In the depths of the Badlands, where few ponies ventured and even fewer ponies wanted to, there stood a single, lonely mailbox on a post next to the entrance of a nondescript-looking cave. The box had no name; merely a number, and that number was a single digit.

Some mailponies might have questioned why tens of thousands of different names might appear on the letters delivered to that box over the years, but none of those ponies would have agreed to a mail route that required hundreds of miles of flight from the closest post office in Appleoosa. In fact, only one pony- a special contractor, not really a proper member of the Equestrian Postal Service at all- was willing to fly the route once per week.