Under a Tree

Chapters

Chapter 1: Under a Tree
Chapter 2: Through the Orchard
Chapter 3: Atop a Hill

Chapter 1: Under a Tree

I found Applejack where I thought she would be: sitting in the shadow of that beautiful oak tree out on the farm. The one that reminded me so much of my home, hunched over at the top of a hill, giving shade to all who wanted it in the oppressive heat of the midsummer day.

Maybe she was just hot.

“But it was cooler in the hospital,” I said to myself as I turned to glance back the way I came, at the tall pole with the Ponyville flag barely fluttering in a weak breeze. “She must have a reason to be here.”

Right? She wouldn’t hide, or run away. Not Applejack.

I shook my head, and settled into a hover high above until I could see my shadow flickering on the side of the hill, just below the crest. I hoped she couldn’t see me. Maybe… maybe I didn’t need to be here.

“Yes, Fluttershy, you do,” I said, looking down at her sitting in the shifting shade. “Isn’t that why you came looking?” Of course it was. She must have been hurting. How could she not have been?

I couldn’t see her very well from so high up, so I couldn’t tell if she had been crying. She was just… looking. Out over the apple grove. Sitting still.

“Just take a deep breath,” I said, “and go talk to her. Listen to her.” That’s not hard. Just… listen. “I can do that.”

I still hadn’t taken that breath. “What are you waiting for?” Nothing. I took a deep breath, held it, and let myself drift lower and lower as the breath escaped again.

She looked down at my shadow on the ground, then up at me after a moment. “Oh. Hey, Fluttershy.” Her throaty chuckle sounded strained. Or did it? “Thought you might be R.D. for a sec.”

Was it me, or did her voice crack? I couldn’t see her ears. But her eyes were steady in the shade of her hat. Really, the flicker was the shadow from the trees.

I really should have left, when I had the chance. She really was okay. She didn’t need me there.

Why, then, did I go to her? Because I thought she needed somepony to talk to.

“Didn’t expect to see you around till later. Maybelle’s calf ain’t due until tomorrow.”

“I know. I… um.” Say it! “I came by to, um, see how you were doing.” The start of a frown creased the corners of her mouth. “Because I know how hard it can be to wait for a birth to happen!”

The frown faded, her eyes flicking back and forth between mine. I swallowed and offered her a tremulous smile.

Finally, she shook her head, smile coming back. “Hah. That’s the truth. Don’t you worry. She’s holdin’ up well.”

“And how are you holding up?” The words shot out before I could think about them, and her frown came back. Too blunt! “Because… it’s hard to wait for a birth.” I smiled, too wide. It faltered as her eyes locked with mine. You’re making a mess, Fluttershy. I was. I should go before I make things worse.

She was silent a moment, looking up at me, then shook her head, and dragged off her hat. “Fluttershy… I know why you’re here. I’m doin’ fine. Granny’s doin’ fine, and she’ll be back in no time.” She paused for a beat, her eyes leaving mine to flick back at the town. “You’ll see.”

Her ears ticked up, then down, and settled backwards even as her eyes, earnest, locked on mine. I settled down lower, keeping my wing-sweeps slow and steady—calm. She does need somepony. “You’re worried.”

She shot a glare up at me. “I ain’t fibbin’. She’s been back from worse’n this.” Her head jerked in a nod. “You’ll see, she’ll be fine.”

I didn’t have to say ‘When she was younger.’ I could tell she was thinking it. I wanted to hear her say it, and admit she was worried. No! She doesn’t have to admit anything. I kept silent, feeling my back tense, waiting for her to say something else.

Or was she waiting for me? It was so hard to tell. I knew she wasn’t lying, or maybe she was just trying to stay away from the fear. What could Applejack do? She was a doer. She did things. I let it go and turned to look back towards the town.

What could she do to help Granny Smith? Worry and fret? I let out a sigh and shook my head. She could. Maybe she had, already? Had Apple Bloom called her on it again? Had Granny?

The silence stretched out longer, more oppressive than the heat. I wanted to say something, but everything got all jumbled up in my head when I tried to think of what to say.

She broke it first. “I know what you’re thinkin’,” Applejack said, her eyes tracking back towards town, then snapping back to me. “I… Big Mac is there. And no, I don’t gotta be there.” Her lip quivered, for just a moment, but I saw it. She knew I had, and her jaw set stubbornly. “She’s not going nowhere.”

I saw it again, more plainly. It was like she was speaking to me like my animals did: I can’t see her like this, Fluttershy. I just can’t. I’ll make a mess of things, and then what?

I said nothing. Could I let her know that I’d seen her weakness? Should I? Did she want me to let her know?

She stared defiance up at me for a moment longer, then looked away. “Her ticker just needs a rest is all.” More quietly, almost to herself, she said: “You’ll see.”

“Of course.” I drifted lower, finally settling down, and put a hoof to her shoulder. “I see.” I did. I saw she was hurting. “She’ll be okay. Like you said.” I didn’t know if that was a lie. But it was the best kindness I could offer her. The truth… was often a harsh thing, and being honest would have hurt her. Right?

I sat next to her, looking out over the apple orchard, and tried to see it like she might have.

Its rolling hills rose and fell like a great ocean of green, brown, and red frozen in a moment of perfect clarity. The afternoon sun had burnt off the morning haze, and shone brightly off the pinpricks of brilliant red nestled in the highest boughs of the trees. Below them, yesterday’s rainstorm had left clear, shimmering water here and there in puddles and pools which would sparkle and flash silver, green, and red as a light breeze set them to rippling.

It was peaceful—beautiful, even. I could tell why she’d come here, of all the places on the farm. For a time, only the wind saw fit to disturb us under that tree. But she didn’t need to be alone. Well, Fluttershy, she isn’t now, is she? I stayed silent.

After a time, birds started chirping in the tree above us, and I heard their little voices calling inquiry.

Why are you here?

What is the apple pony doing?

I shook my head to their questions, not wanting to disturb Applejack by speaking. After a few more questions had gone unanswered, they chirped farewell and darted off to find food, leaving Applejack and I alone again.

“You don’t need to be here,” Applejack said. Her eyes followed the birds, then came back to me. “I know they were talkin’ to you.”

“They were. But I’m not here because they needed me.” I wanted to say more, and I felt the words on my tongue, asking to be spoken. I’m worried about you. I closed my mouth, instead.

Her eyes met mine, and I could see that she knew what I wanted to say. She smiled, nodding. “Thanks.”

Whether it was thanks for not saying what I would have, what I probably should have said to any other pony, or thanks for being there didn’t matter, I supposed. I nodded. “You’re welcome.”

The silence, then, wasn’t oppressive. It was still hot, and I could smell her sweat from a recent run, overpowering the smell of a hospital: cold antiseptic and steel-edged cleansing agents. I thought I knew why she had run: from fears she couldn’t fight with tooth and hoof, or face down with a glare and a snort. Fears she couldn’t laugh off and make disappear.

Sometimes, the best thing I could do was be me. Be quiet, and just be there for her. I felt like that was what she wanted.

Or, maybe she just needed time to think without somepony poking and prodding her into facing those fears.

“What do you see, Fluttershy? When you look out at… this.” She waved a hoof at the rolling hills dotted with trees, and the shiny red speckles of apples high up in their boughs.

“Well…” I thought I had looked at it like she had. The apple trees, of course, and the… “Um. Trees. Apple trees.”

“Anything else?”

“Oh…” What else? I leaned forward, shading my eyes with a foreleg. “Um, I see flowers, too. Birds. Lots of birds. Maybe a bunny warren?” Would she see those things? Did she? I kept staring, trying to see what it was she wanted me to see.

“That’s fair. That’s all there.” She nodded and patted my side with her hat, then fanned her face with it.

It didn’t seem to be all she wanted me to see, though. I didn’t want to give up trying to look at it through her eyes. What would she want me to see? What—

It hit me. Granny Smith. I looked out over the farm again, looking not just for the life that I was so familiar with, but also the signs of the lives that had been lived there, the places where life happened. I found them, when I was looking for them.

A broken wagon wheel lay against one tree, its bottom binding ring rusted clean through, grass sprouting up through the spokes, shattered and hanging loose like the wheel of some great, broken ship, floundering in a sea of green. A wagon wheel from a long ago apple harvest. I could almost see a pony cursing their luck.

Underneath another, I saw a blanket, probably left there over the weekend by Apple Bloom and her friends. On it, despite the damp and the dirt, I could see the three friends laughing and planning their latest escapade. Or just laughing and playing together.

I thought I saw it. There was more than just the life here. There were lives wrapped around and draped over those hills, resting against the trunks of the trees and underneath their protective canopies.

There was the essence of Applejack. I looked back at her, and then I did see it. Yes. That was her reason. Family was all around, and memories of family.

She looked at me, her eyes jade in the shade of the spreading oak tree above us. Why did she have such colorful eyes? I had seen them grass green, too, and the shade of Granny Smith Apples. I had seen them filled with tears, dry as a bone, red with exhaustion… I saw them, then, filled with memory. Almost, I could see them playing out in her eyes.

“You see it, too,” she said.

I nodded, looking away, tears in my eyes. I knew why she came out there. It wasn’t to run away from family. It was to be closer. I knew, then, how much she was hurting. And yet…

She chuckled.

It was so out of place in that moment that I sat, stunned. She could still laugh. My eyes were burning, still. But she could laugh. Strength, or something else? Desperation, maybe?

I studied her while she studied me right back. I didn’t see desperation in her eyes. Sadness, yes, deep and powerful, but not overwhelming. Why? How?

“There’s family out there. Memories of family. Happy ones, sad ones, all of it.” She stood, stretched her hind legs, and nodded back at the trunk. “There’s family here, too.”

I didn’t want to look. I knew what it must have been, where we must have been sitting as soon as she said it. But I did look.

Here lie Applecart and Orange Delight, loving parents.

The burning in my eyes became a fire, and the ache in my throat a choking strangle.

But she smiled at me, pushed me gently away with a hoof to the shoulder. “Come on, Fluttershy.” There was a sigh in her voice, and I knew I had become a burden. Again.

“S-sorry.” I stumbled away and sat down, watching her.

“Don’t you be sorry. I… probably shouldn’t have left like I did. Just... I saw I was bein’ too fussy.” She shook her head. “I bet y’all took straws to figure out who was gonna come and sort me out.” She gave me a thin smile, chuckled, and shook her head. “I had to come here, and… tell them,” she said, nodding back towards the tree, “that Granny was doin’ alright.” She gave me another soft-edged look, and shrugged. “Maybe more for me than for them, truth be told. Ya ain’t wrong there.” She stretched again. “Come on. I need to go for a walk.”

I followed her down the hill, my hooves somehow finding their way down a winding path smoothed flat by years of hooves plodding to and from that great tree, up on the hill, where Applejack’s parents could look out over all the farm.

I looked back up at it as we reached the bottom of the hill, and stop. I had to. I couldn’t see where I was going anymore. How could she visit so often? It hurt so much thinking about her loss.

She stopped, too. “That tree back there,” she said, standing close enough that I could feel the heat of her shoulder against mine, “was the first tree I ever planted.” She fell silent, then nudged me along the path into the deeper orchard.

I could tell she didn’t want to see me crying, and that she knew the source of my tears. But she didn’t call me out on it. Dutifully, I wiped them away, snuffled back my grief, and forced myself to look ahead. I could still feel it there, and the spectre of her parents watching me, warning me not to let their daughter get hurt.

We passed tree after tree, under shade, into sun, and back again, as we walked quietly along a less well defined path through dells too shadowy to hold much in the way of life, and over hummocks tufted with thick, wiry grasses. The wind was more fitful down there, slower to rise, less eager to bring anything cool to us.

“I ever tell you that story?” After a pause, she chuckles. “About the tree, I mean.”

I had force myself not to look over my back at the tree, and I felt my ears flattening from the effort. “No.” It sounded strangled. I coughed. “I’m sorry, Applejack. I haven’t heard it.”

“I coulda sworn…” She glanced at me, must have seen my ears. “It’s not that kinda story. It’s a happy one, honest.” I heard her smile before I looked up to see it: genuine, bright.

“Oh. I—” I knew she wanted to tell me. What if it hurt her more? What if, by telling me, she got hurt more? But she wanted to. I knew her. She wanted to tell me, no matter what it did or how much it hurt later. I would just have to be there. “I’d like to hear it.”

“It might get kinda long. You got some time?”

She was giving me an out. She was asking if I wanted to stay with her, maybe see her break down. I looked at her again. Her face was unreadable, her ears loose and bobbing with every stride, and the flickering shade of the canopy made reading her eyes almost impossible. It didn’t matter. She needed somepony to talk to.

“Sure. I’ve got time.”

Author's Note

Thank you to Titanium Dragon and Bradel for offering their thoughts and assistance with rewriting this story.

Chapter 2: Through the Orchard

I hadn’t been sure what to expect, but silence hadn’t been it.

Applejack kept on at the same steady, slow pace. West we were going, back towards the farmhouse. I thought so, anyway. The sun, high overhead, marked noon. We could have been walking any direction and I wouldn’t have known the difference. Not that it mattered, I supposed.

“So…” She hesitated, chewing her lip and staring down at the trail. She took a breath, lifted her head, and started: “I was just a little’un. Smaller’n Apple Bloom. About yea high.” She lowered her head and snorted at about the height of her withers. “I was still a blank flank, then. I ever tell you that story?”

“Yes,” I said, “in Sugarcube Corner.”

She nodded, and fell silent again.

“I would like to hear about the tree,” I suggested quietly, bumping into her. “Or I could tell you about the time I talked Angel into wearing a cat outfit for a day?”

“Nah. Maybe later. Sounds like a hoot’n a holler.” She laughed. “I kinda forget who I tell that one to. Why, I hadn’t even told my own sister! Can you believe that?” She shook her head, still smiling. “I knew from even before then, that my heart was in the earth. I could feel the earth beneath my hooves, and hear her song even on the darkest of days. Pa said he could feel it in me, too.”

She stalled for a moment to tap a hoof on the ground, then her chest. “In here. Ma, city pony that she was, was more like Pinkie, I s’pose. She felt us, not the earth so much.” Her ear ticked back to angle at the tree, then she snorted and shook herself.

“So, anyway, Pa gets it in his head that we need to plant an oak tree. Don’t ask me why. I suppose he was up to see the in-laws out in Manehattan, or something. You know they got that big park, right in the middle of—” She caught my eye and rolled hers. “Well, of course you know! You were there. Couldn’t hardly drag ya away from the critters after the play. One of those big trees in the park they got.

“I don’t know, or can’t recall, one of the two, where Pa got this acorn from. Just a puny little thing not much bigger’n a pebble. Probably got it from Ma, or maybe he was keepin’ it. So, he shows me this acorn and says to me: ‘Applejack,’ he says, ‘I want to teach you how to plant a tree.’

“‘But Pa,’ I say, ‘It ain’t an apple seed.’

“‘Nope!’ He was right, there. Me, thinkin’ my first tree’d be an apple tree. ‘Course, back then, Pa had no more idea what I wanted to do than I did. Granny knew, always says she did. Like usual, she was right.” Applejack chuckled. “Shoulda seen the look on my face. Pa did, he laughed. I laughed a little, later. So, he continues on, balancing that acorn on his nose. ‘I’ll tell you now, Applejack, this little acorn’ll be bigger’n any apple tree. And when it grows up, big and strong, I’ll build you a tree house.’”

Applejack stopped then, and looked up at the sky, then back the way we had come, even though the hill and the tree atop it weren’t visible anymore. “He, uh…”

I watched her, and I saw the tension in her neck as she swallowed, then looked away and started back down the trail, more slowly, with her hooves almost dragging.

“He never got to do that,” she said, quieter, a few paces later.

Our hoofsteps and the quiet, distant calls of birds filled the silence for a stretch of the path. I didn’t want to disturb her reminiscence. Sometimes, it hurts to look back, I knew, but it was necessary to move on. I just had to make sure I was there for her. If she needed somepony.

Her smile came back after a time, and she lifted her head. “But that didn’t keep me from buildin’ one anyway. With Big Mac and Granny’s help. ‘Course, that tree back there was too tall and gnarled for me to make anything in it by then. Not that I didn’t try. Can’t see it no more, but there used to be planks in the side. Tree took ‘em back.”

“Your treehouse became the, um, headquarters for the Cutie Mark Crusaders.”

“Yep! Girls’ve done a better job than I ever did, keepin’ it up. Mighty nice place, it is. Happier than it ever was for me, too.” She grinned. “Just like it should be.

“But, back to the tree. ‘First lesson,’ he said, ‘is findin’ the right place. Now, this is a big ol’ tree. Or it will be. What’s that mean?’

“I thought about it, and thought about it. For days, I tried to think what that meant. I couldn’t ask him. Each day I did, he had me go out and weed the small garden. Pullin’ up this and that weed. It hit me, when I was tuggin’ and haulin on this big ol stinkweed. The roots! That’s what made that big ol’ weed so hard to pull up.

“So, stinkin’ like a skunk, I rushed into the house. But Pa caught me, just before I could track mud all over the place and dropped me back outside. ‘Best not. Yer Ma’s a little, er, tweaky t’day.’” He looked scareder than a pig on bath day, his eyes all rovin’ like some madpony.”

She giggled. I hadn’t heard her giggle often, but it was a happy sound, a little rough, but uncompromising—just like Applejack.

“I knew what Ma could be like, if she got a goose up her gander. I thought he mighta smashed one of her antique plates or somethin’ like that. Nope! I found out later that it was little Apple Bloom making her all upset. Now, Ma was usually a little lax about just a little dirt—kinda surprisin’, her bein’ a city pony n’all—but she took it in stride like the rest of it. Pigs, cows, dust and dirt.

“She waged her war, though, and she had her moods, let me tell you, but she kept a lid on her temper. Mostly.

“Why, one time, she took a hoof to my hind end—” She cut off abruptly and snapped her eyes to me.

I nodded. “I’m still listening. It’s fascinating, hearing about your parents.”

“Yeah, well… some of it’s embarassin’. Like… well, I made a lake in the kitchen. Only, the lake was s’posed to be outside it. The, uh, the hose leaked a lot. Anyway, that’s what got me a hoof to the hind end. Gentle, mind, but still smarted like a—”

I coughed gently.

“Oh.” Applejack coughed, too. “Thanks. The tree. So… Pa took me out that afternoon while Ma and Granny worked their magic with the Zap Apple harvest…” She trailed off, looking out into the distance. “It was the first Zap Apple harvest they let me do anythin’ for. Dancing around the water, checkin’ the jars. I got ta do all of that, just like Apple Bloom. It was Ma’s fourth or fifth. I forget. She was right there, helping Granny get everything ready.” She sighed, and scuffed a hoof on the trail. “Gosh.”

“It’s okay.” I stepped a bit closer and risked bumping shoulder to shoulder. “I’m here.”

“I know ya are. Thanks.” She smiled, looking up at the sky again, then bumped her shoulder gently against mine. “Just… Pa, Ma… Granny.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, don’t apologize. I just… wander. It helps me remember the good times.” Her smile faltered, and she shook herself. “I’m glad you’re here, Fluttershy.”

What to say to that? I smiled, and nodded. The trees around us began to change subtly, their bark growing darker, leaves too, and their fruit changed from the bright red apples of the majority of the farm to an almost sunshine gold. From the air, it was easy to see the almost quilt-like way everything fit together, but it hid the slow transition from one to the next that was really only visible by walking through it.

I realized I had never really walked through a large portion of farm like this. Just the little bit I helped Applejack clear, all those years ago, and the little bit when we were going up against the Flim Flam brothers, when I had been too busy to take in the scenery, or pay attention to how rich and vibrant the orchard was.

“Me, too,” I said, after a while. I was, I discovered. It wasn’t just something kind to say. I was happy to be there, even if the reason I was there was… not so happy. “What happened next?”

“You’re sure?” she asked. I nodded, and she smiled. “Gimme a moment. Didn’t think you’d stay this long.” She frowned, sighed, and shook her head. “I didn’t mean it like that. Gosh darnit… keep puttin’ my hoof in my mouth today. First with Granny, then with Big Mac…” she shook her head, smile coming back after a moment. “Glad Apple Bloom was there to take it back out again. Best darn little sister, I tell ya. Still, had to leave before I did something else dumb. And here I am doin’ more dumb stuff.”

“It’s okay. I really am interested in the story.”

“Well, alright… where was I?” We passed more trees as she thought, her eyes on the ground. “So, I think… yep. So, he says to me: ‘Applejack. Where’s the best place for this tree to take root? Now, don’t rush. Ya gotta find a place that feels right. I know you know what I mean.’

“Sure I did. See, for us earth ponies… maybe you too?” She paused, looking at me. I gave her a silent shake of my head. “No? Oh. Well, you get along with ground critters… and flyin’ critters, too, I guess.” She kicked a hoof at the ground again. “Huh, kinda thought… Well, for us earth ponies, the earth is more than just the ground. It’s magic. Life. Tubers and trees, y’know. Above,” she said, raising a hoof, “and below.” She let the hoof drop and skipped a step. “Something like that. Twilight’d probably say it better.

“She talks to us, and we can talk back. Sorta. Like… well, like you and animals. You know, don’tcha?” She paused for a beat, looking at me, and asked: “What they’re thinking?” When I nodded, she nodded, too. “Yeah. Kinda thought so. Same for us. Not exactly like you, I bet, but we know enough.

“It took me a while, but I found it. Do you know what makes a good spot for a big oak?”

“Um… dirt?”

She laughed, pounded a hoof on the ground, and nodded. “Yep! That’s one thing. Dirt! And lots of it. But,” she said, settling down to a more sedate stride, though the smile never left her face. “There’s more. Ya need rocks, deeper down, for the roots to grab ahold of, and sand and clay, too, to hold and filter water. All sorts of stuff you need to make a tree like that one back there. All in one place. There are plenty of places like that, ‘round these parts, but Pa shook his head at each one I came to, until we came to that hill, and I felt somethin’. Deep down.”

She almost stopped, then, and made an awkward half-step and a skip to cover the pause. “I still feel it, y’know. When I’m sittin’ up there, listening to the wind through the tree, I can almost hear them again.”

I didn’t need to look at her to know she was on the edge of crying. She kept her face turned away, looking at the trees to her right, then ticked her ears and shook her head. I wanted to stop her, ask her to let it out.

It’s what I would have done. But not Applejack.

The orchard changed again, dark barked trees turning light, the leaves changing shape along with the trees, becoming sharper and more angular. Golden apples turned grass-green, their scent growing sharply tart before Applejack continued. “I figured out later that Pa had planned it. See, I was the grower.” She cast me a glance, eyebrow quirked.

I shook my head. It made a sort of sense, but telling her I didn’t know the first thing about earth pony talents wasn’t all that important.

“A grower… I dunno if y’all don’t have some other way of sayin’ it, but that’s what Granny and Pa always called us.” Her shoulders rolled in a shrug after shooting me a searching look. “Ain’t difficult to understand, I guess. Anyway, Big Mac… he’s more of a mover. Not that I can’t move, but you ain’t seen him at full charge.”

Family. “What did Big Mac do?” Maybe she wanted to leave the tree behind for a little bit.

Only, she seemed surprised by the question. “Oh? Him? Yeah… y’know that huge boulder just off the Everfree? That one I climbed up on to get at them Timberwolves?” She paused long enough to glance at me, and I nodded. “Thought so. Kinda hard to forget that day, honestly. Big ol’ mess that was.”

She snorted, tossing her head. “Anyway, that was his lesson. Took him near a week to budge it even as much as he did. Dad wasn’t a mover, really. Not like Big Mac, and it’s hard to teach what ya don’t know, but hoo boy! That was a sight when he got it. Him shovin’ that little mountain like it wasn’t any bigger’n a boulder.”

“My next lesson was the hole. I’d watched him plant other trees, y’know. Not many. Most of these trees grew whole from an apple fallen to the ground.” A lift of her chin took in the trees ahead of us, and her tail flicked left and right to take in those to either side. “This is an old part of the orchard, back when Granny and her Pa and Ma were gettin’ everything sorted, back before there was a Ponyville.

“Granny learned her buckin’ here, and fought off the vampire fruit bats here. Too many apples splattered, she says. Shoulda been planned and ordered in neat rows, she says.” Applejack snorted, a smile flickering briefly as she looked up at the spreading branches reaching out over the trail. “I know I apologized for that whole bit with the bats, but… gosh darnit, I wish I’d seen right the first time.”

“I-it’s okay. Really. I should have—”

“Oh, hush with that. I was wrong, Fluttershy, and I’m sorry.”

I should have seen that your family means so much to you. I should have asked Granny to help convince you. Or convinced her. That’s what I should have said. But it wasn’t about me. I nodded. “Apology accepted.”

Instead of continuing the story, or saying anything else right away, she eyed me up and down, as though she could see what I hadn’t said. She sighed, shaking her head. “Anyway, you don’t just drop an acorn on the ground. Oh, I suppose you can, but not if you want it to grow for certain. Too many critters’ll snap up an acorn before the heart of the seed breaks free. Squirrels, like. For it to grow up right and fast, usin’ magic, that little seed’s gotta be in the full embrace of the earth. Just so. With sand and rock and good, rich soil all around.

"Well, I was so excited that I just sorta took off diggin. You woulda thought I was the mover, what with earth flyin’ every which way." She snorted and shook herself. "Ma came out and scolded us. Pa made a little show of tellin' her it was okay, but he didn’t care how dirty I got, or how big that hole got." Applejack snorted again. "Ma made me swim in the lake to get clean. She called me a mudball with legs later."

I could just see it—Applejack so dirty and muddy she looked like a clod of soil walking around on four legs. To hear Rarity say it, she had been a walking ball of mud all those years ago, when Twilight was still new to Ponyville, during that big storm.

"Anyway... after she left, he took me aside and dumped a bucket of water on me, not that it helped, but he'd promised to try and clean me up, y'see. 'You dig all the way to Canterlot if you have to. Just make sure you learn something doing it,' he told me. Well, I was all set to get back to it when some great big earthworm thing poked up and scared the willies outta me."

She chuckled, lifting her head to let a patch of sunlight play over her face before we passed the patch in the canopy, a smile stretching across her muzzle. "He laughed and laughed, and after I stopped runnin' around yellin' my head off, I tackled him, and we rolled around till I was just about plum tuckered out, both of us dirtier'n Ma woulda liked.

"After all that, I figured it was enough. I had sand aplenty, more’n enough rocks, and, well, dirt goes without sayin'. He managed to knock most of it off, horsin' around, and that hilltop looked like a fresh-tilled garden for all the sod torn up everywhere.

"That was the part where it all had to be just so, and it was harder to get it right, and I was too tired to stay awake anyhow. Then Pa did help, after a nap, anyway. See, the earth listens just fine, but we can help her hear us better if we do things her way. Pa lay down with me at the edge of that hole I dug, and he pointed out the different layers of soil, sand, clay, and all the other bits."

She slowed as we passed into a small valley between two hills, the path winding along beside a brook burbling cheerfully after a fresh rain had swollen its banks. Little darting bugs flitted to and fro above the water. Trees grew sparser along the valley floor as the brook widened into a stream. and I could see little fish flashing back and forth as silver streaks under the surface, sometimes breaking it as a bug landed.

Her eyes were on the hills to either side, drifting up and down the slopes.

"What are you looking for?"

"Just wanted to show you. It's hard to explain without..." She shook her head and picked up the pace. "Well, talk to Maud if you want the full thing. I just know how it looked. Thought I might see it here." With a jerk of her chin, she indicated a place where a small pile of dirt and rocks had exposed dark, weeping stone that added to the stream's flow. "Too low, I guess. Gotta start from the top of a hill to really see the best, and go down."

"Maybe some other time?" The words left my mouth without a thought as to what they meant. "I mean, it's so nice to hear you talk about your dad. I can tell you two were very close."

I could’ve kicked myself when I saw her wince and look away, too slow to keep me from seeing the shimmer in her eyes. Let her tell the story! I told myself.

"We were, that's true. Ma and I, we were... close, I suppose." She shook herself. "I always felt she wanted to understand me better."

She let that hang between us as the hills on either side came closer together, and the trail, barely more than a rocky, sandy shore for the stream, grew narrower. Trees stretched their limbs over the stream, almost seeming to want to reach down and comfort Applejack. Some low-hanging limbs shifted in a slight breeze just above our heads, and I almost thought they did mean to.

Then the trail widened again, the gully spreading out into a small vale as the path retreated from the stream, becoming a proper dirt trail again. Still, she kept her silence. I could almost feel the memories playing out in her head, or maybe that was my imagination.

"You said she was a city pony."

"Manehattan. You know my cutie mark story." It wasn't a question.

I saw the connection, and almost did kick myself for not seeing it sooner. She hadn't run away, even then. Not away from family. Never Applejack. Should I say something? I opened my mouth to do just that, but I saw her watching me.

"I do know."

She nodded. That was all. She kept on walking even as my heart crumbled in my chest. It was all I could do to keep up with her over the rougher trail alongside the stream. It felt like I should have been crying as much as the stream, but she wasn't. For her, the pain was old, and perhaps familiar. I brushed aside the tears and kept up.

"You don't have to go all the way with me, Fluttershy. Back home, I mean." Her voice was steady as she stepped in beside me, her shoulder—her strength—helping me keep up.

You don't have to suffer for me. That's what she said. She didn't want me to hurt, as she must have been. Didn't want to see me hurt. Did it make her burden more, seeing me there on the brink of crying? But, while her words said one thing, her shoulder pressed to mine, all smooth motion and strength, said another: I’m glad you’re here.

“I’ll stay. I want to hear how the story ends.”

She glanced at me, her smile brighter. “Yeah. Just give me a sec, alright? I needta…” The smile faded. “It’s somethin’ happy, y’know?”

I nodded. The trail hugged the next hill’s base, running back and forth across the little brook as it narrowed again past the weeping rocks.

“Pa…” She took a deep breath, and continued: “He would take me walkin’ through the orchard like this. Get a feeling for the land, he said. Let her talk to me, and learn to talk to her.” Her head swung back and forth, as though she were looking for something.

I kept watch, too, searching for the signs I had learned to see. The little bits and pieces that a farm leaves by accident or intentionally. Sometimes just forgotten in the bustle of a busy life. A spring rusted almost to falling apart laying by the trail next to what might have been a spoke.

“He showed me how to work the stones just so into the soil, then let me play around at settin’ em just right. Him’n me, dirtier than a dog in the dirt.” She chuckled, her smile coming back stronger. “We laughed, he taught. I learned.” Her smile grew as she fell silent, and I saw in her eyes the memories unfolding again. “Gosh, I tell you. That day… I was the happiest filly in the world. Coulda lit up the sky with my smile.” She almost did that anyway. I’ve only rarely seen her smile that broadly.

“That was important, too. To really make somethin’ grow… ya gotta be able to feel it. You have to be happy. See, that makes the earth happy, and she gives us some of her magic to help the trees grow faster. Or the crops to be more fruitful. She gives, but we give to her, too.” She trailed off, staring into the distance at the far off windmill’s top blades, slowly spinning, in the light breeze.

As it dropped back out of sight behind another hill full of trees, she shook her head, flashing a smile at me. “Anyway! Pa and I got the earth just right… and I could feel it, too. She was listening. Right under my hooves. Waitin’.

“‘Patience,’ Pa said. ‘Let her embrace the acorn.’ Thinkin’ I knew what he meant, I started to move dirt again, but Pa held me back and told me to plant my hooves. I did.” She touched my shoulder and stopped, planting her hooves like I’ve seen her do before—facing down a manticore, Nightmare Moon, even Discord and Tirek. It had never occurred to me that it was more than her fighting stance.

“‘Ask her,’ he said. So I did. The little green and brown acorn sat at the bottom of that hole, touching all the different kinds of earth. Nothing. She was there…” She frowned at the ground, as though she couldn’t talk the earth. “That’s when Pa smiled and pulled me close. He said that I made him happy.

“Gosh darn it if I didn’t almost jump outta my skin. I heard her. Through my hooves. Like… like… Gosh. How do you say the whole world spoke to you?”

She stood still, eyes closed and face raised to the sky. Shadows and sunlight flickered across her freckles as a breeze came down along the trail. I felt something through my hooves suddenly, just a flicker of a feeling, but it was enough to make me squeal and jump back.

“Oh.” She gave me a look, then down at where I’d been standing. Grass had spread around her, just a little fuzz of green shoots, but it had spread so swiftly I’d not noticed. “Well, like that, I suppose. But… in my heart. I felt my Pa. I felt the grass, the apple trees all around. I felt the little crawly critters and that great big earthworm.”

“‘Now you,’ he said. ‘What makes you happy?’ Well, I’m ashamed to say that it weren’t anything you mighta expected. Um. Apple pie. See… Ma and Granny Smith were bakin’ up a storm, and I could smell it all the way out there. And I was gonna have some. Oh, not just any ol’ apple pie. Zap Apple pie. Granny makes zap apples dance a jig, she does, and if she wants to make the best darn pie you ever tasted.” She paused to look at me. I don’t know what she saw in my face, but she stopped, her eyebrow arching. “Fluttershy?”

“I…” I coughed, trying not to feel the heat rising in my cheeks. “I, um, I’ve never had any Zap Apple pie. I, um, I gave my piece to Rainbow Dash.” The last came out in a rush.

“What? That little…” She snorted again. “Not one piece?” She stared at me, goggle-eyed when I shook my head. “Do you mean to say you ain’t tasted any?”

I nodded, scuffing a hoof at the edge of the grass.

“Well, we are gonna fix that. Right now. Come on. I’ve got the recipe, and there’s some jam still in the icebox.”

Chapter 3: Atop a Hill

“You know the best pie I ever tasted?”

The question came on the tail of Applejack breaking into a swift trot, and me galloping to catch up to her. “Granny’s Zap-apple pie?”

“Well, not exactly. But sorta. Kinda.” She chuckled as she leapt a puddle of mud as the trail shifted, dipping into a tiny ravine for several lengths, then rising again. “It was… well, that’s kinda another story.”

“I see.” Storytime was over, apparently, and at the pace Applejack set, talking was harder since I had to watch the trail for divots and roots, and she did the same. “Maybe… tomorrow?”

“We’ll see.”

The trees shifted and changed around us much swifter than the sedate pace of earlier, and the trail she led us onto opened up into a wider not-quite-road with two great ruts of bare earth divided by a scraggly fringe of grass.

She slowed the pace—a little. “See, makin’ Zap Apples into treats has always been a family thing. Always. Since Granny and her folks harvested the first bunch, way back. She and her Pa and Ma, me and mine and Granny.”

I nodded, skipping over a root scrabbling out of the side of the cart path.

“The best pie I ever had was right after Apple Bloom was born. We had a harvest right that week, it seemed. Them timberwolves started howlin’ the day she howled her first. Even better, we had Apples from all over come to see the baby on the fifth day, and every Apple helped out.

“Family and fruit alike, we had Apples comin’ out our ears! First time they all managed to make it on time for a harvest.” She laughed as she slowed to go up the steep side of a hill. This path didn’t wind around like the barely there one we had been following, but went up and over and down the other side. Direct. “I don’t think we’ve ever had a better harvest. And not a better day, neither.” She stopped at the crest of the hill, staring into the distance.

Ahead of us, the cart path stretched down into the dell below our hill, then disappeared over the crest of the next. Apple trees of all shades covered the rising and falling lands around us, a sea of green, red and gold swaying with the light breeze. Beyond the hills, maybe five or six humps where I could see the trail continuing, straight as an arrow, I could see the barn’s windvane, and the spinning blades of the windmill.

“That harvest was…” Applejack’s smile faded, her ears drooped. “It was…”

“I understand.” I didn’t want to look back at the tree, but I did, and she she didn’t quite turn to look back at the tree. It stood, easily visible from our hilltop, high above the apple trees around it. That harvest was our last as a whole family. I heard it in my heart even as I shivered and turned away from the tree to face her again.

“That harvest was the best we’ve ever had.” Applejack didn’t look at me as she said it, but I could see the sparkling droplets falling from her chin. “The best.”

I took a step closer, then stopped and shook my head. What could I say? ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ just didn’t feel like the right thing. But I had to say something. She was crying, right there in front of me. “Applejack…”

“Don’t mind me, Fluttershy. Just hard memories.”

“It’s more than that,” I said, stepping closer, but not too close. Or maybe I was too far away. I took another step, and I felt the truth bubbling up in my head along with a sympathetic grief that I couldn’t help. But I could hold it back as I faced what I had to say. It was there on my tongue, and I didn’t know if she would hear it, but it needed to be said. “Granny Smith got hurt.”

She stayed quiet as she watched the slow turning of the windmill’s blades and the lazy turn of the distant windvane. But she nodded finally. “I know it. She got hurt. Bad.” She looked me right in the eyes, tears in hers. “I-I know it. She’s tough.” Her voice quavered, and she swallowed. “But—” She cut off as she sat down hard and drew in a ragged breath.

Oh, Applejack. The thought almost broke me, and I had to dash tears from my eyes to see her clearly, then took a deep breath. “You got hurt, too. You are hurt.” Keeping the strain from my voice as I held back the hurt was almost more than I could manage.

Another step closer, then another, and I was beside her, pressing my shoulder to hers. “She’ll get better, Applejack,” I said quietly. She stiffened, and I pressed against her more firmly. “She will. You’ll see.”

“Yeah.” She laughed shakily, leaning into me as she did.

Was it a laugh? Or was it a sob? The tears said it was a sob, but she was smiling. I opened a wing and started to settle it over her back, but she stiffened. I froze.

Then she relaxed again, shaking her head and chuckling. “Yeah,” she repeated, and rubbed a foreleg against her muzzle. “Yeah, I will. But you know what I want to do, right now?”

“Bake a pie?” I tucked the wing back against my side and leaned into her a little more firmly. Just a little. “I’d like that.”

She nodded as she stood, her smile growing wider as she brushed her other leg against her cheek. “Yeah. Bake a pie. You and me.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to taste it.” I could still remember the pie slice that I had given up—the smell of it a blend of spice and tart, sweet and sour all in the same whiff.

“Well, let’s get goin’ then.” She stood, taking a step away, but she didn’t go any further. “Fluttershy…” She cleared her throat. “I’d like to go back to visit her before the day’s done. Make amends, make sure she’s okay.” One brief look back towards the tree, and she smiled as she turned aside and started down the hill. “I’d like it if you came, too.”

I didn’t even stop to think about it. “I will.” She was smiling as I caught up to her, bumping shoulders and laughing as she picked up the pace—just a little. “Would her doctor object if we brought a slice of pie? That’d be a nice treat. If they don’t object, that is.”

“We can always bring a piece.” She snorted, pranced ahead a few paces, slowed, and looked back at me. Something I saw in her said she wanted to let go, and run all out. But she didn’t. She waited for me, then started again, matching me stride for stride. “They can always say no.”

“I suppose.” What had I seen in her? Was it eagerness? Something else? I glanced aside at her, trying to be circumspect in my study of her. Run. It was a sudden thought, and I knew, then, if I followed the impulse, she would, too.

But she was calm, and so was I. Distant birds chirped and sang at each other, the wind was picking up as the afternoon sun began drifting towards early evening, but the heat… it was still as hot as any day during high summer.

Run. Not a warning. A joyful impulse.

“Applejack?”

“Yep?”

“Would you like to race?”

She eyed me for a moment, lips pursed in an almost smile. “I wouldn’t mind stretchin’ my legs a little.” She kept on at the same pace for a little longer, turned away from me again. “Do you think you can keep up?”

It was a fair question, and I felt a blush growing with the uncertainty knotting in my stomach. Stop thinking! Do.

The first stride felt uncertain, the second less so. “Let’s find out,” I said over my back. It was thrilling to say that. I didn’t know. Well, I was almost certain, but I didn’t know, really. At the third, I was reaching farther, feeling the stretch along my spine. At the fourth, I heard her hooves pound beside me, and she leapt ahead.

Dirt, rocks, and roots flew by under my hooves, and the wind filled my ears as though I was flying. But she kept pulling ahead. By the time we both reached the bottom—she lead me by several short strides.

“You sure?” She asked again as I caught up to her slow trot up the next hill.

I nodded, not trusting my voice to call it off, and galloped past her, trying to keep the momentum gained by going down the hill. It was a strain to keep it, but it got easier as heat flowed into my muscles, and by the time I reached the crest, she was beside me again.

“Yeehaw!” Came her wild cry as she started down, just a nose ahead of me, already stretched into a full galloping stride.

An impulse struck me just before I followed her down, and instead of stretching, I compressed, stalled, and kicked off. I snapped open my wings, pulled myself up by a pony-length, and snapped my wings into a tight wedge, diving along the incline.

“Whoa nelly!”

Applejack’s voice snapped by in a flash, and I lost myself for a moment in the fine details of not crashing. That close, with my hooves barely a pony-length off the ground, every twitch of my wings, and every slight breeze would have been too much if I didn’t focus my all on the moment of flight.

Time to worry later.

And then I was touching down, braking to sanity at the bottom of the hill. I had enough time to look back at the hill I had just dove down the side of, my heart racing, and exhilaration being pounded under by panic. What did you just do?

“Don’t stop now!” Applejack’s call came from closer behind than I would have thought possible. “Ha! Thought you was RD again, Fluttershy. Good move.” Applejack slowed only a hair as she passed me, starting up the next hill.

And I followed. Up, my hooves pounding as I labored up one side of the hill, and saw Applejack’s tail flashing down the other side.

Before thought or caution could take hold, I dove off that hill, too.

I let the rush take me up the next, Applejack just managing to beat me to the next hilltop, and I felt a wildness I’d not felt before take over. Everything became the rush and the stretching gallop up to reach the next.

And she kept up. I could hear her breathing harder at the fourth hilltop, but she was laughing, as I dove off after her, passed her, and was passed in turn.

When no more hills were there to climb up and slow me down, Applejack let out a yell. I looked behind, saw her closing, her neck stretched level to the ground, her hooves reaching and pounding the road.

“Home stretch,” she grunted as she drew even with me, her pace hardly slowing. “Can ya—” She sucked down a breath, laughed as I surged forward, and spoke no more.

I had no breath to reply, and too overcome with surprise at my own burst of speed as my lungs burned from the ache of running so hard. But I could still smile at her, and she returned it with a broad grin.

The run, with our hooves matching beat for beat, became everything for too brief a time. The gate flashed by, red and white painted with apples and flower scrollwork, and Applejack slowed to a trot, a canter, and finally a walk for the last hundred or so pony-lengths to the front porch.

“Hah! That felt good,” Applejack said between deep breaths. She wasn’t panting, or breathing all that hard, but sweat glistened on her coat, and her smile made the noonday sun seem dim. “I figure… just a few minutes to cool down.”

I smiled at her as I lay panting in the shade under the overhang. My face hurt, my legs burned, and there was a knot growing in my side the longer I stayed there.

“Well,” she said, grinning, “maybe more than a few minutes.”

Why did my face hurt? I laughed at the passing thought, not quite formed. I was still smiling.

“Y’know,” Applejack said a few minutes later, “I think I don’t care what the doc says. I’m gonna bring Granny a slice of pie. Heck, if I kept some from her, she’d wallop me upside the head anyhow.” She chuckled, sweeping her hat off and fanning herself with it. In a fair imitation of Granny Smith, she continued: “You young’uns don’t know how to whip the jam right proper. Let me show ya how it’s done.”

“She’s going to bake a lot more pies before she’s done, Applejack.”

“Darn right, she is.” She laughed and pushed open the door. “Come on, I’ll need your hooves helpin’ out.”

I followed, still smiling.