My essence was carved from oceanic depths. For centuries my kind, the merponies, ruled the seas, lakes and other water bodies around the Netherlands, sometimes raising sea levels just to accommodate our thriving culture – land ponies told dreamy, sometimes epic stories about us, while approaching our tails with fear and reverence.

But then they broke, having had enough of our expansion into their territory, and started the impossible: they drained the water from us. Dikes, polders, windmills, dams, all sprang up with the sole purpose of reclaiming land, and they were proceeding with terrifying efficiency through their many water boards. Rivers were diverted, lakes disappeared without a trace and cities grew upon their new-found possessions. The Houtribdijk’s completion, part of the Zuiderzeewerken, seemed to us the final nail in our coffin; we were then split into three separate populations (North Sea, IJsselmeer, Markermeer) and all were facing extinction from never-ending collisions with vessels.

I was born within the Markermeer group. I had a deep understanding of how the marine and terrestrial ecosystems depended on each other and of ways ravaged regions could be restored, which was why I gained a fleur-de-lis cutie mark doubling as a hopping fish (for my ancestry, of course). Everypony then was discussing grave implications of a potential polder called the Markerwaard. This would reduce my swimming space to mere channels surrounding said polder, but progress had just been stalled following polemic debates on its long-term viability. I saw my chance: “This is our heritage! This is us!” Breaking the surface of Amsterdam’s canals solo I screamed to passers-by about my race’s existence and how much water mattered to all ponies it ran entirely contrary to the merponies’s long-entrenched tradition of seclusion. Very soon my larynx had become sore, and I retreated to my commune, doubtful of whether my “intrusion” had any lasting effect.

Two weeks later a unicorn visited my cove. “This land is yours,” he said behind his glowing sphere.

“What?” I curled my tail in disbelief.

“Land ponies, including me, have come to appreciate and understand your worries. The land we raised from the Zuiderzee, and their surrounding waters… they are yours to care for, as you’ve always been.”

“Could I ever stay alone now?”

“See for yourself at Lelystad.” He left afterwards, winking before vanishing from my sight.

Sitting on a rock near Houtribdijk’s eastern terminus, I gazed on the buildings before me. Some of my schoolmates had converted to earth ponies to help with environmental matters and pumping station maintenance, but I clutched my beloved tail, preferring to be remembered for my thoughts (not actions). A flag with my cutie mark in its canton fluttered ahead: merponies were now truly Dutch, in a new province. This happened on 1 January 1986 in your time, and the province’s name stood clear below waving blue/green bands – Flevoland.