One does not sit through centuries without a healthy dose of patience, and he had nothing but. He need only sit back and wait for the wind to blow in his favor.
And it would blow in his favor. He could feel the gusts brushing his face, could hear the leaves rustling, could smell the fruit so clearly that he swore he could reach up and take a bite.
Days passed, and he waited. The wind grew heavier, the branches creaked louder, and still he sat idle, grin stretching across his smokey face. He could feel it coming from every angle. Soon his moment would come.
Somewhere in Equestria, a branch snapped, a mare broke. A sweet aroma coursed through every tendril, and for the first time in hundreds of years he almost felt like a pony. He took in the moment, shaking his formless body to an otherworldly beat, then let it drift off like smoke in the breeze.
He was not a pony. Not yet. Just a little more patience, and his plan could take flight. His body would be his, as would hers, as would theirs.
He would be ‘King’ once more.
Snow dotted the windowpane. A whole week of wintry wonder—perfect weather to just sit back and warm up with a cup of cocoa in front of the fire, taking in the beauty.
If only, if only. Few things would have made Applejack happier in that moment than a flickering hearth and cozy blanket. Instead she was stuck with paper thin sheets, endless beeps, and useless legs.
She glared down the white covers, commanding her hooves to kick them right to the floor. Sweat trickled down her brow, her teeth ground against each other, and the covers sat undisturbed. She groaned and wiped her forehead. Her other forehoof slammed against her thigh with a dull thwack. Built muscle quivered beneath the blow—a little swan song, she supposed.
They got a right to cry out, she told herself as her gaze once more wandered toward the window. The snow fell in a heavy mix, far removed from the powdery blanket sung about in poems of old. Only a damn fool would go out and work their orchards in such weather.
Yet ya went anyway. She sighed, stroking the numb limb. Now look at ya.
A knock grabbed her attention—soft yet determined and all too familiar. Groaning, she propped herself up and muttered a quick, "Come in."
As always, Rarity made a grand entrance, flinging the door open with a burst of magic, striking a pose—raised foreleg, half-lidded eyes, and all—and walking in as though she were attending some sort of gala. "Good afternoon, Applejack," she sang.
Afternoon? Sure enough, the wall clock read one-thirty. On a normal day, Applejack would have scolded herself for wasting an entire morning on something as unproductive as sulking. Then again, laid up in the hospital, crippled and pumped full of painkillers, there was little more to do than lay around.
“Afternoon.” She eased into a grin. Visitors were commonplace, but that didn’t make her any less happy to see a friend taking a seat beside her bed. She looked back at the still-open door, expecting to see a parade marching in behind Rarity. A few nurses and doctors strolled down the hall, not a familiar voice to be heard. Rarity cleared her throat, and the door swung shut behind a haze of blue.
“Solo visit, huh?” Applejack tapped a hoof her bed’s plastic arm, rhythm nowhere to be found. She couldn’t help but chuckle as Rarity plugged her ears. Part of her wanted to keep the beatless beat going until she stayed to cramp, but for the sake of Rarity's jaw—and her own—she showed to a stop.
Rarity perked up as the last note rang out. Clenched teeth slackened into a warm smile. "I was in the area and figured I would stop by," she said, eyes briefly darting to the wall. "That's not a problem, is It?"