Applejack led me to the bathroom in her house on the farm and brought me some of Big Macintosh's old clothes to change into. I could tell just by looking at them that they would be big on me.

I took a quick, cool shower to rinse the paint off my body. Then I got the feeling that something was off. Something about me. Have you ever not noticed something until you realized it wasn't there? Like a sound that goes unheard until it stops. This is what it felt like. I couldn't feel the voices. I could feel them all the time, even when they were completely silent, but now I couldn't.

Without turning off the refreshing water (it felt to good to shut off), I sat cross-legged in the shower and meditated. I slowed my breathing, and relaxed until the outside world faded away softly. I delved deep into my mind, and discovered that the voices were still present, but they were dormant. They felt like they were... asleep, for lack of a better word. It felt like they were... being patient; like they were waiting for something to happen. What?

Before I could go deeper, a loud crash that came from downstairs snapped me out of my trance. My curiosity got the better of me, and I quickly got out of the shower, dried off, clothed myself, and hurried downstairs to see the cause of the commotion. I reached for my makeshift crutch, but noticed that my ankle was feeling a bit better by now, so I just ignored it.

Upon my entering the living room (estimated source of the noise), I was charged and trampled by three small girls who were no doubt on some sugar rush. They bombarded me with questions about who I was and where I came from and what I was doing there and why I was wearing Big Mac's clothes. Before I could answer anything, Big Mac came to my rescue and lifted the three girls off of my chest with two in one hand, one in the other. I realized they were small, but the ease with which he lifted them amazed me. I exhaled with relief and thanked him. Applejack came in later and scolded the three girls while they put on their puppy dog eyes.

"How many times have Ah told ya not to tackle strangers?"

They hung their heads in shame.

"Applejack, ow, who are these girls?" I asked.

She stopped wagging her finger at them to answer me, "Well, this little troublemaker here's mah little sis, Applebloom," she said, gesturing to the one with the red hair and the large bow on her head. She was wearing blue overalls over a cream-colored shirt and red sneakers. She had orange irises and an adorable blush across her face.

"This one's Scootaloo," (I stopped caring about the odd names by now)

She pointed to the second child. She had purple hair, with matching purple eyes. She wore an orange shirt and baggy pants both riddled with stains. She also had a small pair of orange feathered wings on her back.

"And finally, we have Sweetie Belle. She's the little sister of a friend o' mine."

She pointed to the last little girl, a well-dressed young lady with a white little dress that had a frilly bottom, light purple tights, and what looked like ballet slippers. Her hair was curly with the combination of periwinkle and off-white running through it. But poking through her bangs was something I hadn't seen yet: a pure white horn. I wanted to lean in close and examine it, but held back, feeling that it would be rude.

Applejack turned back to the shamed trio, "Now, apologize to our guest fer stompin' all over him."

Applebloom spoke up in a cute southern accent, "Mister, we're sorry fer jumpin' all over. We were just excited about gettin' our Cutie Marks."

I would have been overcome by their... cuteness of their "we're sorry" faces if I hadn't been struck by curiosity at the mention of a "Cutie mark."

"What's a 'Cutie Mark?'" I asked. I assumed they were some impossible-to-not-know subject when I saw Applejack mentally face-palm before saying, "Are you serious?"

I blushed, even though I had no reason to know what they were, but they didn't know that.

"A Cutie Mark is that mark that people get when they find out what they're good at. For me, it's being awesome!" Rainbow Dash said boastfully as she entered the living room, rubbing her eyes.

"Sorry, Big Mac. I was taking a nap in your bed."

Big Mac just waved his hand dismissively.

I asked Rainbow Dash, "What does yours look like?"

She unzipped her jacked and pulled down one side to show me the image of a cloud firing a multi-colored lightning bolt located on her upper arm.

"Hm. Interesting," I said.

"You're darn right it is!" she replied proudly, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna fly some laps around town," she said just before opening the front door and shooting off into the sky with her wings, hitting all of us with a powerful blast of wind and dust.

"What's yours, Applejack?" I asked.

She rolled up her sleeve to show me the image of three red apples, most likely representing the fact that she worked on an apple farm.

"So, is it some kind of coming-of-age ritual?" I assumed.

"Yeah, Ah guess it's somethin' like that."

Scootaloo spoke at this, "We're trying to get ours by doing everything we can think of!"

Them? But they're only children. If these "Cutie Marks" are tattoos or brands, children shouldn't be striving for them, should they? I pushed the thought out of my mind of children recieving tattoos.

"Alright, Nobody," Applejack was addressing me now, "We should go meet Twilight before it gets late."

"Okay," I replied.

"And uh, you three go and, uh, wrestle with Big Mac or something." she told the three children. Their eyes all got big and they gasped in unison and looked at each other before all shouting "Cutie Mark Crusaders: Professional Wrestlers!"

They nearly burst my eardrums. I never thought such small vocal cords could make such gargantuan sounds.