Winter is over, and Songring still stands.

I was a bit perplexed yesterday when I looked out of my window to see the ponies acting rather peculiar. We have a project currently in the works that I will describe later, but I saw no one at the designated site continuing construction. Instead they were all washing clothes and sheets, weeding the area, assisting Springfield with the fields, and doing a few other miscellaneous jobs that I had not assigned. I understand that such things need to be done, and I was not upset; I was simply perplexed that all of them decided to do this at the same time!

Overcast wandered up my stairwell while I was watching the buzzing outside, and without my consent began pulling the sheets from my bed to fold them. When the sounds finally caught my attention, he was already almost back to the stairwell.

"So you're really about to just walk away and say nothing? You're not going to explain why you're about to steal my linens, and why every pony in this place has coordinated a cleaning day?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Benjamen Prodder, I thought you were busy. I'll try to ask you if you're busy more often before going about my duties. I'm here to collect what needs to be washed today."

"I can see that. Why is everyone doing cleaning and fieldwork today?"

"It's the last day of winter, Mr. Benjamen Prodder, so we're celebrating Winter Wrap Up today."

Cultural Discovery: Winter Wrap Up is a holiday for the residents here in the Sun of Chance (I would believe nationwide, but cannot confirm this) that celebrates not only the end of what some consider the most difficult season of the year, but is also a precursory event to their New Years, which is the first day of Spring. Winter Wrap Up is the day that, in a typical settled land, the weather ponies concentrate on removing the clouds and making a warmer climate for the area, while the earth ponies and unicorns focus on getting fields ready for the new season, removing snow from the ground (in places that do snow), and doing some cleaning to help bring in a fresh new year. The last day of Winter is a day of work, and the first day of Spring is a day of celebration. Today, the settlement has been bright and lively (also very wobbly, and a couple of lightweight ponies got sick from all the merriment), which has been pleasant to watch.

Before I start describing today however, I do have to make mention of how Songring came to survive its first winter out here on the shores of the Light Waters. Two weeks into winter, I was steadily slipping into madness as I watched the ponies down below from my office window each afternoon. I had instituted a rations system that limited the amount of food every pony received each day to try and extend the longevity of our stocks. I believe I actually began pulling my hair out when, during an inventory check, I realized that someone had left one of the casks open, and insects had collected in the unprotected strawberries, making them inedible. I did my best to salvage what I could from the cask, but overall, we lost almost half of our remaining food, leaving us with 3/4ths of a cask of assorted plants (Strawberries, Midnight Berries, and Longgrass mostly). That was meant to last a settlement of now 20 individuals for four weeks.

Not possible.

I was sitting at my desk one day with my forehead on it (It was resting in the dent I had created when I slammed my head there in frustration, and I had not bothered to pick it back up for the following hour) when the door slowly creaked open and closed as well. "I know we're low on food. I know there's only Longgrass Ale. I know the water probably tastes stale. I know that you're pissed off that I am rationing everyone's consumption, and yes, I know that I look funny. If that's you, Maple: I don't know whether I prefer to ride saddle or bareback, stop asking, that's creepy. If it's Willow: Just shut your face and walk away now. If it's Overcast: Oh my lord, you'd best have something good or important to say to me, or else I will stand up from this chair and kick you in the throat. Now that all the usual grievances are out of the way: What can I do for you?"

"Sorry, Mr. Benjamen Prodder, I didn't know you were having a scene right now... I can come back later if you want, but I was just gonna let you know that the caravan operator is looking for you."

I have not run that quickly since I thought the residents of Ponyville were trying to lynch me. Like a Lepoline after a lightning bug, I was through the door and racing towards the dining hall: Where Overcast had let me know the operator was waiting. All eyes in the dining hall turned to me when the door was swung open and slammed into the sandstone wall behind it as I darted in. It took a bit of examination before I was able to discern the new face in the building that belonged to the pony I sought, from those of the caravaneers who were sitting around chatting, as well as the ponies of Songring that were on break.

He was a silvery-pelted unicorn with a blonde mane, wearing a purple cavalier’s hat with a large black plume, along with a similarly colored waistcoat. He called himself Sir Bullion, and when I sat across from him at one of the tables, breathing loudly from my exertions, he stared at me in bewilderment. "My, so this is the Coordinator of Songring. I had heard rumors that he was quite the sight to behold, and I see there is some truth to them. You must be what they were calling a 'human' then?"

"Yes sir, I'm Benjamen Prodder, and you have no idea how happy I am to see you here. I was worried that you weren't going to show up."

"Unfortunate circumstances kept us, I must admit. I have to inquire, Mr. Prodder: where is your depot?"

"Pardon?"

"I'm afraid that I'm getting a bit uncomfortable with all of our wares just sitting out in the clearing with the caravan guards. We were informed that there would be a depot here to house our goods during our stay. I have only seen three buildings here, and all of them look... occupied."

"Oh, you can just bring the stuff in here, of course. I can have someone take care of it."

Sir Bullion was not very comfortable with the idea, giving me an odd glance of distrust. "No, I'm afraid that we'll just need to use your depot. You can simply direct me to it, and I'll have the boys start unloading the wagon."

"Really, this is becoming much more complicated than it has to be. You can just unload it in here and it'll get taken care of."

"You're the one being complicated, Mr. Prodder. It's as simple as pointing the way, and I'll have it hoofled. Why won't you just heed the request?"

"Excuse me for a moment." With that, I stood up to snatch Willow and Overcast by the manes and drag them with me outside. I had Willow erect a few unused fence posts in the ground. Overcast and I took the covering off of the expedition party's original wagon and draped it over the posts like a tarp, securing it with nails. It took us about an hour to complete. Finding Sir Bullion watching us afterwards, I motioned to the very poor structure. "There's your god damn depot then. Happy?"

He was not, but I had very little care for catering to him. I had trouble viewing him as a guest at Songring, thus my hospitality might have been sub-par. It was rather impressive to watch them unload all of the goods into the depot and start creating a small little bazaar for display. This perturbed me as to why they were making displays, but I let them go along with it. If they needed the depot in the first place, maybe they had to do this for some ritual or something stupid like that too. I just wanted the supplies in the storeroom so I could take a deep breath of relief.

After all of their unloading was finished (a few hours later), it was requested by one of the caravaneers for me to meet with Sir Bullion again. I made my way happily to the depot to see him standing there with a tapping hoof, not quite as pleased to meet me this time. "Ah, Mr. Prodder, glad to see you could make it. We can begin then."

"Sure thing. I'll go ahead and get Overcast to round up some of the others who aren't busy to begin hauling the stuff to the storeroom. You can just hand me the ledger, and if I have any questions, I'll bring them up tomorrow along with my requests for your next visit." I outstretched my hand to await the ledger as Bullion stared at me incredulously, as though I had just spoken to him in a foreign language or had just told a really tasteless joke.

"There must be some misunderstanding, Mr. Prodder. I'm going to give you a tour of our wares so you can decide what you wish to purchase for your operation here."

Purchase? "Do what? You're here to supply the settlement, aren't you? You're from the Sun of Chance?"

"We are from the Sun of Chance, yes. We're here to trade with you. What? You thought I was just going to give you my inventory? Mr. Prodder, my family did not become a trading icon by playing as simply a delivery boy. Is there another problem, or are we ready to get started?"

I hadn't the ability to respond at that moment, instead choosing to chew on the inside of my cheek as I had to mull over my situation. I could see him growing impatient with me, so defeatedly, I asked him to wait for just a few moments. "Maple! Daggersides! Get over here, I need you for something!"

The red pegasus and husky unicorn ambled into view within moments: Maple, carrying her axe in her mouth, and Daggersides, idly picking her teeth with one of the knives she brandished with her horn. The two of them stood at my sides after they made the approach, and before they could ask me any questions, I regarded the perplexed Sir Bullion seriously. "Sir Bullion, please meet the Songring Militia."

"The what?" All three of them asked me at the same time.

"The Songring Militia. I've called them to help me commandeer some necessary goods for Songring."

An uneasy laugh escaped Sir Bullion as he examined the two ponies at my sides, shaking his head slowly. "You obviously are having a joke with me, Mr. Prodder. Very amusing, but please, let's get back to conducting business."

"This is business. Strictly business. You have something I need, and I plan to obtain it. So here's my business proposition for you: You can hand it over, or we can take it. I leave the decision to you."

"I urge you to reconsider this, human. I have six armed guards with this caravan, not to mention that I have had to fight to protect myself from bandits on more than one occasion. Those bandits were far more impressive than a fleshy, hairless monkey, a drunken woodspony, and a chubby blade collector. Perhaps you should-"

I've always wondered what would happen if you interrupted someone's pre-fight speech, as such monologues always seem to happen in any virtual game or Chimeras and Caverns campaign we used to play (even in many of the films I've seen). Each side needs a chance to give a lengthy lecture explaining why they're right and why they will win. What happens when they don't get to finish that speech, however?

They die. When the other party snatches a knife from the chubby “blade collector” and tackles the speaker over a bazaar table to run a sharp blade over his exposed neck mid-sentence, the speaker dies. It seems words take priority over preparation.

All eyes at the depot fell on me as I stood up, hands dripping red and my green overshirt stained and darkened from the few spurts of fluid erupting from the open throat of the caravan owner as he lay draped over a bin filled with rolled, wool sheets. Ignoring his frantic gurgles and terrified struggles, I looked at the six caravan guards with a scrutinizing glare. They must have been alerted when Bullion gave a final shrill cry beneath me before I sealed our business deal. I could hear Maple and Daggersides screaming at me with questions, as the guards began pulling free blades and cudgels from their holsters and called out to the others to alert them of the situation.

"No witnesses."

Daggersides and Maple hushed when I said those words and motioned to the caravan guards with the knife still in my hand. Readying their weapons, my two battle maidens slowly approached cautiously towards the group of guards, while I searched the depot for a bit of assistance. I could hear the clashing of iron and grunts of struggle. Shrieks erupted from the scene as flesh was torn; one silenced as a skull was split in two with a heavy swing from a woodcutting axe. The feminine shouts concerned me, but I was able to locate a wheat-threshing scythe amongst the wares. Distracted fighters are not too difficult to get behind with a bit of flanking help from a red pegasus: Hooking the bladed head of the scythe around their throat, and forcing a kick to their backs to slam them into the sharp edge. Also having a Unicorn that can magically hurl heavy barrels filled with wine at the guards helped quite a bit in disarming them long enough for us to give a final blow.

Bloodied, bruised, and with a few large gashes across our flesh, the three of us stood over the remains of the caravaneers. Maple quivered with uncertainty, the battle sobering her up fairly well, while Daggersides slammed a hoof into my side angrily to get my attention. "What the Nightmare, Prodder?!"

"Business," I told her as I handed the knife back carefully, letting the scythe hit the ground uselessly, "And there is some to still take care of. Daggersides, find the other caravan workers in the dining hall. No witnesses. Maple, get Overcast to collect a few others ponies and start moving these supplies to the storeroom. I'll be disposing of the bodies."

"What are we gonna do? We're done for. We're criminals now! We're... murderers!" Maple heaved for breaths, panic overtaking her as I started to drag Bullion's body away from the cloth bins and towards the Light Waters.

"I don't know what you're speaking of, Maple, we're just simple settlers," I assured her, “Sir Bullion and his caravan never made it. The poor caravaneers were most likely intercepted by highwaymen. I'm sure the criminals probably have pilfered their supplies and tossed their wagon and bodies into the ocean to dispose of the refuse by now. What a tragedy."

"Mr. Prodder? Are you alright?"

It was at that moment that I realized I was standing still, chewing on the inside of my cheek while staring at the concerned visage of Sir Bullion as he waved a hoof in front of my eyes. I must have slipped into some sort of microcosm at that time and had been standing there silently glaring at the caravan owner since it began. My eyes stung when I blinked, indicating that they had become dry in the amount of time I was frozen in thought.

"You look rather pale. Perhaps you need to go lie down. You must be rather tired today. I can wait until tomorrow to give you the tour, if that would be better?"

"Yeah, tomorrow... yeah... that'd be great."

So the caravan that I had expected the Sun of Chance to send us was but a merchant, expecting to trade for our goods and currency to help Songring stay standing. We had nothing to trade, however. I could feel an overwhelming sense of doom enclose around me once more.

I went to the storeroom and sat down in one of the vacant spaces left available due to the empty barrels being moved outside to collect rainwater. I just wanted to hide. I did not want anyone to find me – ever. I had failed. Even if it was circumstance that brought me to it, I could still feel that disappointment weigh down upon me. I kept my knees hugged to my chest and said nothing, even when Teardrop came seeking her pet Garnet and found me huddled in the stockpiles. I wouldn't speak to her no matter how much she asked me to confide in her, to let her know what was wrong. Eventually she stopped asking and simply wrapped her front legs around me to rock me gently as I soundlessly sat there.

From the mine entrance in the back of the storeroom, I heard the stone door swing open slowly and a deep, smooth humming sound as the pony who passed through was going to continue about his way. Both the humming and the creature stopped to view us in the stockpile. "Hm. Benjamen. Teardrop. Odd meeting you two here. Am I intruding on a tender moment?"

"No, I just don't know what's wrong with the overseer. He's upset, but he won't talk to me. I'm worried, Dirtnap. What do we do?"

Dirtnap wandered close as he got Teardrop to release me, and sat in front of me quietly for a few moments before I heard his soft, deep voice again. "We cannot help you if we do not know what is wrong. Silence is no proper answer, and you know this Benjamen. Now, is there something I can do for you?"

"You can dig me a shallow grave. I think I'm just going to go lie down in it and never get up again," I muttered, as I finally looked up to view the midnight-colored pelt of the pony and glance into his calm eyes before me. "Maybe then I won't have to tell everyone that Songring is at its end. Maybe then I won't have to tell them that they have to go home with nothing to show for it. Maybe then... I won't have to see the disappointment in their eyes when they look at me."

"What do you mean at its end? The caravan arrived, didn't it? I don't understand, sir... I thought this meant we would have food, and water, and comforts again?" Teardrop kept her hoof on my shoulder as she spoke, her quiet voice ringing with uncertainty.

"It's not a shipment. It's a merchant. We have to buy those things, but we have nothing to buy them with. Songring has no wealth, and with no wealth comes no assistance. We have no more now than before the caravan arrived, and that is to say we have next to nothing."

"So is this your plan?" Teardrop questioned me with concern, sitting down as well with a tilt of her head. "Did you plan to sit here until it was too late? To do nothing?"

"Only because there is nothing else I can do, Teardrop. I've failed."

"Then why am I here?"

I wanted to tell her because it was due to the shortsightedness of investors who thought it'd be a fine damn joke to saddle me with a jeweler, of all things. I could tell she was serious though, and my only true answer was to shrug, as I could not discern her meaning.

"Why are any of us here? Why were seven ponies even hired to be here in the first place?" With that, she started to smile some, looking to Dirtnap who had obviously caught her meaning by now with an answering subtle grin on his features. "If you were meant to make this place alone, then why did they not send you alone?"

"Because that's impossible. No one man can make an entire settlement himself."

"Then why are you trying to?" Dirtnap asked me this coyly, a smirk in his eyes as he looked down towards me while I stared back. "It sounds to me like you have done everything in your power to save this place... except ask for help." Standing up, Dirtnap motioned for Teardrop to come with him back to the stone door that leads to the mineshaft. "You may make many decisions and give many orders, but you still try to shoulder too much responsibility."

"One pony can't make a settlement himself, Mr. Overseer. You have to let us help."

"What are you going to do?" I asked them, watching as they strolled to the mines together with purpose in their stride. "What do I do?"

"You just have to have a little faith in us, Mr. Overseer," Teardrop assured me, bumping her side into Dirtnap to prompt him to speak as well.

"We will have something for you tomorrow. Go and rest up, and be ready to meet with the caravan owner again. Trust us."

So I did. Well, I tried at least, but sleep is not easy to come by for me when I am putting the fate of so many into the hands of two ponies with some sort of cryptic idea they had yet to share with me. I also have trouble sleeping when I have the burden of so much responsibility riding on me. I might just wish to resign this thought to: I have trouble sleeping always nowadays, and leave it at that.

I got up the next morning to see quite a few of the ponies merrily standing around the depot with the caravaneers, chatting and examining the goods while Sir Bullion made a demonstration of some device he had brought with him to sale. From my bedroom, atop the cliff face above the shore, I could not tell what it was, but it had attracted quite a bit of attention from Tick Tock.

I made my way to the depot to see what spectacle had a couple of the caravaneers crowded around the frail-looking Teardrop and the tall-bodied Dirtnap as they sat in front of a small display box resting on a makeshift stand. At the sight of me, the two of them began to beam and motion me over. I looked through the glass of the display box to see something most peculiar: Jewelry; earrings, bracelets, necklaces, amulets, and charms all made of some bleached-white substance, along with some chains made of teeth. Quite a bit of the jewelry had green gemstones set into them, beautifully cut to cause them to glimmer brilliantly. Before I could ask, I heard an excited gasp and awe-struck sigh from behind me as the purple cavalier's hat brushed past to look in the display case.

"My, so this is what you have been setting up over here! I am impressed; is there anything you can tell me about these pieces?"

"Certainly," Dirtnap began as he pulled up a cloth to wipe the glass of the display box clean for good measure, "As you may be able to tell, this jewelry is made in a tribal fashion. It is in the style of the fabled Deicidian pony civilizations, of whom I have studied mythology involving them closely for many years. This is the best representation of their supposed works." (At this point I am pretty much simply regurgitating what I heard, as none of this quite made sense to me.) "The earrings are made from assorted ribs of rabbit, fox, and wolf. The necklaces are crafted from shark and canine teeth. Most pendants and medallions are made from spinal discs. The materials they are made of may not be worth much, but please consider how often one comes across such items. Very few can understand the truths within the fables."

"Fascinating! Deicidian crafts. I would have never imagined coming across something like this out here, especially on this side of the Light Waters. Those could make for wonderful conversation pieces, I'd say. Are those emeralds I see as well?"

"Green tourmaline," Teardrop stated, smiling feebly, "But it would be a common mistake. It's really hard to tell if you don't know where it came from. Very few could tell you the difference."

"And the face on the medallion in the center... I could swear that I recognize it. You said you made this yourself? Who is that of?"

"Are you familiar with Miss Alla Prima, Sir Bullion?"

"Vaguely. Painter? I believe I've procured a couple of her pieces in the past for collectors. Is that her image?"

"Indeed. It is in her image, and that is a much cherished piece. One of a kind and will forever remain so."

"Until you decide to make another one, hm?"

"That is not possible, sir."

I saw Bullion's face contort for a moment until some form of realization struck him, and he grew quiet and wide-eyed as he beheld Dirtnap. "I believe I know what you mean. Can you prove that?"

"You would have to view her will, and have some faith that I am the same Dirtnap as mentioned therein. I have no solid proof for you, I apologize, but you have the promise of its creator that it is what you think it is."

Standing there ignorant to the situation, I was surprised when Bullion turned to me with a stern visage. Taking a moment to brush his waistcoat down, he cleared his throat. "Alright, Mr. Prodder, let the negotiations begin then."

How was I supposed to barter when I had no idea the worth of the items in question? What was so special about that medallion? What the hell is a deicidian pony? To be honest, I did not do the bartering; I had to step back and request that Dirtnap be the one to work the trade. He knew far more about his crafts than I did, and all I had to tell him was that we needed all of the food we could collect from this, as well as some more tools if any were for sale. Three pickaxes, two axes, an anvil, five bins of what I guess to be synthetic leather, three bins of rolled cloth (one each of plant, wool, and silk), some backpacks and water skins, and ten casks of preserved fruits and vegetables happened to be the final deal Dirtnap struck for the jewelry in the box. As I am able to tell, most of the worth came from that single amulet, which I did inquire Dirtnap about after I got over the shock of realizing that Songring was not going to starve or collapse anymore. We were in my office going over the receipt from the trade when I asked him.

"Who was that amulet of, exactly?"

"My grandmother."

"What was it made of?"

"My grandmother."

How the hell was I supposed to respond to that? I will admit, I was disgusted at the thought at first, shifting away at the notion of him butchering his own relative to make a piece of jewelry. When he received my look, he sighed and shook his head with a roll of his eyes. "I must have misheard you. It's made from the same pony it is in the image of?"

"Tell me, Mr. Prodder: If your father asked you to cremate his body and toss his ashes into the sea, would you do it? Would you deny somepony their request of what to do with what they leave behind in this world when they are called away from us? My grandmother requested in her will that I make something from her: To turn part of her body into art that would live on after her, as a legacy to be left behind. Is that condemnable to you? Would you have done differently?"

Little did he know that I would be more interested to know that my father knew how to contact me instead of what he planned for me to do with his remains, but I shook my head as his point was made very clear. "I would heed his last wishes too." It was then that I looked back to the caravan outside my door as it was packing up and felt my heart sink. "I can't let you do that, then. I can't let you sell that. Quick, we need to speak to Bullion- maybe he'll just take back the cloth and leather- and the tools so we can get your amulet back."

"That isn't necessary, Mr. Prodder, nor would I believe him inclined to give it back for anything less than a full reverse of the trade."

"He's not a monster, Dirtnap! He'd understand if we just tell him! We have to get your amulet back; you can never replace it!"

Dirtnap chuckled as he shook his head, standing up and preparing to head back to the bunk he had made for himself down in the mines. "I know I can't replace it, and I would never wish to."

"You didn't want it?"

"This must be hard for you to understand, Benjamen. I am giving her one of the greatest honors I can at this time. I can think of nothing I would rather do for her than this."

"You honor her by selling what you have left of her?"

"The transaction was just a means to what she really did for us today. Tell me, what would have become of Songring without my trade?"

"... Disaster. We would have either had to pack up and leave, or starve."

"She saved us today then, and has made herself known in history once more if this tale is ever told. Even in her death, she has rescued what quite a few of the ponies here hold dear. I can think of no greater honor to give her than to let her be a hero."

"She's now a bartering piece. Are you okay with that sacrifice?"

"She loved to travel. She will go to many new places now that she is with Bullion. Eventually, he may be able to trade her to a collector of her works, or perhaps be able to have her placed in a museum for even more to know of her. You are focusing far too much on the surface ideas, Benjamen. Perhaps you could benefit from letting go of some of your preconceptions."

His words have stuck with me. I have also decided to do Alla Prima an honor in return, and to make sure to give her that place in history that Dirtnap wished for her to have. I have instructed Overcast to write up designs for a memorial slab to be made for her, and Silence will alert me when she finds a material that we believe will withstand the ages to make it with. I owe Alla Prima a great debt, and one to Dirtnap and Teardrop as well; a debt I am not quite sure I will ever be able to repay.

More good news had arrived with the caravan as well, when I learned that one of the travelers with them happened to be a courier. He had decided to tag along with the caravan for safety reasons while he got a feel for the path to Songring. He had several letters to pass out to the ponies here. I was surprised when he cautiously ambled into my office one afternoon to set two letters down on my desk and tipped his hat to me. One of them was from Twilight Sparkle in Ponyville, and the other was from Princess Celestia. I was rather torn in deciding which to open first. On the one hand, Twilight Sparkle's letter would have much more in it that I would enjoy reading, if just to get the warmth of the knowledge that I was not completely forgotten after a whole year. However, Princess Celestia's letter could be quite the gamble: She might have been informing me that I am pardoned from my duties here in Songring, and that she found someone else to take the position. It really does not matter which I opened first, as they have both been read and replied to at this time. I will leave both of their letters, and a copy of my responses to them in my journal for completeness. As you might have already assumed, I was not given a pardon.

As for the project that was mentioned at the start of this entry, the concept for it started soon after Tick Tock watched Sir Bullion's demonstration of what he informed me was a handheld water purifier. Basically, as he was able to discern from the demonstration, the handheld water purifier was simply a hand-operated pump that forced water to pass through an activated carbon filter. His concept is to build a larger scale automatic pump that will force seawater through an activated carbon filter and provide clean water to the whole settlement, instead of continuing to get water from freshwater pond sources and rainwater. I have yet to figure out how he plans to get the activated carbon for the filter, but he told me that if he can just get some coconut shells, limestone, and plant cloth he can make it happen. Ingenuitive of him to claim, but I will believe it when I see it. (Perhaps his demolition expertise has taught him more about chemistry than I give it credit for though?) In hopes of this being true, I have had Silence clear out an area to be used to house an underground cistern that will hold the fresh water from the pump, as well as having had all of the other ponies concentrating on building the cistern from stone. After most of the winter, the cistern itself is almost complete, but we are still waiting for Tick Tock to play the miracle worker and get that filtering pump together.

That leads me to today, during which I have been absent from quite a bit of the celebrations that the ponies have been conducting to usher in the first day of the new year. That would mean that it is now the year 1222 in this era of Equestria, and happens to roughly be Songring's first anniversary. I can see Teardrop bringing buckets of water to the dormitory for a few of the lightweight ponies who have already partied a little too hard, and Springfield has a few of the fellows and a cask of ale out on the far side of the fields playing what I can guess to be a game of horseshoes. The dining hall is a bit noisy at this time, and I can see the cooking fires plow some smoke out of the back of the building (also my window has had a few eggs tossed at it at this time by Daggersides who is still mad at me for calling her fat). I would go join in the celebration, but looking down at the base of my office, I can see that my door is blocked by Maple as she is cuddled up against the outside of it sleeping in a drunken stupor. I'd rather not wake her up at this point, because I am not sure when or why she ended up there. Perhaps this year, I will simply watch from afar with the contentment that comes from knowing that the hardship of winter is finally over, and we have at least a couple of seasons of relief and preparation ahead.

Happy new year, ponies of Songring. You deserve the party.