(For maximum anguish)
By now, she's an old mare. Her sandy golden hair's gone grey. Pulled into a chignon bun for easier mobility. She has many scars, her left eye's covered by an eye-patch. Her fur's gone light sanguine. The once bright orange, now a dull former to it's once lustrous glow.
She's not alone as she walks. Through a silent graveyard, all lined with neat white marble gravestones. The name slates are blank. A massive burial to those who've given their final gift in the name of freedom. Beside her walk five other mares. A cyan mare with a technicolored mane. Her brilliant magenta eyes are clouded with solemnity. Her left wing is missing, a shorn stub is all that remains. Her mouth is set in a grim line. She walks to the left of her friend. Slightly behind. Beside and behind her follows an amethyst mare with an amethyst mane. Her once big wondrous eyes now hold a knowledge no equine should know. They've seen no other equine should ever have to see, and they've done things no living being should ever have to do. She too carries her own marks. A chipped and sharpened horn and a long slash linea her right flank. She too walks behind the cyan one. Beside and behind her is a buttery yellow mare, long gash marks running all across her back and outer legs.
Beside the orange mare, to her right, is a bright fuchsia mare. Her mane is springy and unbound, curling and twisting, arching and resting well over her lower back. Her eyes are soft, warm, and heartbreaking to look at. She wears a small, tight lipped smile. A small bow-tie sitting at the junction of her forehead. Both of her back legs are missing, replaced by two metallic curving spring like apparitions. And lastly, behind her, and slightly to her right, is a pure white unicorn. Wearing a purple beret and a scarf, she seems listless. Almost absent minded. "Rarity." The pink one reminds her, drawing her attention back. With an apologetic smile, she speeds up a bit until she's standing right beside her pink friend.
All six of them stand in front of a single, white marked cross. Draped on it's horizontal bars are two medals. The first is a heavy black circle with a decorative laurel wreath etched into the bottom half curving upwards until it melds with another pair of wreaths coming down from the top half. In the center is a wing, a horn, and a hoof, all joining at their tips. The wing tips meet the horn and hoof in the center, and in very small letters, can be seen a message.
To walk in strife, as we've walked in peace
First, up walks the cyan mare, a hollow, empty look replaced her magenta vibrancy. "For Trottingham." She says simple, reaching into a saddle-bag she's brought with her for this occasion alone. The object she brings forth is a little golden coin. Placing it at the foot of the cross, she backs up, resuming her place behind her orange friend.
Next walks the yellow mare. "For the Adeline trenches." She speaks solemnly, the small smile still etched into the creases of her face. Bending down a bit, she kisses the cross, soon returning to her place.
Up walks the purple mare. "For the Gulag." She levitates a Garrote wire and leaves it to rest at the foot of the cross. She walks back in line.
"For operation Borealis." Says the mare named Rarity, draping a small brown medallion on the left half of the horizontal bar. Next walks the pink mare.
"For Castle Esther." She places a small bag of baked goods at the foot of the grave, next to the Garrote wire." As she backs away, the orange mare walks up. And in one, hard shove, sticks a bone into the dirt. Vertically so it's sticking out of the air.
"For everything." She says, her voice cracking as emotions threaten to surge and drown her in another sea of tears.
As she walks away, the six friends beside her all bow their heads in respect. But just as she walks back, a tall white unicorn stallion with an azure blue mane clears his throat.
"Excuse me miss. Might this be the grave of one Winona Apple?" He inquires, a monocle covering his left eye. Looking up, she gazes into his face. A thin scar trailing downwards from his left eye to his chin. He has a silky blue mane with strips of Iron grey racing through the hairs.
"...Y-yes, this is her." She replies, her voice hoarse from crying.
"Thank you miss." He says, bowing his head as he walks forth. "I never did get to know you. But you...you saved my life, so many times. And for this, I thank you. Until we meet again, oh brave one." He chimes, levitating his monocle off and draping it next to the medals and medallions. As he too bows his head in mourning and remembrance, a little dotted colt runs up.
"'Scuse me misses. Iz is the grave ov that little doggay?" He asks, his accent thick. At this, the six mares and stallion raise their heads.
"Pipsqueak? What're you doin' out ere?" Asks the orange mare.
"Well the noice ladies at the orphanage said that I could come 'ere n' visit the little doggy." He replies, his Trottingham accent thick and slurry.
"Umm, excuse me ma'ams, is this the grave of Winona Apple?" Asks another voice from behind them. This time, it's another white coated blue maned unicorn.
"Armor?!" Gasps the purple mare, running up the gunmetal grey clad soldier.
"Twily? Twily!" He shouts, embracing his sister as the two sob into each other's hooves. "I thought, I thought they took you! I thought you were done for!" He manages between sobs and sniffles." With a small smile, Twilight shakes her head and points to the grave.
"She rescued me Shining. In my hour of need she came." She started, letting out a quivering laugh. And with a sigh, Shining Armor looks past all the gathered ponies there, into the faces of the five smiling mares.
"All of you. She met with all of you? I don't understand. I thought they didn't allow animals on the battlefields. How-" he began before shortly being interrupted by a muffled ah-hem. "Oh, sorry." His voice still high and soft before dropping back down to a calm and neutral drone.
"Stallions! At attention!" He shouts. From behind him pour thirty or so royal guardsmen. All of them clad in gold armor and feathered helmets. They all line up in a single file in front of the grave. Right hooves raised to their foreheads in a gesture of a salute. For several minutes, they stand there, frozen. It's almost picturesque, as the sun sets behind them, gleaming off their suits of armor.
"Winona...she...she..touched all of you all?" Asks the orange mare, receiving a smile from Shining.
"Yes Applejack, each and every one of us. And more." He says, breaking the salute to gesture to behind him.
What he shows her, takes her breath away.
Milling around, talking and murmuring amongst themselves, are hundreds of ponies. All in line behind Shining and his men.
"She managed to run the wire through the tunnels with the tanks overhead. Shoot, that little dog was braver'n all my men combined right then'n there.'
"Back near the end. I got shot down flying over them mountains? She found me n' kept me alive for weeks till they sent a search n' rescue. Barked her dang head off when she heard the carriages overhead. Saved my life."
"Oh man, back in August for me. Kept all our morale high that little dog. 'Specially on landing day. We were all in the dumps then. That little dog was a Celestia send."
All the snippets of conversation. All the fond speech, all the camaraderie. All the keep-sakes they held. Leather wing guards. Aviator's goggles. Bayonet blades. Medals, papers, bones, bracelets, dog collars, ration packets, cogs and screws, a brick here and there, a sniper scope, a cross, pieces of rope, even a tank shell. All these ponies, all these mementos brought a fresh wave of tears to her eyes.
