The music was barely audible over the crowd.

Somewhere, somepony was playing a simple little tune, the benumbing trot of a marching band, but it got drowned out by the huge crowd gathering by the entrance. So many ponies were trying to squeeze through the alleyway, at least it was clear they had arrived at the right location.

“Thank you, mister raven,” Fluttershy said, bidding the imposing black bird farewell as it fluttered away, joining overhead the dark flock of animals scanning the streets for unsuspecting passersby who hadn’t been herded to the fairgrounds yet.

Not everypony arrived here by happenstance, as evidenced by the multitude of carts and wagons standing in line, both empty and filled with bundled wares. There was profit waiting to be made, from selling and from buying, the exotic merchandise that survived until today promising with potential turnover.

Luckily for Scootaloo and Fluttershy, the ponies who were only here to enjoy the show had a separate queue and got in quite a bit faster. But the crowd just never thinned, so much so that there even were traffic controllers past the entrance.

The entire enclosure was rather impressive. The questionable decision to establish a commercial event venue smack in the center of city had resulted in an interesting piece of property, the large area looking like it had been stamped out of the surrounding residential buildings by a huge cookie cutter.

The only really noteworthy landmark was a big round building at the center, obviously ages old, judging by the staggered window sills and lavish decorative pillars hewn into the equally obviously restored and well-maintained marble exterior. Apart from that, the huge concrete plaza was pretty flat, with a few smaller structures erected from modular supports and walls of metal and plywood, which looked like they had stood entirely elsewhere yesterday, and would move again by tomorrow.

Scootaloo was getting squirmy, so Fluttershy let her run free, following her with the empty stroller. All the ponies, and the many other creatures, around her were so tall and strange, Scootaloo couldn’t stop craning her neck and staring.

The gryphons, she had already seen. Even the occasional drake, or the dragons from yesterday, didn’t surprise her anymore. But there was such a vast multitude of folks present beyond those, Scootaloo barely kept up looking at them all.

Here, a group of zebras carried jingling bags painted with spiritual symbols, which were not unlike the unique shapes exhibited by the breathtaking stripes on their coats, their forms equally jingling with shiny golden jewelry. There, a bunch of hippogriffs’ claws clacked on the ground, bright and colorful plumage shining intensely where they showed through the dark and mysterious ritual wrappings.

Oh, and there was also an impossibly large dog. It was bulky and muscular like a mastiff, but even larger than Scootaloo, and it reeked of magic. The hound padded over to Scootaloo to check her out, wagging its tail in friendly greeting.

“Ew,” Scootaloo said, staggering from the faceful of warm slobber she’d received. She stumbled back and accidentally bumped into another pony and his crate full of clinking bottles.

“Hey, watch where you’re going,” the sleazy stallion said.

“Oh, excuse me, please,” Scootaloo said.

“Eh ... don’t sweat it, kid,” the stallion said, “no harm done.”

“What do you have in that crate?” Scootaloo said, “Sounded like a bunch of bottles. Are those magic tinctures? Potions?”

The stallion laughed. “Yeah, they’re potions alright,” he said, “a full shipment of the finest calimyrna brandy. They don’t make ‘em like this anywhere this side of the desert, that’s why I had to import them from far south. This baby’s gonna make me a good bit of coin tonight.”

“Yuck,” Scootaloo said, “I don’t like alcohol.”

“Smart kid,” the stallion said, retreating with the crate in tow, “You shouldn’t take up the habit, either. Only rots your brain.”

“He looks a bit too enthusiastic about his crate to be giving such advice,” Fluttershy commented, “but okay.”

The merchants stuck mostly to the entrances to set up their displays. As Scootaloo and Fluttershy trotted further inward, the steady stream of visitors became continuously devoid of carts and carriages in lieu of droves of curious pedestrians. Specifically, a remarkable number of younger ponies, fillies and colts, were practically dragging their families across the plaza, a different famous name on every tongue.

The first exhibition hut right around the corner seemed especially popular. Scootaloo wouldn’t even have noticed the plain structure if not for the throng of strollers parked in front of the door.

Something about a stroller was particular. Scootaloo came closer. She was sure she had seen it before. Was that … ?

“Mommy, look!” Scootaloo said, “It’s the second best stroller in Equestria.”

“The second best?” Fluttershy said.

“Yeah, because mine’s the first best!” Scootaloo said, “Come on, mommy, we have to go inside.”

Fluttershy said something, but Scootaloo was already in.

The inside of the hut was much more muted. Murmuring adults stood in the corners, hidden in the soft shade of colorful paper lanterns, around a long table packed with little fillies and colts, all engrossed in the speech of the old mare sitting at one end. Finding somepony specific would have been difficult in any other circumstance, but Scootaloo shouldn’t have expected anything less ridiculous: most of the half-dark was being taken up by the imposing presence of a large sun hat.

Scootaloo squeezed herself past bigger ponies until she stood right behind the hat. She prodded the hat and whispered, “Hey, Magnolia, it’s me.”

“Scootaloo!” Magnolia whispered back.

She attempted a greeting, but there was no space to move, so the two fillies just kind of touched their hooves together. Scootaloo wiggled and squirmed between Magnolia and her neighbour for so long until she could sit on the bench herself.

“What’s this place about?” Scootaloo said.

“You gotta listen to Scribe,” Magnolia said, pointing at the old mare.

Scribe was quite a sight. She was obviously very old, but her slow and drawn-out movements seemed calculated and precise. Her dark coat shone with the radiance of a thousand groomings, and her long and delicate limbs were framed in the flowing fur of an ancient lineage. Most impressive of all, however, was her horn. The elongated and curved spike crowned her head proudly, its smooth surface exhibiting subtly proportioned spiraling patterns, the likes of which Scootaloo had never seen before.

“Which is why this has been tradition in the land whence I come,” she said, “passed down for generations before me, and generations before them still. It reminds us of how the small makes up the large, as much as the large makes up the small. For together, we can be both small and large, and it is through this unity that we make up the whole. Do remember this on your journeys, for the wise traveller looks both backward and forward.”

“Now, I have brought for you naught but the most basic of materials. I will demonstrate essential techniques for those who would learn. There are also matching pieces of wood for practice. Please help the younglings among you, and show them how to practice the craft.”

“Here, Scootaloo,” Magnolia said, “nice pacifier, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Scootaloo said, “What is this?”

Magnolia secured her a bunch of small wooden plates from the center of the table. The plates had simple, regular shapes that were notched on multiple sides. It was obvious they were supposed to go together in some way, though the disheveled pile didn’t give much of a hint by itself.

“It’s a practice puzzle,” Magnolia said, “you have to put it together to see how it works. Here, you can do it like me.”

Magnolia herself had a blank sheet of paper in front of her. She didn’t act immediately, looking at the paper for a while and tracing its edges with a hoof, before she consequently grabbed it and folded it cleanly across the diagonal.

One wooden plate fit in each of Scootaloo’s forehooves. She couldn’t bend them and they didn’t align in any way, but there was something about those notches.

Scootaloo brought her plates together. She tried doing like Magnolia, staring at the plates intently, taking in their shape as illuminated by the play of light and shadow across its surfaces, and their pose as she turned them in her hooves. She felt the weight of the wood, the roughness of the material, how the shapes joined and intertwined when she held them close. In a moment of illumination, the relations finally made sense, and the best course of action was revealed to her.

Scootaloo smacked the wooden plates together. They clacked and landed on the table.

“Aw, shoot,” Scootaloo said.

She took another two plates. The notches lined up well, but when she pushed them into one another, the plates would only go halfway and then get stuck. Scootaloo pulled them apart and tried again the other way around, but it still didn’t fit.

“Hey, I think mine’s broken or something,” she complained.

“Not so fast, little one,” Scribe spoke. She didn’t make eye contact, fully concentrated on the paper in her hooves, but for some reason, among all the other little ponies crowding the table, Scootaloo could tell she was speaking directly with her. “The studious wanderer does not hasten past a good opportunity. Some things deserve to be taken slow, observed from every angle, so that only the best choice remains as the clear course of action.”

Scootaloo held up the plates again. She carefully inserted the two notches into each other until they got stuck again. Then she paused. Turning the piece in her hooves, she did her best to look at every last bit of the structure. The angles, the light and shade, the way the wooden texture got increasingly slanted against the edges.

Something’s weird … Hey, that’s it! Scootaloo twisted the two pieces against each other, and suddenly they fully interlocked. The notches weren’t cut straight! They were cut at an angle, leaving some leeway for the pieces to turn. Scootaloo quickly gathered another plate and stuck it on, and for the fourth plate, she could find one that was long enough to connect with two at the same time. She just needed a small one here and another broad one there.

“Look!” Scootaloo said. She put her construction on the table and it didn’t collapse.

“Wow, nice going, Scootaloo,” Magnolia said, “you made a box.”

“Whoa, what are you making?” Scootaloo said.

“I can only tell when it’s finished,” Magnolia said. By now, she held a fairly complicated assembly of folded paper, and still she showed no signs of stopping her work.

“Can I have a paper too, please?” Scootaloo said.

“Sure,” Magnolia said and passed her a sheet.

The paper was rather imposing in its perfect whiteness. How ever could she create something that was better than that little square of purity?

Most of the other ponies, who were big enough to use paper, had elected to fold the paper along the diagonal. Apparently however, that led to too narrow bases, the constructs toppling over on their own. So Scootaloo made a shorter fold, leaving some of the paper to dangle, flattening the edge with her hoof as cleanly as she could.

Picking up on what the other ponies did, she folded the resulting triangle halfway over itself, pulling up the free edge and tucking it into the fold. The crease opened up within itself, releasing an unfolded sleeve from underneath, creating a structure that was stable in all directions. Hey! This thing almost made itself! Just repeat the same thing on the smaller bit, fold both around each other, and finally there was a place to tuck the dangling bit from the beginning into, creating a broad base. It was done.

“Look!” Scootaloo said, “It’s an umbrella!”

“Are you sure?” Magnolia said. She took Scootaloo’s creation and turned it upside down. “Because I think it’s a swan.”

“Whoa,” Scootaloo said. It was a bit wobbly and not entirely proportioned, but the slanted tip and parting lower side really looked like the beak and wings of a swan. “And what are you making?”

Magnolia held up the result of her work, and Scootaloo couldn’t believe her eyes. It was a beautiful flower, its long, slender paper stalk adorned with little leaves and crowned by a bloom with eight pretty petals.

“It’s so pretty,” Scootaloo said.

“Here, it’s for you,” Magnolia said and gave the flower to Scootaloo.

“Wow, thanks,” Scootaloo said, “I only have this swan for you …”

“Cool, thanks!” Magnolia said, inspecting the relatively crumpled paper with reverence.

“Very well,” Scribe said, “Everypony has given their creation to somepony else? Here, little one, this is for you.” She gave an intricate braid of paper flowers to a little filly and gratefully received a small snowflake in return.

“Good,” Scribe continued, “And so we proceed to the final part of our little gathering. It is to remind us never to linger and always to move. For it is not the goal that beckons the sage wanderer, but the path that leads to it. Nothing that we create lasts forever, all will eventually be turned to dust. But it is what we do that counts, what path we choose to tread, for our combined marks are deep enough to surpass the ages.”

She presented a small bowl glazed with delicate spiralling patterns and shapes so very fine suggesting ritual meaning. After loading a few scraps, Scribe then reached into a satchel under her cape and held up a tiny figment perceivably brimming with magic.

“And now, together, everypony,” she said.

Some ponies seemed way too giddy as everypony leaned in closer. The entire table collectively took in a deep breath, and then blew onto the figment in Scribe’s hoof. Her horn began glowing. And then, Scootaloo saw. The spiral shape on her horn was made up of much smaller, astonishingly delicate patterns. Scribe merely touched the magical figment with her nose, and it promptly popped into a bunch of glowing embers that slowly sailed down into the bowl and erupted into a small fire.

Everypony clopped their hooves in amazement and the first pony threw a paper creation into the flame. Another pony followed, and soon everypony was cheering enthusiastically and putting their crafts into the fire.

“Wait, we’re supposed to do that?” Scootaloo said, “I can’t just burn your pretty flower.”

“Are you kidding me?” Magnolia said, “We get to burn stuff! There’s nothing more awesome than that. Come on!”

Magnolia chucked the swan into the flame, and before she could think it better, Scootaloo also put in the flower. It wrinkled and was promptly reduced to glowing ash.

But all was right when Scootaloo turned back to her grinning friend.

“I’m glad we got to do this together, Scootaloo,” Magnolia said and lunged in for a hug.

“I’m also glad,” Scootaloo said, returning the embrace.

It was true. What she had made or lost suddenly no longer mattered. Scootaloo was really glad to have made a friend she could share the moment with.

All in all, this entire thing was kind of cool.

Their mommies had already caught up and were waiting outside, busy conversing about grown-up stuff.

“Hey there, fillies,” Magnolia’s mom said, “I trust you had fun torching stuff?”

“I like how the cinders glow,” Magnolia said, “Mommy, can we go ahead? I need to show Scootaloo the festival.”

“Sure thing,” her mom said, “We’ll be right behind you, in case you ever need to take a seat. Anyway, Fluttershy, you have to tell me about the forest bushes in your garden.”

“Oh, it’s not that difficult,” Fluttershy said, “you can keep forest plants at home if you follow some basic principles …”

Magnolia set quite a pace, but she paid attention not to walk too fast, so Scootaloo could keep up. The festival became progressively more festive the further they went in. Colorful banners and streamers decorated the walls and street lights, vendor stalls and exhibits put mysterious carvings, icons, and enchanted runes on display, and even the walkway seemed to become broader and more regal, giving all the curious visitors enough space to gawk to their hearts’ extent.

The increasingly present ravens were quite enamored with the decorations as well. The cunning ebony birds lined every nook, protrusion and structural support, starry eyes observing every movement and prominent object with latent intelligence.

Most popular with the birds was a particularly animated piece of decoration, wrapped in silken robes and laden with piles of gold and jewels, countless ravens perched on his head and shoulders near the shiny things. The frail Conductor’s voice boomed across the plaza loud enough to make echoes.

“Welcome! Welcome!” he bellowed, “To the annual Choir of Commerce Celebration of the Coin. Come in and take with you a piece from the wonders of the world. Whether rich in heart or full of purse, you are invited for a show and a fancy. Enjoy board and talent from the farthest corners of Equestria.”

Many of the stalls went through great lengths to be as obnoxious as possible. Jewelry vendors had crystals and gems strapped together and enchanted to glitter with blinding intensity. A more esoteric wood carver had a clattering pony completely covered in runes and insignias dancing for attention. Herbal stores spewed forth billowing smoke of the most intense colours and intoxicating aromas to disorient passersby into coming closer. And Fluttershy was soon lost to the potent smells of a tea shop.

The most conspicuous of stores was one that didn’t do anything whatsoever. On display was a long table with an impressively detailed miniature town, complete with miniature houses and miniature furniture. In fact, the shop seemed to sell tiny pieces of furniture in many variations, much to the interest of one lone pony. She could been mistaken for anypony from behind, if it weren’t for those unmistakable blonde locks.

“Hi Terry!” Scootaloo said.

“Scootaloo!” Terry said upon turning, “There you are. I’ve been hoping I’d see you. Hey, nice pacifier.”

“Thanks,” Scootaloo said, “I almost didn’t recognize you in that dress. Looks so much airier than the other one.”

“Yeah,” Terry said, “I had to convince my mom to let me go with auntie, after which I didn’t feel like wearing that posh old thing.”

“Suits you well,” Scootaloo said, “Magnolia, this is my friend Terry.”

“I greet you,” Terry said, “my name is Terry Cloth, of royal --”

Magnolia gasped. “Is that a doll house?” she exclaimed.

“Oh my gosh, do you have dollies too?” Terry said, “These are the finest doll furnitures I’ve ever seen. Look at the detail on this little book case.”

“It’s even got the book titles painted on,” Magnolia said, and they both squealed delightedly in unison.

The display was rather remarkable. There were multiple miniature rooms fully equipped with stylish doll-sized furniture. The living room was built out of cozy felt and wood, the lounge’s carpet was more detailed than most real ones, and the workshop had tools made from real iron. Somepony had obviously put way more attention to these model interiors than most real ones, and it was certainly enough to keep Terry and Magnolia momentarily occupied.

Which was just as well, because Scootaloo kind of needed a bathroom break already. Except, in Scootaloo’s case, it conveniently was more like a pee-your-pants break, and she was willing to put a minute aside for that. Since the opportunity presented itself, why not take it?

Scootaloo pretended to be particularly interested in one of the dressed dolls on display, while secretly making herself comfortable. She parted her hind legs a bit to make her tummy more relaxed and wiggled her rear to confirm the snug presence of her soft diaper beneath her skirt. With everything taken care of, Scootaloo simply let go, and already she could enjoy the prickling relief as she comfortably piddled where she stood.

Few ponies really paid attention to the dolls vendor, and, for whatever reason, those who did seemed to find the dolls representing infants the most interesting. On display was a tiny felt doll of a baby filly, who came with tons of accessories and little dresses and carriages. Whoever bought these would get more than enough entertainment from the sheer number of things to do.

Obviously, the doll wore a doll diaper, but it was rather pathetic. In fact, the worryingly thin white underwear wasn’t a diaper at all, but some kind of training panties for foals. The doll also came with a selection of little doll potties. That’s how potty training worked. She was supposed to have only little accidents into the thin training pants, and then uncomfortably make her way to the potty and learn how to use it instead.

Scootaloo staggered. It was positively disgraceful. The entire concept of a potty was revolting. She wouldn’t be caught dead using one. In fact, she made sure to empty herself down to the very last drop, into her vastly superior diaper. Not a single moment would she waste on anything even as much as resembling a toilet, if she could help it.

The soaked plastic warmed the insides of Scootaloo’s thighs, as the diaper began its arduous task of absorbing all the liquid and drying her urine-soaked fur. But that was no longer any of Scootaloo’s concern. She had done what she had needed to do, and that was basically the extent of it for her. Scoffing one last time at the potty training implements, Scootaloo strutted away victoriously and rejoined her friends.

“And then you can stitch on the petals from top to bottom,” Terry said, “it’ll make the prettiest little dress without much effort.”

“Wow, cool,” Magnolia said, “I’ll try it out first thing.”

They departed from the stall, pleasantly sated with mutual doll impressions and experiences. In Terry’s case, probably more than that, her saddlebags were noticeably heavier than when they had arrived.

Scootaloo agreed to lend her stroller as storage space for the time being, earning a hearty clap on the shoulder from Victory, for sparing her back for once. This way, Scootaloo, Terry and Magnolia were free to roam about in the time it took the three grown-ups to catch up.

“So, neither of you have been to the festival before?” Magnolia said.

“Well, it’s my first time in Skyview, so no,” Scootaloo said.

“Neither have I,” Terry said, “my mom wouldn’t allow me to go. She thinks it’s below us to mingle with commoners. Well, I certainly don’t think that, and neither does auntie, so we came together this year.”

“Wow, that’s awfully mean of your mom,” Magnolia said.

“So I have come to realize,” Terry said.

“Well, I guess I have to give you two the lay of the land then,” Magnolia said, “We’re in the vendor area right now. You can tell because there’s nothing but stalls here, everypony’s trying to get rid of their stuff.” And ponies were buying, too. “You can go around the middle on either side, which leads to the real plaza or to the festival area. There’s food on one side and music on the other. Or we can go straight down the middle, which leads to that thing over there. That’s the colosseum.”

“Colosseum?” Scootaloo said. The imposing round building was continuously being brightened up with lamps and floodlights as the sun went down, making it the radiant centerpiece of the festival grounds. “Sounds colossal.”

“Well, it’s not a real colosseum like in the excavations,” Magnolia said, “More like the remains of one. The seats are there, and they have a stage in the middle. But they keep it maintained so they can have the magic show duel there.”

“A magic show?” Scootaloo said, “We have one of those in Ponyville. Not too terribly exciting.”

“Not a magic show. A magic show duel!,” Magnolia said, “I go to this show every year, and it’s always a blast. Just see for yourself.”

Scootaloo and Terry were lucky to have somepony who knew her way around the place. The storefront jungle was already confusing enough, but the back alleys were just endless rows of the same undecorated buildings, standing close enough to almost fully block out the streetlights. Scootaloo was beginning to question if the shortcut had been worth it.

The clink of glass resounded, and an empty bottle rolled out from a small, dark alley. It would have been unremarkable otherwise, but there was the label. It read, Calimyrna Brandy.

“Hey,” Scootaloo said, “I recognize the bottle. Where did that come from?”

She stopped and peeked into the alley. It was difficult to see, but something was there. Something moving. Whatever it was, it was large, and it thrashed heavily against the concrete.

Scootaloo knew she shouldn’t go closer, but her curiosity was stronger. Before she realized how hungry the maw of darkness loomed, she had already been swallowed up.

“What … Who goes there?” rasped a deep voice.

It was a large stallion, old and fat, struggling to stand upright against the questionable support of bottles and trash. He reeked intensely of sweat and alcohol. He panted, his eyes unfocused beneath his massive, dirty white brows and beard, trying to make sense of the intrusion.

The wind suddenly bit colder, but Scootaloo wasn’t afraid. Terry stood protectively in front of the two smaller ponies, she was almost as big as the stallion, and obviously way stronger. Besides, he was outnumbered.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” Terry challenged.

“Do you not recognize me?” the stallion gave a croaking laugh, “I’m the town drunk. And that’s what I’m here to do. I drink. At least until you interrupted me.”

“Well, you shouldn’t drink so much, mister,” Scootaloo said, “it’s not healthy for you.”

The drunk’s face contorted in disbelief. But then he gave a bellowing laugh. “What you say is not wrong, little one,” he said, “it is not right to drink beyond one’s own limit. But some things are even less right. For instance, my suffering. And you can not presume to deny a pony the chance to forget their suffering.”

“But what suffering could be so bad to justify damaging yourself over it?” Magnolia said.

“I wish you should never find out, innocent one,” the drunk said, “I travelled here because I learned that somepony else would be present. Somepony who was once very close to me. Oh, how much I have thought about her, and what injustice I have wrought by abandoning her decades ago. I have tried to find her, but every ripped up letter was another piece of my heart, gone. Now that I have found her, I could not help to drink some courage. And more courage. Until there was no more courage left. Look at me. How could I even sully her graceful presence like this?”

“Do you really think she would reject you?” Terry said, “After such a long time that you have not seen each other?”

“Yeah,” Magnolia said, “If you’ve been thinking of her for decades, she wouldn’t be the kind of pony to refuse you, would she?”

“You should just go talk to her,” Scootaloo said, “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? She’s gonna say no? Well, like, whatever, at least you got it off your chest.”

The drunk had raised his bottle to drink, but he stopped. He put it aside, grumbling to himself.

“Oh, dear Princess, have I not suffered enough,” he said, sighing heavily, “I will consider what you say. And now, you go. Little foals, what are you even doing here. Can’t you see this is a dark alley? You are not supposed to be here. Go away! Shoo!”

Scootaloo and her friends took the advice and briskly left the back alleys.

“See, and that’s why I don’t drink alcohol,” Scootaloo said, “I can’t imagine ending up like that.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Magnolia agreed.

Terry gave them an incredulous look. “Uh, aren’t you two a bit young to be talking about drinking alcohol?” she said.

“Um,” Scootaloo said.

“Oh come on,” Magnolia said, “you can’t tell me you never tried it when you were my age.”

Terry shrugged. “Point taken,” she said.

Back on the busy side of the plazas, the grownups were already waiting for them. Victory was already swinging a tankard of an unspecified beverage, and Magnolia’s mom came to greet them.

“Where have you fillies been?” she said.

“We took a shortcut, mommy,” Magnolia explained, “but it ended up taking longer. We just wanted to see the pet show!”

Indeed, quite a lot of animals were gathered in a space prepared with toys and little trick stages. A row of cats sat contentedly on the sidelines, watching the busy movement of the public, while derisively grooming themselves. Several small critters were solving puzzles, rats trying to find the exits of mazes and squirrels matching shapes and colors, dogs and rabbits standing on two, sometimes even one, legs, while trying to balance plates on their heads or jumping over small obstacles.

A number of smaller animals were gathered around Fluttershy, who was holding an animated conversation with a tiger. Beside her stood Merry Winds, trying to hold very, very still, her eyes huge. Though Scout, twisting in the sleeve around her chest, and happily trying to grab the beast’s whiskers, had issues of timidness.

“Hi, Merry. Hi, Scout,” Scootaloo said, “is Circuit here too?”

Scout gurgled in greeting. Merry nodded her head towards the other corner of the area, her eyes fixed on the massive feline. “Dog show,” she mumbled.

“Thanks,” Scootaloo said and trotted in the indicated direction.

“Oh, look at the puppies!” Terry said. A jumble of little furballs had begun going for her hooves, much to her delight, as she nuzzled into their soft fur and watched them jump over and around each other in play.

“Wow, aren’t you a pretty one,” Magnolia said. A poodle had taken particular interest in her, and presented its perfectly kept appearance to her, deigning itself to let her stroke its immaculate fur while expertly concealing its enthusiasm.

A particular dog had also noticed Scootaloo’s presence, but she already knew that one.

“Not again,” Scootaloo said, but the gigantic hound was already all over her and diligently slobbered every dry spot on her face with slimy dog drool, knocking at least another dog and a visitor over with its massive wagging tail. “Eww!” Scootaloo complained, “Ever heard of breath mints?”

“Fang! Down! Come on, boy!” somepony said, “When are you ever going to learn not to pounce strangers?”

“I don’t know, he really seems to like her,” a second, familiar voice said. Scootaloo wiped the slime from her eyes and found Circuit holding out a dirty rag for her.

“Thanks,” Scootaloo said, wiping herself off, “I wouldn’t mind the scruffy love, but being covered in goop is starting to get old.”

“Well, he’s usually an intelligent dog,” Circuit said, “he can do quite a number of tricks.”

“What, you mean besides being huge, and slobbering on ponies?” Scootaloo said.

“Sure,” Fang’s owner said. The colt was barely taller than them, and seeing the gigantic creature at his attention was kind of funny. “I bet ya Fang can fetch this stick before any other dog. Believe me?”

“I don’t know,” Scootaloo said, “Fang looks kinda heavy. I don’t think he can run that fast.”

“Alright, just look,” he said. A short whistle, and Fang was completely still, staring at the colorful stick his owner held up. Fang’s owner targeted an empty area and tossed the stick. “Fetch.”

Now, Scootaloo was no expert on dog training, but even she knew something like this was a bad idea in a place cramped with dogs. Several other dogs had perked up at the signal, including muscular mutts and lean running dogs. As soon as the stick was tossed, a mad dash began, smaller dogs trying to wiggle past as the larger specimens attempted to outmuscle each other in chase of the prize.

None of them came close to the stick, however. Everyone was forced aside when Fang came thundering through, plowing his way through the group and toward the goal. Fang picked up the stick and a chunk of earth, and came scrambling back to his owner, spraying dirt and spittle everywhere.

“Told ya,” he said, “good boy, Fang. Such a good boy.”

Almost meekly, Fang enjoyed his treat.

“I’m never doubting Fang again,” Scootaloo said.

“Alright, I’ll catch up with you later, okay?” Circuit said, “Gotta hit the streets with the gang.” He hoofbumped his friend and went over to join Scootaloo.

“The gang?” Scootaloo said.

“Well, I see you haven’t come alone,” Circuit said.

“Oh my gosh, what happened to you, Scootaloo?” Terry said, “You look … interesting.”

“Magnolia and Terry, this is Circuit,” Scootaloo said, “Circuit, this is Magnolia and Terry.”

“Hey, I recognize you from school,” Circuit said, “You’re the mare who plays with dollies, right?”

Terry’s eyes could have cut diamonds. “Got a problem with that?” she growled.

“Well yeah,” Circuit said, “the problem’s that they’ve been making fun of you. I always thought that was awfully unfair. I mean, you weren’t hurting anypony, right? There’s nothing wrong with enjoying yourself.”

“Yeah … ” Terry said, “I, uh, … I could probably have reacted differently, I guess. Would have saved some trouble. But I realized this only now, after I met Scootaloo.”

“Yeah, Scootaloo’s like that, isn’t she? She’s pretty mature for her size,” Circuit said, “Oh, hey, Scootaloo. Nice pacifier, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Scootaloo said.

“What are all these animals doing here anyway?” Magnolia said, “They weren’t here last year.”

“I guess they’re trying to put on a show for the smaller foals who can’t watch the magic performance,” Circuit said, “Hey, they have little lambs back there. Wanna go look?”

Indeed, the latter half of the pet area was a small grass yard surrounded by a little fence. Though the fence was more of a symbolic suggestion and kept neither the animals in, nor the droves of little foals out. Only a family of sheep remained inside and contentedly chewed on the grass offered by over eager visitors.

“They’re so cute!” Magnolia gasped, “I wanna hug them all! Come here, little ones.”

“Whoa, watch out,” Terry said, holding Magnolia’s tail fast, as the smaller pony was fully enveloped. A whole bunch of little lambs immediately became aware of the newcomers and came bounding over to check them out. The wave of fluffy white wool rolled over Magnolia, but, aside from getting her hat knocked off, she came out unharmed and giggling.

“They’re so soft!” Magnolia squealed, “It tickles!”

“And so small. How droll,” Terry said. She didn’t let go of Magnolia for fear of losing her in the waves of wool, but she still enjoyed some of the baby animal goodness.

A singular lamb was brave enough to separate from the group and approach to check out Circuit and Scootaloo. The tiny animal was unsure at first, but slowly it snuck closer, cautiously stepping up to pry at Scootaloo’s hooves. Then it suddenly grew brazen and began rubbing up against her forelegs.

“Hey, little guy,” Scootaloo said, “what are you doing all the way over here? Don’t you wanna get back to your brothers and sisters?”

“Maybe he’s a loner,” Circuit said, “hey, you should pet him to make him feel better.”

Scootaloo began stroking the lamb’s back. Its wool was so soft, she could veritably sink her hoof in it. Before she thought it any better, Scootaloo bent down and embraced the little lamb in a big hug. The lamb bleated in confusion for a moment, but then it grew comfortable and raised its head, nuzzling into Scootaloo’s neck.

Its pleasant smoothness was almost overbearing. Scootaloo snuggled the wiggly little thing close, and it made her feel warm and cozy all over, tickling her with every movement as it leaned into her embrace. The lamb obviously enjoyed it too, happily giving little bleats and turning over to also get snuggled from the other side. Maybe it thought Scootaloo was its mommy. How funny was that!

Scootaloo was about to call Circuit over to join in, but she just barely caught him looking away. Circuit had been observing the hug with way too much interest, and now rivalled the sheep in trying to look cool.

“Hey, do you want a hug too?” Scootaloo said, “It’s okay, you don’t have to feel bad.”

“Uh,” Circuit said. But Scootaloo had already closed the gap and took him into a big hug.

Circuit wasn’t as soft as the sheep, but he certainly enjoyed the it no less. He was slightly bigger than her, but she still managed to close her hooves around him and held him tight to show him the joy of a friendly embrace. It wasn’t long before the enthusiasm spread to Circuit and he raised his hooves to return the amicable gesture.

The hug ended after a comfortable while and the two friends returned their attention to the animals with renewed vigour.