As they strode by a window, Forgath's gaze was drawn briefly to the moonrise.  It was late in the evening already, and the moon was full.  When he had first arrived in this land of ponies, the moon had been pristine; it had been part of how he had known that he was no longer on his own world.  But five months ago the moon had acquired blemishes in a strange pattern - the silhouette of a horned mare.  Unlike the supposed figure seen in the scars of his home's moon, this was more distinct.  Purposeful.  And it arrived suddenly one night, heralded by a great pillar of light from the south.  This had not boded well to Forgath, and that very night he had set aside greater resources for his astronomers, though they had found nothing unusual save for the obvious.