On a bright, sunny morning, one of the final golden spasms of a fading summer, in a dirty shack of a building on the corner of Hayweather and Trumbull, a small face was framed by corpse-still curtains as it graced a cracked window sill.

The face, belonging to a young palomino colt running by the moniker of “Pipsqueak,” could have been described as the very incarnation of Discord’s rarely-mentioned inbred cousin, Boredom. Forelimbs resting easily on the sill, one hoof squashing his cherubic features into a comical frown, Pipsqueak was finding himself rather immersed in his usual weekday routine.

Watching mold grow.

Two competing strains were currently battling for supremacy of the window’s filthy facade, one of a spongy, dark origin, and the other light and bearing a feathery texture. Pipsqueak had been observing them simply out a lack of other things to do, finding their primeval struggle to edge the other out to be just morbidly fascinating enough to garner his attentions. It was better than listening to his depressing guardian and the other saps inhabiting the poor excuse for an orphanage.

Yes, he was an orphan, a fact that he had come to terms with — no sir, no repression here, thank you very much. Native to Trottingham, his mother had perished in the last great outbreak of hoof rot, and his father had vanished into the mean streets. With no other family to speak of, and preferring to avoid Trottingham’s already-overcrowded system, he had been placed in the Young Sapling’s Home for Parentless Waifs, the shining star of caring and sharing that Ponyville was so well known for.

It wasn’t so bad. There was enough food to go around at the moment, it hadn’t rained in a while so the holey roof wasn’t much of an issue, and there was usually an abundance of mischief he could get up to. Except for days like today.

Pip sneezed. Perhaps he shouldn’t be sitting so close to the mold. Sunbeam has eaten some last week and started acting really funny, babbling on about how he could, “Feel the earth rotating, dude.” Weirdo.

The colt hopped off his little wooden crate by the window and trudged through the dormitory’s center aisle, flanked on either side by rows and rows of triple-decker bunk beds. Each bunk was three stories high, the third hastily bolted on with rotting plywood and rusty nails. Here and there other younglings went about their weekly chores, cleaning, mopping, and dusting. Nopony could go outside until they were all done, and Pipsqueak’s fellow inmates were so slow they made Rainbow Dash nauseous.

Pip jumped onto his bed and rolled over, staring at the plywood bottom of the bunk atop him. He kicked at it. “Gaaaaauuuugghhhhh.”

“Oy! Knock that off!”

“Sorry,” Pipsqueak mumbled to the plywood. “...except not really,” he added under his breath.

He flopped over onto his head, staring back out the window he’d just been sitting at, but now paying much more attention to the astonishingly glorious day that could be seen through the warring fungus. The sun was hanging high over the Ponyville sky, a fat golden blob of heat and light.

He wondered if that meant Princess Celestia was watching over him. Her sister was nice enough... Pip smiled as he recalled a Nightmare Night several seasons ago. Perhaps the Sun Princess could hear him. Maybe she could help him out. Was it strange to pray to her? He'd seen ponies whisper her name before. Eh, it was worth a shot.

Pip scrunched his eyes shut.

“Princess Celestia?"

He held his breath, ears pricked to intercept the slightest of divine whisperings...

Nothing.

Well, he'd already started. Might as well go for broke!

"If you can hear me, I wanna make a wish.”

He peeked an eye open. Nothing. He closed it again, whispering, “I wish for something cool to happen to me today. Something interesting, something that isn’t boring, or having to do with cleaning or chores. I wish... I wish for an adventure.”

Celestia must not have heard him, though, because nothing happened. Pipsqueak sighed to himself and began to prepare for what was surely going to be the worst day ever.

DING-DONG!

On second thought...

“ADOPTERS, EVERYPONY!” somepony yelled. With that, the dormitory exploded into activity as mops, brooms, and half-folded laundry was tossed aside and every single colt and filly in the room surged through the room, out the door, down the stairs, and into the main foyer of the building, a tidal wave of shrieking, stampeding children that swallowed everything in its path.

The orphanage director, one Mister Wood, was caught with a hoof on the door, turning around as a horrified expression on his face grew and grew at the sight of the tsunami of adorableness heading right for him. He seized a ratty umbrella from the nearby stand and whirled it above his head as the wave closed in around him. “Back! Back, you savages! Hah!” Orphans went flying left and right as the stallion held his ground, nearly carried off his feet by the rush. He brandished it, opening and closing it rapidly, yelling at the top of his lungs. The waifs finally turned and fled around the corners and to the relative safety of the stairs.

“Honestly, we go through this every single time the doorbell rings,” he muttered. Mister Wood turned and wrenched the door open. “Yes? Hello...!?”

The visitor took up the entire doorway, having to lower his massive head to peer in at the director. It was a minotaur, dark as sin and seemingly chiseled from stone, red eyes glaring at the squalor of the orphanage. Huge, gleaming black horns stood out a full two feet from either side of its head, and a solid gold ring dangled from a snorting nose.

“Um...,” was all the director could say. Behind him, the orphans peeked out from their corners and closets.

“IS THIS THE YOUNG SAPLING’S HOME FOR PARENTLESS WAIFS.” The minotaur’s voice was louder than two mountain giants dry-humping each other and nearly as horrifying.

“Y-yes...?”

“AND ARE YOU ONE MOURNING WOOD, THE PONY IN CHARGE.”

Mister Wood swallowed. “I-I-I prefer just Mister W-wood. Uh. And I am.”

“I AM HERE TO ADOPT A CHILD.”

“W-well, that’s very nice to hear, let’s just go into —”

“THAT ONE.” The minotaur pointed a gargantuan black finger into the orphanage, straight at the wide eyes of a certain palomino colt.

Pip blinked.

“Wait, what?”

Author's Notes:

Publishing done by some idiot named Nathan Traveler. Updates weekly while Rust is in basic training. Stay tuned for next week's chapter!

Or we'll find you. And do... stuff.