Block 1 - Another Late Night

"My father tells me that writing in a journal will help me alleviate some of the stress I've been having lately due to school, and make me feel better. Something about 'putting your memories on paper is a good way to help clear and un-cram your mind!'. I'm not all too sure about that...he can be quite a silly pony sometimes. But, oh well...so here it is.

My name is Whoover Whooves, I reached my adolescent age about three years ago, and adulthood is still on the horizon. I'm a Pegasus pony, with a cutie-mark of an hourglass behind a rolled up scroll. I guess the hourglass is part of a family thing...but the scroll I know is all mine. It shows to me and the rest of Canterlot that I am a literate pony, and I am NOT to be taken for a fool! The others may laugh at me and my theories about the personification of certain magic schools and how mentality status can actually affect Magic, leading it to be a much more broader range of Magic, but they'll see!

Ugh...the nerve of some ponies. Even my teachers can be fools sometimes, often complaining to my father that I'm too...out-going, too adventurous! Science and Magic aren't subjects you approach like a scared little wet kitten! You need to show adamant resolve and constant vigilance! I still don't understand why some ponies have to be such ignorant -"

"Whoovsies! Dinner is ready Muffin!" called a chirpy voice from the bottom of the stairs, the happy call sailing up and through the door on the left hand side of the hall. The ears of Whoover Whooves perked as his mother's voice reached him, and he gently dropped the pencil he was writing with from his mouth and turned his head towards the door.

"Yes Mother, I'm coming!" He shouted back, his semi-deep voice reaching back out to her. He was still trying to get used to the pitch-change in his voice, sometimes frightening himself whenever he opened his mouth.

With a heavy sigh, Whoover hopped off his tiny desk seat, ruffling his wings up for a moment before giving two light flaps and straightening his feathers back out. He stretched his two hooves forward slowly, taking a stretching bow and getting the kinks out of his flank and body. He had already been studying for several hours prior to his journal entry...something he had been dreading for some reason. He had often looked towards the simple leather-bound book with a sense of foreboding and a tight grimace. He should have been focused on his studies...not wasting precious time writing his thoughts and opinions down on paper. Words on paper were dangerous...but words on the mind were safe and secure. Nopony would ever know, so as long as you never provided the means or the evidence to expose them.

"Hurry up Muffin! It's getting cold!" called his mother once again, drawing yet another sigh out of the young colt as he walked forward out of the door.

"For the last time mother," Whoover said with an exasperated breath "I know tonight is Thursday, and that means it's carrot night, carrots do NOT get cold, they're naturally cold!"

"Well I cooked these tonight!" his mother retorted, the colt rolling his eyes as he descended the stairs. As he made his way down, his eyes were drawn to the wall on his left. Pictures of him and his mother were hung up in a goofy fashion, showing several smiles and a lot of exotic locations. The one thing that was missing out of most of them though...was his father.

His father, known famously as 'The Doctor', was a very important and hard-working doctor at the Canterlot Medical Facility of Central Equestria. It was because of him that Whoover acquired his dreams of becoming a medicine pony himself, and to follow in the footsteps of his father. It was because of him that he and his mother got to vacation to all of the exotic locations in those pictures, earning thousands upon thousands of bits. It was only too bad that he never got to experience the joy of the vacation himself. Whoover often remembered his father saying 'It's alright...really, it is! To me, just seeing your smiling faces in those pictures is enough to keep me going. If it makes you two happy, then I am happy too.'

Whoover moved around the bannister at the bottom of the stairs, moving towards the sound of a chair and some plates clattering slightly. Upon entering the kitchen, his eyes were immediately drawn to his mother, who had a smile smile on her face as she pushed some carrots onto an empty plate and placed it in Whoover's spot at the table. He watched her staring at the carrots with her right eye, noticing the concentration she had on her face despite the fact that her left eye was staring up towards the ceiling. That feature about his mother was something that his father always said was 'very cute' about her. As Whoover made his way to his seat, his mother looked up and exclaimed "Well look at that, you actually came out of the cave!"

"Ha ha....hilarious." Whoover replied quietly, getting up into his seat and picking up his fork with a carefully balanced hoof.

"Are you ok sweetie...?" asked his mother, who's cheery demeanor faded slightly at her son's tone.

"What?" Whoover asked suddenly, looking up from his carrots to look at his saddened mother's face before quickly saying "Oh no! Everything's fine...just...homework frustrating me again. You know how it is."

His mother's blonde mane was pushed out of the way of her eyes by a gentle movement of her hoof as she smiled and said "Of course...you've been studying so hard lately! Is there anything you need help with?"

Whoover shook his head as he took a small bite out of his carrots, his eyes shifting across the table towards his father's spot. There was a plate of carrots out for him...but no pony to eat them.

"Father working late again?" Whoover asked quietly, his eyes looking back towards his mother, his vision immediately focusing on the corner of her mouth which twitched slightly.

"Yes...," whispered his mother, the bubbles on her flank moving as she shifted in her seat "There was a pretty nasty accident downtown and there was an influx of patients..."

"Is this about that riot I heard about on the radio?" Whoover asked cautiously, pitching his tone just right to where it wouldn't aggravate his mother. He knew she didn't like getting into politics...but when she did, she did so with a vengeance.

At first, his mother looked hesitant to respond, but when she did...she did so with a careful tone "I think so...you know how crazy the news can be sometimes..."

"Crazy like the government maybe..." Whoover muttered, testing the waters of the conversation, like a careful hoof in the lake to check the temperature.

His mother sighed, pushing a hoof to her forehead as she muttered "Oh not tonight honey...I hear enough of it from your father concerning the hospital's funding..."

Not a good night, check.

"Sorry mother..." Whoover whispered, eating through the rest of his dinner quietly and continuing the earlier conversation with his mother about his school work. The rest of the night progressed as usual, with Whoover helping his mother wrap his father's dinner and clearing the table. When all the dishes were in the dishwasher, and his mother situated on the couch doing some of her knitting work, Whoover trotted quickly back upstairs and into his room. He rushed back to his seat, flicking on his desk light and hurriedly opening his Equestrian Chemistrot 301 text book, pulling out his bookmark and running a hoof along the lines to find his spot.

With a light sigh and a small swig out of the water bottle he kept by his desk, Whoover plunged back into the world of knowledge, sailing away across the seas of elements and mixtures and compounds. The hours ticked away as blackness began to morph and blur the words on the page, until eventually Whoover was sailing across the wispy seas of his dreams rather than science.

He walked along the shores of Zebrica with his mother...remembering how she was laughing and trying to get him to run with him through the tall grass. He tried to warn his mother about lions in the tall grass, but she didn't listen...the mare gleefully laughing as she dashed through the savannah. Whoover had followed her quickly, shouting after her to stop as he heard the sounds of growling somewhere amongst the sea of tan-ish green. His mother didn't listen, didn't even pay attention as the sound of an ethereal ringing echoed across the area before quickly falling silent. The roars had been silenced, the sound of a body thudding in the grass.

"MOTHER!" He shrieked, rushing deeper into the grass as he looked high and low for the grey mare.

He was just starting to completely panic when the blonde-maned mare jumped out from a clump of bushes shouting "GOT YA!"

Whoover screamed as he was tackled to the ground, the mother cackling in delight as he shouted "Are you out of your mind mom!? You could have been savagely mauled!!! Didn't you hear the growling?!"

"Hmm...?" His mother asked, still flashing him her signature grin "I don't hear anything muffin! Are you sure YOU'RE not the crazy one?" She giggled and quickly got back up, rushing back into the grass.

He frowned, following after her with a grimace on his face. He was just about to call after her again when his hoof struck something hard, sending him forward with a loud 'thud' and a yelp. He turned his body over and gasped as he beheld the object in which he tumbled over...the body of a dead lion. It was fresh, he knew that. Crimson trails of blood leaked down a single stab wound from the lion's neck, the eyes of the lion wide...as if terrified.

Whoover carefully poked the lion, ensuring it was dead. A sudden shifting in the grass to his left made him jump however, the young colt turning quickly towards the sound. He didn't hear growling...he didn't hear anything. But what he saw...what he saw was sure to be the work of some kind of illusion. Perhaps there was too much sun...?

Whatever the case was, all he could see was the outlines of something in white...perhaps a pony, perhaps not...moving through the grass quietly and quickly. It didn't make a sound as it slithered through, and in a quick moment, the white outline disappeared entirely into the thick grass.

Whoover awoke with a sudden cough and a shake of his head. "Huh..what?" he muttered as he heard the sounds of quickly moving hooves in the hall outside, followed by hurried and strained voices.

"Whooves, oh why must happen all the time?!" his mother whispered urgently.

"Shhh...it's ok Ditzy, just a flesh-..." the voice of his father replied before trailing off as they moved further down the hall, drawing Whoover to quietly slip out of his seat and rush for his door. As he opened his door and peaked outside, his parents' door closed with a soft 'click'. Narrowing his eyes, the young colt stealthily slipped out of his room and trotted down towards his parents' room. He pushed his right ear against the door, getting comfortable as the voices of his parents reached him.

"This looks bad..." Ditzy whimpered

"I'm a doctor dear...it's nothing. Just a quick bandage and it'll be ok!" His father reassured her.

Ditzy apparently wasn't any of it, her voice growing frustrated as she whispered quickly "This work is getting too dangerous...soon enough it's going to be YOU in one of those hospital beds instead of the rioters."

"The Tempmares don't play around my love...you know that," Whooves replied quietly, grunting as something wet was slapped against him, possibly a washcloth.

"I just wish the war would end already...we've already sacrificed so much..." Ditzy whispered, the sounds of their voices fading away. They were probably holding one another, as he always saw them do most of the time when he came home. With careful hoof movements, Whoover retreated to his room and sat back down at his desk.

He pondered over their words carefully for the next few moments, trying to piece together what he could.

His father was wounded...by a group called The Tempmares...? And what war!? There was a war going on? How could there be and nopony know about it? The only war that could be worth mentioning was the rioting in the city against the overly high taxes and unfair laws being passed in the Capital Castle.

Whoover narrowed his eyes and frowned, rubbing his chin with a careful hoof before pulling out a spare piece of paper and a pencil.

He began to take several notes, his mind already piecing together an idea and several theories in his head. It was a problem that Ditzy believed Whoover inherited from his father...

...that when something mysterious or strange came about, they'd never stop until they discovered the truth hiding in the shadows.

No matter what the truth might have been...wonderful...or horrifying, their pursuit for the answers to such things was as much a gift as it was a curse.