Collection of Heart Warming Hearth's Warmings

Chapters

Foreword
Month of the Moon
Carols
Clover the Clever's Holiday Poems
The Great Pudding Bake Off
Carols 2

Foreword

If I have learned anything from my work this year, it is the true breadth of acceptance. For the old, the new, the outdated, and the ahead-of-their-time stories, I have let myself accept them all.

The number of generations who have celebrated the holidays is beyond astonishing. In writing this year's compilation of iconic holiday stories the biggest challenge was finding the right words. Ponies and their traditions change over time. Ever since the first Hearth's Warming celebration, the folktales we have considered iconic and steadfast are anything but.

So, to enjoy the holiday in its entirety I needed to find as many different traditional folktales as I could. I did not want to write another "Collection of Manehattan Hearth's Warming Stories" to put my book at the top of the metropolitan charts. These are pieces of Equestria's traditions, all of them.

In Equestria's modern society, that may be hard to understand. Our culture's education is built to adhere to objective truths where there are right and wrong answers to every problem; black and white, with little grey in between. Most recently, the phenomenon of the School of Friendship has brought the functional unit of society, our interpersonal relationships, to the desks of students with multiple-choice tests and essay prompts.

With all of this focus on right and wrong, it's become easier and easier to cast others in a different light. If a tradition is different, then it's not the right one, then it must be wrong; that is the usual thought process when someone can't accept some pony else's traditions.

And it's not just when we encounter differences between different locales. Different generations of ponies have their own contexts to how they first learned Equestrian tradition. Over the centuries, this proud nation has picked up and left behind practices that would now be considered no longer socially acceptable.

Many folk songs and folktales speak about the Two Sisters with an almost cult-like reverence, despite their efforts to appear as one with their ponies and their state. Among the youth of this country, it has become inappropriate to celebrate a past that the princesses want to leave behind.

But tradition is tradition, and come the winter holidays, many still sing the reverential songs, even if they know full well the values of the original singers have been absent for upwards of five hundred years.

So I ask you to let me show you the true spirit of acceptance and read along. Read to your family and your friends. Read to yourself and appreciate that, no matter what the stories may be, millions across every mile of the surface we call Equestria happily gather, wherever and however they can, to celebrate the same annual phenomenon called Hearth's Warming.

Sincerely, from my cosy desk in Trottingham to yours. Wherever it may be.
~Historia Writ

Month of the Moon

One night, on the southern edge of Equestria, a little orphanage in the middle of Somnabula slept safe and sound. All the fillies had dreams in their heads, and nothing was stirring, save for one bed.

"What are you doing, Masala?" asked their guardian mare, Somnabula. She entered the room, where three fillies slept, and looked out the window, where night's light the moon had kept.

"Mamam," said the filly, whose green eyes shimmered like glowpaz, "it's so dark tonight. Did the moon really disappear?"

"No-lah," she chuckled, whispering to the filly. "Who told you that?"

"The bearded unicorn who visits, the one with the funny hat," said Masala. "I heard him tell you that the moon won't leave her castle."

Somnabula smiled by what she had mistaken. "Chiya, night and day is a balance that can't be taken away."

Masala nodded, listening as if she understood. But, Somnabula saw the confused filly's expression, stiff as wood.

"Yalla, I have something to show you."

The filly did as she was told and followed out of her cot, still wrapped in her fleece blanket. Her guardian let her ride on her back while they walked into town. At night, the only things alive were candle flames that danced in their lanterns. In the middle of the village market, they arrived at an obelisk. It was the Speaking Stone, a large piece of marble used to carve the most important stories in Somnambula.

"Do you know what this is?"

"Of course," said Masala. "All the kids play around it when the market is open."

"Ah, so you have been learning to read, yeah?" Somnambula carried the filly to the west-facing side and sat her down by one of the stories. "Do you know what this one says?"

She pointed to a corner of the obelisk. The pictures had been carved, but not painted, not like all the other stories. But, under the light of the candles, Masala could see a picture of a dial and a thin silver crescent.

"It's about the lunar calendar," she read, "and the Month of the Moon."

"Yes, and the whole village will start preparing tomorrow morning for the Month of the Moon festival. Until the next full moon, the festival will be on every pony's minds."

Masala knew about the festival, she had seen the adults preparing for it every year for as long as she could remember, but no pony ever asked her or the other orphans to help.

"Is it fun?" she asked.

Somnambula thought for a moment. "Mhm, yes, I'd say it's very fun."

"Then I want to do it!" cried Masala.

"But it's also very hard."

"What's so hard about the festival?"

"Oh, that's a long story chiya. Long stories are only for fillies who sleep."

Masala stomped her hoof. "Then I will go to bed, just tell me."

"Fine." Somnambula picked up the little filly and put her on her back as they walked back to the orphanage. "I'll tell you now, so once we get there you better head straight to bed."

She clung tightly and listened.

"Long ago, before the ponies of the sun and the moon discovered their talents, the heavens could only move when groups of powerful unicorns formed to do the job. But, moving the heavens is no easy task. Those who chose to help often lost their magic for good. The Month of the Moon is celebrated in the month of the winter solstice, when the nights are the longest, so that ponies all over Equestria can show their appreciation for the nights that those ponies sacrificed to give us. But it wasn't popular with every pony, because if you joined the first festival, it was a promise to sleep in the day and be awake at night."

"They lived at night? Like the miyabus!"

"No-lah," laughed Somnabula. "Blood-sucking ponies don't exist, chiya."

"No," whined Masala, "I heard at school Masafali's goats got their blood sucked. His father told every pony they were attacked by the miyabus.

"Or he should deal with the mosquito infestation on his farm," Somnambula joked. "Just because there are some creatures that live in the night, doesn't make them monsters. That's what the Month of the Moon is all about."

When they reached the orphanage Masala was already yawning, but, she still had a question stuck in her mind. "Why do we still celebrate the Month of the Moon? You said it was done before the sisters."

"True, but we still have to show thanks to both of them, just as the land needs both day and night to grow." Somnambula carried Masala to her cot and tucked her in quietly. The other children had been sound asleep and had no idea they even left. "The word is haramarah, two things existing together in perfect harmony. We cannot pick favourites between the sun and moon."

Somnambula kissed Masala on the forehead and finally, the filly could go to sleep. Tomorrow at school she wanted to tell all her friends that she was going to join the festival. If Somnambula believed it was important, she thought to herself, she would believe the same.

=========================================

The school in Somnambula was a temple with a large courtyard for the children to play in. Between lessons on reading and writing, they learned arithmetic and painting.

"Has your family started preparing for the Month of the Moon?" Masala asked some of the students who weren't orphans.

"Yes," said one colt, "my auntie came over from the north to join us this year. She's bringing lanterns we need for the New Moon Celebration."

"The new moon?" Masala got confused. "I thought the festival was on the first day of the Month when the moon was full."

"Ceyna, do they tell you anything in that orphanage, Masala?" The colt laughed at her. "The New Moon Celebration is for the middle of the Month. It also marks one month after today, the first day of preparations."

"Somnabula didn't tell me about that part," said Masala. "Where am I going to find lanterns?"

Another colt nudged Masala. "What you so worried about, eh? Those lanterns are for ponies who actually go to the Month of the Moon Festival."

"What do you mean?" asked Masala.

"You're not thinking of going to the festival, will you?" asked the colts. They looked at each other. Masala had no idea why, but they suddenly look really sad.

"I'm sorry Masala," one of them told her. "At the festival, when you make a promise to sleep only in the day, you make it with a family prayer."

"Can't I just do it by myself?" She felt her chest tighten.

They looked at each other again. "I dunno kasho, is that how it works?"

"Inwalacha, kasho, my family always said it had to be family," said the other colt. "Haramarah, you know? Everything fits together."

Masala felt her whole world crushed. Somnambula took care of the orphanage, but she was a hero to the whole village, not just her. And she didn't know her real family.

"Sorry, cha," said one colt, "I thought you knew."

=========================================

The days passed into weeks, and every morning Masala woke sadder and sadder. She thought, at first, that she didn't need to be a part of the Month of the Moon. She had lived nine years without it. Maybe she didn't need to do it Somnambula this year.

But because she knew what it was, she couldn't ignore all the preparations. First, ponies painted their walls with light ochre paint and white chalk. Murals of bedtime stories were bright so that they could reflect the moon's light. Families painted their favourite stories on their homes. The Hawk and the Cactus was a popular one, along with The Navigator Who Fell.

Then, daughters went with their mothers to weave baskets for the harvest. To feed so many ponies, the village would harvest more fruits and grain than it knew what to do with. There were dates, cactus pears, bushels upon bushels of wheat, and most importantly, there would be apples.

Meanwhile, fathers taught their sons how to buck and wrestle. The Month of the Moon had three wrestling tournaments for young colts to test their strength: one on the first night during the festival, one on the night of the new moon, and the third one was on the last night of the month. The winner would get to wear a crown of silver branches wrapped in vitex flowers, bright purple blooms that grew on the few trees that grew in the desert.

Finally, new clothes were woven by families. Like their walls, they used bright dyes so the patterns would be visible at night. Fillies wove the cotton and colts helped their fathers dye the clothes blue, yellow, purple, and green. Then, mothers sat together in the markets to add gemstones to the clothes to help them sparkle under the moon's light.

There was only a week left in the preparations, and all the village had to do was harvest their crops. Masala sat in her cot and stared out of the window.

"Think, Masala," said one of her roommates, "even if you could join the festival, how many of your friends will be sleeping? All my friends said their families only help prepare because it's fun, they don't make the promise prayers."

Masala pouted out the window. "Why not?"

"There's so much to do during the day," she said. "We don't get cold winters like the north in all the stories. Since the fields are all harvested, farmers have to start replanting, and they do it in the day when they can see what they're doing."

"Kambwajie!" Masala groaned, frustrated that her friends had been telling her to forget about the Month of the Moon. Every pony said it was okay to miss it, but then the whole celebration was about peace and haramarah.

"Weya!" Somnambula poked her head into the room. "What was that I just heard, kichiyus?"

Masala's roommate sat up stiff in her cot, her sand-coloured coat turning red from embarrassment. "Nothing, mamam!" She jumped out from her covers and quickly left to play with the other kids out in front of the orphanage.

Somnabula walked in and eased herself next to Masala, who hardly reacted to her scolding. "What's the matter? I know you're not really a kichiya, so why are you saying such bad words."

Masala buried her head in her hooves. "You say it sometimes," she said, her words were muffled, "when the bearded pony comes with bad news, or when Anana breaks the pots, or-"

"Ahem," Somnambula put her wings around Masala and squeezed the filly gently. "Why don't you talk about what made you say those things, huh?"

Masala shook her head. She didn't want her guardian to worry. What could be done? Ever since the last new moon families had been preparing for the Month together. Her classmates were right, the festival wasn't meant for her. Somnambula looked at the filly, then out through the door. She saw children dressed in colourful clothes who had paint all over their hooves. Masala had none of that. Her clothes were plain cotton white, her hooves were clean.

"Why aren't you out there with the others?" she asked. "I thought you liked painting."

"There's no use." Masala covered her ears.

"Eh? What, you don't like the moon?"

"Mamam! Kihita!"

Somnambula took her wings off of Masala. Such frustration confused her. What could upset a little filly so much? Somnambula looked firmly into the filly's eyes. They were red, nearly crying, but she was strong. Masala had clearly been upset for a while, she just didn't show it.

"What is it, chiya? Do you want to be a part of the festival?"

Slowly, Masala nodded.

"But the kids with families are stopping you?"

She shook her head.

Somnabula looked out through the window, trying to think what could keep a filly away from festivals. Mothers with daughters, sons with fathers, the outside seemed so full of life. As comforting as the orphanage was, it was as still as a crib compared to the marketplace. Locking her self inside her room must have been lonely. Somnabula's eyes widened.

"Do you think you can't join just because you don't know your parents?"

Masala looked up at her guardian. She didn't say anything, but Somnambula knew she was right. She put a wing over the filly head and combed her mane.

"Oh, chiya, who told you such a thing?"

"All the other kids say they celebrate with their family. I'm the only one who's alone."

"What about us, the kids in the orphanage? Some pony will be here in the day so that I can sleep and celebrate at night."

"But the other kids don't care, mamam. I'm the only one who wants to stay awake all night. I'll be the only pony alone, and no pony celebrates the Month of the Moon alone."

"Says who?" Somnambula smiled as a story came into her head. "You know, no pony had passed the Sphynx before me. But I did it. Now every pony calls this town by my name. Yalla mila laya."

"That's different, that was heroic."

"I think standing for what you believe is heroic."

"But," Masala finally looked up to Somnabula, "the prayer, the promise ponies make, I don't have a family to do it with."

"Forget it, do you think Luna really cares?"

Confusion washed over the little filly's face. The name she had heard before, but she didn't know who it belonged to. Somnabula paused herself, realizing she needed to explain a little bit more about the Month of the Moon.

"Sorry, I guess I never had to use her name before," she chuckled. "Luna is the pony who moves the moon now, though some of my friends up north have started caller her Princess Luna. She has powers over dreams and helps all of us fight off our nightmares. All year, she works at night and sleeps in the day, just like ponies who celebrate the Month of the Moon."

"That sounds hard. Doesn't any pony help her."

"They are welcome to try if they have the magic. But during the Month, when we sleep in the day, we're dreaming at the same time as Luna. And believe me, she can feel it. She knows she has hundreds of ponies supporting her, even if we can only show it at night, and it helps her keep going in her duties."

"Keep going?"

Somnambula's smiled slipped for a moment. "Ah, shouldn't have said that. But, I guess it's not a big secret. You know that not every pony celebrates the Month, right?"

"Oshmia said the farmers don't because the village harvests everything left in the field."

"She's right, they don't. Others too, if they think they have more important things to do in the day. My friend, Starswirl, the one you said has a funny hat, he told me last month that Luna's been more lonely lately. That's why this year's Month of the Moon is so special. If you want to celebrate, then go ahead! As long as Luna knows you appreciate the night she brings to us, then your celebration is as good as any pony else's."

"She'll really know?" Masala's eyes had stopped watering, and her posture had stopped slouching.

Somnabula smiled and laughed. "Oh, I've met her. She's probably already been in your dreams, you've just never noticed. Right now, I bet she knows exactly how you feel, and she's been trying to make you sleep peacefully every night."

"I guess that won't be too bad. No matter what, I'll be celebrating the Month with Luna, right?"

"Hey, don't forget about me, okay?" Somnambula rubbed Masala's head. "If you still want to pray with some pony, you can do it with me at the obelisk in the market."

"Huh? You don't pray with your family?"

"Oh, I did, but age catches up to all of us, chiya. I made my peace with it long ago, and now I pray on behalf of my parents in the market." Somnabula smiled. "A lot of families actually join me out in the market. I get to see all the kids and grandparents, happy husbands and wives. I'm might be a hero, but I think that makes it harder for stallions to approach me, so, the Month of the Moon makes me feel like the whole village is my family."

Masala's eyes grew big. She didn't think about it, but she never saw Somnambula with any pony but her friends. Yet, she wasn't lonely, and she still celebrated the Month. Quickly, she shed her covers and jumped out of her cot. Her eyes were still a little red, but she was smiling.

"Yallah, mamam, if I want to celebrate with the whole village I have to something with them. Hurry!"

"Okay, chiya," Somnambula laughed, stumbling after Masala, "just take it easy, my wings can't be pulled around like a toy."

=========================================

On the night of the festival, Masala wore the robes she had dyed with some of the other orphans. They didn't want to have to sleep in the day, but they still helped Masala get ready for her first Month of the Moon. Her soft cotton was dyed bright blue, and light yellow swirls stretched across it like the stars in the sky. Polished amber hung on her and radiated like fire when they reflected the light of the moon.

"Look!" One of the colts from her class called out and ran up to Masala. "Hey, cha! You showed up! I guess you really don't need a family to celebrate, eh?"

"The village is my family tonight, Mchango," she said, hugging him first, then shoving him playfully. "Why'd you tell me I couldn't be a part of this?"

"Inwalacha, it's what my family told me, okay?"

In the middle of the market was a glazed apple shop, where Mchango's two older brothers tried to fit as many slices as they could into their mouths.

"Nevermind," he said, embarrassed. "Maybe my bad advice was a good warning."

Masala walked throughout the village with Mchango and her other classmates. They played hafirgam, a race where every pony had to balance a date on their nose while they walked around the track. Masala ran every time, and she didn't care if the date fell, because if it did, she had to eat it and get another one.

Some shops gave out incense sticks to ponies enjoying the festival. "My special recipe helps calm the mind during prayer," one candlemaker said to Masala as he gave her a bundle of three.

When the full moon reached its highest point, a bell was rung from the middle of the marketplace. Somnambula wanted every pony to know she was about to make her promise and welcomed any pony to join. Some parents gave the market some space and took their kids back home for their own prayers, but for every one family who left, two stayed.

"I have to be with my family," Mchango said, waving goodbye to Masala. "Are you alright staying here?"

She nodded. "Don't worry, cha. Some pony is always watching us on the Month of the Moon. I won't be alone."

The crowd around the market thickened, and Masala rushed to reach the obelisk before it got too crowded. Somnambula was there dressed in gold and red silks with a headdress covered in clear opal. She wore the night sky. Patterns inside the gemstones formed clouds of rainbow colours like the clusters of stars above them.

Somnambula sat quietly under the obelisk, but peeked to see Masala sitting next to her. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

Masala knelt and looked at her guardian, unsure of what she was talking about. But then, her eyes turned to the crowd around her. Somnambula looked beautiful, but the sight of hundreds of ponies gathering at the base of the obelisk was beyond words. They were an ocean in the middle of the desert: a miracle. Masala tried to count the different blues and greens and shimmering yellows, but there was too much. For once, she felt all eyes on her.

Finally, Somnambula began her prayer and the ponies who remembered her words chanted along.

O gentle night, O powerful night,

we pray that our nightmares be soft,

and our dreams, clear.

Your moon is a blessing that

keeps our fears at bay.

The beacon of shadows that

triumphs over day.

Nature herself has imprinted in

the minds of all, the value of your light.

May your moon keep us and save us,

may it make its face to shine upon us,

and be gracious to us.

May you lift up the moon's countenance

and give us peace. For on this night,

the first of its kind, we dance among the grace of your work.

Author's Note

Meanings of the old words of Somnambula's village

No-lah: the edition of "lah" is a discourse particle that does not change the meaning of the preceding word, but is used to emphasise a casual or expressive tone. "No-lah" is synonymous with the exclamation "Of course not!"

Chiya: used in the semi-formal register, it means "darling" or "dear child" and is chiefly feminine. Only used from parent or mentor to the younger.

Yalla: Informal. Meaning "follow close."

Miyabus: Plural form of miyaba, meaning blood-pony. Synonymous with northern Equestrian stories of vampires and bat-ponies, though their appearance in Somnambula and dragon folklore are grey and bare-skinned, with orange glowing eyes, generally short.

Haramarah: meaning harmony.

Ceyna: an expression used to call another "one who is ignorant or knows little."

Inwalacha: shortening of an idiom whose closest northern translation is "The answer is Old Ponish to my ears." More simply, it means "I don't know."

Kasho: Kash meaning brother, the modifying o identifies a brother by friendship ties rather than blood.

Cha: Informal register of chiya typically used between friends or colleagues, such as "buddy," "pal," or "dude." Unlike chiya it is gender neutral.

Kambwajie: Highly informal. A phrase used to express annoyance and frustration with something or someone. Roughly means "You are (or this is) like a cactus up my rear!" (What a pain in the ass!)

Weya: Informal. An expressive sound with the same meaning as "Hey!" Its tone, however, is unambiguously negative.

Kichiya: literally meaning not-chiya, the term refers to a delinquent child.

Kihita!: Quit it!

Yalla mila laya: An expression of annoyance that means "It follows me everywhere." Literally translates to "It comes and sticks and bothers."

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Inspiration Source Material:

Carols

Author's Note

Carols were meant to be heard, not just read. Here are this world's counterparts to these Equestrian classics.

Tree's Carol counterpart

Future's Peace counterpart

Carol of the Hearth counterpart

Carols

"Tree's Carol," as sung by Fourth C, the Canterlot College Coeducational Choir.

O bless ye merry, gentlemares
Let nothing you dismay.
For from the Tree this saviour
Was born upon this day
To save us all from Nightmare’s pow’r
When she had gone astray
O tidings of harmony and joy
Harm’ny and joy
O tidings of harmony and joy.

Within the woods, ‘ere Canterlot
Our princess bore the scorn,
and fought within the castle
to bring back blessed morn
The which her Sis’ Princess Luna
Did all to take in scorn
O tidings of harmony and joy
Harm’ny and joy
O tidings of harmony and joy.

Equestria’s Heavenly Mother,
The Sun’s angel by name
brought with her certain Elements,
we learn’d of their true might:
How from the Tree of Harmony
held ponies’ strength to fight.
O tidings of harmony and joy,
Harm’ny and joy,
O tidings of harmony and joy.

“Fear not then,” said Celestia
“Let nothing make you run,
This day I’ll be your Saviour,
‘Morrow, Princess of Sun,
To keep all those whose life it is
To live by daylight won.”
O tidings of harmony and joy,
Harm’ny and joy,
O tidings of harmony and joy.

The ones who built the new castle
made for the clans a tryst,
More left their tribes a-feeding
In tempest, storm and mist:
And went to Canterlot straightway
The life of peace they list
O tidings of harmony and joy,
Harm’ny and joy,
O tidings of harmony and joy.

And when they came to Canterlot
Where our Princess did lie
They found her in a chamber
Alone enough to cry
Equestria’s Mother kneeling down,
Unto the Tree did pray.
O tidings of harmony and joy,
Harm’ny and joy,
O tidings of harmony and joy.

Now to the Sun sing praises
All you who fear the night
And with true love and friendship ties,
To another in sight,
Open your hearts to Hearth’s Warming.
Embrace each other tight,
O tidings of harmony and joy,
Harm’ny and joy,
O tidings of harmony and joy.

"Future's Peace," from Cloudsdale Academy Revision, edited by Peatbog Colliander

Velvet did you know
That your baby foal would one day raise the El’ments?
Velvet, did you know
That your baby foal would heal time’s broken fragments?
Did you know
That your baby foal has made Equestria new?
This mind you let enlighten
Will soon enlighten you

Velvet, did you know
That your brillant foal will from stone bring redemption?
Velvet, did you know
That your brillant foal will set the Tree in motion?
Did you know
That this blessed foal is of the Tree a part?
When you embrace your precious filly,
You embrace Equestria's heart.

Her state will see
Her home will hear
The lost have beaten hardship
The shy will sing
The lame will cheer
The praises of her friendship

Velvet, did you know
That your baby foal is more than your creation?
Velvet, did you know
That this royal child will one day rule the nation?
Did you know
That this gifted foal is Sun’s perfect success?
This pious child you've risen
Is a Great Princess!

"Carol of the Hearth," a rendition by the Rara's Holiday Accapella Charity Group for Children's Education.

Hark how the Hearth
Warm welcome hearths
All seem to say
Throw cares away

Hearth’s Warming’s now
Ice on the bough
Cheers, young and old
Meek and the bold

Ding dong ding dongs
Sing pony songs
With the Changelings
All carolling. (Oh! Oh! Ahh)

One seems to hear
Words full of cheer
From pegasi (From pegasi)
Filling the sky

Oh how they go, (Oh how they go)
Bringing their snow
O'er hill and dale
Telling their tale. (Telling their tale)

Gaily they sing
While bells we ring
Songs of good cheer
Hearth’s Warming’s here

Happy, Happy, Happy, Hearth’s Warming, (Happy, Happy, Happy, Hearth’s Warming)
Happy, Happy, Happy, Hearth’s Warming. (Happy, Happy, Happy, Hearth’s Warming)

On on they send
On without end
Their joyful work
Without a shirk

Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong, ding dong

La, da, da, da, da,
La, da, da, da, da,
La, da, da, da, da

Hark how the Hearths (Hark how the Hearths)
Warm welcome hearths
All seem to say, (All seem to say)
Throw cares away (We will throw cares away)

The Eve now ends (Hearth’s Warming fare)
Bringing our friends (Bringing care)
Of young and old (To the young and old)
Meek and the bold

Oh how they go, (Oh how they go)
Watching their snow
O'er hill and dale
Telling their tale. (Telling their tale)

Gaily we sing
While others ring
Songs of the past
Warming at last

Happy, Happy, Happy, Hearth’s Warming,
(Happy, Happy, Happy, Hearth’s Warming,)

On on they send
On without end
Their joyful tone
To every home
Ah!Ah!Ah! (vocalizing)

Clover the Clever's Holiday Poems

A Pony was Phony

If you see a horse with a beard and a horn,
it could be you've seen a real unicorn.
Or it could be some trickster's toy horn
to fool you to trust him from dusk until morn.

Do not be taken in and I think it is best
To make every horse pass the unicorn test.
Go slow and look wisely when ponies aren't humble.
Ignore them their horns and think not of their beards.

It's best to be cautious of ponies with horns
All should be humble, even great unicorns.

A Windigo Doesn't Know

A windigo goes from the west to the east.
He'll search for a conflict to turn to a feast.
He'll turn mild winters into a storm
so when you make trouble he starts to take form.
He eats up your magic in happiness' shape
then pluck out your eyeballs like they were a grape.
A spat here and there is all it will take
for him to bake cakes out of your hate.
And a windigo doesn't know how to stop.

There's literally nothing a windigo knows
but hunger for strife and strong winter snows.
He'll grab for the critics and cynics and criers
and chase after grouches and slouches and liars.
Takers and hoarders should stay on their legs
the windigo curse will hunt for their beds.
The spoiled and wrathful are never safe,
so make peace you ponies, make it with haste.
For a windigo doesn't know how to stop.

Quickly a windigo hunts door to door,
always he's eating and asking for more.
Fear not just these spirits who walk on this land
but ponies and creatures who take what they can.
For a pony who's greedy will seem to you
to be no different to those who argue.
They'll cause you more trouble if you don't beware
for the greedy are needy, they want all to be theirs,
Like a windigo who doesn't know how to stop.

Enchanted Chartreuse/Fuchsia Cloak

Some towns have gold mines,
some town just farm.
This town had traded
with others for warmth.

Some got wool cloaks
others had cotton
but their leader's luck
gave more than any had gotten.

A new, magic, chartreuse, blue
Fuchsia, red cloak so bright
It glowed like the sun,
a glittering, supercharged light.

Its thread was woven, it seemed,
from powerful strips of lighting bolt beams.
No pony could imagine wearing such
A thing, not even in dreams.

The leader was Joke Sift and his village, it's said,
noticed the difference and grew very upset.
Because the trader had favoured the leader
for more wealthy commerce in the near future.
Ponies named River, Barmy, Digger, and Cutter
and Cinder and Ashen were mad to a fault.
They formulated plans to bring Sift to a halt.
"It'll worsen," said Ashen, "if traders like that,
Treat Sift like he's the one customer they have."

"I'm wearing this cotton, a plain undyed piece.
It's soiled and dirty and worn to me knees,"
said River. "I bought it the same time,
when the trader was here. But Sift's cloak
is sturdy, made much less common than mine.
Why did he not share his fortune, when offered
the cloak?"

"I tend to our village, not farm simple grain,"
said Joke Sift when asked, simple and plain.
"I lead and talk and I watch like a hawk,
for all the good traders and what they have stocked."

"That work is not hardy," said angry Barmy,
"And is is not fair, that this cloak is your share."
Cinder and Ashen both spoke with more passion,
"Enough is enough, we'll give you no bread."
"And no firewood too," said burly-hoofed Cutter.
"If you want to stay warm, add covers to your bed."

The story ends sadly, I'm sorry to say.
Without his village, Sift turned hungry and grey.
He moved like a sloth, barely could talk.
He had himself no grain, not one single stalk.
He died dressed in that cloak, his treasured possession.
From his fate, ponies, you'll learn a good lesson.

The village was selfish, it has to be said.
To punish makes justice, to murder makes dead.
Still you should take note
That if you're ever offered an enchanted,
chartreuse, blue coat,
don't flaunt it around and think that you're better.
Older is wiser, hard workers are stronger.
But riches do not make measures of souls.

The Great Pudding Bake Off

After defeating the Windigos, the unicorn, pegasi, and earth pony nations prepared the first Hearth's Warming meal together. Chancellor Puddinghead made a pudding so delicious, legends were written about it. This story, for now, and all Hearth's Warmings to come, is the legend of how the first pudding came to pass.

At the base of the Canterlot mountain, the manor of the Chancellor sent letters to every corner of Equestria. When it came time for Puddinghead to make the pudding, he needed the best farmers in the earth pony nation to gather their best ingredients. Spices, sugars, flour, and eggs, from all across the land the Chancellor's manor was filled with foods.

His spruce wood walls were bursting with pumpkins and pears and cornstarch and goat's milk. However, the pudding needed a strong life to its flavour, it needed a youthful vigour that only a child's taste could know. So, of the hundreds that came, only five brought sweets that the Chancellor deemed worthy. For their wild hearts and joyful minds, he made them his apprentices and invited them to eat at the Hearth's Warming feast when the pudding was done.

First, there was Gingerbread, who brought a cart full of the ginger spice his family used in their traditional cookies. Then there was Peppermint, who brought boxes of her family's peppermint canes. The others presented their ingredients in the same way, and their names were Nutmeg, Frosting, and Sugar Plum.

The last filly who greeted Puddinghead was named Merry Deed. Her family farmed simple eggs from the chickens that they tended. But with the eggs, she also offered something more.

"I cook and at home for my family," she said, presenting a tray of sweet-bread pudding. "You have your ingredients, I know you don't need the sugar, but let me bake for you this Hearth's Warming."

Puddinghead tried her dish and gasped. "Your skills are great, as good as mine, but go back home to spend your time. I am the Chancellor. If this glorious pudding is too sweet on the other guests' tongues, I must bear the responsibility."

To get the pudding perfect, the Chancellor had the five children bring their ingredients his kitchen where they discussed the best qualities of each ingredient. For two days and two nights, they cooked small samples and measured each ingredient. If one flavour was too strong, Chancellor Puddinghead used less. If a flavour could not come through, he added more. Even while the children slept, he tested more flavours, more mixtures, more interesting recipes.

On the third day, the apprentices went to Puddinghead to see what recipe he had chosen. The feast was in two days, and they needed to finish the pudding to leave on time. But when they knocked at his room, the plague answered Puddinghead's door. He could not speak, he could barely see, but still, he gestured to the recipe. On his desk, it was written the pudding recipe that he had chosen.

The children worked fast. First, Gingerbread was the leader, for he had been the first colt to bring his farm's produce. But when they finished, the pudding tasted too strongly of ginger. Then Peppermint tried her hoof at baking the recipe, but she was too shy and could not bring herself to put enough peppermint sticks. Nutmeg and Frosting tried together, but they argued over whose ingredient was more important, so Sugar Plum took over. But the final pudding was too soft, sagging from the juices of ill-prepared plums.

"If we cannot bake," Sugar Plum said sadly as they threw away their failed pudding attempts, "then we need to find some pony who is."

All at once they thought about what Puddinghead had said before. There was one pony who could bake as well as he could. So, they asked Puddinghead's assistant, Smart Cookie, if she knew where Merry Deed had come from.

"A small farming town not far from here," she told them. "About a day's ride there and back."

They knew they'd be late to the feast if they tried to get her help. There wouldn't be time to bring her back to the manor and start baking the pudding. There was only one option. With Smart Cookie guiding them, they found a carriage in the Chancellor's stabled and rode straightway for Merry's home.

=========================================

Merry pulled a pecan pie out the oven and set it to rest on the counter top. Her home was humble, windows boarded up to stop chill winds from entering. That didn't stop her parents from both catching a cold, leaving her to help her brother tend to their fields.

There wasn't much to tend to in the winter, for pegasi winters were harsh on their sensitive sugar cane, but that only left other chores to do.

"You should be baking this for some pony else," her brother told her.

Merry shook her head. "No, the right gift has the right time. Chancellor Puddinghead didn't need my help."

They thought the wind picked up, but when they listened closer, it was the sound of a carriage bouncing down the rocky road to their farm.

"We need your help!" cried the children hanging out of the door.

Merry recognized the apprentices Puddinghead had chosen. Sweet Cookie rode right up to the door and unhitched, panting and coughing hoarsely. Merry's brother came out and welcomed them in, offering tea to the exhausted mare. In a panic, the children told Merry that the Chancellor was sick. They told her how they tried to make the pudding but couldn't get it right. And they said how they were running out of time.

"We thought there wouldn't be enough time to take you back," said Peppermint.

"So we brought all the ingredients," said Nutmeg, revealing their only option. The back of the carriage was loaded with crates and barrels of food that Frosting had begun unpacking.

"We'll bring it straight to Canterlot once you're done," said Sugar Plum.

Frosting set down a barrel of plums. "So please, help us help Puddinghead and save Equestria's first Hearth's Warming."

Sweet Cookie gave her a copy of the recipe Puddinghead had written down. Merry nodded as she read it; Puddinghead was right, she would have made the same choices as he did if she were making the recipe. With Hearth's Warming at stake, there wasn't any other answer that Merry could think of.

"Okay. Let's bake."

=========================================

The Canterlot feast was really a treat, one for the legends, one hard to beat. With delicacies eaten by no other, pony peace was preserved, from mother to mother. Puddinghead said, confirming once and for all, he was wrong all along for his pride was not small. Testing the pudding made by young Merry, there was nothing to add; was hers better? Yes, very.

What Puddinghead did for Hearth's Warning feast, was for boldness, for gewgaw, not one pony's wishes. But Merry Deed did what Puddinghead didn't, and baked for herself, her want for good dishes. By luck or by love, or some other sweet passion, the skills of her baking was beyond modern fashion.

So do want you want, what you wish, what you fancy. Hearth's Warming Eve's here. Do not stay, do not tarry.

Carols 2

No matter where you live, from Yakyakistan to the Dragon Lands, holidays have a special way of bringing out the music within all creatures. These carols may not be known to us in Equestria, but they are some of the most popular classics sung throughout the wider world.

As we greet the end of each year, it is this author's opinion to appreciate the things we don't normally see as gifts. A gift does not have to be bought, made, wrapped, and delivered. A gift can come from someone just by being in their presence, whether or not they even know they are giving it. So look beyond your walls, and next year, find some creature you've never known before and let their differences be a gift to you.

The first carol is an original griffon song, sung usually around the time of the Blue Moon Festival. It may not seem appropriate to Equestrian ideas of the holidays, but the traditional song is a celebration of all the good things that wealth can bring, glorifying the idea of money as an entity called the "Golden Coin" or "La Pièce d'Or."

Contrary to perceptions of the griffons, this carol is not a product of the griffon culture's focus on self-determination and enterprise. The earliest scripts date to King Grover's kingdom, where it was sung to recognize that having wealth makes enjoying friendships much easier.

The second carol comes from an old yak folksong. It is not necessarily a song dedicated to Yak holidays, but it is still incredibly popular for celebrations. Written by the mother of Prince Ulysses, the song can be dated to ten years before the founding of the dragon lands. Remarkably, the lyrics have been well preserved in both written and oral tradition. The words are both uplifting and sombre, as the singer laments about her son's journey to end the war between dragons and yaks.

Other historians and writers have also suggested the song is older than Prince Ulysses' mother. Allusions to a very similar song, "Wonderous Wandering," appear in the yak epic "Sung Edda." This theory suggests the song's original purpose was to express a mother's concern over her son's adolescence and growing independence. With either interpretation, the song is fundamentally about mother and son.

That is not to say new meanings have not been created. In Yakyakistan (and very recently the Crystal Empire) this song has become a popular expression of all kinds of love. Over the years, parts have been translated from Middle Yakyakic over to Old Ponish, and later to Modern Ponish. Only recent historical records have revealed the original Yak chorus, giving us an updated rendition with some of the sounds Prince Ulysses's mother intended to convey.

And if you find the sound resonates with you, then perhaps we can say that love hasn't really changed over these few thousand years.

"The Gold" as sung by the Traditional Griffonstone Children's Troupe. Translation by Historia Writ and Regis Languis.

La Pièce d'Or, le Roi du luxe, que j'adore ta lumière.
Quand, par le jour, c'est la saison
Acheter tout les présents,
La Pièce d'Or, le Roi du luxe, il comblera mes désirs.

Nous te gagnons dans tout l'année. Tu nous aides avec pauverté.
La Pièce d'Or, comme il est beau,
de te voir briller parmi nous.
La Pièce d'Or, garda chez nous, scintillant d'éclat.

La Pièce d'Or, miraculeuse, un symbole de son labeur.
De le valeur, toujours vraie.
Les bonne affaires sont bonne idées.
La Pièce d'Or, miraculeuse, m'offrent votre richesse.

(Translation)

The Golden Coin, King of luxury, I adore your light.
When, by the holidays, it is the season
To buy all the presents,
The Golden Coin, King of luxury, he will fulfil my desires.

We earn you throughout the year. You keep us from poverty.
The Golden Coin, how it is beautiful,
to see you shine bright among us.
The Golden Coin, guarded in our home, sparkling.

The Golden Coin, miraculous, a symbol of one's labour.
Of the value, always true,
The good discounts are good ideas,
The Golden Coin, miraculous, offer me your riches.

"I Wonder Where Ye Wander," arrangement by Pinkie Pie and Prince Rutherford.

I wish I was down south with you,
so my pain can then be healed,
and in my sleep, I could lie still,
Agus tá fhios agam go bhfuil tú slán.

Sodar, sodar, sodar mo grá,
sodar go folláin agus sodar i bhfad.
Lean ar aghaidh thar chontúirt ar,
Agus tá fhios agam go bhfuil tú slán.

I'd smash the mountains and I'd smash the hills
To churn the land and plant the fields,
Just for my love to have a meal,
Agus tá fhios agam go bhfuil tú slán.

Sodar, sodar, sodar mo grá,
sodar go folláin agus sodar i bhfad.
Lean ar aghaidh thar chontúirt ar,
Agus tá fhios agam go bhfuil tú slán.

I'd weave new hair braids, I'd bake more bread
And 'round the world to make his bed
Until his journey, at last, is met.
Agus tá fhios agam go bhfuil tú slán.

Sodar, sodar, sodar mo grá,
sodar go folláin agus sodar i bhfad.
Lean ar aghaidh thar chontúirt ar,
Agus tá fhios agam go bhfuil tú slán.

I wish, I wish, I wish in vain,
I wish I had my heart again,
I vainly want that dragon slain,
Agus tá fhios agam go bhfuil tú slán.

(Chorus Translation)

Trot, trot, trot, my love,
Trot healthily and trot far.
Proceed beyond danger,
And I know you are safe.

Author's Note

Songs are meant to be heard. Here are some counterparts to the Equestrian carols.

"The Gold" counterpart

"I Wonder Where Ye Wander" counterpart