Here I am, on the front lines of sheer madness. I know I won't make it. My wife knew. But my foal will never know. Never know who I was. So I write this letter to her, in hopes that she'll realize why I did it. Why I'm going to put my and hundreds of other ponies' lives on the line to stop them. I'm sorry, sweetie. But now it's worth it. I can see her, and that's enough.

Art is clearly not mine.