“Excuse me, missy?”

Twilight sighed. She knew The Voice when she heard it. You didn’t mess with The Voice. You couldn’t. The Voice said ‘I’m the parent, you’re the foal. If I say you’re wrong, you’re wrong. Got it?’, and woe betide the fool who challenged it.

“I’m sorry,” she said, rolling over to face the wall.  

Nightlight huffed, walking up to her bed. “Sorry isn’t good enough. That’s the fourth time today.”

 “Third,” Twilight sulked.  “Buckminsterfullerene –“

“Watch your language!”

“- is a molecule and not a swearword.”

Nightlight paused for a moment, blinking. “Even so, that’s no way for a young lady to behave.”

“But Shiny –“

“Shouldn’t be doing it either.” Nightlight bent down, giving  her a kiss on the cheek. “Royal guard or not. Goodnight, sweetheart.“

“Wait!” Twilight said, as her father walked towards the doorway. “You have to read me a story first.”

She watched as he paused for a moment, ponderous, before he walked back inside and pulled a chair up next to her bed. “I don’t remember anything about that,” he said. “Have you been a good little filly?”

“You promised.”

“Ah,” he said. “But are you sure?”

Twilight turned and glared at him.

Nightlight laughed. “All right, all right.” He leaned forward on his chair, a faraway expression on his face. “Once upon a time, before the age of ponies, there lived a great kingdom of beavers. The ruling family were known as the Poons, having named themselves after the sirpoon trees out of which their traditional homes were constructed. In fact, the king himself was known as Sir Poon.”

Twilight blinked. “But Callophylum Polyanthum and members of the Castor genus inhabit different –“

Twilight paused as she caught Nightlight’s expression. “Sorry.”

Nightlight cleared his throat. “The Poons, “he continued, “were well loved by their subjects, on most occasions. They were fair and just rulers, and under their guidance, the kingdom prospered. The one peculiar thing about the beavers was this: the beavers were very conscious of their gift of speech, and took a poor view upon those who misused it. The use of swearwords in particular carried a heavy penalty.”

Nightlight ignored Twilight’s simmering glare.

“And that,” he said dramatically “was where the problems started. The Poons had a young daughter who, whilst bright, had an utter disregard for the formalities of language. Her mother, Lady Poon, hardly helped. Even Sir Poon soon began to find himself indulging in the occasional curse here or there, in private.

The beaver court, who governed the land under the king, held Lady Poon and her daughter in utter distaste. To them, she and the queen were no better than flotsam. As for the king, who continued to defend them? He soon fell into disrepute. Murmurs of rebellion soon began to make themselves heard throughout the kingdom. Sir Poon stood on a knife’s edge.

But this talk of treason was interrupted by news from the mountains of a great flood headed their way. Whilst the council lobbied for the construction of a dam upstream, Sir Poon was weary of the damage to the local towns. To resolve the matter, a hasty meeting was called.

It went on for hours until Sir Poon, having been kept awake at night wondering what would become of his wayward daughter, could barely focus on the matter at hand. ‘Have it your way!’ he cried at last. ‘Dam it!’ “

Nightlight’s face was a mask of sorrow.

“Alas, those were to be his final words. The court, already pushed to breaking point, could tolerate his vile lingual atrociousness –“

“atrocities-“

“could no longer tolerate his vile lingual atrocities no longer. Incensed at Sir Poon’s language, they forgot the very purpose for which they had gathered. T’was merely hours later that the river flooded, and the whole kingdom was washed away.”

Nightlight flashed Twilight a grin. She stared, open mouthed.

“They were never heard from again,” he added.

 Twilight continued to stare. “You made the whole story up for one bad pun?”

Nightlight’s expression morphed into a grin normally reserved for child entertainers, psychiatric patients, and the unfortunate individuals who had one foot firmly in each camp.

“No,” he said, savouring each word. “Two bad Poons.”