>An ear piercing steam whistle is loosed on Canterlot Mountain's east train station.
>The structure is tall enough for you to stand comfortably in without crouching your head. The floorboards, mostly mahogany, are accented by scarlet rugs.
>The rugs don't seem to be dirty in the slightest, despite the dozens and dozens of hooves that strike them day in and day out. Not one speck of dust.
>With your view from the window of the train car, you're able to see all of the waiting ponies briefly cover their ears as the whistle approaches its apex.
>It's an inverse covering, you would say: they grimace as their fluffy little pony ears fold backwards against their heads. Their hooves stay planted firmly on the ground.
>The observant ones, the ones who see you gazing out of the window, wave gleefully by flapping one of their front legs back and forth.
>They're no doubt reminded of small conversations had during the interim period, waiting on the train.
>Statements like "How did you get to Equestria," and "wow, you're tall" begin to sprout again in your mind.
>Reaching back into their own minds, the ponies figure that they've made at least an acquaintance; they mull your departure and decide to show you their true selves.
>Their visages smile brightly. They have one thought on their minds: "I hope he's going to be happy."
>So far, compared to Earth, ponies are vastly more accepting. Honesty and generosity flow freely here, as if from an infinite river.
>Sometimes, ponies can be selfish. Sometimes they are downright mean. But on the whole, many of their small detours from the common path are easily corrected.
>Being so far from home, but stuck in such a welcoming place, has done wonders for your emotional health.
>The dread of taking steps into unknown territory, and trying to find your place in a world where your people are needles in the colorful haystack, was starting to eat away at you.
>You push those thoughts away, sliding them toward a corner of your mind.


>Satisfied that you won't be sidetracked again, you scan accross the interior of the station to cement it in your memory.
>On each side of the tracks is an awning, which covers only the doors of the train cars as they sit idle, waiting for their passengers to enter. It spans the entire length of the station.
>The construction of this small building is modest. Unlike Canterlot, sitting high above the mountain, this place has no marble and no stone.
>One train can enter and leave this station at a time due to the presence of only a single track. Nevertheless, the trains find their marks and ebb in and out at a steady pace.
>This process, you were told, happens dozens of times a day.
>When a train leaves, the station has a moment to breathe. As your train begins to pull away from the structure, the sun's rays flood the interior.
>It's a lucky thing for the occupants that they are on the east side of the mountain, and it's mid-morning. Celestia's work has been long done, in the celestial sense.
>Shady areas of the station are illuminated softly, the twilight zone shrinking until they're fully lit.
>The lively breeze that fills the vacuum left by the missing machinery nudges manes, tails, and scarves to life.
>The sudden bursts of motion have become standard fare for the station workers, who hold no particular feelings about this train's departure, or any other, for that matter.
>You see their drab expressions juxtaposed against the others in the station. Every type of countenance is represented here, and will continue to be.
>The ponies you're leaving behind all share in common the collective waiting that comes as a part of life. Keeping themselves busy by having conversations, or becoming interested in their own hooves.
>Their lives continue, like yours must, as they wait for their own opportunity to make their way out of Canterlot, by way of the station.


>The Equestrian landscape begins to peek at you as the train falls into stride. It could be called graceful, if it weren't for the slight rumble of the track.
>Small deficiencies in manufacturing, or perhaps just small mounds of uneven ground, cause tiny vibrations in the train cars.
>You aren't exactly in first class, either. But you did get a window seat, and you count yourself lucky for that. Looking back out the window, you take it all in.
>The fields outside Canterlot are fern green. The patchwork portrait of a million small weeds and various flowers springs forward in front of you and fills your sight with multicolored dots.
>It's a little as if each one of them could be a pony the size of an ant. The flat landscape affords you blurry snapshots of small towns far away.
>Some of them hidden behind forests, and others inside of them. All of them are quite close together, their strategic placement probably a holdover from a more tumultuous time.
>Cloudless skies burn their blue hues into your eyes. They're nothing new, since the weather reports as of late have given only all-clear signs.
>The pegasi in this area are clearly hard workers. The endless aerial expanse brings to mind this very train ride... It's going to be a long one. The Crystal Empire is 5 hours away.
>To idly pass the time, you take in the perspectives you are allowed from your small area in the back left of the train.
>Peering at the others in the train car you find yourself greeted with only pony patrons.
>No humans at all, save for you. The car's baby blue seats strike your fancy, and the light wood used to hold them together is a fine addition, aesthetically.
>You take a moment to run your hand across the fabric of the seat, silently grateful that there isn't a pony in the isle seat next to you. The seat is silky smooth.
>The one in front of you is far enough from the one you're sitting in that you're able to almost extend your legs completely without touching the back of it.


>Taking advantage of the opportunity, you extend your legs as far as they'll go, and the stretching sparks tingling in the rest of your body. Pandiculation follows, but lasts only briefly.
>Legs tingling with wakefulness, you bring your head up to again observe the goings on in the rest of the car.
>The track-induced movements from earlier have become commonplace now, not worth note, and barely noticeable. But the slight up and down movements of ponies' heads during each bump draws your attention.
>Enclosed within the light brown walls of this car, along the dark red, paisley textured rug, sit five other seats, for a total of six.
>With the extra height afforded to you by the circumstance of your species, you're easily able to ponder on the other passengers.
>The spaces are all taken up by mares and stallions; there are even two small ponies, called 'foals' playing in the isle just in front of yours.
>Engrossed in the wonders of youth and the call of the imagination, they pay you no real mind. Though, you suspect, it's because they haven't really looked at you yet.
>Most ponies are all too willing to strike up a conversation when they catch a glimpse of you.
>Even the ones in this train car were delighted to exchange small courtesies and 'how-do-you-do's, similarly to the ponies in the station.
>You fumble around gently with your sketchbook, grazing your thumb over the cover, feeling the leather greet you as coldly as it has in the past. A small session will warm it up nicely.
>You flip the semi-hard cover open and try to move to a new page. At least half of the book is taken up already. Your frienzied hands were working as fast as possible when you first arrived.
>Every striking color you saw, every picturesque landscape, they were all yours to capture.


>Celestia was adamant that you focus on other things, besides attempting to lock yourself inside your own sketchbook. You had, in time, settled into working less fervently.
>After three weeks, your desire to 'capture everything' had died down significantly. What replaced it was a desire to fulfill your purpose here.
>A desire to grasp at the possibility of having your heart fully filled. A chance at a partnership.
>The scenic architecture sketches and portrayals of the palace give way to portraits and pleasure pieces. Ponies, griffons, yaks. You drew them all, in whatever ways you were able.
>The sound of flipping pages slows its tempo as you near one of your favorite sketches: Princess Celestia. A three-fourths view of her head and neck greets you warmly.
>You weren't able to capture her magnificent colors, but you definitely captured her most common expression. A smile.
>She was insistent that she look right at you; the simulation of eye contact begins to warm your hands and face. The cover of the book no longer feels as cold as it did before.
>Her curled lips inundate your senses with thoughts of long walks, and talks. You shrink your posture a bit, turning the page quickly, letting the pangs of your small crush recede as the shade in the station did.
>Finally reaching a blank page, and reaching into your coat's left pocket for your trusty pen, you return to eyeing the train car's contents.
>The artificial lighting in the car has been off for a long while. A slightly neutral, yellowish light basks the inside of the cabin.
>You find something of intrigue soon enough, on the seat directly in front of yours.
>A violet bow wrapped around the dome shaped crown of a pale yellow sunhat sits tilted slightly backward on a pony's head. Hints of a lavender mane peek at you from under the covering.
>Splitting a light grey coat down the middle of the neck like a small mountain, the hairs of the mane project outward and upward, toward the head of the pony.


>She rocks up and down gently as the train goes, her head tilted and pointed out the window. You hear her release a sweetly feminine sigh.
>She's observing sights that she's probably seen a thousand times before.
>You resolve to draw this scene, wishing offhandedly that any place on Earth had become as familiar to you as the passing landscape probably is to this pony.
>The rough sketch takes shape as the strong strokes and light touches strike the sturdy paper. You flit your eyes toward her and toward the page over and over again.
>"Maybe," you wonder, "my match will have this kind of mane. Maybe she'll be fashionable."
>The thoughts of her appearance, her mannerisms, pour themselves across your mind's eye as the ink pours on the page.
>The rough images take shape together, as your imagination runs rampant. "The voice has to be buttery smooth." You're reminded of the princess again, as your ears hear phantom sounds.
>"Hey, why don't we go get some breakfast in town? I know a place," she lilts the suggestion to you. You reply in the affirmative without a second thought, let alone a first.
>"And then after we can go to the historical district." The stories, the sounds, and the sights... All with her. Your 'perfect match.'
>"And afterwards, you can give me your ticket." That wasn't a part of your daydream. Tickets? Why would she say that?
>"Er," a male voice catches your attention from the right, "if you could give me your ticket, please."
"Oh, oh! Yeah, here it is."
>The uniformed stallion waits patiently as you fetch your ticket from the same coat pocket your pen was in. With some pens, that would be a dangerous gamble.
>But, as a famous professor from Earth once said, "it can do other things, why shouldn't it?"
>You purse your lips as you hope you're right about the safety of your pen. It's superior to pony technology, but when it comes to two dollar pens, that isn't saying much.


>The ticket emerges from your pocket as spotless as it was when it entered. The shiny cobalt paper flaps and flickers in the soft light through the window as you hand it over to the smiling pony.
>It's filled with words that you, miraculously, can read. Mundane items, like train car, name... Nothing too important.
>His blue shirt shifts as he reaches one of his forelegs up to grab the ticket. You aren't really positive on the manner in which ponies grab things.
>You see the small fleshy part of his hoof make itself visible as he turns his foreleg. As he puts it near the ticket, the thing seems to magnetize into the divot.
>"So, I couldn't help but notice", he starts, looking you up and down, though mostly up, "that you're a human!"
>You're well aware of where this could go, and prepare yourself to spout details about your life.
"You're very perceptive, you know?"
>You try to joke slyly with him, but his face remains as bright as he moves on. Ponies can be silly at times. You wonder if some of them are ever truly listening.
>"Well, thank you. I try to keep my eyes spic and span; the font on these tickets is quite small, you know."
>While saying this, he balances himself on his back legs, bringing his other forehoof to point at his dark blue eyes.
>They're half-visible under the bangs of his tea green mane, streaked with sporadic grey hairs and flattened against his forehead by his cylindrical conductor hat.
>The hat matches his uniform, except for faded spots coming toward the crown of the hat from the brim. This conductor is well travelled, with an attitude to match.
>"You humans are so... new!" the excitement on his face reaches new highs as he throws both forehooves into the air.
>"The last time I remember seeing a new type of creature, I was just a colt on my first train." He takes on a pensive look and adds "those griffons are pretty scary."
>The griffons in the castle, as you recall, were gruff but likeable.


>"So, uh... What business is taking you all the way up to the Crystal Empire? It's kind of a new area, you know? Can't imagine there's much up there for a human to do."
"I'm... Going up there to meet someone. Besides," you pair the aside with a lifting of your sketchbook, implying other purposes. "The country up that way has to be beautiful."
>The Initiative is a secret. Currently it's known to you, the princesses, and, you hope, your match. Most likely, various other important ponies essential to its function know of it as well.
>The master ticket taker gives you a knowing look after taking a glance at your sketchbook. It wasn't closed when you brought attention to it, so he likely took a glance at the page.
>"Going to meet 'someone,' hmm? Alright." The pony drops the subject swiftly after looking at the mare in front of you. You were ready for him to pry, but he seems to respect your privacy.
>"The country in the Crystal Empire is quite the sight. It's snowy, with lots of mountains. You'll see in about... three hours."
>Did you spend almost two hours sketching that pony? The light in the car was softer, but... You didn't think it took that long.
>"By the way, my name is Hole Punch. Pretty fitting name, huh?" He punches a hole in the ticket to highlight his small joke.
>You chuckle as you reply.
"I'd say so. My name is Anon, by the way."
>"What an interesting name. I didn't think humans had such fitting names, but you do! An interesting name for an interesting creature."
>The compliment doesn't fall flatly. You blush slightly as his voice drops off and you sense an end to the exchange.
>Putting the ticket he'd been holding inside a small bag attached to his left flank, he lifts his foreleg and moves it forward and backward at you while smiling.
>"Enjoy the ride, Anon." He offers a last friendly vocal gesture and moves up toward the front door of the train.
>You watch him take one last look at you before he closes the sliding door and moves on to the next car.


>Looking back at your sketchbook, you're satisfied at the results, even with the slightly marred lines from the train's up and down motions.
>You don't have any coloring utensils. The illustration will forever remain on this page in a modest black. You close the sketchbook, being more careful than usual.
>Packing it back into the inner pocket of your jacket and storing your pen, you're hopeful that gentle movements will keep the ink from smudging.
>Having no other way to occupy yourself, you take the contemplative option and turn your head toward the window.
>The land has become visibly colder. The afternoon sun beats down on grasslands that have taken on a more bluish tint than those from the center of the country.
>Trees, those hardy enough to survive in this area, are becoming more scarce; and when they aren't scarce, they're grouped together and have leaves that aren't as plentiful.
>Upon closer inspection, their dark, dark green hues remind you of evergreen trees from Earth. The areas without trees or grass have exposed ground and soil.
>The tan dirt mixes in with the blue patches as the train hurries further into the cold north. It reminds you slightly of an abstract.
>"Heeeeeeey, mister!" A high-pitched voice grabs you, and shoos your thoughts of the landscape neatly away.
>Looking to the right as you try to come back to reality, you're greeted by two small ponies standing in between the cushion of your seat and the backboard of the next.
>One of them sports a confident expression and is a bit bigger than the other. The short, pastel pink, boxy mane cut and slightly larger stature scream 'male' to you, and you assume it's a colt.
>The other is shrunken slightly back, and takes glances at you with green eyes from behind a wilted lavendar mane; the hue is recognizable. They both sport wings.
>And both of them are light grey. They're clearly, in your eyes, related to the mare in front of you.


>They were playing quietly earlier, and gave you no mind, but peace and quiet can only last so long, especially when children are involved.
>And it seems that extends to children of any species, not just humans. You're somewhat relieved to know that some of the most fundamental truths in life still hold strong, even here.
>The brave little pony continues. His eyes are a few shades darker than his sibling's, and they're locked on you.
>"Um." He hesitates, making you think he wasn't as brave as you thought. He gathers himself and continues with brazenly. "What are you?"
>Remembering that there are three hours left on this train ride, you figure it can't hurt give a little of that time to these two. You feel a bit devious after all that ruminating.
"I am a... spooky monster."
>The smaller one covers its eyes and giggles softly, transitioning rapidly to a stronger laugh. It's high pitched, and a little raspy. You're confident it's a filly.
>She begins to whip a tapered tail back and forth as she chuckles loudly.
>You bend over a little in your seat, moving in on them to press your imposing nature, placing your hands inward near your knees to support yourself.
>The game is set: this is a pretend playdate with an unknown parnter. They've spent the duration of this trip sharpening the skills of their hobby elsewhere.
>But new blood of any type will always attract the sharks. The little colt puts on a courageous face and rises up on his hind legs, whipping his forehooves up and down in circular motions.
>"We aren't scared of monsters! Our dad taught us how to be brave! Right, Thimble?" The colt peers over at his sibling-in-arms, who has come out of hiding to return his look.
>"Y-yeah! I'm not afraid of... of anything!" She stands proudly on her four hooves, stretching out and raising her head confidently as high as she can manage.
>She looks to somewhere on the ceiling of the cabin, probably thinking that her pose is intimidating.


"Not afraid of anything, huh? What about... this!"
>You bare your teeth at them, making an 'arr' sound while putting your hands up as if they were claws. You parrot the colt's back and forth motion from earlier, hoping to increase the tension.
>The filly makes a shrill "eep" and scoots back rapidly, almost retreating into the small space under the seat in front of you.
>Impressively, the colt only gives you a startled jump as his eyes widen; he notices his sister shrink back and drops his entire expression into annoyed disbelief as he looks at her.
>She smiles weakly at him, silently asking forgiveness by putting on a pair of pouting eyes. He relents, stands up on his hind legs, and begins to step toward your feet.
>Boxing his two tiny hooves back and forth, he shouts "I'll protect you, Thimble!" He arrives at your lower calves and begins to box them lightly. There's very little force.
>Unsure if he's really trying or if pony children are simply too weak to affect you, you mark his determined look and wink at the filly to disarm her again.
>She rewards you with another cute giggle, emerging fully and beginning to box your right leg as her brother does. The bumps of the train and the bumps of their hooves almost merge into a beat.
>You wonder idly if you could handle raising one of them. A child in general, that is. Two is a little bit of a stretch. Children back home were tough enough when they came in singles. In pairs?
>A double serving might be just too much. The idea that you may not even be compatible with a pony or creature flashes quickly in your mind, but you brush it off with ease.
>The magic of this land has to guarantee some sort of compatibility, you assure yourself. Breaking your thoughts, you taunt the two.
"You know, after another hour of this I might start to feel something."
>You let your voice drop as you conclude your jab to make it sting, if only a little. Seems fitting payback, after having your baby cows worked over for a moment.


>Both little McGregors share a look with each other, concluding their assault. They look... mischievous.
>"We need a new plan." The colt speaks first. You reach your hands toward them once more, slowly, to pull action out of them.
>"We need mom!" The filly finds her voice and turns around smartly, using the space between the seat and the train to make a hurried escape.
>Wasting no time, you hear "mom, mom" shouted in little spurts as the colt dodges your hands, using a surprising amount of agility. His wings seem to help immensely.
"You can't run forever. I don't know how much sugar you've had, but I do know there are no infinite gas tanks..."
>You're really having trouble catching this colt. He mentioned that his father taught him not to be afraid of monsters earlier, but you think it would be downright silly of him to fear them.
>They probably wouldn't be able to grab him.
>"He can keep it up for quite some time. I've seen it myself." A silky, yet uppity voice slaps your ears and grinds your gears to a halt. It's a Canterlot cadence, for sure.
>The upward inflections in some parts of her sentence send you briefly to the place you had left hours before. She didn't talk to you in the station.
>She seemed busy the whole time, tending to her foals. Maybe a noble on a family vacation. No father today, though.
>Raising your torso and straightening your stooped stance, you let the colt rest. Your eyes are met by a pair of baby blues from the seat in front of you.
>She has a young face, but the telltale signs of years gone by make themselves visible. She has the small, slightly puffy area under her eyes that's seen in older mares.
>There's a bit of a strained "mmmah" as your hear the sound of flapping pony wings. The filly from earlier rises up from behind the bench's front and leans over it.
>She sends a quick "mmmleh" at her brother down below, sticking her tongue out at him from the safety of her position as her mother continues.


>"Their father taught them not to be afraid of monsters. But I think I remember telling them not to fight with others."
>The caring and motherly look she gives both of them as she says this tells you she's simply reminding them softly, as she's likely done before.
>"On the other hoof, the opportunity to interact with such an interesting individual is very tempting. Somepony from another world, no less!"
>Her hat, which had shifted forward and sits propery on top of her head, is removed by one of her hooves, revealing a pristine grey horn.
>The upward and forward-facing hair on the back of her neck is met on her crown by a mane that is neither wilted nor spiked.
>It curves to rest above her face in three separate locks, wrapping around her horn to make way.
"When I was a kid, the most I got to converse with was my television, or my radio."
>"Well, I say the more experiences you have, the better. A mare can get stale, doing the same things over and over."
>"Mom," the colt enters the conversation, interjecting with a flat tone, "all you do is make clothing."
>"Yes, but," her tone affirms the colt's assertion at first, but ends contrary to it. "Don't we always make time to go somewhere new?"
>The colt relents and loses interest in the conversation. He, like his sister, retreats towards his mother, crawling through the space under the seat.
>The mare gives a quick laugh at his behavior and rolls her eyes, turning around to address her children.
>"I think two little foals have had quite enough fun for one morning, don't you? Why don't you settle yourselves and rest a while?"
>The filly relinquishes her postion and drops down to join her brother, who is presumably on the seat at this point.
>They both make their disappointment known, but allow their mother the victory and settle quietly.
>Looking satisfied with the results, she looks back to you. "Foals. You can't live with them, and you can't live without them."


"We have a similar saying on Earth, but it's about a different group of individuals."
>"Oh, my. Do tell." She's genuinely interested in who you're talking about. But you have a feeling she may not like the answer.
"Oh, it's just about... human girls."
>You let her hear the awful truth. Awful enough that you came here, instead of living your days on Earth with the rest of the people there.
>A bump in the night and a quick conversation with a little alien pony; you were swimming in the deep before leaving dry land. It sounded like the perfect opportunity.
>"Oh, come now. Surely they can't be that bad? You don't have anypony, er..." She slows as she thinks of the correct words. Her face falls a bit and her eyes shift back and forth.
>"You don't have any 'person' back home that you miss? I miss my husband terribly every time we're separated, even briefly."
>"And during that nasty changeling invasion in Canterlot? My Celestia, I was in a tear." Celestia gave you the rundown on the invasion. You're vaguely familiar with the details.
>The way she talks about her partner is endearing. She pulls no punches, and gives her feelings for him freely. She's adorable.
"I don't have anyone back there." A brief pause takes you as you see your breath start to form a misty cloud. "I came here to see something new, I guess like you."
>Any ill feelings you have toward you situation on Earth slink away as you talk to this mare. Her penchant for adventure and openness are beginning to charm you. But, she's married...
>"It's a good thing you've got that fashionable jacket, hmm? You must be cold without fur. And yes, the 'new' can sometimes be just what we need."
>Her eyes relax a bit as she shifts in her chair to make this conversation more comfortable.
>"You know, I saw you practicing your penmanship in the train station, before we boarded."
>"I couldn't see what you were doing, since you're so," she flits a hoof over the back of the seat and drags it upwards, "tall."


>"But!" She clacks her hoof gently on the wood. "I know that you weren't writing words. You were drawing." Her upper and lower eyelids are pulled slightly towards each other.
>She has a... 'shit-eating' grin on her muzzle. Oof. Caught red-handed by this mare. She must have looked closely to figure out that your motions were too large for letters.
>She reminds you a lot of Celestia, who liked to throw out the results of deductions in a similar manner. Then again, she was also known to bluff occasionally.
>It's supposed to be an 'I got you' moment, you figure. Celestia had years of practice doing it to all sorts of foreign dignitaries trying to fumble their way into better deals.
>This mare had a little less time than the thousands-year-old princess, but seems to have picked it up nicely. Maybe it's a skill that isn't hard to learn?
>How she had time to see you drawing and tend to her foals is beyond you. She's a true multi-tasker.
>You pull your sketchbook, and turn to the beginning. You put all your efforts on display for her, flipping pages and feeling proud as you hear every "ooh, lovely" and "splendid."
>She asks questions about what areas in Canterlot you liked to visit, and which types of things suited your fancy, or functioned as your muse. She's lavish in her praise.
>It's a short while, but in these moments, you've found a kindred spirit. Someone who appreciates beauty and the efforts made to capture it. She uses sketches to make clothing, likely.
>But that's close enough for you. Idly remarking on how hard you worked to finish a very detailed still life piece, and making mention of your former thoughts, she rebuts.
>"Oh, dear, that may be true in pure print and page, but in fashion, it's a whole different world! Motion is key." She states the last part matter-of-factly.
>"Yes, a ponnequin might sit stone-still in a storefront, and that image is pretty enough." She lights her horn, and a mauve aura brings it into view above from the cushions.


>She keeps it steady in the air, turning it this way and that as she focuses her gaze on it. "But!" She throws out the word again to catch your attention.
>"When fashion is in motion..." She floats the hat back on to her head, setting it down in the same back-tilted fashion as it was in earlier.
>"It can create a beauty that is difficult to capture in a still image." She lowers her eyelids and puts on a sly smile, tilting her head downward.
>Starting with her blues focused on you, she closes them and moves her head to her right, giving you a three-fourths view of the other side of her face.
>It's lucky that her eyes are closed. You feel your face becoming dopey as you look at her; whether or not she knows that film exists can wait. You're unsure it would hurt her point.
>You know that you're feeling an attraction to her that is more than simply psychological. She's roused you in the most ancient possible sense.
>It's not as though it's unthinkable to be aroused by a pony, but this situation is so tame. It has been a while; no action for months before you left Earth and certainly none here.
>Opening her eyes slowly, they quickly open fully and with force as a warm pink color rushes across her features. She must have noticed your dopey expression.
>"My, it's..." she pauses, takes the hat off, beginning to fan her face with the brim and averting her eyes to look anywhere but yours.
>"It's getting quite warm in here, isn't it?" The warmth of your breath reaches your face, bringing to your attention the dropping temperature.
>"It sure is getting cold in here, right folks?" You're relieved to hear a cheery masculine voice fill the cabin, interrupting this small, awkward interaction.
>You and the mare look to see Hole Punch shut the sliding door with force as he shivers a bit. Small icicles hang from the brim of his hat, a sign of the state of things outside.
>The cold hasn't taken the smile from his face, however, and he's brought something with him.


>It's a small red-orange crystal, sitting in a small blue crystalline holder. The simple design is chalice-like, with a stalk supporting the crystal inside a bowl.
>Punch and his cargo move toward the center of all the seats, and he stands in the isle. Despite his endeavor outside, he's chipper.
>From here you can see the holder is supported by four small legs, wide enough to offer stability, even on a bumpy ride.
>"For those of you who have never seen one of these," he starts, glancing at you while patting it with a hoof, "this'll be something special."
>"Now, I may not have a horn, but..." He taps a little ditty on the crystal with his hoof, and it begins to glow. "I have my own magic."
>Some ponies in the cabin chuckle at his antics. Then, the expressions on their faces turn from a myriad of curious glances and non-attention, to relief.
>It starts from the front, where you see the shivers leave them and their bodies relax. Then you feel a wave of warm air hit you. It's not too warm; it feels just right.
>"This is a kind of magic warming crystal that's all over the place in the Crystal Empire. You'll see them everywhere, once we get there."
> The mare looks back at you, and winks. "They certainly are useful. I'm thinking after a few more moments staring at me, you may have been able to forego this one."
>She's recovered from the faux-pas earlier, and is back in good spirits. Her wink brings you a little higher, and makes you forget your embarrassment for now.
>Hole Punch leaves the crystal in the center of the car, where an almost-silent clink can be heard as the train gently rocks. He makes his way over to stand near your seat.
>Maintaining his trademark jolly expression, he stops. "I hope you're behaving yourself back here, Scarlet. I'd hate to see another passenger leave with five different hats and only one head..."
>He gives 'Scarlet' a skeptical look, which she meets with feigned offense.


>"I would never! Well, other than the one time. I am a businessmare through and through, you know." Pointing her nose up, she explains herself.
>"I was just giving our young artist friend here a lecture on the tenements of fashion." She brings a hoof up and pulls out a cocky smile. "Brilliance through motion!"
"Thanks for coming to save me, Punch. I almost paid for six hats."
>"I can't believe it. She duped another one." Hole Punch closes his eyes and shakes his head slowly. Scarlet looks at you with pursed lips, clearly not thrilled by your deception.
>They know each other, and she knows that Hole Punch will remember you said this. He seems like an oblivious pony, and he'll probably bring this up to her in the future.
>You'd love to spend more time messing around with them, but time is time. And you're wondering what time you'll arrive in the Crystal Empire.
"Hey, Punch. Thanks for the crystal, it's cool and all, but... How much longer do we have?"
>You aren't frustrated. It's just anxiety and excitation. You realize that the feelings that you had talking to Scarlet are examples of what you might feel with your match.
>After having such a taste, it's hard to put it away and not think about the future. You only hope the feeling will be as strong as it was with her.
>Punch takes a look outside before returning: "Judging by the frozen mountains we're passing, about an hour or two."
>Both you and Scarlet take looks outside the windows and are greeted by a large range of mountains scraping a grey sky. Inclement weather has followed the train since you reached the north.
>The pure white caps have their colors stunted by the lack of sunlight. They're still visible but... The entire picture has taken a grey hue. Small specks of dark green break white here and there.
>"Imagine it, er... What's your name, dear?" Scarlet only just now realizes that she doesn't know your name. The word 'dear' gets thrown around in Canterlot quite often, so it doesn't offend you.


>"His name's Anon!" Punch is all too happy to answer her question for you. Not bothered by it, you allow Scarlet to continue.
>She turns to you from the window, shining with enthusiasm.
>"Imagine it, Anon! What a wonderful name, by the way." She matches her complement with a small hoof wave. "All the crystal ponies, all the fashion and culture we're about to see!"
>She excitedly continues. "And where there are cultures, there are clothes! I have so much to sell them. Oh, my. Hats, and shawls, and dresses, and boots..."
"The sights we'll see, huh?"
>You turn to Punch.
"Beautiful country, right?"
>"Beautiful country. Maybe even some beautiful ponies." Punch throws in a wink for good measure, making you think he was paying more attention than you thought when he saw your illustration.
>"Hole Punch! You're liable to scare him." Scarlet chides him playfully. The warmth of both the blood rushing to your face and the air in the cabin makes you feel slightly tired.
"I think I need a nap. I'm gonna get a little shuteye before we reach the Empire."
>Hole Punch gives you a quick nod before moving back up to the front of the car, parting with you and Scarlet with simply a "Scarlet."
>"Punch." Scarlet throws out the name curtly while smiling, before looking back at you.
>"My full name is Scarlet Shawl, by the way. I would hate to be confused with all the other ponies named Scarlet running around up there. It's a pleasure to have made your acquaintance."
"Same to you, Scarlet. Hey, by the way: How do you know Punch?"
>"I did say we always find time to go to new places, didn't I? And there's only one track I trust to get me to them."
>Content, she turns back around, looking down at her foals and smiling sweetly before bringing her attention to world outside the train.
>You move your legs up toward your body and lean your head against the window. The small vibrations in the glass lull you to sleep speedily enough, and you dream of Scarlet.