A golden pony, filled with youth and splendor, emerged from the lowlands. He galloped up the steep hill with a callow, carefree spirit. Once he reached the top, he took a second to bask in the sparkling sunlight. It was one of those rare autumn days where the foliage was in full bloom and the weather was as clear and warm as a summer’s eve. He wanted to enjoy this day to the fullest, to not let a single moment go to waste. In the midst of sunbathing he thought of no better place to pass the time.

“Fenrick,” a distant voice, somewhere yet nowhere, called out once he started down the hill. The young pony didn’t answer the call, too preoccupied with his wandering imagination to pay the voice any mind. Instead, he cut through a tranquil meadow as fast as he could, leaving hoofprints embedded in the soft grass behind him. The other animals who dwelled in the verdant paradise—rock foxes, boxbees, horned sheep, and other friendly, fascinating creatures greeted him as he trotted past, but he had no time to greet them back. Fish and frogs jumped out of a small pond nearby to get a glimpse of the pony's beautiful golden mane as it flowed in the wind, but he paid no mind to them either. It was not often that the pony had an entire day to himself, to roam where ever he wanted and do whatever he pleased. Joy overtook him when he woke up that morning, and he rushed out of his home so quickly that he forgot his manners at home. He made his way towards where the meadow ended and the colorful trees of the forest began, thinking of all the endless opportunities of fun and adventure (and even a little mischief if the opportunity presented itself) that awaited within.

“Fenrick…” the disembodied voice called out again; this time clearer and nearer, but once again the pony ignored it. He sped up his fervent galloping once the tree line was in full sight. Excitement swelled within his stomach once he saw his best friend waiting for him. It was a black-spotted doe with a small protrusion of red antlers on her head, looking back at him under a gentle shower of red and yellow leaves. The doe ran out of the forest and pranced in circles once she caught sight of her little friend approaching. There was only a short strip of grassy field left before the pony’s perfect day could truly begin. He was just about there, and the doe waited eagerly for her companion to finally join her.

“Fenrick!” the voice called out to the pony for a third time. This time, it sounded like it came from within the forest. It was so close and so loud that it produced a strong gust of wind that blew past the swaying trees, knocked the doe to the ground, and crashed up against him. The pony skidded to a halt, alarmed by the powerful, wind-generating voice. The sky suddenly darkened without explanation; the sun, along with all its warmth, had vanished without cause. The pony looked up and, to his horror, witnessed the heavens beginning to crack apart like glass. High above, a swirling dark vortex formed inside a cleft left behind by the sundered sky. The trees shook violently, and the vortex sucked up the entire forest, lifting every tree from their root as if they were only frail twigs upon the ground. Mingled within the airborne trees and shrubbery was every animal that called the forest home. The pony listened to the horrified cries of a thousand friends as his childhood home disappeared into a dark, unknown oblivion. The pony could only watch in wide-eyed terror as his best friend, the black spotted doe, was lifted up and thrown about helplessly into the fractured sky until she too was swallowed up by the swirling vortex.

Frightened beyond his wits, the pony turned around and tried to retreat the other way, but the meadow had completely melted around him, leaving him surrounded in never ending darkness. Only he and the menacing vortex above remained. It looked down on him with its lifeless black eye. The pony hunkered down onto the cold hard ground and covered his eyes with his hooves, but could feel the powerful pull of the sinister force—the one that took his world away—begin to lift him off the ground. He tried in vain to flee; tried to bite at the dying grass and latch on for dear life, but it was hopeless. Just like everything else, the poor pony was sucked up into the vortex. With one last dismayed neigh that was lost amongst the gale, the pony was drawn into the eye and yanked out of his paradise forever…