As the sun dipped below the jagged skyline of Riverport, the neon lights of the city began to flicker to life, casting long, purple shadows over the Little Red Pony Academy. The air was still thick with the residual heat of a humid afternoon, but a faint, cooling breeze was beginning to stir the leaves of the Camphor tree in the courtyard.
Right on schedule, a familiar, swaying figure appeared at the gate.
Blanche was the first to arrive, as she almost always was. She looked like a miniature nomad, her oversized backpack nearly swallowing her small frame, a straw-topped sippy cup dangling from her hand like a soldier’s canteen. She didn't walk so much as she vibrated through space, her gait a chaotic, rhythmic sway that suggested she was constantly on the verge of launching into a sprint
