering Onion's mouth.

More silence as the four ponies looked amongst themselves.

"Talk, play some hoof games, as long as you don't go teasing us again."

Princess Luna eyed the double doors with suspicion though she kept on going. "That is strange," she muttered— "the timing of the guard coming in to notify me meant that Watts Onion and his friends had already been there for some time when I entered the hallway and decorated it with the flowers. I could chalk it up to forgetfulness—but, the guards are not so forgetful even during the worst days. No matter—I have kept them waiting long enough."

At the end of the hallway, there were double doors. Tall and periwinkle, its frame was golden and studded with a few more precious stones. A regal design was above the door, showcasing a depiction of a white alicorn.

With her magic, she opened the doors.

The double doors glowed blue and they opened.

The ponies looked.

Princess Luna was there, already walking.

Everypony went on to their knees, prostrating themselves before the Princess.

The faint clank of her hoofguards echoed in the otherwise permeating silence.

The doors closed and her horn stopped glowing.

The guards remained firm in their bow, eyes closed with duty.

The four ponies in front of her were shuddering, close to cowering on the carpet.

Princess Luna halted right in front of the group of friends.

She looked at them, examining them with a tilt of her head.

"You may all stand," Luna announced.

The ponies then stood up, first the guards who stood up almost in unison and then the group of friends who gradually went up on to their four hooves—still shuddering, though, as they bore on their faces expressions of royal terror in their downward mouths and their small irises in their eyes.

"There is no need to be afraid," Luna said, extending a hoof out to them before returning it—smiling. "I am not here to hurt you or to threaten you, even. I am only here to listen and to then tell you what you must do in order to start your journey in the best state possible."

The friends nodded, silent.

Luna walked past them and the guards and was now in front of the golden throne, at the step of it.

The four ponies were still shuddering.

"You may come closer."

And, so they did along with a few guards who were at the front.

Then, Onion rushed out to grab the wagon and pushed it with both his hooves and his magic. After that, he went back to his group of friends, smiling but still shuddering.

More silence as Luna looked upon the friends.

The festival and dance of colors and hues was still going on; Luna's mane shimmered colorfully.

"Watts Onion," Luna began, "do you want to introduce your friends or to let them introduce themselves?"

Onion, still shuddering though less, turned to Isobar. "What do you think?"

Isobar opened his mouth, glanced at the smiling Princess, and did not say anything—well, one syllable that was not a word. His irises were still shrunken.

"I think he's just astounded by it all," Dally News said—she was still shuddering, too. "Like Wakes Week here." She motioned a hoof towards her friend.

The mare was not saying anything, too. Her gaze was stuck upon Luna.

Onion nodded.

Then, he turned around and faced the Princess.

"I want to introduce my friends myself," Onion answered.

Luna nodded in her place. "Alright, then."

Onion walked up to Isobar's side—Isobar himself not moving much. He gestured a hoof at his friend, directing the Princess's attention to the pegasus. "First, here's Isobar! A close friend of mine since our school days back in Ambling, he is a productive and functioning member of Ambling!"

"Functioning?" Luna asked, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

"Uh, I meant, uh, 'very productive'!"

Luna nodded again. "What else can you say about Isobar?"

"He is the leader of some kind of group for colts and fillies so that they will also be productive. He also takes care of the weather around Ambling along with, uh, about the majority of pegasi that live at home. His brand of humor may be irritating at times, but he's going to cheer us up when we're all feeling down or lonely."

Luna nodded once more. "That is a good thing—he reminds me of a specific mare, but I digress."

Isobar glanced at Onion with his still tiny irises, now clenching his mouth.

Onion trotted to Dally News who gave her a wave—though she was still shuddering; she also gave the Princess a sheepish smile. "This is Dally News! She's a friend of a friend but that doesn't mean we're not on good terms with each other! She works for a local newspaper outlet in our town, inking and printing the bundles. She's also good at skiing."

Luna raised her eyebrows. "Why did you mention that?"

"I don't know, really. I thought that skiing could be useful in our journey. Somehow in some nature."

Luna nodded again, still smiling. "Anything else about her?"

"Uh, I am good with using the camera," Dally News said. "In fact, I brought one along inside the wagon."

The Princess glanced at the wagon. Then, she looked at the mare and nodded. "That will prove to be very useful when it comes to recording any findings you have; I will clearly see what you are talking about and not having to rely solely on my own imagination. Plus, we can show the photos to others and they can chip in their own perspectives on it."

Onion went to Wakes Week's side. "And, finally, last but not least, here's Wakes Week! She's good at handling out-of-town visitors, is good at talking her way to something good, and is talented in making umbrellas and using them in a variety of ways."

"Like, say, combat perchance?" Luna asked, retaining that smile.

"Actually, I don't know. I'll go ask her." He leaned towards her ear. "Can you fight off some ponies with an umbrella?" he whispered.

Wakes Week nodded with creaking, her face still adorned with that fearful expression.

Luna nodded again. "I do not know the full range of activities and actions one can engage in with only an umbrella, but if that is her talent, then I am sure that it will be advantageous to you."

Then, a frown.

"You may also stop shuddering. This does not make sense—I have been most patient and kind with you."

The four ponies went back to their normal selves, stopping their shuddering; all of them breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

"That prolonged trembling may end up detracting from your health," Luna expressed, "but, again, I digress." A pause as she took a good look of the friends in front of her. "You are a unique group of friends—in all honesty, I did not expect that you would be the ones to take on this business of finding out what is going in Winsome Falls.

"Let me continue being honest with you: While this is a royal job and I understand that you will get some honors for accomplishing this, it is not really that serious. I acknowledge that you are endangering yourselves to complete this journey, but you should not let that take you away from this truth of friendship: A difficult day binds true friends closer. Whether the trip goes smoothly or not, remember to have fun and enjoy the time that you have—you will reinforce the friendship you already have between each other and that is better than several medals and being famous.

"Am I absolutely clear on that?"

The four ponies nodded, not saying a word as the final reverberations of that question resounded before fading away.

"Now, on to the subject of the business ahead of you: As you already know, you are to go to Winsome Falls and investigate anything that seems out of the ordinary there. If there is nothing of such sort and you have proven that it is so, you can safely report to me that and you can return to your homes right away. If there is something unusual going on, you are to further investigate on the matter and to update me on what it is. If you think you can handle it yourselves, then do so by any legitimate means. If you think help is necessary, then you can write to me to bring on anypony you think is required for the job—and, if I and/or my sister is needed or, perhaps, you need Princess Twilight Sparkle and her friends, then that will be so. However, I must remind you that it is not a light thing to call for our help or the royal guards' help or the help of Twilight Sparkle and her friends—all of us have their own important royal business and to interrupt us for a trifle would be, at the very least, insulting to us.

"I have already laid out to you the mere basics of the search. What comes next is the final preparation—I assume you have already brought a map that will guide you to Winsome Falls, have you not?"

Onion nodded, not saying a word.

"That is excellent.

"I have already scheduled a train to arrive here within moments of nightfall. The train will take you to the town of Fourbeat, the closest town to Winsome Falls that is still connected to the Equestrian Railway. From there, you are to write to me of your safe arrival there. After that, you are to go on your way to the next and final settlement before you truly enter Winsome Falls territory—Pace. When you get there, you are to write me once again about your safe arrival. After that, you are to go your way through the Winsome Forest—I am more than confident that you can brace whatever may be thrown at you there. Finally, when you reach Winsome Falls, you are to use the nearby postal office to continue updating me on the matter."

The four ponies looked at each other with odd looks.

"Yes, there is a postal office nearby, but it is more of a postal kiosk—only two ponies are holding it. I expect easy communication between the both of us once you get there barring unexpected disaster.

"If anypony doubts the truth of your testimony that you are sent by me, you show them these."

Her horn glowed blue once again as medals were levitated form behind the throne, through the air, and right in front of the Princess.

"These are tokens of identification and royal verification," Luna said. "You do not have to wear them, but showing them is a necessity should anypony prevent you entrance to certain areas. You probably do not need them since they are not too suspicious of those claiming to be under royal orders, but it is better to be ready in the worst of cases."

She floated the medals to the four.

The unicorns caught magical hold of it, Onion's shining a different hue of blue and Dally's glimmering a neat green. Wakes Week grabbed hers with a hoof while Isobar grabbed his with the tips of his wing.

"One more check on what you need before you go," Luna went on. "Do you have more than enough food and water to last you a month?"

The four ponies nodded.

"Do you have tents or other forms of shelter to keep you safe and warm?"

The four ponies nodded.

"Do you have an abundant amount of paper, quills, and ink to write to not just me and, if need be, my sister and the other Princesses but also to your families and friends to tell them of how you are?"

The four ponies nodded.

"Do you have at least a few weapons to defend yourselves from any hostile creatures?"

The four ponies nodded.

"Do you have books, games, and other such things to keep yourselves occupied on slow days and nights and, more importantly, to stay close to each other as good friends?"

The four ponies nodded.

The Princess of the Night gave a long, drawn out sigh, her face upward though her gaze was graced with a dainty smile. She was looking at them.

Isobar gulped.

"Then, I have nothing more to tell you," Luna said. "I am afraid that I have told you all that I could regarding what might be in Winsome Falls. You are to leave the hallway immediately after I officially finish this meeting with you. You have a little more than enough time to reach the train station before nightfall—I have personally ordered the train to be delayed by one more minute myself in the event that you get stuck by some accident. Beyond that, the rest is up to you.

"I have my full trust in you. Do not be humorless about this business—lighten up from time to time. You are close friends, I presume—enjoy each other's company.

"And, I think, that is truly all I can say for your instruction and encouragement."

The four ponies bowed down again.

The guards followed suit.

Luna smiled a little, her mane and her eyes glistening under the colored sunset's light.

And doors slid closed.

The wheels accelerated slowly but surely as speed picked up from a stable still through a manageable jog to a galloping sprint—streets and buildings and street lights (some of them already open close to the night) and ponies whizzing by, becoming a blur to whoever looked out the train's windows. Soon, the model engineering of Canterlot—with its fancy style and fake nobility living with real nobility—was but a strange patch among a singular gathering of mountains.

With that, the sky underwent that daily and routine but still illustrious change—the sun finally set behind the hills, plunging the orange sky into a dark blue night. The stars twinkled softly into view once again and the moon rose, shining its smooth light upon the land. Gone was any trace of the sun's heat—it was now a little cooler, a little colder, somewhat chilly, even.

A few windows were open, letting in the fresh scent of healthy grass in their plentiful fields, the occasional cottage appearing here and there before almost instantly moving away from view.

A variety of passengers were seated on the cushioned seats of the carriages divided by space and green, transparent dividers that were curved. Beside the windows—some curtained shut, some wide open, others halfway—were lights that looked old yet not ancient. Above the windows were tiny yet noticeable images of a flower—the same images, but it gave the train's inside a lovely consistency. On the blue ceiling were more modern lights—flat and circular. Connecting each carriage were blue doors with a window on them, giving anyone looking in a good and clear view of what was in the next part of the train. Running through the middle of the carriage was a green carpet of easy and simple design—curved lines of green and sections of green.

The passengers were different as not only their appearances and looks were quite diverse but also the activites they were busy with were diverse as well. Over there, right beside a door to another carriage, several colorful changelings and a lone brown pony with grayscale mane were wearing the same adventurer's outfit, all of them either holding a Daring Do book or having one near by; their talk was made up of much discussion, elaboration, and the occasional spice of heated argument before one of them intervened and called for a peaceful resolution before things would "get very bad" as one changeling quipped. Over here, at the other end of the carriage and also beside a door to another carriage, a fancy couple
of unicorns was sitting alone; the stallion was of white coat, blue hair, suit and lavender bowtie, fine mustache, and monocle—the mare was of white coat (too), pink hair, and was, with the stallion, looking out at the lovely landscape past the window; not a word was said between the two of them. Right at the middle of the carriage, at one set of seats, an informal grouping of Crystal ponies—as could be seen by their polygonal, diagonal sparkles and shines on their eyes—were laughing together, some covering their hooves which did not do anything to stifle the laughter at all; one of them let out "That was a good joke!" and that finally caused some heads to turn their way and some eyebrows to be raised and knitted their direction.

However, the four ponies that had begun this—no doubt—considerable and significant job about Winsome Falls were gathered together in an inconspicious position: over there, not at either end and not close to the middle, too. They were just seated there as if randomly but not so. Dally News, Wakes Week, and Isobar had their eyes closed—Isobar was snoring loudly, annoying the pony in front who gave Onion a mean look before she went back to reading her newspaper under the bright wall and ceiling lights.

Onion shivered a little before he went back to normal.

He then looked out past the window without disturbing his friends—making sure that his movements were delicate and calculated so as to not even make any sort of contact with them.

He gazed upon the starry sky with its moon. He then looked at the grass, the trees, the plants, the distant towns with their own bright lights.

His eyes blinked slowly.

Fourbeat

The train stopped once again.

The doors opened, letting in that natural night's chill. Several ponies and changelings shivered but, notably, the griffons who were there did not even shake a feather much less kept themselves warm by quavering.

Out on the wooden platform, the station they were in was not something to boast of (for the fancy Canterlot unicorns, at least): A shabby bungalow-style building that looked more like a simple family's house than a place where trains come and go bringing their passengers of both famous and unknown import. Nonetheless, it functioned as a train station as no one (except the fancy Canterlot unicorns) spoke a single word about the train station they were in, turning to other topics as they walked into the quiet night of the rurals.

As the four soon-to-be-adventuring ponies walked among the exiting crowd, they looked around—Isobar with baggy eyes and a yawn but those did not stop him from letting out an expression of admiration.

First of all, the night sky was still above them. The stars and the moon were still shining at their spots, but they lent to the ground a unique atmosphere for each and every city, town, and village.

Then, there was Fourbeat itself: a tiny village that was a lot like Ambling but a lot different from it. While a few buildings were on the flat surface of grass, more than a few were dangling from above, overhanging from the mountains. There were not that many dirt roads—there were only several junctions and intersections for the structures to be at the side of.

The inhabitants of Fourbeat were wearing jackets and muffed hats. There was no snow, yet they could see their own breath—a white mist that faded out as soon as it faded in. While the only griffon passengers flew quite freely in the cold night, those who stayed on the ground kept shivering even if just a little.

An inhabitant sneered at the shivering group, proudly pointing to himself—clothed in thick jackets over jackets over shirts, hats over hats and earmuffs over earmuffs while holding a steaming hot cup of thick chocolate—marshmallows, too.

The domestic tourists looked up at the mountains in awe as they took another good look at the perilous edifices high up there. Firm lines of rope jutted from some of those buildings, heading to and ending at some large warehouses on the ground, specifically at the balconies where a small club of ponies were stationed at, filling the suspended containers with stuff before one of them gave the rope a good hit. Then, the container steadily moved away from the warehouse and the ponies there, rising higher and higher toward an alpine house of woord up there.

Wagons, carts—these were aplenty in Fourbeat. There were many ponies in the delivery business (as could be seen in most of them by their burly muslces, their distinct uniforms with their recognizable hats, or both) chatting with each other in the contrasting lights of a house or of a store all under a chilly night.

As the group of passengers went by, over there—beside a house's window showing a family of coldy clothed ponies eating a cabbage and noodle dinner coupled with cakes and pies on the side—a conversation was in motion between a brown, curly-haried pony carrying a small stamped box and a white pegasus carrying a saddle bag.

"That's all?" the Earth pony asked.

"I think that would be all for the order," the pegasus said. "But, don't you think it's a little too much for them there?"

"I always assume the best," the Earth pony replied. "Those brothers have gotten better about what's right and wrong over the years."

"But before that, they've gotten worse. I don't forget what they did to the pegasi of Stratusburg and those rigged awards at the flight competition."

"What would you expect if you got beaten by the Elements of Harmony themselves?" the Earth pony asked. "Sure, they were overconfident about everything when they did their business in Ponyville, but to have victory over the farm and then to have it all taken away right there and then?"

"No wonder Flim and Flam are having a hey day running not just Las Pegasus but also this...thing."

"The foresting business?"

"It's a deforesting business, that's certain."

"And, what's wrong with that?" He placed his parcel on a nearby table where various loaded bags and boxes with stamps were. "As long as they follow the rules and regulations set out by the committee, then Flim and Flam are going to do just—"

"Are you blind? Have you seen what they did during their tenure in Las Pegasus which is still going on today?"

"They're doing a more honest job than Gladmane?" the Earth pony asked sincerely.

The pegasus placed a hoof on his chin, scrutinizing with his eyes. "Well, maybe they're doing a less cruel job than Gladmane but it's certainly not more honest. Flim and Flam are certified con ponies."

"Wait, con ponies can get certified in the science of conning?"

The pegasus slammed his own face with a hoof. "No! I was just using 'certified' as a metaphorical—argh! Nevermind—they're just good at parting ponies away from their hard-earned cash."

"I knew that."

"Then, why are you giving them the benefit of the doubt?"

"Perhaps their stint in Las Pegasus has mellowed them?"

"You think running an entire city is going to mellow these con ponies? It's going to make them brazen in tricking all of us!"

"How do you know?" The Earth pony leaned on the table and crossed his front hooves.

"I just know."

"Well, I just know that I'm going to find a treasure chest right inside this house," he said, gesturing a hoof towards the window. "That's not enough for me to really know, right?"

The pegasus sighed. "Let's take care of this later, Parcel Post?"

He nodded, picking up his parcel and looked around, whistling a tune as the pegasus hovered over the air—both of them waiting as they looked at the other delivery ponies who were gathered there in the area.

The house was a bit off from the old, beaten path of some carriages and ponies. It had two floors though it seemed like it had one and a half—in other words, it was quite short. Two chimneys rose from it, one emitting black smoke out into the open air, dimming the glittering night sky a little.

The house was surrounded by overrunning shrubbery and greenery—a few wild bushes and weeds were here and there along with a tall tree a stone's throw away. The walls were made of concrete, the roofs were tiled, the windows were normal enough. A wooden door was the front entrance—nothing too formal, for it was a just a house.

If one took some steps back and beheld the house in all its candor, the picture one would see was a pretty sight: A house on the ground set against the backdrop of a towering, ragged cliff with those buildings that looked just like it hanging over a great chunk of air. The lights that were on in those far-away structures gave the mountains an exotic feel, also further enhancing the image of that house on the ground.

The tick-tock of the clock went on as a pony led the four while carrying a huge clock with his magic, nearing the door. "I'm sorry for the poor arrangements, but we've been short-staffed as of late," the unicorn attendant explained—he was wearing a casual shirt with a loose tie. "Everypony's off to see the Pony Tones perform later tonight—you did catch a glimpse of them, didn't you?"

"Who's they?" Onion asked as they walked on the dirt road.

"Quartet or quintet of singers," Dally News answered, adjusting her glasses again with her magic as they glowed green. "Rarity, Big McIntosh, Torch Song, and Toe Tapper—sometimes Fluttershy appears, too, but sometimes she doesn't."

"Is she there now?" Isobar asked. "Do you know?"

"I'm a little sleepy myself," Wakes Week spoke up, "but I'm down for a concert!"

"When I fix up this clock," the attendant said, stopping to face the group while still floating that large timepiece, "I'll go straight to the center of town with you guys!"

Dally News nodded. "Then, it's—" She looked at Onion "—uh, don't you wanna go?"

"I'll h-help him," Onion said, pointing a shy hoof to the attendant entering the house with that glowing, floating clock. "He's kind of helpless right now."

"No, no, don't worry!" the attendant said. "I can handle this just fine! In fact, you ponies go on up ahead—I'll make the necessary preparations to your room and I'll catch up."

"Like mustard, eh?" Isobar blurted out.

The unicorn stared at the offending pegasus blankly. "Get out of here."

A wooden sign touted the place as "Fourbeat's Town Square." Some ponies on the way there—passing under the bright lights from inside and within the chilling weather there—were arguing over semantics about whether Fourbeat was really a town or not—one even brought out a list of community classifications with various numbers being associated with certain terms like "village," "town," "city," "very big city," and so on; therefore, the square being of a town called Fourbeat was brought into question. When those ponies arrived at the square, the debate changed into one over the word "square"—was it really fitting, a daring pony proposed, to call it a square when it did not even have four sides to begin with? Indeed, the "square" was not of a square shape but, instead, was just a worn-out circle of stony ground already populated with budding flowers and bushes on the sides and at the corners. So, "Fourbeat's Town Square," as a name, was being under attack due to its questionable validity.

Which did not matter much to the rest of the party of ponies and other creatures. An Earth pony shushed them loudly—prompting the amateur orators and spokesponies to keep their mouths closed.

Tall buildings—not skyscrapers, but still respectably tall—surrounded the square; thus, the area felt cramped yet cozy, constrained yet comfortable as those attending the to-be performance had to come close and to convene around each other. This elicited more light-hearted chats and talks between various ponies—several were gushing about seeing the Pony Tones for the first time, others were expressing interest about what songs they would perform next, and still others were asking the locals about how Fourbeat was right then. Meanwhile, those discussions brought about ephemeral, cool mists around.

The stage at the far end of the square was a plain one—a wooden platform and a backstage, both separated by a wide purple curtain with a patched image of the five Pony Tones on its surface: a white, dazzling unicorn; a brawny, sturdy Earth pony a bigger than the rest; a cream, smaller Earth pony with a mane sparkling with jewelry; a thin, well-combed blue Earth pony; and a yellow pegasus whose long mane covered half of her face.

Stage lights were set—almost burning the stage with great brightness and heat and also signalling to all who were watching that the Pony Tones were, yes, not on stage yet; it was quite barren and empty and though a few ponies sought their way to get up, the stocky guards with their uniforms prevented any of them from achieving that goal.

It was a dynamic night—the chatter, the waiting, the many who were there, the empty stage all culminated into a buzzing air that reeked of impatience, each second ticking by as one would, somehow, hear the ticking of a pony's watch if he was near enough despite the volume of the collected chitchat.

"I wonder what's the occasion this time," Isobar said, huddling close to his three friends and shielding them from incoming newcomers busting their way through; he was speaking, or at least trying to speak, above the din of other words and sounds. "I don't know anything about this place. Is it their anniversary or something?"

"I don't remember seeing any banners about an anniversary on the way here," Wakes Week said. "That would've been a more appropriate time to have a performance, though. Imagine it: The ponies here are going to attend because they're celebrating the anniversary, and ponies outside are going to attend because they're visiting and why are they visiting? Because it turns out to be the town's anniversary."

"It couldn't afford to have an anniversary blowout if it could manage to get the Pony Tones here," Dally News countered.

"But, the Pony Tones usually perform for free," Wakes Week pointed out. "I think Rarity is the leader of the troupe and, well, she has no qualms about setting up a day of singing with free admission just like they do with just about every time they sang in public."

"You added the word 'usually,'" Dally News responded. "Maybe this is one of those times when they're not doing it for free."

At that moment, a hurrying freckled blue Earth pony stepped his way between the four ponies. "Sorry—whoops, sorry!" Then, he quickly went out of sight, lost in the crowd.

Dally News groaned. "Those impeders. Always rushing in without any consideration for those around them!"

"Please calm down, Dally!" Wakes Week said, lowering her friend's raised hoof. She fixed the glasses on her friend herself which had gone hanging lopsided. "Remember that we're here for the Pony Tones—we're here so anything else should be fine for us!"

"I'm not going to let them ruin tonight," she muttered before turning her attention towards the empty stage.

It was still empty.

Onion was sweating profusely, biting his lip as his eyes with tiny irises dashed here and there, obscuring his vision as he focused on this pony and that pony, on this streetlight and on that window on some random building he chose. He trembled—though he was sweating, yet the air was cold.

"Are you alright, Onion?" Isobar asked, putting his wing on the pony's shoulder; he had an uneasy face. "You want me to get you to the clinic or what?"

"N-no, I'm fine—I'm actually excited to hear these ponies sing for the first time!" He wore an uneasy grin.

"OK, then. If you say you're fine—well, I hope you're fine, Onion."

The pegasus turned around toward the still empty stage.

Onion gulped as he wiped the sweat off of his face.

A pony walked out of the curtain, splitting it into two before letting it sway back into a single piece.

"Good evening, dear residents of Fourbeat and beyond!" Rarity announced through the microphone she was levitating with her magic, sweeping a hoof across her view.

The audience roared with deafening cheers and shouts—shrill whistles, even, penetrated the cold air at the mere presence of that green-clothed unicorn splendidly radiating from the stage lights.

"It is lovely of you to be here at this very moment, because today is the first anniversary of Fourbeat being a proper town full of thriving, aspiring ponies!"

"I told you!" Wakes Week whispered to her friends, containing her laughter within the crowd, catching the minds of her friends before they swiftly looked back at Rarity—Dally News placing a sour appearance.

"While Fourbeat was originally built as a city of production—for only in Fourbeat will you find, for example, pottery studded with the diamonds ones find nearby—" At this, she levitated a ceramic jar—a vase—of that was blue and purple, twinkling under the searing lights; and, the crowd, especially the locals, gave a whooping ovation "—well, despite Fourbeat's materialistic beginnings, it has grown nicely into a booming town filled to the brim with ponies eager to do something useful.

"So, I think I have already said too much. No more delays—here are the Pony Tones!"

The audience grew into a hollering mass, forehooves raised in the air, cameras flashing and blinding the rest of the band's members as they entered into view from behind the curtain—especially a nervous, shuddering Fluttershy, teeth clattering. Names were chanted together, most of all "Pony Tones" over and over with different intonations. The first four members waved at the audience, smiling—with Rarity making the widest and brightest grin and the boldest yet prudent hoof wave; Fluttershy, meanwhile, was content with hiding a little behind her long mane and taking a step back but not fully retreating back into the safety of the curtains.

Then, the pegasus managed a smile, a subtle one but still a visible smile.

A tap on Isobar's shoulder. He turned around again. "What is it, Onion?"

"Shouldn't we be writing to the Princess about how we made it here OK?" Onion asked in hushed tone and around curved hoof.

"Don't worry about it!" Isobar answered back. "Nothing bad is going to happen here—trust me. It's not that urgent, anyway—we just write a letter to her when we get back to our inn, alright? No biggie."

"What if the Princess is biting her nails, waiting for—"

"That's almost disrespectful of you to think that way of a Princess!" Isobar lashed at him—still in a whisper. "None of the Princesses are worry-warts—and even Princess Twilight Sparkle is getting over that, but we're not under her orders, are we? We're talking about the calm and collected Princess Luna—she's not going to sit around biting her nails and doing nothing else!"

"OK, OK, I'm sorry about what I said!" Onion replied, sounding irritated. "I'm just—"

"Worried?" Isobar finished. "Don't be! Remember what Princess Luna said? To have fun and to bond with each other in the journey."

Onion nodded, a frown appearing.

"Good. Now, take it easy and enjoy the show!" he said, smiling.

But, it took Onion straining of the ears to hear that. The storming noise around him was only increasing, threatening to drown out any one voice that spoke something normal, something wordy—for all that was left to hear was more chanting, more shouting of the same names, annoying screams and irritating cries for more even though the Pony Tones had not even begun.

Then, all was quiet and silent.

A deep voice, Big McIntosh singing. "Bum, bum, bum-ba-da, ba-da; Bum, bum, bum-ba-da ah!"

And the rest joined in, introducing harmony, repeating it twice.

"Trot outside and you see the sunshine; Something's in the air today!"

The ponies danced to the rhythm from just a simple bobble of the head to full-out breakdancing that did not fit the mood of the event but nopony was protesting against it so whoever was breakdancing aggressively on the ground smiled and continued his hectic form of moving to the beat.

The song continued on, Onion's friends settling for just leaning left and right to the music—they had happy faces, big smiles.

Watts Onion himself stayed relatively still, watching the Pony Tones perform with utmost expression, enjoying themselves. He noticed a bit of large space separating him and the rest of the ponies around him—a bead of sweat down his face.

"What about—the Princess—no! Gotta focus on the present, gotta think about singing and musicing!"

And Onion made an awkward dance—shuffling his hooves and almost tripping down to the floor but he quietly went on.

Everyone's eyes were on the Pony Tones and not truly on anyone else. Caught up in the party, caught up in the energy—it was a fun performance, to say the least, and, for the audience there, it was only starting.

But, that, too, must end and so, after almost three hours of singing and down time, the Pony Tones went behind the curtain one last time. The stage lights were still on but several ponies were now in the process of preparing it all for the trip home—back to Ponyville.

Those who did not gallop home the instant the concert ended were greeted with a surprise: the Pony Tones coming out of their stage not to sing but to just walk to those who were there and engaging in easygoing conversation.

Isobar, Wakes Week, and Dally News hurried to the quintet as two were signing papers and notebooks while the rest kept the conversation going. Camera flashes were still there though only emerging seldomly; Rarity, however, took the chances she could get to strike a striking pose for the camera.

After a few more minutes of waiting "in line"—for there wasn't a line but just a semi-circle of fans with posters, signs, costumes, among others—the three made it to the front, the Pony Tones right in front of them and their voices as loud and as close as ever.

"And, you must be...?" Rarity asked the pegasus in that elegant, fancy tone.

"Uh, I-I'm Isobar—from Ambling." His eyes avoided hers.

"And, your friends?"

"I'm Wakes Week!" the Earth pony shouted, raising her hoof. "I'm also from Ambling—all three of us (that's Dally News over there) are from Ambling!"

"Hm; not too far," Rarity commented. "So, how are you? Did you enjoy the night together?"

"Ah, yes!" Wakes Week yelled, jumping up as if to emphasize her point. "It was marvelous, Rarity! We also get to meet you—don't you know that it's a dream of mine, personally, to meet at least one one of the Elements of Harmony in my lifetime?"

"I understand that you must be thrilled," Rarity said, extending a hoof.

Wakes Week placed her own hooves on her own cheek.

She screamed.

The ponies around her covered their ears, including the Pony Tones themselves.

"Wow, that was, uh, quite unexpected," Rarity said after removing her hooves from her ears. "So, what else do you want?

"Oh, I have a lot!" Wakes Week yelled.

Isobar and Dally News rolled their eyes together, both smiling at the excited mare.

"Are you sure about this, Watts Onion?" the attendant said as he stood behind the seated pony in question who was furiously writing something on the parchment with a floating quill—his horn was glowing that blue glow. "I don't want to know what will happen when they find out you pretty much deserted them just to write a letter."

"It's not just a letter, dear sir!" Onion said, adopting a haughty tone but not turning away from the writing task. "It's a royal letter to a royal Princess about some royal business that we're going to do in a royal fashion."

"Staying here is not royal, if I may add one to the list," the attendant said, worried.

"I'll be just fine. Just do whatever ponies who take care of establishments like these do—I won't bother you."

And he was still writing, scribbling, on the parchment.

"OK, but watch out for your friends, Onion," the attendant said before he left the open room.

It was a plain bedroom—a huge bed that could accommodate all four of them, some cabinets and shelves to put stuff in, a bathroom with its open door over there (complete with sink and shower), a table and four chairs for eating and drinking, and the wooden desk that Onion was now using.

A crumpled up face—Onion kept writing and writing with that levitating quill.

Confusion

Soon, the hours passed and went, the celebration unfelt but remembered, and the moon lowered and gave way to the sun.

Now, it was morning. The birds sang their natural melodies of wooded lands nearby.

An eager pony who had a half note for a cutie mark ran to a tree where such a melody was being performed, huffing and puffing as he carried a music stand and a sheet of papers precariously threatening to disorganize themselves on the grassy ground—and, so, at times, he would stop and rearrange the papers before taking the stand up and galloping towards it.

"I must transcribe it!" the pony shouted. "I must! They have called me a crazy, unfettered musician for even thinking of recording such music to the ears, but that's what they shall call me—to throw mislabels at me—until I prove them wrong! Soon, they will know that their music can be enhanced, that we can up them by a notch or two."

He laughed, cackled.

That laugh caused the birds to fly away.

"Hold on!" the pony shouted, picking up the music stand again and galloping after the birds. "I'm going to catch you! You'll make me millions of bits; just stay still!"

The musician kept shouting and screaming at the fleeing birds flapping their wings to relative safety and freedom. Across the main street, now past the houses, he gained the ire of his fellow ponies by rudely waking them up and causing a few of them to open their windows and to return the favor by shouting and screaming at him.

These loud words, however, did not faze the chasing musician, holding dearly to his music stand—a look at the ruffled papers, then a look at the birds almost out of sight.

The pony then went down a dirt path, picking up speed as he got closer and closer to the birds—his run becoming faster and faster.

"Why don't you just stay here, birds?!"

Wakes Week woke up, eyes wide open and an angry face on her.

She looked to her left and right.

Isobar was hovering to the window; Dally News was getting up from bed and was moving there, too.

"What's happening?" Wakes Week asked, irritated as she shot up from bed. "Is there a criminal gone loose?"

"Apparently not," Isobar said, opened the window and stuck his head out.

Dally News stuck her head out, too.

"Come on, I wanna see what's the ruckus!" Wakes Week said, sticking her head out as well.

They saw a pony sprinting away from them, holding a music stand, shouting about in an enraged manner.

"The weird things that happen here," Dally News said. "Well, it isn't too off from the normal compared to other things, but it's still strange."

"Do you think he's a resident here?" Isobar asked.

She shook her head. "Never seen him before."

"There were lots of ponies at the Pony Tones performance last night," Wakes Week said. "There should have been a similar face there in the crowd somewhere!"

"Like I was focused on looking for a pony I didn't even know existed until now, Wakey." The unicorn rolled her eyes as she adjusted her glasses with her magic once again.

After that, her horn still glowing green, she looked away from the window and arranged the bed, levitating the scattered pillows and ruffled blanket and fixing them up as they glowed green as well. Then, the bed was tidy and clean.

She scanned the room. Her smile went away.

"Guys, where's Onion?"

The two ponies still at the window turned around.

Besides the three of them, the room was empty, void of anypony else.

Wakes Week gulped. "This is not good! Did somepony foalnap him already?!"

"Well," Isobar spoke up, raising a wing to his head, "if the robber foalnapped him, why him only? Why not all four of us?"

"Because all four of us are too heavy?"

Isobar sighed, disappointed. "For a pegasus or a unicorn, maybe. But, for an Earth pony—you know, the ones well-known for their immense strength and raw power besides other things—it would be a lickety-split."

"You're saying the ice cream pony did it?!" Wakes Week yelled.

"What? Not Lickety Split! He's a colt who lives in Ponyville helping out at the famous ice cream shop there—no way that he would be stealing ponies in their sleep way over here!"

"But, it's just two train stations away!"

"Uh, guys?" Dally News asked, poking Isobar on his wing.

"What is it—oh, it's you."

Onion stood in front of the door carrying a sling bag. He wore a sheepish grin as he slowly waved at them, also slowy moving towards the bed. "Uh, hi?"

"What have you been doing?" Isobar asked, a hoof pointed at him.

"Uh, eh, I was doing my normal, uh, early morning walk—a twilight walk, if you may! Heh-heh-heh-heh!"

"You don't do early morning walks," Isobar pointed out.

Wakes Week gasped. "Are you telling me that you're in cahoots with Lickety Split?!"

"Who?" Onion asked, confused. "The grandson of the pony running the ice cream—"

"It doesn't even make sense," Dally News said. Then, her horn glowed again and carried the bag away.

"W-what are you doing?" Onion said. "That's very important, top-secret stuff in there!"

Isobar caught the bag. Without saying anything, he unzipped the bag.

Papers inside.

Isobar scooped them up with a hoof. Eyeing the shy, retreating Onion, he said, "Waiting until we were asleep to go out and do whatever this is—" He pointed a wing to the stack of papers "—isn't the best idea! We thought you got foalnapped by a thief!"

"I wasn't foalnapped at all!" Onion protested. "I was just—"

"Stop. Let me skim this first."

Everyone went silent as Isobar read what was on the paper—scribbles, hurried turns and twists of the quill. He squinted his eyes at the hoofwriting before him.

"Before you say anything," Onion said, raising a hoof, "I wrote it with my magic, not my hoof."

"Must be why it's more legible than I thought," Isobar responded calmfully before returning to the squinting of eyes and the poring of papers.

A minute of this passed. Then, Isobar dropped the stack of papers down.

"What is it?" Dally News asked.

Isobar sighed again, looking at her. "I don't know what to say." Then, he looked at Onion. "I don't know what to say."

"Uh, I know this might be a bad time to say this," Onion said, "but: Are you impressed?"

"I don't know if I should be happy or sad," Isobar said, wincing while conveying a little smile. "It looks like you've done our first bit of interrogation all by yourself."

"It's the train's fault," Onion answered, raising his hoof again. "I couldn't get the schedule out of my head—it was going to leave at seven-thirty sharp or we would end up being late to the search and maybe whoever is doing something out-of-the-ordinary in Winsome Falls would have gotten away by then. I had to expect the worst, so I had to get away from the performance the first chance I got—which was when they finished their last song. I noticed all of you wanted to meet the Pony Tones so I took that opportunity to slip away, come here, write my report to Princess Luna, and then, after I was done with that, went back outside to interview the ponies here. It's kind of convenient that this is a town where ponies transport things so not only did I have lots of ponies waiting under the night with their wares and items and other things, I got some pretty good answers—gleaned some useful information. Turns out, there's a 'foresting industry' in Winsome Falls headed by the Flim Flam Brothers."

All three ponies were staring at him dumb-founded—eyes wide open, irises shrunken, and mouths open in wonder.

Isobar closed his mouth. "Don't do that again, but let's go!" He looked at the clock on the wall. "Thanks for reminding me about the train, Onion! We're five minutes away!"

"I didn't even get the pictures—" Wakes spoke up.

"They can wait when we come back! Let's hurry!"

So, with Onion leading the group, they hurried out of the room, rushed down the stairs, and went out of the inn, Onion and Wakes Week grabbing the wagon and pulling it in frantic pace.

"Are you sure we'll be able to get there?" Isobar asked. "We're a bit far away from the station!" Then, his eyes lighted up. "I got an idea! I'll stall the train!"

"What?!" Everypony yelled as they galloped.

"It's worth a shot!"

Then, Isobar flew away, leaving the three of them running on the dirt path, running closer to the more populated area of Fourbeat.

"Should we tell him that we're not that far away?" Dally News asked, pointing a hoof at the nearby train station. "And—wait a minute, why are we running to the train station?!"

Then, the three skidded and screeched their hooves.

Onion gasped then bit his hoof. "This is a big mistake!" Bringing his front hooves to his mouth, he called out: "Isobar! Come back! We're not supposed to be using the train station!" Turning to see Wakes Week, he said, "OK, uh, Wakey—can I use that nickname of—"

"You don't have to be so stiff! Of course you can call me—"

"Wakey, go to the square and ask anypony there if they know the way to Pace!" Turning to Dally, he then ordered, "Dally, help her get the wagon there—we can't afford to lose a single thing!"

"If we drop anything, we can just pick it back up," Dally News said with an expression of annoyed boredom.

"We can't afford to waste time!"

Dally sighed and rolled her eyes. "Can't argue with that."

And, the two mares were pushing the cart back to town.

"This is what we get for having Onion be the one spearheading this expedition," Dally News opined as she and Wakes Week stood along with the covered wagon in the open square where several ponies were going about.

Several stalls and mini-shops had been set up there, selling whatever they were selling: on this side were the fresh agricultural produce, on that side were the precious gems and stones glittering under the sharp sunlight, on another side over there was a lonely stall advertising apples by an enthusiastic Apple family member—that could be seen quite well by the fact that he wore a shirt that had apples on it, a hat with symbols and images of apples on it, his wooden stall had apples painted on it, and his cutie mark was four apples with a candied one on the side.

"He's the one telling us that we should be on time for this, saving time for that, always trying to be the relaxed honcho—but, look at what his 'time-saving techniques' did to all of us."

"Dally," Wakes Week replied, a bothered tone brooding, "you know that he means well. Just chalk it up to his brashness and hot-headedness."

"That still doesn't solve the problem," Dally News said, glancing at one of the stalls and observing it as she spoke. "That only tells us what the problem is."

"At least we know what the problem is!" She budged her on the shoulder. "That counts, right?"

Dally sighed, forcing a smile. "And, now we just wait for the two hardy stallions to get here and 'fess up."

As if on cue, the two hardy stallions turned a corner and appeared in their view—Watts Onion galloping, Isobar flying. Onion skidded once again, screeching to a halt in front of the mares while Isobar landed, his wings a bit too close to the mares as their manes flew about by the wind—Dally was holding on to her glasses.

Isobar smiled at the mares then glared at Onion. "Nice try."

The unicorn gulped before straightening himself up and forced a smile as well, taking up a commanding attitude. "So, girls, what's the status on the location of, uh, Pace?"

Dally News arched an eyebrow, her eyeglasses making it more outstanding. "Yes, we asked for directions, if that's what you meant."

Onion sighed in relief. "OK, then." He pointed a hoof at the mountains with their high buildings. "Off to Pace we—"

"Onion, you don't even know where to start," Dally said, placing a hoof on his shoulder.

Isobar groaned yet again, covering his face with a wing.

"Let us lead the way, Onion!" Wakes Week said cheerfully, smiling. "I'm sure you must be tired from all that interviewing and interrogating last night!"

Onion smiled wider, beaming at her. "Thanks."

"Now that the fiasco is all over," Isobar said, grumpy in his statement, "can we get a move on and make sure this goes off without a hitch?"

Dally News looked around in the busy square with its clanking of bits, its constant exchange of items, its evolving and ever-changing nonchalant, casual discussions. "Yeah." Looking at Onion—who was yawning—she said, "I think we can make it with more than enough time for you to sleep when we get there. It's quite nearby."

Wakes Week nodded. "And, if you stay awake, you'll see the beautiful trees and plants there. I'm now afraid that you might be tempted to sleep there!"

"Uh, thanks?"

The four ponies, from there on, walked on another dirt path, walking out of Fourbeat and into the nearby forest higher up in the hills.

They passed through the tall, towering trees of formidable trunk and bark—leaves, though gentle and delicate, emanating from them a prestigious image due to the stature of their trees. Unkempt, untrimmed grass ruled the ground—flowers and weeds were running wild here and so were the woodland creatures such as the rabbits and the foxes along with those birds whistling about. If one could strain and stretch their ears out, one could make out a voice shouting as if it was on a tirade against those flying animals. But, whoever was making that voice was too far away to listen to for a long time.

After some time, they came across a ledge. It gave the four travelling ponies a spanning vista of the land beyond them—Fourbeat, quaint little town, was only as big as the end of a pony's hoof while, rising above the numerous mountains and hills and other soaring land forms of somewhat short height—a purple glint, reflecting the rays of the sun in magnificent splendor.

The ponies—including Watts Onion—stopped at that ledge high up above the ground.

Not a word was said. Only the smiles and the wide open eyes spoke of awe and apprehending admiration at the landscape worthy of a painting—the clouds in fragile yet imposing form, the sky in infinite scope stretching its influence throughout its realm, the sun radiating its warmth and light as the unambiguous object of the time being.

But, a poke on Isobar's wing and a silent glare in response brought the four ponies to moving again as they approached a stone bridge and several wooden houses on the other side of it.

Pace

The four ponies walked on the stone bridge, continuing to breathe in the fresh mountain air—cool, rejuvenating, crisp. Past the hilly woodlands filled with its many plants and animals—the birds' chirping and the owls' hooting could still be heard as the sun continued to set—they finally made it to the end of the bridge.

They walked past a metal sign that read: "Pace! The Town of Expectations!"

Onward to the town they went.

Pace was a tiny town—it was roughly the size of a few acres, all of it. A stone road was its main road, it splitting off into smaller dirt roads for the rest of the area. A lot of the wooden houses there were brightly colored—white, pink, cyan, yellow, among others. These colors clashed with the mostly green and brown of the landscape around them, though they were shining even brighter because of the sun at this hour. Another forest was just a few paces ahead.

There were more than just houses, however. A park and an open field were beside each other—a few benches, a few trees, a few ponds, a few paths in the park; not a lot in the field other than grass though some ponies were having a picnic there on that typical red and white picnic mat. A pegasus was in the air right near them, showing off his aerial moves and causing those looking on to stomp the ground in ovation.

Also, there was a little store in the middle of Pace: A store that boasted its "great prices, great bargains!" with a humongous sign that was almost as big as the sign for its name. A rush of even cooler air went out of the store's door as could be seen by a pony shivering as he entered despite the jacket and beanie he was wearing.

At the sides of the roads were trees—rows and rows of trees. Some had fruit, some did not. Beautifying the town even further with their natural loveliness, the trees were the object of a little admiration—a few ponies in airy shirts and wide hats were taking pictures of them.

Among the other buildings there was a diner. It was, like the rest of the structures there in Pace, very simple in style: a one-story restaurant with slanted roof, wide windows letting anyone passing by see the full extent of the restaurant and all who were in it along with what they were doing.

Beside that was the library, judging by the sign on the wall that had a picture of an open book. Several bookshelves were outside and a few ponies were gathered there reading some of the books available.

Over there, beside the library, was a candy store—for behind the display window was a smorgasbord of candy and chocolate, but at the time—a crowd forming around them—several ponies with uniforms and shades were interviewing the poor owner of the store—he was pleading, "Please! This is my family's business, the only business we could have! Do you even know who started this in the first place, officers?"

"It doesn't matter," one of the officers said in a deep voice. "What matters is that you're breaking the law."

"But, what law am I breaking? You don't expect an average stallion like me to read all those bureaucratic, unreadable things you call 'laws'! That's what the Princesses and other royals are—"

Another officer apprehended him, buckling first his forehooves and then his hindhooves with hoofcuffs. "Keep quiet and you'll be fine, sir."

"This is all a big mistake!" the candy store owner yelled.

Watery eyes.

"I did my best to comply with every single regulation I could think of, sirs!"

"Then there must be a regulation you haven't thought of," yet another officer said. "Anyway, it's not our job to know what your crime is. It's our job to arrest and to send to the proper authorities, nothing more. Apologies for the inconvenience."

"Inconvenience?! This is more than just a mere inconvenience! I demand justice—is there somepony trying to frame me for a crime I did not commit?!"

"I don't know," the officer said. "All I know is that we've been told that you are a suspect of a major crime. Nothing more, nothing less. That's it. Can't argue with us about that, mister."

The candy store owner said not another word as he pouted—and as a tear went down his face.

Some of the officers took the pony away, walking him on the sidewalk and then across the street. The other officers walked into the candy store and scanned the interior—looking at the shelves, checking the vending machines at the back, inspecting all the items that were at the counter (including opening the cash register and inspecting the money inside).

"Uh, sirs?"

The officers inside stopped what they were doing and immediately looked at the four ponies who were now inside as well.

"What is it?" one of the officers asked. "Say it quick—we're busy with some important matters at hoof."

Watts Onion gulped. He then pulled out his medal and showed it to the officer as he approached him. "We're busy with some important matters at hoof as well. We're on your side, guys!"

"Is that how you talk to them?" Wakes Week whispered. "They look so serious.:

"I know what I'm doing!" Onion nervously whispered back, still holding the medal.

The officer leaned closer to see the medal with all its detail.

He motioned a hoof, signalling the rest of the officers inside to come over and look at the medal as well.

A few seconds of silence. Officers inspecting and examining, Watts Onion sweating a lot as he eyed the officers, Isobar standing calmly, Wakes Week a little nervous by the look on her face, and Dally News yawning as she, once again, adjusted her glasses with her magic.

"Alright," the officer finally said. "We see no evidence that this is a fraud or a counterfeit."

Onion lightened up, beaming. He turned around. "See, guys! We're going to—"

Buckled in hoofcuffs.

"What?!"

"Except for the fact that the medal is just an inch too big," the officer said as held another pair of hoofcuffs. "Whoever made that medal must've remembered everything but the size. Shame, really. You could've pulled that one off flawlessly, but—the size, mister, the size."

Isobar protected the two mares with his now open wings. "What's going on here?"

"Hey, I got my medal from Princess Luna herself!" Onion protested, yanking the medal out of the officer's hoof and showing it once again to him.

"It's going to take more than your word for us to believe that."

Onion groaned. "Who said it was too big, anyway?!"

The officer cracked a smile.

"Oh, no."

The officer pulled out a scroll and opened it with a hoof. "If you haven't checked Law Number 3481, then you don't know the specifications of that certain medal."

"B-but, what if that's outdated or something?!" Onion yelled.

"Yeah!" Wakes said, making a fist out of a hoof and threatening the officers with them. "Who said you were lawyers, huh?!"

"I don't have to be a lawyer," the officer said. "I just follow orders, and orders are orders."

"Hey, that's not how that line works!" Isobar said, still keeping the two mares safe with his open wings though he took a few steps forward. "Orders are orders unless they cause greater harm. What if 'orders are orders' leads to a whole city getting destroyed, probably because your leader did not know any better but his leader did? Anyway, you should know this by now!"

The officer's smile faded away.

He made a slight gesture to the other officers with his head.

"Uh, guys?" Isobar said, his voice trembling. "I don't think those are real—"

The officers lunged at the four.

"Help!"

Stand off—locked in a hoof-fight, Isobar and that shaded officer.

Slap of a wing, off-balance, officer knocked out.

Wing grabbed; another officer, flung Isobar across the room and over the counter.

Attacked by an umbrella.

"Take that!" Wakes Week said, brandishing the umbrella with a hoof.

Umbrella glowing purple—away it went.

"What, where did—"

A unicorn officer smiled, levitating the umbrella.

Glow changed to blue.

Pushed him down.

Levitated to the two officers holding Onion down—slapped and punched.

Dally News lunged at one of them, crashing herself and him.

Onion—out of the grasp—into a swipe and a kick and down his other captor.

Yet another officer picked up a cash register—threw it at Isobar.

Pegasus down.

Wakes Week kicked him—smashed his head with same register.

"Neutralize the—"

Officer thrown away by another kick from the mare.

Rushed to grab her umbrella.

Aimed umbrella at remaining conscious officers. "How do you like this, eh?! Afraid of some girl with an umbrella?!"

Looked at each other. Resolved anger—faces showed that.

"Send him out now," an officer said to his microphone on his coat.

His friends ran, charging at the mare.

Dally News jumped in front, levitating a cash register.

One bumped—down he went.

Other swerved, punched her.

Cash register dropped—thud; so did she.

Wakes Week gasped.

She growled.

Officer charged.

She dodged.

He stopped, smiling. "It's gonna take more than dodging to—"

"You hurt my friend!" Wakes Week yelled.

Lunged at him with the umbrella.

"Are we winning, yet?" Isobar asked, rubbing his head as he got up from behind the counter.

Onion ran—punched the last officer.

Down.

Silent. It was now silent save for the heavy breathing of the four ponies—Dally News just recovering as she struggled to get up on her four legs.

They looked around them to see the somewhat messy store they were in now. A few drinks were on the floor and so were all the cash registers. The shelves remained intact. There were a lot of officers in their dashing uniforms—all of them knocked out, unconscious.

"Good thing it wasn't the real E.U.P. Guard or something like it," Isobar commented. "They're probably a lot stronger than those...ponies in suits and bowties."

"Bowties—a peculiar choice," Dally News said, leaning closer to see one of the uniforms' bowties on one of the officers. "But, whatever fits their fancy and all that."

"I don't think any official branch of the Equestrian military has a bowtie for their soldiers," Isobar said. He looked at Onion. "You know what this means?"

Onion gulped. "That...they're not really working for the Princesses?"

"Worse than that," Dally News said, walking closer to him. "They're working for...unscrupulous forces."

Onion gasped. Then, a smile. "Then, that means that we've solved the—"

"Hold it, Watts," Isobar interrupted, holding up a hoof. "We don't even know who they're working for. They might be independent, or they might be working for a larger organization—almost certainly Flim and Flam since we're already so close to Winsome Falls."

"But, why would they raid a candy store?" Wakes Week asked. "Deforestation and candy don't seem to be related."

Onion smiled even more as he raised his own hoof. "Or, it's not related to candy at all!"

The rest of his friends were now silent, paying attention to him.

"Maybe it's the pony that they're after, not the candy!"

"Yeah, I was thinking of the same thing," Isobar said. "Just imagine—why would they steal candy to take care of the timber industry? What? Are the workers bringing their families there to, what, watch and take pictures of their work?" He ended that with a grin.

"Even regulated foresting and deforesting activities aren't very safe," Dally News continued, maintaining a serious face. "Who knows what kind of standards Flim and Flam are having over there?"

"But we're not even completely sure if Flim and Flam are even there or if there's even some kind of logging operation going on at all!"

"It's the most likely, though," Onion quipped. "Remember what I did back in Fourbeat?"

"And when you caused that bit of trouble when we thought we had to go to the train station?" Isobar pointed out.

"Eh, the past is in the past, so let's not think about it!"

Isobar's frown went away. "Let's get out of here." He pointed a wing towards the glass window walls. "We've already attracted quite the crowd."

Out there, standing on the sidewalk, were many ponies. No smiles—just open mouths of surprise and shock. Several already took a few steps back at the sight of the four looking back at them.

A pony in the crowd raised his hoof. "Uh, are you working for those guys as well?"

The four looked at each other.

"Yeah, I think we need to explain a lot to these folks," Onion said, sweating again.

Then, the four walked out of the store.

The crowd was watching them—their every move, just standing there and watching.

A cough.

Onion got his badge out as the four stood in front of those many.

"Under real Princess orders," he said, holding back a smile. "We're investigating Winsome Falls for some out-of-the-orindary stuff happening there. Any idea what's going on? Received any reports about what's going on there? Had any ponies in funny hats talk about tearing down some trees near the rainbow falls?"

"You can talk to me."

The crowd gave way to a stallion walking towards the four. He had a top hat and a curly mustache and was wearing a white bowtie over his fancy clothes of a coat and a shirt. He had a cane on his hoof, but he wasn't using it to walk—rather, he was swinging it about as if it was a toy. His voice was gruff, though it had a tender quality to it.

"I'm the mayor of Pace. I'm—"

"Good to have the mayor speak with us!" Onion said, shaking his hoof rapidly. "I'm sure that we'll settle whatever problem both of us have and then we'll get on with—"

"Ahem!"

Onion looked behind him to see a mad Isobar staring at him.

"Whoops!" Onion said, letting go of the hoof. "My bad."

The mayor brushed off the dust on his hoof. "Well, that was a pleasant introduction, even though there really wasn't any. I'm Hat Monocle," the mayor said. "Used to be mayor of one of the most pretigious areas of Equestria near Canterlot—Neighbraska—until I've grown too old to handle all its complexities. I've moved here to continue my work but at a more leisurely...pace."

Onion groaned again while Wakes Week and Dally News did their best to stifle their own laughter.

Isobar grinned. "Looks like we'll be working together nicely, mayor. Your attitude is amiable and likable!"

"Yes, compliments are lovely," Hat Monocle said, "but there are more pressing things to think about, as you have already witnessed." Here, his happy constitution gave way to a sadder, more pensive one—he turned to look at the mess inside the candy store.

"It's an open secret to all of us here in Pace since mere weeks ago: the owners of some resort over in Las Pegasus are expanding their business to nearby Winsome Falls. I would've been fine with that act and it was alright—personally, I didn't mind the more radical of our residents who told me that I should make a stand against these 'evil conponies.' I wanted to assume the best out of them—that the rumors were just rumors. But, they weren't, as you can see."

He coughed, covered his mouth.

Everypony there was watching him now.

"If that's the case," Dally News spoke up, "then why don't you just report it to a higher authority?"

"Like the Princesses?" Onion added, a little enthusiasm in his spicy smile.

Hat Monocole shook his head, dejected. "As good-intentioned the Princesses are, I know that a few ponies irritating us with their shenanigans is irrelevant in the grand scheme of things."

"But, isn't that what the courts are for?" Onion insisted, pressing his question. "They're open to any—"

"That is for them to talk about," Hat Monocle, his voice becoming gruffer. "And, we are getting off topic—I appreciate your assistance, but I have to get you back on track."

Isobar glared at his friend.

Onion nodded and took a few unsteady steps back.

"Also," the mayor went on, "I know those stallions—wicked, evil, and, top it all of, smart. With their current position, they have more than enough power to blind anypony with the heart and the will to opppose them."

"You're just letting them win if you talk about them like that," Onion said, stomping a hoof in the ground and adopting a brave pose. "We just took down their guards! I'm sure they're only a little harder than that!"

A budge on his shoulder. "That's not how it works," Dally News said.

Monocle nodded his head in a solemn fashion. "She is right. If those brothers are looking to minimize expenses, then they'll probably hire the cheapest security—not the best. Kind of sneaky as well—it gives the impression that who they're serving is weak when, in reality, they aren't."

"So what, mayor?" Onion said, raising his voice. "Are you going to let that intimidate you and all of this town into silent submission, always bowing down to every single whim and order that they give out? Will you give in to their unreasonable demands? Will you let them beat you down into a fearful state? Will you let them paralyze and traumatize you so you'll never question what they do? Behold, we four ponies are here to save you from your predicament—to free you and to liberate you from the horrible circumstances you are in and to bring you up to a better place—a better way of living! Do not let these evil ponies grab hold of your freedom and strange it! Seek to break free—and, never rest until—"

"Hey! That's from 'Daring Do and the Seven-Sided Chest'!" a voice yelled out from among the crowd. "You read that also?!"

Onion gulped.

The mayor smirked. "I like your persistence."

A sigh. A glance at the medal Onion was still holding.

"I don't see the harm in letting you take care of our problem," Hat Monocle said. "Who am I to have second thoughts about the Princess's chosen ponies, anyway? Sorry for being stubborn about it." He took off his hat. "I guess it's grown."

Onion took hold of the mayor's hoof and shook it rapidly again. "Good thing that our personal struggles are done and out!"

"Onion."

"Don't worry, Isobar!" Onion said, still shaking the Monocle's hoof. "We have lots of support!"

Isobar sighed and so did Dally News.

Wakes Week giggled.

It was now nighttime. Once again, the sky was covered in purple and blue, stars scattered in arranged patterns accompanying the brightness of the moon and its soft light and glow.

The roofs of the windows of the buildings there reflected its beams, gleaming. Out of the windows and emanating from the streetlights—more light, yellow light, illuminating the roads and the yards of the houses, the fronts of the stores and other establishments and places of activity.

Fewer ponies were outside, but that was to be expected—if one were to peer into the windows of some of the houses, one would see yet another family eating dinner together while one was passing a large bowl of soup to another, a party complete with balloons and confetti and streamers and participants who relished in the celebration with dancing and singing and laughter, a lonely and quiet stallion reading a book on his comfy easy chair by the fireside, a mare painting the wall and the floor with fresh coats of paint—and the odor of that paint wafted out of one open window and made a few ponies passing by pinch their noses and hasten their walk, hoping to be free from that apalling smell.

Inside one of the houses, the four ponies were being ushered into the bedroom by a stallion and a mare—a couple as could be seen by their matching white and yellow clothes. They were both pegasi.

"My dearie Batter Sugar was the one who thought of the idea of a guest room," the stallion said, gesturing a gentle hoof to his wife—who smiled at that.

"That's because I said, 'Cream Glaze, we're going to move to a house that's close to some amazing tourist spots. Why don't you think of them and ask for a house with an additional room just for the traveller?'"

"And, here you are," Cream Glaze said, facing the four ponies. "It's a massive honor to be hosting ponies sent by one of the Princesses."

Onion and Wakes Week trotted in.

Isobar saluted the couple in front of him with a firm wing. "Thank you for your hospitality."

Dally News nodded. "Don't you worry about us—we're going to use your room to prepare for what's ahead."

The couple nodded back. "Now, if you excuse us," Cream Glaze began, turning toward the stairs, "we have to take care of our foal—we haven't even had dinner yet, but you could blame that on the spectacle a while ago."

"You've been thinking too much about that, that's why," Batter Sugar said. "If you hadn't stopped while you were holding the groceries, we would've prepared everything before we let them in."

And, the two went down the stairs.

"But, it's pertinent that I get to see what's going on—the danger that we could've avoided by just knowing what was going on over there!"

"At the risk of starving our baby? You should know better!"

"Oh, dearie—I-I guess you're right."

And the scuffle thus ended.

Isobar looked at Dally News.

She looked back.

"Well, that went over pretty quickly," he said, smiling again. "Let's go?"

Dally News nodded, adjusting her pair of glasses yet another time before she followed Isobar inside.

The bedroom was more furnished than the one back in Fourbeat: It had carpets and rugs, full bookshelves and decorated walls of ornate designs, a large bed with an assortment of diffrent-colored pillows and blankets to choose from, lamps everywhere already on, paintings of grand landscapes and historical pony portraits in their gloomy yet assuming forms and stances, and a whiff of perfume which was the finishing touch to the bedroom.

Wakes Week was on the bed, snoring and fast asleep.

And Onion was already on the table, writing.

Isobar sighed. "You know, you should somepony else write the reports to Princess Luna from time to time."

Forward to Winsome

Watts Onion yawned as he sluggishly got out of his bed, moving his hooves about in a slow way, smiling throughout though his eyes were baggy.

The uncurtained windows brought in the bright sunlight into the room—rays that illuminated the room with morning beauty.

The unicorn looked around.

There was no one else there; the beds were fixed.

A sniff. "Is that...pancakes?"

And out of the bedroom he went and down the narrow hallway of stairs.

Then, at the ground floor, there he was—right in front of the dining table, right there in the living area.

Batter Sugar and Cream Glaze's house was a yellow wonder, as if to complement the sun's routine everyday. Now, with the sunlight pouring in, the house was even more yellow, even more bright in both color and light.

There were photos of the couple all around on the wall—the couple wearing aprons in front of a brand new oven, the couple teaching several students about how to bake the perfect pie (complete with chalkboard), the couple holding a first-place baking trophy quite proudly in front of lots of camera flashes and a big crowd, the couple showing the first piece of bread that they were then giving to their foal, among other fond memories captured and cherished.

A few potted plants were there. On a shelf, there were some colognes and perfumes all with an oven's symbol on it. A few couches and sofas, a table, a piano on the side, and some more windows that gave a good view of the street in front.

In the dining area proper, the oven was in a prominent position. Above the oven was the trophy in one of the photos, standing on a shelf. The counters, tools, and equipment for cooking were placed at the walls—the dining table was at the center.

At the table were plates of pancakes—but each plate had a unique kind of pancake. While the couple had normal pancakes—standard pancakes with syrup over them—there was Isobar's pancakes, for example: pancakes doused in whipped cream, almost covered in it and not just on the top for the sides were covered in whipped cream, too, so that the pancake looked white and fluffy. The pancake itself was inside, past the cream coating. Wakes Week's pancakes were soaked in syrup—maple, chocolate, strawberry, caramel, vanilla, blueberry, raspberry; the pancake had become a steaming mishmash of syrup soup over pancakes. Dally News's pancakes were cut into definite, orderly slices and each slice was treated as if it was its own pancake: slices of strawberries and banana under normal syrup and whipped cream, topped with cinnamon—for each slice.

The foal's pancake was a normal pancake just like his parents' but it was heart-shaped.

At the empty chair, there was another plate of pancakes—garnished with garlic at the crust, it was decorated with slices of onion and onion chives. A bowl of salt was beside the plate.

"Hey, Onion!" Isobar yelled before gulping down the bite that was in his mouth. "You won't believe what these guys do with their pancakes!"

Wakes Week turned around to face Onion—she nodded, smiling.

Dally News looked to see him, too, while levitating a slice to her mouth.

"That's what you get when your wife's talent is in making the best pancakes in all of Equestria," said Cream Glaze. "Kind of a happy life, isn't it, a baker being married to a (somewhat) 'nother?"

Batter Sugar giggled at that. "You're calling me a somewhat baker? Like I'm not worthy of the title, eh?"

"You know I'm just joshing you," he said, pushing her gently aside while still smiling. "Care to explain for poor old Watts Onion here?"

Batter Sugar looked at Onion. "So, what I've done here is make pancakes based on your cutie marks and/or your talents. Remember when I asked you about what your cutie marks meant last night before we got you upstairs?"

Onion looked up for a while. Then, he gasped. "Yes, miss, uh, Batter Sugar!"

"That's because I wanted to surprise all of you with a pancake special," Batter Sugar said. "Isobar's cutie mark was wind and some clouds, so I said, 'Whipped cream looks a lot like clouds.' Wakes Week's cutie mark was an open umbrella, so I thought, 'She can help and guide foreign visitors even in the rain; maybe lots of syrup will help bring that umbrella aspect out.' Dally News's cutie mark was a quill and a photo, so I said, 'What about I treat the pancakes in such a formal, proper fashion just like how newspapers are so split and sectioned?' And, when it came to you, well, your cutie mark was an onion and lightning. I still haven't the slightest idea about putting in a form of electricity into pancakes—it always ended with me burning my mane!"

The ponies there stopped their dining and gave at least a little laugh at that.

"Anyway, since I couldn't handle electricity in pancakes yet, I had to emphasize the onion part of your cutie mark. So, I made a savory pancake—I hope you like it!"

Onion hung his mouth open at another sight of his pancake. (Everyone else had resumed eating.) He looked at the mare. "Wow! I, I don't know what to say—it's the pancake that's just for me!"

The mare nodded. "Anything to cater to anypony passing by Pace!" And, with that, she got her own slice of pancake with a wing and brought it to her mouth.

"Especially when we have to get you your last breakfast before you head on to the forest before Winsome Falls," Cream Glaze said. "We're taking some of the food load off of you—want you to stay full for as long as possible out there—I don't know what's gonna happen past Pace, to be honest with you four."

"You don't have to worry about us too much," Isobar said, taking on a serious tone. "We're not here to hog your kindness; we're just here on the last stop to where we have to be for Princess Luna and for Equestria."

"That's good," Cream Glaze said. "That's good." He smiled. "Now, why not continue enjoying those scrumptious pancakes you won't find anywhere else?!"

And everyone there—including the foal—cheered at that and chowed down on their pancakes.

Later in the morning, after all the goodbyes from the family and some of the other citizens of Pace—including the mayor himself—the four took off, Watts Onion and Wakes Week pulling the cart, Dally News and Isobar—hovering about—scouting ahead.

It wasn't long before they entered the forest.

Like the forest before, this one was abundant with trees, bushes, shrubs, flowers, and other kinds of plants—plus the animals, too, for there were a lot of birds, a lot of rabbits, a few bears, and so on. Several rocks and stones were there, too.

The dirt path curved and winded about, travelling up and down small cliffs.

"How much do we have left before we actually reach Winsome Falls?" Wakes Week asked Onion who was still beside her in pulling the cart with its creaking wheels.

"I forgot." He grinned and looked at Isobar who was a little ahead, flying and turning his head here and there with a watchful and wary face. "Isobar! Do you have any idea when we're going to get to Winsome Falls already?"

"Four hours if we don't get interrupted," Isobar promptly replied.

"Four hours of just walking?!" Onion yelled.

"Heroes had to walk lots of miles before they can do their feats of legend," Isobar retorted. "You think the bad guys were the ones travelling to heroes' homes all the time?"

"Sometimes!" Onion yelled. "Daring Do, one time, had her house invaded by—"

"One," Isobar interrupted, still hovering forward but now facing his friend, "that's the exception, not the rule. As far as I know—I've heard from other Daring Do fans—she always goes to the danger, not the other way around. Two, Daring Do is not real—although, I could give it to you that she's your inspiration."

"Alright, Isobar, you win this one!" Onion shouted.

"And some more, right?"

Onion groaned. "What else do you want? You already have bragging rights!"

"Well, don't I win some and lose some?"

Everyone else stopped.

Onion groaned again, almost turning to whining. "Isobar!"

The pegasus stifled yet another bout of laughter as the four continued, with Onion complaining all the way about how "ridiculous and out-of-the-way your jokes are, Isobar!"

"You could say it's my second talent," Isobar boasted.

And thus, they continued.

After some time, they were still on the same dirt path—it had just adopted new ways of turning and curving and winding and bending. The animals did not pay much attention to the four travellers—they were busy with handling their own homes and shelters, with getting food and, for the birds on the trees, with chirping a beautiful melody.

"I'll get you, yet!" a voice bellowed.

The four ponies stopped. Wakes Week took on a defensive stance, Isobar stiffened his wings, Dally News lighted up her horn, and Onion was shaking and sweating anxiously.

"OK, everyone, keep it quiet," Isobar whispered. "We don't want to alert whoever that is."

"Maybe it's coming from that house!" Onion answered (still in a loud whisper), pointing at the brick house behind several trees.

"Look, I already saw that," Isobar whispered back, "but the shout came from over there!" He pointed a hoof to the side, away from the house.

"Maybe that's decoy!" Onion answered back. "From 'Daring Do and—'"

"Those books are not gonna help," Dally News said. "A couple of analysts have already stated that they find the Daring Do books to be, well, a little fantastical at best."

"Fantastical? What's fantastical about having an organized and trained force protecting the villain? Didn't we just have an encounter with such a force back in Pace?"

"Not this kind of organization and training, though," Dally News said. "I should know. I'm the one who talked with the analysts and co-ordinated them to make the article that's caused not a small bit of controversy in the Daring Do community."

"That's because we have analysts of our own and they're much better than—"

"Let's keep it quiet!" Isobar whispered, following with a shush.

Onion closed his mouth with a hoof.

"Listen!"

And everyone held a hoof up to their ears.

Just the song of the birds and the rustling of the leaves.

"Huh. It's gone now."

"You better get here, birds!" the voice yelled once again. "Get here and I'll give you a good owner—I promise if you just stay still and let me record your chirpings, alright?!"

"Oh, it's probably the crazy pony with the music stand," Wakes Week said. "Funny that he's here, though."

"You think we should just leave him alone?" Dally News asked.

"We've already seen who he is back there," Isobar replied—"he's probably desperate for money at this point."

"Uh, why doesn't anyone talk about the rock house that's just over there!" Onion yelled.

And everyone else looked at the house.

"Looks like that does look suspicious," Isobar expressed, scratching his chin as he flew over to the house's single-door entrance.

Onion groaned yet again. "Don't you know that a house that's just sitting there in the forest is no ordinary thing in and of itself?! Maybe this is the mystery we're to solve!"

"Hold your excitement there," Dally News said as the three of them walked towards the house—Onion and Wakes Week still pulling the cart. "Let's not jump to conclusions just yet. The Princess specifically said that she was troubled with something in Winsome Falls, not near it."

"But, maybe this house could give us a clue!" Onion yelled.

"Uh, isn't that what we're trying to find?"

"Oh. OK. Sorry!" And Onion gave a sheepish smile at her.

Dally News rolled her eyes, although smiling.

Isobar knocked on the wooden door. "Hello? Hello? Anyone in there?"

The brick house looked par for the course—it was a two-story house with normal windows and a normal roof and a normal inside—the inside had tiled floors, carpets, small tables, pictures and trinkets here and there.

The door was yanked open.

"Uh-huh?" the mare over there asked, bothered. "Anything you fellows want?"

Onion bumped into view. "May I ask why you live in the middle of nowhere, ma'am?"

Isobar slapped his friend on the face.

"This is not nowhere, and that's a fact!" the mare yelled. "But, if you want to, what, come inside and try to take pictures of me so you can show your friends and say, 'Hey, I've got a picture taken by some insane lady who lives with nopony else at all in the forest!' then goodbye!"

"N-no!" Isobar said, holding his front hooves. "We're not here to make fun of you!"

"So, what is there?" the mare asked, putting on distrustful looks, eyeing the four with severity in her narrowed eyes.

Onion pulled out his medal. "We're in some royal business, ordered by the Princess of the Night herself, Priness Luna. We hope you understand our visit."

"Give me that!"

She yanked it out of the stallion's hooves.

"Hey, that's very valuable and precious—"

The mare turned it around, rotating it.

A look of astonishment on her face.

She hurriedly gave the medal back to the stallion.

"Get in!" the mare shouted.

"Uh, OK?"

And the four went in the house.

The Earth pony squeezed the orange with only her hooves, letting all its juice fall into the glass below on the table.

"And, why are we watching somepony squeeze oranges again?" Onion asked his friends who replied with mean looks on their faces, causing him to quickly look back to the mare.

She threw the crushed orange to the table.

The mare was orange in coat, light green in mane and in tail. Her cutie mark was a slice of orange.

"Before you ask me anything else," the mare began, "my name is Citrus Fan. That's one of the few things you're getting out of me for free. Let me skip over all the complicated stuff of the events that led me here to a lonely house in this forest—it had something to do with a thesaurus, a confusion over which law was which, stubbing somepony's hoof on accident, and crashing through a store's wall. That's all you need to know."

She glared at the four with her menacing stare, picking up another orange from a basket beside the glass.

"If you haven't seen the back of my house, you haven't seen my field of orange trees. Grow them myself. Turns out the oranges being near rainbow falls—which, I guess, you're going to, since everyone who goes by my way is going to Winsome Falls, no?" A pause. "Don't answer—it's obvious isn't it? The ponies who'd been with me realized I can't truly live all alone, so I decided to do one thing while I'm here."

He squeezed the orange, let the juice fall into the glass, threw the crushed orange away, and pushed the glass forward.

"Orange juice. Yes, I'm very serious."

"But, why?" Onion asked, gathering those mean (though less mean this time) looks from his friends again.

Citrus Fan grunted. "What else can I do here? I've my own problems to get a hold of—you think being isolated here is easy? I did not volunteer to for this. It is only a necessity."

Then, she grabbed an orange and crushed it on the table.

"Get what you want and get out of here," Citrus said, hoof still on the broken fruit. "I don't tolerate ponies who waste my time. If you want me to make you a whole box of orange juice, just give me twenty minutes—I'll press out all the oranges."

"No, no, no, ma'am," Isobar said, raising a hoof and half-standing up. "We'll just have a reasonable amount—"

"Define 'reasonable amount'!" the mare broke in, shouting. "I'm not OK with mere estimates—oranges don't come in mere estimates!"

"Uh, eleven?"

The mare threw up eleven oranges in one swoop, all landing on the table with minimal rolling—none went too far away from her arm's reach.

"Weird number," she mumbled as she got the first orange, squeezed it, and filled half of a glass with its juice.

The four silently watched Citrus Fan go on with her job; no breaking of a sweat and no huffing or puffing or any other sign of tiring down—she was unrelenting in her work.

Finally, after the first eleven oranges had gone and the second eleven were done through, eleven glasses of orange juice were on the table. Then, she got a pitcher and poured each glass of orange juice into the pitcher. She closed it firmly and flung it at the four—and Wakes Week caught it close, almost spilling on to the rest of them.

"Heh," Citrus Fan let out. "Good catch. Just as I expected—sometimes." Then, her smile faded—replaced with that same old scowl. "Now, leave."

"Uh, thank you, Citrus Fan," Onion said as he and the rest stood up from the couch. "I'm sure the Princess will—"

"You send the letter," she said. "Now, leave." As if that was not enough, she pointed a hoof at the door.

A pause. The four stood there, eyeing the mare with a worrying look.

"What are you doing just thinking around? Leave!"

And the four left.

"That was encouraging," Onion commented as they moved away from the house, having returned to the dirt path that, from their points of view, had no end to it—for, after a long trudge or a long walk, it would always end with a sharp turn or a set of turns bunched up together, weaving through sturdy and stable trees. "At least we got some orange juice, though. That's gonna keep our energy going for a lot longer!"

"Don't you remember that Winsome Falls has a good enough natural supply of berries and other food?" Dally News asked. "Wakey here already picked up baskets of berries and fruits along the way—didn't you notice that?"

"What?" He gave the Earth pony a strange glance. "You really collected more food?"

"Yeah," she said, a joking smile on her face, "and you missed it. Probably because you were yabbering about how Daring Do is the perfect pony for the job. As if she's the one who portrays what a pony should do in our place."

"Hey, I didn't say everything she did was perfect!" Onion shot back. "All I'm saying is that she's mostly perfect!"

"How is that even grammatically correct?" Dally News asked. "Nothing is 'mostly' perfect. It's either perfect or it isn't."

"I won't let ancient rules restrain me from expressing myself!" Onion said, stopping and making a heroic pose.

Which made Wakes Week, who was still walking and pulling the cart, bump Onion with the cart. The stallion fell to the ground with a loud thud.

Snickers came about from the remaining three ponies.

Onion got up from his fall, brushing himself off from the dirt he had just gotten. "Very funny, guys. When I wanted humor to lighten up the trip, I didn't mean humor at my expense."

"Oh, so you're implying that it should be humor at our expense, huh?" Isobar said, taking an annoyed tone though still playful.

"You know what I mean!" Onion yelled. "Now, let's stop distracting ourselves and—"

"Stop kidding yourself!" Wakes Week said, joyful in her voice. "We're all distracting each other! And, why not? Isn't the journey fun, too?"

"Like I said," Onion replied, wearing a smirk, "not at anypony's expense."

"I thought you said 'at my expense'?"

"I've moved on from that."

And all four laughed at that before they continued on, pulling the cart through more of the dirt path and scouting out more of the area ahead.

The sun was now close to its height—late morning, almost noon. The shadows had receded to a short length, giving the forest a brighter and freer feel to it. More animals were awake now, adding to the noise of those who had been awake for some time already.

It was Dally who picked up the berries from the bushes and the fruits from the branches—levitating the pockets of food into the basket, her horn glowing that green. Isobar, at a slower speed with regular looks at the gathering unicorn, still looked about him.

Onion and Wakey, meanwhile, were talking to each other, pulling the cart all the while with its creaky wheels.

"Have you ever thought about what umbrellas meant to you?" Onion asked. "Surprised that I don't know? But, he said that I should be hanging out with you two more often and, uh, I think this is a good way to start that."

"We've already started," Wakes Week said. "But, it doesn't hurt to ask me that—better late than never, right?"

Onion nodded.

"Well," she began, "when I got my cutie mark, I was still curious about the meaning of it—why umbrellas out of all things? Sure, I've helped a few ponies out with my umbrella, but I've also helped them out without my umbrella—sometimes, a hat would do the trick of covering others from the rain. Was I going to be a weather pony even though I wasn't a pegasus?" She laughed—a kind, proper, formal laugh; yet, it was a happy laugh. "Heh, I would've sounded a lot like a filly who needed to go the Cutie Mark Crusaders, huh?"

Onion nodded. "Ah, those three fillies of Ponyville. Years ago, I only remembered one of them because she was related to one of the Elements. Now, they're getting lots of new, uh, what's the word for it? I don't wanna say 'blank flanks' but it's the only term that's coming to my head right at the moment."

"It's interesting, though," she said. "If I remember it correctly, 'blank flanks' used to be an insult straight at them. Now, they're reusing it in a more constructive way—turned the meaning upside-down and made it good."

"If they're still running about when I have a family of my own," Isobar quipped, beaming, "I'd more than happily pay them a visit with my foal."

The two pulling the cart nodded.

The four looked ahead.

A mailbox in the horizon, over there. And then, a clearing.

Sound of rushing water.

An Entrance

A pony in that distance was carrying a post office box.

"Huh? That's weird," Onion said.

"Weird?" Isobar said. "This isn't just weird. This isn't right at all—didn't the Princess say something about a post office kiosk of some sort?"

"Why are they breaking it down?" Wakes Week asked.

"You should ask the ponies in the machines," Dally News said, pointing a hoof over there.

The four walked closer and closer to the clearing.

What came into view was Winsome Falls itself in all its beauty. Vast stretches of greenfield grass dotted with wayward flowers scattered about (among them were dandelions); dirt paths not harsh but as if blending in with the environment around it—smooth, not rough—trees bearing fruit and flowers (of yellow, red, pink, and of more colors) of many kinds beside crisp and fresh rivers of clear water of a transparent yet blue quality, sided by water plants such as lily pads and cattails alongisde rocks and stones breaking up the water and, bit by bit, purifying it; waterfalls of immense width, large enough to handle a few ships and still have room for one more, from which some of the rivers flowed—and these water forms were at the forefront of a hilly, mountainous background with their own trees at the top—and, finally, the piece de resistance (according to some tourists, not all tourists): the rainbow falls themselves, pouring down rainbow, pure light split into that colorful spectrum—from stationary clouds that were no less brilliant in their graceful form—giving the sky more than a fair face as it was decorating the sky with colors.

Accompanying that natural beauty were the signs of progress: steel frames that were the prototypes to firm buildings, established structures where the blade and the laser could be heard in symphony, large green and yellow machinery with enormous claws, rollers all producing a grand noise that was shrilling for soem of the ponies too close (for they were holding their ears)—and there was one vehicle which glowed a slight green.

Various ponies were in a hurry of activity: Ponies wearing construction uniforms (hard helmets, bright vests) working with hammers, screwdrivers, and wrench (among other tools of the trade) in splitting beams of metal and wood to then prepare for the next stage of a building's life; ponies (most of them Earth ponies) hauling large logs of timber toward a gathering place where all the collected timber were—and some were already hauling it off to the sawmills where, either by blade or by laser, wood was cut and turned into a more usable form (smaller but more rectangular, as par the standard)—ponies wearing similar suits and appearing stoic as they observed the space before them, ponies holding papers on their hooves and supervising everything by looking and, on the surface, doing nothing else.

When the four ponies stood beside the mailbox, they saw all of that.

Onion placed his forehooves on his cheek. "Mystery solved! Hah! We've caught the bad guys in action!" He made a victorious pose—pointing a hoof in the air. "Now, that we're done, let's request the guards to come in and—"

Isobar placed a wing in front of the unicorn. "They're supposed to be a last resort, remember?"

Onion gulped. Pointing to the ponies working there in the clearing, he said, "But, how are we going to fight against them? A couple of hired henchponies is fine, but everypony else? And what about Flim and Flam? They've been in this for years!"

"And you were so proud about it all when you started this," Isobar said. "I thought some optimism is going to keep us through."

"Before anything else, guys," Dally News interrupted, serious in her voice, "let's think about analyzing the current situation and how we're going to take care of these ponies. Care for talking, anyone?"

Onion gulped a second time.

Wakes Week raised a hoof, grinning. Isobar looked at her and raised a wing.

"And," Dally News ordered, "make sure that you don't look too suspicious—pretend that you're campers going on for a nice hike to Winsome Falls. The cart has our tents and other supplies—it will look great in keeping up our camper disguise."

The two ponies nodded.

"Onion," she said, "you don't go with them. Stay here. We'll be the other campers—think of the two ahead as the more open of us campers. Got it?"

Onion nodded. "OK! I think I—"

Dally looked at the two and nodded.

The two went ahead.

For Isobar and Wakes Week, the noise only got louder from there on. Carbon smells were present and soot was there, too, although not in belching levels—just little puffs of smoke. Several ponies already noticed the newcomers—eyeing the two ponies smiling and seeing all the busy movements that were going on around them, chaotic yet having an order in them somehow because the ponies holding the papers and reading them were there so there must be a schedule and everypony is working on time, right?

No matter what the condition of the actual work was, two unicorns inside one of the vehicles—the one that slightly glowed green—exited the confines of their windowed metal control cabin. Dusting themselves off, they revealed their full attire to the newcomers: striped shirts of blue and white, black bowties, and straw hats with a blue ribbon around it. The two unicorns looked quite similar to each other for they had the same color of coat—a light yellow—and had the same coloring of their mane and their tail—striped red and white. One had a mustache, the other had none. Their cutie marks complemented each other—the one without the mustache had an apple slice, the one with the mustache had an almost complete apple with a slice missing.

They looked at each other and walked towards the Isobar and Wakes Week.

The "campers" stood their ground, though retaining their smiles. "You must be the ones running the place, yeah?" Isobar inquired, having a "forced cool" accent. He extended a hoof.

The non-mustached one grabbed his hoof. "Hello, kind sir and madam!" he greeted in rapid-fire speed, continuing on: "Your assumption is correct! We're the ones who are running the place—currently, not the entirety of Winsome Falls!"

"Although it's an ambition of ours to someday own it for the benefit of other ponies such as you!" the mustached one said. "Oh, and, why, it's very impolite of us to keep talking about what we're doing here without giving you a proper introduction of who we are!"

"And, would you like it in song form?" the non-mustached one asked.

A pony in the background pushed a gramophone into view.

"Uh, no?" Wakes Week asked. "We're just here to, uh, pass by! The best part of Winsome Falls if farther up ahead, so we'll just rest here for a while—do you have any refreshments like a convenience store or something? We'd like to stock up on more food."

"Why not, good mare?" the mustached one said. "But, I think that we're running a little too late on telling you our names!"

"If you don't know us already!" the non-mustached one continued, raising a hoof. "We are more than happy to accommodate some four campers!"

"Iambic Stress, place the gramophone back while we serve these nice ponies a good and honest showing of our kindness and generosity—" turning to the two campers in front, firing out his words in quick succession "—and, don't you go yet!"

"Yes, don't you go yet! For we have in here more than what keeps you up and going!"

"We have here more than the necessities that we're always mowing!"

"Beyond your wildest dreams and your grandest imaginations!"

"The birthplace of excitement, more than just habitations!"

"From here will spring forth the future!—" and brought out a blueprint and a bunch of photos.

"Hasten it with our forwarding of culture!—" and brought out a couple of bits and books.

"Entertainment and occupation all in one place!—" and brought out some vinyl records along with another hat.

"'Winsome Resort'! All run by this face—" pointing to himself "—that face—" pointing to his partner "—and, if you want, yours—" pointing to them.

"And, it's all run by the Flim Flam Brothers—that's me and him, respectively."

The two "campers" merely looked at each other—sweating.

Boiled Sweets

The four "campers" and the brothers gathered around under an open tent—no walls, letting the breeze flow through freely, ruffling the manes of all of them and prompting Flim to place a leftover piece of timber on papers that threatened to fly out. A few more tents like this were littered about in the clearing—several ponies were either resting (they were seen eating their lunch and drinking their water) or slogging through more work (usually of the paper kind).

"We've had a good amount of campers to our kind grounds," Flim said, preserving the speed of his words, twirling his hoof around.

"And we're happy to tell that they've all been quite—"

"Content; more than content," Flim finished.

"We're glad to be serving ponies like you up during this temporary stage of our operations!"

"You know it's only going to get better when it's all done!"

The four ponies looked at each other than back at the dashing poses of the brothers.

"Uh, that's great!" Onion said—shakily. "But, we're not interested in, uh, investing in your business, sirs!" He shifted his eyes about. "That's what you're telling us, right?"

"We didn't say that explicitly," Flim spoke. "But, now that you mention it—"

"There is no reason not to," Flam said. "Flim Flam Brothers Industries—"

"A working title," Flim added.

"—is a growing business on a consistent rise. Projections by various organizations of high standard state that we are headed to dominate our respective markets two years from now—"

"And that's what they call the worst-case scenarios, folks! Worst-case! Imagine what would happen when everything works out as we planned!"

He dropped several bags of bits—those clanking and clinking of the coins unseen but surely inside.

The "campers" eyed it.

"And, we're open to investors," Flam said. "Of course, we still want to keep majority control so it seems that you won't be getting much of the profit."

"But just you wait until we skyrocket!" Flim said. And here, he pulled in a chart with a graph that was just one line going straight right up.

"You do know that businesses don't suddenly go boom overnight," Dally News said—a bored speech.

"Why, of course!" Flam said. "We have this chart here for expressive purposes—it doesn't say anything about our actual plans! But, back to the topic, shall we?" He looked at his brother.

"If you are intrigued even a little bit by the prospect, then you have the right to know what our amazing and innovative 'Winsome Resort' is all about—and not just the 'all about's' but also the nooks and crannies!"

Flam pulled in another chart that displayed a painting of what Winsome Resort ought to look like: Glass buildings with several parks, ponies all having fun by walking on the paved concrete and marvelling at the scenery (with the rainbow falls in the foreground) and swimming in the pools and eating at an open air eatery where grilled vegetables and fruits—"With all kinds of condiments that chefs Equestria-wide can offer to you in the fullest—to your heart's content!" added Flim.

"And that's only what you see in the picture," Flam said. "Planned activities and outlets of entertainment include theater, cinema, ice-skating, library, buffets—"

"—comedy, candies, sports both indoors and outdoors and even between doors!—"

"—concerts, rides, parties—"

"What more can you ask for?!" Flim ended. "There is even more! Limitless options for you to choose from—and why not try everything before you leave, because we want you to have a fully-informed opinion of the place."

"We accept all feedback!" Flam said.

"And now, what's it gonna be?" Flim asked. "You've come here expecting nothing more than a place to relax and to just enjoy the day—but, what about being able to get more bits out of this wholesome establishment? You would be helping ponies and more get fun out of their lives by flocking to a tourist destination that prides itself on an overwhelming combination of 'what-to-do's' that they end up shocking some to wait in line for a long time because others are just taking too much of their time to choose what they want to do today!"

And Flam picked up a bag of bits as if to sweeten the offer.

Isobar held up his front hooves. "That's really nice of you to let us know all that. But, we're just campers. In fact, we ought to be moving by now and—"

"And refuse a once-in-a-lifetime chance to be partners with Flim Flam Brothers Industries?" Flim retorted.

"Haven't we mentioned that we also run one of the largest resorts in Las Pegasus—formerly held by the famed Gladmane himself?" Flam said.

"Yeah, there are ponies who are willing to refuse a once-in-a-lifetime chance," Isobar said, slowly backing away from the table. "We're not the business-type, you see. I only know some fancy words here and there—and I could say the same for the rest of us. So, uh, brothers—Flim and Flam? We kindly decline the—"

"Aww, we don't to be bad sports," Flim interrupted, "but it's something that we surely don't want you to miss!"

"What if we told you that other ponies would do anything in their power to be able to secure such an honorable position—not just an investor, oh no! You can have a direct say on all the aspects of the resort—and receive a salary which, judging from your character, is quite—"

"—cool," Flam finished, "as you might say."

"So, we'd like to take you through a tour of the resort though it's as much of a tour as we could make it out to be since there's not much to be going off on to begin with."

"However, we're happy to hear your response after all of that! You could say that this is our last effort to convince you that this is what you should do, what you must do if you want to be more than just some measly old 'campers'!"

"We're fine being 'measly old campers,' thank you very much!" Wakes Week said, strutting away.

"Ah, you're quite bold for speaking against, hm, magnates in the industry."

"Well, what industry are you magnates in?!"

"A-ha, not 'what industry,'" Flim said, raising a hoof, "but you should be saying, in no uncertain terms, 'what ndustries'!"

"Our strategy is to expand, expand, expand," Flam said. "Why make yourself stuck in a box when you can, without a doubt, free youself up to any and every avenue of business? That way, you end up knowing a lot, doing a lot, and making a lot—of bits, to be precise and exact!"

"Though, hopefully, not exacting on our friends!" With a bow and removed hat, he went on: "It won't hurt to try and join the tour, courtesy of yours truly!"

"Calm down, Wakey," Isobar said, eyeing the angry mare. "Let's just do the tour."

"Splendid!" Flim yelled.

And the brothers yanked the ponies out from where they were standing.

The four ponies were led by the unicorn brothers, walking on the grassy ground. The rush of water could still be heard.
"You see that large hole they're making on the ground over there," Flim said, facing that hole.

There were numerous ponies shoveling their way down to the bottom of the hole. Lumps of dirt were slowly growing at the rim of it.

"That's the future pool—or, rather, one of the future pools that we'll be having in the resort. This one's to be our finest pool—largest in size, topped with on-pool drinks served by bartenders of the greatest sort! We not only have the local ones coming from nearby towns, but we also plan to have others with well-known names coming over from Manehattan, Canterlot, Ponyville!"

"We can't tell you any names, however," Flam added, "because the list of confirmed bartenders hasn't been finalized yet. Interviews still have to be conducted—we want only the cream of the crop catering to our ponies desperate for something exciting!"

"And, over there—" Flim pointed to one of the steel frameworks "—that's where the main building is going to be. It's going to be provocative in terms of what it can hold for it will have the rooms for you to sleep in—"

"—the buffets for you to eat in at every other floor and we're sure that will satisfy the hungers of even the stuffiest of ponies!—"

"—the theaters that will have first-rate actors and first-rate plays with no room for has-beens and what-nots, and it will also hold plays and troupes that are gaining traction within the theater world—we don't want to be just your usual resort that also has theaters for we wanna be the place where you jump to greatness starting here!"

"Don't forget, brother, that we also have bungee jumping!" Flam said. "Why, yes, dear campers, there's bungee jumping to be had when this is all complete! We plan this structure to be so high that it can support bungee jumping—no, not just support; it ought to be perfect for bungee jumping!"

"And before you ask any questions regarding how we'll handle safety, precautions, and the like, don't you worry! We have asked tons of safety experts in the field of bungee jumping, and we've followed their advice to the letter. Well, not yet, because we don't have the bungee equipment, but we will when we obtain it—it's a Flim Flam guarantee!"

And the brothers nodded.

"But, moving on!" Flam continued. "Avert your gaze toward this direction—" He pointed to the stalls being built over there on the wide field of grass "—and behold the to-be restaurants, although it isn't correct to call them 'restaurants' per se. Rather, we should just call them 'food stalls,' although even the term sounds like it's a work-in-progress, so if you have any suggestions, we're more than happy to take it."

"And, you may be asking us, 'Why have these out in the open? Why not have it inside—what if it rains?' Well, if it does rain, then we have covers that are suited for the occasion. More importantly, having out in the open encourages ponies to just talk to each other in amiable friendship! Nopony wants to be forced inside a building in order to talk to each other—but, they are free to talk to each other inside, if they want to, that is."

"To add to that—"

"I think we've had more than enough," Onion said, smiling sheepishly. "We really thank you that you want us to, uh, take part in your resort thing. But, we're running awfully late, uh, right now. So, we'll be on our way, I guess."

The two unicorn brothers looked at each other.

Onion's friends looked at each other as well. Then, they turned their gaze toward him.

Flim and Flam then huddled together and whispered, sometimes looking over their shoulders to get a glimpse of the "campers" before lowering their heads back.

"This doesn't look good," Onion said.

"Just let them be," Isobar said. "Be prepared for anything they throw at us."

And the four waited, looking on the brothers anxiously.

Then, Flim and Flam smiled and faced them again.

Flim said, "I think we've exhausted all possible means of telling you that this is a really nice opportunity for all of you—or, at the very least, one of you, but we do want all of you to enjoy working with us."

"But, if you are certain about the non-importance of what you've just seen," Flam added, "then we have no choice but to respect the decision that you've made. We know when it is time to bring the towel over and when it is a waste of our well-meaning efforts to trudge on."

"Flim Flam Brothers Industries completely understands your points of view, campers," Flim said. "Now, get that cart over there—I think that's yours—and move on."

The two brothers waved their hooves at them as the "campers" went back and pulled the cart through the clearing. They were wearing smiles as the four left.

Beyond the other side of the clearing, back to another section of the woods, the four ponies hurried along, quickening the pace of their walk—more than a brisk walk, they were jogging but not running, trotting but not galloping.

Then, after a few more turns—which were not a short distance away from each other—the four finally stopped, the unicorns breathing heavily as they sweated while the Earth pony and the pegasus wiping the sweat off of their faces. They were in the middle of another forest—trees surrounded them, and the clearing was no longer in sight though the sound of machinery could still be heard faintly.

"We got out of that one alive and well!" Isobar said. "They didn't see our bluff—or maybe that's what they want us to think!"

Dally News gasped. "You're right!" She turned to Onion. "You remember that we didn't get all the guards back in Pace."

"So, where did they—" Onion gasped. A look of terror. "No! They went back and told them all about it! They probably know everything about us!"

"Not everything," Isobar said, finally landing on the ground. "But, they know enough to identify us as the ponies who beat up those guys in the candy shop."

Onion gulped and shivered. "They were just pretending to be nice to us, weren't they?"

"That's it," Isobar said. "I don't know what they're planning to do with us. They might be sending their henchponies to close in on us at any moment."

Onion jumped and screamed.

Isobar flew and brought him back on the ground.

"We need to stay calm, collected, and cool!" Isobar spoke, choosing a harsh tone. "If we're going to be panicking all the time, thinking that all is lost, then you would've been scared the moment you heard that Flim and Flam were running something!"

Onion gulped.

Isobar placed his hooves on his friend's shoulders. "You've got to keep it together! If we're going to do anything against these guys, we've got to have rational minds! Understand?"

Onion nodded his head silently.

Isobar let go and sighed.

A few birds on branches were singing some chirped songs.

"What are we going to do, now?" Wakes Week asked. "We can't tell the Princess about it just yet because they took out the post office kiosk and the mailbox is all the way back at the clearing. We don't want to make them any more suspicious of us than they already are."

"We should first check what we have first," Dally News said. "We can't do anything without checking first what we have at our disposal."

Isobar and Wakes Week nodded.

"Uh, Onion?" Dally asked. "What's wrong?"

"Maybe we should be going just one more stretch of dirt road?" Onion anxiously suggested. "Just to, uh, make it harder for any possible pony under Flim and Flam to catch us."

"If we get too far," Isobar said, "it's going to take us a long time to get to the brothers—that would give them lots of time to leave and abandon the place, making it look like we're the ones who were fixing Winsome Falls up and taking down the trees—maybe illegally, too."

"I told you!" Onion shouted, still nervous—irises shrunken, sweat pouring, scratching his mane. "They're good at what they do, too good for our own good!"

"That's a lot of 'good's,'" Wakes Week noted.

"I know!" Onion yelled. He turned—crazily, eyes now twitching—to Dally. "What did you say again?"

"Check what we have," she replied, motioning her head toward the covered cart. "Remove the cloth. We can formulate a plan from there—see what we can do."

Isobar and Wakes Week nodded.

So did Onion—now unstable in his stand.

Dally News lifted the cover off of the cart.

"Ah!"

"Hey, who are you?! Why are you hiding there?!"

Everypony—even scaredy Onion—took on aggressive poses. Isobar stiffened his wings once again, Wakes Week balled up her forehooves into fists, and the unicorns lighted up their horns in their respective colors, all facing the pony on the top of the pile on the cart.

"Please, please, don't hurt me!" the mysterious stallion yelled, crawling away from them. "I'm not on their side—no, no, no!"

"Then, why are you sneaking around inside our cart?" Onion asked, pretending to be triumphant though still hesitant. "You must be a spy! You've overheard all of our conversations—our plans, what we're here for, who sent us here, everything we said!"

"I assure you, I'm a friend—friend!" He held up his forehooves in the air and clasped them—pleading, shooing some of the nearby birds and other woodland creatures away.

Isobar leaned closer—examining him. "Wait a minute—I recognize you!"

"Y-yes, yes, recognize me!" the stallion appealed, bobbing his head up and down in accelerated emotion. "Come on! I don't recognize you, but please! You know who I am, I hope!"

"Is he another friend of yours like Lobby Bud?" Dally asked. "Another friend we haven't heard about until weeks ago?"

"No," Isobar answered, turning his head around to face her and the rest. "He's the pony who owns the candy shop."

The yellow candy pony was laying his head against a tree's bark—trunk. Sipping a cup of orange juice, he opened his eyes wide—then, he groaned, taking the cup away from his face and resting it on the dirt. Sweat was rolling down his face; his mane was unkempt and scruffy, his clothes were dirty and stained.

"Boiled Sweets, that's the name, right?" Onion said, checking in on him by placing his head too close to the mane. "I've overheard it a few times during the kerfuffle that went on while you were—"

"Carried away by Flim and Flam's ponies? Yes," Boiled Sweet said, tired—drained. "Came by the other day. Demanded that I'm the pony that will make confections for customers in some hotel or something. Official Confectionist. Can't get even that right." He drawled a guffaw—and gone it was, returning him to a morose state. "Said 'No.' Didn't matter to them."

The rest of the ponies were now together around the story-teller.

"Told me they'd come back—I should say 'Yes' or bad things will happen. Punishment—punitive. I thought they were...bluffing—some ruffians trying to exert their 'influence.' Somehow got fancy clothes—should've taken that as a sure-fire warning that they weren't bluffing. You know the rest."

And there he lay, despondent. Eyes downward to the ground, half-open—pout.

The four ponies exchanged glances.

"Forced labor," Isobar muttered. "That's...unusual. The con ponies are usually more discreet than this."

"Today they're not, apparently," Dally answered. She adjusted her glasses magically.

Boiled Sweets held up his forehooves again. "I'd do anything if you'd just let me go—escort me back home!"

"Buddy, we can't," Onion curtly replied, trying his best to sound official about it. "As much as we want to get you to safety, we really can't. Technically, we can, but that'll require us to go through the rest of Winsome Falls, pop out into Ponyville, take the train to Fourbeat then get you back to Pace."

"But, if we can just reach Ponyville, then I-I'm safe!" Boiled Sweets insisted—though close to broken in his arranged words.

"Everything after Ponyville's the easy part," Wakes Week said, grabbing an umbrella from the cart and turning it around with her hoof. "Getting to Ponyville—about a week's time even in the best of days."

"That's also not counting the fact that we're here on a mission," Isobar added. "You know what that mission is—you've heard us."

The poor candy pony nodded, still laying his head on the tree. "Y-yes! It's good that you are under her orders and command! But—ah, it's more than inconvenient for you and I—sorry, I should've—" Then, he sighed.

The four ponies exchanged glances again.

"I don't want to be a liability to you," he went on. "My talent is making candy and selling it. What use is that for revealing the scandal going on here?"

"Distract them?" Onion said, whipping up a foolhardy grin—eyes narrowed in coolness.

The other three flashed their gaze at the ingenious pony.

"What? It's worth a shot! Send him back to Flim and Flam. Then, whatever he does will take their minds away from us!"

"Bad idea," Isobar said, raising up his wing to count the points with his pinions. "One, Flim and Flam already know that we're not just campers. Two, unless you have a clever plan to make Boiled Sweet appear from the other side of the clearance, him returning is going to raise even more suspicion—he's going to be arriving from where they've seen us gone. Three—I haven't thought of a third item, but you get what I mean."

Onion sighed. "And I thought I was on the verge of something that will break those brothers once and for all!" He covered his face with his forehooves as if in shame.

Isobar sat down on the ground and sighed.

"But, what about you swoop him up and drop him on the other side of the site?!"

"They already know I'm a pegasus. It's not far-fetched to think that."

"Can't you at least give me some credit?"

"Trying ain't enough," Isobar said, maintaining a cool head and a shrewd smirk.

"Hey, let's stop being smug and try to help the candy pony?" Wakes Week spoke up, raising her voice, looking mad at the stallions. "Not only do we have the responsibility of pulling down these mischievous brothers, but we also have Boiled Sweets's needs to take care of! And—" turning to him "—I know you wanna go home, see your family, don't you?"

"V-very much, yes, miss," Boiled Sweets said. "I know they're worried sick."

"Then, let's stop all this minor squabbling, guys!" Wakes Week told. "Let's band together and fight!"

"We still have to think of a plan, though," Dally News pointed out.

"Oh."

Then all the ponies there sat down on the ground, wearing thinking looks. Wakes Week immediately scratched her chin, humming in distress.

"Wasn't this hard enough when we had no time limit at all?" Onion whined.

"Yeah—what did you expect the Princess to do, huh?" Isobar countered. "Send us out to do the dishes and clean the plates—"

"Didn't I just tell you guys to stop squabbling?" Wakey barged in.

And the five went back to thinking.

Temporary Check

The noise of loud construction and other work still went on—machinery still pounding upon the ground or on the timber or on the structures. Ponies were still doing what they were doing—cutting or hauling timber, building up the to-be buildings, and supervising (though the supervisors got bad, hidden talk behind their backs).

Flim and Flam were over by the river, a while's away from the site. They were looking at some of the trees there, the ones with the pink flowers blossoming forth from it.

"Why, don't they just look dandy!" Flim expressed as his horn glowed and as he levitated a few flowers to himself. Facing his brother, he said, "These would spruce up the grounds, wouldn't it?"

Flam flinched back at the sight of his brothers floating some pretty flowers. Then, chilling out, he answered, "I'm absolutely sure they would, brother."

Flim nodded. "The next thing we could then do with these flowers is use these as accessories, brother!"

"What?!" Flam held on to his straw hat. "Don't you think that our signature getup isn't comely enough?"

"No, no, no, no, brother!" Flim waved a hoof at him. "They'll be accessories for the visitors, the guests!"

Flam placed a hoof on his chin, inspected the flowers himself for a few seconds, then nodded. "Alright, Flim!"

"You're OK with it, Flam?"

"Several flowers won't hurt, will it?"

"I assure you, brother, they won't! Besides, they wouldn't notice that there are no flowers for them to wear as long as we don't tell them about this very conversation!"

"Ah, that's the brother I know!"

And the two laughed haughty laughter together and in unison, with Flim still levitating the flowers.

Peeking out from behind one of the bushes lining the forests—a pair of binoculars. It turned to the left. It turned to the right.

"Boiled Sweets," Onion whispered from within the bush, "do you know any way to, uh, do something that will waste some of their time?"

"Uh, Onion?" Isobar asked. "Do you think it's a good idea that we all stay together in one bush?"

"Communication won't be so easy when we're so far apart," Onion replied. "I know that much."

"I'm getting squeezed out!" Wakes Week forcefully whispered. "Isobar, I think that's your wing!"

"Sorry! There, my wing's retracted now. Better?"

"Thanks."

"I feel very cramped here," Boiled Sweets expressed.

"Look, buddy!" Onion said—harsher. "Do you want to be a hero for the Princess?"

"I-it's good, but I'm OK if I just live out a normal life and—"

"Then, let's work together through the lack of room!"

An audible gulp.

Onion turned the binocular to the left. "Change of question: Where did they place the post office kiosk? Did they dismantle it? Did they transfer it somewhere else? Did they cut the wood used to build it? Was it even made out of wood?"

"Uh...I'm not sure!"

A sigh.

"Onion," Dally News said, "what use is sending a letter to the Princess now? You don't know what Flim and Flam do to the mailponies who are sent here."

"That's why I take risks, miss!" Onion answered.

"That's not how you use 'miss.'"

"Hey, it rhymed!"

Another sigh.

A sniff. "Guys," Isobar said, "I smell chocolate."

"Huh?!" Boiled Sweets let out. "How did they get the chocolate already? They must be really fast!"

"Unless they brought chocolate of their own," Onion said. He shifted the binoculars to the right. "I can confirm it. We have three workers eating chocolate bars. Maybe it's break time already."

"It can't possible be break time yet! I've checked the schedule—"

"Did you dedicate time to memorize the schedule?"

"Uh...ah..."

"This is going to complicate the problem."

"Instead of talking about how things are going so bad," Wakes Week said, "what about trying to find a way to get out of this sticky situation, too?"

"Boiled Sweets is the pony here who knows best about how they operate!"

"Well, he doesn't know everything, Onion."

"I know that he doesn't know everything. The knowledge he has is more than enough for us."

"You're trapping yourself already," Isobar said. "I think that's just excuses you're making."

"What?! Excuses?!"

Then, the pegasus sneezed.

Silent for a while.

"Just one, though. Because, excuse me!"

"Isobar!"

Onion smacked his friend with the binoculars.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"At least it was funny!" Wakes Week said. "You've got to give him that!"

"That's low-effort humor right there!" Onion accused. "I can make better jokes than you!"

"Why aren't you cracking them at me all the time, then?" Isobar asked. "What, are you 'fraidy?"

"I'm not 'fraidy!"

"Then, tell me a joke you made up! No stealing."

"This isn't the perfect time to be brushing up on your sense of humor, guys," Dally spoke up.

"Well, maybe it is!" Onion declared. "I won't suffer under your total humor control, Isobar!"

"Oh, this is going to be good!" Wakes Week exclaimed.

"I thought we were supposed to be quiet?" Boiled Sweets inquired.

"Yeah, welcome to the club," Dally answered.

"Just give me time to think of a joke!" Onion said. "Hmm."

"Stop your speaking and start the joking already!" Isobar spoke. "Stop beating around the bush!"

Onion groaned again. Wakes Week laughed.

"What's wrong, Onion?"

"I didn't even say my own joke!"

"That's unhealthy for you—like poison!"

"Wait, what?"

"Poison joke!"

Onion groaned yet again.

"Guys?" Dally spoke up.

"Onion—what did the police officer say to the couch?"

"What?!"

"Not sofast!"

"Really?!"

"One more—what is a dog's favorite part of a house?"

"Aren't you supposed to be helping me?" Boiled Sweets asked.

"A roof-roof!"

"Isobar!" Onion yelled. "I'm tired of your jokes!"

"Spies! This side!"

And everypony inside the bush covered their mouths.

"Time to hit the dirt?" Onion asked.

"Time to hit it," Wakes Week said.

Then, out the five went in full gallop.

Fast, hurried hoofsteps getting louder and louder.

Flim and Flam turned around to see the hatted stallion levitating a batch of paper—perspired. "What's the matter, Pome Granite?"

"We just found some spies or whatever they were—let out a warning of some sort!"

The two brothers looked at each other and smirked. "Looks like we got them, brother!" Flim said.

"We certainly do, brother!" Flam replied.

"I'm not the one you're talking about, right?" Pome Granite asked, shivering.

"Get out the flashlights!"

"We have visual!"

"Any update on last hoofsteps heard or seen?!"

"They were headed twelve o' clock!"

"Full sweep, everypony! You three—fly ahead! You five, on the left! You five, on the right! You five, stay here in case they're just hiding—search everything! Trees, shrubbery, anything! Rest of you, follow me!"

And the ponies in their variety and mishmash of clothes headed out to follow their orders, pegasi flying while the rest running or staying where they were supposed to stay.

"Wait a minute, sir!"

"What is it?"

"Didn't they have a cart?"

"Yes."

"Well, here are some wheel tracks over here. I think they'll be useful."

The five were galloping (or, in Isobar's case, flying), everything else becoming a blur in their sight as what's ahead was in focus for them. The cart was dragged behind, covered though some items were already precariously close to the edge—even closer with each bump. The sounds of more hoofsteps and incoherent chatter far away were heard.

"This is not good at all!" Onion yelled. "Not good!"

"I don't want to be running again!" Boiled Sweets yelled. "This is worse than the first time they went out for me!"

"I have my umbrella ready just in case!" Wakes Week said.

"How long do we have to run for?" Dally shouted, looking at Isobar in the air. "Not everypony can easily fly, you know!"

"Best option is to fight them as soon as we can!" Isobar answered while he dodged trees. "If we try to hide again, Flim and Flam will do their best to—I don't know, leave the site and blame the dilemma on us!"

"Then, let's stop this cart!"

"Now?!"

Five Lines

The wheels' creaking and bumping became full out skidding and screeching as it shored on mounds of piled up soil.

Boiled Sweets shuddered and hid behind Onion—who was also (slightly) shuddering himself.

Approaching party—incoming ponies. Hoofsteps aplenty, semi-military chatter ready.

"What some do to catch a break!" Boiled Sweets exclaimed—shaky, holding on tight to Onion.

Onion responded with a groan and a rolling of his eyes. "That's not helping! You're an Earth pony—you must know your way out of physical confrontations, right?"

"My talent is making candy, remember?!"

"Yeah, and Wakey here—" pointing a hoof at the mare "—has a talent with umbrellas yet she's able to beat up lots of bad guys with one umbrella!"

"You're saying I can beat up bad guys with my candy?! I've got some in my shirt pockets—w-will it—"

"Just—I don't know, throw some candies at them?!"

"That's no good idea," Isobar said.

"So said the ponies who made electricity!" Onion yelled.

"We have them!" a voice announced.

And then, the five were surrounded by a lot of ponies—most of them burly and muscular, stocky in build, all seething with a controlled anger as could be seen by their narrowed eyes focused on the five.

Wakes Week brought out her umbrella and brandished it in front of the henchponies. "Do you like to have it the easy way, guys? Or the hard way?!"

The rest of her friends glanced at her.

Onion and Dally lit up their horns.

Isobar spread open his wings and moved a hoof through the dirt.

Boiled Sweets nervously took out a few hard candies out of his pocket.

"Yes, you!" one of the henchponies—a unicorn—said as he walked out of the enclosing group. He differed from the rest of his comrades due to his hat—a straw hat just like Flim's and Flam's.

His gaze met the candy pony's—and Boiled Sweets shuddered even more, his hoof with the candy shaking as well.

"Flim and Flam were just looking for you," that straw hatted fellow said. "Now, we can have no hassle here—just give yourself up and you can go back. I promise you that they won't punish your...insubordination." A pause—a smirk. "If you don't comply—that's going to be a little problem that we're here to resolve."

Then, he looked away from him—and at his rescuers.

"And, I pity the ponies who were sent to take care of his candy shop—they were taken down by you, I presume. But—no worries, what we may lack in quality we make up for in raw numbers."

That fellow threw his hat to the ground.

Then, all the henchponies lunged at the five.

Umbrella blocked some.

Wings blocked others.

Floated twig—parry, parry, strike, and down the suited pony went.

Umbrella thrown out—returned by swift wings.

Onion kick—pulling of mane, distraction—bumbling, bumbling and stumbling as ponies running bumped into him.

Pegasus in flight—moving here, moving there, flying here, flying there, confusion, dizzying.

Log levitated—beat down, beat down, knock out.

Punched up, cornered at tree bark.

Candy thrown—straight to one's mouth—"Delicious!"—and kicked.

Grabbed Onion—struggling; "Help!"

Wings approaching.

Snagged.

Down.

"Don't waste any time on these—" and knocked out.

"Help!" candy pony shouted—under hooves' grip, dragged.

Umbrella to face—smack.

Let go, grip lost.

"Thanks!"

"Don't mention it!"

Another log levitated—pushing through several, including Onion's captor. Let go and free.

Throw from both sides.

Recover, recover—quickly, now galloping, charging at each other.

Dodge.

Fall to dirt—another henchpony.

Kick to tree.

Fall down, striking more than a few—others fled.

"There's Boiled Sweets!"

Equipped with umbrella—flung at suspect.

Snarled. "Agh!"

Charged.

Blocked with umbrella.

Hooffight—hoof on one side, umbrella on the other.

Parry, parry, block, defend, attack, attack, strike, parry, strike—the pattern went on.

Sweat down the mare's face.

Closed umbrella.

Uppercut umbrella.

Out he went.

Speed through air—barreling through final few.

Thrown candy—distraction and hitting the fellow.

That fellow picked up his hat from the ground and growled. "That fast?! H-how?"

"There were five of us," Wakes Week said.

"Well, y-yes, I know! But how?!"

"Maybe you never had to face off against more than a hoofful of ponies before, hm?"

"You're right." The fellow smashed the hat on to his head. "I don't know what your purpose here is, but you're not going to get out of this one unscathed!"

Then, Wakes Week laughed.

The laughter echoed throughout the woods.

Not just the fellow but even her friends looked at her as if she were mad.

"What's funny about suffering?!" the fellow shouted, his own question echoing throughout the woods as well.

"Just look around you, sir!" she replied with a glint in her voice.

He looked around himself.

Knocked out and unconscious ponies laying about on the ground, sprawled out in beaten up ways.

He growled. "I practiced that line a dozen times in case that would happen! I'm not going to be bested by the likes of you! I'll let Flim and Flam know about this travesty! They'll know the best way to handle you rabble!"

"Aww, you don't even make sense now!" Wakes Week went on. "Besides—how will Flim and Flam know about this if you won't be there?"

"Wait, what?"

Mouth covered with cloth, bound up in rope, tied to a tree. He struggled, attempting to free himself.

"Are you sure the Princess won't be disasppointed that we had to restrain him like this?" Isobar asked as he and the rest stood in front of him.

"Yeah," Onion added, facing Wakey. "I know that Princess Luna is the stricter of the two, but do you think she advocates this kind of thing?"

"What do you want me to do?" she asked back. "Let him escape and tell Flim and Flam? Hah. You, of all ponies, should know better than that—your Daring Do books told you that, right?"

"Uh, Daring Do keeps on fighting Dr. Caballeron even though she had many chances to arrest him."

Wakey groaned and smacked her face with a hoof.

"Just to keep the series going," Dally said. "I don't blame her, though—A.K. Yearling's a writer. Where else will she get her money from?"

"Selling candy," Boiled Sweets answered, raising a hoof. "Are we going home now?"

"Not yet," Onion said. "We still have to take care of Flim and Flam and stop whatever they're doing—those conponies!" Then, he shook his fist in what he thought was their general direction.

"Didn't you say that it was deforestation?" Dally asked.

"Oops. Yeah. Deforestation! They're deforestationing and doing bad things to the natural beauty of Winsome Falls!"

"That's...better?" Dally turned her head a little at that.

"Just wait until you get to the highest authorities in the land, brothers!" Onion shouted, placing a hoof close to his mouth. "You hear me?!"

"I don't have a brother!" a voice yelled back.

"What?!"

Then, Onion threw himself into a gallop and headed straight.

"Onion!" everypony else cried out.

"Wait for me!" Isobar yelled as he flew, following him.

They weren't that far away from the rest of the group—one would only have to look past several trees to regain sight of them. But, they weren't near—much ground was between the stray stallions and their friends (plus one tied up enemy).

The two stallions then gasped at the sight in front of them. They stood on their four hooves, firm on the ground as the shock on their faces wouldn't go away.

The pony who had yelled back planted the music stand on to the ground. "Why, you look like you've just seen your long-lost relative! Or short-lost—I've seen a few ponies who couldn't handle even a few days' loss emotionally." He rubbed his eyes. "Well, you must know my name: Five Lines, and that's it. You can tell from my cutie mark—" which was five horizontal lines "—that I have a knack for all things musical—but, the music stand must've given it away." He smiled. "You know, I hate it when I give myself away like that."

Onion and Isobar looked at each other, the shock slowly diminishing.

Five Lines picked up a sunflower. "Wanna smell?" He grinned. "A change of topic would be nice—after all that secret—but, it's not secret—my name, that is, right, right?"

"Uh, OK?" both of them said, glancing at each other one more time with weird looks.

"We were just checking—yeah, just checking who made that sound," Onion said. "You're totally not familiar at all, Five Lines." He forced his way into a hoofshake. "Nothing too suspicious here!"

"Nice try!" Five Lines said, patting Onion's hoof away, smiling. "But, I've met too many naive criminals and non-criminals to not know what's a bluff and what's a not." He tore out a piece of bark from the tree beside him and pointed it at him—still smiling at him as well. "And, what are you hiding? Treasure? Documents? Treasured documents made out of diamonds? If it's the latter, count me in!" He jumped up into the air.

"We're not here to get anything like that," Isobar said. "We're here to—"

"What's that?!" Five Lines asked, covering his ear with a hoof. "You're not here for the obvious reasons? Isn't that an exotic expedition you've accomplished—and that's what they'll call me until I prove them wrong!"

"Prove who wrong?" Onion asked, tilting his head once again to the side. "You have music managers to live up to?"

"Managers with no music, I can say that!" Five Lines lashed out. "Unscrupulous and evil, but that doesn't matter—they're cold, efficient, and ignorant about music. Tell me what, not why—the why is too simple. It's all about the coins, sirs, coins and nopony likes what's outside the usual—the norm, norm, norm!"

Onion stepped back, now returning to shuddering. "It was...uh, fun talking with you, Five Lines, but—uh, as long as you don't bother us, we'll just, uh, leave you?" He wiped the sweat off of his face—only for it to be replaced with the next batch of sweat.

Isobar nodded. "I have to agree with my friend here. We're in the middle of some busy camping...activities!"

"Finally!" Five Lines said, hugging the pegasus. "Sweet home! Not exactly home, but it's better than just the bare standards I've been facing as of late!"

"You've been out here in the forest alone?!" Onion exclaimed.

"Not exactly alone, either. Birds are living creatures, too! Too bad they're way too sensitive when it comes to these hearing things." He motioned a hoof at his ears. "Too sensitive. Could hear a hoofstep from a mile away—you know what that means?" He eyed his music stand. "There. The bane of my existence recently." Then, he paced around on the ground. "Inspiration—very untimely if you ask me!"

"Look, kind sir," Onion said, holding up a hoof and wearing a quivering grin—mane ruffled. "You mean well. Very nice fellow—somewhat crazy, but who isn't?"

"I know flattery when I see it!" Five Lines yelled. "Stop that deception!"

"What Onion was trying to say," Isobar continued, stepping right in front of his friend, "was that we're so busy that we can't even accommodate one more pony. We're truly sorry about this serious inconvenience, but that's how it is—busy unloading supplies and preparing everything."

"I can be of help to earn my rightful spot!" Five Lines said—in a cheerful tone and closed eyes. He took up his music stand and held it with a strong hoof before slinging it around his torso. "I'll prove to you that I'm not unuseful—if that's even a word!" Then, he whispered, "Should've just said 'useful,' but what's said is said so let's get going—"

Isobar stopped him with a stiff wing. "I'm sorry, sir. But, we just can't hold any more—"

"Ah, repeating reasons!" Five Lines said, raising up a hoof in protest and adopting a haughty, high-falutin tone. "The first sign that something's up and dubious in the air! I can already feel it—are you running away from the authorities or what?"

"We're here by the authority of Princess—"

Isobar gagged his mouth with a hoof. Faced Five Lines and said, "Princess Frondescence! Yes, she's not actually a Princess, you see—" keeping up his sharp inflection (though his speech was becoming jittery) "—because she was named that way at birth!"

"You know that it's a crime to name a pony 'Prince' or 'Princess,'" Five Lines said, smirking. "But, I'm no lawyer—I'm just a pony who knows a few about a lot and a lot about a few and I'm also part of a curious bunch—so, tell me, kind sir, what's going on in that camp of yours? If you have diamond documents, I'm still in, right?"

"What's with diamond documents, anyway?" Onion asked.

"I get bits. That's it."

"Oh. Right." He sighed.

"Who's stopping me from walking to your camp?!" Five Lines then quipped as he marched his way around the two stallions—who were watching him in that defying act.

Isobar yanked him on his music stand's sling.

He dropped on to the ground.

"Force?!" Five Lines yelled. "Are you agents or what?! Well—more unscrupulous activity from my employers! Hmph!"

Then, he ran—away from the two.

Onion and Isobar watched him go.

Isobar looked back. Then back at him.

He gasped.

"Onion. I think I know who his employers are."

Then, he zipped his way out of the area.

"Mustache Spoon?" Wakey said, perplexed. "That's an unusual name for a pony."

"My great-great granddad's the inventor of the mustache spoon," the straw-hatted pony tied to the tree said, still gruff and eyeing Boiled Sweets—who was sleeping with his head rested on a pillow on the ground—with a hostile stare. "A long line of stallions wearing funny mustaches—was the first one to be the exception."

"What is a mustache spoon?" Wakey asked, smiling.

"Not telling you," he bluntly responded. "I've already revealed more than enough of myself as it is. The way things are going, I'll end up single-hoofedly destroying the whole resort down. My name and some history is all you're gonna get!" He snarled at her.

She screamed a bit, jumping up.

"Be thankful you know my name at all!" he roared. Then, he struggled again to get out free—to no avail.

Wakey, shivering, felt a tap on the head. She looked back.

"He's just trying to be intimidating," Dally said. "Without Flim and Flam nearby, he's pretty much worthless to them."

"But, it looks like he knows a lot about the resort and whatever else the conponies are doing."

"So?" Dally spoke. She adjusted her glasses once again with her green magic. "It's not like he can teleport his way out of here; he's not a unicorn."

Then, flapping of wings followed by a thud.

The mares looked behind them.

The tied up stallion squinted his eyes at the returnees.

The sleeping Boiled Sweets was still sleeping—even snoring.

Isobar landed beside Onion as they stood in front of the newscomer—the music stand pony with the five-lines cutie mark.

Five Lines looked around—seeing everypony present, his eyes wide in distress.

"Everyone," Isobar announced, gesturing to him with a hoof, "meet Five Lines. Musician, former employee of Flim and Flam."

An End

Inside a tent, under its surrounding canopy: a light, a few papers, a blueprint, and Flim and Flam—eyes restricted, panic-driven hooves, mouth pursed into something resembling a calm and collected smile. It was also cramped inside—even at their farthest, they had barely any space to move their hooves around.

"They haven't reported back at all, brother," Flim said—intimidated. "How could they have gotten past that many ponies? Most of them were Earth ponies! They're supposed to be strong enough to beat them up senseless!"

"We may have not accounted for their ability to not be outsmarted," Flam said, "but that's going to cut into our return on investment."

Flim sighed. "So much for trusting in the short-term plan. What was that they told us again? They had a...medal?"

"Ah! Didn't he say that it's proof? They're sent by Princess Luna herself."

"Now, I remember...it's still not helping, brother, knowing that a Princess is on to us!"

Flam placed a firm hoof on his brother's shoulder. "Flim, keep your composure! Shh!"

Both ponies held their ears up to the tent's ceiling.

Only the wind and several hoofsteps and a few construction noises.

"Don't assume the worst, brother!" Flam said. "For all we know, they're probably just taking a little longer to get those ponies straight to us! What's the use of worrying like there's no tomorrow when we have it all under wraps?"

"But...brother," Flim said, doubtful and halting in his words, "this is not according to the plan. I know that they might have captured the intrusive pests...but I have feeling that there's a really bad reason why they're not here, yet."

"Aww, don't be so—"

"They're Earth ponies, so they should be running here by now, but they aren't here!" Flim said. "If they catch up to us, where else will we hide? If they have a direct line to one of the Princesses, those ponies will wait until, what, the royal guards come in here?"

"Pshaw! You mean the incompetent royal guards?" Flam then threw an imaginary object into the air.

"Not incompetent against us!" Flim replied, pointing to himself—a nervous frown now on his face.

"Who else will they—"

"Those Elements of Harmony?!"

"Maybe they're in the middle of—"

"How do you know, brother?!" Flim yelled, pointing a hoof at him.

Flam gulped.

"We haven't received any news straight from Ponyville! Nor anywhere else for that matter except for that small town just outside!"

"Even if we did, the news would soon be outdated in several hours." Then, once again, placing a hoof on his brother, he said, "Relax. It's all going to be OK, brother! If it does come to the worse, we always have our back-up at the ready."

Flim sighed, downcast. He took on his straw hat. "Well, here we go."

The two stood up and exited the tent, leaving the light on.

"How's your back-up going, brothers?" Wakey asked.

"Agh!"

The tent fell down—revealing the rest of the crew: Watts Onion, Isobar, Dally News, Boiled Sweets, and Five Lines who then proceeded to surround Flim and Flam.

Flim shivered, though Flam took on a haughty face. "There must be a misunderstanding here!" Flam said, taking off his straw hat. "You see—"

"Intruders!" a pony yelled.

And the construction team—and everypony else who was busy with the Winsome Resort—charged at the "intruders."

"So, about leaving only a hoofful of ponies back at this place," Isobar said, holding his lofty head high as he strutted around the two brothers—who were now tied up against each other with rope—"let me tell you that it's—how should I phrase this?—a bad idea."

Flim and Flam—constrained in their captivity—gulped. Flim shot a glance at his brother. "I knew that this was gonna happen yet we didn't properly prepare for it!"

"Well, you should've at least articulated it more clearly!" Flam shot back. "I thought you were just having a nonsensical anxiety attack! It turns out that your suspicions weren't completely unfounded!"

"They were founded on believable doubts!"

"If you doubted any other time, then we would've failed our schemes! It was confidence in our work that made us successful in the first place!"

"You can stop the bickering," Dally News said as she levitated a baton and raised it up.

The six ponies were around the captured unicorns in their striped shirts, fancy bowties, and straw hats.

"I guess that's the end of your conniving and scheming!" Onion said—giddily, displaying a set of bright teeth to the brothers. "How do you like the taste of desserts?!"

"Uh, it's 'just desserts,'" Isobar said after a hearty groan.

Then, a kick to Flam's face. "Ow, what was that—"

"That's for ruining my family business!" Boiled Sweets yelled.

Then, a music stand to Flim's head.

"And that's for throwing me out of your group like I'm not alive! I have feelings, you know! I can feel that I have a heartbeat and that I can walk on the grass and can swim a river and make a hat and climb up the social ladder of hats to lead the society of hattery—you, out of all ponies, know that the best!"

"What?" Flim responded.

"Don't you deny your knowledge about the Society of Hats!" Five Lines said, putting his music stand on his head and balancing it. "I've seen you in the meetings!"

Everypone else exchanged confused looks and sincere shrugs.

"He was moderately kooky while he was under our—"

Then, a music stand thrown at Flam.

"Hey, that was true!"

"That's what you want to think!" Five Lines said.

Wakey jumped right between the attacker and the attacked. "Let's not get too rough on each other here, alright? We can solve whatever disputes we have with each other in a civil manner."

Flim looked down and sighed once more.

Flam kept up that confident face and pose despite his tied down position.

Onion walked up to them, the rest watching him with his attempt at being earnest and somber about the matter—but, a few giggles escaped from his mouth.

"Uh, what's so funny?" Five Lines asked.

"Nothing's funny," Onion said, stopping his walk to face him. "I can't believe we're finally here!"

"What do you mean by that?" Flam asked, retaining his arrogant accent.

Then, Onion jumped straight to him.

Flam was unfazed for his face remained that straight. Flim, meanwhile, shuddered even more.

"Because, after we finish all this questioning and interrogating stuff, we can call the royal guards, let them fix this up, go home, and then we'll be honored as some heroes of Equestria!"

Flam smirked. "Heroes who've detained respectable business—"

"We have tons of witnesses!" Onion interrupted.

"I can blame it on collusion," Flam said. "I can blame it on the theory that you conspired against poor us."

"Explain the illegal deforestation!" Onion yelled, pointing a hoof at the fallen trees near the river—a bit far off from where the ponies were.

"I can say that we had the papers."

"What if we refuse to bring the papers?"

"The judge will demand that you bring in all evidence, whether it incriminates us or you."

"What about Boiled Sweets and Five Lines?" Onion pressed.

"Of course, they'll lie about us—they want to give us a bad name. Probably have some personal feud with us even if that feud is, itself, illegal and useless as a grounds for imprisoning us!"

"Do you have lawyers?" Onion asked.

"You have no idea how we work," Flam said, smirking once again.

Onion took a step back. He looked back. "Uh, guys? I don't like the sound of this? Are you sure we did this thing right?"

"You're already faltering?!" Boiled Sweets cried out. "You yourself have seen their henchponies ransack my precious candy shop! They're the same ones who dragged me out and they're the same ones you saw today in the forest! Besides, who else sends guards to Winsome Falls?!"

"And they thought that my idea of innovative music was no good!" Five Lines shouted.

"Hey, let's keep it civil, remember?" Wakey said, sweat pouring down her face.

Boiled Sweets growled but stood down. Five Lines, on the other hoof, planted his music stand on the ground and stood by it, observing Flim and Flam as they still sat there tied up.

Onion then raised a hoof—and made a smile.

Flim gulped at that sight.

"Do you wanna know what I remember about you two?" Onion asked, clasping his front hooves.

"What is it, then?" Flam asked. "Spit it out!"

"You've had a long history," Onion answered.

Flim gulped again—now nervously laughing.

"Being inconsiderate of Applejack and her family when you got Sweet Apple Acres for even just a few moments—and only because you cheated your way to victory by not thinking of quality! Then, you fooled tons of sick ponies—ponies who were looking to you not as salesponies but their rescuers from a robbing disease—you abused their hopes in you just to make quick cash! After that, when Applejack and Fluttershy came to help you out there in Las Pegasus—they gave you a new lease on your brotherly relationship with each other and what did you repay them with? You ended up manipulating their friendship to you for your own personal gain, still going on that route of conning innocent ponies out of their hard-earned bits!"

Onion huffed.

Silence save for the breathing, the wind.

Flim covered his ears, shuddering and shaking and shivering.

A bead of sweat rolled down Flam's face.

"When will your conscience get to you?!" Onion yelled. "When we bring you up to court—the royal court, nonetheless!—" and here, he pulled out his identifying medal "—there won't be a shortage of witnesses that will scream at you for the horrible crimes you've committed against them. They'll be ruthless at you, will do anything to get a hit at you, but I cannot blame them—could you?"

A tear down Flim's cheek—hid his face behind a hoof.

"These ponies trusted in you for honest, genuine, sincere help! They trusted in you as friends! You know, friendship, that magical thing that bonds and binds us together in harmony! I don't want to know what the Princesses themselves have to say about you—about you—" pointing an accusing, final hoof at them "—treating friendship like it was nothing, nothing more than a tool to further your own ends!"

Seething anger—heavier, faster breathing; shrunken irises, glowing horn.

"I won't be surprised if you go to jail and stay there for thirty years! That will show you what breaking those hearts meant to those harmless and simple ponies you've conned through all this time! See how all the ponies you've destroyed feel about you right now!"

A stomp on the ground.

The howling wind.

Watching friends.

Lonely trees, rushing river, falling waterfalls and rainbow falls.

A hushed whimper.

Flam's held-up head—now sunken low.

Onion smiled. "I think we did it guys." He turned around to see his friends. "We did it! We caught some criminals and solved the mystery!"

The ponies there cheered, raised their hooves, and congratulated each other—shaking each other's hooves, thanking each other and "You're welcome-ing" each other, patting each other on the head or torso for a job well done.

"Uh, did I miss something?"

Everypony looked at the source of the voice.

A lanky mailpony—for he was in his blue uniform and cap, also holding a box—was there. "It looks like I missed something. And, where's the post office building...thing?" A pause as he looked around. "Are you the renovators?"

It was sunset. In the orange sky, the rainbow falls took on a magnificent property: they glittered that sunlight even for just a brief moment and even when one was at a specific spot somewhere—for only the correct angle would bring about that valuable spectacle of organic wonder.

The waterfalls and the rivers, too, glittered in the orange sunlight, still flowing with its crisp, fresh, transparent water. The trees—only a few them were gone—swayed under the breeze which brought in the coolness (part of it from the waters nearby).

The mountains, at the last hours of the day, were revelling in their closing minutes of towering, dominating regality—for, when the night comes, they would be shrouded in silhouettes that would only show to the average pony the outlines—the incomplete sketches—of their otherwise full beauty and strength.

On the ground, the royal guards filled the clearing, tearing down the construction work to a rubble that would then be cleaned up, planting a few saplings and young trees to replace their departed fellows, and rebuilding the post office kiosk with the broken materials that had been laid to the side.

"You go home now, everypony," one of the guards said, raising a wing and ushering the six ponies off. "Thank you all for your service to Equestria—just leave the rest of the work here to us."

And the six said fared the guards well as they left Winsome Falls and went back into the forest.

"Wake up."

Snoring.

"Wake up."

Snoring.

"Wake up!"

"Augh!"

And Onion fell off of the cart, crashing onto solid ground with all its dirt.

"You could've at least warned me, Isobar!"

"What else can I warn you with?" Isobar replied, laughing after that. "I can't just give you a note—you wouldn't be awake to read it, anyway?"

"A simple poke would do, thank you very much!"

"Good thing he's a pegasus," Wakey said. "If I was the one who woke up, you might as well wake up to the sound of windows shattering."

"Why? Because you're gonna throw me to some house?"

"I'm not that far from doing that, really," Wakey said. She pointed a hoof over there.

And, over there, where Onion looked, was Pace once again under the night sky with its moon and its stars. It was a crowd of lights clumped together, being as if beacons in the middle of the sea, emanating their bright yellow rays on to their surroundings.

"Ah, sweet home!" Boiled Sweets yelled. "Finally, my family won't have to worry about me any longer!"

Then, he ran off, galloping ahead of the ponies with their cart.

"Huh," Onion let out. "That's curious."

"I understand him," Wakey said. "What would you do if you were estranged from your family for even just one day?"

Onion merely nodded.

"Hey, Five Lines!" Isobar called out to the music stand-carrying pony. "You wanna stay with us for the night? You're quite the pony to talk to."

"Why, yes, I am so, like I believe everypony else is quite a pony to talk to!" Five Lines said, shaking Isobar's wing and nodding rapidly. "Here—" he pulled out a piece of paper "—is a list of all the music that I plan to write out from animals!"

Isobar took it with his wing and read it. "What?"

Five Lines took it back. "It's a mystery to all but I—think of it as a problem that won't be solved until somepony solves it!"

"Isn't that how—"

"You'll solve it, anyhow!" he said, smiling.

Laughter from the rest of the ponies, mingling with the owls' hoots and the crickets' chirps and, soon, the murmurings in Pace.

The welcoming of these to-be heroes was not distinguished with impressive pomp and circumstance—with brass and horns sounding kingly notes to top it all of. Rather, it was distinguished by its sheer humility and modesty. There were no renowned figures in attendance other than the mayor himself—and even he relegated himself to the back of the crowd, turning his face away from the celebratees being showered with plain cheer.

Almost all of the ponies of the town were out on the streets—as could be seen by the lack of ponies inside most of the buildings there no matter how much one would peer through the windows whether wide or narrow. Though there was no music, the hurrah was more than enough—Wakey and Dally waved shyly, Isobar merely smiled and nodded at those who dared to move forward and be within a meter of their presence, and Boiled Sweets had gone out to his family—over there, at the corner of the sidewalk, there was the candy pony scruffing up the manes of his son and of his daughter—both awash in tears; and, there, too, was his wife—a yellow mare with curled mane, bringing them all into a single embrace. Five Lines left the procession, too—look over there at the bridge to and away from Pace, hanging over, and one can see Five Lines journeying the dirt road and entering the hilly forest, whistling his way toward Fourbeat with his music stand slung around his body.

That left Watts Onion who was taking pleasure in all that was being given him—"You saved our town!" "Yeah, you show those two conponies who's boss around here!" "Three cheers for them, anypony?" "Stay here! We'll serve you up a 'Welcome Back' pancake blowout!" On these were added little gifts—trinkets and souvenirs like a necklace, a watch, a wooden craft of some sort, and a few bags of bits—hoofed out by several obviously thankful residents who had on their faces wide smiles and from out of their mouths endless amounts of phrases that substituted for the short phrase "Thank you!"

And so, there were four ponies left—the original four.

After several more minutes of the celebration, the four were guided back into the house of Cream Glaze and Batter Sugar—and their lights were just as bright as the rest of the houses there. The couple led them inside.

With that, all the festivity was over, the ponies left outside scattering about back to their jobs or their homes—though the talk of the town was still about the great victory over Flim and Flam and the town's newfound heroes.

Back in that furnished bedroom—that familiar scent before the unfamiliar, now back to what's here.

The four ponies entered the bedroom with wide smiles and sighs of relief.

"Whoo!" Isobar yelled, high-fiveing the mares' hooves with his wing and then Onion's with his own hoof. "That could've gotten far worse, but we did it! How was it?"

"Great!" Onion shouted. "Who knew personally working for the Princess was that fun?"

"Yeah," Dally said, levitating a book closer to her, "but—that was a lot to take in for a single day." She rotated the book around and flipped the pages—all with her magic. "I need to have a break, right, Wakey?"

She shot a glance at her.

"Right, Dally," Wakey answered as she trotted to her bed—and yawned.

Dally sat on a chair beside Wakey's bed and flipped the pages to the first; then, she adjusted her glasses once more, squinted at the small text, and read.

Onion trotted his way to the table, floated a pad of paper and a quill—eyeing the inkwell which was almost full, close to overflowing.

"Already?" Isobar blurted out, annoyed with a lowered eyebrow.

"I have two letters to write tonight," Onion answered in an assuring voice—a twirl of the hoof to add to his words. "A report to Princess Luna—and I bet she's going to be ecstatic that we neutralized the conponies! All she has to wait for now is for the guards to—hopefully—return with them in custody—and to think we're the ponies who finally took those conponies down! Applejack could've done it, she and Fluttershy together could've done it, all the Elements could've done it! But it ws us who dealt the final blow to their evil plans!"

"Heh," Isobar blabbed. "You don't sound worried at all."

"Why would I be?" Onion asked back, stretching his forehooves wide. "All I know is, we did it and we'll have another small procession and celebration and whatever over in Canterlot. A ceremony—overseen by Princess Luna herself." He let out a sigh. "Imagine that!"

Isobar loosened up his irritated face and played a smile on his lips. "Yeah. I'm getting to like that outlook of yours—good thing we suffered through all the preparing pains of the trip. I think it's totally worth it—to bond together over a hoofful of days in some short, sweet adventure."

"And, we're going to wake up to a pancake feast tomorrow morning before they all send us off to Canterlot!"

Isobar nodded. "Yeah, yeah. I get it—you went from being just an onion farmer to an onion farmer who defeated two of the best—or worst—conponies in modern Equestrian history."

A firm hoof on his shoulder.

"Just a piece of advice, Onion: Don't let it get to your head. Some ponies don't like it when you swagger around even if you do deserve it."

And, Isobar pulled out a book.

"Also, I got this from somepony here during the whole shindig back there. His voice sounded very familiar—whoever that was, he wanted to give this to you when he figured out you liked Daring Do."

Onion grabbed the book.

It was wrapped in plastic and was in mint condition. The pages had no damage or even obvious age to them—they were as white as a page could ever be. The cover itself was unscathed and unbroken—all complete with no discolor or scratches.

On the cover was that famous adventuring arcahaeologist narrowly escaping the jaws of some alligators. She was holding some kind of ancient statue with her hoof.

"A first edition copy of 'Daring Do and the Quest for the Sapphire Stone'?!" Onion yelled.

"Ah-ah-ah-ah!" Isobar raised his hoof and lowered his eyebrow once more. "Don't let it get to your head—just be you. You deserve it. And, as for me—" He yawned and stretched his wings "—I'm going to call it an early night. Don't make too much noise and see you in the morning, OK?" He looked at the mares. "You, too, alright? I wanna get as many hours as possible."

He did not say anymore for he fast went to sleep—even went fast to snoring.

Onion looked away from the group and back to the table with the pad of paper.

He held the book in his hoof.

He placed it down.

"Two letters," Onion whispered.

He levitated a quill, dipped it in the inkwell, and wrote on the paper:

"Dear Mom, Dad, Chutney, Forecast, and Bulb,..."

Ceremony

Inside that royal hallway once more with its stained glass windows, its towering columns, its hanging banners, its shiny floor, its red carpet, its stately throne, its fragrant lavenders.

The morning sun pierced through the windows, bringing upon the room—once more—a colorful dance of light, still, reflected on the shiny floor.

Princess Celestia sat on the throne, watching her sister and Princess Twilight Sparkle as they both stood on the carpet. She smiled as her gaze shifted from her sister to those four ponies.

Princess Luna's horn glowed blue once more, levitating four small yet polished medals which contained a detailed engraving of her face.

Besides the guards that were stationed there—one of them with a snarl on his face as he eyed Watts Onion with half-closed, angry eyes—there were several press ponies as could be seen by the cameras, the notepads, and the pencils they brought along; already, two of them had their cameras ready. Alongside them were several more ponies who were attending the ceremony—among those ponies were Onion's family, with Electric Arc crying tears and yelling "You did it!"

The rest of the family looked on her and smiled—including Watts who turned around for a short moment and grinned.

He turned back round towards the Princesses.

The four ponies stood tall and proud before them.

"It appears that you have done an excellent job in fulfilling the task I have sent you out to accomplish," Princess Luna began. "From what I have heard, this is all there is to what was bothering me in Winsome Falls—nothing more than dishonest and underhoofed business conducted by known crooks. I did not expect you to be apprehenders, but that was what happened and you were forced to be so in order to solve the mystery—if you could even call it a 'mystery,' but I digress."

She smiled. "For your unwavering endurance to keep to that royal mission despite all that they have constructed to hinder you, you are rewarded with these Medals of the Third Bravery."

With that, she floated the medals to each of the recipients.

Watts held the medal with his hoof—not even using his magic to receive it. He turned it around, did his best to stifle a shout, and was shaking—his eyes focused on that precious, golden medal.

Isobar eyed his medal. Then, he saluted the Princesses with a wing. "It's a privilege and an honor, Princess Luna. Thank you."

She nodded at him.

Wakey handled her medal, rotating it to inspect it further. Looking up to the Princess, she said, "I don't know what to say, Princess. I've never gotten something like this before and I don't know what to do with it."

"You can keep it inside a cabinet or drawer of yours," Luna suggested, "or put it on display on your wall. I do not think that there is much else that ordinary ponies do with these medals—but it is not what one does with the medal that matters to me. It is the fact one deserves it in the first place."

"Then, thank you, Princess," she said, bowing down.

Dally levitated the medal with her magic, changing its glow from blue to green. She said no word before she bowed down as well. "Thank you, Princess Luna."

Luna nodded. "Your work is very much appreciated by me."

Twilight Sparkle took a step forward. "And, with the arrest of Flim and Flam, they'll finally realize how much hurt they've wrought on other ponies." With a downcast look, she said: "Too bad that all our efforts to show them sincere and honest friendship appeared to be all for nothing." Then, she straightened herself up—resolve. "Hopefully, they'll remember all the friendship that we've extended to them—maybe prison will finally wisen them up as they remember those times."

A pause.

"If they do end up seeing the evil of their past actions," Twilight went on, "then leave it to us to help them start a new life—a life built on friendship and helping others. We're willing to give these conponies a second chance."

The three ponies nodded.

Watts twitched an eye—and nodded late.

"I am sorry if I have troubled you with too much danger or risk," Luna said. "I was not expecting Flim and Flam to be performing their business operations over there—and without our permission as well. But, not only do I say 'You're welcome' to your thanks, I also thank you for clearing up my mind from all that has ailed me concerning Winsome Falls."

A pause.

"You are free from your royal duty. Go back to your occupations, your homes, and your families and friends—I am sure they are more than eager to see you again after all this time."

She stretched a hoof out and pointed at the gathered ponies nearby, closer to the door.

The four ponies rushed to their families and friends.

Hugs. Kisses. Laughter, shouts of names.

"Onion!"

"Isobar! Good to see you!"

"My Wakey Wakey! I've missed you so much!"

"How was it, Dally?"

The Princesses—and the guards—looked upon this simple, humble display of love, of friendship.

"Aww, it's so cute!" Twilight exclaimed.

Celestia giggled at that.

Twilight covered her mouth and eyed her former mentor with a cautious attitude. "Uh, what did I say?"

"Don't worry, Twilight," Celestia said. "It's more than alright with the both of us."

Twilight smiled.

"We believe that it is cute, too."

Twilight and Luna giggled at that.

Luna looked out at the morning sky with the sun still early—it was still quite cold and the rays of the sun were still somewhat bluish-yellow as if tinted by a cool window.

The smell of lavenders filled the hallway.

"Sister."

Luna turned around.

"I am glad that it turned out well," Celestia said, walking to her. "All that is unclear to you about Winsome Falls has been revealed. It is good that the ponies you've sent have not been harmed too much."

Luna nodded.

"By the way, Luna, I'm curious as to why you've chosen Watts Onion. I have a thought-out guess as to why, but I don't want to presume."

"It is somewhat elementary, sister," Luna said. "I could send out the best of detectives—Natural Deduction and his friend Modus Ponens—and they would have solved it much earlier and with greater efficiency. But, he has had such a string of successes that it is getting difficult for even him to enter a case without more than several criminals knowing about his whereabouts. I could say that it is up to ponies' over-reliance on him that has disadvantaged him severely."

"What you're saying is," Celestia began, "you chose Watts Onion to lower any suspicion?"

"Yes."

"Exactly what I had in mind, sister," Celestia said, smiling. "To be honest with you, that wasn't the safest of routes you've gone for that, but I won't bicker with you about something that's already done."

Luna chuckled.

"And, are you completely happy with the results?" Celestia asked.

Luna's smile slowly faded away with that—turning to the window.

Celestia's smile faded away, too.

"It was...unexpected," Luna finally replied. "I expected there to be something grand—a mystery that would reveal itself after a long stretch of time and after much thought. But, maybe I should've known better than to worry too much over what might really be a small thing."

"I understand," Celestia said. "The old way of thinking is hard to remove once it's been stuck inside your head. You do know that Equestria is a much more secure place than before."

"I know, sister. Maybe...maybe it is hard to truly stop that."

"You mean the old way of thinking."

"Yes."

"Well, I'm here to help and so are many other ponies." She smiled and placed a hoof to her sister's chin—raising her head up. "Besides, you've given four ponies an adventure that has certainly brought them closer together—and, even without the medals, that would've been more than OK."

Luna slowly let go of that grip.

A pause. Silence.

"I truly am happy that there is nothing too serious happening in Winsome Falls," Luna said. "My worries have been quite unfounded and unnecessary, then."

"You have been assured that everything is alright," Celestia said, placing a hoof around her sister's neck. "And, with what has been done today, things are even more alright—all thanks to you, sister."

The two alicorns hugged. Closed eyes, flowing ethereal mane shining all the more brilliantly under the sun's light.

"And, what better way to celebrate than by treating ourselves to a restaurant in Restaurant Row!" Dally yelled as she opened the door.

Out wafted an aromatic mix of smells unheard of—or, rather, unsmelled of—at least to the average pony's nose; curries, with their smorgasbord of spices and other scented edibles, permeated the dining area with its many round wooden lanterned tables (several already filled to the brim with a mess of plates that themselves contained an organized chaos of multi-colored food ranging from hot to freezing) and its many customers just enjoying themselves—talking, eating, drinking not only water but spiced yogurt blends as well (some garnished with a fruit slice) or coconut water or lemonade.

What was the food that could be seen there? There was the famous flat noodle soup—other than the flat noodles themselves and the scalding broth they were in, there floated some mushrooms and vegetable slices. Besides that, however, there were also these: rotis, flatbreads on which various spreads were placed on; hot orange rice mixed with beans and spices and served with salad; curry soup with leaves and beans (and, for one novel-minded customer, lots of garlic chives sprinkled on it); full platters of rotis or rice (or both) and vegetables, soup, curry, spices—the entire selection of tastes all collected into one neat dish; sticky rice cakes with brown sugar on top.

Aside from being on the tables, lanterns were also hanging from the ceiling. The brick walls were half uncovered and half painted and covered; wooden planks on the floor made the restaurant have that cozy feel, as if one were inside a house of modest ponies. Curtains were drawn, giving those inside a good view of the Canterlot street outside—bright, though somewhat empty; a few lively ponies trotted about on the sidewalks, with two giving a quick glance to the eatery. A nice wide purple couch served as comfy seats for the ponies who managed to get there (before the rest).

"This is the Tasty Treat, huh?" Onion said as he and his friends walked inside, beholding what was in front of them around them—the sights, the sounds, the smells, the flavors that were just within reach if they could find an empty table for the four of them.

Which they did.

They sat on the wooden stools in front of their table. Like all the other tables, this one had a lantern on it.

Isobar let out a sigh. "What's the agenda?" He placed his forehooves on the table, leaning closer to his friends. "Are we going all out? Feast, anypony?"

"My treat," Dally said, nodding. "I've saved up some bits for a special occasion—and, I thought, 'I'll let this be the special occasion!'" And, she smiled.

"Great!" Onion exclaimed.

Which caught the attention of more than a few ponies nearby, some who gave mad stares at him.

"Whoops! Sorry!" Onion then hid his shameful face away from everypony else, revealing it only to his friends—shivering.

"I wonder where's the waiter?" Wakey asked, scanning the room.

A unicorn mare in eyeshadow and white-yellow clothes—also wearing an earring—walked up to them; she had somewhat curly mane and curly tail, both of them dark purple or violet, and her coat was orange.

"Good morning!" the waitress greeted as she hoofed out a hoofful of menus to them—two were grabbed, others glowed and magically levitated. "I'm Saffron Masala, one of the two chefs here at the Tasty Treat! What would you like today?"

"I'd have a few apple pies," Onion blathered in a casual way, raising a hoof.

His friends and Saffron Masala looked at him in askance.

"What?"

"Uh, as much as we would love to cater to your tastes," Saffron began, "we don't serve apple pies here."

Isobar raised his hoof next, smiling—though a little jittery as he looked at Onion for a moment. "We'll just let you decide for us. I have no idea what most of these dishes mean—sorry to be blunt, Saffron Masala." He bowed slighly down, withdrawing a little.

The mares at the table nodded with Dally smiling more than Wakey. "Actually," Dally began, "I am very curious about the food here since it's so exotic."

"That's what separates us from the rest of the restaurants here," Saffron said. "You won't find cuisine like this for many miles in Equestria!"

"Oh!" Dally let out, fixing her glasses with a hoof. "Is that so? That's cool."

Saffron nodded. "Now, since you're trusting us to give you what we think is the best of the best that we can offer, do you want me to give you a description of your breakfast or do you want to surprise yourselves?"

"We'll surprise ourselves," Wakey said. "I like it when we don't know what we're going to get."

Saffron chuckled and closed her eyes at that. "Well, I hope that you will be pleased with what you will eat! Enjoy your time here!"

She levitated the menus and left, disappearing into a backroom from which clatters and fryings and fizzles and other cooking sounds.

That left the four ponies with themselves and the table and the lantern.

"That was unusual, Onion," Isobar said, looking at him with concern on his face. "You do know that they don't serve apple pie here."

"Maybe they do but—"

"Isobar," Wakey said, placing a hoof on one of his wings, "he hasn't been in such a place before. Neither are we."

Isobar softened up at those words, smiling once more. "Yeah, misunderstanding. OK, I get that."

Onion smiled and the rest did as well.

"To pass the time," Isobar said, clasping his forehooves on the table and wearing a restless face, "what about I tell some jokes?"

Onion groaned. "No, no, no, no, no, no—a million times, no!" He stressed the final "No" with a broad sweep of his forehooves aimed at the pegasus.

"Three out of four here like my jokes," Isobar said. "So, the majority rules you out, Onion."

"That's because you included yourself in the majority!" Onion accused.

"I've got to be honest with myself, OK?" Isobar asked, pointing to himself.

The pegasus then picked up the light on the table. "Everypony, what do you call a trainee working with lasers and lights?"

"What?" Onion inquired in a rugged voice, head resting on a hoof.

"A lantern. Get it?"

"Ugh!" He plugged his ears with his forehooves.

Wakey and Dally didn't laugh—but, they smiled.

"Come on, Onion!" Isobar said as if ordering him rather nonchalantly. "You've gotta give me credit that it takes creativity to think of those puns!"

"I'm not listening."

After the Call

A few days later

There was a knock at the door.

Lacrimal opened it.

The glaring sunlight poured in as the small group of ponies were standing right outside.

"Uh, hi," a stallion—presumably the leader of the group—greeted, waving a shy hoof.

Lacrimal raised an eyebrow and lifted his head a little. "And, what are you doing here at the Onion family house? We don't take your advertisements, if that's what you're gonna do."

"No, Mr. Onion, no!" the stallion said, shaking both his head and his forehooves—voice raised, desperate. "We're not salesponies or anything like that!"

"I could tell," Lacrimal said, eyeing the rest of the ponies gathered there—seeing that some of them were wearing casual clothes such as simple shirts and easy hats. "I have a question: Why bring a lot of your friends here? I don't recognize you as any of my children's friends from beyond here."

"Ah, just consider us honored to be rescued by your son, Mr. Onion!" the stallion said, holding up a picture of Watts Onion.

Lacrimal's eyes shot open. He inched his head backward at the picture. Then, taking on a more serious tone, he said, "Wait. Where are you from exactly?"

"Pace!" the stallion said. "All of us, mister!"

"And you're here to...meet my Watts?" He turned his head a little, somewhat perplexed.

The entire group nodded together, showing smiles and grins, their teeth shining.

"Uh, OK, then..."

Lacrimal slowly turned around to see the full extent of the hallway he was in and the dining room at the end. He raised a hoof to his mouth. "Watts?! Some guests are here to see you!" He then turned back to the group—and some of those ponies were already stirred up in excitement and anticipation as could be seen by their shaky hooves and jittery teeth. "Feel free to come inside."

He bowed down a bit and stretched a hoof toward the hallway inside—and the ponies went in with their quips of "Thanks, Mr. Onion!"

"Behave yourself!" Lacrimal told as he closed the door, the last of the group now inside. "If you need anything, I'll just be in the same room, OK?"

In the park, there were several foals going about. However, they were not frolicking on the grass or chasing each other—well, most of them were not doing those things. Rather, under the supervision of Isobar and another pegasus (this one being yellow in coat and scraggly blue mane and scraggly blue tail), they were mowing the grass with not one but two lawnmowers, trimming the bushes here and there with their flowers, and weeding out any weeds. That was not all of their inspiring work, though; some were engaged in the art of painting the scenery and the landscape alongside the adults with their own easels and their own brushes and their own paint, while others were conversing with those who happened to walk by on the concrete paths of the park, asking them questions and wanting answers—all under that child-like curiosity. With all of this activity going on, there was laughter, shouts, screams, hushed talk, encouragement, jokes, and, of course, more questions.

A mustached Earth pony carrying a saddlebag walked up to Isobar and that other pegasus as they, too, were in front of the river, pulling out some weeds beside the foals who were also pulling out weeds.

"Lobby Bud?" the Earth pony said, standing beside the other pegasus. "Is that you?"

Lobby Bud saluted him with a wing as he held some plants in his mouth. He spat them out. "Yeah, I'm Lobby Bud. And you?"

"Glistening Measure," the Earth pony said. He smiled.

"And, have we met before?" Lobby Bud asked.

Isobar had stopped pulling out weeds and was watching the chat unfold.

"No, we haven't," Glistening Measure said. "I'm only here for this: You are Lobby Bud and I claim my fifty bits." With that, he moved a hoof closer to him.

"Oh. I see."

And Lobby Bud got a bag of bits and dropped it on the Earth pony's extended hoof.

"That's great," Glistening Measure said. "Have a nice morning, sirs!"

And he walked away.

"What was that for?" Isobar asked.

The two returned to pulling out weeds—this time, with their hooves.

A weed out. "A fun game," Lobby Bud said.

"Where you pay a hefty sum of bits if you lose?" He wagged a hoof. "You know better than that."

"It's a once-in-a-week thing," Lobby Bud replied in defense, struggling to pull out yet another weed. He grunted and huffed. He opened his wings and flapped them, pulling the weed even farther out though not yet out of the ground.

Then, he was sent flying, with the weed flying even higher as it hurtled out of the park and landed on the street with graceful style.

Meanwhile, the pegasus landed on the grass with not-so-graceful style.

A lot of the foals stopped whatever they were doing to take a look at the injured pegasus.

Several of them laughed, pointing at him; others gathered up to him and did their best to get him up despite his constant pleas that he was "alright, I'm alright! I don't need help; get back to helping the park and the ponies here—I can get up myself!"

But, he did not get up by himself. Even Isobar swooped in and held a wing with his own, pulling his friend up.

Lobby Bud was back on his four hooves.

The foals who had helped him up then ran hurriedly back to their activities.

Isobar smiled as he looked at his now dirty friend. "So, how's the plants treating you?"

"Don't ask," Lobby Bud replied.

On the wooden platform of the train station, Wakes Week stood humming a tune while holding an umbrella though it was not open.

She was the only one there.

The train station itself was not that far away from the center of Ambling. It stood, however, at its outskirts, with rolling fields of grass past that into the horizon.

Then, strings.

Wakey's ears went up as she looked back on her hometown.

Her eyes settled on the auditorium.

A smile was on her lips, quivering.

Music. First, it was just the strings, playing a soothing tune on their own—alone yet prominent, standing out. Then, the brass entered not in bombastic explosions and blasts of energy but in somber, sober notes of quietude, going along with the strings.

Then, the chug of a train.

Wakey's gaze turned away.

There was the train as it was approaching with its heart-shaped lights, its colorful carriages, and cheerful aesthetic of bright hues.

She watched the train slow down.

Nearer and nearer.

Then, it stopped.

The wind was blowing, creating a breeze that bended the grass and the trees over there. She held on to her umbrella, holding it in a firmer grip.

The doors opened.

Several ponies were walking out of the train, some carrying bags or pulling bags while others had nothing but themselves and their friends and family. Happily talking to one another as they exited the train, they boarded the platform and were on their way out into Ambling.

Wakey sighed. A downward turn of her lips. "All familiar faces. No tourists this time, huh?"

Another batch of ponies then went out of the train, bringing with them more bags and more friends and more family and more happy talking as, like those that exited before them, they boarded the platform and were on their way out into town as well. Among them was an Earth pony stallion with a somber fedora but a smiling face as he embraced his family of wife and two foals.

"An outing to surpass all outings, eh?" he asked, looking intently at the mare. "Watercourse, imagine this in your head: A picnic in front of a river in the middle of the mountains over there." Turning round to the mountains in the distance, he called her attention to those grand landforms. "The whole family. Just us. Only us. Then, we can sleep at night, look at the stars that Princess Luna prepared—see the beauty and escape from the rush—the gallop—of normal life."

"But, you didn't forget to bring the camera, did you, Ribbon Tail?" she asked—the mare being blue-coated and bright green-maned as she held one of their foals as the other was walking along.

"I didn't," he said, breaking out a small smile.

A tap on his shoulder.

He turned around. "Oh, who are you, miss?"

"My name's Wakes Week," Wakey said, kinder in tone, still holding her umbrella."I'm the resident tour guide. Would you want to see what Ambling has to offer?"

"I don't mean to offend you, Wakes Week," Ribbon Tail said, "but don't you think the town's too small for a tour? We're not gonna get lost here."

"But, you'll be seeing Ambling with a friend who lives right here," Wakey said, now closer to requesting; she rushed over close to the platform's edge, blocking their path. "You don't want to be on your own for this town that's probably unfamiliar to you—exotic, even!"

"We don't live too far from Ambling," Ribbon Tail said, dismissing her words with a hoofwave and a polite smile, glancing at Watercourse who was also smiling politely while she was cradling her sleeping foal.

"But, you're still unfamiliar with this place, right?" Wakey asked, insisting.

Ribbon Tail sighed. "As long as it's for free."

"I do my tours here for free!" Wakey exclaimed, beaming and almost jumping up into the air.

"Then, why didn't you say so?" Watercourse said. "We'll take it!" She looked at her older foal. "Come on, Runburn!"

He did not say a word. He just blinked and walked with his family as they stepped down the platform with Wakes Week as they entered a dirt path leading up to the many buildings and other places of Ambling.

"Now," Wakey began as they trotted on, "a history lesson on Ambling as we approach the town proper: It was founded by three ponies, namely River Gradient, Brook Stream, and Floodplain...."

"Raw Data?" Dally asked as she approached the burly mustached pegasus sitting on the chair as he read and re-read a tiny piece of paper under tablelight.

The room was wooden. The walls, the floor, the ceiling were all wooden. The table, however, was metal and so was the chair which was cushioned. The smell of the place—it was of fragrant dry wood. The floor felt a little slippery for it was varnished. Behind Dally was a large hallway with portraits of semi-famous ponies on the walls—Raw Data being one of those semi-famous ponies.

"Raw Data?" she asked again. "What does it say? I can help."

"I've got it covered," Raw Data responded without looking up to see her; his focus and attention was all on the paper, his eyes darting left and right. "Don't go—be here, and don't go anywhere. You'll be sending this to the rest of the press to print."

"Then, why are you spending lots of time reading that?" Dally asked, annoyed and demanding.

The stallion tapped the piece of paper. Then, he fixed the table light, making it face the paper once again. Finally, he let go of the paper, turned to the mare, and placed both of hire forehooves on the cold table. "This has some regards to your little expedition. That's why."

"You mean our trip to Winsome Falls?" she asked, her annoyance partially defused as Dally was now calmer.

"Yes, that's it," he said, moving the piece of paper to her. "I wanted to make absolutely sure that I was not receiving prank mail."

She grabbed the paper and held it up, squinting at it through her eyeglasses.

"I wanted to do all I could to check its authenticity," Raw Data said. "And, apparently, I'm still not so sure about it."

She rotated the paper, turned it around, held it at different angles, held it closer to her, turned it around again.

"So, what is it?" Raw Data interrupted, leaning closer to the paper.

Dally smiled as she gave it back to him. "Real thing."

Raw Data smiled back. He looked at the paper he was holding, then gave it back to her. "That means you know what Princess Luna has to say about the ponies you've captured."

Dally nodded.

She trotted out of the room and into the spacious hallway, her hoofsteps echoing.

Later, at sunset

Surrounded by the paper on the walls, the three ponies were in Wakey and Dally's bedroom. The single window gave an astonishing view of the sunset as it got ever closer to the ground over there; the orange sky was above them and so were a few clouds.

Isobar closed the door with a wing.

It was cramped and tight in the room—not much space.

Dally sat on one chair while Isobar brought in the other chair from the other desk which was at the other side of the room.

"This isn't funny if you had to pull me away from that family," Wakey said, sounding concerned as she faced Dally with eyes of worry. "It must be urgent."

"It's good that I have Lobby Bud as my substitute in case I have to go away like this," Isobar said. "I should've thought about doing that a long time ago."

"Now's not the time to be regretting things," Dally said. She brought out the piece of paper from the bag on the desk. She held it out and hoofed it to Wakey. "Here. You have to see it for yourselves."

Wakey got the paper and read it first. She hoofed it to Isobar while giving Dally an odd look.

Isobar read it. Then, he hoofed it back to Dally—any trace of a smile on his face disappeared. "It's...fine? I kind of understand it."

"One year," Wakey muttered, a hoof on her cheek. "One year. Yeah, to give them enough time to mend their ways."

"I understand it, too," Dally said. "While they wronged many ponies in the past, so did a lot of other ponies, too. Case in point: that Starlight Glimmer mare that the Princess of Friendship herself taught before. I don't know all the specifics of what she did, but I've heard claims that she would've destroyed Equestria had it not been for Princess Twilight."

"We know that, too," Isobar said.

"So, why did you bring us all here?" Wakey asked. "I know it's more than just to tell us that Flim and Flam will be out and about in one year."

"It's not them, Wakey," Dally said, raising her tone in a cautious way. "It's Onion."

"What's wrong with Onion?" Wakey asked.

Isobar gasped. "OK, OK, I think I know why."

Wakey turned to him, leaning. "What is it?"

"He was so mad at Flim and Flam throughout the search," Isobar explained, gesticulating with his forehooves. "That speech he made to those brothers—not the best, but I could say it was better than just sending them off to Friendship Penitentiary."

"That's the name of the prison?" Isobar asked. He held his head with a hoof. "I was not paying attention that time, huh?"

"Look—" Dally had a severe manner about her "—let's not get side-tracked by names of prisons. I don't know how to break it to Onion myself. I was expecting you would know how to go through this."

"You're overthinking things, Dally," Isobar said, extending a wing and tapping her shoulder gently. "Onion may be passionate, but he's not zealous like that."

"I don't know," Wakey said, slurring her voice in uneasiness. "Onion was very angry at them. If he was the only one in our closely-knitted group, who knows what would have happened to the two? A fight that they couldn't win?"

"He would've been beaten down," Isobar said. "We had a show of force because we had numbers. They were too scared to battle us because we were too many for them to defeat us, not just because we were under royal orders."

"It's not just that," Dally said. She then turned to Wakey, bearing an even more serious face than before—glasses adjusted and down. "Wakey, you've noticed the sudden influx of tourists these past days?"

"Yeah," Wakey said, nodding slowly. "Because of the hero status we all got. I even received my fair share of gratitude mail—I write back, if you're wondering." She made an awkward smile and waved a little.

"Well, has any of us checked up on Onion very recently, like yesterday?" Dally asked.

"Not me," Isobar said. "I've seen him a few times today, but it was just the same old routine—buy more seeds, buy more tools for the farm, eat out at the diner with his brother."

"Think, Isobar," Dally commanded, half-raising up from her chair. "Have you seen anything unusual with Onion today during those few times?"

Isobar stuck his tongue out as he thought, his eyes facing upward to the ceiling, the hanging light in his vision.

Wakey did so, too—stuck her tongue out and looked up.

Then, the pegasus hit the table with a hoof. "He was constantly smiling!"

"Any idea why he's constantly smiling the way he's...smiling?" Dally asked, leading with her words to something definite.

Silence as the two thought. Faint hoofsteps and the screeching of carriage wheels from outside, on the street.

Isobar hit the table again and shot Wakey a look, pointing at her. "How many of those new tourists are visiting Onion? They must be feeding his ego!"

Wakey gasped.

"Exactly," Dally said, wagging a hoof as she turned to her. "He's been receiving tons of patronage because of what we did. Fan mail, excited tourists, precious gifts, undivided attention—and, it doesn't take much reasoning to then reach the possibility that he's proud of being Flim and Flam's Unfazed Pony—the pony who saw them for who they really are and stood up against them. That title is surely going to garner him lots of recognition—he's like a pony in the spotlight; he is a pony in the spotlight."

"There aren't that many ponies visiting him," Wakey argued. "I've calcualted it myself."

"It's not a matter of how many," Dally declared. "He has many—and that's enough to warrant some worry."

A pause as the three looked at each other.

"So, what do you propose we should do about the news?" Dally asked, grabbing, once again, the piece of paper from the desk.

Isobar's smile faded away. "We should tell it to him upfront."

"Consider his feelings, Isobar," Wakey said as she brought her chair closer to the rest of them, facing Isobar with a face that spoke of a silent plea. "Can we at least try to ease him in to it? Like, 'Hey, buddy! How's your day?' And, we smile, like this—" And, she grinned, showing to her friends a wide array of shiny teeth.

"Was that really necessary?" Dally asked.

"This is a serious thing," Wakey said, that grin now away. "I might as well do all I could to make sure our dear Onion won't be broken by the news. I don't want to see him so badly hurt."

"Explanations," Dally suddenly spouted out. "We need to explain it all to him. He ought to respect the decision of the Princesses, especially the Princess of Friendship herself. If she could turn a villain from a disastrous plan to tear apart Equestria and convince her that friendship is better, then she's definitely right in saying that Flim and Flam should only be confined for a year at max because she believes that they can still be helped into being good." She smiled. "And, I guess we solved the problem."

Isobar hummed in agreement. "Sounds good to me."

"Why don't we give him some free dinner or snacks?" Wakey insisted, holding out a hoof at her friends—slightly distraught.

The two were looking at her now, all attention at her.

"We have to soften the blow as much as we can, guys," Wakey told, her voice trembling. "We haven't been together with each other for as long as you have been with him as best friends—" facing the pegasus who was looking at her with a wistful expression "—but, I really don't want that poor pony to bawl his eyes out as if the world's crashing down on him!"

Isobar looked down and sighed.

Dally adjusted her glasses once more, half closing them as she viewed the interaction between the two.

"You're the rational friend. You're also the joking friend. Let me be the friend who'll pick him up, who'll keep him company after all's said and done. I know he's not gonna take this easy—so, let me be that friend."

No tears—watery eyes.

Isobar sighed again, attempting to avert her gaze.

Dally looked at her—a pout.

A sniff in that cramped room.

Onion was back in his bedroom—his old, cozy bedroom with its bed, its shelves, its posters, its window, its table and chair. On one side of the desk was a sizeable stack of papers—unordered, not completely straight, but it was still a sizeable stack. At the center was the current letter he was reading before he stood up and walked to the window.

A giddy smile was on his face as he looked down on the street and saw yet another small crowd of ponies shuffling their way past carriages and streetlights and other ponies to his house.

Except for them to pass by.

A quiet growl. Then, checking himself. "It's OK, Onion," he said as he paced his room. "It's just your neighbors. Or, if they're not your neighbors, they're ponies just having a nice visit, just walking around and trotting, enjoying Ambling for the nice village that it is. You're not the main hero or good guy everypony will look up to—that's what it is. It's gonna be fine, Onion. It's gonna be fine."

And he turned away from the window, walking back to the table with the letter.

He sat down, picked up the letter.

Read a few lines.

Loud knocks on the door.

Ears perked up.

A smile.

Door creaking open.

"Oh, you're his closest friends who accompanied him, right?" he heard his father say.

Talk

The three ponies walked up the narrow flight of stairs. No words, hushed steps, and a weighty time.

They reached the top floor and Watts's bedroom.

"Shh."

There he was, sitting on the chair in front of the table, reading a letter, faced away.

Wakey gulped—shuddering, frowning.

"Uh, don't you remember us, Onion?" Isobar asked—upbeat, uneasy; the awkward grin on his face.

Dally levitated the piece of paper and placed it inside her saddlebag.

Onion turned around, surprised. "Oh! Sorry—I wanted to see what I could do by acting all sad and serious. But, I felt bad about it because, well, I don't want to make you sad when I don't have to." He grinned as he showed the letter to them. "And, I have news for you! I've reached my hundredth letter from my fans."

"You're calling them 'fans,' now?" Dally spoke.

"Shh!"

Dally took heed of Wakey's stern order—and gulped.

"Why wouldn't I call them 'fans'?" Onion countered, spreading his forehooves as if asking it in a mean way. "They send me lots of good stuff, they send me these letters"—raising the letter into conspicuous view—"and they have lots of thanks to give me. Somepony even offered to build me a sign!"

"A sign?" Isobar repeated in perplexion.

"Yeah! A sign!" Onion exclaimed, rising up from his chair and gesturing around with his forehooves, making an imaginary rectangle with it. "A sign that he will build right in front of the one for Ambling. And, I never forget this!"

He pulled out the royal medal from his table and showed it to them.

"I stil have it and I still bring it out in case ponies want to see it," Onion continued. "My favorite, really. It's nothing to scoff at. Who would?"

"Somepony who wanted to steal it?" Isobar said in a light-hearted manner, smiling and eyes wide open.

"Yeah, but that somepony has to realize that he's going to have to get through me first!" His voice was now fierce with a rush of emotion—bravery. "He has to realize that I'm the pony who told Flim and Flam to stand down—and they did!"

"We were there, you know," Isobar quipped.

"Yeah, yeah," Onion said. "I'm not taking the credit from you or anything. No." He emphasized that word with a sweep of a hoof. "I always tell them that I couldn't have done what I did without you, so you don't have to worry about me."

A pause.

"So, what do you want?" Onion said, regaining that joyous attitude of his. "I'm up for another celebratory dinner! This time, I'll pay for it! We can, uh, go to the sandwich place in Manehattan!" He stepped toward the stairs. "I'll ask permission from mom and dad first!"

"It's not about that," Isobar said, stopping him with an extended wing. "Also, you have to be careful! You could've slipped and stumbled over those stairs!"

Wakey and Dally glanced at each other with stressed faces.

"Ah! Thanks, Isobar!" Onion said, shaking that extended wing, causing his friend to look at him oddly. "I certainly don't want to be too injured to meet my fans; won't it be disappointing?"

"You could, uh, just send them up here to your bedroom?" Isobar suggested.

"Good idea!" Onion exclaimed, raising a hoof and brisk walking around on the wooden floor. He pulled his friend closer. "I should be getting your advice more often, huh? That way, everypony will get the best experience—they won't have to suffer so much waiting for me to recover!"

"Hey, remember what I said?" Isobar said as he led his friend to the stairs—slowly, gently, and carefully with slow steps. "'Don't let it get into your head'?"

"I'm not going to instruct everypony to give me free food!" Onion shot back in a cheerful voice—perhaps a joking one, too.

"Yeah. I'm sure you won't. Now, how about that permission to Manehattan, huh?"

Onion stopped—his irises shrunk and the smile on his face disappeared.

Wakey and Dally glanced at each other with surprised faces.

"We're really going to Manehattan?" Onion whispered.

Isobar nodded. "And, I'll pay for it. I have an idea as to what the prices are and I have the money to match them."

And then, Onion hugged Isobar.

"Woah, careful!" Isobar yelled. "You almost threw us over the stairs!"

"You're a pegasus, right?"

Isobar sighed.

Manehattan was a pretty sight. It was an imposing city—a sprawling metropolis of towering high-rise structures, of dizzying networks of streets and roads, of isolated surroundings as could be seen in the wide open ocean around it, of busy carriages and hurrying ponies. Since it was nighttime, the beauty of the city was its plenty of lights—the tall buildings shone against the night sky with its moon and its stars, brightening the roads; the streetlights brought light to the residences—the apartments, the thin houses, and the small hotels; the carriage headlights lit up the road ahead, giving the traveler an added feature to the grand adventure in the asphalt city.

If one would reach the edge of the island at particular places, one would see the Mare Statue—a lime statue of a mare wearing a robe and a crown, holding a stone tablet and a torch which, at this night hour, was lit up not with actual flames but with electric lights. She stood there, overlooking the ferry boats that were shipping here and there, overlooking the streets across the water.

On a main road, as many carriages sped in their respective lanes and as many ponies walked fast on the sidewalks, there was a sandwich place—it was obvious that it was a sandwich place since there was a big billboard over the door that depicted a large sandwich.

The front walls were all made of glass—windows—so it was easy for any passer-by to see what was going on inside and what it actually looked like.

The tables were wooden and so were the chairs—and, most of them were filled with hungry ponies catching a bite from a sandwich although they were more occupied with talking to each other, telling their own personal stories or what was the latest in the news. The counter had swivel chairs in front as cashiers took the orders of both those seated there and those who waited in line. Over the counter, one could see how a typical sandwich was prepared—a chef would grab one loaf of bread, place the ingredients on that loaf, and cover it all with another loaf: a sandwich, but it was a Manehattan sandwich.

The sandwich place was almost full as Onion and his friends entered the building.

"I—I've never been to Manehattan before!" Onion expressed.

"That was the eighth time you said that," Isobar said. "You've gotta learn to control yourself."

"But...thank you again, guys!"

And Onion hugged his friends.

Isobar and Dally smiled.

Wakey had worry on her face.

They let go.

Onion took a good look at the menu overhead. "I...have no idea what to get here." He turned to Isobar. "You know?"

"What about we have Wakey order for all of us?" Isobar proposed.

"What?" Wakey exclaimed, shocked.

"You're good at making sandwiches, right, Wakey?" Isobar said.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I know how to make sandwiches like they do!" she said, pointing at the chefs behind the counter, working with their food.

"Do you have a good sense of sandwiches?" Isobar asked.

"What does 'a good sense of sandwiches' mean?!"

Isobar cleared his throat. "You know us well, you know sandwiches well—"

"Who said I knew sandwiches well?!" Wakey shouted.

Several customers looked at the mare, some giving her a rude glare.

Wakey gasped. "I'm sorry for that!" she announced to all who were present.

All those customers went back to their eating and talking, not saying a word to her—although there were hushed discussions about the inconvenience of her.

She shyed away from the common Manehattan crowd, retreating to her friends.

A budge on her shoulder. "Wakey, I know you have a good sense of sandwiches!"

"Isobar, I have no idea what you're talking about!"

Dally sighed, closing her eyes and shaking her head.

"I'll have whatever he's having," Onion said, hurling a hoof at him.

Wakey groaned before she said "OK" and walked her way to one of the lines accumulating and taking up space in front of the counter.

"Come on, Onion," Isobar said, bringing a hoof around his neck as both moved, "let's find a free table."

Dally followed the stallions past the full tables and some pairs of watchful eyes; among them was a curly-haired stallion wearing a gray cowboy hat and a gray poncho and beside him was a rubber chicken.

She paid that stallion no mind as she kept following her friends to an empty table.

Wakey arrived to a table that was all occupied but for one chair. She was carrying a tray of plated sandwiches; she brought it to the table.

She giggled. "I tried my best to get the sandwiches you would like the most. I'll be the one to distribute the food."

After giving the glasses of water, she gave the sandwiches.

To Dally, she gave a submarine sandwich filled with olives and bell peppers drizzled with ketchup and mustard. Steam was still being emitted from the sandwich—it had been grilled.

"That's...unconventional," Dally said, pulling the plate closer to her and then picking the sandwich up, inspecting it and turning it around with her hooves while using her magic to, once again, adjust her glasses, taking a clearer look of her food.

"But, I know you'll like it!" Wakey said as she picked up another plate.

To Isobar, she gave a stack of macaroni and cheese sandwiches—between the loaves was macaroni and cheese, as much as could be placed there. A few kinds of cheese were in those sandwiches—cheddar, mozzarella, Emmental, smoked; they were all heaped on the long tubes of pasta.

"A pegasus like you needs your daily dose of energy," Wakey said as she presented the plate to him, "so here's some carbohydrate sandwiches just for you."

"I'm going to be sleeping after this?" Isobar asked, incredulous. A grin. "Amazing!"

Wakey nodded while she picked up the second-to-last plate of sandwiches.

To Onion, she gave three sandwiches of the same order: omelette, lettuces, tomatoes, cucumbers, zucchinis, and, most important of all, onions and garlic—all in those sandwiches.

"That would be thirty-five bits for yourselves," Wakey said. "I paid for my own."

She took her sandwich up in the air, propping it up in distinction.

It was a simple lettuce sandwich.

"I'm not feeling that hungry tonight," Wakey conveyed, taking a quick bite.

Isobar placed a hoof on her plate. "You're not gonna let yourself enjoy Manehattan? We don't want you to be missing out on anything."

"The trains are free," Wakey said. "Nopony pays for a train ride to Manehattan. I'm not really missing anything out."

"But, look!" the pegasus sweeped a hoof around the whole of the room—bringing to her attention all the ponies there who were eating and drinking and talking, most wearing smiles as they enjoyed each other's presence, sharing this and that. "It's like you're saying that this is mundane and normal!"

"It is for a Manehattanite," Wakey said, crossing her forehooves and smirking at him.

"You're not saying I live here, are you?" Isobar answered, pointing a hoof at her yet smiling—trying to cover a laugh.

"That's enough shenanigans for one day," Dally interrupted, levitating a glass of water and sipping from it. "I'll be enjoying the treat." A small smile was on her face. "Thanks."

"Yeah, what she said!" Onion said right before he smacked his face with his first sandwich and gobbled it up within a short amount of time.

And everyone on the table just stared at the hungry unicorn swallowing the entire sandwich and then washing down with half a glass of water. He then wiped his mouth with tissue and let out a relieving "Ahh!" as he stretched his forehooves here and then there and finally rested them on the table and sighed.

His friends, mouth open, just blinked at what they had just witnessed.

"Did you practice for this?" Isobar said, breaking the silence. "Because, I didn't expect that from you!"

"I work a lot," Onion said. "What did you expect?"

"That you would eat...slower?"

Onion laughed. "Because you didn't expect anything else?"

"Manners," Dally quipped. "Manners, Onion. You're in the middle of one of the biggest cities in Equestria."

"Not one of the most sophisticated, if you ask me," Onion answered back.

"Still, there are rules you must follow," Dally said, giving a fast glance to Wakey.

Disheartened—her smile disappearing, now gone, eyes focused on Onion busy with happy talk.

"If I'm going to get all the nutrients I need, then I'll eat what I'll eat—when I eat, the way I eat," Onion declared, ending the sentence with a proclaiming strike to the table. "It's all in good fun and health."

"You might hurt yourself if you eat too fast, though," Dally said, levitating her saddlebag on to the table.

Isobar eyed the bag—his enthusiastic expression dampened at the sight of it.

"And, what are you gonna do?" Onion asked, still in an amusing voice. "Are you going to give my medicine?"

"I don't think you are sick yet," Dally said, adjusting her glasses again.

"Yet?" Onion repeated. "You already think I got some disease?"

"I'm just helping you prevent it," Dally said. "That's all."

She opened the bag.

Wakey wiped her dry eyes.

Onion leaned over the table, attempting to look inside the bag.

"What are you gonna get?" Onion said. "Is it another gift?"

Dally sighed, irritated. "Not really, Onion."

"What is it?" Onion asked on—stubborn fashion.

Dally's horn glowed.

A piece of paper glowed as it was levitated out of the bag and into view.

A few ponies from nearby tables were watching the act.

"Read it," Dally said.

"Uh, OK," Onion responded with restless accent as he levitated the paper, the glow on it changing from green to blue.

Wakey moved her chair a little backward, her eyes now shaky, darting.

Isobar sighed as he watched his friend read the letter.

Dally looked at him.

The sandwiches were slowly getting cold, the ponies outside the table were moving around, carrying their own sandwiches; more orders were taken, more conversations were going on, and, outside, several carriages were in flight as they brought their passengers to wherever they were going, whizzing by the sidewalk pedestrians who were trotting, bringing along bags and items of various sorts as they passed by the sandwich place.

Onion read the letter quickly.

He placed it down.

On his face, dismay.

Busy streets, crowded locations, rushing and shuffling through and running and galloping about as cries for Onion went about, drowned in the noise of wheels and advertisements and hoofsteps and songs and music and other shouts.

That lone stallion was going somewhere.

Search

Fresh pine smell—minty and cool to the nostrils and down the throat.

Sugar Belle's bakery had been undergoing a few small changes within the last several days, one of which was that fresh pine smell emanating from its single dining area inside—with its few simple wooden tables and chairs with no cloth nor other covering to grace them.

The bakery's town was, like those tables and chairs, simple. There was only one street—not even paved, for it was just a wide open space of flattened dirt. On each side was a row of brick houses that were similar to each other in appearance—a mix of gray, red and brown; brown, wooden roofs that slanted; thin, narrow windows (though some had curtains inside). Trees were sparse and they especially stood out in this little town because there was no grass—in fact, the surroundings were dry, desolate, and empty, void of even plant life save for the occasional flower that rose alone. Jagged mountains were on one side, providing decent shade to the village's inhabitants and sheltering them from too much heat from the sun at times.

As the town sluggishly woke up from its past night's sleep and to the glowing sky as the sun climbed into a grand view and a grand morning—as more and more ponies walked out on to the only street and prepared for the day's works and other engagements; as the lengthy shadows reappeared from the structures, the ponies, the mountains, the trees—Sugar Belle, a pink unicorn with curly purple hair, was preparing some baked apple goods and other apple treats: apple pie, apple cake, apple fritter, candied apples, apple donuts, apple syrup, apple ice cream, apple turnovers, apple caramel.

Behind the double-deckered counter with its delicious and attractive food displays of such apple foods, a sink lay clean and polished. A note was nailed on the brick wall with the words: "This week's apple delivery: seven baskets." A blue ribbon and a clock, too, was on that wall/ Some framed photos were hanging there, most notably that of Sugar Belle plus three other ponies, presumably her friends: a white Earth pony stallion with still white hair, a blue unicorn stallion with a curly mane and a curly tail that matched hers, and a dark blue pegasus with winded hair that sort of flowed mid-stop in the picture.

One of the few small changes, aside from the new smell, was the inclusion of a vase of flowers on each of the tables inside. The tables outside had no such decoration—not yet, at least.

Sugar Belle was quiet, not saying anything as she fixed the display plates of food at the counter—with her horn glowing cyan, she rotated one plate a little clockwise, moved another a teensy bit to the right, and swapped a plate of apple fritter and a plate of candied apples, switching their positions. A hoof on her chin, a furrow of her eyebrows, and, smiling, she dusted off her forehooves.

Then, the door opened.

Sugar Belle looked up, keeping that smile. "Hi, there!" She walked out of the counter and into the dining area, approaching the newcomer."You must be new here. May I ask what's your name?"

"Watts Onion," he said. "I'm in the middle of a tight trip, so can I, uh—" and he dashed to a chair and sat down; then, smiling awkwardly "—have something to eat? Please?"

"Well, OK," she said, drawing it out in her curiosity. "What will you be having?" She walked out of the way, letting him see the entire range of apple dishes.

"It doesn't matter," Onion blurted out, raising a hoof. "What's the one with the most energy? Most sugar? Keeping me alert and ready for anything on the path?"

"Are you an adventurer?" Sugar Belle asked, eyes narrowed though the smile did not fade away.

"Yeah! I'm an adven—"

A hoof knocked down the vase.

Quick to pick it up with a hoof.

He placed it gently back on to the table, back to where it had been.

"Heh-heh-heh-heh?"

Sugar Belle looked irritated, though kept it slight and subtle. "Don't worry—I have some extra vases just in case. Be careful next time, would you?"

"Oh, yes, I will, miss, uh—"

"Sugar Belle," she said. A pause. "You were asking for something that would give you a punch of energy?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Onion said, nodding his head up and down fast.

"You must be in a hurry, then," she commented as she levitated a plate of caramel apples and candied apples toward his table and placed them there.

Two plates were now on the table. On one were a few candied apples on sticks—a sugar coat hardened around much of the apple, set to crack at the first bite. On the other were a few caramel apples—layers of sweet brown caramel dotted with sprinkles and chocolate bits.

Before the mare said anything, Onion grabbed two caramel apples and scarfed them down in rapid succession, disregarding all modes of proper eating etiquette since he was not wiping nor otherwise cleaning his mouth, he did not finish his first apple completely before getting on to the second one, and he did not even thank Sugar Belle for giving him food.

She, meanwhile, glanced outside with irked eyes and mouth that showed some shame. The street had only a hoofful of ponies, none of whom glanced back at the bakery.

"Watts Onion," she said, trotting to him and in an authoritative tone, "you don't have to eat like that even if you're in a rush."

Onion gulped down another bite. "If I don't this, I'll miss out!"

She opened her mouth to say something.

But he went back to eating even more of the apples at a speedy pace.

While he was eating, he dropped a bag of bits on to the table.

Sugar Belle, now agitated by that act, levitated the bag of bits and looked inside. She then levitated out a few bits, saying, "Here's your change, Watts—"

"Keep it!" Onion managed to say before he returned to his quick meal.

She sighed as she levitated the few bits back into the bag, trotting back to the counter and wearing a bothered face on her.

"How far can a unicorn run, anyway?" Isobar asked as he and Wakey and Dally sat inside a swift carriage as the puller galloped, shaking and trembling the carriage as it wheeled and reeled over rocky roads and bumpy streets, turning over to the lonely ways under the morning sky with its cool, gentle breeze—now separated from city matters and immersed in the open grass fields.

"I don't know!" Wakey yelled as she held on tightly to her seat, bracing for any sudden and unannounced bumps. Turning to Dally—"You?! You're a unicorn!"

"I don't know, either!" Dally yelled back, also holding on tighly to her seat, eyes open and glasses away.

The outside was a whirl—a blur, unfocused even more by the abrupt jumps of the carriage, sending its passengers flying to its ceiling—"Ow!" "Ouch!"

"Sorry!" the galloping puller shouted. "But, you asked for it! This is as fast as I can go without endangering the three of you!"

"Without endangering?!" Wakey yelled. "You're going to bruise us at this speed!"

"You asked for it!" he repeated in that same loud shout.

"Alright, guys," Isobar told as he held parts of the carriage with a firm grip, "hold on tight!"

"Why?!" Wakey shouted.

"This doesn't look smooth to me!"

And the carriage went through a series of bumps and jumps and humps, hurting the poor heads of the passengers as they constantly and consistently hit the ceiling—"Ow! Ow!" "Ouch! "Ow!"—leaving the driver unscatched as he galloped over the obstacles.

Then, that was over.

"You want me to help you find some escaping pony!" the puller shouted before any of his passengers said a word. "Well, I'm doing my best and I'm doing it by running!"

So, there were no complaints—just more screaming as the carriage rocked and teetered about at that high speed. Dally was left clattering her teeth, Wakey was venting out her frustrations at the runner—who was no longer paying any more attention to her, just focused on the rough path ahead—and Isobar remained quiet though he, too, was showing some dread by hurling his head around in panic.

Late morning.

Onion—with full saddlebags—was trudging along in the small forest populated by those same woodland creatures from before: rabbits, birds, bears, deer, and a runaway giraffe.

The sunlight was spotty, having to penetrate through the thick foiliage of the trees; that did not do much to hinder Onion, though, since the path ahead was still very clear.

Crisp air, quiet sounds—only his own hoofsteps in his sprint and the voices of the creatures.

Huffing, gasping—sweat down his face, drenching it down.

And he kept running.

The carriage screeched on the only street of the town.

"We'll be asking some questions around," Isobar said as he floated himself out of the carriage, his friends alighting on to the ground with Dally comforting a dizzy Wakey with turning eyes. The pegasus then faced the driver. "Stay here, please?"

A grumble, but he nodded.

"I can't believe it," Isobar said as he hovered away from the standing carriage and looked around him—taking in the sight of the entire settlement. "To think that we're in Starlight's old village. But, Mid Level said he was headed this way—" and off he followed the two mares.

Wakey was sitting at a table outside a house, spouting out murmured syllables—incoherent and sloppy.

"I know we don't want to lose Onion," Dally said, looking at the approaching pegasus as he sat down at the other side of the table, "but I don't want to lose Wakey, either—at least, I don't want to continue by leaving her inside a clinic to recuperate."

"Where's the medicine store, then?" Isobar said, turning his head around.

There was a clothes store—for a dress sign was over there. But, there was no medicine store in sight. Only ponies buying things and talking to each other—no clear evidence of any medicine here.

The door opened.

"What's going on here?" Sugar Belle asked. Then, she saw the dizzy Wakey slumping on the table and gasped. "What happened?"

"Do you have some vitamins here?" Dally asked, raising her voice—uneasy.

"Wait here!"

And Sugar Belle rushed back inside the bakery.

"She does," Isobar said, wiping the sweat off of his face.

Dally sighed.

"I'm...hungry..."

The two looked at Dally with shocked expressions.

Then, they looked at each other.

"Uh, is that it?" Isobar asked, lowering a brow.

"She might collapse, and you say 'is that it'?!" Dally snapped out at him.

"OK, OK, I'm sorry!" Isobar said, holding up his forehooves and flying away from her.

The muddled, confused pony then struggled, raising her head up slightly—and sniffed.

"Is that...apple pie?"

Isobar and Dally looked up.

Dally sniffed, too. "That is apple pie."

Isobar peeked through one of the thin windows.

"Perfect," Isobar said. "A place to eat food. Perhaps he stopped over here." He looked at Dally who was now patting her friend on the head. "Wanna help me and go in?"

"I'll stay here," Dally said.

Isobar nodded and flew inside.

Noon—specifically, some minutes after noon.

A train station stood with no other pony structure near it. There was the railroad stretching along the fields on one side and on to the jagged hills on the other. A dirt path was running parallel to it.

It was a peaceful scene. The train at the station was still, its bearded and uniformed conductor opening his watch as he stood on the platform.

Idyllic. A few birds were flying overhead.

"Wait!"

The conductor looked up.

"And, where are you from, sir?" he asked as Onion scrambled on to the platform. "You look very familiar."

"No time!"

And then he was inside.

The conductor looked around him.

Nopony else.

A look at his watch. Then, he closed it.

"All aboard!"

He went inside.

The doors closed.

The wheels moved, faster and faster.

And then, the train was going, the landscape going by in an unclear fashion.

The conductor walked up to the only passenger inside the vehicle—he was seated, eyes looking off onto the fleeting background with its greenery and the mountains off over there."Where will you be hopping off, sir?"

"Ponyville," Onion said. "Need to collect all the food, all the drinks, all the supplies I could get!"

The conductor raised an eyebrow. "What for?"

"I'll be searching for something—something!"

A frightened face was upon the conductor—then, as quickly as it arrived, it departed, replacing it with a sturdy look. "I wish that you'll find wahtever you'r searching for. You seem to be quite troubled with it."

And the conductor walked away at a leisured pace.

Onion's hooves were shaky and trembling as he looked outside, seeing the beautiful fields under the noonday sun, brightened and shining in all of its natural elegance and vastness.

"What did you say was the closest train station?!" Isobar yelled as he and his friends were back inside the carriage—with its bumpy ride.

The landscape was, as before, a blur, a whiz.

"Near the Honorary Forest!" the driver yelled.

"Where's that?!" Isobar shouted.

"You'll know where when we get there!"

Isobar groaned as he braced himself—holding on to his seat along with Wakey and Dally.

Then, the bumps.

"Ow!"

"Ouch!"

"Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!"

Late afternoon.

Inside a gingerbread-like bakery, Onion rested a hoof as he gasped for air, blathering his list of sweets to order while dropping a bag of bits on to the counter and rested his head on the counter. This attracted the attention of many of the customers who were busy with their own sweets and conversations.

"I wouldn't have that much if I were you," the pink mare said from behind the counter in that high-pitched voice. "The way you're acting—you'll end up dozing off after you eat your entire list! I mean, the food, not the actual list—but, you know what I mean, right?"

"It's for...a good cause, a good reason!" Onion protested—or was able to say before he returned to placing his head on the counter.

"Ya' sure about that?" she asked.

"The sugar's gonna...give me what I need for the trip."

"Trip to where? Winsome Falls?"

He straightened himself up—surprised. "How did you know that, Pinkie?"

"It was a guess!" Pinkie said, smiling. "Also, I know what goes on in the news—you think I don't know you, silly?"

"But, could you please make the order quick?" Onion asked.

She sighed. "Don't say I didn't warn ya'!"

And she pulled out some boxes of muffins, cakes, and pies.

"And, that would be for dining in or taking out?" Pinkie then inquired, smiling.

"We're nearing Ponyville, guys!" the driver shouted as he pulled the carriage closer and closer to Ponyville, the sky becoming orange as the sun was setting.

The three were now quiet as they looked upon that famed town—just over at the side was that bright purple castle of crystal, the Castle of Friendship. The town itself, however, was in line with a more humble style—cottages with hay roofs and thatched walls.

Isobar sighed, a bored yet thoughtful face on him. "Why, Onion?

On the Way

"You've seen this pony?" Wakey asked, holding up a picture of Onion with his cutie mark printed beside it.

Isobar and Dally were nearby, doing the same thing—asking whoever was there and presenting the same picture to them, doing their task on a simple dirt street with simple cottages on both sides.

Some of the lights inside the houses turned on, the day drawing out to its close end as the sky became darker.

A light green unicorn levitated Wakey's picture as she stood in front of her. Squinted her eyes—checking.

"You've seen him?" Wakey asked, inching closer to the unicorn's face.

"You mean the mad pony from an hour ago?" the unicorn said. "I was at Sugarcube Corner when he ordered a whopping number of food."

Wakey gasped, slapping herself with a hoof on the cheek. "Did you see where he's gone?"

"He said that he was headed for Winsome Falls." She shrugged. "Don't know why, exactly. He doesn't have all the camping gear—just a saddlebag and some of Pinkie's sweets. Do you know why?"

Wakey—with alarmed eyes—beckoned Isobar and Dally to come over with a forceful hoof—not saying a word, though.

Isobar, who was busy talking to a gray mare, ran away from her and to Wakey, causing her to tell him, "Well, that was rude!" before storming off.

Dally had an easier time, though—she was talking to nopony, so she just walked to her friend.

"What's going on?" the green unicorn asked. "Is he trying to escape from you? Is he a missing pony? What is it?"

"He is trying to escape us and is also missing," Isobar said—frightened yet firm.

"Oh." She looked down.

Silence.

"I hope that you three find him OK," she said, making a hopeful smile. "I'll be off to see my lyre fixed."

"Thanks, miss!" Wakey yelled as she shook her hoof—which the unicorn struggled to do without being thrown off of the ground. "We appreciate your help a lot!"

"Don't mention it."

And the three ponies ran off toward the train station not so far off from Ponyville.

Then, an Earth pony—of a light yellow color and red-blue hair—approached the unicorn. "But, I still don't see you play your lyre, Lyra."

"At least I'm having it fixed, Bon Bon!" Lyra retorted.

Wakey looked out the train's window.

Above the grass and the trees and the plants and the dirt path—all of which flew by as the train sped through—was the sun finally going down, plunging everything into night. The sky became a dark blue once again, the stars twinkled into view, and the moon—in its full—shone with its gleaming, soft light.

An "Ooh!" was heard.

She looked at who said it.

It was a green changeling smiling at the cosmic display he had just witnessed—his face planted on his window. His eyes glittered under the glaring electric lights on the ceiling, making his smile cute. "It never gets old!" he said.

A tap on her shoulder.

"Wakey?"

"What is it, Dally?" Wakey said, turning around to see her—Dally, seated beside her.

A hesitation—Dally averting her friend's eyes. Then: "It's going to be alright."

A hoof on her shoulder.

A hug.

"We'll find him," Dally said.

Wakey said nothing.

Isobar was sitting at the seats across them, watching the two.

He looked up to the night sky.

The casual-clothed, loose tie-wearing unicorn attendant looked at the clock.

It was ticking and tocking.

"It's awfully quiet," he said to himself. "Better than having a crazy musician rant about how he's going to rule all of Equestria. Hmph." His horn glowed and he magically rotated the clock a bit.

He took a few steps back, seeing the clock from farther away.

"That will do."

Loud hoofsteps coming up.

"Is it the musician again?" he muttered before facing the open door. "Hey! Five Lines! If you're coming back here, you have to behave yourself—"

The three ponies then reached the plain bedroom.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" the attendant said. "I mistook you three for somepony else!"

"No time to tell you everything!" Isobar said in fast words, gesturing about with his wings. "Did Watts Onion stay here?" He peeked over the attendant's shoulder, seeing the same huge bed, the same cabinets and shelves, the same wooden desk.

"Watts Onion?" the attendant repeated. "I did accommodate him, but I didn't know you were coming with him as well."

"Do you have anything from him?!" Isobar shouted, grabbing the attendant.

"Get a hold on yourself!" the attendant snapped.

Dally pulled him away.

Wakey was wiping her dry eyes, staying silent.

The attendant dusted his shirt and his tie off. "Would you please be so kind as to not do that again?"

"It's an emergency, sir," Dally said, stepping in front of the pegasus. "Onion is going missing."

"Missing?" A pause as he looked around. "But, why would he want to do that? Didn't he just receive some fame and recognition a short while back?"

"Until he heard the news that Flim and Flam are going out of jail in a year's time," Dally clarified. She fixed her glasses with a hoof. "He...didn't take it so well."

"A vengeful pony?" He placed a hoof on his head. "To be honest with you, he was somewhat insensitive to me, but I thought that it was probably the weight of the job all of you had. But, a vengeful pony?"

"Strange," Isobar spoke. "As far as I know, he wasn't scammed by them in his whole life. I don't get it."

"I don't get it, too," the attendant said.

Silence as they looked at each other, asking with their looks but never getting a word.

"We have to go," Wakey said. "We don't have much time to lose—we might still catch him at Pace if he's staying at the house!"

And the three ran off, down the stairs.

The forest at night was a different place. Although the trees had not moved, their leaves made a different show of light. Instead of the bright, clear sunlight, there was the dim, dull moonlight filtered and blocked by the leaves. There were no animals scampering about on the ground. Only the hoots of the owl and the chirping of the circkets. Yet, there were some things that were present no matter what—fresh air, fruits from the trees and the bushes, and a cool woodland wind.

The threeponies were galloping on—or, in Isobar's case, flying over—the dirt path, hurrying past the trees.

"Onion!" Wakey shouted, running. "We're coming for you! You don't have to be away from us!"

"He can't hear you!" Dally yelled.

"Maybe he's there!" Wakey shouted back. "Maybe we're finally catching up to him!"

"I hope we are," Isobar said.

And they said nothing else as they rushed through the forest.

A bell rang above the door.

"Welcome to the one and only candy shop in Pace!" Boiled Sweets said behind the counter, waving a hoof about. "It's only here you'll find—hey, I recognize you three!"

The three were gasping for air—Dally stretched out a hoof toward the ceiling than rested on the floor. Isobar downed a bottle of water and, with a wing, threw it at the garbage bin near the counter—and it landed there perfectly. Wakey was the only pony who was not tired or exhasuted, sporting a ready look.

"I was thinking you wouldn't be so weak," the candy pony said, walking up to them. "Is this a marathon to visit my place?"

Wakey inhaled lots of breath. "Onion is missing and he's trying to run away from us, trying to escape, because Flim and Flam are going to be released in a year even though we're all sure that they're going to be fine because of the Princess willing to help them out to a life of friendship but Onion didn't care so he's angry at them and is now going to Winsome Falls—I think—because we really don't know!"

And then Wakey exhaled, wiping the sweat off of her face.

Boiled Sweets looked at the three ponies. "It's good that I can understand what I can't understand." His frown deepened. "What do you want me to do?"

"Have you seen him?" Her voice was shaky, unstable.

"I haven't," he said, shrugging. "I apologize, but I haven't seen him."

"Trying to avoid being detected," Isobar uttered, scratching his chin with a hoof, scratching his mane with a wing. "That's worse."

"I could lure him with candy, if he that would work," Boiled Sweets said. "Does he like candy a lot?"

"Not enough to become dumb over it," Dally said, already moving to the doors. Facing her friends, she shook her head and said, "If we wanna find Onion, we have to go now."

A gentle close of the door.

Batter Sugar let her wing go of the knob.

The dining room with its familiar long wooden table and the scent of a done dinner lingering in the air—the three friends sat with the pegasus couple.

"You're telling me you haven't seen him at all?" Wakey said—a failing plea, a closed hoof.

Batter Sugar, with solemnity, shook her head.

"We haven't," Cream Glaze said, sliding his chair and standing up. "I know it's sad that your friend is willfully gone. Surely, though, he's coming back, right?"

"All of us have no idea if he is coming back," Isobar said, his voice forlorn and airy—half-open eyes.

"Not even a secret message or a private letter?" At this, Cream Glaze raised his eyebrow.

Dally shook her head. "It wasn't like that. He ran away while we told him the news."

Cream Glaze nodded his head. He stepped forward to his wife and gave her a short hug, a short embrace.

"You know," Batter Sugar spoke up, "it's getting awfully late at night. Almost midnight, really—did you notice?"

She pointed a wing at a wall clock.

Ten minutes to twelve.

"Has it been that long?" Dally blathered.

"You had to rest many times," Wakey said. "I don't blame you."

Isobar kept quiet, watching.

"So, we're more than glad to open our guest room to you again," Batter Sugar said, motioning a hoof toward the ceiling. "You can't go on like that—so drained like that."

"But, what if he—"

"You don't have to worry, Wakes Week," Cream Glaze said. Then, his ears went flat. "Well, if I were being truthful, there is nothing else we can do but accommodate you three."

"What if Onion gets lost there?" Wakey went on—eyes quivering. "What if he doesn't know where he's going? What if he wants to stay in Winsome Falls forever? We'll never see him again! And, what about him? What if he doesn't want to be friends with us? What if Onion wants to run away from it all and be alone for the rest of his life?!"

And, she dropped to the floor.

No tears, no sobs—only a despairing pony, a silent pony.

The couple looked at each other—glances of sympathy, open mouths that spoke nothing.

Dally helped her friend up, pulling her up by the hooves and with her magic—Wakey's forehooves glowing green as she was carried back to her chair with no resistance.

Isobar, too, helped her—keeping her steady and preventing her from falling back to the floor.

The mare herself said nothing—her eyes darted here and there, almost fluttering; moaning something, syllables that did not form a coherent word to anyone else.

Cream Glaze hurried to the fridge, Batter Sugar flew over to the counter and opened a shelf.

Her vision faded, darkening.

Black.

A groan.

A whispered "She's awake."

Silence.

Opened her eyes.

No words.

Another groan.

A moan.

"Wha...what happened?"

"Lost consciousness," Dally said—somewhat panicked. "You fainted."

"Fainted?" Wakey blurted out. "How?"

"You just...fainted." Isobar scooched his chair closer to her bed. "They made sure you didn't have to go to the hospital. Got some first aid."

"How..."

The two watched.

"How long...has it been?"

"It's just past midnight," Dally said.

Wakey's eyes opened wide and she sat up on her bed. "Tomorrow?!"

"Wakey," Dally said, placing a hoof on her head. "Wakey, I know you care for Onion as much as we do."

"And, we realized," Isobar continued, "that you care for Onion more than we thought."

"You're saying I'm in love?!" Wakey shouted. "You're talking about whether I love Watts Onion and if he's my coltfriend! What?! He's missing! I can't believe you guys!"

"Yes, you can," Dally answered—strong and stiff.

"That's going to inspire us to find him even more," Isobar said. "But, please, Wakey, don't let your feelings get the better of you."

Wakey breathed, saying nothing.

And the other two said nothing, either—only looks that silently asked her to consider, to stop, to think.

Watchful eyes, wondering eyes.

Wakey sighed.

"You have to sleep now," Isobar said. "If we're gonna find Onion, we'll have to find him at our best."

Dally merely nodded.

Wakey's lips trembled.

Silence.

Dally hugged her.

Wakey did not response—her lips trembled, her hooves stuck in place.

Isobar hovered to her and hugged the two.

Then, an embrace.

Wakey's embrace.

Isobar looked at the clock on the wall.

It was a quater past three in the morning.

Outside, the moon was still shining, the stars were still glimmering. It was quiet—only a few ponies were going about at this late hour, only a few lights were still on in the buildings.

Pace was a quiet town.

The pegasus sat at the table, a candle lighting up the space before him.

A blank paper, a quill, and an inkwell.

Isobar sighed.

He looked at the bed.

Wakey and Dally sleeping.

He picked up the quill.

"Onion. Why?"

And, he wrote.

"'Dear Mr. Onion and Mrs. Onion,

"'Your son, Watts Onion, is trying to get away from us. To make this short: We told him the news about Flim and Flam's punishment. He thought it was not punishing enough. Then, he ran away. We followed his path down to Pace and we think he's in Winsome Falls. I don't really know why he's going there. All I can tell you is: We're sorry. You and the rest of your children are his family—and, I don't know why he went so far as to forget even you. I know you're hurting. But, the only thing we can do is to keep looking for him.

"'From his best friend,

"'Isobar.'"

He laid the quill down on the table.

He looked upon the finished scribbles on the paper.

Isobar stood up.

He walked to the window.

Once again, there was that night sky with its moon and its stars. Once again, there were the almost empty streets and the sparsely lighted structures.

Silence.

He glanced back at the paper.

Back out the window.

His eyes misty.

"Never...get it into your head..."

A hoof on the glass.

"Why...did you let it into your head, Onion? There's more to life than just being...famous."

Sliding down the glass pane.

"I don't get it, Onion. Why? Why would you run away from your best friends?"

A tear.

That tear glittered under the moonlight as it ran down his cheek.

Night in Winsome Falls

It was a quiet night.

Moonlight played upon the leaves of the trees, showering down on to the grass in transient, flowing motions—never still, never static. As in other forests like it, the hoot of the owls and the chirp of the grasshoppers filled the air as the fragrant scent of fresh grass and nearby mountains. Over here or over there, a rustle of leaves or a trembling of bushes—a rabbit or a beaver scouting for food or for wood, respectively.

The dirt path had never moved from its fixed place in the forest, cutting through and winding around the same trees that it had from its conception. The wear and the tear that it had borne was evident by the firm ridges that constant wagon travel would have made—the pressure of the wheels, the weight of the cargo, both of which from times past either long or days ago.

Out of the forest, into the clearing—a great expanse of wonder, of beauty alluring. Though at day, its splendor in the rushing waterfalls, the running rivers, the lush greenery, the overwhelming mountains, the size of it all, the rainbow falls—though at day, these conquered an average pony's imagination under the calming, warm sunlight—at night, Winsome Falls took on a subdued elegance, not prizing itself in the bombastic barrage of natural features seen clearly under the sun but in the quiet of just being present, of just being there.

The waterfalls, pouring into more behaved lakes and ponds, still rushed and still spewed out water with strength. However, the moonlight it reflected made them like glittering treasures—its white foams like diamonds and precious stones floating above the water, to disappear in mere moments.

The rivers, with their crisp and fresh water, sounded its soft stream, its pouring of water under the same moonlight being given the same liquid diamonds the waterfalls had, only here they lasted longer, flowing—in a second, gone; in another, here again, farther down the creek.

The greenery—the trees, the grass, and the other plants inhabiting the place—bended and swayed under the gentle and cold night breeze. The leaves rustled here as in the forest before, its flowers and its fruit rustling, too, but never threatening to fall, to detach.

The mountains, having never moved anywhere during the day, were in no hurry to move anywhere during the night either. Their sheer immensity—such height they had—gave the flat ground below a faint shadow, though not preventing the moon from casting at least some of its light on to it.

The size of Winsome Falls would give a pony free reign over much territory, over much space. Here was a good place to set up camp—prop up some tents, build a fire, make some fresh marshmallows. There would still be more than enough land to trot upon—perhaps to chase each other around or to play a game of hide-and-seek. Here was a good place to show a group of ponies—any group of ponies, whether a class of foals eager to learn or a crowd of tourists keen to take pictures of all the scenery around them—a beautiful sight. With lots of ground to walk on, there was lots of ground to talk on, to watch on, to relax on. Here was a good place to have a party—with so much room to, well, party in with all the usual decorations of balloons, streamers, confetti, music, food, drinks. There would be no lack of spots to stage a party from a casual get-together to a full-blown blow-out.

But, Winsome Falls was also a place for the pony to visit only to be there. There was no need to go camping nor was there a need to have a field trip nor was there a need to bring along many friends to party. Being there was good enough for what was there—they were excellent enough.

To all of these, however, Watts Onion paid no attention.

His hoofsteps stomped the ground, trodding it down with haggard force as his gallop slowed to a walk. His eyes were looking here and there, constantly shifting from one thing to the next. He opened his mouth, he clenched his jaw, he growled and groaned through his gritted teeth.

"Where?!"

And nothing said a word back to him.

Looking here, seeing this, then turning around—almost dizzied, sturggling to stay on his four hooves.

Tumbled down.

Flat on his face.

"Ugh..."

Eyes unsteady—closed.

Rubbed his eyes.

Opened them.

In the distance, a figure in front of a tree.

Wearing a hat.

"You!"

Pointed a hoof.

The figure stopped.

Up on his four hooves, Onion ran to him, horn glowing.

No words—fast hoofsteps, only focused on the figure.

Punched down.

And he fell.

Slowly opened his eyes again.

"Ugh..not again..."

Saw the vast waterfall with all its flowing water cascading down to the lake with its lily pads.

"Wha...what?"

"Here," the figure said, giving him a pie—sweet-smelling, still fresh. "You've taken a bad blow. You were so exhausted and I thought that you only attacked me because your mind was unclear. I hope this removes any misunderstanding."

The figure was an Earth pony stallion. His coat was blue and his hair was red.

"If you're wondering, you're resting on a tree," he said to Onion. "Maybe that will help you re-orient yourself."

He was holding a fedora.

"I—" Onion gasped "—need to—I need to...take you."

"Take me where?" the figure asked, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Do you have something to show me?"

"Custody," Onion whispered back.

"Custody?" the figure repeated, moving his head back. "I've done you no wrong, stranger. I could've injured you worse, I could've imprisoned you, I could've stolen all of your food." He placed a hoof on his chest. "I even helped you recover. This is the first time you've seen me and—"

"You must go to jail, sir!" Onion shouted right in front of his face.

The figure was silent for a while, stepping back as the features on his face dampened. "Do I...know you?"

"You should!" Onion yelled, pointing a hoof at him again. "I'm Watts Onion! I'm the pony who brought down the most notorious criminals in all of Equestria! You've heard of Flim and Flam—their time is over! I should've been respected, we should've been lauded with all kinds of rewards and awards and accolades and medals for our efforts! No!"

Struggled to stand—stayed down, stayed near the tree.

"They don't understand how evil they were!" Onion went on in his tirade, his eyes narrowing. "They should've kept them down for all their lives—never ever to see a beautiful day in Equestria without being behind bars! Never! I've been fooled! What is peace if they'll be out in a short time, sir?!"

A pause.

"You go with me! Or else!"

And he pulled out his medal—his royal medal of identification.

"I'll make you go with me!"

Hard, loud breathing through his gritted teeth.

The figure put on his hat.

"I'm sure they'll learn some lessons," the figure said. "It's sad they had to be punished so severely. However, if that's what it takes to tell them that friendship is good, then so be it."

And Onion lunged at him.

The figure stopped him with a hoof and let him drop.

He steppd forward, now only inches in front of the flat Onion.

"You're selfish," the figure said.

"You're suspicious!" Onion shouted. "Why are you here? What's your name, huh?!"

The figure sighed. "Promise that you won't try to hurt me again. Then, I shall tell you as much as I want to."

Onion growled again.

"Or, I can take you to custody for harming an innocent pony with no reason."

One more growl.

Onion retracted his medal.

Loud breathing.

The rush of the waterfall, the flow of the river, the rustling of the leaves under the wind. The night sky was above all of them, the moon shining softly and the stars twinkling in their remote homes.

"I am Ribbon Tail, husband to a lovely Watercourse, and father of two foals. We live in Lead Change, a growing village south of Vanhoover and bordering the Undiscovered West. You don't need to know much about our daily life there—all you need to know is that we had a fun, carefree life there. And we still do.

"As far as I know about myself, I have not committed a single crime. Maybe I did on accident, but never on purpose. You can think that I'm lying because I want to cover myself—that is alright; it is hard to believe a criminal's plea to innocence, but I won't stay long on that.

"What I will stay long on is why I'm here."

He walked to another tree, kicked it, and some pink flowers fell—their petals thin and graceful in their descent.

One caught in his grip.

Showed it to Onion.

"This flower," the figure said, "is not native to this soil. It comes from a far-away location." Raised his head. "Tell me, Onion. Have you heard of the legend of the Pony of Beauty?"

Silence—knitted brows on Onion.

"Not as well-versed as I thought. I shall tell you, anyhow: an ancestor of mine, rumored to be from a pony-settled area far beyond the Undiscovered West. Many successes and accomplishments are attributed to her, from the saving of her hometown from an evil tyrant to the building of a royal castle that the Princesses themselves used to inhabit. A great lot of ponies claim to be her descendant, to cash in on whatever advantage they could obtain—as is the case for so many other ponies shrouded in mystery and ambiguity.

"But, if there is anything consistent about what they pass down from generation to generation, it is that, although she was not 'beautiful' in the traditional sense, she sought to beautify any and everything that she encountered. She became a wanderer throughout Equestria—how, then, would she appear, only slightly altered, in various stories all the way from our humble hometown to even the sophisticated metropolis of Fillydelphia or Manehattan?

"You know of bedtime stories—so do I. A tale that began with my great-great-great-grandfather came to me and it went like this:

"The Pony of Beauty once travelled to this very place, these Winsome Falls. She found it pretty much the same way you and I found it—beautiful. To the average pony, there was no need for adjustments or changes; this place was beautiful as is.

"For the Pony of Beauty, however, she immediately went about the business of planting flowers, bushes, trees, and other shrubbery. Not content with only adding plants, she decorated the trees with her city's native magical lanterns which ensured any pony passing by a safe passage through Winsome Falls at night.

"While she was working there, some other travelers arrived. Knowing who she was, they bowed down to her—to her reluctance, but she allowed it. Then, one of the ponies posed a question."

Silence.

"'Pony of Beauty, is there such a quality as excess?"

"'Of course, there is,' she said."

"'Is there such a quality as lack?'"

"Of course, there is,' she said again."

"'So, with these two, a perfection is to be achieved, correct? Neither excess nor quality but perfection, is it not?'"

"'Yes, that is, so,' she said."

"'What, then, would be the fruit of your strange efforts, Pony of Beauty?' they then asked. 'For we've set hoof here innumerous times, and its own beauty has sufficed for the enjoyment of all who have laid their eyes on nature arranged in this splendor.'"

Silence—Onion looking on, eyes still narrowed, half-closed; strained cheeks, downward mouth.

"You don't want to leave the story in a cliffhanger, do you?"

No response—no word, no head movement, not even a rolling of eyes.

"Her reply? 'It is only simple—it lacked, and I sought to fill it to perfection. It is easy to mistake need for fullness when fullness itself has not been told or thought of.'

"And, it ended there—that's how the story went and that was fine for me." Then, a raised eyebrow—an ambitious smile across his face. "But, rummaging through the history books in search of this pony's identity has given me another dimension to the tale."

Silence once more as he locked eye contact with Onion.

No response from him.

"There is no definite end for the Pony of Beauty herself," he said. "It is said, in the legends of her, that, after her mysterious disappearance, some travelled to the places where she herself beautified—in the hopes that, someday, when all Equestria faced a decline of what it stood for—what it meant—then she would arrive once more to tell all what must be done."

Silence as the two looked under the night—the moon slowly descending behind the mountains.

"That's why I'm here," Ribbon Tail told. "Nothing more, nothing less. I am here to honor that tradition, and—believe it or not—I have a teeny-tiny bit of hope myself that maybe she's real—not just as my ancestor but as the Pony of Beauty herself. There is nothing hidden about this—I've revealed to you a matter that only my closest of friends, including my wife, knows. And why? To tell you, Watts Onion—" leaning closer to him, letting go of his hat "—that I am an innocent stallion. Ask my wife when she's away from the kids. She will confirm what I said."

With that, he picked up his hat.

Silence.

It was a quiet night.

He hoofed Onion his bags.

"I'll give you a headstart," he said. "You see—" He wore his hat, covering his eyes in shadow "—I'm a good pony, but that doesn't mean I'm always nice. You just attacked me with no good reason. That doesn't sound heroic, does it?"

Onion slowly stood up—groaning, struggling to get up.

"I want you to get out of here as fast as you can," he said. "Because, in a few minutes, I'll be going, too. I'll then fulfill my role as an obedient citizen of Equestria by not being silent about the crime you've committed—yes, Watts Onion, I'll report you to the proper authorities."

With one final growl—a snarl, almost spitting at him—Onion dashed off.

Hoofsteps fading.

The sky surely turning bright.

Ribbon Tail turned his hat up a little.

Onion was out of view.

The figure sighed.

Then, he walked the other way, leaving Winsome Falls with a sober gait.

The moon disappeared, the morning arrived, and the sun was triumphant in its return, giving off its warm sunlight to all under the sky, raising Winsome Falls to its greater beauty.

The End

In Canterlot, it was a quiet night.

The moon's light shone, accompanied by its plentiful stars adorning the sky—from the horizon to the top, this expanse. A few pegasi flew in the night, way above the capital's royal architecture glittering under artificial lights, but their silhouettes were obscured in the darkness.

Just like in the day, wealthy ponies strutted along in the night, walking on the sidewalks with a fancy gait that exuded from them a feigned importance—some heads were raised high, even. The tourists, just like in the day, felt envious as they saw the rich abundance of elegant clothes and accessories the ornate ponies had on display—the tourists gave them a mean glance before they trotted on.

Fragrant flowers, wooden aromas—perfumes and colognes mixed in, just like in the day, with other such smells to create a unique scent that may not appear again.

Carriages were in no hurry to get to where they needed to be; their speed was slow as the passengers inside took longing looks of the city they lived in.

Past the parks, past the restaurants, past the stores, past the mansions—and, one would finally reach the castle.

Princess Luna stood in the hallway.

Moonlight pierced through the tall windows, flooding in it equal parts and decorating the room with faint beauty.

Her mane shimmered under the moonlight as it twinkled in its flow.

She looked up. She looked at the moon.

A firm face—one that bore no smile.

A few hours ago

She stood in her small bedroom—with its crescent bed, its blue walls and its drawn curtains, its rug and its four slippers.

"What could this be?" she asked herself, levitating a note that had been right before the double doors.

It glowed blue and floated in front of her face as she read it.

"'Your Highness, Princess Luna,

"'I apologize for the hasty writing, but we have arrested the suspect known as Watts Onion. His criminal activities include: unsensibly beating a pony up, causing public disturbances, and destruction of private property. A medal of royal identification has been found on his person; this could add to his charges misrepresentation of the Crown.

"'Since you have tasked him chiefly for a certain mission some time back, we are currently holding him custody at the Friendship Penitentiary, awaiting your working hours to send him to you at the Royal Hall.

"'The rest is up to you, Princess.

"'From, Public Security.'"

In the present

She stayed silent as she kept looking up, wondering over there.

The doors at the far end swung open.

A guard in his uniform armor ran to the Princess and kneeled down. "Your Highness!"

She turned to him—said nothing.

He lifted his head. "Princess Luna, we've brought Watts Onion here. I have made sure that he is more than fit for the...chat that you wish to have as stated in your reply."

She nodded—slow, closed eyes.

"Is there nothing else?" he asked.

"Nothing else, Public Security," she said. "Now, bring him in. I shall see him in the Royal Hall."

"A pleasure to do so, Princess."

And, he rushed back to the far end.

The doors glowed blue and then closed.

None of the features had gone away or had been changed. The stained glass windows, the rows of columns, the illustrous banners, the long red carpet, the guards stationed at supposedly strategic points—all under the familiar guise of night with its moonlight.

Eye contact with the guards.

Then, a shy away.

Luna raised a hoof, about to step forward to the elevated throne.

And put it down—not moved.

She turned around to face Watts Onion—escorted by guards on his left and on his right.

Head down, face down—eyes downcast, mane covering a part of his face, hiding some of it.

Luna's mane flowed as she stood still.

As the guards stood still.

It was a quiet night.

"May I ask why you have done what you did?" Luna asked, breaking the silence.

A croak—no word spoken.

Luna looked on—a step forward.

No word.

The escorts stepped away, though still near and still keeping a watchful eye on him.

"But, it is more than just what you've done today, is it not?"

No word.

"Is it not, Watts Onion?"

A single nod—never looking up.

"Your friends have written to me," Luna said, standing firmly in place—never pacing, never moving from there; her stare glowered down on him as her ethereal mane continued to flow freely. "They have told me of the events that transpired right after the celebratory ceremony less than a week ago."

No word, face down.

"They have told me that you have become mad with the fame you have accumulated as of late. You have spent less precious time with your friends—and, dare I mention, even with your family—allocating more of your time to what they have regarded as 'fan time.' I do not wish to prevent grateful ponies to give their thanks to you for your gallantry, your quickness to answer a call to serve Equestria through extraordinary means—however, it is not their fault when all has been said and done."

No word, still face down—slightly away.

"I was thoroughly convinced that you had pure motives—and so was my train of thought: A pony picked as if by random to carry out a duty commissioned by none other than the Princess of the Night. Surely, I thought, given all that he needed to do what must be done, he would gladly take it up and validate his love of Equestria, of peace—of friendship—by hurrying to defend all these things."

No word—trembling.

"I am not naive. I know that not everypony would do noble tasks for noble reasons, but your background told me otherwise. A farmer of onions in a town where plenty is abound—from all that I perceived, you were more than content with what Equestria has given you."

No word—shivering.

"The mystery in Winsome Falls did lead to you performing acts of courage and bravery—those things, I commend. But, you have received your fair portion of commendations and congratulations, so I shall not repeat myself here."

No word—mouth open, teeth gripped.

"I imagined that, as with all others who I have commissioned, the time of power would just leave—that, for a while, you would be overly proud of yourself and of your friends and then, after that, it would be over. However, it was in the height of that time of yours that you and your friends received the news about Flim and Flam's exact punishment."

A quiet growl—no word, face down.

The pegasus guards opened their wings, sharp in their sound even.

Luna looked on at the pony in front of her. "That was your breaking point, was it not?"

The stare of hers—that glare of hers.

He looked away—a single nod.

"Where were you when the various villains of both old and new threatened Equestria and were defeated not by sheer might but by offer of friendship?"

Her voice was raised.

"Where were you when, in your history class, you were taught that it was friendship, not strife, that brought the three pony tribes together to form Equestria, with everypony willing to overlook their grievances—to forgive each other—to create a better world?"

No word—face down, shivering.

"Where were you when I returned not as Princess Luna but as Nightmare Moon? When I desired to engulf all of Equestria in eternal darkness, in eternal night? When I deserved no mercy nor grace for the harm that I wrought upon my own home—and the home of all ponies? If you had the ability then to banish me back to the moon, would I still be here, reunited with not only my land and my subjects but, ultimately, with my sister?"

No word.

"Princess Twilight Sparkle agreed to punish Flim and Flam with a year's time in jail. Do you know what prisoners do in, say, Friendship Penitentiary—exactly where those two conponies are, the two conponies you've been mad at for so long?"

No word.

"There are reformation activities," Luna said. "Several ponies—equipped with friendship lessons and, more importantly, friendship experiences—are given the job to educate the prisoners to live a life of friendship—of good harmony. Cooking time with each other, chess and checkers with each other, book-reading with each other, even just discussion at the table—all under the hopes that, when they are released, they would re-integrate into Equestrian society as productive, happy citizens."

No word.

"I am not ignorant of Flim and Flam's crimes, considering the gravity of what they have done in scamming ponies out of their hard-earned bits. This is the reason why they are in jail—they are not free to go in and out as they please, to go wherever they want to do whatever they want. That alone is a heavy price to pay for their deeds. But, as I remember from the time when Applejack and Fluttershy were sent to Las Pegasus, their talents—though not as completely honest as others—can be used for upright goals."

No word.

"It is clear-cut proof that they can be good if it is the only proof they have. It is much better than your idea of locking them up forever, doing nothing but wasting their time."

No word.

"But, even then, I do not think that is the end of your reason."

No word—looked up fully.

His face was haggard—bags were under his eyes, bruises and scars were on his face. A hoarse groan as he looked on.

"It is nothing complex, nothing complicated, Watts Onion."

She drew in breath.

"You are selfish."

A drowning syllable—an attempt to speak up.

Face down.

No word.

"You are willing to forego your principles of friendship and harmony to preserve your fame. Indeed, a shorter punishment would mean, to the public, that the effort of you and your friends were not that important. They are, of course, but the public is the public. You thought to yourself that if Flim and Flam were not given the punishment they deserved, your popularity as the sole pony who brought down two of the greatest criminals in Equestrian history might dwindle because your work might be seen as in vain—worthless. You ended up being fickle—rushing to protect your own interests—only, in your unwise haste, you've brought failure upon yourself. You tried to bring matters into your own hooves, even attempting to capture another pony to regain some of your 'lost' notoriety. And, look at what has spiralled down on you, Watts Onion."

No word.

"It is saddening to know that this is what you've become in return—when all believed the four of you to be good, resolute ponies. It is much more of a disgrace for everypony who has placed their innocent trust in you as a hero—"

And she looked away

"—than it is for us."

Seconds.

Half a minute.

Looked down on him.

His face covered, hidden beneath—not even the light of the moon lifted it.

"I do not think that you are beyond good. You are certainly not the worst pony I have met. But—the law must be upheld, the punishment must be meted out. I cannot let you go off scot-free. Hopefully, in your time, you will truly realize what you have accomplished."

Head sunken.

With a loud voice and an outstretched hoof: "As Princess of the Night, as co-Ruler of the entirety of Equestria, I sentence you to six months in prison!"

Echoed through the hallways.

The guards stood tall, regaining their stance.

Shackles clicked between Onion's four hooves.

Walked between guards—clank, clank, clank of the chains.

And the Princess watched on—that dreading tread, face turned away.

Right outside the steps, a blur.

A look left, a look right, turn and twist of the head.

Hollow voices, almost clear but not exactly so.

"Sir, we're going..."

Flowers in the air—a sweet, familar fragrance taken out.

"You're not allowed to stray. You have to follow us."

Figures on the sidewalk—through damp vision, onlooking, watching, observing—a gasp from there.

Up to see—burned by a lamp's glare.

Away and closed eyes.

Remembering, feeling the cold, hard rock of the surface.

Almost tripped—caught by a hoof.

"Steady, now. You know you can't extend your hooves that much when you're in custody."

Gasped. "I-is that...?"

"Is what?"

Another close stumble—caught by a hoof.

"You've gotta focus, mister! We're never gonna make it to prison if you keep shambling along like that!"

Whispers beyond those near.

Hoof forward, another hoof forward on the stony ground.

Turned his head up—a glimpse of the sky.

The moon, the stars—all distorted, watery.

A tear trickled down his cheek.

The next day, in the morning

"Ice cream! Ice cream! Get yer' ice apple ice cream!"

A lone vendor stood at the corner of the intersection, wallowing against the sheer rejection of his wares by the upper-class ponies who went from mere ignoring him to outright expressing a "Hmph!" and turning right around. There were even some who opened up the windows of their extravagant estates—with their wide open front yards, back yards, and side yards all behind closed gates—making a mocking face at him before shutting their windows. Despite that, the smile on his face did not go away.

The vendor himself did not look as fancy or as uppity as those ponies: He wore a flat cap and an apron with an ice cream symbol on it. He stood behind the simple ice cream cart which was half-wood, half-metal. The sign on it read: "Apple Ice Cream! Only right here!"

On the amiable occasion that a tourist or a more considerate aristocrat came by and ordered, the vendor's smile widened as he went through the process of scooping the ice cream up, hoofed it to the customer, and received his pay.

Among the customers was Isobar as he landed right in front of the cart.

"Ah, good morning, sir!" the vendor said in his thick accent. "May I—"

Isobar threw a few bits.

All landed on the counter.

"Two apple ice creams, please," Isobar said—tense. "Nothing else."

"No toppings or other changes o' mind?" the vendor asked, raising his voice and his head.

"No."

"Well, if that's what you say so!"

And, in quick motions—scoop twice, hoofed once, and pay received.

"Thanks."

"You're wel—"

But Isobar was already back in the sky, holding the two ice creams in hoof.

"You're gonna be meeting someone, eh?"

No response.

Escorted by the guards through a tight hallway of wallpaper and paint. Musty wooden smell—dust flying about. Too dark to see all of it. Hoofsteps noisy and resonating the way through.

"We send out our best janitors here to make sure it gets scrubbed clean. But, it doesn't work—always dusty by tomorrow. Some say it's dust magic—I'm a unicorn and I don't think it's that."

"Tour Patrol, we're under orders to not talk with the prisoner."

"Who said we were under orders? This is Friendship Penitentiary. I'm going to make it as friendly as it can possibly get."

"What if you end up sympathizing with him? And then you'll end up going into jail as well?"

No word.

Creaking open of the door.

Flash of light.

Turned away, closed eyes.

"Sit down. Your buddy's across the table."

Shuddering.

"We can't wait all day."

Looked on.

A chair. Brown rug covering the entire floor. Windows with curtains—open, letting in the sunlight with its warmth and brightness. Walls blank—just yellow. A table. Another chair over there across.

Isobar.

Long look.

A sigh.

Sunken face.

Sat on the chair.

"We'll be leaving you two, OK? We trust you!"

They closed the door.

Isobar sighed as he hovered beside the chair—his two hooves still holding the ice cream.

Onion looked up to his friend's face—shackled.

Isobar hoofed a cone to him.

Received it—did not eat, yet. "D-don't worry..." he managed—a gravelly voice. "Six months is gonna be fine. It's...short."

Isobar looked.

He went to his chair and sat.

"It's not gonna be fine. And yet...here we all are."

Silence.

"I don't wanna say that I told you. But I did."

Narrowed eyebrows.

"I told you to not let it get into your head. I told you not to let your ego take over you."

"How's...the others?"

"Don't try to change the subject, Onion."

Looked down, cleared his face with a hoof.

The scars, the bruises on there.

"Onion?"

"Just...six months. I...did it for the Princess, for Equestria."

"You've let this go on for too long and you've went too far, Onion." Isobar stood up, sliding his chair back. With raised voice: "Too long and too far! Do you think you're better than the ponies who take care of the prisoners here? Do you think you're better than the ponies who made the laws regarding unscrupulous ponies? Do you think you're better than the Princesses for giving Flim and Flam a shot at friendship?!"

A croak—a sound, raised hoof with the clank of a chain.

"I'm disappointed. I thought you knew better."

Looked down again—lowered hoof.

Silence of seconds.

"Onion—" now quieter, calmer "—we're still gonna visit you. But, I hope that...you change, right? Come on, Onion." The frown disappeared—though no smile replaced it.

A hoof on his shoulder.

"Onion. You're our friend. Hero or not, we're still here—and being a hero won't make you better. Think of that. Think of us."

With that, Isobar opened the door and left.

Watts Onion was silent.

He placed the ice cream on an empty plate on the table.

Looked out the window.

A bright blue sky.

Between him and there, a wall and a window.

Sighed.