The Hangry Truth and a Treaty

Shimmerwing, her hooves barely disturbing the dew-kissed clover, listened. Not with her ears, which were perfectly capable, but with something far more profound. She pressed a velvety nostril against the trunk of a particularly ancient, shimmering willow, its leaves like spun moonlight. The willow sighed, a rustle of emerald silk, and shared its secrets. The dragons, it whispered, weren't after conquest, not really. They were, in fact, profoundly, spectacularly hangry. The vibrant, jewel-toned foliage of Sparklehoof Island, so dazzling to unicorn eyes, had apparently struck the dragons as a rather elaborate, albeit suspiciously sparkly, salad bar.

"It's all a misunderstanding," Shimmerwing announced, trotting back to where Sparklemane, still vibrating with a mixture of courage and residual glitter-induced jitters, was trying to organize a defensive line of unicorns armed with polished seashells and very stern glares. "They think we’re… an all-you-can-eat buffet."

Sparklemane blinked, her iridescent mane shimmering like a captured aurora borealis. "A buffet? But… but we’re unicorns! We graze on rainbows and bathe in starlight. We don't *look* like a buffet." She nudged a particularly plump puffball mushroom with her horn, as if expecting it to sprout tiny dragon-sized forks.