Alfred Wight in Equestriaby rem-dogChaptersPrologue: Another Aspect of TogethernessChapter One: If Only They could... Talk?Chapter Two: The ProposalChapter Three: The Visit --Part OnePrologue: Another Aspect of TogethernessPrologue: Another Aspect of Togetherness Alfred Wight in Equestria Prologue: Another Aspect of Togetherness In spite of all that had been said, written, rumored, or nuanced about Twilight Sparkle the unicorn, she actually dreaded the days when she and her faithful assistant Spike re-organized the library. It meant getting up early, a light breakfast (usually she slept through breakfast after pulling constant late-nighters), and then straight to the stacks, pulling every tome out and rearranging the books until they were all in perfect order. While she did this, she would have Spike ply his feather duster to the shelves, sopping up every stray speck of dust and ash, much to Twilight’s satisfaction. Nothing like a well-kept book, she would muse to herself. If I keep these books in good condition, they’ll last for decades, perhaps even centuries! To be honest, it was the simple things in life that helped Twilight Sparkle carry on. Even so, Golden Oaks Library had an impressive collection for its small size, and as such required constant maintenance, much to Twilight’s chagrin. After all, she was just one mare with a baby dragon assistant. The amount of time devoted to the maintenance was truly taxing upon her true passion and calling: that of study, research, and knowledge. She loved it, every aspect of learning, and as such, her hum-drum routine on the maintenance days truly held no joy for her. Thus it was that she had worked herself into a kind of trance, mechanically re-ordering the books before her. A noise from upstairs shocked her back to matters of consequence. Thud! “Twilight! Come help me, quick!” Spike was calling, or rather, urgently imploring the librarian. Twilight was not sure what was going on upstairs, but she was sure Spike had gotten himself into quite the fix by the urgency she read in his voice. “Coming, Spike!” She hoped she wouldn’t lose her place in the reorganization, but her dragon baby brother needed her help right now. She found Spike hanging from the top shelf of the Ponyville municipal records section, his claws gripping the top of the shelf, his feet kicking and scrambling for purchase. In the act the dragon had accidentally kicked a thick volume of Ponyville Births: AC 976-982 off of the shelf below him onto the floor. Twilight enveloped Spike in her magical aura, allowing him to release the shelf and float slowly down back to terra firma, where he dusted himself off. “Thanks, Twilight; sorry I kicked that book down. Is it damaged?” “No, Spike, it doesn’t appear to be. You need to be more careful. What if I weren’t here to catch you? You could get hurt!” Twilight frowned at her number one assistant. Spike put on his best sheepish face. “You’re right, Twilight, I’m sorry.” He looked at the ground while he said this. He then noticed the book he upset off of the shelf. “Hey, look at that! That must be Applejack!” The dropped book was wide open, the left page having a copy of an official birth certificate, the facing page with a picture of two beaming parents and a very young Big Macintosh standing and smiling at a camera in front of the gate to Sweet Apple Acres. The newborn Applejack had piercing blue eyes and a contented smile, nestled in her mother’s fore hooves. Twilight felt a slight twinge in her heart for the sake of her friend, who had lost her parents. But, she reminded herself, at least she had several good long years of comfort and love from them before they were taken. The look on the baby Applejack’s face told Twilight that Applejack knew she was loved from day one. At least that couldn’t be taken from her. “What is this book, Twilight? I’ve never looked in it before,” Spike asked. “This is an official record of all the births in the Ponyville Municipal District, listed chronologically. See? If you turn the page, there’s the birth certificate of Pokey Pierce, and a picture of him, as well. He was quite a cute baby, I think. But then again, it’s hard to find an ugly foal…” Twilight answered. Spike’s eyes widened. “Who else of our friends are in here?” Spike hoped to find a picture of Rarity as a baby, since he knew for certain that the most beautiful mare in the world had to have been the most beautiful foal in the world. He then started thumbing through the book at breakneck speed. “Well, let me think…” Twilight put a hoof to her chin, looking every bit as pensive as diamond dog sculptor Roverdan’s finest work, Quiet! I Thinking! “Applejack and Rarity should definitely be in there. Pinkie might be, but I’m not sure. The rock farm she was raised at might not be in the Ponyville district. Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy were born in Cloudsdale, and I was born in Canterlot, so we definitely won’t be in there.” “Umm… Twilight, are you sure? Because that looks like…” Twilight looked at the page Spike pointed out. On it, a pegasus family stood proudly outside a building that appeared to be in Ponyville. The father looked very proud, grinning from ear to ear, holding the couple’s pegasus foal. Both father and foal had chromatic manes. A quick glance at the birth certificate allayed all suspicion. “Rainbow Dash!” they said in unison. “Let me see that book, Spike, I need to check…” Twilight took the book in her aura, downstairs to her lectern. She hooved through to near the beginning of the book, wondering if her suspicions were true. “Fluttershy is the oldest of us, so she should be nearer the front.” Sure enough, she found a picture of Fluttershy and her family, standing in front of the same building as Rainbow Dash’s family. “This is weird, Spike. I honestly thought Rainbow and Fluttershy were born in Cloudsdale. I wonder…” She turned the pages more urgently, wondering if she would find what she suspected to find. And There it was. Just past Rainbow Dash’s entry, there was a light blue unicorn with lavender striped white mane and tail. Beside her stood another blue unicorn with a darker shade of blue for a mane. If that didn’t cement the tableau, a young white unicorn colt with blue mane smiled at the camera, as well. Twilight Sparkle was rendered speechless. Over the next day, she poured over the six pages of the record book, studying every aspect of the birth certificates. After she basically memorized every entry in the certificates she noticed one aspect that was common in all of them: the delivering doctor. Who was this pony, and why was it significant that he delivered all of us? She returned to this question over and over again. Who was J.A. Wight, MRCVS? She finally decided that the only pony who would honestly answer her question was Princess Celestia. That afternoon, book in hoof, Twilight took the evening train from Ponyville to Canterlot. She made her way to the castle, wondering if the Princess would know about this mystery, or if she would evade Twilight’s line of inquiry. It could easily go either way, in Twilight’s estimation. However, her insatiable inquisitiveness would not be easily sated unless she exhausted every possible lead. As Celestia’s prize pupil and as the Element of Magic, she easily gained entry to the throne room. The day court was over, but Princess Luna sat on the throne, presiding over the night court. “Greetings, Twilight Sparkle, Element of Magic!” Luna said with a smile. “What business have you with the night court this fine evening?” Twilight bowed before the Princess of the Night. “Good evening, Princess, I do not believe I have any pressing business with the court, but I need to know the whereabouts of your sister, The Princess of the Day.” Luna gave a small sigh at this response, but in truth did not begrudge her sister, or Twilight, of any slight. “You should find her in her chambers at this hour, preparing for bed. If you need any assistance please do not hesitate to ask a guard. Your station grants you immediate access to my sister, day or night. But know that I am here for you as well, dear Twilight.” “Thank you, your highness, such overwhelming generosity and condescension from the crown is most welcome.” Twilight figured that such a show of reverence before the members of the night court would definitely bolster the Night Princess’s confidence and feelings of self-worth, knowing that such things were precious to Princess Luna. Luna beamed at her and gestured to a side door, which led to the sisters’ private apartments. Twilight had been there many a time, as a protégé of Princess Celestia, and was a common sight to the castle staff and guard. She made her way to the door of the princess’ chambers and knocked in her own familiar signature way. A voice came from within: “Twilight? Please come in!” Twilight entered the chamber and saw the Princess of the Day sitting at her breakfast table, drinking a cup of chamomile tea and reading what Twilight assumed was a daily report of some kind. Celestia wore a translucent nightgown, and had her hair up in a bun, ready for bed. “I hope I’m not disturbing you, Princess, but by sheer accident I have discovered something odd that has occupied my thoughts these last two days.” “Not at all, my faithful student,” Celestia smiled, “I was just reading some very boring reports about the wheat futures market from Fillydelphia, and was not really busy. As a matter of fact, you may very well have saved me from a most dull and dreary evening studying stocks.” Celestia and Twilight both laughed at this. “So tell me, Twilight, what has you so disturbed?” “Just this, Princess…” Twilight proceeded to tell her all about what had occurred over the last two days, and relayed to the princess all her findings. Celestia listened to Twilight’s story, staying silent, sipping tea, and nodding on occasion. When Twilight finished her story, Celestia put her cup down, and looked at Twilight for some moments. She seemed to come to some conclusion, and then tugged at the rope suspended from the ceiling. In a matter of seconds, an earth pony maid entered and bowed to the princess. Celestia wrote something down on a parchment and handed it to the maid. “Cozy, please take this to the night librarian, and return with the book he gives you. Then, I think you can turn in for the evening." “Yes, your Highness.” The maid then left. “I am… surprised to see that you have discovered a truth that has been kept from you for the entirety of your life, Twilight. It’s not a bad truth, mind you, just something that needed to be withheld from you and your friends until the time was right for it to be revealed. I hope you forgive me for keeping the truth from you, but considering how far you’ve come, I hope you can understand my reasons for it.” Twilight sat for a moment, thinking. She was a very smart mare, and could probably divine why her teacher had deliberately withheld certain information from her. For example, if Celestia had forewarned her of the return of Nightmare Moon, would she have acted in the way required to defeat her, and restore Luna to her proper place? Would she have made friends, and remained friends with them to this day? Twilight knew her answer. “Of course I forgive you, Princess,” Twilight replied. “If my first days at Ponyville taught me anything, it would be the power of forgiveness.” “That is good, Twilight, and such a relief,” the princess said, “It truly has been a burden to not be able to reveal all that I know regarding you and the relationship you have with your friends. The books that I have requested for you will tell you most everything you need to know.” “Thank you, Princess. I’m glad you think I can be trusted with this, now. When I’m done with my research, can I tell the girls of my discoveries?” “Yes, Twilight, I believe they have every right to know the truth, as do you." At that moment, Cozy returned, hefting three books in a bag. She set them upon the table, bid the princess and Twilight a good night and left. Twilight looked at the books, bound in thin imitation leather, with no writing on the outside. She opened up the first one and saw hoofwriting. Equestrian Journal of James Alfred Wight, MRCVS Started February 28th, 1966 “Are these..?” “Yes, Twilight, these are the journals of the finest man I ever knew.” Twilight looked at them in awe. Then she paused: “Wait a minute. Man!?” Author's Note Firstly, I do apologize for not having Dr. Wight in this first chapter. However I thought this could be an interesting way to introduce the concept. Secondly, I chose to use the people's real names, because the only reason they weren't used in the first place was an order from the RCVS, I believe, that vets couldn't advertise for themselves by writing stories. Chapter One: If Only They could... Talk?Chapter One: If Only They could... Talk? Alfred Wight in Equestria Chapter One: If Only They Could… Talk? It all started early one morning in February, in 1966. I was back to working one night in two, as one of our assistants had left the practice. Needless to say, at the ripe old age of forty-nine it was a hard adjustment to make. However, the practice at 23 Kirkgate still had a working kitchen, which on mornings like this was a veritable godsend. It wasn’t uncommon for me, upon returning from some early morning procedure, to go by the store and pick up a few breakfast items to cook for a morning repast. While the Yorkshire farmer was all generosity, especially upon a job that their critical eye deemed well done, it wasn’t always late enough to rely on their generous nature, nor was it early enough to bother driving home and going back to bed for a few extra minute’s slumber. As such, I picked up the habit of going to the store as soon as it opened, and picking up some sausages, eggs, and day old bread for toast to make a handy breakfast sandwich suitable for men of all situation and stations. It also wasn’t uncommon in that time for Donald, my business associate and longtime friend, to come bounding into the room that used to be our dining room back in the days when he, I, and at times his brother, Brian, used the premises as not only our business, but our dwelling as well. “Well, what do you think, Alf? Good morning for some work? I see by your meal here that you passed up on Joan’s beautiful spread again this morning. What will she think of that?” Donald was ever the chipper one of the group in the mornings. He had also partaken of my lovely wife Joan’s meals with much relish, so he knew very well what I was missing. And on a Monday, to boot. “Morning, Donald, you’ve made me out, I’m afraid. Had a bit of a stitching job on a heifer at Sutton’s place up near Swainby this morning. Too early for breakfast, too late for sleep. I figured I’d come in here and get some work done.” I neglected to tell Donald that I did, in fact, slip in a cat-nap at the table before he came in. “Ah, that’s always good. I do appreciate industry around these parts, it’s woefully lacking at times. Not that I’m casting a disparaging eye anywhere, but it was quite a disappointment for Allenby to leave. I’m also sorry you find it necessary to take up the slack.” “Well,” said I, “you’ll have that, I suppose. Large animal work isn’t for everyone, and it’s better for him to move on now, before he turns sour on the whole prospect of veterinary surgery.” “Quite right, Alf, quite right. But still, it does put us in a pinch. Longer hours for everyone, I’m afraid.” “Actually it could be a blessing in disguise. Thinking over the finances, we’ll be better off in the long run, I think. It will be just like what the practice was back when we started.” I couldn’t help but feel a bit selfish in that last statement. I had just had my life savings reduced from over 800 pounds to twenty. I felt the need for a good measure of fastidiousness. “That’s good, Alfred, always look on the bright side.” Donald probably had less of a head for finance than I did. When we started back in the forties, all our cash and checks in went into a beer stein over the mantelpiece. We would just take what we needed for expenses there. No accounting, whatsoever. Those days were long gone, so one of us had to keep an eye on the larder, as it were. “At any rate,” Donald continued, “We’re looking at a light day on the rounds today, but mark my words, this lollygagging ends in a month. Things will really pick up, then.” I nodded, knowing exactly what he was referring to. Even now, mid-March to late April was our time wholly dedicated to the lamb. Lambing season was always the most hectic time for us, for in addition to our regular rounds, the normally hardy ewes in the dales would be churning out an impressive amount of mal presentations, prolapses, and tangled up twins and triplets. While it was tough work, the satisfaction upon completing a job that the farmer couldn’t perform was immense. It was then that Donald and I received one of the most important calls of our lives. Donald picked up the receiver. “Yes, good morning... What? What?” He promptly hung up the phone. “Must have been a prank. Someone claiming to be a Princess? Celestia? What rot.” Phone pranks were common so very early in the morning. It must have been Donald’s brother, Brian, who perhaps put one of his brood up to it. The apple and the tree. The phone immediately rang again. Donald was not a patient man, especially when it came to repeat performances of a joke that he did not find altogether humorous in the first place. “Now listen here, whoever you are, I don’t care if you’re the bloody Archbish—Oh.” Donald was stopped and held transfixed next to the phone, staring up the stairwell that ran up to the heights of the house. I, myself, was dumbfounded as a celestial light beamed down from the landing above. I heard a clop-clopping of hooves from above, sounding upon the wood floor. And then we saw her. Now, I am not the keen judge of horseflesh that Donald is. As long as I’ve known him, he has kept a hunter for his own personal use. He is also the most loving horse doctor and equine devotee I have ever known. Even I could tell that the specimen coming down the stairs put the primest examples of equine perfection that I or Donald had ever seen to shame. She was a living poem to beauty and grace. The most alabaster coat I had ever seen covered a long, graceful, swan-like neck, which swept under her body and up to her rear leg. Violet eyes revealed the most amazing, unfathomable intelligence. Multiple hues of pastel colors waved gently, like a flag on a lazy summer day. Emphasizing the swan-like quality, two wings were secured to her back, just behind the withers. A long horn emerged from her mane, adding to the striking appearance. She wore light and gold for raiment, with golden boots that completely covered her hooves up the long pastern to the base of the cannon, as well as a golden breast collar that shone with a luminescence that seemed to come from within. Donald and I were both awe-struck. “Dr. Sinclair, Dr. Wight,” she addressed us; “I believe we have some important matters to discuss.” Author's Note A short one this time. Donald's full name is Donald Sinclair, the real life analog of Seigfreid Farnon. His younger brother's name is Brian. Their original practice, located at 23 Kirkgate in Thirsk, Has since been turned into a museum. The current practice is located outside the town limits, run by Alf's son, James. Chapter Two: The ProposalChapter Two: The Proposal Alfred Wight in Equestria Chapter Two: The Proposal The princess of all things equine sat at our table, wrapping her mug in an aura of pale yellow, bringing it to her lips, and sipping her hot tea. After our initial shock, as well as any secondary tremors this initial encounter had caused, we were all settled back in the dining room of the practice, ready to hear Her Royal Highness’ case. “What blend of tea is this?” she asked in a melodic voice. Donald spoke up: “That is Earl Grey, your highness. It is a blend from India.” “It is very good, a pleasant and floral bouquet. I like it very much.” The princess was smiling at Donald, looking out from under her multi-hued mane. “And please Dr. Sinclair, call me Celestia. Such royal styles have never suited me all that much.” “Then, -um-, Celestia, I must ask you to just call us Donald and Alfred. Here in England they don’t call us Doctor, I’m afraid.” I could see it now, Donald turning on the old Sinclair charm. “However pleasant this audience has been thus far, Alfred and I must tend to our duties, so, if you could perhaps tell us why you have come here to us…” “Yes, Donald, you are quite right. As you can well guess, I come from another world, perhaps another dimension. While my magic is indeed powerful, it is not strong enough to divine the answer to that question. Needless to say I come from a long way away. However, that immense gulf between our worlds can be bridged, as my presence here attests. I have come to ask for both of your help in a matter most important and precious to me. You see, my people suffer every day from a severe lack of good medical care. While most other technologies have advanced quite far in my world, medicine is sorely lacking. If I were to compare your world and mine, your world outstrips ours in medical advancement by at least five hundred years. Part of the problem is the politics involved. The old guard of the medical profession will not waver from the old ways, to make way for new experimental procedures that become the established practices of tomorrow. I have watched your world now for a very long time, and you have finally reached a time peaceful enough for me to come here and plead my case to you fine gentlemen.” “What would you have us do?” I asked. “I wish to form a bridge between your world and mine, and give you work in one of our rural districts. With your advanced medicine, you can improve the health of our people. And with hard data for comparison to back me, I can force the establishment to change.” “That, Celestia, is a most noble endeavor,” Donald said, “but it will pose quite a challenge for us. We have quite a busy practice right now, as well as being short-handed. Not that we are not flattered by such a worthy and noble request, mind you, but it will be tough.” “I do understand that the logistics of such a request would pose a problem,” Celestia replied, “but rest assured your work will not confine you to our world for a long period of time. I have some eager young students at my School for Gifted Unicorns studying medicine that feel stifled by the old guard. They will be your assistants, and as I understand it, they are fast learners. And I will be paying you handsomely for this out of my own personal treasury. If there is any equipment you require, I will purchase it for you. If there are facilities you need, they will be given freely to you. I wish for this practice that we begin to be an example for the way all practices will be run in the future. I have full confidence in you. Will you help?” Needless to say, my initial reaction to this was incredulity, at the least. It sounded like a plot to that silly show about the man in his blue police box that my children watched as teenagers. I looked over at my partner, and saw the gears turning in his head. I could see the appeal to such an enterprise to him, dealing with horses again. During our first few years in Thirsk, we had horsework -a-plenty, but the time of the draught horse was over and gone, and now only the occasional hunter or cart horse, or even the more occasional thoroughbred was all the horse cases we ever saw, these days. That was a blow to Donald. Had we been more affluent twenty five, or even twenty years ago, we could have had quite the lucrative business in the horse trade, dealing with tracks and races at fairs. But, alas, it wasn’t meant to be. Donald stood up from his chair. “Your Highness, as senior partner of Sinclair and Wight, and, (as selected by you) duly appointed ambassadors for the planet Earth, please allow me to welcome you, and to extend every courtesy possible, including aid to your great land. Let this be a stepping stone toward the total health and prosperity of your people.” The Princess then rose. As she was royalty, I rose as well. “Well said, Mr. Sinclair. Mr. Wight, do you have anything to say?” This was crucial. Donald rarely held his seniority over my head anymore. While I had my misgivings, I figured I should back my partner’s play. “Only that I am in full agreement with my partner, and look forward to a long and prosperous friendship.” Princess Celestia then beamed her smile at us. I honestly think the room lit up by several lumens. “Wonderful! Now, I understand that it may be some time before you are available, as you are going to be most busy in a few weeks.” A haze of golden light hovered in front of Donald and myself. What appeared to be a stack of parchment and a red feathered quill popped into existence within the light. “While you are busy, I hope to set up a correspondence with you, to let you know what I have in mind. You can write requirements and replies to my questions on this parchment. Then, all you need to do is burn the parchment, and it will come straight to me in Equestria. The main thing is that we need to set up one, or perhaps several gateways between our worlds, as well as procure any equipment needed to run an effective, modern practice. I also believe a preliminary visit to both my school and the district I want you to work in is in order. Would Saturday be too soon?” Donald thought for a moment. “We should be able to free ourselves up for Saturday, don’t you think, Alf? I can enlist Brian’s help, as well as have our assistant cover for the day. Do you think you could do the same?” “I believe Saturday would be well suited for such a visit. I must say, it’s all very beguiling. It’ll definitely make the work week shorter.” The Princess made her way out to the hallway. “In that case, gentlemen, until Saturday. Let’s meet here at the practice early in the morning.” “Very well, Your Highness, we shall be here at sunup.” Donald bowed, and I followed suit, much more awkwardly. “Take care until then.” Princess Celestia then started glowing, that same golden light enveloped her, and she vanished right before our eyes. Donald and I stood transfixed in the hall. “I think, Alf, that’s what the farmers call a ‘rum ‘un’, don’t you think? How about a brandy before our rounds, eh?” Author's Note One of the great things about Alfred Wight's writings is the fact that he bore witness to the end of the draught horse and the advent of the tractor in rural England. There is an interesting transition in the books where you see the lessening of horse work, in favor of cattle and small animals. And it is true, if Donald and Alfred had played their cards right in the forties, they could have set up a prominent horse practice. Chapter Three: The Visit --Part OneChapter Three: The Visit --Part One Alfred Wight in Equestria Chapter 3: The Visit—Part 1 Saturday morning before sunrise was as cold as any February day. It chilled both Donald and me to the bone, with the high wind blowing down into the valley from the dales. The walk from the car park to 23 Kirkgate was both chilling and nerve-wracking, as neither of us knew what was going to happen in the next few minutes, let alone the next few hours. If Donald showed any sign of trepidation, however, I did not see it. He was brusque and hardy as usual. We both wore our best suits, Donald wearing thick grey tweed, looking very much a gentleman country doctor, and I in second-hand brown tweed, given to me some years ago by Mrs. Marjory Warner, owner of a certain Pekinese that I took care of for many years after my advent in Thirsk. This morning I was ever thankful of the thick wool that wrapped around my mid-section, keeping my core warm. “Do you think it wise, Alf,” asked Donald, “to take our Wellingtons and Macks with us? It might not do to be unprepared.” “Yes, I do think that would be good. I think we should take some Penicillin, as well as some Benzyl-Penicillins, too. And maybe any horse tools that we can fit in a bag. It might do some good to show these ponies what we’re made of, and what we have to offer.” Donald clapped me on the shoulder. “Quite right, quite right. Best to have the goods and not need it, than to be wanting.” He then went to the dispensary and grabbed all the antibiotics, pessaries, and horse tools that he could find, sweeping them up into a leather bag. He then stopped for a moment, pondering the bag. “Alf, do we have any canvas bags? It wouldn’t do well to go to a new world inhabited by sapient equines and offend their sensibilities by toting our instruments in a bag that could have been made out of their great-aunt, now would it?” “I… see your point, Donald. Let me go have a look round the place and see if I can find something.” I searched, high and low, from the old top-floor bedsitter Joan and I used at the start of our marriage, all the way down to the basement, under the auspices of the long unused coal chute. It was there that I found my most promising candidate for use. I pulled it out of the years of dust it was hiding under, gave it a good shake, and found a carpetbag, an old moth-eaten thing that did not have the best of odors, at the time. I returned to the dispensary with my findings, Donald waving me off like an air traffic controller. “Air that thing out, will you, Alf? That bag must have been a promotional item during the building of this house. But if it’s all we have, I guess it will have to do.” I took it out the French window to the garden and waved it around a bit. Of course, all the dust on the bag blew straight into my face. I was coughing up the dust from the basement, as well as waving the offending item around like a whirling dervish when I saw a flash of light, and there appeared Her Royal Highness. She was about to greet me when she stopped, cocked her head to one side, and raised an eyebrow. I could also see her mouth forming something like the cross between a pout, and a half-sided smile. I immediately stopped my thrashing about, faced our esteemed guest and bowed. Apparently that was enough for the princess. She promptly snorted through her nose and lips, checked herself, and then fell victim to one of the greatest paroxysms of laughter I had ever seen. She did not hold back. Not since the various disasters I had had when I was courting Joan, did I ever see anyone surrender themselves in such a way to such diversion. What else could I do, but laugh along? She wiped her eyes with her hoof (with amazing manipulation of the foreleg), and walked up to me. When she calmed down a bit more from her laugh, she brought a wing around me, in a very comforting manner. “I do apologize, Mr. Wight, but that was probably one of the funniest things I’ve come upon in close to a century. It reminded me of the old chemistry laboratory at my school. It’s too bad they were a bit rambunctious one day, and we had to condemn and raze the old place, it was a truly magnificent structure. Now, why in Equestria were you doing such a thing?” “I am afraid that was partially my doing, Your Highness,” Donald replied, “We thought it a good idea to take some rudimentary equipment and drugs with us, in case we could help out today. However most of our transport apparatus are rather… politically insensitive, as it were? So we decided a different bag was needed to transport our tools. Unfortunately, the only piece of luggage we could find was… a piece of luggage. And a poor representation of luggage, at that. But surely we can come in from the cold, and perhaps let this old thing air out a bit more before leaving? Or are we on too tight of a schedule?” “Not at all, Mr. Sinclair, the time table is not fixed. However, we do have much to see, and many places to go, so, the sooner the better,” the princess replied. She regarded the carpetbag with some scrutiny, then took it out of my hands with her magic. “Perhaps this will help,” she said, as an additional aura surrounded the bag, obscuring it from view momentarily. We then heard a small ‘pop’, and there the bag was, as good as new, sans odeur. The princess floated the newly repaired bag over to me, and I nodded in appreciation. “That was most impressive, Your Highness,” I said. “Think nothing of it, Mr. Wight,” the princess replied, “it was just a simple restorative spell. Unfortunately it cannot be used often, but in a case like this, it’s perfect.” “Yes, well…” started Donald, “Let’s get our things into this prime example of a vintage railway rug, and get to traveling. Please give us just one moment, Princess, while my colleague and I prepare. Please, come inside.” It was just the work of a few moments to put all our spoils into the bag, and join the Princess in the hall to start our journey. When we entered the hall, she walked up behind us, unfolded her wings to the width of the hall (our front hall, though very wide, was not wide enough for her to fully extend her wings), and then proceeded to glow. We were then wrapped in a golden haze of light that slowly obscured our view of the house, and opened up to a much larger space. As the haze cleared, we saw what appeared to be a marble floored and lavender walled Gothic style throne room. Louis XIV would blush at such grandeur. The throne itself was built into the wall of the room, the back extending all the way up a barrel-vaulted ceiling. There was a two-tiered dais, with a long, gently sloped ramp leading up to the throne. The first tier had waterfalls, like those in a public fountain, pouring out the sides, and was surrounded by the most beautiful flowers. The seat on the second tier was obviously designed for an equine, low to the ground, and of ample size for the Princess. The throne was flanked by the Princess’ two guards, both substantially smaller than the Princess, coming up just above the point of her shoulder. I wondered to myself if this was the standard size of the ponies in this world. Celestia was small, compared to the equines we usually dealt with; I would estimate her height at roughly nine hands at the withers. Her guard stood at maybe six and two. “Welcome back, Princess,” the guard on the far side of the dais said, “We hope your trip was well…” “Yes, it was, thank you, Stalwart. I trust no marauders have tried any daring and dastardly attempts at taking over while I was out?” The Princess said this with not a small amount of a smile. She hid behind her wing and whispered to us: “We haven’t had any marauders in about six hundred years.” Donald and I both grinned at this admission. “No, Ma’am, nothing to report. But the day is still young.” The stallion known to us as Stalwart replied. Celestia smiled again. “Stalwart, you and young Standby please continue to inform any petitioners that come today that day court is cancelled, and will resume tomorrow. I will be out working on a personal project for the duration at my school. Thank you both for your hard work.” Celestia smiled, and the guardsponies snapped to attention with a “Ma’am,” and resumed their duties. “Now, gentlemen, let’s go to the school.” Author's Note Sorry for the delay. I had hoped to post the entire initial visit in one chapter, but I just couldn't do it. I hope that posting this will get me out of my funk and actually get back to work on this. A quick note on the measurements: A hand is four inches, and is measured from the withers (commonly and incorrectly called shoulders, usually on this site) to the ground. For the sake of sizing, ponies are any breed under fourteen hands, two inches. Or, fourteen and two. Therefore Celestia is three feet tall at her withers, with another sixteen inches or so constituting her head. The regular ponies are about twenty six inches at the withers, with another foot or so added for their necks and heads. At any rate, enjoy this late Christmas present from me to you. Happy Holidays, everyone!
Prologue: Another Aspect of TogethernessPrologue: Another Aspect of Togetherness Alfred Wight in Equestria Prologue: Another Aspect of Togetherness In spite of all that had been said, written, rumored, or nuanced about Twilight Sparkle the unicorn, she actually dreaded the days when she and her faithful assistant Spike re-organized the library. It meant getting up early, a light breakfast (usually she slept through breakfast after pulling constant late-nighters), and then straight to the stacks, pulling every tome out and rearranging the books until they were all in perfect order. While she did this, she would have Spike ply his feather duster to the shelves, sopping up every stray speck of dust and ash, much to Twilight’s satisfaction. Nothing like a well-kept book, she would muse to herself. If I keep these books in good condition, they’ll last for decades, perhaps even centuries! To be honest, it was the simple things in life that helped Twilight Sparkle carry on. Even so, Golden Oaks Library had an impressive collection for its small size, and as such required constant maintenance, much to Twilight’s chagrin. After all, she was just one mare with a baby dragon assistant. The amount of time devoted to the maintenance was truly taxing upon her true passion and calling: that of study, research, and knowledge. She loved it, every aspect of learning, and as such, her hum-drum routine on the maintenance days truly held no joy for her. Thus it was that she had worked herself into a kind of trance, mechanically re-ordering the books before her. A noise from upstairs shocked her back to matters of consequence. Thud! “Twilight! Come help me, quick!” Spike was calling, or rather, urgently imploring the librarian. Twilight was not sure what was going on upstairs, but she was sure Spike had gotten himself into quite the fix by the urgency she read in his voice. “Coming, Spike!” She hoped she wouldn’t lose her place in the reorganization, but her dragon baby brother needed her help right now. She found Spike hanging from the top shelf of the Ponyville municipal records section, his claws gripping the top of the shelf, his feet kicking and scrambling for purchase. In the act the dragon had accidentally kicked a thick volume of Ponyville Births: AC 976-982 off of the shelf below him onto the floor. Twilight enveloped Spike in her magical aura, allowing him to release the shelf and float slowly down back to terra firma, where he dusted himself off. “Thanks, Twilight; sorry I kicked that book down. Is it damaged?” “No, Spike, it doesn’t appear to be. You need to be more careful. What if I weren’t here to catch you? You could get hurt!” Twilight frowned at her number one assistant. Spike put on his best sheepish face. “You’re right, Twilight, I’m sorry.” He looked at the ground while he said this. He then noticed the book he upset off of the shelf. “Hey, look at that! That must be Applejack!” The dropped book was wide open, the left page having a copy of an official birth certificate, the facing page with a picture of two beaming parents and a very young Big Macintosh standing and smiling at a camera in front of the gate to Sweet Apple Acres. The newborn Applejack had piercing blue eyes and a contented smile, nestled in her mother’s fore hooves. Twilight felt a slight twinge in her heart for the sake of her friend, who had lost her parents. But, she reminded herself, at least she had several good long years of comfort and love from them before they were taken. The look on the baby Applejack’s face told Twilight that Applejack knew she was loved from day one. At least that couldn’t be taken from her. “What is this book, Twilight? I’ve never looked in it before,” Spike asked. “This is an official record of all the births in the Ponyville Municipal District, listed chronologically. See? If you turn the page, there’s the birth certificate of Pokey Pierce, and a picture of him, as well. He was quite a cute baby, I think. But then again, it’s hard to find an ugly foal…” Twilight answered. Spike’s eyes widened. “Who else of our friends are in here?” Spike hoped to find a picture of Rarity as a baby, since he knew for certain that the most beautiful mare in the world had to have been the most beautiful foal in the world. He then started thumbing through the book at breakneck speed. “Well, let me think…” Twilight put a hoof to her chin, looking every bit as pensive as diamond dog sculptor Roverdan’s finest work, Quiet! I Thinking! “Applejack and Rarity should definitely be in there. Pinkie might be, but I’m not sure. The rock farm she was raised at might not be in the Ponyville district. Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy were born in Cloudsdale, and I was born in Canterlot, so we definitely won’t be in there.” “Umm… Twilight, are you sure? Because that looks like…” Twilight looked at the page Spike pointed out. On it, a pegasus family stood proudly outside a building that appeared to be in Ponyville. The father looked very proud, grinning from ear to ear, holding the couple’s pegasus foal. Both father and foal had chromatic manes. A quick glance at the birth certificate allayed all suspicion. “Rainbow Dash!” they said in unison. “Let me see that book, Spike, I need to check…” Twilight took the book in her aura, downstairs to her lectern. She hooved through to near the beginning of the book, wondering if her suspicions were true. “Fluttershy is the oldest of us, so she should be nearer the front.” Sure enough, she found a picture of Fluttershy and her family, standing in front of the same building as Rainbow Dash’s family. “This is weird, Spike. I honestly thought Rainbow and Fluttershy were born in Cloudsdale. I wonder…” She turned the pages more urgently, wondering if she would find what she suspected to find. And There it was. Just past Rainbow Dash’s entry, there was a light blue unicorn with lavender striped white mane and tail. Beside her stood another blue unicorn with a darker shade of blue for a mane. If that didn’t cement the tableau, a young white unicorn colt with blue mane smiled at the camera, as well. Twilight Sparkle was rendered speechless. Over the next day, she poured over the six pages of the record book, studying every aspect of the birth certificates. After she basically memorized every entry in the certificates she noticed one aspect that was common in all of them: the delivering doctor. Who was this pony, and why was it significant that he delivered all of us? She returned to this question over and over again. Who was J.A. Wight, MRCVS? She finally decided that the only pony who would honestly answer her question was Princess Celestia. That afternoon, book in hoof, Twilight took the evening train from Ponyville to Canterlot. She made her way to the castle, wondering if the Princess would know about this mystery, or if she would evade Twilight’s line of inquiry. It could easily go either way, in Twilight’s estimation. However, her insatiable inquisitiveness would not be easily sated unless she exhausted every possible lead. As Celestia’s prize pupil and as the Element of Magic, she easily gained entry to the throne room. The day court was over, but Princess Luna sat on the throne, presiding over the night court. “Greetings, Twilight Sparkle, Element of Magic!” Luna said with a smile. “What business have you with the night court this fine evening?” Twilight bowed before the Princess of the Night. “Good evening, Princess, I do not believe I have any pressing business with the court, but I need to know the whereabouts of your sister, The Princess of the Day.” Luna gave a small sigh at this response, but in truth did not begrudge her sister, or Twilight, of any slight. “You should find her in her chambers at this hour, preparing for bed. If you need any assistance please do not hesitate to ask a guard. Your station grants you immediate access to my sister, day or night. But know that I am here for you as well, dear Twilight.” “Thank you, your highness, such overwhelming generosity and condescension from the crown is most welcome.” Twilight figured that such a show of reverence before the members of the night court would definitely bolster the Night Princess’s confidence and feelings of self-worth, knowing that such things were precious to Princess Luna. Luna beamed at her and gestured to a side door, which led to the sisters’ private apartments. Twilight had been there many a time, as a protégé of Princess Celestia, and was a common sight to the castle staff and guard. She made her way to the door of the princess’ chambers and knocked in her own familiar signature way. A voice came from within: “Twilight? Please come in!” Twilight entered the chamber and saw the Princess of the Day sitting at her breakfast table, drinking a cup of chamomile tea and reading what Twilight assumed was a daily report of some kind. Celestia wore a translucent nightgown, and had her hair up in a bun, ready for bed. “I hope I’m not disturbing you, Princess, but by sheer accident I have discovered something odd that has occupied my thoughts these last two days.” “Not at all, my faithful student,” Celestia smiled, “I was just reading some very boring reports about the wheat futures market from Fillydelphia, and was not really busy. As a matter of fact, you may very well have saved me from a most dull and dreary evening studying stocks.” Celestia and Twilight both laughed at this. “So tell me, Twilight, what has you so disturbed?” “Just this, Princess…” Twilight proceeded to tell her all about what had occurred over the last two days, and relayed to the princess all her findings. Celestia listened to Twilight’s story, staying silent, sipping tea, and nodding on occasion. When Twilight finished her story, Celestia put her cup down, and looked at Twilight for some moments. She seemed to come to some conclusion, and then tugged at the rope suspended from the ceiling. In a matter of seconds, an earth pony maid entered and bowed to the princess. Celestia wrote something down on a parchment and handed it to the maid. “Cozy, please take this to the night librarian, and return with the book he gives you. Then, I think you can turn in for the evening." “Yes, your Highness.” The maid then left. “I am… surprised to see that you have discovered a truth that has been kept from you for the entirety of your life, Twilight. It’s not a bad truth, mind you, just something that needed to be withheld from you and your friends until the time was right for it to be revealed. I hope you forgive me for keeping the truth from you, but considering how far you’ve come, I hope you can understand my reasons for it.” Twilight sat for a moment, thinking. She was a very smart mare, and could probably divine why her teacher had deliberately withheld certain information from her. For example, if Celestia had forewarned her of the return of Nightmare Moon, would she have acted in the way required to defeat her, and restore Luna to her proper place? Would she have made friends, and remained friends with them to this day? Twilight knew her answer. “Of course I forgive you, Princess,” Twilight replied. “If my first days at Ponyville taught me anything, it would be the power of forgiveness.” “That is good, Twilight, and such a relief,” the princess said, “It truly has been a burden to not be able to reveal all that I know regarding you and the relationship you have with your friends. The books that I have requested for you will tell you most everything you need to know.” “Thank you, Princess. I’m glad you think I can be trusted with this, now. When I’m done with my research, can I tell the girls of my discoveries?” “Yes, Twilight, I believe they have every right to know the truth, as do you." At that moment, Cozy returned, hefting three books in a bag. She set them upon the table, bid the princess and Twilight a good night and left. Twilight looked at the books, bound in thin imitation leather, with no writing on the outside. She opened up the first one and saw hoofwriting. Equestrian Journal of James Alfred Wight, MRCVS Started February 28th, 1966 “Are these..?” “Yes, Twilight, these are the journals of the finest man I ever knew.” Twilight looked at them in awe. Then she paused: “Wait a minute. Man!?” Author's Note Firstly, I do apologize for not having Dr. Wight in this first chapter. However I thought this could be an interesting way to introduce the concept. Secondly, I chose to use the people's real names, because the only reason they weren't used in the first place was an order from the RCVS, I believe, that vets couldn't advertise for themselves by writing stories.
Chapter One: If Only They could... Talk?Chapter One: If Only They could... Talk? Alfred Wight in Equestria Chapter One: If Only They Could… Talk? It all started early one morning in February, in 1966. I was back to working one night in two, as one of our assistants had left the practice. Needless to say, at the ripe old age of forty-nine it was a hard adjustment to make. However, the practice at 23 Kirkgate still had a working kitchen, which on mornings like this was a veritable godsend. It wasn’t uncommon for me, upon returning from some early morning procedure, to go by the store and pick up a few breakfast items to cook for a morning repast. While the Yorkshire farmer was all generosity, especially upon a job that their critical eye deemed well done, it wasn’t always late enough to rely on their generous nature, nor was it early enough to bother driving home and going back to bed for a few extra minute’s slumber. As such, I picked up the habit of going to the store as soon as it opened, and picking up some sausages, eggs, and day old bread for toast to make a handy breakfast sandwich suitable for men of all situation and stations. It also wasn’t uncommon in that time for Donald, my business associate and longtime friend, to come bounding into the room that used to be our dining room back in the days when he, I, and at times his brother, Brian, used the premises as not only our business, but our dwelling as well. “Well, what do you think, Alf? Good morning for some work? I see by your meal here that you passed up on Joan’s beautiful spread again this morning. What will she think of that?” Donald was ever the chipper one of the group in the mornings. He had also partaken of my lovely wife Joan’s meals with much relish, so he knew very well what I was missing. And on a Monday, to boot. “Morning, Donald, you’ve made me out, I’m afraid. Had a bit of a stitching job on a heifer at Sutton’s place up near Swainby this morning. Too early for breakfast, too late for sleep. I figured I’d come in here and get some work done.” I neglected to tell Donald that I did, in fact, slip in a cat-nap at the table before he came in. “Ah, that’s always good. I do appreciate industry around these parts, it’s woefully lacking at times. Not that I’m casting a disparaging eye anywhere, but it was quite a disappointment for Allenby to leave. I’m also sorry you find it necessary to take up the slack.” “Well,” said I, “you’ll have that, I suppose. Large animal work isn’t for everyone, and it’s better for him to move on now, before he turns sour on the whole prospect of veterinary surgery.” “Quite right, Alf, quite right. But still, it does put us in a pinch. Longer hours for everyone, I’m afraid.” “Actually it could be a blessing in disguise. Thinking over the finances, we’ll be better off in the long run, I think. It will be just like what the practice was back when we started.” I couldn’t help but feel a bit selfish in that last statement. I had just had my life savings reduced from over 800 pounds to twenty. I felt the need for a good measure of fastidiousness. “That’s good, Alfred, always look on the bright side.” Donald probably had less of a head for finance than I did. When we started back in the forties, all our cash and checks in went into a beer stein over the mantelpiece. We would just take what we needed for expenses there. No accounting, whatsoever. Those days were long gone, so one of us had to keep an eye on the larder, as it were. “At any rate,” Donald continued, “We’re looking at a light day on the rounds today, but mark my words, this lollygagging ends in a month. Things will really pick up, then.” I nodded, knowing exactly what he was referring to. Even now, mid-March to late April was our time wholly dedicated to the lamb. Lambing season was always the most hectic time for us, for in addition to our regular rounds, the normally hardy ewes in the dales would be churning out an impressive amount of mal presentations, prolapses, and tangled up twins and triplets. While it was tough work, the satisfaction upon completing a job that the farmer couldn’t perform was immense. It was then that Donald and I received one of the most important calls of our lives. Donald picked up the receiver. “Yes, good morning... What? What?” He promptly hung up the phone. “Must have been a prank. Someone claiming to be a Princess? Celestia? What rot.” Phone pranks were common so very early in the morning. It must have been Donald’s brother, Brian, who perhaps put one of his brood up to it. The apple and the tree. The phone immediately rang again. Donald was not a patient man, especially when it came to repeat performances of a joke that he did not find altogether humorous in the first place. “Now listen here, whoever you are, I don’t care if you’re the bloody Archbish—Oh.” Donald was stopped and held transfixed next to the phone, staring up the stairwell that ran up to the heights of the house. I, myself, was dumbfounded as a celestial light beamed down from the landing above. I heard a clop-clopping of hooves from above, sounding upon the wood floor. And then we saw her. Now, I am not the keen judge of horseflesh that Donald is. As long as I’ve known him, he has kept a hunter for his own personal use. He is also the most loving horse doctor and equine devotee I have ever known. Even I could tell that the specimen coming down the stairs put the primest examples of equine perfection that I or Donald had ever seen to shame. She was a living poem to beauty and grace. The most alabaster coat I had ever seen covered a long, graceful, swan-like neck, which swept under her body and up to her rear leg. Violet eyes revealed the most amazing, unfathomable intelligence. Multiple hues of pastel colors waved gently, like a flag on a lazy summer day. Emphasizing the swan-like quality, two wings were secured to her back, just behind the withers. A long horn emerged from her mane, adding to the striking appearance. She wore light and gold for raiment, with golden boots that completely covered her hooves up the long pastern to the base of the cannon, as well as a golden breast collar that shone with a luminescence that seemed to come from within. Donald and I were both awe-struck. “Dr. Sinclair, Dr. Wight,” she addressed us; “I believe we have some important matters to discuss.” Author's Note A short one this time. Donald's full name is Donald Sinclair, the real life analog of Seigfreid Farnon. His younger brother's name is Brian. Their original practice, located at 23 Kirkgate in Thirsk, Has since been turned into a museum. The current practice is located outside the town limits, run by Alf's son, James.
Chapter Two: The ProposalChapter Two: The Proposal Alfred Wight in Equestria Chapter Two: The Proposal The princess of all things equine sat at our table, wrapping her mug in an aura of pale yellow, bringing it to her lips, and sipping her hot tea. After our initial shock, as well as any secondary tremors this initial encounter had caused, we were all settled back in the dining room of the practice, ready to hear Her Royal Highness’ case. “What blend of tea is this?” she asked in a melodic voice. Donald spoke up: “That is Earl Grey, your highness. It is a blend from India.” “It is very good, a pleasant and floral bouquet. I like it very much.” The princess was smiling at Donald, looking out from under her multi-hued mane. “And please Dr. Sinclair, call me Celestia. Such royal styles have never suited me all that much.” “Then, -um-, Celestia, I must ask you to just call us Donald and Alfred. Here in England they don’t call us Doctor, I’m afraid.” I could see it now, Donald turning on the old Sinclair charm. “However pleasant this audience has been thus far, Alfred and I must tend to our duties, so, if you could perhaps tell us why you have come here to us…” “Yes, Donald, you are quite right. As you can well guess, I come from another world, perhaps another dimension. While my magic is indeed powerful, it is not strong enough to divine the answer to that question. Needless to say I come from a long way away. However, that immense gulf between our worlds can be bridged, as my presence here attests. I have come to ask for both of your help in a matter most important and precious to me. You see, my people suffer every day from a severe lack of good medical care. While most other technologies have advanced quite far in my world, medicine is sorely lacking. If I were to compare your world and mine, your world outstrips ours in medical advancement by at least five hundred years. Part of the problem is the politics involved. The old guard of the medical profession will not waver from the old ways, to make way for new experimental procedures that become the established practices of tomorrow. I have watched your world now for a very long time, and you have finally reached a time peaceful enough for me to come here and plead my case to you fine gentlemen.” “What would you have us do?” I asked. “I wish to form a bridge between your world and mine, and give you work in one of our rural districts. With your advanced medicine, you can improve the health of our people. And with hard data for comparison to back me, I can force the establishment to change.” “That, Celestia, is a most noble endeavor,” Donald said, “but it will pose quite a challenge for us. We have quite a busy practice right now, as well as being short-handed. Not that we are not flattered by such a worthy and noble request, mind you, but it will be tough.” “I do understand that the logistics of such a request would pose a problem,” Celestia replied, “but rest assured your work will not confine you to our world for a long period of time. I have some eager young students at my School for Gifted Unicorns studying medicine that feel stifled by the old guard. They will be your assistants, and as I understand it, they are fast learners. And I will be paying you handsomely for this out of my own personal treasury. If there is any equipment you require, I will purchase it for you. If there are facilities you need, they will be given freely to you. I wish for this practice that we begin to be an example for the way all practices will be run in the future. I have full confidence in you. Will you help?” Needless to say, my initial reaction to this was incredulity, at the least. It sounded like a plot to that silly show about the man in his blue police box that my children watched as teenagers. I looked over at my partner, and saw the gears turning in his head. I could see the appeal to such an enterprise to him, dealing with horses again. During our first few years in Thirsk, we had horsework -a-plenty, but the time of the draught horse was over and gone, and now only the occasional hunter or cart horse, or even the more occasional thoroughbred was all the horse cases we ever saw, these days. That was a blow to Donald. Had we been more affluent twenty five, or even twenty years ago, we could have had quite the lucrative business in the horse trade, dealing with tracks and races at fairs. But, alas, it wasn’t meant to be. Donald stood up from his chair. “Your Highness, as senior partner of Sinclair and Wight, and, (as selected by you) duly appointed ambassadors for the planet Earth, please allow me to welcome you, and to extend every courtesy possible, including aid to your great land. Let this be a stepping stone toward the total health and prosperity of your people.” The Princess then rose. As she was royalty, I rose as well. “Well said, Mr. Sinclair. Mr. Wight, do you have anything to say?” This was crucial. Donald rarely held his seniority over my head anymore. While I had my misgivings, I figured I should back my partner’s play. “Only that I am in full agreement with my partner, and look forward to a long and prosperous friendship.” Princess Celestia then beamed her smile at us. I honestly think the room lit up by several lumens. “Wonderful! Now, I understand that it may be some time before you are available, as you are going to be most busy in a few weeks.” A haze of golden light hovered in front of Donald and myself. What appeared to be a stack of parchment and a red feathered quill popped into existence within the light. “While you are busy, I hope to set up a correspondence with you, to let you know what I have in mind. You can write requirements and replies to my questions on this parchment. Then, all you need to do is burn the parchment, and it will come straight to me in Equestria. The main thing is that we need to set up one, or perhaps several gateways between our worlds, as well as procure any equipment needed to run an effective, modern practice. I also believe a preliminary visit to both my school and the district I want you to work in is in order. Would Saturday be too soon?” Donald thought for a moment. “We should be able to free ourselves up for Saturday, don’t you think, Alf? I can enlist Brian’s help, as well as have our assistant cover for the day. Do you think you could do the same?” “I believe Saturday would be well suited for such a visit. I must say, it’s all very beguiling. It’ll definitely make the work week shorter.” The Princess made her way out to the hallway. “In that case, gentlemen, until Saturday. Let’s meet here at the practice early in the morning.” “Very well, Your Highness, we shall be here at sunup.” Donald bowed, and I followed suit, much more awkwardly. “Take care until then.” Princess Celestia then started glowing, that same golden light enveloped her, and she vanished right before our eyes. Donald and I stood transfixed in the hall. “I think, Alf, that’s what the farmers call a ‘rum ‘un’, don’t you think? How about a brandy before our rounds, eh?” Author's Note One of the great things about Alfred Wight's writings is the fact that he bore witness to the end of the draught horse and the advent of the tractor in rural England. There is an interesting transition in the books where you see the lessening of horse work, in favor of cattle and small animals. And it is true, if Donald and Alfred had played their cards right in the forties, they could have set up a prominent horse practice.
Chapter Three: The Visit --Part OneChapter Three: The Visit --Part One Alfred Wight in Equestria Chapter 3: The Visit—Part 1 Saturday morning before sunrise was as cold as any February day. It chilled both Donald and me to the bone, with the high wind blowing down into the valley from the dales. The walk from the car park to 23 Kirkgate was both chilling and nerve-wracking, as neither of us knew what was going to happen in the next few minutes, let alone the next few hours. If Donald showed any sign of trepidation, however, I did not see it. He was brusque and hardy as usual. We both wore our best suits, Donald wearing thick grey tweed, looking very much a gentleman country doctor, and I in second-hand brown tweed, given to me some years ago by Mrs. Marjory Warner, owner of a certain Pekinese that I took care of for many years after my advent in Thirsk. This morning I was ever thankful of the thick wool that wrapped around my mid-section, keeping my core warm. “Do you think it wise, Alf,” asked Donald, “to take our Wellingtons and Macks with us? It might not do to be unprepared.” “Yes, I do think that would be good. I think we should take some Penicillin, as well as some Benzyl-Penicillins, too. And maybe any horse tools that we can fit in a bag. It might do some good to show these ponies what we’re made of, and what we have to offer.” Donald clapped me on the shoulder. “Quite right, quite right. Best to have the goods and not need it, than to be wanting.” He then went to the dispensary and grabbed all the antibiotics, pessaries, and horse tools that he could find, sweeping them up into a leather bag. He then stopped for a moment, pondering the bag. “Alf, do we have any canvas bags? It wouldn’t do well to go to a new world inhabited by sapient equines and offend their sensibilities by toting our instruments in a bag that could have been made out of their great-aunt, now would it?” “I… see your point, Donald. Let me go have a look round the place and see if I can find something.” I searched, high and low, from the old top-floor bedsitter Joan and I used at the start of our marriage, all the way down to the basement, under the auspices of the long unused coal chute. It was there that I found my most promising candidate for use. I pulled it out of the years of dust it was hiding under, gave it a good shake, and found a carpetbag, an old moth-eaten thing that did not have the best of odors, at the time. I returned to the dispensary with my findings, Donald waving me off like an air traffic controller. “Air that thing out, will you, Alf? That bag must have been a promotional item during the building of this house. But if it’s all we have, I guess it will have to do.” I took it out the French window to the garden and waved it around a bit. Of course, all the dust on the bag blew straight into my face. I was coughing up the dust from the basement, as well as waving the offending item around like a whirling dervish when I saw a flash of light, and there appeared Her Royal Highness. She was about to greet me when she stopped, cocked her head to one side, and raised an eyebrow. I could also see her mouth forming something like the cross between a pout, and a half-sided smile. I immediately stopped my thrashing about, faced our esteemed guest and bowed. Apparently that was enough for the princess. She promptly snorted through her nose and lips, checked herself, and then fell victim to one of the greatest paroxysms of laughter I had ever seen. She did not hold back. Not since the various disasters I had had when I was courting Joan, did I ever see anyone surrender themselves in such a way to such diversion. What else could I do, but laugh along? She wiped her eyes with her hoof (with amazing manipulation of the foreleg), and walked up to me. When she calmed down a bit more from her laugh, she brought a wing around me, in a very comforting manner. “I do apologize, Mr. Wight, but that was probably one of the funniest things I’ve come upon in close to a century. It reminded me of the old chemistry laboratory at my school. It’s too bad they were a bit rambunctious one day, and we had to condemn and raze the old place, it was a truly magnificent structure. Now, why in Equestria were you doing such a thing?” “I am afraid that was partially my doing, Your Highness,” Donald replied, “We thought it a good idea to take some rudimentary equipment and drugs with us, in case we could help out today. However most of our transport apparatus are rather… politically insensitive, as it were? So we decided a different bag was needed to transport our tools. Unfortunately, the only piece of luggage we could find was… a piece of luggage. And a poor representation of luggage, at that. But surely we can come in from the cold, and perhaps let this old thing air out a bit more before leaving? Or are we on too tight of a schedule?” “Not at all, Mr. Sinclair, the time table is not fixed. However, we do have much to see, and many places to go, so, the sooner the better,” the princess replied. She regarded the carpetbag with some scrutiny, then took it out of my hands with her magic. “Perhaps this will help,” she said, as an additional aura surrounded the bag, obscuring it from view momentarily. We then heard a small ‘pop’, and there the bag was, as good as new, sans odeur. The princess floated the newly repaired bag over to me, and I nodded in appreciation. “That was most impressive, Your Highness,” I said. “Think nothing of it, Mr. Wight,” the princess replied, “it was just a simple restorative spell. Unfortunately it cannot be used often, but in a case like this, it’s perfect.” “Yes, well…” started Donald, “Let’s get our things into this prime example of a vintage railway rug, and get to traveling. Please give us just one moment, Princess, while my colleague and I prepare. Please, come inside.” It was just the work of a few moments to put all our spoils into the bag, and join the Princess in the hall to start our journey. When we entered the hall, she walked up behind us, unfolded her wings to the width of the hall (our front hall, though very wide, was not wide enough for her to fully extend her wings), and then proceeded to glow. We were then wrapped in a golden haze of light that slowly obscured our view of the house, and opened up to a much larger space. As the haze cleared, we saw what appeared to be a marble floored and lavender walled Gothic style throne room. Louis XIV would blush at such grandeur. The throne itself was built into the wall of the room, the back extending all the way up a barrel-vaulted ceiling. There was a two-tiered dais, with a long, gently sloped ramp leading up to the throne. The first tier had waterfalls, like those in a public fountain, pouring out the sides, and was surrounded by the most beautiful flowers. The seat on the second tier was obviously designed for an equine, low to the ground, and of ample size for the Princess. The throne was flanked by the Princess’ two guards, both substantially smaller than the Princess, coming up just above the point of her shoulder. I wondered to myself if this was the standard size of the ponies in this world. Celestia was small, compared to the equines we usually dealt with; I would estimate her height at roughly nine hands at the withers. Her guard stood at maybe six and two. “Welcome back, Princess,” the guard on the far side of the dais said, “We hope your trip was well…” “Yes, it was, thank you, Stalwart. I trust no marauders have tried any daring and dastardly attempts at taking over while I was out?” The Princess said this with not a small amount of a smile. She hid behind her wing and whispered to us: “We haven’t had any marauders in about six hundred years.” Donald and I both grinned at this admission. “No, Ma’am, nothing to report. But the day is still young.” The stallion known to us as Stalwart replied. Celestia smiled again. “Stalwart, you and young Standby please continue to inform any petitioners that come today that day court is cancelled, and will resume tomorrow. I will be out working on a personal project for the duration at my school. Thank you both for your hard work.” Celestia smiled, and the guardsponies snapped to attention with a “Ma’am,” and resumed their duties. “Now, gentlemen, let’s go to the school.” Author's Note Sorry for the delay. I had hoped to post the entire initial visit in one chapter, but I just couldn't do it. I hope that posting this will get me out of my funk and actually get back to work on this. A quick note on the measurements: A hand is four inches, and is measured from the withers (commonly and incorrectly called shoulders, usually on this site) to the ground. For the sake of sizing, ponies are any breed under fourteen hands, two inches. Or, fourteen and two. Therefore Celestia is three feet tall at her withers, with another sixteen inches or so constituting her head. The regular ponies are about twenty six inches at the withers, with another foot or so added for their necks and heads. At any rate, enjoy this late Christmas present from me to you. Happy Holidays, everyone!
