“Oh.” Applejack stops her aggressive advance, briefly taken aback. Her hoof slowly lowers to the ground.

“They were delicious,” Doug adds, trying to stay cheerful. “Easily the best I’ve ever had. And I’m not just saying that.”

“Um, thanks,” Applejack says. “That’ll be four bits.”

“Bits?” Doug asks, raising his eyes to meet hers. He glances down at himself. There’s no way, right? “What are ‘bits’?”

Applejack snorts, keeping a steady gaze on his face. “Ya know, gold coins stamped with the Celestial crest?” Applejack reverently glances to the sun, then frowns at his uncomprehending stare. Not even a twitch of recognition, yet he speaks perfect Equish, near Ah can tell. Even the forest hobos know of bits, and the Mistress of the Sun.

“I’m sorry-” Doug says apologetically. Gold coins? For apples? Either it’s just the color, or she’s pulling my leg, or gold is far more common here. He motions towards his crotch area.

Maybe that’s where he keeps his bits? Like Pinkie Pie?

“-But I must have left my bits in my other pants.”

Applejack meets his gaze for several long seconds before she glances down, half expecting some article of clothing to have mysteriously appeared on him. Alas, she only gets another disappointing glance at him, and her eyes flick back to his. Applejack sighs. Of course not.

“Right. Well, Ponyville’s thataway.” She motions vaguely towards the way she came. “Maybe somepony there’ll help.” ‘Cause you ain’t gettin’ it here. Celestia knows you’ll eat us out of house and home. If ya don’t eat us directly; Ah can see those pointy teeth, small as they are, and the way you’re starin’ at mah flanks.

“Right,” Doug says, standing up. Ponies it is. He looks down the road, barely able to make out a red building with a bell, and maybe a few thatched roofs further down. A few multicolored birds, or maybe bigger than that, fly around the dark clouds above the town. He looks down at the spilled bags from Applejack’s cart. Might as well try. “You need a hand with that?”

“Nah, Ah got it,” Applejack says curtly, stepping away from him, her tail displaying a prehensileness that would make a monkey proud and scooping the bags of wheat grass seeds up.

“Alright, then,” Doug says slightly dejectedly, his marvel at witnessing that trumped by the rejection. He shudders at the brief glimpse of a thin slit of pink along the otherwise orange body, trying and failing to keep from staring at the treasure under her tail.

Stop it!! Xeno or beast, stop!

He averts his eyes just as Applejack turns back and replaces the bags. “I guess I’ll be going.”

Applejack merely nods, strapping herself back into her cart. He was starin’ at mah flanks again. And, she wryly notes his member growing, he likes what he saw. Ah’m not sure if Ah should be happy or scared about that.

“Name’s Doug. It was nice meeting you,” Doug says, the last word hanging in the air.

Ah wish Ah could say the same. “Applejack,” the farmpony eventually relents, hooves never leaving the ground even as one arm jerks at his side. She shakes her head as she continues along, heading towards the fields Big Mac plowed. The creature sighs, shoving his hands into non-existent pockets. He turns and shuffles down the road, his bare feet quiet against the packed dirt.

I can’t believe I was checking her out.

Well, now we know the answer of ‘he or she’.

Or, they could present themselves differently on, well, wherever this is.

You sure didn’t mind her ‘presentation’.

It wasn’t like that and you know it.

You liked it and you know it.

Doug grunts, giving up on arguing with himself. It’s a short walk, and he studies the first building he passes. Wooden, one story with a high roof, primarily painted red and ornately decorated with pink hearts along the trim. The large sign in front depicts two prancing ponies atop an open book. Playground equipment that would be undersized for an elementary school class lays scattered in the nearby fields. Further down the road is what he guesses is the main part of Ponyville, given the higher concentration of buildings.

I can’t believe how similar this all is; granted, the doors are too short, and the windows too low. But the buildings, the flora; maybe not so much the fauna, but that remains to be seen. There’s a whole new world out there just waiting to be explored! Now, where would I find a pair of pants? Preferably cargo, with pockets on top of pockets. And maybe one of those giant pockets on the back that could hold a textbook. Or a bushel of apples. Truth be told, I’d probably be happy with a kilt.

Two ponies with saddlebags on their sides amble towards the red building. The larger, close to Applejack in height but nowhere near as bulky, has a pink coat and two-tone purple mane. And a spiral horn sticking out of her head. She stops chatting with the much smaller winged white pony as soon as she spots him. Her large eyes manage to go even wider, stammering ineffectually. The smaller one yelps excitedly as she uses a wing to pull a pencil and a pad of paper out from her saddlebags, scampering directly towards Doug.

Okay, that’s new. Horn pony and wing pony; unicorn and pegasus? Maybe mother/daughter? Or would that be mare and filly? Or they aren’t related; coloration is pretty different. Just don’t get between them, no sudden moves, should be fine. Hopefully.

“Namby!” shouts the pink mare, though she hesitates a split second before chasing down the filly. Her horn flares the same golden brown as the three cookies on her flank, though the filly wriggles out of the golden brown aura surrounding her with a practiced twist of her body, skidding to a stop a few strides away from Doug.

“Hi!” shouts Namby as she peers up, and up, smiling broadly. Doug looks down on her, standing stock-still and returning the smile. “My name’s Namby Pamby, but you can call me Namby! And I’m a reporter for the Foal Free Press!” She raises one hoof in some sort of greeting, clutching the pencil and paper in her wings, and expectantly meets his gaze.

“Hello, Namby Pamby,” Doug replies, warily looking between the filly and the rapidly approaching pink mare. He offers the mare a thin smile, doing his best not to bare his teeth. Her eyes merely narrow, her expression darkening. He turns back to the smaller one and squats down on his heels. “My name is Doug.” He raises a fist towards the filly’s hoof and holds it there.

“Namby, be careful,” cautions the pink mare against the scratch of pencil on paper. “You don’t know where he’s from!”

She’s sketching a drawing of me and making notes. While not looking at the paper, just using her wings and a hoof. Maybe prehensile appendages aren’t such an oddity around here? Also, what’s with that glow from the mare’s horn?

Namby blows her brunette mane out of her rolling eyes with an exasperated “Pff.” She turns back to Doug, taking two awkward hops to bridge the distance and tap her hoof against his fist. “Dam saw you talking to Applejack. You’re not from the Everfree, are you?” She sticks her tongue out at the last words, but the way she glances back at the mare makes it seem like it’s just for effect.

“The… Everfree?” Doug asks, glancing around. Huh, he does have a clear view from here to Sweet Apple Acres; were those dots in the air before pegasi? Still, nothing jumps out at him that screams ‘Everfree’. Sounds like a pleasant enough place. “What’s that?”

Namby raises a hoof like an intrepid explorer, pointing towards the thick forest to the south. Her voice rings with excitement. “It’s a place where pegasi don’t control the weather, and animals care for themselves, and the plants grow all on their own!”

“That sounds…” Don’t say suspiciously like home. “Suspiciously like home.”

The pencil pauses its scratching as Namby peers up at Doug. She snorts loudly, resolutely shaking her head back and forth as only a filly can before she resumes her note taking. “Don’t be silly! Dam tells me that only monsters live in the Everfree Forest. And you don’t look like a monster to me!” Her attention turns back to her drawing, touching up the hair on his head and adding details as she works her way down.

Doug glances at the mare, offering her a short-lived smile that is as well received as the first. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

She stares back, stone faced.

“I mean, if I had to guess, I’d say you’re more like a devil.” Namby’s gaze returns to Doug’s, a hint of a frown as she inspects him further. “Would you say you’re more like a devil, or more like a monster?”

“I, um,” Doug stammers, biting his lip as his eyes worriedly flit between the mare and the filly. What the hell (phrasing!) do they teach these kids?”

“I like to think I’m more of a devil,” the filly continues, oblivious to his discomfort as she compares her drawing to him. “Monsters just rip things to shreds and eat them. Devils are all about using their wit and cunning to get what they want! I mean, normally that’s tempting you away from the Tenets of Harmony. Not that I’d do that, of course, my tongue isn’t black.” She peers up at him, cocking her head to the side as she stares at Doug’s mouth.

“Well, my tongue isn’t silver, either,” Doug says, sticking his tongue out to demonstrate, though he peers past his nose to confirm it’s still a healthy pink. Namby’s face scrunches up, then the filly snorts, sticking her tongue out at him and giggling.

“Namby,” the pink mare cautions, “you shouldn’t listen to all of Storied Pages’s stories. They’re just that, fables and legends. Now, stop bothering the monster and let’s make sure the paper is ready.”

“Fine,” Namby sighs, rolling her eyes, “but I already know everything’s ready to be printed. Hey, mister?”

“Yes?” Doug replies.

“How’d you like an exclusive interview with the Foal Free Press? I don’t think it’ll fit in today’s paper, but I’m sure we can make room for next week’s edition!”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Doug says, half smiling as he watches the filly scamper off, the mare giving him a nasty look before following after. Will I even be here next week with so much to see and learn?

The exuberant filly meets up with another set of two younger ponies walking from Ponyville, their excited chatter too far away to make out. But the hoof pointing at him, and their gaping jaws makes the topic of their conversation obvious. And it doesn’t bode well when the two newcomers race back to town, leaving a strutting Namby heading into the red building.

He dusts himself off, stands up and continues east towards Ponyville - assuming the sun rises in the same place, and he hasn’t seen a train for Sweet Apple Acres to be west of. It’s hard to tell if the town is more suburban or rural. Two or three story buildings haphazardly jut out of the ground along twisting roads. Timber frames, thatched roofs, and little to no signage besides an occasional picture representing a three leaf clover, or a book, or a motley collection of items in a deep purple. The teahouse and bookstore appear closed, and the closest thing in the department store resembling clothes are rugs for display, though there is a modest selection of hats and purses.

He continues more north than central, staying away from some sort of open air market in the middle of town. Ponies of every color under the sun mill about the various shops, many of whom cast wary glances his direction. So far, he only sees those three types of ponies. And a few other animals - bunnies, cats, and birds - none of which display anywhere close to the intelligence or purpose that the ponies show. The smile on his face grows tighter and more strained as the closest ponies stop whatever they are doing to watch him even more intently.

I guess I’d be pretty curious if I saw a random horse wandering through town by myself. Shoot, if I was driving I’d be ready for it to suddenly bolt in front of me! Just have to stay calm, not look threatening. Act like I belong?

Most mares walking along sport fairly utilitarian hairstyles (manestyles? Their tails are also styled much closer to a woman than a horse) with the occasional outlier. He finds his eyes again drawn to that spot just under their tail. Except, even on the few that he would have gotten a good look at, he can't see anything. Huh.

Until he sees a stallion. Either the first one he sees is some sort of exhibitionist - and the second, and third - but his tailstyle does little to disguise the fact that it most certainly is a stallion walking along.

Well, the mares do have fur, or hair, covering most of their body, so it's not like they're completely nude. Stallions, too, for that matter, but it doesn't cover them. At all. Now, why are there so few stallions, compared to mares?

Many of the ponies are in groups of two or three, with saddlebags being the only article of clothing or accessory visible as they browse through the market. More and more of the conversations seem to be about him, judging from the low whisperings, furtive glances and lingering stares. Though one in particular seems more fascinated in him than anyone else, as opposed to fearful.

Haven’t seen anyone (anypony?) that I would qualify as an authority figure, but who knows what they use to designate that. I guess I could just walk up to one of them and say, ‘Take me to your leader!’ I’d rather not make a scene, but with two for two interactions not being terrible? I’m past the point of hiding my appearance, for good or ill.

The mare in question turns her head as a blue bird flies over, continuing to watch him out of the corner of her eye, listening to it warble something that sounds like a warning. She giggles, shaking her head, before a wing dips into the saddlebags at her side and comes out with a few seeds. She holds them up for the bird, saying reassuringly, “No, Tweety Gee, it’s okay. I’m sure he means no harm to anypony.” The bird chirps a few times, nibbling the seeds while turning to gaze at Doug briefly, before flying off.

Might as well use that as my opener. “Excuse me,” Doug says to the butter yellow pegasus, and she turns back to regard him. Her long pink mane flows around her head like a waterfall, cyan eyes shining eagerly. Three pink and blue butterflies are on her, if he’s being honest, quite shapely flanks, and he has to force his eyes back to her cute - the word doesn’t quite do it justice - face.

“Hello!” She offers him a bright smile, her wings briefly fluttering as they settle against her back. “I haven’t seen you around here before. Are you lost?”

“Lost?” Doug says, looking around. The conversations among the other ponies have stopped, all focusing on him. He shudders, hands rubbing his arms, his nakedness particularly forefront in his mind. “I wouldn’t say lost, I’m trying to find some… pony. Only, I’m not really sure where I am, or where I’m supposed to go.”

“It’s okay,” the mare giggles, taking to the air to nuzzle Doug’s nose. The simple action does wonders to calm him down despite the murmured whisperings around him, and he raises a hand to rub the wet spot that remains. She hovers effortlessly, beaming at him. “Most animals don’t like to admit they’re lost, either. I understand completely.”

Flight is a thing, and in ways that should not be possible by the laws of physics. One more thing I need to throw out. Ugh. Doug scratches the back of his head, trying to sort through this new revelation while keeping the conversation going. “No, it’s just…” Doug returns her smile, his arm returning to his side. “I’m trying to find a, um, Storied Pages? Does the name ring a bell?”

“Oh, yes! She’s the town librarian!” She lands, then points a hoof towards a massive tree at the north end of town, not very far from where they are. Her head twists up to meet him, eyes beaming with joy at the prospect of helping him. “I’m Fluttershy, by the way. It’s nice to meet you!”

“Doug,” he replies, returning her smile, though his isn’t quite as joyful. In his defense, nocreature’s could be. “Thanks for the help.”

“It’s no problem at all!” Fluttershy says with a cheery prance. It makes her tail alluringly waggle back and forth, her flanks swaying hypnotically. She takes a step towards the library, turning to make sure Doug is following her. Her eyes flick to his hands, then his feet. “You don’t look like you work with the earth, though. Are your digging days done?”

“No, it’s…” Doug trails off before noticing her wry smile. He snorts, shaking his head. “Okay, that was good.”

“Thank you!” Fluttershy titters, though after a glance to some of the nearby ponies she picks up her pace just a little, her exuberant energy dissipating slightly. They quickly arrive at the tree; the faded sign outside says ‘Golden Oaks Library’ with a picture of an open book. “Was there anything else you needed?”

“I hope not. Thanks for your time,” Doug says with a smile.

“Of course!” Fluttershy waves, then walks over to two of the more impatient looking ponies. Both have pinkish coats, one with an orange mane, the other green. The marks on their flanks depict trios of flowers.

Doug returns the wave, then walks up to the door. He finds it open, though he stops at the entrance. He can barely hear the conversation going on between Fluttershy and the other two mares.

“It’s okay,” Fluttershy says reassuringly. “He says he just wants to go to the library, then I’m sure he’ll go back to wherever he came from. There’s no need to panic.”

“Yes, we heard,” one of the mares replies indignantly. Doug sighs to himself, shaking his head and going inside.

“You could?” Fluttershy exclaims, alarmed. She lets out an adorable ‘eep!’ as she whirls back to inspect Doug. “But that means he isn’t an animal!” She rapidly takes a few quick breaths, nearly hyperventilating. “But, what is he, and why is he here?!” Not a second later and she is gone, swiftly flying away without a second glance back.

Next Chapter: Ch. 3 - Loreweave Estimated time remaining: 16 Hours, 37 Minutes