It snowed today.

It was rather beautiful. I can see it now still, piles of it collected on the trees below, and the ground lightly coated in a fluffy white cover. The first snowfall since I left my home of Terriel, and I was lucky enough to get to witness it. Lucky; that term seems a bit difficult to acknowledge. Lucky, fortunate, privileged, all of them feel a little off the mark right now, as I sit here and jot away in my journal a few final thoughts. I hope you don't mind; it seems they are all that I have left.

What actually comes to mind for me right now is a bit of pondering on the reality of a certain, almost overused nugget of wisdom, and just how far its meaning can reach. One should never judge a book by its cover. Whether it applies to books, people, places, or even actions, the surface only tells us so very little. My time here in Songring has given me so many examples of the ultimate truth of that statement.

For my first example, I suppose I should start with Maple, since she is the first one who comes to mind. This is most likely because I am currently just relieved to see her once again awake. She has finally regained consciousness, and seems to be at least functional once again. The assault left her with a broken collar bone and a lot of bruising, as well as some cognitive issues that require others to speak slowly and clearly for her to understand them, but it seems that I can be relieved that I foresee nothing that looks like a permanent problem for her.

It was six years ago when I arrived in a carriage at the shores of the Light Waters. Only six short years ago is all it was, when I climbed up the rocky cliff face for the first time to see seven ponies huddled around a wagon as they spoke. (Short years. Funny, I remember thinking just recently that six years was a very long time to be stuck here.) The first one to speak to me was the red pegasus, throwing the clipboard at my feet and accusing me of belittling her for not being from Canterlot. I was facing what I could only see to be an impossible task, and she took one look at my dime-store paperback binding and called me out as a quitter, and nothing but a privileged child. In the few short weeks that followed, I began to hate her. The blurb on her hardbound cover read: Brute, drunkard, lay about, and bully. Synopses can be tricky like that sometimes, for they rarely give us insight into the small details that make up the whole. I was forced to begin re-evaluating my first impression when I found her in my room, crying softly to herself because she missed the ones that she loved and who counted on her for support. I had to add provider and nurturer to that list. As the rigid, protective coating was pried open and we weathered many storms together, both literal and metaphorical, the list grew to: Soldier, companion, and most of all, loyal friend. Perhaps her devotion should have been extended to someone more deserving than myself. Someone who wouldn't let her down and allow her to get hurt while they simply stood by and watched.

Maple, please be okay and forgive me for what I must do.

Silence is a sweet creature, as her cover would suggest, and naturally comes to mind as my second example. Stable, intelligent, judicious, insightful: Those are just some of the glowing endorsements engraved in her soft leather binding. Giving credit to her advertisement, she was able to sit apart and be the support that I needed, even when nobody else could possibly understand my reasons or my thoughts. She could speak to me on an intellectual level that I could understand and appreciate, and also gave me someone that I felt a bit of kinship towards as she did not judge me on my choices or my actions. She is naturally able to forego the perusal of external wrappings, as she can see the pages beneath much more clearly and quickly than anyone else. Perhaps it is this last that leaves me feeling so deceived by her propaganda, once I discovered that her gentle and rational nature could give way to such blind aggression in a terrible and cruel misuse of her gifts. Some might say that her actions were out of desperation, passion, or even just a simple mistake, but I am not so sure I can accept such an answer knowing that she, above all others, knew how deeply those cuts would go.

Just an old, pudgy pegasus that spends his days sleeping with a fishing rod next to him. I could never expect much of Salmon, my third example, when I first met him. Clueless, careless, and useless were the only things I could imagine would be printed on his prologue. How utterly were those beliefs shattered when I finally took the time to sit down and listen to the many stories and anecdotes he had to share. As the pages of the story that had been his life's journey were recited to me, clueless became enlightened, and careless evolved into prudent. These are things I could never have understood before knowing his tale: How many ponies he has known, how many friendships have come and gone, how many ponies he's watched succeed or fail, and how many ponies he has witnessed die in his presence. He's seen a lot of good, he's seen a lot of bad, and it takes a strength that I don't think I could ever obtain to still smile and try to laugh after all that. He has proven himself useful again and again as my mentor, my second in command, and Songring's most spirited defender.

Number four on the list would have to be a farmer here in Songring that I wish I could claim to know, but I'd be lying to everyone and myself if I did. I am sure many share my thoughts in stating that the burly lilac stallion's worn, leathery tome would cite stoic, introverted, unapproachable, and emotionless as his most notable attributes. He rarely says anything, and when he does, it is only about the here and now and what must be done. We never hear his thoughts on the past or what he dreams of for the future. He has erected a wall as real as the one that protects his farm to guard his ideas and his wishes from even those he considers his friends. Though most of these descriptions may be true to some extent, I know one thing about him that the preface got completely wrong: He cares. Springfield has worked every day as hard as he can, providing and sustaining Songring from the sweat of his brow. Even though he could not find it within him to speak to us, he's done all he can to see us stay fed, even considering our comforts as worthy of his effort by making sure the still on his farm continued brewing. If indeed he was as aloof and accepting of the inevitable as his bio would suggest, then why would he have gone through so much effort and personal risk to help us settle the domestic unrest that was tearing us apart? He has carried as much weight on his shoulders as I have, intertwining his prose with the epic novel that has been Songring's history, and never asked for anything in return.

Perhaps it is he who should have been coordinator and not I.

Since I met him, I was lead to believe that Willow was a hard-headed, unrightfully-aggressive moron. Overall, it turns out I was right. I can't be wrong on all of my assumptions, now can I? Even a stopped clock is right twice a day. The same might be said about Overcast and Teardrop, but that's not entirely accurate. I never knew what to expect of them, so I just never did expect anything. Considering how much I have learned of the others, this does bother me a bit. I feel I can still only see the surface of them. What makes Teardrop so prone to being overly emotional and easily upset? What has lead Overcast to be such a defeatist and not believe in his own abilities? I honestly wish I had asked them when I had the chance. I'm afraid this might be something I regret for some time to come.

There have been plenty of chance happenings that I can look back on and be comforted in knowing that I avoided regrettable mistakes because of them. Meeting Daggersides is one such happening. I should probably be upset at her for not only reading my personal thoughts here in this journal, but also invading my privacy further by writing her own, yet I simply cannot bring myself to be mad about it. It is not the first time someone has taken that liberty, and I am starting to believe that it will certainly not be the last. Perhaps jotting down one's thoughts is just infectious, like a yawn. I will have to ponder that further at a later time, as for right now, I was just considering how much Daggersides has helped me. Those times when she has helped me to balance the scales: Supporting my decisions, or acting in my stead when the choices became too much to bear. Beneath her cold exterior is a sense of duty and responsibility that I can truly respect, but at what price did she gain these traits? She once told me that she did not get as far in her career as she had by caring. That strikes me as rather sad, and I feel a bit of pity for her as I read back over her final words to me. It makes me hope that I will never be in a position in which I will say that nothing is worth caring about anymore.

All of this writing about that one simple piece of advice – passing judgment before having true understanding of an individual or situation – is not just spawned from the idle quandaries of man with too much time to spare. No, it is something that I have just today come to fully understand, and it only took being the unfortunate victim of such assumptions for me to truly appreciate it.

It started with Captain Slipturn. That is the name of the commanding officer now stationed in Songring, and he is currently in charge of Allay Company of the REA's 5th Airborne Division. That was the title that the olive-colored pegasus with the creamy white mane and short pointed beard introduced himself as when he stood before me on the bridge over the Charmedsmile. The entire Allay Company flew in this morning, and it was not until they touched down in the fields amongst the scorched homes across the river that we even knew they were on their way. The clouds that gently fluttered down flakes of snow over us had obscured their approach entirely, and it was Dawnstar that came to get me when she saw them filing in lines and landing at intervals in the field.

The Captain brought me three gifts then as well. The first, was the comforting sight of a peach-colored lump of fuzz draped over his back, lying in a stupor with a wing stained red from blood. When I called his name, Salmon stirred and informed me that he didn't tell those Airforce bastards a single thing. The Captain asked if he was mine, and I told him yes. Salmon continued to utter a few rude slurs about the REA infantry present, claiming that they were all just too soft for the Navy anyways, before two other ponies took him to the infirmary. Dawnstar led the way, guiding our second gift with her to the apartment halls: A small group of four ponies, all wearing saddlebags with the familiar image of a red cross embroidered onto them. One of them was a unicorn of taupe color with a crimson mane that I could pick out as having seen once before. Her name is Cross Stitch... I'm surprised that I still know that.

There is finally medical staff in Songring.

The third and final gift, which the Captain gave to me personally once he had extracted it from the breast pocket of his blue and gold uniform, was something that I had desired for the past six years. He gave me a letter.

"Ambassador Prodder,

It was a shock to me when you were not with the escort team sent to retrieve you when they arrived back in Canterlot. I had expected to meet with you personally as soon as you stepped off the carriage to finally see you once again, but instead, I received a notice from the empty-hooved escort team that you were requesting help.

Deicidians have attacked Songring? They are in Equestria, and in such numbers that they are forming war bands and armies? I have not received a single letter mentioning anything of this magnitude before, so being as this is the first I have heard at all of Deicidian involvement in Songring, I was astounded to say the least.

I am glad that you contacted me when you did. I will not bother asking unnecessary questions in this letter, like why this is the first I have heard of this problem, as I am sure you and I will be able to discuss it in much more detail once you are back in Canterlot. As for your request, I am afraid that it was somewhat vague as to what exactly will be required for such a situation. Until a time that we can decide on a more permanent solution, I have ordered the dispatch of a company of the REA, under the command of Captain Slipturn, to Songring. They will be stationed there to perform both reconnaissance operations and preparation for Songring's defense. I have also requested that a squad from the Medical Corps be sent to offer aid to the citizens and militia that were injured during the attacks.

Captain Slipturn will be the one to deliver this letter to you. Please speak with him and supply any information he feels is needed to adequately prepare for future Deicidian aggression. He will be your successor from here on. At the time you receive this letter and have finished your debriefing with the Captain, the escort team will be prepared to transport you back to Canterlot.

Consider this as notice of your dismissal from service at Songring.

I eagerly await meeting with you again, and expect a detailed report of what has transpired in Songring in the past few years. We will meet as soon as you get back.

Sincerely,
Princess Celestia."

So that was it. Something that I had wanted for such a long time finally rested in my hands. I read it over and over, unable to fully comprehend what the words meant. The Captain was very patient with me, letting me stare at the letter dumbfoundedly for a bit before he politely questioned if I was prepared to brief him on the situation, and informed me that the carriage for my extraction was due to arrive within the hour.

There was not much to say during the briefing. A lot of the inquiries were things I had not fully considered before: What were the altitudes and weather patterns, if we had any maps of the surrounding area, were there any strategic advantage points built, and plenty of other questions I merely shrugged and shook my head at. We went to tour the farm, the dining hall, and the bathhouse as locations of interest in Songring. I warned him of the issue we'd had in the past with the showers attracting thieves and lurkers. We also toured the mine briefly, and I informed him of the lead storeroom, and the possible health hazards the ore could pose. He required me to relinquish my lead storeroom key to him at that time. I showed the Captain my office, dining room, and bedroom. He complimented the quarters for being a good vantage point to oversee the valley below. That is when he requested me to gather my belongings so that he could look into having his own articles arranged and ready by nightfall.

At least he left me some privacy in which to do it. He left to inform his company of the spare rooms left in the apartment halls, and how they would have bunk beds crafted soon to house four ponies to a room. I got to be alone as I collected my things and began to pack them away. What should I keep? What should just be thrown away? I could not take it all, as my backpack is certainly not limitless, but there were quite a few things in my possession these days. What was most important to me?

My thoughts on that were interrupted as I looked up to the corner of the dining room and took a moment just to sit and rest my head in my hands for a bit: "♥ Stone Silence." I figured that my office was one of the many things I won't be able to take with me, no matter how much care went into making it just right for me.

I took both pieces of Flip, the silver-alloy statuette of the founders of Songring, and my journal with me in my backpack. After putting in what spare clothes I had, there was no more room left to stuff anything else into it. I decided to carry my Blunderbuss, thinking it unwise to leave something of the sort behind. All of the papers in my desk would have to be left behind, and I assume they will eventually be burned due to their nature being strictly informative for myself. I left them in a neat pile in the corner to be collected when such a time came. There was also the large box of books that Bullion had gifted me for Hyacinth, but I could not bring myself to simply throw those atop the pile. I am just lucky that the escorts agreed to help me carry and load the box onto the carriage. Then the last bit of business to take care of came bumbling down the stairs, looking up to me in discomfort at seeing that the sheets had been torn off the bed, and the dining room and office were stripped clean for the Captain.

I wasn't allowed to take Abeo with me. They said she was too heavy to take with us, and that I would need to leave her behind. I did so, leading her outside on a leash to one of the large holes burrowed into the ground outside the wall of Springfield's farm where the other tanks of the Honoring Mire had burrowed for their winter hibernation. Silly thing just couldn't understand. Try as I might to tell her to climb into one and try to get some sleep, she just croaked and started following me back towards the apartment halls. No amount of shoving, pleading, or reasoning deterred her from waddling after me when I would turn to leave. I even tried so much as to toss a treat for her on the ground so she would be distracted by it, but the sound of my footsteps pulled her away to continue following me. I wish there had been another way, but I finally had to raise my voice to her. I yelled at her, shouting and swinging my arms at her to scare her away. I pretended I was angry, and I did what I could to frighten the creature. The confusion and betrayal in her eyes when I threw a kick that narrowly missed her snout still pains me a bit to think about... The silly creature just couldn't understand.

On my way back, I witnessed Julienne being forcibly removed from the dining hall. With screams of protest in her thick accent and foreign tongue, she did all she could to muscle past the soldiers and resume her cooking, but they refused her. The kitchen was now property of the REA, they told her, and she would have to agree to some conditions before they would allow her to work as the understudy of the mess sergeant. That's when she saw me, and began begging me for help. "Make them stop this! Why are they doing this, Monsieur Prodder? They will ruin my kitchen, ruin it! Tell them to let me through!" I couldn't. It was beyond my power now. I apologized, but she only grew more upset with me. "You won't do anything? You won't try? Don't you even care?" My answer that there was nothing I could do did not settle well with her, and she called me a few things that I don't understand the meaning of before returning to her fight with the ponies blocking the entrance to the mess hall.

I met Absinthe there too. She was resting on the thin layer of snow coating the grass of Songring's doorstep, watching Julienne's attempts to not lose her work and place of comfort. The sight of the familiar muscular mare caused a sadness in her eyes when she watched the helpless struggles and pleading cries of the desperate pony. "So I guess this is how things must be." With a sigh, she secured down a saddlebag and looked at me with a frown. I still cannot decide if it was of disappointment or just genuine sorrow. Maybe I just can't handle the thought that she was disappointed in me right now. She told me that it was time for her to leave then, as there was no need for her services in what would now become a fort of the REA. "Things are going to change quite a bit, and I just won't belong anymore. I wonder just how many others won't belong either."

I don't want to think about that right now.

I got to witness as the citizens of Songring were required to leave the apartment halls, filed into a line, and instructed to assemble in an orderly fashion in the field for roll call. I spotted Overcast and Teardrop almost immediately. They were pulled away from one another in the confusion created by the crowd and forced to march to their destination without each others comfort. As much as Teardrop begged the soldiers, crying out helplessly for them to let Overcast stay, they would not heed her. They never once raised their hoof to her, simply told her that it would just have to wait and pressed her back into the line of moving ponies. Once the settlers had been gathered in the field, their strengths and skills would be evaluated, and they would be reassigned to their duties. They would then also be assigned new quarters, with four ponies to a single apartment to make the most use out of the limited space. There were alot of unhappy ponies there at that moment, and almost all of their eyes at one time or another turned to me as I waited for the doors to clear. They looked at me with so many expressions: Pleading, sadness, confusion, betrayal. Some even looked at me with disgust and hate. The only one that did not display emotion was Daggersides. She marched compliantly with the group, limping on three legs as her other was tightly bundled and hoisted in a sling, and her gaze passed over me only long enough to give me a nod of recognition and duty.

Once the group had passed, I was approached by one of the doctors who had come to find me. It was Cross Stitch, though from the way she spoke with me so promptly and professionally, I can assume she did not remember meeting me before.

"There's a patient in the infirmary that won't cooperate with the treatment. She keeps demanding to see her "bossman". We can't help her if she won't work with us, so can you please take a moment to see if you can talk sense into her?"

I knew already who that must be. I had just been on my way to collect my belongings after dispatching of Abeo, not to visit the infirmary. Looking back now, I suppose I was just going to leave without even stopping by there. The fact that I should held no sway for me then, outweighed by the fact that I feared more looks. I had received so many harsh stares and sad gazes already that I feared one more, and from that pony in particular, might just break me. There was no choice, however. It had to be done.

The irate pegasus was fighting away the doctors at her bedside when I first entered. I watched her swing a lunch tray at one threateningly to make them back away. "I said don't touch me! Put one hoof on me, and I'll break the damn thing off! I don't know who you are, but you better just stay over there 'til the Bossman gets here. He'll have something to say to you! Don't you touch Willy or Springfield neither!" The doctors all kept their distance from her, seeming truly fearful that she might take a strike at them. She probably would too. The tray dropped to the ground then as I stepped over to her bedside, and for a moment, I saw relief in her features as she held her hooves outstretched openly to invite me into her embrace. Too bad her happiness to see me was cut short when I rested my hand on her front leg and gently pressed it down to her side. "Ben, who are these ponies? What are they doing in here? They keep getting close to everypony, and I don't like it."

"They're doctors, Maple. They're just here to help everyone. There are many injured ponies here that need their help."

"We don't have any doctors in Songring. You're the closest thing we have! When did we get doctors?"

"They're with the REA. Please, just let them do their job."

There was not much left for her to say after I told her that. Her offer of embrace faded rather quickly when I informed her of their affiliation. She shook her head at me in disbelief. "What? You're joking, right? You're pulling a fast one on me. Cut it out, Ben, you know I'm not too well in the head right now."

I shook my head back at her as I once again informed her that they were with the REA, and that they had come to make sure everyone would get better. That's when I got the look I didn't want to see. Her large jade eyes scoped me as it took her several moments to understand fully what I meant, and then she seemed to tighten up in the bed before me. There was a confused whine in her nose as she looked truly scared. I could not handle her gaze upon me for long. I trembled and my throat tightened as the feeling that I might just want to die then and there, to avoid hearing her say anything else after my subtle confession, washed over me. I stood and attempted to walk away from her, but things can never be that easy.

"So... that's it? That's all you've got to say for yourself?" Maple's voice cracked midway through her sentences, her tone rising in anger to try to mask whatever else she must have felt. "You're not going to stick around? You're not going to wait for Willy and Springfield to wake up to tell them this?"

I shook my head, but there was no answer I could give her. At least no answer I could give through the stinging of my eyes and the burning sensation in my face.

"What am I supposed to tell them then? How do I tell them, Ben? How do I tell them what you've done?" She seethed in agitation and pain as she tried to get up and approach me, but her injuries held her down. "Am I supposed to tell them that you just gave up? That you gave up on Songring? That you gave up on us? Or did you just get a better offer or something? What the nightmare do I tell them, Ben?"

"Tell them that I've done all I can do, and that I care for them very much. That's all they need to know. I love you Maple... even if it doesn't look like it right now. See you later, I hope."

Everything after that was blurry. I can't tell if it was from the strain that such a goodbye left on me, or if it was because moisture clouded my vision while I grabbed my backpack and blunderbuss and just ran. I ran as fast as I could to the field across the Charmedsmile. No more looks, no more goodbyes, and no more disappointment. There was nothing I could do. This was the only way to keep them and Songring safe. Silly creatures just didn’t understand. I cannot violate my probation: I will leave by my choice or I will be dragged back to a cell. I either let these settlers damn me, or I watch them get their legs cut out from under them when they try to stand in my defense. They just couldn't understand. I let them see on my cover: failure, quitter... but this is all that I can do.

I'm so sorry, but it's the only thing that I can do.

Dawnstar is here with me in the carriage as we're riding back to Canterlot. She's watched me for a while. Just watched me as I write and occasionally snivel and shield my eyes from her, as I need a moment to recover. I've wanted this for six years; I've wanted to leave this stupid place for six years. Why am I not happy? Why can't I just be happy?

"I suppose this means that my internship is over then, huh Mr. Prodder? It's been a long and eventful ride for us both. I'm a little sad to see that it’s now done with. I can see that you must be too. I don't know if it means anything to you, but I'm going to miss being your understudy... and you." Dawnstar is a sweet girl. At least there's someone here to keep me company, and it helps that she takes my free hand in her grasp occasionally.

I just saw something down below us at the line where the snow ends. Something peculiar: A caravan. A covered wagon with seven ponies leading it along is inching across the landscape to the North. Even from up here, it seems like I can almost hear them laughing. The little mixed band of pegasi, unicorns, and earth ponies are just merrily trekking along their way.

I wonder what truths lay underneath the simple cover I see binding together the happy little band of ponies beneath me.

The only thing I can take comfort in right now is that at least I am on my way back home. I just don't know where home is anymore.

Author's Notes:

There you have it. The final chapter of the first novel of Ben's tale. In true Dwarf Fortress fashion, Songring shined brightly and gloriously like a star, only to succumb to a shockingly sudden and almost bizarre finale. It lacked only the tragedy of everyone being dead at the end. A blog post is available here with additional details of why such an ending was chosen for this story, along with many other explanations of how certain snippets from the work came to be. I do hope everyone has enjoyed the tale so far. I will try to remain diligent in working on the second novel. This is hopefully only the beginning.

And ultimately, thank you for giving Ben the chance to share a little of his experience with you.

Until the next time,
~J Winters