I have had quite some time recently to reflect on exactly how thick the irony (or coincidence) is here in Songring. To think that when I first arrived back in the spring of the year 1221, the expedition party was endangered by a lack of water with which to sustain itself. Now we have so much water, it has taken everything we have accomplished from us. I can only assume this is a cruel cosmic gag to represent the idea of: "Be careful what you wish for." I have yet to be able to laugh about it, so the joke must be in poor taste.

Being forced to endure the sight of the disaster’s aftermath each day begins to wear down one's resolve after a few weeks. The memories of each place you pass never quite seem to lose their impact when they are tainted by the dreary sight of the waterlogged dining hall, or the dormitory that has now gained an insect infestation problem due to its damp and dark interior. The sleeping conditions are a bit difficult considering that the dormitory that was once approximately 2000 square feet, has been reduced to three floors of only 225 square feet each. We also only have four beds, other than mine, remaining that were suitable to be moved. We must alternate between the 11 of us who gets to sleep in them, and who must sleep on the floor. Not only has this been difficult on my back personally, it also has left me with little privacy to feel comfortable making an entry in this journal. Even now I am not alone, as Overcast is sitting beside me on the ledge overlooking the sea and watching me write. He claims that he won't think any different of me no matter what I put down, but that does not make me anymore comfortable with him reading my writing.

There is one single thing I have taken comfort in during this whole situation, however, and that has been the lack of work and designations I have had to assign. It is much like a vacation for quite a few of the ponies and myself, even if it is in a shithole. What little work that has been done came about by the volition of each individual, and has actually helped retain morale fairly well despite the gloomy surroundings and cold weather of the season. This, paired with the close sleeping conditions, has lead to quite a few personal moments I have had here in what is left of Songring during the winter.

As for the actual work that has been completed, I will start with how we were able to sustain ourselves through the season. The storm surge (which I have learned, refers to the extreme rise in sea level in this area from excess water brought by the storm) receded back to about only three or so feet within approximately 3 days. Hungry, after eating only what few plants we could find and the fruit from the alder trees inland (crunchy, bitter, seed-bearing pods of some sort), we took a chance and trudged through the water and into the storeroom to try to reclaim whatever could be salvaged. Most of the supplies within were absolutely ruined (only the liquor kegs were built with the mental that it had to be waterproof), but we were lucky enough that five of the barrels were actually thick rock pots, which Overcast had made a few months back to help Julienne keep the desserts she had made cool/chilled so that they could be served properly and quickly. This means we have quite a bit of pudding, cheesecake, and pies now. Though it is not the best option for feeding us for any extended time, when paired with the seafood that obviously withstood the saltwater, it has made sure that there is something pleasant to eat each day (I have been informed by the settlers that pan-fried sea bass with a dry white Chardon-Neigh, finished off with a slice of Manehattan-style cheesecake makes for the "Songring Special".)

Willow, Blueprint and Maple have all been working together on constructing a new wagon. For a while, we had attempted to locate the wagon that had been used in 1221 to bring the settlers' supplies here, but it had a lot of rather important pieces taken from it for many purposes over the past couple of years, and the depot we had created was carried away by the winds into the forests. (We found it again later, but changed its use drastically.)

"It can't be too hard to make a cart. It is simply four wheels affixed to two axles that suspend a chassis," Blueprint told me when I asked if she had ever made something of the like before. With a little faith in them, they finally constructed a serviceable wagon. We have decided to leave it uncovered for now as we do not have any available clean cloth to make the tarp from. The cart was able to hold the weight of all 11 of us when we climbed in it to stress test it, so I assume it shall do fairly well in carrying any supplies we will need it to.

I cannot think of any other actual projects that have been completed within the past season. Each day, otherwise, has just been spent with each of us trying to find something to occupy our time with as we wait and finding ways to stay warm and keep our spirits up while we do it. I have spent quite a few of my hours on the shoreline with Salmon as he casts his fishing line into the water and have given him someone to tell his endless stories to. I find it difficult to believe some of his tales, but at the same time, I have come to realize just how wizened he truly is. That may mean he truly has lived that much life.

"I'm going to miss it, Mr. Prodder. I'm going to miss it terribly when we pack up and ship off to our new spot,” Salmon reflected one evening when I took my seat next to him at sunset.

"You mean Songring? It will still be Songring, Salmon, just in a different place. We can't stay here; otherwise we could just end up losing everything again another year down the line when one of those hurricanes appears."

"It's not quite that, chap. It's the sea that I'll miss. I've spent so much of my life on it, why, I don't know what I'm going to do without it. It's like losing my dear Watches-Horizons all over again. I have told you of her, haven't I? A zebra astronavigator. Ah, I can still remember when we met and I got to see the bright life in her deep chocolate-colored eyes. It was a difficult voyage. We were trying to make port in some harbor within the borders of The Wax Thread, but we ended up losing our navigator due to the trots (terrible disease, lad; dreadful thing). The lass was on an island we were passing by, standing on the beach with an old brass sextant. Once she spotted us, she waved us down, and we picked her up. Turns out she was not stranded, simply wished to know what the great wooden beast in the water was. I have to say that I was impressed with her knowledge of the celestial bodies and their correlation to our position in the great blue, and it seems she took a liking to a salty sea-stud like me that knew his way around a crow's nest..."

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, Salmon, but you were saying that you were going to miss the sea when we move our enterprise?"

"What? Oh, yes, I will. The sea has been, and forever will be, my mistress, and I shall mourn the loss of her calming whispers and moist kisses each day. A sailor belongs with the water, even if just at its side, you know."

"I'm sure that we will be near water of some kind. It might be a river, but I cannot promise you a place by the sea Salmon. We just cannot risk the weather once again. Why did you quit sailing anyways? It sounds like your calling with how you talk about it."

"There's a big difference between quitting and retiring, I'll have you know. I was getting up in years, and the captains all worried for my health on the open seas. The worst place to be when you have to endure the curses of being old is on a wooden box floating in the ocean." Salmon's demeanor shifted from his usual lofty and reminiscing state, to a solemn stare into the blue ocean below us. "A difficult thing to come to grips with, Mr. Prodder, when you realize that you have become a burden. As much as others will excuse you for it, it never stops how heavy it weighs on a pegasus who has always made his way in the world with his own two hooves." He finally looked back to me with an uncertainty in his blue eyes, dulled and hazed with age, to ask me, "What do you think of me, Mr. Prodder? I want to know if my Captain believes that I will only hinder his crew and his vessel. Now would be the best time for me to jump ship if I will only be a burden to you."

"I won't make your decision on whether or not to stay with us as we move our operation, Salmon." I was unsure how to answer him then as he watched me waitingly. Why me? Why did what I have to say make a difference to him? Unable to find the reason that he would seek the approval of just a boy like me, I simply told him, "Songring isn't a boat, and I won't throw you overboard for something you can't control. You have not proven to be a burden since you got here, Salmon, but even if you had, you would still be welcome to stand with us." As he cracked a small smile and looked back to his fishing rod, I was able to sigh silently to myself in relief. "Now, who is this "Watches-Horizons"? You said the two of you were close?" With that, the endless tales continued, and I merely listened to the recollections of a long life lived to its fullest. It made me feel kind of fortunate that I would hopefully be like him one day: An old man with so many memories to share.

Springfield has remained rather upset throughout these weeks as I have not given him anything to do. Out of all of us, it seems the time has been hardest on him; I am not sure if it is the look of the place or merely the idling that has him so bothered, but I am concerned for him. I have approached him many times on the subject, and each time he merely tells me, "I'll be okay, Mr. Prodder. Don't worry about me." I've asked if he wants a project to work on, I've asked if he wants someone to talk to, I've questioned on if he may be feeling ill, we've asked if perhaps he would be better off going back to the Sun of Chance, but he always refuses with just the statement that he'll be fine. I have seen him many times scratch at the ground with his hoof and look down at it, but then simply walk away and continue pacing about, silent and alone. I also notice that he flicks his ears about very often as he wanders aimlessly around Songring all day, only stopping his patternless strolling to eat and sleep. I have begun to wonder if he is expressing obsessive compulsive tendencies, but I am afraid that with the loss of Scratch, Scrub, and Scalpel, we don't have any professional medical advice on the issue. The most I can do at this time is keep an eye on him and hope that he will be alright until we can settle in at our new location.

Remember how I said we had found the depot in the forests? Teardrop is a miracle worker sometimes, I must admit, because I was shocked to see her, Overcast, and Silence at work on something one day. Silence was busy hollowing out a large hole in the ground (about three feet deep and ten feet across), and Overcast was smoothing out the earth beneath it to remove any sharp stones or jagged clumps. The only answer I received when I asked what they were doing was, "You'll see," and I did. After the hole was hollowed out and smoothed, Teardrop brought the waterproof tarp, which she had just washed, over to the hole and rested it within. Dumping in several rounds of hot, clean water from a boiling pot and tossing in a few bars of soap that Teardrop managed to fashion out of some cooking oil and lye (she made it from some wood burnings), the three of them presented me with the first hot bath that Songring had seen in two years.

This may seem silly to most, but such a luxury was a blessing to us all when we had it. Until now, we have all been bathing in the ocean: While it is just fine for the purpose of removing dirt, the cold water is unpleasant, and the salt within it leaves a somewhat itchy residue on the skin and, as I am able to tell, in the fur. I was afraid that a fight might break out over who got to use the bath first, and there were some arguments that arose when more than one individual tried to use it at the same time. Teardrop and Overcast both spent their time tending to bathers by helping lather and rinse their manes and toweling them off with the very few clean sheets we had left outside of the ones we kept on the beds in my office.

I was going to wait and be the last one to use it, but during his turn, Willow decided to do a cannonball into the pool and ended up emptying the small bath almost entirely. After that, he simply got back up and shook himself off with a loud "Done!" wearing a bright grin on his face.

I was a bit upset, but it seems that it was overshadowed by the outrage of another. Maple charged him from the side and bashing him with her body, sent him flailing back into the nearly empty pool. "No you don't! You want to waste all of that water? The least you can do to make up for it is not smell like a taint! The rest of us have to sleep in the same building as you, y'know."

"What's your deal, Maple?" Willow blurted back, before gaining a devilish smirk as he started rolling around in the shallow pool of water to rinse himself. "Oh, I see what's going on. Fine... yeah, I'll clean myself up for you then, Maple. Tell me: should I use the lavender soap, or the one that smells like sugar? I mean, you are the one who it will matter to."

"Pick whichever one you think tastes worse 'cause I'm gonna make you eat the one you don't use."

"Come on, don't be that way baby."

With a huff and a whip of her ponytail, she shrugged defeatedly. "Real sorry, Ben. Look, I'll get you some fresh water and boil it up as soon as this loghead here gets done with his birdbath." She refused to accept my answer that I really was fine and could just take another rinse in the ocean. I was not able to protest any further as she was too busy with a game of verbal badminton with Willow.

"Don't have to get all huffy just 'cause I keep a masculine musk about me."

"You've got the same musk as a skunk with dysentery, Willow."

"Only thing colder than these winters is you, Maple. Don't have to be a bitch about it."

"Only thing lower than the temperature is your IQ! You made your decision yet? I'm thinking you'd look a lot better with that sandalwood soap in your pie-hole. Maybe then your breath could tell a mare which end of you she was kissing."

"Oh, kissing's on your mind now? That's really not what's important and you know it. It's just a means to an end. A happy end, if I'm on the right track."

"I would break you! Now use the damn soap and go forget how to breathe somewhere else why don't you?"

After it was all over, Teardrop helped Maple heat the water to refresh the bath for me and stayed to assist me during it. I wish to abbreviate what happened as much as I can since it still makes me cringe at the memory, but very simply she persuaded me into fully disrobing (which I had wanted to do until she did not get the many hints I tried to give her to leave so I could bathe alone). Feeling so vulnerable was only made worse by the fact that she kept staring at me, and only when I would say something would she snap out of her musings and get me the soap or use the bucket to help me rinse my hair. Has she never seen such before? Well, maybe not a human, but was there something wrong with the sight? I mean, it's not like any of these ponies wear clothes most of the time, so obviously there was something wrong if she kept staring! This is what has me so upset over it, but I will have to work this out personally on my own time when I am not writing.

Lastly, we received our courier this season along with another visit from Sir Bullion's caravan. I recall seeing him sitting on the front of the wagon next to a sun-gold pelted mare, who was wearing a fine dress and had her royal purple mane hidden beneath a large bergere hat, as they rolled slowly into view. He was laughing with her as they approached, until he finally looked in front of them when passing through the tree lines and got a good view of the former settlement. It had been called to my attention that they were approaching by Dawnstar, who seemed ecstatic to finally get to meet with our supplier. I felt more like I did when my alarm would go off on a school day morning, and I had to drag myself from the covers and somehow make it down the stairs without using my stomach as a toboggan. They spotted Dawnstar and I standing on the ledge in front of the abandoned dining hall waiting, and the look on his face reminded me of someone when they drink a soda that isn't theirs and aren't expecting it. I will take it a step further in fact and say it frankly looked like he tasted butt. As they came within earshot, I spread out my hands and shouted, "Welcome to Songring!"

They did not bother to unload anything at that time as Sir Bullion eased himself from the cart with his companion and they both approached. He remained in a state of shock and disarray as he examined both us and the wreckage behind us, while his significant other leisurely scanned the surrounding area with an air of disinterest. "You were saying you planned to build the summer home out here? I understand your fascination with quaint surroundings and humble folks, darling, but you really must understand that there's a limit to what you can put your family through." She shook her head distastefully and shot me a glance, before hushing in mild embarrassment when she must have realized that I was the official of the area.

"What the blazes happened?!" I thought Bullion's cavalier hat was going to flip right off his head with how quickly his gaze shot back to me when he finished surveying the damage. "Where is everypony? What is going on here?" It was difficult to discern whether he was panicking for some reason, or if he was simply shocked to such a point that he forgot how to speak with his usual calm air. "This place looks like a disaster!"

"Well, Sir Bullion, funny you should mention that. We had a hurricane roll through here this autumn and it wiped out pretty much everything we had." At that, his wife whispered a quiet apology to me for her statement earlier. She now tasted hoof I guess. "We're glad that you made it so you can let Celestia and the investors know that we're relocating."

"Relocating?" He did not understand how I could use such a term at this time, motioning me to his caravan by grabbing my hand with his hooves and gently tugging. "Nonsense! You should come back and tell them this yourselves at once! You poor ponies; I would be happy to let you rest in my wagons on the ride back. You've all seen more than enough out here!"

I refused his generous offer and informed him that we were not excused of our duties yet, as we still had ten settlers and myself here to get started once more with. We simply were going to go to a new location and begin again. All we required from him and the courier was to alert them so that they could find us at our new location.

Clearing his throat, he glanced around once more looking for something. "Well, if that's the case... then, ehm, perhaps you are looking for supplies then? I brought the items you had requested from last year... Where is your depot if I might ask?"

"Probably somewhere between here and Appleloosa by now. Sir Bullion, take a real hard look around you and ask yourself: Does it look like we have anything to trade for this year? Best I could do is to shine your hooves for you, but damned if we have any polish left around here. If you can find it amongst this mess, I'll do one hoof for free."

Dawnstar, by this point, was mortified by my base treatment of the merchant, and had spent the whole time punching me occasionally in the side with her hoof as I wouldn't shut up. Beads of sweat had formed on her brow above her nervous and strained smile while I spoke. I kind of wish she had been here last year for my business meetings; she probably would have had a seizure.

"I see. No, that will not be necessary," he told me, looking down in a bit of discouragement as he struggled with the knowledge of what had befallen Songring. In his defense, he was truly troubled by it, and was concerned for our well being. It must be difficult to succumb to those feelings when you realize that you have just traveled a couple hundred miles to just be told you wasted all the horsepower and time getting out there for nothing. His wife, however, cleared her throat, and it prompted him to ask her, "What is it, Denier?"

"Love... you made more than enough last year off of Alla Prima's amulet to cover this trip and everything in it." She motioned over to our wagon that was sitting completed over by my office at that time, and she smiled at me as she spoke charmingly. "My, that is a lovely vehicle you have made there. Perhaps you would not mind parting with it?" I could tell she was simply being coy and polite, but I nodded to answer her. "What is it made of, dear, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Mostly the housing. We were looking to take the term "Mobile Home" to a new level of literal." Dawnstar punched me four times for that one, until I had to elbow her in the side of the neck to make her stop.

"How bold," Denier commented with a small titter beneath her breath, "To represent life's journey in such a way. Very artistic."

Bullion grinned sheepishly at his betrothed's words and cleared his throat to address me. "Well Mr. Prodder, my wife seems to be smitten with your wagon there. Perhaps we could arrange a trade? One of our wagons for yours? I understand that ours are slightly used, so how about you just keep what's in it as well and we'll consider ourselves even?"

"You don't have to do this," I shot them down abruptly.

"Nonsense. I want that wagon, and these are my terms. Do you accept, or will I simply have to tell my wife she can't have what she desires?" He held his hoof out to me kindly and waited for me to accept.

With a sigh, I grabbed the hoof and shook it, quietly thanking him for his business and motioning for Dawnstar to go tell Willow and Maple to pull the wagon around for the trade. The handoff went smoothly, as he gave us a full wagon of supplies in exchange for our shoddy makeshift cart graciously. It was difficult for me to accept, but I could not deny them the pleasure of the warmth I saw in their smiles that they seemed to have gained from the act. I merely accepted their help with some difficult humility. As an act of gratitude, I invited them and their workers to join us on the beach for a dinner with the remaining settlers, at which, we served them the Songring Special. I heard Denier refer to how taboo it was for a pony to eat something that had once been living, like fish, but Bullion consoled her by telling her it was a taste of what it was like to be a rugged explorer, living off of whatever means one had in the world (not to mention what a shame it would be to let the creature’s sacrifice go to waste). After the dinner, the drinks, and the surprising amount of laughs shared, we exchanged letters with the courier and sent them on their way as we had nowhere to board them for the night.

With the boon of our fresh supplies, and the investors informed of our new arrangements, we are set to embark tomorrow to our new destination. I have plans to head west to find the river we had spotted when we first arrived, and follow it until we find a good part of the river bank to settle on. I will keep some precautions in mind, and I will be sure to pick a new place that will not be ravaged by disaster in quite the same way. I have not counted what we have in our stocks, and will only do so once we arrive at our new destination. For now, I merely have to keep a smile on my face and inform everyone here that we have made it through the winter. Our Wrapping Up will be in the form of our journey.

Happy New Year, Songring.