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Pink'dPink'd!A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fan Fiction by:Prince ShadariRainbow Dash woke early, stretching her wings and her back. She had one of the best dreams ever. She had been flying with the Wonderbolts, and she pulled off this truly amazing trick. However, as she walked to the edge of her cloud house she already could feel the details of the trick slipping away. She had to hurry, perform the trick before she lost memory of it.Dash took to the air, but as she gained altitude she grumbled as the last of the dream slipped away. Perhaps she should have just stayed in bed, but since she was up she might as well do her weather duties. Perhaps if she did some busywork then her dream would come back to her.As Rainbow Dash was flying over Sweet Apple Acres moving some of the clouds around to create a slight overcast over Ponyville a familiar voice came from the ground. However, there was something not qu
Untitled Beast FableI will tell you the tale of a young fox girl. Her name is Dolosa, and she was a beautiful red vixen. Dolosa was also extremely intelligent, and highly resourceful. However, despite her intelligence and beauty, people didnt trust her. She was a fox, and the animals all thought that foxes were distrustworthy and thieves.Dolosa, feeling alone and left out, mournful that none would talk to her. However, that was not entirely true. There was a noble cock, Father Verum, who did talk to Dolosa. The catholic priest believed that even if she was a fox, she was still a child of God, and should be brought to him. So Dolosa began to talk to Father Verum, her slight accent and high-pitched voice often attracted looks, particularly when followed by the low familiar voice of the Pastor. The animals often scowled, and talked behind their hands when the two passed.Look at that, Father Verum
Civil War Story, UntitledA young boy, barely nineteen, lay asleep on a medical cot. His light blonde hair was strewn across his pale face. His round, boyish features twitched with discomfort as he remembered an unpleasant dream. The white sheets were neatly tucked around him, and his right arm, bandaged in his white knitted pyjamas, rested on top of the covers. His grey uniform lay resting on a chair next to him. Dry blood crested the elbow of the left sleeve.He started, sitting upright; his left pyjama sleeve was pinned up, covering the sump that once was his left arm. He thought he could still feel where his left arm once was. Shaking his head to clear the feeling he spotted a calendar hanging near the tent opening. He spotted the date with ease. January 3, 1864. He had fought two days earlier in a small scrimmage against the union solders. There he had sustained two bullet wounds to his