Last Legend of Equestria

I used to think that the ponies were basically good.

They only hunted us because they feared us, I thought. We were... different. To ponies, different is bad, I thought. They were scared, probably, and felt the need to push us back, protect their foals, their elderly, and, well, theirselves. But our lives were natural. We survived with no houses, no readily prepared food, like the ponies. We were the stronger species, the survivalists, able to live longer in the wilds of Equestria and beyond!

...I thought.

But we aren't, or rather weren't, bad. Bunyips may have been carnivores, but we're not bad, and generally not pony eaters. Only two bunyips in my lifetime had said they had eaten pony meat. And they were probably lying, too.

Other animals eat meat, like the little ferrets I see, running around on slippery stone bridges, every day. The ponies don't hunt them though. What's the difference between a bunyip and a ferret? Did we have bigger teeth? Were we scarier looking? Was it the shaggy fur, or the webbed paws?

No. We were larger. Dog bunyips grew to about the size of an ahuizotl, and the larger species could get bigger than dragons. To the ponies, bigger was certainly not better. To them, we appeared as a threat. Maybe it was how life was meant to be.

That's what I used to think.

But then the ponies changed everything. They waged a war on us. Us, who, out of the entire species, only a select few could even speak the language of ponies. We had no hope in that war. But there was no need for the war. We hadn't ventured near pony territory in a hundred years, and I can say that from personal experience!

In all 1,000 years of my life before that war, I had never seen a pony.

I'd heard the stories, of course. We all knew the stories. "Prine," mother would say in bunyip language, "don't go out too far into the woods, or the ponies will get you."

I may not be a pony, but that doesn't make me a monster. I'm just different. Even that up there wasn't a monster. He, or she, was just doing what's natural. But he or she is up there now, leaving me the last of my species. The last bunyip.

There are none left to know the secrets of the lakes and swamps, that only we knew. None. The war changed my perspective on ponies, and it only worsened when I met the grey one. Greys.

But, I am the only live soul who knows this. The ponies from the war had slipped into oblivion centuries ago, the bunyips and other creatures were all dead, and grey is trapped by a magic spell.

So I am the only one left. The only one able to pass on my tale to future generations, in the hope that something like this may not happen again. The complete extinction of a species. A tragedy. It has been ten thousand years since the war, and eleven since my birth. I am now the size of an ahuizotl, and I am growing old. Violet grey fur now a pale, faded grey. grey blue "mane" now simply grey, and wilted. I am wearing out. I am...  soon to be with the other bunyips. Soon to be with my... family. This cave is getting boring anyway. Seeing the same grey rock walls every day. The same 'drip drip drip' of the water. The lake itself was dirty, horrible for swimming in. Ponies again. Ponies had polluted it. ALWAYS ponies.

Up there, it will be nicer. I know it. Pony free, with nice water. And other bunyips... and family.

Bunyips are supposed to live long, peaceful lives.

Well, we're supposed to be dead now, but before that, all was peace.

We have long since passed into legend, an old mares tale, told by ponies to keep their foals from misbeheaving. Just like they were to us. The war ensured our passing, both literal and metaphorical. No, the war hadn't ensured it. The ponies had.

I still do try to sympathize with them. But I can not. I could understand their need to drive us back, but to wipe us out was needless. Brutal, violent and needless... I remember...

.

I was only a cub back then, the small size of a pony colt. Yet I remember it all, in vivid detail. I remember the friends I made, actual pony friends. Some ponies were good. But... I also remember the enemies I made.

But as I said, the bunyips are all but gone now, and I am the only being left from the war besides grey, and probably Discord. He was different too. He looked different to the ponies, and he liked chaos. The ponies hated chaos. He was different. The ponies hated different. The ponies hated him. Him, a GOD no less!

But I digress.

Scorpio, Fluttershy, Capricorn, little old Spike.... they, the more willing ones, would all be gone by now. Even the dragon, assuming the stories of their lifespans that I heard were true. Discord would be impossible to find, and the grey one is trapped and, well, evil.

So it is up to me to pass on my story.

Therefore I want to show you something. Something magic, yet natural. The tale of how the former destroyed the latter. A story which shows how different ponies can be. A story which shows bunyips are not monsters. A story which, long ago when I was living in it, changed me, for better or for worse.

These are the secrets that I have kept, the tale that has never left my lips. The secrets of the lakes and swamps. Much like myself, hidden down here, away from the ponies, this tale is the last legend still unknown to Equestria.