Before Harmony blossomed, before Discord erupted, before History began, there were three tribes of ponies.

The first lived in the desert, where nothing grew. They were alone except for sand, and sand does not sow life. So they learned to grow food where sand could not reach.

The second lived in the mountains, where nothing relented. They were alone except for beasts, and beasts do not abate. So they learned to walk where beasts could not reach.

The third lived in the forest, where nothing surrendered. They were alone except for plants, and plants do not acquiesce. So they learned to pick fruit where normal ponies could not reach.

The desert ponies had food, but it was not easy because of the sun hitting the desert. The mountain ponies had food, but it was not easy because of the beasts prowling the mountain. The forest ponies had food, but it was not easy because of the storms striking the forest.

All three tribes kept themselves fed, but they had no time for games, no time for art, no time for each other. All three tribes decided that something, anything, everything must be done to make their lives better.

The desert chief said to the tribe, “I will go to the East, to see if there is shade. Keep our tribe safe until I return.”

The mountain chief said to the tribe, “I will go to the North, to see if there is reprieve. Keep our tribe safe until I return.”

The forest chief said to the tribe, “I will go to the West, to see if there is shelter. Keep our tribe safe until I return.”

It was a long journey. It was a hard journey. It was a tiring journey. All three chiefs knew that this was for their tribe, so they had prepared. The desert chief brought cloaks to protect from the sun. The mountain chief brought armor to protect from the beasts. The forest chief brought clothes to protect from the storms.

For days they traveled. For days they worried. For days they struggled. As their rations dwindled, they arrived at the very edge of the mountain. The mountain met the ground. The forest met the desert. The ponies met each other.

“Who are you?” the desert chief asked.

“Who are they?” the mountain chief asked.

“Who are we?” the forest chief asked.

“I come from the desert,” the first chief said. “I am trying to protect my tribe from the sun.”

“I come from the mountain,” the second chief said. “I am trying to protect my tribe from beasts.”

“I come from the forest,” the third chief said. “I am trying to protect my tribe from storms.”

The chiefs saw they were all trying to help, so they made camp together. They rested together. They talked together.

“What’s so bad about beasts?” the desert chief asked. “My tribe controls plants all the time, how much worse could beasts be?”

“What’s so bad about stormclouds?” the mountain chief asked. “My tribe outwits beasts all the time, how much worse could stormclouds be?”

“What’s so bad about the sun?” the forest chief asked. “My tribe moves fruit all the time, how much worse could the sun be?”

The chiefs had an idea. A crazy idea. A stupid idea. A perfect idea.

“It will never work,” the first chief said.

“It might work,” the second chief said.

“It has to work,” the third chief said.

So they returned to their tribes to plan.

A week later, all three chiefs set out again, each with a mouthful of their best tribesmen. The desert chief had chosen the bravest and gentlest. The mountain chief had chosen the swiftest and the smartest. The forest chief had chosen the strongest and the deftest.

Again they traveled. Again they struggled. Again they worried. Unlike last time, their travel was tempered with company. Their struggles were tempered with confidence. Their worries were tempered with hope.

The forest chief arrived in the desert. The desert chief had told the tribe the plan, but they were skeptical.

“Can you really move the sun?” they asked.

The forest chief was not one for long speeches. “We can pick fruit from the highest trees. We can move them where we please, without effort. We can bend them to our will.” The chief looked to the sky. “The sun is no different, and it will bend too.”

“You're crazy,” said the desert ponies. “It can't be done.”

The forest ponies smiled. “Watch us.”

The desert chief arrived in the mountains. The mountain chief had told the tribe the plan, but they were skeptical.

“Can you really tame the beasts?” they asked.

The desert chief was not one for long speeches. “We can order plants to grow. We can sow them where we please, without effort. We can bend them to our will.” The chief looked to the ground. “The beasts are no different, and they will bend too.”

“You're crazy,” said the mountain ponies. “It can't be done.”

The desert ponies smiled. “Watch us.”

The mountain chief arrived in the forest. The forest chief had told the tribe the plan, but they were skeptical.

“Can you really outwit the clouds?” they asked.

The mountain chief was not one for long speeches. “We can dodge the fastest beasts. We can lure them where we please, without effort. We can bend them to our will.” The chief looked to the sea. “The clouds are no different, and they will bend too.”

“You're crazy,” said the forest ponies. “It can't be done.”

The mountain ponies smiled. “Watch us.”

The forest ponies stood on the tallest spire, the sun burning above them. They stood in a circle, and touched their horns together. Their horns ignited, and they ordered the sun to move.

They coaxed. They forced. They strained. The sun was like a thousand fruits or more. It did not budge.

“Do not relent!” The forest chief shouted. “Our tribe is stronger than an overgrown piece of fruit!”

Their horns glowed white with fatigue. One of the ponies collapsed, then another. The chief was almost ready to give up; the pain was so incredible it threatened to tear everypony in half.

The desert tribe gasped. It was almost imperceptible, but it had happened. The sun had moved.

The desert ponies stood on the biggest cliff, a cave of beasts sleeping in front them. They stood in a circle, and touched their hooves together. Their teeth clenched, and they ordered the beasts to move.

They coaxed. They forced. They strained. A single beast was like a thousand plants or more. It did not budge.

“Do not relent!” The desert chief shouted. “Our tribe is stronger than an overgrown piece of nature!”

Their breaths were ragged with fatigue. One of the ponies collapsed, then another. The chief was almost ready to give up; the pain was so incredible it threatened to tear everypony in half.

The mountain tribe gasped. It was almost imperceptible, but it had happened. The beast had moved.

The mountain ponies stood on the highest tree, a bank of clouds roiling in front of them. They stood in a circle, and touched their wings together. Their wings beat, and they ordered the clouds to move.

They coaxed. They forced. They strained. A single cloud was like a thousand beasts or more. It did not budge.

“Do not relent!” The mountain chief shouted. “Our tribe is stronger than an overgrown beast!”

Their breaths were ragged with fatigue. One of the ponies collapsed, then another. The chief was almost ready to give up; the pain was so incredible it threatened to tear everypony in half.

The forest tribe gasped. It was almost imperceptible, but it had happened. The clouds had moved.

The forest ponies spent weeks moving the sun, one nudge, one inch, one hoof at a time. It took everything they had and more, but they knew it could be done. Finally the sun was far enough away, and the desert cooled.

The desert ponies spent weeks taming the beasts, one nudge, one inch, one hoof at a time. It took everything they had and more, but they knew it could be done. Finally the beasts were tamed, and the mountain became habitable.

The mountain ponies spent weeks moving the clouds, one nudge, one inch, one hoof at a time. It took everything they had and more, but they knew it could be done. Finally the clouds were gone, and the forest could thrive.

The chiefs returned to their meeting place, where the mountain met the ground, where the forest met the desert, and where the chiefs met each other those many weeks ago. They declared that for the rest of time, the tribes would help each other, defend each other, and protect each other. They were bonded forever.

Without the sun to stop them, the desert ponies grew. Without the beasts to stop them, the mountain ponies spread. Without the storms to stop them, the forest ponies developed.

Eventually, the three tribes built a castle on the spot where the mountain met the ground, where the forest met the desert, and where the tribes had met each other. It signified their bond, it strengthened their relationship, and it forged a new alliance.

The castle lasted a very long time. Some say it is the same castle that the Hearth’s Warming Eve summit took place in. But that, my little ponies, is a different story.

The campfire crackled loudly. With no story to cover it up, its pops and twists carried deep into the forest. There weren’t even any animals to compete with it, since state parks were so carefully patrolled by earth ponies. The firelight shone on the faces of everypony present, the moon barely even noticeable on the horizon.

Twilight took a deep breath and opened her eyes. “So, what did everypony think?”

Rainbow Dash rubbed her chin. “You know, last time I heard that story, the three chiefs all met each other when they were inspecting a lightning storm.”

“In the version I heard, they all met at ’n oasis,” Applejack added.

“I heard the mountain was full of birds, not beasts,” Fluttershy said.

Pinkie leapt up. “Yeah, and I heard they all had a giant party at the end, not this silly thing about a castle.”

“Stories are like ponies. No two are quite the same, but they all have things in common.” Twilight smiled. “And just like ponies, they can’t function in solitude. Every audience and storyteller forges their own story.”

“So does that mean it ain’t true?” Applebloom asked.

“Yeah, is it?” Sweetie Belle asked.

“What they said,” Scootaloo added.

“Well, girls. We don’t know if everything in the story is true. It happened so long ago that we can’t check, and no two versions are quite the same.” Twilight leaned forward. “But before ponies wrote everything down, stories just like it were their history lessons. Poems were their memorials. Songs were their plays. We don’t know if everything in it is true, but,” Twilight flared her wings for effect, “they wouldn’t have been telling it this long if it wasn’t important.”

“So just like real history, then.” Rarity chuckled. “I hear they’re still arguing over which hill the Battle of the Breech took place at.”

Sweetie Belle frowned. “Battle of the what?”

Twilight stood up. “At any rate, I think it is time for everypony to get to bed. Looks like Spike beat us to it.”

The other ponies followed her lead and rose from their wooden seats. A few stretched limbs or wings or necks, but the sounds were covered by the fire. Slowly, they all shuffled to their tents.

Twilight put a hoof to her chin. “I think tomorrow night is Fluttershy’s turn. That will be interesting.”

“Yeah, real interesting,” Dash muttered. “Another retelling of ‘The Three Happy Bunnies’ where they all make friends with the wolf.”

Fluttershy’s face reddened. “I wasn’t going to tell that one.” Her voice barely overtook the pops and crackles of the fire.

“Well anything has to be better than Rarity’s version of Emberella. Thought I was going to gag from all the romance.” Rainbow poked her tongue out, and an exaggerated “blegh” leaked out with it.

“Hmph. You simply have no taste, Rainbow Dash.” Rarity poked her nose into the air. “That story is a classic for a reason.”

“All right, settle down, everypony. I guess we’ll have to wait until tomorrow night to find out.” Twilight slipped into her tent. “Good night.”

A messy chorus of “good night”s and “sleep tight”s echoed across the clearing. A wave of zippers followed, both from sleeping bags and tent flaps. Applejack kicked some dirt onto the fire and trotted to her own tent.

For the rest of the night the only sound was snoring. Not a single cricket or beetle crept out of place, and not a single breeze ruffled a stray leaf.

Author's Notes:

This was an experiment in mimicking oral tradition in prose. I don't think it was as successful as it could have been (and my prereader agreed), but it was definitely an interesting experience.

On the off chance that someone does a dramatic reading of this fic, please make it as theatric as possible. Maybe not BRIAN BLESSED or William Shatner levels, but at least "Patrick Stewart mid-rousing speech".