The Transient's Detail

Chapters

Introduction
1: Embark
2: Leaving Them Behind
3: Seclusion
4: Lower Learning
5: Out of the Pan
6: In the Fire
7: One Tooth Less
9: Hospitality
10: Blank Flank
11: Libel
12: Alienation
13: Empty Pockets
15: Rhyming Bother
16: Cross-Eyed
17: Blanker Flank
18: Phobias
19: Reconsideration
21: Incarceration
22: Audience
23: Diplomacy
23+: Synopsis of Clean Ages
24: Fired
24+: Letters
25: Assignment
26: Songring?
26+: Transcribed Audio
27: First Month
28: Tanks for Nothing
28+: Transcribed Audio
29: Homesick
30: The Merchant Bullion
30+: Letters
31: Accidents Happen
31+: Letters
32: Sober
33: Allons-y
33+: Letters
34: Indignance
35: Washed Out
36: Waiting Out Winter
36+: Letters
37: Relocation
38: Complications
39: Returns
39+: Letters
40-1: Pb
40-2: Perception
41: Each Day is a Gift
41+: Letters
42: Piper
43: Post-Mortem Curiosity
44: Bees
45-1: Winter of 1224
45-2: Ben's Addendum
45+: Letters
46: Numbers
47: Vacation
48-1: Economy
48-2: Syndromes
48-3: Productivity
48-4: Decisiveness
49: Vexglove
50: Authority
50+: Letters
51: Hearts and Hooves
52-1: Lopeyette
52-2: Brewery
52+: Letters
53: Yersinia
Vexglove Study: Drink It Away
8: Am I Lost?
14: Temper
20: Quickly
54: All I Can Do

Introduction

Let me start by stating that I am not an editor by trade but rather by design. In fact, the following excerpts were delivered to me in a most unexpected and peculiar way. I am certainly under no oath or court order to do so, yet I find myself strongly compelled to share these accounts. I take neither credit nor blame for the material contained within. Though I took the liberty of correcting a few basic grammatical errors, the language and details of this memoir have remained intact, just as the original author penned them. Arguably, it might have been kinder to spare others the sorrow and turmoil imbued in the first-hand accounts, but I would not be found guilty in turn of denying them the joy and triumph that permeates them as well.

The following autobiographical work comes from the journal writings of one whom I am personally acquainted. I hold no doubts of the credibility of his character or the integrity of his recordings. Though many of the fantastical places and creatures described herein may seem more fiction than fact, I assure you that I can attest from my own experience that they do indeed exist. Let me further state that I do not believe the author's intentions included personal glorification. His forthwith commitment to recording both professional and private revelations was an act not of grandeur but of simple, functional design to preserve this knowledge should he succumb to unfortunate circumstances. The burden of such responsibility transpired from the irrefutable request of a higher authority, in much the same manner as my current obligation to defend him befell me.

I have asked myself repeatedly why the task of presenting this archival recounting has fallen to me. The first answer that comes to mind, as previously stated, is that it landed in my possession and the original author is currently in no position to perform this duty for himself. It could also be said that I have known him better than most and feel a sense of responsibility to legitimize his legacy. Digging a bit deeper, I must confess I do these things in hopes that my efforts will serve as an atonement for past transgressions. Perhaps the most fundamental reason is that I would like others to revere this kindred spirit in the same way I do, and it is simply my way of paying homage to a part of myself that I have mourned the loss of for more years than I care to admit to.

Having now made peace with my quintessential role, I encourage those proceeding forward to read the following journal with an open mind. Be assured that I have left all inserts, correspondence, and maps included in the original documentation unaltered and in their original state, including a very notable communication found attached to the initial entry. Good luck to all who traverse these pages; I envy you your journey.

Ben,

I can see where you mention how important it is for you to see your own past. If that is so true, maybe one day you'll be lucky enough to see this.

My sister informed me that you had some reservations about my moon. Perhaps something can be done about that? In lieu of having you exiled however, I would hope that you'd take my open invitation to meet me for some drinks here in Canterlot. You should be more than intelligent enough to deduce what my favorite restaurant is. Maybe then I can change your mind about my moon.

I'll also skip mentioning to my sister just what things you said about her in here if you'll humor me.

Waiting for You,
Princess L.

1: Embark

We live in the age of a legend. Most of us on Terriel have heard at least one of the million renditions of his story that float around the Stratus and still litter about the journalistic market. When the fate of Terriel looked its darkest and when hope was lost to merely grim acceptance of an inevitable bleak future at the hand of any number of irresponsible sins, he took a stand where the rest of humanity and alike could or would not. Leading the small squad of vagabonds and vagrants dubbed The Mongrel's Stand, he churned the fires of their hearts and spurred all of them to greatness. They say he was a towering man with broad shoulders and a grizzled face. His mechanical leg thundered with mighty marches, hissed loudly with steam, and crackled with fire. Amongst the civil unrest and repeated coups, the rising criminal activity and organizations, the absence of military protection, and the sufferings of insufficient law enforcement, he took up what they say were his instruments of justice to be society's and rationality's last grasp on our environ placed high in the atmosphere over the planet. A ballistic shield was hoisted in his left hand, with which he tried to safeguard the rights of those unsuited for the rages of war. His right held a scatter-gun, of which all those who sought to encroach upon the vulnerabilities of common folk found themselves at the deadly end of.

The most notable of these antagonists was the infamous Agent Omega and his fanatical cult operations of the Wildern Evangelists. Left with the inevitable choice at hand of sacrificing all of our technology and centuries of developed culture to serve under his mad, zealous rule, the answer Omega received was brought to him by Markus Prodder, leader of the Mongrel's Stand. Using the would-be-confidential JWL Spatial Displacer prototype, the squad commander overcame impossible odds to throw both himself and Agent Omega from Terriel. It is believed that neither survived the plummet back to the planet below. That's what's true amongst all of the stories we here on Terriel may have heard, despite what other information there has been leaked of his involvements, dealings, and personal life.

All legends must start somewhere. Before he became a hero, he was just a man. Somewhere between being a man and becoming a legend, he was a father.

My name is Benjamen -- Benjamen Prodder. That legend is about someone that I have wanted to meet for so long -- my father. I did not know him well; the last I knew of him, I was only four years old. My mother told me that dad had gone to be a cowboy and fight some savages. That story had made me happy. I was obsessed with those kinds of stories at that age, always shooting my cap-gun revolver around the house and calling all of my stuffed toys "Pardner". Two years later, at the age of six, my mother struggled to inform me that he was never coming home. I had a new dad, a Neurosurgeon, and we were going to go live in a big house in a new city. We were moving to the city of Keycrescents, Judicial District 7, and I can now only surmise this was to save me from growing up in the depreciated and restless future war zone of Idollions.

I could not understand what happened, but in time I came to accept that statement as truth. That was until my 14th birthday, when the schools were given a day off due to something displayed on the news. Sometimes when an elected official died, or when something terrible happened they would let us out of class for the purpose of mourning or in remembrance, but this day was different. All of the adults were overjoyed instead of solemn and tense. That was all except for mom, who could not stop sobbing as she watched the news and his face was shown over and over again. The face of a martyred hero -- the face of Markus Prodder.

That was the day I promised myself that it was not yet goodbye and I would see him on something other than a screen at least one more time.

It has been three years since I learned of the news that was hidden from me for so long, and I have completed my required schooling a little earlier than my peers. Seeing as I am still labeled as a minor within the legislation of Judicial District 7, I am unable to register to be a part of the military's planetary reclamation project. The terrible rumors of what happens to the men that are sent there are used by mothers with difficult children to threaten them in the same way grandmothers will tell stories of boogeymen and warn of hairy palms and supposed blindness. If my father did indeed plummet to the planet below three years ago, then the only chance of me finding anything of him will be on the planet's surface. It was expected for me to attend my first university courses in the upcoming summer, but I cannot. There would be no time during that rigorous education or immediately after when I should begin my employment and career to take this excursion. That means that if I am ever to keep my promise, now is the time to do so. It is the only chance I have despite my age disqualifying me from the only chance I have of getting safely to the planet's surface. The law, my parents, and my friends will just have to forgive me. I will not live in regret of never taking the leap to find what I need to see with my own eyes.

I just don't think I can look forward to my future before I stop to finally see my past for what it truly was.

I do not know exactly what I am looking for in this quest. Will I find a man? Will I discover a hero? Will I unearth nothing more than a corpse? So many questions fill my head that I find it difficult to write through the contemplation.

Does he really look like the monstrous, grizzled veteran in the pictures?

Why did he never come find me?

Did he even bother to remember me?

I will find you, dad. Dead or alive, I will find you, and hopefully some answers.

2: Leaving Them Behind

I have finally snuck away from the reclamation project after being on the planet's surface for almost 30 hours; however, I must admit that I somewhat wish I had not. The things I have witnessed beyond the base camp are images I always thought were reserved for nightmares and suspenseful scenes in horror movies. Even where I have decided to rest now that the sun on the horizon lowers and the light is soon to fade away from me, I can still make out the terrible sight of the field below. It's awe-inspiring, but only for the reason that I could never have imagined just what the planet's surface was truly like. Only handfuls of people back on Terriel have ever set foot on this soil, this real soil, and came back knowing what it was like. So many never return from the reclamation project that I fled from, and the cause or reason is never discussed beyond acceptance that such is the sacrifice of a soldier towards the benefit of the greater population. As many may be familiar with, the soldiers brought here are sworn under an oath of confidentiality about their time spent here. There are writings that imagine what this place must be like, and cinema that uses the unknown atmosphere to paint grand, beautiful landscapes and bold pictures to bring a fanciful feel to its art, but all I can say is that they are wrong.

Perhaps I am getting ahead of myself, however. Despite how terrified I am of the sounds of creatures and monsters that live deep below me that I dare not even fathom what they must look like, I must remain vigilant in my pursuit. The coming darkness means I will soon be left with only my hearing and my touch to fend for myself unless I expend my resources on low-light accommodations. Before then, I hope I can calm myself down to a point where my heart no longer races and my stomach no long flutters with anxiety over my surroundings. I will need to sleep eventually.

It may help settle me to review my arrival here on the planet. After my last entry, I fell completely asleep in the cargo hold of that Buzzard APC to help wait out the long trip from Terriel down to this terrain. Getting any rest in that kind of environment was a feat in and of itself to be honest. The noise of the wind rushing past the hull was not diminished at all, and the temperature went far lower than I would have liked due to our high altitude descent within the shadow of the suspended land mass. Not only that, but I was forced to listen to the rowdy, romping conversations and musings of the "Soldiers" that restlessly bided their time in the passenger section of the carrier. Some others might have found entertainment in their joking and teasing, but I would be inclined to call those "some others" morons. Overall, it did give me a solitary reason to be happy that I was cramped away in the cargo hold instead of sitting amongst them and forced to participate.

The landing of the APC was rather rough, but that was to be expected of some of the older aircraft models still employed in military use today. It was enough to jar me awake, which gave me barely the time to gather my backpack, stow my journal, and find a clever way to sneak out of there before anyone noticed. Luck would have it that the personnel were unloaded before the cargo, which meant that nobody was on the backside of the aircraft when I had to kick down the hold’s loading-dock door. It must have gotten jammed when I hurriedly closed it after stowing away in the compartment in the first place, and I am glad that the passengers of this aircraft were loud and obnoxious enough that no one heard my machinations. I hid beneath the frame of the vehicle until I heard a gruffer voice: A commanding officer who informed them to shut the hell up and get into line, at which point I saw my chance to scurry perhaps a dozen steps behind them towards the large group of individuals collecting in the field who had just been unloaded from the other carriers.

It was shocking to finally be able to see the planet's surface. A few interpretations from media had been close in imagining the true shape of the scene that lie below our continent in the sky. Much of it, I was surprised to see, would be considered very similar to the landscapes we see every day between each of the judicial districts. The ground is firm with soil and is heavily covered in blades of grass. It struck me as rather plain to be honest, when I gazed around the field to see a rather large base camp erected with numerous tents and large, shallow-walled aluminum buildings meant for storage and privacy. The camp was off to the left of our formation and to our right and back was an expanse of field that lead straight into the dark blue colors of a seemingly endless body of water, probably an ocean. In front of us was still more field that lead up to a strange sight: A wall made entirely out of trees. Indeed, on the other side of the field were trees grown together so closely, and in such mass, it almost looked like a wooden wall erected that no one had pruned off the limbs and leaves. Considering how far in the distance this sight was, I wondered if my eyes were merely playing tricks on me.

Roll call then started. One by one, officials began to step down the lines and question each recruit as to their name to ensure that each one had safely made their arrival. Wielding clipboards, they would make a mark on the paper they had hidden on the other side, probably noting each name individually to ensure an accurate account of who was there. That was when I began to feel my chest tighten as I fought back the panic that welled in me. Whose name should I use? Did I hear any names amongst the rabble in the passenger seats of the carrier I could use to get through this? I convinced myself that if I stood back a bit and tried to shield myself from sight between the two comparatively muscular recruits flanking my sides, they would perhaps overlook me and not question my name. I would have no such luck.

She was the biggest person I've ever seen. I have not had the opportunity to meet many Equinyr, but I think I might have found the biggest of them all. (If you have never met one, they are folks with the likeness of horses for their facial features, are covered in pelts, have manes, and have hooves for feet. I think their names originate from the similarity to Satyrs of myth and their goat-like traits, except they are more of a horse than a satyr is a goat. Hmm.) Her biceps were far larger than my head, her shoulders could have spanned the widths of three human men, maybe even four! An equine face with a dark, black snout/nose, a sandy-colored coat, and white fluffy featherings of fur on her wrists and ankles. She stood at least eight feet tall, and when her eyes met with mine, I was frozen.

There was a tense silence as we stared at each other, and I saw something twinge in her face. Anger?, Disgust?, Recognition? I couldn't tell. I was too scared to process what was happening as her voice rang out the question, "Name?"

My brain broke on me in that instant and I stammered out my name. "Benjamen Prodder."

I was doomed! They were going to know! I was a liar, a stowaway, a traitor, and anything else they could charge me with! Bind me in chains, lock me in shackles, cast me in the stockades, throw me in the dungeons, feed me to the wolves, and throw away the keys! Whatever they do to terrible criminals like myself! It's all over!

She said nothing though and continued to look me in the eyes. Her huge hand grabbed me by the back of the head as her four fingers took grip of my copper-hued hair and held me still. She drew close to my face to examine my features. I thought I was going to die, if not by her hand, then by the fact that my heart wanted to stop beating right there from dread. She did not hurt me, however, she simply stood back up from the stooped posture she had while staring me in the face, looked down at her clipboard to make a mark somewhere, then nodded at me before taking a thudding step and asking for the next boy’s name. My name couldn't possibly be on that list unless someone was impersonating me. It made no sense to me at that time, and I am still unsure of all the details of that encounter.

It made only slightly more sense when nightfall finally fell. My personal effects were seized after roll call and were stowed away in one of the warehouses. All of my survival supplies were in there so I had to get them back before I could leave. That woman knew though; she knew I was not supposed to be there. She had to. I could not wait around until an opportunity made itself apparent; I was simply going to have to brave the situation and hope for the best. It was already teetering into the next morning before I heard no more noises from the other recruits in the barracks tent I was assigned to. That was my chance to try to make a silent escape

I made my way to the closest of the aluminum-walled warehouses where I had seen our personal effects being carted off to the day before. It seemed most likely that my belongings were in there, and they were my top priority. Sneaking was difficult due to the day prior when we went through our first day's "initiation and conditioning" exercises that had left my feet almost too sore to step lightly on. The initiation honestly felt more like a hazing, but that term would not be quite proper for them to admit to in these ranks. It started with a sprint. We were challenged to run as long as we could possibly go around a circular track marked out for us in white chalk on the grass in the field outside of camp. There was a punishment in place that anyone not amongst the last ten recruits standing would then be forced to do push-ups on the ground with the same rules: To do so until they collapsed. The final ten remaining from that were then spared the sit-ups. Then the pull ups. Then the running again. This conditioning lasted all day, from high morning until dusk. I was lucky enough to pass the initial running challenge thanks to my decision to take Track as one of my electives during primary schooling (it was that or handball, and I did not wish to become a fine paste beneath the cleats of my larger classmates). Still, even having been forced to endure that torturous amount of running once, it left my soles stinging in agony when I tried to creep on them silently.

I was also very glad that I had elected for that historical tech course as well when I eventually snuck my way to the entrance of the warehouse and found it bolted closed with a conventional lock-and-key system. I suppose due to time constraints, and limited available power drawn from a few generators set up within the camp, it did not seem economical for them to take the time to implement common electronic locks on these doors. The course I took never did explain how to dismantle or workaround these mechanical locks, but having an understanding of their function was enough for me to be able to manipulate it to open with the assistance of a bobby pin and two pens. The bobby pin is the adventurer's dearest friend as many of you already know if you ever played a campaign of Chimeras and Caverns.

"They teach you how to do that in the fancy rich-kid's school?"

Once again I was doomed, for as I looked behind me, it was the commanding officer that had grabbed me by the hair during roll call. She had followed me here and caught me alone in a forbidden area. If she was not going to hand me over for punishment before, she was certain to do it now.

I'm not sure what was wrong with me, but the first thing I could think to do was to look for a weapon; it was the only way to get away; I was in too deep and there was no going back: Those were the thoughts that drove me deeper into the building. In a panic, I grabbed hold of a heavy suitcase and hurled it at her only to watch her slap it to the ground effortlessly and the contents within erupted into a torrent of clothes and magazines around her as she began stepping forward. It gave me only enough time to dig under some duffel bags and find a glinting pocket knife hanging from a keychain. I ripped it off and brandished the weapon awkwardly as I turned around to see that there was no distance between us. There was also no distance between her hand and my shoulder. She had my arm holding the blade pinned down with just one hand! There was nothing I could do! As much as I struggled and strained, I could not get loose, and my free hand could not pry her vice-gripping fingers away from my shoulder. "Drop it, Benjamen."

I had no choice. I could not get any leverage against her or move away from her grasp. It was either heed the request or provoke her crushing me to death in her fist. I let the knife hit the floor and bit my lower lip as I closed my eyes, waiting for what was to come. Purgery, Breaking and Entering, and now Assault of a military officer. My list of crimes continued to grow as my chances of finding my father dwindled further and further out of reach.

It was then that I felt my face pressed into her shoulder, and her free hand once again grasp the back of my head as she embraced me. I still don't know what I was thinking in that moment as my body went limp in shock at the gesture of her stroking my head with her behemoth hand and telling me she had wondered when she would ever get to meet me. She knew me? I had never seen her before today; how did she know me? I was dumbfounded when she let me go and handed my familiar-looking backpack to me. Gently she pushed me to the open door of the warehouse and told me to go.

"How do you know me?" I asked incredulously.

"The Captain told me about you. You're little Benjy Prodder."

"Which Captain? I don't know anyone in the military."

"He knew you at least. Markus Prodder. – you must be his little boy."

"You knew my father? Where is he?"

"You're here for the same reason I am then. Go, look, before someone finds you. I must follow protocol and orders; you still have the chance I don't. If you find him though, please tell him that I... that Daliah said yes... that she could love even half a man."

Upon her suggestion, I took off right then and there. Ignoring the stinging in my feet, I swiftly ushered myself to the exit of the camp and began a sprinting charge over the field towards the only direction I saw that continued on as land: Towards the wall of trees far off in the distance.

I was troubled and upset enough as it was after my nearly disastrous run-in at the warehouse, but the scenery around my mad dash and frequent stops to sit and rest certainly did nothing to settle me as I came closer and closer in view of the forestry wall. My fast pace was halted by the excessive amount of tree limbs and stumps jutting out of the ground, the trees having been long-since carved away. The wind rolling over the field, across the dead stumps, and through the low-lying bushes and weeds that sprouted between them chilled me to the bone, and I found myself shivering in the muscle-shirt and military-fatigue pants I had been supplied with at the camp. I felt stupid the whole time, feeling the hair on my neck begin to stand and warn me of danger in the area, even though there was nothing at all to be frightened of. They are just stumps: The remains of plants that, even if they were not dead, could not have harmed me in any way. An unsettling stench rolled through the area unlike anything I had ever experienced before. Despite the fact that I could not recognize it, it gave me a sense of familiarity as if I should know what it was, but it merely caused me to gag shortly before I brought myself back to my senses and continued to march on. The day had already passed, my advance through the field having taken that long, and I would have to make it to the wall if I did not want to spend my night curled up in a stink-filled field. What could that stench be though? The question came to me countless times before the answer was given to me in the form of my leg catching on something unexpectedly and sending me tumbling to the ground with a thud.

Dusting myself off, I explored the cause and was left mortified by the answer. A man, or specifically what was left of one. A corpse lie ragged and limp between a few of the stumps, the grass around it stained red by blood that had long since been washed away or soaked into the soil below. The eyes remained open and wide, staring pointlessly off at the bark of one of the stumps. One of his eyes did at least; the other must have been thieved away by birds or rodents. The mouth hung open grotesquely, with one of the cheeks appearing to have decayed away to show the bone of his cheek and jaw. The body wore the same clothes I was wearing: A grey muscle shirt with camouflage pants. The biggest difference was only that disfiguring red splotches showed on both the front and the back of the shirt around a gaping wound through the chest that I swear I could almost look through and see the other side.

My mind, in a wave of terror, offered me the idea of turning back now, returning to the reclamation project, informing them of my misdeeds, and just accepting the consequences. A few years in prison and being sworn to silence the rest of my life on the issue of what I had seen down here; it seemed like a preferable option to continuing through this field after having witnessed that corpse. Little did I know, as I fought back the thought and forced myself to continue, that it was just one of many I would stumble across in my journey. Another. Another. Every twenty yards or so I found yet another body to witness. I did my best to keep my eyes set on the forest wall still in the distance and continue my march, stepping carefully in hopes to avoid becoming ankle-deep in one of these gory scenes.

Mangled, disfigured, decaying, there seemed to be no uniformity to the demise of these soldiers. Some had gaping wounds in their chests. Others had piercing holes in their skull. A few were missing limbs, curled up in a pained position where they must have perished. Several were even barbarically arranged on wooden spires which looked like giant thorns left jutting out of the ground for any passerby to witness. I felt myself growing sick at the sight and the smell together. By the time I finally make it to my goal of the distant wall, I could no longer fight the quakes in my muscles and the panicked breathing that left me constantly short of breath.

The wall had not been much of a mirage after all and resembled what I saw of it from the distance. It had not completely grown together to make a single, solid surface, but the trees were so tightly packed that it did take me a fair bit of searching to find a gap between them large enough that I would not be in danger of getting stuck. These trees were enormous, each trunk perhaps ten feet across in girth. They towered so high in the sky that I swear I could not see the top of them in the few clouds that were peering down past the edge of Terriel as it loomed ominously above the ocean far behind me. This wall of trees was three or four deep. It took me perhaps an hour just to ease my way through the levels to where the trees spread out more comfortably so that I could actually walk, instead of crawl, and squeeze my way past.

It was like I had stepped into an entirely new world once I passed through the final line of the barrier. The ground was completely impossible to see through the deep and thick underbrush of bushes and flowers squeezed together and fighting for space amongst the limited soil available. I was forced to wait a moment for my eyes to adjust as barely any light was able to penetrate the blanket of leaves and limbs that arched above me. The plants all rustled with life as small creatures moved about and skittered away at my presence. The sounds were all crisp and clear, but despite the explosion of life around me, I felt strangely alone.

I spent the rest of my daylight clawing my way up one of the trees with the help of a pair of boot-worn tree climbing aids from my bag. I had once rebuked myself for throwing down 700 UC on them, stating that there would be no time I would need them, but the prepared adventurer is the safe adventurer. I am now glad that I did because I am able to make my bed tonight in the limbs of one of these gargantuan trees, and considering the nearly nonstop groans and chitters beneath me of the nocturnal life finally awaking, I would certainly not want to try taking a rest down there.

Tomorrow I get to begin my search without restraint, held back only by the limits of the time that daylight lasts and the endurance of my feet to take me where I believe I shall go. Here's to hoping that I find myself awake tomorrow, and not taken by one of the many unexplainable deaths that so many of my peers succumbed to before me. Now I'm shaking again; I shouldn't have written that. I think I might still be sick at the memory. At least nobody will force me to clean up the mess in this neck of the woods. Heh, my first pun.

I still have so many questions that buzz in my head and make it difficult to rest. He did remember me. He told his squad about me. That is one question of many that I can lay to rest; but who was that woman? She must have been a part of The Mongrel's Stand and – her name is Daliah. Dad, when I find you there's a lot of explaining for you to do. At least I know you did not forget about me.

But why did you never come home?

3: Seclusion

There have been many times in the history of Terriel when soldiers who returned from the reclamation project have been deemed mentally unfit. These individuals were carted away to mental health institutions (asylums) at exactly the same point: The moment they began to insist that the “Forest has a mind of its own.” Any scholarly mind would discredit these delusions to be merely the fevered ramblings of a madman; however, due to some personal experiences, I am starting to question if this is truly a testament to insanity, or just a difficult to believe factuality. Allow me to explain.

It began only hours after my most recent entry, which was perhaps twenty-four hours ago. As I lay down to try and get some sleep for the trying day ahead, I was not going to find much rest at all. The time I spent asleep was mostly unsettling, as the dreams I had were unlike any others I’ve experienced before. I will admit to being one of those individuals who does not remember their own dreams the following morning (some say this is due to nerve damage – unrelated), but this would be the first time that I can accurately recall the entirety of my night’s visions. The one, or series of dreams (it is difficult to create dividing lines) I recall most clearly involved an unfamiliar voice that spoke to me. In fact, it was not one voice, but many. Hundreds, perhaps even thousands of different voices all whispered and chimed in unison with each other.

They spoke of inconsequential things at first and asked so many simple questions. Who am I? Where was I from? Am I a monster? They told me I was safe, that I was welcome, and that I was on my path. My path to what was never said, but what am I to expect from disembodied voices? They could have told me the answer to life was peanut brittle, and it would have about as much rhyme or reason as the rest of their nonsense.

There were other dreams that happened to be more visual in nature. The ones that stand out most clearly to me were the dreams of him: Of Markus Prodder. Many times before, on the Stratus, I had encountered archived photos and bios of him that had been publicized due to his act of martyrdom three years ago. All kinds of news articles had surfaced about it. A few fan websites, and hell, even a conspiracy blog about him faking the whole thing had all received a fair bit of attention along the way. It makes sense to me that I would know his face well enough to fabricate him in a dream, but there was still an eerie sense of familiarity when I viewed him this time that never came to me when I viewed the posts and photos. I remember seeing him sitting at a bar, drinking cheap whiskey out of a mug, and speaking to a uniquely nondescript bartender about a story from his past. The tale recalled the origins of the fearsome steam-driven mechanical leg that protruded from his right hip. He said that it had been ripped clean from him here on the reclamation project... so he had not died in the reclamation project like my mother had told me? Of course this should no longer be a shock to me, but it does bring me back to a question that has itched and burned at my thoughts for these past years: Why did she lie to me?

There was nothing else noteworthy before I finally stirred awake, daylight having somehow found its way through the blanket-thick canopy of leaves above me.

I can now swear that I am being led on a path of some sorts. Upon all of the trees, a creeping, parasitic moss has bloomed flowers in this season. As remarkable as it is to see so many flowers at once, one disconcerting aspect behind them is their placement and coloring. The most prominent color I can find is a vibrant purple on this moss: A tiny budding flower with four elongated petals curled outwards. They are grouped by the hundreds together on the trunks of these trees, except where they are interrupted by the presence of large, rose-like, white blossoms, which are arranged in a line from a single point of view to create what appears to be a path. I have done my best to discredit this suspicion, such as ensuring that they were not growing on the northern side of the trees like moss is commonly said to do, but each time I go in a new direction I find that the blossoms once again create a guiding line which leads me back to the original path they highlighted. Could this be the forest trying to lead me to something? Is it perhaps helping me? Or could this be a trap of sorts, leading the wandering eye into a clever pit or the maw of a carnivorous plant.

I just took a moment to review my thoughts above, and I must revise one of my own statements. I believe I am going crazy. Lucid dreams and botanical anomalies do not amount to plant sentience or divine planning. I’ve just been alone too long is all. This being my first time away from people for more than the hours spent locked away in my room surfing the Stratus, it is not surprising that I am letting the seclusion get the better of me. It would be best for me to just calm down, collect my thoughts, and continue objectively with this documentation.

I am very fortunate to have installed so many helpful programs to my CCMI before embarking on this trip: A pedometer to mark my distances traveled, a compass to keep me oriented in my directions, and I have been able to draw basic maps on a few spare pages in the back of my journal. I also installed a mathematical assistance tool (cheating, as my old algebra teacher Mr. Wagerwise would call it) to give me at least some bearing of my position on this immense planet. I’ve had to make a lot of vague estimates when calculating my position within this forest in relation to the position of Terriel, so I doubt others could find me were I to transmit them these coordinates, but it is still a helpful reference to make sure I am not walking in circles or heading straight towards an ocean or anything. I’ve done my best to stay with the edge of Terriel floating above me since I am currently placing my faith in the stories of Markus Prodder’s demise: The ones that state he used a supposed teleportation matrix to throw both he and Agent Omega from the edge of the continent to the planet below. I will admit to fearing that this is only speculation and I am just inhibiting my search by doing this, but it is the only real lead I have aside from aimless wandering.

This will be yet another night spent up in a tree to avoid the nocturnal life stirring for their evening meals below me. While writing up here, however, I have seen something within the canopy that I was barely able to make out through the dense forestry. From the few glimpses I can catch, it appears to be a dilapidated structure crafted of stone; certainly a prominent structure out here in the forest. It looks like the perfect place to venture to tomorrow, since lying on the wood of tree branches is getting very old, very fast. That building could make a great base camp for me to set up as I’m searching. Better yet, who knows what is inside of it! Perhaps this could be one of the greatest archeological finds of my generation! Amongst the wood, the refuse, and the savagery of this planet, have I come across a remnant of the civilization and culture that once lived here? I am genuinely trembling now at the thought! If I could find just one document, just one scrap of evidence to see who they were or what happened here, I could easily become famous beyond what I ever thought possible for myself! They might even forgive me stowing away onto this planet and neglecting an oath of silence regarding this place. Or I might be executed by swift cardiovascular arrest administered via my CCMI. Both are possible. I’m going to be an optimist and say that I may become famous from this. I will just have to stuff the rational part of my mind in a box and stow it in a corner of my conscience, to be forgotten until I eventually find myself gasping my last breath from a stopped heart hearing the painful wails of “I told you so”.

Why must I make sleeping impossible for myself? Eventually I’ll learn to think of happy things like magic and butterflies instead of how I’m going to be a victim of capital punishment.

4: Lower Learning

A library.

I don't believe it. That large structure I barely saw through the thickets out here just so happened to be a library. My belief or not, that is indeed what it is.

I would not have guessed so from the outside however. I would have been surprised to find anything other than altars or pews from some sort for archaic rituals when I wandered up to the building and took in the sight of its ancient display. The structure seems to be rectangular with a curved roof, and contains a circular tower rising up from the center of the building that reaches high up into the canopy so that I cannot see the top amongst the interlocking branches. It is carved from smooth stones, yet peculiarly I cannot find any imperfections upon its surface so that I can tell how large each stone used in construction was; it almost appears to be one single rock carved out into this shape. Perhaps I am just not seeing these divisions, however, as the stone near the ground is only barely visible through the growths that have started to overtake it. Moss and vines of all kinds have been creeping up the walls, making ten or more feet of the stone almost completely hidden beneath the greens and yellows and whites of all the small leaves and budding flowers. The plants have created an ornamental effect to this impressive structure, testifying of its true age to have become so uncared for.

How fitting it is for me to mention that a book should not be judged by its cover when describing a library, for stepping beyond the threshold of the immense wooden double-doors of the building gave way to an entirely new impression of it. I had expected cobwebs, dust, insects, rodents, and all kinds of signs of dilapidation and neglect gathered in extreme darkness. I could not have been more wrong. When I passed into the building, I immediately grabbed for my arms and began to rub them, shocked at the cool air that blasted into me from the doorway. The air smelled stale, as though it had been trapped in the room since the last time that door must have been opened. I peered into the structure and saw that it was lit, with windows from somewhere within letting in enough sunlight to keep the room at only a dim glow instead of chokingly dark. I could not see a single speck of dust invading this building, with the steel-blue tinted marble floor beneath me completely shining from the small glances of light it received. The cold stone walls were colorful and gleaming with assortments of golden ornamental moldings and designs. Part of me questions if the shapes they make happen to tell a story of some sort, or if they are all just for decoration. I am impressed by them either way.

One thing I should note is that unlike our libraries on Terriel which are full of Magnetic Information Repository Rotary Drives (MIRRDs, for those of you who do not know what a library is either), this one contains nothing but books – yes, paper pages bound together between leather, wooden, and sometimes metal spines! Hundreds upon thousands of these books are piled on tables, resting on shelves, and lined up along the walls. The bookcases even rise up into that great tower that juts up from the center of the room (so tall that I cannot see the top even from within), with ladders secured to the walls to allow individuals to climb up and search for any book they are looking for. Even the most ignorant would stand in awe of the amount of ink, parchment, and sheer ideas that rest in this place. Most importantly, however, is that aside from all of the books and furniture, not a peep of sound or sight of anything living could be located within.

After doing a quick survey of the premises, I left the building for the rest of the daylight I had left. I made sure to keep the building within sight of me as I began to wander through the forestry nearby, doing my best to remain as alert as possible and scan the surroundings to ensure that I was indeed alone. I wished to prove to myself that there were no camps, structures, or others around, and that no monsters continued to lurk near this building. The cold breeze that had hit me when I walked into the library still had not left me, keeping me chilled to the bone and my skin flecked with goose bumps as I stepped back into the warm and muggy air of the outside forest. It took hours of wandering before I finally shook the feeling off ; a fact that left me concerned and questioning if I should head back to it, but it is the safest place. There are locks on those doors, and should there be creatures in the night or anyone still wandering about these forests that I have not yet encountered, I will be safe from them while I rest. To little surprise, I found no signs of life around the surrounding area, and as the light started to change colors and mark the closing of my day, I headed back to the library to ready a makeshift sleeping arrangement.

It must be too much to ask of whatever archaic civilization that built this library to have installed some light fixtures to stave off the dark of night, but I am lucky to have located what must have been a librarian's desk and uncovered a drawer still entirely full of wax candles and some loose matches. As primitive as this form of light is, it is better than draining my CCMI's reserves by activating my low-light settings, so I struggled to find something to strike one of the matches across to light it. The stone of the wall sufficed well enough for that. I have light now at least, so I may actually be able to fall asleep sometime soon. Light is one of the few comforts I can be thankful for in these wild surroundings.

I had set down my journal just now to find some seating or some kind of way to make a comfortable sleeping place, when I stumbled upon something troubling. I went back to the librarian's desk nestled in a small cranny between bookshelves in the corner of the room nearest the door, and while glancing through the drawers for anything useful, a glint of metal caught my eye. It was a doorknob, nestled behind the simple wooden chair pressed into the librarian's desk. When I first went to open it, it was locked, but an itching curiosity urged me to search the desk again for a key. There was no key to be found sadly, but I did locate a peculiar metal ring. It is a stoneless band made of silver alloy, and on its surface are letters that have been embossed onto it. NOVA is what the letters spell (considering the equal spacing, I originally thought it might say OVAN or ANOV, but NOVA makes the most sense). I spent some time examining the ring in awe, feeling compelled to take it with me. Perhaps I had a small kleptomaniacal episode right then, but I could not bring myself to leave the ring there. Instead I pulled it out from the bottom drawer and stuck it on my finger for safe keeping.

When I did this, I heard the mechanism of the locked door behind me come undone. Puzzled, I pulled the drawer out of the desk entirely to look for some sort of switch or hidden method that perhaps opening the drawer had activated to unlock the door, but there was none to be found: Just a drawer in a desk. This happening is still a mystery to me. Perhaps the lock finally gave out after I had tested it earlier? It has been here for a very long time. That's the only possible explanation I could fathom.

With just a turn of the doorknob, I let the portal swing open on its own weight so that I could watch the sight of its contents carefully. My heart was pounding in excitement of what secrets would lie within, and a twinge of fear plucked at me at the thought of the terrible truths those secrets might hold. It was just me being foolish, however, because when the door finally crashed against the wall after being fully opened, I saw nothing either exciting or terrifying within: It was simply a bedroom.

The same chill I had felt when I first entered the library hit me again as I passed through the portal, my hair standing up in response. I fought the sensation down and continued inside to find something useful. It was a rather simple room. A dresser with a vanity mirror resting upon it sat with a stool tucked beneath for someone to sit upon for the purpose of beautifying. The curved design and flowery engravings in the dark wood of the dresser made me question if it was once a woman that had resided here. There was a bed, resting upon a similar wooden frame with a feather-filled mattress, and a quilt was neatly folded atop it as if it had just been cleaned and was waiting to be used. Two separate candle stands made of brass rose up from the floor, with the remnants of burnt-out candles still cooled and forever stuck in mid-drip from the stand's edge to the marble floor below. Finally, there was a trunk at the foot of the bed in this small bedroom, the front of it bearing a large padlock which forbid my wandering eye to see inside. A pair of cloth shoes with short heels had been set neatly at the side of the bed, and the smell of a light perfume still floated in the room, trapped there since the final time this door had been shut.

Roaming about, I began to explore the bed to see if it was still stable. It was. I checked the drawers for anything peculiar. Just clothes, and all of it was in pristine condition. The cloth it had been weaved from had not rotted away, and nothing had chewed them or nested within them. The small frills I could find on the shortcut arms of these blouses, and the long skirts that were most common in the ensemble, confirmed that this once was a woman's room.

Once was. That phrase is something that has left me unsettled even now as I sit on the bed after unfolding the quilt and prepare to settle in for the first nice sleep in days. The room itself is very nice: Clean, charming, organized. It hardly looks like some sort of disaster ever hit here, or that struggle or panic was ever in the owner's mind. Everything was set up for her to return, but it seems she simply never did. This home has just been sitting here, waiting for someone that would probably never visit it ever again. It feels lonely. Not in a troubling or anxious way, but in a mournful way. The thought that these rooms have been here for decades, centuries, maybe even millennia, and not a soul has stepped foot through those doors brings me to truly comprehend the feeling of neglect within these walls. It is cold. It is sad.

I found a booklet under the pillow. It is a small, soft-covered, red booklet with blank pages. Whoever lived here was writing in it before she left. Perusing its contents may bring some new light as to why this place carries such a feeling. Perhaps it will explain what happened to her.

It does not. I tried to follow through the pages, but the language is not one that I can understand. It is handwritten, I can tell, but the phrases all look like gibberish to me. It must be a long-forgotten language, and I am certainly not studied enough to even begin learning how to translate something of this caliber. The alphabet is at least the same as ours, which means that our Uniform Basic must have once derived from whatever tongue this is, but they are too far apart for me to piece together anything intelligible. All I can make out are a few proper nouns since they appear to be capitalized. They must be names, but the only one that I recognize is Nova.

The sun set many hours ago. I need to try to sleep. I will be worthless on my search tomorrow if I don't at least get some rest. I will write once again after I have made any notable progress on my quest. Good night.

5: Out of the Pan

My head aches, shivers come and go, my hands quiver from exhaustion, and I constantly feel short of breath and the difficulty my heart has with each pump it musters. My ailments have left my head swimming, and my handwriting must be barely legible as I fight off the shaking to make this record. It seems to be all that I can do to keep myself calm. The last thing I need to do is panic, and if that means writing nonsense until I come back to my senses, then so be it.

I am currently resting on a sofa. This sofa is within a wooden cabin. That cabin appears to be in a forest. This forest is in a country that I do not know the name of. That country is on a world that I am currently uncertain whether or not I am familiar with. Hopefully, by taking this step-by-step, I can get across to both you and I exactly what my current situation is.

I just paused my writing for something notable that will probably cause you to bring my sanity into question. A yellow horse with a swoopy pink mane just approached me from a back room and tossed a blanket over me while I sat here. When the creature saw that I was awake, it squeaked and quickly retreated up a stairwell in the corner. I am now alone again. I need a moment to calm down before my handwriting loses all legibility.

Returning my focus, I need to recount the happenings that led to my current state of disorientation. My day began with another venture into the dense forestry surrounding the library to continue my search. To be honest, the morning was spent with hours of aimless wandering and continuously checking my internal pedometer to ensure that I was not meandering my way too far from my supplies left back in the library. It was somewhere near the turn of noon when my curiosity began to get the best of me. My eyes continued to draw me to the image of the white blooms amongst the purple buds adorning each tree trunk I passed. The itching to know if the coincidence of their direction had any purpose drove me to finally accept my madness, and with a single sigh, I allowed the vibrant roses to guide me through my trek. These coordinated flowers were not purposeless, however, as they led me to the greatest discovery of my journey yet.

The body of the reputable and infamous Agent Omega, prior cult leader of the Wildern Evangelists.

The stories we have heard of him from followers and eyewitness accounts attest to how he had become more machine than man in his lifetime. A man by the name of Thomas Parcey suffered a terrible incident that had taken place in his young adulthood, and to survive, he was pieced back together with advanced cybernetics and prosthetics to make him ambulatory and functional once again. Some called him a miracle of medical science, while many others could only see him as an abomination brought back from the dead via technomancy, yet all of the files recorded by the researchers and investors alike simply called him Agent Alpha. I believe the news stories following his future death recounted the tale of what happened to him after his “resurrection”. He had been left with a staggering and impossible debt after the procedures and it forced him to submit to indentured servitude for the governmental powers. They stationed him on the planet’s surface for this reclamation project to handle the harsh environments and speed the clearing of the land. During his duty, commanders reported him as AWOL, and it was not until years later that the name Agent Omega began to circulate around Terriel. The tale behind the name change is that they called him Agent Alpha with the intent of him being their first creation, but he dubbed himself Agent Omega, for he would be their last. Like many who returned from the reclamation project, he too had slipped into a manic state. The few attempts to have him committed to a mental health institution were thwarted by his dangerous implants and law enforcement was left at a loss. Soon the downtrodden and crazies alike started to flock to his underground meetings to listen to sermons that have been said to be full of propaganda announcing the evils of technology and its enforcers. The Wildern Evangelists were born, and their wave of terrorism became a constant concern to anyone among Terriel’s soils who could see the irrationality of his stance.

I was left staring down at the shell that was once called Agent Omega at my feet. This monster that had been trapped in limbo between mortal and machine was nothing more than a corpse and scrap metal. Most of the flesh on the body had decomposed over the years that had passed since his encounter with Markus Prodder, and the cybernetics that had kept him alive for so long were cracked and compromised by invading plant growth that bore into the chassis. The only reason I was able to identify him at all was by the iconic weapon that lay nearby: A belt-fed chain gun. It too was in irreparable condition, having been warped and sundered by what must have been a tremendous force until it was nothing more than a lump of metal that barely resembled a massive firearm. From the half-emptied belt still left anchored within, I was able to retrieve an unused cartridge. I plan to keep it as a memento. Why? Because I could feel my chest swell a bit with a sense of pride when I looked upon the rubble and the remains. It posed the question to me that perhaps I was of the same stock and blood that could do this. That I might inherit such a legacy of heroism.

My father was nowhere to be seen amongst the remnants of their battle that lie on the forest floor.

I had thought that must mean that he is still alive, and I immediately began to journey back to the library to collect my belongings. There was a chance that he was still somewhere nearby and I had just been walking past him this whole time. If he could survive not only his combat with such a monster, but also the plummet from Terriel that finished off his foe, then nothing in this forest could have the mettle to end him. I would have started calling his name to see if he would respond, yet the fear of what unwanted attention that might draw to me kept me silent until I had my supplies handy to better prepare for such a confrontation.

When I made it back to the library, I was shocked to find something missing from the room I had slept in the night before. The padlock that held the trunk securely closed just hours ago had vanished! That I should look inside of it was only a passing thought I had when I noticed this fact, but I forced the impulse down. Instead I threw open my backpack on the floor and started to stuff some books into it for later perusal. What would I find in my backpack when I went to open it ? A rat. Yes, a rat had snuck into my belongings! It was sleeping in the darkness of my bag before I rudely awakened it with a shocked gasp and tossed the bag away in a startle.

The creature crawled out after being tossed across the room, shaking off a dazed stagger in its gait. It was a white rat with a soft pink nose and tail, and dark red eyes that began to watch me closely once it had regained its bearings. The head bobbed up and down a few times, scrutinizing every last detail of me while its nose twitched to catch my scent. Minutes of tension passed as I feared the vermin would rush forward and try to bite me, as it was certain to be carrying any number of diseases. It never did, however, it simply watched and waited for me to take action. When I summoned the courage to step forward and retrieve my bag, its tail lashed out like a tiny whip to snap at my hand and force me to draw back. This action was repeated several times, until my frustration from being rebuked by a rodent brought me to speak. “Just what do you want from me?”

As though it knew what I had asked, the beast scurried through my legs and to the end of the bed, brushing its side across the closed and unlocked trunk. All I could gather was that it wanted me to open the foot locker, and with a hesitant shrug, I complied. Better than getting bitten, I assumed.

I am glad I heeded the request, for the most part. There were many objects crammed into the chest that might have held sentiment to the owner who had once cherished it, but one item within it also stuck out and hushed me in awe: A ballistic shield. A board forged from thick plating with a clear, bulletproof viewport in it made for the singular purpose of protecting its wielder from gunfire. The shield lay there in a ruined heap amongst the meaningless objects, riddled with countless holes where repeated deflections had worked their way through and chunks of it torn clear away from where the piercings had become too many. The metal was warped so that the handle and arm straps within were unable to be used, and the clear viewport had been cracked and partially removed. In red paint across the front, there were only a few letters left that had not been marred by holes or scratched away by shrapnel, but it was clear what they had once intended to read: Mongrel’s Stand

I was looking at a relic that must have once belonged to Markus Prodder.

The only thing I could think to do was drag my bag over and try to cram the shield in to keep it with me when I headed out to begin calling his name. There was an interruption, however, as I found the shield obscured from my view by a wide parchment rolled out atop of it by the white rat that still gazed up at me. What did it want exactly? As much as I tried to ignore the creature and swipe the paper away, the ratstood upon it and insisted that I look by giving a quiet hiss and nipping towards my hand when I would try to remove the barrier. Its tail tapped the parchment repeatedly in a single place, highlighting a group of words for me over and over again.

I did not have time for this. My father could have been walking away right then, only perhaps a hundred yards or so from my location, and I was held up by a stupid rodent with a meaningless scrap of paper it insisted I peer at. There was nothing intelligible on it, just cryptic images of diagrams that I could not begin to understand and archaic, foreign phrases I could not even guess what their meaning was. To finally appease the beast and return on my way, I pointed to the words along with its tail, and shouted them out loud at the little monster just to get across that I saw them already.

With a sigh of relief as it finally hopped down out of my sight, I swiped the paper away with one hand and reached with the other to grab the destroyed shield. A terror came over me immediately when I soon saw that this was impossible; my hand was gone. My whole arm! There was nothing there! The hand that held the silver band had just disappeared, leaving me with but a shoulder to stare at in horror. My other hand clutched for my backpack instinctively, but it was only seconds later that the dim lights of the candles left lit in the room dissipated, and darkness consumed my vision.

In what I can only describe as complete darkness, I felt my extremities begin to burn before the sensation smoldered into a prickly feeling of thousands of needles jabbing into them. The feeling crawled over my skin, creeping up my knees and elbows towards my torso. It traveled to my shoulders, my hips, my stomach, and finally to my chest. At the time that it reached my heart I struggled to gasp for a breath, but it felt that there was no air at all for me to draw in. As I panicked from the sensation of suffocation overtaking me, the prickling of disconnection reached up my neck and to my face. Once my head began throbbing from the feeling, the darkness split like a double door, and unspeakably bright colors of green, brown, and white flashed before my eyes. That is when I could finally feel my feet once more as they touched firm ground, followed by my knees, then my chest and finally my face as I collapsed right on the spot.

Pausing once again here as I have lost my focus. I caught a glimpse of the yellow horse and tried to ask it a question (like a damned fool – it's a horse, Benjamen! – it can't talk!), but it silently retreated up the stairwell again. I am a bit worried now since a frightened animal can be a very dangerous thing. I wonder if that horse's owner is going to be home soon. I find it impressive that they were able to teach the pony to do some servile tasks such as fetching blankets though. Perhaps the owner is the one that found me? Maybe they will know where I am?

Returning to my recount, I heaved and panted, barely hearing sirens in my head as my CCMI blared warnings and hissed with a strange static sound I have never known it to make before. No matter how quickly or how deeply I tried to draw in breaths, I just could not feel my chest stop its persistent burning as though I were drowning. I can only guess that whatever had happened to me had reset my CCMI’s respiratory assistance, and the atmosphere was just too light for me to draw any oxygen in from. As I suffocated, I looked up and saw what I thought to be a white rat bounding away from me with skittering hops. I tried to squeak out desperately for help. That is all I remember before I awoke with a startle and found myself lying on this sofa with my backpack resting at my feet and my journal folded neatly over my chest.

That is what my day has consisted of. At least I am led to believe it has been a day. Right now I can see through the windows that it is nighttime, and my chest still hurts a bit from the inadequate oxygen in the thin atmosphere here. Much more time could have passed while I was blacked out. I may have been unconscious for days. I will need to ask the owner of the cottage when I see them.

My hand is going numb from lack of circulation while I have been stressing it to write this, so I need to stop and rest. When I regain a bit more strength, sanity, or direction, I will attempt writing again.

6: In the Fire

What am I going to do? Just what the hell am I going to do? It's been at least 12 hours. 24 hours. Maybe 48 hours. I don't even know how many hours it's been, but I've been stuck alone in some stranger's house for almost or over a day and still haven't seen any sight of them. What's going on here? This is madness! Something terrible is on the horizon, I just feel it! No connection to the Stratus, no radio signals, no GPS assistance! This is the kind of crap that goes on in horror movies: A lone young man in a forest cabin thinking everything is fine and then -- Wham! --, dinner plate to the head and he wakes up in a bathtub full of ice!

I am going to get a hold of myself, that's what I'm going to do. I just need to keep a level head. I've been through situations just as bad and come out of them fine. Remember how many exams you walked into without ever even cracking into a MIRRD that week? You came out of those just fine, Benjamen, and it was all because you remained calm and just assessed the questions piece by piece. The answer can't be too hard to find if you just look and think about it. Alright, I think I am back in a good place now. Let me start arranging the pieces here to see if I can come up with anything.

I awoke today still lying on that same sofa I found myself on yesterday. With a bit more strength returned to me, I have attempted wandering about the house and tried to call out for anyone who might be home to answer me. Nobody answered, however, and instead the only attention I did receive was from a rabbit. This little white rabbit is a very peculiar find. He seems to be far more intelligent than any of the rodents back on Terriel that I know of. As of this moment, that rabbit is in the corner of this room brandishing a knitting needle like a polearm and keeping a watchful eye on me. He has already pierced my boot once with it when I tried to pick him up, so I am going to remain on my best behavior from here on.

There is one factor that continues to concern me: My CCMI is completely unresponsive. Unresponsive? How can my interface with my cranial processing unit be offline? This just does not happen; it just does not! The only times this can occur is during virus attacks or hacking attempts, and as far as I can tell I have been too far from the Stratus for someone to access me remotely. Have I been tampered with while I was asleep? I don't have any wounds on my head, so they did not attempt a manual connection, and my I/O ports are still locked. They could not have. I hope they could not have.

I needed a moment to catch my breath. With my CCMI deadlocked, I am finding the thin atmosphere in this cottage to be very difficult to breathe. If I take anything less than long, measured breaths, I start to feel lightheaded and a little numb. This means that my respiratory assistance is offline along with the rest of my CCMI functionality. I should be fine for a little while, but I can hope that this malfunction does not last for too long. The danger of suffocation is uncomfortably high right now.

Respiratory assistance is not the only thing that is affected. When I attempted to access some music files to help calm myself down and steady my breathing, I realized that I could not, and all attempts to interface with my CCMI are moot. Media, networking, indexing – everything is refusing to respond. For those of you who like to use your CCMIs and never even consider what the hell they actually are, here's the short explanation for your equally short attention spans. When you were an infant on Terriel, there was a mandatory surgery performed on you for the purpose of installing a cybernetic, mesh, pseudo-organic overlay between the interior of the skull and the top of the brain. With an astonishingly low rejection rate for infants, the pseudo-organic material is meant to grow as a part of your own brain as well. It also connects with major respiratory and cardiovascular organs for purposes such as assisting with oxygen intake of the lungs in lower atmospheric pressures and offering assisted circulation in differentiating gravity scenarios. It does not automate these functions, but it can force them to function should the need arise such as sudden cardiac arrest, paralysis, etc. This means that one will not die from their CCMI ceasing to function, but it should never cease to function unless you are dead, have contracted a virus, or are being hacked! I feel this little lesson is incomplete without me clarifying that the CCMI (Cybernetic Cranial Mesh Interface) is the actual internal display and relay used when trying to access information storage or connect to the Stratus, media banks, or optical recordings. The CCMI is directly connected to your I/O ports. (That happens to be the jacks on the back of your neck; however, if you really needed this explanation at all, I should give you the layman’s terms that it's the place you hook your MIRRDs into to play your virtual games and watch your movies. You're welcome, ignorant bumpkin.)

Now that the owner has been absent for so long, I suppose I could take a moment to look around. I can only hope they get home soon, for I have many questions to ask them. One of those questions is if they could be hospitable enough to spare a meal. I checked my backpack by the sofa for some of the jerky and trail mix I had brought along with me, but they are absent from my supplies. I can only guess that they are missing because of that damn rat; the little thief must have eaten my rations before it started napping. As it stands, it would be terribly rude for me to go rummaging around their kitchen for food. If my common sense will not keep me in line, the mutant bunny with the knitting needle will. I should probably not appear to be looking for anything lest I wish to be attacked again.

Butterflies! What is with all the butterflies? They're everywhere in here! Not live butterflies mind you, but engravings in the wood, paintings, stitchings, and pictures of butterflies are all over! This person is obsessed with them. I can only assume that it is either a woman or a Lufae (look at me stereotyping all Lufaen men to be homosexual – I need to get a hold of myself – there is no excuse for that kind of behavior, even in a situation like mine) because of all the colorful (pink? teal? viridian? Fuchsia? – I could not begin to tell you what the names of all the colors here are; interior design has never been my forte) and decorative butterfly portrayals.

On closer inspection, I just realized that the yellow horse is missing. I have not seen it since yesterday at all, even in my few wanderings that I have been allowed to undertake. Most peculiarly, I have not been able to find a place set up for it to sleep. The only thing I can think is that the animal must be allowed to sleep in the bed upstairs? That's odd to say the least, and probably more accurate to say unhealthy. Perhaps it is normally meant to sleep on the sofa I was occupying? Still a damn odd thing to have set up.

Pardon, there is a knock at the door. Since the owner is not home, I guess I'll go answer it. I can hope they will not mind me at least getting to see a friendly face for the first time in almost a week.

7: One Tooth Less

With many questions more and one tooth less, I have returned to record some of the most absurd drivel I have ever had the misfortune of penning.

The multitude of questions that flood my thoughts all stem from who I found outside that door when I went to investigate the knocking. Pardon, I should actually write "what" was beyond that door, not "who", since I do not want to give the misconception that it was anything believable I was staring at when I turned the knob and creaked open the entrance. I was simply dumbfounded as I stared at what appeared to be a blue horse with feathered wings sprouting from its back standing there. Standing is not the right word: Hovering with flaps of its wings – so perhaps treading? I suppose that clarification is unimportant considering what I was gawking at. The creature brushed a lock of spectrum-colored hair from its face before it spoke to me.

I believe those last few lines require some confirmation. Let me address what I can almost guarantee are your first questions: Yes, it was a blue horse with a rainbow mane; yes, the horse was flying; and yes, the horse talked. Even more impressively, I could understand the creature! It spoke Uniform Basic! Those of you on Terriel may more gutturally know the language when referred to as "Common" tongue. I know that this was true because my CCMI was still unresponsive at the time and was not offering any audio-linguistic relay assistance to translate foreign speech for me.

"Fluttershy! What are you still doing here? You were supposed to meet up with me today so we could head over to Cloudsdale for that- Aaah!" That is the best way that I can write the onomatopoeia of the shriek the thing gave once it finally looked at me and must have seen then that I was not whoever this "Fluttershy" is that it was looking for.

This is where I can explain why I am missing a tooth, and it is because my answer to that shriek with a loud, "Ack!" in surprise was not the proper answer to give. It let me know this by swiftly turning around in front of me and with a lurch, struck me in the face with a hind leg. The last thing I remember before waking up once again was the sound of my head striking a piece of furniture that must have been behind me.

In better news, however, my CCMI is once again functioning after that.

A bit after my head-on collision with the wooden armrest of the sofa, I awoke (with an understandable and excruciating headache) to realize that I was unable to move my arms and legs. When I went to press my hands against the floor and get myself back on my feet, I felt them bound behind me by some unknown force. Unbeknownst to me at the time, I had been hogtied on the floor while I was unconscious yet again. I feel I should clarify something there: Unconscious yet again, not waking up hogtied yet again. I am not one who is promiscuous enough to find myself commonly bound with ropes early in the morning. This would be a first occurrence for me.

"Now jus' hold yer horses," I heard from above me as I began to struggle to pull my wrists away from my ankles positioned above and behind me, "You ain't gonna get out of one of my knots anyways, critter." Noticing that the voice was similar to what one might hear in the drawl of a rural farm hand back on Terriel (stereotypically an Equinyr accent, but common amongst humans too), I had hoped that I could finally explain my situation to the proprietor of this estate and get to the bottom of my situation. No such luck to be had though, I thought, since it was just a damn horse. An orange horse this time, with a golden-blonde mane, and a brown fabric Stetson hat upon its head was staring down at me with large green eyes full of distrust and a puzzling look plastered across its features. "Just what the hay're you supposed to be?"

"Are you actually speaking? Are you really a talking horse, or has my CCMI been damaged from the head trauma?" I asked this rather dryly to make sure that I was not suffering from a file corruption of some sort. Perhaps one of my favorite Neo-Old Western film's audio was bleeding over from my media banks and I might have been suffering from a concussion to hallucinate that the horse's mouth moved in unison with it.

"See-see-what? What exactly is that jargon supposed to mean? Ain't ever heard of it." My question had been answered at least. If it were my media banks, the answer would not have been an intelligent response to my question.

The throbbing pain in my head was too distracting for me to start coming unraveled from the sheer impossibility of the situation: Being hogtied on the floor while talking to a hat-wearing, hick horse. "Never mind, it is unimportant. Can you please tell me where I am?"

"On the floor. Where else?"

What an adorably frustrating answer. "No, I mean what place am I in? What province is this? County? Country? Anything you can tell me at all?"

After a few moments’ consideration and an uncertain stare, the creature told me that I was currently in a place called Ponyville.

This has to be a fucking joke. Pardon my expletive; I will do what I can to scratch it out for the sake of keeping my conduct professional. It just so happens that I do not handle confusion very well.

"Jus' where exactly are you from then, critter? You obviously ain't from around."

It was at that time that I explained as best I could that I was not a "critter", but that I was a human from the city of Keycrescents, Judicial District 7 upon Terriel. When I could see that very little of what I had said made sense to my captor, I tried to shorten it to just that I was from a city named Keycrescents.

"So you certainly ain't from around. Never heard of that place a'fore in my life. You sure you ain’t makin' up stories now?"

"I wish I was; I truly, sincerely do." Taking a few deep breaths with the comfort of my respiratory assistance now online again and no longer suffering through the sensation of suffocation, a few other discomforts began to itch at me. "Forgive me interrupting our little interrogation here, but could I trouble you for some food and water? I have no idea how long I have gone without either."

An uncertain "Uh," was the first response I received, but I could see that the creature did sincerely wish to help me. That was at least mildly comforting as I was still bound on the floor like a wild animal. "What kinda stuff does a… “human” eat?"

"Whatever you have is fine. I'm too hungry to be picky about it, as long as it's edible." I really did enjoy that bowl of water and a green apple. I don't believe I had ever gone very long without food or water before that time. Is this why some individuals take up the practice of fasting? I had thought it was for religious enlightenment, but I will admit that food has never tasted so good, and water has never seemed quite as refreshing as it was at that moment. The apple was an interesting challenge to eat because of my situation, but I received a bit of help from the horse who held it still for me under a hoof. As unsanitary as that seems, I was too hungry to care at the time. The apple ordeal is also when I realized that I was missing a tooth. It must have gotten knocked out of my mouth when the blue one bucked me in the face.

"There y'all are. Took you long 'nuff to get here. Thought you were s'posed to be the fastest pony around, Rainbow! What kept ya?" asked the orange horse as the door swung open. I could only hear it, since the sofa now blocked my view of the door.

"I am! It's these two that were the hold-up. Blame them, not me, Applejack." As I came to find out, that voice was familiar to me because it was the blue one that had kicked me in the face.

"Alright girls, what is going on? Where is this pink monster you have all been talking about? If it's just Pinkie in a costume again for some belated April Fool’s Joke, I'm not going to fall for it." That was a new voice, and it did let me know that all of these horses I was seeing were female. I find it more comfortable to write she/her/she’s than to write it/its/it's

Three horses then stepped around the side of the sofa: The blue one, still hovering in midair with wings flapping; a purple horse, with a somewhat dull-pointed horn on its forehead; and the yellow horse with the swoopy mane, who huddled close behind the other two.

"Its teeth are so sharp," whispered the yellow one underneath a gasp from the purple equine.

"See? I wasn't lying, Twilight! It's a pink monster thing!" exclaimed the blue one, evidently having had some trouble convincing the one named Twilight to come along to view me.

"This thing says it's a human. Y'know anything about what a human's s'posed to be? Is this thing dangerous?" Applejack asked.

The purple horse, Twilight, stepped closer to me, inspecting my form with her mouth agape. I personally never thought of myself as anything spectacular, but it was nice to have someone think I was astonishing for once – it was terrifying, but flattering nonetheless. "A human you say? I'm not sure. The name sounds familiar; I just can't seem to recall it right now. Is this what you all have been so afraid of?"

"I thought it might try to eat me," uttered the yellow horse.

"Yeah! It was going to eat Fluttershy! Then it was going to attack me when I came looking for her! How are we not supposed to be worried about that?" remarked Rainbow.

"I jus' don't know what to say, Twilight. He speaks real funny. Seems polite, but I just don't know what t'think of it."

Twilight lowered her neck to me so she could press the horn against my face gently and gave me a long look in the eyes. I could see her mentally detailing my features, scrutinizing me as though she were trying to read my expression for something. "Is this true? Were you going to eat Fluttershy and hurt Rainbow Dash?"

"No!" I erupted in response, "Of course not! I just woke up on that sofa right there and wanted to know where I was! Next thing I know, I have talking horses kicking me in the face and putting me through an inquisition! If I knew I was going to cause such a problem, I would have just gotten up and walked away. Honest. I swear!"

The unicorn (I will call her this for now, since the horn is located on her skull above and between her eyes like the creature of myth, this only seems appropriate) smiled at me then, and gave a small coo in her voice as she spoke. "Oh, you poor thing." Standing back up to look at the others, she first nodded to Applejack who then began to untie me. "Rainbow! You knocked the creature's tooth out when you kicked him!"

"Y-yeah, but I-! He was going to-! Look, it's not my fault, okay? He screamed at me. What else was I supposed to do?" Rainbow defended.

"Did you scream at him first?" Twilight inquired.

"Shut up. I was expecting Fluttershy to answer the door." The flying horse folded its front legs unhappily at the accusation, turning her face away to avoid being looked in the eye.

"It doesn't matter. Just help me look for his tooth so I can put it back in for him." I did not feel like explaining to them that teeth are not plug-and-play like they seemed to assume they were. I was simply happy to be able to move my arms and legs once again and to pick myself up off of the ground. Applejack tried to apologize to me, but I dismissed the apology and let her know that it was quite alright. I can fully understand their concern, but I just wish they would have been as clear-headed to simply ask me like Twilight did. It could have saved me a lot of headache -- literally.

The yellow one, Fluttershy as I have discovered her name is, brought me my notebook while I was sitting propped up against the sofa waiting for the others to locate my AWOL incisor. When I asked her, she informed me that she was the one who brought me to this cabin when she found me passed out in the nearby forest. At this time, she is still explaining to me just how sorry she is for the misunderstanding and the trouble she caused me while I am trying to write, no matter how many times I tell her that it really is okay. It seems, however, that I have yet to make a complete recovery, as I can feel the nerves in my hand once again going numb from overuse. It sounds as though they have just found my tooth, so I suppose I will go ahead and try to explain to them why it is now better served as a trophy instead. Wish me luck. After I get some rest and some more information, I will return to continue recording.

It has been one hell of a day so far. I don't know exactly how much more day I can endure.

9: Hospitality

"Now put your booty in the air,
Let the fellas see what you wear down there,
Booty booty booty rocking everywhere.
Big J Prowler here to announce,
That I pay for my bitches by the ounce,
So if you got the D cups, make 'em bounce bounce bounce."

Imagine hearing that continuously for almost six hours. If one read my previous entry, they will have seen where I stated that my CCMI has been damaged and will continuously play my music library on shuffle. Well, it just so happens that "shuffle" has decided to play that one song on repeat 137 times.

I never even meant to download this stupid song! It was on one of Jeremy Prowler's MIRRDs that I borrowed one day just to download a couple of videos! I would rather keep the nature of what those videos were about confidential, but he must have had these damn music files stuffed in between on the drive when I copied over its contents. Its even worse that these are songs he made! He believed he was going to be a musician one day with this kind of nonsense? As if anyone with some sense about them would buy something this crass and in such poor taste.

Now I am stuck listening to him; listening to him sing about breasts, butts, and bitches. This has given me time and reason to consider how I might choose to kill myself. The best scenario I have contemplated so far was broadcasting the song continuously playing in my head at a feminist's rally on a boom box. I cannot be held responsible for my actions if my CCMI does not stop these shenanigans soon.

Frustrations aside, that red horse I had mentioned before is named Big Mac (Macintosh is his actual name). He had come to ask what I wanted for breakfast. I was rather confused at that, and had to ask why he wanted to know so late at night. As he informed me, it was neither late nor night; it was early in the morning, and time for him to start getting ready to work the fields. I understand "Early to bed, early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise," but is it not a bit extreme to be out before dawn? I have never been (or plan to be) a farmer, so I may be ignorant to some code or reason for being up so early.

I find it very hospitable of him to ask me that, and for the breakfast that the eldest among them prepared us this morning. They are the Apple family, and I can only guess as to why they are called that seeing as each name has something to do with apples so far – Applejack, Granny Smith, and Macintosh – those are three good examples right there.

The breakfast, I noticed, was missing a very common component of most meals that I am used to back on Terriel, meat. There was no bacon, ham, or steak. I am not entirely bothered by this, but seeing that most things presented were made of either wheat or apples, I see that the diet of these creatures is eerily similar to those of the livestock horses I am familiar with.

Apple turnovers happened to do fine as a breakfast substitute, since they insisted that I join them. They have a very forceful kind of hospitality here. I was almost afraid to say 'no', or else they might hogtie me again and force me to eat with them.

While being forced to listen to one of my old friends spout profanity and sex-driven lyrics in my head (I can be thankful that the volume is at least down so I can still concentrate), one might ask how I spent my day here. Did I search for a map that would show me how I might be able to get home? Did I seek out the wisest of these creatures and ask for their assistance? Did I pack up my backpack and head out on my own search?

Not at all. I am spending my day in a desk at school.

There is a young one on this farm, and her name is Applebloom. She had been very interested in drilling me with questions when I was sitting at their table. Applejack, her older sister I assume, had to keep telling the filly to leave me alone and to stop staring at me when she was no longer asking questions. I didn't mind all that much. In my opinion, she's absolutely adorable, even if she is a firecracker. The question, "What happened to your face to make it all short like that?" made me laugh a bit, and I told her it was because Rainbow had kicked my face hard enough that it turned flat yesterday -- sadly, I think she believed me.

The small yellow-coated horse caught me on my way back to the barn to collect my things and asked if I would come with her to class today. I refused at first, but I must admit that I have always been a bit of a sucker. It took nothing more than one look from her puppy-dog eyes and a begging, "Please?" to make me reconsider. She had mentioned that her teacher, Cheerilee (is that how it might be spelled?), is a “real smart lady”, so maybe it would not hurt for me to sit in for a day and ask some questions about this place? Information is a commodity I cannot afford to overlook right now.

I also was not allowed to ask Applejack if it was alright to do so, on the grounds that she would say no.

I was meant to be a surprise show-and-tell subject, though all I knew is that Applebloom had asked me to stand behind the schoolhouse in the shade until she “gave the signal' that I could walk in. I had assumed she needed to get her teacher's permission to ask for a guest to sit in, but it ends up that she was building hype for my entrance.

There was a mixed reaction when I stepped in and strode to the front of the class where Applebloom was motioning me over excitedly with her hoof. Some gasps of terror, a single shriek rang out, a few quiet mutters to each other hushed too low for me to understand the words, and I think I heard at least one "cool" from among the kids – wait, goats have kids; I suppose these would be foals. After telling them what she knew about me: That I was a human, that I was from a faraway place, and that I did not eat ponies. Applebloom asked me if I knew any tricks.

"I know one or two. Does anyone have a deck of cards I may borrow?"

I evidently startled everyone in the class, including the adult fuchsia pony at the desk behind me who gasped in shock, when I spoke. This lead to her stepping forward and apologizing for Applebloom using me as a spectacle, and motioning to Applebloom to sit down (assuring her that she would still get credit for this presentation). I asked if I could stay for a bit and observe, since I was new to the area and hoped to learn something. She was a bit wary of my request at first but said it would be alright and allowed me to have a seat in the back corner of the room.

It happens that nobody had a deck of cards, so I was not able to do a trick for them.

I feel like Cheerilee might have to ask me to leave soon, as it seems to be difficult for her to keep the foals' attention with me back here jotting down my thoughts and notes. I suppose it would be fine since they are going over basic arithmetic today: Multiplication tables to be exact. I was hoping for geography, history, political science, economics, etc, but sadly not. I am here on the one day that they are covering the subject that will not help me in the slightest. Perhaps they will change subjects to something more helpful before the school day is over?

... She put the line in the wrong place on one of those equations. That says "3 / x4", not "3 * 4". I'm sure she'll notice soon.

She has yet to notice.

She's not going to notice.

10: Blank Flank

What has my life come to?

My lodgings have changed considerably since last night. Instead of taking residence in a barn, I am now staying in a luxurious bedroom and lying in the most comfortable bed I have ever had the fortune of encountering. The colors in here are painfully bright compared to what I am used to (every imaginable shade of purple and pink, pastel and bold alike, with golden accents all over), but with the lights dimmed I might be able to get some sleep amongst the loud display. I am listening to a pony hum from somewhere else in the building while a sewing machine makes a repeating small clatter. I currently smell like spring flowers, am wearing a fluffy hot-pink bathrobe and slippers, and my hair has a wonderful volume that I did not know it was able to obtain.

I blame the Cutie Mark Crusaders for all of this. Who are they one might ask? Well, I met them after class had been let out for the day. I stayed through lunch in hopes that they would discuss something else. They did indeed change subjects!
They changed to vocabulary.

Once school was let out I asked Applebloom if she was ready to go back home (I don't know how trustful the ponies here are, but young children never walk about unsupervised back where I am from in case there are predators), and she told me that she was meeting some friends about looking for a 'cutie mark'. Excitedly, she brought me along to meet with two of her friends from the same class to whom she had been telling stories about me all day. The group consisted of Applebloom, the yellow pony with the rich, wine-colored hair; Scootaloo, a pegasus who is orange pelted with a short-cut purple mane and a tomboyish attitude; and Sweetie Bell, a unicorn who is a white foal with magnificently loose-curled lavender and pink hair. They call themselves the Cutie Mark Crusaders; I can only assume this is because they are on a crusade to find a cutie mark.

Pony Anatomy Discovery: The "Cutie Mark" that I have been referencing above is a peculiar happening for each of these creatures that occurs at a certain time during their life. The physical manifestation known as a Cutie Mark is a pattern (growth? fungus? pigment mutation? I have yet to hypothesize a biological explanation for the occurrence) that is located on the pony's hindquarter/flank and usually resembles an object or action. Culturally, the mark is said to appear when a pony discovers what he or she is special at (as in, something that defines them as an individual), and the picture will manifest itself as something relevant to the pony's skills or future profession. I notice that these three foals do not have a mark, and thus they are on a quest to discover what makes them special to receive one. It seems to be similar to human puberty, and these young ponies are simply wishing to step into their adulthood early as do all children. I must write that I find this highly impractical as a way to determine one's profession, seeing as it makes me question how certain jobs get done. If it is random, then how will there always be growers? How will there be builders? How will it be certain that all the necessary roles for a community to function will be filled if it all happens by chance? Does this mean there is a pony around here with a cutie mark in the form of the "Team Lift" symbol you see on a box when purchasing furniture, and that its special skill is moving objects?

I was roped into assisting the Crusaders today in trying to find their own special skills. Let me see if I can accurately recount what each attempt was.

First was the "Monster Hunter" cutie mark. They gave me a three-minute head start to hide somewhere, and then they had to find a way to subdue and capture me. How could this possibly end well, I asked, and was told to stop being a worry-wart. There was no way to argue out of it, and besides, I am a sucker still for little Applebloom's persuasive pleads. This ended with a lasso circling my ankle and Scootaloo looping it around my legs like a Lepoline attempting to trip up a Hemodostan. I landed face-first into a patch of brambles shortly afterward, marking the end of the attempt.

Second was a "First Aid" cutie mark in attempt to patch up the few cuts I had gained from the last adventure. Aside from them picking my skin raw with a pair of forceps trying to remove each of the thorns, I also am missing a fair portion of the hair on my arms from failed attempts to put adhesive bandages on me. I was barely able to convince them that I would be all right before the little one, Sweetie Bell, was going to try suturing a small cut with a needle and thread that I dare not ask her where she got it.

For the third try we vied for a "Diplomacy" mark. This mostly consisted of them asking me what I wanted in return for handing over my backpack. It was paralleled by a "Private Investigator" attempt as I realized that Scootaloo and Applebloom were both rummaging through my belongings while I was still refusing to give my possessions to Sweetie Bell. As much as I'd love to help them, they cannot have my survival supplies. I am afraid I had to wrestle one of my MIRRDs away from Scootaloo, and Applebloom almost got away with the shell I took from Agent Omega.

Fifth (counting the espionage attempt as the fourth) was the "Mechanical Engineer" (though they used more simplistic terms) goal, which was merely them dismantling my MIRRD while I was reorganizing my backpack. It ended disastrously with a few thousand magnetized discs being scattered over the ground. There obviously was no cutie mark for picking up mechanical disasters, they informed me, when I instructed them to help me clean up the mess.

Losing some hope for the day after these repeated failures, they asked me what my cutie mark was so maybe they could give that a try. I informed them that I did not have one. This led to the sixth suggested attempt, and that was “Xenobiologists". I am now both a "Blank Flank" and a spoil-sport because I flat out refused to disrobe for them.

"Sweetie Bell! What have you done with my needles? My favorite pincushion is missing, and I'm sure you have something to do with this." That was the inquiry that ended our "fun" for the time being as another pony came trotting over the knolls to seek us out in the field where we were conducting our search. Being a city-boy up on Terriel I have not seen many equines in my lifetime, but even from my minimal exposure it was easy to tell that this was meant to be a beauty among them. She was a unicorn of bleached white coloration with a deep royal-purple mane that was styled meticulously and (now that I am paying attention for them) had a cutie mark of three diamonds. Piercing is the best adjective I can think of to describe those light-blue eyes of hers, and she spoke very properly.

Needless to say there was a moment of panic for her when she saw me sitting in the grass shirtless among the three foals midway through attempt seven, "Acupuncture", with me resembling a giant steel-quilled porcupine. I still am not sure if she was more mortified by their actions of poking more holes in me than a kitchen strainer or if she was horrified that the girls were playing alone with a monster. Either way she padded over to remove the fillies from around me and then watch me with a questioning stare (a very common reaction of these ponies when they first witness me). As she examined me, I could feel that she did not approve of the sight. Of me? Of my current pointy accessories? Of the woodland refuse matted in my hair? It felt almost like she was disgusted by me. Perhaps I am just a bit touchy when I am filled with needles though. "Are you quite alright?" she asked me when I still had not said anything to her after she was done looking me over.

"I'm afraid to move because of all the needles," I responded through gritted teeth.

The creature gasped as the horn upon her head faintly gleamed with a similar aura to the one around Twilight's horn when she was attempting to put my tooth back in, and I could feel large groups of the needles being plucked from my skin at a time. I will not repeat my actual thoughts of the sensation of having that many improperly-applied punctures ripped out all at once seeing as this is not a script for a Forgewright movie and does not need all of the profanity, but needless to say it was rather excruciating. I believe she made up for the discomfort by shooing the girls away from me and telling them to go on their quest somewhere else for now.

Sweet children, but can be very exhausting – also dangerous to one's physical well being.

The white-furred unicorn informed me that her name was Rarity, and that she was a relative of Sweetie Bell. She is evidently a tailor in Ponyville and the needles that had invaded my hide happen to be hers. (I hope she plans to sterilize them before using them again.) I gave her the same vague information that I was able to give the other ponies who wished to know what I was. I believe she soon became comfortable with my presence after seeing that I was not a danger once the needles were taken out of me. She also commended me for my patience in dealing with the children when I recounted exactly what we had been doing all day.

There was an interesting conundrum that came up when she lifted my sleeveless shirt, which I had acquired back in the Reclamation Camp, and refused to give it back to me. I understand that it is not very fancy attire (alright, so it is subpar attire at best), but she was treating it as though I was better off walking around completely nude! I just read that last line and feel the need to correct myself. She probably did believe it would be better now that I consider the fact that most of the ponies do remain nude most of the time.

Either way, she refused to give me back my shirt stating that it was inexcusable for anyone to be caught wearing something not only in such poor condition (stains, holes, and threadbare), but something also of such poor design. "If you're not going to wear something nice, do not wear anything at all." It was then that she instructed me to follow her back to the "Carousel Boutique" so that she might take my measurements. I had thought that the Apple family had a very blunt and forceful form of hospitality, but how naive was I. I might have to get used to this form of impossible-to-refuse assistance while I’m here.

The Carousel Boutique is actually where I am right now, having been here for many hours as she took my measurements, asked me about my favorite colors, questioned if I had a preferred style in mind, interrogated me about the reason why the pants and shirt are separated where they are on a human's clothing (as she could see from my fatigues), and many other inquiries that I do not feel that I should use all of my paper listing. After all of the questions, however, she also put her hoof down with an ultimatum: I was required to bathe if I was going to remain in her establishment.

Understandably, I have not had a chance in the past week or so to bathe with part of it spent being conditioned for the military, another bit in the forest, and one night in a barn. I have not changed my clothes once since I first stepped onto the Buzzard Model APC. The amount of work I have been doing did leave a rather strong (manly, if I do say so myself) odor on my clothing, and sleeping in a barn did make my hair an absolute mess, so a bath would be nice. I was a bit concerned about disrobing though, in fear that this unicorn might commandeer my lower garments to be burned while I was indisposed.

By the way, I was right. She did steal my pants and underwear while I was bathing. She refuses to give them back to me, stating that they are horrid and disgusting, and that I will simply have to wait for her to finish. That is why I am wearing one of her bathrobes right now, and I can only hope she finishes her sewing and stitching by early tomorrow. I cannot possibly step outside in this and expect to retain any form of dignity.

I did hear that Applejack and Twilight had both come seeking me this evening, the first to see if I had run off and was checking to make sure everyone was alright, and the latter to come and see me personally. When I asked what Twilight required me for, Rarity said it was just a scholarly interest, and she wished to try gathering some information about me – I believe I heard her request for Rarity to send me to Sugar Cube Corner tomorrow at noon. Rarity had informed them both that I was busy (naked) and convinced them to leave. It was an impressive feat getting Applejack to leave honestly, seeing as I could hear Rarity practically slam the door mid-sentence just to quiet her protests at my staying here.

That was the extent of my day, and it leads me to feel that I must write a confession for both the reader and I to soak in. It is nigh impossible that my father could possibly have ended up in such a strange place. I have not had the time to contemplate exactly by what means I got here, but I have serious doubts that the same forces would be coincidental enough to have done the same with Markus Prodder. Continuing my search for my father here in Equestria would be a colossal waste of not only my time, but also my energy and ever-slipping sanity. For now my objective must instead be finding a way back to Terriel. Once I am home, I can turn over my findings from the ancient library and perhaps be able to fund a search party to accompany me on another trip to the surface below in hopes of finding Markus Prodder. Until that time, I will not be able to continue looking for my father, but I will keep my promise that I will find him. I simply must set my goals to something more immediately obtainable than "Find Dad."

Also I wish to add in that Cheerilee did not notice her error and was not entertained when I asked her if we were to know what the Variable X was equal to, or if she could supply another related expression so that we may solve for X.

I'm now a Blank Flank, a spoil-sport, and a smarty-pants.

11: Libel

Hi! I'm Pinkie Pie!

I'm writing here for Benjamen today because it looks like he forgot his book when he left to go handle some important business. I can see he has been writing in here a lot, and I wouldn't want him to miss a day. I think he might be trying to break a record of how many days he can remember to write in here! Don't worry; I'll give you a hoof Benjy!

The story about how I got this notebook is really interesting because it's about the surprise party I was hosting today! For whom you might ask? Who else, silly! Benjamen of course. He's the new foal in town, and I want him to feel welcome around all of us pony folk. What better way to break the ice than with all of your new potential friends jumping out at you from behind furniture and shouting your name?

Benjamen did not get to stay very long for the party sadly. Actually, he barely stayed at all! As soon as we hopped out and shouted, "HUMAN BENJAMEN!" he dropped the stuff he was holding and ran out of the door. He must be really, really busy then. Maybe he's trying to find a house for himself? I heard that he has been having trouble finding places to stay at night. He even slept in a barn! Can you believe it? What an animal!

I am a little disappointed that he was not able to stick around for a bit longer, and also that we were not completely ready when he did show up. We were still putting up the piñata because it kept falling out of the rope. The candles on the cake were just being lit too! If only he had stayed for a little longer he would have seen everything we had set up for him. There was cake and ice cream and candy and colorful candles and balloons and games, and I even got some sweet tunes to play for us because we were going to have a dancing competition! I wanted to know how he moved with just two legs. I thought it might be fun to watch!

Oh, but I did get to see him! Benjamen is really pretty in his new clothing Rarity made for him just for the party: It's silver and dark green and beautiful. I never thought he would be pink like me! His mane is this light reddish-brown color though, but it looks really good. I think I'll try dying my mane that color to see if maybe I look like him too. Oh! I can do that as my next costume for a dress-up gathering! Or maybe Nightmare Night! He can go as me and me as him! It'll be great!

Benjamen, I hope you'll be reading this soon because I wanted to say it was a real treat meeting you today, and you should come back by Sugar Cube Corner again sometime so we can actually try talking to each other! I wrapped up a slice of cake for you so that you won't feel like you missed out too much, and I'll be sure to have the piñata up right this time.

Now Twilight's looking at me really funny. I think she might try to... NO... SHE'S TAKING THE BOOK... STOP TWILIGHT... I DIDN'T FINISH WRITING FOR BEN ABOUT ALL TH

This is Benjamen once again, since I feel I must clarify that my notebook is no longer in someone else's possession. As you may be able to tell, I had a bit of a faux pas early today that ended with me leaving my recordings in the hooves of a certain excitable individual. As much as I can appreciate the gesture of her trying to help me catalogue my journeys, I am still torn between feeling furious about the violation of my property and somewhat flattered from the kind things she wrote. I doubt I will take the time to search my feelings enough to find out and instead will dismiss it altogether. I have decided to leave the page she wrote in here for the reason that I wish to keep it as proof that these ponies do have a written language and speak/write in Uniform Basic as well.

I feel it necessary to explain why I fled earlier from the party that they had set up for me, as it makes me look like a coward if I simply ran away from horses just wanting to speak with me. Let me paint the image a bit more realistically for you.

I was already uncomfortable in the new clothes made for me because they had yet to be broken in. Also because they are so much more impressive than anything I've ever bothered to wear before. My usual fashion used to consist of hooded jackets and concealing baggy-legged pants most often, but now I am in what could be considered semi-formal attire. I feel I am just one step under wearing a tuxedo. I'm refusing to wear the silver tie she made me though; I will not parade around as if I'm going to a wedding or a ballroom occasion.

When Rarity had beckoned me into the building, the entry room was rather bright but peculiarly empty. We were the only two there. That is, of course, until I shut the door behind me and had to ask, "So why was I asked to be here?" That is when the problem started.

Not one, not two, not six, not ten, but dozens of ponies came bounding out from hiding and cover to begin shouting at me, and all I could hear were the words "Human!" and "Benjamen!". I panicked and tried to look around the room. I saw a few of the ponies holding torches, some others brandishing pointed silverware and blindfolds at me, and there was a rope that was hanging down secured from the ceiling with a noose swinging empty at the end.

They were going to lynch me!

There is a rather nasty dent left in the door of Sugar Cube Corner at this time from where I backpedaled and slammed against it before frantically throwing open the door and taking off in a full sprint from the mob of ponies. I heard a few call out for me to wait, but I was too frantic to even look back, and I was simply pushing to get myself into some form of hiding to regroup and consider my options.

I did fairly well and soon found myself once again in a forested thicket, in which I stuck close to the bundles of trees so that I could try to consider how I was going to get back in and retrieve my backpack. My first step would be waiting for nightfall to come, as it would be certain that they had a search party out to find me. I imagined that they were armed with pitchforks and more torches to hunt me with.

"Hey! Get back here, you!"

I like to believe that I am quite fast when I run, but I'm sadly not faster than she who claims to be the fastest in all of Equestria. When Rainbow Dash saw me cowered beneath the shade of a tree, I once again took off in a full sprint. It had only been a few hours at that time and was still far from nightfall. As I did not heed her command, it did not take long for the pegasus to collide with my back and try to throw me down to the ground. With my chest slammed to the dirt after that tackle, I was overwhelmed by the same feeling I had when I saw that woman, Daliah, in the warehouse back at the reclamation camp. The feeling that I could not recognize what I was doing crept back upon me and my body took to a course of action against my own better judgment.

I remember that when she took me down we tumbled for a bit, and I was able to stop myself by grabbing at the ground. Rainbow stopped nearby and leapt to pin me down after I had rolled onto my back to try and stand back up. Putting my boot on her stomach, I was able to shove her off of me and throw her back against a tree so that I could stand up, but that is when things escalated to problematic levels.

"Oh, I see how it is. You want a fight? Then you've got one!"

I had my fists balled and body crouched defensively as she picked herself back up as well and kicked some dirt off the ground to prepare a charge. I wish I could recall in more accurate detail how the following scuffle went, but it was such a frantic flurry of punches and kicks from us both that it all seems hazy and scrambled up until she outmaneuvered me. I made the unwise choice of trying to sweep-kick a creature that could fly. My arms were quickly wrenched up at the shoulder, pulled slightly behind me in full nelson, and my head was pressed into the ground with the cyan pony shoving her weight into my back so I could not stand up.

"What the hay is your problem!? You're running away from anypony that tries to talk to you! Why are you running?" she shouted at me as she pressed my head against the dirt more to try and hold me still.

"I'm not going to lie down and die! If you're gonna try to hang me, then I'm damn well going to put up a struggle!"

"What?" she screamed at me, easily holding me down as I continued to kick and flail futilely. "We're not going to hang you!"

"I saw the noose! The torches! The knives! I know what capital punishment looks like!"

"It's a party for you, stupid!"

I stopped kicking and fighting for a moment because of how idiotic that sounded to me -- probably just as much as it sounded to her when I said that they were trying to hang me. "Who throws a party for someone when they're hanging them? That's the most demented thing I've ever heard of."

"We're not- Ugh!" She groaned in frustration before finally taking the time to explain to me what had happened. I was told that the noose was actually supposed to be for suspending a paper mache effigy filled with candy. The torches were just sticks they were using to light the decorative candles, and the knives were there because they were preparing to cut the cake.

I once walked into a classroom and set next to my good friend Jeremy Prowler. Leaning over next to him, I made a joking remark about seeing him the night before at the movies with a Lufaen girl and whether or not they happen to lift their tails. It was a few moments (and a red mark across my face) later that I realized I had stepped into my homeroom class from the previous year and was not sitting next to Jeremy Prowler, but instead next to a Lufaen girl who was a sophomore. That memory does not even compare to how stupid I felt right then as I was lying on the ground with a blue winged horse holding me there, telling me that I had just mistaken a welcoming party for a lynching mob.

After such a display I went right back to the Carousel Boutique, cleaned myself up, and have not come out of this room since. Rarity has come knocking a few times to ask me if I am alright. I have most commonly responded with a bellow of frustration. Twilight was let in long enough to see me and return my journal. She also apologized to me for her friend's additions to it.

I know I cannot stay in this room forever, and that I will eventually need to step back out and show my face again after my scene today, but hopefully it will wait until tomorrow. I don't know if I have the composure yet to not turn from pink to cherry red after making myself look so stupid.

... My CCMI is now playing a sad theme by the name of "Hopeless", a piano quartet playing a depressing waltz. I honestly start to hate my life sometimes.

12: Alienation

"Benjamen?" Don't open that door. "Are you awake?" For all you know, I am not. "I need to head out for a bit to do some shopping." Good for you, better get to that then. "I was curious if you would like to join me?" Such wasted curiosity. I would not. "I would certainly enjoy having some company on my errands today." Call somebody then. "Your help would be greatly appreciated too."

The word "help" brought a groan from my throat as the sentiment stung me this morning. It appeared as though this was my chance to aid Rarity in return, and seeing as I have been living off of her generosity for two days now, I owed her at least this small token of repayment to keep from being the worst houseguest in known history. That obligation did not help me fight off the dread I felt when my feet hit the floor, however, and through the entire task of finding and donning my clothes, I still questioned smothering myself back to sleep.

As one might be able to ascertain from the mental transcript I gave of my morning, I was still in a very poor mood when I woke up. I had made a fool of myself yesterday, and the shame still weighed me down in the bed throughout the night. A stupid white cat kept me awake all evening, repeatedly jumping at my feet to claw at them and then hiss and growl at me when it hunched up on the ground next to the bed. I never personally owned a pet back home in Keycrescents, and seeing that most of the wildlife I have encountered since the beginning of my trip hates me, perhaps it was for the best.

The best way to describe today overall is that it was a trial. A trial of my patience, a trial of my humility, and mostly, a trial of my sanity. How could something as simple as a shopping trip bring about such hardships? Dragons. I was shocked by that answer as well.

Indeed I did meet a dragon today, or a creature that at least claims to be one. When I had finally readied myself: Fixed my hair to its relative carelessly thrown-together scruffy look and given my reflection in the mirror a confidence speech while shirtless (my definitionless chest and stomach reflected back at me made this a pointless gesture), Rarity and I stepped out of the boutique to begin running the errands she had planned to take care of today. On our way out, and only halfway down the walkway that connects to the street, a peculiar purple creature huffed and heaved for breath as it sprinted on short legs towards the two of us. While I stared on in what I think to be reasonable disbelief, Rarity only smiled and asked if I would wait a moment once we reached the street to let the purple lizard approach us.

"I'm here! I made it! Am I late? Twilight's letter this morning was a doozy, I thought she'd never let me stop writing!" The creature wheezed a few times as it grasped for its knees to catch its breath. One of my brows had involuntarily drawn up and refused to come down as I could not seem to understand what I was looking at. A talking purple lizard? I'm already hard-pressed enough to accept that these horses speak, but this was now asking too much of my suspension of disbelief.

"So you ran all the way here just to try to make it on time? How sweet of you, but I happened to have somepony available to help me today. It would have been alright for you to miss a single trip with me," Rarity cooed, motioning with a tilt of her head in my direction.

"Somepony else? Who could... ,” the creature's sentence was cut short as he finally looked up to spot me, the green-colored eyes widening as he had to crane his neck back to see my face.

"This is Benjamen. Has Twilight not said anything to you about him? Ben, this is Spike, Twilight's dragon assistant," Rarity introduced.

"That thing's a dragon?" That was all I could think to say, as I was fairly unimpressed by the reptile. I had always imagined dragons to be giant, fierce, and noble creatures. This was little more than a bumbling, scrawny, garden-variety lizard that learned to walk on two legs.

"The human thing? She said something about him a couple of days ago, but I thought it was just another constellation or something! He's taking my place?" Spike responded as he looked between us both unhappily.

"Just this week. I was not sure if you'd show up and he was gracious enough to offer to come along."

I did? She must have a very liberal definition of "offer".

Spike did not seem to take this news well, even after she had informed him that it would be alright for him to accompany us if he wished. When we began further up the road towards the center of the village, he spoke up about me. "You're really going to let that thing carry your stuff? He might drop 'em, and at his height they'd break for sure!" Funny, I'm only tall enough to stand eye-level with these ponies when they are at rest. Its not my fault this skink only comes up to my hip.

"Am I really being berated by a talking gecko?" I questioned back incredulously, but was ignored as Spike continued his arguments against me.

"I'm not trying to diss the new guy here, but you seriously might want to rethink giving all your stuff to a huge monkey."

"Spike!” Rarity erupted at him, "I'm shocked! How could you say such a thing? I know your worry is in good nature, but you're being rude. He'll do just fine, I'm certain of it. Now let's have no more of that talk and just enjoy our outing." I suppose one of us had to be hopeful, since I was busy brooding over the insults and being woken up early, and the lizard grumbled with scorn, it would have to be her. Rarity ushered us onward, ready to begin her errands.

The first stop was for groceries. I was quite surprised when I was not handed a basket and asked to go foraging for berries and fruits like the savages (I should probably be ashamed) that I keep mistaking these creatures to be. I was instead lead to a cobblestone street closer to the center of their hamlet that was lined with dozens of stalls and carts. These small structures were overflowing with produce and goods of various kinds. Multitudes of ponies crowded around some, while other calmer stalls had one or two currently in the midst of bartering with the owners of these vending stands. My attention was pulled away from the sights as I felt something pressed into my hand: A few golden coins from Rarity.

"What's wrong? You look so shocked," Rarity questioned as she looked up from the coins in my hand.

"I was expecting a watering hole with a lookout watching for coyotes," I commented and cleared my throat when the only response I got was a puzzled stare. "What are these for?"

As Rarity turned to give Spike a few coins as well, she warmly informed me, "To get you some grocery items, of course. You have not had the chance to do so since you arrived, have you?"

Truly the only meals I had been getting by on were the ones that others were gracious enough to offer me. The thought of it woke up the sensation of pangs in my stomach where it felt uncomfortably empty. The only thing more unsettling to me than this feeling was the intense weight of guilt that rested on my shoulders when I looked at the coins. "I don't know if I'm comfortable accepting this."

"Well I certainly don't know what humans eat or what you like. It's fine, really. It will save me the effort of guesswork."

"No" was once again not an option for me to give. With a submissive nod, I tried to exhale away the weighty sensation of wrongdoing and left her to begin perusing the stalls. I was not alone, however, as I heard the young voice of the reptile that shadowed me once we were away from Rarity's sight. "So what are you really supposed to be?" he asked me skeptically as he strode at my side with a scowl. I explained, once again, that I was a human from the city of Keycrescents which was an indeterminable distance away from Ponyville. "I meant with her, with Rarity. I mean, sleeping in her home, eating her food, she's making your clothes, you're taking her money... good pen pals?"

"More like a freeloader," I regretfully admitted, feeling the coins in my hand seem to get denser. "No relation to her. I've only known her a few days now; she's just been very helpful towards me."

"Rarity probably feels sorry for you," he spouted off quickly, his lip bit beneath a snaggletooth afterwards while he let his brow come up from its scowl. "Well, she's just being nice. Don't get any ideas about taking advantage of that. A great pony like her doesn't need somepony wringing her dry with a sob story about how lost and scared they are."

"You know, back in Keycrescents snakeskin boots are very popular." When I spat those words out in response, our eyes met in a glare. That was enough, I had thought, and my mood was not improving any as I was being inquisitioned and accused by a pigmentally-challenged iguana. He let me be at that time, allowing me to finally speak to some of the stall owners.

Speak is a term that I should use very lightly. Quite a bit of what I truly did was peruse the contents of stalls while the owners of them stared at me with either scorn or fear and tell me to take my hands away when I would reach to examine something or bring up a point about it. The other ponies near stalls moved away like liquid when I would approach a new stand. I am one who does enjoy my personal space, but the intense effort made by these ponies to avoid it left me feeling rather alienated. I also felt extremely ignorant because I had no idea what the value of one of these coins was when I finally did find the one stall where the owner did not seem terrified or distrustful of me. He was selling strawberries, and after one look at me, he informed me, "Five bits."

"I just saw a pony walk away from here after placing two coins down. Is that not two bits?" I asked.

"That was then. This is now. Five bits."

"For a basket?"

"For one strawberry."

"That's unreasonable."

"It's economics. Demand went up."

"Maybe I don't want to pay that much."

"Then don't and stop holding up the line."

Eventually I surrendered the idea of doing as she had asked me to. I returned the bits to Rarity and simply informed her that I just was not comfortable bartering with something when I did not know its value. At least she accepted that answer and did not require me to admit more.

The next stop was at a florist's shop. When I asked what she might be buying there, I received the answer, "Flowers, what else?" with a chuckle. The response she gave me when I reworded my question as to what she would need at a florist's shop for the upcoming week was not much better. "Must everything one does have a need? I would like to see the flowers, so that's why we're here." I have never been one to understand what exactly the definition of shopping is, but it must vary wildly from my own crazy concept of it meaning going to purchase necessities for oneself.

The store was very presentable. A couple of ponies, the proprietors, busily watered and cared for the plants even after the three of us entered. Roses, tulips, daisies, lilies, daffodils, bluebells, and so many other kinds of flora that it was mind boggling to me, sat on dark shelves positioned beneath a skylight or close to the many windows of the establishment. I was personally intrigued by the roses, seeing that they had so many colors ranging across the entire spectrum. I have only seen yellow, red, and white roses back home unless they had been specially treated with dyes to force them to become exotic colors. The shopkeepers seemed to pay me no mind, well, up until I had a mishap with an insect. A large white and black hornet was buzzing around the shop, and when it got close to me I panicked. With an audible whack, I slapped the little monster out of the air and to the ground which brought on a gasp from all of the ponies in the store. Even after I had apologized and claimed it was merely in self-defense, they told me I had to wait outside. As Spike laughed at me on my way out, I "accidentally" bumped his stomach with my boot. They sent him out of the building too when he coughed up flames near the posies.

"Murderer," he called me broodfully as we both sat outside to await Rarity finishing her tour of the flora.

"Blowtorch," I spat back.

"Monkey."

"Anguine."

"What did you call me?"

"Ignorant."

Perhaps 10 minutes of unavoidable coexistence passed before Rarity finally made her exit from the florist's shop and asked if we were now ready to behave and try again at another store. With compliant nods, both of us stood up to accompany her. I had to ask her why she left the shop without buying anything. She simply asked me why she was expected to buy something when all she did was enter a store. It still makes no sense to me, but to preserve my sanity and keep from imparting my frustration on someone who has been so kind to me, I am trying to make myself believe it is local custom or a female ritual.

The next stop on her list was a perfume store. The words “Perfume Shop” have been a point of much thought for me today, but mostly in that I have been trying to think of a clever acronym for what I believe it truly is. I have not been successful, but I am thoroughly convinced that it is indeed a pseudonym for what should be honestly labeled as “Fragrance-based Weapons Testing Facility.” That is all I can imagine this place truly being considering how many times I was assaulted and suffocated with various scents then questioned on how I felt about them. Rather pissed – but such is an answer I was hesitant to give due to how these ponies continue to eye me with skepticism and distrust the entire time I am within their establishments. There was even a pair of ponies I heard speaking about me as the three of us passed, questioning why Rarity had the beast lugging her groceries behind her, said with some insensitive giggles at my expense. I expected my skin to be thicker than this when poked fun of by brightly-colored talking livestock, but regrettably it did leave me feeling somewhat insecure in myself. Our trip through this store as well was a disaster for me overall.

Spike had busied himself by acting as the best little assistant that one could imagine, going off on independent searches for scents whose names were more suited to culinary works or questionable independent film titles than marketed fragrances, toting them back one-by-one to Rarity, then putting a small bit on his scales and asking if she thought she might be interested in it for herself. He also was considerate enough to ask my opinion on each scent as well, insisting on blasting me in the face with spurt after spurt of the perfumes to ensure I got the full effect of the aroma. By "considerate", I mean he was being a little shit .

“Tell me, Benjamen, what do you think of this one?” Rarity finally asked me while we stood in the aisle between the Fields of Spring section and the Seaside Scents corner.

“Do you know how with paint when you mix too many colors together you get brown? I smell like brown. Please don’t spray me again,” I requested irritably of her.

“Please? I could really use a stallion’s opinion on what smells best,” she requested once more, setting the bottle down in front of me to show she was willing to skip spraying me with it.

“I think perhaps this all is a little unnecessary. Is there something wrong with the perfume you own? I mean, why not buy more of whatever you’re wearing right now? It smells nice, I like that one.”

Moments of silence passed between us as I witnessed a very light pink begin to burn through the fine white fur on her cheeks and face from her skin beneath; a peculiar smile tugging at her lips as she turned her eyes away from me. After a clearing of her throat, she quietly informed me, “I am not wearing any. I discovered I was out today, thus why we’re here.”

I excused myself afterwards and decided to step outside to try to keep others from realizing just how flushed my own face had become. I could feel the blood rushing to it and the skin radiate heat, so I can only guess I was between the shades of tomato and prized sports car. Spike had eyed me warily on my hasty retreat from the shop, but I did not hear him if he had a smart remark for me this time. I just felt the need to vacate and begin the subtle process of convincing myself that what I had said was merely my impatience and not truth. The whole scenario is just awkward and uncomfortable.

The last stop our group made together was a beauty supply store. I have never personally entered one of these types of shops back in Keycrescents, but the name seemed fitting as it struck me as being a haven and place of worship to the great practice of cosmetology. My attempt at being as quiet and out-of-sight as possible in this establishment was successful for the most part while Rarity busied herself looking for mascara, or eye shadow, or something. I am not well versed enough in makeup to know what she was looking for exactly. I had scurried off to hair-care products just to keep myself out of the way. Even when I do absolutely nothing at all though, I am a magnet for trouble.

I honestly am not sure what exactly happened. From one side of me came the sound of a loud squirt that caused me to jump and slam myself up close to a shelf. Before I could find the cause, a scream erupted from the opposite side, down near the makeup. Shooting my sight that way, I saw the makings of a powder-room horror story. On the side of Rarity closest to me, large blotches of black ink dripped down her pelt, the sight of which brought another shriek of terror from her. A quiet “Uh oh” sounded as something skittered away and left me standing alone in the aisle as attendants came rushing to see the damage.

Hair dye. Fur dye perhaps? Either way, it was black dye that had somehow shot across the room and splattered across her pristine ivory pelt in large and unflattering splotches. I could barely understand her through the quivering in her voice as she witnessed the cosmetic carnage that had befallen her and raised her tone at the attendants to quickly do something before it set in. As they began to look to one another in panic at the situation, I pondered exactly what all the fuss was about. Sure, it was not a pretty sight, but beauty is indeed only skin deep (or fur deep, in this case). “Rarity, it’s alright. Calm down, there’s no need to shout. It’s not the end of the world. Besides, I always thought bovine-print spots were really cute.” That was not the right thing to say, as she immediately broke into tears at my insinuation: “I look like a cow!” she blubbered back, barely intelligible. The other ponies gave me a dirty glance at my insensitivity, and with a sigh, I just grabbed a bottle of anti-dandruff shampoo from the shelf and stepped over. “Get me some baking soda, we can fix this.” As though I had spoken gibberish at them, I had to repeat myself twice before any of the attendants brought me the baking soda as I requested. When it finally arrived, I tried making a quick mixture in my hands and asked the aesthetically-wounded to sit still so I could try to get it out. The mixture did as I had hoped and lifted enough of the color that the ink only left a pale purple hue to her fur – this did very little to console her.

“This isn’t fair! Who could have done such a thing?” Rarity asked me through tears in her eyes, heaving for breath after her inconsolable shrieks when she looked at the spots left on her hide. “What am I going to do? I look like a wreck!”

“You’re making a huge deal out of nothing,” I tried once again. “How about we just go get some bleach and lift the color back to blonde or white. Then it will be light enough that it can grow back out to its normal color.” With a forced smile she nodded and asked me to please stay close as she wanted to go to the department store to get the bleach we would need. The beauty store charged us for the dye and shampoo on the way out despite being the victim of the mishap. Peculiarly, Spike was nowhere to be seen now (good riddance).

Finally it seemed that my own plight came to a head as we approached the door of the small store that had some kind of cute “save-a-lot” kind of name (bits-o-bits?). There was a greeter at the door, wearing a green vest uniform around its chest and neck, who smiled at Rarity but did a double-take and stopped us both when I attempted to stride in behind her. “Sorry ma’am, but I’m afraid that, uh, pets need to stay outside the door.”

“What?” Rarity asked as she felt she must have misheard him, and she began to listen to him retell the instructions. I myself was distracted by the sound of another patron’s comment:

“Gorilla has to stay outside, but they’ll let the cow in?”

Perhaps she did have a point with how upset she was over the dye incident. The same sensation I felt when looking at the coins came over me as I shook my head at the phrase, and before she began arguing with the doorman about how he referred to me, I gathered her attention. “Rarity, I’m just going to head back to the boutique. Just bring the bleach back, and I’ll be ready to help you out. I feel like I’m just… well, embarrassing you now.”

Something about my words set her off. With a whip of her body she turned from me to view both the greeter and the patrons nearby to spout off loudly towards them. “What is wrong with all of you!?” I watched her stamp her hoof down with shocking force, which I instinctually stepped back from. “I am ashamed. Not of my spots, and not of him, but of all of you! How dare you? A monster? A pet? A monkey? I asked him to come with me this morning and he came out of kindness; he has been nothing but a gentlecolt this entire time, despite it all, but what does he get? He gets treated like dirt and like an animal!” Rarity spun around with her head held high, looking for my sight and shaking her head sternly to me. “No, Ben, I won’t send you back to the boutique alone. I’m coming with you. I refuse to be in such company. They can keep their bleach for all I care.” Before I could raise a word against the statement, she was already marching past me with her head still proudly raised, motioning for me to follow. Her exit was interrupted when another pony stood in her way.

Having just entered through the door, there stood a light tan-colored pony with a grey and white striped mane and tail right in the way of Rarity’s path. With a puzzled and concerned look, she shuffled to remain in the path of the indignant Rarity, despite my companion’s insistence to step by without a word. “Pardon me,” started the mare in a voice that led me to believe she was notably older than most of others I had met, “Is something the matter here?”

“No, Mayor Mare, my friend and I were just leaving. There will be no problem.”

At the term friend, the mayor craned her view to me curiously. Her own eyes opened wide with shock at the sight of me, though I was still toting bags of groceries at my sides and my shoulders were slumped to bring me a bit lower than her own height. “Oh, I had just heard that there was an issue that I needed to see to myself. It involved a,” moments passed as she scanned me, selecting her words carefully, “new arrival. Is this the friend you’re speaking of, Miss Rarity?”

“He is,” she said with a certain nod. “His name is Benjamen and he is staying in Ponyville while he gets adjusted.”

The mayor nodded slowly at the answer, eyes glancing between the patrons of the store, Rarity, and myself. I could see the wheels turning in her mind as she had to consider what to do, biting at her bottom lip and her breath hastening a bit at the question. A lot of eyes fell on her right now and waited for an answer. With a step forward while her muscles quivered very slightly in fear, she bravely approached me as I set down the bags respectfully. One of her hooves rose up and was offered out to me, still shaking despite the hopeful smile that lit up her face. I assumed she was looking for a shake, which I reciprocated for her and caused her to exhale in relief as her stance calmed at my gentle touch. “Welcome to Ponyville then, Benjamen. I do hope you enjoy your stay, and if you find yourself in need of anything, please feel free to visit my office. It’s always a pleasure to have a guest in our wonderful little town.”

I am being called again for the second round of bleaching Rarity’s pelt. The color is almost completely lifted (now a soft orange tint). Hopefully with this last treatment we can get it to blonde so nobody will notice it until her fur can grow out again. I will hurry the rest of this entry. After my meeting with the mayor, I immediately witnessed a very new demeanor in the ponies I encountered today. Smiles, hoofshakes, pats on the shoulder, and other unwelcome but tolerable gestures were directed towards me. At least I can safely say I prefer it to being feared and scorned. It was a trial, but at least it led to something worthwhile. As is the saying: All things worth having are worth fighting for, or in my case, being mistreated and embarrassed for.

13: Empty Pockets

One rule of life that I have always been accustomed to is that he who has money, has allies. Also that house guests and fish have a common problem of being difficult to stand after three days. As generous as she is, I decided that I cannot live off of Rarity's generosity indefinitely. So to keep from becoming a burden and to be able to garner some assistance from the right sources, I will have to collect some money. That is what I have been doing for the past two days while I have neglected to write in my journal.

Before I began my painstaking search for employment, however, I made sure to stop by Sugar Cube Corner once again to apologize personally for the misunderstanding of the party that I had walked (ran screaming) out on. Ms. (Pinkie) Pie is not a very understanding individual from what I gather, but she is at least very amiable and quick to forgive a transgression such as mine.

I say she lacks understanding only because she had no idea as to why I might mistake ponies with ropes hanging from the ceiling, knives, and torches to be anything other than potential friends.

I personally enjoyed the short chat we were able to have which was almost entirely her jawing at me in a squeaky, hyperactive voice about what she thought of me. The other part of it was that she offered me a wrapped-up slice of cake that remained from the one she had prepared for my welcoming party. The cake was chocolate, to which I am mildly allergic. It was worth an uncomfortable case of hives for the afternoon, however, and eating it saved me from having to be anymore ungrateful towards her hospitality.

I also received her welcoming gift to me. Back where I am from, we consider a welcoming gift to typically be a piece of decoration. small furniture item, cooking wear, or anything else that could be considered helpful to someone seeking to make residence in a new place. I am still trying to decide if this could be considered similar: I was given a small, metal-bound booklet (much like an expensive address book) that each page has a single name on it with a blank area beneath for notes. I notice that the listings are currently in alphabetical order and a few pages already have entries on them. Judging by the handwriting, each of these are by different individuals. There are blank pages at the end of the booklet, and it seems the interior rings that hold the pages can be partially dismantled to arrange the pages as needed, in case I must add new entries. I think I was supposed to receive this gift at the party and use it as an aid to learn something about each of the partygoers to make some social connections more easily.

I'm both astounded at the creativity of the gift, and a bit touched at the consideration that must have gone into it, though I question how much use it will receive since I am hoping to not be stuck in this place called Equestria for very long. It is certainly still worth holding onto as I never know when I might have a need for it.

Economy Discovery: I have made note already in this journal that the form of currency used here is known as a "bit". I had yet to decide the actual worth of a bit, and stated that I would provide an estimation of a conversion rate. One example I believe I could use would be apples. Apples are a very common food source in this region, and it seems that a basket of apples (around two dozen) has a retail price of four bits. That would be approximately 6 apples for a bit. An apple in a supermarket back on Terriel, as you may know, is usually sold for an average retail price of 50 UCs (if you are buying name brands). I can estimate then that a bit must be worth approximately 300 UCs. This is all very subjective, however, considering the 'worth' of some items will certainly vary from that on Terriel due to cultural differences: For example, clothing is an expensive luxury item here instead of a necessity as it is back home.

Currency, in an ideal sense, is meant to represent the value of the amount of work an individual has accomplished to be used to acquire wanted goods from alternate sources other than the individual they are offering their services to. This means that to obtain currency I must work, but aside from writing papers for some lazy students back in school for 1000 UCs each and completing some of their homework assignments for side money, I have never had a job. My technological savvy is of little use in this place as this seems to be an archaic society focused on physical labor and manual artisanship, so that is out of the question. I will simply have to try to find new skills of mine to market here.

It seems that most are wary of hiring a human to work for them, even for something as simple as custodial work. The few shops I visited and asked if they needed assistance informed me that they were not looking to hire. I would hope this is because they were fully staffed, but it is much more likely that I am still a bit too strange for most to feel comfortable representing their establishments. They did at least smile at me and turn me away politely, but acceptance must not mean they will trust me with their reputation.

I was told at Sugar Cube Corner by the proprietors, Mr. and Mrs. Cake, that I could work there part-time during the busy hours, which was very generous of them. They had asked if I knew how to bake and I said yes (to make a good impression). It was a lie, but how hard can it be to make cookies and donuts? If a horse can do it, then certainly a pseudo-futuristic intellect such as mine can grasp the concept and master the art. The Cakes quickly learned that I had lied, however, for only a couple of hours later there was black smoke throughout the building, and I had lit my arm on fire. I am glad I had taken off my coat so that I did not ruin the clothing Rarity made me, but the hair that was left on my arm after the Crusaders were done with their first aid training was now singed off. Needless to say, I am no longer employed at Sugar Cube Corner.

When I marched my way into the library, I was surprised to be assaulted by a shocked gasp and an excited squeal at my presence. Ms. Sparkle, whom I had not seen since she returned my journal to me, had a grin on her face spanning the entire length between her perked up ears. She dragged a chair across the floor with her horn's grasp to offer it to me and struggled to collect her thoughts on such short notice. Had she wanted to meet with me that badly, I questioned. Much like a dog with a rawhide chew, she was ecstatic to jaw at me in the form of many questions that she had been dying to ask once I was comfortably adjusted to the area. I do not know if I will ever be quite comfortably adjusted enough to answer all of her questions, but I had to turn her down this time because I was busy on a job search. Speaking of a dog with a chew toy, it seemed like I had just whacked her across the nose with my rolled up journal when her eyes widened and ears folded back. With an apology, she let me stand back up to ask her if she had a job opening available that I could apply for – no, she has an assistant already: That puce prick Spike. The two of us exchanged glowers before he asked me, "Just how many of my roles are you going to try to take?" and then went about his business of carrying an unsorted pile of parchment with him up a stairwell. I am rather glad I was turned down; I did not want to work with him anyway.

Many failed attempts at the stalls lining the streets to get some work from them later, I finally made my way to the town hall and requested if the mayor was in. She had told me that if I needed anything that I could call upon her. The mayor was not in, but the secretary was kind enough to inform me that, no, I could not have her job before ushering me out angrily (even though I had never intended to do so; there must not be many positions open).

Feeling down on my luck and desperate for any kind of break in the cycle of failure, I wandered back to Sweet Apple Acres to ask if they needed another farmhand. I am not notably strong or suited for the task of manual labor, but perhaps I could make do there. Macintosh greeted me with a serene smile when I arrived through the gate. When I asked if he knew whether or not I could get hired on as help, he glanced me over with an amused grin. He obviously thinks that I am not quite up to the task either, but out of kindness told me that they could think of something for me to do.

I spent the first part of the day trying to drag a plow behind me (pathetically) while Mac just kept telling me to "Keep tryin'," each time he would pass by me on his own quick-paced tilling. Grunts, groans, strains, squeaks, and the occasional honk escaped as I pointlessly pushed at the plow for nearly two hours. After realizing that I was never going to get the damn thing to budge, they decided that perhaps I would be better off doing some processing instead of fieldwork. I spent the rest of my day at a hand-operated quern grinding wheat into flour.

The next day, I started to feel as though I was a failure since I spent a fair part of my day trying to move the same plow again with miserable results. The idea came to mind that perhaps if I could move a heavy grinding stone with the leverage of a hand-operated crank, I could easily get this plow across the field using the same simple machine, but it would take too much time and material just to plow one line of the field by myself. I was thankful for Mac, who still encouraged me with a small cheer as I pressed and grunted and strained uselessly. I finally found that grabbing the plow and walking backwards with it, though terribly slow, did allow me a bit more leverage to use, and I am proud to say that by the time the sun went down, I got that plow across the field – once. I got one line done. In twice the amount of time it took Mac himself to do maybe twenty (it seemed like hundreds with how many times he told me to 'keep it up' as he passed), I got a single line plowed.

It is currently many hours after I had begun to write this entry as I have had to pause for a long while. It was because I had a visitor here in the barn tonight: I decided to sleep here instead of walking all the way back to the Carousel Boutique. I was simply too sore and too exhausted to bother being told I had to bathe or be interrogated as to why I had dirt all over my fine clothes. I did not think my legs would get me all the way there, and I would rather sleep in the safety of a pile of hay than in the grass next to a road on my way back. My guest was Applejack, who caught me writing in my journal once again. She was carrying a blanket on her back and a pillow in her mouth that she threw down for me.

"Hey," she called to me as I was busy writing. I was attempting to finish my sentence before I looked up to avoid losing my place, but she stepped forward and put her hoof on my notebook to gather my attention with, "Hey, put that thing down fer a minute."

"Sorry, I just didn't want to lose my thought," I tried to explain as I looked up.

"I wanted to tell ya somethin' Benjamen, so think you c'n stop writin' in that darn book long enough t’give me a minute of you're time?"

"Of course," I agreed as I set it away and folded my hands. I was rather curious what she had to say.

"I wanted to say... well, that I'm sorry." The orange horse paused as she looked back at the pillow atop the pile of straw, pushing it up into proper position. "I know that I've been real distrustful of ya recently, but at that party and what I heard from Rainbow, well, I reckon you're just as scared of us as we are of you." She then chuckled, and added, "Probably more than we are of you. Not to mention Rarity had nothin' but good things to say about you. Called ya a real fine gentlecolt."

"I suppose compliments are something else that you ponies will not let me refuse," I murmured to her as I stood up to help her shuffle the hay back into the pile.

"Heard ya got somethin' done today. You do good work, Ben."

"I appreciate the encouragement, but you don't have to lie to spare my feelings. I know that I'm failing horribly at being a farmhand."

Applejack smiled at me as she sat herself upright against the barn wall that I had been sitting against to write. "Well, the fellas at least thought you were real entertainin', and ya kept 'em smilin' all day. Heck, that's gotta count fer somethin’." I get the feeling she was patronizing me because I had at least put all of my effort into it, and she might just be kind to someone she can see is having a rough time of it. "Aside... I get the feelin' that you're the thinkin' type, not really suited for this kinda work."

"Well, thank you. That does mean something to me." To know I wasn't a complete failure right then did ease a bit of my dour mood. "I am afraid that being a thinking type is not helping me be of any use though."

"What's with that book anyways? Why are you always writin' in that thing so much?"

I explained to her that it was a journal in which I was recording my days. She asked me why that would be important and if I could just remember what was happening instead. Honestly, no: I could not remember it if I did not keep this journal. Two of the main reasons I continue to jot my excursions down in here are: First, I still cannot fully believe or understand what is happening, and I believe that my confusion will let me forget some important details; and second, because perhaps if someone reads the whole account, they will be more likely to believe I am telling the truth and not just call for me to be committed to an asylum. I can only hope that this journal will defend my sanity in the future.

Applejack and I continued to speak for a while as she let me get my journal once again and finish the above paragraph about how I plowed through the field. I am not sure if she is illiterate or not though; I did not think it would be proper to ask, but I noticed that she was just staring at the page quietly for long periods. I fear it is either that, or she is just not very practiced at reading. I will not hold that against her; however, reading is not something that would help her with her work anyway.

Finally, she stood up and headed towards the door informing me that she had best get to bed before it got any later. Early to bed and early to rise would make a mare healthy, wealthy and wise. "I feel kinda bad with you sleepin' out here in the barn, Ben. Ya know that you can come on in the house if you want, right?"

"I had assumed that there were no spare beds in there, Applejack."

She looked down in thought for a moment, before shrugging towards me with a strange smile. "I s'pose you're right then. Who knows, maybe since you're a thinkin' type you could come up with somethin' to make it work. G'night, Ben. We'll getcha some work more suited for ya tomorrow."

If I didn't know any better, I could swear that-. In case my notebook here falls into the hands of another pony, I am going to keep my thoughts on this to myself actually. I could think of something though. As odd as it is, and as uncomfortable as the idea makes me, there are some options for sleeping in that house instead of this barn.

I will say that it is cold and a little lonely out here tonight. At least I can hear another one of Jeremy Prowler's songs in my head now. Even if he is singing about what he wants to see her do, see her do, see her do as she grinds that pole all night long, at least his voice is something familiar to keep me company. I will personally enroll him in a lyricist course when I get back though. Or a frontal lobotomy.

15: Rhyming Bother

It has been a few days since my last entry. I have been neglecting to write mostly due to the fact that I have felt that nothing noteworthy has happened aside from me lining my pockets as best I can. Each day has been relatively the same as the last: With me getting up early to finish my delivery route before the afternoon is over, traveling to Sweet Apple Acres to see if I could be of any use there, and finally resting at the boutique for the evening between calls for my help from Ms. Rarity. I am starting to wonder if she considers me a live-in assistant of some sort with how often she instructs me to hold something up for her, hold something down for her, requests my opinion on how something looks, or asks what she should add or if the colors clash too much: just countless questions that I struggle to answer. I have had a few other conversations, but most of them idle and not necessitating me recording them.

Meteorology Discovery: On the note of weather, I have come across something rather mind-boggling in this place. We all know that back on Terriel, our level within the atmosphere usually dictates the very minimal amount of weather changes we endure, and they are usually predicted using complicated algorithms and radar equipment that measures atmospheric water content. One might believe that with the lack of technology here, they simply must take up some quirky saying to remember common weather patterns that might occur: Such as fog in the morning means rain in the evening, etc. I have discovered that they actually have a calendar and a schedule in place for when the weather will change. Who predicts this? I have no idea just yet, but I do know that none of this happens without their assistance. The pegasus ponies seem to have the natural ability (and duty) to manipulate the weather here in Equestria. I actually learned this directly from Rainbow Dash when I was standing beneath her home (that is somehow suspended high above the ground) shouting up to try and get her to come retrieve a package. She is indeed one of these 'Weather Ponies', and it is her profession, when she is not preoccupied with trying to become a superhero of some sort. The whole concept is absolutely absurd (as I told her), and one could not manipulate weather by their own whim. I had to retract my statement, however, when she demonstrated the technique for me by kicking a small cloud nearby to cause it to start leaking a drizzle. I cannot disbelieve what I saw for myself, but I also cannot begin to explain it. I was informed that not every location in this world is managed so closely, but I’m still shocked that they can dictate the weather at all.

Today's events prompted my writing because I have met someone very interesting (read: Annoying), as well as finally getting a chance to reach out to the individual who has been interested in speaking with me so badly. It began with Rarity requesting me to return a book to the library this morning, knowing well that it was my day off from work at the post office. I am never quite in a position to tell her no, so I took the book with me and kept myself entertained by glancing through it on my way to the library. It seems to be some sort of romance novel, as I could gather from reading the prologue and skimming over some of the pages. I would call the dialogue quite gushy (some corny or cheesy lines here and there), and the relationship being built appears extremely platonic. I know these stories are somewhat popular amongst groups of women back in Keycrescents, so perhaps this is just a factor that translates between cultures. I wonder if being rich, handsome, well-read, and hiring a musical accompaniment to stand behind you outside a servant girl's residence as you lyrically prattle off confessions of eternal and limitless affection really works? Guess I will never know for myself.

Heeding Rarity's request, my stop by the library began with me asking if Ms. Sparkle would take the book back, but I caught her as she was about to head out on an errand of some sort. She was kind enough to hand the book over to Spike so he could put it back where it belonged. From the dirty look he shot me when she asked him to do it, I know that he was upset by having to do anything for me that might be mistaken as a favor. Twilight informed me that she was headed to meet with someone named Zecora for a social visit over tea. "That sounds delightful," I mentioned offhandedly as I was ready to head over to Sweet Apple Acres to get in a few more hours of work – oh foolish me.

"Why don't you come with me, Benjamen? I've been really hoping for a chance to ask you some things! That is, if you're not too busy."

I had to mull it over, there in front of her, at the risk of leaving her feeling spurned once again by my refusal. My pockets were still uncomfortably light, but her charming smile and hope-filled eyes won me over as I nodded in agreement to follow alongside her during the trek. On our way, she asked me question after question: Never letting the peace of quiet invade her interrogation. I will note a few queries that I feel are interesting or relevant, but this is certainly not a comprehensive list.

"I remember you saying you were from a place called Keycrescents. Do you know where that is?"

"I do not, Ms. Sparkle, at least not in relation to Ponyville or Equestria. I should explain that I am from a place we call Terriel: A synthetic continent kept aloft in the sky through mechanical engineering. I am unsure of the specifics as I never planned to be one of the maintenance workers for those machines. Truthfully, most folks upon it have never stepped foot on the planet below."

"That sounds somewhat like Cloudsdale: A city erected in the clouds above Equestria. Are there many pegasus ponies back on Terriel too?"

"No, I am afraid that there are very few ponies at all. The closest things would be horses, which are beasts of burden that help on farmlands most commonly. There are also Equinyr, which are humanoids with horse-like features, but stand on two legs like I do: With erect spines. There are some other notable differences, but suffice it to say that they could be considered the midway between human and horse."

"Beasts of burden? You mean you enslave horses?"

This threw me for a bit of a loop when she first said it. "No! Well, you know what, let me give an example: Applejack owns a dog, doesn't she?"

"Winona, yeah."

"Is that dog her slave?"

"Of course not! She's her pet, and her friend."

"You could say the same thing about the horses on Terriel, but they are also given some tasks: Such as pulling plows and being mounts for folks to help out. Much like Winona, they cannot speak and do not communicate verbally. There are strict laws in place that forbid animal cruelty, mostly due to the very small number of them remaining." I did not bother to explain that this is because they had actually once been nearly extinct, and it took quite a bit of forced breeding and in vitro fertilization to stabilize their numbers (not to mention how expensive it was to equip an animal with a specialized CCM for the purpose of assisting their organs in acclimating to the atmosphere that high up). I get the sense that she was having trouble coping with my answer, even when I tried to stress to her how different her species was from those I was familiar with, but perhaps she is thinking that it is the same thing as enslaving a savage, barbaric human to do manual labor. Funny, since I'm doing manual labor for horses. I suppose the difference is that I get paid. Workhorses get paid in protection, food, and affection though. Could that be considered a kind of payment? I may have to mull this over on my own time later.

"Do you have a Princess back home too, Benjamen?"

"We usually elect our government by voting: Democracy is one concept those on Terriel like to believe they have. To be honest, it ends up being he or she who has the most money who will become ruler over the land until the next person reaches a higher bank account. Then they will try to “run against” the current ruling party, and the cycle begins anew."

This was another topic that she must have had difficulty trying to wrap her mind around, seeing as it was quite different from the monarchy/dictatorship/theocracy they have here in Equestria. I spent quite a while explaining what I meant about money being almost synonymous with political influence, and that rulers were only in power for short periods of time. (I believe the longest we have had a stable, single, elected official was a decade, before they happened to end up face-down in a boysenberry pie at dinner one evening due to cardiac arrest. There was quite a bit of hype that it was the “Poisonberry” pie that killed him. An autopsy helped settle the majority of the populace; however, many conspiracy theorists are still of the belief that he was assassinated by the ruler that followed. I’m sure a political history MIRRD somewhere could tell you more about Moifas Artural’s demise.) She asked me if I happened to believe that money was power as well. I informed her that I did not know.

Where I am now, I am beginning to question that idea, but it is something that has always seemed so natural and unanimously understood amongst my peers. I simply do not know.

Quite a bit of time had been spent on these inquiries when we finally came upon another large, hollow tree with windows upon it, much like the library that Twilight lives in. She confidently knocked on the closed entrance, to which a very surprising answer was received from beyond the door. It was another language, so I did not understand a word, but the voice seemed quite a bit older than I was expecting. Not elderly by any means, just simply more mature. The door was opened to reveal yet another pony (to no surprise), but this time with a striped pelt and many golden pieces of jewelry ornamenting her, including many bands of gold around her long neck. Her eyes were shaped differently: Much less rounded than the eyes of the ponies I had been seeing most often. I can assume this is because she is from another country or province of this world, which might explain the very peculiar (I would almost say tribal) decorations within her home in this hollowed-out tree.

"Twilight, my friend, I'm so glad you could come. The tea is just off the fire, you must try some."

Must be a coincidence, I thought. If you are wondering why I thought that, read the phrase she stated to us again a bit more carefully, and pay attention to the sentence endings.

This creature's eyes fell on me and I saw her gasp in surprise. "My purple friend from Canterlot, what in the world is this you've brought?" I was starting to question if this was still a coincidence, as that was the second time in a row she had successfully rhymed a sentence.

Twilight spoke on my behalf and explained to her that I was a human from far away, to which the creature (whom Twilight had mentioned was a zebra when she introduced her to me as Zecora) put aside her strange looks and smiled. "Benjamen, this meeting is all my pleasure, for you know they say friends, old and new, are both like treasure."

It could not be a coincidence, considering how much work it must have taken to convert a phrase that I am familiar with into a rhyme with the word "pleasure". She meant to say, "Make new friends, but keep the old; One is silver, the other's gold," but took extra effort to make it rhyme her own sentence. Perhaps this is customary among her people, but the idea of it made me furrow my brow in uncertainty. For some reason I had the feeling that it would get on my nerves very, very quickly.

As Twilight and Zecora began speaking, I silently accepted the cup of tea I was offered. I have no idea what was in it, and honestly didn't wish to know as I took the time to survey the room and examine all of the decorations around me. I'm sure it is merely a concept that I learned from being raised in a much different environment, but most of her belongings caused me a sensation of discomfort and anxiety. Things seemed somewhat dark, and I believe, made almost savage by her choice of using painted wooden masks as ornaments. I kept looking behind me just to make sure I was not being watched by them or that they were not going to move from the walls. Such would not be any stranger than some of the happenings I’ve endured recently.

"Human Benjamen, please come and sit with us for a spell. I happen to have a question for you as well." As much as the rhyming did cause my brow line to lower involuntarily, I heeded and took a seat near them. "You are from a far away land, I've been told. The journey here must have been long and bold. Please tell me how you came to tread on our world; I would love to hear your story unfurled."

Clever. I did, however, finally get the chance to do some explaining. I told them everything that had happened: How I was looking for my father on the planet below Terriel, that I had found the body of his adversary, and I recalled for them the library and what I had found in it. I also let them know about the rat, the parchment, and even tried my hardest to recite the words I had spoken the day I was transported here to them, but it is still knowledge that is lost to me. I seem to have found the correct individuals to tell this story to, as Twilight and Zecora seemed to both have some knowledge of the matter that I sorely lack.

"I think I have an idea of how you got here, Benjamen, but I'm unsure of how you accomplished it. Do you have a horn too, or some other sort of conduit for your magical abilities?"

"Magical abilities? Uhm, no I do not. Magic is nothing more than a storybook element or a myth back where I am from."

"So you tell me that your people have long lost their ability to believe? The loss of your magicians has left your kind bereaved?"

As the two of them ogled me like I was the strange one for not being accustomed to the use of magic, I believe something scratching away at my patience ultimately got the best of me. I barked out a rather blunt request at Zecora after her question. "Please stop rhyming at me. I know it's adorable, and witty, and a talent, but I really need some serious answers right now and your wordplay won't help."

"I'm doing what I can, there's no need to yelp,” She responded, a bit taken back by my frustration.

"Yes – well – that! What you just did there! I would appreciate it if you could refrain from rhyming for just a bit while we try to iron out some details on what happened to me."

"To answer your questions is our goal, I agree."

"Stop that! Seriously, don't start rhyming with my sentences too! It's really pissing me off, and it makes you just sound annoying."

"Calm yourself human, our bridges need no destroying."

I could not believe this! Incensed so much that I could not loosen my clenched fist from around my cup, I bit my lower lip to keep from saying anything I would regret. After perhaps half a minute of irritable silence, all I could say was: "Twilight's pelt is purple."

Zecora opened her mouth for a moment before slowly closing it to give me a terrible glower that I found morbid enjoyment in. Twilight was mortified by my cultural insensitivity, but I am afraid that I was far from being in the mood to continue being rhymed at as though my situation were some kind of joke. I wanted to know how I got here, and having someone speak to me as though I was reading a grade school storybook was the blow that broke my give-a-damn. I stood up, with new confidence from my victory, and brushed myself off as I slung my backpack over one shoulder. "Now if you'll excuse me, I am afraid that Ms. Rarity does have a project she's working on, and I think she could use my help. She was running low on cloth, but I can’t remember what color: Was it, orange?"

Zecora was not amused, only stared at me with a perturbed look scrunching her features. I had a feeling that if she were to say something, she would simply ask me, "Really?"

"Oh, that's right, it was silver."

Still she said nothing, and Twilight hid her face in her hooves, embarrassed, as I grinned in triumph. I questioned whether I should take one final blow or leave my victory complete where it was.

One more couldn't hurt: "I remain rather busy, but perhaps we can schedule another meeting Zecora. It was a pleasure meeting you. How about we try again sometime next month?"

On the walk back to the library, Twilight had a few choice things to call me for being so difficult and rude, but I get the feeling she'll laugh about this later. (I know I am currently.) I will see if she is feeling better tomorrow, since I agreed to come over to speak with her some more, and handed over the archaic little book I found under the pillow in the woman’s room back in the dilapidated library. Perhaps she might be able to decipher what it says. Maybe it has some clues as to what happened to me?

I myself will be keeping busy scrutinizing a very unsettling bit of postage I received. I found it nestled in my backpack by the time I made it back to the boutique at sundown. I am not sure how it got there, but it reads as follows:

"Human,

I have been keeping a record of your progress here in Ponyville for a while now. I know that you will be coming up on your first payday within the next week, which is something I have been waiting for out of fairness to you and your situation. Take that money and buy yourself new lodging. You've spent more than enough time in the boutique, and it's time you went about your business. If you do this, I can promise that you'll receive help in getting back to where you belong, as well as making ends meet here in Ponyville.

If you don't, then expect things to become rather complicated for you.

Don't worry for Miss Rarity; she will receive assistance without you. Someone will be able to handle the duties she has for you each day, and you will be much less of a problem if you stop living off of her generosity and get back to your own quest. She is well taken care of without your interloping.

Let us hope I won't need to write to you again.

- Dog-Ears Pink"

Only a week and a half here, and I'm already receiving death threats. How lucky can one guy be?

16: Cross-Eyed

I feel that I have been rather lazy during the last week when it comes to writing in this journal, so even though I have nothing important to report today, I will note something anyway. I can at least pretend that diligence is one of my stronger characteristics.

There was something of mild interest that happened while I was on my mailing route today, at least. There were only a few packages that had to be delivered, so I was able to make it back to the post office shortly after noon with the incoming packages that were to be processed. (This is still later than most of the letter carriers finish their own routes, but that may be the curse of being a land creature.) When I got back into the office, I heard the postmaster laying into someone with a raised voice; evidently upset over what the letter carrier had done today from what I could hear beyond his office door. Taking a peek inside, there was a grey pegasus with her head lowered, and I recognized the blonde hair to be that of the mare with the lazy eyes.

I must have felt very brave, because I pushed the door open, interrupting the postmaster's chewing her out, to inform him that the deliveries were finished ahead of schedule.

Whip Snap (I believe that is the postmaster's name, which would make sense due to the fact that he is a bit of a taskmaster and has a riding crop as his cutie mark) grunted at me and nodded, motioning for me to go ahead and step outside.

Seeing the grey mare continue to stare at the floor with her ears pinned back prompted me to ask, "Actually, sir, I have nowhere else to be yet, is there anything else that needs to be done?"

"No, you're done for the day. Get out of here and don't be late tomorrow. Few packages one day could mean twice as many the next."

It seemed that my subtle attempts to figure out what was going on were being brutally thwarted, so I figured that I might as well just be honest: Honesty seems to be something that most individuals around here respect, or at least tolerate. "Mr. Snap, I understand that there's a problem here and I really would like it if I could help."

I could see his lips curl in response to my inquiry, as he believed it to be best that I went about my own damn business, but the grey pony looked back at me (at least I think 'at me'; her face was turned towards me) with what I thought to be a grateful (if feeble) smile. "This letter carrier ended up dumping a whole bag of mail into the air while she was on her route: Trying to fly upside down or something stupid like that; now I've gotta figure out what letters she was carrying with her in order to send notices to the senders that their delivery wasn't made!"

Now I could see what was going on, and I can understand his aggravation. That is quite a lot of apologizing and bookkeeping work he was going to have to do to rectify this mistake; however, I could see that the poor girl had received enough rebuking for it (judging by the water droplets on the floor beneath her face). "Maybe you won't have to send as many, Mr. Snap. Does she remember when the bag got overturned? We can go collect the letters again and work a later shift to get them delivered before the day's out."

"How the hay are you going to be able find those letters? They could be anywhere by now! It's not like she was walking when it happened. The wind probably carried 'em off."

Aha! The ball was in Bejamen's court now! Finally I was able to be of some real use! I quickly retrieved my notebook, ripped out a page from the back, and set it on the table as I began scrawling with my pen. "Do you know how high you were flying when this happened," I asked the mare, but she could not give me an answer. Whip Snap was able to give me an estimate based on what he believed to be her mediocre flight capabilities.

Assuming that gravity has the same properties as it does on Terriel, and using the understanding that an object's acceleration downward is 9.8m/s^2, I factored in their weight against the resistance they would receive from fluttering downwards (my mathematical assistance tool was able to supply a vague estimate of the amount of this friction). After taking a glance at the Postmaster's weather calendar to get an idea of the direction and speed of the wind (light breeze of about 6km/hr heading west, if I remember correctly), I was able to draw up a semicircular area of where the letters could have possibly landed from where the bag was overturned (including an estimated measurement of the radius of the semicircle). He kept the paper that I was drawing on so I cannot write all of the specifics, but I think he was at least mildly impressed.

"Ah, a real smarty-pants, huh?"

"I've already been told that, sir."

"No way is she going to be able to understand a lick of this. Might as was well try to get a dog to do magic tricks."

"I could go with her. If she can just show me where the bag got overturned, then I'll be able to help her find at least most of the letters."

Whip Snap considered it for a few moments before giving me a glower and pressing the paper back on the desk. "You know I don't like to approve overtime, Baldy." (He has yet to remember my name, so he gives a new observation about me each time he needs to refer to me directly. I assume he was remarking on my lack of fur with that one.)

"I won't expect any payment, Mr. Snap. I just want to make sure everything gets resolved." I knew he could tell that was a load of bologna, and that the truth was just that I felt sorry for this horse that he was verbally beating over the head for making a mistake, but he gave me the okay.

"Derps, take Poindexter here with you to where the bag got overturned. You get me most of those letters back, and I'll consider letting you keep your job."

So that was how I ended up walking through the streets of Ponyville alongside a horse with crossed eyes. (I wish I knew the medical term for this condition, but as I do not have a medical dictionary on hand, I cannot search for one. If I could connect to the Stratus, I could find out in moments, but no chance of that happening.) I did get a chance to speak with her during our trip, but there was a problem: I could not figure out her name. I didn't want to call her "Derps" as well because that was likely an insult from the postmaster, and I did not want her to think I was making fun of her too. I asked her what she would like to be called, and she said "Sugarlump", but I think she misunderstood the question and thought I meant what pet name did she like best. Seeing as I didn't want her to feel stupid around me, I obliged and decided to call her that until later. (Though a bit uncomfortable at first, I figured it must be something her own mother called her at some point, so perhaps I am just thinking too much into it.)

Sugarlump is rather pleasant to speak to, even if quite simple. She seems to really like her job taking mail to ponies, saying that it makes her happy when ponies smile at her because she's bringing them good news, and enjoys muffins and birds. I hope by that she meant that she likes eating muffins and watching birds, but – you know, I'm sure she did. I am just being a grammatical hardass. I'll have to forgive her for being vague with her verb usage. She also likes my pink color, but asked if I ever got cold because I didn't have any fur.

She told me she would bring me a sweater tomorrow when I answered, "Sometimes".

Skipping through some of our simple chatter, we eventually made it to the field where Sugarlump believed she had overturned the mailbag. While flying over an open space, she had gotten the idea that it would be fun to try doing something called a barrel roll. The field was rather familiar to me: I recognized it as the same one the crusaders were in when I was helping them try and find their cutie marks only a week and a half ago. In fact, the crusaders were there again, and they rushed up to ask if I was going to help them today as well.

I told them no, but made a proposition that they should help us look for the letters and suggested that maybe it would get them a cutie mark. They told me that they doubted that it would, and though I agreed with them, they were kind enough to make me a counteroffer.

"Okay, Ben. We’ll help you find your letters, but if we do, you have to PROMISE us that you'll help us out again tomorrow on another crusade! You in or out?" Scootaloo asked me as she put out a hoof for me to shake. Reluctantly, I took their offer on behalf of Sugarlump.

Son of a bitch, now I've got to go help the crusaders again tomorrow.

Anyways, with the three fillies' assistance we were able to scour the field rather quickly, and as my estimates had predicted they were mostly within that vague semicircle I had shown to Whip Snap. A few lighter envelopes had gotten picked up by the wind a couple of more times, and a few of them were hidden in some shrubs, but overall we retrieved most, if not all, of the missing letters. I thanked the Crusaders for their help since it would have taken us much longer than an hour to track down all of the letters without their help. They returned my appreciation with a notice that I was supposed to meet them at Sugar Cube Corner tomorrow afternoon.

Sugarlump was excited to get back to the post office to show Whip Snap that she was going to be able to keep her job, and she wanted to see all of the ponies smile as she brought them their letters today. She was trying to get me to come with her by warmly taking my hand between her hooves to tug me with her, but I let her know that I would just slow her down since I can't fly, and she needed to get them delivered as soon as possible.

I was moderately surprised when she stood up on her hind legs to wrap her forelegs around my shoulders and rested some of her weight on me (which I almost couldn't hold up since I was not quite ready for it). She then brushed her muzzle across my cheek and licked me.

"A “thank you” would suffice," I mentioned, patting her on the side of the neck uncomfortably.

"Thank you, Human Ben," Sugarlump recited, still wrapping her front legs around me in an embrace. The moments kept passing, as I glanced around wondering if she was ever going to let me go, all the while I could hear the Crusaders giggling at me. "I like you, Human Ben, you're really nice."

"Okay, you can let go now Sugarlump. You've still got to take care of those letters."

That was when she finally released my shoulders and smiled at me (and probably the tree line behind me), then she turned around to get a running start to take off with a few powerful flaps of her spread wings.

That was my good deed for the day, and I hope she does get to keep her job. I suppose I will find out tomorrow when I see her there in the morning or not. I have spent the rest of my night here at Carousel Boutique. My first paycheck should come soon, and I've already promised to give it to Ms. Rarity as a token of my appreciation for her letting me take residence in her home, however, she told me that she would not just accept it: I would have to purchase more clothes from her. As generous as it sounds, I think it is because, once again, she is concerned about the social ramifications that will arise from me wearing the same exact outfit each day. I also think she enjoys the challenge of working on clothes for an exotic body structure like mine.

Or maybe she just really enjoys taking my measurements: I've asked her to please write them down this time because it's starting to make me feel insecure.

Now time for me to start writing my Will at the back of this journal because I agreed to help the crusaders again tomorrow. If I do not write an entry for tomorrow, it is because I perished at the bottom of a lake with my hands and feet bound while they were trying for an "Angling" cutie mark.

17: Blanker Flank

I am still alive.

In good news, Sugarlump got to keep her job as I did see her up at the post office today. She also kept her word to me, and I now have a sweater. I do not think that I look good in pastel colors, especially pink and lavender, but she would not take no for an answer. I also did not wish to cause an uncomfortable situation for her, so I accepted the small gift and have been wearing it all day, much to Ms. Rarity's disapproval. "Benjamen, what in the world are you wearing? I don't want to be rude, but that is not very complimentary. If you needed something warmer, you could have just said something! I would have been happy to make a jacket for my assistant." I believe that is rather close to what she said when she saw me wander back into the Boutique wearing this eyesore.

I met with the crusaders, as promised, after my routes. They had told me to meet them at Sugar Cube Corner, so that is where I was headed. The three of them were already staring at a map of Ponyville while seated at a small, round table near the front window when I entered. They seemed a bit too engrossed with their thoughts and hushed discussion to notice me.

Mr. Cake had noticed me, however, as he waved for me to approach the counter. "Well, good afternoon, Ben! Should I get the extinguisher, or is this just a social visit?" At first I thought I should just leave since they might still be upset with me, but by the disarming grin on his bristly face, I think he was just poking at me for fun.

"Just a social visit today, Mr. Cake. I try to keep my arsons down to once a month if possible." The fact that he chuckled settled my nerves as I excused myself to take care of my current obligation.

Hearing my voice, the three crusaders immediately perked up and ushered me over to their table for a seat.

"Nice sweater," Scootaloo prodded at me under a snicker while Sweetie Bell examined it curiously. I can guess that she probably liked the colors, but no doubt the biting of her lip I saw was to keep from sputtering out a chuckle at my fashion disaster.

"C'mon you two, we've still gotta lot of plannin' to do," Applebloom reminded them as she tried to get everyone to focus back on the map.

"I see you all have created a path," I mentioned, noting the very peculiar pathways marked in thin, colored wax. (They call the strange writing utensils that make these marks crayons.) I was informed that, yes, they had begun planning without me and had already outlined the first portion of the day's events with a set path. This bothered me only because the path they had laid out was a random assortment of lines sketched from location to location with no consideration for efficiency or time management. I can only guess that as they got ideas, they would simply make a mark from the last location to the next one. With a bit of protest, I had them get another map and instead write a list of ideas for each location. I explained that we would build a path afterward.

"Hey, while we're here, maybe we should try for a baking cutie mark," mentioned Sweetie Bell.

"Nope," Applebloom and I responded in unison. It seems she has had similar trouble with this issue in the past. "Perhaps you should ask around and see how some of the adults received theirs," I suggested. From the three crusaders came a resounding "No!" at my suggestion. Once again, this seems to have caused problems before. "Alright then, what have you already tried?" I received a list that I could not begin to recollect for this journal, as it seems they spend most days after school having misadventures for this sole purpose. Fighting back the spinning feeling in my head as I tried to quiet them, I made a new suggestion: "Alright, if you all are going to be doing such a comprehensive search, then you might need to organize your attempts a bit more." I informed them that what I could perceive to be the simplest way to search would be to pick a broad topic each day and exhaust all ideas that related only to that topic. I think they really took to the idea as well, since I saw topics start to get jotted down on the map quickly.

"How cool would it be to be a superhero? I've always wanted to be one!" That was the phrase that solidified what topic they would be working on today. Unbeknownst to me, they had all decided on that little fact before they escorted me back out to the field in which they would begin their practice. Once we had gotten there, they reached into saddlebags they had brought with them to grab brightly-colored cloaks. I watched with one brow raised as they recited some kind of cheer for their group and gave a celebratory press of their hooves to each other's before facing me once again with an exuberant bounce in their stance. That is when I made the mistake of asking them exactly what they had in mind. "We're going to make the Crusaders into an expert crime-fighting trio!"

"How exactly do you plan to do that?"

The response I got was less than inspiring: Their excited grins quickly faded into questioning glances between one another as they each shrugged their shoulders without an answer. "I guess we hadn't quite thought of that. Maybe we could try to unlock some neat super powers? Like shooting fire out of our eyes!" Scootaloo suggested.

"Or super strength?" Applebloom commented, as she lifted her hind legs long enough to bash a tree with her hooves to very unimpressive effect.

"Invisibility!" shouted Sweetie Bell as well.

"Impossible," I corrected, shaking my head as I felt my teeth grit in frustration: Today was already going to be a waste, I could feel it, but a promise was a promise. That does not mean that I could not expedite their search with some trial by fire, however: Sometimes the only way to learn to fly is to fall a few times. Giving them the answers would never teach them anything, so to ensure they did the thinking themselves, I took a bold move. I stepped forward, whisked Sweetie Bell up into my arms, despite her protests, and began walking away from them towards the forestry on the other side of the field. The small unicorn remained stunned, cradled over my shoulder, as she was carried off from her two friends who blinked in confusion. "Ben? Ben! What are you doing?" Scootaloo called after me.

"Kidnapping your friend!" I shouted back as I continued my leisurely walk away with my prize in tow.

"I thought you were going to help us today!" Applebloom cried out as well.

"Super Heroes help others along with themselves!" I responded, finally pushing through one of the tree lines and breaking their line of sight with me.

Regaining her composure enough to realize what was happening, Sweetie Bell pulled herself up from over my shoulder to glance at me with a wary tilt of her head. "So wait, where are you taking me exactly?" I merely shrugged my shoulders at her as I had no idea. I was acting before thinking on this one. "Why do I have to be the kidnapee anyway? I wanted to be a superhero too, you know!"

"Then save yourself," I challenged her.

"From what? You haven't put me into peril yet!" When I asked what she was going on about, she informed me that I was not playing my role of master villain well at all. "Well, first you need to take me back to your evil fortress of doom and gloom. Then you have to strap me into your diabolical device meant to put me out of your way in your goal to take over Equestria. Before you finish me off though, you have to give your villainous monologue describing just how your hyper-intellect came to be used for evil. Then you can turn on the device, and I have to make a miraculous escape! That's how this is supposed to go."

"A few problems there: I don't have an evil fortress, I don't have a diabolical device for the purpose of dismembering or disabling you, I don't have a lengthy monologue prepared for this occasion, I'm not hyper-intelligent, and I really don't think I'm comfortable devising a way to try to hurt you."

Sweetie Bell gave a loud groan of frustration at my lack of preparation for this, but assured me that she could help me out in my role. The first step was securing a fortress, which she informed me that the Crusader's Clubhouse would work perfectly as with a bit of touch-up. It was rather neat to see their clubhouse once she had given me the directions to get there. I had asked if she wanted to walk alongside me instead, but she insisted that I carry her as my prisoner the whole way there. It was tiring, but she's not so heavy that I had too much trouble. The inside was fairly bare, with the exception of posters tacked onto the wall to avoid the whole place appearing plain (I had a few questions when I saw one of Rainbow Dash posted up), but there was enough furniture inside to still impress me that they had been able to acquire it. Another surprising fact was that my head did not hit the ceiling of their little structure when I stood in it. The next step, she informed me, was to create a device with the intention of silencing her forever, but I just happened to let her down when I told her that I had no experience dealing with conveyor belts or railroad tracks. Should I be flattered that she said she had expected a smarty pants like me to be more apt for this position? Either way, I simply took some of the string they had within the housing and braided it into a makeshift rope to strap Sweetie Bell down onto the table so she would stop rebuking me for my lack of evil aptitude. As for my diabolical device, I simply placed a pail of paint I had found within the clubhouse onto the table next to her and told her 'that' was what would happen: Not lethal, but it certainly did get her to shriek shrilly at the thought of her white pelt being painted olive green.

"So, out with it," Sweetie bell finally told me as she blew strands of her mane away from her nose while I tried to find a position on their sofa that was not trying to shove a spring somewhere I did not want it. I informed her I did not know what she was expecting from me. "Don't act dumb now! You have to give your speech! Your devilish monologue that explains how your genius turned to dastardly affairs? Come on! I can't try to escape until after I hear it."

"Once upon a time, I tried to do something nice for somebody and got roped into being the unwitting fall-guy for the unsupervised and recklessly thought-out attempts to spark the puberty of three restless children. The end."

"Ugh, fine, whatever. I guess that's good enough," Sweetie Bell groaned.

"So, now go ahead. Escape," I remarked, motioning with my hand for her to begin. "No using your horn either. Since all unicorns have magic, that's not superpony powers."

Perhaps an hour passed of listening to her strain and struggle, panting for breath as she was unable to break free of even the half-hearted braiding of my pseudo-ropes. I had to go get her some water halfway through because she got thirsty from all the effort, but she was a good sport overall. Every time I'd ask if she was done and wanted me to just let her go, she told me no and to just keep being evil on the sofa while she figured this out. Too bad her friends decided to drop in before she could deduce a way to make her escape.

Subtlety is evidently not their strongest suit. I saw the two young ponies come sprinting towards my 'lair of doom and gloom' from the only side that actually had a window on it. Poor choice I figured, but there was no way for their first time to be perfect. Applebloom and Scootaloo stopped about ten yards away and began assembling some sort of device I could not make out from this distance, but I did not have to wait long to see it in action. A muffled clap was heard in my fortress, and a clink sounded against the roof, which I saw came from whatever their device was firing off: A metal hook. I can surmise that they actually rigged up a primitive crossbow to launch it. Impressive to say the least. With the hook in place on the roof, the two of them grasped onto the rope attached and anchored it to a nearby tree securely so they could crawl along the length of the rope to get to the roof. I watched as Applebloom fell off the rope twice and onto her back, needing to go back to the start and begin working her way up all over again.

Anatomy Discovery: I have noticed that without digits, it must be rather difficult for these creatures to complete tasks that require fine motor skills. The unicorns seem to do well enough due to the fact that they can use their telekinetic abilities with precision, but the earth and pegasus ponies do not have this ability. Most objects that require fine motor skill usage are held in the mouth, such as writing utensils. To understand less fine grasping, this shenanigan with the rope did give me a good look at how they were able to grip it. I witnessed that Scootaloo and Applebloom both wrapped their lower legs and hooves around the rope to secure them. The bone structure of their legs is very difficult to discern (unlike the horses back on Terriel) from just a glance, but this might explain why their legs have a bit more of a uniform thickness from the joint at the abdomen down to the hoof. Instead of having one or two joints in the leg, from what I saw of the two fillies holding their branches, their front legs must contain a multitude of smaller ball joints or discs. I ruled out the concept of them being made of cartilage due to the fact that they are still able to hold up their own weight with little trouble. If I could find a book on anatomy, or perhaps a skeletal diagram of a pony, I could give a bit more detail and accuracy to my hypothesis. It seems that most ponies are hesitant to use the bodies of deceased for research, however, so there is very little information present in books as to what the inside of a pony looks like or how it functions. I will do some more scouring at the library to try to confirm my thoughts at a later time.

Once they were on the roof, Sweetie Bell and I got quiet to listen to the two of them argue about how best to handle the next step. Applebloom eventually became frustrated and told Scootaloo to just step back and let her take care of it. With a heave, I saw what looked to be the end of a saw blade jut through the ceiling and begin grinding in and out to cut a crude circle in the roof. When the wooden patty landed with a loud thud in front of me, the two young ponies finally dropped in with boisterous "Aha!"s at my expense. "We have you now, Ne'er do well! Your reign of terror is at an end, Pastel Problem-maker!" erupted Scootaloo, pointing specifically at my sweater once more.

As I stood up to congratulate them on their unique entrance, I was greeted with a hoof connecting with me in a vague punch. Because of our height difference, it landed uncomfortably right below my waist and sent me to the ground crumpled and gasping. While I was cringing and trying to unscrew my eyes from the unexpected pain, they must have let Sweetie Bell off the table and began excitedly repeating their cheer once again for their successful extraction.

"Did we get them?" one of them asked aloud.

"No doubt," I struggled to cough out, finally able to breathe easily again as I slowly pushed myself back to my feet.

"Where!? Where!? I don't see it, what is my cutie mark? Did we really get them?" they asked me again, evidently having missed the point of my comment. Probably for the best, I figured, as I shuffled my way to the door with a half-hearted wave in their direction.

"Where you going, Ben?"

"I'm done, you did it. You got your superhero training. Now you can keep looking without me." It was a very long and uncomfortable walk back to the boutique, and it was not even peaceful when I finally made it back there to get some rest. Rarity saw the sweater I was wearing, but this time with a bit of paint dripped onto it by accident and layers of leaves and woodland refuse caught in its fibrous, wooly texture. I had to relinquish it for a wash, and then be told that I should be more careful with my belongings. Sure, whatever. At least today is over. Now maybe I can look towards some peace and painless progress.

18: Phobias

"Really, man? This is the third/fourth/seventh time in a row you've said no. You missed the premiere viewing of Forgewright III, you passed on the grand opening of the Crucible paintball range, and three parties have gone by and you skipped out on every single one. You know you're never going to get laid if you don't at least meet some girls, right? Oh wait, yeah, forgot that you reproduce by spores or something like that. I'm not one for shadow-figure, hermit, wizard-thing biology, but I do know people, and I know that you need to meet some, Ben. Fine then, let me put this in a way that you'll really get what I'm telling you here: You're going to go with me to this club tonight, or I am going to punch you in the dick. No wearing that dumpy-ass hooded jacket either. Now come on."

I have been wondering if perhaps hearing Jeremy say that to me over and over today has been a recording, but since I can instead hear his voice cracking when he tries to do anything other than lyrical speaking over a drum and bass track, I know it is just a very well-engraved memory stuck in my head now.

Tonight I have been left with the conundrum as to what I shall wear tomorrow: My green suit with the silver lining? My cleaned military fatigues? Perhaps my completely embarrassing sweater that displays both my common decency and how pasty and unappealing I look in pastel pinks? Part of me has considered going nude to fit in a bit better, but I disregarded that thought as stupid knowing well enough that wandering around butt-naked would just invite more stares and questions about my shape. I also am not sure if these creatures would understand the direct relationship between temperature and virility. This overall is stupid, uncharacteristically stupid for me to have to even consider, but the times are calling for uncharacteristic actions from me.

Much to my own surprise, I must inform that I am attending a social tomorrow.

Such an occurrence is alien to me, be it here in Equestria or back home in Keycrescents. Parties, gatherings, even so much as lunches or dinners with associates are something that I have always been quick to dismiss and forego for many reasons. They are expensive; they are tiring; they are loud, uncomfortable, magnets for disaster, embarrassing, and a seemingly endless amount of negative adjectives I can append to this list to make them appear the be the most ghastly occurrence in civilized living. I understand that nobody will agree with me on that concept, and even I am quick to disagree with it as well, but I have always had a bit of a complex that tempts me endlessly to avoid any kind of social gathering. I am never quite sure if I am just fearful of the worst possible scenario happening and me ending up locked away in a holding cell next to a burly individual named after a sports drink, or if perhaps I just always believe I have something better to do than to spend time with others exclusively. I simply know that the idea of being in a room with more than one or two individuals who want my attention discomforts me on a strange level. I had tried my best to avoid going to this one as well, but I finally found myself unable to turn away the request when faced with some rather unsettling realizations.

It began this morning on my mailing route. One of my deliveries was to a name I recognized rather easily: Addressed to a "Pinkie Pie". I decided to make the delivery the last on my route as I had the feeling a meeting with her would wear me out, and to no surprise to myself, I was right. I have had the utmost pleasure of avoiding most contact with Ms. Pie, aside from the daily cringe I give as I hear her squeaky voice shout out a yippish "Ben!" over the crowds to get my attention and solicit a single wave from me before I go about my day (and thank whatever powers that be for letting me avoid yet another run-in with her). I cannot say that I dislike her, but she's just exhausting. Like a man staring at the reaper's scythe, I felt my insides turn involuntarily, as I stared at the doorbell that I knew would inevitably call the blush bother straight to the door and force another unwelcome flinch at the shrill sound of her excitement. I could just turn away now, I considered, but the weight of the package rejected my faint wish to avoid this meeting. One press of the doorbell, and I was instead questioning to myself what exactly this creature found so exciting about me: Was it me, or is she really this ecstatic about everyone she meets? Does she suffer from a heart condition of some kind?

My musings were cut short as I nearly lifted out of my socks at the sound of a piercing call of my name that yanked me out of my thoughts like cement shoes. The curly-maned, pink creature beamed with unbridled enthusiasm as she stared straight at my face, and I could see her hooves lifting and lowering as she could barely contain herself long enough to await me saying anything. (She failed in that waiting, actually.) "I'm so glad you're here! It's really good to see you again, Ben. I had something I wanted to ask you about really, really badly! You got a minute?"

"Afraid not," I informed her as I held out the package abruptly, "I have a lot on my schedule today. I need to visit Fluttershy's house to see if I can find out why her clock stopped again, and I'm expected at Sweet Apple Acres this evening. I'm just here to make a delivery."

It was perplexing to watch her take the package in her grasp and then immediately hold it back out to me with a toothy grin. "Well, aren't you gonna take it?"

"Why would I? It's your package. I'm not allowed to tamper with the mail."

"It's not mail anymore, silly! It's already been delivered! Now I'm giving it to who I got it for. Go ahead! Open it up!" I could swear that I heard her voice continue to get higher as she spoke, and I began to wonder if there was some sort of gas pressure building up in her causing her to squeak like that. (Is she some sort of archaic steam-driven automaton?)

"I don't have time for this," I grunted as I went to walk away, but once I was down the set of 3 steps and back at the road, I was looking at the same pink-haired pony holding the package out to me with the same expectant grin. I turned to glance and make sure I was not looking at a clone or a twin, but the doorway was now empty. "Just how long are you expecting to keep this up?" I asked hesitantly.

"I don't know. How long are you going to take to accept the package?" she quipped back curiously.

I just muttered a "whatever" as I grabbed at the parcel and hurried to slip my finger beneath a fold on the brown paper and rip it off. The box within was barely larger than the boxes that necklaces and other jewelry are kept in for sale, and quickly flipping it open, I saw just a piece of brightly colored paper with a small drawing of balloons on it within. "Oh, a drawing. I don't have a fridge to post it up on, but this is nice," I placated, moving to step past her but nearly tripping as she held fast before me. I was told to read it and stop being a Hasty Harry (Brisk Benjy in my case). It was an invitation for some kind of gathering tomorrow night.

"So you gonna come? I've wanted to get a chance to see you, and what better time than when I'd be seeing some of my other friends as well?"

"I'm afraid I'm going to be busy tomorrow night," I refused.

"With what?" she asked with her head cocked.

Anything really: Heading to Sweet Apple Acres, wandering the streets, reviewing what I can still access on my MIRRDs in my backpack, planning a course of action for when I get home, writing in my journal, practicing my singing, pretending I'm a pirate captaining a make-believe dingy by standing in an empty bathtub, drinking antifreeze, jumping off a bridge... I could fill this entire journal just with ideas as to what I could be doing aside from going to this gathering.

I left Pinkie while she was busy watching me with a puzzled look. I could practically see the wheels turning in her expression, and it terrified me to consider where exactly those wheels would end up taking her. One quick stop by the post office to drop off the dolly I use to cart my packages around, and I was off to Fluttershy’s house to investigate the mystery of her grandfather clock. She had mentioned to Rarity recently that it was running a bit slow, which explained why she was late to a meeting of theirs (I believe they went to a spa?), and once the word got back to me, I knew I was obligated to go have a look and see if I could deduce what the matter with it was. The matter is, of course, that I bashed the crap out of it and it got banged up against the floor, but perhaps I could find more of a technical explanation.

I will admit to feeling a bit awkward when the yellow pegasus actually smiled as she opened the door to view me. I am not sure what I had expected, but for some reason the pleasing little smile unsettled me and caused me to tighten up and politely attempt to get straight to work on fixing her clock. I doubt it did any real good since I only have a limited understanding of clockwork. It seems this is a very antique clock, and though I know that modern clocks use the resonant frequency of quartz to tell time, this one is operated via a spring and tooth combination. All I could think to do was loosen a ring so that it spun a bit faster (to try and keep up with second intervals) and wind the coil within to make sure it was properly powered. I can hope that fixes it.

Somewhere in my tinkering, I was interrupted shortly by the sound of a glass being placed on the floor next to me. It was full of ice and some kind of sweet drink. My gracious hostess had thought that perhaps I could use some refreshment while I pondered the workings of outdated clockwork. I paused long enough to take a draft, but kept myself engrossed in the work as much as I could. “Uhm, I had wanted to ask you something, Benjamen. What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Either embarking on an enterprise of piracy or jumping off a bridge, or possibly just a light dinner followed by restless sleep.” I received a prolonged silence after my abrupt answer, leaving me to wonder if perhaps I had upset her.

“Well, I was just wondering if maybe you were going to join us?”

“I had not planned to.”

“Okay, I won’t press then. Sorry.”

That was it. Even I felt a little cheated with how anticlimactic that conversation was, but such cannot always be helped. Patting my hands off after closing the clock and thanking her for her time, I set off next for the boutique to change clothes before showing up at Sweet Apple Acres.

Rarity had caught me on the way in and asked me to come speak with her in the kitchen. As I had anticipated, she actually wanted me to quickly core a bell pepper for her, which did not take long. However, that does not mean it was easy. “Benjamen, I was wondering what we should bring with us tomorrow? I’m sure Pinkie has the desserts covered, but it wouldn’t hurt to bring everypony something more substantial to eat. You will be joining us tomorrow, won’t you?”

“I don’t feel I have a reason to, no.”

I cringed a moment as I saw her knife hit the cutting board in shock, her brow turning down as she looked stunned by what I had just told her. I must have offended her in some way, but with a quick shake of her head and a clearing of her throat she recovered. “If you need a reason, maybe you would like to be my escort there tomorrow?”

I told her I would think on it, but thinking on it meant that the whole time I was dicing up the pepper hurriedly, at the risk of my fingers, I just kept considering how nice she smelled today. That is what cemented an answer of 'no' to her offer of me escorting her tomorrow.

Sweet Apple Acres was certainly a treat, as well, once I arrived in my military fatigues ready to get them dirty for some additional cash, only to find that Applejack had already done the fieldwork today and had nothing for me to do. “Well, why don’cha come on inside? We can get ya a snack,” Applejack had offered, but I refused her quickly with the statement that I was expected elsewhere tonight (a lie, but I had endured quite enough 'speaking' for today and wanted to avoid a specific question). A question that came up anyway moments later. “Well, that’s alright. We can catch up tomorrow night. Wouldn’t mind a chance to just shoot the breeze with ya for a while.”

“You seem to assume we’ll be at the same place tomorrow,” I remarked with a snide tone.

“I just had the impression from Pinkie you was goin' to be joinin' us tomorrow night for a while,” she responded with a furrow in her brow showing distaste to my tone of voice.

“You’re very impressionable then. I will be occupied tomorrow evening. Don’t expect to see me.”

Applejack grunted under her breath then as she scrutinized me unhappily, before reaching up to adjust her hat, and turned to head back to the farmhouse without me. “Fine, don’t be showin' up here tomorrow lookin’ for work then. I’m goin' to be busy off visitin' my friends.”

I strolled a bit more slowly back towards Ponyville, as I was left to consider exactly how many bridges I was burning for myself with my insistent refusal to join these ponies on whatever ceremonial gathering they were having. Was everyone in town supposedly invited, or was I just lucky enough to be associating myself with a specific group of close-knit individuals? Considering that I met all of these ponies from each other, it is most likely the latter. I would have fewer problems with socializing if I knew anyone that I voluntarily sought out instead of just those who happened across me and asked their friend what I was.

“Hey, flatfoot.” I glanced up at the remark, seeing a familiar cyan horse treading in the air above me with legs folded and a stern glance. “You need to look up more often. I’ve been here for five minutes already.”

“Where I’m from, most folks are screaming for help if they spend five minutes hanging above you. Forgive me for excluding flying equines from my list of daily obstacles.”

“Yeah, well, I had something to talk to you about. Why do you have to do this to me, Ben? Why do you make it so that every time I get to see you, I’ve got to be the hammer?" Rainbow gave a short sigh to me along with a shake of her head. "Here I was thinking maybe we'd finally get a chance to meet on good terms tomorrow night. Did we do something to tick you off or something? Why exactly are you blowing everypony off?"

"Why is everyone so insistent that I be a part of this meeting? I doubt the lack of my presence will ruin the evening for you all. If anything it will enhance it," I informed her as I continued walking.

Dash landed quickly and strolled at my side to keep pace, refusing to let me be. "You obviously don't know Pinkie very well. This is the second time in a row you've shoved her invitation back in her face, y'know. She's going to get the impression that you don't like her if you keep it up."

"What a tragedy," I mocked back, as I felt my forehead wrinkle in irritation that I was being lectured at by a variegated steed. My steps were paused as she whipped about in front of me and stared me down. "If she gets her feelings hurt, that's just the price of her overextending her camaraderie."

"That's a really jerk thing to say. She's just trying to get to know you and help you out! What's it going to hurt you to just show up and be nice for a while?" Rainbow glowered in my direction now, passion alight in the pink hues of her eyes.

"I could ask you the same: What will it hurt all of you to just let me be? Unlike the rest of you, I understand the meaning of "expeditious action". I have things I was meaning to complete before I got whisked away here, and unsurprisingly, parading around with pastel-pigmented ponies was not one of them! Just leave me alone already," I snapped as I shoved my way past her, feeling my fists tense in inexplicable anger. She let me be, as I had asked, and I then had the chance to return to my introspective thoughts. I began to question if perhaps I suffer from a phobia: Irrational fear and anger towards a normally non-threatening stimulus. It was something to consider as I trudged to my final destination for the evening.

As much as I would have liked to just head back to the boutique, lock myself away in the guest room until the end of tomorrow, and let this entire silliness blow over, I had indeed made a prior engagement for myself. I needed to return to Twilight's library and learn what she was able to deduce from the ancient booklet I had handed over to her when last we met.

Twilight was very quick to usher me in the door now, sitting me down once again, and retrieving the booklet to finally give me her grand realization about the text:

It was old.

I was dumbfounded (and felt a migraine coming on from just how incensed I was) that this was such an accomplishment in her perception. No data as to what the words might mean, no ideas as to how I might get home: Just nothing useful to me. She went on to explain that when she said old, she was talking about nearly a millennium if not more, and stated that there was some sort of magical property that had kept the binding from just rotting away after all that time. So it's magical and old. I could barely contain my enthusiasm at her groundbreaking discoveries.

Shifting topics, she did finally laugh at my conflict of words with Zecora after she accepted my apology for embarrassing her that evening. "It's alright, Benjamen. You still just need some time to adjust. If a few things get messy, or there is a misunderstanding here or there, you'll be forgiven."

"Hopefully I will not need to do too much adjusting," I admitted thoughtlessly.

Twilight took a moment to consider my statement, looking back at me with mild concern. "Do you not like it here, Benjamen? Is something wrong?"

"No," I began cautiously, "It's just that I still have to get back and find my father. I was on a mission before I got here, and I can't finish it while I'm stuck in this place." As she continued to watch me silently, I felt compelled to continue defending myself. "It's just that if I'm going home, then I won't really need to do any adjusting. Once I'm back, I doubt that I will need the adjustment, because I won't be coming back here."

"Is that why you have been so detached from everypony?"

"Detached? I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

"You haven't really been trying to make any friends, Benjamen. All I've really seen you do is work and try to find a way home since you've been here. I heard that you won't even be attending our game night tomorrow."

"Of course I've been busy. I need some capital to survive on if the worst is to happen and I remain stuck here." – 'stuck'. That word brought Twilight's ears down into a fold.

"Does that mean you won't need friends if you can't make it home?" The only response I could give was to ask her what I was doing that was so unfriendly. "Everything I've heard about you doing. I think you only do it to pay off some sort of debt or to further your own goals. You help Rarity because you owe her for the room, you help Applejack just to make some money, and the crusaders have to practically beg you to join them."

"So you're saying that I'm not being friendly because I'm doing things for everyone for reasons other than sheer generosity? Am I to do everything for everyone for nothing?"

"I only have these for examples because all you've done is work and write in that notebook, Benjamen! In fact, I would believe you have written far more words in there than you've spoken to anypony here in Ponyville." She was not angry with me when she spoke, but more concerned. Honestly, I wish she had been angry with me because I would have had an easier time dismissing her words. Especially when she asked me, "Is that notebook the only thing you would want to call a friend?"

"Why do you care?" I was compelled to ask her, “I'm just some freak that fell from the sky for all you know. Do you all just feel sorry for me? I can take care of myself well enough without the pity, thank you."

There was a hush after I had barked those words at her, while she stepped closer to me with sorrow in her eyes. I was expecting her to shout at me for being ungrateful; to raise her voice back towards me and tell me to get out if I did not want her help. I am unaccustomed to what happened though, as she approached with genuine care. "What kind of place are you from, Benjamen? What kind of place can make you so hardened that you can't even accept somepony's kindness without believing that they are waiting to be repaid? Or that maybe somepony just wishes to be your friend for the sake of sharing a little happiness with you?"

I remained silent under her stare afterwards, forced to consider Twilight's words carefully. I recollected everything I have done since I got here, and regretfully found that she was correct. The only act I have done that was not out of obligation or ambition was to keep Sugarlump from losing her job, but even then it was just pity that brought me to act. I could defend myself by claiming it is simply because I am too different from these creatures to associate with them. Even after reading it just now, however, it looks like a terrible thing to state. It looks as though I must consider myself some kind of superior being. I could say that this is just how things are back on Terriel, but does familiarity automatically mean it is correct? "I'm afraid I don't know what you creatures would expect from me to be your friend."

I watched the edges of her mouth turn up gently to smile at me as one of her hooves rested on my shoulder. "I used to have a problem much like yours, Benjamen," she began as she hesitantly brought her face closer to make a quick pass of her cheek over mine. The gesture was tense and uncomfortable for her, but I could feel the sentiment behind it. "I didn't understand what friendship was for either. My studies and my duties to the Princess were far more important to me than anypony else was. That's why I'm here though: I'm learning why it's important and what it really is." I was spellbound by the time she asked me, "Do you think you could trust me if I told you what everypony would expect of you?"

"I trust you, Twilight."

"All anypony would want from you is just for you to be able to relax around them, to share with them and let them share with you, and most importantly to just be happy."

I lowered my head. She made it sound so simple and so pure. She was able to make friendship sound like an ideal concept that is found only in children’s' stories back home. Popularity, money, comedy, and sex were the currency used back home to purchase friendship with, but she just informed me that none of that was true here. "What about finding my dad?"

"That has nothing to do with this, Benjamen," she chuckled softly at me, finding my concern humorous in some way. "You can make friends and try to find your dad too. Just because you are able to enjoy your stay somewhere and make the best of a situation, doesn't mean you've given up on him or your quest. I'll still help you to get back home, I promise. Maybe instead of having a single story of your hardships, however, you can make some new stories that you'll remember fondly here while we try to find you a way back?"

I'm now friends with a talking, purple, magic horse, and I'm okay with this right now.

That is when I went back to Pinkie that evening and informed her that I would be joining her and the others tomorrow night for whatever they have planned. She looked like she might burst with joy when I told her this, and she let me know she'd be happy to save me a seat now that my prior obligations had been settled. I still don't know how I'm possibly going to fit in, or how I will even survive the socialization, but I said that I would trust her – no, I do trust Twilight – not will. I just hope that trust is enough to secure me through it all.

19: Reconsideration

It should be safe to state that everything went much better than expected.

I might as well take a moment to look back and laugh at myself for the way I was acting last week. To think that I was getting myself worked up over something so simple. I suppose it has always been a habit for me to make a fool of myself, something I have done many times already since my arrival here. I should find it comforting that such a thing has not changed about me since leaving home, even though I might wish to come off as more of a savant and scholar. Live and learn is the only thing I can think to justify it.

I did attend the gathering last week as I had promised Pinkie I would. I showed up in my more formal suit after much debate with myself over it, but I might have misjudged. Rarity had commented how nice I looked when I was escorting her through Ponyville personally, but everyone there had a short laugh at me when they said I looked like I was ready for a Canterlot dinner party. (I have no idea what that is supposed to mean, but I gave a courtesy laugh.) It turns out that this gathering is an occurrence that comes about roughly once or twice a month when this group of friends meets with one another to catch up on all that might have happened in the previous weeks. Though they spend plenty of time with one another away from this event, Pinkie let me know that sometimes it was just nice to get to see everyone at once when none of them were busy with any projects, work, or responsibilities. When I asked why exactly I was invited and confided that I was afraid I might intrude upon their together-time, she simply giggled at my worry and told me, "I don't just have five friends, Benjy! Friends are the best thing to have: They're like having cake and getting to eat it again and again! You can never have too much or too many. The reason I invited you was because you already knew everypony here, and you get really, really nervous around new ponies. Last time I tried to show you to more of my friends here, you ran away and didn't come back. You're not nervous right now are you?" I was, but not for the reason she was thinking. Her answer struck me as hedonistic, but strangely insightful. Perhaps she is not as bubble-headed as I had begun to believe her to be.

The night in question was labeled by them as a "game night". Considering I had yet to see a single monitor and did not have access to the Stratus or a local connection to other CCMI's in the area (since I'm the only one with one installed anywhere around here), I had wondered exactly what kind of games they were talking about. They are ill-equipped to start up any titles I might be familiar with on the Stratus like Strifecraft or Call To Arms 4, but things made more sense when I saw a short and wide colorful box opened to remove a very flat wooden board covered in designs and words, along with a pair of dice. They were referring to board games. To be honest, the antiquity of the object astounded me at first, as I had never actually seen one of these games played. We on Terriel see these objects as little more than conversation pieces or collectors' items since industry refuses to make them when virtual content is so much more easily distributed and marketed. It was embarrassing when they called me over and asked me to pick a piece to represent myself with, and I had to inform them that I had no idea how to play.

The game is called Slides and Stairs. I must first admit that I absolutely detest this terrible little game now. The stategy (or lack there of) consists of rolling a dice to move your piece across the number of spaces indicated. If you happen to land on a slide, you get to advance ahead to a further point on the board. If you land on a space with stairs, you must backtrack to an earlier point. The only goal is to reach the end of the board before the other players. It takes no skill! It makes me feel like I'm undergoing a psychological experiment that tests my compliance. (Also, somehow I kept ending up back at the start of the board every four turns!)

Sensing my frustration with it, Twilight offered that perhaps I would be more interested in a game of Chess. I at least have played virtual versions of that game, so she was happy to retrieve it for us. I did very poorly nonetheless and had to keep getting instructed on how to play because all of the pawns, rooks, bishops, kings, and queens on the board looked exactly the same to me. I believe I lost in roughly ten moves. I have heard of tournament players winning in far less moves than that, but I did not put up even a relative challenge to Twilight when we tried for two-out-of-three (then three-out-of-five). The others around us would occasionally come back to see how it was going throughout the hour while I was beating my head against a figurative wall of strategic advantage. I began to wonder if she felt like she was playing with a child after a while as she was very quick to compliment me and offer a good sense of sportsmanship after each match. I would call her a ruthless tactician: A kind smile on front, but she spares no one on the battlefield. (She cleared out every one of my pieces on our third game. I only took two of her pawns and a rook.)

To keep me from getting too discouraged, Applejack finally suggested that maybe a card game would be a bit better for us all. I was able to sigh in relief when I saw that the cards, though having different pictures on them, still made relative sense to me in their numbering. These were close enough to playing cards I recognized that I could manage through some more common game types. Pinkie insisted we play Go-Fish, so we all accepted her wish and did a round or so before Rainbow stated she was more interested in a higher-stakes game. Appleloosa Hold'em is the name of the game she suggested, some off-shoot of poker that I had trouble understanding at first. To up the ante, everyone pitched in a couple of bits and bought a few pounds of candy to evenly distribute amongst the players, since I was uncomfortable gambling away what little money I finally have come into possession of. The game lasted for awhile, but I was focused more on listening to the banter between them and interjecting a few quips after I had been eliminated from play. I suppose going all-in on a 3 and a 5 off-suit was not my brightest idea, but I am also not sure that I trust Rainbow Dash's winning hand that time around. I am not saying she cheated necessarily, but I just get the hunch that there were more than 4 aces on that table by the end of the hand. Fluttershy asked if I wanted to play in her place since she folded most turns anyway, but I declined. I enjoyed listening to others compare wits with one another too much to bother pairing up against them myself.

I left the game night smiling, something that is rather uncommon to me. I do not consider myself to be an unhappy person, but I rarely ever go walking around with a dumb grin plastered across my face. I used to be told that I looked angry quite often, especially when I was lost in thought, so to feel the corners of my lips turned up for that long was certainly a foreign sensation. I would call it a treat. It feels nice to have a reason to smile for a while even as I think this to myself. Rarity was speaking to me on the way back to the boutique, but I'm afraid that I only listened enough to nod and offer a question occasionally so she felt I was paying attention.

This last week has been riddled with other offers for my attention, all of which I have been doing my best to accept and adhere to. I was invited to dinner with the Apple Family one evening, which was rather pleasant to be a part of. Pinkie brought me with her one day on what she called a 'walk', but it felt more like playing a good-will dispenser the whole time. I may never be able to understand exactly how she can be cheery so often and remember so much detail about every individual she runs across. I can barely remember a name before I meet someone three or four times. Rainbow Dash invited me to join her in some practices she was doing to get ready for some sort of try-outs happening in the near future. (It sounded almost like she was going to become a superhero of some sort, something called a Wonderbolt.) I am not particularly athletic, but she appreciated some of my suggestions on what I could see to be minor hindrances to her speed and mobility. I have spent a fair bit of time with Rarity recently at the boutique, and am less likely to simply retreat back to the guest room like it was a sanctuary. She says she has plans for a wardrobe for me, but it will have to wait until I can afford that much of her services: I've already accepted more from her than I feel comfortable with. It’s also worth noting that her pelt has almost faded back to it’s proper snow-white color. I am also supposed to go meet with Zecora soon to apologize and try visiting again over tea, but I told Twilight I could make no promises should I be rhymed at too much more.

I am glad that all this has been happening, as it has done well to keep me calm after a bit of unsettling news I received: Yet another letter from the same anonymous sender:

"Human,

You have seen it appropriate to ignore my offer and my demands. This is a foolhardy mistake, but your choice has been made.

Expect your time in Ponyville to be short.

~Dog-Ears-Pink."

It is short and vague, something that discomforts me even more than the threat itself. It leads me to believe that perhaps the sender is quick to action or just plain stupid, both which bode badly for me as I have no idea what they are truly planning. It scares me a bit. I tried to get more information on it, but anyone I brought up the name with merely asked if that was one of the colors of those crayons the foals play with. Rarity had only a little more insight: She became rigid and anxious when I asked. She wanted to know if I had perhaps met with something she called a Diamond Dog, but I had to tell her no. To settle her mind, I never mentioned the content of the letter or that I had received anything at all, but it lets me know that I might be dealing with something far more dangerous than I would imagine.

In retaliatory action, I found the Crusaders again and asked if I could have the grapple-hook crossbow they constructed a while back. With a bit of knowledge from Twilight (whom I lied to and said I was just looking to do some recreational archery), I was able to modify it to be more like a standard crossbow. I inserted a wooden nut into the stock for use to crank back the drawstring, with a linchpin in place to hold it that is yanked free by the trigger below the stock. Knapping a few rocks one evening, I was able to whittle up a primitive arrowhead to append to the bolts I would be using as ammunition. Test firings show that I can accurately hit a human-width target from roughly fifteen yards away, but anything further becomes too iffy to rely on. It's crude, but certainly better than expecting my fists or my wit to save me (or worse, expecting my fists to help me protect my friends here). The way Rarity tensed when she spoke of those creatures leads me to believe that maybe I am not the only one to be worried. I will do all that is in my power to make sure nothing befalls them.

I'll be waiting for you to make your move, Dog-Ears-Pink.

21: Incarceration

I thought everything was going to turn out okay. I instead find out that I am so far up ShitCreek without a paddle that I'm sitting in the snow on ShitMountain, waiting for it to melt.

I have not written since I lost my notebook during the conflict with Spike yesterday. I lost it when I tried to use it futilely to swat him away as he came over the top of the table at me with his slingshot. He got a lick of flame on it, and it burned up before I could put the fire out, turning into nothing more than smoke.

Not too long after that, I had him by the shoulders, shaking him in my grasp violently and shouting at him about how he had ruined all of my hard work: That now I was going to be labeled a maniac when I got home since I had no proof of anything that had transpired. We were interrupted by Twilight, who gasped and asked us what we were doing, after seeing him about to breathe fire in my face and me holding him up in the air furiously. I was rather surprised when Spike looked at me with a compromising glare, and I nodded at him: It would make neither of us look good to tell this tale, we agreed.

"Just boys being boys," I told her as I set Spike down, fighting the urge to kick him.

"Wrestling; y'know, manly stuff," he added, as I could see him restraining himself as well.

"Look what you two have done! Books everywhere, papers all over – and why is my table on the floor like that?"

Spike and I looked to each other once again and it seemed that he did not know what to say, so I had to be the one to show initiative. "Playing small-scale Capture the Flag. That's my fort, actually. Everything beyond the tabletop is Benjamenopolis."

"Where's the flag then?"

She had me on that one, and overall was still unamused that we would have chosen to do that in her library instead of taking it outside. "Not a real flag, Twilight. We were actually using..." I paused, hoping to find an object around the room that I could use.

"Cookies," Spike blurted out.

"You've got to be kidding me," she muttered. I was going to say the same thing, but at least he picked something we could claim was already disposed of. She was not going to check us for cookies. At least I seriously hoped she wouldn't. "Fine, whatever, I don't care what you two were doing, just help me clean up, and seriously – Benjamen, Spike – take it outside next time. I'm fine with you two “doing manly stuff”, but have a little consideration, alright?"

"Sure thing," we both stated and began helping her to clean up the mess we had caused. Spike seemed to believe himself victorious in some way as I noticed the confident and sly smirk he kept during our cleanup, but I did not bother to ask him why. I had figured him damaging my property must have been enough to make him believe he had gotten the point across that Rarity was his. As it turns out, there was much more set in motion than even he knew of, and I would only learn about the following day.

One might question how I got my notebook back after it was burned to a crisp? Well, the answer is because it was delivered back to me by an escort. A royal escort: An armed, royal escort in a prison wagon headed to a place called Canterlot.

I am currently sitting in that wagon writing this, as I was given my notebook back before they forced me into the prison carriage. They found me as I was exiting the boutique that morning to head off to my mail route. I heard Twilight and Rarity speaking out on my behalf, asking what was going on and why I was being treated as a criminal, once the gold-armor clad stallions had swiftly subdued me. I was grasped firmly by the back of the hair and shoved into the wagon like a ragdoll. From what I could hear during the exchange, I am wanted for the attempted assassination of Princess Celestia.

Preposterous. Absolutely absurd! There's no possible way this could be a founded claim!

Still, I'm scared. I don't know why I'm being charged with this crime or what the punishments are for such acts here. I wonder if I even did anything, or if maybe this Princess just wishes to see me locked away or beheaded just for being an alien. I can only hope that this is a huge misunderstanding, and that she is the compassionate and benevolent leader that her subjects have claimed her to be since my arrival.

Why assassination though? I was not even anywhere near this place called Canterlot! How could I have done anything to her? And why did they have my notebook? I'm so confused right now, and it is not helping me to cope with what may very well be my impending doom!

I can’t believe this: They're going to execute me. They're going to execute me for trying to kill their Princess, and I didn't even do anything. I'm going to be made a public example of. Maybe they'll have a hanging. What if they put the knot on the back of my neck instead of the side? It won't break my neck if that's the case, and though I'll live for a few moments longer, I'm going to suffocate! That's a lot worse!

What if it's beheading? How long does the brain stay alive after one’s been beheaded? What if the axe is dull? They might be beating on my neck for hours until I finally die from spinal damage!

They may use a firing squad. They may all miss my heart and head. I may be lying on the ground waiting to bleed to death with bullet holes in me!

What if it's drowning?

Burning me at the stake?

Torture Rack?

Draw and quartering?

Starvation?

Crucifixion?

Electrocution?

Lethal Injection?

And my CCMI is ominously playing "Hell and Damnation" while I write this!

I must not panic. I must not lose my cool. I must not lose hope. I have been in worse situations (That's a damn lie and you know it, Benjamen!), and I will make it through this one too. All it takes is a little composure, calm demeanor, and rational thinking.

I'm going to be alright.

No. No. I'm pretty sure I'm going to die.

Here's to hoping that I'll be alright. Perhaps I will have more to write down for clarification as to what is going on tomorrow.

No. No I won't. I'm already dead. Dead man writing. Gonna be dead this time tomorrow. If I write anymore, they killed me and brought me back to life with their magic so they could kill me again the next day too.

I just wish I had someone to stroke my head and tell me that everything is going to be okay right now.

22: Audience

My wagon ride took me right to a holding cell to wait for hours until I was given an audience with the Princess. If I had not been so upset, I might have been able to make a comment of the city as I saw it during the approach: They call it Canterlot. I can remember that it is situated upon the side of a very tall mountain, and is built mostly of smoothed stone and precious metals. If I were to compare it to anything, I might state that this place's architecture reminded me of the ancient library upon the planet's surface back home, with paved streets of stone as well. Perhaps I was just in a nicer part of town as I was being wheeled through like a freak-show attraction, but I would describe the general culture of the citizens here as posh.

The cell I was eventually taken to, though without proper heating or cooling, did have a rather nice bed compared to what I am used to on Terriel. There was also a clean wash basin and a cloth rag supplied. Perhaps cleanliness is not denied those who are punished with incarceration here; however, my possessions within my backpack, including my notebook, were once again stripped from me and taken away before I was locked into a single cell alone. I was expecting chains on the dungeon walls and instruments of torture to be lining the room when I was carried here at blade point, but I can say I was pleasantly surprised by how brightly lit this dungeon is kept, and the fact that I did not see a single rodent while I was in there. I would say it is a preferable living space to even most apartments, but it lacks Stratus access and television (also a pool and tennis court).

After a few hours of staring at the wall while rocking myself back and forth with my knees hugged to my chest on the bed of my cell, one of the guardsmen (large pegasus ponies adorned in golden armor, mostly male from what I can see; in fact, it is the largest grouping of male ponies I have seen thus far, which might mean there is a drafting system in place of sorts) called me to attention and told me to come along.

"What's going to happen to me?" I asked him reluctantly as I compliantly followed him out of the now unlocked cell door. I was not sure I wanted an answer to that question, as it might very well snuff out the rest of my waning and feeble hope.

"The Princess will decide your judgment and your fate, prisoner," he informed me, motioning with his head for me to follow as the cell door slammed open loudly, "I am simply to deliver you to her."

"There's obviously been some sort of mistake, Sir," I tried to reason as I heeded his request, walking in front of him with my hands cooperatively visible . "I've never stepped foot in this place before today. The idea that I'm some sort of assassin is really just ridiculous."

The guardsman refused to answer me: Prodding me to continue walking forward with an outstretched wing. I know for a fact that the hallways he led me through, with a curt: "Right," "Straight," or "Left," when we came to an intersection within this enormous structure, were the largest I have ever been in. I was not sure if the breathlessness that I was feeling during our 'stroll' was from the awe I felt at the beauty of the rising columns in the halls and the woven tapestries above us, or if I was hyperventilating from panic. No matter how large the corridors were, however, even if they had only been a few feet long, they would have felt like the longest hallways I had ever encountered.

Have you ever had the chance to walk towards your own death? To be accused of a crime you would never have committed, and to know that you are marching yourself to the end of your own life? Could you make that march gracefully?

I couldn’t.

I am surprised with how much the guardsman put up with as he escorted me through the halls. I pleaded him to help me: To just listen to my side of the story and give me a chance to offer my alibi. I bargained with him promising favors, money, information, or anything else I could offer if he would do me the justice of letting me escape. I shouted at him in fury about the injustice of my situation, and how it was just bigoted profiling against me since I was different from them. All the while, the same stoic and stern expression stayed upon the guardsman's face. He never once told me to be silent, or to mind my place, or struck me with a hoof. Looking back now, I am rather grateful that he had shown me that much mercy.

After what seemed to be an endless walking of the mile, I was led into a grand throne room along a red carpet. The large, colored pillars towered above me that hold up the high ceiling, and the stained glass windows threw a myriad of colors onto the stone floors. I was captivated by the awe-inspiring size of the room, noting the hanging braziers above me that threw down a bright light around them, and the stories that must be told upon the decorative engravings of the room and in the stained glass windows. I did not even notice her until the Guardsman told me to halt and approach no closer.

A pearly white pelt upon the image of royalty set high above the palace floor. My breath halted in tension when I viewed her immense size; not that she had huge muscles or was corpulent, but she was simply a very large creature compared to the ponies. Her horn was long and spiraled, leading up to a dangerous-looking point at the end. Feathered wings rested folded at her sides as she sat above me atop a dais to look down upon the lower floor of the throne room. The mane that flowed upon its own accord, since there was no draft in the room, did not seem to be made of hair at all, but I believe was a bending of light itself instead of a tangible object. Her hooves shined with polish, and she was adorned in golden jewelry that must have symbolized her position.

I was in the presence of the Princess of Equestria: Princess Celestia.

There was a unicorn tending to her carefully as I watched: She was the same size as the ponies back in Ponyville, sporting a taupe pelt with a crimson-red mane and wearing a saddlebag with a red cross embroidered onto it. This caught my attention as I saw a strip of gauze wind carefully around the Princess' neck, and as the unicorn's head moved, I saw a red stain upon the new gauze. Finally the wound dressing was completed as the guardsman continued to stand next to me silently, and the unicorn brought her supplies back to her saddlebag.

"Thank you, Cross Stitch." The creature spoke with an almost angelic quality to her voice, smiling warmly down at the crimson-haired pony who bowed in return.

"Would it be alright if I returned tomorrow to see how the healing is coming along?" The pony asked this with concern, finally looking back up to the princess.

"A watched pot never boils, and I would think the same thing is true of wounds and healing. Please, don't worry; I'm sure it will be fine. How about I call you if anything new develops?"

"Very good, your majesty," responded the unicorn as she excused herself and trotted past us while we waited on the carpet. She made sure to keep a wide berth from me as she passed, eyeing me cautiously the whole way, until she was eventually behind us and continued with her trot.

"The prisoner is here as you requested, Milady," stated the guardsman standing at my side as he received a nod from the matriarch.

"I can see that, thank you. Boys, please go and secure the door while I speak with our visitor."

"Milady, I humbly request that you consider keeping at least one of us with you around this – thing," stated one of her personal guards: Brawny-looking steel-grey unicorns stationed at the sides of her throne.

"I will be fine. Go on, secure the door and watch the hallways. I wish to speak with the human alone. Tell any other visitors that I will speak with them at the next available opportunity."

"Very well, your majesty."

After the ponies in the golden armor had vacated the room, I was left standing there uneasily in front of the throne as Princess Celestia stared me down in examination (or perhaps contemplation). Either way, I felt thoroughly scrutinized, and all I could think to do was respectfully drop to one knee before her in hopes to not cause an issue of disrespect.

Silence lingered between us for a handful of unbearably tense minutes before she finally cocked her head to ask me, "So will you just kneel there and stare at me? Have you nothing to say?"

I babbled useless noises for some moments, trying to consider a few good words within a mind petrified by fear. "I, I had assumed that I was awaiting your decision..."

"The only thing I've decided, Benjamen, is to hear you out," she responded, continuing her powerful gaze down at me. The way she watched me only happened to make me more uncomfortable down on the red carpet, bringing a quake to my bent knees.

"I'm not sure what to say then. I have no idea what these charges against me are about. I've never stepped foot in Canterlot before now; I have no idea how or why I am being charged for assassination. I also have no idea how you know my name, since I've yet to introduce myself..."

At that, her horn glimmered with an otherworldly aura, and from a rather plain-looking bin beside the throne, I saw a small cylindrical object float towards her and rest upon a hoof that she held up. "Are you saying that this is not yours?" She then used her telekinetic powers to present the object to me, letting it hover close to my face down on the ground level.

A small wooden cylinder with fabric appended to the end for stabilizing it in flight. The other end had a light, knapped stone secured to it. It appeared to have been used, as the light-colored wood was stained a dark red (almost black at this time) from drying blood. It was a bolt – my bolt.

Before I could say anything, I heard the familiar sound of the wooden nut of my crossbow being wound back into a readied position. The Princess now had the crossbow resting within her hooves and was using her horn to manipulate it in contemplation. A loud snap, like the crack of a whip, sounded off as she pulled back the trigger after setting it and let the weapon discharge an empty barrel.

"That's... that's impossible... that's not mine," I began to stammer, "My crossbow is a pile of ashes by now. It was engulfed in fire. I never even fired it past the testing range. That can't be mine. How did you get it?"

"It was delivered to me...," she began, before taking a few moments to wind the nut back into a readied position and look down at me with one brow raised. "It was delivered to me loaded, and it happens that since I was not ready to receive it..." At this, she let the crossbow drop to the floor where it rattled for a split moment before sounding off with another snap of discharge. "... Perhaps you are bright enough to hypothesize what happened next."

"Delivered? It was on fire! It burned up in my hands! I didn't send it to anybody!"

"Funny thing about dragon fire," Celestia began as she set the crossbow aside and pulled the bolt back towards her to stow them both away and out of sight, "It's how that little dragon, Spike, sends me my student's letters. When he lit it on fire, it was sent to me. Peculiar that he chose to do that instead of just burning it normally. So, do you now agree that this may indeed be your weapon?"

It hardly seemed possible to me, but it still made sense. I nodded slowly and agreed: "It is my weapon."

"Good, since we have that understood, now for the questions that really do matter. Why did you make it?"

I first thought that to be a dumb question; why else would someone make a weapon? "To defend myself and those around me."

"Armor is for defending, Benjamen. Weapons are for causing harm to somepony else. You mean you planned to harm with the intent to not to be harmed?"

"That's…! That's... correct."

"Why?"

"I was threatened by an anonymous sender calling himself Dog-Ears Pink. I was worried that he might try to hurt me, or one of my... friends."

"You found Dog-Ears Pink though. It was just a baby dragon with a jealousy problem. You planned to kill him out of fear that he would hurt you?"

"No! Never!"

"Then why did you load the crossbow?"

It took many moments before I could answer that question with any confidence. "To use fear as a tool to dissuade him from his course of action. He was violent, and I hoped to end the confrontation before things got out of hand."

"You meant to scare him into standing down?"

"Exactly."

"I'm rather interested in how you say this as though it is something not uncommon. Do your people threaten children with weapons as a custom?"

"No! Well, not exactly. Not with weapons."

"So you threaten children?"

"It is understood that the concept of crime and punishment must be taught at an early age. Corporal punishment is common for children who continue to misbehave, so the understanding of doing something they are instructed not to do will result in physical discomfort. You're making it sound like we're savage brutes."

"And you're making it sound like you threaten and beat children."

"I'm sorry that you do not agree with some of our customs," I submitted, knowing that arguing such a point would win me no favors, "As for why I loaded the crossbow, I was simply trying to end the conflict before it became violent."

"So you were using fear, the same tool that Dog-Ears Pink had tried to use against you, to get your way as well? You wanted to use the threat of violence to end the possibility of violence?"

"... Yes." I had to admit defeat. I could argue day and night about whether what I did was morally sound or not, but she had simply asked if that was what I had planned to do. It was, and it was still better than having her believe that I would actually shoot him.

"I see," she nodded, before pulling free my backpack from the same bin. "Instead of making a weapon, why did you not ask your friends for help?"

"I did not wish for them to get hurt."

"So you took full responsibility for what would become of them?"

"Yes."

"So much as to deny them the responsibility of defending themselves?"

I did not answer her for once, getting the feeling that she was nitpicking all of my decisions in the past days. I cannot think of why she was doing this, but it was rather obvious to me that she was scrutinizing my actions down to every potentially incriminating detail.

"Well?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I have already answered this question, Your Majesty; I was afraid they would get hurt."

"No, that was the answer to why you did not ask them for help. I want to know what compelled you to take full responsibility for their safety upon yourself."

All I could do was shrug. "I do not know, Your Majesty."

"I have an idea why...," she mentioned offhandedly, before changing the topic to avoid granting me any clarification as to what she meant. From my backpack, she extracted my notebook and began letting the pages flip idly as she looked for something specific. "A very interesting little book you have here, Benjamen."

"That must be how you know my name."

"It is. I took some time to read up on what you've been up to since you got here. I can see where you've met with my student. How is your tooth, Benjamen?"

"It is fine, Your Majesty."

"Still hearing music in your head as well?"

"I am, yes."

"Well? What's it playing right now?"

"A solo piano instrumental piece called 'Nevermore'. Princess, I apologize, but I feel that you're deriving pleasure from my situation. I would request that you act professional: Sentence me and stop playing around."

She looked taken aback at first as I said this (and probably at the growly, frigid way that I said it). She was making fun of me, enjoying my fear, and possibly expecting to raise my hopes just to see the look on my face when she dashed them by sentencing me to execution: If you're going to die, at least do it without being made a fool of, right? "Oh my," she began, setting the notebook down to begin examining me once more, "It seems your journal is fairly accurate then. You are rather quick to assume, and at that, assume the worst. Are you saying it's so wrong for somepony to want to be friendly with you?"

"When they are going to send me to my death in the near future, yes."

"See, there it is again. I've never said anything about that. All I said I had decided on was hearing you out, and since you had nothing to say, I was helping you deliver all of the facts. I just wanted to know how I ended up with a wooden bolt lodged in the side of my neck."

"I've been charged with attempted assassination though. You ordered your guards to arrest me for trying to kill you."

"Once more, you've let your conclusions get the best of you! My guards arrested you for trying to assassinate me. I merely got shot in the neck by somepony's brilliance, and then was asked to pass a judgment on it."

I cannot describe why I had the strangest urge at that moment to strike my head against one of the stone pillars until I stopped breathing. With a sigh of exhaustion, I finally slumped down dejectedly to ask, "So does this mean you're not going to execute me?"

"Benjamen, I have a question for you: If you were in my position, what would you do? What would you decide?"

It took a while to consider my answer, but instead of silence, I happened to prattle. "I should say that I would let myself off the hook because it was purely an accident, and perhaps get my top scientists (or magisters, or whatever) on the task of helping find the human a way to get back home. This is just what I would want, however. If I were to use precedence from what I know of Terriel... then I would sentence the human to a quick death to be televised as a warning to future usurpers that I will hold my position with full force."

"But what would you do, Benjamen?"

This question caught me off guard as she waited on me with a curious quirk of her brow. "Me? I don't know. I... I would probably... the issue remains that the human did something disagreeable: Whether he intended to use it for a noble cause or not, he did craft a weapon, and I would have ended up getting hurt by it. At the same time, it was an accident and there was no malice in the act that brought me to harm. I think that I would rehabilitate the human: Perhaps give him a community service project that would teach him an ethical lesson relevant to his crime and then have him placed on probation to ensure that he would cause no more trouble. The biggest question on my mind though, Your Majesty, is still... what are you going to do about me?"

She has a smile that could make even the heart of the hardest man sigh, I think. Princess Celestia beamed at me after that and nodded. "I like your ideas, Benjamen. I think I'll give them a try. Until I've thought of a task suited to teaching you a proper lesson, you will remain here in Canterlot under royal supervision. Does that sound fair, Ambassador?"

"Yes, but... wait, uhm... I'm not an ambassador..."

"You're from a far away country, and you're speaking with foreign leaders. Is that not close enough for you?"

"I'm not an elected diplomat though."

Celestia winked at me as my backpack and notebook were tossed to me from the throne. "I doubt whomever you’re worried about had the chance to elect somepony else for the job. I think they'll forgive you for stepping up during a time of need. What do you say?"

"Thank you, Princess," I uttered, looking down at my possessions and trying to comprehend my new situation: I wasn't going to die. Not only was I not going to die, I was now an ambassador? A foreign diplomat? I'm going to be residing in a castle? Shocked and speechless, I tried my best to excuse myself from her presence.

"You must be rather exhausted after all of this. Go clean yourself up and rest then, Ambassador. We'll speak again soon, since I am rather curious to know more about your homeland."

"Of course, Your Majesty... Uhm, I'm sorry that I don't have more to say. All of this is new to me."

"I can still banish you to the moon for a thousand years if that would make you more comfortable."

"I probably won't be alive for more than a hundred."

"I can still banish you to the moon for the rest of your life if that would make you more comfortable."

"I would rather you didn't."

"If you say so, Benjamen. The offer is always open just for you," she giggled, which I think means that she's joking. I really hope she's joking. "Oh, and I wanted to say that I think you were right on what Applejack expected a "Thinkin' Type" like you to come up with for sleeping in the house."

If I had not been so shocked, I might have shown a bit of concern that she had been reading (and subsequently commenting on) my personal thoughts, but as it were, I could only stupidly repeat, "Thank you, Princess."

"Write something nice about me in there when you get to your room, will you?"

I think I've done her justice.

23: Diplomacy

What are an ambassador's duties, exactly? Am I to be learning more about this strange new culture? Am I to be making deals, or signing contracts or treaties? Should I be teaching the ideals of my people to the residents here?

This is something I have been pondering the past couple of days as I have been ushered around from place to place excitedly by numerous individuals striving to get my attention. I could best compare what is happening to be much like a new student in a grade-school class whom everyone wishes to meet, or perhaps the foreign exchange student who arrives halfway through the school year. I'm something new and special now instead of something weird and scary.

I would write this down as a Psychology Discovery, but it might have to wait until I return to Keycrescents and do a bit of research to confirm my suspicions: That this is indeed a part of equine psychology there too (a herd mental that dictates the Alpha must approve or dismiss a new object or stimuli before the rest of the herd will approach it willingly).

I have actually been enjoying the attention, and it has taught me alot about the lifestyle here in this place called Canterlot. There is a fair bit of aristocracy here as I had originally observed, but I have also found it to be a very studious community too. There is even a special school here for gifted and talented young unicorns where I have had the pleasure of being given a tour. Considering that their matriarch is located here, I am assuming this place is the nation capital of Equestria.

Political Discovery: I have not yet decided if the state of this ruling is a monarchy or a theocracy, but what I have been able to discover is a bit more about the regional division of political structures: Equestria itself is very large, and I would state is more suited to be the name of the continent itself rather than just a nation. The main ruler over all of Equestria would be Princess Celestia, who has the final say on any decision that must be made. That, however, would be a responsibility impossibly large for any single being to handle. This is where I have learned of provinces: Provinces of Equestria happen to be political divisions of land that are ruled over by a Duke or Duchess (which I believe are at least mostly Alicorns: A pony sporting both wings and a horn) who handles the decisions of local affairs for their province. They are all subsidiaries of Equestria, however, and as such, they still must follow the mandates and decisions set by Celestia. The ladder of power seems to extend rather far in some cases: Some provinces prefer to also have lords and ladies, followed by governors, then mayors, and on down until they feel comfortable with the distribution of responsibilities.

I have tried to learn a bit more and have discovered the name of the capital province of Equestria: "The Sun of Chance" is the name of the province that Celestia directly advises, and is where I have been since I arrived. Ponyville and Canterlot are two cities that happen to fall within its borders. There seems to be a dispute as to whether or not Cloudsdale (a city erected upon the clouds by pegasus ponies) is within The Sun of Chance or in the borders of its neighbor, The Sister of Clouds. It seems that the city is prone to shift occasionally across the borders, and both would like to lay claim to it, but Celestia has never made an executive decision.

I actually happened to meet with the Duchess of the Sister of Clouds, Nimbus. She is an Alicorn (though quite a bit smaller than Celestia) with a cerulean pelt and a misty-colored mane. We did not speak much, as she was rather busy and needed to request an audience with the Princess, but I did get to hear some interesting pieces of their conversation since I happened to be present during the audience.

"Princess Celestia, I wished to inform you that we have received final reports of the fate of Clean Ages."

"Clean Ages? Nimbus, it's been over two years since the liquidation of The Bejeweled Leopards: Why are you just getting this done now?"

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but we have been sending out search parties to investigate. My bureau of investigation was hoping to locate the rebels that fled into the nearby rocky wastes. After two years, we may now declare the missing as legally dead and close the case."

"... Legally dead? I see. None of the missing were located?"

"No ma'am, not even the bodies.”

"This now makes sense why you're reporting it directly to me then: So you mean to tell me that I have lost Compass Rose? Was there any specification on what happened?"

"We were able to collect what we believe to be the most accurate recount from a unicorn miner named Amethyst who had been with the expedition since they struck ground back in the year 1212. We have recorded all of our findings in these case files for your review."

Princess Celestia did not seem quite ready to respond, visibly disheartened by the news of this Compass Rose. Nimbus was waiting patiently for her to accept the file, but I could see that it was going to be a heavy burden for Celestia to lift: She was mourning.

Today is one of those days that I happened to feel quite ballsy (as a certain friend of mine, Cooper Thurs used to say), so I stepped forward. "Excuse me, Lady Nimbus, but may I accept that at this time?" I received strange looks from both of them, forcing me to reconsider, but I was in too deep to stop. "I would simply like to know more, and... perhaps I can... assist?" With a sigh of defeat, I was ready to step back and accept that I was only making a fool of myself when I was surprised by an answer.

"I'm sorry Ambassador, but I feel that this is none of your concern, however altruistic your offer may be," Nimbus responded to me, before the Princess spoke again.

"Give him the files, Nimbus. I trust him to review them for me and write a detailed recount of the happenings of Clean Ages."

With a nod, the Duchess relinquished the files to me (though a bit hesitantly). "Very well, Ambassador; please make sure the royal archives receives these once you have completed your synopsis for the Princess. You will find inside detailed transcripts of interviews with individuals still residing in Clean Ages, maps of the patrol routes, photographs of clues and evidence recovered by the investigators, and other information they were able to compile. If you have any questions, please feel free to call upon me: I will not be returning to Cumulin until tomorrow."

"Thank you, Lady Nimbus. I do have one question: Could you tell me what Clean Ages was?"

"Perhaps you should do a bit of reading first," she responded dryly, appearing unimpressed with me, "then you may ask necessary questions. I had the bureau compile those reports for a reason."

Stupid question, stupid answer; however, now that I have done some research, I can surmise that Clean Ages is the name of a settlement that was first erected (or the party at least struck ground) in the year 1212 of the current calendar age.

I have already completed my synopsis of Clean Ages for the Princess, which I rewrote again to make sure my handwriting was more acceptable than in my first attempt. I will include the messy version here for future reference.

Tomorrow is when I will present the breviary to the Princess. I need to stop writing for the evening as I've been informed that I have a visitor. I will update once again when I have more relevant information to chronicle.

23+: Synopsis of Clean Ages

Dear Princess Celestia,

I have decided to write you this synopsis of the history of Clean Ages (and the investigations that followed) in the form of a few comments based upon entries that you might find of use, and have trimmed quite a bit of the repetitive and mundane information. I do hope that this will not disappoint you, but as I believe you are quite busy, it might be in your best interest: I find that the bureau had a habit of redundancy in their method of reporting.

I shall start by revisiting a bit of background history contained herein of Clean Ages. In the year 1212, the earth was first struck at the rocky wasteland that rests on the shores of the Light Waters by an expedition group named The Bejeweled Leopard. Paid for by The Sister of Clouds, the expedition party consisted of 8 individuals: 7 ponies from The Sister of Clouds, and one individual from Canterlot by the name of Compass Rose. Compass Rose was to oversee the project of the construction of Clean Ages until such time as he was dismissed from this duty (most presumably when the settlement became self-sufficient in terms of management and governing). It should also be said that the expedition leader was a miner by the name of Amethyst Spark, who acted as an assistant to Compass Rose when possible.

The first difficulty that was encountered by the expedition party was the lack of arable land in the area that was selected for the settlement. A quote received from a farmer named Ochre Sap states: "It looked like a volcano must have erupted near the site we were going to start building at. The grass was mostly dead, and there was this hard, black, rocky covering over a lot of the land. All I could think was that they might be expecting a little much of me to turn this scorched earth into something useful." The difficulty in preparing the land for farming was not their only concern, as the few creatures they had brought with them either struggled to find game to hunt for or foliage to sustain themselves. This apparently took a toll on the settlement's early food supplies, which is noted in many of the accounts recorded in this file by the original seven ponies of Clean Ages.

Hardships continued when the settlement went two years without the arrival of a caravan from The Sister of Clouds to bring supplies (this is referenced in the case files by shipping manifests that are all labeled as 'incomplete'). Reports state that all the caravans sent to the settlement were intercepted before reaching their destination for various reasons: One autumn report states that the land was impassable due to the wagon axles breaking on the rocky surface of the land. The following summer, the next caravan suffered casualties to an attack from a pack of jaguars and could not complete the journey. Winter of the next year, the third attempt to send a supply caravan got caught in inclement weather and could not continue, thus were forced to turn back. It was not until the Spring of the year 1214 that the settlement finally received a bit of relief when a nearby Zebra tribe in the surrounding wilderness encountered the settlement and began openly trading with them: Their precious gems and animal products in exchange for food and protection (in the form of tamed wild beasts, such as one noted account of a leopardess that slept most commonly upon the archway leading into the settlement and acted as a guard).

To clarify the mention of animal products, it is to be noted that one of the many obstacles to overcome was the natural wildlife in the area. I am a bit ignorant as to which creatures in this world have intelligence and which are merely beasts, but it appears that camels caused quite a bit of trouble for Clean Ages. Please see the following quote from Trigger Twitch, a markspony in the Clean Ages militia at the time: "The little grass in the surrounding area was being eaten by the camels that would wander about the rocky wastes. I think it was early spring of 1213 when Compass Rose wandered into the archery range and took Captain Fletch aside to tell her to change our target practice objectives. Instead of practicing on target dummies, we were told to hold patrols and get our practice in on moving targets: On the camels that would commonly roam into view of the city. We received a lot of support from the melee division; Lightning Flash saved plenty of the rookies who would only wound the buggers and piss them off. We lost a couple of fledgling marksponies over the following years, but we never received notice from Compass Rose to change our pattern, so we accepted it."

Please see the below statement from an investigator with the Sister of Clouds Investigation Bureau (SCIB) named Pince Nez:

"In the midwinter of the year 1218, disaster befell the settlement of Clean Ages when an unwelcome visitor approached the city's walls. "Rano Warmhearts the Silvery Death" is the name that was given to this creature, and happens to be one that most are familiar with. This white dragoness was a sworn enemy to practically all of the provinces of Equestria, as well as a few civilizations that lie outside of Equestria's borders. When the dragoness was spotted on the horizon, the survivors reported that Compass Rose ordered all civilians to go into the subterranean dining hall used for the miners and seal the stone doors behind them. Two squads of the Clean Ages militia were ordered to the ready, and the remaining two squads were stationed behind the walls to await further orders.

Lightning Flash was designated the leader of the melee division, and the other division was comprised of trained marksponies under the direction of Fletch Arc. While the militia did what little preparations it could, the beasts of war were released upon Rano Warmhearts in hopes to distract and possibly weaken her. This brought upon the death of a jaguar, two leopards (and one cub), two dogs, and one honey badger."

To give a more accurate depiction of the encounter, I shall interrupt Pince Nez's second-hand information of the conflict with a recount from one of the ponies in Lightning Flash's division, Viridian Switch:

"The Captain (Lightning Flash) stood in front of us right outside the gates of Clean Ages, commanding us to hold our positions until she gave the order. I could see Fletch's pegasus pony archers resting upon the walls above us to watch Rano's advance, and everypony seemed to fall silent in the ranks. There was fire. All we could see in the north was smoke and licks of flame erupting from the ground. The roars in the distance unsettled most of the stallions; I believe I even saw Incision tremble a bit. Watching a huge Clydesdale like him quake at a noise does not inspire much confidence, or even hope.

I will never forget the image we got to behold that day, however. Compass Rose, the brass-colored unicorn with a red, messy mane who we had all come to know as the mumbling overseer that simply sat in his office and barked orders every few days, was standing next to us. I never expected to see him in a chanfron and barding, much less wielding a short sword with his horn as he fell into our ranks."

I have reviewed many of the witness accounts that held information about Compass Rose's appearance during the crisis. All of them happen to have roughly the same information, but quite a few are vague, while others have varying degrees of harsh language when recollecting the scene. This is mostly speculation, but I have pieced together what I believe to be the most accurate depiction of the conversation that took place there:

"I'm at your command, Lightning."

"... What the hay are you doing, Rose? Get back in the fort."

"I want to help. Give me direction and I will follow it."

"You're not trained for live combat. You're only going to slow my division down."

"The will to protect those who look up to me should be all the training I need, Lightning."

"Stop it with the stupid sentiment, Rose, and get back in the fort! I'm not going to have some Canterlot desk-jokey undermine my authority of my squad!"

"I just want to..."

"You know what? We all have wants Rose, and right now, I don't much care what yours are. We're minutes away from Fletch giving us the signal to charge out and intercept that dragon, and what am I stuck doing? I'm bickering with some no-name pencil pusher from the Sun of Chance royal court because he 'wants' something. You want me to give you some orders? Fine, then I order you to get your scrawny hide back in that fort, crawl back into your hole-in-the-ground office, and stop playing make-believe that you'll actually be able to make a difference."

It is then unanimously agreed by all accounts that Compass Rose did retreat back into Clean Ages and remained absent during the following battle with Rano Warmhearts:

All direct quotes about the battle are rather messy and unappealing to repeat, so I will instead give an overview of the battle. Fletch's archery division reported that their attempts were ineffective, as the bolts they were using in their crossbows were either deflected or snapped on contact with Rano's plated scales. As they tried to surround the dragon, all the archery ponies could do was to divide her attention with their bolts. The two squads stationed behind Clean Ages' walls were tasked with collecting buckets of water, in case any of the fire spread to the settlement, and bringing more bolts to the marksponies in the field.

The melee division intercepted Rano with disastrous results: She was aware of their advance and released a breath of flame at the squad, choking quite a few in the smoke and causing them to struggle to the ground, while others suffered being lit ablaze. Three members of the ten-pony squad were able to continue fighting: Lightning, Incision, and Viridian. While Lightning engaged her head-on, Incision took a flanking position to try and disable the dragon by severing her hind legs with his axe. Viridian got beneath Rano during one of her attempts to swipe Lightning out of the air with her claws, hoping to disembowel her with a short sword to her unarmored belly. In desperation, she used her breath attack once more, and Lighting was hit with it directly.

A quote from Fletch herself regarding Lightning's demise: "I witnessed the embodiment of rage at that moment. Lightning Flash was engulfed in flames, the fur being burned from her flesh, yet she took her war hammer in both of her hooves and swung madly at Rano. Strike after strike connected to the dragoness' skull, and even after her breaths had stopped, the crunches of her scales and bones rang out while Lightning continued to ruin the carcass in her dying frenzy."

Lightning Flash did not survive the encounter, perishing shortly thereafter in the field due to severe burns and smoke inhalation. There is also a long list of names included of casualties. Overall, it is believed that thirteen ponies perished either during the battle or after due to wounds incurred during the encounter. Curiously enough, I believe you are familiar with the Head Doctor who gave the medical records following the crisis: Cross-Stitch. It seems she must have left the Sister of Clouds following her time in Clean Ages due to investigations being held to see if she was guilty of any cases of unintentional manslaughter (Ponyslaughter, as you may say here). That might explain why she is here in the Sun of Chance at this time.

"Compass Rose then left without even saying goodbye."

That is the most common statement made about the disappearance of Compass Rose. The more specific ones state that he packed up some of his belongings from his office and simply walked out of the gates of Clean Ages to never be seen again. Some had assumed he was on a search for something, or was going to survey the damage caused by Rano Warmhearts to begin issuing reconstruction orders, but it is evident that he was simply leaving Clean Ages behind him for good. The SCIB was unable to find any clues or leads as to his current whereabouts.

SCIB Investigator Pince Nez also had the following to report:

"Sister of Clouds authority was only made aware of the civil conflict that erupted in Clean Ages during the midspring of the following year (1219), when a supply caravan and outpost liaison carrying the personal congratulations of Lady Nimbus arrived to find the settlement in shambles and the population approximately half of what it was the year before.

A dispute had arisen from the absence of the Development Coordinator from the Sun of Chance. During this time, a band of rebels formed to oppose the suggested change in name of the settling group, and the conflict escalated to violent levels. Facing inevitable punishment, the rebels fled into the wastes surrounding Clean Ages. We have been able to find tracks and small camps left behind heading north, but the trail stops as it turns towards the Light Waters. As unlikely as it would be for them to drown themselves like lemmings, it is assumed that they were picked up by a passing sea craft, and remain in hiding outside of the borders of the Sister of Clouds."

There is quite a bit of shrouding around the precise cause of the uprising, but one singular fact seems to be present in each of the testimonies: The settling group's name was in line to be changed following the leave of Compass Rose. Some claimed this was because a new age was in place for Clean Ages, as it was now under not only new management, but had also bested the test of fate that was the attack of Rano Warmhearts. "The Bejeweled Leopard' was to be dissolved and reformed under the banner name "The Brave Natures".

The main activist against this idea was a blacksmith by the name of Thunder. (There seems to be rumor of involvement between him and the late Lightning Flash, but the only thing that is factual is that they were close friends.) Speculation suggests that it was during a conversation between Thunder and Incision (the Combat Medic who was on the field with Lightning during the battle against Rano Warmhearts) that the first violent outbreak began in this civil conflict. The most believable recounts that I would place my trust in state that Incision planned to back the decision to change the group's name in belief that they should shed their past in hopes of a new beginning. Thunder claimed this was a dishonor not only to Compass Rose, but to all the heroes of Clean Ages that perished during the fight with Rano Warmhearts. A physical struggle broke out when Thunder realized that Incision would have more political weight than him, and during their conflict, a rookie hammer pony who had been at the battle named Swift struck Incision over the head with a silver mace and splintered his skull, quickly dispatching of him. This is what started the few hours of violence that tore apart most of Clean Ages.

The miner pony named Amethyst, who was with the original 7 ponies of the expedition party, had this to say about the outbreak as she witnessed it:

"I had just come back up out of the mines after a week-long delve in hopes to find something useful. Ran out of water and food, so it was time to head back up, but everything was going crazy when I made it to the dining hall. I felt myself shoved behind an overturned table, and there was screaming and hollers everywhere. Crossbows were being fired over my head, and I felt Ochre covering me with his body as he told me to stay down and keep quiet.

Everypony was so angry, and this was far more than just one of the drunken brawls that were known to happen in the dining hall from time to time. It took a few minutes for the fighting to move outside of the hall and into the street, where I saw a lot of the ponies running to the gates away from the marksponies. No matter how much I screamed and asked, nopony would stop and let me know what was happening, or would stop the fighting. Ponies were being struck down with maces and knives, bolts were volleying back and forth, and fires started to burn.

It felt like I was in a nightmare, watching all of my friends hurting each other like that, but I just couldn't wake up.

Once the gates were closed behind the ponies though, everything got quiet again. I helped carry some wounded back to the infirmary, and went to go ask my friend Compass Rose what happened while I was on my mining trip. He was gone though, and nopony could tell me where he went. They said there was some sort of rebellion going on, and that the Bejeweled Leopard was now labeled an enemy of the Sister of Clouds. We were now officially The Brave Natures.

I didn't want to be one. It wasn't the Brave Natures who made Clean Ages. It was The Bejeweled Leopard that did, and I couldn't handle seeing everything I had worked for change to what we had hoped to escape when we started here. I jumped onto the caravan in Spring that came to congratulate everypony for what happened with some big dragon they killed so I could just head back to the Sister of Clouds. Clean Ages belonged to The Brave Natures now, and I was not welcome.

I just wanted it to go back the way it was. I lost what I called my home, and those I called my friends. Neither would ever be the same after what had happened."

There must still be the question of who is to blame for all of the mayhem that occurred in Clean Ages. Though it may not be the place of this editor to condemn a single individual, I will still give a few observations to help better inform you for your own decision. Rano Warmhearts was the start of the problem, most obviously, as it is she who attacked the settlement in the first place. Does this excuse the actions of those one could expect better of though? Lightning herself could be considered for her refusal to allow Compass Rose to assist in the defense of Clean Ages, which could very well be one of the reasons that he abandoned his post following the battle. Compass Rose might shoulder a fair bit of the blame through gross negligence and dereliction of duty: The lack of his guidance could be viewed as one of the causes of the civil conflicts. Can one be condemned for surrendering? Does one who cannot rise to expectations deserve mercy or wrath? Finally, one cannot forget that every single person/pony can and should be held accountable for their own decisions. Each individual that fought consciously decided to do so, for whatever reasons they believed justified it, and were not given an order or mandate from a superior to do so.

In closing, it should be stated that though Clean Ages suffered a terrible disaster, it still stands. Having had a new governor appointed there in the Summer of the year 1219, it remains as an outstretched olive branch of peace to the Zebras of the southwestern reaches, and is known well as a haven for weary travelers and traders passing through towards the port of Mongrelabbey seeking passage on the Light Waters. It is also recognized as having the largest silver mine within the borders of the Sister of Clouds, and in a very short time has become recognized enough to have a representative for them within the Sister of Clouds' royal court.

As for a personal note, you have my sympathies. As I understand it, Compass Rose was rather important to you, and I am sorry that there was not more that could be done in locating him. I am not sure if you can take comfort in this thought, but he was respected enough that the attempt to dishonor him by removing the name of his group of settlers brought about conflict reserved only for subjects that individuals hold most dear. As an overseer, as a friend, and as your associate, he will be remembered fondly by those who knew him.

From the Unfortunate Article of your Whim,
Benjamen Prodder

Author's Note

Chapters that are labeled with a + sign will be external documents, letters, or other pieces of information that Ben has kept for archival, but not necessarily took the time to write directly into his journal.

24: Fired

It seems it was Sugarlump that visited me: Yes, I recognized her bright, yellow, crooked eyes the moment I saw them wander through the threshold to my chambers. She was very relieved to finally see me (Hear me maybe? I'm starting to wonder if perhaps she navigates by echolocation instead of sight, because I never see her turn her head to compensate for her condition), rushing to throw her front legs over my shoulders and tell me how worried she'd been.

I learned that Twilight had given her a letter to deliver to me perhaps an hour after I was taken into custody, telling her what had happened and why I did not show up to work that morning. After she relayed the information and asked Whip Snap for permission to take on the long-distance delivery, he gave her another letter to deliver to me as well, and told her to get to it.

Why did it take her 3 days to make it to Canterlot when the journey only took my wagon about six hours? She got lost. I was supposed to have these letters during the long hours that passed as I awaited my audience with the Princess on my first day in Canterlot. (Twilight's really would have helped, but it seems that I will just have to appreciate the thought that went into it instead.)

I will include her letter in this journal for the sake of safekeeping. I will not, however, bother keeping the letter from Whip Snap in my possession, as it will simply be much easier to record its contents in my journal here.

"This one must be from Ms. Pie?" I asked Sugarlump when I saw the bright color beneath the white envelope paper. I had it in mind that she would be the only one to write on hot pink letter paper to wish someone thrown in incarceration the best of luck.

"No, it's from Whip Snap. I think he wanted to wish you luck, and he wrote it on that really pretty pink paper to make you smile!"

I decided to have a look for myself, shocked that my employer actually had such feelings as to want to send me his best regards during my dark hours. As I pulled free the pink paper from the envelope, things soon made much more sense.

----------------
Prodder,

You're fired.

Sincerely,
Whip Snap.
-----------------

At least he was sincere about it: Sincerely firing me. So someone just so happens to commit accidental attempted regicide and miss a day of work due to a sudden case of thrown-in-a-dungeon? No reason to fly off the handle like that. Talk about a slave driver.

"Sugarlump, this is a pink slip."

"Uh huh, I know, it's really pretty. Did it make you smile?"

"No, not really. Do you know what a pink slip is usually for?"

"Birthday invitations?"

"Sometimes, but it's not Mr. Snap's birthday. What else?"

"Love notes?"

"... Little closer, but please tell me you don't think Mr. Snap was sending me one of those. Try again."

"Origami?"

"Okay, this isn't getting us anywhere. It's used to inform people that they're dismissed from employment."

"I know... I was really worried when you missed work too. Now you can tell him that you'll be back soon though, right?"

"No, dammit, not missed! Dismissed! Sugarlump, I've been fired."

"Fired?" I hoped that the response she had afterwards was not because I had lost my patience with our miscommunications, as her ears pinned back against her head and her face turned down towards the floor. "You mean... you're not gonna be at the post office anymore? You're not gonna be there after I wake up each morning?"

"Afraid that is what it means." It was rather shocking to see her be so much more upset about it than I was. It's never fun being informed that you're now jobless, even if it was not a great job, but she was genuinely upset about my misfortune: Specifically, sad about me. Was my presence in the mornings and giving a casual greeting to her that important? I really hate to put it this way, but perhaps simple pleasures entertain simple minds? "It also seems like I might have to stay here in Canterlot for a long while. Things are still kind of up in the air for me right now."

"This isn't Cloudsdale. It's Canterlot. You're not up in the air."

I will admit that her literal interpretations are much cuter when she's sad (or I'm just much more tolerant of someone when they are already having a hard time). "I mean that my future is uncertain right now, so it may be a long time before you see me again, depending on what the Princess decides to do with me. You can still talk to the other ponies who work up at the post office though, right? They'll still be there each morning."

She nodded a bit, before looking up to ask me, "Are you going to come back?"

"I just told you; things are pretty uncertain right now. It might be a long time before that happens."

"So you promise?"

"What?"

"You promise you're gonna come back?"

I hadn't thought about it, honestly. I had not considered what I might do with myself after my community service project, or whatever the Princess decided to have me do for my punishment, was over. After seeing her look at me (point her face towards me to be more accurate) that way, and reading the letter Twilight had sent me, I did something I'm probably going to really regret. "I promise I'll come back."

That lifted her spirits enough to wipe the frown from her face, and she was more than happy to wait for me to finish writing a response letter to Twilight to share with the rest of those who knew me in Ponyville, as well as a special response for her to give to Whip Snap for me. With a hearty "See you again soon, Benjy!” she was once again on her way. I asked the guardsman to make sure she was headed in the correct direction to make it back to Ponyville without getting lost again, but I cannot be certain they caught her before she took off outside. Perhaps I will get another letter soon though. I can hope.

-------------
Snap,

I will simply have to try to wash away the heartbreak of the loss of my job with gourmet, white, alba truffle pasta and the exorbitantly expensive midnight-berry spirits in my royal golden goblet. Do not worry, for somehow, I will find a way to make it through the pain.

Sincerely,
Benjamen Prodder
-------------

As long as it's done with sincerity.

24+: Letters

Benjamen,

Please, whatever you do, don't panic. I understand things are probably very confusing right now and that you're probably scared. Try to remain strong though.

I have no idea what you've done or why you're being charged with assassination, but I know you're innocent. You have to be! You've been here with us the whole time! Not to mention, you would never have any reason to try and harm the Princess! It just doesn't make any sense.

I have already sent a letter to the Princess on your behalf, explaining the validity of your alibi: That you were with us during whatever crime they claim you have committed. You will get through this, I promise. You just have to stay strong, and believe me when I tell you that things will be okay.

Everypony who knows you here in Ponyville is worried about you, Ben. Nopony can understand what is going on, and everypony keeps asking me what's going to happen to you. I tell them the same thing I tell you: You're going to be alright. I'm so sorry about all of this.

Please write back as soon as you can.

Sincerely,
Twilight Sparkle

Twilight,

Thank you for the comforting words you tried to send to me in my hour of darkness. Though they did not make it until far after I had already had my audience with the Princess, knowing that someone came to my defense when it felt as though the whole world had turned against me is a cherished thought.

I am sure your words to the Princess must have helped sway her opinion of me, as my audience went fairly well (as well as one accused of assassination can hope for, of course). Please inform all of those who worry about me that I am currently safe and will not be banished, exiled, or executed. I am not pardoned, however. I must remain in Canterlot under probation, and will remain so until I have paid off my debt to society for my mistakes (how this will be done is currently still undecided). I am sure as one of the Princess's close students, she will be willing to share more details of her plans with you, but I am afraid that I have none to spare at this time.

I also appreciate that you sent Sugarlump to handle the delivery. The familiar face was a delight to see since I am surrounded by so much that is unfamiliar to me right now. Even if it did make the letter a bit late to have her give it to me instead of one of the other postal workers, it was worth it to have a friend greet me with the delivery.

As for good news, I have been appointed as an ambassador here in Canterlot at this time. I have no idea what this means, or what my duties will consist of now that I have a title, but it does mean that I am now officially considered more than just a pink monster-thing. This is good to know, since I have also been fired from my position as delivery boy there in Ponyville. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, and sometimes you get promoted for shooting someone.

I do have to apologize for deceiving you, Twilight. If you have by now learned of what the charges against me were about, then you know that the crossbow I had you assist me in making was not for recreational archery: I had intended to use it as a personal defense weapon.

If you do not know what truly happened, it is that I received a threatening letter from your assistant under the pseudonym of "Dog-Ears Pink" (that I have now deduced is an anagram of Dragon Spike, but I have yet to understand its relevance). In fear of what might become of me or anyone around me, I constructed the weapon in case I had to confront him. When I did confront him, he burned my loaded crossbow up in dragon fire and delivered it to Princess Celestia, at which point the weapon discharged the bolt into the side of her neck. The wound is mostly superficial it seems, and she is recovering fine. That is why I was charged with attempting to assassinate your Princess.

I apologize for not telling you sooner. Please inform your assistant that I was never planning to (or would) 'make moves on his lady' even if I were given the chance. Also, tell him that I plan to kick his nose into his face the next time we meet for all the trouble he's caused me. You might want to invest in a helmet of some sort for him.

I have made a promise that I will do what I can to return to Ponyville. With any luck, it will only be a couple of weeks from now before I will be able to fulfill that promise. Please let the others know that I am alright, and that I am thinking of them during my stay in Canterlot.

Thankfully yours,
Benjamen Prodder

25: Assignment

I should really consider getting enrolled for some form of frequent flyer reward program. From Terriel to Equestria, Ponyville to Canterlot, and now Canterlot to... What did they call it again? Ah, here it is, written on my documentation to prove my status.
Songring.

That is the name of the place that I am being carted off to. I feel rather uninformed about the situation there or exactly what is expected of me once I arrive, but the small sack of supplies I was given to assist me in my endeavors does not inspire much confidence. It looks to mostly be a couple of canteens of fresh water, some dried fruits, and a chocolate bar (just threw it out the window; I know I won’t need that). The last object I could find is a peculiar handheld launcher along with a long, cylindrical, white-and-gold projectile. Considering the fact that a fuse is poking out of one end of it, I can assume that this must be a very primitive flare-gun of sorts. All that comes with it is a small pamphlet that shows how to load the flare into the launcher, and a written note that simply says, “Emergency Use Only.” What exactly constitutes an emergency? The last thing I need while on my probation is to be penalized for “crying wolf,” so I feel as though this will just stay at the bottom of my backpack.

It started a couple of days back, the day after I had sent Sugarlump on her way to Ponyville with letters to my employer and acquaintances. The Princess had finished reading my synopsis of the fall of Clean Ages and called me to the throne room. This interrupted a bit of study I was doing in the university's library (“Quizpen's Obscure Unicorn History Encyclopedia Vol. 8, T-V."). I was hoping to find some more information on teleportation, but didn't learn anything useful; instead I have discovered that there are laws in place about the use of telepathy spells that were set into effect after a negotiation between two nobles: Their arbitration ended with each one falling comatose after attempting to read the others' mind at the same time, only to recover a week later with a persisting case of Tourette Syndrome.

Aside, the Princess called me to the throne room to speak with me about the synopsis. She was still sitting with her gilded teacup nearby, perusing the breviary as I entered. I can only assume she was rereading it once more, as I am sure she has more tact than to call me in before she had done me the liberty of a first reading. It was nice to see her smiling this time, instead of the discouragement I witnessed during Nimbus' presentation of the report.

"You requested me, Princess?"

"Ah! Yes, Ambassador Prodder. I had the chance to read over your review of what happened at Clean Ages. Come up and have a seat, I have something important to speak with you about."

"I am much more comfortable standing, Your Majesty."

"Just come on over here and sit down, Benjamen."

"I request to use my diplomatic immunity to remain standing."

"Are you really doing this? Are you really going to be so antisocial and impersonal that you won't even humor me by taking a seat up here?"

"Why hello, Princess. My name is Benjamen Prodder; this must be the first time we've met."

"Okay, cut it out and get up here. I already have to endure the fact that most of my subjects cannot make it through a conversation with me without fearing that I'm going to banish or punish them. The least you could do is entertain my idea that humans are made with a little more resolve."

"I am expressing that resolve, in the form of asserting my wishes to remain standing."

"Is it that you don't want to sit, or is it sitting next to me that's the problem?"

"I just finished reading that telepathy is almost forbidden, so I think I'll go with "sitting in general" as my final answer."

"Oh, that’s cute. Well, Benjamen, I can make you take a seat up here if I must. Now will you do it, or will you make me make you do it?"

"Please, Princess, let's not have this turn into a dispute or a display of power. I understand that you have the capability; I'm just requesting you have the sensibility not to."

"One."

"I'm really not comfortable with this."

"Two."

"Let's not, and say we did?"

"Alright, up you go."

I then ended up sitting next to the Princess against my wishes as my feet were held in place, folded neatly beneath me after she used her magic to forcefully levitate me into a seated position beside her. For the sake of defending myself, I really do not feel comfortable having a casual sit and chat with foreign royalty; especially one that can (and I'm still torn as to whether or not she would) exile me to the moon for the rest of my life.

"Now, about that important issue I needed to speak with you about. I wanted to say that this read has been rather enjoyable."

"I thought the story was tragic personally, but it was very interesting to say the least."

"I meant the way you put it down. I will be honest: I was afraid it was going to be rather dry and boring, but it turned out to be like reading a magazine column."

"… Your majesty, are you relating my report to a drugstore periodical of some sort?"

"It's entertaining like one, and I enjoyed how you snipped out a lot of the drudgery and monotony but kept in quite a few of the details that made the whole story juicy."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it then." I said this with my best poker face on, as it might be dangerous to express my true feelings towards how she related my works to some kind of supermarket tabloid.

"Yes, and I believe it did show something rather interesting about you, Benjamen. You have quite a bit of your personal thought included in this report. I suppose it is because you are so used to writing in your journal in that manner, but it does display that you have a mind for these sorts of things."

"I don't follow."

"My sister asked if you happened to be a coordinator prior to your arrival here in Equestria after reading your report. She was pleased to see that you understood which details were important – more so than the bureau that compiled the findings. That made me start to think of exactly what you might be good at to help pay off your debt to me. You know the debt? The one you incurred when you shot me in the neck? That debt?"

"Yes, I know which debt, Your Majesty. Please, may I stand back up?"

"Fine, fine, go ahead and stand. I'm sure there will be much of it to do in Songring anyway, so perhaps it would not hurt for you to practice it a bit more."

"Beg your pardon?"

"You're the new Coordinator. Congratulations, Ambassador."

"... No, really, can you tell me what do you mean by that?"

"That means you're now my new little Compass Rose. You see, with the position vacant, and a pressing need to ensure that the current investments made into the upcoming settlement attempt of Songring are put to use, we need to find a replacement for him – immediately. Now tell me: Do you believe in fate, Benjamen?" The princess wore a devious smile as she questioned me, her sly wit having just damned me.

"I believe it has it out for me, yes,” I begrudgingly responded.

"Well, I can't be the judge of that. I believe that perhaps your appearance here is less coincidental and more purposeful. The least we can do is take a chance and see, right?"

"I've never managed anything, Princess Celestia,” I protested with a raise of my hands. It was hard for me to even comprehend what she was asking of me, much less believe she was serious about it.

"I think you've got the necessary skills, and perhaps it will teach you that lesson you wanted? Either way, my decision has been made. Somepony will assist you in collecting your possessions for the journey, and I will also have somepony bring you up to speed on the specifics of Songring."

I didn't say anything after that: I had decided that I had dug myself deep enough into the hole, and that if I went any further down, I might hit magma.

"Remember what Twilight told you, Benjamen! Try to have fun, won't you?"

Fun – yeah – fun. I can think of a few other things that start with F that I would rather call this scenario, but why not call it fun.

I've been informed of turbulence ahead, so to keep from leaving long streaks of ink in my notebook, I will postpone my explanation of this place, Songring, until I arrive there.

Time for me to go have fun.

26: Songring?

I'm a long way from Ponyville, that's for sure. Let me try to take this step by step, as to properly portray the scenario I have now been placed in.

First impression: It sucks.

This impression is garnered from the fact that there is nothing here. When Celestia used the term "settlement" when referring to Songring, I had imagined there would be a quaint little village or perhaps a camp set up to work with. No, instead the royal chauffeur I was given to my destination dropped me off on the shoreline of a body of water called The Light Waters: A small ocean, or perhaps a large sea, located within the border of Equestria. After climbing up a small, rocky, cliff face that separated the land from the beach, I saw nothing but a single, covered wagon and seven ponies sitting around chatting casually beneath the cloud-specked sky. Seven ponies all huddled around a single covered wagon, sitting in a freshwater marsh amongst noisy insects and trees whose limbs bent down in a weepy manner. That is Songring.

Second Impression: It's hit bottom and begun to dig.

Let me give some scope as to why this is a problem: As I have been informed, I am now working as a Development Coordinator for The Sun of Chance Royal Court. This means that I directly oversee the creation of settlements by offering guidance and structure as a designated official until the settlement reaches the point that it can stand on its own: With an elected mayor, and stable supplies of food, water, housing, protection, and income. This means that my job is most relatable to a manager or supervisor of new settlements. I did not think that meant from ground level; I assumed it would be more like expansion of an existing area. I was wrong, and this certainly makes me wonder exactly how long I'll have to be here on this assignment.

Third impression: I would have dressed in something cooler if I knew I was going to end up in hell.

When I approached the group sitting near the wagon, I was greeted with a mixture of hellos, howdys, nods, and I think at least one huff. Then came the stares. Yes, the drawn-out, silent, discomforting stares of seven ponies drilling holes through me with their eyes as they tried to figure out not only what I was doing here, but what I was, and better yet, what they thought of me.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Benjamen Prodder, and I am ,uhm... I am the Coordinator that has been assigned to assist you in your... your endeavor." My explanation hardly did anything to help mitigate the stares, so I struggled to continue. "I see that you all have begun with a meet-and-greet among your fellow settlers. I-I will leave you to this then. I will see about... I will see to... counting our supplies?"

The silence was broken for a moment by the clatter of a wooden clipboard being hoisted from the ground in a cardinal-colored pegasus' mouth and tossed at my feet, followed by her speaking aloud: "No need, Book-Smarts; it's already been taken care of." The silence fell back down around everyone as I stooped to pick the clipboard up, suffering the notion that I was not very welcome there at the time. The brutish pegasus folded her front legs in front of her as she sat up, huffing at me. "What's the matter? Didn't think bumpkins like us could even count? Is that why you're too shocked to say thanks? Typical Canterlot asshole."

She was indeed right about one thing: I was too shocked to speak. The cold shoulder I was receiving from most of these ponies was only marginally better than the blunt verbal aggression I was receiving from the pegasus, and quite unlike anything I had witnessed here in Equestria up to this point. Even Rainbow Dash, as tactless as she can be at times, was never vicious towards me like that. "Thank you, then," I responded compliantly, trying to regain my composure after the startling response, and took a quick glance over the stockpile listing I had been thrown. While reviewing the inventory, I was relieved to hear them return to their chatter. I could not, however, pay attention to exactly who was speaking.

"Uhm, Maple... maybe you should try being a little nicer to him? I-if you want to that is, if not, don’t get upset, I just thought... well, he is going to be the overseer."

"Overseer? If he or anypony else thinks he's going to lord that over us, then they can pucker up and kiss my plot. I'm not about to have some pushy blueblood putting the spurs in my sides."

"Yeah! You tell him! We don't need some stinkin' bookworm pushing us around. You and me, we'll show him what for if he tries any of his hoity-toity tricks on us, right Maple? Right?"

"Can it, Willy."

"It's okay, Teardrop, they won't listen to me either. Nopony listens to me. I don't think anypony even knows my name...."

"Sure we do, lad! We do. You're... you're Mumbles! Wait, no, Silver Lining! Aha, no, no, I know, I know! Your name must be... Drizzle!"

"C'mon y'old fool. If y'don't know, don't guess. Yer makin' an idiot of yerself."

"I do too know his name! I just... have momentarily had a lapse of memory is all. It'll come back to me. Just you wait and see!"

Realizing something must be inaccurate on the ledger, I finally spoke to try and get some clarification. "Excuse me. I'm sorry to interrupt your conversation again, but I notice here it states that you all have used approximately half of your wagon's capacity bringing thirty or so kegs of alcohol with you."

"Yeah, and...?" responded the cardinal pegasus.

"I don't see where you've listed the amount of water supply you brought with you," I noted.

"Now, now, my dear... whatever you are! I took those counts myself, and I must ask you: why would I have written down something we do not have?" This came from a notably pudgy, dark peach-colored pegasus whose toothy, dim smile evidenced mostly what might be lacking inside his head.

"... Please tell me you're joking,” I groaned, reaching up to put my thumb and forefinger to my temples in frustration already.

"I said we should bring root beer, but everypony just heard beer." A rather gloomy-looking, charcoal grey pony muttered that dejectedly as he looked at me, then immediately back to the dirt he shuffled underneath his hooves. "I knew I should have just been quiet after all." He spoke quite softly, and I barely even heard him over the protests of a skinny, chocolate-colored pony.

"Yeah, we brought some booze with us. So what? You gotta bone to pick about it, Baldy?"

"You didn't bring any clean water to drink, that's what I've got a problem with!" I clarified, as I recoiled following a shove from the pony after he placed his hooves against my shoulders and pushed me.

"That's what we've got the booze for, duh! Prudish Canterlot posh..."

"You can't survive only drinking liquor! You'll dehydrate yourself!"

"Oh, yeah, here we go, you and your book-smarts again. Your fancy schooling teach you that?" (Where have I heard that before?) "Is that in those books Celestia must read to you as she rocks you to sleep each night? Or are you just upset 'cause it's not some of the expensive baby formula you're used to? It's a drink for real stallions, so grow up!"

Before I raised my voice to say something regrettable in protest to the verbal abuse I was receiving from the wiry, scrappy pony named Willow, a broad, lilac-colored stallion stood up from the ground and pushed his face to Willow's threateningly. "Boy, you open them big ears of yers quick 'cause I'm only gonna tell you this once: Take a seat, shut yer craw, an' only open it next time ya got somethin' helpful ta add to this here conversation. You got that, colt?"

Willow let himself be pushed to the ground under the force of the large, lilac stallion's glower, becoming submissive and nodding as his voice quieted down. "Yes sir, Springfield."

Springfield pulled away from his imposing stance and took his seat once again next to the dark peach pegasus, nodding to me subtly. "You was sayin', Mr. Prodder? There's a problem wit' us not havin' water in our wagon?"

"Uh... yes, Springfield, it could present a rather large problem. That means there's nothing for you all to drink out here if that's the case."

"E-excuse me..." stuttered a small-framed, aqua blue pony as she stepped forward. "I know you might, uhm, might not have noticed, but there's a lot of water back where you came from. That big ocean over there has lots of water we can drink. I mean, if that's... if that's okay, I just thought it was water, so... So maybe..." She dropped off to silence, unable to find either the words or the conviction to finish her thought. What started out a bright smile, weakened into terrified glances towards me as she shuddered behind the larger stallions seated nearby.

"I'm sorry, but you can't drink that. That's seawater, and it’s just as bad, if not worse, than drinking the liquor."

"Why'ssat, Mr. Prodder?" asked Springfield.

"It's too salinated."

"What? Then you just tell me whose been spitting in the water, and I'll go give 'em what for. I'll give them a little reminder in keeping it to themselves!" That was once again from Willow, who happened to regain some of his fire with a bounding leap to his hooves.

"No, chap, no! Not salivated, Mr. Prodder said salinated. He means it's got a lot of salt in it,” corrected the peach-colored Pegasus, clearing his throat unnecessarily loud before I could continue.

"Exactly. Which means you all might as well pack up your things and head back home if that's the case, because there's no way to survive without some form of fresh water."

"Wow... You haven't even been here ten minutes, and already you're throwing in the towel. Yeah everypony, he's right: There's no way we're going to make it. Especially if our Overseer is prone to just up and quit on us the first time we hit a snag." Maple was the one speaking, as she finally unfolded her front legs and stood up to step into the wagon. "Well, I for one am not going to let a little oversight send me packing. I came here to make a settlement, and I damn well am going to see it through."

"I'm not just giving up because things are hard. Be reasonable: There's no fresh water and someone forgot to bring it with them on the wagon! You can't stay here and expect to survive. The reason I say to scrap this venture isn't because of the difficulty, it's because of the impossibility!"

"Then go ahead and quit, and good riddance to you too," Maple began once again, sticking her head out of the covered wagon after I had heard a cork from one of the kegs being removed. "Run back to Canterlot and go sleep in your fancy royal chambers, writing about how you met a bunch of idiots and knew they were doomed the moment you saw them." All of the ponies looked to me then with questioning stares, as though they were expecting me to give an answer to her prod. "We didn't ask for you to be here, Mr. Prodder, so what do we care if you just leave us here to fend for ourselves."

She really wasn't going to leave. She also was not going to listen to reason and heed my warnings of how there would be no way to survive without hydration of some sort. All of the ponies continued to stare, and each one held a different thought painted in their gaze; Ready to stand with Maple despite my decision. If I could put words to the looks I received, I might describe them as follows:

"We'll be better off without his kind anyways."
"Not much to expect from him."
"We'll make it, with or without him."
"He just doesn't understand..."
"I know he won't stay here for us..."
"Please don't leave us..."

"Fine then, Maple. What do you suggest?" I snapped sternly.

"Huh?"

"What do you suggest? If you're convinced to stay here, then it seems the only option is to fix the problem. What do you plan to do?"

"... I plan to tough it out and find a way,” she responded as her wings lazily drooped to her sides and her rump hit the dirt in a defiant sit.

"You plan to sit here until you die then. Maple, if you're going to condemn me for giving up, maybe you should first make sure you're not just being a suicidal twat."

I would be lying if I said that I wasn't intimidated when the pegasus marched up to me, after letting her mug hit the ground, and bending her head, pressed her forehead to mine (she stands a bit taller than me). The emerald hues of her gaze glared powerfully down into mine, her brows turned inwards displaying her irritation. "You want to repeat that?" she asked with a growl beneath her tone, teeth held tightly together.

"If you were too busy cultivating your preconceptions of me to pay attention, then sure: Maybe you should first make sure you're not just being a suicidal twat before condemning me for giving up,” I quipped, fighting down the quakes of fear that rose from the idea of the large mare turning violent.

"You've got a lot of nerve, Freak, for somepony that I could kick their scrawny little head off without even trying."

"That still wouldn't solve your problem. Come on now, Maple, answer the question: What do you plan to do about the water situation? Since I'm evidently just a quitter, it looks like the rest of your fellows here will be looking to you for an answer. You want to turn around, look them in the eyes, and tell them that they're going to die? Or do you have a better idea for them?"

To that question, Maple craned her vision back to the six other ponies watching us. The tension in the air welled to suffocating density as we teetered on the edge of a full-out brawl: I saw her legs tense as my own hands curled into tight fists. The tension unwound within a moment, however, as a deep sigh escaped Maple when she turned to look at me again. "... I need time to think. I'll find a way."

"Then let's find a way," I agreed with a nod, looking back to the others. "All of us that is. Come on now. If you're going to be staying here, then you've all got the same problem. Start thinking. Anyone have any ideas where we can get clean water from?"

"We're not going to come up with anything. I think he's right: We'd best just pack up and head home. I'm sure everypony will forgive us for making a mistake, or at worst they'll just be mad at us,” the charcoal pony stated aloud after an extended silence from the group.

"Sprinkles, come on now, chap. Buck up! Your pessimism isn't helping now, is it?" rebuked the pudgy pegasus.

"Sorry to rain on your parade then, Salmon. I'll be quiet now..."

"... Rain is a good idea," called the small azure pony, looking to the charcoal one with excitement building in her expression. "Is that okay, Mr. Prodder? Can we drink rain? It's not too salty, is it?"

"Hm, rainwater. Sounds viable. It will require us to wait for it to rain though before we can start collecting, and we'll need something to collect it in," I agreed.

"The kegs," stated Springfield, nodding towards the wagon. "They're plenty big enough to hold a supply in 'em, an' they're waterproof t'boot."

"Only problem is they're full of alcohol."

"Alright, Willy, come here. We'll get to work on emptying one of these kegs then. Grab a mug!" Maple shouted, causing Willow to perk up excitedly to join her.

"Alright, so we have a plan. What if it doesn't rain for a long time? Any other backup plans?"

From the group finally emerged the seventh pony, which up until now had remained hushed and still. She was the only unicorn among them, and I took notice of how uncommonly alluring she appeared among the other ponies here. The unicorn sported a coat of the same color as wisps of smoke rising from a lit cigarette, made imperfect only by some dense peppering of varying degrees of brown and black fur that speckled around her eyes, down her cheeks, and over the front of her neck until it ended in a point on her chest. As I was captivated by the sight and distracted with my admiration, she said nothing during her approach towards me: She simply sat down before me, watching my face quietly.

"Do you have an idea?" I asked, recovering from the shock of our first impression.

She nodded at me, raising a hoof off the ground and pointing away from the wagon towards something shifting far off. Closer examination revealed it to be a rabbit crouching next to a very small lake (I would say just a very large pond myself), head dipped down as it drank from the surface. When she saw me notice it, she nodded once again.

"You trust that the wildlife here could lead us to fresh water?"

Once again, just a silent nod.

"Aha! Good job, Lass! Wonderful plan! We'll make a map of where the little beasties get their water, and use it to sustain ourselves until the first rainfall! Brilliant, absolutely brilliant. Now, Mr. Prodder, I will take the liberty of following the creatures and mapping the landscape and water sources. I may be a bit rusty, but I can still fly high enough to get a good view." Salmon dashed into the wagon quickly to retrieve some paper, and snatched the ledger clipboard away from me to use it as he began a wobbly takeoff in one of the sparse clearings nearby. "I shall be done within the hour, I promise you! No worries."

"Perhaps this can be done then," I muttered to myself, before being interrupted by a tug on my coat. It was the charcoal grey pony, his head held low as he began to speak quietly and avoided ever letting his gaze meet with mine.

"I know you're probably not interested in what I have to say, Mr. Prodder, but I think maybe you should take this chance to get to know each of the ponies here. If you're going to stay that is: You might be stuck with us for a long time if that's the case."

With that, I took his advice and requested that Maple and Willow move their keg out of the wagon, which I am now seated in with my notebook on a keg in front of me facing the entrance to the vehicle. I will begin calling in each of the ponies shortly to begin a small interview. Luckily I still have a few blank MIRRDs with me to record these interviews on to spare me the effort of memorizing names and faces first time around. Hopefully the recordings will be safe, but I will go ahead and transcribe the audio to paper after the interviews are over for backup. I will write here once again after the interviews are over and I have secured proper lodgings for these ponies and myself.

Fourth Impression: I don't like it, but it is possible. I can see why alcohol was made a priority when these ponies were choosing their expedition supplies. When life gives you lemons, make a whiskey sour.

26+: Transcribed Audio

RECORDING 1: OVERCAST

BENJAMEN: Alright, could you please tell me what your name is?
OVERCAST: Overcast. But everypony calls me whatever they want: Mumbles... Drizzle... Mopey...
BENJAMEN: Overcast it is then. For the record, Overcast is an Earth Pony with a charcoal grey pelt, and a mane striped with the colors blue and white.
OVERCAST: Blue and white are beautiful colors. No... mine's off-white and azure.
BENJAMEN: Azure and Pearl then.
OVERCAST: You make it sound a lot prettier than it is... Who are you speaking to, Mr. Prodder?
BENJAMEN: This is being recorded so that I can review it later and memorize who each pony is.
OVERCAST: Hello Mr. Prodder... this is me from the past. Wanted to remind you my name is Overcast, because you'll probably have forgotten by the time you hear this again.
BENJAMEN: ...O-Kay then. Overcast, could you tell me what your profession is?
OVERCAST: I'm not really that good at anything, Mr. Prodder.
BENJAMEN: Come on now.. You've got to be good at something. You have your cutie mark, don't you?
OVERCAST: It's a cloud, Mr. Prodder.
BENJAMEN: ... So, you're a weather pony?
OVERCAST: I wanted to grow up to be a weather pony, but then I learned that only pegasus get to grow up to be those. No, I'm stuck on the ground forever. With the rocks.
BENJAMEN: Maybe you could embrace that fact? Make it something to be proud of?
OVERCAST: I guess I could try. I do get bored and make some things out of rocks sometimes.
BENJAMEN: Stoneworking then. Is that okay with you if I consider you a mason or a stonecrafter?
OVERCAST: I won't argue with you, Mr. Prodder. You probably already know a lot more than me, so I'll trust your decision on what to do with me.
BENJAMEN: ... Masonry it is. Thank you for your time, Overcast.
OVERCAST: I don't do anything important with it anyways. You don't have to thank me.
BENJAMEN: You can call me Benjamen, by the way, if it makes you more comfortable.
OVERCAST: Alright, Mr. Benjamen Prodder.

RECORDING 2: TEARDROP

BENJAMEN: Good afternoon. Could you please go ahead and tell me your name?
TEARDROP:
BENJAMEN: Pardon? I'm afraid you'll have to speak up a bit.
TEARDROP: I'm sorry...
BENJAMEN: No need to be sorry, just need you to project a bit more for the recording so it can catch your name.
TEARDROP: R-recording? Oh... I'm being recorded? Who's going to be listening to it?
BENJAMEN: Just myself. I'm recording this conversation for review later so I can memorize everyone here. Just go ahead and say your name.
TEARDROP: I'm... I am... I... I'm too nervous now. I've never been recorded before. You're going to laugh at me when you listen to it again and I'm not here.
BENJAMEN: I promise I won't, and don't worry, this isn't a test or anything. Go ahead and say your name. Please?
TEARDROP: I'm... Teardrop.
BENJAMEN: Teardrop. For the record, Teardrop is an Earth Pony with a blue pelt and a blue and white striped mane braided back tightly. She also has a cutie mark in the form of a cut gemstone.
TEARDROP: No! Oh no... Now they're all going to know what I look like. I'm so embarrassed... I probably sound so stupid right now, being afraid of being recorded... Like a foal...
BENJAMEN: What? No, this is just for me so I can put a face with the name. I'm giving a vague physical description to help my memory. Now, can you tell me what your particular skills are?
TEARDROP: I'm a jeweler.
BENJAMEN: A... jeweler? They sent a jeweler on a settling expedition?
TEARDROP: Are you going to send me back home because I'm not useful?
BENJAMEN: No, I'm a little-
TEARDROP: You're not mad at me, are you? I can do something else... I, I can learn to do something else, I promise, if you just give me a chance!
BENJAMEN: I'll give you a chance! Don't worry! I just am shocked that they decided to hire a jeweler for this kind of work. You're fine; we'll find some work for you, as long as you're willing to help.
TEARDROP: Yes, Mr. Prodder. I really want to help, I just don't know how.
BENJAMEN: Don't worry, Teardrop, we'll think of something. Thank you for your time: Maybe you can start by seeing if Willow or Maple needs any help with their... enterprise?
TEARDROP: I will, Mr. Prodder, thank you so much.
BENJAMEN: You can call me Benjamen, by the way.
TEARDROP: I will, Benjamen. Again, thank you, I really appreciate you going easy on me.
BENJAMEN: Uhm, of course. Good evening.

RECORDING 3: SPRINGFIELD

BENJAMEN: Good afternoon, sir. Could you please start with your name?
SPRINGFIELD: You c'n call me Springfield.
BENJAMEN: For the record, Springfield is a broad Clydesdale Earth Pony with a lilac colored coat and a blue and white striped mane. His cutie mark looks to be a sprout of sorts. I’m noticing that your mane coloration is fairly common in this group: Is this by chance a cultural thing where you're from?
SPRINGFIELD: No, we're from the Sun of Chance like you.
BENJAMEN: So... it's just coincidence that three ponies so far have had the same hair color?
SPRINGFIELD: It's just luck of the draw.
BENJAMEN: So, yes. Alright, could you please tell me what your profession is?
SPRINGFIELD: Farmer.
BENJAMEN: Well, that was easy. A farmer pony named Springfield.
SPRINGFIELD: Ya mind me askin' why you're repeatin' everything I say?
BENJAMEN: My apologies, I am recording this interview.
SPRINGFIELD: For what?
BENJAMEN: Myself.
SPRINGFIELD: Yer real strange sometimes, y'know that?
BENJAMEN: Yes, I get told that fairly often. Mostly because of what I am though.
SPRINGFIELD: What are you anyways?
BENJAMEN: I am a human.
SPRINGFIELD:
BENJAMEN: Don't worry, I don't eat ponies, and I'm not poisonous, nor do I seek to end the world as you know it. I also do not project waves into your brain that cause mind control or a wish to spill more blood for the blood god.
SPRINGFIELD:
BENJAMEN: I've heard a lot of theories so far.
SPRINGFIELD: Uh... yeah. I'm gonna go ahead an' take m'leave then, Mr. Prodder.
BENJAMEN: Thank you for your time, Springfield.

RECORDING 4: MAPLELEAF

BENJAMEN: Good evening. Could you please-
MAPLE:
BENJAMEN: Could you please tell me your name?
MAPLE: Mapleleaf.
BENJAMEN: I believe with the reaction I received from the other ponies, I should state that-
MAPLE:
BENJAMEN: Please stop that; I should warn you that this is being recorded for my personal use later.
MAPLE: Ah, crap. You're one of those kinds of colts?
BENJAMEN: I'm afraid I don't follow.
MAPLE: I guess you've got a thing for my voice then, huh? Does it get you your jollies? Fine, whatever, I don't really care or anything. Ask your questions, but I'm not going to make any moans or screams for you.
BENJAMEN: I suppose you do have a nice voice, but I'm going to be using this recording to help me memorize each of the ponies here.
MAPLE: Suuuure you are.
BENJAMEN: Moving on. For the record, Mapleleaf is a cardinal red Pegasus with a green and yellow striped mane tied back into a loose ponytail. She has the cutie mark of a maple tree in autumn.
MAPLE: Yeah, get a nice look while you're at it. Paint the image real good for when you listen to this alone tonight.
BENJAMEN: Stop that. No, Maple – please stop – Don't come any closer; I can see your cutie mark just fine from here, really. This isn't necessary. Just, stop it! I understand you've already landed face-first in a whiskey keg, but for goodness' sake, get a hold of yourself!
MAPLE: Pfft... Bad enough that you're a creep, but now you're scared to admit it. Fine, whatever. Least you can do is be proud of your kinks.
BENJAMEN: Can you please just tell me where your skills lie?
MAPLE: Drinking.
BENJAMEN: I meant profession.
MAPLE: Drinking.
BENJAMEN: You're a professional alcoholic then.
MAPLE: No, I'm a lumberjack.
BENJAMEN: Then that's the answer I was looking for! Good, now that all of that's out of the way, thank you for your time. Now you can get back to your keg and send in the next pony.
MAPLE: What? Not going to ask for a goodbye kiss?
BENJAMEN: Just get out.

RECORDING 5: WILLOW

BENJAMEN: Good evening, I-
WILLOW: What's that supposed to mean?
BENJAMEN: It's a greeting. I just wished that your evening go well for you. That's all it meant.
WILLOW: Okay... cool... let's keep it that way then.
BENJAMEN: Riiiiiight, anyways, could you please tell me your name?
WILLOW: You saying you don't know? Am I not notable enough?
BENJAMEN: Forgive me for being new here. It would help me out a lot if you could just tell me your name.
WILLOW: You can call me Willow. Mr. Willow.
BENJAMEN: Mr. Willow then. For the record, Mr. Willow is-
WILLOW: Whoa, whoa, hold up, who are you talking to?
BENJAMEN: Myself. I'm recording this with a few notes so that I can use it to memorize the ponies here.
WILLOW: Nuh-uh, you didn't say you were going to do that. Erase it.
BENJAMEN: I- I can't just erase it. It's in my head right now.
WILLOW: Don't be smart with me; I know what you're up to. You're actually some sort of spy, right? Going to mix around my words to make it sound like I said something I didn't mean? Yeah? Well, here's two words you can mix: Eat me!
BENJAMEN: Are you done, Mr. Willow?
WILLOW: Hardly.
BENJAMEN: Well, if you don't mind pausing for a moment, I wish to note that Mr. Willow is a brown Earth Pony with braided white hair, and the cutie mark of a... what would you call that, Mr. Willow?
WILLOW: My ass.
BENJAMEN: Oh, ha ha. Very amusing. I mean the picture.
WILLOW: What's it look like to you, smart guy?
BENJAMEN: A mahogany desk.
WILLOW: Nah, stupid, it's a... yeah, it's a desk. I guess mahogany. I always thought it more of a sedona.
BENJAMEN: Does this mean you're a woodworker?
WILLOW: I don’t' swing that way.
BENJAMEN: Carpenter! You must be a carpenter then, right?!
WILLOW: Whoa! Cool it! Yeah, geez, I'm a carpenter.
BENJAMEN: Fantastic! Now that all of this is out of the way, thank you for your time, Mr. Willow. Now, please send in the next pony!
WILLOW: Yes sir, Mr. Prodder.

RECORDING 6: SALMON

BENJAMEN: Good-
SALMON: Good evening, lad! Wonderful to finally get a one-on-one with you! A mano-a-mano if you will!
BENJAMEN: That means hand-to-hand.
SALMON: Yes, well, let's have a shake then! Aha!
BENJAMEN: Alright. Could you please tell me your name?
SALMON: Well, it's rather long and complicated, m'dear... human? Yes, Springfield said you were a human. Well, human lad, you can call me Salmon! Easy to remember, rolls off the tongue, and makes me feel delicious.
BENJAMEN: Salmon it is then. For the record, Salmon is a dark pink Pegasus with auburn hair tied back behind his head. He is also somewhat...
SALMON: Oh, no, don't mind me, chap. I feel flattered!
BENJAMEN: Jolly?
SALMON: Oh ho, I am quite jolly, yes, thank you.
BENJAMEN: Jolly will suffice then. Now, Salmon, could you please tell me your profession.
SALMON: Angler, of course.
BENJAMEN: I'm going to assume you don't mean that you're an architect or master of geometry, but instead that you mean fishing?
SALMON: Bah hah! Yes, Angling as in that I am a master fisherpony.
BENJAMEN: Wonderful! I can see why you were assigned to a settlement on the seaside then. Well, we should be able to make use of that skill rather soon. Thank you for your time, Salmon.
SALMON: Not a problem at all! Oh, by the way, why are you trying to butter me up with all these nice words?
BENJAMEN: I'm recording this so I can use it to help memorize everyone here in the settlement.
SALMON: Ah, and for a moment, I thought you were just trying to get on my good side.
BENJAMEN: Well, I would like to be, actually. If you're not opposed to a human that is.
SALMON: Bah, it's fine. You're already on my good side. The front side that is, hah! Anyways, I shall leave you to your notebook then.
BENJAMEN: Oh, could you please send in the next pony on your way out? Thank you, Salmon.
SALMON: Right-o!

RECORDING 7: STONESILENCE

BENJAMEN: Good evening. I'm Benjamen Prodder, as you might have heard me say a while ago. Could you please tell me your name before we begin?
SILENCE: ...
BENJAMEN: It's alright, you can tell me your name. I will warn you that you are being recorded though. It's only for my use: I want to use it to help me memorize each pony here in the settlement.
SILENCE: ...
BENJAMEN: You don't have to be afraid, I promise I don't bite.
SILENCE: ...
BENJAMEN: Is... is there something wrong?
SILENCE: ...
BENJAMEN: Oh crap; you can't talk, can you? She's shaking her head. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, well, call you out like that. Really, I- I had no idea. Can you... huh, this is going to make this a bit more complicated. Oh! Here, please, use my notebook and pen. Can you write your name for me? Stone Silence? Huh, that's rather pretty actually. For the record, Stone Silence is a white pelted Unicorn with a golden-blonde mane left swept forward. It also looks like your cutie mark is of... what is that exactly? Oh! I see now! It's a statue. So you must be a stonecrafter too. Miner? Oh, well, that's just as good. You must be familiar with Overcast then? He's the... the dark grey pony. Oh, I see. Well, maybe you should try speak-... uhm, maybe you should try to meet him sometime; He'll be the settlement's mason, so I'm sure you two could be working together fairly often. Thank you for your time, Stone Silence, I appreciate you coming to converse... sorry, uhm, meet with me. Perhaps we can talk- Dammit!- You know what I mean. Good evening.

27: First Month

My, where does the time go? It's already been a month since I first arrived here in Songring, and I haven't written since? Well my time apparently goes straight into working, as there is so much that has to be done here. I had never before considered what all must be done to build a settlement from the ground up, and I am quickly learning that there are quite a few often overlooked aspects of it that must be taken into account. This eats up quite a bit of time that I would normally spend recording my thoughts here in this journal. Or sleeping. Or bathing... or anything else that might resemble taking care of myself..

My time is evenly spread out between delegating work to the individual ponies throughout the day, drawing maps of the surrounding area for reference, devising vague blueprints and structure design ideas, counting the supply stockpiles, and trying to get some sleep despite the stress of knowing how much is left to be done. I really wish I was still a postman now: It was much less responsibility, and I could let my mind rest when I was not on the clock. The amount of work is what has kept me away from my journal all this time, but I will continue to try to make updates. If this workload continues, I may have to limit it to one entry a month: Take a day off to just record what has happened to me during the previous weeks. That is indeed what I am doing today; taking a day off and writing in my journal to try and help ease my mind.

How did I get a day off? Well, to be honest, it's being forced upon me. I overworked myself one evening, and while taking count of the supplies, I stumbled over something within the stockpiles and landed rather hard. I lacked the strength and energy to even pick myself back up, so I did not bother and just fell asleep draped over a barrel. I woke up to the sound of Teardrop crying inconsolably (believing that I was dead) and Maple staring me in the face with her stern brow scrunched while Springfield held my head up by grabbing my hair in his teeth.

"Nah, he's just had a little too much. Lightweight." Maple reassured Teardrop that I was not dead, which at least made her stop crying.

"I haven't had anything to drink. I’m not even old enough."

"I meant work. You're too soft to be doing so much. Springfield, take him back to the dorm and make him lay down; the only way he can be of less use to us is if he's dead from exhaustion."

I was not in a position to put up a defense against her accusation concerning my lack of usefulness, nor was I able to overcome the strength of the lilac-colored farm pony that threw me over his back and took me to the dorms to get some sleep. I awoke to find that they have locked the door and will not let me leave until I have had my day off. So with nothing else to do, here I am, writing of the past month. One note: I get the strange feeling that Maple is going to hound me endlessly now about the fact that I stated I wasn't old enough to drink; this could very well be bad for me in the future, but what's done is done. Only by a few months, however – wait, how long have I been here in Equestria? Two months now? What day was it when I stowed away on that Buzzard-model APC? I might be mistaken, and my birthday may have already passed. Am I already 18?

At the beginning of this venture, I learned that the most important thing we were missing was a fresh water supply. This soon became irrelevant: Thanks to Salmon's surveillance (mentioned in my previous entry), a river that must come from the mountains to the west was located further inland, and thus we have a fresh water supply. The distance of the river from us makes it rather complicated to get water back and forth of course, so we will still be relying primarily on catching rainwater until I can hopefully devise a way to filter the seawater into something drinkable. The river is definitely a good plan to fall back on should rain become scarce. (It has rained almost every other day since we arrived here, so I don't believe this will be a problem.)

Second, we lacked lodgings of any sort. The wagon sufficed to keep all of the ponies dry at night while the rains were falling, but I myself was not as lucky. The first days, I simply tried to catch naps during the daylight hours and kept myself dry at night by finding dense clusters of trees to hunker beneath and set down my bedroll to keep from becoming covered in mud.

My first designation to the ponies was to create a dormitory of sorts for us to sleep in until we were able to create more permanent lodging. Maple, as a lumberjack, collected the wood for it whilst Willow set to work constructing what I can best describe as a hut. I would say the interior was 200 square feet in area and about ten feet tall. Not a magnificent structure, but we were able to fit nine beds within. (I had Willow construct the bedframes, and we simply threw the bedrolls over them for now. We will need to find a way to collect some type of material to stuff mattresses with later.) It is rather cramped in here, and the snores of a couple of the ponies are prone to keep the rest of us up at night, but it is still preferable to sleeping outside or in the wagon.

While this was being constructed, Silence set to digging into the side of the steep incline on the shoreline to create what might be most safely described as a bunker. After slapping on a door, it was ready to be our new storeroom, which allowed us to empty some space in the wagon and keep our supplies from getting ruined by the common rains and overabundant pests. I feel rather lucky that Teardrop brought a cat with her on this venture (an orange tabby named Garnet), as he will be very helpful in keeping rodents away from the supplies in the new storeroom. Ironically, that is where I had been sleeping while waiting during the two weeks it took Willow to make the hut.

After digging the storeroom out, Silence brought me back a stone which I can only surmise to be some kind of sandstone. Feeling it was durable enough, I asked her to start bringing back these stones, and requested Overcast to make them into bricks and begin using them to lay a foundation out on an inlet of the beach: We lack a meeting hall, and I hear many complaints from the ponies about having nowhere to eat and converse with their fellow settlers, so I hope to create a sort of seaside eatery with this. Not my best idea, but it is very temporary and will not have to be torn down to make room since it is on the beach.

Aside from those work orders, Springfield has informed me that he is planting strawberries and hopes to get a harvest from them before winter. Salmon has spent his days snoozing on the seaside with a fishing pole in his mouth waiting for something to bite. He did get a rather large turtle recently, which I guess may make a good soup or something. I know these ponies do not consume meat, but do they by chance eat fish? Would fish be considered a meat exactly? I mean, I suppose so, but it is also lower on the food chain than, say, a cat. I haven't bothered to ask this; I can assume they do eat fish, because otherwise Salmon has just been here on vacation instead of actually helping us with the settling of the land.

Overall though, I am worried. The food supply is rather iffy at this time and we will have to wait until a harvest before I can feel comfortable about it. Springfield assures me that it will take no more than a season for the strawberries to be in, and that he expects that they should be able to sustain us through winter if he can get a second growing in before Autumn. We also have been promised a caravan in Autumn to bring supplies for us, which I am sure they will bring food with them. However, that idea is only mildly comforting, since I remember that the settlers of Clean Ages went over two years without contact from a caravan. I can only hope we happen to be more fortunate than they were.

Really? It's already been a month, and that's all I have to write? I wrote more about a span of three days back in Ponyville than I am able to write about a month here in Songring. Is it because nothing is happening? (Going to reread this entry, then return with my thoughts.)

I suppose from the other entries, quite a bit of content came from dialogue between myself and someone else. The problem with this is that I have specifically spent the past month avoiding any contact with these ponies that was not mandatory for my position.. The interviews went so poorly, I started to believe it best to not try to force anything more than acquaintanceship with these settlers. Willow was honestly afraid I might hit him, as I learned later when Maple told me not to lay a finger on him or else I could expect to deal with her personally. (It seems that he is her little toady at this time. She's starting to remind me more and more of a schoolyard bully.)

Oooh, scary. A big, drunk-slut pegasus, with a severe need to compensate for her weak personality by using exorbitant amounts of alcohol and a violent disposition. I would be lying if I said that I never considered ordering that the contents of those liquor kegs be dumped into the ocean so that she'd actually get some damn work done instead of drinking like a fish half the day. I'd be more intimidated by her if she wasn't perpetually on the verge of falling over and vomiting on herself.

Overcast has been rather clingy since I got here. Well, perhaps clingy is not the right word, but he has spent quite a bit of time following on my heels when he was not busy with the sandstone crafting I had assigned him. I might describe it as him rambling, since he continues to talk to my back while I'm usually already busy with another portion of my day. I do my best to listen to him, but between the fact that he picks rather inopportune times to want my attention and that his topics usually revert to something dreary that brings the mood down, I cannot always give more than a mindless nod and an 'uh huh' to appease him. At one point, he was speaking of apples. Then he spoke of worms. Then he asked me if I thought that maybe he was the worm in the apple known as Songring.

"Only if Mapleleaf is considered the worm in the tequila bottle called Songring."

Not even a chortle from him.

Salmon has been a rather pleasant individual to speak with, but I notice something rather peculiar about him in particular:

He's an idiot.

Perhaps that is not fair to assume just yet, but one conversation with him will derail as many times as my CCMI will play inappropriate music for a given circumstance (most recent example of this was "Morning Mood" playing while I watched Garnet sever the head from a rat outside the storeroom). What starts as a conversation about weather will become a discussion of favorite types of wood, then about his poor experience with a broken leg, and finally might end up somewhere in the vicinity of speaking about why cows make the best traveling companions. (He got uncomfortably descriptive with that one when he stated why they would be the best pony to bring with him if he was stuck on an island. I would have corrected him that a cow cannot be a pony, but I suppose his suggestion was mildly less distressing knowing that he considers them to be of the same relative intelligence as his species when I heard the specifics of his... observations.)

Just now, Teardrop brought me a mug of water and a small bag of midnight berries. I think this is supposed to count as lunch. For the record, these Midnight berries are very similar to what we call boysenberries, but I notice that they are much more subtle in their flavor. Actually, I pretty much mean they are tasteless. I assume they would be better if baked in something with large amounts of sugar, but I guess then they would only be there for texture and color.

Enough berry rambling, now about Teardrop: She is a very helpful little pony, but her docile and servile demeanor can actually become somewhat frustrating sometimes. Not to be mean, but she is truly an invertebrate. Without extreme positive reaction to her work, she begins apologizing for inadequacies and asking if she can fix it, or if there's something else she can do. I am not sure if she is only this way towards me because she sees me as the overseer or if she is this way with everyone here, but it does get exhausting at times. The words "I'm sorry" have started to lose their meaning to me with how often I hear them after Teardrop seeks my approval when completing a designated task, which at this point has been fetching water, some basic cooking, some cleaning, and other menial tasks while I try to figure out what the hell to do with a jeweler at a starting settlement. (A jeweler? Really? Whoever hired her needs to have someone do that thing where they jam the bottom of their palm into their nose and puncture their brain so they die.) Perhaps I'm just not expressive enough? I say “thanks,” and “good job,” but it seems that she's never happy with my lack of enthusiasm. Well, geez, I'm not Ms. Pie, now am I? I can't get that damn happy about... socks! And lunch!

Back to waiting for the caravan and for my fellow settlers to finally unlock the door and let me out of the dormitory so I can continue planning. I will begin scribbling a vague overview map here in my notebook to give some concept of the surrounding area for future entries that may include reference to the nearby geography. Too bad beyond classroom doodles born from my boredom, I have no cartographic experience. Do not expect this to be pretty or possibly even legible.

As a final note following my first month here, perhaps I should give my hypothesis on the outcome of Songring. I cannot at this time, for I have never been a part of anything like this before, and I could not begin to guess if we are doing well or failing horribly. We may be doomed to destruction, we may be headed for riches and success; only time will tell me this. Why have you done this to me, Celestia? Why have you chosen me for this position? Is it out of spite for my transgressions? Is it to truly teach me a lesson? Do you really, foolishly believe in me?

I am just a boy, and you expect me to take this much responsibility?

Why?

28: Tanks for Nothing

Overcast informs me that another month has passed.

Springfield informs me that Autumn begins only two weeks from now.

Please read the two above statements once again, and attempt to rationalize how this is possible. Is Overcast so far down in his pity puddle that he only recognizes every other day that passes? Is Springfield such an uneducated bumpkin that he cannot understand the passage of a year?

The answer is neither.

The true answer is fucking Princess Celestia.

Here's a bit of food for thought for you folks back on Terriel: So, it's been approximately thirty days since my last entry. Truly, two weeks from now is indeed the first day of Autumn. How can this be possible if Summer was just starting at the beginning of my last entry? If a year here also consists of four seasons, how can six weeks be equivalent to one season? Think for a moment about how a year is truly defined back on Terriel. What does a single year represent? No, it does not represent the passage of twelve months nor the end of a 364 1/4 day period. It represents one revolution of the planet around the sun.

Did I blow your mind yet?

If not, look back to some of my earlier entries about the Princess here in this land. They believe she raises and lowers the sun each day.

Feel that yet? Feel that little blood vessel in your brain pop open from this aggravating realization? Congratulations, now you're going to wake up dead tomorrow from an aneurism just like I will.

If the belief here is not that the planet revolves around the sun, nor that day and night are defined by the rotation of the planet, then this means that the sun is moving around the planet. By our definition, one year could be considered a single day here! That means that the definitions of months, seasons and years are irrelevant concepts! Position of the planet? Irrelevant, because the freaking' Princess moves the damn sun instead. Weather? Controlled by the pegasus ponies, so irrelevant to seasonal climate changes.

God dammit, Celestia, you're breaking the rules! You're breaking the rules of meteorology! You're breaking the rules of metronomy! You're breaking the rules of horology! Is nothing scientific sacred to you ponies!?

If you can't tell, I'm pretty pissed right now! Going to put this pen down, walk away, raid the stockpiles for something, and then I’m going to try this stupid journal entry again.

Alright, I am back, and after learning exactly how much Equestrian Rum actually burns, I think I have calmed myself down enough to continue this entry with a bit more of a level head and professional demeanor. I would normally tear out the page above and toss it away, but to be honest, I am afraid of running out of paper in this journal in the future, and keeping it means I will not have to repeat the information above. You may simply have to forgive me for losing my temper, and I will see about covering up the obscenities with liquid paper (If I ever happen to find some).

For final clarification, a year back on Terriel is roughly equivalent to two years in Equestria. I suppose this might make sense, since some creatures do reach maturity much more quickly than others, so perhaps timekeeping has shifted to compromise for this fact. I will have to do more study to learn about the usual reference of ages for these ponies in comparison to age as we know it back on Terriel.

My work load has been lightened ever-so-slightly, as I have now taken on an assistant to help me with some of the legwork required in handing out designations and notices to each of the ponies here. Overcast, since he insists on staying at my heels, at least has started making himself useful in this role. He is happy (pardon, I should say he is willing) to heed such requests with a rather timely efficiency. Hopefully, this will allow me to be less wound up all the time (i.e., like I was at the beginning of this entry).

As for what has actually happened this month, I will begin by stating that I have learned of a new creature that takes up residence out here in these freshwater marshes. I could not get anyone to tell me their proper names, but the creatures were most commonly referred to as "Tanks". (Salmon used the nickname "Bullet" at one point, but perhaps he meant it to be spelled differently?) For a physical description: These creatures are large, reptilian herbivores with thick, plated scales over their broad (almost pointed) heads (the scales make spines that form a short collar over the sides and back of their neck) and a thick, smooth, plated shell that covers their back. Colors seem to be varying, but shades of blue and green are most common. I would like to elaborate: When I say large, I will clariify that they are roughly 15 feet in length from the tip of their nose to the end of their tail, perhaps 5 feet wide, and 6 feet tall. Those are very good estimates of how large one of the bulls among them is.

About one week into summer was when I first saw these creatures begin bumbling into view near the settlement. They started knocking over a few of the trees to more easily graze upon the leaves and munching away on the bushes around the area. In fact, the only reason I found them was that I went looking for the cause of the sound of a tree falling, since I already knew Maple was passed out in the dormitory in a drunken coma at the time. When I got close enough to spot them through the tree line, one of the cows among them had already spotted me as well and started to approach. The others disregarded my presence as the tank cow wandered up to me while I stood frozen in fear. I had never seen anything like this before, and all I could think is that if I tried to run, it might chase me down and trample me (though the beast's approach was very slow).

I learned that the creatures are mostly docile, as Springfield later confirmed for me after my meeting with one. The large reptile rested into a seated position in front of me and watched me curiously, a deep, staccato clicking arising from its throat. (Perhaps think of it as a really low and slow croak?). After a few moments, it raised its head up to grasp one of the branches of the tree I was standing next to and stripped the branch of its leaves with a slow, sliding motion, then began to munch complacently in front of me as it watched my movements. The tension was released a bit when I watched it eat the foliage, realizing that I was not going to be her meal today. As I slowly tried to back away, however, her head craned down to follow my retreat, and she began sniffing at me. I reached up a hand in panic for a moment without thinking about what I might actually do with it, and the creature made a quick snap of its mouth to grasp my hand.

My shriek caused the nearby birds to scatter and the other tanks to perk up curiously, while the one that had snapped at me opened her mouth again to bellow in surprise. I realized then that she had not bitten me, and that my hand was still on my wrist (thankfully). Once again, the cow got close and put her mouth around my hand to begin (as weird as this sounds) stroking it with her tongue.

The thought of the sensation sends a quake down my spine in disgust every time I think about it. I will not get too descriptive as to what it feels like for one of these creatures to suckle on your hand, but it is really strange to say the least. Unpleasant is too light of a term to be honest.

After a few minutes, I couldn't stand the strange, sticky, grainy sensation anymore and pulled my hand away, causing the creature to stand up again while I started to backpedal. Slowly she meandered along after me, and followed me up until I bumped into someone. Hearing them shout in complaint, I shrieked again in startle. Only then, as we were both flat on the ground, did I realize I had tripped over Willow, who was helping install a wooden fence around the strawberry patches.

"What the hay, Prodder!? What's wrong with you? I'm trying to work here, geez-” He then got quiet as he saw the tank seat herself again in front of us and begin her clicking. "Uhm... uh, S-Springfield? Springfield! We gotta problem! About four thousand pounds of problem!" He began to call out, while he stood back up off the ground to face the tank.

"... Aw, horse apples..." I heard the farm pony mutter as he trotted around the fence to see the scene. Getting up close to the creature's front, he began to stamp the ground with his hooves to make loud thuds. This made the creature stand up and back away with a low groan in protest. "Go on! Get outta here, you! Nothing here for you- these ain't your strawberries. I said go! Get!" The creature started to retreat as he continued to shout at it and make warning gestures, wandering back towards the herd without looking back. Springfield huffed, muttering about how he hoped it wouldn't be back to raid the crops anytime soon, then reached a hoof out to help me up. "You mind tellin' me what the Nightmare yer thinkin' leading one of those tanks back here to my fields, Mr. Prodder?"

"I was thinking that I didn't want to die, mostly," I responded.

Willow began a loud laugher behind me when he heard this, and Springfield merely shook his head. "Unless you go up an' punch it in the snout or stab it in the side, Mr. Prodder, it ain't gonna hurt'cha. Pretty much all you was doin' was showin' it where it can come get a snack later wit' this foolishness."

"Then why was it following me!?"

Willow continued to chuckle and snort at the apparent hilarity of me being scared of a beast that enormous; while Springfield examined me. He then looked down to his hoof and sniffed it with a displeased look. "... Ya got tank spit on ya. It was lickin' yer hand? You must taste like salt or somethin'."

"So it was going to eat me then!"

Another outburst from Willow (of course).

"Naw, it was just gonna lick the salty taste off ya. As uncomfortable as that'd been, the critter wasn't gonna hurt ya."

I realized then that he had a point, and that my palms probably did become sweaty while holding onto that clipboard and pen so much.

With that, Springfield nodded at me as he returned to tending the fields, and Willow continued to prod me in the side with his hoof as he chortled. "Scared of a tank? C'mon, really? Dude, for a smarty-pants, you're pretty dumb. Probably the dumbest smart-pony I've ever met."

I instructed Willow to go clean himself up, as the blood dripping from his nose after I socked him might contaminate the field, and then return to work on the fence. Meanwhile,I returned to the stockpiles to take tally of how much sandstone had been collected.

The following weeks, I advised that the dormitory was to be expanded to allow more space, and to perhaps consider dividing the dormitory with a few thin walls to give rooms to each of the ponies. The east and west dimensions of the building were to be extended by 50 feet in total, which I thought to be more than enough room to accommodate the eight of us. I also designated that the refuse, which had started building up, be tossed into the ocean. (I soon had to cancel this mandate when the garbage started washing back up on the beach, and quite a bit of time got wasted as Teardrop followed my specifications too rigidly and was repeatedly collecting the trash from the beach and throwing it back in the ocean for hours at a time.) We still have not completed the construction of the seaside eatery, but the walls and foundation have been laid for it. We simply are waiting for Overcast to finish piecing together the roof of the structure, and then we can find a way to throw a few chairs and tables in there. Might need Willow to look into that once he finishes with the expansion of the dormitory.

Just yesterday, I also received a strange bit of news. Well, actually five bits of news.

Five new settlers, and boy do I have a lot to work with now. I will be conducting an interview with each of them this evening in the wagon (I really must see about having an office constructed somewhere for myself for these kinds of things), much like I did for the first seven settlers. Today, I have requested for them to examine the surroundings, meet with the other settlers, and get Willow to make them each a bed for the dormitory, which is almost done being expanded (the segmenting of it into rooms may need to wait).

Oh, and Maple did have something to say to me about punching her toady in the snout. "So, I heard you punched Willow in the face."

"I merely expressed my wishes for him to stop harassing me in a way he could most easily understand."

"Good. Nice to hear you aren't as helpless as you always happen to look then."

"Wait, isn't this where I have to “deal with you personally?” Whatever happened to that?"

"Oh, you can deal with me personally if you really want, but it's tough to do it in such a cramped dorm as this. I'm a big mare you know."

"... Get out. Just, get out."

Sometimes I really despise that mare.

As with the last entry, I shall now give my overall opinion on Songring as it stands: I would give it a D-; it’s passing, but just barely. Things still feel as though they are on the verge of failure, as if one mistake could send our pathetic attempt out here into disaster. I'm mostly glad for the flare gun in my backpack at this time that was given to me as part of my expedition supplies when I left Canterlot; if things crash and burn, at least I have a way to get out that isn't being stuck on a transport with these settlers as they blame me for their failure.

Author's Note

Beginning inspired greatly by Uborhaxornova's WOOL.

28+: Transcribed Audio

Due to unforeseen complications (my backpack being left out in the rain one evening), the MIRRD used for this recording has been unfortunately damaged. I have recovered only three of the intelligible interviews to be transcribed here.

RECORDING 8: DAGGERSIDES

BENJAMEN: Good afternoon, I-... Well.
DAGGERSIDES: What's the matter? Something wrong, fella?
BENJAMEN: I was... well, I had heard that I would be meeting with a mercenary first.
DAGGERSIDES: Yep, you sure are. My name's Daggersides. What about yourself... uh... Sorry, I'm kinda thrown off by your appearance.
BENJAMEN: Likewise. I'm Benjamen Prodder, and as you might have heard, I am the current Development Coordinator here in Songring. Now-
DAGGERSIDES: Wait a minute... "Likewise"? What's that supposed to mean exactly? I'm not the oversized talking chimp here.
BENJAMEN: You're not. Moving on, I wish-
DAGGERSIDES: No, you said "Likewise". I want to know why. Likewise that you're thrown off by my appearance? Why is that?
BENJAMEN: Well, you're a mercenary?
DAGGERSIDES: Yuh huh.
BENJAMEN: I just expected you to be more...
DAGGERSIDES: ...
BENJAMEN: Fit.
DAGGERSIDES: The Nightmare you mean 'fit'?
BENJAMEN: Nothing. I would like to state that-
DAGGERSIDES: You just called me fat, didn't you? You judgmental bastard; Just who do you think you are?
BENJAMEN: You're taking this far out of proportion, Daggersides. I merely am surprised that someone who makes a life for themselves by fighting would be at less than their physical peak.
DAGGERSIDES: Fuckyou too, needle neck!
BENJAMEN: Please control yourself, I just meant-
DAGGERSIDES: Y'know what? No. Screw you, screw your settlement, and I hope you all go up in flames. Good luck without me, dick.
BENJAMEN: For the record, Daggersides is a unicorn, sporting a dark wine-colored pelt that might be best called burgundy, as well as a mane resembling the color of sand on a river’s bank. Her cutie mark looked to be in the image of crossed blades, perhaps daggers or swords (They look most like a machete right now, but I assume that a few years and a few cakes ago, they were swords). As was just heard, she is notably portly and evidently very touchy about the subject. I'm currently questioning whether she's actually leaving, or if she's storming about outside in a tantrum about me calling her out-of-shape. We will have to see if the payment she is receiving from the Sun of Chance to work as a settlement defender is worth enough to handle my inadvertent verbal abuse. Yeah, she's still outside, and calling me names as well. Fantastic. At least she's of sound enough mind not to try to cut me with the weapons holstered on her harness.

RECORDING 9: TICK TOCK

BENJAMEN: Good evening, I'm Benjamen Prodder. Could you please tell me your name?
TICK TOCK: Oh, uhm, yeah, Tick Tock, reporting for duty, Sir Prodder!
BENJAMEN: No need for theatrics, please. Just the name is fine. Tick Tock then. Sounds like you must be a watchmaker of sorts. Chronologist maybe?
TICK TOCK: I, uh, I guess you could say that. Yeah. Kind of.
BENJAMEN: Mind expounding on it?
TICK TOCK: Well, I like counting down a lot more than I like counting up.
BENJAMEN: Not really sure that I follow.
TICK TOCK: Okay, so I prefer erasing history over writing it down.
BENJAMEN: I'm going to pretend that you're making sense and continue conducting this interview normally. I notice that your tail is rather short. Docked for work purposes?
TICK TOCK: Work docked it for me, actually.
BENJAMEN: Oh, I see. Sorry to hear that. It must have been an unfortunate accident?
TICK TOCK: Yeah, happens when you play with fire.
BENJAMEN: And your cutie mark is... No.
TICK TOCK: What?
BENJAMEN: No. Just, no.
TICK TOCK: Oh, c'mon, it's not that bad. I thought it was pretty cool! Check it out!
BENJAMEN: For the record, Tick Tock is a peach-colored pegasus with bronze-flecked wings, a docked tail, an unkempt rust-colored mane, and... a cutie mark of a cartoon-style cast iron bomb.
TICK TOCK: Pretty sweet, right?
BENJAMEN: I don't even want to bother with this. Really? A demolitionist?
TICK TOCK: Hey! You got it!
BENJAMEN: Who hired you?
TICK TOCK: Huh-whu...?
BENJAMEN: Who. The. Hell. Hires. You. Ponies?! I want a name, and I want it right now.
TICK TOCK: Whoa... uhm, dude, if this is going to be a problem... I, uh... I can just go home. I mean, I don't want to make you mad or nothing, really.
BENJAMEN: Name!
TICK TOCK: I don't know! Just... some old rich colt! I promise! He's an investor or something here, said he thought I would be good for the job!
BENJAMEN: Trust me, this place is close enough to blowing up in my face without your expertise! Thanks!
TICK TOCK: Okay, I'm just going to go then... Sorry to waste your time, Mr. Prodder. Really, I uh... I just kinda wanted to be a part of something new, y'know? I just thought maybe I could help.
BENJAMEN: Did Willow already make you a bed?
TICK TOCK: Yeah?
BENJAMEN: Then go ahead and stay because we've already spent the resources. Not like I should be surprised by this...
TICK TOCK: You sure? I mean, if you want, I can just kind of… go away. Won't be a problem, really.
BENJAMEN: You know what? I don't care. Take your pick. We'll find something for you to do if you stay.
TICK TOCK: 'Kay. I won't let you down, Mr. Prodder!
BENJAMEN: Whatever.

RECORDING 10: BLUEPRINT

BENJAMEN: Good evening, I'm Benjamen Prodder. I am the current Development Coordinator for the settlement of Songring. Now could-... Stop that.
BLUEPRINT: Pardon?
BENJAMEN: Stop adjusting your glasses. See, there, that's four times. They're adjusted. Stop toying with them.
BLUEPRINT: Oh, hah, sorry about that... I just, it's a habit when I get nervous.
BENJAMEN: Well, stop it. Why are you nervous anyways?
BLUEPRINT: You're the overseer here, right? It's kind of intimidating... speaking with your new boss one on one. I mean, I could say something stupid, or I might make you mad in some way, or I could make a bad impression by getting gassy, or I might just do what I'm doing now and can't stop talking and digging myself deeper into my little hole because I'm getting really unnerved by the silence you're giving me. Please say something.
BENJAMEN: Sorry, I just... I was just somewhat curious how long you could go before you took a breath. Good lungs in you. What's your name?
BLUEPRINT: Blueprint is what I'm called most often. Guess it's kind of ironic that I'm an architect too, huh?
BENJAMEN: Coincidental.
BLUEPRINT: Huh?
BENJAMEN: It's coincidental. Not ironic. Irony is the expression of one's meaning by using words that normally represent the opposite. Coincidence is when two independent factors relate to each other seemingly by chance. It's coincidental, not ironic.
BLUEPRINT: Oh, well, I guess you're right then.
BENJAMEN: Stop adjusting your glasses.
BLUEPRINT: You're making me nervous! I can't help it!
BENJAMEN: And you're distracting me! Just hold on while I give the recording a physical description: Blueprint is, as her name implies, a blue-pelted earth pony with a snow-white mane. Her cutie mark seems to resemble a protractor, and she wears a set of circular eyeglasses to help with nearsightedness.
BLUEPRINT: Good guess on that one.
BENJAMEN: It's not a guess, it's an educated postulation.
BLUEPRINT: Okay, really, I'll accept the Irony vs. Coincidence argument, but how can you rationalize this? What's the difference here?
BENJAMEN: One... one just sounds more like I know what I'm talking about.
BLUEPRINT: Good leadership quality, Mr. Prodder. No, really, I mean it. Even if it is falsified sometimes, showing your subordinates a display of confidence and intellectual aptitude really makes them feel more comfortable in their roles and knowing that you will be there to make difficult decisions for them.
BENJAMEN: Nervous again?
BLUEPRINT: Long winded speech, huh?
BENJAMEN: And you won't stop readjusting your glasses.
BLUEPRINT: Dammit! Sorry... I, uhm, I mean...
BENJAMEN: It's fine. We're done here. Your skills will be very helpful here in Songring: Overcast could use some of your expertise with his construction projects.
BLUEPRINT: Who?
BENJAMEN: Finding him is not too hard. Just look for wherever the happiness and sunshine is being sucked from everything around, and in the center of the vortex you'll find Overcast.
BLUEPRINT: Interesting hyperbole, Mr. Prodder.
BENJAMEN: It's really only a metaphor.
BLUEPRINT: Sure it's not a simile?
BENJAMEN: A simile would be something along the lines of, "Overcast ruins the mood as often as Blueprint adjusts her eyeglasses." You do it again, I'm going to take them from you. Stop it.
BLUEPRINT: Okay! I get it! Sheesh!

29: Homesick

Forty degrees outside. As the sun is setting, I can see through my window each of the ponies wrap up their assignment for the day, and retreat into the extended dormitory. They'll most likely push the beds together tonight and try to huddle closer to one another for warmth; I am somewhat glad that I have not been able to separate out their rooms as of yet for this reason.

I can feel the window in front of me pull the heat away from my body as I stand near it. The tanks that rummaged about the tree lines have gone to burrow in the ground to try and wait for Spring. The fields have been fallowed for now, as we have no seeds of plants that will thrive in the cold temperatures.

It is now truly winter, and our time for preparation has run out.

Very simply... I'm scared. I don't know what to do anymore. Is there anything for me to do? The caravan never made it. The second harvest of the fields did not produce nearly as much as we had anticipated. The fish are gone for the season. No matter how many times I count the stockpiles, the food supply does not get any bigger... despite my strongest wishes, there is not nearly enough to maintain Songring through the following season.

What do I do?

Do I tell the ponies to continue to wait for the possibility of a caravan and risk starvation, or do I tell them to load the wagon with whatever they can collect, and abandon this settlement before the worst befalls them?

I have to make a decision, and it has to be made soon.

Let me recount the happenings of Autumn while I weigh my options. At the beginning of the season, Overcast finally completed construction of the dining hall upon the shore. It took very little time for some basic furniture to be thrown inside it. The tables are made of sandstone, and palm logs are what Willow used to craft the chairs, I'm told. A few shutters were installed that could be opened during the day to view the Light Waters. It has greatly increased overall satisfaction amongst the settlers here. Perhaps it is because they now have a meeting area they can enjoy, or perhaps it is just because it is the first accomplishment they have made. Either way, I am happy for them.

I was surprised when I awoke the following morning, after the completion of the dining hall, to see Blueprint and Overcast standing on one of the rocky cliff faces over the beach and laying down sandstone bricks on the ground, while Silence took a shovel and leveled the area for them.

"Okay, I'll bite: What are you three up to?" I asked them this irritably as I approached, frustrated that they had begun construction before I had decided on our next course of action in regards to building of the settlement.

"Oh! Mr. Prodder! Good morning! We're just laying a foundation for a new structure," Blueprint responded to me, seeming rather enthusiastic about the project.

"I can see that. I've not designated this area for anything. What the hell are you building then?"

"I told you he wasn't going to like us working without his okay..." Overcast muttered behind Blueprint as he stopped building the foundation. "I doubt he'd be happy with our design choices anyways. Our ambition is only going to cause us more work when he tells us to rip this foundation up to use it for something more important."

"Oh, hush Overcast! We haven't even told him what the building's supposed to be! Okay, Mr. Prodder: I noticed that you were holding all of your meetings in the covered wagon over there, and that you seemed to find it preferable to sleep in the storage room instead of in the dormitory with us. The best solution, obviously, was to build you an office/bedroom!"

"Solution to what?"

"Huh...?"

"Solution to what? You're solving... what? What are you solving by building me an office/bedroom?"

"To... you sleeping in the storeroom? And conducting your professional meetings in a covered wagon? Surely you don't mean to tell me that you like being alone in a dark storeroom at night, or using liquor kegs as your desk."

"I find it hard to care what my sleeping and business arrangements happen to be anymore, Blueprint, and all I see is valuable resources being depleted, including but not limited to: Our sandstone, daylight, and manpower."

Blueprint seemed speechless at this, slowly kicking the unfurled design she had planned for this building back into a rolled state, and lowering her head in defeat.

"Mr. Benjamen Prodder?"

"Oh, dammit. What, Overcast? What do you have to say this time? What is going to dribble out of your endless font of despair for us now?"

"I think you're worth it."

Well, it got me to shut up, that's for certain. I stared at him with a dumbfounded gaze, unable to understand what he had just told me. "What?"

"I know why you don't want us to build this for you; you probably think that you don't deserve it. I think that about myself a lot of the time too... but you let me be your assistant anyways. Well... I think you're worth it to not have to sleep in the storeroom anymore too. That's why I asked Blueprint and Silence to help me today..."

Blueprint nodded to confirm this, and Silence nodded as well.

"So if you really don't want it, Mr. Benjamen Prodder, I'll take it down for you. I think you're worth it though because... you think we're worth it enough to stay."

"Not to mention, Mr. Prodder, it sounds like you were not always this tightly wound and prone to argumentative spurts. Perhaps if you brought your stress levels down, you would be more amiable?" Blueprint added quickly on the backside of Overcast's statement.

After looking between the three of them, I finally shrugged defeatedly.

"You don't have to say anything, Mr. Benjamen Prodder... I think I know what you're gonna say. We'll keep building, and you can tell us it when we're done. Is that okay?" Overcast requested.

That is how I now have my own office and bedroom: Through the thoughtfulness of one pony, and the cooperative nature of quite a few others. The building itself is about 225 square feet in area, and is twenty feet tall (segmented into 3 somewhat stout floors). My office is at the base, the second level is a 'living quarters' for me to reside in, and at the top is my bedroom. The building is very small overall, but as I am the only one using it, the accommodations are more than I would have considered giving myself.

It is located on the shoreline to allow me to watch the ocean waves as they roll towards the land and beat against the steep cliff face at the base of the building. Teardrop also found a way to paint the interior walls blue by wringing some dye out of some kind of local mushroom. She said that maybe the two factors would help me to calm down some, and to be honest, they have.

The building of my quarters took far less time than I imagined it would; it took maybe half a week for each story to be completed, excluding when stupidity got in the way during the construction of the second story. Silence came to me with a worried look one day, and was attempting to tell me something, but you can imagine why this was a problem. As I failed terribly at a game of charades (the answer was evidently not "Mongoose"), she finally pressed her horn to my forehead, without my permission, and I could hear a clear, young woman's voice ring out in my thoughts.

"Tick Tock's gone missing!"

"What do you mean he's missing?"

"Nopony has seen him in over twenty-four hours. Last anypony heard, he was helping Overcast work on your office. I thought you should know so you could send out a search party."

"Twenty-four hours isn't necessarily a cause for alarm. It usually takes forty-eight hours before law enforcement will even do anything," I assured her.

"A lot more can go wrong in twenty-four hours here than can go wrong in forty-eight hours in a large city, Mr. Prodder. I urge you to consider organizing a search party."

I heeded her request, gathered all the pegasus ponies in the settlement that were not already too overworked (so... just Maple and Salmon), and asked them to take a survey of at least a two mile radius inland around the settlement to see if they could get sight of him.

"Ehm... m'boy, I don't think my eyes are as good as they once were, but I could swear that the excitable lad you're thinking of is right there." With that, Salmon pointed to the construction site of the new office.

Taking a closer glance, I could see a bit of peach-colored fur and something moving about in an impatient circle. As Maple and Salmon left to go have a celebratory drink for a “job well done”, I approached the side of the building, only to look up and see Tick Tock pacing around in a circle on the incomplete second floor. "You know you've got the rest of the settlers worried that you've been eaten or carried off, or some other nonsense, right?"

"Mr. Prodder! Thank goodness you're here! I've been stuck up here for what seems like forever!"

"It's been twenty-four hours. It hasn't been forever. Why are you still up there?"

"I set the wall sheet down on the wrong side of me, dangit, and now I can't get around it to go back to the stairs. Overcast was supposed to go get help, but... yeah, you can guess."

"Remove the portion of the wall then."

"But I got it just right! I don't want to mess it up by taking it down! I don't think I could make it look this good again!"

"Then jump down."

"... That's a really tall jump though..."

"It's not even seven feet!"

"That's, like, twice as tall as I am, Mr. Prodder!"

"You're over five feet tall without standing on your hind legs! Not only is it not even close to twice your height, it's barely able to even be called tall! Just jump down!"

"I might get hurt though!"

"Then fly down."

"... Uh."

"Fly. Down."

"About that..."

"You can't fly, can you?"

"Yeah... never learned how. Can't swim either."

"That's completely irrelevant- Rrrgh! Fine then, I'll fix this." Tick Tock was rather surprised when I picked up the shovel that Silence had left on the premises, in case she was called back, reached up with it to press the flat end into his side, and began pushing. There was quite a bit of protest as I continued to lay as much weight as I could against it.

"What're you- no! C-cut it out, Prodder! No! Stop it! You're gonna make me -- Fwaaal!" That was about all the protest he got out before I heard the thud of Tick Tock landing on the other side of the wall, then a low and quiet muttering of a swear, which I could ascertain to be him calling me something I'd best not repeat here. "... I'm okay."

"Figured you would be."

With that done, I did go check with Overcast to see why he did not let anyone know what had happened to Tick Tock. I'll just go ahead and write his explanation here:

"I tried, Mr. Benjamen Prodder. He asked me to go get somepony to help him, and when I asked around, nopony would listen to me. You were busy interviewing the newest settlers, so I knew you would be too busy to listen to me and my problems. When I went back to tell him that I couldn't get anypony to hear me out, he called me useless and told me to leave. I agreed with him, and went ahead and did as he asked." So that's how Tick Tock got stuck for over twenty-four hours on the incomplete second story of my new office.

As Overcast made mention of, we received a new group of settlers as well during the Autumn season. As I learned, some of the settlers in this group of migrants are relatives to other settlers already here in Songring. A good example is Bustier, who is married to one of the five ponies who arrived during the summer, Girdle. She was busy handling the close-of-shop sale when Girdle left to get started here. I am afraid that the MIRRD I have been using for these interviews is already damaged, and I don’t wish to allocate any more of my limited memory space on what I have left to bother with the latest interviews. I suppose settlers from here on just got lucky and don’t have to meet with me personally.

As lengthy as this entry has become, I must also record one final happening that occurred very recently within Songring. I'm not sure if this has any real relevance to Songring as a whole, but it is something that I wish to put down for myself and possibly give some light to a shifting of my ideas about this settlement.

One day, I had returned to my office after an exhausting argument with Willow (I was trying to get him to consult with Tick Tock about what he might need for a new project that Tick wanted to do). I was about ready to walk upstairs, let my face hit the pillow on my bed, and try to take a nap before addressing the ponies that evening in the dining hall; I needed to request some thoughts from them as to what the next construction project of Songring should be. As I began dragging myself up the stairs though, I heard something that caught me by surprise.

Crying.

I may be the only one, but I was more inclined to be afraid and look for an instrument to defend myself with instead of being worried about the creature that might be making the sounds. All I could find was my writing pen, however, and I held it gripped in my fist as I slowly and quietly crept up the stairs to my bedroom in search of whatever creature might be there. On my bed, lying on her side, was a cardinal red pegasus weeping quietly with her eyes hidden beneath her hooves. Maple.

To be completely honest, this sight shook me a bit. The tough, surly, often-drunk pegasus that I was accustomed to holding a grudge against for causing me unneeded frustration was now in front of me, crying softly to herself. I've never been good around those who are crying, especially when it was someone that I had expected to be stronger. "Maple?"

At the call of her name, she jumped in shock, and quickly tried to dry her eyes, drawing in a deep breath to silence her sobs. "Son of a... I... I didn't think you'd be back this soon, Ben."

"You've got my attention, Maple," I stated as I folded my arms to wait and hear this one, "I'm listening. Why are you in my quarters?"

"Not like there's anywhere else to be alone here, Ben."

"What? No pseudo-soliciting comment this time? Not going to ask if I want to join you on my bed? Wait a moment, are you sober?"

"Okay, forget it! I'm gone. I just wanted some time to be alone is all, but dammit, I don't need this from you right now." She lifted herself from my bed to stand with a stiffness about her. "Move; I'm gonna... I don't know. I'm going to go do something useful I guess."

As she stood in front of me, I held fast in front of the stairwell for the moment, my curiosity getting the better of me. "What's with the sudden need for alone time? What are you crying about?"

"Just get out of the way! It's not part of my job description to have to explain my every breath to the likes of you."

"It's not part of mine to give a damn when I find someone crying in my bedroom either; however, I somehow find myself doing it anyways."

"Probably just because you think I messed up your sheets." She grew very quiet at that moment, when I set my hand on her neck and pressed on it to guide her back over towards the bed. Surprisingly, it took very little effort from me for her to move alongside me, and when I sat on the bed, she rested herself on the floor so we could remain nearly eye-to-eye.

"Actually, it's because I think something might be wrong, and I want to know what."

It appeared to be difficult for her to answer me: Looking to the floor a few times to consider if she should just go back down the stairs as she had originally planned. "You've been paying attention to the stockpiles, so I guess you know that we're out of alcohol."

Somehow I was able to remain composed in that moment, despite the indignance welling in me from the thought that she was crying over the fact that her booze had dried up. "You're crying because you have to be sober?"

"It's not like that. There's just a lot that's tough to handle without a little help. I'm a long way from home, and now I don't even have something to take my mind off it."

"Then just go home." She seemed upset when I told her that. "Like you told me when I first got here, we didn't ask for you to be here: If you want to go home, then go home. We'll be okay. Don't worry that you might be letting anyone down."

After a long and, what I assume to be, hurt silence, she shook her head with moist eyes. "Some of us don't get to make those kinds of choices."

"What do you mean? Just tell me you want to go home, and I can dismiss you, Maple. Then you can go home and be happy."

"You just don't get it! There's a lot more at stake for me here than just… me." Sighing, she looked at me with a strong glare that demanded my silence for a while. "Unlike you, I've got a lot riding on this. I have ponies that depend on me. Maybe not here in Songring, but there are ponies counting on me to make it out here. I can't just give up and leave them hanging because things aren't going my way."

"Do you mind explaining what you mean?"

"Look, it's not going to make a difference. What do you care anyways, Ben?" That question seemed very familiar to me. In fact, I could shuffle back through these pages and see where I asked the same question as well. Peculiar. "I don't want your pity, and if you're worried that this'll affect my work, it won't."

"Maybe I just want to share a little happiness with you." (Thanks, Twilight.) That made her pin her ears back against her head, looking away from me. Was I telling the truth, or just saying what would make her feel better? Did I really care at all why she was so upset about the lack of liquor? Regrettably, I must inform that I did. I must have at least sounded sincere enough for her to believe me too.

"The reason I'm here at all is because it's the only way I can earn enough money to take care of my family back home in Lopeyette. Before you ask: No, I'm not hitched. The family I'm talking about is my two little brothers. Y'see... ma and pa have been... out of the picture for a long time. Granddad was providing for us for the longest while I took care of my brothers, until a few winters ago when he broke a hind leg. Needless to say, he doesn't move around too good anymore, and finally... well, what little money we had dried up when he wasn't able to work anymore. For the past coupla years, I've been lucky enough to find ways for us to scrape by, but my luck ran out for a while before I came across the fella who offered me a position here in Songring. He told me that if I'd do the work, that these big-wig investor types would send a salary back to my folks in Lopeyette."

"That's very noble of you," I mentioned as she grew quiet, "It must be a lot of responsibility to have those you care about rely on you so much. I'm sure anyone you told this to would think highly of you for it."

"Just because we might think it's the right thing doesn't make it any easier." With that, she reached up behind her ear and knocked free a rolled piece of paper, which she unfurled slowly. "This is what got me. I thought I was going to make it through the day okay without any liquid help, but then I found this tucked away in my personal effects. It's something the colts must have hidden in my belongings for me before I left:

"Mehmeh (That's what they've called me since they were little and couldn't say my name right),

Grandpa said not to bother you anymore, but we wanted to say that we're going to miss you and to please don't go away. We know you're going to go live far away in Songring, but we want you to stay here with us. We promise to sell all of our toys if you'll just come live with us again, and we'll eat grass and get jobs too.

We love you Mehmeh, please come home.

Love,
Tag and Rag.""

I watched as she stared at the short note after reading it aloud to me, her voice having cracked near the end, and water built up in her eyes as she bit her lower lip to hush herself. It took many moments before she drew in a deep, shaky breath to overcome the tears and keep her composure before me. "Stupid, right? That I let something like this tear me down,” she shook her head before I could tell she was on the verge of tears once more, "The worst part is that I want to be there for them, but I can't because I have to be at this stupid settlement project to provide for them. I'm doing this for them because I love them, but I can't even show them that."

Something compelled me to reach for her head and pull it close to my chest as she finally began sobbing again, stroking the green and yellow mane while I waited for her to let it out. I can only assume it was natural human decency; I was surprised at myself, but I can also think that it was the only thing I could do. I had no words to help her, and there was nothing I could do to fix her situation. I could feel immense tension in her neck. I'm afraid the only thing worse to her than her situation, was that someone else had to be witness to her crying over it; she even whispered apologies as she eventually calmed herself. "I know what I'm doing is right. It just doesn't make it any easier to know that, and I just don't know how to tell them, Prodder. I don't know how to tell them why I can't come home to them." When she had relaxed, I reached for my notebook and pen and began scrawling a quick note. I tore out the page of the notebook I had written on and folded it so I could tuck it behind her ear.

"What's that?"

"Give it to Snifter, and let him know to get with Springfield and start construction on a still. That's proof that I sent the order." The confused silence I received back prompted me to explain, “We're stuck here together, for better or for worse. If there's any way I can add a little comfort for you or the other settlers, who am I to deny it? I still think maybe you need help... but I think that if you want help, you'll come back looking for it."

As she picked herself up and gathered her paper to head toward the stairwell slowly, I called out after her with one final thought, “I'm sorry. I wish there was more I could do to help you."

I saw a feeble smile, perhaps bittersweet, as she began down the stairwell to leave me to get the rest I needed. "You've already done more than I would have asked you to. I think I won't give this to Snifter until tomorrow. Thank you, Benjamen."

I have finally come to my decision then. After reliving the past few weeks in this entry, I have come to the conclusion that we must stay. There is much more at stake here than our comfort or the monetary return the investors are expecting from this settlement: These ponies need it. I think each of them must have a story like Maple's; each one must have a good reason to fight on each day and endure the challenges that come with striking the earth here. If I tell them to pack up, I have not only let them down... but I will have forced them to give up whatever those reasons are. I don't know if what I'm going to do is right, but I do know it's what I've decided, and I must see it through.

There is more at stake here than just me. Songring will stand. I must make sure of it.

30: The Merchant Bullion

Winter is over, and Songring still stands.

I was a bit perplexed yesterday when I looked out of my window to see the ponies acting rather peculiar. We have a project currently in the works that I will describe later, but I saw no one at the designated site continuing construction. Instead they were all washing clothes and sheets, weeding the area, assisting Springfield with the fields, and doing a few other miscellaneous jobs that I had not assigned. I understand that such things need to be done, and I was not upset; I was simply perplexed that all of them decided to do this at the same time!

Overcast wandered up my stairwell while I was watching the buzzing outside, and without my consent began pulling the sheets from my bed to fold them. When the sounds finally caught my attention, he was already almost back to the stairwell.

"So you're really about to just walk away and say nothing? You're not going to explain why you're about to steal my linens, and why every pony in this place has coordinated a cleaning day?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Benjamen Prodder, I thought you were busy. I'll try to ask you if you're busy more often before going about my duties. I'm here to collect what needs to be washed today."

"I can see that. Why is everyone doing cleaning and fieldwork today?"

"It's the last day of winter, Mr. Benjamen Prodder, so we're celebrating Winter Wrap Up today."

Cultural Discovery: Winter Wrap Up is a holiday for the residents here in the Sun of Chance (I would believe nationwide, but cannot confirm this) that celebrates not only the end of what some consider the most difficult season of the year, but is also a precursory event to their New Years, which is the first day of Spring. Winter Wrap Up is the day that, in a typical settled land, the weather ponies concentrate on removing the clouds and making a warmer climate for the area, while the earth ponies and unicorns focus on getting fields ready for the new season, removing snow from the ground (in places that do snow), and doing some cleaning to help bring in a fresh new year. The last day of Winter is a day of work, and the first day of Spring is a day of celebration. Today, the settlement has been bright and lively (also very wobbly, and a couple of lightweight ponies got sick from all the merriment), which has been pleasant to watch.

Before I start describing today however, I do have to make mention of how Songring came to survive its first winter out here on the shores of the Light Waters. Two weeks into winter, I was steadily slipping into madness as I watched the ponies down below from my office window each afternoon. I had instituted a rations system that limited the amount of food every pony received each day to try and extend the longevity of our stocks. I believe I actually began pulling my hair out when, during an inventory check, I realized that someone had left one of the casks open, and insects had collected in the unprotected strawberries, making them inedible. I did my best to salvage what I could from the cask, but overall, we lost almost half of our remaining food, leaving us with 3/4ths of a cask of assorted plants (Strawberries, Midnight Berries, and Longgrass mostly). That was meant to last a settlement of now 20 individuals for four weeks.

Not possible.

I was sitting at my desk one day with my forehead on it (It was resting in the dent I had created when I slammed my head there in frustration, and I had not bothered to pick it back up for the following hour) when the door slowly creaked open and closed as well. "I know we're low on food. I know there's only Longgrass Ale. I know the water probably tastes stale. I know that you're pissed off that I am rationing everyone's consumption, and yes, I know that I look funny. If that's you, Maple: I don't know whether I prefer to ride saddle or bareback, stop asking, that's creepy. If it's Willow: Just shut your face and walk away now. If it's Overcast: Oh my lord, you'd best have something good or important to say to me, or else I will stand up from this chair and kick you in the throat. Now that all the usual grievances are out of the way: What can I do for you?"

"Sorry, Mr. Benjamen Prodder, I didn't know you were having a scene right now... I can come back later if you want, but I was just gonna let you know that the caravan operator is looking for you."

I have not run that quickly since I thought the residents of Ponyville were trying to lynch me. Like a Lepoline after a lightning bug, I was through the door and racing towards the dining hall: Where Overcast had let me know the operator was waiting. All eyes in the dining hall turned to me when the door was swung open and slammed into the sandstone wall behind it as I darted in. It took a bit of examination before I was able to discern the new face in the building that belonged to the pony I sought, from those of the caravaneers who were sitting around chatting, as well as the ponies of Songring that were on break.

He was a silvery-pelted unicorn with a blonde mane, wearing a purple cavalier’s hat with a large black plume, along with a similarly colored waistcoat. He called himself Sir Bullion, and when I sat across from him at one of the tables, breathing loudly from my exertions, he stared at me in bewilderment. "My, so this is the Coordinator of Songring. I had heard rumors that he was quite the sight to behold, and I see there is some truth to them. You must be what they were calling a 'human' then?"

"Yes sir, I'm Benjamen Prodder, and you have no idea how happy I am to see you here. I was worried that you weren't going to show up."

"Unfortunate circumstances kept us, I must admit. I have to inquire, Mr. Prodder: where is your depot?"

"Pardon?"

"I'm afraid that I'm getting a bit uncomfortable with all of our wares just sitting out in the clearing with the caravan guards. We were informed that there would be a depot here to house our goods during our stay. I have only seen three buildings here, and all of them look... occupied."

"Oh, you can just bring the stuff in here, of course. I can have someone take care of it."

Sir Bullion was not very comfortable with the idea, giving me an odd glance of distrust. "No, I'm afraid that we'll just need to use your depot. You can simply direct me to it, and I'll have the boys start unloading the wagon."

"Really, this is becoming much more complicated than it has to be. You can just unload it in here and it'll get taken care of."

"You're the one being complicated, Mr. Prodder. It's as simple as pointing the way, and I'll have it hoofled. Why won't you just heed the request?"

"Excuse me for a moment." With that, I stood up to snatch Willow and Overcast by the manes and drag them with me outside. I had Willow erect a few unused fence posts in the ground. Overcast and I took the covering off of the expedition party's original wagon and draped it over the posts like a tarp, securing it with nails. It took us about an hour to complete. Finding Sir Bullion watching us afterwards, I motioned to the very poor structure. "There's your god damn depot then. Happy?"

He was not, but I had very little care for catering to him. I had trouble viewing him as a guest at Songring, thus my hospitality might have been sub-par. It was rather impressive to watch them unload all of the goods into the depot and start creating a small little bazaar for display. This perturbed me as to why they were making displays, but I let them go along with it. If they needed the depot in the first place, maybe they had to do this for some ritual or something stupid like that too. I just wanted the supplies in the storeroom so I could take a deep breath of relief.

After all of their unloading was finished (a few hours later), it was requested by one of the caravaneers for me to meet with Sir Bullion again. I made my way happily to the depot to see him standing there with a tapping hoof, not quite as pleased to meet me this time. "Ah, Mr. Prodder, glad to see you could make it. We can begin then."

"Sure thing. I'll go ahead and get Overcast to round up some of the others who aren't busy to begin hauling the stuff to the storeroom. You can just hand me the ledger, and if I have any questions, I'll bring them up tomorrow along with my requests for your next visit." I outstretched my hand to await the ledger as Bullion stared at me incredulously, as though I had just spoken to him in a foreign language or had just told a really tasteless joke.

"There must be some misunderstanding, Mr. Prodder. I'm going to give you a tour of our wares so you can decide what you wish to purchase for your operation here."

Purchase? "Do what? You're here to supply the settlement, aren't you? You're from the Sun of Chance?"

"We are from the Sun of Chance, yes. We're here to trade with you. What? You thought I was just going to give you my inventory? Mr. Prodder, my family did not become a trading icon by playing as simply a delivery boy. Is there another problem, or are we ready to get started?"

I hadn't the ability to respond at that moment, instead choosing to chew on the inside of my cheek as I had to mull over my situation. I could see him growing impatient with me, so defeatedly, I asked him to wait for just a few moments. "Maple! Daggersides! Get over here, I need you for something!"

The red pegasus and husky unicorn ambled into view within moments: Maple, carrying her axe in her mouth, and Daggersides, idly picking her teeth with one of the knives she brandished with her horn. The two of them stood at my sides after they made the approach, and before they could ask me any questions, I regarded the perplexed Sir Bullion seriously. "Sir Bullion, please meet the Songring Militia."

"The what?" All three of them asked me at the same time.

"The Songring Militia. I've called them to help me commandeer some necessary goods for Songring."

An uneasy laugh escaped Sir Bullion as he examined the two ponies at my sides, shaking his head slowly. "You obviously are having a joke with me, Mr. Prodder. Very amusing, but please, let's get back to conducting business."

"This is business. Strictly business. You have something I need, and I plan to obtain it. So here's my business proposition for you: You can hand it over, or we can take it. I leave the decision to you."

"I urge you to reconsider this, human. I have six armed guards with this caravan, not to mention that I have had to fight to protect myself from bandits on more than one occasion. Those bandits were far more impressive than a fleshy, hairless monkey, a drunken woodspony, and a chubby blade collector. Perhaps you should-"

I've always wondered what would happen if you interrupted someone's pre-fight speech, as such monologues always seem to happen in any virtual game or Chimeras and Caverns campaign we used to play (even in many of the films I've seen). Each side needs a chance to give a lengthy lecture explaining why they're right and why they will win. What happens when they don't get to finish that speech, however?

They die. When the other party snatches a knife from the chubby “blade collector” and tackles the speaker over a bazaar table to run a sharp blade over his exposed neck mid-sentence, the speaker dies. It seems words take priority over preparation.

All eyes at the depot fell on me as I stood up, hands dripping red and my green overshirt stained and darkened from the few spurts of fluid erupting from the open throat of the caravan owner as he lay draped over a bin filled with rolled, wool sheets. Ignoring his frantic gurgles and terrified struggles, I looked at the six caravan guards with a scrutinizing glare. They must have been alerted when Bullion gave a final shrill cry beneath me before I sealed our business deal. I could hear Maple and Daggersides screaming at me with questions, as the guards began pulling free blades and cudgels from their holsters and called out to the others to alert them of the situation.

"No witnesses."

Daggersides and Maple hushed when I said those words and motioned to the caravan guards with the knife still in my hand. Readying their weapons, my two battle maidens slowly approached cautiously towards the group of guards, while I searched the depot for a bit of assistance. I could hear the clashing of iron and grunts of struggle. Shrieks erupted from the scene as flesh was torn; one silenced as a skull was split in two with a heavy swing from a woodcutting axe. The feminine shouts concerned me, but I was able to locate a wheat-threshing scythe amongst the wares. Distracted fighters are not too difficult to get behind with a bit of flanking help from a red pegasus: Hooking the bladed head of the scythe around their throat, and forcing a kick to their backs to slam them into the sharp edge. Also having a Unicorn that can magically hurl heavy barrels filled with wine at the guards helped quite a bit in disarming them long enough for us to give a final blow.

Bloodied, bruised, and with a few large gashes across our flesh, the three of us stood over the remains of the caravaneers. Maple quivered with uncertainty, the battle sobering her up fairly well, while Daggersides slammed a hoof into my side angrily to get my attention. "What the Nightmare, Prodder?!"

"Business," I told her as I handed the knife back carefully, letting the scythe hit the ground uselessly, "And there is some to still take care of. Daggersides, find the other caravan workers in the dining hall. No witnesses. Maple, get Overcast to collect a few others ponies and start moving these supplies to the storeroom. I'll be disposing of the bodies."

"What are we gonna do? We're done for. We're criminals now! We're... murderers!" Maple heaved for breaths, panic overtaking her as I started to drag Bullion's body away from the cloth bins and towards the Light Waters.

"I don't know what you're speaking of, Maple, we're just simple settlers," I assured her, “Sir Bullion and his caravan never made it. The poor caravaneers were most likely intercepted by highwaymen. I'm sure the criminals probably have pilfered their supplies and tossed their wagon and bodies into the ocean to dispose of the refuse by now. What a tragedy."

"Mr. Prodder? Are you alright?"

It was at that moment that I realized I was standing still, chewing on the inside of my cheek while staring at the concerned visage of Sir Bullion as he waved a hoof in front of my eyes. I must have slipped into some sort of microcosm at that time and had been standing there silently glaring at the caravan owner since it began. My eyes stung when I blinked, indicating that they had become dry in the amount of time I was frozen in thought.

"You look rather pale. Perhaps you need to go lie down. You must be rather tired today. I can wait until tomorrow to give you the tour, if that would be better?"

"Yeah, tomorrow... yeah... that'd be great."

So the caravan that I had expected the Sun of Chance to send us was but a merchant, expecting to trade for our goods and currency to help Songring stay standing. We had nothing to trade, however. I could feel an overwhelming sense of doom enclose around me once more.

I went to the storeroom and sat down in one of the vacant spaces left available due to the empty barrels being moved outside to collect rainwater. I just wanted to hide. I did not want anyone to find me – ever. I had failed. Even if it was circumstance that brought me to it, I could still feel that disappointment weigh down upon me. I kept my knees hugged to my chest and said nothing, even when Teardrop came seeking her pet Garnet and found me huddled in the stockpiles. I wouldn't speak to her no matter how much she asked me to confide in her, to let her know what was wrong. Eventually she stopped asking and simply wrapped her front legs around me to rock me gently as I soundlessly sat there.

From the mine entrance in the back of the storeroom, I heard the stone door swing open slowly and a deep, smooth humming sound as the pony who passed through was going to continue about his way. Both the humming and the creature stopped to view us in the stockpile. "Hm. Benjamen. Teardrop. Odd meeting you two here. Am I intruding on a tender moment?"

"No, I just don't know what's wrong with the overseer. He's upset, but he won't talk to me. I'm worried, Dirtnap. What do we do?"

Dirtnap wandered close as he got Teardrop to release me, and sat in front of me quietly for a few moments before I heard his soft, deep voice again. "We cannot help you if we do not know what is wrong. Silence is no proper answer, and you know this Benjamen. Now, is there something I can do for you?"

"You can dig me a shallow grave. I think I'm just going to go lie down in it and never get up again," I muttered, as I finally looked up to view the midnight-colored pelt of the pony and glance into his calm eyes before me. "Maybe then I won't have to tell everyone that Songring is at its end. Maybe then I won't have to tell them that they have to go home with nothing to show for it. Maybe then... I won't have to see the disappointment in their eyes when they look at me."

"What do you mean at its end? The caravan arrived, didn't it? I don't understand, sir... I thought this meant we would have food, and water, and comforts again?" Teardrop kept her hoof on my shoulder as she spoke, her quiet voice ringing with uncertainty.

"It's not a shipment. It's a merchant. We have to buy those things, but we have nothing to buy them with. Songring has no wealth, and with no wealth comes no assistance. We have no more now than before the caravan arrived, and that is to say we have next to nothing."

"So is this your plan?" Teardrop questioned me with concern, sitting down as well with a tilt of her head. "Did you plan to sit here until it was too late? To do nothing?"

"Only because there is nothing else I can do, Teardrop. I've failed."

"Then why am I here?"

I wanted to tell her because it was due to the shortsightedness of investors who thought it'd be a fine damn joke to saddle me with a jeweler, of all things. I could tell she was serious though, and my only true answer was to shrug, as I could not discern her meaning.

"Why are any of us here? Why were seven ponies even hired to be here in the first place?" With that, she started to smile some, looking to Dirtnap who had obviously caught her meaning by now with an answering subtle grin on his features. "If you were meant to make this place alone, then why did they not send you alone?"

"Because that's impossible. No one man can make an entire settlement himself."

"Then why are you trying to?" Dirtnap asked me this coyly, a smirk in his eyes as he looked down towards me while I stared back. "It sounds to me like you have done everything in your power to save this place... except ask for help." Standing up, Dirtnap motioned for Teardrop to come with him back to the stone door that leads to the mineshaft. "You may make many decisions and give many orders, but you still try to shoulder too much responsibility."

"One pony can't make a settlement himself, Mr. Overseer. You have to let us help."

"What are you going to do?" I asked them, watching as they strolled to the mines together with purpose in their stride. "What do I do?"

"You just have to have a little faith in us, Mr. Overseer," Teardrop assured me, bumping her side into Dirtnap to prompt him to speak as well.

"We will have something for you tomorrow. Go and rest up, and be ready to meet with the caravan owner again. Trust us."

So I did. Well, I tried at least, but sleep is not easy to come by for me when I am putting the fate of so many into the hands of two ponies with some sort of cryptic idea they had yet to share with me. I also have trouble sleeping when I have the burden of so much responsibility riding on me. I might just wish to resign this thought to: I have trouble sleeping always nowadays, and leave it at that.

I got up the next morning to see quite a few of the ponies merrily standing around the depot with the caravaneers, chatting and examining the goods while Sir Bullion made a demonstration of some device he had brought with him to sale. From my bedroom, atop the cliff face above the shore, I could not tell what it was, but it had attracted quite a bit of attention from Tick Tock.

I made my way to the depot to see what spectacle had a couple of the caravaneers crowded around the frail-looking Teardrop and the tall-bodied Dirtnap as they sat in front of a small display box resting on a makeshift stand. At the sight of me, the two of them began to beam and motion me over. I looked through the glass of the display box to see something most peculiar: Jewelry; earrings, bracelets, necklaces, amulets, and charms all made of some bleached-white substance, along with some chains made of teeth. Quite a bit of the jewelry had green gemstones set into them, beautifully cut to cause them to glimmer brilliantly. Before I could ask, I heard an excited gasp and awe-struck sigh from behind me as the purple cavalier's hat brushed past to look in the display case.

"My, so this is what you have been setting up over here! I am impressed; is there anything you can tell me about these pieces?"

"Certainly," Dirtnap began as he pulled up a cloth to wipe the glass of the display box clean for good measure, "As you may be able to tell, this jewelry is made in a tribal fashion. It is in the style of the fabled Deicidian pony civilizations, of whom I have studied mythology involving them closely for many years. This is the best representation of their supposed works." (At this point I am pretty much simply regurgitating what I heard, as none of this quite made sense to me.) "The earrings are made from assorted ribs of rabbit, fox, and wolf. The necklaces are crafted from shark and canine teeth. Most pendants and medallions are made from spinal discs. The materials they are made of may not be worth much, but please consider how often one comes across such items. Very few can understand the truths within the fables."

"Fascinating! Deicidian crafts. I would have never imagined coming across something like this out here, especially on this side of the Light Waters. Those could make for wonderful conversation pieces, I'd say. Are those emeralds I see as well?"

"Green tourmaline," Teardrop stated, smiling feebly, "But it would be a common mistake. It's really hard to tell if you don't know where it came from. Very few could tell you the difference."

"And the face on the medallion in the center... I could swear that I recognize it. You said you made this yourself? Who is that of?"

"Are you familiar with Miss Alla Prima, Sir Bullion?"

"Vaguely. Painter? I believe I've procured a couple of her pieces in the past for collectors. Is that her image?"

"Indeed. It is in her image, and that is a much cherished piece. One of a kind and will forever remain so."

"Until you decide to make another one, hm?"

"That is not possible, sir."

I saw Bullion's face contort for a moment until some form of realization struck him, and he grew quiet and wide-eyed as he beheld Dirtnap. "I believe I know what you mean. Can you prove that?"

"You would have to view her will, and have some faith that I am the same Dirtnap as mentioned therein. I have no solid proof for you, I apologize, but you have the promise of its creator that it is what you think it is."

Standing there ignorant to the situation, I was surprised when Bullion turned to me with a stern visage. Taking a moment to brush his waistcoat down, he cleared his throat. "Alright, Mr. Prodder, let the negotiations begin then."

How was I supposed to barter when I had no idea the worth of the items in question? What was so special about that medallion? What the hell is a deicidian pony? To be honest, I did not do the bartering; I had to step back and request that Dirtnap be the one to work the trade. He knew far more about his crafts than I did, and all I had to tell him was that we needed all of the food we could collect from this, as well as some more tools if any were for sale. Three pickaxes, two axes, an anvil, five bins of what I guess to be synthetic leather, three bins of rolled cloth (one each of plant, wool, and silk), some backpacks and water skins, and ten casks of preserved fruits and vegetables happened to be the final deal Dirtnap struck for the jewelry in the box. As I am able to tell, most of the worth came from that single amulet, which I did inquire Dirtnap about after I got over the shock of realizing that Songring was not going to starve or collapse anymore. We were in my office going over the receipt from the trade when I asked him.

"Who was that amulet of, exactly?"

"My grandmother."

"What was it made of?"

"My grandmother."

How the hell was I supposed to respond to that? I will admit, I was disgusted at the thought at first, shifting away at the notion of him butchering his own relative to make a piece of jewelry. When he received my look, he sighed and shook his head with a roll of his eyes. "I must have misheard you. It's made from the same pony it is in the image of?"

"Tell me, Mr. Prodder: If your father asked you to cremate his body and toss his ashes into the sea, would you do it? Would you deny somepony their request of what to do with what they leave behind in this world when they are called away from us? My grandmother requested in her will that I make something from her: To turn part of her body into art that would live on after her, as a legacy to be left behind. Is that condemnable to you? Would you have done differently?"

Little did he know that I would be more interested to know that my father knew how to contact me instead of what he planned for me to do with his remains, but I shook my head as his point was made very clear. "I would heed his last wishes too." It was then that I looked back to the caravan outside my door as it was packing up and felt my heart sink. "I can't let you do that, then. I can't let you sell that. Quick, we need to speak to Bullion- maybe he'll just take back the cloth and leather- and the tools so we can get your amulet back."

"That isn't necessary, Mr. Prodder, nor would I believe him inclined to give it back for anything less than a full reverse of the trade."

"He's not a monster, Dirtnap! He'd understand if we just tell him! We have to get your amulet back; you can never replace it!"

Dirtnap chuckled as he shook his head, standing up and preparing to head back to the bunk he had made for himself down in the mines. "I know I can't replace it, and I would never wish to."

"You didn't want it?"

"This must be hard for you to understand, Benjamen. I am giving her one of the greatest honors I can at this time. I can think of nothing I would rather do for her than this."

"You honor her by selling what you have left of her?"

"The transaction was just a means to what she really did for us today. Tell me, what would have become of Songring without my trade?"

"... Disaster. We would have either had to pack up and leave, or starve."

"She saved us today then, and has made herself known in history once more if this tale is ever told. Even in her death, she has rescued what quite a few of the ponies here hold dear. I can think of no greater honor to give her than to let her be a hero."

"She's now a bartering piece. Are you okay with that sacrifice?"

"She loved to travel. She will go to many new places now that she is with Bullion. Eventually, he may be able to trade her to a collector of her works, or perhaps be able to have her placed in a museum for even more to know of her. You are focusing far too much on the surface ideas, Benjamen. Perhaps you could benefit from letting go of some of your preconceptions."

His words have stuck with me. I have also decided to do Alla Prima an honor in return, and to make sure to give her that place in history that Dirtnap wished for her to have. I have instructed Overcast to write up designs for a memorial slab to be made for her, and Silence will alert me when she finds a material that we believe will withstand the ages to make it with. I owe Alla Prima a great debt, and one to Dirtnap and Teardrop as well; a debt I am not quite sure I will ever be able to repay.

More good news had arrived with the caravan as well, when I learned that one of the travelers with them happened to be a courier. He had decided to tag along with the caravan for safety reasons while he got a feel for the path to Songring. He had several letters to pass out to the ponies here. I was surprised when he cautiously ambled into my office one afternoon to set two letters down on my desk and tipped his hat to me. One of them was from Twilight Sparkle in Ponyville, and the other was from Princess Celestia. I was rather torn in deciding which to open first. On the one hand, Twilight Sparkle's letter would have much more in it that I would enjoy reading, if just to get the warmth of the knowledge that I was not completely forgotten after a whole year. However, Princess Celestia's letter could be quite the gamble: She might have been informing me that I am pardoned from my duties here in Songring, and that she found someone else to take the position. It really does not matter which I opened first, as they have both been read and replied to at this time. I will leave both of their letters, and a copy of my responses to them in my journal for completeness. As you might have already assumed, I was not given a pardon.

As for the project that was mentioned at the start of this entry, the concept for it started soon after Tick Tock watched Sir Bullion's demonstration of what he informed me was a handheld water purifier. Basically, as he was able to discern from the demonstration, the handheld water purifier was simply a hand-operated pump that forced water to pass through an activated carbon filter. His concept is to build a larger scale automatic pump that will force seawater through an activated carbon filter and provide clean water to the whole settlement, instead of continuing to get water from freshwater pond sources and rainwater. I have yet to figure out how he plans to get the activated carbon for the filter, but he told me that if he can just get some coconut shells, limestone, and plant cloth he can make it happen. Ingenuitive of him to claim, but I will believe it when I see it. (Perhaps his demolition expertise has taught him more about chemistry than I give it credit for though?) In hopes of this being true, I have had Silence clear out an area to be used to house an underground cistern that will hold the fresh water from the pump, as well as having had all of the other ponies concentrating on building the cistern from stone. After most of the winter, the cistern itself is almost complete, but we are still waiting for Tick Tock to play the miracle worker and get that filtering pump together.

That leads me to today, during which I have been absent from quite a bit of the celebrations that the ponies have been conducting to usher in the first day of the new year. That would mean that it is now the year 1222 in this era of Equestria, and happens to roughly be Songring's first anniversary. I can see Teardrop bringing buckets of water to the dormitory for a few of the lightweight ponies who have already partied a little too hard, and Springfield has a few of the fellows and a cask of ale out on the far side of the fields playing what I can guess to be a game of horseshoes. The dining hall is a bit noisy at this time, and I can see the cooking fires plow some smoke out of the back of the building (also my window has had a few eggs tossed at it at this time by Daggersides who is still mad at me for calling her fat). I would go join in the celebration, but looking down at the base of my office, I can see that my door is blocked by Maple as she is cuddled up against the outside of it sleeping in a drunken stupor. I'd rather not wake her up at this point, because I am not sure when or why she ended up there. Perhaps this year, I will simply watch from afar with the contentment that comes from knowing that the hardship of winter is finally over, and we have at least a couple of seasons of relief and preparation ahead.

Happy new year, ponies of Songring. You deserve the party.

30+: Letters

Benjamen,

I would be a liar like you if I wrote that I was not at least mildly upset with you when I first learned of what had actually happened. It's rather strange how you claim to trust me, yet you would deliberately lie to my face; I question how much of what you told me might have been truth and what was simply convenient fabrication to further your own goals. I have trouble even understanding why you would do this. Did you even proofread what you wrote to me? "Personal defense weapon?” Is that not a complete oxymoron to you? You could also consider making a combustion-powered air purifier or body odor scented laundry detergent. You could even lie to me and get me to help you make them again!

It seems Spike is insisting on butting in on my business right now. He keeps telling me to ease up a little bit and to give you a break for what you did. "I would have done the same thing if I was in his position," he states, "And he was just doing what he thought he had to so he could protect his friends." Why lie to me though? "Would you have helped him if he had told you why he really wanted it?" Yes, but not in that way. I would have helped you figure out what was going on and come to a more reasonable solution than making a crossbow to shoot my assistant with. Why is he even on your side here? You boys are being so complicated! Is this a human and a dragon thing, or are all males this difficult to work with?

I suppose he does have a point, but I am just really hurt that you would deceive me like that. Maybe it does not mean much where you are from, but when you tell somepony that you trust them and then act with such duplicity, it is bound to leave a wound.

Everypony was glad to hear that you were okay, to say the least. While you were away, things in Ponyville became grim as we waited to hear of what would happen to you. Nopony could understand what you were charged with or why they were arresting you. Applejack came by each evening asking if I had heard anything yet, Rarity wore black for a day, and Rainbow was about to start a sleuthing expedition to hunt down the real culprit who framed you for what had happened. Once they knew you were alright, they started asking me if and when you'll be coming back. I've found it difficult to answer them so far because of the news I received from the Princess:

You are being sent to a new settlement in the works known as Songring to act as their Development Coordinator. First an ambassador, and now a Development Coordinator? That's quite an improvement from your job as a delivery boy back here in Ponyville. I'm starting to wonder if you'll really want to come back at all if these honors keep up for you out there in Canterlot.

This news is somewhat bittersweet, however. Your new position could mean that you are going to be away for a long time, not to mention that I have heard some rather unappealing stories about what goes on out there beyond the borders of civilization. I hope everything will go well for you in your new home of Songring while you complete your obligations to the royal court. You will write to tell me and everypony else how you are doing out there, won't you? I hope that you will be able to come back soon.

I also have to ask: Why do you call her Sugarlump? Is that a pet name? If I'm intruding on your personal business by asking this, please let me know, but does this by chance mean you and she have something going? Just curious of course.

Your associate,
Twilight Sparkle

Dear Twilight Sparkle,

I am afraid that there is not much more I can write in defense of myself on the issue which has left you feeling hurt. The only thing I wish to write of it is that I am sorry that I did it, and that I believe I have much still left to learn. Where I am from, some might find my willingness to defend those close to me an admirable trait, and I am sure that my means would simply be forgiven there as “necessary evils.” You'll probably find that to be an impossible concept as well, I'm sure. I still regret causing you grief with my actions and can only hope you will understand that these concepts of mine that are alien to you have always been common and familiar to me. I am doing the best I can, but there is a saying about an old dog and new tricks.

I am glad to hear that everyone in Ponyville has not forgotten me. I realize that this letter may be quite late, but we have had no form of consistent contact with the Sun of Chance, and not until this week did a courier arrive for the first time to deliver and receive our mail. The fact that it has been nearly a year since we had contact with the Sun of Chance might be a rather accurate indicator of just how well things have been going here. Songring is located on the Southwestern shoreline of the Light Waters, a rather long distance away from any other form of civilization, and this has translated into some difficulty in obtaining necessary supplies and maintaining communication.

My first year here in Songring has been complication after complication to be completely honest, and all of it spent with a wonderfully frustrating cast of individuals. Let me see if I can capture the essence of why they have been a rather irritating group to work with. There is a young, dark stallion by the name of Overcast who likes to stay on my heels and speaks with the same general optimism of a death row inmate. Willow is a carpenter pony with some sort of nervous disorder, from what I can tell, that makes him very excitable and more often than not aggressive (even though he is a wiry guy). We have some sort of strong-but-silent farmer pony named Springfield, a mute miner, a spineless jeweler, a rambling fisherpony named Salmon, and then the greatest offender among them: A belligerent pegasus named Maple that more often than not refuses to cooperate and prefers to work inebriated (which means that the work is usually sub-par). These are only the first seven I was saddled with too! There has to be at least twenty ponies now that I manage here, and each one has his or her own complications. Despite all of their issues, however, I am starting to become familiar with them, and am either learning to appreciate the many quirks and find them endearing, or simply coping with them in my day-to-day life.

I have a request for you to do a bit of research on something for me if you find you have time. Our settlement was saved by an individual that knew quite a bit about deicidian tribal bonecrafting. I have heard the term "Deicidian Ponies" , and have no idea what that refers to. Do you happen to know? I would appreciate any information you can give me on this, as it may end up being important if we indeed need to create more crafts of this type to fund the settlement's next visit from Sir Bullion's caravan.

As for your question about Sugarlump, I don't mind you asking because it is not as you think. I simply don't know what her name is! The only time I have heard her referred to, Whip Snap called her "Derps" and I can only assume that was an insult. When I asked what she would like to be called, she told me Sugarlump, so I just started calling her that to avoid complications. Seems that it gives the impression that we are close, doesn't it? If you know what her real name is, tell me, and I can finally refer to her properly.

Tell everyone in Ponyville that asks about me that I have you all on my mind still, and that I would much rather be back there than here. I am going to keep my promise of coming back to Ponyville once my obligations here are over with, but it seems it may take longer than I expected.

Tell Applejack that I finally have a few blisters on my hands from real work. I still don't think I'd be of any use as a farmhand over at Sweet Apple Acres, but I hope she can at least appreciate that a "Thinkin' Type" like me can get his hands dirty when he needs to.

It might make Rarity cringe at the thought, but you can inform her that I have had to make it through a whole year now with only two outfits to my name, and also that I do rather miss hearing her hum as she works in the evenings. It has been eerily quiet in my new office many times, and I often end up whistling mimics of the tunes I had become accustomed to hearing in her boutique.

Fluttershy would really enjoy it out here, I think. Let her know that we happen to have all sorts of creatures roaming the woodlands inland from the shore that we spot each day. It seems to mostly be badgers and rabbits, but each summer these huge reptiles called Tanks wander into view and graze on the trees nearby for most of the season. They are very docile creatures, if a bit of a hazard to our crops; you can walk right up to them and pet them if you want, but they will lick the salt off of you if you're not careful (trust me, it's not a pleasant feeling).

Is Rainbow Dash a part of that elite flying group she has been wishing to join yet? The Thunderbolts I think? If not, she needs to pick up the pace and start shaking the right hands. Hooves. Whatever.

I have struggled to think of a personal message to relay to Pinkie, and finally I came to the conclusion that I cannot come up with one. I don't want her to feel that I have not been thinking of her because that is not the case, it is just that she is so random that I am not sure what I could say that would interest her. I will state that we sure could use her talents around here sometimes, and that I might need her to meet with this pony named Overcast to teach him a thing or two. I don't know if he could handle that much cheer so quickly though: He might sprain the muscles in his face from smiling for the first time.

I dare to ask if the Crusaders have finally discovered their special gifts.

Lastly, I want to say that I really appreciate you sending me these letters,Twilight. You act as my one connection back to what I would say is the only place of comfort I know in this strange new world. I understand that you are still upset with me over what I did, but it would mean alot to me if you could give me one more chance. I'll probably screw it up too, and I'm already sorry for it if that's the case, but I want to try to be the friend I should be: Like the one you are to me. I don't know if this is too much, but I miss you. I miss all of you very much, and I hope you all understand that I would be there if I had a choice.

Yours truly,
Benjamen Prodder

Dear Benjamen Prodder,

How is my favorite little human doing these days? It has been a while since we last saw one another, and I figured now would be a wonderful time to check in and see how your current assignment is going.

Is everything going well there in Songring? Are you getting along with everypony? How is the scenery?

Please let me know what the state of affairs is in Songring, won't you? I have been worried thinking about how you must be doing out there on your first time away from home.

You can be comforted in knowing that I will be sending letters, much like this one, from time to time requesting a report on the status of the settlement, and of you. I have to have some way to keep an eye on your community service project, now don't I?

Always Here For You,
Princess Celestia

Dear Princess Celestia,

I would be flattered if the term” favorite human” actually held any significant meaning. Since I'm fairly certain that I'm the only one you know, being your favorite human is much like winning a 300 participant race where all of the other runners are imaginary. My enthusiasm is absolutely brimming at such a compliment.

Songring still stands with no thanks to be given to anyone but the residents that reside here. We have been struggling heavily with inadequate food and supplies, and a lack of sufficient tools to continue our daily objectives, causing a bit of stagnation and more than enough stress to go around. We had been anxiously waiting for our supply caravan this season only to discover that we were sent nothing more than a merchant expecting to turn a profit on our situation. Forgive me if my tone of writing might indicate that I am upset by this and by the fact that one of our settlers bartered off a priceless family heirloom of his just to make sure we here at Songring remained fed throughout the winter season. I apologize for getting my hopes up that we might receive a bit more consideration and help from someone who is supposedly "always there for us."

The state of Songring is that it is alive. That should be an adequate description for everyone who asks.

Please do not feel the need to expend much time and ink sending frequent letters for my sake. I will certainly find a way to endure a lack of correspondence. Perhaps the excessive amount of work that needs to be done here will keep my mind occupied while I wait with bated breath for your next insightful and oh-so-enjoyable request for a status report whenever you find the time to send one.

Indentured to be yours,
Benjamen Prodder

31: Accidents Happen

I'm not in the mood to write, but my assistant tells me I have to for the sake of perseverance or something like that.

That is a good place to start I suppose: I have now been granted a new assistant. During our first year here, Overcast had been very helpful in handling some of the legwork required by my position, but it seems that when Celestia received my letter, she got a brilliant idea. She has sent one of her students from the Academy for Gifted and Talented Unicorns here to Songring for an internship as my PA. Her name is Dawnstar, and I don't know how I feel about her just yet. I'll try to think of a way to describe why my feelings toward her are mixed.

I remember waking up that morning with the peculiar sense that something was amiss. Mostly because my clothes were not on the end of the bed in a lump of cloth like I had left them the night before, but were instead neatly pressed and suspended from a coat hanger on the railing of the stairwell. Donning my now clean outfit, I went down to the second floor to investigate and found that there was already a small breakfast (bread and water with a few dried apple slices) laid out for me on the table. On the ground level I found an envelope containing the short bios of 18 new individuals. The handwriting did not look like Overcast's, and I had never known him to have enough initiative to take such a task as interviewing new arrivals into his own hands, so I sat down to begin reading curiously. Halfway through browsing the pages, I was interrupted by a feminine voice chiming from the doorway.

"Good morning, Mr. Prodder; It is nice to see you are finally awake. I have passed out the designations for the ponies today in accordance with work orders I found that were still in effect, and I have scheduled a public appearance for you at 2:00pm in the dining hall so you can give the new arrivals their orientation. Please review the stockpile records that I left on your desk as well, so you can decide on which crops should be planted for the summer harvest and mandate what portion is to be processed and how much should remain as part of the food supply."

I was left slack-jawed at the volley of information thrown at me while still attempting to discern who this was that was speaking to me. It was a royal purple unicorn with a mane that reminded me of the colors of the sky at sunset: An array of colors starting with bright yellow fading to orange, then red, then all the way to a dark purple that matched her coat. She was wearing a pair of slim, square-shaped glasses and a silver choker with a brooch around her neck. She also wore a small saddlebag on her side with a clasp that was shaped like a keystone in an archway: The same emblem displayed on her cutie mark.

"As a friendly suggestion as well, Mr. Prodder, please try to close your mouth when you are thinking. Your appearance suggests you have a deficit of intellect when you stare with it open like that."

"Okay, who are you, and why are you trying to do my job for me?"

She became alarmed at my question, glancing about in thought as she bit her lip and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Ah! I never gave you the letter, did I?" With her horn, she withdrew another envelope from her saddlebag and handed it to me to read. It was a response from Princess Celestia regarding the letter I had sent back to her, in which I was given details about Dawnstar's assignment and why she had been sent with this most recent set of settlers to Songring. I will include her letter in my journal, as well as my response (that I will send at my next meeting with the courier, which I believe should arrive in the summer).

"... Why didn't she just give you my position then," I muttered under my breath, but it seems that my understudy has keen enough hearing that she caught it.

"I'm not even finished with my studying at the university, Mr. Prodder. I am here to learn from your example. Maybe one day I can take a position as a mayor or manager, or perhaps even become a Development Coordinator like you with what I learn here, but I still have much to learn before I'll be ready for something like that."

"Oh, well, that's easy. Just shoot Celestia in the neck and tell her you want to make up for it. You'll be a Development Coordinator in no time."

"That's not funny, Mr. Prodder."

"Neither is Celestia sending me a protégé."

"It's not meant to be funny. It's meant to be a learning experience for me."

"Believe that if you want, but Celestia is having a great laugh at my expense right now with this."

"Why is that?"

"Oh, you'll see soon enough, I'm sure. Just keep a close watch and take plenty of notes, and you'll see why I'm certain she's just screwing with me now."

That was the extent of our first conversation. I must admit that I was already touchy at the time and did not handle the situation very well. Who could though? I barely know what the hell I'm doing here, and then I get someone who wants to learn from me? To learn from how I blindly make decisions based off of no prior knowledge or instruction? Perhaps she's teaching this student 101 ways not to build a settlement? Either way, fuckoff, Celestia: I don't need this crap from you right now. I have too much on my plate and on my mind as it is to deal with your enigmatic bullshit! I don't have it in me to happily be the butt of your jokes anymore!

I had to step away from my journal long enough to try to compose myself. I threw a few rocks into the ocean outside my office and ripped some of the grass out of the ground as I took a seat on the cliff ledges in hopes that the sounds of water could calm me. Why? Hell, I don't know: I'm just mad. I did not know it was possible to be mad at absolutely everything almost all the time, but it evidently is. I don't even think I have a good excuse to be this way. If anything, I'm supposed to be sad. I feel that’s the worst part of my brooding.

Tick Tock died this month.

Yeah... I had to take a moment to let that sink in after I wrote it too. I'll do my best to stick to the facts and simply recount what happened. It was about four weeks ago, shortly after the start of Spring. Tick Tock had managed to construct the charcoal filtered pump that he had planned. I had gone out a couple of times to help him test it, and after the second try, it worked like a charm. The cistern that would hold the purified water was still being constructed, so he had time to work on giving the pump a power source to turn it.

I went to visit him at the site above the cliff faces, on the other side of the beach past the dining hall, where he had decided to build a windmill. He chose this location because it was out of the way, and closer to the cistern that was being built. I was going to suggest to him a way he might make a lever-operated transmission, of sorts, that would disconnect the pump from the windmill, instead of his original plan: Putting a brake on the windmill that would halt it altogether when the pump needed to be turned off. I saw what looked to be one of the large sails, partially completed and broken in half, lying on the ground where it must have fallen. Tick Tock was nowhere to be seen, and as I called out to him, I received no answer. I glanced around to try and find him, but it was only when I looked down into the sea below the cliff that I realized what had happened.

Stupidly, I leapt into the water to retrieve the peach-colored, furry object bobbing with the tide and lazily beating up against the rocky incline below. (I am rather lucky that I did not hit anything during my plunge.) Once I surfaced again, I grabbed Tick Tock and pulled his head over my shoulder to keep it above the waves as I struggled to stay afloat, treading water despite his added weight. Try as I might to swim with him, he just had too much mass for an unpracticed swimmer like me to drag along. Pulled away from the rocky incline by the current, I called out desperately for anyone to help.

His eyes were open, so he must still be okay, I thought. As I hugged his cold neck to me to keep his mouth above the water, all I could tell myself, through my cries for help, was that he was going to be okay. After a few minutes, Coral Rift, who was coming back to check the fishing nets she had laid out, heard me shouting and quickly rushed to get some help.

"Let go, lad. I have him." I heard Salmon tell me when I looked up to see him grasping Tick Tock by the abdomen as he hovered in the air with long flaps of his wings. I felt myself embraced around the chest as well by Maple, as she told me to hold on and lifted me out of the water in her grasp. As soon as my feet touched the ground on the cliff next to the windmill, I scrambled from her to where Tick Tock now lay on his back, just as Salmon had placed him before stepping back with a grim look. I was not thinking of the implications of his actions though, only of dropping to my knees at Tick Tock's side and placing my head to his chest to listen.

Nothing.

I have never taken a class on CPR before, much less know how to perform it on a horse, of all things. All I knew came from films and series I had watched on the Stratus about how it was supposed to be done. I pressed my hands into the sides of his chest with force five times, then grabbed his snout and exhaled into it deeply twice. Five pumps, two breaths, five pumps, two breaths. This went on for a little while as Maple and Salmon silently watched on. Coral had attracted a collection of ponies who joined in and stood around foolishly watching me as I tried to turn back time, by what could have been hours, and amend that which is the ultimate finality.

Eventually I felt a hoof placed in front of my chest as I went to lean in again, the lilac-colored pelt of his leg leading up to the stoic expression held on Springfield's face. "That's enough,” He told me, motioning with his head for me to stand up. Dirtnap had approached with a black cloth and some rope, and with his hoof, gently closed Tick Tock's eyes as he still lay motionless on the ground.

As the black shroud was rested over the drowned pony's face, and I was finally on my feet, Overcast rested his body against my side and looked up at me. "I'm sorry, but it was going to have to happen sometime, Mr. Benjamen Prodder."

"Not like this,” I told him, shaking my head as I watched Dirtnap secure the shroud gently in place, preparing to transport the body to someplace for storage until decisions could be made on what to do with it. I felt Maple slip her head under my arm so that she was supporting me with her neck, and Overcast did the same on my other side as they led me back to my office and away from the scene. "Not like this."

How is this fair? What being decides that this is how it should be? He just wanted to make a difference; to be part of something bigger than himself that he could share, and be proud of, with others. All he wanted was to have a little recognition, and to use his talents in a way that would make life a little easier for the rest of us. What does he get for it?

If only Blueprint had been out there helping him, she would have known that sail was going to fall. If Salmon was actually doing his duty, instead of sleeping the day away in a hammock like the fat bastard he is, he would have seen what happened in time! Maybe if Tick Tock wasn't such a damn idiot, this wouldn't have happened!

If only I had been there to supervise his project like I was supposed to. If only I wasn’t such a fool. If only I was more attentive…

The funeral was last week. We held it on the same day as the first activation of the Songring Water Purifier. (Blueprint finished the construction of the windmill to power the pump.) It seemed a fitting homage since it was his baby, his legacy: His way of putting what he could back into Songring so that it would survive. The well used to draw water from the cistern has a plaque made out of blue microcline on it, in memory of he whom we should thank for the gift of clean water here in Songring.

I was asked to speak at the funeral. I had no idea what I was going to say; what was there to say? I had never even been to a funeral before, yet now I was expected to speak to them all at one? Dawnstar had written up a few note cards with topics to help me organize my thoughts and had offered to write a formal address for it, but I didn't bother. As soon as I got up there, I tossed the note cards behind me and just spoke. It was short, but it was all I could muster from my tired mind and heavy heart at the time.

"I don't know what you all want me to say here today. Do you want me to comfort you? Do you want me to tell you what a great pony he was as we lay his body to rest? To bring up fond memories of him so that we can all share one last smile before he becomes just another page in the history of Songring? I don't know what you wanted me to tell you today, and I don't much care. What I will say is that I raise this glass to him in respect, admiration, and thanks to a friend who braved this place and its hardships along with the rest of us, and paid a hefty price for it in the hopes that we all could live our lives a little better. I hope you can hear me Tick Tock, because I never even got to say thank you. You have made a difference, and I am proud to say that you were, and always will be, a true friend and citizen of Songring."

I wish I could have said more, I really do, but all of my memories of him are not those I wish to share publicly. My fond recollections consist of dinners in the seaside cafeteria, hearing him excitedly prattle on and on about some new idea he had dreamed about or thought of while he was working that day: Of automated wheat threshers, or of how to make a flashlight that ran off of body heat, and plenty of other fanciful concepts that never got to be realized. I don't want to share them because all they make me think of is how much he did not get to do with his life, and how he is now gone because of something as stupid and coincidental as not securing a sail properly. It’s... a tragedy.

Current projects in the works include three major priorities: First, seeing as three siblings, who all happen to be doctors arrived with Dawnstar this Spring, I have sketched up plans for an infirmary to be built next to the Songring Water Purifier, to limit the distance required to collect clean water for the medical staff and patients; second, I must see to expanding the current dormitory to accommodate the new arrivals. (I have decided that to conserve on time and space, I will have Silence dig a subterranean living area beneath it to house them until I can finally find the time and material to make proper living arrangements for all of the ponies here.); and lastly, I must get clever and think of a way to increase the output from the fields to somehow feed the expanding population of Songring: currently 38... Pardon, 37 now... individuals and growing. Fortunately, I still have two seasons to work with before the fields get fallowed for the winter, so I should have plenty of time.

Maple's knocking at my office door, and she sounds sober. Something must be amiss if that's the case. That is enough for now anyways; I don't have anything else important to write.

I just want to forget for a little while.

31+: Letters

Dear Benjamen,

I get the impression from your last letter that you hold a few ill feelings towards me at this time. I'm not sure I understand exactly where all of this unfounded aggression is coming from. I assure you that my only intent is to help you; however, I am willing to respect your boundaries if you truly feel you do not wish to keep regular contact with me.

I do see where you state that you have been overworked in your role of Development Coordinator. It sounds as though the population there became rather large much more quickly than we might have expected. In hopes that maybe I can alleviate some of these stresses and your overinflated workload, I am sending along a gift to you with this message.

Her name is Dawnstar. She is a student at the Academy for Gifted and Talented Unicorns here in Canterlot and is almost through with her third semester of advanced classes. Since she is looking to fulfill a role in management someday, I believe that perhaps an internship at an actual starting settlement would be a great learning experience for her. I trust that she will be able to return the favor by doing any of your work you feel you must delegate to her for time's and health's sake. I have the utmost confidence in her ability to serve in the role of your personal assistant until such a time that you are dismissed from your station at Songring.

Since you also seem so hesitant to correspond with me specifically, I will instead request status reports from Dawnstar in your place. Do know that I will still be readily awaiting a time when you find it appropriate to send me another letter about the state of affairs there, and you can always take back the responsibility should you feel the need.

As a final note before I close this letter, I just wish you to know that I apologize. I never intended for the merchant caravan to cause you so much trouble: It was a joint decision amongst the investors to use a privately-owned supplier for Songring due to the staggering costs that had gone into the groundwork of this settlement. If you feel that such a decision has endangered Songring's wellbeing, please let me know, and I will ensure that the arrangements are altered before your next scheduled caravan visit.

Hopefully Yours,
Princess Celestia

Dear Princess Celestia,

You find me at a time of unfortunate despair. We have had a tragedy befall one of ours here at Songring, and right now we are in the process of mourning his passing. A mechanic sent to us by the name of Tick Tock has passed away. I am sorry if my letter is brief, but I simply lack the heart to write much right now.

The merchant has not endangered Songring's well-being; my misconception that it was intended to be a supply shipment is what put us in dire straights. I request that in the future, such information be made more clear to me so that I may appropriately plan ahead to avoid future mishaps like what occurred last winter.

I will not claim to understand your reasoning behind sending Dawnstar out here to learn from an amateur like myself, but the help is welcome all the same. I will be letting her handle correspondence and status reports for me from here on, mostly because I am sure she will have more time and observations to write than I will. Thank you for the thoughtfulness in that regard.

Dutifully yours,
Benjamen Prodder.

32: Sober

For the first time in quite a while I am writing for a reason other than just continuity's sake. Committing to paper the events leading up to last week did quite a bit to help me: It gave me a chance to realize some of the feelings I was struggling with and an outlet to release them. I am not sure if Dawnstar knew this to be true, but I still have to thank her for the suggestion, as I have been coping much better with the situation as of late because of it.

Reading back over my previous entry, I also find that I have neglected to make any mention of how my life is actually going here in Songring. Tick Tock's death was a shock to everyone, and it has indeed taken its toll on all of us here that knew him. The settlers from the newest arrival have been kind enough to respect the period of mourning that Songring has gone through, and have been very tolerant with the lack of sleeping space and accommodations for them so far. I am working on having that situation fixed, but Keycrescents wasn't built in a day.

When I ended my journal entry last week, Maple had come to see me and was in a rather peculiar mood. Not only because she was sober, which I usually take to mean something is wrong, but also because she was glancing about my office with a perturbed expression and wandering about my dining room above. When I asked her what she was looking for, she responded that she just felt like admiring Teardrop's paintings. (The azure pony is commonly known to invade my office from time to time with new colors of dyed paint to make additional creations on the walls. I am still deciding if she does this for me, or just because it is something for her to work on that she feels does not waste resources.) I wandered alongside Maple to converse a bit, but mostly just because I was uncomfortable having her search around my living space. Our conversation came to an abrupt halt when she discovered the bedroll set up on the second story.

"Huh... so you got a roommate now, Ben?"

"I guess you could say that. That's Dawnstar's bedroll. You might know her; she's my new assistant from Canterlot."

"Yeah... yeah, I saw some fancy unicorn come in and out of here a lot. Guess she does get some special treatment being the first mate and all. Dawnstar is the new privileged from Canterlot then, huh? What'd she do to end up out here?"

"She's a student of a prestigious school there, and Celestia sent her here on an internship so she could learn a bit about my job. It's also not special treatment: She just feels that she can most readily available if she is nearby in case I need to consult with her on anything, so she decided to move into, well, what was my dining room."

"Intern? She's not gonna replace you, is she?"

"I wish, but no such luck. She's just here to observe and learn."

I could tell Maple was feeling a bit spurned at the moment by my insinuation that I wished to leave. "... Good. We don't need her being the one running the show around here. Keep a tighter leash on her too, will you? She's been telling everypony what to do like she runs the place."

"She's handing out my work orders, Maple, just like Overcast did. Is there something wrong with the work I'm assigning you? I figured you wouldn't mind helping Willow and Teak with making the wooden planks. If it's a problem, I can find you something else to work on."

Folding her legs in front of her as she sat up, she whipped the ponytail her mane was tied into behind her to glance back at the bedroll distastefully. "Nah, the work is fine, I can handle it. I just don't like her being the one pushing me and everypony else around."

"I'm still making the decisions. I don't see what the problem is with having her relay the information back to everyone. She's just doing the same thing Overcast did for me, but faster and more precisely."

"It's... you just do it different is all, and Overcast (bless his short little head) was a lot better about it because he let us get around to it on our own time."

"You only heeded his “suggestions” about half of the time, Maple."

"Yeah, well, you had assigned stupid stuff those days."

"I fail to see how stripping the tree limbs near the dormitory so they don't fall and crash through the roof at a later time is “stupid stuff”. It took me having to come to you personally to finally get it done."

"Fine! Have her give out the stupid work orders then, we'll deal with it. Don't expect me to like your new little pet though."

"She's not my pet! She's also not receiving special treatment! I don't know where you're getting this idea from, Maple, or why you're even concerned about it."

"So you mean you'd be okay with me moving in here too?" I stared at her blankly before she resumed her thought with a glower. "I mean, if it's not special treatment and all, it should be fine if I decide to start bunking in here instead. How about I throw a bedroll over your desk and crash there? You won't need it at night anyways, right?"

"Okay, now you're just being problematic. I don't have it in me to argue with you. Do you have anything important to tell me or are you just here to cause a fuss? If all you wish to do is complain, I'd be happy to write it down and address it when I am better prepared."

"If its space you're worried about, why don't I just stay in your bed then? I don't take up that much room; we can both fit on there."

"Seriously, cut it out. I haven't got the patience for this."

"I'm sure she's already gotten to sleep on Master's bed like a good dog."

"That's enough!" As my shout rang through the small building, Maple's ears pinned back against her head and she grew quiet. "I don't know what the hell your problem is with me, Maple, but I've got more important things to concern myself with than your pissy fits! With that understood, you can remove yourself from my quarters, go about your business, and don't speak to me again until you're ready to do something more productive than bitch about my arrangements! Do you understand?"

She nodded slowly, keeping her ears pinned back unhappily. Her head slumped down as she began to trudge towards the stairwell, heeding my request to get out. "It's not you I have a problem with, Ben. It's her." She paused to wait for me to say something, but I was too agitated to respond back with anything that I would not regret later. All she received was the tapping of my foot while I waited for her to leave. Halfway down the stairs, she called back up one more time, "I guess I should tell the fellas that you're not going to meet up with us tonight then?"

"I haven't scheduled anything with anyone tonight. When did I agree to meet with these “fellows”?"

"You didn't. I was coming to ask if you'd come hang out with us for a while. You never showed up for the Winter Wrapped Up party, and you haven't really shown your face since... y'know, the accident. They're just starting to think you don't like them anymore is all."

"They think that, or you think that?"

"I'm pretty sure you don't like me right now, so mostly them."

"Exactly what do they want from me this evening?"

"To stop being a freaking gremlin and come out of your hiding hole for a while! Believe it or not, some of us happen to miss seeing you around and being something other than this shadow figure, hermit, wizard thing living alone in his tower watching us from afar all day! Dammit Ben, it's not that hard to grasp." With that, I saw her jade eyes peek back over the stairwell again as she stood on her hind legs to view me. "Even if she isn't taking your job, this Dawnstar gal pretty much replaced what little we ever got to see of you. You know that isn't fair, Ben, to bait and switch me like that."

Folding my arms, I did my best to take a deep breath and let go of my irritation. "Is that what this is all about? Are you mad that she gets to see me more than you do?"

"What if I said yes? What if I said that I'm jealous that she gets to spend so much time with you and the rest of us barely get to see a glimpse of you outside of your cave here anymore? What would you say to that?"

"I'd probably have to say that you continue to bemuse me to no end, Maple." With that, I followed her path to the stairs and motioned for her to go, despite the befuddled stare she gave me. "Then I would tell you that I'm sorry, and that while I may not understand why you all would feel that way, I will do my best to break the habit. I'll come along this evening."

Being the enigmatic monster she is, my touching acquiesce was responded to with the request, "So while you're being this nice to me, I want the side of your bed away from the window too." I didn't dignify her quip with an answer, just a motion for her to continue down the stairs and that I would follow her lead. I truly have issues with her joking in that way. Am I just too touchy? Maybe I am a bit prudish that I can't just laugh it off and take it in stride as it is intended. Instead I find myself at a loss for words and in dire discomfort over it.

Then, to my dismay, I had to consider that she may not have been joking after all. She also was not inebriated, which makes it all the more possible. Depending on the nature (and species) of the reader, this may seem like a silly thing to be concerned with or upset about, but try to understand my point of view if possible: It's a talking horse that wants to sleep in my bed. Many may be thinking that I am jumping to conclusions, but I am old enough to know that someone beyond the age of twelve wishing to reside in the same bed as someone else means there is a possibility of that. If you believe otherwise, well then you may have been home schooled or are painfully naive. Or perhaps you're from Equestria; maybe things really are that different here.

How are baby ponies even made here exactly? What I'm worried about may not even be a common occurrence. I mean, with all the magic and such, perhaps there's something more complicated involved. I don't know anyone well enough to ask that question though. I'll just have to leave it a mystery for now, and continue struggling to think of a kind way to say, "I don't like horses in that way."

The meeting with the “fellas” that Maple was referring to turned out to be a gathering of the seven ponies who were on the original expedition to Songring. It seems to be some sort of prestige group they are holding onto, as if it is some higher honor that they were here first. I might agree with them, except those who came later have put just as much work into Songring as the eight of us have, if not more. It does still happen to be something we have in common. Yes, we. They believe me to be part of this little group with them, and that I am their friend despite my position and antisocial tendencies.

Sitting with them on stools around a circular table located near the bar (Snifter had set up this arrangement in one corner of the dining hall as a workstation), was rather therapeutic. I had arrived still rather dour, pretty much as I had been during my previous entry. I ignored Willow's greeting of, "For Celestia's sake, you look like somepony died, Ben." I'm not sure if he was trying to be funny and failing at it terribly, or if he was really that addled. As the evening went on though, their cheerfulness was infectious. At first I could not understand how everyone was able to just forget, and after an hour or so of them laughing and smiling, I had to ask them.

"Is there no mourning to be done? How can you all be so jovial?" I can mostly describe the looks I received back to be incredulous. Sitting next to Maple, I felt one of her wings brush over my shoulder as she shook her head in some faint, morbid amusement. "How can you all just get over it so quickly?"

"I take some offense to that, Mr. Prodder," Salmon piped up, clearing his throat abruptly. "To insinuate that we have just forgotten one of our own. It's not like that at all. One does not just “get over” such a tragedy, we simply are pushing on."

"It's been over four weeks," Maple added, as her hoof came to rest on my shoulder, "The initial sting of the whole thing is gone. It's time to look forward. Songring will still keep going, even without him, and we've got to keep up with it."

"I think I know what the problem is..." Teardrop lifted her head up more so that her voice could be heard. "I don't know what it's like for humans, Mr. Overseer, but I think that maybe the best way to say it is that once the situation has passed, and the first feelings of sadness are gone, then you get to decide." I asked her what she meant by that, but she lowered her head and got quiet quickly as though I had persecuted her. Overcast had to tell her it was okay and that he specifically wanted to hear what she had to say before she would continue. "What's the point in being miserable all the time? Sometimes you can't control feelings, but other times it is a choice whether you want to be happy or sad."

"Tick Tock wasn't selfish enough to be somepony who wanted everypony else to stay sad about him." Springfield kept his explanation short and sweet, returning to the mug in front of him with his usual taciturn demeanor.

Salmon began some long-winded explanation to me of how they came to cope with the scenario, but I was much too distracted to hear him out. Instead, I had caught a glimpse of Silence, locking eyes with her as she stared back at me. I felt a chill as her gaze bore into me, her eyes resembling the cold grey hue of uncut stone, while the faint aura around her horn reappeared. I heard what I assume to be her voice once again over Salmon's ramblings. "There are so many words here, but there is only one meaning behind them. Do you understand what they are trying to tell you?"

"Can you hear my thoughts? Is this only one way?" I asked this to myself in my head, still staring Silence in the eyes with my brow furrowed in uncertainty. Could I understand what they were trying to tell me? "All I can gather is that they mean to not let my emotions rule me."

"I will only see what you wish me to see right now," she responded first, nodding gently across the table from me. "That is not quite what they have in mind for you to understand. To put it in a way you will find logical, they mean to say that there is no true reason to hold onto the sorrow of what has happened. Life out here is difficult enough as it is, and will only be made more complicated if we choose to give in to despair."

"So you all don't feel bad about what happened?"

"We did feel sorrow, and we did mourn, but we also communicated it and released it. Now we have the choice of whether to dwell on what cannot be changed, or look forward to that which still has the fortune of being undecided and we may actually be able to shape. Life as a settler is hard, and there is no reason to make it harder by focusing on regret."

"You make it sound so easy."

"Yet you insist on making it so difficult."

Just one of the many times I have been told recently that I am doing something wrong. I am becoming rather used to it by now, sadly; being told that the way I think, the way I act, the thoughts I have, and what I know all happen to be wrong. Back on Terriel I would be called an intellectual; here I am considered a fool. Upon the list of misconceptions I must have already given the residents of Equestria so far, I have now added that we are all manic depressives (by their standards), we beat and threaten children, and we have no love for our fellow individual at all. I think I have made a wonderful ambassador so far.

The conversation continued between the two of us while the rest of the group began speaking of something else. (I believe the topic changed to chats about what was going on at home for everyone, and who they were expecting a letter from come the arrival of the courier in summer.) It seems that I was as curious about her as she was about me.

"This is only the second time we've ever communicated. Is there a reason for this Silence? Aside from the uncomfortable concept of having you inside my head that is."

"Your mind is a rather intimidating place, Benjamen. So many numbers and words. You think in writing: Your thoughts are notes, and your memories are novels that I dare not open. Not to mention, there is always music. Your mind is such a hectic and busy place; I am impressed with how you cope, and how clear and precise you sound."

"I don't understand exactly. Isn't everyone the same in that regard? Doesn't everyone think in words? I think it's rather intimidating that you can read my mind if you so choose. I believe I read that such magic is commonly illegal here."

"I exercise responsibility as to retain my privilege. If I did not use this, then my life would consist of poorly performed games of charades. As for your question: Everypony's mind is not similar. You do not think in spoken words: Your thoughts are written on a page in the canvas of your mind. Springfield thinks in the form of pictures, both moving and still. Maple’s thoughts are in the form of feelings and the sensations of her body. Teardrop thinks in the image of colors and vague shapes. I myself know that I think in voice, which is why you believe you hear me right now. It is hard to describe; it just shocks me with how busy your thoughts remain that you are coherent at all. You must be a musician too."

"You can hear that? It's called "Upon a Nocturnal Rendezvous". That's not my creation. Its something I have downloaded from someone else... well... this is complicated, but it's a device in my brain that is playing that music, not me. I just can't shut if off because it is damaged."

"You poor soul." She became genuinely concerned for me when I confided the truth about my dilemma, her expression became sympathetic. "Can you fix it?"

"If I could, I would have. It's been this way since I arrived here in Equestria over a year ago. Until I can find a way home, I'm afraid it may be stuck this way." She tried to suggest many ways we might correct it, but all of them were impossible. To be honest, it would require open-head maintenance on my cranial mesh to fix it, and that would require a Neurosurgical Technician to accomplish. I highly doubt any of these ponies could qualify as one, and the risk involved with such operations is high, so I would rather not have them fidgeting around in my open skull with their hooves while holding surgical instruments in their teeth.

I will only include one other note that I found interesting from our conversation, as I have spent quite a bit of space on the encounter already. I asked her if she had ever abused this spell of hers to get information out of others. Her answer was rather interesting to me:

"If you were given a key to enter somepony's house to sleep there instead of sleeping outside, would you purposely go through their laundry out of curiosity? I am grateful enough to have the ability to get across my thoughts without needing to keep a quill and paper with me to not let my curiosity overcome my common decency."

The rest of the evening went rather smoothly, once we agreed to return to the group's conversation. I remained quiet, mostly because quite a bit that they were speaking of was based on past experiences. I could not fully relate to them due to the kind of life I had lived back on Terriel, just as they could not compare their stories to most of mine. The one conversation I will remember the most was when the question came up as to everyone's reason for joining in the expedition in the first place.

Springfield: "It was time for me to find a place I could call my own."

Salmon: "My twilight years spent in the cool morning air on a sandy beach with a fishing pole in hoof. How could I turn down such a living?"

Willow: "You schmucks wouldn't make it without me and you know it. I'm here because it's my duty to my fellow pony to be here."

Overcast: "I figured it couldn't be any worse anyways. Not like my life was going anywhere back home."

Maple: "Times are tough. There are worse ways for a gal to be making a living than as a settler."

Teardrop: "I wanted experience and inspiration. I need something to share with ponies through my art, right?"

I do believe I won though. "I was looking for my dad, but got duped by a rodent into coming to Equestria and shot a Goddess in the neck instead." Most of them did not know what to make of this. The only verbal response was from Willow:

"Wow, that's pretty hardcore."

With that, I have kept Dawnstar waiting silently for nearly half an hour now. She has something she needs to go over with me, and refuses to interrupt me while I am writing unless I directly address her. One of these days, I believe I will start writing a novel just to see how many hours she will remain standing in front of my desk before she gives up or interrupts me. What would I write about though? I'll consider it while I pretend to listen to whatever she has for me.

33: Allons-y

I must say that this summer has been exhausting. I am quite glad now that I was sent some help for my duties; otherwise, I am not sure that I would have been able to get it all done with the settlement still expanding. We have gained a sum of new ponies in a migrant wave, which means: What was 37 will now certainly be over 40, if not perhaps 50 depending on the final tally. This may seem like a small number, but considering that I usually must make the decision each day as to what task each pony must do, and then take into account the need to address the complaints and requests of each one as well, 50 becomes a lot more than you might believe.

I have decided to give the small metal-bound booklet that I received back in Ponyville to Dawnstar. I have tasked her with copying the short bios of each of the ponies that arrive here in Songring into it, and to keep it organized alphabetically by first name. I have also requested that she leave an open space at the bottom of each page for me to make my personal notes of the ponies each month. I still would like to record anything I find personally important about the individual myself, but I do not have the time needed to write the full description of each pony within. It may replace the MIRRDs I have been using to record personal interviews.

Both the subterranean boarding rooms and the sick bay are currently in the works. I have also received a list of supplies that the three medical ponies who arrived in the spring have assembled, detailing what is needed to stock their infirmary properly. There are a few things on here that will not be the easiest to acquire: Gypsum powder, plant thread, traction benches, and soap. Needless to say, we have some soap, but it is in use for cleaning and cannot be spared in large quantities as they have requested. I am uncertain as to how soap is made though: It was not one of the things I learned back in my required schooling. I could easily look up a Do It Yourself article on the subject if I had Stratus access, but I am still stranded with only what I kept recorded in my MIRRDs and hard storage. I'm not sure where they expect me to get gypsum powder from (for making into plaster for casts), and plant thread may take some time since we have to grow a whole season's worth of Bladeweed. Lastly, there is the issue of the benches, which will take some mechanical know-how, and while I am certain that I can figure out a design for them, we will need some help with their construction. I will review the work roster and hope to find at least one of the ponies labeled as "Mechanical Engineer".

Going back to the burden of there being over 40 ponies in Songring now, I do have some very good news. As you may have been able to tell, I was still worried about the rapid rate at which the food supplies were dwindling each time I reviewed the stockpiles. I could see large amounts of food disappearing at a time, much more than I would anticipate ponies needing in a single day. I finally decided to have Overcast sit outside the door of the storeroom with a clipboard (since I was certain nobody would notice him) and mark down exactly who was entering, and at what time, as well as an estimate of how much they were taking. I had expected to see Daggersides or Girdle highest on the list, since perhaps they had an eating disorder of some sort, but I was shocked when Overcast brought me back the record.

Julienne Spice, who arrived in the Autumn of 1221, has been smuggling huge amounts of food out of the storeroom since we received our large boost from Sir Bullion's caravan in the winter of last year. I could hardly fathom how in the world a single pony could be consuming this much food, and in a small fit of fury, I stormed from my office that night and headed to the dining hall’s kitchen to have a few words with her. My march halted instantly when I came upon her as she was stoking a fire in an oven for something she must have been baking. I had easily forgotten who Julienne was, sadly, and it was a rather abrupt remembrance when I realized just how massive of a unicorn she was: Strapped with muscle, and a couple of heads taller than me when standing on all four legs. My fury quickly died when I realized how much she dwarfed me in size. Upon hearing the door behind her lazily swing closed after my entrance, she flicked her ears and turned back to me with a giddy smile, brushing sweat off her face with one of the fluffy featherings of beige fur that grew over her hoof.

"Salut, Monsieur Prodder! Comment ça va?"

I could not understand what she had asked me. Her accent, as I can best describe it, is spoken with the fluidity of a Lufaen accent combined with the somewhat lazy drop off of hard consonant sounds like the Aguayian speech patterns. Clearing my throat, I tried to steady my nerves and remind myself that she was being nice, and if I didn't let on with how pissed off I was, perhaps she would stay that way. "I'm afraid I don't understand. Could you keep it to Uniform Basic please? I came to speak with you about something rather important."

Putting my worries aside momentarily, she pulled whatever she had in the oven out with her horn and set it on the counter, all the while humming, before returning back to our conversation. "Eh, yes sir. You need something?"

"More like need to know something. Julienne, I have here record that shows you visiting the storeroom twelve times today, each time removing an obscene amount of food, totaling up to an amount that can be estimated as enough to feed the whole settlement for a week. Can you explain this?"

"I have been cooking, sir. It is what I do. It is my, as you might say, gift."

"... Julienne, you spent a week's supply of food in a single day. Where is it all going? How could you need that much food at once?"

"You must not be practiced in my art, no? I have been quite busy; as busy as you, I must say."

"One of the fundamental rules of the universe as we humans know it is that matter cannot be destroyed nor created. That means that the matter in those food supplies must be going somewhere, Julienne, and I need to know where because you could very well doom us all if this keeps up. Wherever this quantum singularity that is sucking up all of this food is, it needs to be plugged up, and fast. Who ate all of this food today?"

Julienne stared at me for a bit before releasing a loud, guffawing laugh at my expense, shaking her head, and motioning me to come with her. "Nonono, it is not all eaten. These ponies are very busy! They have not the time to wait for myself to cook for them when they are hungry. They must get their food and be on their way! I make the food early, so they can go grab it later." She started leading me back to the stockpiles while I continued to drill out a few more questions.

"So you spent a week's worth of food to make a week's worth of food then?"

"You are silly, you know? I am a professional."

"That doesn't really answer my question. Is that good or bad? I mean, for our supplies. Did a week's worth of raw foods equal up to a week's worth of prepared foods?"

"More."

"That's impossible. You can't make more from less. That's breaking that fundamental rule I just told you."

"A foolish claim, sir, if I may say. With a little care, thought, and flair, what was once inedible can be made into cuisine. I waste nothing in my kitchen."

"Then where is it all going?"

With that, she led me into the storeroom and motioned with a giggle. "Here, of course! Where food goes!"

Nothing but a tense, perturbed silence came from me as I stared over at the food pile to see only a few casks remaining filled with food. I had to bite my tongue for the moment. I wanted to at least glower back at her, but I was walking a thin line here. To be honest, I was still afraid to make a creature of this size angry. Finally, I released a sigh and shook my head, pointing to the casks. "That is far less than should be there. You know that, right? Exactly how is that more than what you've been taking? Is basic math a difficult concept for you?"

With a huff, she grabbed the hair on the back of my head with her teeth and yanked my neck to look over at another pile of casks, muttering the words "There, fool," between her clenched teeth before releasing me.

Disbelieving, I stepped over to one of the barrels and leaned on it, my brow furrowing. "Oh really? Well, this happens to be the seed stockpile. When I crack open this barrel, there are going to be seeds in it. Would you like to bet against that? I wouldn't mind winning something right about now." She merely huffed again and motioned for me to open the barrel. "Fine, we'll take a look at the seeds then. Probably more strawberry seeds or mushroom spawns." Reaching for a crowbar, I wedged it beneath the barrel's lid and pulled it up. "Ta-da, see, I told you it was just going to be bread." Wait a minute, I thought, as I looked down to see that one of the many containers in the seeds stockpile did indeed contain baked goods.

"Voila."

"So tell me," I began, not ready to accept my loss just yet, "Is it all bread?"

"Very much is baked, yes. Why?"

"How old is the bread in this barrel?"

"I made that last week."

A quiet groan of frustration escaped me as I grabbed my face. "Week old bread?! It must not have occurred to you that bread doesn't keep nearly as long as the raw components would have! So what was supposed to last the settlement for a week now won't even stay edible for more than a week!" Before I could continue my frustrated shouts, I felt a piece of bread from the barrel shoved in my mouth, and to my surprise it was soft and fresh. "... You're a liar, there's no way this is a week old. It must have been made today."

"Care, thought, flair... and a little magic perhaps, Monsieur. Do you now believe I am a professional?"

After reviewing the stockpiles thereafter (once I had finished moving the prepared foods to the correct pile, with some help, and instructing Julienne where to place them in the future so we would have a more accurate count), I have deduced that we have approximately 1 year's supply of food remaining for fifty ponies. Quite a bit of stress has been lifted from my shoulders (for a second time) now that I have discovered that our food was not disappearing, merely being misplaced after processing.

Tanks are back in season this year. I saw a herd of them wandering about in the tree lines from my bedroom. Willow has already asked if I was going to go find my girlfriend again. I have also informed him what he can take and where he can shove it. Part of me considers seeing if one of those beasts can be tamed, but I worry about the amount of food one must surely consume to stay healthy. For now, I will simply enjoy the sight of them from afar. Some like to watch birds as their pastime. I happen to watch mammoth reptiles. A difference in tastes or in situations? I've always found reptiles interesting, but never quite worthy of much of my attention; however, since my attention can no longer be spent on brushing up my knowledge of physical and fictional sciences, the waiting list that reptiles were on for my attention became much shorter. I believe by this time next year, I will see if any of the ponies would be willing to wrangle one of them so we can domesticate it. There may be no reason for it, but we shall see.

An interesting trinket that I now have in my possession (actually it is sitting above my chair on a shelf in my office) is a figurine made of nickel and silver alloy. It was brought to my attention, in a rather strange way, that one of the recently arrived ponies happened to be a blacksmith. I first met Coat of Arms when he burst open the door of my office in a frantic mood, stamping his hooves around and acting as though he were hurried or panicked.

"I must use your forge," is all he told me with a dire look in his eyes.

"We don't have a forge," I responded simply. We had no need for a forge. We had found no metal, and I had no intention of starting a metalworking industry at this time. It would simply take up too much resource and horsepower (hah) to maintain right now.

"Then you must make one!"

"I don't even know who you are."

"I am the stallion that will bust your head open if you don't get me a forge this instant!"

"I'm Benjamen Prodder, and I happen to not suffer from mania. Glad we had this meet-and-greet. I'll see about getting someone on that whole forge issue soon... perhaps."

"I require a proper surface to work on."

"Why!? We don't even have a source of ore for you to work with! I understand you feel like your talents are going to waste right now, but you're not the only one. I still have to get Girdle and Bustier a loom and some sewing machines, I need to get Rabbitfoot a something... I don’t remember, and I still have yet to get Teardrop a proper studio..."

"I require a proper surface to work on!"

"Fine! Fine, I will have Blueprint draw up the plans for your forge! Just... let me write up the order and you can take it to her yourself! Just stop yelling at me!"

After I had been mugged for the work order to give to Blueprint, I was left sitting in my office wondering why exactly he was so insistent on using a forge. What was he going to make that was so important? I tried to let it go from my mind and continue with my duties, but he came storming in again the next day. I assured him that the ponies were working on it. He came again the next day, and the next day. On the fourth day of seeing him with that maniacal look in his eyes and fearing that this huge Clydesdale stallion might truly harm me if I did not get him his forge, I went to go visit Stone Sear (Silence's younger sister, who I had tasked with the actual creation of the forge since she was a practiced furnace operator and smelter) to ask why the forge was not completed yet.

She was attending Bustier’s party that day. Understandable. I received yet another visit from the irate bronco the next day, so I again asked her why it was still not completed. Apparently it was her day off this week. Ah, wonderful. It might be done by tomorrow then, I thought to myself. My door was finally broken from the amount of times Coat-of-Arms had bucked it as he once more asked me where his proper work surface was. I asked Stone Sear. She was on break. At that time, I grabbed her by the hair of her tail, wrapped it around my wrist to get a good grip, and dragged her behind me down into the mines to make her do her damn job.

I am not proud of it, but she at least has enough pride in her hair to not struggle too much after I threatened to yank it out if she didn't come along with me. Finally, the forge was constructed, and Coat-of-Arms growled at everyone to go away as he started working on something hastily. I watched for a while, despite his insistence that I leave, due to my curiosity of what was just so important that he needed a forge that soon, but the hours continued to pass, and I had to return to my own duties.

It was a week later when he ambled back into my office once again. He was much more composed this time, though he smelled of sweat and fire, and looked as though he were going to fall asleep standing up. He approached to set a figurine on my desk and then silently walked back towards the door. I simply watched him enter and leave without a word from either of us, and the door lazily swung closed behind him. He is a rather perplexing individual (even more so considering what he had made).

Using a nickel and silver alloy, which I have no idea where he got the ingot for, he had created a large figurine on a tall, flat base. (I might almost describe it as the size of a bust or a statuette more than a figurine.) The metal is shaped into the form of ponies at work: A Clydesdale planting seeds, two pegasi holding items (one with an axe, the other a fishing rod), a unicorn striking the ground with a pickaxe, and three other ponies seated around and looking at a human figure with his hand over his chin in thought as he observes. Impressed into the front side of the base is an image, cut from a dark leather substitute, in the shape of an alder tree, with the word "Songring" made of the same material.

It might be rather easy to tell that those seven ponies and the one human represent the founders of Songring; however, I have trouble understanding the element of the Alder included in the base, and why it was chosen as a symbol to represent the name of Songring. I have tried many times to ask Coat-of-Arms about this piece, but each time he has shrugged me off claiming that he simply wishes it to mean what the beholder wishes it to mean. Artists can be so complicated sometimes, but either way, I am both thankful and in awe of the piece he has given us. I have set it in my office, and I am sure I will pass it onto the next leader of Songring once it is time for me to leave. I believe it will make a fine artifact in remembrance of what we are doing here, and though I do not understand it, I have become somewhat attached to the idea of the Alder being the official symbol of Songring. I will reflect on this image a bit and hopefully come up with some idea of what it means.

The courier arrived this month as well. I received a letter from Twilight, and sent off both of my letters. Since I have already left a copy of my response to the Princess, I will only stow Twilight’s letter and my response for this season.
To keep a promise of mine, I will give a recount of one more personal happening before I wrap up this journal. It was actually last night, as I was putting away my clothes to be washed and preparing myself for bed, that I looked out of my window to see something quite odd. There was a small glimmer down on the beach, and a dark figure sat near it at the water's edge beside a crate. I watched the motionless figure for a while before the intrigue became too great and I redressed to go explore the situation.

As I approached the figure, it shifted, and I immediately saw the faint color of two large golden eyes as they stared at me, waiting. It was discomforting at first, but I pressed onward and examined the flicker of light. It was a candle, which was pushed into what I could make out to be the shape of a cupcake sitting on top of a crate. When I was within a few feet of the creature, I could finally see its equine shape. I recognized the charcoal-colored fur on its face and the azure and pearl striped mane. It was Overcast sitting alone on the beach.

"Hello, Mr. Benjamen Prodder..." He hung his head a bit as he looked over to the dining hall and back to the dormitory once more. The lights in both were off, as everyone else had already gone to bed. "At least two still counts as a party."

"Overcast, what are you doing out here? Everyone's already gone to sleep."

"I guess you didn't come for it either then. My mistake. I'm sorry for assuming, Mr. Benjamen Prodder," he told me, hanging his head once more and I could see the sadness well up in his eyes glimmering in the candlelight. "I was just hoping that maybe somepony would visit me on what was supposed to be my special day." I watched him quietly as he pushed the wooden crate between us. "Nopony showed up for my birthday party, Mr. Benjamen Prodder. I guess this would be the second year in a row now. I was once told it was supposed to be my day, the one day where everypony would have to pay attention to me. I guess that's only true for some ponies."

"I had no idea today was your birthday, Overcast."

"I gave my letter to you about it to Dawnstar. You were busy as usual, and I asked if she'd make sure you got it. I suppose you just didn't think it was worth reading. I don't blame you Mr. Benjamen Prodder."

I sat down on the sand with him at that time, asking him how long ago he had given her that letter. I let him know that I had never received it.

"A couple of weeks ago. I sent it to ask if you'd tell everypony for me that my birthday was today, since they listen to you and all. I'm still glad that at least you showed up, even if it was just to ask what I was doing." With that, he pulled the cupcake closer to himself and looked up to me sadly with his ears pinned back against his head. I had seen him down and depressed rather often, but this was the first time I had truly seen him on the verge of tears as he sniveled and asked me, "Will you at least sing the song for me before my day is over? That's all I'd need, Mr. Benjamen Prodder; then I'll go to bed so you don't have to worry about me."

I tried to speak, but my throat tightened and I found myself sitting across from him wordlessly. The guilt weighed heavily on me then as he whimpered a quiet, "Please..." under his breath. All he wanted was a single day to be heard and to be recognized; just one day where the attention was focused on him for once. We couldn't even give him that. I could understand why it would be so important to him, and my failure to provide it for him choked me up so much that I couldn't even sing him a simple birthday song to make him feel like at least somebody cared.

I had to let my actions speak for me instead. As he leaned in to blow out the candle in the darkness, I snatched it free and hurled it into the ocean behind him, bounding to my feet to do it. I left the cupcake on the crate and motioned for him to go ahead and eat it. After a few deep breaths, I felt my throat release, and I shook my head. "No. I won't sing you that song because we don't have everyone else here to do it with me. Enjoy your cupcake and let's both head to bed for tonight, Overcast. Your birthday party will be tomorrow; I’m sorry that it is going to be a little late this year."

"You don't have to do that, Mr. Benjamen Prodder. There's always next year... and you'll know then, right? I don't want you to go through all of this trouble just for me. I didn't mean to guilt trip you; I just wanted somepony to wish me a happy birthday."

"I'm not doing this because I'm obligated to," I told him as I set my hand on what I could perceive to be his shoulder, "If that was the case, I'd just sing you the song, tell you I was sorry, and be done with it. I'm doing this because I think you're worth it." In the darkness around us, all I could see was the glimmer of his golden eyes again looking back up at me. "Come on now; enjoy your treat to hold you over until your real party. Tomorrow's going to be a big day."

After he had finished his birthday treat, and while I walked him back to the dormitory, he told me that I was his best friend, and that even though life here is hard each day, it is worth it to get to meet a great pony like me. This humors me a little considering that I'm not even a pony, but it's also heartwarming to know that he can look past that and see me as an equal. Even though it is praise, I feel humbled by it; maybe I do disconnect myself from them much more than I should. If he can view me as an equal, why shouldn't I be able to do the same? If he can call me his best friend... There's no reason I shouldn't be able to say that about a pony as well.

I spent the rest of my night planning his birthday celebration. I have never been a personal fan of parties, finding them much too crowded, loud, and hectic for me to enjoy. This leads to the problem of me not quite understanding what makes a good party. I am fortunate to have my journal here though, for I have been reviewing a special entry left for me a long time ago by a certain individual. Let me quote her as to what I have been using as a guide:

“We were still putting up the piñata because it kept falling out of the rope. The candles on the cake were just being lit too! If only he had stayed for a little longer he would have seen everything we had set up for him. There was cake and ice cream and candy and colorful candles and balloons and games, and I even got some sweet tunes to play for us because we were going to have a dancing competition!”

We lack quite a few of the essentials she has listed, so I have instead used it to get some general ideas. Overall, I see music, bright colored decorations, sweet foods, and games. The music will be a bit of a challenge considering that I am not very musically inclined, and while I could normally just use a speaker deck connected to my I/O ports back on Terriel, I lack the equipment for it. Julienne will be handling the cake and sweets preparation, and Teardrop and Bustier are my primary choices for a decorating committee. I will have to consider what kind of games one might play here as well.

Wish me luck. Time for me to go be the Master of Ceremonies for my first party here in Equestria. Well, the first one that I will be fully attending. Cheers.

Author's Note

I do not speak French. Researched the French phrases used within, but if anyone who does understand the language better than I can see any problems, please let me know.

33+: Letters

Dear Benjamen,

You certainly have a way with words to toy with a pony's mind like you do. When left with the question of if I would give you another chance, I thought at first I might have to spend some time thinking on it; perhaps finally deciding on addressing you with a guarded disposition until such a time that I felt you would not betray my trust again, however, I was not given such leisure. Reading over your request makes it nearly impossible for me to remain upset over something that I can, and want to believe was truly just a mistake and a cultural misunderstanding. I forgive you, Benjamen, and I will give you another chance. I also want you to know that your sentiments are not too much: We miss you back here as well.

I want to address your question about the deicidian ponies before I scribble on to more pleasant parts of life back here in Ponyville. I'm sorry, but I just did not have much time between receiving this letter and writing the response to do much research on it. I got sidetracked when the Best Young Flyer Competition arrived, and I was busy researching spells to help us all attend. There were... complications, to say the least. I did find something for you though, so I'm not completely empty-hoofed!

Before I start doing all this research for you, however, I think it's only fair that we make this a trade instead of a favor. I propose that if you get to ask me questions, it's only fair that you have to answer some of mine as well in these letters. How does that offer tempt your intellect? Is a bit of questioning about you too high of a price to exchange for the wealth of knowledge here in my library?

Alright, now for what I was able to find on the deicidians on such short notice: The word Deicidian (rather ominous word, isn't it?) doesn't come up in formal dictionaries from what I can see. What I was able to locate was just myths detailing them the same way most scary stories like to play up boogeyponies and monsters. Its said that there are many types, and that they are all deformed creatures who were once ponies that got left behind when the royalty and their closest constituents left our original homeland in search of more hospitable climates ages ago. Some rumors exist that say they prey on fillies and colts that wander into the woods alone; others state they like to feed on the blood of the living. Some even claim they live in the water of marshlands and drag their prey to drown them. Aside from old-mares'-tales and superstitions, however, there's nothing concrete I could find for you on this. Sorry about that.

In case you are interested in my offer, then it'd be my turn to get to ask you something: I want to know about where you're from. We already discussed some of the bigger things like politics and such, but I want to know some things closer to home. What was it like growing up back on Terriel? What are the family dynamics there? If there aren’t ponies living there, then what creatures do? My curiosity begs me to ask.

In personal news, the Young Flyer's Competition went really well this year. Rainbow Dash was able to take first place, due to some heroics she pulled at the last-minute, and got to spend a whole day with the Wonderbolts. That's the name of the elite flying group you were trying to think of, and no, she's still not been inducted into it yet. She's still determined to keep trying though, and is a lot closer now than she was before at least!

I had a few requests to send some things to you with this letter, mostly sentiments from the others who worry about how you're doing out there. Applejack wanted me to mention that you'd be welcome to show off those blisters and muscles at the farm sometime where she could see for herself. Rarity had a care package to send along to you in a suitcase, but I had to let her know that the courier was going to be weighed down enough with the letters as it is, and the spare clothes she wanted to send along to alleviate your “fashion disaster” just could not be sent right now. Fluttershy wanted to let you know that the tanks really like it if you rub the skin behind the plated crowns that cover their necks. (Maybe that will help you?) Pinkie was mostly concerned with asking when your birthday is supposed to be, since she never got that information while you were here, as well as how old you are. Would you mind letting me know so I can tell her?

I also had one last thought to ask you about. Since you're on the beach, maybe we could all come visit for a vacation sometime. Would that be okay with you? I'm sure everypony would enjoy the chance for a short getaway. Just let me know if you think there'd ever be a good time for us to drop by!

Yours,
Twilight Sparkle

Dear Twilight,

You want to vacation out here? Really? I suppose just hearing that it was a seaside settlement with bright and varied individuals to meet and be annoyed by might make it seem okay, but let me assure you, all of us here at Songring would call you insane or handicapped for even suggesting coming to a place like this for recreation. If you really like spending your free time scratching because of the salt left on your skin from bathing in the ocean and being crammed into a dormitory while sleeping next to all of your coworkers, then by all means come on down! We have more than enough work and headache to go around! In all seriousness however, no. I do not foresee a time in the near future that I would be able to honestly say that Songring is ready for visitors or tourists. I apologize if I upset any plans that anyone might have been making back there.

I'm quite relieved to hear that everything back in Ponyville is going alright. Things in the settlement have been rather turbulent. We had a mishap here that led to an unfortunate casualty, and it has taken some time for us to recover from the shock, myself a bit longer than others. There was fear of a food shortage that was finally dispelled, which was a load off of my shoulders. Not everything has been bad though.

I have an assistant now. Celestia sent a bright, young unicorn here to Songring by the name of Dawnstar. She is from a prestigious school in Canterlot and has been assigned an internship to learn about my position. Right now she and I are at odds with one another, but I think perhaps that matter is something I'd best discuss once it’s resolved. I cannot write an unbiased or fair description of her right now.

In regards to your offer of a mutual exchange of information, I am happy to accept your terms. As brief as my time in Ponyville was, I suppose we did not get many chances to speak privately. I don't know if the other ponies we were around would have cared as much to hear me prattle on about something that might as well be a fairy tale here. I have many more questions to ask as well, so this gives me a way to feel like I am not wasting your time with my constant queries. One that has recently come to my attention and I hope you will not mind me asking: Where do baby ponies come from exactly? The answer to that might settle my mind on quite a few quandaries.

As for your questions, that could make for a very long letter, and I just don't know if I have enough paper for it. Perhaps a brief description would sate you until we can meet for a longer discussion. Family dynamics back on Terriel are influenced heavily by location and culture. The distinct beliefs, customs, and even legislation can vary wildly between the Judicial Districts (somewhat like your provinces, but smaller). In Judicial District 7 where I am from, most would like to believe that a family exists of a working father, a caretaking mother, and between one and three well-behaved and aspiring children. Such a wish is rarely the case, however. A good example would be my own home life. I am an only child, and my biological father left home when I was rather young. Years later, my mother remarried to a man of relative wealth, a doctor, so he became my stepfather. Do ponies by chance have matrimony? If they do, then does one take the last name of the other? Mr. and Mrs. Cake lead me to think so, but maybe I am mistaking the situation. That is the way it is on Terriel, yet my mother insisted that I retain my biological father's last name. That's why I am Benjamen Prodder and not Benjamen Aledrew (perhaps her reason was just because the latter sounds terrible when put together?). Growing up there was not too different from what young ponies here must experience, without the struggle of finding a cutie mark. Instead, we decide for ourselves what we wish to be good at, and study in universities and academies to prepare ourselves for that future role. So honestly, the young life of most on Terriel is one of education, while those less fortunate spend their youth on the streets learning the trade of urban survival. I am afraid that I just cannot relate to that side of life on Terriel, so forgive my briefness in describing it.

As we discussed, there are no ponies on Terriel, only horses, which are not intelligent creatures like you. That does not mean humans are the only intelligent life. The closest to your species would be the Equinyr, which are bipedal humanoids with fur and long, bestial faces like that of a horse. Lepolines are rather small creatures (usually only three feet in height at the tallest) that share similarities with the Equinyr, except they seem to more closely resemble rabbits or felines depending on their gender (males typically have long and floppy ears, while females have long tails). Hemodostans might be the largest folk on Terriel, standing as tall as eight feet or so at times. They have dark red skin, and often very imposing musculature. Lufae are rather common in Judicial District 7, more so than most of the others that I just mentioned. They are much like humans, but of a shorter stature, and have peculiar eyecolors with slit pupils. They have very fine, clear hair all over their body that makes them feel silky to the touch, and they also have long tails with a tuft of hair at the very end. The only other two that come to mind are the Aguayan and the Archimedimite, the first of which are creatures of the same relative size as Lepolines but with more humanoid features, except for a lack of color in their eyes and skin (this gives them the characteristic of changing color when they are frightened or upset to camouflage themselves). The latter are people that resemble owls. In truth, they have nothing in common with them except for feathers, but their faces are commonly thought to be owl-like even though the "beak" that is seen on their face is not a mouth or a nose: It is a large tooth located between the eyes. They do not have wings, but a webbing of feather-covered skin connects from their waist to the end of their arms and allows the lighter of the species to glide. Hopefully that can suffice to give you an idea of the species I am familiar with back on Terriel.

On the thought of my birthday and age, I'm afraid that I cannot answer the first. I have had a very difficult time trying to understand the differences in timekeeping here in Equestria as compared to back home on Terriel, so I do not understand your calendar at all. I know of no way to translate what I know to be my birthday into a date you might recognize; however, I think I have deduced that a single year here is only half the length of a year back on Terriel, so by your own standards I am 36, or 18 where I am from. How does that relate to pony years? I suppose the best example is that my age is the starting point for individuals in Judicial District 7 to be considered adults, as they can then join active military service and consume alcohol (and other controlled substances). Perhaps that will help you translate my age.

Please let everyone know that I am still thinking of them. As I had feared, I have run out of spare paper to use for this letter and cannot send them all personalized messages at this time. I must close now and go get prepared to host a party for one of the settlers, so I will eagerly await your next letter when the courier arrives.

Yours Busily,
Benjamen Prodder

34: Indignance

I have to blow off some steam. I find it difficult to grasp my pen properly because I keep trying to hold it in my fist due to my frustration right now. It would look terrible if I tried to write while holding it like a child throwing a tantrum, however, so I will simply take a few deep breaths and recount what has me so flustered at this time. Perhaps a few better topics to start with will help me regain a level head and unbiased recount of what happened. I would like to try and keep it at least remotely professional.

I should probably start by saying that Overcast's party was a huge success. Even with my limited knowledge of how to manage a celebration like that, the rest of the ponies were more than willing to take matters into their own hands to make up for it. I approached Julienne once she was at her station, and merely mentioned the word "Party" before I saw a sack of flour ripped open next to her and measuring cups already on the move across the counter.

Before noon, the dining hall looked like a rainbow had exploded inside of it and was still leaking color into other parts of the settlement from all of the decorating they had done.

There was the issue of games, but Willow was able to help inspire at least a couple of amusements when he picked up a branch and swung it over my head to knock a hornet out of the air. When I instinctively ducked under the swing, two ideas came to mind: Limbo and a Piñata. We had no candy for the piñata, but Teardrop was crafty enough to make some glitter out of salt and dye, which surprised quite a few ponies when the piñata (a ceramic jug with some bright paint on it) finally burst open to create a shimmering cascade of bright powder throughout the dining hall.

Music was solved somewhat easily once I brought it up. Rabbitfoot knew how to make a drum, and with a little help from Willow who whittled out a hollow cylinder, he was able to secure some taut, tanned, leather material over each side. The drumbeat, combined with a bit of hoof stomping and Salmon's ability to whistle in three octaves created a rather intriguing sound throughout the party. Of course everyone also sang Overcast that birthday song he wanted to hear. I did not join in, but only because I had no idea what the lyrics were. I will have to memorize it eventually, but I believe he forgives me for having to sit out on the singing while I learn the words.

Overall it was an enjoyable experience to be a part of, and even though I cut out of the party a bit early to return to my office and sift through some work orders, reports, and building plans I had been given the day before, I could still hear the festivities continuing for a couple of hours afterward. I was still smiling as I had to light a few candles to continue working that evening. It seemed the whole settlement was quite happy, except one individual.

"Where have you been?" I heard Dawnstar chime to me from the second story of my office as she came down the stairs, her typically neatly-combed mane in a frazzled state as she glared out of my window toward the loud dining hall. "A whole day wasted with nothing to show for it. Can you believe this? I've been trying to find you most of the day to see if you'd talk some sense into them, but you've been off and about doing Celestia knows what! You could at least try to be professional and leave a note explaining your absences."

"Ah, my apologies, I wasn't aware that I had to explain myself to my intern as though she were my supervisor." I spoke with quite a bit of venom as I finished scrawling an idea on one of the building plans for Blueprint to review and finally looked up. "I should have been more aware that you're in charge around here though, considering you've even gone so far as to take censorship of my postage into your own hands. Am I in your desk too?"

Dawnstar stared at me in bewilderment, mouth agape as I scowled from my desk. "What?" She began, shaking her head in refusal. "I'm not in charge here, you are. I'm just a student; I was just saying that you could at least be bothered to let your assistant know where you're going off to in case something important comes up. If you need an example, perhaps you'd like to know that today's productivity was approximately 0% as everypony dilly-dallied about for some silly party?" Whipping her mane out of her face, she shot me an indignant look, "And what do you mean censoring your postage?"

"Oh, so you aren't in charge? That's right, I remember now! You're just some bookworm from Canterlot looking to become a leader one day who is here to learn from my example, and I happen to be the one who is the Development Coordinator here in Songring. Color me surprised; by the way you are rebuking me for not having a doctor's notice and an eye witness account for my absence today, I could swear you either have to be my mother or my boss!"

"You're obviously in a poor mood, Mr. Prodder. I think it would be best if we just parted ways for now until you're able to get a grip on yourself and speak like an adult," she barked, ready to head back up the stairs to her own little corner of my dining room to wait for me to "Grow up".

"Oh no, I believe we should talk this out right now. Speaking of bad moods, do you know what Overcast was up to last night? He was sitting alone on the beach with a cupcake he had stolen from the storeroom as a birthday present to himself. He was waiting on anyone to show up that even knew he existed to just say happy birthday to him. Poor thing. But who’s to blame? He didn't put in a request for anyone's attention between 7-14 business days beforehand, and we can't be bothered with such petty concerns as his special day of the year if he can't be inconvenienced to give us proper notice." I saw her bite her lower lip at that statement, and in my ire I slammed my pen to my desk and sat up to continue badgering. "Or do you by chance have something you wish to give me?"

"I am not censoring your mail!" she protested, stamping her hoof to the ground. "It was just a simple, stupid letter asking you to announce his birthday to everypony! You're much too busy to do something so asinine as to give daily announcements like that. Overcast can get the initiative to tell everypony himself, or he can spend his day alone! We have much more important objectives right now than placating everypony!"

"Oh, so you're not censoring my mail? Yet you read and refused to give a letter, that was addressed to me, to me? Please, go on: I want to know what you'd call this then. What terminology can you pull from your grammatical pucker to justify this?"

"I don't have to take this verbal abuse, Mr. Prodder," she informed me, turning her head away as she started towards the door with a huff. "You're just being a boor, and I'll not stand for it."

"True, you don't have to take it, but you're fired if you walk out that door. Hope you're ready to walk all the way back to Canterlot tonight if that's your choice." There was a choking silence that followed as she stopped with the unseen grasp of her horn having halfway turned the handle of my office door. I watched as she turned back around with a fearful visage; her ears lowered as she had to trudge back in front of my desk. "You're right: You don't have to take this verbal abuse, so I'll go ahead and sum it all up into a few simple rules so you can go about your night. You do not have the right to censor my mail: Anything you receive that is addressed to me will go straight from the sender's hand to my desk with nothing in between. You do not have the right to decide what is or is not important enough for my attention: You will not omit any details, facts, or opinions you are given from your reports to me. You do not have the right to tell me how to do my job: You are here to learn from me and you will conduct yourself like an understudy acting under my direction, not the other way around. Are we clear?"

It was obvious that she'd had enough by that time as she looked at me, lips tight, and simply nodded. I was unable to tell if she wanted to shout at me or cry, but it was enough to let me know that the message had gotten through. After the quiet continued for a minute longer, she uttered a soft, "Yes sir, I understand."

"Good. Now, you may go about your night. The party is still going on I believe; it would mean a lot to Overcast if you'd show up and wish him a happy birthday." With that she finally left, and I locked the door behind her to have a little time alone. As I've been writing, Willow has repeatedly tapped on my window, trying to get me to unlock the door and let him in. I can only assume he was out there for the entire conversation, and has something he wants to say to me about it. I really don't want to hear it to be honest. As I have refused to hear him out, he has spent the last ten minutes trying to condensate my window with his breath. He seems to have succeeded, and is writing something with his tongue.

"TOTALE BAWS."

Oh lord, he can't spell.

35: Washed Out

In Aguayian tradition, water has always been used in their proverbs and culture to represent their ideas of wisdom: Finding the path of least resistance, and being able to adapt and conform to any situation one is thrust into. Archimedimite ideals dictate that water is the greatest symbol of metamorphosis, rebirth, and ultimately, a humble representation of the common ups and downs in life itself. As the old owl saying goes: "Like the rains will we fall, but only after, can we rise once more." Equinyr, Humans, and Lufae alike all wish to relate water to life-giving: Life cannot exist without it.

I can only perceive water to be the sign of oppression, destruction, and the sadism of fate right now.

The nip of winter’s coolness is noticeable tonight as I write, and I understand that the difficult season is the least of my worries right now. My clothes are still wet from the constant rains that have been falling this week, and I fear I may soon become ill due to these conditions. This still is not the full extent of my issues, however, as I am left alone sitting on the rocky cliffs overlooking the abandoned dining hall on the beach. There are no lights burning tonight aside from the one beside me, and the ones in my office where a few of the settlers are huddled together to spend the night.

It started about a week ago. Seasonal rains started coming in quite strong after the midway mark of Autumn, and were making conditions out here in Songring a bit difficult. A few caught some sinus ailments and were forced into the incomplete infirmary, most of which had been finished except for the roof, before the rainy weather started. We had to quarantine the sick there in hopes of avoiding an epidemic within the close sleeping quarters of the dormitory. The best we could do was to try and secure some tarps over the building to hold out the rainfall. We were forced to dig out drainage paths for the water before too long, attempting to force it to run off into the ocean so the ponds and lakes nearby would not rise too high and endanger the fields. We feared this might already be a lost cause because of the amount of soil the rains were carrying off. Things did not reach critical levels until yesterday, however

I believe it was around 1:00pm when the wind began howling violently over us, and the pounding rain with it made visibility impossible. All of the ponies pulled back into the dormitory waiting for the rain and wind to subside since there was no way that work topside could continue. I was not sure what was happening, but the continual increase in wind speeds prompted me to have Willow and Teak nail some wooden boards over the windows in case they shattered from the force. The weather was like nothing I had ever seen before, and continued to simply get worse and worse as the next hour passed. Dawnstar went with Willow as they left for the infirmary to supervise the reinforcement of that building as well, and I was left to comfort the ponies until the storm subsided.

At approximately 2:30pm when Dawnstar returned alone (Willow having stayed behind to help keep the infirmary settled), she began taking roll call and marking a record of who was accounted for. I remember I was huddled next to Teardrop who could not stop crying. She was afraid of what might become of Garnet, as nobody had seen her cat since the commotion began. All I could do at the time was assure her that Garnet would be alright and give her a shoulder to bury her face into. Springfield took my place and held the distraught little pony when Dawnstar approached me with a grim look and requested my attention.

"I have accounted for 41 ponies after double-checking, Mr. Prodder."

41? I had trouble understanding what she was telling me, a part of me refusing to believe what she was claiming. "What do you mean 41? There are 42 ponies in Songring."

Dawnstar slowly nodded to me, steeling her nerves as she tried to speak again with some difficulty. Her voice was shaky as she struggled to remain calm under the circumstances. "I have only been able to count out 41 between the dormitory and the Infirmary." While I still could not respond, she finally looked down to her clipboard and shuddered as she spoke out the name of the missing individual. "Silence... is absent."

"Silence?" I repeated the name a bit stupidly at first, before looking to the boarded windows fruitlessly. "Where is she then?"

"I don't know, Mr. Prodder. If I knew, I would have her accounted for."

My panic subsided for only a moment when Salmon piped up from the group behind me and stepped forward to address us. "The mines, boy. Where else would a miner be?"

Dawnstar heaved a sigh of relief, noting that she would be safe from the winds if that was the case. Her reprieve was interrupted when she caught me struggling to swing the door open, and buttoning down my coat to keep it from flapping in the strong winds. "Mr. Prodder!? Get back in here! What are you doing!?"

"I've got to go make sure she's okay," I called back, doing my best to force the door closed against the wind. "Keep everyone here and make sure to keep the door closed until the winds stop! I'll be back with Silence as soon as I can!"

"Are you insane? She's fine! Don't throw yourself into peril like this for nothing!" Dawnstar called back as the door finally started to give way under my insistent presses.

"She's not nothing! I have to check on her!" I shouted before the door slammed under my weight, and I got to view the carnage that was ensuing outside of the dormitory now. Debris from the refuse piles to the north had been picked up by the strong winds and was being flung at terrifying speeds, and the trees off to the west had started to bow and blow over with thundering crashes. I could barely remain on my feet with the powerful gusts. I lost my footing as I tried to take a step and the slick mud gave way beneath my foot throwing me to the ground. I began to drag myself towards the beach so I could reach the storeroom, but my heart sank when I saw that the beach was no more: Just the top half of the dining hall poking up out of the rising ocean that beat against the rocky cliff faces below me.

The entrance to the storeroom was already halfway submerged, and was nearly impossible to navigate. Grabbing a shovel floating nearby, I was able to prop open the crack in the door I had been able to manage and use the leverage to pry the door the rest of the way open. As the water began flooding in, I could see the entrance to the mines still open as well, but the stairwells were slick with rushing water flowing down them. Luckily the torches suspended on the walls had remained lit as they were above the current water level, so I had some light to guide me as I grabbed a sack and tied a rope to it, securing the other end of the rope to a wall in the storeroom. Tossing the sack down the stairs, I rested myself on the steps and let the water flush me down into the mines to keep from slipping on the slick stone.

At the bottom, I stumbled to my feet and began calling to Silence past the roaring flow of the water coming down the stairwells behind me. Again and again I called her name, knowing she could not answer, and only hoping dearly that I would see her bright mane peek out from one of the shafts or her voice come flooding through my thoughts. Trudging through the waters, I finally lost my footing and was swept by the current into an object that gave way as we both were pushed to the side. The flailing splashes beneath me brought a moment of joy as I groped for the neck of the creature to hold it up with me against the wall.

"What's happening? Who's here?" is all I could hear of Silence's thoughts through the frazzled and hectic noises as I pulled her up as much as I could to let her get her footing once again. "Help me," is all I heard afterwards as she looked at me, perhaps not even recognizing who I was. I remember her steel-colored eyes were filled with panic, and a discordant beat of words hummed under her surface thoughts to me. With a push, I tried to guide her back in the direction of the stairs, doing my best to keep my own footing against the sweeping waters with slow steps. I called out instructions as best as I could, leading her back to the sack bobbing in the rising water, after which I told her to grab the collar of my shirt in her mouth and push me up the stairs while I pulled us along the secured rope.

Our combined strength allowed us to make it back into the storeroom, past the water pouring down the stairwells and rapidly filling the mines behind us. Our victory was short lived, however, as time seemed to be running ever thinner and the door was now completely submerged by the sea; a torrent of water was splashing through and flooding back into the stairwell. Still clinging to the wet rope in my hands, I struggled to come up with a way to get past the water blocking the door, but I froze up: There seemed to be no way that we could muster the strength to swim past the currents of the ocean forcing its way through the open portal. Silence trudged past me while I thought, and as the water reached my stomach, I called out to her desperately. "I need some help, Silence! I don't have a plan!"

When I caught sight of her again, she was pulling a tabby cat off of one of the liquor kegs and holding it by the nape of its neck in her mouth. Helplessness and fear outlined her features as she stared back at me with a slow shake of her head. Saving the poor feline was all that she could do, and all she could muster from her hazy thoughts. "I don't know what to do, Mr. Prodder. I don't know what we can do. I need help."

"You need to remain calm," I called back immediately. I had gotten an idea seeing her stand near the kegs: If they could hold liquor in, they could hold water out. One of the empty kegs that was waiting to be filled at the still bobbed uselessly in the water. We both grabbed for it when I told her that we could use it to get out of there. The lid was already removed, and Silence was able to lift it above the water level with her horn to dump it out. She kept trying to hand me the cat, which did not help the situation as I looked to the doorway and knew there would be absolutely no way to get the creature safely through the torrent of water. Even as she simply held the tabby up to me, it was flailing about with claws extended, and spitting hisses. In my fury, I grabbed it by the nape of the neck and threw it in the barrel before slamming the lid over it. The shovel I had used to open the door to the storeroom was floating against the wall, and I used it to deliver a powerful blow to the top of the barrel, securing the lid down tight. Loosening the rope from the wall and doing the best I could to secure it to the keg, we both pushed the buoyant barrel towards the door. It took both our combined might and her magic to push the airtight barrel through the doorway, but we finally felt the container thrust outward through the water and make an audible plop and splash outside as it resurfaced above the water level.

I knew I didn't have the strength to pull Silence with me if she hung on to me while I pulled myself up the rope, but she did not have the grip she'd need to pull herself out. I paused, noting the lack of time left as the water was now up to my chest, and I gripped the rope with both hands. "I'm going up. Grab the rope in your mouth and don't let go no matter what: I'll have to pull you out from the other side."

"You can't," she begged me instantly, her pleading eyes glimmering in the torchlight, "Please don't leave me here." The moment of quiet as I reached back to touch her face was filled with panicked pleas for me to stay or to at least try to pull her with me. "You can't leave me; I don't want to die alone down here."

"You're not going to die!" I shouted, shoving the rope in her mouth insistently before pulling myself as fast as I could through the waterfall blocking the door. "I promise that I'm not going to abandon you! You just have to trust me! Now don't drop that for anything!" I could hear her sobbing at the sight of me leaving her there alone as I took a deep breath and plunged myself through the roaring waters, at which point I could hear nothing past the gushing flood rolling over my face and head.

It took at least a minute of struggle, each moment a fight against the forceful flow pushing me back toward the deathtrap of the storeroom. The water continued to beat against me and slipped between my fingers inhibiting each desperate grasp of the rope. Silence was counting on me, however, and the sound of her terrified weeping burned in my submerged ears as I refused to let up. I was finally able to feel my head break the surface of the water, allowing me to gasp for air and paddle to the rocky base of the cliff, pulling the rope and barrel with me. As I tried to scale up the side of the cliff face, I found the barrel to be too heavy and large to carry up, so I was only able to use the slack in the rope to keep it with me, slung over my shoulder. All I could think of was the image of the look in her eyes when I left her. All I could hear in my head was her sobbing alone in the flooding storeroom as she hoped for me to keep my promise. I couldn't let her down; I couldn't let her die down there, but as the give in the rope disappeared I could not escape feeling helpless to do anything; I was not even at the top of the cliff yet.

That was until I felt something grab my collar, and heard the loud, boisterous voice of Salmon shout out a bellowing, "Heave!" My feet left the water as my collar was thrust into my neck, choking me and almost causing me to lose grip on the rope. The barrel now came with me as I was thrown over the top of the ledge to land in Maple's lap. She still had my collar in her mouth, with Springfield and Salmon both hugging her waist as they had ripped me free of the high tide. It was then that I scrambled up to hoist the barrel over the ledge and towards me, motioning with panic for everyone to grab onto the rope with me and begin pulling. Without me even having to say anything, Salmon bellowed out with another loud, "Ready! Grip! Heave!" With that, all three of the ponies and I tugged on the rope with all of our might through the howling gusts of wind and battering rain. "Heave!" he called once again through his clenched teeth, as we all began to back up.

What seemed like minutes passed before our effort shone through: The light pelt and bright mane appeared from below. Silence was hoisted over the edge into a crumpled, shaking heap, still clinging to the rope in her mouth with everything in her. Before I could act, Salmon was already at her side and pulling the rope from her mouth. "Atta girl, c'mon lass, you've done good. You're all right now; Don't stand up, Springfield will be here in a moment to carry you back. Are you hurt? Can you breathe?" I wanted to approach and help, but the lilac farmpony rushed past me to aid her as well. With Salmon's help, they managed to throw her over Springfield's back and he began a steady trudge, under the added weight, back to the dormitory.

"What the nightmare, Ben?"

I barely even caught that someone was speaking to me as I watched on, turning to see Maple's jade eyes only inches from mine as she stood close to me. One of her hooves was around my waist, motioning for me to wrap my arm around her neck so she could help me remain standing against the roaring gusts. "I think I can still walk," I stuttered back, heaving for breaths as I let her begin guiding me slowly.

"You can't do this to us, Ben. We thought we might have lost you there. You can't do that to me."

"I have to get Garnet," I told her as I pulled away and towards the barrel where the cat was probably suffering from PTSD by now.

"Where is he? I'll go get him. You need to head back to the dorm and let everypony know you're okay."

When I told her that he was in the barrel, she cautiously left my side, after pushing me to the door, to go and collect it. I stumbled back to the dorm, finding relief once I was able to grasp the side of the building and was no longer threatened by the wind pulling me off my feet.

I didn't even get to say a word when the door was opened for me as I slammed my hand against it. I felt someone pull me in and heard Dawnstar calling out orders to the ponies inside. My soaked shirt was taken off and a blanket thrown over my shoulders. I felt myself ushered to one of the nearby beds to sit down. I am not very clear on who all spoke to me at that time. My thoughts were too preoccupied with what had just happened: What was I thinking? I could have been killed. I had thrown myself into a watery coffin without even taking a moment's notice to consider how irrational that was. I threw my life on the line without regard to my own safety. There was so much noise and movement going on, all I can really remember is Overcast tending to me by removing my shoes and socks and using another blanket to dry my hair before Springfield and Salmon got back with Silence. Lastly, Maple rolled the barrel into the dorm and the door was finally shut for good.

The storm continued to rage on outside for the next couple of hours, the loud howling wind drowning out the quiet and worried speech going on around me. There was a short break somewhere in the storm, in which I thought it might be safe to leave, but Salmon informed me to stay put while the “eye” passed over us. I am not sure what he meant by that, but it was a wise decision as the storm flared back up once again outside only twenty minutes later. I am unsure, but I believe it was not until 5:45pm when the aggressive winds finally quieted outside, and the downpour became just a regular gentle rainfall once more. There seemed to be no in-between for the violent weather to change over to a drizzly atmosphere within a span of ten minutes or so. By that time I had recovered, and was on my feet and ready to finally be able to get some fresh air from the cramped dorm.

Nobody rejoiced though when we finally stepped outside. The devastation was unbelievable. In the few hours that the storm had taken to pass, it had torn what little we had in Songring to pieces. The beach was completely submerged, with only the very top of the roof of the dining hall still poking up out of the water (what was left of the roof anyways). The infirmary over the submerged beach was in shambles, but we saw Willow across the water. He called back to us to let us know everyone was okay despite the terrible appearance of the structure. The dorm was beaten up by this time, and the windows were all shattered and broken, with a few smaller objects lodged in the wooden structure. The only building that seemed to have withstood the storm was my office, as it was made of stone and stood high above the flooding waters on the beach. The storeroom was still not visible beneath the water, and the fields had all but been washed away by the heavy rains that accompanied the storm. Trees were overturned in the forests to the west, and debris and refuse were scattered all about.

Songring had been destroyed.

I still can't believe it. In the span of a few hours, what had taken us nearly two years to make had been deconstructed. All of our work is lost. As I sit here, I can't even fathom a way to begin reclaiming this place after such a disaster. The only building that is still reliably standing is my office, and we have lost all of our supplies due to the flooding that overtook the storeroom.

As we all stood together, there was a long silence between us while we merely viewed the destruction. It was a silence of mourning, as all the ponies stared upon what was once their home: Now nothing more than a flooded wreck. After a while, I realized they were all looking at me instead. All of their eyes had fallen on me with wanting glances and pleading stares. They wanted answers. They wanted me to tell them what to do about this, or what was going to happen next. Even Overcast stepped up and sat down next to me with the question, "What now, Mr. Benjamen Prodder?"

I didn't have an answer, so I merely shrugged. It was all gone, and there was nothing I could do about it. I didn't hear any protests from the ponies, as a few of them finally stood up and began rummaging through the wreckage around us, for what they could perceive to be their belongings, and went to gather their friends and relatives who were still resting in the infirmary. I watched as one by one, they picked up what they could and simply headed to the Southwest into the tree lines. We had no wagons and no carts for them to take. Merely taking what they could wrap up in a blanket and secure to their sides, they began leaving to go back to The Sun of Chance. 42 became 30. Then 20. After a couple of hours, while I stayed lost in my stupor, there were only 8 ponies still standing around me as we waited. Overcast, Teardrop, Springfield, Salmon, Silence, Willow, Dirtnap, and Blueprint remained seated around me, watching me expectantly as the daylight began to fade, and the rains stopped completely.

I finally broke the silence with a cracked voice, unable to keep any strength in my tone as I had just witnessed everything they owned be taken from them in a day's time. After I had just watched everything that we had be torn from us. "What do you want from me? We did all we could. It's over. Go on... go and pack up what you can find. We're done here."

They all seemed unable to believe my words, and in an instant, I saw what it looks like when dreams are broken and hope is snuffed out; like a cold winter gust extinguishing a candlelight. The quiet burble and kisses of the water behind me against the rocky inclines was the only sound I could hear, as each of them came to accept my words and heed my suggestion.

Silence came up to me, grabbing me around my shoulders in an embrace, thanked me for what I had done for her. Her cheek brushed against mine, and I felt her mouth the words against my ear as though she whispered them. I simply patted her on the neck and waited for her sentimental display to end. As she pulled away, she told me telepathically that there was still hope for Songring.

"No, there's not. Just look around you, Silence: It's all washed up. There's nothing left and nothing we can do. We did our best, but some things are not meant to be."

"I'd still be willing to make our stand here with you. Things may look dark, but I will stand with you if you will just let me."

"Just let it die. Be thankful you're alive and well, and perhaps that thought will keep you warm while we head back to Canterlot."

Silence accepted my answer and defeatedly retreated to go find her belongings. Teardrop was the next to come to me with Garnet held in one of her front legs before her. She thanked me for saving Garnet, but I simply waved it off. "I know you may think he's not important enough for your trouble... but thank you for realizing how important he is to me." I didn't have it in me to tell her that it was all I could think to do: To keep the damn cat from clawing me to pieces by throwing it in a barrel; if she wanted to believe I was Garnet's hero, let her. She started to tell me how she thought that maybe we could still make something of this mess, but I told her to drop it. She did as I requested without any argument.

Springfield merely gave me a nod, having nothing to say. His look was one that made me burn a bit with brooding fury; it was disappointment. In me? In the situation? I can't tell, but for him to look me in the eye and nod that way, all I could hear was him saying to me how much I have let him down; how I wasn't trying hard enough.

"So what does this mean for me?" Willow prodded me with his hoof to gather my attention as he wore a stern glance. He is a poor actor, since I could only hear a shaky insecurity in his voice and see a lost and desperate appearance deep in his visage. "Where do I go from here? What am I left with now?"

"It means you move on, and just be happy you've got a life left to live. I don't know where you're going to go from here, and it's none of my damn business anymore. Do what you want, I don't care."

After my cold response, Salmon patted Willow on the shoulder and gently suggested that he go pick a few things up and begin packing. Once the belligerent pony had left, Salmon pulled me to the side with a leg around my shoulders and we both quietly sat there as he looked out into the blue waters worriedly. He bit his lower lip the whole time and I could tell he was thinking, if very slowly, about what to say to me. I didn't want to hear him say anything. He cleared his throat many times before he began. "I used to be a part of the Disaster Relief Corps, you know chap."

"I've heard you spout these stories plenty of times, Salmon. They aren't going to put our settlement back together, so don't even waste my time."

"You're better than this," he said shortly, furrowing his brow and looking at me while he still held me in a half-hug. He did not expound on what he meant, but I could surmise what he was referring to. "I know what it's like to see hard times. This isn't my first hurricane. Tides change, time moves, and you can be certain that sometimes shitwill happen. I have seen ponies rebuild after everything has been lost, and all they needed was some hope to do it, Ben."

"It's not worth it, Salmon," I told him, "It was just an investment that didn't work out."

Salmon finally removed himself from my shoulder and grunted as he looked at the ground. "If that is how you see it... I'm sorry then." As he left my presence, I heard him utter a final remark to me, "You're right to think that hope and will do not just create themselves. They have to come from somewhere or somepony."

Overcast had been sitting beside me for a while before I turned to him with a growl and asked him why he was still just resting there.

"I'm going to go where you go, Mr. Benjamen Prodder." He idly shuffled some mud under his hoof as he said this, "Your side is the only place I feel like I belong."

"I'm going back to Canterlot, so grab your things if that's the case."

"Do you want me to tell Maple that we're not staying?"

I had not thought of her because I did not see her around at the time. She was not with the others, and only then did I realize she was sitting with a keg on top of the roof of the dining hall. Alone, she sat with a tarnished-looking tin mug, gulping lazily on something as she cast a broken roof tile into the water with a splash. "I'll tell her," I told him, walking around to the edge of the incline closest to the roof so she could see me. I kept my hands in my pockets as I gave a sharp whistle to catch her attention, watching her stir and smile at me drunkenly.

"Would you look at this mess?" she asked me casually, reclined on the roof with her mug spilling beside her. "Damn storm surges. Guess nopony thought about that before now. Was a real beater we had going today." I figured the reason she was speaking so easily was because of the alcohol she had been guzzling since I had last seen her. She might have been on that roof for an hour by now with the keg. "It was a great dining hall Overcast built here. Bless his short, mopey head; I hope the little sad sack is going to be okay with his hard work going in the latrine like this."

"Maple, come off of the roof and grab what you can find. We're leaving."

"You're leaving. I'm staying right here," she informed me as she tapped her keg with a hoof and pressed her ear to it to check how much was left inside.

"I don't have it in me to fight with you over this," I told her, "It's time to cut our losses and go home."

"Then do it, nopony's stopping you. Heck, I'm sure even if they wanted to they couldn't with how much of a mule you can be. Have a nice trip, Ben. Hope you don't get caught by the rains again."

"You know I can't leave you here," I told her with a sigh, rubbing my face in exhaustion. "Please be reasonable and just come off of the roof. It'll be getting dark soon, and we have a long trip ahead of us."

"I am being reasonable! I've told you to go do whatever the hay you're going to do! You be the reasonable one this time and let me do what I have to." With that, she placed her hooves behind her head and spread her wings beneath her to recline on the roof with closed eyes. "I already told you, Ben: Some of us don't get to make these kinds of decisions. If you're blessed enough to get to make one, then do it, but don't try to force it on me or guilt me like I even have a choice." She then looked me in the eyes only long enough to tell me, "I'm not asking you to stay, and you can at least respect me enough to not ask me to leave."

"What are you going to do then? If you're going to stay here, then the only option will be to solve the problem." I found myself asking her this familiar question as I watched her incredulously; shoulders slumped as I could not believe her stubborn insistence. "What do you plan to do to fix it?"

The hush between us remained difficult. I thought she might be ignoring me, until a struggled exhale escaped her loudly. "Be a suicidal twat and sit here 'til I die then, I suppose." Her teeth clenched afterwards, and I saw her begin to search for her mug once more for comfort. "At least then, Accidental Death and Dismemberment'll do a better job than me in taking care of the folks. Not like I even have a damn choice..." As much as she tried to hide it, I could hear her tearing up beneath her strong words.

“It’s comforting to see you're still the difficult and headstrong bitch you were when I first met you, Maple."

"Yeah... So what happened that changed you so much then?" I did not know what to say at first, or even what she meant, before she sat up to look me over with what I could perceive to be a demanding... and pained glare. "What happened to the fella who was supposed to make everything okay? What happened to the stallion who was supposed to be there to tell me how to fix it? You didn't give up on me back when I was nothing but a helpless drunk to you..." That is when I saw the water leaking down her face shimmer in the waning light, and she gritted her teeth to keep from letting me hear her gasp quietly to hold them back. "Why are you so ready to give up on me now?"

It is not common for me to feel the urges I had at that moment. I wanted to swim right across to her roof and pull her as close and tight as I could before telling her that it would all be okay and that I would think of a way to fix it. I wanted to brush my hand through her mane and try to undo what she thought of me; to let her know that it was just not true. I wanted to hold her. I couldn't bring myself to do it though, and instead I merely kicked a few stones in the water as I reflected on her question. Finally I answered her with a look into her eyes and said, "I'm not ready to do that," before marching back to my office once more.

When I got there, the first pony I saw was Dawnstar, who happened to have just finished collecting her belongings from within. She was checking some sort of atlas, and using a compass, had started marking a path for us. "Oh no," I told her, snatching the paper from midair, to her surprise, so that a jagged tear was left in the middle of it, "You're not going anywhere. Change of plans. We've got even more work to do now than before."

"Mr. Prodder... it's over. You said it yourself; There's nothing that we can do. I don't know of any way that we're going to be able to come back from something like this."

"Then we'd best start learning a way. That's why you're out here, isn't it? You want to learn how to be a leader? No better time than right now. I hope you're ready to do some real learning, because now you get to do it the same way I have had to for two years."

I informed the rest of the ponies when they returned to the door of my office prepared to embark that we will not be heading back to the Sun of Chance. Currently, I plan for us to remain here in the remnants of Songring until the end of winter and the arrival of the courier, so that we may send notice to Celestia and the investors of what has befallen our settlement. At that time, we will take with us what we can North along the shore of the Light Waters. We will find a place set on higher ground, well above the water, as well as situated further inland to minimize future damage from other meteorological events such as this. The remaining ten ponies will be staying in my office during these next six weeks, spread out amongst the three floors and alternating who gets to sleep in the few remaining beds that were not damaged by the storm.

I'm not even sure if we'll be able to make it through the winter before I'm forced to reinstate my orders to evacuate Songring and head back to the Sun of Chance, but it is truly all I can do at this time. Until we can let someone know what happened, we can't simply get started elsewhere, and I am not enough of a fool to believe building here once more would be a good idea. If the weather destroyed it once, it is certain to do it again. I am not sure of the future of Songring, but I do know that whatever must happen will be done under our new banner name. With the loss of our former settlers, and left with only eleven of us, we shed whatever title they had once bestowed on our expedition party.

I have named us The Voices of Subsisting, and with any luck, we will make the symphony of Songring yet.

36: Waiting Out Winter

I have had quite some time recently to reflect on exactly how thick the irony (or coincidence) is here in Songring. To think that when I first arrived back in the spring of the year 1221, the expedition party was endangered by a lack of water with which to sustain itself. Now we have so much water, it has taken everything we have accomplished from us. I can only assume this is a cruel cosmic gag to represent the idea of: "Be careful what you wish for." I have yet to be able to laugh about it, so the joke must be in poor taste.

Being forced to endure the sight of the disaster’s aftermath each day begins to wear down one's resolve after a few weeks. The memories of each place you pass never quite seem to lose their impact when they are tainted by the dreary sight of the waterlogged dining hall, or the dormitory that has now gained an insect infestation problem due to its damp and dark interior. The sleeping conditions are a bit difficult considering that the dormitory that was once approximately 2000 square feet, has been reduced to three floors of only 225 square feet each. We also only have four beds, other than mine, remaining that were suitable to be moved. We must alternate between the 11 of us who gets to sleep in them, and who must sleep on the floor. Not only has this been difficult on my back personally, it also has left me with little privacy to feel comfortable making an entry in this journal. Even now I am not alone, as Overcast is sitting beside me on the ledge overlooking the sea and watching me write. He claims that he won't think any different of me no matter what I put down, but that does not make me anymore comfortable with him reading my writing.

There is one single thing I have taken comfort in during this whole situation, however, and that has been the lack of work and designations I have had to assign. It is much like a vacation for quite a few of the ponies and myself, even if it is in a shithole. What little work that has been done came about by the volition of each individual, and has actually helped retain morale fairly well despite the gloomy surroundings and cold weather of the season. This, paired with the close sleeping conditions, has lead to quite a few personal moments I have had here in what is left of Songring during the winter.

As for the actual work that has been completed, I will start with how we were able to sustain ourselves through the season. The storm surge (which I have learned, refers to the extreme rise in sea level in this area from excess water brought by the storm) receded back to about only three or so feet within approximately 3 days. Hungry, after eating only what few plants we could find and the fruit from the alder trees inland (crunchy, bitter, seed-bearing pods of some sort), we took a chance and trudged through the water and into the storeroom to try to reclaim whatever could be salvaged. Most of the supplies within were absolutely ruined (only the liquor kegs were built with the mental that it had to be waterproof), but we were lucky enough that five of the barrels were actually thick rock pots, which Overcast had made a few months back to help Julienne keep the desserts she had made cool/chilled so that they could be served properly and quickly. This means we have quite a bit of pudding, cheesecake, and pies now. Though it is not the best option for feeding us for any extended time, when paired with the seafood that obviously withstood the saltwater, it has made sure that there is something pleasant to eat each day (I have been informed by the settlers that pan-fried sea bass with a dry white Chardon-Neigh, finished off with a slice of Manehattan-style cheesecake makes for the "Songring Special".)

Willow, Blueprint and Maple have all been working together on constructing a new wagon. For a while, we had attempted to locate the wagon that had been used in 1221 to bring the settlers' supplies here, but it had a lot of rather important pieces taken from it for many purposes over the past couple of years, and the depot we had created was carried away by the winds into the forests. (We found it again later, but changed its use drastically.)

"It can't be too hard to make a cart. It is simply four wheels affixed to two axles that suspend a chassis," Blueprint told me when I asked if she had ever made something of the like before. With a little faith in them, they finally constructed a serviceable wagon. We have decided to leave it uncovered for now as we do not have any available clean cloth to make the tarp from. The cart was able to hold the weight of all 11 of us when we climbed in it to stress test it, so I assume it shall do fairly well in carrying any supplies we will need it to.

I cannot think of any other actual projects that have been completed within the past season. Each day, otherwise, has just been spent with each of us trying to find something to occupy our time with as we wait and finding ways to stay warm and keep our spirits up while we do it. I have spent quite a few of my hours on the shoreline with Salmon as he casts his fishing line into the water and have given him someone to tell his endless stories to. I find it difficult to believe some of his tales, but at the same time, I have come to realize just how wizened he truly is. That may mean he truly has lived that much life.

"I'm going to miss it, Mr. Prodder. I'm going to miss it terribly when we pack up and ship off to our new spot,” Salmon reflected one evening when I took my seat next to him at sunset.

"You mean Songring? It will still be Songring, Salmon, just in a different place. We can't stay here; otherwise we could just end up losing everything again another year down the line when one of those hurricanes appears."

"It's not quite that, chap. It's the sea that I'll miss. I've spent so much of my life on it, why, I don't know what I'm going to do without it. It's like losing my dear Watches-Horizons all over again. I have told you of her, haven't I? A zebra astronavigator. Ah, I can still remember when we met and I got to see the bright life in her deep chocolate-colored eyes. It was a difficult voyage. We were trying to make port in some harbor within the borders of The Wax Thread, but we ended up losing our navigator due to the trots (terrible disease, lad; dreadful thing). The lass was on an island we were passing by, standing on the beach with an old brass sextant. Once she spotted us, she waved us down, and we picked her up. Turns out she was not stranded, simply wished to know what the great wooden beast in the water was. I have to say that I was impressed with her knowledge of the celestial bodies and their correlation to our position in the great blue, and it seems she took a liking to a salty sea-stud like me that knew his way around a crow's nest..."

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, Salmon, but you were saying that you were going to miss the sea when we move our enterprise?"

"What? Oh, yes, I will. The sea has been, and forever will be, my mistress, and I shall mourn the loss of her calming whispers and moist kisses each day. A sailor belongs with the water, even if just at its side, you know."

"I'm sure that we will be near water of some kind. It might be a river, but I cannot promise you a place by the sea Salmon. We just cannot risk the weather once again. Why did you quit sailing anyways? It sounds like your calling with how you talk about it."

"There's a big difference between quitting and retiring, I'll have you know. I was getting up in years, and the captains all worried for my health on the open seas. The worst place to be when you have to endure the curses of being old is on a wooden box floating in the ocean." Salmon's demeanor shifted from his usual lofty and reminiscing state, to a solemn stare into the blue ocean below us. "A difficult thing to come to grips with, Mr. Prodder, when you realize that you have become a burden. As much as others will excuse you for it, it never stops how heavy it weighs on a pegasus who has always made his way in the world with his own two hooves." He finally looked back to me with an uncertainty in his blue eyes, dulled and hazed with age, to ask me, "What do you think of me, Mr. Prodder? I want to know if my Captain believes that I will only hinder his crew and his vessel. Now would be the best time for me to jump ship if I will only be a burden to you."

"I won't make your decision on whether or not to stay with us as we move our operation, Salmon." I was unsure how to answer him then as he watched me waitingly. Why me? Why did what I have to say make a difference to him? Unable to find the reason that he would seek the approval of just a boy like me, I simply told him, "Songring isn't a boat, and I won't throw you overboard for something you can't control. You have not proven to be a burden since you got here, Salmon, but even if you had, you would still be welcome to stand with us." As he cracked a small smile and looked back to his fishing rod, I was able to sigh silently to myself in relief. "Now, who is this "Watches-Horizons"? You said the two of you were close?" With that, the endless tales continued, and I merely listened to the recollections of a long life lived to its fullest. It made me feel kind of fortunate that I would hopefully be like him one day: An old man with so many memories to share.

Springfield has remained rather upset throughout these weeks as I have not given him anything to do. Out of all of us, it seems the time has been hardest on him; I am not sure if it is the look of the place or merely the idling that has him so bothered, but I am concerned for him. I have approached him many times on the subject, and each time he merely tells me, "I'll be okay, Mr. Prodder. Don't worry about me." I've asked if he wants a project to work on, I've asked if he wants someone to talk to, I've questioned on if he may be feeling ill, we've asked if perhaps he would be better off going back to the Sun of Chance, but he always refuses with just the statement that he'll be fine. I have seen him many times scratch at the ground with his hoof and look down at it, but then simply walk away and continue pacing about, silent and alone. I also notice that he flicks his ears about very often as he wanders aimlessly around Songring all day, only stopping his patternless strolling to eat and sleep. I have begun to wonder if he is expressing obsessive compulsive tendencies, but I am afraid that with the loss of Scratch, Scrub, and Scalpel, we don't have any professional medical advice on the issue. The most I can do at this time is keep an eye on him and hope that he will be alright until we can settle in at our new location.

Remember how I said we had found the depot in the forests? Teardrop is a miracle worker sometimes, I must admit, because I was shocked to see her, Overcast, and Silence at work on something one day. Silence was busy hollowing out a large hole in the ground (about three feet deep and ten feet across), and Overcast was smoothing out the earth beneath it to remove any sharp stones or jagged clumps. The only answer I received when I asked what they were doing was, "You'll see," and I did. After the hole was hollowed out and smoothed, Teardrop brought the waterproof tarp, which she had just washed, over to the hole and rested it within. Dumping in several rounds of hot, clean water from a boiling pot and tossing in a few bars of soap that Teardrop managed to fashion out of some cooking oil and lye (she made it from some wood burnings), the three of them presented me with the first hot bath that Songring had seen in two years.

This may seem silly to most, but such a luxury was a blessing to us all when we had it. Until now, we have all been bathing in the ocean: While it is just fine for the purpose of removing dirt, the cold water is unpleasant, and the salt within it leaves a somewhat itchy residue on the skin and, as I am able to tell, in the fur. I was afraid that a fight might break out over who got to use the bath first, and there were some arguments that arose when more than one individual tried to use it at the same time. Teardrop and Overcast both spent their time tending to bathers by helping lather and rinse their manes and toweling them off with the very few clean sheets we had left outside of the ones we kept on the beds in my office.

I was going to wait and be the last one to use it, but during his turn, Willow decided to do a cannonball into the pool and ended up emptying the small bath almost entirely. After that, he simply got back up and shook himself off with a loud "Done!" wearing a bright grin on his face.

I was a bit upset, but it seems that it was overshadowed by the outrage of another. Maple charged him from the side and bashing him with her body, sent him flailing back into the nearly empty pool. "No you don't! You want to waste all of that water? The least you can do to make up for it is not smell like a taint! The rest of us have to sleep in the same building as you, y'know."

"What's your deal, Maple?" Willow blurted back, before gaining a devilish smirk as he started rolling around in the shallow pool of water to rinse himself. "Oh, I see what's going on. Fine... yeah, I'll clean myself up for you then, Maple. Tell me: should I use the lavender soap, or the one that smells like sugar? I mean, you are the one who it will matter to."

"Pick whichever one you think tastes worse 'cause I'm gonna make you eat the one you don't use."

"Come on, don't be that way baby."

With a huff and a whip of her ponytail, she shrugged defeatedly. "Real sorry, Ben. Look, I'll get you some fresh water and boil it up as soon as this loghead here gets done with his birdbath." She refused to accept my answer that I really was fine and could just take another rinse in the ocean. I was not able to protest any further as she was too busy with a game of verbal badminton with Willow.

"Don't have to get all huffy just 'cause I keep a masculine musk about me."

"You've got the same musk as a skunk with dysentery, Willow."

"Only thing colder than these winters is you, Maple. Don't have to be a bitch about it."

"Only thing lower than the temperature is your IQ! You made your decision yet? I'm thinking you'd look a lot better with that sandalwood soap in your pie-hole. Maybe then your breath could tell a mare which end of you she was kissing."

"Oh, kissing's on your mind now? That's really not what's important and you know it. It's just a means to an end. A happy end, if I'm on the right track."

"I would break you! Now use the damn soap and go forget how to breathe somewhere else why don't you?"

After it was all over, Teardrop helped Maple heat the water to refresh the bath for me and stayed to assist me during it. I wish to abbreviate what happened as much as I can since it still makes me cringe at the memory, but very simply she persuaded me into fully disrobing (which I had wanted to do until she did not get the many hints I tried to give her to leave so I could bathe alone). Feeling so vulnerable was only made worse by the fact that she kept staring at me, and only when I would say something would she snap out of her musings and get me the soap or use the bucket to help me rinse my hair. Has she never seen such before? Well, maybe not a human, but was there something wrong with the sight? I mean, it's not like any of these ponies wear clothes most of the time, so obviously there was something wrong if she kept staring! This is what has me so upset over it, but I will have to work this out personally on my own time when I am not writing.

Lastly, we received our courier this season along with another visit from Sir Bullion's caravan. I recall seeing him sitting on the front of the wagon next to a sun-gold pelted mare, who was wearing a fine dress and had her royal purple mane hidden beneath a large bergere hat, as they rolled slowly into view. He was laughing with her as they approached, until he finally looked in front of them when passing through the tree lines and got a good view of the former settlement. It had been called to my attention that they were approaching by Dawnstar, who seemed ecstatic to finally get to meet with our supplier. I felt more like I did when my alarm would go off on a school day morning, and I had to drag myself from the covers and somehow make it down the stairs without using my stomach as a toboggan. They spotted Dawnstar and I standing on the ledge in front of the abandoned dining hall waiting, and the look on his face reminded me of someone when they drink a soda that isn't theirs and aren't expecting it. I will take it a step further in fact and say it frankly looked like he tasted butt. As they came within earshot, I spread out my hands and shouted, "Welcome to Songring!"

They did not bother to unload anything at that time as Sir Bullion eased himself from the cart with his companion and they both approached. He remained in a state of shock and disarray as he examined both us and the wreckage behind us, while his significant other leisurely scanned the surrounding area with an air of disinterest. "You were saying you planned to build the summer home out here? I understand your fascination with quaint surroundings and humble folks, darling, but you really must understand that there's a limit to what you can put your family through." She shook her head distastefully and shot me a glance, before hushing in mild embarrassment when she must have realized that I was the official of the area.

"What the blazes happened?!" I thought Bullion's cavalier hat was going to flip right off his head with how quickly his gaze shot back to me when he finished surveying the damage. "Where is everypony? What is going on here?" It was difficult to discern whether he was panicking for some reason, or if he was simply shocked to such a point that he forgot how to speak with his usual calm air. "This place looks like a disaster!"

"Well, Sir Bullion, funny you should mention that. We had a hurricane roll through here this autumn and it wiped out pretty much everything we had." At that, his wife whispered a quiet apology to me for her statement earlier. She now tasted hoof I guess. "We're glad that you made it so you can let Celestia and the investors know that we're relocating."

"Relocating?" He did not understand how I could use such a term at this time, motioning me to his caravan by grabbing my hand with his hooves and gently tugging. "Nonsense! You should come back and tell them this yourselves at once! You poor ponies; I would be happy to let you rest in my wagons on the ride back. You've all seen more than enough out here!"

I refused his generous offer and informed him that we were not excused of our duties yet, as we still had ten settlers and myself here to get started once more with. We simply were going to go to a new location and begin again. All we required from him and the courier was to alert them so that they could find us at our new location.

Clearing his throat, he glanced around once more looking for something. "Well, if that's the case... then, ehm, perhaps you are looking for supplies then? I brought the items you had requested from last year... Where is your depot if I might ask?"

"Probably somewhere between here and Appleloosa by now. Sir Bullion, take a real hard look around you and ask yourself: Does it look like we have anything to trade for this year? Best I could do is to shine your hooves for you, but damned if we have any polish left around here. If you can find it amongst this mess, I'll do one hoof for free."

Dawnstar, by this point, was mortified by my base treatment of the merchant, and had spent the whole time punching me occasionally in the side with her hoof as I wouldn't shut up. Beads of sweat had formed on her brow above her nervous and strained smile while I spoke. I kind of wish she had been here last year for my business meetings; she probably would have had a seizure.

"I see. No, that will not be necessary," he told me, looking down in a bit of discouragement as he struggled with the knowledge of what had befallen Songring. In his defense, he was truly troubled by it, and was concerned for our well being. It must be difficult to succumb to those feelings when you realize that you have just traveled a couple hundred miles to just be told you wasted all the horsepower and time getting out there for nothing. His wife, however, cleared her throat, and it prompted him to ask her, "What is it, Denier?"

"Love... you made more than enough last year off of Alla Prima's amulet to cover this trip and everything in it." She motioned over to our wagon that was sitting completed over by my office at that time, and she smiled at me as she spoke charmingly. "My, that is a lovely vehicle you have made there. Perhaps you would not mind parting with it?" I could tell she was simply being coy and polite, but I nodded to answer her. "What is it made of, dear, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Mostly the housing. We were looking to take the term "Mobile Home" to a new level of literal." Dawnstar punched me four times for that one, until I had to elbow her in the side of the neck to make her stop.

"How bold," Denier commented with a small titter beneath her breath, "To represent life's journey in such a way. Very artistic."

Bullion grinned sheepishly at his betrothed's words and cleared his throat to address me. "Well Mr. Prodder, my wife seems to be smitten with your wagon there. Perhaps we could arrange a trade? One of our wagons for yours? I understand that ours are slightly used, so how about you just keep what's in it as well and we'll consider ourselves even?"

"You don't have to do this," I shot them down abruptly.

"Nonsense. I want that wagon, and these are my terms. Do you accept, or will I simply have to tell my wife she can't have what she desires?" He held his hoof out to me kindly and waited for me to accept.

With a sigh, I grabbed the hoof and shook it, quietly thanking him for his business and motioning for Dawnstar to go tell Willow and Maple to pull the wagon around for the trade. The handoff went smoothly, as he gave us a full wagon of supplies in exchange for our shoddy makeshift cart graciously. It was difficult for me to accept, but I could not deny them the pleasure of the warmth I saw in their smiles that they seemed to have gained from the act. I merely accepted their help with some difficult humility. As an act of gratitude, I invited them and their workers to join us on the beach for a dinner with the remaining settlers, at which, we served them the Songring Special. I heard Denier refer to how taboo it was for a pony to eat something that had once been living, like fish, but Bullion consoled her by telling her it was a taste of what it was like to be a rugged explorer, living off of whatever means one had in the world (not to mention what a shame it would be to let the creature’s sacrifice go to waste). After the dinner, the drinks, and the surprising amount of laughs shared, we exchanged letters with the courier and sent them on their way as we had nowhere to board them for the night.

With the boon of our fresh supplies, and the investors informed of our new arrangements, we are set to embark tomorrow to our new destination. I have plans to head west to find the river we had spotted when we first arrived, and follow it until we find a good part of the river bank to settle on. I will keep some precautions in mind, and I will be sure to pick a new place that will not be ravaged by disaster in quite the same way. I have not counted what we have in our stocks, and will only do so once we arrive at our new destination. For now, I merely have to keep a smile on my face and inform everyone here that we have made it through the winter. Our Wrapping Up will be in the form of our journey.

Happy New Year, Songring.

36+: Letters

Dear Benjamen,

I have been trying to write you this letter for two days now, but every time I come back to it I can't stop my cheeks from burning in embarrassment. You asked a really good question this time around, and I'm having trouble composing myself enough to write you an answer. I will do my best, but I hope that you can appreciate that I've tried everything I can to find a clever and vague way to let you know the truth. Especially when I'm a bit shocked by how young you claim to be, but maybe human age really is much different.

So where do baby ponies come from? Well it starts with the fact that you need two adult ponies to begin with, one of each gender. You must have already realized that there are male and female ponies, and that's because of how the process starts. I just want to sum it all up by saying, "They're made the old fashioned way," but that might be assuming too much about how things are back where you're from. Are humans mammals too? Do they have sex and birth live children? I know you mentioned a father and a mother, but I don't know if your meaning of the words is different.

By the way, that's not the question I want to ask you for my turn in this exchange.

I never would have imagined that so many creatures could live on such a small place as you described. You mentioned a while back that Terriel is a patch of land that floats in the sky above a planet, didn't you? It must either be very cramped there, or it is much bigger than I could imagine it being. It must be the size of a whole continent to house that much life at once, and to have seven or more provinces on it! How do you do it though? You told Zecora and I that the humans and creatures back where you are from do not practice magic, so how are you able to keep it suspended in the sky like that?

Speaking of Zecora, she asked about you recently. She was wondering why she had never gotten another chance to speak with you since your little episode. I think she was rather upset that you had gone away as well, but she wanted me to inform you that she sends her regards and anticipates a chance to begin again once you return. Of course she also requested that I omit her rhymes in hopes to not upset you again.

The Crusaders also came by with a special request for me to send along to you. They want to know if you have any idea of what they should do for this year's upcoming talent show to impress everypony. Last year did not quite go the way they had planned. Don't even bother trying to answer with, "Whatever they feel they are best at." I made that mistake already, Ben. That advice just does not work on these three.

As for something personal I wanted to let you know, Ben: I want to make sure you're still safe out there. Your last letter mentioning a fatal accident has left me a little uneasy when I think about it. Is everything really alright out there? I just want to know that you're okay, because you're just too far for me to know how things are faring for you. If you ever feel like Songring is ready for visitors, please let me know. My offer to get everypony to go for a short visit still stands. I know everypony would be relieved to get the chance to see you again.

Worried About You,
Twilight Sparkle

Dear Twilight,

I wish rather dearly that I could settle your mind and tell you that I am safe as can possibly be out here in Songring. I could go ahead and write that everything is cheery and sunshiny while we splash around in pools full of melted chocolate and make jokes by throwing cotton-candy-filled balloons at one another before we all have our regular evening tea in our little dining hall on the beach. That would be a lie, and I know not to do that again to you. No, instead I must continue to set you to worrying by letting you know that it has been a rather perilous time since our last correspondence. A hurricane hit Songring and took with it most, if not all, of our progress throughout the past two years. We are back where we started.

I honestly don't quite know how we're going to pull through after this, but we have to. I've not been relieved of my duty here, and that means that I'm just going to have to find a way. We're currently preparing to embark to a new location to attempt again, somewhere that perhaps the weather will not ravage us, and we will stand a chance of not losing all of our work within a single day.

So the best that I can tell you is that I'm not exactly safe, but I am unharmed. Most importantly, I do have ponies here to help keep me on my feet, so rest assured that I’m not facing the world alone right now. Hopefully that will give you a bit of ease.

Now that I have more paper from the caravan, however, there's no excuse for me not being able to answer your questions. Even though it wasn't your main question, I'll oblige you in answering anyways: Yes, humans have sex. Constantly. All the time. In fact, there are psychologists on Terriel that hold a firm stance suggesting that absolutely everything a human does is only in the pursuit of sex. I would challenge anyone to try and find a young man who does not spend at least two out of every three thoughts on the subject matter. Either way, thanks for the information. It does not settle me any, but being informed will still help at least.

You are right in that Terriel is very large. I would say it is indeed a small continent, and slowly expanding as is needed. Adding new surface area of course is exorbitantly expensive and time-consuming, but that is why there are projects in place to retake land back on the planet's surface so that perhaps one day we can come off of our floating rock in the sky. How does it stay up there though? To be honest, I never wished to be a geoaerial engineer so I did not study what techniques they use to make it happen. I personally wanted to be a journalist. I will suffice it to say that it is extremely advanced technology compared to what I have seen in Equestria, much like most of the conveniences that I was once used to. Do you even have computers here? If you do, maybe then you understand what I mean when I tell you that every single person on Terriel has a computer implanted within them that helps with organ functioning and adding the convenience of technological assistance for quite a few mental tasks. It's also a handy storage for recordings, media of all types, and communication. There's a function of it called the Stratus, which is the ability of every individual within range of a node to connect to one another remotely for chatting and transferring of data between our internal, and sometimes external, computing devices. Rainbow Dash damaged mine back when I first arrived, and it has yet to stop playing music at me because of it, but there's little I can do to remedy that until I get back home.

Tell Zecora that I would be happy to meet with her again, hopefully so I can not make an ass out of myself this time. I suppose I don't mind the rhyming all that much, I was just stressed at the time. I'm glad she's able to look past it and give me another pass at getting to know her.

Why not try suggesting to the Crusaders that they injure someone for the talent show? I always noticed they had an affinity for causing me pain and grief, so maybe that's what their true calling is. Just don't tell them to break a leg before they go on, that's for sure. They might bring the house down! Okay, I'm sorry for that, I don't think that'd be funny no matter where I wrote it. I'll have to avoid puns.

Does my inquiry about computers count as my question this time around? If it doesn't, I wanted to ask you if Fluttershy's clock has been able to keep time recently, and I want to know how Rainbow's meeting with the Dunderbolts went. Has Rarity been doing well with her business? Is everyone alright at the farm? Has Pinkie been busy lately? I also want to know: How is Sugarlump? Does she still have her job at the post office? Is she happy? Anything you could tell me might give me a bit of relief knowing that things there might be going better than they are here.

Enduringly Yours,
Benjamen Prodder

37: Relocation

I can think of no more appropriate time for our recreation of Songring than spring. The trees all seemingly resurrect themselves into bright greens and the plants flourish back into colorful life once again this time of the year. The creatures that were hidden away from the terrible cold of the winter resurface to begin their lives once more in the fresh air outside. Even when the rain falls at this time of year, the sun is bright and visible through the thin clouds and keeps the drizzle warm to the touch as it splashes all around gently. Like the life around us, The Voices of Subsisting will also spring back into full swing with our bright colors.

After embarking from the old site, it took us a few days of travel before we located a good place to set up. Considering we had to take turns hauling the wagon, we did not get as much distance each day as one might hope for, but we still were able to locate the river I had mentioned and follow it upstream a ways. The name of the river is the Charmedsmile (I can only assume by the way it curves along its banks that it must create the image of someone smiling from an aerial view). Traveling upstream, we were able to find the source of the river, which is a steady flow of melting snow set atop a mountain range known as The Fatal Horns. The river happens to run through a steep canyon at the very base of the mountain ranges, but beyond the canyon, we found an impressive geographical occurrence: A small, lush valley (approximately one mile in diameter) completely surrounded by the mountains that was separated in two by the freshwater river. The small place seemed so serene that I could not pass up going to survey the landscape there. Immediately I was able to paint images in my head of building our structures affixed to the sides of the mountains in the form of verandas and hollowing out the rocky faces to make living spaces. This will be the new home of Songring, and with any luck, will remain so for a long time.

There were some complications when trying to pull the wagon over one of the smaller hills surrounding the valley. I was in the wagon at the time. My mind was preoccupied with sketching a concept of one of the homes I had envisioned on the back of one of the pages near the end of this notebook, but I lost my train of thought when I heard a series of loud shouts behind me from Willow, Springfield, and Salmon (they were pulling the wagon at the time). "Whoa, whoa! Woah!" I kept hearing the word shouted many times over with changes in pitch and severity, so I finally had to look behind me and saw nothing but open space before me above the valley. None of the three ponies were visible anymore.

"... Boys?" I called, wondering why they were not in view as I began to step over the supplies. "Guys? What's going on up there?" As my foot stepped over one of the bins, however, I felt the wagon beneath me shift and creak ominously, followed by the panicked shouts of the three stallions at the same time. I immediately backed up, and felt the wagon ease back accompanied by a few sighs of relief. As a test, I put my foot on the same barrel once again. It was followed by the screams once more, and I felt the wagon tilt forward to view the valley below us more clearly.

"Stop it, Prodder! You're going to kill us all!" Willow erupted from below the wagon as I backed up and let it ease back into a seated position. "Just, stop! Stop moving, and wait a minute!"

"Just need a moment, Lad! We're coming up with a plan! Just sit tight!" Salmon called up as well.

Rubbing my face, I realized now that we teetered on the very edge of the ledge with all three of the stallions dangling below it secured in the harnesses they were using to pull the wagon behind them. I tried to step off of the wagon so I could assist, but as soon as one foot touched the ground, I once again felt the wagon shift and heard the familiar shouts (plus an ear-splitting Willow shriek), so I hopped back in immediately. I was stuck in the back of the wagon until their plan was formulated.

"Hold on, fellas! We're on our way back up!" I heard Maple shout from down the mountain. The rest of the group had gone ahead to scout out a smooth path to take our supplies on. The commotion happened to get the ladies' attention and brought them back up to help. While they made their way back, however, I was left with the three stallions dangling at my whim. How could I pass up such a ripe opportunity?

"Stop doing that, Prodder! It's not funny! We're in big trouble here, and you're just being a dick!" Willow spouted off furiously.

"What was that Willow? Hold on, let me get closer so I can hear what you just called me." With that, I stepped closer to the barrel until the wagon creaked once more.

After letting loose another shriek of terror, Willow composed himself enough to speak shakily. "I'm not kidding, Prodder! I'll beat you until you're the same color as Dawnstar if you don't stop it!" It seemed that Willow was the only one still in a panic over it, as I could hear the other two stallions below snort and chortle at the situation.

"Well, I guess I should just face the music then. I understand you're tied up. Let me just come down there so you can reach me, Willow."

"No! Eeeek! Stop, just stop! Stop doing whatever you're doing! Oh boy, if you were down here right now... the hurting I would put on you, Prodder."

"That can be arranged, just a second."

"Oh Celestia help me, stopstopstopstopstop! Okay, okay, what do you want, Prodder? What will make you stop? I can't take this anymore!"

"We should really see eye-to-eye to conduct business, Willow. One moment."

My fun was cut short as I heard a series of thuds, tumbles, and relieved sighs at the bottom of the ledge. The sound of ropes being cut through with a cooking knife was audible just beneath the flapping of wings. Assuming that the ladies had finally arrived to handle the situation, I reclined in the wagon. Maple finally hopped into the wagon after the three stallions were cut loose, nudging me while she quirked her brow. "Sounds like you're having a blast up here. Not going to invite us to the party?"

"Must have a Y chromosome to participate, sorry Maple." I told her. She had no idea what I was talking about, so that is either a bit too complicated of a concept for her, or they simply do not have much knowledge of genetics in Equestria at this point. Either way, I simply dismissed the joke and asked if it looked like the wagon would be alright if I jumped off now. It was, so I went to go see how far over the ledge we were. One of the wheels was hanging over the side perilously, the other on the same axle only inches away from toppling over and sending our whole inventory tumbling down the side of the mountain. It seemed there was no smooth incline down, but as we were only roughly fifty feet above the level of the valley, we figured we could slowly move the supplies manually to the new location. Pulling the wagon off of the ledge, we began scouting the valley for where we should begin.

I took an immediate liking to the northern mountain range of the valley. The base is rather smooth and straight against the crater, which should make a great place to create buildings on to overlook the valley. There are also a few clefts in the side with some flatland that I believe will make exceptional locations to place the farm plots (it would be nearby but out of the way as to avoid any of the ponies needing to step over it during their day). There was simply one problem with my insistence that we should move to the northern side of the valley.

We had approached from the southern end.

This may still not be apparent as to what the issue was, but remember that we followed the Charmedsmile here, and that it divides the valley by running west to east, creating a northern and southern hemisphere to the valley. As much of an inconvenience as it would be to cross the river, it still seemed possible to merely ignore it and drag our supplies over. As I put my foot in the water to swim to the other side, Springfield silently came over, snatched me back by the collar, and threw me to the ground before I could react. Still in shock, as was everyone else with how he had brutally tackled me, I had to ask him what in the world he was doing.

Springfield picked me back up and told me to watch for a moment as he grabbed for a stick nearby with his mouth, and then thrust it into the water abruptly. I saw the stick jerk violently for a moment, and then grow still as he started to lift it out of the water. It was a frightening sight to see three fish flopping about ravenously on the stick as he held it up to me to get a better look at the creatures he had caught. I saw long, muscular bodies for quick swimming, silver colored scales, and very sharp, pointed teeth that appeared to be interlocking in nature and used for tearing flesh from other creatures. Horrified at the sight, I could only watch as Springfield spat the stick out and back into the river, watching the creatures flail and splash about violently for a few moments before the water became still once more. "Tigerfish," he told me, shaking his head sternly, "Don't try walkin' through that. Even if they don't kill ya, you ain't gonna be living too good after you get in there with a school of 'em."

"Heavens!" Salmon shouted, resting a hoof on my shoulder with another one over his heart to take a deep breath. "That was a close one then! Who knew those kinds of beasties were hiding out here! That must mean we're in the Honoring Mire if that's the case." I asked him to explain what he meant, and he grinned happily as he detailed it for me. "Ah, it's a lowland jungle that rests in the Fatal Horns. I figured it was all on the western side of the range, but it seems this must be part of it. At least some of the fauna from it washes this direction that is." I asked what that might mean for our future here. “Well, it means we could be sharing this area uncomfortably with some large cats and perhaps hippos, but nothing too dire, I believe, if we keep a sharp eye about us."

"Big cats?" Teardrop asked excitedly at his statement, bouncing happily at the idea. "Garnet will finally have some friends then! What kind do you think they'll be? Will they have stripes? Maybe they'll be the pretty black kitties? Oh I can't wait!"

"They'd eat Garnet, and you too," Springfield interjected abruptly, ruining Teardrop's excited mood. "If you see one, you let me know immediately. I don't ever want to catch you going anywhere near one if they show up." Teardrop's ears were pinned against her head in discouragement as Springfield had rebuked her so quickly, and she merely nodded at him.

At this, I was left with the quandary of how to get us and our supplies across the river safely. It seemed apparent to me to merely get Maple to cut down one of the many trees growing close to the bank of the river and have Willow fashion a bridge out of it. We set up a temporary camp near the wagon on the ledge while they worked on it, and after a single day, Willow informed me it was done. I went to inspect the work, and all I saw was a toppled tree lying across the river.

"There, see? Bridge," Willow told me proudly. "Record time too."

"That's not a bridge."

"Okay smart guy, it gets ponies from one end to the other. What, you want it to raise up? Maybe we can set it to do it to a magic word as well? How about I just make it fly and do our laundry too? What high expectations, you micromanaging butthole."

"I'm not micromanaging, but I'm not accepting this bridge either. Make it wider: I won't risk any of these ponies falling in because you're just a loaf, Willow. Let me know when you're done so we can start moving the supplies." To my surprise, it was half a day later when Willow came to me to let me know that it was now done. Disbelieving, I had him show me, and found that I was right to not be keen on trusting his statement. Now, the same tree that was thrown across the river was split in half, and the two halves were pressed together to create a poor crossing. "Are you joking with me, Willow? Is this somehow funny to you?"

"What? You said make it wider: It's like 200% wider! Even a fatty like Salmon could make it across with no problem now." Willow kept looking between me and the bridge, having trouble comprehending why I had such an incensed expression about the situation. "Really? This isn't good enough for you either? Just how wide do you want this thing!? Why not just ask me to cover the whole damn river while you're at it! You’re such a critical douche."

"Stop insulting me for trying to make you do your job with a mote of competence! Make a real bridge this time, and stop wasting my time with your nonsense. How did you even move this tree by yourself to cut it in half?"

"He didn't do it himself, Mr. Benjamen Prodder," I heard Overcast call out from the other side of the river, his pelt dripping wet and a tigerfish flopping about violently as it was latched to his tail and trying to rip the hair out desperately, "I wanted to make myself useful and everything, so I did what he asked and "Got my ass across the river" to help him move the log." With that, Overcast tried shaking his flank around and whipping his tail to get the tigerfish to let go, but he was unable to shake it loose with his pathetic attempts. He simply sighed in defeat and rested on the ground as he waited for more orders from Willow.

"You're in so much trouble,” I told Willow as I shook my head and headed for the camp, planning to speak with Blueprint and Dawnstar about construction plans once we were able to set up on the northern side of the valley.

"What're you going to do?" Willow asked, concerned but putting on a show of confidence.

"I don't know, but you've pissed me off Willow. I'll think of something appropriate eventually. Until then, how about you just get that bridge done." Truthfully, I have no real authority to exact punishment on anyone here, but if he does not know that then I will not tell him for simplicities' sake.

The bridge did finally get completed to an acceptable standard, after another twenty hours or so. It was made from two split logs (four logs wide) laid over the river with wooden planks secured across the top of them to make a flat surface, and the logs secured to each side of the riverbank with splints and ropes. I accepted this as a fine bridge until we had more time and tools to work with to create something safer, but using a bit of caution, this bridge would work. It took us a whole day, but we were able to transport all of our supplies over to the northern side of the valley. Then the real work could begin.

Silence's first work order was to begin hollowing out a living area in the side of the mountain for each of the ponies. To help conserve space from the start, she was advised to dig straight in for a couple dozen feet, then split off and begin digging hallways with small rooms entering off of the corridors in the same manner as a hotel or an apartment complex. The rooms will remain rather small at this time, but I have also instructed Overcast to begin using the stone that Silence pulls out of the mountain while hollowing it out to make some strong doors to allow for some privacy. Willow has already been tasked with creating new beds for everyone, and Maple is busy collecting the wood and gathering the stone the two will need for these jobs. Blueprint is devising clever ways to keep a light source available in the new living quarters, and they seem to be working rather well (she has been very ingenuitive in making a candle stand that funnels the melted wax down the sides and into a candle mold with a new wick already waiting. This allows us to elongate candle life quite easily, and we only need one for each room and a few to line the hallways at this time). Dirtnap has been assisting Springfield, when he can, in tilling up some new fields and planting some seeds for strawberries, prickle berries, and more longgrass. Teardrop has kept herself occupied by throwing together quick meals for us, and taking care of two of Songring's newest pets.

The pets that I mentioned are actually stuck here in this valley due to being unable to climb back up the ledges to get out, so we have decided to adopt and try to domesticate them so that we can have some assistance with labor in the future. Two tanks were here when we first arrived, and we only noticed them after a couple of weeks when one of them decided to take a nap in one of our stockpiles. Maple threw an absolute fit over it, since it was curled up on top of the liquor kegs.

"Prodder! Get out here and take care of this!" I heard her scream one day after I came back from watching Salmon try to catch one of the tigerfish without snapping his line. The huge beast lay draped over the stockpiles lazily. "Get rid of it! Now!" I could not tell what had Maple so absolutely upset, considering quite a few of the kegs were still reachable from beneath it, not to mention she was remaining sober to collect more wood that day.

"Aw," I began as I watched the creature roll onto its back and use a clawed foot to scratch at its plated side leisurely, "It's just taking a nap, Maple. The liquor kegs are probably warm from being out in the sun all day- let the thing sleep for a while."

"What are you talking about?! You're just going to let it stay here? No, you need to make it get out of here. It's... it's big, and stupid, and ugly, and gross. We're going to catch something from it, I just know it. It's probably got all sorts of bugs and diseases. Get Springfield to make it go away!"

"Actually, this gives me a pretty good idea. How about we try domesticating it instead?"

"What?!"

"I mean, it's stuck here since it can't climb out of the valley. Why not see if we can domesticate it?"

"It's a big, useless, freaking lizard, Prodder! If you want it to be useful, then how about we just cut its damn head off and use its hide for something important!" Maple seemed to be set on getting rid of the creature for reasons I still am not sure of, but I assured her that it would be alright. I am not of the persuasion to slaughter the creature for being stuck down here with us and turn it into shoes and handbags, so I will exhaust my other options first.

I contacted Springfield afterwards to ask him if we could perhaps tame the creatures, and he seemed to believe it is possible. He assured me that he would handle their basic training and get them used to interaction with ponies, but requested that we wall off his farmland to keep them out of the important crops. When time permits next season, I will have Willow begin construction on a wall to hold the tanks out of Springfield's farm just in case. The tanks themselves seem rather easy to train, as they are quite comfortable in interacting with smaller creatures. (I cannot tell if they are perhaps a bit dumb and don't realize what danger they might be in, or if they are just secure enough in their plated hides to not care.) In fact, I saw one of them rolling over at Springfield's command for a biscuit, but when he asked me if I wanted to scratch the tank on the belly while he was rolled over on his back, I refused (as awkwardly adorable as one can be staring at you with its tongue hanging out over its face, I am not quite comfortable enough with their size to rub them on their leathery stomachs).

Lastly, I will recall a conversation this evening between Dawnstar and I before I must close this entry for the night as I have to be back to work again tomorrow. It started when she was ready to retire back to her room and asked me if I was going to be getting any sleep soon. I informed her that I would be busy with my journal this evening, but would find a place to retire afterwards. Confused as to what I meant, she asked me, "Find? Don't you have a room? They were installing the doors and beds all day today."

"There are only ten rooms so far. Looks like mine will have to be taken care of tomorrow. It's fine, though. I will be okay without a room until then. I have made it this many weeks without one, so one more night will not be too much to endure."

With a sigh of frustration, she left me for a while as I began writing, and returned to throw a blanket over me and toss a pillow at my side for wherever I might be going. "You are impossible, Mr. Prodder," she said exasperatedly. I asked her what she meant and if my being without a room truly bothered her that much. At first she did not want to respond, but as I insisted, she obliged. "I mean that I am supposed to be learning from you, and yet you are just making it more difficult than it has to be. It's not the going without a room part that I consider to be a problem, it's that it completely conflicts with your previous arrangements, yet you are so complacent about it. Don't you care? Aren't you a bit upset that nopony bothered to make your room as their superior? I thought that with your office back on the shore being what it was, that you valued your own comfort as a necessity to handle the stresses of your position, but now that theory is null because you are acting altruistic enough to just throw your own needs and comforts out and deal with whatever happens to you."

"I am not upset in the least. I'm actually rather relieved that they were able to all have rooms finally; it is the first time they have had a place to call their own and get some privacy in two years. I have only been without it for a few weeks, and comparatively, they are much more deserving of it than I. That office I had was never something I asked them to build me: Overcast started that project voluntarily, and then he got others to join in."

Dawnstar continued to shake her head in disbelief, a tad irritated now I could tell. "It can't just be that easy," she said, ears pinned back.

"Easy?" I asked her immediately, "You think my job is easy?"

"That's not what I meant," she tried to defend her words before I cut her off once more. She had offended me beyond civility at that moment.

"You are the second in command, and you're not even half as stressed as I remain! Easy? The thought that everything rides on you, the knowledge that everyone looks to you for an answer, the understanding that every little thing that goes wrong can and will be used against you and your reputation is classified as easy? You view the fact that some of these ponies' very lives depend on what I tell them each and every day, and that one slip, or miscalculation, or even oversight from me could send this whole operation into chaos and disaster as simple?" She was too stunned to respond as I continued to raise my voice, having dropped my notebook and pen as I stood up. "If you want a little bit of scope into what this job is actually like, how about you spin plates on your face while taking a calculus exam and participating in a debate; and if one of the plates falls, if you get a single question wrong, or if you don't win: everyone you care about dies." I eventually composed myself enough to sit back down and reach for my notebook, muttering angrily, "How dare you say my job is easy."

"I didn't mean it that way," she said, trying her best to not upset me any further with a gentle tone, "I meant your reasoning. Why you do the things that you do. It can't be as simple as just... I don't even know why you do them. That's what I need to know, but I can't understand it. How do you make those decisions each day? What makes you waste all the time and resources to throw Overcast a birthday party? What makes you even so bold as to throw your life on the line for just a single pony when so many others count on you? Where did you learn this? I just can't understand it."

"I didn't learn it," I started to explain, "At least not before it happened." Dawnstar asked me how that was possible, and I shrugged to her. "You still haven't figured it out yet? I'll spell something out for you then: I don't know what I'm doing either. I've never had anyone show me how to do this, or anyone give me advice. Hell, Dawnstar, you probably know a lot more about it than I do because you've gone to school with it in mind! This is my first settlement, and Celestia put me here for some reason she has failed to explain to me thus far. How do I make my decisions each day? I don't know, I just do. Why did I waste so much for Overcast? Because he is my friend, and I wanted to see him smile. Why did I throw my life on the line for Silence? Because she needed someone to defend her, and I was one of the few willing to do it."

"How did you even make it through that? Weren't you scared?" she asked me.

"Only that I was going to lose her like I lost Tick Tock." I looked down for a bit, unable to answer anymore until I remembered something rather special. "I guess all that I've said is not entirely true. I did have some prior knowledge: I wrote a synopsis of the fall of a settlement named Clean Ages before this. The Development Coordinator at the time was a unicorn named Compass Rose, and without regard to his own safety, he offered to fight Rano Warmhearts along with the troops. You know what he said when asked why?"

Dawnstar shook her head, captivated by my very short explanation.

"The will to defend those who look up to me is all the training I need." That was all that I could say of his quote, then I retrieved my notebook and began scribbling pointlessly on a page in the back as I mulled over a few thoughts.

"Now I am even more confused than before. Why did Celestia send me here to learn from you? Why did she choose you for this position if you know nothing about it?"

"You're her student, not me. I don't have a clue. I feel like she just hates me; an allonym for what is truly just a game of “smear the queer” if you will. I can't understand what she has against me, but now she's gotten you tied up into it." With that, I shook my head and stopped scribbling to write something else for her. "I'm sorry," I told her as I dotted the period of my sentence and ripped the bit of paper out to fold it over and hand it to her. As she accepted it, she feared to open it, staring at me questioningly. "I'm sorry that Princess Celestia dragged you into the mess she's made for me. You don't deserve this kind of treatment. That is a pardon; you are free to leave when you see fit. I won't force you to be a puppet in her sadistic little show anymore."

"Is that what you truly think of this whole scenario?" Dawnstar looked down to the pardon with a long pause, deep in thought. "Do you believe that Celestia is only doing this for her amusement or to sate a grudge?"

"What other possibility could it be?"

"I don't know... but I'm willing to find out." Dawnstar folded the pardon notice to put it away, and nodded softly as she stood back up preparing to retire for the night. "I believe I still have a lot to learn, Mr. Prodder... more so now. You're sure that you'll be alright tonight without a room?"

"I'll be fine. Goodnight, Dawnstar, and... thank you for staying with us. With me."

She didn't say anything more, simply left me here alone to write. I am not sure how I can know what is going through her head, but it is also not my concern. She will do as she feels she must. I have given her a decision, and she has made it. If she wishes to do this job one day, then she must be ready to live with her choices, and I must let her live with this one. I hope she knows what she's doing, however, and that maybe her trust in her teacher can be preserved despite how I feel about Celestia and what I can only estimate to be her true intentions.

The days will be no easier if I deny myself sleep. Time for me to find somewhere to crash before tomorrow. Songring is on its way to being able to stand on its own two feet again. The Voices of Subsisting must keep tuning ourselves just a bit more until we are ready to be its symphony.

38: Complications

Confound these ponies, sometimes they can be too much for a guy.

I am once again in my own office. As I write this, Teardrop and Overcast are both in here together spending their evening decorating. As thankful as I am for their thoughtfulness, the constant sound of a chisel being hammered against the stone walls of this small room is beginning to grate on my nerves. I have asked them to stop a couple of times now, but they merely wait for me to get quiet again as I write, and then start chiseling once more quietly with a few whispers.

Once again, these accommodations were not something that I had requested. I only found out about it once it was mostly completed. I was wandering the long hallways that Silence had carved out, admiring the smooth stone walls and enjoying the rather cool air within the mountainside. I went to investigate the sound of a pickaxe hitting stone deeper within the halls to congratulate Silence on her hard work in creating the charming rooms for the settlers. However, as I went down the hallway, I found that it turned again. The sound was coming from the end of another long hallway that had no doors on the sides, but only one portal leading to a hollow room at the end. Entering the room, I saw a spiral staircase carved from the stone and eased my way up them to find Silence hollowing out a second story to this room. The stairwell extended all the way up to a break in the roof that sunlight poured in through .

Silence evidently did not hear me approach, as she continued to strike away the stone with frighteningly powerful swings of the pickaxe she wielded expertly with her horn. The sight was rather awe-inspiring; as it was the first time I got to witness her at work. Despite her average build and stature, the pickaxe, guided by her magic, struck with a force to be reckoned with and followed through in each swing to tear sizeable chunks from the wall instead of pebbles and shards like I had always imagined. The stones that fell were rolled across the ground into a standing pile to remove them from her workspace, which I assumed she occasionally took the time to roll them outside, or had Maple carry them out to the mason's workshop for Overcast to chisel down into bricks. "I guess you've decided to go all out on your own room then? Thus are the perks of getting to be the one making the rooms."

Silence whipped around in a startle, looking around her after she spotted me to try and find something. She failed to find it, however, and adjusted herself against the wall as she communicated with me. "This? Oh, no, this isn't for me. I was hoping this would be more of a surprise, but it happens our little overseer is quite nosey." The pickaxe clattered to rest against the wall as she stopped her work, respectful of the fact that I probably had enough noise in my head without the added stimuli of stone working and her telepathy. I asked her what kind of surprise she was working on, and with a sigh she informed me that this was to be my new office and living space.

The dimensions resemble those of the office I had back in Songring (three floors, each of approximately 225 square feet in area), with the noticeable difference being that the first two floors happen to be rooms carved out within the mountain. The top floor is a stone-brick structure, with two windows, resting atop one of the ledges approximately twenty feet above the valley below, giving me a nice vantage point from my bedroom to view the ponies and the valley. The only way to access the second and third floors is from the first floor, which can only be reached by wandering through the hallways and past all of the ponies’ rooms. The third level, though having windows to let in sunlight and a view of the outside world, does not have a door and can only be reached by the stairwell. I was informed that this was precautionary so that should I suffer from one of my moods, as I had a habit of doing every so many seasons, I could not avoid seeing or speaking with someone when I had to leave to find food or use the facilities. Clever planning on her part.

I asked her why she was putting so much effort into such a project when I could have given her something else to work on, but she only shrugged at me. "I do not want to work on another project just yet. I want to do this for you, and I was hoping to have it completed before you realized what I was doing so you could not say no and put a stop to it." She was right to worry about that, because I was already planning to ask her to return to something more beneficial to Songring than my comforts. I asked her why it was so important to her for me to have this, and all she responded to me was, "What goes around comes around."

I am happy to finally have my own quarters again, and the familiar shape of them has helped me settle in comfortably to the new location of Songring. All of the rooms have been made for the settlers, and we also have quite a few others hollowed out that will only require doors to be installed and beds moved into them if and when new arrivals make their way to Songring. My section has just most recently been done, and I am still exploring my new office at this time while Overcast engraves the walls and Teardrop gives him ideas for the designs.

There is some news to be given on the issue of our pets, and a bit of difficulty with our lumberjack because of it. I have learned that, interestingly, these giant reptiles called tanks are not actually reptiles at all. They happen to be mammals. How do I know this? Well, it started with Dawnstar informing me that the ponies were complaining of a noise issue, and that Springfield had requested my personal attention to something going on outside. I figured that the tanks had rummaged through his fields since the wall had yet to be completed, so I was ready to see the damage done. That was not the case. I instead heard loud, labored breathing, and a quiet groan coming from the area of the trees as Springfield called to get my attention.

"Benjamen," he told me as he lead me to the side of one of the tanks lying on her side and panting heavily with strain, "Stay here and keep watch. Don't let anything come near her. I'm gonna go get some water an' soap. I'll need ya ta tell me anythin' that happens when I get back." With that, he already began a gallop back to the living quarters to collect the supplies.

"Wait! What's going on? What's happening?" I called out, but received no answer as I was left to watch the huge beast heave for breaths. Uncomfortably, I rocked back and forth on my heels as I watched her struggle, waiting the achingly long minutes it took for Springfield to return with two buckets of water and some bars of soap. Setting them down nearby, he asked me what had happened. "Well, I saw a squirrel in the tree over there, but it got into a fight with another one and they took their argument elsewhere. I can only assume it was a dispute over real estate. Why?"

"I mean with the tank, smartass," he clarified irritably.

"Nothing that I have been able to see. She has just been breathing heavily and looks to be in a fair amount of pain. What's going on here exactly? Is something- Oh dear lord, that's a head, isn't it?" It was then that I realized that the tank was giving birth. Springfield immediately dipped his hooves in the soapy water and shook them dry before stepping behind the tank. It was rather amazing, and truly repulsive, to watch the scenario as Springfield put his hooves beneath the calf (as I have learned they are called) and gently cradled it as it was pushed free from its mother’s womb and into the warm air of the outside world. I will spare some of the more disgusting adjectives and explanations at this time. Believe me when I say that this section is long from over, and there is worse yet to come.

There was a sigh of relief that escaped me when the calf was finally free and Springfield gently rested it on the ground near its mother. I wanted to step over and examine what looked like a miniature tank without any of the hard, plated scales rested over its back, but as I stepped closer, Springfield shot me a glance and told me to get back and not to touch her. It was then that I saw the huge beast was still struggling, and Springfield soon had his hooves cradling the head of yet another calf. This scene went on for over an hour: One calf being birthed after another, yet still the tank was in labor. I must say I bet the big girl is thankful that the young are shaped the way they are, with a pointed nose and a long, straight body. I am sure that fact is only mildly comforting considering that she birthed nine calves in that one sitting.

Springfield finally stood up and sighed deeply in relief as well, stepping back over to the bucket to begin rinsing his hooves again. I wondered if he was going to say anything to me, but I suppose a thanks was not quite in order since I had not done anything to assist. I had merely watched what was going on in my fascination and horror. After he had washed up, he stayed to watch the calves move to their mother in hopes to feed, but I could feel a tension coming from Springfield as he refused to even blink. Finally, after perhaps half an hour, I realized he was watching the Tank's face, and she was still straining and panting painfully.

"Well, nine pups. That's amazing! I bet if you told that to a woman, she would scream bloody murder, right?" I tried to joke with him, but he still chewed at the inside of his cheek as he stared with intensity at the situation.

"She ain't done, and I think it's mispresenting."

"What?" I asked, having no concept of what he told me.

Springfield stepped back to her and put his hooves to her belly, resting his ear against her to try and detect something. As he pressed with his hooves, he shook his head slowly, and looked back to me once more. "She's got one left to go."

"Ten! Well, congratulations girl, you made it to the double digits! I'll have to present you with a medal," I said, impressed and unsure what to say about it. I could not understand why Springfield was so upset until he bit his bottom lip again, strolled to look the creature in her eyes, and set a hoof on her neck gently in comfort.

"It's probably gonna stay nine, Benjamen," he told me grimly, rubbing her neck with what I could tell to be sadness now. "It's mispresenting. Things ain't lookin' too good for her." After a few quiet moments, he straightened his expression to his usual stoic visage and looked at me with a serious air. "I guess we gotta make a choice then, huh?"

"Choice? What do you mean?"

"It's her, the pup, or we lose 'em both. What're we gonna do, Benjamen?"

A hush settled around us when he told me that, and I looked between the tank and her nine young huddled close to her at that time. I felt my heart skip into my throat and make it difficult to breathe, while Springfield stared me down and waited for me to make a decision. "What do you mean? Please, tell me what's going on." He finally told me that the calf still in her womb was positioned incorrectly, and thus, she could not complete the birth herself. The two choices, as it were, would be to either abort the pup, or to slay and cut open the mother to retrieve it. To be honest, I was stunned. Is there no other way, I asked myself repeatedly, trying to come up with a solution. Caesarian was the only thing that came to mind, but the risk of infection was too high and neither of us was trained for it.

One lives, one dies. I had to be the one to choose.

It seemed logical to me that the mother needed to live, as there were nine other calves that depended on her now. The sacrifice of one to save the many, but how was it fair to snuff out the life of this one for something as unfortunate as a birthing complication? The mother had lived a long life. If we could ask her, would she tell us to spare her child? Ten minutes must have passed while I stared at Springfield without an answer, until he raised his voice at me to tell me that the clock was still ticking.

"There has to be another way," I said, shaking my head in disbelief, and I could feel my eyes sting as I fought myself over the impossibility of this choice. "There must be an answer aside from this ultimatum."

"There ain't any way I can shift that calf, Benjamen. These hooves ain't gonna be good for it. If its head's back or its feet’re tucked, ain't gonna be any way for me to-" His words dropped off as he looked at me once more and dashed from the tank's side to push the water bucket to me. "Rinse yer arms, Benjamen. Get 'em clean 'cause we got one other choice, an' I think we're both willing to take it."

Throwing my coat aside so that my arms were now bare, I rinsed them as quickly as I could in the bucket and shook them dry. Stepping to Springfield as he rested himself behind the tank and nodded to me, I asked him what he needed me to do now. He motioned to her with his head insinuatingly.

"We need ta find out what position that pup is in and put it in the right one."

"How are we supposed to do that? You said your hooves aren't manageable enough to accomplish that."

"Yeah, these hooves ain't. Lucky you."

I felt my stomach bottom out at that moment like I had swallowed a lead weight, and I looked down to see my hands and fingers trembling at the insinuation. "No," I said, shaking my head and backing away with a stammer. "You can't be serious. I'm not trained for this! Just no!"

"Prodder!" he shouted, standing up again with a fierce scowl. "Get a hold of yerself! You still get to make this decision: The pup, her, or both. Somehow, you got what you wanted: A chance to save 'em both! You gonna squander that an' watch 'em both die in that case?"

I was left standing still in shock as he shouted at me. Let them both die? That was still an option? As much as I did not want to participate in this act, and as hard as it was to force the words through my tight throat, I finally squeaked a quiet "No." I shuddered as I moved back over and tried to take a deep breath to calm myself.

Those of you with weak constitutions might wish to stop reading now, as this is where my skin begins to crawl and hairs stand on end as I am forced to relive the trial I had to endure. Springfield left me there for just a moment to grab some rope and tie the tank's feet together to avoid her kicking and scratching during what followed. With her well enough subdued, Springfield nodded to me, and I summoned the legendary amount of willpower it took to plunge my hands within her.

I had a girlfriend in fourth grade. We kissed each other on the playground one day, and panicked afterwards that she was going to get pregnant. We clamored to find a wedding ring to make sure nobody would be upset with us. We were soon informed that this wasn't the case, and that we were not going to be underage, unwed parents. That relationship ended three weeks later when she was seduced away by a peewee handball cornerback who had transferred to our school. That happens to be the extent of my experience with girls, and shockingly, it did not prepare me very well for this scenario.

For the sake of giving you the proper amount of revulsion and distress that I felt, I will give you four words to describe what I experienced: Soggy, fleshy, pulsating, and throbbing. Let those really sink in for a moment, and when you realize that what you ate before reading this is now all over your lap and on the floor, maybe then you can relate to me. As I was forced to reach as far in as I could to try and blindly find the calf, Springfield soothingly told me that I was doing fine and kept rubbing the huge creature's side to keep her calm. After plenty of fiddling around, I finally found something pointed and felt the scrape of claws against my hand. Letting Springfield know I had found it, he started drilling me with questions.

"What do you feel?"

"Something kind of long and pointed. And some sharp claws further back."

"A'ight, means its legs are tucked. Can you feel eyes?"

"No."

"Nose?"

"Maybe, but I don't feel any nostrils."

"It's presenting breach too. Dammit. We ain't gonna be able to turn it around, but the best we can do is at least get its legs straight so she can push."

"Springfield, less talking; just tell me how the hell to handle this."

"Grab its feet an' pull towards you. Put yer hand 'round its claws so they don't scrape her up. There ain't gonna be a lot of room, but you should be able to ease 'em out from underneath the pup. Once you done that, pull real gently until ya feel the pup start movin' on its own again."

After a few minutes of struggle, I believed I had gotten the creatures feet pulled so they were straight behind it. As instructed, I applied a very gentle amount of pull on the pup until the movements within the tank started once again, feeling a tiny bit of give.

"Alright, I feel it moving. What do I do now, Springfield?"

"Go clean yourself up. You've done all you can."

I probably should have been more considerate to the tank, but knowing I now had my freedom back, my hand “schluck”ed back out at me and I immediately slammed my whole arm as far as I could reach it into the bucket of water. My extremities would not sit still, and as much as I scrubbed with the soap against my arm and rinsed over and over again, I couldn't get rid of the sensation on my arm of the environment it had just been in. I am sure endless amounts of disgusted complaints escaped me while I was having my short episode. Thankfully, Springfield let me do so until he quietly set his hoof on my shoulder. When I finally composed myself, he motioned for me to look back once more. The tank had now curled her body around and was shielding her ten new calves as they suckled with quiet grunts and croaks.

"Well, you got what you wanted Benjamen." Springfield told me as he stood me up once more and bumped me in the side with his shoulder. "They both get the chance to keep goin'." I tried to answer, but only a useless dribble of sound escaped me as I couldn't formulate a response. I might equate it to a verbal fart. "All good things are worth the work to get 'em," he told me, pushing me gently towards the housing and coming along with me. "She's had a real tough day, let's let the gal get some peace for a bit."

"Yeah," I responded mindlessly, trying to fight the fact that my legs wanted to wobble and give out from under me.

"By the way, Benjamen... Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"Naw, really. I know it wasn't easy ta do that, an' it means a lot to see that you've got what it takes. I respect that."

"No, really, don't mention it. I don't know if my stomach can handle it right now, Springfield."

With that, we now have twelve tanks around Songring, though ten of them are just babies. I have concerns now that there may be a scarcity of food for a population of them that large, but perhaps not. I have merely been sending Salmon around each day to watch how much food they consume when he is not busy battling the tigerfish over game in the river. If we keep a close eye on the surrounding foliage, I am sure we can estimate how well it will handle the current tank population. There has been one nice thing since this occurrence though, and that has been that Maple has absolutely refused to see or speak to me since. I find the peace rather enjoyable, but I worry if perhaps she has some sort of complex that will cause us future complications. I will enjoy the peace for another couple of weeks before I begin to question how to resolve this issue. I am not fool enough to give up a good thing too early. Not to mention it will hopefully resolve itself.

I just relocated myself to the second story to see if I could escape Teardrop and Overcast in their little endeavor, as they keep peeking at me every few minutes. I also keep hearing chortles, chuckles, and giggles from them, so I can't tell if they're up to no good, or just nervous and making jokes amongst themselves while I am busy. Either way, I felt it necessary to remove myself, but when I did, I found something that I do not know how I feel about yet. On the farthest wall from the stairwell, tucked away in the top corner of the room, is a small engraving that was already there. I had to stand on a chair to see it clearly.

"♥ Stone Silence"

Why do I foresee this causing complications?

39: Returns

Yes, 22 ponies now inhabit Songring at its new location. I was thoroughly surprised when we had no new arrivals in the summer, but as it turns out, we also did not receive notice from the courier that season either. This happens to be because the two situations were related, as I have come to learn. Originally, there were seven additional ponies that were on their way to Songring for arrival in spring when we packed up and followed the Charmedsmile upstream. Upon arriving at the old Songring in midspring, they found it to be nothing but a ghost town. The group was mortified to find that what they had believed would be their new home was abandoned, and began to wonder if something might have happened to the settlers. A familiar, former resident of Songring organized a search party at that time. Spending the following three weeks scouting the area, the party of new settlers could find no trace of what might have caused the survivors of Songring to vanish as they had.

As it turns out, a courier was meant to be dispatched with them (specifically, the courier that brought back the news of where we were going to be moving our operation to), but it turns out that he fell ill and could not make the journey that season. Instead, they called in a replacement for him to make the deliveries. This is how I now know why they got so lost and could not locate us:

They sent Sugarlump to make the deliveries that season.

Bless her big cross-eyed head, she never even bothered to look through the mail, to perhaps get a clue of where we might have gone, and had already forgotten what our usual courier had told her of our plans. She was instead following the lead of a previous resident of Songring who was making a return and was just as shocked and worried when they found the original resting place of Songring in ruins with nobody there to greet them.

It was not until midsummer, when the courier regained his health and could make the trip, that he learned Sugarlump had never made it back to Canterlot with the return mail. There was some speculation that perhaps we simply did not respond, but he was certain that he knew what had happened. He located the seven settlers (and the blonde-maned pegasus) at the remnants of Songring's first attempt, and was able to instruct them on how to find us.

The Spring settlers arrived at the same time that the Autumn settlers did this month, so it was a boost of 12 total (though it was only meant to be five for this season). I remember rather clearly how it came to my attention that they had arrived as well. Unlike most new arrivals that have taken place since Dawnstar's internship began, where she will catalogue the new settlers in the little metal-bound booklet that I received from Pinkie at my welcoming party in Ponyville, I was greeted personally by the leader of both the traveling party and the search party that had been dispatched to find us.

“Prodder! You hairless little prick! Just who do you think you are? I have half a mind to cut you open right here and see if you really have a spine at all."

At the time, I was standing beside the wall that outlined Springfield’s farm, which Willow had finally gotten around to erecting . I was holding one of the baby tanks in my arms and trying to find her mother so I could return her after she had followed me into my office and curled up underneath my desk to sleep. (It was the calf that I had specifically saved: She has a discoloration over the plating that grew on her face of a large pink splotch amongst the dark navy scales around her left eye, so she is easy to identify. At that time, which was approximately four weeks after birth, she was the size of a medium dog, perhaps weighing thirty or forty pounds. I have named her Abeo.) Hearing the threat caused me to turn around slowly in mild terror and shock as I had no clue who was yelling at me, or what I had done. At first I did not recognize the pony that glared at me with fury in her eyes. She had a burgundy coat and a pointed horn upon her head, and was wearing a harness secured to her back below her muted beige mane. It was not until I had the thought, "A little chunky, isn't she," that I realized it was Daggersides. "What?" I finally asked her, unable to understand not only what she was doing here, but why she was contemplating attacking me.

"Don't "What?" me, you back-poking snake. I don't know what your problem is with me, but you better spill it fast and be ready to just get over it. So out with it: When did I piss in your porridge to make you so determined to ruin my life?"

"What?" I repeated mindlessly, still dumbfounded at the accusations being made. It was difficult for me to even come to grips with the fact that I was being spoken to by a specter: A memory that I thought was gone, as reason told me that Daggersides left the expedition back after the hurricane hit Songring in the Autumn of 1222.

"Try to say "what" one more time, Prodder. Give me that third strike so I have more reason to knock you out right here."

"Wh-" I stopped myself and immediately tried rephrasing my question as I pulled the tank calf closer to me and kept her head over my shoulder. She started to kick and squirm in fear from the loud shouts being directed at us. "Why are you shouting at me? I don't understand what I'm being accused of: Can you tell me why you think I am trying to ruin your life? Or perhaps can you explain why you're even here? Are you real, or am I having something like an out of body experience?" After a moment, I rested myself against the wooden wall and continued to stroke the calf on its bare neck, beneath the crown that shielded it. "Please, please tell me you're not my spirit guide or something. I was kind of hoping my guardian angel would be less..."

"Say it."

"..."

“Say it. I fuckin’ dare you to say it, Prodder!"

"Abusive?"

With a huff, she sat down and began explaining herself with one hoof raised to point at me accusingly. "Okay, fine, I'll give you a short list of why I'm pissed off and what you need to explain yourself for: Insulting my looks, insulting my capabilities as a hired blade, insulting my intelligence by playing dumb and thinking I don't know what you're up to, and best of all, slandering me by making me look like a lay about and a friggin' quitter. A girl has little other than her reputation, and you're trying to ruin that for me! How about we start with those?"

"Alright," I agreed, setting the tank calf down before she could claw my clothes open in her fear. Humorously to me, she did not flee, but instead pushed behind my legs and curled around them, scared of Daggersides. Poor little Abeo was just as startled as I was. "Well, how about I start with the one that I know something about: I apologize for saying you were not as fit as I expected mercenaries to be. That was at a difficult point for me when I said that, but I understand that does not excuse me being so rude. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings."

"That's a start. What are you going to do to make up for that then?" she asked me with her legs folded in front of her.

I admitted, "I had no plans to. I figured my apology would be enough. What would you want as reparations? Perhaps then I will decide if I'm going to 'make up for it'."

"Well, you called me ugly, so-"

"I said you weren't fit, there's a difference."

"Whatever; I think it's only fair that you have to tell me I'm beautiful to make up for it."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves here, Daggersides," I said, glancing away as I was hoping this silliness would end soon enough and we could get to the bottom of what really had her so upset. "Let's just move onto the other things you're mad at me about."

"Not until you tell me it, Benjamen."

"Really, I'm not comfortable with this."

"What's the matter then? You don't believe it? You don't think I'm a beautiful pony?"

"Okay, now that is a loaded question! That's not fair, so I refuse to answer it."

"No answer is still an answer, Prodder, and I know what that answer means."

"It means you should stop fishing for compliments, you fat bitch." Both of us stood there in stunned silence, and I expected Daggersides to absolutely fly off the handle. I couldn't believe what I had just heard, and was mostly relieved that it was not I who had blurted it out. Maple strolled up to my side with her axe slung over her shoulder having just returned from collecting some more wood for the dining hall project. "He already apologized, and that's a lot more than I would have given you." With that, Maple put her hoof on my head and rubbed it in my hair in what older brothers all over Terriel called a noogie. I gave a sigh of relief when she sat down next to me. I can only assume she was there to mediate our negotiation now. "Big bad mercenary getting her feelings hurt over a couple of words? If you're not going to look like one, at least act like one Daggersides."

I was certain a fight was about to break out and I was going to have to find a way to subdue one or both parties to avoid some sort of mortal injury (since they were both armed), but to my pleasant surprise, a woman's touch seems to work a bit differently. Daggersides glowered for a bit before giving a dismissive wave of her hoof at Maple as though she was not worth her time, and then regarded me again so we could continue productively. "Alright, fine, then what about the making me look bad?"

"I had no intention of doing so. What did I do exactly?"

"You told me we were quitting, that's what! You pretty much told me it's over and had me pack up with the thought of a job well done, but next thing I know I got turned down from my next job offer because I'm apparently a flight risk!" She stamped her hoof angrily at that statement. "Sir Bullion turned me down for a job protecting his caravans. When I asked him why, he said he couldn't trust me; that if I had abandoned Songring the way I had, there was no way he could believe I would actually get the job done. What the Nightmare was that for, Prodder? You've even turned one of the largest names in the mercantile business against me!"

"Oh," I submitted then, rubbing my arm as I tried to think of a way to appease her. "Well, that does seem to be mostly my fault then, huh? That was never my intention, I promise. It is merely that I could not give up on Songring. Those who had the most stock in it stayed, and I could not abandon them." I could only shrug to her afterwards. "I'm sorry that you got some backlash from that. I can speak with Sir Bullion this winter and clear your name for you, but that is the best I can do."

"That'll have to do then, and you better make me sound good if you know what's best for you."

"He'll do it because he feels it's the right thing to do," Maple interjected as she pushed forward from me and up to Daggerside's face, "Not because somepony with a 'tude problem is threatening him to do it. I don't care who you think you are, but you've got a few screws loose to think it's a good idea to come around here and threaten somepony else's leader."

"This is personal business anyways, you useless lush, so I don't care who answers to him. Are you supposed to be his cavalier in shining barding then? Sucks that the best he can get for a guardspony is just a pickled drunk."

"He doesn't need anypony defending him, but if we had to, I think we have plenty of ponies here who would be happy to string up a porker like you for laying a hoof on him. How about you head to the dining hall where you belong until Ben can sort things out with Sir Bullion, and then you can just eat your way back to Canterlot, or Candyland, or wherever you were spawned."

"Ladies! There's a child here!" I shouted, picking Abeo up once again and cradling the tank calf in my arms. "Control yourselves; you're setting a terrible example," I informed them as the creature chittered a bit uncomfortably and buried her face under my arm. "Look, I'll see you in my office later Daggersides so we can discuss this like civil adults. I am sorry for the inconvenience."

Daggersides accepted my answer and, with a spit at Maple, began walking away. Maple responded by picking up a rock and lifting it above her head in preparation to hurl it before I cleared my throat to get her attention.

"Just one, Ben. Just one and I'll let it go."

"Maple, really, there's been enough trouble. Drop the stone."

"C'mon, you know you want to see me bean her in the back of her head."

"What I want isn't the issue; we really need to just let this whole thing go. It's already gotten far out of hand."

"So you do want to see me hit her with it?"

"You're not a very good example for little Abeo here, you know that?"

"To Nightmare with that lizard! You know what? To Nightmare with you too for liking them so much." I had trouble telling if she was now playing with me, or if she was truly upset with my association with the tanks.

"What have you got against them, Maple?” I asked, holding Abeo out to her which made the youngling kick a bit as I held her underneath her front legs. “Look at this."

"Ew! Get that away from me, you sicko! You're as bad as Tag and Rag for liking those disgusting things," she said, swatting at Abeo with her hoof to try and make me pull her away.

"It's so adorable though! Look at her little pink splotch on her eye and tell me that such a face doesn't make you just go “Aw!”"

"You know what? It's a baby, I get it, but I bet you Willow was once a cute foal too. Look how much of a shithe turned out to be, huh? That thing may be cute now, but it will become a freaking monster. The fact that it's even alive is your fault too. You disgust me, Ben."

"I had to do what I had to do, Maple," I informed her as I set Abeo down once more and folded my arms indignantly. "It was an emergency, and there were two lives on the line. What would you have done?"

"Not gone that far past second base with a huge-ass lizard, you freak!"

"You think I wanted to do that!?" I shouted, raising my right hand up and holding it out to her as she backed away. "Do you think I wanted to take that plunge? Do you think I enjoyed what I did?"

"Get that thing away from me, Ben! I mean it! No!" she protested, backing up so that she was pinned against a tree as I marched at her with my hand outstretched.

“Look at it!!" I screamed, "Look at it and know my true pain! This is the hand! The hand which has gone where no man may have dared go before!”

Maple's shriek into the woods echoed, causing Abeo to skitter into the brush alone in search of her mother, and brought a few ponies charging to the rescue at the blood-curdling sound. Salmon, Springfield, and Willow broke through the tree line near us within a matter of half a minute, all breathing heavily as they tried to assess the situation. All they found, however, was Maple cowered against the tree with her eyes screwed shut and cringing away from my outstretched finger which was merely centimeters away from her nose.

As the three stallions simply stared at us, I was posed with a very difficult question: How the hell could I explain this?

"Okay, Benjamen," Springfield began slowly, obviously rather uncomfortable witnessing this, "You've got me. I don't have a damn clue what you two are up to."

"A bit of role-playing, Lad?" Salmon guessed, also clearing his throat with some discomfort at the situation. "Don't suppose you need a riveting narrator for this scene? I once was master of ceremonies for a rendition of Pipsqueak and the Wolf, so I can fill the role for you."

"Role-playing? Like a nerd?" Willow added cheekily, before looking to Maple who shot him a dirty glance. He stuttered out a backpedaling response: "N-not Maple though, she's just a really good actress is all. Yeah."

Realizing how silly it must look, Maple put her hoof in my outstretched hand so I could help her back up and pushed her way past everyone, simply stating that she had woken up from a bad dream and I was merely being weird and doing some human thing. That seemed to appease them enough that they began to walk away, except for Salmon who was rather disappointed that he was wrong. I got to explain the whole scenario to him later. I believe that may have been the point when Maple stopped being so repulsed by what I had done. She still does not come around me when I am seen toting Abeo, who is now my personal guard lizard: When I don't want to be bothered, I carry her into my office and set her on my desk to nap while I work.

As far as actual progress on the settlement is concerned, very little has been made so far. A dining hall is currently in the works, and I have moved the stockpiles into the safety of a new mountainside storeroom that has been hollowed out. Springfield's fields have been walled off, and he is getting a very bountiful return from them before winter entombs us here.

I believe the Honoring Mire must be a very nutrient-rich land, considering the very little difficulty we have had in maintaining a food supply merely from the crops. Midnight berries, strawberries, long grass, cloudyberries, and bladesweed happen to be the most common fare that we are getting. We have not been stuck with merely this, however. I am happy to announce that Springfield has also been working on a few forms of subterranean crops to help flesh out Songring's diet. At first I was uncomfortable with the thought of mushrooms being an addition, considering the dangers involved with them, but it seems Springfield knows his crops well enough to know what is and is not harmful. I find I enjoy them most when sauteed in a pan with some oil, but I usually end up just eating them baked or steamed, since I do not trust Teardrop to use oil for cooking (she would inevitably burn Songring to the ground with it).

Most of my autumn has been spent adjusting to the new ponies that arrived, including the two returning ponies Daggersides and Rabbitfoot. It was nice to see Rabbitfoot again, though we had never gotten the chance to get to know one another very well. He’s a dutiful sort, having come to me personally when he settled in to apologize for being absent from work. I found it endearing how nervous he was, possibly waiting for me to get upset at what he promised me was not just him playing hookey. I was hardly able to console him, as my comments only seemed to change his disposition from jittery and compliant to ill and alarmed (his speckled brown and tan fur nearly turning green) . “It’s quite alright, I had not known that we would be continuing until someone brought the importance of our success to my attention. It’s nice to see a familiar face again, but I’m afraid your talents as a leatherworker aren’t really needed right now. We have no hides for you to work, so are you okay with doing custodial and manual labor for a while?”

Looking like he might be sick from my insinuation, he gulped back and questioned me with the word, “Hides?” I nodded and let him know we had none yet, but I would alert him as soon as we had some that needed tanning. Horror highlighted his expression as he tried to inform me that he might not be suited for the position.

“Why not? Your resume listed you as having leather working experience. Did I misread it?”

“I’m not a butcher though!” he shouted back, close to hysterics. Before he could hyperventilate, I tried to calm him down to ask him how he expected to do his job without being able to tan hides. “I don’t use animals! What kind of maniac assumes that!?” This begged the question as to what he expected to use for his leather working then. “Cotton and flax! Coarse cotton fabric soaked in boiled flax seed oil makes a strong, waterproof material. It’s called leather because it’s like hide, not because it is!”

After we got that misunderstanding out of the way and I promised him we would avoid using actual skins in his craft, I showed him to his new room so he could lie down and recover from the shock. I suppose the choice of material makes sense: I have yet to see these ponies eat red meat, and even fish is considered a taboo amongst a majority of the culture. I guess I just never gave a second thought as to where they might be getting the skins to make leather, since I’ve seen some of this material used here before. I’ve even seen Rabbitfoot at work with it. Either way, all I accomplished was updating the list of misconceptions I represent for the residents of Equestria about humanity: We are all manic depressives, we beat and threaten children, we have no love for our fellow individual, and we are butchering maniacs.

Quite interestingly we now have a filly in Songring. Our newest miner, Riverscar, is the mother of a sweet little foal by the name of Hyacinth. Her mother is busy most of the day in the mines and hollowing out new rooms or storage space in the mountainside with Silence, so I have witnessed the young one ambling around in search of something to do. The first time we spoke, she had wandered into my office while I was going over Dawnstar's reports about the most recent settlers so I could take account of what new professions we had to work with, and what skills I might be able to utilize. I am afraid she is too short for me to see over my desk though, so she was sitting there for perhaps half an hour quietly waiting for me to pay her some attention before Dawnstar finally came in with a new schematic for me to look at and immediately rebuked me for ignoring the filly. When the small pony had my attention, I asked what she needed.

The poor thing was terrified of me, quaking as she was unsure how I would react to her question. Her large, wide-spaced, pink-tinted eyes hardly blinked when staring across the desk at me. The fright she showed might have just been due to fear of her unfamiliarity with my species, but perhaps she got the impression that my position of authority meant I was going to be a disciplinarian as well. "I just wanted to ask if there was any food I could have. I'm hungry, and mom is busy in the mines where I can't go..."

Stunned at the meekness in her request, I assured her that of course there was food she could have. Standing up from my chair, I advised Dawnstar to go ahead and leave the schematic on my desk and that I would be back shortly. "Come on, I'll show you where the food is kept so you'll know from now on." With that, she followed behind me very closely the whole way, almost bumping into my legs many times as I took her to the storeroom. Once we were there, I swung open the door for her and showed her which pile held the food. "You're free to have whatever you need, but you have to make sure to put the lid back on anything that you open. Okay?"

"Okay," she agreed compliantly, beginning to sift through the barrels as I watched with marked curiosity. As she dug through the storage, I took notice of her peculiar coloration. I could not tell if her dark pelt was deep purple or blue in the dimness of the storeroom. Her mane was straight: Left loose to hang down her neck and over one of her eyes, and sported a peculiar pattern of red, white and pink colors that created the effect of pearlescence. For being hungry, she appeared very reluctant to reach for anything, unhappy with the available choices. After a while, she came back to me with her head held low. "Mr, I don't know how to cook..."

"Oh, you're not in the mood for raw goods then, huh? Well, where's your father? I can relieve him from duty long enough to cook you something if you want."

She immediately shook her head to me and mumbled something that I had her repeat loud enough for me to hear it. "Dad told me to do this myself already. He doesn't want me to bother him while mom isn't around. I'll eat it raw... I just... maybe you could show me how to cook so I can do it myself?"

"What makes you think I can cook?" That was the only one of the questions that came to mind I felt comfortable asking her right then, uncertain of how I felt about this new information.

"Well... you're the pony everypony goes to for answers. I see all the grown-ups come to your office when they have problems or when they need you to tell them what to do, so I thought that maybe you could help me."

"I'm sorry," I started, kneeling down to bring myself closer to eye level with her, "but I don't think I can show you. I don't know how to cook well myself."

"Excuse me, Mr. Benjamen?" I was surprised by the familiar soft voice from behind me, having never heard her enter since I had forgotten to close the door. The frail aqua-colored pony shifted into view with a smile and motioned for my attention. "I can do it. I'll cook her something and show her how to make it. If that's alright with you."

I nodded, and motioned for Hyacinth to follow Teardrop. She did so happily, finally smiling at the knowledge that she would be taught how to cook for herself.

"Follow me, Sweetie. I'll teach you everything I know; it's not much, but it's enough to get you started."

When I returned to my office, I requested Dawnstar get me the name and description of Hyacinth's father so I could have a word with him. At the time, I was not angry, merely wished to make sure I was not improperly granting him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he was truly busy with an assignment I had given him or caught up in something too important to make his daughter a meal, but I felt I should check just in case.

"Een-oo-teel is his name, Mr. Prodder. Violet pony with a curly black mane."

"Een-oo-teel? How in the world do you spell that, Dawnstar?"

I-N-U-T-I-L-E.

As soon as I recognized the word, I could not help but start to snicker. While I hid my humored grin under my hand at the word, Dawnstar stared at me as though I made no sense and asked me what was so funny. I dismissed the question and instead asked, “What job does he perform? What is his profession?"

"Let's see here... unlisted."

"Pardon?"

"He never listed a profession. He has no profession. He is professionless. Do you need any further clarification, Mr. Prodder?"

She was not amused, but I sure as hell was. I started to chortle as I tilted back in my chair, clapping my hands at the sheer situational irony of the moment. If this was a cosmic joke, it was a damn fine one in my opinion. "Oh, that is just too perfect. A pony named In-yoo-til, and he happens to be without a talent."

"He has a talent, Mr. Prodder, just no listed profession. And it's pronounced Een-oo-teel."

"No, Dawnstar, he can spice it up in any way he wants, but that word is "In-yoo-til". Inutile. Now that’s funny."

"I fail to see the humor in you merely mispronouncing his name, Mr. Prodder."

"What? Look at it! His name is Inutile and he's without a vocation. You really don't get this? Bah, go get a dictionary and look it up, then you'll know why this is just too perfect." At that point, I left the office to go find this fellow Inutile and ask him a few questions. It turns out he was located over at the construction site of the new dining hall. I found him sitting next to my architect, Blueprint. Together they were discussing something I could not make out at that distance, but peculiarly, I kept hearing Blueprint giggle giddily every time Inutile would speak to her with what I could perceive to be a cheesy foreign accent. I could swear I heard it before in the form of a protagonist in a Neo-Old Western film about an Aguayian duelist saving damsels in distress from runaway trains. I stood behind them for quite a few minutes with neither of them realizing I was there before I cleared my throat and sat down between them.

"Oh! Uhm, Mr. Prodder! Hi, we were just, we were making sure that the construction was running smoothly," Blueprint stated quickly, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose immediately when I looked at her. Nervous, huh?

"We? Oh, you and In-yoo-til here then? Well, I was rather curious what he was up to; apparently he did not finish his interview with Dawnstar, and I wanted to get the last couple of pieces of information from him myself." Once again, I watched her push the glasses up her face and adjust them.

"Well, of course sir. First, you must know that my name is said as Een-oo-teel."

"A rose by any other name, sir," I told him."

"Sorry?" he asked me.

"If you didn't get it the first time, you won't get it the next." I motioned for Blueprint to go check on the supports of the dining room, telling her the lie that I just had a bad feeling and would be more comfortable if she would check them one more time. Once she had left earshot, I turned back to Inutile. "So, no profession. Did you simply never get around to that question?"

"Ah, yes, well..." It was odd that he was already hard pressed to answer, but I could see him trying to find the best way to sugar coat it for me. "It is just that my talent would not be called a profession by most. So, I thought it was best not to give you false hope by saying something else. I do not enjoy the concept of lying to an employer."

"Uh huh," I nodded, looking at his flank to try to view his cutie mark. "So what is that talent then? It would be helpful to know so I can assign you proper work orders. I think we might have enough architects observing this construction project right now, and I could easily find a more useful place for you. Such as the kitchen, assisting your daughter with preparing her lunch."

I could see some indignation in his features: Evidence, to my surprise, that he was not as dumb as a sock full of stones. Though I did not try very hard to veil my insinuation, he went above and beyond my expectations by catching onto what I was trying to say. He did not mention it, however. "My talent is different from most. Just have a look." With that, he presented his cutie mark, which is in the form of a bright red heart pierced with an arrow.

"Please tell me that means you're a cardiologist," I groaned, already feeling my brow involuntarily turn inwards in distaste.

"It is my talent to get hearts pumping and blood flowing, yes, if that is what you wish to mean."

"It certainly is not what I mean, but thanks for clearing that up." I stood up and dusted myself off, knowing better than to stay here or I would say something regrettable. "Well, In-yoo-til, it has been eye-opening speaking with you."

"Please, it is Een-oo-teel."

"If it walks like a duck."

"Sorry?"

"If you didn't get it the second time, you won't get it the third." With that, I left him to his evening and headed back to my office, but had to stop when I heard Willow snickering to himself. I was compelled to step over and begin chortling with him, both of us repeating the name quietly amongst us, and I took some momentary joy that someone else finally got the joke. Only moments later did I suddenly look up with a perturbed glance at Willow. "Wait a minute... Why are you laughing? I know why it's funny, but there's no way you got it."

"What!? Of course I got it, Ben! You don't get why it's funny?"

"You know what, just tell me why you think it's funny, and I'll see if we line up."

"Dude, just say the name real slow and think about his 'talent'."

"Inutile? In-yoo-til.... In... You... 'Till... Oh geez; Willow!" With a sigh of exasperation, I shook my head and began walking away, Willow snorting and chuckling as he knew I realized what he found funny in the name. What has been heard cannot be unheard. Now each time I think of his name, I get that thought and it makes me frown involuntarily. I can't help it.

It was nice seeing Sugarlump again with the settlers that arrived. She had a couple of letters for me, which I was thankful for (though they were almost a season late). When she found me here, the first thing she did was run up to me so she could throw her legs around my shoulders in a close embrace and lick my face again. Before I could say hello or greet her to Songring, she was already telling me over and over how worried she had been and what all she had been through to find me: How much she had searched and called for me and how terrible it would have been if she had never gotten to see me again. It’s comforting to hear her voice and to know that she remembered me so well, even though it had now been almost three years since we last saw one another (well, a year and a half to me, but three Equestria years). She stayed in Songring for an extra day to enjoy a few comforts like cooked food and a warm bed to sleep in (mine, which I lent her while I slept at my desk so she would be well rested to fly back to Ponyville), but it seemed she wanted to stay here with us. I told her that this was no place for her and that she had friends and ponies that would miss seeing her in Ponyville.

"Does that mean you're not sad that you don't get to see me?"

That question was hard on me, as I realized that I did miss seeing her each day. It made me miss Rarity's voice and the scent of her boutique. It made me miss Applejack's laugh and the feel of aged papers between leather covers in Twilight's library back in Ponyville. It made me miss the simple life quite a bit. I told her that it was not that I would not miss her, only that I was a single person who would miss her compared to the many who would if she stayed here with us. She accepted that and questioned when I would come back, which I could not answer.

"Well, you promised."

I did promise and I will keep it. Eventually.

39+: Letters

Dear Ben,

I find most of your recent letter nearly impossible to believe. I'm glad that you decided not to lie to me just to assuage my fears of what is happening to you out there, but I suppose I simply cannot have my cake and eat it too. I cannot rebuke you for lying to me at one time and then be upset when you tell me a truth that leaves me worried. I prefer it this way. At least I can rest assured that you're still healthy and unharmed. But be honest, is everything you wrote to me in your letter true?

The reason I am so skeptical is just that your claims are so wild! Do humans really breed that often? You make it sound like it's their entire daily agenda! How could everything one does be for the singular purpose of procreation? How does anything get done there? Also, if human males think about that subject so often, does that mean that you think about it that much too?

There's also what you said about your supposed technology I find impossible to trust. We do have computers here in Equestria (well, we have a few). I have one that I use to run some very large calculations and algorithms on, so I know what one is, but how can you fit that into a body? My computer is one of the smallest models available, and it just barely fits in a closet! You really have a computer inside of you that runs calculations, plays music, and lets you talk to other humans far away in real-time without magic? That's fascinating! How do they get it in there and make it that small? How does it remain powered if you don't use magic? Where is its screen located, and where does it print your results? I would absolutely love to have a chance to look at it sometime!

Oh wow, I've asked quite a few questions already. I just got excited with the idea of something so intriguing being right in front of me, figuratively of course. I had one other inquiry that I have been thinking about ever since I last sent you a letter, but perhaps now I should wait to ask it? Well, in case you feel generous enough to grace me with more knowledge about yourself, I'll go ahead and ask. I wanted to know who your friends were back home? You seemed so off-put and shocked at the way amiable ponies like Pinkie treated you, so what is friendship like back in Judicial District 7?

Everyone in Ponyville is doing well as you might have guessed. The cold season just passed, so Fluttershy's had a lot more free time since she is no longer constantly battling to keep all of her animals comfortable (there was an outbreak of the sniffles that they passed around). As for her clock, she let me know that it was running well at first, but it started to slow down once again and lose the time. I promise that I will go have a look at it for you to see if I can fix whatever happened, so please don't worry about that. Rainbow's meeting with the Wonderbolts went quite well from what she's told us. (That's their name, Ben. Wonderbolts. If you mispronounced that in front of Dash, she'd sit you down to give you the reasons why they're the greatest aerial ace team in Equestria. I don't think you'd want that, so try to remember it this time.) She was in a star-struck stupor for days afterwards until she finally snapped out of it and got back to her training exercises with more ferocity than ever.

I dropped by Sweet Apple Acres personally to inquire after the Apple family for you like you had asked. They were a bit busy getting ready for the apple harvest this year, but Applejack was quite excited to hear that you had asked about her. Everyone is doing well and they're seeing a fine profit this year, meaning they will hopefully be able to replace that rickety old barn soon. She informed me that she would make sure when they built the new one that they included a stall that was extra-nice just for you.

Pinkie has been trying to take on more responsibilities at Sugarcube Corner recently, but that has not been going too well for anyone involved. I actually just got back from helping resolve a yeast-based confection disaster that she had orchestrated. So I can best state that Pinkie is still being Pinkie. She also wanted me to relay that it's alright if you can't remember your birthday, and that she'll just celebrate the day that you arrived in Equestria instead. There's no getting out of it, Ben. You can't escape her insatiable need to celebrate.

As for your "Sugarlump", I believe I will let her inform you herself. I heard that she's been given the privilege of delivering the mail to Songring this season in place of the usual courier who could not make the trip due to illness. Hopefully this letter finds you at all! If not, I've made a copy. If I don't hear back from you soon ,or I receive back a question of why I'm ignoring you, I will still have something to prove I did not forget.

Yours Still Ignoring Rules of Valediction,
Twilight Sparkle

Dear Sparky,

Alright, first off we need to set forth an understanding here that procreation and sex are in fact different when it comes to human vocabulary. The latter is just the act, while the former refers to the act with the intent to create offspring. I would suppose from your letter that this activity in Equestria is not considered an act of leisure or purely pleasure then? I believe some of the settlers here give me apt reason to suspect otherwise to that, specifically a certain useless violet pony, but perhaps this is a cultural difference. By his accent, I take it that he is not a native to the Sun of Chance, so perhaps the subject is just much more taboo in the regions you are most familiar with. As for if I think about it so often? Thinking of myself as an intellectual, I would like to believe that I have at least remotely overcome such base needs and have better things to think about most of the time. However... as stated, a need is a need. So I will just state that no, I do not think of it that often.

Also, I helped a tank give birth recently, so even if I did have those thoughts that often, I certainly wouldn't anymore after that experience.

There are quite a few questions about computers listed in your letter. So many, in fact, that I do not think I can address each individual one right now. I promise that I am telling the truth, and will see if I can give some basic explanations here. The device is referred to most commonly as the Cranial Cyber-Mesh Interface, but this is a bit of a misnomer. The CCMI refers to the GUI (which is the equivalent of the screen you asked about), so the true label should be CCM when referring to the device as a whole. It is a pseudo-organic mesh that overlays the brain beneath the skull and grows along with it as time progresses to interact with other organs as well. We do not use magic for it, but the fact that it is partially organic means that it is able to use caloric energy to help keep it powered since its energy consumption is very low usually. So basically, eating food helps to keep the device powered. How it is able to fit into the body is because its almost entirely solid-state, meaning it has nearly no moving parts, so it is able to remain very compact. That seems to be the best way I can explain it without cramping my hand or consulting a professional on how it functions. I'm afraid that if you want to see it, you would have to open my skull. I don't think either of us would enjoy the experience. How about I let you see my I/O ports next time we meet though? They are slots open at the junction of the spine and cranium that allow external devices to be hooked into my CCM, so that would be the closest you could get to seeing it without open-head surgery.

So you want to know about my friends then? I'm sure this comes of no surprise to you, but I do not have that many back home. I would not call myself a loner because that sounds as though I feel pride in it, which isn't true. Instead, I will say that I was just never very extraverted. Strange that my closest friend since grade school would be the very definition of extravert then, huh? Jeremey Prowler is his name, and he has been a socialite since I first met him. Why is he considered my friend? Honestly, I think it's because he needs somebody with half a brain to fall back on when his hasty decisions get him into a jam and none of his groupies (or followers, or whatever he'd call them) have an ounce of competence. That, or maybe I will just never know what kept us pals. I have one other individual I would call my friend, and his name is Cooper Thurs. Coop is a short guy, but really broad and tough. Also a very silent type, excluding a few crude or harsh statements he’s keen to supply when the timing’s appropriate. He once told me that I was the only smart kid that didn't talk to him like he was a moron, so maybe that respect is why he was happy to hang around me. I personally always felt he dressed too much like a criminal and acted like a bawdy brute, but I knew he would stand between me and anyone who wanted to beat my head in, so I could forgive it. I wish I had more buddies to tell you about, but those two are the only ones I would call friends. Everyone else is just someone I know. Is that something that makes sense here?

It's refreshing to hear the good news from back there. I appreciate you looking into the clock for me, because I have yet to stop feeling guilty about what happened that day. I will also do my best to remember the name of the Wonderdolts, if just to avoid Rainbow Dash's fanaticism with them, since you insist. It seems that sleeping in a barn is something that nobody will ever let me live down, but at least I will hopefully find the presidential suite of barn stalls awaiting me the next time I stop by Sweet Apple Acres for the night. I'm also sorry that Pinkie has been causing you some grief recently. I understand that completely, since I have my own little band of jackasses here that I have to ensure don't make a mess of things. Life would just be boring without them though, wouldn't it? We can thank them for keeping that from happening at the least.

It was very nice getting to meet with Sugarlump again. (You still haven't told me her name!) While she was here, she reminded me that I have a promise to keep. I still plan to keep that promise of coming back, Twilight, even if it seems like the days are passing by with no sign of me getting any closer to my return. I just don't know how long I will be out here, but I hope you believe me when I say that I promise I’m trying.

Yours Who Never Knew the Rules of Valediction Anyways,
Benjamen Prodder

40-1: Pb

It seems consistent here in Songring that winter will forever be the most difficult season for us to endure each year. Three times in a row, winter has been filled with numerous hardships for me to have to record. I am starting to wonder if fate simply gets on her period this season each year and exacts her wrath on remote settlements to spread her misery. Or perhaps just my settlement. Maybe just me. I am still under the belief that fate and Celestia both have something against me. I am left sometimes to ponder exactly what I did to make them both despise me so much. Why can't they be a female more like Maple?

Scratch that, that's a terrible idea: having Maple be the guiding force of the universe and the leader of Equestria. Happy hour would be extended from noon to midnight nationwide as the seas turned to wine and whiskey, and the the cosmic bodies themselves would hurl jeers and vulgar quips down upon the creatures of Equestria. There would be a great tank genocide, and inquisitions to torture the information out of those who dare have something controversial to say of her. Also, I believe Mondays would become the day that the finest stallions of Equestria are required to coat themselves in butter and engage in body combat for her amusement. Perhaps I should ask why they can't be more like Silence then.

At which point the guiding force of the universe would know everything about you and what you have ever done, but never let you know she was there by never saying anything. Wow, that sounds uncannily similar to the beliefs of at least three separate religious factions back on Terriel. I may have just deduced that their God must be a mute unicorn.

I should stop my blasphemic prattle before this turns into a philosophical debate, as that is certainly one of the lowest occurrences on the list of important events that I must relay here. I fear that I do not have enough time to record it all in this one sitting. The candle I am using to light my office as I sit alone writing tonight may very well die out soon. I will document what I can.

One of the recent concerns could also happen to be a huge boon for Songring, but still I am torn over the situation. The safety issues involved are tremendous, and the possibility for disaster makes me consider revoking my current orders and just forgetting all about what we found.

My attention was brought to this issue very early on in the winter. Dawnstar had been absent for a while to see to a request that Riverscar had made for our attention. She had been gone for roughly an hour at that time, leaving me plenty of time to myself in my office. The times where I get to be alone are few and far between, especially when I am not simply getting ready to go to sleep or taking care of myself to get prepared for a day of work. I spent some of it considering writing in my journal, reading over the letters Twilight had sent me again, poking Abeo in the belly with the blunt capped end of my pen to make her croak and swipe at it with her clawed feet playfully (not long now before she will be too large to lounge on my desk without fear of it snapping under her weight), and glancing over the engravings in the walls around me to see if anything struck my fancy.

The sound of the door swinging open abruptly and crashing into the wall behind it startled me out of my thoughts regarding an engraving of a cheese on one portion of the floor (yes, cheese. I still do not know the symbolism of it), and caused Abeo to give a shrill cry before flailing off my desk with a thud. Dawnstar skipped happily into my office, draped herself over my desk, and began rapping her hooves rapidly against its surface to try and get my attention. Looking at her grin, which spread from one ear to the other, reminded me of how I must have looked on my birthday when I was little: Excited to get to eat cake and ice cream and all of the terrible things my stepfather was convinced were congealed diabetes. Even though I was looking at her, she insisted on waiting for me to address her directly before filling me in on just what had her so excited.

"Alright Dawnstar, I'm listening."

"Eureka!" she shouted, giggling to herself as she finally stood up from my desk and began trotting around happily. Abeo gave a staccato clicking in her throat in complaint as she lazily struggled to push herself back up on top of my desk and resume her nap. The noise only added to the chaos starting to build in my little office of giddy titters combined with hooves clapping against the smooth stone floor. "That's what you say when you find something great, right? I think we might have hit the jackpot, Mr. Prodder!"

"What are you talking about," I asked her, trying to hold Abeo away from the top of my desk for a moment as she kept clawing up the wooden surface and clumsily flinging my paperwork and letters about during her attempts. "What did you find?" It seems Abeo does not quite understand the meaning of the words "Stop", "No", and "Give me a moment, you oaf" yet.

"You have to come see it! You'll never believe me if I just tell you. Oh I just know you're going to be so happy to see it though! The investors were looking for a return from Songring? Well I believe they will certainly get it now! Not to mention how much will be left over for us!" she motioned for me to follow her quickly, and with a singsong demeanor, she waltzed out of my office beckoning me along.

Whatever she had to show me happened to be down in the mines below Songring. I had never stepped foot in these mines (mostly due to the poor experience of the last time I had gone into one for the purpose of saving Silence), so this was a new venture for me. This little project was one that I had not closely managed to be honest, as it was more or less a placeholder job for Riverscar and Silence to keep them from continuing to expand rooms and compromise more of the mountain with their digging. To put their talents to use and ensure that there would be no loss of productive space, I ordered them to dig down and create this mineshaft to collect some more stone for building structures, and perhaps find a few gemstones (Teardrop would be overjoyed to be able to cut some for our yearly visit from Sir Bullion).

I had expected the trip downwards to be something close to a twenty second jaunt down a small flight of stairs. Consider me fairly surprised when I found out that the depth Silence and Riverscar had achieved went far beneath Songring. The ramp systems leading down into the mines had to have been at least fifty feet deep, and they seemed dizzyingly long to me as we traversed them. I am lucky that Dawnstar knows a light spell, and illuminated our path for us, for I feared that I might easily get lost if I was forced to bumble around in the consuming darkness at that depth. My CCMI does have a low-light setting that can be activated, but the lack of light was too extreme for that to be of any use either. The trip down was made easier by Dawnstar repeatedly telling me how excited I would be and how Songring would certainly be put on the map now because of this, but I was a bit too distracted to give her anymore than a few grunts in agreement and the occasional, "Yeah" to appease her. While she was talking and leading the way, I was focusing more on a peculiar HPN (Health Preservation Notice) that my CCMI insisted on bringing to my attention.

HAZARD REPORT:

MEDIUM: INHALATION
EXPOSURE: MINIMAL
RISK: LOW
CLASSIFICATION: CHEMICAL - NEUROTOXIN
CHEMICAL ID: Pb
DIRECTIVE: AVOID PROLONGED EXPOSURE. REPORT ABDOMINAL PAINS OR COGNITIVE LOSS TO NEAREST MEDICAL PERSONNEL.

Now, for those of you who have not really paid attention in health class for anything except the talks about what to put where to make a baby, or fell asleep during your primer regarding CCMI interface, this may look somewhat scary with the bold typeface and full capitalization. Simply, breaking it down for you (even as simplistic as it already is), it is stating that there is something in the air that is classified as a neurotoxin by Terriel's FBHD. Current exposure is minimal, meaning that the saturation of the chemical in the air was at negligible levels, and indicated by the risk level that such amounts would not leave noticeable long-term effects. Let me be completely honest, I was not overly worried about the report, as some particularly rank farts can flag the CCMI's hazard report protocol as a "Minimal Exposure, Low Risk, Chemical-Flammability hazard.” What had my attention was the fact that it was going off at all, as I had not seen it once since I arrived here in Equestria or left Terriel.

I also was stumped as to what Pb stood for, or how peanut butter could possibly be a dangerous airborne contaminant.

"Dawnstar, does anything smell strange to you down here?" I asked her this casually, hoping to not arouse suspicion. Perhaps it is a natural gas leak, I considered. I could only assume that these ponies' sense of smell was more acute than my own.

"No, not at all, Mr. Prodder. Why do you ask?" she responded, before giving me a dry look. "Did you do something that I should be ready for?"

"No reason I suppose. Must just be my sinuses acting up on me from the dust in the air down here." I ignored her other question, shaking my head as I was left to rebuke myself. Of course it is not a natural gas leak, otherwise I would have received a flammability notice too. What could it possibly be then?

We eventually made it into a small chamber that had been hollowed out by the two miners. Torches had been secured to the wall to assist them in seeing their work. Silence greeted us with a nod and a smile after she realized we had approached, sparks and debris erupting from the point of contact of her pick against one of the walls. Riverscar was not present at the time as she must have gone on break. Dawnstar was motioning for me to look at something once again, and Silence wandered to my side. I was distracted by a new HPN.

HAZARD REPORT:

MEDIUM: INHALATION
EXPOSURE: LOW
RISK: MEDIUM
CLASSIFICATION: CHEMICAL - NEUROTOXIN
CHEMICAL ID: Pb
DIRECTIVE: VACATE PREMESIS TO AVOID EXPOSURE. REPORT ABDOMINAL PAINS OR COGNITIVE LOSS TO NEAREST MEDICAL PERSONNEL.

After a few moments the notice once again reverted back to minimal exposure and low risk, but I could not fathom what had caused the momentary spike in alert levels. It was not until Silence put her hoof on my shoulder to get my attention that I snapped back to the conversation with a quick "What?"

"Aren't you excited, Mr. Prodder?" Dawnstar asked me again, her grin mellowing sheepishly as she motioned to the wall that Silence had been striking. The dark crystallized substance in the wall gleamed with a metallic luster amongst the torchlight, and peaked my intrigue as I approached it for a closer look. "This is it! This is what will make Songring what they wanted it to be!"

"What is it?" I was forced to ask, rubbing the hair on my face in contemplation as I had no idea what I was viewing. The luster of the material had my interest, but my geological ignorance meant it was just because I was ogling a shiny object.

"Silver!" Dawnstar erupted in response. "It's silver, Mr. Prodder! We hit a silver vein! Who could have known that we were sitting on this kind of find, and would have never discovered it if you hadn't ordered that this mine be opened? We could have been squatting on riches for decades before anypony learned of this otherwise!"

"Is that true, Silence? Is this really silver?" Something seemed off to me: It was not as bright as I had imagined silver to be. Truly it shimmered like a metal, but the graphite-like color kept throwing me off, and I could not be convinced that it was the same material I had seen in rings and necklaces countless times before.

"It is indeed, Benjamen. There is silver in there. Here, look at this chunk, in the groove of the cleavage you can see it shining down there. It may not seem too familiar, but remember that the impurities have not been smelted out of it so it does not resemble what you might think silver should look like." With that, Silence lifted one of the loose stones from the ground with her horn and rested it in my hand so I could observe.

WARNING!

HAZARD REPORT:

MEDIUM: DERMAL CONTACT
EXPOSURE: HIGH
RISK: HIGH
CLASSIFICATION: CHEMICAL - NEUROTOXIN
CHEMICAL ID: Pb
DIRECTIVE: REMOVE EXPOSURE IMMEDIATELY. DO NOT TOUCH FACE OR MOUTH. SANITIZE AFFECTED AREA (LOCATION: RIGHT HAND). REPORT ABDOMINAL PAINS AND COGNITIVE LOSS TO NEAREST MEDICAL PERSONNEL.

As soon as the chunk of ore touched the bare skin of my hand, a siren like a dog whistle shot through my head and the CCMI threw up the alert notice without even a prompt for me to open it. At that moment, it came flooding back to me as to what Pb stood for: "Plumbum".

Lead.

Both of the ponies near me watched in shock as I threw the rock to the ground in a momentary panic, before spitting on my hand abruptly and scrubbing it against my pants to remove the contaminant as best I could.

"Benjamen?" Silence asked me, before I saw her cringe and stumble away from the blast of the siren alert she must have heard while communicating with me. Dawnstar looked between the two of us with a bamboozled, gaping expression, unsure of what she was witnessing.

"We have to go. Now,” I told them both, pointing back to the ramp system that had brought us down here. Both of them seemed unsure as to whether or not they should heed, but as I reached out to grab for them and start shoving them towards the ramp, they were forced to follow my order. "Back to the surface. Come on. Both of you." I was in too much of a hurry to bother explaining, feeling I would have to give them my reasoning once we got back to the fresh air outside.

"Wait!' Dawnstar stated as she halted despite my pushing to turn around. Her head craned down towards the stone I had tossed earlier, and her mouth opened as she was going to grab it in her teeth to bring it with her.

I really am not sure what I meant to do, but I am afraid that what happened at that time was something I do regret. I did not gasp, I did not shout, nor did I try to get her attention. My leg swung back instinctively and lashed forward in a kick that struck her in the side of the snout, eliciting a yelp as she stumbled back towards the ramps. I don't know if I missed my mark, and I had meant to kick the stone out of her reach, or if I had truly meant to kick her to keep her from grabbing it and accidentally ingesting the metal shavings that would have been left behind. No matter my reasoning, it undoubtedly upset her as she sniveled and whimpered when I continued to force the two of them up the ramps and back to the entrance.

Once outside, I finally took a deep breath in relief to be out of the air that had been contaminated with particles of lead, which must have been released when Silence and Riverscar were striking the metal in the wall. The two of them still had no idea what had come over me as I gave a sigh of solace and a shake of my head.

Dawnstar’s eyes were watery at the time, and I had assumed this was mostly because of where the strike had connected. It did not occur to me until after she started speaking, and Silence went to her side to comfort her, that perhaps it was not just a physiological response. "I just... I just thought you'd be happy," Dawnstar stuttered to me, her voice cracking as she coddled the side of her face with a hoof. "I'm sorry..." She whimpered then, ears tucked back as she seemed afraid to say anything more.

At first I had no idea what she was talking about, then I saw Silence stare at me with an incredulous look. "Ben, what is going on? What's wrong with you?" I heard the inquiry rather abruptly, shocking me as I looked between them. "Explain yourself." She was upset with me, and the volume of her demands evidenced it.

"Lead," I blurted out immediately, trying to come to my senses as to why I had taken the initiative to hit my assistant. "That stuff... it's lead." Silence's expression softened when I first said those words, then a startled look came over her as she thought about their meaning. "She was going to put it in her mouth, I had to stop her." Dawnstar still watched me with a pained expression, so I continued to explain. "If I had tried to say why, you'd be poisoned right now. I don't know how badly, but I don't think there's such a thing as an acceptable amount of poisoning. It was the only thing I could think to do off the top of my head."

"Galena," I heard Silence project, shaking her head and looking down with a hint of shame. "It's galena. That's what the formation is called. I should have known. I'm sorry Ben, this is my fault. I should have realized that when I found it. I was just so excited when I saw the glimmer of silver in it."

It took Silence contacting Dawnstar to get her to calm down, the understanding of the danger she was in finally became apparent to her when someone else explained it. I apologized as well, but Dawnstar only nodded. I could not tell if she was in shock from realizing how close she was to severely hurting herself, or if she was still upset about my methods. After that, I asked her to follow me back to my office, and she stayed very close to my heels (almost tripping me on accident a couple of times).

This has left me with a quandary now: Is the profit worth the risk? In all honesty, I would really like to be able to extract the silver we have found beneath Songring, as it could very well do what Dawnstar stated and return the investment that was put into the settlement originally. This would also mean we would have a valuable commodity to trade with Sir Bullion's caravan this coming year, not to mention it would certainly get some attention for Songring. The problem should be rather obvious though, as I find that I worry quite a bit about the health risk involved in working that closely with raw galena. I know enough about lead to understand that it is a heavy metal neurotoxin that can lead to microcytic anemia and disrupts the ion diffusion of nerve cells (My damn stepfather always wanted me to be a doctor like him, so I suppose I picked up a little knowledge along the way); what I lack is the knowledge of what are safe ways to handle it and if the risk is too great to have Silence and Riverscar continue extracting it from the mines. This could easily be disastrous if it somehow got into a water supply, or contaminated the food or soil. I also should not fail to mention the safety of the miners working around the airborne particles and in such close proximity to it without any proper ventilation.

As of currently, I have ordered that the mining continue, but with many mandates in place to preserve the health and safety of Songring. This means that while the production of the silver remains slow, we should be able to make a profit from it with minimal endangerment to the ponies here.

The first obstacle to overcome was how to safely extract it from the mines, which held the hazard of inhaling the particles or touching the lead. The possibility of dermal contact with it was easily handled. Since Silence is a unicorn and can move the material with her horn, she is the only one that I have allowed to continue excavating. Avoiding the possibility of poisoning through inhalation was a tricky obstacle to overcome, but I am rather proud of my own ingenuity in resolving it. I had the thought that if I could supply our two miners with a respirator of sorts, they would be fine no matter how much of it was drifting through the air. What is a respirator though, but just a special air filter? Sifting through the supplies we had received from Sir Bullion as a show of good faith the year before, I found the hand-operated water purifying pump that he had been showcasing during his visit in 1221 . I was sad to have to do it, but I was forced to dismantle the equipment to find what I hoped would be there (and to my relief, it was). Activated carbon packed into a small chamber through which water was forced to pass through during pumping. Willow and Rabbitfoot helped me with the construction. We used leather to create a mask that would encompass a pony's entire mouth and nose to create a firm seal and cut holes out in front of the nostrils. Willow crafted eight wooden discs with holes in them to allow air to pass through, which I used to make four air filters by placing a small cloth packet filled with activated carbon between two of the discs, then securing them with screws to keep the small circular filter together. A tight stitching secured the filters onto the muzzle-mask and over the nostrils, which forced the wearer to breathe through the filters and thus remove the contaminants that might be present in the mines. The final safety protocol in place is that a bucket of soap and water is kept available right outside the door of the mineshaft and is to be used both when entering and leaving the mine to wash away any contaminants one may have on them. (The water is not dumped back into the river at this time, but is instead kept in rock pots for storage until I can decide on a safe disposal method.)

The second issue to be considered was safety while processing the silver and lead into a usable form. It was agreed between Blueprint and I that we should contain the entire process (from original mining to storage) in a single location within the mineshaft. Closer to the entrance, a room was hollowed out for this purpose. Blueprint helped me not only construct the two smelting furnaces, but also a sort of canopy that would funnel all of the smoke out of a single pipe made out of sandstone. (We kept it as thin as possible to reduce weight.) This conduit runs about twenty feet above the ground level of Songring to let the smoke dissipate upwards, and can be extended later if we find we must build higher up the mountainside as to avoid discomfort from the settlers regarding smoke inhalation. Smoke Stack and Tall Tale, though experienced in working with smelting furnaces, are not unicorns. The issue then was how one could safely work with the leaded ore if they could not touch it, but once again it seems Rabbitfoot came to the rescue. Flaxseed leather has an oily finish over it to maintain the supple feel and avoid cracking, but it also makes it waterproof, which to me means that contaminants as large as lead particles could not pass through either. I had him fashion a few sets of stockings for the smelters to wear while working with the ore, as well as aprons just in case there were any minor accidents. As of currently, smelting is only allowed on Mondays and Tuesdays to cut down on smoke creation and to allow proper supervision of the process. Once again, this slows down our production significantly, but it also leaves much less room for problems.

Finally, the last issue involved storage. It would be foolish to cart this heavy metal in and out of the same storeroom that we keep our food, furniture, and everything else that we touch and use on a regular basis. Once again, it was agreed that the process, from start to finish, should be contained in the mines. A new storage room, which is connected to the smelting room, has been hollowed out. Any lead ingots that are collected while trying to extract the silver from the galena ore are stored there. (Silver is moved to the normal stockpiles; only the lead is contained in this room.) I am the only individual with a key to the door of that storeroom and plan to purchase more locks like these from Sir Bullion to keep any younglings from wandering in or avoid any monkey business. This is also another reason smelting is only on Mondays and Tuesdays: that room remains locked at all other times.

I still worry if I am taking enough precautions to ensure a safe industry of silver collection here in Songring, but some will argue that true success only comes with some risks. In fact, I might be way overdoing this (evidenced by how many times I have seen Willow roll his eyes when I ask him to help me once again with some safety equipment), as ponies may not be susceptible to the toxic effects of lead. I don't believe this to be the case considering that the effects are blood and nervous system related, so unless they lack one or both, it should affect them in much the same way. I am, however, in a land of magic horses, so perhaps they do not have blood or nervous systems. Maybe that is why there is so little physiology research material for me to examine for my own study. They may also have some sort of detoxing spell or ability to reverse the damage that might be caused by heavy metal poisoning, but until I have confirmation of this, my strict safety mandates will stay in place.

I am now relying on my CCMI's low-light visibility setting to see what I am writing. My candle just burned out. I will have to resign from making this entry for now, but there is still more that must be covered. I will continue next week when I find more time.

Author's Note

In short, the entry details Songring's discovery of galena beneath the settlement, which promises wealth for them while at the same time placing a very large health risk should the lead in the compound be improperly handled. During the expose of the mineral to him, Ben narrowly saves Dawnstar from mistakenly grabbing the raw lead chunk in her mouth by kicking her, then must defend his actions by arguing the danger that the new mineral poses. Ben goes on to describe the new safety mandates that have been put into place and his attempts to create a safe working environment for both the miners and the furnace operators while they are around the heavy metal, as he cannot pass on the opportunity to extract the silver from the formation to turn a profit for the settlement.

40-2: Perception

Perception is a rather complicated subject when one takes the time to truly consider it. What is true? What is real? Is reality a matter of the object itself or how it is perceived by others? If a chair is red, but everyone perceives it to be a green chair, is that wrong and the chair is still red? Is it correct instead to say that the chair is green since those perceiving it will concur? Does it even matter what color it is, as long as there can be a majority agreement regarding what color it is perceived as? Just a bit of contemplating I have been doing to pass the time and to help ease my thoughts on a rather difficult scenario that fully came to my attention here in Songring after I first started this entry last week.

I will say that it started with the Autumn arrivals, and it has been something that I have overlooked until now. My excitement to get our silver production into works blinded me to a very pressing matter. One of the ponies that arrived is a mercenary by the name of Flinch. This is an acquired name of course, as it was not what his parents named him, but it’s just what he has adopted to be called due to a nervous tick that he had developed. It was harmless from what we could tell, simply startling when he randomly lurches his head forward and chomps his teeth closed loudly. It turns out that on a job back in the year 1212, he sustained an injury to the head and has since had this tick. I do not have any medical records of specifics as to what happened, but I just dismissed it as an old wound with unfortunate lasting effects, and left it at that.

Flinch is also a glassmaker, so it was not very shocking when he came to me one day to ask me if I could construct him a glass furnace and get him some sand to get started on a project. The last time I had such a request, I received a gift: The statuette of myself and the seven settlers of Songring, which I still have on a new shelf above my desk in my office. I wondered if this perhaps was a similar bout of inspiration he was having and I was happy to try to oblige his request. I personally had no knowledge of how to construct a glass furnace, but I told him that our resident architect would be by to see him within the next couple of days when she was not too busy to help him.

Blueprint was booked that day, so it would have to wait until the next. He visited me that day as well actually, and asked me if I could help him make a glass furnace. I told him that I was working on it, and that Blueprint had already been alerted of his request. This seemed to confuse the pegasus, as he looked around and watched me with some distrust. "Already on it?" He asked me, uncomfortable then. "How did you know?"

"You told me yesterday, Flinch. Blueprint was too busy then, so she will be helping you today. Is there a problem with that?"

He shook his head at me and vacated my office at that time. I just assumed that meant he might be a bubbly individual or perhaps just forgetful. My concern was only peaked when Blueprint left out the next morning to meet with the chestnut-colored pegasus to continue work on his furnace, and he wandered into my office a couple of hours later to ask if I could help him in obtaining a glass furnace once more. "I'm a glassmaker, and I just kinda have this idea I really want to work on. Can you help me?"

"Uhm... Flinch, Blueprint is already waiting for you at the room we designated for you to use as your studio."

Once again he looked at me with confusion as I told him that it was already in the works. "Waiting for me? How did you know that I was going to be asking about this?" There was an air of distrust this time as well when he asked, eying me cautiously.

"You asked me for help yesterday, Flinch. Don't you remember?"

"No... I didn't."

"Yes, you did. Twice now, actually."

"What? How is that possible?" he asked me, seeming to become panicked as he backed up to the door and glanced around uncomfortably.

Warily, I set down the schematics I had been drawing up and regarded him with concern. "Flinch... what day is it?"

"It's... it's Wednesday. I just had this idea yesterday that I really wanted to work on, so I thought I'd come ask for your help today."

Clearing my throat, I regretfully informed him, "Today is Friday, Flinch. Are you feeling alright?"

He simply nodded and said that he probably just got his days mixed up and thanked me for my time. Retreating from my office, he went on his way to the room where Blueprint was waiting for him, and I went back to my schematics. I could only assume that this had to do with his injury and perhaps it was leading to some acute forgetfulness at this time. It could be that stress was leaving him unaware of his surroundings; moving to a new home can be quite taxing on an individual, and I could believe it might cause a mild case of delirium to act up.

When he came to me again even after the furnace was completed, I started to do a bit of personal research on the issue. He was panicked during that last meeting of ours, and grew a bit hysterical when I insisted that he had already asked three times. He was positive that this was the first he had even thought of this grand idea of his or asked for my help with a furnace. Peculiarly, he told me it was Friday when I asked him. He told me to stop watching him as he left, and I noticed his tick acted up rather frequently during our meeting. Most likely from the stress of his mild hysteria, I thought.

Daggersides happens to be the only pony here that knows anything about Flinch from personal history, so I was forced to contact her for some information. The meeting was strained, as she was still upset with me regarding her tarnished reputation (It still very much feels like a situation of her vs. us). I once again apologized to her and let her know that I did not feel she was a quitter, and after promising that I would do what I could to change Bullion's mind as well, she was willing to help me out over a cup of cider at the dining hall.

It turns out that Daggersides was also hired onto the same expedition that Flinch was when he received his injury. They were working with a geological survey organization as hired guards, protecting the geologists while they took measurements of various kinds in the northern portions of The Armored Poem (another province of Equestria). During the occupation, there was a manticore attack on the group, and in an unfortunate turn of events, Flinch was stung in the head by one of the creatures. I am not sure how closely these manticore relate to the ones I am familiar with from my Chimeras and Caverns bestiary (which I do have saved on the hard storage of my CCMI), but the term "Stung" indicates to me that he was poisoned. Most venoms that I am familiar with cause necrosis of affected tissues, and while it may be reversible with antidotes in most cases, some damage cannot be easily repaired. Nerve cells and brain cells happen to be two good examples, which would explain why he had a permanent tick following this injury if the venom had damaged or destroyed tissues of the upper spine and cranium.

"Do you know if it was progressive, or if he received treatment for it?" I asked her, watching her throw back gulp after gulp of the cider heartily.

"Look, Prodder, I know you think I might actually care and all, but a job is a job, and that means that coworkers are just coworkers too. I never got to know Flinch; once they carted him off on a stretcher to some sort of medical facility, I never heard from him again. I'm also not a doctor, I'm a fighter, so you're kinda asking a potter how to make taffy with these questions." she responded, shrugging at me as there seemed to be little else she could tell me.

"Some potters might be very talented at taffy pulling, so I can always hope."

"Yeah, well stop asking me how to pull taffy 'cause you're just going to have to do it yourself."

I wanted to make a quip about how it was most often a “do it yourself” scenario, but I figured that I am a class above that sort of humor, so I thanked her for her time and information instead. There seemed to be no real substantial answers, only a few more bits and pieces to toss into the pile of assorted facts I had about the cryptic pegasus. Overall, it was just confusing.

After that time, I stopped receiving requests from Flinch for a glass furnace to be constructed. It must have solidified in his mind that it was now available, and he went to it each day instead. I had assumed him to be at work, letting my mind return to important factors such as supervising the smelting, drawing up the schematics for a bathhouse I hope to construct in the future, or laying down plans for new buildings in Songring as well as upgrades to our existing structures. Finally, it was brought to my attention that he had been waiting at the furnace each day (all day to be precise) with absolutely no progress on this project of his.

I had to confront him in irritation, as I could have used his help with quite a few actual projects in the works, such as finishing up the roofing on the dining hall (which is now completed). I originally wished to ask him why he had been sitting alone in the studio room for days without any progress. Before I could say anything, however, he looked to me and said, "Good! You're here with the sand, right?"

"Pardon? I don't have any sand with me."

Giving a loud groan of aggravation, his tick went off before he could swear loudly about the situation. "You were supposed to bring the sand! They said you were working on getting me some sand to work with."

"Flinch, who are “they” that you are referring to? I may need to have a word with them, as I have not been informed that I was supposed to be collecting sand."

Flinch got very quiet for a moment, glancing around the room in search of something. With an opening of his front legs, he shrugged, speaking as if I was persecuting him. "The ponies! They told me you were going to get me some sand."

"Which ponies?"

"Yeah, the ponies."

"Which ones? I need their names, or if you aren't familiar with them, you can just tell me what they look like and I'll have a word with them. I need to make sure they understand how important it is to relay such information back to me."

"They just told me, alright!" He raised his voice, his tick going off once more and interrupting his next sentence to me, causing him to turn away and try taking a few deep breaths to calm himself so the convulsions would subside. "Look, just... forget about it, fine, I just need sand. Can you do that or not? It's real important."

I tried to appease the request by taking what sand we could locate at the river bank and putting it in a bag for him, but when we brought it, he said it was too wet and he needed dry sand. We attempted again the next day with the sand further up the bank so that it was dryer, yet he insisted that the sand was too damp. We let the sand dry in the sun for a couple of days, again he still stated that the sand was too wet and he could not use it. Becoming frustrated, I sent Overcast to just give him the bag of sand and tell him we got it from a desert or something so maybe we could stop this silliness. My patience had run thin with the irrational behavior of this one pony and my time that he had wasted on this need for impossibly dry sand, so I just wished it be over with. Something very shocking was brought to my attention later.

Flinch had assaulted Overcast.

As it turns out, when Overcast told him that the sand was from a desert, Flinch flew into a frenzy of shouts and screams about how we were monsters compromising his work, demons corrupting his image, and in his excitement had lashed out at Overcast with his hoof and struck him in the eye. Overcast was then run out of the studio.

This was brought to my attention when Overcast returned to my office with the bag of sand and a shiner to show from the strike, at which point I had him lie down and did what we could to assess the damage. It seems that he is going to be alright as he did not suffer a concussion from the blow, and the extent of the injury was just a black eye.

I went by myself to confront Flinch about assaulting one of the other settlers and waited in his room through the night to meet with him. When morning came, he still had not come back to his room. I found him alone in the room we had designated as his studio when I went searching, with the bag of sand still in my hand. I did not try to get his attention at first, merely watched him tend to a fire of uselessly burning wood in the furnace. It was startling every time to watch his nervous tick go off: To see his head jerk and hear the sound of his teeth gnash as he fought the momentary convulsion. They seemed to be happening more often than I remembered. "Flinch, I think we need to have a little talk."

"I need sand," he responded simply, rocking back and forth as he continued to pour his concentration on burning the wood in the furnace pointlessly. "Sand," he repeated, and continued to repeat it quietly under his breath.

"I heard you hit Overcast last time he tried to bring you a bag of sand."

"He's a liar," he told me, his teeth gnashing once again, but I wondered if it was a result of a seizure since I did not see him convulse. "He is a liar and you believe him. He didn't bring me sand."

At that, I tossed the bag to him and saw the soft tan grains pour out onto the floor from the open sack. "That looks like sand to me. It's also what he brought you."

"That's not sand. It's too wet to be sand. It's clay," he muttered, pushing the bag away from him with his hoof adamantly.

"It's not wet. It's had over half a week to dry in the sun. That is sand, or the closest we can get to it. It should work just fine," I told him, folding my arms as I watched the creature brood.

"It's too wet," he repeated to me, prodding the fire irritably, "It's clay."

"Just try to use it. I bet it'll work."

"It's clay."

"No it's not. It's sand, Flinch; just use it."

"It's not sand! It's too wet! It will only make clay!" He started to raise his voice at me, his throes becoming more and more frequent as I watched.

"It's sand!" I called back. "Just put it in the damn furnace and get over it! I've had enough of your problematic bullshit!"

With that, Flinch ripped the poker out of the furnace angrily with his mouth and snatched up the bag to fling it about furiously before bashing it against the side of the furnace with enough force to rupture it and send the sand exploding in all directions. "It's too wet!" He screamed at me as loud as he could, determined to make me understand as he stood up and stomped about in a pacing motion. "It's clay! It's too wet!" As he continued to repeat these words in frantic screams, he held his head in his hooves, doing his best to keep himself standing with flaps of his wings and wander about. I watched silently, with as much of an expressionless face as I could while he continued to shout and scream, his words eventually devolving into just bellows and enraged shouts as he kicked sand about furiously and tossed still-burning logs from the fire around the small room. I had momentarily feared he might hurl one at me.

It took a while for him to calm down enough to merely give deep, heaving breaths of frustration, and set himself back at the furnace to prod the embers with the poker, only saying to me, "I need sand."

"That was sand,” I once again told him, folding my arms again as I struggled to understand what might be going through this pegasus' head.

The look he gave me when he turned his head is one that I have used as a basis for rationalizing quite a few of my decisions following this event. It was one of pure hate like I have never seen directed at me before. I felt my hair stand on end when he gave me that stare, and uttered the words, "You're a liar," to me in a growl. "It's too wet. You're a liar."

"I still need to talk to you about Overcast. You hit him, and that's not something I can let slide."

"He's a liar. You're a liar."

"He isn't a liar: I am. I told him to tell you that it was sand. I told him that because it is sand. You're just being unreasonable."

"You're a liar," he repeated to me, before following it up with some cryptic thought pattern. "Monsters lie. Monsters cheat. Monsters lie. Monsters cheat." He repeated this cadence several times before I heard the growled statement "I hate monsters," at the end as he shot a glance back towards me. "You're a liar," he repeated once again, rationalizing something to himself that made me shudder in discomfort.

With that I was forced to retreat from the room and head back to my office. Dawnstar asked me what happened, and when I told her, she seemed mortified. She could not believe it was true, repeating my own thoughts that this just made no sense. It was like some sort of insensible dream, except someone else was trying to explain it to me.

What could I do about it? I didn't know. There seemed to be no options available. I was left to ponder new reasons for his irrational behavior. Is it possible the necrosis has spread? Or has something else triggered this episode? Either way, I had the feeling that his delirium might have progressed into some stage of psychosis. I am not a psychologist by any means, however, and the now frightening lack of medical staff at Songring means we have no professional opinion on the matter.

I was left with the decision of how to handle this situation. My first order was to simply ignore him: Perhaps with time, he would recover. Maybe it was simply stress based, and his arrival here in Songring was just a trying time. We could hope that as he grew used to the surroundings, he might calm down and return to some semblance of rationality. A couple of weeks passed slowly as I continued to hear reports of ponies expressing their concerns about hearing him ask them for sand each time they had to pass by his studio to do their duties. I personally heard him chanting to himself in the night from within the room. It was not a religious chant, just some phrase he was repeating to himself. I still left the order in place to simply ignore it, but removed the door from the lead storeroom and had it instead placed on the entrance to the glass furnace room that he perpetually spent his time in. This was to help ease the minds of the other ponies so they could no longer hear his ramblings to himself through the thick stone slab, but it also caused me a bit of unrest, as I then had no way of knowing what he was up to in there without entering myself.

Plans had to change, however. Earlier this week, Teardrop was brought to my office with a blanket draped over her, and Springfield coddling her gently with a deep cooing voice. The little aqua colored pony shivered and gave a fearful whine through her nose, prompting me to stand up from my chair immediately. Before I could ask what had happened and if she was alright, Salmon and Dawnstar both entered my office, he with a stern set to his brow and the latter with an uncertain and indecisive look about her. "Benjamen, there's been an incident," Salmon told me, motioning for me to take my seat once more.

"What happened?" I asked, refusing to sit down at my desk yet as I went to circle around it and approach Teardrop. She shied away from me as I got closer and screwed her eyes shut.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to do it. I'm sorry. I just wanted to help..." she pleaded, afraid of me as I kneeled down and reached my hand towards her. Springfield stopped me with a hoof gently, shaking his head. It seemed my presence was only upsetting her. I tried to ask her what had happened and what was wrong, but she just gave a wrenching sob when she tried to tell me.

Springfield whispered to her that it would be alright, and that I was not going to be upset with her for what happened. As she tried to calm down again, he started to remove the blanket and told her that I was just concerned and wanted to know what was wrong. It seemed to relax her enough that she let him unwrap the blanket from around her for me to view the situation.

On Teardrop's abdomen was a long, black mark of soot and what I could gather to be singed fur from the faint smell still present. At the fartherest end of the mark was a circular splotch of more black coloration that oozed a dark red fluid down her pelt: Blood. The black circular mark was an open wound where something had pierced her hide, and from what I could tell, was hot enough that it almost fully cauterized the wound during the time of injury.

"It was an accident..." She whimpered, shifting back into the blanket as she tried to move away from my gaze, “I didn't mean to do it, it was just an accident."

"It's alright, accidents happen," I comforted her, standing up as I looked to Springfield and requested that he go ahead and let her cover up again so she would feel less exposed. "You can go ahead and tell me what happened, Teardrop. I'll fix whatever went wrong, I promise." I had assumed that she might have stumbled through the smelting room and gotten injured on some of the instruments there, or perhaps another clumsy circumstance led to her injury.

That only seemed to upset her more and cause her to bury her face in the blanket to try and control her weeping. While I sat there with a puzzled expression, Salmon gathered my attention with his hoof and cleared his throat harshly while his brow still set low. "It was not an accident." He then informed me of what truly happened.

Flinch had attacked her. Out of concern for not seeing him for the past few days, she had prepared him a meal. When she went to take it to him, he would not respond to her until she got close enough to touch his shoulder and ask him if he was alright. That is when he exploded into a frenzy and threw her away from him, pulling the hot poker from the fire beneath the furnace. In his assault, he struck her over the side with it, and the curved point had pierced her. "I don't believe any of us will accept that as a mere accident," Salmon said.

"I told him that there's nothing we can do, Mr. Prodder," Dawnstar interjected, rather wound up and fighting a stammer as she spoke. "We need to appeal to the Canterlot guard to handle this. They need to do an investigation, and... and they have to detain him so that he can stand trial, and then this can be handled to the proper extent of the law."

"What your first mate fails to realize, Benjamen," Salmon began as he bore a fierce glower at Dawnstar, "is that we are much too far from Canterlot for them to be asked to handle our problems." With that, he finally returned his gaze to me and stood at attention. "This is your ship, Captain, and it is your responsibility."

"We don't have that kind of jurisdiction, Mr. Prodder! We don't have the right to detain or punish him for something as serious as assault!" Dawnstar protested worriedly.

"We don't have a choice!" Salmon shouted back, stamping his hoof. "We have neither the time nor the influence to get your system of law to this nick of the woods! We are left to our own devices: We must provide for ourselves, we must defend ourselves, and we must bury our own dead. 'Tis the harsh truth of a life lived in the remote seas, lass. Laws lose their weight when there is nopony to enact them." Returning his sight to me, he once again stood at attention. "It's your call, Captain. What is your decision?”

Teardrop was completely inconsolable after being witness to the loud argument, her weeping distracted me as I glanced between Salmon and Dawnstar. Both of them pleaded me with their eyes: One asked for me to take this matter into my own hands, and the other requested me to let the appropriate powers handle the situation. I could not summon a statement before pushing past them as I looked to Springfield and called his name. "Can you take care of Teardrop for me? The wound needs to be cleaned and dressed, and then perhaps some bed rest will help her calm down. Do you have anything that can help ease the pain?"

"I will take care of 'er, Mr. Prodder. I can go foraging for something if I don't already have anything. I ain't a doctor, but I know a few home remedies. Just leave it to me."

"Thank you. Teardrop, just try to get some rest and stay calm. You're not in trouble, okay? You're going to be alright." With that, Springfield led her out of my office to get her cleaned and treated as best he could. This helped my office quiet down once more. With Salmon and Dawnstar still both watching me, I ignored them for a moment and went to my chair to pull my coat on and button it down the front, stowing my papers away in my desk as I prepared to leave.

"What are you going to do, Mr. Prodder?" Dawnstar asked with concern, trying to approach my side in hopes to follow me.

"Well Dawnstar... you both make valid points. We should wait for the proper authorities to handle this, but time and circumstance may not permit." I made sure my cufflinks were secure before resting my hands in my pockets to mull over a few thoughts. "I need to heed to the wishes of those higher than me, but I also need to defend my subordinates."

"It is your ship, Captain," Salmon informed me once again, "And since Songring is in full sail, you become the law."

"This isn't a boat, Salmon!" Dawnstar broke out in a short fit of shouting, "We aren't some group of sailors waiting for a peg legged naval officer to tell us what to do! We're still in the borders of the Sun of Chance; Laws exist for a reason like this, and we need to do our part to uphold them!"

"Stop," I told them, Salmon becoming quiet and still as he was about to respond to her angrily. "Dawnstar, Salmon isn't saying we're on a boat. He's saying that there's nobody around for us to answer to or to exact the law in the way you think we should let it be handled. We only get a contact from Canterlot every two seasons: How long do you think it would take for someone to arrive to detain him in accordance with the law? Just as a ship can only receive the law's protection once they reach port, Songring can only get it once we have closer connection to Canterlot."

"We can't just become vigilantes, Mr. Prodder. Laws are in place to maintain order: Without that, we may become nothing but a tribe of savages. We must maintain that order." Dawnstar took a deep breath as she stood up to me and insisted her point.

"You're right, Dawnstar. We need to maintain order, as it is the only way to ensure that everyone can stay safe. That is our concern: Maintaining order, not following laws." I saw Dawnstar's ears tuck back again, biting her lower lip as she had to consider my words. It took a few moments, but I watched her give a sigh of defeat and nod at me. "Please go tell Daggersides that I would like her to meet me outside Flinch's studio, Dawnstar. Then I would appreciate it if you would go help Springfield tend to Teardrop."

Dawnstar nodded and took a moment to straighten her visage to a dutiful expression, marching from my office with an accepting air about her. She may not be happy with my decision, but I think she understood it at least.

I had a final word with Salmon, and he told me that he wanted to come with me to handle the situation. He was angry and I could see it in his face. He wanted justice and vengeance. That is why I told him no, and asked him to merely return to his duties. I would handle this, and I had to do it with as little prejudice and as level a head as I could. Neither following emotions nor abiding by laws was my goal. I was going to simply have to preserve the order.

Daggersides met me at the studio as I had requested, and merely greeted me with a dutiful nod. Together we pressed through the doorway to find the familiar scene of the pegasus tending the fire pointlessly with a brooding scowl over his features.

"Sand," he said aloud when he heard the door open for us, turning his eyes to stare us down. To stare me down. "I need sand."

"I've come to commandeer your supplies for the safety of my settlement. You've proven to be irresponsible with these instruments and shown that you are a threat to Songring and its residents."

"You're a liar," he told me, keeping the poker wrapped in his grasp and raising it up as his breathing grew faster and louder. "Monsters lie."

"Step away from the forge and move to the corner of the room, Flinch. I've given Daggersides permission to use lethal force if you do not cooperate.”

At her name, the pegasus turned his attention to the unicorn who stood erect with a stern, stony gaze. As he locked eyes with her, I saw him squirm and rise to stand. Keeping the poker with him, he retreated to the corner of the room as instructed, but the hot instrument remained clutched in his grasp.

I took that opportunity to approach the furnace and put out the fire with a nearby bucket of water. I collected the flint and tinder that was used to light it and stowed it in my pockets, as well as removed any knives or other carving tools that we had made available for him to use when decorating the glass he had originally intended to make. Once I felt I had removed all dangerous implements, I then looked at him and told him to drop the poker and step away.

"I won't," he stated, quivering with what might have been anger or possibly fear. "You can't... I won't! Not to a monster."

"Hand it over, Flinch."

As Daggersides stepped forward to take the poker from him without my instruction, he panicked and whipped his head back and forth as a convulsion overtook him. As the sound of his teeth clamping shut echoed through the room, the poker left his grasp, and the red-hot instrument was hurled through the air.

A metal clatter resounded as Daggersides bucked it out of midair, having shifted to the side to strike it out of its intended path. It was headed towards me. When the metal rod banged off the wall and hit the ground, I went to retrieve it. The sound was easily drowned out as horrified shrieks began erupting from the pegasus, his head held in his hooves after Daggersides had made a closer approach. He cowered in the corner away from her, telling her to keep away; that he had escaped before, and that he did not want the monsters to sting him again. I called the unicorn off of him, her hoof raised up to kick him in anger for hurling his weapon at me. She heeded my order and left the pegasus there to scream in terror and hide his face and head as best as he could within the small ball he had curled himself into.

The door finally closed behind us once again so that the stone slab muffled the cries and shouts once more. I stood with my hand on the doorknob for many minutes, head low, as I was lost in the image of him shrieking in the corner, listening to him beat on the walls and call out shouts of panic and terror of the monsters and the demons that came for him. I thought I was alone then, as I rested my head on the door and I shut my eyes, trying to drown out the sounds of his fear and his anger.

"There's nothing you can do for him."

I finally picked up my head to view the speaker; Daggersides had never left my side while I silently fought a losing battle standing against the studio door.

"That's not the Flinch I remember. He's not even a pony anymore. There's nothing you can do for him. Let's just end this and go about our lives."

"How can you say that?" I asked her, astounded by the anger she showed and the deadened tone she used when referring to someone who was once her comrade. "Don't you care at all?"

"You don't make it as long as I have in my career by caring," she responded simply, standing up then and dusting her hooves in the grass. "If I feel anything at all, it's probably just that I feel bad for you." She would not clarify, merely motioned for me to put my attention back to the door. "So... How's this going to go down, Prodder?"

I didn't answer her as I simply rested my head on the stone slab door once again. Still the sound of his words seeped out of the rock very softly: Of rebuking the lies and of keeping away the monsters. He cried because his head hurt, and he just wanted to be alone for a while. He just needed sand, he said, and that the glass would save him. The glass would make him feel good again. I slipped my hand in my pocket to retrieve the key to the heavy door I leaned against. I did not bother to question it anymore, still haunted by his continuing cycle of rage, fear and despair. With a turn of the key, the solid metal bolt of the door clamped shut, and I put the key back in my pocket.

The door has not been opened since.

I fear that Daggersides knew I trembled afterwards, as she certainly felt it when she put one of her front legs around the back of my shoulders and gently guided me with her. The burgundy unicorn led me away from the room, taking me back to the dining hall, her features displaying a deadened demeanor. I felt that I must have looked the same. "I know how you feel, Ben. I couldn't look my first one in the eyes either."

Few have spoken of this situation since then, aside from my short announcement in the dining hall that the issue had been resolved and no one need worry about it any longer. They know what happened though; it is impossible for them not to. Overcast has even constructed a rock tomb, and Silence has hollowed out a small crypt to be used. I never asked them to do it; I was simply told by Dawnstar that they had done it of their own volition. Salmon and Maple both have come for visits to check on me since I have rarely left my office. I know it is because they worry for me.

"This is not the first time I've seen this play out, Benjamen. Many times have I witnessed lubbers on their first voyages make the mistake of drinking sea water. Sends them right crazy, it does. Some can be helped, some cannot..... Any respectable Captain would have done the same, Benjamen. I stand with you in your decision. We all do. Please do not forget that,” Salmon told me. His words helped to let me know that I have not lost the faith of the settlers here for what I have done, but it still does not remove the weight of it from my shoulders.

Maple had little to say to me, even though she has spent a good deal of time stopping by my office to visit. Sometimes she will merely look over the engravings in my office; others, she will bring in a pitcher of cloudberry rum and try to get me to join her in a drink for some kind of holiday this time of year that I haven't the heart at this time to bother with; and sometimes, she just sits next to my chair and asks me questions about my life and my plans. No matter what her reasons are for the time she spends in here, I appreciate her company all the same.

This is just one of the many sleepless nights I've endured after my decision that day. It is part of my job to protect those who look up to me, but it is astonishing how grey the lines become when you must defend those who look up to you against one of their own. I can tell myself over and over that what I chose was the best option, and that it was what had to be done to preserve the order and peace of Songring, but those sentiments have yet to do anything for bringing peace.

If an object is red, but everyone perceives it to be green, then what color is that object?

If I am a murderer, but everyone says I am a responsible leader... then what am I truly?

I just don't know.

41: Each Day is a Gift

"Each day is a gift."

I have yet to decide if this is an inspirational statement meant to invoke feelings of joy and optimism, or if it happens to be the single most conceited, puffed-up, egotistical, narcissistic, vain, autocratic, self-admiring, pat-on-one's-own back that I have ever been witness to. This happens to be a saying that is carved into the wall of my office at this time, and with the lack of many pressing matters this season, I have had much time to view it and contemplate its meaning. To understand why I might have a problem with it, I shall describe what the most impressive engravings in my office happen to be from the view one might have when entering my office.

Upon stepping through the threshold of my door from the hallway, the first thing that is visible is my desk, which is situated in front of the far wall and faces the entrance. To the viewer's right is the engraved image of two harps within a laurel wreath. This image, as I have come to find, has been agreed to be the Voices of Subsisting's emblem for our future flags and tapestries (without my consultation).

To the viewer's left, the wall is chiseled to show stacks and stacks of what one can perceive to be silver bars (or gold, but I can assume it is silver to represent that which will become Songring's wealth). There are small glints of light detailed in of what look to be sparkles and sparks, to give the idea that the metal in the ingots happens to be very lustrous.

Behind my seat is a tall, awe-inspiring, stone-detailed representation of the deity Celestia herself with her wingspan at full spread and head held high with a large, circular sun raised above her glowing horn. At the very top of the wall above this image are engraved the words, "Each day is a gift.” ( I have found this phrase is also printed on one side of the Bits minted by the Sun of Chance.) A note about this piece: Once I had seen it and recognized what it is, I have felt just a tad less comfortable when I sit in my seat with the thought of her looking over my shoulder at every little thing I am doing. Not that I am doing anything wrong of course, but it still gives me a few shivers to see this very physically accurate depiction of her when I turn my head.

I believe this may be Overcast's true talent, as the carvings in my office are quite impressive. I wonder why his cutie mark happened to be a rain cloud then. Perhaps they are not always right, if that is the case.

A few final notes on the engravings: The other walls on either side of my desk are lined with images of alder trees and various objects on the ground beneath them. It gives the impression that one might be wandering through an orchard or thicket of some sort if my office were longer with more space to walk around. Mountain peaks are etched on the wall containing the door. The floor mostly has images of waves on it, as though it were the sea. I had a few conflicts with that final one, but I decided that it was too late to complain (considering it might be too difficult and time-consuming to un-engrave stone) and have just accepted it as part of the artwork in the room.

I have tasked Overcast with engraving the rest of the hallways and rooms, as well, with whatever he sees fit. I have a feeling it will help morale around here, as well as give him something helpful to do. He has been rather close on my heels once more since Spring started.

A new wave of immigrants arrived this season. It was a big one. 18 in total. Looking at the list, I believe we received 4 mercenaries, a furnace operator (a unicorn this time, thank goodness, to help make the Galena smelting process safer and smoother), another two miners, a chemist (not a doctor, but I feel like Bunsen will be handy for remedies and medicines), a potter and a glazer, two new helpers for Springfield, a mason, a leatherworker, two woodsponies (a lumberjack like Maple, and the other calls herself a ranger), a blacksmith, and an engineer. I am sure there are others that I am forgetting, but that long list will hopefully convey the fact that we have received quite a few helpful individuals here in Songring this season. I have been looking forward to seeing just how their skills will assist us. The one thing that concerns me is the number of mercenaries that were hired on this time around, and considering they showed up with Bullion's Caravan, I have questioned if they perhaps were hired by him, and he is simply not stating it out of kindness.

Bullion's caravan did arrive a bit late this year. (Pardon, early this year, but late for his usual visit. He did not show up at all last year. Damn my sense of horology for insisting I clarify all of this). I believe the following dialogue between the two of us might describe the overall quality of his visit.

"Mr. Prodder! It is so good to see you again! I might be a bit late, but I could not help but stop the wagons and admire the beauty of the Fatal Horns this time of year. Their snow-capped peaks just call to my nomadic soul, Mr. Prodder..."

"They are quite breathtaking. It is nice to see you again too, Bullion. We needed some good news in Songring; we have had some troubles that the settlers are still trying to cope with. I'm hoping the couriers' deliveries and your wares can help take their minds off of it for a while."

"Nothing serious, I hope?"

"It has been handled, so please do not worry."

"If you insist. Now, I have to ask you: where is your depot?"

"..."

"Mr. Prodder?"

"Fffffffffffff-"

"What.... what are you doing? Your face is rather red- Are... are you deflating, Mr. Prodder?"

I was not deflating, though the eruption of profanity following that moment was heard throughout Songring and beyond. I would not be surprised to hear that my vulgarity bellowed through the skies of The Sun of Chance like a rolling thunder. Ballads will be sung about the great mystery of the Godswear: The day that the heavens cried out with a mighty, echoing scream of rage embodied in a single cursed word that washed over the land like a sonic tide.

"I get the feeling that I might have upset you," Is all that Sir Bullion could muster to say as I panted for breath afterwards. Still painfully proper, he adjusted his hat and cleared his throat, waiting for me to compose myself and stand up straight again before asking once more, "About that depot?"

"I'll get right on it. Please, feel free to rest in the dining hall while I make the arrangements."

"Very good."

I hate placating someone making such a stupid request, but what can I do? He's not going to be satisfied without it, so I might as well just get the damn thing built and leave it up for his future visits.

I did not bother to take a look at his wares this year. I was rather content with how our supplies looked, so everything he had for us would merely be for comfort. How would it be fair to all of the ponies here for me to simply turn him down? Not to mention how rude it would be not to even give him a chance to sell us something. I will admit that I was much too lazy to take the orders of each individual pony in Songring and negotiate a deal with Bullion, then bother with passing out the supplies as requested. Instead, I called everyone to the dining hall where I gave them their New Year's Gift (even though the turning of the year had passed a bit earlier in the week). I handed each one of the ponies a silver ingot, and told them to go use it to haggle with Bullion for whatever they wanted.

I have not been hugged that many times since I graduated my mandatory schooling. It felt... nice. The smiles and overjoyed gasps I heard when I took the tarp off of the stack of ingots that I had Dawnstar help me move into the room still rings in my ears and warms my heart. Each of the older ponies was grateful for the bounty, but little Hyacinth seemed so confused by it and did not understand why everyone was so happy. I had to go to her personally and hand her the last of the ingots myself. With concerned eyes, she asked me what she should do with it.

"That's the same as bits, but it's worth a lot of them," I told her. "You can take it to the unicorn in the feathered hat and he'll let you trade it for any item in his caravan that you want."

The shy little creature looked out the windows of the dining hall towards the “depot” where the rest of the ponies had gone with their ingots to begin perusing the goods. With a small noise of discomfort, she looked back up to me and tried to hand the ingot back politely. "I'm fine, Mr. Overseer. I don't need anything right now."

I refused to take the ingot, however, gently pressing it back. "Hyacinth, it's a gift from me, please accept it. Is there some reason you don't want to go pick something nice out?"

Once again she bit her lip and looked towards the depot and all of the commotion going on, starting to shake her head. As the silence dragged on, she sighed and looked up at me. "Momma and dad say that I shouldn't talk to ponies I don't know."

"Well, I'd hate to make you go against their word. I know Sir Bullion: Maybe since you know me, and I know him, then it would be okay?"

The filly was satisfied with this answer, but asked me hopefully if I would come with her. "I'm not supposed to talk to ponies I don't know without an adult there." I agreed to come with her, and walked alongside her to the depot. When we got there, I recognized the way she was acting as very similar to the way she had behaved when she first got to the storeroom, looking around with some disinterest and a bit of distress as nothing seemed to peak her interest. Of course this only lasted a while before Bullion approached me from behind while I stood next to her and whipped me around with his hooves.

"Mr. Prodder, I must speak with you at once."

"Is something wrong, Bullion?" I asked him curiously, wondering why he was holding me with such urgency in his features.

"I promise, Mr. Prodder, I promise that I am not swindling these ponies!" he insisted, pleading with me quietly to agree with him and seeming distressed.

"What? What are you going on about now?" I asked, glancing back to Hyacinth who shrunk into a bin of baubles in fear of the serious unicorn grasping me. "Why would I think you were swindling them?"

"It's... it's just... they don't know the value of these bars! All of this silver, Mr. Prodder, and all they are wanting are kegs of wine and whiskey, or some seeds and herbs, or... or cloths and dyes- I promise I am not ripping them off, they just get what they want and hand me a silver bar! I don't even have time to ask them if they want anything else!"

"Aren't you happy, Bullion? This will be great for your business, won't it? Sounds like you are making a considerable profit."

"Yes... yes, but... I- I could not imagine having you put into such a tight spot though. I do seek a profit, but I certainly don't want one that might ruin you!" With that he released me and looked back to his dwindling supplies, and then over at the caravan guards who were sighing and whispering in awe over the building stack of silver ingots. "I just worry what might happen to Songring if I take this much from you."

"Who else do we trade with, Bullion?" I asked him with folded arms. "Who else could make use of these ingots? Very simply, those are kind of useless to us, not to mention there will be more to come. I gave them to each of the settlers' to use as they see fit, and if that's all they wanted for them, then that should be fine. Not to mention, Bullion, think of it as a thank you... for making that tough trip each year to help us here at Songring."

Bullion's hat came off of his head as he held it to his chest with his horn, looking down before me. "Well... you're welcome, Mr. Prodder. I just do my job... as any stallion should." He finally saw Hyacinth peeking up at him from the bin, to which he began to show a toothy smile. "Hello, little filly! What are you doing here?"

As Hyacinth mumbled to herself and shrunk into the bin nervously, I cleared my throat to speak up for her. "Please meet Hyacinth, Mr. Bullion. I brought her here to see if there was anything she would like to trade her ingot for."

"How adorable! Is she yours, Mr. Prodder?" We merely stared at each other silently for a moment after that question, his nose turning dark red under the silver pelt as he must have realized something rather obvious. "Ahem, well, Hyacinth, I would be happy to show you around. Tell me, what does the young miss enjoy? Paints, jewelry, crafts, toys? I can certainly find something in here that will strike your fancy."

Hyacinth sheepishly informed us that her mother and father had to leave her toys behind when they moved to Songring, stating that her belongings were too heavy to carry with them in their saddlebags. Chortling giddily, Bullion shuffled his way through the depot and motioned for us to follow. Over bins and past display cases, he just kept flourishing with his words, claiming just how lucky she was to have met him then.

"I happen to keep a supply of toys just for the little ones around here somewhere! The finest toymakers in Equestria have peddled some of their wares to me, so certainly their art will be of some interest to you. Boats, dolls, puzzles, games- oh, have I seen and procured all of them at some point. Let me see what I have around here."

As soon as Bullion opened a chest, the scent of painted wood and fresh fabric rushed out at the two of us. Inside was what looked to be a privileged child's overstuffed toy box with brightly painted toys of all shapes, many different boxes containing renditions of age-old games, and felt effigies of creatures of all kinds jumbled together. The little filly's eyes lit up immediately at the sight, looking up to Sir Bullion as he nodded to let her know it would be alright to dip her hooves into the well of childhood dreams and find what she pleased. Tin cavalry, puppets, building blocks of all types, instruments, and many other playthings fell out over the sides as she dug in, before letting loose a squeal that made us both jump in surprise. In her front legs she cradled a bright white and mottled tan stuffed toy in the shape of a hybrid of an eagle and a lion. It was wearing a bright red hat that I could swear I had seen before, and saw once again as I looked up to see Sir Bullion grinning beneath his own purple version.

"Can I have this one?" she asked, hugging the soft object to her chest and looking around for the silver ingot.

"That's just one of a set, little filly! Take another look inside: There should also be a dragon, a diamond dog, and a pony wearing similar hats. They are all in the same series of toys. Do you know the story of the Crimson Cavaliers?"

Hyacinth shook her head at him, causing Bullion to stutter and bumble as he was astounded that she had not. "I've never heard of them." Considering I had not either, I had no idea why he was so baffled by this, but he immediately dug deeper in the chest with his horn and withdrew the other three toys and a storybook along with them, pressing them all to Hyacinth.

"Children these days! Honestly! They are only the bravest heroes of old Equestrian lore. They are the ones that dismantled the war machine of the Cursed Plague, they destroyed the evil lich Equis Mortis, and they discovered the Endless Depths down below! Books upon books are written about these brave souls, and now somepony has no idea who they are."

"Can I still have this one?" Hyacinth asked, still cuddling the odd, hybrid, plush toy and holding out the silver ingot.

"Those are very special to me, you know... They're mine. Had them since I was just a colt. I think it is time they have a new caretaker. So you can have it on one condition, young lady: You must take care of the others as well, and make sure you read that story too so you know who they are. Can you do that?"

"I can, Mr. Bullion. I'll take really good care of them."

"Atta girl. They are yours now. Remember to keep them safe; I'd be heartbroken to hear that anything happened to them!"

"I will!" Hyacinth responded excitedly, accepting the hefty responsibility of defending Sir Bullion's childhood artifacts and handing him the ingot. With her new possessions, she began to scuttle back to her room in the apartment halls, stopping only long enough to brush against my leg and tell me thank you. While I was watching her carry her playthings happily to her quarters, I felt something pressed against me, and realized the heavy chest of toys was being forced to my chest.

"Take it," Bullion said warmly, letting the aura of his horn die down as his hat rested back upon his head. I opened my mouth to protest, but he shook his head immediately and quietly told me once again, "Just take it. Give it to the youngling for her birthday or something... Please; I won't feel right taking her ingot for just my old hoof-me-downs."

That is exactly what I did. Hyacinth's birthday was not but a month after that visit from Bullion. I gave the chest of toys to Riverscar and told her to set it by Hyacinth's bedside for when she woke up. I am glad that he left it too, since it seemed that Riverscar had remained too busy to be able to make her daughter anything for her birthday, and her father... well, he remained busy as well, but I use that term with a bit of venom.

Why would I dislike how Inutile has kept himself busy? Well, it's because of who he has kept himself busy with. As there has been a lack of crisis this season, I have been able to keep a close track of exactly what or who he has been occupying his time with. Let me see here... Blueprint, Tye Dye (one of the newest arrivals), Honeysides twice, Daggersides four times (yep...), and once with Heartstrike (seems his door swings both ways). This has left me in the difficult situation of being unable to say anything. How can I? If I protest his little conquests, I am interjecting my authority on his personal business, and then I will be the big bad overseer telling him who he can and can't associate with.

It has been rather entertaining to watch his defeat with three of the ponies here who seem immune to his charms, however. I have been pondering exactly what makes each mare turn him down every time. Maple is the most verbal of the refusers, and from what I gather, it is always due to the fact that she hates his accent. When he starts to speak with his foreign inflection, her mouth turns down and her ears pin back against her head irritably. She also informed him once that she never found herself imagining taking balloons filled with hot air to the bedroom. Silence has actually confided in me as to why she dislikes him: He has no safe-for-work surface thoughts. As it turns out, the few times she has tried to communicate with him, she has been subject to seeing herself in quite a few uncharacteristic positions, and finds the concept of him constantly wasting his brainpower on such as disgusting. Teardrop is the third, and I have not been able to deduce what makes her so quick to reject him. She is always polite about it, telling him "No thank you," and, "That's very sweet, but I am simply not interested." I have considered asking her personally for her reasons, but how the hell can I start that conversation?

"So I heard you won't let Inutile use his talent on you. What's up with that?"

Yeah, no way that would end well. I'll just keep considering it silently to myself.

Not much else to report this season, except that the apartment halls had to be expanded to accommodate the new ponies. Willow bitched and moaned about having to actually work this season, but aside from that, it was not very interesting. 23 new rooms have been added in a new wing connected to a hollowed out section that I hope will work as an infirmary in the future (if we can get some medical personnel here in Songring). The new wing also has another entrance installed in the side of the mountain, to create a better circulation of air throughout the corridors and let in more light. I consider installing sunroofs sometimes for these ponies, but that project may wait for a while as I am currently having Machina (our new engineer) look into my bathhouse idea.

I can't wait to get a fresh shower for a change...

41+: Letters

Dear Ben,

I suppose I was not clear enough in my previous letter when addressing intimate relations between individuals. You are right; the definition between the two words is a little different. It was a misnomer and I apologize for my mistake.

Actually, it's only fair that I be as honest with you as you have been with me on this discussion. I never would have thought that the words were all that different before you corrected me and I went to look it up myself. I've not been one to think about it that much, but I have certainly heard some other ponies say before that it is a wonderful act and that it’s very fun. It's not necessarily a bad thing to talk about, but I don't believe I ever found myself bringing up the topic personally. Wow this is a lot more embarrassing to write than I thought it would be. Was it this difficult for you to admit that you think about these kinds of things when you wrote to me and you just did not continue scribbling your thoughts down like an idiot (as I’m doing)? Or was there no shame in it for you? I feel like I want to toss this letter away and try again just for bothering to mention that I'm a little... inexperienced when it comes to this topic.

So pressing onward, I noticed that you never did ask me a question back. Nothing came to mind for you by chance? Do you think that maybe you just know enough about me that there's nothing more to ask? I guess I would not blame you, as I have trouble thinking of anything very interesting to write in here about myself, or about Equestria, that you don't already know from just being here. The only things I can think of are bits of trivia and history that I don't think you'd be interested in anyways. The best I can come up with is to let you know that I finally remembered why the name Dawnstar sounded so familiar to me. She was in the grade level 4 years below me back at the academy! I guess that wasn't all that interesting, now was it? I suppose if you want better, you're just going to have to ask a question yourself.

Your life back on Terriel just sounds so amazing. I can see why you'd want to get back to it so much. It sounds marvelous, with all of the exotic creatures and exciting discoveries that could be made there. The way you describe your friends is rather peculiar to me though. You make them sound more like assets or obligations than somepony you would want to spend time around. Would Jeremey and Coop say the same things about you? Would they just call you their pocket-brainiac and mention that they just happen to put up with your dry humor and snide remarks because of it? If so, then maybe you should know that I would tell them that I enjoy you for your dry humor and snide remarks, along with your wit.

Personally, I would love to get a look at your I/O ports. Can you feel them? Such as, if you touch it, does it have a sensation? I'm just a little curious as to what these ports are supposed to be. Are humans born with them? Are they organic?

Rarity came to inquire about you recently, and I told her that I'd be happy to mention her thoughts to you in my next letter. She told me that she had not gone into the guestroom since you last left it, as she had nothing to clean in there since you had been kind enough to tidy up before you left out that morning. The main reason she went in there was because the Crusaders had come over for a sleepover with Sweetie Bell, so she was going to let them use that room to play in while she continued her work. When she stepped in, it still smelled like you, and she said it made her pause and think about how much she missed the comfort of having somepony else there. I think her sentiment is just that she wanted to let you know that we're still ready for you to keep your promise. We'll be here when you finally do come back, and that's our promise to you.

One final thought before I send this off to you: Really? Did you really just call me Sparky? I don't believe I've ever been called that, and I’m really not sure if I wish for it to start. Where did that come from anyways?

Dumbfoundedly Yours,
Twilight “Sparky”

Dear Twididdly Sparks,

At the risk of breaking fundamental rules of conversation, I will have to answer your question with a question of my own: Did you really abbreviate my name to Ben? When did that start? It left me questioning if perhaps such a casual expression meant that we were now "Old Buddy, Old Pals." In hopes of not being rude, I thought I'd reciprocate the gesture. Does it bother you Twiddlywinks? If so, we can always go back to our formal addresses.

Truth be told, I am surprised you noticed. I often wonder to myself if everything I write is going to be read, or if most will just glance over the formalities and commonplace structure in belief that they already know what I'm going to put there. It seems you alleviated my curiosity on the matter. That was my question for that letter by the way.

I will admit that I felt a hint of awkwardness when penning down that I sometimes cannot overcome a base part of me that most humans pridefully claim to have transcended long ago. Perhaps it was shame, as you put it. The only difference, as you pointed out, is that I just went ahead and wrote the truth to get it over and done with. Your lack of concern with it might honestly be an age issue as well, however, as I'm still not sure of the pony lifespan or timeline. How old are you? Perhaps that's a major cause behind being a bit "inexperienced" on the subject. I suppose having had almost 2 years on Terriel after coming of legal age for consent means I personally have no excuse for my own inexperience, especially when I consider how commonplace it is there, and how insistent that Jeremy was that I should partake. For comfort's sake, we may wish to let the subject drop for now, but don't fear that I judge you for anything you've written me.

You make life on Terriel sound grand, even to me, when you put it that way. I guess I never mentioned the less than desirable traits that it harbors. Criminal activity is rampant there, or at least it was only a few years back. In fact, the entirety of the continent was on the verge of a coup only a handful of years ago. Some places were locked down under martial law; other Judicial Districts had been almost entirely seized by private armies and gangs. Idollions, my town of birth in Judicial District 5, is no longer a city at all. It was so terribly damaged in a skirmish between two factions and the Mongrel's Stand (my father's squad), that it will require being entirely rebuilt. I don't believe Idollions counts as anything more than a gravestone nowadays. Keycresents, being the capital of Judicial District 7, remains fairly untouched by the civil unrest, but only because the warring was all but ended before the fighting got to our doorstep. I suppose I just don't want you to believe that Terriel is without its own problems.

I have a feeling Jeremy and Coop would have something similar to say about me if you were to ask them. They would probably say they put up with me for the fact that I can help them out of logic-based quandaries. That, or they'd likely ask, "Who the heck are you talking about? The dude in the hooded jacket that's too busy "rerolling his sorcerer" to hang out?" However, I might be getting ahead of myself because the first answer they'd give is, "Holy crap, it's a talking horse!"

My I/O ports are not organic, or at least they are not for the most part. When the incision is made to bore the ports through the skin, a pseudo-organic polymer is introduced to act as a bond between the ports and the flesh to avoid rejection. So the answer is that when I touch the ports, I do not feel it as one normally associates feeling, but it is a direct link from the environment to my cerebrum. That might be considered sensation in some way.

I went to ask Dawnstar if she knew you as well when you mentioned her in your most recent letter. She referred to you as "Celestia's Star Pupil," and "Element of Harmony." I did not know you had a title. What exactly does she mean?

Dry and Snidely Yours,
Benjamen Prodder

42: Piper

Gi the gryphon, Lance the dragon, Bow the diamond dog, and Flip the unicorn. These are the four that donned their iconic red caps with feathered plumes and took upon themselves the name of the Crimson Cavaliers.

I just got finished reading that storybook to Hyacinth as she went to sleep tonight: The Crimson Cavaliers and the Sunflower Sacrament. This is the fourth time I have read the book now, each time for her, but it seems that she has truly fallen in love with the characters within. I myself find them to be lacking in some much-needed depth and pretty much like every beginner's group in Chimeras and Caverns I have ever played with. This is understandable, because the story is very simplistic and happens to be for beginning readers (evidenced by the short sentences, the abbreviated violence where it must be entered, and the silly language used to amuse Hyacinth). I am glad that she enjoys the story, however, and has something now that makes her smile as I see her toting her Gi stuffed toy around with her everywhere.

It has really helped her to cope with what happened recently. I worried that she might have been scarred by a recent occurrence that took all of Songring by surprise.

Before delving right into the terrors of settlement life, I will start with how the summer began. Another wave of immigrants arrived on our doorstep and started looking for their places to set up. It was a small group, but one amongst them would have made my heart jump with joy had I seen her wander over the hills on the horizon: The group following along behind this majestic creature as she strolled carelessly with the wind blowing gently through her saffron-colored mane and sea-green coat, her wings flexed lazily, and her horn glinting in the bright summer sun.

An alicorn.

"You're never going to guess it, Mr. Prodder! You're never going to guess it!" Dawnstar insisted to me as I tried to concentrate on my stockpile records to see what needed to be separated out of the items the ponies had bought from the caravan. She was once again draped over my desk, rapping her hooves excitedly to try and keep my attention. "Well, come on! Guess!"

"You just said I would never guess it, Dawnstar."

"Don't ruin the fun, Mr. Prodder! Guess!"

"Is it good or bad?"

"Okay, but this is your only hint: It's really good!"

"Willow's gone mute?"

"Nope."

"I'm fired?"

"Nuh uh."

"Regicide?"

"What?"

"Nothing. Just tell me already."

It looked like she was going to burst from excitement as she bounded away from my desk and bucked about happily. "An alicorn, Mr. Prodder! Word of our success must have reached some ear up on high, and we have an alicorn visiting us today!"

I leapt from my desk and danced with her. I was happier than I had been in years at that instant. An alicorn? That could only mean one thing to me.

My relief had finally arrived.

Yes, I would finally be able to pass the baton of running Songring off to its next ruler or coordinator or whatever. Finally, I could get out of this place. Finally, I could get back to Ponyville and keep my promise. Dawnstar giddily showed me the way to the dining hall where the group had already set up and were conversing with the settlers while they awaited their interview with Dawnstar. There seemed to be five that I did not recognize among the throng gathered in the eatery, but as I scanned about, I could not locate the alicorn amongst the rabble. As I had parted my lips to ask Dawnstar where she was, I heard a voice call me over from the corner of the room where some tables had been arranged around a small stockpile of bottles and kegs to form a bar. Gazing back at me was the sea green-colored alicorn who motioned me over with a bare hoof as she leaned across the tables, wearing a mirthful smile.

"You're here! You're finally here!" I called back, trudging through a few of the ponies who had gathered to gawk at the demigoddess of their culture so that I could reach her. "You can't possibly imagine how glad I am to see you," I told her, taking deep breaths to barely contain my excitement.

Chuckling at me, the creature motioned for me to take a seat at the makeshift bar and levitated a stone mug from the stocks behind her to place on the table for me. "Well, Sweets, I'm surprised you knew I was coming. Maybe my reputation precedes me a bit more than I take credit for. I was more curious to finally get to meet the mysterious coordinator of Songring I’ve heard some whispers about."

I refused the mug at first, just happy to hear her deep, sultry voice pierce the chatters and chortles behind me. "To be honest, I'm afraid I don't know who you are, just why you're here. It's been four years now: about time for you to have shown up."

This seemed to confuse her, but she smiled all the same and insisted that I have some spirits that she brought forth with her horn to calm me down. "I know that I can be of help, but no reason to get so worked up, Sugar. Try some of this and let me know if maybe you start feeling a little better."

Once again I pressed the mug away and stood up, motioning for her to come with me. "Really, I'm fine. Don't you wish to get started? I'd love to show you your new office and your quarters. I can give you our reports and our stockpile records, and show you everything you need to know about how Songring is doing."

"Uhm, Hun, that sounds great and all, but I need to stick around until we've got less thirsty ponies around here. It's not right for me to walk out on 'em when it's my calling to be there, right?"

"They'll be fine. They'll come to the office if they need you! This job pretty much does itself! (Or Dawnstar does it at least.)..."

"Hey!" my assistant protested shortly.

"...Just let me show you around, and then you can come back for the meet and greet with your new subordinates later."

Everyone got quiet at that moment, except for Willow who was already laughing about something: Probably at me, but I had no idea why. As all eyes fell on me, I bit my lip and looked up at the alicorn who eased an uncomfortable chuckle from her throat.

"Mr. Prodder," Dawnstar began uneasily, one brow risen as she was visibly questioning my sanity, "are you really considering handing over the keys of Songring to a bartender?"

Have you ever had one of those moments in life where you feel like for once everything is going your way, and then you realize you're standing in a tar pit, slowly sinking back into the dreary reality that your life comparatively sucks to everyone else’s? I can relate.

The demigoddess on the horizon is a bartender. A bartender. Think about that for just a moment. A demigoddess that peddles liquor to individuals in hopes that they could simply forget about their problems for a little while and succumb to intoxication and the pretty colors she offers. Damn if there is not some deep symbolism there that I am too distraught to figure out right now.

Having my momentary light of hope snuffed out like a candle in a cave-in, I have spent quite a few days simply trying to raise my spirits back up. There is an agreement amongst the settlers that I have recently become fond of my "desk naps", which is actually when I beat my head against my desk until I tire out, or until I just feel like it's not worth bothering anymore and lay there until something requires my immediate attention.

One of the newer ponies by the name of Tye Dye (a clothing dyer of some sort I suppose, or a complete tree-hugger otherwise) happened to bring to me an object she felt like was worthy of being on display next to the nickel-silver bust of myself and the Seven Settlers of Songring. I cannot even recall what she called it anymore: Something about the Vicinnary of Pulleys I think. It was what she called her crowning achievement of artwork, placing it on my desk for my perusal and awaiting my astonished gasps and awe at her work.

"... A wooden ring?" I asked her, picking up the object and turning it in my hand a few times.

"Well... if you're just going to look at the basics, yes, it's a wooden ring. It's so much more though! It means so much more! Can't you just feel it?"

"Tye Dye, why did you make a wooden ring?"

"Inspiration needs no reason, Mr. Prodder. To define that would only detract from the magic of a whim's calling."

"You don't even have fingers. Who is going to wear this?"

"Well... you could wear it..."

"It's got spikes! Made of bone! No way am I putting this on my finger, Tye Dye," I quickly refused, letting the cheap trinket drop to my desk with a hollow thud.

"That is to represent the thorns of the rose that is our success! For every good there is a bad, and for every gain there is a loss,” Tye Dye expounded, ears folding back in concern at my blunt distaste of her work.

"Just how high are you right now?"

"Come on, Mr. Prodder... what makes you say that? Why would you even suggest that I might be consuming ratsweed?”

"Come here so I can see your eyes."

"... No?"

"Yeah, you're high. Take your stupid ring and get out of here; I'm not in the mood to debate artistic license with a junkie."

Dawnstar has already reprimanded me for making Tye Dye cry, but honestly! It's a wood and bone ring! The materials are not valuable, there are no impressive engravings or markings on it, the item is useless because not only can they not wear a ring due to having no fingers, even one with fingers would have to be a masochist to even consider putting something so flawed in countless fundamental ways in design on their hand! What am I supposed to do with that? Put it up on my shelf with the silver-alloy image that a true artisan crafted for us just to preserve some addled drug-user's warped, inebriated feelings? I think not. I told Dawnstar that if she feels it is so deep and thought provoking, that she can pitch it to Bullion at his next visit and see if he finds her pleas anymore influencing.

My desk naps were the start of one interesting scenario this season. Overcast had entered my office one day and I simply told him to go away because I did not have it in me to listen to a single sad thing right now or else I might lose it on somebody. The recovery from having my spirits raised so high and then dashed into millions of pieces moments later has taken quite a while, which I am somewhat ashamed to admit. (I should be stronger than that.) After he left, I completely forgot about his needing my attention. Days later, Dawnstar let me know that we were receiving a very interesting visitor.

"Another alicorn bartender? Or let me guess, maybe this one is a chef so we can complete our set,” I quipped dryly at my desktop, refusing to lift my head.

"Oh, get over it, Mr. Prodder. There is a zebra caravan on its way, and I want you to be properly dressed and ready to meet with them when they arrive."

I heeded her request and cleaned myself up as best I could for the new arrival. Dawnstar was thrilled to get to meet with someone as culturally distinct as the zebras, but all I could think is that if they were going to rhyme at me this time around, I might find myself tearing down the depot and telling them to go home. There was a short meet and greet with the zebras as they began to scale down the northern mountain, above where we had built. They did not bring any wagons with them, I noticed, merely what they could carry on their backs because of the steep incline. I saw a few with peculiar horns and others with wings, which certainly caught my attention as it appeared that there were three races of Zebra as well. We have not yet begun trading with the zebra merchants, but I learned that they are from the north, past the upper ridge of the Fatal Horns, which happens to be mostly desert and rocky wasteland. There has been a little talk of what we might wish from one another. They have not brought much with them to trade due to a lack of understanding of what we might wish to trade for, or what we possibly had to offer. Tye Dye tried to pawn her ring off of them too.

Even the zebras think it's stupid.

After I had approved for them to take a rest in the infirmary (as we still do not have any medical personnel, so it is just a spare room with some beds) after their long trip, I noticed a peculiar pony slip out of their group wearing a long coat, or robe, of cheap plant-cloth that covered most of his body. Looking at him more closely as he scuttled away, I noticed a flash of golden eyes and a charcoal colored pelt, as well as some white hair from his mane poking out from beneath the hood. It was Overcast that had shifted away. I turned my back again to escort the zebras to their temporary quarters before remembering that Overcast had wanted my attention, so I went to track him down once more to see if perhaps he was just not feeling well. That is the only conclusion I could come to as to why he would be so shrouded.

I located the garbed pony outside of the stone door to the abandoned glass-making studio, speaking quietly with Hyacinth as she bounced happily in front of him and looked down at her Gi the Gryphon toy occasionally. As I approached, I kept my arms folded and just listened as they continued their conversation.

"… You really know him? He's here in Equestria?" Hyacinth asked with sparkles in her eyes as the cloaked pony nodded.

"Yes," he responded in a raspy tone that made my spine twinge with displeasure when I considered just how bad Overcast must be feeling to have such a terribly hoarse tone. "He is old you see, but makes time for travel. Gi is actually on his way to visit Canterlot and speak with his old friend, Flip. Our wagon broke down and he sent me to go find somepony to help us."

"Oh no!" Hyacinth gasped, placing the doll on her back and straightening herself as she looked back up to him. "I know somepony who can help though! Mr. Ben is really smart, so he’ll know what to do! I'll go get him right now, and then we can go help you!"

"No, let’s not make a big fuss. You seem like a capable young filly; do you think you could come with me and help me look at the wagon? These old hooves are just too shaky to be of use anymore... but your fresh, young legs should do well for putting the wheel back on for us. Gi would be ever so grateful for your help... he might even sign an autograph for you."

"Okay!” Hyacinth bounced, moving forward towards Overcast excitedly as she was ready to embark on this little misadventure to help her favorite storybook hero.

"Overcast," I called abruptly, making the two of them jump in surprise as they caught sight of me standing with my arms folded and brows low, "I'm sorry for ignoring you before. I just remembered that you were looking for me. From your voice and your blanket there you must be feeling ill. If you wish to go back to your room; I will have Bunsen get to making you a remedy."

The creature fumbled with his words at the sight of me, looking down at the filly cuddled against his front leg who was laughing as I called him by name. "This isn't Overcast, Mr. Ben. Overcast is in the apartments, silly, carving the walls like you told him to."

"Oh?" I asked, giving a scrutinizing glance to the pony that I no longer recognized. "I don't believe we've met. You don't seem to match any of the descriptions of the most recent immigrant wave. Can you tell me your name?"

"Mr. Ben!" Hyacinth spouted back quickly, stamping her hoof against the ground to try to get my attention. "He's just trying to get some help for poor old Mr. Gi! The longer we wait, the less time he'll get to spend with Flip back in Canterlot! I need to go help fix their wagon right now!"

My lips pulled tight then as I looked at the creature with a glower. "Wagon troubles, hm? I think maybe I should come take a look at this wagon. Machina is a fabulous mechanic, so I am sure she could have it running better than ever before. How about we bring Maple and Willow too just in case the chassis could use some work?"

"I wouldn't want to waste your time... Mr. Ben," he struggled to respond, shifting uncomfortably under my distrusting eye. "The filly here is not doing anything important, she will be more than enough help as it is just a simple slip. I can tell her how to put it back on. It is no trouble at all."

"Her father isn't doing anything important. Ever. How about I send him instead?" I asked, my steely glare still making the creature shy away from me nervously.

"Please can I go, Mr. Ben? I really wanna meet Gi before he leaves Equestria to go back home!"

"Don't deny the foal her dreams, Mr. Ben..." the creature agreed, forcing a disarming grin at me... to which I saw something that made my heart jump: The sight of elongated and needle-pointed teeth that cleanly interlocked with one another all the way across his gruesome smile.

"... Hyacinth, get away from him. Who are you and where did you come from? You need to get interviewed or you need to leave."

The monster became befuddled, looking down at Hyacinth once again as she began to shift away hesitantly at my command. His breaths started to draw in quickly, glancing around for something, before I saw his whole body jump as I shouted at him. "Answer me!"

He jumped for Hyacinth.

As her startled scream pierced the sky, it was followed by a pained yowl from the creature as my boot swung forward to catch him between the ribs on the underside of his abdomen, winding him. I snatched the filly up in my arms deftly, backpedaling away from the pony as he coughed and reached beneath the cloak lying against his neck. He drew free a savage-looking dagger in his mouth, growling at me like a feral beast. Each time my feet shifted to go behind me, one of his hooves made an advance in my direction. His golden eyes were locked on Hyacinth, and the terrible sight of blood and caked mud was now plainly visible on the underside of his cloak as he stood before me with desperation in his features.

"Piper!"

A voice rang out from the dining hall, as someone responded to the filly's shriek, acting as the opening gunshot to start our short marathon. As soon as the word echoed past us, both the piper and I took off like a bolt down the mountainside and toward the river: The only place I could think to go with him right at my heels.

"Give her to me!" I heard him roar over the sound of my feet and his hooves beating against the ground furiously. I must get away, I thought. I must keep moving. My thoughts were completely absorbed with only the concept that I must move faster to keep the young one in my arms and away from him. A moment of relief came to me when I saw Salmon on the bridge, his fishing rod dropping into the water as he turned and saw my pursuer. Without a word, I sprinted past him, only slowing to a stop when I heard the sound of hoofbeats replaced with a heavy crash far behind me.

Salmon had thrown himself down onto the bridge, catching the piper’s hooves to send him into a tumble towards the grass at its edge. The dagger was spat out onto the ground, but was immediately retrieved when the creature picked himself up with an agitated snarl. The dagger nearly left his mouth again when he yelped at the sensation of his tail being harshly yanked.

Salmon had grabbed the tail in his teeth, and whirled his body around after planting his stance to toss the piper back onto the bridge. The old pegasus stood between the would-be abductor and myself (still holding the terrified filly), raising his front legs and flapping his wings to stand upright. Watching him running his front legs under his nose and nimbly shifting his weight from haunch to haunch in preparation, Salmon reminded me more and more of a boxer with each bounce and feinting jab into the air before him. “Thought you’d just ignore me, eh? Not likely, worthless bugger!”

In a rage, the piper expertly shifted his grasp on the dagger with a long, slithering tongue so that the blade gleamed at the side of his mouth. “If you don’t move, I’ll just cut my way through you! Out of the way, old nag!” the piper threatened through his tightly clenched teeth. His close-together eyes watched each of Salmon’s shifts cautiously with an unhidden twinge of fear, looking for a moment to strike. Only once did he break his gaze to give a panicky glance behind him. A mass of ponies were exiting the dining hall and gathering, led by a particular husky, burgundy mare, at the sound of the commotion. With the safety at his back waning quickly, he leapt forward in a desperate, diving lash for the pegasus.

The strike came towards his left. Salmon’s left leg slid back in a semicircle to grind a loud skid, his whole body sliding in time to fluidly remain out of reach of the perilously close dagger. When the piper’s leap came to a grinding halt, Salmon faced the creature’s side and lifted his leg to deliver a staggering kick. As the distance between them grew once more while the pony struggled to remain standing after the strike, Salmon planted his right hoof on the ground in front of him and turned his body so that only his right side faced the monster. “First time ever using that thing, boyo, or are you just stupid?” Through his jeer, the peach pegasus thrust threatening jabs with his right hoof into the air close to his foe, shuffling forward to keep increasing the pressure and drive his adversary back further onto the bridge. Two or more of the quick motions made contact during the display, one eliciting a snarl and another ringing out a clash as his hardened hoof lightly kissed unclean iron. “I’ve snogged barmares that had more spunk than you!”

Please just hold on, I thought, doing my best to stifle any quivers of fear I had to remain strong in the sight of the foal still cradled in my grasp, I silently pleaded for a little more time. The uncleared jungle thicket on the southern side of the river loomed dangerously behind me, hinting with rustles that there might be just as much to fear there as what currently hunkered defensively on the bridge before the pegasus. The far-off glint of steel on the horizon flashed in my sight as the heavy-set unicorn came to our defense. Just a couple minutes more.

The piper's rump soon pushed back to touch the low safety railing we had erected on the bridge, left with nowhere to back away to as Salmon's deft strikes continued to nip at him. With a turn of his head, the knife was displayed point-first to deter the pestering blows, the golden eyes scanning his upstanding tormenter for any point of weakness. Salmon left no vital areas exposed, continuing to aggressively hound with low kicks, assertively keeping his rival pinned against the railing. Suddenly the creature turned his head again to expose the pommel of his knife, letting the pegasus take a cheap shot at the side of his face that bashed harshly against his temple. Before Salmon could pull his hoof back to defend himself, however, the piper rose up high and swung the blade in an arc attempting to slash at the peach-colored face.

"Too slow to hit an old-!" The cheeky taunt was interrupted with a pained expulsion as Salmon let his weight fall back on his left leg, bowing his body back to narrowly avoid the swish of the iron only to feel a huge blow slam into his stomach. The piper had feinted, stopping the swing of his blade halfway through to switch to a low bull-rush with his shoulder, making a weighty impact in Salmon's gut. His body bent as far back as his balance would allow, wings fluttering desperately to give him a few more moments before landing with his back on the wooden planking. It gave him just long enough to curl his legs, catching the piper's shoulders between his haunches and carrying him down in a falling twist onto the bridge where they both lay.

As the pegasus struggled to regain his breath, my pursuer wrenched himself from the loose leg-grapple, letting his piercing, slitted sights fall on us once again. Salmon lolled his head our way too, giving me just a brief moment to see his heated gaze. A small leg curled tightly around my back, and Hyacinth buried one of her pink eyes in my shirt as she whimpered at the imposing sight of the charcoal stallion once again rising to his hooves and glaring down upon her. "Hold onto me, Hyacinth," I whispered when I reached aimlessly with my free hand to the ground for something, for anything, that I could wield. A partially decayed stick was all I could grasp, but I resolved that it would have to do as the foal curled her other leg over my chest to cling obediently.

His hooves made it to the grass beyond the bridge's planking. The intruder glanced feverishly between my hand brandishing the useless limb and his prey that was too terrified to look away from the nightmare before her. Keeping the stick lifted high above my head in preparation for an overhead swing did nothing to dissuade his determined approach with the knife cautiously exchanging sides in his mouth while he contemplated his next maneuver. Lucky for me, his obligations to finish the brawl had not been resolved as his eyes widened in shock and pain at the sensation of his tail being yanked once again.

Having scrambled back onto his hooves, the retired sailor rushed once again to clench his flat teeth on the fibers of the piper's tail. This time he refused to let go, flapping his wings with all his might and tugging with fervent heaves as his hooves dug into the planking to either drag the brute away from us or rip his tail out trying.

"Why won't you just quit!?" bellowed the piper through his gritted teeth, swinging his head back in an attempt to turn. His whirl was impeded when his cheek met squarely with an extended hoof that held his wielded dagger away while another yank on his tail kept him from turning his body.

A mighty roar through his nose sounded as Salmon drew back his other hoof to throw a haymaker swing into the piper's back, aimed right for the kidney. "You'll damn well have to kill me first!" we heard him spit back as he refused to loosen the grip of his jaw. Again and again, every few seconds the piper gained the will to ignore the pain of his tail being nearly torn from his body so he could whirl around, but he was met with Salmon's denying hoof to the side of his face and another punishing bash into his spine or kidneys. That was until he slammed his entire body back instead, after he had endured enough of the beating, throwing his whole weight into Salmon and hooking his back legs behind the pegasus' hooves to send them both to the ground once again.

A scream escaped her at the sight of the ongoing struggle, the shattering noise startling me, as Hyacinth pressed her lips into the soft fabric of her Gi doll caught between her chest and mine. "Make them stop, Mr. Ben!" she sputtered out to me, heaves escaping her as she screwed her eyes shut and an agonized yowl filled the air around us over the small sound of cracking bone.

Grunts of strain continued between both of the combatants, the dark stallion taking dominance in the grappled pin they found themselves in. The lighter of the two wildly bashed with his right hoof, planting strike after thudding strike, into his attacker's neck and face while his other hoof wrestled around the pommel of the knife just barely sticking out of the interlocking teeth. When the piper flailed his head about to try and shake loose the unwanted grip on his weapon, Salmon timed a mighty swing and made a lucky connection, shoving his hoof far into the beast's nose and injuring it with a brutal crunch.

The piper recoiled, giving a pained yell, and lifted up long enough to slam his hooves back down crushing one of the pegasus' striking legs beneath it in a pin. The pain in his nose forcing his eyes to tightly close, the creature blindly stabbed with the vicious dagger to end the melee. It sunk deep into Salmon's flesh: The strength in his free leg fading as it fell limp, refusing to respond.

I felt my feet shuffle back, the instinct to flee nearly overwhelming me, as the victorious pony stood up and shook his head about, issuing swears and snarls. Water leaked heavily from his eyes, forcing them nearly shut as he battled with the excruciating pain from his injured nose. I feared It was only a matter of seconds before he would fight through his discomfort, reset his sights on us, and simply take his target from me. As the pony drew back to reach for the knife embedded deep in the barely-moving sailor, I could not pull my own eyes away from the sight of the fallen stallion.

"Head's up!"

At the sound of the dusky voice, all eyes turned to the thicket just off the shore of the Charmedsmile, including the blurry eyes of the piper. That was his mistake. As his head lifted up to view the owner of the voice and prepare himself for another contender, he must have barely seen through his tear-filled vision a whirling copper blade attached to a wooden shaft come hurling from the woods. Before he could react or put his head back down, it had cleaved into his neck with a satisfying thunk.

Murky red fluid began to pour down the stallion's chest, panic overwhelming his quickly paling features as he struggled to draw in a breath to scream or respond. His hooves clawed at his own neck to find that the axebit remained firmly lodged halfway through his throat. With a last longing glance at the both of us, petrified by fear in the sparse clearing, and a disbelieving look in the direction from which the blade had flown in; he eventually collapsed to all four knees, and finally to a crumpled heap on the ground with one hoof wrapped desperately around the shaft of the fatal weapon.

"Only a dumbass looks," I heard her voice chime in again. Maple trotted from the tree line towards us, immediately glancing over Hyacinth and me. "Ben. Ben! Are you okay? Talk to me, Ben. Did he hurt you or the little one?"

"No," I finally stuttered, pulling Hyacinth's head to my chest to hide her eyes from the morbid scene on the bridge, "He didn't hurt either of us. We're okay.” I shook my head, dread flooding back into me, as I looked back to the bridge. “Salmon’s hurt! Take Hyacinth back to the camp, I need to check on him!”Hyacinth gave a wracking sob when I tried to hurriedly put her down, calling out my name in a way that begged me to not let go of her, but Maple's soothing voice calmed her enough that she could take the foal from me.

The pegasus was able to stand on her hind legs with the help of flapping her wings, and holding the filly in her front legs, picked up her Gi doll to give Hyacinth something to cling to while she was carried back to the settlement. "I'll take care of her, Ben. I've got this. Make sure the old colt's alright."

I nearly lost my balance when I came to a skidding stop at the sailor's side on my knees, ignoring the burn on my skin as I began to examine the pony. I looked for anything hopeful: Anything that might suggest that there was some gleaming chance that he might still be there. The dull, wooden grip of the blade drew my eyes first so that I could witness the wound. It was at the neck. Blood seeped past the iron blade and stained his light pelt, dripping down with tiny plops into the slowly gathering pool on the wood of the bridge. Salmon's eyes were closed as well. I found that I could not pull my sight away from the injury, unable to move my hands or any other part of me.

I didn't know what to do...

Until a loud seething sound erupted from between Salmon's gritted teeth and he curled his hooves at his sides to endure. I could breathe once again, seeing him breathe and open his eyes to glance over my face with his hazy hues. A grimacing smile came over him then, as I put my hand on his hoof to hold it down for the moment. The smile quickly disappeared as he craned his head about in a frantic search. "Captain, where's the lass? What happened?"

"It's alright, Salmon. She's safe," I assured him, furrowing my brow as I drew in a deep breath to finally assess the wound with what little knowledge that I had.

Salmon tried to crane his view to his own neck, but recoiled with a sharp intake of breath as he must have twinged something and pained himself. "Celestia's Ass Fur, that smarts lad! Little pisshead got me good, didn't he?" Another swear or two left Salmon's lips as he screwed his eyes shut again and laid his head back to cope with the discomfort. Struggling to chuckle through it, he informed me: “Not my first knife-fight lad; it's just that last time, I was the one with the knife.”

"How bad do you think it is, Salmon? You seem to be breathing and circulating." I brought my hand close to try and apply pressure around the point of entry, hoping to minimize the trickle of blood.

"Shit, Captain, I don't know! Pull the damn thing out and we can see how bad it is!" Salmon irritably barked back, catching his breath as the pain seemed to numb under my squeezing hand.

I refused him that, telling him that I wouldn't risk removing it until we had more supplies on hand. Daggersides was the first on the scene, sprinting up to drop onto her front knees as well and view the wound. "Holy- Little pisshead got you good, huh old guy?" Salmon tried to stifle his chuckle at her coincidental words, and I instructed her to get us some antiseptic and clean cloth as fast as she could. "I'd tell you to leave it in 'til we can get a doc on this, Prodder, but we don't have that kind of luxury. We’re not doing that here though, let’s get him back to the infirmary so we can decide what to do.”

I have to say that I'm thankful that the zebras were here when this happened. Their group was still residing in the infirmary when we barged in and urged all of them to clear the way for our wounded comrade. Syn Soothes-Pain is the name of one of the stallions amongst them that, peculiarly, had two horns growing from far down on the bridge of his nose. They called him a "Medicine-Colt," and he immediately took Salmon from our care before we could even so much as explain what had happened on the bridge. I can rest easy knowing that Salmon is in good hands right now, as they were quick to administer poultices and apply practiced bandaging to the wound before preparing to remove it carefully; however, something strange did happen when the blade was finally drawn out. One of the merchants among them backed away from the sight of it in irrational fear. When I approached her with concern to ask what was wrong, she only said, "Deicidian," before recovering her demeanor and wishing to drop the subject. When I would not let the topic go however, she only curtly informed me, “You’re calling them here with your questions.”

I’ve been informed that the wound is mostly superficial: It had missed any notable arteries, as the blade (while looking rather savage), was quite thin at its point of entry, and only roughly 1/3 of it was embedded into his shoulder since the piper had lacked the precision or strength to penetrate a bone it had collided with. Salmon is expected to make a full recovery by the end of next season.

The body of the "piper", as he was called, has been placed in the tomb that was made for Flinch. I have requested that he be placed there for examination later, as I wanted to confirm what I saw when he grinned at me: Something that may very well explain the absurdity of this whole scenario.

That is why I was with Hyacinth tonight. I wanted to make sure she was alright after all of that commotion, as I don't wish for this event to become a permanent scar for her. That's only part of the truth though. I just wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to hear the reassuring sound of her giggle when I spoke those silly words that Bow would say when bumping her head, as I read the storybook she’s come to love so much. I wanted to push away the haunting thought that she was only moments away from walking away with that piper to a fate that I don't wish to fathom at this time.

Songring doesn't feel very safe to me right now.

Author's Note

On a personal note, I had originally wanted to refer to the Pipers as "Snatchers" considering their practice of abducting young ones from the forests, but I was informed that this might cause some confusion with the Snatchers from the Harry Potter series. In the end, I settled to call them Pipers to distance the two apart a bit more. Not to mention, it just seemed to sound more fitting with how deceit was being used instead of stealth or force.

43: Post-Mortem Curiosity

So here I am, in a small cubbyhole dug into the side of the tombs that we hollowed out for use in the unfortunate case of a fatal accident, jotting down my thoughts as the scent of formaldehyde and unclean corpse wafts around me like a reeking fog. The smell is certainly a peculiar one: When I first walked into it, it made me want to run away and snort vinegar just to try and get it out of my sinuses. After a few minutes of forcing myself to endure the terrible odor, it began to seem like a strangely familiar scent; however, after half an hour, I realized that there was a single booger hanging out of my nose which may very well be the parchment on which my nose wrote its final goodbyes to the world before it killed itself, and that is why I can now smell nothing at all.

It shall be a long evening as I can already tell, but I am dedicating this entry solely to an autopsy of the Deicidian pony that we procured this summer. Let me admit that this is more of a dissection than an autopsy (considering that by looking at the deep cleave in the front of his neck, I already know what killed him), but I feel it is important that I finally take a look at the internal workings of one of these creatures to find what similarities I can between the ponies of The Sun of Chance that I am familiar with, and these creatures referred to as Deicidian ponies. Be comforted that this is done solely for the pursuit of much-needed knowledge, and I will do what I can to conduct this as professionally and respectfully as possible.

My supplies have all been gathered for this occasion. Bunsen was instrumental in obtaining all that I would need, as she happened to already have a chemist's set that had almost all of the chemicals required. As mentioned before, I have formaldehyde here for disinfecting the body and for helping to preserve it (does she expect me to embalm the body? I hope not), ethanol-based cleaning solution for my own use, a few moisturizing agents, and an assortment of tools containing (but not limited to) scalpels, thread and needles, staples, rags, forceps, scissors, and syringes. There are quite a few more bottles and instruments that I quite honestly have no idea what they are for or how to use them, but this is a venture of discovery anyways so I will perhaps attempt a bit of trial and error to learn what their function is. I have just secured the cloth mask to my face and put on the specialty gloves I had Rabbitfoot make for me just for this occasion. I shall return to record some findings after my initial overview.

I have just finished cleaning and examining the body at this time. Just for good measure, I began by checking the body for a pulse (even though I am sure that this is indeed a corpse, it is still good practice to go through the motions). To no one’s surprise, I found none and began looking to remove the contaminants from the body. One of the first things I wished to do was to remove the horrifying amount of blood that had seeped into the pelt along the left side of the neck and down to the chest, staining the mane's crest and collecting in a pool of now-viscous fluid at the bottom of the table. I drained it off of the table into a bucket and used the ethanol-based cleaner and a rag to try and scrub the blood out of the dark charcoal colored pelt, which was successful to an acceptable degree. I have secured some cloth beneath the wound at the neck to help keep the blood from dripping any longer and getting back into the area once again. I also took the time to wet a cloth in some water and scrub away the caked mud from the creature's hooves, as well as pick out briars and other foreign impurities that were matted into the shaggy pelt. Finally, I had to clean up the mess that the creature had made when it soiled itself at the time of death using one of the rags and more ethanol, which I have discarded of already.

Let me give a few details about the examination I was able to give immediately following the cleaning:

This is a male pony with an abnormally shaggy pelt (two or three times what I perceive as the normal length for ponies). Pelt color is charcoal, mane is a very light blue and snow white. The eyes of the creature are a dark gold (easily mistaken for orange) and have slit pupils. The hooves of the creature are notable, as I almost cut my hand when cleaning them: They have been ground down (perhaps with a whetstone of sorts?) to have razor-sharp edges. Opening the mouth revealed that this creature has dagger-sharp teeth that interlock with one another. The ears have an additional tuft of hair jutting from the very tip.

These factors lead me to believe that the creature must be from a harsh arctic or tundra environment, as the length of the pelt suggests that it is acclimated to surviving in low temperatures. It is carnivorous, as its teeth suggest that they are used for tearing flesh from bone. The subject is a hunter as well, which would explain the need for more advantages added to his natural weapons (I.e.- the sharp edged hooves). The pelt color and pupils lead me to believe that this is also normally a nocturnal predator, as it might very well be able to see in low-light conditions due to the shape of its pupils.

Next I will begin dissection of locations of interest and make notes about the structural layout of this pony.

My first location has been to start with the front legs. I have questioned many times as to the structure of these limbs in ponies, and it seems I may finally have an answer. Starting from the shoulder of the front leg: The leg connects to the chest of the pony with a ball-and-socket joint, allowing movement in almost all directions (with limitations imposed only by the possibility of tearing muscles that cannot stretch to many of the angles greater than 90 degrees from left-to-right, and 180 degrees in the front-to-back orientation). The front of the chest happens to be protected by a large bone that extends from the front of the collar, at the base of the neck, and wraps back at the front of the bottom of the chest where the joint of the front legs connect. The ribcage does not begin until the barrel of the pony, behind the front legs (with the exception of a few smaller ribs that happen to be tucked up closer to the sides of the plate at the front of the chest).

Remarkably, going down the leg, I believe the next section of joint and bones resemble a working human arm: A humerus that starts at the ball-and-socket joint at the shoulder extends to a hinge joint at the elbow, which connects to the ulna and radius. This allows the elbow to bend in only one direction when flexed (normal orientation at rest suggests that it is to go forward and backward) but can be adjusted with complex combinations of movement with the ball-and-socket joint of the shoulder. The ulna and radius in the lower leg, however, would allow pronation and supination of the lower leg if needed, which I can see would be important for the following bones.

I have discovered that the ankle/wrist of the front leg is actually a pair of joints. Both of these condyloid joints are synovial in nature (considering that excessive twisting or stress caused the joint to “pop” and released fluid trapped within), and are connected to one another along the vertical length of the leg by a bone with the peculiarity of a divot in its side that faces the back of the pony while at rest. The bottom one of the two joints connects to the hoof and the other connects to the radius higher up the leg. These two joints together could very well create the “curling” motion I have witnessed some ponies do when they grasp objects with their front legs. The divot in the bone, connecting the two joints between the hoof and the radius, is what the ponies “hook” the object into when they curl and lock their hoof around it to secure it in their grasp. Combining this with the rotational movement allowed by the ulna and radius bones in the lower front leg would allow for a large field of possible movement when coordinating the combined abilities of each of the joints.

This is absolutely fascinating! I finally understand just how these creatures have been able to use tools effectively to get to their current point of civilization. I am not too familiar with the skeletal structure of horses on Terriel, but I am certain there is no possible way that the front legs relate to these.

I now must direct my attention to the back legs to see if they hold similar properties. Be back after examination.

The rear leg confuses me some, as the shape is much more feral than the front leg. I am able to locate where the pelvis meets the spine, and it is fused with a long bone (or series of bones? I cannot tell at this time due to the fluids in the way.) which then connects to what must be a femur in a ball-and-socket joint at the hip around the haunch area. The visible leg does not start until the next joint in the series (actually three joints grouped into one spot, which was difficult to discern through the sheer labyrinth of ligaments intertwined in this area). I find that this joint grouping has roughly 120 degrees of available movement, perhaps a bit more if it was not hindered by the rigor mortis taking effect.

I'm not even sure what the hell I'm looking at now as I go further down into what is the visible leg above the knee. I can locate a tibia and a fibula that are what the mass of ligaments above is connected to. At rest, the tibia and fibula seem to point backwards to what has to be the most incomprehensible mass of bone and cartilage I have ever witnessed. What is that? Oh dear heavens, what is that? Is that even normal? Is this some malformation of this creature that differs from normal ponies? Manually working the leg, it seems to function just fine, but it appears to be some sort of interlocking series of three rows with two bones each. I have no idea what kind of joint this is to be honest. It seems to work, however, so I will stop questioning it for now.

Finally, past the “knee” of the creature, I can now see what looks very familiar to the front leg, with the exception that the condyloid joints near the hoof have been replaced with simple hinge joints instead.

Fuck, I think I broke something just now when testing the rotational and movement capabilities of the joints near the hoof. Crap, I can't seem to get it to go back in. Dammit all. I'll try to correctly position it and look into sewing back up the leg to clear up a bit of the mess, as well as sanitize the body once more. The sound of the bone grinding on bone whenever I try to put it back together just sends chills up my spine...

I have done what I can to stitch up the long cuts I made on the front and back legs to examine the interiors of them. After cleaning the areas once more to remove the blood stains, I realize how poor the air circulation in this room actually is as I feel lightheaded from the choking scent of formaldehyde, ethanol, and blood. I will press onwards, however, as this may be the only chance I get to explore the inner workings of these creatures without consequence. Next I will be exploring the wound at the neck and the cranium for abnormalities.

Yep, he's dead alright. That's all I could think when witnessing the mass of severed chords, veins, and arteries in the front of the neck where the axe has torn through. Hell, they all have blood in them now, so I can't very well tell which were arteries anymore. I had to excise some of the tissue in the area to remove the ragged portions left from the rough chopping the axe did to get a better view of where each one was meant to be. It seems that there are two tubes down this far in the neck, which must mean that the epiglottis is located higher up near the skull. This caught my attention as I wanted to see exactly where the epiglottis was located, so looking a bit higher up, I found it located beneath the jaw line, separating the larynx and the esophagus. This means that the ponies' oral and nasal cavities are connected freely by the pharynx: This is remarkable because it means that the ponies (as I should have realized earlier) can breathe through their mouths. It is something I had not thought of before, but the horses back on Terriel cannot breathe through their mouth due to the epiglottis (or a similar organ) being located at the back of the oral cavity, which cuts it off from the pharynx at all times except when swallowing. This explains to me how these ponies can communicate verbally!

There are lots of arteries and such there too, but I'm not very interested in their circulatory system at this time. The knowledge that they have one, and have blood to put in it, sates quite enough of that curiosity. Even without knowing much about their circulatory system, I understand now that they have blood considering the ridiculous amount of it that continues to ooze out of this cadaver! I've considered going to the bar in the dining hall and grabbing some corks to shove in these holes just to stop them up for a while so I can continue my research.

I peeled back some of the skin around the cranium to view the skull in hopes of understanding a bit more about it. I also took a peek at the cheek and jaw area for my curiosity. The cranial shape of these creatures is unlike those of the horses back on Terriel for a few notable reasons: The skull is much rounder, especially at the top and around the back near the connection of the spine and skull. The facial structure differs in that the bones for the nose seem much shorter than I remember on horses back home, and the shape is a bit blockier than I would have imagined (but considering the shape of the faces on the females here, I assume this is just a gender difference, as the female's noses appear much more pointed in nature than the blocky shape I have encountered in this male specimen). Something that is different from the ponies I am currently familiar with is the forehead of this creature seems to be positioned farther forward in a Neanderthal-type manner. What does this mean about the creature?

Shit, I don't know. Makes him look like an equine caveman kinda. Well, after I stitch his head back together that is. I wonder if the stitches are going to be visible over the shaggy coat though. Oh yeah, they are visible. Kinda like I've turned him into a baseball.

Oh my lord, I made frankenpony! I need a couple of bolts to cram in his neck and a lightning storm, and I shall become a god among men!

Ugh, back to research. That smell is still terrible. Perhaps it's just late and I am tired. Maybe that's why I can't focus very well right now.

Those eyes... dammit, I'm getting tired of his eyes being open. I keep trying to close them with my hands, but they just slowly slide back open again, and the corpse continues staring off into space. Not to mention, his mouth hanging open is bothering me because he seems so distraught. Scared? I can't even discern the emotion right now, I just don't like it. I'll see about doing something about it so I can get back to concentrating on my research.

Well, I think I've spent the last hour positioning this specimen's face over and over until I found an expression I liked. I tried the whole eyes-closed, peaceful thing for a while, but it just made me kinda sleepy. “Why is he so unhappy?” I thought. Maybe he's really enjoying himself. Maybe he's dreaming about lady ponies or something, so I tried stitching one of the sides of his lips to his cheek so that it would lift up. He had a smarmy-looking smirk at that point, and because I wanted to punch him in his smug face for it, I did the same thing with the other side of his lip. His nose got displaced when I did that and he just looked stupid, so I sutured the mouth completely closed and secured the bottom lip to the bottom of the jaw in hopes to put the mouth back in the right place. He now has the most extreme v-shaped smile I could conjure, but I'm not changing it. It amuses me.

The eyes aren't so bad open, as I now have stitched the eyebrows into a position that is less terrified. One of them is really high up on the face, and the other is turned down like he's angry. Combined with his v-shaped smile, kinda looks like he's mocking someone or perhaps he's sucking on really sour candy and trying not to laugh. I laugh plenty when I see his face though, so I can just chuckle enough for the both of us.

Dirtnap just came in and boy was he maaad. I don't know what crawled up his butt, but I'm just trying to lighten the mood a little in here. "What in the name of Celestia are you doing, Prodder!?"

"Arranging a tea party with my friend here, Dirtnap. Wanna join? We have cleaning agents, some water and stuff, and like lots of blood if you're interested. Poor guy is feeling a little under the weather though, so don't get too close to him. You might catch your death! Haw haw haw."

"You... I can't believe this. I can't believe you've butchered this poor creature. You're desecrating him!"

"Pfft, Desecrating? How could I be doing that? This is for science, Dirtnap, and great science at that. The best science, and my friend here knows it. Look, Dirtnap, see? He's smiling! He's happy to be a part of science!"

"He's not happy: you've sewn his face into that stupid expression! Are... Are you drunk?!"

"What!? Nah, nope, not a single thing to drink in here. I haven't had anything... well, there's ethanol in that bottle, but I haven't drank any of it."

"You need help. Oh Sisters; you need help, that's it."

"Nah, I got everything under control here. Whoa! Wait, actually I do need help! Where does this thingy go? I broke it off, like, half an hour ago and fuckif I know how to get it to go back in."

"Just stop touching anything, Prodder! Oh... what a mess... what a disgrace..."

I swear he’s acting like somebody died.

Ah crap, that's right, this thing is dead. Can't win 'em all I guess.

Well, Maple is here and telling me I have to go to bed. Dirtnap's still really, really pissed too. He's got this vein on his forehead that I can see, and it looks like it might pop if he gets any angrier. Guess they are right, it's pretty late, and I have important bossman stuff to do tomorrow. A quick cat nap sounds pretty great right about now. I'll talk to you tomorrow or something, Journal. It's been fun and all. Bye bye.

44: Bees

I hate bees.

Songring appears to be in a sort of renaissance era this season. The sheer boom of creative/romantic ideas and creations has left me astounded. The results of these ideas I must call into question over and over again; however, I still am impressed at the amount of inspiration some of these ponies have been having recently.

Dammit, I hate bees.

We have had three new articles created recently that the ponies have wished to garner my attention with. I do have a theory as to what might have caused this wave of creativity, and why some of the creations have been of questionable make. This theory is not very complimentary to the artists involved.

We began trading with the zebra caravan once things had calmed down after Songring's small episode with the piper. I had a chance to meet with the leader of their caravan, which happened to be a winged zebra with striped tan and charcoal fur and a sandy-colored mane. To be honest, I find the names nearly impossible to pronounce due to my accent (or lack of one; well, that is a matter of opinion, since what I believe to be a neutral manner of speaking may indeed be a funny accent to these creatures), so they have been kind enough to offer their translated names for us to use for them. Each name seems to consist of a first name (usually short, approximately 2-5 letters), and a title following, which is gained at the same time that their cutie mark appears. Val Gathers-Treasures is the name of the winged zebra that leads the caravan as elected by the shaman of their tribe back in the deserts to the north. This means that the caravan is owned by the entire tribe as a communal effort to gain allies and establish bartering with foreign nations (or in our case, settlements), as opposed to Sir Bullion's caravan which happens to be run and owned by he and his family.

With the amount of ponies calling my attention to event after event here in Songring, I regretfully did not get a chance to sit and speak with Val more than just enough to learn what little information I described above and do a bit of trading with him. Their wares consisted mostly of exotic clothing, which seemed lightweight and easy to carry (Willow wanted a headscarf, but I told him no because he'd end up strangling himself with it.), as well as many leather supplies, which I decided we could make use of for various purposes around Songring. There were also many dried and prepared herbs that Val claimed were medicinal, while others were simply spices, and some were believed to enlighten one's spirit. I fail to understand the importance of these plants, but I traded for them as well in hopes that Bunsen would be willing to do a bit of research and let me know exactly what these zebras were offering. One very peculiar question that came up was what the zebras would like in return for their wares, as we had no bits for them to use when trading with other settlements and civilizations, nor anything we could spare that would be classified as “useful” in a direct sense. It was not until I came across an iron anvil in their wares and asked how valuable it was to them that the conversation came about.

"That? It is just dead earth. Do you like its shape? It may mean more to Songring than us," Val informed me when I inquired, seeming disinterested in the object overall.

"Dead earth? It looks to be made of iron."

"It is just dead earth. It does not support life and does not dance in the sun. It is simply hard, cold, and still: Dead."

"I see the metal industry must not be very practiced by your tribe then." I commented, sliding my hand over the anvil as I considered how useful it might be to make another forge in the mines with it. "Is there such a thing as living earth then? Aside from soil?"

"Some earth dances in the light, and others can present its beholder's image upon its surface. That is living earth too. Do you know of it? It is the earth that your ponies of the Sun of Chance make their bits from."

"You mean lustrous metals then," I nodded to her, before I cracked a grin. "We actually have some in its raw state. Do your people find this living earth valuable as well? Perhaps that is something we can trade with you for your wares?"

Val was distrustful of my claims at first, hearing that I was in possession of some of this “living earth”. I had to take her with me to the stockpile room and remove one of our silver ingots from the bins located there to show it to her. "It is, is it not? This is certainly it. It dances in the light, see?"

"Yes, that's reflection of the light. Causes it to shine. If you took a bit of abrasive material to it and rubbed it long and hard enough, it would also show your reflection. It would, as you say, present its beholder,” I instructed, using the outside of my coat on the ingot’s surface in hopes to give her an example.

I had her sold right then, watching her features light up with new fire as she knew that we now had a commodity that she could take back to her people. I believe we only traded five ingots total to them for the objects we obtained (herbs, tanned hides, and the small anvil), but they asked if they would be welcome to return next year with new offers for our living earth. I will be happy to get to meet with Val again next year, and maybe learn a bit more about our zebra neighbors.

Son of a bitch, I hate bees.

I should probably explain that bees have become a problem in Songring recently due to the large amount of them that have gathered. Honeysides happens to be a very talented beekeeper, and as such, has done an excellent job in preparing them some homes out of rock hives and tending to their needs in such a way that their population has exploded. We must not have enough hives to contain them all, however, and this has lead to them building hives elsewhere in the settlement to create new space.

This is all new to me because I have never actually seen a live bee before now: Only in videos on the stratus and pictures of them in articles. Back on Terriel, the air is too thin for their strange body shapes to maintain flight, and as a grounded creature they do not survive very long at all. They are instead kept in farms and factories that simulate an environment closer to that of the planet's surface to allow them to generate the honey and wax that is used in cooking and crafts. The beekeeping industry is a difficult one, but honey is a very valuable commodity because of it.

How do I handle this then? Honeysides informs me that it will be fine, and they will supposedly retreat into the hives in the winter to stay warm so that I will not have to worry about them buzzing around the entrance to the dining hall and the apartment halls for long. What about next year? These things are terrible. They're loud, disturbing to look at, and they have venomous stingers simply for the purpose of suicide-attacking someone when they get the random whim that life is not worth living and they want to make someone else feel the same way as they off themselves. I hate these things, especially when they continue to fly into the living quarters and seek out food, or prey, or whatever it is those little pests think they are going to find in the dining hall. I keep asking Honeysides to remove the hives that show up outside of the area that I've designated for her beekeeping (east, within the walls of Springfield's farm, as he seems relatively happy to have them there), but then she tells me that it's just cruel to want to destroy their homes like that. Don't destroy it then, just move it! Cram it in one of the other hives or something! Heck, how about we just make some more hives to place over there if they need more space? Just get them out of where I have to walk and be each day!

Also, Honeysides has been in my room. I know this because some bees have gotten in there, and she is the only one who gets them repeatedly caught in her fur and mane when she is working with them outside during the day. What is she doing in there? And why is the scent of honey getting on my bed? I shudder to think of what that might mean, and I have to wash my sheets at least weekly right now just to feel comfortable sleeping in my quarters.

Back to the topic of the caravan, I believe that some of the goods they gave to us might be the cause of all of these new breakthroughs that individuals are so excited to show me. It is my belief that the herbs we purchased, medicinal or not, might be hallucinogenic or narcotic in some way. This must be what is leading these ponies to their multitude of epiphanies after they decide it might be a good idea to take a bite or have a taste of what the zebras had to offer.

Canary, one of our miners, recently made me a mug: Out of wood. At first I had considered this to be an asinine piece of craftsmanship, but I will admit to having the object grow on me as I've now been keeping it for personal use. It does not seem to condensate, so my papers no longer get damp when I forget something chilled in it on my desk, and it has started absorbing a few of the flavors of liquids I put into it. This makes water from it taste rather unappealing, but the occasional fruit juice or wine has become a very pleasant medley of tastes. The artwork adorning the sides is very cryptic and made out of chiseled stone, but still rather nice to look at when I find myself bored in the evenings.

The other main, notable breakthrough was by our new mechanic, Machina. The device she made is something she has been working on for a while. Using ingots from our silver stockpile, and combining it with a bar of something else (perhaps zinc or nickel) that was obtained from Bullion's caravan, she has created an alloy, and crafted a metal mechanism from it. Now the mechanism by itself is completely useless as all it does is swing a metal-headed hammer when one pulls the trigger, but truly the piece is absolutely fascinating. When I questioned if there was anything else like this anywhere in Equestria, she informed me that she did not think so, and that she had adapted quite a bit of engineering knowledge from her past to create it.

"The concept is that I am trying to make a safer, more easily reusable form of igniting a cannon. Cannons are used for all sorts of things like entertainment, defense, and there's even a company that manufactures cannons specifically for launching party favors and decorations at tall ceilings and hard-to-reach locations! I figured that using a lighter to ignite the propellant is really unsafe, and using a drawstring with a flint attachment is time-consuming to replace. This could eliminate both of those problems, and replace the lighter, or the string with just a simple trigger that will swing the spring-loaded hammer against flint and ignite the propellant inside the chamber."

I asked her afterwards if she might be able to part with the piece, as I would adore the chance to hold onto something like this. Looking at it, it reminds me of the firing mechanisms of relic, smoothbore firearms (the ones that collectors are always so fond of putting in their living rooms on special wall mounts to show off). She informed me that this was only meant to be a scale model of the actual contraption, which would be large enough to fit to a cannon, and that as soon as she made a schematic of it I was free to keep it if it meant so much to me. I may have to do a bit of thinking to come up with a way of fashioning a stock and barrel to attach this mechanism to so I can put a smoothbore relic of my own in my office; it would be interesting to be one of those collectors..

One last “creation” I wished to mention was Riverscar giving birth to another baby girl at the very beginning of the season. She is currently on maternity leave from her duties to care for the child, and I have informed her to take all the time she needs to ensure that the youngling will be taken care of. When she went into labor, it was a shocking time for most of us as we had no idea that she was even with child at the time (her muscular frame had done well to compress and hide any noticeable signs of pregnancy, making her just seem a bit bloated instead). When I caught wind of what was going on, I immediately requested of Springfield that he be present and use what knowledge he had to ensure a safe delivery. We lacked any way to properly weigh the baby, so there are no specifics I can give that are normally measured at the time of delivery, such as weight and actual size, but there is something that has left me quite perturbed about this whole scenario:

That baby is a unicorn.

Yes, the foal has a small nub on her head that I believe will one day break through the hide and prove to be a unicorn's horn. I am not quite sure of the genetics involved with determining the species of these ponies (unicorn, pegasus, or earth ponies), but realize that neither Riverscar nor Inutile happen to be a unicorn.

I'm not sure who the father of that baby is.

Up until now, I had been uneasily accepting what appeared to be Inutile haphazardly cheating on his wife with the other mares of Songring. This unicorn foal, however, leaves me with even more questions. It is still none of my business, so I cannot directly question them, but it honestly stumps me at times. What kind of relationship are they in exactly?

God damn bee is in my office.

There, now that I have taken care of that, back to my recordings. I also just read a bit of my last entry and feel it necessary to comment on.

Sometimes it is hit and miss with my CCMI's HPN protocols. You would think that if there was an airborne chemical that would lead to intoxication (or at least suppression of oxygen), it would be kind enough to give me a bit of warning? It seems not, however, because airborne fumes of ethanol and formaldehyde are not considered a hazard by the FBHD due to their clinical and domestic uses. Instead, I was not given a single warning as I was slowly being suffocated in that little room due to the building fumes, unaware that I was becoming delirious until I had a handsy (hoovesy?) pegasus drag me out of the location while I'm singing made-up pirate shanties about disemboweling ponies in the name of science.

Word spreads quickly around Songring, and it did not take long for all of the ponies to learn of how I butchered the remains of the piper. A few of the rumors were sort of entertaining, one of which stated that the piper was not actually dead, and we got into an epic struggle within the tomb. The conflict ended when I finally killed him by grabbing his head in my herculean arms and nearly snapped it right off his neck. (I just like the hyperbole of my physical capabilities in that one, especially since I was supposedly shirtless.) Others insist that I am a necromancer of sorts, and some rumors state that I simply went berserk and started slashing away at the corpse for my own amusement. The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry, I suppose.

I would like to revisit that happening just once in this entry to wrap up a few final thoughts that I was too addled to write down at the time. The piper happens to be one of the species known as a deicidian pony, as has been confirmed to me by Dirtnap. He was able to inform me of quite a bit that is worth documenting, such as this deicidian pony is from a subspecies known as “Feral Ponies". It refers to the long-coated, predatory ponies of the inhospitable (and widely believed to be uninhabitable) arctic and tundra regions. Being a lone wanderer, this one is what settlement ponies call a "piper", which refers to their common practice of leading or stealing children away from settlements to consume them. (Quite fitting actually. All he was missing was a flute and some rats.) The feral ponies will only attack game that they believe they have a substantial advantage over, and as such, will only prey on children and small animals when they are alone and without the aid needed to attack adults or game animals.

I learned all of this when I went to personally apologize to Dirtnap for what had occurred in the tomb that night. I could understand why he was furious with me, and for more reasons than I probably realize. My conduct was inexcusable, even with the defense that I was accidentally intoxicated at the time. Dirtnap has accepted my apology, but still has yet to stop treating me with some scorn, and has also requested that the tomb be given its own locked door with him as the key holder. I will heed this request as soon as I can get the bolt installed on the door, if just to try to repair my image after that whole debacle.

I believe I will attempt to avoid some of these bees by heading to the new second story of the dining hall that has been completed. We decided to expand it upwards to create some new available seating for the ponies, as well as accommodate the needs of Absinthe, our alicorn bartender, so that she had more space on the first floor for her bar. I had Willow ask her for direction on how to build a suitable workstation, and we now have a professionally run bar for the ponies to visit during their breaks and on their days off. This may also allow me to manage exactly how much is being consumed on a regular basis. I will request of Absinthe that she supply me with a vague record from here on.

It is night now, but I felt compelled to return to this journal and write once again. I finally had a chance to speak with Absinthe, since I was wishing to vacate my office until sundown in hopes that the bees would go back to their hives for the night and I would not be victim to them anymore. I feel that perhaps her words are worth writing down.

It started when I wandered in with my journal tucked under my arm, wishing to keep it within eyesight in fear of insects getting into it or ponies getting a hold of it. I saw Absinthe speaking with Inutile at the bar: Him smiling with what I could estimate to be a seductive expression towards the bartender alicorn while she chuckled back and merely started pouring a drink to slide over the bar at him.

"Honey, please, you don't even have a clue how old I am. In my time, I've seen every shape and size you could offer; you couldn't possibly surprise me with your skill or your equipment." With that, I saw her notice me take my seat as far away from Inutile as possible, setting my journal down in front of me and looking over as their eyes fell on me curiously. "... Now he probably could," she added with a hoof pointed at me, causing Inutile to glance between the two of us and huff as he reached for his drink.

"He would be but an amateur," Inutile began in his thick accent, sipping idly from his mug as he looked me over while I stared back with a brow raised questioningly. I could not believe they were really discussing this - In front of me. "A dilettante at best! His kind may not even be capable."

"Not trying to hurt your pride, kiddo," Absinthe responded jovially, nodding with her head for Inutile to go ahead and take his leave back to another table in the dining hall. "Just saying, even if I was interested, he'd be a fair bit of competition for you."

"Feh! Competition with that? It would be a humiliation served to him, not a competition. You're simply trying to insult me now." With that, Inutile took her advice and started towards the tables.

"One of the things he's already got on you is that he's a real foreigner. You happen to just be imitation import."

With how he paused and let his mug hit the ground, I thought that Inutile might honestly come back and do or say something regrettable. To my surprise, he turned his head down and took a deep breath to calm himself, before making a strange gesture in the air with his hoof at Absinthe and leaving for the stairwell. On his way up, he muttered about the outrage of her claim, but did not lash out with anymore insults.

"So I heard you mention that you are quite wizened?" I immediately asked as the quiet started to settle at the bar, wishing to change the topic as soon as possible.

"Mmhm," she responded quickly and lightheartedly, sliding down the bar and folding her front legs on top of it in front of me with a smile. "That I am, Sweets. Several hundred years old… I wish I could give you a specific number, but afraid that after the first couple of centuries, you stop remembering the exacts."

"Fascinating," I responded, simply trying to stall for a moment to come up with an actual question and get over the shock. Several hundred years old? Are those Equestria years she's referring to? Even if that was so and she meant 500 as being several, she would be 250 Terriel years if my estimation of time differences is anywhere close to accurate. That's beyond the lifespan of even Equinyr who are notably long lived back on Terriel, and she seems to be far from geriatric at this time considering the healthy shine to her coat and the absence of any balding, gray hairs, or aching joints (I assume she does not have any with how fluid and graceful her movements are). "Been a bartender the whole time?" It was the only question that came to mind.

"That was pretty recent actually... Probably within the past couple of decades or so. Seems tough for some to believe."

"You think? The only alicorns I have witnessed have been royalty: Princess Celestia, of the Sun of Chance and Lady Nimbus, of the Sister of Clouds. I had come to imagine that with their quasi-deity nature, all alicorns must have some position of government," I admitted, refusing her quiet offer to pour something in a mug for me. I was simply there to escape the infestation.

"You're mostly right on that, but there are always outliers. I used to be a noble. The Chimed Glasses. I presided as their Duchess since they were first founded back in the year 674 of this age, until I left to do this. I wish I could remember the years fondly..."

"You prefer being a bartender over being a leader?"

"Sure do, Sugar. You see, I feel like I have a lot to offer in the way of words and advice, not to mention a few comforts now and then."

Skeptically, I had to ask her, "And you couldn't do that as their leader?"

With a chuckle, she shook her head and once again rested in front of me, lowering her neck to give me a confident glance-over. I personally was concerned about her long, pointed horn being so close to my face. "Tell me, Sweets, have you actually ever given advice around here?"

After a moment of thinking, I shrugged. "I believe I have. If nothing else, I've given helpful suggestions when I could."

"You see, nopony asks you for advice. They just want you to tell them what to do, right? What is there to learn in that? When you're a leader, everypony looks to you for an answer... but never asks for a reason or a lesson. You can fix their problems again and again, but unless you can give them advice or a lesson on how to solve it themselves... what will that pony do when you are no longer there to tell them the answer?" Absinthe smugly put her hoof around a mug, and placing another hoof wrapped inside a cloth within, began circling it around to clean and shine the interior, elbows still on the bar in front of me. "Well?"

"I hope they would use the common sense to think back to answers I had given them in the past and use those as precedence to make a sound decision at that time," I responded, folding my own arms over my notebook to shield it.

"Some you can believe that of. Others just never seem to be able to live up to those standards." With that, she nodded to me certainly. "Since they only look to a leader for answers, where do they go when they have problems but nopony to ask what to do?"

"That's genius," I admitted, finally coming to realize her logic. Maple is a prime example: When she has no way to resolve her own problems, she succumbs to the warming comfort of a stiff drink.

"They go to a bar. Well, some do, but if the problems are bad enough, eventually everypony will end up in one. Who better for them to lay their problems out for than the one working the counter? Ponies at rock bottom are usually willing to give their stories. I'm not their leader: They will not look to me for an answer; however... perhaps if I get them to believe I am their friend, they'll actually listen to my advice and learn something from it. So now it boils down to you: What's got under your skin, Hun? What brings you to the end of my bar?"

"Me?" I reiterated mindlessly. What was I doing there? "Nothing really. I just wanted to get away from my office for a while."

Absinthe stared me down quietly, a coy smile on her lips as I glanced around uncomfortably. "You sure that's all, Hun?"

"Pretty sure," I confirmed, clearing my throat as I stood up. "I am also sure that I should be fine for now. I should go see if Overcast is done with his... duties."

"Alright then, if you say so,” she paused, waiting for me to look up to her from my closed journal, "When you feel like talking about it, how about you come back? You should know where to find me."

Now I do know where to find her, that's true. I may perhaps take her up on her offer. She seems fairly certain I have problems she can help me with. I doubt it, but why not let her try. Some other time of course; For now, I must go make sure that my bed is free of intruders.

45-1: Winter of 1224

Good evening. This is Dawnstar, personal assistant to Songring's Development Coordinator Benjamen Prodder, and intern from Celestia's Academy for Gifted and Talented Unicorns in Canterlot. I will be presenting a report today on a grim occurrence during Songring's winter in the year 1224 in place of Mr. Prodder due to trauma he endured and has thus refused to report his findings while he recuperates.

To settle the mind of Mr. Prodder, I wish to inform him that I have not been reading the entries prior to this one as to preserve his privacy. I am unsure as to how such things like this journal are usually written, however, so I will simply make the assumption that it is a professional log for future study and review of his decisions to better himself in the future.

At approximately 8:30 AM yesterday, the caravan led by Sir Jack Bullion was spotted on the horizon, passing over the crest of the hills connected to the Fatal Horns, south of the settlement. This was expected, as his caravan is scheduled to arrive each winter to help bridge the gap between autumn and spring with supplies and communication from The Sun of Chance. His caravan this year consisted of three wagons and four guards, along with six other workers who aided in hauling the wares and other miscellaneous tasks. He was wearing blue and gold this year, instead of his usual purple ensemble (Mr. Prodder was upset last time I omitted any details, so I will do my best to keep these reports as accurate as possible).

Breakfast was served at roughly the same time in the dining hall for all scheduled parties. Breakfast consisted of wheat bread and strawberry preserves. I, myself, find strawberries from this region a bit tart, so I find it preferable to eat them straight with a dusting of granulated cane sugar. The mornings meal sufficed and went rather uneventfully.

It was a Tuesday, so Mr. Prodder first busied himself in the smelting room to oversee the casting of silver and lead ingots from the galena ore retrieved from the mine. I went to check on Willow's construction of new beds for the recent wave of migrants, as well as conducted a few follow-up interviews with some of them to gather a bit more information for Songring's roster: The small, metal-bound book Mr. Prodder has instructed me to make notes of each of the settlers in. I was forced to give a reprimand to Maple for teasing Overcast by forcefully taking his possessions without permission. I also gave Overcast three verbal reprimands: The first, for not reporting such abuse to the proper authority; the second, for lollygagging; and the third, for creating a sour mood in the workplace. He was on rather thin ice, as seven more admonishments that day could have very well meant that he would receive a written notice to Mr. Prodder about his behavior.

At approximately 9:45 AM, concerns of several subordinates were brought to my attention when they started reporting sightings of a group of unknown ponies standing upstream, along the banks of the Charmedsmile near the canyon to the west between the Fatal Horns. These concerns were dealt with by assuring the residents that if they met with anypony arriving from that direction, they could direct them to me for their interview and processing for the Songring roster. They requested I speak with Mr. Prodder about the issue immediately, but I felt that he should not be disturbed while supervising the smelting of the lead and silver ore. I find myself still a bit wary of approaching him during those times, considering the physical rebuking I received the last time I entered the mines.

At precisely 11:20 AM, It was requested that I be witness to this band of ponies that everypony was concerned about. Going to investigate, I saw a band of twelve ponies marching along the banks of the Charmedsmile toward the bridge, carrying with them small saddlebags and what appeared to be large instruments. They were clothed in skins and wool that covered most of their pelts and hid them from view. Overall, it appeared to be a troop of nomads or vagrants who might be looking for somewhere to find work. Excited about new blood in Songring, I went to collect the roster and returned in time to witness the farmhoof Lilly (commonly known as Big Lilly, for her immense stature and build) approach them as they grew closer to the settlement. She shouted at them to hold their position until someone arrived to speak with them, yet it seemed that the troop did not heed her request. When she stepped in their path to impede them, the band raised their instruments.

They struck her down.

I still have not been able to fully comprehend what I witnessed at that moment. The whole thing seems unfathomable. I can't believe anypony would do something like that. It happened though... the results cannot be denied. Like a swarm, the twelve ponies on the bank of the Charmedsmile converged on Lilly when she tried to stop them. As hard as she fought against them: With as many kicks and bellows as she could muster, she could not best them. Her final words were cut short as she was bashed into the Charmedsmile... and finally pulled under by a school of tigerfish.

I did not know what to do. As the eyes of the invaders fell on those of us standing witness to their crime, I froze. I could not yell, nor could I move. Everything in me locked up, including my thoughts, and all I could do was watch them approach.

Daggersides must have exited the dining hall at that time, along with Shadowstep and Heartstrike, because the three defenders immediately took position against the front-line and began a forward assault on the group of invaders. She yelled at me. I don't remember what her precise words were, but she shouted at me and told me to go find Benjamen. The words made sense, but I could not seem to follow them. Not until I was faced with yet more brutality as one of the invaders must have recognized me as a leader and approached. He had a sword, a curved one, with a wide blade made of metal. As the strike came down upon me, a pickaxe swung in the way of the blade and parried it away. That is when Glacier Cut stepped in front of me and told me to run, flailing the mining pick wildly at my attacker to push him back.

I did as I was told. I ran as fast as I could to the mining shaft, throwing open the door. Mr. Prodder was there and asked me what was wrong when he saw me. I must have been crying, though I don't remember doing so, because he kneeled down in front of me and touched my neck to calm me while I tried to tell him what happened. The first words I can remember clearly at that time was when I asked him, "What do I do, Mr. Prodder? I don't know what to do."

The Coordinator told me to run and find anypony I could. I was to tell them to get to either the dining hall or the apartment halls, whichever was closer, and lock the doors behind them. He told me that I was to then go to his bedroom and watch from the window until the situation was over, at which point, I should then let everypony know that it is safe to emerge again. I was going to do as he said, but I waited for him to come with me to do it. Instead, he reached for a hammer from one of the anvils in the forge, and grabbed a poker from beside the furnace. I asked him then if he was going to be coming with me, and he told me no.

"I'm heading into the field. If the defenders are out there, they need support."

That is the point where I do remember crying. I informed him of how irresponsible it was to put himself in the line of fire like that. I told him that I did not think I could do this myself. I begged him to come with me, and to please not leave me alone right then.

Mr. Prodder yelled at me. "Pull yourself together, Dawnstar! A lot of ponies are in danger right now, and we can't let them down! I've already told you what to do, now do it. There's no time for worries."

I asked him what he was going to do.

He just shrugged at me then, and said: "Whatever I can."

At that time, we split off to our respective duties. I gathered everypony I could find and told them to get to the safety of the buildings immediately. Once they were safely locked away, I went to the Coordinator's bedroom and watched from the window as instructed.

Before yesterday, I had never watched anypony fight like that. I also had never actually seen anypony die.

By that time, which was approximately ten or fifteen minutes after I had last seen Mr. Prodder, he had divided Songring's defenders into two separate groups. Daggersides led the group of defenders on the northern side of the Charmedsmile, which consisted of Heartstrike, Shadowstep, Tye Dye, and Flick. Mr. Prodder led the second group on the Southern side towards Sir Bullion's caravan, which was only perhaps a quarter of a mile away from the engagement. Some of the invaders (six) had broken away from the battle and were advancing on the caravan, which must be why Mr. Prodder took only Salmon, Maple, and Springfield with him to pursue the small group that went to intercept Sir Bullion.

On the northern side of the river, the group engaged head on. Glacier Cut was bashed into the river with a club in much the same way as Lilly had been. Daggersides was attempting to hold the line between the attackers and the river so that Shadowstep could pull Glacier Cut back to the bank, but it was too late from the looks of it. One of the five attackers broke through Daggersides' defensive line of telekinetically wielded weapons, and took Shadowstep in the throat with a large dagger. Heartstrike swept the attacker off of his feet with a branch and kicked him into the river, but once again, the counterstrike came a moment too late as Songring's third casualty had already fallen motionless. The remaining defenders pushed back to gain distance from the Charmedsmile under direct command from Daggersides (she must have realized that being so close to the river and its hazards was their greatest weakness). The rest of the conflict was hoofled as Daggersides pushed the fallen attackers' weapons to the two other defenders alongside her. They spread out to flank the remaining four invaders and boxed them in back-to-back with each other.

Mr Prodder's squad arrived at Sir Bullion's caravan after the caravan guards had already been caught by surprise, and the workers had fled into the surrounding forestry to avoid confrontation. Springfield and Salmon went together to secure the two rear wagons and use them as a defensive position. Maple and the coordinator both went to aid Sir Bullion, who was surrounded by three attackers and bravely swinging at them with a rapier, attempting to hold them back with flourishes and thrusts: He looked more like he belonged in a fable about a sharply dressed swordspony and his quest for an ancient goblet. Curiously, the merchant did not remain there out of necessity, as he had many opportunities to make a safe retreat: He must have stayed to defend what was his, or to make a name for himself. Or maybe he wanted to defend those he felt were his friends... Perhaps he fought for Songring?

Maple and Mr Prodder flanked two of the attackers surrounding Sir Bullion, freeing him to deal with the final one with his practiced swordsponyship. Maple clubbed one over the head with the blunt side of her woodcutting axe. I imagine she must have been shouting goads and prods at him afterward to work him into such a frenzy that he would follow her. Mr Prodder jumped onto the back of the second attacker and grabbed the spear in his mouth with both hands. Using it like a mouthpiece on a bit and bridle, he pulled back on the long shaft of the spear in the attacker's mouth and subdued him by wrapping his legs around the pony's abdomen, refusing to let go.

Springfield and Salmon had split up to secure the other two wagons, one each, and encountered the remaining three attackers in doing so. Salmon was pitted against two of them, with only a metal poker for his weapon. He danced around his opponents' strikes with hops and twists, standing on only his hind legs and flapping his wings to hold him in position as he parried and spun. Springfield faced the other with only a blunt hammer from the forge. He did no dance, and wasted no time in dispatching the pony assaulting him: His attacker approached swinging a flail, he ducked beneath the oscillation and took hold of the chain in his mouth to rip it out of the pony's grip. With both the flail in his mouth, and the hammer in his right grasp, he furiously beat the creature before him until it ceased the move any longer. When it was over, he spat the flail onto the lifeless form and charged Salmon's pursuers from the side to knock them into one another. While they were prone on the ground, the two stallions delivered lethal strikes, and went to see if they could assist their overseer.

Sir Bullion, still masterfully wielding his blade with his horn, had flurried his opponent until he was backed against a tree. When the pony stood on his hind legs to avoid a low sweep of the weapon, the swordspony rammed his rapier past the invaders ribs and into the barrel of his abdomen, leaving him pinned to the bark of the tree as his breath finally left him (this last part was recounted by Sir Bullion afterwards for anyone who would listen). Maple could not seem to find a striking stance to give a deathblow to her attacker, and instead found herself pressed into a tight spot when the pony before her, wielding a hoofaxe, had chopped through the hilt of her own. Using her wings to her advantage, she writhed out of the way of a strike and rose above her adversary before flipping her hind legs above her head and dropped the knee of her front leg below her. She then dove out of the sky with all of her weight concentrated right in the center of her adversary's back. I do not have to be a physician to understand that the curve the pony's middle spine made following that maneuver meant it was fractured. The invader fell to the ground in a desperate, heaving lump.

That left only Mr. Prodder engaged in combat, as he continued to cling to the pony's back and keep a tight grip on the shaft of the spear, pulling back and refusing to let his assailant spit it out. They seemed to be deadlocked as the stallion thrashed angrily, bucking wildly to try to dislodge his rider. In a desperate act, the pony rolled over onto his back, disorienting the coordinator by slamming him beneath his weight before standing up once again and readying a hoof to strike Mr. Prodder before he could regain his bearing. Sir Bullion used his horn to sweep the now dislodged spear beneath the attackers' legs and send him tumbling to the ground. Mr. Prodder then wrenched his arm around the pony's neck and pulled it tight with his other arm to try to choke him while shoving one of his knees into the side of his assailants spine to lock him to the ground. This lasted until Sir Bullion drove the sharpened head of the spear into the back haunch of the invader with enough force to nail him to the ground, letting Benjamen stand up and move back to allow Springfield to bring down a heavy, final swing with his hammer to end it.

The attack was over.

I ordered all ponies in the apartment halls to report back to their assigned duties for the day, and to be ready for special orders, if need be, due to the circumstances. The dining hall was once again opened, and I rushed to Mr. Prodder to ask if he knew what our next course of action was to be. It was shocking to see him in the state he was in. (I would rather describe it as frightening.) A very grim air hung about him when I asked what I could do to help and what needed to be done.

"Take a roll call. Leave me a report of who is injured or deceased. Once you have those names, get them to Dirtnap too so he can prepare for the burials. The others, these... fucking monsters, I don't care. Just throw them in the Charmedsmile for the tigerfish to eat."

The demand is reasonable and practical, simply shocking to hear him say it so wearily. Maple took him to his office to make him sit down so he would rest. Salmon and Springfield joined them briefly to head to their quarters so they could figuratively lick their wounds.

Lilly, Glacier Cut, and Shadowstep are the names of the three ponies that were lost during the ambush. Two of them are irretrievable, so I have taken the initiative to request that Overcast and Silversight get to work on making and engraving a memorial slab for each of them. Shadowstep's body has been turned over to Dirtnap for him to prepare for a proper funeral. I have not given the order to dump the bodies of the ambushers into the Charmedsmile yet in case Mr. Prodder should change his mind and request something more in line with his usual protocol. Instead, I have had them moved to temporary wooden boxes on the river's edge to get them out of the settlers’ sight.

Reading back through my recordings, I see just how much my lack of sleep last night after the attack has affected my professional writing capabilities. It must be recorded, however, as little justice as I may do it, and I do not expect Mr. Prodder to take the time to do so after the trials he suffered yesterday. I came into his office early this morning to hoofle this, hoping to finish before he woke up, and before I became too busy to actually get around to it.

Benjamen Prodder is still sleeping in his chair right now at his desk. I have been writing this while both he and his guest continue to sleep,. Maple stayed the night in here with him. She is lying atop him in the chair with her nose buried into the back of it and her jaw on his shoulder. His fingers are interwoven within her mane and his face is buried into her neck, possibly for comfort. They look peaceful, despite the carnage that I witnessed them go through. I can only imagine that perhaps Maple was troubled by seeing him in danger, as were we all, and simply wanted to reassure herself that he was okay by holding him while she slept. It could be the other way around, and maybe Mr. Prodder was upset by what he had to do yesterday, and Maple sought to comfort him with her company.

To think so many showed such great heroism and bravery to defend Songring. Daggersides rushed to arms without an order or statement to do so, doing it instead because she felt it was her duty and the right thing to do. Heartstrike, Shadowstep, Maple, Salmon... all of them set aside their fears knowing that something had to be done to save those of us here that could not defend ourselves, despite not knowing what the outcome of their struggles would be or what pain they might endure. Mr. Prodder formed a plan of action and saw it through to the best of his ability, and went above and beyond the call of duty to make sure that not only were his subordinates alright, but also his business partner Sir Bullion. He even risked himself further by taking fewer members of the militia for his engagement to the south. He had no idea what he was going to do, but he was secure in his decision, and acted accordingly, seeking out the answer of what that act should be himself.

What did I do?

I cried, and I crumbled under the stress. I failed to act with any form of diligence or composure when Songring needed me most. When everypony needed me. All I could do was follow direction, and even that I almost could not do because of my insecurity. What kind of leader is that? Perhaps I am not of the same stock that leaders are forged from. Perhaps there are ponies, like them, that are iron and steel... and I am merely silver: Shiny and precious, but deep down... just soft, and will prove to be ultimately useless.

I must close this entry before I continue to write regrettable thoughts here and tarnish Mr. Prodder's records any further. I still cannot help but watch him slumber with the pegasus lying against him though. Why her?

I'm the one who’s scared, not her.

I'm the one who needs somepony right now... Somepony to hold me like that...

I just don't know what to do...

45-2: Ben's Addendum

Fifteen ponies are dead. Two of the bodies are irretrievable, and have had memorials engraved for them and placed within Songring's tomb. The third is currently lying in an open casket for her wake. The rest are face down in the Charmedsmile to await being consumed by the tigerfish or to drift downstream.

She has once again disobeyed my orders. She has neglected to inform me of valid concerns of the settlers. She has shown an inability to make rational decisions in the face of adversity. She has failed to act with decisiveness or conviction during a crisis.

Dawnstar has gotten three ponies of Songring killed.

Let me simply stack this on top of the outrage of her writing in my journal without my permission, and in doing so compromising my recordings, as well as making statements within that I would have much rather withheld due to the tender and personal nature of them.

My journal is a recording of my mistakes, now is it? A recording of my decisions to better learn from them in the future? How about since she was bold enough to write in here, we review a few of her decisions then? Her decision to refuse to come to me when ponies first expressed concerns about the strange individuals on the banks of the Charmedsmile is the first on the list. This decision, made between 9:30 am and 11:30 am, is one that achieved nothing more than giving me two more hours to sit in the furnace room, completely unaware of the approaching visitors and watching the three smelters cast ingots out of the galena ore. The cost of that choice was that Big Lilly took a stand where Dawnstar and others would not, and was subsequently murdered for it. She stood in a place that should have been mine, without any preparation or backup due to this decision, and it cost us her life. That same decision also led to only one of Songring's defenders (Daggersides) actually entering the conflict equipped with a weapon: The rest were standing against armed opponents with only their hooves to protect them, and now because of that nasty little side effect, one of Songring's defenders is dead from being garroted while she was trying to save another unfortunate victim, and two others are wounded and in the infirmary without proper medical staff here to assist them. This decision, in conjunction with Dawnstar's inability to act during times of duress, also lead to the untimely demise of Glacier Cut, as an untrained miner pony attempted to do whatever she could to see her fellow settlers safe and stepped into the line of fire with nothing but her pick axe.

If Dawnstar had simply come to me at the time she first started receiving reports (like I have informed her once before in a less disastrous situation that she must start doing), none of this would have happened! I would have seen their approach and requested Daggersides to arm the militia and accompany me to meet them somewhere other than on Songring's front damn doorstep! At that time, if they had attacked, Songring's fully armed militia would have had much less trouble dispatching of the group, as I can give a testimony from personal experience that they were sloppy and untrained, merely savages looking to pick a fight. Sir Bullion would not have lost two of his guardsponies during the attack since they would not have been ambushed while on the move. In fact, he would have never been confronted at all by the group of ambushers.

Does that happen to be the kind of "Review" you meant, Dawnstar?

Now I must also come back and explain myself for personal information she has written about me in my journal that does not belong here. As much as I wish to call it libel, it is indeed truth, albeit an inconvenient one for me. I was indeed with Maple that night in my office, but I must immediately remove all suspicion from the reader's thoughts that anything physical manifested. It was nothing more than falling asleep in my chair.

It started when Maple took me to my office after the encounter, setting me at my desk as I held my head in my hands and tried to block out the images of blood pouring on the ground from the invaders that we were forced to eliminate, and the gruesome memory of the sight of Glacier Cut and Lilly being mutilated in the river by the local fauna. To forget hearing Glacier Cut's screams as she was pulled under with Shadowstep still holding her hooves and doing her best to pull the anguished pony onto the bank with no success. I just wished to forget right then. I wanted to wake up and the nightmare to be over. The terror of those lingering thoughts was only worsened by the realization of what the encounter might mean for our future.

Songring has been found out.

Twelve is a frighteningly large number in the broader scope of things. Just one piper, who infiltrated our settlement last summer, was enough to warrant worry that we might be closer to Equestria's borders than would be comfortable, but this advance on Songring has proven the existence of a grouping of Deicidian ponies. I have no concept of how large it may be, but they are organized enough to have found alliances in one another. The knowledge that there is a civilization of them living nearby, along with the discovery of two new breeds of Deicidian ponies, has left me anxious. Worse yet, they know where to find us. My only hope is that perhaps the group had been trailing Bullion's caravan for a while and were simply hoping to rendezvous with him to take his possessions as their own, or that the group is nothing more than an isolated band of bandits and thugs.

If they truly were out here to attack Songring, I am not sure what we will do.

These thoughts had left my mind in a jumbled mess of horror, sorrow, and anxiety while sitting alone in my office waiting for Maple to get us both something to drink: Coffee from the dining hall, brewed from some of Bullion's wares, which he was happy to gift to us as a simple thanks for assisting him with the encounter to the south. I could smell that hers reeked of rum when she returned with two mugs, resting one in front of me and telling me to pick myself up and try some with her. She quietly drank her coffee across from me as I sat at my desk and refused to partake, still gripping my hair in my hands and staring down at the smooth top of the wooden desk that my elbows propped me up against.

It seemed like a couple of hours passed as she sat there silently, merely watching me and waiting for me to take a drink from the mug. When the coffee had lost all heat and became nothing more than murky brown water, she pulled it away from me and let it rest on the edge of the desk. "Ben, talk to me."

"There's nothing to talk about. I just need to be alone to think," I informed her quickly, gritting my teeth. I just wanted some time to try to sort through my thoughts and come up with a reasonable answer to give to the settlers. What would I say to them? What would they need to hear right now? I could not just tell them that Songring may be in danger of being besieged by these monsters, could I? There was no way I could think of to relay this news to the settlers and not leave them upset and scared.

I felt my chest pushed back after that, as Maple had come around my desk and placed a hoof underneath my hunched form. She pushed up on my chest to ease me back into a seated position, and turning my chair to face her, gave me a hard look in the eyes, her jade orbs gleaming with what I could discern to be worry. "That's a lie, Ben. Talk to me. You're not in a good place right now."

"That's just it. I don't think any of us are." With that, the side of Maple's hoof rested on my lips to quiet me and she shook her head.

"I don't mean like that. You're not in a good place. I can tell you're really worked up, and you need to take a minute to let it go. Talk to me, Ben, and tell me what’s wrong."

"It's my concern," I told her, pushing her hoof away from my face and growing irritable as she continued to insist I sit in the chair by pinning me upright beneath her other leg. "Don't worry about it. I can handle this. I just need some time to think. I can't do that with you here, Maple, so if you really want to help, you need to go."

Maple refused, shaking her head so that her yellow and green ponytail gently swayed behind her. "One way or another, I'm going to worry about you. I know what you need, and it isn't to be alone right now. You're upset, and I just want to help. Don't push me away because you're just trying to play like some kind of big-shot figurehead."

"I just want to do my job, and that includes easing the minds of the settlers. I can't very well do that by spilling my guts here and telling you of all the things bothering me now."

Maple grew stern as she pressed forward, standing on her hind legs to drape herself over my lap and press her chest to mine. She looked me in the eyes closely. "You see me as some part of a group of nothing but one of your little-ponies? Screw you, Ben, I'm a big girl and I can handle myself like one. Even if you see me as nothing more than some helpless little villager playing adventurer out here, I at least happen to see you as I should. I see you as..." At that, her phrase paused, her frustration melting as she bit her lip and looked down from my eyes at that moment to consider her words. "As a friend."

There must have been something she omitted for me there.

"Instead of treating me like I'm some filly that needs you to coddle me and tell me everything is going to be alright, lay it on me like the mare I am. Tell me what you're thinking and what's got you worried. You don't need to be alone right now, because I get a feeling you're just going to beat yourself up for what happened."

"I'm also not some little boy who needs someone to tell him what he does and does not need. I will not beat myself up."

"Tick Tock wasn't your fault either, and look what being alone did to you then." We both fell silent, our heated gazes on one another adamantly. She felt confident in her point, and I was unable to conjure up a rebuttal for it. She had bested me with that logic. "You think I'm just going to walk away and watch it happen again? You're wrong. I'm not going to watch you tear yourself up over something that you could not control.”

"This all could have been avoided," I told her as I felt my resolve slip, and my guard began to drop with a feeble sigh. That is when I felt her hooves hook behind me and encircle my chest to pull herself a bit closer. She closed her eyes to brush her face against mine. "If I had known, then nobody would have had to die. I could have saved them, Maple. I could have saved them..."

"You couldn't, Ben,” she told me, continuing to nuzzle me affectionately and turn her body so that she was resting on her side in my lap while she embraced me. "If you did not know, you simply did not know. There is no way you could have prepared for something like this. Nopony could have."

I broke down then and joined in her embrace, feeling the same warmth at that moment that I did when I was sitting on the floor in Fluttershy's cottage amongst the wreckage made by my own fury. That same comfort of having the charming yellow pegasus cradle my head and whisper to me that I was not a bad person, and that everything would be okay. "I'm just scared, Maple. I'm scared that this might mean more of them will come, and I don't know how to ensure that everyone will be alright if they do."

"I'm scared too, Ben," she informed me quietly, taking a deep breath and gulping back after admitting the tough truth of it to me. "I'm scared that you might get hurt. You keep trying to play like some badass hero each time things get heated, and I'm scared that you're not going to be okay one of these times that you run into the line of fire like that." Brushing her wet tongue over my cheek once and pressing her lips to it afterwards, she opened her eyes to tell me, "We're both scared, but I promise that I'll be there to fight off those boogeyponies anytime they show up, Ben. I promise that I won't let them hurt you, and that I will do everything I can to make sure everypony stays safe."

Curling my fingers into her mane and burying my face in her neck, I told her the same. "I promise that I'll do what I can to keep us all safe. I don't know how, but I'll do all I can."

"That's the most we can do."

That is how Maple and I ended up in each others' embrace as we slept. Time simply continued to pass after that, and when I realized that she had slipped off into slumber against me, it did not seem worth it to move her. I... enjoyed it: The warmth of another body, and the safety I felt from having someone close. It might be the only reason I slept at all, for I know that I was expecting to be haunted by fears and worries throughout the night.

Believe me when I state that nothing happened that night between us. It was merely an exchange of comfort and a necessity for us both so that we could get the rest we needed to endure another day. I would have rather never been required to explain it, as I still feel that it might lead to one assuming that this means things that simply are not true. It is the first time something like this has happened, and for the sake of avoiding complications, I hope it remains the only time.

She was right that I did not need to be alone that night, however.

I find now that my anger has melted away when forced to relive the memory of that night, and I looked back through Dawnstar's writings with a bit more sympathy. I now have new questions for myself that I must take into account after reviewing the final few paragraphs of her report.

Am I truly not teaching her anything? All I can see is that she seems to be learning what she is not, instead of learning what she is supposed to become. Is she truly not of the belief that she can do what I do? That she is not capable of becoming a leader? Is it because my example is too poorly explained? I wish I could give her more insight... I wish I had more of a story to tell her about how I became the kind of leader that she looks up to... but the complete truth is that I have no story. I simply am doing what I feel fate has pressed me to do. I am doing all that I can do. Somehow it just seems to work, even if there are blunders from time to time because of my inexperience.

I also question her final words. She wants to be where Maple was? She wants to be the one draped over me as we both sleep in an office chair? My biggest concern is whether or not to even address this. If I say nothing, it may develop into something that I do not believe I would be comfortable with. If I were to say something... what would I say?

I have a lot of cleaning up to do now.

45+: Letters

Dear Ben Chwarmer,

I did indeed abbreviate your name in my most recent letters, and I did it because of the reason you suspected. I thought that perhaps using your full name was just a bit too formal for what I was writing: A letter to a friend. These correspondence are not for public record or professional interest, so why not address you with how I might were you here with me? I would really like it if we could shed the formality and let our letters be less uptight.

It might only be fair to warn you (before you make another cultural faux-pas) that it is rarely, if ever, appropriate to ask for a mare's age. She might get upset with you (and perhaps violently so) for it. I am personally fine with the question, or was up until it was asked within the context you mentioned. Your own age still baffles me, and I really would rather not embarrass myself any further by admitting how old I am. Perhaps it is best if we just let this topic fade away for the sake of not becoming red in the face each time we go to pen to one another.

In one fell swoop, you have successfully altered my vision of Terriel from being a metal-driven utopia to a war-torn wasteland. I'm sure both are much too extreme to be close to the truth? I also see how you just casually mention all of this tragedy as though it were commonplace. Is war and crime something common for humans in general or just back on Terriel? I'm a bit horrified now at the thought of what it must have been like growing up there. Perhaps it is just the hyperboles I keep imagining though: Maybe when we find a way for you to go back home, I could come with you to see it for myself and let my mind rest from its extreme ideas. After seeing what your friends might say about me, though, perhaps I would not be as well-received as I might hope.

I see you mentioned that you own a sorcerer? How can that be? You told us that your people did not use or even believe in magic! How is this possible then? Also on the thought of magic, I think I discovered where your horn is too! Your I/O ports are a direct connection with your cerebrum, right? So is a unicorn's horn. It is a direct channel from one's mind to the outside world, so maybe this is a step in the right direction of finding out how you got here.

As for my titles, it is a long story and I don't know if you're in the mood for reading a biography on me right now. The star pupil comment is just because I've been recognized once or twice for my academic achievements back in school, and the fact that the Princess has selected me personally for special assignments before. Did I tell you about my assignment? I've been sent to Ponyville to research the magic of friendship. I know that might sound silly to you, as it did to me too, but believe me when I state that I have made some very helpful discoveries along the way. As for the element of harmony title, perhaps we should save my quill, and your eyes, from telling that whole story in a letter.

I also wanted to mention that I noticed you had not told me how things in Songring are going. Is everything alright? You haven't been hit by another hurricane and don't wish to tell me for fear of leaving me upset, right? Please let me know how things are there next time.

Informally Yours,
Twilight Sparkle

Dear Twilly,

You must have some sort of extrasensory perception to have asked how things are going here when you did. Your timing is impeccable. Up until recently, my neglect to mention life in Songring has mostly been due to just familiarity and feeling like there was little noteworthy to mention to you; however, right now that is certainly not the case. I am well, or as well as I can be given the circumstances, but the situation at Songring is quickly becoming dire. I am not sure how much or how little I can and should reveal to you, since I am not certain if these letters go through any censorship, and the information at hand is quite sensitive and probably not good for public knowledge. To be fair though, I will not leave you entirely in the dark.

Songring has been attacked. We do not know what group or entity has targeted us, but I fear that we might soon come under siege from this force. We've lost a few good ponies so far, and I dread the thought that there may be more lives yet to lose. A farmer, a miner, and a militia pony are listed under the casualties for this season. The settlers are scared, and I don't know if I have the courage needed to stand up and try to bolster them right now.

These letters, however, I mean to use as my escape. I don't wish to mull over the hardships as I think of you and everyone back there in Ponyville. I almost wrote the word "home" instead, isn't that silly? I must just be projecting my wish to get back to somewhere safer and more peaceful like returning home from a long trip.

War is very common for humans and the other intelligent species of Terriel. I'm trying to think of a time in my life that war was not a concept that I understood or was not complacent with. Even at the youngest age I can remember, I played with a cap-gun revolver, while pretending I was a cowboy, and treasured the stories of how they battled with savages on an open frontier. It is just something that we accept as a culture, and maybe that is why I address it with such a casual demeanor. Perhaps that familiarity to me is exactly why I have not ordered an evacuation of Songring or sent out a distress call yet.

I was not lying when I said we don't believe in magic. The joke I made was about a game that I played with a few others I knew back on Terriel called Chimeras and Caverns. It is a role-playing game in which each player assumes control of a fictitious character that has skills and abilities chosen beforehand, and through the use of polyhedral dice and math, the players attempt to guide their chosen characters through perils and combat to successfully complete quests and campaigns. Magic is a concept found in those types of games only because most consider everything from the game to be fictitious or equivalent to fairy-tales anyways. That is what I meant by my sorcerer comment. I apologize for the confusion.

Hopefully things there in Ponyville are better than they are here. I could really use some good news right about now. Tell everyone that I miss them if you can. Perhaps it might be best not to mention the current state of affairs here. I don't want them to worry about something they are too far from to change. Just let them know that I hope I get to see them soon.

Exhaustedly Yours,
Benjamen Prodder

46: Numbers

Statistics are very impersonal. They make even the worst of times appear to be nothing more than an equation that can be filed away as irrelevant or unnoteworthy. Catastrophes can be sorted into trivial numbers and graphs for leisurely perusal at a vague onlooker’s convenience, and then put away without a second thought. Numbers are easy to accept. Numbers are unfeeling. Numbers are comforting.

The numbers just can't ease the pain this time.

Songring has once again been attacked, and if you believe the statistics, we stood tall and valiantly in the face of overwhelming darkness. Like a shining, heroic beacon, Songring did not falter and gave not an inch of soil to the ambushers, despite how terribly outnumbered the militia was during the encounter. Seven defenders stood bravely against what seemed to be a horde of beasts.

Twenty-six members of the nearby, hostile, Deicidian pony civilization lie dead in the fields before Songring, left where they fell.

Two ponies of Songring lie silently in coffins that are too small to ever need to exist.

Why? What force that has a say in this could possibly have a reason for such things to happen? Is Songring not troubled enough? What hubris has Songring shown that makes us worthy of destruction?

I don't know what or who to believe in, except for the cruelty of chance once again.

The early months of the season were prosperous for us. The bathhouse was finally completed, and a united sigh of relief was breathed by the residents. It is constructed in the form of a waterfall cascading down a steep incline against the Charmedsmile (near the canyon to the east, going towards the Light Waters). Silversight has constructed statues of various charming figures and calming creatures to be placed within the low walls around the waterfall for decoration, and a number of soaps and brushes have been stored there for use by the settlers when they see fit to take a relaxing break in the cool mist and gentle downpour of the filtered waters. Machina constructed a dual-pump system that hoists the water and filters it twice to create this waterfall for us. It is connected to two windmills that slowly rotate and carry the water up. It was a joyous day for Songring, and one that I certainly wish had lasted longer than it did.

The bath was the start of something troubling, as it seems to attract danger to the settlement due to the damp atmosphere it creates and the many nooks and crevices it provides to hide in. I would have expected nothing more than insects to take residence there that would be a nuisance, but it seems worse vermin also took a liking to the relative safety within. Songring had another close encounter with a thief: Another Deicidian pony, as I was informed. This one was not like the feral pony that I had the chance to dissect last year. Instead, this creature had a large, leathery tentacle growing from its forehead in the place where a horn might be located on a unicorn. Dirtnap informed me later, during the disposal of the remains, that it is properly termed as a “hapticorn.” Laying in wait amongst the waters of the bath, it took its chance to strike out at Teardrop when she went for a quick rinse and to wash her favorite painting smock. I assume she was a prime target because of her frail nature and weak stature. The thief would have made away with her belongings if not for the sheer martial brilliance of an ex-soldier here in Songring: A tawny pegasus that wished to be called "Heartstrike", who heard the scream and immediately flew into action with a copper spear clenched in his teeth. With that spear, he mutilated the thief beyond recognition and took back the belongings it had tried to steal.

He is an ex-soldier, I have come to find, because he was fired as a member of Canterlot's royal guard. Though trained to be an elite soldier, he simply never could control his violent urges to undo the wrongdoings of others, with or without command. Stepping beyond his boundaries one too many times, he found himself court-martialled and then discharged from service. He now works as a wandering mercenary, so his elite skills as a spear handling warrior do not go to waste in a world he feels needs it more than it will acknowledge.

I have a feeling that the thief was actually a forward scout, because it was only a week after that time that the first group of ambushers came over the hills to the east and charged down the mountainside, with bloodlust in their eyes, upon the residents of Songring. The militia rallied with whatever weapons they could find, mostly picking up the armaments that had been left behind by the previous ambushers (clubs and spears), and braced for the assault. Our time to react was short, and so the battle started much closer to Songring's doorstep than it should have. I was forced into the apartment halls for my safety during this assault. I brought Silence with me so that we could watch from my bedroom window and give orders to the militia telepathically from an elevated perspective. Silence's ability came in handy during this time, as it allowed me to watch the battle objectively and still be able to issue helpful warnings, and order the militia into formations that limited their exposure to incoming attacks as well as some of the craftier contenders.

Dawnstar joined the battle fairly early. I told her to come back and stop being foolish, but she refused to answer when Silence informed her of my command to fall back and tend to the settlers by rounding them up into the dining and apartment halls. She disobeyed a direct order and instead chose to fight alongside the militia, which I can only assume was an act of redemption on her part. This meant that the other settlers went without direct command to lie low, and they too summoned the courage to join the fray to offer distraction and support for our own soldiers. Their safety was compromised, but I cannot be angry at them, for I believe it is the only reason our defenders were able to hold their own so well against the superior numbers of our enemy. The confusion gave us the advantage because I was there to give them guidance through it, while the attackers were left to muddle and wade through the chaos.

A second group of ambushers came from the bridge, having approached from the southern mountain range in an attempt to flank us. Salmon held the bridge for as long as he could, successfully tossing one of the invaders into the water and avoiding the others until more help could arrive in the form of Heartstrike and Flick. They took up arms and used the bridge as a bottleneck to funnel the larger group of attackers into reasonable numbers. During this time, Tye Dye, in a frenzy, rallied upon the remainder of the first wave of ambushers and began to brutalize them to try to give other militiaponies the chance to break away and assist in holding the bridge. It left only Bunsen and Tye Dye at the bottom of the eastern mountain range, with Bunsen hurling contaminants from her saddlebag to blind and choke the assailants and allow Tye Dye to furiously deliver a finishing blow.

A third wave charged from the northeast soon after, leaving the two ponies at the eastern mountain range without any support. I ordered them to fall back to Springfield's farm and try to redirect the fight to them there, where I requested that any of the militiamen who could, should break away from the bridge and go offer support. None of them could be spared, however, so instead Springfield, Maple and Willow took up what arms they could and stood ready with Tye Dye and Bunsen at the farm. Despite the field being trampled during the encounter, the tactic was a success. The territory was familiar enough to Springfield that he was able to guide the others to advantageous positions and places of firm soil while the attackers fumbled about in the loose dirt and lost their footing many times, which cost them dearly.

The confusion was our greatest advantage and allowed us to successfully defend Songring... but at what cost did it come? The attackers were not the only ones who suffered from the mayhem.

I got to see it for myself. As the wounded were lay down in the fields and everyone started to assess to what degree they had been injured, Dawnstar came to me in an uproar and pulled my attention elsewhere, telling me that she did not know what to do. I approached with a hazy mind, still trying to bask in the comfort that Songring was not going to go up in flames that day, then I saw Hyacinth resting on the ground and nudging something next to her, pleading.

"Come on, Glory, we have to go. Please get up... We have to go get help for momma. She still needs help, Glory, please get up... Please just wake up..."

Hyacinth rocked her baby sister with her hooves, trying to stir the still unicorn foal. She was just old enough to walk at that time, yet she would not stand and would not open her eyes. The side of her chest was dented in, and there were no movement in the small body aside from those due to Hyacinth's machinations. I got close to Hyacinth and tried to pick her up, feeling the filly shaking. I asked what had happened, and what she was doing here.

Hyacinth told me that her mother was in the infirmary and needed help. She and her baby sister, Morningglory had gone to try to find anyone to help them, to ask someone to come to the infirmary as quickly as they could to help Riverscar. In doing so, they walked right into the chaos of the battle, and one of the ambushers had caught sight of them. He had broken past the ruckus and struck at them, delivering a blow to the side of Hyacinth's little sister with the blunt end of his axe. Hyacinth had suffered a cut from a downward swing that was only interrupted when Dawnstar rushed in and kicked the attacker in the neck with all of her force, dazing him.

I checked the still little body next to Hyacinth, hoping desperately that my assumptions were not true. It is a curse to be right sometimes, however, as the protective solidity of her ribcage could no longer be found with any form of pressing, and nothing shifted within her. No breaths. No heartbeat. The little cream-colored unicorn with the saffron-and-blue mane lie on her side with her eyes closed, amidst the fields of turmoil.

"She won't get up, Mr. Ben. We still have to help momma, but she won't get up."

I hugged Hyacinth to my chest, trying to console us both, as I stroked her head and tried to hide her sight from the scene before and beside her. "Let's go help your momma then, Hyacinth. She still needs help, and your little sister isn't quite up to the task right now." I didn't know what else to tell her. How can you tell that to a child? How will I ever explain what she has witnessed to her?

I did my best to avoid it and merely carried Hyacinth with me as I took her to the infirmary, but when it rains, it pours.

We found Riverscar curled up in one of the infirmary beds, lying on her side and weeping loudly as she hid away from the sight of us standing in the door. I set Hyacinth down then as she struggled to rush to her mother's side, but I stopped her from approaching the distraught mare and told her that she needed to go outside for a bit. I assured her that I would help Riverscar, but I needed her to help me by finding Springfield and Bunsen and telling them to join me as soon as possible. Hyacinth ran as fast as she could to heed my request, leaving me alone in the infirmary to hear the deep, guttural cries of the mother on the bed while she receded deeper into her own pelt.

I stepped close to get her attention, calling her by name and resting a hand on her side gently to ask her what was wrong. At first she would not answer, merely cringing at my touch and shifting uneasily, still crying deeply and shaking in the bed. Glancing her over, I looked for wounds or signs of illness, but could only see that the bed was damp, and that she was holding something in her front legs that she refused to let me see at first.

"She won't drink," I heard her mutter through a tight throat, opening her eyes to view me as she shifted her legs and allowed me to see something small, and barely covered in indigo-colored hair, pressed to her stomach. "Why won't she feed, Mr. Prodder? Why won't she?"

Riverscar held a newborn foal against her, quiet and still, as she pressed it to her belly. The tiny creature did not move a muscle. The moments passed as I tried to pull my sight away from the stillborn filly to look into the terrified eyes of her mother as she waited for me to answer. The mare looked to me for hope, as if I could make it all better. She wanted me to tell her what was wrong and to just make it go away. Her sniffles and quakes made my throat close, and I could barely breathe as I was pressed to answer her. My response is one that is the best I could muster, and the words fell out of me like a weight.

"I'm so sorry."

Her face turned down, after the finality of my words registered, to view the unnaturally still foal in her grasp. The sight caused her to erupt in another bellowing sob as she buried her face once again, curling her body tighter around her daughter and away from my sight. Springfield and Bunsen came in soon after to see me standing over the weeping pony, my shoulders hanging wearily at my sides. Terrible knowledge clouded their features as I simply looked to them with a shake of my head.

There was nothing we could do.

I am not a doctor, so I do not know what the problem was. All I know is that if we had been more organized... if someone had been there to help her, maybe things would have been alright. If Springfield had been present to deliver that child, he could have done something. If someone had been there, Hyacinth and Glory would not have walked right into the fray. There was nothing I could do by the time I found out, aside from finding Dirtnap and Willow and ask them both to be prepared to help us make preparations.

At this time, I have informed Riverscar that she is dismissed from duty here in Songring. She has been instructed to go back to her nearest family and try to recover from what has happened. I have sent Inutile with her to make sure she stays alright. This tears me apart, however, for one reason: little Hyacinth. I fear for what will happen to her now that I have instructed her family to leave. Riverscar is in no emotional state to be the support that Hyacinth will need to recover from what she has seen, and Inutile is nothing but a useless bastard and won't be of any help to her. I wanted her to stay here... I wanted to take care of her and be the one to help her through this, knowing that nobody else would take the time to be there for her, but Songring is not safe anymore. The only thing worse than her not receiving help would be for her to be caught in another debacle like this one. I don't know if I would survive. I don't know if I could survive having to look Willow in the eyes and ask him to make another tiny coffin.

I honestly don't know if I can continue here at Songring after this season.

Why aren't the numbers making this any easier? Why won't the numbers ease the pain?

I just want to go home…

Author's Note

A huge attack and only two casualties. Boy, did I get dour when I realized who the deaths were. I honestly could not find most of what happened in the combat log, including that I had absolutely no idea what brought about the second death. I did not even know Riverscar had another child before I saw a name I didn't recognize in the deceased list. That left me with a hell of a time trying to imagine an explanation. I beg the reader grants me some suspension of disbelief regarding the quickness of Riverscar's second pregnancy. I honestly did all I could in trying to remain loyal to my personal challenge of weaving the chaotic events of such a brutal game into a coherent and flowing narrative.

One last update, looks like I left in something incorrect. She calls him "Mr. Ben", not "Mr. Overseer." That's Teardrop's call, my apologies. It has been fixed.

47: Vacation

Negligent, inattentive, apathetic, lethargic, tardy, torpid, thoughtless, shiftless, feckless, careless, aberrant, injudicious, unstable, irrational, and "A stupid, mean, bad teacher." Before that last one, I quite honestly had to start consulting my CCMI's on-board dictionary application to understand exactly what Dawnstar has been calling me this whole season. I can feel her pain. I have had quite a few similar thoughts about Celestia when it came to how I felt about her lessons. I simply believe I happened to express my thoughts with a bit more grace than Dawnstar has shown. Perhaps I am a "stupid, mean, bad teacher," but that is not my problem. Not until I am back in my position.

Allow me to explain: I have taken the season to recuperate after the repeated difficulties of my position as Development Coordinator here in Songring. Last spring's transgressions left me in a very poor state: Having to witness Riverscar's misfortune and inform her of Glory's unfortunate demise; having to then dismiss her to go for some help with recovery; and lastly, having to say goodbye to someone I had come to enjoy as a friend and a reminder that not everything has to be as difficult as I make it.

I had to give up little Hyacinth.

When the time came for Inutile and Riverscar to head back to their family in Stalliongrad, Hyacinth came into my office. I did not realize she had entered at first, as my face was turned down. I was drafting up the paperwork that I thought might be necessary to give to Riverscar and Inutile allowing for the transfer of the bodies at a later date for proper burial in their home town, instead of remaining in the tombs here at Songring. I was quite upset as I reviewed the documentation, and was only called out of it by the sound of my door slamming shut with a grunt of effort from Hyacinth, who was too weak to gently close the heavy door of my office. She had one of her stuffed toys in her mouth, which struck me as curious because she was holding the plush toy image of Flip the Unicorn, instead of the Gi doll that I was used to seeing her tote around. I watched her for a bit, waiting for her to speak to me, while I tried my damndest to wipe away the grimness that lingered in my features from my work.

She wandered up to my desk (needing to stand on her hind legs and prop herself against the top of it for her face to still be visible to me), and set the doll down before me gently. It took her a few tries to reposition Flip so that the doll stood upright and looked at me before Hyacinth was satisfied. It was then that she looked at me in earnest, but I could see she was trying to be strong and hide what I could perceive to be a bitter sadness. "You've gotta make a promise."

With that I set down my pen and folded my hands across my desk, observing the filly's peculiarity. "What promise is that, Hyacinth?"

The violet pelted pony across from me then did her best to slide the velvet toy across the desk without toppling it, asserting that she meant for me to take it. "Momma and Dad say that we're going to go back to live with Gramma for a while. They say that you can't come with us... and that I can't stay." She bit her lip then, doing her best to hide a small snivel and whispering to herself, from what I could hear, that big girls like Flip don't cry. "So I'm gonna make you promise that you're gonna let Gi see his friend again someday."

I reached out to gently accept the toy as Hyacinth watched, and I began to pet the thin yarn mane beneath the bright red hat in thought. I was choked up, unable to answer her as I looked down at the embroidered eyes of the doll and the gentle smile stitched onto its muzzle.

"You've gotta take good care of her, Mr. Ben. Mr. Bullion would be really upset if you let anything happen to her... and I wouldn't forgive you." Tapping her hoof against the desk to get me to look up again, her brow was set low as she steeled herself to tell me once again, "You have to promise."

As much as I dreaded to say it, I felt my head shift in a nod and I uttered for her. "I promise, Hyacinth. I'll take good care of Flip and bring her back to Gi someday."

Hyacinth approved of my answer, but uneasily glanced around from across my desk, unsure of how to leave. It seemed that she decided to simply silently walk away, turning away from me, and trudging back towards the closed door. Halfway across my office she began to whimper, and I was sure she would not make it to the door without breaking down.

"Is that all you wanted while you were here? Is there anything else you wanted to tell me, Hyacinth?" I offered, giving her the chance to let it out as I stood up from my desk to approach her. As soon as I knelt beside her on the floor, her front legs leapt from the ground and circled around my neck, trying to speak through quieted sobs.

"I'm gonna miss you, Mr. Ben."

I stroked her head and waited for her to calm down before informing her that I would feel the same way. "I'll miss you too. I promise that this is for the best, so we will both just have to be strong and accept that we will see each other again someday."

"I don't wanna be strong, I wanna stay here," she told me, still upset and hiding her face in my shirt.

I wanted her to stay here too. So badly did I want her to stay here so I could ensure that she got the care and the attention she needed. It simply could not be though. I, myself, do not have the time or means to care for a child, and it is no longer safe here for her. I would rather lose her to the safety of another city than chance losing her to tragedy here. The most I could do for now was just to try to keep my promise. I waited for Hyacinth to get it out of her system and release me. We both agreed that we would not say goodbye, as it would break our promise of reuniting the Cavaliers.

Another promise for me to keep... I really have to stop making those.

It was a few days after they had left that I received another caller to my little cubbyhole, which I had begun to recluse myself in. I had been refusing to leave my bedroom, dining, and office space at the time, most days lacking the will to even get out of my bed. I believe it was a Sunday when I slept for about nineteen hours, and was only awake long enough to look out of my window, hand Dawnstar a few work orders, eat something halfheartedly, and go back to bed. The day that I received a visitor, I was drawing on a piece of parchment idly, simply wasting the hours pointlessly with my Flip doll propped up on my desk next to me. The intruder did not immediately call my name, merely silently watched me from the doorway and waited for me to look up. I soon grew irritated that they would not simply assert whatever they wished to tell me and leave me to my own devices, but that soon faded when I realized it was Silence, her pelt wet from having just washed herself after coming out of the mines. "What is it?"

"It's Monday and getting rather late, Benjamen. Tall Tale and Smoke Stack are wondering if you will show up today to oversee the smelting," she telepathically informed me, curiosity and concern lighting her features as she approached my desk.

"No, I won't be showing up. We can miss a day of smelting. Not like the investors will know the difference anyways."

Silence shot me a glance as she looked away from my doodles, one brow rising warily. "Then you will be ready tomorrow for the smelting?"

I did not answer her at that time, knowing well enough that I probably would not be up to the task then either. I let the quiet drag on, until something shocking caught my attention. I felt the sensation of lips pressed against mine, and of a warm breath passing over the front of my face and across my cheeks. Startled, I looked up to see what was happening and saw that Silence was still across the desk from me, watching me with worry outlining her face, her horn softly glowing with a familiar aura.

"Please stop, Ben."

That is all I heard at the time, causing me to catch my breath and readjust myself as I came to grips with the fact that there was no one close enough to me to touch me in that way. That it was merely a figment of my imagination. Or that it was merely... sentiment, perhaps? "Stop what? I'm not doing anything at all recently, so I have stopped pretty much everything that I can."

"I don't want to lose you," I heard, prompting me to look up from studying my hands that lay folded on my desk. "You're slipping. Please stop... please, let somepony help you."

"I can't just stop, Silence. I've still got lots of stuff that needs my attention. Important things. Things that it is my duty to see through." I was muddled, unable to compose a compelling argument. I resigned myself to just rubbing my face and closing my eyes for a bit to try to regroup. That is when I felt arms wrap around my shoulders as though someone grasped me affectionately from behind, and I looked up to see Silence's horn glowing a bit more brightly as she continued to watch me.. "What do you expect me to do? Just drop everything and stop working? Stop being Development Coordinator?"

"How long have you been doing this?"

Looking at my hands again to begin counting, and flipping back through the pages of this journal to view the dates, I finally came to agree on the number of four years. I have been acting as Development Coordinator of Songring for four years now. I'm 19? Two years on Terriel has passed already? While I was even more befuddled as I tried to grasp the concept of time having passed so much since I first opened this journal, Silence took the chance to explain her point to me.

"In four years, I have only known you to take one day off a season for the specific reason of writing in that journal. Benjamen... you need to stop. Please take a bit to clear your head. We're so close to losing you to the one thing we cannot save you from. Will you at least consider it?"

"How am I just going to drop what I'm doing and take a break, Silence? I hate to say it, but I am the brain of the organism known as Songring. Without my guidance, I shudder to think what will become of it."

"Perhaps we could get a temporary brain to replace you?"

"Oh really? Who could that possibly be? Salmon will turn it into some sort of old-world recreation as he reminisces about how things used to be back in his day. Springfield would have us all picking weeds and trimming bushes. Absinthe is a goddamn Bartender. If I really wanted to just stop, I could hand the reigns over to Willow! At that point, we could all just watch Songring go up in flames, and not feel a bit of guilt knowing that it could not have possibly been our fault that he crashed it into the ground. Who could you possibly present to me to take my place while I was off smelling roses and lying about in hammocks or whatever else you would suggest?"

"Mr. Prodder, I came to request your presence at the mines. The smelting is far behind schedule, and you had mentioned wanting to get more silver ingots cast for Onyx Culet and Teardrop to use for rings and jewelry."

My question was answered then as Dawnstar walked through the door with Songring's roster (now considered to be her own personal notepad), floating in front of her, quickly marking the page in frantic swipes with a quill while she wrote and walked.

"... You do it then," I told her as I picked up my Flip doll and retrieved my journal, nodding to Silence who beamed in relief to lead the way. "It's settled. You're in charge, Dawnstar. I'm heading out. My vacation starts now."

"What?" gawked Dawnstar as she mumbled a few more questions uncertainly while I walked past her and towards the door. "What do you mean by that?"

"Did I stutter? You: Development Coordinator. Me: On vacation. Need me to write it down for you too?"

"You... you can't do that! You can't just walk away and go on vacation! You have to stay here in Songring! R-remember? You're on probation!" she stammered in disbelief as I continued to try to walk away, rushing into the hall after me to grab me by the shoulders and halt my leaving.

"Aw, hell, you're right! I can't leave Songring! Well, guess I'll vacation here then. Nice forestry, a beautiful river, and colorful folks. It sounds like a pretty nice place to relax."

"That's not what I meant, Mr. Prodder!"

"Too bad."

"What are you going to do!?"

"Whatever I feel like. I'm on vacation! Perhaps I should write up a work order requesting one of those floral pattern shirts to lounge in. Oh wait! That's your job now! Well, hop to it; my ensemble isn't getting anymore leisurely while we prattle away here."

"This has to be the most half-brained, nonsensical, irrational thing I have ever witnessed you suggest, Mr. Prodder!"

"Damn, it is, isn't it? Well good thing I'm not in charge then. Who knows what would happen if someone as irresponsible as me was left to watch over everyone here in Songring? I guess that's why you're Development Coordinator then! Glad to have you here. Maybe you should think of this as a learning experience?"

Dawnstar had a few more choice things to call me as I walked out of the apartment halls. It devolved into her screaming at me while I wandered through the fields of Songring with my doll and my journal still tucked under my arm. I wondered to myself where I would spend my first day on vacation.

"I'm glad you saw reason, Benjamen," Silence projected to me with a pleased smile, stepping close to brush her nose against my shoulder and let me know how happy she was, "How about you just take your seat back when autumn comes?"

So I have done just that. This whole season has been spent with me taking what almost everyone here considers to be a well-deserved rest. Days on the Charmedsmile next to Salmon as he spins tales of the days when he was exploring the jungles of the Summersail Hotlands with a band of tourists that got stranded when their hot air balloon ran aground, nights in the dining hall getting to listen to songs and drunken bets, mornings speaking with Absinthe as she readies the ice and cleans the dishes, and afternoons wandering about with absolutely nothing to concern myself with.

Is this what it is like for the rest of the settlers here? I wish I could always be one of them.

I happen to be a poor influence on some of the residents it seems, as one day Maple came to see me while I was resting in a lawn chair that I had Willow make me when he lost a bet. (I told him he could not lick his own elbow. I will admit that it was a bit dishonest of me, but when he took my bet, I informed him that what he was licking was his knee, and that he did not have an elbow. Thus, he could not possibly lick his own elbow.)

"Hey there, my little bossman. What's with the getup?"

She must have been referring to the floral pattern button-up shirt and the pants, which I had cut the legs off of to make shorts, that I was wearing. I looked down from my wooden mug and shrugged. "I thought this was the universal sign of a vacationer. Do I look "chill"?"

"You look pretty tasteless, but not sure about chill. What do you mean vacation? Is that why Dawnstar's been handing out all the work orders this week?"

"How to define vacation... Noun: An extended period of recreation. To put it more in your words, however: Not working."

"Hey!" she raised her voice at me indignantly. "How come you get to slack off then? Why don't I get to take a vacation? Every time I try to take an “extended period of recreation”, you jump all over my ass and tell me to get back to work." Folding her legs in front of her, she tapped her hoof on her shoulder to await my answer.

"... Why don't you take a vacation?" I asked her back, raising a brow questioningly.

"... Is that okay with you?" she requested, cocking her head warily.

"Pfft, I don't care," I chuckled, "I'm not in charge! Do whatever you want. It's not my problem!"

"Fine, then move over not-bossman. I'm starting my vacation right now." With that she spread her wings out and reclined in my lounge chair next to me, prepared to waste the rest of the day with me on the banks of the Charmedsmile underneath the summer sun.

Needless to say, Dawnstar finding us lounging together was not something that set well with her. "Maple! I requested that you haul some logs to the carpentry workshop hours ago. Willow says he has yet to receive a single log and has instead entertained himself by seeing how fast he can get tank calves to roll down the mountainside. Do you have an explanation for this?"

"Yeah, Willow's just a colt in a moron's body. What does that have to do with me?" Maple retorted, pulling her leg away from her eyes to shoot Dawnstar a glance.

"How fast can they roll?” I asked curiously.

"Fairly quickly, Mr. Prodder. Your little Abeo clocked in at roughly ten miles per hour at the base of the mountain." Shaking her head after answering my stupid question, she returned to barking at Maple. "He would not be torturing the young pets of Songring if you had followed my instructions and gave him the means to be a productive worker instead of a delinquent. What are you doing here?"

"I'm on vacation!"

Dawnstar slapped her hoof to her nose at that and screwed her eyes shut with a growl. "Vacation!? Not you too! Maple, stop this insolence right now and get back to work, or else I will have to reprimand you!"

"What kind of reprimand are we talking about here?" Maple asked, nudging me in the side to try to get me to listen in. Her cheeky grin made me wonder if she was just pushing her luck as far as she could now.

"I... you... I'll have you fired! You'll be sent home: that's what kind of reprimand I'm talking about!" Dawnstar barked, stamping her hoof angrily.

"Can you fire me?" Maple asked quizzically.

"Can I fire you? Well of course I can! I can fire you... can't I, Mr. Prodder?" Dawnstar directed the latter to me, pleading for some confirmation.

"Can you fire her, Dawnstar?" I asked back.

"I don't know! Can I?" she began to shout.

"Can she?" Maple piped in.

"Shit, I don't know, I'm not the Development Coordinator here," I finally admitted, once again putting my arm over my eyes to block out the sun and try to drift back into a sunbathed nap. It was difficult to relax hearing Dawnstar as she threw her head back and gave an infuriated roar, but I still managed to ignore her complaints about my lack of assistance until she wandered back to the apartment halls to check on something that she claimed was of the utmost importance.

I also was rather unhelpful in handling a scene in the dining hall at a later time. Lunch was being served as I watched from the bar, drinking more juice from my masterwork wooden mug. What caught my eye was Maple and Daggersides sitting at the same table, one of which was enjoying the power of no longer having me act as the law in this place. Maple anchored a bit of mashed potato on a spoon and held the tip under her hoof until she stressed the metal. She then released the projectile, watching as the lump of buttered spud flicked past and whizzed over Daggerside's face as she was trying to eat. Another blob of starchy goodness soon sailed over in Daggerside's direction and splattered against the table next to her food while the unicorn continued to ignore the invasion. It was not until the third one smeared itself all over Daggerside's nose that she finally looked up and snapped at Maple. "What are you doing, you boozed-up floozy?"

"Trying to land one in your mouth, Daggersides. Putting food in piggy's trough the old fashioned way is just so boring, so figured I'd spice it up. Now hold still, I think I've almost got it." Maple responded, closing one eye as she readjusted her aim.

"You better cut it out, you worthless little sponge, before I-" Her threat was cut short as the wad of whisked vegetable shot right into her open mouth, causing her to gag and spit it out onto the table.

"Bull’s-eye."

"Oh that is it!" Daggersides screamed as she used her horn to toss not only the remainder of her meal, but also the contents of Willow's and Tye Dye's, who were sitting on either side of her. Maple's quick thinking let her duck beneath the cruising cuisine and scurry under the table, with a slightly drunken cackle. The three plates instead landed right against Salmon's back, causing him to bellow in surprise.

"Hey! I was eating that!" Willow shouted at Daggersides, reaching to his other side to grab hold of the pony's plate next to him and whip it around to slap her in the face with it. Particles of food exploded in all directions from the contact, causing Willow to laugh boisterously before he looked to his opposite side to see Springfield glaring at him for taking his plate. A gulp sounded from the carpenter as Springfield's own grasp reached for a loaf of bread and pulled it close, letting Willow know he had a three second head start. Like a bullet, the chocolate-colored stallion darted from his seat, trying to find somewhere to avoid the lilac farmpony, and scrambled over other patrons clumsily as he was being pursued.

Realizing that he had been clobbered in the back with the daily special, and that what was dripping down his sides was merely stew and not his blood , Salmon gave a cheery guffaw and slammed his own hooves against his plate, causing it to flip into the air and shower everyone around him in a cascade of consumables. It seemed he was the first to recognize the outburst for what it was, as his voice was the first I heard ring out those iconic words throughout the dining hall.

"Food fight!"

It was at this point, while projectile potatoes were being launched clear across the room, cake mortars were going off in an explosion of frosting and crumbs, and fencing duels with carrots and pickles raged around me, that Absinthe tapped me on the shoulder and chuckled heartily. "Well, Sweets, maybe you should do something about this? Looks like a good time and all, but aren't you worried about the waste this little scene is going to cause?"

"Why should I worry?" I responded as I leaned back and leisurely watched a cheese-coated bagel scream past me, "It's not my problem. I'm just an average Joe. Not like they'd listen to what I have to say."

Amused with my answer, Absinthe merely shrugged and rested her head on the bar next to me to watch, staying under the arc of incoming edibles. "Suit yourself then. If making your point is worth this much to you, then so be it. I won't be helping clean this up though."

"Dawnstar's problem," I reminded her.

"How devious," she admired in return.

Overcast dejectedly sat alone at a table as he repeatedly got hit with flying foodstuffs. A muffin ricocheted off of his nose, multiple globs of peanut butter and cream cheese splattered over his body and left him a sticky and matted mess, his sight was impaired by the chocolate syrup dripping down in front of his eyes, and vegetables of all kinds continued to assail him as he complained very softly and tried to keep his head low and continue eating. Teardrop approached him with her hoof covered in frosting and wiped it across his face with an amused giggle. His only response was to reach for his cheesecake and press it down on top of her head so that it squished around her ears and got stuck in her mane.

"Mon Dieu! What has happened?!" I heard someone exclaim as my eyes fell on the rather familiar, frighteningly buff, unicorn mare as she wandered up from the kitchen below. In her horn's grasp, she held a whisk and a kettle filled with some sort of viscous dessert that she was mixing. As she came up the stairwell, her surprised inquiry was answered by a handful of peas colliding with the side of her face, their juice splattering over her pristine pelt as she gasped for breath through the shock. The whole dining hall grew quiet as she looked around at the delicious destruction left in the wake of their battle, speechless and covered in peas. The peace did not last, however, as the whisk began to spin like a turbine and she shrieked her own battle cry into the crowd while slinging pudding around the room like flak. Julienne Spice had joined the fray, and was subduing the combatants with an onslaught of chocolate confection.

Laughing and clapping at the delightful show, I felt my head grabbed and shaken violently as someone tried to get my attention, shouting at me to help. "Mr. Prodder! They've all gone mad! I can't get them to stop! All of this waste, all of this mess, and they still will not stop!" Dawnstar pleaded with me to assist her, begging me to step in and make the madness end.

Looking back at the scene, Machina now held a makeshift launcher that rested in her hooves and back over her shoulder as she stood on a table and chortled insanely. A whole pie fired from the spring-loaded contraption and burst in a cloudberry shower that rained down over a whole squad of spud-armed soldiers. "Yes, this does seem to be a problem," I told Dawnstar, before picking up my journal and tucking it in my shirt to make sure it would stay clean. "Your problem that is. Not mine. I'm on vacation."

"What do I do though!? I can't make them stop!" Dawnstar shouted after me.

"Fight or run, the choice is yours!" I called back as I stepped out of the door, miraculously untouched. That was until Dawnstar exited behind me covered in pudding and stew, and I made the mistake of laughing at her. She head butted me in the chest and sent me to the ground with my shirt covered in a medley of mashed meals. It did not hurt, and only made me laugh harder as I watched her stumble back to the apartment halls to wait out the war. I believe Overcast has already begun engraving the tale of this epic battle on the outside of the dining hall for future settlers to enjoy.

I will be sad to give up my vacation next week, but I suppose it has been long enough now. This time off has been very therapeutic, and has helped me recover from the many terrors that we in Songring have endured most recently. I feel truly ready to take the burdens of leadership back. I will admit to feeling a bit bad about subjecting Dawnstar to the task of keeping such a difficult group of individuals under control, but I am hoping it taught her what she truly needs to start doing: Learning how to approach ponies. In every example, threats and commands rarely got her point across to the citizens of Songring. I feel that perhaps it is because she does not have their respect that they do not listen to her. I had hoped that this experience would help her learn how to earn the respect of others, but it seems she was not able to grasp the concept through trial and error. I will go over it with her personally at a later time.

I think overall it was a worthwhile learning experience for her, as now she should understand that just because things are not going your way does not mean that things are going to fall apart beneath you. True, our productivity was nearly 0% this past season, but that does not mean Songring will crumble. Things will have to be whipped back into shape, but this time I will include Dawnstar in the process.

I do hope she has learned something though. All this relaxation was taxing to endure while she was earning leadership experience.

48-1: Economy

I have interesting happenings to report this season. It is actually not my usual time to write my end-of-season thoughts, as it has only been a couple of weeks since my last entry. I decided to write this record for a significant reason: I am still not working as Songring's direct leadership. I have instead taken the role of advisor, with good cause as to why. I have also decided that we will not be trading with the zebra caravans in the future, but that is a slightly unrelated point that I will discuss at a later time.

We now happen to have quite a few useless trinkets around Songring thanks to Dawnstar's ambition. I will applaud her for attempting to better organize the importance of jobs, and allocate responsibilities and rewards accordingly instead of the communal setup that we are currently working under, but she forgot some very important factors in her hasty attempt to do something she felt I could not. I do, however, wonder how much we could sell these baubles for, but I am still disappointed in Dawnstar's lack of knowledge regarding metal compositions.

There are 5000 Songring 1225 silver coins laying around that are particularly worthless aside from the silver spent minting them. I first saw one of these coins when Springfield was pointlessly flipping one into an empty stone mug in the dining hall while sitting across from Absinthe and discussing distilling methods that perhaps she could try for stronger and purer spirits. "Hey, Springfield. What have you got there?"

"Paycheck," Springfield grunted unhappily, once again slapping his hoof to the bar to try to make the coin flip into the empty mug. He continued to do it repeatedly with the same coin, which led me to believe it was the only one in his possession. "Smart little cookie you got running the show has a weird sense of value. I bust my rump out here with this expedition for four years, have to start over once, make sure everypony's got something to eat, and work as the make-do doctor... and all I get is one lousy bit 'cause I'm supposedly part of the blue bridle economic class."

The coin finally landed in the mug with a satisfying jingle, prompting Absinthe to fill it for him and give him a peck on the cheek. "Deal's a deal, handsome. You got it in, so you get one on the house." Springfield smiled weakly as he accepted and finally looked back over at me, his amusement quickly fading when he returned to his thought.

"I do hope you understand why I'm not real happy right now, Prodder. I am not one to put a monetary value to a pony, but I think I'm worth more than a bit."

"I agree: You're at least a two bit farmer, Springfield." My vague attempt at humor was not well received, as I could tell he did not know I was joking with him. "What I meant is that I had nothing to do with this decision. Please disregard whatever you've been told by Dawnstar, I will have a word with her as soon as I am back from my vacation."

"You do that, Ben," he encouraged me, maintaining his irritation with the insult that he had endured.

I went to check with a few of the other settlers to see how they were faring just to make sure this was not some kind of chastising, or singling out. Teardrop had received ten bits for her jewelcrafting talents. Willow had gotten five for woodworking. Overcast had received three for detailing and masonry, as did Silence for mining in dangerous conditions. Lastly, Maple and Salmon both received a single bit for having simple "gathering" professions.

Needless to say, I confronted Dawnstar about this issue, as I had spoken to more than just the closest seven of Songring's residents to me, and gotten confirmation. Many others felt cheated and belittled by their salary and expressed it to me in the form of shouts and complaints. Barging into my own office, I saw Dawnstar counting out more coins from the pile and writing in a ledger, deep in thought. "Dawnstar, what are you doing?"

"Creating a reliable economy," she responded confidently, shooting me a smile that I was certain was meant to be a challenge. "While you've been off having fun and wasting away the summer months, I have been trying to get Songring into a proper resemblance of civilized life. What do you think of that, Mr. Prodder? Despite my trouble keeping things in line, I do have to give myself a hoof that I can at least make adequate progress even without a certain somepony's help." She set her quill down to quirk a brow at me questioningly, still keeping a charmingly smug smile. "What would you do without me? It might have taken you another four years before you even considered getting the ball rolling on something as complex as creating a valid economy."

"I think you're making a huge mistake, Dawnstar. I can list a lot of problems with your idea, right now, without even really pondering on it. As for what I'd do without you, probably a lot less cleaning up." I tapped my foot irritably as I looked over the pile of coins on my desk and shook my head at the thought.

"Fine, Mr. Prodder. I bet I can defend my thoughts on this well enough. Take your best shot: What could possibly be wrong with what I'm doing?"

"Okay, first off, let's explore your knowledge of minting. You're creating coins with the image of a sun on one side and crossed harps on the other."

"The Sun of Chance's symbol on one side and The Voices of Subsisting's on the other, yes."

"We don't have approval to mint legal currency, Dawnstar. These coins are pretty much collector's items at best: Songring Commemoratives if you will. The only worth they have is the silver you used to mint them, which was a poor choice in the first place."

"Silver is a precious metal, Mr. Prodder. I figured it was a very sound choice to mint money with."

At that time, I stepped over to the desk and swiped a coin off of it, asking her to wait a moment. I used my knee to prop up the desk and slide the coin beneath its leg, before letting it rest back down. Finally, I grabbed the sides of the desk and began lifting and repeatedly slamming it on the ground against the coin on the stone floor. With her staring at me like I had lost my mind, I retrieved the coin and tossed it on the desk to show nothing but a pulverized, shapeless lump of silver. "Too soft to maintain its shape through any kind of wear. You didn't alloy it, Dawnstar, and I know you didn't because we don't have any nickel or copper."

"Like anypony is going to be slamming these coins under a desk though, Mr. Prodder! They'll withstand normal wear and tear just fine!"

Giving her a stale stare, I grabbed the edges of the desk once again and tried to mimic a higher voice she might recognize. "Oh, well, damn. I have no more tanks to roll down the mountain! I wonder what else there is for me to do? Oh, yeah, mindless destruction!" At that, I began slamming the desk against the ground again a few more times to make my point, and then gestured at her to let her know it was her move.

"Fine. So I made a poor choice in minting them out of silver... I did not want to use the lead because you said it was poisonous though. What else was I supposed to mint it out of?"

"Nothing, Dawnstar, that's the point. You weren't supposed to mint these at all."

"Such a close-minded answer," she responded angrily, folding her legs and looking down with a slight pout. "I still say we can use them to give proper value to the work done here though. They may be worthless elsewhere, but we can determine their value here. At least agree that my idea was of good intention."

"That's not going to work either, since you've determined salaries based on some cryptic logic I have yet to scratch the surface on." I snatched up her ledger, despite her protests, and began reading over the totals she had been figuring for each pony when I arrived. "About half of Songring is on a salary of one bit a day."

"Only the less educated and less practiced professions are given low salaries," she informed me, still reaching across the desk to take the ledger back as I turned around to keep her away. "The more talent a profession requires, the more it is worth in daily salary!"

"So Springfield's growing of our food, which we need to survive by the way, requires no talent and is only paid a bit a day? I don't know about you, but I have never had a green thumb. If this place relied on me to grow our food, we'd starve before the season was out. How is he going to purchase his meals in a day with a single bit anyways? You expect him to get three square meals only twice a week?"

"We just lower the value of food so he can buy three meals with a single bit! There's a fix for this, see?"

"... Dawnstar, that means he would have to pay for meals with that single bit three times in a day. Since all the bits are silver, we can't very well make smaller change, now can we?"

Dawnstar's head hit the desk with an exhausted groan then, complaining against its surface about how she was this close to finally doing something right. Her self-pity was drowned out quickly as Abeo came bumbling down the stairwell and started trying to climb back atop my desk where Dawnstar rested her head. The tank calf swiped at the surface with her claws, too sluggish to actually get any grip and hoist herself onto my desk, and flung silver coins around the room with repeated jingling,.

For fear of my assistant's head being damaged if the tank somehow managed to climb up the side of the desk and plop down on top of her, I stepped forward and shoved Abeo in the side. Like a falling tree, she gave a loud croak as her body slowly turned over and slammed to the stone floor on her plated back with a loud thump. While the calf continued to move her legs hopelessly in a running motion in the air, I stepped to Dawnstar's side and tugged at her upper body beneath her front legs to get her to sit straight up again. "So close, yet so far. It was a good idea, just not the right time for it Dawnstar. Now come on, we need to revoke this decision and get those coins melted back down." When I let her go, however, she just slumped back down with a quiet thud on my desk.

"What's the point?" she asked me, pulling her front legs over her face to shield it from view as her voice dropped low. "I just can't seem to do anything right. When I try to do what you tell me, when I try to do what I think is right, when I try to follow your example... nothing ever seems to turn out right. Nopony will listen to me, and even my best ideas end up being useless." With that she kicked a few of the coins from my desk with her front hoof, uncovering her eyes as she did so. I said nothing as she waited for a response, or perhaps was just being retrospective . "What am I even doing here?"

I was not sure how to answer her, trying to wait out her emotional free-fall by watching Abeo let the top of her head rest on the ground while lying on her back, playing dead as she was too lethargic to roll herself over again. As the moments passed and it seemed that things were not going to resolve themselves, I gave a sigh and told her to stand up. My next words were interrupted, however, as heavy beats sounded against the door of my office and a murmur of voices burbled behind it.

I could swear that I saw sparks when the handle struck, as the door swung open to bash against the wall carelessly, making way for a myriad of pelt colors marching in to gather across the desk from Dawnstar and I. At the front of the pack were Maple and Springfield, both of whom had a mild stumble in their gait that hinted that they had been spending the morning visiting Absinthe for some liquid courage to get up the gall to barge into my office. Behind them were many others, including Daggersides, Willow, Honeysides, Silversight, and more than I care to name. The voices rumbled together in their frustration and complaints as they bore their disapproving stares down upon Dawnstar, who shrunk into my chair and desperately sought somewhere to hide her face. Another shrill cry erupted from Abeo as the noise escalated, and she continued to give animalistic hollers as she flailed about on her back uselessly. The jingling of the coins started to sound again as Willow abandoned his protests and began scooping them up off of the floor and trying to hoard them all in a corner. I could even hear bees disengage from Honeyside's mane start buzzing and whizzing about unchecked in my office as I struggled to gather my thoughts long enough to address any of them.

"Hey! Hold on!" I started to shout, trying to get their attention as they drew closer to my desk to harass Dawnstar, who was still trying her best to ease away from the the furious glowers and harsh words being thrown at her. "This isn't helping!" I tried again as loudly as I could voice, but still no one ceased their advance on her. It was then that I looked at Abeo, who gave a shrill cry on the ground once more as she lazily rocked back and forth, and decided I had nothing to lose.

It would not be the first time since my arrival here that others have viewed me as having completely lost my sanity, but this might have been the first time that I was wishing to receive this response. Dropping onto my back against the ground next to Abeo, I followed her motions with my arms and legs to mimic frantic running and gave panicked calls for attention. This was followed with me screaming and hollering nonsense and gibberish while I rolled back and forth in a tantrum, coins chiming and flying everywhere when I began kicking my desk with all of my might and throwing aimless punches at the air with my hands. I believe I snorted and snarled a few times somewhere in there, as I spoke in languages I never took the time to learn. I finally realized that the whole room, aside from Abeo and I, had gone silent.

"Ben? What. The. Fuck?” Maple bemusedly asked, staring at me with her jaw still slack in disbelief of what her eyes told her was happening.

A few others murmured concerns while I hushed and stood up to begin dusting myself off, taking a moment to use my foot and roll Abeo back onto her stomach, quietly thanking her for the idea. Daggersides informed everyone to stand back in case I had really lost it, and Springfield expressed his own concern in a few slurred words, a belch, and a stumble that led to him toppling to the ground and frantically scrambling back to his hooves like a newborn foal. It had only been roughly an hour since we last saw one another, so I was bewildered at the thought of just how much he had consumed in such a short amount of time.

"I'm simply joining the crowd," I told them as I folded my arms and gave them a stern, unamused glance-over. "I just happen to throw a fit more effectively than the rest of you. Is that not what you were doing? Throwing a tantrum to try to get some attention?" I took that moment to step over to Dawnstar's side, as I could see in her eyes that she was scared. "If you don't like me using the same tactic to get you to focus on me in return, maybe you should all get a grip on yourselves and express your concerns in a way that can be responded to."

"I ain't squallin' and screamin' like a calf," Springfield interjected as he swayed in his spot, gently bumping up against Maple who shoved him away with the side of her body and caused him to slip to the floor again. "We've gotta problem and you're just making fun of us, huh?" He continued when he was standing back up, looking as though he wished to step up to me and challenge me for insulting him. I found myself rather fortunate that he could not find the coordination to do so.

"That problem is your little pet there, Ben," Maple added in, pointing to Dawnstar as she whimpered and lowered her ears at the sight of the rabble of angry ponies across the desk. "One bit a day? Who does she think she is that she can dictate how much everypony is worth?"

"Yeah!" Willow shouted from the corner, his hooves wrapped around the pile of bits he had hoarded. "I deserve a lot more than five lousy bits in a day! I need, like, a hundred. Or a thousand. Hourly."

"How come she can decide which ponies are more important?" Honeysides interjected as well, her waxy-yellow pelt poking out of the crowd.

"Some of us throw our lives on the line, and we get chump change for it! We don't even get nearly as much as a friggin' jeweler," Daggersides added, flinging a few silver bits from her holster at my desk in a disowning gesture. "Sure, let me go play with pretty rocks and shiny metals all day to get ahead. Never mind that everything everypony holds dear will be burned to the damn ground if we don't have anypony defending it! Who cares as long as I can get my proper rewards as a jeweler?"

"How 'bout we show her just how much she's worth to us too!" Springfield called out, grumbling afterwards to himself and shaking his head to try to make the world stand still around him.

"I think you might have a problem with me personally. Well, lap-dog? Mad that you're not Master's favorite? Is that why you stiffed me and ended up hoofing me a single bit? If you want things to be personal, Dawnstar, then let's take this outside and I'll give you a personal thanks upside your pretty little head." Maple raised her hoof above my desk at Dawnstar then, the indigo pony cringing before the gesture and quietly squeaking in uncertainty as she could not respond coherently to the anger in the room.

I felt her grab for me. Dawnstar's leg creeped to my hand and the joints near the hoof curled to grasp it. She had reached to hold my hand, her muscles quaking during the gesture.

I had to step in.

"You mean you want me to step outside with you and sort it out then, Maple?" I asked her, curling my fingers around Dawnstar's leg behind my desk as well.

"What? N-no,” Maple stammered at first, confusedly shifting her sight between the two of us. "She's the one I've got a problem with, Ben. She's the one who needs a lesson here."

As true as that was, I shook my head to the woodspony. "It was my decision, so if you're mad, you're mad with me." All of the ponies quickly lost their fire and rage and were instead befuddled by my answer. "If everyone would give me a moment to explain: Dawnstar was just taking some initiative while I was on vacation. This idea was mine, but it just was not ready to be implemented as it was. Our impromptu leader here found the plans in my desk and mistakenly thought they were done, so she was trying to help me out by setting it into effect while I was resting. I'm sorry that you all feel cheated and insulted, I really am, but it was truly a mistake. Nothing more. There is currently no Songring economy, and there will not be until further notice."

"... These are still mine anyways,” Willow voiced as he was counting out the silver bits hugged to his chest.

That was only until Maple stepped close and put one of her hooves in his face while using another to scatter the coins about despite his protests. "Yeah? Well sorry, but the Being-A-Little-Shit tax just hit and you were overdue."

"I thought you said you didn't have nothing to do with this here, Ben," Springfield mentioned with mumbling confusion.

"You're exactly right. I did not have nothing to do with it. I had plenty to do with it."

"What?" is all he was able to ask in response, unable to conjure the cognitive thought needed to understand the importance of his own double-negative.

"Now, if you will all please vacate my office, I have quite a bit of work to take care of in fixing this. If you would be so kind as to bring your coins back and leave them on my desk, I will look into recouping the losses. Feel free to keep one or two as souvenirs if you wish, as an apology for this misunderstanding." With that, I motioned for everyone to leave, doing my best to clench my teeth and not give away the fact that I was playing them all for fools just to save face for my intern huddled fearfully in my chair. There were a few apologies given to me as everyone started to leave, and I had to stop Willow and make him spit out the twenty-or-so bits he had hidden in his mouth before he left.

Maple stopped and gave me a hard glance-over, before putting the bit in my hand and watching my features carefully. Afterwards, she closed her eyes and brushed her head across my chest to ask me if I really thought she was only worth a single bit.

"It wasn't ready, Maple. It meant nothing at all, I promise."

The pegasus took a few more moments to comfort herself against me before standing back up and putting on her confident smile with a nod. "Good. Then I won't have to beat you like a rug out back. Let's keep it that way my little bossman." With a distasteful glance at Dawnstar, she also let me know to keep my dog on a tighter leash and perhaps put a muzzle on her. I just thanked Maple for her input and motioned for her to leave.

Finally the door shut gently closed behind them, and Dawnstar and I were left in the room together. I had gone to take off my floral pattern shirt and replace it with the green and silver dress attire that I was more accustomed to wearing: My own subtle way of accepting that my vacation was now at its end.

The intern at my desk stayed seated, watching me with wide eyes as she waited. I can only assume she wanted me to regard her in some way, but I was much too busy with my thoughts, and left her there to stew in her own while I kept myself occupied with what immediately had to be done in getting ready to take my position back. After an extended and hopeless silence, she tucked her ears back and began moving towards the door without a word.

"Where are you going?" I asked her, coming back down the stairwell as I was buttoning down my coat and tying my hair back, as best as I could, behind my head in a loose ponytail to keep it out of my face.

"Home." I had to rush to stop her as she said only that, and her hooves seemed hesitant to desist when I put my hand on her back and tried to bring her back into my office, asking her to explain. "Nopony likes me here, Mr. Prodder. I'm not cut out for this position; I'm not even helpful to you as an assistant. Now everypony is upset with you because you had to take the fall for me. I'm just going to go back to Canterlot... perhaps study journalism instead. Something that I can't possibly mess up as badly."

"I'm sorry."

My intern turned back to me uncertainly, the outer edges of her brows turned down, giving her expression a sharp, concerned look. Silently she was asking me what I meant, and as I motioned for her to come with me, her body fluidly turned to come closer as she came close to me to view my eyes. "I'm the one who should be sorry, Mr. Prodder. I'm sorry that I do nothing but cause you more work and grief with my ineptitude."

"You're sorry for what is my fault then?" The unicorn did not understand still, lowering her head a bit before me and looking down with her mouth open slightly. "You understand taking accountability for your own actions, and that's something that I need to do now too. I'm sorry that I have let you down, Dawnstar." Before she could protest, as I saw she wished to, I put my hand on her snout and gently held her chin above my finger and her nose under my thumb with a gentle rubbing. "You must still have that pardon message I gave you back when we first made it here to the Honoring Mire. Dawnstar... if you really feel like you should go home, I won't stop you. I can't stop you. I can, however, ask you to forgive me and perhaps let me make up for it by doing what I should have been doing all along. Will you let me do that?"

"I don't think this is what I'm meant to do though. It's nothing like what I've read, and it's nothing like I believed it would be. I'm just... silver."

"What does your cutie mark stand for?"

Dawnstar turned to view her mark, quiet settling around us as she observed the peculiar symbol on her flank. The image of an archway, with the keystone at the top lit up like a beacon. Shaking her head, the unicorn finally admitted to me that she was not sure what it meant anymore. "I used to think it meant I was going to be a leader, but I am not so sure anymore. It appeared many years back, when I was little. In our chemistry class, our instructor got hurt due to a bout of carelessness. Everypony didn't know what to do and were soon going to panic because the teacher would not respond to our questions. I was reading the section, so I knew what had happened and remembered our safety instructions from the beginning of the year. I sent one of the older colts to go get somepony to help us, and then instructed the rest of the students to put on their goggles and help me clean up the mess that had been made. By the time the instructor from next door arrived, we had already removed the glass and compounds from the floor, and I was reading aloud to everypony from the instructor's book so that we could finish the section. Unit Cell was alright: He had just knocked himself silly with the unstable chemical reaction, and I was commended for my ability to keep things moving even when something so unexpected had taken place... That's when I got my cutie mark."

"What happened after that? What did you do that changed you?"

Shaking her head, Dawnstar looked at my feet now as she was unable to come up with anything concrete. "I started studying what I thought was going to be my future role. I guess my assumption was a bit misguided though..."

"That, or you just sabotaged yourself with your studies." Bringing her back to my desk, I sat down in my chair and motioned for her to take a seat across from me, but feeling as insecure as she did, she insisted on staying closer and kept a hoof against my leg as she looked to me for comfort. "I originally said that you knew more about leading than I did because you had studied it, but I'm starting to wonder if perhaps that's what is setting you up to fail. Things out here aren’t always black and white: There’s not always a right and a wrong answer. What looks good on paper isn't always what will work... That's something that I've come to understand myself." At that time, I felt myself sigh and give in at the sight of her eyes wide with wonderment as she was captivated with my encouragement.

"What caused your change of heart, Mr. Prodder?" That question stabbed at me, confirming that my feelings of letting her down were not just my own. "Why are you doing this?"

"I've always been on your side, even when I was too caught up and reclusive to show you any support. Your cutie mark means something that makes you special, and I don't want to see you do something other than your calling just because I can't be bothered to get over myself and actually help you. That's a keystone, isn't it? Do you know what a keystone is?"

"The final piece placed in an archway. It connects two ribs together and allows them to bear weight. It's the most important piece."

"Is that true? Is no other piece important, Dawnstar? The structure cannot stand without a keystone, but what if it lacked the ribs or supports? There would be no archway. There would be no support. Can you really say that one piece is more important than the others?" I watched her silently mull over my words, and at that, she began to smile and sniffled under her breath. "Archways have a lot of weight to bear. Enormous amounts of weight, and though it cannot hold up any of the weight without the keystone, the keystone cannot hold up any weight without its supports either. We are the keystones, Dawnstar, but that does not make us any more important than any other piece. You are a keystone, and though you must hold everything together, know that your supports are there to help you bear the weight."

"... I never really thought of it that way," she confided, running her free leg over her eyes to dry them as her other continued to rub my leg, seeking comfort. "Do you really think I have what it takes, Mr. Prodder? Do you not think I'm a failure?"

"We'll find out," I told her, standing up from my chair and motioning for her to once again take a seat, to her surprise. "I'm off of vacation, but I think I'm going to let you keep my position for a little longer. I'm instead going to be your advisor. I have faith that you can do it... I think you just really need someone to help work through the inaccurate ideas that your studies have led you to develop. I know my assumptions and misconceptions got in the way a lot at first too."

Hesitantly, the skinny unicorn lifted herself up onto my chair and rested her back into it, pulling herself with her hooves towards the desk to sit behind it normally once again. "I had begun to think that nopony believed in me." Smiling warmly, she followed my gesture as I pointed behind her and towards the wall, presenting the engraving of Celestia at full wingspan and holding up the sun with her horn.

"Even she believes in you, if she sent you here."

That must have been enough to bolster Dawnstar's spirits as she settled into the seat and telekinetically pulled the ledger back to herself. Striking her quill over it to mark out her previous thoughts, she prepared to file it away for later as a reminder of her mistake. Before I could head back up the stairs to finish getting myself ready for an appearance at the dining hall (to speak with the settlers that were not present during my perjurious testimony to the mob that I was the mind behind the economic disaster), I heard her smooth voice call my name and catch my attention. When our eyes met, I could see her trying to say something, but it wouldn't seem to come out. Retreating, she lowered her nose and happily thanked me. For everything. That is when we went our separate ways for the time being.

I have assigned myself to the position of adviser for Dawnstar, and for her next season as Development Coordinator, I will be accompanying her on her rounds, offering my own insights to assist her in making decisions. I will also act as her safety net: Should things go terribly wrong, I will step in for her. For the first time, I will take an active role in teaching her. Though I find myself already dreading the burden of it and wishing I was not so altruistic, I cannot continue to punish her for what is not her fault.

I will not punish her simply because Celestia is a poor judge of character.

48-2: Syndromes

Throughout the past week, I believe I have had even more trouble adjusting to our current arrangements than Dawnstar has. Being that I am merely her advisor right now, as I am trying to give her the true experience and teaching she deserves, I struggle to know my place and maintain it with the proper diligence. When the settlers come to me with concerns and issues, I find myself most often trying to give them an order or an answer before forcing myself to shut up and let them know I will bring it up with the acting Development Coordinator. Perhaps Dawnstar has had an easier time adjusting because I have also been sure to use my position to keep her in line too, despite her being unhappy with my methods.

After the first few days of watching her interact with the ponies when trying to get them to heed her work orders, I found that there is a bit of a problem with her approach and method. After the third day, I took the liberty of collecting a bottle with a spray nozzle (formerly used to clean the windows around Songring) and filled it up with water at the bathhouse before attaching it to my belt for easy access. This caused Dawnstar a bit of concern when she first saw me following her with it equipped.

"Mr. Prodder, why do you have a squirt bottle with you?" Dawnstar puzzled, watching me as I slowly pulled it from its holster and flipped it over my finger playfully like a cowboy spinning a revolver.

"This? I thought I would keep a bit of discouragement with me in a tangible form. Don't worry so much about it, Dawnstar: If you act like an adult and conduct business with others in a professional, amiable, and productive manner, you won't even see me pull it off of my belt again."

"What does that mean, exactly?" she questioned again, becoming tense as I ensured that the cap was as tight as possible on the bottle for the time being.

"Well, you tend to nag when you're interacting with the settlers. I will be-"

"I don't nag!"

Squirt.

Right on the snout. The shot of water erupted into a fine mist over her face and caused her to recoil with a gasp. Her eyes only opened again once the vapor had settled, and she looked at me like I had just struck her. "What's wrong with you!?"

Squirt.

"Why are you doing this!?" she attempted again, shielding her eyes with her leg as she pulled away from the cold water in my squirt bottle.

"You're not conducting yourself in one of the three ways I just described, Dawnstar. Clean up your act, and I'll stop cleaning up your face."

"Why a squirt bottle!?"

"It's how you get a cat to stop doing something, isn't it? Tried it on Garnet: He'll think twice about climbing on the tablecloths in the dining hall now. I figured this was better than putting you in a kennel each time you misbehaved."

"You're a monster!" she shouted at me furiously. "You can't treat ponies the same way you treat an animal! This is the most ignorant, primitive idea you've come up with yet."

Squirt.

"Stop it!"

"You stop it."

"I'm not the one squirting ponies like a child!"

Squirt.

"And I'm not the one being a nag. You stop, I'll stop."

Dawnstar had to bite her tongue angrily, growling under her breath a few choice words to call me as I watched her with one brow raised. My finger itched on the trigger of the squirt bottle, but it seemed my message had become rather clear. Instead, she turned around with a huff to begin handing out work orders and asked me politely to come with her.

I think the method has been working fairly nicely, despite its barbaric nature (as many here would consider it). It has certainly given me some leverage to use while reminding Dawnstar to mind her manners when working with the other settlers. I believe that after they begin to trust in her requests and are less turned away by her demanding approach, she will find that the friendly nature and compliance she receives will be reward enough, and I will no longer have to remind her with liquid discouragement.

I am rather impressed with how she handled one isolated incident this week, and I wish to record it to remind myself of her progress in this lesson. It involved one of our jewelers; one that has been mentioned many times before in this journal: Teardrop. Dawnstar had mentioned some concern that the topaz and zircons found in the mines were not being put to full use recently, despite her order for them to be cut and set properly for the upcoming caravan visit this year. Approaching Onyx Culet regarding his lack of progress, he informed her of something rather peculiar.

Teardrop had stopped coming to work, which left him alone to try to cut the jewels, craft the rings and chains, and set the gems.

Both of us had seen her occasionally wandering around Songring, so she was not missing, but it seems that her wandering was being done on time that was meant to be spent with Onyx Culet, assisting in the preparation of the gemstones. Teardrop was playing hooky? This did not sound quite right.

In a bout of frustration, Dawnstar made some preparations in the office before storming out, ready to see to it that Teardrop would indeed return to her post and stop shirking off her responsibilites. Following a shot of water from my bottle to the back of her mane, however, Dawnstar's anger was interupted with a surprised gasp as she turned around to see me motion for her to come back for just a moment. "You could just start asking me, Mr. Prodder!"

"I could, but this is more fun and you're more likely to answer. You're a bit mad it looks like. Is it because of the squirt bottle, or because of Teardrop?"

"To think that somepony is getting a free ride around here! That I have been handing her a work order each day, and she simply lays about doing nothing while Onyx is forced to hammer out double-shifts just to try to keep up with my requests. How dare she!" With gritted teeth, the unicorn whipped about and was ready to leave once again before I called her back and asked her to just take a seat. "What is it now? I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm just going to go tell her that she needs to keep up with her responsibilities. How is that not what I'm supposed to do?"

"You're not doing anything wrong, but you're not actively doing right either, Dawnstar. If it was Willow that was dallying about, I'd let you go chew him out because he'd probably deserve it, but take a minute to think about who we're speaking of here. Teardrop? The sweet little mare who never wishes to upset anyone? Think about it and tell me: Can you truly imagine her being one to simply lie about and not care about what is expected of her?"

Dawnstar took a few deep breaths as she thought of the pony in question, chewing on her cheek as she did her best to quell her anger, and shook her head. "She's a pony-pleaser. She wouldn't try to do anything that would make somepony else upset, huh?" Her eyes turned up to me questioningly, wondering if I knew what was wrong, but she only got a shrug out of me. "So we just accept that she's not going to work then? I'm having trouble following you here, Mr. Prodder. Something has to be done, but I can't confront her on it?"

"I understand your concern, and you're right: Something needs to be done. Perhaps going in and reprimanding her is not the right choice just yet. What do you think?" I lead her with my words, stepping close as I was prepared to embark with her to her choice destination.

"I suppose I can't make a decision without more insight into the situation. Alright, I believe I will be going to speak with Teardrop then and find out why she feels the need to miss work recently. Is that the answer you were looking for?"

"It may be, it may not be, but I think it is much sounder than your original choice. Shall we?" I have to be careful to not give her the answers, as I would prefer it if she felt that she came to these conclusions herself. I am just trying to do what I can to force her to stop and truly consider alternate scenarios instead of charging in with only her assumptions.

Is that what I was like when I first got to Songring? I feel sorry for the original seven ponies if that's the case.

Either way, when we went to visit Teardrop, we discovered that she had been spending most of her time in her room as of late. Julienne Spice was our top lead, as she had told us that she had seen the frail pony fairly often recently.

"Ah... The little one? The little aqua mademoiselle? Yes, I have seen her in my kitchen. She keeps asking for sweets. Ice cream, chocolate, pudding... Oh merde, she must be upset!" Julienne quickly looked around her kitchen and went to pull her baking utensils away from the fire. After covering up some of her current work, she prepared to leave until I stopped her and told her it would be alright. Ashamed that she had not thought of what might be happening sooner, she asked the both of us to see to Teardrop and make sure that she was alright. I was a bit confused by this, but Dawnstar seemed to understand the relevance of consumption of sweets being synonymous with being upset.

They told me that I just wouldn't understand. (Considering how the visit to Teardrop's went, perhaps they were right.)

We found Teardrop hidden away in her room. When we first arrived, the door was closed and we did not hear any sounds from within. Dawnstar opened the door as we let ourselves in. I couldn't resist looking around, as that was the first time I had seen the little artistic pony's room. The walls were engraved with fantastic images that were highlighted with bright paints. Small pieces of sculptures were scattered around the room, and figurines rested on small shelves above her bed and on a wooden chest that she must keep her belongings in. There were drawings and paintings of all kinds pinned up, lying on the floor, taped to the ceiling, and seemingly everywhere else there was available space. Her quilt looked hand stitched, and was made of fabrics I could swear I had seen before (most likely from Bullion's caravan). It was all the more notable considering the small lump rising from the middle of it. Dawnstar gently peeled back the covering to reveal Teardrop curled around a bowl that had once held some form of dessert in it. (Perhaps pie, considering the bit of whipped cream still visible.)

As the light invaded her little sanctuary beneath the covers, Teardrop whimpered and eased away from the cool air that must have rushed to meet her. When she spotted us, I saw her eyes fall on me and she immediately cringed, sinking further back in the bed to try to gain distance from me. "Oh no... you're mad at me, aren't you?" Silently I shook my head, but my refusal was not quite enough to keep her breath from quickening in fear as my sight came to rest upon her. "I'm sorry, Mr. Overseer, please don't be mad... I just... I'll go back to work, I'm sorry."

"Teardrop, I'm not here to ask anything of you. I'm just accompanying Dawnstar. She wished to ask you a couple of questions, that's all." I wanted to sit down on the bed, pet the creature's head a bit, and ask her what had her so upset, especially when she seemed so panicked to see me standing over her. I still don't understand why she treats me this way, and why when she's upset, I only seem to make her more so. It was then that Dawnstar suggested I step back and let her handle it.

"Teardrop, you've been absent from work quite a bit recently. Can you explain yourself?"

Squirt.

I could have sworn by the furious set of her brow that Dawnstar might actually have thought about attacking me, or at least wrenching the squirt bottle from my hand. Looking back at the confused Teardrop, however, she sighed, releasing her frustration, and tried again. "I mean to ask if you need anything."

Squirt.

Excusing herself briefly, Dawnstar marched back to where I rested with my back against the wall and pressed her forehead to mine angrily, nearly poking me with her horn. "What? What, what, what?" She tried to keep her voice down though she was infuriated. "Teardrop's upset, and you're making this like some kind of damn joke? Are you just using that thing to get your kicks now?"

"No, you were starting to coddle, and that's a completely new problem. You're almost there, though. Objective, but open. Can you do that?"

"If you squirt me with that thing again, Mr. Prodder..."

"I'll do my best if you will."

Third try is the charm. Dawnstar stepped back over to Teardrop's bed and rested herself upon it, tail slung around her hooves as she cocked her head and asked, "I just want to know if something's wrong, Teardrop. Is there a reason you're not going to work that I can help with?"

Teardrop shook her head, still eying me uncertainly. Each time her gaze would fall on me, I would simply point to Dawnstar to let her know that I was not in charge there. "No... I'm just... I can't go back to work because of him."

"Who? Mr. Prodder?"

I had to bite my tongue to keep from protesting, but Teardrop explained before I worked myself up into an outburst. "Onyx... I can't work with him anymore. Not after what I said, not after what happened. I just can't bear to face him again..." I saw Dawnstar's hoof reach out to touch the smaller pony's leg and try to keep her from hiding her face from us again, quietly asking her to explain. "He's... he's not... interested." She did her best to hush a sob, curling tighter around the empty bowl. "He likes stallions... I'm such an idiot... I should have known better, and now he probably just thinks I'm an idiot."

"Is that all that has you upset?" Dawnstar asked, before looking at me and motioning for me to wait a moment before I pulled the trigger on my squirt bottle. She knew I wouldn't approve of that question, but it seems I was jumping the gun. "Teardrop, sometimes these things happen. It's not the end of the world. He is probably flattered that you felt that way about him, but he just has a different orientation. That's no reason to have to avoid him, is it?"

"I just thought... I just thought with how nice he was to me, that maybe he thought I was worth loving. I guess things never do change. I'll always be unlovable."

The two of us looked at eachother then, equally befuddled by such an answer. I shrugged, as this was beyond my own scope of understanding. Even now, I can still only see the irrationality of these words, so I would have been hard pressed to say anything at that moment. Dawnstar struggled too, looking to me a few times more for an answer that I just could not give. "You think that just because he's not interested in being with you, that makes you unlovable? Please look at this realistically, Teardrop; his rejection has nothing to do with you. It's just his tastes."

"Why won't anypony love me though? If he was just doing it to be kind... I just don't know why nopony will love me."

"The only way nopony could love you is if you don't love yourself." I was shocked to hear this come from Dawnstar, watching her brow set sternly as she reached out to hold Teardrop's chin up with her hoof, forcing the morose pony to look her in the eyes. "It's the only way that others can. If you can't love who you are, knowing your own true worth and being closer to yourself than anypony else possibly could be... then who else could stand a chance?" Lowering her head, Dawnstar took a deep breath to steady herself. "Nopony loves me here either, Teardrop. Have you looked around? Nopony even likes me... They'd be much happier if I was gone. Am I worthless? Am I not lovable then?"

The sweet creature in the bed was not able to answer her at first, looking over Dawnstar and shaking her head. "No... you're smart, and beautiful, and going to be something great someday. You're not unlovable, Ms. Dawnstar."

"Yet everypony here already likes you more than me. If I'm not unlovable... then how are you? Come on, Teardrop, how about I come with you back to the jeweler's studio. Onyx Culet has been worried about you, as everypony who cares about you is. Would that help?"

The little aqua-colored pony nodded, trying her best to crack a smile but still finding it hard to breathe through her constricted throat. Looking to me for dismissal, I nodded at Teardrop and made a gentle motion to the door, quietly letting her know that I did not mind at all. Drying the earth pony's face with the quilt, Dawnstar helped her to her hooves and stepped ahead to lead the way.

Correct the syndrome, and the symptom will resolve itself.

You're one step closer, Dawnstar. One step closer.

I will need to try to get some sleep soon. The herbs that I sampled from the zebra caravan have been leading to very peculiar dreams recently, and have left me fatigued during the day due to a lack of restful sleep. Some are uncomfortably vivid, and pertain to subjects that I find upsetting, causing me to wake up in the middle of the night. "They will enlighten one's spirit," they claimed. How does having a dream about watching a man, hauntingly similar in appearance to my father, get his leg torn off by some form of plant monster possibly enlighten my spirit?

Marketing at its fucking finest.

48-3: Productivity

The dreams are getting worse. I've had to call in some experts on the subject of consuming these herbs, but it seems they have very little insight to give me at this time. Possibly due to Songring's lack of actual experts to call upon. Bunsen informs me that without a sample of what I took to run tests on, she cannot ascertain what compound is causing my distress. Springfield has never seen the kind of herbs that the zebras were peddling. In fact, the only pony that really knew anything about them was Tye Dye, and when I asked her to explain what was going on, she just laughed at me and told me I was just having a "bad trip”.

"I am glad I'm not you right now. That stuff's great for detoxing yourself, but it's never an easy ride. Have a lot on your mind, Prodder? A lot of stuff you're wound up over? Feeling a little unfulfilled? Hope you're ready to just let it all go, little man, because that trip is going to last a while. You'll feel better if you just settle in and flow with it."

This is what I get for trusting a druggie to give me medical advice. I'm simply looking for an estimate of how long this effect is going to last, and she tries to give me vague, unhelpful advice about my life. I've considered thanking her for her oh-so-helpful observations by ordering a lava lamp for her from Bullion's caravan, but I fear she'll end up being even less helpful if she is glued to colorful floating wax while she huffs down more zebra products.

The dreams seem to all be about my father, which is what has me so upset. What am I doing here? Have I forgotten what my original goal was? Do I even think I will return to my quest? I feel like I am losing focus on what is important to me...

When I wrote that, I had to truly ask myself what is important: A corpse, or these creatures that look up to me for protection and guidance? It still is a very tough question to answer, and one that I find myself in too poor of health to consider right now. It will just have to wait.

In the most recent dream that woke me up in the middle of the night, I was watching what I perceived to be my father and many others huddled behind metal shipping containers while a spinning chain gun unloaded a storm of bullets around them. Their faces were kind of blurry so I couldn't recognize any of them. It was all silent, but I could see they were talking. Though none of them apparently knew what to do, my father just sat there silently and listened to them for a while. Once all of their concerns had been voiced, he set down his scattergun and got his ballistic shield ready, looking at each of them to say something. Pulling free a disc-like contraption, he slammed it to his chest so that the sharp prongs latched into him, then connected it to the I/O ports on the back of his neck. He appeared to bid them all farewell with a final nod. That's when I watched him throw himself over the shipping container and right into the onslaught of bullet fire, holding up his shield to protect his face and the device in his chest. Blood flew around him as his free arm and remaining organic leg were being torn to shreds, his mechanical right leg one of the only things surviving the endless hail of shots fired at him. Sparks continued to erupt off of his shield and his leg, until he finally threw himself in a dive at the hulking, cybernetically-rigged monster holding the large rotating firearm. When his shoulder connected, a blue light from the disc in his chest flashed, and everything in their immediate vicinity was pulled toward their collision in some sort of vortex for just a moment before they disappeared, leaving nothing behind... not even the smoke from the gun.

This is all very abbreviated, as I understand that my journal is not, and never will act as, a psychiatrist. I am rather grateful for this, for I believe it would only tell me that I hate my mother anyway. Or that I have an Oedipal Complex. Both spectacularly unhelpful and unfounded speculation, as I find almost all "professional" mental assistance to be in the absence of true dysfunction.

On the note of speculation, I have witnessed Dawnstar becoming more comfortable with her position as temporary Development Coordinator with me at her side. This has not come without cost, however, as a couple of other ponies have become less and less comfortable with it. The two settlers in question have refused to communicate with Dawnstar this season, and have had quite a few issues they've been specifically calling to my attention.

One good example is that when I am seen leaving the office with Dawnstar to accompany her on her rounds, I am often greeted by Maple, who will start walking alongside us, sticking close as we walk about. Dawnstar has repeatedly asked Maple to go back to work, but each time she has refused due to some reasonable (probably self-inflicted) problem. I believe she has suffered four broken axes, two "finished what you gave me already"s, and at least one spinal discomfort complaint that she insisted she just needed to “walk it off”. I would not mind this all that much, except that it seems Maple is intent on trying to hold my attention as much as possible with questions and observations, which creates a bit of a problem when Dawnstar and I need to communicate so I can give her the insight she seeks. It has allowed me to see more of Maple though, and it’s flattering to know that she prefers to spend her free time (intentional or accidental) around me for reasons that I hope include more than just interrupting Dawnstar's learning.

The second dissenter, Silence, has readjusted her work schedule so that she now has Tuesdays off instead of Fridays. I at first thought this action was just for a change of pace, but she is spending those Tuesdays with me in the smelting room, sitting close to me as we watch the furnaces pump out more ingots to keep up with the stockpile of ore that she and Canary have been able to mine out during the week before. It has been nice to have someone to speak to during those dreadfully boring days as I consider revoking my own safety mandates, but I can't help but begin to feel a bit uncomfortable knowing that most of her day off is still spent in the mines. That, and the fact that her horn is constantly glowing softly when she is around me. When it does, I could swear I feel someone touching me, which makes me uncomfortable. Strokes on the arm, embraces around the neck, presses against my side, all of which cause my nerves to jump and distract me from my duty there in the smelting room. I've asked her to stop, but such measures are temporary at best.

As much as I must say that the feeling of human touch is something I kind of miss... it's still distressing to feel it when there's nobody actually doing it. Just makes me feel all the more out of place.

Another specific incident needs to be added to Dawnstar's progress report here, and it is regarding Songring's resident chef who was having quite of a bit of a scuffle with Blueprint over something that most might view as insignificant at most. How could it possibly be worth noting? Well…

The situation began with a bit of commotion one day that resulted in quite a few ponies leaving the dining hall unhappy and raising a ruckus. Dawnstar and I split up and each started speaking to individuals in the crowd to try to discover what the cause of the disruption was. As it turns out, there was no food prepared for today's lunch. All of the ponies had been turned away and told to go simply get something raw out of the stockpiles to eat, which left a sour taste in quite a few mouths of those who were excited to get to enjoy a nice, well-earned meal at the dining hall only to find they would be munching on uncooked carrots and celery stalks. Together Dawnstar and I attempted to make our way into the kitchen beneath the dining hall to try to speak with Julienne about what might be the cause of this sudden dereliction of duty.

Before we even made it down there, however, we could hear the frustrated arguments and shouts coming from below, and the dining hall was almost all but cleared out aside from Absinthe draped over the bar on her back and blowing a strand of her silky mane out of her face in boredom. At the sight of the two of us, the large equine bartender smiled and rolled back off of the bar so that she was standing behind it, motioning for the two of us to come take a seat. We both declined.

"Aw, don't get my hopes up for a chat and end up leaving like everypony else did. C'mon darlings, take a seat and chat for a spell. Julienne and Blueprint have been at it all morning, so don't mind them okay?"

"That's precisely what we came to investigate," Dawnstar immediately returned as she refused to sit down. I saw her shoot me a dirty look as I took a seat, but I merely shrugged at her as I figured it would not hurt to speak with a calm individual that actually knew the situation. "I need to go see about clearing this mess up before we miss yet another meal and everypony is forced to have a stock-ration dinner as well."

"Good luck with those two, Honey," Absinthe responded, getting closer to me to pull free a bottle of a golden, smooth liquid that I could already smell had a fair bit of honey in it. I turned it down, but it was tempting to at least try a bit: Honey liquor sounds quite intriguing. "You'll need it. The gals have been at each others' throats since I opened up this morning. You've got a couple of very opinionated mares down there."

"We'll see about that," my intern challenged, starting to step away before I gave a sharp whistle to call her back. Giving a frustrated sigh, Dawnstar slowly turned about to view me with an unamused stare. "What, Mr. Prodder? Do you have some lesson for me now too? I already know to fix the cause, not the effect."

"Actually, I was just thinking maybe we should ask Absinthe a few more questions. Once you go down there, it's going to be pretty hard to make a decision since both of them are going to try to get you on their side. You can go down there if you want, but I was just thinking perhaps a calmer environment to think in would help you out."

With a pleased and thoughtful nod, she came back to the bar and sat down, still refusing anything to drink. She immediately commandeered the conversation, pouring all of her focus on Absinthe in hopes of getting an understanding of the details. My small talk would have to wait then. "Alright, so have you heard what they have been arguing about? What's got them both so upset?"

"Appliances." We two “keystones” looked at each other with an arch in our brows, unsure if we had heard her right. Seeing our questioning exchange, the bartender nodded to confirm our disbelief. "Kitchen appliances. Been hearing them go on, and on, and on all day about it. You see, little Blueprint's a regular egghead and has some very valid ideas on how to improve the kitchen down there. Working stovetops, manageable ovens, streamlined countertops to sort out the spices and create something like a food assembly line to help Julienne speed up her work."

"Excellent!" Dawnstar commented, seeming to smile at the idea of modernizing our food preparation area. "That way Julienne might be able to actually have more than a couple of fifteen minute breaks during the day! Not to mention, with more settlers showing up, the demand is only going to increase." A clatter and enraged yell erupted from below then as a sound much like a pot being tossed about floated up to us, which made all three of us cringe and cover our ears until it subsided. "... But I can tell this must be a problem. What could possibly be so bad about this change that Julienne is throwing a fit?"

"Too many cooks spoil the broth, Hun. Or in this case: Too many machines spoil the fun." Absinthe gave me an odd wink which I have yet to understand, but I have a feeling that it might have something to do with the fact that I am sporting a model JWLinc-225 Cranial Cyber Mesh. Considering the problems I myself have had with it since my arrival here... I am inclined to agree with her if that was indeed her insinuation.

"I didn't know Julienne was so opposed to technology," I mentioned, scratching my head.

"It's not that she's opposed, she just doesn't like it in her kitchen. I mean, why fix what isn't broken, right? She has never had to rely on a self-regulating stove or mechanical dicers and blenders, so why should she start now? I think it's a pride thing for the big sweetheart."

"Well, she might as well swallow it. I for one think Blueprint's ingenuity is remarkable and would be a wonderful asset to this settlement. I suppose I'll go and see about talking Julienne into accepting the new arrangements. Perhaps she's just scared and needs some reassurance."

"You sure that's what you want to do?" I asked Dawnstar quickly, intrigue stopping her from walking away.

"Is that the wrong answer, Mr. Prodder?" she asked back, genuinely concerned if I had more insight for her, second-guessing what she had just moments ago made sound like a convicted and certain decision.

"I don't know, Dawnstar, that's not my place to decide. All I'm asking is if you've really thought about what you're doing?" As Dawnstar bit her lip, I shrugged my shoulders to her and looked at Absinthe, who gave me a smug look back, knowing immediately what I was up to. I could swear that there was a twinkle in her eye as she watched me, silently urging me on to keep up my esoteric approach at making my point. "If you can tell me with 100% certainty that you have thought this through and are prepared to enact your decision, by all means, go ahead. I just want to make sure you aren't rushing into a choice. That's all, I promise."

Dawnstar took a deep breath, seeming rather upset that I would not give a straightforward response to her question. I motioned for her to sit down, which she obliged, resting her head against the bar with her brows set low in intense thought. "... So I have to think it over then. Will you at least help me with that? What am I supposed to be thinking about then? It seems rather clear that Blueprint is right, and Julienne just needs some comfort to settle into the new arrangement of things. What am I forgetting?"

"I don't know, what are you forgetting?" I asked back, feeling that my involvement further would hinder her own growth; however, she did receive some help.

"We've never had a shortage of meals before," Absinthe responded, moving away from my side (but not before flicking her tail my direction so that it swatted me in the face once). "What would happen if you didn't let Blueprint install those new appliances?"

"Well, if we were to get more settlers than we have, we might begin to overwork Julienne or leave some ponies without prepared meals. I suppose that's not a major catastrophe, but still better to avoid just in case."

"You're right," Absinthe nodded, "But what'll happen if you do install those appliances then? What changes will that make?"

"Increased productivity for one. Less time spent in the kitchen would mean that Julienne would find more free time, not to mention she could provide for a larger population if she had these new tools. It only seems to be in her favor that we do this."

"Yet she's the only one fighting it,” Absinthe said before backing down, turning her back to us to signify that her part of the conversation was over. I watched as she uncorked the bottle of honey liquor she had offered me and tilted it above her own face to take a quick drink, before smiling back at me subtly and rocking the bottle back and forth as if she was still offering me some.

Drinking after her? I think I'll pass.

Dawnstar pursed her lips at the statement and grasped her head in her hooves to mull it over. "She is, isn't she? That doesn't make sense. She's the only one that could benefit from it, so why is she so adamant about not letting it happen?" Looking to me, Dawnstar raised her hooves in question, at a loss of decision now. "Your thoughts, Mr. Prodder?"

"My only thought is that it doesn't affect me either way."

"Thanks a lot," Dawnstar responded bitterly, growing fed up with my unhelpful responses. Before I could assure her that I was just trying to help, she seemed to brighten up a bit and gave me a different glance. One that made her smirk as she looked me in the eyes and raised her head again. "Actually... yeah, thanks." More sincere this time, she stood up from the stool and began walking towards the kitchen.

"Did you think it over?" I asked her again, wondering if she would stop.

"I certainly did, Mr. Prodder. I have this one, don't worry. I know exactly what to do."

I struck up a conversation with Absinthe then to let Dawnstar handle the situation as she saw fit. The bartender was still in the habit of getting uncomfortably close to me when we spoke, but she did commend me for one thing. "You're better at this teaching thing than you give yourself credit for." When I asked her what she meant, she chuckled lightly. "Just, coming from a professional, you're doing it right. The biggest question is if you really think she has what it takes?"

"I don't waste my time with pointless endeavors."

I was informed later that Dawnstar had made the decision to postpone any remodeling of Songring's kitchen area. Blueprint had been thanked for her initiative and commended on her efforts, but was instructed to instead simply write up the plans and hand them in for review and implementation at a later time. Julienne was advised to continue working as she had been, but if she ever felt she needed help, to come back and discuss making a few minor changes to the kitchen to speed up her work.

Sometimes productivity can take a backseat to comfort.

Yet another step closer.

Someone's touching my shoulder now. Without looking up, I can assume it's Silence at my doorway wishing to speak with me. Think-speak with me. Yes, it is Silence. I will continue with another update next week, as it will be Dawnstar's final week as acting Development Coordinator of Songring.

I wish her luck.

48-4: Decisiveness

No restful sleep, being toted around like an accessory, and catfights all week long: I am simply running off of coffee, sugar, and fear of female aggression right now. If any of the three let up, I might honestly not be able to perform my duties at all. The toll it has taken on my nerves, however, is enough that I need a deep breath between each sentence to keep my hand from shaking too much as I write. This was the last week of Dawnstar's time as Development Coordinator, so perhaps I will get some rest and not have to record her progress anymore, which means a month or two without needing to write.

The dreams are continuing and have refused me any sleep that is worthwhile. I can at least be comforted that the topics are shifting within them, but they still leave me fatigued in the mornings, and chemically dependent on caffeine and simple sugars to sustain myself during the day. I sought Tye Dye again to request that she be more specific as to how long this "trip" would last, but she had no real answer for me. I want to be angry with her, to tell her to stop playing with me and just be straight forward, but it’s honestly not her fault. It helped to know she understands what I'm going through, as she offered to mix me up some tea or something else that was supposed to help me sleep a bit better. I asked her to tell me why it lasted so long, but there was not much to tell.

"Some herbs are tricky that way. I think you got into some vexglove root. Most folks feel better after it’s all said and done, but it’s a tough ride and usually not a starter's choice for cleaning out your system. Think of it like prune juice for your mind, and maybe then you'll understand what's going on. It brings up all of those worries that everypony likes to stuff away so you can deal with them, but the more uptight you get about it, the worse it’s going to be. You're a really high-strung fella, huh? Must be awful for you, kid..."

It certainly is. Get over them? Get over what? It just keeps showing me my dad! It keeps showing me images of Markus Prodder drinking himself into a coma, fighting with the Mongrel's Stand surrounded by carnage, or lying in a bloody field with his leg torn off. There's nothing to get over! I keep having dreams about Sugarlump sitting alone at the post office as the sun rises, and I keep seeing Hyacinth cuddle her Gi doll silently in a nearly empty playroom! I keep revisiting the image of Songring burning to the ground and myself standing over nothing but corpses! I've relived the hurricane of 1221 four times, been sent to the moon twice, and have even found myself hoisted off the ground impaled on a spear through my gut! How is this helping? What I am supposed to get over?

What does it want from me?

I left to go get another cup of coffee to take a moment to recuperate and return to the true focus of this entry, which is this previous week, not my self-pity and agonizing ordeal with some form of herbal brain-bleach. I have had a rather notable lack of focus lately, but I have noticed some efforts by the ponies to try to assist me. Silence has been a blessing: Visiting me so often to bring me more coffee and trying to give me someone to focus on while attempting to wind down each evening (knowing I'm going to be tormented by unpleasant dreams). I think she might have seen some of them... I can't doubt it. I don't know exactly how her magic works or how much she can read off of me, but it's no doubt that at least some of my dreams have been at the front of my thoughts when she steps in without my noticing. She has yet to mention it, but I can tell she's worried about me. Just one of the many things to pile onto the list of problems I can't really resolve, because there's nothing I can do to settle her mind except lie to her and tell her that I'm alright.

Maple has been very helpful quite often as well, as she actively plays the role of barrier between me and Dawnstar's endless amounts of prattling questions. I would much rather listen to Maple go on about how she's currently in a scuffle with Daggersides, or to hear her give what I can perceive to be brutally honest opinions and viewpoints on others as we pass by just for the sake of speaking her mind, but I am supposed to pay attention to Dawnstar's questions and expected to respond to them with a valid answer for her. I have been asked if I believe color coordinated outfits and decorations might improve morale and productivity, or if I think it truly necessary to have the entirety of the apartment halls engraved, or what my opinion is on the matter of forced lunch and break schedules. All of these are things that I truly want to tell Dawnstar that I just don't care about, but my not caring is what has denied her learning for this long in the first place. Maple had at one point told her to just let some things be and stop being a micromanaging bitch about everything, but that just started a fight that I had to end with my squirt bottle.

Maple broke my bottle when I did that. She owes me a new one, and I told her that just having her spit in Dawnstar's face instead was not a valid replacement. In the meantime, until she's able to replace it, she is not allowed to call Daggersides fat. I truly don't know how she's going to make it through the day without that, but justice must remain established.

The catfights Maple has incited with Daggersides and Dawnstar do not compare with two others that have caused me great stress. The first of them being between Silence and (you guessed it) Maple. The most notable outburst between the two of them happened when Silence visited me one evening with a few candles, which she had made with Honeysides' help, and a bit of dark wine from Absinthe's stock. She said that perhaps a bit of soft lighting and a gentle inebriated buzz would offset my nightmares. I was willing to try just about anything at the time. The candles had just been lit in my office, and I was going to ask her why she was spending so much time helping me when we were interrupted.

"Heyo! Little bossman? Little bossman, where are ya!" Her voice resounded loudly through the wall as she made her way through the hallway. Both Silence and I were watching, waiting for the inevitable moment when the pegasus would come crashing through the door. Like clockwork, just as I would have predicted it, the door slammed open with a crash on the opposite wall, revealing Maple. She was grasping the doorknob with one of her front legs to try to keep herself standing, and had something tucked under her other leg while holding a glass bottle in her mouth half-full of a dark, amber liquid. Looking at her face, I could see by her smile and large pupils that the reason the bottle was not full is that she had already been sampling it. The aroma that invaded the room suggested that she must have spilled some of the fluid on herself, as the scent of strong spirits reeked off of her. Upon seeing me, she spat the bottle out and let it clatter on the floor (luckily it did not shatter), and began to speak with a slight slur. "There you are, Benjy. I've been lookin' for ya. Got this idea, yeah? You've not been sleeping, and well, we're gonna fix that. I brought you some chocolate to drink and some whiskey to eat, that'll make you feel good!" Afterwards, I watched her puzzle over what she had just said. The thought was soon abandoned upon seeing the unicorn sitting across my desk from me and watching her, only faintly illuminated by the candlelight. "What the nightmare is she doing here?"

I was not sure if Silence would respond, so I took the initiative to answer for her with a shake of my head. I knew things were already going to be difficult with Maple drunk. "She's here because she was concerned about my situation, same as you. At least I think."

"Yeah, well, she can just piss off. I got here first," Maple slurred back irritably, starting to nudge the bottle at her hooves towards me and struggling to remain standing straight. This was perhaps a (futile) attempt to appear dominant or confident.

"She was here before you walked in," I reminded Maple as I pinched the bridge of my nose. I could already feel myself wanting to pull my hair out at how irrational she was being, and we had only just started talking. Logic is apparently not as commonplace for everyone, as she proves.

"I meant to Songring!" Maple replied defensively.

"You were both here at the beginning of the expedition, so that doesn't work either," I informed her, putting my face in my hand to rub my temples. I was shocked out my stupor by the sound of a gasp exploding in my head and a bottle being slammed on my desk in front of me. The gasp had erupted from Silence, as she moved out of the way of a violent shove from Maple.

"Ben!" Silence projected to me soundlessly, "Make her stop! She might hurt somepony if she keeps this up."

"I can't just make her stop," I said, admitting to the harsh truth that I could only ask her to leave, not force.

"Hey! No brain-speech stuff!" Maple erupted at Silence, growling as she snapped closer and stamped a hoof against the stone floor adamantly. "If you're going to talk, do it so all of us can hear. Going to call me names? Do it where I can hear you and show you why that's a real bad idea, Mouse."

"Okay, I’ve had enough," I protested, standing up from my desk. "Maple, go lie down in your room until you sober up and maybe then you can bring up your concerns in a civil manner." The cardinal pegasus shouted back that such statements were not fair, and that I was just trying to get her to leave so I could keep talking with Silence. "No, Maple, I'm going to ask her to leave too. Her presence is causing a disturbance, and I'm not about to show favoritism."

"I haven't done anything wrong! She's the drunken moron that came in and started causing a scene!" Silence looked at me with a hurt expression as she expressed those thought to me, mouth open in disbelief that I would suggest making her leave. "You can't punish me because she's being irrational!"

"It doesn't matter. Your presence is causing a problem, and I'm going to have to ask you to leave for the night. Thank you for your concern, but I will manage." As they both quietly looked at me, and occasionally shot hateful glances at each other, I made a quick motion for them to go on their way. "It's my office, and I have the right to say who can and can't be in here. Leave. Both of you."

"How do I know you don't have some sort of brain talk code with her and she's not just going to sneak back in here after I'm gone? I don't trust her," Maple added, hesitantly backing away from my desk with her head low and ears pinned back in a spurned manner.

"Then you also don't trust me," I stated coldly.

Without saying anything else to me, Maple looked around and finally gave a nod of understanding and submission before turning around and heading towards the door. She stopped only once to glower at Silence and tell her, "It's all your fault, ya little mute. Crawl back in your hole in the ground next time so big mares and stallions can have a real talk and not have to worry about you." She was gone before I could rebuke her, which left Silence watching me with her own ears pinned back sadly as she watched me.

"What are you waiting for, Silence? I've asked you to leave."

"... But... she's the one who's the problem, not me. You aren't really mad at me, are you? I just want to help you."

"I'm only mad that I'm going to have to ask again. Whether you take it personally or not, I can't control that, but for the sake of keeping the peace around here you need to go back to your own room."

There were many moments that passed as she looked like she might be ready to head to the open door, but each time I thought she was about to stand, she would look at me again with pain in her expression. Finally as she rose, she looked at me one more time and I heard her question, "So you agree with her and do think it's my fault then?"

"Silence!" I heard myself shout, hands placed heavily on my desk as I leaned over towards her with a stern set to my brow. "I've had just about enough of this! You want to help me? Then do as I ask and just go. Just leave. I'm done with this foolishness for the evening, and you're certainly not helping me relax anymore."

My raised voice must have made my point clear, as Silence finally heeded my request and exited my office. I shut the door and locked it behind her. I found myself even more stressed than before they had shown up, surveying the bottle of wine, bottle of whiskey, lit candles, and the box of chocolate now littering my desk and floor that I had to clean up. I ended up throwing the chocolate away because half of it was already eaten, some of it fell out of the box when Maple dropped it while shoving Silence around, and I'm allergic to it anyways. I poured out the whiskey because I was certain Maple had been drinking straight from the bottle and I didn't want anyone else sampling her backwash. The bottle of wine was returned to Absinthe the next day as it had remained unopened. I still have yet to be able to scrape all the wax off of my desk as the candles fell over when I tried to blow them out.

I am not ignorant enough to be blind to what is going on between the two of them, but I am hopeful, or perhaps just naïve enough to believe that maybe it will resolve itself without my intervention. It’s just foolishness. I can only hope that I won't have to get involved. I really don't want to be involved at all. It’s uncomfortable for me for a lot of reasons, and there's no way it can reflect positively on me for the rest of the settlers if they were to see this bit of shenanigans.

The other catfight is one that I write about with a much more literal meaning than I have used before in this entry, and I believe a good marker to write down as the final entry in Dawnstar's progress report of her time as Development Coordinator in my place.

The Honoring Mire is truly a savage and dangerous place, and while the tanks that wander the valley are usually enough to frighten away predators due to their immense size and loud movements, this does not and will not always deter them all. I, myself, had forgotten that we are in savage lands, and this week provided a harsh and shocking reminder that we must remain vigilant and keep watch. I happened to have been the one to discover it myself, and it’s a sight that I will never forget, both for the beauty and the fear of that moment.

I was in the stockpiles room with my clipboard taking count of our supplies, which is commonly a job of Dawnstar's on Mondays. (We traded places, as she wished to see what it was like to oversee smelting once before her term was up.) As I was making my way through the ingots, I thought that I heard something moving around near the food stockpiles. Taking a moment to adjust to the limited light in the room from the single window on one wall and the torch I had lit on the way in, I silently watched over in that direction to make sure that we did not perhaps have another piper or that someone was not about to try to play a trick on me. The quiet in the room grew very tense for a few moments, and I grasped the pen in my hand like a weapon. The shifting rustle had dissipated, and without a single glimpse of what might have caused it, I began to question if I had simply imagined it; lack of sleep has been known to cause hallucinations.

I swear that my feet left the ground when I jumped at the sound of a hiss. The small sound and accompanying high-pitched growl startled me. After catching my breath, I rebuked myself for my fear. It was just Garnet in the storeroom, probably trying to catch a rat, or a mouse, or something else that wanted a free meal from our supplies. The growl, however, did not remain unchallenged for long before a sound much deeper and chilling reverberated alongside it, rumbling like distant, rolling thunder in the acoustics of the storeroom and seemingly coming from everywhere at once. It was unlike anything I had ever heard, except for maybe from great beasts whose vocals have been animated into films and productions for special effect.

And what a beast it was.

I felt like I was witnessing something from ancient days come back to life. A creature I might have only seen in the form of bones in a museum, harmlessly poised in a display case for onlookers to know the terror history contained, now was covered in flesh and rumbling a deep growl at me. Like liquid darkness, the colorless moving patch of black morphed and slid between the barrels. I could see no real hint of its form, and could only make out piercing yellow eyes set in the middle of a segmented section of living abyss. Slit pupils locked on me as the monster growled once more, shifting slightly so that I could see the outline of a paw from its midst and a long inky tail slowly twitch at the far end of it. The only thing that kept me still and not fleeing to the door was discipline: My mind telling me that the worst thing to do would be to move and give this creature a sight of my back. Instead I watched the eyes as they unblinkingly scoped me, watching my every subtle move and noting my every hastened breath. Neither of us moved, knowing the other would take advantage of our hasty decision.

The only thing that moved was time.

That was until I heard Garnet once again hiss and grumble his own high-pitched growl, receiving no attention from the creature watching me until the tabby threw himself over a barrel and sent a clawed paw across the beast's face. As its eyes shut and a snarl erupted, I took my chance and ran for the door in a sprint, swinging the door shut as quickly as I could. Standing outside in the fresh air, I pulled the key from my pocket and struggled against my quivering hands to fit it into the keyhole. Once the door was locked, I immediately set off to find Dawnstar.

"A what?!" she first screamed when I told her, watching me hold my chest while I caught my breath from both the fright and the sprint to find her.

"A monster. I think it's one of those big cat things Salmon mentioned, I don't know. I didn't get too good of a look at it. It's in the storeroom right now." I felt like I might collapse at that time, struggling to stay on my feet as the fatigue of my sleeplessness was almost enough to knock me out without the added exhaustion from running for my life.

"A jungle cat?" the unicorn responded as she looked between me and the smelters, her ears tucked uncertainly. "What are we going to do about it, Mr. Prodder? It's in the storeroom? Has it hurt anypony?"

"Not that I saw," I began, letting myself slide down to sit against the wall, "and I locked the door behind me to make sure no one would accidentally open the door and let it out. I don't know what we're going to do, that's up to you."

"Me?" She seemed unable to come to grips with that, shaking her head as she wanted to protest that this was beyond her skill. "There's a wild jungle cat in our storeroom! You need to do something about it!"

"You're the development coordinator. Handle it."

"I know you're trying to teach me, but I'm not comfortable with this... Something needs to be done, and you're wasting time Mr. Prodder."

"You're the one wasting time. I've told you to handle it, and that's final. If you don't want to do anything about it, expect to see the consequences of your lack of action. The clock is ticking."

Dawnstar spent most of our conversation biting her bottom lip nervously, accompanied by a few more pleads for me to take command back or to at least tell her what to do. I refused her each time, continuing to hug my knees and rest my head on them as I felt dizzy and overextended from my recent ordeals. Even if I had wanted to take the reins from her, I don't think I was in a position to do so.

Dawnstar rushed out of the smelting room to go look for help. Silence had come out of the mines after hearing our argument to see to taking care of me. Giving me her flask of water, she let me use her to pull myself back to a standing position again. Her magic was enough to keep me on my feet as she escorted me from the mines to follow Dawnstar.

I had to at least be there to witness my protege's progress. This was her time to shine brightly or fizzle out. It was up to her.

The dining hall was buzzing with commotion now as Julienne had begun expressing her worries that lunch would go unprepared because she could not get into the storeroom. Word travels quickly, and soon everyone was mumbling about the beast in the storeroom. Dawnstar was not there with them. Instead, I found her pacing about frantically at the door of the storeroom as she seemed to await someone.

"What are you all doing? Lunch isn't going to make itself! Unlock the damn door already." The voice rang out rather abruptly as Silence guided me to stand beside Dawnstar so I could try to calm her. "I thought you two were supposed to make sure stuff like this was taken care of? Some bosses you are." Our problematic carpenter, Willow, had tailed me on the way to the storage room to express his displeasure with us.

"It's too dangerous. Please return to your duties and we'll have the issue resolved as soon as possible." Dawnstar appeared to recite this as though she were a machine, never even looking at Willow as her eyes were locked on the ground during her pacing.

"Dangerous? Pfft, dangerous... you're all just trying to put us on a diet, aren't you? That's why the two of you are out here? Give me the key, I'm getting something to eat."

"Please go and wait until we let you know that it is safe to enter the storeroom," Dawnstar repeated, refusing to look at him.

"Fine, whatever, I'll just unlock it the old fashioned way then. Screw both of you beurocratic jackoffs."

"No!" I shouted, reaching out to try to yank him by the mane, but I was not nearly fast enough to catch him. His front legs planted into the ground underneath him as his body twisted to hoist his hind legs up, striking a mighty kick backwards into the door. Splinters shot off of the wood as the handle and lock were warped partially and the give let the door swing wide and crash against the wall beside it.

I still have trouble comprehending exactly how this happened. My brain cannot conceive as to how one can rationalize doing such without any regard as to why the door might have been locked.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get something to eat and not let you hardasses take complete control of my life!" Willow stated with a sense of pride at his own ingenuity, prancing into the dim storeroom. We simply watched him perturbedly, left trying to understand why he would just kick our door nearly in half like that. His haughty whistling over his victory was cut short as it was drowned out by a loud, bestial snarl, and then was swiftly replaced by a high-pitched squeal of terror. Impressively fast (faster than me), the tall carpenter pony darted out of the door and used both of his front legs to slam and hold shut the door in his grasp since it would no longer close on its own. "Holy shit! There's a jaguar in there!"

I'm not sure if it was my fatigue or Silence that held me back at that time, as I felt my fists involuntarily tighten and had the irresistible urge to slug him in the face for destroying our main line of defense against the creature. "Locked doors are locked for a reason," I heard myself utter through clenched teeth.

"You could have told me there was a friggin jaguar in there though, Prodder!"

"I told you it was dangerous!” Dawnstar defended, pressing her face furiously against Willow's. I recognized the scenario as something I had seen happen to the carpenter before.

"Blades are dangerous. Slides are dangerous. Trees are dangerous. That's a jaguar! That's not just dangerous!" Willow refuted as his ears started to fold back and he looked around uneasily. "You're the one who didn't make it urgent enough!"

"You wanted to test it? You wanted to see if I was lying? How about you go back in and take another real hard look and tell me if perhaps I was wrong in asking you to stay out of the storeroom!" Dawnstar shouted again, still boring her gaze into him and pressing his face further down as he got closer to the ground. "Maybe it'd be best if this did end up being your last stupid mistake! Now if you want to live, you're going to have to hold that door closed yourself, otherwise you're the first thing that jaguar's going to eat! This way even if you die, you'll at least be of some use either way!" By the end of her rant, Willow was lying on his belly beneath her, his front legs still grasping the door handle to try to keep it closed as he silently looked up to her with wide eyes.

"Yes ma'am," is all he was able to eek out of his throat as he slowly rose to hold the door, keeping his head down to avoid being yelled at further.

Harsh, but I could see myself doing the same. Am I rubbing off on her now?

As the tension settled (as much as it could in this situation), I asked Dawnstar what her planned course of action was. That is when she looked to me worriedly with a shake of her head.

"I... I don't have one. I don't know what to do." I could see the uncertainty and the cloudy thoughts in her eyes as she struggled to keep her sights on me hopefully.

"Then make one."

"How?"

"Think!" I shouted, all eyes turned to me as I bared my teeth in fury. I had been pushed beyond civility by my health, Willow's ineptitude, and my intern's helplessness. "There's a dangerous animal in there and lives may very well depend on what you say! Willow can't hold that door forever, and as soon as he lets go, someone will undoubtedly get hurt! What are you going to do about it, Dawnstar?"

I watched as she lowered her head and tried to back away from me. Silence watched carefully from beside me and moved closer to nudge my hand with her snout to try to remind me of her presence and calm me. I needed to do this though. She had to learn. She had to succeed, and this was her greatest chance. As the dark-purple pony in front of me shrunk under my gaze and refused to answer, my voice erupted once again, loud enough that I knew eyes from the dining hall must have turned to see us.

"Are you just going to let what will happen go unchecked? Are you just going to let more ponies like Lilly and Glacier Cut die now too?"

"... No," is all she said to me at first, biting back a few bitter tears at the mention of those names. I had managed to tap into her sense of responsibility and gotten the point across to her. Even though I could see her eyes welling with water as the wave of guilt washed over her, the stark reminder fueled enough fire that her weakness and uncertainty melted away. "... We have to fix the problem. How can we get rid of that jaguar?"

"Kill it or scare it off?" Willow suggested as he held the door tightly closed. This was followed by another frantic shriek as the door thumped from a heavy strike delivered against it followed by a furious snarl from the other side. "Just do something quick! I don't want to die! I still haven't made it with Maple yet!"

Dawnstar and I silently watched him for a moment after his statement, before we both shook our heads and continued our discussion. Contemplating his suggestions, Dawnstar looked at the approaching group of ponies who had come to investigate our dispute. "Kill it or make it leave then, huh?" She thought aloud, seeming to take note of who was in the crowd. "Benjamen, do you think the militia could take care of it?"

"At a risk."

"What about Springfield? Didn't he say we should let him know if we ever encountered one of these things?"

"He did, but it's also a risky move."

"I don't have much of a choice here then, do I?"

"Now you're getting it."

When the ponies arrived, Dawnstar shook her head to them and shrugged. It took courage, but I heard her admit to all of them that she did not know what she was going to do. This caused concern amongst some of the settlers, but she assured them that this did not mean nothing would be done. Afterwards, I watched her swallow her pride as she humbly asked them, "There are only two choices now. We kill it, or we have Springfield remove it. I just don't know which to order, so I need to consult some of you. Springfield, Songring Militia, would all of you step forward? The rest of you can go back to your duties, and I promise that we will handle this."

The crowd dispersed easily, except for Teardrop. She sat silently as the crowd cleared out, color fading from the skin beneath her fur and on the tip of her nose. The members of the militia and Springfield stepped forward, leaving her alone to watch the door paralyzed in fear.

I had not thought about Garnet's fate until then.

I would lie if I said that I was paying attention to the conversation at that point. Asking Silence to give me a moment, I stepped to Teardrop and put my hand on her cheek to try to get her attention. When I asked her if there was anything I could do for her, she merely put her head against me and hid her face. She was not crying, but I could tell she was worried and her body quaked at the thought of what might become of her beloved pet. There really was nothing to say as I simply let her bury her face in my shirt and try to calm herself down, running my hand down her neck to pet her comfortingly while I listened to a few of the arguments.

"It's just an animal, it doesn't know any better. We can't just kill it because it was doing what everything has a right to do: Just be!" Tye Dye announced.

"Too bad. It's in our territory, and it certainly isn't going to cooperate with us to try to move it. Suck it up, Sunshine, and get your crossbow. We're better off putting this thing down before it even gets in reach of us," Daggersides responded.

"I can get it out of there... it ain't gonna be easy, but it can be done," Springfield commented, simply offering his services but maintaining no stance on the issue.

"I just want to live!" Willow cried out again, receiving a resounding, "Shut up!" from the whole crowd.

"Sending one pony in there alone is madness. No offense, Springfield, but it is simply foolish no matter the stallion you send," Heartstrike commented.

"Fine," Dawnstar finally replied to them, nodding to each as she called out a formation for them. "We take a risk, but not too much. Springfield, you're going in first: See if you can get the creature to leave. I'm sending Daggersides and Heartstrike with you, armed: If the creature gets close, you both need to be ready to put it down. Is that clear?"

Tye Dye stated that it still was not fair, but when the rest of the group did not band with her, she simply sighed and agreed that it would be for the best. At least it gave the creature a chance. "I will not participate though. I can't agree with killing the poor thing just for existing."

"You will at least watch the door with Flick. You two will stay here until the other three safely exit. Understood?"

It was. Everyone got into position after leaving to collect their supplies and armaments. Springfield brought back a length of rope, while the others gathered weapons and scraps of armor (helmets mostly). Brushing Willow aside, the three assigned ponies filed in one-by-one, closing the door the best they could behind them to avoid the creature fleeing.

It was fifteen tense minutes later before they finally emerged again. They exited the room with Springfield nursing a bleeding laceration across his face, and the others carrying a bloodied and dead jaguar and the decimated remains of a half-eaten tabby cat.

I think I need to go check on Teardrop again to make sure she's doing alright, so let me wrap this up to do so.

I end by saying that Dawnstar finally was able to see what it is like to make a difficult decision, and to make it under pressure. There was very little time for her to come to a firm conclusion and develop a course of action, and though she did not make the decision exclusively by herself, she was in charge enough to at least confirm it, and see it acted out. There were prices to be paid for these actions... but they were far less than what could have been expected if she had panicked and failed to act. Simply put, I am proud of her. She does have what it takes, as long as she can remember these lessons and apply that knowledge alongside studying the text in her schoolbooks.

Now I am off to go console Teardrop about her loss. I barely feel like I have the energy to walk there, much less to offer comfort to anyone. I must though... both out of duty and common decency. I owe it to Garnet too... It's the least I can do for one who saved my life.

49: Vexglove

"The sky is darkest before dawn." That is a good way to describe my fight with the vexglove root. Things simply had to just get worse before they could begin to get better. I had not even thought it could get worse.

The dream that I believe I could consider the crest of the ordeal started somewhat peculiarly. I awoke sitting at the desk in my office, which is not too different from a normal day in my life here in Songring. The main difference, as far as I could see, was that there were no engravings on the sandstone-brick walls around me. Instead, I was looking at decorative shapes in blue paint scrawled across the walls. They all looked familiar. This soon made sense to me as I looked out the window behind my desk to see the Light Waters lapping against the steep inclines in the noonday sun. I rushed to the window to view the settlement that I could still remember, no longer seeing the destroyed dormitories or flooded dining hall. I got to witness the pleasant view of what it used to be: Of ponies wandering around on the sandy beach around a bright and colorful dining hall with laughter and smiles all around. The dormitory door swung open slowly as Willow wandered out of it and stretched with a yawn, ready to start his day with a small smile and continue his work on the fence around Springfield's little plot of farmland. Ponies carried buckets of water back from the Songring Purifier on the other side of the inlet beach, and the sun caused all of the land in front of my eyes to glimmer with a happy light.

"Ben! Aren't you going to come upstairs? I needed to speak with you!" I heard called to me in a familiar breathy voice, yet could not seem to put my finger on who it belonged to. Curiously accepting the invitation, I made my way up the stairs. I stopped for a moment to take a gander and admire my modest little dining room: Nothing but a table and a chair with a single pantry available for me to store my personal provisions. There was no one there, however, and the voice called to me again. "What's the holdup down there? You alright?" Reluctantly, I pulled myself away from the fond memories of being able to peacefully eat in my little sunlit dining room to go investigate further.

"There you are," were the first words out of her mouth as I peeked up over the stairwell to catch a first glimpse of my solicitor. Maple was lying on her side across my bed with her eyes half-closed to view me calmly and invitingly. Shockingly, she was actually clothed, but in a way that was even more distressing to my senses. A set of silky black stockings clung to her hooves and up her legs, hugging tight around her flank and shoulders. Her hind end was on its side, but her front was upright to watch me. My first glimpse was of her backside, which was only barely covered by a form-fitting, slim undergarment that snugly embraced her, tail slowly swaying back and forth to draw my attention to the black fabric. The large jade eyes remained on me in a dusky and smoldering gaze as a rumble resounded in her throat from her chuckle at my shocked and dumbfounded expression. "Well? How do I look?" she asked as she folded her front legs before her and craned her neck, flipping her unbound mane to the other side of her neck so I could see more of her cardinal pelt. Before I could answer, she rolled onto her back and reached her front legs above her head to stretch and grasp the headboard. "Comfy perhaps? Why not come over and join me, Benjy? You must be so sore after your desk nap." Blowing a small kiss in the air towards me and wearing a cocky smile, she asked me, "Can I work out some of that tension for you?"

All I could do at first was clear my throat, face-to-flank with what I could only perceive to be inevitable regret. I know my face must have flushed as I felt heat rising off of my cheeks and the temperature in the room seemed to go up another degree every few seconds. "Perhaps... in a moment..." I told her uneasily, unable to conjure up a polite refusal. Sabotage seemed to be in place as my CCMI's media player kicked on and started playing another Jeremy Prowler track, a heavy bass techno with hypnotically repeating lyrics about how good it felt to throw away your cares and drift into the arms of a woman of the night. "I just... want to lock the door." I stammered out as best I could, retreating down the stairwell quickly and striding to the entrance. Instead of locking it, I very quietly opened the door and tried to leave, wanting to disappear to just about anywhere to escape a terribly regrettable mistake.

"Hey, watch it!"

"What?" I asked back as I bumped into someone with my eyes still locked on the bedroom window at the top of my office. Taking a moment to readjust my vision to the outside, I searched for the individual that I had knocked over, and found Willow staring at me rather angrily.

"You call me up here because you need to tell me something, and then just shove me around?" With that, he stood up and slammed his hooves into my shoulders, causing me to stumble in my confusion. "See? Not too cool, is it Prodder? We can both play that game! You don't own me, bro! You-don't-own-me!"

"I... I called you here?" I asked him uncertainly, not having any recollection as to when I might have done so. I rebounded with a rather devious thought as I cleared my throat and adjusted myself, feeling somewhat composed once again. "Ah yes, I wanted to say that I appreciate the hard work you've been doing recently, Willow. There's... an emergency that requires my attention, so we'll have to discuss it later; however, feel free to pick up your bonus from the top floor of my office."

"Bonus? Hot damn! About time that I get some recognition around here! And here I thought you were just being some sort of prick and looking for an ass whupping, Prodder. You're alright. We cool?" He asked me, his tone changing dramatically.

"Yes, we're "cool". Now go ahead and collect your reward. Feel free to find me after I've handled this issue." It was difficult to maintain a straight face as he whistled his way past me into my office and shut the door behind him. Curiosity begged me to stay behind long enough to bear witness to the verbal exchange within my office building, which was muffled but still audible.

"... Whoa! So you're my bonus? Alrighty then, let's get this party started!"

"... Willow!?"

There were only a few muffled sounds before the window above me simply shattered into a cascade of glass rain, followed by the tall carpenter pony who had been used to smash it before plummeting to the ground with a thud right in front of me. Disoriented and dazed, all he could ask was, "Did I just get laid?"

"Prodder!"

As the enraged scream bellowed out of the nonexistent window of my bedroom, I had the feeling this was my cue to become rather scarce. Leaving Willow to his fate, I took off in a dash to the mineshaft. The last place the pegasus would look for me was underground, I reasoned.

After making my way through some of the hollowed segments of the mines past the storage room, I realized that I was actually passing through Teardrop's studio. There were a few sparse pieces of furniture and lots of paint spilled on the floor as well as strewn over the stone walls in all kinds of designs. Easels and stacks of drawings, paintings, and other creations were lying about in an artistic heap in the small domicile. It seems the little mare had adopted the hollowed out section of stone as her own after Silence had moved deeper underground to continue mining. The only reason I knew it was Teardrop's place is because I heard her call to me as I was passing through. I had slowed to a fast-paced walk to try to avoid arousing suspicion or becoming too visible to a rather upset pegasus.

"Mr. Overseer! Just the pony I've been waiting to see..."

Looking back toward the corner, I saw her posed leisurely on a small loveseat that I imagine she had upholstered herself due to its rather eccentric color scheme and improvised composition of random scraps of fabric. Her pose was one that drew my attention, despite how mortified I was by the sight. Lying on her side, one front leg stayed wrapped behind her head while the other grasped the arm of the loveseat in a stretch designed to arch her spine a bit. Her hind legs were spread as one hung off the side, her hoof touching the floor, and the other bent so that the corresponding hoof rested on the other cushion. The only thing blocking my sight of her feminine aspect was her cerulean and pearl colored tail, which had been flipped up to touch her belly. In her mouth was a paintbrush that she wrapped her lips around while watching me, the end of the brush stroking gently against a canvas that had the image already embellished upon it of her in the same position without the courtesy of her tail being used for modesty.

"Could you help me please?"

"N-...No, no I can't..." I responded with some difficulty, shaking my head as the room seemed to become too stuffy and I labored for breath at the sight.

"Oh, please?" she said to me in her high, airy voice with a gentle plea. "I don't want to have to beg, Mr. Overseer," she told me with a twinkle in her eyes. Before I could tell her no once again, she motioned with her head to the painting she was working on, in which the only part of it that had any color apart from just the ink lining was herself on the sofa. "What do you think of this? I want an onlooker's opinion."

Trying to avoid the very correct anatomy of her in the painting, I forced my throat open again with a cough and gritted my teeth to get a hold of myself, forcing my brain back into functioning. My heart was beating so furiously that I had trouble hearing over it. That would explain why I could feel my face turning red once again. "It's... beautiful, Teardrop. I am not really much of a connoisseur though, so you might be better off asking someone else for better criticism than I can give."

"I think you can appreciate it just fine... Please, come take another look. Does it seem accurate? Is that what I really look like?"

"Close enough for a bumpkin like me."

"What about for a discerning eye?"

"Artistic license can fill in the gaps."

"I mean, take a really close look for me."

"I'd rather not."

"Are my legs that long?"

"Sure, why not."

"Is my snout that pointed?"

"Like a sharpened pencil."

"Do I look warm and inviting to you? ... Do I look... ready for you?"

"That can be left to the viewer's discretion."

Despite my attempts to dodge any real answers and disarm the situation, she flicked her tail to remove it from its place and beckoned me over to her uncovered form with a hoof. A smile played on her lips as she moved her tongue around the paintbrush to expertly shift it to the side of her mouth and out of the way so she could speak more clearly. "Now I just have to know where to paint you in this piece... Any ideas, Mr. Overseer?"

"You can keep me where I am, which is gone. Goodbye." With that, I began a jog to the bottom of the mines, leaving behind her calls to me, desperately asking me not to leave her there and telling me how sorry she was. She informed me that she could do better and that she'd try harder, but that's exactly what I was afraid of.

The cold stone of the mines and the consuming darkness I was wandering into was enough reassurance to finally let my heart slow down, and my thoughts return to something other than maddening discomfort and a flurry of other emotions I had not the time or experience to sort through. Needless to say, they just scared me a bit, and all I wanted was to be alone in the mines for a while until things slowed down. There truly is no place to be alone in Songring, however.

Through the darkness, I could see a faint glimmer of flame down one of the pathways, and heard the sound of a pickaxe swinging. Silence was here, I thought, and the sound of her hard at work was a relief as it meant that perhaps she was still sane at this time. Running to the light at the end of the tunnel (both figuratively and literally), I was met with the realization of how deceptive the sounds were.

The pickaxe was no longer being swung, but instead was stuck in the wall. Silence was wearing a dark brown, leather ensemble and covered in a spattering of sparkling glitter that I assume was from shattered gems that she had been chipping out of the wall. The pickaxe was lodged securely enough that Silence rested both legs on it and used it to be bend forward in front of me, looking over at me before I had even arrived with a smile. Her leather gear seemed to be lacking coverage, specifically in the flank area where I could see her cutie mark and a bit of fur on her belly, which led me to believe there was nothing covering her any further than what was in my field of vision. Her mane was damp with sweat, and she drew shallow breaths while she watched me, mouth only slightly open to pant gently in front of me.

"Is this a bad time?" I asked as I was considering just turning around. That is when she assaulted me with an image, one that overtook my vision and forced me to witness something of her design in the form of the pickaxe she was draped over being replaced with myself. The end of the handle was hidden in the grasp of her curled front leg as it sinuously moved in a rubbing motion while her lips were pressed to my bare chest. When the short fantasy subsided, she was still smiling at me in the dim light. She slowly put her mouth around the end of the pickaxe's shaft and giggled in the quiet left by my stunned disbelief.

"You tell me," I heard her project back, tail swishing around a bit of dust as she waited for me to approach.

"Sure thing. It's a bad time because everyone in Songring has gone mad and is ready to go heads down, tails up!” I told her, spinning about on my heel and marching out of the mines. Perhaps I had wasted enough time that I could bolt back to my office without Maple noticing and lock her out, I thought. Teardrop gasped excitedly when I passed by, but I paid her no mind, which only made her whimper unhappily.

"There you are you little tease!" I had just closed the door to the storeroom when I heard Maple's voice from the inclines above me. I looked up to see her cheeky grin staring back down at me with her wings at full spread while she scoped me. "Good try, thinking Willow might be able to take your place, but that's not how it works, little bossman. That surprise was just for you, and I feel like you owe me for the embarrassment of having Willow walk in on me." Her wings flapped once as she threatened to leap off of the ledge towards me, still wearing the black stockings on her front legs. "I can think of an easy way for you to make it up to me though."

"You'll get nothing from me!" I shouted back as my feet began pounding the sand in a full sprint towards the dining hall. Julienne, I thought. Julienne would never let something so unsanitary happen in her kitchen! She'll save me! Those thoughts were all the motivation I needed to power my way over the sandy beach with all of my might towards the uncomfortably empty dining hall and away from the sound of flapping wings behind me. I sped up my entry into the building by grabbing the handle on the inside of the open door and leaping with it in my hand, allowing me to ride with the heavy door's swing so that it slammed shut behind me and simply sent me tumbling in a roll through the dining room. My crash into the chairs and tables was accompanied by a loud smack on the outside of the dining hall as well. I pulled myself from the clutter of wooden furniture and made a dive for the stairwell down into the kitchens.

"Julienne, hey, I was wondering if perhaps I could-... Fuck," I interjected, as I caught my breath and looked up halfway through my request to see what could likely be the worst possible scenario. On the counter, Julienne was lying on her back with her neck propped up against the wall, exposing herself to the view from the stairwell. Her immensely powerful form, rippling with smooth-looking muscles beneath her deep-colored fur, was on display and covered decoratively with a spattering of fluffy white confection. Sweet cream was spread in various places all over her body, and she seemed to be laying back into what was once a fresh cake that rose up around her and lay scattered about on the surrounding counter space. The worst part was that she was not even the one that had heard me.

"We've got a mess down here, Prodder. Great timing... how about you come over here and give me a hoof in cleaning this up?" Daggersides' deep voice rumbled to me as I broke my sight away from the cake and cream covered chef to the unicorn mare beside her. The plump unicorn mercenary pushed her soft stomach against Julienne and wrapped her strong front legs around the reclining mare's torso to bury her snout deep into the fur on the chef’s belly and begin lapping up crumbs of cake and bits of cream with her tongue, causing the pony on the countertop to give a small moan and giggle in delight at the sensation. "... Or a mouth will work too," Daggersides added as she continued to eye me, returning her snout to Julienne's pelt to continue teasing her and tasting the sweet desserts.

It was then that the bulky and muscled unicorn mare turned her lusty gaze to me, her large, warm, and inviting peridot hues glittering with excitement. "Voulez-vous coucher avec moi...?" She asked me in her thick accent, taking a deep breath to stifle her moans and gasps emanating from Daggerside's attentions to her. I still do not know what that means, but I can use context clues to assume what she was hinting at.

"You've got to be kidding me." I shook my head, grasping my face in submission to the thought that it was hopeless. Ignoring their calls for me to come join them, I slowly pulled myself back up the stairwell to prepare for the inevitable confrontation with Maple again. It felt more like being caged, despite how big the dining hall was. The doors were still slammed shut, and I could see a collection of mares building outside of the windows of the empty dining hall. Maple continued to beat on the door, angrily calling my name and telling me to stop running and just face her like a man. "What am I going to do?” I asked aloud to no one, losing all hope.

"You could do me, Mr. Benjamen Prodder..."

Turning my head to view the owner of the voice, I saw the worst image that my psyche could ever conjure. Wearing a maid's outfit and bent over a table with a washcloth in his hoof to buff the stone-top furniture, was Overcast, with his tail raised high and his ears pinned back against his head nervously. A sight I have yet to scrub out of my brain. "... What the hell, Overcast? Just... what the hell, man?" I asked him defeatedly, at the end of my rope and ready to just break down into a nervous wreck at any moment.

In a monotone, dreary response, he hung his head to tell me, "They said I should do it, Mr. Benjamen Prodder. Now, how about we get a little better acquainted? If you want to that is, I understand if you don't find me all that pretty. I just wanted to try to be sexy for you is all."

"Mr. Benjamen Prodder?"

"No!" I heard myself shout out of nowhere. A bright flash of white appeared across my vision and everything was blurry as I felt my heart racing and I struggled for breath. I came to grasping at my desk, but before I could control myself, I once again blurted out, "I am not going to have sex with you! That's final!" As I panted for air and took a glance around while my vision returned to me, I saw the comforting engravings of trees and mountains on the stone walls around me, and the floor engraved in the shape of waves. In front of me were the calm and somewhat sad-looking golden eyes I had just been looking into moments ago. Overcast was standing in front of my desk with a worried expression on his face and solemnly watched me as the bright daylight flooded into my office from the floors above.

"That's okay, Mr. Benjamen Prodder. I understand that you're not interested in me physically. I'm sorry for giving you the impression that I was waiting for you to take me. I'll try to keep from flirting with you anymore," the charcoal-colored pony obediently told me, completely unphased as he sat down. "Are you okay though, Mr. Benjamen Prodder? You were making a lot of noise during your desk nap. I thought maybe you were hurt."

"No, I'm fine. Thank you for your concern, Overcast."

"..."

"... You can leave now, Overcast."

"Is it because I'm not pretty enough, Mr. Benjamen Prodder?"

"You've got three seconds. Three. Seconds."

"Okay."

After that dream, I felt that I could no longer stand enduring the effects of the vexglove alone. I was at a loss as to whom I could call upon. Even Tye Dye, the one of us with the most experience in the field of "herbalism", had no advice for me. I had a problem, and it seemed that there was just nothing anyone could do about it.

Where does everyone go when they hit rock bottom?

It was almost midnight when the thought came to me as I lie awake in bed, truly afraid to go back to sleep for fear of far worse scenarios infiltrating my dreams. Forcing myself to get up, I pulled my clothing back to me and got dressed, fumbling around in the darkness for my shoes, as I prepared to head out.

One would hardly believe it is winter in Songring when wandering through the jungle valley at night. The air remains moist and cool, but certainly never cold. Winds howl high overhead above the passes of the Fatal Horns, but only a light breeze rolls through the trees in the valley, creating a gentle rustling overhead. Winter honestly feels more like autumn here in Songring, minus the vibrant colors. Too bad it never gets cold enough that the tree leaves actually change color.

The pleasant weather helped me on my jaunt to the dining hall in the dead of night, accompanied by the chitters and squawks of nearby fauna and the rumble and croaks of tanks off in the distance. It was much too late for anyone to be in the dining hall, so I had imagined that I would merely take a seat and wait until morning. The time alone would help me think, and perhaps I could catch Absinthe early in the morning when she first got in so that we could speak privately about what had me so bothered.

"Kind of late for you to be skulking about alone, Shug."

I was startled by the voice that greeted me as I swung the door closed. It seemed I was wrong in my assumption, as Absinthe was still behind the counter at the bar and watching me with her front legs folded across it. Curiously, she did not have her usual flirty smile and smarmy quirk to her brow, which I had come to expect, when I saw her glance at me from across the dining hall. She seemed much more solemn this evening: Serene and earnest as she gave a motion for me to approach. "I had thought everyone would have gone to bed by now," I told her. "What are you still doing here? Isn't your shift over?"

"It is. I decided to stick around, as I have every night for a little while now. What about yourself? Finally hit bottom?" she asked me.

"I assume you must know then," I admitted, stepping over to take a seat and fold my hands on the counter in front of her while avoiding eye contact. "I just don't know how much longer I can keep this up. Tye Dye says it was vexglove root." Absinthe simply asked me why I took it. I shrugged in answer. "Experimental. It was one of the herbs we traded our silver for with Val Gathers-Treasures. I figured since we might be seeing the zebra caravan again soon, I needed to find out if we were getting a good deal, or if perhaps they were just using a bit of marketing magic to put unreal prices on just simple plants. I knew some of the other settlers enjoyed the herbs, so I assumed they were not toxic. At least not lethally so."

"Vexglove. That's what has you so run-down these days, Hun?" As I nodded to her, she shook her head to inform me of my mistake. "The vexglove isn't the problem, it's just making the problems visible."

"They aren't problems. At least, there's nothing I can do about them. How is that supposed to help?"

Absinthe looked away from me for a few moments, contemplating my situation before cocking her head back quizzically. "Sweetie, you're trying to ignore these problems, not cope with them. That's not going to work, and it's just going to keep making things worse. Now, before you get frustrated and upset, listen: I want to help. How about you tell me what a couple of those dreams are about and I'll see if maybe we can settle a couple of them. Maybe then you'll be able to... how did you put it? "Use precedence to make sound decisions." How about it? Want to lay some of these worries of yours on me?"

Even after I told her that it would be a long story, she pointed into the darkness outside and cracked a smile. There was plenty of time, she informed me. After sighing in hesitation, I began recalling a few dreams for her. The dreams I had been having regarding Markus Prodder. There were many to tell her: Watching him drink heavily in a bar while he spoke pointlessly with an unrecognizable bartender or surviving excessive amounts of combat. There were the times where he simply lie in a field of wooden spires amidst impaled bodies of soldiers, and he was unconscious as blood oozed from his severed leg. I even told her of the one where he had vanished into thin air while confronting Agent Omega.

"You miss your dad, Hun?" she asked me sweetly, reaching out to touch my face as I stared down at the bar after I finished recalling all I could remember of my dreams about him.

"Never knew him. He left when I was just a little kid, too young to know where he went. I was told that he was dead until just recently. He didn't actually go missing until five years ago." I gently pushed her hoof away from me as I tensed up, biting the inside of my cheek as I tried to stuff away any brooding thoughts about him. "... Just up and left a four-year-old son and never came home. I had a dad growing up, just not my biological one."

"So why are you looking for him?"

I had not really considered that question for a while. Even now, as I flip through the pages of my journal, I don't have an answer. My earliest entries only submit that I must know my past before I can readily look to my future, but is that even a reason that holds any weight with me anymore? With a shrug, I did not know what to say to her.

"What will you do when you find him?" She changed the question, still unable to keep her leg away from me as she sympathetically brought it back to run it over my hair.

"If I find him," I corrected her. "Depends on if he's alive or dead. If he's just a skeleton with a metal leg lying in the forest, then all I will be able to do is give my last respects and be content with the closure. If he's alive..." I felt her grasp my hand after it had balled into a fist as she told me to go ahead and be honest with myself. "... If he's alive, I'm going to find out why he never came home. Why he left us to go fight in some pointless campaign." I did my best then to keep my face dry, but it became difficult when I finally admitted to the both of us the true reason I sought him: "I just want to know why I wasn't important enough for him to come home."

Absinthe let me quietly seethe and loosen my fist in her grasp before she spoke. She was waiting for me to be ready to listen. "That's almost the right question. Do you really think it's because you weren't important? Do you think he just didn't care?"

"Ten years passed and I never heard a word from him. The only reason I figured out he wasn't dead is because he martyred himself and ended up on the news when I was 14. He had the chance to contact me, but he just never did. What does that say to you?" I asked bitterly.

"To me, it says that you're making a lot of assumptions. Ponies have to leave sometimes for reasons other than a lack of concern. What you need to know is just why he never came home. Wondering why he didn't think you were important can wait until you're sure that's what it was. Can't you at least spare your own father, of all ponies, the benefit of the doubt?"

With a slow nod I agreed to her terms and felt a rather heavy weight lifted off my shoulders when I sighed out an "Okay." "I'll give him that much." I still have no idea what other reasons could be so important that ten years could pass without a single contact from him... but she was right. I can spare him, of all people, a bit of doubt. It was then that I described two other dreams for her. The dreams of Sugarlump sitting alone in the post office and Hyacinth playing by herself in an empty playroom.

"That's good to hear." This was all she told me at first, giving me a warm smile as she reached under the counter to get me a glass and began filling it with some fruit juice. When I began to complain about her enjoying my situation, she asked me to hush. "I think it's kind of sweet. You're concerned about how they're doing, aren't you? Any particular reason it's got you tense though? I can imagine you feeling a little homesick... or that you miss them, but it sounds like you're wound up over it. Why is that, Hun?"

It took me a while before I finally realized what she meant. "I made a promise to each of them."

"Do you think you can't keep those promises?"

After many moments, I had to answer with some difficulty. "I don't know anymore. It just seems like time keeps passing and I'm not getting any closer to fulfilling either of them." Absinthe chuckled at me and pushed the juice closer, beckoning me to have a drink.

"As long as you still plan to keep them, don't worry. If it bothers you enough that you can't sleep because of it, then you have a lot less to worry about than you think you do."

It was a bit cryptic, but I can see her point. It is not any easier to get over the feeling of stagnation I harbor as I battle the need to get back to keeping my promises and continuing my own journey, but worrying does not assist me in any way. It was not until she told me that I have plenty of time that I was able to sigh away a bit more tension. It's true: Even if I have nothing else, I do certainly have lots of time. Finally, the time came for me to recount my most recent dream. She watched me silently sip at the juice, stalling in fear of bringing up the next issue that has been bothering me greatly.

"I can tell you're not finished. Come on, Shug, out with it. Is there another one you want to share?"

"... I also dreamt that a few mares in Songring wanted to... well, they wanted to... I don't really want to say it right now."

"They could have wanted to do a lot of things. Kill you? Eat you? Play hopscotch and drink root beer with you? Just take a deep breath and tell me what it was."

Drawing in air deeply as she suggested, I sighed out the word, "Fornicate," feeling it the most proper and least vulgar I could muster in my embarrassment. I just wanted to hide my face, knowing immediately that she would think I was just sexually repressed and the dream was merely my psyche seeking an outlet to express it. I was surprised when the set of her features softened and she simply asked me to be a bit more specific. I then told her a more detailed recount of the dream. Luckily, the only time she laughed is when I mentioned Overcast presenting his rear to me in a maid's outfit, but she let the humor die quickly to keep from embarrassing me. After I had finished, I just stuck the juice cup back to my mouth and kept quiet, unable to look up at her.

"That's an interesting problem, Hun. You want to know what bugs me the most about it though? The way you describe them, those are some very pretty mares you're imagining, yet you're downright terrified of them when they just want to share some intimacy with you. I think the question here is not why you were dreaming about that... but why does the dream bug you so much?"

"Because it's just wrong," I told her, biting my lip when she refused to accept that answer. In what way, she asked. "First, I'm their boss, which is wrong from a business ethics standpoint. Second, they're ponies!" That statement kept her bemused for a few moments, needing to ask me how that mattered at all. "They're... ponies! I shouldn't be feeling that way about them! It's not right!"

I could tell Absinthe had so many questions for me then, but instead she just shook her head and motioned for me calmly with her hoof. "... Hon, I think I know exactly what the matter is. Come around the bar so I can show you something real quick. I have something back here that may make a lot of sense to you." Before I could refuse her fully, she shook her head and motioned again. "Come on now, you wanted me to help. Let me help you."

When I came around the other side of the bar, I was left with no time to ask her exactly what she had to show me. Her hooves slammed loudly against the wooden top of the bar behind us as she reared up and thrust her body atop of me, pinning my back to the bar so that her chest and stomach pressed against my abdomen and locked me beneath her. I was either too shocked or too terrified to scream out for help as she overpowered me and curled her legs so that she embraced me, quietly pressing her snout to my face in a gentle kiss. Even past the confused whine through my nose, she continued to hold me there, turning her velvet-soft lips away from mine and to my ear where she began nibbling on me and whispering quiet sweet-nothings for my comfort. Her steamy breath blew past my tied-back hair as she pressed enough of her weight atop me to hold me down but not cause harm. The closeness and the warmth of her body, as well as the gentle attentions to my ear and my cheek, left me with the feeling that my face was burning once again. Her voice and affectionate touches spurred something in me, no matter how twisted and wrong I kept telling myself it was.

Then she stopped.

Simply holding me there in the torchlight of the empty bar, she stared down with a cocky smile, and just let the moment pass while she waited. For what, I wasn't sure.

"I don't understand," I told her nervously, curling my fingers around the wooden bar to try to secure myself to something, giving me a futile, little feeling of control.

"Just wait a couple more minutes," she told me, slowly pulling her weight off of me to give me more freedom to move. This continued until finally she was standing on her own in front of me, leaving only a single leg draped over my shoulder while she watched as I slowly stood back up as well. Confused and speechless, I could only shake my head to her in misunderstanding, unable to comprehend what she had just tried to prove. "... And then nothing happened," she said to me with a knowing smile, rubbing my shoulder.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that nothing happened. You didn't blow up, you didn't die, and you didn't get sent to the moon or anything. Nothing happened, Sweets. I don't know exactly what you're worried about, but what I wanted you to know from experience is that nothing bad is going to happen to you just from being close with somepony."

"It's still wrong though..."

Absinthe then gave me a stern look, ceasing her rubs as she pulled me closer to look straight into her eyes. Captivated by her gaze, I couldn't pull away. "Is that what you believe, or is that what somepony has told you? Benjamen, your emotions are yours and your alone, not anypony else's. They have no right to dictate your heart. Do you understand that? Do you truly know what that means? Just as you cannot enforce such things in others... don't you ever let anypony else dictate what feelings are ‘right’ or ‘wrong’." As I simply watched her and tried to soak in everything she told me, I felt her shake my shoulder to jostle me back to reason. "That's a right all beings deserve to have. Tell me you understand, Ben. I'm not going to let this go until you get it."

"I understand."

"Good," she accepted, releasing my shoulder and backing away to let me pass her and wander back to the safety of the other side of the bar. "What you do with it from here is up to you, and that's the whole point. It's up to you." At that, she turned her back to me to insinuate that she had finished her time with me as she reached down to put some water in a bucket and began freezing it with her horn to create ice for the morning crowd that would be here within the next hour.

"... Thank you," I told her quietly, feeling lost and vulnerable when the strict and suffocating confines that dictated most, if not all, of my interactions had been shattered by her in just a matter of minutes.

"You're welcome... Now go get some sleep, Benjy. You've had a rough go of it. You deserve it, okay?"

That night, last night, was the first decent sleep I have had in a long while. I believe I will be returning to my bed now to try to catch up on the staggering amount of rest that I have missed while enduring the complications of the vexglove. I still dream, and they are still very vivid... but they no longer cause my heart to race and to wake me up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night.

Perhaps everything comes down to perception.

50: Authority

I was excited when I woke up today. I was awakened to the sound of Overcast giving a low "Ow" as he bumped his head on the table in my tiny dining room while cleaning the floor beneath it with a washcloth and a bucket of soapy water. Dawnstar came up the stairs shortly after to ask me to give her my sheets so that they could be washed with the rest. Also, she asked for me to get Abeo off of my bed since she thought she might lack the strength to remove the stubborn young tank herself. Winter Wrap Up day has arrived, and that meant that it was time for me to write my seasonal entry in my journal retelling all of the exploits of Songring.

I could not have been happier to sit down and begin writing, knowing that for once this entry would contain no tales of hardships and was merely going to be recalling how smoothly the rest of the winter happened to go. Even with a few bumps along the way, it would be one of the few seasons I've had in Songring that I get to report on the peaceful life that can be lived here...

... But I've been stuck here for three hours trying to figure out what exactly to write about. No news is good news, I suppose? It's also terribly boring news, but I simply cannot forsake my duty to myself and my journey by not giving my seasonal report here in this journal. Songring has not made much real professional progress to mention: Just the usual smelting, mining, woodcutting, farming, and miscellaneous crafting going on thanks to resources collected by the community. It appears that we are actually becoming quite wealthy thanks to the production of jewelry, as there is little else to do with the few gemstones that are found in the mines while pulling out the galena ore. Aside from this, however, no new mandates, orders, or construction projects have been put in place. Songring is simply proceeding as normal.

Perhaps I shall just default this record to a personal entry then. Now there's quite a bit more to write about that subject.

In that case, I want to start by noting that I got the pleasure of meeting with a friend of mine this season. Well... I met with Sir Bullion, that is, for his winter visit. Can I call him a friend? I think I will, in light of the fact that we seem to both be in good spirits when we see the other one now for more reasons than just the upcoming business transactions. I have become acquainted with the feeling of my lips turning up in a smile when I see the large plume bobbing about atop the familiar purple cavalier's hat, and it does not seem to fail that Bullion's face spreads into a grin when he sees me wander into the depot and through the short aisles of goods he has on display. This visit was no different, as he rushed to me and quickly greeted me with an excited salutation.

There is something about Bullion that I noticed on this visit and I am sure it is the reason I have come to enjoy his winter visits: His disconnection from reality. Some might say his "head is up in the clouds", which may be quite accurate, as he tends to be readily able to laugh and smile with the best of times, but then withdraw and remain lofty even when informed of our greatest misfortunes. Come to think of it, I have never seen him unhappy for more than a few minutes at a time before he finds something new to occupy his mind with that brings him back to high spirits. A good example is when he asked me about my young friend.

"Where is that darling little munchkin you brought with you last time, Mr. Prodder? Hyacinth was her name? I have something of a surprise for her!" Bullion stated to me exuberantly, almost bouncing with excitement while he did his best to not glance over at a slightly dusty box underneath one of the display tables. When I regretfully informed him that Hyacinth and her family had moved back to Stalliongrad to stay with family, his giddy demeanor evaporated. I neglected to inform him exactly of why I had dismissed them, but even the simple version was enough to make him hang his head for a bit and look at the ground. "Oh. Well... Thus is life, I guess. At least she was alright when leaving I take it?" With that, he used his hoof to push the box further beneath the table and try to hide it.

Rolling my eyes, I held out my hand. "She was doing alright. Bullion, if you have something for her, I have already made a promise that I am going to visit her at a later time. I can take whatever it is and deliver it to her for you." Before I could even think about setting my hand back down, he had used the magic from his horn to lift the dusty box again and shove it into my grasp, almost toppling me over with it.

"What a splendid idea, Mr. Prodder! I just know the little darling will love what I brought for her this trip. Thank you, it means quite a bit to me that you'd see to her receiving that package."

"What is it?" I queried, unable to open the box in my hands as it was too heavy to hold up with one arm.

"Books!" I was puzzled when he told me that, but it made more sense later in my office when I went to investigate the peculiar box. He was not lying, it was full of books. Brightly colored covers with charming illustrations on the front, and each one having the same large, bold words at the very top: The Crimson Cavaliers. Dozens of books about these characters filled the box, all of them quite old and wearing a film of dust on them from the conditions they had been kept in; however, a simple brushing with the hand showed them to be very well kept, with barely any wear on the covers and the pages almost entirely intact aside from the occasional notch or small tear at the edges. Glancing over some of the summaries, it seems that the books spanned a large range of intended audiences: Some targeted younger readers with simple sentences and direct plots, while others were more complex: I found at least two novels with more advanced words intended to draw the reader into the extended plight of the Cavaliers and their journeys. One other peculiar thing I noticed is that each book has a different author. Only sequels to other books in the series have the same author, and at that, only sometimes. It does make me wonder if perhaps these characters were more than just a fictitious group of adventurers, and these are perhaps all just retold stories of their true exploits. It's either that, or intellectual property rights were not a well-understood concept in Equestria back then.

Bullion and I also had a chance to share a few drinks in the dining hall, at which time I got to hear more about him. Born into wealth, he has always lived a privileged life. It was a life spent on the road, however, as his father insisted that Bullion join him on his travels at a very young age. This meant that Bullion did not spend his entire life living in a large house in an upscale neighborhood, but instead spent a fair portion of it riding on a bumpy wagon, or sleeping in a quickly prepared tent underneath a starry sky. He lacked a formal education, instead teaching himself from books or the occasional tutor his father hired for him when they were between long journeys. He met his wife Denier in Canterlot, having run into her coming home from his very first journey without his father. Quite literally ran into her. Her nose was fractured when his wagon collided with her while she was chasing after a lipstick container that had fallen out of her saddlebag. While she recovered, he did everything he could to assist her, at the displeasure of her fiancée who did not like him spending so much time in Denier's presence and attending to her every whim. After she had recovered, Bullion discovered her lipstick container in the street and went to return it to her. Her fiancée became enraged when he showed up, however, thinking that he was instead bringing her gifts now too, and challenged him to a duel. Bullion gladly accepted the gentlecolt's challenge for Denier's affection. Having practiced with his rapier as a young colt since he first started reading of the adventures of the Cavaliers, he had little trouble winning the contest and Denier's heart thereafter.

After his fourth glass of strawberry wine, he did have something rather peculiar to tell me amongst his slightly drunken ramblings. "I envy you, Prodder. Quite a bit ahead in store for you! Heh heh heh... Looks like your spring will be spent sprung, if you catch my drift." I did not catch his drift, but he just told me to be prepared for a surprise. It had to do with some sort of special order that one of the settlers had put in for last year. I am a little worried now, but perhaps it’s none of my business anyways. As long as our safety isn't compromised by whatever it is. Spring will be sprung... It sounds like perhaps Machina has something up her sleeve. I'll keep an eye on her just in case.

On the thought of keeping an eye on individuals, I seem to have started losing track of someone recently. I take her for granted quite often, but she's certainly still a helpful part of my life. Someone to simply talk to without worry of judgment (or even response), and is also someone peaceful to have lying around my office and snuggling up at my feet on the bed while I'm trying to get to sleep. Sadly, a recent event involving my companion may mean that Songring will end up with a leash law soon, not to mention I, myself, am still feeling the social backlash from what happened.

Let me begin explaining what I mean by saying it all started on what appeared to be a rather uneventful day in Songring. I had just returned from another visit to Bullion's caravan to take stock of what all the settlers were looking to purchase from him and how much he wanted in return. Seeing as it was time to update a few records in my office to make sure I was keeping track of which objects were meant to go to which individuals, I was walking through the apartment halls with a pencil in hand. I still have not found that pencil again after I dropped it, along with all of my papers that I was using to organize the requests and trade offers. Everything that I was holding fell into a scattered and spread-out mess in the hallway, all because I heard something that shot through my nerves like a bolt. A scream. A female scream resonated through the apartment halls in a sound of terror. With no time to bother gathering up my belongings, I darted towards where I perceived to be the source of the sound.

The only thing I could see as I rounded the corner was Teardrop standing in the hallway, waving me down immediately when I saw her. She looked panicked, but as I sprinted over, there seemed to be nothing wrong with her. Before I could ask her if she was alright, she burst out into a shout. "It's Maple! I-in her room, she just screamed! I don't know what happened! I was just in my room and then I came out when I heard it!" Shuffling around worriedly and looking to me for answers, Teardrop seemed to quickly be losing her nerve.

"Don't worry, I'm on it. Just get Dawnstar and let her know we may have a situation. I'm going in." With that, I motioned for Teardrop to go ahead and get going, while I, myself, leaned against the door and put my ear to it before knocking with a heavy fist. "Maple! Are you okay in there? What's going on?"

"Get off, get off, get off!" I heard in response quickly, bellowed out in dismay as it sounded like someone else must have been in there with her. Without another question, I swung the door open and closed it behind me, glancing inside to figure out exactly who was in her bedroom. My fists were readied and I felt my heart racing, ready to defend her against someone if they were indeed attempting to attack Maple. "Ben! Help!" I heard her scream again, my eyes darting to the bed. As soon as I saw her, however, my shoulders slumped forward in a sigh of relief and frustration. Maple was laying on her back in the bed with a rather large tank calf slung over her. Its head slipped underneath the bed shortly after I spotted the familiar pink, discolored splotch around its eye. Abeo was lying atop Maple and pinning her down.

"... Maple, it's just Abeo. Why is she in your room?"

"Why is she in my room, Ben!? This is your gross lizard, not mine!" she reminded me as she thrust her hooves into the calf's side, but the creature was simply too heavy to push away. Abeo's head remained hidden beneath the bed as she lazily draped over Maple and emitted a deep rumble of contentment.

"Just calm down," I told her, shaking my head and rolling my eyes. "It'll be over with soon enough. I'll see what I can do to get her out of here."

"Just get it off already!" Maple shouted back, still grunting and heaving with panted breaths as she struggled to shove the unwanted visitor off of her. "Do something!"

At first I joined her in her attempt to forcefully remove Abeo from her bed. Even with the combined strength of us both, the tank's stubborn nature made her just claw into the bed more deeply and refuse to let us move her as she gave a muffled squeal of protest. After several minutes of grunting, straining, and gasping after each thrust, I gave up on that pursuit and instead took a different approach. "What exactly is so interesting down there?" I asked, as I looked underneath the bed to get a glimpse of whatever Abeo was up to. At that time, I saw the tank's snout digging deeply into a sleeve of cookies, chewing slowly as she ate them one-by-one like a grazing cow. It seemed that the tank calf was not going to be ready to go anywhere until there was nothing left beneath Maple's bed to eat. I sighed and crawled under the bed to see if I could resolve this more quickly.

"What are you doing down there?" Maple questioned warily as I disappeared from sight.

"Simple, I'm going to eat it out."

"What?!"

"I mean I’m going to out-eat her! If there's nothing left to eat under here, she'll go about her business."

"You're... Hey! That's mine! Don't you dare put your mouth on those!"

"It's the only way, Maple."

"But... Stop! Stop eating that! Ew, ew! With that thing?! Get your face out from down there, Ben!"

"If you want to help, try moving around some! Maybe it'll scare her into getting her head out of there."

"Like how?"

"I don’t know... bounce. Rock. Anything!"

At that point the bed started creaking and thumping as she threw her weight about in an attempt to startle Abeo into moving away, but it only succeeded in bumping my head against the ground and making it more difficult for me to stuff as many of the cookies in my mouth as possible to try to get them out of Abeo's sight. I feared she might snap at my hand for trying to take them, but perhaps if I ate them all, she would simply give up and go away. Not the best plan, but it seemed to be the safest.

"It's still not getting off, Ben! Your stupid, overgrown lizard is just all over the place now! Why can't you get a hoofle on that thing?!"

"I'm trying, it's just too big! Give me a break already!" I shouted back with my mouth full, spitting crumbs everywhere. The cookies seemed endless, and Abeo was not deterred in the least by our little competition. After another moment of futilely trying to outmaneuver the beast, I gave up and made my way from under the bed. “So much for that,” I said, wiping some crumbs away from my mouth. “Got anymore ideas?”

“Try getting on the bed and pushing with your legs.”

“We already tried that, and it already didn't work. What makes you think this time will be any different?”

”Do you have any other ideas Ben? Look, if I keep pushing and throwing my weight around, maybe you using your legs will be enough to get it off this time.”

She was right, I didn’t have another plan. I just really didn’t want to be in the same bed as her. I couldn’t just leave her there though. Well I could, but I wouldn’t hear the end of it if I did.

“…Fine,” I agreed as I took my position on the bed. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

“Okay. On three. One… Two… Three!” On her command, we executed the plan. With our combined efforts of pushing and rocking, we were able to push Abeo off of Maple just enough for her to wriggle out from underneath the calf.

“There. We did it. Happy now?”

“No, it’s still on my bed!”

“…you’re insatiable Maple.”

It would have to be enough, however. Despite her protests, I simply told Maple that I had done all I could and she could just get Abeo to leave once all the cookies had been eaten. While she insisted that I owed her something for Abeo eating her personal stock, I simply told her that we were even for her breaking my squirt bottle and she could now start calling Daggersides names again.

Stepping out of Maple's room alone, as she stayed to make sure Abeo didn't eat anything more important, I walked out to a rather uncomfortable sight. Many eyes were locked on me as I came out of the room, each pair reflecting varying degrees of shock and/or curiosity as they stared me down when I entered the hallway. Half of Songring seemed to have collected just outside the door, and were watching me as though I were a spectacle to behold. "What?" I queried at first, wondering if there was a problem before I looked back to the door and bothered to truly consider the situation from their perspective. "... No. It's not what you think. Really. Stop! Stop laughing, it's not funny!" Thus followed the hours of denial from me as each pony there had to make their own comments about what possible scandalous things had went on behind those closed doors. Some laughed about me not being able to "get it off", others were disgusted and looked down upon me with disapproving stares, and several (Teardrop and Honeysides) were chatting in fascinated tones amongst themselves about the supposed size of the “lizard” in the room.

I still have yet to live it down. At least one comment a day has been made at my expense about what Maple and I were supposedly doing while behind closed doors. It seems some ponies will only believe what they want to believe, for no matter how many times I assert that we were simply trying to get Abeo out of the room, they continue to claim it's just a cover-up for what was really happening.

It even got so bad as to have someone confront me about it personally. I was in my office at the time, trying to loop a collar around Abeo's neck so that I could more easily leash train her to avoid such things from happening again in the future, when my door was kicked in furiously. Either my nerves have become fatigued these days or I am becoming accustomed to having my door smashed in by irate ponies, because I didn't find myself jumping at the loud noise as the door handle ricocheted off of the wall behind it. I merely looked up from the tank calf who continued to roll back and forth on her back irritably as she tried to escape the noose in defiance.

"Yo, I've got a bone to pick with you, Prodder." Willow stamped through my doorway alone, using his back hoof to slam the door shut behind him. He glared at me with his brow set low in anger, as he folded his ears back while methodically grinding his teeth before speaking. "Just who do you think you are? Where do you get off? You can't just swoop in and take my place!"

"What are you talking about?" I asked, standing up and helping Abeo slip back onto her stomach to go bumble her way under my desk and avoid the angry sound of Willow's voice. "I haven't been trying to take your place."

"Don't give me that, you mutant ape!" Willow spat, stepping close to me with what I believed to be the intent to strike me. "Years, dude. Years! I have spent longer than you could imagine trying to be that stallion, and you think just because you're some big-shot coordinator, and ambassador, and big-wig, rich, snotty bastard that you get to take what's mine? You must take me for a joke to think that I wouldn't have something to say about this!"

"Calm down!" I shouted as I backed against my desk and slowly circled around it to put distance between the two of us. "Just tell me what's wrong! I promise, whatever it is, it has been completely unintentional. I'll do what I can to resolve it."

"You can't talk your way out of this one, Wise-guy. You really want to play stupid with me? You mean to tell me you weren't taking what isn't yours? In Maple's room, behind closed doors! You were... You were plowing my mare!" At this point, I put my hand on my face and groaned. It was all the response I could muster at the moment. "Well? How'd she taste?" he asked me as he reached my desk and slammed his front hooves on its surface, leaning forward to stare me down. "Was it worth it? Was it worth the beatdown I'm going to put on you? How good does it feel now!?"

"That didn't happen!" I shouted back at first, before putting my hands on my desk to return his stare indignantly. I could feel my chest beginning to burn with fury at his accusations. "Besides, she's not your mare! What makes you think you have any claim to her?"

"You wouldn't know, would you? You're just fresh on the scene! Just show up at the beginning of this expedition and figure you'll just get off and get out! I've known her since we were in school. I've been the one at her side that whole time, not you! You weren't there!"

"You mean you've just been her toady that whole time, not her friend. That doesn't give you sole ownership of her, Willow! She's a big girl and she can make her own decisions, including who she wants to be intimate with. I don't care how long you've been around her; that doesn't give you any kind of special privilege. In fact, it sounds to me like you were friendzoned if anything."

"I'm more than a friend! What about you? You're just her boss! You just like the feel of that power, I bet. Get off on seeing her beneath you? It tickle your fancy when she gets on her knees for you, you corrupt little fuck? She deserves a lot more than you, no matter how swelled your ego gets from the pats on the head Celestia gives you!"

"Better than me? Are you saying you're that "better than me" she deserves?" I asked as I gripped my desk to keep from jumping across it at him. "Whether or not I even want her is irrelevant, Willow, I'm offended that according to you I failed to measure up to a half-assed, pathetic, spineless, little moron with a jealousy problem! What have you accomplished, Willow? Made a fine bed recently? A great cabinet? A masterwork chair? You're just an easily-replaceable woodcrafter. I run this place. I make decisions that affect every single one of these ponies, and it is in my hands that their lives rest. You want to measure up to me? Go ahead and tell me: Just what do you have up your sleeve that can possibly show me up?" I was beyond any reasoning and far past the ability to be humble or judicial in my statements. All I felt was rage, and at so many things I could not begin to express or identify what they all were.

"You're just a big monkey! Sure, you can wave all these responsibilities, and achievements, and whatever was given to you because you're a privileged child in my face, but it doesn't change the facts! The fact that you're just an ugly, freakish monster! You're not even a stallion in the way you act! I mean, look at this! You still play with little colt's toys!" At that, he snatched the Flip doll off of my desk with his hoof and wagged it in front of me.

I felt my chest tighten, watching him shake the plaything violently in front of me. "Put. That. Down," I told him seriously, not willing to argue with him any further.

"Oh ho ho," he began to chortle as he found a bit of power in his situation, "I have something you want? Isn't this a familiar situation then?" I watched him curl his other hoof around the doll's head, shielding the button eyes and gentle smile from me as he gritted his teeth. "You get how I felt then? How I felt when I was standing outside that door?" He seethed, as he began pulling his curled hooves apart and twisting the colorful captive held between them. I bellowed at him once more to stop, but he merely kept talking past my protests. "As I listened! As I had to hear you two in that room alone! As I stood by while you took what I cared for just for a quick fling! As you stole my love from me!" The last he shouted as he lurched forward at me, overstraining the age-worn material until it could take no more. The sound of Flip's fabric resonated through my office as the cloth gave in to the stress and severed into two pieces... the head and body separated in his grasp as he heaved angrily and watched me with a victorious grin. "Now you get it," he let the words drip from his mouth venomously, watching as I could only stare down in horror at the cotton stuffing leaking from the severed parts of the doll. He threw the pieces to the floor, heedlessly letting his hoof slam down atop the damaged toy.

I witnessed his expression change then. I have trouble remembering exactly what I was thinking in that moment, as it felt more like I was watching myself from afar, completely removed from my own actions. His face still held the proud grin of his achievement, up until I looked back at him. The only thing I heard was the drums that my CCMI blared at me and my heart beating heavily in time with the rhythmic pulse. His demeanor changed quickly. It was not until much later that I recognized the face he had made: The same face that the rat had made back in Ponyville when the door swung open and it saw me staring down at it. A look that showed he quite honestly feared for his life.

Somewhere in the struggle that followed my desk was turned over, and the door to my office was ripped from its hinges. We both exited the building in a rush, too fast for anyone who heard the screams and bellows from the two of us to catch us in time. I remember the sensation of my feet beating against the grass outside, as we both darted towards the Charmedsmile. Willow was heading to the bridge as I followed close behind him, right on his heels. I can't remember if he slowed down or if I was just faster, but I know that I leapt at him and landed on his back. Throwing my weight atop him, I wrestled him to the ground and sent both of us rolling towards the bridge. We stopped, wedged in the sand on the banks of the river directly before the wooden planking. I was still on his back after we came to a halt.

I plunged my hands within the mane on the back of his head and used the grip to repeatedly slam his head against the ground, sending his nose right into the sandy banks. I heard voices around me before too long, but they seemed distant and unimportant as they were drowned out by the low thuds of impact and Willow's own loud squeals for help and pleas for me to stop. Each time he tried to get up, my knee pressed harder into his spine to hold him there and let me continue pummeling him into the sand. "Do you feel like a big man now!? You still proud of yourself!?" I didn't even bother to wait for his answer, grinding his face into the sand after that and continuing to yell in his ear. "Eat it!" I growled at him as I continued to dig his face deeper in the banks. "I'll make sure you eat so much sand you shit glass, Willow!"

I finally came back to myself some as I saw the tears leaking down his face and the blood beginning to pool at his nostrils from the blunt force of his nose striking the unyielding surface. I pulled his head up and heard his chest spasm in what sounded almost like a sob. Willow shook his head to try to wrestle his mane free of my hand, squealing at the feeling of having the hair almost pulled out by my vice grip, then grew still to ask me to please stop and to say that he was sorry. He sniveled as I stared down at him, watching as he was unable to keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time. "You're sorry? Who are you sorry to?" I shouted at him, twisting my hand in his mane tighter.

"You! Benjamen, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Benjamen! You win!"

"Say my name again!" I told him, shaking his head once to try to appease the anger building in me once more, "I want you to remember it! Who are you sorry to? Say my name again!"

"Benjamen Prodder!" He screamed in my grasp, before giving another quiet sob of defeat.

Before I could continue, I felt myself grabbed from behind and teeth grasped at my hands as more than one pony grappled me and started to pull me away. "That's enough!” I heard someone call in my ear. Looking down, I saw the peach-colored fur of Salmon's leg wrapped around my chest as he heaved me away from my victim. Springfield wrenched my hands away with his teeth, almost breaking skin as I refused to let go at first, then pushing them to my chest as I finally released the brutalized carpenter laying on the bank of the river.

"Give it a rest, you've done enough," Springfield barked at me as he spat out my hands and motioned for Salmon to pull me further away. Once I was out of reach of the two of them, Springfield tended to Willow and made sure he was going to be alright, helping him to his hooves and leading him back away from the scene with his face hidden as all of the other ponies stared on at our spectacle.

Salmon put himself under my arm as I gasped for breath, just trying to regain my bearings and fully come back to my senses of where I was at the moment and how I had gotten there. "What the blazes, Prodder?" Salmon asked me, dumbfounded as to why I would assault Willow for seemingly no reason. When I put my arm around his neck and told him what had happened, he patted my shoulder with his hoof to offer a bit of comfort. "Can't say I approve of your tactic... but I can't convict a pony for being blind in the heat of passion." With that, he told me to come with him and get myself cleaned up. He sat me down in the Songring bathhouse to just wait for a bit while I caught my breath and slowly came out of the stupor I had fallen into once my frenzy had abated.

Needless to say, after the true story got around about the cause of the grisly display, all the jeers and speculations about what had happened in Maple's room ceased. I have yet to have another individual poke fun about it or comment on it around me since. Is it respect or fear? I'm not sure, but there's nothing I can do about it now, only try to repair my image in the aftermath.

It was hours later, when the sky started to get dark, that I finally regained my faculties, picked myself up out of the waterfall, and walked back to my office. I was alone at that time, aside from Daggersides who had figured that if I wasn't going to leave, she'd just go ahead and bathe in front of me. I didn't care and neither did she, but it seems she was interested in following along with me until we made it to the apartment halls.

"Just wanted to say you fight good, kid. Don't worry what anypony else tells you. Sometimes you gotta lay down the law in the only way some ponies will understand it. I'll back you up if anypony starts giving you grief over this."

I thanked Daggersides for her encouragement, asking her to then leave me alone so I could take care of some personal business before bed: My office had been left in a mess from my scrap with Willow, I would probably have to find a way to remove Abeo from the wall with how scared she must have been during the argument, and lastly, there was the issue that I was going to have to suffer through finding a way to repair Flip. Things were only slightly better than I expected when I entered my office.

My desk was right-side-up now and Abeo was gone from the room. Flip no longer lay in pieces on the floor, but instead rested on the desk next to something peculiar. Next to Dawnstar.

Wearing one of my own button-up shirts on her torso, with the front unbuttoned to show her belly to me, she lounged on the desk in front of me as I walked through the door. Dawnstar's mane, which I was used to seeing tied up into a bun behind her head to keep it out of the way, was now let down to rest in a cascade of colors around her shoulders. Her tail draped around her legs on my desk, resting in her lap as she kept only her hooves at the end crossed in front of me. "Oh, there you are Benjamen," she commented as she tried to deepen her voice, struggling to maintain a breathy quality about it. "It's so good to see you made it."

"What are you doing?" I asked her humorlessly, shaking my head as I felt my lips purse in disapproval.

"Just waiting up on you," she told me at first, coyly shifting her body so that her legs curled up onto the desk alongside her. Her body soon lounged on its side, with her head held up by a hoof and her elbow propping her up on the desk before me. "You've had a very busy day. Your little scene with Willow had made me wonder if perhaps you were acting out to try to release some stress you might be having. Mr. Prodder, as your assistant, I want to help you in any way I can... so tell me... is there anything I can do to help you?" It was then that she smiled, looking me over as I was still dripping wet from sitting so long underneath the waterfall in the bathhouse.

I pushed past her and grabbed the severed pieces of Flip from the desk. "There are some things you can do: You can take off my shirt, get off my desk, and find me some thread and a needle," I responded simply and coldly, not bothering to offer up a kinder refusal to her rather obvious offer.

"Oh," my intern stated with a bit of a sullen timbre, her ears folding down unhappily. Moments later, she forced herself to smile after taking in a deep breath, and picked up my pen in her horn's grasp while I watched her. She put the cap of it in her mouth gently, running her glance over me again to get a good look as I had stepped into the light of my office. "Are you certain there's nothing else you would want me to do for you, Benjamen?"

"There is one more thing," I began as I looked deeply into her eyes, which sparkled with excitement. They soon held only the faintest glimmer of moisture after I reached my hand out to snatch the pen from her and stuff it in my soaked pocket. "You can get my pen out of your mouth. That isn't yours!" With that, I merely pointed to the door, asked her to leave, and to not come back unless she was delivering thread and a needle. That is when I recovered my shirt from her and went to bed to try to sleep, hoping that the next day would be better.

Willow and I have yet to speak since our scuffle, so I haven't been able to apologize. I honestly get the feeling he might be avoiding me, but I find it hard to blame him. I did go rather over the line in how I handled the situation. I just hope I can repair Flip... but she's torn in a pretty bad spot. I don't know if I can get her to look right again. So much for the promise I made, I guess.

Songring may not have been productive, but it sure was active this winter. Maybe there will be less misunderstanding this spring... however sprung it may be. Bullion's words fill me with dread when I am left to consider what that might possibly mean. No place to go but forward, however, and I will just have to go there bravely.

50+: Letters

Dear Benign,

It was merely curiosity that brought me to ask how things were going. I had never expected such an answer back. I don't see why you can't tell me everything about what happened, but there must be some reason you feel it is so important to be vague with me. Where are you, Ben? Where is Songring located at now? I need to know this because I'm coming out there to meet you. If things are really as bad as you say, I don't want you stuck out there without help. Just give me some directions, and I will get the balloon ready to go.

Your comfort with the concept of bloodshed is making me even more upset when I consider what it must be like out there. You've accepted the idea of violence since you were that little? Who taught you that? I don't know if your words are truly relaying the carnage that might have taken place. For all I know, half of your settlement's been burned to the ground, and you're acting like it was just a mean letter and a burning bag left on your doorstep one morning. I just really want to know that you're safe.

As you requested, I did my best to not mention the specifics of your letter to anypony here. I
must not be very good at hiding things though, because each of our friends grew concerned and tried to pressure me into telling them what was wrong. I wouldn't lie, so I just had to inform them that you asked me not to say how things were going. Rainbow Dash would not let me get away with that, so I had to tell her. She, along with everypony else, is wondering if you're going to be okay. They want you to come back too after hearing how it is out there. In reference to your wanting to use the word “home” when referring to Ponyville, it isn’t too silly given the circumstances.

If all I can do is help ease your mind for a while though, so be it. Things are going fairly well here
in Ponyville; however, we've had a few problems with dragons and insects recently. Creatures
both big and small wish to be problematic this year. What can we do though? Life is always
going to have its ups and downs. At least the worst of our problems amount to only reptiles and
bugs. A few birthdays are right around the corner, including the one Pinkie says she's going to
count as yours. She wants to know if you've been using that booklet she gave you, and if you by chance want her to send along a slice of cake for you out there in Songring. The crusaders also came around asking where you had gone. I think they were painfully bored one day and thought that maybe if you were here you could have assuaged that for them. They asked a lot of questions that I couldn't answer for them: What does Songring look like now? Is it like Ponyville with houses and shops yet? I'd appreciate some sort of image to weave for them next time they come asking, and I'm sure giving them a personal message from you would really make their day.

Don't be scared Ben. If you will just say the word, I'll be there as soon as I can. I promise.

Anticipatingly Yours,
Twilight Sparkle

Dear Dusk Twinkle,

I just got around to reading your letter since the caravan is about to leave and I wanted to make
sure my reply was in the courier's possession by the time they ship off tomorrow. I have been
rather busy since this letter arrived, albeit that I have just been spending the better part of my day haggling prices, sitting in the shower with a chubby mercenary, and pounding one of the settlers' faces into the bank of the river in fit of unbridled rage. Needless to say, I'm glad I found a free moment to write to you.

I am afraid that I will withhold the information as to where we are located for the sole purpose of
thwarting your attempt to come and see me. As wonderful as such sounds, I just cannot bring
myself to both waste your time, and risk your health with such a venture. The trip could take a
long time by balloon, and I don't think that if everything were to hit the fan at once I would want
you here to see it. I understand that you worry quite a bit if I am abbreviating the situation just to
appease you, but it's getting to the point that you're just not trusting me. Try not to concern
yourself so much, alright? I am not alone out here: I have a lot of tough ponies here to help take
care of me, and we seem to have made it through the worst of the attacks. We have everything
under control here, so no need to inconvenience yourself by trekking out this far.

I suppose some things just cannot be kept secret. I can trust that you did not wear a gloomy or
severe expression while you were trying to inform everyone of how I was? That might have been your dead giveaway and why they were pressuring you. I get the feeling that lying is not really an art form around these parts though, so I will not hold it against you that Rainbow must have practically tortured the information out of you. Just try to ease their minds with the knowledge that the situation has improved, even if some of the settlers are becoming more and more of a pain to deal with each day. It is just personal problems now instead of safety issues.

Tell Pinkie that the cake she'd send would get intercepted long before it got to me. She should
not be concerned about it, however, as we have a very talented chef here with us. Julienne
Spice has been single-handedly (hoofedly?) preparing the entire settlement's food each day
since before we left the shore of the Light Waters. We are certainly not without good food to
keep us in high spirits here. Please pass this information along to Pinkie as well if that is part of
her concern.

As for what you can tell the Crusaders about where I am, I'm afraid that Songring looks nothing
like Ponyville. In fact, we only have four structures erected that I know of: A large, two-story,
dining hall; a bathhouse, which is simply a large walled-off waterfall; the wall that keeps
Springfield's farm out of reach of the tanks; and lastly, the top room of my office on the
mountainside. Well, that and a depot that I rarely remember because I only had it constructed to
placate our troublesome caravan owner. There is hardly anything like Ponyville, considering the
housing is in the form of small apartments that have been carved within a corridor inside the
mountain. It's a little cavernous when wandering the stone halls, but certainly cozy. We are
located in a forested valley with mountains on every side of us, the smallest being located to our
south. Through the middle of the valley runs a river called the Charmedsmile, separating the
valley in two. All of our constructions are currently located on the northern partition of the valley,
but perhaps the idea of striving to make this place appear more hospitable like Ponyville will push
me to begin some expansion on the southern side. Maybe now is a good time to help these
settlers finally move out of their little rooms in the mountainside?

As for a personal message for the crusaders, all I can say is that even the most tiring of days
here is still less exhausting than one afternoon with them. Okay, no, for something serious to tell
them, let them know that I think I know a few things for them to try that might help them find their
talents. I've learned quite a bit myself, and if they're interested, I have plenty of stories of the
frontier to share with them when I get back. Perhaps that'll get their spirits up a bit, or they'll just
blow it off as children are wont to do. Either is possible.

Survivably Yours,
Benjamen Prodder

51: Hearts and Hooves

I'm beginning to wonder just how many holidays this culture observes. This spring has brought a new one to my attention that I had not heard of before, now that Songring is successful enough to warrant such luxuries as annual celebrations. Added to the list that I currently know of, which consists of the Summer Sun Festival, Winter Wrap Up (and their New Years the day after), and Hearth's Warming Eve, is this newest one: Hearts and Hooves day. I am sure that this is a very incomplete list of all the actual observed holidays, but as the list continues to grow, I find myself wondering how these ponies keep up with all of them. This is even more impressive when I consider that their year is half as long as a Terriel year, which means that they are trying to cram in this many holidays on an even smaller calendar. I can see how that would be great to keep an economy moving, as celebration leads to spending, but some of them just start to seem asinine after a while. Back in Keycrescents, we celebrated only birthdays, New Year's, and there was always a week-long celebration of hedonism in the spring (Each religion calls it something different, but most of us just like to call it Spring Break for simplicity). Needless to say, this is all a bit of a culture shock to me.

Hearts and Hooves Day would be one of those that I might consider asinine amongst the celebrations they have here. I don't know what story is cited to defend its existence, but speculation on my part just leads me to believe that it is a civilized way of recognizing the coming of spring and the usual mating patterns of mammals to conceive offspring during this time of year. Whereas I would use the term mating to describe quite a bit of the intent of this holiday, the ponies are more insistent on using the term love to describe the main premise of it. Some of the settlers called me heartless when I informed them that I did not see why love should get its own holiday. It even led to me having an argument with someone over it. (I considered it just a conversation, but they got upset with me, so I suppose it was an argument.)

"Happy Hearts and Hooves day, Mr. Prodder!" Blueprint said as she approached me in the dining hall, my back turned to the door as I sat at the bar and waited for Absinthe to finish tending to the other patrons so we could resume our chat.

"Sure," I told her, uncomfortable with the salutation due to me lacking hooves and having been informed that I may not even have a heart in the opinion of some ponies.

"What's wrong? Aren't you excited? Love is in the air, Mr. Prodder! It's that time of year!"

"Songring is going to have a busy night, that's for sure. I don't know if I'd call what's in the air love though. More like perfume, cologne, and pheromones."

"Oh come on, don't be this way. Isn't there somepony special you want to let know how much you care for today?"

"Not really, and if there was, why would I have to do it today? Why can't I do it any other day?"

"No reason to be a fuddy-duddy, sir," Blueprint reprimanded me, unamused with my rather dry responses. "Love is a magical thing! It's something mystical, and wonderful, and worth everypony's attention at least once a year. I think you need this holiday more than anypony else: It's about discovering what love really is!"

"I certainly do not need this holiday, Blueprint. I don't have somepony, end of story. Not to mention, it's not about love, it's about furthering the species as far as I can tell. A way to make something that might normally be taboo or frowned upon acceptable for a single day. Civilization adapting to basic biological demands."

"That's not true!" she raised her voice at me, offended by my insinuation of this holiday only being about procreation. "Just look around, Mr. Prodder! Everypony is going to be opening their heart today and just looking for that special somepony to share their day with! It's not about that!"

At that time I took her suggestion and looked around, stopping my sights on one couple and using my finger to point them out to Blueprint. Rabbitfoot, our leatherworker, and Foxtail, one of our gatherers, were pressing their noses together affectionately as they kept their voices quiet, and soon after rose from their seats to head towards the exit of the dining hall. "You're right, Blueprint. They're certainly not about to go back to a dark, secluded room and have carnal relations. That's just silly." I almost felt the need to wipe my mouth from the sarcasm that must have dripped off of my lips then.

"That's something you do with somepony you love!" she informed me indignantly, stamping her hoof on the bar to try to gather my attention.

"So you loved Inutile?"

Our conversation ended rather abruptly. Blueprint spent the next few minutes biting her lip and pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, before finally calling me heartless and stating that perhaps I am just a monster after all. After that she simply turned and went away, clear evidence for me that these ponies can be rather defensive of their simplified views on love and relationships, as well as their celebrations, so I might do best to merely keep my observations to myself.

What would a holiday about love be without troubles? Looking at Songring's roster, I can already tell you that quite a few mares would be going to bed disappointed that night, as the count of male ponies that are not too old, too dysfunctional, or too homosexual to engage with them is very small compared to the number of females within the settlement. Unless they find their comfort in the embrace of another mare (which I have learned is the case with Tye Dye and Bunsen), they will be alone on Hearts and Hooves day. A surprise note, however, about one specific stallion that I would have listed under the dysfunctional label:

Overcast.

"Mr. Benjamen Prodder?" He called upon me the day before the holiday in question, catching me at my desk as I was beginning to read over one of the novels I found in Bullion's box of books. "Oh, I didn't realize you were busy immersing yourself in fiction. I'll come back later then." As he went to turn and leave, I called him back and let him know it was alright. "Okay. I just wanted to ask you for some advice is all, if you have the time for it."

"I'll certainly do what I can. What's on your mind, Overcast?"

"Tomorrow is Hearts and Hooves day, and-"

"Pardon?" That is when Overcast was the first to explain to me what the holiday was about. His explanation derailed at the end as he informed me of just how many times he had spent this holiday without a special somepony, and how he expected it to stay that way this year and each year after it too. "Sorry to interrupt you, but you wanted advice?"

"Yes I did, Mr. Benjamen Prodder. I wanted to ask you how to get somepony to love me."

Scratching at the hair on my face from having been without a proper shave in... ever, I simply could not answer him at first. "What makes you ask me about this? I'm not really an expert on this kind of thing."

"Lots of ponies like you though, Mr. Benjamen Prodder. I was wondering if you could tell me your secret."

"I'm sure it's not that many, Overcast."

"Maple likes you."

"I could have figured that much."

"Stone Silence likes you alot too."

"Something told me that was so."

"Dawnstar is really fond of you."

"I was afraid that might be the case. Will need to nip that in the bud."

"Honeysides is interested."

"Can't say I share the feeling."

"That mentally-challenged pegasus that visited you was really into you."

"I don't even know her name, Overcast, but I call her Sugarlump. Also, I don't know if she's mentally challenged, just... cross-eyed."

"Daggersides mentioned how she'd like to see you bent backwards underneath her."

"Oh wow. That's... I honestly don't know how to respond to that, except for that I think I'll pass."

"Teardrop keeps talking about how pretty you are, especially when you're not wearing those clothes."

"Okay, let's stop talking about this. I get it, Overcast."

"Absinthe wants you too."

"Now that's just a misconception. She's flirty because it assists in her profession: Ponies are obviously more likely to make purchases from someone pretty that they believe might like them. It's nothing personal with me."

"Her talking about how good you taste and what she would do with you if you were just a couple of centuries older helps her profession, Mr. Benjamen Prodder?"

At this point I just sat at my desk with my mouth agape, staring at Overcast as he drearily began rocking from side to side to await my response. "How... how do you even know all of this?" I finally asked.

"Nopony pays attention to me, Mr. Benjamen Prodder. When I show up, they just keep talking like I'm not even there. I hear alot of stuff because of it."

"Just... who is it? Who do you want to get to like you, Overcast? I'll do what I can." I was left to rub my face in mild irritation then, as it was the only thing I could conjure up to work past how stupefied I was.

"... I love Teardrop, Mr. Benjamen Prodder." He got very quiet, kicking idly at the wave engravings on the floor. The fact that the skin of his nose got darker and it looked as though he might be heaving for breaths made me wonder if he was embarrassed to have admitted that to me. When he still refused to look up, I strolled around my desk and put my hand on his neck for comfort. "She just doesn't realize it. I want to let her know, but I'm afraid that she's not going to hear me... or maybe not care."

"We'll let her know, don't worry,” I told him, patting his mane to try to assure him that I was going to be there for him. "I can't make any promises about what she'll say or how she'll feel, but I can help you let her know." Big claims to make, considering I myself am not the romantic type.

I was left with the question of how one expresses such feelings to another. Are there customs here that I don't know of? Do I even know the customs back on Terriel regarding this subject? My experience with such things is painfully limited, so as much as I wanted to help Overcast, I was at a loss of what to tell him. What did I do the last time there was something beyond my experience?

Consult the journal.

Maple and Silence had both been trying to express some similar sentiments towards me as Overcast was so eager to mention, and I had recorded a few of their attempts in my journal. Silence had brought me wine and candles. Maple brought me candy and whiskey. Those all seemed reliable ways to garner affection from someone: Candles set a peaceful atmosphere, wine and whiskey can act as a social lubricant to allow one to say how they really feel without being inhibited by insecurities, and candy is just something small and nice to give to someone to make them smile. Looking back further, Sugarlump had once made a comment on the subject as well: About love notes being written on pink paper. Bullion had mentioned to me that he met his wife by hitting her with his wagon and helping her to recover. Taking a much less dangerous approach, I will surmise that merely being willing to do acts of generosity for the individual to show them you care will suffice. Which ones would be most useful to us though?

We decided to just use them all. Better safe than sorry, right?

The collection of supplies for our little plan took longer than we had hoped. Making candles from beeswax is a troublesome venture; trying to find candy around this place was a challenge (luckily Julienne was willing enough to make us some chocolate-covered strawberries, which I thought would suffice well enough); we could not find any paper that was pink, so we had to steal some of Teardrop's own paint to color the paper ourselves; and we then had to figure out how to mix more paint to give back to Teardrop to do a kind deed and make up for the paint we used to make her card. The last object on our list was the drink to be had on that evening, and it would also be one of the most problematic to obtain due to the nosy nature of a certain bartender among us.

Two guys can't come into a bar and ask for a bottle of the most romantic wine without being drilled with questions it seems. Looking us over with scrutiny, Absinthe coyly retrieved a dark green-glass bottle for us and set it up on the counter, refusing to let go of it at first. "Whose it for?" She prodded with odd glances between the two of us. Even as we told her that it was a secret, she would not loosen her magical grip on the bottle, stating that we would have to tell her first.

"You know this isn't any of your business, Absinthe," I informed her, as I still tried to yank the bottle out of midair. It seems her magic is much more powerful than me.

"I can make it my business. Come on, Sweets, humor me. Who’s the special somepony? Is it maybe for you two?"

"No!” I spouted back quickly, with the bottle in my grasp and suspending me in the air as I put my feet against the side of the bar and pushed off of it to give me more strength. I still could not get the damn thing to budge from her grasp. "I'm not going to tell you either, so just give this to me and we'll be on our way."

"It'd be faster if you just told me," she playfully mocked.

"This is now a matter of principle," I informed her.

"What about you?" Absinthe asked as she looked to Overcast, beginning to ignore me as I refused to give up on wrenching the bottle away. "Will you tell me just who the certain somepony is that this is intended for? You can trust me."

"I'm getting it for Teardrop, Ms. Absinthe. I really want to be her special somepony tomorrow, and Mr. Benjamen Prodder said that this might make her like me more." Overcast turned his face down again, his nose turning dark as the blood rushed to his face in a kind of blush.

"Oh... how adorable," Absinthe cooed quietly to him as she motioned for him to get closer so she could use a gentler tone. "You know you don't need this though, right? I'd say go ahead and take it just because it's a nice gesture, but it's not going to make her like you. It's up to you for that."

"Then I'm pretty much doomed," Overcast admitted quietly.

"No need to say that," the alicorn encouraged, "I think you have plenty of chance. All you need is to get her to notice you."

"Then I'm pretty much doomed," Overcast repeated.

"Stop that, silly. It's not too hard to do at all. You want to know what would really get her attention?" Smiling at him as he dejectedly asked her how, she motioned to the door and finally let the bottle rest in my hands, which sent me to the floor with a thud. "Take your gifts to her tonight instead of tomorrow."

"Why would I do that? Tomorrow is Hearts and Hooves day, not today."

"Do you think you'll feel different about her tomorrow than today?"

"No, I'll still love her, Ms. Absinthe."

"Then no reason to wait. Tell her she's special enough to you that you couldn't wait any longer. That should give you the chance you need."

With a small "Okay" under his breath, Overcast left with me at his side to go get ready to make his statement as soon as possible.

As he had quite a bit of preparation to do, I did not want to distract him and set off back to my own office, having given him all the advice and help that I thought I could. He instead made an interesting request before I managed to escape, however. "Mr. Benjamen Prodder? Will you please come with me when I tell Teardrop?"

"I can't very well tell her this for you, Overcast. You'll have to be the one to let her know."

"I know. I just... I'm nervous, and I want somepony else there in case I can't do it."

As reluctant as I was to heed his request, I told him that I would meet him outside Teardrop's room that night, and that he could simply wait there for me when he was ready. I left to go make preparations as a plan hatched in my head. There were ways that I could still help, I figured, as questionable as they may be.

It was a unique sight to behold as I strolled down the hallway that evening with a metal rod in my gloved hand, stopping as I came upon the sight of an overburdened Overcast. He was wearing a harness that he had put on just to carry all of the objects, with lit candles secured to a hat on his head, a box of chocolate-covered strawberries suspended from his neck by a thin rope, and a pink letter grasped in his mouth. The harness held glasses from the dining hall on one side and the bottle of wine on the other side, looking as though they might be sheathed weapons for him to use in his crusade for affection. There was a small smile on his lips when he saw me walking towards him, but it seemed to quickly fade and his eyes got wide when he saw what I carried with me. "What is that thing, Mr. Benjamen Prodder?" he asked as the note dropped from his lips.

"Incentive," I told him, lifting the metal rod up to get a better look at it: A long-shafted tool made of dark lead with a raised design engraved into a circular flat head at one end. This end burned a blindingly bright orange, smoke still rising off of it as it has just been pulled out of the furnace, and the words that were detailed into the circular design were illuminated in the dim candlelight of the hallway. "Like it? I finally found a use for some of that damn lead we have piling up. I had Smoke Stack go ahead and hammer it out for me, with a little help from Boiling Point to mold the end." When he still looked at it confusedly, I held the end to him so he could see the smoking orange letters that displayed in capital print: BEN'S BITCH. "This is a branding iron. Simply, I'm going to start pushing this towards your rump as soon as Teardrop opens that door."

"I'm not comfortable with this anymore," Overcast informed me as he slowly shifted away from the bright metal rod.

"Good, then that means its working. Just tell her how you feel, and I'll set it down. The longer you refuse to tell her, the more I'm going to press. You certainly don't want to get branded, do you?"

"I really don't want to be branded your bitch, Mr. Benjamen Prodder."

"Perfect, then you know what you have to do." At that, I tapped the brand against Teardrop's door in a series of three knocks, putting one hand behind my back as I stood at attention and readied the branding iron.

Yawning quietly as the door opened, the azure artist peeked out from the doorway with sleep still in her eyes as we had woken her up. It was surprising to me to see her perk up so quickly at the sight of us. "Mr. Overseer? Overcast? What are you two doing?"

"Clock starts now," I reminded him.

"Uhm..." Overcast began, biting his lip as he looked into her eyes and did his best to shift his head so the candles on his hat would not fall. "I just... I wanted to tell you something."

"I think there's a lot for you to say," Teardrop commented, still watching me slowly push the branding iron closer to Overcast's flank. "And what is he doing here?"

"He's just cheering me on- ow. Ow. Ow." It seemed that the brand was getting close, and more smoke started to rise up as his fur was starting to heat up from it. I did not know if he would be able to do it, but when I gave a short jab with the brand to urge him on, he gave a gasp and started prattling off like I had hit his fast-forward button. "I just wanted to say that I think about you all the time, and that I love you Teardrop, and I'm doing all of this so you'll notice me! That's why I brought candy, and candles, and wine, and Mr. Benjamen Prodder with me to make sure that I did this right, and I did it tonight instead of tomorrow to let you know that you're special to me on every day other than just Hearts and Hooves day too! OW, that's really hot, Mr. Benjamen Prodder! Please stop!"

As promised, I pulled the brand away and looked to Teardrop, eagerly awaiting the results.

The small pony was shocked at what she heard, flicking her ears as she tried to understand all that he had just barraged her with. The large eyes beneath her wavy pearl and blue mane stared into his own worried golden ones as she exited her room to get closer to him. "I... I didn't know..." She said at first, close enough that soon their noses touched in the dim light around us.

"Maybe now that you're sure that Onyx Culet can't be your special somepony... maybe I can? Would that be okay with you, Teardrop?"

It's been a while since I've seen her smile like that. Staring deeply at him, I watched as she used a hoof to knock the silly hat off of his head and let the candles tumble to the floor. Doing her best to mask a bit of moisture building at the corners of her eyes from his sweet words, she nodded to him and pressed closer, reaching up her hooves to embrace his neck warmly and tell him that she would really like to have him as her special somepony tonight, and for Hearts and Hooves day this year.

It was then that I happily took my leave back to my office, left with a warm heart and a small smile as I hoped that perhaps they both would find a little happiness.

I wish I could end this entry on such a bright and touching note, but I cannot neglect to also include my own holiday woes... and the trials of others close to me because of it.

On Hearts and Hooves day, I spent my whole day speaking with Absinthe at the bar, though I did not drink anything aside from some juice and water. I simply wished to use her as a barrier from needing to speak to anyone else. Being forced to witness the few couples of Songring snuggling, and worse yet the others sitting around dejectedly without a partner to share it with, I just kind of wished to drown out the day and try to forget about it. Nothing good could come of that day for me, I figured, so it was best spent just chatting idly with a bartender who thought I was too immature for her anyways. The only real interruption I had was Blueprint's little spat with me, up until Salmon came in and sat at the bar next to me with a strange set to his brow. He looked confused, reaching up often to brush his head with his hoof and scratch his ears in thought while he sat silently next to me. Resolving that he would never get around to actually telling me what was on his mind, I bothered to ask him what had him so uptight today.

"Well... there's a peculiar situation in your office."

"My office?" I asked with a quirked brow. "What do you mean? Is Abeo causing an issue of some sort?"

"Well.... I didn't stick around for too long, but I heard a rather loud argument coming from there about husky thighs and flat asses. Cap'n, perhaps you should go have a look into this? I'm afraid that I may not be equipped to disarm this kind of situation."

I just had to know what was happening then, shaking my head as I told him to come with me in case I needed an extra pair of hooves to help hold someone down while the feud was diffused.

I have heard most sides of the story now, and have been able to piece together what I believe to be what actually took place while I was wasting my day away in the dining hall.

At high noon, Maple finally stirred from her quarters after having slept off as much of her hangover as she could. The whole morning had passed, and it was already halfway through the day before she was ready to head out and finally take her chances. That day was going to be the day: The day that she finally was going to inform the coordinator, a.k.a. me, of how she truly felt. She thought perhaps she could help me... maybe that would be the night that I would finally just let go of whatever it was that made me shy away from her and she could ask me to join her for an evening of fun, comfort and bliss.

From Bullion's caravan, she had bought something special just for the occasion. A set of four silk lace stockings with two-toned deep copper and midnight black hues, as well as a sleek yet simple black undergarment to wear snugly around her flank to add decoration and provide the comfort of modesty for her intended audience. Instead of just throwing it into her usual ponytail, she had taken extra effort to braid her mane and tail, placing the occasional flower in the large plaits to add more color to her yellow and green interlocked tresses. Perhaps half an hour was spent just looking into her small mirror that was propped up on a crate, sifting half-heartedly through some of the make-up that she was unsure how to properly use, afraid to mess up and make herself just look stupid in her ignorance of how to work the magic of cosmetics. Satisfied with just a bit of lipstick and some mascara to highlight her lashes, she set off happily into the halls to go find me. Knowing how I like to recluse myself in my office, she was certain she could find me there.

"... And just what are you doing here?" Maple asked with a sour tone as the door swung open at her knock to reveal something that immediately put a foul taste into her mouth. She found that she was already second place in a race she did not know she was running, as beyond the door was another contender with her mane draped over her shoulders, lounging comfortably on the desk with an inviting smile.

Silence had already been in my office for quite a while by the time Maple entered. Her ivory pelted body was sprawled out across my desk as she waited for me to come back and find her: Ready to give me a special gift to ensure that I had a very memorable Hearts and Hooves day this year. Around her shoulders she wore an unbuttoned, sleeved vest of soft and supple faux-leather, and around her back haunches and legs hugged a pair of chaps that presented a tantalizing view of her bare flank and a very thin, revealing, pastel blue undergarment beneath it. When her sights fell on the cardinal pelt of an angry pegasus instead of the familiar rusty-colored hair of her love interest, Silence rose with a start from my desk to breathlessly broadcast, "Maple? You're not supposed to be here!"

"I could say the same thing about you," Maple sneered, looking over the clothing on the unicorn and curling her lips back unhappily. "Looks like you had some special plans for tonight, Mouse. Don't suppose they involved me dropping in and catching you, did they?"

"You're one to talk. Trussed up with stockings and a thong like a tramp? As much as I want to believe you came here for the same reason I did, you look more like you're dressed to bring me a drink and grind on a pole than to spend the evening with somepony you care about." Silence huffed in response to Maple's attire as she projected her thoughts, leaning back on the desk and folding her front legs before her gracefully with a determined and unwavering stare.

Strolling around the desk and shaking her head with a dismissive wave of one hoof, Maple went around to my chair and pulled it out from behind the desk to contemplate how she might best sit in it to catch my attention. "Just get out of here and go take those stupid clothes off, Mouse. You're just wasting both of our time and my breath. You're going to make a fool out of yourself if Ben shows up and sees you in that. And for the record: Assless chaps only look good on somepony who actually has an ass." The pegasus’ jade hues flashed as she shot a challenging glare at the quiet miner, one hoof still resting in the chair as she waited for the other to leave.

Shocked at hearing such a terrible insult spat at her from across the desk, the unicorn quickly lost measure of her conduct, her horn glowing brightly as indignation welled in her. A magic surge began to take place, and what was originally a simple sharing of her thoughts with the pegasus became a projection of her mind's words into the air around her that echoed through the room. "I look just fine! Maybe you should go back and check in a mirror before you open your trap: I'm not the one whose husky thighs are threatening to bust the seams of her stockings. I'm surprised you could even get those things on!"

"What did you say to me?" There was a moment when Maple could not believe what she had just heard, staring back over the desk with a fiery blaze in her eyes. "These thighs could break your neck, little filly, and that's nothing to be ashamed of. You can just cram it! I mean, what do you even have to bring to the table? A little hocus pocus and a broken voice box? Real impressive right there."

"At least I can also bring in the fact that I'm actually shaped like a mare."

"Hah! Shape? Straight and flat, just like a line. Might as well be a cartoon character or something. You'd have the same sex appeal either way. I'm the one here who actually has a shape, Mouse."

"Like a bull if anything. Glad you're able to be living proof that having a shape doesn't mean it's a good one. Also that bigger isn't always better."

Slamming her hoof to the desk, Maple gritted her teeth at the accusation and flared her wings out in an intimidating spread. "You're calling me masculine? Look who’s talking you little mutant! What's your most impressive feature? A friggin' horn! Sorry Mouse, but unlike some of these other stallions, Ben doesn't swing that way. He's not going to be impressed with how long, hard, and phallic your little head growth is!"

"I can't believe I'm arguing with a featherbrain. Make fun of how I look all you want, Maple, but let me remind you about who Ben actually is: He's smarter than that. He's smarter than you, Maple, and smarter than to get tricked by what little you actually have to offer." Silence rose up to the desk as well, glowering powerfully back with her gaze locked on Maple's eyes.

"Little!?" With that, Maple whipped her body around, slamming her side into the desk to send it toppling over and making Silence stumble to try to catch her footing. Maple brandished her muscular, taut backside and stood erect before slamming the ground with a hoof powerfully enough that she left a small dent in the stone floor. "I've got alot more on me to offer than you! You can't measure up to what I'm sporting over here!"

"And beyond that, then what? You know Abeo has alot of muscles and alot of meat on her too, but then he'd still just be talking to a dumb animal after it was all said and done. I have a feeling that you wouldn't be too different." Silence responded angrily, using her magic to lift the desk back up and set it upright, slamming it into Maple's side to push her back in return.

"I'm not a tank, you mute bitch!" Maple erupted as she stood as well, grabbing the chair in her grasp furiously at the taunt.

"Might as well be since all you've got are muscles. If only you had a brain, right? Maybe then you would be worth more than a quick, cheap fuck."

The wood of the chair splintered and clattered as it was hurled across the room with a roar, only to be slammed to the ground and smashed into a pile of wooden refuse by Silence's magic as she deflected it. "How can you even say that!?" Maple bellowed, struggling to find a comeback. "You can't even talk! He'd get the same pillow talk from a boulder!"

The desk screeched as it moved across the ground again, pushing closer to Maple as it was used to start bumping her back and closer to the far wall of my office. "Even without a voice, my words mean more than yours ever will. You're nothing but a waste of too-much-air to feed your windbag nature and too-much-space to make room for your fat ass!" As Maple growled back, Silence closed her eyelids to a mere slit as she mentally spat another jeer. "Oh, sorry, I meant burly ass. That just sounds so much more appealing, right?"

The door swung open with a small creak, drawing their attention away from the fray and each other. I was standing in the doorway then, surveying my office to take note of the damage being caused within. A chair smashed to pieces on the floor, my desk warped, papers everywhere, and my floor dented and cracked where it had been struck with what I might consider herculean force. Two provocatively clad mares looked back at me with wide eyes while I calmly observed them and the results of their scuffle. My hands ran for cover behind my back as I tried to conjure up any words at all for them.

Maple was not done, however. With Silence distracted by my presence, Maple bucked the desk out of her way and leapt through the small office. With a crash, she collided with Silence, throwing her whole weight into tackle that sent them both rolling across the stone floor. As each one grunted and fought, the victor rose up and pinned the other beneath her to the floor. The pegasus held the unicorn in place under her, staring menacingly down with her teeth bared. "Take that back! I'm not just some cheap fuck! You take it back!" Her enraged words reverberated as I shut the door to hide this scene for everyone's sake.

Before I could raise my voice in protest of her assault, Silence's words barked back in a rumbling response around us. "I hit a nerve, huh? Makes sense now. I guess I can see why that really hits home, now doesn't it?"

Without another word, Maple's hoof rose into the air above her prone victim, ready to bring it down in a vicious strike to end the taunts.

I could not watch her do it. "Stop!" I shouted to them both, too far away to make it in time to grasp her hoof and hold her back. "Both of you! Just stop! Get off of her and act like you both have some sort of damn sense!" I erupted once more, fists tightened as I feared watching the brutal strike of the heavy hoof against Silence and the stony floor.

Maple paused at my words, seething with rage as she stared down at Silence's own fierce and determined glare. "She's not worth your pity, Ben. Let me do this! Let me put her in her place!" The pegasus looked to me pleadingly, heaving for breaths as she eased her grip and began to back away from Silence as I had commanded. "If she wants to pick a fight, then let me give it to her!"

"I'll have neither of you injured," I demanded, folding my arms in front of me as I did my best to ignore the choking tension that hung in the room. "If you have a problem, start talking. I'm not okay with seeing either of you sent to the infirmary due to an acute case of stupidity."

Standing back up, Silence slowly dusted herself off with a stern set to her brow. "I'm glad you got to see this, Ben. It gives you a perfect example of what I mean when I tell you that Mapleleaf here is just a bully. What choice does she have though? Violence is the last resort of the intellectually, artistically, and morally challenged."

"Hey! I have a right to get pissed off when somepony is coming around here trying to take advantage of somepony I care about! Worse yet, she insults me when she certainly doesn't have anything to back it up with! I don't know when you got it in your head that you were going to make moves on him, Mouse, but he doesn't need your kind of help. I'm the one he actually cares for." Maple restrained herself to just grinding her teeth and holding her ground, looking between Silence and I as she spoke.

"You? All he's done, at most, was give you another hit of booze and a pat on the head. He's put his life on the line for me, Maple... I mean enough to him that he risked danger to save me. When has he done that for you? I don't see where you get this idea that he holds that kind of affection towards you."

"Because I don't put myself in danger like that! If anything, I've saved him! I ripped a piper's neck out to keep him from getting hurt! What have you done? Found some lead and tried to poison him and everypony else. Even if he did feel for you, I doubt you could show him that kind of care back."

"This is about me?" I asked exasperatedly, rubbing my face as I just wished for it to be over with already. I knew something like this was going to happen eventually... I had just hoped I was wrong. Sadly, it just seems I was right once again.

"It is," Silence responded to me, her tone becoming gentler when she regarded me instead of her adversary. "Ben, I think it's time you had a chat with Maple and let her know what's really going on."

"Stop it!" Maple responded with her voice still raised, "You don't know who he's chosen!"

"I know he wouldn't pick some drunken, empty-headed pegasus with an attitude problem."

"Ben, don't listen to her! She's just a filthy little mole that spends her time burrowing holes in the dirt!"

"She's just a brute, Ben! Immature and bawdy, like some schoolyard bully!"

"She's mute! She can't even freaking talk! You can't want to have to have her speak at your brain every time she has something to say to you."

"You're both horses!" I finally shouted back, clenching my fists as I grew livid at their arguments. "I've had just about enough of this foolishness! You both need to cut it out! I'm not going to choose, and that's final."

"Is it because you're just too good to hurt her feelings, Ben? If that's the case, let me do it for you. I'll break her fragile little heart for you. Just say my name and I'll take care of the rest," Maple told me, heaving for breaths as her visage softened to something resembling a plea.

"She's right, no reason to spare her feelings," Silence agreed, before lowering her nose and smoldering under her breath with her brow pinched in a scowl at Maple. "... She's just a whore anyways. Who cares about what she feels?"

"I said that's enough, Silence! That's completely uncalled for," I rebuked her.

"I'm not just spitting names, Ben. I mean that she's a whore." There was a grim, dreadful tone to her thoughts as they continued to whisper around us, Silence looking up at me with a stern stare.

Maple's mouth hung open; her breath taken away as she was at a loss for words. When I looked at her, I saw her legs begin to tremble, I saw her breaths halt, I saw her eyes widen: I saw fear. "You... you shut up, Silence! Just shut up!" she screamed back.

"You weren't going to tell him?" The unicorn shot a terrible glance at the pegasus as she continued her questions. "So you're both a whore and a liar now? You were just going to hide something like this from him? How long? How long did you plan to string him along before you finally told him?" Shaking her head, Silence refused to let up with her drilling, chastising questions. "You were just going to neglect telling him of all the stallions you've had inside of you? How many nights you earned your pay on your back, or of how many strange beds and tables you've been bent over just for a few lousy bits to put in your pocket?"

Maple was silent. Even as I watched, she tried to push words out of her frozen throat, but she could not muster anything to say at the accusations. Her powerful stance had become vulnerable and unsure, and I could see, in the low light of my office, tears glimmer as they rolled down her cheeks and spattered against the floor beneath her.

"You wanted to measure yourself up to me? Well then, there you have it. There's the whole ugly truth of it Maple!" Silence's thoughts boomed once again in my office, her piercing stare unwaveringly holding the accused pegasus. "You're still just a slab of meat! No good for anything but being fucked and thrown away like a piece of trash! He deserves better than you and you know it. Now just go crawl back into a bottle where you belong."

I still can hardly believe that I heard such venom come from Silence during her verbal anomaly. The vicious words rang through my office in an echo for us to bask in, leaving me too shocked to respond. All I could do was turn my eyes to Maple once more and bear witness to what had happened to her during that final accusation. The woodspony was still and silent, her eyes wide and unblinking as water blackened by her mascara dripped down her face. I witnessed the strongest pony I know broken before me. As her mouth opened to give some form of protest or rebuttal, all that came out was a sob. A dark, wracking sound that was followed by many others, her chest heaving as she could not restrain herself anymore. These sobs were not like those I had heard from her before, even when she broke down in regret at having to leave Rag and Tag. The well from which they rose was far deeper. They were sobs of mourning, sobs of guilt; these were sobs of hopelessness. The wet eyes turned to me as she wept helplessly before us both, shaking her head in apology. "I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry Ben," is all she could say to me before she dropped her gaze and hung her head low in front of her as she turned away from us. Her sobs continued to ring out loudly and uncontrollably as she removed herself to the door to go hide somewhere.

Silence's visage changed too. Until then, she had worn the stoic and unfeeling expression of an executioner looking upon her victim, but when she saw the results of her deed, there was no victory or joy in her eyes. She became rigid in shock as regret washed over her, and she called out to try to stifle the dreadful realizations that came to her. "Maple! No! Come back, I... I didn't mean... I was just trying... I'm sorry!" It was too late. The axe had been dropped. Maple let the door close lazily behind her as she exited, leaving only the two of us together in my office.

The soundlessness dragged on for minutes as I simply watched the door and tried to push away the scene burned into my brain of the look in the pegasus' eyes as she left. I did not want to remember the sight of seeing one's hope so utterly snuffed out. I had to fight back my emotions at that time, as I felt my eyes burn and my heart ache when I could not escape the image.

"I'm sorry." Those were the first words my mind had perceived since the door had shut. I looked to Silence, as she had abandoned the omnipotent broadcasts and returned to her usual form of communication. I witnessed her tears too, streaming down her face as she looked up at me and pinned her ears back sorrowfully.

"Well... Was it worth it?" I asked at last, my tone dead as I was still too much in shock to summon an emotion to express for her.

"No. No, nothing is worth what I just said," the crying unicorn admitted. "I don't know what came over me. I... I just read it off of her, and when I thought you were going to choose her... it just came out. I didn't mean it." Her apologies continued softly as she had no other words to express her regret.

"I'm not the one you should be sorry to," I told her as I simply walked further into my office and reached for my toppled and damaged desk. "I'm not the one that you just crucified to try to get your way." She bit her lip at my harsh tone and lowered her head apologetically, but I didn't even bother looking at her anymore. "I hope you're proud of yourself. I'm certainly not."

All she could do was sputter out a small cry at my dismissal. I waved my hand at her to signal that she should leave and that I had much to take care of that no longer involved her. I heard one or two more sobs come from her while she was slowly heading towards the door. Her voice implored my mind, begging for my forgiveness, until it finally faded away as as the distance between us grew and our connection was lost. When I was finally alone in my office, I spent many minutes looking over the carnage and chewing on my cheek in unwanted thought. I pointlessly put the desk upright and tried fitting the shelves back in, tossing those that were too warped into the corner of the room to be discarded of later. Throwing the mess of papers into a lump on my desk, I stood, without the benefit of my chair, and began looking them over, sorting them back into piles I could recognize.

I just wanted it to be over.

I did not even realize that my door had been opened again while I was sifting through the paperwork thoughtlessly. My mind was occupied still with only trying to scrub away the memory of what I had just witnessed, dreading the moment when I would finally be over the shock and forced to feel what this disaster might invoke.

"Prodder... I'm disappointed in you."

I saw Salmon when I looked up. His peach pelt filled the open doorway, as his wings were spread out intimidatingly. His nose was wrinkled from how low set the middle of his brow was, evidencing his disgust for me. "It's over," I told him with a shake of my head, dismissing both him and his anger at me, "There's nothing left to do about it. It resolved itself, and all I can do now is fix what they damaged in their stupid disagreement."

"You know that chair and desk are the least important things here that need fixing, Prodder."

"I don't have time for this, Salmon. Just go do whatever it is you do around here."

"Then you'll make time." While I had not been watching, he had approached me and used a hoof to slam it against my shoulder, forcing me to stand erect and look back into his eyes. He was furious with me. "Just what are you anyways? I can't tell, because all I can see in front of me is either a coward or a fool, and I damn well do not trust my allegiance to either."

"This is none of your business!" I shouted back defensively, throwing a hand back against his chest to push him as he had pushed me.

"It is when it hurts one of my 'mates! Even if you're not big enough to take responsibility for it, I will make it my business, because at least I am!" He approached me again and stared me down, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he scowled around the fiery hues. "I don't care how you feel about her, Captain; I don't give a single shit about it, but she cares about you. It's not what she did that has her upset, but what she's afraid you think of her for it." I simply bit my tongue, waiting for him to continue as I had no defense. His voice was shaking with passion as he kept speaking. "So if you happen to be a stallion at all, you'll pick your arse up, get over there, and make this right. Even if you hate her for what happened and think it is her fault, you need to tighten your jaw and get the fine-fiddly-fuck over it, lad. I won't watch you needlessly stomp on a lass's heart... by Celestia, I won't let you." The seapegasus stood on his hind legs and put up his hooves, flapping his wings to keep him steady as he looked me over and ran his leg across his nose. "Now... if you're just going to sit there, expect to be prepared to fight me for your right to do it. If you're going to be the stallion I expect you to be, you better at least be strong enough to fight for your choices."

Watching as he stood before me upright: Ready to strike me with his hooves and play the role of champion for the injured, I merely shook my head at him. Seeing the old seapony that I had come to revere as my friend look down at me with such disappointment and distaste made me sigh in despair. "... I'm scared, Salmon,” I finally admitted to him, grasping my desk as I could not bear to look up at him anymore. "I don't want to be a part of this. I... I'm afraid to get attached. What will happen if I do? The risks are too great. I don't want to cast that die."

Salmon's hooves dropped, but his stern expression did not. "That's what bravery is about. Fearlessness is for those who are beyond knowing what's good for them and those around them. Bravery is conquering the fears that one must to make a difference." He held his hoof out, this time for me to take in my hand, instead of preparing to hit me with it. "She's in a terrible place right now, Captain. I honestly am afraid too. I'm afraid of what might happen to her. We're both afraid... but she needs you to be brave for her." As I took his hoof and let him pull me back from behind my desk, he wrapped his leg around my shoulder to walk to me to the door. "She's saved your life before, Captain... And now she really needs you to return the favor."

I knew he was right. I should do something to try to help her, but part of me dreaded doing it. As much as I felt the compelling urge to go to her and try to offer comfort, I knew that I could not do it without forcing myself to open up. I couldn't do it and not feel. That's what I was afraid of. The last thing I wanted was to feel for someone else... for every time I become attached to someone in some way, they are inevitably yanked away from me. I loved my father... I remember from the small shards of memory about him I still have that he was my hero... that he could do everything. He had to leave, and never came home. I really grew fond of my friends back in Ponyville, but once again, I was pulled away from them and shipped off to the remote wilds of Songring. I cared for Hyacinth, but I had to watch her walk away into the distance with only the dolls she could carry and a promise that I have already broken. I don't want to bring these things upon myself. I don't want to care for something or someone just to see it taken away from me too.

As Salmon said though, she needed me to be brave.

I approached the familiar door alone, Salmon having split off from me once we reached the intersection between the hallway that led to my office and the halls that held the doors to the small apartments. Time passed as I simply looked into the grooves and niches of the unpainted wooden door, curling and flexing my fingers pointlessly while I fought with myself silently. Few ponies seemed to be wandering the hallways at this time, and those who did simply gave me a quick glance and went about their way. Perhaps they saw how troubled I was, or perhaps they just feared me grinding their faces into the banks of the Charmedsmile if they made a comment about me standing outside of her door. Their lack of contact did give me time to listen, however.

All I could hear in the room beyond the door was what I might call a tantrum. When I pressed my ear to the door, from within came the sounds of Maple's voice ringing out in desperate, weeping sobs. Furniture crashed as she kicked it about, and over and over I heard her speak to no one but herself in the lonely little stone room through her panting and sobbing breaths. A mirror shattered after she looked into it and must have seen only her own unloved face dripping with black tears. It eventually came to an end as her back slammed against the wooden door, her crying was muffled by what I could only guess were her own legs as she curled up to hide her head from the emptiness around her.

My hand reached for the doorknob, but it was no use. The lock was in place. Even without this hindrance, I realized then I would not be able to open it past her body, which was blocking the door. "Maple?" I called through the wooden portal, gently rapping my hand against it to get her attention, "I need to speak with you. Will you open the door?"

"No," I heard her call back after some moments spent trying to clear her nose and steady her breath enough to speak with any coherency. "Just go away!" Her back slammed against the door again to assert that she would not open it, and I knew it was because she could not bear to let me watch her cry after what I had learned. "Just go find Silence and spend a happy Hearts and Hooves day together. Don't waste your special day worrying about… a piece of trash like me." She could not make it through those last words without breaking down again, muffling her long, bellowing weeps into her legs.

"Please open the door, Maple," I asked again, trying once more uselessly to turn the knob to no avail. "Please just let me see you." There was no answer, just her quiet snivels. I could hear the rhythmic creak of the door as she rocked herself for comfort. My head rested against the door, simply waiting. I closed my eyes as all I could do was listen to her sounds of sorrow on the other side. As the minutes passed and she still refused to let me enter, I realized that water had dripped from my eyes and down my nose, and were resting on the side of the door while I eavesdropped. After a while, I turned around and placed my back against the door, sliding down to be seated and bringing me closer to her spasmed breaths and whimpers of despair. I could feel the door was warm from where her own body rested against it on the other side.

I simply would not leave.

Hours must have passed as I waited. I stopped caring about the time rather quickly, merely sitting with my legs apart and the back of my head against the door. The sounds within her room would come and go. Sometimes she would erupt into another fit of tears, others were just quiet heaves to herself, and I could even hear her pointlessly swirl a hoof against the stone floor to circle the dust around. I don't know if I was awake for all of it. Fighting to not to tear up myself as she weeped helplessly and alone right behind me had left me bereft of energy. A few ponies stopped to check on me, but when they brought up questions, I only asked them to leave me be for the time. Beyond that, they just left the two of us to soak in each others warmth through the wooden door as we waited for the other to make a move. She waited for me to give up and walk away, and I waited for her to realize that I was not going to.

I don't know how long it was before I heard her stand up behind the door. With a slow turn, the lock gave a click as it came undone, and the knob rustled as she opened the portal just a crack. It was only enough space that when I looked over my shoulder I could barely see one of her large, jade eyes looking back at me, still gleaming with moisture. "What are you still doing here?" she asked me with a cracked voice, "I told you to leave. Hearts and Hooves day is going to be over soon, and you'll have wasted it all here being..." I couldn't tell what she had wanted to call me, her voice just dying off into heavy breathing as she stared.

"When have I ever taken your advice when you told me to leave?" I brought up a hand to rest it on the door, looking between it and her eye as I thought of what to do with the only chance she might give me. "I didn't walk away the other two times."

"You're still a stubborn ass," Maple stated, sniffing to try to clear her nose from the congestion her grieving had brought on, "And those times were... were before you knew who I really am." Biting her lip to try to summon the strength to say more and not let me see her choke up while doing it, she finally eeked out, "Before you knew what I did before Songring."

"I still don't plan on walking away. Maple, please open the door."

"Why do you want in so bad anyways? Why won't you just go be happy with somepony else? You heard her! You know it all now. I'm nothing but a toy to be fucked and tossed aside. Why do you keep wasting your time with me?"

"Because I still don't know all the facts. Do you wish to tell me why you did it? Can you give me some idea as to what drove you to it?"

Maple quietly held the door as she looked out at me, struggling to not relive the memories of what I asked her to defend. Her lips tightened as she swallowed hard and fought the feelings those memories brought her while she watched me. "I had to do it. Lopeyette isn't like your fancy Canterlot, or like Ponyville, or any of those places. There's no work for a gal like me. I had to do it... Granddad was hurt and we still had to eat somehow. I... I did it because it was the only thing ponies would pay a gal like me for." Resting her head to the door, she closed her eyes and began slowly shaking it apologetically towards me, the tears blackened by her mascara beginning to streak through the crimson fur on her cheek once again. "I’m sorry I didn't tell you... I didn't want to tell you... not yet. Just not yet. I thought that maybe if you already loved me, you'd understand. Maybe then you could look past it. I'm so sorry that I tried to trick you, Ben." Drawing in a shaky breath, she forced herself to look me in the eyes. "It's just you are the only pony that makes me feel like I'm worth a damn. Please... forgive me."

"You're forgiven... and you're still worthwhile to me. That's never changed.”

She finally opened the door then. Swinging it open, she leapt out to me and wrapped her legs around my shoulders to bury her face in my neck. No words escaped her then as I held her there in the quiet dimness of the hallway, letting her fall to her side and just rest next to me while I ran my hand through her mane and stroked her ears. She was a mess: Her mascara running and lipstick smeared, the braids of her mane and tail hung loosely or fallen apart altogether with crushed flowers matted throughout. As she sniffled, I told her that it would all be okay and that I didn't care about what she did before Songring. I told her that she simply did what she had to do, and nobody could ever condemn her for doing nothing more than trying to take care of those she loved.

As the night fell and ponies started to whisper when they passed us with her still resting in my arms, I told her that we could not stay here all night. It was time for us to go ahead and get going. She would not leave me, however. The pegasus asked me, almost begging, to just let her have this evening to have somepony to hold. No matter how much I battled with myself over it, I could not stop myself from telling her okay and walking her back to my office with her head still resting on my shoulder affectionately.

That's where I am now. Hearts and Hooves day must have passed while I was writing in this journal, lying in my bed with Maple beside me. When I insisted that there was much that I had to write, she merely told me that I could write on her tonight. Unable to tell her no, I have ended up resting my journal on her side and penning my thoughts as she slumbers here next to me. Occasionally, she'll give a sudden hiccup and pull her legs tighter around me for comfort, but the whole time I can still see a smile tugging at the sides of her lips confirming that she got what she needed tonight: Somepony to hold that makes her feel that she is special, and that perhaps she does have some meaning other than to be used and discarded.

I hate Hearts and Hooves day. For every pony that goes to bed tonight happy with another in their grasp or in their heart, there will be at least one other pony who spends it alone, forced to believe that they may not be worth loving. It also leads to situations like the one I am in now, and I am still so afraid of what will happen. I'm afraid to get attached... but her strong grasp makes me feel so safe, and her kisses taste like warm sugar and whiskey. I don't want to get attached, but I don't think there's any chance of me avoiding it now.

As much as I'm afraid to... I love you Maple.

52-1: Lopeyette

Looking out of my bedroom window, I can see something new in the jungle valley below that makes me smile at what it could possibly mean for Songring's future. Houses. Two major improvements have been made this season as I have adjusted our focus to things that we need to accomplish, instead of just letting the days pass as though things are running smoothly. Cross Thread, Blueprint, and Willow have all been assigned to a group appropriated to coordinate a new residential housing project on the other side of the Charmedsmile. Dawnstar has taken personal responsibility for the project, and is acting as its direct supervisor in my place. Each day I look out of my window and find myself astounded at the progress they are able to make in such short time. Four cozy little houses have already been crafted, and are being furnished now that they have been assigned to a settler. To be most fair when assigning the houses to individuals, we have begun a lottery that is pulled each time one is completed. Everyone has an equal chance to win their own little home instead of living in the apartment halls carved into the mountainside. So far, Flick, Bunsen, and Onyx Culet have won their own homes... and the last one belongs to Willow, because he refused to help give someone else a nice living space if he did not get one first.

I have been overseeing my own project, and it is one that is equally important in most regards. I am extremely proud to announce that it has been completed with quite a bit of help from Machina and all of Songring's miners. Linked to the apartment halls, we now have plumbing! Okay, so right now it is only for use as a latrine system, but still! No more finding bushes or sticking to the outhouses! We have functioning restrooms now! I seem to be the only one overjoyed about this little fact, but come on! A working toilet? I deserve a medal. Specifically, it is a pump system that draws water from the Charmedsmile into a circular tunnel system, which is connected to a separate pump that forces water back out into the river. One might question if we're contaminating the water supply, but that's why the pump system includes a chemically-treated filter on the exit path. (I love having Bunsen around for these kinds of things.) It has to be cleaned daily to ensure it works properly, but that is a small price to pay for such convenience and comfort.

As a reward for myself, I have finally gotten around to having a stock and barrel fastened to the firing mechanism that Machina brought me a while back. The blunderbuss (as the barrel is smoothbore and flared at the end) is a beautiful piece to have hanging on the wall in my office for ponies to marvel at when they walk in. Some have questioned if it will actually work, which is why I am waiting on Bunsen to finish the new project of developing some form of combustion agent to give it a test run with. Lead pellets have already been smithed for use in its first testing. I can't wait to see if it can actually survive a live firing!

Just because I have been busy, however, does not mean that I have not found time this season to do some follow-up investigation and repair after the disaster known as Hearts and Hooves day. The total damage happened to be: My floor was cracked and needed to be smoothed once more as well as engraved again, my desk was warped beyond use and had to be repaired, and lastly, my chair was completely destroyed and would have to be replaced. I made the mistake of asking Willow for help with this, during which I found out that he has yet to get over the hard feelings of our last encounter.

"Excuse me, Willow. I was wondering if you would mind holding off on sanding down those wooden planks to help me in making another chair."

"Why should I do this for you? Why don't you get Maple to do it for you? Since you both are so close and all."

"I would hope because I asked nicely and because you're a carpenter. We don't quite have anyone else here who can do it."

"You take my girl, embarrass me in front of everypony, and then come and ask for my help? Oh, how the tables have turned now! I don't know. Maybe I don't have any reason to help a bastardly, back-stabbing monkey like you. Give me one good reason I should do anything for you!"

"... What's my name again, Willow?"

"I, uh, I'll get right on it, Mr. Prodder. Just... stop looking at me like that. Stop it!"

I do not enjoy using such threats just to get my way, but perhaps those buttons he was pushing should be left untouched until a little more time has passed. I honestly wish I had not asked for his help, however, as I now have a nasty knot on the back of my head where I ended up striking it on the wall behind my desk due to an "accident". That accident happened to be that the back legs of my chair were not secured down by anything more than a little glue to make them appear stable and gave out from under me when I first sat down in it. I remember waking up in the infirmary, after everything went black while I was falling backwards in my chair, with my head bandaged up, and quite a few ponies staring at me with wide, anxious eyes. They asked me what happened, and when I told them it was because my new chair had given out, Maple immediately went to hunt down Willow. I'll suffice it to say that it took half of Songring's militia to pull her off of him when she found out that he had indeed sabotaged my chair. I'm glad that she's there to look out for me, but she might be a bit overzealous in taking the fight to someone on my behalf. At least I believe that Willow has gotten it all out of his system and that perhaps we're "even" now.

One thing that has been on my mind ever since my last entry has been my run-in with Salmon. I cannot shake the memory of seeing him so ablaze and passionate when he told me how disappointed in me he was. It continued to bother me, which is why I went to visit him one day and sit with him on the bridge while he was fishing. He beamed at me happily when I approached and asked me to take a seat with him as he would love the company, acting as though we had never had a disagreement at all. Even when I brought it up, he had very little to say about it, and asked me to let bygones be bygones. I could not tell if he was avoiding confrontation, or if he had something he did not wish to tell me. "I did come to just have a talk with a friend, Salmon, but it's something I would really like to know. What possessed you to do that? You're usually very content to let me make my decisions. What made you stand up to me on this issue?"

"I'm sorry if you feel like I challenged your authority," he began sheepishly, clearing his throat and pulling his wicker bucket hat down a bit further over his eyes to shield them from me in case I was angry.

"I'm not upset, Salmon. You were right. It just doesn't seem like you to act that way is all. I'm merely curious now what would drive you to be so adamant and go against your usual nature. Is there anything I should understand so I know what to expect in the future?"

Salmon kept his hat down, his smile fading as his lips pulled tight and he cleared his throat many times. We remained quiet while he thought, merely casting his line out a couple of times before he finished contemplating an explanation for me. "It comes with age I think, lad. When you've walked so many roads and seen where they lead, there are just some you can't bear to watch somepony you care about travel down it too. Have you ever thought it a curse to be right when you predict what will happen to somepony or something?"

"I certainly have."

"There are so few times when you actually have the chance to fight it and not have to be right. I take those chances whenever I can find them. I'm sorry that it meant me challenging your decision. I just simply could not live with myself watching something like that befall you when I had even the smallest chance to stop it."

"What would befall me? Being alone? I'm quite alright by myself, Salmon, and still prefer to keep my distance in most regards... Too much complication at this time, you know?"

"It's not that. It's her. That sweet lass Maple. I didn't want anything to happen to her... I don't know if I could stand seeing another Cherry Heart take place." The haunted way he said that name brought us both to an abrupt silence again, watching the floating bobber in the water as I waited for him to continue, and he waited for the memory to pass. "You know where she's from, right? Maple's family is from Lopeyette."

"She mentioned that to me. She said it's not like Ponyville and Canterlot. Why is that? Isn't it in the civilized regions of the Sun of Chance? How can it possibly be so bad?"

"There are just as many dangers in a civilized world as a savage one." Salmon paused as he cast his line back out and asked me if there was anywhere I needed to be. No duty that I could contrive was as important to me at that moment as the curiosity he had peaked in me with his statement. Feeling like Salmon's usual habit of derailing on topics and being unfailingly long-winded, I decided to be partition some CCMI space to record his words for review. I feel I should not paraphrase his words, as they hold quite a bit of information relevant for cultural discoveries and... interests closer to my own fancy. “Canterlot is the central political seat of all of Equestria. Best of the best, if you will. Celestia is a kind ruler... a loving, caring creature in all regards. Sure she might have to do what she doesn't wish to so that lesser beings like us can learn and grow, but she only does it for our benefit when she must. Ponyville sits right in the shadow of Canterlot, nestled in a valley below it, and can be seen from the mountainous city on a clear, sunny day. For such a being of benevolence, it's no wonder that she does her best to keep her surroundings as nice and borderline perfect as she can. The farther you go away from Ponyville though, the less there is she can do, and the less her attention can be called to. Lopeyette is one of those places that just did not come to her notice before it was too late.

“I remember back when Lopeyette was first founded. I was just a small little thing; a colt playing with his friends in the streets of Gullswatch. I recall visiting Lopeyette once or twice with my folks, back when it was a little farm town out on the edges of the Sun of Chance's borders with the Armored Poem. A little town of wooden houses and a market street made of red-brick buildings. A volunteer fire department, a sheriff's station, some grocery stores, pharmacies, and even craftsponies all set up shop there to do business with the fine families that made their living working the land. Everypony smiled back in those days. That's not just the grace of memory either, that's the truth of it. If ever there was a happy little town, it was Lopeyette."

"Sounds like a quaint little paradise for an honest working individual. What happened to it?"

"Industry, Benjamen. Industry happened. Business hits like a damn train when it doesn't have anything to keep it in check. A port city located on the banks of the Sapphire Seas, far away from the prying eyes of government and regulation, and with plenty of room for future progress: Lopeyette was the perfect place to start up an industrial corporation. I remember seeing the huge smoke stacks from the large building before it was ever completed... that was the last time I saw the place when I was a colt. I know that the factory opened up and began production shortly after. They made something like toothpaste I believe, or something else trivial like that. Anyways, that was the spark that lit the fire of the industrial revolution in Lopeyette.

“They came from all over. From Canterlot, from Cloudsdale, from across the seas, and from the other side of the continent even to see the wondrous creation. Paupers of all kinds. Honest folks who wanted to do some hard work and earn themselves up a little bit of savings to begin living their own dreams with. This new plant gave them the hope of employment, and even that vague opportunity was enough to draw in hundreds, if not thousands, of them to Lopeyette. When that factory filled up, another one sprang up next to it within weeks. Then another, and another, until finally you could no longer see what were once the humble beginnings of the little town. From the sea it was blocked by a harbor, bustling in and out all kinds of frigates and barges with their manufactured goods, from the land it was overshadowed by the looming smoke stacks and gargantuan factory buildings, and you could not see it from the sky through the smog that collected above it. That was what might be considered Lopeyette's golden age, as it boasted the promise of wealth and opportunity for everypony that had the will to work in their heart.

“Some promises are just too big to be kept.

“Industry and business are not ponies. They cannot feel. They know only productivity and profit margins. They do not know compassion, charity, or even common decency. Those who own them also are subject to being consumed by their creations, and becoming one with the beast they made.

“Some ponies just did not make the cut and could not find work, others were let go and left to their fate as soon as they were less profitable than useful, and some even got downright hurt in those factories and could not work anymore. Even those who could work saw less and less in their pockets each paycheck, and soon were barely able to afford what they needed to merely survive. That kind of poverty leads to alot of unhappy ponies, Benjamen, with all of them stuck in a place that no longer wants them and nowhere else to go. There were only two classes of ponies there: Those who fought and clawed for every little bit they could find just to see their next meal, and those who constantly put their hoof in the other one's face and kicked them back onto the ground beneath them.

“Desperation breeds the worst in everypony, Benjamen. It breeds some things that we would like to never believe exists in any of us.

“It's a sad day when even your own children have to spend their day in a factory putting the caps on bottles of toothpaste just to make sure they can stay fed and clothed. That's what it came down to. Nopony could even so much as earn enough to take care of those they loved if they were the blue bridle class. Schools closed down and were replaced by juvenile workshops. Honest businesses found less and less patronage, they just shriveled up and were forced to close and vacate the area. The only ones left were those with the lowest prices on the most questionable and unsatisfactory goods that could be afforded. When the most successful establishments in the city became bars, folks gave it the motto: 'Lopeyette's two finest exports are whiskey and misery.'"

"Why didn't anyone do anything? Regulations? Protests? Unions?"

"Too far away from Canterlot for anypony else to realize exactly how bad it had gotten there. Protests just meant ponies losing what little they had in the form of employment and left on the street with nothing. Unions just made everything even worse than it already was.

“If you give a pony with nothing left in the world even a shard of hope, you can bend him to do anything for you. That's an extraordinary amount of power for one to have, and nopony could ever live up the responsibilities that would come with it and not become corrupt. The unions sure didn't. It took just a whiff of success coming those who ran the unions by riding atop the backs of the desperate and the abused to become no better than those who owned the factories and enterprises, if not worse. To prey on those who have lost everything by offering them promises and hope just to use them for your own benefit; there's little I could ever imagine being as despicable as that. There is no honor in one who would be so cruel, but honor does not have a favorable profit margin. Unions just became a face for what was truly robbery and organized crime. The promises they made of better working conditions and higher wages were all for naught: The "Fees" they charged their members ate up every little bit of extra wage those workers ever saw, and then those claims of better conditions could not be lived up to by the businesses who were already fighting to keep their accounts as far in the black as they could after being strong-armed into paying more for their help. Ponies that did not join a union did not get work; it was as simple as that. Soon enough, the unions had extended their reach to property owners, to public services, and everything else they could possibly dip their hooves into. Everypony in Lopeyette had to give the unions their unfair share.

“Being a sailor turns you up in some interesting places, Benjamen. More than once we washed into the Lopeyette harbor and were granted shore leave for a week or two while we waited for our next voyage. In all honesty, Lopeyette was a great place to end up on shore leave for most stallions on those boats. Being stuck on a tub in the middle of the sea for weeks or months at a time with only other anxious and unfulfilled stallions makes any breath of fresh air a godsend, especially when you can go on a binge of all the things you were denied while out at sea. Liquor, gambling, mares; there were plenty of places to throw your bits away in Lopeyette for just a laugh and a memory. I was just like any other seapony walking off that galleon: Ready to spend everything I had earned on just a week of good times before I was shipped off once more. Time and time again, I looked forward to ending up there just to get a taste of all the things that could not be gotten anywhere else, because everypony in Lopeyette was more concerned about getting your bits than with what was right and reasonable. Blinded by the lights on the streets, and the smoke in the pubs and peep shows, I could not have been happier in my drunken and drugged stupor.

“Like everypony else, I had to wake up sometime.

“Cherry Heart was just a name, and did not mean a damn thing to me other than a place to spend some cash and get a quick, fun fling for a night. I met her in some shoddy little hole-in-the-wall establishment in the red light district. With a graceful sashay to her step, she found me that night and sat with me at the bar. A beautiful face on that filly... Big blue eyes, creamy-beige colored pelt, and a dark maroon mane and tail. Her smile was hollow... but I never even noticed at the time. I've never forgotten her face, not a single moment of what I knew of it. I remember her telling me that she'd love to have a big, strong fellow with her that night, and for the right price I could certainly be him. For just a few bits that didn't mean anything to me anyways, how could I turn down the offer of a mare's warmth and comfort? Giving her half of what she asked for then, we left for some cheap, messy bedroom in a disgusting little motel to get the deed done with. I took her and her offer there, selfishly sating all the needs and desires I had built up during the months of seafaring on little more than a toy that I cared nothing for. Just a thing. An object. I never saw her as a pony... not until I couldn't make a difference anymore. I simply got off and fell asleep with a smile on my face, never caring what she did after I had given her the second half we agreed on and our business was over.

“I remember waking up to the sun peeking in through the ratty blinds and curtains on the window, hitting me in the face and agitating a splitting damn headache. Hangover of the century it felt like. Rolling over to try to get the sun out of my eyes, I found that Cherry Heart was still in the bed with me, lying silently with her eyes closed. The sweet angel looked so peaceful lying there, but I could not stop myself from bringing my hoof up to stroke her mane once in hopes to see her beautiful blue eyes again. She would not stir. No matter how much I stroked her, or called her name, or nudged her gently, she would not answer.

“Cherry Heart lay cold in the bed with me, her eyes refusing to open and her chest still and breathless.

“I was in shock. I guess most would have leapt out of the bed, but I stayed there in awe and dismay. What happened, I asked myself so many times. An empty box of tissues lie on the floor next to her, its contents scattered in a mess of used wads thrown about. A bottle of pills, sleeping aids, rested overturned on its side on the nightstand next to her along with a tin flask that reeked of booze. Her pillow was wet where her eyes had rested, and her legs were wrapped around herself tightly for comfort. I knew then, and I know now what happened to her after seeing all of that.

“Cherry Heart must have been crying that night. The poor gal tried to keep herself quiet so not to wake me, but she cried about what she did… about what I did. Loveless and alone in the bed next to somepony who didn't give a damn about her, she needed pills just to get some sleep. Pills and a bit of booze to help her forget. She then curled up and tried to tell herself how it would all be okay. How things would one day get better if she just kept hope..."

I could not take my eyes off of Salmon's face when he fell quiet, gritting his teeth and fighting himself not to tear up in front of me when he remembered the scene in total detail. A fish had long since stolen the bait off of his line, but he still just stared at the bobber in the water while he suffered through the memory once more for me. There was nothing I could say to him, just merely wait for the moment to pass and for him to continue. When he did, it was with a voice quaking with passion.

"Things never did get better for her, Prodder. She never woke up from that sleep. Her last moments were spent crying in a bed with a stupid seapegasus who couldn't even be asked to show a little consideration or care for his fellow pony." Anger stirred up in him, his voice rising as he still could not look away from the slowly running water beneath the bridge. "Is that where you think she wanted to be, Prodder? Do you think that was what she dreamed of being? Just some plaything for selfish stallions just to see her next meal? Now there's nothing left of her but a memory... a memory of just another whore who couldn't make it in the city of Lopeyette. Just another body thrown in a shallow grave and a name filed away in a half-assed police report." Heaving for breath, Salmon gulped back the tears and finally looked at me. His rage had smoldered away and left him solemn. "... Overdose. Accidental of course. She never meant to hurt herself, but it was the only way she could cope with what she had to do. I could have stopped her... I could have made a difference, Benjamen, but I just didn't see my chance. I could not look past myself to realize just how much pain the poor dear thing was in, and that I could have been the one to save her. I could have saved her, Ben... I could have saved her, but I didn't."

I rested my hand on his shoulder to try to bring him out of his memory. "We all make mistakes, Salmon. I understand."

Salmon took a deep, shaky breath to calm himself and wiped his eyes to clear them. "That's why I wouldn't let you make that same mistake, Ben. Maple's such a sweet filly... such a beautiful little thing. Puts on a tough show, but she's just trying to run away from what she had to do. When it was shoved in her face... Ben, I could not let you live through what I did. If anything had happened to her... I could not let you live with the regret of knowing that you could have done something to stop it. All she needs is somepony to look at her and let her know they care... that she means something to somepony."

Even if it was rather roundabout, his story had made so much clear to me. I finally felt like I at least marginally understood Maple and the way she acts, and Salmon's threat to fight me if I refused to go offer my sympathy that night no longer hurt my pride. It seems that this world is not immune to the same type of problems that I can see must have corrupted many cities on Terriel. I find it terrifying to write that these creatures are capable of being more human than I would ever wish to believe.

"I wouldn't believe something like that could happen to one place, Salmon. Why didn't Celestia do anything?"

"She didn't know. Lad, there are only so many places her attention can be at one time. Lopeyette was one place that just slid under the radar for too long. Once she saw what it had become, there was nothing she could do to fix it."

"She's a goddess though, isn't she? Certainly she has the power and means to take care of it."

"What would you have her do? Burn the town? Punish the factory and business owners? Pay off all the debts of the city? She can't do any of those things; all of them are doomed to fail. She cannot bring herself to destroy so many for something that may not be all of their faults. She cannot exact retribution on the greedy and sinful there because they will only be replaced with the same once another pony gets a taste of their ill-gotten success. Any money she gives will only end up being spent once again on the vicious cycle that is in place, and will find its way into the pockets of those who already have more than they will ever need."

"So she just doesn't do anything about it?"

"That's not true. That's one of the reasons you're even here in Songring. Lopeyette's fate was what brought about your position even existing, Benjamen. Do you think Ponyville had a Development Coordinator when it was first founded? Gullswatch? Cloudsdale? Those places were started by ponies of their own volition... started by a group with a goal in mind and dreams in their hearts, but with little or no guidance. When Celestia saw what happened in the absence of her attention, and just how terrible things could become when a town suffers from neglect, she did all she could to never let something like that happen again. She created the position of Development Coordinator for the royal court. Tell me, don't you send her letters? She may not be able to watch what we do out here, but I'm sure she reads them, Ben. It's her way of letting us know that she's there for us, and she has you here to keep something like that from happening once more."

That would have meant alot to me if I thought Celestia really believed I was a capable and worthy individual for such a position. This sounded more like propaganda and placation more than it did a convincing argument for her acting out of sheer benevolence and good judgment. She knew me for a week! I had just gotten to Equestria, and she expected me to take that kind of responsibility too? To play as her guard dog so that Big Bad Enterprise didn't sneak in while she wasn't looking? I can understand what Salmon believes, but I just don't think I can share the same naivety.

Perhaps I am just holding a grudge though. Maybe I am letting bias blind me from her true intentions, which I just refuse to believe can be so simple and good. Maybe she does care, and I just won’t let myself see it.

Our topics shifted after that. We spoke of how the weather had been nice to us, and how it was fortunate that it seems hurricanes do not blow through this far inland towards the Fatal Horns. A short discussion was had about the native wildlife, and Salmon informed me that he had been personally seeing to it that the tanks in the area were well taken care of. He has a soft spot for the big creatures, he told me, and finds them fairly peaceful to have around even though they scare off all the fish when they stamp over to the river's edge for a drink of water.

Hold on, I am being interrupted by my assistant. Dawnstar insists that she needs me to look into something for Springfield and that it cannot wait until after I finish writing. I will resolve the issue and return as soon as possible to wrap up my thoughts on this rather uneventful season.

Author's Note

I will admit that I got carried away with this one. Perhaps I channeled Salmon's ability to prattle a bit too well. Hopefully it entertains and informs, instead of drones and bores.

52-2: Brewery

I am returning much later than I had expected to finish writing this entry. So much later in fact, that I have lost my thoughts and feel it important to simply start it as a new entry. Let me begin by removing any worry that there was an actual emergency at Springfield's farm: I was led to believe that the scenario was much more dire than it actually was, however, that does not mean that it was not an interesting venture.

Especially since I have been gone for almost thirteen hours before I was able to return to continue writing. A lot can happen in that amount of time.

It started when Dawnstar came into my office with a statement that Springfield had specifically requested my presence at the farm to see about a problem that had come up. I asked her what exactly should I expect, but she could only shrug at me as she took to tidying up my desk, as well as reach up to try to smooth out the wrinkles from the front of my suit and straighten my collar for me. Springfield had not told her what exactly was amiss, only that I was needed there immediately. Seeing as Springfield had rarely ever called for my help, it certainly had me worried. I took her suggestion and headed out to have a look at what had happened.

A very strange realization hit me when I first made my way past the small gate that had been set up in the tall fence that walled our precious farm away from the beasts of the Honoring Mire. That realization was that in the past four years, I had not set foot on the soil of Springfield's Farm once. I had always sent Dawnstar to go handle any inquiries here, and as Springfield is a very independent stallion and handles most issues of his own accord, I had not yet been requested here for my attention. I took a moment to survey the location (walled into the valley between two short ridges of the Fatal Horns) and take a good look at how the large plot of land had developed without my noticing. A small farmhouse already stood erected on the land with an open tool shed attached to its side for the farmhands to step over and grab what they needed as they headed to the fields. Stalks of wheat, vines of watermelon and pumpkin, strawberries suspended by small wooden stakes in the dirt, greens of carrots poking out of the ground, and rows of hops were being grown. Many other plants that I could not recognize were also sprouting up out of the fertile field, getting ready to be harvested to sustain Songring's whole population throughout the year to come.

In the fields, two ponies I had not yet personally met were working. One, a rather portly earth pony stallion with a pair of horn rimmed glasses and a buff-colored coat, raised his head and waved a hoof amiably in my direction before realizing that he had slung the seeds in the bag he was holding all about on accident and had to go collect them. The other was a shapely mare with the same coat color, but an eye-catching dark scarlet mane that was tied back and wrapped loosely around her neck like a scarf to keep it out of the way of her work. When she spotted me, a warm smile spread on her face and she came sauntering out of the watermelon fields to get closer to me.

"Howdy there, Mister Prodder. You happen to be lookin' a little lost. Got anything in particular you're tryin' to find?"

"Perhaps," I admitted as I looked her over once again to try to put my finger on exactly what about her perplexed me so much. I noticed it was that she maintained a slender neck and abdomen much like Teardrop's, but her haunches and the top of her legs were wide and curvy, as that is where her body seemed to place its weight. She is simply the first pony I could refer to as shapely instead of just generalizing as muscular, chubby, or lean. "Have we met?"

"No sir, you ain't come out this far before 'cause of how fond you are of your little mountain house out there. I'm Belle. It's a pleasure." As she raised her hoof to me, I took it gently and awkwardly shook it, receiving back a chuckle as I must have misinterpreted her gesture. "Your little sweetie-pie Dawnstar was here earlier, but I'm sorry to say she's already left if that's who you're out after."

"No, actually she came to tell me that Springfield needed my attention. She's also not my... pie, she's my assistant. I'd appreciate it if you and everyone else would refer to her by her proper title."

With a titter, she nodded and turned to point a hoof off towards yet another building on the property that had a small pipe blowing out some black smoke, the windows dark enough that I could not see what was inside it. "Whatever you say then. Springfield's been over near the brewin' house today. He's probably got an issue with the still again. Darn thing keeps wanting to burn up, y'know. Mind given' the fella a hoof with it for us?"

I had not considered it before, but it makes sense that there happens to be a small brewery setup on the premises somewhere. Absinthe has to get her wares from someplace, and it seems that place would be Springfield's farm. I could not remember putting Blueprint or Machina to work setting up a distillery of any kind out here. More and more it began to seem like I might have stepped into a whole new settlement that was appended to the side of Songring without my knowledge.

Stepping up to the wooden structure, I heard a collection of voices murmur quietly from around the back. Investigation revealed seven ponies who were already there waiting around. As they all turned to view me, a couple of them smiled, others simply observed, and at least one smoldered at the sight of me. The original seven settlers of Songring had all turned their gazes to me as we stood behind the brewing house and waited.

"Glad y'could make it," Springfield said first, nodding to me cordially. I returned the gesture before falling in closer to the group, standing next to Salmon who idly rocked back and forth with a clueless grin on his face.

"Okay then. What's up? What did you drag us all out here for, Springfield?" Maple piped up indignantly as she looked up at the small pillar of smoke coming out of the pipe. "Trust me, I'd be the first to want to spend my time in a brewery, but I was busy with... stuff. You made it sound like there was an emergency, and so far all I've seen is us sitting around out here waiting for Ben to show up."

"It can still be important, Maple... just let him get around to whatever it is before you start jumping to conclusions." Overcast swung his head back and forth in a shake, sitting next to Teardrop. "You're being really impatient."

"Can it, Drizzle," Maple shot back quickly.

"Yeah! She can be whatever she wants, Mopey! Where do you get off on giving advice anyways?" Willow harassed as well, before receiving a jab in the side from the cardinal pegasus.

"You too," she informed him.

"I hope it's something special," Teardrop added in enthusiastically, with ears perked up and a meek smile as she hoped to change the direction of their conversation. "Is it something you made? Is that what you're going to show us?"

"I was led to believe there was a problem here," I mentioned, folding my arms irritably as we were still all standing there watching Springfield while he simply watched us in return. He was scanning over each of us, just nodding to himself after each of us spoke, until my own inquiry.

"There is, Mr. Prodder. Happens that it’s in the brew house here. Need you all to take a look at somethin' special 'fore it gets out of hoof. Think y'all can do that for me?"

"Of course!" Salmon exclaimed first among us, stepping forward and bringing me with him by pressing an outstretched wing into my back as he stepped forward. "Happy to help as always! Just give us a look-see at what's the trouble and we'll all have it right a'fore the day's out."

One nod of agreement from the rest of the group later, Springfield turned to open the door to the brewery and motioned us all to go in. Filing through carefully, we each eased past him into the small building lit only by the narrow windows positioned high up on the walls. Every one of us glanced around, searching and trying to find what must be amiss that he needed our help with, but it was not immediately apparent. All that seemed to be there were a few barrels of hops and water, some tools hanging from the wall, a few benches for seating, and the tall still with lit coals burning away beneath it.

While I glanced around, I shrugged and turned to finally ask, "So what exactly are we supposed to be seeing? Everything looks like I might expect it to." I noticed that the door had already been shut when I looked behind me. "Springfield?" The bolt clicked as the key turned in it, leaving the door locked in front of me. "... What the hell?"

"Uhm, what's going on here exactly?" Salmon questioned as well, as he rubbed his head with his hoof. He was unable to locate this special concern of Springfield's either.

"There's nothing here!" Willow shouted in frustration.

"Hey, at least there's these," Maple commented as she took a fresh bottle off a shelf, knocked the cork out of it with her hoof, and raised it with a shrug. "Maybe it's a new flavor he wants us to try or something." Taking a swig of it, she shook her head and coughed. "Nah, still tastes like crap. Personally more of a whiskey gal... beer's just too watery."

"It smells a little... rank in here. Is that the problem?" Teardrop asked us then with a quirk of her head.

"I'm sorry... I guess I should have bathed before coming out here," Overcast apologized.

"No, lad, it's hops. Smell that kind of citrusy bite to it? Western region hops'll have that scent about 'em. Been to enough breweries to know." Salmon shook his head after his explanation, turning back to see that the door was closed. "... What's this now? Where's Springfield?"

"Leavin'," we heard from the other side of the door. The implication caused us all to pause before announcing a single, "What?" in unison. "I would stick with you all, but I've got fields to tend and, let's be honest, you all probably ain't real fond of me right now anyways. I'll be back in a while to check and see how things are goin'."

"Springfield," I began incredulously, "You can't just lock us in this still room."

"Beg to differ, Mr. Prodder. Just did."

Touché, I thought. Allons-y. Cafe au le. Admittedly, I'm not even sure what any of those words mean. They just sound neat when Julienne spouts them off at me.

"Seriously, this isn't funny," Willow agreed, as he shoved me against Salmon to pound the door with his hoof. "What are you trying to pull? Open the door!" When there was no response, Willow looked back at us before returning his attention to the door, beating on it hysterically. "You can't leave me in here with them! C'mon!"

"I can," we finally heard back, as something large was being wheeled towards the door. "An' nice try, but ah know that's you doing that Silence. Stop it." We all stopped to look at the quiet unicorn, just now realizing that she was in there with us. She seemed to sigh in resignation, as it appeared that whatever she was attempting had failed. At that time, the large object was rested in front of the door, and the sounds of Springfield dusting himself off could be heard.

"What's going on?" Teardrop asked us as she came closer and put her hoof around the knob to try and turn it to no avail.

"Springfield's gone crazy and trapped us in the brewery," Overcast told her bluntly, as he idly rubbed his face with a front leg. "Guess we're stuck here until he comes to his senses then. I wish I had brought a deck of cards. Guess everypony's going to be too busy panicking or fighting to play games anyways..."

"Trapped? I don't think so. Move out of the way; let me take care of this." The group in front of the door parted ways for the woodspony, letting her have her space as she approached it and turned around to plant her hooves firmly into the cobbled stone floor beneath us. Maple drew in a deep breath after a moment, and all of us watched as she whipped her body up behind her and lashed out viciously with her back legs to strike the door. As the thud rang out through the brewery, everyone took a moment to let their ears stop ringing before looking back to see Maple frozen with her back legs propped up firmly against the still-closed door. She was biting her lower lip as she closed her eyes and exhaled sharply, admitting to us, "Okay, that hurt a little bit. ... Really, come on, somepony help me out here."

With a roll of my eyes, I stepped forward and put my arm beneath her abdomen, letting her rest her back legs as I slowly lowered her back down to stand. She limped for a moment with a deep, groaning exhale as she went to walk off whatever damage she had done.

"Ain't gonna work," we heard once again from outside, "Y'all just gonna have to sit in there for a while. Maybe soon 'nuff, you'll find that something special I needed you all ta have a look at." It was then that I heard Springfield softly tell himself, "Or at least I can hope," before he gave a sigh. "Now I'm off. Don't hurt nopony in there."

"Springfield? Springfield! ... How long are you going to leave us in here?" I called back worriedly, but heard no response. "What are we supposed to do in here?" Once again, there was no answer, just a bit of wind blowing in through the very small windows at the top of the brewery walls.

Then we all fell quiet in shock.

Six ponies and I were now locked within the still room, just glancing around with the same stupefied expression on our faces. The mystery of what exactly was going on still evaded us all. Salmon chewed on the inner part of his cheek in concern as he continued to glance between the windows, before finally seating himself on one of the free benches with a huff as he told us he just needed a moment to think. Teardrop pushed herself against Overcast's side with an air of uncertainty about her. Maple and Silence let their eyes meet for a moment. The pegasus scowled and turned away hurriedly to pace about towards the other side of the small brewery, keeping to herself near another bench on the far wall. Overcast put one of his front legs over Teardrop and told her that it was okay, that as long as we didn't tear each other apart because of all the bad vibes between us, everything was going to be fine. Last was Willow, who glowered at me broodingly, shaking his head when I looked back at him before he turned to go meet with Maple and follow her pacing.

I was left there with my hand on my chin, just looking at the other six as I wondered to myself what exactly I was supposed to be looking for. All I could see were six ponies and a human locked in a brewery who wanted very little to do with each other right now. It certainly did not help that the room was uncomfortably small. As much as I struggled to think of a witty way out of this situation, the only thing I kept coming back to was thinking it was best to just wait for Springfield to come back and unlock the door. What should we be looking for? What if we did not find it? Would he even let us out of here if we never located it? It was then that I started to fear Springfield's motives. Seeking comfort, I took my seat next to Salmon on his bench and looked to him with a shake of my head. He could only shrug in response. We were both stumped.

After about half an hour, Maple calmed down from her frustrated pacing in the corner of the brewery and started looking to take her seat as well. Willow pulled her aside to one of the other benches and rested with her beside him. She looked up to the ceiling with her lips pulled tight and a scowl on her brow as she quietly complained about how boring it was going to be in here while we waited for somepony to figure out that Springfield had lost his marbles. Teardrop and Overcast had taken their own seat elsewhere, passing the time with a few shared smiles while they spoke of simple things together: Colors, the nice breeze coming in through the window, what they had dreamed about the night before, and what they hoped Julienne might be making for dinner in the dining hall right now for whenever we got out of the brewing house. Then there was Silence, who was left resting alone against the still. She kept her head down as she simply watched the burning coals beneath it, eyes moving with the few licks of flame that sprang up from the embers.

There was some talking going on, I remember. Salmon had begun to recount a story of the time he and two other stallions had to board themselves up in an outhouse during a rainstorm to avoid the lightning, describing a few of the rather uncomfortable happenings. Perhaps that was his way of trying to ease the tension in the room, as boredom crept up on some of us and strife seeped off of others. Willow kept trying to get Maple to speak with him. She humored him a bit before defaulting to pulling dark bottles off the wall and starting to take swigs pointlessly to pass time: Leaned back lazily on the bench, she simply responded to his small thoughts and questions with "Uh huh"s. Overcast had stopped talking now, as he just lowered his head to stare at the cobblestone below us. Teardrop was idly rolling on her back – back-and-forth, back-and-forth – to waste away moments.

That is when something touched my shoulder. I glanced to see if Salmon had perhaps asked me a question and wanted to get my attention, but he was still in the middle of his story about trying to figure out a good way to lay three ponies in a single outhouse so they could get some sleep without getting too "close" to one another. There was nothing swinging behind me from the wall, or anything drifting through the room that could have brushed me, so I tried to ignore it until I felt it again. Then I saw her looking at me. Silence watched me from her lone corner of the room and gently kicked a bit of dust at the embers. Agitated by my time being spent sitting on a bench in here instead of back writing in my journal, I did not wish to strike up a conversation amongst everyone in the room, so I tried thinking the words, "What do you want?"

Silence hid her sight away from me and tried to detach again, as I must have upset her with my snappish response. When I continued to watch her, she let out a sigh, and I heard back the words, "I'm scared." When I questioned back about what, she would not clarify for me and just shook her head. It was when I asked what exactly she wanted me to do about it that I saw her tense up and bite her lip with her eyes turned down once more. "Nothing. I just wanted some of your attention... maybe then I wouldn't feel so alone over here."

"You're free to sit over here with us. Nobody told you to go sit in the corner."

Looking at the others, concern struck her features, and Silence shook her head to me. "I can't..." Her dread was most noticeable when she viewed the pegasus who got back up to go find another bottle on the wall that might interest her. "I don't really feel welcome right now for reasons that are probably quite obvious. I just felt a little lonely and scared, and even if you're still upset with me, the attention is comforting. The music is lovely too."

"It's just a compiled track called Romantic Pieces. No specific composer. Silence, I'm not upset with you. I'm upset that I'm stuck here instead of being back at my office and doing something productive."

"The last thing you said to me was that you weren't happy with me. I thought perhaps that meant you wanted to have nothing to do with me."

"I don't think anyone would have been happy with you after what happened that night, but I'm over it. It shocked me more than anything. I just didn't know you were capable of something so... well, spiteful. I had taken you for a docile, peaceful creature to be honest."

Apologetically bowing her head to me, Silence did her best to stifle a small sniffle. "I'm sorry," is all she was able to respond with at first, as we both stopped for a moment to glance around. Nothing had changed, except Salmon's story was now about him getting into an argument with one of the other stallion's wife who thought he had made a move on her husband during the whole outhouse shenanigan, and Maple had begun telling Willow about how Rag and Tag were doing back home. (Specifically how worried she was when she received news that they had been sent home from school multiple times now for picking fights.) "How is your journal?" I heard when I looked back to the unicorn by the still who watched me with marked interest.

"Fine, though I have begun to question the point of it sometimes. It’s not like anyone is ever going to read it anyways. I figure it’s more of a habit now than anything. You know, the same way most people shave, shower and brush their teeth. I just end up writing in my journal every few weeks."

"Shave?" The phrase held some marked interest for her then as she glanced me over. "Are humans not all as hairless as you? Do you specifically shave your pelt off to look that way?"

Shrugging at her, I made a motion of stroking the hair that had grown on my cheeks and on the front of my neck. "Most are about this hairless, except this hair on my face. It's a beard, and alot of men shave it off for a better appearance."

"I thought perhaps you were growing a mane, like a lion. I had hoped maybe it would connect with the other hair growing and become a majestic crown around your face."

"No, afraid it never gets that grand. I actually wouldn't have it at all if I had any real idea of how to shave it off. I get the feeling I have looked really messy and stupid recently because of it." She questioned what I meant. "Guess it’s something most dads teach their sons. My stepfather never got around to showing me how and, well, I've not been home in a long time to ask."

Then I saw her look to the wall and find a small, clean knife from among the tools hanging there that she grasped with her magic. Looking to me with tenderness in her eyes, she smiled and started to close the long gap between us in the room. I heard her voice sweetly coo to me. "You don't know how? Well, sometimes ponies have to have their pelt shaved for surgeries or because something gets stuck in it, so I've done it once or twice before. I'd be happy to show you how, if you'd like." Intrigued, as she made her way past the benches and eased by Salmon, I slowly nodded my head to her. "Okay then, just sit still and I'll show you. All you have to do is set the flat side of the blade against the skin, turn the edge into it a little, and apply pressure as you stroke it across the skin. It'll then-" The thought was quickly interrupted, as I felt the cold metal of the blade that moments ago had stroked slowly against my cheek pulled away with a loud protest. Silence gave a small yelp as she was thrust away from me. I finally snapped out of our conversation to see that the others in the room had flown into an uproar while I was listening. Teardrop was holding her breath in angst, Salmon had wrenched the knife out of midair and now held it carefully in his teeth, and Silence was slowly picking herself up off of the ground after Maple had bashed her across the side and sent her tumbling away.

Before I could even make a comment, I felt the hooves of the pegasus mare grasp the sides of my face as she looked me in the eyes worriedly. "Benjy? Are you okay? She didn't hurt you, did she?"

"What?" I asked back, confused as to what was happening before it dawned on me what the scene must have looked like. "No, it's fine. She was just going to help me shave my face."

"Shave your face? She was going to cut off the cute little lion's mane you're growing?" Maple growled at Silence as she picked herself up. "You're asking for it now, Mouse. I've let you off the hook for a lot of stuff, but you will not play with his head like this!"

"... Shaving?" Salmon uttered as he spat the knife out and handed it to me at my request. "Lad, I thought she was going to cut you up like ribbons!"

"No, it's fine. I just forgot that not everyone could hear our conversation. Maple! Stop it and get away from her!" I had to call out, as Silence whimpered quietly. One of Maple's hooves was already wrenched in the unicorn's mane and another was reared back to deliver a strike. "Cut it out! I told her it was okay, now leave her alone."

Looking back at me for a moment unhappily, Maple let her go with a grumble. "You keep saving her at the last minute," she told me, before coming over and falling back on the bench next to me. "You know what happened last time you made me let her go. She's playing you like a card, little bossman. I don't like it."

"She's not playing anyone," I responded, as Silence quickly retreated to her corner of the brewing room and curled up on the floor as far out of sight as she could get. "Give it a rest. You can go back to your seat now and just forget about it."

"No," Maple immediately told me, as she glowered spitefully toward the other side of the room at Silence, who had rolled over to turn her back towards us and try to remove herself as much as possible. "I'm going to sit right here in case she tries to pull anymore tricks. I don't trust her, and I don't see why you do."

"What about me?" Willow asked with indignance, as he was left alone on his bench.

"You're not the pony in here that has a maniac trying to cut you up. Just play with yourself or something; I'm going to sit over here. Deal with it," Maple responded.

I could not take my eyes off of Silence in the corner of the room, or stop myself from feeling sympathetic towards her. With frustration building in the pegasus next to me though, now was not the time to dwell on it, and certainly not to act on it. "Whatever," I finally told her to try to defuse the situation, leaning forward to experimentally press the flat side of the knife against my cheek. I resolved to just listen to my CCMI continue to roll through a playlist of a few of my more sentimental tracks (a rare treat) and practice the technique Silence had tried to show me while we continued to wait. I’m proud to say that despite a few nicks left on me after the attempt, I got most of the stupid beard off! Everything except the chin, but my hands were shaking too much by the time I got to that part to do a clean scraping without hurting myself. Shaping it up would just have to do.

Salmon had finally gotten quiet, realizing that nobody wished to hear his stories at this time, and dozed off to sleep. I felt his head eventually slump over and land on my shoulder. Nudging him in the side and shaking my arm to try to wake him did nothing, so I figured I'd let the fellow take his nap as it would at least help him pass the time. When I felt another head rest on my other shoulder, I sighed.

Maple nuzzled her nose against my neck after a while and went to wrap her legs around me. Looking over, I saw that her eyes were closed as she smiled and pushed herself closer to rest more of her body against me. As much as I could appreciate it, looking past her gave me a glimpse of the terrible glare being thrown back from Willow, who watched her huddle up to me on the bench.

Clearing my throat, I shook my shoulder to try to dislodge her from it. "Is now really the best time?" I asked her quickly.

Opening her eyes with a grumble of discontent as I was trying to shake her off of me, she pulled her head away to view me while leaving her legs wrapped around my shoulders. "Is now really the worst time? Nothing for us to do, so might as well enjoy our stay in here."

"We're not exactly alone here, you know. Did you ever think that maybe this won't seem appropriate to someone else present?"

"No. Who gives a damn what anypony else thinks of it? If they've got a problem with it, they can say it to me, and I'll tell them it’s none of their business. Now just relax, Benjy. You wanna lean over here on me instead?"

"I actually want you to stop it."

Grinding her teeth unhappily, she looked at Salmon who continued to slump against me and gave a small snore as he shifted his face down, nose turned against my arm to try to block the light from his eyes. "Then why does he get to cuddle up to you? Make him stop if you're not going to let me do it."

"Because he's old and doesn't know any better, that's why," I responded with my teeth clenched. My patience was wearing thin. "Now be a big girl and accept it when I tell you no."

There was a moment when Maple looked between Silence in the corner and me, causing her to get even more upset. Pulling away from me, she moved back towards the bench with Willow on it as he feigned as though he was never looking in my direction. "Fine, whatever. I was just trying to be nice and help you sleep off some of this wait. So sue me. Sorry that I tried to do something nice for you."

"We'll talk about it later," I sighed, as I leaned my head back and tried closing my eyes again. While I rested, I listened faintly to the sounds in the room. It was mostly just long, slow breaths from Salmon as he snored occasionally, Maple telling Willow that she didn't want to be touched right now and to stop putting his hoof on her, and Overcast and Teardrop muttering something amongst themselves. Silence made no noises that I could tell. Even as I called her name in my head, I got no response. Perhaps she was not reading me. Whatever Springfield wanted me to see, I certainly wasn't finding it.

As the hours started to pass and the light coming in through the windows shifted colors, a bit of urgency crept up on a few of us present. One problem started when the quiet of the room we all sat in was pierced by a peculiar groan and rumble. Each of us glanced to one another with brows raised, questioning wordlessly who it was that was making such an odd sound. All our eyes found a single subject when the noise rose once again: It was Overcast, lying on his stomach, that seemed to be making it. His large golden eyes glanced back at us leisurely before his ears folded back and his head rested against the cobblestoned floor once more.

"Is that you?" Salmon asked him incredulously as the groan from the pony on the floor gurgled out again.

"It is, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bother everypony with my stomach. I'll try to be hungry more quietly from here on." This was beyond his capability as we heard the groan once more from beneath him. "Sorry."

We realized that Springfield might not be back before the night was over, and Overcast's stomach continuing to announce the hunger he was feeling made the rest of us contemplate exactly what each of us would be doing about food. Skipping a meal entirely did not settle well with the rest of the captives there when I suggested that a night without food would not kill anyone. Maple was the only one who agreed with me, but only because she said that having a full stomach sobering her up would only make this little treat of a sleepover last longer.

Instead of joining them in their search for something edible within the brewery, I returned to the door that was both locked and blocked to try contemplating a way past it. The hinges, peculiarly, were on the outside of the door, so I could not just dismantle it that easily. Maple had already tried bucking it open, and that had failed. The lock on it was a deadbolt, so I seriously doubted that I would be able to slip paper or something else in front of the latch to try to slip it out of the lock. When I took the doorknob in hand and tried slamming my shoulder against the door to test if it would budge, it refused to move even an inch, confirming that something heavy was pressed against it on the outside. During this time, the group had been searching through the barrels and found fresh hops and fermented strawberries, neither of which sounded too appetizing to them. That did not stop Overcast from putting his nose into the barrel of hops and beginning to munch on them complacently, as he figured there were worse tastes in the world.

Rubbing my forehead when I saw that there were no large, sharp tools to use in hopes of chopping away the door, I was left with only the option to look to my cellmates for assistance. "Willow, didn't you help make this door? Got any ideas on how to break it, or dismantle it?"

"No," he shot back to me quickly and bluntly, reaching in and pushing Overcast's head a bit deeper into the barrel of hops to see if he was really eating them before he dared to try one himself.

"You have to know a weakness in it. Anything, Willow. I just need something to work off of. You're the craftsman here."

"Why should I help you? You're the "Development Coordinator" here. Go and figure it out yourself, Bigwig."

"Now's not the time for this. We're all stuck in here, and if you will just help me, maybe we can get out of here and on with our lives. I want to be stuck in here just as little as you do."

"Help you? As if. What have you done for me? Nothing as far as I can tell, except cause me trouble."

"You've already broken my keepsake from Hyacinth and nearly had me bust my head open on my office wall! I've had it up to here with your petty bullshit, Willow! When are you going to just grow up? You've had enough unfounded revenge, now get over your stupid little misgivings and assist me in getting this damn door open!"

"Unfounded? What a laugh! If anything, you've gotten off pretty easy so far Prodder! What you did to me? What you took from me? You call me being pissed off "Unfounded?" You don't know what it's like I guess! You don't know what it's like to have somepony take something special from you!"

"She isn't yours!" I shouted back angrily, balling my fists. I was intercepted by Salmon, who kept his hoof on my shoulder to stop my march towards the carpenter and told me to just let it go. "No! He needs to be the one to let this go! You've damaged my property, tried to get me hospitalized, and now you're refusing to work with me during a crisis! Maybe unfounded isn't the right word for your revenge then, Willow: perhaps I need to call it and you handicapped!"

"She?" Maple called out curiously, stepping in the way of Willow, who put up his hooves and looked ready to step over and go toe-to-hoof with me over this. "Ben, you've got somepony else on the side!?" With a huff, she only used one hoof to restrain Willow, uncertain if she would even hold him back at all depending on my answer. "Guess that's why you're so distant with me in here. Don't want word getting back to her about me? Who is she then? Who's so much better than me that you'd steal her away from Willow?"

"We're talking about you!" I responded, as Salmon shook his head with a low swear. "I haven't stolen anyone!"

The words stopped as Maple bemusedly looked me over, unsure whether to laugh or shout about me lying to her. It was not until she turned her view around and saw Willow's nose turn dark red with anger and embarrassment that she slapped her hoof to her face and groaned. "... Not this again." With a deep and frustrated sigh, she looked at Willow with a stern set to her brow. "What the Nightmare, Willy. Really? You're pissy because you think he stole me from you?"

"He did!" Willow responded defensively. "I mean... He got in the way of us. Everything was fine before he came along! Then he flashes some of his power and... and says his big words, and next thing I know, he's tricked you into liking him!"

"There was never an us," the pegasus shot back quickly.

"Not yet there wasn't," Willow replied as he lowered his head and rubbed his front legs together. "There would have been if he never showed up!"

Shaking her head in disbelief, Maple visibly battled with herself over what to say to him. "No, there wasn't. I've already told you before that I don't like you like that. I told you that I wasn't interested."

"You're just being indecisive though! You're hard to get. That's what it is, right? I just have to prove myself is all. I just needed a little more time to make you see." As her expression did not change for him, Willow gulped and grasped for anything he could. "He's just a rich colt! A fancy-pants! He had to have tricked you somehow to make you like him! Don't you remember, Maple? Don't you remember what we used to talk about back in Lopeyette? Rich folks are nothing but trouble: Just scum and bullies. He did something to trick you into liking him, and I won't stand for it!"

"You don't even know why I don't like rich ponies, do you?" she asked him back grimly.

"'Cause they're snobs? Because they think they're better than us just because they've got some shiny bits and pretty clothes? But it's okay 'cause we didn't need them. We had each other, and that was what kept us going, right?"

Shaking her head, Maple bit her lip as she did her best not to think back to the days he spoke of, and what was happening back then that he truly had no idea about. Watching his expression change from anger to desperation as he tried to make his stand before her, she just could not give him a look that comforted him. "It's because most of them just can't see or care what it's like for somepony else: What it's like for somepony like me."

"Not like me, right? I get you; I know what it's like."

"No, you don't. I'm sorry, Willy, but you don't. That's why there was nothing between us and never will be. I don't think you'd ever truly get it. Even if I spelled it out for you, you'd just agree with me, but you'd never really get it." The pegasus reached out to touch the carpenter's shoulder, ears folded in sorrow for him as he bit his lower lip and drew in breaths as calmly as he could. "It just wouldn't work," she said in a tone as comforting as she could muster, "I just don't feel that way for you, Willy. You're a fun pal to have around, but that's it."

Willow lowered his sights from her, as he could not bear to look her in the eyes. He continued to breathe at an even pace with much effort, refusing to let himself show that this upset him. There was a moment when he looked up to speak, but seeing her jade sights still set on him made him merely close his mouth and whine through his nose unhappily. "Just tell me it’s all a joke," he asked her finally, "You can still see me that way, can't you? You're just playing hard to get. You'll come around at some point, won't you?" As Maple did not respond, Willow pinned his ears back and gravely asked her with water tugging at the edges of his eyes, "Was there ever even a little chance?"

Petting his face with one of her legs, Maple solemnly shook her head to him. "Not after all we've been through. I'm sorry, it just wasn't meant to be." Doing her best to crack a smile at him, she put her hoof beneath his chin and reassured him, "But you're still li'l Willy to me."

A sniffle escaped him, but I was surprised to see the chocolate-colored carpenter instead straighten his back and do his best to smile at Maple. It hurt. I could see that it hurt by the way that his smile was bittersweet. He hated the taste it left behind, but he would have to endure it. He would bear through it for her. "I guess I already kinda knew. I just didn't want to believe it," he stated, as he moved by her to step up to me, straightening his expression. The fading light coming in through the windows shimmered over the water in his eyes, as he did all he could to keep it there and not let it roll down his cheek. Staring me down, I felt his hoof pressed to my chest as he held it out for me to grasp. "You win. You're the better stallion. If she thinks so, then I'll accept it. I'm sorry for what I said about you."

Taking his hoof in my hand with a deep exhale, I shook it firmly and accepted his offer. "We were never competing. I don't want you to think I'm better, and in fact, I'm sorry for what I said as well. I am no more important to Songring than you are. We wouldn't have made it this far without you, Willow, even if it hasn't been the easiest time between us." With that, I patted his shoulder once and set his hoof down, respectfully nodding to him in hopes that perhaps he could crack a smile for me too. He did, but it was small and pained. It was brave, nonetheless. "Now about this door: Any ideas?"

Looking past me at it, he slowly began to shake his head. "Nah, you see, I set it up with the mindset of being able to get it open from the outside in case somepony got the door stuck, or tried to lock themselves in here. Never really thought anypony would be stuck in here by accident. It'd be easy to get it open from the other side, but we're pretty shafted on this side of it."

Even with the help of the craftspony who made the door, there was no feasible way to wrench it open from the side we were stuck on. I resigned myself back to a bench to wallow in further defeat and grudgingly let yet more time pass to wait on Springfield's return. Salmon and Willow bothered with the door a bit more, and Maple brushed by me asking if I'd like to lean on her now. I refused, for I figured there was no reason to rub salt in Willow's open wound. Even if she was looking for comfort, she would just have to endure a while more as well.

"That's awfully tragic: A romance that never fully blossomed." Teardrop was speaking with Overcast, secluded to only the two of them. The room was far too small for them to keep it to themselves, but since nobody else commented on their conversation, I imagine that I was the only one paying attention to it. "I suppose fate can be kind of cruel sometimes. Poor Willow."

"I wouldn't call it fate," Overcast responded to her, "I'd say it was Maple. I don't blame her for liking Mr. Benjamen Prodder, but he’s pretty out of her league. Willow is probably more within her range."

Teardrop rebuked him for his pessimistic view. I personally found myself more offended that they spoke as though the rest of us were not present, even if I was the only one eavesdropping on what they said. It was almost as if only they existed in the world in their eyes.

While their conversation struck up again, the corners of the room began to fill up as everyone gave up on the door. I sat in one, Maple respected my wishes and rested in another, Willow wished to sit alone for a while to reflect on his situation, and Salmon took his seat next to me. The gap between all of us swirled with an uncomfortable hush, as if it were a no man's land that none of us dared cross while the minutes ticked by.

"I finally see what Springfield wanted us to look at." I looked up when Salmon put his hoof on my shoulder to tell me this, and I saw the worry tug at his expression. He was looking out into the room at everyone in it. To Maple, resting her chin on the bench as she lie down and tapped her hoof lazily. To Willow, as he stared into the void between he and the cobbled floor. To Overcast and Teardrop, as they whispered sweet nothings to each other, reclused entirely from the problems of our situation. To Silence, as she had not moved from her corner and remained curled into a ball, seeking the comfort of solitude in our presence. His eyes turned to me with a grim knowledge in them as he asked me, "Do you see it too?"

"I just see a mess," I responded as I folded my arms. "He's locked seven individuals in a brewing room as a test of patience, like putting beta fish in a tank together. At least I don't have Willow on my back anymore... that takes a load off of my shoulders at least."

"You talk about him like he's just a problem," Salmon mentioned, as he shook my shoulder gently to get me to look back at him. "What has happened to us all? When did it all change? What defining moment did it all end?"

"When what ended, Salmon?"

"Us." A few moments passed as he gulped back sadness at the thought. "When did our friendship end? Now we can't even spend a few hours in a room together without fights breaking out and everypony itching to get away from each other. Now we can hardly even band together when there's a problem. Now... well, you're the only one who even thinks an old pony is worthwhile enough that his stories and thoughts aren't just a waste of your time. When did it change?"

Salmon's contemplations soon made things very clear to me, like a fog lifted from in front of me, and I was truly seeing what was going on around me when the haze dissipated. What I had been seeing all this time was exactly what Springfield wanted us to see, I was just too absorbed in it to realize that it was a problem at all. We were an absolute mess.

"I just wish things would go back to the way they were before we left Songring," Salmon told me. Even when I told him that this was still Songring, simply relocated, he shook his head to me. "It doesn't change that I feel like I must have left everything there when we moved. I left the sea. I left my friends... Dammit, lad, if you're not the only thing I seemed to keep, and I'm honestly surprised you aren't ready to just forget about me like everypony else has."

"I think we've all forgotten too much already." When I saw him still furrowing his bushy brows in worry, I took his hoof off of my shoulder and motioned with my thumb for us to stand up. "Hey, how about you and I give everyone a little reminder then? No reason to look so down: We can still fix this. We are locked in here until Springfield comes back after all, right?" It was refreshing to see him truly smile again. It was not clueless and drifty like his smiles are when he's alone on the bridge, but a warm and joyous smile as he rose up with me to head to the wall to gather some bottles, empty and full, to fill with water or share the contents of.

Maple watched us with marked curiosity as he and I grabbed one of the benches from both ends and began pushing it across the cobbled floor with a screech. We did this with two others, until the middle bench was arranged with its arms touching the arm of another, making a square pattern with the seating. As Salmon and I grinned awkwardly sitting across from her, we set the bottles down on the floor in front of us and asked if she'd like to join us for a spell. At first she was wary of the invitation. With a smirk, she pulled herself up to sit at my side, opposite Salmon, telling us, "Drinking alone is never fun anyways."

Three was not enough to make our group complete by a long shot. Suggesting that it might do the guy some good, Maple called Willow over. He was hesitant at first, as he must have still been feeling down from the blow his pride had taken a couple of hours ago. It only took Maple shoving a bottle into his stomach and making him lurch before he finally listened to her, "As you said, you already knew. Nothing changed except your lies to yourself. How about you celebrate your new clarity instead? Now stop being a shit and get over here; you're holding out on us."

With the four of us present, we looked down to see three bottles still unattended in the center of the square of benches. "Well, that just won't do," Salmon said, as he was the first to get up and slap Maple's hoof away from her drink as she was about to wrench it open. She would just have to wait until everyone was ready.

The two lovers lying together on the cobbled floor were startled to see a shadow loom over them. Salmon approached, blocking the light from the fire beneath the still. Their conversation faded as Teardrop shyly buried her face in Overcast's pelt, muttering how they must be in trouble. Peculiar that such was her first assumption when any of us approached.

"No, not in trouble. Just letting you know to come over and join us. Come on you two, up and at 'em! Ben's got a couple of unopened pints already waiting on you two." Things got complicated when their response was to look back awkwardly towards Salmon and shake their heads, stating that they were happy where they were. Salmon did his best to inform them that it was just a friendly social and that we'd be all the poorer for not having them there, but still they refused. They refused right up until Salmon's brows turned down in frustration. "That's not very polite, you know, to turn down a free drink and a good time. Not like you two have anywhere else to be."

"About as rude as somepony who doesn't accept no the first few times. We're happy where we are. Go away." Overcast responded irritably, his leg still around Teardrop as he turned his head away to dismiss Salmon.

I shared Salmon's expression of disbelief as he looked back at me. Neither one of us were sure we had heard Overcast correctly, but it seems we must have because Maple rose to her hooves. "Hold on there, Sad-Sack. Don't you talk to the old fella like that! He just wants to spend some time with his friends! Now get over here before I drag you over here myself. You don't get to say no anymore."

"You can't tell us what to do!" Teardrop exclaimed back defiantly, before she shrank at the sight of the two irritated pegasi. Using Overcast as a barrier between her and Maple, she stood and nudged him to the front.

"Yeah," Overcast agreed, "You can't tell me what to do Maple." Even as she came face-to-face with him, the charcoal-colored pony did not budge an inch.

"Whoa, when did you get a pair?" the red pegasus asked him with some form of momentary respect, before turning her sights back seriously. "Look, we're all happy for you that you finally got somepony to bed," this was interrupted by Teardrop responding back that it wasn't like that, and that she was just being mean now, "but you can pull out for long enough to come have a drink with us. Now do you need me to get some ice to help pop your knot out of her, Fido, or do you think you can do that on your own?"

"You can't talk to me like that, Maple." Overcast still stood his ground with a determined stare, but his voice remained calm and smooth throughout the entire back-and-forth. "I'm not just somepony you can step on whenever you feel like it. I've had enough of you and your abuse." Teardrop helped bolster him by cheering quietly and telling him that he was doing great. Perhaps they had practiced something like this previously? "Teardrop says I don't have to let you push me around anymore because you're nothing but a bully. That's just because she's nice; a lot nicer than you. I'd have said that you're just a bitch." (I honestly did not know he had that in him.)

Neither did Maple. She was dumbfounded, left to stammer out her response in disbelief. "You know what I do to ponies who talk back to me like that, Drizzle?"

"Probably nothing," he retorted bluntly, "Because Mr. Benjamen Prodder is sitting right over there. You won't do anything to me while he's over there, so I can finally tell you what I really think. I think you need to leave me alone because you're just a brute and I don't want anything to do with you."

"You just going to let him tell you off like that? Even I'm not that dumb! Give him a wallop, Maple! A good old' one-two! Three hits and he'll be whistling a whole new tune!" Willow jumped in as he took to Maple's side and put his hooves on her back to push her further into the confrontation.

"She wouldn't dare! You tell her everything you've been wanting to, Overcast! Let her know what you really think of her!" Teardrop continued to prod from behind Overcast, taking his side in the scuffle.

"Wait a minute," I finally butted in as I stepped over to defuse the situation. "First off, you can't just use me as a shield, Overcast. Second, everyone just take a breath and let's take a look at this. There seems to be a problem here." I took a moment to push Maple and Overcast's heads apart from each other and stood between them. It shocked me to hear Willow tell Maple to just bowl me over and still go after the little sack anyways, and Teardrop telling Overcast that I was just siding with Maple because of our involvement. "I'm not taking anyone's side here, because neither of you are thinking this through."

"He's just strutting and acting big to show off for his mare," Maple stated with a sneer, stepping back as I stood between them despite Willow's pressure for her to go put somepony in his place. I asked her if she would just sit down for a moment to let me try to help them work this out, and she nodded compliantly. "I'll do it for you, Ben. I don't think I need to prove anything to a wet blanket like him anyways." After telling her to ease off of the slurs for a bit, I turned back to Overcast to ask him what had him so upset.

"You wouldn't know, Mr. Benjamen Prodder. You're usually just too busy to handle somepony's problems like mine."

"I had time to handle your problem on Hearts and Hooves day, didn't I? Tell me about it."

"Well, okay. Maple is a bully. She picks on me whenever we pass by one another just because she's stronger than I am. She doesn't sidestep me when I'm busy engraving the halls, she always calls me names like Mopey and Drizzle, and she takes my journal and reads it when I tell her not too. On top of that, nopony tries to stop her. They just watch her do it or laugh at me too when she does it. I'm not going to let her do it anymore, Mr. Benjamen Prodder, because I've got somepony who believes in me now. I also don't have to be friends with anypony who would just watch her be mean to me."

I turned to ask the accused if this was true. "Yeah, I do that stuff to him occasionally. Guess it sounds a lot worse when he says it than when I think about it.” I asked her what she meant by thinking about it, and she shrugged. "I feel like I have good reason for what I do." Incredulously, I had to question how she could possibly justify bullying him. She flared back with a defensive rise in her tone: "Trial by fire! There's no reason a stallion should be so helpless! I see him wallow around all day, and all I can think is that he needs to get some backbone to him, so I give him something to rise to the occasion to. He actually is impressing me right now."

"Then why are you upset with him if this is what you've been trying to get him to do?" I asked.

"I never thought that when he finally got some gumption that he'd end up hating me. I wasn't expecting a thank you card or anything, but he doesn't have to start spitting insults at me or telling me he hates me. I thought we were friends."

"If you were my friend, you wouldn't pick on me, Maple. You'd be nice to me like Teardrop is, and like Mr. Benjamen Prodder is. You're lying,” Overcast refused.

"I did it to Rag and Tag all the time! You think I've never grabbed one of the colts by the head and roughed their manes up? You think I haven't taken them down to the mat for a count out during one of their make-believe wrestling matches? Just because I don't go around patting their heads gently all the time, telling them how special they are, and feeding them cookies doesn't mean I don't care about them." Maple looked away from Overcast after saying that, muttering loud enough that we heard her about how sappy this was going to get. "I just thought maybe I was toughening you up a bit. Not everypony will go easy on you like I do. Or we, I guess, since you have Prodder and Teardrop there holding your hoof for you." She then regarded him sincerely to tell him, "I'm sorry if you feel like I was just bullying you. I just thought in some small way I was helping you out because I don't want to see anypony else pushing you around."

Overcast turned his gaze away after she said that, looking down to the cobbled floor as he thought quite hard judging from the look of the lines that appeared on his face above his brow. Moments of intense pondering passed before he looked up and admitted in his usually gloomy tone, "I guess I just made a fool of myself in front of everypony. I'm sorry; I'll try to show that I have backbone to somepony who deserves it next time."

"So why did everypony just watch her do that to him then?" Teardrop asked, as she came around and seemed to brave-up enough to stand closer to the group.

I confided that I had no idea such was going on, or I had just never seen any acts of violence or true harm. Salmon's voice boomed over me, however, when I tried to explain. "It was all just in good fun, of course! Our tough broad over here never was going to hurt him! I thought we all figured it'd do him some good, and if nothing else, it got him some attention too, didn't it?"

"Did he just call me a broad?" Maple inquired, as she went to move past me.

"Forget about it," I told her, as I pressed her back down to a seated position with one hand.

"Now that we all know what was going on, how about we bury that hatchet for now? Those bottles are still over there waiting on you two." Even as Teardrop and Overcast looked to one another sheepishly, Salmon pressed again with the statement, “Anything you'd be doing over here, you can do over there with us too."

"Not to mention, I put you two together. I can just as easily pull you two apart if I feel like you're neglecting us," I added playfully. This caused Teardrop distress, before Overcast informed her that I was only joking and told me that he was sorry if I felt like he was ignoring me. "No problem, just have a seat over here with us and we'll call it even, okay? We haven't had a chance to just talk in a while."

As all the ponies fell onto the benches with flops and grunts of content, I did not join them. My mind was elsewhere then, as the five of them wandered over to sort out the bottles. I found myself still captivated by the sight of one other that resided in the room along with us. Curled up in the corner with her face turned towards the wall and her tail tucked between her legs, the only unicorn among us still secluded herself to keep the peace. Even when I heard a few laughs from behind me and voices call me over, I ignored them long enough to watch Silence's abdomen raise and lower slowly with her breaths. I could not turn away, but I could not simply watch either.

I approached the unicorn lying on her side. Kneeling beside her, I reached out to pet my hand through her blonde mane. Her eyes were closed, and the fur around them only slightly damp as she slumbered in solitude with her tail hugged close to her for comfort. She shifted at my touch as I continued to stroke her hair, eventually stirring awake. Her sleepy eyes watched me, questioning if she were still merely dreaming. "Hey, I came to ask if you'd like to join us for a bit. You've been rather quiet over here." I would personally like to give myself a commendation for my absolutely terrible choice of words.

Unsure how to respond to me, she craned her head to look back over at the group of ponies on the benches watching her as well. Their eyes had followed me when I refused to join them, and now they bore into her as she rested beneath my hand. "No. I'd much rather keep my distance. You saw what happened last time I came near and what they think of me. Enjoy yourselves. I will be fine here. Don't worry about me."

"I can't force you to do anything you don't want to do," I told her, even after she had closed her eyes and huddled up once again, "But it would mean a lot to us if you would come over. It's been a long time since we've all been able to just sit with one another. It would mean a lot to Salmon if you came over to speak with us for a bit. It would mean a lot to me if we could try to just get back to the way things were."

"Things just aren't the same anymore. It's not like it was. Too much has happened, and too much has been said to just go back."

"I didn't believe you were a hypocrite." Those words caused Silence to cringe beneath my hand, though I still pet over her silky locks gently. A hurt voice sounded in my head, asking me what I meant and why I would call her that. "You aren't living up to your own advice. You once told me something very special that helped me through a tough time, and I think maybe you should hear it again. After Tick Tock died, and I was stuck dwelling on it, you told me: 'Now we have the choice of whether to dwell on what cannot be changed, or look forward to that which still has the fortune to be undecided and that we may actually be able to shape. Life as a settler is hard, and there is no reason to make it harder by focusing on regret and despair.' You don't have to let a couple of mistakes dictate your future for you."

Silence hugged me then. I was not expecting it, but after thinking on my words, she reached her hooves out to put them around my shoulders in an embrace as she pulled herself up. "I don't know what to say. I don't know what I can say. I want to go back to the way things were, but I just don't know how to take back the terrible things I said to Maple. I don't know how anypony could respect me after I abused my ability so."

I pulled her with me as I stood up and helped her onto her hooves, leaving my arm around her neck to keep her close as I led her toward the benches. Her legs quivered when she looked at the group and saw the stares once more, and her head turned to try to find solace by burying her eyes into my side. I had to grasp her by the horn to slowly pry her face out of my shirt and force her to look up once I sat her down beside me on one of the benches. Expecting to see hateful glowers and disapproving stares, it was a shock to her to see that everyone around her smiled and pushed a bottle in her direction happily. They welcomed her back to the gathering and spoke of how much they had missed her while she had been gone down into the depths of the mines so often. The only one who did not smile was Maple, who watched Silence grasp my arm with distaste and kept quiet as she distrustfully watched the unicorn. Soon enough their eyes met, and I couldn't help but watch them.

It looked like a staring match: Both bearing their sights into one another for a long time, refusing to turn their gaze away. Neither spoke, but I saw the horn upon the unicorn's head glimmer gently in the dim light.

As Willow and Salmon bonded, the former captivated with a reenactment of a glorious spar once had upon a ship Salmon served on, I watched the voiceless conversation between the mares. Their expressions changed very subtly, and I heard sighs escape each one more than once. After many minutes, the pegasus rose and stepped forward, causing a hush amongst everyone as she stood face-to-face with the unicorn once more.

"So I guess I just have one last question for you then, Mouse. Did you say that stuff about me because you really think that?"

I did not hear the response, though I saw Silence lower her head at that time and close her eyes. She shook her head to the pegasus woefully, keeping her ears folded back in apology. Her solemn demeanor was replaced with a startled reflex when the red pelt of the pegasus swept around her and brought her close in a hug.

"I don't want to be mad anymore anyways. It's good to have a friend back. We've all been through too much together to let stupid things like Ben get between us."

Yeah, sure, make it my fault that you two were at each others' throats... and I'm not a stupid thing!

“You still don't have an ass though, Mouse,” Maple jeered amiably, as she gave Silence a friendly push on the shoulder with her hoof. Her smirk died quickly from the response she got back. "The tank jokes still aren't funny. Make another one, and we'll probably have to throw down."

The best way to describe how the night proceeded after their hug can be summed up in a single line from my perspective:

I'm so glad to be able to say that I have my friends back.

The night was honestly what I can call fun: Stories, truth and dare, a few great quips out of Maple, and even better retorts from Overcast even though none of us knew he could be intentionally funny. (Careful though, his humor is dry enough that you can choke on it.) Hearing their voices speak to each other in something other than distress or anger once again has left me smiling all night, and even through to this morning. None of us realized that the entire night had passed before the brewery door swung open and Absinthe wandered past us to look into the buckets resting beneath the multiple spigots of the now-cooled still, humming to herself. It was not until Willow gave out a catcall whistle and hollered that he was on the market if she was by chance looking for a fun time that we realized she had come in after removing the hefty wagon out from in front of the door.

I will have to go thank Springfield later and let him know that we finally did find what he wanted us to see. For now, however, I came back to my office immediately after taking a quick shower at the bathhouse to write this entry. I believe now would be a good time for me to simply collapse into bed and not get back up until tomorrow, at which time all the wrapping up can be done.

My incarceration was worth every minute.

Author's Note

Ah, the equivalent of a Songring After-School Special. Thanks, Springfield...

Also fixed a couple of color inconsistencies. Had trouble finding them all after I had to chance a couple of character's color choices since they seemed to be too similar to one another. Silence's eye color was one here that needed to be updated.

52+: Letters

Dear Bent,

The Fatal Horns, huh? It took me hours of perusing historical maps detailing the outskirts of the Sun of Chance, but one topographical map has given you away. The Charmedsmile river passes through the Fatal Horns mountain range within the Honoring Mire. Following the river trail, I can see where there is a small cup in the mountain range with hoofhills to the south and eastern sides, and peaks to the north and west. I now know exactly where you are.

What will I do with this knowledge? Probably nothing, since you are adamant about refusing to see me. I feel as though I might have wasted my time digging through those maps. Are you sure that I cannot visit? Will it really be too dangerous or distracting for me to be there? I am just really disappointed now, mostly because I was happy before, thinking that maybe I'd get to see you face-to-face once again. It's been so long, Ben. Almost six years now. I'm ashamed to say it, but I have trouble remembering your face or what you look like. All I can remember for some reason is your voice, and that's why I want to see you. I don't want to forget. I just fear that you may not come back for some reason, perhaps that you'll find Canterlot to be preferable or that you'll just stay in Songring. All of these silly fears, it's just me being foolish and sentimental is all.

I also want you to know that I do trust you, and I'm sorry if it seemed like I didn't. I feel like there's just no way I can help you from here, and that gets to me sometimes.

Your description of Songring still makes it sound quite nice, mostly because of the interesting folks there. I imagine the living arrangements are quaint, and I bet that the group is close enough that everypony knows each other, right? If nothing else, it is comforting to know that you have so many great ponies out there to help take care of you. We're still your favorites though, right? Little Dawnstar hasn't replaced me as your academic, has she?

I'm joking of course. Just to clarify.

I've not thought of a question I wanted to ask about you or your home. I guess I was just more wrapped up in other concerns this time around, such as attending the Grand Galloping Gala this year. While I was there, I did get to shake hooves with somepony who claimed to know you. Sir Jack Bullion is his name. Do you know him too, or was he just that desperate for conversation that he fabricated your connection?

Hopefully Yours,
Twilight Sparkle

Dear Twilight,

I'm rather surprised you took the time to hunt down where I am now located. I'm genuinely impressed too. You are correct, we are in fact located at the base of the Fatal Horns. I suppose now there's no way I can actually deny you your chance to visit then, hm? So be it.

It has indeed been a long time. I'm just happy that throughout the whole endeavor you've still bothered to take the time to write to me and let me know that life still goes on while we toil away in the dirt and elements out here. It gives me some hope, knowing that there's something on the other side for me to look forward to. Not that I have not found enjoyment in some of the little things out here in Songring, but I still yearn to go back to the simpler life that I lived there in Ponyville. Maybe I just miss clean clothes and warm baths, huh? No, I really still do long to see you all again. Do not worry about forgetting my face, I never thought it was anything special anyways. At least you'll be able to recognize my handwriting.

Do not worry that you'll never see me again either. I have a promise I've made to go back to Ponyville, and I don't intend to break it. Even if it may be another six years before I can fulfill it.

The folks here in Songring are really the only thing that makes it bearable. Without them, it'd be just a wretched little cave in a mountain surrounded by jungle. They bother me sometimes. Honestly, a lot of the time. I would still find myself all the poorer, however, had I never had the chance to meet most of them. I just recently found myself appreciating them again, thanks to the wisdom of a certain farmerpony that I think knows much more than he ever lets on. Being trapped in a brewery for twelve hours is a story for another time though.

I do want you to know that Dawnstar has not replaced you. If anything, I am the one who has to teach her, not the other way around. I will not let you be replaced.

I do indeed know Bullion. He is the owner of the caravan that shows up each autumn or winter (depending on the weather, the conditions, the alignment of the stars, and the will of the fates). We've had a bit of a turbulent history since I first met him, but I would call him a friend as well. It's always nice to see his bubbly smile and that cheery purple hat. It's kind of nice to know that it's possible to have money and still remain an enjoyable individual. I find myself able to respect him, even if he can be a little careless or ritualistic sometimes. Did he have anything nice to say about me?

By the way, if you really wish to come out to Songring, you're welcome to. I might suggest holding out through the winter though. The weather is not very impressive this time of year, and I don't believe we've had a "good" winter yet. Something bad is bound to happen. How about the spring or summer?

Just let me know how many rooms to have ready for you and whoever you're bringing, and I'll be ready to accommodate you.

Still Yours,
Benjamen Prodder

Author's Note

Due to a number of positive responses stating that the letters do add helpful depth or reprieve during the story, I have decided to leave them a part of the story. Here's one more.

53: Yersinia

I find myself in a very difficult situation right now. It is one that I have witnessed so many fall into before, but I never once imagined that I would be in the same seat as them. I never considered that I could one day be the one sitting in a room as the clock ticks seconds, minutes, and hours away with nothing to look forward to but more waiting, all the while fearing the worst is yet to happen. I can see both sides of a single coin right now, and neither one of them is easy to look at.

As the stepson of a neurosurgeon, I have spent my share of nights in a waiting room, simply twiddling my thumbs while I waited, wondering when my stepfather would finish with his current surgery and come through the swinging door to see us all. Eventually, he would come back through the door with an expression that was impossible to read, as though it were carved in stone. Others in the room, who had spent their time wringing their hands or holding their hair in their fingers to get them through the tension, would look to him for answers. Those times were always the most suspenseful – the times I waited to see my stepfather's expression.

When he smiled, there was a feeling of joy that came over those who waited in the room with me that I don't believe I have seen replicated anywhere else. The powerful feelings of rejoicing and delight shone like an aura off of those who saw him smile as he exited the operating room. "Everything went well and he/she is going to make a full recovery," he would say. So many times, I saw him accept handshakes and hugs, and even let a few cry on his shoulder in sheer ecstasy after the burden of waiting in that room had suddenly been lifted from them.

Then there were the times he didn't smile. Those were the worst times I can recall. Whereas his smile brought the greatest joy I had ever seen in my life, a grim shake of his head inspired the worst of sorrows. I came to fear the look in his eyes he had on those nights. The nights when he shook his head and caused women to weep and men to fall to their knees, begging him to tell them that it just wasn't true. His tight lips would always part after he shook his head, and he would say one of the many dark dismissals that crush souls and shatter lives.

"We did all that we could."

"There was nothing we could do for him."

"It is in God's hands now."

I can see both sides of the coin right now, and neither is easy to look at.

There truly is not much time for me to write this entry tonight, or any night here recently. Right now I'm seated on a stiff chair propped in the infirmary, huddled beneath a blanket to try to fight off the chill coming off of the stone walls and floor. I've barely left this room for the past few days, only going to fetch water and some necessities when I find a free moment.

Songring is in a bad place right now. As has been our curse since we arrived in the Honoring Mire, we still have no medical staff at all. The few ponies here that could act as impromptu doctors and nurses all happen to have succumbed to tragedy. That leaves only myself, with what little medicinal understanding I have, to do all I can to make the settlers here more comfortable, and struggle to hang onto the last threads tethering them to the living world. I receive some help from the ponies that are still healthy: They help me with fetching food, water, and soap, but they still have their own duties that they must attend to so that Songring does not crumble beneath us.

We were attacked again this Autumn, but not like anything we had seen before. Deicidians came through the canyon that the Charmedsmile runs through to the east and marched right up to the settlement, having distracted us all by setting the homes on the far side of the river on fire. They struck when my pride and Songring's future burned away in the blazing homes. They had actually come to speak with us, but the parlay they called for did not last long before a battle started between the few militia members we could gather and their overwhelming forces. It was a stroke of luck that we did not lose everything right then and there, including our lives. The blunderbuss hanging on my wall has now seen live combat, and it is the only thing that gave us the edge and made them rethink their time of attack. Their leader believes me to be a demon with evil magic, and the fear of what I might do with that magic is what encouraged them to leave instead of fight.

No matter how much I would like to believe it, this is not over. "By the year's first bloom, we will hold the Mire." That is the last thing she said to me, and from the magnitude of hate I could hear in her tone, I'm inclined to believe her words. They will try to take the Mire from us. They will bring as many soldiers as it will take to wrench this place from our grasp. Hundreds of battle-ready warriors and archers are at their disposal. We have maybe 4 ponies left that can fight right now to summon to the militia. I don't think there's any way Songring can withstand that kind of force, even if so many were not in recovery right now.

I've been grappling with the decision of what I can do to save Songring and make this problem go away so that the ponies here can continue living a happy life. I want to help them keep their land and do all I can to preserve what they call home, but a lot of my friends are really hurt right now, and I just know that the more we struggle to hold on, the more of this I'm going to have to see.

That is why I have used the flare gun given to me at the beginning of this expedition as part of my emergency supplies. This is the closest thing to an emergency that I can imagine. When the extraction team arrived to take me back to Canterlot, I informed them of Songring's situation and asked them to report it back to Celestia. I told them to ask her to help me in any way she could.

I'm sorry... but there's just nothing left in my power I can do to save Songring. I'm so sorry.

The autumn season has passed now, and the chill of winter has snuck into the air, defined by the white clouds that rise up out of the depressed sighs of the ponies that still toil away each day. It has been years since any of us have felt the air get so crisp and cold, since it never snows here in the valley beneath the Fatal Horns. This year seems to be different, however, and in the distance, I can hear loud howls of wind over the mountain passes high above the Honoring Mire. It sounds almost like the shrill cries of a great beast, and the air nips a bit colder each time it echoes through the valley.

The weather is grimly fitting, as though it were orchestrated by some poetic, neglectful god for the sake of symbolism. Songring, for the first time, grows cold like a fresh corpse on the soiled operating table beneath my hands. I can almost hear the sharp, stagnant wail of a flat lining monitor in my head as I stare back at all that I have lost, and know that it is I who lost it. It was I who it depended on, and what I could do for it just was not enough. I will be the one to pull up the sheet and pronounce the time, I will be the one to step into that waiting room, and I will be the one to weep when I shake my head only to myself.

I have done all I can.

There's nothing more I could do.

It is in Celestia's hooves now.

So this is what all is going through the kid's head. I knew he was having a rough time of it, but I never imagined it was this bad for him. Guess you just never really take the time to wonder what somepony else is thinking about until you have absolutely nothing else to do. Looks like he's a rather poetic little fella too, when I glance over some of his other thoughts in here.

I know you're going to be pissed at me when you figure out I snatched up your journal here, Ben, so I guess I'll apologize for it now, and also for taking my chance to write something. You'll have to give me a break since it's rather boring being stuck in this infirmary bed over here all day with a bolt wound in my shoulder. There aren't many folks in here that I want to talk to, and most of the others, like Springfield over there, still haven't woken up, so this is the closest thing to entertainment I've had in a while. It also isn't easy for me to sit over here and watch you try to rock yourself to sleep over there with Maple's hoof in your grasp.

I'll see about lending you a hoof and taking the time to record just what went down that caused all of these problems for you.

It all has to do with that Deicidian pony attack that was mentioned before. The day started out well enough, just like any other I can recall. There was the sound of some trees being chopped, of some furniture being hauled, so on and so forth. Pretty much a typical, easy day. It was that way right up until the first volley.

A hail of bolts came raining down on the houses that were built on the other side of the river, and on the construction sites there too. No ponies that I know of were caught in that initial assault, but they weren't really aiming for anyone in particular. No, they hit their mark, and that was to hit the houses that were built out there. Before any of us knew what happened, the wooden homes had already burst into flames and everypony was scrambling to find something to put it out. Ben's little pet, Dawnstar, was the first to the scene to check out what was going on. She started getting everypony in order to start putting out the fires. She had the unicorns filling buckets and barrels in the river, pegasus ponies dumping the water on the fire from above, and the earth ponies making damp cloths to tie around the firefighters' faces and pulling out any wounded. Too bad all it did was line everyone up into a position for them to fire again.

The rat bastards shot again; a second volley. It came up off the banks of the Charmedsmile, right on top of them all as they were still fighting the fires. That mute miner was in the office with Ben. When he saw it coming, he used her special powers to warn Dawnstar about it. She was able to get quite a few ponies to relative safety and minimize casualties, but a few of the pegasus ponies were still in the air when it happened. Cross Thread, Canary, and Salmon. The first two got some flesh wounds from it, but the old seapegasus took one right in the bone of a wing. With only one wing still flapping, he spiraled towards the ground. Truth be told, he's still MIA: We haven't found where he landed.

It's pretty strange having that miner, Silence is what they call her, use her telepathy to speak to you. You can hear a voice in your head that isn't your own, so I can only guess it's supposed to be hers. It was at that point that she did it to me, telling me that I was supposed to get the militia prepped and head to the apartment halls to meet up with Ben. I told her to nightmare with that, and that we needed to set up guerilla positioning instead. Marching out there in a line like a bunch of morons was only going to get us killed, but we'd actually stand a chance if the militia dropped in on them from above or behind to root out their numbers before they could get their damn lines turned around to stop us. Word from the kid was no though, we were going to meet at the apartment halls. I asked if he had a better plan. I didn't get an answer from him then.

The coordinator hasn't done me wrong yet. I might have thought he was being a dumbass with that call, but that's just the problem. It was his call to make. I may be the militia captain, but when it comes down to it, I still accepted that he's my commanding officer. I did as he asked.

Turns out I got a little extra baggage when filing the militia into position. Heartstrike, Tye Dye, all the usuals were there with me as I checked them over to make sure they were suited up. I know it's easy for some of these greenhorns to forget a bit of barding and end up kicking the bucket because of some stupid mistake like not strapping a chanfron down well enough, or thinking that the croupier isn't necessary and ending up losing the ability to walk because they take a spear head or a blade to the flank. A couple of ponies showed up without a single scrap of gear. That damn boozer Maple and our cheeky bartender both came to play soldier that day.

I told them both to shove off. We didn't have time to try to suit them up, and there were still fires that needed to be fought on the other side of the river. The militia was called, not the militia and a couple of windbags. Think they listened to me though? Fat chance. Quoting Maple on that one, "Fat chance, Daggersides. Almost as fat as you. Saving those houses isn't going to mean anything if we lose the land we built them on." The feather-brained bitch had a point, but doesn't change the fact that she was now endangering my militia.

I told her, "Stop playing around like a hotshot! You're not a fighter, just a hard-headed bitch! As useful as your skull would be as a hammer, you need to get back over there with the civilians and help put out the fires! You're just going to get yourself hurt out here, and I won't waste anypony by watching them go down as they protect you!"

I gotta ask myself why I even bothered though. Like it was going to sway her. What makes her so freaking irritating is the same thing that makes her useful: Her damn persistence. "Then don't let anypony protect me. I'm a big mare and I can take care of myself. You worry about busting as many skulls as you can, I'll worry about keeping myself safe."

Ben finally showed up about then, as he had taken his sweet time doing whatever. He told me that he was late so he could prepare that metal rod with the wooden handle he was holding onto so closely. That must be what he called a blunderbuss earlier on in this section. I would have given him a break had I known what the damn thing could do, but instead I badgered him about wasting precious moments polishing toys instead of helping with preparations. "Now if you're done making sure your accessories are all matched, coordinator, maybe you could tell this pegasus to get over there with the civilians and put out the fires."

"I've already told her, Ben, I'm not going to waste my time with something like that. Why save a house when its' just going to get taken by them anyways? I'm going to make sure we at least still have that land to build another house on," that uppity bitch added in after me.

All Ben said to her after that was that he didn't want to see her get hurt. When she said the same back to him, and told him that either they both stood or neither would, he just nodded his head and asked me to let her stay. I was going to raise an objection, but it ends up he got caught up in discussing the same problem with Absinthe. Ben felt she didn't belong on the front lines either, but like anypony will listen to the chain of command these days but me.

Absinthe told him that she could protect him up there, but became really dodgy when Ben told her that we all needed some protection right now, and he asked her if she could use her magic to give us all an edge. In simple terms, she said no. In her terms, she said some shit about "Not in her place to do so." Ben pretty much told her to go away right then and that he wouldn't use her help if she wasn't willing to help us all, but she told him that she intended to help him keep his promises. Not sure what she was talking about, but it won the kid over and he told her to stay then.

Finally it was my turn to get to say something. All I wanted to know was what the nightmare did the kid have up his sleeve that he expected us to use to not get trampled as soon as we stepped out there. That moment was a harsh reminder of why you don't ask questions that you don't want the honest answer to. He told me he didn't have a plan, just that he wanted us to all stick behind him until a time when it appeared that the situation could not be resolved peacefully.

"Peacefully? What kind of half-brained flower child are you supposed to be, Prodder? They just burned down half the settlement! They've brought a small army with them, and you want to go prance in fields with them and all of us cuddle as we eat s'mores?! Peace isn't really an option!"

"Neither is fighting, Daggersides," he responded, motioning at the overwhelming sight of the marching troops coming towards us. "Take a good look between the two sides. There's about fifteen of us, and they've got to have at least ten times that many with them."

"So, what? You're not going to let us fight them? You're just going to say, "Hey, I came to give you my head on a platter. Shall I use my balls as garnish for you too?" Just what do you plan to do?"

"I don't know." Damn. That phrase took a toll on us all. While I waited to see him answer, I took a glance around to see a lot of something I hoped I wouldn't: Hopelessness. Out of all that he could have said, he picked the three words which could have very well killed any spirit left in the members of my militia. "I honestly don't know. I just know we can't win if we fight. We'd need a miracle for that, and I can't trust we'll get one. We all might as well just jump in the Charmedsmile right now and let the tigerfish eat us for all the good a skirmish against them would do us."

I took it upon myself to try to salvage what will was left in our defenders. Stand up straight, get your tail out from between your legs, that sort of thing, but Ben had already damn near killed it all. Knowing the truth, that if we fought it'd be just for martyrdom to buy time for the civilians to flee, didn't take long to sink into my stallions and mares and lead to a lot of ears folded back and heads held low. Nothing breaks a pony's will to fight quite like telling them their fucked before they even start.

I pulled Ben aside at that point to keep him from damaging morale anymore than he had. I might have been a little rough with him actually, as I was mad that he had so little understanding of how to foster an attitude befitting a fighter in these ponies. Kid wouldn't even look at me though, even when I shook him and growled in his face a few pretty unkind words."The last thing you need to do is break everypony's spirits before they've even drawn their weapons, Coordinator," I informed him. "There's no point in talking to these things. They know what they came here for, and they've shown us a pretty good hint as to what they plan to do to get it. If we use surprise to our advantage, maybe we can at least get lucky and break them apart. Confusion won us a skirmish before, and it's better than standing right in front of them like they were a firing squad ready to execute us!"

"We have about the same chance of their leader slipping on tank feces and breaking his neck before the battle so they all decide to go home instead. If I am the one to make this decision, then I decide that we will try to speak with them. If you want to take command from me, then do it, but know that everything that happens will be your fault if you do."

I didn't think about it until I wrote it just now, but I see how the kid must feel. That decision means a lot to him, and not just that he gets to be the one to make it. If I want to take command from him, then do it, but know everything that happens will be my fault if I do. Says a lot about how he must feel right now. I thought the kid had been making these hard decisions for a while now, so I never figured he would still be so hard on himself for them. That's a lot of responsibility he puts on just one do-or-die choice in a moment's notice. Maybe I should have taken the decision off of his hands, if just to let him have a breather where he wasn't carrying that much weight on his own, but I got intimidated by what he told me and backed down. I just told him that he had yet to screw me over and that I was willing to follow his lead, as long as he promised to not just let these monsters get away with everything they had done.

Ben got his wish at least. We all looked up when we realized the sound of hoofbeats in the distance had now stopped. The troops marching along the banks of the Charmedsmile had slowed to a stop, and now stood in position before us on what we considered Songring's doorstep. It looked to be a small army, a couple hundred ponies perhaps, all wearing the skins of animals and swinging large weapons at their sides. Most of their faces were hidden underneath hide helmets that were decorated with bones and had grey pictures sewn into the cloth that hung around their necks and protected their throats. Many of them were hapticorns, which means they have these slick tentacles that they held their crossbows with. It seemed like no two were alike: some had tentacles growing out of their forehead, others had them growing from so many other locations that it was hard to keep track, and they were all different sizes and lengths. The troops that marched closest to the water were a mixture of the feral ponies and what some of us call "Darkbolts", a bunch of twisted pegasus ponies whose wings are made of barely-covered bone and skin webbing. They all carried clubs, axes, and polearms.

That was when the big one stepped forward. Notably larger than her subordinates, the big Deicidian made a motion towards us with her huge wings flared, probably trying to intimidate us like some dumb animal. She was wearing the only white cloth we could see amongst the whole gathering of them, and a mask that was actually the hide of what I guess was a white bear of sorts. Her pitch-black eyes were visible beneath the eye holes of the bearskin mask, and the hide draped over her back hung all the way down to her hooves and still had the claws attached to the paws. She also had these ugly black-skinned growths coming out of her jaw and chin, three of them, that looked almost like long hair until we saw them twitch and move like they were alive. She rubbed her jaw with one of them while she thought really hard about something, and then said: "Parley!"

"A parley? After they've already opened fire on us? Those double-faced bastards!" That phrase "Parley" pissed me off so bad that I don't think I could see straight then. "It's not a parley! They just want to see us grovel to pad their egos before they wipe us out! They want a parley, I'll give them a parley as soon as we're both lost in Nightmare. We'll have plenty of time to talk when we're dead!"

"If they're reasonable enough to ask for a chance to talk, then they might be just ponies after all. This is the break you were hoping for, Ben, even if it stems from hypocrisy," Absinthe commented.

"We demand your leader step forward and speak! Your wisemare, your general, or whoever you answer to! We will not make this offer again!" The monster shouted to us from across the field.

I was sure it was a trap, but Ben wouldn't listen to me. He just asked me to stick close to his side as he walked right into it, like a fly to a turd. Our own comparatively pathetic numbers marched towards them for the supposed "Parley" they requested, and when we were about 10 feet away from her, she told us to stop. We could see her up close now, and it looked like she had maroon fur. What we could see of her nose, the tentacles on her face, and the webbing stretched between her wings were all dark, almost black. The bitch was huge by all standards, but we couldn't tell how much of it was just fluff from her fur and how much of it was actual muscle. To be honest, I'm sure most of us were not willing to risk finding out.

Things became tense pretty fast while we all just stared across the gap at each other. Their huge leader had two lieutenants at her sides as well, just as Ben had Absinthe and I at his. She spent her time eyeing the coordinator over carefully, and got a look on her face like she smelled something foul. Obviously didn't like what she saw. Finally she turned her head to Absinthe to tell us, "You stand before Yersinia, High Shamaness of The Colorless Plague. Who are you that I may address as leader of your nameless order?"

"Benjamen Prodder. We are the Voices of Subsisting, and I am the "leader" of the residents here in Songring."

That shut her up real fast. The group in front us gasped and started chattering to each other like they had just seen a fireworks display or something. Yersinia, the big bitch in front, merely stared at him for a bit as she tried to think of what to say, obviously shocked that he could talk. The way he looked threw me off at first too, but I thought he was some kind of alien instead of a monster or a demon like she called him. Yeah, she called him a demon right there and told him to keep his foul tricks to himself. Ben told her that he didn't have any, but she wasn't going to listen to reason on this one. Superstitious dunderhead.

"Keep your lies for your indoctrinated subjects. I called this meeting not to let you tempt or distract us, demon, but to show our respect."

I'm not the only one who clenched her teeth when Yersinia said that. As our representative, Ben got the pleasure of chewing her out for it too. "Respect? You bring an army with you and burn down these ponies' homes as a show of respect? How dare you say that?"

"This meeting is granted to you out of respect," she corrected him, "but those buildings were burned to give you both reason and understanding of the situation. This land is not yours, and you may not settle it. Those homes were unjustly built on land that belongs to the Ariad."

"Ariad? The Colorless Plague? I'm sorry, but all of these names are foreign to me. What are you all then? Who are you? What is the Ariad? What is the Colorless Plague? I've heard others call your group the Deicidians. Just what the nightmare are you then?" By this point, I had trouble understanding why he gave a shit anymore. Ariad, Deicidian, whatever. I just wanted to kick her black nose right up into her face.

Then it started: The talking. Oh, the talking, and the talking, and the talking. Yersinia wouldn't shut up! She just started smiling, like he had told her she had pretty hair or that he liked her horseshoes at first. "It has been a very long time since anyone has asked us those kinds of questions. Most only ask of our plans or for our pity. I will humor your request, Benjamen Prodder." Motioning back to her troops, she calmly recited what sounded like a practiced speech that felt like it lasted for ages. "You ask what we are, and I will start by telling you that we are colorless. Definition breeds individuality, and eventually severance, which is the greatest pride and weakness of any thinking creature. Like the white flakes of snow on the untrodden tundra, or the undisturbed sands of a great desert, many equals meld into a single being. Our might is unquestionable. Our whim is undeniable. No matter how fast the stallion, he will never be able to escape the fate of our right and our will. We are insurmountable, like a plague. When you ask who we are, I will tell you that we are The Colorless Plague.

"You call us Deicidians. Deicidian is a label these weak deformities call us out of fear of the inevitable. They angst at the thought of the day that we will one day cast down the Sun's Captor and the Moon Sister, and for that day they anticipate, they call us Deicidian. True as the label they give us may be, we are truly the Ariad: The abandoned. These now-degenerated vermin once left us to die. They only succeeded in granting us the greatest test and training mortals may have instead: Survival." Yersinia had to wait as the troops behind her gave a single uniform and rallied cry of respect to the word she just spoke. After the sound of their reverence faded, she continued (much to my dismay), "We have accepted their unintentional gift, and it is the fire that we have been forged in. With the strength it has given us, and the guidance of the Wisemare's soothsaying dreams, we will take ownership of that which we were denied for so many centuries. We will have the paradise they intended to never let us join."

Blah blah blah, yappity fuckin' yap. By this point I was about to shove her bitch face in the dirt just to shut her up, but I guess that's why I was not the one doing the talking. Ben instead just asked her if she meant to take our slice of paradise then, and she nodded to him.

"We will have it one way or another. The Wisemare's dreams have told us that should we fight here today, we will win. All of the signs are in place, including you, but these ponies have proven before that they are not helpless. Your name is fitting, the Voices of Subsisting. We found your wreckage on the coast of the great waters. We know that you are the ones who stopped the ambush on the convoy we had in place. You have also held fast against one of our platoons before, numbering many more than your braves. The respect for their prowess and their will inspires me to instead give you a choice."

"What choice would that be?" Ben asked.

"The choice to continue surviving. You may leave. Gather your trinkets and flee, and we will not pursue. It is either that, or you may fight us in a battle that fate itself has dictated you will not win."

Something about the smug look on her face right then nearly sent me over the edge. I'm pretty sure that's when I chipped my hoof stomping on a rock just to keep myself clammed up while Ben took over. I'm proud that he at least gave her an idea where she could shove her choice.

"I have trouble believing your proclaimed words of fate. That platoon you mentioned was probably certain of their victory as well, but I remember personally ordering that their corpses be fed to the tigerfish in the river after we put a stop to them and their supposed "Fate" that they had planned."

Then guess what happened. Seriously, humor me and just take a guess. More fucking drivel from Yersinia, this time with a poetic verse to it. Great, I thought, now she's artistic in her not-shutting-the-nightmare-up. "Beneath a smoggy sky does the bitter wind blow over a blazing valley. The flags of the Ariad flap high above the heads of our brethren, and all eyes watch as fire consumes the home that bears the mark of the Sun's Captor. Screams ride on the chilled winter's breath, and are drowned out by the cries and howls of beasts unlike any ever seen before. The Ariad stand alone." After her dark poetry was finished, she returned to her position between her two lieutenants and gave us a powerful stare. "Thus is what the Wisemare has seen. The unseen of our world ripples like disturbed water, and that stirring is the calling for the Ariad to finally rise. Her vision is what the ripple entails. What it entails is that the Ariad will stand alone above the ashes of those who carry the banner of the Sun's Captor."

"Bullshit!" All of us jumped at the piercing interjection that rose between us. I was surprised when I realized it was actually Maple who said it. She came pushing out of the ranks to stand between us and speak what was on her mind. "I've heard enough of your pointless yapping. Fate? Visions? Ripples? All you've talked about is crap that you can't prove."

"Maple, get back over here and stand down!" I tried to call her back over to us because she was overextending herself and getting in way too deep.

"No! I'm not going to listen to this nonsense anymore! What, they think they're justified just because some old creaky nag said she had a good dream? They're going to claim that all they've done is their “right” because of that?"

I agreed with her, but she was sabotaging Ben's attempts at diplomacy and endangering us all. "Maple, shut up and get back here, now! That's an order!"

"They can't justify it! Burning down our homes, stealing our stuff, hurting our friends; there's no way they can justify what they've done. Even if they had a scroll signed from Celestia herself, they could just shove it right up their asses because nothing can justify what they've done, or even their existence."

Yersinia scowled as she watched Maple's verbal tantrum going on in the gap between us, and all she did was nod to the two ponies closest to her as they looked to her in question. That is when they stepped forward.

"All I see is a band of monsters! No-good, fat-headed, freaky-eyed, tentacle-faced bastards! A bunch of superstitious morons that need nothing more than a good hoof to the head. You want some land so bad? How about you just go and eat some dirt like the primitives you are! The world'll be a better place,” Her sentence was never finished, as it was interrupted by the heavy thud of metal meeting bone.

One of the lieutenants had struck her down with a flanged mace right in front of us.

Ben went to jump for her when she went crashing to the ground after the hit. Absinthe grabbed him and pulled him back, refusing to let him walk right into the fray while he shouted Maple's name. We were hoping to see her stand back up, but she never did.

The two ponies that had stepped forward to put her down didn't retreat after she was laying on the ground, even though her eyes were closed and her mouth open because they had knocked her clean out with the force of the mace. Instead, one of them lifted his hoof and stomped on her a few times until he was sure she was not stirring, before continuing to stand on her as the other drew his axe from his holster and raised it above his head.

"Stop!" Ben shouted. "You've done enough! Don't hurt her!"

Yersinia shook her head at us. "Disrespect is not tolerated. Perhaps you should keep a better command of those you claim to lead if you do not wish this to happen. This only serves to help you keep the other ones who serve you in line as we'll make an example for them." The axe blade pulled back higher. "Do it."

I couldn't do it. I couldn't watch it anymore. I'll only sacrifice so much for the stupid idealism of a peaceful resolution, and watching one of my own get abused and executed right in front of me is not something I'll endure for it. The gloves were off now, and before they even knew what had happened I was in the middle of it all. The pony standing on Maple soon hit the ground with a groan as he tried to keep his parts inside his chest with his hooves. I had slashed as deep and wide as I could into him while I jumped by, lifting my blades up to block the axe bit before it fell on the pegasus still unconscious on the ground.

I couldn't even hear what everypony was shouting anymore. Their negotiation had turned into a fight. The parley must have ended when I did what I had to and threw the lieutenant away from Maple. I know Ben hadn't given me the okay, but there was no other choice. I wasn't going to just stand by and let it happen. That wasn't going to happen on my watch. I guess I forced a lot of my comrades to pay a pretty high price when I did it though.

They swarmed us like fucking bees. They were everywhere. We couldn't even see where each other was, our group was divided by them so entirely that it felt like just the three of us standing in the front might be alone now. Quite a few still held back, like Tye Dye, who did her best to give covering fire with her crossbow to some of the militia getting mobbed. They brought more crossbows than us though, and they used them to pretty good effect. That's what got me.

It hit like a freaking wagon. Three of the son of a bitches got me, one in the shoulder and two in the side. Sent me right to the ground. I couldn't get my damn leg to move for me once my shoulder got hit. The lieutenant that I was duking it out with kicked me aside like a piece of trash when he saw that I couldn't get back up. He had a duty, and he was going to see it through. As much as I fought, I just couldn't get my leg to cooperate, and I looked up to see him raise the axe above Maple once again as she still lay helpless beneath him. I couldn’t find my dagger then, I couldn't block it, and I couldn't stop it. All I could do was watch after all.

What I saw was his fucking head explode right off of his neck.

No shit. It sounded like a cannon on a ship going off or a firework detonating right next to your head. Right when it sounded, his head burst open into a thousand pieces and shot off towards the troops standing behind him and Yersinia, who was standing proudly. Red spray and pulpy grey mess just littered them all as the body fell to the ground. We finally got to see a lot of the ponies standing behind him collapsing in pain, including Yersinia, who was huddled over as she grasped for her face.

Those white tapestries of hers weren't white anymore, that's for sure. When she finally uncovered her face, a trail of blood was leaking down a hole left in her nose, causing her to close the eye shut on the side it was on. She asked the same question I was thinking then too. "What manner of sorcery is this?" I would have just asked what the nightmare he did, but close enough.

Ben was sitting on his ass when she asked him that. He needed a moment to pick himself up off of the ground and pick that blunderbuss of his up again while he was at it. I didn't get to see what put him there, but I have a good idea I know what it was.

Admittedly, the coordinator can be a fairly scary guy when you piss him off. I'm glad he was on our side during this spat once I got to hear him start finally talking back to Yersinia. "My answer to that choice, that's what that is."

"So you want a war for the land here?" Yersinia asked, still unable to open the eye above the piercing wound in her nose.

"Just how confident are you in prophecies, Yersinia?" He asked her. He was lining up the sights on that weapon of his with her forehead when he said it. "Your little poetry reading earlier only said the Ariad would stand on this land. Did it say anything about you? Did it mention that their Shamaness would be standing with them?"

It was good to see her finally keep her mouth closed for once.

"Let me promise you one thing: If you all plan to take this land today, you will never personally get to see it happen. Are you ready to make that sacrifice? Are your lemmings back there going to be able to press on without you? If you want to start a fight, I'll make sure that your head is nothing more than a red mist caught in the fur of your troops when they stand alone atop our ashes without you." When everyone still held silent, he adjusted the blunderbuss against his shoulder and pulled back the hammer to ask her, "So just how much are you willing to sacrifice to take this Mire from us?"

She never did answer his question, at least not verbally. Her answer was to turn around and order her troops to march away. When everypony saw what he did to that lieutenant, the fight ended pretty quickly. Nopony wanted to be the one he was looking at over the sights of that boomstick he kept hoisted to his shoulder. The Deicidians skittered back into their own ranks to avoid being its next target, and those of the militia that could stand pulled themselves back to our side for protection behind him.

"Before the year's first bloom, we will take the mire." That's the last thing she said to us. I bet that means she's going to send her troops next time without her. At least Ben put some rightful fear into her. That extra hole in her nose might remind her that she's not invincible... and it bought us at least one more season.

Since that day, I've been laid up here in the infirmary next to all the other ponies that got injured that day. The militia certainly weren't the only ones that had injuries. The fires took a huge toll on quite a few, as well as some ponies having gotten hurt during the initial volleys. I wish I could say exactly how many injuries have proved to be fatal, but there are still quite a few who are currently riding the line. Springfield and Willow are a couple who are in that last group.

It had to do with the fires. The three homes that went ablaze with somepony still in them were the homes of Bunsen, Onyx Culet, and Willow. Springfield refused to join the militia and stayed to help with the fires. Instead of grabbing a bucket of water, he tied a damp rag around his face and jumped right into the blaze. I hear that the story is he kicked the wall of Willow's house open to get inside since the door was blocked by flames. He jumped right into the fire and searched through the blistering heat to find his friend. A lot of ponies were left holding their breath in suspense as it took him several minutes to finally fight his way back out, and when he did, he had Willow with him, and they both collapsed to the ground outside the building. They were both singed pretty badly, but still breathing. That was only perhaps a minute before the supports of the building finally gave out from the heat and came collapsing down in to a pile of rubble. Willow's lucky to have somepony looking out for him like that. Really lucky.

Bunsen and Onyx Culet weren't so lucky.

Tye Dye is stuck in the infirmary with me. One of the bolts got lodged in her neck, and she's had some severe bleeding because of it. Ben's done what he could to stop the bleeding, so I think overall she's going to make it, but the gal isn't good for conversation right now. The loss of Bunsen has been extremely hard on her, since I heard they shared something special between them. When she's not asleep from the sheer loss of so much blood, I hear her crying over it. I can't blame her, but it means that I don’t have much to talk to her about right now.

Not having Bunsen has been really hard on Ben too. With her gone, and Springfield still unconscious, Ben's the only pony around that knows a damn thing about medicine. I asked him if he ever went to school for medicine or if he had any training, but once again, that's a question I really shouldn't have asked. He does what he can though. He's one smart kid to have been able to figure out how to treat the ones he has so far. He's gotten some kind of tubing to put in Springfield and Willow's throats, says it's to make sure their airways stay open in case of swelling from the smoke inhalation. He's got tons of alcohol sitting around that he asked Absinthe to bring, and like a witchdoctor of some sort, he keeps pouring it over our open wounds every day and rebandaging them, like it’s some kind of ceremony. Claims it’s to keep infection out. I've watched him stitch up a few ponies with blade wounds and such, as well as put some splints on Heartstrike to help let one of his legs heal after it took a pretty bad whack from a club. He currently won't let me walk because of the pain in my front leg when I try to stand on it, says that he thinks some muscles or something may have been torn in it. The whole place is just a mess because of all of this truthfully.

Then when night comes, and all of the ponies around here finally go to sleep and stop bitching, or moaning or crying, and it starts to get dark, I still see him over there. He carries around his bottles of alcohol and pails of fresh water, wandering through the infirmary as he looks over everypony and puts his hands on Willow and Springfield's chests to see if they're still breathing. Eventually, he finally collapses into his chair next to Maple's bedside, and just sits for a few hours with his head in his hands. She still hasn't woken up. That hit must have been a lot harder than we thought it was, and every time he wakes up to see her still unconscious over there, it visibly kills him a little bit inside.

I get this tugging feeling that I should say something to him. Sometimes I just get this stupid whim to call his name and tell him to come over here just so I can pull his head to me and give him a lick to let him know it's all going to be okay. Maybe tell him that he did all he could, and that even though it seems like it wasn't enough, nopony can truly fault him for what he did. I can't bring myself to do it though, I'd just feel like I was being dumb if I did. He doesn't want comfort from somepony like me. I'm sure of it. I just know that I would have liked to have somepony hold me for a little while when I was where he is.

I know you're going to end up reading this sooner or later, Ben, and I've got just a couple of things I need you to know. First, you did good kid. I'm proud of you. You did all you could to keep all of us safe, but stood your ground when the time called for it. I know it's really hard to see right now with all the blood and tears going on here in the infirmary. It must feel like you've let a lot of ponies down here, but you've done a lot more than I could have. The only reason most of these ponies are still alive to bitch and moan about their wounds is because of your decisions, and because you thought of them above all else.

And lastly, I trust your decision no matter what you choose. You've never screwed me over before Ben, and I'll be glad to carry out whatever orders you have planned for us from here. If it includes marching right to my death in front of an army of Deicidian bastards to give them one final message that Celestia and the members of the Sun of Chance will never let them walk on us, or if you tell me to pack my things and march back to Canterlot with empty hooves to keep us all safe, I'll follow.

I trust you Ben. You've earned that.

Vexglove Study: Drink It Away

Dear devoted reader,

Please bear with me as I interject for a moment, but as the editor of these documents, I feel that the forthcoming excerpt deserves a special disclaimer considering that it was delivered to me by royal guard; the armed escort less of a reflection of the record within, but rather the status of its aristocratic presenter: Princess L.

I received this special visitor after she discovered that I was in possession of the coordinator’s records. She promptly informed me that part of her duties as monarch-of-the-night was to document any unusual or significant dreams that might be of political interest. In particular, she had been doing her own personal research into dreams induced by the consumption of Vexglove due to some obscure properties of the plant, which causes dreams that are uniquely vivid, descriptive, and characteristically disturbing for the dreamer, and thus makes them particularly useful in foreseeing possible threats to the realm. Though the princess confirmed that it is not always possible to determine the originator from which these nocturnal images arise, she was able to trace several of these dreams back to the development coordinator based on the distinctive “human” anatomy of the subjects.

On a side note, my regal guest seemed particularly interested in the whereabouts of a certain letter, which contained some rather personal information, that she had previously attached to the journals while they were still in Mr Prodder’s possession; but I digress.

The documentation that I now present to you is one of several transcripts that were derived from her analysis. More so than in the writings previously released, I have taken the liberty of doing far more than simple grammatical editing in light of the lack of knowledge or understanding, on the part of Her Royal Highness, of the customs and nuances intrinsic to the dreamer being studied. In addition, unlike the contents of the journal, I cannot fully guarantee the validity of the events that take place in the following passage due to the abstract medium from which they were derived. I trust that all parties will take into consideration that I am presenting it exclusively in an effort to be true to my obligation to relay all information given. I hope that I have been successful in my quest to be fair and impartial to those whose lives are recorded for posterity; to the reader, who seeks the truth; to the crown, under which I will always be a faithful servant; and by association, to myself.

I urge the readers, with full knowledge of its source and subjectivity, to simply make of the following what they will.

Just another Thursday evening to be washed away with another bottle of the cheap stuff. Wait, it wasn’t Thursday, his mind argued. No, it was Friday. The realization of having lost track of his days again made the man on the barstool rub his thumb and forefinger against his eyes: Friday, then. That explained why the particular bar he was in was so full and bustling. He reached out his hand, pale from not having seen sunlight for weeks or possibly longer, and grasped the shot glass in front of him. There was no countdown or hesitation as he put the glass to his mouth and threw his head back in one fluid motion, letting the bitter fluid slide down his throat. He struggled to keep the foul taste and uncomfortable burning sensation at bay by slamming his glass to the bar top. Cheap whiskey, he told himself, was always that way. When he was finally able to breathe again after the suffocating power of the pungent taste subsided, he wondered exactly how they got the ass flavor into it; must have been aged in a cask that had previously been used to hide a corpse, or maybe they stored it in a warehouse next to a cow pasture. His contemplations subsided as he drearily glanced to either side of himself to scan the establishment.

The Town Square is what that particular dump was named. Some called the name clever, but most called it bland; he just called it stupid. The inside was large enough to house whatever barflies buzzed in and back out to other bars while they searched for their preferred turd of a bar seat: One featuring a bandstand with a piano-playing jackass, or perhaps some billiard tables where credits could change hands unfairly with a single shot. The lights were a soft blue, not the oppressive yellow that most other places used, or the stark white that made the late nights even harder on the eyes. The nebulous glow made it harder to determine the hair color of the other patrons, and the dimness made their eyes almost impossible to see. Maybe the regulars there had adapted to the lighting, but it was about as useful as moonlight to the frowning man as he glanced around. His own seat felt poorly cushioned, as though all the stuffing had been spread too far out to the sides; though, he supposed, maybe so many hours of his own ass bearing down upon it had caused that. He had wondered once if it was real wood that the bar top was made of, but decided it couldn't be. Wood was too expensive up on Terriel for a local joint to afford; must have just been sawdust pressed together with glue and painted pretty. Either way, it didn’t really matter; he was not there for the name, or the lights, or the wood.

He was there to do the same thing that night as he had done almost every night for the past year: To drink. Specially for him, the bottom rung of the shelf behind the bar was dedicated to only the cheapest and most unappetizing alcohol credits ought not buy. That was perfect. A couple of times before, the welfare and disability incomes had run very thin by the end of the month. Those were the times when the harsh, sober truth had come back to mind, and he had just tried to sleep for days on end until his account got another deposit from the feds.

The man at the bar maintained at least two seats open to both his left and his right. The few stragglers who had made the mistake of trying to look past his exterior had been met with growls and snaps from him; he wanted no one to talk with. Something about him being so large, hairy, and determined to get tanked at three o'clock in the afternoon must have scared them away if what they had seen upon approaching him from behind hadn’t done the job: A man broad in the shoulders and taller than most. Large enough, in fact, that he might have once-upon-a-time done well stepping into a pair of bright boxers and throwing other large men to a mat; that would still be the case if so much inactivity and drinking had not left his body less than fit. His hair was dark red, and long enough that it needed to be tied back to keep it out of his face. Perhaps it would have been lighter, maybe auburn, if he ever saw the sun anymore. Perhaps it would have been shorter if he ever cared anymore. Viewed from the front, his face was hidden by a beard, left uncared for. His eyebrows set bushy and heavy over eyes that might have once been a bright blue, but had by then become dreary; lacking any spark in them. The coat that wrapped around him was as old as it could be without literally falling apart, with holes at the back of the sleeves and the buttons mostly missing. It did little to hide the glint of scuffed and weathering metal that started at his right hip and ended at the flat-bottomed, padded, metal boot where it fastened securely to the poorly-fabricated and refurbished prosthetic leg.

Even so much as the act of looking at the other patrons as they laughed, drank, and had a good time left him feeling fatigued. The grizzled man looked back down at the bar to contemplate by himself a bit more and regain his energy; it was a dangerous thing for him to do these days. He swore that thinking often led to hoping, and that was something for younger, more ignorant men to enjoy. To avoid indulging in such a lost cause, he thought only of what little details he could observe going on around him. The bar he sat at was lacking something familiar to him: The scent of vomit, barely coated in the pungent citrus flavor of all-purpose cleaner. Instead, it smelled almost clean, aside from the aromatic residue left behind by chicken wings coated in sauce that was more spice than flavor. He listened over the laughter and repetitive conversations of the drones around him, who were merely trying to waste time until their future carnal relations could begin, to try to hear the pianist as he continued to bang out notes that he had learned from a MIRRD instead of composed himself. He sang a bluesy tune, and as with all sad songs, the lyrics had to do with love. The musician sang about a woman, calling her by name, and said she had left him a broken mess of a man; he sounded like he was smiling as he sang. "You have no fuckin' clue," growled the man at the bar, doing his best to simply ignore it all again.

There was something there that bothered him more than the patrons, or the performer with an inability to put his soul into his craft: The bartender. Every time the angry man at the counter called out for another shot, the barkeep would smile at him. He resented that damn smile, as if his server was happy to see him putting another one down; the devil in a black bar-smock, wanting him to dig his grave a little deeper, no doubt. The bartender was a Lufae: Slender and relatively young looking. Their kind always seemed to have a shimmer on their skin, but it was just an illusion created by the layer of fine, clear hair that covered their bodies. He was in his mid-twenties at the oldest, guessing by the somewhat dwarfed length of his tail compared to older Lufae. His features were too smooth for a man; he looked soft. The young fellow even kept his face shaved, aside from a little hair on his chin that matched the color of both the tuft of hair at the end of his tail, and the wavy locks of sea-green that he had to repeatedly sweep away from his eyes with his hand. His eyes seemed brighter than most, which only made the drunk man more irritable when the willowy nuisance would look him in the eye and say, “Sure thing, handsome,” before going to refill his glass.

That boy was too young, too pretty, and too frail to be doing such a man’s job, he told himself broodingly. Everywhere else he frequented had a fat, hairy, bald man cleaning out a mug while standing in front of him the whole time and giving him a wary eye-over as though he were about to run off without paying his tab. Those were the bartenders that he liked -- he knew exactly what they’d say, and what he should say back. They didn’t keep turning back every few minutes to smile at him and watch him try to hold down his booze, or lie and call him handsome, or just generally be happy.

The sound of footsteps made the man cringe in his seat, his eyes raising up just enough to catch the sight of a black-clad specter moving along his peripheral vision. “Oh great,” he murmured to himself. Instinctively, his eyes fell back down to the bar top as his shoulders hunched up protectively to ward off the bartender’s approach. Then he waited, in hopes that the Lufae behind the counter would simply grab a washcloth or a bottle and move back down to the other end of the bar.

“Hey there, handsome.”

He guessed it was too much to ask for that the little queer would go about his own business. The drunkard lowered his brows and looked up, giving a scowl to the intruder followed by a long, eerie silence. “What?” he finally barked back shortly, trying to keep from swaying in his seat from slight inebriation.

The lad still had that damn smile on his face as he leaned forward and rested his elbows against the bar. He gave the man a curious stare while keeping his face up and out of reach. “I noticed that the friend you’ve been waiting for hasn’t shown up yet. You think they’re still coming?”

“I’m not waiting on anybody,” the choleric man snapped back, hunkering back into his slouch to get comfortable.

“Oh yeah? And why’s that? It’s a shame to drink alone, you know.”

“It’s ‘cause I’m a big, scary motherfucker who wants to be left alone.”

The bartender acted coy at the response, standing up again after he had reached beneath the counter and retrieved a bottle bearing a dark red and black label that mostly concealed the smooth amber-colored liquid within. He set it down on the counter and effortlessly slipped the cork out to pour some into the overused shot glass.

Taking a look at the bottle, the swaying man shook his head and pushed the shot glass away. “I’m not drunk enough to think I can afford that. If you slip it back in the bottle before people see, you can still sell it. I won’t tell anybody.”

The brat shook his head and pushed it back across the counter, placing the cork back in the bottle to make his point. “I’m sure you can afford it, Mister. This one just costs some of your time.”

Grasping the shot glass in his large, rough hand, the drunken man shot him a leery glance from under heavy, red eyebrows. “That’s a pretty steep cost, kid. My time is just about the only damn thing I’ve got left. Don’t know if I’m willing to barter it for just a smooth drink.”

“I’m sure it’s very valuable; I’d be getting a great deal if you’d hand it over for just a shot. What if I threw in the rest of the bottle too? Would that be fair for a moment of your time?”

Looking vexed, he took a long look at the bottle before darting a short glance back up at the server offering it to him. He finally gave a nod and raised his glass for a moment, toasting to no one. “You’ve got a deal then.” He threw the drink back and took a deep inhale, enjoying the slow spread of warmth as it moved down his throat and into his chest; it was slightly bitter with a smoky aftertaste to it, and much better than the scorching gut rot he had been swilling before. Setting the glass back down, he raised his head again to look at the bartender curiously, much less guarded than before. “Alright then. Deal’s a deal. What’re you going to do with my time?”

“First, I’ll see about learning your name.”

“My name wasn’t part of the barter… but it’s Mark.”

“It’s a pleasure, Mark. I’m Pernod.”

“I didn’t ask, and that’s a really prissy name; even by Lufaen standards.”

Despite his companion’s gruff and guttural comment, the barkeep merely chuckled and nodded in agreement. “Can’t help what my parents named me. How about you just call me Ricky then? Everybody else does.”

“Why Ricky...? On second thought, don’t answer that; I don’t care. You’re supposed to be the one asking the questions anyway.”

"Come on now, pal; this isn't an interrogation. I just want to get to know a little more about my new friend."

The indignant man lowered his sights once again, trying his best not to bite back at the idealistic nature of the young man”s words. He knew the boy was only trying to help, but mostly the fact that he had made a pact to cooperate kept his ire contained. "You want a novel or something then?"

"I do love a good story," Ricky responded cheerily, nodding once to acknowledge an order from the other side of the bar that he began mixing up. During the task, he continued to stand before his resentful captive, still wearing a smile. "Maybe we should just start with what's on your mind though. What does a ‘big, scary motherfucker’ think about when he's sitting at my bar?"

The chaffed drunk mulled it over for a while, taking time to think while his interrogator tended to another patron before returning to ask excitedly if he had come up with anything. "I hate your pianist and the songs he sings."

"Why's that? Not a fan of love songs?"

"My life is a bad love song," Mark muttered quietly as he took a deep breath and tried to steady his hand to pour another shot for himself. "That... or a country one, if I owned a tractor."

The bartender had a laugh like a bell; a warming sound that, given enough time, might move any companion to want to smile or even join in with a chuckle of their own. "Might want to slow it down there a little bit. Let that first shot kick in before you down half the bottle. You don't want to make yourself sick, do you?"

"I just had a transdermal morphine patch pulled out a few months back. I'd be lucky if this whole bottle would even get me to a point of being smashed," he answered with a shake of his head after throwing back the quick drink.

"Guess that means the leg's new." Ricky peered over the bar to give the prosthesis a once-over. Mark watched the Lufae’s smile mellow to a soft expression of concern as he examined the device. He must have noticed the dents and scuffs in it despite it being so recently installed, or noted the age of the model and the primitive combustion-powered design. "No wonder I haven't seen you get up from that stool all evening."

"Fifty-fifty chance that the goddam thing is jammed just from sitting down so long," the hunched man said over a loud cough. "Doesn't really matter. Isn't like I have anywhere to be anyway. Even if I wanted to, fueling the thing is so damn expensive..."

"Couldn't afford a better one?"

"Take another look at the whiskey I've been drinking tonight and guess for yourself."

Ricky pulled his lips tight, nodding in understanding as he reached for a mug and a cloth. The mug didn’t appear to be dirty, but he seemed to need something to do with his hands to keep them away from his new “friend”; the sense that he wanted to reach out to comfort the grizzled old man apparent to even passing onlookers.

"I didn't even buy this one. Feds paid for it, along with the hospital bills. A great goodbye present for my years of service planetside." Mark waited for the inquisition, but the bartender held silent politely. "I can't say anything more about it: Oath of confidentiality and all that."

"Wouldn't want to see you drop dead from breaking a binding contract, would we?"

The morose soldier did not respond, instead thinking it over seriously as he poured another shot.

"No, we wouldn't," Ricky answered for him adamantly.

Still holding silent for a while, Mark’s expression turned from pitiable self-loathing to one of gradual irritation at the answer. "That must be pretty easy for you to say, kid. You’ve got somewhere to be after this, don't you? Somewhere that isn't a lonely little tenement room? You have something to wake up for tomorrow too, I bet. It's gotta be so damn easy to think that way when you have so much going for you."

The Lufae became quiet. Despite the anger building in the incensed man’s tone as he seethed under his breath, the boy seemed to take no offense to his words or fear the hostility in his voice. Instead, the bartender set down his mug and pulled up a small stool behind the bar to sit down. Folding his arms on the bar top, he prepared to listen. His presence continued to upset the old drunk as he grew closer, but he bravely leaned even further in because of it.

The burly hand grew tight around the shot glass as his eyes turned away and coughed from the building heat of rage in his chest. "Y'know something, kid? I hate you. Did I tell you that yet? I've hated you since the moment you walked in here for your shift tonight. I still do."

"Mind if I ask you why?" Ricky asked calmly, with measured words.

"Because you...!" Mark lowered his sights and silenced the shout that had caused the pianist to stop playing. Rubbing his temples with his thumb and forefinger to quiet himself, he waited for the other patrons to distract themselves before starting again in a lower tone: One that hinted that he was doing all he could to breathe away the sudden, inexplicable anger. "Because... you know how to be happy. Maybe it's just because you've got a reason to be, and I don't. Dammit if I don't feel like that everyday. I hate the musician you've got here because he can smile. I hate your customers because they know how to laugh. I swear that there's nobody I don't hate nowadays."

The bartender held his face still in a stoic expression, nodding knowingly towards the man. "It's okay for you to hate me; I don't mind. I just don't think it's possible for you to hate everyone."

"It is," Mark responded coldly, before swallowing hard and drawing in a shaky breath. Through his somewhat drunken expression, it was impossible to tell if his breath became short from anger or otherwise.

Ricky shook his head. "No, it's not. A man doesn't drink himself to death because he's always hated everyone."

He tried to stay calm, but the truth of it made it all the harder for the agitated man to remain apathetic as he buried his face in his hands and coughed up a troubled breath. "... You're right, kid. He does it when the only ones he cares about anymore are gone for good."

"Are they someplace better now?"

"If by better, you mean living in a fucking mansion in Keycrescents: One of them screwing my own goddamn doctor, and the other living a little rich-boy's life; then of course, they're in a better place!" Mark grabbed his maroon hair for what little comfort it could give, curling his fingers into it as he exhaled a terrible sense of helplessness in a single enraged sob that escaped him through a drunken hiccup. "If by a better place... you mean anywhere that is far away from a cripple that's of no use to them anymore... then yeah. Yeah, they're in a better place." Another wretched sob or two escaped him, unable to hold them in as the taste of liquor in his mouth triggered a wave or revulsion. The youth remained quiet, but nearby; ignoring the taps on the bar a few seats down for his attention, he sat readily beside the old drunkard. "But... you're right, kid. It isn't possible to hate everybody. As much as I’ve tried, I know I can't do it."

The bartender reached out, grasping the man's hand to pull it away from his hair and set it back down upon the bar top. He rested the calloused hand over the few drops of water that had fallen from his eyes, letting him hide them from sight. "That's certainly not what I was expecting to hear. I guess I don't understand. Keycrescents isn't that far; Judicial District 7, right? A few dozen miles isn't a world away."

Mark remained quiet for a while, composing himself as best he could despite the gentle rocking from side-to-side he had developed in hopes to not lose his balance on the stool. "There's no point in it for a dead man."

A perplexed look came over Ricky ‘s expression as he reached out and stopped the despairing man from grabbing the bottle next to him, encouraging him to hold off for a bit. "Maybe I'd understand if you told me what happened."

Mark hesitated greatly, knowing well enough that he did not want to speak anymore. In thinking perhaps he could avoid it, he pushed the bottle back towards the bartender instead. "Can I get my time back if I just give you what's left?"

"Afraid not. Deal's a deal. Afraid that I also really want to know what's put such a great guy so close to rock-bottom that he ended up at my bar tonight."

“Oh, you’re home.”

“… Yeah, it was great. A great damn day all around, babe, thanks for asking.”

“Don’t snap at me, you worthless bum!”

“Bum… yeah, that’s it. Too much to ask for a little support from my partner?”

With an exasperated sigh, the woman at the sink shut off the faucet and slowly turned about to give her husband a brutal glower. The olive-tinted skin on her hands was wrinkled as she snatched up a towel to dry them. Her dark chocolate-brown eyes burned out from beneath the raven-black locks that had managed to escape their bonds; the harsh stare she wore softened when she saw what state her husband was in after he closed the door behind him and faced her.

The man who stood before her was stooped: His back hunched up, and his head hung before him as he struggled to look back at her. His eyes unintentionally avoided hers as he stood there motionless. In his hand, he held a piece of paper so tightly that it crumpled in his grasp; the sweat from his palm had stained and smudged whatever printing was on it.

“Markus… what’s wrong? Did you find a job or not?”

The large statue reached a hand up to his face to scratch the stubble growing there, biding his time as he tried to consider a good answer. “Yeah Katherine, I found some work.” he finally admitted, looking her in the face with a defeated expression on his visage.

“That’s great! Isn’t it? Now we can pay the rent, and the water bill, and-… Markus, why aren’t you happy? What happened?” Unable to comprehend what had gotten into her betrothed , she stepped towards him with a hint of worry beginning to tinge her gaze.

“I enlisted.”

“You… did what? Enlisted where?”

“The reclamation. I enlisted for the project they’ve got going on back on the planet’s surface: Lumbering and... other things to make it inhabitable again.”

A choking silence sat between them for a long moment before his speechless wife shook her head at him. “You didn’t,” she finally said, in a voice that seemed ready to crack.

He found it impossible to answer, simply turning away from her and looking back to the door.

“Markus, answer me! You did not take that job. Less than a handful of men they send down there make it back. Not to mention, you’ll be gone for... years!”

“They promised to send a stipend to you every week to pay for food, clothes, and the house; everything you will need,” he responded, purposely ignoring her argument as his teeth clenched together. “They want me at the station overnight for inspection before we ship off.”

“You’re going to die, Markus!”

“I don’t have a choice!” A thundering thud resounded through the home as his fist met with the wall where it left a dent. He heaved as he gulped back and stopped himself from continuing to seethe with rage, not wanting her to see him in such a state. Swallowing his frustration, he lifted his head once again and spoke as quietly as he could. “I don’t have a damn choice, Katherine. It’s this, or we lose the house, the vehicle, and you two go hungry. It’s the only thing I can do.”

“So that’s it? You’re going to leave us here and go die in some pointless campaign just for a weekly stipend check?”

Markus shook his head, sighing and muttering to himself that nothing he could do would ever be good enough for her as he turned away fully and headed back to the door he had entered. “I’d rather be a dead father than a deadbeat dad.” As his hand reached for the knob, he was stopped once more by his wife’s voice: Broken with tears that she tried bitterly to withhold as she spoke.

“What am I supposed to tell Benjamen then?” The towel in her hands was wrung tightly between them as she tried to control herself, biting her lip as she watched his back shift in a subtle shrug. “How do I tell him that you’re not coming home?” When his silence dragged on, she inhaled as steadily as she could to ask: “Aren’t you at least going to tell him goodbye?”

“… Tell him that Daddy went to go be a cowboy and fight some savages. He’ll like that… he’ll like that a lot. I love you Katherine… even if you can’t see it right now. With any luck, I’ll see you later.”

“I’m guessing that things didn’t go quite as planned planetside,” Ricky commented softly, the first time he had spoken since the story began.

Mark did not have to say an answer, merely motioning with his head towards the prosthetic leg that whirred loudly as it jammed when he tried to move was example enough. After using his elbow to beat against the hydraulic that had locked up, it eventually released with a small hiss, and the leg bent into a proper seated position.

“Sorry, I know you can’t talk about what happened down there.”

“Don’t have to. It isn’t important. What happened after it, is.”

Markus could barely remember what had happened when he first awoke to the bright light hovering above him in the infirmary shack. The world seemed filled with the droning sound of the computers monitoring his heartbeat and the repetitive whirrs of the compressor filling the stocking on his left leg with air, keeping it from sticking to him as it forced blood flow to the area. A few doctors muttered phrases about him that he could barely hear. He was not cognizant for long, as one of the medics came in with a filled syringe and told him to keep calm. That would be the first of the seemingly endless morphine injections he would have to keep him unwittingly in a hospital bed without any clue as to what was happening around him.

After a week or so, he seemed stable enough for the medics to load him onto a carrier and transport him back to Terriel to a legitimate hospital. It was certainly not by his request, but for the bleeding hearts of the physicians who could not bear to see another body bag, or the ones who really wanted that next paycheck, and it was better for the feds who could claim that not everyone they sent down there died. Mark was still so doped up on painkillers and antibiotics that he cared not what they did with him. In fact, he was often too lost in hallucinations of childhood memories, his long forgotten nightmares keeping him company in that little hospital room, to know what was even happening in the waking world.

He was at the Idollions General Hospital for two weeks before he had his first real visitor.

“Mrs. Prodder, please don’t be alarmed when you see him. Speak slowly and clearly for him; he’s under the influence of some sedatives and painkillers to help with the trauma.”

“I understand,” Katherine nodded, the forms in her hand protected from her sweaty grasp by a thick folder. Her breathing grew heavy with anticipation as she watched the nurse don a smile and reach for the knob on the door, slowly opening it.

“Good morning, Mr. Prodder! How are you feeling?” His overdue guest let the nurse enter the room first, afraid to set her eyes upon the source from which she had heard an incoherent, quiet babble in response to the question. The nurse giggled sweetly at whatever he had said and motioned for her to come into the room. “You have a visitor! Your wife came to see you.”

Her olive-skinned face finally looked to the bed at the shell of her husband resting there with a glazed look in his eyes as he stared back at her mindlessly. She bit her lip to keep from uttering a shocked sob at the sight of him: The man she had once held and loved, whose strength she had admired, was lying broken; wasting away atop a bloody bandage that embraced his hip where there was no longer a leg. He was frighteningly pale and the hair on his face was unkempt. Multiple tubes were plugged into him from machines that whirred, beeped, and hissed in sporadic intervals. “Markus…?”

The man on the bed did not respond: Though he moved his lips as if he whispered something, he did not answer her. Looking into his eyes, her hand flew briefly to her neck as she got the chilling sense that he was looking through her and had no idea that she was even there. She moved close to his bedside, letting her arm float down from its resting place across her chest to touch his auburn hair. As her fingers traced over his head, he shifted in a slight startle, looking up to her in what seemed like panic. “Katherine? Can you see them?”

Her ebony brows downturned in concern as she looked up and around the room, seeing nothing but the sterile white walls with their teal borders, and the machines and medication scattered about; even the screen hanging above them was off. “See what, Markus?”

Calming some, the drugged man looked back up to the ceiling, eyes glancing about frantically as he watched. “Butterflies. Don’t you see them? Butterflies, everywhere… blue and pink ones.” His mouth was agape in awe at the spectacle, but she could only rub her eyes with her free hand and stifle a snivel as she endured her husband’s hallucination. A few moments passed before he lifted his head to look back at her pleadingly. “Did you bring Benjy?”

The mother of his child shook her head to him as she began to fidget with the paperwork in her hands. “No, Markus. I did not want Benjamen to see you like this.” She opened the folder and retrieved a pen, quickly trying to glance over the form and ignore the disappointed stare from the man in the bed. She looked to the nurse and asked her to give them a moment. Thankful for the reprieve, the attendant quickly exited the room to see to her other patients.

“Benjy… doesn’t want to see his dad?”

“I don’t want to keep Benjamen away from his father… but I can’t let him know what has become of you yet; he just couldn’t understand.” Katherine’s expression slowly began to turn to a stony visage; one that she had donned many times before in the face of difficult situations: A face that Markus recognized even in his inebriated state. He pulled gently at the blanket that covered his chest. She held a pen out to him and gave him a long stare. Her eyes were moist with guilt, but she pulled strength from within herself and remained vigilant.

Confused, he took the pen she offered him, followed by a paper that she had removed from the folder she was holding. He struggled to read the print, but all he could see were the words writhing as the letters squirmed away from his sight, making it impossible for him to decipher. “What’s this?”

“I need you to just sign right there, Markus,” she said softly and patiently as she pointed to a line near the bottom of the page; directly below a line that already held her own signature.

“What’s it say though…?” He asked her again, uncertainly, as the pen touched the paper atop the line and he began scribbling in his name slowly. M… A… R…

“It says that you love Benjamen very much, and that you want to do what’s best for him,” she said with conviction, gulping back after her words; her hand fled to her stomach as the bittersweet sentiments left her mouth, staving off the sickness that she felt as she watched her husband sign the divorce petition.

K… U… S…

“I do. I do want to do what’s best for him. Is he okay? Is he still my brave little man?”

P... R… O…

“He is. He’s growing up to look just like you. Getting good grades in school and has lots of friends.”

D… D…

“Good. I should have known. Does he ever ask about daddy?”

E…

“He does… And he knows that you’ll always be a hero, even though you won’t be coming home again.”

“What?” he asked her groggily as she took the paper away from him and closed the folder. He saw that she could not bear to look into his glistening eyes again. “Why’d you tell him that?”

His ex-wife could not even force herself to answer; it was all she could do to ignore the stinging of her eyes as tears began to bead at the edges of her eyelids. Instead, she reached down to kiss him on the forehead and stroke his face before standing up and backing towards the door. “Goodbye, Markus. I know it might be hard to see right now, but I do still love you… I have to do what’s best for our son.” With that, she walked out of the room. As the door closed behind her, she covered her face with her hands, and with her back pressed against the door, let out a seething sob. Though she had tried her best to convince herself that it was the best option for her son, even as she had spoken those dreadful words, she wept in anger at the hard decisions that she had been forced to make and the hatred that she felt towards herself for what she had done.

It took many minutes to compose herself before she walked down the hallway and got the attention of a seasoned-looking doctor. He looked back down to room 309 and nodded to her. “Any questions about your husband, Mrs. Prodder? We’re still monitoring his vitals and awaiting the arrival of the prosthetic. Once we get it, I will personally be seeing to the scheduling of its installation and integration to his CCMI.”

The former Mrs. Prodder reached into the folder she had stuffed in her purse and retrieved two small, platinum-colored discs. She held them out to the doctor with a stern expression. “I only wish to ask if you would testify that he is in his right mind and able to consent at this time... Dr. Aledrew?”

The doctor looked to the discs, then glanced around quickly before grasping her hand with both of his and shaking it in disguise as he took the objects in hand with a coy smile. “Of course, Mrs. Prodder. He’s due for another dose of sedatives and painkillers very, very soon… he should be lucid as a crystal right now.”

“Please, call me Kathy.”

The shot glass rang out as it hit the bar top again, the sound laced with a crack as a web of slivers appeared at its bottom from the force.

Ricky did not flinch at the sound, even though the enraged slam caught the attention of many of the patrons around him. Dutifully, he reached out to take the damaged glass before tossing it into a waste bin behind the bar and reaching for another to set in front of the quiet man before him. The bartender poured his attentions back into the others waiting at the bar for service while his companion smoldered after finishing the difficult tale he had been forced to tell. Mark seemed to need the time alone to brood, wearing a scowl as he suffered through the pain of a figurative hole in his back.

Once everyone in the bar had been pacified; from the patrons, impatient to have the bartender’s attention; to his despondent acquaintance, who eventually slumped down to rest his forehead against the countertop in defeat, Ricky sighed. For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words. The Lufae stood indecisively, his tail flicking back and forth in irritation; visibly bothered to not have an answer in mind.

The drunk seemed to have fallen asleep as he sat motionless with his head on his arm atop the bar. The illusion was broken, however, when he shifted in discomfort as the barkeep took his seat across from him again. It was evident the story had simply drained him of what little will he had left. “So what happened next?” Ricky prodded, tapping his fingers against the plywood of the bar top to rouse his companion.

“What do you mean, ‘What happened next’? What do you think happened?” Mark gruffly responded, hesitant to lift his head from his arm again. With a sigh, he slowly rose up, trying to find the volition to continue at the request of the barkeep. “... I’m sorry kid, but through all the painkillers, medicinal and -- well,” he reached for the half-full bottle beside him to make his point, “not so medicinal, I can’t rightly recall anymore.”

“Well, you have an apartment, right? You didn’t just wake up with that.”

“Subsidized. So yeah, I did kinda just wake up with it. It came as a part of the little fuckin’ shadowbox the feds display me in.”

“So all you’ve done is drink since you got out of the hospital?”

Ignoring the shot glass in front of him, Mark simply lifted the bottle straight to his lips to take a swig. “Don’t give me that crap, kid. I couldn’t get a job before I left; I sure as hell won’t find one now that I’m dragging this junker around that only barely works half the time. Why would I have to? Feds pay for everything for me. Food, clothes, booze...”

The old man’s statement dropped off, and he looked down drearily with a sigh. A speculative gleam appeared in the bartender’s eyes as he shook his head and glanced him over. “Where’s the money really go, Mark?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he responded, suddenly becoming cold and turning his sights away to avoid making eye contact.

“I know disability pays better than that, especially for a vet.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“No, I wouldn’t. I’ve seen what you drink; you obviously don’t buy clothes for yourself; and from the look of you, you haven’t eaten well in a long time. So, where does it all go?”

Mark huddled up, feeling rebuked by the question. He wanted to remain silent, but the itching need to grab the bottle beside him for comfort made him sigh as it ultimately reminded him of the deal he had made. It took quite awhile for him to answer, his face shifting between expressions of defeat, anger, and helplessness. During one of his irritated moments, he found the strength to look up sternly and tell his tormenter, “You can call me a lot of things: Drunk... cripple... bum; but don’t you ever say I’m a deadbeat.”

“Was that part of the divorce agreement? You’re still expected to pay child support?”

Mark shook his head, heaving a sigh. “Of course not. You think I married a demon or something?”

“What she’s done to you doesn’t cast a very flattering light on her in my eyes.”

“You know that there were reasons I fell in love with her in the first place, right? I didn’t just wake up one day and find myself married to her.” He grunted in return as Ricky gave a small apology. “I’d appreciate it if you’d not insult her, and me by association. I might have made a lot of mistakes in my time, but she was never one of them. It’s just... tragic: One of the reasons I loved her, is why I lost her.” Mark sighed deeply, reflecting on the statement before returning to the topic. “Maybe she hasn’t done what’s been best for me... but she isn’t just a harpy either. She’d never ask me for money. If she thought I could fulfil my responsibilities in the first place, she’d have never done what she did.”

“You don’t mind that she ran off with your own doctor?”

“Dr. Aledrew? He’s a son of a bitch, no doubt, but he isn’t a cruel man. He’s got the means and the desire to take care of them both. He’ll... do what’s best for them. I’ll never thank him... but I won’t hate him for just doing what I failed to do.”

“Then why do you wear rags and live off of cheap whiskey if nobody’s asked you to?”

Mark gave the bartender a long stare; one that, for the first time, discomforted the youth. “I told you: You’ll never call me a deadbeat. Heavens as my witness, I’ll never let you.”

Ricky frowned as he watched the determination in the inebriated gaze lose sight of its stalwart belief within the drunkenness in the man’s eyes. His own bright eyes showed thought as he hatched a plan that led him to step away from the counter long enough to retrieve a black wallet from behind the bar.

Seeing the pouch, Mark instinctively reached for his own pocket to feel it was empty. It was hard to remember, but it struck him that he was at one of the places that held wallets behind the counter to help ensure tabs were paid. “What’re you up to?”

Flipping through the fold searchingly, the Lufae nodded when he found something that confirmed his thoughts. His deft fingers withdrew a slip of paper before he folded the wallet to toss it back behind the counter once again.

“Hey, that isn’t yours! Put that back!” The provoked man looked ready to stand up and go around the bar to make the interloper relinquish it, but between his misbehaving prosthetic and staggering intoxication, he lacked the ability to enforce his wishes.

Ricky did not heed his command, choosing instead to look over the paper in his hand before stepping close to put it down on the bar face-up. It was a photograph; a simple one, only a bust shot, that had perhaps been taken in a small studio. The subject of the photo was just a little boy. A mop of messy hair in a dark rust color adorned his head, where it had been blown about and left uncut for many weeks. A wide grin engulfed his face, showing large gaps where the teeth were still growing. The fair-skinned boy’s eyes looked straight ahead, right into the lens, and pierced his father’s heart to a point that he had to turn his sight away from the photo.

“You keep that hidden in the back of the wallet, I see.”

“Stop it. That’s none of your business,” Mark shot back sternly, still looking away.

“I want you to look at him. No, not when you get home, not when you sober up: Right now. Stop looking at the bandstand and look at the photo.”

Mark clammed up tightly, chewing the inside of his cheek as he tried to refuse further, but the delicate finger on the photograph slid it closer to him until he could not get it out of his sight. “I... I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

He shook his head, fighting with everything in him to not let the dampness at the edges of his eyes roll down his cheek by clenching his teeth tightly. “Not like this... Not when I’m...”

“Then why do you do this to yourself?” Ricky asked harshly as he pulled his finger away, but left the photo in Mark’s sight. “Look him in the eye, and maybe you can tell me what he’s looking at. What do you think he sees?”

“Don’t do this to me...” Mark pleaded quietly, unable to ignore the request as he glanced down at the photo. The sight of the boy's bright and hopeful eyes drove daggers into the poor drunk, paining him to a point that it was all he could do to bite his lip to stop it from quaking. "I don't want to say it."

The bartender let the image sink in for a while, waiting as his companion's resolve slipped further and further under the melting gaze watching him from the worn paper. "He's not looking at the cowboy fighting those savages, is he? He's not looking at that hero that never came home."

All Mark could do was cry once quietly: A small sound that slipped out through a throat too relaxed from the booze. He pressed his fist to his lips, forcing himself to hush, and screwed his eyes shut to fight off the stinging guilt.

The tension in his shoulders, as they remained hunched at his sides, eased only ever-so-slightly when he felt a waifish hand rest on one of them, gently pushing him back to get his sights focused on the hand’s owner. The bartender's other hand reached for the bottle that was already three-quarters empty and began to slide it away. Mark made no move to grab for it.

"This isn't want you want him to see; it isn't what you want him to think of you. Mark... this isn't you."

The old drunk looked lost in that moment, staring helplessly at the bartender, whose hand still rested on his shoulder. "Then what am I?"

Ricky broke into a smile for the first time since the stories had begun. With a shove, he tried to push the man across from him into sitting upright. "I can't answer that for you. You have to pick yourself up and find out. I do know that this isn't you... and I know what that little guy thinks you are."

Markus reached for the photo, holding it protectively in his hand as he affectionately rubbed the image with his thumb for comfort. There was a gradual shift in his stance as he looked down to the painted plywood of the bar: His gloomy face tensed up; his lips drew back firmly, instead of hanging down in a frown; and his brow lifted in thought, instead of scowled in hate. The lost look in his eyes, however, was too difficult for him to shake alone. "Ricky... I don't know what to do. Nobody'd hire me before, and it certainly isn't like my chances have gotten any better. What the hell can I do now? I just can’t see any other way to go."

The bartender withdrew his hand, losing his smile as he contemplated the question. A dire look settled in his visage, but he sighed it away as he reached to his back pocket to retrieve a slip of card stock paper with fine print on it. He handed it across the bar to Mark, waiting for him to realize that it was a business card. “I know of a guy... he’ll hire you. You’ve got the kind of appearance he likes in an employee, even if you come with a little baggage. The pay’s pretty bad, and it’s really not safe work, but I don’t think money or safety are things you’re all that concerned about these days.”

Taking the card, the sobering patron folded it up, standing from his seat with a nod. There was no real need for questions, as he agreed quietly with the statement that such things were not worries of his anymore. When he asked for Ricky to ring up his tab, the bartender refused to retrieve his wallet for him.

“Hold up, there’s something you’re going to need before you call him. You have a firearm of your own, right?”

Instantly the discussion became quite tense, the old soldier’s face scrunching in uncertainty at the question. He hesitated before answering, “Yeah. I’ve got a shotgun... used to be for home defense, but I was keeping it to pawn off if I got desperate for some credits. What will I need it for?”

“If you call him, he’s going to ask if you have one and know how to use it. Well, do you?”

Mark put his hands on the bar, lowering his brows as he leaned over and glowered across the counter. “Are you saying that you want me to kill people for money?”

Calmly, the bartender shook his head. He reached once again for a mug and dishrag, keeping his hands occupied and out of sight as he had to mull over the best way to answer. “The man I have in mind would never, ever pay you to kill someone. He’ll pay you to protect some people... and to do that, you’re going to need a gun.” He glanced up from the glass occasionally to watch his confidant’s expression, which stayed harsh and questioning as he weighed his options. “If you have a better choice, then by all means, take it. This is the only thing I’ve got for you though, and it may be the only way for you to get your foot back in the door. It’s either that, or you can sit right back down and grab that bottle again. What’s it going to be, Markus?”

There was no certainty in his voice when he finally spoke up and once again asked the bartender to ring up his tab, keeping his hand far from the bottle mentioned. A small smile of relief crept onto the Lufae’s face as he read the gesture to be an affirmative, if hesitant, answer. All debts squared away, he reached back to grab the wallet and slide it across the plywood. Before Mark walked away, however, he turned back once and stood for a moment in a hushed silence, broken only by the hiss of the pistons in his prosthesis as they released some pressure.

“... I don’t know what to say except: Thanks, kid. I’ll hold onto this card while I think about it.”

“Don’t be a stranger.”

“Keep my stool free, and I won’t.”

Just another late night he thought; his last customer had long since been patronized and encouraged to buzz on home to sleep off the night’s excess. The bartender took one last look at the freshly swept floor with its dottings of small, fertile table-islands: A jungle of chair legs rising from their wooden soil. The bar top passed his inspection as it gleamed softly with fresh pine oil above shabby stools tucked neatly underneath.

A hint of color caught Ricky’s attention as his eyes passed over a stool located three seats to the left of the middle one, far away from the door where he then stood. Even from that great of a distance, he could see an embroidered image stitched into the fabric of its seat, though he could not make out any detail. The dull ache in his head and hands flared briefly as he looked at the hieroglyph, reminding him of the monotonous labor that had gone into the handiwork. The lettering had actually come off better than he had hoped, making the simple inscription easy to read: “Reserved for Markus Prodder.”

Author's Note

A couple of notes this time!

First one: Yes, I wanted an excuse to exercise my skills in writing a third-person narrative. Working so long on the journal, first-person past-to-present format, I was starting to wonder if my ability to write other viewpoints might have begun to deteriorate. This was a good stretch to make sure I didn't lose the ability completely.

Second: The names Mark and Markus are not used interchangeably in this entry. Take another look to see if you can catch my meaning. I should probably not state that outright, but I'm just proud enough of that thought that I want to show it off. Sorry!

I do hope that this will be seen as a valid addition to the story! I do not expect there to be many of these, which are in-depth descriptions of Vexglove-induced dreams. With any luck, they will prove to be informative, entertaining, and possibly able to help bridge the gap between novels as I continue to beat my head against my keyboard.

Once again, thanks everybody for the 100 likes!

8: Am I Lost?

It is still the same day as my last entry, but I ran out of room on the previous page and decided that I could start a new entry with my current discoveries. At this moment, I am sitting on a pile of hay in a barn. I have only my journal, my backpack, a patchwork blanket, and a dimly glowing lantern to keep me company while I write. Perhaps this is for the best, since I am not in much of the mood to be good company to anyone right now.

Where am I? This is not the first time I've asked this question today. I've asked it both aloud and to myself perhaps two dozen times, and it has already been answered. The answers just aren't something I can bring myself to believe. So I feel I must ask once more: Just where am I? For the first time since I left the safety of my home on Terriel -- since I wandered away from the security of the soldiers at the reclamation camp -- I feel lost. Am I really lost?

I have done a diagnostics check to make sure I am in healthy condition before I start to concern myself with other issues. If I am not able to defend or care for myself, all of my other questions will mean nothing. Overall I have a few scrapes and bruises from my rough trekking through the forest. Most of the feeling has returned to my hands and feet after the problems with my respiratory assistance being offline were resolved and the thin atmosphere on this planet stopped suffocating me. My CCMI is now responsive, but there seem to be new complications that have arisen. I can only hypothesize that the reason it became unresponsive was due to whatever happened to me when I read that parchment back in the library. It was almost as if my CCMI had been momentarily removed from my cranium. Perhaps it came disconnected from the neural nodes? Whatever the reason, the kick from the one named Rainbow Dash must have jarred it enough that is readjusted to my skull properly and is once again functioning. That blow might also be what has now damaged it, as I have been having problems with my music files constantly playing a shuffle of my entire library. I cannot abort the function, and "process kill" is refusing to acknowledge that my media player is currently enabled. As of the moment, it has been playing some soothing piano melodies which is helpful, but that does not change my concern that I cannot alter the playlist in any way. Perhaps this will rectify itself in time.

The rest of my day that I can actually explain was troublesome for the most part. I am starting to believe that I am writing a storybook for some infant to hear as he or she snuggles beneath a quilt to go to sleep instead of a recount of my adventure to locate my father. As for the missing tooth, I tried to explain to these creatures why it was not very helpful even though they had found where it had flown off to. Once a tooth for a human is gone, it can neither grow back nor be put back in (at least not without complicated dental work and I doubt there was a dentist on hand). My explanations were disregarded, however, as the one named Twilight Sparkle asked me to sit down and open my mouth for her.

I discovered then that she, and I assume any horse residing here with a horn, has telekinetic abilities. Instead of the tooth being grasped in her mouth or with her hooves, I watched as it levitated with a peculiar shimmer in the air surrounding it whilst a similar aura hovered around her horn. If this is anything like Chimeras and Caverns then that is what we would call a "Spell-like Ability".

Sure, go ahead and laugh at me for the fact that I'm a dice-rolling, role-playing nerd. It happens to be the only thing I can relate my current scenario to. It is one of the reasons that I have been trying to dismiss everything I've seen as an elaborate microcosm of my own imagination. If I had passed out from a caffeine overdose during a particularly long-lasting campaign of Chimeras and Caverns, then I surely would have woken up by now. I can only wish this was all just some chemically-induced dream. I can only wish.

I learned that she has other spell-like abilities as well, such as the one my repaired tooth is now testament to: Healing capabilities. The pain in my head is gone now as well, and the pain in my nose from where the kick landed has dissipated after I allowed her to touch my face with her horn once again.

I was rendered speechless after this display of her abilities, at which point a discussion began amongst the creatures in the room about what to do with me. When I came to my senses once again, they asked if I had anywhere that I was staying. I explained to them that I did not know how I got here, and that I did not know where I would be going. I had nowhere to stay. "I will most likely just grab my backpack and then see about heading back to Keycrescents for now, if I can." The only problem is that none of them had any idea in which direction that might be. They also did not know what I meant when I mentioned that it was located in Judicial District 7 or what Terriel was. I have the feeling that I am much farther from home than I hoped for. Rainbow Dash asked me if Terriel was anything like a city that was erected on clouds. What a silly idea, but it did mildly relate, so I decided to simply answer with, "Kind of."

With nowhere to stay while I prepared for my journey, the group tried to decide where I could reside.

"I'm afraid there's just no room for somepony to stay over at the library. I still have yet to get that guest bed repaired since that sleepover," Twilight apologized.

"He could stay here. I don't mind, really," suggested Fluttershy. She received some protest from Applejack and the rabbit with the knitting needle. It seems that though I have not shown any aggression towards them, some of these creatures still hold a fair bit of distrust towards me. It is nice to see that they are not stupid; I know that I am not a danger to them, but how can they be sure of that? How can they trust me when I say that I mean them no harm? Honestly, I wish I could think of an answer to that. Right now my word is just going to have to suffice.

"There's room in the barn back at Sweet Apple Acres. How about I jus' set him up somewhere to sleep in there for now?"

It sounded far from glamorous, but I wished to avoid any more fuss about my situation. I accepted the offer and let them know that sleeping in a barn would be fine with me for now. Fluttershy and Twilight looked a bit concerned about the idea, but at least now I can have somewhere to stay that I do not feel like I'm intruding or inconveniencing anyone.

As we set out to see this barn, Rainbow Dash apologized for striking me; however, from the stern look in her eye I get the feeling that she's very iffy about my presence. This is understandable to me. Much like Applejack, she must just be looking out for the safety of the others, and I threaten that right now. Intentionally or not.

While being escorted by Applejack to a place she called Sweet Apple Acres, I was able to ask her a few questions and get a bit more scope on where I am. I am currently in a country known as Equestria, where these horses are the dominant creature. (They prefer to be called ponies, even though when standing at rest, the top of their head is on average at equal level with my own. I am a bit short at roughly 5' 6", but I am not sure I can call them small when I compare them to myself. I will, however, heed their request for simplicity.) They have written and spoken languages, and there are three major subspecies of ponies to be recognized in Equestria. They are the Earth Ponies (standard horses), Pegasi (ponies with feathered wings sprouting from their back), and Unicorns (ponies with horns growing from their forehead).

There is a form of economy here in Equestria. The major form of currency is golden coins referred to as "bits". I will have to do some observations and see if I can determine the currency conversion of how many UCs (Universal Credits) a single bit is worth.

I have been having trouble understanding what form of government is in place since Applejack tried to explain it to me. Is it a monarchy, a theocracy, or a dictatorship? It sounds like a strange hybrid of all three of these to me. "Princess Celestia" is the current ruler of Equestria, and with a title like Princess I would assume that this was a monarchy. From what I can gather, it sounds as though she has what I would consider an endless and absolute rule, so that would have me believe this to instead be a dictatorship. Princess Celestia is also said to have control over heavenly bodies such as the Sun and the Moon. Whether this is true or not, the belief that a being has such powers and worshipping them for it would indeed be heeding to the requests of a god or deity. That would be a theocracy (if a much more direct example of one than the usual concept of the church being head of state). Overall it sounds like a political clusterfuck.

That is all I have been able to discern about my current whereabouts. I have no clue where it is in relation to Terriel or Keycrescents. Since I have now spoken to four of these creatures, and none of them have any idea where Terriel is, this does not bode well for me. I cannot simply assume that they have just never looked up and by chance missed seeing a synthetic continent weighing a few million tons suspended in the air above them. No, I cannot assume that. It can only mean that I am so far from home that it is not visible from the ground where I rest. I cannot even fathom just how far away that means I must be from it.

As I rested my head in my hands and just tried to breathe after realizing that I have no clue where I am, all I wanted to do is kill that goddamn rat. If I see it again, I'll turn it into a hat. I swear it.

I need to stop writing for now. I have a rather large red horse looking at me at the moment with a straw of wheat sticking out of its mouth. I guess it wishes to speak with me. If I don't return to this journal, it's because I was kicked in the face once more. From the size of this horse, it could very well kill me if it decided to do so.

14: Temper

I'm now a delivery boy.

As it turns out, Applejack figured I could make use of myself moving objects between the farmhouse and the farmhands, as well as moving tools and supplies about the farm for them so that they could spend more time on the jobs that required strength. I could cut down the time they would normally spend transporting objects between places. She also suggested to me that I might want to look into being a letter carrier for the local post office since I was supposedly such a quick and punctual hauler. Heeding her suggestion, I discovered that there was indeed a job opening available for me.

As luck would have it, most of the postal workers happen to be pegasi (I assume that is the plural for pegasus), which means that they can get to places much faster than I can, however, this is only true for letters and lightweight mail. Weighty or cumbersome packages make it nearly impossible for most to fly while transporting them, so they must make many trips to get all of the packages handled in a day. This is where I may come in handy since I can pull a cart with all of the packages in it behind me to each of the addresses and the letter carriers can focus on their usual mail routes.

The local postal service also does not seem to have a problem with hiring the strange or disabled, since I met one of the letter carriers today. She has two lazy eyes. I swear that I am writing the truth: She’s cross eyed. The creature is of a very sweet demeanor, but I doubt she even knows what I look like since I don't think either of her eyes ever glanced me over specifically. I'm sure that if she can hold down this job then I will do just fine. The postmaster is a bit gruff overall, and I feel he might not like me all that much (to quote him: "Yeah, fine, I'll hire you. Don't tamper with the mail, and don't stick around one place too long. Tampering with the mail is a crime. Standing around too long is bad because you're ugly as sin."). At least this whole experience should be helpful in getting to know a few more residents in this place.

Today being my first day on the job, I regrettably got sidetracked during my route. It started when I saw that someone had sent a package to Fluttershy (the yellow horse that had rescued me from the forest when I first arrived here) and learned that she is located notably farther away from Ponyville than my other destinations. I had set her delivery down to be my last for the sake of time management. I did not look to see what the package was because tampering with the mail is a crime, as I stated above, and I would not risk my neck for curiosities sake (not again after that parchment back in the dilapidated library).

Fluttershy was not home at the time that I found my way back through the dense forestry to her cottage. Not knowing this, I had strolled up to the door and ogled the package for a bit in wonder of what exactly someone might have been sending her. Before I got the inkling to take a peek, I slammed my hand against the door a few times to call for her. As the lock jostled and the handle began to rattle as someone struggled on the other side, I had expected to see at any moment the soft pink swoopy hair and yellow pelt of the meek pegasus. I cannot put down in words how shocked I was when instead the door swung open and all I saw standing across the archway from me was a rat. A white rat that looked up to me casually at first and then stiffened in terror.

I knew that rat. It sure as hell knew me by the way I watched it dart away as though a gunshot were fired and dive back into the safety of the cottage away from me. I cannot recall what exactly was going through my head at that moment, just that I remember my face burning red and a terrible wrenching, heated sensation in my chest demanded that I let the package drop to the ground and sprint into the cottage in pursuit.

I was barely able to follow the small flash of a pink, scaly tail as it zipped around the doorpost that led to a kitchen deep within the room. Following it as my only lead, the room was unsurprisingly bare of a rodent when I came to a sliding halt at the expense of losing my footing and bashed into a dinner table that I overturned and broke its leg. Better its than mine, I figured, as I took up the search to uncover just where that beast had gone to. Wooden countertops rested lined up against one wall, with doors hiding cabinet space beneath them and pantries suspended up above them for additional room. Swinging open the doors proved useless as there was too much clutter in the way: Food, cleaning supplies, containers, and just excessive amounts of domestic crap that obscured my vision of my target. There was simply no time for me to consider clean rearrangement of the items, so I cupped my hands inside each of the pantries/cabinets and yanked with all of my might to scatter their contents and free my line of sight. One cabinet after another was emptied uselessly, until finally I threw aside sacks of flour and sugar residing in one and saw a flicker of white leap from this final storage and run back towards the living room.

The creature led me up the stairs to scramble into the bedroom I had seen once before, immediately taking refuge under the bed. I would not let something as simple as a mattress get the best of me, however, and with a great heave I flipped the light wooden bed frame over to get a look at the panting rodent before it skittered just out of my grasp towards the dresser. Dismantling that was as simple as yanking the drawers out and tossing them to the overturned bed in order to reach my hands into the framework. Sadly my reaction time is just not what it should be, and the creature was able to escape between my legs and head for the window nearby. At least my feet were faster as I dived for the window and let my weight slam it shut right before the beast could escape, leaving behind a jagged crack in the glass. If only I had waited a few more moments, I could have caught the little bastard in the window and have been done with this ridiculous game of cat and mouse.

Down the hallway again it climbed atop a grandfather clock to avoid me. Without hesitation, I slammed my shoulder full-force against the timepiece and sent it to the floor with a crash so that the rat tumbled down the stairs into a staggered heap and had to pick itself up. I made it within range right as it bounded up the shelves of a bookcase that I then tried to climb up as well. My weight was not very helpful in this, and the shelves gave out beneath my feet, sending me tumbling across the floor; avoiding being slammed beneath the toppling, heavy bookshelf. After the creature whisked away beneath the sofa, which I easily just threw on its back to unveil the critter once again, it finally made its fatal mistake. I glimpsed a pink tail slip inside of a vase positioned on the brick fireplace at the side of the room. Before it could retract its mistake, I yanked up the pot and held it firmly between my hands with the open end secured shut. There was something so rewarding and therapeutic for me to hear the repeated clangs and thumps of the creature as I violently shook the container in my grasp before raising it high to smash against the floor. Dazed and helpless, the creature gave no struggle as I went to grasp it in my hands and finally look it in the eyes.

"I finally have you, you little monster! You did this to me! Put me here! Put me through all of this hell! For what? A sick joke? Some kind of prank?"

I obviously had lost my mind at the moment as I joggled the rat with my hands and continued to shout at it. "Answer me! What was all of this for!?" I thought if it was smart enough to dupe me once, then it must be smart enough to give me an answer.

"Stop!"

The stern voice came from the door that had been swung open behind me, and to which I turned around and saw she who I was supposed to deliver the package to. Fluttershy was standing at the entrance with a look that I cannot decide as to whether she was mortified or furious, most likely both.

With the little bastard in my tight grasp, I looked around for a moment to see just what carnage had befallen our game. Paintings and pictures fallen and bashed, toppled and tattered furniture, shards of glass and ceramic around my feet and all over the floor, cloth and decorations strewn about, and a few bits of wood that were still where I had let them fall after brutishly dismantling some of the weaker hiding spots my prey had taken refuge in.

The house was a disaster.

"Put it down," Fluttershy instructed me as she continued to burn holes into me with her stare.

"This little creep is the reason that I-"

"Put it down."

"It's this thing's fault that I'm even-"

"Let her go. Now!"

The silence dragged on between us, my mouth still open as I tried to think of a way to get her to understand the importance of letting me murder this creature with my bare hands. There were just no words she was going to accept. Something in her gaze tugged at the depths of my chest though. I will state that I soon became terrified in the same way the rat had when I was standing behind the door it opened.

"Benjamen!"

As she called my name one last time, I let go of the beast and let it touch the ground. It caught its breath for only a few moments before bouncing out of the room hurriedly between Fluttershy's hooves. This left only the two of us still staring each other down, her heated gaze set on my bothered eyes.

I eventually broke our connecting sights to look around the room once again, the fury that had welled up inside me having evaporated. In my aggression, I had ruined this house. I've never known myself to do things like this, but for some reason thinking about how that monster must be laughing at my misfortune as I struggle each day here while I should be looking for my father, it just makes my blood boil. At that moment, however, I could only look at her and shake my head. I didn't know what to say.

She must not have known what to say either as she glanced about and pulled the package by the door close to her to begin opening it. Inside was something else butterfly related and made of yarn. I think this was a pair of mittens or socks, or something that was meant to be worn over the hooves at night.

While she was examining them, all I could do was slump down into a seated position on the floor and grasp my head in my hands. "I'm sorry," I eventually muttered out helplessly as I felt my breaths become more difficult and started to heave involuntarily. "I ruined everything, I'm so sorry," I muttered a few more times, unable to conjure up any way to defend my actions.

I felt her hoof rest on my shoulder before she pulled me so that my face rested against her neck and she could hush me quietly. "You'll be okay," she told me, brushing down my hair with one of her front legs. "It's over now." She was comforting me? After everything I had done. She had just watched me try to choke the life out of a defenseless creature and I had absolutely wrecked her home. She was holding me close and comforting me. I still can't understand. I cannot understand not only how she was able to keep from being furious with me, but also that she could be so kind to someone who had just wrecked her home.

It must have been a long time since I last had anyone brush my hair and tell me things would be alright. I broke down there on the floor because of it. Even as alien as the sensation of such attention was to me, there was something so comforting and familiar about the way she felt. The only thing I can relate it to was that it felt like I had my head resting against the warm and soft fleece of a childhood blanket when she held me close, the bristles of her fur fine and silky like expensive fabric.

"You're not a bad human," She assured me, "You just let your feelings get the better of you, didn't you?" I struggled for a nod to answer her before she continued. "We'll just clean up and it'll all be better, okay? Maybe then you can tell me what the little rat did to make you so upset."

"You're really not going to have me arrested or punished for this?"

"You didn't mean to do it, did you? It was just an accident. Most importantly, you're sorry that you did it, right?"

I would not say that it was an accident, more so it was an oversight on my part that I let her belongings get damaged while in a rampage. Instead of correcting her though, I nodded to her mostly to agree that I did regret doing it.

I spent the rest of the evening putting furniture back upright. I went back to Sweet Apple Acres to collect some wood and tools to begin repairing the cupboards in the kitchen and other furnishings that had been damaged, as well as cleaning up the messes that were left around. Fluttershy has long since gone to sleep before I started writing this, but I doubt I will get any myself. I am still exploring the internal workings of her standing clock in hopes of getting it working again.

Everything is so different here. If I had repeated these actions back on Terriel, there is no doubt that I would be sitting in a holding cell right now. Instead, I am taking a break from actually repairing the damage I caused. As much as I find myself believing that all of these differences here are for the worse, this is starting to open my eyes. Maybe things are not as bad here as I originally thought.

I will attempt to explain to Fluttershy tomorrow what the rat did to me, but I do not think it will really matter. It might just be because I am emotionally drained after today, but I feel that I do not much care either what it did to make me so angry.

A string quartet is playing on my CCMI the song known as "Dawn". I wonder if this means something.

I came back once again to write that it must not mean anything, because my CCMI followed up the touching musical accompaniment with "I'm an Assman." Damnit. Just damnit.

20: Quickly

Can't write much.

Currently ducked behind an overturned table after being disarmed. My crossbow is nothing more than ashes right now..

I found Dog-Ears Pink.

Followed his trail after receiving another letter today: Sugarlump lead me right to him.

Currently in the Library. Twilight has gone away for some reason. No time to ponder it.

Confronted Dog-Ears Pink. He's the dragon, the purple one with the green spines. Told me that I was making moves on his lady and that I had better stop if I knew what was good for me. Told him that I would not be threatened by a child and planned to tell his caretaker.

He has fire breath and tried to singe me. I responded by brandishing my crossbow to intimidate him. That didn't work because he has a slingshot. Can't see through one of my eyes now after taking a hit to it and the crossbow was caught in the dragon fire, so now it's gone.

He currently has me pinned down behind the table I overturned for cover. I can hear him telling me to come out and face him like a man. He knows I have the advantage: That I'd grab him by the tail and swing him like a flail if he comes around my cover, but I can't stand up without taking more fire (projectile or literal).

Negotiation has failed. He says this is now a matter of honor. Apparently believes himself to be a champion fighting for her. Cannot get across the point that I don't want her. This only made him mad that I was insulting her. There is no winning with my words here.

Please, Twilight, get back soon. I don’t know how long I can duck behind this table and expect him not to come up with a plan to smoke me out.

54: All I Can Do

It snowed today.

It was rather beautiful. I can see it now still, piles of it collected on the trees below, and the ground lightly coated in a fluffy white cover. The first snowfall since I left my home of Terriel, and I was lucky enough to get to witness it. Lucky; that term seems a bit difficult to acknowledge. Lucky, fortunate, privileged, all of them feel a little off the mark right now, as I sit here and jot away in my journal a few final thoughts. I hope you don't mind; it seems they are all that I have left.

What actually comes to mind for me right now is a bit of pondering on the reality of a certain, almost overused nugget of wisdom, and just how far its meaning can reach. One should never judge a book by its cover. Whether it applies to books, people, places, or even actions, the surface only tells us so very little. My time here in Songring has given me so many examples of the ultimate truth of that statement.

For my first example, I suppose I should start with Maple, since she is the first one who comes to mind. This is most likely because I am currently just relieved to see her once again awake. She has finally regained consciousness, and seems to be at least functional once again. The assault left her with a broken collar bone and a lot of bruising, as well as some cognitive issues that require others to speak slowly and clearly for her to understand them, but it seems that I can be relieved that I foresee nothing that looks like a permanent problem for her.

It was six years ago when I arrived in a carriage at the shores of the Light Waters. Only six short years ago is all it was, when I climbed up the rocky cliff face for the first time to see seven ponies huddled around a wagon as they spoke. (Short years. Funny, I remember thinking just recently that six years was a very long time to be stuck here.) The first one to speak to me was the red pegasus, throwing the clipboard at my feet and accusing me of belittling her for not being from Canterlot. I was facing what I could only see to be an impossible task, and she took one look at my dime-store paperback binding and called me out as a quitter, and nothing but a privileged child. In the few short weeks that followed, I began to hate her. The blurb on her hardbound cover read: Brute, drunkard, lay about, and bully. Synopses can be tricky like that sometimes, for they rarely give us insight into the small details that make up the whole. I was forced to begin re-evaluating my first impression when I found her in my room, crying softly to herself because she missed the ones that she loved and who counted on her for support. I had to add provider and nurturer to that list. As the rigid, protective coating was pried open and we weathered many storms together, both literal and metaphorical, the list grew to: Soldier, companion, and most of all, loyal friend. Perhaps her devotion should have been extended to someone more deserving than myself. Someone who wouldn't let her down and allow her to get hurt while they simply stood by and watched.

Maple, please be okay and forgive me for what I must do.

Silence is a sweet creature, as her cover would suggest, and naturally comes to mind as my second example. Stable, intelligent, judicious, insightful: Those are just some of the glowing endorsements engraved in her soft leather binding. Giving credit to her advertisement, she was able to sit apart and be the support that I needed, even when nobody else could possibly understand my reasons or my thoughts. She could speak to me on an intellectual level that I could understand and appreciate, and also gave me someone that I felt a bit of kinship towards as she did not judge me on my choices or my actions. She is naturally able to forego the perusal of external wrappings, as she can see the pages beneath much more clearly and quickly than anyone else. Perhaps it is this last that leaves me feeling so deceived by her propaganda, once I discovered that her gentle and rational nature could give way to such blind aggression in a terrible and cruel misuse of her gifts. Some might say that her actions were out of desperation, passion, or even just a simple mistake, but I am not so sure I can accept such an answer knowing that she, above all others, knew how deeply those cuts would go.

Just an old, pudgy pegasus that spends his days sleeping with a fishing rod next to him. I could never expect much of Salmon, my third example, when I first met him. Clueless, careless, and useless were the only things I could imagine would be printed on his prologue. How utterly were those beliefs shattered when I finally took the time to sit down and listen to the many stories and anecdotes he had to share. As the pages of the story that had been his life's journey were recited to me, clueless became enlightened, and careless evolved into prudent. These are things I could never have understood before knowing his tale: How many ponies he has known, how many friendships have come and gone, how many ponies he's watched succeed or fail, and how many ponies he has witnessed die in his presence. He's seen a lot of good, he's seen a lot of bad, and it takes a strength that I don't think I could ever obtain to still smile and try to laugh after all that. He has proven himself useful again and again as my mentor, my second in command, and Songring's most spirited defender.

Number four on the list would have to be a farmer here in Songring that I wish I could claim to know, but I'd be lying to everyone and myself if I did. I am sure many share my thoughts in stating that the burly lilac stallion's worn, leathery tome would cite stoic, introverted, unapproachable, and emotionless as his most notable attributes. He rarely says anything, and when he does, it is only about the here and now and what must be done. We never hear his thoughts on the past or what he dreams of for the future. He has erected a wall as real as the one that protects his farm to guard his ideas and his wishes from even those he considers his friends. Though most of these descriptions may be true to some extent, I know one thing about him that the preface got completely wrong: He cares. Springfield has worked every day as hard as he can, providing and sustaining Songring from the sweat of his brow. Even though he could not find it within him to speak to us, he's done all he can to see us stay fed, even considering our comforts as worthy of his effort by making sure the still on his farm continued brewing. If indeed he was as aloof and accepting of the inevitable as his bio would suggest, then why would he have gone through so much effort and personal risk to help us settle the domestic unrest that was tearing us apart? He has carried as much weight on his shoulders as I have, intertwining his prose with the epic novel that has been Songring's history, and never asked for anything in return.

Perhaps it is he who should have been coordinator and not I.

Since I met him, I was lead to believe that Willow was a hard-headed, unrightfully-aggressive moron. Overall, it turns out I was right. I can't be wrong on all of my assumptions, now can I? Even a stopped clock is right twice a day. The same might be said about Overcast and Teardrop, but that's not entirely accurate. I never knew what to expect of them, so I just never did expect anything. Considering how much I have learned of the others, this does bother me a bit. I feel I can still only see the surface of them. What makes Teardrop so prone to being overly emotional and easily upset? What has lead Overcast to be such a defeatist and not believe in his own abilities? I honestly wish I had asked them when I had the chance. I'm afraid this might be something I regret for some time to come.

There have been plenty of chance happenings that I can look back on and be comforted in knowing that I avoided regrettable mistakes because of them. Meeting Daggersides is one such happening. I should probably be upset at her for not only reading my personal thoughts here in this journal, but also invading my privacy further by writing her own, yet I simply cannot bring myself to be mad about it. It is not the first time someone has taken that liberty, and I am starting to believe that it will certainly not be the last. Perhaps jotting down one's thoughts is just infectious, like a yawn. I will have to ponder that further at a later time, as for right now, I was just considering how much Daggersides has helped me. Those times when she has helped me to balance the scales: Supporting my decisions, or acting in my stead when the choices became too much to bear. Beneath her cold exterior is a sense of duty and responsibility that I can truly respect, but at what price did she gain these traits? She once told me that she did not get as far in her career as she had by caring. That strikes me as rather sad, and I feel a bit of pity for her as I read back over her final words to me. It makes me hope that I will never be in a position in which I will say that nothing is worth caring about anymore.

All of this writing about that one simple piece of advice – passing judgment before having true understanding of an individual or situation – is not just spawned from the idle quandaries of man with too much time to spare. No, it is something that I have just today come to fully understand, and it only took being the unfortunate victim of such assumptions for me to truly appreciate it.

It started with Captain Slipturn. That is the name of the commanding officer now stationed in Songring, and he is currently in charge of Allay Company of the REA's 5th Airborne Division. That was the title that the olive-colored pegasus with the creamy white mane and short pointed beard introduced himself as when he stood before me on the bridge over the Charmedsmile. The entire Allay Company flew in this morning, and it was not until they touched down in the fields amongst the scorched homes across the river that we even knew they were on their way. The clouds that gently fluttered down flakes of snow over us had obscured their approach entirely, and it was Dawnstar that came to get me when she saw them filing in lines and landing at intervals in the field.

The Captain brought me three gifts then as well. The first, was the comforting sight of a peach-colored lump of fuzz draped over his back, lying in a stupor with a wing stained red from blood. When I called his name, Salmon stirred and informed me that he didn't tell those Airforce bastards a single thing. The Captain asked if he was mine, and I told him yes. Salmon continued to utter a few rude slurs about the REA infantry present, claiming that they were all just too soft for the Navy anyways, before two other ponies took him to the infirmary. Dawnstar led the way, guiding our second gift with her to the apartment halls: A small group of four ponies, all wearing saddlebags with the familiar image of a red cross embroidered onto them. One of them was a unicorn of taupe color with a crimson mane that I could pick out as having seen once before. Her name is Cross Stitch... I'm surprised that I still know that.

There is finally medical staff in Songring.

The third and final gift, which the Captain gave to me personally once he had extracted it from the breast pocket of his blue and gold uniform, was something that I had desired for the past six years. He gave me a letter.

"Ambassador Prodder,

It was a shock to me when you were not with the escort team sent to retrieve you when they arrived back in Canterlot. I had expected to meet with you personally as soon as you stepped off the carriage to finally see you once again, but instead, I received a notice from the empty-hooved escort team that you were requesting help.

Deicidians have attacked Songring? They are in Equestria, and in such numbers that they are forming war bands and armies? I have not received a single letter mentioning anything of this magnitude before, so being as this is the first I have heard at all of Deicidian involvement in Songring, I was astounded to say the least.

I am glad that you contacted me when you did. I will not bother asking unnecessary questions in this letter, like why this is the first I have heard of this problem, as I am sure you and I will be able to discuss it in much more detail once you are back in Canterlot. As for your request, I am afraid that it was somewhat vague as to what exactly will be required for such a situation. Until a time that we can decide on a more permanent solution, I have ordered the dispatch of a company of the REA, under the command of Captain Slipturn, to Songring. They will be stationed there to perform both reconnaissance operations and preparation for Songring's defense. I have also requested that a squad from the Medical Corps be sent to offer aid to the citizens and militia that were injured during the attacks.

Captain Slipturn will be the one to deliver this letter to you. Please speak with him and supply any information he feels is needed to adequately prepare for future Deicidian aggression. He will be your successor from here on. At the time you receive this letter and have finished your debriefing with the Captain, the escort team will be prepared to transport you back to Canterlot.

Consider this as notice of your dismissal from service at Songring.

I eagerly await meeting with you again, and expect a detailed report of what has transpired in Songring in the past few years. We will meet as soon as you get back.

Sincerely,
Princess Celestia."

So that was it. Something that I had wanted for such a long time finally rested in my hands. I read it over and over, unable to fully comprehend what the words meant. The Captain was very patient with me, letting me stare at the letter dumbfoundedly for a bit before he politely questioned if I was prepared to brief him on the situation, and informed me that the carriage for my extraction was due to arrive within the hour.

There was not much to say during the briefing. A lot of the inquiries were things I had not fully considered before: What were the altitudes and weather patterns, if we had any maps of the surrounding area, were there any strategic advantage points built, and plenty of other questions I merely shrugged and shook my head at. We went to tour the farm, the dining hall, and the bathhouse as locations of interest in Songring. I warned him of the issue we'd had in the past with the showers attracting thieves and lurkers. We also toured the mine briefly, and I informed him of the lead storeroom, and the possible health hazards the ore could pose. He required me to relinquish my lead storeroom key to him at that time. I showed the Captain my office, dining room, and bedroom. He complimented the quarters for being a good vantage point to oversee the valley below. That is when he requested me to gather my belongings so that he could look into having his own articles arranged and ready by nightfall.

At least he left me some privacy in which to do it. He left to inform his company of the spare rooms left in the apartment halls, and how they would have bunk beds crafted soon to house four ponies to a room. I got to be alone as I collected my things and began to pack them away. What should I keep? What should just be thrown away? I could not take it all, as my backpack is certainly not limitless, but there were quite a few things in my possession these days. What was most important to me?

My thoughts on that were interrupted as I looked up to the corner of the dining room and took a moment just to sit and rest my head in my hands for a bit: "♥ Stone Silence." I figured that my office was one of the many things I won't be able to take with me, no matter how much care went into making it just right for me.

I took both pieces of Flip, the silver-alloy statuette of the founders of Songring, and my journal with me in my backpack. After putting in what spare clothes I had, there was no more room left to stuff anything else into it. I decided to carry my Blunderbuss, thinking it unwise to leave something of the sort behind. All of the papers in my desk would have to be left behind, and I assume they will eventually be burned due to their nature being strictly informative for myself. I left them in a neat pile in the corner to be collected when such a time came. There was also the large box of books that Bullion had gifted me for Hyacinth, but I could not bring myself to simply throw those atop the pile. I am just lucky that the escorts agreed to help me carry and load the box onto the carriage. Then the last bit of business to take care of came bumbling down the stairs, looking up to me in discomfort at seeing that the sheets had been torn off the bed, and the dining room and office were stripped clean for the Captain.

I wasn't allowed to take Abeo with me. They said she was too heavy to take with us, and that I would need to leave her behind. I did so, leading her outside on a leash to one of the large holes burrowed into the ground outside the wall of Springfield's farm where the other tanks of the Honoring Mire had burrowed for their winter hibernation. Silly thing just couldn't understand. Try as I might to tell her to climb into one and try to get some sleep, she just croaked and started following me back towards the apartment halls. No amount of shoving, pleading, or reasoning deterred her from waddling after me when I would turn to leave. I even tried so much as to toss a treat for her on the ground so she would be distracted by it, but the sound of my footsteps pulled her away to continue following me. I wish there had been another way, but I finally had to raise my voice to her. I yelled at her, shouting and swinging my arms at her to scare her away. I pretended I was angry, and I did what I could to frighten the creature. The confusion and betrayal in her eyes when I threw a kick that narrowly missed her snout still pains me a bit to think about... The silly creature just couldn't understand.

On my way back, I witnessed Julienne being forcibly removed from the dining hall. With screams of protest in her thick accent and foreign tongue, she did all she could to muscle past the soldiers and resume her cooking, but they refused her. The kitchen was now property of the REA, they told her, and she would have to agree to some conditions before they would allow her to work as the understudy of the mess sergeant. That's when she saw me, and began begging me for help. "Make them stop this! Why are they doing this, Monsieur Prodder? They will ruin my kitchen, ruin it! Tell them to let me through!" I couldn't. It was beyond my power now. I apologized, but she only grew more upset with me. "You won't do anything? You won't try? Don't you even care?" My answer that there was nothing I could do did not settle well with her, and she called me a few things that I don't understand the meaning of before returning to her fight with the ponies blocking the entrance to the mess hall.

I met Absinthe there too. She was resting on the thin layer of snow coating the grass of Songring's doorstep, watching Julienne's attempts to not lose her work and place of comfort. The sight of the familiar muscular mare caused a sadness in her eyes when she watched the helpless struggles and pleading cries of the desperate pony. "So I guess this is how things must be." With a sigh, she secured down a saddlebag and looked at me with a frown. I still cannot decide if it was of disappointment or just genuine sorrow. Maybe I just can't handle the thought that she was disappointed in me right now. She told me that it was time for her to leave then, as there was no need for her services in what would now become a fort of the REA. "Things are going to change quite a bit, and I just won't belong anymore. I wonder just how many others won't belong either."

I don't want to think about that right now.

I got to witness as the citizens of Songring were required to leave the apartment halls, filed into a line, and instructed to assemble in an orderly fashion in the field for roll call. I spotted Overcast and Teardrop almost immediately. They were pulled away from one another in the confusion created by the crowd and forced to march to their destination without each others comfort. As much as Teardrop begged the soldiers, crying out helplessly for them to let Overcast stay, they would not heed her. They never once raised their hoof to her, simply told her that it would just have to wait and pressed her back into the line of moving ponies. Once the settlers had been gathered in the field, their strengths and skills would be evaluated, and they would be reassigned to their duties. They would then also be assigned new quarters, with four ponies to a single apartment to make the most use out of the limited space. There were alot of unhappy ponies there at that moment, and almost all of their eyes at one time or another turned to me as I waited for the doors to clear. They looked at me with so many expressions: Pleading, sadness, confusion, betrayal. Some even looked at me with disgust and hate. The only one that did not display emotion was Daggersides. She marched compliantly with the group, limping on three legs as her other was tightly bundled and hoisted in a sling, and her gaze passed over me only long enough to give me a nod of recognition and duty.

Once the group had passed, I was approached by one of the doctors who had come to find me. It was Cross Stitch, though from the way she spoke with me so promptly and professionally, I can assume she did not remember meeting me before.

"There's a patient in the infirmary that won't cooperate with the treatment. She keeps demanding to see her "bossman". We can't help her if she won't work with us, so can you please take a moment to see if you can talk sense into her?"

I knew already who that must be. I had just been on my way to collect my belongings after dispatching of Abeo, not to visit the infirmary. Looking back now, I suppose I was just going to leave without even stopping by there. The fact that I should held no sway for me then, outweighed by the fact that I feared more looks. I had received so many harsh stares and sad gazes already that I feared one more, and from that pony in particular, might just break me. There was no choice, however. It had to be done.

The irate pegasus was fighting away the doctors at her bedside when I first entered. I watched her swing a lunch tray at one threateningly to make them back away. "I said don't touch me! Put one hoof on me, and I'll break the damn thing off! I don't know who you are, but you better just stay over there 'til the Bossman gets here. He'll have something to say to you! Don't you touch Willy or Springfield neither!" The doctors all kept their distance from her, seeming truly fearful that she might take a strike at them. She probably would too. The tray dropped to the ground then as I stepped over to her bedside, and for a moment, I saw relief in her features as she held her hooves outstretched openly to invite me into her embrace. Too bad her happiness to see me was cut short when I rested my hand on her front leg and gently pressed it down to her side. "Ben, who are these ponies? What are they doing in here? They keep getting close to everypony, and I don't like it."

"They're doctors, Maple. They're just here to help everyone. There are many injured ponies here that need their help."

"We don't have any doctors in Songring. You're the closest thing we have! When did we get doctors?"

"They're with the REA. Please, just let them do their job."

There was not much left for her to say after I told her that. Her offer of embrace faded rather quickly when I informed her of their affiliation. She shook her head at me in disbelief. "What? You're joking, right? You're pulling a fast one on me. Cut it out, Ben, you know I'm not too well in the head right now."

I shook my head back at her as I once again informed her that they were with the REA, and that they had come to make sure everyone would get better. That's when I got the look I didn't want to see. Her large jade eyes scoped me as it took her several moments to understand fully what I meant, and then she seemed to tighten up in the bed before me. There was a confused whine in her nose as she looked truly scared. I could not handle her gaze upon me for long. I trembled and my throat tightened as the feeling that I might just want to die then and there, to avoid hearing her say anything else after my subtle confession, washed over me. I stood and attempted to walk away from her, but things can never be that easy.

"So... that's it? That's all you've got to say for yourself?" Maple's voice cracked midway through her sentences, her tone rising in anger to try to mask whatever else she must have felt. "You're not going to stick around? You're not going to wait for Willy and Springfield to wake up to tell them this?"

I shook my head, but there was no answer I could give her. At least no answer I could give through the stinging of my eyes and the burning sensation in my face.

"What am I supposed to tell them then? How do I tell them, Ben? How do I tell them what you've done?" She seethed in agitation and pain as she tried to get up and approach me, but her injuries held her down. "Am I supposed to tell them that you just gave up? That you gave up on Songring? That you gave up on us? Or did you just get a better offer or something? What the nightmare do I tell them, Ben?"

"Tell them that I've done all I can do, and that I care for them very much. That's all they need to know. I love you Maple... even if it doesn't look like it right now. See you later, I hope."

Everything after that was blurry. I can't tell if it was from the strain that such a goodbye left on me, or if it was because moisture clouded my vision while I grabbed my backpack and blunderbuss and just ran. I ran as fast as I could to the field across the Charmedsmile. No more looks, no more goodbyes, and no more disappointment. There was nothing I could do. This was the only way to keep them and Songring safe. Silly creatures just didn’t understand. I cannot violate my probation: I will leave by my choice or I will be dragged back to a cell. I either let these settlers damn me, or I watch them get their legs cut out from under them when they try to stand in my defense. They just couldn't understand. I let them see on my cover: failure, quitter... but this is all that I can do.

I'm so sorry, but it's the only thing that I can do.

Dawnstar is here with me in the carriage as we're riding back to Canterlot. She's watched me for a while. Just watched me as I write and occasionally snivel and shield my eyes from her, as I need a moment to recover. I've wanted this for six years; I've wanted to leave this stupid place for six years. Why am I not happy? Why can't I just be happy?

"I suppose this means that my internship is over then, huh Mr. Prodder? It's been a long and eventful ride for us both. I'm a little sad to see that it’s now done with. I can see that you must be too. I don't know if it means anything to you, but I'm going to miss being your understudy... and you." Dawnstar is a sweet girl. At least there's someone here to keep me company, and it helps that she takes my free hand in her grasp occasionally.

I just saw something down below us at the line where the snow ends. Something peculiar: A caravan. A covered wagon with seven ponies leading it along is inching across the landscape to the North. Even from up here, it seems like I can almost hear them laughing. The little mixed band of pegasi, unicorns, and earth ponies are just merrily trekking along their way.

I wonder what truths lay underneath the simple cover I see binding together the happy little band of ponies beneath me.

The only thing I can take comfort in right now is that at least I am on my way back home. I just don't know where home is anymore.

Author's Note

There you have it. The final chapter of the first novel of Ben's tale. In true Dwarf Fortress fashion, Songring shined brightly and gloriously like a star, only to succumb to a shockingly sudden and almost bizarre finale. It lacked only the tragedy of everyone being dead at the end. A blog post is available here with additional details of why such an ending was chosen for this story, along with many other explanations of how certain snippets from the work came to be. I do hope everyone has enjoyed the tale so far. I will try to remain diligent in working on the second novel. This is hopefully only the beginning.

And ultimately, thank you for giving Ben the chance to share a little of his experience with you.

Until the next time,
~J Winters