Three little glasses, each with a different color and species of spirit, lay in two rows atop the table between the mares.

“Pray tell, what be this?” Luna peered in a little closer. “It does not resemble any weighty ale we are familiar with.”

“It’s liquor.”

“Liquor of what?”

“Liquor of … liquor?” Fluttershy scratched her head, confused. “It’s alcohol. Distilled spirits. I, um, don’t really know how else to put it.”

“Dist – Oh!” Luna’s eyes shot open. “The distillation of wine! Yes, that is an alchemical preparation of which we are familiar, although…” Luna surveyed the samples. “You mean not to tell us ponies drink such a thing?”

“Oh, wow.” Fluttershy shook her head. “You are about to have the best time. Or, uh, maybe the worst time. Definitely a time.”

“Good to know, we presume?” Luna cocked her head. “Are we correct?”

“Yes, that is what this is, I think.” A shrug. “I’m not a scientist.”

“Right.” Luna waved a forehoof. “Is this the traditional presentation of such libations? We would have expected a trough, as that was the style in times hence and we shan’t think celebrations have changed that much.”

“The glasses? Yes, although there are still punch bowls.” Fluttershy tried to not think about what a trough of beer would look like after being presumably being gulped from by unwashed warrior ponies. “But like this? No, because we are playing a game.”

“Oh! A rousing bit of bacchanalia, we see!” Luna sat back in her chair, back held apart from the chair’s back by invisible wings. “And the rules?”

“They’re easy.” Fluttershy picked up the first drink. “I make a statement about you. If I am right, you drink. If I am wrong, I drink. It’s a great way to get to know somepony, and we are about to be, uh, very stuck with each other for a few days.”

Luna thought for a moment. “… We understand, we think. Would you mind taking the first go?”

“Okay.” Fluttershy thought for a moment. “You do not have a sister.”

Luna squinted, cocking her head in confusion. “… We do have a sister. Your statement is patently false.”

“It is.” Fluttershy took the first glass of clear liquid and threw it back with nary a grimace. “So I drink. Get the point? Your turn.”

Luna eyed the unfamiliar liquids. If Fluttershy didn’t seem to mind them, it couldn’t be that bad, right? “Could we not just make obviously true statements as to never imbibe?”

“You could. But then you wouldn’t get any fun information.”

“Fun information…” Luna thought about that for a moment. “Ah! We understand.” Luna pointed a hoof at Fluttershy. “Who is the identity of your gentlecolt caller?”

“That’s a question, Luna.” Fluttershy mentally smacked a forehoof into her forehead, but did not do so physically, mostly because it would upset the rib injury. “You can’t ask questions.”

“But how are we to find things out?” asked Luna, exasperated.

“Make statements you think would be interesting.” Fluttershy pointed at the glass. “Now drink up.”

“Why?”

“Because you broke the rules. You can’t ask questions. Drink. The, um, clear one first.”

Luna eyed the glass, then, with a quick swelling of confidence, grabbed the triangular class in the crook of her hoof and chucked the contents into her mouth. Luna had never, in all of her alchemical adventures, thought about what the raw distillate of wine would taste like. The answer, apparently, was not good.

Fluttershy tried her best to hide a guilty smirk as she watched Luna cough and hack, sputtering. She supposed it wasn’t very nice of her, but she was pretty sure the immortal diarch of Equestria would probably get better.

“Mother above, what was yon spirit?”

“Vodka,” which in hindsight was a terrible choice. Fluttershy, battle-hardened from many tours of wingmare duty at Rainbow Dash’s flight-school parties, could shoot vodka like a wizened Stalliongrad beat cop, but she had neglected to consider that her partner-in-imbibing was a total greenhorn, and that a swig of neutral spirits atop a relatively empty stomach was about as awful an introduction to liquor as was possible. “I promise you’ll like the next one more.”

Luna gave a final sputtering cough. “Stars, we shan’t think we could possibly like anything less.”

“I could have started you on absinthe.” Fluttershy remarked. “Unless you like licorice. Then you might have, uh, liked it more. Do you like licorice?”

“As an alchemical ingredient? It is occasionally necessary.”

“As a candy.”

“Ponies use licorice in confectionery?”

“No, then.”

“Forgive the shock; the thought is quite surprising. Licorice was not something to be consumed casually in times hence.” Luna raised a hoof. “As my first attempt was invalid, do I get another try?”

“No, it’s my turn.” Fluttershy preempted her next question. “And no, I won’t tell you who he is.”

“Ach!” Luna pouted, comically shocked. “Why not?”

“Because it would be unkind to do so.”

Luna raised an eyebrow. “’Twould be unkind to tell a friend about your lover?”

“It would be unkind to involve somepony who isn’t involved in this.”

“This what?”

“This life. What I do. Us girls, we’re all, um … disasters. All around us, disaster. Strange ponies show up in town with cameras. Twilight starts a riot. The least I can do for somepony brave and kind enough to, after all that, still come to me is to not involve him in anything related to that as best I can.” Fluttershy pointed a hoof at Luna. “Which means all my friends stay away.”

“We could determine his identity if we so pleased.”

“Anypony could.” Fluttershy didn’t need to ask how Luna could do so to, but she had some guesses, several of which were various kinds of magical mental domination. It seemed to be something of a trend. “Rarity could sit out in a tree with a telescope and wait–”

“–seems specific.”

“She may have tried once.” Fluttershy chuckled. “But only once. My friends respect my boundaries. We all have private lives. I can’t make you respect them, but…”

“Fear not.” Luna narrowed an eye. “But take care, fair Fluttershy, Part of the curse of importance is that one is always important. One does not cease to be a hero or a general or a queen when one retires to one’s private chambers – there will come a day when such spheres will collide.”

“I’m not hoping for forever, just later rather than sooner.” Fluttershy picked up her next glass. She had poured herself some sort of whisky; she wasn’t particularly familiar with the stuff made in the Hebraydies, but the bottle looked expensive, which was good enough, she supposed. “My turn. You could beat your sister in a fight.”

“Presently?” Luna thought for a moment. “… Possibly. We do not think, had we been in her place, we would have had our arse kicked so handily by that puffed-up cockroach, but we suppose we both have grown rather insipid as time passed.”

“Yes or no?” Fluttershy asked. “I need to know if I should drink or not.”

“Let us say … no. ‘Twould be a draw, methinks.”

Satisfied, Fluttershy threw back her shot. It tasted like somepony had put out a ball of burning seaweed in it before pouring it over a dog, which Fluttershy faintly recalled was something of an intended palate for such spirits. She was suddenly glad she had not poured two. “You go.”

“Delightful!” Luna, spirits high (and inside, and in front of her, as it were), thought for a moment. “You would, in your life, like to have foals.”

“Easy guess. Lots do.” Fluttershy reached for another bottle to fill her glass; two unfamiliar spirits were before her, a clear bottle of something purple, and a smoked-glass bottle of something brown. Her previous choice of brown liquid had been a decisive failure, so she went for the purple stuff.

“A fetching liquor.” Luna cocked her head. “Praytell, what be that one?”

“I am not sure.” Fluttershy eyed it warily, then uncorked it with her teeth, taking a sniff. It smelled a little like winter herbs, so it might be gin, but at least it didn’t smell like antiseptic bandages like the last one. “It is – it is purple.”

“What sort of spirit is purple?”

“None of them, usually.” Fluttershy, shrugging, poured herself a shot, then threw it back. A few lip-smacks of juniper confirmed it. “It’s gin. It’s like vodka, but … better.”

“One would be hard-pressed for something worse.”

“Uh-huh.” Fluttershy pointed at Luna’s glass. “Guess the number of them and I will drink again; get it wrong and you drink.”

Luna thought for a moment before evidently liking that idea. “Fiv – nay, six!”

“… no, not six.” Fluttershy raised an eyebrow. “Was that a serious guess, or do you just want to drink?”

“’Twas a legitimate effort, Fluttershy. That was a normal brood in my time.”

Fluttershy suddenly remembered a grandfather’s comment about how many of his siblings died in foalhood from diseases Fluttershy had never encountered. “Right.” She gestured to the shot-glass. “Drink up.”

Luna lifted the glass in her field, then threw it down. An initial face of confusion, disgust, and confused disgust faded into, astonishingly, contentedness. “We think we like that one. Unusual, yet nostalgic.”

Fluttershy pushed over the bottle, happy that somepony was going to enjoy the frighteningly expensive bottle. “You can have all of it if you like.” She thought for a moment. “I’ll go. I think you have, in the past, had foals.”

Luna didn’t answer for a long enough time that Fluttershy could tell she had misspoken. “Oh, gosh, I–” for the first time in a while, Fluttershy’s unlikely confidence slipped in the face of a potentially catastrophic error. “–I should have been more, um–”

“Nay! No, it is not as you may fear.” Luna cut her off, her momentarily-slipped composure returning. “Your statement is indeed true; it never came to pass that we would bear foals of my own.”

It was too interesting to not pry a little, but Fluttershy did carefully manage her tone. “In all that time, you were never…?”

“Not the once.” Luna poured herself another shot in her field, this time a slug out of the purple bottle of gin. “’Twas not, in our circumstances, conceivable, then it was not allowable, then it was not possible.” Fluttershy looked interested enough for Luna to continue unabated. “In our youth, in what would have been, were we mortal mares, our prime age for motherhood, sister and I were much too busy with the business of turning pony-kind from tribes in mud huts into something kin to what we would come to term a ‘society’ to deal with a foal, even if one were to not consider the near-endless combat we found ourselves inundated with.”

“That’s the inconceivable. What about the, um, ‘un-allowable?’”

“That came once society did. While most ponies did not take issue with two sisters ruling a warband, then a polis, and so forth, some more foreign and barbarous clans thought that improper, if not unimaginable – not to mention other creatures, who found us baffling. Neither Celestia nor myself were keen on taking a set-dressing spouse, nor was one of us willing to submit to the other to convey a cleaner monarchy. This problem was solved by some theatrics; in our appearances, sister would outwardly convey a warm, mareish disposition, and I a cold, muscular, and vaguely masculine one.”

“Magic?”

“Nay. ‘Twas nothing so drastic as that, but only simple things; a slim, athletic build, a stallion’s breastplate, a square-jawed helmet. It was clear that we were mares, but our presentation did convey normality for their wold-views.” Luna threw the shot in her field back, evidently parched after such a tale. It didn’t look like she liked the gin much – it might have been purple, but her face showed more green than anything. “Ech. Hideous. It tastes of a snakebite’s poultice.” She shook her head, composing herself. “We continue. Such a thing did necessarily preclude the swollen teats and belly of motherhood, but sister promised she would not herself carry a foal whilst I was prohibited.” Luna snorted a derisive laugh. “She did make it nearly twenty years, at least. Then foals and more foals – she had a talent for twins. Our royal camps were naught but pearl-white pegasi and unicorns who eventually ended up far-flung over our world.” She sighed. “She was the motherly one, and as such her fecundity was advantageous, but I had been cheated, to which she had no defense. Eventually, I did resolve that after our present military campaign was finished, I would take a strong stallion as my lover and bear a foal, but–”

“But?”

“Our campaign was the awful citadel of Whinnios.” Luna deliberately spit away from herself. “Which, if thou hath a fine understanding of tales and song, will be enough.”

Evidently, Fluttershy did not.

“Truthfully?” Nonplussed, Luna’s face bore a mask of disappointment. “The name bears no familiarity?”

“I don’t even think Rainbow Dash knows that one.”

“Verily? The opening lines which every foal did know did not survive to this day? No knowledge of–

Sing, Harmonious Chorus of the days
the bronze-clad host of Sun and Moon before
the awful walls of ocher coated stone
and blood and sand and kinfolk caught between
the horn-lit strands of contemptible fate!

–at all?”

“I wish I did,” replied Fluttershy genuinely, who was going to force Luna to tell this to Rainbow Dash as soon as it was possible to do so, “but I do not.”

“Hideous news.” Luna absentmindedly poured herself another glass of whisky. “All that inestimable effort we spent preserving the root-tales of our culture from the destruction he wrought, all for them to be thrown aside in my absence.” She chuckled darkly. “One does wonder if mine own role in the story did cause Celestia to discard the Whinniad from the societal lexicon – if so, ‘tis but another thing to blame her for.”

Fluttershy thought for a moment. “You could tell me. I’d like to hear the story.”

A pause. “Then fetch me ale, Fluttershy. A tale cannot be told with ale.”

Two beers later, a sufficiently lubricated Luna loquaciously elucidated the details.

“As in all conflict, the reasons are secondary to the ambitions.”

Luna had, while Fluttershy was looking for beer, ceased whatever spellcraft she had use to hide her wings, but remained at her diminished size. She sat Roanan-style on a chaise lounger on the cabin, another mug (the beers were bottled, but Luna seemed genuinely unable to comprehend the idea of drinking out of anything other than a mug) levitated in her field.

Fluttershy still had her first beside her. She didn’t much care for beer, but it would be a little rude to leave Luna alone in her ale-ing. “What does that mean?”

“Shush, Fluttershy. One doth not interrupt a tale-weaver in the midst of a tale – even if I have forgotten the verses.” Luna gently chastised. She continued. “It means that our reasons for war-making did not matter as much as our desired outcome. If we were pressed, ‘twould have been some sort of absent fealty or honor-slight that did cause us to send the hosts towards that citadel, but our true goal was to beat down an uppity polis which did pose a threat if organized into a league against sister and I’s rule. We had conquered the city not thirty years before from minotaurs, and had no intention of letting its ba-se-re-us – petty king – turn away from us, no matter how legitimate his grievances of sister and I’s undeserved tyranny.”

Luna took a break to throw back the rest of the mug. Another bottle snaked its way into her field, opened, and replenished the cup. She continued without losing pace.

“We had marched to the citadel from snow-choked Taurusian peaks, and had assembled the whole host under us, at that time twenty-nine honor-bands under forty-six captains, all mighty warriors, of which one band was Celestia’s companions, and was mixed, twenty bands were without horn and wing, seven with wing, and two with horn. All bands flew the banner of the sun, with the exception of one additional mixed band of warriors whom were mine own retainers who flew the Moon’s banner, but sister and I did command both freely. Sister, resplendent as she was, did hold foremost position as champion and led the hosts from the front, but was and ever will be a dreadful planner and commander, and as such it was my task to arrange the siege: Celestia – though we had different names, then – the wanax, the highest queen, and Luna, the taxiarch, commander of the Celestial Host.”

“Luna?”

Luna raised an eyebrow, seeing as she had just issued a warning about interruptions. “A question?”

“Well, yeah, I guess. Why did it matter that the city had walls? Couldn’t you just, uh, fly in? Or teleport?”

“Not unless we desired to fight without twenty bands of good fighters” Luna pointed out. “And that is not to consider the environs of times thence. Before the serpent tore the world asunder, ‘twas not enough magic in the air for a pegasus to, say, outrun an arrow, nor for a unicorn to do anything resembling teleportation – and before it occurs to you, no we did not raise the sun and moon in those days either. They did not need raising until they froze under the serpent’s terror-reign.”

Now that was something that had never occurred to Fluttershy, and it was an idea that came along with no small amount of existential discomfort. “Pegasi could not fly before Discord–”

“Mention him not, Fluttershy. The intoxicating liquor has loosened our lips such that we may express our true desires, which are that you cease mentioning him in our presence in perpetuity.” Luna further loosened her lips with a hearty swig. “Your postulate is incorrect besides. Pegasi could fly since … ever, we believe, and could roost atop clouds for a while and so forth. But the sorts of magical empowerment necessary for sustained, speedy flight were not present, and likewise the sorts necessary for a unicorn to perform something besides far-touch magic and, perhaps, a raw-magic blast. Even the invigorating presence of Earth pony upon soil was greatly diminished – to grow crops required much more in the way of sweat, worms, and excrement than in times contemporary to our current era.” She shook her head. “We digress. Suffice to say, all ponies fought in the line, more or less, and as such a wall was as effective against ponies as it would be against any other sort of beast.”

Fluttershy wordlessly offered Luna a glass of water. Luna pointedly refused it and instead whisked over the last bottle of beer from the bar, this time an anonymous lager that Fluttershy remembered faintly from her school days. The cap went floating off in Luna’s field. “We return to the saga. We had made our siege camp before the walls, and many months went by with skirmishes and raids and so forth – the old story spent much time on sister’s and some of our warrior’s battles, but we shall omit them here as our memory of them has grown hazy. Eventually, however, as plagues and dysentery set in on both sides, a duel was set up to settle some part of the original conflict. To do so was a foolish idea, as in those days she truly was a warrior unmatched, but our enemy had a trick, an awful, awful trick – their champion was Celestia’s own, best son, who had entered into the service of our enemy years before.”

“Why would Celestia’s son not be in her – your army?”

“Most were, but she had many foals,” Luna explained, “but one must consider the limitations of serving in our host: while it was very good indeed to be the scion of Celestia, nopony would ever succeed her at the head of the host. If one wished to be at the head of a warband, or the leader of a free tribe, it could not be done from in her employ. And, of course, our natural right to lead as alicorns is less convincing when one was birthed by one; the majesty of she and I fades swiftly once it is clear we are, and most especially were, naught but doubly-blessed ponies.”

“Did most of your nieces and nephews leave?”

“Most, but not all. They could sometimes start families of their own in those days, always with white-coated foals, and when they did they would leave, and some without families did so as well. But they did usually remain on good terms, though not often remaining in touch.”

“And this one? Your, uh, nephew?”

“That one was magnificent. He was unnaturally handsome, with the fine features of his mother cut into his face like it was hewn granite and long, strong legs, and he possessed a fine mane of blue and green. ‘Twas a headstrong lad, as many of hers were, but he was bright, with good sense and a martial mind, and though he and sister were at odds on many things, she loved him dearly, and did not know when we made war that he was a prince by marriage to the chieftain’s daughter.” Luna sighed deeply. “His mark was a sun pierced by a unicorn’s straight blade. A detail that sticks in my mind even now.”

She took another hearty swig. “Sister, of course, could not fight him. She had drawn sword against her own progeny in the past, but for weighty causes of usurpation, not for this … punitive squabble against an uppity petty king – and most especially not against this most magnificent of her issue. Yet she could not simply send another of our warriors against him, for they would most assuredly fail, and so–”

“It was you?” The liquor had emboldened Fluttershy into at least one interruption. “You did it?”

“’Twas. It fell to myself to defeat my nephew in single combat.” Luna rubbed at something on her abdomen. “And he did face defeat, though in truth it was an even fight. We were no stranger to combat, but we were not foolhardy enough to engage in something as idiotic as a duel with any sort of regularity – duels are for young stallions to prove themselves to comely mares and for members of the comitatus to settle out hierarchies with. We had no interest in either of those things – bands under the Moon’s banner fought not for honor-duels, but for preparation for slaughter. There were foes who did challenge us to glory-fights, as I have said, but that was a duty left to our sister.” A pause. “But! In this circumstance, there could be no other option, and so we did strap on our sister’s plate and helm and take up the spear for this most awful of bouts. It continued for some minutes, but it, in the end, as was written–"

but then, Nocturnal Chieftess cast aside
her armored guards atop unfurling wings
and cast herself into a savage dive
with spear directed at her nephew’s face
The point struck true; the Son of Sun fell dead
but not before his spear could take its toll
the point, held up, did cleave her plate in twain
and thrust itself into the lunar womb

The lines sat dangling in the air for a while.

“’Twas more than just the ‘lunar womb,’ we would add to the ancient verse; one does not destroy that from the front without passing through a fair amount of intestine and other such viscera on the way there. But we suppose the verse would not flow so well.”

Of all the various conjectures as to what that event she had managed to reference inadvertently in her faux pas was, this was considerably worse. “Luna, I’m – I–”

Luna held up a forehoof. “Please, Fluttershy, do not apologize. Suffice to say, we have long since come to terms with that day.” A shrug. “And truthfully, it was not as if sister could have foreseen exactly that which happened, and as such we held no hard feelings for that.” Her gaze darkened. “My wounds were such that sister believed me dead, and so, with her son and sister apparently killed in battle, she retreated totally into her own despair. We would not blame her for believing us dead at first – ‘twas only through mine own robustness and the skill of Celestia’s best flesh-knitters that we did not perish in a matter of hours, but even as I began my convalescence she still would not resume her duties. As such, when a week or so from that time it came time to exploit a sapped wall and sack the city, it fell upon me to once again lead the host through the breach – after the death of my nephew, the feeble forces of the city were easily cast aside, even in my state. But even the best flesh-knitters could only patch up the holes and prevent me from bleeding to death – with rest, we might have recovered, but with our duties it was ensured that our organs would not heal. And that we did, and do, blame her for.” A sniff, and Luna re-composed herself back into a passably jovial mood. “But that is all on that matter, except for a final, humorous note on my status. Would you like to hear it?”

Fluttershy hadn’t noticed anything even remotely humorous for a few minutes now, and was simultaneously worried by what this pivot could possibly entail and a little morbidly curious as to where this was going. “… Sure?”

“You recall my previous tale of my griffon husband, yes? Have you ever wondered how such a thing came to be?”

“… Love?”

“Love? Hilarious, Fluttershy. Monarchs marry not for love – that is what paramours and consorts are for.” Luna paused, raising an eyebrow and lightly biting a lip, a facial expression Fluttershy did not know princesses were capable of. “Though, he was truthfully as talented in amorous affairs as a trained serving–” a quick head-shake to refocus. “We digress. It was due to an error in our letter, which we did write in their tongue. Griffons had no word for ‘mare without children,’ only ‘maiden’ and ‘old maid.’ Though I was indeed both of those descriptors, our scribe did not have the courage to write with veracity, and so used their term for ‘maiden,’ which was also their word for ‘available.’ Thus, our letter to their king, or raja, or … knyaz?” A shrug. “One of those insipid little titles. No matter to whom it had been sent, the dispatch was read as a marriage proposal.” Luna snorted a laugh. “I arrived for a royal visit and left married to a confused little prince. Ha!”

It was pretty funny. “But couldn’t you have, um, just said … no?”

“After all his effort? He had arrived upon a twenty-head palanquin, Fluttershy. We would be remiss to not reward him for the extravagance.” She pointed a forehoof at Fluttershy. “But take heed, fair Fluttershy! When you and your compatriots must make a visit to a foreign court, which you will, ‘tis of paramount importance that you check yon scribes work afore it is sent away, lest thou be hitched to a camel, or griffon, or kelpie – ach, no, those were all put to the sword. But the first two!”

“I’ll make sure,” Fluttershy chuckled, suddenly noticing that she hadn’t been keeping up with her partner’s intake; a quick pull of purple gin fixed that. “Though we don’t have, uh, scribes, Luna.”

“Then whence would come your formal dispatches?”

Fluttershy thought for a moment, both to figure out her answer and to parse what the hell ‘whence would come’ meant. “… Twilight, I guess? If we had to write a letter, it would be Twilight writing it.”

A pause.

“I think you probably have a point, actually.”

“Veritably crucial in your case.” Luna hoisted an empty bottle. “Another?”

It was significantly more than another.

Fluttershy, quietly delighted to have found a mare who could match her prowess, sat slumped in the requisite corner chair in such a way to not hurt her now dulled rib injury.

Luna, loudly not delighted in a powerful hunger, yelled nigh-incomprehensible statements into the cabin’s telephone. “Mother’s wing-bones, we care not what sarding form yonder victuals be, if thine serving-wench doth not bringeth a heaped platter of…” Luna trailed off, obviously forgetting the name of some modern invention. A thrown pillow at Fluttershy got her attention. “Prithee: what beest those delicate bits of starch which hath been fried in suet or butter and liberally salted?”

Several seconds passed. “Uhh … hayfries?”

Luna, satisfied, turned back to the phone. “Hayfries! The Mistress doth demand them – and a feast at that. And port them to this cabin with alacrity!” Luna slammed the phone down, wings flying into the air in irritation. “Worthless! Were my knaves ever so worthless, we would have scourged them personally.”

Fluttershy could muster up enough energy to respond, if not to actually face Luna. “Luna, I think it’s, um, three in the morning. Do they even have room service?”

“Art thou not a duchess?” Luna scoffed. “No matter what hour – and mine hours of the night are not lesser to the whore’s sun-drenched ones – royalty such as thineself should be waited on with bent knee.”

Well, that at least answered where all the “old Luna” was, mused Fluttershy. Where it had been, just eleven beers in. “We’ll see, I guess.”

Fluttershy tuned out Luna’s rambling story for a number of minutes, though she was sure it was important

“–and we would be miserably remiss if we did not mention the atrocity which thine winged compatriot resides in–”

Okay, well, not important. Still, she tried to pay a little attention, even as her eyelids drifted unstoppably together. Sleep was nearly there when–

“knock-knock-knock”

“Huh.” Fluttershy perked up. “Guess they do have–”

Luna, not one for idle chatter when decisive action was needed, flung herself at the cabin’s door, throwing it open with her magic.

Fluttershy noticed just a little too late that she had utterly forgotten to hide her wings or horn.

Luna took the (impressively sized, the staff was indeed accommodating) platter in her field and thrust her face into it, uncaring of her present state.

Fluttershy, unsteadily on her hooves, peered around the corner at the open door.

And the poor unfortunate steward gazed, terrified, at Equestria’s most reclusive, most mysterious, and drunkest princess.

So much for their cover. “Shit.”

Author's Note

Poor Luna. She had to be Achilles AND Patroclus. Raw deal.

Once upon a time I wanted to write a primitive-era Iliad rip-off in blank verse about the story Luna is paraphrasing. Verse is harder than it looks, man.