blank - Cliffhangers just whet the appetite for next week's chapter ;)

PyraohXBlaze - Oh don't worry, we haven't seen the last of them...

PSYCHOPATH - Still haven't seen em actually; I don't do cable, so I wait for new episodes to come out on either YouTube or Netflix

KillerWoW - Lol I love watching his horror gameplays, especialy the ones on the Oculus Rift

DragonLovingBrony - Lol is there anything more that really needs to be said?

Kyguy - Dinky is absolutely adorable!

Lone The Dark Hearted Wolf - Lol so many feels...

killer43penguin - That it is :D

DragonLord RyuKizoku - You'll just have to wait and see, won't you... :P

Mikalzilla - Maybe she does~

Aethon056 - I'm so glad to hear you're enjoying my story thus far. It's actually a huge compliment to know that :D

A/N - Howdy everypony! I hope you all enjoy the calm this week, 'cause next week... next week things start to get serious again ;) Thanks to everyone for reviewing, I'm getting over a chest cold, and reading your reviews always makes me feel a little better. As always, don't forget to follow/favorite, review, and most importantly; enjoy!

Making the trail bars for our camping trip had been a blast; Dinky and Scootaloo seemed excited just to be doing something with me, and Derpy watched as the fillies laughed and played as they helped me make the calorie-rich snacks.

Scootaloo had asked me why we were making them like they were, and I explained to her that camping burns a lot of energy, and you needed a food that could replace that energy. We added walnuts and granola, raisins and chocolate chips, and even dried strawberries all in one big mix before putting it all in a pan and covering it with mini marshmallows.

"What're the marshmallows for Daddy?"

"Well Dinky, they act like a yummy glue, and when we put them in the oven, they'll melt and cover everything and hold it all together, like a crunchy, chewy candy bar."

"Can we have some tonight Daddy?" Dinky was looking up at me with those big, hopeful eyes of hers.

"Sorry Dinky, it's a little late for that." She let out a disappointed 'Aww…' "Don't worry, I made sure we made extra so you and you sister can share them while we're gone. Now, why don't we eat us some yummy pastries and play a game until it's time for all good colts and fillies to go to bed?"

We did just that, the little ones practically inhaling their treats while Derpy and I took our time with our sweets. Once we had eaten, Scootaloo convinced us to play Monsters and Mazes, since neither Derpy nor Dinky had played it before. The pair seemed to have fun, though I guessed that Dinky would have been happier playing UNO again.

"Hey Papa, is this a good place to camp?" Scootaloo's voice cut through the haze of the memory and brought me back to the present.

We were in a fairly small clearing in the Whitetail, and I could hear a small stream babbling nearby. "This doesn't look like a bad spot, but why don't we see if there's anything closer to that stream? That way we don't have to go so far to get our water."

She trotted along beside me as we walked towards the sound of the trickling water. It wasn't long before we came to it, and found out that the sound had been deceptive; what I had thought to be little more than a creek was actually a wide, shallow stream, and we could see small fish swimming in the clear water by the shore.

"Hey Papa, can we eat those fish?"

I set my pack down and watched the fry swim around in a small calm spot. "Nah, they're too small still. But ya know what?" She looked up at me and waited for the answer. "Where there's little fish like this, there's bound to be bigger fish."

She grinned. "Really? Can you catch some for us to have for dinner Papa?"

I walked back over and rummaged around in my pack. "Well, I could do that… or," I paused for effect, and Scootaloo watched me intently. "You could use this, and we can catch them together!" As I spoke, I pulled out a small fishing pole that I had made just for her and kept as a surprise.

Scoots gasped and her eyes went wide. "Wow! I can't believe you got me my very own…" She stopped and stared at it for a moment. "Umm… what is it Papa?"

I let out a rather poorly suppressed snort of laughter. "Silly filly; it's a fishing pole. This is how we're going to catch fish. I have one too, see?" I pulled out my own pole to emphasize my point.

I gave her the small pole and she sat on her rump, just staring at it as she turned it over in her hooves. "How's it gonna help us catch fish Papa?"

"Well kiddo, let's get camp set up and I'll take you down the stream a ways where it gets deeper and show you."

She gave me a questioning look. "How do you know it gets deeper up ahead Papa?"

I knelt down and cupped a hand over her ear. "Well kiddo, the most obvious sign is the way the sound of the water changes down that way."

She strained to hear for a moment, then gave up. "I don't hear anything Papa."

I smirked and gave her a wink. "Exactly. Since the sound dies off pretty quickly, that tells us there's a good bet the stream gets slower and deeper off that way. Try listening to what the water's doing upstream and you'll see what I mean."

She strained for another moment, with her own hoof cupped to her ear. "It… sounds like you can hear the water from a lot further away over there, and it sounds like it gets even louder too."

"That it does Scoots. From the sound of it, there's something of a rapids up that way; which means it'll probably be a good idea if we move our camp back from the water's edge a little in case it rains, that way we don't get washed downstream if it floods."

Setting up camp was easier said than done since I took my time explaining things to Scootaloo, like how to watch for loose tree branches in the trees above that might break off and fall in a wind storm, and other things to look for when finding a place to pitch your tent. I even showed her how to build a fire reflector to get the most heat out of your fire, and why it was important.

When we finally got everything set up, Scoots and I grabbed our fishing poles and headed along the bank to find a good spot to catch some tasty fish to have for dinner. We had only been walking for a few minutes when the stream started to narrow and deepen; flowing faster, but also more quietly since it wasn't flowing over rocks and other obstacles at the surface.

I showed her how to set up her pole, and then set up my own. She looked at the hook I had put on the end of her line as it swayed in the breeze. "How are we gonna catch fish with this Papa?"

"I'll show you Scoots." I walked over to a nearby rock and flipped it over. "I'm sure you can guess that fish won't want to just come up and eat that hook there, so we'll need to put something on it that they'll like. Do you have any ideas?"

She looked between me and the freshly-flipped rock. "I'm guessing it's not a sandwich…"

I chuckled and beckoned her over as I knelt down. "Nope, though bread and the other stuff in a sandwich can work in a pinch, especially cheese. No, fish really like to eat worms." Scoots made a face, but kept watching me. "The best places to find the little suckers are under things like rocks and fallen trees where the soil stays nice and moist, just like they like it."

"But… there aren't any worms here Papa."

I grabbed a nearby stick. "Oh they're there alright, they just burrowed under the soil when I flipped their rock over. We can use a stick to churn up the dirt and then grab them when we find them." I grabbed several smaller rocks from around the bigger one and made a circle with them. I pulled a handkerchief out of my pocket and set it in the middle of the small ring. "And when we do catch em, we can put em in here. The little buggers won't be able to chew their way out of the cloth, and we'll have a convenient place to keep them."

She looked at the rag for a moment. "But Papa, I thought you said they liked wet places. Won't that dry them out?"

I patted my daughter on the head. "Very observant Scoots. When we catch enough of them, we'll dip the rag in the water with the worms inside it, and they'll stay nice and moist for quite a while."

I caught a few worms myself to show Scootaloo how it was done, then let her try her hoof at it. She caught on pretty quickly, and in no time flat we had enough worms collected for a relaxing day of fishing. It only took a moment for Scoots to realize what was coming next. "Papa, are we gonna put the hooks… through the worms?"

I nodded. "'Fraid so kiddo. Remember, that's the whole 'circle of life' I taught you a long time ago; everything survives by eating something else, and fish are no exception. Just try to remember that worms don't have brains, so they're basically just wiggly little ropes that like to eat dirt."

Scoots gulped and followed my example in putting the sharp hook through the tender flesh of the worm; she struggled a bit at first since she didn't have fingers to work the worm and the hook with, but she figured it out fairly quickly. When her hook was baited, I showed her how to draw the pole back and cast it, making sure to tell her to keep a good grip on it so it didn't go flying off into the river.

Our bobbers hit the water with a pair of quiet 'plop's, and gently floated downstream as the water carried them away. The water here was slower moving than I had thought, so our bobbers didn't float away from us very quickly.

Scootaloo caught on amazingly quickly no matter what I showed her about fishing, even going so far as to reel in her line and recast it without me even needing to tell her to. She was in the middle of pulling her line when the pole suddenly jerked in her hooves and the bobber disappeared under the water. She let out an excited gasp as the pole started bouncing around erratically.

"I got one Papa! I got a bite!" She looked up at me with joyful, excited eyes. "What do I do now?"

"Now you have to set the hook so it doesn't get away; just tug on your pole a little and that should be enough." She did as I told her, giving her pole a light but sharp tug. "Good. You don't want to overdo it, or you'll pull the hook right out of the fish's mouth and it'll get away. Now that the hook's set, just reel him in, nice and slow."

Scoots did as I told her, and I showed her how to pull back on the pole and reel in to keep a constant tension on the line. Whatever was on the other end of the line started to struggle harder the closer it got to shore, and Scoots had to really dig in her hind hooves to keep from getting pulled into the water.

The fish started winning the battle, with Scootaloo's hooves sliding along the sandy soil, her light frame not enough to anchor her in place. I knelt down beside her and wrapped my arms around her waist to keep her from taking a swim, but let her fight the fish on her own.

She grunted and groaned, and while her little pole was nearly bent in half, she never once asked me to help her reel the fish in; I couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride for her determination.

We both got sprayed with water when the fish suddenly broke the surface, thrashing in the air as it struggled. With no time to tell her what to do, I grabbed the shaft of Scoot's pole and bent it forward to ease the tension on the line so the fish didn't snap it while it thrashed. I got a glimpse of our adversary, and I could tell it was some kind of trout, and it looked to be close to fifty centimeters long, a virtual giant for a filly's first fish.

As soon as it hit the water, I let go of her pole and Scootaloo took back over, alternating pulling and reeling to land the behemoth. Having apparently learned from my previous actions, Scootaloo stopped reeling and tipped her pole forward the next time the salmonid broke the surface.

The jerking of her pole lessened, and I could tell the fish was wearing out, but unfortunately, so was Scootaloo. I waded a meter into the stream and prepared to grab the fish when Scoots got it in close enough. The water was cold on my exposed legs and feet, but I was having too much fun with my daughter to care.

Scootaloo wrestled with the fish for nearly another minute, panting and grunting, but never giving up on landing her first fish. When it was finally close enough, I lashed out my hands and grabbed the fish, wrapping my fingers around its pectoral fins so it couldn't swim away.

I pulled the behemoth out of the water, and finally got a good look at it; it was in fact a brown trout, and it turned out to be closer to seventy centimeters in length, and had to weigh a solid two kilograms. I waded back to shore to see Scoots flopped on her back, all four legs sprawled out around her. "That was… so much fun… Papa…" The fiery filly panted.

I chuckled as I whipped my pliers out and pulled the hook from the fish's mouth. "You're lucky; there are old pros back home that would do just about anything to land a beauty like this. I'm proud of you kiddo; you stuck to it and brought this bad boy in all by yourself." Scoot's smile morphed into a huge grin, but she didn't say anything, just lay there and panted some more. "I just wish we had a way to commemorate this, like a camera or something. It's too bad cameras here are still too primitive to carry around in a setting like this."

"I could take a picture for you… if you wanted." I looked off to my left even as my hand went to my holstered pistol to see a scrawny white colt with some sort of contraption holding up a rather advanced-looking camera strapped to his chest. "I didn't mean to interrupt, I was just out taking some pictures of the Whitetail Woods and I heard all the splashing, and well, I thought somepony might be in trouble."

The little colt looked vaguely familiar; I knew he was from Scootaloo's class, but I couldn't remember his name. "It's alright. And sure, we'd love it if you could take a picture for us… umm…"

"I'm Featherweight! I take pictures for the Foal Free Press, but today I was just out doing it for fun."

Scootaloo somewhat shakily made her way to her feet next to me, having recovered from her epic battle. The fish reminded me of its presence by thrashing weakly in my hands. When she was ready, I handed the fish off to Scoots, who held it up horizontally in her hooves with a huge grin plastered on her face while Featherweight readied his camera and snapped a few pictures.

"There you go Sir. I'll have to develop these, but I can give them to Scootaloo when I see her at school on Monday."

"Thanks Featherweight." The spindly colt turned to leave. "Hey, if you don't mind me asking, where'd you get that camera? I wouldn't mind having something like it."

He looked down at the relatively advanced camera and his face screwed up in confusion as he thought. "Y'know… I… I dunno… I've kinda just always… had it…" He looked up at me and shrugged. "If I remember, I'll be sure to tell Scootaloo when I give her the pictures. Bye Sir Marshall, Bye Scootaloo." He started trotting off mid-sentence, and disappeared back into the fairly sparse underbrush of the Whitetail.

I looked down to Scootaloo, who was trying to keep a hold on the wriggling, slippery fish in her hooves. I leaned down and gently took the fish, walking back over to the water. "You're not gonna throw it back, are you Papa?!" The poor filly sounded mortified.

"Of course not, I'm gonna put him on a stringer so he won't get away, then put him back in the water so he won't suffocate. That way he'll be nice and fresh when we cook him up tonight."

I glanced over out of the corner of my eye to see that my own forgotten pole was bouncing around wildly, a fish seeming to have taken the bait during all the confusion. I was glad I'd taken the time to secure it so it didn't disappear on me. I quickly strung up Scootaloo's fish and went to work reeling in my own catch, which turned out to be another brown trout that was slightly smaller than Scootaloo's, though it put up no less of a fight. Scootaloo watched in rapt attention as I landed the decently-sized fish.

Once the fish was strung up alongside its pal, we re-baited our hooks and set about catching our own dinner, landing mostly more brown trout, though I also managed to haul in a few nicely sized bullhead catfish.

After a few hours, our stomachs started vocalizing their displeasure at being neglected for so long, and I decided it was time to call it a day on the fishing portion of our camping trip, though I promised Scoots we'd go again in the morning if there was time.

We walked the twenty or so meters back to our campsite and snacked on the homemade meal bars we had made the night before, and I set about teaching her how to build a fire using just her firesteel and what the woods could provide her. She had protested, wondering why we were doing it that way when we both had tinder in our packs. I explained to her that she needed to be prepared in case she needed to make a fire but didn't have them to work with.

I had wanted to teach her how to make and use a bow drill, but we were both hungry and the chill of night was setting in, so getting a fire going quickly was higher up on my list than teaching my daughter the time and labor intensive method of a bow drill fire; besides, I could always teach her after the fire was going.

While not as quick a study at firemaking as she had been at fishing, Scootaloo still caught on fairly quickly, managing to fan her tinder bundle into a blaze and setting kindling on to catch. She had learned the reason why it was important to wave the bundle around instead of blowing into it once it began to smoke when she accidentally inhaled some of said smoke and went into a coughing fit.

While she tended to the fire, I began wrapping our catch, which I had discreetly killed and cleaned while she was out collecting firewood, in cabbage leaves that I had packed for the sole purpose of cooking any fish we might catch; keeping an eye on her all the while and correcting what few mistakes she made along the way.

Once it had cooled slightly, I allowed Scootaloo to take the first bite, the filly practically melting into a puddle when the flavors reached her tongue. "Mmm… I don't remember the fish at the restaurants being this good…"

I took a bite of my won fish and reveled in the nostalgia its succulent flavor brought. "Fresh fish is always better than anything you can get at a store or restaurant kiddo. Just like everything else in cooking, the freshness of your ingredients is the key." The only answer I got was a slight nod to tell me she'd been listening and the quiet nomming sounds she made as she devoured her hard-earned dinner.

After we finished our dinner, we sat around the fire and simply basked in its warm glow and the hypnotic crackle of the wood as they warded off the chill of the fall air. After some time, I felt her rustle against me. "Hey Papa… Do you think you and Twilight will… I dunno, be ok?"

I stroked her purple mane gently. "I really don't know Scootaloo. That's going to depend a lot on her…" Scoots 'Hmm'ed sleepily and snuggled further into my side.

I sat there for a while longer, not wanting the peaceful, happy moment to end. Eventually, I decided it was time to carry the lightly snoring filly into the tent and tuck her into her sleeping bag. When she was situated, I quietly muted our already dwindling fire and crawled into my own bag, ready for a peaceful night of dreams, all thanks to our friendly neighborhood Princess of the Night.

I woke up later than usual the next morning to find Scootaloo sprawled half-in and half-out of her sleeping bag, which had become a tangled mess around her.

I decided to let her sleep in as I set about cleaning up our campsite and packing what I could without disturbing the tent's exhausted occupant. When I was done, I dug through the ashes of the fire and found a still-hot coal and used it to rekindle a small fire so I could make us some breakfast.

I had packed some oatmeal with dried, mixed berries to have for breakfast as a tasty, high-energy start to our day. I had planned for us to stay out here at least until noon, so that we didn't have to pack up and leave first thing. I also had a few things in mind to teach my daughter that I had wanted to wait until daylight to do.

Right about the time the oatmeal was ready, I heard a quiet rustle from inside the tent. "Papa… are you making food…?" I could tell by the sleepiness in her voice that Scoots had just joined the waking world.

"Sure am kiddo; oatmeal and berries, just like ya like."

Scootaloo came teetering out of the tent a moment later, sleeping bag still wrapped around one of her back hooves. After taking a second to clumsily kick it off and back into the tent, she joined me. "Mmm… that smells good…"

I chuckled and pulled the pot away from the fire and poured the steaming, gooey oatmeal into a pair of bowls and passed one to Scootaloo, along with her canteen, which I had pulled from the stream right before I started breakfast.

We ate out meal in silence as we watched the light from Celestia's sun brighten as it filtered through the canopy of the forest, waking up all the critters that lived here. Scootaloo finished her bowl first and trotted off to clean it out in the stream while I finished my own meal.

She came back a few minutes later, water still dripping from her front hooves, which she quickly started warming back up in front of the meager cooking fire. I ducked into the tent and grabbed the shirt I had worn the day before, handing it to her to use as a makeshift towel to dry her hooves with; the last thing I wanted was for my daughter to catch a cold on our first outing together.

When her hooves were warm again, I taught her how to properly douse a fire so that it didn't burn the forest down, then set about teaching her a few things my grandpa had taught me over our years of spending time in the woods.

All too soon, it was time for us to finish packing up and head home. Scootaloo seemed a little down that we had to leave so soon, but didn't complain as we finished packing up.

It didn't take us long to reach the outskirts of the woods and back into the near-blinding light of the sun. Ponyville looked quiet, as it usually did on a Sunday afternoon, and Scoots and I hardly saw a soul as we walked through town and back home. On the way, I looked over to my right to see the library standing, warm and inviting, in a small open area by the road.

I felt a pang of uncertainty and even a little fear and anger as the tree-made-building reminded me of what I still needed to do.