Taken for Granite

by Cloudy Skies

Rating: teen
Tags: Pinkie Pie, Applejack, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Romance
Length: 59712

Ask Applejack, and she'll tell you Pinkie Pie can be a few apples short of a bushel. They've always been good friends, but what could they possibly have in common? Turns out there is an answer to that question.

If you ask Applejack, she’ll tell you Pinkie Pie can be a few apples short of a bushel even on the best of days. They’ve always been good friends, but nothing more than that. After all, what could a hard-working apple farmer and a sugar-crazed party pony possibly have in common?

As it turns out, the answer to that question may not be a pleasant one, but something good may yet come of it.

Published 2013-08-10 18:20:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-08-28 22:01:03 UTC

The Elusive Corn Stalk

“You play nice now y’hear?” Applejack called, but she might as well not have bothered. Apple Bloom’s bright red tail disappeared around a corner, a spray of snow lingering only slightly longer than the filly herself when released in the general direction of Carousel Boutique. Applejack chuckled and shook her head, turning to head down Sugar Beet Street herself.

She’d barely taken three steps before she heard the sound of familiar wingbeats. While having ears keen enough to pick up the muted sound of a pegasus’ wings wasn’t much of an applicable skill on the farm, certain things came for free with time and friendship. It was easy to pick up Rainbow Dash’s distinct, rapid wingbeats and Fluttershy’s slower, almost hesitant flaps.

“Hey, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash,” Applejack called, holding on to her hat as she looked straight up. She was met with two smiling faces, the pegasi flying at chimney height and apparently heading in the same direction as she herself. Rainbow Dash pulled into a loop and touched down at her side.

“Hello,” Fluttershy said, a little slower in her descent. Applejack nodded by way of greeting.

“Hey AJ. What’s up?” Dash asked.

“Was about to ask you the same thing. Where’re y’all headed?”

Surprisingly, Rainbow Dash didn’t leap at the chance to answer, instead casting a surreptitious glance at her pegasus friend. Fluttershy cleared her throat—a soft sound almost entirely lost in the light breeze and lighter snowfall.

“Oh. Well, all the little animals who usually hibernate are asleep now, and I thought I would give the birds and critters in my cottage a little alone time, so I decided, um—” another glance at an increasingly annoyed Rainbow Dash who tapped her hoof on the ground, looking everywhere but at Applejack. “—maybe—maybe I would go to Sugarcube Corner and have a snack. Oh. And that was entirely my own decision.”

To say that Applejack didn’t buy it would be an understatement the likes of which Equestria hadn’t seen since Granny Smith stated apples tasted better than oranges. Even if Rainbow Dash hadn’t rolled her eyes and groaned, Fluttershy looked entirely too pleased with that very last line.

“Right. So what actually is happening?” asked Applejack, trying not grin.

Rainbow Dash kicked at the snow, giving her a half-hearted glare. “It’s your fault.”

Applejack decided not to even deign that with an answer. She stopped on the spot and turned to face Rainbow Dash, and the pegasus obliged by turning in kind.

“I went to see Pinkie Pie yesterday because it was obvious you thought something was wrong, okay? You made a big deal of Pinkie not showing up at market, so I thought I’d come over, see if she wanted to play a game or pull some pranks on somepony or whatever.” Rainbow Dash flapped her wings once, settling them on her back again.

“And?”

“And she didn’t want to see me.”

Applejack made a snort, then a guffaw. The words didn’t even pass her brain by in heading to wherever laughter was made, so little sense did they make. “What in the wide world’s that s’posed to mean?”

Dash didn’t look similarly amused. “I don’t know, okay? I tried her front door—”

“She doesn’t have her own front door. Y’mean her window.”

“Whatever.” Dash waved a hoof. “It was locked. I knocked, but she didn’t open, so of course I tried the main door. You know, Sugarcube Corner? Mr. and Mrs. Cake said she was home, and that she was a little busy.”

“Busy,” Applejack repeated.

“Yeah. Busy. I don’t know what the hay that means either, so I thought maybe I’ve done something to make her mad, and I don’t know what to do because I’m not good with these things, okay?” Rainbow Dash’s cheeks lit up with a faint blush and she indicated Fluttershy with a tilt of her head. ”So I asked Fluttershy to come with. Happy?”

Fluttershy, who had been very quiet up until this point, made a small noise. “Sorry for lying.”

Applejack drew breath, and try as she might to laugh—even just a good-natured giggle at Dash—she couldn’t. She puffed out her cheeks and let it out again without a word. Though she was almost completely sure it was nothing, she was glad she wasn’t the only pony who wondered just what was going on.

“Alright. I didn’t mean to pry, and I guess that ain’t so funny. Sorry.”

Rainbow Dash blew her mane out of her face. “It’s fine. What are you doing anyway?”

“Same thing as you,” Applejack said, indicating Sugar Beet Street’s straight line with a flick of her head.

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Fluttershy said, spreading her wings. “We can all go together!”

“You’re makin’ it out to be some sort of grand adventure,” Applejack laughed. “It’s just down the street.”

Fluttershy made no reply, starting the three off down the street. It was early enough in the morning still that the snow covering the street was almost completely pristine, and few ponies were about. If Applejack doubted Rainbow Dash’s sincerity, if she for a moment didn’t think Dash was half as curious as herself, the fact that the notorious napper was out of bed this soon after sunrise was plenty of proof.

“Hey, speaking of adventure!” Dash said, suddenly cheering up. The pegasus took off to hover backwards in front of her friends. “You guys gotta come to Quarter Hill next weekend. I talked to Rarity, Twilight and Spike already, and they’re in for some winter fun. You’re up, right?”

“Y’mean going sledding?” Applejack asked.

“And snowball fights, and races, yeah!” Dash cheered, pumping her hoof in the air. “It’s gonna be awesome!”

“We should bring some tea and cocoa,” Fluttershy said, an extra spring in her step to go with her smile. “But, well, next weekend?”

“What’s wrong with next weekend?” Dash tilted her head.

Applejack laughed. “If I had to guess, the question is when you started planning stuff a week in advance. I’d half expect you’d want us to head out there right now!”

Dash snorted. “Yeah, this is why I’m the thinker, here. You know what’s more fun than a little snow?” The pegasus landed and kicked out with a foreleg to send a tiny puff of snow towards Applejack and Fluttershy. Fluttershy halted for a moment, but Applejack didn’t so much as blink.

“Sorry, you lost me at the part where you said you’re a thinker—”

“A lot of snow!” Dash yelled, whipping around to flap her wings backwards with all her might. Though there was scarcely more than two or three inches of the white stuff, the blast scoured the cobblestone clean and nearly sent Applejack’s hat flying. Fluttershy eep’ed loudly and shielded herself with her wings, but with no such cover, Applejack’s face and chest were frosted when the wind settled.

“Har har,” Applejack grumbled, wiping her face. She snapped after Rainbow Dash with her tail, but the pegasus hovered up and out of reach.

“In case you missed the point, it’s gonna be way snowier in a week if this keeps up,” Dash said. “I just came from City Hall. We’re gonna go ahead with winter. That means I’m in charge of keeping it snowing. I get to decide if it keeps up.” She grinned. “It’ll keep up.”

“Well, I know I’d love to come,” Fluttershy said, shaking her wings before folding them on her back.

“Count me in as well, of course,” Applejack said, peering past Rainbow as they approached the rather unmistakable and riotously candied facade of Sugarcube Corner. Even as they drew close, she could hear the click and clatter of a latch being undone from the inside of the building, and Carrot Cake stuck his head outside to flip the sign to “open.”

“Right, now let’s go find out what all the fuss is about,” Applejack said.

“Yeah, that,” Dash said, frowning up at the top floor of Sugarcube Corner as though the building itself had offended her. Applejack nudged open the door to the confectionary, their entrance signalled by the chime of a silver bell above. In the space of a breath, the slight chill of the morning and the sting of cold in her nose was replaced with the scents of sugar and yeast.

“Good morning, ladies,” Carrot Cake called from over by the counter. The lanky stallion rubbed bleary eyes, and though Applejack was hardly one to care for such things, it was impossible not to notice that his mane was an even bigger mess than usual.

“Good morning,” Fluttershy said, biting her lower lip as they approached. Evidently she’d noticed the same. “Oh dear. Have the twins been keeping you awake?”

Carrot Cake sighed and nodded an affirmative, though he still smiled. “They just wouldn’t sleep last night, without—ah, you didn’t come here to be bored by me talking about that. Cinnamon bun’s asleep, so it’s just me this morning, and customers’ll be piling in soon as they always do on Saturdays. What can I do for you? Daffodil muffins for you, Fluttershy?”

Applejack shook her head, cutting in. “Actually, we’re here to see Pinkie Pie. She in? Can we head on up?”

Mr. Cake’s gaze flitted between the three mares and the narrow staircase set in the confectionary’s side wall. “Ah. I don’t think now’s a good time. She said she’s a little busy, and to tell them that if anypony came by.”

“Oh come on. We’re her friends!” Dash cried out. Her wings were spread in full, and it looked for all the world like the pegasus was about to make a break for the stairs. She didn’t, though, and when Carrot Cake shook his head, Rainbow Dash deflated and hung her head.

“Is she okay?” Fluttershy asked, pawing at the floor.

“I’m sure she’s fine. If I see her, I’ll tell her you came by,” Carrot Cake said, flashing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He tilted his head to look past the three friends. “Good morning, Blues. The usual?”

The stallion so named gave a quick nod. Behind Applejack and the others, a small queue had formed, more ponies filing in by the second to have their breakfast muffins or whatever else satisfied their sweet tooths.

“Well, thank you kindly for your time,” Applejack said, tipping her hat. Dash made a wordless noise of protest, but Applejack quickly put her head to the pegasus’ flank, pushing her all the way until they were outside and in the middle of the street.

“Come on!” Dash said, glaring. “We could just head up there and see what’s up. If she doesn’t want to talk to me, then she can say it to my face!”

Fluttershy bit her lower lip and rubbed a foreleg with the other. “Well, yes, but maybe if Pinkie Pie is busy, we shouldn’t bother her. I mean, sometimes, ponies—”

“It doesn’t even make sense!” Dash yelled. “Mr. Cake will tell her if he sees her? Pinkie lives right upstairs. She has a room in their house! The only way he won’t see her is if she’s hiding in her closet!”

“—sometimes, ponies need a little time alone,” Fluttershy continued with a slight frown directed Dash’s way. “And sometimes, even asking for a little alone time can be hard if you really don’t, um, want to.”

Applejack let out a deep sigh and closed her eyes for a moment. “Whatever you’re thinking of saying, barging up there ain’t the best way to go about it. Let’s just leave it for the moment.”

When she opened her eyes again, there was an empty set of hoofprints where Dash stood two seconds prior. It didn’t take a lot of effort to follow her distinct voice; Rainbow Dash was at the top floor window of Sugarcube Corner, balancing on Pinkie Pie’s windowsill.

“Pinkie! Open up! Let’s head out and do something fun, okay? We can put dye in Rarity’s shampoo again!” Dash called, knocking on the window with more force than strictly necessary. “Pinkie Pie? You home at all?”

“Knock it off, you featherbrain!” Applejack yelled. “For cryin’ out loud, get down here!”

Rainbow Dash groaned and rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever. I give up. I’m gonna make sure the rest of the guys are up for the trip next weekend.” A moment later, all that remained of Dash was a rainbow contrail heading away in a straight line. Her passing sent the snow whirling, and got more than a few complaints from the ponies who were out and about now.

Applejack and Fluttershy’s sighs were nearly perfectly in synch. Applejack offered a bemused smile, and Fluttershy shook her head.

“I should really get going,” Fluttershy said. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I talked to Rarity last night, and she said that the trains should be ready to go this afternoon, so Pinkie is probably just busy packing.” She smiled, following with her eyes the rapidly fading rainbow left in Dash’s wake. “Remember last summer when Pinkie Pie went to Canterlot for that music jam, and she forgot to tell us? Rainbow Dash wouldn’t stop complaining.”

Applejack chuckled at the memory. “Yeah. I’m sure it’s something like that, probably nothing to worry about. You go on and get your stuff sorted. I’m gonna go talk to Ironshod about getting the ploughs sharpened before next season.”

“See you,” Fluttershy said, nodding and trotting off down the street. Applejack waited a moment before she set off in the opposite direction, trying to keep her head on task. There was no sense in putting off what could be done today, and she knew Ironshod was an early bird like herself.

Problem was, Pinkie was never “busy.” It didn’t fit. Perhaps some of her friends attributed this to Pinkie being Pinkie, lumped it in with the chaos and randomness of her being, but Applejack recognised when a corn stalk sprouted in a cabbage field. Pinkie Pie could disappear on the most inane of errands without letting anypony know, but she had never been evasive. Part of her wondered if Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash had seen that look in Carrot Cake’s eyes; the confusion that so closely mirrored their own.

She hadn’t said anything for fear of making her friends worry more than they did, and perhaps she only noticed because she knew so well how family worked. She’d long ago realised that the Cakes were Pinkie’s second family if anything.

Applejack grunted and shook her head, trying to keep her mind on today’s simple tasks. She needed to set a date for fixing the ploughs up, visit Daisy’s shop to buy some cinnamon, then see if Applebloom wanted to head on home. Fix up lunch, then ask Granny Smith if she needed help with anything. Following that, she could head on over to pay Twilight a visit, or maybe Rarity. It wouldn’t do to sit idle, and there was precious little she could do about Pinkie Pie.

Except maybe realising that she would try again tomorrow, and if that yielded no results, she might just buck Pinkie’s door down herself.

The Expected Solution

The floorboards’ creaks lessened bit by bit, ending with the faint sound of Big Macintosh’s door closing on the floor above. Applejack bit onto the cloth and pulled it over the dining room’s final firefly lamp, lulling the luminous insects to sleep. Apple Bloom was fast asleep, and Granny Smith had long since gone to bed as well. All was quiet, and all was dark except for the single candle she carried. Nothing remained but to get her own flank bedwards, and it would be another day well spent with her family and friends. All she could ever have asked for.

Applejack put the candle down on the corner cupboard, her eyes drawn to the pictures lining the walls of the farmhouse’s largest single room. It was hard to make out details in the faint candlelight, but she knew them all by heart. When she looked past the fireplace to the large shadowed frame, she saw the painting of Sweet Apple Acres ten years and four barn-raisings ago without needing her eyes. To its right, past the front door, a grey-blue stallion and a curly-maned mare smiled down on her, and by the nook with the gramophone waited Granny Smith, Big Mac, Apple Bloom and Applejack herself. She closed her eyes and tried to hold on to that swell of contentment.

All I could ever want. She mouthed the words as she thought them, trying to focus. Thinking of her family always brought forth a smile and pleasant thoughts, but as of late, she’d caught herself wondering if maybe there was something else, something she was missing. Generations of Apples looked down on her from the walls, and lately she’d started wondering where she fit into all of it. If she fit into it at all. A moment’s contemplation begat another, and she missed the days when she fell asleep the second her head hit her pillow.

Nothing wrong with curiosity, Twilight would have insisted, but a tiny part of Applejack wondered if it was wrong of her. Family came first, always, but that mantra never silenced the thoughts completely. It was an insufficient conclusion, and tonight was no exception. This time, she was interrupted by a knock on the door.

For a moment, she thought she must have imagined it. Outside, the snow continued unabated. In fact, it seemed to be snowing more than ever before, great big flakes drifting down from on high, so large as to be visible even in the near complete darkness outside. The wind picked up as if on command just then, the entire house creaking to prove a point: It was the dark of night, and nopony had any business being outside now.

Applejack perked her ears, and the moment stretched along with the tension. A second gave way to another—or perhaps she’d stood stock still for a full minute. Just as she was about to reach for the candle and dismiss it all, another series of faint knocks sounded. Gentle, but most certainly not imagined. With no small amount of hesitation, Applejack trotted over to the front door and bit down on the knob, peering out through the small gap she allowed.

“Pinkie Pie?”

It was definitively a question. Though her snow-flecked mane and coat were as unmistakably pink as ever, Pinkie usually always came packaged with a happy grin. When Pinkie knocked on her door in the middle of the frozen night, Applejack still would have expected giggles and streamers. Instead, she got a pantomime of a smile and a moment of silence.

“It’s right powerful late for a social call,” Applejack whispered.

“Oh. Yeah. I guess it is kinda late,” Pinkie agreed, glancing up at the sky as if she only now noticed. She licked a snowflake off her snout and cleared her throat. “Do you have a minute? I mean, for talking, maybe? I—oh, I guess you’re heading to bed? Uh. Oopsie. I can come back tomorrow!”

Despite Pinkie’s words, she made no move to turn around, and the look in her eyes implored. Snow whirled around her, and she didn’t so much as blink or breathe. Applejack could have demanded an explanation to have her curiosity sated. She should have asked Pinkie to come back tomorrow to preserve her own sanity and sleep.

“Yeah, come on,” she said instead, slipping outside and past her friend, dragging the door shut behind her. Applejack noted the confused look on Pinkie’s face as she trudged past her. Pinkie looked from the closed door over to Applejack who led the way across the rapidly deepening snow of the farmyard.

“Family’s all asleep,” Applejack said, hoping it was loud enough to be heard over the wind without waking any of them. “Just follow me.”

And so she did. Pinkie didn’t say a word, and that certainly didn’t help calm Applejack’s nerves. She simply followed in her steps, breaking into a canter to match while they made for the barn across from the farmhouse. If Applejack’s hat hadn’t been back inside the house, it’d be blown across the Everfree from the blasts of wind. Even Pinkie’s curls were endangered until Applejack finally wedged a hoof in the barn door’s gap and pushed it open just enough to let the pair slip inside. She wasted no time in pulling the door shut again, plunging the world into darkness.

“Applejack?” Pinkie asked, her voice nearly drowned out by the creaks and groans of the barn’s walls.

“Just hang on a minute, sugarcube,” Applejack said, squinting into the darkness. Ever so slowly, she could begin to make out the contours of walls and support beams. She quested along one wall with a hoof until she heard the expected rattle. Applejack bit onto the box of matches and worked a single matchstick free. With practiced ease she lit one up whilst grabbing the nearby lantern. Seconds later, she put the glowing lantern on the floor, dispelling the darkness.

The newly raised barn hadn’t been purposed for winter yet, and with the snow hitting early, they hadn’t had time to find out what to do with it when it wasn’t needed for apple storage. As it was, it had four solid walls with a good roof on top, containing precious little other than empty apple buckets and crates. The apple cart used for market and a few rogue piles of hay completed the picture. More than any of this, the barn contained a pink pony who filled the place to the brim with unasked and unanswered questions.

“So,” Applejack said, sitting down on her haunches. “That’s us, here.”

A smile crossed Pinkie’s face at that, a transient little thing that said “thank you,” far removed from her usual everpresent grin. If Applejack didn’t know Pinkie Pie, she’d have said Pinkie Pie was nervous, but the idea fit as well as artichokes in an apple pie. All the same, the lantern’s flickering light illuminated a still silent Pinkie Pie who struggled to meet her eyes.

“I missed my train,” Pinkie said, fidgeting with her tail. Her voice was small and pitiful, like a foal admitting the greatest of wrongs, full of regret.

“We figured, on account of the heaps of snow and no trains runnin’ and all,” Applejack replied. The barn floor was a little harder than even she liked, so she got up and trotted over the remains of a hay pile. With her tush planted on something softer, she patted the ground at her side and offered Pinkie Pie a gentle smile. The farmpony could tell a coming storm a mile away, but there was no sense in running out to meet it. Applejack waited while Pinkie Pie moved to sit at her side.

Pinkie made a sound somewhere between a huff and an indignant squeak. With her pitch, it was impossible to tell, but still the mare clutched her own bushy tail in her forelegs where she sat. “You don’t understand. I didn’t just miss the train, I also didn’t-buy-a-ticket today, and I’m not gonna buy a ticket tomorrow either.”

Applejack nodded slowly. “Right. You wanna run this by me from the start? I can’t read minds.”

Pinkie brightened at that, letting out a little giggle. “Well duh, if you could read minds, you would know the recipe to my super secret ponyville party prandial, and then I’d have to lock you up in my cellar—or, well, the Cakes’ cellar, and it wouldn’t work because you’d be in the way every time they picked up another pack of flour, and—”

“Pinkie? It’s gettin’ real late.” Applejack let out an audible sigh, and the cheer disappeared from Pinkie’s face in an instant. Pinkie Pie had looked like herself for a few seconds while speaking, but already there was no trace of it. The moment Applejack raised her voice, Pinkie sunk down to the ground, quiet again. It was obvious nothing more would be forthcoming without a bit of prodding.

“Why did you miss your train? Did something happen to put you off heading to see your folks?” Applejack leaned in a little closer and made her voice soft. “You’re usually real happy around Hearth’s Warming Eve when you’re going to see your sisters for the holidays. What’s wrong?”

“I think maybe a teensy weensy part of me is a little bit happy that I missed the train,” Pinkie said. It wasn’t much of an answer, but it confirmed beyond all doubt that something was in fact very wrong. Pinkie’s voice sounded odd not just for the sulk that crept into it, but also because it was quiet all of a sudden, nearly just a whisper. “My little last-week-of-fall visits, they aren’t like Hearth’s Warming at all. That’s all about presents and singing and being happy, even if dad is a terrible dancer. And singer. And he’s not very good at happy either, but he tries!”

Applejack nodded, slow and patient as she could. “Alright, then what—”

“It’s around this time that Granny Pie passed away, many years ago, back when I was an itty bitty pony so small, I had to climb on two chairs to get to the rock candy jar.” Pinkie locked eyes with Applejack for a second, then sighed, lowering her muzzle until lay flat against her chest.

“Ah,” was all Applejack could think to say. She rolled her jaw, searching for something, for anything to say, but nothing came to her. She silently cursed her brain, so woefully unprepared for anything like this. Pinkie stared at her with a smile that looked entirely out of place on a face so much more used to extremes.

“Sorry,” she managed at length. She winced at the pointless, stupid word. She could tell Pinkie Pie wasn’t looking for consolation. If that had been her goal, she’d have gone to see Fluttershy or Rarity—anypony else, just about. “If you don’t mind me saying, I don’t see what I can do. I’ll sit here and listen, don’t doubt that for a second. I ain’t going nowhere, but, well.” She rubbed one of her knees. Making nice words had never been Applejack’s forté anyway, and when in doubt, you stuck to what you knew.

“How do you do it?” Pinkie asked. She pouted and scuffed the ground, made it sound almost like an accusation.

Applejack arched a brow. “Beg pardon?”

Pinkie scratched at one of her knees, shifting where she sat. “I don’t want to go home to mom and dad and be sad with them. They just want to sit still and think sad and grey thoughts, but I don’t want to be sad at all!” she said, throwing both forehooves up in the air. “I woke up yesterday and saw the snow and I was happy because I’d miss my train. I thought this time, I could stay in Ponyville and be happy instead, but it’s not working!”

“I tried. I tried so hard, but I can’t stop thinking about it. I miss her. Granny Pie was the super-duper bestest pony ever, and I love everything she taught me. The songs, the dances—” Pinkie paused, her momentum failing and her ears splayed. Applejack reached out for her almost on instinct, to hug or touch, but Pinkie wouldn’t let her. Pinkie pressed on, voice hoarse now, and it was impossible to tell if she was sad, frustrated, or both.

“When I started thinking about it, I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to mope and get everypony else down, so I stayed in my room, but then I didn’t have anything to do except think about it even more.” She sighed. “I made Pumpkin and Pound Cake sad because I didn’t sing our special goodnight-song, and then I started thinking maybe I’m making mom and dad sad if I don’t go home, too, and that’s stupid and unfair!”

Applejack nodded once again, very slowly. “Right, and you came to me—”

“Because, you know,” Pinkie said, cutting her off for the second time. The pink mare bit her lower lip, then her upper lip. Her gaze dropped until she was staring at Applejack’s forehooves. “Your mom and dad’s gone. How do you do it? How aren’t you sad all the time?”

The barn gave a long, desultory creak and the lamp flickered while Applejack thought. What few playthings the light had were made to dance. Shadows of empty crates, support beams and the barn’s sole two occupants shivered and were cast every which way. Pinkie Pie sunk further down on the ground until she lay almost completely flat. She opened her mouth, and Applejack knew the word that budded. She didn’t let Pinkie get that far, reaching out to place a hoof on her friend’s muzzle before she could apologise.

“In a word? Family,” Applejack said. “You said yourself you ain’t used to being sad, and that it’s just ‘round this time of year, right?” She paused and waited for Pinkie to nod. “We all have our own way of dealing with things when they come about, and my family’s mine.” She felt a smile tug on her lips as five smiling faces worked their way to the forefront of her mind. “Friends, too. Family and friends. I ain’t no doctor, but far as I can tell, there’s only one thing that’s always wrong when you’re feeling down.”

Pinkie pulled back from Applejack’s hoof, ears perked. Her eyes glittered with hunger and need. The gravity of the expectation might have made a more self-conscious mare nervous.

“Bein’ alone,” Applejack said.

“That. Yeah,” Pinkie Pie said. She deflated a bit, glancing off to the side as if she just remembered something, trying and failing to smile. “I know that. I mean, I knew that, but I guess I forgot that ponies do all kinds of stupid crazy stuff when they get lonely. I just didn’t want to leave my room, and then I really didn’t want to leave my room.” She swallowed and ground her muzzle against dirt floor.

“You got more friends than just about anypony else, and you got at least one more family than most. You just won’t see that if you’re starin’ at your own snout from under your bed alone,” Applejack said, shifting to sit a little closer and putting a foreleg around Pinkie’s withers. It was more than a little awkward, but Pinkie didn’t protest. “I reckon goin’ home to see your folks is just what you need.”

“No,” Pinkie said. She rolled over on her back, tilting her head up until her muzzle pointed at the rafters, her cheeks puffed in a pout outclassing anything Apple Bloom could muster even when faced with the toughest of chores. Applejack huffed and rolled her eyes.

“Listen, I don’t have answers beyond what I’d do myself here. Might be your family needs you too, ever stop to think about that? I ain’t the one to come talk to if you’re looking for somepony to nod their empty head at whatever you say, to lie and say I think it’s fine.” She frowned, looking for more words to throw at her, but Pinkie beat her to it.

“I love my mom and dad, but all they want is to sit in their chairs and talk about Granny Pie, like—like they’re sad, like it’s a bad thing Granny Pie ever lived at all. Mom and dad are gonna be sad, and that makes Inkie and Blinkie sad too, and it’s all so silly. Stupid.” Pinkie let one of her forelegs flop to the ground and then the other, staring up at the ceiling. All traces of her childish countenance was gone.

Applejack poked the inside of her cheek with her tongue. She tried to make her voice as kind and gentle as could be. “Sorry, but I still don’t get it. What’s wrong with paying your respects? I thought you loved your granny.”

Pinkie sprang up on all fours in the blink, leaning forward to grind her snout against Applejack’s. “I do! I did! That’s why I don’t want to be sad about it! Granny Pie was a happy awesome pony who loved absolutely everypony, and that’s who I want to be, too!” Applejack took an involuntary step backwards. Never before had she seen Pinkie this intense. “I don’t know how to be sad,” Pinkie said. “I don’t want to be sad, and I hate it!”

“I—alright, right, and I get that, but still—” Applejack began, putting a hoof to Pinkie’s chest to buy a few precious smidgemeters of personal space before she said what she knew was right. “Sometimes, you gotta put the needs of others ahead of your own. Nopony wants to be sad, but this is your family we’re talkin’ about. You ain’t doing this for yourself, you’re doing it in Granny Pie’s memory.”

“No! I mean, yes, but—” Pinkie tried, her face scrunched up in consternation.

Applejack let her hoof drop. “Like I said, if you’re looking for somepony to tell you you should do what you want, it ain’t me. Sugarcube? I’m your friend, but I ain’t gonna lie to make you feel better. Don’t think even you’d really want that.”

“You don’t understand!” Pinkie ground her teeth and sat down with a thud, scratching her forehead like she had an itch in her brain. “I’m not trying to be not-sad for myself, it’s for her!”

Applejack blinked once, and then twice more for good measure. “Right. Now I just plain ain’t following, sorry.”

Pinkie nibbled her bottom lip, tapping the ground as she thought. “Okay. Um. It’s like—wait, no, it’s not like I’m trying to make a muffin made entirely of sugar because I like sugar. It’s totally like I got this recipe for a lovely pistachio muffin, and I just know I can make it better if I change the recipe a little!” She took a deep breath and let it out again, her ears flat against her head as her eyes sought Applejack’s. “I don’t want you to tell me things you think are dumb, but don’t you ever feel you should do something, even if somepony tells you you’re wrong? Haven’t you ever wanted something to be different?”

While she’d caught only half of Pinkie’s little rambling rant, the very last sentence came through loud and clear. That final word lingered. Different. Pinkie Pie’s question patiently waited for an answer, and Applejack’s first impulse was to shake her head, to say “no,” but she couldn’t in clean conscience do that. Not when she kept coming back to that question herself. Not when Pinkie had interrupted her contemplating exactly that. Even if she could lie and say her thoughts and actions always aligned, the sheer need in Pinkie’s eyes silenced her.

Pinkie usually asked for her friends’ approval after she had done something. She invited ponies to parties after the decorations were set, and she was the most unabashedly shameless pony in all of Equestria. If there was ever a pony without a care in the world, it was she. In fact, Applejack often wondered if she was a pony at all, rather tempted to think of her as a force of nature, as capricious as free weather.

Only, she knew it was a half-truth. She’d been right in that Pinkie missing market had meant something, and now again she knew that Pinkie hadn’t made up her mind before she asked Applejack’s opinion. She’d come to her, and she needed her. Confusing as it was, it was real. Even if Applejack couldn’t quite determine why Pinkie’s words struck a chord with her, she could have that crisis later. For now, Pinkie Pie deserved more than a mindless lecture on the importance of family. Bright blue eyes calmly regarded her, the lanternlight reflecting a sheen of wet.

“Pretendin’ I understand and agree,” Applejack said, each word measured. “What do you think is right? If you don’t want to head home, and assuming that you ain’t planning a new breed of muffin, what in the wide world of Equestria are you even suggesting?”

“A party!” Pinkie said, simple as that.

“Right.” Applejack briefly toyed with the idea of heading back to the bed. Of course she wouldn’t, she’d never abandon her friend, but it took effort to force herself to sit still and keep her trap shut. The second she thought she was approaching an understanding with Pinkie, the pink mare had went off on another one of her flights of fancy, everything dissolving into a mess of irresponsible fun.

Or had it? Perhaps Pinkie expected exactly this reaction. There had been a conspicuous lack of streamers to go with the announcement of a party. Pinkie clopped her forehooves together nervously.

“Not like that. Okay, I don’t actually know if you think what I think you’re thinking, but I think it’s what Granny Pie would have wanted.”

“Your gran would want you to have a party,” Applejack repeated.

“Yeah!” Pinkie said, nodding away happily. “She always thought ponies needed to laugh more, and she used to say that ponies should always celebrate things, even things that we don’t usually celebrate like going shopping—” she paused for breath, words coming faster and faster and the smile on her face, tentative at first, broadened. “—but also things that ponies mourn, because everything that’s sad usually has a happy side to it too, so maybe we shouldn’t be all sad because she’s gone, but we should be happy she lived! Well, that, and you said that being all alone and lonely and everything is bad. Parties are the least lonely things ever!”

“Like a forest fire.” The words tumbled from Applejack’s mouth.

Pinkie Pie blinked. “I think those are pretty lonely, actually. That’s a terrible idea for a celebration!”

“No, no,” Applejack chuckled. “I mean, there’s an upside to everything, like you say. Sure. I ain’t no stranger to that. Forest fires leave the ground fertile for new plants, but most ponies never realise. They just think it’s terrible that a whole bunch of trees burnt down.”

“Oh! Oh, that makes a lot more sense,” Pinkie giggled, and when Applejack joined in, she found she couldn’t stop. It was entirely inappropriate, but the smile wouldn’t be kept from her face. Ponies passing away was something serious that warranted no mirth, but seeing how Pinkie lit up when she talked about her Granny, it was hard not to join in the sheer joy. The wind was all but forgotten, and the lantern was the smaller light source in the barn compared to Pinkie.

“Does that mean you don’t think it’s a terrible idea?” Pinkie said, rubbing at her eyes with the nook of a leg.

Applejack shook her head slowly, the laughter petering out.

“Does that also mean you’ll help?” Pinkie asked.

“Uh, help with what, exactly?”

“Setting up the party! Duh!”

Applejack smiled and sighed through her nose. She reached out to hug Pinkie Pie and bury her head in her mane. “I ain’t gonna pretend to understand half of what goes on in your head, but of course I’ll help.”

Pinkie Pie squeezed back harder than Applejack had thought the soft mare capable of, and unless her ears betrayed her, Applejack thought she heard a sniffle. When Pinkie broke the hug, there was no trace of sadness.

“Thanks!” Pinkie said. “Oh. Right! Can we please not tell everypony?”

Applejack raised a brow. “Tell everypony what? Ain’t we gonna have to let ponies know there is a party to have a party, or is this some kind of new type of party I ain’t heard about?”

Pinkie’s eyes lit up as though she considered it for the briefest of moments, but she shook her head violently. “No! I mean, not yet. I just don’t want to go around telling everypony that we’re celebrating Granny Pie, so I thought I’d just pretend we’re having a party to celebrate something else, like—ooh, we could celebrate the early winter!”

Applejack nodded. It was no doubt another bout of logic that added up perfectly in Pinkie Pie’s head, and in her head alone. She should’ve asked, spared another ‘why,’ but it seemed altogether unimportant in the face of Pinkie Pie smiling again. Smiling like she ought to always do.

“Right. I ain’t gonna say a word.”

Pinkie bounced over to hug her again, nuzzling the back of her neck. “Thank you. You’re the best!”

Applejack gave her a light squeeze, a grin, and a push on the rump. “Ain’t no problem at all. Now go get your butt to bed!” Pinkie Pie nodded her assent and bounded towards the barn’s doors, pushing them apart. Snow whirled past her, and then she was gone.

Applejack sat in the lantern’s glow for another minute, realising that if any lie had been spoken tonight, it had been hers. Perhaps she did understand at least a tiny bit of what went on in Pinkie’s head. When first they’d met, and for years after, she thought Pinkie Pie was impossible to understand, a constant mystery. Now, she wasn’t quite sure. The Pinkie who left the barn this night had been back to her regular grinning self, but at the same time, she was so very different, relatable and almost real.

Moose

Applejack groaned and clenched her eyes shut. Nightmares, she could handle, but when a series of sharp taps of hoof on glass woke her up, she caught herself thinking the bigger problem was that she was cursed with an excess of reality.

“Applejack!”

The sun was barely up, and while that would be cause for alarm on a regular day, it was winter. Winter meant a full extra hour of sleep that she enjoyed more than she would ever admit, especially when the day before had seen her far too late to bed. An hour she was currently being denied by a cheerful voice.

“Applejack! Wake up! Hey, Applejack! Apple-jaack!”

This particular morning’s reality involved less Cutie Mark Crusaders than usual. No crazy contraptions, no buckets of pinecones. Rather than three hyperactive fillies, Applejack woke up to Pinkie’s face smushed against her bedroom window. Applejack yawned, pushed her blanket away and crawled over to the other side of her bed, nearer to the window.

“Pinkie, mind tellin’ me what in tarnation you’re up to?” Applejack asked, rubbing her bleary eyes.

Pinkie tilted her head, as if the question was the strangest thing about this all. “I’m talking to you, silly! I thought the others would be all asleep, so I didn’t want to be rude and wake them.”

Applejack sighed and leaned over to nudge the window’s simple latch. Pinkie ducked while Applejack pushed the window open. “No, I mean, what are you doing outside my second floor window,” she asked even as she leaned past Pinkie to see the ladder propped against her wall. Obviously taking the open window as an invitation, Pinkie hopped past Applejack, bounced off the bed, and landed in the middle of her room.

“I’m here to invite you to my party! You know, the one that’s completely,” she paused to wink at Applejack, “and totally,” another wink, “a party to celebrate ‘winter’ and ‘snow’ and everything!” She even did the air quotes.

“Real subtle.” Applejack stifled another yawn and slipped out of bed, reaching for her hat from the wall—only to have her hoof whiff, passing straight through where her hat should be. Applejack squinted at the wall-hanger in disbelief for half a second before she caught up. “Pinkie. Give me my hat,” she said before she even finished turning around.

“Aw. Fine. I wish I had a hat like this,” Pinkie said, letting Applejack grab it back off her head. “But you’re coming, right? To the party? You said we’re in this together, but I thought I’d check with you before I started asking everypony else because, well—” Pinkie paused, pawing at the floorboards.

“S’what I said yesterday, ain’t it?” Applejack blew a strand of her mane out of her face, trying to keep the grouchiness from her voice. “Doesn’t mean I appreciate being dragged out of bed when this could’ve waited ‘till later.”

“Sorry! It’s just that there’s not a whole lot of ‘later’ in one day, especially on Sundays!”

Applejack blinked and stared at Pinkie Pie for a while, trying to shift her brain into gear. She’d have liked to observe at least a few of the points of her morning routine before she had to do any fancy thinking; half a minute with her brush, ten seconds to wash her face, a cup of cider or coffee—anything.

“Y’mean you’re trying to put together this party today. As in, today-today.”

Pinkie nodded with intensity that would rattle the sense out of brains given to such things.

“Pinkie Pie? That’s the worst—”

“See, the Cakes said that if I wanted to use Sugarcube Corner, they didn’t mind at all because they’re usually never open on Sundays, and next week is gonna be busy because they got this huge catering job for one of Mayor Mare’s meetings with some ponies from Ponyville’s friendship village, Hoofington!”

“Right, but—”

“And we can’t have the party at Fluttershy’s place because she’s still trying to find places for all the animals who didn’t have time to find a nice home to sleep through winter, Twilight’s probably still a little mad at me because of the book fight I called out last time we had a get-together at her place with all six of us.”

“Still—”

“Rarity’s hosting some friends of her parents who are in town all of next week, and you said you didn’t really like having parties indoors here at the farm because it’s ‘inconvenient’ for the rest of the Apple family, and I don’t really know what that word means, but I totally respect that if it means ‘no!’”

Applejack raised her voice a tad. “And that’s mighty great—”

“And Rainbow Dash is a pegasus so if we try to party at her place she needs to pegasus magic everything we’re bringing up to her place so it doesn’t fall through the clouds. I know Twilight doesn’t mind casting her spell on us, but she can’t cast the spell on every single thing I bake.”

“Pinkie!”

“But mostly,” Pinkie Pie said, her voice falling where Applejack’s rose. “I don’t want to wait, because I think I really need you girls right now.”

Applejack froze in the middle of drawing breath, letting it out again slowly. “Right.”

“So, is that a yes? I didn’t write you an invitation because I asked the Cakes the second they woke up, or, well, right before they woke up, and then I ran here as fast as I could!” Pinkie beamed, puffing out her chest.

“Yeah. Alright,” Applejack heard herself say. She was still wracking her brain for alternatives, for an exit that didn’t have her crawl out of bed and into a sudden party invitation with no forewarning, an invitation that she’d have declined if she didn’t know—

“Great, I’m gonna go let the others know! There’s so much to do!” Applejack only barely heard Pinkie’s words. The realisation hit her like a cargo cart.

“No!”

Pinkie halted, halfway out the window already with her head poking back in under her own tail. “Huh? ‘No I’m not coming to your party’ or no as in ‘oh no, I hope we have enough sugar?’”

“I’ll handle inviting the others,” Applejack said, adopting what she hoped was a winning smile. “It’s just us six girls and Spike, right? I’m sure I can handle it. You got your work cut out for you with all the other stuff.”

Pinkie blinked, then blinked again, scrabbling to stand in the windowsill. “But—”

Applejack leaned forward to nudge her on the rump. “Nuh-uh! No buts! If we’re doing this together, you’re gonna have to learn to share the burden. I’ll round up the gang and tell them to be at the Corner by four o’clock, and then I’ll head straight on over to help you with the preparations.”

“Okie dokie!” Pinkie said, nodding, hugging Applejack around the neck, and hopping out the window. Only when she was alone did Applejack let herself breathe again. While she never considered herself a quick thinker, she had to wonder: If she herself didn’t normally feel up to attending a party Pinkie made out to be about as important as Gummy’s sixth birthday party for the year, what guarantee did she have the others would? Would the others realise how important this was to Pinkie Pie? The thought of Pinkie announcing a winter party on a few hours’ notice to a sleep-addled Rarity left Applejack rather doubtful.

Applejack walked over to rest her head on the still-warm windowsill, deflating with a sigh. In the distance, dragging her ladder through the snow by her tail in her usual bouncy gait, Pinkie was a bright pink dot in an ocean of white. This entire idea had seemed harmless last night, but having to lie to all their friends wasn’t a particularly pleasant addition to her rude awakening.

“Ain’t fair I get saddled with this,” Applejack muttered to herself, but she never got even halfway to a good burst of anger. She raised a leg intending to stomp the floor, but her heart wasn’t in it. It wasn’t Pinkie being particularly inconsiderate or thoughtless. She’d taken this task upon herself, and stronger than the budding frustration were Pinkie’s words still echoing in her mind. “I really need you girls.”

It wasn’t some stupid notion Pinkie’d gotten into her head. It was real. She’d seen yesterday that there were emotions and reason behind this all, and it was terrifying to think that every time she’d dismissed Pinkie as insane, silly, or insanely silly, there’d been something equally solid behind it.

Applejack frowned and chewed her tongue. Perhaps it was a stretch to imagine a greater purpose to all her actions. If there had been a profound meaning behind last week’s pie tossing contest, it was lost on her.

Grabbing her brush off the bedstand, she dragged it through her tail to get rid of the worst of the tangles and snarls. It took all of half a minute to have her hair- and tail-bands in place, and half that to grab a quick bowl of oats in the kitchen. She could hear somepony else stirring on the floor above when she made for the front door, but her family would have to have breakfast without her today. She wasn’t quite sure what to think about that, but despite this confusing business, it didn’t feel wrong to smile a little when she stepped out into the brightly lit farmyard.

Applejack trotted past apple trees long since bare of leaves, now bearing snow instead of fruit. The sun reflected off the winter’s cover, gleaming and glittering as bright as any summer’s day. Fluttershy was an ideal and natural first candidate. Of all her friends, Fluttershy was the most likely one to be out of bed this soon after sunrise.

That, and it was really a rather shorter trek than heading to town first thing, what with them being neighbours and all. Applejack hopped over the fence on the border of the western orchards, noting the smoke coming from Fluttershy’s chimney as she trotted over the hill and past the brook. She didn’t give herself so much as a single second to lapse into thought again, much preferring to have it over with.

“Fluttershy?” Applejack called. A knock on her door, and a gentle push. The door yielded without a sound, gliding open easily enough, and out drifted a pleasant smell that could only be mint and lemon tea. Applejack grinned, leaning forward as though she could taste the brew. Fluttershy put as much care and dedication into her tea making as Granny Smith did her pies, and the scent was proof.

The sight, however, was every bit as unsettling as the smell was pleasant. Every free space, every nook and cranny of Fluttershy’s cottage was covered in varmints. Rodents, birds, mammals, lizards and more. From the bookcase by Fluttershy’s couch, a full family of badgers tilted their heads at her arrival, and while she recognised the bear easily enough to not be terribly surprised, she couldn’t hold back a yelp when a moose stuck its head down from the staircase.

“Oh. Good morning, Applejack. Would you like a cup of tea?”

Applejack hadn’t noticed her friend sauntering in from the kitchen, teacup balanced on one wing. She tried to school her expression and cleared her throat, taking a tentative few steps to bring herself inside.

“Right. Uh. Mornin’,” Applejack managed, wiping her hooves on the welcome mat and pulling the door closed. “And thanks fer’ askin’, but no thanks. Just had breakfast.”

“Okay,” Fluttershy said, smiling back at her and trotting over to deposit her tea on the living room table, taking a seat on her couch between two otters and something else that may’ve been another kind of otter. Or a marmot. Applejack honestly couldn’t tell.

“Um, is everything alright, if you don’t mind me asking?” Fluttershy said.

Applejack let her gaze roam from the critter-infested couch, via the rafters packed with birds, to finally rest on the moose still watching her from the stairs. She could’ve sworn the darn thing was glaring at her. “Everything’s fine, sugar, except for the fact that you seem to be starting some kind of zoo,” Applejack said, raising a brow. “Thought you were done with the whole relocating business.”

“Oh. The animals.” Fluttershy said, lighting up and looking about the room as if she only now saw them for the first time. She giggled and leaned over to nuzzle some fuzzy thing with entirely too much in the way of fangs and claws. “We’re still working things out. I’m sure we’ll have everything fixed by the weekend. Harry’s being ever so sweet in helping all the other animals.”

“Right, right. Couldn’t ever see myself livin’ like this.”

“Aw, don’t mind them, they are all being very nice,” Fluttershy said, tilting her head and beaming brightly. She turned to look up the staircase towards her bedroom, and the moose looked back at her, giving her a small nod and what might pass for a smile from a moose—before it went back to staring at Applejack again. “Please, have a seat. Are you sure you don’t want a cup of tea?”

“No, thanks, that’s fine, sugarcube.” Applejack picked her way across the floor as carefully as she could, minding each of her hooves to make sure she didn’t step on something that wouldn’t take kindly to that. “It ain’t really much of a social call, this. I’m just here to give a message of sorts.”

That made Fluttershy perk up in earnest. She looked up from tickling a baby badger’s belly, her wings half-spread as she turned to Applejack. “Oh my. That doesn’t sound very good. Nothing bad, I hope?”

“I shouldn’t think it’s quite so bad,” Applejack laughed. “Land sakes, Fluttershy. You need to stop worrying so much. Just came to tell you Pinkie’s hosting a party over at the candy shop tonight.”

“Oh,” Fluttershy said, a small frown gradually forming. “I don’t understand. She said she didn’t want to see us. How—”

“She came by this morning,” Applejack said, flashing a smile as she cut her friend off. “We talked a bit last night too, but that’s neither here nor there. You know Pinkie.” She smiled a little wider, hoping very much Fluttershy wouldn’t ask why and force her to lie outright. “So anyway, I figured I’d help her out while she’s taking care of preparations and everything.”

Fluttershy’s face was blank, and she said nothing while she leaned forward for another sip of tea. Applejack couldn’t keep from licking her lips. She already regretted turning down the offer, and was just about to say so when Fluttershy spoke up.

“That’s very nice of you, but, um, Pinkie visited you this morning? Before you usually even wake up during winter season?” she asked.

Applejack sighed inwardly. Fluttershy could be as inquisitive as Twilight at times. “Yup. So anyway, this party—”

“Sorry for interrupting,” Fluttershy said, biting her lower lip. “But, we talked right before you had dinner yesterday.”

“Yeah. She came by afters, too. Right before bed, matter of fact, so I’m running on fumes here. I just needed to tell you there’s a party, to invite you and all.”

Fluttershy gave a minute frown at that, but she nodded nevertheless. “Okay. Sorry. I didn’t mean to distract us. There’s a party?”

“Yup. She figured it’d be a great idea to celebrate winter comin’ early, so she’s already decorating Sugarcube Corner. Think you can be there this afternoon? Say, four o’clock?”

“Today?” Fluttershy said. She splayed her ears and sank down in the couch. “Oh goodness. Um, that’s very sudden. I—I just don’t know if I can. There is ever so much to do. If I knew she was celebrating, um—”

“Winter.” Applejack supplied with a sigh of her own. Fluttershy kept talking, words of apology, comments that she could maybe make time if-but-no-probably-nots, but Applejack barely heard it. Suddenly, the demand for subterfuge felt so terribly unnecessary. Again she imagined what would happen if everypony said no. She could hear Pinkie’s voice already. “It’s okay,” she would say, and it would be a lie. She’d have her little memorial party alone and pretend everything was okay when she was hurting. Only this time, she wouldn’t come visit Applejack in the aftermath, because Applejack would have failed her.

Applejack shook her head and groaned. She wasn’t cut out for drama, and the entire train of thought was ridiculous. Ridiculous and false. Pinkie wouldn’t be alone anyway, because at the very least, Applejack would be there tonight.

“Applejack?”

Fluttershy looked part worried, part curious. For how long had she been watching? For how long had Applejack sat there thinking to herself whilst ignoring one of her best friends? Applejack slumped.

“Mighty sorry,” she muttered. “Just thinkin’ about something what shouldn’t be a problem in the first place.”

“Oh. Um. Okay.” Fluttershy smiled and didn’t press the issue. She was far too polite to ask if Applejack didn’t want to tell.

It was just so terribly wrong. Applejack knew that if she wanted, she could convince Fluttershy to come without telling her the truth. Unless dragons were involved, Applejack was confident she could talk Fluttershy into most anything, but it was a terrible thing to do, even if it was for a good cause. Particularly when the truth could solve the issue so simply.

“What I’m about to tell you ain’t leaving this room, alright?” Applejack fixed Fluttershy with a look. Fluttershy glanced left, then right, and finally nodded, sitting forward on the couch.

“Of course.”

“That goes for all of your little friends, too. And the not so little ones, too,” she said, glaring up the stairs at a certain antlered creature.

Fluttershy nodded gravely. A few of the smaller animals who had digits with which to cross their hearts did so. The intermittent chirps of birds vanished entirely, and not a single paw, claw or hoof stirred. A hush fell over the room, and Applejack hadn’t been aware of how much noise a couple dozen animals made simply by being—not until they all went quiet at once.

“I don’t want you telling Pinkie I told you this, ‘cause she’d rather y’all think it’s just another silly party. It ain’t.” Applejack paused to lick her lips. She could taste the bile that accompanied spilling another’s secret, but Fluttershy deserved more than to be led by the nose with a lie. “It’s to celebrate Granny Pie.”

Fluttershy made a soft noise, an oh, but a moment later her brow knit in confusion. “Wait. Granny Pie? I—I thought she was—”

“She passed away a long time ago,” Applejack said. She saw Fluttershy’s ears droop, the pegasus nodding very slowly. As sad a subject it was, Applejack smiled, just like Pinkie Pie would’ve wanted. “Pinkie usually heads on home to her family to be with them, but she wants to celebrate with us, this time.”

Fluttershy looked more confused than ever, and Applejack couldn’t hold back a little chuckle. It was probably terribly inappropriate, but she attributed that to whatever insanity had let her understand Pinkie’s point so readily.

“Way she sees it, there’re too many ponies who mourn, so I guess she wants to celebrate instead. You can’t tell her I told you, but it’s really important we’re all there for her, okay? She wants to honor her memory instead of sitting around and crying, and if that works for her, we owe it to her to listen.”

She got a tentative nod at that, and then another strong and confident nod from Fluttershy. “If that’s what she wants, of course I’ll come, but why is this secret? I—I mean, of course I won’t tell—”

“Beats me,” Applejack said, furrowing her brow. “Never thought to ask her, she just said not to tell.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The silence was unbearably loud, now. Still the animals held their breath, no doubt waiting for some signal from Fluttershy, but the pegasus herself clearly wanted to say something. Applejack could have told even hadn't she been fidgeting.

“And you have another question for me, I’m guessing?” Applejack rose to stand. “Come on Fluttershy, I ain’t gonna bite and I’ve got to tell all the others before noon,” she said, hoping very much she wouldn’t get the inevitable questions, that Fluttershy wouldn’t ask what she and Pinkie had been talking about, why Pinkie would visit her late at night.

“Oh. No, not really.” Fluttershy shook her head and rose up as well, working the half-empty and long since cold teacup onto one of her wings. “I’m sorry. It’s just, well, if you don’t mind me saying, you sometimes get a little upset when ponies wake you up or ruin your sleep. Or, um, make you do things you think are silly.” Her eyes dropped to the floor, and a faint smile crossed her muzzle. “I just hope you’re not too angry with Pinkie Pie.”

“I—yeah,” Applejack said, a pointless word with no content, a bid for time to think. She wasn’t angry with Pinkie herself, and not until now had it struck her as odd. She knew well enough why she wasn’t angry with Pinkie for knocking on her door yesterday night: She’d be a monster to turn away somepony who needed her help, no matter how. But this morning? She should be spitting fire, and if it’d been Rainbow Dash to knock on her window, she wouldn’t hesitate to give that featherbrain a piece of her mind. It didn’t add up. She didn’t feel any of that.

Fluttershy cleared her throat. “Four in the afternoon, right? Of course I’ll be there. I’ll get started on today’s chores.” She smiled, and Applejack breathed a sigh of relief.

“You’re a lifesaver, Fluttershy. Thank you.” She puffed out her cheeks and scratched her head through her hat. One down, and three to go.

“Twilight! It’s Applejack!”

Applejack nodded her thanks to Spike, stepping inside the library after she’d shook the snow out of her mane. It had started snowing again while she headed for central Ponyville, and Dash was clearly making good on her promise of a white winter.

“Twilight! It’s for you!” Spike called again, a little louder and a little more urgent. The baby dragon groaned. Sleep still clung to his eyes, and it was impressive how loud stomps such tiny feet could make while Spike made his way upstairs.

It had been a simple enough decision. Rainbow Dash wouldn’t be roused this early no matter how hard she tried, and Applejack had tried many times before. Rarity might be easier to wake, but she’d refuse to come out of her room before she’d had her morning mane styling. That left only one pony.

“Twilight. Mornin’,” Applejack called. Twilight didn’t so much walk down the stairs as she made a controlled fall. That she stayed upright at the end of it was a miracle, and she had the worst case of bedmane Applejack had seen yet. One of her wings dragged along the ground whilst the other stuck out at an angle.

“You know,” Twilight muttered, pausing to yawn. Without even looking at Applejack, she trotted past and through the doorless arch that led to the library’s small kitchen. “The first thing I did when I took over the library was to send a letter to Princess Celestia.”

Applejack could smell Twilight’s barbed witticisms a mile away. Still, it didn’t cost much to humor her, especially when she was imposing.

“Really?” she asked, grinning.

A flash of magic from the kitchen. A groan, a yelp and a shattering of glass that made Applejack wince. After a few seconds of a far more subtle bubbling noise, Twilight trotted back out from the kitchen with a small cup of coffee sheathed in her magic.

“Yes. Do you know what I wrote?” Twilight asked, taking a seat by a writing desk facing Applejack.

“I haven’t the faintest clue,” Applejack said, moving a little closer. “But I’ve a feeling you’re about to share it with me.”

“I asked her for permission to change the opening times of the library on Sundays from ten ‘till eight to twelve ‘till ten. She said yes, but still I can’t seem to get any more sleep on Sundays.”

“Sorry ‘bout that, but it’s kinda important,” Applejack said. “See—”

“Either it’s a pegasus crashing through my window, or it’s a magical disaster of some kind. Rampaging hydras. Surprise visits by royalty. You name it! Sometimes, I think the entire universe conspires against me!” Twilight chugged her coffee like Rainbow Dash downed a bottle of cider, gingerly depositing the empty cup on the desk.

“You done?” Applejack asked, raising a brow.

“Yep! Morning,” Twilight said, rubbing a foreleg against her muzzle where drool had matted her coat. She glanced back at her own sides and inexpertly pulled her wings back into place. “You said something important was up?”

“Right. Yeah. Pinkie’s hosting a party to celebrate the coming of winter,” Applejack began, powering on when she saw the same skepticism she once felt now budding in her friend’s eyes. “No, I couldn’t have told you this any sooner, because yes, it’s today, and I’m out lettin’ people know on account of Pinkie needin’ to set up things and prepare Sugarcube Corner. Fluttershy and I’ve already said yes.”

Twilight shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I thought I told her long ago. I need advance warning to be able to put up a notice in the village board. I can’t just close the library without going through the proper channels—”

Applejack sat and folded her forelegs. “Twi? I hate telling you this, but you don’t get a whole lot of visitors other’n Cheerilee and us girls. Besides, you’re a princess. Aren’t you the ‘proper channels’ yourself?”

“That’s entirely besides the point.” Twilight huffed. “Besides, if she really wanted to welcome winter, she’d do so next weekend when it’s scheduled to start.”

Applejack chuckled. “Still sore about that, huh?”

Twilight frowned and tilted her head skywards, flicking her tail in annoyance. “Yes, well, I’m sure that upsetting the natural order is fine for some, and I bet Mayor Mare is really proud of herself for deciding to desynchronise us from Canterlot.”

A little surprised at the fervor in Twilight’s voice, Applejack said nothing. She tilted her head to one side and tapped a hoof on the floorboards as she waited. Twilight, for her part, hung her head and levitated over a brush from one of the desk’s drawers, going to work on her mane.

“I have stargazing Tuesdays on my balcony. I can’t do stargazing Tuesday if there’s snow on my balcony, and if I schedule in clearing the balcony, something else will have to give,” Twilight muttered. Finally, she cracked a smile. “Really though, I’m sure you girls will have a great time and all, but I think I’ll sit this one out. I’m sure Pinkie will understand. She did host two parties last week. Well. Technically, one party and one double pre-party.”

Applejack sighed. “Right.”

“Oh, there’s a difference. I checked.” Twilight’s grin was short-lived. “But, uh, you’re not smiling. Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry if I’m being difficult, but—”

“You ain’t, and it ain’t you. Listen.”

She’d hoped she wouldn’t have to explain all over again. Rather, she knew Pinkie Pie would have hoped she wouldn’t explain at all, but to Applejack, it was somewhere between a pain and relief to be forced to tell the full truth.

Applejack could see her friend’s eyes drifting across the shelves that lined the walls while she recounted the issue, an automated response, as if she could find a book that was relevant to this when nothing such existed. In the end, when all was said, Twilight gave a simple nod, and bless her quick brain, Applejack thought.

“Okay. I’m sure that the customers—well, I’m sure that Cheerilee will understand if I just leave a note,” Twilight said, a small frown crossing her features at her own correction. “But why didn’t you tell me this right away?”

“Because she told me not to tell. And now you’ve got to promise not to tell I told,” Applejack said. “My head already hurts from all of this, if you’re wondering.”

“Alright. Okay,” Twilight nodded again, slower this time. “Of course I’ll make time. I’ll tell Spike, and we’ll be there, but that doesn’t really answer the why of it. Why all the secrecy?”

“I don’t know,” Applejack said, some of her growing frustration at that one singular fact escaping in the form of a groan. If Twilight took any offense, she didn’t show it. “I don’t know, and I didn’t ask, and if I’m to tell Rarity and Rainbow Dash and make it in time to see if Pinkie needs any more help, I ain’t got time for discussin’ it either. Sugarcube Corner at four o’clock, just try’n pretend it’s a regular party, whatever that means where Pinkie’s concerned.”

Just a Smudge

“I win!”

Rainbow Dash’s declaration barely preceded her. The pegasus slammed the front door open so hard that the little bell above the doorway fell off. Applejack’s jaw hung open, the next words she meant to say now caught in her throat.

“No—no fair!” came Spike’s voice not two seconds later, the little dragon breathing heavily as he zipped over the threshold only to collapse on the floor trying to catch his breath. “That’s—huff—that’s cheating. If Twilight teleported us, we’d win!”

“Hey, if it’s a no wings contest, you say that before we start.” Dash grinned, hopping over the fallen dragon to collect the silver bell, hovering up to reattach it.

“And you’ll leave me out of it, thank you very much,” Twilight said as she trotted inside. “Oh. Hey guys. Sorry we’re early.”

“Hi! Welcome!” Pinkie replied. She finally let go of Applejack, who had almost forgotten they were entangled until she felt the rush of cold air in Pinkie’s absence. She shook her head. Of course it would be cold. The door was wide open, after all. She was just about to ask them to close it when Fluttershy and Rarity entered as well.

“Hullo girls,” Rarity said, lifting her chin up and setting her magic to work freeing herself from her scarf and hat.

“Hello,” Fluttershy echoed, the final entrant pulling the door shut in her wake.

“Yeah, hi,” Applejack finally managed, biting the inside of her cheek. Already Pinkie Pie trotted over to meet, greet and hug her guests—or was it their guests? Rarity sought Applejack’s eyes and offered a brief smile.

“Wow. Did you do all of this? This looks great,” Spike said, the first to work his way free of the group to trot inside the main room proper. At his words, the chatter from the others died down in favor of little oohs and aahs. Rainbow Dash took wing again, flying up among the rafters.

It wasn’t exactly the same sense of pride that came with applebuck season done and over with, but Applejack smiled and moved closer as the others took in Pinkie, Applejack and the Cakes’ handiwork. Snow-white spray decorated the goods displays along the walls, white and midnight-blue balloons strained against their bonds, and decorative stars hung from the ceiling to give the room a winter’s night theme. In one corner, Pinkie had set up a seating area with seven comfortable cushions around a low table, a firefly lantern in the middle serving as a campfire.

Pinkie nodded vigorously. “That was all me, and all Applejack, and Mr. and Mrs. Cake! Isn’t it great? It’s all winter-y and cozy, and you can even eat the shiny blue stars if you want!”

Applejack blinked, as this was certainly news to her. Rainbow Dash leaned close to one of the glossy ornaments and sniffed it, poking it with a hoof.

“Uh. No you can’t,” Applejack said. “I brought those. They’re from our Hearth’s Warming ornament box. They go on the tree.”

“Oh. Oops. I already ate two.” Pinkie giggled and hopped from the group over to the snack table. “Well, there’s plenty of other things to eat! Crisps, cake, cupcakes, chocolate rolls—”

“And what appears to be a large bowl of assorted kitchen utensils.” Rarity leaned a little closer. “Is this some new thing from Prance?”

“No, that’s Applejack’s idea. I have no idea why, but I think it looks really pretty right there.” Pinkie beamed. “Like a vase without flowers, but pizza cutters and spoons instead!”

“Right. Had my head in the clouds for a bit,” Applejack muttered. “Hey, why don’t we get this party started, huh?”

Pinkie wasted exactly no time in darting over to the gramophone, squinting with ferocious concentration while she adjusted the volume up. Then, after a glance up at the stairs that led to the second floor, turned it down again just a little bit. She bounced on the spot and turned around, grinning wide.

“Come on, let’s shake it!” she declared. Spike zipped over to the snack table right away, and Rainbow Dash tried to be subtle about the way she gave the hanging ornaments just the tiniest of licks. Applejack held her breath and waited for the others to spread out, praying they would act normal. It was too late now, and she found herself hoping they’d keep her betrayal.

“What’s wrong?”

Applejack stiffened up and nearly swallowed her tongue. If she felt any relief when she noticed it wasn’t her being addressed by Pinkie, it was gone when she spotted Pinkie advancing on Fluttershy over by the door. Twilight and Rarity were over by the low table, but Fluttershy hadn’t moved an inch. Applejack stared in abject horror.

“I—um. Nothing,” Fluttershy stammered.

“Nuh-uh!” Pinkie said, frowning. “You usually always go for half a muffin, and then you head to sit for a little bit before you join us in dancing or whatever else we do. I mean, not that I watch you all the time every party. Well. Okay, maybe I do.” She giggled and tilted her head. “You okay, Fluttershy?”

“Oh, yes,” Fluttershy said, scuffing the ground. “I am okay, but—”

Applejack trotted over, putting a leg around Pinkie’s neck whilst grinning as broad as she could. It felt like her face would split in two. “Ah, don’t mind her. She’s probably just brewing on a little cold on account of all the snow and all, and the poor thing doesn’t want to be a bother. You know Fluttershy!” Applejack nudged Pinkie in the ribs. Fluttershy didn’t even have time to react before Pinkie was upon her.

“Oh my gosh! We have to get you warm and well enough so you can have snowball fights with us this weekend!” Pinkie gasped, galloping straight across the room to root around in a cupboard and returning inside of a second. She tossed a blanket over Fluttershy’s back, and then another, ushering the softly protesting pony towards the seating area.

“Come! We should go sit around the campfire to warm up! Well, it’s not really a fire, but you know that. The only fire we have here is in the kitchen, and that’s only when I forget—”

Applejack wiped her brow and let out a sigh of relief. It was a quarter to four. The party hadn’t even started, and already she could feel her hairs graying.

“I think I’ll be okay. Really,” Fluttershy said, trying for the fourth time to wiggle out from under her blankets. It was made a little more difficult by the cramped space around the low table, and practically impossible by Pinkie Pie’s ministrations.

“Nuh-uh!” Pinkie said, leaning over to bite down on the blankets, pulling them back up until they were snug around the pegasus’ form again, ending it with a nuzzle. “We need you back to one-hundred and ten percent by the weekend!”

“You shouldn’t say that,” Spike said, shooting a glance Twilight’s way while munching on a donut. “Last time I said something was over a hundred percent, I got a long lecture on how that’s impossible.”

“Oh please. I understand exaggerating for effect just fine, and it’s not always impossible, but you said that you wanted over one hundred percent rubies in your gemstone cereal.” Twilight rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Sure it does, it just means he wants more gems,” Dash shrugged.

“Fhee’?” Spike said, mouth full of donut. Rarity winced and scooted a little closer to Pinkie Pie to escape the spray.

“Percentages are so last year anyway,” Pinkie giggled. “I think this party has been at least nine eighths fantastic!”

Twilight’s left eye twitched.

“It’s been lovely,” Fluttershy agreed. “You did a wonderful job with the decorations.” She smiled at Pinkie Pie and Applejack both in turn.

“Aw. You always say that,” Pinkie said, bouncing in her seat.

“Perhaps because it’s always true?” Rarity replied matter-of-factly. “Regardless, I must agree, even for you, you’ve really outdone yourself on the theme this time.”

“That’s just because I wanted this to be the best party yet,” Pinkie replied. She bit her lower lip and cast her eyes skywards—or ceilingward, as was the case.

“You say that every time too,” Dash said.

“Well, that’s because this time, it’s really true!” Pinkie said, perking up again.

“You say that every—ah, forget it.” Dash’s snort triggered a burst of laughter, and Applejack grinned when she saw Fluttershy take advantage of Pinkie Pie being distracted to slip out of her covers. The pegasus sighed in relief and wiped her brow.

At some point, she’d stopped worrying. Sure enough, there had been a few hiccups along the road; Twilight kept asking Pinkie Pie how she was, and Rarity looked like she really wanted to say or ask something, but those things had passed from concerns to background noise. Somewhere along the line, Applejack had ceased worrying about all of her friends, about Pinkie Pie’s reactions, and about trying to watch everything that had happened. She’d wandered from her post at the snack table into the thick of it, and time had disappeared.

There had been dancing, laughter, and more than one round of pin the tail of the pony, the crowning moment being when Rainbow Dash quietly opened the front door and pointed Pinkie straight towards it, ending with a very snowy Pinkie Pie and a lot of giggles. Now, they all sat crowded around the small table, and with the lights dimmed, it truly looked like they were outside—so long as you didn’t look too closely, or questioned the presence of the snack table.

“Hey, anypony for another round of games?” Pinkie asked.

“I don’t know, I should probably go grab a nap or something,” Dash said, leaning back to try to grab a peek out a window. There was precious little to see except darkness. “I’m getting kinda tired.”

“That, or you’re just mighty sore you got beat last round of Mistress of the Mountain,” Applejack said. She didn’t even try to hold back the grin.

Dash scowled. “Hey, next time we’re playing, we’re having a bet, and when I win, I want one of the cider bottles I know you’re hiding.”

“I ain’t hiding them, they’re private reserves for the Apple family. Besides, what d’you have that I want?” Applejack rolled her eyes, rising to stand and stretch her legs. All around the table, the others did the same. As sad as it was to say goodbye, Rainbow Dash had a point. It was getting late.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not losing again.”

“Right.” Applejack snickered, trotting alongside the others towards the door. Spike must’ve fallen asleep at some point, judging by the way Twilight had put him face down on her back, and back over by the table, Applejack spotted Pinkie Pie trying to put a blanket around Fluttershy by way of an impromptu cloak. Fluttershy shook her head, speaking too softly for Applejack to hear, but Pinkie Pie would hear none of it, unceremoniously pushing Fluttershy towards the door wearing a polka-dotted cover.

“Thank you guys so much for coming!” Pinkie Pie said. “I had a great time. I guess I’ll see you all at Rainbow Dash’s picnic party winter snowball fight thing?”

“Well, I do hope we will speak before then, but certainly,” Rarity said, leaning over for a quick hug. “Until then!”

“Take care, Pinkie Pie,” Twilight said, nuzzling the earth mare before trotting off.

“Later!” Dash called, soon after followed by Fluttershy’s ‘good night.’

Applejack said nothing, herself. Beyond the door, her friends trotted in the same general direction, but rather than follow, she stayed put with Pinkie Pie. She knew she should offer to stay and clean up. Now that she’d helped set up the mess in the first place, she felt responsible. Besides, it would provide the perfect opportunity to tell the truth. It was just terribly hard to decide whether that was an argument for or against staying.

“So, d’you wanna help me clean stuff up?” asked Pinkie Pie as if she could read her mind. It was a question Applejack couldn’t ever remember being asked before.

“Yeah. Sure,” Applejack said. The second she’d spoken, she knew it had been the right thing to do. Reluctance warred with relief, but it was infinitely preferable to accepting she could live with a lie.

Pinkie was already over by the snack table. A single cupcake was left, along with one or two of each of the other treats, rounded off by a half-eaten doughnut on the corner table. Pinkie Pie meticulously slid the snacks from each plate onto the biggest one. It was almost absurd to see Pinkie doing something so mundane by hoof and snout alone when she’d always thought perhaps the pink mare hid a horn in her mane with which to cast her party-cleanup spell.

“I told’em.”

It really was that simple. Something came loose, and Applejack breathed a sigh of relief. For how long had she been carrying that tension in her neck?

Pinkie Pie said nothing. She glanced over at Applejack, tilted her head quizzically, and reapplied herself. All the remaining food gathered on one tray, she hopped up to land on the table almost without a sound. Applejack waited for a reply, watching Pinkie stretch up on two hooves to pluck down one of the ornamental stars. She looked so very different in the faint light, the music long since silent. There were a million things that were just so exquisitely Pinkie Pie, and the way she balanced up to reach the rafters like it was nothing, that was one of those things.

One of many things about her friend she hardly deserved until she made her understand. “I told them what the party was for. What it was really for. Fluttershy, Twilight, Rarity and Rainbow Dash. I’m sorry.” Applejack held her breath. Waited for something to fill the void of her release.

Again, Pinkie Pie gave her a look that said nothing. A glance and a smile. When she’d plucked a few of the stars from the sky, she hopped down from the table and bit down on the snack tray. Applejack chewed her tongue and waited, watched while she trotted over to corner table. Pinkie placed the near-empty crisp bowl onto the tray with the snacks and left it there. The fireflies of her lamp were nearly all asleep, and the light was faint.

“Oh,” she finally said. In her high-pitched voice lacked none of the usual mirth and lilt. “I guess that explains why Fluttershy kept saying she was sorry and then apologising for nothing at all when I asked what she meant, huh?”

“Yeah, probably,” Applejack said. One of her knees itched. She scratched it back.

“And it’s why Twilight grabbed me when I was heading to the little fillies room and told me that one story about the time her grandfather passed away!”

“Uh, I guess.”

“And that totally explains why Dash was even more dasharrific than usual, but kept looking at me when she didn’t think I was looking, and Rarity, why—”

Applejack hung her head. “Right. I get it. You knew, huh?”

“I kinda noticed,” Pinkie giggled. She nosed a few of the cushions together, and after a moment’s deliberation, put them atop one another, perching on top of a tower of cushions. “Hey, I don’t know about you, but I could totally go for another cupcake! You want one?”

Applejack gave a weak chuckle and looked away, but there wasn’t a whole lot else to see. The other lamps were dark, and the windows reported nothing but black. The world was reduced to Pinkie Pie with her island of sugary goods, and Applejack in shadow. “I don’t think so. I best get going, you know?”

Pinkie pouted and sank down on her little throne, stretching one foreleg as far as it would go but failing to reach the tray she’d put at the centre of the table. “Aw, but you have to help. I really want a cupcake! The one in the middle with the blue cream!”

She meant to protest. She really did. Applejack thought up variations on no, a comment on how silly Pinkie was being, but she couldn’t find it in her heart to speak any of them. Few were the moments when the staunch earth mare lacked in confidence, but being caught out so completely sure helped.

“Alrighty then,” Applejack muttered, but try as though she might, a smile lurked at the corner of her muzzle. There was something delightful about the ridiculousness of the whole situation. Pinkie Pie kept wriggling and stretching, making a big show of failing to reach the pastry tray, all until Applejack finally sat down at her side. When Applejack pulled the tray closer, Pinkie Pie merely clopped her hooves together and waited.

“What now?” Applejack asked.

“Can’t reach!” Pinkie said, somehow managing to sit on her forehooves without falling off the stacked cushions. She opened her muzzle wide and grinned.

“Sometimes, I think you’re a few apples short of a bushel,” Applejack laughed. Making a big show of rolling her eyes, she held the single remaining cupcake up on a hoof. Pinkie Pie struck like a snapping turtle, and the cupcake was gone. Applejack wiped her now drool-covered hoof on her flank.

“Charming as ever.”

Pinkie stuck her tongue out, steadying herself and her wobbling tower. “You know, you can leave if you really want to. I can probably eat by myself. Besides, there’s not a lot to clean up. The Cakes liked the snow spray on their displays, and I can come by tomorrow with the Hearth’s Warming stuff you brought.”

Applejack shifted a bit so she could lean back against the wall. She didn’t need to look at Pinkie to know her expression was unchanged. She could hear in her voice that she was smiling, and that it was a sincere sort of smile to boot. No comment on what Applejack had done. Pinkie brushed it under the carpet, but it brought no relief. Rather, it made her angry. It wasn’t how stuff worked.

“I don’t get it. You oughta be mad at me. You should be spittin’ fire,” Applejack said. The itch only grew, and the air tasted sour.

“Silly, I’m not—”

“I know you ain’t a dragon or a lizard or whatever, so quit it!” Applejack groaned. She was back up on all fours before she knew it herself, rounding on the pink pony who still wouldn’t let go of her smile. “This ain’t funny. Not now, please.”

Applejack stood still as can be, breathing loudly as she stared Pinkie down. Finally, Pinkie’s lips quivered the tiniest bit. She’d made a dent in her mood, made her react, and Applejack instantly wished she could take back all she’d said. All she’d ever done.

“Are you angry with me?” Pinkie asked. Her voice was as thin as it had never been before. “Did I make you angry for real?”

Applejack sat and clenched her eyes shut. “No. No I ain’t. Not now at least.” She let out a sigh. “You got it all backwards. You’re the one s’posed to be angry with me. I spilled your secret. I told everypony.”

A rustle. Four hooves impacted on the floorboards, and Applejack felt Pinkie Pie move a little closer without touching.

“Why would I be mad? Everything turned out fine. Everypony looked like they had a really great time, and I’m sure Granny Pie would be super happy with it. She loved winter!”

“I’m glad to hear that, I really am, but I had one thing to do, and I couldn’t do even that right because I thought I knew better.” Applejack bit back a bitter chuckle. “I figured ‘cause we’re all friends that they deserved to know, but it weren’t my call to make at all. Never was.”

Applejack leaned back until her head made a satisfying thunk against the wall behind her. How stupid she’d been. “Way back when I didn’t know you as well as I do now, I used to think you were all inconsiderate. That you never think about anypony but yourself. Heck, for a second, I thought you just wanted to shirk your duties to your family just yesterday. Fact of the matter is, you just wanted to do this your own way.”

Pinkie Pie made a small noise of protest, but Applejack pressed on. “I admire that. Just as much as I feel a fool now for doubting you. Now I’m the one who’s bein’ an inconsiderate buffoon.”

The silence held for a few seconds. Applejack felt a hoof on her withers.

“Um, well. You did have a point—” Pinkie began.

“It wasn’t my call to make!” Applejack said. It came out a little louder than she’d meant, but still she fixed Pinkie Pie with a glare.

A look Pinkie Pie, apparently, was happy to return. Pinkie’s eyes narrowed, and she moved her hoof from Applejack’s withers up to her forehead. Applejack was so surprised, she didn’t know what to do except follow it with her own eyes—until Pinkie gave a very light push. Applejack toppled onto her side with a yelp.

“Wha—”

“No!” Pinkie said, hopping onto the table to glare down at her. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to be angry with yourself. I forbid it!”

Applejack barely had the presence of mind to breathe. If anypony had ever before tried to tell her Pinkie Pie could be scary, she would’ve laughed them straight in the face. Right now, the portion of her that felt like laughing shriveled up and hid while Pinkie Pie leaned in.

“You said it yourself, if anypony here is supposed to be angry, it’s me! Yeah, I told you not to tell, but guess what? Sometimes, ponies slip up. Sometimes ponies do silly things, and I should know, because I do that a lot. I was a little bit sad, but you had a point. It wasn’t a teensy-weensy point, it was a big huge point—” Pinkie paused her glare to scratch her muzzle as she thought, but to her credit, she picked right up where she left off. “—actually, lots of good points, and you were right. You’re all my friends, and it was silly not to tell, and maybe I should have.”

Applejack nodded as slowly as she could, clutching her hat to her belly. “And I am sorry. I ain’t got no excuse.”

Pinkie shrugged off her angry look like a dusting of snow and hopped down to land at Applejack’s side, nuzzling her. “S’okay! Apology accepted. If you’re really really super sorry, you can come help me next week when I’m baking three hundred muffins for Ponyville Hospital. I would love some help!”

Finally, with those two magical words—apology accepted— came the relief she had been craving. Applejack let out a slow sigh, deflating with it until she imagined what was left of her could be hung to dry on a rack. She picked herself up off the ground and gave a shuddering nod. “Right. You can count on me for that. You say the time and place and I’m your mare for the day.”

“Good! Aw, thanks!” Pinkie said, grinning wide. She leaned over to finish off a half-eaten treat and give the firefly lantern a nudge that barely helped. “You know you don’t really have to.”

“I ain’t doing it as penitence or what-have-you. I’m doing it ‘cause I want to,” Applejack said, and once her brain caught up to her mouth she realised how true it was. Spending an evening with Pinkie didn’t feel like much of a punishment.

“I tried asking Rainbow Dash too, but she said she didn’t know how to bake muffins. I told her it’s super easy, but then she told me the story of what happened the last time she tried to bake something that needed an oven, and I thought we’d hang out some other day instead.”

“Yeah. Some ponies just ain’t meant to bake,” Applejack chuckled. “Same goes twice for Twilight.”

“I thought that was why Princess Celestia sent Spike with her,” Pinkie said. She giggled and reached for the last of the turnovers. “Aw. I’m sure we could teach her to bake. Maybe.”

“Wouldn’t count on that.” Applejack shook her head. “So. Uh. You think I was right?”

“Yeah!” Pinkie said, halting mid-nod a second later with her tongue sticking out of her mouth. “Wait, actually, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Right about what? Probably!”

“Tellin’ people,” Applejack said. “D’you think you’ll tell the Cakes?”

Pinkie Pie shrugged. “Oh! Sure? Maybe before the party next year? I don’t think there’s a lot to tell right now. I’m okay, thanks to you.” She leaned in for a hug which Applejack happily returned. “Do you think I should? There’s not a whole lot to tell when I’m over it, it’s like inviting ponies to a party that’s already happened.”

Applejack shrugged. “I don’t know. I always thought they were your second family, if you don’t mind me sayin’, and I know it’d be odd for me to tell something to my friends and not to my family. If you’re through with this, if you’re feelin’ better now—” she shook her head and tried to keep her face blank. “—then a’course I’m happy for you.”

“Sarsaparilla?”

Applejack must’ve blinked. From where Pinkie had pulled the two still-cold bottles, she couldn’t really tell, but she accepted it all the same. Applejack put her teeth to work on the bottle cap, and Pinkie hugged her own bottle close, head turned skywards while she thought.

“Sure, I’ll tell them, then! I guess they worried a lot, huh?”

“Lettin’ them know you’re okay at least is a nice idea,” Applejack agreed.

“Why is it less okay if I don’t tell the Cakes, though? I don’t think it matters a whole lot that they’re Mr. and Mrs. Cake. I think it would be just as important or unimportant if they were called Carrot Pie and Pumpkin Pie, or Mr. Tumblebottom and Mrs. Warblesnout. I should’ve told everypony who’s important to me, really!”

Applejack swilled the drink around in her mouth before swallowing. “Right. Just mean to say I heard you saying they’re kind of like family to you.”

Pinkie Pie tilted her head sideways. “Sure, but they’re not Pies, they’re Cakes, but that doesn’t matter ever anyway! How’s that any different from when you said that we—you know, me and Fluttershy and all of us—were honorary Apple family members? You remember that, don’t you? You did!”

Applejack went for a second swig. It wasn’t that she disagreed. She just didn’t have a whole lot to say to that. All of her friends, they were kin to her, and she couldn’t imagine life without any one of them.

“And besides,” Pinkie said. “I don’t know who said it, but I think somepony or maybe lots of ponies said that friends are just the family you choose, and I love my mom and dad lots, but I love you and all the friends I’ve made here in Ponyville just as much, so it doesn’t matter.”

“‘Course,” Applejack muttered. She couldn’t tell which way the words rubbed her, but still she found herself unable to agree quite so simply. “S’just different. Some things are different.”

“Nuh-uh. Everything is different! Some families are the kinds of families you’re born with, some families are the kind of families you decide on, and there’re even more kinds of families just waiting to be discovered, just like how there’re a bunch of different friendships, too!”

“Family is family,” Applejack said. A pointless repeat of her own words, and she didn’t really know what she wanted to say. She’d meant it when she named her friends kin, but making it more complicated than that, it opened the word family up to so many other things. Trying to add to it made her own little family on the farm smaller by comparison, and she didn’t need the core tenets of her life muddied right now. Not when she already felt a nagging twinge of guilt over how simply she could take any opportunity to leave the farm. Usually she’d have to check twice that everything was in order before she left, but this morning she’d been out the door with nary a backwards glance.

For a second she feared Pinkie might protest, watching her friend’s face transition from frown to squint to she didn’t even know what, but she said nothing. Pinkie Pie poked the tableside firefly lamp. When her hoof-prod yielded no response, she leaned in close with her snout to pout. “Aw. I guess they’re all going to sleep now,” she said. One lone firefly flitted around inside the glassy confines, and Applejack made to stand.

“Um, before you go? One teensy little thing?” Pinkie said. “I really thought you were going to laugh when I said I wanted to throw a party for Granny Pie. You didn’t. Thanks.”

Applejack lifted a leg to roll her shoulder, shifting on the spot. “Yeah, well, don’t thank me too much. It was clear it was important to you, so I don’t see why I’d laugh anyway, but still I almost did.”

“But you didn’t.” Pinkie nuzzled her cheek, leaving a smudge of pink warmth that lingered.

No Friend to That Word

It wasn’t often, but at times, Applejack found herself wishing that some of the things that needed doing around the farm weren’t quite so brainless. Sure, she’d be the first to defend physical labour, seven days out of seven in a week she would, but today she wondered if there was something that could seize all of her attention at once and not leave her time to think. Inspecting all the family’s glass jars for next zap apple season certainly wasn’t it. Applejack held another empty container up against the window, checking for cracks.

She just couldn’t let it go. The glass jar, certainly, but lately, some thoughts pitched a tent in her brain and plain refused to leave. She sighed and shifted over to the next box of jars. Outside, she could hear Apple Bloom and her friends playing. At her side, Granny Smith re-inspected the very same jar Applejack had checked two seconds ago.

If somepony had told Applejack years ago that Fluttershy would stare down a dragon, she’d have laughed them plain in the face. Still, it had happened, and life went on. As much as Applejack had always known Fluttershy had it in her to be brave as anypony, the surprise and delight of seeing it had faded away the very next day. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same, wasn’t that how it went? Fluttershy still jumped at shadows, and they all knew she had a nugget of steel somewhere deep inside all the same, waiting to show when it was needed. A large crack ran down the side of the next jar. Applejack put it aside.

Similarly, she’d always known Pinkie Pie was—what was the word? Normal? No, absolutely not. Serious? Rarely. No, she came back to the word real. She’d never laugh her off without good cause, because friends wouldn’t ever do that. She’d known Pinkie could be real long before last weekend and all the craziness that followed. Still, seeing it had changed everything, and she didn’t know what to make of this new Pinkie who was different, yet still the very same. Pinkie Pie who had confided in her. It was a done deal, so why couldn’t she let it all go like she had every time any of her friends had grown? She put the next jar aside without even looking at it, and a pair of green hooves seized it before she’d even put it down.

“Y’know, I can do this just fine on my own,” Granny Smith said.

Applejack shook her head, reaching into the box for another few jars. She smiled as she put them down between herself and her gran. “Nah. Just thinking.”

Granny Smith raised a brow with meticulous slowness. “I’d be twice again as worried if you weren’t thinkin’ at all, but I know the look of a filly what don’t really want to do what she’s doin’.”

It was tempting to agree, to admit she’d rather be elsewhere. It was tempting like it had no business being. She could head to Twilight’s place and talk about something—anything. It was a surefire way to put her head to work. “Hey Twi. How’re you? Say, heard anythin’ new from that science newsletter of yours?”

Except, that wasn’t at all what she wanted to do. She could put that off until she was done with these jars. Heading over to see what Pinkie Pie was up to, however, that was different. Applejack’s smile widened a little bit, but again she shook her head.

“This needs doin’. You start putting off little things like these, before you know it half a year has passed and we ain’t got a single jar for zap apple jam.”

“Am I bein’ unclear, missy? I got these jars under control, so you can either sit here and mess up all my hard work, or you can scram, young’un!”

Applejack opened her mouth to protest Granny Smith’s decree, but no matter how many years went by, she still could never tell when her elder said something in jest or in threat. It was the same squinted glare.

“Right. But I’m telling Big Mac out in the yard to help out if he sees you fall asleep here,” Applejack said.

“You tell’m I’ll fall asleep when pigs can fly,” Granny Smith retorted, holding a jar up with a single, surprisingly steady hoof. Applejack didn’t bother replying, a chuckle on her lips as she made for the door only to pause there.

She should’ve protested again. For how many years had they done this? Why was it this easy to call it a day and shirk her duties? “Actually—” she began, turning around, only to find Granny Smith fast asleep with her forehead resting on a stack of empty glass jars.

Nothing to it, then. Applejack drew a deep breath and failed not to let a small smile show as she opened the door, making for Sugarcube Corner at a brisk trot. There weren’t a whole lot of other things to be done this week anyway, and if Pinkie Pie was busy today, she could see what she was up to the day after. Or she could ask what she was up to tomorrow regardless and check the fences around the farm next week instead.

“Come on slowpokes. All the snow’s gonna melt before we get there! Get your flanks moving! High-tail it!”

Applejack rolled her eyes at Rainbow Dash’s command, and that was about as much a response as Dash got from any of them. She’d tried to hurry them along every few minutes since they left Ponyville long before noon, but the train of ponies moved at its own pace. Five ponies and one baby dragon slogged through the snow, chatting and laughing, and Rainbow Dash would inevitably groan and rejoin them on the ground, laughing along until she remembered she was supposed to hurry them up.

Applejack stole a glance behind her at all her friends wading through the chest-high snow. They were making good progress towards Quarter Hill, and the popular summer picnic spot was every bit as beautiful in winter. The slopes and the trees were laden with puffy snow, and Rainbow Dash had arranged for a cloudless, sunny day. Ponyville was reduced to a few tall rooftops and a clocktower cresting the hilltops behind them.

“Do you need a break?” Twilight asked when she caught her eye. Applejack stopped for a second to adjust her saddlebags and shook her head.

“Nah. This is easy going. Don’t you mind me.” All the others had their own things to carry, and somepony had to march in front to make it easier going for the others. It might as well be her. An image of Twilight taking her stead popped into her mind, the slight librarian trying to forge a path while laden with saddlebags. It would probably end in tears—or with Twilight casting a spell to melt all the snow in Ponyville all at once. Applejack tried to keep her giggles to a minimum and her gaze forward.

“What’re you laughing at? Did you think of a joke?” Pinkie asked, bouncing higher and higher behind her with each word until her saddlebags threatened to jump clean off. “Is it about how messy things get when you forget to put the lid on the blender when you’re making surprise-everything-I-can-find-in-the-cupboards breakfast? Because that’s not a joke!”

“Yeah, and it didn’t taste like much, either,” Applejack said, sticking her tongue out. “How about next time we meet for breakfast, you let me handle it? And speaking of messes, I’ve been meaning to tell you, next time you’re hosting a party of some sort, you let me know if you need help cleaning up afterwards again, ‘cause I sure don’t mind.”

“Sure!” Pinkie giggled. “And I’ll also let you know if I’m bored tomorrow, because breakfast was fun today, and hanging out was super-terrific!”

“Wait, do you mean the party last week? Did you want help cleaning up?” Fluttershy asked. The third mare in their little convoy leaned to the side, seeking their eyes. “Oh no, you need to let us know these things! I just assumed—goodness, I don’t know what I thought, sorry, but you never ask for help with that! Should we be the ones asking, maybe? Were we rude?”

Applejack grinned back. “I wouldn’t recommend it for the faint of heart, sugarcube. Cleanin’ up is mighty tricky business, and Pinkie’s right scary when she’s angry, I’ll tell you that.” Pinkie gave a sheepish little smile, and Fluttershy blanched.

“I don’t understand—”

“Ooh, I think we’re here!” Pinkie bounced right past Applejack when they crested the hill they had spent the past few minutes climbing. Given a break from the almost featureless white of their ascent, they all fanned out, and Spike hopped off Twilight’s back, almost disappearing in the snow when he did.

Quarter Hill was easily the largest hill in Ponyville’s environs. At the end of a long and gentle slope below rested the naked trees belonging to the Whitetail Woods to which the hill bordered, and from here they could see all the way to Ponyville. Rarity rolled her neck and levitated her saddlebags off, and Twilight lit her horn to set about clearing an area, packing the snow with a light touch of magic. Much as it was cheating, Applejack didn’t mind when it led to a better time for them all, and within a minute, everyone had shed all of their baggage except for winter clothing.

“Incoming!” yelled Rainbow Dash. Applejack barely had the time to turn before the world exploded in a puff of snow. She clenched her eyes shut and wiped her face.

“Right. Real funny, Rainbow,” Applejack said, barely heard over Rainbow Dash’s peals of laughter. Pinkie Pie was already packing up a snowball far too large to throw in any useful manner. “How ‘bout we get started on the necessities first, huh?”

“The what? This is literally the only ‘necessity,’” Dash said, making air quotes with her wings. “This is what it’s all about! Fun! Snowball fights and everything. Twilight said she could magic up some sleighs to ride, too!”

“Fun is good,” Pinkie agreed. “I love fun!”

“I think what Applejack means is that we should secure some firewood,” Twilight said, a small notebook hovering in front of her. “Applejack brought some kindling, so we just need some wood from the edge of the Whitetail. It’s point number one on the list. Besides, I can’t make sleighs or anything else without base materials.”

Dash blinked.

“That would be wood, again,” Rarity said.

“Oh come on, can’t we just forget about all this stupid planning for once—” Dash began.

“Right. Fire! ‘Cause we’re roasting marshmallows later!” Pinkie said, peeking around the side of her “snowball” now the size of a cart.

“I did bring a small kettle if we wanted to make some tea, too,” Fluttershy added. “I brought everypony’s favourites, I think. Oh, I hope so, at least.”

All activity ceased for a second. Rainbow Dash’s wings were all that moved other than Rarity rooting around in her saddlebags.

“We should get some firewood,” Dash said, nodding briskly.

“Excellent suggestion, oh so clever expedition leader,” Applejack said, emptying her saddlebags before putting them back on. “I’ll make the trek down over to the woods then.”

“Right. Let’s go. It’ll be too slow if it’s just you,” Dash said, landing at Applejack’s side.

“I will go as well,” Rarity said, fishing a pair of sunglasses out from her saddlebags before finally trotting after them. Applejack shrugged and nodded, setting off down the slope, glad enough for the company.

“Just make sure y’all get a fire pit or something ready by the time we get back, shouldn’t be long!” she called.

“Oh, we’ll be ready,” Pinkie said, tongue sticking out of the side of her muzzle as she set about rolling up another snow-boulder.

“Glad that’s not creepy and foreboding at all,” Dash said, hovering backwards in the air. She frowned up at the hilltop as the trio forged ahead down into the valley where the forest lay.

“‘Foreboding’?” Applejack asked, laughing. “You’re still picking up words from—”

“Hey, that one’s not in the word-a-day calendar Twi gave me!” Dash snapped. Applejack shook her head, chuckling still all until she realised she was the only one laughing. Dash put on a solid grumpy act, which was fine, but Rarity looked very much like she wanted to speak.

“What?” Applejack asked.

“Oh. Nothing,” Rarity said, suddenly more interested in the trees ahead, in the sky and absolutely everything else. Applejack fixed her with a hard stare.

“I just noticed you have been spending quite a bit with Pinkie Pie this week, that’s all. One notices these things,” Rarity said.

“So what if she does?” Dash asked. “I pretty much lived over at Twi’s when I was reading through the Daring Do books.”

“Oh yes, of course.” Rarity smiled, following in the tracks made by Applejack with her head held high. Applejack sighed. She may have a heart of gold, but of course there was more than one reason for Rarity electing to help carry firewood.

“We’re having fun,” Applejack said, shrugging. “I just got to thinking she ain’t that complicated once you think about it. Ain’t like she’s a pony from outer space who doesn’t make a lick of sense. ‘Least not more than half the time. She laughs and cries like the rest of us.”

Still Rarity gave her that odd, piercing look, though she smiled pleasantly all the while. “I don’t mean to take anything away from you, dear, but I don’t think anypony would ever try to convince you she didn’t.”

Applejack was glad she walked ahead of the others, because she had no idea what her face showed. There was no humor or smugness in Rarity’s voice to make Applejack feel stupid for having gone off on a little rant, only genuine curiosity.

“Right. Just saying it. Making conversation, I guess,” Applejack muttered, slowing down a little. The edge of the Whitetail Woods was well enough defined, and the barren trees crowded all around them. Winter wasn’t quite so deep yet that there weren’t bare patches around the trunks. “Let’s see if we can’t find some wood and all.”

“Oh. You intend to carry our firewood in those?” Rarity asked, eyes wide and fearful as her eyes fixed on Applejack’s saddlebags.

“Well yeah.” Applejack glanced back at them to see if she’d missed anything. “They’re the saddlebags you made for me. Something wrong with’em?”

“Oh. No, no, just, ah.” Rarity sucked on her teeth. “No. I suppose if there’s a hole, I could mend it, but these are works of art.”

Rainbow Dash glanced left, then right, already in the process of stuffing fallen bits of wood in her new winter hat. Rarity clenched her eyes shut and grimaced, pointedly turning away.

“Well, it’s that, or trying to balance a bunch’a branches and twigs on our backs,” Applejack said. “This shouldn’t take long anyway.”

Finding branches that were dry enough wasn’t the easiest of tasks, but that was why she’d brought kindling anyway. So long as they weren’t dug up from under the snowy blanket, they would suffice. Rarity winced and made little noises as though each piece of wood added to Applejack’s saddlebags stabbed at her, but when Applejack suggested she could help carry twigs in her mane, she abated.

“Right. My hat’s full,” Dash declared. “Let’s go!”

“Yeah, and I can’t fit anything more or it’ll spill,” Applejack agreed turning her snout towards the edge of the forest and Quarter Hill, following the others.

“Oh hey, I forgot,” Dash said when they approached the top of the hill. “I’m practicing some stuff on Thursday. I got new moves that should be awesome with all this snow, low flying and everything. You wanna come watch?”

“So long as it’s not far off in the countryside, and if it’s after I close the boutique for the day, I would love to, dear,” Rarity said.

“Thursday afternoon?” Applejack asked. “Shoot, you sure you can’t do it the day after, or before? Me and Pinkie’re are busy that day. I made her a promise and I really can’t miss it.”

“If it means both you and Pinkie can’t make it, yeah, sure, Friday’s good too,” Dash shrugged and lowered herself down to land and trot after her friends as they neared the camp. Applejack squinted up at the hilltop. Something was different. There was a pronounced lip to the hill that hadn’t been there before, an outcropping of some sort.

“What is it you and Pinkie Pie plan on doing?” Rarity asked, watching her out of the corner of her eye.

“For Celestia’s sake, we’re just doing some baking for the hospital! Pinkie decided she wanted to do something nice, and she asked if I wanted to help. What now then?” Applejack asked. It came out a little sharper than she’d intended, and Rarity stopped in her tracks.

“Honestly, Applejack.” She sniffed and raised her snout. “I was asking a simple question, there’s no need to get defensive.”

Which was of course true. It was a simple question, and a simple date—or an appointment, whatever one would call it. If there was any annoyance, it was from worry over how much she looked forward to it. Thursday would roll around, and soon as she suspected she wasn’t needed at the farm, she’d head on over to Pinkie’s. Sometimes she wondered if there was something wrong with her. Family came first, but now she fled to town and to Sugarcube Corner the second she could. Such idle concerns weren’t Rarity’s fault, though.

“Right. Didn’t mean—” was about as far as she got before Rainbow Dash crashed to the ground next to them, sending up a plume of snow. A second later, a snowball smacked against Rarity’s chest, making the unicorn gasp.

“What the hay?” Rainbow Dash yelled, her head popping up from the snow.

Up ahead, the others had put together a snow fort, and now their friends lined the walls of the hastily assembled defenses. Despite the distance, Applejack could easily make out Pinkie Pie’s huge grin as Spike handed her another snowball. At Twilight’s side, a half-dozen perfect white spheres hovered, and Fluttershy perched atop the fort with a foreleg extended, frozen post-throw.

“Oh goodness,” Fluttershy called, covering her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Rarity! I didn’t mean to hit you!”

Rainbow Dash’s eyes hardened and Rarity’s horn glowed. Applejack pawed at the ground and let out a snort to go with her grin.

“I really kept trying to miss, honest. I didn’t mean to hit any of you,” Fluttershy said. She sat by the merrily crackling campfire nursing a small cup of tea.

“Yeah, well, you’re really bad at that, then.” Rainbow Dash grumbled, one hoof in her left ear trying to dig the snow out. “I still say it was unfair. It was four on three.”

Applejack didn’t bother to even comment, accepting another proffered pastry from Pinkie Pie. Pinkie was making the rounds with edibles, and Fluttershy—when she wasn’t constantly apologising for her unerring accuracy—had a handle on the tea. The snowball fight had led to another, and after a brief round of sledding, Rainbow Dash had demanded a rematch, capitulating only when the sun was low on the horizon. Drenched through their coats, the blankets came out, and the firewood was being piled on.

“This was a great idea,” Spike said, rubbing his hands together and leaning closer to the fire. “Are there any more marshmallows?”

“Hey, I know!” Dash said, leaning over to tap Twilight on the head. “Twilight’s not the only one who’s got good ideas, you know.”

“I never said anything like that,” Twilight protested, shaking Dash’s hoof off. “But I will take full credit for organising the supplies for this trip.”

Rarity huffed, sipping her own tea. “Really. Is this something to squabble over?”

“I don’t think it qualifies as a squabble,” Twilight said. “It’s not even a disagreement.”

Pinkie nodded, taking a seat next to Applejack. “Yeah! Disagreements are like when ponies can’t decide who won the last sleigh race. That was a disagreement!”

“Oh. Um, can we not—” Fluttershy tried.

“Here we go again,” Applejack sighed.

“You need to say if I can’t use my wings! Jeez guys, how many times do I have to tell you? I didn’t even fly, I just added a little extra speed.” Dash stuck out her tongue.

Twilight smiled ever so sweetly. “Yes, well, by that token, I should be able to use my magic, but in the interest of a fair race, I didn’t.”

“Wouldn’t have made a difference.”

“Yes it would.” Twilight scoffed.

Fluttershy glanced between the two arguing parties, fidgeting with her hooves. “Girls? Can we please not fight?”

Rainbow Dash frowned at Twilight, but after a glance at Fluttershy, she deflated an inch. “We’re not fighting! I mean, I’m not. Just—come on!”

Twilight giggled and shook her head, reaching over to touch Fluttershy’s side, at which the pegasus smiled. “Sorry. It really doesn’t matter.” She extended her other hoof to Rainbow Dash, who shook it. “Friends?”

“Well duh,” Dash said, but the silence didn’t hold for longer than it took for her grin to return. “But now I really wanna know if you could beat me down the hill.”

Twilight smirked and put her cup down by the campfire, rising to stand. “Alright. Let’s do this.” Her magic enveloped one of the simple sleds stacked by the snowfort’s walls, and Dash cackled as she grabbed her own, following Twilight towards the edge of the hill.

“Oh, I wanna see this!” Spike said, running after them.

“I suppose they will want a neutral judge.” Rarity unfolded her sunglasses with a touch of magic. Fluttershy followed in Rarity’s wake without a word, leaving Applejack and Pinkie Pie alone.

Applejack couldn’t tell exactly why she didn’t go with them. The fire hardly needed watching, but Pinkie Pie made no move to leave either. They sat side by side while Pinkie Pie munched away at a scone of some sort. Applejack carefully worked the kettle off the fire to pour herself another cup of tea.

Aside from occasional yells and whoops from over the white walls of their little winter fortress, it was quiet, and Applejack was no stranger to comfortable silences. Sometimes, ponies spoke far too much when they’d get more said by keeping their muzzles shut. At least that was the case with most ponies. Pinkie Pie? Pinkie, she didn’t know about. It was odd to see her quiet. Pinkie smiled when she noticed Applejack looking at her, scooting a little closer to lie on her back, propped up against and looking up at Applejack.

“What’re you thinking about? You look like you’re thinking!” Pinkie said.

“Nothing much,” Applejack lied.

Wishing you’d speak, though about what, I don’t particularly know or care, she didn’t say. Wishing you’d knock on my door again, though of course I wouldn’t want you to ever be sad, never again, but part of me misses that evenin’ in the barn when you told me something special, something for me to hear alone. I miss that more than most things, I reckon.

“We ain’t so different,” Applejack said, chewing the inside of her cheek. She took another sip of too-hot tea.

Pinkie Pie tilted her head, dragging her mane along Applejack’s side with a rustle. Flecks of snow mixed with the pink hair, and her big blue eyes blinked once.

“Wow. I’ve never had anypony say that before. Most ponies say I’m very, very different,” Pinkie said, giggle-snorting.

Applejack meant to laugh, but it never amounted to more than a smile. “Maybe it’s ‘cause we’re both earth ponies. Heavens if I know. All I do know I don’t feel all that special what with the whole Honesty thing. Could’ve been you as easily as me. You’re as true to yourself as anypony.”

Pinkie Pie looked like she’d protest, like she’d laugh it off and make a humorous anecdote or other, but evidently she thought the better of it.

“It ain’t about lying or not,” Applejack said. She ran her tongue along her teeth, looked past the campfire as though she could cast her gaze over the hill. A loud cheer from Rainbow Dash, then silence. “R.D., Rarity—most of the others, sometimes they’ll try to tell you they’re something they’re not. Say they are what they want to be.” She waved a hoof. “I ain’t never said a bad word about any friend of mine, and I won’t start now ‘cause it don’t have to be a bad thing, but you ain’t never lied about who or what you are. You’re loud, you’re silly, you’re fun and you’re in everypony’s face, but you never tried to be anything what you ain’t, either.”

“Actually, once, I pretended to be a hay bale. Wait, no, not once. Lots of times, but sure!” Pinkie giggled and tapped one hoof with the other as she counted. “Hay bale, an apple, a cardboard box that one time I was spying on Fluttershy when I wondered what she was up to at night—wow, I don’t think I spend a lot of time being Pinkie Pie at all. I must be a natural!”

“You know what I mean. Least I think so,” Applejack said, but it was hard to tell just from looking at her as Pinkie continued counting all her disguises and tricks just the last few weeks. Still, experience told her that part of Pinkie listened and understood—which was why her own frustration made no sense to Applejack. She’d said her piece. There was exactly nothing more needed to be said on the matter, yet still she felt pent up. Applejack sighed and shifted to sit a little closer. Pinkie didn’t protest, spearing a few marshmallows for grilling.

“You know you’re always welcome on the farm, right?” Applejack asked. “I ain’t just saying that.”

“I know,” Pinkie said, smiling up at her. “And thanks! You can come visit Sugarcube Corner any time you’d like too, but you know that. Oh, but if you forgot, then hey, you can come by whenever!”

“Yeah.”

Applejack watched the campfire’s flames dance for a moment, but they showed nothing. Instead, she looked over at the pony who lay at her side, so intently focused upon making exactly these marshmallows the perfect treat. Pinkie’s tongue stuck out of the side of her mouth, and her eyes were narrowed. Every now and then, her tail would twitch.

She missed the closeness of that one evening in the barn. Pinkie had come to her, and she’d felt needed. Part of something—something different, and she finally understood how. It began with an itch, a tensing of her forelegs. Applejack tried to keep her breathing normal, but her heart rebelled, hammering in her chest as though she faced down a hundred timber wolves and a dragon to boot. It explained everything. It was why she couldn’t rest. Why she was pulled out of her own home and couldn’t seem to mind.

She’d fallen for Pinkie Pie.

“Marshmallow?”

A marshmallow poked her snout, leaving a creamy sugar-smudge on her muzzle. Pinkie Pie waved the grilling fork in front of her.

“No. No thanks.” Applejack shook her head and looked away, glad of it when she heard the others’ voices. Rainbow Dash was the first to come into view, and Applejack hurried to stand.

“Aw. But they’re sugar-licious! Am I gonna have to eat all of this myself?” Pinkie called after her, but Applejack broke into a gallop to meet Rainbow Dash, suddenly very interested in how the race had gone, to be done with the evening and get home.

The impact of her hooves on packed snow was drowned out by the thunder in her chest. She’d felt needed, and she felt a need, things that were the realm of family, but this was Pinkie Pie. She tried in her mind to place her on the farm, and she failed miserably. The mare who mixed tutti frutti with baked beans wouldn’t fit. Everything would change, and Applejack was no friend to that word.

Would Pinkie Pie even want the same as she? Could she give Pinkie Pie what she wanted? There was entirely too much she didn’t know. Chance, chance and change. Her brain latched on to that second word. Who was to say it would even work? She remembered all too vividly the day Big Mac came home one evening in spring, one friendship less.

A Mare of Her (Other) Words

“Y’know this is prob’ly unnecessary, sis.”

Applejack grunted and bit down on the handle, pulling one half of the hatch to the apple cellar open. It lay at a slight angle. Moving over to the side, she could see the hinge that caused it.

“It opens just fine,” Big Mac said. “Ain’t no sense in fixing this in winter when frost could make it break again just as easy.”

“Yeah, well, I bet you we won’t have time once spring comes, and then some varmints will figure out how to get in,” Applejack muttered, stepping around to stand on the first steps of the cellar hallway, leaning in close. “Next thing you know, any apples or cider we store here are gone.”

Big Mac sighed. “Now you know that ain’t gonna happen. Not since Miss Fluttershy gave’em a talking-to last time.”

Applejack didn’t answer, mostly because she knew her brother was right, but then, she’d already taken care of the snow that blocked the barn door from opening—despite there being precious little to do in the barn these days—and there’d been little snowfall since last weekend. After she’d mended the roof that didn’t actually leak and shored up the chicken coop that she’d built two months ago, it was hard to find things to do. She knew it was nonsense, and so did her brother.

“I can do this on my own if you have someplace you feel you oughta be instead,” she said, glowering. Being unfair and angry was so much easier than any of the options, and her brother was far too gentle a soul to protest. “That, or you go find me a screwdriver.”

“I ain’t got anywhere to be today.” The large stallion shrugged. “Didn’t Apple Bloom tell you Pinkie Pie asked if you’d like to come visit yesterday, though?”

“Yeah. Yesterday,” Applejack said. “And I was busy. You got a horn you’re thinking to magic over a screwdriver with, or are you gonna get going?”

Big Mac shook his head and started walking towards the farmhouse without a backwards glance, leaving Applejack to contemplate the hinge that needed three twists of a screwdriver. It was good for two more minutes of work, and then she’d need to find something else to do. Anything inside the farmhouse proper was right out. Granny Smith had tossed her out on her flank after the second day of tinkering with everything that would be tinkered.

Pinkie Pie had indeed asked her if she wanted to have lunch, and the day before, she’d thrown a party or other that Applejack had given a miss. It wasn’t that Applejack hadn’t left the farm this week, it was just very hard to do something without risking running into Pinkie Pie. She’d managed a few visits to Fluttershy, and once she’d popped by the library to see if Twilight needed help with anything, but that was about it.

She could see her brother leave the farmhouse, already on his way back. A moment later, soft wingbeats made her scan the skies, spotting a familiar yellow pegasus on the approach. Fluttershy slowly lowered herself to the ground, landing in front of Applejack.

“Sorry, am I disturbing?” Fluttershy asked, her eyes pointedly flitting between Applejack and the cellar. Applejack shook her head.

“You ain’t disturbing nothin’ more than some upkeep. How’re you doing?”

“Oh, I’m fine, thank you,” Fluttershy said, folding her wings. “I’m just on my way to Sugarcube Corner for some lunch, and I thought I’d ask if you wanted to come.”

“No thanks, I’m fine. Got some work here on the farm.” Applejack tried to keep her face blank and stay as neutral as she could, but something must’ve shown. Fluttershy may’ve been a gentle creature, but she wasn’t about to be taken aback by a simple “no.” Perhaps her voice had been a touch sour, then.

“Okay. Um. Well. I should probably get going,” Fluttershy said, scuffing the ground. “Are you okay?”

Applejack cast a glance over her shoulder. Big Mac was almost within earshot. She shook her head and smiled. A fake and ugly smile, no doubt.

“I’m fine, but I’m needed here at the farm, I’m sure you understand. Catch you later, Fluttershy.”

Fluttershy said no more, looking at her with big, unblinking eyes for another few seconds before she nodded and took off.

“Got the screwdriver, then?” Applejack asked without turning.

“Yup,” Big Mac said, stepping up to her side. He spat it out, the screwdriver leaving a neat little screwdriver-shaped hole in the snow. Neither of the Apple siblings so much as looked at it. Big Mac followed Fluttershy with his gaze where she disappeared over the treetops in the general direction of Ponyville. Applejack stared at nothing at all.

“You ever talk to Caramel much any more? Since, well. You know.”

Big Mac didn’t move an inch. “Nope. Why?”

“No reason.” Applejack spat.

“Ain’t much for us to say. It’s over and done with.” Her brother scratched the underside of his muzzle. He was unusually talkative today. “Weren’t much friends before, so why’d we be best of friends afterwards? Anyway. You headin’ into town? Want me to do this here fixin’ that you know doesn’t need doing?”

Part of her wanted to take him up on the offer, but she knew where her duties lay. Applejack cast a glance over her shoulder at the farm and at her family. At what she should be worrying about; the things she knew, trusted and could lean on. At that which stood unchanged.

“Nah,” Applejack said, rooting around in the snow for the screwdriver.

Some things were fixed and immutable. Certain things, Applejack observed without question simply because she knew that if she didn’t, her world could never be the same. Everypony had these fixed points, she assumed. Maybe Twilight had her morning coffee. That, or a need to ask “why” all the time. Rainbow Dash probably had some workout or training routine. Fluttershy? Maybe she measured herself by her own need to apologise for existing.

Applejack shook her head to clear that last thought, muttering an apology of her own though Fluttershy would never hear it. No need to let her own mood touch upon her friends. She forced herself to slow down to a trot. She’d sped up again. The closer she got to the centre of Ponyville, the faster she walked unless she checked herself, and there was no winning this battle. Either she moved faster than she felt she should, or she moved slower than she needed if she were to be on time.

To Applejack, her word was her anchor. If she said she would do something, she did it, and that was that. A promise wasn’t something to be given lightly. Last week, she promised she’d help Pinkie Pie with her little baking project. Sure enough, in the darkness of her own room she’d tried on a dozen different excuses to justify worming out of this, but even if she could—if she could somehow betray the very way she worked—it didn’t change the fact that Pinkie Pie counted on her.

Applejack raised her hoof to knock on Sugarcube Corner’s front door. The sun hung low on the horizon, and it was well past closing hours. Despite the lack of snowfall this week and heedless of the sunlight, it was especially cold, and there was a touch of wind that made the chill cut deeper.

She never got so far as to knock. The door opened with the merry jingle of a bell, and her hoof tapped Pinkie on the chest instead. Pinkie Pie giggled. “Hi! You’re not early. You’re not late, either. You’re actually exactly on time!” she said.

Pinkie Pie counted on her, and that mattered more than how much Applejack needed to not see Pinkie right now. More than how much she was keenly aware that she’d avoided her all week. More than how much she was sure Pinkie would have noticed.

“Evenin’,” Applejack said, nodding by way of greeting. She didn’t know if she should smile or try not to, but when Pinkie stepped aside, her hooves carried her inside with the same ease with which she stepped inside her own home. Pinkie closed the door behind them and led the way towards the kitchen, bouncing as she was wont to do.

“Come on! Let’s get to bakin’!” Pinkie cheered, her bushy tail disappearing through the kitchen door.

“Oh, there you are! Hello, Applejack,” Mrs. Cake said, poking her head down from the second-floor staircase. “I heard you were going to be helping Pinkie Pie with her charity project, and I just had to say thank you.”

Applejack tipped her hat at the older mare. “Nothin’ to it. I’ll make sure we leave the kitchen cleaner’n we found it for tomorrow, don’t you worry none. We’ll try to keep it down, too.”

“Don’t worry about that at all, dearie,” Mrs. Cake laughed. “We soundproofed most of the rooms when we knew we were going to have foals. As delightful as Pinkie’s songs can be, well, volume can be an issue.”

“Say no more, I completely understand,” Applejack chuckled, giving her a wave and trotting through to the kitchen. Pinkie Pie was already opening cupboards left and right, either at random in search of something, or simply determined to open absolutely every cupboard in the kitchen. Now she she trotted along the ground, now she balanced on a bench to open one of the top cupboards.

Applejack paused just past the doorway. She didn’t really want to speak up for fear of Pinkie Pie stopping. It was oddly fascinating watching the way she danced along and around the room. When Pinkie finally hopped off one of the centre counters, she was smiling wide, pulling two aprons out of a drawer and tossing one over to Applejack.

“Can’t help but notice,” Applejack said, wiggling her head through the the apron and turning her back to Pinkie. “That nothing’s set up. Benches are bare as a newborn filly’s flanks.”

She felt Pinkie’s snout and hooves visit her neck, then her back, tying the knots of her apron. Applejack licked her lips and closed her eyes for a spell, just until the warmth of her breath had faded. Pinkie made no immediate reply, smiling back over her shoulder at her, waiting for Applejack to help her with her own apron.

“Had it been me—” Applejack grunted as the thin cord slipped her hooves. She leaned in under Pinkie and grabbed it with her mouth instead, making a neat little knot, then another. She prodded Pinkie’s backside to signal she was done and trotted further inside the kitchen. “Right. As I was saying, I’d have the ingredients ready, started portioning and all that. I said I’d help, and I will, but couldn’t you’ve at least dug out the muffin trays?”

“I thought maybe we could do it together,” Pinkie said, hopping over the counter that divided the kitchen in half. “You know, because if I started before you got here, then maybe you’d feel left out! Maybe you really really liked counting muffin trays and dividing by six or fourteen or however many muffins there are to a tray. I keep forgetting.”

“Right,” Applejack said, grinning despite herself. “That’d be because you don’t know how many will survive the trip from the oven to the storefront without becomin’ a snack for Pinkie Pie.”

“And maybe,” Pinkie continued, forelegs up on the counter, leaning towards her as she spoke. “Maybe I also remembered that if there is more to do, then we have to spend more time together, and I don’t think that’s all that bad.”

Applejack knew she shouldn’t smile. She shouldn’t laugh, and she shouldn’t feel flattered. She tried to erase the mirth from her face, remembering exactly why she hadn’t wanted to come here in the first place; already she felt too comfortable, too relaxed and familiar. The few walls upon which she balanced her life wobbled, sturdy though they were.

It was impossible. She was trying to keep from being swept up in the floodwave of Pinkie’s being, and she was failing. Pinkie clopped her forehooves together, her smile becoming more strained by the second. Applejack needed to say something.

“Yeah. I mean, no. That ain’t such a bad thing, I suppose.” She smiled back, and the battle was lost. What could she do? Avoid her forever? Tonight would happen no matter what. Later, she could ask herself if she’d have been better off breaking her promise. After this, she’d go back home to where she belonged and think this over. Right now, she had a promise to keep.

Pinkie Pie beamed and ducked under the counter for a second, reappearing with a bag of sugar in her mouth. Applejack trotted over to the nearest cupboard and pulled out Sugarcube Corner’s muffin trays one by one.

“Twelve,” she said. “There’re twelve to a tray for the big ones y’got, and six for the small, so we’ll just make—oh for Pete’s sake, Pinkie!”

Pinkie’s head resurfaced from one of the sugar bags, her muzzle frosted white. “Oh. Hi! I was just sampling. Sampling is important!”

“Sampling raw sugar, right,” Applejack rolled her eyes.

“Well, this sugar’s good at least,” Pinkie said, patting the bag in question while she eyed the other two bags.

“No it ain’t. That’s gross, and you put that bag away right this instant.”

“Aw. Fine. How much more sugar do you think we’ll need anyway?” Pinkie asked, licking her hoof, dipping it in the opened bag, and licking it again.

“Depends. They asked for three hundred, right? We’ll make it thirty of the big ones and we’ll have a few to spare for the Cakes too, assuming you can keep your muzzle shut.”

Pinkie tilted her head. “Ask for? They didn’t ask. I just thought I’d grab a cart and surprise them tomorrrow!”

Applejack blinked. “Oh, well okay then. That’s awful nice of you. Right, you were saying about sugar? I guess how much we need depends on which recipe you’re using.”

Pinkie stared at her, entirely unblinking. “Recipe? I—”

“It’s a joke, sugarcube,” Applejack laughed. “I ain’t ever met the earth pony who needs a recipe for simple baking.” She squinted at the bags of sugar arrayed on the counter, trying to assess their size. “One more bag should cut it, but grab two to be sure.”

“Okie-dokie! I’ll have to get them from the cellar, I’ll be back before you can say liquorice strawberry doughnut jam! Don’t go anywhere!”

“Strawberry what?” Applejack asked, but she scarcely had time for that before Pinkie was out through the kitchen’s swinging doors. She knew Sugarcube Corner well enough to recognise the sound of the cellar door being torn open, soon followed after by a louder “whoops!” and a series of arrhythmic thuds with an abrupt end. Applejack winced, just about to head on over and see if Pinkie was okay when she heard rapid hoofsteps on the approach. Pinkie Pie burst through the kitchen doors, two large of bags of sugar balanced on her head. While that in and by itself wasn’t odd for Pinkie Pie, the way she cast her gaze about the kitchen looking positively fearful until they settled on Applejack, that was new.

“You’re still here!” Pinkie said, reaching up to rub the side of her head. “Whew.”

“Uh. Yeah.” Applejack shrugged. “‘Course I am. Shouldn’t I be?”

Pinkie Pie shook her head. “No-no, that’s great! Right. So, how about a baking song, maybe? Some codas about soda? Some rhymes about, um, thyme? I’m sure we can come up with something!”

“As long as you’ll do your part while you do it, you can do a full circus act if you want,” Applejack said, grinning around the rim of a plastic bowl. “Let’s start with mixing a test batch to see if we can make some muffins worth their batter, hm?”

“Hm. Fine. But you’re joining in on the refrains!” Pinkie said.

Applejack laughed. “Fine. Let it never be said I ain’t a pony for compromises. Now get your butt over here and help me.”

If she never saw a muffin again, it would still be too soon. Applejack groaned and rubbed her belly, wincing at her own hoof’s touch. One song had led to another, and Applejack was all too happy to keep baking so long as Pinkie Pie sang and danced around the kitchen, helping in her very own way. Sometimes it meant mixing up more batter. Other times, it meant accidentally eating key ingredients.

Today, Sugarcube Corner’s ovens had worked full-time, muffin trays in non-stop motion. Somewhere along the line, either Pinkie Pie or Applejack herself had multiplied everything by six or twelve one time too many. It was hard to decide who to blame. They’d both known what they were doing, and they both pretended not to notice, stopping counting somewhere around six hundred muffins and counting trays instead—except that didn’t work when they realised they were using the small trays and the large trays. Still they didn’t care.

“Another muffin?” Pinkie asked, and Applejack barely managed to shake her head. Pinkie let the spongy treat roll down her foreleg, flicking it into the air. Applejack laughed and looked away. She couldn’t even watch somepony else eat muffins right now.

Though the hour drew late before they were even done, Applejack meant to make good on her promise to leave the kitchen as they’d found it. Cleaning up was a simple task, but the real problem was that there was nowhere to put the muffins that wouldn’t fit in displays, cupboards, closets, and in one case, drawers. The darn things were everywhere, now, and whoever needed a fork next would get a muffin instead.

It had been deep night when Applejack helped Pinkie Pie ferry the last muffins up to her room, and even then, there were limits to how creative one could be in decorating a room with fresh baked goods. Chocolate muffins on her nightstand, pistachio muffins on top of her wardrobe, and a huge pile of vanilla frosted muffins in front of the closet Pinkie Pie refused to open. Still a huge pile of muffins rested on Pinkie’s bed, between the two ponies. Applejack had eaten nine, while Pinkie Pie had alone devoured the peak of Mount Muffin.

Outside, the moon hung high in the deep night sky, the walls of Pinkie’s room creaking ever so slightly to protest the wind outside. Inside Pinkie’s bedroom, it was warm and bright, so infinitely comfortable, but Applejack couldn’t even pretend she dreaded the long walk home. She’d heaped excuse upon excuse on herself, delay upon delay. She’d danced far too close to the fire, and every minute she stayed made it worse. Every second risked her mouth running ahead of her brain. Risked everything changing.

“I should probably get going.” Words Applejack should’ve said hours ago. She looked to Pinkie, and Pinkie’s smile faltered, bit by bit. It never became anything that wouldn’t be called a smile on any other pony, but it hurt to see.

“Maybe you want to help me deliver the muffins tomorrow?” Pinkie asked. She sounded hopeful, and it was a kick in the gut Applejack had hoped to avoid. This time, she had a choice, and she knew which was the right one to make.

“Afraid I’m a bit busy. You’ll have to take all the credit yourself,” Applejack said. Her laughter sounded dead to her own ears.

“Oh. Okay.” Pinkie grabbed another muffin from the heap, holding it up on one hoof. Neither of them moved, both still flat on their backs on opposite sides of the bed. “Maybe we could meet up in town sometime this weekend? Rainbow Dash said the ice skating rink was fixed, and she really wanted to go.”

“Think that’s a no-go. I’m busy that day,” Applejack muttered. Pinkie hadn’t said which day. “I got things what need doing next week.”

She imagined Pinkie and herself skating and laughing, a simple and appealing thought. Next, she tried in her mind to place the pink pony in the apple orchards. As ridiculous as it was, she plopped a cardboard cutout of Pinkie into the south fields. Even if she pretended it fit, that there was no problem, it lasted only until she removed her again. Suddenly the orchards lost all their appeal. The apple trees were grey, now, bearing ashen fruit.

Pinkie Pie nodded mutely, tossing the muffin back into the muffin sea to swim among its own kind. Applejack grunted, finally managing to get herself upright, hopping off the bed with an absolute minimum of grace.

“It’s just that you didn’t come to my ‘hurray, winter is actually here, no cheating this time’ party. We missed you. I missed you,” Pinkie said, not moving at all.

“Yeah. I know. Twi told me.”

“And Apple Bloom told me she totally didn’t forget to ask you if you wanted to come visit.”

Applejack nodded. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that.” She wished she could muster up something better than these half-truths. She almost envied those who could lie their friends full in their face. She wouldn’t even know where to begin. The barn fell over. I had to raise it back up again. Also, timberwolves. A whole heap of them. Yup. It sure beat another “Yeah.” She moved for the door, and she couldn’t tell if it was the muffins or her own reluctance that slowed her step.

“I’m not a soap bubble, you know.”

Pinkie was oddly quiet, bereft of lilt or cheer. Applejack knew she should ask what she meant. She wanted to ask because she was genuinely curious whether there was some nugget of wisdom to be plucked, or perhaps a funny story. She wanted to ask because she cared, but she couldn’t. The best she could do for both of them right now was to leave.

“I’ll catch you later, Pinkie. Thanks for—” she paused and sighed. Her tongue had ran ahead of her brain again. “Thanks for lettin’ me help out. Was fun,” she finished, slipping out the door before Pinkie could say something to make her want to stay for just another five minutes, and then another ten.

It Pretty Much Is Blue-Green

Applejack stared at the wall. The walls of the main floor living room were done in varying shades of green. Greens and turquoise, she supposed, or was that green, green-blue and turquoise?

They were barely three weeks into winter, and already Applejack doubted she’d make it through with her sanity intact. It was always like this; every winter she struggled to fill her days, the inactivity gnawing on her brain. Being free to see her friends more sounded nice, but she always made time even during applebuck season anyway. Having the entire day off simply didn’t work. Besides, that all assumed she went beyond her doorstep half as often as she’d like—that she wasn’t cooped up in the farmhouse with nothing to do for fear of running into a pony she named one of her best friends.

A quiet snort escaped Applejack. What kind of colour was “turquoise” supposed to be, anyway? It sounded like something that came with ruffles and what-not on a Prancian dress.

Twenty-three days of winter. Nearly a week and a half since last she saw Pinkie Pie. Pinkie, who turned winter from drudgery to cheerfulness, made days go from too long to too short. Pinkie, who left Applejack hiding not from Pinkie’s spirit and antics, but from the intensity of her own feelings. A week and a half without Pinkie Pie, and now two hours of the morning spent sat on the living room floor, listening to Granny Smith’s rocking chair creaking as it went back and forth.

For all the hours, days, weeks and years spent in Sweet Apple Acres’ farmhouse, she’d never had the time to consider the walls she herself had painted years ago. All she’d ever needed to know was that the walls were familiar. The pictures, the paintings, the scent of the Apple family’s earlier meal, all were familiar and safe things. Constants, Twilight would call them.

Her family was one such, and Granny Smith stood out as the most solid of the bunch. Predictable. Stable. Changeless. Whenever Applejack or one of her siblings sat down in her presence, she would say something, suggest a thing that needed doing. Right now, Applejack needed that more than anything. She needed her elder to say something, to tell her that she did the right thing. That it was silly to take risks, that she ought to stay home rather than chase change. Sage words about the future of the Apple family. Anything.

Nothing. Every chore imaginable had been done twice over and half again. Usually that meant it was time for a story or an anecdote. Failing that, the family album would come out, but today, Granny Smith did none of these. Applejack sat on her haunches at the side of her gran’s rocking chair, and the older mare stared ahead saying nothing. If she opened her mouth, it would be only to yawn.

Granny Smith was wiser than anypony else, and Applejack had decided the venerable pony knew what she was thinking. If Granny Smith was tired, she’d take a nap without so much as a word on the matter, but she was fully alert. Her gran was awake and knew Applejack waited for her to say something. To distract her. To absolve her. Granny Smith would give her no such thing for free.

“D’you ever think maybe you’d like some things to be different?” Applejack asked.

“Try again, but with words what mean somethin’ this time,” Granny Smith said without even looking at her.

She was right. It was a dumb, empty question. The only thing Applejack knew for sure was that she owed somepony an apology. Applejack shook her head. “Never mind it. I just think I mucked stuff up something fierce, and I don’t know how to make it better. It all went wrong.”

“‘Course you did, and ‘course it is. You wouldn’t be sittin’ here hiding like you’ve broken the plough otherwise, but if you can’t figure out what you want ‘ter say, y’ain’t talking to the right pony.” A kindly smile lurked now as she looked down on Applejack with one eye. “Hiding from your problems ain’t ever been the Apple family way.”

“Yeah. That ain’t right of me,” Applejack said, folding her ears. “I don’t think it’s something where a ‘sorry’ will fix nothin’, either.”

“I believe you, young’un, but if you can’t speak more clear than some two-bit fortune teller, it ain’t me you need to see. Go talk to your friends. They’re fine folk, all. I ain’t going nowhere in a hurry if you need me.”

“Don’t know if I much feel like heading down to town. I’d rather just stay here, or head on up to my bedroom,” Applejack said, and the realization hurt. She knew she couldn’t wait forever. Give her a stampeding herd of dragons and she’d happily take to the field—but risking running into one particular mare now, that was a prospect that made a coward of her.

Granny Smith scoffed. “That’s a darn fool notion if I ever heard one. Y’know what I got to say to that. We all deal with things in our own way, but there’s but one way what’s always wrong.”

“Being alone,” Applejack finished in chorus with her gran. “Yeah. I know. Maybe I’ll head to town tomorrow, but not today.”

“Well, I know one filly who’ll be darn happy t’hear that,” Granny Smith said, grinning. Applejack followed her gaze to where Apple Bloom’s head was poking down from the second floor as if on cue. Only her bow and eyes were visible, but still Applejack could hear the huge smile on her face when she spoke.

“Oh! I think that’s a great idea, sis. You should probably just have a rest. In fact, you deserve to, uh, have a nap for about, say, an hour? Two?”

Applejack facehoofed. “Right. I plain forgot I was takin’ you to the dentist for your checkup. What time—aw shoot, come on, let’s get movin’.” A quick glance at the clock above the mantelpiece confirmed exactly what she had suspected; they were already running late.

“Aw, but—”

“Now. Zecora can make you I don’t care how many fancy magical drinks, but Colgate is a friend of the family. Let’s go.” Applejack trotted over to the door and held it open, ignoring Apple Bloom’s sullen look. If she held her head any lower, the floorboards would give her muzzle splinters. Applejack cast one final glance at Granny Smith before they left, but the older earth mare said nothing, waving with one leg as if to shoo her out the door.

“Right, we’re gonna have to hurry if we’re to make it,” Applejack said, starting them at a brisk trot. “Your appointment’s for noon, sharp. Come on, let’s move it.”

Apple Bloom made one wonderfully terrible attempt at pretending to twist her leg as she fell, toppling into a ditch in a puff of snow.

“Oh. Oh no, I think I got hurt bad. I ain’t gonna make it,” Apple Bloom said, crawling back into view. She held up a foreleg and pouted. “Maybe we should just turn around. In fact, you should probably better drop me off at the clubhouse. Scoots is working on her doctor cutie mark!”

Applejack sighed and leaned down to flip Apple Bloom onto her back, launching herself into a gallop as she made for Ponyville’s dental clinic.

“There you go,” Applejack said, nudging a still pouting Apple Bloom into the waiting room. “Now you be good. You try anything funny, I’ll know of it, y’hear?”

“You can head right on in,” the stallion in the waiting room said, grinning wide to make up for Apple Bloom’s smiling deficit. Applejack chuckled and headed back out, letting out a huge sigh of relief as the door shut in her wake. Despite six evacuation attempts, one Cutie Mark Crusaders Rescue Squad and a host of other minor delays, she’d made it on time.

Applejack turned her head left, then right, turning on the spot. The second part, and the greater challenge of this whole ordeal, was getting back home herself. Trotsworth Lane would take her close to Sugarcube Corner, but Farrier’s Road ran by Carousel Boutique. She was sure she’d caught Rarity giving her a look the last time she’d visited only to leave on account of learning Pinkie would come by later. If she headed south around the centre of town, perhaps—

No. This had gone on long enough already. Applejack took a deep breath and put one hoof in front of the other, moving straight down the middle of one of Ponyville’s main thoroughfares. Skulking about wouldn’t do, and she couldn’t stop living her life on account of her unruly brain. That silliness ended here. She would head straight home with her head held high and then—then, she didn’t know. The resolve evaporated before the first minute was up. Then what? Go back to hiding? Pretend nothing happened? Pretend nothing’s gonna happen?

“Hey, Applejack!”

Twilight stood by one of the fountains dominating one of Ponyville’s many intersections. Next to her, perched on the rim of the drained and snowed-down fountain, Rainbow Dash waved. Applejack gave them a polite nod and carried on, trotting past. She put on her best business face, trying her darndest to appear busy.

“Applejack!” Rainbow Dash this time, louder by far. The pegasus hovered up in the air as if she thought she hadn’t been seen. Applejack sighed inwardly and turned around, winding around the other ponies in the square to head over to her friends.

“Hey. What’re you two doing out and about?” Applejack asked.

“Just hanging out,” Dash said, landing again and hopping off the fountain. “Hey, we were thinking about heading over to this new shop on the other side of town. You wanna come?”

Applejack didn’t know what to make of Twilight’s little sigh. The earth mare reached up to scratch one of her own ears. “Say what? I ain’t heard of any new openings.”

“Yeah, well, wanna go get Pinkie and check it out? I bet she’d love it.”

Twilight shook her head. Rainbow Dash was less discreet, eyes hard as she frowned at Applejack, waiting for a reply. Of course the others would have picked up on Applejack avoiding Pinkie.

“Can we not talk about this here now?” she asked, staring right back at Dash. “Great. ‘Cause I need to head on home.”

“We’re just three ponies talking in the middle of town. Nopony’s looking,” Dash said. “Why does it matter? Are you ashamed?”

That last word made Applejack halt in her tracks. She’d managed all of two steps, and now ice shot down her spine. She was quite honestly too shocked to be truly angry, but still she advanced on Dash, and when the pegasus refused to yield an inch, she ground their foreheads together with a growl.

“You got somethin’ you want to say?” she asked.

“Well, now they’re looking,” said Twilight, her first words coming alongside a roll of her eyes. “Break it up, okay? Please?”

“You saw it!” Dash said, pulling away so quickly that Applejack flopped to the ground. Dash hovered up in the air and pointed at her. “The second Pinkie Pie is mentioned, she’s out!”

Applejack would’ve loved to deny it, but she didn’t know how. Instead, she got back up and reached for her hat. Before she got that far, her trusty stetson hovered up in a sheath of magic, and Applejack gratefully accepted it.

“What Rainbow Dash means to say, or should have said,” Twilight said, her voice far more gentle. “Is that everypony’s noticed. Rarity told me she thought something was wrong, and it’s clear she’s right. If you don’t mind me asking, what’s up between you and Pinkie Pie?”

Twilight’s face was pleading. It was infinitely easier to feel compelled to answer to that than Rainbow Dash’s angry look—but then, she knew she deserved both, and in spades.

“We’re friends. What more do I gotta say?” Applejack heard herself say.

“Yeah,” Dash said, though she didn’t sound half as angry as she looked with forelegs crossed mid-air. “And friends can still get hurt when you pretend they don’t exist at all.”

Something inside of her hurt like she’d been stabbed, and Applejack didn’t need much help in recognising the sting of truth. She only meant to close her eyes for a moment, to bid for time, to think, to find something to say to assuage her friends and herself. Mostly herself. She searched for something resembling a plan.

She usually always had a plan. There was a reason ponies looked to her. Looked up to her, she sometimes fancied, though she tried not to let it go to her head. If Twilight was away, they would ask Applejack how to proceed, and her backup plan was always the same: A straight line to what made sense, towards honesty and truth.

Now, she had no endgame. She wanted to head back to the farm, to the safety and warmth, but she knew it offered no solutions. She wasn’t just hurting herself with all this nonsense. In her fear of facing Pinkie Pie, that impossible pony she’d come to love more than she should, she was hurting Pinkie, too.

They weren’t tears, she told herself. The last in a long line of lies. She felt a hoof on her withers, and then a wing’s touch on her back. She drew a shuddering breath, but still she didn’t know what to say.

“Hey, Twi? Did I, uh, did I say something stupid?” Dash asked from close by. “I didn’t—I mean, ugh. I’m sorry, okay? Sorry.” The last word was mumbled more than spoken.

“Applejack?” Twilight asked, lowering her voice still. “Do you know why Pinkie Pie is heading home? She went to see her parents for the weekend and she wouldn’t say why. Normally, I wouldn’t question it, but with things being the way they are...”

To that, she couldn’t not react. Applejack wiped her eyes with the back of a leg. Rainbow Dash stood close enough to touch, and Twilight was almost snout to snout with her, one wing wrapped around Applejack’s back.

“No. I don’t rightly know exactly why, but maybe it’s a good thing,” Applejack said, hanging her head. “Or—no, no it ain’t. Ain’t nothing’s gonna get better by itself. I don’t know.” She looked over at Dash. There was no challenge or anger in the pegasus’ eyes, but still the words she’d spoken lingered. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I hurt her bad. Maybe this ain’t something that’s gonna go away.”

“What isn’t going to go away?” Twilight asked, leaning in closer still. Applejack caught herself thinking they must’ve made for an interesting centrepiece in the town square now. She also knew that she didn’t care. If she caught anypony looking, she’d send them packing with a clout over the head.

“Ain’t it obvious? I fancy her. And when you fancy somepony, you ask’em out.” It was easier to say than Applejack had feared.

Twilight’s mouth hung open, and a faint blush adorned her cheeks. “Oh. Right. Obvious,” she said. “I thought—I, okay. Right. Fancy. As in, like her a lot. Okay. Right.”

“Duh.” Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. “So why haven’t you? Jeez, if I ever found somepony half as awesome as me and wanted to ask them out, I would, so why haven’t you?”

“Yeah. I’m sure,” Applejack said with a bark of laughter. “No, that’s the problem. I just plain can’t.”

“Great answer.” Dash snorted.

“It doesn’t matter!” Applejack said, sighing. “Can’t we just leave it at that? Pinkie Pie’s got nothing to do with exactly that. It’s all on me.”

“Oh yeah. Pinkie has nothing to do with this,” said Dash. “That’s why she’s leaving when she could be having awesome snowball fights with me. Sounds right.”

Applejack rubbed her face and stepped to the side, giving herself some space. “Yeah, much as I’m sorry for ruining your precious snowball fights, I didn’t exactly order this here mess, did I? This isn’t at all something I wanted.”

Twilight tilted her head. When she spoke, her words came slow, carefully picked either out of concern and fear of misspeaking—or with the precision of a scientist. Perhaps both.

“The way you’re saying this, it makes it sound like this is not something you control. Like you have fallen in love against your will. Unless there’s a potion involved, that’s not how it works.” She cleared her throat noisily, scratching at one foreleg with the other. “At least, not from what I’ve read in my books. My research books.”

“Guess it just ain’t always that simple, huh?” Applejack said, sounding exactly as bitter as she felt. She cast a glance over her shoulder down the lane that would take her home, but she already knew it would change nothing. “It’s just my problem right now, alright?”

“Yeah. Explain nothing, and call it your problem,” Dash said. Applejack was taken aback by the venom in her voice, expecting at worst another half-annoyed tirade, but there were no half-measures about the way Dash glared at her, wings fully flared.

“Guess what, Applejack. It’s not just about you,” Dash said. “You were the one who talked about how Pinkie Pie is just like us, so how do you think she feels about all of this, huh? About one of her best buddies hanging out with her a lot, and then suddenly treating her like she’s dirt? It’s been over a week of ‘oh, sorry, I gotta paint my apples, can’t make it’ whenever Pinkie’s planning something!”

Rainbow Dash pointed a damning hoof at Applejack, letting out a snarl. “And you can’t even tell us why, you can’t tell us anything because you’re so busy blaming yourself!”

“Rainbow,” Twilight said, but her voice was a gust against a hurricane.

“You were the one who complained about secrets, how dumb it all was because—guess what? We’re friends, and we care about each other. That’s what friends are supposed to do.” Rainbow Dash rolled her jaw, working her muzzle soundlessly for a few seconds. She flapped her wings once before folding them on her back.

“It’s Pinkie Pie.” Applejack kept her voice even and refused to drop her gaze. Rainbow Dash could get in under her skin like nopony else sometimes, but there was no point to fighting when she knew she was right. “I got duties and I got a family that needs me. I’d love nothing more than to ask her out, but—”

“There!” Dash snapped, throwing her forehooves up in the air. “You just said it! You want to! Why does anything else matter?”

“If you’re gonna ask me to speak, then shut your trap and listen,” Applejack growled. “But what the heck are words gonna do at this point, anyway?”

Twilight’s horn took on a soft glow, enveloping Rainbow Dash’s tail as she pulled her back a smidgen before she was head to head with Applejack again.

“Alright, I don’t know a whole lot about love, but I like to think I’ve learned a thing or two about friendship. I will be happy to listen if you want to talk, really. As will Rainbow,” Twilight said, glaring at said pegasus. “But perhaps right now, there’s somepony else who needs you more than we do. If there’s a chance Pinkie Pie is hurting, well.” Her voice trailed off.

Applejack took a deep breath and let it all out again. “I guess if nothing else, I owe it to explain this all to her. An apology and an explanation sounds about right,” she said, fixing Dash with a look. “I never meant to hurt her just ‘cause I’m a numbskull.”

“Right. Good,” was all Dash said.

It hurt. By all things good, how much the idea of talking to Pinkie Pie hurt right now, but she also knew it put her back on track. If she didn’t believe that the honest truth would help, she may as well give up and become a pear farmer instead. The next few days would be a special kind of torture. Penance.

“First thing she comes back,” Applejack said. “I’m gonna—”

“Whoa, hey, no, you’re not waiting,” Dash said. The pegasus crouched low and spread her wings, wiggling her hindquarters. “The train left like, I don’t know, half an hour ago? I’ll catch it in three minutes, tops. You got Equestria’s fastest pony here.” Those last words were punctuated with a grin at Twilight.

“Yes, well, I could always have teleported the sled and myself down the hill and won the race.” Twilight huffed.

“Still wouldn’t have helped, and you know it,” the smug pegasus said, jerking her head towards her own back. “C’mon AJ, hop on!”

On the Other Side

The pony who had sat here before was a nice pony, Pinkie Pie decided. She didn’t know if it was a he or a she, or anything in between. She didn’t know if it was an earth pony, a unicorn, a pegasus or a princess pony. Whomever they were, they had left a magazine for Pinkie Pie to read, and that made them nice.

That, or they’d forgotten it, but either way, Pinkie Pie had something to read while she waited for the train to choo-choo its way along. She’d exhausted her own entertainment within two minutes of getting on the train, mostly because the grumpy ticket inspector took her mobile party kit away. Something about a ban on tubas.

The last five minutes had been very much the same as the five minutes before that: The frowny mare in front of her cleared her throat and coughed every so often, the stallion across the aisle kept trying to look at Pinkie Pie’s magazine while pretending he wasn’t, and the train clickety-clacked as trains did while Pinkie leafed through her magazine. She scratched her head at the next article. It would’ve been even better if Pinkie Pie understood the magazine she tried to read.

“Blueblur likes to show her stuff.” Pinkie Pie read the words aloud, turning the magazine upright so she could look at the large picture of a blue pegasus. She wasn’t performing any tricks or anything. She just lay on a too-large bed looking sleepy and maybe a tiny bit angry. Pinkie Pie shook her head. It looked like a very fancy yearbook, if she were to guess. Glimmershot the unicorn liked to lounge on the beach and Breeze the earth stallion was “eager to display his skill.” At what, the article never said, and he, too, looked sleepy. Every single pony in the magazine had half-lidded eyes like they just wanted to go to bed and have a nap.

“Then why can’t they nap, and then have their pictures taken?” Pinkie asked nopony in a whisper. She turned the magazine around twice, then went back to the pony she liked the most. Sunset Dream, she was called. A dark yellow pony. She reminded her a little bit of Applejack, and she was an earth pony, just like them.

Applejack had made that sound like it was significant. Like it mattered that Applejack and Pinkie Pie were earth ponies, not because it made them special, but because it was a link. Something they had in common, like two muffins from the same batch.

Pinkie’s tummy rumbled, remembering that very same muffin-filled night as she. When Applejack threw in the towel, she’d left the eating just to Pinkie, and when Applejack suddenly decided it was time to leave, Pinkie found she couldn’t really stop eating. She’d need to lay off the muffins for a week or two. That, and find a better metaphor. Two turnovers on the same platter, then. It didn’t sound quite as fancy, but it worked. Applejack would have said something like that. Two apple turnovers from the same platter. When Applejack spoke, it wasn’t how she wrapped the words so much as what waited inside. Just like a turnover.

Applejack had said a lot of things to Pinkie, lately. A whole lot. Most of them made Pinkie Pie very happy, and when she wasn’t making Pinkie Pie happy by saying lots of clever stuff, Applejack made Pinkie Pie happy by listening to her.

Problem was, it was really hard to say something, and just as hard to listen, when you weren’t anywhere around. Sometime between the fourth party invitation and the third lunch-dinner-breakfast-or-night-snack-you-decide-hey-let’s-just-hang-out invitation, Pinkie Pie realised that maybe they weren’t accidents and busy-nesses. It was around that time she hopped on the train heading home before she had time to realise anything more that threatened to make her sad.

Pinkie Pie gave Sunset Dream another look. Her mane was all wrong. It was long and flowing and far too soft, and deep red rather than blonde besides. She was probably a very nice pony, and Pinkie Pie hoped she got some sleep. She brought the magazine a little closer and gave it a sniff, but it just smelled like paper rather than apples and dirt. The stallion across the aisle made a strangled noise and turned red.

Pinkie’s head hit the headrest behind her. She really wanted to talk to Applejack again soon, or even just listen to her speak. If she put just the tiniest smidgen of her imagination to work, she could hear her now. It didn’t matter so much what she said, exactly. “Hey, Pinkie Pie. What’re you up to?” she might say, and Pinkie Pie would think before she answered. She wouldn’t say “I’m super-duperrific!” right away. She’d think it through in case she wanted to say something else, because Applejack would listen.

“Wanna grab a snack?” she might also say, and unless Pinkie’d had a particularly big meal, she’d say “yes, I would love a snack,” because she probably would. Or perhaps Applejack would say “Faster, R.D., try the next car!”

Pinkie opened her eyes, jolted from her daydream. That didn’t make sense at all. It took her a moment to realise there was a reason Applejack sounded like Applejack instead of Pinkie Pie imagining what Applejack sounded like. It had, in fact, been Applejack.

“That’s one’s a food car!” another pony retorted. A raspier, higher pitched voice. Rainbow Dash. Pinkie Pie jammed a hoof in one of her ears and rooted around a little bit, not quite sure what she expected to happen—Applejack sailing by her window wasn’t top among those, but it worked.

“Yeah, well, where else’d you expect to find Pinkie?” Applejack retorted. Her voice was muted, barely louder than the noise the train was making. Pinkie Pie blinked and glanced around, but nopony else seemed to have noticed. She cracked the window open a tiny bit so she could hear them better. On the other side of the glass, Applejack clung to the slimmer pegasus, her forelegs wrapped around Dash’s neck. Rainbow Dash, for her part, didn’t have much trouble keeping up with the train. She wove around the telegraph poles that whisked by, more concerned with figuring out how she could glare up at Applejack without tossing her off.

“Don’t ask me, this is your mess!”

“Yeah, well—yeah,” Applejack said, slowly loosening her grip on Rainbow Dash, rising to stand on wobbly legs. Pinkie Pie made a mental note to ask her if she’d ever tried surfing. “Thanks, alright? I owe you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Dash shouted back. “I’m not your friend. Wait. I mean, I am, but not just your—oh for crying out loud, I’m friends with both of you, so just fix this so we can go bowling or whatever.” Dash rolled her eyes, peering inside the train car. “Oh. There she is. Hey Pinks.”

Pinkie Pie waved and beamed. “Hi Dashie!”

“Oh. Howdy.”

“Hi Applejack, too!”

“Pinkie, the window.” Dash shot her a meaningful glance, tilting her head towards Pinkie.

“Right!” Pinkie said, giving the window a push, but it was a mess of latches and switches, and however she worked them, she couldn’t quite figure out how to open it up entirely. It was like somepony had deliberately tried to make train car windows impossible to open up. “Um. I don’t think it opens, actually,” she said, glaring at the gap in the top half of the window.

“Eh. Good enough,” Dash said. Applejack nearly fell off when she shrugged. She definitively fell off when Dash angled herself to ram sideways against the train. Pinkie squeaked and toppled off her seat when, with a loud wham, Applejack’s head, chest and forelegs suddenly poked in through the window.

“R.D! Of all the stupid ideas you’ve had—” Applejack began, glaring back through the window, half-stuck as she was, but there wasn’t a whole lot to yell at. In fact, there wasn’t any Rainbow Dash outside the window at all. A quarter of a second later, most of the ponies on the train would probably argue there was entirely too much Rainbow Dash when a rainbow-coloured blur impacted against Applejack’s flank. The car rattled while Applejack shot through the window and landed in the seat next to Pinkie Pie with an “oof.”

“See you later!” Dash said, waving before disappearing out of view.

“Ow,” Applejack said, rubbing her butt.

The rest of the ponies on the train didn’t say a lot. The pony across the aisle stared even more than before, and the mare on the row in front cleared her throat in a slightly more annoyed fashion.

“Hi,” Pinkie said, picking herself up off the floor. Applejack was in her seat, so she took the companion seat next to it. “You don’t have your hat. You always have your hat with you.”

“Yeah,” Applejack said. “Didn’t think it’d much appreciate flying at speeds nopony has business with.” She sat up straight, winced again, and fished a red hairband out of her tail, bundling it and tying it anew. Pinkie thought it was a little sad given how pretty Applejack looked with her tail out, but then, she looked pretty with it on, too. Pinkie Pie didn’t have a hat or a tailband, but Applejack cast little glances her way, and that reminded her she had something else. She’d apparently clutched her precious, confusing little magazine all the while.

“I ain’t even gonna ask ‘bout that one,” Applejack muttered.

“Oh! I forgot!” Pinkie said. She leaned across the aisle to put the silly magazine on the seat next to the stallion across from her.

“It’s okay, I’m done with it, and you looked like maybe you wanted to read it!” Pinkie said, but he didn’t look very happy to hear it. Instead, the silly unicorn went beet red and pretended not to hear her, looking out his own window. Maybe he expected visitors of his own. Pinkie shrugged and turned back to Applejack.

“I didn’t get it,” Pinkie said. It didn’t look like Applejack wanted to do a whole lot of talking yet. “I mean, I understood the language just fine. I speak and write Griffin and a whole bunch of other languages just as well as I understand Equestrian. How can I congratulate all the wonderful non-ponies in Equestria if I don’t speak their language? The words were fine. Just not the everything else.”

Just like with Applejack, Pinkie thought. Applejack’s words were fine. She usually made perfect sense—and then she did things that made no sense. Like hang out with Pinkie Pie a whole lot, and then disappear. To think ponies usually said Pinkie was the silly one.

“I really, really wasn’t gonna ask,” Applejack said, shaking her head. Evidently, that was all she wanted to say, too, because she sat there in her seat just like all the other ponies around them, looking like all she wanted to do was be on a train and be left alone. Every so often, she would turn and look at Pinkie for a glance and a half, maybe two glances at most.

Pinkie was really glad to see her, of course, but there was something else. Something more than the curiosity, something bigger—no, something almost as big as the warmth that came with seeing her. She couldn’t put a hoof on what. It was probably round. Maybe a little spiky.

“Am I a bother?” Pinkie asked.

“No, you ain’t,” Applejack said. She studiously avoided Pinkie’s eyes now, but Pinkie could see a smile on her face at that. It started small, and Applejack clenched her jaw like she very much wanted not to smile, but still her lips curved upwards. “‘Leastwise not in a bad way. You’re Pinkie Pie. I reckon that means some bothering, but there’s a difference between bothering ponies and being a bother, I’m coming to think.”

“Okie-dokie,” Pinkie said, though for once, she was the one who couldn’t quite match the happy look on somepony else’s face. “See, sometimes, I wonder if there’s something wrong with me, and what ponies really think about me—”

“Pinkie,” Applejack said with a sigh on her lips.

“—because I know I can be a bit of a hoof-ful at times, and I used to think that was fine, and you say I’m Pinkie Pie, and I am—”

“Pinkie.”

“—but you usually sound like you think that’s a good thing, and then you suddenly just ignore me and disappear and I started thinking maybe I wasn’t just doing something wrong like I usually do, but I was being wrong, and I don’t know how to change that.”

Applejack looked at Pinkie now, but she didn’t say her name again. Pinkie thought it was a bit of a shame, really, because she liked the way her name sounded from Applejack’s lips, but she said something different altogether.

“I’m sorry.”

Pinkie Pie tilted her head left, then right. Applejack spoke the rare words very slowly, made them bigger and more important than Hearth’s Warming Eve and the Summer Sun Celebration put together.

“It wasn’t fair of me. Shouldn’t end up makin’ you feel bad just because I—”

“Oh! I know what it is! It’s angry! I mean, it’s anger!” Pinkie burst, finally realising exactly what that icky, spiky feeling was. “I’m angry with you!” She beamed, pleased with the realisation, right up until she wasn’t pleased any more.

“Aw. I’m angry with you,” she repeated, splaying her ears and pouting. “That’s no fun!”

Applejack looked angry for a split second too. “Consarn it Pinkie, I’m trying to apologise here!”

“Oh. Sorry. Go ahead,” Pinkie said, waving a hoof. Applejack rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“Forget it. I guess you’ve every right to be angry. I’ve been getting more’n enough of that lately from just about everypony else, too.”

Pinkie Pie frowned. “Aw? Who’s angry with you who isn’t me? Tell me! Tell me and I’ll throw them a super-duper terrific fun celebration so they’ll be happy instead!”

“Twi and Rainbow Dash. Mostly Dash. Figure Rarity ain’t too happy either, but I didn’t talk to her yet. Don’t suppose Fluttershy has it in her to be angry, but if she does, well, that ain’t a pleasant thought.” Applejack breathed out through her nose.

“Oh. Why—”

“‘Cause they care about you. And me, I suppose. And ‘cause they noticed I was treatin’ you terrible, ignoring you and avoiding you like you were nothin’. I figure they still like me just fine, and I deserve it. I can take it.”

“Oh. Okay.” Pinkie bit her lip and rubbed her forehooves together. “Can I still be a little angry with you, or is that enough angry ponies for one day?”

Applejack shrugged and leaned back, one eye trained on Pinkie. “Go nuts. Just figure I owe you an explanation of sorts too. You know, while we’re at it and all.”

Pinkie Pie nodded, not so much out of curiosity as a desire to have Applejack talk to her and not go away again.

“Started liking being around you a bit more’n what’s strictly normal, I suppose.” Applejack chewed her cheek. “Could say I caught myself thinking I’d like more than my fair share of Pinkie. More than I had a right to ever ask.”

“Huh. You could’ve asked, actually,” Pinkie said. “Inkie Pie once said she thought it was really neat that I tried to make absolutely everypony happy all at once, but then Blinkie Pie said that wasn’t a problem if I kept snacking so much because there was plenty of Pinkie Pie to go around. I bet you could have a little extra Pinkie Pie!”

Applejack sighed and stood up in her seat, raising her voice a teensy tad, which earned her a few glances from ponies who weren’t Pinkie Pie. “You’re missin’ my point. I started thinking about asking you out. Call me selfish if you want, but there it is. Started wondering about you and me.” Her cheeks acquired a faint blush, but she didn’t acknowledge it.

Pinkie Pie giggle-snorted. She noticed the other ponies look their way again, but she didn’t care if they didn’t share her amusement. “Aw, that’s really silly! We went to that snowy picnic thing, remember? We’ve already been out!”

“For crying out loud,” Applejack groaned, throwing her head back. “Listen. I fancy you, Pinkie Pie. I ain’t gonna apologise for that in particular, but I’m trying to explain why I acted the way I did. Just get it into your thick head, will you? I like you. I like you, and me wantin’ something more than just friendship, that’s why I’ve been acting a fool, why you’ve made a liar out of me.” She snapped her head around, glaring back at the rest of the train car. “And y’all mind your own darn business!”

The ponies scattered around the car did indeed go back to their own business. Heads ducked back behind chairs, and a ticket inspector on the approach turned around and smartly trotted off back to from whence he came.

Pinkie Pie shrugged. “Well, duh.”

“What.” Applejack froze.

“What, what? I’m not stupid, you silly filly,” Pinkie giggled. “I mean, I figured that out a while ago, I guess. You don’t just stare at other ponies and hang out with them lots unless you want to maybe kiss them or something. Unless you’re me, I guess, because I sometimes do that because I forget not to stare, and once, I forgot my ‘hang out with the other ponies in Ponyville’ rotation so I ended up going roller skating with Lyra three days in a row, and Bon-Bon got really angry with me. Boy, that was a doozy!”

“Right,” Applejack said.

“Right!” Pinkie concluded. She didn’t really feel all that angry with Applejack any more. She’d never been any good at grudges anyway. “I just got really confused by the way you acted about it. By the way, your eyes are a bit red. They were red when you got here. Or, was pushed in here. I don’t know what you’d call that, but it was a pretty neat entrance. An eight out of ten, easy!”

“Yeah, thanks,” Applejack muttered, looking particularly sour. She rubbed at her eyes with a hoof. “Air pressure or somethin’. Rainbow Dash flew too fast. So yeah. That’s that. Guess I’m gonna see about finding a way home or something.” Applejack slipped off her seat and edged towards the aisle.

“That’s it?” Pinkie asked. In the space of a few seconds, something else entirely flooded the space where that icky, ill-fitting anger had been; a sadness that threatened to weigh her down. “It’s all ‘hi, I like you, goodbye’? You used to think about asking me out?”

Applejack sighed, hung her head and turned on the spot. Somewhere behind Applejack’s shiny, pretty green eyes, something changed, and Pinkie Pie could tell. Her features hardened, but there was no meanness to it. Instead, there was something thoroughly Applejack about the resolve with which she slipped past Pinkie Pie to retake her seat.

“No, that ain’t it,” Applejack said. “I still owe it to tell you why, but you gotta promise to keep quiet for a bit. No interrupting.” She reached out to touch Pinkie’s lower muzzle, holding it shut for a second. “Just let me talk for a little bit at my own pace. Can you do that, sugarcube?”

Pinkie Pie had never before nodded so quickly. Her eyes took a while to settle afterwards.

“Long while ago, I lost mom and dad. You know that. I was a little filly when it happened. Don’t remember half as much about them as I’d like, I suppose. Don’t misunderstand, I ain’t sitting around crying about it,” she said, fixing Pinkie Pie with a stare that dared Pinkie to be sad either. Pinkie didn’t. She sat as still as she could and listened. Applejack nodded, satisfied.

“I spent a bunch of time thinking about it then, and it’s all done with, but it still happened. For as long as I can remember, it’s just been the four of us on the farm. It’s me, Big Mac, Granny Smith and Apple Bloom. I care about’em more than I can ever say, and I can’t stand to lose them. They’re all I’ve got.”

Pinkie Pie nodded, once. There were a lot of things she wanted to say, like “I’m sorry,” or “but you have me and all of us, too,” but she said none of them. She sat completely still and waited, counting the rhythmic half-wooden, half-metallic noises that marked the train’s movement until next Applejack spoke. Despite her earlier words, now she looked a little sad.

“I don’t know where that leaves me, but it don’t even matter what you or I think, because I just plain can’t risk it.” Applejack’s eyes drifted, ponderously shifted from Pinkie to her own hooves. “I’ve had a good life so far, and I sure as hay don’t plan on being by my lonesome forever, but you girls are all important to me. Like family. I’ve lost family already, and I can’t stand to lose any more.”

Pinkie tested her muzzle. Opened it and closed it again. She wanted so very badly to speak, to say something, but she didn’t want to make Applejack angry by breaking her promise.

“D’you know Caramel?” Applejack asked. She answered her own question before Pinkie Pie could even nod. “‘Course you do. You know everypony in Ponyville. Him and Big Mac, they had a thing going last year. Maybe you know. Maybe you don’t. No matter. Point is, that all went sour, and now they hardly ever talk.”

“There ain’t no guarantees any of this would ever go well, and I don’t think I’m gonna chance that—no, I know I don’t want to. I ain’t gonna risk it, and that’s final.” She shook her head. “You’re a heck of an amazing pony. You’re—well, you’re Pinkie Pie. I can’t think of a better compliment than that, but it ain’t you. It sounds like something out of one of Twi’s books, but it ain’t you. It’s me.”

Applejack reached on top of her head as if she made to grab for her hat, but found only air. Evidently she’d already forgotten she left it at home. She’d forgotten more than just that, though. Pinkie Pie frowned and shook her head.

“Nuh-uh. It’s not. That’s stupid, and a lie.”

“Right. And how do you figure?” Applejack asked. Pinkie wracked her brain, tried to think before she spoke, but she almost wished she hadn’t—Applejack beat her to it and didn’t let her speak at all. “Actually, no. I don’t want to hear no more of this, I ain’t much in the mood for that. That’s just how it has to be. You can’t promise me nothin’, and we’re very different ponies.”

Pinkie’s head spun and her tummy itched. She was confused only for as long as it took for her to be disappointed. First they were the same, and now they were different. It was enough to drive a mare crazy.

“But—”

“Pinkie Pie? Please.” Applejack sounded very tired, and all the words died in Pinkie Pie’s throat. Suddenly, she couldn’t think of anything to say that was more important than Applejack’s weary request, no words that Applejack would want to hear. Friends listened, and so she just sat there, waiting for something to change, anything to happen. For almost a full minute, nothing did, and then she had to steady herself against the seat in front of her when the train started slowing down. Pinkie took a silent breath and put her smile back on.

“Hey, looks like we’re here!” Pinkie said, leaning past Applejack to peer out the window. Long past the furthest reaches of the Whitetail Woods stood Rockopolis Station. Here vegetation was sparse, and weather even more so. A grey cloud-cover dominated the sky from horizon to horizon, and the familiar, simple stone platform was the only real feature for as far as the eye could see.

Winter had barely touched the place yet, the landscape frosted but lacking in the layer of snow Ponyville had. The only exceptions to flat dirt and bare hills were the occasional shrubberies, a tree or two, and the roads that wended away from the platform. Grey and uninspiring. Pinkie smiled and focused on that instead. Home.

Applejack followed Pinkie’s gaze, then tried to look out the window opposite. “So. Any idea how often the trains pass through here heading to Ponyville? It’s gonna take me hours to get back by myself.”

“Uh-huh, and it’s colder than it looks, I bet,” Pinkie said. They’d come to a complete halt, but nopony made to get up.

“Cold never bothered me none.”

“And there’s no road, so you’d be following the train tracks through the edge of the Whitetail Woods, which sounds really boring.”

“Right,” Applejack said.

“And you might get hungry! I can’t even help you there. I ate my lunch already, and my travel snacks!”

“Pinkie, what the hay are you getting at?”

“You should come visit the rock farm! Come! Let’s go see mom and dad! Inkie and Blinkie’s visiting too, so it’ll be tons of fun!” She hopped off her seat and tugged at Applejack’s legs. Applejack wasn’t quite as enthusiastic or willing to be dragged, but she let herself be guided to the floor at least.

“I don’t know if that’s such a great idea.”

“Aw, it’ll be great, and I’ve been trying to convince my sisters to come visit Ponyville, but they’re really shy, so maybe if they’ll come see us some day if you don’t bite them now!” Pinkie giggled.

“I’m sure I can manage that, at least,” Applejack said with a quiet chuckle of her own.

“And besides, you were all, ‘you’re always welcome at my farm’ except when you’re stupid and hiding—”

“Guess you remember that, huh?”

“—and you haven’t even ever seen my farm! Or, well, my parents’ farm, I guess, but still!”

“Right, right, okay, just stop pulling,” Applejack said with a little laugh.

Five Pies and One Apple

She couldn’t quite decide what had made her let Pinkie Pie lead her off the train. If it was guilt, then she only had herself to blame, because Pinkie Pie certainly didn’t hold a grudge. Perhaps it was curiosity, and regardless, Pinkie Pie was right. While Pinkie had never explicitly asked before, it seemed a shame that none of them had visited Pinkie’s family before. Applejack had met Twilight’s parents, Rarity’s parents lived right there in Ponyville, and she’d met Fluttershy’s mother a few times. She’d even seen Dash’s father, though Dash tried to make them all forget that particular incident.

But no. Pinkie had never asked. Her family was busy, shy, and they kept to themselves. Being asked to visit meant something, then. It meant a whole heck of a lot, in fact. It would only be fair to respect that. To honor that. Applejack trotted after Pinkie Pie, down a frosted dirt road in a bitter chill. The road was bumpy, winding down and around and over small hills where Pinkie moved with the casual ease of the familiar. Like Applejack wove around the orchards’ trees. The area was unwelcoming, but all she remembered was Pinkie’s smile when she asked. Hope and happiness. Wanting to show Applejack something.

The road took them over a small hill, and then another. The main road, if it could be called such, led towards a small town not entirely unlike what Applejack imagined Appalloosa would look like in a hundred years: A small township well maintained but still showing signs of age. A clock tower stood as the single building of any notable height, ticking faithfully towards three o’clock.

“I guess that’s Rockopolis?” Applejack asked. Pinkie Pie nodded, taking them off the road and down a smaller path between boulders, rocks, and winter-barren trees. Pinkie stopped to wave at the town before it went out of sight, smiling wide.

“Yep! That’s the hustle-y and bustle-y centre of town where I bought my first pack of balloons! Mrs. Crag who runs the colonial store ordered them by mistake, so she gave them to me! Without them, I wouldn’t have been able to throw my first party!”

Applejack smiled despite herself. “Right. I guess we all in Ponyville owe her thanks, then.”

Pinkie Pie responded with a smile, hopping along the road now, bouncing until she stood on top of a rock that had rolled into the middle of the road. The freezing wind tugged at her mane and tail, but she didn’t seem to care much.

“Hey, that’s a great idea, actually! Maybe one day we can go visit her and all the other ponies in town, too! I’d love to show Mrs. Crag and Mr. Shimmer and all the others how great and fantastic my friends are!” Pinkie beamed.

“Yeah. Some friend I’ve been.” Applejack snorted, the hot air sending out a satisfying little puff of mist. She followed the vapour with her eyes until she couldn’t spot it against the grey clouds.

“You need to stop saying those things, right now,” Pinkie said. She hadn’t moved, staring down at her from her little rocky perch wearing a small frown.

“Stop saying what, exactly?”

“‘I’m a stupid sillyhead who’s angry because I made a tiny little mistake,’” Pinkie said. “Or ‘I’m a terrible friend just because I didn’t RSVP for a little bit.’ You sound like you think you’re some kind of comic book villain with a mustache and a cape, and that’s really stupid, because you wouldn’t look good with a mustache at all. Maybe a cape though!”

Applejack didn’t very well know what to say. It was true enough. She’d acted like a bone-head, Dash had said her piece and been her annoying self, and now it was over and done with. Apology accepted, mystery solved, visit Pinkie’s family because it was convenient and made sense, then go home and carry on, friendships intact.

It was that simple, yet she couldn’t seem to leave it at that. What was left to say? Applejack rolled her jaw as she rummaged through her brain. If she had any good sense, she’d leave it well enough alone, but there was in fact one thing she still hadn’t figured out.

“Right. I’ll try and keep a lid on it, but if you knew how I felt, why didn’t you say anything? You said you figured this out, but you never said a single darn thing.”

“Oh.” Pinkie scratched her snout sitting down on top of the rock. “Huh. I guess I don’t really know. That was really silly of me, too?”

Applejack clenched her jaw, quelled a small surge of anger and let it out as a sigh. It didn’t matter. “Okay. Great. Thanks a bunch for that.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t look good with a mustache either!” Pinkie said. “I tried. I had Twilight cast a spell on me and everything!”

“Let’s just go,” Applejack muttered, passing her by. She heard the clatter of hooves on hard soil, Pinkie following after her. It was probably a good thing on account of Applejack having no idea where they were going. All was grey and brown and snowless winter.

“I just got caught up in hanging out with you, I tried to have fun instead of asking you about things that maybe made you sad,” Pinkie said, lowering her voice a tad as she continued. “I’m sorry. See? You’re not the only one who makes mistakes! I’m very good at having fun. And about forgetting things. Plus, I guess a tiny part of me waited and wondered if you were about to ask me out. You said you’re not going to, so I guess it doesn’t matter, but if you had asked, I would’ve said—”

“Yeah, I’m not!” Applejack hurried to interrupt. “You’re right. it doesn’t matter any more. ‘Cause of me.”

She didn’t want to hear those next words. More than anything, she needed not to hear them. No matter what she was about to say, everything would change. Too different. Pinkie Pie was Pinkie Pie. She was a creature of laughter and sugar. Might be Applejack let herself forget that—or perhaps even enjoy it—but how did that fit into the Apple family?

Adding to the family, Granny Smith had said at dinner weeks ago. As a friend, Pinkie was the sugar in the oatmeal porridge to be sure, a friendship she couldn’t be without, but at the farm? Waking up to a—well. Applejack had to admit she had no idea what morning rituals Pinkie observed. She suppressed a small grin at the thought, tried to stifle an impossible little laugh. How she wanted that, but it didn’t fit.

Applejack kept her eyes forward. Pinkie Pie trotted up to walk at her side, and this time, Pinkie didn’t make some nonsensical protest. Nevertheless, Applejack could feel her gaze boring into her, the force of her frown bearing down upon her. Pinkie Pie being Pinkie Pie, this lasted for a full three seconds before she distracted herself.

“I hope Blinkie is still around. She usually doesn’t stay for as long as Inkie because she’s so busy, but I know you’re going to love them both—and mom! Dad’s a gem, too! Come on!” Pinkie hopped, skipped and bounced as she sped up, and Applejack didn’t have much choice but to follow. Once they crested the hill, a windmill loomed over the next, and the terrain slowly flattened out.

With the pace Pinkie set, speeding up with each building that came into view, Applejack barely had time to note their surroundings changing. The haphazard boulders and scraggly trees disappeared, giving way to completely flat expanses of land scattered with rocks. Here, a large square of land with pony-sized rocks, there, smaller rocks in large amounts. They weren’t ordered in neat rows, but there was clearly some system to it.

“Neat, huh? That’s the east field!” Pinkie said, finally slowing down a tad. “That’s where we take the younger rocks before they’re ready to yield. D’you like it?”

“Frankly, I haven’t a clue what a rock farm’s s’posed to look like,” Applejack admitted. “But I can recognise a good and tidy operation when I see one.”

“Aw. Thanks!” Pinkie said. “Oh, mom, dad! Hi!”

Up ahead and past the windmill, the silo and other sundry buildings of the farm, a well-kept house dominated the farmyard, and Pinkie Pie homed in on the two ponies by the front door. There stood a brown stallion with grey chops, mane and tail, and a faded white mare whose teal mane was pulled back in a tight bun.

Already wrapped around the two in a hug, Pinkie Pie waved Applejack closer. As was polite with these things, Applejack stopped a short ways off, waiting. Despite their rather severe first impression, she saw the two older ponies unable to deny Pinkie smiles in return. She couldn’t quite decide why this surprised her; Pinkie was Pinkie, and family was family, but the warmth with which they returned her embrace left Applejack puzzled.

“I missed you so much! Sorry for the surprise visit because I know you don’t like surprises, but I thought at least you like me, so it might work out. Oh, and here’s Applejack! Mom, dad, this is Applejack. Blinkie! Inkie, too!” she burst before Applejack had a chance to say much. A blue-grey mare with a straight-cut mane stuck her head out of the farmhouse, soon pushed outside and followed by a lighter grey mare. Pinkie danced around her parents to offer her sisters a hug, too, and Applejack took a step forward and dipped her head.

“Pleased t’make your acquaintance. I’m Applejack,” she said, reaching for her hat and cursing under her breath when her hoof hit nothing but air. It wouldn’t be the last time, she knew.

“Sue Pie,” the older mare said, flashing a muted smile before she turned to Pinkie. “You’ve never brought guests before, Pinkamina.”

“Clyde Pie,” the stallion said, reaching out to shake Applejack’s hoof. A firm shake, Applejack noted, even for a farmer.

“I know! I have never brought guests before, so I thought I’d start now!” Pinkie said. “Applejack, these’re my sisters, Inkie—” the light grey one partially disentangled herself from Pinkie and waved. “—and Blinkie!” The other one with more blue in her coat gave a small nod. They both looked about Applejack and Pinkie’s age, but Applejack couldn’t find much by way of familial similarities, beyond them being earth ponies, all muted colours and straight hair.

“Right, well, you’re welcome here, of course,” Pinkie’s father said, scratching his scraggly chops. “It’s not a problem, but you’ll have to share a bed since the whole flock’s home.” He turned to look at the ball of Pie sisters as though counting them to make sure.

“S’okay!” Pinkie said, unceremoniously dropping her sisters on to the ground to only mild protests. She beamed brightly at her mom and dad, nosing the door to the farmhouse open. “Did you get my letter, huh?”

“We did,” Pinkie’s mother said, nodding. “I have it in the drawer somewhere. We missed you, you know.”

The entire Pie family reached some sort of wordless consensus while they spoke, the family making to move inside the farmhouse with Pinkie Pie at the front. Pinkie’s hooves were loud against the wooden floorboards while she bounced, but her voice was louder still as she fired off questions and comments, often to single-word answers from her parents—but there was always an answer given, and they couldn’t quite not smile. Even Blinkie Pie, who had said nothing, slunk after her sister.

“Something wrong?”

Applejack hadn’t noticed Inkie Pie had stayed outside. The light grey mare gave Applejack an odd look from behind the bangs of her mane, and it was warranted, she supposed. Applejack’d been staring. Inkie’s eyebrows were raised, reinforcing the question.

“Nothing much. Just a bit more noise and hustle and bustle’n I’m used to, I guess,” Applejack said. It was far nicer than admitting she had expected Pinkie’s family to offer a cool reception just because Pinkie never spoke much of them.

“Pinkie Pie talks a lot about you,” Inkie said. She held the door open for their guest as was polite, but she still looked like she had something very particular on her mind.

Applejack chuckled, nodding her thanks in passing. “Don’t know what she’s been saying about us or if I should be worried, but I reckon there’ve been a fair few stories about the whole changeling mess and everything what went on up in the Crystal Kingdom.”

Inkie tilted her head, her mane falling on front of her face. “Huh? Oh, she mentioned something like that, too, sure. Anyway. We should probably go inside; don’t mind Blinkie. She’s a little shy. Uh, and dad can be a bit of a pain. And mom too. You know how families are.”

Applejack exhaled through her nose. “Right. Thanks.”

Through the doorway and into the heart of the Pie family home, it quickly became apparent that Pinkie Pie was a different creature in her childhood home. Different but the same, rather. They’d interrupted dinner-making, judging by Blinkie’s stirring a pot of something that smelled heavenly. Clyde had a cleaver in his mouth, busy dicing vegetables, and Sue made the table. It looked like a completely normal family preparing dinner, even when Pinkie was taken into account. Almost, at least.

Pinkie Pie did a little bit of everything. She was a blur, darting between helping her mother with the table, tossing vegetables in the pot without asking, and being everywhere else a Pinkie Pie would fit, always talking, asking how the townsfolk were, how the rocks were doing, but never taking charge of the dinner—never, as Applejack half expected, suggesting they add marshmallows to their dinner, and never once being asked to stop or simmer down.

Applejack’s stomach let out a loud growl. When was the last time she’d eaten, anyway? She entertained the notion of asking if they needed help, but given that Inkie didn’t appear to find anything to do either, Applejack settled for keeping out of the way. She could’ve watched Pinkie Pie bustle about the kitchen all day long, but instead made a point of looking about the house, not eager to be caught staring again.

The large room was simple, given no more furniture than what was strictly needed but certainly not lacking in personal effects. Through the open portal that separated the joint kitchen and dining room from the living room, Applejack could see tiny sculptures, home-made tablecloths, a heavily burdened hat rack and all that came with a home that had been lived in for generations. It was hard not to feel at least a little at home.

Old pictures lined the walls, too, which wasn’t all that surprising. A little more surprising was how new some of the pictures that hung in places were. The Blinkie Pie who faced the camera from outside the walls of some large, overgrown fortress titled “Mossy Rock, 1002” looked an awful lot like the pony stirring the dinner pot, and next to that, Pinkie Pie smiled down at her wearing last year’s Nightmare Night costume.

“She sends a lot of pictures and letters,” Inkie said, walking up to her side.

“Seems she ain’t the only one,” Applejack said, eyes still roaming the walls. “None of y’all live here?”

“Oh. No.” Inkie cast a glance towards the dinner table which was being set, eyes settling on Blinkie with a smile. “Blinkie plays the clarinet. She’s always travelling with her quartet all over Equestria, and I travel a lot too.” She gestured to her flank, adorned with a cluster of crystals. “I have to travel to look into how other farms work, and I love exploring caves and such. Maybe one day I’ll come home and take up the family business. And Pinkie Pie? She’s busy saving the world, I guess. You’d know, huh?”

“Sounds about right. Saving the world one pastry at a time,” Applejack said, grinning at Pinkie. Pinkie turned and smiled as if she could sense them talking about her. She then waved as though they weren’t in the same room, too. Applejack crossed her forelegs, leaning against the wall. “Just surprised, if’n you don’t mind me saying. You seem as close as any family.”

Inkie didn’t take offense. She smiled and shrugged. “Sure. We visit as often as we can, and the letters probably help. We got to keep in touch somehow, right? Things would probably be different if we didn’t work at it, but we’re a close family, so we do, and they aren’t.”

“There’s a nugget of wisdom if I ever heard one,” Applejack said, letting out an appreciative snort.

“Food!” Pinkie declared. “Come get your yummies! We’re having, um—” she paused, trotting after Blinkie as she carried the large casserole over to the low dinner table, Pinkie desperately craning her neck trying to get a peek.

Blinkie slid the casserole on to the table, and Pinkie finally got her look. “Food. We’re having food,” she concluded, planting her tush by the tableside as the first one to do so. Her sisters sat at her side, crowding one side of the table, and with her parents on the ends, it left Applejack with one side of the table all to herself. It looked a little bit too much like an inquisition.

“It’s your father’s summer day casserole,” Sue said. “At least it was until you added sweet corn and beans to it.”

“Can’t hurt, I’m sure,” Clyde said. “Somepony say thanks, then.”

Blinkie, the quiet-most of the three sisters, closed her eyes. “For day and night, for bread and oat, Celestia, Luna, thank you both.”

“You know, I told Celestia thanks last time I saw her. It’s fine.” Pinkie giggled, reaching for the ladle, only to have her mother tap her hoof to deny her.

“Guests,” she said, simple as that.

“Oh! Oopsie.”

“Aw shoot, no need to stand at attention,” Applejack said, but Sue didn’t look like she was taking humility for an answer. The glare directed Applejack’s way over the rim of her glasses was every bit as steely as the one that had told Pinkie Pie “no.” Tradition and manners would be observed, then.

“But, uh, right. Thank you much,” Applejack murmured, wishing she had her hat to hide the way her ears were pinned back in reflex. She scooped up a healthy three full ladles of stew and nodded her thanks, noting Pinkie’s covert little grin and Inkie’s giggle. Clyde wasted no time in going for the food the second Applejack let go of the ladle.

It smelled divine, and tasted even better. Applejack didn’t concern herself too much with the table politics until her belly was full, and the Pie family apparently didn’t chat much at the table while eating. It suited her just fine. The only surprise was that Pinkie Pie didn’t say too much, either. Grinning, beaming, smiling and bouncing in her seat, certainly, having atrocious table manners as per usual, yes, but no chatter. Twice, Pinkie began to tell a story, but both times she plugged her own muzzle with a hoof and giggled. Only after the last plate was clean were muzzles used for anything other than eating.

“Thank you kindly. Was some fine eating, that,” Applejack said. Sue nodded once, adding her own thanks, as did the others.

“I’m really glad you liked it! I thought maybe you wouldn’t think it was that tasty because it didn’t have any apples,” Pinkie said, “And then I remembered that you love plenty of things that don’t have apples!”

“Pinkie, you know I ain’t actually allergic to everything what ain’t apples. Nopony’s that simple. Don’t see you all here refuse to build your farmhouse out of wood ‘cause it ain’t rocks.” Applejack frowned inwardly, wondering if maybe she’d misspoke. “Unless this is some kind of wood-like rock, ‘cause if it turns out all you ever do here is stuff what’s all, uh, rock-y, then that’s fine too.”

Clyde laughed. It was a sharp, coarse noise that drowned out Pinkie’s own laughter or her sisters’ own giggles too. Applejack was glad of it, though she felt her cheeks heat up.

“Pardon. I have to admit, and I’m sorry to say, I ain’t got a clue as to what rock farming’s really like,” Applejack said.

“It’s not so much about the rocks,” Inkie said, scratching her head. “Actually, mom, can we show Applejack the barn? You still haven’t shipped for the season, right?”

“Not until next week, no, and you know you girls don’t need to ask for permission,” Sue said, getting up. She fixed Applejack with a look, then her husband. “Actually, Pinkie, give your dad and me a hoof with the table, will you?”

Pinkie stopped dead in her tracks, mid-bounce towards the door. “Aw, but—but—moom. No, wait, I mean, daaad!” she tried.

Clyde looked between Pinkie’s mother and Pinkie herself, shrugging before he started ferrying things from the table to the kitchen sink. Pinkie let out a loud, theatrical sigh and picked up a single plate, carrying it like it weighed more than Mount Canterlot itself.

“Come on,” Inkie said. Blinkie disappeared outside, and the light grey mare waited by the door. “Pinkie will live.”

“Maybe!” Pinkie said. She made her back sag under the imagined weight of two empty glasses. Her bottom lip quivered, her eyes big, wide and pleading. “This work could scar me forever! Maybe I’ll never bounce again, maybe—”

“Pinkamina,” said Sue.

“Aw fine. See you in a bit!” Pinkie waved.

Applejack laughed. “Right. Thanks again for dinner.”

A Conspicuous Collection

The ground made satisfying little crunching noises as they went, the three ponies’ hooves loud against loose soil frozen stiff and speckled with frost. Inkie and Blinkie waited for Applejack to catch up before directing them onto a cart-wide path cut straight through two large fields of rocks. A large barn loomed on the far side of the Pie family lands, made small by the distance. Neither Inkie nor Blinkie said anything much.

“So. D’you water’em and all?” Applejack asked, glancing left, then right, then left again. All she could see were rocks. Jagged rocks, square-ish rocks, rocks that could be called round if you squinted and put your imagination to work, but rocks all the same.

Inkie grinned. “They’re not really crops as you’d understand it. They’re not planted and they don’t need water, though rain does matter a bit. We just move them about on different types of soil. They’re gem-bearing rocks. We decide what we want and change the yield.”

“Right. Some of those were words I got in my own dictionary, at least,” Applejack said. She offered Blinkie a glance, but the other sister said nothing, her eyes on the barn ahead.

“Well, on the other hoof, I don’t think you could explain apple farming to me in a day,” Inkie said.

“I guess not. That’d be a sad day for Apple family pride, if all we did could be packed into a few sentences. ‘Plant’em, buck’em, sell’em,’ it don’t quite hold up.” Applejack laughed.

“Exactly! The short of it is that we roll them around, change the surroundings, and we get crystals or gemstones. Sure, most gems may be about as common as dirt, but certain types are worth farming for. Quartz, for example, fetches a great price.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” Applejack grinned. “On account of I kinda have to. But hey, if you need to know what a bushel of apples goes for in Manehatten and Braidford, well, I’m your mare.”

“What do apples go for in Braidford?”

Applejack almost jumped when Blinkie spoke. The blue-grey mare’s voice was sharper than she’d expected.

“Well, ah. At this time of year it’s all winter apples, and we don’t grow any, but regular apples are twelve bits by the bushel, ten if sold by the cartload,” Applejack said. Blinkie gave a single, short nod and trained her eyes straight ahead again. They were nearly upon the barn, and the rocks surrounding them had grown very large now, the late afternoon sun filtering between boulders easily five times their height. Applejack was about to make a comment, ask another question out of simple curiosity, but Inkie spoke first.

“Thank you.”

Applejack raised a brow. “For what, exactly? Last I checked I haven’t done much to earn thanks. Didn’t even get to help with dinner.”

Inkie didn’t seem inclined to share a laugh over that. All she did was shake her head the tiniest bit, a smile spreading across her face.

“For taking care of Pinkie Pie. For keeping her safe.”

Blinkie was watching her, too. She simply nodded when Applejack looked to her. It would be an understatement to say it made Applejack uncomfortable. She never much liked the full-on spotlight unless she felt she’d earned it.

“That ain’t exactly how it goes, most of the time. She’s the one taking care of us, I reckon.” Applejack grinned. While it was certainly true in its own right, she’d bet half her orchard that Pinkie would’ve undersold herself. She lowered her voice a tad for effect. “Matter of fact, last time we faced down a dragon at the Princesses’ request, she was the one who ran into its cave. Me? I just stood and watched.” The details didn’t matter much. A charge with flippers and balloon animals was a charge nevertheless.

Inkie gave a whistle while Blinkie’s eyes were wide as dinner plates. Applejack shook her head and took a deep breath.

“Still, sure, welcome and all that. I figured y’all didn’t bring me out here just to look at rocks.”

“Pinkie did say you were the clever one,” Inkie said.

Applejack laughed. It sounded loud, mocking and rude, but she couldn’t quite help it. She held up a hoof to forestall any protest.

“Right, right, begging your pardon, but I ain’t never thought myself much of a thinker. She can’t have talked much about Twilight, then. She plays chess with Princess Luna herself sometimes for crying out loud.”

Inkie shrugged. “She looks up to all of you, you know. All of her friends. She talks about you all the time.”

“They’re nice stories, too,” Blinkie said, making her words a challenge.

Applejack didn’t protest. Her laughter petered out into an embarrassed chuckle, and she kept her trap shut even though she knew she should change the topic. It was getting dangerously close to gossip, this. Neither Inkie nor Blinkie said anything more until they stood in the shadow of the barn. It was large, far larger than the Apple family’s barn, painted grey instead of the red that all vegetable and fruit farmers had at some point agreed was the proper barn colour. Inkie stood back while Blinkie fiddled with the latch of a small door set on one of the larger pair of doors. It opened with the loud creak of protesting hinges.

She thought she’d known exactly what to expect of a barn on a rock farm. What could it be beyond a large room with piles of rocks? Whatever she allowed for in her mind, this wasn’t it.

The barn offered not a single lamp or lantern. Instead, pale, subtly multicoloured light filtered through crystals lining the very top of the ceiling. A narrow strip of glittering transparent minerals replaced the top support beam, spreading the dying sunlight to illuminate the entire room. It took serious effort to take her eyes off the roof and step fully inside the barn, but once she managed to put the odd light partially out of her mind, the rest of the interior at least made a passing try at matching her expectations. The building was split in two by a partial wall, the closer section made up of holding pens or bins of rocks and gems. Here, what Applejack couldn’t tell apart from gravel, there, a pen of large diamonds.

Blinkie and Inkie exchanged smiles, presumably at Applejack’s reaction, but they didn’t stop. The two Pie sisters made a beeline for the other open section of the barn, and Applejack followed, wondering if they’d make the same faces as she were they to taste Granny Pie’s special triple-apple autumn pie.

“She has a lot of stories about Twilight,” Inkie said.

Applejack listened as they moved, as was all she could do. The second half of the barn held rows upon rows of sturdy shelves, like a barnyard grocer who dealt in rocks. Here, each shelf had different rocks and gems.

“How she is the one who brought you all together and helped make you all such great friends. That she’s one of the brightest ponies in all of Equestria, that she always has a plan, and now, she’s a princess.” Admiration was plain in Inkie’s voice.

“Not a word of that’s untrue,” Applejack chuckled. “She’s got more spells in that head of hers than anypony else, she tell you that?” A near perfect sphere of darker than black glittered with un-light, perched on a shelf right next to the biggest emerald Applejack had ever seen.

“And Rainbow Dash,” Inkie continued “She sounds like the fastest and bravest pony in all of history, but, uh, I think Pinkie’s making some of that up.”

“If you hear it from Rainbow Dash herself, it might be. If Pinkie told it, probably not. Guess you’re better at telling her jokes from her stories than me, though.” Applejack craned her neck trying to get an overview. While this section of the barn wasn’t terribly large, the sheer variety made her feel lost.

The two sisters came to a halt before a long bench that lined the back wall of the barn, and it was about as good a spot to chat as any in the unheated barn, Applejack supposed. The bench was largely empty, and the rocks and gems weren’t on display one by one here, rather, they were clustered in three groupings.

“What’s all this, then?”

Inkie followed Applejack’s eyes to the bench. “Oh. Well, sometimes, when a rock doesn’t yield what we wanted, or just when we find something we like but can’t sell, we store them. Just like, well. I guess you don’t have a place where you store apples that catch your eye. Never mind.”

Applejack laughed and shook her head along with her. “Don’t think that’s a match, no. That’s a rock farm thing, I guess. These yours?” she asked. This particular section of the bench held an array of shiny, sparkling gems and oddly shaped rocks, much like Fluttershy’s seashell collection. Inkie nodded.

“Yeah. Blinkie’s are over there,” she said, indicating a spot further down the bench with meticulously arranged pieces, mostly rocks of varying lustre, few of them actual gemstones. “And Pinkie’s are here.”

She meant to leave it only at a glance and a polite word or two, but Applejack couldn’t help but feel drawn down towards what Inkie indicated as Pinkie’s collection. It only held five items. A gem cluster with more colours than Applejack could name, a clear, almost transparent gem, a smooth rose gem, a dark round orb, and a curious, bright pink gem that demanded Applejack’s attention. The last and pinkest of the gemstones was unpolished and raw, given only a vague heart shape, but its every surface shone. The collection seemed deliberate in the extreme, precise compared even to Blinkie’s well-ordered items.

“That’s a curious set of gems, ain’t it?” Applejack asked, though she wasn’t sure who she was asking, exactly.

Inkie licked her lips. She gave Applejack a long look. Perhaps she thought as Applejack did, that maybe they were intruding on Pinkie’s privacy, but where she hesitated, Blinkie did not.

“She didn’t have a collection of her own, not until a few years ago. She wasn’t very interested in the idea of owning gems or rocks of her own, she said, but she changed her mind.” Blinkie shrugged. “She picked six gems off the shelves a while back, and that’s all she ever did.”

Applejack nodded as though that told her something. She wanted to dismiss it as something silly, as something Pinkie Pie did exactly and only because she was Pinkie Pie, but she couldn’t even complete the thought before she knew it was false. She reached out for the multi-coloured crystal cluster, and though she never intended to touch it, she stopped short when Blinkie again spoke.

“Shimmerbright. It looks like it’s a single, simple crystal, but it’s actually a complex fusing. It’s really rare, and mom wanted to sell it, but Pinkie wouldn’t let her. It’s brittle, sharp and hard to use properly.”

Applejack shook her head. “Yeah. That’s Rainbow Dash alright.”

Inkie blinked and tilted her head by way of question, but Applejack moved on to the next, and Blinkie was happy to oblige. Blinkie Pie picked up the clear crystal her sister had collected and held it up against the ceiling. What little light still filtered through the ceiling crystals seemed to home in on the crystal in Blinkie’s hoof, spreading brighter still.

“This is an evershine diamond. It’s not an actual diamond, but it’s very valuable. It absorbs light, but spreads it again twice as bright.”

Applejack tried to hide her smile. A diamond that generously gave of the light. She didn’t need that one spelled out to her, nor did she need a guide for the rose gem next to it, every bit as sparkly as diamond or a ruby, but without any sharp edges to it.

“And this one?”

“Rose forest opal,” Blinkie said, simply, as though that explained everything.

“It has a soft colour, and it can be shaped without the use of tools if you know how,” Inkie said. “But it’s one of the hardest materials known to ponykind if you don’t.”

Applejack nodded slowly. “Would you humor me with the last two? I’m takin’ a sudden interest in geology here.”

“Gemology, actually. Most of this, anyway,” said Inkie. “The bright pink one is called mountainsheart. We don’t know a lot about those. They’re reflective or transparent depending on the angle.”

“The last one’s a star orb,” Blinkie said. Applejack leaned closer as she spoke. She could’ve swore something moved deep inside the dusky sphere.

“Those don’t form naturally,” Inkie added. “But we use them on the farm to cultivate other stones.”

“Yeah. I get it,” Applejack said. It was clear that Pinkie had picked a gem to represent each of her friends, only it didn’t add up in the most literal of senses. “Thought you said she had six, though.” Applejack frowned, counting them again. They came up five no matter how she did it.

Inkie shrugged and tapped her hoof on the ground, biting her lower lip. Clearly something else was on her mind than a missing rock. “When I said she talks about you...” She hesitated, trailing off.

“Pretty sure you said that at least twice now, yep,” Applejack replied.

“She makes it sound like you’re special.”

Blinkie, this time. Every time she spoke, rare as though it was, there was an edge to her voice. Every statement was a question even when it wasn’t, a stare wrapped in words, though never quite unkind. It made Applejack feel twice as bad for failing to keep from snorting.

“Beggin’ your pardon, I think I’m about as un-special as it gets, but that’s mighty kind of her.”

“We got a letter early last week,” Inkie said. “From Pinkie. Well, she sent one to each of us, but we were both in Clopenhagen, so.”

Applejack scuffed the ground. Again that terrible indecision, that feeling she shouldn’t be hearing this, but she made no move to silence Inkie.

“She always sends these letters at random. She didn’t tell us you’d saved Equestria by visiting the Crystal Kingdom before she came home for Hearth’s Warming later that year, but she sent us a letter the same day she realised that toffee tasted even better than she remembered from last week.” Inkie giggled and shook her head. “That’s Pinkie Pie.”

“Last week, she sent a letter saying she’d had a wonderful early winter holiday picnic, and that you had told her that the two of you might not be so different after all. That you had something in common. It, uh. Well. It must have made her very happy.”

Applejack’s cheeks tingled. She wished she had her hat.

“Yeah. Did say that,” she murmured. Being reminded of that stung. “Don’t think for a second I regret it or take it back, just didn’t think it meant that much to her considerin’ as how she barely seemed to be listening. You drag me out here just to tell me that?”

She regretted the edge in her voice immediately, she just didn’t know if she had the energy to try to explain this all to ponies she barely knew. She fully expected glares in response, silent threats and the don’t you dare’s of protective family, stares the likes of which she fully intended to give anypony who ever tried to ask Apple Bloom out.

She got no such thing. No anger at all. Even Blinkie Pie looked a little taken aback, and Inkie averted her eyes with a muttered “Sorry.” Feeling like a full-fledged villain, Applejack sighed and reached for—Celestia darn it, she really, really missed her hat.

“Sorry,” Applejack said, hanging her head. “That came out all wrong, and I’m right thankful for all your hospitality.”

“That’s okay,” Inkie said. “We should probably head back to the house, though.”

Applejack nodded and tried to wipe the frown from her face. “Yeah. Thanks for the tour, really. Just a bit tired. Long day.”

Inkie smiled, and that helped a little. Blinkie led the three out of the barn, setting them on the path back to the farmhouse. Applejack followed the two Pie sisters inside and closed the door behind her. She may not have minded the cold much, but the crackling of the living room’s hearth and the still lingering smell of dinner were nevertheless welcome—as was seeing Pinkie again.

Evidently, they’d interrupted something. Pinkie stood by her parents, the three silent now when the others entered. Pinkie broke away, the most colourful member of the Pie family beaming and bouncing over to wrap Applejack in a hug as though they’d been apart for years. Applejack returned the hug, giggling all the while without knowing why.

“Whoa there, hey again, I guess!”

“Did you like it? Did you like the farm? Or the barn? Did you get to see all the rocks?” Pinkie asked, finally letting go. “There are so many!”

“Sure were a lot of rocks, yep. And a bunch’a sparkly gems too! Bet Rarity would love this place,” Applejack said.

“Aw, I tried telling her that lots of times, too! She’d love all our shinies.”

“We mostly sell to larger companies,” Inkie said. “They’re not really ornamental.”

“I know,” Pinkie said. “But ‘ornamental’ means pretty, right? And our gems are totally the prettyliciousest gems ever! Just because they not all symmetrical and all those other things Rarity cares too much about doesn’t mean she couldn’t stick it on a hat and make it totally neat-o!”

Applejack grinned. “Well, if she can make a hat that’s made of fruit, then why not?”

Pinkie nodded vigorously, following Inkie, Blinkie and her parents through the kitchen and towards the living room with Applejack in tow. “Exactly! Wait. What? She’s finally made a banana hat like I asked?”

“Uh. No, not exactly, but don’t you remember that fancy hat she gave you for your last birthday? The one with apples and oranges and everything?”

“That was a hat? Um. Oops?”

Applejack rolled her eyes. “So you ate it.”

“Well, no. I don’t eat everything I’m given, silly,” Pinkie said, sounding rather indignant. “I planted it!”

“You do know the fruits were plastic, right?” Applejack asked. Pinkie Pie shook her head, clearly entirely pleased with this fact, hopping atop one of the two small sofas that dominated the centre of the living room. Sue sat in a chair by the fireplace a small ways off, and Clyde rummaged around in a cabinet, eventually producing a small pipe which he lit once he found his own chair. The three Pie sisters crowded around the living room table, and Pinkie patted the spot next to her.

“C’mon! It’s your turn to share! Come tell us about apple farming!”

Applejack clambered atop the sofa and planted herself next to Pinkie, frowning at her. “Farming apples? Pinkie, you’ve helped out with no less than two applebuck seasons now. You know how I work.”

“Duh! Blinkie wants to know! And I bet mom and dad and Inkie would love to hear about it too.” Pinkie smiled wide and looked to her family for support, receiving some encouraging noises and nods. “And besides, I’d love to hear it again!”

“Right,” Applejack said, clearing her throat. It was only fair given she’d been given a crash course in rock farming herself. “Well, season begins ‘round winter’s end.”

Applejack could talk for hours on end about the farm and her family, but rarely was she given a chance or a reason to do so. Whenever she paused, wondering if there was any point in going into detail about one thing or other, she’d be egged on. “How do you make it? From scratch?” asked Inkie when Applejack mentioned Cider. “I love this part!” Pinkie would declare when Applejack strayed onto the topic of apple harvests, and Blinkie leaned forward when zap apples entered the conversation.

Pinkie’s parents weren’t entirely quiet either, curious about the tools and the methods used. What seemed a simple enough deal in Applejack’s mind ate away at the hours until the hearth’s fire grew dim, and one by one they went to bed until it was just Applejack, Pinkie Pie and Blinkie Pie left. It’d been up to Applejack to suggest maybe bed would be a good idea, because none of the others were about to. Pinkie Pie’s room was dark when they slipped inside, the moon only the barest of slivers outside.

“Wait, aw, shoot. I think Inkie borrowed my lamp. We don’t have a light!” Pinkie said.

“We’re just going to sleep. Ain’t like that matters much,” Applejack said, stifling a yawn with the back of a foreleg.

“Not even a single round of, wait, give me a minute. Oh! I know! Poker! No, wait, Battleclouds!” Pinkie’s hooves clopped against the floorboards as she bounced up and down, but Applejack could barely see her at all.

“Pinkie, I’m plum tuckered. So long as we can find your bed in here somewhere, I’m happy.” Applejack chuckled.

“Right. Bed. Hm.”

Applejack stood very still, listening to Pinkie’s hoofsteps. Four steps forward, and then a dead stop.

“You’re about to tell me you don’t remember where your bed is, ain’t you.”

“No, no, wait. I think—”

Hoofsteps, a loud smack, and then a muted thud. Applejack’s sight slowly adjusted to the near complete darkness, and now she could barely make out the shape of a pony sitting on her rump in front of something large.

“Found it,” Pinkie said, her voice nasal. “Owie.”

“You hurt?”

“Nope! You can laugh if you want to,” Pinkie giggled.

“Thought never crossed my mind,” Applejack said, settling for a grin. She could make out the contours of the room now. It was a small room, not much bigger than Applejack’s own back at Sweet Apple Acres, but it was cluttered. Though she couldn’t quite see what all the things were, the floor wasn’t entirely bare, and numerous items lined the shelves around the place. It wasn’t a guest room Pinkie happened to use when she was home—it was very much Pinkie’s own place.

Applejack climbed onto the bed and slipped in under the blanket. The mattress shook when Pinkie made her own entrance by hopping in. Exactly how she did it, Applejack couldn’t tell, but she somehow ended up under the blanket as well. The bed was definitely too small for two ponies, and possibly too large for one. Applejack shifted a bit away from the edge to keep from falling out, only to bump into Pinkie.

“Pardon,” she muttered.

“S’okay!”

A rustle of fabric, and then silence. Applejack twisted her head around to glance behind her to confirm what she already knew; Pinkie lay facing her, eyes open. Applejack flopped over onto her other side, staring back without saying a word. It was cramped enough that their snouts almost touched, and the coat of Pinkie’s chest tickled hers.

She didn’t know what she looked for. She had no idea what she hoped to find in those eyes that shone a bright blue in what little moonlight found its way inside the room. Or perhaps she knew exactly what she hoped to find—she just also knew she’d made her decision. It didn’t matter.

“You look like you’re thinking,” Pinkie whispered.

“Tryin’ not to.”

Pinkie Pie said nothing to that. She only blinked, once, but for that brief moment her eyes were closed, the world was a darker place.

“Thought things’d be different, I guess,” Applejack said. “It’s terribly nice meeting your family, and they’re all great folk, but I thought it’d all be, well, less normal. Less regular flavor apple pie, more zap apple turnover, you know?”

No reply this time either, one eye narrowed, the other’s brow raised.

“You’re Pinkie Pie,” Applejack said, touching a hoof to hers. “You’re supposed to drive everypony at least a little bit crazy.” She chuckled, a thing of breath more than sound that made the mattress shake. She could almost hear Pinkie’s smile in return.

“You make that sound like a nice thing, like cocoa powder or caramel, and we really need to stop talking about food because now I’m getting hungry.” Pinkie giggled. “Anyway, I used to! I just learned that they didn’t like me throwing three parties every day, so I stopped that, but they know that I’m me, too, so they don’t try to stop me from making a big deal out of their birthdays, either. It’s just like how I try to be a little less surprising around Fluttershy, and I don’t wake Rainbow Dash up by showing up in her bedroom any more!”

Applejack smirked. “Yet still you managed to tear down my barn late as three months ago.”

“Hey, that wasn’t me! Or, well, it wasn’t me-me. Okay, it was some me’s, but it still doesn’t count!”

Applejack smiled into the darkness. “Right. Let’s go with that.”

“Do you want me to change?” Pinkie asked, dropping down to a whisper again. “Am I too loud, sometimes? Or maybe I don’t sing enough? Sometimes, I can go an hour without a song, and I’m wondering if that’s too much.”

The last question came with more than a little hope in Pinkie’s voice, but Applejack couldn’t quite laugh along with her words. Where Pinkie was content to giggle and tilt her head, waiting for an answer and no doubt hoping for a chuckle out of her, all Applejack felt was the weight of those words.

“Thought ain’t crossed my mind,” Applejack said. She held Pinkie’s gaze until the pink mare turned black in the shadow of night stopped laughing. She didn’t blink until she heard a faint rustle and saw the small movement of a nod.

“Okie-dokie. Thanks,” Pinkie said. Applejack rolled onto her back as best as she could and stared up at the ceiling.

“Don’t see who could ever ask for that and call themselves a friend. Makes me think of Fluttershy, I guess. We all wish she could be a bit more assertive at times, don’t we? I remember that was a rallying cry that one summer, like we were all out to fix her ‘cause somepony got it in their head that they wanted to help.” Applejack snorted. “Yeah. That didn’t really work out. Guess maybe she now remembers she’s got a backbone a bit more often, but way I figure it, we did that all because we love her, and we wanted her to be happy, but it was wrong. You just can’t ask ponies to change who they are. Don’t expect you’d ask me to stop being me, whatever makes me Applejack. And you’re Pinkie Pie, for better or for worse.”

For better or for worse. Pinkie was herself, whether she fit into what Applejack’s future held as more than a friend or not. Only, watching Pinkie with her family tonight, she’d made the whole deal with being different seem a lot less frightening than before. You still couldn’t add pepper to porridge just because they shared a letter, though, and much as she wanted to, she wasn’t about to take that risk.

Applejack frowned. She’d just delivered a speech and a half, and Pinkie hadn’t interrupted even once.

“And you’re asleep,” Applejack concluded, turning to face her again. Pinkie Pie’s breath came with complete regularity, now. She reached over to tuck Pinkie in proper, watching Pinkie’s chest rise and fall until her own eyes started to droop.

“Mostly for the better anyway, I’m coming to think.” Applejack took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying her best to fall asleep despite the way Pinkie’s flank bumped against hers, despite the sugary sweet smell of Pinkie’s breath.

Two Balloons

It was far, far too hot. First came the brief panic, the unavoidable yet expected confusion of waking up in any place not her own room, but once those two seconds were past, Applejack became keenly aware of how hot the room was. She kept her own bedroom pleasantly cool where possible, but Pinkie slept with her window closed, and the warmth of a well isolated farmhouse made itself known. The downstairs fireplace, two bodies in a small room and the sunlight streaming in through closed windows all contributed to an almost stifling heat even in winter. Applejack had a vague memory of a time when she didn’t oversleep every single day.

“Right. S’called not winter,” Applejack muttered to herself, kicking the blanket away. She didn’t know exactly how she’d ended up so wrapped up in the blanket. Perhaps Pinkie had returned the favor. She had vague memories of waking up multiple times throughout the night with one of Pinkie’s legs draped over her chest, be it a foreleg or a hindleg. Either way, Pinkie was gone now, and Applejack couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

Applejack. The clever one. Inkie’s comment was well underway to being nothing but a funny memory, something she’d look back on in a few years’ time and wonder if she made it up in her mind. Applejack, the smart one, the mare who didn’t even know what she wanted. Suddenly, all her motivation to get out of bed vanished. She lay still, eyes roaming the room to see what she’d missed in the darkness.

Most of the stuff lining the walls and dressers were pictures. Here, the entire gang, all six of them waving at the camera. Some picture of Pinkie and Fluttershy eating pasta. Rainbow Dash with a rainbow-coloured moustache and a monocle. Framed pictures of Inkie and Blinkie. Her parents. Her entire family.

Aside from old but well-kept toys and the occasional candy wrapper, the only other item on display was what lay on the nightstand by the bed. The sixth item of Pinkie Pie’s little gem collection was a rock the size of her hoof, grey in colour with sharp, rough edges. Applejack ground her head deeper into the pillow. While Applejack couldn’t see how this rock was supposed to link up to herself, it was enough to see that Pinkie kept the rock close by.

Perhaps she’d have spent the whole day considering the implications and wallowing in impossibilities if she hadn’t heard the faint buzz. Applejack rolled out of bed, ears perched, straining to make out exactly what the insistent noise was. Opening the room door helped a little, but not as much as she’d have liked. Only when she trotted down the stairs did she realise it was music. The house was deserted, and a trumpet-like, glassy buzz came from the other side of the house. Applejack made her way past the embers of the fireplace in the empty living room, pushing the back door open.

Blinkie Pie sat on a simple garden sofa on the patio that covered the house’s eastern face, eyes closed and nursing a clarinet from which she played a haunting tune. Applejack had never quite heard anything like it, the melody uncomfortably stuck somewhere between melancholy and adventurous. On a chair closer to the door, Clyde sat, waving her outside once he caught her eye.

“Don’t mean to disturb,” Applejack whispered, closing the door behind her.

“She plays whether you like it or not,” Clyde replied, less concerned with volume. Blinkie didn’t react. “You’re not disturbing anyone. Grab a seat.”

And so Applejack did, climbing atop the other free chair. The entire patio and all its furnishings from the sofa bench, the chairs and right down to the small table, they were all simple, wooden and unpainted, but undeniably sturdy. Somepony had carved a repeating pattern in the support beams that held up the roof.

Past the railing, the Pie family’s rock farm stretched on. It looked infinitely larger than Sweet Apple Acres, but then, that was probably because you could see all the surrounding fields without trees to hide them. Far, far away, on the other side of the large fields, Applejack could just barely spot the other Pie family members, mostly thanks to Pinkie’s bright coat. They stood by some construction or other—a well, perhaps?—but it was the only notable feature Applejack could see outside of rocks, rocks and more rocks.

“Must be nice to have crops that don’t rot,” Applejack said, trying for some polite conversation. “I get there’s plenty of stuff to do, but at least varmints ain’t likely to eat your rocks. You plant an apple tree, you never know what’s gonna happen. Rot, worms, storms or drought, you bet your flank we get one or two of those each season.”

Clyde chewed on a single straw, rolling it over to the other side of his muzzle. “It’s not that easy. Guess you haven’t met diamond dogs, then?”

Applejack poked the inside of her cheek. She could’ve said that yes, she had, but there didn’t seem to be a whole lot of merit to that.

“That, and soil matters a whole lot to rock farms, too. We get bad harvests. Not growing our own food, there’s that to consider, and since we’re on the edge of town, there’re all manner of threats. Chasing off diamond dogs is the least of our worries, sometimes. Plenty of beasts out there that would love to make off with the more precious of our gemstones.”

“Right,” Applejack said. “Didn’t mean offense or to suggest nothin’, figure it’s hard work too, just—”

“Of course you didn’t,” Clyde said, smiling just the tiniest bit around his straw. “And I didn’t take any. We play by the same rules. You don’t know what’s gonna happen when you set a batch of rocks—or plant an apple tree—but that’s why you work the fields, that’s why you take precautions. You protect your farm. You have as many fields as you can work, not as many fields as you need if all goes well ‘cause you’re some lazy city pony.”

“Got that right,” Applejack said, grinning.

Clyde turned towards her. Sure, they’d met the day before and talked, but this time it wasn’t a mere glance or a look and a nod as they talked. Blinkie’s music continued, building up, dipping low, always changing, teasing and defying any one single description. Never quite sad, never uplifting. Clyde didn’t speak until he broke away and once again trained his eyes on the horizon.

“You know all that, though. You don’t need a lecture from an old man telling you simple stuff like this. The Apple family is a respected name, oldest in Equestria, some say. You’ve never once failed to bring the harvest.”

Applejack took a deep breath. It was one thing to hear Granny Smith say it, or to sing songs at a family meet. It was a very different thing to hear the words from another family. She didn’t nod, didn’t acknowledge it, but still her chest swelled with pride at that. Clyde chuckled and got up as though he knew regardless.

“I’m going to go make breakfast. Don’t let the girls give you trouble.”

“Need a hoof with that?” Applejack asked, but all she received in reply was a shake of his head, leaving Applejack with Blinkie and her clarinet. They sat mostly shielded from the frigid wind that tore across the fields, but every once in awhile a particularly cruel gust swept past them. Blinkie finally lowered her instrument, opened her eyes, and rubbed her own sides. Clearly the cold bothered her, but she didn’t complain.

“Did you ever want to stop farming apples just because it’s tough work?”

Applejack perked her ears on instinct, like she was sure she’d heard it wrong. The question was almost too simple, too straightforward.

“‘Course not,” she replied.

Blinkie polished the tip of her clarinet. For a second, Applejack wondered if she’d go back to playing, back to her undeniably well performed but annoying music. Instead, she put the clarinet down at her side with irreverent care.

“You’re a fool if you look for guarantees, that’s what granddad used to say.” Again, that sharp certainty in her voice. Applejack felt a frown building somewhere deep inside of her.

“He said that if you think you’ll get anything for free, you’re a fool, too. Guarantees are built. They don’t come with the rain or the wind.” Blinkie leaned back. “You build them yourself, you make certainties because you try, and you work at it.”

“Sounds like a real wise feller,” Applejack muttered. Idly, she wondered if they were still talking about farming. If that had ever been the topic at all. In the far distance, a pink, barely pony-shaped speck hopped up and down.

“He was,” Blinkie replied, tapping her hooves against the bench, staring out at nothing and everything, her attention scattered all over the place where her voice was knife’s edge. “He also said that if you don’t think something will work, it won’t. Dad makes it sound like the Apples know that.”

Applejack didn’t know how to answer that, so she didn’t. She wondered if Pinkie noticed her looking at her. If the pink blotch in the distance looked back at her right now.

“Pinkie’s adopted.”

Applejack stared at Blinkie. It was all she could really do. The blue-grey mare didn’t strike her as the type of pony to enjoy getting a rise out of somepony else. She could scarcely imagine what Blinkie looked like when she smiled, much less her laughing because she’d fooled Applejack. Presently, she reached for her clarinet and put the tip to her muzzle.

“Why’d you tell me that?” Applejack asked.

Blinkie frowned and lowered her instrument again. “Does it matter if she is or isn’t?”

“Of course not, that’s why I’m askin’ why you’d tell me.”

A shrug. Blinkie twirled the clarinet around one hoof, then the other. “You just sounded surprised that we’re a happy family. Family’s what you make of it, too. We all decided she’s family, and now she is.”

Blinkie Pie trained her eyes on the distant ponies now, too, and there was the smile Applejack didn’t think existed. A small, quiet barely-a-smile as Blinkie looked to her sisters and mother in the distance. To Pinkie Pie, Applejack knew.

“She’s different, but I’m different from Inkie, too, and mom and dad aren’t all that alike either. Pinkie’s always been a Pie because we didn’t ask or hope to be good sisters, they didn’t worry they wouldn’t be good parents. We never sat around scared of talking because we were afraid maybe we’d have a fight. We worked on it.”

Applejack snorted. It was a pointless gesture, a foalish thing, but it felt good regardless. She watched the frost-vapour drift away and scatter. Pinkie, Inkie and Sue were still walking the fields, just like Applejack, Apple Bloom and Big Mac might walk around the orchards with Granny Smith to inspect the saplings in spring.

Rock fields and apple orchards, Apples and Pies, parties and and farm duties—there were differences but they didn’t seem nearly as significant before. Pinkie had become part of her family through adapting, through hard work, and that, she could understand.

Suddenly she saw how alike they were—or would have been if Applejack weren’t sat on her patootie shaking her head before she’d even hitched the plough herself. She’d been so busy denying possibilities, she hadn’t even tried. She hadn’t done anything at all, and it was rapidly getting too late. Her heart caught in her throat. Swallowing hurt.

“Right. I’m gonna go—” Applejack began, hoping she’d maybe manage to say ‘thank you’ without her stupid stubborn pride getting in the way.

Blinkie put her clarinet to her muzzle, cutting Applejack off. Her eyes were closed, dedicated in full to her endlessly frustrating tune. It was all Applejack could do to dip her head in thanks and set off across the fields.

Sped along by her little revelation, crossing the fields took less than a minute. Doing things, that was her realm. Action, she understood, and that gave her wings the envy of any pegasus.

The structure the Pies crowded around wasn’t a well, as it turned out. Rather, it wasn’t a well built for water, that much Applejack could tell. Inkie, Pinkie and Sue stood near a shaft that went deep into the ground, the wind playing a hollow whistle on the lip of masonry. The ponies’ chatter slowly petered out as Applejack approached. Inkie and Pinkie smiled and moved a bit to allow for Applejack to join their little circle while Sue busily worked a crank to lower a lantern attached to a rope down the shaft.

“What’s this whole operation about, then?” Applejack asked.

“Oh, we just call it a test shaft. We use it to check up on the soil!” Pinkie said. “Sometimes we get Delver to stick his head down there and see if the farm’s okay or if we maybe have gemstone gophers. Plus, it’s super useful if you ever want to talk to the earthworms. I don’t, but maybe there’s somepony out there who can!”

“Right,” Applejack said, flicking her tail. Truth be told, she didn’t at all care about the shaft right now, and wouldn’t have even if it grew blue apples on demand. She could hardly contain herself, and she was sure she was grinning like a fool, but some niceties had to be observed. “Pinkie? Can we talk?”

“Sure!” Pinkie said. She hopped into the air, turned around, and landed with all four legs so close together, she looked like she’d planted herself in the ground like an odd, colourful tree. Or a pink broccoli sprout.

“In private, ‘less you mind.” Applejack flashed a smile at Inkie, who returned it and took a sudden yet keen interest in her mother’s work. Pinkie tilted her head. Applejack jerked her head towards the farmhouse, very much hoping Pinkie would take a hint.

“Ooh. You mean private-private?” Pinkie asked, her lips forming a neat circle whilst she nodded in understanding. “Right! Sure!” She tapped the ground with a hoof. “Whatcha wanna talk about?”

Applejack didn’t groan, roll her eyes, or give any sign of annoyance. She didn’t say she’d tell later, nor did she say that it was important even though it was. There’d been two lies for every truth from her mouth lately, and omissions were kin to those things. Right now was a time for action.

“About you and me, sugar,” Applejack chuckled. “The kind of private that means you and me only. Please?”

That got Pinkie moving. That, or maybe it was Inkie planting her head on Pinkie’s butt and giving her a great big shove. It was hard to tell which was the deciding factor, but when Applejack started towards the farmhouse in a trot, Pinkie did follow her across the frozen soil.

“You mean, we need to talk,” Pinkie said.

“Yup! S’what I said.” The more she thought on it, the more confident she became; she knew exactly what Pinkie would have said if she’d let her finish during their talk on the road to the farm, and the rock on her bed stand was no coincidence.

“Nuh-uh. Totally different,” Pinkie said. “If you did it right, I would’ve gotten a shiver down my back.”

“There’s a Pinkie sense for talks?” Applejack raised a brow.

“Nah. I think everypony gets that when you say it right, really.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Applejack chuckled. She slowed down until she came to a stop in the middle of the frozen fields, and Pinkie did the same, watching her with obvious curiosity. It was cold as ever, but Applejack had fire in her veins and felt none of it.

“You look like you have something to say,” Pinkie observed, tilting her head. Applejack felt a twinge of nervousness at that, but it was cobwebs before the train. She was an Apple family mare, and this, she could handle.

“Matter of fact, I do got something to say,” she said, straightening up. Still she couldn’t shake that oddly pervasive grin, so much did she look forward to telling Pinkie.

“Might be I was wrong before. Wrong about us. I kept seeing problems, kept looking for—for I don’t know what. For promises nopony can give, I suppose. For guarantees.” Pinkie’s head tilted further, and by all rights she should’ve fallen over by now.

Applejack rolled her jaw, thought as she spoke. She hadn’t planned the words at all, and now she wondered if she should have. “Maybe I was looking for shortcuts ‘cause I was afraid of change. I’m a simple mare, I like to think. I already told you I’m happier with you around than without, and I just got spooked, but I guess I forgot nopony ever reaped a harvest without sowing.”

And now she couldn’t think of anything but that. Her heart leapt. “I guess what I’m saying is that I’m more’n ready to try.”

Pinkie had said very little for all too long, silent and immovable. Applejack cleared her throat. Perhaps she hadn’t been half as clear as she’d thought.

“Sugarcube? I worried because nopony can say it’ll work, but I’m fine, now. I already told you how I feel.” Applejack smiled. “This ain’t some flight of fancy, but I need to know that it ain’t for you, either. I play for keeps.”

The wind was the first to answer, a whistle that became a howl, and Pinkie’s easy smile surrendered to a deep frown. This time, the weather found its mark, and Applejack rubbed one leg against the other for warmth.

“Uh, Pinkie? This’d be where you say somethin’.”

Pinkie stuck her tongue out of the side of her mouth. “I think you’re being very, very silly, and a tiny bit mean.”

Just like that, Applejack’s blood turned to ice instead. She tried to keep her breathing steady, but she found she couldn’t stop swallowing. Had she gotten it all wrong? Rejection, she could handle. At least that’s what she told herself. She’d just thought she understood—that there was some significance to the rock on the bedstand. To all Pinkie had said, or tried to say.

“Right.” Applejack forced the words out. “I don’t see exactly how I’m being silly.”

“That’s what’s silly! That you don’t see!” Pinkie said, throwing her hooves up in the air.

Applejack clutched her head with a hoof. Another sharp gust of wind crossed the fields, raking her coat. She took a demonstrative step towards the farmhouse “I ain’t following, but can we have this argument after we get inside?”

“Actually, can we not do the arguing at all? I don’t like arguing.” Pinkie’s ears splayed, her bottom lip thrust forward in a pout, but she took the lead nevertheless. Applejack took a deep breath and followed.

Pinkie Pie said nothing while they passed Blinkie by. She was still playing the same tune, and hadn’t moved an inch. Neither of them spoke when they moved through living room, past Clyde who rooted around the hearth. Two sets of hooves went up the stairs and down to the end of the corridor to Pinkie’s room, the air between them pregnant with words.

The bedroom was still far hotter than it had a right to be, and Applejack could swear she was building a headache the second she stepped inside. She moved up to the window by the bed and rose up to lean against the windowsill, but once there, she couldn’t muster the energy to open it. She was left staring out the window at nothing, at rock-bearing fields and frozen forests beyond.

“Guess I got it all wrong,” Applejack said. “Figured maybe—well.” Her breath fogged the glass. The words sounded stupid. Simple and stupid. “Thought maybe you felt something of the same.”

“Well, yeah.”

A hop and a creak behind her. Pinkie was on her bed now, smiling like it was the most obvious thing ever. For all that she was surprised and twice again as confused, her world turned upside-down two times in as many minutes, Applejack said nothing. Every time she tried to speak, she jammed another hoof in her muzzle.

“I always thought you were really great. All of you girls are, but—I don’t know. We’re both farmponies! Or, well, I was, I guess.” Pinkie shrugged, shifting where she sat like a cat unhappy with its bedding.

“It’s not like I’ve been part of the ‘I want to give Applejack a hug and then maybe smooch her a bit’ club for months and years and decades. I still don’t know it like I really know some other things, like how I know how to make a batch of chocolate caramel confectionary crunches even with a blindfold on.” Pinkie barely smiled at her own little aside, like even she didn’t find it very funny. “But after all the time we spent together? Um, well.” She fastened her gaze on the lump of rock on the bedstand.

“Just these past weeks, huh,” Applejack muttered. She wasn’t the only one to have felt it, and that was nice at least. Pinkie nodded and sat.

“Yeah. I kinda liked having you around. Being around. I mean, I always have, but it felt so nice to have somepony always there for me so I didn’t have to bottle some things up until it goes terribly wrong and Madame LeFleur starts talking again, you know how that all goes—”

Applejack nodded though she didn’t.

“—but it felt good to have somepony—somepony who listened. Really listened. And then—” Pinkie fidgeted with the blanket, her smile waning. “—you said you liked me. I was really happy to hear that, but I didn’t even have time to say anything, because you also said ‘no way, goodbye,’ too, and then I felt a little bit less like cheering, and maybe a bit like I wanted to cry. But I didn’t.”

Applejack left the windowsill, walking halfway over to the bed. She couldn’t make herself cross the full distance. Her hooves were leaden. “I just wish you’d told me sooner,” Applejack said.

It was just a stray thought. A wish for anything to be different, for something in the past weeks to have gone differently that she could pretend she believed she’d be blameless. It had been the exact wrong thing to say.

Pinkie still sat in the middle of the bed looking at Applejack with big round eyes. Before, there’d been only a twinge of sadness in her voice, but now a touch of accusation made itself known. Anger. Hurt. “You said no. Would you have listened? Would you want me to pretend I didn't believe or respect you?”

“Guess not, but—”

“But now you’re just taking it back?” Pinkie asked, her voice rising still. “You’ve been all me, me, me. ‘I’m the problem,’ ‘I’m the one who can’t do the smoochies,’ and now you’re just pretending you never said it? Taking it back? You decided we can go out?”

Pinkie let her hooves drop to the bed. In her battle with the blanket, she’d somehow managed to wrap it around her head like a shawl. She looked ridiculous with her mane pinned flat to her head. “You just come trotting up to me like everything’s okay because you changed your mind, but you never asked me what I think. You never let me talk. It was all about you.”

Applejack blinked, opened her mouth to protest, but the words clumped up. An odd sense of deja vu was all she got, thrown back to when she’d spilled Pinkie’s secret exactly because she’d made everything out to be about herself instead. She sat and clutched her own tail.

“Yeah,” she said. It beat “sorry.” She didn’t know if she could handle saying that word again, despite—no. Exactly because it was called for. It hurt because she meant it. Most of all, she wanted everything said and out in the open so she didn’t feel compelled to dredge that word up like a painful cough every time they talked. “I got stuck somewhere inside this big, empty head of mine, I guess,” she said. “All I could think was that I couldn’t lose you as a friend. Now that I found my courage, I never stopped to think.”

Applejack moved a little closer, finally seating herself by the edge of the bed. Only Pinkie’s eyes and snout were visible over the rim. When a hoof quested forth from under the blanket’s cover, Applejack reached out to touch it. “I never meant to hurt you, Pinkie. You gotta believe me.”

“Of course you didn’t. You’re just silly sometimes,” Pinkie smiled. It was a faint thing, but Applejack clung to it like sunrise after everlasting night. “If you thought you would lose me, that hurts me, that’s what I think. That’s what I’d say if you asked me. If we talked, and I guess we’re talking now.” Pinkie’s muzzle pushed forward a little further.

“You didn’t think I’d be serious. You made it sound like you thought I was stupid, and not funny let’s-mix-cream-with-liquorice stupid, but like I’d smooch you and then run away and hide, twirling my evil, evil moustache because I’d just tried to ruin one of my favourite friendships—”

“That’s not—” Applejack tried, but Pinkie cut her off.

“—even when we both know we’re great friends and that we’ll be friends no matter what happens. If you’re so afraid of that happening that you hide instead of wanting to talk to me, then it isn’t about you!”

Pinkie threw the blanket away like royalty doffing a cloak, leaping off the bed to sit at Applejack’s side, and before Applejack could even react, she received a sharp jab in her chest.

“That’s really, really silly, and really mean of you, because that’s you saying me, me, me when you actually don’t trust me at all. You don’t trust me to stay if you ask me out and it all goes wrong. That hurts. You said all these nice things about me, that you understand me, that you like me, that you think I’m not all that silly—and then you forgot them, like you didn’t mean them in the first place! Hurt!” Pinkie said, pouting and rubbing her own chest just above her heart.

Applejack sighed and sank in on herself. “Well, if’n I can trust that you still wanna be friends with me, that’s probably more than I deserve at this point.”

Pinkie jabbed her again.

“Ouch! What’d you do that for?” Applejack asked.

“You’re still not listening!” Pinkie said. She rose to stand, her bottom lip thrust out. “You’re usually really good at that, at listening and being super-awesome, but sometimes you’re denser than an all-bran muffin. I told you!”

“Told me what?” Applejack asked, rubbing her sore chest.

“Oh. Wait. I guess that was weeks ago, actually,” Pinkie said, tapping her own muzzle. “So maybe you actually don’t remember. But still, I’m sure you didn’t listen. I told you I’m not a soap bubble!”

Applejack blinked. Pinkie took that as an invitation to go on.

“Nopony can know what will happen. Not even my Pinkie sense can read the future—well, unless the future is all about falling flower pots, I guess. Soap bubbles pop when you poke them, you know?”

“I can safely say I know that much.” Applejack said, raising a brow.

“And balloons don’t!”

Applejack nodded very carefully, paying close attention to the impromptu physics lesson. Pinkie, for her part, smiled, reaching out to hold one of Applejack’s hooves in her own.

“You don’t know if I’m a bubble or a balloon until you check. You’re so afraid I’ll pop when you poke me, you don’t even try, even when I tell you I’m not going to disappear. Bubbles go pop, and balloons, they just go squish! I like the blue ones best, but I guess you can only really play with them for a few days before they kind of shrivel up and deflate and ew—wait,” Pinkie shook her head violently. “That wasn’t what I was trying to say.”

“Looks like a balloon, probably smells like a balloon, and says she’s a balloon,” Pinkie said, lowering her voice a tad. Gently, she led Applejack’s hoof down to touch Pinkie’s flank, resting it there. “Totally is a balloon. Ooh, I just realised, that’s super clever because my cutie mark is balloons. Wow!” Pinkie grinned, supremely pleased for one single moment. Applejack rolled her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Pinkie said, again checking her voice, speaking slower, more quiet, and it was clear it took effort. “I’m really really sorry you were hurt before, and if having lost somepony makes you a little scared, well, that’s fine, because I’m also really scared. It’s like what you said about the forest fire and everything.” Pinkie reached out and grabbed a hold of one of Applejack’s forelegs again, nuzzling her hoof. “And it’s like what I said, too. There’s something happy about everything that’s also kinda sad.”

Applejack sighed. “Yeah. If you hadn’t come by that night, I guess we wouldn’t be here now, not like this.” Applejack closed her eyes for a moment, a long and indulgent blink. She focused on Pinkie’s touch, willing everything else to drop away for a moment.

“Exactly!” Pinkie said, letting her hoof drop. “But even if I’m scared, that usually doesn’t stop me from trying, and it totally shouldn’t stop big and strong and really sweet Applejack-y farmponies, either. If you just stopped looking down, and looked up instead, looked at me, maybe you’d see that. If you were close to me when you looked up, you’d see me!” Pinkie flashed a grin. “You made it sound like you thought we were okay because you had things figured out, but you don’t ask yourself for permission to use somepony’s kitchen. You should ask me to use my—uh, wait. I mean, ask me out. You know what I mean!”

“I reckon I do,” Applejack said, her ears well and truly pinned back. She knew Pinkie was looking at her, big and shiny blue eyes trained on hers, but Applejack couldn’t look away from Pinkie’s hooves. She wanted nothing more than to grab a hold of them, but that was part of the problem. She’d been so happy with the realisation that she was ready to reach out, to think that Pinkie wanted this as well, she hadn’t paused to think that Pinkie had a say in it. That it was a question, and perhaps most of all, that telling Pinkie she wanted to hear none of this talk until now, until Applejack herself was ready—what a terrible thing that had been.

“Thought for a moment,” she said in a coarse whisper. “Thought that if it was what we both wanted, it didn’t much matter, but I guess it was disrespectful to think you were just waitin’ for me to say go.”

She looked up then, back at Pinkie, and while there was neither anger nor judgment, Pinkie didn’t disagree either. Pinkie tapped her forehooves on the floor, waiting with a patient smile, a beautiful smile that encouraged Applejack to try on a smile of her own. The tentative, itchy buzz of hope felt so infinitely much better than the dread of five minutes ago.

“Pinkie? I don’t feel so high and mighty now. Feels like I mucked stuff up good and proper, and I don’t know if it’s gonna be enough just sayin’ the word, but I’m gonna say it anyway. I’m sorry.” Again that word, but with it, release. Applejack cleared her throat. Her voice still shook, and she didn’t care. “I was wrong not to take you seriously, even for a minute, and I meant every darn thing I said at the winter picnic. When we were baking. In the barn. I meant it all. I just lost sight of it.”

Pinkie leaned forward to touch snouts with Applejack, her smile widening a bit. “That’s okay. It did hurt, but you didn’t ‘muck it up.’ You still haven’t tried. Poked. Asked. And now you know that I accept your apology, that I really like being around you, and that I think I’d like to be around you more, especially if you can talk to me instead of hiding and being quiet and telling me to be quiet too. So, yeah!”

Suddenly, Applejack’s mouth was dry, and she was keenly aware of her own heartbeat. Again that pleasant itch in her chest, the smile that went from tail to snout. It was time for doing something instead of waiting, instead of thinking—

Pinkie rose to stand with a single hop. “What I was trying to say was that you haven’t asked me if I wanted to go eat something, or go to the movies with you, or maybe go rollerskating—you know, a date but with food or something fun, because I love food. And fun. And the idea of spending more time with you, too! Lucky me! But if you want me to ask you instead of asking you to ask me—”

Applejack laughed and shook her head. Something about seeing Pinkie be so incredibly, ridiculously Pinkie again helped calm her nerves more surely than any spa treatment or whatever else other ponies did to simmer down.

“No. No, let me,” she said, grinning. “Listen, I ain’t good with fancy words. Heck, probably ain’t good with anything ‘bout this whole romantical business if the past weeks’re anything to go by.” Applejack shook her head and held up a hoof to silence Pinkie when it looked like she was about to speak up, and for once, it actually worked. It was a day for miracles, alright.

“I’ve woken up confused every day, frustrated, sometimes plum scared, and there ain’t nothing I quite dislike so much as not knowing what’s goin’ on. But it’s been amazing, too. Every time I got to see you. I wouldn’t be without these past weeks even with the hurtin’, I’ll say that much, and, well.” Applejack breathed through her nose. “I’d like more of that. If you’re likely to give me any more Pinkie than what I’ve got, I don’t ever want to have to give it back, and I hope you ain’t gonna give up on me because I can be a big idiot sometimes.”

Pinkie Pie didn’t say anything. She smiled brightly and shook her head resolutely.

“So.” Applejack made a show of standing up, dusting herself up and shaking her mane free. “Maybe you’d want to grab something to eat? Have lunch and talk about something other’n how strange this all’s been? I’d love to get back to the part where we’re hanging out together.”

Pinkie wrapped her forelegs around Applejack’s neck and squeezed until Applejack could do no more than make a strangled noise, toppling over on her side.

“Yep! I mean, yes! I guess—I mean, as in, I think ‘yes’ sounds a lot better probably. Than ‘yep.’ Not as in ‘I guess I’ll go on a date with you,’ because that sounds all wrong—”

“Pinkie. Breathing.”

“Oh! Sorry,” Pinkie giggled and relented somewhat, still hugging Applejack where the two lay on the wooden floorboards of her room. Applejack took a deep breath of air.

“Alright. Okay. Good.”

“Nuh-uh, not good. Super!” Pinkie giggled-snorted and nuzzled the top of Applejack’s head.

“Super it is,” Applejack said, chuckling weakly. She lay still staring up at the ceiling, Pinkie halfway draped over her. She ran a hoof along Pinkie’s side, enjoying the simple act of being. The world was pleasant, soft and pink, and for a few moments, the silence held. Just the two of them. She didn’t even worry too much when she noticed Pinkie’s face was creased in a frown, tongue sticking out of her mouth, though she did wonder.

“You mean when we get back to Ponyville, right?” Pinkie asked.

Applejack shrugged, letting her hoof rest on Pinkie’s back. “Wasn’t even thinking that far, but I guess? Sooner the better.”

“It’s just that there aren’t a whole lot of cafés or skating rinks or anything around here.”

“Right.”

“And I’m pretty sure Inkie, Blinkie, and probably my dad are listening at the door.”

There was a muffled thud from the other side of Pinkie’s door, shortly followed by the scrabble of multiple sets of hooves. Applejack laughed.

“Tell you what. Much as it’s been great visiting your farm and all, I need to get back home before my family starts wondering where the heck I went off to. Didn’t take them long to send a rescue party last time, if’n you’ll remember.” Applejack made to get up, but Pinkie snuck a little further atop Applejack, resting her head on her chest. Applejack didn’t bother protesting too much. She could spare another few minutes. Or hours.

“Don’t cut your visit short on my account, but you just head on up to Sweet Apple Acres when you get back yourself and I have an idea,” Applejack said.

“I like ideas,” Pinkie said. “What kind of idea is it? Is it a plan kind of idea?”

“That’d be tellin’,” Applejack said, grinning.

Back to Where it All Began

Sunday. While it was barely past noon on what was usually the most quiet of days, Pinkie had sent a letter saying she would come back with the two o’clock train on exactly Sunday. Applejack would be lying if she said she wasn’t excited, so she didn’t. If Apple Bloom’s complaints were any indication, she didn’t have to speak to say that anyway. She’d almost worn grooves in the floorboards with her pacing this morning.

Applejack glanced out the rime-frosted window for the tenth or the ten thousandth time. Today, winter was back to being the enemy. Again there was nothing to do to take her mind off—no, she corrected herself. Applejack grinned and stared out into the snow-laden orchards as if there was a chance of spotting the tip of a pink tail behind a tree. You never knew with Pinkie.

No, she didn’t want anything to take her mind off this wait. She didn’t want to ignore or pretend, she just wanted something to do to pass the time. She’d cleared the farmyard of snow twice today already, and for once, her friends were no help in passing time.

Twilight and Rainbow had been kind enough to tell Fluttershy and Rarity of what had happened before Applejack left for Rockopolis, but it’d been the work of a full day to bring them all up to speed. A pleasant day’s work, at that. If she could tear her mind off her afternoon plans, Applejack might have been a tiny bit suspicious of how they all reported they were busy today, but it was easier to be content with everything working out instead.

Finally the mantelpiece clock struck one. Applejack dropped her forehooves from the windowsill, halfway to the kitchen before the venerable clock’s gong had faded. She’d told herself that if she could hold out ‘till one, she’d be fine. The food wouldn’t get cold that quick, and everything would come together nicely.

Before she was halfway to the oven, the timer let out its little ping, complimenting Applejack on her timing. An oven mitt was grabbed, the oven was opened, and the pie slipped on top of the pre-prepared basket. Applejack covered the whole thing with a cloth and bumped the table with her flank, basket onto her back and ready to go.

“Heading out for a bit,” Applejack said as she passed back through the living room. Granny Smith nodded, but she said nothing. Applejack paused with the door half ajar. She hadn’t said much on the matter to her family yet, but there was precious little fear left in her now.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout what you said. Adding to the family and what-not,” Applejack said. She scratched her snout, couldn’t keep a grin from her face. “Gonna head out on a date. Now, I don’t rightly know where this all will go, but I thought it’d be fair to warn you and all. Might be Big Mac or Apple Bloom have to take care of that all. This one ain’t much like us Apples.”

Granny Smith continued rocking her chair, her old bones creaking in tandem with the worn piece of furniture. “Weren’t my point at all, young’un. This wasn’t an apple orchard when we settled, either. Doing the same thing over and over ain’t the Apple family way. S’why we came over here. S’why we planted corn last year where we had beets th’year before. What I wanna know is if’n you’re done bein’ all touched in the head. If you got it sorted out.” She paused, squinting. “If you’re happy.”

Applejack smiled back at her gran. She didn’t have to think that one through much, though her cheeks did heat up. “Went a bit stir crazy for a bit, but yeah. I’m happy as can be. For a while I couldn’t help but think that I couldn’t stand to lose y’all, I guess.”

“And I don’t see what’n tarnation you could possibly manage to do to lose any of us. Family’s goin’ nowheres. Say, is your noisy friend comin’ to visit? The pink one?”

Applejack laughed. “Yep! Well, actually, I’m gonna go see her, but I’m sure she’ll be around a bit from now on. In fact, I’m counting on that.”

“Long as you keep her out of the apple cellar, or it’ll be lean times for us,” said Granny Smith with a wry smile on her face. “Now git, you’re bringin’ the winter inside.”

And out Applejack went. The snow whirled around her, the snowdrifts around the farmyard rebelling against her earlier efforts to keep the paths clear between farmhouse, barns and chicken coops. The day was supposed to be sunny and clear, just above freezing, but it hadn’t worked out to plan. Something about the next town over mucking the weather up and Dash not being able to find enough pegasi to stop it from rolling over Ponyville.

Applejack didn’t mind. Though the cloud-layer was relatively light and betrayed the time of day, all she could think while she made her way to the barn was that the wind reminded her of a very particular night. Perhaps most ponies wouldn’t think a chilly, snow-blasted barn much of a picnic spot, but Applejack couldn’t quite shake the thought that this was where it had all started.

Only, she didn’t know if Pinkie saw it thus. Applejack halted outside the barn, scratching the side of her head. She had to admit to herself she had no idea what went into these things. She knew what Rarity would say. Surely it was a travesty to have their first date—even the word felt odd—be anything less than a five-star dinner. On the other hoof, Twilight would probably feel more at home with some scientific outing or stargazing, and on the third and fourth hooves, Fluttershy or Rainbow Dash would probably prefer something different entirely.

If she hadn’t stopped, and if she hadn’t been thinking about hooves so much, she might’ve missed the hoofprints. Applejack leaned closer to the ground, discarding her line of thinking. It didn’t matter anyway. If Pinkie appreciate the picnic, she could take her to some amusement park, take her skydiving or whatever, next time. She was done with nonsense and insecurities more at home in a filly’s brain. Presently, she was more curious about the faint depressions, almost completely snowed in hoofprints, leading towards the barn—and hadn’t she closed the barn door yesterday? There was a small but noticeable gap through which Applejack could hear faint humming when the wind drew breath. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear it sounded like—

“Pinkie Pie!” Applejack said, sticking her head inside the barn. The pink mare herself froze on the spot, leaning on one of the barn’s support beams with a ribbon in her mouth.

Applejack didn’t quite know which question to begin with. She quickly pulled the door shut in her wake, fully inside a barn that was decidedly not as empty as it used to be. Coloured paper lanterns dangled from the rafters, a gramophone stood mute by the door, and one particular area held a games table more at home in Los Pegasus than Ponyville. Even that wasn’t half of it, but all the other embellishments paled compared to the table set for two smack dab in the middle of her barn. A low seatless table, an unlit candle, and tableware Applejack hadn’t seen since Sugarcube Corner hosted Princess Celestia for brunch.

“What in tarnation are you up to?” Applejack asked, and she couldn’t keep from laughing even as she asked. Pinkie Pie gave up the ribbon, tossing it into a half-full bag of colourful adornments resting by the table.

“Do you mean what I’m doing right now, or why I took the ten o’clock train instead and totally lied a bunch to you?” Pinkie asked, trotting over to her. She didn’t stop until she was snout to snout with Applejack, nuzzling her. “Because they kinda have the same answer. What are you doing here? You’re supposed to meet me at the platform in an hour, and then I’m gonna say, hey, do you want to maybe go to your place? Because I think I saw a giraffe hiding in your barn!”

“Really,” Applejack said. She pulled back a tad to reclaim a bit of personal space, but Pinkie took another step forward, and Applejack left it at that. There were worse fates, and her particular fate smelled of cotton candy.

“Nuh, silly. That was a lie, too! I was gonna pretend I saw a giraffe, or maybe get Fluttershy to wear a giraffe costume to get you inside to where I’d planned the—uh,” Pinkie stuck her tongue out and looked around the room as though she wasn’t really sure what she was looking at. That made two of them.

“Yeah, I don’t actually know what I was gonna call it, because it’s kind of a welcome home party for myself, and an ‘I’m glad to be home with you’ party for you, but mostly, it’s a date party! Or just a date, I guess.” She folded her ears and clopped her hooves together. “Um, I don’t really know what dates are supposed to look like, but I know what parties look like, so I kind of cheated a little when I couldn’t decide. Sorry.”

“So that’s why there’s a pool?” Applejack asked with a pointed glance. While she admired the ingenuity, the springboard leading off one of the support beams was attached with a mix of rope and taffy. That, and the little plastic pool was about a hoof’s breadth deep at most.

“Yeah. The water’s already cold,” Pinkie said with a mournful sigh. “And you are way early! I need to make one more trip to go get all the food.”

“I got us covered there, actually.” Applejack slipped the basket onto a free corner of the table and pulled the covering cloth away. “Unless downhome Apple family fare ain’t good enough for a first date. Date party. Casino thinger.”

If Pinkie’s outright drooling was any indication, it wasn’t. Pinkie scooted around to sit down at the table, shaking her head vigorously. “Nuh-uh! I’ve been dreaming about apple pie for days now! I bet Rarity and Rainbow Dash will understand.”

“Uh, Rarity and R.D.? What’ve they got to do with this all?” Applejack asked. Since Pinkie was busy flapping her gums, Applejack fished out all the contents of the basket. Apple pie, spiced cider, turnovers for dessert and a thermos of tea, all went onto the table along with another thermos with cocoa in case they got chilly.

“Oh yeah, I sent them a letter, too, one where I didn’t sneakily lie. One that said, ‘hey guys, I’m coming home at ten, can you help me put together a super-fantastic date thingy for Applejack?’”

“Guess I owe them thanks. Explains why R.D. wouldn’t keep me entertained while I waited. She usually never says no to hanging out.” Applejack grinned. “Well. I’m sure they’ll survive. Might be they’ll come looking for us, though.”

“Nope. I told Twilight all my backup plans, so we’re good!”

“Uh, beg pardon?”

Pinkie Pie shrugged. “I told her that if anything happened to me, like if I didn’t come back because I changed the plan a little, or if I was kidnapped by a giant pterodactyl—that’s a dinosaur—they should live good, healthy long lives, and also eat all the food we made and maybe meet some cute mares or stallions of their own. I’m sure this counts!”

Applejack chuckled softly, shook her head and filled Pinkie’s cup to the rim with hot cider, then her own. The rest of the world didn’t matter all that much right now anyway. Everything from big and distant Ponyville to the single, silent and forgotten gramophone disappeared. It all came down to a simple table and the pony sat opposite of her. Applejack could’ve stayed like this forever, and Pinkie didn’t protest either. Things felt right for the first time in a long while.

“I ain’t looking to kidnap you, but I’m hoping maybe you’ll stay and have a bite with me.” Applejack grinned, suddenly remembering something she’d meant to ask about for a while now. “Besides, I ain’t a dinosaur or what-have you. To hear you tell it, I’m a chunk of rock.”

“It’s not just any chunk of rock, it’s granite,” Pinkie immediately replied. Not a second’s confusion. There was no way for her to know Applejack had meant the rock on her nightstand, yet she did. Pinkie knew, she shifted where she sat, and she blushed a deeper red under her coat.

“There are hundreds of different types of gems, but ponies always forget how great rocks are, too. Granite’s really strong, and sometimes it can be really shiny too, both on the outside and inside because it’s got lots of quartz and other neat stuff in it. Most ponies never really realise. They just see a rock and think that’s that. That’s really stupid of them.”

She sounded almost indignant, Applejack thought, and the realisation sent a surge of warmth through her. It was the sort of moment where everything she’d been told suggested they should look down at their hooves, shy away from each others’ eyes and reflect.

“Mighty kind of you to say, at least,” Applejack said instead. It didn’t sound like such a bad sort of rock.

“Aw, you’re welcome!” Pinkie said, and that was that. She helped herself to a slice of pie, staring at it once she had it on her plate. “So. Are we allowed to just eat like normal? Are we supposed to hug first or something? Rarity didn’t say.”

“Don’t reckon we need no manual for this. Don’t really need ‘dates,’ if you ask me. Now, if you’d like to come with me to see how the orchard’s fences hold up with all this snow tomorrow, that’d be swell.” She rested her muzzle on a hoof, a foreleg on the table. “There’d be lunch by the fireplace afterwards.”

“Ooh, and I was thinking of helping the Cakes out with a catering job on Wednesday, and I figure maybe we could plan to have an unplanned food fight and then have to start all over again and barely make it just in time without getting the Cakes angry, but with a lot of stress and cake batter everywhere and then we’d need to take a bath! Wanna help?”

“Can’t think of nothin’ I’d rather do.” Applejack and Pinkie Pie exchanged smiles, and for a little while, that was all there was. Silence, smiles, and the promise of tomorrow, of next week—and then? After the next week, what then?

“What’re you thinking about?” Pinkie said. “I feel like I ask that a lot. Do I ask that too often? Oh, wait, if I only get one answer, I want the answer to the first one—the thinking question.”

“Winter’s not gonna last forever,” Applejack said. She glanced up, past the rafters to the barn’s ceiling as though she could see the clouds above. “We got a few months and a bit, and then it’s back to work.”

Pinkie’s smile wavered. She bit her lower lip, and Applejack knew that Pinkie was looking for doubt in her eyes. A trace of fear crossed Pinkie’s features, and given how she’d been acting lately, Applejack didn’t blame her.

“Is—is that a bad thing? I like spring. Spring’s nice. What happens in spring? Because I don’t usually plan things a lot, but—”

Applejack reached across the table and grabbed a hold of one of Pinkie’s hooves. She was warm to the touch. Pinkie always was, like she was a furnace of the very same heat Applejack felt whenever Pinkie looked at her. The same pleasant warmth that filled Applejack when she thought of next week. And the next. And the one thereafter.

“I don’t plan much either, but I sure know how to run an apple farm. There’s gonna be lots to do, from plantin’ and sowing and right up until applebuck season. Was hoping maybe you’d be here for that.”

Pinkie gave a small nod and an even smaller smile that somehow shone brighter than her biggest grins. “I think I’d like that,” she said. “It’s very nice of you to ask!”

“After that, though? I don’t rightly know,” Applejack admitted. She nuzzled Pinkie’s foreleg and pulled her a little closer, and Pinkie was happy to lean over the table with a giggle. Now that they were close, she could feel the heat radiating from Pinkie’s cheeks sure as her own.

The half-eaten apple pie squished under Pinkie’s chest and tummy, and the only reason the table didn’t tip over was because Applejack steadied it. It was about as much as she could do. A cup fell over under Pinkie’s advance, and then their muzzles met. Applejack closed her eyes and melted into the kiss, swimming in the scent, the warmth and the taste of Pinkie Pie. When finally Pinkie Pie broke off, she was grinning ear to ear, and the silliness was infectious. Applejack let out a chuckle followed by a sigh of contentment, reaching around Pinkie’s neck to hug her tight and condemn them both to a shower later.

“And besides, y’know,” Applejack said, lowering her voice a tad. “Might be that not knowing ain’t such a terrible thing. What I do know for sure is I ain’t going nowhere unless you tell me to. I ain’t letting go.”

“Two things!” Pinkie said, nosing the top of Applejack’s head. “You know two things! You also know you’re not going to tell me not to talk to you or tell you things, or stop listening, not unless I’m being super extra silly!”

“Two things, then,” Applejack chuckled.

“Oh, no, wait. three!” Pinkie said.

“Sounds like we ought to make me a list or something,” Applejack murmured, content to hold Pinkie and rub her muzzle against the side of her neck.

“You know you should probably kiss me again, and longer this time,” Pinkie said, nodding at herself. “Should I write that down? Ooh, that’ll be hard, I don’t think I brought a quill, actually.”

Applejack grinned and nipped the coat of Pinkie’s neck. “Nah. That one, I think I can remember.”

Pinkie Consistency Pie

“They found out who did it yet?” Applejack asked. She nodded her thanks to her final customer of the day, giving up the last bushel of apples for four bits. “Thank you kindly, Cheerilee.”

Rainbow Dash waved at Cheerilee before shaking her head and leaning against Applejack’s stall. “Nah. It would take a whole team to do this. They’re probably just drifting clouds from the Everfree. It was Thunderlane’s week to keep an eye out, but these things never happen. Plus, he’s really lazy, so no wonder he didn’t catch it.”

“You callin’ him out on being lazy? Now there’s a laugh.” Applejack chuckled and started stacking the empty apple baskets atop one another. Truthfully, she was glad for the company. Last Friday market of the season was always the busiest—even when winter started early. The market and all of Ponyville’s surroundings were covered in a hoof-deep blanket of snow a week ahead of schedule. Ponies bustled to and fro the market square in scarves and saddles hastily procured.

“Whatever, point is, it’s not my fault. They’re not blaming anypony, really.” Dash leaned down to wedge her snout under one of the baskets left by the side of the apple cart, tossing it onto the stack Applejack was building. “I got a letter from the weather office and they said we could just go with it. Keep it snowing and end winter a week earlier instead, maybe. I guess Mayor Mare gets to decide.”

“Well, that’s gonna ruffle more’n a few feathers either way, I imagine. I’d be powerful mad if applebuck season wasn’t past, I’ll tell you that,” Applejack said.

“Sure. And that’s exactly why I’m glad it’s not my call.” Rainbow shrugged and craned her neck to look past Applejack. “Hey, Rarity. What’s up?”

“A rather sudden winter, that is what’s ‘up,’” Rarity replied. Applejack grinned and nodded by way of greeting when the unicorn sauntered up to the two. It was hard to imagine Rarity ever being caught unprepared, and indeed, she wore a hooded cloak lined with faux rabbit fur, complete with matching purple shoes. Despite her words, their tone—and her smile—betrayed at least some pleasure in being able to bring out her winter collection.

“That’s what we were talking about, matter of fact,” Applejack said. “You got any plans for the weekend? I heard Twilight was talking about maybe heading on over to Canterlot for a week. Seems everypony’s running off on account of a little snow.” She couldn’t quite hold back a snicker at the thought.

“Everypony? Whatever do you mean?” asked Rarity, reaching up to pull down her hood.

Applejack shrugged, giving the side of her cart a determined kick, just hard enough to make the roof fold. With a satisfying whump, the apple cart was ready to go home.

“Just since Pinkie’s away to see her family and all. She usually always heads home for a few days right before winter, remember?” Applejack said. “Gonna be mighty quiet here.”

Rainbow Dash tilted her head. “Uh, AJ? All trains were cancelled when the snow hit. They’re still working on switching teams and putting the ploughs on or whatever it is they do.”

Applejack furrowed her brow, trying to make sense of it. When she again looked up, Rainbow Dash wore an expectant frown, and Rarity stood still and quiet with one brow raised. The market square was almost empty now, dozens of cart tracks and hoofprints leading from profit to the safety and warmth of home. Applejack nudged her hat back on her head and glanced southwards over her withers in the general direction of Sugarcube Corner. “She usually always comes by for Friday market. Wonder what’s keeping her.”

“Huh. I haven’t actually seen her today,” Dash said. “I’ve been so busy being shouted down by ponies who think the snow is my fault, I never thought about it.”

Rarity gave the barest hint of a shrug. “It’s Pinkie Pie, dear. Celestia knows what’s going on inside her head half the time. She’s probably trying to do something silly that we will no doubt know about soon enough.”

A smile tugged on Dash’s lips. “I don’t think Celestia knows what she’s thinking, either. Seriously. Besides, Ponyville is way too boring without her.”

“Got that right,” Applejack said with a chuckle felt but not heard. She slipped into the harness of her cart when nopony else spoke up. “Anyway, I better head on home. That’s last day of both fresh apples and cider for a while though, so I guess I’ll be bothering you girls a lot in the days to come.”

“You’re welcome any time, of course,” Rarity said, waving.

“Seeya!” Dash added, the three splitting up and going their separate ways.

Winter didn’t bother Applejack much. Or rather, the cold didn’t. Being confined to the farm with nothing useful to do around the orchards always made her a little stir crazy, but the weather was fine. She was hardy, even for an earth pony, and the cold that made others shiver or dress up didn’t usually bite on her. She wasn’t one for scarves and other accessories anyway.

The snow itself wasn’t a big hassle either, at least not until it was time to get rid of it all. She grunted as she passed between the last of central Ponyville’s buildings, pulling the cart up and over the bridge that passed the brook. Her smile only lasted until her thoughts strayed from winter to what did bother her at present. To one specific friend of hers.

For all that she was a hard-headed loudmouth, Applejack could at least relate to the way Rainbow Dash worked, and while they had their differences, she liked to think that she and Rarity had come to an understanding. Pinkie Pie, though, was impossible to read. There were a heap of things she could say about that pony. She was more unpredictable than the most flighty of pegasi and she spouted more gibberish than Twilight in her laboratory. Usually. But not when it came to Friday market.

Sometimes Pinkie would come by alone. Sometimes she would be in the company of a pony, or a dozen ponies. Often, she’d be singing when she arrived, and if she wasn’t, she’d start a song when she saw Applejack—how many Friday market apple-selling songs Pinkie Pie had made to this day Applejack didn't know, but she'd never heard the same song twice. Fact remained that Pinkie Pie always came by.

She would pop by to share an apple, forget to pay, and later visit Applejack with a smile, an apology, and a lunch muffin or some other treat for the trouble. It had come to the point where Applejack relied on that muffin, and when she saw the calendar declared it the last Friday market this fall, Applejack had planned her own lunch knowing Pinkie Pie would be heading home to visit her family as she always did around this time. An oddly predictable journey Pinkie made every year, like clockwork. That made it two constants in the life of a pony more chaotic than a twister in a berry patch.

The newly fallen snow crunched underhoof, accompanied by the constant and steady rumble of her apple cart. The sun was not quite yet done with the day, but the sky was a deep dark blue where the heavy clouds did not cover it up. Ahead lay Sweet Apple Acres, the farmhouse’s windows glowing with lights to ward off the coming darkness.

Applebuck season was over, and the cider was all sold. For a few months, she would have all the time in the world. She wasn’t worried about Pinkie Pie, but perhaps with winter coming, she could at least spare the time to be a little concerned.

It was a common misconception and an expectation become myth that the Apple family only ever ate apples. While it was most certainly a staple ingredient in nine out of ten dishes Granny Smith or any of the others knew, today’s main course was oatmeal porridge, sweetened with just a touch of sugar. That wasn’t to say there was no side dish of apple soup in case somepony got a craving, and the dessert was caramel apples. Fridays meant there was dessert, and nothing made without apples ever quite registered as proper dessert.

Applejack put the pot down on the table and spat the oven pad out. As the last one to take her seat, she nodded her thanks to Granny Smith for her part in making dinner. Apple Bloom, Big Mac, Granny Smith and Applejack herself let the silence hold for a few seconds as they always did before dinner. Equally true to tradition, Apple Bloom was the first to speak.

“D’you think this means we get winter break early?”

“Nope,” said Big Mac, nudging the pot of porridge a little closer to Granny Smith. The venerable mare immediately set to scooping herself a good helping.

“It ain’t winter on the calendar,” Applejack said, grinning at her little sister’s pout. “It ain’t like we’d have Sunday dinner if the usual Sunday summer drizzle came on a Wednesday, is it?”

“We should have Sunday dinner every day,” Apple Bloom muttered. The little filly grimaced as she watched the other take their turns with the porridge pot, finally reaching over to seize the smaller pot of steaming hot apple soup instead.

Granny Smith arched a brow at the smaller filly, leaning back in her chair. “What’s that, young’un? If you want your caramel apple after dinner, that better be a compliment on my special Sunday apple pie, and not a single bad word about this oatmeal porridge we made.”

“I don’t mind. I’ll have her dessert if she doesn’t want it,” Applejack said, grinning wide and patting her belly. “I’m sure I can make room for two, and if I can’t, I’ll split it with Big Mac.”

Apple Bloom’s eyes went wide as dinner plates. In the blink of an eye she dropped the soup ladle and whisked the porridge pot away from Big Mac. “Nuh-uh!” she said, speaking around the ladle as she scooped up more and more onto her plate. “I ‘wove your pow’idge! S’the bef’ht!”

Applejack couldn’t hold the chortles back, and Granny Smith’s cackling laughter didn’t help. Even Big Mac launched into a hearty chuckle, and it was only then that Apple Bloom seemed to consider that maybe she was being had.

“Oh give me a break,” she muttered, glaring at the porridge that threatened to overflow her plate. “I really wanted the soup.”

“I’ll be watching you eat all that anyway. Waste not, want not,” Granny Smith added, helpfully nudging the cinnamon and sugar bowls her way with a grin. For a moment, the only noises were those that went with eating, sprinkled with the occasional request to pass the sugar. Applejack pushed her plate away after her second helping, leaning back on her stool. Outside, the false winter continued; small snowflakes drifted past the dining room’s windows, every bit as tranquil as the Apple family dinner. What more could a pony possibly ever want? Applejack mustered up a content sigh.

“So. What’re you gonna do this winter?” she asked when Big Mac looked up from his third battle with the porridge pot.

“Don’t know. Might shore up the apple cellar next month,” he replied, shrugging. “Guess I can’t count on Caramel for helpin’ with that this year.”

Applejack winced in sympathy at the mention of that name, but Big Mac didn’t even flinch, and their elder wasn’t similarly cowed by the attempted deflection.

“That all?” Granny Smith asked, glancing towards Big Mac, somehow managing to squint and raise a brow all at once. There wasn’t the thing in the world that could make Big Macintosh blush, but the sole stallion in the room did shift in his seat, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

“Well. Might be Miss Cheerilee asked if’n I could see about maybe helpin’ her out with a chore or two, too. I won’t be lackin’ for things to do.”

“I’m sure boredom’s the only reason you’re going along with that.” Applejack smirked, but she got precious little reaction from her brother. Ribbing him about his ongoing flirt with Cheerilee was harder than ploughing bedrock.

“There ain’t gonna be no more Apples without anyone adding to the family, anyways,” Granny Smith said.

“Ew,” Apple Bloom said, sinking halfway below the table so only the top of her head showed. “It’s weird enough that you’re my brother, but she’s my teacher. If she ever asks me to bring you a love letter or somethin’, I’ll be laughed outta school I will! Why can’t we talk about something else?”

“What’d you want to talk about then, young’un? Yourself?” Granny Smith asked. “Anypony caught your eye, hum?”

“Ew, ew, ew!” Apple Bloom cried. Applejack laughed so hard at the face her sister made, she feared she’d cramp. Apple Bloom rested her hooves on the table, and her head on top.

“Let’s not talk about me. Or Big Mac. What about Applejack?”

“What about me then, sugarcube?”

Granny Smith waved a hoof as fast as her age permitted, a gesture probably intended as a dismissal, but instead ending up reminiscent of the steady swing of a pendulum. “Her? I’ve been pokin’ and proddin’ for years, but I’m startin’ to give up on that one.”

Applejack felt her cheeks flush, the earlier comment about adding to the family fresh in mind. “Granny, ain’t a single one of my friends who’re even thinking about that sort of stuff yet. Well, ‘cept Rarity, and I told you how that all went last year.”

“So. What plans’ve you got this winter, sis?” Big Mac asked. Applejack could’ve hugged her brother right there and then for the rescue. She cleared her throat and shook her head, thankful when Apple Bloom slid off her seat to start rounding up the dishes. Some semblance of normalcy was restored.

“None just yet. Rainbow Dash was talking about wanting us all to head up to Quarter Hill to ride sleighs and such, and Twilight might skip town for the week. Fluttershy’s probably got her hooves full with animals going crazy on account of the weather, but I reckon if she needs help, she’ll ask.”

“A few snowflakes, and the whole town’s spit its bit,” Granny Smith muttered. “Back when it was just us earth ponies here, we didn’t get to choose our own gol’durn weather.”

Applejack rolled her eyes, slipping off her seat. “They’re my friends.”

“Settle down, young’un. I know they’re fine girls all. Don’t know where we’d be if Fluttershy hadn’t taken care of Winona’s leg that one time.”

“What about Spike, then? And Pinkie Pie?” Apple Bloom asked, struggling to get the empty porridge pot balanced onto her back. Applejack leaned over to give her a helping hoof.

“Spike’d go with Twi to Canterlot I reckon, but I don’t really think they will. She’s just complaining because the seasons ain’t going according to plan.” Applejack scratched the top of her muzzle, the chuckle petering out before it made it to her lips. “Pinkie Pie... Pinkie I don’t know about,” she said, sighing. “Right. Let’s get you ready for bed, then.”

“Aw, already? But I was gonna—”

“Tomorrow,” Applejack said, tousling her sister’s mane. “You can play with your friends tomorrow. I got errands in town early in the morning, so we can head out together. Don’t that sound nice?”

“Aw, I guess,” Apple Bloom muttered, scuffing the floorboards with a hoof. Her dejected act lasted all of a second before curiosity made her perk back up. “What’cha doing in town anyways?”

“Just checking up on a little something,” Applejack said. Big Mac was already cleaning the last of the dinner off of the table, so there wasn’t a whole lot for her to do. She started herself and her sister for the stairs, wondering which bedtime story to tell her this time, but it was distressingly hard to keep her mind on task. In truth, her thoughts had been on repeat since this afternoon.

Pinkie always came to Friday market.

Dash's New Hat

Applejack didn’t know when, but at some point her trot had become a canter. Bit by bit she sped up while she made her way down the streets that led from the library to Rarity’s Carousel Boutique. Going through the whole ordeal of explaining once was unfortunate, but twice, that was somewhere well past annoyance. Even if she stopped and stood still, she knew her legs would quiver with frustration.

Why should it be kept a secret? She dearly wished she’d taken the time to ask Pinkie Pie about exactly that, though she knew why she hadn’t. In the barn last night, questions seemed infinitely less important than trying to find answers for Pinkie Pie, and this morning—well, as much a surprise as her awakening had been, that she’d forgotten to ask was no shock. Her brain had always taken a while to fully wake up. Never before had that bothered her quite as much as now. One question could have saved her so much grief.

Her frustration wasn’t borne of some stupid adherence to truth. All those who were close enough to know Applejack was the Element of Honesty also knew Applejack could lie just fine. Truth wasn’t about breaking out into a rash at the thought of letting slip a white lie. She could lie even if she didn’t like it, but in this case, it all just felt so unnecessary. So stupid.

Each and every one of Pinkie Pie’s friends loved her. Despite, or perhaps exactly because of her eccentricities, the pink mare was an integral part to all of their lives, and she brightened the day of all the ponies she touched. Applejack knew she must’ve looked sillier than a coconut on an apple tree with her anger momentarily sidelined in favor of a grin, but it was gone the second she turned the next corner.

They all loved her, and they all cared about her, which was why it made no sense at all that she’d try to hide the truth from them. And if there was no reason for something, then you didn’t do it in the first place. That was how the world worked. How the world should work, rather. Applejack grunted and nodded, pleased with what seemed only good sense.

Finally, she approached a familiar door set in a large, circular building. Ignoring the beautifully written “Sorry, we’re currently closed” sign, she knocked twice, immediately rewarded with a sing-song “It’s open, dear! Do wipe your hooves, please.”

Applejack hesitated a bit before pushing the door open, sticking her head in first. “How in the wide world did you know it was me? Or, well, somepony you know?” she called, stepping into the Boutique’s empty main room.

“Because there are only two ponies who knock so hard it makes me worry for the safety of my front door,” Rarity replied, her voice drifting in from her crafting room. Applejack trotted past mannequins and dress sets until finally she stood at the threshold of the open studio where Rarity did her work.

“And the other one of you two brutes is here already,” Rarity finished. The unicorn didn’t even look up from her work, speaking around a set of needles in her mouth. She levitated a multicoloured hat-in-making over a workbench, over a dozen other tools hovering near her, none of which Applejack could even name. By the far wall, Rainbow Dash bounced a ball of yarn from hoof to wing to hoof again while Opal hissed and clawed at the air, trying her best to snatch it from the far faster pegasus.

“Hey,” Rainbow Dash said. “What’s up?”

Applejack waited at the threshold for a few seconds, her momentum blunted. “I could ask you the same. What’re you doing here, and so early to boot?”

“It’s winter. My ears get cold sometimes, and Rarity makes some rad hats,” Dash shrugged and kicked the ball of yarn. A furry white projectile shot across the room in pursuit.

“Were I to risk being slightly rude, I would comment that I made you a rather lovely hat last winter,” Rarity said, her eyes never leaving her work.

“Yeah, I loved that hat,” Dash said, smiling. “I think I dropped it somewhere over the Everfree. Or maybe over some mountain. But hey, uh, everything you make is better than the last thing, right? Just like how my tricks always get better.”

“Well. When you put it like that. Thank you, dear.” Rarity smiled and straightened up a little bit. Finally she peered over the rim of her work glasses at Applejack. “Whatever is the matter, dear? You look rather out of sorts. Would you like something to drink?”

Applejack shook her head. “No, we need to talk, is all.”

She wouldn’t have thought the words would get much a reaction at all beyond two sets of ears in her direction. When Twilight Sparkle raised her voice, ponies truly listened, but Applejack had never had the same level of command. Now, Rarity finally put down her work, and Rainbow Dash’s easy smile disappeared. Maybe some of the frustration Applejack felt was plain on her face. Maybe it was the way she kept tapping her hoof on the floor and couldn’t stop.

“Uh, is this serious?” Dash asked.

“I need y’all to come to Sugarcube corner this afternoon.” So far so good. One word at a time. “I’m askin’ on behalf of Pinkie Pie. Yes, it’s a party, and yes,” Applejack silenced Rarity with a look when she opened her mouth, forestalling any protests. “I know it’s short notice. I know. Probably you’ve both got things what needs doing—”

“I don’t,” Rainbow Dash said, raising a hoof. Applejack didn’t even pause.

“—but that doesn’t matter. She’s wanting you all to think it’s just another silly party the likes of which she throws every day what rhymes with clay, but it ain’t, okay? She wants to have a memorial of sorts for Granny Pie, but she reckons that her gran would’ve wanted something happy, so a party it is, and that’s just fine and dandy with me, but you can’t tell her I told you.”

Rarity, who’d looked a touch hurt when Applejack had refused to let her get a word in, levitated her glasses off her face. She wore a very small frown, walking around her workbench to close with Applejack.

Rainbow Dash scratched her head. “Hey, what—”

“I don’t know!” Applejack said. “I don’t know why it’s supposed to be a secret, and were it up to me, it wouldn’t be no stinkin’ secret because it shouldn’t matter—and it doesn’t matter! All that does matter right now is that you say yes, ‘cause, well,” Applejack swallowed and grit her teeth. “It just matters. It matters a heck of a lot. We owe it to her to be there for her.”

Applejack didn’t know when she’d raised her voice to become so loud, but now she clapped her stupid jaw shut. She said nothing when Rarity stepped around a few bolts of cloth piled up on the floor, hugging her tight before stepping back and facing her square on.

“I’m going to ask you again, and I hope perhaps you’ll answer this time. What’s the matter, dear?” Rarity’s voice was not unkind, but there was no hint of mirth in her expression. “Of course we will be there if it’s that important, but I haven’t seen you this upset in years.”

It was hard to bring herself to care about how silly she must have looked and sounded. Normally, she’d be at least a little annoyed at putting on such a show in front of Rainbow Dash, but Dash didn’t seem to find this particularly funny, either.

“It’s important to her. That makes it important to me—to all of us,” Applejack said. Her voice was rough. She tried to clear her throat to bring it back in line, but it didn’t help much. “I just don’t want to ruin this all, heh. She trusted me with this. I should’ve asked proper before I went off the rails, though. Sorry for bein’ rude.” She sought Rainbow Dash’s eyes and flashed a small smile.

“That’s quite alright. Think no more of that.“ One of the corners of Rarity’s lips tugged up a smidgen, but it was clear she wasn’t quite satisfied with the answer.

Applejack sighed. She didn’t have much more to tell. She was tired of thinking, of trying to make sense of the whole mess. Of course she’d do no less than her best for any friend—or family member—who needed her, but she also knew she was acting strange. Perhaps too light a breakfast and being rushed from her bed was enough to topple her today.

“Right. I better get going.” Applejack brought a leg up to rub at her face. “The Cakes let her have the place for the day, so just come on over around four in the afternoon. I’m gonna go help her out with the food.”

“I still don’t get what the big deal is,” Dash said. “It’s not like—ow!”

“Do let us know if you need help with anything,” Rarity said, neatly stepping off Rainbow Dash’s left forehoof.

“Sure thing,” Applejack replied, turning to leave. Rainbow Dash muttered under her breath, but Rarity said nothing, staring at her with pursed lips and slightly narrowed eyes until Applejack halted at the threshold to the main room.

“Rarity? I’ll be fine. Just all this secrecy and nonsense getting to me, is all,” Applejack said, not daring to turn to face her again.

“Oh naturally, I wasn’t suggesting you have a personal stake in this, or that there is something you’re not telling. That would be terribly bad form. Hmf!”

“Uh. Right. That’s very gracious of you?” Applejack asked. She could feel Rarity’s eyes burning into the back of her neck until she was out of the boutique proper, Rainbow Dash’s raspy voice raised in question just as the door shut behind her.

Applejack stifled a yawn, closing the oven door on the last cake to be baked. She was glad of Sugarcube Corner’s prodigious workspace; her own kitchen would never have fit half the pastries and baked goods that now occupied the benches, tables, and—as was the case with one or two cookies and muffins of every batch—Pinkie’s stomach. Applejack glared as another apple cobbler disappeared down her gullet.

“Are you about to make me regret bringing out a bushel of our private stock of late-winter apples?” Applejack asked. To her credit, Pinkie paused mid-chew, sinking down behind the counter with her ears splayed until she finished and swallowed.

“Sorry. Mr. and Mrs. Cake almost never mind because they say they know when I eat something that the food’s gone to somepony who really can appreciate it, and you’re the best baker in all of Ponyville! Sure, I can do caramels and everything, but these—” Pinkie paused only to snap her jaws around one of Applejack’s chocolate chip cookies. “—ahe juft fanfafhic!”

“I’ll take that compliment and thank you kindly for it,” Applejack said, dipping her head while she trotted around the food-laden bench to demonstratively push Pinkie a good two or three ponylengths away. “So long as you let the others have some too.”

They were rapidly running out of things to do. Applejack let out a sigh of relief as she let her eyes roam the kitchen’s array of edibles, ending with another glance up at the clock. Half past three. Pinkie had decorated the main room just the way she wanted it, all the food was prepared, and they had time to spare thanks in part to the Cakes helping out. It’d been a heartwarming sight to see the two shop owners take turns in helping move furniture and taking care of their own foals.

“Do Mr. and Mrs. Cake often help you out with decorations?”

“Nope! I think this is the first time, actually.” Pinkie beamed.

“And given how they didn’t comment even once on the way you wanted the place set up, I take it you ain’t told them what this is really about, huh?”

“I told them what I told everypony else.” Pinkie stuck her tongue out of the side of her muzzle. “They know I love winter, so they never asked. They just looked really happy I asked for help! Why?”

Applejack sighed and bent down low to the floor, wiggling out of her apron. She folded it before giving it over to Pinkie, who flicked it over her head to land it neatly by the sink.

“‘Cause maybe you could’ve told them the truth.” Applejack shrugged. “Why do you think they’re being all extra-nice?”

Pinkie Pie squinted like a pony presented with a particularly troublesome riddle. “Because, uh, wait. Because they’re super nice ponies? But wait, they usually let me handle decorations, I just told you that. Oh shoot. Can I buy a vowel? Or call a friend? I could send a letter to Princess—”

Applejack rolled her eyes. “Because they know something’s up, and they noticed you were feeling a little down, even if you ain’t no more.”

“Oh. Okay. Sure!”

Applejack trotted over to the far bench, retrieving her hat. Putting it there had saved it from the worst of the inevitable mess, but still she had to brush some flour off.

“Just don’t see the point of all this secrecy. You said yourself you agree, that keeping this all bottled up is silly. There ain’t no need to lie about this.” Her voice sounded needy even to her own ears. Imploring. Begging, almost.

“Oh. I know,” Pinkie said. She didn’t sound half as pained or subdued as Applejack had expected. “I just didn’t want everypony to feel sorry or worry too much about being happy. If everypony knows, they’ll maybe feel like they’re supposed to feel bad for me or Granny Pie. That’s super silly and not what I want!” Pinkie shook her head. “Maybe Fluttershy will be so sad she doesn’t want to come at all, and Twilight might think you can’t have a party when it’s about something sad—I don’t know. I’m not stupid, silly! I just think this is best, and the super-most cleverest way to make everypony have a great time. I can tell ponies anytime, later, if I want!”

If she wanted. Applejack closed her eyes and turned back to her hat so she wouldn’t have to look at Pinkie Pie. She pretended to clean her hat still, brushing away imaginary flour and make-believe sugar.

Somewhere along the line, she’d forgotten who this was about. It was a ridiculous secret, an omission without merit, she’d told herself—all without remembering that it had never been her call to make. Applejack’s mouth tasted sour. She’d made it to be about herself, placed herself front and center for reasons she barely understood, and in doing so betrayed one of her friends.

“D’you think you will? Tell them, I mean?” Applejack asked, trying to keep the conversation going. She put her hat back low on her head.

“Probably. Maybe,” Pinkie shrugged and smiled. “I talk about Granny Pie a lot anyway. It’d be totally weird to tell them I tricked them, but it’s almost like a prank, I guess! Besides, if we’re gonna have another party next year, I have to tell them!”

“Yeah. Sounds good.” Her own smile was sick and diseased, fake on her face. Applejack bit onto a tray of muffins and indicated the arc separating the kitchen from the main room. Pinkie Pie nodded enthusiastically, slid a bowl of crisps onto her back, and followed.

“But that’s next year!” Pinkie said. How she kept the bowl from spilling as she pronked in Applejack’s wake, she’d never know. “They’re all coming, right? Fluttershy and Rarity and Twilight and Rainbow Dash and Spike, too?”

Applejack chuckled around her cargo, putting the muffins down on the snack table in the centre of the room. “Yeah. I told you twice already. You really ain’t much used to lettin’ somepony else help you out with your party planning, are you?”

“Well, you didn’t get RSVP’s!” Pinkie rolled her eyes and head both. “You gotta get RSVP’s! Rarity actually writes me these little cards, and they’re so pretty, I can’t make myself throw them away!”

“Considerin’ how many of these get-togethers you throw every month, I imagine you’ve a whole drawer full of the things by now then.” Applejack smiled and made for the kitchen again, the two ponies busily ferrying the food and snacks from the kitchen—and every time Applejack re-entered the main room, her eyes were drawn to the front door. Any moment, one of their friends would enter.

“Two and a half, actually!”

Fluttershy or Twilight would probably be the first to arrive, and then what? Would she hope they kept the secret? Would she hope that everything went without a hitch?

“Right. Well, I still have the Heart’s Warming card she made last year, so I can’t blame you. She’s got mighty good quillwork.”

Was that the best case scenario? Which would be worse? One of them slipping up and giving away the whole thing, or a lifetime of knowing she’d failed to respect Pinkie’s wishes?

“Oh, you know who else has really pretty writing?” Pinkie asked. Another tray of cupcakes passed from kitchen to snack table. “Fluttershy! I bet you thought I was gonna say Spike, but I think he writes so much, he’s given up on pretty writing, but you stick a quill in Fluttershy’s mouth, and oh my gosh, she has the neatest curves!”

It wasn’t as though it was a secret to ruin lives. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. The reason each and every one of them had even agreed to this was because it was harmless, and it was motivated by a desire to do well by Pinkie and her gran.

“Didn’t know you had an interest in calligraphy,” Applejack heard herself say. She didn’t even know what she carried on her back, but onto the snack table it went.

And the motivations were what she was starting to doubt now. Specifically, she was doubting her own. Even if it began pure, it didn’t matter. Even the smallest of lies and omissions had a tendency to keep on growing. To fester and rot.

“Oh, I don’t, but I love pretty writing. I think that’s the last of it!” Pinkie said, a bowl of sarsaparilla the last item to go onto the large central table. She pulled back and looked at the sugar-laden table with something resembling a mother’s pride before turning over to Applejack.

“Hey, Applejack?”

Applejack didn’t have time to think or reply before Pinkie collided with her, forelegs wrapped around her neck. The soft mare squeezed her tight, drawing a loud breath and letting it out again with a whispered “thank you!”

It wasn’t as though they’d never hugged before. Half of Pinkie Pie’s communication was done with body contact, but there was something ridiculously simple and honest about those two words. Her gut clenched and ached. It was a terrible contrast to how much of a liar Applejack felt. She stood there and let Pinkie hug her, her own hooves squarely on the ground. She was afraid to return it. The first thing that needed to be said and done now was the full truth.

“Pinkie Pie? I—”

It was about as far Applejack got before the door slammed open.

Fourty-Nine Weeks Later: Epilogue and Author's Notes

“Bye!” Pinkie said, leaning forward to steal a quick hug that Fluttershy happily returned.

“Goodbye, and thank you for inviting me,” Fluttershy replied, smiling and dipping her head. “I’ll see you two tomorrow?”

At Pinkie Pie’s side, Applejack nodded, and with that, Fluttershy trotted off to catch up to Rainbow Dash and the others. Pinkie waved one more time as she disappeared into the deepening dusk and the trees beyond.

Standing together with Applejack at the threshold of their home like this was a little weird, exchanging good-byes and see-you-laters with everypony one by one. Usually, ponies just left her parties whenever they felt like it. Goodbyes were for the last leavers, or if she caught somepony on their way out.

On the other hoof, she’d never before hosted a party quite like this. This particular day had a little less bouncing and dancing than most. Today had been a day of chatter, muted laughter, and a bare minimum of party games. It would do for now. She could always try to turn the music up a little next year. Right now, Pinkie was content to stand side by side with Applejack and thank their guests for attending her—no, for attending their party. She leaned on Applejack and let out a content sigh when she felt Applejack’s tail wrap around her own in response.

“It ain’t called a cake!” Applebloom said. “It’s called a wake.”

“I didn’t say it was called a cake, I said there was supposed to be cake!” Sweetie Belle said.

“Well, I didn’t see any cake,” Scootaloo said.

Pinkie Pie giggled at the trio of fillies, Applebloom giving a wave to her sister in passing. Applejack tilted her head to watch the departing Cutie Mark Crusaders with a minute frown crossing her face.

“There was cake?” Applejack asked.

Pinkie nodded. “Yep! There was!”

“When the hay was there cake? I didn’t see nothing but sandwiches and the pastries we brought.”

“There was cake until the first guests arrived and you went to answer the door and I went to eat the cake, duh!” Pinkie said. It was really quite obvious, and clearly Applejack agreed because she didn’t press the issue. She just did that little roll of the eyes and the sigh that she did whenever Pinkie was right but Applejack didn’t want to admit it—which was fine so long as it ended with a peck on her cheek. And it did.

“You could wait with that until we’ve left.”

Pinkie Pie grinned, both at Inkie’s words and at Applejack’s faint little blush. Applejack grabbed her hat and cleared her throat, nodding at Pinkie’s family. Inkie, Blinkie, mom and dad, they were all here for her. Pinkie felt a little clump build in her throat, but it wasn’t painful at all, more like a little chunk of taffy she hadn’t chewed properly. They were all here for her—for them—but more than that, they were here for Granny Pie.

“I suppose we have to make this trip next year too, huh?” Clyde said. The bearded stallion worked his mouth soundlessly even when he didn’t speak, and Pinkie knew he missed his pipe, but both she and Applejack had agreed their didn’t want any smoking in their home. It was strange how much more often ponies understood and respected things when you actually talked to them.

“That would be really, really super-sweet and nice,” Pinkie said. “You’re staying for another few days, right? Because we’d love to show you around town! The skating rink, the park, the other park with the bouncy castle—”

“And you gotta come visit the farm before you leave. Standin’ invitation, of course,” Applejack said.

“I’m sure we’ll have time,” Sue said, adjusting her glasses and offering a small smile at that. “We’d better get back to the hotel before they close up for the night, though. And you better come visit us more often, young lady.”

“Sure!” Pinkie said. “Maybe next time Applejack and I can bring some of our other friends?”

“As long as they’re not picky about where they sleep,” Clyde said, giving a little snort, but Pinkie saw it for what it was, saw the smile lurking. She’d have to ask Twilight if she wanted to come with, and Rarity, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash and Spike, too.

“Well, see you then. Sleep tight!” Inkie said, setting off a chorus of good-byes and good-nights while the Pies filed out through the door. Most of them, at least. Blinkie paused at the doorstep, hesitating, and Pinkie thought maybe she was about to say something really confusing like she always did. Instead, she looked past Pinkie to Applejack and smiled. Pinkie would barely call it a smirk, an unpracticed attempt at happy that rated two out of ten tops, but on Blinkie, it was huge. Without so much as a word on the matter, she too was gone, leaving Applejack and Pinkie Pie alone.

“Well. You might say that was a bit of a doozy,” Applejack said.

“I totally would say that,” Pinkie said, grinning. She turned around and rested her head on Applejack’s back, looking up and around at their home. The fall theme worked pretty well, with red and yellow balloons, fallen leaf-themed banners and all, and the guests’ appetites weren’t hurt by the fact that she couldn’t come up with more than twelve different pastries that were appropriate for the last weekend of fall before winter. In hindsight, that was a bit of a mixed success.

“No leftovers,” Pinkie sighed. “We didn’t plan this well enough.”

Applejack chuckled. “If you don’t mind me saying, I think the bar for planning was set pretty darn low when you insisted we invite people over here of all places. This is more a construction site than a house.” She grinned and craned her neck to look around the room as well, probably mostly to make a point on account of she herself having done most of the work so far. “Turned out well enough, though.”

Pinkie shrugged, peering up past the two support beams that were in place, past where the roof would be. With the sun gone, the stars were blinking into existence one by one. “It’s not like it’s gonna rain or snow. Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy would take care of that all whoosh—” she struck the air with a hoof. “—kapow! No more rain! Besides, it’s like a housewarming party. This is our place. I wanna use it!”

“I ain’t disagreeing with that,” Applejack said, slipping out from under Pinkie Pie to rest a forehoof against one of the three walls they’d raised. “All I’m saying is that the farmhouse and my room there, that’s our place too.” She grinned. “Judging by all the stuff of yours I keep finding everywhere, anyway. What the heck was that thing you stashed under my pillow yesterday?”

“Aw, I guess. We just couldn’t fit everypony in that tiny room! Not all of my family!”

Of course the farmhouse would be fine if they just invited Pinkie’s sisters and parents over, but that wasn’t at all what she had meant. All their friends, both their families, the Cakes and everypony else, all were family to her. Applejack didn’t protest, and Pinkie knew that was because she knew, too.

Pinkie Pie smiled at the whole mess all the guests had made. Empty platters, spilled punch and popped balloons, all were evidence of an evening well spent. A party in her gran’s memory. Family made everything easier, and now she knew how sharing something sad could make the burden so light you didn’t even notice it. Sharing sugar and happiness was easy and nice, but to let somepony else share in something that hurt, that had taken some work. Yet here they were, and all Pinkie Pie wanted to do was smile.

“What’re you thinkin’ bout now?” Applejack asked, setting about stacking the dirty plates atop one another.

“I wonder if Granny Pie is watching,” Pinkie said, hopping over to help out with the cleaning. “It was a great party, and we made so many ponies happy—and even when the party’s over, I got you!” She nuzzled Applejack and beamed. “That’s almost like a party, too, except this party isn’t over. I think Granny Pie would like that.”

Applejack smiled back and kissed her on the snout. “She sounds like the kind of pony to appreciate that. You wanna clean this all up tomorrow? I’m plum tuckered.”

“I would love to clean this up tomorrow!” Pinkie said, bouncing on the spot. “Hey, maybe we can fix the roof tomorrow? We should do that too. We should make a roof tomorrow, with hammers and planks and whatever else it is you make a roof with, okay?”

“Except we’re attendin’ the butterfly migration,” Applejack said. “We promised Fluttershy we’d go with her. Rainbow Dash might come with, too.”

“Aw. Well, we can’t miss that. What about the day after?”

“That’s first day of winter, Pinkie. We’ll probably have to pick this all up come spring unless we get Twilight to cast some fancy spell, and we ain’t in no rush.” Applejack chuckled and started walking towards the door. “Let’s head on over to the farm. I’m gonna tuck Apple Bloom in, and then we can head to yours if you don’t wanna sleep over.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Pinkie pouted, but it was a reflex of being denied more than anything—an expression that never touched her mood. As much as she liked the idea of finishing their own little house at the edge of Sweet Apple Acres right now, Applejack liked to take it slow, and that was just as fine. After all, Applejack didn’t complain much when Pinkie Pie had accidentally eaten one or two of the special cinnamon buns where she used sugar instead of flour and wanted to do something silly.

They could do their own things without losing themselves or each other, just like how gaining new family didn’t mean losing your old one, and that thought reminded Pinkie Pie of something she’d remembered and forgotten and then remembered again.

“Hey, do you wanna get married someday?” Pinkie asked. “I think getting married would be super sweet. Mr. and Mrs. Cake are married, you know. I asked them and they said that ponies who love each other lots and lots do that, and I do love you lots and lots!”

Applejack rolled her jaw tilting her head up as she thought, silent as they passed one, then two, then three apple trees. In the moonlight, her coat was dull and muted, but when she smiled back, her eyes sparkled in a way that made Pinkie’s heart beat twice as fast.

“Sure. That sounds like a good idea on account of me loving you, too.”

Pinkie trotted a little closer to Applejack so their flanks could touch as they walked, smiling as broad as she could. “Neat! When?”

Applejack chuckled. and leaned her head against Pinkie’s, walking in step with her. “Well I dunno, Pinkie. One of us’d have to propose. Ask all fancy-like. You’re supposed to go down on your knees and all that, and you’ll need an earring or a bracelet for each of us. Rarity’d have a fit otherwise, I reckon.”

“Oh. Maybe I’ll ask tomorrow then, if you’re free!”

"Tomorrow’s the butterfly migration,” Applejack said, rolling her eyes. “Heavens to betsy, sugarcube, I’m getting you a journal or somethin’ for Hearth’s Warming.”

“Shoot, right, hm. Well, the day after, then,” Pinkie said. She curled her tail around Applejack’s and nodded at herself.

“Might be I’ll say yes,” Applejack said. Close as they walked, Pinkie could feel more than see the spring in Applejack’s step.

“Great!” Pinkie said. “Wait, do I get down on my back knees, or is it with the forelegs?”

“I don’t reckon it matters. I’ll probably say yes either way,” Applejack said.

Author's Note

Hi! This is the part that I always look forward to writing, because only in writing these words do I truly feel done with this story. This despite having the last chapter written three weeks ago.

It’s probably also the part most readers skip, and I don’t blame you. Well, I don’t blame them. You’re reading, aren’t you? Thanks for that! You’re not obligated to read the author’s notes, but fact is, it means alot to me if you’ll read at least the first half. The part that’s about saying thanks.

Writing isn’t a solo affair. Maybe it is for some, but in wanting a second set of eyes on what I write—and then a third and a fourth—this became quite the production. Adding more and more people for feedback and opinions, I have a lot of people to thank. More than ever before, in fact.

Corma and Kits have been involved since the story’s inception. I don’t know how many times you’ve read this story, how many iterations you’ve given feedback on, but I know this: Without your input, this story would’ve never seen the light of day. If it did and if I published it, it would’ve been shit. Taken for Granite has been through more edits-to-length than any other story I’ve ever written, mostly because you two marvels alerted me to serious issues. The story’s gone from shit to still shit to passable to what it is now—as for what that exactly is, what the story is now, that’s up to the reader to say. I just know I’ve spent so much time trying to fix holes that you found, it’s actually making it harder for me to thank you. It feels like I’m thanking you for pain. I’m not, though. I’m thanking you for saving this story. For the results.

Featherprop, Kai, Still Waters and Somepony, too, have aided greatly. I came to a point where I’d edited myself blind on this story, and it was massively useful to be able to bring in new people to give fresh perspective. The first barn scene would’ve been far less than it currently is without Featherprop’s help, and that’s just one of many ways in which you helped.

Last, I want to thank Present Perfect for being the final set of fresh eyes. An ace in the hole. Thank you ever so much for your input, for coming along like a bulldozer at the last second and alerting me to issues that needed to be fixed. In short, thank you for being an asshole and tripping me on the finish line before moving the goal further down the road. Thank you also for the title. I am terribly embarrassed that I didn’t think of it first. A title that both fits so well and induces groans? Win!

And that brings us over to the second part where I talk a little bit about the writing process and okay, goodness, when I say it like that, this sounds terribly pretentious and contrived. I’m going to do it anyway, if only because it’s pretty much tradition at this point. Sorry about that.

Taken for Granite was an absolute ass and a pain and a pain in the ass to write. I am absolutely sick of this story now. I’ve never before had to hammer a story this much to beat it into shape, and I never want to do it again. I’ve lost entire days to staring at the document, willing it to make more sense. I’ve spent weeks in a state of near-depression over my failure to make this story good. Only now, and I mean now, this literal instant of writing, do I feel like I can let go.

I don’t think—or hope, at least—that it’s a bad story. Thanks to all the fine folk above, it’s become a story that I can be proud of. Happy with, definitively. I hope to re-read this some time in the future and perhaps even enjoy it, but there is such a thing as working too hard on something. For me, this was it. I don't regret it, I don't think it colours the story, but I know I look forward to writing "easier" things.

It’s almost by chance that I ended up writing ApplePie. When I finished my last story and tried to find my next project, I had two very ambitious ideas, and a host of smaller ones. After I’d spent a few weeks battling with one of these big plots, I put it down and told myself that I’d ice that particular idea and instead see if I could make ApplePie work. Among perhaps a dozen half-planned shipfics, ApplePie stood out as the more interesting one, and the other megaproject was simply too big.

Like so many of my stories, it began with the idea of a single scene. An image in my mind that wouldn’t go away. One of Pinkie Pie knocking on Applejack’s door in the middle of the night, and a discussion that led to a similarity, a shared memory neither of them really wanted. I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to write it, because to me, it strayed uncomfortably close to sadness. Long time readers will know I don’t write sad. I don't touch it.

So I had to twist it to be more than that, more than a sadfic. I think I lost some of the potency of that scene in diluting it in other challenges, certainly, but I didn’t want to write a novel-length story around a single scene. That, and trying to make it upbeat using Pinkie Pie, but almost entirely from Applejack’s PoV, that was a challenge in and of itself.

As another piece of trivia, I hadn’t planned on including the Pie family until I got there. It's fast becoming another tradition of mine, to derail my own story last minute, though usually for the better. I was getting dangerously close to the train scene when I realized how incredibly samey (for lack of a better word) the story would be if it ended with a confession there. Other authors be as they may, I myself have written too many stories that conclude in such a manner, and I need a break from those. Thankfully, Pinkie Pie was more than happy to invite Applejack over, and I think that without that decision, I wouldn’t be half of fond of this story as I am.

That’s enough of me rambling, though. Thank you, presumably-gentle reader, for taking the time to read this story, and thank you again for reading the author’s notes. I don’t know what story comes next, but Applejack and Pinkie Pie can live happily ever after in this book at least. I've written so much Pinkie Pie lately, she deserves a rest, and I think Applejack can provide that.

If you’d like to tell me that you think this is a load of crap, that my story is bad and that I should feel bad, you can always throw me a mail over at cloudyskieswrites@gmail.com — and you can use the very same address if you’ve something nicer to say, too. I usually always reply to comments and mails!

Until next time,

-Cloudy Skies