They used to love her. Her name was one of respect, one denoting a being whose very actions have saved the land multiple times. She once had a bright future before her. Now all that is before her is a crowd, crying for her death.

Why is everything so clear only at the end of my life? Why is it so obvious, now, what I did so wrong then? Maybe some ponies are just destined for greatness. Maybe, I should have learned from them.