Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek, and I don't own Ponies. I'll try to be a good girl. Don't sue me. IT'S ALL Q'S FAULT-*gasp*, *gurgle*
Author's note: The Author is pleased that The Picard is pleased. Universe32: sorry to keep you waiting.
Picard's office vanished in a flash of white light, and he found himself standing, blinking, outdoors on what appeared to be an M-class planet with particularly busy and bright-colored vegetation. Large birds flitted among the clouds overhead, and there was a cool breeze blowing. He realized that it was blowing over a great deal of bare skin.
"Q, why am I naked?" he asked, perturbed. He heard a soft laugh in the air beside him.
"Oh, I should think that's the last of your concerns," Q said.
"What do you mean?" the captain demanded, and stamped his foot. Hand. Forelimb. Thing. He looked down in confusion at the two thick, blunt-ended limbs resting on the ground, and hastily trotted backward. He circled himself, craning his neck to see the rest of his body.
He saw four legs, moving in concord, short brownish fur, and a swishing white tail. He swore softly.
"Q, you made me a horse?" he demanded. There was no answer.
"A HORSE, Q!" he snorted, and looked around. The trickster was nowhere in sight.