Gobbling and Other Traditional Pursuits

by LadyMoondancer

Rating: everyone
Tags: Nightmare Moon, Princess Luna, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Comedy, Adventure, Discord, Princess Celestia
Length: 11001

Nightmare Moon was once considered an "old pony's tale." But what exactly did those old s

For years Nightmare Moon was considered "nothing but an old pony tale," but what did those tales actually say about her? See Luna, Celestia, and Discord as viewed through pony myths and legends.

I may add more short stories on in the future as new chapters.

Image courtesy of anbolanos91 on Deviant Art. Thank you! :)

Published 2012-09-04 07:24:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-05-19 21:15:06 UTC

Geode and the Nightmare

Author's Note: This is not meant to be a story of something that "really happened" in Equestria. Rather, it's one of the stories the Equestrians of old might tell when everypony was gathered around the hearth. :)

Geode and the Nightmare

Once upon a time, there lived a poor rock farmer and her daughter. The farmer scraped and struggled and managed to fill her belly and her daughter's besides. But one day the young filly—Geode was her name—knocked over the chicken coop while she played.

The chickens ran to and fro, clucking, and the ponies ran to and fro, shouting, and finally all the birds were captured again—all except the fine white rooster, which ran straight into the deep, dark forest, where the cold winds blow ever free.

The Headmare of the village was angry, for the rooster was meant for Nightmare Night, and now it had escaped into the woods where any weasel, stoat, or fox could eat it.

"Nightmare Moon will come and she will gobble us up," the Headmare said, "unless somepony goes into the wild woods. If we send her sweet pastries, perhaps that will satisfy her. You, Geode, will take them to her."

And all the rich, powerful ponies of the village nodded in agreement, despite the protests of Geode's mother. "She knocked over the chicken coop," the rich ponies said, "so she must go."

Of course Geode saw right away that the Headmare and the others expected her to be gobbled up along with the sweets, but what could she do? She set off, with a bag full of pastries, into the deep, dark woods.

She walked for a long time or a short time, until she reached the Moon. Its walls were cold silver and it was thatched with comets. But its doorway was a mere sliver of a crescent—far too narrow for a little pony, even a small filly, to walk through.

The little pony sang:

"Moon, Moon, lazy Moon,
The Sun watches, but you slumber.
The Sun rises, but you sleep."

As she sang, the eye above the lintel slitted open, narrowed and angry, and the sliver of doorway opened until it was wide enough for a filly to fit through, if she squeezed. Geode bravely crept into the Moon.

The Nightmare was inside, filling up the whole hut. She was twenty feet tall, dark as the void, and the stars tossed in her mane as she eyed the little pony. Silver coins paved the floor and bones clattered together as they hung from the ceiling. Eyes of all colors and sizes were sunk into the walls, watching.

"Well, well, what is this? A sweet little foal for my supper!" Nightmare Moon smacked her lips loudly, showing her sharp fangs.

But Geode quickly opened the sack.

"An earth pony am I,
My veins are quartz,
My marrow marble,
My heart a gem,
And these pastries are far sweeter than I."

Nightmare Moon immediately grabbed the bag and rudely stuck her head into it, stuffing herself like the greediest pig who ever had a trough. The Moon waxed until it was half full—now a full grown mare could have fit through the doorway.

"Very well," said the Nightmare when she finally emerged, wiping her face and spitting crumbs as she spoke. "Tonight you shall live. Sleep on the cot, little one, and dream your dreams."

So Geode crawled onto the cot in the corner. But instead of sleeping, she cunningly made snoring sounds while she watched the Nightmare through her eyelashes. When midnight came, Nightmare Moon sang:

"Tonight a pastry, tomorrow a foal,
The next day sweet berries for my supper."

When the dawn spread over the horizon, Nightmare Moon yawned wide and fell asleep. Geode waited until the eyes in the walls had all closed before she took the sack and snuck out into the dark, wild woods.

Plants did not grow here in a natural way, in neat rows, but were instead spread higgledy-piggledy under the tangled hedges and fallen trees. Geode had to search all day to find enough tiny, wild strawberries and fat, juicy blackberries to fill her sack. She mixed hard pebbles among the berries and arrived back at the hut just as the sunset faded away.

"Aha!" cried Nightmare Moon, waking up. "Now I shall gobble you up, little foal!"

But Geode opened the sack.

"An earth pony am I,
My veins are quartz,
My marrow marble,
My heart a gem,
And these berries are far sweeter than I."

The last words were hardly out of her mouth before Nightmare Moon snatched the bag from her.

"Wild berries!" she cried. "A toothsome dinner—and you, little foal, shall be the dessert!"

And with that she began to gorge herself on berries, shoveling them into her mouth so fast she didn't even notice the stones mixed among them. The Moon waxed to gibbous, three-quarters full, and the doorway was now large enough that five grown mares could have walked through side by side. The eyes in the wall watched to see if Nightmare Moon would gobble up the little foal. But she was feeling rather peculiar now as the stones settled heavily in her stomach.

"Very well, you may live another night," Nightmare Moon said regally, as though she was sparing the filly due to mercy rather than stomachache. "Sleep on the cot, little one, and dream your dreams."

But again Geode fooled the Nightmare, pretending to sleep while she watched closely. At midnight, Nightmare Moon sang:

"Tonight wild berries, tomorrow a foal,
The next day sweet honey for my supper."

When the sun rose and the Nightmare fell asleep, Geode once more snuck out of the hut with the sack. The animals of the forest did not behave as animals should, but ignored her or fled from her or tried to eat her. In fact, the little filly had to flee from a particularly determined and hungry manticore several times.

But finally she found a wild bees' nest hidden in the stump of an old tree. She approached it in the slow, steady way that her mother had taught her and thanked them politely as she pried off a piece of honeycomb. They let her take it without stinging or fussing, for bees are the same everywhere, wild or tame, and they respect those who know how to address them properly.

The honeycomb dripped with golden honey, thick and sweet. But Geode found some trees heavy with tarry, sticky tree sap and mixed the sap in with the honey before returning to the hut. She snuck in just as the sun was sinking.

The Nightmare awoke and looked hungrily at Geode, who was surreptitiously wiping the sap off her hooves on the coin-paved floor. "At last! It's time to gobble up a little foal for my supper!"

But Geode opened her sack.

"An earth pony am I,
My veins are quartz,
My marrow marble,
My heart a gem,
And this golden honey is far sweeter than I."

Nightmare Moon looked like Hearth's Warming Day had come early, she was so gleeful.

"Honey!" She actually clapped her hooves together. "Sweet honey for dinner, and a foal for dessert!"

She pulled the sack away from Geode so fast that the filly fell forward onto her nose. The Nightmare stuck her head in the sack and chewed and sucked on the honeycomb so fast that it was a wonder she could even taste it. The Moon waxed to full, and now an army could have fit through the doorway. The eyes in the walls all stared wide to see if she would finally gobble the filly. But the Nightmare felt odd as the viscous sap sat in a hard lump in her stomach. Somehow she did not fancy gobbling up a little foal right at that moment.

"Very well, you may live another night," she said, trying not to show how ill she was feeling. "Sleep on the cot, little one, and dream your dreams."

Geode laid down on the cot, pretending to sleep, as she had the previous two nights. But this time, long before midnight, Nightmare Moon raised her head and sang,

"A little foal lies awake under the moonlight.
She fools the Sun, she fools the Stars,
But she doesn't fool me."

She shook a star from her mane and blew it in Geode's face, and the filly fell asleep at once. All night she ran away from the Nightmare in her dreams, and when she woke up in the morning she felt nearly as tired as when she'd fallen asleep.

The filly slowly got to her hooves. She had not heard the Nightmare's midnight rhyme, and although she could flee through the wide-open door, Nightmare Moon would run out and catch her come nightfall. As she paced, Geode's hoof-falls clinked on the coin-covered floor. That gave her an idea. She picked up a knife from the table and began to pry the coins loose. She filled her bag with silver until she could barely carry it and then walked back to her village.

Only her mother was happy to see her. The other ponies, and particularly the Headmare, panicked when they saw her walking out of the forest.

"She will bring the Nightmare down on the village!" they shouted fearfully, and they wanted to drive her back into the woods. But they changed their tune quickly enough when Geode opened her sack and let the silver coins spill out.

"Thank you for sending me into the woods, Headmare," said the filly. "See the bounty provided by Nightmare Moon!"

"Silver!" cried a greedy mare, who had never seen so much of it in one place before.

"Impossible!" gasped a particularly fat stallion, his eyes bulging out of his head. "Such wealth! From Nightmare Moon?"

"Tell us how you came by such a fortune, or we will drive you into the forest," threatened the Headmare.

"It was quite easy," said Geode. "Nightmare Moon is very hospitable. But you must not meet her eyes when you first enter the Moon—she will think you're rude and gobble you up. Myself, I put this bag over my body when I went in."

Then all the wealthy and important ponies rushed off to buy all the burlap sacking they could find. With the sacking bundled on their backs, they demanded that Geode lead them into the woods to find the Nightmare. This she agreed to do, first leaving her sack of silver with her mother.

After a long time or a short time, they reached the Moon, its silver walls gleaming coldly and its roof thatched with comets. Strange lights occasionally flashed inside and thunder rumbled above it, for the Nightmare was in a very bad mood. She had just woken up to find someone had pried up half her floor.

The wealthy and important ponies quailed at the thunder, but it also made them long to get inside; they were used to sitting in their snug houses during a storm, not having their manes plastered over their eyes and their skin soaked through. Immediately they began to argue about who should be allowed the honor of entering first, until a particularly sly unicorn pulled her burlap sack over herself and tiptoed in while the others shouted back and forth.

"What foolishness is this?" demanded Nightmare Moon, thunder rumbling as she snapped her tail. Probably if the mare had seen her expression she would've tiptoed right back out. But instead she said, "Greetings, great Nightmare Moon—"

And that is as far as she got before Nightmare Moon stuck her head in the sack and gobbled her up.

Soon a second pony came into the hut, and then a third, and then four who jostled in together. And each of them had barely started to greet her before the Nightmare gobbled them.

After the third pony, Nightmare Moon began to feel full and sleepy, and after the fourth pony her head began to nod heavily. The Moon waned each time she gobbled and the eye above the lintel drooped half-shut. Soon the entrance was just a crescent—big enough for a filly to squeeze through, but not a grown mare. Outside, the Headmare—who had reasoned that being last made her look more important than the rest—was furious.

"See what you've done, you fool of a filly! How is Nightmare Moon to lavish silver on me when I'm stuck outside? Now the others shall get rich and I shall get nothing!"

"Everything has its purpose," Geode said. "I shall enter the Moon and introduce you as a special guest. Sing this song and she shall honor you above all others." And she leaned up and whispered the song in the Headmare's ear.

"Very well," said the Headmare haughtily. "But remember, I will drive you from the village if I do not get my just reward."

"No fear of that!" said the filly, and she entered the hut.

The Nightmare was sprawled on the floor, trying to crack the marrow from a bone, like a dog. Sleepy though she was, she leapt to her hooves when she saw Geode.

"You!" she raged. "YOU tore up my silver floor! Prepare to be gobbled!"

"Oh Great Nightmare, I admit that I tore up your silver floor, but I bring you news. A stranger lurks on your doorstep."

"Another one?" The Nightmare was surprised; her hut had been an unusually popular destination all night. She waddled across the room to take a look, sticking her head out the door. But before the Headmare even had a chance to open her mouth, Nightmare Moon drew her head back in, snorting. "Fah, another plump mare! I'm too full for something HER size. I think I'd rather have a tiny, sweet filly as a midnight snack."

But Geode said, "You should ask her why she's here at least, Great One. Imagine what everypony will say otherwise—that Nightmare Moon lacks even the most basic social graces. To leave a guest on the doorstep—what a disgrace! What an embarrassment!"

Nightmare Moon shifted from hoof to hoof. All she really wanted to do was to lie down and sleep off her gigantic meal. But she was enormously vain and conceited, and the thought of everypony gossiping about her was more than her pride could bear.

"Naturally I was about to do that," she huffed, "before you interrupted me." She stuck her head through the doorway again.

The Headmare gulped to see the Nightmare's head poking through the narrow opening, her starry mane tossing. But the silver highlights gleaming on the Nightmare’s coat reminded the Headmare of the gleaming silver coins she hoped to gain, so she drew herself up proudly and sang loud and clear:

"A fine pony am I,
My veins rich with honey,
My marrow marshmallow,
My heart hard candy,
Surely no pony is sweeter than I!"

Nightmare Moon began drooling as soon as she heard the word "honey", and as the last word passed the Headmare's lips, she lost all self-control. Her neck shot forward like that of an angry goose and she began to gobble the Headmare in a gluttonous frenzy, starting with her head and ending with her heels. And as she grew fuller and fuller the doorway of the Moon grew thinner and thinner, so that Geode barely managed to dodge outside while there was still room.

The Nightmare sucked up the last strands of the Headmare’s tail like spaghetti and spat out her horseshoes, one, two, three, four.

"And now for you, little thief!" she said. She felt truly ill by now, but she was determined to have her revenge on the filly, even if she only chewed her up and spat her out.

But suddenly the Nightmare screamed, and screamed again. Her neck was caught tight in the doorway. There was no room to pull her head in and certainly no room to force her body out. She howled and raged and tossed her head, bucking her legs until the bones in her hut all clattered, but it was no use—she was stuck fast. And there she remains to this day, trapped in the Moon, as any pony can see.

But as for Geode, the filly returned home and found that her mother had already been elected as the new Headmare—for the villagers all agreed that a pony foolish enough to seek silver in the woods, as though it grew on trees, was no fit leader. And the coins from the Nightmare's floor was used to buy agate seeds and to dig a new well and for many other useful things besides, and there they lived happily for the rest of their days.

Old Favors [Dark]

Author's Note: This particular tale is dark and not suggested for young kids.

Old Favors

Once upon a time, a hungry griffon was fleeing from a mob of angry ponies. They had spotted him prowling around their village and now they sought to kill him. He ran and flew, ran and flew, feathers ruffled and panting for breath, until he spotted a peasant-pony walking home, pulling a cart loaded with sacks of grain.

“Do me a favor, little pony, and hide me in your bag,” begged the griffon, “for a mob is hot on my trail.”

The peasant agreed, emptying a sack into the ditch. “Hide quickly, then.”

No sooner had the griffon crawled in and the peasant tied the bag shut than the mob caught up to her. Strong pegasi landed all around her and hardy earth ponies tossed up puffs of dust as they skidded to a stop. “Have you seen a griffon run by?” they demanded.

“No, I haven’t seen any griffons,” the peasant replied. And so the pegasi rose back into the air and the earth ponies raced off over the horizon, still searching.

“Come out, griffon, for your hunters have gone,” said the peasant, releasing the beast.

But no sooner had she done so than the griffon grabbed the little pony up in his talons. “If they’re gone then nopony will hear me devour you!” said the griffon.

“Oh griffon, griffon,” moaned the pony. “I saved you from your death and now you want to eat me!”

“Such is the way of the world. Old favors are soon forgotten,” replied the griffon.

But the pony argued, “Who says so? Only you. I say differently. Come, let us walk along the road and put the question to the first one we meet. If they agree with you, you can devour me. But if not, let me go.”

Well, the griffon agreed and they both walked along until they met an old cow walking slowly up the road. The peasant said, “Oh little old cow, settle our argument. I hid the griffon in this sack and deceived the hunters, saving him from death. Yet now he wants to eat me, claiming old favors are soon forgotten. Say it is not so!”

The cow looked from the pony to the griffon from eyes sunk in her gaunt face, and then she gazed at nothing for a while, chewing her cud and thinking hard. At last she said, “For twenty years I lived in the village, nourishing everypony with my own rich milk. Yet when I grew old and my udder withered, they drove me from their midst, and now I walk aimlessly down this road. Yes, truly old favors are soon forgotten.”

This was not the answer the pony wished to hear, so she begged the griffon to wait until they found another traveller to put the question to. The griffon grudgingly agreed, and off they went.

After a time, they came across an old sheep walking slowly along the road. “Oh little old ewe, settle our dispute,” said the pony. She poured out the whole story, how the griffon wished to devour her, no matter that she had saved his life.

The sheep looked from one of them to the other with her strange, slit pupils, and then she thought for a time. Finally she said, “For twenty years I lived in the village, and my own soft wool kept everypony warm when the winter wind blew. But when I grew old and my wool became poor and coarse, they drove me from their midst, and now I wander aimlessly without flock or home. Yes, it is true, old favors are soon forgotten.”

“You see, I am right,” said the griffon, but the pony begged him to wait until they met one more creature along the road, and the griffon finally relented.

They kept walking and soon they met a little changeling along the road by the forest.

“Oh little changeling,” said the pony, “settle our argument.” And she began to tell the story. But when she reached the part about the griffon hiding in the sack, the changeling acted bewildered.

“But how did such a large griffon fit in such a small sack?” she asked again and again, and would not believe the tale, although both the griffon and the pony insisted that it had happened that way. Finally the griffon stuck his head inside the sack to demonstrate.

“They must have been dim-witted hunters if they were fooled by that!” said the changeling incredulously, and then the griffon had to crawl all the way in to show the changeling how it had been.

“Well, little pony,” the changeling said, “show me how you tied the bag.”

So the peasant tied the bag shut.

“Well, little pony,” said the changeling, “show me how the hunters galloped away.”

The pony began to trample and pummel the bag with her four hard hooves.

“Well, little pony,” said the changeling, “tell me what the griffon said when you let him out.”

The pony swung around, kicking the changeling in the head and killing her, saying, “Old favors are soon forgotten.”

Coyote and the Boulder

Coyote and the Boulder

One day Coyote was walking along. Sometimes he walked as a buffalo warrior with eagle feathers twirling at the end of his horns, and sometimes as a pony brave with long braids in his mane and tail, and sometimes he loped as a coyote, scruffy and lean. But in any form he brought mischief.

“Ah, what a fine morning!” Coyote said. “I hear there’s a powwow today. I think I’ll go to it and visit all my girlfriends!” (Coyote was always expecting girls to fall at his feet, though really they just rolled their eyes at him.) “Yes, that is what I’ll do. I’ll get dressed up and all the girls will beg to dance with me, aiee aiou!”

So he brushed his brown coat until it was glossy in the sunlight. Then he decorated his face and horns with festival paint. Finally, he put on his fanciest blanket, the one that was covered with dyed quills and bright beads set in beautiful patterns. He felt quite swanky with it draped over his back!

“Oh, what a fine sight I am!” Coyote boasted as he strutted across the plains, shaking his head from side to side to make his eagle feathers twirl. “Aiee, aiou, the girls will be all over me, that’s for sure!”

But the sun was shining strongly and soon Coyote began to sweat. His face paint became sticky and uncomfortable and he felt like he was roasting under the blanket.

“Whew!” he said, sitting down in the shade of a large boulder. “Being handsome is hard work! And it’s many miles to the village still. It’s silly, when you think about it. Those girls should move closer to my house. I wonder why they don’t.” Well, finally he stood up again, but he just didn’t think he could face the hot sun again, dressed as he was. He got an idea.

“Oh Grandfather Boulder,” said Coyote, addressing the rock, “I thank you for your shade. See, I am so grateful that I will give you a gift. This blanket will keep the beating sun off your rocky skin in the day and protect you from the cold at night.” And Coyote spread the fancy blanket atop the boulder and went on his way, feeling pleased with himself and much cooler.

So Coyote continued on until he reached the village. Many tribes of ponies and buffalo had gathered, dancing and singing as their hooves beat the ground in time to the drums. Coyote spent the entire day there, dancing and stuffing himself with fry bread and fruit pudding and making a nuisance of himself to all the girls. But they laughed and said, “Go on, bother someone else! We know who you are.”

“Well, they would’ve been all over me if I’d had my blanket along,” Coyote said as he walked home in the dark, many hours later. “Where did I leave it, anyway? It’s getting cold!” Just then he saw the dim shape of the boulder ahead of him. “That’s right,” he thought, “I put it on that rock. What was I thinking? Well, I’ll fix that right now.”

He marched over to the rock and climbed on top of it. “Grandfather Boulder,” he said. “You are a rock. You do not feel the heat of the sun or the cold of the night. You do not need a blanket. I’m taking it back.” And he took hold of the blanket and tried to pull it off. But the rock must have had powerful magic of its own, for the blanket stayed put.

“What’s this?” spluttered Coyote. “Are you defying me, old man? Give me my blanket!” He tugged at it again. But the fabric clung to the rock as though it had been painted there.

Then Coyote got mad. He paced back and forth in front of the rock, stomping and snorting. “Oh, you’re asking for it, you stubborn stone! I’m really going to fix you, you igneous idiot!” He curled himself up and became a brush-tailed coyote, his hackles up and his white teeth bared. “Oh yeah, look at this! Now you’re quaking in your sediment, huh? I’m a fearsome predator, that’s what I am!” He snapped up a mouse to prove it. “Give back my blanket right now or you’ll be sorry!”

The rock sat there.

“Okay then, you asked for it!” Coyote leapt at the rock and bit it as hard as he could. A second later he was falling backwards with a howl.

“OWWWWWWWW!” Coyote clutched at his jaw as tears of pain sprung to his eyes. “You miserable son of a landslide, you did that on purpose! Oh, I’ll make you sorry!”

He arched his back and turned into a buffalo brave, snorting and pawing the ground with his cloven hooves. “You aren’t the only tough one around here, Rocky!” He swung his head from side to side to show off his horns. “Give me my blanket or I’ll batter you into gravel!”

The rock sat there.

“Okay then, you brought this on yourself!” Coyote lowered his head and charged at the huge rock. He rammed it so hard that the ground shook—but then something went wrong. Coyote found he could not pull his forehead off the rock, nor his horns out of the gouges they had made. He was stuck fast.

“Hey, what’s this? No fair, no fair!” Coyote dug his hooves into the dirt and pulled and pulled backwards, but the boulder’s magic was too strong. He flailed and cursed and twisted this way and that, but after a while he grew quiet.

“Grandfather Boulder,” Coyote said after a long time of examining the ground, which was all he could see at the moment, “we seem to have got off on the wrong hoof.”

The rock said nothing.

“Of course you may keep the blanket, dear Grandfather,” Coyote went on in his most cordial tone. “I was only trying to remove it so I could replace it with a much larger, fancier one.”

He paused hopefully, but the rock said nothing.

“Can’t you answer civilly, you rockhead?? I mean, ahem . . . an answer would be appreciated, Grandfather Boulder. This blanket, you should see it! Oh, it has the most beautiful beadwork, and a fringe like you wouldn’t believe . . .” Coyote prattled on like this for a long time, but the rock said nothing. And it would not let him go.

Just as Coyote was resigning himself to spending the rest of his life with his horns stuck in a rock, staring at the ground, his older brother Wolf came trotting by.

“Oh Coyote, what have you got up to now?” Wolf said, sounding resigned. He was well used to Coyote’s mischief.

“Nothing, nothing at all,” Coyote said airily. I’m just resting my head against this cool rock. Ahhh, how good it feels!”

“You aren’t fooling anyone,” said Wolf. “It looks to me like you’re stuck.”

“Ha ha! Me, stuck! Me, stuck? Haie aie aie!”

“Stop that racket,” Wolf said, ears folding down, “and I’ll see what I can do.” He walked around the rock. He spoke politely to the rock. He grabbed Coyote’s tail and pulled and pulled, but he couldn’t shift him. “This is serious,” Wolf told him. “We’re going to need more help. I’ll go to the village and gather everyone up, maybe if we all pull together we can free you.”

“No!” shouted Coyote. “No! My girlfriends can’t see me like this! Why, they’ll be so upset they’ll cry their eyes out! They’ll do something rash, they might even throw themselves into the river—”

“Why is there a blanket on this rock?” Wolf interrupted him. He picked it up effortlessly and draped it over Coyote’s back. “There, at least now you won’t be cold,” he said kindly. “Wait patiently, little brother, until I return.”

Coyote was silent for a long time again, glowering at the dirt. “I see you have a sense of humor, Grandfather Boulder,” he said sourly. “Yes, I see how it is. You want everyone to laugh at poor Coyote! Well, they aren’t going to find me here when they get back!”

He swished his little tasseled buffalo tail and turned himself into a pony. In this form he was mostly caught by the mane. He jerked his head and pulled backwards and tossed his head from side to side and little by little he freed himself—but not without a cost, for his mane was being pulled out strand by strand and he kept yipping in pain all the while.

“Ha HA!” he said at last, pulling himself completely free and falling backwards on his haunches. “Oh yes, it’s Coyote who laughs last, always!” he said, getting to his hooves. The few straggly hair that were left of his mane bounced as he pranced around the boulder. “Once again Coyote triumphs! Wise Coyote! Clever Coyote! Handsome Coyote! So there, you dumb rock!” And he slapped the boulder insolently with his tail.

Well, of course his tail stuck fast to it. When Wolf and all the people arrived, they found Coyote bucking fruitlessly against the rock, wailing.

“Nooooo!” Coyote howled. “No, oh noooo!”

“Oh Coyote!” sighed Wolf. He and all the people rushed forward to help. All the ponies bucked backwards against the stone at the same time as all the buffalo dug under it with their horns and flung upwards with all their strength. And Grandfather Boulder rolled right up into the sky and caught there, among the stars. But Coyote howled louder than ever, because the rock took most of his tail with it.

“Oh dear, oh dear, poor Coyote!” he lamented, looking over his shoulder as he wagged his newly cropped tail. “The whole world is against me, that’s what!” Then he noticed all the people looking at him, snickering and whispering behind their hooves, and he immediately began to puff up again. “Of course I knew I could handle him!” he boasted, prancing back and forth. “Ha! Some rock versus Coyote—no contest!”

“No contest,” said Wolf mildly. “Of course you didn’t need our help. Tell us, oh great and powerful Coyote, why are we out here again?”

“Er . . . er . . .” Coyote stammered. Then he noticed the boulder still hanging in the sky, glowing with magic. His face had been pressed against it so hard that it left an imprint, like a hoof leaves in soft clay. “Why, to show you my new invention, of course! I call it the Moon. See how I’ve hung it like a lantern to bring light to all the people . . . and with a portrait of my beautiful face to boot. No, no, no need to thank me! That’s just the kind of generous and wonderful person I am!”

“Oh, Coyote,” said Wolf. “Well, it is true that some good has come out of your mischief, but you ought to have more sense. I hope that whenever you see your face up there, you’ll remember the foolishness that got you stuck to a boulder, and—Coyote!”

But Coyote's attention had wandered, and he was now laughing and racing the moonbeams across the plains with the fringes of his blanket flapping behind him.

“Oh, he’ll never learn,” sighed Wolf, shaking his head.

And indeed, he never has.

Bargains

There once was a little pink pony with blue hair, Molasses by name and confectioner by trade. All day, every day, she labored making candies and sweets. She sold her wares to the village folk and once a month took the road through the woods to sell them in the next town over as well. And so she made her living.

One day, as she was taking a load of saltwater taffy through the forest, the wheel came off her little cart. By the time she fixed it, darkness had fallen. Molasses hurried along the path and was almost out of the forest when Nightmare Moon leapt out of the trees, big as a house and fierce as a dragon.

"Halt!" cried the Nightmare. "Whoever walks these woods pays the toll, my little pony! Shall I take it from thy flesh, thy bone, or thy craft?"

Molasses saw it would be no use to run, so she said, "From my craft, Great Nightmare. I will give you half my goods, if only you will let me go."

The Nightmare looked pleased with herself, for she had a sweet tooth and could see as well as anypony that Molasses had a gingerbread cookie as her symbol. "So be it."

Molasses unhitched herself from the cart and looked at the taffy she hoped to sell. "Yes, we shall split the wares, half and half. You shall take the outsides and I shall take the insides."

"That is fair!" said Nightmare Moon, and so the two of them unwrapped each and every piece of taffy. Molasses piled the candy in her cart and Nightmare Moon took all the crinkled wrappers of wax paper.

Then the little earth pony hurried away. The last she saw of Nightmare Moon, she was sitting on the path chewing on a wrapper, wearing an expression of growing confusion and discontentment. Molasses stayed the night in the village at the other side of the woods and was very careful to make her return trip in broad daylight.

The next month the little pony once again made the trip through the woods, this time with a load of candy apples. But alas . . . this time a shaft broke on her little cart. By the time she had repaired it, darkness had fallen and the moon shone down like a great eye. And before long Nightmare Moon jumped out from behind a tree.

"Aha!" she said, casting strange shadows as her starry mane danced and writhed. "Whoever walks these woods pays the toll, my little pony! Shall I take it from thy flesh, thy bone, or thy craft?" Then she looked more closely at her. "I remember you. I did not think much of your wares! I think I will take my payment from your bone."

But Molasses quickly said, "Great Nightmare, I am sorry my goods were not to your liking. Possibly your taste buds are too refined for food fit for simple peasants. But please, give me another chance. I will give you half my goods if you let me go free."

The flattery soothed the Nightmare and she relented. "Well, all right. But this time you shall keep the outside and I shall take the inside for my payment."

"Very well," said Molasses. And she used her little knife to skillfully core each and every apple, leaving the sticks and seeds in a pile for Nightmare Moon while she herself took the caramel-covered flesh of the fruit.

Then she hurried away as quickly as she could. The last she saw of the Nightmare, she was crunching on the wooden sticks, muttering, "I don't think much of these. Bones taste sweeter!"

Again Molasses stayed the night in the village at the far side of the woods and she was very careful to make the return trip in broad daylight.

For several months after that Molasses did not go through the woods at all, but only sold her goods in her own village. But she simply could not make enough there to support herself.

After much thought, she made a batch of truffles, raspberry flavored with a coating of deep, rich chocolate. But her own pink coat she treated very differently, rolling in a patch of garlic and then rubbing her fur with the sour juice of lemons, bitter herbs, and the hottest peppers she could find.

She hitched herself to her little cart and started out in the evening, and this time her pace was very slow indeed, because her eyes kept watering until she could barely see the road. Before long the bushes rustled and Nightmare Moon leapt out.

"Halt!" she cried. "Whoever walks these woods pays the toll, my little pony! Shall I take it from thy flesh, thy bone, or thy—oh, it’s you.” She towered above Molasses, glowering down. “You do not get such options. Never have I tasted worse fare than that from your cart. I shall not touch your craft again, pitiful mare. Your flesh shall fill my stewpot!”

“Oh Great Nightmare, I am sorry my food did not please you, but it was meant for us mere mortals, after all. It shall be as you wish.” And Molasses reared up and jammed her leg into Nightmare Moon’s mouth.

At first the Nightmare just stood there, leaning back a little in shock. Then froth began to drip from her mouth. Her eyes bulged and watered. Her nose began to run. And finally she shook her head so violently that Molasses was flung into a tree.

“Water! Water! Waaaateeeer!” screamed the Nightmare as she thundered away through the trees, causing several of them to drop their leaves three months early.

As for Molasses, she shook the dirt from her coat, hitched herself to the cart, and walked on, though slowly because her leg had hit the tree rather hard. She sold her chocolates at a good price, and every month returned to do the same again.

Never more did she see the Nightmare who lived in the woods. But the sweets she set out for Nightmare Night were never touched, so she told her grandchildren, and she walked with a limp for the rest of her days.

Author's Note

Fairy tales are places to pummel anyone too powerful or too frightening to defeat in real life.

The Crow and the Unicorn

Once upon a time long, long ago, a unicorn longed for a child. There were many fine stallions in her herd, proud-necked unicorns and nimble pegasi, but though she accepted many, no child was born.

One day she left the herd and walked until she saw a hawk with red barring her great wings circling above the plain. The mare called to her:

"Oh mighty hawk with soaring sweep,
I wish a little one to keep!"

But the hawk cried back, "That's none to me; away with you!" And she rose on the currents until she was no more than a black dot in the sky.

So the mare continued on, walking through the deep woods until she saw a wise-eyed owl watching her from a branch. So she called to her:

"Oh owl wise, whom all extol,
I wish, I wish a little foal!"

But the owl haughtily turned her head away, replying:

"That's none to me; away with you!"

So the mare kept walking until she saw a crow taking a dust bath, her wings swirling like black fans. The mare watched her for a minute, then sat down a little ways away and sang a little song to herself.

"The hawk who soars and stares the sun
Would not give me a little one."

The crow paused to tilt her head and preen her plumage, studying the mare as she did so, for hawks are no friends to crows. The pony continued singing, just as if no one else was there.

"The owl, wise beyond all years,
Would not give me a child to rear."

The crow was gazing on her openly now, black head turned sideways to examine her with one dark, liquid eye.

The unicorn pretended to notice her all of a sudden, singing to the black bird.

"Corby, crow, rook so wild
All I wish for is a child."

The crow opened her beak and clacked it shut once or twice. Finally, she said, "What price?"

"As much meat as you can carry," the mare promised.

"All my clan."

The unicorn paused only a moment before agreeing. "Enough meat for all your flock."

The crow clacked her beak once or twice in skepticism, for although ponies would defend themselves when attacked, they were certainly not hunters. But she cawed in agreement and arranged to meet the mare at the same spot the next day.

The unicorn walked back along the river, humming to herself. Before long, she came to the owl, who still sat on her branch, half-snoozing.

The mare sang in a murmur that was soft (but not too soft), "Owl, ancient and half-blind, steals scraplets left behind."

The owl's golden eyes opened with a jerk and she hooted angrily. "Hwhat, hwhat, hhhh-whaaat did you say?"

"Oh, I'm very sorry," the pony said. "It's just a little something the hawk told me."

"The hawk! What does that fool know about it, never getting a close look at anything but clouds?" the owl said indignantly.

"I apologize, friend owl. But she is such a fine hunter herself, diving from the sun for rabbits and mice, that I thought she must know what she was talking about."

"She knows nothing," the owl replied, ruffling her feathers. "But she will learn a lesson by the time I am through with her!"

"I saw her upriver, if you want to talk with her," the pony said helpfully, although not quite truthfully. After watching the owl fly away in a silent huff, the pony continued on her way. Soon she came upon the hawk, who was resting on a branch overlooking the river. The pony sat on the bank and sang softly to herself,

"Hawks do scavenge, hawks do thieve if the owl can be believed."

The hawk's head immediately jerked up. "What? What now? Thieve? Aiiii, aiiii, I make my own kills!" And she spread her wide wings and hissed fiercely through her sharply curved beak.

"I'm sorry, hawk, I did not mean to offend," the mare said hastily. "I was just repeating what I heard the owl say!"

"I, steal! Unlike that squat mop of a bird, my eyes are sharp enough to pick out my own prey!"

"I apologize," the pony repeated. "But everyone knows how wise the owl is . . . and she's such a fine hunter besides, gliding under the moonlight."

"Ha!" the hawk said quite loudly. "A fine idiot is more like it!"

At that moment, the owl arrived. "Who, who, whoooo do you think you are, spreading such lies?"

"I am the hawk, the far-seer, and a mightier hunter than you shall ever be, bone-spitter!" the hawk sneered.

"You're a fool, fool, fooool, thinking you know the world because you flutter above it," the owl hooted, "thinking you're a fine hunter because you see the creatures stupid enough to blunder around in the day!"

"And you, you wait in the shadows like a coward for your trembling prey!"

Before they strike at each other, the unicorn said, "You hunt differently, it's true, and so it's hard to judge who hunts more skillfully. If only there were some way to compare . . . "

"Yes!" the hawk said immediately. "We'll hunt all day and then we'll see who is better . . . when I have a fine pile of mice and rabbits and she has naught!"

"We'll hunt all day AND night," the owl countered, "and you will see that a sharp wit is better than a sharp beak!"

And with this agreed, they both flew off to hunt. The hawk soared high, staring down from her great height and stooping in a rush whenever she saw the twitch of a rabbit or incautious squirrel far below. She did not pause to gorge, but dropped each kill in a pile near the river. The owl, meanwhile, had gotten off to a slow start but once night fell her round eyes caught every grey glimmer of light and she swooped down on every twitch of movement, every creature she saw skittering through the moonlit leaves.

By morning each bird had a huge and macabre pile of corpses, and each made her claim.

"I am obviously the greater hunter!" said the hawk, stifling a yawn.

"That is untrue," replied the owl, trying to keep her eyes open. "I have caught more; it's just the fluff around the squirrels' tails that makes your stack seem higher. And, anyway, mine is wider."

Exhausted though they were, both of them jerked awake, wide-eyed, as a black storm of crows suddenly descended on the clearing. The cloud of black birds cleaved as half dove for the hawk and half went after the owl, cursing and pecking and driving them away. The hawk soared up, up, up until she was beyond the clouds and the owl fled deep, deep, deep into the forest and only then did the crows fall upon the meat, each bird scooping up a squirrel or a few mice or two or three crows carrying away a rabbit.

Finally only one crow remained, the crow that the unicorn had first spoken to. But the creatures the hawk and owl had so diligently caught were all gone; not a single mouse or shrew remained.

"As much meat as all my clan can carry," was all the crow said.

The unicorn hesitated a moment, then walked over to a walnut tree and kicked it until the nuts rattled down. She rolled a few over to the crow, who watched with a cocked head as the mare crushed the walnuts with her hard hoof.

"Here is your meat, then," the pony said, tapping the nut lying surrounded by crushed bits of shell. "And should you require more than that, I shall get it for you. As much as you can carry."

The crow blinked tilted her head carefully towards the meat of the nuts, then towards the unicorn, and she broke into a loud, raucous laugh. "When spring grain springs from the fields, a crow-black colt your womb shall yield!" And the bird scooped up a beakful of walnuts and flew away.

The unicorn returned to her herd and grazed and wandered with them and as summer drew on and chilled into winter she became heavy with foal. Whether a union with one of the herd stallions had at last taken hold or whether it was crow-magic no one knew, but some said the latter, for the child she bore in early spring was like none other in the herd . . . coal black, with neither horn nor wing.

And so she named him Jackdaw.

Author's Note

I was looking through my old stories when I came across this one. I remember it was sparked by the idea of a set of tales where the Earth ponies were the last breed to come into existence, not the first breed. I imagined Jackdaw, the coal black colt, as an "Ivan the Fool" character, worst equipped than his fellow ponies, but still able to come out on top. So this is his origin story. I also had plans for him to adventure with an all grey filly named . . . Silver Spoon. Truly.

This is obviously a very old story in ponylore. *cough 2004 cough* ;)

The Two Sisters and the Spirit of Strife

The Two Sisters and the Spirit of Strife

Once upon a time, the Two Sisters wandered the wide world. Big Sister was tall and brave and Little Sister was small and cunning. One day Little Sister said, "Let us have a race," and Big Sister agreed. So off they went, tearing through the forest on their strong legs, leaping mossy logs and splashing through the streams.

Neck and neck, nose and nose they ran, and who would have won cannot be said, for as they galloped the third mile they woke the Spirit of Strife who lived in the woods. He was a handsome creature in those days, but he had a cruel and capricious heart. He slunk out of his home—he lived in the knothole of a tree that was still an acorn—and cackled as he saw a chance to cause trouble.

He raked his left hoof on the ground and it became deep, thick mud. Big Sister and Little Sister lost their footing and down they went, their legs sliding in every direction. When they picked themselves up out of the muck they were dripping from head to hoof. They looked around, but the Spirit had run far into the woods by then, although they heard his laughter echoing among the trees.

“A curse on that one,” said Big Sister, annoyed.

“Ignore that troublemaker. Come, Sister, let us race,” Little Sister said, and they took off again.

But the Spirit came trotting back, eager for more mischief. He flapped his wings and a sudden gale sprung up, blowing so hard and fast that Big Sister and Little Sister were tossed off their hooves. The wind rolled them right through a patch of briars and the sharp thorns tore their coats and stuck in their hair. They had quite a time getting out, too, but finally they managed to untangle themselves—though not without leaving many snarls of hair behind in the thicket. By that time that Spirit had galloped away again, though they could hear him in the distance, laughing as though someone had told him the best joke in the world.

“Three curses on that one,” said Big Sister, angry.

“Ignore that troublemaker,” said Little Sister. “Come, Sister, let us race.” And so they took off again.

They ran a few miles, putting the Spirit out of their minds. But he had not put them out of his mind. He waited until they were running under a bee hive, then whipped his tail to make them look like marauding bears. The bees angrily swarmed out of the hive to defend their honey. Then Big Sister and Little Sister found their true speed, racing so fast that the world spun around and around under their hooves, like a top. But for all that they still received many painful stings. The Spirit did not even bother to hide this time, just stood by rolling with laughter as the Sisters ran frantically to and fro. In the end they had to hide under the ocean to escape the bees.

“Three times three curses on that one!” Big Sister shouted, furious, when she finally burst from the ocean. Her hair was dripping, and the salt water stung all her scratches from the briars.

Little Sister struggled out of the water, just as bedraggled. “Come, Sister,” she said. “Let us go home.”

They were in a very bad mood by the time they reached their palace, which stands with front doors that open onto Dawn and back doors that open onto Dusk. For three days they remained there, tending their wounds and putting the planet back in order, for the last leg of their race had spun some creatures and trees right off the surface of the world, and the rush of wind from its rotation had even knocked a few stars loose.

When they had fixed the world, they began to debate what should be done about the troublesome Spirit of Strife.

“We should kill him,” said Big Sister. She was a very direct and forthright sort of person. “That will end his tricks.”

But Little Sister disagreed. “He is a trickster,” she said. “And if he learns to trick Death, it will mean trouble for the whole world. No, the only way to defeat a trickster is to trick him back. Listen, dear Sister, for I have a plan . . .”

The Spirit was surprised when the Two Sisters arrived on his doorstep at dusk the next day. “What do you want?” he demanded as he slid out of the knothole of the acorn. “Have you decided to gather more honey?” And he tossed his head back and laughed heartily at his joke.

“No, Spirit,” Little Sister said, very swiftly, for Big Sister’s expression had grown dark and ominous as a thundercloud. “We have come to challenge you to a race. If you win, we will give you the highest mountain spire, and from there you may watch all the world. But if you lose, we will give you all our magic and our palace of Dawn and Dusk.”

The Spirit’s tail swished back and forth in confusion. “If I lose you will give me all your magic?” he repeated, surprised.

“Yes,” confirmed Big Sister. “And our palace of Dawn and Dusk. We swear to it.”

“Only choose wisely which prize you will seek,” added Little Sister.

Then the Spirit was filled with glee, for he knew the Sisters would honor their vow—no matter that it was made to a charlatan like himself. And win or lose, he would come out ahead.

“Very well!” he agreed with a smirk. “Let us race, then!” So the three of them set out for the starting line.

Now, the Spirit knew himself to be fast, fast as lightning. He was confident he could outrun the Two Sisters and gain the tallest mountain peak in the world—had he not kept up with them before as they raced? But what he really coveted was their magic and their amazing palace. And so when both Sisters tore away from the starting line like two shooting stars, he sauntered along at an easy pace. He would have lounged in the grass and perhaps never moved again, except that the Sisters had stipulated that he must cross the finish line by sunrise, or else he would forfeit the race and get nothing at all. Nevertheless, his pace was leisurely as he strolled along.

After a long time, he reached a rocky gorge with sharp, craggy rocks rising in arches and needles, a maze lit by moonlight. Little Sister was standing at the bottom of it, leaning forward and gazing pleadingly into the distance. “Sister! Sister!” she was calling. “Don’t leave me behind!”

The Spirit laughed sneeringly. “Well, little half-pint. Abandoned, are you?”

She frowned at him. “Big Sister will wait for me, you’ll see! But as for you, go ahead!”

“Not likely!” The Spirit wanted to make sure to be last. Besides, he was intimidated by the canyon, with all its outcroppings of sharp rock. He wondered how to get through it without tearing his beautiful wings. “Hurry along, half-pint!”

Little Sister said, “Very well.” She stepped forward, then paused to tap her chin with her hoof. “Ah! But I was forgetting!” She plucked off her wings, one, two, all of a piece, and put them in her saddlebag. She used her magic to change them into hummingbird wings and drew them out again. “Yes, these will do nicely,” she said, pretending they were a new pair. She twisted around to fix them to her back. “I carry them always, in case of just such an emergency.”

And to the Spirit’s astonishment, she fluttered forward, her tiny wings buzzing as she picked a careful path through the labyrinth of rocks.

“If she can do it, so can I!” said the Spirit, and with that he tore off his beautiful wings and looked around for a replacement. He grabbed a falcon, but only managed to get one wing off it before it slashed at him and escaped, so he had to make due with a second wing from a mosquito. He could barely fly with his two mismatched wings—even the falcon’s was four times too small for him—and he weaved through the air gracelessly, often knocking quite painfully into the towering stones.

“But it doesn’t matter,” he thought to himself. “It will be worth it when I lose, and gain the Sisters’ magic.”

After a long time, he got out of the canyon and was able to walk normally. He was just congratulating himself, very smugly, on having navigated such a challenge when he reached the bottom of a sheer cliff, hundreds of feet high. Little Sister was standing at the bottom, her neck stretched upward as she called, “Sister! Sister! Don’t leave me behind!”

“Well, well, half-pint, abandoned again,” smirked the Spirit.

“Big Sister will wait for me, you’ll see,” Little Sister frowned. “But as for you, go ahead.”

“I’m not falling for that! You first!” He had to be last—and furthermore, he was wondering how to get up the cliff. He had forgotten his real wings back in the canyon, and anyway the cliff was so steep he did not think they would have worked properly near the top, in the thin air.

“Very well, I shall go first,” Little Sister said. She stepped up to the base of the cliff. “Ah! But I was forgetting!” Little Sister plucked off her legs, one at a time, and put them in her saddlebag. She used her magic to change each one to a scaly, clawed lizard’s leg before drawing it out again. “Yes, much better,” she said as she screwed the last leg into place. “I carry these with me always, in case of just such an emergency.”

And to the Spirit’s astonishment, she began to scamper up the cliff just like a lizard.

“If she can do it, so can I!” he thought, and he began tearing his legs off too. Only he did not have any extra legs with him, so he had to settle for what he could grab—an eagle’s talon and a rat’s leg in front, a puma’s leg and house-fly’s leg in back. Although these all gripped well individually, getting to the top was a struggle since they were all different sizes. The Spirit was panting breathlessly by the time he pulled himself over the top. He’d been forced to leave his old legs at the bottom—he had no way to carry them—so he had to walk along on his new ones as best he could. No easy task!

“Well, it doesn’t matter if I’m slow,” he thought to himself, “as long as I come in last.” Still, he began to wonder how long this race course was, and if he could reach the finish before sunrise. That is why he was hurrying a little when he reached Little Sister again.

Little Sister was standing on the seashore, pacing along the edge of the breakers and looking out to sea. “Sister! Sister!” she called out to the waves. “Don’t leave me behind!”

“Your Sister has no use for half-pints, it’s clear,” chuckled the Spirit nastily.

“Big Sister will wait for me, you’ll see!” she retorted. “But as for you, go ahead!”

“Oh no,” the Spirit said firmly. “You go. Go catch up with your Big Sister—as if she cares about you! Ha!”

“Fine! I will!” Little Sister strode forward into the sea, but a huge wave broke over her, tossing her straight back to the shore. “Hmm, this won’t do!” said Little Sister. She rubbed her chin a moment. “Ah, but I was forgetting!”

She lay down and unscrewed the lower half of her body, just behind her barrel, and placed her hindquarters into her saddlebags. Using her magic, she turned them into the tail of a dolphin, which she drew out. “Yes, yes, I am glad I remembered to bring this along,” she said as she put on her new tail. “Though of course I often do, in case of just such an emergency.”

And as the Spirit watched in amazement, she dove into the water and began swimming with powerful thrusts of her tail.

“If she can do it,” he declared, “so can I!” But being stuck on land he could not reach a dolphin, of course, or any fish either. However, he did manage to capture a water snake made dull-witted by the chill of night. He ripped off his tail and replaced it with the snake’s, but in the end he had to replace his chest and barrel as well, since snakes use the wavy motion of their entire bodies to glide and swim, not just their tails.

Well, it was no easy task swimming across the vast ocean, body of a sea snake or no. The Spirit panted and gulped down seawater and swam and swam and swam. All the time the moon was sinking lower and lower in the West and the sky was getting lighter and lighter in the East. He swam frantically, hoping to lose the race, but not to forfeit.

At last, he dragged his serpentine body out of the ocean on his four mismatched legs, his two tiny wings dripping with seawater that made all his cuts and bruises sting. Little Sister was already on the shore, shaking the salt out of her mane in the false dawn, and even as the Spirit watched she stepped across a line in the sand, the finish line.

“Aha!” cried the Spirit, forgetting all his aches as he galumphed across the finish line after her. “I have lost the race! Keep your promise, then!”

Little Sister looked at him. She was an odd sight by that point, with her two tiny wings, her dolphin’s tail, and her craggy lizard claws spread against the sand. “I swore, and I keep my promises,” she said, “and my Sister does also. But remind me, Spirit, what did I swear?”

“You swore that if I won I should have the tallest mountain in the world,” he replied triumphantly, “and if I lost, I should have all of your magic, and your Sister’s magic, and your magnificent palace! And look, the sun is not yet over the horizon!”

“The sun has not yet risen, nor have you won the race,” agreed Little Sister. A glow surrounded her and she used her magic to return to her proper form. “Nor have you lost the race.”

And she turned back towards the sea, calling:

“Big Sister, Big Sister,
You waited,
You watched,
Now run.”

A flare shot up from the other side of the ocean as Big Sister leapt out of her hiding place by the entrance to the canyon. She charged forward, her wings spread. She blasted a path through the canyon. She bored a tunnel through the cliff. She ran across the ocean atop the waves. That was her kind of magic; she was a very direct and forthright sort of person. She sprinted across the finish line just as the first rays of dawn dazzled over the horizon. Wet sand flew as she drew to a halt behind the Spirit.

“What trickery is this?” the Spirit screamed as his head swiveled back and forth between the two Sisters. He was tying his body in knots, he was so angry. “Give me your magic! Give me your amazing palace! You swore! You swore!”

“We swore, but you failed, foolish Spirit!” cried Big Sister. “You did not win the race. You did not lose the race. Little Sister won and I lost. And you, you came between us!”

“Yes,” said Little Sister, rearing up. “And that is a dangerous place to be—between the Two Sisters! Nevertheless, we shall give you a reward. The highest mountain shall be yours!”

And as the Spirit writhed and raged, the Two Sisters stretched their wings until they touched at the tips. The earth trembled, the ground shook, and a sharp mountain spire burst from the earth, climbing high, high into the sky, like a needle through the clouds.

So tall was it that the Spirit of Strife had no hope of climbing down its steep, sleek sides, nor could he fly down—for the fool had torn off his fine wings, and Big Sister had trampled them to dust when she charged through the canyon. And so there he remained, watching the world go by beneath, without him.

But down on the seashore the blazing pink and purple sunrise spread across the sky and dazzled across the ocean. Big Sister and Little Sister drew back the curtained entrance to their magnificent palace and stepped through the front door. To this day nopony knows which is the faster of the two.

But we still say somepony is "between the Two Sisters" when they are in a difficult dilemma.