Either my first or second day out on the streets, once I was too old to stay in the castle during the day, I stumbled upon a group of older kids who called me over. They asked me a bunch of questions, like where my parents were and where I lived, and tried to explain a bunch of things. I barely understood any of it, but they led me to a street corner where a bunch of other foals around my age were playing. There I met my best friend.

We ran and sang and bounced rocks. When the guard patrols came around, we hid together from them like the older ponies did, even though they told us not to. We talked about what we knew and what we wanted to know. About our dreams and aspirations- the kind of things it’s easy to talk about when you’re younger. I tripped and fell at one point and she helped me up and made me feel better. We played together all day until it got dark and the older ponies said I had to go home. I was sad, but she said she’d see me again tomorrow.

I met her again the next day. She gave me a hug and we played again all day. She was the first real friend I’d ever had. I valued every moment I spent with her. I came back the next day, then again the next day, and the next day. Time seems to pass slower when you’re younger, so I don’t really know how long I knew her. But eventually the day came that she didn’t come back.

I asked and some of the other foals said that maybe she was sick. Next day, same thing. And again, and again. Eventually they wouldn’t even answer me. They’d just look away or ignore me if I asked about her. She was just gone. I never found out for sure what happened to her.