They entered Chowa in a sort of triumphial procession: not through anything they’d done, at least that day, but simply because ponies lined the streets from the outskirts of the city all the way to the amphitheater where they’d set up and play. The ponies stood in Neighponnese politeness, not blocking the way, not even cheering—but staring, rapt, as if they were already planning to tell their grandfoals ‘that was the day I watched Octavia and DJ Pon-3 perform for all of Neighpon’.
Big Macintosh’s ears were laid back as he pulled the cart, but apart from that he was not perturbed. He’d had mares stare at him that way before. Anyhoof, it was the cargo of the cart he pulled which bore the brunt of the attention. Continue reading →
Kirin did not freak out, as a rule. Kirin… considered. Kirin took a long view, and did not jump to conclusions if they could help it.
Kirin, confronting the mystery of the empty boat and the mysterious tracks in the sand, undertook to consider this as well… and did so, patiently.
And sometimes, unbeknownst to ponies, Kirin politely argued, abandoning their elaborate courtly diction, over the management of their charges and the extent of their responsibilities to their little ponies of all sorts. Continue reading →