They had died. That’s all there was to it. Nopony knew why, or how. Nopony was there, only them. Their bodies were found, charred, damaged beyond repair. Nopony had even known they had left. The ship had floated in sometime during the night, and it was anypony’s guess as to how it got tied to the dock, or how the bodies ended up inside. They could not even be sure it was the team that had set out, but who else could it be?

They weren’t supposed to go. A different team of pegasi had been selected. Nopony had known where to go; there hadn’t been any indication of land anywhere. Many teams had been lost. Most had not returned. Had they found land? Had they found food? Most pegasi could not even leave the ground. They were too weak. Hunger had taken many of the elderly. Newborns were starving.

It was the chief’s fault. He had led them there. He had driven them to exhaustion. Some had died during the trip, but they could not stop. They had been forced to leave; they could not live under the Dragons any longer. Cloud homes had been destroyed, fillies taken at birth, eaten. Not even the mighty Griffon kingdom could save them; the dragons were too strong.

Many pegasi and griffons alike had died in the war, the war that had started nearly one hundred years before The Great Flight, out across the sea. There had been no warning. The dragons had come, great in strength and number. Anger and hate burned in their eyes. They had attacked the main city first, lighting the night sky with their deadly breath.

Now there were only a few left. Six lone pegasi, left on the island. One had crawled to the edge of the water, like so many before him. The others turned to call to him, to warn him not to, but they were already too weak. Their voices were gone. He stared into the water, gazing at the silver swimming before him, as the pain in his stomach overtook him, and his world grew dark. There was food beneath the water!