“Quick, come here!” My father called me. It was a bright, sunny day, if a bit cold. I could hear the wind blowing, the chickadees singing, the grasshoppers chirping. I followed the unmistakable voice of Chief Thunderhooves to where he was with two other buffalo.

Across from them, I spotted three ponies, obviously worn out from their journey. They were thirsty, hungry, and of generally downtrodden spirit. I welcomed them into our camp and fetched them some water and food. They revealed that they were explorers looking to map the area of the West of Equestria, which we thought mighty fine and noble. As a token of thanks, they left an ornament, of wood and clay and flint glass, which produced a sweet, high melody. On top of it was what seemed to be a pegasus singing to the wind. She had a six-petalled flower as her cutie mark, and stuck behind her ear was a feather, probably from an eagle. They called the contraption a “music box”, if I remember correctly. Then, they were on their way.

I don’t know why, but I felt a special affinity to one of the ponies, an olive pegasus stallion. He was somewhat older than the other ponies, and seemed somewhat sad throughout our encounter.

We didn’t meet ponies very often. The ones we did were travellers and explorers, mostly lost and in need of direction. We would gladly assist them, and they would be on their way, with a word of thanks. However, rumour had it that the pony society was a calloused, unfeeling one. There was much crime, much hatred, and much jealousy, all of which was fine and dandy, but just a few months ago, a neighbouring buffalo tribe had come to us, asking to join us. When questioned why, they said that a small group of ponies had went to their tribe, purportedly to trade goods such as copper, silver, and metal tools against shed furs and turquoise. But when they came again to trade, they brought with them more ponies. With alarming speed, they had set up houses, shops, crops - the beginnings of a town. No longer able to stampede or roam in their land, the chief went to talk to the pony in charge, but the ever belligerent ponies threated to declare war if so much as a single leaf of their corn plants was touched.

It was clear that we should have nothing to do with ponies. Half of our tribe had been grievously affected by them, and you only needed to talk to one of those members to have them described with all manners of vulgarities. But the pegasus and the music box nagged at me until I resolved to get to the bottom of the mystery of their origins.



It a while after that, around a few months later, when we saw, in the distance, a number of ponies striking what sounded like metal to metal. They laid wood bases and metal tracks. Some more knowledgeable buffalo in our herd recognized this as a railway, a form of locomotion that the ponies had invented. Within days, it had encroached upon our traditional feeding grounds, but we thought that it would be benign; however, some of the more mistrusting members of the group that had been personally affected by settler ponies grumbled about the decision.

Several weeks later, the first train came along. We could see that it was packed full of apple trees. The Chief and elders worried that a community would be established somewhere on these plains, driving us from our land.

I could have cared less about that. As soon as the train stopped, in the midst of our feeding ground, I asked the each pony that emerged if they’d seen or known an olive green pegasus stallion. Apparently, that combination of colour, race, and gender was pretty rare, as none of them recalled ever having met one before. Dejected, I returned to our camp.

The elders were having a meeting to decide what action to take. Most were in favour of ignoring the settlers, but some buffalo warned that their settlement might expand and encroach upon the traditional stampeding ground. That notion was quickly dismissed, though, as we thought that the town couldn’t possibly grow so much.

A few days, later, I was making my way into the small town, alert as usual for signs of a green pegasus stallion. As I strolled north, however, taking the route of the traditional stampeding grounds, I encountered some ponies planting apple trees, right in the path of our stampede. I turned to alert my father — but I thought better of it. This orchard was vital to the town’s growth, and maybe, just maybe, the green pegasus, along with the story of the music box, would show up if the the town got big enough. So, after doing a tour, I headed back and reported nothing unusual. The herd didn’t notice the orchard until it was almost completely planted, and, by that time, there was almost zero chance that the ponies would be willing to move their orchard. Their leader argued with ours hotly, but no consensus was reached, and no action was taken.

I felt a little guilty, but brushed it off easily. On the way back to my tent, I saw my mother with the music box given to us in her hooves. Quickly, I intercepted her and asked, “What are you doing with the music box?”

“Well, I’m going to dispose of it,” she responded. “It brings nothing but bad memories”.

“May I please have it?” I begged. “It’s awfully pretty and I wouldn’t want it to be disposed of like any old piece of trash”

“All right,” she conceded. She hooved it to me, and was on her way. I set it beside my bed and listened to the sweet, haunting melody until I was called to the main conference area.

At that meeting, the committee of elders decided to go into passive war against the settlers - we would stop them from growing new apple trees and ask them to move the trees, every day. I had no problem with that, but had a question as to how we would stop them from growing apple trees. We generally agreed that the more proactively we could act, the better.

It was a few months, in fact, before a train, bearing an apple tree, came. I was expected to take the lead in making sure the apple tree would not arrive in town, as I was the most lithe and svelte of the buffalo, so I ran alongside my companions and made my way up the train. But as I made ran to the back so as to unhitch the last car, the one with the apple tree, a cyan pegasus blocked me.

“Hey there,” she greeted. “Where’re you heading in such a hurry?”

I felt a pang of guilt, but just continued on my way. She followed, adding, “Wow, you’re pretty quick for someone so… bulky. No offence,” she amended. “I just want to know — Hey!” she exclaimed as I continued to ignore her. “I’m talking to you!”

I judged myself capable of knocking her out of the way, if necessary — but couldn’t bring myself to do so. Instead, I jumped, risked a flip, and barely landed safely. I unhitched the train, then called for everyone to derail it and take it to our camp, as a hostage of sorts.

We soon noticed another creature stuck inside, though. I could tell it wasn’t a pony, but couldn’t see what it actually was. As soon as we got to camp and opened the door to the car, an elder recognized the creature as a dragon, one so rare that in these parts they were but a legend. We heard from him that he had six ponies as his friends who were visiting Appleloosa.

So we welcomed him, but bade him stay until the next morning, as it could be hard to navigate the lands at night, and sunset would be rapidly approaching. He agreed, and we asked him to tell some stories over our fire. After he shared with us some of his life, he asked us why we unhitched the car, so we introduced him to Chief Thunderhooves, who explained our predicament, with the stampede normally set to begin in a couple of days. It was obvious that we’d won him over to our side.

Just then, a scout told of ponies in our territory acting quite suspiciously. When we got there, Spike told us that the two ponies were of his friends and meant no harm, in addition to being “cool”, so we invited them over to our camp. One of them, a pink earth pony, graciously accepted our victuals, but the other, the one who had tried to stop me from unhitching the car, was unreceptive and downright rude. She even suggested leaving with the earth pony. It was obvious that she was angry with us, and desired not our hospitality…

… But I just couldn’t bring myself to hate her. She was defending her friends, and I admired that. So I tried to reason with her and explained the situation, and, on Spike’s suggestion, had her meet chief Thunderhooves. It seemed like she was getting more angry by the minute, but in the end, she was fighting for our cause too, and quite fervently at that. I didn’t know why or how she turned sides so quickly, but I was grateful that she had. She wanted to go talk to the Appleloosans right away, but I told her that we’d just be provoking their ire by going in the middle of the night. She reluctantly went to sleep, and I retired to my tent. I wound up the music box and listened to the melody one more time before falling asleep.



The next morning, I went with Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie to Appleloosa. They were immediately and warmly greeted by their friends, and one Appleloosian I hadn’t met before. Unsurely, the Appleloosian started, but was over-spoken by an orange mare, confrontational in demeanour, who was quite obviously insistent on keeping the apple orchard as it was. That didn’t go well with Rainbow Dash, who defended our cause with good-intentioned, but overly aggressive fervour. It soon disintegrated into a shouting match and then into an impromptu (and might I add, god-damn horrible) musical theatre held by Pinkie Pie which did nothing to help Chief Thunderhooves’ mood. In an unusually impulsive decision, he declared that the buffalo would flatten the town come high noon the next day should the orchard remain. I guess I couldn’t blame him for it, after that awful performance, but it was still unusual for him to act so rashly.

After the confrontation, I placated Chief Thunderhooves, and he promised me that he would reconsider his threat. It was evident, though, that he was still furious, and running out of options.

I went to Appleloosa, and saw that they were erecting wooden palisades around their town. I judged that we would be able to easily break through the initial barriers should we charge. I saw Rainbow Dash’s and Pinkie Pie’s friends trying, unsuccessfully, to convince the settler ponies to come and make peace with us. Going back to camp, I saw buffalo readying themselves for combat.

Sighing, I sat down on a log and looked into the fire. Rainbow Dash fluttered beside me and took a seat. “What’s wrong, Strongheart?”

“Well, I really wish the parties involved would be reasonable,” I replied. “There needn’t be any bloodshed…”

“Hey, I get you,” Rainbow Dash said. “My mom Monocot was a singer before she was killed as a bystander during the Griffon civil war a few years ago. It tore my father apart with grief…”

“I’m so sorry.” I put a hoof on her shoulder. “How is he now?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” she said. I left her alone.



The next day at noon, we were on the cliff overlooking Appleloosa. Ten seconds before we were set to charge, I silently pleaded my father to spare the bloodshed. He was going to turn away — until Pinkie Pie started singing that annoyingly horrible song of hers.

That was enough to push Chief Thunderhooves over the edge. We charged into the town, come what may.

It was amazing that nobody got hurt, actually, and even more amazing that we were able to broker a deal in the middle of the battle. To finish it off, Rainbow Dash led our stampede, and I must admit that she was quite the runner. She ran freely, as the wind, as her slender body tore across the plain at great speed.



The next day, a train rolled into Appleloosa, bringing in some new settlers. One of them, a yellow unicorn mare, looked familiar, and it took me a moment to recognize her. She was one of the three cartographers that had come here the year prior. I asked her where her companion in exploration, the olive green pegasus, was. She looked confused for a moment, then bowed her head and closed her eyes before telling me, “He abandoned his filly to come with us, although we didn’t know at that time. But that kept gnawing at him, so that in the end, he turned to a life of alcohol.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “How is his wife taking it?”

“She’s dead,” she said bluntly.

“Oh,” I stammered. “That’s too bad. Do you know what became of the filly?”

She shook her head.


Next, I went to Twilight Sparkle, the lavender unicorn, to thank her for her diplomacy. She assured me that it was no problem. Curious, and having heard that she was quite well-learned and well-travelled, I took out the music box from my satchel and asked her if she could tell me about the music box. She looked at it briefly and scratched her head. “Balsa wood, flint glass, polymer clay. The feather seems to resemble that of a griffon, and the flower is of order monocotyledonae, family —”

“Sorry, what?” I asked

“I said, the feather is modelled after that of a griffon, and the flower is a monocot,” she said, smiling.

I felt weak in the knees. “Thanks…” I said shakily. I took the box back and trotted off.

---

The six friends, Applejack, Pinkie Pie, Twilight Sparkle, Rainbow Dash, Rarity, and Fluttershy were to leave that night. I met them on the train platform and thanked and bade them each farewell. Hesitating, I reached into my satchel and brought out the music box. Flipping the lid open, I presented it to Rainbow Dash. “So that you may have a memory of your mother,” I said.

The rest of the ponies gasped. “Oh, Rainbow, we never knew…” Rarity said. Dash ignored her and looked straight into the box.

“Thanks,” she whispered. She took it and put it into her saddlebag without another word.