[AN: This is pretty much half-done. Once I know what the other half is like, I'll finish this thing and post the Shetland Visitors vs Ponyville Elementals fixture.]

Chapter 8: FRIENDLIES

As Laird of the Shetlands, Roanald an Deargdyer was resigned to mandatory attendance at undesired events. A true stallion through and through, this morning he was currently suffering stoically through one such. Namely, accompanying his wife and daughter on a shopping expedition. He would have assigned this duty to Amhránaílore, but his son had been asked to speak to the local schoolfoals, and as such would probably still be fending off questions even after close on two hours. After all, part of a bard's duties was teaching Shetland lore.

Ponyville wasn't as large as Canterlot (a fact that Roanald would later embrace with relief), but its permanent shops were like one eternal market day. And it appeared that Soothecup an Deargdyer and Winterberry an Deargdyer were intent on visiting and investigating every one they could find.

The residents' attempts to decorate everything a la Shetlander weren't helping. If he saw another fribble-frabble or whim-wham done up in fake tartan, he was sure he would scream fit to be heard from the southern border.

"Ma Laird?" Roanald turned from glowering at a window display done up in red, blue and green to see one of his retinue standing there with a worried expression. "There's a Captain Stormblade wantin' t' speak with ye at t' guardhouse."

"Captain?" Roanald frowned. "Wha's he want?"

"He wouldnae say," the shaggy pony shrugged helplessly, "but he said he needed tae speak with ye right awa'."

Roanald frowned. "Ah better see what yon Neddy wants," and with a deft shrug he deposited the bags he'd been toting onto the ground. "Be a good lad an' keep watch o'er ma wife an' daughter, aye?"

The Shetlander just nodded, staring at the loaded shopping harness with dismay. It wasn't even noon yet!

Roanald an Deargdyer soon found himself in a typically soulless conference room on the third floor of the Ponyville Guardhouse, accompanied by, to his surprise, Magic Incarnate and the mayor, along with a rather rattled-looking CO. Captain Stormblade on the other hand looked grim and immutable, hardly surprising for one of the Lunar Guard.

"Close the door," he instructed, and the guardhouse's commanding officer leapt to do so.

"Right," he then began, "Last night we received evidence that confirms a serious threat to not just Ponyville, but the Shetlands as well. We first learned of it the day the, uh, Laird and his party arrived, but didn't get confirmation until late last night."

"Oh my," Mayor Mare quavered.

"Why do I get t' sense ye're not talkin' about Mucmarfóir?" Roanald asked rhetorically.

"Because the threat is trailing several hours behind him," and Stormblade shoved several documents into the middle of the table.

"To keep this short: The night before last, the farm of Garden Hoe and his family was attacked by what appeared to be a herd of boar. That would be strange enough since there aren't any known herds in the area. They appeared to have visited a few hours before, had a brief disagreement, then came back and forced entry.

"That second visit was when the Hoe family... died... but we found something else. One track that looked like that of a boar, but seriously distorted, and then some scat, which we took a picture of before it was killed with fire."

"Oh my," Mayor Mare quavered.

The photograph was of what looked like a small pile of pig dung, except that dung generally doesn't behave in a fashion requiring killing – with or without fire.

"Them!" Twilight hissed, glaring at the abomination.

"The Muc," Roanald growled, "An' one's playin' host to one o' Them."

"Oh my," Mayor Mare quavered.

"Princess Luna only received confirmation last night," Stormblade went on, ignoring the functionary going into shock, "and I was selected to head a force to defend Ponyville when they arrive. My flight group is currently scouting for any sign of the creatures, and my ground forces will arrive in about two hours. Officially, we're passing through on an exercise."

Roanald was frowning. "When that Mucmarfóir arrived, he had all twigs and leaves in his coat," he mused, "An' I recall t' road were well cleared from t' forest yonder. Yon lad must've cut straight through..."

There was a bustle at the door and a Royal guardspegasus entered. "Captain Stormblade," he saluted, "Forward scouts report that signs show a herd of boar entered the Everfree Forest about two hours out of Sweetwater. Owing to the forest canopy we have lost track of them from that point."

"I'll bet they be followin' Mucmarfóir's trail," Roanald grunted, "t' Muc have nae fondness for 'im o'er any other pony. Wha's t' forest like fae us wi' nae wings?"

"Dangerous," Twilight spoke up, "there are creatures that attempt to eat anypony that crosses their path, deep gullies, and some ruins nopony should enter." She shuddered involuntarily, remembering the showdown with Nightmare Moon.

"Tha's good then," the Laird nodded, "seein' as t' Muc prefer a fight tae sneakin' about. All goin' well, most o' t' snouty fluffies'll get eaten afore they arrive."

"Oh my," Mayor Mare quavered.

"We'll live in hope," Stormblade's grin was wry. "But remember there's one of Them along for the ride."

"Ah'll speak tae my son, Rianblade," Roanald decided, "An' he can quietly arrange for a defence tae be prepared." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "Ha'past eleven, so ye troops'll arrive about 'n hour afore noon. When's sunset set today?"

Twilight frowned. "I think the almanac said a quarter past twenty-three."

"Eight hours then," the old Shetlander nodded, "An' I doubt the snouties will be brave enough to attack during daylight hours. As long as t' lads dinna wreck 'emselves playin' hoofball or whatever we should be grand for givin' the bastards a proper welcome!"

The matching feral grins exchanged by the Laird and Captain Stormblade caused Twilight to shudder and Mayor Mare to faint.

Half an hour earlier, Cherilee had ticked the last name off the roll. "Today we have the pleasure of a visit from, ah..." she frowned at a phonetically spelled name, "Amhránaílore of the Shetland delegation, who is going to tell us about life in his homeland..."

The Shetland bard in question looked over the class with interest. This was returned by two dozen fascinated stares.

The schoolhouse was almost stereotypical, a small red building festooned with educational posters, a frieze of the Equestrian alphabet, a well-used blackboard, and ranks of foals sitting before their desks.

Unlike some popular depictions, Equestrian school desks, like most Equestrian furniture, are only functionally identical to human ones. Rather than being forced into a bipedal posture, schoolfoals sat on thin cushions in front of low writing surfaces which also contained their school supplies. There were two reasons for this design: Firstly, it was relatively cheap, and secondly, most foals found it hard to fall off the floor.

Amhránaílore mulled over his lesson as Cherilee introduced him; he'd talk for an hour or so, maybe one or two of the auld teachin' songs, then throw open t' floor an' brace himsael' for questions. If the wee ones ran out, well, there'd be time for another ditty or two, wouldn't there?

An' then about thirteen-o'-clock it'd be off tae where yon lads should be preppin' for a wee fling.

"But we've already covered this!" That outburst came from a foal, a yearling really if his awkward build, stretched by adolescent growth spurts, was any indication.

"Yeah," moaned his fellow yearling, whose growth hadn't spurted up, but more sideways, "We've been studying this ever since that dumb letter."

"Aye," Amhránaílore smirked at them before Cherilee could react, "But ye've been tryin' tae ken us from auld books, am I right?"

The fat one stopped blinking first. "Uh... yeah?"

"Well, there's only so much them books can tell ye, an' since mah name means Lore-Singer in Auld Equestrian, and Ah be a bard by callin –" he lifted his sporran up with one hoof to show the symbol of a scroll and drum – "ye'll truly ken us in nae time!"

The hapless Shetlander dourly waited outside the Ponyville Clinic as his Laird's mare and filly went inside. The Laird's lasses apparently liked their shopping. Especially when they had a nice strong stallion to carry it.

"Can I help you?" Nurse Redheart was on duty this morning, and looked uncertainly at the radiant young mare and her dam. Winterberry returned the uncertain look.

"We're just after some moon tea," Soothecup declared in a friendly tone, causing her foal to blush and shoot her dam a death glare.

"Moon tea?" Redheart blinked, then sniffed in a clinical fashion. "You don't seem to be coming into estrus yet."

"Och, 'tis nae for me!" Soothecup's laugh bounced around the room. "It's fae ma lass here."

Winterberry's blush deepened to a fine shade of tomato.

Redheart sniffed the air again in that clinical fashion. "She doesn't appear to be entering estrus either?"

"Nay, nay," Soothecup trundled on, ignoring the fusillade of deadly looks her daughter was sending her, "but I dinna' like tae take risks wi' ma girl here."

Winterberry bristled with embarrassment. She was almost grown, and she didn't need her ma to be hovering over her all the time! If it wasn't her ma, it was one or the other of her brothers, or some maid, all worried about her virtue. She'd read about what 'being covered' involved, and how important moon tea was, she was no foolish foal. If she ever found the right lad, however... he better have plenty of stamina. Reading was one thing, but Winterberry was very curious about how things went in practice.

That was a mighty if though. The Shetlanders were all loyal to her da and would probably turn tail. That Mucmarfóir neddy was right out of contention. Which left the gentry of Ponyville, but they all looked soft and too damn meek for her tastes.

As ma escorted her out of the clinic, burbling away, Winterberry wished she was back home where the real stallions were.

MOON TEA: A herbal contraceptive, mainly composed of silphium, taken by mares to prevent pregnancy, especially during their estrus period.

YEARLING: An Equestrian in their adolescence, notable for its growth spurts and degradation of common sense. Or horse sense.