//------------------------------//
// The Last Fieldtrip 
// Story: A Thing of Ours 
// by psimon 
//------------------------------//

Our One: A Story of Survival
By Psimon
Credits to Filler and StarmanTheta for inspiration

Chapter 1: The Last Fieldtrip to Canterlot

Every now and then, the one-room schoolhouse of Ponyville emptied onto the streets and was channeled towards Canterlot for fieldtrips. Whether to make use of the sprawling gardens and artifacts of culture in object lessons, to provide real-world exposure to the complexities and grandiose potential of their dominion, or to simply evacuate the schoolhouse for a time, the fieldtrips were usually well-received and entertaining. This field trip was no exception.
The schoolhouse had been damaged in a rather unexpected bout of dismal weather. While repairs were being made, Ms. Cheerilee led some of the students to Canterlot to give those working on the school some freedom of movement. Coming along with the party were Mr. Cake – who coincidentally had some catering business to attend to – and the original perpetrator of the incident itself, a certain clumsy pony who had sought an opportunity to atone for the mistake and was sent far, far outside town limits in the name of that quest.
Canterlot, of course, was clean, pretty, and all but glowing in the light of the mid-day sun. Applebloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo were kept on short leashes and under close watch in no small part due to their association with the last disastrous field trip, to say nothing of Ms. Cheerilee's newfound awareness of the immeasurable capacity of the three to make good judgment calls. Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon were along as well, for two reasons: first, because such culture befit their education, and, second, because the adults involved in their lives knew it would be a good idea to give the five youngsters an opportunity to share a non-hostile experience and, hopefully, forge the beginnings of friendship. Harmony was, after all, what made ponies great... it did little good to have so many of them without it.
The troupe arrived refreshed and excited at the great palace of Princess Celestia, but her majesty was not the one to greet them. Instead, the patently aloof Prince Blueblood thought it just quaint enough to deign to greet and host the group during their sojourn. It would, perhaps, be something of a service that would be good material to mention later, when his character was in need of defense. Even so, it was Fancypants who was called upon to do most of the work and most of the talking; Prince Blueblood only needed to be seen doing these nobly selfless deeds. He had no intention of deigning to perform them.
The dialog was rather predictable. The party from Ponyville bowed their heads in respect, averting their eyes – but for one wandering one amidst the group – from sullying royalty and aristocracy with direct gazes. For their part, Prince Blueblood and Fancypants responded in customary fashion before making it known what was to occur: the group would be lead on tour of Canterlot en masse and in general before retiring to the Palace library for a series of readings from some of the great books. In their plaintive postures, it was enough to render the youngsters drowsy. Shuffled along by the adults, they passively lead the group's procession out of the castle and through the gardens, heading towards that promised tour with interest tempered severely by the stuffiness of the whole affair.
As the group was rounding the corner through one of the ivied walls of the grounds, diverse expressions of surprise interrupted their forward march just after a strangely lean, foreign-looking pony came into view. His color was an odd not-black, not-blue, shifting sort of hue defying identification, but the effect was subtle in that it was plainly distributed over the whole pony, as if his appearance was but a cloak draped over some sequestered machination. He was standing beside a well which was not known to exist before now by anyone in the group, which caused the Prince and his conscript to pause long enough to neglect to ask the first question.
“Would any of you like... to make a wish? This is a wishing well. It won't be here forever, you know; all you need to do is step up, make your wish, and toss one of these magical coins in,” the new figure cooed, nodding towards a small pile of black discs each the diameter of a tomato and the thickness of a spring onion stalk.
“I've certainly not seen coins such as those before, Mister...?” Fancypants offered in an attempt to give Prince Blueblood opportunity to construct a witty repartee.
“They're... foreign. Like me. How very astute of you. So astute that I won't try to deceive you,” he lied, “I travel the lands with this wishing well, bestowing the opportunity to toss these coins for wishes upon worthy souls from time to time and place to place.”
Prince Blueblood found cause to raise an eyebrow while looking down his nose at the man, asking, “.... and what price the coins?” 
The strange stranger did not miss a beat in replying. “What an attractive question you have there. Granting wishes isn't a kind of magic you can grow on trees, yes.... these coins pay for that magic, but, you wish to know how you can pay for the coins. Very wise, very wise... a wish is a powerful thing.”
The children shared confused looks whose longevity faded  in the face of fascination at all the potentials. A wish – it was something each pony, not just the fillies, could quickly think of ways to spend. But Prince Blueblood had a good point... what would they need to spend to get them?
“Are they free?” Sweetie Belle squeaked with optimism.
With a shake of his head that almost masqueraded as a nod, the nameless pony clarified, “Almost. There is... a game, a magical game that we want to try to make better. My people, that is,” then a pause, as if he were trying to remember a script or figure his way out of a dead end, “We only ask that you play the game, that's all. You gain a lot.”
“A game? AND a wish? Gosh, that's a win-win situation,” Applebloom observed in a fit of mathematics.
The adults all silently passed around worried expressions, but the temptation proved too strong to maintain doubt. They were, after all, in the middle of the middle of everything good in Equestria. What cause was there to worry? This was a magical place, and none of them were used to doubting the virtues of it all the same.
“I could sure use a wish,” Miss Cheerilee found herself confessing. It was a thought that did not get contested as everypony in the small throng nodded in agreement. Even Mr. Cake, who had been silent and did not intend to stay with the group after their formal presentation at the palace, found himself putting off his business to hear more about the offering of wishes.
“Very well.... just come up to the well, whisper your name into it, and cast in your coin. That's all it takes,” the foreign-sounding pony all but whispered.
To say there was not a rush for the coins would be too much of a smoothing-over of what happened next. The fillies dashed for the side of the well, eager to ensure their wish before there were no more coins or perhaps before they simply forgot their wishes. Miss Cheerilee commanded the same management outside the classroom as she did inside, however, and directed her students to form a line. 
That line formed behind the older ponies present, and among the adults, it was Prince Blueblood who was respected and feared enough to go first. They all took their turn, though it was only the last adult, the odd-eyed little pegasus, who hesitated. She couldn't think of anything to wish for – the world was a magical place full of potential and friends and adventure... but she did not want to hold up the line and risk being scolded, so she whispered her name like a treasured heirloom and participated in the little ritual.
None of them felt particularly different as the pony nodded and informed them, “The game will begin tonight, and it will come to each of you in dreams. Prepare yourself, and leave as little to your tomorrows as possible, for they are promised to no one.” His voice dipped, almost quivering with a masked sadness, but he cut himself off before saying anything more.
“We never did get your name,” Mr. Cake finally spoke up, sensing something amiss.
“That's because I don't deserve it anymore,” came the reply, before the pony vanished along with the well in a chittering hiss that did not resemble anything natural in the world.
The rest of the day went without great event, and that night, putting the experience out of their minds, each pony went to sleep doubting the encounter had even happened in the first place. That doubt would not save them from what happened next.