A War

by Comma Typer

First published 5th of December, 2017

The Great Crystal War has raged on, each weary day upholding the dreadful conflict with no end in sight. This is the story of some ponies (and more) all caught up in the reality of war from beginning to...end?

Equestria is engulfed in war—against an evil tyrant with his army of slaves, for a peaceful freedom for all in a prosperous world. But, war was never that easy nor that simple, especially when it extends beyond military battles and reaches into the lives of all involved.

Because, in a war as far-reaching as it is destructive, no one can escape its grasp—and, no one can leave it unchanged.

Past the headlines of the day with its articles about victories and defeats on a frontline so far yet so close; past the propaganda spouting and espousing something patriotically believable but with a tinge of illusion; past the declarations and proclamations designed to keep the masses' hopes up for just another week.

Past those things, here are the stories of some who would live in this war from beginning to...end?

Morning Alarm

Yellow in the horizon, blue right up above. Birds chirped, flapping their wings above the vast stretches of grasslands, over hills and mountains of jagged and ragged edges and cliffs, covering miles and miles of ground, their landscape—the wide view before them—ever slightly changing.

As the sun dawned on Ponyville—bringing upon the little village its warmth and welcoming light—the windows glimmered on the quaint and dainty cottages of hay roofs and thatched walls. The roads of rock, sided by trimmed flat grass and bushes among other small green shrubbery, were clean and free from most trash and garbage. The smell of the town was a fragrant one—the abundance of flowers that were scattered throughout, not to mention the florist's shop over there beside some similar-looking houses, gave rise to that. The rivers flowing through Ponyville—under bridges, winding past trees and buildings—created a rushing of water that could be heard. At the middle of Ponyville resided a grand structure, a town hall of sorts, with several floors, some colorful flags flying near the top. In the distance, a rooster's faint cry could be heard, signalling to all who were not aware of it yet that the morning had come.

If that did not tell them, there was the newspaper pony.

"Extra! Extra! Special Extra! Super Special Extra! War is ahoof! War is ahoof!"

Windows were flung open, a few panes cracked.

Hooves swung the doors, revealing ponies with strange expressions on their faces—wide eyes and shivering mouths with no words.

Others looked on at the delivery pony with a close eye as he walked along and threw out newspapers, panicked in his pace.

"You're not pulling that trick on us again!" a pony from a second floor yelled, balling up his hoof at him.

Yet the pony exclaimed:

"Extra! War is ahoof!"

A scramble of hoofsteps out on to the streets.

Newspapers were picked up, unfolded with great speed—sometimes to the point of ripping them apart, arousing the anger of somepony who scolded another.

As the newspaper pony walked on, more and more windows and doors were opened, more and more ponies were exiting their houses and got to reading the newspapers laid before them, with several even re-reading the headlines, their voices revealing disbelief.

Then, gasps.

The murmurings only increased, any remaining whispers fading away—giving way—to the trembling talks.

"I told you about this!" Bon Bon, an Earth pony mare with pink and blue mane, said, looking at Lyra—a mint green unicorn. "Yet, what did you do? You didn't listen to me!"

"Well, I expected that the Princess would solve everything," Lyra replied, rolling her eyes. "She's been able to keep Equestria afloat for a long time—why fail now?"

Bon Bon groaned, slamming a hoof on her face. "Just because things have been going the way they've been going—" a flailing of forehooves "—doesn't mean they're going to stay fine!"

A hoof stomp on the ground.

"Now, what're we gonna do?" she said, raising her voice.

Lyra's lips quivered.

"Make sure this ends quickly," a voice suggested.

The two mares turned around.

Davenport, in his blue coat and white shirt, walked from the street to them—a smug smile on his face.

"I was thinking about that," Bon Bon said, giving him a piercing look.

Then, another stallion fell in front of the three—eyes on Bon Bon and then on Davenport. "What are we gonna do?!" he yelled—hoarse voice, rough tone, as if about to cry.

"Get yourself together, Crusoe!" Davenport said, pulling a fellow Earth pony up on his four hooves. "It's not the end of the world!"

"Well," he began, "it's gonna be the end of Equestria as we know—"

"Don't go crazy!" yet another voice shouted.

A figure stepped foward from a group of ponies already busy in a separate, tense conversation: Thunderlane, a black pegasus.

"Worrying isn't gonna get us anywhere!" he said, pointing a hoof at the already gathered crowds of ponies by the houses, on the streets, near the rivers—exchanging words of hesitation—apprehension, with hoof-biting and eye-darting prevalent. "All we need to do is to stay calm!"

"That's what I was gonna tell you!" Bon Bon said, only getting angrier.

"Where's the mayor in all of this?!" Lyra spoke—her voice shaky, walking closer and closer to a wall, almost stepping on the flowers. "Has she said anything?!"

"She's got the crazies as well!" Bon Bon blurted out, groaning after.

Thunderlane flapped his wings, hovering over the ground. "Uh, I don't know about you, but I'll go ahead and make sure it doesn't get rowdy. You know us pegasi!"

And he zipped out of the scene.

Davenport looked on—with a shivering unicorn, a hysterical stallion, and a calm yet irritated mare. "That leaves the four of us, then."

As the mutterings grew beyond their crowds and groups, spilling over to the rest—shrieks, screams of panic, galloping and running off to somewhere or, perhaps, anywhere—"I'm not ready for this!" a mare wailed as she joined her fellow panickers in their disorganized sprint as various ponies went about and halted some but not all the trouble-makers, trying to organize everyone in distinct groups before bickering with one another about how to organize them in the first place.

The mayor—a gray-haired mare wearing a pair of glasses—was alone, standing on the town hall's round off-white porch. A lectern was already there with microphone prepared.

A few pieces of paper were on it.

She sighed.

She saw the mass of ponies across the river—there weren't so many right in front of the town hall, on the open space of smooth stone ground. The noise over there, with the ponies in disarray as they made points, accused this or that, blamed this one or that one, drew up contingencies and emergency plans, promised that they would store up food in case of the worst, vowed to defend Ponyville from all threats (and attracting flattery from some and sarcastic, snarky comments from others, doubting whether that pony would defend Ponyville from all threats)—all these were just now noise that happened to be across the river, across the bridge.

A white mare walked up to her. "Mayor Mare," she began in a fancy accent, gesticulating about, "I don't suppose you would...tell everypony to restrain themselves immediately?"

"Rarity," the mayor replied—a bit incredulous, "haven't you heard the news?"

"Why, of course!" she said, uptight with a close of her eyes. "But, I don't see anything good coming out of such rabble."

She placed a hoof to her chin, looking on at the disordered crowds again.

"It must be done soon," Rarity said, prodding.

The mayor kept looking on. Then: "Rarity, bring some ponies with you—tell them to come over here now."

Rarity nodded—"Hm!"—and trotted away, on to the open area and across the bridge.

A slightly orange farm pony—Applejack with her brown, simple hat—stood in front of the still-folded newspaper. She stood at the large entrance of the red farm—itself huge, of three stories and partially surrounded by white picket fences. Around her were more—crops of corn to her right, straight ahead the chicken coop, to her far left enormous swaths of lands dedicated to apple trees and apple trees as far as the eye could see.

She picked up the newspaper.

She read it.

Gasped. "How am I s'posed to tell this to my family?"

Looking Ahead

The kitchen, which also served as the dining room, was a simple thing. Wooden planks made up the floor, wooden cabinets lined up the walls, pans and ladles (among other kitchenware) hung under overhanging shelves; a wall of blue and sea-green design, and a window that brought in the calming morning sunlight with its rays and beams piercing through, lighting up a patch of the floor.

At the table sat the family. Apple Bloom, the youngest of the bunch, scarfed down the stack of pancakes before her. She was overshadowed by her bigger brother, Big McIntosh, who, upon seeing all the pancakes gone in mere moments, rubbed her on the head, his enormous hoof almost throwing her pink hair ribbon away.

She smiled. "Ah, c'mon, Big Mac!"

"Ya' better get to bitin' real' soon!" Granny Smith interrupted—the oldest of the family, her mane whitened. "You've been here for almost half an hour!"

The door slammed open.

"Look!" Applejack yelled, holding up the newspaper, headline at the front.

"Now, what are ya' gabbing about?" Granny said firmly, glaring at her. "I was wonderin' where you've been!"

Apple Bloom and Big McIntosh were already looking at the newspaper—Apple Bloom jumped out of her chair and walked up to her sister. "Wha-What's going on, Applejack?"

Big Mac got out of his chair, too, sliding it out with visible creases on the floor.

The two read the headline.

And gasped.

"We're at war?!" Apple Bloom shouted—shock in her voice.

"War?!" Granny repeated—and then got up out of her chair.

"B-but how?!" Apple Bloom went on, a hoof on her cheek.

"I read everything 'bout it the very second I got to it!" Applejack explained. "Apparently, remember that new city that grew up from the ground a few days ago?"

"Ya' mean the Crystal Empire there in the North?" Granny Smith said. "That thing we've all read in our 'istory books?""

"Yeah, that city," Applejack said, nodding rapidly, still holding the newspaper. "The king of that place, well, is invading Equestria right...uh, now!"

"Now?!" Apple Bloom screamed before shuddering, holding Big Mac's leg as he rubbed her head—now in a comforting way. "W-We'll be together, right?"

Applejack dropped the newspaper—a sturdy face of narrowed eyes. "We're the Apple family," she began—solemn. "We've been through the rough an' tough, the hard and tumblin'. If we could get past those times, then we're gonna be just fine."

"Well!" Granny exclaimed, grabbing the newspaper.

All eyes were on her.

"Peace o' war, the least we could all do is feed the ponies!"

Applejack and Big Mac nodded.

"And you, too, Apple Bloom!" Granny said, eyeing her.

She nodded, too.

"I, for one, don't want the Apple family to go down selfishly! So, that better motive all o' us!" Granny pointed at all three of them—and then to herself.

Silence as they looked at each other.

"Wait! Ya' better eat yer' breakfast first—can't work well with empty stomachs!"

The sun was a bit higher now in the sky, certainly a good distance above the distant mountains with a city's tiny silhouette sticking out.

In the numerous fields of Sweet Apple Acres, the apples trees in their neat rows stood tall, towering above the average pony. Their red, juicy apples were hanging—some of them dangling—high up on the branches. With so many apple trees present in these fields, the amount of apples that could be seen was a staggering amount.

Then, grunts, kicks, rustles, and thuds.

The three Apple siblings were at work: Big McIntosh kicked, in succession, each apple tree with his hind legs; all the apples fell with each of his kick and they fell into the positioned baskets below. Applejack also kicked the trees with her hind legs, causing all of them to fall as well—with Apple Bloom moving around and catching the apples by balancing the large wooden container on her head.

This went on with no words as, slowly but surely, row after row was cleared of apples, leaving the trees with just their leaves and branches and bark.

"Applejack!" a fancy voice called out. "Applejack!"

Her ears perked up, stopping her short trip to the next tree. "Rarity?" She looked at Big Mac.

Big Mac nodded.

"It's alright, sis'!" Apple Bloom said, waving at her while still holding the container on her head. "I'm sure it won't be long."

She sighed. "I hope you're right."

Then, she galloped off the fields on to the fenced dirt path that split them into two.

Rarity groaned as she tapped her hoof and brushed her mane by levitating a comb through her mane. She stood alone, with acres and acres of apple trees surrounding her.

"If only she could have attended!" she muttered. "That way, I would not have to do the dirty work of reminding her about what she must have heard already if she were responsible."

Hoofsteps.

She looked to the side. "Oh, look who's here," Rarity said, lowering her eyes and adopting a rude tone. "the only pony who missed out on a very important business."

Applejack moaned as she hopped over the fence and landed in front of the posh pony. "I'm not as uniformed as you think, Rarity! I got the newspaper and that was enough for me."

"So did everypony else, darling," Rarity said. "But, you were absent at Mayor Mare's speech."

"I'm pretty sure that I could get caught up to date with everything when I trot my way there," Applejack replied, a bit haughty herself. "It's not like everypony will magically ignore me just because I missed a speech."

Rarity sighed—grumbling under her breath. "You don't have to go to Ponyville to know, because the mayor sent me to her to tell you."

"Ya' memorized her entire speech?" Applejack said, smirking. "I'm impressed."

"What? No! I'm not here to waste my time reciting an entire adress verbatim!"

"So, le me guess—yer' gonna tell me the essential points, right?"

Rarity grumbled even more. "Yes. I could've been done by now if you did not stoop to delaying me about."

"Why didn't ya just say so?" Applejack asked, smirking again.

Rarity sighed again. "Alright—I myself don't want to waste your time either. Let's reconcile, ignore our squabbles, because if we don't, we're wasting everypony's time in something as dagnerous as this."

"Sudden change o' heart, huh?" Applejack said, still smirking. Then, a frown. "Yeah."

Rarity cleared her throat.

Applejack moved closer.

The two ponies stood on the path.

"The mayor called for volunteers to join Equestria's fighting force. Then, she requested everypony else that we should dedicate at least some of our working hours for the cause. The more we bring in, the sooner this war will end and everyone will be happier." And, she smiled.

Applejack lifted an eyebrow—a face of doubt. "That's it?"

"Well, I had to give you the essential points—nothing more, nothing less."

"Ya' could've sent me a letter!"

"Lots of ponies are not in their right mind now, including me!" Rarity exclaimed. "I didn't expect a war to come up this morning! I was planning to finish some special orders from Manehattan! I bet you didn't expect a war to come up today, too!"

"At least I'm already working for the cause," she retorted, pointing to herself and closing her eyes. "Providing the food for the town and even the nearby villages—we've been doing all that without havin' to be told. I'm certain that ponies won't be askin' for frou-frou dresses when they're facin' an army."

"How else will trade go on?!" Rarity said, lifting a hoof in the air. "I'm working for the economy! I'm working so that there'll be more bits for Equestria!"

And a hoof on her head.

"Rarity, I know yer' goin' crazy, but this is too much even for you."

Applejack lowered Rarity's head—the unicorn's face unflinching from its wide-eyed expression. Then, she let go.

She sighed.

"My apologies, Applejack," Rarity said—somewhat contrite in how she said it—"but these are extraordinary times! I have not planned nor even preplanned any of this—"

"And—" slowly trotting her way back to the fence "—you better be going. Funny, ain't it, being the pony who doesn't wanna waste anypony else's time?"

One last smirk under that simple country hat.

It was Rarity's turn to sigh before she turned around—"Then, farewell, Applejack."

A hop over the fence, back on to the fields, and—"Goodbye to you, too."

She waved at the walking unicorn—who then went on galloping.

Apple Bloom put down one more full container of apples, setting it beside the now-empty tree. Just beside her, Big Mac pummeled down yet another tree, bringing down yet another hoofful of apples—with Apple Bloom moving fast, jumping here and there, catching all the new apples without missing a single one.

Hoofsteps.

The two looked there, toward the path. "So, what did she say?" Apple Bloom asked, trotting up to her.

Big Mac, meanwhile, gave her a nod before kicking down still another tree—with its own set of apples falling down.

"Didn't tell me much," Applejack said, walking up on the clean grass to an unkicked apple tree, facing her sister. "She's gettin' mad over somethin' not that urgent. I already knew 'bout serving Equestira through this hard time—that's all she said, plus her goin' the usual motions."

"Of beratin' you?" Apple Bloom guessed, tilting her head a little in that guess.

Another kick, another group of apples.

"You could say that," Applejack said, looking wistfully at the blue sky where a few clouds were drifting by. Then, looking back down on her—with a swinging hoof and a tempered smile—"But, let's get back to work!"

And the three continued on in kicking down the apple trees, collecting the apples into baskets and then bushels.

A few birds perched on a tree's branch.

The tree was unique amongst the other trees in Ponyville. It was a stout tree—its thick bark implying a great resistance to force, but that could be said of a lot of trees in various forests. What truly made this tree unique was that it was fitted to be a library—for a sign standing beside the only door had an image of a book.

Glass windows of inconsistent designs were the sun's paths to liven up the inside—some windows were typical with their uniform straight lines, other windows were grated with diamond-like schemes, still others appeared organic and had tree-like frames about them. The roof, from the outside, was covered in dense foiliage—right then, two nests were housed on this canopy of leaves. The balconies and the entrance itself were also graced with ceiling-like covers of leaves—these ones different from the "main" roof since they had flowers sprouting up.

Inside was a grand circular room—that smell of musty wood and dusty books. The centerpiece was a rudely formed table with a stylized statue of a pony's head on top. The windows brought in the sunlight, beautifying the interior by letting the beams flow freely, shedding light on a few closed books that happened to be there. The bookshelves carved into the walls—not to mention a few cabinets also carved into the walls as well. The shelves were mostly full, many of them showing signs of disregard—not only dust but the yellowing of pages, too. Only certain titles garnered themselves the honor of being well-read—special among them was the row of "Daring Do" books: They were clean, sparkling, and still had bright white pages. The wooden stairs—with pink hearts engraved on each step—led to the second floor of the wooden library, but most of that could not be seen from the library proper.

Rarity and Mayor Mare walked about—Rarity in a tip-toe manner.

"What would you suggest be done with the Golden Oak Library?" the mayor asked, eyeing Rarity.

"Hmm." Her horn glowed as she floated a ladder from the ground and propped it up in front of a bookshelf. "It could serve as emergency shelter—it could hold up to quite a dozen ponies."

"Other than that," the mayor said, sounding disappointed—fixing her glasses. "I already thought of that one."

Rarity's horn stopped glowing. "It could do well as a general meeting place. The main area here is perfect for spreading the news to all of us here in an orderly fashion."

"That's good," Mayor Mare said, nodding as she bobbed her head up and down while skimming the shelves. "But, what about the books themselves?"

Rarity's eyes opened up at that. "Surely, you're not considering them as useless, mayor—are you?"

"The opposite, actually." She turned around to face Rarity. "I was thinking of transporting them to a safer location."

"Safer location?" Rarity repeated—about to stammer, a hoof forward. "I beg your pardon, but that would make the Golden Oak Library...only the Golden Oak."

"I'm a cautious mare," the mayor said, raising her voice a little. "We do not have enough unicorns to perform a shield spell for a library, and, honestly, a shield spell is more useful for places like the town hall with its archives or certain section of the houses here or Sugarcube Corner. And, the Crystal Empire has just emerged; what weapons do they wield?"

Rarity took in a deep breath. "It could be used as a defense position."

The mayor raised an eyebrow. Then, a smile crept up on her face. "Good idea, Rarity!"

"Well, if that is a good idea, what will we defend it with?"

Mayor Mare's smile quickly disappeared.

"You're right," the mayor said, pacing about.

Rarity's ears flayed, a subtle frown on her face. "I've never been a librarian nor a book lover myself, mayor, but..."

And, she trailed off, looking away to the open door through which she could see the streets of Ponyville.

A general panic still about, as several ponies talked loudly, boisterious. Others were clattering their teeth even as they spoke—or tried to speak—about what to do and what they did not want to lose. Some were already crying, but most of the ponies had not gone that route—they were just looking at each other, buying and selling and eating and drinking and walking and talking and flying and running without an ordinary smile but with a neutral face, a face that spoke neither a plain happiness or a plain sadness but a fear, a watchful fear.

No wonder, then, that the ponies shifted their eyes about frequently that morning.

Ponyville's train station was a modest place—too modest, maybe, for it looked worn and somewhat run down. Two buildings: the station itself, with signs of trains on it, and the guard station where a few ponies in no uniform at all looked about themselves with sharp eyes. Both buildings had hay roofs.

The shrilling whistle of an incoming train could be heard; one look to the left, past a tall green tree, and a colorful train was chugging on, closer and closer to Ponyville.

The only pony there, standing on the boarding platform, was Press Release—a unicorn mare with a roll of film as her cutie mark. With frizzled orange mane, a brimmy hat, and camera around her neck, she eyed the train over there in the horizon.

Press Release and Eff Stop

The colorful train looked as if it came out of a railroad-themed cake. The pink locomotive had lots of hearts incorporated into its style: heart-shaped lights under a big headlight which had its own outline of a heart shape while a heart-shaped window served as the front one. Puffs of ringed white smoke were pushed out of the pipe, forming a beautiful, hazy trail as the train moved on though decelerating. The carriages themselves were of a variety of bright colors—aside from pink, there was purple, brown, yellow, cyan. A wide green door was on one of the carriages—closed, for now, as if it was just another part of the carriage that no passenger should go through (unless the passenger was a unicorn—then, teleportation might be a viable option).

The train finally stopped, its wheels motionless and the pipe producing a persistent stream of steam.

The door slid open.

Not a lot of ponies were exiting the train. Among them was a frazzled, bushy eyebrowed business pony haggard with baggy eyes, darting to and fro, his once-slick mane becoming undone as he let his tie flow in the wind, galloping on—in a rural accent, "I hope Diamond and Spoiled are OK!" Another was a pair of unicorns—one, bulky and white with brown hair and a handlebar mustache; one, pink and stout with beehive-styled mane, tied yellow scarf, and shiny earrings. They, too, were panicking, though less exhausted; more anxious with sweat pouring down their faces as they galloped, too, out of the station. The last passenger to leave was an Earth pony with a farming hat that had an apple symbol on it—and, like the three before him, he was in a hurry to get out.

Press Release glanced at the running ponies—as if fleeing. Then, her mouth shuddered. "That's not a good sign."

She trotted inside the train.

Yellow walls, wooden dark green floor carpeted with a lighter green carpet rolling down through the carriage's center to the doors with their one window giving any onlooker a glimpse into who and what were in the next carriage; the windows with their drawn curtains, the cusioned seats that were similar to mattresses and were separated by transparent green dividers with their curved and curly patterns, the lights both on the ceiling and on the walls—between windows and beside the carriage doors—and the citrusy scent of the interior.

Press Release looked to her left and to her right.

A white pegasus, wearing a hat and a camera, waved at her—the only passenger left.

"Eff Stop?" Press Release spoke. "I thought you were staying in Appleloosa until tomorrow!"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Eff Stop said with a grave gravity.

She walked to his seat and plopped herself down beside him.

The carriage door slid closed.

"All aboard!" a deep voice cried out from another carriage.

The wheels chugged, though slowly at first, and the green landscape past the window slightly changed—fields of green grass, rolling in their vast length and width, as trees stood in their places, resisting the wind while the grass below swayed and bent; the clouds in the sky were wandering about, though a few pegasi were arranging some of those clouds—one of them, wearing a hat as well, was pointing to this and that point in the sky and a pegasus or two would go out and move a cloud there or push a cloud away. In the middle of it all were the mountains in the far-flung background, tinted by a mix of blue and green though still domineering.

"You're on your way to Canterlot, too?" Press Release asked, looking at him with curiosity.

"Have to," Eff Stop replied, putting his hat down to his left. "This is the biggest headline news anypony's ever seen since...since..." and his stammering came to a halt. "Since—I don't know!"

Press Release sighed. "Did you see this coming?"

The train was now moving faster, the individual blades of grass turning into an incoherent blur.

"I kind of expected something bad to happen," Eff Stop said. "Having a good portion of the E.U.P. Guard standing there wasn't helping anypony sleep well."

"You mean the ponies there or the ponies here?"

"Both." He rested his head on the divider, pulling out a pillow. "The Crystal ponies are scared because they didn't seem to be in any danger, and we are scared because we don't know why they're there. Canterlot officials say it's to serve as their 'paramilitary force' until they build up their own, but—you know what happened next."

Press Release looked down at the floor, her eyes downcast. "I...I..."

"What's wrong?" He moved closer, placing a hoof around her neck. "Don't tell me you're scared, too. You're the mare who's always right there at the scene."

Silence as she wiped her dry eyes. "Well, are you scared, too?"

"Nervous, yes," he said.

The train was at full speed—the trees, the grass, all but the distant mountains whizzing past them at a great pace.

Silence again.

"What does Sombra want?" Press Release said—tense. "What exactly?"

"Nopony's really sure," he replied—terse. "Some say that he just wants to take over the world. Pretty simplistic, but it's still nothing to sneeze at. I'll say that it's just looking for world domination."

A firm silence. "Anything else? Any statements from the Princess?"

"Where have you been?" Eff Stop asked, concerned and raising an eyebrow at her.

"I've been resting up in Ponyville—the only mail I received was the call to Canterlot and nothing else."

He groaned. "Their mail's getting crazy again. We really need to get a new set of mailponies."

A pause.

Now, Ponyville was just a little patch of yellow, white and purple from where they were—the climb getting steeper and steeper.

Eff Stop adjusted his posture on the seat. Facing Press Release, he said, "The Princess said just after raising the sun that Equestria should be ready for any surprises Sombra might pull. Then, half an hour later, she said that the E.U.P. guard—all of it—has been mobilized."

"All?" Press Release repeated, lifting a hoof to her chin, to her open mouth. "All...mobilized?"

Eff Stop lowered his head. "I have no idea who Sombra is and where he'll get the things he need to wage war on us, but if the Princess herself thinks that the whole guard is needed to defend Equestria—" He trailed off, looking out the window.

Ponyville was way down below, the train now at the cliff, on a narrow passageway as there was the craggy mountainside on one side of the carriage.

"Did she ask for volunteers?" she asked. "I overheard the mayor of Ponyville asking for volunteers for the guard."

"It's a plea from the Princess," he said—solemn. "A plea to volunteer. If that's not enough...you know what's next."

She nodded, a frown across her face.

More silence as the train moved on, now on a bridge hanging over a wide plethora of trees with a river winding through—on the other side, another set of mountains to go around.

"Where will you eat for lunch?" Eff Stop asked. "There's the donut place."

Hesitant for a while. Then: "Yeah, that would do nicely."

Eff Stop sighed. "Yeah. I agree."

He looked off out the window again, seeing the grand vista before him with Ponyville only a little spot over there.

"And, what do you want? I'll pay for everything."

Eff Stop raised an eyebrow again as he turned to her. "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "I...think it's only right to do this since...I don't know what's gonna happen after we part ways."

"Me, too," he said. "But, just remember: We have telephones, we have letters, we have records. I'm sure we'll see each other. If there's a big happening, you'll be at the scene and, I guess, I'll be there, too."

The two smiled as they sat on the same cushioned seat, the train nearing Canterlot.

Stop at the Donut Place

The train decelerated, finally stopping in full at the Canterlot train station.

The station itself was an upgrade from the "plain old" one at Ponyville: Each wall had windows that were as tall and were almost as wide, giving anyone inside a commanding view of Canterlot beyond and giving anyone outside a good sweep of who's waiting inside—besides the ponies, there were also clocks ticking by, desks occupied by clerks and accountants writing away and talking to whoever is in front, rows of metal benches where ponies (and a griffon holding a suitcase) sat now eyeing the train that had just arrived, and potted plants beautifying the spacious waiting area at strategic points—ranging from mere flowers and shrubs to even tiny trees.

If the interior was beautiful, the exterior was lavish. Yellow bars, as of gold, alternated with those studded with diamonds between each section of the windowed walls; a big dome rose up from the center of the station, standing as an observatory post where ponies in serious-looking hats looked here and there and exchanged quick sentences with each other before moving their eyes back to the papers both on their tables and tacked on to their boards. Right above the wooden platform—this one made from a smoother cut of timber—was a grand clock, ticking with an audible tick.

Judging by the clock, it was just past noon.

Ponies had gathered on the wooden platform—no smiles on their faces, just anxious looks.

The big train door slid open and Press Release and Eff Stop went on to the platform, swinging their heads around as they beheld Canterlot.

Groans and sighs could be heard—"You were the only ponies on that train?!" a mare screamed before she was hushed by a nearby guard wearing yellow armor and yellow horeshoes.

Press Release glared at the offending mare before she and Eff Stop hopped off the platform and on to the street.

This city was a fancy one—there was no lack of opulence on display here, not even on the buildings themselves, for spires were common in that yellow-purple scheme. The walls were white—if not white then they were purple. The sidewalks and the roads were polished and clean, free from any trash or garbage (although not free from the carriages that sped through). The stores the reporters could see were already selling ostentatious items at extravagant prices—jewelry, watches, plates of small food acquiring bits that would not fit inside a large box. Scents of various perfumes and colognes filled the air—of flowers, of fruits, of vegetables, of woods, of seeds, of leaves, of spices—combining into a bomb of cosmopolitan fragrances where crossing the road would yield a slightly different whiff. No doubt that the perfumes and the colognes emanated from the fancy ponies walking about, dressed and suited in their showy many-frilled clothes all topped off with earrings and ties and fancy hats. One or two stallions were even wearing monocles.

Of course, that did not stop them from sporting worried faces nor halt the pouring of sweat nor restrain them from walking about in a more hurried manner—long strides and fast paces. Besides the carriages speeding through with their passengers holding their manes against the wind, there was a tense atmosphere throughout the esteemed city—no looking up with heads raised, there was murmuring all about punctuated with gasps and certain ponies galloping away. Several ponies—carrying suitcases and sacks of bits—were rushing about, already headed for the station and jumping inside. Distressed ponies of much wealth discussed amongst themselves with nervy eyes, hooves aching to run out at an instant's notice.

It was quiet, yet also somewhat noisy in Canterlot. At least this part of Canterlot.

"This is getting weirder," Press Release said, looking at Eff Stop.

He did not say a word—he kept looking around, camera ready though no flashes yet.

The two crossed the street, then walked on the sidewalk—windows of more rich items on display, estates and mansions of towering proportions and expensive taste with fountains and sprinklers, restaurants boasting of exquisite cuisine as the culinary flavors mingled with the fragrant scents and made something elegant and appetizing, big old-fashioned streetlights at regular intervals along the sidewalk.

They still did not stop the decorated ponies of Canterlot from wearing those anxious looks and faces, even watching the two reporters with suspicion before hastening their walk away.

"It's not everyday you see Canterlot all roiled up like this," Eff Stop said, snapping a few shots at this building and that group of ponies waving their hooves about in heated arguments. "It's unusual. To think that Canterlot is this calm and sophisticated place—to watch it all break down. Well, I wouldn't really say it's breaking down..."

Then, he looked to his side. No Press Release beside him.

"Press Release?" he asked.

And a glimpse of that mare entering an eatery of some sorts; there were tables filled with munching ponies past the narrow and tall windows.

The hatted pegasus looked up.

A sign of a big donut in pink icing.

Checkered patterns were under the windows and were on the floor of this place, with the floor looking like a chessboard. Pink tables and stools in pink fabric littered the eatery as ponies had platefuls and paper bag-fuls of donuts in front of them, their variety of colors matching the ponies' own. Lights were hanging from the ceiling on thick wires though they were not on now.

It smelled of sweets and sugar.

At the far end was the counter with its glass display of donuts of many different flavors: plain donuts, glazed donuts, chocolate donuts, strawberry donuts, peanut donuts; hole donuts or whole donuts, donuts with filling or donuts wihout filling, donuts or not donuts for there were bagels, too.

Sitting at the counter, on one of the swivel chairs, was Press Release.

Joe, the bulky unicorn donned in his white uniform and white hat—his cutie mark being a donut with pink icing—floated a plate of assorted donuts right in front of her. "Here you go, ma'am," he said in a rough voice, tinged with sombre.

"Thanks," she said as she grabbed the topmost donut—a plain one—and took a bite out of it.

Joe went on to another pony a bit far away along the counter.

Eff Stop sat right beside her, swiveling a little on his chair to face her completely. "Took no care to tell me, huh?"

She gulped the morsel down. She groaned. "Sorry, Eff Stop."

"Pressured, I know," he said. "But, remember: Hope that it will blow off soon and everything will be fine." He then took a donut from her plate.

Press Release rested her hoof on an angled hoof. "I know it's going to be fine, but..."

"But what?" He leaned forward, an expectant expression on him.

Press Release levitated the camera off of her neck. She plopped it on the counter, beside the donuts.

"Nevermind," she ended up saying, floating another donut to her face and examining it. She broke off a crumb. "What's the use of telling you the same thing?"

Eff Stop did not say anything.

The two remained silent as they munched on their donuts.

"You sure you'll be ready for Celestia's speech at sunset?" he asked.

"I hope a stroll's enough to get me up and going," she said.

"A walk in the park?" he offered, extending a hoof.

She smiled—a little. "Maybe after the donuts." Then, a giggle from her.

He smiled, too.

As they went on eating donuts, three unicorns at a table were eating donuts, too.

Speech

Those three unicorns had a lot more donuts on their table, a pyramid of them, even. One of them—a yellow one named Lemon Hearts—was grabbing donuts and stuffing her paper bag with them, sticking out her tongue.

The other two just watched her.

"Any way to freeze these donuts?" she asked the watching two in a serious tone—her hoof stopped in mid-air, inches away from yet another donut.

"Why are you doing that all of a sudden?" the white one, Twinkleshine, asked, raising a hoof with her question.

"You never truly know when disaster strikes," Lemon Hearts replied.

"Relax!" the blue unicorn, Minuette, said, gesturing around with that one word. She grabbed her friend across the table and held her shoulders. "They're far away from Canterlot. We have plenty of time to prepare our things if they're advancing, and that's if they're advancing. Don't you trust the royal guards?"

"Our incompetent royal guards?" Lemon Hearts asked back. Returning to stuffing her paper bag with donuts, she went on: "I don't know what's worse—falling into enemy hooves or being escorted by our royal 'guards.'" She rolled her eyes at that.

Twinkleshine leaned on the table. Spreading her forehooves out to her two friends, she said, "Girls, let's stop this fighting, OK? We have bigger problems than nit-picking each other's words!"

Lemon Hearts groaned as she stuffed a donut into her mouth.

Minuette stayed silent as she also grabbed a donut and ate one.

Twinkleshine eyed the both of them before resting on her stool, choosing not to eat.

At a street, there was a residential area—not as sensational as the others with their gaudy splendor, but they still spoke of wealth. Houses of two to three stories lined the road, adorned with greenery such as bushes and flowers and the occasional tree; most of the houses had wide stairs leading up to a custom door, each different from the ones beside it. The same black streetlights dotted the sidewalk, similar-looking ponies walked up and down in their similar-looking fashion and there were the same carriages going about at an astonishing speed.

The three unicorns carrying saddle bags walked up to one of those houses.

This violet brick home had its windows shaped like hourglasses. The entrance, too, was shaped like an hourglass but only more formal—the wooden blue door was framed in yellow to look like an hourglass and its window was shaped like an hourglass, too. Big white stairs led up to that door.

Minuette opened the door first but let her friends come inside before her.

The living room was a cozy, if not cramped, room. Faded paint was evident on the walls, the shelves and the cabinets were of dull colors, and the plants in their places spruced up the place by only a little, being a vibrant green in a sea of messiness—dust and dirt were here and there on the floor, on the rug. Pictures and images hung on the wall, depicting the happy times these three unicorns had together with a few more friends—here, they were hanging out at a birthday party in a lush, well-trimmed garden; over there, they were hanging out at a cottage in the middle of the night, facing the camera with wide smiles. A yellow desk was at the wall, holding a stack of books, and another white unicorn was sitting there, wearing glasses and with a tied up mane of three colors; she was reading a book.

"Moon Dancer?" Twinkleshine asked as she sat on a brand new couch. "You're still there?"

Moon Dancer turned around to face them and smiled back.

Minuette closed the door.

"It's not much," she said. "But, I'm doing the best I can."

"The best you can at...what?" Minuette asked, walking on her unclean floor.

"Searching for the most ideal and the most practical course of action to take," she said, closing her eyes as she spoke thus. She fixed her eyeglasses with a hoof. "Anyway, you brought some donuts for me?

Minuette's horn glowed yellow and out of her saddle bag levitated a paper bag glowing yellow, too.

The glow changed to pink as Moon Dancer's horn glowed that color; the paper bag then floated to her and landed on the desk.

Lemon Hearts and Twinkleshine threw their bags on to a small table, Lemon Hearts going to the same couch and sitting there.

Minuette walked up to Moon Dancer, passing by a tiny collection of plants sitting on a pedestal. Taking on a severe face, she said, "Have you found anything, yet?"

"I perused all relevant archives here in Canterlot," she said. "I even ordered a few books from the Manehattan Specialty Library, the Golden Oak Library, the Official Vanhoover Historical Book Collection—but, they're going to come in a few days."

"And, 'We don't have a few days to wait,' eh?"

Moon Dancer nodded, frowning.

"So, we literally have no information about the other side?" Twinkleshine asked, sounding disheartened.

"Just the basics," Moon Dancer replied. "It's an ancient empire, with some saying it predates Equestria as we know it. A special kind of pony known as the Crystal ponies live in—"

"We know that already," Twinkleshine complained.

Lemon Hearts got up and walked out of view into another room. "If you need me, I'll be at the kitchen experimenting with storage life."

The remaining unicorns looked at where she had gone.

Moon Dancer fixed her glasses again. "As I was saying, the Crystal Empire is old. Princess Celestia, with her sister, banished the evil King Sombra. But, when they did that, the Crystal Empire disappeared with him. Now, for some reason, it's back."

"We know that, too."

"Will you listen?" Minuette said in a stern manner. "We have everything on the line here!"

Twinkleshine then stood up out of the couch. "Fine."

Moon Dancer went up from her chair.

"And then...?"

Moon Dancer eyed Minuette. "And then what?"

"And then...what do you think?"

Moon Dancer sighed. She paced the floor. "We don't even have the minimum amount of information about the Empire. All we know for now is that its leader is bad. We don't know what Crystal ponies are capable of doing other than being reflective like actual crystals."

"They might use light against us, then," Minuette surmised.

"Light-based weaponry?" she asked. "Now, that's a kind of magic we need to counter."

"Using mirrors to blind our 'guards' isn't that bad when you think about it," Twinkleshine said, twirling a hoof about as she said so.

"But, that's all speculation, right?" Minuette asked, raising her voice a little in hope.

Moon Dancer sighed. "Just speculation. And, that's the bad part."

"So, what's the 'best course of action' right now, Moon Dancer?"

She was silent for a while. Then: "Wait. Wait for Princess Celestia to speak later this sundown."

Minuette let out a sigh as well. "Well, in the meantime, let's not do anything silly in my house, OK?"

A crash came from the kitchen. A few fallen pots and bowls tumbled into view.

"Sorry!" Lemon Hearts cried out.

Several hours passed by and, now, the sky was a sharp orange, the sun penetrating the horizon with its rays. It was a cloudless hour—no clouds obstructed the gorgeous view and the ponies that were standing on high-up balconies and on ornately-designed roofs looked on at the sky with open mouths. Even some "Ooh's!" and "Aah's!" could be heard.

Down there, on the streets, bustling crowds of ponies—whether they be fancy Canterlot ponies with their stuffy clothes and good-smelling scents, or tourists with thin shirts and hats and cameras, or reporters with more serious hats and more serious cameras and more serious faces, or just the ponies who lived there without a care about how to look splendid—these crowds stormed their way through, moving sluggishly but still surely toward a wide open space, a Canterlot square.

On the square itself were battalions of royal guards all in their different-colored armors. Brandishing spears, bows and arrows, crossbows, cannons—these guards stood tall, stood proud, and stood with stoic faces showing no emotion.

A faint cheer rose from the crowd though it was quickly silenced by boorish screams and shouts.

At the far end of the square was Princess Celestia herself—that magnificent pony taller than the rest of her subjects, a white alicorn with an ethereal mane and ethereal tail that flowed with the colors of a morning sky, decked with golden regalia of crown and bracelet and horseshoes, her cutie mark being the sun. Imposing, she stood still and had on her face a stiff mouth and narrowed eyes.

Then, she stepped forward.

All the crowd's noise disappeared.

Now, the crowd surrounded the square and even occupied a part of the square. Guards stood at certain positions, blocking the crowd from overflowing to this or that street. Some even aimed their spears at offending citizens but were hastily stopped by their commanding officer or some other of a high rank.

All were silent as Princess Celestia took yet another step forward.

Eyes were on her; her eyes sweeped the visage.

All those ponies were looking at her—no smiles, no frowns, only faces that expected, faces that yearned for a word from her. On the streets, on the sidewalks, on the square, behind the windows, in the air, on the roofs, on the balconies—here they were.

Waiting. Present.

The Princess took in a deep breath.

Some of the ponies there took deep breaths, too.

"Citizens of Equestria," she began in her soothing yet sober voice.

All were still silent, all—except the guards—looking at her.

"It is with great regret that Equestria is at war with a kingdom that has had its own history—a unique one. I will not hide from you that we used to be in good terms with the Crystal Empire; there was, indeed, a time when our ponies mingled with theirs, when their wares traveled with ours, when friendships between an Equestrian pony and a Crystal pony were brought forth and made precious moments, precious years to never forget between one another. Even now, I believe that this is the will of the Crystal ponies: that they want no conflict, but only a friendship that would bind us even closer.

"However, whatever the will of these ponies may be, it is not they who clamored for this war. An evil pony—King Sombra—has come back from his banishment and wishes to invade Equestria. I have tried to reason with him ever since he returned less than a week ago—I have had meetings with him, then visited his fair city, then even had personal conversations with him—but, to no avail. Those days went by with Sombra having a stronger and stronger resolve each time, refusing to listen to the fact that we don't want to bring him or his subjects harm but that we want to help them grow.

"But, as you know, the fateful day of war has arrived."

Gasps and murmurs spread across the crowd. Sobbings could be heard and a few yells, too.

"I scouted the Empire without being seen. Though I could not see much, for there was a mist going by throughout, I saw what Sombra did to train his soldiers.

"The ponies themselves did not want to fight. Yet, they were slaves to him, dragged in chains. I saw Sombra force helmets into these poor, innocent ponies. Then, they glowed green, telling me that they were brainwashed, their minds only focused on serving Sombra's motives and nothing more. And, if fulfilling those motives means taking down all that we stand for—not just peace but friendship and harmony, too—then they would do just that."

Gasps, screams, and cries.

"Although there has been no battle yet, I can already see that this war is not like any other we've seen before. At least in the past, the wars that have been fought always had another war before to justify itself. But, now, Equestria has been at peace for over a thousand years." A pause. "This war threatens to upend all of this peace, to plunge Equestria into a descent from which it could never recover, to plunge the world into a never-ending darkness of chaos and strife, where no one would truly be free.

"I certainly do not want to see friendship and harmony torn away from Equestria, from this world. As you have not only seen but have also experienced for yourselves, friendship is more than just getting along with your fellow creatures. It is what builds us up, what improves us, what makes up a brighter life.

"It is sorrowful for me to resort to weapons to uphold friendship once again. But, there is no other way. If we fail here, then not only will Equestria disappear but its ideals of friendship and harmony will disappear, also.

"But, we do not seek to fail our friendships, do we?"

And a rising cheer, a rising roar, came from the crowd.

Celestia hung her head down, eyes at the paved ground.

A blink.

Her mane flowed and so did her tail just as they always did.

She raised up her head.

"I do not have much else to say."

A pause.

All were silent.

"It is with these words that I bring your young stallions to combat. It is with these words that I bring them forward to the frontlines. It is with these words that they will fight for not only peace, not only freedom, but friendship above all.

"It is with these words that I plead with you to help them in whatever way you can. Go to the factories and produce uniforms for these stallions, go to the workshops and forges and create more weapons which they'll fight with, go to the farms and harvest the food that they'll need to keep up this battle until the end. Even if you choose to do so for only a few hours a day, then that will be of much help in finishing this war before it gets out of hoof—before it takes more lives than it should.

"I hope that you hear my appeal to you, my subjects."

She stepped back and hung her head down, looking then at the guards in front of her.

The battalions now walked up in their neat squares and rectangles, all in their armor and all wearing their weapons. The spears were held high, rising from the mass. They stood in front of the crowd with their stoic faces, only blinking and never moving.

An officer—for he was wearing a cap along with his armor—stood in front of the battalions.

He stomped a hoof.

And they stomped their hooves.

The officer marched in place.

And all the battalions marched in place.

Slowly, the squares and rectangles of guards moved about together, never breaking their shape or formation but stepping together—all stepped on their left and then their right, never missing a beat.

The crowd was silent before this display of power, of military power.

The Princess raised her head—no smile, but only a solemn frown made beautiful by her flowing mane and her flowing tail, reflecting the orange sky and the setting sun.

"Out of the way! Out of the way!" another officer yelled.

A clear path cut through the crowd.

The marching began once again—stomp, stomp, stomp; left, right, left, right. Everyone in the guard marching together, first in place, then moving slowly past the crowd and on that concrete path. Weapons passing by, armor passing by, those soldiers passing by—stoic faces, no emotion on the surface. Then, past the windows, past more ponies. March, march, and march they did until all were gone past a corner.

The Princess looked at the square now, populated by only the crowd and a few standing guards who were saluting her.

She said nothing.

"Princess Celestia! What do you think about the war effort?"

She was walking on the road. She had a slow gait—which was beneficial for the reporters swarming around her, flashing their cameras and holding out their notepads and quills and ballpens. Farther back, a crowd was following her.

"Princess! Any estimate on when it will end?"

"Princess Celestia, how many guards will you be sending to the front?"

"Princess Celestia? Any news about the strength of the enemy forces?"

"Princess, what will we do with the Crystal Empire when we win?"

"Princess, Princess Celestia! Are you talking about voluntary soldiers or drafting already?"

"Princess Celestia, are you going to introduce food rations right now?"

"Prinecss Celestia? Where's Princess Luna?"

Celestia's eyes perked. Her ears raised. She looked at the pony who had asked the last question.

"What did you say?" she asked, never slackening her walk.

"Princess, where's your sister?"

A wistful eye. A small smile. "She's at the castle. She will lower the moon shortly."

Eff Stop nodded, blurting out "Thank you, Princess Celestia."

And the questions kept on coming, bombarding her. The flashes, too, fell down on her.

Eff Stop looked on at the Princess while being jostled and budged about by his fellow and rival reporters around him. Pushed, pulled, and just moved about—yet, keeping his hat steady, his camera safe, and his notepad and quill close to his wing.

Never really looked at them. Only a glance—perhaps a caring glance.

No more words came out of her mouth even as the reporters became bold and kept the pace of questions up.

It was a slow walk, a slow journey, but the Princess finally reached the steps of the castle.

It was a humongous castle, of intricate architecture and of many discrete parts all combined into one cohesive structure. Fitting in with the rest of the Canterlot buildings, the castle was purple, white, and gold. Spires and other towers rose to the sky, roofs of various kinds topped the castle all over, and everything had that elegant feel—for example, stars were painted on the several walls and roofs, windows were of no simple frame but had complciated layouts.

At the end of the upward stairs was a large double door with stylized symbols of the sun and of the moon right through the middle of the door.

Guards stood at each side of that door.

The questions came forth, and so did the camera flashes.

With a yellow glow of her horn, she opened the door magically, revealing the tremendous hallways of far-out roofs, stained glass windows, polished floors, soaring columns, colorful banners, red carpets, refined doors, and more guards.

She stepped inside.

"That's not good," Press Release said as she and Eff Stop walked on the sidewalk.

The sky was darker, more orange. Already, the streetlights were on and some of the buildings activated their lights, brightening the road alongside the sun.

Eff Stop sighed. "I wish I could say it's a little good. But, you heard the Princess yourself."

She looked down. "What are we gonna do next?"

"Nothing too out-of-the-ordinary," he answered, retaining that seriousness in his voice. "Unless you want to volunteer, we'll just have to go around Equestria and tell the news—be at the scene when it happens."

"But, what happens if we get a warrant or a permit to report news from the fighting?" she asked.

"You mean war correspondence?" he asked. He arched an eyebrow at her. "I thought you're the pony who doesn't want to get involved in physically dangerous situations."

"We're under a publisher, remember?" she said back as if retaliating. "If Print Run orders us to get out there to increase ponies' morale, we have no choice."

"You're awfully right. I haven't considered that before."

"You better start considering it now—I did, and I don't want to get in the line of fire."

They were approaching an intersection. Over there, on the street perpendicular to them, were two rows of restaurants all emitting culinary smells. A peek into the windows of one across the street showed a hearty glasses-wearing stallion—apron and stubble—serving up smoked oats and other grilled grains and vegetables.

Eff Stop held up a hoof.

Press Release stopped.

"That's new," he said. "Haven't seen that place before."

"Let me guess." She pointed at the place. "Dinner?"

"Dinner."

And the two proceeded to the end of the sidewalk.

"Oof!"

And the two stumbled to the ground.

As they stood up, they noticed the other ponies they bumped into.

"I'm very sorry for that, mister and miss!" Moon Dancer said.

Her other three friends were standing up as well, recovering.

"No, I should be the one who's sorry," Eff Stop said, pointing to himself and making an apologizing smile. "We were just on our way to...that restaurant over there." And he pointed at it.

"You mean The Smoked Oat?" Minuette asked. "You must be new here—you should definitely try it!"

Twinkleshine nodded in agreement.

Lemon Hearts moaned, levitating a jar of donuts and ice cubes.

Press Release eyed the jar. "Uh, what are you doing?"

"Danger-proofing," she said.

"So, what would be your names?" Moon Dancer then asked the two, looking at the reporters.

"I'm Eff Stop," he said.

"And, I'm Press Release," she said.

"Ah, working for the press, I see," Moon Dancer observed. "Well, you must be hungry from a busy day, so unless you want to—"

"It's fine," Eff Stop said, raising a hoof.

"If you want to come with us, that would be great," Press Release said.

He glanced at her. "Huh?" he whispered.

"I don't think we can," Moon Dancer said.

"We're in the middle of prepping up for...you know." Minuette made a big smile.

Twinkleshine poked her blue friend. "Just say it."

"You don't have to hide it," Press Release said. "We know what you mean."

And the four mares had solemn looks on their faces for a second.

"I hope we're not delaying you," Eff Stop said, taking a step forward.

"You're not," Minuette said, walking in front of Moon Dancer and making a huge smile.

"You are, Minuette," Lemon Hearts whined, still levitating the jar.

"Well, the pleasantries have been nice but I think we must be off," Eff Stop said as he hurried on to the street. "Sorry, bye!"

And Press Release waved at the mares who waved back at her and her friend.

The two reporters then entered The Smoked Oat.

A Grand Flight

The sunset soon turned to night and Canterlot—and all of Equestria—began its uneasy slumber, the first night of war. The sky shifted from its hopeful orange and yellow to a calming dark blue; stars twinkled into light, some bigger than others; and, of course, the moon was full in all of its brightness, its soft shine. As time went on, the moon drifted through its course—from early night, through midnight, to the extremely early hours of the next day's morning.

Past the spires, towers, and roofs that gleamed with that faint light—the grass shone, too. Outside the walls of Canterlot was the grass, the vast fields of grass laid before the city.

Over there was the railroad.

Manehattan was a long way from Canterlot, the railroad traversing through plains, forests, hills, and mountains before reaching the metropolis of Equestria.

The train crossed a bridge composed of suspensions held together by horseshoe-shaped structures.

And thus, one would enter, albeit with less time to adore the sights since taking a ferry would give the average pony more time to look around and behold Manehattan in its urban splendor.

The city itself was on an island. A network of roads and streets both narrow and wide zig-zagged around the buildings, making mostly uniform blocks along the way.

The high-rise skyscrapers were even taller than the castle back in Canterlot. They overshadowed anypony that would fall under these massive edifices of state-of-the-art pony construction and engineering thought. Though not all that was in Manehattan was as tall as them, they were what made Manehattan symbolic and distinguishable from the rest of the cities (in the minds of a tourist).

And, since it was nighttime, they were made even more astounding by the array of lights they brought upon the streets down below.

Before the island itself, there was the large Mare Statue—that statue of a mare in one robe, holding up a book and a torch and wearing a crown. She was smiling.

Now, going to the island, one would recognize such landmarks as the Crystaller Building, an immense corporate work of art made of glass, metal, and wood, all topped by a stylized horse's head; the Bridleway Theater District, where a collection of surpassing structures overlooked a huge intersection where carriages were running to and fro and where the famous Bridleway Theater was sitting beside; and, Manehattan Park, the biggest park in the entire city, where an acre or two of green stood in the midst of the metropolis—trees, grass, benches, dirt paths, rivers, lakes.

Beyond the great landmarks, the streets of Manehattan were filled with not only carriages going about (the yellow taxi being one of the most common) but were also bustling with ponies on the sidewalks even at this early hour. Ponies wearing business clothes and bringing suitcases and bags, ponies with casual clothes and travelling to whatever diner or restaurant was available, ponies standing behind booths and stands with tired eyes as they waited for the day to rise so that there will be that influx of customers.

A griffon flew past all of them at great speed.

Over the carriages, past the buildings, over heads, ignoring protests from the flightless ponies that shook their hooves at him for disturbing the night.

The griffon landed in front of the train station—the Maneway Station, in fact. It was not as tall as the skyscrapers that were not so far away from it. But, it still stood out—while what was beside it were of dim colors, the station was a white green and had green-tinted windows. A clock was over the staired entrance—the entrance having multiple glass doors.

The griffon blasted his way through the doors, past the main area, up the escalators, past the ticket-checking station—where he dropped his ticket and the pony there grabbed it before it flew away—and zipped into the train a second before the doors closed.

Then, the train moved.

"Ugh! Zis train again?" Gustave le Grand complained in that fancy accent of his. He stroked his mustache with his claw as he flapped his wide wings toward an empty seat; he was wearing a red scarf tied to look like a bowtie and a small toque blanche on his head.

The pony beside him, a violet pegasus stallion, widened his eyes at the sight of him. "Hey! Aren't you the guy who made those bread...thingies?"

The griffon groaned. "What bread thingies?"

"You know, sir—those long bread stick things. With the sweet dressing on top—"

"Zat is an éclair, and what you speak of as a 'sweet dressing' is not so! Zat is icing!"

"Oh."

The two remained silent as the landscape of Manehattan faded away.

Murmurs arose from the seats—passengers exchanging rumors, thoughts, opinions, all with a smattering of the word "war" every so often.

The griffon, unfazed by it all, tapped his paw.

"So, uh, where are you going?" the pegasus asked. "My name's Silver Script, by the way. I, uh, write things on the newspaper. I'm from Ponyville."

Gustave sighed. "I am headed back to Griffonstone. Recent events have pushed me to it."

"You mean the war—"

"Precisely!" he said, raising a claw to the air as if to emphasize that one and only word.

"That's...good."

"Hmph! I need all my concentration! I do not want to be unprepared the moment all the griffons must say 'Aux armes!'"

"Uh, do griffons really speak like that?" Silver Script said, turning his head a bit.

Gustave sighed again. "I was born with zis accent unlike most other griffons, and I shall be proud of it!"

Silver Script turned his back on him and looked out the window.

Out there was the wide open sea past dozens of meters of land and a cliff. It was a calm sea—there were no visible waves going about.

Silver Script stepped on to the platform and saw the train quicken its way back to full force, pushing its way through to the horizon before it disappeared.

While the other ponies who had gotten off went down the platform straight away, Silver Script stood still as he looked at the great wonder before him.

Behind him: the great sea, the ocean.

Before him: Horse Falls.

Here was Horse Falls. The narrow stream of water was plunging its way down to the bottom, creating a spectacular formation that changed constantly. The morning sun made it even more spectacular—little rainbows appeared throughout the falls, attracting the cameras of a few tourists who stood at the fence that separated them from the lake (and prevented them from falling there).

Beside the lake was a small waterfall town. A few paved streets and several houses and stores and that was all. The cliffs around the town gave it an isolated feel, though the train station was there to dispel any actual isolation to be seen. Over there, right outside a house, a white pegasus in his yellow armor had tears rolling down his cheeks as he hugged his family—his father, his mother, his sister. He wasn't holding his spear—it was laying flat on the ground beside him.

Silver Script entered the town, passing by a sign that proclaimed: "Leftlead! The town beside Horse Falls! Enjoy our kindness!"

The roads were damp—he could feel it with his hooves. Yet, he did not complain; rather, he said nothing.

He entered a diner framed in wood and having many glass windows.

As he entered, he could smell the delectable smell of roasted carrots and cabbage—all enhanced by the grilling garlic sizzling behind the counter as smoke rose from there.

The cashiers were also the cooks—the grillers, so to speak. A pony on a swivel chair in front said, "Two carrots," and a cashier took the bits, grabbed the carrots, grilled them, and placed them on a white platter, then hoofing it to the customer who had to move nowhere at all.

The restaurant—or, more appropriately, the grill café—was of an alluring, wooden style: the tables and chairs and floor and walls and ceiling were made of wood both out and inside. Rugs were strewn across in a disorderly fashion, making the room even more cozy and comfortable.

However, it had only a hoofful of customers, and they were not talking that much, if at all.

It was quiet—no music coming from a speaker, no songs being played by a band on stage. Only the rush and the splash of the water from outside.

"Oh! I didn't expect to see you here—of all the ponies I could ever come across."

He walked up to a mustached pony—his mustache being very rough and unkempt. The pony had a shirt with lots of leaves displayed on it. Wearing a visor, he also sported a camera around his neck.

Silver Script sat down in front of Globe Trotter whose table was filled with empty plates and a crumpled yet open newspaper.

Globe Trotter made a slight smile. "A familiar face, Silver Script. How's your...uh, science fiction piece going?"

Silence as Silver Script looked about here and there—eyed the plates with crumbs and tiny morsels, eyed the dirty utensils.

"Uh, aren't you gonna order something, sir?" one of the cashiers asked from afar.

Silver Script gulped.

"I'll pay for it!" Globe Trotter spoke, raising a hoof to catch her attention,

The cashier smiled back and she went back to serving the customer in front of her.

"Sorry for that," he said to the pegasus, hoof-brushing something imaginary off the table. "But, I'm sure I'm not the only pony in the world that's being bothered by what just happened."

Silver Script sighed. "Not this again. You mean the war?"

"Not just that," he said. "Haven't you read the news about what happened last night?"

"Last night?" he repeated. Then, a gasp. "Are you saying that—"

"First battle of the Crystal War—that's what the Ponyville Express is calling it."

Then, he pushed the newspaper to him.

There was the fancy yet bold font of the Ponyville Express—their title, their name. Right under that was the headline in even bolder (and less fancier) words: "Crystal Mountain Battle Ends in Equestrian Loss! Tens of Thousands Sent to Military Hospitals!"

"Already?!" SIlver Script exclaimed, holding it closer to his eyes. "How?!"

"Read it for yourself, kid."

And his eyes went over more of the article:
The very first battle of the Crystal War against King Sombra is also the first battle to favor the Crystal Empire in a decisive victory against the E.U.P. Guard and other Equestrian military forces.

From reports of war correspondents, the battle began with an unannounced ambush from the Equestrian side only two kilometers from the Empire's borders. A few minutes later, Crystal Empire soldiers—described as wearing faceless masks—attacked from almost all sides. King Sombra arrived a few more minutes later, magically building black crystal walls as weapons against the Equestrian military.

It was half an hour after the battle's commencement when all Equestrian forces were ordered to build trenches to defend themselves—the first time in Equestrian history where trenches were used in actual combat. Despite the novelty, Sombra's soldiers invaded and refilled the trenches with ground.

Not more than an hour later, the E.U.P. Guard holding the Central Crystal Mountains were ordered to trench a few kilometers back.

Subsequent ambushes and rush attacks from the Crystal Empire were repulsed sufficiently after that.
"And, just like that," Globe Trotter said, gesturing about. "It begins with us losing."

Silver Script sighed again as he read the rest of the article.

Globe Trotter picked the remains of his food on the plate with a fork, watching the pony across read and read.

Then, the pegasus put down the newspaper.

"That's...brave of the Princess to let all of us know about this."

"Secrets are no good thing these days," he said. "Any secret she may be holding is as dangerous as a secret would ever get in its entire lifetime. Good thing that she is as clear as a mirror if this newspaper doesn't speak for itself." He grabbed the newspaper, yanking it away from Silver Script, and held it up.

The pegasus scrunched up his face. "So...what's next?"

"Keep it up," Globe Trotter said. "The Crystal Empire is small—like, what, a city wide? Maybe as wide as three cities, but nothing more. There may be many Crystal ponies but not even a tenth of what we got."

"You're saying it's all a matter of time, then?" Silver Script asked. "Just...waiting for the other side to get tired?" He sweeped a hoof across and toward the window as he said that.

"Any prediction on when it's gonna end, Globe Trotter?"

A hopeful smile on his face, his mustache letting it flourish. "Give it a few months. It'll be over before you know it. If the Princess and everypony else know what exactly to do with those new-fangled trenches, then we're gonna be fine."

Silence.

"Uh, you came here for food, didn't you?"

Globe Trotter stood at the edge of the rocks.

A hoofstep away was the lake.

Calm, soothing, peaceful. The roaring waterfall only a stone's throw away (an Earth pony's stone throw away, that is).

The waterfall itself was sided by more rocks—craggy rocks—and moss and other green plants that managed to survive and thrive way up there without any visible soil. Even a tree was growing right beside the waterfall, giving the waterform a noticeable green distraction.

He took up his camera and snapped a few pictures of the lake—angled here, now angled there, just the waterfall, now with the lake as well, and then a full shot that brought the sky over, too.

Globe Trotter placed the pictures in his mouth, put them into his shirt pocket, and wiped his mouth.

He looked on at the lake.

Then, he turned away.

Several of Leftlead's inhabitants were ambling about outside. A few were talking on a balcony, sitting on metal chairs as they discussed intensely over a game of cards. Three pegasi fixing a broken roof whacked with their hammers and their nails, drowning out whatever comprehensible ideas those card-playing ponies were sharing. An Earth pony pulled a cart selling apples; his country accent might have given his heritage away. And, a unicorn was, with his magic, putting up posters on the walls of public buildings.

Globe Trotter furrowed his brows at that one.

He walked up to the unicorn who was carrying bundles of tape alongside his cart of folded posters. His cutie mark was a bucket of blue paint.

"Ah! And, what are you doing that for?" he asked, taking on a brighter tone.

"Government work," he uttered in a monotone voice. "It's a side job."

Globe Trotter watched as a poster was floated to the wall, being taped before it stopped glowing.

The unicorn took a step back, admiring it.

The poster showed a silhouette of a typical guard pony—white pegasus in yellow armor—raising his spear high. The words "Keep Equestria Safe! Keep Friendship Intact!" were exhibited in simple, uncompromising letters.

"Propaganda?" Globe Trotter asked.

"I wouldn't say that," he said. "'Encouragement' is the correct word. That's what I've been told."

Globe Trotter then walked away, leaving the unicorn to his devices and to setting up more of the posters in Leftlead.

Head in the Clouds

Like many other towns, Leftlead had a mailbox. This one was situated right at the train station.

Globe Trotter brought out a letter from his pocket and placed it inside.

Then, he stood on the boarding platform, waiting as Horse Falls continued pouring down water in such a splendid and magnificent way under the morning sky.

An off-white pegasus flew, his mane flapping in the speedy wind—the sweat on his face, the clouds nearing.

Higher he flew, his hat and mailpony uniform still there. His saddle bag of mail still around his torso.

Then, several big clouds ahead with rainbow falls cascading down from it.

He slowed his wings down.

As he approached he could see Cloudsdale clearer: the cloudly columns scattered all over the floating city, the enormous coliseums and amphiteaters that could house hundreds if not thousands of ponies, the soft streets where homes and stores made up of clouds (among other building materials) resided, the famed weather factory where new clouds were produced and shown to the world, and several pegasi stood there, watching each unique cloud pass by their eyes. All of this and more were populated by pegasi and pegasi only as they walked and flew around, talking to each other.

The mailpony flew on, entering the residential area.

The houses of Cloudsdale had lots of space for their front yards, back yards, and side yards of cloud lawns. Some houses had neatly-trimmed clouds, others were dirty with unkempt clouds. All of these were fenced off by rainbow fences.

The mailpony paid no attention to any other house but one—the house in front of him.

It was a three- or four-story house; it was hard to tell since the floors themselves were not so even, owing to how the cloud floors were structured at a slant and not necessarily on a flat enough level. The walls were made up of bricks; the windows were irregular in their shape, as if wobbling, and their "plant boxes" held clouds instead; a tiny balcony from the third floor protruded outward from a glass door; the entrance itself was a small door with a stylized cloud on it, sided by two columns arched by a rainbow, and above the "ground" by two steps of stairs.

The pegasus pulled the letter out of his saddle bag and inserted it into the house's purple mailbox.

The door swung open. "Wait!"

The mailpony looked at the sudden newcomer.

"You don't have to do that, Special Delivery," Bow Hothoof, a rainbow-maned stallion with a stubble, said, walking to him. He opened the mailbox and retrieved the letter.

"You know you're not supposed to watch the mailbox," Special Delivery said nonchalantly.

"Oh, don't worry! What happens if you miss our mailbox? I'll be there to tell you."

The mailpony groaned as he wiped the sweat off of his face with a wing. "Whatever you say, mister."

Then, Special Delivery flew away.

Bow Hothoof entered the house with the letter still in his mouth.

The hallway showed several rooms at once to anyone who would come inside. There was the stairway room with a spiralling staircase, a few shelves and cabinets of books and little trinkets, and pictures of Bow Hothoof with his wife and their filly—all of them pegasi. There was the kitchen/dining room where a wooden table with cloud cushioned chairs was just some hoofsteps away from the oven and griller, while the walls had even more shelves, cabinets, and pictures of that family. The living room at the end of the hallway was perhaps the least cluttered of the rooms on the lowest floor, having sofas and cloud cushioned chairs once more around a short yet wide coffee table as a few potted plants added more green to the interior.

"Honey?" Bow Hothoof called out, bringing a hoof up to his mouth. "Honey?"

"I'm over here in the kitchen!" she called back.

Bow Hothoof turned to the left and gasped. "I-Is that...?"

"Yes," Windy Whistles said slowly, nodding her head with her scarlet-orange mane bobbing about. "Her favorite."

On the table was a sizable sandwich of multiple layers. Between all the loaves of bread was cream, potatoes, and pasta all smacked and compressed to fit into a sandwich that was still tall.

"That makes sense," Bow said. "She hasn't been here since last week. Seeing her in person during the training sessions was amazing, but it's understandable why she's putting off visiting here." Then, a smile. "She will have even more awesome stories about herself to tell us!"

Windy nodded—smiling, too, as she sat down on a chair. "I wonder what important thing she has to tell us!"

"Yeah, there's that 'something important' she wrote down on her letter," Bow said. Raising an eyebrow, he asked, "When was she coming here again?"

"About nine."

The two looked at the clock on the wall.

It was only a few minutes until nine in the morning.

A creak.

Their ears perked up.

"Dashie?" Windy uttered, floating.

Bow took a step forward, closer to the hallway.

An open door and a blue hoof.

Down and out of sight.

Hoofsteps, revealing the mare—blue in coat, rainbow in her mane and in her tail, cutie mark a cloud zapping out a red-blue-yellow lightning bolt.

Rainbow Dash, saddle bag slung over and goggles on her vibrant mane.

Silence. A croak from Bow and Windy.

Then, a hug.

"Rainbow Dash!" Bow yelled in the embrace. "I know you didn't want us to attend, but I'm sure that it turned out well; we might've broken your concentration and you only wanted the best out of yourself!"

"You've beaten the rest of your flying buddies out of the water, didn't you, Dash?!" Windy shouted.

Then, they let go—Rainbow Dash having that almost stoic face, only muddled by a hint of worry.

"So," Bow said, "what's that 'important thing' you're gonna tell us? Did you go up the ranks? Did you become the co-captain of the Wonderbolts?"

"Or the captain of the Wonderbolts?"

"Or, maybe it's not Wonderbolts-related!" Bow looked up as he pondered over what that might be. "Perhaps you...uh, had the Wonderbolts visit your home for the first time!"

"Did you teach some of the colts and fillies at flight school?"

Rainbow Dash held up an open wing. "Mom...Dad...."

A tired voice, an airy voice.

The smiles on her parents disappeared, turning into faces of dread. They held on to each other.

"I'll cut the long story short."

She drew up breath with closed eyes.

Then, she exhaled.

"The Wonderbolts have been activated for service. We're going on duty, and that includes me."

Seconds of silence.

Then, the dreadful faces became more than just frowns—gloomy downward lips of desperation, eyes that stirred up tears welling up and about to trickle down. All of this was encapsulated with a gasp.

Windy rested her head on his face, teeth closed and a solitary tear on her cheek.

"You're...g-going there?" Bow asked.

Rainbow nodded. "I got all my stuff inside—" gesturing to her bag. "Don't worry. I'll write to you. As long as you get my letters, I'm coming home."

Windy sobbed.

Bow patted her on the head, still holding back his own tears by wiping them off with his free wing.

Rainbow stood resolute, not shedding a single drop.

Then, she hugged them.

Windy cried, Bow whimpered, Rainbow hugged, keeping her parents together with both wing and hoof.

"I...I know you'll be the most awesome flier out there...Rainbow," Bow managed, beginning to choke. "Actually, I don't just kn-know you'll be that. I know y-you are the most awesome flier." A sniff. "A-And you're going to perform those flying skills not just for show. You'll do it for E-Equestria. Th-That makes the b-both of us proud... even prouder of you."

Windy said no words. Only quiet sobs.

"There, there," Bow said, patting her once again. Then, turning to Rainbow: "Anything else? W-We could treat you out to lunch—i-if there's still time, that is."

Rainbow looked down, pawing the floor. "We'll be heading out at sunset. There'll be a ceremony at Wonderbolt Academy and all. I-I'm sure you'll see me off, right?"

Windy wiped most of the tears, then: "O-Of course, Dashie!"

Then, a return to grief.

Rainbow watched her cry, watched him comfort as he himself was about to cry.

And, another hug.

The three pegasi, that family, together on those long minutes.

Rainbow Dash could hear the gentle close of the door.

She looked back. It certainly was closed.

A sigh escaped her.

Then, she continued her way, floating above the cloud street and away from her house.

A few foals and their parents stood on another house's cloud lawn. Standing behind their rainbow fence, they waved at the passing Wonderbolt before them—the dad was even swinging about the Cloudsdale flag which consisted of two clouds and a circular rainbow behind them all in front of a sky blue background.

She waved back at them with an uneasy smile.

They smiled even wider.

Rainbow then turned to what lay before her.

After a few paces on, she looked back at that cloud lawn.

Those ponies were still there, still waving at her, still smiling at her.

That lone pegasus flew above the clouds. There was not much to see down there—for there were clouds.

The clouds zipped by at a blur as she flew, her mane wavering under the wind's pressure. A look of irritation on her face. Then, she took on her goggles.

She dived down, past the cloud canopy.

Underneath was a grassy plateau, quite extensive; small was the number of trees. There was a flat runway on it where several pegasi were launching from and landing on.

Around the plateau were uniform buildings all covered in clouds—and standing on clouds. Flags of different colors flapped by under the sheer force of the breeze. More pegasi, wearing the same reservist uniform of blue and yellow on the torso and a pair of goggles for each, were milling about on the cloud pathways, talking with each other.

Rainbow landed in front of one such building. This one was bigger than the rest, resembling a stone fortress. Models of gray clouds storming out lightning, arched by a rainbow, was what decorated the two-door entrance to the barracks.

Some of the trainees looked and pointed at her. "Hey, it's her!" one of them blathered.

And a small crowd gathered around her.

Rainbow turned around and smiled at them, wearing a smug face. "Well, well! If it isn't my usual group of admirers!"

One trainee even held up a flag that contained an image of her cutie mark.

Then, the doors opened.

A fully-fledged Wonderbolt in full uniform covering all but her ears, wings, and tail. She wore shades that obscured the color of her eyes. Her fire-colored mane looked swept.

She took off her glasses, revealing her brown irises.

"Rainbow Dash!" Spitfire yelled. "You're early for the training session!"

"As always, ma'am!" Rainbow replied, saluting her.

Spitfire nodded then flew down the flight of stairs on to the path.

The group of admirers stepped back, giving the two of them space.

"You're too early this time!" Spitfire said. "The final one won't begin for another five hours!"

"More time to train solo, then," Rainbow answered, smiling smugly.

Spitfire smiled. "Your attitude still amazes me, Rainbow Dash." Then, turning to the reservists about them, she declared, "And, you should be just like her! Every single one of you ponies!" She pointed a hoof, sweeping the entire throng of them with an energetic stroke. "Every second spent idling about and just chatting with one another is a second wasted for the defense of Equestria! You could've gotten better at dodging arrows or striking down enemies from the sky! Got it?!"

They all shuddered, saluted her, and yelled, "Yes, ma'am!"

Spitfire snorted and lowered her head.

A few flew away in fear.

The rest scattered.

She smiled. "I love my job."

Then, a tap on her shoulder.

She turned to see Rainbow Dash.

"May I let my parents see me off during the ceremony later?"

Spitfire narrowed her eyes. Then, nodded. "Of course. Your request is an understandable one and I respect it."

"Thank you, Spitfire," Rainbow said before taking off to the runway on the plateau.

Spitfire looked on at her.

Then, she walked.

Hours to Go

Spitfire noticed something.

Two pegasi flying in the air, pulling a boxed carriage. Then, two more pegasi with their own boxed carriage. Then, yet another one with yet another boxed carriage—all of them having wheels.

"Those must be the fighting uniforms I sent to the washer!" a male voice cried out.

Spitfire looked behind her.

"What?" Soarin asked, his uniform concealing much of his white blue coat.

A breeze went by, sweeping Spitfire's and Soarin's manes.

Then, it stopped.

Soarin sighed, observing the carriages. "Wanna call them out again? Bring them inside to take a look and learn already?"

Spitfire looked at a clock standing beside a cloud path. It was five minutes past ten. "We have to. There's not much time."

"I'll guide the movers," Soarin said as he spread his wings and went out in an instant.

Spitfire smiled as she cleared her throat, covering her mouth with a wing.

The barracks was a one-room building. However, that one room consisted of so many furnishings all at once: a black and blue carpet from the entrance all the way to the end, culminating in a golden statue of some old-time Wonderbolt in flight and wearing goggles; a trophy case where a variety of trophies—all gold or silver, never a bronze—were all encased behind glass, to look on but to not touch; two rows of beds, one on each side of the carpet, of the same specifications (blue mattress and blanket, yellow frame, a cloud pillow, a night light, and a miniscule Wonderbolt shield) and with the same locked wooden case at the foot of each; portraits of various important figures of Wonderbolt history, whether painted or photographed, all on the stone walls between the tall windows that let in so much sunlight; banners sporting Wonderbolt colors and symbols hanging from the roof, and there were lots of them.

However, most of the Wonderbolts there, fully-fledged or reservist, were not admiring any one of those beautiful features of the barracks. Instead, they were standing or flying around a big table with lots of boxes and parcels all tied up in string ribbons.

Crafty Crate, the only non-Wonderbolt present—for he was not wearing anything that had the colors blue or yellow but
only a black cap—took a receipt and hoofed it to Soarin who was right beside him. Then, he grabbed a ballpen from his ear and hoofed that to him as well.

All eyes were on the two.

"I don't think I should be doing this," Crafty Crate said in his gruff voice, "but I still have to make sure the purchase happened."

"You're the one who owns the business, right?" Soarin said before signing the receipt with the ballpen by holding it with his mouth.

"I have to keep a good record of things."

Then, Crafty Crate grabbed both the receipt and the ballpen, and flew out of the barracks.

A lone Wonderbolt reservist flew to close the door. Then, he went back to the table.

Spitfire groaned, her face showing impatience. "Let's make this short."

She grabbed a box and ripped it open with her hooves.

Then, all, except for Spitfire and Soarin, voiced their awe as they beheld what Spitfire held.

"OK, if you want to take a better look—"

She took to the air and held the uniform there, for all to see.

It was bulkier, heavier even. Metal plates of armor were on the torso and on the legs. Artificial plastic joints connected each separate part of the suit together, what with all the armor weighing down on it. Then, beside the suit was the helmet—hard, solid, and dense. Even with the visor up, one would only see a pony's eyes and what surrounded them—nothing more of their face.

They were all blue but not as blue as the uniforms the Wonderbolts were all now wearing.

"It's a definite upgrade from the previous fighting suits," Spitfire said as she floated down to the floor, all still looking at her with bated breath. "We've been sending out some representatives to various institutes around Equestria to build this specifically for us. The problem was, of course, nopony thought that there would be a serious conflict that would require us anyway; so, it took some time. Good thing that we were able to get this one out at the last minute."

A reservist raised a hoof; he had hair that looked like fluffy clouds. "But, how are we going to wear that?!"

"You're going to wear it just like your usual," Spitfire said. "The armor was made to be lightweight yet durable."

"So, I'm not going to get hurt?"

"You're gonna get hurt!" Spitfire snapped. Then, calming down: "Not that much, though."

The reservist let out a sigh. "Wow! I...I thought I was going to be slow on my way to...uh, what are we supposed to do with these again?"

"Have you been listening, Fluffy Clouds?"

"I've been listening!" though he took a step back, stepping away from the rest of his Wonderbolt friends and fellow trainees.

Spitfire shook her head. Looking at the rest of the audience, she said, "Anything else you would want to say? Questions? Some pointing out? Anything?"

Another hoof was raised. "Do we have enough of those to go around?"

"We have enough and back-ups, Pizelle," Spitfire said.

She slammed a hoof on the table.

Everyone was looking at her with awake faces.

"Anything else?" Spitfire said.

One more hoof went to the air.

"Yes?"

"How long will we be out?" the mare asked.

Spitfire took a deep breath. "Sunshower, nopony really knows how long we'll be out. If you were in the guard, you might face rotations and some well-deserved time-off. But, you are training to be part of an elite aerial squad; we don't have that many ponies although we're all talented in what we do."

"Any...estimate? Like, when we'll be relieved or something like that?"

Spitfire raised an eyebrow.

All eyes were on her once again.

"Don't ask me," Spitfire replied.

Sunshower's face dampened at that, any semblance of a smile disappearing.

The rest followed suit, the full-on members more so than the trainees.

Spitfire went silent, too.

Some seconds passed by.

Then, she spoke: "We're moving the training to now."

And everyone else headed out the door.

Spitfire and Soarin stood on the grass plateau.

Pegasi in their new armored suits were flying about on a certain path through the clouds. More pegasi were dashing from one cloud to the next, making sure that they turned just right to get to the next cloud in time. Still more pegasi were in line for a strange training contraption: a wooden circle with a green and purple swirl and two gears, the bigger one having a metal handlebar.

Spitfire and Soarin walked over to the Dizzitron—that contraption.

The pegasus in front went over to the handlebar, held on to it, and wore her goggles.

The mustached officer pulled a lever connected by wire to the Dizzitron.

It spun.

Faster and faster it spun.

Then, the pegasus became a blur—a mist in their eyes.

"Release!" Spitfire shouted.

Then, the pegasus was off, hurtling and spinning in the air.

Everyone there looked at her.

Spinning and spinning she went. Then, shaking her head.

Stabilizing.

On her way to the runway—though still disoriented, still tilting or leaning to one side.

Then, landing—a rough landing, though, but she hopped to a halt and smiled.

Soarin held a watch in his hooves. "Ten seconds," he muttered.

Spitfire kept a stern, unfeeling face. "Above average?" She faced the happy pegasus on the pavement. "Don't count on it, kid. That might just be beginner's luck."

The pegasus's smile was wiped away at that as she flew back to the line in a dejected manner.

"Next!" Spitfire yelled.

And another pegasus went to the Dizzitron and strapped himself up.

It was sunset. The sun was now far away, over there in the horizon. The sky was an orange pink.

On the bleachers was a mass of pegasi—none of them Wonderbolts. They were diverse: aside from the variety of colors of coat and hair they had, there was a few pegasi wearing formal suits and a few with unkempt facial hair; there were some who had showy hair all wrapped up in all kinds of decorations, there were those who kept it at a strict level and nothing more, nothing less; there were those who brought tons of food to the event and there were those who did not bring any yet kept gobbling up some of the food; there were those who looked bored—one was even constantly checking his watch—and there were those who had excited smiles.

Those like Bow Hothoof and Windy Whistles.

They wore blue and yellow shirts. They wore fake manes that resembled Rainbow Dash's colors. They wore rainbow-colored scarves. They wore Rainbow Dash hats—all in her colors, of course. On the small empty space beside Bow Hothoof was a bunch of flags all having Rainbow Dash's cutie mark. And, they were shouting "Rainbow Dash! Rainbow Dash!"

This irked some of the ponies there, so they inched away from them.

The two parents were shouting at Rainbow Dash—who was far away, almost at the other end of the plateau along with the rest of her squad buddies. In front of them were the recruits—a larger group. All of them were wearing the new armored suits.

Spitfire then flew out of the squad and to the podium placed right across the runway's width.

The only thing that separated Spitfire and her audience was that piece of pavement.

"I do not want to waste much of your time," Spitfire began. "I know that most of you are working hard to keep Equestria safe in your own ways. But, I would like to tell you something.

"This is the first time that the Wonderbolts have gone to war in generations. Centuries. Some of you think that we're incapable to fight anymore because of that—that we've grown soft.

"No, we haven't.

"In fact, we have bolstered ourselves with better techniques and tactics, with better equipment and materials through the years. Rest assured that these pegasi—your sons and daughters, your brothers and sisters, your fathers and mothers, your friends—they will not be doing something insignificant. If they will come home, they will come home as veterans. If they don't..."

Silence. She glanced down.

"...it won't be in vain."

Spitfire flew away to her place in the squad over there.

The parade started.

First were the reservists in their few files. The ones in front spread their wings, then the ones behind them, then the ones after them. Slow at the beginning—picking up the pace next. Twirls, twists, loop-de-loops—speed as fast as lightning—here one moment, there the next. All moved in such a coordinated way, the reservists flying about as if in a rapid dance of flight tricks, knowing when one would do this and when one would do that, when one would rise up in the air, to reply with a nosedive down to the ground. Then, it all ended with them flying through a rainbow fall. They soaked themselves wet with liquid color—not paint, pure liquid color. Their suits were now coated in vibrant hues, astounding the audience even further as they opened their mouths, apprehended by what was being done before them.

Not a shriek, not yet.

They all landed on the runway and shook themselves off of their rainbow.

The audience was stomping their hooves in joy.

But, it was not over.

The Wonderbolt squad itself came flying by, spreading their wings first and then engaging in stunts and maneuvers that were more creative and more dangerous than their trainees': close fly-by's with each other that it looked like they were about to crash, speeding so close to the audience while creating a wind worthy of a tornado or a hurricane (and a few hats went flying off), and creating lightning storms with minimal cloud usage—to name a few.

All the while, the incessant screaming and shrieking of Rainbow Dash's parents resounded, causing the same ponies to inch farther away from them.

It all ended the same, too—they flew through a rainbow fall, soaked themselves in rainbow, and landed on the runway, shaking the rainbow off of them.

Spitfire walked back up to the podium and cleared her throat.

"What you have just witnessed were the finest pegasi troops that Equestria has produced. Those moves are great for peacetime performances, but even they have their usage in war. Don't be afraid—your lives, your homes, and all of Equestria are in capable hooves.

"We're the Wonderbolts. This is our final night here before we go to the front."

And with that, she walked down the podium.

The two pegasi descended, all pushed and budged and turned by the rest of the pegasi crowding and moving around them—all in search of that family member, that relative, that friend of theirs in uniform, that pony about to go to war in some far-off place that, perhaps, none of them has ever seen.

Bow and Windy walked, then brisk walked. Flew above to see over the mass of ponies, but several pegasi had that idea as well, blocking a good view, a good vantage point. Then, they called out her name: "Rainbow Dash! Rainbow Dash! Where are you?!"

Then, a rainbow blur arrived.

A hug for the both of them.

There she was, all dressed up in her clothes that had cumbersome yet thin armor and bulky helmet.

Windy sniffed.

Bow said nothing.

The words that surrounded them—of names, of wishes, of congratulations, of farewells, of hopes:

"You be careful out there, Fleetfoot!"

"Soarin, come home soon, OK?"

"Don't forget to write home, High Winds!"

"Warm Front, just remember that we'll be here for you."

These words were drowned out from their ears as, under the final minutes of the sun in its setting—as the rays were, more than ever, sharper and more visible to all who would just look up to see a wonderful display of light past the clouds—they hugged.

Bow Hothoof picked up his daughter, carrying him. "And...to think that you were a tiny foal all those years ago. A pony full of energy—and you'll use all that energy to take down the bad guys!"

"I can't believe I'm saying this," Windy spoke up, able to stifle her tears for mere moments, "but you're...the best soldier you'll ever be! You'll have a great job at, uh, keeping all of us safe and sound under our roofs!" She added a sweep of a hoof to that.

"You're going to get lots of honor, lots of fame when we win," Bow continued, still holding his daughter up high. "But, more importantly, you're going to make us proud that we've raised up a pony like you."

Rainbow Dash smiled.

Her smile quivered.

Eyes shaky.

A tear trickled down.

And she hugged her parents again.

As they were surrounded by hugs, waves, cries all on that plateau, the sun was on the verge of finally disappearing for the night to come over.

Once again, it was nighttime—the second night of the Great Crystal War. The stars once more twinkled above in their places, all overshadowed by the bright full moon emanating its soft light on to the houses of Cloudsdale.

A short brick-cloud house was among them, just one of the many houses although it was still unique, still distinct from the rest of the residences: two short columns rose up from the cloud "lawn", cloud bushes and shrubs abounded there on that same "lawn", a column protruded from the side of the house. Its design, however, was similar to the buildings around it—uneven floor levels, and floors and roofs made of clouds.

The yellow lights of this house were on, so radiant that they went as far as the street.

Inside, there was a red plastic table with matching chairs—those chairs being cushioned with clouds. On the table was some food: lettuce, cabbages, potatoes, and a few muffins. The smell of apple pie was there but it was hidden underneath a cardboard box sitting on a wooden cabinet close to the sink.

Bow and Windy were sitting on the chairs, sitting across another couple: a mustached sea green stallion of curled white mane and a bright yellow mare of curled raspberry mane—she was wearing thick-rimmed glasses. These two were known to some as Mr. and Mrs. Shy.

"I...I don't know what to tell you," the glasses-donning mare said, reaching out to hold Windy's hoof.

The food was getting cold, though the aroma lingered.

Bow grabbed for himself a few cabbages and potatoes and one lonely muffin for his plate.

Mr. Shy saw it and looked on at the solemn parent with his lousy state of food. Then, he looked down on his own plate of cabbages and potatoes—two muffins, though.

Windy sniffed, revealing her red eyes behind a covering hoof.

Mrs. Shy brought out a box of tissues and laid it on the table.

Windy took some and blew her nose on the tissues.

Bow ate silently, munching and munching and munching—only after a minute had passed did he finally swallow.

Mr. Shy observed all of this happening and did nothing but look on at the three ponies there. Then, he sighed.

"B-But...she's our one and only Rainbow!" Windy said, her voice smothered in whimpers. "She has no siblings! We have no other children! Even if she doesn't perish—what if she gets disabled in battle? Like, losing her sight? Or, losing a wing? Or, losing both her wings? The humiliation..." and she held up a hoof to her face.

Bow reached out to her, giving her a comforting pull as his head touched hers. "She won't be injured that easily. She's a Wonderbolt, remember?"

Windy sniffed, taking another tissue and wiping her face with it.

"I didn't ask for our only foal to leave us with an uncertain future!" Windy spoke, almost screaming. "We thought of the Wonderbolts as the perfect group for Rainbow to join so that she can show Equestria—the world!—how awesome she is! Then, when they—and then he—and then she—and then everyone else—"

Hyperventilating.

Bow got out of his seat and pulled her closer to him.

Mrs. Shy stood up. "Do you need some medicine? I have an encyclopedia about it—I'm sorry but I don't know how..."

"N-No!" Windy said as she slumped on her chair. "I'm...I'm alright. I've done this before—always fine."

The Shys looked at her—cautious in their eyes.

Then, some shambling and thumps from the backyard.

All their ears perked up at that and all, except Windy, turned their heads toward the opposite side of the house.

Mr. Shy flapped his wings. "I'll see what Zephyr's doing now."

Mr. Shy opened the door leading out to the backyard.

Under the night, it was a quiet place to be in. The "lawn" was still made of clouds although, upon closer inspection, there were faint reflections of the moonlight on them—silver linings, maybe. Flat rocks formed a path to a tiny building.

This building had brick walls, stone floor, and cloud roof/ceiling. All its windows were on one half of the circular structure, under those windows being a cute patch of flowers—dandelions, tulips, sunflowers, roses. The other half contained shelves where glass cases were sitting on while holding clouds of various kinds—simple white clouds, rough gray clouds, stormy black clouds, damp rainclouds pouring out rain while not filling up the case with water and cold snowclouds pouring out snowflakes while not filling up the case with snow.

And there was Zephyr Breeze—sea green but slightly bluer, yellow mane in a beehive fashion and yellow tail in a plain way, stubble under his mouth. His cutie mark was an orange feather and two thick and curved lines.

"Uh, Zephyr?" Mr. Shy said as he poked his head into the building. "Wh-What are you doing?"

Zephyr wiped the sweat off of his face and then pointed at the wooden counter in progress under the shelves. "Don't you see what I'm doing, dad? I'm building myself a coffee shop!"

"A what, again?"

"You know, dad, those coffee establishments where they brew coffee!" Zephyr said.

"But, I thought you were, uh, trying to get into mane therapy for the eleventh time, son," Mr. Shy said, his voice becoming softer.

"You've got to face the truth, dad," Zephyr said, picking up a screwdriver. "Whoever's running the show there—they're entrenched in old traditions and they're deep-seated there. If I can't convince them that a new sensation is arriving, a revolution that will stir up stylists to revolt against the current order, then nopony else can!"

"Uh, but why...this?"

"Anypony can make a cup of coffee and slap a price on it!" Zephyr said. "Easy, affordable, and I like coffee. This is going to be my windfall season!"

Zephyr was silent as he looked around inside the room, seeing the wooden planks and boxes of nails and screws. He looked at Zephyr—"I almost forgot to tell you, Zephyr: Rainbow Dash's parents are here. You could talk to them—if that's what you want because I wouldn't want to, uh, interrupt your work."

"Huh?" Zephyr took a step closer, peeking at the house with its lights. "Why?"

"They're quite sad over Rainbow Dash leaving for the battle at—"

"Rainbow Dash left?!" Zephyr shouted, a hoof on the wall. "She's not here?! In Cloudsdale?!"

Mr. Shy nodded sheepishly.

"How come you didn't tell me sooner, dad? I've gotten my love letters and love poems ready for the occasion!"

"It was on, uh, short notice."

Zephyr tapped his hoof. "I don't blame you. It's just Rainbow Dash—" a sigh "—she's just a mare who's looking for any excuse to hide her love for me." He turned his head up. "She would want to be anywhere else but here, wherever I am—not because she hates me, but because...well, it's a love that goes beyond mere friendship."

"That's...nice," Mr. Shy uttered as he stepped to the side. "Now, I guess you are leaving, right? Taking a break? Your mom made some cooked—"

"Actually," Zephyr said, raising a hoof, "tell her that I'm going out for the night. The sudden news of Rainbow Dash leaving—I need to talk to a few respectable colleagues of mine to sort the next few days out."

Zephyr then flew past his father and around the house.

Mr. Shy stretched a hoof out, about to say something to him.

But, he was out.

Halfway to Middle North Point

In the more commercial parts of Cloudsdale, several stores advertising and selling their wares shone their colorful lights, giving the cloud-lain streets a gaudy atmosphere as the lights clashed with one another, vying for anyone's and everyone's attention—with mixed results. Laundromats, fast-food chains, bookstores, souvenir shops, flying apparel—these were only some of the many kinds of businesses that had been set up there.

When it comes to a city in the clouds, walking was not the only thing done there. Flying, too, was a viable (if not much more than walking) option of transporting one's self from point A to point B. So, unlike the normal scenes of sidewalks with ponies walking there, there was that combination of walking and flying inhabitants and travelers—in fact, some sidewalks looked so frequented yet not a single hoof had touched it for hours if not days. Even as pegasi entered the buildings to buy and sell—and chat, too—it was not only possible but also common for a pegasus there to conduct his entire day without ever touching the "ground".

But, back to Zephyr.

That pegasus ignored all the allure of the establishments there, resisting every attempt to sway to one side or the other. He flew over the street and moved on until he reached a square.

It was a relatively empty square with only several bulletin boards posted here and there with announcements and headline newspapers tacked on. A good number of pegasi were over there, reading them and then talking about what was there.

A tiny clock tower stood in the middle of that square. It had a bright light on top of it and, since it was the only adequate source of light within the square—there were smaller lights above each bulletin board—it gave the square a somber, solemn feel to it that contrasted against the explosion of color found in the rest of the district.

Zepyhr took a good look at the clock.

It was about seven-thirty in the evening.

He walked up to one of the bulletin boards where one stallion and two mares were discussing amongst themselves. These were: Buddy, a blue stallion with gray hair and cyan butterflies as his cutie mark; Lavender Sunrise, a gray blue mare with lavender hair and a depiction of a sunrise as her cutie mark; and Flower Flight, a pink mare with blue hair and flowerbuds as her cutie mark.

"So, what's going on?" Zephyr asked smugly, brushing his way into the group.

The three stopped talking and blinked at him.

"You haven't heard?" Buddy spoke.

"There's rumors that the mayor's going to round up every stallion old enough to fight," Lavender Sunrise said.

It was now Zephyr's turn to become silent and blink. Then: "Well, it's just rumors, right? Never say it's actually true 'till it's actually true—is that how they say it?"

"I wouldn't say that if I were you, Zeph," Flower Flight said before pointing a wing to one of the notices posted on the board.

Zephyr read it.

"'Notice: To uphold the integrity and honor of Cloudsdale's military legacy and history, the mayor will hold a city-wide referendum concerning the question of conscription. Time of attendance is nine A.M. tomorrow."

His eyes went wide.

"What?!" Shaking his forehooves as he slowly hovered away: "No, no, no, no, no, no, no!"

"I know," Buddy said. "Things are going to get very hectic if most of us are marching our way out of here."

"Hectic?!" Zephyr shouted. He landed firmly on the ground, close enough to the board though. "Fighting?! It's...bad. I may be a pony of strength—" taking on a calmer tone as he pointed to himself and made another smug face "—but I would rather use my strength in more peaceful ways. I don't want to cause anyone harm."

"Me, too," Buddy said. "But, it's a service I won't regret doing if it comes to that."

"B-But, what about my mom and dad?!" Zephyr yelled, moving his hooves about in exaggerated panic. "What about Fluttershy? And my love: Rainbow Dash?!"

Flower Flight giggled. "You still think she loves you?"

"Yes!" Zephyr shouted in reply with more irritation than before. "Rainbow Dash is the kind of mare that's secretive about her feelings. She's a tough gal on the outside, but wait until I get to her heart!" And with that, he looked up with wistful eyes.

Lavender Sunrise grumbled.

Zephyr glared madly at the notice and ripped it out.

The two mares gasped.

Buddy held him back, trying to get the notice back.

Lavender kicked him in the head and retrieved the notice.

She put it back on the board—tacking it there.

Flower Flight helped him up.

"He's in one of those 'love spells' again," Buddy said as he propped his friend up on the board as he struggled and grunted. Looking at the two mares: "Should we bring him home?"

"I'm waiting for Sprinkle Medley to come by!" Lavender said.

"OK—" turning to Flower Flight "—help me bring him home. We've got to have a good explanation for him being like this!"

Flower Flight nodded.

And the two dashed away with a whining Zephyr in tow.

Lavender Sunrise sighed as she was the only pony now in front of that board, one of the few who were in the hushed square as the noises of Cloudsdale nightlife blared from beyond, from across the street.

The Cloudsdale Post Office was an underwhelming sight.

It stood in front of a wide avenue, but that was it to its potential distinction. The building itself was a short, one-story compound of bricks and clouds and many windows that gave anyone passing by a sweeping view of the entire premises.

Those premises were even more underwhelming. It was a drab gray working area brightly lit by industrial lights. A flat surface where long rows of metal tables and conveyor belts contained hundreds of letters and parcels all stamped and labeled. More of such mail could be found in the wooden cubby holes nailed to the wall. A few ponies—every one of them pegasi and wearing mailpony uniform of blue or purple coats and caps—were laboring there, sorting out mail and putting in more mail into their bags for delivery.

Two guards were stationed at the single door entrance.

Lavender Sunrise walked up the short flight of stairs to that door.

Then, she was slammed by the door opening and fell down the flight of stairs.

She opened her eyes and saw a gray pegasus with a proud look on her face, her saddle bags packed full with mail.

"Ah, Derpy!" Lavender said, exhausted though reassured, hoofing the rectangular parcel to the mailmare. "Send this to Sprinkle Medley in Ponyville!"

"Will do, ma'am!" Derpy said, saluting her with a wing.

And then she took off to the sky, flying fast and leaving Lavender Sunrise at the foot of those stairs.

In Ponyville, there was a clock tower that stood on the crest of a tall green hill. Lights shone on the clock's face, letting anyone passing by know what the time was—which, now, was a little past seven-forty-five.

Derpy flew by the tower, barely staying clear of it as she stubmled in the air but regained her balance before she landed right in front off the town hall.

There, some ponies were running and galloping about, carrying papers and ballpens about in their mouths, wings, and hooves. Meanwhile, Mayor Mare, accompanied by Rarity, were walking out of the door as the din of a crowd's collective clamor went about inside.

"Wh-What's going on?" Derpy asked, approaching the mayor.

"Nothing too important," the mayor responded—tired, rubbing her glasses.

"If you must know," Rarity spoke as if in a hurry, "we're evaluating our position as a town."

"And, what does that mean?" Derpy asked.

"Giving everypony who could attend a free seminar on preparedness," Rarity said. "We've managed to invite the world-renowned Spearhead to teach every single one of us what to do in case of an invasion." She took notice of her bags. "Do you want to join? I'm sure there is no trouble in accommodating—"

"N-No, miss!" Derpy said, nodding as she backed out. "I have mail to give!"

Rarity frowned a bit. "If that's the case, you could stop by anytime before it's too late!"

Then, Derpy was away.

After half a minute of flying, she finally reached the correct house.

A mailbox stood in front of the house.

The house itself was a lot like the rest of the cottages in Ponyville—of wood and little brick, thatched on the outside, and all topped with a hay roof. There were some flowers growing from pots and right in front of the walls.

Derpy opened the mailbox and put the parcel inside.

She looked at the mailbox again.

The little red flag was already up.

Derpy smiled, content.

A little post box stood at the Ponyville train station.

The station was lit up well at night with bright yellow lights, illuminating the outside grass and dirt with a piercing light. The ponies at the station tower were still watching and observing, looking here and there as they guarded with their vision.

Derpy, with one of her saddle bags open, scooped up the myriad of letters and parcels and, scanning each one, either threw it into the post box or discarded it back into her bag.

It took the the mailmare a minute.

Then, she zipped up the bag, slung it around her torso—positioning it carrefully, making sure it would not snag her wings—and smiled even wider at the task accomplished.

Then, her smile went away.

She peeked her head around the wall.

She saw the full length of the train, that same Friendship Express. Standing on the platform were a few ponies, but one of the ponies she considered the most was a certain lanky stallion.

He was an Earth pony with curly mane and curly tail. Wearing a pair of black eyeglasses, he had a grilled cheese sandwich as his cutie mark though the sandwich had some black lines on it.

Derpy placed a hoof on her chin. "Huh?"

The doors of the train opened.

A few ponies went out, a few ponies went in—including the lanky stallion.

Seconds passed and the doors closed.

A shrilling whistle from the pipe at front.

The train accelerated again, slowly at first.

Cheese Sandwich, that Earth pony, huffed as he took a seat beside two mares.

The train was almost full, with every seat having at least one passenger on board. Carriages, baggages, luggages—these and more occupied those seats as well. Everything here was under the glare of the lights on the ceiling and on the walls.

In this train, an interesting profile could be made of the attendees for the ride: several ponies of the three tribes were bringing along weapons such as spears, bows and arrows, lancets, and so on. Armor was either put on the space beside them as if for display or hidden underneath the bags and cases. Reporters, made evident by their cameras and notepads, sat close to ponies in business suits and other fancy attire, these ones having nametags to differentiate them from the rest. The military officers within the ranks—they could be identified by their caps—often sat beside their soldiers whether they were fresh recruits or hardened veterans (although as "hardened" as a soldier who had been on the job only in peace could be).

Cheese Sandwich sighed as he rested his forehooves on his hindhooves, sitting upright as he looked to his left to see who was beside him for the journey.

Two mares. One pink and one gray. The pink one had droopy yet straight hair—a more colorful pink—her blue eyes were downward toward the floor, together with a sad face. The gray one had a more reserved expression—none—with eyes half-open, eyelids of purple and so was her hair (which was also droopy yet straight); she wore a single piece of clothing: a blue shirt that extended to all four of her hooves, covering much of her body.

"Uh, hi?" Cheese greeted, waving at the two awkwardly.

The pink mare looked up, her frown lighting up. "H-Hi, there." A pause—it was a very high-pitched voice. "What's your name?"

"Cheese Sandwich," he said. "And yours?" as he weakly stretched a hoof toward her.

"Pinkie Pie," she said, making a smile though faint. She motioned a hoof at the gray mare. "And, this is my sister, Maud Pie."

Maud greeted Cheese Sandwich by staring at him with that neutral face.

"O...K?" Cheese managed.

Maud looked back outside, the outside under the night sky as the landscape slowly changed as it glowed a little by the moonlight.

He gulped, turning to look at Pinkie before noticing the saddlebags on the floor in front of them. "And, where are you going?"

"Middle North Point," Pinkie replied. "Our parents wanted us to help out in the war effort. I mean...we're Earth ponies, so we have raw strengh to rely on. But, Maud—she has unseen power. She can cut through rocks like they're nothing!"

Cheese smiled as he looked at Maud.

She blinked—slowly, taking some seconds to complete the blink.

"And, what are you here for, Cheese Sandwich?" Pinkie said, poking the stallion on the cheek.

"Uh..." before he scratched his head. "I'm not really sure myself."

"You went on a train not knowing where it's gonna end up?" Pinkie asked. "You're a unique pony, I say!"

"I didn't know it was going to that...place where they'll attack each other."

"You mean the frontline, silly!" Pinkie smiled even wider—before checking herself and keeping that one down. "Where are you from? I haven't seen you before and I have a good memory."

"Oh. I'm from Manehattan."

"A city pony, eh?" Pinkie said, whisking some of her mane away from her face. "I'm from Rockville."

"Rockville?" Cheese turned his head a little. "I haven't heard of that place before."

"It's in Western Equestria," Pinkie said. "But, I understand. It's not exactly a tourist magnet."

A pause. "What do you do there? Or, what did you do there?"

"We worked on the rock farm—all four of us. Me, Maud, Limestone, and Marble. You'd think they'd send all four of us out there, but somepony needs to take care of the poor rocks on the fields. Who else is gonna move everything to the southern field?"

"You're right." Cheese looked down as well, seeing the saddle bags once again. "And what's in those bags?"

"Everything a warrior needs," Pinkie said. "Armor, rations, clothes, building materials, weapons of all kinds—you name it."

Cheese gulped again. "I know this might sound out of nowhere, but—" lips quivering "—how likely is your survival?"

"It depends," Pinkie said matter-of-factly, shrugging. "You should ask Maud because she's the more appropriate pony for that question."

Cheese opened his mouth to ask.

"However," Pinkie interrupted, placing her hoof on his face, "you may be asking yourself, 'Why are you here, then?'"

"Uh—"

"I'm not really here to fight," Pinkie said, backing her hoof away from his face. "You see, the reason why they sent me to battle and not, say, Limestone—she's fierce—is because of my talent."

Cheese looked at her cutie mark.

It was three balloons.

"Your talent is...balloon-making?" Cheese asked. "You're good at airship construction?"

"Airships? Now that's absurd!" Her smile grew. "All you have to do is shoot an arrow and—poof!—down it goes! Well, if it's made of one super big balloon."

Cheese lowered an eyebrow. "Uh-huh."

"My talent has nothing to do with flying things," Pinkie said. "Well, except balloons. But, it's not just balloons."

"Why would they send a balloon pony to fight?"

"I'm not a balloon pony. It's not obvious to some, but I'm actually a party pony!" She spread out her forehooves into the air, grinning.

Cheese tilted his head. "And warriors like parties?"

"They don't just like parties," Pinkie said. "They need it. How else will they keep their head above the ground while they think about the chances of them getting hurt so badly?"

"And that works because...?"

"I throw a party!" Pinkie said. "What I didn't tell you about what's inside these bags—" picking up one of them "—is that I also brought all the party fare with me! Confetti, streamers, cake, pies, even cakepies! Oh, and balloons, too. Brought some records and a vinyl player of fun party music, also."

Cheese smiled.

"I'm not going into this thing blind," Pinkie said. "War is a thing that hurts lots of ponies and makes them very sad. But, if I and my sister are going to protect Equestria this way, then there's no other way, sir!" She sweeped a hoof across the air to emphasize that.

A pause as Cheese kept on smiling. "You have the passion. I admire that."

"Why wouldn't I?" Pinkie said. "My destiny is to make ponies smile! And who need smiles more than those poor ponies out there who risk their lives everyday? That's not counting the ponies who will have their towns invaded by those meanies—and, even those 'meanies' aren't really that mean when you take off those mind-controlling thingies from their heads."

Cheese blinked as he adjusted his glasses a little.

"You know what, Pinkie?" Cheese said.

"Yes, I know 'what'!" Pinkie said back. "It's a word!"

Cheese did his best to stifle a giggle. "That's not what I meant."

"Then, what did you mean?"

"Never mind," Cheese said, rubbing his head. "I guess what I want to say is—you're a unique pony."

"Me?!" Pinkie said, half-gasping the word out.

"Every pony I met who was going to fight—they're...not as happy as you, Pinkie."

Pinkie coughed.

Cheese blinked at that.

"Sorry!" Pinkie said. "It's just...I don't know...."

"Don't know what?"

"What to say," Pinkie said.

Cheese kept his mouth closed.

Pinkie looked at him—pensive eyes.

"Um, thanks, Pinkie."

"Don't mention it. I made you happy even if it's just for a moment, so I'm happy, too."

And Cheese laid his head on the divider, feeling the hard and rough thin surface.

Closed his eyes.

Cheese finally stepped off the train—the last one to do so at that station.

And the train left, disappearing after a short time.

Cheese Sandwich looked thoughtfully at where the train had gone.

Then, he looked at what was before him.

Neighagra Falls.

It wasn't one waterfall. It was multiple waterfalls cascading and descending, most of them into one another—layered waterfalls—from multiple different rivers with their different winds and turns to convene in a picturesque wonder as the water smashed and waved—the crashing of the water. Mist and fog of white foam covered some of those falls, cloaking some of the beauty in mystery, adding to its natural oddity. Rocks and stones that rose above the water gave the falls a varied taste—coupled with the trees and grass that grew from rocks jutting out of the cliffs and hills, it was simply a pretty place with such magnitude for Cheese felt lonely and small—and shivered out of the coolness that the water emitted—before this great corner of Equestria.

"Halt!"

Cheese turned around.

"May I have your identification?" the guard—white coat, golden armor, pegasus—said, walking up to him and then laying out an open hoof.

"Oh, my...identification!" Cheese pulled out an ID card. "Here!"

The guard inspected the card. Then, he placed it back on Cheese's hoof. "You may go."

Cheese leaned to the left.

The road to Light Doze had a few guards on each side. The buildings—houses, shops, diners, museum, government offices—had their lights on as usual. Ponies walked about outside under the night—over there, a pony was planting some tulips on the open grass.

"What's going on?" Cheese asked, tapping the guard and then pointing at the road.

"This area is within striking distance of the Crystal Empire," the guard said. "There are transports of soldiers coming by, including the train you were in. The entire town will be walled up by Saturday."

"But, why the—"

"We don't want any enemy infiltration to be done here," the guard replied, cutting him off. "You are a good citizen, but not even that's enough—for all we know, the Crystal Empire might be utilizing changelings."

"What?"

"Unbelievable? I know. But, orders are orders and the safety of the ponies here are in our hooves. One misstep and everyone here suffers—including you, Cheese Sandwich."

Cheese's ears drooped.

"Don't worry," the guard said. "Go along. I'm sure whatever you want to do in Light Doze is of innocent matters."

Cheese nodded as he walked to town.

Light Doze was another waterfall-side town. Unlike Leftlead, though, this town stood a respectable span away from Neighagra Falls, which was good for the camera ponies who now had the option of staying and sleeping in a place where the morning background was the falls themselves in a photogenic angle. This was also good for ponies who could not sleep with lots of disquiet beside them; they surely would've been bothered by the constant crashing of the water.

The houses there were blocky though that did not automatically mean dull and boring. Though they were squares and rectangles, the walls were painted in a rather unconvential manner—not one, two, or even three color schemes. They were painted with murals in mind—each house having a different artist's interpretation of the falls that were there. One was as realistic as could be, as if the waterfalls were the walls of the house. Another chose to go for a more abstract route: blue and white streaks rushing and running over green and gray, making for a house that would fit, if only by a little, in a normal upstart village.

The rest of the buildings there followed the same pattern as if telling tourists to take as many pictures as they can in this one-of-a-kind settlement. Wide and clear windows showed to everyone what was going on inside—whether it was customers eating food cooked by chefs, clerks and cashiers selling items to buyers, or musicians practicing their skills for all to see and hear.

It was not crowded though the town itself was not big either—around three-quarters the size of Ponyville, it could be said.

Cheese Sandwich entered a music shop.

It was spacious. Various ponies were at the aisles filled to the brim with tons of musical instruments—from the famous pianos, guitars, violins, and drums to the lesser-known triangles, oboes, clarinets, flutes, trumpets, and saxophones to the occasional and even somewhat unwanted bagpipes and accordions.

And Cheese Sandwich spotted the accordion section—those squeezeboxes of piano-like tunes.

As he walked over there, a smile on his face, he passed by two creatures talking in whispers.

It was a pony wearing a tie and a griffon wearing a visor.

To Ask for Help

Between the shelves of banjos and bass guitars, the pony and the griffon stood although at the side of the banjos.

The pony was a rangy middle-aged stallion with a bushy mustache—lighter than sky blue in coat, hair as swirly as a cloud (and colored like one, too). His suit and bowtie covered much of his body so his cutie mark could not be seen. The nametag pinned to his suit read: "Steer Straight, Equestrian Ambassador to Griffonstone".

"So, Galena," he said, fixing his tie for the umpteenth time, his voice exasperated, "would you please consider helping us even just a teensy bit?"

The griffon wore nothing but her visor. Her brown feathers were on her head, her beige ones were on her wings, and the rest that covered her body were brown-yellow with black stripes. Four legs—forelegs of claws, hindlegs of paws—were typical of her kind.

"I don't know if you've heard, sir," she said, "but there's not much we could do. Griffonstone is in shambles, even more when we've had the massive leave of girffons recently to your home." She poked her companion with a claw.

"I don't have a single griffon in our home," Steer Straight said, backing down in his tone. "I only have my wife and my daughter in my home."

Galena groaned and slapped herself on the face. "I'm not saying that you're harboring any griffons in your house. I'm saying that griffons are going to Equestria, your home—your national home." A tense pause. "Who assigned you here, anyway? You're not even a smidgeful of the last guy!"

"He's on vacation," Steer Straight simply replied.

"Permanent vacation?" and Galena raised an eyebrow of suspicion.

Steer Straight brushed the air off from before him with his hooves—a move that showed exhaustion. "I'm...I just got the post on the spot. I mean, I know more about you than the average pony, and I have wings—"

"Just like the last guy," Galena interrupted. "One of the job requirements is that you have wings."

"Well, I don't know!" he shouted and turned away, resting his head and a hoof on the racks of banjos. Sighing, he picked up a banjo, tuned it, and strummed a few solemn notes.

"You wanna buy that or what?!" the cashier yelled from afar.

Steer Straight moaned as he hastily returned the banjo back to its place.

"I want to make myself clear," Galena said, flapping her wings and crossing her forelegs. "Griffonstone is not in a good state right now. I'm doing my best to round up some pride—about everyone's sulking off and hoarding gold with no care for each other. I'm tempted to focus on my hoard as well, but I've kept it as modest as I could. I'm grasping at straws here: I've sent out an expedition to look for our lost idol, I've sent some miners to dig up some gold and other precious metals for trade, I've started some efforts to make our capital city look pretty. I'm running out of ideas, resources, and time—and that's just for my own home. I don't think we have enough to even discuss a mutual agreement with Equestria."

"I haven't tossed up some terms in the air yet," Steer Straight said. "We could, uh—"

"And what?" Galena asked. "I'm not ignorant about what's going on with your civil war."

"It's not a civil war!"

"It's one pony against another," Galena said. "There's not much else to it, even if those other ponies were gone for a thousand years."

"Then you must know what's going on!" Steer Straight told, raising his voice, stepping forward on the tiled floor and away from the banjos. "The Crystal Empire is a strong empire. It may not have as many ponies as we do, but it has...crystal-based magic on its side."

"And what do we griffons get if we help you win?" Galena asked, eyes narrowed down and glaring at the pony delegate.

Steer Straight gulped. "Uh...I didn't think that far ahead into the future."

"Eh, I expect your silly war to end shortly. Either the empire conquers everything or you conquer everything."

"Just—please, I beg you!" Steer Straight pleaded, on his knees. "Your griffon fighting forces might be the extra push we need! They might be the tipping point, the tide-turner of this war that will end it all before we know it!"

"Not likely," Galena simply said, shaking her head. "What happens if you guys lose? We'd be losing a lot of our best persons for nothing. They'll have passed away in vain. Of course, I'd want you to win, but that's not happening anytime soon, right?"

Steer Straight sighed one more time.

He stood back up on his four hooves.

He breathed slowly, looking down on the tiled floor and on her claws.

"Well, then."

Steer Straight fixed his bowtie.

"I'll send you a letter detailing the whereabouts of our next meeting. I hope that will be fruitful."

The pegasus flittered away and out of the music store.

Galena looked on at that pony until he was gone, out of sight.

A few ponies were standing still, having had watched what had gone on between the two delegates, the two ambassadors. Those few breathed out sighs of small sorrow and moved on with finding which instrument was the best for them, although with sadder faces and quieter voices.

Galena scratched her chin as she eyed one of the banjos in front of her.

Galena, with banjo roped around her body and around her wings, walked the dark and quiet streets of Light Doze.

A few civilians were walking around, most of them in an unexplained hurry and rush. Eyes wide, mouth shaking—no words, just a quick dash from one place to another and inside the building.

On one main street, a platoon of guards—all but three with white coats, those exceptions bearing gray coats—were gathered up. Some bystanders watched the group of almost thirty soldiers look at their leader, his armor slightly bigger than the rest.

Their faces were as stoic as any of the other guards.

She could hear whispers behind her and around her—hushed conversations as the ponies that were still outside held their hooves to their ears.

But, Galena spread her wings and flew, banjo in tow.

The griffon flew in the clear and starry night. The many stars twinkled in and out and back in again, bedecking the sky with their lights beside the full moon.

Her eyes twinkled, too, reflecting a bit of that moonlight.

Below, sleepy hills of copses and small forests lay. Dirt and paved roads winded and spun and turn around, but they were mostly straight. Over there, a railroad ran along though no train was in sight nor was there that familiar whistle, that deafening whistle.

Then, she flew over a barren wasteland.

It was a jarring transition. One mile was filled with yet another lush forest, the next was dotted with rock formations on the dry ground. There were no plants for long stretches—only weeds and dead trees with no leaves.

Galena heard something past the gust high up in the air.

She looked down.

Lights.

"Wow," she said to herself as she stopped to hover above the town. "Last time, there was barely any infrastructure in this part of town—"

"Who goes there?!"

Galena turned around—defensive position: claws raised.

A navy blue pegasus. Tired hair, baggy and disheveled eyes, and a spear in hoof about to prod the ambassador.

"I was only passing by," Galena said, a little scared and a little irritated.

"Hmph!" The pegasus returned her spear to her side. "It is alright, then?"

"What's alright?"

"Nevermind." She shooed the griffon away with a hoof and wing.

Galena shrugged and flew off.

"Will Starlight think much about it?" Night Glider asked as she flew down to the lit up village. "Nah."

Anarchy of Bread

She finally landed on the ground, specifically on a concrete road.

The village "in the middle of nowhere" was an anomaly in that barren wasteland. It was a village of work, of productivity, of life, of order.

The two-floor buildings of brick stood, always an equal space apart from each other within one block. The network of roads, streets, and other kinds of paths and passageways was the developed infrastructure the various inhabitants traveled on (or traveled over if they were pegasi). Although carriages were few, they were still there, providing short journeys from one end of the town to the other.

The blocks of buildings had their own purpose, not a single inch of it dedicated to something else.

Those with chimneys on top were the houses, the residences. Most of their lights were off, though two of them had some on, both of them on the ground floor. At this hour, not a lot of ponies were gathered here.

Those with patches of farmland at the side were the agricultural institutes. These were the least in number but they compensated for that by having as much arable land as one could fit inside a normal city block. Though the ponies working there were not many in number also, they were there, planting seeds on one side, watering budding vegetables on another, and picking up the harvest on yet another.

Those with wafting and drifting aromas—stirring up palates and appetites, making ponies' mouths water—were the "points of food collection and consumption." Some of these were soup kitchens where several chefs behind the counter cooked soup and vegetables and dessert in equal proportions to each and every one who came over. Others were part-warehouse—really, one big room where the farmers drop their produce into large bowls of potatoes, carrots, and so on; the ponies who would rather cook their own dinners came here, getting the ingredients needed for a feast back home in the residential blocks.

Those with whirring machinery and conveyor belts were the factories. Each factory on its block produced its own good—one produced yet more machinery, another produced tools, yet another produced lightbulbs. The interior of the factories were as similar as they could; however, there had to be differences, of course, if one were to efficiently produce everything a proper settlement of ponies needs.

Those with various symbols and signs on their roofs and walls were the workshops of diverse activities. A scientific laboratory was among them, fully furnished with the containers, the chemicals, and the clothing necessary to conduct experiments for the advancement of research. An artist's studio was among them, too, where painting materials in plenty colors and brushes in plenty types were in abundance, and the artists painted alongside each other in their unique styles. A theater, even, was with them—actors and actresses practiced on the stage while growing playwriters sat on the rows of seats as they observed.

On both entrances to the town was a stone sign with these words etched on them: "The Town of Effectiveness."

Night Glider walked some paces, going left and right as she encountered the usual intersections. She waved at a few ponies who she passed by—a unicorn with curly blue hair not only waved back at her but yelled "They're having a musical over here! Do you want to—"

But she walked on.

She entered one of the part-warehouses of food.

The wooden backbone of the structure could be seen on the walls. On the floor, several large bowls held sugar, salt, garlic, onions, and other such small foodstuffs. Short lines of ponies waited in front of those bowls as each got what he or she needed for the next meal before exiting the building, carrying sacks or saddle bags. Three ponies stayed inside as they watched and guarded over the bowls, sometimes telling a pony that they have grabbed too much and that they must save some for the rest of his fellow villagers.

One of those three was Starlight Glimmer.

She was a unicorn with a purple-white star and blue curved lines about it as her cutie mark. Her light pink coat was tarnished in dirt, her purple and aquamarine-striped mane shabby and scruffy. Despite that, though, she had a smile on her face as her eyes went between the next pony in line and the bowl of salt.

Night Glider went around the line, garnering the bad looks of some, and went straight to Starlight.

"Uh, Starlight?" the pegasus asked.

"What is it?" she asked back, her cheerful smile going away as she took on a more cautious tone. "Your being here this early is unusual. Is there something wrong? An intruder? A warning?"

"I hope it's nothing," Night Glider replied, glancing at the open door to the outside. "A griffon ambassador just passed over this town. She did not seem hostile at all—she was just going back to Griffonstone, I think."

"Let's assume the best of her," Starlight said back, placing a hoof on the pegasus's shoulder. "Things are going haywire for Equestria, broiling in that nasty conflict of theirs. If only we could convince some of the Crystal ponies to come here and live here, to work with us. That will serve to Equestria's benefit."

Night Glider hesitated. Then nodded. "You're right."

Starlight's smile returned. "So, you have not finished your five hours of patrol duty yet, I presume. Or, did you start it early?" She bit her lip. "I was not paying that much attention—I did wake up late for my share of the farmwork. I got here only about ten or twenty minutes ago." A sigh escaped. "Five more hours to go—and I'll stay up so late that maybe everypony will've gotten all their food by then."

Night Glider nodded once more. "Well, I know you are our humble founder, but you don't have to—"

"Equality above all," Starlight said, glaring at her and even growling under her breath. "This society will crumble apart if any one of us, even me, becomes a leader elevating himself above the rest. What we have built and formed together will be destroyed and will fade away into nothing if we don't keep ourselves in check."

The pegasus sighed—grouchy eyes. "If you say so, Starlight. Don't stress yourself out, OK?"

Starlight nodded, smiling as she walked to the garlic bowl and noticing that no one was there.

Starlight's eyes were now red and half-open. Her once clean and smooth mane was now draggled again, strands of hair sticking out as she made the gloomy stroll through town.

She looked at one of the clock towers there.

It was almost one o' clock in the very early morning. Already tomorrow.

She groaned as she jaunted her way past windows, most of them off and with no lights. The snores from simple bedrooms flowed outward, making Starlight groan even more as she rubbed her head—moaning, perhaps whining.

After a minute or so of this dragged out journeying through her own town, she finally reached a building looking quite the same as the rest. It was the only one in the block that had its lights on—blazing bright as they blinded her for a moment when she entered.

Her vision cleared and she could see what was there: seats for waiting and glass windows that divided the room into neat sections. In each section was a metal table and four chairs around it. A white light hung above the table.

She caught sight of the only other pony (beside the midnight guards) in the building: a stallion wearing only a tie and a pair of glasses, looking serious and cool as he placed his forehooves on the table, tapping a hindhoof as he returned the glance at her; his wheat-colored wig-like mane only made his face appear even more severe.

She grinned.

Starlight closed the wooden door.

The table reflected the light too well—she covered her eyes as she looked on it.

The stallion checked his watch. Then, he slumped his head on a rested hoof.

Finally, Starlight grabbed a chair and sat down.

The stallion looked at his watch again. "You know"—still reading the time, not minding Starlight—"time is of the essence. A second later and I would've called it quits."

"Oh, you're just splitting hairs!" Starlight said, speaking in as upbeat an attitude as she could muster, moving her hooves around though jittery. "Now, let's get on to business, shall we? Mister...?"

"Already forgot?" the stallion said. "An Internal Representative of Equestria. Sealed Scroll."

Starlight gulped.

"I've been sitting here since midnight. In other times, I would've asked for an explanation. However, the gravity of the situation—" then, yawning "—it's...not ideal."

Starlight rolled her eyes. "Are you going to tell us to join forces with you? United in a 'common cause'?"—emphasizing those last two words with hoofquotes.

"We both want to survive." He retracted his hooves from the table. "Do you want to live or not?"

"Our beliefs go beyond your petty fights," Starlight said, raising her voice and placing her hoof on the table. "We believe in a world bound together on the same level, in the same social strata. The reason why you have wars in the first place is because your bloated princes and princesses have no idea what we want—and, maybe, they don't care. They're only in it for the power, for more—but we don't want more."

"Ah, ah, ah, ah!"

Sealed Scroll lifted a hoof.

"Ponies like you, Starlight—admirable. Never wavering from your convictions. Sad that you're not on our side."

"I am on your side, but you don't know it," Starlight said, her grin growing. "If only Equestria would be ruled by no ruler: no monarch, no president, not even a permanent council of leaders. Then, there would be nopony on top to be corrupted by all that he wields. Instead, everypony works for everypony. Talk that out with the Princesses and I'll consider training some troops."

"Look, are you out of your mind?" Sealed Scroll raised an eyebrow, his lip never flinching as he spoke the incisive question. "If the Crystal army came here right now, what will your poor ponies do?"

"Our gyms surely would strengthen the bulk of our population."

"Any weapons aside the civil standard?"

Starlight rolled her eyes again, now crossing her forelegs. "In any case, we'll all suffer because of your greed."

"Our greed? Wha-how is that even remotely rational?" He placed his hooves on his tie, astonished.

"You quarrel about riches and your personal issues while you leave us to live with only some amenities!"

A slam on the table.

Her horn glowed.

"And, before you tell me that you'll report to Celestia and Luna about 'acts of aggression,' what about you"—her hoof on his nose—"think about all the deprivation you and your kind have caused through the years!"

Sealed Scroll scrambled out, blubbering but never saying another word inside as he dashed out the room and out the building.

Gulp, gulp, gulp. "Ah! That hits the spot!"

He put the now empty water bottle down on the cushioned seat.

Bump.

And his teeth clattered as he frantically held the window. Then biting his hooves.

Eyes wide open, mane frazzled, tie unkempt and unstraight, glasses down beside the water bottle.

As Sealed Scroll sat on the returning train.

Looked out the window.

Darkness over the land. The sky was cloudy; only a few stars twinkled as if peeking.

"Do you...need anything?" the train conductor asked, his thick beard and thick hat and round thick glasses distinguishing him as such. "I have gauze in my first aid—"

"No injuries sustained, sir," said Sealed Scroll in between gasps. "I'm...I'm OK. I'm alright."

The conductor then walked away and into another carriage.

Sealed Scroll looked out again.

It was pretty much the same dark landscape. While there were a few stop-by towns here and there and while there were ponies going in and out at times, his carriage remained mostly empty. Those that were there did not mind him; they, too, did not have happy faces as they slouched their backs lazily on the cushion or attached their faces to the window.

He looked as his hooves. They were shivering.

He got off the train at Canterlot.

Before he got off the wooden platform, he looked at the train station's massive clock.

It was one-thirty.

He turned around to see what was beyond the train tracks.

A lone taxi carriage sitting on the road.

The driver, a bulkier stallion, slapped himself awake as he saw Sealed Scroll descend the platform. "Ah, you must look important."

"No time!"

Sealed Scroll hopped into the carriage and threw a few bits into the tip box—nicely identified as a "Tip Box" by the sticker on it.

"Get me to Canterlot Castle! Pronto!"

"Will do!"

The driver whinneyed as he ran, pulling the carriage at a great speed, zipping past half-open lights and blurs of sidewalkers.

Hoofsteps in the hallway.

It was a long hallway of red carpets, checkered floors, lavender flowers, white columns, and colorful banners. The moon and the stars shone softly, the moonlight penetrating the tall slim windows only faintly—almost invisible beams touching down.

Sealed Scroll ran, still gasping until he finally stopped, breathing heavily—sweat on his face.

"Princess Luna, I...need to have an urgent word with you."

The pony in front of him was looking out one of the tall windows.

Her hooves were covered in metal blue hoofcovers. Her coat was a darker blue. Around her neck was a huge necklace of sorts, bearing the symbol of the moon. Her wings were closed as her long and flowing mane, along with her long and flowing tail—both moving about, ethereal like her sister's—they floated past those wings, twinkling and blinking like the stars in the sky. A small black crown over her horn, above her blue eyes.

She stood a good height taller than the pony before her.

The Princess turned to him. "You have permission. What is it?"

One more gasp. A breath. "The weird town between Neighagra Falls and Manehattan refuses to prepare for enemy forces. What is the next best course of action, Princess?"

Luna did not smile nor did she frown.

Instead, she looked out the window again. "There is not much else to do. They are not dangerously close to any field of battle as of this minute. I only say that you keep your eye on them. Make sure that they are well-fed and well-supplied."

A pause.

"At the very least, they will not say that we have neglected them nor ignored their needs—they, too, are our responsibility."

"Yes, Princess Luna," he said, looking down on the floor and bowing down to her.

She gave him a mere look.

Then, back out the window.

"You may now leave."

And the stallion left the hallway, leaving Princess Luna alone there.

She kept looking out the window. Her eyes were focused on the moon glittering so, a dim reflection of it on her two eyes. Her muzzle was upward, her mane flowing under the moonlight, too, in the hallway.

Pre-dawn

Princess Luna then walked through a few more hallways and a few more rooms. All of them were occupied by guards of their white or gray coats, all armored. They gave her a nod as she passed by each of them. She nodded back, a subtle smile on her face.

Then, she reached another double door.

She lit up her horn in a blue glow.

The doorknobs glowed, too, as they turned.

They opened.

What lay before her was a short balcony with stone railings.

What lay before that balcony was a vast hall jam-packed with guards standing in their individual platoons and companies. Hoofsteps and murmurs echoed about, combining to form something that could not be understood—only general noise. These were equipped with weapons—spears, lancets, bows and arrows, crossbows, cannons. Earth ponies, pegasi, and unicorns were all here, standing with not much else in movement.

The hall itself had no windows. It was all illuminated by artificial lights hanging from above.

On the balcony was none other than Princess Celestia watching over her guards.

Luna stepped forward to her sister's side.

The two stood beside each other, looking down on the substantial military before them.

"Sister," Luna began, "are you absolutely certain about this? They are already fiercely loyal to you. You do not have to go out to battle with them anymore."

Celestia sighed as she turned to face Luna. "These are different times. I wouldn't have done it if it was not that important. But, this is an unpredictable time. I do not know what the future holds."

A step forward.

"I must confide it to you, Luna, before I forget."

A look down before she looked back up, back at her sister.

"It is awful enough to send our ponies to fight, to risk...being able to come home to their families and friends. It is awful enough to strike foes when you know that they, too, feel and live like us—that we could not settle things in a more peaceful manner. But, we are forced to attack our fellow ponies and that is...that is..."

She looked down again.

Luna patted her sister on her head, reaching a little to do that.

"I...I can't use the Elements of Harmony that way," she said, her voice diminishing to a pained hush—away. "Knowing what...you went through—it is foolish to think that they would single-hoofedly solve everything."

Then, a hoof on her shoulder. "Does this mean you do not plan to use the Elements against Sombra?"

"It's against all reason. All will say, 'Take Sombra out!' It makes sense: the Crystal ponies don't want him, he's an evil tyrant with no care for any life but his, and he has a one-track mind bent on conquering the world. Is there revenge? Is there an ulterior motive beyond just that? I know he is more than just a face, a shadowy figure..."

Luna pulled her a little closer. "Sister, you're acting up again."

Celestia covered her mouth, closed her eyes and turned downward.

"I understand. But, at least you saw that I had good somewhere even then. Sombra is...much more mysterious."

Celestia glanced at the guards, none of them looking up. "Here!" she whispered as she guided Luna toward the doors.

Hiding from their soldiers below.

In front of the open doors, faces close to each other, their individual manes streaming endlessly.

"I...have a hope. There is a chance that I could save him from himself. There is still time—if we could just get him to talk—"

"You know he will not talk until he is overwhelmed," Luna said. "And, in order to overwhelm him, you must wage war."

"That is the cost," Celestia said. "Even if we end up victorious, many innocent ponies will..."

A choke.

"We are the wielders of the Elements. This war—it goes against what harmony stands for. Honesty clashes with espionage, kindness is incompatible with brutality, laughter is irreconcilable with cold-bloodedness, generosity thrives without greed, and loyalty destroys disloyalty—where I have to convince the Crystal ponies that who they are loyal to should not be served."

A leg wavered.

"Celestia," Luna spoke, holding her closer and tighter, "you're not in a right state of mind. You should let somepony else lead the way for now. You...you haven't slept yet and it's already the next day."

"I have to go," Celestia said, placing a hoof on her sister's shoulder—a face of sorrow, of hated anticipation. "These soldiers need one of us. This is the time when I have to go out to battle, to provide them the encouragement and the help they need."

"What if you get captured, sister?" Luna asked—worried, anxious.

"I have my ways," Celestia said, backing away from her as she did her best to make a smile. "As for you, go. Return to the dream realm and help the ponies still here. I am sure that you can comfort them."

And Celestia spread her wings and flew off the balcony.

The train at the station was a different one.

Instead of the colorful style and scheme of the Friendship Express, this one was as utilitarian as it could be—no paint, for example. Instead, the wooden planks and the metal parts were there for all to see in their unmodified appeal (or lack of appeal). There were no heart-shaped lights—only the basic lightbulbs in their circular compartments. The pipe coughed out black smoke and a rustic pony with an unshaved beard was handling both the coal and the train's controls.

As the long lines of troops slowly entered each carriage—and, when a few were full, the train would move a little forward to accompany the next batch of stoic soldiers—the other ponies who were awake so late (or so early) watched the unannounced parade. Princess Celestia herself stood on the sidewalk as she saw her ponies march onward, their hoofsteps stomping in unison as they brandished their weapons gleaming under the streetlights.

Camera flashes appeared only to disappear; pictures were printed out in an instant.

One of these reporters was Eff Stop, all perked up though with no smile. His hat was still there, clean as ever.

The parade lasted for a good ten minutes. No disturbances were caused and no one was disturbed from their sleep. The lights that were not on at the beginning did not turn on throughout. If one could strain their ears during this event, one could still hear the uninterrupted snores of some nearby Canterlot pony on his bed.

However, the parade did have to come to an end, and so the final soldier—donned in his military uniform, holding a spear close to his chest—was no longer to be seen as the final soldier's carriage closed.

"Civilians of importance!" a voice shouted from inside the train. "Civilians of importance! Your carriages are to be occupied now!"

And several ponies rushed to the train.

Diplomats and ambassadors in their suits and ties, express passengers in their khaki shorts and airy shirts, and reporters with their hats and cameras—Eff Stop was one of those "civilians of importance."

The final carriages were shut, the train whistled, and the wheels rolled.

It was pitch black inside.

"Hey, uh, could we have some light in here?"

"Oof! Don't touch me!"

"I wasn't touching you!"

"I feel cramped! Are you sure the windows are up?"

"Your disgusting cologne is rubbing off on me!"

"Guys, let's calm down and keep it civil."

"Can we open the doors?! I'm running out of oxygen!"

"Nopony's opening the doors! You should feel privileged for being able to get inside!"

"When I asked for the fastest ticket out of here, I wasn't asking to stay with officials!"

Then, a candle lit up, revealing everypony's faces under the muted light.

Coughs and wheezes.

"This carriage isn't ventilated! We're going to end up on stretchers thanks to you!"

"You've got someone else to take care of, then!"

"Get me out of here!"

The candle dropped and a few grunts.

The faint moonlight appeared.

Then its sliver was gone.

"Alright, who had the bright idea of opening the door while the train was moving?!"

"I'd rather stay healthy!"

"It's either you get a little sick or you get mighty sick when I throw you off board!"

"Don't step on my dress!"

"What did you expect? This isn't the longest train in the world!"

"They could've at least made seats!"

"I want seats, too!"

"You stiff Canterloters!"

"That's not how you call a Canterlot pony!"

"It is!"

"It's not!"

"It is!"

"It's not!"

"Will you stop?!"

Then all was quiet in the pitch black room.

A flicker of a match and then a candle. Everyone could see each other again.

The pony holding this candle had a cap and glasses. "Can we agree to endure this ride until the very end? Can we agree to not annoy anyone until we're out?"

The faces nodded silently.

"Good. This won't take long anyway. Estimated at about one hour and a half."

"One hour and a half?! How are we supposed to survive that with your candle?! And the smoke?!"

"Ask the charcoal guy. He probably knows a lot about it."

"I want to live! I don't want to die undignified in the middle of a train! I should've volunteered! If I die here out of smoke, I would have died on my way to serve Equestria, not as some onlooker like all of you!"

"Then, why didn't you enlist?!"

"I'm afraid to get hurt!"

"Are you kidding me?!"

A hoof threw the candle—and the light—away, plunging the carriage into pitch black again.

"OK, who did that?!"

"I'm hungry!"

Then, an irritated chatter arose from them.

A groan. "I was tasked to handle mature ponies, not babysit a couple of whiny whiners."

Many ponies gasped for fresh air as they stumbled on terra firma.

The ground, however, was not as fresh.

Actually, the air was also cold. Bitingly cold.

A windy gust, a freezing and chilling gale whipped up their manes into a flying frenzy as snowflakes shot past them at blinding speed. The snow was inches deep and unicorns resorted to creating magical shields to bring the civilian passengers to safety.

They sludged through the snowy wasteland; in almost all directions, there was nothing but the cloudy starless sky and the endless rolls of snow.

They could see some tall silhouettes in the distance.

The passengers were silent as the barrier unicorns held their shields up, bracing the brunt of the raging weather both in snow and in wind.

After a minute, they reached those silhouettes.

It was actually an imromptu residence for the military—billets, in other terms. Small wooden one-story houses lined up and spaced out evenly, and wooden frameworks indicated the construction of even more despite the harsh conditions—mostly Earth ponies making up the building crew as they hauled over long logs of timber and heavy boxes of nails and hammers, wearing (among other things) goggles that shielded their eyes. The soldiers that were there did not wear goggles but, instead, kept their armor intact and unchanged. Some were sitting on rocking chairs as they downed hot cocoa in seconds before hurrying back inside their rooms. Pegasi were hovering and flapping their wings high up above the billets, attempting to divert the winter's flow away from their fellow warriors.

The road was not visible. It was covered in a blanket of snow accumulating even more snow. Deep hoofprints were on the slightly unstable ground.

Then, all without a word, one of the unicorns pointed at a large building. It was larger than the rest of the houses and, unlike those also, it did not have a flat roof—it was slanted.

Everyone got inside.

Most of them slumped on the couches and on the chairs and on the tables. Some stretched their hooves into the air, mimicking the motions of a pony about to faint only to be sternly told that it was only a tenth-of-a-kilometer trip. A lot of them were quick to warm themselves in front of the two fireplaces over there, rotating their hooves near the blazing fire while they sat on rugs and carpets.

Eff Stop was one of them.

Then, hoofsteps from behind the counter at the far end.

Everypony looked at him.

He was a pony with a thinning yellow mane and round thin-rimmed glasses. He had a long jaw and his cutie mark was a brush dipped in blue paint.

"I won't let you stay long here without knowing the rules," he began. "Every single thing in this place is important;
anything could be given away to the enemy. No one speaks and we'll be over in a minute or two."

Everypony else blinked quietly; the fires cackled and cracked; the snowstorm outside tore any silence apart.

"One: Be transparent. Two: No leaking of information. Three: Reveal to others only what we'll let you reveal. Any questions, come to me."

Then, the glasses-wearing stallion went through a door and was then gone.

He closed the door.

Sounds of locking.

A few more seconds.

And then the crowd erupted into chatter yet again; this time, there was less complaining and more inquiring.

Eff Stop, alongside other reporters, was furiously scribbling down notes on his pad, sticking out his tongue as he thought ahead of his quill.

Then, he laid it down, placed his pad on his hat, and sighed, resting himself on a window pane.

The pegasus ignored the constant talking in the room and looked outside.

He could not see much. The fog of the snowstorm, coupled with the darkness of the night, obscured his vision. Yet, after squinting his eyes, he could make out two figures, barely outlines in the vigorous haze, standing across each other.

"Good thing I found you!" the soldier yelled as he and Special Delivery—still in mailpony uniform—stood across each other in the middle of the snowstorm.

Special Delivery held a wing to his face, blocking much of the incoming snow from impacting his head.

A letter on the soldier's hoof.

The mailpony grabbed it and stuffed it into his bag.

The letter's owner ran away, departing from view, entering the unclear fog—the rage of the storm.

Special Delivery entered the train and closed the door himself, escaping the bleak weather and leaving himself in the company of a few other ponies, all but one of them sleeping and that one being the train's conductor and coal-digger.

The train started its way backward.

After a while, the train stopped and Special Delivery flew off into the purple sky.

Streaks of sunlight were pouring in, though the sun itself was not there yet.

The mailpony flew past the Ponyville cottages and town hall, dodging streetlights and trees and signs.

Finally, he landed in front of a house, inserted the letter in the mailbox, and flew away whistling.

"Huh?" a voice said.

Applejack steered from her path and walked to the mailbox.

Only she and the mailbox were under the nearest streetlight.

Crickets chirped from the grass, although she could hear a bird's song.

She looked at one of the trees.

Indeed, there was a bird perched on an overhanging branch.

"Thunderlane's family usually don't get letters this early," she said to herself, placing a hoof on her chin as she pondered. Then, she gasped.

Applejack took off her hat and solemnly put it on her chest.

"It's his first letter."

She stood there for a moment, her hat still on her chest as she remained before the mailbox.

Then, she took her hat on again.

"Reading it first ain't right. I'll head my way to the market."

And so she did, leaving the mailbox.

The Ponyville Marketplace, as it was officially called, was a wide open area where stands and stalls were aplenty. All kinds of things were sold here: fruits and vegetables, utensils and jewelry, chocolates and candies, books and art, fans and instruments, ketchup and mustard. Ponies were already flocking to the marketplace, a good number of them setting up their businesses for the day while they paid attention to the early-risers who were up and out even before dawn. They placed their price tags and stocked their displays, some of them adjusting this or that item ever so minutely so as to make the perfect attraction.

In the marketplace, however, was not much talking or camaraderie. Instead, there was a deafening silence only broken by hoofsteps and the occasional cough and "Excuse me." In spite of that, their smiles reigned the atmosphere as they proceeded to buying and selling, to getting and giving—the clinking and clanking of bits becoming commonplace once more.

Applejack, with empty saddlebags on her body, looked about her, seeing the varied kiosks and mini-retails. She saw a bigger store by the side and saw that business pony, now with slick mane again, flip the sign from "Closed" to "Open".

Then, the sun rose.

Known Unknowns

The sky turned a bright blue again, telling all that the day has arrived—a new day.

Many ponies looked up at the sun as it rose, bringing its enveloping glow on to all the land.

Applejack breathed a sigh of relief as she then headed her way to that bigger store.

It was taller than the rest of the stalls there in the market. In fact, it was the only proper building in the market. Its facade was an open-air section where antiques and bargain-value hats were on display. Above the wooden glass doors was its distinguishing sign: it had a blurred smorgasbord of goods.

She walked past the glass doors and entered the store proper.

The Earth pony stepped on to the floor, away from the ground.

"Why, hello, Applejack," the business pony said behind the counter and the cash register, somewhat despondent.

On the walls' shelves and on the aisles' racks was an assortment of products, a mini-mall on its own. Beyond the fruits and vegetables that could be seen back outside, there was butter, jellybeans, donuts, window curtains, timber, power tools, paint, paintbrushes, combs, fabric, toys, stationery, sofas, quills, even cash registers. The piece de resistance, however, was a round platform between many aisles. This platform held lots of apple-based products: apples, apple juice, apple cider, apple jam, apple fragrances, fake apple bushes. And, what was the very thing that made it the highlight of that magnificent exhibit? Jars of rainbow-colored jam, proudly labeled with a flourished hoofwriting: "Zap Apple Jam from Sweet Apple Acres!"

Yet the business pony himself had his eyes downcast, his muzzle downward also.

"Hi, Mr. Rich," Applejack said as she walked to the counter. "I jus' need some shears and some others. Rarity's gettin' swamped with the additional work with all that dull gray garb they need over there. I reckon Winter Wrap Up's animal ponies need a helping hoof on that."

"Sure do," he said, only moving his head as he leaned on the counter.

She turned around to gather what she needed, taking down her saddle bags first and then gathering the items.

Mr. Rich watched as she progressed through her shopping list—the first and, so far, the only customer of the day. He glanced at a picture beside the register and held it close to his eyes.

A happy photograph. Him, his wife, and their daughter. Filthy Rich smiling as he wrapped his family all in one hoof, a single-hoofed hug. Spoiled Rich with a snooty, upward smile that implied disdain at the very pony taking the picture. Diamond Tiara smiling widely, her tiara sparkling under the camera's flash.

The stallion sighed as he then hugged the picture.

"Uh, am I interrupting somethin'?" Applejack asked.

Mr. Rich's eyes went wide as he speedily put the picture back, turned around, and smiled—only for that smile to be gone. "No," he then said with no energy.

Applejack placed her packed-full saddle bags on to the counter.

Mr. Rich then began the process of checking each item and placing it on another side of the counter.

Applejack merely watched.

No words were said. Only the sounds of plopping things on to the counter.

Then, after pressing some buttons on the register, he said, "That would be fifty-three bits."

Applejack brought out a tiny bag of bits and dropped it on the counter.

Mr. Rich untied it and let the stack of bits topple.

He grabbed the fifty-three bits and stuffed it into the register, leaving the change untouched.

"How's your family?" Applejack asked as she picked the remaining bits up.

"Doing fine for the most part," Mr. Rich replied, looking off. "Diamond is doing well for herself in school despite the...difficulties we're all having with the war going on. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about."

"Why, I just passed by Thunderlane's house right before I got here!" She took one step back—surprised.

He furrowed his brows, looking at something underneath the counter. "I am proud of your sister for comforting his brother through this troublesome time, though," he continued. "She is a compassionate fellow, and, while I'm sure none of us want this to go on, she'll do great when it comes to helping others when their families...well..."

"It's alright," she said, lower than usual. "It makes my heart melt to see my little Apple Bloom grow up good."

Mr. Rich turned his head a little. "Spoiled, on the other hoof..."

"Oh, you mean her?" Her voice became bothered, a playful smirk on her lips.

He sighed, noticed the register was still open and then closed it. "She's telling me that I should capitalize on the fact that we're at war. Even told me to sell spears because they'll be as hot as hotcakes in an amusement park! I do appreciate some more money, but I could never round up the courage to do such a thing."

Applejack bit her lip. "You are bringing her more often in your down-to-earth trips, aren't ya'?"

"Might as well be a chronic disease."

She groaned.

"Yet, many ponies have been cured of chronic diseases. We have a hospital here, so it can't be that bad."

Applejack smiled. "You've got the hope, Mr. Rich."

He smiled, too—his tired eyes over it. "We all need it, Applejack." A pause. "And, thanks for stopping by."

"Yer' welcome."

She waved as she left the store.

He waved back at her.

Back in the marketplace, Applejack walked with her full bags and showing no signs of struggling to carry them both.

"Applejack? Is that you?"

Her ears went up. "Rarity?"

The unicorn walked past the stalls, her gait being regulated and ordered. She also had two saddle bags on her body, though unlike Applejack's, they were not full although the farmpony could not see what exactly was inside besides some rolls of felt.

The two stood right at the path's center where many ponies came and went with bags, baskets, and other sorts of containers whether full or empty or somewhere in between.

In the sky, three pegasi in armor patrolled the town from above.

"How is everything going, darling?" Rarity asked. She took notice of the stuffed bags on Applejack. "Looks like somepony is going to hibernate for the winter. It's spring. We have yet another season betwixt now and then."

"'Betwixt'?" Applejack rolled her eyes. "Is that even a word?"

Rarity giggled. "Joking aside, Applejack, I deem it almost useless to continue this...rivalry."

"I was kinda' surprised when you sported that uppity attitude of yours," Applejack said. "But, I take it that you're doing well with...uh, whatcha' call it?"

"I am no expert on these...things myself, darling," Rarity answered, throwing an imaginary thing with her hoof, "but these uniforms are so...lifeless. Yet, they are what the ponies over in Canterlot say are the most efficient."

"You've got some machinery in your boutique?" Applejack asked. "'Cause, I don't think there's not much space when it comes to hoof-made art."

"I have standards," Rarity said, her horn glowing as she floated a few rolls of felt into view. "Instead of having not a single bright hue, I've taken the liberty of adding these things to their apparel's repertoire!"

"Rarity, you're missing the point," Applejack said, walking up to one floating roll and grabbing it with a swift hoof. "Haven't ya' learned anything from the first ever battle?"

"And that is...?" Rarity said, tapping her hoof impatiently.

"Having 'bright hues' on uniforms makes you a sittin' duck. That's why they're researchin' on those...hidin' and disguisin' clothes—"

"Camouflage. It's camouflage."

"Whatever you call it."

It was Rarity's turn to roll her eyes.

The two then walked down the wide path, passing by the market's many small booths of goods.

"So, really, Applejack. How are things?"

Applejack had a lump on her throat. "Smoothly as usual. We've been able to keep up with the increased workload, having to supply more than just Ponyville, you know."

"Are you able to get by?"

"Yeah." Applejack looked up toward the sky; barring the pegasi tainting the scene, the sky was even brighter and even bluer. "It's makin' us sweat and tired more, but that don't matter when you realize that everypony's dependin' on ponies like us to keep them alive, 'specially the soldiers."

Rarity hummed an approving hum.

"So, how about you, Rarity?" Applejack asked. "How are you?"

Rarity then hummed a pondering hum, her eyes looking up. "My father is puzzled about it all. He wants to still be with us, but he has that sense of duty that he must fulfill. He is a unicorn with a strange propensity for mere toughness."

Applejack smiled a bit. "Hondo Flanks was a football player. I'm pretty sure he's useful for the chargin' brigades."

"But, he's mellowed, darling," Rarity answered, twirling her mane with her magic—glowing blue. "He's not as strong as before."

"Jus' give him some trainin' and he's gonna do swell," Applejack suggested. "Trust me."

Rarity smiled, too. Then, she pouted. "But, if he does regain the strength of his youth, then that's all the more reason to send him off! And, I don't want to leave my dear sister without a father even if it's for one week!" Her voice strained.

Applejack sighed as she looked down, the two of them still walking. "Then, let's hope that it's all gonna be over soon. Quicker it is, better it'll be for all o' us."

Rarity nodded in agreement. "You are right, Applejack. I'll do my best to keep my father from serving there. Am I not already serving by producing good clothes?"

Applejack snickered. "What about you go ask a real soldier? Take his advice, hm?"

Rarity looked up again, thinking. "Why not? Certainly better than doing it all in the dark."

Applejack smiled again at that.

Sugarcube Corner could be described best as a gingerbread bakery. Although the bakery itself was not made up of edible material, it was mouthwatering to behold. Gingerbread all layered in white frosting and cream, a cupcake on top, candy canes on top and between the pink door, purple flowers on the side—these are all just analogies, for the bakery looked like a gingerbread bakery but it certainly was not made up of actual gingerbread.

As Applejack approached it, about to walk up the few steps to the entrance, the door opened and out barreled a yellow stallion with a cowpony hat and a vest. His blonde, tacky hair was not short. His cutie mark was one apple.

"Applejack! Boy, is it good to see you!"

"Braeburn!"

The two Apple ponies hugged each other in front of Sugarcube Corner.

"Oh, Applejack! You're safe and sound as a turnip preserved in a shelf!" He ruffled up her mane and then held her at hoof's length. "You are safe here, right? Being closer to the Empire than us Appleloosans—I was just worried every night ever since we got the news! Even worse—the Oranges, too!"

Applejack let go of his grip. "I'm fine, Braeburn. It's good to be seein' you, cousin."

"Excellent!" Braeburn exclaimed as he hurried to the steps. "We can talk about lots o' topics and what's what—is everypony else safe as well?"

Applejack followed him. "They're all safe. You don't have to think too much 'bout us. We won't call for help unless—"

Then, Braeburn yanked her and brought her inside the bakery.

If the outside of Sugarcube Corner was that of a gingerbread house, then the inside was just as colorful and cheery. Cyan planks of wood, luminous walls of yellow, candy cane columns, glass displays of creative cakes and pies (but no cakepies) beyond the normal ones: peanut butter orange cake and salted chili chocolate pie were only two of the more exotic choices to be found there.

And, of course, the sweet scent of sugar permeating the bakery.

Attending the counter was Mrs. Cake, also known as Cup Cake. She was a round pony with swirling mane that could be mistaken for cake frosting.

"Hi, Applejack!" she said as she saw Braeburn accompany his cousin inside. "Braeburn was waiting for you ever since five!"

"Five?" Applejack expressed, then looking at her cousin with a strange look. "That's mighty early for ya'. You somehow got a train at that time, too?"

Braeburn nodded as he sat down at a small table that had a plate of half-eaten strawberry pie. "I couldn't take it any more; my sleeps were gettin' shorter and shorter until I couldn't handle it! So, while everypony else was sleepin', I sorta' snuck out—I got Silverstar's permission and he was very understandin'."

Applejack placed her hat down in front of the pie.

"Are you yearnin' for something to chew on, Applejack?" Mrs. Cake asked.

"I already had my own breakfast—thank you."

Mrs. Cake looked at Applejack, concern on her face as she then peeked into the kitchen.

"Good thing we have a sturdy family to fall back on," Braeburn said, bringing Applejack closer with his hoof. "We've got each other, cousin! Even if Equestria falls, they'd have to get through the Apple family first before they eliminate us forever!"

Applejack pulled herself out of his grip again, narrowly avoiding getting her face smacked with a mouthful of pie.

"Anything else goin' on, Applejack?" Braeburn then asked. "You look a bit frail. Overwork?"

"Nah." Applejack shoved the qusetion aside. "These...news, Braeburn. I...Granny Smith said she never saw conflict like that ever in her life." Her voice became breathy. "She's seen some scuffles before. But...I don't think we've seen the beginnin' of this."

"Aww, don't be such a sour spot!" Braeburn said, resorting to ruffling her mane again. "Besides, the Crystal Empire is teensy tiny! Even if it's chock full of ponies, they're not enough to take over us! Any setbacks we're havin' on our part—just bad luck and bad decisions. We're gonna make it a-OK," and he ended that with a grin.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that if I were you."

After a while, the two cousins left Sugarcube Corner and parted ways—Braeburn to the train station, Applejack back to roaming around in town.

As she walked the roads of Ponyville, she passed by the same houses, the same stores, the same old buildings; passed over the same rivers on the same wooden bridges.

She looked on at the ponies who were seated at the tables in one of the restaurants. Their faces, though smiling, were subdued, as if their smiles were only there because that was tradition.

"Braeburn oughta' be right," Applejack muttered to herself as she walked, passing by some trees and then approaching Rarity's boutique—a tall and fancy (if not regal) thin structure of pink, blue, yellow, and white; canopies, model horses, and a flag on top.

"But, what if he isn't right? What if I'm the one who's right? That this ain't the beginnin'? I don't want to know how long this is gonna last. Will...will I live to see the end of it?"

Then, she shook her head.

"Heh. Maybe I am overworked."

A pause.

She frowned as she stopped right in front of the boutique.

It was a face of despair.

"No. I'm not."

Novo Riche

As Applejack headed back to Sweet Apple Acres, she encountered a pony struggling with some fallen knapsacks. She rushed to her aid and picked up some of the dropped items—papers, quills, images, folders.

"I know what yer' gonna say, miss," Applejack said, noticing the pony's mouth opening to say something. "You can keep the gratitudes for yourself."

"Ah," the stranger's voice being a mix of high-falutin and countryside, "to be helped by none other than an Apple! You must be thanked in some way." She closed her bags and placed them on her torso. "But, if you want to have it that way, then I'll respect it."

Applejack smiled, though she examined the stranger—clothed in a purple suit and a pink scarf, her well-combed mane implied a regular groom. She also had large earrings and her cutie mark was a trophy. "Well, before you leave, I'd like to at least know your name."

"Very well—it's only a trifle," she answered, nodding. "I'm Ms. Harshwhinny. As you could tell, I'm in a hurry to some official business in Dodge Junction."

Applejack stepped aside.

Ms. Harshwhinny zoomed off at a gallop, piles of dust kicked off into the air.

The farmpony coughed and closed her eyes.

"Uh, we're looking for a Ms. Harshwhinny in these premises," a pegasus guard in armor asked in his baritone voice as he and his fellow guard buddy stood in the middle of a large (though mostly empty) intersection in Ponyville—a white-and-yellow chariot behind them.

Lyra shrugged her hooves while she levitated her small lyre. "I don't know. I've never seen such a pony. Maybe if you could give a description?"

"Brown Earth pony with blonde hair," the guard replied. "Wears some clothes. Trophy cutie mark. Also earrings on her ears."

"Hmm." Lyra scratched her chin as she looked down. "Let me think..."

Then, loud galloping steps.

The guards' ears perked up.

Lyra looked over there.

"There you are!" Ms. Harshwhinny said. "Oh, if I'm awfully late for the appointment, I don't know what Princess Celestia would exact upon me!"

She leaped on to the chariot.

The guards hooked themselves to the vehicle.

And off they flew, bringing along the mare that had been asked for.

Lyra had her mouth open wide at the sudden sight.

The wind shook her mane, stringing it along with the breeze and the gale so high up. Breaking through clouds, speeding over villages and cities, the only constants being the bigger dirt paths and the reliable train tracks.

At first, the land was composed of plains with hills dotting the distance. Then, it shifted into patches of forests and swamps, rivers galore and in profuse—ruins could be seen if they were not obscured by both the pace and just how far down they were from the chariot. After them was a short run of more plains before it turned into a desert—bare, arid tracts that held not much in terms of life; aside from cacti and other such plants that could survive there, there were the robust rock formations of jagged and ragged form and a smattering of frontier communities.

Then, there was Dodge Junction.

Ms. Harshwhinny looked over the chariot and saw the tiny settlement.

Colorful buildings of varied colors contrasting with the dry one-note ground of brown. What seemed to be the only road was actually the main road, and that's where almost all of the buildings were situated. She could see spots going around town—most likely ponies.

Then, the chariot finally landed right in the middle of the road, between the buildings and the railroad with Dodge Junction's train station.

Ms. Harshwhinny hopped off and headed for that station, ignoring all the ponies that were gathering around the chariot and its guards who went on to pull their carriage to the other side of the tracks.

"Royal duties," one of the guards announced to the citizens, holding up a hoof above the railway.

"Aww!" was what many ponies said as they stomped away, disappointed and frustrated.

The train station here looked a lot like the one back in Ponyville. It, too, was somewhat run-down; worn. There was no separate tower—only the main building.

Inside was a rotating fan that blew cold wind—as cold as it could get in the burning climate in Southern Equestria. Rows of chairs alternated with tables where a scant number of ponies merely passed the time by playing some cards. The day's schedule of arrivals and departures were tacked on the wall, with scraps of paper indicating that the same tack had gone through many days and many schedules. The window let in the glaring sunlight; the lights on the ceiling were broken for the most part, though an electrician—made obvious by his goggles, his hard hat, and his thunderbolt cutie mark—was among the card-playing ponies.

In a secluded area of the building, at a small table behind some dividers and barriers and potted plants, was Ms. Harshwhinny holding a few documents and papers, straightening them up.

"If I'm not mistaken," she said, "you are Queen Novo of Hippogriffia."

Novo, who sat on the other chair, was a hippogriff. Her massive white-pink wings were closed, her purple mane and her purple tail were both made up of feathers, her yellow beak complemented her yellow crown with blue plumes, a huge white necklace adorned her—her legs had short blue-and-white feathers; forelegs had claws, hindlegs had hooves. She was also bigger than Ms. Harshwhinny.

"Yes, I am," Novo replied. "And, we are to talk about...?"

"This is an earnest request from the Princesses themselves," Ms. Harshwhinny said, placing the papers down on the table, her voice abrupt and blunt. "What we have here is a state of calamity."

"I don't see a single bit of calamity here in your peaceful kingdom," Novo said, lifting a claw. "The reception here has been quite warm—nothing of the panicky sort I was expecting."

"There's a reason why I called it here and not over at Canterlot," the pony told. "If we have it at the capital which is closer to the actual fighting, then we would be risking a disaster on our hooves. Crystal Empire scouts have already been caught as far as three miles North of Canterlot!"

"But you were able to take them down, weren't you?" Novo asked, raising an eyebrow about to dismiss.

"Y-Yes—"

"Then, see to it that you resolve this problem between yourselves." She waved it off with her other claw. "It's high time you got up."

"Queen Novo," Ms. Harshwhinny spoke, rising a little—a hoof on the table— "if you want to show to the rest of the world how great Hippogriffia is, now is your chance. Not only would you be bringing out your unique soldiers for all to see, but you would also be gaining a certain ally."

Novo narrowed her eyes, looking at the papers on the table and the quills over there. Then, she looked at the pony again. "It isn't that easy. Even if we do agree to send our volunteers to you, there is the undeniable fact that there's lots of space for them to cover to even reach Equestria, let alone the frontline which, if you're telling me right, is in the northern part. Setting aside logistical issues, we've benefitted from our historical isolation—nopony knows too much about us, nopony can strike us. Take the mystery of Hippogriffia away and some of what being a hippogriff is will be lost."

Ms. Harshwhinny sighed. She faced her—pleading. "Look, Queen Novo. I know that your isolation is good for you. But, why not open up?—not everything, but some things. You have lots of knowledge and art stored up there—well, we have lots of knowledge and art stored up here, too, and we share it freely. Our cultures could join together and we might make wonderful things from this friendship. You don't have to go all out on it for now—small steps, Queen Novo. This is not just us asking for your help. This is us asking you to let your kind soar and...prosper with us, much more after the war's over."

"Hmm." Novo leaned back on her chair.

Silence between the two.

"Honey—what you said reminds me of my daughter." She looked up, thinking. "Skystar's heard more than enough tales from the outside and she's fed up with having to stay in our kingdom all the time." She smiled, still looking up. "And, she'd be more than happy to have more friends—you could only befriend so many when you're stuck on an island." She let out a short, muffled giggle.

"So...will you accept?"

Novo placed her claws on the table. "It is not a simple matter. This could snowball into terrible proportions. I'll have to consider it thoroughly—and, maybe my daugher might push me to saying 'Yes'."

Ms. Harshwhinny sighed—happier. "That is indeed better than a flat out 'No'!"

She placed the papers back into her bags.

Train of Thought

Ms. Harshwhinny sped out of the train station, leaped on to the chariot—catching the two pegasi drivers off their guard as they hooked themselves to the vehicle and took off.

Soon, they were high up in the air, back with the clouds.

"Will you report to Princess Celestia, ma'am?" one of the guards inquired over the breeze's din, still flapping his wings along with his fellow pegasus.

"Most definitely," she said, that smile remaining. "It is not the most ideal outcome, but it is an assuring one nonetheless."

"Did they finally break out of their shell or what?" another guard asked in half-jest.

"Quiet!" the first guard snapped. "What if their queen wants to overhear all of our conversations? Equestria will be at war with two kingdoms all because of you!"

"Oh, come on, Depth Defense!" the other guard said, still having a bit of that jest in his voice. "It's not like she can send spies that hide in the clouds—"

"Shush!" Depth Defense yelled. "You want to get us imprisoned?! You can't talk about our spying efforts even when it looks like nopony's watching! You won't even be living up to your name!"

"Look, if my name is 'Securus,' then how could I possibly mess up national security?" He pointed to himself smugly, still pulling the chariot alongside Depth Defense.

"Princess Luna can be awake in the day and nopony does anything about it. Do you understand what you're—"

"If the both of you don't stop your quarreling," Ms. Harshwhinny interrupted, "you're going to crash on some mountain!"

The two guards gulped, looked ahead, and flew even faster—prompting the mare to hold on tight to the chariot.

In the sky over Ponyville, one could see that chariot zooming by, descending as it neared the not-so-far city of Canterlot that could be seen in the distance.

The clock tower rang on the hill.

It was seven o' clock sharp.

Two white unicorns left Canterlot Boutique: Rarity, wearing a posh chapeau, and Sweetie Belle, her younger sister of curlier mane. The latter looked grumpy.

"Now, now, Sweetie," Rarity said, looking at her as they walked on the street, "the only reason why I have to accompany you to school is because I can't risk an ambush taking you away from all of us. For all we know, the enemy might be hidden in the crowds—you know how eye contacts have developed the past decade or two!"

"But, Rarity!" Sweetie Belle whined.

"But, Sweetie!" Rarity whined back, mimicking her sister's voice.

"It's only a five minute walk from here!" Sweetie told. "Are you telling me that you stopped thinking that I could handle even going to school on my own?"

"Dearie, I haven't!" She adjusted her hat a bit, though her gaze was still upon her sister. "These are desperate times, Sweetie, and desperate times call for desperate measures."

Sweetie groaned.

"Remember that this is for your own good," Rarity added. "I am not completely accepting of this, either, since it takes away precious time from the three jobs I have at hoof. Rest is uncommon for such a lady as me—and we're both sacrificing our comforts so that we can live in a safer Ponyville."

The two did not talk for the rest of the trip.

The Ponyville Schoolhouse was a quaint little schoolhouse. It was elaborate with its etchings and its details—heart shapes on the windows, hearts on the roofs, hearts on the bell tower; curling lines and other fancy shapes made it stand out from the rest of the structures in Ponyville. The schoolhouse was mostly red, with white and yellow and pink highlights. A sign stood in front of the white fence on both sides of the dirt path splitting off to it; it showed the symbol of Ponyville—two silhouetted ponies holding a heart—over an open book. A flagpole waved its large red flag—it was very windy. A short tree had its leaves cut so that it looked like a pony wearing a graduate's cap. The playground was over at the schoolhouse's side; standard playground equipment such as see-saws, swing sets, and merry-go-rounds were there. On all but the schoolhouse's front were open fields where colts and fillies could run about and chase each other and play other kinds of games with their noisy yet innocent shouts and screams.

And they were doing that now.

"Farewell, Sweetie Belle!" Rarity said as she headed back, waving. "I'll pick you up before you know it!"

"Thanks and bye, Rarity!" Sweetie yelled, waving, too.

And then, Rarity was out of sight.

Not minding her active classmates outside, she walked into the schoolhouse.

The floor, though made up of wood, was covered everywhere in hay. Stools and desks in neat rows and columns—heart shapes etched, too—stood in front of the teacher's desk which was decidedly more polished than the other tables there. A stack of books and an apple was on it. The chalkboard behind it displayed a few planetary equations on the side; the rest of it was covered in white smudges, the faint outlines of names, dates, words, numbers, illustrations—they were there.

Some ponies were reading their textbooks at their desks.

But, Sweetie did not join them.

Instead, she went back outside.

She rounded a corner and saw a hatch door attached to the building.

Sweetie opened it and went down the dark stairway.

At the end of it, she was in the schoolhouse's basement.

Ponies, also her classmates, were busy at work. Over there, some were typing on their typewriters; over here, two colts were squeezing ink on to the inking machine, printing out rolls and rolls of newspapers; over there, heated discussions were ongoing between those seated; over here, a colt and a filly were presenting something to another group of colts and fillies. All of this was going on while the overly-tall chair behind the wooden desk at the far end stayed empty.

Sweetie gulped. "First day after it started and it's already this bad!"

"Heya' Sweetie Belle!" a familiar voice yelled.

She turned around and saw two fillies on a sideward table. There was Apple Bloom and an orange pegasus.

"Apple Bloom! Scootaloo!"

She hopped on to the only unoccupied chair at the table.

"So the three of us still chose to attend school, huh?" Scootaloo, the pegasus, said. "Didn't Miss Cheerilee say that we could wait 'till next week?"

"I was actu'lly on the fence about it for a while," Apple Bloom said. "We were harvesting apples for the cause. It was only last night when Applejack told me that I should go to class first thing—said that she an' Big Mac were more than enough for the work."

Scootaloo nodded. "There wasn't much to do for me, anyway, besides hanging out with you girls. So, I'm here."

Now, the two were looking at Sweetie.

"Oh, you're wondering why I'm here?" Sweetie said, a little surprised. "Well, I wasn't planning to skip school anytime soon."

Apple Bloom and Scootaloo looked at each other.

"Will Cheerilee add some...uh, emergency lessons?" Sweetie asked.

"What do you mean?" Scootaloo asked.

"Emergency lessons," she repeated. "You know: ducking under our desks, how to defend yourself, using this very basement"—moitoning a hoof toward all of the room they were in—"as shelter in case of a pegasus raid. That kind of thing."

Scootaloo shuddered. "You're right! I hope she teaches us everything on being safe."

"What about yer' scooter?" Apple Bloom asked, turning to her. "You've carried us before on that contraption. I'm sure that, if we have to escape, we could make it out in time."

"I have to carry your families as well," Scootaloo said, the concern in her voice rising. "I can't carry them all. My scooter would break under that weight!"

Sweetie then smiled. "You said you have back-up scooters, right?"

Scootaloo nodded, smiling with closed eyes.

"What about you teach us on riding those scooters?" Sweetie suggested, pointing at her. "I don't think I could carry a lot of ponies, but I've carried more than a few baggages when I traveled with Rarity to her fashion shows."

"I don't know," Scootaloo said with caution in her words, tapping her chin. "My scooter's fine, but there's a reason why I got some back-up ones."

"You don't have to worry about them!" Sweetie countered. "Train us in a safe place and everything will be OK."

Apple Bloom nodded, facing Scootaloo again. "I think it's a splendid idea!"

"Yeah," Scootaloo began, "but even if I could teach the two of you, I don't think you'll ever use them. The baddies are so far away and we have the Princesses on our side—they control the sun and the moon, remember?"

"There must be a good reason why they're not using them to their advantage," Sweetie said. "But, I have no idea what that could be." She then shrugged.

Apple Bloom sighed, fixing her mane's bow. "We're all here now, so that's that?"

Then, loud hoof falls down the stairs.

Everypony inside looked at the newcomer; he was a stocky, short gray colt.

"Miss Cheerilee's inside!"

And then everypony inside turned off whatever machines were on and headed upstairs.

The day went by, the foals learning more about the world they lived in, how it operated and its past events.

When the bell rang for the final time, it was sunset; the orange-pink sky with cloud streams painted over the horizon as the sun was about to touch and grace the mountains and hills once more.

A rush of colts and fillies blasted out of the narrow door, leaving Cheerilee—a dark purple Earth pony with flowers as her cutie mark—to walk slowly to Ponyville proper.

She noticed a long line at Sugarcube Corner, stretching to the outside.

The lights were on, illuminating the darkening streets.

Beside the line and the open door inside was a wooden sign, proclaiming in no small words: "A.K. Yearling Signing! Meet and Greet! Here is the Author of the Daring Do series!"

"Huh?" was what came out of Cheerilee's mouth.

Then, she attempted to get in, bypassing the line.

"Hey!" a pony yelled in a brash accent, wearing a checkered cap and a checkered tie. "Wanna have a book signed? Get in line!"

"Oh, no, I don't want to have a book signed," Cheerilee said, almost apologetic. "I only wanted to see what the fuss was about and grab a bite."

At the counter were the two Cakes: Mrs. Cake and Mr. Cake who was a thin and tall yellow pony with a strutting jaw and an apron. The two dished out desserts and refreshments on a table in white linen, constantly refilling the punch bowls and the salad bowls and the other bowls.

A few ponies—some of them disinterested in what was going on around them with half-open eyes and tired heads—ate at the tables as usual.

The main event, however, was the line that went around tables and ended on a long one in red linen. Cameras flashed at her as A.K. Yearling opened a book on the very first page and wrote down her signature in striking strokes.

She looked like a reclusive pony. A purple robe covered most of her body, although her face was a gray yellow—her hooves were, too. She wore thick red glasses and a gray bonnet with a white ribbon. What could be seen of her mane was gray.

She was also smiling as she partook in the event.

Each pony in line held books that showed, in some way, that adventurous pegasus adventurer of archaeology: Daring Do. Like A.K. Yearling, her coat was a gray yellow. She also had a sort of gray hair. She wore her famous green shirt and pith hat with its many arrow holes.

"Next!" A.K. Yearling called out.

A stallion went up next—a tan stallion with a mane not unlike Daring Do's. He even wore a very similar shirt.

The writer's face grew annoyed. "Oh, it's you."

"Well, as a fan," the stallion said, placing a hoof on his shirt as he spoke, "I have the obligation to collect every single Daring Do book in existence, even if they are...uncouth to true tastes."

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Quibble Pants, when will you learn?"

"I'll learn when I finally see a Daring Do book that harkens back to the good ol' days!" he said.

"We're not having this conversation again, Quibble, not in front of a crowd of eager and—if I may add—more sensible ponies."

Quibble groaned as he slammed a book on to the table. "There! My copy of 'Daring Do and the Basin's Mystery'. If it doesn't end up reviving my hope in Daring Do, it'll at least give me hundreds of bits down the line at the Traders Exchange."

Now it was Yearling who groaned. "Do you even have a shred of appreciation?"

"Some shreds," Quibble shot back.

"Next."

Quibble then walked out of the line and sat on a table, about to take a bite of his chocolate cake.

Then, not so far back in the line, a pony raised his hoof. "Uh, Miss Yearling?"

"Yes?" she asked, looking at that hoof as she signed the next book without looking.

"Uh, why is it that you and Daring Do look like twins?"

She smirked. "You're new to the books, aren't you?—Next!—Talk to a seasoned fan. You'll get your answer."

Then, the hoof lowered, disappearing in the line.

A.K. Yearling finally walked out of the bakery, yawning. She looked at the watch on her wrist. "It's past nine already?"

And with that, she took off, galloping as fast as she could to the train station.

She glanced at the night sky with its abundant stars and its shining moon.

Then, a whistle.

She looked to her left, standing on the platform.

There was a train station at the border of a thick forest. Under the night, the grass and the trees were gleaming in the moonlight. Owls hooting, crickets chirping—these could be heard and only seven birds sang under the nocturnal canopy.

Its lights were on and a sign hung from the ceiling over the platform: "Galloping Gorge Train Station (the only one)".

The train stopped there.

Loud hoofsteps in unison—the soldiers in armor were first, led by the officers, all holding dangerous weapons.

The train station's staff looked at them with awe and terror, taking steps back as they gave way to these ponies as they marched on into the forest with several pegasi flying over them.

Then, it was the civilians' turn.

Various ponies, among them A.K. Yearling, scrambled out of the carriage, pursuing the marching battalions.

And then, the writer turned back.

West of the Galloping Gorge was another forest—or, more appropriately, a mix between a forest and a jungle. The foliage was deep; strange and never-before-seen plants grew in colors other than green, animals that have never been recorded abounded.

Yet, the writer ignored the wonders around her as she walked on the rock path to her house.

It was a cottage. It had a hay roof that drooped down even to the door. It had two floors and a chimney. A barrel and a wheel were its exterior decorations.

After unlocking and then opening the door, she went inside.

It was a small delight. The gray green walls and plain wooden planks held an assortment of tidbits and novelties: ornate carpets, old spears, lavish oars, and some treasure chests of different designs. A few jewels and diamonds sat on the edges of a writing desk fitted with its cabinets and a heavy, decaying typewriter where an unfinished page of another novel sat, flapping in the cool breeze that entered through the open door.

She sighed at the sight of her home.

She trodded the short staircase down to the floor itself and placed some bags down on a table.

"Some rabid fans I have," she muttered before she headed to the writing table.

She sat down, typewriter in front of her.

Yearling looked at the windows.

"Well, closing the curtains won't harm anypony."

She walked over to the windows and closed the curtains. Then, she turned on the lights hanging from the ceiling.

"Ah. That's better."

She trotted her way back to the writing table.

Then, the door broke down.

Yearling turned around.

A group of ponies—except helmets and masks over their faces. Their eyes glowed green. Spikes on their masks' throat, spikes on their shoulder pads, spikes on their armor's torso. Black manes and black tails on all of them.

Not a word.

Yearling arched her eyebrows and pawed the floor—gritting her teeth.

Vanhoover

Dashed to them.

Uppercut, swipe to the left.

Punched back.

Kicked back.

Thrown somepony to the fireplace.

Thrown another out the door.

Incoming hoof.

Dodged.

Leaped to a spear.

Held the remaining back.

Poked them at the helmet.

Lunged.

Threw them out.

Punch, kick, a few more kicks.

Knocked her glasses off.

She growled.

Threw herself at him.

Punch, kick, kick, more punches, more kicks.

All down.

All unconscious.

Yearling heaved a sigh, picked up her glasses and wiped the sweat off of her brows.

In front of her lay the near-unmoving bodies of the Crystal ponies—helmets and masks still intact, eyes still glowing.

"This is dangerous."

Vanhoover, not that far away from Yearling's house, was a thriving city, a metropolis to rival Manehattan. Whereas Manehattan was known as "The City That's Always Awake", Vanhoover was known as "The City That Prospers in Everything"—and it shows.

From the mountainous borders of the urban area, one could already see some of its characteristic features: developed lines that supported both steam and "new-fangled" electric trains (no chimneys, no coal, no smoke; of a rounder, more minimalistic design); series of dams spewing out continuous foams of water down regulated rivers; skyscrapers mingled in glass and metal as they reached to the sky; a harmony of pony-made structures and pony-preserved parks with well-trimmed grass and well-cared trees to boot; bridges over the multiple creeks and rivers, spanning huge distances with carriages and ponies riding and walking over; and, finally, at the end of the land, the ports and docks where all kinds of boats and ships—from the humble tugboat to the massive passenger liners (with a few yachts here and there).

And, since it was night, everything was lit up in a dancing display of lights—the sky clear so that the moon and the stars joined in the party—all of them illuminating Vanhoover, busy and bustling Vanhoover.

However, a bit far away from the sprawling centers of activity, at a train station between a convenience store with glaring lights and a brick and mortar diner, Yearling pulled a wagon to the side and stopped in front of a few ponies in police uniform.

They stood in the diner's small parking lot, under some streetlights and parking lights.

"What did you say you have there again?" one of the police ponies said; he wore shades and his cutie mark was a pair of hoofcuffs.

"Some soldiers of the Crystal Empire," Yearling repeated. "I don't know why they wanted to get me. I fear, however, that if they were at my house, then an invading force is not that far away from here."

Another police pony held up a walkie-talkie to her mouth and pressed the button. "This is Officer Gendarmareie. We may have confirmation of impending attack—awaiting further information. Copy."

Yearling raised an eyebrow. "A fresh rookie?"

"Yeah," the first police pony said. "Walkie-talkie 'slang' needs some improvement. But, she's an eager learner." Then, returning to a neutral face, he continued: "Well, show me the bodies."

Yearling uncovered the wagon, throwing the cloth away.

The police flinched at the sight of the unconscious ponies.

The stallion walked forward, held up a flashlight, and examined the ponies and their armor.

"I trust that you'll take care of this?" Yearling asked.

"Leave it to us, ma'am," the stallion said while not looking away, more of his officers gathering around him and the wagon of ponies. "We thank you for your continued service to Vanhoover."

Yearling smiled as she left and walked to the sidewalk.

Bumped into a pony.

The two fell to the pavement.

Yearling got up first and helped the other mare up.

"Oh, I'm sorry, miss!" that other mare said. "I'm sorry! I apologize for being so distracted! I should've watched where I was going!"

Yearling smiled again. "That's alright! It's my fault, too. I was in a hurry myself."

But the mare flew away.

"Wow. Wonder where she's going."

Fluttershy was a yellow pegasus with long pink hair; her tail even touched the ground whenever she walked, even while hovering sometimes. Her cutie mark was three pink butterflies.

Now, she was in the middle of a lonely road. The train station and its nearby buildings were far behind.

Then, a pair of lights and rough hoofsteps.

She gasped and raised her hoof. "Taxi!"

The rider skidded to a halt.

Shuddering and shivering, she walked to the carriage.

"Where ya' goin'?" the rider asked, wearing a white cap.

"Take me to the hockey place," she said, raising her voice only a bit above normal.

The rider reared and galloped.

Taxi was at full speed and Fluttershy cowered in the back, holding on to her seat and closing her eyes.

When she got to the hockey place, she paid the rider some bits and alighted.

The hockey place's actual name was spelled out in big glowing letters: "Vanhoover Hockey Place". It was a stadium or an enclosed arena; a dome of sorts was connected to the facade structure where lines of ponies held their tickets by hoof, wing, or magic. The closed doors at the back could not muffle out the noises—cheering, screaming—that came from inside.

She looked at her surroundings.

It turned out that she found herself in front of many imposing skyscrapers, although the suburban districts were close at hoof; their brick houses with their many trees and plants could be seen past the fences. There were main roads everywhere—avenues, highways, all but the biggest of roads were here. Traffic was heavy; in some places, it was gridlock as arrays of taxis were at a standstill as police ponies stood at intersections holding up red and green signs, directing the flow of the carriages.

She hurried to the side, not getting smashed by an incoming crowd of excited tourists as they flocked past the line and screamed their way to the actual stadium.

"Must be important," she said.

Positioning herself right at the ledge that separated sidewalk from road, she then planted a sign on the concrete, placed some pictures of animals, and opened a saddle bag of hers.

A rabbit and a duck appeared and stood at her side.

The sign said: "Animal expert. Salary to be talked over kindly."

And many ponies passed by, only giving her a passing glance.

Carriages came and went, ponies alighted and entered.

After five minutes, none took her offer despite her plenty (though quiet) appeals.

Then, a voice above the hockey commotion: "Hey!"

Fluttershy looked at the mare who said that. Her eyes brightened, her smile widened, her once despondent ears livened up. "Yes? Would you like to consider my services, ma'am?"

The mare walked into clearer view. Like Fluttershy, she had a yellow coat. The mare was an Earth pony, had orange hair, and wore a pith helmet. "Can you tame an orthros?"

She gasped, hoof at her mouth. "An orthros?"

"That's what I just said."

Fluttershy nodded fast. "Yes, ma'am. Those are not common creatures. Where did you get such a pet?"

"Not important. I got it from a trade and now I need somepony to keep it under control."

"Oh, don't say that!" Fluttershy said—hurt. "You don't keep your pets 'under control'. You understand them. Know what they want and don't want, know what they desire and don't desire."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." She brushed that off with a hoof. "Can you tame it?"

"Why, yes!" Fluttershy nodded fast again. "Where shall we start?"

"At my apartment over downtown," she said. "It's gettin' late. At least he's good at sleeping without disturbing anypony."

And, Fluttershy packed her things and followed the mare away from the hockey place.

And then, Fluttershy was lying down on her bed in the apartment.

There was a glass door with a small balcony overlooking a wide avenue. It was closed so the hoofsteps and the words could not reach her.

On a separate bigger bed slept Teddie Safari, the orthros owner. She snored.

It was a small apartment. Without walls, the kitchen, the dining area, the living room, and the study were together. Counters, refrigerators, bookshelves, tables—even a radio was there.

And, sleeping inside a large doghouse was the orthros, an otherwise normal dog of brown fur if it were not for the two heads it had, one from a different line.

She sighed as she got out of bed and walked to the glass door—never opening it.

Looked at the clock.

It was past one.

"Friday," she muttered. "If Day. If only I knew sooner before I got here."

Getting Across

"Wake up, Fluttershy."

"Ugh..."

"Wake up."

"Uh...don't you worry...Fluttershy's here..."

"You're dreaming, aren't you? Wake up!"

"Eek!"

And Fluttershy was hovering over the bed, her eyes darting and moving here and there—scared.

The lights were off—a dark apartment.

She looked out the window.

Still dark.

"If you don't get yourself ready," Teddie said, putting on her pith hat, "then we'll be late!"

Fluttershy glanced out the window again. "But it's early! What could you be late for?"

"We're getting out of Vanhoover. Now."

Fluttershy gulped. "W-What's going on? Are they actually...c-coming here?" She bit her hooves.

"A newspony rushed up to the door just minutes ago," Teddie said, packing her things up in two pocket-filled saddle bags and placing them on herself. "They've overrun whatever mountain defence force we've had."

"What?!" Fluttershy exclaimed, smacking her cheeks with her hooves. "How is that even possible? Last time I've heard, they were just at the C-Crystal Empire a-and—"

"'Last time' must've been a long time ago, miss," Teddie said.

Fluttershy gulped again.

"You're still under me, Fluttershy," Teddie began, "but this is more important than teaching an orthos new tricks! If you don't get over yourself, you're going to be here when they come and bomb Vanhoover—"

"Bomb?!"

"Stop repeating words, Fluttershy! Time is of the essence!"

Fluttershy nodded, slung some saddle bags on to herself.

She went to the doghouse, but the orthos was already awake. It was wagging its tail, lolling its tongue as it more than smiled at the sight of Fluttershy.

"Huh." Teddie scratched her head. Then, she shook her head. "Get a hold of yourself, Teddie!"

With the two-headed dog on a leash, Fluttershy and Teddie Safari hurried out the door.

At the southern train station, straddling a river that ended at the vast ocean, a crowd of ponies flooded through the doors. Many held their tickets in the air, shouting and screaming and sobbing. The bright lights held under them these ponies—whether Earth pony, pegasus, or unicorn (though mostly unicorn). They were all ready to leave with baggages and luggages in tow.

This train station, while not as massive as its Manehattan counterpart, still had some sway over those who were new to the city—columns inside had mottos etched on them, mottos of the city's various departments; paintings on the ceiling were made clear by the lights that hung there; a gallery of floors made each 'mini-station' unique as one line had a checkered and tiled floor and another had marble and still another had timber and wood.

Yet, nopony was awed or amazed by an architectural art-of-the-state. Some did not see it at all. Their eyes were closed as they cried on somepony else's shoulder. The cries only grew louder as they entered the trains. One yelled, "I'll miss you! Please come back!"

And then the train's doors closed.

"You are leaving Station Seven," a female voice announced over the radio. "Your destination is Tall Tale. Estimated time of arrival: Twenty-seven minutes."

The train was jammed with ponies on the seats at the side. The seats in this electric train, unlike those in the Friendship Express and other steam-powered locomotives, were firmly and strictly on the sides, facing the other side of the train. The ponies sitting down were facing one another across the wider aisle. Hanging from the ceiling were metal rings where ponies wrapped their hooves or wings about, keeping themselves upright.

As the train left the train station, everyone inside could see what was outside:

A twilight sky, about to break into dawn—purple, the final stars fading. Then, streaks of light—closer and closer to the cityscape.

Green lights.

Gasps. Faces away. Slamming the windows. Screams to turn back, screams to hurry forward. Ponies stood up if only to watch what the ruckus was about.

Teddi Safari and Fluttershy, with the orthos on leash, rose from their seats, too.

Above the rising hills and the growing trees—lush trees, flowering with pretty specimens—the green lights stopped on the glass skyscrapers reflecting the horizon's morning color, the night's last hour.

Then, white dots in the air.

Colliding with the green.

To dance around, to go around, to clash and to fight—some dots fell, both white and green.

The sun's rays penetrated the train's windows, blinding some of the ponies for the moment.

Now, it was really Friday.

"Vanhoover is down!" a pony shrieked—a mare on her knees, only to resume her weeping as her family came to console her with pats, nice and quiet words, and promises.

The commotion was silent before that lone mare; all eyes were on her. The family paid no attention to the looks at them. They merely brought her back to her seat, giving her tissue paper.

Sneezes, blew her nose.

Fluttershy sniffed—a tear welling.

"We will be arriving at Tall Tale Station in twenty-three minutes," the announcer declared through the speakers.

The train arrived in a much sunnier day, the coolness of the past hours replaced with a welcoming warmth and a clearing light. Only a few ponies alighted at Tall Tale Station—the great majority of the passengers stayed inside as the doors closed, with one even mocking "Are you crazy?! You're too near!"

Needless to say, he was dragged back inside the train before it got too much speed.

"Uh, a-are you sure that we should stay here, miss Safari?" Fluttershy asked, stammering, holding the orthos with her hooves—he was licking her face in pure joy. "Maybe they're right."

"I live in Tall Tale now," Teddie said matter-of-factly, gazing upon the little village before her. "No use owning an apartment about to be assaulted."

Fluttershy gulped again as they went off the station and on to Tall Tale itself.

This town had a few skyscrapers of its own though not as towering and as imposing as those back in Vanhoover. They were short and simple ones made out of brick and concrete, having an art deco style.

However, those skyscrapers felt out of place when compared to the rest of what the town had to offer to anyone new in the vicinity: one- or two- story shops and houses, most of them either flat or tipped with a rustic layered roof. Plant life proliferated the small place—every ten or so hoofsteps there was a tree in the middle of the wooden sidewalks. Some fishing boats floated about near the sandy shore.

But, even those things were not what caught the ponies' attention there and then.

Over there, they saw factories billowing out smoke. Beside them were fields of cornstalks as ponies in carriages lassoed up the stalks to the massive wagons in tow, leaving nothing behind. A pegasus had a contraption attached to her wings—a metal skeleton or framework of sorts that had retractable baskets and blades. She flew right above the cornstalks and, in a second, they were gone, now in the hold of that mare.

Meanwhile, a yellow Earth pony with a candy cane as his cutie mark was being shoved out of his candy store—inside and through the glass walls could be seen shelves upon shelves of jawbreakers, lollipops, chocolates, and more about to be boxed by a few guard ponies.

"Boiled Sweets," one of the guards said to him in a commanding voice, "you are to be sent immediately to the border of Vanhoover to meet our troops there. Your food is invaluable to us."

"B-But, why me?!" he yelled. "You should be asking Emmer Bran, not me! They have lots of food—"

"But no sweets," the guard said, dragging him into a carriage.

"My family!" And he reached his hoof out. "May I at least say my goodbyes—"

"We don't have a minute to lose, mister," the guard said.

And the candy pony was silent as the carriage whisked away.

"That was awful!" Fluttershy said as she and Teddie (and the orthos) sat at a table, beside a window that overlooked the vast sea with its undulating waves and its dithering boats—they could even hear the waves crashing on the beach, they could smell the tropical scent the ocean gave off, and some droplets of water would appear when a wave traveled perilously close to the restaurant on the pier.

On the table were some plates of salad and containers of sea salt which, as the chalkboard writing on the menu proudly proclaimed, was "collected straight from these very waters!" For the orthos, he had two bowls of generic dog food—crunchy and crispy. Each head was busy with its respective bowl.

"What are you gonna do about it?" Teddie asked nonchalantly.

They were also the only customers present.

"What if that pony doesn't come back to his family? They would be so worried and upset that they're not seeing him!"

"I'm concerned, too, Fluttershy," Teddie began, "but this is no time for excessive pitying and sympathy. They're going to do their job for Equestria—leave it to us to tell the Princesses."

"When will we tell the Princesses?"

Teddie filled her mouth with an entire cabbage leaf.

"Sorry I asked," Fluttershy said.

The two ponies and their orthos were back inside an apartment—another one, though. This one was smaller, had a carpet that covered the entire floor, and had only one pony-sized bed. There were two windows that gave them a seaside view that covered Tall Tale's entire shoreline complete with all the piers, all the boats, and all the ports and docks that could be seen without being compressed.

"There is nothing to be afraid of," Teddie said, looking about in the somewhat bare room. "It's going to be just fine."

"That's what ponies say right before things aren't fine," Fluttershy commented, hiding an eye behind her bangs.

"You're hearing the wrong stories." She took her hat off and hung it on a rack. "Alright, it's only nine-thirty in the morning. What do you want to do? There's...not a lot to do here, but there's a park—"

Fluttershy nodded. "Oh, yes!" she said, shouting as if by whispering. "If there's a park, there's certainly some ponies with pets of their own, too!"

Teddie raised an eyebrow, giving her a suspicious look. "What do you mean by that?"

"You're still my main client, of course," Fluttershy said, "but I get extra money by kindly helping out everypony even in the small ways. It's the only thing I could do for them."

Teddie sighed. "Well, I'll get ourselves some personal gear—survival gear."

Fluttershy gulped one more time. "Survival gear?"

"You better stop repeating my words, Fluttershy."

The park was a peculiar park. It had grass, trees, bushes, rocks, benches—a pond, too, where the ducks swam and quacked. But, there was also a sandcastle in the middle of the grass.

And a brown stallion was tending to it.

He had blonde mane, and a desert island as his cutie mark.

Coco Crusoe was also the only other pony in the park.

"Uh, hi."

Crusoe looked up to see Fluttershy's face.

Silence as they looked at each other.

"What can I do for you, ma'am?"

"Oh, uh, I was wondering if you, uh, had a pet? An animal you take care of?"

He shook his head. "No. I had a pet goldfish once, though."

"What happened to him?" Fluttershy's ears drooped.

"I was clumsy back in the day, so I spilled the fish bowl and—"

Fluttershy gasped. "You let him perish?!"

"It was an accident," Crusoe clarified. "What next? You'll tell the rest of Equestria that I'm a horrible pony?"

"Uh..."

Crusoe sighed, holding a small bucket of sand and turning it upside-down, letting it all fall to the ground. "If you don't mind, I have my own troubles."

Fluttershy whimpered as she flew out of the park.

And Crusoe became the only pony in the park.

"And, if you look outside, you can see the mountains of Unicorn Range," the elated-sounding host spoke through the wired microphone.

Crusoe looked out and so did a few other ponies in the train.

Past a tundra of sparse flowers and tall grass, snow-tipped mountains were close together, rising to the sky. Splendid and beautiful were they—in magnitude, they were astonishing; in length, they were inspiring. Their rugged sides contrasted with the smooth river that bended peacefully past tiny thickets of pine trees.

"What's in those boxes?" a passing pony asked, pointing at the boxes beside Crusoe.

He turned around. "It's sand."

"What for?" The pony took a step closer and visually examined the boxes.

"It's my way of assisting in the war."

"O...K?"

"Sand in eyes. Now you know."

"Oh. OK!"

Then, the pony walked away.

Crusoe smiled as he looked back out the window.

From Friday Morning to Saturday Noon

Crusoe stepped off the train with most of the passengers and walked on Ponyville soil.

He looked up and saw some pegasi patrolling the sky. He then looked behind him, seeing the boxes of sand that he was carrying on his back. "Still safe," he muttered.

Then, passing by the same houses and walking on the same streets, he entered the town hall.

The circular room in the middle was a formidable hall. Tall windows let in the sunshine, the soothing morning sunshine; lockers and metal cabinets with numbers on them lined the walls; banners hung royally, colorful and complicated in their designs and stylings.

As he entered the room, Crusoe's eyes laid on the big table at the room's center and on the ponies surrounding it. Mayor Mare was there and Rarity was standing beside her; a few soldiers in their yellow armor and uniform stood firm, not giving Crusoe their mind.

And then, there was the ironclad unicorn. His white coat and his blue hair shone a bit under the sun's rays; his purple and yellow armor was not full as he held a hard helmet with one hoof.

Whatever hushed talk was going on stopped at the arrival of Crusoe.

All eyes were on him.

"I've brought the sand you've ordered," Crusoe said, hesitating.

Silence as they looked at each other.

"Ah, yes," Mayor Mare said as she trotted her way over to him and then obtained the boxes. "These will certainly be of good use."

Crusoe smiled then, noticing the white unicorn, he bowed a little. "And, thank you, Captain Shining Armor."

The officer smiled back.

And then Crusoe was out.

Everypony at the table returned to looking at it, specifically the map that was on it.

It was a detailed sketch of Equestria and its surrounding territories. A solid line showed the boundaries of the Crystal Emprie. Then, a dashed line went in front of it. There was yet another one a bit farther East, and the another one a bit farther West. A few more dashed lines were scattered here and there in the northern part of Equestria.

"Where was I?" Shining began, looking around. "Right—" half-closing his eyes and making them appear set "—we've gathered enough intel to know several important points about Sombra's strategy."

"What would that be?" a soldier asked beside him.

"One, he has become dangerously shrewd in less than a week. We've only failed the First Battle of the Hessian Mountains on Tuesday because we underestimated his state of mind. Nothing more and nothing less." Then, he put his hoof on a line a bit closer to Canterlot, though still far away. "But, he somehow maneuvered his troops over here, past our frontlines. Granted, the trenches were not even half-complete and maybe we didn't have enough time to mobilize the necessary troops, but we gave Sombra the benefit of the doubt until the very end so we have nothing to blame on that part."

The mayor glanced at him awkwardly.

"Then, we've received attacks from random points here—" pointing to one dashed line "—here"— and then to another one "—and here—" pointing to yet another dashed line.

Everypony else considered the land and the forces represented in those small lines.

"It confused most of us, even baffling high command. There was no rhyme nor reason to his 'unplanned' offensives—a lot of them did not have plenty in terms of population, natural resources, or even much historical value. They were just empty plains or, otherwise, little villages.

"And then..."

He hurled his hoof toward a big city straddling the western coast of Equestria. It was in its North-West, only hundreds of miles away from the arctic regions. The name given to it was: "Vanhoover."

"You've read the mid-morning newspapers, all of you, right?" Shining said, his voice becoming sterner.

"Vanhoover's been taken," the mayor answered—solemn.

Shining sighed, looking at the map below his head. "He distracted us from the real threats. We thought his forces were very few. It turns out that they were only enough to make sure that Vanhoover would fall to the brunt of his army. We were deceived and placed the majority of our soldiers on those 'random' frontlines instead of important areas like Vanhoover.
That's the other side of the story."

The mayor breathed in a quick breath. Rarity brought a hoof around her neck, showing sympathy in her closed and downcast lips.

"I don't know how long will it take for Sombra to realize that we've known a part of his strategy," Shining said. "But, we must take advantage of it while it lasts—that we know that he wants to confuse us and, when we're confused, strike at an unexpected place."

"We'll open our doors!" the mayor suddenly exclaimed.

Rarity and the soldiers looked at her, bewildered.

"Where will the poor Vanhooverites stay if not anywhere else but here?" She pointed at the ground, her passion-filled eyes lit up and amplified behind her glasses.

Shining nodded. "You're a good mayor." Then, taking in another sigh—"Listen closely. We'll talk about Vanhoover later, but listen closely...."

And everypony leaned over the table.

Davenport was leaning on his wooden chair, a leg dangling over and another one on the counter where a cash register was on.

He was opposite the front door and also sleeping.

The space that was between Davenport and the front door was occupied by the two products that his shop capitalized on: quills and sofa. On his left were the sofas—purple, gray, black, and white were the colors to choose from although their different forms and patterns made up for the lack of hue variety; rugs and abstract paintings completed this half of the store. The other half, the one on his right, was where the quills were stored and put on display alongside extra wells of ink on the bottom shelves; some quills came in bundles all grouped together into sleek vases and jars, while others came individually as they lay there almost perfectly straight with labels describing them, their history, and their value—for example, one yellow quill over here was described by the label as "from the plumage of a Dragon Lands phoenix".

Then, the door barged open.

Davenport, startled, almost fell off the chair and then stood up.

"Sir," the soldier said, outstretching a hoof at him, "are you Davenport, the owner of 'Quills and Sofas'?"

He shook his head, shaking off the drowziness. "Yes, I am. What do you need?"

"Half of your sofas," the soldier replied.

Davenport blinked. "Did I hear you correctly?"

"Yes, you heard me correctly. I wouldn't know, though, until you repeat what I've just said."

Davenport glanced at the outstretched hoof inches before his nose. "You'll pay me a handsome amount for that—you know that, sir."

"Not immediately," the soldier said, hoof still outstretched and now gesturing for payment. "Also, I won't be paying. The Princesses will."

Davenport glanced at the lone feather below the counter. Then, he closed his eyes for a few moments.

"What is wrong, sir?" the soldier asked. "Are you getting sick?"

"Not exactly," he said, a faint smile appearing. "I was...taken aback by this unforeseen request for so many sofas."

"That includes half the sofas in your inventory," the soldier said, "not just the ones you have here outside." With that, he lowered his hoof.

Davenport pushed the chair aside and grabbed a quill from the top of the counter. "We'll make this official, yes? I'll get some parchment." He walked over to the door behind him when he stopped and turned around. "May I ask why the Princesses need so many sofas?"

"It's for the guard," the soldier replied.

"You're going to use...sofas?"

"We'll split them up into pillows and beds," he said. "Hurry up—it's already dusk and some more batches will go out—"

"Dusk?!" Davenport yelled as he ran to the counter and looked out the three big windows that gave a pretty view of a road beautified with flowers on the sides.

The sky was indeed orange.

And then Davenport opened the door and rushed inside, leaving the soldier in front of the counter—waiting.

Later, in the evening, that same soldier had joined his comrades in pulling several wagons crammed with a peculiar selection of items: besides the sofas that had been purchased, there were caged birds, blank scrolls, quarter-precious paintings, soda bottles with their soda caps, old clothes, even a decaying bench—by the looks of it, it was uprooted, since the metal bolts were rusted and damaged.

Some of those wagons passed by Canterlot Boutique; some of those windows had bright lights on, their own pony-made rays of light emanating forth on to the dark grass patches and dirt roads—armor glimmering.

Sweetie Belle's head popped into view.

Inside the bedroom/workplace, one could see the bed furnished with an elegant cover of refined timber. There was also the shelves of fabrics and textiles of several kinds, sticky notes on the wall, mirrors, mannequins, yarns, spools, sewing machines—

Rarity came inside.

"There you are, Sweetie Belle!" she said, a reassured smile washing over her face. "For a minute, I thought you had gone back with our parents!"

Sweetie Belle turned away from the overlooking window. "I'm here!"

Rarity's smile grew bigger. "Yes, Sweetie, you're here!"

Sweetie scampered to her sister. "What was the hubbub in town hall about? It must be very serious if you came home only now."

"'Hubbub'?" Rarity repeated. Then, rolling her eyes and holding her mane: "That's not important—the word. Well, the 'hubbub' concerned how the conflict's going so far. The Captain of the Royal Guard himself arrived in Ponyville to hold a meeting here—a private meeting, mind you, but it was a meeting nonetheless."

"It'll be over soon?" Sweetie asked—eyes asking as they gazed into her eyes.

Rarity choked—laughed a little, a bit haughty. "What made you doubt that it won't be over? It's only a hoofful of setbacks. It's our fault that we didn't prepare ourselves sooner."

A pensive pause—a harrowing silence only broken by the marching hoofsteps and the squeaking wheels. "When do you think it will end?" Sweetie then spoke.

"Oh, it will be over before you know it, Sweetie!" Rarity said, almost laughing that sentence out. She paced to her bed, grabbing a sleeping mask with her magical grip, her horn glowing. "What day is it? What season?"

"You really don't know?" Sweetie asked, tilting her head—perplexed.

"Of course, I know! Spring just started. If it hadn't been for that grumpy king coming back from a thousand-year slumber, I would've rolled out my 'Springsition' line by now!"

Sweetie glanced at the window.

She walked to the bed, to Rarity's side.

"What will you do now, Rarity?" Sweetie asked—her voice quieter.

Rarity sighed and placed a hoof on her sister's shoulder. "Work. There's an awful lot of work to do—chiefly, soldiers to clothe and to protect." She glanced at the window, too. "It's getting late, Sweetie."

She walked over to the door.

"You better sleep," Rarity said. "Tomrrow's a Saturday so you could wake up later than usual."

"I know that, Rarity!" Sweetie whined as she levitated a sleeping mask of her own. Then, she stopped—floating it in mid-air as a look of awareness was on her face. Then, she faced Rarity again—the door was already open and she was half-out the bedroom. "Why did you tell me that?"

Rarity scrunched up her mouth. "I assumed you changed your habits now that there's a...war." An awkward pause. "Goodnight, Sweetie Belle. Sweet dreams!"

"Goodnight, Rarity," Sweetie said back, levitating the sleeping mask closer to her.

Rarity flipped the light switch and the door closed.

Now, it was dark and Sweetie Belle got up to bed, wearing that mask, and slept.

By late morning, Saturday, that same soldier walked a twisting path that led to the outskirts of town and beyond. By the time he halted, he cast a long look on Ponyville down below—a curious sight yet a familiar one, with its homely houses that harkened back to the so-called 'simple days' that had no idea that there would be hotels and offices made of fifty floors and more.

The soldier took in a deep breath of fresh air—sumptuous to his senses, almost tasting with his tongue that delectable air.

"You're the one who's gonna inspect the sandbags?" a voice questioned.

Alarmed, he jumped and whirled around to see a stallion whose most unique feature was a stubble.

"Are you?"

The soldier nodded. "Yes."

"Brilliant. I'll show you the way."

They approached a small booth beside a stone statue of a pegasus standing guard. The sound of rushing water increased in volume and the soldier could see the dam in its entire extent: light purple in color, concrete and stone in composition; some Tesla coils could be seen at the bottom—glass spheres held up by cones which were surrounded by rings of the actual metal coils. The river was split into two—the higher part before the dam, the lower part after the dam. After that, a rocky waterfall.

The stubbled pony opened the door and gave way to the soldier.

He skipped the controls and the instruction manuals on a desk and looked straight at the pile of sandbags stacked atop each other.

"Unless we had the entire pegasus population of Ponyville or some unicorns with raw talent in magic," the stallion broke in, "we can't stop even limited flooding if the Crystal ponies harm the dam."

"What about some trenches?" the soldier quipped.

"Easier said than done." The stubbled pony gave a mocking guffaw. "We should've upped security here years ago. Last month, we've had a catastrophe on our hooves when a colt played catch and ended up throwing a boulder at the dam. Good thing it didn't break, but repairs were needed and..."

He stopped, the soldier noticing that the stubbled pony had placed a hoof on the door frame, supporting himself on that hoof.

"Go. Do what you have to do." He waved the soldier off as he walked away. "Thinking about it...I need to go to Sugarcube Corner."

By noon, the stubbled pony had entered the bakery.

There was that recognizable scent of sweet sugar. Several ponies chatted as they ate their desserts—or full-course meals of desserts.

Meanwhile, Mr. Cake and Mrs. Cake pored over the one-page letter that rested silently on the counter.

"Sweet Apple Acres is doing as much as it can," Mayor Mare said, standing in front of the couple and the letter. "In spite of that—I'm sad to say—it might not be enough. We're receiving packs of displaced Vanhooverites—we'll house them, give them temporary shelter until our construction crew is finished with Chillwater."

"I've never heard of that place before, mayor," Mr. Cake said, looking away from the letter.

Mrs. Cake looked at her, too. "Is that where you'll move them?"

"We began construction yesterday," the mayor informed. "Only five miles South—far enough from the Everfree Forest, if you were wondering."

Mr. Cake quivered. "And you're saying that we can help out by—"

"Offering less sweets and more plain bread," the mayor completed.

The couple gulped, wrapping each other with two hooves as they looked at the mayor—and then the letter with a quill beside it.