There are no more Rhinos.

The last died several hundred years ago, before the Tempestarii shared their craft with the Pegasi.

What were they like?
Hm…
Big.
Tough.
Not a toughness of muscle or will.
Their skin was like the cured leather worn by marauding dragons.

Horns?
Sure, they had horns.
Bicorns, but not from the sides of their heads.
From their nose. Rhi-nose!
Yes, I think it’s funny, too. But that isn’t what they called themselves.

Just like how I call myself a pony, they called themselves tshukudu.
And how we say we are ponies, they said they were ditshukudu.
And how you will always by my little filly, their parents loved their dinamane.

Right, the horns, of course.

They had long grey horns, far taller than an alicorn’s, right on the tip of their snout.
And, like how you love to ride on my back, a tiny little horn sat behind the first.
When Equines first discovered the rhinoceros, the explorers didn’t dare to approach.
“What awful magic they must command!”

Oh? You don’t like it when I do my gruff voice?
Ah, you’re so picky. Alright.

“What awful magic they must command.”
And the explorers went back home.
But, when the explorers got home, they sat down for lunch.
They picked up their spoons and forks made of steel.
This was back when the Chalybsarii were known as the Ferrarii.
The mages learned to wind steel from iron, changing the fate of our people.
But the ditshukudu, with their imposing horns, hadn’t even shoes for the bottoms of their hooves.

The rhinos weren’t like us ponies.
They didn’t cut trees, split stone, or drink the iron from the earth.
They didn’t need to.
Why would they need shelter, with their thick skin?
No, they preferred to sleep under the stars.

The rhinos didn’t upend the earth and sow seeds like us ponies.
The grass of the savanna was plentiful, and quite delicious.

Uh—yes, I’ve tried it.
Imagine if hay was sweeter and softer.
I know, it does sound good.
Of course, I’ll get you some one day.

Now, where was I?

The rhinos didn’t bicker over bits.
The land provided all that they needed.
But, they did love to bicker.

Even with their horns, the rhinos could not use magic.
They did not have unicorns to invent the first tools, to pluck feathers and make quills.
So, they spent their days bathing in the sun, quibbling about this, suggesting that.
All of their lessons learned, all of their joys and sorrows.
Kept alive with word of mouth.

In the days of the dragon wars, when the reptiles were base and ignorant to peace, explorers feared that the dragons would eat up the ditshukudu until there were none left.
This is what they did to the quagga, so why not to these gentle giants?
An envoy was sent to speak to the rhino who wore her ears set straight.

You see, the ditshukudu did not have a Princess like we do.
The rhino who spoke most elegantly, the tshukudu with a tongue of gemstone.
She was venerated, and she was forbidden from folding her ears down.
Not even when she felt sorrow.
For the quickest wit had the duty to listen.
To remember.
And to observe.

Yes, she does seem scary to talk to, especially to a diplomat!

As the envoy approached the herd, he passed by bones.
Claws, fangs, dragon scales.
The envoy asked, “How did you survive the dragons?”
Us ponies, even with our magic, did not fare well against dragon flame.

She who wore her ears set straight turned to him and spoke,

“In the age when sun and moon hung still, our people rose from the ground.
Invisible fire beat down on our pink flesh, roasting us like a peeled jacket-plum.
The flies, the birds, and the jackals all came to taste our cooked meat and sweet blood.
Though this was before our minds grew wise, the wisdom of our bodies was primordial.
And so, we grew sheets of armor to guard our skin.
We grew spears of ivory to protect our calves.
And our minds swelled with wonder.
The dragons stood no chance.”

And so, the envoy left the rhinos to live their days.
Grazing the lush grass.
Singing their songs.
Flapping their lips.
Spouting their stories.
But, he found it odd, for even with their thick hide, he saw birds pecking at their shoulders.

Goodnight my sweet.

…

You aren’t asleep?
Ah, you paid attention.
Silly me.
I can tell you the rest of the story tomorrow.

But sugar-beet,
The ending isn’t happy.
I want you to have good dreams.

No, there weren’t any monsters.
No, there wasn’t a war.
No, there… young lady!
That’s awful, how did you learn about that?
No, that didn’t happen.

Ok, ok, alright, missy.
You sure know how to wear me down.

What have they taught you about the body in school?
Germs, sure, but did you learn about magic illness?
Yes, just like cutie-pox and poison joke.

Well, one day, ponies all throughout Equestria started to get sick.
Ponies at restaurants.
Ponies at their dinner tables.
Ponies at royal feasts…
Face down on their plate.
They slept and slept and slept.
The Somniarii peered into their dreams but found nothing.
Just an endless black.

First, they thought it was the water.
No, it wasn’t the water.
It must be the food.
Not quite. It was only the cakes and bread.
It must the dairy. The sugar. The eggs.
No.
It was the wheat.

In the fields of wheat, the farmers found tiny mirid bugs clinging to the tips of the awns.
Dead still.
Normally these pests ruined the crop, so their lazy behavior was welcomed.
However, one of the farmers noticed something strange.
The birds, the same kind that perched atop the rhinos, would swoop down and eat the bugs.
An easy snack for a long flight.
Of course, when you have a snack, you might want to, well…

Yes, poop.
Ok, ok, stop giggling, this is a serious story!

So, the birds would have their snack, do their deed, and fly back to their nest.
However, those little black birds didn’t eat just mirid bugs, no.
Their favorite snacks were the ticks and flies that tried to dig into the tough skin of the rhino.
When two animals work together, we call that “mutualism,” and the rhinos didn’t mind one bit.
The birds ate the ticks, and for payment, they sometimes had a sip of blood.

What are the ticks, then?
Oh, my little Clover, you’re as sharp as a tack.

If an animal takes something from another and hurts them in the process, that’s a parasite.
But it wasn’t just the ticks that fed on the rhino’s blood.
In the blood of the rhino were tiny gametocytes, bigger than germs, but smaller than bugs.
These little eggs lived in the rhino’s blood and hitched a ride with the pecking birds.
Then, the poop fell down on the mirid bugs eating at the wheat.
And in the tummy of the bugs, the eggs matured.
And when the birds ate the mirid bugs again, the eggs hatched, ready to go back to the rhino.

Of course, the layponies of that day didn’t know the details.
But, they did know that the birds from the rhinos were poisoning the wheat.
And, like how every animal on our planet strums the wires of magic, so did the parasites.

The parasites knew one spell and one spell only: sleep.
They put the mirid bugs into a slumber to last forever, only triggering when they had a meal.
And like the bugs, ponies who ate the wheat felt fine, for just long enough.
But when they had their next meal…
Lights out.

At that time, the doctors could only heal ponies with magic.
Physical medicine was, well, let’s say it was rather uncivilized then.
However, if you pour mana into a magic illness…?

That’s right.

The spell gets stronger.

Ah, just stop eating the wheat?
Well, that might have worked, but that town sold wheat far and wide.
And the sickness took a more insidious turn.
You see, when the ponies fell asleep, the doctors would cast spells to wake them.
Their friends would try to lift them from their seats with magic.
Renown mages would try to see their dreams.
Any magic, any magic at all, would duplicate the spell onto the caster.

It spread like fire.

The ponies grew fearful.
And with fear comes anger.
With anger, rage.
With rage…

Yeah.

But, they couldn’t just attack the rhinos.
The rhinos were kind.
Not to mention, indomitable.
So, the angry ponies took to the streets of Canterlot.

Broken windows.
Overturned bins.
Pleading families with catatonic foals in their hooves.

The Princess decreed that the birds were to be hunted down.
This was unlike her, to call for the end of life, but times were desperate.
However, even the most powerful mages in Equestria struggled to eradicate the pecking birds.
There were just too many.
They were just too fast.
They were just too small.
There were just too many.

A year passed with no progress, but the sickness grew.
Wheat was cut and burned, but the mirid bugs just moved to the next crop, and so did the birds.
Our Princess, in all of her greatness, felt the weight of the nation’s tragedy.
She loved her ponies just as how her ponies loved their foals.
And so, she made her choice.

There are no more Rhinos.

Author's Note

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mu2wEneWqeM

I meant to capitalize Clover. She's a character for something I'm working on. I hope you liked the story :)