[PAGE 0912 - CHAPTER 7]

I arrived in Zebra territory. I arrived in a tribe, a visual mess. I had bested diseases, quicksand, predators, and delicious fruit.

Seriously, you know those fruits that are actually poisonous? Turns out they taste pretty good. The one I did try knocked me on my flank for a good day, but I doubt an ordinary pony would know it... the fruit can kill mortal ponies.

I lived in a village for a while. I absorbed an entire culture within twenty years. The zebras were a nice band of creatures. So much like us in behaviour and function. The only difference is that they don't use marble for their buildings.

Galaxia came to town, not caring.

She was beautiful... and evil...

I barely managed to escape with the women and children. This was just... I'll start from the beginning.

Galaxia attacked the town... To be honest, I don't know why, but I know her guards anywhere. I've seen them a lot on account of seeing Galaxia many times in my life.

She was also there. What she demanded, I never found out. I didn't want to be caught in the middle, so I helped evacuate the mares and foals while the stallions stayed behind to find out what in the world was even happening.

When we returned... there was little to speak of. Everything had been burned. Every stallion that stayed behind was dead.

The resources and potions were gone.

Galaxia did this.

I felt ashamed. I couldn't look into the eyes of those I had called family for twenty years. I couldn't be around them anymore. The thought that my kin did this made me sick to the stomach.

You know why Galaxia did this? Her private corps reverse-engineered the curative properties of the zebras' all-natural potions. What cure exactly?

Green Hoof. That horrible disease that sent many ponies to wheelchairs. The books say we discovered it with the help of the zebras- which is complete horse... Green-hoof cure was among the first remedies I learned to make when I was there- about nineteen years before she even came around!

Can you deny this? Were you even there, dear reader? I was there! I know the recipe! I know the effects! I learned it from the zebras! Those damn history books lied to you! We didn't discover it! We never built it like the wheelchairs we invented for green hoof victims! We stole it! From Zebras! Innocent, Celestia-damned ZEBRAS!!

That was secret number one to how we as a society had survived long enough to achieve utopia. I promise to you, dear reader, that there are more to come.

We're not at this point in our society from our own ingenuity and willingness to cooperate, but from our powerful goddess of a leader's greed and ego.

Sure she saved my life... but what can I think of her now? Doubts raced through my mind for the next month. They faded when I distracted myself.

I remained in Zebra territory, living on my own for a while, until I came across a patrol of gryphons.

They looked at me as if I were some undiscovered fossil. Then they pointed their spears at me, asking who I was and whence I came.

I explained my name, my purpose, and why I was there. My name is Frozen Waters. I am a pony of Equestria. I'm here because I wanted a change of scenery. I'm here because I wanted to see what everywhere had to offer in knowledge, and what I could offer in return.

The gryphons glanced at each other, then lowered their weapons. "Equestria?" one asked, "Never heard of it."

I asked them where they came from. Their response was a country called Gryphus. After much discussion, we learned that our countries were neighbors that hadn't met yet.

On the surface, I felt that an excellent friendship could be established. Deep down, I feared what the Queen would do if she found out... no, 'if' is inaccurate. I feared what the Queen would do when she found out.

I made some excellent friends in Gryphus. They taught me some techniques in their own fighting style, and I told them stories about Equestrian History, of the Kurgan Indrik, and my immortality.

Their style specialized in grapples, pins, and throws. I, bearing hooves instead of claws, managed to adopt it by turning my hoof inward, making a hook.

It became more effective that the gryphons adopted a similar technique to their original style- that is, making a hook with their claws. It allowed them to more easily pull a threatening strike to the side with minimal risk of any real impact.

If you happen to get any books on Gryphon history, I can guarantee there will be a mention of this breakthrough in martial 'technology' and I can guarantee my name will be there. Frozen Waters, creator of the Hook Grab... Luna's Socks, that sounds stupid.

Oh Celestia... I've forgotten their names... like the zebras... There's only the loves of my life, the Kurgan, and the Queen...

We had fun, my gryphon friends. They would put me in ridiculous situations that would kill even a gryphon, and I would walk and breathe as if nothing happened... A lot of gryphon wine was involved, mind you.

Gryphon wine tasted good, really good. In fact, it's the only kind of wine we ponies know of.

That Equestrian "variant" we've got in those stores reserved for the respected rich cats of ponydom? Yeah, that's just imported Gryphon wine with a different label. Any Equestrian patriots drinking that stuff? Nice work showing that patriotism you gits!

I miss my gryphon friends... they passed on a long time ago. The later generations eventually forgot that their effective fighting style was brought on in part of the very people they eventually took up arms against.

I miss my friends... I miss my family.

---

His eyes shot open. Silver's heart overclocked, and he could feel the force of each beat shake his whole body in the cot. He willed his diaphragm to move at a controlled pace to calm himself down.

"Something wrong?" Mitts asked from across the aisle. Silver could tell it was supposed to be a whisper, but the giant's voice resonated like a public speech.

It was nighttime. Silver didn't turn his head, or answer until he calmed down.

Mitts repeated the question. Silver immediately responded with a "I'm fine."

"Like those mares you mentioned, eh?" Mitts cracked.

Silver paused. It was the first time he heard Mitts make such a remark in the intended purpose.

"How's the book?" the giant asked.

"Eight hundredth page," Silver replied.

"Seven thousand and two hundred pages to go," Mitts muttered.

Silver lay on his cot for the longest time. The galloping of the ponies pulling the train and the rolling of metal atop metal sounded distant, a low hum and rumble that no pony would notice unless they actively tried to pay attention to it.

Silver asked what Mitts was also doing awake.

"Night watch," the burgundy one replied, "I don't need to sleep right now,"

Even after a full day of running and a violent encounter, Mitts didn't appear that tired. Silver had to admire that physical prowess at least. Any pony should, whether they agreed with the warrior's opinion or not. The scriptwriter wished he was a tenth that fit. All his time was spent walking to and from the studio, plus writing while doing simple exercises to make sure he can at least walk to and from the studio.

He was a skinny, bony pony, that was for sure.

"You were expelled from the Guards, weren't you?" Silver asked.

Mitts didn't reply. The scriptwriter took it as a yes.

"Is it because of something you've done?"

"It's because of what I can do," Mitts replied.

Silver nodded. "Yeah, we don't really have much use for warriors nowadays."

"Or fighting ponies in general," Mitts said, "Sometimes a pair would play-fight for the entertainment of those who looked back on the glory days where gryphons were the obvious bad guy, and how their grandfathers often told stories of camaraderie, heroism, selflessness."

"I know that," Silver said.

"How?" the giant asked.

"My producer can't get enough of those kinds of stories. They bring in the Broncos and the box office figures, but they're not very good."

"You a critic?"

"No; my brother is," Silver replied "I wrote the stories for those films."

"You know, I never got your name," Mitts remarked.

"It's Silver Screen," the scriptwriter replied almost automatically.

"Silver Screen, as in the writer of the Wonderbolt and The Last Earth Pony?"

"Is that going to be on my epitaph or something?" Silver asked.

"Maybe," Mitts said, "I hate those movies for my own reasons though."

"Thanks," Silver replied, and he meant it.

"What for?"

"Somepony who hates the crap Sydney makes me write in order to get food on the table... aside from my brother, anyway. He's really the only one I get along that well with."

Silver finally turned his head to see Mitts' face in the relative darkness of the train car. Even though the powerhouse faced the ceiling, the scriptwriter could see the basic expression.

The burgundy giant's face seemed... sympathetic- no, empathetic- as opposed to the intently focused expression he always wore, or that temporary state of lunacy when in an encounter with a foe.

"No problem," Mitts replied after several beats.

Silver turned his head back to the ceiling once more. His eyes shut in an attempt to get him back to sleep. He hoped there wouldn't be another unpleasant dream.

"Silv- May I call you Silv?" Mitts started.

"Sure,"

"My name is Kurt. Kurt Foalington," the giant said.

Silver didn't reply. He drifted back to sleep. He wondered where he had heard the name before.

---

The morning came and left, making way for lunch time. The train finally arrived at Ponyville before actual noon, so the trio disembarked. By then, names had been officially passed around. Trixie knew Kurt was Kurt, and Trixie was Trixie.

It became very obvious from the get-go that Trixie didn't feel comfortable to be in this small town. She even stopped wearing the flashy cloak or hat. Instead, she kept them folded up in her saddlebags.

"You know," Silver said to the others, "If you weren't too keen on coming here, we weren't forcing you to follow us."

Trixie grunted a response, "Trixie is bored. She craves adventure; something new."

"And following two stallions of relatively widely-differing age, while speaking on the third person, without any real reason to even care about what we're doing, is adventurous?" Kurt asked, "Personally, that just screams 'creepy'."

"Like how you were looking at those ponies back at Appleloosa?" Trixie retorted.

Silver huffed in amusement. Kurt grumbled something- possibly another expletive.

Trixie cackled rather softly. Silver ignored her and asked Kurt, "So where exactly are we supposed to lay low? Ponyville isn't known for its cellars."

"No, but I know a few good ponies here," Kurt replied.

After a bit of walking, and some short-lived stares from some ponies, they arrived at a giant umbrella-shaped building. The fancy garnishes that covered the decorative pony mannequins implied to the scriptwriter that this was a dressmaker's shop.

"Wait, no." Kurt said as he turned away, "She's not home."

Trixie and Silver exchanged reluctantly accepting glances, and continued to follow the powerhouse.

"Ah!" Kurt announced suddenly, and he galloped away, toward a giant bed-shaped building.

Silver simply felt perplexed at the sheer complexity of the buildings. He wondered who exactly designed and built these places- and for what payment. What madpony would take this job for a small town barely anypony goes to? This was barely the same size as a quarter of Canterlot!

"Wait here," Kurt said as he stopped at the base of the front porch. Silver and Trixie complied, and the massive stallion entered.

Silver couldn't help but catch the smell of something delicious wafting through the doors.

"Something smells good," Silver said.

"This is a bed and breakfast," Trixie replied.

Silver nodded. The shape of the building made that fact more obvious than even the flashy neon signs used to tell the public whether or not a Trottingham pub was open.

"What's Trottingham like?" Trixie asked after a few beats.

"Haven't you been there before?" Silver asked.

Trixie shook her head. "Why else do you think Trixie was going there?"

Silver shrugged; he didn't want to answer. He had no answer.

"Kurt!" An aged voice emitted from behind the double-doors, "Good Celestia! How have you been?"

Silver decided to hell with waiting, and he entered. Trixie followed, obviously. Neither of them were prepared to see a pony surpassing Silver Screen's age giving Mitts a hell of a firm handshake and a hug of all things.

"It's only been a month or two, Patrick," Kurt replied.

"We weren't expecting to see you again," the middle-aged pony said.

"I know, I'm sorry I broke the promise-"

"Nonsense!" Patrick exclaimed, "You're a champion of Equestria! How can Stell and I help you out?"

Kurt paused. He turned to the companions who entered the bed & breakfast. "We need a place to lay low."

"The Guard's still after you?"

Kurt shook his head. "They're after this pony," he said as he gestured to the scriptwriter.

Patrick looked at Silver Screen. The smile slowly faded as the obvious workhorse appeared to be turning gears in his mind.

"I've seen you before," Patrick said as he raised a hoof.

"Probably in a screening of the Wonderbolt," Silver said. He remembered the premiere screening he attended took place in Ponyville a few years ago.

"How can you tell?" Trixie asked to the middle-aged workhorse.

"Mostly the hat," the workhorse replied, "The only pony in Ponyville who doesn't go anywhere without her hat is Applejack."

Silver pondered the relevance, but he accepted that he could be recognized by the hat alone. He then realised that those tux-clad ponies could also recognize him by the hat alone.

Patrick gestured to the rather open dining room, where lunch was being served to two other ponies; neither of whom seemed familiar. The workhorse then turned to the kitchen- which was visible from the lobby.

"Stella," Patrick called, "We have more visitors."

"Good thing I always cook extra!" a warm mare's voice replied.

Silver spotted Kurt crack a smile. "You always cook extra," the burgundy one said.

Soon, the group joined the other two guests already seated at the table. Patrick introduced the two of them to the trio, but Silver already knew who they were.

They were both famous ponies in the time when film had no storage options other than incredibly flammable analog tape. Mirra was the mare, an actress who disappeared into obscurity. Max was the silent husband who never said anything, but always kept a smile.

Silver's joints almost gave out in awe. To be in the company of two individuals. It couldn't have been by chance. It had to have been destiny. Mirra and Max in the same room as this lowly scriptwriter.

It was an honor.

"This is Mirra and Max," Patrick said. Silver pondered if the bed & breakfast owner even knew the gravity of the presence of those two. "They're traveling the world."

Max tipped his bowler hat to the trio, while Mirra made a pristine bow of her head.

Silver was giddy with excitement. Two icons of the risk-taking films of the old times, sitting across a rather small table from him. He'd be the envy of all of his scriptwriter friends. He'd be the envy of Gold!

"It's an honor to meet you two," Silver said as non-fanboyish as he could.

"You know us?" Mirra asked.

"Do I?" Silver said, "You haven't aged a bit from Colt on a Dolphin!"

It was a lie. They certainly looked older. They both fit the description Frozen Waters gave to the aging Mahogany. The young beauty faded, replaced with a different kind- a more mature and respectable kind.

Max turned his gaze to his wife in concern. His smile was gone. Mirra did the same to her husband. Mirra- no, both of them appeared... worried.

Silver expected expressions of humbleness... or even continued smiles. The scriptwriter looked to his comrades. Kurt looked speechless, while Trixie gave the scriptwriter an odd look- the kind one gives to an obsession-fueled pony. Patrick and Stella also paused.

"What's wrong?" Silver asked as he turned to the celebrities.

"We didn't think somepony would remember us," Mirra replied, "We thought we were free."

Silver simply stood there, confused as the concept of a potato chip bag being thrown at a chain-link fence. "I'm not sure I understand," he said as his two companions took their own seats. Patrick and Stella silently continued serving dishes full of delicacies to the table.

"Why wouldn't you want to be remembered?" Silver asked.

Mirra didn't immediately answer. One look on her face told the scriptwriter that she wasn't used to such a question, and thus didn't have an answer ready.

"You're the first one who recognized us," the mare said.

"I'm sorry," Trixie interrupted, "But who are they?"

"Mirra and Max, the mare and stallion duo that conquered the stage of every movie they were in," Silver said, "Their dialogue famously never written- but ad-libbed, the Mare in Red and the Silent Stallion."

Max huffed amusedly. His smile returned.

"Why would you want to be forgotten?" Silver asked.

"Because our time as film stars passed," Mirra replied, "We retired. We wanted nothing more than to live in a world where we're not known by the fiction we helped create."

Silver nodded slowly. Suddenly he was able to understand... sort of.

"Don't you miss it?"

"The utter torment that we had to suffer at the hands of directors who wanted to create the best movie ever?" Mirra asked, "No. We don't miss it."

Torment? Silver thought. How could making such great movies be torment?

"That's the sacrifice of a good movie, the kind of sacrifice filmmakers today don't contemplate," Mirra said. As she spoke, her tone became increasingly harsher, "Movies today may seem forgettable and bland, but at least nopony forced you to practice a dance number even when your hooves bled. No pony threw the proverbial curveball at you in order to get a more realistic reaction. No attempted real flooding of the set-"

"Let's eat," Patrick suggested.

Like clockwork, everypony served themselves and dug in.

Silver didn't eat. He wasn't hungry. He pondered what the elderly actress had said.

After dinner, Kurt and Trixie left the table with the bed & breakfast owners to discuss the terms of how long they would be staying, and for how much. Mirra and Max eyed the scriptwriter

"Did what I say bother you?" Mirra asked as she stared at the empty, crumb-less plate in front of the script writer.

"Yes, it does," Silver candidly replied, "Did they really do those things?"

"Trotting in the Rain," Mirra said, "No pony mentions it because we live in a society that wants to be peaceful. We don't want conflict. I understand that well. Our parents were in the Gryphon Conflict."

Silver didn't reply. He had more questions, "They did all this to make those iconic scenes in movies."

"That's a tragedy of film buffs like yourself, and that one critic-" Mirra paused and attempted to recall. She turned to her husband. "What was his name, Gold?"

Max nodded.

"My brother?"

"He's your brother?" Mirra asked, "Small world."

"You said something about a tragedy?" Silver said.

"If you see enough good aspects of something, everything else starts to look bland, or even bad- or worse," Mirra replied. She then reached elegantly to the center of the table and tapped onto a bowl with some fresh bread sitting atop. "Eventually, you become jaded. Nothing interests you anymore, and you stop being a pleasant pony to be around."

Silver looked down to the bread, then back at his idol.

"You're Silver Screen, writer of The Last Earth Pony," Mirra said.

The scriptwriter sheepishly nodded.

"You're right, it is bland," the Mare in Red said, "That doesn't mean it doesn't entertain. That doesn't mean it's not escapism."

Silver nodded again. Feeling his stomach rumble, he picked up the bread with his unicorn magic.

"Thank you," Silver finally said after several seconds of silence.

"How is Jade, by the way?" Mirra suddenly asked.

"Mum?" Silver asked, startled.

"Yes, Jade. She and I are good friends."

"Were," Silver corrected after a beat, "She passed away recently."

"Oh... I'm sorry," Mirra said.

"It's okay," Silver said. He didn't want to elaborate why, but he almost hoped his idol wouldn't prod into it.

"I was on my way home from the will reading," he continued, "I was reading this book I inherited, and ponies in suits came after me."

Both of the elderly celebrities blinked. "Ponies in suits?"

"Yeah."

"They're after the book?"

Silver nodded.

"What is it, exactly?" Mirra asked.

"Have you ever heard of a pony named Frozen Waters?"

"Waters... that name sounds familiar," Mirra said.

Max tapped a hoof on his chin. He didn't appear to remember either.

"That's what I said," Silver commented.

"Who is this Frozen Waters?" she asked, like Silver expected at this point in the conversation.

"He's out there somewhere," the scriptwriter replied.

The Mare in Red looked to Max, and they both rose from the table.

"Well, it's nice to see someone remembers us fondly at least," Mirra said with a warm smile she always wore in the films she performed in.

"Likewise," Silver said as he rose from the table as well and shook their hooves.

The elderly actors retired to their room. Kurt approached the scriptwriter soon after.

"Patrick's willing to let us stay until we're either done, or he gets paying customers to replace us with," Kurt said.

"Fair enough," replied Silver. He could have paid, but he still only had the bits he brought with him when he expected nothing more than a trip to the will reading and back to Trottingham. Considering their predicament, they need to save as much as they can. Trixie didn't appear to be remotely wealthy, and Kurt certainly would have paid, but the fact he got a free deal implies he has nothing.

Heck, Kurt was the only one who didn't have any possessions on his person at all. He merely had those toughened hooves, that claw scar, and the most unkept mane in the history of ponydom.

The trio split up to their own rooms. Kurt insisted on taking Room 5. Trixie and Silver respectively took the two surrounding rooms 4 and 6.

After locking his door, Silver dropped his saddlebags and akubra onto the cozy bed and stretched his back. The book was really the only thing that had any real weight, but over eight thousand pages was still heavy.

He continued reading. With freedom and no one to talk to, he knew he wouldn't be distracted.