“A Human’s Touch”  
Tempest could not take it anymore. After experiencing abandonment, the friend-less pony trudged along in the countryside with an unknown destination. With her head hanging low, her eyes glazed over at the ground, lost in thought. If only she had another chance, she could prove to everypony who Fizzlepop really is. The Storm King ruined any chance of that happening, forever reminded by the sharp, stubby, extension to her forehead. Her neck tilts sideways, giving her a homely view of the barren space that is her flank. The word “useless” comes to mind; she has no purpose in this land where a mere tattoo depicts one’s entire life goal. A single tear dribbles down her fuzzy cheek and hits the ground as quickly as it was formed. Not looking ahead of where she was moving, Tempest surprised herself by nearly walking into an animal.  
She almost tumbled over from the natural jerk she gave her body to set herself backwards two steps. It had a creamy, off-white complexion with only a small amount of hair at the top of its head. It was a tall looking animal with an intimidating stature, and stood towering above her with its long arms draped down the side of its torso. As seconds passed, a stressful silence filled the air as neither organism knew what to think or do. Tempest was the first to act, moving a single hoof backwards all the while shaking in fear. Her body language revealed her fear to the human, but little she knew, it meant to do no harm. The human slowly lowered his body to appear less threatening and quietly exclaimed, “it’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you.” Tempest became even more surprised at the fact that it spoke her language, but remained silent with a worrying expression plastered over her face. “You don’t look well, are you hurt?” the human asked, steadily bringing its hand to her face. The human’s gentle, pasty skin contacted her fuzzy fur and it pet her forehead right next to that ugly stump that jutted out. The satisfying contrast between its skin and her fur sent a warm, electrifying wave through her body, almost immediately wiping away the fearful expression. The human moved its left hand from her head to her jaw, settling her chin in the crevice of its hand. “You look lost. Do you want to come with me?”  
The human’s question elicited a confident response. Saying not a single word, Tempest curled the corners of her mouth upwards into a smile which she has not created in the longest time. This human, it had no defining tattoo which depicted its life’s purpose. How could it live with no purpose? she thought. The human had no horn, no wings to be content with. This opened up a treasure chest of realization, that one does not need to be figuratively chained in order to find their place. Being a free pony, walking in the countryside with no destination, no cutie mark, and no horn was exactly what she had wanted to be. -Paul Chaos, “LaMontagne”