At the edge of the Everfree, under a purpling sky, Zecora stood over a great iron cauldron over a flickering fire, muttering and stirring as she worked her magic. Twilight Sparkle and Fluttershy, faces worried but resolute, stood close by, passing Zecora odd things from her packs and bags as she requested them. Zecora worked by rote, chanting her memorized recipies as she added ingredients to the roiling concoction. [i]Give me those purple pulsing reeds, with warts upon their hulls. And next these dry and dusty seeds That rather look like skulls. I’ll add three drops of liquid smoke, And one small leaf of Poison Joke.[/i] As she stirred in this ingredient, the sky darkened and a chilly wind blew through the roiling smoke with a sound like a heartrending groan. The trio around the cauldron continued their work, Fluttershy giving an anxious glance over her shoulder. [i]Some brown pond-scum and river grime And muck from in the bog, And next some gritty yellow slime That oozed out of a frog, And things you’d wipe off from your shoe, All come to complement our brew![/i] The boiling fluid burbled and released a foul mephitic steam, but all three ponies were used to bad smells in their own ways, and they barely wrinkled their noses. [i]Next, a morbid bit we bring, A pale old moldy bone, And now I add a slimy thing I found beneath a stone! It has no eyes or legs, it seems. I hope we do not hear it scream![/i] This time, the sky brightened to a dull orange glow, and a swarm of bats, or things like bats, fluttered and screeched overhead. Zecora’s face was outlined in the firelight as she chanted, working a mortar and pestle. [i]I have some dried stale potion flakes, Left over from an old run. I’ll grind them ‘til my pastern aches, And add them to my cauldron. Like cheese that ripens ‘til it moves, The potency with age improves.[/i] The sky grew dark again, and more things flew overhead that surely weren’t bats or birds. [i]Now, from a mordant shrubbery We add some bitter buds And then a mix of lard and lye, All slippery with suds For there is nothing soapier Within my pharmacopeia![/i] Bubbles rose up from the stew and popped in the sky with little bangs like fireworks. There was a distant groaning rumble as the sky took on a greenish cast. [i]An egg that’s moldered in a cave For twice a dozen years. And soil from a sailor’s grave Moist with a sparrow’s tears. —But now, remove it from the heat! Make haste! Our brew is now complete![/i] The brew bubbled and bulged ominously, and Twilight picked the whole thing up swiftly with her magic. The three rushed quickly to Fluttershy’s cottage and raced into the spare bedroom, where Discord lay in uncharacteristically neat array, a sack of ice on his literally burning brow and a huge thermometer in his mouth that gave readings in degrees Kelvin. A wastebasket overflowed with tissues stained with various colors and textures of revolting goo. Discord moaned and sneezed, and as he did a wave of frogs with butterfly wings issued from his snout, croaking and fluttering about in the air and filling the room with confusion until they found the windows and took to the skies, which changed in color to a rosy mauve. Twilight levitated the entire smoldering, steaming cauldron to Discord, who drank the whole thing in three evenly-spaced gulps. His eyes turned fiery orange and blazed; his ears smoked and his tail curled, the thermometer burst and wilted like a dead flower, then he burped a string of smoky bubbles that formed the words “Ah, potent stuff, that.” “The only cure for Stagnant Flu is a revolting drink,” said Zecora. “Your pains should cease to trouble you, and you’ll be in the pink!” She held out three pills that would confound an elephant. “And now, these tablets you should take, and call tomorrow when you wake.” Fluttershy comforted her patient as he gulped the pils, Twilight teleported away to restore order to Ponyville, and Zecora took up her cauldron in her teeth and turned to leave, as the sky turned color again to the soft and normal shades of evening.