the soft thuds of combat boots on wet mud pierced the night as the young blacksmith marched towards the forest outside his house. In his hands, the gladius that he finished weeks ago, and his scutum. The large red shield hovered at ankle height as the man strode into the dense woodland, his bow and quiver that was strung over his shoulders knocking on the trees, the sound piercing the night as he walked. As he approached the old treehouse, a large trunk with ornate Latin art that swirled gold spirals, piercing the old, decerped wooden walls of his childhood hideaway. The man climbed up and opened the trunk to reveal his handmade segmentata, the bright red plumage of the helmet to match jutting from the dome tucked to one side of it and the shin guards he had made in the roman style, despite not being historically accurate. He looked over his work. For two years, he had juggled college and smithing, the culmination of his work being the beautiful armour and a possible future in teaching history. He remembered his time smiting over the years and sat. the dark night clouded his mind and the loneliness took over once more. He slumped to the wooden floor, his hand reaching to the pocket of his combat trousers, pulling out a brass tin, removing the stubby white stick, and bringing the flame of the zippo lighter closer to the cigarette hanging from his mouth as he took a long drag. He dropped the shield by the side and instantly regretted it. He heard the rotten wood moan and creak until it found its breaking point. The plank he had been leaning on snapped, along with the one supporting him, creating a large hole he fell through. With a hard thud, he fell into a supporting beam which splintered beneath his falling body, bringing the rest of the treehouse tumbling towards the ground. Above him. He felt the impacts of loose wood on his entire body. He quickly opens his eyes to see the trunk fall onto his head.
"ugh" the man moaned as he came to. his clouded mind screamed as he sat up, cradling his temples in his hands. He squinted his eyes, the light cutting the front of his mind, sending a splitting headache into a migraine. He saw a red line through squinted eyes, as he pulled them open, he saw the chest. Sitting before him in a crater, but not where it should be. He was not where he should be. The trees were different. Apple trees. He wobbled to his feet. He looked over his surroundings. A large house stood, about 200 meters in the distance. Winding dirt roads dodged rows of bright green trees, with red apples piercing the green veil like stars. Despite his beautiful surroundings, he was scared. Terrified. Panicking, he began to pull on his armour, the large cuirass weighing his body down whilst he quickly strapped on his shin guards. He lifted his helm up, slipping the plumed headpiece over his sweating nape, pushing the front down and securing the strap holding it to him. As he knelt to pick up his weapon and shield, he sat a bright orange blur staring at him, with a light yellow, smaller twin behind it. He lifted his shield to his side, but did not break his gaze on the blobs in the distance. He stood, and raised his sword in the air, slowly bobbing it from side to side, attempting to get its attention. He thought for a second that he was waving at his own imagination, until he saw a dust cloud eclipse the yellow blob. It was moving fast, damn fast. He braced behind his shield, but lowered his sword's tip, as to not hurt the blur. If he could be a friend, he would be. As the blur approached him, he could see the look in its (her?) eyes, as her ponytail swayed, he caught the daggers fired from her gaze and braced harder as it closed the now 20-meter gap. He angled his shield upwards and pushed his body forward. The orange being spun, bringing hooves to bear, but they glanced off the shield, pushing her to the ground as he lunged forward. "Wait, Friendly!" he shouted, hoping for a friendly outcome. "Let's Talk!" came the follow up as the orange horse got to her feet, crouching like a bull ready to charge "I don't mean you any harm, I don't know how I got here!". She lifted slightly, looking guarded but ready to talk at least. "what are ya?" the southern horse asked. "uhh, human… you?" the human responded, both surprised and confused at the fact that she talked, let alone English. "Ahm a pony of course! Where in Equestria are you from, human?". he was scared. Equestria? What? "I… I don't know. Earth? Do you know where earth is?" at this point, the defeated smith had lowered his sword, lost and confused. "Uhh. What?" she responded. He was so scared. He felt his emotions barrelling over him. The occasional tear now falling as his shield fell, bouncing off the toecaps of his combat boots, and his sword clanging on the shield. He fell backwards, as he saw the orange pony run forward. Good. I don't want to live in fear like this. He closed his eyes as he waited for the end, but only felt the strong forelegs support his armour as he fell. The pony wasn't going to kill him. Maybe not everyone here was going to kill him, not in the end.