He tucked his head down against the maelstrom and crashed into the orange-vested mare and then everything went white. Luna concentrated and brought herself back into the dream. Dale was sitting alone in the vast expanse of nothingness, pushing a small metal cart back and forth. He was small again, and she began to realize that he was imagining himself as a foal. The scene coalesced into a living room, walls and floor forming first, layered over with details; she looked around curiously. So many things seemed so much like the average pony’s house, yet everything was completely different. He set his toy aside and ran to the window, pressing his face against the glass. Outside, she could see dozens of metal carts rushing along a street, and one in front of his house. A tall human stallion stepped out, his proportions distorted in the dream. More flashes of memory—the two tossing a white ball back and forth, fishing off a dock, running a train around a circle of track. Dale unwrapped a tube like the ones the soldiers carried—it’s under a decorated tree. 