Overcast informs me that another month has passed.

Springfield informs me that Autumn begins only two weeks from now.

Please read the two above statements once again, and attempt to rationalize how this is possible. Is Overcast so far down in his pity puddle that he only recognizes every other day that passes? Is Springfield such an uneducated bumpkin that he cannot understand the passage of a year?

The answer is neither.

The true answer is fucking Princess Celestia.

Here's a bit of food for thought for you folks back on Terriel: So, it's been approximately thirty days since my last entry. Truly, two weeks from now is indeed the first day of Autumn. How can this be possible if Summer was just starting at the beginning of my last entry? If a year here also consists of four seasons, how can six weeks be equivalent to one season? Think for a moment about how a year is truly defined back on Terriel. What does a single year represent? No, it does not represent the passage of twelve months nor the end of a 364 1/4 day period. It represents one revolution of the planet around the sun.

Did I blow your mind yet?

If not, look back to some of my earlier entries about the Princess here in this land. They believe she raises and lowers the sun each day.

Feel that yet? Feel that little blood vessel in your brain pop open from this aggravating realization? Congratulations, now you're going to wake up dead tomorrow from an aneurism just like I will.

If the belief here is not that the planet revolves around the sun, nor that day and night are defined by the rotation of the planet, then this means that the sun is moving around the planet. By our definition, one year could be considered a single day here! That means that the definitions of months, seasons and years are irrelevant concepts! Position of the planet? Irrelevant, because the freaking' Princess moves the damn sun instead. Weather? Controlled by the pegasus ponies, so irrelevant to seasonal climate changes.

God dammit, Celestia, you're breaking the rules! You're breaking the rules of meteorology! You're breaking the rules of metronomy! You're breaking the rules of horology! Is nothing scientific sacred to you ponies!?

If you can't tell, I'm pretty pissed right now! Going to put this pen down, walk away, raid the stockpiles for something, and then I’m going to try this stupid journal entry again.

Alright, I am back, and after learning exactly how much Equestrian Rum actually burns, I think I have calmed myself down enough to continue this entry with a bit more of a level head and professional demeanor. I would normally tear out the page above and toss it away, but to be honest, I am afraid of running out of paper in this journal in the future, and keeping it means I will not have to repeat the information above. You may simply have to forgive me for losing my temper, and I will see about covering up the obscenities with liquid paper (If I ever happen to find some).

For final clarification, a year back on Terriel is roughly equivalent to two years in Equestria. I suppose this might make sense, since some creatures do reach maturity much more quickly than others, so perhaps timekeeping has shifted to compromise for this fact. I will have to do more study to learn about the usual reference of ages for these ponies in comparison to age as we know it back on Terriel.

My work load has been lightened ever-so-slightly, as I have now taken on an assistant to help me with some of the legwork required in handing out designations and notices to each of the ponies here. Overcast, since he insists on staying at my heels, at least has started making himself useful in this role. He is happy (pardon, I should say he is willing) to heed such requests with a rather timely efficiency. Hopefully, this will allow me to be less wound up all the time (i.e., like I was at the beginning of this entry).

As for what has actually happened this month, I will begin by stating that I have learned of a new creature that takes up residence out here in these freshwater marshes. I could not get anyone to tell me their proper names, but the creatures were most commonly referred to as "Tanks". (Salmon used the nickname "Bullet" at one point, but perhaps he meant it to be spelled differently?) For a physical description: These creatures are large, reptilian herbivores with thick, plated scales over their broad (almost pointed) heads (the scales make spines that form a short collar over the sides and back of their neck) and a thick, smooth, plated shell that covers their back. Colors seem to be varying, but shades of blue and green are most common. I would like to elaborate: When I say large, I will clariify that they are roughly 15 feet in length from the tip of their nose to the end of their tail, perhaps 5 feet wide, and 6 feet tall. Those are very good estimates of how large one of the bulls among them is.

About one week into summer was when I first saw these creatures begin bumbling into view near the settlement. They started knocking over a few of the trees to more easily graze upon the leaves and munching away on the bushes around the area. In fact, the only reason I found them was that I went looking for the cause of the sound of a tree falling, since I already knew Maple was passed out in the dormitory in a drunken coma at the time. When I got close enough to spot them through the tree line, one of the cows among them had already spotted me as well and started to approach. The others disregarded my presence as the tank cow wandered up to me while I stood frozen in fear. I had never seen anything like this before, and all I could think is that if I tried to run, it might chase me down and trample me (though the beast's approach was very slow).

I learned that the creatures are mostly docile, as Springfield later confirmed for me after my meeting with one. The large reptile rested into a seated position in front of me and watched me curiously, a deep, staccato clicking arising from its throat. (Perhaps think of it as a really low and slow croak?). After a few moments, it raised its head up to grasp one of the branches of the tree I was standing next to and stripped the branch of its leaves with a slow, sliding motion, then began to munch complacently in front of me as it watched my movements. The tension was released a bit when I watched it eat the foliage, realizing that I was not going to be her meal today. As I slowly tried to back away, however, her head craned down to follow my retreat, and she began sniffing at me. I reached up a hand in panic for a moment without thinking about what I might actually do with it, and the creature made a quick snap of its mouth to grasp my hand.

My shriek caused the nearby birds to scatter and the other tanks to perk up curiously, while the one that had snapped at me opened her mouth again to bellow in surprise. I realized then that she had not bitten me, and that my hand was still on my wrist (thankfully). Once again, the cow got close and put her mouth around my hand to begin (as weird as this sounds) stroking it with her tongue.

The thought of the sensation sends a quake down my spine in disgust every time I think about it. I will not get too descriptive as to what it feels like for one of these creatures to suckle on your hand, but it is really strange to say the least. Unpleasant is too light of a term to be honest.

After a few minutes, I couldn't stand the strange, sticky, grainy sensation anymore and pulled my hand away, causing the creature to stand up again while I started to backpedal. Slowly she meandered along after me, and followed me up until I bumped into someone. Hearing them shout in complaint, I shrieked again in startle. Only then, as we were both flat on the ground, did I realize I had tripped over Willow, who was helping install a wooden fence around the strawberry patches.

"What the hay, Prodder!? What's wrong with you? I'm trying to work here, geez-” He then got quiet as he saw the tank seat herself again in front of us and begin her clicking. "Uhm... uh, S-Springfield? Springfield! We gotta problem! About four thousand pounds of problem!" He began to call out, while he stood back up off the ground to face the tank.

"... Aw, horse apples..." I heard the farm pony mutter as he trotted around the fence to see the scene. Getting up close to the creature's front, he began to stamp the ground with his hooves to make loud thuds. This made the creature stand up and back away with a low groan in protest. "Go on! Get outta here, you! Nothing here for you- these ain't your strawberries. I said go! Get!" The creature started to retreat as he continued to shout at it and make warning gestures, wandering back towards the herd without looking back. Springfield huffed, muttering about how he hoped it wouldn't be back to raid the crops anytime soon, then reached a hoof out to help me up. "You mind tellin' me what the Nightmare yer thinkin' leading one of those tanks back here to my fields, Mr. Prodder?"

"I was thinking that I didn't want to die, mostly," I responded.

Willow began a loud laugher behind me when he heard this, and Springfield merely shook his head. "Unless you go up an' punch it in the snout or stab it in the side, Mr. Prodder, it ain't gonna hurt'cha. Pretty much all you was doin' was showin' it where it can come get a snack later wit' this foolishness."

"Then why was it following me!?"

Willow continued to chuckle and snort at the apparent hilarity of me being scared of a beast that enormous; while Springfield examined me. He then looked down to his hoof and sniffed it with a displeased look. "... Ya got tank spit on ya. It was lickin' yer hand? You must taste like salt or somethin'."

"So it was going to eat me then!"

Another outburst from Willow (of course).

"Naw, it was just gonna lick the salty taste off ya. As uncomfortable as that'd been, the critter wasn't gonna hurt ya."

I realized then that he had a point, and that my palms probably did become sweaty while holding onto that clipboard and pen so much.

With that, Springfield nodded at me as he returned to tending the fields, and Willow continued to prod me in the side with his hoof as he chortled. "Scared of a tank? C'mon, really? Dude, for a smarty-pants, you're pretty dumb. Probably the dumbest smart-pony I've ever met."

I instructed Willow to go clean himself up, as the blood dripping from his nose after I socked him might contaminate the field, and then return to work on the fence. Meanwhile,I returned to the stockpiles to take tally of how much sandstone had been collected.

The following weeks, I advised that the dormitory was to be expanded to allow more space, and to perhaps consider dividing the dormitory with a few thin walls to give rooms to each of the ponies. The east and west dimensions of the building were to be extended by 50 feet in total, which I thought to be more than enough room to accommodate the eight of us. I also designated that the refuse, which had started building up, be tossed into the ocean. (I soon had to cancel this mandate when the garbage started washing back up on the beach, and quite a bit of time got wasted as Teardrop followed my specifications too rigidly and was repeatedly collecting the trash from the beach and throwing it back in the ocean for hours at a time.) We still have not completed the construction of the seaside eatery, but the walls and foundation have been laid for it. We simply are waiting for Overcast to finish piecing together the roof of the structure, and then we can find a way to throw a few chairs and tables in there. Might need Willow to look into that once he finishes with the expansion of the dormitory.

Just yesterday, I also received a strange bit of news. Well, actually five bits of news.

Five new settlers, and boy do I have a lot to work with now. I will be conducting an interview with each of them this evening in the wagon (I really must see about having an office constructed somewhere for myself for these kinds of things), much like I did for the first seven settlers. Today, I have requested for them to examine the surroundings, meet with the other settlers, and get Willow to make them each a bed for the dormitory, which is almost done being expanded (the segmenting of it into rooms may need to wait).

Oh, and Maple did have something to say to me about punching her toady in the snout. "So, I heard you punched Willow in the face."

"I merely expressed my wishes for him to stop harassing me in a way he could most easily understand."

"Good. Nice to hear you aren't as helpless as you always happen to look then."

"Wait, isn't this where I have to “deal with you personally?” Whatever happened to that?"

"Oh, you can deal with me personally if you really want, but it's tough to do it in such a cramped dorm as this. I'm a big mare you know."

"... Get out. Just, get out."

Sometimes I really despise that mare.

As with the last entry, I shall now give my overall opinion on Songring as it stands: I would give it a D-; it’s passing, but just barely. Things still feel as though they are on the verge of failure, as if one mistake could send our pathetic attempt out here into disaster. I'm mostly glad for the flare gun in my backpack at this time that was given to me as part of my expedition supplies when I left Canterlot; if things crash and burn, at least I have a way to get out that isn't being stuck on a transport with these settlers as they blame me for their failure.

Author's Notes:

Beginning inspired greatly by Uborhaxornova's WOOL.