I am not dead.

However, I will be virtually dead through mid-December, as I have degree shenanigans to finish up.  This is the only reason OHC has had to remain on hiatus, but it is a definite hiatus with a definite end in sight.

OHC will return in a couple of months, and it will be back to inappropriate long koan-pony translations as normal.

Oh, and another secret project involving art and story will be revealed then, too.  Probably one destined to be more popular than words alone, I fear.

Sweetie Belle shivered. Like most of the foals in the schoolyard, the little white unicorn filly had neglected to bring a coat with her to school today. In the past few hours, a surprise cold front had pushed in over Ponyville. The unexpected weather was almost certainly the fault of some careless pegasus. As much as the little pony wanted to play hopscotch, she was far too preoccupied with the chill biting at her pelt.

“Sweetie Belle, aren’t you gonna come play?” Scootaloo asked, trotting over to her friend, her little wings buzzing excitedly. The chestnut-pelted pegasus pony stomped a hoof impatiently against a soft patch of earth. “I mean, you can’t let something like a little chilly air take you down,” she added. She punctuated her claim by blowing a little stream of air upwards from her lips, knocking a lock of her violet mane away from those lilac eyes.

“But it’s cold!” Sweetie complained, standing on her rear hooves to grip her body with the other pair. “You have feathers to keep you warm, anyhow,” she pointed out. Scootaloo looked down at her fluffed-up wings, and realized they did indeed account for at least a little of her warmth.

Apple Bloom cantered over to the pair. “Well, Ah ain’t got no horsefeathers, and lookit me. Ah’m just fahn,” she intoned in her cute Southern drawl. “Yeah, it’s a little cold, but you kin get use’ta it if’n ya try,” she coaxed, nuzzling warmly at Sweetie Belle’s flank. Her curly red mane tickled the spot where Sweetie’s cutie mark would one day appear.

The little unicorn pony blushed, but frowned. “I just don’t know how you do it, Apple Bloom. Maybe I just spend too much time around my sis. I mean, she whines a little bit, you know,” the white pony explained, momentarily lowering her voice to a whisper. “But still, I know she can handle anything at all when she really needs to. I don’t want to be helpless. Can you tell me how do you do it? Is there like, a secret?” she asked, eager for a solution to her discomfort.

The lemonsilla earth pony stood a moment and thought out a careful response. She’d never before had to come up with an explanation for something she always just felt in her gut. Then, the light hit her square in the eyes.

“Okay, Ah think Ah got it,” Apple Bloom announced. “Sweetie Belle, ya just gotta let the cold in,” she explained. “When it’s hot, let yerself get hot deep in yer belly; when it’s cold, let it chill ya to the bone,” she smiled.

Sweetie Belle looked horrified. “But that sounds awful!” she gasped.

“Well, how do you know if you don’t try?” added Scootaloo, smiling. “Maybe the only thing keeping you so cold is the way you’re acting so shy of it. You might be making it a lot worse than it is.”

Apple Bloom nodded. “Exactly! Let it be a part of ya, and just, y’know, accept it. Trust us?” she asked.

Sweetie Belle looked nervously from one friend to the other, both of them relaxed and smiling despite the cold. Could it really be so simple? Was it all in her head?

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, dropped to all fours, and forced herself to relax…

It was cold! The little pony winced, but fought against her instincts. Let it happen, she thought. After all, the worst case scenario was she’d get a little colder than she was, and then just warm up later. But the shock only lasted for a moment, and suddenly, it was over. Yes, it was definitely chilly, but when she wasn’t trying to fight it, it wasn’t really so bad. It was just kind of…different. She opened her eyes and smiled brightly.

“Wow! It’s…well, it’s not really fun, but this is way better than before! Thanks guys!” Sweetie Belle said, and offered her friends a warm hug, which they accepted.

“Hey! We just did something,” Scootaloo remarked on the obvious, arm in arm with the other two ponies. “Cutie Mark Crusaders, um…”

“Unicorn warmers? No…” said Apple Bloom.

“Helpful freezing pony calmers…?” tried Sweetie Belle.

“Something… on our butt getters?!” exclaimed Scootaloo, half in desperation.

All three ponies quickly turned to look at their flanks, which were, unsurprisingly, still blank.

“It was worth a check,” rationalized Apple Bloom. “But Ah’m not sure just exactly what Ah’d have expected that to look like, to be honest with ya.”

Sweetie Belle grinned. “I like to think when it happens, somehow we’ll already know before we even look.” Then the three friends giggled and trotted over to the hopscotch board, cold be damned.

Sheriff Silverstar nosed aside the soft curtain and stepped halfway into the dimly-lit velvet tent. Inside, a large crystal ball adorned the middle of a small, cloth-covered table. Behind the table sat a young earth pony mare, so brightly-colored that the pinkness of her coat was unmistakeable even in the poor lighting. She wore a strange turban which seemed a bit too costumey to be authentic, but the liver-chestnut stallion had to admit he’d never actually met a Roma pony before.

“Hello in there?” the Sheriff said, removing his hat politely, and speaking the words quietly through his thick, black mustache.

The pink pony’s peepers perked at the sight of her new guest. “Oh! Hello there, Sheriff! Er, I mean,” she stopped herself, coughing, and lowered her bubbly voice a register. “Hello Sheriff Silverstar. I’ve been… expecting you. Welcome to my tent of mystery,” Pinkie Pie intoned in a far more serious-sounding, albeit spookier voice. Acting was fun, she thought, and finished off her introduction with a bright, very out-of-character smile.

The Sheriff looked surprised, even though his badge and matching cutie mark were certainly enough to give his name away to a lucky guess. He clearly didn’t recognize Pinkie Pie from when they had briefly met in Appleloosa. Pinkie Pie figured it must be the lighting, or maybe because she wasn’t wearing a dancing-filly dress and fishnet stockings like before.

Well, actually, she was wearing the fishnet stockings at the moment, but they were currently hidden under her mystical robe of kismet. Fishnet stockings sure were a lot of fun to wear, she thought! The pony medium began staring off into space, her mind already miles away. The distracted mare snapped back to reality about halfway through her guest’s long introduction.

“…which means you must be this ‘Madame Pinkie Pie’. I can see what they all say about you, incredible though it sounds, must actually be true!” the Sheriff finished, his voice filled with awe. While Pinkie was zoned out, he had trotted the rest of the way into the tent and up to her table. He glanced around at the many strange devices hanging from the side supports of her tent. Madame Pinkie’s tools of the trade appeared to include sticks of incense, strange crystals, a rubber ball labeled “for emergencies”, a few tufts of hay, strange musical instruments, black eye-patches, and… was that a rubber chicken? Additionally, there seemed to be a flowerpot dangling precariously by a few thin strands of silk, suspended right there in front of the entryway. The Sheriff had stepped carefully to the side when he entered, just to be safe.

“Yes, of course. Everything you just said makes perfect sense,” Madame Pinkie said, bluffing that she’d been listening at all. “And, um, just to be very clear, for the spirits I mean, what brings you into my parlor today? Though it’s more of a tent than a parlor, I do realize,” the pink pony rambled, her bright magenta curly mane bouncing each time she swiveled her head.

The Sheriff cleared his voice and took a deep breath. “I’ve actually visited a number of wise ponies throughout various parts of Equestria. Since I came here to visit with the Mayor and a couple of friends in the Apple family, I figured I might as well hit up your tent. Nearly half the town mentioned you by name, Madame Pinkie,” he explained. “Ponies here in Ponyville all seem to agree that you have an amazing skill with the arcane, despite you being a simple earth pony like myself,” he revealed, his voice rather hushed.

The Sheriff was being oddly softspoken, and Pinkie Pie momentarily wondered if she was intimidating him too much. But he seemed to be enjoying the little game as much as she was, so she decided to keep up the act. “Oh yes!” she acknowledged. “I do see the future, and the past, and all that good stuff. And I can see the present even better still,” she bragged. “Especially if it’s a future present. But I’m guessing that’s not what you’re here for, is it?” she hinted, raising a brow.

Sheriff Silverstar nodded in assent, even though he had no idea what sort of thing a “future present” might actually be. “I’m here to ask the same question I ask of all wise ponies: what is the meaning of life?” he put forth. The question was simple and straightforward, much like the stallion himself.

Madame Pinkie giggled. “Oh, that! That one’s easy. It’s a fountain,” she answered, plainly but definitively. Her guest furrowed his brow in confusion.

“I don’t understand. What exactly is it, that is a fountain?” he queried.

Madame Pinkie held out her hooves, gesturing all around her. “Life! Life is a fountain,” she insisted, nodding her head several times. “That’s just all there is to it.”

Slowly, Sheriff Silverstar pondered the odd response. His mouth opened silently for a few seconds as he waited for the words to form, and then he spoke. “Wait, wait just a minute… now I’m beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but that doesn’t explain anything! I asked half the ponies in town to direct me to a wise pony, they all sent me here, and all you got to say is, ‘Life is a fountain’? I mean… that’s all I get?” he complained, sounding incredulous and a little hurt.

Pinkie’s eyes widened, and she let out a large, exaggerated gasp. “Wait… Are you telling me that… that life isn’t a fountain after all? Ohmygosh!” she exclaimed, hooves pressed against her cheeks in total surprise.

The poor Sheriff looked more confused than ever. “Well, I, um, I just don’t see how it could be, exactly. It just doesn’t make sense,” he offered meekly. He scratched nervously at the side of his straight black mane with a hoof.

For a few seconds, Pinkie pursed her lips and looked upwards, then came to a firm conclusion. “Well, I guess life is not a fountain, then!” she giggled, then smiled brightly. Her unsatisfied customer looked like he was just about to turn tail and walk out in dismay, when the pink pony quickly tacked on, “But then again, now that I think about it: I’d bet you’d have responded the same way to any quickie answer, whether it was right or not. Don’cha think?” she asked, cocking her head cutely. “If it was something so obvious you’d know it right when you heard it, you probably wouldn’t need somepony else to tell you!”

Sheriff Silverstar paused for a moment, considering his lesson. Then he chuckled out loud. “Heh, well, I guess that’s probably true. I can’t really think of an answer that would do the trick, I just keep hopin’ there’s some easy secret I’m missing that somepony less simple than me might get to. It’s kinda depressing, but maybe there isn’t a simple answer for a question like that.”

“Depressing is bad,” Madame Pinkie pouted, and shook her head. “I bet there really is an answer out there, though. Being simple usually makes it easier to figure things out, not harder. If there’s a meaning out there, it’s gotta be one that comes from within you, what with all that seeking you did. The people you ask might help, but it’s not going to come from inside their heads,” she countered. Before the older pony could fully process what Pinkie was saying, she randomly shifted gears. “Oh! There’s something I forgot, something very important,” she revealed, and began waving her forehooves around the crystal ball in front of her.

“What is it?” the Sheriff asked, looking into the cloudy bauble with great curiosity.

“When I look into the mystical orb of fate, I see, I see… that you’re getting a kick-flank birthay present on your next birthday! Woohoo!” Pinkie Pie said excitedly, and clapped her hooves.

The Sheriff chuckled. “Well, that’s actually kind of funny. Y’see, turns out today is my birthday,” he admitted.

“Great! Did you like your present?” Pinkie asked softly, with a sly grin.

Sheriff Silverstar’s jaw dropped half-open, then he simply blushed and nodded in agreement. “Thank you, Madame Pinkie,” he added, then bowed and stepped out of the tent.

Once her guest had left, Pinkie pie quickly leaned outside of the tent and placed a “Spirits Out To Lunch” sign on the opening flaps. “I’ll have to run to Sweet Apple Acres and grab Applejack if I’m going to pounce the Sheriff with a surprise birthday party before he leaves town!” she resolved, her cheery mood as bubbly as the waters of a mighty fountain.

Foal instructor Cheerilee had a remarkable reputation for her ability to teach complex concepts to young ponies, both educational and social. At one point in her career, rumors began to circulate that the deep-magenta coated mare had access to a keen sort of wisdom which far exceeded that of the average earth pony. While such a thing might be expected for a college professor in philosophy, it was a rare trait for a humble grade-school teacher. Cheerilee soon knew of the unusual gossip, but she paid it no heed. Those sorts of value judgments always seemed silly to her.

It was a warm Summer afternoon in the Ponyville schoolhouse. Cheerilee was giving speech lessons to Twist, one of her younger students. The little perlino Earth pony adjusted her oversized purple glasses and sighed sadly after several failed attempts at a sentence filled with sibilants. “I canth quite do it, Mith Cheerilee,” she lisped, fuchsia eyes shimmering on the edge of tears.

Cheerilee hugged the little pony tightly, comforting her. “It’s okay, Twist. Things aren’t hopeless just because they’re hard to do. In fact, most of the things in life worth doing are hard! You may not notice it yet, but you improve every time we work together,” she informed her student.

Twist’s curly scarlet mane bobbed about her face as she shook her muzzle. “Well, maybe,” she said, feeling a bit better as a smile surfaced. Cheerilee was always so compassionate and understanding. Twist figured she would probably come up with an excuse to see her even if she didn’t have a stupid speech impediment to work on.

The sound of the schoolhouse door caused the instructor to turn her head and brush aside rose-colored bangs. Into the room trotted Filthy Rich, the prominent entrepreneur of Ponyville. He was always business, and usually a bit stressed out. However, Cheerilee noticed that today he seemed far more relaxed than usual, even though he wore his usual business lapel-and-tie combo.

“Just a moment, Twist,” Cheerilee soothed, and trotted over to the champagne-coated stallion. “Hello, Rich,” she smiled, knowing well his name preference. “Are you here about Diamond Tiara?” she inquired.

“Heh. No, no, not today, Cheerilee, unless she’s in trouble again. It’s not easy raising a filly with all the distractions of wealth around. Sometimes I think I spoil the little dear, but she’s just so adorable,” he chuckled, and ran a hoof along his slicked-back black mane.

Twist watched wide-eyed from her seat, her insatiable curiosity getting the best of her as usual. She’d been interested in Diamond Tiara’s father ever since he told the story of their family during the previous Family Appreciation Day. It took a special sort of pony to make bits in the way that he did, and most of the other students couldn’t see the value in it. Twist, however, understood. She had been helping out with her family business as far back as she could recall, and while they weren’t as successful at making confectionaries as the Cakes, many of their treats sold alongside the Cakes’ specialties at Sugarcube Corner itself. These even included Twist’s specialty: candy-canes made from the work of her own four hooves.

“Adorable she is,” Cheerilee agreed. “Give her time, though. Foals will be foals,” she insisted.

“Yes, yes,” her guest retorted, nodding. “But, anyway. I’m here because I hear you have…heh. How do I say it? Everypony around town says you have a special sort of wisdom beyond your years,” Rich accused.

Cheerilee suppressed a blush. “Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that,” she said plainly. Her face maintained a very curious half-smile, not unlike the famous Roana Lisa.

Filthy Rich leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “Please, impart to me something serene, teacher,” he said in a soft, but reverent voice. “Something I heard once, how does it go… Tell me how a pony can teach without speaking, yet at the same time, without silence?” he asked the cryptic riddle, then leaned back, expectantly, studying Cheerilee’s face very closely: his blue eyes locked onto her green.

The teacher merely maintained her calm appearance, expression unchanging, gaze unblinking: offering no response other than to continue being herself. The pair stood there in a silent staring contest for so many moments that Twist had to bite down on her tongue to keep the suspense from making her cry out. Then, suddenly, Filthy Rich’s eyes opened wide, and he bowed deeply.

“Thank you Master,” he said politely, with a smile, and trotted out.

Twist quickly rose to her hooves and cantered over to her teacher. “Oh! Cheerilee! Whaddya teach him?” she asked. “Or, ith it one of thothe, umm, adult thingth…?”

Cheerilee smiled widely and shook her head. “Just don’t repeat this, dear… You remember when Diamond Tiara ended up in detention every day for a week, and after that she’d sit up straight and stop goofing off if I even looked at her funny?” she giggled. “Some horses will run at the mere shadow of a whip.”

Twist looked confused, then the light came on. “Oh…you mean he’s looking for answers, but just anywhere. But what happens if he comes back and wants a real answer?” she asked, her voice a quiet whisper.

“Hmm. Well, I guess I’ll have to figure out what to say when that happens. And speaking of teaching without words, you realize you just said all that perfectly, yes?” she revealed.

Twist gasped. “Oh, thyoot! Right when I thtopped lithening to mythelf,” the poor filly moaned. Her teacher simply smiled, and said nothing.

Long ago, at a time before Twilight Sparkle had moved away from Canterlot, her brother Shining Armor was fast advancing through the ranks of the Royal Guard. Like his younger sister, the blue-maned unicorn stallion had already made a name for himself with his skill at magic. In particular, his aim with a magically levitated spear rivalled that of the most elite warriors in all of Canterlot.

Prior to entering service, all of the young recruits for military duty were required to study the writings of Commander Hurricane on the art of war. Commander Hurricane was an ancient pegasus mare whose strategies in battle were unmatched, and her contributions to pony defense helped put Equestria on the map. One of the most important elements of her philosophy was in understanding that all conflicts represented a false dichotomy: there were not really two sides to any conflict, but only one side being looked at from different points of view. In order to understand the enemy, one must first be able to see them as one sees oneself. New recruits were not considered fit for service until they truly understood the falseness of the “fight or flee” mentality.

The Captain of Shining Armor’s unit was a well-respected grey unicorn mare, although she was so muscular that other ponies ocassionally mistook her for a stallion. She was excellent at identifying flaws in the mindsets of her troops, and so her instruction was highly regarded. She frequently tested Shining Armor in tricky ways, seeing if she could elicit an error in her star recruit’s thinking. She rarely succeeded, but this only encouraged her to push him harder.

Shining Armor galloped across the training grounds and slowed to a canter as he approached the Captain, his heavy armor clinking with each step. It was a warm evening in early Autumn, and it was unusual to be called upon by a superior in the evening hours while off-duty. He walked up to a distance of eight hooves from the Captain, saluted, and stood at attention.

“At ease, Guard,” the Captain stated crisply, and he relaxed ever-so-slightly. “I know you are off-duty this evening, and I hope I haven’t called you from that mare you’ve been seeing recently,” she accused, putting him a bit off-balance.

“I…um, that’s just my sister’s old foal-sitter,” he began, then noticed the severity of his Captain’s glare. “But yes, she is a close friend,” he admitted.

“That is alright, Shining Armor. What you do on your off-time is your business as long as it does not interfere with your work. Besides, my observations of your private life are confidential,” she explained, and Shining Armor breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t even told his family yet about his time spent with Candace, and dating an actual Princess wasn’t exactly easy to keep quiet.

The Captain noisily cleared her throat. “Speaking of work: I have a special request to make of you that goes beyond the boundaries of your typical assignments,” she revealed, with a hint of mystery in her voice.

“Yes sir,” the white unicorn pony responded to his superior, finding himself deeply curious about his assignment. It was a trait he shared with his little sister, one which needed to be kept carefully curbed most of the time.

“I need you to test two new recruits to see if they are prepared for admission. They are alone in the meditation stables. Use whatever method you think is best,” she said, and nodded her head at a spear near Shining Armor’s feet, as a possible offering.

Shining Armor thought for a moment, then levitated the spear to his side. It was an honor for a Guard at his station to be given the authority to review a recruit, let alone two. “Right away, sir,” he said, then trotted off toward the meditation stables, spear floating alongside him. He resisted expressing gratitude or promising results, as his Captain was always business when wearing the Royal Uniform of her rank. And Shining Armor knew well that while this may surely have been an honor, it was just as surely another test of his mettle.

He entered the stables and saw the two rather young earth ponies, both seated in a lotus position: one colt and one filly, and neither old enough yet to bear a cutie mark. Upon his entry he noticed their ears perk up, so he knew they could hear him approach, as well as the soft humming sound of his levitated weapon. However, the recruits neither rose nor opened their eyes, preferring to remain in the meditative state, as they had not been expressly ordered to cease.

The unicorn knew very well that any new recruit must be prepared to face death, must be calm in the face of danger, and above all, must understand the false duality of conflict itself. He was already certain of the test he would employ.

The guard carefully drained all signs of emotion from his face and voice as he stepped forward. “I am Shining Armor of the Royal Guard,” he announced to the pair, who continued to keep their eyes closed. “I am armed with a spear. If you speak a word to me, I shall run you through with my spear, and you shall not survive.” He paused for one moment, watching the two ponies closely. “Also, if you do not speak a word to me, I shall run you through with my spear, and you shall not survive.” Having delivered his impossible ultimatum, he stood in silence, the only sound in the well-insulated stables being the eerie hum of his magic spell.

Without speaking, Shining Armor waited there before them, carefully watching the foals maintain their quiet meditation. Initially, he spied the tiniest bit of trembling coming from each of them. It was so small as to be obvious only to his practiced eye, but it subsided within a few seconds of his initial threat. After several minutes of standing there and observing the serenity of the young ponies, he smiled to himself, turned, and exited the stables, leaving the pair to their mental training.

Quickly he returned to the Captain, who was standing right where he’d left her.

“At ease,” she ordered, after the customary attention and salute. “Now, tell me, Guard. What did you do, and are these recruits prepared to begin the next stage of their training?” she asked.

Shining Armor relayed the story of his actions as objectively as he could, without explaining the motivation behind them. “I believe they are ready for training, Captain,” he concluded.

The Captain pursed her lips in thought. “An interesting test, and an interesting response. Perhaps so,” she said, and could not suppress a slight, mischievous smirk from gracing one side of her muzzle. “But you have only told me one side of the story. What about their side of things?” she asked. “Now. Tell me what you think of that.”

The stallion momentarily looked down at the ground, a rare act when addressing a superior officer, then breathed in sharply as though preparing for a rush to combat. “If that is your concern, sir,” he said coldly, “then my recommendation is different. I would in that case recommend they are ready for training… but not under you.” And despite the severity of his insubordinate suggestion, he looked his Captain square in the eye, unflinching in determination.

The Captain stood silent, perhaps dumbstruck, for what seemed like minutes, then suddenly burst out with a laugh! It was strangely feminine coming from his superior, and a sound Shining Armor had never heard from her before. “Excellent,” she said with a grin, her voice filled with ususual gusto. Her protégé relaxed quite a bit, exhaling slowly in relief and scratching at the edges of his blue mane with a hoof.

“You’ll have my job someday, you know that don’t you?” she told Shining Armor as she motioned for him to follow her. She was trotting back toward the meditation stables.

“I’d be lying if I said I had no ambition,” the stallion admitted. “But it will probably be a while before I even make Captain, to be fair.” The two arrived at the stables, but the mare stopped near the entrance.

“Maybe sooner than you think, son. We’ll save the ceremony for tomorrow, but welcome to the rank of Captain,” she said with a voice returning to solemnity, and Shining Armor suddenly felt his heart racing in his chest. “Oh, and those are your first two recruits to field out to your staff officers. Congratulations, Shining Armor. I’ll see you tomorrow at daybreak, and we’ll hash out the details then.” His former superior trotted off briskly toward the armory lockers, without another word.

This time, it was a well-armored, Captain of the Royal Guard who stood in silence, uncertain of what to do when faced with the unknown. But after a minute of stunned silence and an quiet but energetic hoof-pump in celebration, Shining Armor opened the door to the meditation area, ready to make a less lethal introduction to his new recruits.

“So awesome. I can’t wait to tell Twilie,” he murmured to himself, bravely fighting back a manly tear as he attended to his new duty.

I usually start converting a koan into a short story with the goal of finishing in only fifteen minutes, but it always takes me much longer. I’ve never timed myself, but I suspect the first stories were closer to that length. Now it generally takes an hour or longer to write one, but it’s fun to do and good writing practice. Since I only have four followers (and no way to estimate the number of non-following watchers), this blog is something I clearly do for my own personal edification rather than for an audience.

I didn’t think when I started the blog that I’d want to elaborate so much in the stories! I try to flesh out as many details as possible such that someone who wasn’t familiar with Friendship is Magic would still be able to follow along. Additionally, the temptation has been too great to use the narratives to peek into certain aspects of character development which are more complex, and as such canon will likely never touch upon them.

Applejack, Pinkie Pie, and Rainbow Dash sat close together, leaning against a single apple tree at the edge of Sweet Apple Acres. The trio were currently swigging fresh, homemade cider from large wooden mugs after their successful barreling of a record volume of the sweet, mildly alcoholic treat.

“This cider is SO GOOD, Applejack,” Pinkie Pie exclaimed, groaning in bloated pleasure as she was already well past her twentieth pint. Her tummy bulged slightly from all the juicy liquid inside, but a stuffed belly was nothing new to the infamous candy glutton. Normally cider doesn’t affect ponies much, especially earth ponies with their larger mass and stamina, but the pink party pony was starting to sound more than a little tipsy after chugging so much of the concoction all at once. Her head bobbed lazily, causing her curly magenta mane to bounce.

Applejack nodded in assent. “Shore is,” she replied with a grin. The chestnut mare pulled her blond mane-braid around her neck and adjusted her cowpony hat to block out more of the Sun. “An’ ‘tain’t nothin better’n sharin’ it with mah good friends,” she added with an air of deep contentment.

“Hear… (gulp) …hear,” Rainbow Dash gasped. The mare’s wings spread firmly up against the tree as she downed another quarter of a mug. After each big swallow her wings would return to their folded position against the barrel of her midriff. She was drinking so quickly, she almost dipped the bangs of her short, rainbow-colored mane into the apple ambrosia each time she leaned into the large cup. The sky-blue pegasus pony rarely made it to the annual pressing in time to have any cider at all, so this year was a special treat for her and she wasn’t about to waste it!

“We’ll have to hire y’all to help us next year so we can meet the high demand, actually. An’ that way ya won’t miss any cider ‘neither, Dashie,” AJ chuckled at her eager friend. “Ah realize even that those pennants flappin’ in the wind on our little cider stand are pro’ly overkill, given ever’pony already knows when ‘n’ where we hold this shindig. But Ah guess it fancies the place up some, which is nice. Nothin’ wrong with a little marketing,” she rambled.

Rainbow dash gasped again, lifting her head high as though coming up for air. “Y-yeah. Though…maybe it’s the cider talking, but that pennant, I don’t know… Maybe it’s not moving it all, you know? Maybe it’s like, the wind that’s moving, and the pennant is just… going along for the ride,” she pondered. Despite her enthusiasm for the drink, her sleepy eyes betrayed just how exhausted she was from all the hard work she had done helping Applejack’s brother press hundreds of ripe apples into fresh brew.

Applejack narrowed her eyes. “Huh, that’s a good question,” she said. “Is the pennant movin’, or is it the wind? Or maybe it’s both of them, kinda? I guess the wind gets the pennant t’ move, so maybe it’s more the wind after all,” she responded slowly, feeling very tired herself.

Suddenly, Pinkie Pie made a sharp gasping sound and slammed her most recently finished mug to the ground beside her, startling them both. “You guys. You guys. It’s not the wind OR the pennant that’s moving!” she proclaimed excitedly.

“Uh, you sure, Pinkie?” questioned Rainbow Dash. “‘Cause those are the only two things that it could be. I mean, we can see the pennant moving, and we can feel the wind moving,” she countered. The exhausted pegasus pony shook her head back and forth as she finished her response, though it wasn’t obvious if this was a “no” reaction or just an attempt to shake out the impending soporific cobwebs.

“No, trust me on this one. Close your eyes for a moment,” she instructed, and both of her friends did so. “The pennant’s still moving even though you can’t see it with your eyes, right?” she asked. “And if you can’t feel the wind right now because it’s over there, but not here, the pennant can still be moving, right?” she explained.

Applejack opened her eyes and blinked, while Rainbow Dash continued to rest her lids and murmured as though she were about to fall asleep. “Okay, that makes some sense Ah guess,” said Applejack. “Ah don’t quite get what else is movin’, though.”

“It’s easy shilly!” The pink pony said, slurring the last word ever-so-slightly. “The moving is all in your mind. It’s your mind that’s moving,” she explained. With this announcement, Rainbow Dash opened her eyes and furrowed her brow.

“I don’t know about that Pinkie. I mean, the pennant moves whether or not we can see it, don’t you think?” the pegasus asked, and yawned tiredly.

“Maybe!” Pinkie countered. “But the pennant can move even when it’s not there. You can close your eyes and imagine the pennant just as clearly as you can see it, so that’s where the moving has to happen,” she exclaimed, bubbling over with excitement. “I mean, you’re seeing it move because you’re thinking about what your eyes tell you, but it works the same way even if it’s not, because we can imagine what it would look like. There might not even be a pennant at all…” she continued, but stopped short when she heard a soft, grumbling sound. Rainbow Dash was quietly snoring. Her two friends both looked like they were asleep against the tree, and were unconsciously leaning against one another for support.

Pinkie Pie stifled a hiccup, then giggled. “Aww, so cute! Well, when in Roan,” she reasoned, cuddling all nice and warm against her two sleepy friends in order to catch some shuteye herself.

Daring Do raced along the side of a cliff, her striped greyscale mane and tail whipping wildly in the breeze. An enormous bloodthirsty tiger was chasing her, and the distance between predator and prey was quickly closing. While the buckskin-colored pegasus pony was no stranger to the precipice of peril, this was a dire situation even by her standards. Both of her wings had been injured in a recent accident, so she had no hope to fly or even glide to safety. She had lost her trusty whip down a crevasse about half a mile behind her where the pursuit began. Worse yet, she was very tired and weary: her legs ached from all the exertion, and she hadn’t slept in at least a day and a half. It took every bit of her extraordinary mettle just to keep one step ahead of the tiger, and she was quickly running out of steam.

As the world-famous explorer pony raced for her life, she kept a keen eye on the edge of the cliff in front of her. She tried her best to ignore the sounds of claws digging earth as the hungry beast closed in from behind. Daring Do had hoped skirting the edge of the cliff might slow down the dangerous predator, but the big cat’s superb reflexes kept him right on her tail without missing a step.

Suddenly, right at the edge of exhaustion, Daring spotted a thick, dry vine which crossed through the jungle and dropped off the edge of the cliff. Steeling herself, she pulled down on the brim of her pith helmet with a hoof and took a deep breath. With nothing left to lose, the heroine jumped right over the edge of the bluff. With her left foreleg, she reached out and quickly grappled the vine, twisting it around her ankle and shoulder in order to slow her fall. Her free hoof tugged hard on the edge of the vine, and the combined action from both legs slowed and then halted her descent. The tiger paced and raged above her, and she estimated she had descended about thirty hooves. Fortunately, the cat dared not damage the vine from which his intended prey hung, lest she fall completely out of his grasp.

Daring Do breathed a sigh of relief and nervously tugged with her free hoof at a small hole that had ripped in her army-green shirt. “I’m getting too old for this,” she admitted to herself out loud. She smirked as she thought about her long and respected career and her many adventures, and knew she wouldn’t have things any other way. Then again, there were those few moments of excess danger she could gladly do without, and this was one of them. Her left shoulder was very sore from the vine burning her arm as it slipped by on her initial descent, and the section of vine that currently circled her shoulder was painfully tight. At least her grip was secure, because this vine was her only lifeline remaining. The cliff was vertical and very muddy, affording no hoofholds at all.

It was then that Daring Do looked beneath her, and almost wished she hadn’t. The good news was that the jungle floor sloped upward to the cliff below her, so the drop wasn’t too far. She was about halfway up the face of the bluff, and Daring Do calculated she could fall the remaining thirty-or-so hooves and probably survive the impact. Certainly, she could climb down that far, and while the vine she held was too stiff to swing on, it was strong enough to support her descent. The bad news was the second tiger waiting for her at the base of the cliff. The tigress below Daring Do licked her jowls hungrily, waiting for her meal to arrive.

“Well, this really sucks,” the adventurer admitted, adjusting her grip. “Maybe I can wait them out?” she pondered out loud, even though she knew her strength would not last much longer. Just then, she heard a strange little squeaking sound coming from above her head. Her attention turned back to the vine above her. The first tiger was still there, of course, waiting in case his prey tried to ascend. The pony explorer felt so weak she realized it didn’t matter, since she lacked the strength to pull herself back up the vine even if her life depended upon it. As her keen eyes picked out the source of the squeaking, she realized just how unfortunate her enervation was. Two small mice, one snow white and one coal black, were slowly chewing through the vine from which she hung. They were near to the top of the cliff, where a small mouse-sized hole had been dug into the cliff-side. She had no hope of climbing up high enough to stop them. The mice were likely using strands from the dry vine to construct bedding material for their den.

“Oh, shoo! Please, please stop, little mice,” she called out hoarsely, begging the pair of rodents, but they didn’t seem to understand her. The vine was starting to peel and break. Daring Do realized she had but a minute or two left to survive, and her state of utter exhaustion left her with no remaining options for escape.

“I wonder if anypony will ever know what became of me,” she murmured. “They might find some chewed up bones, but I doubt they’ll find hide nor hair of the rest of me. Not so much as a shred of a cutie mark to identify my remains,” she chuckled darkly, feeling cynical, but somehow finding humor in her situation.

And just then, something very strange hit her senses, something she had never felt before in the face of danger. Perhaps it was the inevitability of her current fate, or maybe it was just how exhausted she found herself. Either way, the adrenaline simply trickled out of her veins. The pegasus pony’s muscles relaxed and her mind cleared. She realized that she still had an option after all: she could accept her fate. In the end, it didn’t really matter how she died, or whether or not ponies from the outside world found what was left of her. What mattered is how she lived, and this was something that she was at peace with.

With this paradigmatic shift in mindset, the world around Daring Do seemed to undergo a remarkable change. No longer focused on survival, the sky became a brighter shade of blue. The air smelled a dozen times sweeter. She looked across at the expanse of jungle: how beautiful it was, so lush and green and teeming with life! She smiled and simply acquiesced to the moment. How long had she missed all the beauty which surrounded her? And as she glanced at the muddy cliff side, the pony noticed another detail her senses had previously passed over: she was hanging on a grape vine. There were thin stems from grape bunches all along the vine, although the mice had apparently eaten most of the grapes already. A single grape, too small to possibly be ripe, just barely lay within Daring’s reach. She stretched upward with her free hoof and gently plucked it from the vine.

At any other time, the famous adventurer might have hurled the tiny grape at the tigress below her in a futile gesture of defiance, but her concerns at this moment no longer lay rooted in the future. There was no future, she realized, and there was no past. Everything that mattered was right here, in the present. So she popped the grape right into her mouth, her mind free of desires and expectations.

It was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted.

Gilda Griffon flew swiftly amid a clear cerulean sky, the wind whistling and howling through her snow-white feathers. She had business near to Ponyville for the remainder of the week, although she normally went out of her way to stay clear of that damnable little village. Her current path kept to the outskirts by several miles which was sufficient to avoid spotting hide or mane of a single pegasus. Such comfort was worth the delay, despite the addition of a good fifteen minutes to her travel time.

“A whole town of stupid pony dweebs,” Gilda grumbled to herself, bruxating her beak with unquenchable resentment. The griffon was still sore that her former close friend Rainbow Dash would choose to spend time with those other lame-o ponies rather than hang out exclusively with her. Couldn’t that stupid pegasus see how important it was to her… Dash’s rejection hurt her more than she cared to admit (especially to herself). Unconsciously, Gilda scanned the sky nervously for any rainbow-colored blurs. An encounter with her former classmate was something she would take great steps to avoid at the moment. The griffon careened around the few tiny, puffy clouds hanging in an otherwise clear sky, swooping to and fro with aggressive gusto, as though she were back training in flight school once again. The past seemed so simple by comparison. Whatever happened to the good old days, she thought? She quickly buried the feeling of sentiment before it had a chance to bloom. Stupid ponies.

Suddenly, her eagle eye caught a glimpse of something small and pony-shaped, several hundred meters below her, still many miles distant from Ponyville. She tensed for a moment in fear, then shook off the sudden case of nerves. This was clearly not Dash. The pegasus pony was flying too slowly, too erratically, and too low to the ground; and its pelt was a bluish-grey, with a short blond mane and tail.

“Oh, this is too precious,” Gilda spat, rolling her eyes. “It’s… that pony. The queen of all the dorks.” The griffon paused for a moment as an evil grin crossed her flexible beak. She might not have the will to take on her former compatriot, but putting some stupid doofus in her place would sure hit the psychological spot right now. It wasn’t like all those ponies didn’t deserve a good swift kick it the so-called ‘cutie marks’ for being so weak and co-dependent and mamby-pamby. “I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them even had the name Mamby Pamby. That would be a perfect pony name,” she chuckled.

“And for that matter,” she continued, addressing the empty sky itself, “what a stupid name for a magical tattoo. ‘Cutie mark?’ Wow, these ponies are something else. I wonder what kind of idiot thought that one up. ‘Hay, a magic tattoo just appeared on my butt and it seems to represent my purpose in life. Let’s name it something really freaking queer,’” Gilda said out loud, using her best ‘dweeb voice’ to sound like a pony. She then paused and looked around her, feeling more than a little self-conscious about talking to herself in a silly voice. Fortunately, nopony was around to hear her.

“Birdcrap. Even being within eyesight of one of those stupid feathered mares lowers my IQ,” she deflected. “Alright. Now it’s time for some fun,” she smiled, flexing her powerful leonine legs and avian arms before diving at breakneck speed toward her intended target. With expert agility, she pulled up at the last second, nearly slamming her body into the tiny mare, who reacted with a yelp.

The pegasus pony cowered slightly for a second, then looked this way and that. “Oh, it’s a griffon,” she said, brushing her blond bangs from her forehead with a hoof as she hovered in place, only about ten hooves off the ground. “Hello there Madam Griffon!” she added cheerily with a slight waving motion of one wing, an act which sent her dipping sideways for a moment. One of her pretty hazel eyes was fixed right on Gilda’s face, while the other one stared off to the side, giving her a very silly expression. It was all Gilda could do to keep from cawing in laughter.

“Heh,” said Gilda, drawing close. “You’re that pony they call Derpy. That must mean stupid or something, huh?” she insinuated, flying right up next to Derpy with her puffed-up feathery chest right in her face.

“Yep!” said the little mare, looking upward to Gilda. “I mean, I’m Derpy, yeah. It’s not stupid though, it’s just my name,” Derpy insisted. “But I’m too busy to talk Madam bird-lion-lady, so I have to say goodbye for now unless you want to follow me some,” she added, and flew gently around Gilda as though she weren’t a threat of any sort.

The griffon narrowed her stare icily and flew backwards along Derpy’s path so she could look her in the eyes (or, one of them, at least). “Look, dweeb. I don’t want to follow you. I just want you to know how much you suck,” she snarled. “Surely I’m not the first person to tell you that. Even those dorky Ponyville ponies are smart enough to know a dumb little clutz like you when they see one.”

Derpy paused for a moment in midair, thinking. “Well, sometimes ponies can be mean, but most of the times they’re nice,” she said, renewing her slow flight. “And the only ponies whose opinions matter are your friends, so it doesn’t really matter what other people think.” The grey pegasus pony smiled brightly.

Gilda raged inside, but held the emotion down, letting Derpy fly past her for a moment as she decided to switch to a new tactic. Intimidation didn’t work: probably because her victim was too stupid to be afraid, she mused. She couldn’t let little ‘happy-go-dorky’ get the best of her, so it was time to use her secret weapon. The griffon had been practicing something special for weeks, ever since the incident at Ponyville: ‘the ultimate comeback’, as she called it. She had been saving it for Dash, but Derpy would make great target practice. Just ask the mare a simple question about what she’s doing, Gilda thought, and when she responds, I’ll show her just how stupid she is.

A pony might think the griffon could simply be ignored or shunned, but Gilda knew a lot about pegasus culture from her time in flight school. Anyone who went through any sort of flight training knew proper flight etiquette, and the first rule of flight etiquette is identify yourself. Who are you, what affiliations do you have, and where are you headed? Failing to respond appropriately when approached, while overhead of, say, Canterlot Castle, is a direct invitation for a catapult beat-down. All pegasus ponies knew to respond with accurate information when asked their business, and after a while it became automatic. Derpy should be no different. Gilda’s trick was simple: plan for any reasonable response to a simple question. Pegasus ponies were more easily fatigued than griffons, and rarely traveled long distances unless training or travelling to a major population center nearby. The cynical griffon had spent many long hours planning a ridiculously harsh set of insults and curses for every major city or forest a pony in this area might claim as a destination. Planning verbal confrontations was a strange pastime, to be honest, but certainly no lamer than cloud sculpture or feather-weaving or any of the stupid crafts pegasus ponies typically took up.

The griffon turned around and zoomed forward, catching up with the flighty mare in seconds. Derpy seemed more preoccupied with gawking at the scenery around her than racing to get anywhere, which made no sense at all to Gilda. But nonsense was generally what she expected from ponies.

“Just one more question,” Gilda said, flying in front of the pony a second time to block her path, then turning her head fully to the side to stare at her with one ogling eye in a subtle mockery of the pony’s minor disability. The motion was rather bird-like in appearance. “Where are you headed, anyway?”

Oh, please say Canterlot, thought Gilda, grinning darkly. She had a string of invectives a mile long ready to trash the Princess herself, something that would easily make any pony’s jaw drop. Their precious ‘Princess’ maligned like that…it was too perfect.

Derpy smiled. “Wherever the wind will take me,” she simply responded.

“Ha!” barked Gilda, energetically. “Well, maybe you… uh…” and suddenly stopped, beak open, but no words came forth. She’d been completely thrown off of her game by the atypical response. How could the ditzy pony not be going anywhere at all? It was senseless. Her mind raced, trying to think of something, anything crushing to say in return…

“See you later Madam Griffon,” Derpy said, and flew around the chimeral beast as Gilda simply stared at her own talons, still trying in vain to dream up the right killer comeback. Furious (with herself as much as with her escaped prey), she flew upwards as far as she could to escape the encounter. She looked around the mostly-empty sky until she found a tiny cloud to rest in.

“This isn’t over,” she said to herself, out loud. “It shouldn’t be this hard to get one dumb little pony’s goat, especially for that one.” And with that resolution, Gilda spent the better part of the next three hours thinking up the perfect response to Derpy’s bizarre reply. Oh, the delightfully evil retort she came up with! It was awful in all the best of ways: hurtful, slanderous, piercing, and all of it, the harsh truth. If only she had been ready with this earlier! The wind in Derpy’s wings would provide no refuge for her now. But Gilda noticed the sun was setting, so she decided she’d need to bide her time, and catch the pony tomorrow instead.

On the following day, Gilda hung out in a cloud nearby where Derpy’s path had crossed hers previously. She peered over the edge, carefully scanning the ground below. Sure enough, just before noon, the ditzy pony was ambling back toward Ponyville. Gilda grinned and dove to the ground below, screeching to a halt just before reaching her prey.

“Oh!” said Derpy, not even startled this time. “Hello again Madam Griffon,” she added. “Are you still in a bad mood?” Both of Derpy’s eyes momentarily fixated on Gilda’s face before the left one began to wander off comically.

“No, Derpy,” she responded coldly. “Now, where are you headed today?” Gilda asked, cutting through all the bull. She was ready for something stupid and noncommittal about the wind, and she was ready for the obvious response as well, seeing as the pegasus was making a beeline back to Ponyville. She had at least a dozen crippling insults prepared for anypony headed for that city of idiots. She grinned with anticipation.

“Wherever my feathers might lead me,” replied Derpy, chipper as ever.

“HA!” shouted Gilda. “Then the wind had better… wait…” she interrupted herself, and her face fell as she realized the perfect insult she’d prepared made no sense at all for the ‘feathers’ response. Stunned and crestfallen, she stared into space and tried to come up with something, anything, but Derpy had already moved on by the time she snapped back to reality. It only took her the better part of a minute to realize how to modify her planned rant to fit Derpy’s new response, but the critical moment had already been lost.

“Argh, this is so infuriating!” screeched Gilda, flying back up to the clouds. She began pacing back and forth on a large cumulonimbus. “Okay, okay, it’s time to think, birdbrain. I just have to make the burn apply to a general case. If I have a snappy insult that works with any stupid ‘nowhere in particular’ response, then I’ve finally got her,” she pondered, and then suddenly remembered her previous plans which she had been neglecting. “I can’t keep wasting time like this on a stupid pony. I have better fish to fry. I’ve got to get her tomorrow, and get her good,” she decided. This would be her last chance, and Gilda planned to make it count.

This time around the griffon stayed up well into Luna’s hours, planning the nastiest, most effective tirade of profanity and hatred her avian brain could possibly conjure, and it was some high-quality ego-shredding material indeed. If the pony had no specific destination in mind, she’d tell her what a directionless foal she was, never getting anywhere in life, and so on…only with a lot more cursing and screaming interleaved between the insults. She planned to go on for about ten minutes of yelling and belittling, maybe more if she decided to “wing it” at the end.

The following day was a cloudy day. Gilda had no trouble finding the perfect hiding place: a vantage point to where she’d seen Derpy on the previous two days, with no chance of being discovered by anypony else who might wander by. As morning turned to afternoon, the griffon was starting to worry her victim wouldn’t show up again. What a missed opportunity this whole mess would have been! She was mentally kicking herself for screwing things up twice in a row already.

But Gilda’s patience paid off as she finally spotted Derpy below her. The stupid pony was flying so low to the ground this time she might as well be walking, thought the griffon. She appeared to be headed toward Ponyville, which meant she must have wandered away from town in the middle of the night, or perhaps she slipped by earlier in the morning when the raptor wasn’t looking in the right place. No matter, thought Gilda, as she prepared herself for the assault, her choler rising within her breast already. She descended quickly, just as before; only this time, the griffon landed with a loud slam on the ground just beside Derpy’s flight path. Her entrance sent dust and loose dirt flying in all directions, which made Derpy wrinkle her muzzle in an odd, cute manner, but had no other discernible effect on the little pony.

“Hyy Mzz Grffn,” Derpy said. The pegasus had a small piece of paper sticking out of her mouth.

“That thing in your mouth makes you sound dumber than normal. No, wait, what am I saying? There’s no ‘normal’ for you. Let’s try dumber than typical,” Gilda corrected herself, flexing her wit with that nasty opening salvo. She didn’t really care what the paper had on it, of course, she just wanted to warm up her victim for the mane course to come.

Derpy descended to the ground and looked up to Gilda from below. The griffon towered over her at more than twice her height and at least a dozen times her mass. The little mare just stood there, as though waiting patiently for something. Fine, then…I’ll have to oblige her, Gilda thought, smirking inwardly.

“Where are you headed?” she asked, pronouncing each word crisply and clearly. She licked her beak with anticipation of the taste of tears and victory. This was going to be good. There was nowhere left for her to go that she wasn’t fully prepared to tear apart. Ponyville, Cloudsdale, Trottingham, Canterlot, Appleoosa, Fillydelphia, or even ‘Nowheresville’ where the little wall-eyed dork belonged: Gilda had a series of barbs planned for any location. And if the little mare even dared decline to respond or fail to provide a legitimate answer, that unthinkable level of rudeness would be especially easy to crush in her strong talons, not to mention all the malicious the gossip she would spread after the fact about the dweeb not even having the simplest flight etiquette. Derpy would have to say something, after all. It was simple common courtesy of the skies, even if both flyers were currently standing on the ground.

Derpy flew upwards a couple of hooves so she could look Gilda directly in the eyes before responding. For a moment, Gilda was actually astonished at the gall of the little pony before her. Facing off with a griffon; is she insane? Then, Gilda saw what the pony was holding in her mouth, what she had apparently flown up to show her. The thing in her mouth appeared to be a newspaper clipping with a picture of a muffin on it.

Derpy shifted the paper in her mouth so she could speak freely, and her eyes focused directly on Gilda’s. For a split second, Gilda saw in her eyes what looked like an unexpected glimmer of intellect, and…was that…naughtiness? It was as though the mare had been planning for this final meeting as well, but, that was simply impossible. This was the dumbest pony of them all!

“Muffin shopping,” Derpy answered, in a voice so sweet it had to be sarcasm. The pony flew away while Gilda simply stood in stunned silence.

The herbalist zebra Zecora was one of few friendly sapient inhabitants of the dangerous Everfree Forest. She was a talented survivalist, having lived off the land here for many years prior to finally making contact with the xenophobic ponies of nearby Ponyville. As much as she enjoyed her occasional visits to the ponies’ village, she also appreciated the comfort of her solitude.

Zecora’s hut had been built, maintained, and occasionally rebuilt by the zebra during her stay in the forest, and the combination of its sturdy structure with her extensive knowledge of the native natural and magical flora and fauna helped to ensure her continued safety. Although she used no true magic directly, Zecora’s potions and preparations often included the plentiful magic ingredients of the forest. These provided her substantial protection from the dangers lurking outside, as they could ward most magical beasts from even approaching her hut.

The forest was normally safe to wander during the day, but at night it grew quite dangerous. Few ponies besides her friends Twilight Sparkle and Apple Bloom would willingly enter the forest at any time, and this was probably for the best. Zecora was understandably surprised, then, when late one night in the early Spring she heard hoofsteps coming from just outside her door.

Somepony (or something) was tugging lightly on her door, attempting to open it without making a sound. It was dark inside the hut, and the intruder must have assumed its occupants asleep or absent. But the zebra had been engaged in a bit of late-night meditation, and upon opening her eyes she could see quite well in the relative darkness. Her window was open, the evening’s Moon was pregnant and bright, and Zecora was no stranger to the cover of night. The herbalist adjusted her seat upon a bamboo matting, kept one hoof on her staff where it lay beside her, and focused her eyes toward the door as it jostled. Her initial concerns faded slightly as she heard the distinct sound of fumbling hooves. This was no monster, but rather a simple somepony without the common courtesy to knock. Still, it was most unusual for anypony with any horse sense in them to wander this deep into the Everfree Forest in the middle of the night.

The door finally popped open. A moment later, in crept a bedraggled-looking pony covered all in rags. The rags were pulled tight in strips kind of like a makeshift mummy, and they even covered the pony’s face and muzzle. Bits of furry coat poking through the rags were smeared with dark colors, probably from the use of dyes to camouflage identity, Zecora would later realize. The pony held a candlestick in one hoof and a small knife in the other.

“Aah!” the figure said, startled as the light from the candle revealed Zecora’s deep blue eyes staring calmly back through the darkness. His voice, though a bit androgynous, was low enough to suggest a male pony hid beneath the paltry disguise.

“Welcome to my home, intruder. Don’t you think not knocking’s ruder?” the zebra asked her unexpected guest in a confident voice, keeping to her usual rhyming quirk. As she turned her head slightly to the side, her Mohawk-styled striped mane reflected a mix of moonlight and candle-flame, no doubt giving a rather alien appearance to her visitor.

The unwelcome figure shivered slightly in place, then raised his knife, taking a step closer. “Gimme your valuables,” the thief demanded in a whispery voice. Zecora’s hoof tensed against her staff in preparation for a fight, but she suddenly felt a twinge of compassion grip her belly. The rogue’s nerves were obvious, and anypony willing to rob somepony this deep in the forest would have to either be desperate, or completely insane.

“The only treasures that I bring, are brass, in shape of metal ring,” the zebra revealed, pointing to the ritualistic brass rings which covered her leg and neck, as well as her earrings. The thief glanced around the hut and saw she appeared to speak the truth. The contents of the hut were wooden masks, clay jugs, simple hoof-made furniture, an iron cauldron, and some small stone and glassware for mixing reagents: nothing that could be easily fenced for bits. Even her brass jewelry couldn’t be worth that much.

“Well…I guess, hoof over the jewelry,” the thief ordered.

Zecora frowned. It was not a frown of anger or sadness, but one of pity. “This jewelry is not gold; besides, it’s too hard to pull off my hide,” she added, illustrating by tugging on the rings, which held fast to her body. She had grown into the jewelry from a young age, and there seemed no quick way to remove it.

“Well… Maybe you just don’t wanna take it off…” the thief accused. Zecora’s suspicions were confirmed, however, as the figure took a step backwards toward the door. This fellow clearly didn’t have the heart to harm her for a little brass, and perhaps he even had the sense to realize the well-built and agile zebra mare would easily knock him cold if he actually attempted to harm her.

Zecora smiled softly and let down her guard, standing up. “If I could pull them off with ease, I’d gladly let my rings be seized,” she revealed, to his surprise. “You’ve come too far to leave with aught. You may take anything I’ve got,” she generously offered, her hooves spread wide to indicate the expanse of her hut.

The burglar paused for a moment in disbelief. He looked around for something, anything of value, and spied Zecora’s heavy brown cloak, which he grabbed and wrapped around himself. It couldn’t be worth much of anything, but at least it would provide some warmth. He quickly turned and ran out of the hut, candle in hoof, without so much as a thank-you.

The zebra trotted up to her open door and stepped outside into the cool night air, watching the light of the robber’s candle disappear into the woods. The loss of her cloak was unfortunate, but it was only a material possession after all, and such things could be replaced. Living simply had long ago taught her the fleeting nature of physical things. Looking upward, she saw the beautiful Moon above her, and thought of the poor pony who had stolen her cloak simply because she had nothing more of value to offer him.

“Beautiful Moon, up high tonight, who bathes the forest in your light. Too bad you’re far above my head; I’d offer you to thieves instead,” she said to herself with a smile, thinking what a fine present the Moon itself would be for such an unfortunate, wayward soul. Just then, the zebra heard a soft coughing sound come from above, and quickly turned about, expecting the thief’s accomplice. Instead, she saw a tall, dark horse-shaped figure, wings spread, delicately balanced on the roof of her hut. It was Princess Luna. Her magical mane and tail flowed and glimmered in the darkness like a galaxy of stars.

“Thou art the one named Zecora, we ken,” the Princess spoke, her voice strong and confident even when she tried to soften it. “Thou art a strange and generous equine indeed,” she continued. “We… I, rather… bore witness to an unusual pony wandering about the woods in the middle of our Night, and so I followed him to this place. Prior to hearing thy eloquent poem just now, I was to pray thee if thou should like thy cloak returned from the ruffian. Yet, thou seem to be at peace with thy loss.”

Zecora nodded, bowing, and smiled. “My Princess; thanks for your concern. But I’ll be fine, I do discern,” she insisted.

Luna nodded her head in assent and looked up to the Moon with a bright smile and misty eyes. “It is truly beautiful, is it not, Zecora? Perhaps the best part of my job is being able to give it up to all of Equestria, each and every evening. Whether a pony be noble or knave, all receive the same gift, if only they choose to look upwards and see it for its beauty. The Moon judgeth not the hearts of ponies: it is simple and good to all, like water, or fine grass. There is something special in that, I find,” she said, her voice growing wistful. “Something noble in that which is good to all creatures, without regard for their virtue or station.”

Zecora nodded, and then stood in silence, watching the Moon above with the Princess for a few minutes until her flanks grew chilly in the night air. She then turned back to face her second guest of the evening. The alicorn remained steady on her delicate perch. “It is quite chilly, out, for me. I must retire to bed, you see. I thank you for your lovely Moon, and hope that I may see you soon,” she said, bowing again with a smile.

Luna smiled back, hiding a blush beneath the umbra of her cheeks. “Good Night to thou…to you, Zecora,” she corrected herself, using the informal version of the word as a rare indicator of friendship. And then, without bothering to ask or explain herself, Princess Luna turned her horn to the sky and began to cast a spell. As her horn glowed in the darkness, thin ribbons of dark night sky and soft strands of moonlight seemed to come alive. Just above Zecora’s head, the wispy strands of darkness and light twisted and weaved themselves together, gradually forming a dark, shimmering fabric. After a few moments, the ethereal cloth fluttered to the ground at Zecora’s hooves. The zebra lifted the strange gift to her eyes: it was very warm and soft to the touch, and it sparkled ever-so-slightly as it moved. Not quite my style, she privately mused, but unarguably a gorgeous piece of work.

Zecora looked up questioningly to the alicorn to thank her, but the words, or perhaps the rhymes, would not come to her lips. Princess Luna merely grinned at her dumbstruck friend. “Now you have something nice to offer the next thief who so rudely troubles you,” she explained with a wink, and quickly launched herself up into the sky with powerful wings before their closing conversation could become awkward.