Day two of the camping trip... and I’m already done.

I get it. We’re rock farmers. It’s our identity, our pride, our… inescapable destiny? But seriously, isn’t this going a bit too far?

As I narrowly dodge a rock hurled directly at my face, I bite back the urge to yell and instead let my frustration simmer in silence. Apparently, there’s an ancient and sacred game in Rockville—a legacy passed down through generations of the Pie family. The rules are simple: toss small rocks into your team’s basket, and the first team to fill theirs wins. Its name? RockBall. Of course, because what else could it possibly be called?

Why is it always rocks? WHY? Don’t get me wrong—I’ve learned a lot about them. I’ve memorized more types and characteristics than anypony would ever need to know in a lifetime. I’ve even developed a grudging appreciation for them. But even I have my limits.

Limestone’s sharp shout snaps me out of my thoughts as she hurls another rock with terrifying precision. With a clumsy, desperate leap, I manage to catch it in my hoof. Great. Now I’m literally playing with rocks.

Let me sum up my “wonderful” life: the books are about rocks. My toys are rocks. Even our meals sometimes include rocks. By Celestia—or whatever deity rules this universe—all that’s left is for us to start breathing rocks too!

I try not to let my inner monologue slip out while I maneuver around my dad and Maud, both of whom are treating this ridiculous game with the seriousness of soldiers in a battlefield. Limestone, naturally, acts like the squad leader, barking orders left and right. Meanwhile, Marble looks terrified, leaving me to take on the role of our team’s designated rock receiver.

And the worst part? This game has devolved into complete chaos. It’s so frantic I can barely focus on what really matters: Pinkamena.

I finally make it to our team’s basket. It’s right there, within reach of a simple toss, but I can’t resist throwing the rock with a little more force than necessary. The bucket wobbles precariously before the rock drops in, scoring a point for our team.

“This is going way too far!” I scream internally, struggling to keep my thoughts contained where they belong. I take a deep breath, trying not to lose my composure, but I can feel my patience wearing thinner with every passing second.

At least we’re closer to winning, which should be some consolation. But honestly? All I want is for this game to end—and for the next activity to involve anything but rocks. Though, considering my life so far, that’s probably wishful thinking.

The game ended, and, as expected, my team lost. Let’s be honest—we never stood a chance. The other team had Maud, who, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear was some kind of rock-collecting machine with pinpoint accuracy and supernatural speed. She’s terrifying sometimes.

If I hadn’t been born a Pie from the start, Maud would’ve figured out how strange I am in no time!

Panting, barely managing to stay upright after all the running and dodging, I caught my breath. My eyes found Pinkie, and a wave of relief washed over me when I saw her flank was as blank as ever. Thank Celestia for that. Throughout the game, I’d been trying to keep an eye on her to make sure she didn’t do anything “inspiring.” But honestly? It was like crossing a battlefield. With rocks flying everywhere, just staying unscathed was a miracle, let alone protecting someone else.

I let out a long sigh and glanced at my own flank. Still as blank as ever. I huffed, frustrated. All that effort, all that suffering... and not even a hint of progress.

The next activity was more relaxed: a trip to a nearby lake. Dad had mentioned before we arrived that he knew a good camping spot, having scouted it out ahead of time. Apparently, it met the elusive “Pie standards,” whatever those might be. Probably something about the terrain and interesting rocks in the area. At least this time, no rock-related games were involved.

When we got to the lake and set our things down, we were let loose to explore and have fun. I couldn’t have been more grateful. After that rocky war zone, my body was crying out for a break.

This was the perfect moment to go swimming. It shouldn’t be that hard, right? I knew how to swim as a human, and there was always the trusty “doggy paddle.” Easy. What could possibly go wrong?

Buur… BUUUR!

The unmistakable sounds of a pony drowning erupted from me as two strong hooves hauled me out of the water. I coughed like I was expelling my entire soul and took a massive gulp of air. Looking up, there he was—my savior. My dad.

“Thanks...” I mumbled between gasps, as he gave me a few pats on the back and checked to make sure I was okay.

With eyes still stinging from the water, I managed to make out Pinkie in the middle of the lake, splashing around joyfully with the others as if they were fish in their natural habitat—the perfect image of carefree bliss.

I, on the other hoof, felt like a rock thrown into the water. Literally. I grumbled internally. I hadn’t packed any floaties because, in my infinite confidence, I assumed my human swimming skills would translate seamlessly to this pony body. Spoiler: they didn’t.

"Try again, Echo. Slowly this time," my father said, gently placing me back into the water.

I huffed with determination and started moving toward the center of the lake. My goal? Pinkie. Why? Because if I didn’t reach her, who knows what might trigger her destiny and unleash chaos on the timeline.

I advanced with all the grace of a drunken duck, feeling more clumsy with every step—or rather, every stroke. And then…

Buur… BUUUR!

Here we go again.

Once more, firm hooves lifted me out of the water. This time, though, my pride was as soaked as the rest of me.

"This has to be some cruel joke of fate," I muttered to myself as my father looked at me with a mix of concern and resignation.

Again, I was placed back into the water, and again, I attempted to move toward Pinkie. And what happened? You guessed it.

Buur… BUUUR!

By the time I was rescued for the third time, I was utterly defeated. Coughing and struggling to catch my breath, I cast a glare up at the sky.

"I’ll find you, fate, universe—whatever you are. And I’ll shatter you into a million pieces," I vowed under my breath. Because if this wasn’t a cosmic conspiracy to humiliate me, I didn’t know what was.

Time passed, and of course, just when I finally learned how to swim, everyone started leaving the lake. I couldn’t believe it! My parents called me from the shore, but I was too frustrated to pay them any attention. Were they really going to drag me out of the water now, after all the humiliation, near-drownings, and loss of dignity? No way!

With a determination that was probably much more dramatic than necessary, I turned around and began swimming toward the center of the lake. My swimming style was still more “pathetic but functional” than elegant, but that wasn’t going to stop me. From the shore, the others watched me with expressions ranging from curiosity to discomfort.

“Should we go after him?” Limestone asked, visibly concerned.

Maud, however, shook her head, observing my slow progress with a rare flicker of understanding in her eyes.

“No… this seems personal to him,” she replied, prompting everyone to nod solemnly, as though witnessing an epic feat instead of a frustrated pony splashing around in a lake.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity (but was probably just a couple of minutes), I returned to the shore, panting and with aching legs. I was greeted with applause that felt more like pity than celebration. Perfect—just what I needed.

We gathered around the campfire for lunch as the sun remained high in the sky. The warmth of the fire and the food did wonders to soothe my bruised pride and tired body. However, I still felt restless.

With a full stomach and dry coat, I decided to lie down on the grass, staring up at the sky. I glanced at my flank out of the corner of my eye, searching for something—anything—that might indicate a change. Nothing. It was as blank as the lake I’d just survived. I let out a low growl and closed my eyes, trying not to dwell on it too much.

As I tried to relax, snippets of conversation floated around me. My father suggested a hike in the surrounding area, though I didn’t catch all the details because I was too tired to focus.

As he explained the plan to the rest of the group, everything sounded fairly normal. “Good luck with that. I’m not breaking my back again,” I thought—until I heard Pinkie’s unmistakable voice chime in, announcing that she wanted to go too.

I cracked one eye open and grimaced. Seriously? Couldn’t she just stay still for a moment? I sighed deeply, knowing exactly what this meant.

“I guess that’s my cue to get up too…” I muttered, dragging myself to my hooves with some effort.

I had no choice. If Pinkie was going, I had to go as well. I couldn’t risk something important happening while I was lying in the grass.

The hike started out calmly. My father had us carry saddlebags, and the group—consisting of him, all my sisters, and me (Mom stayed back at the camp)—set off along a trail that gradually inclined, offering a slightly improved view of the surroundings. At first, I wasn’t particularly impressed, but as we continued, I began to notice details that made everything seem… charming, in a way.

The forest around us was painted in shades of grayish green, with trees that seemed wilted yet somehow alive, as if stuck in an eternal limbo between seasons. Here and there, beams of sunlight broke through the canopy, casting bright, intricate patterns on the moss-covered ground. And the strangest thing—a small pink light danced among the trees... Wait a second. I thought it was fireflies, but… not quite.

This thing caught my attention immediately. It was a tiny sphere of pale pink light, so pure and luminous that I couldn’t tear my eyes away from it. It moved side to side, zigzagging with an odd, almost hypnotic grace.

I stopped in my tracks, narrowing my eyes to get a better look. It didn’t resemble a firefly. It didn’t resemble anything I’d ever seen before.

Within seconds, the sphere vanished, diving into a nearby bush. I froze, staring intently at the spot where it disappeared, a chill creeping down my spine.

I glanced at the others, but they kept walking as if nothing unusual had happened. Shaking my head, I decided not to dwell on it. Probably just one of those weird things this world likes to throw at me.

I quickly jogged to catch up with the group, though I couldn’t help but steal one last glance at the bush. Something about that light didn’t feel natural. And even though I didn’t want to admit it, a part of me knew this wouldn’t be the last I’d see of it. Because, of course, things around here always work that way.

“Are we there yet?” I asked, letting my frustration slip through every word as I panted like I’d just climbed Mount Everest.

My father nodded, signaling that we had, indeed, arrived. Well, at least that was something.

I collapsed onto my haunches, inhaling and exhaling deeply as I tried to recover. My gaze drifted to my father, who—much to my horror—had started unpacking something from his bag.

First came a helmet. Then some hooks. And finally, the pièce de résistance: a wooden post with a perfectly stretched rope attached to it, was resting on top of the summit. My pupils shrank as the dots connected in my mind.

Zip lines.

Seriously? SERIOUSLY?

There are things one simply doesn’t expect to face after an exhausting climb. A zip line was very, very high on my list of “things I’d like to try someday,” but definitely not today. Today, all I wanted was to rest without dodging rocks, avoiding drowning, or, in this case, hurtling through the air at breakneck speed like the star of some over-the-top action movie.

I buried my face in my hooves, letting out a dramatic sob—with a generous helping of genuine complaints mixed in for good measure.

“I just wanted to relax, for crying out loud” I screamed internally, though with the intensity of someone who had just lost their last shred of dignity.

But there was no time for protests. Before I could come up with a creative excuse to stay behind ("Oh no, I think I forgot something important… like my sanity"), we were already gearing up. One by one, the others launched themselves down the zip line, each letting out cries of excitement or terror.

Finally, it was my turn. My father secured me into position and, without warning, gave me a gentle push.

“AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!” I screamed as I hurtled into the void.

The world around me became a blur of colors and wind. My legs shook as I tried to process everything all at once—the vertigo, the speed, the rush of adrenaline mixed with sheer panic. My scream echoed through the air, though, for the record, there were no tears on my face. (You can’t prove otherwise. No one has evidence.)

After what felt like an eternity (but was probably just a few seconds), I reached the other side. My mom, who was helping with the equipment, unhooked me from the harness and removed the red helmet that had somehow ended up slightly crooked on my head.

Without a word, I trudged a few steps forward, completely drained, before collapsing onto the ground in a pose best described as “ball of defeat.” My back legs folded awkwardly beneath me as I curled up like a snail tired of life.

With effort, I lifted my head just enough to glance at Pinkie Pie’s flank, then at my own. Both were still as blank as ever.

“Perfect. Just perfect.” I let my head drop again, staring into the void as I came to terms with my fate as a pony whose talent remained an unsolved mystery.

There I stayed—a small bundle of frustration, exhaustion, and suppressed sarcasm—wondering how the relaxing weekend I’d planned had somehow turned into a weekend of stress and humiliation.

Author's Note

The second day of camp.

It's a filler episode but a fun one.

The sport of Rockball is sacred in RockVille. Kids play it, adults too, even Grandma plays it! Fun for the whole family. (Safety not included)

Who would say that the physiology of an Equine versus a human can make a person's abilities vary, such as swimming.

Ziplining is on Echo's "Try it someday" list, but it's not the best day for him to do that. But, he's already climbed the hill and can't afford to do the chicken walk... not again.

Echo could see something that caught his eye during the walk, something very curious, a sphere that floated playfully.

Thanks for reading!