The Dreams of Twilight Sparkle

Beyond the garden was a world still stranger than that she had left behind. Flanking the left, a wall of fine masonry - far too tall for a filly to scale safely. To the right was much the same. Off ahead ran a silly little path, which wanted to take the least efficient route whenever possible. Over hills and under dales, with the bridges over the grass and the cobbles under the rivers. So topsy-turvy at points, that the handrail would cut across the path entirely, forcing you to walk a good way off the path if you were to get upon it again. And get upon it again you would, for the alternative was to walk amongst the grasses, which you wouldn't want to be doing anytime soon. The grass had all been plaited into tightly coiled rope, which would hook and snare the legs of anypony fool enough to try it. Nevertheless, onwards trotted our Twily, as the sun began its leisurely descent.

It was about Mid-Afternoon when Twilight found herself to be very hungry. This was no normal creeping hunger, which waxes and waxes until at last you admit defeat and break your fast. No. Rather it was a rather different type of hunger, one which leapt upon you and at a moment’s notice had you scrounging about for anything to eat. This was the sorry state Twilight was in when she came upon the cottage on the moors.

Twilight pondered whether the same pony who had designed the path had designed the house as well, for it was equally perplexing. Windows where there should be doors, doors where there should be windows, and as an ordinary house has a great deal more windows than doors, the end result was a home very open to visitors, while simultaneously being very sheltered from the sun. 'What a racket it must make in the wind' thought the thoughtful filly, looking it up and down - then down then up - but making no more sense of it either way.

As if by magic (which I suppose it likely was), Twilight found the cure to her ailment. Upon the windowsill sat a steaming hot Apple Pie, fresh out of the oven no doubt. Of course this was a backwards house, so the windowsill was on the outside, which made it exceptionally easy to steal away with the thing.

"I shall only have a little bit" Twilight said to herself, hoping that whoever cooked it wouldn't mind a small piece missing. "Perhaps just a corner will do", but as there was no corner, she soon found herself having eaten the whole thing. "Why, I hadn't meant to have quite so much as that. I only hope that it doesn't upset my stomach".

Though now it seemed that a disgruntled digestion would be the least of her worries, for from the cottage came a chef, so red and puffed up in the face that Twilight first though him a chicken. At a breakneck gallop, Twilight ran back along the path which had taken her there, though with no mind where she thought to run to. Over the cobbles she sped, the cook hot on her heel, until the path took a turn so sharp she found herself facing back towards the cottage again. "Why that path has tricked me!" cried the filly, who was still young you see.

I understand that you may be a little confused how Twilight had been spun around by the path, but it is really quite simple. As the path wind and wound this way and that, at one point it wound itself too far in one direction and tied itself in a knot. So it was that Twilight now stood face to face with the Pie's chef himself.

"You little rascal! Taking what isn't yours!"

"I swear, I'm innocent!" protested Twilight, believing it herself to be true.

"Why you have the evidence in your hooves!" pointing at the pie dish " Wait until the constable hears about this, I'll drag you to him myself!"

Twilight looked about in desperation, and her eyes fell upon the sun, who had been merrily plodding along on his way back to noon throughout the filly's flight.

"Just think of it, I couldn't possibly have stolen the pie. It is purely illogical to claim as much, and I shall prove it to you.”

"And just how will you do that missy? I don't want no back talking from a stinkin' thief.”

"Think for a moment. I haven't even reached your cottage yet, and if my reckoning is correct, I shouldn't have until half past two. So how could I have robbed your home if I haven't even made it there yet?"

This made the chef pause and think, which it evidently wasn't in his habit to do. After a considerable pause (I would say a long pause, if it were not for the fact that no time had passed at all - them being stood perfectly still), the cook grinned and rubbed her mane affectionately.

"You make a good case little lady. I'm sorry for bothering you.”

"Don't worry about it, I'm just glad to have come by a fellow rational pony for once.”

"You won't get that here very often! Us sensible sorts ought to stick together, them's an odd lot out there.”

This last phrase he uttered whilst waving his hoof in a duskwards direction. After that little exchange, they kept up small talk before parting ways. They tried to talk about the weather and the usual things, but as there was nothing of the sort to comment upon, they mostly went in silence.

Trotting on her merry way, Twilight soon found the country to become much more favourable. The tangled and knotted grass gave way to a soft blanket of moss, within which small pools would sit while fed by bubbling brooks. Clearly, she had entered a bog of sorts. Cobbles turned to woodchip, and woodchip to plankways, such was the state of this country that a simple stone pathway would hardly suffice. About her buzzed the occasional swarm of midges, which fortunately did not seem to possess their usual habit of nibbling away at any poor soul unlucky enough to have met them. As there was no wind, the pools sat perfectly still, and the reeds swayed not one inch.

By one of these still pools Twilight rested for a while, gazing at her own reflection, which smiled back at her. Strange, as she wasn't smiling herself - but Twilight thought such a minor oddity irrelevant once weighed against the bizarreries she had experienced already. While beside the pool, out came a particularly large and fat fly, who seemed hardly fit to fly by his size. Beside him walked the grasshopper, whom must have been a friend of sorts.

"Hello little fly" started Twilight, trying her best to be polite as to avoid offence.

"Little? There's nothing little about him!" snapped the Grasshopper, rather cruelly thought Twilight.

"Hush hush, can't you keep quiet for one moment?!" snapped back the Fly. Now Twilight doubted whether they really were friends...

"Nice weather today" Twilight added, attempting to steer the conversation.

"Much the same as ever I dare say. I can't remember the last time we had any rain showers.”

Disheartened somewhat by this sombre response (for so it was delivered), Twilight steered the conversation elsewhere once again,

"Well, what about you tell me something about yourself?"

"Me? Why, let's have a think... For one I am a mayfly, for two I am a poet, and for four I am twelve hours old.”

"Why did you skip from two to four?" asked Twilight, having been left more confused after the question as she had been before.

"Now I can't go telling you everything now can I!" said the Mayfly, sounding rather offended.

Twilight hoped to please the Mayfly, so she ventured to compliment, "A poet at your age! Now that is impressive!"

"At a whole twelve hours! That's nothing at all I'm afraid! I'm practically middle-aged!"

"Middle aged at twelve hours? Goodness, you must be a mayfly.”

"Quite right. The Mayfly in fact, or at least I haven't heard of any others.”

"There are plenty where I come from, but not one of them knows any poetry."

"Huh! I dread to think of my kinsmen as so terribly uncultured. Pray, tell me no more.”

Twilight had seemingly offended him once more. She had never before met such an easily offended creature - save perhaps the nobility of Canterlot.

"Could you perform one of your poems for me please? I'd love to hear one" she knew that that at least would please the poet, for poets love nothing more than having an excuse to recite their verses.

"Very well. Accompaniment!" At this, the grasshopper began to rub together his legs, which made a noise not far from that of a violin.

'Whatever would Lyra think?' wondered Twilight, imaging her friend’s reaction to such to such a miniscule display of musical talent. The mayfly began,

"Hey fiddle fiddle,
The Cat told a riddle,
The Cow at a loss what to do.
'All this is just daft!'
The Grey fish though,
And the Dog asked the Cat for a clue.”

"Well that poem was nonsense."

"I'll have you know that there is a great deal of sense in that poem!"

"It is pure nonsense from start to finish. Take the first line; since when could you talk to a fiddle?"

"Since fiddles were first invented of course. It is exceptionally easy to talk to a fiddle - the hard part is getting a response.”

Twilight only sighed a tired sigh in response. Getting a lick of sense or meaning from these creatures was akin to drawing water from a stone. Or was it from a well? She couldn't remember much of anything from the outside world... except for the tick tock of the Drawing Room Clock that was.