The Prince of Dust

by redsquirrel456

Rating: teen
Tags: Rarity, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Romance, Braeburn
Length: 79497

Rarity pursues Braeburn amidst the unfamiliar frontier.

When Rarity has a chance meeting with Braeburn, a blossoming friendship is tested by the latter's sudden silence. Undeterred, Rarity chases the frontier pony to Appleloosa, determined to know what he is keeping from her and keep their connection alive.

She finds a new world clashing with everything she thought she valued, a town determined to push her generosity to the limit, and obligations tearing her in two directions at once. Amidst the dirt and sand, a search for friendship turns into something much more serious.

----

Cover art by Ruirik

Published 2013-11-28 03:10:06 UTC
Last updated 2016-03-29 17:56:06 UTC

Chapter 1

It was easy picking Braeburn out from a crowd. Rarity watched him from across the room, an unmoving island of gold sand in a sea of swirling, brightly-colored bodies.

Hats of every conceivable size and shape hopped and skipped along with their wearers like ships riding turbulent waves in the space between them. Rarity couldn’t even begin to imagine where half of those styles got started. She barely even knew how to insert herself into the wild menagerie of dance styles and ponies that swirled before her like a kaleidoscope, and coughed at the dust being kicked up. At least Sweetie Belle was having a grand old time, mixing it up with little Babs Seed and Apple Bloom. Somehow Scootaloo had snuck into the mix as well, and Rarity was surprised the barn hadn’t burnt to the ground yet.

She knew coming to one of Applejack’s famous family reunions was going to be a trial in and of itself, even if Applejack had promised her it would be a real ‘hoot an’ a holler.’ It was, she deduced, one of Applejack’s clumsy attempts to help them grow closer as friends, to share sacred and deep things like traditions and families. And as Applejack would say, ‘consarn it,’ Rarity couldn’t help but be bafflingly flattered.

And so she had come, her mind full of fleeting possibilities for all that could go wrong: she would get her mane ruined by cider, she would get her hooves trampled by rough-housing colts, she would find herself on the wrong end of an eating contest.

So far, every last one had come true. At least she had proven even a lady could pack away pies with the best of them, and the look on Applejack’s face had been priceless when Rarity walked away with third place out of twenty.

Not being possessed of Applejack’s legendary endurance, she had retired to the role of wallflower as the party swung on well into the evening, and the barn dance began in earnest. She stayed away from the high-spirited dancers and the way they needed to shout or kick or jump or grin until they burst. The old stereotype of the southern belle couldn’t be less true with even the most demure of Apples. They were, to a tee, the rowdiest and roughest group of ponies she’d ever spent time with. This was not a Mild West dance by any means.

And so, in the middle of all that mess, she’d spotted the one pony who wasn’t moving like all the rest.

She didn’t know why, but she hadn’t really thought of Braeburn until now, in spite of how great an impression he’d left during their first meeting. Of all the ponies in Appleloosa, she remembered, he had been the only one willing to go forward and take up the burden of speaking to an unknown, unfriendly force. The only one willing to make a compromise. The only one willing to try and get all of them to smile. Pinkie, bless her, had tried, but Braeburn had been an unflappable gentlecolt during the whole affair. He still was, in fact; she remembered the graceful bow he gave her when they met at the front gate. She’d felt a warm little blush when the party pulled them apart all too soon, and he’d run off to work his magic on some other pony. Every time she’d seen him afterward he was buzzing back and forth like a hummingbird, propping up any part of the party that was lagging. He jumped between groups of ponies as easily as Pinkie Pie, always with a laugh and a smile or a comforting hoof. She wouldn’t be surprised if he became mayor of Appleloosa one day with a gracious attitude like his...

Why wasn’t he dancing?

Like any pony who wanted to be part of the upper crust, she was an unstoppable consumer of gossip. And like any good gossip she had an insatiable desire to be ‘in the know.’ She didn’t know Braeburn, didn’t know why he wasn’t dancing, but there was just a certain something about him that made him so easy to find. Even from here, it was obvious. It wasn’t just because he was handsome—and he was handsome by anypony’s definition of the word—but also how still and steady he appeared after watching him bound around with as much energy as her own little sister. Was it because he was upset? Had he hurt himself? Was there some epic family feud happening right before her eyes, with Braeburn at its epicenter?

It was settled, then. Her curiosity was piqued by the happy-go-lucky stallion who was so reserved at the party’s apex. If she didn’t talk to him now, she’d never forgive herself. Besides, he looked depressingly lonely.

Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Rarity, she thought, silencing her irrepressible inner romantic. It’s not as if you’re about to swoop in and rescue him from a night of melancholic depression.

She waited until the dance died down. The Apples and honored guests fell back into milling clumps, reorganizing dance partners, tired ponies trading places with those who had been waiting eagerly on the sidelines. Her hooves carried her through the tumult with all the grace and serenity of the greatest ballroom waltz, her tail flicking back and forth with the tiniest movements to avoid brushing a pony by accident. She prided herself on not bumping a single other partygoer, sharing a tired grin with Applejack as the farmpony prepared to take another spin with yet another Second Cousin from Far Away Town.

But her eyes stayed on Braeburn, and with her practiced charisma, she knew he would feel her eyes on him sooner or later. It started with an almost imperceptible twitch, and then he blinked and glanced about as if something just flashed across his eyes. He turned and looked directly at her, drawn as to a beacon, and though many ponies crossed their vision, he was still staring straight back when she came back into view. She saw the way his eyes widened ever so slightly, the way he straightened his neck and tipped back his hat. It ignited an oft-struck side of her that loved to be noticed. To be gazed upon. And by one who was so enjoyable to gaze upon in return...

Perhaps it was the cider she’d drunk that night, but she let a slow smile cross her lips, and put just a bit more sashay into her hips than was necessary, making her tail bob back and forth. When he shifted weight between his hooves, uncertain what to do, she knew she had him.

And then he smiled, probably because it was the only thing he knew to do.

“Mister Braeburn,” she said, coyly turning her head to one side, raising her voice as the music began to pick up again and the stomping of hundreds of hooves threatened to drown her out. “I’m curious.”

“Oh, uh, y’are?” Braeburn asked, clearly confused as he glanced back and forth. “An’ what about, Miss Rarity? I—I’m not the brightest bulb in the shed, but I’ll do my best to help!”

Rarity almost tittered at the breathless stutter in the young stallion’s voice. It was the voice of those who knew they stood in the presence of a mare they found both beautiful and intimidating, and it never stopped being adorable.

“I’m curious as to why such an agreeable young stallion as yourself is standing off in this corner looking quite put out and not joining his fellow Apples in their last boogaloo of the evening?”

Braeburn glanced up at the crowd again. Rarity followed his gaze, watching him closely. She saw his jaw tighten with a barely visible gulp, and he hesitated just a moment before he turned back to her. She worried, momentarily, that she’d stumbled upon something that was sincerely distressing to the stallion.

“Oh,” said Braeburn, scuffing his hoof on the ground, and a wavering grin graced his handsome features again. “You know, just feelin’ a little tuckered out is all from all the previous fun. Poor Granny Smith can’t host all the activities, now can she? An’ the others deserve it. Some’ve traveled even further’n me!”

He looked at Rarity from the corners of his eyes, and they widened again with the fear of anticipation. “W—were ya wantin’ to dance, miss Rarity? I’ll sure as sugar take ya for a spin; never one to turn down a lady!”

Rarity chuckled, lifting her hoof and waggling it at Braeburn. “Oh, Mister Braeburn, you are a gentlecolt, but I’m afraid my hooves are quite ‘tuckered’ as well. I rather ruined them when I participated in that sack race with Sweetie Belle. I could barely stand even afterthat little runabout!”

Braeburn’s grin turned full and sanguine, suppressing one of his well-known guffaws at the spectacle Rarity and the other racers had made of themselves. “Aw shoot, miss Rarity, I wouldn’t a’ thought it where I was standin’. You done put to shame quite a few Apples this year!”

“Yes, I suppose that I have proven my mettle today,” said Rarity, fluffing her mane as she drank in the compliment. She tried to ignore the fact that her mane was still sticky and smelled faintly of apples, no matter how many times Applejack had helped her dunk it in the water barrel. “But any pursuit of glory comes with a price. I don’t think I’ve ever been quite so fatigued and yet so... so fulfilled in all my life.”

They shared a quiet moment, staring at the ponies who whirled and whooped and hollered mere feet away. Yes, thought Rarity, this was indeed a very happy and very well-adjusted family. Social climbing and proper decorum be bucked, she knew the value of loving kin, and the Apples had that in spades. She watched as Sweetie Belle dangled between Applejack and Big Macintosh’s hooves, kicking her legs in the air. She watched ponies smiling, laughing, and throwing their worries out the barn door. A feeling of quiet euphoria settled over her, and it wasn’t until Braeburn made a quiet shuffling noise beside her that she realized she’d been neglecting a conversation she started.

“Oh!” she squeaked, turning back to Braeburn. “I’m terribly sorry.”

“Hmm? What for?” Braeburn’s smile was utterly innocent. Rarity realized he probably didn’t even notice she had stopped talking. She would have been offended if she didn’t remember he’d been weaving in and out of ephemeral, shoot-the-breeze conversations all afternoon.

Unable to think of a response off-hoof, she took the moment to look at him more closely than before. He looked right at her, as though in spite of all the talking he’d done today he was more than willing to set aside a few more minutes. To a pony like Rarity, time was a precious commodity that must always be maximized. Time was always wasting.

For Braeburn, it was something to sacrifice to make another pony happy. As a result he hadn’t had any to himself all day. He looked upon the party like a little slice of his own sovereign kingdom, ready and willing to give of himself for its welfare. Not even Applejack was as omnipresent as he had been this year. Never mind mayor of Appleloosa, a pony as self-sacrifical as that had a heart for so much more.

A pony like that could turn quite a few heads.

A pony like that could be a prince.

“Mister Braeburn,” she asked in a moment of sudden solemnity, “have you been enjoying yourself today?”

Braeburn’s ears shot up, standing like tall towers. Rarity continued to stare up at him, not quite pressing, but not giving any ground either. She gave him all the time he needed to comprehend just what she was asking. When he answered, he puffed out his cheeks, rubbed one leg with the other, and... smiled. Again.

“Why, sure miss Rarity! I’ve been havin’ a rip-snortin’ good time. All the family’s here, we got all day tomorrow to spend with each other all over again, I’ve made sure everypony had somethin’ to do an’ somepony to see, got to see everypony havin’ a good time, cousin AJ didn’t go plum crazy again—”

“Mister Braeburn.” Rarity smiled, truly touched by his selflessness this time, and she knew he could see it in the way she batted her eyelashes and how her voice became smooth while losing none of its volume. “I meant, have you been enjoying yourself today?”

Braeburn waggled his head back and forth, making his answer clear before he even spoke. “Well, I just... I enjoy myself quite a lot already. Today’s about the family, not me, miss Rarity. I hope I don’t sound downright conceited ‘r nothin’, but I always try to make other ponies happy before me. It’s what makes me happy.”

Rarity glanced back at the dance, handling itself just fine without him. She looked at all the smiling faces, aching with joy, with no danger of that joy fading any time soon. She looked back up at Braeburn, his eyes flicking between her and the dancing ponies, straining to see a spot where he was needed, where ponies would require him to sacrifice a bit more of himself for their own happiness. She saw how weary he was of standing and sitting and rising up again, how he swayed ever so slightly on his hooves just like she did when she was single-hoofedly holding together a party in Canterlot. He was like a male mirror-image of all the times she had been exhausted after a long day in the Boutique only to find there were another two dozen dresses to go, and only so much time to do them.

She looked outside, at the darkening horizon and the open space with not a soul in sight. She thought of the cool grass, the rest that the quiet wind would give her ears, the beauty of watching the stars appear one by one over a sleepy Ponyville. She thought of how much more of a pleasure it was to share that sight with somepony.

Time was wasting.

“Mister Braeburn,” she said, drawing and holding his attention with her voice and doey eyes as surely as she could with her magic, “I was wondering if you would be so kind as to accompany me for a walk around the farm?”

Braeburn gulped again. She saw the thoughts whirling behind his eyes, and was surprised that he wore his emotions on his sleeve. She was proficient at reading ponies, and Braeburn made it effortless. He was thinking, hesitating, wondering what would happen if he left, if there was some subtext underneath her innocent question, if he should decline purely on the grounds that it might be awkward.

And then he smiled, and the doubt left his eyes.

“I think I’d like that, Miss Rarity.”

“Mail call!” Ditzy Doo blared with her customary enthusiasm even though Rarity had already opened the door. She stared at the mailmare through the work glasses dangling on the edge of her nose, wobbling fretfully with every stressed breath she took.

“Thank you Miss Doo,” she said, watching Ditzy salute as she reached a wingtip into her bag to pluck out a letter, taking a deep breath of the fresh air that did not smell at all like fabric and five different kinds of wine and the thin scent of a mane that hadn’t been washed all day—“What is it this time? More correspondence from Canterlot? I certainly hope not, those ponies really need to learn patience. Fashion is fleeting, but true beauty is forever, I always say, and there’s nothing worse than a dress to be passed down for generations that was rushed at its inception—”

“Nnnnnope!” crowed Ditzy, sliding the letter out with teasing slowness and then whipping it out with a sharp snap of paper, holding it up between two primary feathers like the trump card in poker. “This one’s from Appleloosa!”

Rarity gaped. Before she could stop herself, her magic wrapped around the letter, holding it with more care than any needle, thread, or spool she had all morning. She closed the door in Ditzy’s face with a muttered thank you.

“You’re welcome!” came the muffled answer as Rarity rushed back up to her room, past Sweetie Belle, who calmly played tea time with some of her stuffed animals and a very irate Opalescence, kicked the door open and flung it shut again, then skidded to a halt in the dead center of the room just in front of her bed. Her work glasses had come off in the mad rush, but she didn’t care. She saw it all well enough: the gently yellowed paper, the stamp of an apple tree sloppily pasted into the corner, and the surprisingly prim and compact cursive on the front. There it was: Appleloosa County.

Somehow she didn’t feel the usual rush of excitement when she received a letter, especially from a handsome and agreeable stallion. The words penned with a terse, practical hoofstroke, seemed more weighty. The tilted stamp had an air of genuineness and personability that rarely came with any letter she normally received. Something... something was different about this letter.

It made her frown.

She held the letter well away from her with her magic, carrying it with all the gravitas of a declaration of war between two countries. She laid it down on her desk as she ruminated over the chain of events leading to this very moment, beginning right outside Applejack’s barn. She had never expected their little walk to go so well. She’d never expected Braeburn to voice his desire to speak with her again, and she certainly hadn’t expected him to give her his exact address so they could become pen pals. And of course she hadn’t expected her heart to give a little leap when she had sent off her first letter and gotten a reply barely two weeks later.

She had desired most of that, certainly, but she hadn’t expected them. There was a difference. A lady desired and dreamt many things, but she did not have great expectations. That came when she was CEO of her own fashion corporation.

Now that she thought about it, looking at the letter made her nervous. Scared, even. She hadn’t exactly told Applejack that she was going to be in correspondence with one of her favorite cousins. In fact, nopony had known about their little walk and talk through Sweet Apple Acres at all. She remembered it as if it were yesterday: the slow, gradual teasing out of the genuine Braeburn behind the constant self-deprecation and subject changes. It had been almost like a game, with Rarity picking away at the thick layers of sedimentary small talk Braeburn piled up around himself. She hadn’t learned much about him at all in spite of her playful prying, but that just made it all the more incredible that he had learned enough to want to write to her.

What did it mean?

Rarity bit her lower lip, wondering where all the possibilities of this innocuous piece of paper could lead. He could just be looking for a friendly ear. He could be reaching out with their heart laid bare. They could be starting a business partnership. So many things that it could—

Oh goodness, she stopped herself with a little hitch of breath. I’ve never had a proper pen pal before. I’m getting far too excited over it. It’s just a letter, Rarity. A friendly hello.

But it still felt a little strange, knowing that she could very well be sending letters with more pleasure in mind than business.

And she hadn’t told Applejack, who claimed to be in the know about everypony in her family.

So it felt just a little bit deliciously secretive.

Just a teeny tiny bit.

She grinned, biting her lower lip as she slipped a letter opener under the envelope flap and sliced it open. She slid the letter out, noting how delicately it had been folded and slipped inside to fit ever so snugly within the envelope’s confines. Great care had been taken with it. She peeled back the folds and laid it out flat on her desk, letting her eyes fly over the words.

As she read, she sighed, and began to read faster.

And then she slowed down.

She backed up and read a few paragraphs again, and again, and again.

She touched a hoof to her chest and breathed in sharply.

She set the letter aside and pulled out a sheet of her own. After a moment’s consideration, she pulled a quill from her writing drawer, dipped it into a nearby inkwell, and began to write.

The sound of Applejack’s hooves striking wood seemed especially loud today. Rarity’s ears twitched backwards with the sound of every crack, the trees bending back to the point where one fretted they would simply snap in half. But nature had endowed the trees with unnatural elasticity, and Applejack had years of honed skill. Rarity watched the apples tumble down into the baskets beneath the boughs with as much precision as any unicorn’s magical field. No wonder Applejack was so insistent that a unicorn’s horn wasn’t needed on Sweet Apple Acres’ fields.

Still, she had to at least say something.

“You know, I could be of some assistance.”

Applejack gave her a sideways smirk, bending back in preparation for another blow.

“Sorry Rarity, but I think we both know—hah!” She slammed her hooves into the apple tree. Rarity stood back to avoid the drizzle of sweat as Applejack’s mane swung behind her. “— we both know you’re just sayin’ that bein’ the Element of Generosity an’ everything.”

Rarity scoffed. “My dear Applejack, we both know that I can hold my own in physical labor! Doing my best to avoid something does not mean I am incapable of doing it!”

Applejack snorted, moving on to the next tree. “Still. I think we got this covered, Rare. But thank ya kindly for the offer. ‘Preciate it.” Another loud whack, echoing over the Acres. Rarity could hear it when she listened close on a quiet day. It had become like the rising of the sun: comforting in its absolute, unchanging consistency.

“So what’d ya really come here ta’ talk about?” said Applejack with a cagey grin as she hauled the baskets to the next tree over.

“Hmm?” said Rarity, feigning innocence.

“Oh, come on, Rares. Ya hardly ever come over, it’s even more rare ta’ see you in the fields, an’ you absolutely never come over iffen it ain’t for sharin’ some kinda town gossip.”

Rarity flipped her mane primly, stuck her nose in the air, and assumed a condescending posture. “Why, Applejack! To accuse a lady like me of never having anything of substance to discuss apart from the goings-on of our peers. I’m almost offended!” She looked away, then glanced back at Applejack out of the corner of her eyes and flashed an impish smirk of her own. “If only it weren’t so true.”

The two shared a good-natured chuckle before Applejack prodded her with a hoof. “So, come on. Give.”

Rarity wiped away the miniscule bit of dirt that Applejack’s hoof gave her with her hoofkerchief. She sighed, wondering how best to broach this.

Come now, Rarity, it’s been two months of back and forth and you’re no closer now than you were then. Applejack is the best pony to ask. What better pony than the Element of Honesty and a close relative? But...

“My dear Applejack, do you remember the family reunion I attended several weeks back?”

“Sure as shootin’! That was a real humdinger, weren’t it? Me’n the folks still laugh at the stories we tell about it!”

“Yes, I…” Rarity licked her lips, making sure to hide her uncertainty behind Applejack’s back when she turned to buck the next tree. “I was wondering if you could give me some advice, Applejack. About family.”

Applejack smirked. “Oh, yeah? Well, I’m flattered you came ta’ me, Rares. Lay it on me, girl, you know we can talk about anything.”

Whack. Rarity gulped at the power in the blow, and how the tree vibrated for several seconds after it was struck.

“I have a family member of my own who is… difficult to talk to.” She licked her lips, remembering the contents of Braeburn’s last letter. It had been almost vapid. Routine. Downright terse. It was almost as if he had expected her to cease digging deeper into their budding friendship. At least, she liked to think it was a friendship. She had tried to figure out what exactly was being said in their sparse few letters, and already things had taken a turn for the worse. In all things, Braeburn seemed gregarious, friendly, and charming—he had been nothing short of pitch perfect in their friendly walk a month ago. In truth, she had never stopped digging. What was it he didn’t want to say in letters? Why was he so cordial when their first talk went so well?

“Mmm. Is it a Big Macintosh kinda hard, or a ‘I don’t wanna talk about it’ kinda hard?”

“Most assuredly the second kind.”

“Well, then. Best thing to do is give ‘em space, I find.”

Rarity sputtered. Space? They were dozens of miles apart! She wasn’t going to let this frail friendship fail just because they couldn’t see each other on a regular basis! “Well, I’m not sure, Applejack… what if they just quiet down and never tell you anything?”

“Far as I can tell, they’ve got a right to. It’s about trust, Rarity. Maybe they jus’ need to trust you more. Heck, I know Apple Bloom keeps secrets with her little friends she might never share with me—granted, I’m sure it’s mostly stuff like what boys they like or what crazy adventures they get up to when they’re crusadin’. I know she’s tryin’ to keep who really swiped the pie last week under the lid.”

“Applejack, we’re deviating.”

Applejack stopped bucking, going to the cider flask dangling from the barrel. She took a long sip and stood there awhile, staring off into the afternoon sun. At length, she let out a chuff, as if amused at something she’d just thought of. She spoke, but did not look back at Rarity. “Sure ‘nough. Well Rares, you gotta just trust me on this one. I may hold Honesty near an’ dear to my heart, but Honesty… it’s got a lotta different angles, you know? There’s knowin’ what you should tell, an’ knowin’ what you wanna keep under your hat, so to speak. Honesty’s not all about tellin’ all. It’s about trust, Rarity. Secrets an’ honesty an’ trust are all intertwined, sure as the sun and the seasons. I know what makes a pony say somethin’. I understand what keeps ‘em from doin’ it too. A pony’s gonna be a pony, and ponies keep secrets. You know that more’n any of us, I suspect, bein’ so dead-set on findin’ those secrets.”

Rarity bit her lip, having the grace to look abashed. Her gaze turned to her hooves, scuffing the grass lightly and distracting herself with its springiness. All her previous thoughts came rushing back, now thrown into sharp relief. The clarity was sharp enough to hurt. Why this, why that, what could he be hiding…

“Do you… do you really think maybe I just push too hard sometimes?”

Applejack finally turned to Rarity and gave her a little smile.

“Maybe sometimes,” she said with a gentle, sweaty pat on Rarity’s shoulder. “But sugarcube, you wouldn’t be you otherwise. A pony’s gonna keep their secrets… but jus’ sometimes, maybe they need somepony like you to come along an’ push a little too hard.”

Rarity’s gaze drifted to the side. Finding nothing to land on, it wavered between the trees and the distant red of the barn.

“I’m not so sure, Applejack,” she said, her voice delicate. “How can I be sure?”

Applejack’s eyes were kind. She rubbed her hoof over the top of Rarity’s leg, and gave her a smile that seemed strangely sad.

“You really can’t, sugarcube,” she murmured. “You can’t. Not ‘till you try, you know? You make all the preparations you can, tell yourself you’re ready, then get out there an’ break yer back an’ put your soul on the line. An’ the rest… well, to tell you the honest truth, what’s left is just up to dumb luck.”

Rarity shivered in spite of the summer heat. It carried down into her body, chilling her at a level she hadn’t thought possible. What kind of fear was this, that crawled up her spine and made her feel totally off balance? What was on the horizon that made her feel even more fretful than the days their enemies lined up to destroy them?

Then she realized it: she felt more alone now than she ever had before. This was something she truly had to do herself.

To ward off the cold, she stepped forward and pressed her face into Applejack’s warm, strong neck. She felt Applejack hesitate just a moment, and then a strong hoof wrapped around her shoulders.

“Thank you,” whispered Rarity. “Thank you, Applejack. You’re such a good pony.”

“Aw, shucks,” Applejack muttered uncomfortably. “Go find a couch ta’ faint on if you’re gonna get all mushy.”

Rarity laughed all the way home hearing that.

She stayed up late that night, much less amused and much more frightened. She had sent Sweetie Belle to bed early, after much fuss and promising that she would get to help make breakfast in the morning—a disaster she’d deal with later. But as for what she had spoken about with Applejack, she found herself even more alone and afraid than before. Lying down on her bed, her many creative projects completely abandoned, she was alone with her thoughts. There was nothing to direct them at. Nothing to focus on. None of what she was feeling related to anything here.

What she felt was the lack of certain somethings. Things she couldn’t place her hooves on and mould or create, things beyond her control.

She rolled onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillow. This wasn’t really like her. She’d experienced emotional breakdowns before, but those had been purely for her own benefit. She was an extroverted pony and being as… well, as dramatic as she was helped her process her emotions and work through them as quickly as possible. She didn’t just feel things; she experienced them in all their pains and pleasures, and it kept her mind balanced.

This was different. This was a lingering, cold kind of feeling that kept her from doing anything about it. She didn’t want to feel it at all.

This all started because of those frivolous letters.

She got up and wandered to her desk, opening the drawer and taking them out. There were just three from Braeburn so far; he’d promised to write again as time permitted. It was harvest season after all, he’d said.

As time permitted. As if she could be cast off so flippantly!

But why did it bother her so much?

What was it that made this different?

Why did she need to know why?

She could just pass this off as a mildly irritating—even downright offensive—case of a pony just not interested in being her friend. She had plenty already. She supposed he did too; in fact they’d spoken of them at length during their little walk. It already felt so distant and timeless, like a fable instead of a memory. She really thought they’d connected that night. Maybe he wasn’t as genuine as he first appeared?

No, that couldn’t be it. Applejack had never spoken of him in anything less than glowing terms. She had seen him. Spoken to him. Read his eyes in the moonlight.

One time, Rarity.

Applejack’s words rang between her ears, bellowing the truth. She didn’t know him all that well. She hadn’t spoken to him all that much. She had received, in total, three letters and the promise of another and he hadn’t seemed all that interested from what he was writing.

But there had to be something. Hadn’t there?

Another cold chill enveloped her, and she magicked her robe over to wrap herself in. What if Applejack was right? What if she really did just push a little too hard sometimes? Maybe, just maybe, she was going about this all wrong. She’d always expected ponies to be interested in talking to her. She’d always approached them with the expectation that they’d one day be friends, even loosely, or at least business acquaintances.

She always expected to be ‘in the know.’

Perhaps Braeburn just didn’t want to be known.

But why—

“Oh, stop it!” she scolded herself. “You’re being absolutely ridiculous, Rarity! Look at yourself! Pining away over some stallion just like those dime-a-dozen novel heroines! What would the girls say if they knew? They’d think you were some starstruck filly, that’s what! Stop thinking about it! These letters clearly mean nothing. And if they really do mean nothing, then like Applejack said, they have a right to mean nothing!”

She stuffed the letters back in the drawers and slammed them shut, turning away with a delicate huff.

“So… so just go back to bed! This isn’t worth pursuing at all. Just go back to bed and you’ll wake up in the morning and work on those dresses for Hoity Toity—”

She stopped herself halfway to the bed, thinking of the chaotically creative mess she’d left in her workroom. She thought of the mannequins, with half- and quarter-finished dresses clinging to their flanks. She thought of the piles and piles and piles of rejected ideas swallowing up her wastebin. She thought of how she’d go and sit there and immerse herself in it all again.

And the entire time, at the back of her mind, she’d know that she was missing something.

She buried her face in her hooves and groaned. Feeling herself swoon, she stood up on her hind legs and twirled backwards onto the bed.

“Oh, what’s wrong with me-hee-eee!” she moaned. “Can I just not take rejection? Can I not simply brush this off?”

She flumped irritatedly.

“No. Obviously I cannot. It’s to do with Braeburn. But not just Braeburn, isn’t it?”

She looked around the room and noticed, for the first time, just how empty it was. It was terribly lonesome having a breakdown when your friends weren’t nearby.

“Loneliness? Is that all?” she snapped at the darkness. “I really must be pathetic if all this is some lame attempt to reach out for a stallion’s presence! I might as well just go throw myself at Big Macintosh!”

She nipped that line of thought in the bud. We all remember what happened last time Rarity. You two, cider, and an angry Applejack do not mix at all!

But then if it wasn’t loneliness, and it wasn’t Braeburn, and it wasn’t her, what was it?

What was that special something that had sapped her creative will and left her all alone when she hadn’t even realized she was alone?

Something about Braeburn. Something about those letters. Something about the way he was subtly pulling away when he’d been so eager to walk and talk with her before, something he hadn’t done with anypony else as far as she knew.

No, she was missing something. Something.

And she was going to find out just what it was.

“What was it you said, Applejack?” she whispered. “You throw your whole self into it, stack the deck as much as you can and leave the rest to luck?”

She sniffed and threw the covers over her head.

Lady Luck could wait until morning.

“Are you sure about this, Rarity?” asked Twilight, putting a hoof on her shoulder. “This doesn’t really seem like you.”

“We’re gonna be super-duper sad without you!” Pinkie agreed, hopping nervously in place. “You didn’t even give me time to throw a ‘We’re Gonna Be Super-Duper Sad While You’re Away On Vacation’ party!”

“Oh, trust me girls,” Rarity responded with all the elegance and calm that befitted a lady of her station. “This is just what I need. A few weeks away from it all. Besides, I need something fresh. Something that will get my creativity going! What better way to do that but immerse myself in the stark, quiet solitude Equestria’s outer regions have to offer? Applejack has assured me that her family in Appleloosa will be more than willing to help me find room and board. Braeburn himself will be there to meet me at the platform. I don’t doubt there’s going to be anything much a silly old city girl like me can help with, but I’m sure I’ll find something to keep me busy.”

“I’m sorry the other girls aren’t here to see you off,” said Twilight, but Rarity wagged her hoof.

“Oh, it’s all right. I know how busy things can get. Do tell Fluttershy how sorry I am I won’t be able to accompany her to the spa!”

“I’m sure they would’ve liked to talk to you about this. We don’t normally go splitting off from each other.”

Rarity twitched. Pinkie, in her bouncy, eternal glee, didn’t notice, but she could’ve sworn there was something else behind Twilight’s simple statement. Something not quite accusatory. Something that beckoned. Something that said ‘come here and talk a while.’

Rarity matched her stare with a confident little smile.

“Don’t worry, Twilight,” she almost whispered. “I’ll be fine.”

Twilight sighed in that strange little way friends did when they saw friends repeating a mistake. Rarity couldn’t blame her. But really, was it anypony’s fault that their last two trips out to the frontier hadn’t been the most pleasant? Rarity gave Twilight a reassuring smile, telling her that she was a grown-up mare and after all they’d been through she was sure she could handle a couple weeks alone.

Pinkie Pie just needed a promise that Rarity would allow her to throw a huge welcome back party when she returned. Twilight remained unconvinced.

Rarity felt Twilight’s eyes on her as she boarded the train. She knew Twilight still watched as she placed her bags in the overhead compartments, entered her private compartment, and sat down at the window.

She glanced out to see Twilight, still gazing steadily, as Pinkie Pie bounced around waving and shouting incoherent farewells. Twilight didn’t wave, even as the train whistle called, and instead of smiling and wishing her luck, she just tilted her head in a way that was all at once curious, sad, and resigned. Try as she might, Rarity couldn’t look away.

A feeling of deep understanding came upon Rarity as the train started to pull away. In that moment, Rarity knew Twilight had her figured out, and fretted for a moment that they’d have a repeat of that fiasco when they chased after Applejack. The moment passed when Twilight didn’t go running after the train. Neither did she try to get Rarity to come back. Her look, above all, said ‘I know you’re doing something but I don’t know what, and I wish you’d let us help, but I trust you to do it right.’

She turned away from the window just before her friends were lost to view, and flopped into her seat, not sure whether to be grateful that at least somepony ‘knew’ her enough to realize what was happening or guilty that she’d been discovered so easily. Of course it would be Twilight to realize something was missing. They always had been close. Not in the way that she and Fluttershy or Twilight and Spike were close. But like attracts like, and being unicorns they both had a keen sensitivity to the state of the world and whenever it changed. That commonality drew them together in ways that others just wouldn’t understand.

She decided she would miss Twilight most of all.

Rarity resisted the urge to sniff when she got off the train, knowing that doing so risked breathing in more of the dusty air. She had been careful to take as many precautions as possible. Some might call it excessive. She called it being prepared. It just might involve a few dirt-repellant shampoos enchanted straight from Twilight’s horn, a few coatings of magically enhanced anti-perspirant, two emergency raincoats…

She sighed as the bagpony left her with all her luggage on the platform. Perhaps the raincoats were a bit excessive.

The town of Appleloosa was only somewhat changed from when she had last seen it: a few new buildings had been added, but that was all she could tell. The ponies here were just as dusty and weather-beaten as before, but that didn’t bother her quite as much as it used to. She had learned a lot in the time she spent with ponies like her Ponyville friends, ponies she might once have considered uncouth. Now, this was just a mildly inconvenient locale where she might make new friends.

One new friend in particular.

She wasn’t able to think about her actual motivations for long, however: a pony was hailing her from across the platform, lemon yellow and green-maned. She had a pie of some sort as her cutie mark, and one of those great ten-gallon hats far too large for her head.

Really, where did ponies think these styles were a good idea? Applejack’s family’s fondness for function with no eye for form whatsoever continued to astound her.

“Oh, miss Rarity! Are ya’ll miss Rarity?”

Rarity tugged her luggage cart closer, smiling as pleasantly as she could even as warm steam from the train engine wreathed her face. “That would be me, yes!”

“I knew it! They said you’d be pretty an’ whatnot, but if you don’t mind my sayin’ so, words didn’t do ya justice!”

Rarity tittered behind her hoof. “Believe me, dear, I don’t mind at all. Might I have your name?”

“Apple Tart, miss! Guess I’ll show ya to your quarters? Hey! I can even show ya ‘round town once ya get settled!”

“That will be quite all right, deary,” Rarity said with a well-hidden wince. “I’ve gotten to know your fair town once already. What I am in need of is a comfortable bed; the compartments on the train were murder on my back!”

Apple Tart grinned. Thankfully, it wasn’t as obscenely large or infectious as one of Braeburn’s. She did, however, throw a hoof around Rarity’s shoulders and immediately dragged her off the platform, leaving another stallion Rarity hadn’t noticed to hitch himself to her luggage and tug it behind him.

“Well shoot, sugar, jus’ follow me to one of our top-o’-the-line establishments! You’ll forget you ever even left home! I gotta say, it’s a real honor to meet one a’ you fancy city-ponies, why Braeburn done told us all about you when you last came to visit! Too bad ya’ll had ta’ come when there was all that trouble with the buffalo, thank Celestia that got cleared up…”

Rarity’s ears caught Braeburn’s name and cradled it. So she and her friends really had left an impression last time. She didn’t know how; the entire fiasco hadn’t been resolved by Harmony but a taste of good old Apple pie. Still, something about it made her heart skip a beat when she thought of it as Braeburn speaking of her specifically.

“...And then there was that one time that Red Delicious got himself stuck in the waterin’ hole, but that was only on account of how muddy it was! But I’m sure you don’t wanna hear about that.”

Rarity started, turning to Apple Tart. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I think the long train ride really did tire me out, miss Apple Tart. I find my mind slipping.”

“Oh, that’s just fine an’ dandy, Rarity! We got lotsa ponies that just let their minds fly off into the wild blue yonder! You wouldn’t think it, but hard work like what we do here is the perfect opportunity to let yer imagination just take off…”

And Rarity did, as Apple Tart just kept talking.

The sight of the farm almost made Rarity think Applejack had moved here. The orchards were clean and trim, the barn stood red and tall, and the ranch house, while larger than Applejack’s own, still had the same squat humility of its Ponyville counterpart. Even the trees looked no different for the harsher climate and the wide lanes cut between them to allow the buffalo their yearly stampedes. Several other buildings, from large storehouses to chicken coops, dotted the open area. It was a place that was the basis of all Equestrian society, a place that laid the foundations for cities even as grand as Canterlot.

To think that something close to royalty could be found even this far away from the capital, Rarity mused. Her mind flew back to the Apple family reunion, watching Braeburn guard the crowd with all the sovereign poise she had once dreamed of seeing in a stallion.

But in the end, that wasn’t why she followed Apple Tart down to the ranch house, listening to her prattle on the entire way up the path and into the home. It wasn’t why she accepted her small room without complaint, and it wasn’t why she didn’t feel as put-off as she thought she would when she the bathroom was less than stellar, and it wasn’t why she jumped onto the bed, listening to the old frame squeak and groan.

She hadn’t come here because of what she had seen in Braeburn, but because of what she had not seen.

“Anythin’ else I can get ya’ll? I wish we could give ya a proper welcome, but you hit us right in the middle of a busy day!” Apple Tart called from the door.

“Oh, no, that will be all,” Rarity said, waving her off a bit more forcefully than she intended. If she thought her back needed a break, that was nothing compared to her ears!

Apple Tart took the hint gracefully and bowed out. “Dinner’s in an hour!” she called. “You’ll meet the rest of the folks then!”

Rarity waited a moment, letting the blessed silence linger. Apple Tart had been speaking so long that the lack of her voice was louder than she had been.

She stood up and went to the window, tiphoofing as if she was a filly trying to avoid waking up her parents. She pressed her nose to the cool glass and looked into the orchards, watching the ponies go about their business. So many ponies weaved in and out of the treeline, bucking and towing apples, that it seemed a sizeable portion of the town was at work right here. She hadn’t realized so much of the population was still wrapped up in the agriculture. That would be a result of earth ponies insisting on doing things ‘the earth pony’ way. But that was no sign of irrational stubbornness; that was the sign of ponies who knew what they were doing and didn’t want other ponies cutting in on their profession.

Rarity understood that more than any of the unicorns up in Canterlot or the pegasi in Cloudsdale would. They often insisted that earth pony agriculture might be improved or sped up or made more efficient, because controlling the weather or touching the soul of the world was somehow much more important than laying the foundation of Equestria’s future. Having been to Canterlot more times than she could count, she was always hearing about this, that, or the other proposal to change how earth ponies did things. It was just like the day when her friends had decided to ‘advise’ her on her dresses; it wasn’t that there might be a ‘faster’ or ‘better’ way of doing things. It was that sometimes a job had to be done a certain way, by a certain pony empowered by certain feelings, and that was just that. A unicorn could enchant a tree to make it mature faster, and a pegasus need never worry about watering it, but nopony could grow them like an earth pony, just like nopony made a dress quite like her.

Yes, Rarity knew exactly how earth ponies felt when the other races were less than understanding about their role in the world.

Her eyes raked back and forth among the trees, watching the ponies hard at work. She saw no faces she recognized.

Hm. I thought he would be out there for sure… perhaps he just has other duties to attend to?

Still. While she did plan on getting some well-earned rest from her busy schedule and to research as many Western-themed dresses as she could, it would have been nice to lay eyes on the one reason she had come at all.

The sound of the dinner bell interrupted her quiet vigil, and she realized with a groan that she hadn’t even unpacked.

“Soup’s on, everypony!” a voice cried out with that ubiquitous frontier twang.

At once a parade of ponies erupted from the trees, racing each other to the barn. The farm workers must all eat in a communal fashion so they needn’t run all the way back into town to refresh themselves.

Then she heard hoofsteps tromping up the stairs, and realized with a cold chill that they expected her to join them. All of them. To eat. And get unbearably messy with in all likelihood.

“Miss Rarity?” Apple Tart called out, and in a moment of panic Rarity’s eyes darted about as she sought a place to hide. The closet? No, unoriginal. Under her bags? No, too uncomfortable!

“Miss Rarity!” Apple Tart sing-songed. She was just about at the door now. Rarity’s heart pounded in her chest as she looked under the bed and found there was no room, ran back to the window and realized as she flung it open that there was no way she was jumping from the second story—

“Miss Rarity?”

She turned around, casually leaning one elbow on the windowsill, angling herself so the sunlight hit her mane in just the right way to make it glow.

“Ahem. Yes? Apple Tart?” she asked, nervously fluffing her mane with her hoof.

Apple Tart had apparently been fooled by the display and smiled amicably. “Dinner’s ready, you know! We got all the tucker you could ask for after that long train ride!”

Rarity did her best to look nonchalant and shrugged, glancing off to one side. “Oh, well, darling, I have been trying to watch my figure recently. I’ll just nip in after most of the fun is over and get myself a little something something…” She was probably overselling it, but subtlety wasn’t something that was going to get her out of yet another room full of rowdy, sweaty ponies.

Then her stomach rumbled. Loudly.

Apple Tart grinned and darted forward as if Rarity had asked to be carried to the barn.

“Well, sounds like your stomach’s doin’ your thinking for you! Come on, we’ll get that fixed right up!” She wrapped a hoof around Rarity’s neck and pulled her away from the window.

“Traitor…” Rarity hissed at her belly.

It was everything Rarity feared it would be. Apparently, Apple Tart’s and every other pony’s definition of relaxing was spending time with family and friends of family—not something she was averse to, but at least she knew how Sweetie Belle worked, and she had always had Applejack to turn to if the Apples were more confounding than usual. Plus, these Appleloosa ponies were loud. They might as well have been at the saloon for the way they hollered back and forth, doing their best to talk over each other as they shared town gossip or new apple-growing techniques.

Here, she had no lifeline, no buoy to swim for. She had only her own wits and charm to help battle the back-and-forth tides. Apple Tart had made herself Rarity’s unofficial greeter, walking her up and down the tables. Rarity was thankful for the opportunity insofar as it gave her the chance to find Braeburn, but no matter how many faces and Apple pony this and Cherry pony that she met, she didn’t chance upon Braeburn’s golden yellow.

Eventually she settled into the old routines she had learned to deal with every crowd, smiling and hobnobbing. She got more than enough attention from ponies all too curious about a glamorous city pony like herself, from bedazzled colts eager to be graced with her smile to curious mares who couldn’t figure out how she got her mane to curl like that. Ponyville was by no means a big city, but it was close enough for ponies who had lived their entire lives seeing nothing but distant mesas and the occasional cactus.

She sat down with Apple Tart when the initial flurry of questions died down and ponies went back to their own business.

“So whatcha think?” Apple Tart asked her, trying to remember her manners and swallowing a mouthful of pie before she went on. “Appleloosa ponies know how to make ya feel welcome, huh?”

“Oh, yes,” Rarity mumbled, still glancing back and forth over the crowd as she nibbled at a plate of crumble. “I must admit I’ve rarely had the… pleasure… of partaking in a feast quite like this.” Her eyes drifted to the floor, which was covered in dirt and mud and little flecks of dropped food. At least Applejack’s barn had a bit of homeliness to it. This was just barely restrained chaos, a public mess hall only barely sanitary.

“Tell me,” she asked, finding her patience starting to fray. “Do you know where I might find Braeburn Apple?”

Apple Tart’s eyebrows shot up. “Braeburn? Oh, right! He was talkin’ about how you were a good friend of old Applejack! Gosh, I’m sorry, that colt shoulda been here, said he would too.”

“But?” Rarity prodded.

“There was thing he had to get done in town. He’s gotten real close with the sheriff and the town council and all them important ponies. Really workin’ hard to keep Appleloosa on the map, you know? But he should be back any minute now. That boy’s a true Apple: never misses dinner!”

Rarity huffed as alarm bells started ringing in her head. This put the final nail in the coffin; Braeburn was hiding something! She could understand his being a little terse in his missives, but really, this was ridiculous! He had actually gone out of his way to avoid meeting her at the train station when he was the one who had been the most excited to show them around town in the first place!

“Well,” Rarity said, barely concealing her displeasure and fluffing her mane. “I shall just have to wait him out.”

Apple Tart arched an eyebrow, recoiling from Rarity’s sudden change in mood. “Uh. Were ya wantin’ to speak to him about somethin’ important? I could send a pony to find him…”

“No no,” Rarity said in a clipped voice, “I will be fine, Apple Tart. If he has more important things to do, then I will just—”

“Oh, hey!” an all too relieved Apple Tart blurted out, pointing over Rarity’s shoulder. “There he is now! Thank goodness! I mean, uh, let’s go say hi!”

Rarity whirled about on her chair. There, indeed, stood Braeburn Apple in all his glory, an easygoing smile on his face and a crowd of ponies already come to welcome him home. Rarity hopped off her seat, leaving Apple Tart behind as she trotted boldly down the aisles of messy tables. Making a beeline for Braeburn, she made sure to do a quick study of him to get a good idea of what she was getting into.

He was much the same as he had been in Applejack’s barn: tall and proud and every inch a stallion’s stallion, his messy gamboge locks and wide-brimmed hat framing his brilliant green eyes in just such a way to set any mare’s heart aflutter. His open vest hung loosely around his shoulders, baring his strong chest for any and all to see.

At any other time Rarity would have enjoyed the view, but tonight she was on a mission.

Her suspicions were only confirmed when their eyes met. His eyes widened, and she saw the tell-tale bulge of a big gulp worming down his throat. Rarity’s emotions reeled between pity and indignation at the guilt that blossomed over his handsome face.

“Why, Braeburn!” she crooned as she pushed through the crowd. “What a pleasure to finally see you again!”

“Uh,” said Braeburn.

“I had so much hoped to meet you at the train station as Applejack told me you might, but I can understand if you were just too busy to greet a friend of family.”

“Um,” muttered Braeburn, edging towards a cider barrel, presumably to hide behind it.

“Braeburn?” Apple Tart giggled nervously as she slunk up beside Rarity. “Miss Rarity’s here! I already showed her her room and all that, just like you told me to. Ain’t she the sweetest thing?”

Rarity peered at her out of the corner of her eyes as Braeburn shriveled. Just like you told me to?

“I’m sure you had something else to take care of,” she said, looking back at the stallion.

Braeburn gulped as his eyes darted around the room. They were right in front of everypony, and they could all see the confrontation taking place even if they didn’t outright stare.

“Apple Tart, fix me up a dandelion sandwich or somethin’, ‘kay?” stuttered Braeburn. Apple Tart, the poor dear, took the hint and scampered off, leaving Rarity to stare archly at Braeburn. The stallion tapped his hooves together and put on his most welcoming grin.

“Well howdy, miss Rarity! Welcome back to Aaaaaaap—fffmmm!”

Rarity gently released the magical grip she’d clamped his mouth shut with.

“Let’s not and say we did, shall we?”

Braeburn all but deflated. “Aw, shoot, miss Rarity,” he muttered, scuffing his hoof like a chastised foal. “I’m mighty sorry I didn’t meet ya’ll at the train station like I said I would. It’s just, there was a lot of things going on today. I had to meet with the town council and the sheriff, and there was some things going on with the buffalo, and… and I’m sorry. I got busy, that’s all!”

You got cold hooves, though I can’t imagine why. Rarity crossed her forelegs and raised an eyebrow. “That’s not all I’m upset by, Braeburn,” she said softly. “I think we both know what I’m here for.”

Braeburn gasped and twitched as if physically struck, meeting Rarity’s eyes more with shock than guilt. Rarity was surprised by how deep she’d cut him. Had the same thoughts that harried her been plaguing him all along? She watched patiently as he rubbed a foreleg with his hoof, seeming to gather his courage for something to say.

She felt the eyes of others on them, wondering what this glamorous city unicorn could have done to depress the grandest and happiest stallion of them all, and brushed it all off.

“Ya’ll didn’t have to come out here, Rarity,” Braeburn mumbled weakly.

“Didn’t I?” Rarity pressed. Braeburn looked up and around at all the ponies, feasting and eating and some wandering off to get some sleep before tomorrow’s new work day. He bit his lip and looked to the side where Apple Tart hovered nervously with a dandelion sandwich.

“Rarity,” he said quietly, “you wanna go for a walk?”

Rarity blinked, and her front hooves touched the ground again, balancing her as she stood up.

“Certainly.”

He did not take her to the orchards, as he had the first time they spoke. Instead, they turned toward the streets of Appleloosa itself. Rarity stayed precisely six hoof lengths away from Braeburn’s side, the perfect length to show they were in each other’s company without being too presumptuous. She bore the wait in silence as he brought her up the road to the town, snatching only quick glances of him as he stewed in his own thoughts.

He looked impatient more than anything else. His hoofsteps were brusque and heavy, tromping over the ground and kicking up little clouds of dust with every step. It reminded Rarity of the way Pinkie walked, always bursting with energy, always eager to be elsewhere, even if it was just one more step forward. But this was different. Pinkie simmered and bubbled, always expending and sharing her boundless enthusiasm. Braeburn looked like a slow fuse, crackling towards an inevitable explosion.

Rarity sighed, stood by and waited until he couldn’t bear the silence any longer.

“I didn’t expect to see you,” he said, with the light, rising tone of somepony who didn’t know what to say and prayed the other pony took the bait.

Rarity did, to be polite. “I didn’t expect to come out here,” she said, tossing her mane and not caring how it sounded. It was the truth, no more, no less. A lady always told the truth, even if she just told bits of it. “But you rarely see where life will take you.” She turned to him, eyebrow raised. “I didn’t ask you the first time we spoke. Did you always mean to come out to Appleloosa?”

Braeburn looked thankful for any distractions he could get. He sucked in a deep breath, clearly not expecting the question, but not unwilling to answer. “Tell you the truth… not really. It became a family effort. But I grew to love it. Like you grow to love the orchards. It’s all just flat and dry and dusty at first, but earth ponies… we gotta put our magic into somethin’ before another thing comes out.”

Silence fell over them again. Rarity wondered if he would realize the irony of his own words, but it never came, or if it did he hid it well.

They passed the Salt Lick saloon, alive with the noise of late-night patrons. Rarity saw Braeburn turn towards it, watching with something between fondness and worry until they passed.

They took comfort in each other’s silence as they plodded the entire length of the street, engaged in a silent conversation Rarity wasn’t certain Braeburn fully understood. She edged towards him once, and he pulled away. She looked away to the other side of the street and felt his eyes on her, heard his breath rise and fall with constant, unspoken words that stopped just short of leaving his mouth. It wasn’t until they reached the very edge of town, stopping on the porch of a closed general goods store, that he gathered the gumption to speak.

“What’re ya’ll doin’ here, Rarity?” he asked. She stared straight ahead, realizing that one could see the very edge of the horizon from right here, looking down the street. You didn’t get that in Ponyville. Everything was sheltered and cloistered by the hills and trees, and grounded by the sight of distant Canterlot. Even if it was sometimes strange and dangerous you could stand there and say it was your place in the world.

Out here, Rarity couldn’t be less sure where she was.

“You do deserve an answer,” she decided, as much for herself as for Braeburn. She turned and looked him in the eyes. “Braeburn, why were your letters getting so strange as of late?”

He gazed steadily back, so innocent and guileless Rarity almost believed it. “What was so strange about ‘em?”

“Don’t play coy with me. Something was bothering you. Something is bothering you.”

Braeburn shrugged and gave another easy smile. “I appreciate the concern, Rarity, but I dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”

“You said plenty in your letters to me.”

Almost dancing on his hooves, Braeburn hopped off the porch and trotted a ways into the desert, flicking his tail as he turned to face her with a carefree grin. “Well shoot, Rarity, they’re just letters, you know? Why do they gotta mean so much? Taking a train ride all the way out here for little old me, peckin’ and pokin’ with all these questions, I mean… whew! Sheesh, Rarity!” he said, shrugging again.

Rarity’s lips tightened into a flat line, feeling the sting of a sharp rebuff. He’s dancing like a nervous faun, but I can’t back out now.

“Braeburn,” she said.

His ears perked up and he jerked to a halt as surely as she’d cracked a whip. She knew when a stallion felt the guilty sting of a lady’s displeasure, and it was plain in the way he gulped and stood utterly still.

“Do you know why I started writing you those letters in the first place? Why I even asked to speak with you, why we wandered for hours under the trees of Applejack’s orchard?”

He knew better than to answer.

Rarity raised her head up, looking down her nose at him. “I did not do all this to satisfy some petty urge to maintain distant acquaintances, Braeburn. I most certainly did not do it because I feel some strange obligation to keep in touch purely out of necessity or convenience. I rub shoulders with strange ponies every day, and they talk to me because I provide a service, because I give them patronage, or because I am a pretty face they wish to add to some list of ‘must-haves’ at their latest party. I am long past the point of satisfying my vanity with such things. There is nothing and never was anything dishonest about my desire to speak to you. I assure you I did not come here looking for anything besides the pleasure of your company.”

She took a deep breath and let it out in a prim little sigh. She disliked being so sharp, and for a moment she thought she’d overdone it. But a lady had to make her voice heard. Braeburn’s gaze had gone to the ground around halfway through her monologue. He scuffed the dirt with his hoof, peering into the divot he scooped out. He frowned, disliking what he saw.

“I want to be your friend, Braeburn,” Rarity added in a quiet murmur. She stepped forward and stopped his neurotic digging with a gentle hoof. “And I want you to trust me. I value every friendship of mine, no matter how distant or recent.”

He looked at their touching hooves, anchoring himself. “It’s not you, Rarity,” he said. “Please don’t take it so personal-like. I didn’t mean it to come out like that. You just… it made me nervous, knowin’ a lady like you was comin’ after a guy like me. If you don’t mind my saying so, you’re one heck of a mare, Rarity. I could tell just by lookin’ at you.” He looked up at her out of the corners of his eyes, hiding just under the brim of his hat in a manner Rarity found simply adorable.

She rolled her eyes, breaking the tension with an exaggerated scoff. “Why does everypony insist on saying ‘if you don’t mind my saying so?’ I am more than capable of taking a compliment!” she said, batting her eyelashes.

Braeburn chuckled, all smiles again. “Well, it ain’t just that. It’s…” His smile slipped away like melting ice. “It’s everything, Rarity. Of course I wanna be your friend. I wanna be everypony’s friend if I can. But things out here are different than Ponyville or Canterlot. Appleloosa’s got it’s own share of problems an’ so do I.”

“I understand that,” said Rarity. “But being somepony’s friend means being a part of what they struggle with. I can tell you’re struggling, Braeburn, and I came here to help you with that. Think of our friendship as a sapling. I am willing to nurture it. So much so that I came all the way out here. Are you?”

Braeburn gave her a wry, skeptical smile. “You put all that thought into just bein’ my friend?”

“I am nothing if not generous,” Rarity replied primly. “Do you really not have anypony else to turn to? Even Applejack?”

Braeburn’s face fell. “Rarity… I don’t think you understand.”

“Then what must I do?”

Braeburn turned away, looking back down Appleloosa’s main street. “How long are you out here for?”

“Oh, a good couple of weeks, I should imagine.”

Braeburn’s ears twitched. “Two weeks.”

Rarity tilted her head. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” said Braeburn. “No, it shouldn’t be.”

“Braeburn,” said Rarity, stamping her hoof, “tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinkin’... I can’t just tell you,” Braeburn said, turning around to face her. “Rarity, you wanna understand me? You gotta understand Appleloosa. You gotta understand what brought me here. What made me plant my hooves in the dirt an’ extend a helping hoof when the chips were down.”

He loomed over her, face-to-face. “If you want to be my friend, Rarity, you gotta be a friend to Appleloosa.”

Rarity looked up at him, his eyes shining in the blazing orange dusk.

“When do I start?”

Chapter 3

Rarity always woke up with a plan. Even if she hadn’t made one the night before, she knew from the moment her eyes opened that she would accomplish something. A goal, an objective, a wonderful feeling of making a tiny difference in a big world, waited just around every corner. She just had to get out of bed and take one step after the other until she reached it, and the plan would become clear after she had completed it.

When she pushed away the covers, protected from the chill by her cozy bathrobe, she felt the familiar buzz of opportunity whispering in her ear. When she stepped on the cold floorboards and swept gracefully into the bathroom, she heard the clarion call of chance waiting just outside the door. Chance and opportunity, when combined in the proper way, could be molded into purpose. Every stroke of her mane as she combed life back into its curls, every dab of perfume and makeup on her cheeks, was one more little nudge she gave to the path of her life to make it more straight and orderly.

That was how she made success out of nothing but a bundle of cloth and a pile of mannequins. That was, no doubt, how earth ponies forced the earth to bow down as they mastered it.

She stepped into the hall to practice her saunter before she got down to breakfast, perfecting it when she reached the bottom of the stairs to give her hips just the right amount of roll as she walked. Not too sultry, not too plain. When she saw the ponies at the breakfast table look up from their meals and pause as one to watch her, she knew the world was ready to bend to her whim.

“Good morning!” she sang. “Oh my, whatever’s on the pot smells simply divine!”

“Mornin’ miss Rarity,” rumbled Coldcock from the table. “We got flapjacks an’ orange juice, an’ plenty of hay patties to get you goin’.”

Apple Tart trotted up to her and leaned in to whisper. “An’ before you ask, Braeburn ain’t left yet. He’s just makin’ the mornin’ rounds.”

Rarity nodded thankfully. “You said there were… flapjacks?”

“Aplenty,” answered Coldcock. “Since harvest season’s come up we’re gettin’ enough breakfast to fill a barrel.”

“We’ll need it,” another mare twanged. “Deliveries are up an’ stocks are down. We gotta keep up with the demand or we’ll drop right off the map.”

“Not accordin’ to Braeburn,” said Coldcock, stuffing a mouthful of flapjacks dripping with syrup into his mouth. “They’re thinkin’ about them investors from Manehattan—”

“Fiddlesticks on those ponies!” a young mare with a white mane and strikingly blue eyes replied, smacking the table with her hoof. “We get by with apples an’ with apples we’ll stay.”

Rarity collected her own plate, listening in.

“Let’s not all get our manes in knots before breakfast is even over,” another mare, older than Rarity, said as she took her place at the table. “We don’t know nothin’ about what’ll happen once the town comes to a decision. Either way, it’s all apples that ain’t been bucked.”

“You can’t just not talk about it an’ expect there to be no problem!” the younger mare shot back. “That’s all any of the townsfolk are doin’, just a whole bunch of talkin’ an’ there’s nothin’ any of us can say that’ll change anypony’s mind. We got that business rep or whoever comin’ by next week lookin' to see what he can make out of our town. That bootlick’ll probably suggest we get turned into a shopping mall or somethin’.”

“This talk ain’t proper in front of a guest,” Coldcock rumbled, gesturing at Rarity as she sat down. “Let’s all be civil now, Cane Sugar.”

By pure dint of needing something else to talk about, most of the table turned Rarity’s way. Coldcock had put the spotlight on her, but that was right where she liked to be. She put on her brightest smile and introduced herself to those ponies she hadn’t met yet, and made the ones she had happy by remembering them. Only when the conversation had gone on for a little while did she dare breach the prickly subject of the town’s future again. “It does sound like you’ve all had such troubles on your minds recently. I can only hope that I can help alleviate some of it.”

“Folk did see you in the fields yesterday,” Coldcock said with a slow nod, and Rarity favored him with a smile. It was nice to know some ponies would actively support her in front of their friends. “Good ponies with generous attitudes are just what this town needs right now.”

“What we need is a pony who can take charge,” Cane Sugar mumbled as she dug at her oatmeal.

“Cane,” Coldcock warned her, but the young mare looked up, her brazen blue eyes bright and aware. They reminded Rarity of Rainbow Dash.

“No, I’m sick of ponies just sittin’ around hemmin’ an’ hawin’! We gotta do somethin’. There’s ponies from the big cities comin’ soon an’ what’s been goin’ on? A whole lot of arguin’ an’ a bunch more nothin’, that’s what!”

“Ahh, here we go,” said Apple Tart. She’d claimed the empty seat next to Rarity, rolling her eyes as Cane Sugar leapt into an impassioned tirade.

“Just let her talk, she’ll tire herself out soon enough,” Apple Tart whispered.

“Does this happen often?” Rarity whispered back.

“Durn near every day now. Tempers are startin’ to run high. Ponies aren’t sure what to do.”

Cane Sugar ranted about there being ponies who had more money than they knew what to do with, ponies who had their heads in the clouds almost as much as pegasi and only saw their town as a dot on a map that could be erased and redrawn at will. This was the conflict that lay behind everything, and like Canterlot residing on its distant mountain, Rarity revolved around it and Braeburn from a distance. What her friend was suffering wouldn’t be solved by talking to a few key ponies or reading a book of spells. She knew when battles could be lost and won, and how to give a little and take a little as appropriate. Back in the big cities, even back in Ponyville, knowing exactly when to bow out and when to barge in were key skills. Going straight to the top would not help Braeburn or Appleloosa.

No, to conquer this tower, she’d have to sneak in through one of the side windows. Just like Sir Heart Quiver when he climbed the Tower of Peril to rescue Dame Glitterhoof. And then through trickery and subterfuge he’d bypassed the deadliest traps and completely flabbergasted the most powerful guardians, and the rendezvous he had with Glitterhoof in her chambers was one for the history books. Or at least Rarity’s Secret Bookshelf, Celestia forbid Sweetie Belle ever lay eyes on it…

“Apple Tart,” she said out of the corner of her mouth as she watched Cane Sugar continue to make a scene of herself, “I’m going to need some directions when we’re through sorting, after the morning shift.”

“Oh?” the mare replied. “Got somewhere to go, do ya?”

“One place in particular,” Rarity murmured. “I think I have an idea.”

She found Braeburn just coming back from sending the apple counters on their daily routine. When she told him her intentions, he told her in no uncertain terms that it was a bad idea. And yet here he was, escorting her to Bona Fide’s house and only giving token verbal resistance. Rarity took note of how he walked beside her, keeping pace instead of leading. The poor dear must really have been starved for a friendly face in this town.

“Bonny’s a good mare, really,” he said, “just a little antisocial is all. She’s not one for house calls ‘cept for ponies she knows well.”

Rarity smiled. “Which is why I’ve asked you to come along. At least this way you can put your weight behind something that may go a long way towards helping this town get back on its hooves.”

Braeburn tossed his head back and let out an explosive sigh. “I just don’t see what more talkin’ is gonna do.”

Rarity raised her brows. “There is talking and then there is merely exchanging words. I am an expert in talking.”

Bona Fide’s house was remarkably humble for a pony of her stature. The way Apple Tart sputtered and fidgeted when Rarity told her it was this very structure she sought, a picture had been painted in her mind of some vast, imposing edifice that looked down on all passers-by, mercilessly taunting them with accusations of never being good enough, forcing them to bow their heads to avoid the gaping stares of stained-glass windows. Instead, what she found was a regular farm house just like any other near the edge of town. It was like Applejack’s farm in miniature, with a private orchard and a small stable and chicken coop blooming off the side of the house. A couple of pigs looked up at her and wagged their tails, expecting to be fed, but they passed them by. Besides the dust invading her mane and the animals roaming freely, the place was almost spotlessly clean. The wood on the porch was smooth and new, and the door was painted a fresh forest green. Braeburn knocked on it three times.

Rarity heard muffled voices from within, but couldn’t distinguish one from the other. When the door opened, a colt peered at them from the other side.

He was teenaged, stuck somewhere between Rainbow Dash and Thunderlane’s brother Rumble. His brown eyes were as seasoned as the former, but his body still clinging to some of the latter’s baby fat, giving him a boyish roundness that looked strange on the hard-nosed glare he gave her. A coat of bronze and a messy mane of orange and red made him look like a bed of autumn leaves. A gate either half shut or half open was his cutie mark. Rarity thought Sweetie Belle might fancy him if she were but a few years older.

“Braeburn?” the colt asked, and immediately his taciturn gaze brightened. “What’re you doin’ here?”

Even though he was clearly happy to see the older stallion, there was gravel in his voice and a weatherbeaten look in his eyes that surprised Rarity.

Braeburn was all smiles. “Mornin’ there, Rusty Hinges. Sorry, no time to talk. I got a visitor for your sister to meet.”

The colt glared at Rarity. “Hey,” he muttered. “You’re that new girl, aint’cha?”

“I am, young sir,” she said, stuttering through her introduction. She’d had words prepared in her head, but not for anypony but Bona Fide. She should have asked whether the mare lived alone or not. “My name is Rarity, and I am visiting from out of town. I was here to speak to Bona Fide. Might you give me the pleasure of—”

“HEY BONNY!” the colt shouted over his shoulder.

“What?!” came the screeching reply.

“Braeburn’s here ta’ see you with some mare!”

“She ain’t just some mare, Rusty,” Braeburn said in that longsuffering tone of an oft-ignored lecturer. “Her name’s Rarity.”

Rusty seemed about to answer when he heard Bonny shout from within the house.

“What’d you say Rusty?!”

“I said Braeburn’s here with some mare called Rarity!”

“What?!”

“I said Braeburn’s—”

“I heard whatcha said, I’m comin’!”

Heavy hooffalls on the stairs echoed like the sound of impending doom. Rarity forced herself not to cringe.

Bona Fide swept into view, tossing back her mane. Rarity couldn’t help but notice that she’d used conditioner to give her coiffure a lustrous sheen. Hard working, cynical, proud, kept herself looking good even when nopony was around to see. Rarity saw all these things in the way she walked, the way her eyes were always narrowed and squinting.

But all that stopped when she realized just who was at the door. Her eyes widened just a fraction, and she missed half a step on the way over. Rarity surprised her. That was good. Surprised could easily be turned into impressed, which was just a skip away from awe.

“Rusty,” she said, in a voice that was the exact opposite of the warmth that Twilight used with Spike, “g’wan an’ get some chores done.”

“But I already—oh, fine, I’m goin’,” the young colt said, wilting under the older mare’s glare and scampering out the door.

Rarity kept her eyes on Bonny, whose eyes wouldn’t stay still. They darted up and down in their sockets, sizing her up. Rarity felt like she was in an arena staring down a violent opponent, counting down the last precious seconds they had before a vicious hoof-to-hoof melee. In that way, it was almost exactly like meeting one of the knife-tongued mares of Manehatten or Canterlot, which made her feel right at home.

“Bonny,” said Braeburn in a voice one would use to calm an angry dog, “this here’s miss Rarity. I brought her over to meet you.”

“Was that your brother?” Rarity asked with a bright smile, more for her own benefit than Bonny’s. Bonny sneered, weighing the merits of answering.

“Yeah, that’s Rusty Hinges,” she huffed. “He’s a good kid,” she added in a tone that was less fond and more obligated.

“He sounds like it.”

“What’s she doin’ here Braeburn?” Bonny snapped.

“Well, I came here to let her explain that,” Braeburn said without missing a beat. Bonny’s face was twisted into an ugly scowl that Rarity didn’t think she’d wear around Braeburn, but Braeburn was as placid as Ponyville’s lake on a windless day. “An’ it’d behoove ya to be a little more neighborly, Bonny. I know as well as you do that Appleloosa’s goin’ through some tough times, but—”

“No,” Bonny’s voice cracked sharp as a whip. “Don’t you use that patronizin’ tone of voice with me, Braeburn! I stood up for you at the last town meeting an’ I’ve done just as much for this town as you. So don’t go actin’ like you…”

She trailed off and her eyes roved back to Rarity. Immediately, her tirade ended.

There’s more to all of this than I imagined, isn’t there? And more to you, thought Rarity.

None of your business, Bonny’s hard gaze replied.

The silence drew on as Braeburn mulled over the sharp change in mood. “Let her speak ‘er piece, Bonny.”

When no objections came, Rarity raised her chin and assumed an officious stance. “I’m here to help your town, miss.”

“No you ain’t,” Bonny grunted. “An’ you’re not gonna convince me otherwise. I know your type.”

“Bonny,” said Braeburn in that iron velvet voice she’d used on him last night, “You don’t know this mare. None of us do. I’m willin’ to trust her. After everythin’ that’s happened, I think we shouldn’t be so willing to turn down a helpin’ hoof.”

“She’s just all talk, Brae, listen to her! With her high-falootin’ Canterlot accent an’—”

“Fillydelphia, actually,” said Rarity.

Bonny blinked owlishly. “Say what?”

“Fillydelphia,” Rarity answered, her voice wistful and quiet. “My family grew up around the farms there before I moved to Ponyville. I got my accent there, going to all these...” She grinned all of a sudden without knowing why, letting out a short breathy chuckle. “These meetings my father attended. He was a hoofball coach you know, and often met with high class parents sending their children to athletic programs. I started learning from them.”

Bonny just stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “I… well, whatever,” she grumbled. “I don’t even—what are you doin’ here?”

Rarity did not flinch. “They say actions speak louder than words, and you are obviously a mare who does not waste time, so I will cut to the chase. I am here to do whatever is required of me, and I will do what you ask to keep this town afloat.”

Bonny raised an eyebrow and looked to be on the verge of smiling. Somehow it made her look even more unfriendly. “You wanna be one of our farmhooves? Thought I already saw you workin’ the apple sortin’ line.”

“The difference between a pony who serves and a pony who works is intent. My intent is to be generous.”

Bonny rolled her eyes. “We already got lots of good ponies workin’ hard for this town. Like me.”

Rarity narrowed her eyes just so, pinpointing all the things that bothered Bonny and won her good favor, trying to get to the core of this stubborn mare. “But it’s because you know them. You know they’ve lived here, loved here, and wouldn’t know what to do if it wasn’t their town anymore. I want to show you what an outsider can do.”

Bonny scoffed and looked away. Rarity, taking it as a moment of indecision, let her think.

“So why’re you comin’ to tell me?”

“For much the same reason you made it a point to make me feel unwelcome.”

Bonny’s face scrunched like she’d bitten a lemon.

Braeburn looked between the two mares, thoroughly bewildered. Rarity knew what that was like; she’d felt the same when she was still young and looking in on adult conversations. At last, Bonny sighed and shook her head.

“Look, I ain’t unreasonable,” she said. “But I know your type. You’ve come around often enough.” Her eyes flicked nervously towards Braeburn. “I remember when ya’ll came durin’ that scrape with the buffalo. Darn near got our town flattened with your hootin’ an’ hollerin’ an’ what-have-you. We did just fine on our own then, an’ we will now.”

“But you’re floundering. I can see it. I can hear it.”

“Of course you do, don’t you?!” Bonny snapped, making Rarity and Braeburn take a step back. “That’s what ponies like you do. They come in an’ they mix an’ mingle an’ taunt an’ tease an’ there’s just no end to it!” She stomped and snorted, pacing over the porch. “As if we don’t got enough trouble with that business rep comin’ next week.”

“Who might that be?” Rarity asked, drawing an evil eye from Bonny. “I remember hearing the word representative at breakfast, but—”

“Oh, don’t you know?” Bonny sneered, swishing her tail. “I thought you were so well connected with ponies in this town.” Her eyes flicked towards Braeburn, who stood there with a befuddled, vulnerable expression. “Go ask them.”

In that instant when her eyes locked onto the stallion, Rarity felt something spike in her chest, hot and furious. Understanding? Protectiveness? Jealousy, if she stoop so low?

Careful now. Deep breaths.

Rarity steeled herself, hoping Bonny was as tough as she looked. She took in the strange tempest of emotion and let it flow out as a gentle wind, and a curt voice that said, “I am asking you.”

Bonny’s eyes widened and she lifted her chin, as if greatly offended by the mere notion. But she spoke through gritted teeth regardless. “He’s from the Rich’s family business. Thinkin’ of settin’ up shop out here, if you can imagine that. Him an’ some others, I figured you knew. If anything, it’ll just make things worse.”

“Then perhaps I shall take the opportunity to talk to him.”

“Didn’t see that comin’,” Bonny grumbled, turning to go back inside. “Have fun, ‘Miss’ Rarity. Forgive me if I don’t believe a word you say. Or don’t, not my problem.”

“Bonny, look—” started Braeburn.

“I’ve said my piece!” Bonny snapped. “Now leave me be. Lady, you don’t know what you’re gettin’ into,” she said, pointing at Rarity. “This town don’t want or need your help! G’wan home if you know what’s good for you, an’ don’t come to my door again without somethin’ to show for it!”

Before Braeburn could say a word, the door was slammed in their faces.

Rarity sighed. “I was hoping that would go a little better.”

“Didn’t it?” said Braeburn. “I thought you did great, personally. She seemed pretty agreeable, an’ that’s somethin’ only a miracle worker could pull off.”

Rarity looked away to conceal the hot blush creeping up her cheeks. “What makes you say that?”

“She didn’t just bark at you an’ chase you out with a broomstick.”

Rarity gasped as they turned away from the door and walked back to town. “She did that? To whom?”

“Mmhmm. Poor ol’ Graham Cracker, representative of Rail Gauge an’ Co. It was durin’ a town meeting, an’ he’d said some things that some folk didn’t take kindly to about our lack of progress an’ direction.”

“And what do you think about progress, Braeburn?”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth and trapped it in his throat, keeping Rarity in suspense for several seconds.

“I think what matters most is that Appleloosa keeps the spirit that made it what it is. A place where ponies can live peacefully.”

And there she had it. The thrill of getting somepony to say what she wanted without them even knowing. She turned a cagey smile on him, slitting her eyes and lifting her tail to give it a little more bounce. “Indeed.”

Braeburn tried the same smile, and it looked so ridiculous on him that Rarity had to giggle.

“You got somethin’ in mind?” he asked.

“I do-ooo!,” she sing-songed. “Braeburn, this is perfect. An out of towner who is coming to judge the town and try to sway ponies to his side? Do you know what we must do now?”

“I, uh—”

“We advertise.”

“Is that right?”

“Quite!” Rarity chirped, feeling a little bounce come into her steps. “The ponies who come here see only an empty lot, a bunch of desert property waiting to be turned into a gauche tourist stop or some point where travelers can get their fill of apples while taking the train to other places. What we must do is show everypony the true character of Appleloosa. We must show them its life, its vivacious and happy soul underneath this mask of grit and dust!”

Braeburn smiled again, but he seemed uncertain as to why.

“Well that sounds fine an’ dandy, but what’s all that gonna do?”

Rarity flashed him a dazzling grin and leaped onto a nearby crate, feeling an uncontrollable energy welling up inside her. This was inspiration, the kind of inspiration she longed for, and she held it with all her might. “Why, it will make those ponies stop thinking in terms of ‘how can I profit from Appleloosa’ and instead make them think ‘how can I help Appleloosa?’ Once they see that your town has a special quality all its own, one that cannot be denied, they’ll be more than happy to both leave this town to its own devices and give you the resources to make this place into whatever you wish it to be.”

She stood up and twirled, letting her mane and tail follow her movements and their sheen catch the sun. “Oh, I’m getting shivers! But how to start? It’s a good thing I brought so much of my own. Perhaps a fair of some kind? An expo! That’s it! A public exhibition for all interested parties! Braeburn, we will show those ponies that Appleloosa is not just a dot on a map, but a town of living ponies bursting with character and potential!”

She hopped down from the crate and landed gracefully, using her forward momentum to slink up to Braeburn, arching her back and peering up at him from just a few inches away. Braeburn leaned back with an amused smile.

“And to do that,” said Rarity, lowering her voice to give it that essential, sensual reverberation. “I need to discover everything that Appleloosa has to offer.”

Braeburn’s smile softened as he leaned forward.

“Well, just so happens you’re talkin’ to an expert on everything Appleloosa.”

“Then in that case, might I suggest we—”

“Take shelter!” an unknown voice interrupted them. “Storm’s a’ brewin’! Get the sand outta yer tails an’ bring in that equipment! Somepony get out the tarps!”

Braeburn raised an eyebrow, his smile growing into a goofy grin. “Do that?”

Rarity deflated with a loud sigh.

It wasn’t just a storm. It was a veritable monsoon. Rarity wasn’t familiar with the ecology of a desert, but Apple Tart assured her it was a fairly normal occurrence. The effects of leftover weather patterns drifting in from the Heartland and colliding with each other created these monsters. Helping the ponies rush their water-sensitive tools and goods inside was invigorating and even a little fun. The air took on a charged quality, full of anticipation and excitement over an event that was only seen once every several months. Once the rain did come, Rarity took shelter at the house she boarded in, sitting underneath the awning over the front porch, wrapped in a stylish pink poncho with a matching hat. The rain didn’t reach much further than the awning, but occasionally a strong gust of wind would hurl it into her shelter, necessitating boots to protect her already damaged hooficure.

She sat here and braved the tugging wind and driving rain—not to mention the cacophonous noise of thunder and lightning—because the storm fascinated her. It was nothing like any she’d ever seen. This couldn’t just be a remnant of weather patterns used and spent in the Equestrian Heartland, left to sputter out and die over the frontier, but a true show of nature without ponies there to command it. What did her ancestors think when they endured these terrible showers without knowing Equestria was there to shelter them, or brave pegasi to wrestle the clouds into submission?

She imagined for a moment that she was an ancient unicorn princess sitting on the balcony of some dour old fort, wondering why the world was the way it was. It must have been amazing to hold that much power and still see the world so utterly out of their control.

So different than quiet old Ponyville…

Oh, what was she saying? Ponyville was a storm in its own right.

“You look peaceful.”

She turned to see Braeburn standing in the doorway. “Ain’tcha cold, though?”

“Not very,” Rarity replied. “Look closely.”

Braeburn did, and noticed that her clothes were conspicuously dry.

“It’s a low-level drying spell,” she explained. “The heat is just enough to make it bearable out here, along with my clothes. It’ll cause a bit of a headache to keep it up for so long, but it’s worth it.”

A close burst of thunder made her flinch. The sound rolled through the street and on out of town.

“You like the rain, then?” Braeburn asked once it passed, taking a seat next to her.

“I like this rain,” she said. “Usually I’m too distracted when it rains in Ponyville—you almost always know when it’s coming, and it’s usually of a pleasant, moody consistency. It’s just there, and you are comforted by the familiarity and the atmosphere it provides, but ultimately one can be forgiven for taking it for granted. There will always be little showers in Ponyville as long as there are pegasi in Equestria.”

Braeburn smirked, and she noticed him scoot just a little closer to her; perhaps to take advantage of the heat from her enchantment. “Heh. I remember the first time I moved out here as a settler. The rain alone just about made me panic, so it did, let alone the thunder n’ lightnin’. Wasn’t used to the intensity.”

Rarity nodded. “Me neither. When I was young, I used to sit with Sweetie Belle when a storm came. I was already used to them, but she’d always come running to me or our parents and huddle with us. But then she became so enamored with it, much like I was. She plays in it whenever she can.”

She looked at a particular puddle, imagining the splashes of heavy droplets were hooffalls of her little sister. Her heartstrings were plucked, and she let out a melancholy sigh. “She does many things that I once did, now. She wants to be just like me, I think.”

“There’s much worse ponies to follow,” commented Braeburn with a firm nod. “An’ not many better.”

Rarity laughed modestly. “Don’t oversell it, dear. I know I’m charming, but I’m not a miracle worker yet.”

“Heh. Sorry.”

The rain came down in sheets, filling the silence with its awe-inspiring roar. Rarity closed her eyes and lost herself in its ferocity. Her books back home, which had been so eager to praise the awesome power of the natural world and compared many a handsome stallion to, seemed mild and prosaic when compared to this. She felt like she was on the edge of a precipice, a leaf clinging to a twig as it was buffeted by wind, ready to be torn away and be dispersed. It was a heavenly feeling.

Gradually, the rain slowed to a regular downpour, and Rarity dispersed her enchantment. This was the kind of rain she had listened to as a child with Sweetie Belle at her side, or serenaded her while she huddled with her friends and drank a new tea fresh from Zecora. Many hours had been whiled away in Ponyville matching the sound of her sewing machines to the steady drumbeat of the storm. She felt herself growing more wistful by the moment.

“I guess I’m just excited,” said Braeburn, quiet enough that Rarity had to twist her ear around to hear him. “Nopony’s really agreed to do somethin’ like what you’re plannin’ for Appleloosa. An’ after hearin’ whatcha’ll ‘ave done for Equestria through AJ… I got confidence you’ll deliver.”

“Of course!” Rarity declared, putting a hoof over her chest. “Do you know how many promises to the stars I’ve made in my time? And I have never let down a single one. Keeping to your word and giving your all. That is what generosity is.”

Rarity took a deep breath of the Appleloosan air.

“It doesn’t smell like Ponyville, though,” she murmured.

“Hmm?”

“The rain. It smells different here. I can taste something different about it.”

Braeburn turned to her with a curious look, silently asking her to go on.

“I think… I think I can smell the wildness of the weather. Or feel it, somehow, in here.” She reached up and touched a hoof to her horn. “It tingles and excites. I can feel the magic in the air running to and fro and it feels like watching Sweetie Belle and her friends, realizing all the potential that’s balled up inside them. There’s something childish and yet frighteningly powerful in such experiences. It’s as flighty as the wind and just as exquisitely dizzying.”

“Yeah?” Braeburn asked, and by the wispy quality of his voice Rarity knew his curiosity was well and truly piqued, and she had to admit she liked it. It wasn’t often she got to discuss what being a unicorn actually felt like, much less find another pony who was so interested in it. Braeburn was certainly unique in that respect.

“When I tried my hoof at controlling the weather, it was something I’d never felt before,” she said, nibbling her lip when she remembered the disastrous day her cutie mark was flipped with Rainbow Dash’s. “I remember it felt like rivers that needed to be channeled. I had to make it go where it was needed, where it would flow naturally, rather than simply forcing it into something that I wanted it to be. I probably should have taken a few cues from my dressmaking; it’s much the same process, really. But no, I did my best to make the weather pretty instead of just letting it be beautiful.”

She blinked and felt the thrill of epiphany. “I… wouldn’t want to repeat such a mistake.”

She waved a hoof at the drenched landscape, letting the tip of her hoof brush the water drizzling off the awning. She brought it back and looked at the droplets soaking into her fur. “This feels like an ocean. It has great tides and currents going here and there, and both its source and destination are utterly unknown to me. It’s confusing and awe-inspiring in its complexity. There’s no way I can grasp all of this at once, not like I could in the Heartland. Twilight could, perhaps, but I doubt she’d advise it. Rainbow Dash,” she said with a sudden laugh, “she’d be up there trying to punch the very clouds into submission. But while it’s quite dreadful and grey and terrifying, I can see the beauty in it. I can see the wonder.”

There was a sudden lull in the rain, which died down to a mere drizzle until the wind was the only noise. Rarity looked down, and the magic was instantly broken. There was just going to be a lot of squelchy, disgusting mud from here on out.

“I can also see why ponies would want to control it, to tame it. But it’s all in how you go about it, isn’t it? Inspiration is much the same. Holding an idea too tight will only squeeze it right out of your grip. Letting it go will only let it run away over the horizon and suddenly it’s gone, never to return.”

“That’s beautiful,” Braeburn whispered, and her head jerked around to look at him. Only now did she feel the intensity of his gaze, creating a warm spot on her face where it landed, and the sincerity in his voice.

“It is,” she whispered. “It all is. Appleloosa is beautiful, Braeburn.”

In her heart she knew she spoke the truth. This town was worth saving. This town was worth keeping. It was a place with its own magic that Ponyville couldn’t match, and yet both places were fast becoming dear to her in their own way.

The wind and rain picked up once again, back into another pounding maelstrom. In the midst of the clamor Rarity realized that Appleloosa could, just perhaps, need her in much the same way Ponyville did. But could she entertain any notion at all of staying here? It had to be far too early to think about such things. Ponyville was home. Ponyville was where her friends were, without whom she couldn’t have done so many amazing things. But surely Equestria could take care of itself sometimes. Her family, her business, however, could not. Even if she passed this test with flying colors and everything she hoped for came true, there was still home to go back to. Appleloosa was not home.

And yet, looking up at Braeburn with the thrill of wild magic in her veins, seeing his eyes so full of hope, she wondered. He was like the desert after it had gotten this fresh rain, ready to help his town burst with life after seeing it be torn apart. She had made such a show of being perfect for the job, but could she deliver on an entire city when sometimes a few simple dresses gave her trouble?

“What do you feel, Braeburn?” she asked.

“Me?” he asked in return, blinking. “About the rain? Well, gosh, Rarity. I can’t describe it the way you can. Those were some of the most beautiful words I’ve ever heard.”

“Then be inspired.”

“I am. Whew!” He leaned back, brushing a hoof through his mane. He’d left his hat in the house, and Rarity loved the way his mussy hair fell over his hoof. If only she could get at it with her styling gels, make a few snips and cuts here and there, she could make cowpony imitation all the rage in Canterlot.

“I guess I’m used to it. I said it made me nervous at one point in time, but that was years ago. I started work as a cowpony in Dodge Junction, helped run cattle an’ supplies out to the other towns before the railways were put down. It was one heck of a task, lemme tell ya.”

He leaned back with a pensive expression, rubbing his chin with his hoof. “I remember one time I was helpin’ haul wagons an’ steer cattle clear across the San Palomino Desert, tryin’ to get ‘em to Colterado Springs for market. Now that was an adventure if I ever had one. Don’t got time to tell the whole story right now, but I promise I’ll tell it to ya when I get a chance. Anyway, we’re goin’ along just fine till suddenly, right when we hit the plains, we’re struck with a twister. Now, that time we had a team of pegasi that’d help keep the weather off our backs, but this’n was such a doozy they told us it was hopeless. We had to dig an’ hope for the best. Circled the wagons, ducked down, an’ waited it out.”

His eyes took on a distant, somber look, gazing into nothing. “It didn’t come close enough to harm us, but I’ll never forget the sound. The sound, Rarity, it was like nothin’ I’d ever heard. It was like a whole herd a’ freight trains runnin’ across the ground, while a flight of dragons went overheard an’ roared with all their might. I saw the base, an’ how it just… tore up the ground around it. I know Equestria’s got almost nothin’ like these twisters nowadays. I’d only seen pictures in history books until then. I watched it chug on by, didn’t even care that we were there. If it wanted, it coulda swept right over us an’ I wouldn’t be here talkin’ to ya. But it just moved on, like… oh, like some kinda giant. It was a force, a… a power that I felt down in my bones. Kinda like you an’ your horn. It was beyond me.”

Rarity nodded in understanding.

“That monster had me scared stiff, but it had me mesmerized somethin’ fierce too. When it was done, I knew then an’ there it was my destiny to tame this land. Make it a place Equestrians could come an’ go as they pleased an’ live an’ laugh an’ smile without worryin’ about a giant twister or some ugly monster. We used to have monsters out here, you know, before the Royal Guard flushed ‘em out. We couldn’t start work on the town till they’d cleared out the area. ‘Pparently we had somethin’ called ‘chupacabras' out here back in the day.”

He smirked and nodded at the storm. “But sometimes, heh, them critters just keep findin’ ways to come back. It’s nice to have those reminders, sometimes. I like it. I like livin’ near the wild. It helps me feel like I’m makin’ more of a difference, I guess. This little outpost against everythin’ nature can throw at us.”

He sighed heavily. “An’ some things that other ponies throw, too. But all these hardships will just make it all worth it in the end. Ain’t that right, Rarity? Givin’ so much, it’s only natural you’re gonna get a lot back?”

They both started when they turned to each other at the same time and realized how close they were, but didn’t pull away. They stared in silence for a time, until Rarity realized the rain and wind was dribbling away to nothing.

“It’s true,” she murmured. “Perseverance always pays off. Especially when you join your efforts with that of another.”

Braeburn opened his mouth and took a breath, as if to say something, but then closed it again and licked his lips.

“I, uh… should go an’ check on the town,” he said. “Gotta make sure none of the trees were swamped, clean up the buffalo trail, an’... an’ whatnot.”

“Of course. I’ll be there soon,” Rarity said with a nod.

They lingered for one more moment before breaking eye contact. Braeburn hurried off without even getting his hat, his hooves squelching in the mud and joining other intrepid ponies coming out now that the storm was over.

Rarity watched him go until he disappeared around a corner, and then cast her gaze outward. A flash of movement caught her eye from afar, and when she focused on it she was looking up the road to Bonny’s house.

Bonny stood there looking up at the sky, lingering just a moment longer before she turned and went inside.

Had she been there this whole time, watching the sky right alongside us?

The thought made Rarity sigh before she went back inside. It was time to start gathering followers.

Chapter 4

Rarity didn’t even know Appleloosa had a barber’s shop. When she found out, she was beside herself.

“This is so exciting!” she squealed as she settled into the cushioned chair at Ben Barette’s Mane Care. “To finally get to speak with one of my friends in a proper venue. The correct atmosphere is a must when discussing this kind of thing.”

“But, uh, Rarity,” said Apple Tart in the seat next to her, “you haven’t exactly told me what we’re gonna be discussin’. Just kinda dragged me away kickin’ an’ screamin’ once the apple sortin’ was done.”

“Well of course,” cried Rarity. “One thing you must learn about high society is that not a word must be said out of place. An apple orchard is not the place for what I’m going to ask you.” She held out a hoof to her side, letting it hover. “File, please.”

Ben Barette came back holding a pair of shears in his mouth. “File?” he mumbled.

“Yes,” said Rarity, staring at him. “Aren’t you going to start by filing my hooves? They’re getting dreadfully worn and ragged.”

“Miss Rarity, this ain’t no fancy shmancy spa. Here we serve manes an’ manes only, s’why I made the sign so spee-cific. Mmhmm.” The bright lime earth pony leaned forward to peer at her hoof. “Sides, I ain’t seen nopony’s hoof as polished an’ well curved as yours. It’d put the local farrier to shame iffen she saw that beaut. Call that ‘ragged’ an’ I’ll call Chief Thunderhoof a sweet lil’ filly. Mmhmm.”

“Well, thank you,” Rarity said, withdrawing her hoof with a faint blush, “but I really think if you take a closer look, you’ll notice it’s rather dirty and the toe has completely lost its shine—”

“Ponies wanna get clean, they use their bathtubs,” droned Ben. “Ponies wanna polish, they go to the farrier. But if you’ll lie back an’ let me go to work, I’ll show you I’m no slouch with a pair o’ shears an’ a comb. Mmhmm.”

“You’ll see Rarity,” said Apple Tart. “Ben here is a whiz at gettin’ the knots out of your mane an’ keepin’ everything straight after a hard day’s work. Mostly though we just come in for a little trim!”

“A little trim…” Rarity whimpered as she saw the oversized shears Ben wielded like some psychotic killer out of Rainbow Dash’s horror movie collection. When the keen, hungry blades approached Apple Tart’s mane—a mane Rarity had become just a teensy bit possessive of after the last makeover—Rarity almost had a heart attack.

“Stop!” she squeaked, making Ben lurch and wobble off-balance. Apple Tart raised her eyebrow.

“What’s the matter, Rarity?”

Rarity tapped her hooves together, grinning weakly. “You wouldn’t mind if I had a go with those instead, would you Ben?”

Ben looked down at the shears and raised an eyebrow at Rarity, whose heart started to beat a little faster as inspiration bubbled up inside her.

“I mean,” she began, “I could give you a few pointers! You have no idea just how many tips and tricks I’ve picked up over the years. I’m almost as much an expert in mane care as I am in clothes fashion. Why, with what I know, you could expand your business and become the most well-known hair stylist in Appleloosa!”

“I’m the only hair stylist in Appleloosa,” Ben mumbled over the shears. “Got this store from my dear old Pappy, Celestia rest his soul. No real call for manes to go gettin’ dolled up when yer herdin’ cattle or buckin’ apples. Mmhmm.”

Apple Tart gave Rarity a smile that was anything but reassuring. “Don’t worry none, Rares. Ben’s got us in good hooves.”

Rarity slid behind behind the protection of her chair, peering over the headrest. “Y—yes, yes, of… of course. You go first, Apple dear, I’ll be fine!”

Her heart broke a little more with every snap and click of Ben’s shears taking great chunks out of Apple Tart’s mane. Now now, she chided herself, one must be willing to sacrifice a few things to make a good impression. I mustn’t judge. Leaving behind a few idiosyncrasies is nothing compared to the goodwill of Appleloosa.

She watched another lock of Apple Tart’s beautiful mane fall to the ground. Slowly but surely Ben was creating an aberration, all wrong for Apple Tart’s facial shape and size. But Rarity ignored the fashionable angel on her shoulder screeching for her to do something, and dreaded what she’d say when her turn came.

“So what were ya’ll wantin’ to talk to me about?” asked Apple Tart, as if her mane wasn’t being mangled.

The door swung open with a jingle of bells and the brush of desert air. Sheriff Silverstar strode inside, immediately drawing Rarity’s eye. He walked with measured steps that deliberately made his boot spurs clank, letting everypony know that he was in the room and deserved a second glance. Even though he was just walking into a mane salon, he had to showboat just a little. Ponies expected it. A leader who didn’t play their role usually found themselves booted right out of it. He trudged to the nearest empty seat and sat down, removing his hat and folding his hooves over his chest.

“A plan,” said Rarity, following the Sheriff with her eyes, “to help your town. I’ve heard tell that many ponies are dissatisfied with the way things are going…” She glanced at Ben, who was doing an admirable job of being a background pony, prompting her to continue. “... I spoke with Braeburn about it. He agrees that I should do what I can to help. To that end, I propose the idea of a public expo of sorts, a gathering that will help all those ponies who want a slice of the pie—no pun intended—to learn that your town is more than land to be developed. It’s already been developed. It simply needs some tender loving care to be the kind of land ponies want to live on rather than pass through.”

“Huh!” said Apple Tart, staring straight ahead through the cloud of hair falling from her head. “That sounds like a mighty tall order, Rares. What can two little ponies like us do about it? Or me, for that matter?”

“Spread the word,” said Rarity, leaning forward to lend her words weight. “Be my support. My friend. Any and all ideas are appreciated. Anypony who you know who might be able to help us, invite them. You might not know it, but even just having you stand next to me could be the tipping point.”

Her eyes kept sliding over to Silverstar. His ears were stuck in place, not giving off so much as a twitch to show his interest. She raised her voice just a titch.

“Ponies in this town are frustrated and they have a right to be, but it’s mostly because nopony is doing anything. They’re balanced perfectly between those who want a brand new Appleloosa and those who want the Appleloosa they dreamed of when they settled this area. I intend to show them what they can have when they try to get the best of both worlds.”

“What’s that mean, though?” Apple Tart asked, leaning forward and making Ben grunt with displeasure. He had to move all the way around her seat to keep cutting.

“It means admitting that everything changes,” Rarity replied, leaning forward herself until she was nearly touching noses with Apple Tart, who regarded her with wide eyes and bated breath. “But just because it isn’t the change we want doesn’t mean that change is bad. Neither does it mean that we can’t make it into something that won’t benefit us all. If there’s anything living in Ponyville has taught me, it’s that no matter what change may come the help of friends will always make it bearable. And when those friends work together, well… they may just be able to make the best of that change.”

She heard the sound of clopping hooves behind her and perked her ear, trying not to smile. It was the sound she had been expecting all along, but she was pleased to see she had left an impression on Apple Tart. She had tuned her voice to perfection, just the right amount of deep introspection combined with wistful hope to maximize the impact on another pony.

“Nice speech,” said Sheriff Silverstar, spinning around in his chair to face Rarity, moustache waggling. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were practicin’ on little Apple Tart there.”

“I was saying what she needed to hear,” was Rarity’s prim rejoinder. “What all of Appleloosa needs to hear, including you.”

“Sheriff, if you ask me, this gal’s got it together,” Apple Tart exclaimed, her cheeks all aglow and eyes bright with new ideas. “We have got to let her speak to the town!”

“Now hold on there,” Silverstar said, raising a hoof to beckon Ben over. “I haven’t had my weekly trim yet. Before I go an’ let you speak in public, I think it best we get to know each other. Besides, we ain’t been properly introduced, have we?” He tipped his hat. “Sheriff Silverstar, as you know. Been lookin’ forward to meeting you properly, miss Rarity.”

“The feeling is mutual,” said Rarity as Ben went to work with small, practiced snips on Silverstar’s moustache and mane. “The reception I got on my arrival was... less than cordial.” She turned and smiled at Apple Tart, who beamed at her. “Present company excepted of course.”

“I can tell you’ve gotten acquainted with the less than neighborly sentiment in this town,” Silverstar said with a disappointed sigh. “So I won’t bore you with more details. I’ll just say that while I don’t blame some of the townsfolk for feelin’ as strong as they do, I don’t necessarily share the feelings of one side or the other. I’m tryin’ to find out what’s best for Appleloosa in general—so it sounds like we’re on the same side.”

“Indeed,” said Rarity. “I am not here to tell you how to run this town, but I can say that I have an outsider’s perspective that I think is sorely needed.”

“She’s been to Canterlot, Sheriff! Canterlot!” Apple Tart gushed. “Most’ve us have never been further north than the Everfree Forest!”

“I’ve been to Canterlot,” Silverstar grunted. “Mighty impressed I was, too. But I can’t say I got a feel for the culture of it like you obviously have, miss Rarity.”

Rarity nodded somberly. “Most of the ponies here assume that everypony who isn’t a cowpony can’t or won’t understand them. I will show them differently by bringing the very ponies they fear here and showing them and Appleloosa that neither side is to be feared or loathed, but understood. I need everypony working with me, farmers and settlers and perhaps even the bison. There are riches in this land beyond apples, even I can see that, I just need help finding them. Appleloosa can grow without losing itself, but not without help from the outside world. No city in Equestria lives alone.”

“You’re suggesting we expand outside apples?” Silverstar muttered, astounded by the very idea. Rarity struggled not to roll her eyes. “Well,” the Sheriff continued, “I guess it wouldn’t be unheard of. An’ it’d help if we ever get a year that wasn’t a bumper crop… heh, not likely with the kinda hooves we’ve got workin’ around here. Ya’ll met Bona Fide, I assume?”

It was a statement more than a question if the way Silverstar’s smile didn’t reach his eyes was any indication. Rarity fluffed her mane nervously. “A few times, yes.”

“Then you know what you’ll be up against come the town meeting. Ponies here love their apples, miss Rarity. They don’t take kindly to what threatens ‘em. I expect you to be ready for it.”

“Give me until tomorrow afternoon.”

“You got it. Bring us a show, miss Rarity, and bring your best. You’re gonna need it.”

Her ears rang with the sound of crinkling paper and worried pony voices. Ever present was the noise of her quill scratching the night and morning light away. Coffee covered her lips, scalded her tongue. She took a break from coffee only when Coldcock offered a cold cider to take the edge off her now sweltering “creativity corner” as she called it. She had stuffed an inordinate amount of easels, papers, and posters scattered around her bedroom, all of them covered in notes, drawings, sketches, and half-formed ideas. The crumpled corpses of a hundred rejects stuffed a wastebasket to overflowing. Her mane was frazzled beyond redemption.

And yet when Braeburn came inside he had the presence of mind to say: “Goodness Rarity, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Am I?” she said through the marker in her mouth, not looking up from the flowsheet she was developing. Normally she’d return the compliment but she was in the zone where flattery didn’t have the mileage they might otherwise. “I understand I’m a sight, but a good one? Probably not.”

“No, really. What with the council meetin’ comin’ up this afternoon, Apple Tart told me you were gonna be part of it.”

Rarity’s shoulders drooped as she felt the weight of responsibility lie on her. Apple Tart seemed so excited, and yet Rarity couldn’t work up more than a drudging, stoic buzz for the task at hoof. “I’ve had her running back and forth all over town, the poor dear. She’s collecting information on who’s doing what, what goes where, what sort of businesses might be invested in if this town expands…”

She finally turned around and put the marker down. Braeburn was fanning himself with his hat, which reminded her of the disgusting sweat on her coat. She had stayed in here all day with the window open and she didn’t really notice the heat until just now. “In essence, trying to map out this town’s future.”

“Anythin’ I can do?”

“Besides keep the town from tearing me apart for suggesting even half of this? I don’t think so.”

Braeburn chuckled and stepped inside, taking a peek at all her sketches.

“Are these all just for the meetin’?”

“That they are—don’t touch that!”

Braeburn sprang back from a particularly comely sketch of a Western-style dress. “Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t know what it was!”

Rarity huffed and picked up her marker again to finish her flowchart of who would do what kind of business with out-of-town commerce. “It’s not so much what it is as where it is. I know it looks a mess, but it’s a creative one! I know where everything is right now, so it all must remain right where it is.”

She caught Braeburn eyeing the haphazard post-it note collection she was gathering. “Uh, even the stuff that looks kinda useless?”

She turned around, eyes wide as saucers and probably bloodshot beyond belief. “Every. Last. One,” she whispered harshly, and spun back to her work.

She heard Braeburn shuffle awkwardly on his hooves and sighed. Very gently and with all the aplomb she could muster, she laid the marker down again.

"I'm sorry," she stuttered as her senses came back to her. The creative clutter in her mind, replaced by the sight of Braeburn standing there forlorn and forgotten. "I'm being a terrible hostess."

"You're busy tryin' to help my home," Braeburn said in a soothing voice and that lovely, cares-too-much smile. "It's okay by me if you're a little frazzled."

Rarity stopped short and set the marker down again. “I shouldn’t be so frazzled,” she said as much to herself as to Braeburn. “I’ve been down this road many times before, but it seems I never learn my lesson.”

“How so?”

She turned to face him, dropping down onto her flanks. The wooden floor was uncomfortable, but her legs were nonetheless grateful. “A time not so long ago keeps coming back to me when I get like this. It was well before the first Grand Galloping Gala I’d ever attended—the one that was ruined by an animal stampede—”

“Heard about that one,” Braeburn snickered. Rarity gave a long-suffering shrug and an exaggerated roll of her eyes, trying not to let shame creep up on her. She still considered it a minor miracle that her reputation hadn’t been ruined that very night.

“My friends needed dresses. I wanted to give them dresses. I started making dresses and I became so caught up in the minute details that I lost focus of what I was originally trying to do. My friends, bless them, didn’t know how tiresome their demands got as it became clear it was less about the dresses and more about just pleasing whatever whimsy overtook them. We all learned a lesson about humility and creative freedom when I finally cracked under the pressure and put on an absolutely hideous fashion show. The entire town was disgusted with my creations, which were less dresses and more aberrations of invention!”

“It was that bad?”

“Worse!” Rarity gushed. “I saw Berry Punch nearly vomit and I know for a fact that all the punch we served for the event was non-alcoholic. I was aghast, me and my friends were humiliated in front of the whole town, and I contemplated going into exile! Can you imagine? Me, exile!”

“But there’s a happy endin’, right?” Braeburn asked suggestively, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow. Rarity noted he had very clean, expressive eyebrows.

“Certainly,” she said. “My friends pulled me back from the brink and my next line-up knocked it out of the park, as they say. There wasn’t a single doubter in town after that.”

“If anypony can pull that kind of stunt off, Rarity, it’s you.”

Rarity felt a twinge of something resembling sadness in her chest. She looked away from his wonderful eyes and toward some random idea for a bonnet she’d dreamed up in the midst of this creative maelstrom.

“I wish you’d stop doing that,” she whispered.

“What?”

She waggled a forlorn hoof in his direction. “Being so… you.”

She heard Braeburn chuckle. “Can’t hardly help that.”

Rarity sighed and closed her eyes, letting her head hang low for the first time in a day and a half. “I know, I know… I’m sorry. I’m not doing a good job of explaining myself. It’s just that… Braeburn, do you ever feel pressured?”

“Darn near every day,” she heard him say. Her mind’s eye drew up his concerned expression, his hooves flat on the ground and ready to raise him up to carry him to her. “Rarity, what’s the matter?”

She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know if she wanted to say anything. She remembered Sweetie Belle back home, probably burning Ponyville down without her guidance, realized she missed her more than anything right now. Her guileless manner and straightforward desires contrasted so heavily with what she found in the outside world, in Canterlot or even here. She realized that no matter where she went, she longed for home and its simple comforts in the end. Back home nopony expected her to be a success or a failure. She was a staple of the town. She was simply Rarity, nothing more and nothing less.

But in Canterlot, in Manehattan, even here…

“I want so much to be successful,” she said suddenly, opening her eyes wide like she had just had an epiphany. “But when I try to get there, when I try to grasp what I want… I feel like recoiling. I feel like it would be selfish. Or I wouldn’t be able to get it in the first place. I get nervous.”

“Stage jitters?”

She found it terribly fitting, portentous even, that he would chance upon that metaphor, especially in reference to herself. It made her chuckle behind her hoof. “Perhaps that is a good term for it. Or the only one. I am going to be performing today, am I not? I am going to be presenting ideas to a committee and asking them to pass judgment on me? I should be ready for this, but it always feels like a completely new situation.”

“Because it is,” said Braeburn, stepping forward. His voice had lowered to a pitch Rarity hadn’t heard from him since that night on Applejack’s farm. It was the sincerity she longed for, and as she watched him come to her she felt her heart beat a little faster and her chin raise up a little more proud than before. “Because this is somethin’ even I ain’t familiar with. Not even our spat with Little Strongheart’s tribe was the same issue. But you know somethin’ Rarity?”

He came close enough that she couldn’t look away unless she turned her head, but if she did she’d feel his breath on her cheek and that would just make her blush. She held his gaze and waited patiently.

“I think,” he said, taking the time to measure his words, consciously putting a stopper on that neverending flow he sometimes struggled with, “that bein’ how you are—afraid of puttin’ on a show, not seemin’ genuine—makes you more qualified than most.” He bit his lip and looked up with a half-smile. “Lemme tell you somethin’. How I am when ponies first come here, with the whole Aaaaaappleloosa hullabaloo?”

“What about it?"

Braeburn looked somewhere far away. “I guess mostly I do it because I’m afraid of what’ll happen if I don’t,” he said with an almost pained sigh. “I love this town dearly, and I want ponies to be as happy here as I am. So even if I’m not quite feelin’ it sometimes I’ll just jump an’ try to surprise ‘em with a smile. But that of course leaves the possibility of them seein’ through the disguise. Realizin’ I’m not who I said I was. So I just try harder. An’ you know what?”

He paused, clearly baiting Rarity. She obliged him by asking sweetly, naively, “What?”

“It don’t work none. Honesty’s the best policy. So I learned to just… be happy. With myself an’ my town. That way the smile is always genuine. But it works both ways. I’m not happy with my town today, not at all, an’ sometimes seein’ me without a smile does more wonders than all the ‘Aaaaaapleloosa’s in the world. Ponies know things are serious when I don't smile. So you go on out there an’ tell ‘em what you need to say. No more an’ no less. We respect ponies who do that. If you do that, come what may, I believe things will turn out for the best.”

Rarity squinted playfully. “And you just… believe that? So simply, so easily?”

Braeburn chuckled at some hidden punchline. “I never said it was easy, Rarity.”

Rarity made a noncommittal noise and looked at her notes. “But you’ll be there?” she asked in earnest, getting her point across with tone if not her gaze. “You promise this time?”

That wiped the smile right off his face. It almost made her feel guilty for asking. But he straightened his back and puffed out his formidable chest anyway, “I’ll be there sure as the sky’s blue.”

“Good.” Rarity levitated over a few parchments. “In that case, let me run a few of my suggestions by you…”

“Run that by us again,” the burly orange mare said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You want to do what?”

Rarity was sweating bullets and not because of the heat. From her seat behind the long table at the front of town hall she saw everypony who was anypony in Appleloosa glaring up at her. Few of them looked bored or indifferent, but at this point she’d have preferred total apathy over the wall of negativity that loomed before her. Apple Tart stood silently behind her, shivering like a leaf with indignation and nervous energy. What few townsfolk she’d been able to gather in Rarity’s support were scattered through the room. A few friendly farmers and water-bearers, but not nearly as many as she hoped. The rest were here to be swayed by one side or set firmly against her. Sheriff Silverstar lounged off to one side, his back hooves up on the table and his forehooves crossed over his chest. He chewed on an apple and only gave the crowd passing glances. He hadn’t said a word so far, which made Rarity think he was either very circumspect or very lazy.

Braeburn sat near her, giving her worried glances every so often as he chewed on a gavel. He was a mediator here and subsequently said little. At least everypony saw he wasn’t against her.

A few other mares and stallions of varying age sat alongside her, the founders and movers and shakers of the town. They weren’t exactly a council, but they would make the final decisions along with Silverstar.

The entire hall reeked of ill-temper and she wasn’t sure she could turn the crowd around—in spite of Braeburn’s hopefulness many of them had come determined to stick to their guns. Some ponies, she knew, only came out in public to make sure that everypony else knew exactly what they were thinking and why they were right.

She hated ponies like that, but she couldn’t bring herself to hate these ponies. Even when they glared at her and snorted at every other word that came out of her mouth, she knew what she was getting into. She couldn’t expect a beautiful corset when she wasn’t even done with the sketch.

“I would like to put this town’s best hooves forward, miss Autumn Gold,” she told the irate mare, remembering her name from Apple Tart’s list of all the important ponies in town. “As I said, we can set up a perfectly pleasant route starting here.” She held up her pointing stick and gestured to a map of the town, singling out an open area near the orchards. “This will allow the guests to get a look at what makes you exceptional: your apple orchards. We’ll walk them down the buffalo stampede lanes while all your finest apple experts—Bona Fide, Braeburn, Jonadel, Hampshire, and so forth—talk them through your annual output and what kinds of business plans you have already. They’ll probably try to say they can offer much better opportunities if they privatize and set up land tenancies. It’ll be your job to convince them otherwise; they must invest instead of overrun. Once that is done we scoot them along to the main street starting at the west entrance and walk them down the public exhibition booths here.” She delicately tapped the areas she’d circled on the map. “This is why I said we encourage them to bring their families. Trust me, when they see their children and spouses enjoying all the sights and sounds of Appleloosa, they’ll realize what a gem it is and why they must preserve it.”

“We’re not dealin’ with ponies who wanna preserve anythin’, miss Rarity,” spoke up a grey-maned stallion. “We’re dealin’ with ponies who make a livin’ by snappin’ up land with no regard to ponies on it. They’re nothin’ but land sharks, the lot of ‘em!”

“There is no doubt,” Rarity said with no small amount of stridency, “that modern business tends to favor those with a lot of bits and those with the ear of the Crown. But the Royal Sisters, I know, do not suffer predatory and illegal practices. If we treat those who come to deal with you with honesty, generosity, and kindness, then they will have no choice but to treat you in kind! If they want to press the issue in court they will have to deal with royal mandates, which expressly forbid the kind of treatment you’re expecting. When Princess Celestia asks them if they have any valid complaints they will have no leg to stand on if they have nothing to accuse you with. Don’t you remember your conflict with the buffalo? Wasn’t that dealt with through nothing more than a willingness to open up and share what you have?”

“That was a different problem an’ you know it,” Bona Fide’s voice cracked like a whip from the front row. Figured she would only speak her mind if only to interrupt Rarity. Rarity glanced over at Sheriff Silverstar, who only continued to lounge in his chair and watch. She struggled to keep her temper in check as Bonny went on. “The buffalo live on this land same as us. They understand us. They understand what we might lose.” She stood up and drew in a deep breath, trying to puff herself up in front of the older crowd, who Rarity knew looked at her with fondness and respect. Nothing like a young pony protecting old values to get the most stodgy citizens on their side. “We understand Appleloosa. We have been fine with Appleloosa so far. We built this town with our bare hooves, Rarity. No amount of gee-gaws an’ fancy shindigs is gonna make a bunch of suits from Canterlot or Manehattan understand what we are.”

Apple Tart shot up to Rarity’s side. Normally she’d welcome the support, but she could tell tempers were running high, and so was Apple Tart’s.

“We’re ponies is what we are!” she shot back at Bonny. “Ponies of Equestria! Rarity’s right! This town won’t stay isolated forever. An’ if it does, is that what we really want? Is that what we want for our kids? To just stay cooped up here an’ wonder if there’s even an Equestria beyond those hills?”

“You’re one to talk,” Bonny said, rolling her eyes. “Everypony knows about you, Apple Tart, an’ how you favor the railroad so you can catch the first ticket to Baltimare.”

“That’s enough!” Braeburn thundered, banging his gavel on the table. “Rarity’s got the floor here. I won’t be havin’ ponies gettin’ personal with each other while I’m in this room. We’re all civil here, ain’t we?”

“Coulda fooled me,” rumbled Coldock from the third row, fanning himself with his hat.

“I said enough!” snapped Braeburn. “We gathered here to make progress. Least ya’ll can do is try an’ be reasonable. Stayin’ deadlocked like two duelin’ minotaurs isn’t gonna get us anywhere.”

“Neither is playing nice when the future of the town is on the line!” shouted a voice from in back. Rarity covered her eyes with her hooves, felt a bubble of despair building in her stomach, ready to burst and spew unladylike invectives. These ponies were worse than Rainbow Dash when she wanted to try out a dangerous stunt: all guts and no sense.

“We’re Appleloosans an’ Appleloosans we’ll stay!” declared Bonny, her vicious expression unable to hide the smug sense of victory Rarity felt rolling off of her. Voices took up support of her or denounced her in turn while Braeburn stood up and banged his gavel, his high alto pleading doing little to calm the crowd.

All of a sudden it was just too much for Rarity. The heat, the noise, the angry words, all of it coalesced into an oppressive shroud that flopped over her head. As the weight pressed down on her face and shoulders she threw her hooves up and waved them wildly to try and clear the air.

“You’ve only been here a year!” she added her voice to the tumult. “Why are you ponies being so stubborn about this place? It’s not like you’ve done that much with it!”

She almost clapped a hoof over her mouth, blushing furiously and praying with all her might that Braeburn hadn’t heard her faux pas. Bless him, he was red in the face too with trying to restore order and hadn’t even noticed her jump from her seat. Coldcock looked ready to come to blows, Apple Tart and Bonny were in a shouting match about something involving ‘high society ways.’ Rarity had no idea what to do. Her heart ached with every beat as she saw her hard work, her hope for a better future, unraveling before her eyes.

But just as it all seemed ready to come crashing down, the door flung open. Framed against the afternoon glare was a trio of massive buffalo who had to crowd each other just to peek inside. Between their mountainous frames squeezed a smaller, lithe, yet still brawny creature who Rarity recognized on sight.

“Little Strongheart!” she gasped.

“Miss Rarity?” the little buffalo asked, hurrying down the center aisle between surprised ponies. Rarity went to meet her, grateful for any distraction. They met in the middle where Rarity found herself looking up to meet Little Strongheart's eyes; she wasn't quite so "Little" anymore. Her guileless smile did wonders for Rarity’s spirits. Though they didn’t know each other well, Rarity counted her as a friend, and to her relief it was clear Little Strongheart thought the same.

“Miss Rarity, it is so good to see you again! What are you doing here? Did Rainbow Dash come with you?” the young buffalo asked. Rarity noted her grasp of Equestrian had improved, but she still spoke in that endearingly slow and deliberate manner as before, making sure all her words were correct.

“No, just me. I was just visiting but I managed to get swept up in… well, it’s a long story! We’ll catch up later. What brings you here with such an impressive, er, entourage?” She looked over Little Strongheart’s shoulder at her massive escorts, who took up almost the entire back of the room. They had brought a few flies in, and one of them sneezed, kicking up a cloud of dust from his fur coat even the Appleloosan ponies shied away from.

“I have come to bring news to the ponies of what is happening outside. Sheriff Silverstar told us to come today because of the powow!”

Rarity blinked. “The… oh! The meeting! Yes, we are…” She glanced around at all the staring ponies and gave them an equanimous grin. “Standing right in the middle of it.”

“Seemed only fair to invite ‘em,” Silverstar said, finally uncoiling himself and giving a little stretch. Rarity found his irksome indifference almost too overplayed. Had he planned for it to get this messy before calling in the buffalo as a distraction? Was he simply blessed with some force of luck that let him be so lackadaisical?

“You didn’t tell me, Sheriff,” said Braeburn, pursing his lips. “Woulda liked to know a friend was in town.”

He and Little Strongheart shared an awkward wave. The buffalo frowned and ducked her head.

“I would have sent a messenger ahead, but the news we carry was grave enough that we decided to hurry here ourselves.”

Silverstar nodded like a patient sage. Whatever his game was, Rarity certainly didn’t appreciate him undermining Braeburn in front of the entire town like that. Perhaps he really did think this was an amusing game; a pastime to break up his boring career as Sheriff in a no-crime town. “Figured we’d need a second opinion on the whole issue,” he continued, strolling around the table and coming to a stop in the center of the platform. “But I’ll let the buffalo be so kind as to tell us what their news is first.”

“Oh, yes,” said Little Strongheart. “It happened just a few days ago. My people were stampeding near the hills to the west. A few of our scouts passed closer than the rest of the herd and reported seeing strange creatures among the rocks. They were not pony or buffalo, but something else entirely. They had spears with stone tips and great shaggy coats, and though they walked on all fours they could rear up on their back legs just as easily.”

Rarity fidgeted. Slowly, surely, her mind was drawing a terrible picture in her mind, imposing and familiar and comical all at once. She saw the slavering maws, the ridiculous rags, the mangy fur coats...

“And,” said Strongheart, “they smelled something awful.”

“Diamond Dogs,” whispered Rarity, the image of her one-time captors now all too clear in her head. Everything from their slobbering maws and buggy, beady eyes to their hideous posture and nonexistent fashion sense crystallized into one awful memory. She stared into the distance, blinking owlishly, and shuddered. “Diamond Dogs smell awful.”

“Diamond Dogs?” squeaked a mare in the crowd. “Are those monsters? I thought there weren’t supposed to be monsters around here!” The fear in her voice quickly spread to other ponies in the crowd, and a great murmur of wild speculation swelled up.

“Diamond Dogs,” Rarity interrupted the growing furor before it could erupt into hysteria, “are hardly a threat to we civilized hoofed people. I had a run-in with them once before and dealt soundly with them. But where there are Diamond Dogs, it must follow there are diamonds. They have a unique obsession with valuable stones and minerals, Celestia knows why. I’d bet the sole reason they’re there is to set up a mining operation.”

She felt a jolt of excitement that ended in her tail and made it swish as the seed of an idea sprouted in her mind. If Diamond Dogs had been attracted to the middle of the desert, it must have been a rich cache of gems indeed. And that meant...

“Oh, great,” groused Bonny, making sure everypony saw her roll her eyes. “So we gotta be miners now? We’re gonna waltz up there an’ start pluckin’ out rocks? Is that what the next big plan is? Give up on apples an’ sell out the town to gem hoarders!”

“Yeah!” shouted a random pony in the audience. “Why not just run out these critters like the Guard ran out all the others? What’s stoppin’ us?”

“Perhaps,” Rarity shot back, “the fact that you should all remember that just trying to ‘run out’ anything from your town is ill-advised and wrong. I thought Little Strongheart’s presence here would be proof of that.”

Her eyes drifted over the audience, noting with satisfaction the chastened, embarrassed looks many of them had adopted, and locked gazes with Bona Fide. The earth mare stared back without flinching, but Rarity didn’t want any of them to flinch now. She needed action and she needed to direct it.

“The big plan,” Rarity spoke aloud, “should be to contact these creatures and make sure they are no threat. I think we should all agree this throws an unexpected wrench into our collective machine, yes?”

“I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” said Little Strongheart, her face downcast. “But know that we are here to help, as you have helped us by preserving our stampede lanes.”

Rarity turned and put her hoof up, stopping further complaint. Already her mind churned with new ideas. Audacious ones, bold ones, ideas anypony might call her crazy for. But she’d been party to too many crazy ideas already to decry them at face value. “Don’t say that, Little Strongheart. While some ponies here might see this as misfortune, I know that misfortune is just as often opportunity. After all, if Chief Thunderhoof had not attacked, he never would have tasted your delicious pies.”

“We know our own history, thanks!” barked Bonny. “So what are we, as a town, gonna do about these here ‘Diamond Dogs?’” She waggled her hooves and drew out the name in a mocking tone that only a frigid mare like her could reach.

Silverstar cleared his throat. “I believe we take care of this problem first before movin’ on to our would-be business partners. New critters near the town is an immediate issue. Now I move that we get a delegation together in order to figure out what these Dogs may want an’ whether we can convince ‘em to leave. Last thing we need is them stirrin’ up trouble while we got, er… guests. Volunteers?”

Rarity opened her mouth just as Braeburn sprang from his chair and spoke.

“I’ll go.”

Rarity turned to him, trying to catch his eye, but he looked straight at Silverstar. The intensity of his gaze surprised Rarity. A chance to escape this madness, Braeburn? Or something else?

“Lemme go, Sheriff. You know I’ll treat ‘em fair. Tartarus, I’m so friendly I’ll probably have ‘em visitin’ the Salt Block by the end of the week!”

“Don’t doubt that,” rumbled Coldcock.

Silverstar smiled under his moustache, pointing at Braeburn like a teacher congratulating his student. Rarity’s ears went back at the hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Well, not a bad idea at all, Braeburn! Thank you so much for volunteerin’. But you’re gonna need help. I think miss Rarity here is a good candidate.”

Immediately the mood shifted, and Rarity felt it. It was like seeing a tree suddenly bend one way and then another in a strong wind: invisible, but all too clear.

“She’s dealt with these creatures before, clearly. Might be the only one qualified to help out.”

Rarity’s tail twitched as her mind whirled. All of this happy coincidence: a problem she was intimately knowledgeable of, one she was being singled out in front of town for to solve, and especially the lecturing, know-it-all tone of Silverstar’s voice. It all added up to an uncomfortable epiphany that Silverstar was trying to play the ponies in the room, her included. Perhaps, Rarity realized, he saw more from his silent perch at the end of the table than she thought.

"I am happy to be able to do so much for your town," she said. A demure bow brought more condemning stares than she meant it to.

“But, but,” Silverstar said, raising a hoof as some murmurs of discontent ran through the crowd, “I ain’t sayin’ she an’ Braeburn should go alone. Naw, we’ll need some other pony, or ponies, to keep an eye on ‘em. Worry about their safety.”

He paused, letting the moment of silence swell with anticipation. Rarity almost smirked. This was a performance. A stage. And she had suddenly become an actor instead of the director. Silverstar spoke as if he knew exactly what he was doing, and bewildered ponies listened, their herd instinct making them putty in his hooves.

“I recommend Bona Fide.”

Rarity almost fainted. Bonny exploded.

“What?!” she yelped. “Me? Why would—I mean, um… I guess so, but I ain’t exactly qualified, Sheriff—”

“You’re young an’ smart an’ capable. They need ponies of quality like that up in the hills,” Silverstar intoned in a grave, solemn voice. “We need a firm voice of Appleloosa out there. Three heads is better’n one. Strongheart, would you be willin’ to accompany them with a few of your buffalo? See 'em safely there an’ back?”

“I would be honored,” answered Little Strongheart with a deep bow that still kept her head above Rarity's shoulders.

“Excellent!” chirped Silverstar before anypony could object. “All in favor?”

It started slowly at first. Rarity suspected most of the ponies were just plain confused and needed a moment to sort out what was happening. By the cold pit in her stomach she believed she needed to gather her composure herself. Having Bonny along, she suspected, would be either a great blessing, a time to get to know her… or a terrible curse to drive them apart.

But then Apple Tart raised her hoof, her eyes clear and determined.

“I believe in ‘em,” she said. “All three of ‘em. Let ‘em try at least, not like we’re goin’ anywhere. We should extend the hoof of peace afore we start slingin’ pies all over again.”

Coldcock raised his hoof, along with the rest of his little posse. Then others, and still more, until well over half the room had raised hooves.

“Opposed?” Silverstar asked, with the clueless tone of a pony who was only pretending to not actually be in control. Rarity knew it well.

A few hooves went up and right back down. Many abstained, utterly thrown by how fast the decisions flew.

Rarity watched Silverstar with renewed interest… and caution. The wily stallion had suddenly proven himself if not a firm ally then a wild card not to be underestimated.

Bona Fide chewed on her bottom lip, at a total loss. Rarity’s heart went out to the young dear—clearly, she had been stuck into this position against her will, and now the only way to save face was to stand up and accept the burden Appleloosa imposed on her. And why wouldn’t they? Along with Braeburn she was this town’s pride and joy.

Silverstar grinned.

“Well all right then. I got a good feeling about this one.” He went to Braeburn and took up the gavel, bringing it down with a noise that reminded Rarity of a great door slamming shut.

“Meeting is adjourned.”

Chapter 5

The Sun was inordinately bright, seeming to perpetually hang at just the right angle to always peek into the corner of Rarity’s eyes. Rarity knew the Sun personally—it was said in the old stories that Celestia was the Sun in the body of a pony, but of course the Princess was quick to deny it. Yet wasn’t she for all intents and purposes the Sun, in form and function? She was Equestria’s guiding light, the constant and steady presence that lit the way of everyone who believed in the magic of friendship.

Today she was the mortal enemy of all those who believed in keeping their manes puffy, bouncy, and curled.

“Ugh, I thought this time of year would be more humid with all the rain!” Rarity groused, pulling her comb through the stubborn split ends. She brought out a can of mane treatment and sprayed liberally, making Bonny turn up her nose.

“We ain’t even outta the gate,” she remarked, sitting shotgun on the front of the open-air carriage provided for their trip. “You gonna start freakin’ out when the Diamond Dogs throw some dirt at us?”

“Oh, heavens no,” Rarity said, flipping open a hoofheld mirror to make sure her fur was straight. “I have a special magical shield for that. My friend Twilight Sparkle was kind enough to teach me.”

She realized she said that with a totally straight face, and grinned sheepishly as she tucked her hair care products away into a corner of her saddlebag. “Ahem! Sorry. Old habits die hard.”

“That they do,” Bonny muttered, staring down at Rarity with all the imperial condescension of Nightmare Moon.

“Are you all ready for the journey?” Little Strongheart said as she trotted up to them with her buffalo escorts and Braeburn in tow. “It will be a few hours’ walk. My buffalo and I will be happy to do the pulling.” She smirked at Braeburn. “It took some convincing.”

Braeburn scuffed his hoof. Rarity thought he looked adorable when embarrassed. “Can’t blame a guy for tryin’ to be polite,” he muttered. “I can pull just as much as anypony.”

“Anybody!” Strongheart reminded him as she and one of the buffalo hitched herself up to the wagon. “Do not worry Braeburn. It is a matter of convenience, not a reflection on your generosity.”

“Come and sit with me, Braeburn!” Rarity cooed, patting the seat next to her in the carriage. “Don’t worry. We all appreciate the gesture.”

“Just tryin’ to be a gentlecolt. Mama didn’t raise no chauvinist, no sir,” said Braeburn as he clambered up next to Rarity. Bonny seemed to make a conscious effort not to look their way. “You know,” said Braeburn, “it wasn’t long ago I’d never even heard of a buffalo before. They didn’t come out of the plains or talk to us ponies until we, uh, built our town in their way.”

“We have lived in this land for as long as any of our tribe could remember,” said Little Strongheart as she began to walk, the wagon rumbling behind her. If she even noticed the extra weight of provisions, ponies, and solid wood, she hid it well. “The coming of the ponies changed everything. We do things completely opposite to the ponies: living alongside the land and letting it shape us instead of shaping it to what we desired.”

Rarity’s ear twitched. “Living alongside?”

“Oh!” Strongheart gasped. “I am sorry, I forgot that you did not stay long enough to learn our history. I apologize if you took offense, Rarity.”

“None at all, darling,” Rarity replied, rummaging through the back of the wagon to pull out an extra-large parasol and fasten it so it covered herself and the other passengers. She ignored Bonny’s sharp glance, letting it bounce off the dismissive hoof she waggled at Strongheart. “But please, do go on. Whatever do you mean by ‘living alongside the ‘land?’”

Strongheart made a thoughtful noise, turning her head up to the Sun. “It is a complicated explanation, and usually only the shamans of our tribe tell it to outsiders. It goes back to our very creation myths.”

“We got time,” said Braeburn, whom Rarity noticed leaned back to enjoy the shade as opposed to Bonny, who petulantly curled up on her end of the seat—but not enough to be out from under the parasol. “‘Sides, I think it’ll do Rarity good to hear it.”

“If it would be out of turn…” Rarity began.

“Yeah, yeah, tell ‘em, Little Strongheart!” one of the escorts cheered. “I love that story.”

Strongheart smiled sheepishly. “It is just… I am not as eloquent as some of our greatest storytellers. But I will try.

“Our greatest storytellers speak of a time before memory when our land was still new. The Earth Keepers—that is the name of those who created the land, and the name is all we know—could not keep order by themselves. The earth grew wildly, and everything wanted to be the biggest and the best. The mountains were full of hubris and all tried to be as tall as the next, until nobody could walk over or around them. The plants all sought to spread across the land according to their kind, but crowded out and choked each other. And the rivers were the worst of all, carving the land up between them and flooding it as they snaked to and fro, not caring at all who got in their way.

“The Keepers looked for whoever might control the wild land, but only one was found to be strong enough: Father Bison and his children. The Keepers decided to give this land to Bison, and told him to bring the land to heel. By combining our herds together, we trampled the proud mountains and stamped out the vast fields of green. We forded the rivers and turned them away with the sheer weight of our bodies. And so we made all the land peaceful again, but Bison was too proud of his children’s accomplishments and refused to give the Earth back to the Keepers. Convinced we could do no wrong we continued to stampede until the land was utterly flat and dry and choked with dust instead of green plants, and only then did we realize our mistake. So our great Father learned humility, and charged us with keeping the land clear of chaos without overstepping our bounds. We stampede still to remember that, but only in the places we have marked for ourselves. When the ponies came we could not understand them; how they seemed to make the land become green where it used to be dead, make it rain where there were never clouds, and erect buildings where only rocks and plants should grow. It reminded us of the tales of pride, and it frightened us.”

Rarity blinked when she realized Strongheart’s gentle voice was no longer serenading them. She craned her neck and saw the town already far behind them, merely a smattering of shapes on a shimmering, shaky horizon. It seemed the buffalos’ stride was longer than she thought.

“Goodness,” she whispered. “That’s quite a tale. I certainly hope that everyp—everybody came to an understanding after we left?”

“Oh, yes. Things have been very peaceful between our tribes since that day. We like to stampede through their orchards and smell the ripe apples.”

“And we like havin’ ‘em!” Braeburn chirped. “There’s nothin’ better than a hoedown when the buffalo are invited. Heh, some of ‘em have taken to pony dances; when they really get goin’ it’s like an earthquake! You can feel it for miles around. Some say it keeps away the Tatzlwurms.”

“You have those around here?” Rarity gasped, putting her hoof on her chest. She’d only heard of them from Twilight.

“Oh, don’t go worryin’ your pretty head, just a joke is all,” said Braeburn, spreading his hooves so one went around Rarity’s shoulders. It made her smile.

“Fact is,” Braeburn continued, “we’ve got all kinds of changes out here. The buffalo are wide-ranging folk an’ give us reports of storms an’ dangerous critters, tell us what the lay of the land is like. Just in case we need to adjust our crop yield estimates, whether to adjust irrigation, an’ the like. They’re a big help. An’ their trampling skills do come in mighty handy whenever we need heavy liftin’ or a particularly huge rock needs squashin’.”

“Pinkie’s sister is a specialist in that area,” said Rarity.

“Heh!” Braeburn chuckled. “Not likely we’ll get one of those out here any time soon, though.”

“It all took some getting used to,” said Strongheart. “We were not aware that pony magic could be as helpful as it has been. Some of us are starting to like the idea of some of the desert becoming green again… within reason, that is. Others would prefer that things remain as they are.”

“A mirror image of our own problems,” Rarity murmured. “Appleloosa is in a bit of an ideological split, as it were.”

“No need to go passin’ it around,” Bonny muttered.

“I think they already know,” said Braeburn. “‘Sides, they’ve a stake in this just like us.”

“I did not want to say anything in the town,” said Strongheart, her large head bowed as her legs continued moving in an easy stride.. “It would have been unseemly. But I could not help but notice the cold atmosphere. It was not like the ponies of Appleloosa at all.”

“You may have heard,” Rarity said, ignoring Bonny’s glare, “that the town is undergoing review for investment by certain outside parties. There is a worry that if and when the town is found to be profitable, they will lose part of who they are.”

“It was much the same for our people when we decided to become stewards rather than tyrants,” replied Strongheart. “If the land should choose to become something other than what it is, who would we be to decide? But was it not our sacred duty to prevent the land from falling to Discord and strife within itself?”

“Guess there weren’t no easy answers, huh?” Bonny grumbled, her chin in her hoof as she stared out at the badlands passing by.

“There is no answer within the story,” Strongheart replied, holding her head a little higher, “but I believe that the absence of an answer is an answer. It tells us that we should never be so proud as to think that one solution will always be better than others, and in struggling with these problems, we make ourselves stronger and wiser. If there was only ever one path to stampede, why stampede at all? It would only wear the earth down until we have nothing left to stand on.”

Silence settled over them like the drifting dust. There was nothing left to do now but wait and watch as the hills grew closer till they rose over the little party, looming over them until it seemed they were ready to fall forward and crush them. Agave plants threw their leaves wide open to the sky here, and only a few low-lying cacti and other hardy shrubs kept them company. The land behind them was so flat they saw the curve of the horizon under a giant blue canvas, unbroken by cloud or pegasus—that emptiness chilled Rarity far more than the seemingly near-lifeless ground. This was a harsh place, totally undisturbed save for the creaking of the wagon wheels, and the stomps of the buffalo hooves, and when that stopped there was only the distant screech of a falcon trailing off into utter silence. Braeburn offered his hoof to Rarity and Bonny as they hopped off, and Rarity winced at the indelicate crunch of gravel underhoof. She stood completely still, taking in the serenity of solitude.

What drove a pony out here, she wondered? Could she ever really understand that primordial need to tame the wilds like a buffalo or an earth pony? What kind of pony went somewhere precisely because there were no ponies? Clearly, the ones with her, but knowing them didn’t make it any less alien.

It was so smothered by quietness she reached out with her magic and loosed a clump of rocks, watching them slide down the hillside just to fill the place with a little more activity. How dreadful, she thought, for there to not even be anypony around to savor this total loneliness—a world where just one little rock tumbling a few feet constituted a moment of excitement.

“Rarity!” Braeburn snapped her out of her reverie by poking with his hoof. “You comin’?”

“Oh, yes. My apologies. Just a little distracted. This is a very… hard-bitten place.”

“No kiddin’,” said Bonny. “It looks less friendly than a buffalo’s behind. Uh, no offense.”

One of their escorts grinned. “None taken. We buffalo are pretty fierce on both ends, eh?” he said, sharing a hoofbump with his fellows.

“This looks like it will be our entrance,” said Strongheart, pointing out an opening in the hillside. It was circular and rugged, carved haphazardly into the rocks. The ceiling was held up by primitive wooden and stone supports.

“Definitely looks like Diamond Dogs,” said Braeburn, poking at three long parallel gouges in the rocks. “We are gonna be able to negotiate with ‘em, right?”

"We do not know what kind of creatures these Diamond Dogs are," said Strongheart, sniffing around the cave entrance. "I hope we do not offend them just by being here."

"The Dogs are well known for their love of gems, at least where I am from," said Rarity. "I am possessed of a unique spell that points out any and all precious stones in the area. Surely that will help appease them... assuming they do not try and enslave me again."

"Enslave you? No way I’m lettin’ it come to that!" said Braeburn, with equal parts shock, indignation, and concern that Rarity found quite fetching. She nonchalantly tossed her mane.

"I never told you that story? The brutes assumed they could make off with me and make me a pack mule for their mining operations." She shuddered. "I shan't entertain thoughts of what could have happened if my friends didn't come to my rescue - or if my captors weren't so singularly inept. I wouldn't worry. If these Dogs are anything like the ones back home, the mere sight of these buffalo will send them running, and if that fails we'll run circles around them in our negotiations."

"How would running in circles help? Is that a unicorn spell?" Strongheart asked, genuinely curious. After a moment of blank stares from the ponies, she blushed and smiled. "Oh. My apologies. I am still not so familiar with pony turns of phrase."

"No harm, dear," said Rarity, trotting past her and into the cave. "Now let's get out of this dreadful heat. This can only be a Diamond Dog tunnel, so if we follow it, then Diamond Dogs we will find."

“How’s that, exactly?” asked one of the buffalo.

“You’ll see,” Rarity said with a shiver of anticipation.

If outside was unnervingly quiet, the cave had the peace of the grave to it. The shadows wrapped around them like cool blankets, sheltering them from the Sun's prodigious heat, but they were quickly rendered almost blind save for a light cast by Rarity's horn. Rarity walked at the head of the group, accompanied by Braeburn at her side and Bonny at her flank. Strongheart walked directly behind her, and their two escorts crowded behind Strongheart. The cave was built to Diamond Dog size - much larger than a pony, but still not quite comfortable for buffalo. Their hoofsteps rang in their ears as the sound bounced off the closed-in spaces.

"So," said Bonny, sparing Rarity the embarrassment of speaking first, "you did deal with these Diamond Dogs before, right?"

"Yes," said Rarity. "It shouldn't be too difficult. There is a reason these creatures have not figured out how to build houses or plant seeds or achieve even the most base advancement in spelunking couture."

Bonny gulped audibly. "Okay. Good. Great. Should be outta here in no time, then."

Rarity glanced over her shoulder. "Are you nervous, Bonny?"

Bonny looked over her shoulder. They’d barely gone a dozen yards—the light of the entrance still shone behind them. "Me? Pfft. Nah. Just don't like it in here, is all. Can't see the sky. Mama said I should've been a pegasus. Puh. Don't know why I'm talkin' so much. I'll just keep quiet now."

"It's quite all right," Rarity began, but Bonny was already staring resolutely at the ground in front of her. Strongheart cleared her throat.

"Chief Thunderhoof says that admitting to fear is the first step to conquering it. You must know your enemy to defeat them."

"I said I'm fine!" Bonny snapped, and her voice bounced off the walls, down the tunnel, and back to her in a ghastly echo. Everyone's ears folded back, and Bonny pulled her hat over her face. "Let's just get this over with, kay?"

“I think I know what would help,” said Rarity, smiling mischievously. “You asked before how we were to find the Diamond Dogs? Well, let me show you.”

Her horn ignited, and a sound like chiming bells accompanied the sparks that fell to the ground. The gentle blue-white glow illuminated an area around them larger than any torch, and was much easier on the eyes. Rarity wished she had a mirror, as she knew she must look divine in this light. Braeburn and the buffalo ooh’d and ahh’d appreciatively; Bonny kept a straight face. Rarity led them further into the caves, tapping the stone with her hooves, trying to find the old rock that was here when these hills were still young. Up and down and through strange, silent corridors they went. Rarity followed the tingling in her horn tip.

“Now, I’m no expert,” she said, “but I do know that Diamond Dog work is very sloppy. Wherever they dig they are sure to have left behind—”

Her eyes twinkled in time with the glow in the rock that suddenly brightened up the cave that much more. Within the wall was embedded a single, ovular gemstone of deep red.

“Rhodochrosite,” Rarity rattled off from memory.

“You know gems?” asked Braeburn.

“It’s more of a hobby,” Rarity explained, flicking her tail at her cutie mark. “But this means we’re getting close. As I was saying, the Dogs would dig straight through any veins they discover, haphazardly leaving behind this conspicuous trail for us to follow. Onwards!”

She hopped away at a brisk trot, and all around them the walls seemed to come alive. Rarity’s grin grew until her cheeks ached. All around them were deposits of sapphire, jasper, and amethyst of varying sizes. The Diamond Dogs’ work was clearly unfinished, and Rarity’s excitement grew. This was a motherload! Just half of what she saw embedded in the walls could fund a large city for a month, let alone a small place like Appleloosa. Her mind was awhirl with plans and machinations, already thinking of how to build on this foundation, and she remarked as much to the others.

“I don’t think the Dogs will take kindly to us swipin’ their valuables,” Bonny snarked. Rarity sent her a cutting glance disguised with a smile.

“Well, that is why I am here, is it not? Though the Diamond Dogs are not the most cultured of all the thinking races, I am sure that once I elucidate our plans they will be happy to be a part of something larger.”

“Let’s just concentrate on finding ‘em first,” Braeburn reminded her. “Talk can come later.”

Rarity saw the wisdom in that, but though she quieted her lips her mind was still blazing. At last, a breakthrough! After days of butting heads and sweating for a solution, she’d come close to what she felt was the answer. Very soon now they’d find the Dogs and their good work would be completed, and it was Rarity’s spellwork that got them here! She’d be the toast of the town, the belle of the ball, the very epitome of diplomatic majesty and—

“Hey! Rarity!” Bonny snapped in her ear.

She jumped and squealed, ears flat against her head. “Oh goodness! Bonny? What is it?”

“The tunnel slimmed up back there. Didn’t you notice? The buffalo’re havin’ trouble gettin’ through!”

Rarity looked over her shoulder. Far behind her, Strongheart and her escorts were gingerly squeezing their way through a skinny portion of the tunnel, wiggling their hooves to scrape their bulky frames over the rock.

“Oh man,” said one as he gasped and wheezed to suck in his gut, “shouldn’t’ve eaten that extra bowl of porridge, eh?”

Braeburn grabbed one of his hooves and tugged. “Don’t you worry, partner! Just take it slow. Breathe out!”

“No need to get your hooves dirty, Rarity,” Strongheart called, her voice echoing down the long tunnel. “We will not be long.”

But seconds dragged into minutes, and Rarity was anxious to keep moving. She looked over her shoulder, saw the tantalizing twinkle of more gems. Truth be told, some of her nervous energy had a tinge of fear to it. She could almost hear the sound of pickaxes and rough claws carving solid stone, smell the disgusting aroma of matted, unwashed fur. She shivered at the thought of those beastly things getting their claws on her again, and though she knew she was safe with her friends, she still pleaded with herself to be distracted.

“Bonny,” she said to the mare standing at her side, “I want to tell you I think we got off on the wrong hoof.”

“At least we agree on somethin’,” Bonny quipped, staring straight ahead as Braeburn and Stronghoof tugged and yanked on one of the buffalo while another shoved him from behind. The poor dear’s eyes were almost comically bugging out as he slowly budged forward.

“Bonny,” Rarity tried again, “please. Tell me why you must be so hostile at every turn. It’s almost irrational, even out here. I know you care about Appleloosa—”

“Don’t play the therapist with me,” Bonny said. “You wouldn’t understand why I care about this place.”

Rarity took a deep breath, struggling not to facehoof.

“Perhaps I could,” she whispered. “If you would but tell me. We ponies are not solitary creatures, Bonny. We are at our best when we stand together.”

“That’s what I’m doin’,” Bonny replied under her breath. Her eyes widened, her nostrils flared, and Rarity leaned back just a bit. She wasn’t just irritated; something had made her furious. “Standin’ with the ponies who took me in, gave me everything when—” Her jaws clamped shut. “Never mind. I stand with ‘em, that’s all, an’ I’ve got my reasons, an’ I don’t wanna share ‘em with you, so just butt out!”

Rarity almost tittered at the obvious evasion. But the way Bonny had reacted when she nearly revealed that little tidbit... There was so much anger there, anger she hadn’t even expected to find. Irritation, stubbornness, yes, but not the barely concealed rage that slithered just under Bonny’s skin.

“Bonny,” she said once more, “I feel as if there is something more to this than just me.”

Bonny said nothing, but Rarity saw her jaw tighten even in the blueish half-light. She went on, carefully. “Please. I want to be your friend. A friend to everypony. It’s my destiny as the Element of Generosity to—”

“I smell somethin’,” Bonny announced suddenly, standing up. Stronghoof and Braeburn looked back.

“Dogs?” Braeburn whispered.

Bonny shook her head and turned to the tunnel behind her. “No, fresh air.”

Stronghoof raised her head and closed her eyes. Her nostrils twitched. “It is faint,” she said, “but I can sense it as well. Perhaps there is more to why the Dogs chose this place than gems.”

“I’m gonna go find it,” Bonny said, and marched forward without consulting anypony.

“Hold up, now! Take Rarity with you, it’s dangerous to go alone!” Braeburn called out, but Bonny just flinched and ignored him. Rarity looked between her and the others, and then darted to follow Bonny.

“We’ll wait if we come to an intersection! The gemstones I’ve lit will stay visible for quite some time, so you needn’t worry,” Rarity called back, turning back to the tunnels.

“Buffalo, huh?” Bonny grunted. “Can’t take two steps without knockin’ somepony over.”

“That’s hardly a way to talk about those willing to lend a hoof,” answered Rarity.

“Whatever. Now come along this way,” Bonny said, quickening her pace. “I toldja I smell water.”

“Smell…?” Rarity whispered to herself, but before she got a word in edgewise, she found herself trotting after Bonny deeper into the dark.

“Bonny, hold on,” she said, but the mare kept walking. Rarity narrowed her eyes and quickened her pace, coming alongside the other mare. “Bonny,” she said more sternly, “the others will need time to catch up!” She looked over her shoulder. Sure enough, though a glowing trail of gems followed behind, only two of the buffalo had squeezed through the gap, and they were receding quickly.

Rarity saw Bonny deliberately put her nose up and walk a little faster. This sparked some ire, but she kept it in check. Doing something unladylike in these tunnels was tempting in the extreme with no witnesses around, but if she couldn’t retain her poise and grace when nopony saw, what good was she?

“Bonny!” she snapped. “Do explain to me what the hurry is, and what you meant by this whole ‘smelling water’ business! I can’t smell anything but the sweat in my mane and the dirt in my nose. Bonny, say something before I get very cross with you—”

“There!” Bonny stopped suddenly and pointed.

Rarity was just about ready to give her a piece of her mind when she realized what they saw. A humongous opening leading to an arched ceiling pitted with holes, through which streamed harsh sunlight. Where the rays finally struck the ground, it glowed and shimmered because it wasn’t ground at all, but water. A vast subterranean lake spread out before them, glittering like ice for how still it was, and just as cold. Rarity felt the chill from here.

“Amazing,” Rarity whispered. “Where could it all have come from?”

“Must be connected to some kinda aquifer below ground, fed by springs or somesuch,” Bonny muttered. “I thought I smelled fresh water. See?” Bonny said, flicking her tail. “I ain’t so useless after all.”

“Nopony implied you were,” Rarity said, casting her horn’s light out as far as it could go. The water was pristine and perfectly reflective; she saw Bonny’s face appear on the surface next to hers, lips pouting and brow furrowed.

“Aren’t you?” she asked. “Isn’t that what you’ve done since you got here? Ran around an’ tried to solve our problems for us? Some folk take to thinkin’ you think we can’t handle ourselves.”

Her reflection’s eyes turned to Rarity. “You think I can’t handle myself.”

Rarity took a petite breath and continued to stare into the dark, azure waters of the pool. “Did you lead me here just so we could have this conversation?”

“Maybe.” Bonny turned away and trotted a ways down the shore, to the edge of Rarity’s light. “But that don’t change nothin’ cuz I think it’s high time we had it. You need to admit what’s really goin’ on here. You’re fixin’ to get us out of the way. To find some fancy magical solution so you can take all the credit for fixing everything.”

“Strong words,” Rarity said, unimpressed, “but I came out here of my own accord, Bonny. Your accusations are growing tiresome.”

Bonny pivoted and pointed a hoof at Rarity. “Not half so much as the fact that you won’t admit why you really came out here! This town ain’t the charity case you think it is! An’ it sure ain’t some pet project you can use to impress your boyfriend back there!”

Rarity raised her hoof over her chest. “My… you actually think I’m here just to impress a stallion? What do you take me for? Braeburn is a gentlecolt and I have never once entertained the thought of laying claim to him like you seem to think!”

“Enough with the dodging.” Bonny sneered. “If it weren’t for Braeburn, you’d never have paid us any mind. If any other pony, any other, came an’ asked you for help, would ya’ll have given it so readily?” Rarity’s ears flicked back and her eyes darted to the side, hiding from the sight of Bonny as she advanced. “That’s it, isn’t it?” the apple farmer hissed triumphantly. “I can tell a pony who lies to herself when I see one. Just say it! Why’s it so gosh darn hard for ponies like you to just say it?”

Rarity bit her lower lip, choking down the bilious words she had saved up for Bonny. She wanted to shout. She wanted to rave and sputter and shoot back with all kinds of saved-up insults, to tear down the prideful and puffed-up cowpony who was just so insistent on being as rude and unhelpful as she could. If anypony deserved a good tongue lashing, she thought, it was Bonny, here and now.

But then she glanced at her reflection in the water. The Rarity staring back at her wouldn’t sink to lows like that again, not after all the trouble it got her into before. The Rarity in the water was a lady… and so was the Rarity who stood on the shore. And a lady knew when she was beat. So why did the words feel like grinding stones between her teeth?

“All right,” she whispered, her voice crackling like dry leaves in autumn, “I admit it, Bonny. What brought me here was Braeburn. At least at first. But I fail to see how that changes anything.”

“It means you don’t care about this town. Not in the way he does, at least. Or I do. You may think it, Rarity, but you don’t mean it. Not in your heart of hearts. Nopony what comes out here actually knows what we know, or feels how we feel. You didn’t plant so much as a cactus in this town an’ now you’re supposed to decide our destiny? You can’t even figure out your own.”

The last jab hit deeper than Rarity liked. Her spine stiffened as her ears went flat. Heat rushed to her face, clouded her thoughts. The anger from before came rushing back to the surface, fearful not that she wouldn’t prove Bonny wrong, but that deep down she was right. It was like an old wound being peeled open. “What are you implying?”

“I remember the last time you came here,” Bonny sneered, boldly advancing, her chest puffed out as far as it would go. “You an’ your ‘friends’ who just made everything worse. I remember how you flailed around, tryin’ to make things better without our input or consent. Admit it: the whole thing was smooth sailin’ until your efforts mucked it all up. I built this town with my own two hooves, Rarity, an’ I’ll be a son of a mule afore anypony goes an’ makes my town their cutie mark project!”

She was only a few steps away now, forcing Rarity back, back until her flanks touched the cold stone of the wall, until their eyes were so close neither of them could see anything but each other. Rarity’s mind rushed, her breathing quickened as she finally felt herself lose patience. Bonny’s words awoke memories long since buried of humiliation, of failure to achieve her dreams, of a pompous prince at a fairy tale ball stepping all over her carefully constructed fantasies.

“Miss Big Special Hero of Harmony, come to save the little folk! You’re not here to help us,” Bonny hissed, “you’re here to help yourself. To your self-pity for failing before, to your own sense of self-entitlement, an’ especially to a stallion named Braeburn!”

Crack!

Bonny reeled backwards, an angry mark on her cheek where Rarity’s hoof struck. She gritted her teeth, Rarity saw her eyes water just a bit, and then she planted her hooves and steadied herself. She spat.

“Puh. Not so much a lady after all, are you?” she whispered.

Rarity was on her like a cat on a mouse, her face scrunched up tight with righteous anger. Bonny actually gasped and stepped back till her hooves splashed in the water.

“Was that your big plan?” Rarity asked. “To try and drag me down to your level? Is that all this ever was, Bona Fide? All some huge scheme just to try and make me lose my patience, to drag me off some false pedestal you think I’ve put myself on? If so, then I am not angry, and I am not ashamed. I am disappointed in you. I am disappointed that I believed you were a decent pony who had her reasons for acting how she did, but instead all I find is a petulant, bullying child who just can’t stand to be given an outside opinion!”

Bonny’s eye twitched. Clearly, she hadn’t expected this out of Rarity.

Rarity seized the opportunity and pressed forward. "You cannot tell me what I can and can't hope for, Bona Fide, and I think it appalling that you would ask me to justify my desires to you, of all ponies. I came here to be your friend. To help Appleloosa. Yes, at the start, it was Braeburn, who by the way is a perfect gentlecolt whose mere acquaintance I am glad to have, but if you're going to stand there and tell me that I'm not at least trying to save your town, you've got another thing coming, sister!"

“I did not come all this way to see everything that I built get swept out from under me!” Bonny shouted back in a voice that was distinctly lacking her usual Appleloosan accent, replaced by something else entirely. Rarity’s mouth hung open dumbly, her mind still trying to put a name on what she thought she heard. That new voice Bonny used—it reminded her of a cheeky filly Sweetie Belle and her friends knew from out of town, she’d seen her not long ago at the—

"ENOUGH!" another voice screeched, echoing up and down the walls. It was not Braeburn or Strongheart, and it was not friendly. The grating shout caused both mares to nearly jump out of their skins and almost crash into each other in a panic.

Out stomped a hulking Diamond Dog, clutching his ears and grinding his teeth. "Stop it, stop it both of you!" he rasped. "Squeaky pony voices making everyone uncomfortable! It hurts, it hurts! Just shut up!"

He swung out with one of his massive paws, striking the ground and cleaving a frighteningly large divot into the solid earth. Rarity and Bonny jumped back in fright, barely able to think, let alone reply.

The Dog pointed at them with a dirty claw. "We knew ponies were trouble. We knew ponies would come bother us. They always do. Stomping around our tunnels, making a racket. We watched you and listened while you crawled through our tunnels, no permission, no gifts! Well now Dogs have something to say, and ponies will listen!"

He lifted his head and let loose with an ear-splitting howl. From the walls echoed the scrape of claws on stone, and from in front and behind a dozen more Dogs tumbled out from their warrens like oversized termites. The two ponies closed ranks as they were surrounded, with Rarity standing tall and lifting her horn so they could see it. Any Diamond Dog with half a brain (though she wasn't sure many of them even had that much) should know a unicorn was a dangerous opponent. She was too busy counting Dogs and trying to keep them at bay to look at Bonny, but she did feel the other mare shudder beside her.

"Now now," she said quickly and clearly, "let's not start somethng we'll all regret. We ponyfolk did not come here to fight."

"No," said the Dog who had spoken before, "no fight, because you go!" He reared up to his full height, towering nearly as tall as a buffalo. His wiry muscles were stretched like taut iron over his bony frame—Rarity saw the faint outline of his ribs in the glow of her horn. His chalk-grey fur was matted and tangled like she expected, but it seemed almost haggard. He wore a dusty old poncho and a sombrero sat askew on his head.

"No ," he repeated, pointing his claw at them. It shook with either excitement or anxiety. "I am the alpha of this pack. Named Ruff! I talk and everyone listens. This place is for Dust Dogs now! Ponies will leave, and, and never come back, yes?"

“Wait,” Bonny said. “Dust Dogs? Ain’t ya’ll called Diamond Dogs?”

“Ha!” Ruff barked. “Ponies show they know nothing! We are Dust Dogs because we live here with the dust. We choose the open spaces. We run across the sun-dried sand and we do not tire or dry out. Diamond Dogs are dirty and ugly. They do not know what it means to see the sun anymore. Dust Dogs left, got new clothes, better clothes! That makes us the best.”

Rarity glanced at the rest of his pack. They wore the same ramshackle armor and tattered rags as the first group that tried to enslave her, but with a distinctly ‘Western’ twist, with handkerchiefs around their necks and antiquated lanterns hanging from their belts. A few of them had ten-gallon hats that scraped the ceiling. Their weapons were similarly crude; most of them brandished stone spears, and… Rarity looked closer. There were slingshots stuffed into their belts, and long thin sticks with something wound around them from end to end.

“Are those… rubber band guns?” she asked aloud before she could stop herself.

“Yes!” the head Dog barked proudly. “We have learned much from the ponies who live in the desert. We have taken their ways and their weapons, and with them we have grown strong! Some of us can shoot twenty bands a minute—leaves nasty welts from fifty paces away!”

Rarity glanced back at Bonny, who only shrugged helplessly.

"We heard ya'll've been harrassin' the buffalo," Bonny said, tossing her mane. "Or meant to. Either way this is Appleloosa territory, an' the buffalo are with us!"

"That is right!" Strongheart yelled from the tunnel behind Rarity. She and Braeburn stomped out with their three escorts following close behind. "If we are going to talk, then we will speak as one tribe!"

"Nopony needs to get their dander up!" Braeburn called out, galloping alongsideStrongheart, shouldering himself past Bonny and Rarity, putting himself in the center of attention. Rarity's throat tightened as he spoke. "We aren't here to make a fuss. Just wanted to talk. Suss out ya'll's intentions, maybe come to an understandin' like we did with our buffalo pals here. This land's big enough for all of us."

"Pals?” Ruff chuffed, slamming the ground with his paws. He lurched towards Braeburn and blasted hot air from his nostrils, making the stallion's mane flutter. Braeburn didn't flinch. "Pals?" Ruff sneered. "Why are ponies saying that word, pals? Ponies not pals! Ponies lazy and mean! Call us Dogs bad names. Chase us from our home. Ponies not pals with Dogs." He glanced up at Strongheart, baring his teeth. "And buffalo smell weird."

One of the buffalo escorts snorted and stomped the ground. "Don't be insulting Little Strongheart, eh? She smells better than ten of you put together!"

“I should hope so,” Strongheart muttered.

Ruff spat at her hooves. “There is nothing that you can offer us. Leave now!”

“A-hem!” Rarity exclaimed in a high-pitched yelp. The awful noise bounced from ceiling to floor and rolled across the lake until it came back in a twisted echo, silencing every other voice and scratching at the eardrums. Rarity smirked as every Dog in the room flinched and clapped their paws over their ears.

"My deepest apologies for interrupting, but I do so hate seeing an opportunity for constructive conversation wasted,” she said. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am miss Rarity. Charmed, I'm sure." She made a dainty curtsy. Ruff shrugged and dug out one of his ears with a claw.

"Ehhh," he said, glancing nervously back and forth. Rarity knew he didn’t want to upset her and bring back the awful noise.

"It's good that we are all assembled here," Rarity said with a swish of her tail and a fancy flick of her mane, "because we are all aggrieved parties in need of a settlement of terms to overcome our proclivity for hostility. Am I right?"

Ruff looked at his fellow Dogs, who looked at each other, and then were lost when they had no one else to look at. Ruff turned back to Rarity and tapped his chin.

"What is 'aggrieved'?" he asked.

Rarity deflated with a loud sigh, trying to ignore Bona Fide's condescending snort. If she couldn't impress them with florid speech, she must try and speak their language.

"We're here to get to know you," she said, making sure to inject a healthy amount of patience and neutrality into her voice. "To find common ground, to..." She bit her lip, looking up and down the cave for help. Ponies and buffalo made a herd, bunches of dogs made...

"A pack!" she chirped, immediately wincing at how her voice echoed sharply off the still water. "We are here to give everyone the protection of one big, happy pack. Of course you, you big, strong, swarthy canine," she purred, giving one of Ruff's burly arms a few taps of her hoof, "would know all about keeping the peace between packs, yes? We want only to give you the respect you so obviously deserve."

Ruff rubbed his arm and put his ears flat down on his head, halfway between embarrassed and flattered, which was just one step away from being putty in Rarity's hooves. She suppressed a little squeal and went on. "Clearly you've such a good grasp of what it is to lead, to bring your people to prosperity. I mean just look at this!" She swept a hoof over the vista of the underground lake. "Fresh water and all the gems you can sniff out. I am impressed!"

Ruff grumbled something to himself about having a good nose for gems and nodded, demurring to one side. "Is a good place for dogs, yes," he rasped. "We like it here. And we will not let ponies take what is ours!" He balled his paw into a fist. Braeburn, Strongheart, and Bonny all tensed.

Rarity merely set a hoof gently on his outstretched paw and pushed it down. "No one would ever dream of taking this place from you," she said with gentle sincerity, and in truth, the thought of chasing them out never crossed her mind. This close, she saw the way Ruff hunched over himself, hiding his sunken belly and exposed ribs, the telltale signs of hunger and desperation. Pity swelled inside her, but she still pulled out a rag and wiped off her hoof. "But a good alpha would know that to be able to get things from without requires taking some things in. Finding true peace doesn’t just mean hiding in here forever.”

Ruff swiveled away from Rarity, pacing in front of his dogs. “Pony cannot just walk in here and tell us what to do!” he snarled, then stopped in place and arched his back. “But… pony does have a point. Dogs cannot hide. Will not hide. But we will not be friends, either. Dust Dogs have all we need.”

Rarity flicked her ear curiously.

“Pony should see,” Ruff said, suddenly growing a little smirk. “Did not think we Dust Dogs just found water, did we?”

“Didn’t we?” asked one of the dogs in back, who was quickly shushed.

Ruff slashed his paw through the air. “Silence! Ponies are intruders and will have nothing from us! And you!” He pointed straight at Rarity. “You come here with your buffalo muscle and annoying squeaky voices! Can offer us nothing we do not already have. Came to steal from us, more like!”

"Hold up there, partner," said Braeburn. He had that easygoing, disarming smile on his face he used on her the night they first spoke at the Apple family's reunion. It still made her somewhat weak in the knees.

"I may not know much about nothin', up to and including gems and politics, but I do know you're makin' a sore misjudgment of character here. None of us are here to do anything but make friends, and my good friend Rarity is top notch when it comes to fairness and good deals."

"Ha!" barked Ruff, leaning forward so the tip of his sombrero bumped Braeburn's hat. "Why should we trust what you say? All ponies are here for is to make themselves look better."

Braeburn continued to smile. "Mister Ruff sir, there aren't many ponies that already look better than Miss Rarity, but that's neither here nor there. The point is, we showed up here and willingly put ourselves at your mercy! Is that the act of a bunch a' violent-minded thieves? Naw, we're here to figure out what's good for all of us, right? Nopony wants to start a scuffle here."

Rarity self-consciously rubbed the hoof she'd used to smack Bonny, who had the sense not to make any smart-aleck remarks.

"As the representative of Chief Thunderhoof and all his tribe, I tell you now that we do not seek to begin conflicts—we are here to end them before they arise," Strongheart added from behind Braeburn; she and her two buffalo made sure to stand just so as to loom over the stallion's shoulders and lend their considerable weight to her words.

There was a determination to their eyes that Rarity hadn't seen before. It gave her chills. Apparently even Ruff's simple mind picked up on the veiled threat, and though he grumbled and growled and sent dirty looks their way, he didn't lash out at them.

"Look me in the eyes," said Braeburn, "and tell me I'm lying."

Ruff snorted and turned away.

"Wouldn't give you the satisfaction!" he snapped over his shoulder. "Very well! Ruff will turn over his stones. You will see what has lain beneath your hooves, ponies, and you will understand that coming here was a waste of time." He gestured for his minions to fall in behind him. "Come! Take the ponies. Come, come!"

Rarity trotted up to Braeburn and gave him a congratulatory hip-bump.

"That was wonderful," she said.

"Learned from the best," Braeburn replied with a wink.

Rarity fell in with the others, sticking close to Braeburn who stayed at her shoulder. They shared worried looks as the Dust Dogs closed ranks around them and led them around the lake, into another tunnel and through a long stretch of blackness. Rarity sensed a distinct change in the air; her horn shimmered with energy as shifting currents teased it. The volume of gems she was detecting spiked rapidly, with whole veins shimmering from the walls. The Dust Dogs ooh’d and ahh’d as they realized they were witnessing unicorn magic, and some of them gave Rarity greedy looks she much rathered they didn’t. For trying to relabel themselves, the Dust Dogs were certainly living down to the stereotype of their brethren.

“It’s so rich down here,” she whispered to Braeburn. “Did anypony know about this place?”

“We had no idea,” he answered. “This is news to me.”

The tunnel widened abruptly, and Rarity found the light of the gems starting to be subsumed by a brighter light from the end of the tunnel. There was the noise of rumbling carts and the barking of dogs, along with the crack of pickaxes and rocks cloven in two. She squinted as the light grew brighter quite suddenly, and she realized they’d exited the tunnel into a wide open space.

“Behold!” Ruff called over his shoulder. “The great work of Dust Dogs!”

Rarity knew if in that moment she happened to see Ruff’s face, he would be the picture of vanity: all grins and sniggers and puffing of his chest. But she was too distracted by what she saw beyond Ruff’s bulk: a wide, arching ceiling that stretched almost into darkness, soaring over a great cavern almost as big as the reservoir behind them, with pillars of rock reaching from top to bottom. Stalagmites run through with veins of crystal and agate drooped down from the roof of the cave.

Against one wall she saw a watermill, turned by the flow of a large stream carved into the floor of the cavern, rushing away down another tunnel to parts unknown. It powered a conveyer belt that dumped containers of gemstones and dirt into waiting wagons, which Dust Dogs hauled off to be cleaned and inspected. And everywhere, everywhere were the gems: gems of every size, shape, and color, piled high in every free space, calling to Rarity with the siren sound of their whispering magical chimes. She watched the Dust Dogs dutifully cracking the stone apart, finding geodes as large as her head and opening them like fruit, crawling out like ants from side tunnels dug all around the cavern walls, bearing more cartloads of the precious stone. She saw precious clusters of amethyst, diamonds blooming like flowers, fragile tendrils of halite reaching like fingers from the ground, all of them shining in the light of torches and the resonance of her own horn, and it was all just too much, too beautiful.

It was a crime, she thought, a crime that such a vast treasure trove of wealth and beauty would be picked at and poked and carried off by the vicious, unwashed paws of Dogs, either Diamond or Dust - why, it was analogous to when they decided to cart her off like so much luggage!

"Well tan my hide," said Braeburn, removing his hat and putting it on his chest. "If that ain't the most incredible thing I ever did see."

"We never knew," said Bonny. "All this time an' we never knew." Her gaze was fixed, calculating, refusing to be impressed or intimidated.

"Ponies do not dig deep," Ruff growled. "They scrabble on the surface. They make war with the earth and subdue it. We Dust Dogs... we live in it. We followed the Rock's veins and discovered its lifeblood. We drew it out, we did. Both water and gems. We made the lake. We dug these mines. We will fill these hills with our own."

"This place must have been the site of ancient volcanic activity," Rarity mused, nodding. "Or some great confluence of magic in some ancient time."

"But this many gems can fill ten thousand teepees," Strongheart blurted out. "And the water of the aquifer can feed ten thousand trees. The ponies would want this land as much as you."

Ruff shouldered roughly past her, drawing an angry snort from her escorts. "They already took it, but they cannot keep it. I have seen this. The ponies fight over this desert, against buffalo, against Dogs, against other ponies! We Dust Dogs work together. When you all are gone, destroyed by your own blindness, we will remain. Yes."

"Not for long, I think," Rarity said under her breath, eyeing the Dogs at work. To a tee, they were gaunt and malnutritioned, swinging their pickaxes with less enthusiasm and more frustration. There were not nearly enough bodies to make this cavern feel full - each dog must be doing the work of three to make up for it.

Ruff didn't seem to notice and raised his paws up in a supplicating gesture, eyeing the vast treasure trove with a tinge of obsessive pride. "The Rock has given us much. Water! Gems! A home! And ponies can have none of it. You see what we do, how we do it better, how Dust Dogs are better than everyone else! We have the gems. We have the water." He looked over his shoulder, baring his teeth. "You? You only have the dust. And soon, that too will be ours."

"But mister Ruff, sir," said Braeburn, still holding his hat respectfully to his chest, "that's... kinda what we're here for. To see what we can do together. All this... what're ya'll gonna do with it? I mean, you'll drink the water, obviously, but I know for a fact a lotta ponies will pay handsomely for gems like these."

"Indeed!" Rarity chirped. She felt herself slip into the role of creative consultant all too easily now that she had an area of expertise to expound on. She couldn't resist fluffing her mane. "I am something of a connoisseur of gems, and I know a thing or two about their use in thaumaturgy and beautification. Arcane foci, spell catalysts, and that's not even counting how all of this will practically revolutionize clothing lines for years to come!"

Ruff gawked at her. Like a salespony who felt a deal in reach, or perhaps a trapper who heard the jaws of a trap spring shut, Rarity went on, heedless of Braeburn and the rapid-fire hoof cutting across his throat.

She trotted over to a large pile one of the Dust Dogs had just finished unloading a cart onto, plucking up a cluster of silver ore. "Why, these beauties alone could be stretched into a grand filigree, or perhaps even line the hem of a ball gown. No, wait! They'd do wonders to bring out the sparkle in the eyes if they were somehow adapted into a hat!"

The ore was smacked out of her hoof. She let out a squeal and looked up into Ruff's glowering face.

"Gowns?!" he said. "Hats?! Does pony think we are stupid? Do Dust Dogs look like we need thaumagogs and catafists? No! Dust Dogs need gems. We have gems. And ponies will leave so we have gems, water, and land!"

Rarity cradled her hoof, waiting out the tantrum and berating herself. Ruff was right, of course - the blow had jostled loose the gem-shaped fool idea in her head and got her back on track, as much as it stung to admit it. Besides that, the sting reminded her of the slap she'd given Bonny, and that more than anything else quieted her temper. "You... are correct. My apologies," she said evenly. "I got carried away. Gems are a passion of mine, and I'd hate to see them go to waste. Just as you would not want all this hard work to go to waste, hmm?"

Ruff opened his mouth to answer when Rarity heard a sound she dreaded more than any Dust Dog's rasping voice: Bonny had joined the argument.

"You're darn right it'll go to waste if ya'll just sit on it!" she said, stomping foward with her hat tilted down over her eyes. "What kinda silly plan is that, just showing us all this an' tellin' us to skedaddle? Least Rarity here is actually thinkin' of what to make of all this. You folk are so concerned with just grabbin' what you want you can't think of what'll happen once you get it."

Rarity cleared her throat loudly over Ruff's impatient growl. Over Bonny's shoulder Braeburn's hoof was a blur as he swung it back and forth over his neck as fast as he could. "Thank you for the support, Bonny, but I think ideas and creativity are what's needed now instead of hostility."

"I think all the ideas in the world aren't gonna salvage this," Bonny fumed, pointing up at the gem hoard as she came face-to-face with Ruff. "This overgrown mutt hasn't shown us nothin’ we couldn’t have found on our own, an' I don't care for his sabre-rattlin' much either. This is a dragon's ransom they dug up here; nopony's just gonna look at this an' walk away, least of all us. What, we're supposed to just keel over an' scurry off because you're so dang good at digging? Give an earth pony a shovel an' we could do twice the work in half the time."

"Pony should watch her tongue," Ruff said, rearing up to his full height. "Or pony may lose it."

Bonny spat on the ground. "I ain't afraid of you, you overgrown house pet, an' neither is Appleloosa. You want these gems so much? You can keep 'em. But Appleloosa will not an' never just leave because you think you can hold all this over our heads. That was your plan, right? We built a town, so you show off your little cave an' prove you're so much better than us. Well phooey on that, an' phooey on you, I say. Royal Guard done chased you out before, so maybe we should—"

"Bonny!" Braeburn said, taking her by the hoof and guiding her back, out of range of Ruff's curled fists. "Have you gone plum crazy?" Rarity heard him say before they sunk into an animated conversation of rapid hoof gestures and hissed whispers.

Ruff doubled over, wheezing, shoulders shaking. At first Rarity thought it was a cough, but then she saw the smile on his face, and realized it was laughter.

"Ponies are just as Ruff thought. Silly and impatient. Pony thought she knew Dust Dogs!" Ruff said between gasping chortles. "But pony thought wrong. Dust Dogs want for nothing. We have all we need and all that ponies and buffalo want. Only thing left is for ponies to go—that is all Ruff needs to be happy."

Rarity's thoughts were in a whirl. It was all happening too fast - this wasn't a negotiation, it was a guided tour of the Dust Dogs' arrogance and hatred. She hadn't achieved anything by coming here except to learn how deep their malice went. A sense of creeping doom fell upon her as the same frustration and anger of the town hall meeting came to the forefront of her mind. "But wait!" she said desperately. "You must admit, Ruff, you must admit that we're right. What will you do when we've gone? When the apple trees are rotting? When and if the buffalo never speak to you again? You thought you saved your people by coming here, but if you just hide all of this down in caves like all the other Diamond Dogs you will achieve nothing. A dragon may gather a mighty hoard, but he can never move or grow or live. There's nothing to live on here. You’re starving; without seeds or anything else to grow you’ll have to leave again. Anypony can see that."

A rubber band twanged and pinged the ground at her hooves. Strongheart and her escorts surrounded Rarity in a heartbeat, threatening with their horns.

"Pony will tell no more lies," Ruff said, crossing his arms. “Dust Dogs will take care of themselves.”

"We aren't welcome anymore," said Strongheart. "Come on, Rarity."

"But—"

"Now," Strongheart snapped, and Rarity flinched at the iron in her voice.

"Coulda toldja this was a bad idea,” Bonny grumbled. “Ain’t never shoulda come here.”

“But we have to work something out!” Rarity whimpered. “If we don’t then all of this—”

“Rarity.”

She turned and found Braeburn staring at her.

“I’m sorry," he said. "I really am. But… we really should go.”

Rarity watched her friends and Bonny turn away, defeat or disgust on their faces. She turned to Ruff one last time.

“Then promise us this!” she said. “Don’t hurt anyone. Buffalo or pony. We won’t take a single gem. A single drop of water.”

“Rarity,” Bonny said, but Braeburn shushed her.

“I will do my best to ensure Appleloosa sticks to their end of the deal and never bothers you without your consent again.”

“Rarity!” Bonny barked louder, but Ruff just laughed.

As Rarity and the others were herded away, she saw his yellowed teeth glimmering in the light of the gemstones as he grinned. It was a smile as sharp and gnarled as his canines. "Wasn't planning on it. But if Ruff must promise, then Ruff promises. You will stay in your town. Dogs will not hurt you. And that is the end of it. Remember what you saw, ponies, and remember that you can never have it. Goodbye."

The oppressive heat and glaring sunlight had a tangible weight to it as the sullen group was evicted unceremoniously from the Dust Dog caverns. Rarity felt the sting of defeat, the venom of resignation coursing through her bloodstream, making her limbs heavy and her own mane and fur coat stifling. She hopped up on the wagon as the buffalo strapped themselves in again and sat next to Braeburn with a sigh, wishing only to be back in her bed. All of a sudden her stylish parasol looked idiotic hanging off the top of the wagon, her makeup felt oily and garish like some pasty second skin. The grit of sand was especially nerve-wracking in her fur. Everything felt pointlessly cruel and needlessly superfluous.

Including, it felt, herself. This was supposed to be a triumphant return. Instead, they would go back to town with nothing really new to show for their efforts, for Rarity's grand plan, for the future of Appleloosa. In spite of Braeburn's chivalry, in spite of the best efforts at negotiation by herself, the Dogs had shrugged off all attempts at friendship.

She met Braeburn's uncomfortable stare, desperate to comfort her and yet desperate to put into words how ultimately the trip had been a failure.

"Don't look so glum," she said with a smile that barely reached her cheeks, let alone the rest of her. She touched his cheek with her hoof. "You were marvelous in there."

"Don't really feel like it," Braeburn muttered. "I just... it feels so pointless, you know? Knowin' we came all the way out here hopin' for somethin' new and then... then all this..."

"You can go ahead an' say it," Bonny grumped. "We didn't need to do this in the first place."

"Nothing happens without reason," Strongheart said, though her smile was of one who didn't quite believe her own words. "We did find some things out."

"Yeah, like how Dust Dogs are basically big smelly hairballs, eh?" joked one of her escorts.

Rarity grabbed onto the words like a buoy at sea, even if they were not so much positive as they were not-quite-negative. "Yes," she said, lifting her head, refusing to be drawn into the morass of her own self-pity as she had so many times before. "Yes, we did learn something!" she said with more conviction. If she said it enough it might feel true. "Little Strongheart is right. We secured a non-aggression pact between our respective parties - such as it was - and we have discovered that this land has more to offer than even Appleloosa first thought. Water and gemstones the likes of which nopony imagined. The Dust Dogs think we can be disheartened and turn away because they found it first, but they don't know what we can give them."

Every word spoken was like a balloon, carrying away the crushing awkwardness. She dared to turn Braeburn's way and found him staring, curious, desperate for something to smile about.

"What's that?" he wondered.

"Well, food for starters," Rarity deadpanned. "Did nopony but me notice how skinny and underfed those poor creatures looked? No wonder they are so desperate—they must think the world is out to get them and the only way to provide for themselves is to take it from others. If you offer them a share of your apple crops-"

"Hold up!" Bonny snapped. "If word gets out we're givin' part of our crops to these fellas, an’ on top of that just lettin’ them have all the water and gems they can stuff their faces with, what're we supposed to tell them bigwigs comin' down to visit us? That we're parlayin' with thieves an' vagabonds, lettin’ ‘em run roughshod all over our land?"

"Which you assumed the buffalo were at first," Rarity said. Her prickly tone forced Bonny to look away, shaking her mane so her bangs fell over her eyes.

"Ain't up to you who we share with," she grumbled. "Town council's not gonna be happy."

"And we still have the exhibition coming up," said Braeburn. He pulled his hat down and ran a hoof through his mane, damp with nervous sweat. "That ain't gonna be an easy sell. With them Dust Dogs cloggin' up our thoughts, ponies'll get nervous. We need our heads in the game. Those rich folk won’t play nice. It’ll be like hawks goin’ after doves."

"Then," said Rarity, primping her mane, "it is well you have a few hawks of your own.”

Bonny just grunted, nonplussed, and looked away again.

“I am sorry this was not more productive, Rarity,” Strongheart sighed. “It seems that lessons of friendship and Harmony are harder learned than lessons of hatred, at least where the Dust Dogs are concerned.”

“Don’t give it a second thought, dear. We must look ahead. Always we must look ahead,” Rarity said distractedly, staring at Bonny’s back. Bonny, who refused help and did her best to spoil Rarity’s efforts, who lived alone, who hid another voice from the big city—Manehattan perhaps—beneath the gruff accent of Appleloosa, who even now preferred to look over her shoulder than at the ponies who might help her.

And it occurred to Rarity on the road back that, far from looking ahead, Bonny had been looking over her shoulder for a long, long time.

Chapter 6

“They’re almost here.”

Rarity fanned herself in the shade of the train station pavilion. The warning was almost biblical, utterly ridiculous in how portentous Sheriff Silverstar made it. But it sent a thrill through her all the same. Familiar jitters rose up to shake her composure, and she beat them down with familiar appeasements.

You’re not ready.

Nopony ever is.

They’ll hate it.

Only if you do. Do you?

I’m not sure.

Then let’s find out.

She smoothed out her dress. It was a brilliant amalgamation, in her estimation, of country and neo-classical styles, with a large red train that rode high on the flank and a tight matching faux-corset. The dress beneath was a bright white that gleamed in sunlight with bold black trimming. She had barely found enough material in town to make her own dress, let alone the townsfolk’s, and had with great reluctance allowed them to pick out attire from their own wardrobes. It was a constant battle in her mind to convince herself that the ‘straight out of a history book’ look was still acceptable in this day and age.

There was Silverstar with his star polished and gleaming on his vest, the other landowners dressed to the nines, and Braeburn in a snappy three-piece suit. Her breath had hitched in her throat when she first saw him; he said it was an old dusty thing from his grandfather, who helped lay the foundations for some of Equestria’s first westward towns. She almost insisted that she help him fit and clean it, but he said he had to do it himself.

Privately, Rarity wondered if it had been just to surprise her.

But… wait, on his lapel. Was that a…?

“Wrinkle!” Rarity cried out, hurrying over to him like she’d cried out ‘fire!’ and immediately began brushing down his jacket.

“Uh, Rarity—” Braeburn stuttered.

“Shh! I need to fix this.” Rarity tugged on the cord of his bolo tie and used her magic to prim up his mane.

“You need to take a breath before you pass out,” Braeburn muttered. “Everypony looks fine.”

“But you can’t look fine! You must look perfect.”

Braeburn took her hoof and pulled it away from his jacket. He smiled, head tilted gently to one side.

“You know, my grandfather owned this suit. Wore it to all the big social functions. Met lotsa nervous ponies at ‘em. He told them all the same thing: Everypony’s got their own vision of perfect, an’ there’s no way to know what that is. The best thing to do is what you can, ‘cause the rest is just gonna be.”

Rarity took several deep breaths, tried to say some things that stuck in the back of her throat.

Braeburn kept talking. “I know it’s hard to let go when you think you’re the only one who can save the day—I felt like that sometimes when the buffalo first came to town. But that day we made friends with ‘em taught me that just opening your hooves to opportunity instead of closing them tight around what you already got is sometimes the best thing you can do.”

Rarity finally took a step back and willed her shaking hooves to stand firm on the ground. She took another deep breath, imagining the stress as a great big ball in her chest, and then let it swirl out with her breath.

“Do I look all right?” she asked.

“Beautiful,” said Braeburn.

“That will have to be enough,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips.

He winked. “More than enough.”

“Clear the tracks!” the local train engineer shouted. “Train’s a-comin’!”

The Dust Dogs had kept to themselves as they promised. Rarity had almost forgotten about them in the rush. What a pity, she thought, that she couldn’t get them on her side. It would’ve been lovely to show that not just two, but three races could live in peace. Such was life, though.

“Places everypony,” Silverstar barked out. The gathered Appleloosans assembled into orderly lines, practicing their best grins.

Bona Fide was not among them. Rarity hadn’t seen her the last few days except for glimpses of her skulking about, whispering poison into the ears of the townsfolk. Every time Rarity tried to approach Bonny, the orchard owner ran off without a backward glance. It worried Rarity, but what could she do? Apple Tart and Little Strongheart were not present at the station either, having taken up positions at other special showcases Rarity had been frantically throwing together.

The train screeched as it pulled into the station, drowning out her inner demons. Rarity seized the moment of silence that followed to fill herself with a breath of warm dry air. She reached into a mental closet and pulled out her showmare mask, sliding on a smile and trying to put some glow in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes.

The train dragged to a halt. Dark shadows shuffled behind the windows. Rarity found that she wasn’t nervous. There was too much anticipation for that.

The door slid open. Filthy Rich was the first pony to step outside, his gaze neutral and all business. He wasn’t impressed by the glaring sun or bothered by the distressing heat. He must have already been sweating like a pig in that corporate two-piece suit he wore, but he hid it under an emotionless veneer and so much cologne that Rarity could smell it from five feet away.

As if he was the plug on some huge drain, a procession of similarly uptight ponies spilled from the train, some of them unable to hide their eagerness to stretch their legs. Short-cropped manes on the stallions and buns or other modest styles for the mares, and power suits for them all; it was almost too formal for Rarity’s liking. Was this what the elite of the Heartland thought was in style? She’d have to do something about that once she was big and famous.

“Fillies and gentlecolts, esteemed guests,” she said in grandiloquent fashion, “welcome to Aaaaaapleoosa!”

The gaggle of ponies behind her couldn't contain at least some cheers and applause, which quickly died down in the face of the stern faced business ponies. Rarity felt her enthusiasm shrivel like a dead weed.

But then Filthy Rich’s face split open into a smile, and he nudged the stallion next to him hard in the ribs.

“Ha ha! I told you they do that out here, Pie Chart. You owe me ten bits!”

Rarity let herself breathe again as the tension melted away. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be a disaster after all.

The visitors filed off the train and were greeted in turn by Rarity and Sheriff Silverstar, who wore a bell-bottomed striped shirt and suspenders under a sleeker, cleaner black vest. He put on a smile and affected his least rustic accent, which Rarity thought stuck somewhere between a choking bull frog and a Trottingham pony with a dry throat. At least the others didn't seem to mind, exchanging polite how-do-you-do’s with the Appleloosans. Expressions were nervous and uncertain, but not malicious or spiteful. Rarity allowed herself to hope a little more.

“Hey, I know you! You’re Rarity! That Rarity, from Ponyville! What are you doing out here?”

She turned to find Filthy Rich approaching her directly, and did a little curtsy.

“Yes, I am that Rarity,” she preened, fluttering her eyelashes. “It was merely happy coincidence that I came when I did, and the Appleloosans were gracious enough to let me spearhead our little meeting. A pleasure to see you, mister Rich.”

“Yep, my corporate buddies convinced me to come along. I thought it high time I saw for myself what the state of Equestrian development is out here on the fringes. I have to admit, I thought the town would be a little bit… bigger.”

“There are many considerations to building a city this far from Equestria proper,” Rarity replied with the utmost politeness. “The train is the only practical method of reaching it, and it’s the end of the line.”

“The end of the line so far,” Filthy corrected her. “Believe me, growing apples in the middle of a desert is quite a feat, but if that’s all they plan on doing with all this potential they’re squatting on, I have to say I’m a little disappointed.”

“Just wait until after today, mister Rich!” said Rarity. “I assure you hearts and minds will all be changed by the end.”

Braeburn called out from somewhere at the front of the crowd. “Follow me right this way, gentleponies, and we’ll see you to some refreshments and the beginning of our tour!”

“Thank goodness,” a business mare said, adjusting her collar. “It’s boiling hot and the train food was atrocious.”

“Of course,” Rarity replied with a wink, “what would a tour of Appleloosa be without first sampling what everypony loves about them: their food!”

It is said the quickest way to a pony’s heart is through their stomach. Over a thousand years of careful grooming and guidance by benevolent, immanent deities who moved the Sun and Moon gave ponies a distinct taste for comfort and the finer things in life, and food was chief among them. So it came as no surprise to anyone that by the time they reached the large barn Rarity first dined with the Appleloosans in, it had been converted into one of the biggest repositories of western cuisine ever assembled, chiefly the apple variety. Fritters and pies and tarts and cakes and turnovers were laid out with precision detail, all designed to make mouths water and ponies shiver with anticipation. Rarity smiled as she saw more than a few pairs of eyes widen appreciatively, Filthy Rich’s included.

“Have a seat!” said Sheriff Silverstar, gesturing to the circular tables laid out among the piles of still-warm food. “Allow us to bring the feast to you. Now Appleloosa’s main export is, of course, agriculture focused around the apple. Over eight hundred bushels per harvest, an’ that’s out of a bone-dry desert! Tuck in an’ find some of our hidden treasures,” he winked, “so’s we don’t get this all started on an empty stomach. While you eat, I’ll let one of our orchard managers, Peace N’ Plenty, fill you in on some of the finer details of Appleloosan export economics and our special growing technique, found only here in Appleloosa, which is essential to the taste and quality of our product.”

The presentation was quick and succinct, meant to nudge the city ponies towards the idea that the town was, in fact, doing fine on its own, and did not need some distant Canterlot overlord fiddling with time-tested traditions. Rarity chewed her hoof through it all, noticing some of the visitors were more interested in eating than listening. Once it was over, ponies began to socialize over the food, because there was frankly no better time to be socializing than lunch time. Rarity flitted between gaggles of business ponies mingling with Appleloosans like the very archetype of a social butterfly, ensuring every conversation went smoothly, every little interaction ended with a smile or a hoofshake, and every shared look held no hint of malice.

There was nothing to it, she kept telling herself. Nothing to worry about. This was all going to go fine, Rarity. What are you talking about, Rarity? Just that everything is perfect, Rarity. Of course it is, I made it, we shouldn’t be worried. Worried? Who’s worried? Not I, Rarity!

“So your name’s still Rarity. Good t’ know.”

“Gah!” Rarity squeaked, almost leaping out of her dress. “Braeburn! You startled me.”

The cowpony smiled, and Rarity blushed. “Sorry ‘bout that. But you were talkin’ to yourself an’ lookin’ more spaced-out than a pony stuck in Princess Luna’s mane.”

“I’m just going over some of the other plans I’ve made,” she whispered back, pulling him away from the main crowd. “If being Twilight’s friend has taught me anything, it’s that you can never double-check things enough. Do you know how the rest of the preparations are going? I know it was down to the wire for some of it.”

“Apple Tart an’ Little Strongheart are ready at the orchards, an’ the rest of the townsfolk are just about ready up an’ down Main Street. We’ll bedazzle these city folk, you watch! Everypony’s excited. I don’t think a lick of ‘em even noticed how you kept bossing them around the last couple days.” He gave her a playful nudge in the ribs, which only made her titter and blush even more.

“Oh, do go on. I know you Appleloosans secretly like to show off. In any case, we’ll be wrapping up here soon. Go and tell the others to make their final preparations. I’ll take them around the orchard next to give you more time.”

Braeburn turned to trot away, but was stopped by a magical tug on his tail.

“Braeburn,” Rarity whispered. “Good luck.”

He gave her a tip of his hat and another dashing smile before disappearing around the barn door. Rarity turned around and took a deep breath.

“Attention everypony! If you’ll just follow me right this way we will show you exactly where—and how!—the Appleloosans procure all this delightful cuisine.”

The orchards were just as Rarity remembered: a beautiful oasis of green amidst a sea of brown and yellow. She barely heard the rustle of leaves over the chatter of the ponies around her, but the way they continued to sway in a gentle breeze and glitter in the sunshine was more than enough comfort. They would never change, whatever happened today.

Apple Tart and Strongheart’s presence calmed her as well, their practiced smiles lighting up their faces as they greeted the approaching crowd. With them were a whole gaggle of Appleloosans dressed up for work, many of them orchard managers. From among them a tall stallion stepped forward; Rarity recognized him as Gold Delicious, from when she’d been running around speaking to anyone and everyone willing to help.

“Esteemed guests,” he said. “Welcome to Appleloosa’s orchards. Here we planted and raised up every tree you see by hoof. Within the year we had this beautiful crop, helped along by lots of sweat an’ earth pony magic.”

“And these are?” a brusque, grim-jawed mare from Rail Co. asked, gesturing at the wide paths between the trees.

“Ah!” exclaimed Little Strongheart, whose mere presence caused more than a few of the business ponies to take a step back. “Those would be the running lanes the Appleloosan ponies kindly installed for us. My name is Little Strongheart! A pleasure to meet you all. I am here as a representative of the buffalo who live in this place alongside our pony friends. We have a tradition called the stampede which reaches far back into our ancient history, which was very nearly disrupted when the settlers first came here. But with the help of a few good friends and the delicious apple pies of Appleloosa, the ponies have chosen to respect us by allowing our passage through here on our annual stampede.”

“You… share the land with the buffalo?” one of the magnates asked, unbelieving, peering at Strongheart through his monocle. “And they run—pardon me, stampede—right through the orchard?”

“Not very often,” replied Apple Tart, jumping to Strongheart’s side. “But when they do it’s a real hoot an’ a holler! We ponies look forward to it because it shakes the apples right off the trees - makes our job easier by a country mile! And in return the buffalo get a share of our harvest.”

“How much is that, exactly?” asked Filthy Rich.

“Just a pie per buffalo who wants it,” Gold Delicious said with a nervous grin. “It barely affects our overall volume of output.”

Rarity chewed her hoof as the business ponies muttered amongst themselves. Surely they didn’t think a pittance of pie was too much to give? Then again, she’d seen how they acted in Canterlot…

A growing rumble beneath her hooves provided a welcome distraction. Right on time, Rarity thought. Strongheart shaded her eyes with a hoof and smiled. “Ah, here come some of my brothers and sisters now. Perhaps you would prefer a live demonstration?”

Everypony lined up along one of the running tracks, watching the growing cloud of dust on the horizon. The rumbling grew and grew, and Rarity felt it in her hooves, stampeding up her legs like the buffalo themselves. The earth ponies in the crowd became visibly agitated, shifting weight rapidly from hoof to hoof; the Appleloosans had smiles on their faces while their fancier counterparts looked more worried than anything else.

Strongheart smiled, eyes narrow, jaw set. She was watching her people play out a performance that dated back centuries, if not more. The pride she felt was that of a mechanic and his well-oiled machine, or a dance teacher at a student’s ballet.

The rumbling became an earthquake. The buffalo surged into the orchard, their movements fluid and precise despite their bulk, and the trees quivered at their passing. Leaves trembled and trunks jangled, apples danced and wobbled. Without warning they began to fall in droves, loosened by the enormous power of buffalo hooves. Rarity’s horn thrummed; there was magic in the air and the ground, the buffalo's’ own unique art at work. Appleloosans rushed forward to gather them lest they be trampled, and returned them to the sorting barrels.

The buffalo swept by like a hurricane, and left a silence much like the passing of a storm. Eventually even the dust settled, and the only thing that seemed to have changed was that there were no apples on any of the nearby trees; they’d fallen off to the last. The city ponies seemed to be in shock, every last one of them stared wide-eyed at the running lane. It took a bit of prodding to get them to snap out of it.

“That was…” Filthy Rich stuttered. “That was impressive! Most impressive. I have never seen seen such a… unique way of harvesting apples.”

“Most of us stick to good old fashioned applebuckin’,” said Silverstar with a proud smile. “But when the buffalo swing round, well, we aren’t ones to say no. It’s all about applyin’ the lessons that Equestria taught us: that everyone, pony or otherwise, has a role to play, and all of ‘em have something to give us.”

“We can’t ignore a single life,” Rarity said with conviction, but a small dart of guilt pricked the back of her mind. The Dust Dogs were still out there somewhere, and the townsfolk had all agreed not to breathe a word of it to their visitors. Rarity hadn’t necessarily agreed to keep mum about them, but she hadn’t disagreed either.

They’ll keep to their word because we kept to ours, she thought to herself. They must. It’s a problem I’ll just have to solve later. Just let everything be for now, like Braeburn said.

The business ponies seemed humbled by that simple statement. Rarity hoped it meant they were mulling it over, wondering what their own decisions for the future of the town meant in light of it, but she knew it was a fool’s hope. She’d seen miracles happen, but a pony’s heart changing overnight was never one of them.

“And you say you don’t even pay them a day’s wages?” one of them asked.

“Out of context that might sound bad,” said Silverstar, “but the truth is the buffalo just plain don’t want any.”

“My people lack for nothing here,” Strongheart cut in. “We had all we wanted before the settlers came. Yet one thing we lacked: friendship. Now we have that too, and our lives are fulfilled. Everybody here gives what they can, and it is enough.”

“Perhaps we don’t use one of those newfangled harvesters an’ combines you see back up north,” said Silverstar, “but it gets the job done, no mistake. All natural too!”

The Appleloosans then gave their visitors a quick run-down of apple sorting procedure and even demonstrated some of their traditional cider presses; all part and parcel of the Appleloosa way of life. There was a lot of muttering and not scribbling from the city ponies, and many mentions of “unorthodox” and “obsolete.” Rarity resisted the urge to chew on her hoof; all they needed to believe was that Appleloosa had everything under control, and was capable of making its own decisions without some corporate executive peering over their shoulder. That’s all they needed right now: a little trust from their fellow ponies. Surely that wasn’t too much to ask?

“Well, we’ve eaten your food, seen your orchards, and met some of your, ah… unique neighbors,” said Filthy Rich. He wore a grin on his face like it was uncomfortable and ill-fitting. “But where’s the real meat of the town? The sights and sounds of Appleloosa? Where’s the real heart and soul of it all?”

A shared smile was passed around by the Appleloosans—and Rarity was happy to note they shared it with her, too.

“Just follow us back to the main street,” she said, affecting a slight western twang. “You’ll be wantin’ to hold onto your hats.”

The main thoroughfare that ran through Appleloosa was its life. It was like a central artery around which the rest of the town operated, from which it derived nourishment, and where ponies returned when they needed to recharge. Everything from weddings to fairs to funerals were held on it. On most days, it was nothing more than a simple pathway well-trodden by dozens of hooves daily. No more or less important than any other patch of ground.

When the tour came to town again it had been transformed. Once dusty, empty streets were still dusty, but now they were host to all manner of festivities. Stalls and ribbons decorated every corner. Ponies smiled and waved and gave their best howdy-dos. There was a station for bobbing apples, booths for pie-eating and dress-fitting, western dances both mild and wild already in progress, and a band played their best over it all.

“Howdy there, fillies an’ gentlecolts!” Apple Tart said as she peeled off from the crowd. She wore a special white hat just for this occasion - though Rarity still thought the chaps were more than a little gaudy. “Hope ya’ll worked up an appetite for fun out there on the trail! Appleloosa’s got all kinds a’ things left to show you city-folk. Hey, who wants a horse-drawn horse-drawn carriage, huh?!” She actually hopped in place, and Filthy Rich took a step back, bewildered.

This was where Rarity went in for the kill: not at the start, where they were told in numbers and abstract business-speech how Appleloosa was still viable, not in the orchards where the strangeness of partnering with buffalo threw them for a loop and they saw the pickers hard at work, eager for another harvest and happy to support their town. It was here, where Apple Tart’s sincerity and lack of guile convinced their visitors that all was well and here was town that was certainly not a, forgive the expression, apple ready to be plucked by avaricious corporations. It was an appeal to the soul, Appleloosa batting its eyelashes and asking You wouldn’t tear apart a wonderful place like this, would you?

Rarity watched Filthy’s expression closely. He was confused, a little indignant even, at the young mare giggling and cavorting shamelessly. But then something switched off in his mind, and Rarity saw the gradual shift from a frown to a smile. He was charmed as effectively as if one of Zecora’s brews had done the job. Rarity allowed a little smile of her own. Hook, line, and sinker.

“Well, this does look char—aaaaah!”

It was all he could get out as Apple Tart grabbed him by the hoof and pulled him, and by extension the rest of the business ponies, into the mess of smiling faces. It reminded Rarity of when she’d arrived in town - it felt like so long ago now.

Braeburn came up alongside her. She watched him out of the corner of her eyes. He stood proud and tall, a smile on his face. His eyes were half-shut, as if he could fall asleep on his hooves. It was a weary kind of happiness, the sort you only got after a long and trying time of labor that you knew it was worth it in the end.

“I think we hit the nail on the head,” he said. “So to speak.”

“They do seem happy,” said Rarity, watching Coldcock show a crowd of astonished onlookers how a ‘professional apple bobber’ played the game. “And I must admit, I feel a slight tingle, mister Braeburn, a downright buzz of accomplishment. Today was a good day. One could forget the hustle and bustle of preparation and pondering mysteries. Today, as you said, we can just… let everything be.”

“Oh, I’ve had many good days recently, miss Rarity,” Braeburn replied. She saw him turn towards her, and her cheek flushed where his gaze landed. “It was a good day when you came to town. When you agreed to help. When you set all this up. When you threw yourself into this not just for my sake, but the sake of everyone here.” His smile turned sly as he leaned in and gave her shoulder a nudge. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were gettin’ attached to this town.”

Rarity tossed her mane and did her best to look aloof. “There are some things about it I’ve grown rather attached to, it’s true,” she said, looking back over her shoulder. “Maybe even a few someones.”

Braeburn scoffed and raised his hoof, trying to look affronted. “Oh, someones, huh? Can’t even remember names, can we?”

Rarity shrugged and half-turned, moving closer to Braeburn. “Well, there may have been one or two… no, the one, really… that left a greater impression than most.”

Braeburn put his hoof down, taking him a step closer to Rarity. “The one? Who might that be?”

Rarity turned her face to his, looking straight at him, their noses a mere half-inch apart. “Must I give hints? I love being coy, but I hate waiting.”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t be waitin’ no longer.”

“Agreed.”

Rarity took a breath. Braeburn’s eyes widened.

There was a crash, then a scream, then a series of concussive thuds.

Both ponies’ heads snapped around to see the crowd surging, twisting and coiling like a wave, then bursting in all directions, running away from plumes of dirt that burst out of the ground like geysers. Larger shapes darted among the ponies, using the settling clouds of dust as cover, shoving over mare and stallion alike, grabbing at stalls and pulling them down by sheer brute force, sweeping the food and the crafts away to scatter them across the street.

“Wha… what…?” Rarity gasped, her lip quivering. Silverstar was shouting over the din of panicking ponies, but even his baritone wasn’t enough. Ponies were following their flight instinct, fleeing with the herd. Braeburn had already leapt into the din, snatching up a rope and tying a lasso to bring one of the big hulking shapes to the ground. Rarity squinted into the dust cloud, trying to see, trying to—

“Ah!” she yelped, jerking away from a stinging pain on her cheek. At her hooves, a rubber band fell limply to the ground.

“Oh, no,” she whispered, and charged into the fray.

From out of the dust loomed Ruff, the Dust Dog alpha, bearing a long spear and menacing anypony who got close. He pointed left and right, commanding his Dogs to pulverize anything that looked like pony hooves had built it.

“Destroy it!” he screeched. “Pull it down! Smash it! Leave nothing standing!”

“Ruff! Ruff, stop!” Rarity shouted up at him, grabbing the spear from his paws and snapping it with her magic. “Why are you doing this? We’ve done nothing to you!”

Ruff snarled at her. “You! You made promise and broke it like you broke my spear! Pony is a liar! Pony will lie no more! We will chase you all out. We will make this land ours. Dust Dogs forever!”

“But we kept our promise! We never once touched you!”

Ruff took a swipe at her with his dangerous claws, forcing her back. “If that is true, then why are tunnels blocked? Why are gems and picks and timber gone? Pony brings more ponies, pony has party for hurting Dogs! Ponies chased us out of rocks and into dust, and that was not enough! Ponies never leave us alone! Now Dogs will take from you like you took from us!”

Without warning he snatched up a pawful of dirt and threw it in Rarity’s face. Rarity sputtered, wrapping her magic around the dirt to clear it, but as it came away Ruff filled her vision and shoved her down, rushing away into the dust cloud before she could catch him. She stood, coughing and trying to shout through lungs full of scratchy Appleloosa sand, trying to regain control, that lovely little thing she’d had just minutes ago and now it was all gone, gone, gone. She felt all of her work slipping away, all the plans and preparations and hope for the future, trampled in one ugly moment.

Is this really how it’s going to end?

“Stop,” she wheezed, watching more Dogs spill out of the ground, a basket of apples go flying over her head, Appleloosans trying to rally together and counterattack. Apple Tart was throwing pies for all she was worth at anything that moved, and Coldcock was living up to his name throwing punches every which way, but none of it was fixing this, none of it was working how she intended it.

“Stop,” she said again, louder this time, and flopped into the road again as somepony or something shoved her, kicking and screaming before running away again. She felt a flash of hot anger in her head, beneath her horn, and it swelled up into the tip, gathering in the swirls like an angry whirlpool.

Her head and horn sparked like an open wire as she stood up, furious at the Dust Dogs, at Bona Fide for not showing up, at Braeburn for making her come here, at the dust that stung her eyes, at the whole situation that demanded so much precarious perfection all the time—

“I said STOP!”

The magic burst out of her in a brilliant explosion of furious noise and light, expanding out in a mushroom that enveloped the entire street, brushing away the dust and bowling over pony and Dog and buffalo alike.

For a few seconds everything was blessedly silent, and Rarity closed her eyes, hung her head, and breathed.

“I’m sorry,” she wheezed. “I’m sorry, everypony. I-I just got a little carried away, and there was nothing else I could think of, a-and I’m sure if we just… just take a moment to sit down and talk, then—”

She looked up.

The Dust Dogs had already gone back into their holes, leaving ugly piles of dirt all over town. The few buffalo who had come were gathered together, looking around sheepishly at the destruction. The Appleloosans and city ponies alike stared at Rarity in utter shock, huddled in the wreckage of the faire. Not a single stall had gone untouched, every sign defamed, every saddle and nail and plank crushed or cracked or bent. Even a few storefront windows had been smashed in.

Filthy Rich poked his head out of a water barrel, wiping his mane out of his eyes.

“What in the wide world of Equestria was that?!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

“That,” said Sheriff Silverstar, helping Braeburn out from under a heavy plank, “would be the Dust Dogs we’d been treatin’ with.”

“We had a treaty with them,” Strongheart said, pushing to the front of the crowd. “They promised us they would not bring harm to the town!”

“You have monsters like that out here?!” one of the city ponies blurted out. “And you didn’t think to take any kind of precaution against them?”

“We did!” protested Apple Tart. “Rarity talked to ‘em, an’ Braeburn too! The Dogs promised they wouldn’t do nothin’!”

Rarity hung her head. Oh, Apple Tart. Sweet, earnest, naive Apple Tart. She thought she could just assure their problems away, but now many heads turned Rarity’s way, and some of them were angry.

“This was a terrible accident,” she said as calmly as she could. “It is not Appleloosa’s fault where the Dust Dogs live. We did not even know they existed until a matter of days ago - “

“And you didn’t immediately contact the Royal Guard?!” a heavyset stallion in fancy clothes balked. “We knew this place was on the frontier, but this is beyond the pale! Is this going to happen regularly? Are you going to try and make these canine catastrophes your employees too?”

Rarity winced. More than a few buffalo and Appleloosans bristled, and who could blame them; how dare he belittle what they’d accomplished?

“You don’t know the first thing about our intentions,” Braeburn said with an edge to his voice Rarity hadn’t heard before. She raised her hoof to stop him; bless his heart, he thought he was coming to her defense, but these weren’t the right words, it wasn’t the right time—

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Filthy Rich cut in above the growing clamor. “Obviously this region isn’t as safe or as settled as we thought. And there have been, as you all said, no efforts to bring in outside help? This whole presentation was to show how self-sufficient you’ve all become, right? How you don’t need anything from Equestrian proper?”

“Now that’s puttin’ words in our mouths!” Sheriff Silverstar erupted, bulling his way into the center of the argument. “We were never gonna just shut you all out; ain’t miss Rarity here proof of that? Tartarus, we sell apples to half you folks here an’ you make good money off it!”

“Sheriff!”

A pony came charging down the street, skidding to a halt in front of Silverstar. “Bad news, Sheriff! Rotten, terrible, awful! It’s awful!”

Silverstar rolled his eyes at the young colt. “Oh, what is it boy, spit it out!”

The colt took several deep breaths and then let it all out in a rush. “It’s the apples, sheriff! The apples! Them Dust Dogs raided the orchards when we were busy with ‘em out here. Half the crop’s gone! Trees torn down, apples missing an’ smashed, some it was on fire-”

“Oh no,” Braeburn whimpered, rearing up and kicking his legs in fear. “Bloomberg!”

He scampered away with the colt in tow, leaving Silverstar and the others staring in awkward silence. The Sheriff pulled his hat off and turned to the city ponies. “On behalf of Appleloosa, I would like to extend my deepest apologies. We had no proof that something like this would happen—yes, it does seem that our faith in their word was misplaced.”

“The only proof we have of anything is all this,” Filthy calmly retorted, gesturing at the wreckage surrounding them. “You say you tried to negotiate with those creatures, and that fell through. They’ll be back, for sure. You might be able to rebuild, you might be able to see it coming next time, but don’t kid yourselves. Nobody wants to live in a town where they’ll be under siege.”

“We can handle it,” Silverstar began, but Filthy raised his hoof for silence.

“Sheriff, some of your own benefactors came here to know that our trust in you was not in error. Appleloosa’s been a fine example of Equestrian ingenuity and earth pony self-sufficiency for over a year now; don’t think we’re ungrateful. But you can’t expect us to just let this slide. We can’t buy apples from a town that can’t keep its apples safe, and we can’t build rails where monsters will wreck them. I know why you called us here; you wanted to ward off a hostile takeover. But after today I don’t think you need to worry about that, or even any continued purchases and investments in just about anything you do until this… problem… is solved.”

He adjusted the lapels on his suit. “You can expect that the Princesses will hear about this, too. Perhaps reconsider what you call ‘standing on your own’ in the meantime. You’ll be doing a lot more of it in the future if you decide to stay here.”

Silverstar hung his head, humiliated, as did many of the other Appleloosans. The city ponies gathered themselves and marched stoically back to the train station, throwing their bags haphazardly onto the train and haranguing the conductor and his team of train-pullers to take them away as soon as possible. Rarity followed them, quickly catching up to Filthy Rich as he was picking up his bags at the platform.

“Mister Rich,” she began, “surely you’re not just going to write off an entire town because of one deplorable incident. Nor should you think so terribly of the Dust Dogs. Why, when I went to speak with them I formulated my own theories about why they’re so aggressive. Did you not notice that the only thing they actually stole was—”

“Miss Rarity,” Filthy cut in with a heavy sigh. “You’re a good pony. Anypony can see that. You have a big heart and you want to see the good in everyone, even those miscreants who sacked the town. It’s very generous of you.”

“Thank you, but—”

“But you must leave some room for reality. Those Dust Dogs can’t be reasoned with if they’re going to go to such extreme lengths. No, the best thing Appleloosa can do right now is either leave at once, or wait for the Royal Guard to come and sort those beasts out. I know that’s the first thing I will lobby for once I return to Ponyville.”

“You’re not even going to listen?” Rarity gasped. “You’re going to leave just like that? Today was going so beautifully! One smirch on the canvas does not ruin the whole picture!”

“No, but it devalues it quite a bit,” replied Filthy. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a train to catch. You’re welcome to come, if you like. I know I wouldn’t want to stay knowing those monsters will come back any moment.”

Rarity huffed and planted her hooves firmly on the ground. “I came to Appleloosa because it needed my help,” she said quietly. “I am not abandoning them now.”

Filthy stopped with one hoof in the train. He looked back at Rarity, and for a brief moment, Rarity thought she saw a twitch of respect. He took a breath as if to speak. Then he turned away again, and shrugged.

“Well, don’t let me stop you.”

Rarity fumed until the train had vanished out of sight. She stalked back into town, ignored by the Appleloosans as they picked the street clean of debris and filled in the holes the Dust Dogs left behind. They were sullen and bitter, avoiding her gaze, even refusing to look her way. It was an abysmal feeling, to see such a huge crowd of ponies and buffalo feeling so lonely. It took all of Rarity’s willpower not to break down and cry right there in the street. It would be so easy, so simple. Apathy and regret were the paths of least resistance; if you didn’t even try, nobody could accuse you of failure.

But Rarity was not one of those ponies. It hurt, of course. The ache in her chest refused to quiet down, and every step felt as if her hooves were laden with lead. Her eyes burned from both dust and unbidden tears. But she couldn’t do it here, where so many ponies would see. She was not so selfish as to force them to experience that.

She didn’t even have her favorite fainting couch. The breakdown would have to wait; she still had a job to do. She went back to the main street, fully intent on finding Braeburn, Apple Tart and all the rest, and getting them together for a new plan. Inertia was their greatest enemy and the only way to keep them from sinking into a stupor was to keep them moving.

She passed the rest of the townsfolk, dismally picking up bits and pieces of their once-grand plan. A few of them shot her dirty looks. She didn’t blame them. Under Bonny’s leadership many of them resented her for coming in the first place, and now they probably blamed her for failing to keep the Dust Dogs out of town. They were angry and wanted a scapegoat.

She ignored them anyway, marching out of town and into the orchard. More Dust Dog holes marred the ground here, where sullen earth ponies dug the dirt back into them. Farming equipment was scattered all over the ground, the main barn had been broken into and a few barrels and hay bales trashed. It was stunningly quiet, save for the murmur of angry voices. Curious, she poked her head into the storage areas, where the sorting barrels had been upturned. Most of the apples were gone, the rest smashed to pulp.

“This wasn’t just a provocation,” she whispered. “It was a raid.”

She reached the trees and stopped, a hoof over her mouth.

It was a ghastly sight. Whole trees had been stripped of apples and leaves, many hacked down, some of them still smoking where the Dust Dogs had clumsily tried to set them on fire. Yet here, too, almost no apples remained amongst the wreckage. There was no way the Dogs got all of them, of course, but she noticed the absence of apples more than the presence of smashed ones.

She found Braeburn among a small crowd of ponies, trying to account for all the damage that had been done. She trotted up to him with a hopeful smile, but something about him made her stop. He was scowling, speaking curtly, and jabbed his hoof rather than pointed gently.

“Make sure there ain’t no stragglers in the south orchards,” he commanded a young mare. “An’ somepony tell the rest of the townsfolk we need help cleanin’ up this mess!”

“Braeburn,” she said, gently touching his shoulder. “I need to speak with you.”

“Not now, Rarity,” he grunted, pushing past her to start yelling at another group of farmers. “Shift your flanks, ponies! We gotta get these apples off the ground an’ into the sortin’ barrels afore they go bad!”

“Braeburn,” Rarity tried again. “The ponies from Canterlot have gone.”

“I know, I saw the train leavin’,” Braeburn muttered, his anger blunted for only a moment. “Figures. This was all gonna be a bust from the start. Appleloosa’s too stubborn to change… even for its own sake.”

“We’re not licked yet,” Rarity began. It was breaking her heart seeing him so despondent, his strong shoulders hunched and his head drooping nearly to the ground. “We have to find out what’s best for Appleloosa right now, Braeburn—”

“What, so another disaster happens?” Braeburn muttered. “This whole thing’s gone from bad to worse. Best case scenario, the Royal Guard comes out here to flush the Dust Dogs out, an’ we slowly waste away now that we’ve lost the trust of all our best buyers. Worst case, we sit here an’ waste away anyway since nobody but the buffalo will speak to us after this.”

“But you can’t give up!” whimpered Rarity. “You just can’t! You were so proud of this place! You wanted to make it your life!”

“Even the best-tended trees can wither. Shoulda just told them city-folk never to bother,” Braeburn said, his voice hollow and distant. “This town sprang up in a year an’ might just fall apart that fast, too. Boom, bust.”

Rarity felt her eyes stinging again, and swiped her hoof across them. “I refuse to admit that all of this was a waste of time, Braeburn,” she said, moving to stand right in front of him, looking him in the eye. “I refuse to admit that we are a waste of time.”

Braeburn recoiled, blinking rapidly. “Wuh-I-I never said that,” he simpered, curling one hoof in front of him. “But… but look around you, Rarity! Without revenue from our apples, we can’t get what we need to keep Appleloosa goin’. Ponies were always just happy about the status quo: gettin’ just enough from the Heartland to get by. Now we’ll get nothin’ a t’all. Not even help from the buffalo can keep this place goin’. Equestria won’t trade with people who don’t got a lick of goods apart from the teepees on their backs.”

Rarity struggled to control her breathing. The anger and guilt and frustration was building again, a little Rarity in her mind’s eye trying to keep the lid on a boiling-over pot. “We’ve been beaten down before, we all have. But to just roll over and admit defeat is not something I expected out of you,” she said, her voice a whispered whiplash.

Braeburn’s ears wilted. “This’s been goin’ on longer than you were here, Rarity,” he muttered. “Way longer. You remember when we talked about honesty, Rarity? I’m bein’ honest now.”

He stepped closer and looked her dead in the eyes. “I said I learned how not smilin’ can do some good. But deep down I haven’t really smiled in a long time. I’ve tried, really, I’ve tried to believe that this can turn out well. But I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep hoping an’ watching all our best-laid plans fall apart. Look up there.”

He pointed to a hill not far to the east, where half a stump sat.

“That was Bloomberg’s place of honor.”

Rarity took a deep, solemn breath. “I’m so sorry, Braeburn.”

“They tore him down too. Ripped out all the apples, snapped all the branches. Guess they figured since it sat so high up, it was a good idea for them to tear it down.”

“I know what that tree meant to you.” Rarity put a hoof on his shoulder. “But please, Braeburn, you’ve all put so much into this place. Don’t let this one incident frighten you all off.”

Braeburn trudged away until her hoof slipped off his shoulder. Rarity found it exceedingly hard to hold back tears now. “You know this wasn’t just ‘one incident.’ It was the icing on the cake. We’ve been tearin’ ourselves apart for months now. What can we do now? Stay? While this town becomes a war zone between the Guard and the Dogs? Watch us wilt on the vine when all our outside help gets scared off by them ‘crazy frontier ponies who can’t keep themselves safe?’ Nah. When a field gets exhausted, you rotate it, leave it fallow. You start anew. Trees’ll grow back.”

He gave her one more look over his shoulder.

“But they ain’t gonna grow here.”

“I don’t believe that pony!” Rarity fumed as she paced at the edge of the orchard, driving a furrow into the ground with her hooves. “After all we’ve done together! After all the faith he put in me!”

But perhaps, she thought, that was the problem. Perhaps she was the problem. What if she hadn’t come? What if she had let all this play out on its own? She wouldn’t have spoken to a single Dust Dog. She wouldn’t have come to blows with Bonny or come up with the idea for this stupid, stupid fair, she wouldn’t be here wondering why everything was going wrong when all she’d wanted was to do right by everypony.

“Perhaps too much faith in me,” she whispered. What had she expected, in the end? To simply waltz in and change everyone’s minds? No, she hadn’t, but she hadn’t expected it to be this hard, either. Nopony really expected not to work a day in their lives. But there were limits to what a single pony could do. Some mountains were too high. Some seas too wide.

Maybe if she called upon her friends they could come and sort things out. Twilight Sparkle had the ear of the Princesses, and between them all they could figure something out—

But it was a bit late for that now, wasn’t it? The disaster had already happened. What could the Princess do, order her ponies to do business with a small town in the middle of nowhere? There was nothing left for her to do here and Applejack was going to be so disappointed and everything she’d hoped would come of all this would instead vanish into the ether.

She could see it now: the train station at the edge of Appleloosa, run-down and wreathed with fog— there simply had to be fog—the town’s windows shuttered and boarded, the buildings empty and full of dust, its orchards picked clean and the trees all barren. She would stand at the edge of the platform as a stiff, cool breeze tugged at her dress, and sigh as Braeburn trotted up behind her.

‘Will you not go with me?’ she’d ask, and like the damnably chivalrous stallion he was, he’d say ‘This is my home, and I must be the last to leave, ya’ll,’ and then he’d offer her something to remember him by, something cruel in its kindness, like a single leaf from Bloomberg’s branches. She’d turn and beg and cry and her mascara would run, and Braeburn would touch her cheek and say something so dreadfully romantic she’d be lost for words. The train would come like a herald of doom and she’d ride it into the horizon, watching Braeburn recede into the distance, waving goodbye, goodbye…

Rarity avoided going back to town. She didn’t want to see it anymore. She didn’t want to see the ponies glaring at her, blaming her, judging her. She didn’t want to see the fruit of her failure, the buffalo who would be so disappointed, the stallion she had grown so very fond of heartbroken, poor little Apple Tart who would probably never get that train to Baltimare…

Her emotions roiled, bowling her over again and again. Every time she tried to find a quiet spot and hold it down, another fresh wave of sadness or anger or frustration would follow, tearing apart the flimsy rationalizations she told herself to make this mess seem more logical. How had it all unraveled so quickly, like a spool of thread rolling down a hill? There had to be a reason.

Or maybe there had to be a reason because she couldn’t stand the alternative, couldn’t admit that some things really were beyond her control. It was all so complicated now, and she sorely missed those golden weeks when she was only pen pals with Braeburn and they talked about frivolous things like what sunsets looked like and how terrible expectations left unchecked could be.

There’s a lesson I could have learned long ago, she thought. I came for Braeburn and stayed for the unmitigated disaster. It was like the creeping dread of that day her friends demanded more and more and more for their Gala dresses, gradually drowning her original intent in a sea of unnecessary distractions.

“Thought ya’ll’d come by.”

“Braeburn?” she asked, raising her head. Had he come after her?

But it was only Rusty Hinges, standing sullenly on the porch of his and Bonny’s house. Rarity came to, looking around in a daze. Somehow she’d wandered all the way back up the hill to the isolated ranch her antagonist lived upon. What a strange coincidence, if you happened to believe in coincidences.

“Oh,” she said, drooping again like a melting wax figure. “I thought you were… You have a very grown-up sort of voice for such a young colt.”

Rusty’s face scrunched with skepticism. “Izzat s’posed to be a compliment, lady?”

Rarity chuckled bitterly. “It depends on your viewpoint I suppose. But whyever would you think I’d come out this way? I was merely walking in a daze, you see. I’m sorry, but I seem to have helped doom your town.”

Rusty wiped his nose. “Yeah. I saw all that commotion. Most excitin’ week this place has ever had. Usually it’s just a sandstorm or a fight at the tavern or something boring like that. But I thought you’d come out here to yell at my sister.”

“Where is she?”

“Gone into town to yell at you, I guess. She left not long after the train did; you musta missed her.” Rusty gestured back at the house. “She were holed up in here while everypony was gettin’ ready for that brou-ha-ha you cooked up. Didn’t let me outta the house, no sir. Just watched it all through the window and sneered atcha. ‘Look at ‘em,’ she’d say. ‘All scurryin’ around like headless chickens. All following that Rarity pony like a bunch of ducklings follows its Mama.’”

Rarity turned towards the little colt, took a step, one hoof raised. “What do you think of me, Rusty?”

The boy looked surprised to be asked his opinion. “What, me? What’s it matter to you?”

“Everything,” Rarity said before she could stop herself. “What I mean is, I want to understand what I am to this town. Everypony back down there—I know they look at me either as some kind of savior or an arrogant dude pony. They weren’t made to deal with the problems I brought, with the problems they had before me. Your own sister can’t stand the sight of me. You must have some thoughts on all this.”

Rusty scuffed his hoof on the porch. He looked pensive. Overwhelmed. Rarity was about to apologize for going off on him when he looked up again.

“I dunno if it makes any difference,” he said, “but you don’t seem like a bad pony. I think everyone’s just kinda too angry to look around an’ think. I know my sister is.” He scuffed the porch again, looking everywhere but right at Rarity. “She never really asked me how I felt,” he said. “Not once, even before we came here.”

An awkward silence prevailed between them. For a while there was nothing but wind.

“You wanna sit down in the shade, miss Rarity?” Rusty asked.

Rarity smiled. Any kindness was a treat right now. “Why how kind of you to offer, mister Hinges,” she said with a curtsey, enjoying how he flushed and shilly-shallyed at her overwrought appreciation. Rarity seated herself on a bench beneath the awning.

“I made mistakes,” she said. “I saw what the town thought of me when I got here, but in the end I perhaps made it too much about myself. I thought it would be simple to win them over. Just show them what a wonder my plan would be, just wait and see… wait and see. It always worked with my customers in Ponyville because they already believed in me.”

“Yeah…” Rusty grumbled, sitting down on the front stairs. “We all made mistakes.”

“That’s a very mature way of thinking,” said Rarity. “Do all colts grow up so fast around here?”

“Dunno. No new births just yet,” said Rusty, the humor in her voice going right over his head. “An’ I ain’t all grown-up just yet. But… yeah. Me an’ Bonny have been on our own for a while now. Our parents, they, uh…” He clamped his mouth shut and looked away. “Bonny don’t like me speakin’ about them.”

“Did you want to?” Rarity asked tenderly, carefully, like she was coaxing a terrible admission from Sweetie Belle.

Rusty licked his lips. “I, I dunno,” he said. “You wouldn’t understand. But sis… Bonny, she… she’s angry, Rarity. An’ it’s not just with you. It’s with this whole thing, with Appleloosa, an’ bein’ here, an’…” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I haven’t been able to talk to her in a while. I mean normally I don’t even talk this much!” He looked up at Rarity, desperate and small. “But she’s been gettin’ worse. Always telling me to keep quiet an’ do what she says, or pushin’ me outta the way. I’m sick of it! It ain’t good for her! She’s done so much to take care of me, but when I try to say anything about anything, she just-”

“Shh,” Rarity cooed, coming over and laying her hoof on the back of his head, gently stroking his mane. “There, there. Deep breaths. I must say this is the most talkative I ever thought you’d be.”

“… It’s cuz I feel guilty,” said Rusty, glaring at the ground but not moving away from her hoof. Rarity wondered if this was the first motherly, tender touch he’d felt in a long time.

“Why is that?”

Rusty chewed on his hoof. Then he seemed to come to a decision and nodded to himself. “She’s gonna tan my hide, but I don’t care. She dragged us all the way out here, least she can do is make up for it.” He looked up at Rarity, and she was taken aback by the flinty look in his eyes. “I think she done sabotaged you, miss Rarity.”

Rarity felt a knot of hot, squeezing guilt upset her stomach, but she just kept stroking his mane. “I suspected as much,” she whispered. “But I didn’t want to think about it. The Dust Dogs said something about their things being stolen and their mines being trashed.”

“I didn’t know she’d go so far, I swear! But it’s the only thing that makes sense. How she went off without bein’ seen the last few days, how angry she’s been… an’ when she came back, she was all dusty an’ stuff, an’ never answered me when I asked where she’d been. Please don’t get her in trouble though, miss Rarity. I swear she just thinks this is for our good or somethin’ stupid like that. It always is with her.”

“Why do you think she’s done all this?”

“She wants to be in control,” Rusty groaned. “She always wants that. It’s cuz of the way our family was back before she brought us from M—” He clapped his hooves over his mouth, eyes going wide. “I-I mean…”

“Manehattan, am I right?” Rarity asked wryly.

Rusty blinked. “How’d you know?”

“Her accent slipped back in the Dust Dog mines. I knew then, and you only confirmed my suspicions. Not only are you and Bonny not natives to the frontier, you were not born anywhere near it.”

Rusty slapped the porch with his hoof. “Wol’, I don’t wanna go back there anyway! I’ve lived out here long enough I talk the talk an’ walk the walk. But Bonny, she never got over what happened to bring us out here.”

“What did, exactly?”

“I shouldn’t say it,” Rusty said, shaking his head. “I ain’t good at talkin’ about that sorta thing. It’s grown-up stuff. Me an’ Bonny, we both grew up too fast. But she’ll talk about it if you press her enough. She won’t have a choice. I-I’ll make her talk to ya! She can’t just hide from it no more, it’s gonna wreck everything we built!”

“Don’t worry,” said Rarity. “I will speak with her, properly. Mare to mare, where she can’t hide behind her position or her anger. But not right now.”

“Then what are ya gonna do?”

Rarity stood up and dusted off her dress. “First of all, I am going to get changed. Then I am going to fix what your sister has tried to destroy.”

“But how? Those Dust Dogs—”

“Are not beyond reason. I know that because they have reasons. They had a reason to come here, a reason to stay, a reason to attack. I will give them a reason to be at peace. If and when we deal with all these… distasteful distractions, then perhaps we can finally return to resolving the dispute tearing this town apart. But one thing must be solved at a time.” She walked back to the path leading into town.

“Miss Rarity,” said Rusty. Rarity stopped and looked back.

“You ain’t a bad pony,” he said. “I hope you can fix it.”

Rarity gave him a smile, but it slipped away as soon as her back was turned.

She went back into town and found Apple Tart pacing in front of Ben Barette’s Mane Care, worried out of her wits.

“Rarity!” Apple Tart said when she spotted her approaching. “I’ve got bad news. Bonny’s been stirrin’ up trouble, started haranguing ponies somethin’ awful after the city-ponies left. I think she’s tryin’ to turn everyone against you! I tried to get Braeburn but he’s just a mess an’ Silverstar’s fit to be tied an’ I don’t even know where Strongheart is how do you lose a bunch of buffalo I mean I’m not sayin’ she’s fat or nothin’ but—”

Rarity plugged her mouth with a hoof. “Stay calm. This is not the time to panic. It is the time for action, and quick action. Find Little Strongheart and tell her to meet me outside the town. Then… I would like you to bake a pie.”

Chapter 7

The crunch of desert sand underhoof made Rarity shiver. There was something depressing about it, how it emphasized her slow, meandering trudge under the night sky. She was alone right now, and that made her keenly aware of every loud step and every chilly breath. Her lungs felt like they froze and thawed over and over again, the sand was especially grating on her hooves, and wisps of her mane invaded her eyes at the slightest breeze.

There was a knot in her chest, right where her heart should be. Her feelings were all tangled up like a thorny vine, and she didn’t know how to pull it apart to find the truth inside. The only truth she knew now was that she had to stay and fix the mess she’d helped create. It wasn’t a matter of being generous anymore. If she left it now, without even trying, she would unravel. She couldn’t stand the idea of slinking off into the night, never to return, never to feel the sweet satisfaction of closure. Not even that she couldn’t stand it—her mind simply didn’t allow the possibility. No, this wasn’t what she wanted to do. It was simply what must be done.

She saw Little Strongheart in the distance as only a lumpy shadow, indistinguishable even under the bright starlight from the rocks littering the landscape. At least she was still faithful. Or perhaps she just had no idea what else to do, and prayed that by clinging to Rarity’s plan, she might find an answer. Rarity didn’t know. She just knew that doing something was the only thing to do. As she drew closer, Strongheart’s large head swung Rarity’s way, and a weary smile greeted the mare as she approached.

“I am so happy to see you Rarity,” said Strongheart. “I was happy to see you before, but tonight I am more relieved than ever. Please forgive me, but I worried that you would not show and we would be left alone.”

“Never,” said Rarity. “I helped start this fiasco, and I will finish it. I brought my share of the goods. Have you?”

“Of course.” The buffalo turned and revealed the tarpaulin covering a pile of apples that nearly swamped the cart. “All the apples I could fit. I hope it will be enough.”

Rarity pulled out the pie she’d been saving in her saddlebag, giving it a fond pat with her hoof. “It’s not about quantity right now,” she answered. “It is about our willingness to salvage the situation. I may have discovered the root of the problem. After I saw all the ponies in town so quick to circle their wagons and lash out at what made them afraid, when I saw how heartbroken Braeburn was over the orchards, it came to me. Appleloosa has put its heart and soul into the growing and selling of apples. It cannot think of anything else. It cannot… pardon the expression… branch out. Without open-mindedness, without realizing not only apples and apple-growers can live here, they will wither on the vine. We must show them—we must show all of them that there is another path. You and the ponies accepted each other when your traditions were no longer threatened. Now we must all accept that sometimes even the oldest fields must be uprooted.”

“Spoken like a true pony of the earth,” Strongheart said with a cautious, gentle smile. “Are you sure you are a unicorn, Rarity?”

“We are all ponies of the earth, Strongheart,” Rarity reflected, idly pushing sand around with her hoof and staring at the patterns she left behind. “Whatever adornments we have, we cannot escape the one connection that binds us all: we share this land, and we must live in peace upon it.”

Strongheart bowed her head, murmuring under her breath in her native tongue. Rarity guessed it was some quiet act of reverence, or perhaps just a prayer for good luck. Either way, she didn’t interrupted, and Strongheart finished her ritual by stamping her hooves on the ground and snorting, as if bracing herself.

“Let us be off,” said Strongheart. “We should finish this business quickly.”

They found their way to the entrance of the Dust Dog home with less trouble than Rarity anticipated. They brazenly used the very same tunnel she had entered through just a week ago, leaving paw tracks and wagon trails right up to the stone floor inside the cave. The duo made their intentions known at the entrance to the Dust Dog caves as best as they could: Rarity fired off a few signal flare spells, and Strongheart bellowed as loud as she could into the gaping tunnel mouth. No answer came for several minutes.

“We will have to find them ourselves,” Rarity said simply. “I don’t remember the exact way, but the principle from before should still hold true: follow the gems, find the Dogs.”

Strongheart scuffed her hoof. “But we cannot search by ourselves. What if the Dogs do not even try to meet with us? We would perish of hunger before we combed this entire hill range.”

“The Dogs will come. They cannot simply ignore us.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I brought them better clothes.”

Rarity reached into her saddlebags and pulled out several pieces of folded fabric. She gave them a whip while she held them in her teeth, and they unfurled into fine clothes far too big for any pony. Strongheart was impressed.

“Did you just make these before we came out here?”

“It wasn’t difficult,” said Rarity, floating them before her with magic. “They’re hardly my absolute best work, but it will be enough to satisfy a Dust Dog and that is all I care about. They believe that having better things makes them better people, and anything is better than the rags I saw them in last time. Why, I’d give these clothes to them just on principle to get rid of those crimes against fashion!” She slipped them back into her bags, folding them neatly one at a time.

Strongheart flicked her tail, looking confused and impressed at the same time. “If you think it will help, then I trust you,” she said. “But we must find the Dogs first.”

Rarity’s horn glowed brighter, and within the very rock signs of gems glowed with it. They followed the familiar cold and dark paths into the bowels of the earth, the terror and loneliness lessened now by urgency. There were no new tunnels that Rarity could see, and the gems still revealed themselves as easily as last time. When they’d gone a ways, Rarity stopped amid a cluster of manganese.

“This is where the tunnel began to narrow,” she said. “I’d remember this fantastic cluster of rhodochrosite anywhere. Which should mean that we’re getting close to the lake… and the Dogs themselves.”

“Rarity,” Strongheart asked as they began the laborious task of navigating the narrower tunnels, “I have been thinking quite a lot recently.”

“As have I,” said Rarity, picking her way over jagged stalagmites. “If you are worried about the fate of Appleloosa, simply trust that we are doing all that we can, and that will have to be enough.”

“It is not just that,” Strongheart replied, sucking in her gut to worm through a sharp turn. “But I have been thinking about you, too. You have changed since you came here. I recall the first time we met, when Rainbow Dash brought us to the parley, and later in the town. I remember that you were not the mare you are now.”

“How so, dear?”

“You are more like yourself.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“My apologies. It is a saying among my people that does not translate well to Equestrian. I am saying that you are more like the pony you seem to have always been destined to be. Before you wore perfume and moved with the stuttering awkwardness of a pony who is trying to become someone else. But now you do not need perfume—you did not put on any before we came here. And the way you move, the way you walk, it is with the grace and confidence of Chief Thunderhoof himself. You are more yourself than you have ever been. You know who you are and what you are meant to do. Do you understand?”

“I am not sure I do, Strongheart,” Rarity said, turning and holding the buffalo’s hoof to yank her through a particularly difficult section of tunnel. “But I do trust you. If you say it is so, I will believe you. I know that I’m not doing this because I’m confident or classy or even that sure of myself. I’m just trying to do what’s right.”

“Then everything superfluous has been stripped away by this ordeal,” said Strongheart, popping out of the bottleneck and landing gracefully on all four hooves. “You are going into this with the purest motivations of any of us. For that, I think you can trust that you will succeed.”

Rarity’s heart beat in her chest as she led the way once more, reaching a familiar opening. Beyond it stretched the lake, as old and still as it ever had been.

“We’re here,” she said.

“But still no Dogs,” muttered Strongheart. “How do we bring them to us?”

Rarity smiled coyly. “Just leave that to me, darling. I am about to perform a time-tested ritual that has never failed me before, and will bring those Dogs running like Spike to a gem feast. Ahem.”

She raised her head, perfecting her posture, planting all four hooves in the ground. Then, in a loud and clear voice, she started to whine.

“Ugh, these Dust Dogs are just sooooo lazy and sooooo hard to find these days! Where could they be, it’s just so rude for them to not show up!”

Strongheart covered her ears, grimacing. The sight only encouraged Rarity. If even stout Strongheart was quailing, her voice had to be carrying all the way to sensitive Dust Dog ears. She redoubled her efforts, straining her vocal cords to reach heights of whiny squealing such as had never been uttered before.

“Why do they have to make it so hard! And eww, there’s mud and dirt and ick all over the place! How disgusting and nasty, this is the grossest place everrrr!”

The wall nearby exploded as a Dust Dog tore it apart with his bare paws. Three more were behind him, all of them growling and snarling, their eyes bulging as they clawed at the air, complaining loudly about the racket. Rarity smiled as she recognized the leader as none other than Ruff, who spotted her and immediately narrowed his eyes. He charged forward, skidding to a halt in front of Rarity and slamming his massive paws down beside her. He stuck his face close to hers and bellowed right in front front her nose.

“Why is pony always whining?!”

Rarity tittered and stroked his chin. “Oh, Ruff, you do know how to make an entrance. I knew you’d come running when you heard it was me.”

“Do not try fancy pony tricks!” Ruff snarled, batting her hoof away. “You come back here after we tell you to leave! After we tell you to stop bothering us! You have broken treaty, broken peace, now you come and whine to us?! We will make you wagon-pony for this outrage!”

Strongheart snorted, baring her horns at him. “You will have to go through me first!”

“Now now,” Rarity said calmly. “I am not here to make a scene. Let’s not make this a repeat of our unfortunate first meeting. I am here to offer a path to peace. One that doesn’t involve anyone giving up anything. An offer of mutual understanding and an initiative that will make sure we all get what we want.”

“Your words make me angry, pony,” Ruff spat. “What do you have that we could not take for ourselves?”

“Well that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Rarity asked, fluffing her mane. “Everyone involved is only interested in what they can take. The ponies of Appleloosa want to take from the land and turn it into a shield. The business ponies hounding them want to take their share of the profits. You want to take the land in general. Everybody wants to take, take, take, and there isn’t a single thought about what can be given. I’m amazed by how hard it is to convince ponies to just give when it can benefit all sides. It’s like pulling teeth. But I am here to give. I am here to give everything that I can.”

She opened her saddlebags and floated out the clothes. The Dogs behind Ruff immediately locked on to the fabrics, which weren’t bright or sequined or even all that matching, but they weren’t rags, and they were new, so it was impressive to the canines. They reached up, as if they could snatch the clothes right out of the air.

“Clothes?” muttered Ruff. “You brought us clothes?”

“Better clothes,” Rarity said with a smile. She felt the weight in her stomach lightening already as she let the clothes down. The Dogs pounced on them except for Ruff, who looked petulantly obstinate. “And there’s more where that came from, and not just from me. I want to propose something that we all may have thought of, but never really wanted to try: that you all simply live together, like the Appleloosans did with the buffalo. They allowed it this first time because the buffalo took nothing, in the end… but now it is time for Appleloosa to realize that they must give of themselves to be truly harmonious.”

Ruff stared at the cave floor, still as a statue. The only signs of movement were the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, and the twitch of his ears at every little noise.

“You bring us this,” he said. “But why Dust Dogs believe you? Why Dust Dogs trust you to make your little town keep your promises? Ponies have robbed us. Ponies have chased us away.”

He pointed up at the ceiling. “Ponies with gold and with spears chase us. Make us afraid of the sky, of the sun, the sound of wind.” He pointed back south, towards Appleloosa. “Ponies with big hats look at us funny, use us, make us angry so we attack them, blame us for fighting back. Now you.” His big paw swung around again, pointing down Rarity’s nose. “You say you are suddenly so different? Because you bring trinkets? Because you bring pie? But you trick us with our desperation.” He patted his own gaunt stomach. “We have little to lose, but that little is all.”

“I know what this could mean for your people,” said Rarity. “But you can gain everything if you trust me.”

“Hmf!” Ruff snorted, turning away. “And what does pony want in return, hmm? Gems, yes? Always ponies want our gems!”

“While you do have an absolutely fantastic assortment of geodes, gems, minerals, and precious metals down here, I can think of something that will benefit Appleloosa much more than that.” Rarity jerked her head towards the lake. “You can give them life.”

“Water?!” Ruff snarled, rounding on Rarity once more. “You want our water, pony?!”

“They need that water to cultivate more land, better crops!” Rarity shot back. “Appleloosa is all but ignored by the weather makers further north; they just get cast-offs and errant thunderheads. But with an aquifer like this, they can irrigate ten times as much. They can regrow what you took from them in half the time. And the surplus of that bounty will turn into food for you and your Dogs. I’m sure you’ve smelled it since I came in here.” Rarity shared a smile with Strongheart as she slowly slipped the pie out of her bags, waving it in front of the Dogs. They snapped to attention, following it wherever it floated in unison.

“Its intoxicating aroma, the gentle scent of slow-baked apples underneath a heady mixture of cinnamon and brown sugar,” Rarity exclaimed, the words rolling off her tongue in seductive, measured tones. “But imagine this supplemented by sweet, crunchy carrots and the scent of warm bread fresh from the oven, savory tomatoes or crunchy asparagus! A bumper crop every year, a feast that you can indulge in due to your life-saving efforts!”

Ruff and the Dogs were panting, drooling, slavering at the very thought. Their tails thumped the ground, claws flexing as if imagining tearing into the food already.

“And with those formidable claws,” Strongheart added, “it can be harvested in record time. Ponies will be grateful.”

“Graaatefuuul,” Ruff whispered, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

Rarity felt a twist of guilt in her heart. She was using their hunger to gain their trust, she knew, but when you were giving the other party exactly what they wanted while leveraging their lack of it, was it really coercion? But when she looked at the Dogs, really looked at them, she felt pity more than anything else. These poor creatures had no idea what to do but what they’d always done: dig and steal and hide in the dark. They were gullible because they were so ignorant, not from any masterful manipulation on Rarity’s part. No, no matter what she felt, this had to be done. She had to help them all.

“Help give Appleloosa its bounty, and you will share in it,” she said, gently setting the pie down in the midst of them. In seconds the Dogs had torn it apart, shoving great handfuls into their mouths and licking their claws clean.

“Oh, and some gems too of course,” Rarity coughed behind her hoof.

Ruff looked up from his meal, spitting crumbs everywhere. “WHAAAT?!” In an instant he leapt up and crashed back down, punching the ground with his paws. “Those are our gems, pony! Our gems! You cannot just have them. What do Dogs get in return? For water, food and clothes. For gems, what?”

Rarity steeled herself. This was where the moment of truth would be, where she would make or break everything she’d worked for. “For gems,” she said, “you will have friendship.”

Utter silence for seven full seconds. Then every Dog in the cave burst out laughing, their mocking voices echoing over the lake.

“Friendship?!” Ruff asked. “You bring us friendship? What use have we for friendship? What use have we for ponies?! You! You come here, try to make fools of us! We will not have it, you see! We will not be tricked again! Not by you or anyone. Taking water is bad enough. Taking gems? Is stealing!”

“You will have no greater treasure than a staunch ally,” Rarity countered. “Appleloosa is in dire straits. They need finances to stay afloat, to buy the necessary supplies to grow instead of stagnate. They will put in a good word for you with the rest of Equestria, if necessary. And when everyone sees what good and helpful creatures you are, I know they will react favorably.”

Rarity knew she was reaching here, making promises she couldn’t necessarily keep. But without a little faith, what good was any of this? What good was being a pony?

Ruff stared at the cave floor, still as a statue. The only signs of movement were the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, and the twitch of his ears at every little noise.

“You bring us this,” he said, “and you say you bring us food. But why Dust Dogs believe you? Why Dust Dogs trust you to make your little town keep your promises? Ponies have robbed us. Ponies have chased us away.”

“You have no reason to believe me,” Rarity whispered.

“I do not,” said Ruff.

“Then believe in a future for your people,” Rarity replied, raising her chin. “Believe in a day when you live underground because you want to, not because you have to. Believe that you will have the respect you crave when you show ponies that you are better at making friends than they could have imagined. Believe in your own capacity for goodness and forgiveness. Dare to be generous with your heart like I am now.” She looked away, tired and sad. “I have almost nothing left to lose anymore, Ruff. I am not fighting against any single pony or group of ponies. I know that now. I am fighting against that age-old obstinance that sees enemies everywhere, that puts up fences and borders and thinks first of anger and readies their hoof to strike instead of give. I am the Element of Generosity, and sometimes even I forget how to be generous. But I am trying to do that, now: I am giving everyone another chance to fix this before it’s too late.”

She looked back up at the Dust Dog, who regarded her with beady eyes that darted back and forth. “So can you do that, Ruff? Can you reach out and take that chance just one more time?”

Far in the distance, water dripped onto the surface of the lake, disturbing its pristine surface. The Dogs behind Ruff sheepishly picked at their new clothes, all of them exchanging looks that said none of them wanted to be the first to speak. Little Strongheart sniffled and rubbed her nose, melancholy and proud of Rarity at once.

Ruff grunted, a low, amused sound. “Pony has much better words than Dogs,” he said. “Pony may be lying. But pony might also be telling the truth. Never know. Never know.” He scratched his wide nose, making little noises of consideration. “Perhaps… is good to try. Much good to have. Much bad if we fail. But we have always had bad things.”

He looked back over his Dogs, who stared at him uncertainly. Rarity noted the way they wanted, needed direction.

“It is time my Dogs had something good,” Ruff decided. “And we will not have that chasing and being chased and hurting ponies who will only hurt us back. I think we will try.”

Rarity felt her legs sag, her entire body seeming to exhale out of her as she breathed, her head drooping nearly to the floor. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to us. How much it can help us all.”

“We will believe when we see,” Ruff answered. “Now what does whiny pony want us to do about town? About ponies who thieve from us? They must be punished! They must pay back! You ask us to give, give, give. But we will hear from horse’s own mouth what we receive.”

“Appleloosa will make full reparations for any of your damaged goods,” Rarity promised. “We will even buy you new equipment if that is necessary. Surely the bounty you help them reap will pay for it.”

“Puh,” said Ruff. “Dust Dogs do not think all ponies are as… generous as you. Think you are making promises you may not be able to keep!”

“Even a promise written in stone can be broken,” answered Rarity. “No, ultimately I cannot control the ponies of Appleloosa. You must all make these decisions for yourselves. But they will, because if they do not, their town will die.” She could hear the angry voices of farm ponies ringing in her ears, but she knew that every side had to be expected to give a little in order to get a little. She only hoped that she wasn’t making a terrible mistake.

“What must we do now?” asked Strongheart.

“Now,” Rarity answered, “we find a way to speak with the town. I suspect by now Bonny has whipped the ponies into a frenzy. So we will return, and I will confront Bonny myself, refuting her poisonous logic and telling the Appleloosans of the agreements I’ve made in lieu of their good sense. It is high time that we settled our differences once and for all. We must present a united front, so, Strongheart, Ruff… will you both be so kind as to accompany me when we return?”

“Of course,” said Strongheart.

“Dogs will come,” Ruff grunted, scratching his chin. "But I think that we will need many rubber band guns.”

“It won’t come to that,” said Rarity. “Bring nothing that might convince them that you are a threat. Only yourselves.”

“Ponies think Dogs in general are threat,” said Ruff, “but I agree. We will bring no rubber bands.”

Rarity rubbed her eyes. “Good,” she said, her voice thick with sleepiness. “Good. I am… I am so very grateful that, oh… oh!” She let out a yawn, covering her mouth with her hoof. “Oh goodness gracious me, I am so sorry.”

“It is late and we have traveled a long way,” said Strongheart. “We would be ever so grateful if you could allow us to remain here for the night. I would not even object to us both sleeping here by your shores.”

“You would... sleep here?” Ruff asked. “With dirt and non-pony beds? Among Dogs who hate you?”

“Well, if you’re offering,” Rarity said, grinning nervously; she didn’t relish the prospect at all. “But if there’s no room, there’s no room!”

“It is also a long way back to our homes,” Strongheart said, almost obliviously matter-of-fact. “It would be an excellent sign of trust for us to stay here, at least overnight.”

“Oh, well, perhaps we could…” Rarity kicked at a little stone, watching it roll into the lake. “Find our own accommodations.”

No!” said Ruff with an emphatic wave of his paw. “Pony and extra-big pony are guests now. Dust Dogs will prove themselves! Make things even better for us later, yes? And make you extra guilty if you back out! Yes. Ruff likes that part a lot. You will stay and know our hospitality. Then you will be our best friends, and everything will be nice,” he finished with a shark-like grin.

Strongheart and Rarity grinned back nervously as Ruff waved towards the tunnels. “Pony will sleep here tonight. And extra-big pony, too.”

“I am a buffalo,” said Strongheart, testily.

“Buffalo will also stay. It will let Dogs get used to their scents, and trust them. We believe you can trust no one that you cannot smell.”

“There’s a strange sort of wisdom in that,” Rarity said with a little smile. “Very well, then. Lead on. And you may keep the clothes. They are for you after all.”

“Pony is very nice,” said Ruff. “Come, both of you We will go back to inner sanctum and you will sleep in the warm embrace of the earth! Dust will be your blanket, and the rock your pillows.”

“Oh my,” said Rarity, fanning herself with a hoof. “That sounds dreadful…ly lovely! Dreadfully lovely.”

“Do not worry, Rarity,” Strongheart said, smiling. “I am very well accustomed to sleeping in the rough. I will show you the tricks by which you may get a good night’s sleep even when there is nothing beneath your head but gravel!”

“You are not making me optimistic about my chances,” Rarity muttered. “But if I must, I must.”

“No, not gravel! Even better!” Ruff hefted a large flat rock. “Igneous!”

Rarity put a hoof over her face and groaned.

Chapter 8

Rarity stood at the front of town hall, stricken with a sharp feeling of deja vu. She had been here just a week prior, and Sheriff Silverstar sat over there, just like he did last time, Braeburn stood there, also just like he did last time, and she fanned herself just the way she was doing now. Goodness, it seemed even most of the townsfolk sat just where they were before. But the one thing that had changed was how it all made her feel. She no longer felt a chill down her spine or beads of sweat on her brow. She stood tall and matched them stare for stare. Each and every one was answered. She was confident. She was ready.

Not even the sight of Bona Fide scowling in the back could shake her confidence.

“Rarity,” whispered Apple Tart as she snuck up next to her. “Are ya sure you don’t need anything else?”

“I will be fine,” said Rarity. “Coldcock and the others did as I asked, yes?”

“Eeyup. Your guests are waitin’ out back, an’ the rest of the town is none the wiser.” Apple Tart pursed her lips. “But I gotta say, of all the ideas I’ve heard from you, Rarity, this one definitely takes the cake. Are ya sure you wanna do this?”

“You ask me this now?” Rarity raised her eyebrow. “Right here when everyone is all assembled and we’re mere seconds from going through with it?”

Apple Tart scuffed her hoof, toying with the new braid in her mane Rarity made for her that morning. “Heh, I guess I’m more nervous than you, Rarity. Sorta hopin’ you would back out so I wouldn’t have ta’ admit it.”

Rarity put a hoof on her shoulder. “Come now.” She raised Apple Tart’s chin with a bit of magic. “Liberate yourself with the knowledge that no matter what happens, we did everything we could. When you do that, what happens afterward is all that ever could have happened, and you have nothing to feel guilty for.” Apple Tart managed a little smile as Rarity pushed her back towards the crowd. “Now go on and take your seat. Just seeing you out there will help me do what I have to do.”

Rarity stood back and sighed, centering herself. All that was left was to fix everything that had gone wrong. No pressure at all. She took her place on the dais at the front of the hall and cleared her throat for attention, despite the fact that most of the town had been staring at her expectantly since she walked in.

“Gentleponies,” she said, holding her head high, “let me begin by thanking you all for being here. Not just here at this meeting, but here. In Appleloosa, in Equestria, in each other’s lives. I know that times have been trying recently. Celestia knows you’ve all seen me rushing back and forth, trying to fix what I probably should have left well alone. But I brought you all here because I want to propose something that will put to rest every worry, every fear, every concern you may have. But it will require a little something from you, too: your trust, and your humility. For too long we have all focused on our own vanity; myself included. What we could do, what we could seize control of, and how our names above all others might be put down as the ones who solved the problem for everypony else. Others among us tried to be aloof, to wash their hooves of the entire debate, and hope to come out of it clean. But they too forgot that as ponies, we do nothing alone, or we perish. Our friendships, our bonds, are intrinsic to our being. There is no choice more desultory than to choose nothing. A spirited few have tried to compromise, to keep everyone happy, but that is no true solution. What does mere compromise do but take something from everyone?

“So I come to everypony to say: give. Give of your hearts and minds. Give of your own traditions, the things that you hold so close to your chests. Give of yourselves. Does Harmony count only for ponies? Does friendship extend only to those of unicorn, earth, and pegasus? How could we delineate further, drawing lines and borders between ourselves, saying: ‘Here, you will not cross’?”

Rarity paused for a moment, gauging the crowd’s reaction. Some of them looked disinterested. Even bored. Those were mostly in Bona Fide’s camp, of course. Others watched with rapt attention.

“When I first came here, I thought that magic and wonder could be found only in the places I’d known: Ponyville, Canterlot, those places near to Equestria’s heart. But then I learned, as you should from every new experience. I learned that magic could be found anywhere, even in the wilderness, even in the most desolate places on earth. Because we bring it there!”

She banged her hoof on the podium and amplified the sound with her magic. Everypony jumped.

“We, the magical, friendly ponies of Equestria, can bring magic and see magic all around us! Is it not intrinsic to our very natures? If only we’d just open our eyes! If only we’d just be friends. I ask you to be generous with your hearts! Generous enough to spread it to the whole land! Generous enough that it doesn’t matter how much is taken, because more is always ready to be given! I ask you to be generous as I have tried to be generous with all of you. You don’t have to answer, but ask yourselves this: how much are you willing to give, and to trust that you will be given to in return, not because you expect a reward, but because that is simply the way the world is?”

Some ponies looked down at their hooves and shuffled in their seats. Others glared obstinately. A bead of sweat tickled Rarity’s cheek. Sheriff Silverstar was inscrutable, but seemed pleased with himself all the same. In the back, Bonny sat stoic and tall. Rusty Hinges sat next to her, tugging at a bandana around his neck.

“I have brought representatives,” Rarity tried to say, but it came out rough and quiet and not at all inspiring.

She tried again, “I have brought representatives to discuss a new alignment in our thinking. Some you know. Others… not so much.” She tapped her hoof on the floor. “Apple Tart, Coldcock, if you’d be dears.”

The side door swung open, and the two ponies walked in with Ruff and two of his Dust Dogs in tow, and behind them, Little Strongheart.

There was an uproar, immediate and sustained, that Rarity hadn’t quite expected. Many Appleloosans jumped from their seats, hooves flailing and jaws flapping, Sheriff Silverstar banged his table furiously for order, Ruff started grumbling about how ponies were hard on the ears, and Strongheart covered her face with a hoof.

“Gentleponies,” said Rarity, to no avail.

“Gentleponies!” she said again, to even lesser effect.

She then rolled her eyes and stomped her hoof. A brilliant light and a blast of noise erupted from her horn, drowning out the ruckus. Startled ponies glanced around the room before their gazes settled on Rarity, and one by one they sat back down.

“Really, must you act like children every time you think you find a rotten apple?” she snapped with more anger than she intended, but she was at the limits of her patience. “Look around you! Your town is tearing apart at the seams! You are stricken with disunity and chaos, and if it takes a shock like this to make you see it, then so be it! I have made my share of mistakes, it’s true. I took this town’s problems as my own without really understanding it. Without really knowing,” she said with a sidelong glance at Braeburn, who tugged at the rim of his hat, “what it expected of me at all. I came here on a whim. I was the invader. But I have also done what so precious few of you have tried to do.”

She touched Apple Tart’s hoof, and then Coldcock’s, and smiled. “Make friends.”

“She ain’t a bad sort,” Coldcock rumbled. “Ya’ll know me. I don’t cotton to most ponies easy, but this here Rarity… she’s somethin’ else. She’s here to help. Not coerce us or bribe us or chase us off. She messed up a few times, sure. But her heart’s in the right place. That’s what matters t’me.”

“And me!” Apple Tart piped up. She stood tall and puffed out her chest, opening her mouth to say more, and then she faltered, erupted in a blush and hid behind her hat. “Uh. Well, that is, what Coldcock said, yeah. He kinda… said everythin’ I was gonna, so… so Rarity’s my friend an’ that’s that!”

“You’re one of them ponies who’s enamored with all the glitz those city ponies brought with ‘em!” shouted an irate voice from the crowd. “One of those folk who’d just skip town if the goin’ got tough!”

Rarity blustered and stepped up. “Now look here, whoever you are—”

“Well ya know what?!” Apple Tart’s voice rolled right over Rarity’s. “I think you’re right!” The mare stepped in front of Rarity again, planting her hooves firmly on the dais, eyes narrowed and cheeks puffed out something awful. Rarity took a step back when she realized that, for the first time, she was seeing Apple Tart well and truly mad. “I think I really would skip town if this is how it’s gonna be all the time, all of us fussin’ an’ snortin’ at each other about this and that. It’s all a bunch of cherry-pickin’ nonsense what we’re doin’ to ourselves!” She pointed a hoof at Rarity. “We can’t expect the solution to just fall outta the sky, ponies! You’re all actin’ like a bunch a’ rattlesnakes stuck in a barrel, hissin’ an’ spittin’ at whoever comes by to tip your barrel an’ getcha out. All you can think about is how uncomfortable it makes you. Well guess what: change is uncomfortable! Don’t you remember what it was like to tame this place? Beatin’ down sand storms an’ huddlin’ against the cold; why it seemed we were buildin’ Appleloosa all over again every other week!

“Well I’m sick of it, you hear me? I’m sick of us not learnin’ our lesson! Appleloosa is our home. It’s my home too. But we’re gonna lose it if we keep up this pointless squabblin’! Can’t ya’ll for once, just once, think beyond those hills on the horizon? Remember that we’re ponies of Equestria! Remember what we stand to lose if we cling so hard to what we wanna keep!”

She fell back into uncomfortable silence. She retreated into Coldcock’s hooves, hiding her face.

Rarity looked back over the crowd. They were subdued now, thoughtful, not quite as sullen. Bona Fide looked as unmoved as a rock.

“I think,” said Rarity, “that if you simply let the other side talk… there may yet be an understanding. I have gone to the Dust Dogs and negotiated with them a deal that I think will benefit this town greatly. But let their leader tell it for himself.”

Ruff stepped up to the podium, tugging on his threadbare jacket like it had the lapels of a fancy tuxedo.

“Pony speaks right,” he said, trying to keep his growly, scratchy voice at a consistent volume. “Pony came to us to talk. Dogs thought that she was there to hurt us, like your ponies hurt us! Is true! Ponies came and wrecked our tools, destroyed our wagons. We struck back, and all was nearly ruin and madness. We were very angry.”

“Those are very serious charges,” Silverstar said. “You sure you can prove it was our ponies that committed this act of vandalism? Some solid evidence?”

“No other ponies in desert, yes?” Ruff growled. “Think some will own up to it, and proudly, yes! But… no. We… have none of this ‘evidence.’”

“Don’t that just beat all?” said Bonny, along with some assenting noises from the crowd. All of them got glares from the other ponies.

“If the commentary is done,” Silverstar said, with the first sign of agitation Rarity had ever seen from him, “then let’s move on with the proceedings. You still got the floor, mister, uh, Ruff.”

Ruff cleared his throat. “We were very angry,” he said again. “But then this pony,” and here he pointed at Rarity, “came back. She told us of your troubles, and we told her of ours. There is water in the hills, ponies. Water that you may have… because we are in need as well. We came here because we were chased by other ponies, in golden armor and long spears, when we were Diamond Dogs who lived too close to pony lands. So we are Dust Dogs here, and dust is all we have! We have no farms. We have no knowledge of living off the land. We scrape algae off rocks and hunt little birds in the rocks and little bugs in the caves. We do not grow. We do not become strong. But you ponies are masters of rock and earth and plants! You have food. Much food. More water will grow more food, yes? And for food and peace, we give water… and gems.”

He held up a paw and rubbed thumb against forefinger. “Gems we have too. Gems beyond count! Normally, we… do not give away gems. No. But Miss Rarity spoke with us through the night and into the morning. She told us that giving some gems gives us more in return. And if giving what we have makes ponies give back… then that is what we will do. Not friends!” He abruptly sliced a paw downwards, and then wilted when he saw Rarity glaring at him. “But, um… good start, yes? Yes.”

Sheriff Silverstar twirled his moustache. “Heartland ponies will eat up gemstones about as much as they do our apples. It’s not a bad idea by any means. Extra things to sell means more income, means more… control. We may yet find a way to keep this ol’ dustbucket viable, eh?”

“Don’t go lecturin’ us on economics, Sheriff,” Bonny growled from the back. “This ain’t a done deal until the town’s voted on it.”

“I ain’t comin’ down on one side or another,” Silverstar said, patting the air with his hoof as if to tamp down Bonny’s temper. “But it’s important t’ be cognizant of every potential pitfall an’ boon that may come our way, don’tcha think, Bonny?”

Bonny huffed and crossed her forelegs. “Whatever you say, Sheriff.”

“Speakin’ of votes,” said the Sheriff, “I think it’s high time the town made up its own mind about all this. I motion for—”

“I abstain!” shouted Bonny, standing up so quickly she knocked her chair over. “This is ridiculous! Ya’ll’er lettin’ this city pony waltz in an’ twist our words around, our—”

“No!” Rarity said, jumping up. “You were about to say ‘our way of life,’ weren’t you? Weren’t you?”

Bonny stood still, her hoof still pointing. She seemed too surprised to speak, her cheeks puffed out with barely-restrained fury.

“What kind of a way of life is this?!” Rarity said, throwing her mane back. “Disputing every attempt to reach out, pushing away every lifeline thrown to you? What do you gain from it, any of you? What can you possibly be trying to preserve when your homes threaten to come to ruin and all that will be left is the dust on which you sit?”

“It’s our choice,” Bonny seethed. “We built this town by our own hooves! By our own sweat an’ tears! An’ I ain’t gonna let some pesky Manehattan socialite come an’ drive their stinkin’ tendrils into my life again! I ain’t, y’hear me?!”

“Fillydelphia!” Rarity snapped back. “I told you, it’s Fillydelphia my family hails from, and in case you didn’t notice, Bona Fide, you are speaking entirely for yourself at the moment.”

“You don’t know anything about me!” Bonny raged, spinning around to the Appleloosans around her. Rarity raised an eyebrow, noting that her southern drawl had slipped once more. Bonny wasn’t even making a pretense of having one now. “None of you do! Are you going to stand here and take this? Are you going to just drop all the support you gave me before?”

She ran up to an orange mare. “Clementine, you joined me right from the start! I helped you with your first crop! Are you really going to let that mare barge in and control your destiny?”

Clementine shook her head, more desperate for a way out of the spotlight than to talk to the hysterical Bonny. “W-Well, I—Bonny, ya gotta understand, times’re lookin’ to be so thin… I mean, she’s makin’ some sense, seein’ as we’re at the bottom of the barrel an’ all—”

“But that’s what she does! That’s what they always do!” Bonny said, stamping her hoof. “They drive you to nothing and they take everything you have, and get you to blame yourselves!” She spun around and grabbed a tan stallion by the shoulders, shaking him.

“Picket! I helped put up the walls of your house! Twice, after it got blown down! You were there when the Dogs attacked us, do you want that happening again?”

“What happened to your voice?” the stallion muttered. “You’re talkin’ weird, Bonny. Yeah, you helped build my house, an’ I’m grateful for it every day. You’re a boon to this town. But what’s the point of livin’ in that house if the town’s all empty? We gotta do somethin’. Pickin’ a hill to die on ain’t gonna give my kids a future here.”

“I’m not talking weird!” Bonny said, backing away and staring at all the confused, vaguely frightened faces surrounding her. “That mare! That Rarity! She was trouble ever since she got here! She forced this on us!”

“I am trying to open your eyes,” said Rarity. “To reveal the possibilities in this town. What apple tree doesn’t extend its branches as far as it can? I have stumbled. I have disturbed many tradition-loving ponies, yes. But we all know that to release the fruit, to spread the seeds and give that tree a future, one must give it a good kick. Perhaps all that’s happened is the kick you needed.”

Bonny whirled around, teeth bared. Her eyes were wild. “Don’t you talk like you know anything about this place.”

“I’m learning,” Rarity replied mildly. “That’s the difference between you and me.”

“For a pony who helped build this place,” Coldcock rumbled, “you’re sure not talkin’ like one of us anymore, Bonny.”

Bonny turned back to the townsponies, and swept her hoof over them all. “You’re ungrateful! That’s all you are! I can point out every single one of you who went with me to those stupid stinking Dust Dog tunnels with stars in your eyes! You! And you! And you, Clementine! We all did it for the future of this town, right? That’s what I’m fighting for, all I ever fought for, more than Rarity’s ever done!”

All the pointed out ponies shrunk down in their chairs. Their neighbors looked more depressed than shocked.

“Ruff knew it!” Ruff said, pumping his fist. “Rude pony broke Ruff’s favorite pickaxe! I expect ten apple pies as payment!”

“Shut up, you snaggle-toothed pest!” Bonny snapped before rounding back on her fellow townsfolk. “I helped build this place. I made it my own, just like you did. I gave it my all, just like you did. And I fought for it tooth and nail, just like you all did! How? How can you just turn your backs on me now?!”

There was an uncomfortable silence until Picket spoke up, clearing his throat. “Well, Bonny… it’s like you said. We thought we were doin’ the town good. We all thought it was for the best. But the best ain’t stickin’ our heads in the sand no more. Standin’ with you now… may just mean goin’ against Appleloosa. I can’t do that.”

“Neither can I,” said Clementine, sounding broken and tired.

“Neither can I,” echoed many more ponies in the room.

“Wha- I- I don’t believe this!” Bonny whimpered, spinning in a circle, looking for someone, anyone, who would look her in the eyes besides Rarity, who maintained a steady stare.

She settled on Braeburn, who had been trying to shrink into his chair as far as possible.

“Braeburn!” she snapped, making him jump to attention. “You an’ me. We helped make this town what it was, remember? I know we didn’t talk much, but we didn’t need to! Because we both knew what we wanted. We want what’s best for this town, right? And that doesn’t lie with her!”

She jabbed a hoof at Rarity. Braeburn didn’t look up.

“You can’t tell me you’ll actually listen to her. Not after what those Dogs did to Bloomberg. Not after all she’s wrecked!”

The silence dragged on. Rarity heard her own heartbeat thunder in her ears as her gaze slowly, painfully drifted over to Braeburn as well. He sat there like a gold-sand island, still and calm in all the turbulent pastel sea of his fellows.

Slowly, he stood up and pulled his hat off his head, folded it over his heart.

“S’true,” he said. “I always tried to do what I thought was right by Appleloosa. That’s why I brought Rarity here. That’s why I tried to smile for everyone, an’ be forthright an’ honest an’ all those good things. But this has dragged on so long. So many bad feelin’s became so entrenched. It got to be where my smile became a happy little lie I told myself. If I just kept bein’ me, maybe the world would follow suit.”

He raised his wonderful face to meet Rarity’s gaze. Her eyes widened as he did.

“I told Rarity not too long ago that honesty was the best policy. Just be yourself. But that smile, that optimism, that belief that yes, everythin’ I was doin’ was for Appleloosa’s welfare… it weren’t me a’tall. I was broken up inside somethin’ awful. I hated what was goin’ on, but I didn’t wanna call nopony out, look like I was takin’ sides, hurt anypony’s feelings. It became so easy to lie, to smile an’ act like I was above it all.”

He sniffled, rubbed his snout. “I pinned my hopes on a mare I barely knew, ‘cept for her smile an’ the way her mane sparkled in the moonlight,” he said. Rarity’s heart leapt, and she couldn’t keep the silly, utterly inappropriate grin off her face as Braeburn blushed and shrugged his shoulders.

“I-I mean, well… it weren’t right. She was a new voice, a fresh perspective. I thought, maybe she can pull off what I couldn’t. I could hand it all over to her, Rarity, Element of Generosity, an’ she’d fix it all an’ I wouldn’t have to lift a hoof. I was selfish. Utterly, cowardly selfish. An’ I’m sorry, an’ I hope she can forgive me. But most of all I hope you all can too, because she was the most honest of us all. Now, maybe she didn’t always do the right thing. But at least she did somethin’, an’ she always did what she felt was right. I think that counts for a lot.”

He turned to Bonny, his gaze sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Bonny, truly I am. But I can’t stand by you on this one. We’re at the end of the rope. Back when it looked like goin’ it alone would get us somewhere, some ponies stuck with you. But now we’re all just goin’ in circles, round an’ round again. I’m sick of it. I think we all are. I think it’s time we swallowed that big pill of humility starin’ us in the face. I think it’s time to be generous.”

Bonny looked like a pony had just driven a knife into her back. She shivered on the spot and then slowly staggered backward towards the door, her eyes unfocused and harried. A few ponies reached out, but she brushed them off. Rarity took a step toward her, off the dais.

“Bonny?” she asked.

Bonny had a hoof on the door. She turned back to Rarity, looked at her all the way down the center aisle with eyes as big as dinner plates, glassy and moist.

“You,” she hissed, voice quivering. “You’re wrong. All of you are wrong. You’ll see. All of you will see. I won’t let you take away everything I made here. I didn’t come crawling halfway across the continent just to be kicked out again by the very ponies I wanted to be away from.”

She slammed the door shut on the way out.

There was utter silence until Silverstar coughed into his hoof.

“Well,” he said. “Then I guess we best make this official. On the matter of integrating Dust Dog gemstones into our local economy, and agreeing to a trade of food and goods for water, as well as the establishment of a new irrigation system supplied by Dust Dog aquifers… all in favor?”

Rarity’s heart hammered as everypony looked at each other, seeking permission to be the first to vote. Then, with a grunt, Coldcock raised his hoof, with Apple Tart close behind. Like a rippling wave, hooves shot straight into the air. It was well over two-thirds, without a doubt, and the few ponies who did not raise their hooves looked dejectedly at the ground. Rarity didn’t blame them. They’d had the rug pulled out from under them, their ring leader gone hysterical, the change coming whether they liked it or not. But in the end they were ponies, and their friends would be there to help them.

Or at least, that’s what Rarity wished for.

“All opposed?”

Rarity counted six hooves, all from ponies who seemed determinedly spiteful, or otherwise adhered to some strange sense of consistency. The rest couldn’t even gather the energy to vote.

“Then by the power invested in me by the Appleloosa county, as Sheriff, lawmaker, and arbitrator of the law, I hereby declare this new measure passed, and this entire ugly matter…”

He thumped a hoof triumphantly on the table.

“Closed!”

———

Rarity didn’t see Bonny for the rest of that day. Strangely enough, the town was back to normal within a few hours. Rarity seemed to be the only one who was too tired to do anything but sit and relax. The dealings between Ruff and Sheriff Silverstar about how much of what goods would go where did not keep her attention, and she left before they started in earnest. She half-heartedly joined a party set up by Apple Tart and Coldcock at the Salt Lick, but that quickly lost its luster.

Rarity realized the problem as she stumbled out of the tavern, chugging water to erase the salty tang on her tongue.

She did not feel like she had won.

She did not feel like anything at the moment.

The entire ordeal had just been too draining. Two weeks. Was it really only that long? It felt like months. Two weeks of learning, of travel, of emotional highs and lows and everything in between. And now it was simply… over. The climax had come and gone so quickly it almost felt like she’d missed it.

She traveled down the old main road, which now that she realized she’d be leaving soon, felt so familiar and well-worn she almost wanted to walk it more than once. To leave her hoofprint on the town in more ways than one. She was too buzzed with salt and astonishment that she had pulled victory out by a hoof’s width to think on how silly that was. She hadn’t really done anything here. She’d been a witness. A cat on the outside of a fishbowl. Appleloosa had been forced to its knees, and in its desperation had turned to the one thing left that could save it.

Was she really that important, in the grand scheme of things?

She was surprised to find Braeburn sitting on the porch of the house she’d been staying at.

He wore a melancholy look, peering into the starlit street, and swung his gaze lazily to Rarity when she drew near.

She stared up at him, tilting her head.

“It’s rather cold out,” she said. There were no other ponies on the street. Nopony would see them together, or where they’d go, and she didn’t mind that at all.

Braeburn wordlessly stood and held the door open for her. It wasn’t much warmer inside, but it was dark and quiet, and she didn’t have to deal with the infuriating dust that kept sweeping into her mane with every errant breeze.

She looked over her shoulder at Braeburn, his big green eyes bright in the darkness, and wandered towards the stairs. She moved slowly, slinking like a cat, making hardly a sound with her hooves. It let her hear Braeburn follow her, with his heavy, plodding gait.

She put a dainty hoof on the bottom stair, and stopped.

“What did you want to say?” she asked gently.

“I should have been there with you from the start,” he said immediately. “I should have done a lot of things. I shouldn’t have been so darned afraid. I should’ve told you everythin’ from the get-go. I should’ve walked with ya, talked with ya. I shouldn’t have let all this fall on your shoulders. I meant what I said back there in the town hall. But I was afraid, Rarity. I was so scared I would say the wrong thing. Not because I can’t speak my mind… but because this is home. It’s one thing to watch it fall apart an’ tell yourself you can’t do nothin’ for it. It’s another entirely to say the wrong word an’ knock it all down. Like a house of cards you’re afraid to breathe on.”

Rarity waited. She stared down at the wooden grain of the stairs. It was so rough. But it wasn’t uncomfortable to walk on. It was a supple wood that creaked almost pleasantly underhoof.

“An’ I shouldn’t be such a dang fool to think that apologizin’ after the fact is gonna help nothin’,” Braeburn continued. “You’ve done the impossible Rarity. Because you didn’t give up when everyone else would. You talked the talk an’ walked the walk when you haven’t lived here half as long as me. I put so much into this town. So much time an’ sweat an’ even a little blood. I was terrified of losing it all. I figured, if I didn’t do anything, nopony could accuse me of failing. Y’know?”

“I know,” she whispered. “I know that far too well.”

He scraped his hoof on the floor. Rarity let her gaze slide over just enough to see his ears fold back as he pulled off his hat and rested it against his chest.

“But then you came along. You, with your gorgeous mane an’ big ideas. You were so fresh. So sure of yourself. You had a shine to you. Even way back when we met again at the reunion. It was like nothin’ could touch you. So I let it fall to you. I willingly gave up the burden of caring for my town. All I did was smile like a goof until my face done broke. That weren’t right, no sir. My ol’ Papa, rest his soul, would clobber me for not steppin’ up when my friends were doin’ all the hard work. I didn’t do right by my town. An’ I didn’t do right by you. I can’t decide which is worse.”

“Do you really think,” Rarity whispered, “that all that’s happened is because of me?”

“One way or another,” said Braeburn. “But Rarity, this town can only go up from here. For the first time in a long time we got somethin’ to look forward to. We got a plan. It almost feels like hope.”

He took a tentative step forward. “We got you to thank for that. Whatever you or anypony else thinks.”

He took another step. She felt the electric tingle of a warm body closing in. “I got you to thank for that. For everything. I wanna make it up to ya. I wanna be there for you like I shoulda been. All the time we lost. The talks we coulda had. Like in our letters. You remember those?”

“I do,” said Rarity. “They were… they are… a highlight of my day.”

She turned to look him in the eyes. Their snouts were a bare few inches apart. She felt the ticklish breeze of his breath.

“Come upstairs,” she said.

“Okay,” was all he could say in return.

She didn’t feel any nervous, triumphant thrill leading him up the stairs to her bedroom. Her intentions were hardly anything scandalous, though just a few years ago when she was a blushing schoolfilly they may have been just that. She felt calm more than anything else. She felt centered and grounded, like her being with him was something perfectly normal. Like home.

She pushed open the door to her room and gently draped herself upon the bed, curling up her hooves underneath herself as she stared out the window into the starry desert landscape. Braeburn stopped and stared at her. She craned her neck to look back at him. The expression on his face was many things - awkward, uncertain, warm, and kind. He was following her lead entirely.

“Well, come on,” she said quietly. “Haven’t got all night. Silly thing, do you think I’m trying to seduce you?”

“I think anypony else might,” he said with a hint of a chuckle.

Would you mind if I did? Rarity wanted to ask—she wanted to ask that so very much—with a coy flick of her tail. Instead, she realized she was too tired for such theatrics tonight, and her tail stayed still.

“Well, that’s why I invited nopony up here but you,” she said instead.

Braeburn tilted his head and smiled, as if it were not the answer he expected, but one he was pleased with nonetheless. He joined her without any further bidding, slipping his hat and vest off and shaking his mane out as he settled in beside her. It was close enough for their bodies to press gently together. Rarity liked that he didn't shiver. They needed to be all right with this, to be so close to each other without fear.

“Please tell me the conditioner you use to get that lovely sheen in your mane,” said Rarity.

“All natural,” Braeburn replied.

Rarity let a beat of silence pass.

“I agree with what you said,” she whispered, staring back out the window. “You shouldn’t have put me in such a difficult position. You should have been there many times over if you really wanted to help. I was disappointed when I came here, Braeburn, by you and just about everypony else.”

“Coldcock n’ Apple Tart treated you the real Appleloosan way,” said Braeburn. “They’ll get their appellations too, don’t you worry.”

“Is that a pun?”

“Only sorta.”

Rarity laughed, light and breezy. She rested her head on her front hooves, peeking up at Braeburn. She rather liked how it made him look so much taller. He didn’t just sit. He loomed. It was endearing.

“So,” she said. “What shall we do now?”

“Wait for tomorrow to come,” said Braeburn. “S’what we’ve been doin’ for months now. Only way to know what happens next is to see what does.”

“That’s so lazy,” said Rarity with a little yawn. “And yet it seems wise in its own way.”

“Does this mean you forgive me?” asked Braeburn, looking down at her. “Are we… y’know… square?”

Rarity stared at him through one half-lidded eye. Then she sat up and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

“Give me that pillow,” she whispered, “and don’t go anywhere.”

Braeburn smiled and tucked the downy pillow under her head. “I’m gonna have to take that as a yes.”

“Good,” said Rarity as she curled up tightly next to him and closed her eyes. “Because it is.”

Chapter 9

Rarity woke up with the smell of a stallion in her nostrils. It took her back to one of her earlier suitors; a charming and erudite unicorn who headed a survey company exploring the land west of Seaddle. Chalk Tip, his name was. He was the first pony she had gone to bed with. Not slept with, no, she kept that name secret. But Chalk Tip was the first pony of the opposite sex she had slept next to, in a bed. They had just gotten through an exhausting schedule of art museums and electronic music outlets - she appreciated the composition in both. When they got back to their hotel room, they had simply collapsed in each other’s hooves and gone right to sleep, and while it had been terribly romantic, Rarity cherished the memory for another reason.

Sleeping next to Chalk Tip all night gave her the distinct scent of stallion, or at least what she thought a stallion should smell like, and every one she had dated since, she liked the most the ones who reminded her of that smell. Earthy, coarse, and hot on the nose with the faint tang of musk and the bitter whiff of sweat from a hard day’s work, balanced by a sweetness and mildness that reminded her of evergreens and fresh rainfall. Not a wholesome, traditionally pleasant smell like a wood fire or the artificial and often overwrought aromas of, say, a relaxation candle. It was lovely for its sincerity, for its uniqueness. Only a real stallion who wasn’t afraid of being a stallion smelled that way, who lived a particular lifestyle so their bodies exuded a scent that matched their mannerisms.

She took a deep breath and buried her nose in soft, golden fur. That was Braeburn next to her, and he smelled exactly like a stallion should. Maybe a little heavy on the sweat, but she could forgive that due to the hot sun.

She had her snout buried in his neck so his mane tickled the bridge of her nose. Somehow, they had both curled even closer than they were the night previous. She was sprawled across his chest while he lay spread-eagle on his back, one foreleg curled tightly around her withers. With her ear on his chest, every breath of his was like listening to the bellows of a factory, and beneath it the steady thump-thump of his heart. She slept in an extremely unladylike way, and she could not have been happier.

As she raised her head, slowly as not to wake him, she got a good view of what he looked like asleep. She realized she’d never seen that before. His belly stretched taut, muscles on full display, and she allowed herself to stare. He wasn’t broad and huge like Big Macintosh, nor did he have the svelte form of, say, Fancypants or Trenderhoof. He was trim and sleek, all tough muscle stretched tight over an agile frame that could carry a pony for miles without breaking a sweat. His strong legs fell a little on the long side. If he had wings and a blue coat, he could pass for a stallion version of Rainbow Dash any day. All in all, Rarity decided he was just the right size. She could already imagine a whole new line of western-style designer jackets for stallions like him. And pants. Tight pants.

His mane spilled over his shoulders, tousled and unkempt. Natural curls gave it volume and bounce, just enough to give it the freedom to run wild. She ran a hoof over it, enjoying the gentle sensation as she would petting her cat Opalescence to relax. Of course, a sleeping Braeburn was a mite easier to caress than Opal on any given day.

“To think,” she whispered to herself, “I very nearly decided not to say hello those months ago at the reunion. Wouldn’t that have been a tragedy.”

For a few minutes more she lay in contented silence, stroking his mane and listening to the town slowly awaken. There was no hurried bustle to finish chores today. Everypony must have felt as exhausted as her. Braeburn’s eyes fluttered open as she laid her hoof on his chest. His gaze swung around the room and came to rest on Rarity, and he smiled lazily. It was an absolutely adorable smile.

“Hey, Rares,” he said. “You have a good rest?”

“You’re all muscle and no comfortable love handles,” Rarity said with a huff. “I barely slept a wink.”

“Up all night staring then?”

She gasped and gave him a very gentle bump on the shoulder. “Now that is just presumptuous!” And partially true. “But of course I slept well with you, you silly.” She nestled her head into the crook of his neck. “Ponies will talk though, if we go outside hanging off each other like this.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Well, most of it will be true, so, no. But it’s good to be ready for it.”

“After yesterday,” Braeburn said, curling his hoof a little tighter around her, “I feel like I’m ready for anything. ‘Specially if you’re there.”

Rarity blushed and snuggled tighter against him. “This all feels so wonderfully… natural. Like we’ve been doing this for years.”

“I’ll take that as a good sign.”

“Braeburn,” she said, idly twirling a hoof through the fur on his chest, “are you really ready for this? Are we?”

“Ready for what?” Braeburn answered, moving the tip of his hoof in lazy circles around her cutie mark.

“You know,” she said, “this. What we’re doing. I feel like we’ve come to an agreement, even one not explicitly stated. That we’re ready to go beyond pen pals and longing gazes.”

Braeburn was silent for a time, and when he spoke, it was slowly and deliberately. “Way I see it, Rares… romance an’ all that… ponies make a big deal about feelings an’ gut instinct an’ all. But I’m an earth pony. I feel, sure, but what’s important to me is what I do. I could feel whatever I wanted about Appleloosa, but none of it woulda made a lick a’ difference if I didn’t pack up, move here, an’ build it with my own four hooves. Same deal with us. We could feel all the live long day, but… I’m bein’ honest here… either one of us coulda got all awkward an’ cold-hoofed an’ left any time. But we’re choosin’ to stay. S’what we decided to do. An’ what I feel is matchin’ up pretty closely with what we’re doin’ right now.”

He turned his head down and looked her in the eyes. “So yeah. I’m ready.”

Rarity didn’t mean to fall into the kiss like she did. One moment she was looking at Braeburn with desperate affection, and the next their mouths were gravitating towards each other, an electric tingle like static building up between them. She felt a rush of intense heat and a cold splash of ice water, a rumble thrumming through her veins, saw stars burst behind her eyes. Their lips touched just barely and she felt a wonderful pressure like she might explode, yet everything pressed inwards too, narrowed down to that tiny little space between their noses. They bumped awkwardly together like ponies finding each other in a dark room, laughed at their own nervousness, and then fell together with such smoothness it was like his lips were soft butter, and just as sweet. She sighed needfully, vulnerably, and pressed in closer, tilting her head so they fit better together, and both his strong arms were around her and she was laying on his chest and nothing felt better than this bed, this stallion against her skin.

With a gentle smeck of noise they pulled apart, their mouths hanging open, breath mingling in the space between, eyes half-lidded. They both shivered like leaves about to fall, and held each other tighter to quell it.

Braeburn panted, “What… Um… That…”

“I think that was a good one,” Rarity said.

Braeburn swallowed hard. “Y-Yeah. Um. One more?”

Rarity nodded. “One more.”

It became three, and then five, and then ten, before they finally agreed enough was enough and pulled apart. There was a moment of hesitant indecision before their hooves finally left one another, and she had to stand on hard, unyielding wood floor. Then Braeburn bumped against her sans vest and she felt his warmth again, and smiled as she slipped into the bathroom.

“There are, of course, still a few loose ends to tie up before we move on to the next stage,” Rarity said as she turned on the shower faucet. “Bona Fide is still out there. I don’t feel right leaving her to her own devices.”

“She made her choice,” Braeburn said from behind the bathroom door. “Besides, I doubt she’ll speak to anypony after yesterday.”

“She’s had time to cope,” Rarity replied. “The times a pony wants to be alone are often the times when they should not be left alone. They tend to lose perspective. Still, I think it best if I go and speak to her by myself. Bonny doesn’t strike me as the kind of pony who responds well to being pressured. Going in force will just reinforce her vitriolic need to defy us.”

“You sure? I think I’d be a good help.”

Rarity stepped behind the shower curtain, shivering under the lukewarm water. “I don’t doubt it, but trust me. You don’t have to prove anything, Braeburn. This is merely something I feel I must do myself.”

———

Rarity walked down the streets of a changed Appleloosa. Most ponies wouldn’t spot it at first glance, but she did. One needed a keen eye, the kind that spotted how a dress looked when a pony moved their flank in just such a way, or the subtle glint of light off a shade of makeup.

Ponies walked with less of a hunch in their shoulders. All of the tunnels from the Dust Dog attack had been filled in. Ponies kept their eyes up and didn’t hide their faces. Sand and grit still clogged the air, yet it felt less oppressive. She thought, A cloud has lifted, and ponies can look up at a free sky again. She glanced upwards to check—sure enough, even the sky looked a lighter shade of blue than yesterday.

Ponies had come around to a new day and a new way of thinking. They all seemed poised to take their first steps to the future.

All except the house outside of town on the hill, beneath the spreading branches of trees. It looked far more lonesome now, with everypony but Bonny of one mind. She had no more friends in town, or at least no friends she wanted to acknowledge. The chicken coop overflowed with untended birds, the gate hung lazily off its latch, and no lights shone in the house that Rarity could see. For a brief moment she thought Bonny might have skipped town, but then the front door banged open, and out came Rusty Hinges. He stormed into the street, looking up at Rarity only when he nearly bumped into her. His big eyes scrunched between narrow brows.

“Will ya talk some sense into her? Please?” he asked, and charged away toward the apple orchard, leaving the door open behind him.

Bonny came outside soon after, giving lackluster chase to her little brother. She stopped dead when she saw Rarity, and gave only a sad little sigh before sitting down on the porch, taking the ribbons out of her hair. Her head hung in defeat as she idly played with her ribbons, stretching them out until they almost tore. A gust of wind tousled their manes. On the far eastern horizon boiled a wall of dust. A sandstorm, maybe.

“You’re very pretty when you aren’t scowling all the time,” Rarity said.

Bonny scoffed, not meeting Rarity’s eyes. “That boy can sure throw a tantrum when he wants to,” she whispered. “Got his Ma’s temper, Dad said once. Quiet like thunder waitin’ to burst out of a cloud.”

“He’s quite remarkable, being so grown-up yet having so few grown-ups around.” Rarity let the lure dangle. Bonny only grunted and rubbed at her bloodshot eyes.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Rarity asked.

“‘Course not, no thanks to you,” Bonny growled. “Got nothin’ left in this town. Gonna be movin’ out soon. Find somewhere else to live.”

Rarity blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

Bonny tossed her ribbons to the side and leveled a sarcastic glare at Rarity. “Move. You know, uproot. Skedaddle. Vamoose. Get outta Dodge. Rusty’s comin’ with. That boy sure can throw a fit, but he’ll understand.”

“I’m not sure he will,” Rarity answered. “And I’m sure I don’t either. Why exactly is Appleloosa broadening its horizons enough to drive you away? Surely it’s not just to spite me?”

“I’d be lyin’ iffen I said that weren’t at least a small part,” Bonny sighed, wandering back inside. “But no, it ain’t just you. Now look, I don’t have time or inclination to go explainin’ myself to you. My private affairs are pretty much all I got left in this town. No way I’m gonna parcel ‘em out now.”

Rarity tsk’d under her breath, struggled to keep her own growing frustration in check. She followed Bonny without invitation—not that Bonny seemed to care. Rarity was too tired to keep up pretenses much longer herself. The house was much as she’d seen before: sparse, dour, and devoid of many sentimental things.

She watched Bonny sit down on a long couch in the living room. Papers littered the floor. A quick glance saw plans for apple orchard management and letters to and from every corner of Equestria. Many of them bore very official watermarks from companies she didn’t deal with, but their names had a lot to do with real estate and banking. Bonny buried her face in a pile of them, rifling through it.

“Well, go on,” Bonny said. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?” Rarity asked innocently. She hoped it didn’t come across as wheedling.

“‘Bout how you’re gonna be my friend, or whatever, an’ you hope that since this is behind us, we can just sashay off into the sunset hoof in hoof. The usual.”

Rarity cleared her throat. What a shame that Bonny found friendship cliche. Rarity personally would have loved it all to end so tidily. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Bonny’s jaw tightened. “Don’t you be coy with me. Not in my own house. You’re the Element of Generosity an’ all, this is what you do. More like Element of Busybody. Nobody asked you to come. Nobody asked you to bring those city folk here. An’ I didn’t ask you to go bargin’ into my business.”

“Appleloosa is everypony’s business,” Rarity snapped. “What exactly made you think you could claim ownership of this town and its ponies? What made you that desperate?”

Bonny stared at her, wide-eyed, like an owl caught in torchlight. Her arguments rang hollow now. There was no point in being this stubborn, except to simply be small-minded and malicious. She just needed to push a little further, and Bonny would crack like an egg.

“Your fondness for being vague and aloof was curious at first, I’d daresay even exciting,” Rarity said, pointing her nose up. “But now it reeks of self-importance and childish pettiness. Rusty isn’t the only one throwing a tantrum here, Bonny. I have had my suspicions from the start, but now I see it plain as the cutie mark on your flank: You have been hiding all along, from your town, from your brother, and from yourself. This is not the first time you have run away from a problem, and you will keep running away, forever and ever, until something forces you to stop. And on that day, when you pick up your things and turn up your nose, still trying to convince yourself that nothing can hurt you, nothing can hold you, and it all wasn’t your fault—you will stumble. You will shatter to pieces on the wall you’ve built up around yourself, and it will do nothing less than destroy you. I am offering you this one chance to break early, while there is still a chance to put yourself back together.”

She stepped forward, nearly going nose-to-nose with the other mare. “I know almost everything save the gory details, Bonny. You are hiding from nopony but yourself. There is no point in holding up this charade any longer. Please. I am asking you. Tell me what’s really happening.”

Bonny gulped. Her cheeks puffed out ridiculously, and she looked to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown or a psychotic episode. Rarity braced for some kind of assault, verbal or physical. But then, in a small, quiet voice, she said, “Fine,” and slumped to her flanks, resting against the couch.

“I come from Manehattan. You figured that from the accent. I was born there, me and my brother. Rusty Hinges isn’t his first name—our parents called him Penny Pincher. That should tell you what kind of ponies they are. We picked out the name Rusty Hinges after we left. Thought it was fitting for all the fuss he can put up when he’s of a mind. But I was born Bona Fide. Because that’s what I am. The real deal, the big cheese, what have you. You have to have that kind of attitude, you know, in Manehattan.”

“I know that too well,” Rarity whispered.

“Not really,” Bonny said, without much hostility. “Not like I did. My parents have hooves in a lot of pies, and they never let me forget it. I was born into wealth, you know. Born into having to know money, how to spend it, where, on whom. I was born with a bit in my hooves, my parents liked to say. But that wasn’t good enough. Nothing ever was. From day one they had me pegged as the heiress to their empire. They expected me to shoulder their burdens, to uphold their little dynasty. I have apples for a cutie mark, Rarity. Apples. Not bits or some corporate logo. I couldn’t do it, didn’t want to, and they knew it. It didn’t stop them from trying of course. Saddling me with responsibilities beyond my years and desires. Introducing me to royalty and nobility and taking me to board meetings. I bucked hard against the trend and they just pushed harder.”

She wandered into the kitchen and pulled a jug of cider out from under the sink, taking a long swig from it.

Another secret you’ve been trying to hide, thought Rarity. Without the drink you feel everything you’ve been trying to ignore.

Bonny gulped down another mouthful and slapped the jug down on the kitchen table. “Every venture I started, every coltfriend I had, every class I took, every spoonful of cereal I ate was watched. Judged. Measured. If it wasn’t good enough, not ‘proper’ enough, it was thrown out. Discarded. I acted out like any teenager would, but they always reeled me back in with heartfelt apologies and expensive gifts. The breaking point came late in my schooling years, when I refused to go to some upstanding university they had planned out for me. After an argument that nearly burned down the mansion they finally figured out I wasn’t going to be the perfect little scion they wanted and ran me off the farm, so to speak. Sent me on a Grand Tour of Equestria, never to return until I made something of myself. Or until they give up and give the inheritance to my cousin or something.”

“And where does Rusty come in?” Rarity asked.

That triggered another long, long gulp of cider. Bonny wiped her mouth with the back of her hoof when she finished, looking more wild-eyed and harried than before. “I kept that kid sheltered as long as I could. Tried to protect him.”

She shuddered with what might have been bitter laughter. “Maybe I poisoned him against our parents, or he just hated being the consolation prize after I turned out a disappointment. He turned out rebellious as I did, maybe worse. Lotta anger in him, especially after I left. Meanwhile I found a life building homesteads. Sent letters. Convinced the folks the country air was doing me good. I expected to be ignored. But they sent Rusty out not long after I left… couldn’t stand him any more than me, I expect. And to keep him out of their hair while they get our future empire set up. But I don’t want what’s theirs.” Her gaze turned steely. “I want what’s mine. Away from them, and their clammy, grabby hooves. Away from ponies like you.”

Rarity ignored the potent jab, though she longed to retort with something sarcastic and stinging. “And just what,” she said, “do ponies like me do?”

“You meddle!” Bonny snapped, stamping her front hooves. “You meddle and poke and prod and ask stupid questions and play everyone’s sympathies so you’re always the victim! You judge and you watch and you wag your hooves and you tut tut and condescend when ponies just don’t get you! You haven’t lifted a hoof to help this town, you didn’t break your back and sweat for it like I did, you didn’t watch ponies die for it like I did, you didn’t live my life before you got here, and you don’t get to act like you know what’s best when you haven’t seen a lick of these ponies when the going gets really tough!”

Rarity struggled to keep her composure. Bonny’s face twisted with anger and guilt and frustration, but her eyes were the worst. They stared at her with singular, maniacal intent, but didn’t quite focus enough to look directly at her.

Then it hit her like the cake Blueblood had tossed her in front of.

“Are you sure you want to be telling me all that, or somepony else?”

Bonny made a retching noise like she’d been punched in the gut. For a moment her eyes went truly wild, spinning in their sockets before settling back on Rarity, and then she laughed, loud and bitter.

“Oh, I see. You’re hoping that little zinger will win you friendship points? Think you can just call ‘checkmate’ and you win? ‘Oh, Bonny, just go deal with your estranged parents, it’ll turn out fine!’ Just like your kind. You have arguments like you have mud fights: even if you win you’re still filthy by the end. How dare you. How dare you! Asking about my past and then trying to turn it against me. I’m wise to you, Rarity. My parents did the same thing!”

“Then you have been making this about the wrong issue all along!” Rarity snapped back. Bonny started to pace, smirking to herself and shaking her head as Rarity pressed her attack.

“It has never really been about Appleloosa at all, has it? It has never been anything but your desire to be free. You have been manipulating them ever since you came here, purely as some measure of revenge against your family?”

Bonny scoffed. “Manipulating? I’ve been trying to spare them what my parents put me through. You’re never going to keep this town safe. They find a way in. They always do. Only thing you can do is cut your losses and move on before they ruin it all.”

“And make a child grow up without his parents,” Rarity said.

Bonny threw the jug against the wall. It left a dent where it shattered, scattering ceramic and cider all over the floor. Rarity was unmoved.

“Are you itchin’ t’ get me in a foul mood, Rarity?” Bonny said, hissing the words. “‘Cause you keep talkin’ like that, I can’t be held responsible for what comes next.”

They stood there awhile, locked in stalemate. Bonny pawed the floor, just looking for an excuse to keep going, but Rarity gave her nothing but a stony silence. She wouldn’t be cowed here.

She reverts to her Appleloosan accent when she is pushed hard enough, as though it is more comfortable, Rarity thought. She’s run away from home in more ways than one.

A loud bang made them jump. Outside the wind had suddenly picked up strength. Anything not tied down was swept up and tossed about, into the walls of the house. Animals clucked and cawed and squealed as they took shelter in their respective coops and houses.

“Wha—?” Bonny gasped as she ran to the window. “It shouldn’t’ve… not so quickly…” She whirled about and snarled at Rarity. “You distracted me!”

“Excuse me,” Rarity huffed, “but getting trapped in a house with you in a storm, desperate as I am for reconciliation, is not an experience I would plan for. Though that does bring up strange memories of the last time something like this happened…”

“You hush up!” Bonny dashed to the windows and closed the shutters, bolting them tight. “Didn’t I say so from the start? Nothin’ but trouble. rotten high-falootin’ no-good…”

A thought popped into Rarity’s head. “Is Rusty here? Does he know where to take shelter?”

Bonny’s left eyelid twitched. “That kid ain’t stupid,” she said, but she ran to the back porch anyway and kicked the screen door open. A trail of little hoofprints, deep and messy like somepony had messily stomped through, ran directly into the orchards behind the house. Already the sun was darkening as tendrils of sand squirmed across the sky; Rusty was nowhere to be seen.

“That dang foal!” Bonny shouted into the growing wind. “He had to know that storm was comin’! I shoulda figured. He has this thing where he runs off into the orchard when he’s upset. Prob’ly where he is now.”

“I’ll help you look for him,” Rarity said at once.

“No.” Bonny put a hoof against her shoulder and shoved her back towards town. “You get back to Appleloosa an’ help ‘em lock the place down. They’ll need it.” She looked up into the sky, squinting against the blizzarding dust. “It’s just so fast. I’ve never seen it like this.”

She ran back inside and came back out with a pair of goggles and hoofkerchiefs, which she slipped over hers and Rarity’s faces. Rarity knew the brusqueness of Bonny’s hooves as the goggle straps slid around her ears meant it was an instinctive precaution more than actual concern, but she appreciated it anyway, even if her kerchief was an ugly shade of green.

“Do we have time?” Rarity asked, alarmed to see the storm wall bearing down on them much closer than the last time she looked, and now all she had to do was blink and now it loomed over them like a cliff falling over.

“Never have time when it comes to Mother Nature; she’s an ornery mistress,” Bonny grumbled as she finished knotting her kerchief around her neck and slid it over her muzzle.

Rarity could barely hear her over the wind, which had gone from a roar to a shriek in seconds. She leaned closer. “What did you say?”

Bonny clutched her hat with a death grip. “I said—!”

But it was too late for more talk as the full fury of the storm broke on the town. A huge blanket of stinging sand and dark shadows draped over the world, and filled her ears with a horrible, cacophonous noise that went on and on like a never-ending freight train. Bonny gritted her teeth and gave Rarity another shove, shouted at her to get moving. Rarity turned and ran while she could still see the outline of the town’s buildings and the ponies scattered among them, all dark scurrying shapes. Her skin stung as dust pelted her through her fur coat, her goggles rang with the constant pitter-patter of sand on the visor, and her hoofkerchief flapped pitifully against her face. She thought the wind might yank her mane right off her head. She understood what Braeburn had said now, about the tornado and the hugeness and the wilderness, and understood that she had never been ready for this. It had always been too big for her.

I now deeply regret even coming outside today, she thought as the silhouette of Appleloosa vanished into the haze, and the wind spun her around until main street looked like any other patch of dirt. But on the bright side, nopony can see the disaster this is making of my mane.

She lit her horn as bright as she could and fired a flare that burst high above her head, hoping to provide a beacon for whomever else might be lost. The storm swallowed it in moments.

The wind buffeted her from all sides, kicking up walls of dust that fell on her like bricks. It overwhelmed her dirt-repelling enchantments, and the meager shield she summoned wavered as her mind raced with horrible possibilities. What if she ran outside of town and fell in a ditch? What if she stumbled and broke her leg in a pothole she didn’t see? What if she was knocked out somehow, and the wind stripped the very flesh from her bones?

Such macabre thoughts didn’t suit a lady like herself, but that didn’t make them any less possible. Rarity closed her eyes and bowed her head, trying to concentrate on keeping her shield going as long as she could. The storm was terribly powerful. Surely it would blow through in a matter of minutes?

A matter of minutes later, Rarity started to panic. Her trudging turned to trotting, which turned to galloping.

This is it, she thought to herself. I’m going to die out here. Because of sand. Mere yards away from Braeburn I expect, that’s how these things usually go…

Crack!

“Goodness, what—?!”

The ground gave out beneath her hooves. She fell with a shriek that cut off after she hit solid ground just a few feet later, and sat up with a groan, rubbing her sore behind.

“Ugh, what now?”

“Ha! We save whiny pony and she still whines!” Ruff barked in her ear, sending her into fits of squealing and flailing until she hit the side of the tunnel wall, huddling against it.

“Wha—Ruff? What are you doing here?”

The Dust Dog shrugged. “Ponies caught outside by Dust Devil. Me and my Dogs travel beneath to save them, follow their hoofsteps. Lucky you are so heavy, whiny pony, or we not find you for long time!”

“How fortuitous you find my flank so fulsome,” Rarity deadpanned. “Was I the last one?”

“Other ponies gather inside, think we have all of them,” Ruff answered. “The one called Braeburn asks about you nonstop. Very tiresome.”

Rarity took a moment to preen and hide the blush on her cheeks. “Yes, well, some ponies clearly have their priorities in order. Where have they gathered?”

“Town Hall. Had to breach the floor; very messy,” Ruff said. “Come! I take you to them.”

“No!” Rarity startled herself with the force of her outburst. “I… I can’t just yet. Bona Fide and her brother are still out there somewhere; I can’t go back until I know they’ve gotten somewhere safe!”

“Mmm. That is angry pony who lives on the hill, yes? Not good place in a storm.”

“Which is why we can’t leave them out there. If we do they may be hurt, or worse. Ruff, can you dig your way to that side of town? And send your fellows to let the others know where we’re going?”

Ruff rolled up his sleeves and grinned, signaling two Dogs with him to return to town hall. “Old Dogs dug to Equestria from other side of earth! Angry pony hill no problem. Stay close behind, Rarity, and very quiet. Ruff must listen for pony hooves, and the Dust Devil listens for us too.”

“You mean the storm?” Rarity asked as she straightened her goggles.

Ruff growled as he prepared to attack the earth again.

“I do not, pony.”

———

In a matter of minutes they saw roots poking through the surface of Ruff’s tunnel, large and healthy, growing in such thick abundance that Ruff had to take a detour downwards to avoid the worst of it.

I should have figured she’d make sure the best trees grew on her land, Rarity thought to herself. I need to tell her how much success can take from you as much as give… it certainly won’t give her a place back in her family.

Ruff pointed upwards and started to dig, signaling the place he thought Bonny and her brother were sheltering.

Or perhaps she wants her success to take her as far from her old home as possible.

They breached the surface and were immediately assaulted by gale-force winds and stinging sand. Rarity squinted even behind her goggles, shying away from the fury of the storm.

“Does it really get this bad?!” she shouted.

“Worse! Dust Devil is close!” Ruff barked back. “Hurry! We must find ponies and go below! They are this way.”

He used his bulk to shield Rarity as they wandered a shadowed maze of tree trunks and wildly swinging branches. Leaves and apples were torn from their limbs, and even the thickest trunks teetered and groaned. The wind seemed to consume all other sound, but as they came upon a tool shed not far from the tunnel, Rarity picked up the tell-tale sound of a foal in distress. She’d picked up an ear for it through all of Sweetie Belle’s tantrums—oh, Sweetie Belle, right now I even miss being woken up by your shrieking of another ruined breakfast!—and she knew only a young pony in the peak of anger could caterwaul like that.

“I don’t care if you think it’s good for me! I ain’t goin!’” Rusty Hinges’ voice bellowed through the door and the storm.

“I oughta tan your hide for this!” Bona Fide shot back. “I’ve done good by you, Rusty! I’ve done more for you than Mom an’ Dad ever could! I even helped you pick out a real name!”

“I never should’ve gone with you! I never should’ve let ‘em send me away! I hate all this movin’ an’ hidin’ an’ I hate the heat an’ the dust in my mane! I hate you, Bona Fide! I hate you!”

“Stop talkin’ your fool nonsense an’ get this blanket over you. That door may not hold long!”

“An accent even in private,” Rarity murmured to herself, but Ruff was already pounding on the door and shouting for them to get out as soon as possible. The shouting from inside stopped, but Rarity put a paw on Ruff’s arm and lowered it gently. She grasped the handle with her magic and pulled it open just a crack, intending to speak through it, but the wind took the door and slammed it open for her.

Rarity was bustled inside by Ruff, who used his powerful arms to grab the door, yank it shut again, and lock it with the latch, all over Bonny’s loud protestations.

“What in Tartarus is that thing doin’ here?!” she barked. “Rarity? I told you to go back to town!”

“Don’t let her leave, miss Rarity!” Rusty shouted, poking his head out from behind Bonny’s hind legs, a blanket draped over his head. “If you go she’ll run off behind your back! S’what she’s good at!”

“I told you to hush up, boy,” Bonny growled.

“Bonny,” Rarity said quietly and firmly behind her kerchief. “Stop this arguing. Ruff is here to get us all to safety. He dug a tunnel all the way up from town. Traveling underground is the only way to escape.”

They all eyed the shed ceiling as it creaked and groaned. Outside something big snapped and fell.

“Goodness,” Rarity whispered, and turned back to Bonny. “It’s not safe here. We have to go now.”

“Aw, sure, an’ then you’re the big hero. Just like usual,” Bonny hissed, staring at the ground.

“What…?” Rarity gasped. “Bonny, our lives are in danger! Rusty’s life is in danger! Can’t we have this argument some other time?”

“No! No we can’t!” Bonny shouted, her eyes wild behind her goggles. “Not this time! You’re not gonna cart me off like no damsel in distress! This is my home! My house! My family! It don’t need savin’ by the likes of you!”

The wind howled outside, and deep down in Rarity, something yearned to answer it, but she did her best to push it down.

“Bonny,” she said levelly, “I am not in the mood for this, and we do not have the time. We will discuss this later.”

“What are you, my mom?” Bonny sneered. Rarity’s imagination twisted her scowl into something horrible and malignant. “I’ll talk about what I want, when I want, with who I want!”

“Stop yellin’ at miss Rarity!” Rusty yelled.

“Shut up, Rusty!” Bonny answered.

“Don’t tell him to shut up!” Rarity snapped, clacking her teeth with the force of her shout. The shed shivered, and Rarity barely noticed Ruff backing into a corner, but she didn’t care. The coiled presence deep inside was threatening to unwind, and Celestia as her witness she was willing to let it all out. “Don’t you ever tell him that, you ungrateful, snobbish ruffian!”

“Stop tellin’ me what to do!” Bonny shrieked, clutching her head with her hooves. “My whole damn life’s been one big instruction book an’ I’m sick of it. I’m sick, you hear me?! Sick!”

“The one time you need to listen and you choose not to,” Rarity pressed on, the coiled thing in her chest unraveling, spilling out like a rope tossed over a cliff. “I’ve half a mind to leave you out in this storm. Or maybe I should, maybe that will finally blow some sense into your head!”

“Rarity,” Ruff said, slapping a heavy paw down on her shoulder. “The Devil is close.”

“And you!” Rarity rounded on Ruff. “Stop with your nonsense, your foul smell, and your idiotic manner of speech, you giant baboon!”

“Not nonsense,” Ruff answered calmly, his eyes shrouded with stony resolution. “Have seen before. When ponies drove us deep into the desert, and my people screamed in rage, the Dust Devil screamed back. Took many days to drive it away, much digging, much silence. Thought it gone, but it is here again. It is the storm, and the wind, and it buffets you. It feeds on this anger. If you do not stop then you will bring it down on us.”

He pointed a long claw at Bonny, who muttered to herself and scraped the ground with her hooves. Behind her Rusty paced like a caged animal.

“Storm is strong because anger is strong. Our people and yours were close to peace… it does not want to starve, and will blow as hard as it can until all walls fall. Must be desperate to strike now.”

Rarity swayed on her hooves, in unison with the blustering wind. It shrieked at her, demanding her attention, to open herself and let it blow through her.

“This storm is alive?” she asked, rubbing her temples. A vicious headache erupted when she tried to center herself, to find a calm space where the howling didn’t reach.

“Its rage is yours,” Ruff answered. “The Dust Devil will not stop until it consumes all, or until it is spent.”

The entire shed swayed on its foundations, bending with the wind. Ruff yipped and plunged his paws into the ground, throwing up clods of dirt.

“Hurry!” he barked. “No more time! Ruff will carry ponies who argue!”

The bang of splintering wood filled Rarity’s ears as the shed walls collapsed under something big and heavy, and then a hail of splinters struck the side of her face and something heavy struck her side. She was bowled over with barely an ‘oof’, too surprised to even make a sound. She curled up into a ball as the storm bore down on her, groaning as the icy fire of shock gave way to a sharp throb of agony. Bonny was shouting, or maybe that was just the wind, or maybe that was Rusty, and her heart went out to him.

She realized Ruff was right about the storm not going away. Its noise overtook the world. It was like a great roaring mouth had closed around her, and she was stuck inside listening to the echoes. Even if Ruff pulled her underground, the Dust Devil, if that was what it was, would only seek them out again, or leave the town in shambles in its search for sustenance. All her work would be for naught. All her friendships would be stripped away by sand and wind. The fragile truce would break down when the orchards were wrecked and the buildings uprooted.

I hate it, she thought angrily, knowing it was reckless to let her emotions go and not caring in the least. I hate it all. I hate this ridiculous desert. I hate Braeburn being coy. I hate this stupid storm that wants to rip everything I’ve worked for out of my hooves right when it’s close to completion. I hate the way Bonny put on airs until it was too late to change. I hate it, I hate it all, I hate everything, why not just-

Her mind froze when she felt something in the wind turn, like a vast head swiveled towards her. Something deep in the sandstorm growled, hungry and primordial.

Rarity dared to open her eyes.

She saw Bonny huddled nearby with her hooves over her head and her face buried in the ground. She looked like a foal pretending the world didn’t exist just because she ignored it. Rarity put out a hoof, pushing it along the ground so the wind wouldn’t catch it, and then the other, and pulled herself forward. This was the mare who had caused so much trouble, who set half the town against her, who used jealousy and deceit where Rarity wanted only peace and unity. She was the villain and Rarity was the hero, she deserved nothing and Rarity deserved everything, and she hated her. Images flashed in her mind of falling on Bonny and finally cutting loose, screeching about how she’d nearly brought about the downfall of a whole town, how the heart of Appleloosa was Rarity’s now, how Braeburn was hers now.

But her hooves scraped Bonny’s side and felt a terrified flinch, and the rage sputtered. Hold on, her mind told her, wouldn’t it be ridiculous to scream at her in the middle of a sandstorm? Wouldn’t that just be the silliest thing to try and outshout a hurricane?

The billowing dust above clumped together into what might have been a face, or something eerily close, and then flew apart again as the Dust Devil let loose another roar, but Rarity didn’t answer.

She kept her eyes on Bonny. How small the other mare looked now, and Rarity realized, how young. Too young to be consumed by all this. Too young to let anger and anxiety draw lines on her face, to let that nice mane get tattered and worn with neglect.

She put her hooves around Bonny instead of on her as she brought her muzzle close down to Bonny’s ear.

“I don’t hate you,” she said, either a shout or a whisper, but she heard herself either way.

Bonny started. One of her hooves, painfully slow, twisted over, and with fear and trembling, took the tip of Rarity’s hoof.

Rarity felt a warmth she hadn’t since… well, earlier in the day when she woke up cuddling with Braeburn. But frequency never dampened the excitement of friendship. That warmth grew like a smoldering fire until it became a glow in her chest. That glow spread down to her hooves and to the tip of her horn. Its light very faintly touched on Bonny’s fur, and she raised her head just slightly to see. Angry tears streaked her cheeks, but her expression showed only confusion.

Above them, the storm drew back.

“I want to be your friend,” Rarity said. “I want to be everyone’s friend - it’s a fault of mine sometimes. But I want the best for you. The best! And yes, I’ve made mistakes. I’ve been arrogant and presumptuous and I’ve given myself this tragic heroine complex and I ignored you and what you meant to this town. But I swear, it was never out of malice. Good intentions don’t excuse me, but I hope it shows you… shows you what we could be if we just stopped all this.”

One of Bonny’s eyes slid open just a crack. Rarity gently rubbed Bonny’s hoof as the Dust Devil hovered, seemingly confused.

“What we’re doing can’t be solved with anger, Bonny,” she said, raising her voice only to be heard over the wind. “We’ve been feeding this thing, this storm, all along, and it’s fed us too. You all came out here to tame this place, to make it safe and quiet, right? We’ll only ever do that if we quiet our hearts first. Please. Stand with me now.”

Rarity slowly stood up, limbs shook as they struggled against the wind trying to push her down, and the terror that threatened to freeze her in place. She kept her hoof firmly attached to Bonny’s, tugged on it.

“For Rusty. And for yourself. Show them all you can be better.”

Bonny resisted at first, but then the Dust Devil roared again, and her expression wrenched away from fear and settled on placid, focused calm. The grip on Rarity’s hoof tightened, and then Bonny stood up. The two mares stared at each other, manes whipping and eyes narrowed. Though Rarity prided herself on her ability to read other ponies, this time she found Bonny’s expression inscrutable. But she didn’t turn on Rarity. Instead, she looked up at the ghastly, formless creature above them, and gave it a snort.

Rarity felt herself glow all the brighter. She felt her Element at work, tickling just beneath her horn, bubbling up at the back of her throat. And in that moment, she felt friendship take root.

The two of them stood side by side as the Dust Devil swirled in confusion.

“My heart,” Bonny said, “is my own. An’ I’m sick of lettin’ others dictate how I feel.”

The Dust Devil keened and wailed, even as the wind quieted down. The never-ending haze around them lifted, and Rarity saw Ruff and Rusty poke their heads out of a hole in the ground nearby, watching them.

“This is my life,” Bonny said. “An’ that means no more running. No more bein’ afraid. No more nothin’ but doin’ what I said I was gonna do. Helping Appleloosa. Helping the ponies here. Hurtin’ ponies who’ve been trying to tell me what I won’t tell myself.” She looked over her shoulder at Rusty. “I ain’t been the best kinda family. Or the best pony in general. But that’s comin’ to an end. No more foolin’ with what I can’t change.” She took a deep breath and looked to Rarity, who smiled.

“But I can change me,” Bonny whispered. “An’ I guess that’ll start today.”

The Dust Devil swirled and cowered, hiding high in the air from them. It wrapped a cloak of sand around it, trying to hide from the glow that emanated from both ponies. The light expanded, grew, overtook the Dust Devil, even as it roared back, tried to blow it all away with sheer rage. It blustered and puffed itself to massive size, and even though Rarity saw nothing resembling a body or a face, she felt the frustrated rage in the storm’s flailing wind. But they stood firm, even as the storm grew and loomed over them.

She saw shapes advancing through the storm wall as it thinned out, brought them into focus. At their head walked Braeburn and Little Strongheart, faces set with determination, then Cold Cock and Apple Tart and behind them a whole mob of ponies, at least half the town of Appleloosa. They walked with purpose, staring up at the storm that shrank back from their advance.

They formed up around the two mares, serene and unflappable while they basked in the glow of friendship, and their closeness only added to it until the storm could not hold it back any longer. The Dust Devil quailed and withdrew further up into the sky, where the sun finally breached its mighty storm wall, shining down on all of them. Out of the corner of her eye, Rarity spotted Ruff hop out of his hole, and Rusty clambered out of his arms to stand next to Bonny, who gave him a little brush of her tail.

Rarity couldn’t resist looking to Braeburn, who caught her gaze and held it, and Rarity’s heart swelled. For the first time in months, these ponies truly stood together, and she was right in the heart of it. She didn’t question how they had all come up here or why; all that mattered was that they were together, as friends should be. And that Braeburn stood here, too. Especially him.

He reached out and took her other hoof, and together they dared to peer upwards, directly into the eye of the storm, and rejected it. To the anger in their hearts, they said “Be gone.” To the divisions of the past, they said “Be gone.” To the stubborn rage at a past they couldn’t fix, they said “Be gone.”

Then Rarity bowed her head and closed her eyes, and her cutie mark burst with light. All around and through her surged a beautiful rainbow, crystalline and soft as a sheet of air, expanding out in all directions. Rarity heard one last blast of wind, one last dying ebb of anger, and then a new breeze poured in and silenced it all. Friendship flowed into the cracks anger left behind, and in the serenity that followed, Rarity remembered an endless night and a dark alicorn overcome with friendship, and she knew that this light was just as pure and righteous as that one.

When she opened her eyes, everything was quiet and calm, from the blue sky above down to the soft pitter-patter of her heart. There was no sign the maelstrom had ever even existed, save the thin coat of dust that colored everyone a pale orange. Everyone either stared up into the sky, or looked around in placid confusion - they didn’t really know what just happened, but they were all right with it.

Bonny held Rusty close and avoided everyone’s gaze, staring straight ahead with a thoughtful expression. She looked terribly small, but she seemed more humble than sad to Rarity.

“I ain’t never said anything like that in my entire life,” she whispered. “Not once. Always been angrier than a bobcat on a snare string, but now it… I don’t… s’like it’s gone, almost. I mean, not really. It’s still there. I just… can’t think of why it was so important before.”

“I think we all feel a little lighter on our hooves,” said Sheriff Silverstar, carefully patting down his hat. “That was definitely an experience.”

“What brought ponies?” Ruff wondered aloud.

“We saw a light through the storm, clear on down to town hall,” Strongheart said quietly. “At first we thought someone might need help. But then one volunteer turned to three, and ten, and it just all got brighter, and…” She trailed off, amazed by something she couldn’t put into words.

Apple Tart continued for her, in a voice both quiet and reverent. “An’... then somethin’ drew us up here. A feeling, but, it had a voice. We all heard it at the same time. Somethin’ nice an’ wholesome. We felt needed. So up we came.”

Braeburn tugged her hoof again, looking utterly silly with a coating of dust all over him, save a circle of gold fur framing his lovely eyes where he’d worn his goggles. A small, honest smile tugged at his lips as he dragged his hat off his head, letting his dusty locks spill out from underneath.

“Well,” he said with a tired sigh, “I know why I’m here.”

Rarity lowered her kerchief and carefully lifted her goggles, knowing she looked ridiculous, with a circle of clean fur on her face and the rest coated in sand and her mane in wild tatters. She didn’t know why she did what she did next at the time, but she knew why she didn’t do many other things. She didn’t throw up her hooves and cheer, like some ponies did. She didn’t sink to her flanks and fire off a one-liner worthy of the worst Con Mane novel. She didn’t hurry around and make sure they had a plan, either.

She didn’t do any of these things because right then she simply grabbed Braeburn by the lapels of his vest, pulled him close, and kissed him. The taste of dirt and sweat and grit came with it, and the force of it was enough to nearly bruise them both, but then she tasted his lips, and they were so sweet and soft and melded with her own with such eager willingness she really couldn’t have cared about anything else at all. Braeburn didn’t seem to either as he wrapped his hooves around her and held tight, sealing the quiet promise made between them.

For those precious few moments, they agreed to forget everything in the world except each other.

Chapter 10

Rarity lost count of how many hoofshakes she gave out, and her throat felt dry from speaking for so long uninterrupted. But flattery was a weapon, and she still had many salvoes to launch before the meeting finally concluded—mercifully, only a few minutes more. As the last corporate executives and senior accountants left, she let out an explosive sigh and collapsed into the plush chair at the head of the meeting table, swiveling it to let her stare at Canterlot’s skyline.

“When my business finally takes off,” she told Twilight, who was organizing papers, “I really must hire a team to do all this for me. Thank you ever so much for being here to help.”

“But you did such an outstanding job!” Twilight said, placing the last of her folders into a briefcase, which she closed with a clack of hinges. “I didn’t see a single frown when they left. The gem market has needed fresh input for a while, and this will give several competitors a leg-up. All in all, it makes for a healthier economy.”

“Don’t forget my masterstroke of giving Appleloosa almost exclusive rights to supply said gems with the help of Ruff and his pack,” Rarity said as she thrust a hoof into the air. “And with the new irrigation from that underground lake…”

Twilight smiled as she gathered her quills. “Their production increases threefold, everypony—”

“Everybody, darling.”

“Everybody lives in harmony, and we all get a happy ending.” Twilight went to hold the door for Rarity, who stretched and moved to join her with a grimace.

“In general, yes. But there are some things that not even time can mend. By the way, thank you for all your help. I couldn’t have put all this together on such short notice without you.”

“I dunno Rarity, keep this up and I’ll be tapping you for the next diplomatic mission,” Twilight said, playfully bumping hips with Rarity as they took the stairs down at a quick trot; both of them wanted to be out of the stuffy building quickly.

“Oh, please spare me!” Rarity said as they reached the bustling corporate lobby and headed outside, greeted by pleasant sunshine, a large terrace covered in soft grass overlooking a busy plaza, and not a speck of sand or grit whatsoever. “There are only so many miracles I can work on a single trip! I wouldn’t dream of handling the pressure of international relations, having to shake hooves with griffons or lock horns with yaks. No, it simply won’t do.”

Her gaze slid away from Twilight, towards the balcony at the edge of the terrace. “I… have some things that have anchored me closer to home now, too.”

Twilight looked. Braeburn stood leaning on the terrace balcony, staring off into space with his chin on one hoof, spic and span in a burgundy two-piece suit and string tie. Without his hat he still managed to look very debonair as his mane shone in the sun, thanks to Rarity’s many expensive conditioners. He looked the very picture of a fish out of water, a cowpony playing at big city life.

It’s still so easy to pick him out of a crowd, Rarity thought with a smile. “Braeburn! Darling!”

He started and turned, smiling with relief. “Oh, Rarity!” he said, hurrying over to give her a quick kiss. “Miss Twilight,” he added, tugging his forelock in place of his hat. “I take it everything went well?”

“Better than well,” Twilight said, “your marefriend here knocked it out of the park. Gems mined and cut by Appleloosa Dogs Incorporated will be flooding the markets in days. Celestia herself expressed an interest in a few special orders. Not to mention the fact that your apple clients are overjoyed at your new productivity thanks to improved irrigation.”

Braeburn grinned and wrapped a hoof around Rarity’s shoulders. “Don’t expect nothin’ less with this miracle mare.”

Rarity batted his shoulder, feigning modesty. “Oh, you.”

“I think with all that and the stunning success of your relationship, we can soon expect what most ponies would call a ‘happy ending,’” Twilight said, confidently sliding her briefcase into her saddlebag.

Rarity and Braeburn looked at each other fondly, but Rarity was the first to glance away. “Yes, well, there are some rather more personal issues that have yet to be resolved. Whenever one story ends another begins, as they say. Or perhaps it’s that no story ever ends, and we merely move from one chapter to the next.”

“I can only guess that means you’re really going to try and help Bonny get back with her parents?” Twilight asked as they started the walk to the train station.

“Of course,” Rarity said. “A promise is a promise, and these things aren’t just sorted out with a song and dance.”

“But we aren’t gonna rush it,” Braeburn added quickly. “Only when Bonny’s good an’ ready, an’ little Rusty Hinges has warmed up to the idea. We’re all gonna stop by in Ponyville for a spell first of course. Think it’ll do Bonny some good, Rusty too.”

“Well, I think it’s very brave of you to do that,” Twilight said with a firm nod. “More ponies need someone to push them to confront their insecurities.” She looked ahead, staring into the horizon as if she could already see distant Ponyville. “I know I did.”

Rarity said nothing. But that was only because she already knew.

———

The train ride back home was short without being rushed, leisurely without producing languor; a welcome respite from the bustle of several business meetings back to back. Rarity and Braeburn shared a private room, allowing Twilight to snore her nose off in the one next to them.

“I know she approves of you,” Rarity said, leaning on Braeburn’s bare chest. He had slipped out of his fancy duds at the first opportunity. “Twilight, I mean. I can tell by the way she looks at you.”

“I’m easy to approve of,” Braeburn said with a smirk, idly stroking her mane as he looked out the window.

“You know you didn’t have to come all the way with me,” Rarity said. “I wouldn’t have minded a bit if you stayed in Appleloosa, really.”

“I needed to stretch my legs. See Applejack an’ the folks again. An’ let the townsfolk know that it wasn’t just some snooty city pony bein’ the face of our town.” He gave her a playful poke. “And… you know. I wanted you to know I’m there for you, Rarity. All the time, every time.”

Rarity closed her eyes and snuggled in tighter. “I know. It’s one of the many things I’ve come to love about you.”

They hadn’t yet spoken about many other things that waited in the future. If and when one of them may move, what would happen when their respective businesses took off, how being a whole train ride apart might put stress on them. But they would speak of these obstacles eventually. If a Dust Devil and an angry town couldn’t pull them apart, then the rest would be little more than stepping stones. They had time.

“Braeburn,” Rarity said, suddenly raising her head and looking him in the eyes. “Whatever happens… let’s promise. Promise that we won’t just let it end. That we’ll fight for each other like we did in Appleloosa.”

Braeburn tilted his head, confused. It reminded Rarity of a puppy. “Of course,” he said, like they had already had this conversation. “Of course we will. You don’t think that after baggin’ the absolute finest filly in all Equestria I’m gonna just let her go? Rarity, I’m a silly pony sometimes. I’m a downright fool others. I don’t like conflict an’ arguments an’ sometimes I smile when I should frown. Sometimes I frown when I should smile. But you came an’ showed me these things about myself. You were so… different when we met. You were strange an’ pretty an’ polite to a fault. You could suss out a matter just by lookin’ at it, like it were nothin’ more’n finding a fault in a dress. It scared me, how strange you were. But that was just what we needed.”

He put his hoof under her chin and lifted it. Her mouth hung open just barely, quivering as she felt his words wash over her. His eyes were solemn, unblinking, and so devastatingly handsome she almost fainted.

“You showed all of Appleloosa what we weren’t,” he said, starting to smile. “What I wasn’t. An’ in doing so, you showed us all what we could be.”

Rarity swallowed hard. Her mouth went dry and her face flushed with heat. She felt delightfully delirious. “Braeburn,” she whispered, “don’t look now, but I think I might be falling for you.”

“Oh, I fell a long time ago,” Braeburn replied, grinning. “Then a pretty little pony marched over and set me straight.”

Rarity gave a coy smile. “Prettier than a princess?”

“You’ve always been a princess,” he said.

“Oh.” Rarity shivered as she leaned in for a kiss. “Then that would make you my-…”

She didn’t finish that thought. Or the one after. There was nothing she could say that would match what they felt, and when they fell into each other everything else was blown away like dust, and Rarity was soon happy to forget silly things like talking altogether.

Author's Note

Happily ever after.

Chapter 2

Waking up to the crow of a rooster wasn’t nearly as bothersome as Rarity thought it would be. In fact, it was downright charming. There was something delightfully bucolic about it, like waking up to find herself in one of her old novels set before alarm clocks were invented. Back in Ponyville she lived far enough away from Applejack’s farm and Fluttershy’s cottage that the animals didn’t bother her in the mornings, except when the cows or rabbits or pigs or chickens decided to stampede through the town. And even then, there was something to be said about having one’s day spiced up by a giant mob of red-necked anoles visiting for breakfast.

She hurried to the washroom and raced to get herself spruced up for the day. First came the ablutions, gently wiping away whatever had settled onto her the night previous. Then came the gentle ministrations given to her mane, followed by the vigorous combing and styling she applied every day, refined to a speedy science. And then came the care for her coat, applying every dirt-repelling enchantment she knew and then some. Just a few squirts of perfume. A little brushing to make sure her cutie mark was visible.

All done before five-thirty. She grinned to herself in the mirror when she finished brushing her teeth, magically adding a little twinkle. There was a glamour spell for just about everything, and she knew all of them.

And then she sighed, because she knew all her work would probably be undone by the time the day was over. It wasn’t the hard work; it was the air.

Braeburn had told her: “You had to learn how to love a thing first before it would love you back out here in Appleloosa.” Rarity had yet to learn to love the air, dry and hot as it was, and it didn’t show any compassion for her mane whatsoever. She pushed open the window and breathed in the dry heat of a new day, and realized it was going to be another scorcher. That’s what she got for coming right in the middle of harvest season. She levitated a sun hat onto her head and stepped onto the front porch.

“Mornin’ there, miss Rarity!” Apple Tart said with her usual pep as she jogged by. “Ready for an honest day’s work?”

“Oh, darling,” said Rarity, “don’t tell me you subscribe to the notion that dressmaking is not an honest living?”

“Ha!” barked Apple Tart. “I got me a fancy dress not too long ago, a hoof-me-down from my Ma? Sequins an’ buttons an’ all kinds a’ duds an’ doodads. Believe me, anypony who has the patience to sew somethin’ like that together is worth-ee of re-spect! Yer gonna need that attention to detail today.”

“What’s our task?” Rarity asked as she joined the earth mare in her leisurely trot.

“Apple sortin’!” chirped Apple Tart. “Most of the boys an’ girls are out buckin’ the trees, so we need ponies to help point out which apples are an’ ain’t worthy of consumption. We got ourselves buyers as far away as Vanhoover an’ Manehattan, so we gotta give ‘em only the best.”

“The best is what I’m best at,” Rarity quipped. “Lead me to it!”

The nearby orchard was overflowing with as many ponies as it was apples. At its edge were groups of ponies gathered around massive barrels, watching the applebuckers hitch themselves up to their wagons. The crowd was small but growing quickly.

“Goodness,” Rarity murmured, “some of these ponies seem to never sleep!”

“They like to get their duties done early,” said Apple Tart. “That way a lotta these worthless lumps can while their day away in the Salt Block or at the bakery. Them’s happenin’ places; I’ll treat you if you like!”

Rarity didn’t answer, too busy scanning the ponies. Most of them were still dull in the eyes and clutching mugs of coffee for dear life—it was disconcerting to note that most of those mugs were the ones they drank cider with! The rest were perky morning ponies, looking chipper and energetic. There were more mares than stallions, but there was less of a disparity than in Ponyville. She took a deep breath and plunged into them, tossing her mane back and adding an extra strut to her step.

“Good morning, Appleloosa!” she cooed, smiling as her smooth, cultured voice drew the attention of nearly everypony in attendance. “Your latest addition to the work crew is here!”

“Introducin’ miss Rarity of Ponyville!” Apple Tart said, leaping into the performance with a flourish of her hoof. “Ya’ll may ‘ave met her at the get-together a couple days back.”

“Hey, yeah!” one mocha-colored stallion shouted without any prompting. “She’s that there fancy pony all the way from the big city! So you’re the one Braeburn said was joinin’ us?”

That one cry of familiarity set off an avalanche. Rarity quickly found herself mobbed by bright-eyed, bushy-tailed farmponies who had never been as far as Dodge Junction. Ponyville was the biggest city most of them had ever seen, she reminded herself, and took the barrage of questions in stride.

And she did let herself feel a little doted over considering most of the ponies who approached were stallions.

“Is it true that city ponies like to butter both sides of their toast?”

“What’s the biggest buildin’ ya’ll ever seen? I hear Canterlot’s got towers as tall as a mountain!”

“How’d you get your coat so white? Is that some of your unicorn magic?”

“I really like your mane!”

Rarity raised a hoof and warded them off with a calm smile. “Now I know it’s quite an experience to meet a new pony, but a lady must have her space! As for the rest of your questions, I’ll be here all week. Plenty of time to get to know you all!”

She watched them disperse, noting how several of them backpedaled to keep her in their field of view, some more obviously than others. Apple Tart grinned and threw a hoof around her shoulders, making a loud clapping sound that made Rarity wince.

“Well shee-oot, Rarity, you know how to work a crowd! Come on, we gotta get to work.”

It was a simple task and one that Rarity was accustomed to. A row of large buckets awaited them, each labeled with crude scribblings for which held the poor and passable apples. She sat down amongst the others and watched as the apple buckers assembled in neat little rows, preparing to gather the harvest. An inspiring speech from one of the team leaders got their pep going and they wandered into the orchard, disappearing into the shadowy labyrinth of tree trunks.

“Do we just wait here for them?” Rarity asked.

“Yep!” answered Apple Tart. “Kinda relaxing, really. It helps the town come together, you know? Not too far off is one of the buffalo running lanes—sometimes you hear them stampede while we work. Just a nice little rumble, like thunder that brings the rain.”

Rarity perked her ears and heard nothing but the quiet murmur of other apple sorters, and the rustle of leaves in the wind. It changed direction and words came to her, unbidden.

“—come all the way from Ponyville of all places.”

“Surprised they don’t got her pickin’ the trees clean—”

The voices died down with the wind.

“Apple Tart,” Rarity said quietly, “why do only earth ponies move out to the frontier?”

“Hmm?” went Apple Tart, already leaning on their chosen barrel, hypnotized by the swaying of the apple trees.

Such indolence charmed Rarity, and she rolled her eyes fondly before asking again. “I said, why have only earth ponies moved here, or to Dodge Junction, or any of the frontier towns?”

“Hmm,” Apple Tart said again, pressing a hoof under her chin. “You know, I never did notice before. Somethin’ to do with the air, maybe.”

“The air,” said Rarity, raising an eyebrow.

“Sure! Somethin’ in the air. I guess maybe we earth ponies like open spaces. Ya’ll ever met a Mustangian? Can’t stop runnin’ once they get goin’, no sir.”

Rarity took a breath to speak, but Apple Tart beat her to the punch and raised her hoof. “First round’s comin’ back!”

Rarity watched a ragged line of ponies slide out from between the tree trunks. Behind them rumbled full wagons of fresh apples. They dumped their loads into the waiting barrels and trundled back into the orchards, disappearing among the shadowed trunks as if they’d never been there. The apple sorters went to work, dropping the acceptable produce into the giant barrels behind them. If she looked close, Rarity saw the apple buckers slipping between the trunks, flashes of color in the forest of brown. A memory struck of her mother reading bedtime stories of the flutterponies who hid in ancient woods before the time of the Princesses, teasing passersby with tales of riches and feasts to spirit them away to their home in Dream Valley. But the bounty being brought here was more than tangible, it was delicious.

“Are you sure it’s alright to eat one?” she asked even as she took a prim, measured bite of the morsel Apple Tart passed to her.

Apple Tart beamed, winking at her over cheeks puffed out with apple mush. “Of course! We got so many it’s fine to let a few of ‘em go down the gullet. S’where most of ‘em are headed anyway. Besides, I wouldn’t let any outsider go without tryin’ one fresh off the branch.”

Rarity had to admit the apples were just as pleasing to the eye as any of Applejack’s crop, and their texture on the tongue was unmatched by fine silk on her hoof. The explosion of taste sent a shiver down her spine, but she refrained from digging heartily into their harvest even as Apple Tart enjoyed a whole apple for herself. These were, after all, the town’s profit.

“Stupendous,” she whispered.

“Ain’t it just?” Apple Tart said, wiping her hooves and digging into their batch to continue the sorting. “Course you’re gettin’ it straight from the source, unwashed an’ untainted. Whoops! This one’s a mite mushy, better toss ‘er in the waste barrel…”

Rarity quietly settled into a routine as Apple Tart kept up a steady stream of words. She plucked up an apple with her magic, twisted and turned it in her grasp, and decided whether it was fit for consumption or not. Very few apples went into the waste barrel under her watch, but she couldn’t help but sneak a glance over her shoulder now and then at the other workers out of curiosity. Most of them worked at a quick, steady pace. Several in particular were caught staring right at her, and went back to work the moment they saw her look their way.

Even for a pony as used to attention as her, she felt the familiar sensation of criticism creeping through her fur coat. One mare in particular, a pale green earth pony with striking highlights in her pink mane, gave her a definite glare before going back to work. Rarity brushed it off, drowning herself in her chores.

The feeling of the sun on her back, the droning of Apple Tart’s voice, and the neverending supply of apples should have pulled her straight into a dull tedium, but it did not. This was a gentler laziness that had value in itself, like drifting down a quiet river or reading on the porch.

“So what’s it like for you?” Apple Tart asked, lobbing an apple over her shoulder and into the ‘pass’ basket.

“What’s that, dear?” Rarity asked.

“Livin’ in Ponyville, o’ course! I know ya’ll think we’re mighty ignorant out here, but most of us still remember the first time you came. An’ we’ve heard so much about how excitin’ it is up there!”

Rarity chuckled. “Oh, exciting is hardly the word I’d use. Perilous is more like it. Distracting, certainly. Ponyville has suffered such an inordinate share of hardships that whenever a new disaster strikes I must simply roll up my sleeves and tell myself ‘this is Ponyville.’”

“Whew! I can’t even imagine. Clock tower’s the biggest building we got, an’ I heard your city hall is twice as big as that.”

“Oh, not nearly. We do enjoy our comfort in Ponyville, and I suppose our houses can grow rather more affluent than necessary, even if many of us live alone in them.”

“Huh! Most of us share our houses. We almost never get bigger, ‘cept for new arrivals.”

Rarity paused to admire the shine of the sun off a particularly healthy apple, struggling with the urge to bite. “Not like me, I’m sure?”

“Nah. I mean foals an’ such. We get a few every now an’ again, but we’re still a tiny place compared to where you’ve been. I’m sure it’s a change, comin’ all the way down here.”

Another bushel of apples passed from bucket to barrel before Rarity had a moment of epiphany. She looked up at Apple Tart, who she realized hadn’t said anything recently, and was concentrating on the apples with renewed intensity.

“Apple Tart,” she said quietly, “are you all right?”

“Hmm? Me? Why, sure!” Apple Tart said with a huge grin. “Dunno why I wouldn’t be! Musta just dozed off. Anyway, let’s finish these apples!”

Rarity let it be. Apple Tart recovered quickly, filling the empty space between them with a veritable fountain of words that would make even Pinkie Pie fold her ears back. One barrel after another was sorted, picked over, and filled. Morning slogged into noon, and noon brought lunch. The sound of a clear ringing bell called them away from the treeline, but not before Rarity stayed back to greet the applebuckers, who came with slightly hunched shoulders and sweat in their manes.

“Excellent work, everypony!” she said to the gatherers, drawing their attention with a voice as clear as the bell. “Quite a harvest we’ve brought in!”

A few of the more enthusiastic ponies cheered for their own hard work. One of the stallions who’d delivered more apples than most to Rarity’s basket passed by her, bashfully tipping his hat. “Only the best for a guest, miss Rarity,” he said in a quick, hushed voice, hurrying away with a little smile.

“Don’t look now Rarity,” said Apple Tart with a little bump of her flank, “but I think you’ve drawn a few eyes. Ha, these boys’ll be infatuated with ya before the week’s out, an’ I bet a few mares too!”

“Yes,” said Rarity. “Where has Braeburn been all morning? You’d think he’d be out here, wouldn’t he?”

“Normally yeah,” said Apple Tart, “but he’s been busy.”

“Whatever with?” Rarity almost cried. The thought of Braeburn still going out of his way to avoid her, even to the point of shirking duties to a town he proclaimed to love with all his heart, was galling in the extreme.

Apple Tart shrugged. “I dunno! He an’ the town leaders’ve been squirrelin’ themselves away in city hall for days on end now! Rumors are flyin’ fast, but nothin’ bad has happened so far, so most ponies pay it no mind.”

“You talkin’ about Sheriff Silverstar an’ the others?” came a mare’s voice from behind them. Rarity turned to see the same green coated, pink-maned mare from earlier that morning glaring the same glare at her through amber eyes. “Don’t go spreadin’ gossip, Apple Tart. Ain’t like an Appleloosan.” She said the last word with a steady stare at Rarity, flicking her tail as she outpaced them.

Apple Tart blew at the tip of her mane. “An’ then we got ponies like her,” she hissed under her breath.

“Her who?”

“Bona Fide,” Apple Tart said, dropping her voice to conspiratorial levels of secrecy and leaning in close enough that Rarity smelled apples in her breath. “Most folks call ‘er Bonny. She’s just about the sourest apple in the bunch. She’s a senior planner for the orchard, so that means she has a share in the land, which means she’s got a share of the town. Lotsa folk respect her; she got her job at a young age.”

Rarity took her place on the chow line and watched Bona Fide gather a small group to herself. They were all hard-nosed mares and stallions who seemed to be trying to match Bona Fide’s stern expression. They sat down at a table of their own and started conversing amongst themselves.

“She appears to be more the leader of a gang than a pony to be respected,” Rarity pointed out, grimacing as the cook plopped a heavy glob of wheat pudding on her plate.

“She wasn’t so bad not long ago,” Apple Tart said. “Always was a stern kinda gal, sure, but she’s started becomin’ downright mean. My advice? Just keep your head down around her.”

“I don’t think she’s going to do the same for me,” Rarity muttered, and took a bite of cool applesauce.

The day came and went, tugged along by the sun into its kennel beneath the horizon to make way for the night. All through it Rarity was haunted by flashes of a pink mane and amber eyes beneath, eyes that seethed with disdain and shouted a single word to her over and over again, translated into a word Rarity had labeled rude customers, ponies who came underdressed to parties, and even a dragon.

Trespasser.

“Now, I’m not sure this is gonna be your kinda hangout,” Apple Tart said in a low voice. “No offense, but there’s some darn good reasons city ponies usually avoid places like this.”

“Nonsense,” declared Rarity, fluffing out her mane with a shake of her hoof. “If I’m going to leave a good impression I need to ingratiate myself. Partake of the local cuisine, see the sights, and engage with the common pony!”

She gulped as they stopped at the threshold of the Salt Block, listening to the distinct thud of a salt block breaking on somepony’s head. “Even if the common ponies have vastly different ideas of engagement.”

Apple Tart gave her a worried look. “You know you don’t have to go inside, miss Rarity.”

“But I do,” answered Rarity. “I told Braeburn I’d meet him here at the end of the day, and a lady keeps her word. Remember that, Apple Tart: never say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ unless you mean it. I only hope that he received my message and will treat me with the same respect. I can’t tell what he wants from me and I can’t dance around the issue forever.”

Apple Tart grinned and nudged Rarity with her hoof. “I thought a lady loved to dance.”

Rarity breathed in and out through her nose. The dry air raked her nostrils.

“Perhaps,” she answered, “but I found the charm of dances to be rather lackluster after the last one I attended.”

She pushed open the double doors and stepped inside. Warm, smoky air flowed over her coat, and the smell of salt was thick enough it nearly made her gag. Alcohol was one thing, but salt was one of the cheapest and most addictive of low-class pursuits. She’d made a point not to indulge in it no matter how many aristocrats tried to court her with the ‘high-grade stuff’ imported from the salt plains of Zebrica.

Braving the stench, she paused in the doorway as the doors swung shut behind her, letting her audience get a good look at her, and she a look at them. A diverse crowd of varying ages—but nopony much younger than her, she noted—peeked back, taking furtive glances out of the corners of their eyes to avoid upsetting their chosen entertainment. Ponies occupied nearly every available space. They crowded around the tables and hunched over cards they hoarded with as much greed as a dragon, shouted boisterously at each other from across the room, and even perched themselves on the rafters, speaking in quiet tones or dribbling cider on unlucky passers-by.

Only a few gazes lingered on Rarity, but one or two at the card table gave her long, steady stares, letting her know she was being watched before they went back to their game and exchanged harsh whispers. Rarity knew what they said: she doesn’t belong here, why’s she barging into this place. She should go home and drink champagne and rub shoulders with the rest of the fops in Canterlot.

Rarity lifted her head and strolled into the saloon, gliding between bustling patrons who seemed to avoid her, whether out of respect for the purpose in her steps or some unconscious desire not to see her perfect coat ruined she did not know.

“Watch it, unicorn,” one growled, even though he was the one to step out of the way.

A chill ran down Rarity’s spine, and on impulse she looked back at Apple Tart to see what she made of such rough behavior. The other mare kept her eyes straight ahead, betraying nothing, but Rarity was more than sure her companion had been close enough to hear the very nearly prejudiced quip. Changing direction from the heart of the saloon she led Apple Tart to a raised dais in the corner of the saloon which seemed to have once been a stage; the irony wasn’t lost on Rarity as she suddenly found herself half a head taller than even the burliest stallions in the place.

There you go, looking down on ponies, she scolded herself. No, she answered, I’m just trying to keep out of everypony’s way. There’s nothing wrong with wanting a good vantage point.

But just look at them. Look at the way Apple Tart looks at me. She’s fast becoming a friend, but how she moves so gingerly around me, like I’m an eggshell to avoid being stepped on.

“Well,” she said over the commotion and taking over the only empty booth seat in the building, “this is certainly more… boisterous than I was expecting!”

“Heh, you need to come back around when we get the harvest over with!” Apple Tart said with a grin. “There’s ponies stuffin’ this place to the brim, an’ then we all wake up an’ dance off the hangovers in the street. If we’re lucky we get a visit from the Heartland an’ pegasi teams give us a late year shower.”

“Lucky?” asked Rarity. “Don’t tell me they let the weather run wild out here!”

“Well, not so much that as we don’t get a lot of attention. The pegasi don’t like to fly in our skies ‘cuz this whole area’s technically still wild an’ so far from home, plus there’s somethin’ to do with, uh, whaddaya call it—bar-o-medics?”

“Barometrics?” Rarity offered.

Apple Tart pointed and smiled. “That one! They just ain’t used to flyin’ in wild air, or somethin’. They make a few minor adjustments up in the Heartland, an’ then we get the tail-end of the weather changes they make. They call it ‘Trickle-Down Atmospherics.’”

“An’ some of us,” said a green-eyed, cloud grey stallion with a deep green mane, “call it ‘Can’t Be Bothered.’” He plopped down next to Apple Tart, grinning as he slapped a heavy block of salt on the table. Rarity couldn’t help but notice the stallion was almost the size of Big Mac, if not bigger. “D’you mind?”

“Not at all,” said Rarity, eyeing the salt block like she would an ugly patch in an old dress. It just didn’t mesh with her sensitivities, and knowing that irked her. She didn’t need more reminders of the distance between herself and Appleloosa, and Braeburn. The smell of salt suddenly seemed that much more pervasive, filling her nostrils and making her wince as if she’d just bitten a lemon. It made her head feel lighter than usual, but she was certain she could handle it.

Where was Braeburn?

“Lemme introduce Coldcock!” Apple Tart said, breaking into Rarity’s reverie. She threw a hoof around the grey pony’s shoulders. “Born and bred Appleloosan an’ train hauler. He’s been up an’ down the line to Dodge Junction an’ a few other towns.”

“Been up an’ down the line, memorized every cactus,” he said with a grin full of pearly white teeth. “You must be that pony everypony’s been talkin’ about!”

“Yes, I am she,” said Rarity. “Is the whole town aware that I’m here now?”

“Just about, ‘specially with you stickin’ out like a sore hoof. I saw ya’ll from across the room.” Coldcock plucked up his salt block and took a long dragging lick from it, pursing his lips and shuddering to fight back the pungent taste. “You got a coat as white as snow, an’ out here that ain’t just sayin’ somethin’, that’s a miracle!”

“I do?” Rarity asked, feeling a blush sizzle under her cheeks.

“Well shoot, miss Rarity,” said Apple Tart, tilting her head to one side, “ain’t that why you work all them fancy spells? You’re practically glowin’ with ‘em! You’ll have to show me some, I’d love to know how to keep my mane from feelin’ all ratty after a long day!”

Rarity fidgeted in her chair, idly flicking her mane with the tip of her hoof. Around them the bar seemed that much less colorful, that much less bright, and here she was exposed like a model on the runway. Self-consciousness had been an alien feeling; if anything it was a four letter word. One didn’t succeed in life without putting oneself into the spotlight. But here, somehow, she didn’t feel noticed—she felt exposed.

“A lady must maintain her image,” she murmured.

“I guess so,” said Coldcock. “Sure is a nice change of view.”

Apple Tart thumped him in the ribs, scowling good-naturedly. “Don’t mind him, miss Rarity. These stallions don’t know about all those stories of gentle cowponies you got up in the Heartland.”

“Oh?” Rarity asked with a coy smile. “What do you know about those stories, Apple Tart?”

The mare flushed and retreated as if she was avoiding a bee, fiddling with her own hooves. “Oh, well, you know, I… I listen! I get curious, an’—” She paused, tapping her hooves together. “Only a few,” she muttered, and then looked up at Rarity with an outstretched hoof, as if she were afraid Rarity were already walking out the door. Instead, Rarity sat very still with a small, timidly appreciative smile as all the pieces fell into place in her head. Suddenly, Apple Tart’s irrepressible nature and insistence that she not leave Rarity’s side all day made that much more sense.

“I’m so sorry!” Apple Tart cried. “I didn’t wanna say, but I just got so excited when I heard a pony like you was comin’ back to our town, an’ I kinda maybe asked to be the one to show you around town, an’ maybe I was really really happy to sit with you in in the orchard today an’ help with the apple countin’—”

“It’s perfectly all right,” Rarity said, reaching up and lowering Apple Tart’s hoof with her own, “I know what you mean all too well. I’ve been there, believe me.”

“What, you?” Apple Tart said with a nervous laugh. “Tryin’ to impress ponies you don’t know? I wouldn’t’ve thought you’d need to!”

“I’ll gladly take that compliment,” answered Rarity, “but trying to impress ponies I didn’t know was a very large and very unwelcome part of my life, until I…”

Her throat squeezed shut, making her trail off with a strangled squeak. The thoughts inside suddenly refused to come out. She glanced down at the table, forcing her throat to open again with a nervous gulp, and said in a quiet, thoughtful voice: “Until I got to where I am now.”

“Where’s that?” she was asked.

Rarity shook her head. “I’m not sure. I thought going out and working today would help, but I’m still so… confused. I’m not sure if what I’m doing is really right.” She rubbed her hoof over the rough, old wood of the table. “Is it all the same as before?”

“Well, that sounds like some really deep thinkin’, Rarity. Good thing ya’ll came in here. Nice place to lose unwelcome burdens.”

“Yes, quite—ahh!”

Rarity jumped when she finally lifted her head to face the speaker, and was greeted by Braeburn’s gently smiling face. She was suddenly aware of how much harder her heart was beating, and she scooted back in her seat until she was nearly pushing into the wall. Braeburn slid easily into the space she left behind.

“Much obliged,” he said, taking off his hat and tossing it onto the hooks that hung above the table. He shook out his mane—It’s even more wild up close, Rarity noted—and pulled out a flask, taking a quick swig from it.

“Ahh,” he hissed, “last drop of cider for the day.”

“Busy?” Coldcock asked.

“Far from it! Boring!” Braeburn moaned, dramatically raising his hooves in a way that reminded Rarity far too much of herself. “Talk, talk, more talk, go here, look at a township, talk some more… I just don’t see why all these ponies can’t be happy. So much we got to be thankful for, an’ they’re actin’ like the sky’s cavin’ in!”

“What’s the fuss, Brae?” Apple Tart asked. “It ain’t the buffalo causin’ a stink again, is it?”

“Nah, nothin’ like that,” answered Braeburn, waggling his hoof. “It’s just—well, look, ya’ll remember a couple months back when there was that hustle n’ bustle over them, uh…” His eyes turned towards Rarity, who raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“Them?” she asked.

“Unicorns,” Coldcock grunted. “Two of ‘em. They came ‘round an’ stirred up things somethin’ awful with their magics an’ machinery.”

“An’ those stupid show tunes!” Apple Tart lamented, rolling her eyes. “Good riddance to ‘em.”

Braeburn shushed them. “Don’t talk like bein’ unicorns is what was wrong with ‘em,” he hissed. “There’s enough a’ that goin’ around town!”

“I did notice quite a few chilly stares,” Rarity said. “I daresay I picked out more than my share of absolutely adequate apples, but a few of the townsfolk seem less than welcoming this time around. A few were downright inconsiderate.” In a calculating gesture she flicked her mane as if it were nothing to her, but kept her eyes on Braeburn, aiming to draw a reaction from him if he was still feeling less than forthcoming. The stallion flinched and turned to her, eyes aglow with concern, then dawning comprehension, and finally resigned understanding.

“Bona Fide,” he muttered under his breath. “Am I right?”

“Is she that much of a problem?”

“She ain’t a problem,” Braeburn said, with more emphasis than Rarity expected to hear. “But her sentiment is. It’s somethin’ I gotta deal with now, Rarity, an’ I…” He sighed. “I was hopin’ you wouldn’t get caught up in it, is all. Not right when you were set to come out here.”

He shut his mouth and struggled to find words, just like last night. Rarity wasn’t going to have any of it, not anymore. She’d come here, made a decision, and dug her first furrow in the ground. She’d lain the first few seeds, and from the way Apple Tart and Coldcock acted around her she’d chosen good ground. Now came the long watchful days to see if something sprouted.

She reached out and touched his hoof, smiling at him in the way she’d seen him smile at other ponies. Guileless, unassuming and full of nothing but good wishes.

From the way she saw the faint blush on his cheeks, it worked.

“You said this was a place to lose unwelcome burdens?” she asked.

“Uh-huh,” Braeburn muttered, glancing down at her hoof.

“Then let us lose them now.” Rarity gave his hoof a squeeze, wondering where her boldness came from, but neither she nor Braeburn seemed to mind. Salt was in her nose and ideas were in her head and she wasn’t about to let any of them go.

“You know,” Braeburn said, looking up to meet her gaze, “you’re right. We got all day to worry about stuff like that. I came in here to relax, and darn it I’m gonna!”

“Hear hear!” Apple Tart said, thumping the table.

“Sounds good to me,” Coldcock said with a shrug.

“And to start,” Rarity said, her mind slowly gearing up from inertia to buzzing activity, “I think we should order a round of cider and have a toast!”

“What to?”

"Why, to Appleloosa of course!" Rarity declared, loud enough to draw a few curious glances. "To the town and its ponies, and all those who have made an already fine place a true diamond in the rough. To new friends one and all, who have made my coming here more bearable than I ever expected it to be. And most of all, a toast to the apple tree that gave us such divine drink."

"I'll drink to that!" Coldcock said, jumping up to get them all cider.

"As will I," said Braeburn. "You know Rarity, I got a hunch you're just sayin' all that to get on my good side."

She answered his good-natured smirk with a dagger-sharp smile of her own, sitting down and leaning forward in just such a way that her back curved suggestively, resting her chin on her hooves. "A lady," she said through a steady, half-lidded gaze, "is only deceitful when the situation calls for it. And I can tell you truthfully right now, mister Braeburn, that I have every intention of getting on your good side."

They picked up the cider mugs when Coldcock brought them, with Rarity making a conscious decision to forgo her magic and use her hoof, and looked at each other over the rims when they prepared to drink.

"Well miss Rarity," she heard Braeburn whisper, "I'd say it's workin'."

"To Appleloosa an' all the fine ponies therein!" Apple Tart said, and they drank all at once.

Rarity took a dainty sip and moved to set her mug down, but when she saw the others downing at least half their portions in one go, she quickly lifted the mug back up and made a show of gulping as much cider down as she could. It sizzled on her tongue and warmed her throat before dropping heavily into her stomach.

“I’d say this is even stronger than Applejack’s,” she said with a girlish giggle. “Oh, she’d throw dirt in my mane if she heard me say that.”

Braeburn grinned and gestured for her to lean closer. “Well, I’m not usually one to give away family secrets, but lil’ AJ’s got a habit of keepin’ the real stuff to herself!”

Rarity gasped, feigning alarm, but of course she was always up for hearing gossip about one of her most straight-laced and temperate friends. “No! Honest and hard working Applejack with her hoof in the pot? For shame!”

“You shoulda seen ‘er back at the reunion we had in San Palomino,” Braeburn said with a laugh. “Oh, that girl polished off a whole tankard by herself, an’ darn near threw up on the mayor!”

Rarity laughed aloud. It wasn’t often she could laugh about her friends without shame, but distance and the simple image of Applejack being a drunken fool was just too much. The apple farmer had her share of silly moments—as do you, she reminded herself humbly—but drunkenness was a spectacle she simply had to try and take advantage of when she went home.

“And then there was this other time—” Braeburn began, but Rarity put a hoof on his shoulder.

“Now now,” she said coyly, “we mustn’t waste all the good talking points on the first night. Allow me one!”

The others leaned forward, eager to hear a little of the glamorous pony’s life. Rarity drank in their attention, subconsciously smoothing out her coat. It was time to play the crowd. Delighting in the way their eyes lit up when she talked, the way they immediately hung on their words, confirmed that she was still a pony worth paying attention to. Any time earlier in the day she might have thought twice about it, but here, swamped by the noise and the lights and emboldened by the familiar buzz of alcohol in her blood, Rarity found her stage presence emerging. She regaled them with stories of her days in Canterlot, when she seized the attention of crowds and once launched an airship. She sprinkled in times when she was caught embarrassed or spoke out of turn, and she was suddenly the mare out of water, no longer the glowing porcelain goddess that Apple Tart and Coldcock seemed to see her as the longer she went on. She was in a world of her own, where she controlled the mood of everypony around her.

Somehow, one or two other ponies had joined in, taking seats at the edge of their table, and then a few more, until Rarity realized she had lost count of her drinks and she’d inadvertently drawn the attention of a dozen other ponies—most of them stallions. Maybe they were mesmerized by how much the city slicker could drink, or the way she kept standing up and looking them in the eyes, making them feel like she was talking to them personally. But she didn’t dominate the conversation so much as steer it, letting others have their say, answering questions both bold and meek, laughing when another off-color joke was passed between Appleloosans.

It’s an act, you know, she whispered to herself, hissing in her ear. You’re playing them. You want a prince all over again and you’re going to regret all this sooner or later, he didn’t even want you here you silly, stupid mare, it’s not going to work—

She drowned her sibilant conscience in more cider.

Through it all one pony kept drawing her gaze away from the others, and when she looked at him she was furtive, skittish, refusing to look at him more than a few seconds at a time. She told herself it was because of her natural paranoia in a crowd, determined not to clue ponies in on anything she didn’t want them to know. It took a special talent to put certain meanings into a glance, a brush of the hoof, even a pause in conversation.

She knew, however, that the reason she touched her mane and twirled it around her hoof, the reason she stammered and skipped over a word just that much more, was because Braeburn was sitting right next to her, smiling all the while the same way he’d smiled at the reunion, looking at ponies who were happy and being happy that they were happy.

He was happy that she was happy. But the same thing that dragged her to him almost two months ago now nagged her still. Was he happy?

She kicked back another drink, and suddenly she was aware that she had lost count of how many she’d had. Was it even still cider? Her head felt too light and her mood swung back and forth too much. Her throat was parched.

“Water!” she called out, and somepony gave her some. She gulped it down greedily and chuckled.

“So I told her that a song’s beautiful even to a pony without ears. Songs… songs come from in here, you know,” she said, and reached out to tap a pony’s chest. It was Braeburn’s, she realized after a moment’s consideration, and decided to let her hoof linger. Goodness, his fur was soft. She was vaguely aware of ponies looking their way, and she didn’t care.

“You know,” said Braeburn, “You, uh, never really told me why you wanted to meet me here of all places. Ain’t exactly a high class place.”

“No, I didn’t,” Rarity said, her voice light and tremulous. “And no, it isn’t. But I don’t mind.”

“Well, that’s very high class of you to say to.”

Rarity giggled and wasn’t sure why, but she was very clear on the point that her hoof was still on his chest and wasn’t moving.

“So then why?” Braeburn prompted.

Rarity glanced over his shoulder, at the good cheer and happy faces.

“Why, this, Braeburn,” she said. “All of this. I didn’t realize it until just now, but I wanted to show you this.”

Braeburn was struck silent or a time. His eyes drooped and then rose like half-full balloons, his gaze hovering somewhere between her mouth and her eyes, staring until Rarity felt herself blush. “When you came here,” he whispered, and somehow his voice overpowered the clamor of the saloon, “I wanted you to see the face of Appleloosa. That’s its ponies, Rarity. The ponies are what make a place. You understand?”

Rarity heard the unspoken worry in Braeburn’s voice, slurred and raw with alcohol though it was. Her groping hoof became a comforting gesture, stroking back and forth. “Of course,” she said, and meant it. Ponyville was nothing without her friends. Carousel Boutique was nothing without its visitors, and the occasional squeak of her sister’s voice. “Braeburn, what’s the matter?”

He opened his mouth and shut it again. She saw his eyes turn from one thing to the next, certain of nothing.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he muttered. “For bein’ such a bad host. I’m gonna change that startin’ now.”

“Oh, Braeburn,” Rarity said, smiling and drawing nervous circles on the table with her hoof. “Don’t even worry about it! You had a right to be nervous, the way I stomped in here demanding attention. I probably would have been just as apprehensive as you.”

“Nah,” said Braeburn. “Nah, it ain’t just that. Everypony’s been treatin’ you nice, haven’t they?”

Rarity blinked at the sudden change of subject. “Why, yes. Everypony’s been lovely. Absolutely lovely. Am I right?” she called across their table. Coldcock, Apple Tart, and a great many other ponies lifted their glasses and cheered.

“You see? There’s nothing to worry about.”

Braeburn smiled back. She saw the way he had to pry the edges of his lips upward. “Guess so.”

That was good enough. She didn’t want to pry much more, and let herself lean just a little towards him which he didn’t seem to mind, listening to him breathe as they watched the other ponies. Apple Tart was almost out, and Coldcock was hoof-wrestling pony after pony. Everything seemed hazy and wonderful, and Rarity let herself drift into thoughtlessness on fluffy white clouds that tasted of salt.

“I wanna believe that,” she heard somepony whisper, and then everything went blank.

She woke up immersed in lukewarm water.

Without thinking she lifted her head to take a breath before she was roughly shoved to one side and dropped onto a rough, wooden floor. Water clung to her in thick, heavy drops, racing down her cheeks and making her mane feel like lead. The room was lit, but everything was blurred and fuzzy. Air scraped at her dry throat with every breath.

“Ow,” she grumbled. “What—”

“Gettin’ real friendly, aren’t ya, city pony? Just like all the others. Just like everypony who comes through here.”

“I don’t unnershtan’,” Rarity hissed, her lips flaky and sticky in spite of the water she’d been dunked in.

“Gettin’ your manicured hooves an’ fancy perfume all over this place, all over Braeburn, all over—”

“Excuse me!” Rarity snapped, waggling a hoof in the air until it smacked against a rough vest, curling into the tough fabric. The pony underneath grimaced and shoved her hoof away.

“Excuse me!” she said again. “Who do you think you are, sir or madam? Where my hoovesh go is none of your business, and it is rude to akyoosh me of being some common shtreet horse!”

“What else can you be, actin’ like you own the colt? Got designs on him an’ the town just like all the others, huh?”

A pair of rough hooves shoved her and she stumbled in the dark, blushing at how helpless her squealing sounded when she hit the ground, scraping her elbow on what might have been the corner of a table.

“Look at you! Sloshed an’ salted. Some lady, huh?”

Rarity waved her hooves in the air. A growing sense of panic cut through the alcohol as she realized how helpless she was. Her horn sputtered and fizzled as she tried to direct a spell through it, but the magic couldn’t find its way out through the muddled mess of her mind.

“Don’t touch me,” she growled, and got a cruel laugh in response.

“I don’t gotta do nothin’. You’re makin’ a right fool of yourself already. But if you keep diggin’, don’t be surprised if more than words come your way, city pony. I know your type. Push hard enough an’ your true colors come out.”

“Hey!” a distant voice snapped like a whip.

She heard hooves running towards her and hooves running away. She felt somepony reach down and take her up in their hooves, and afterwards came voices and moving shapes.

“Get her some water.”

Oh, that sounded delightful. She just needed a drink. Just a little sip, and then—

Rarity’s eyelids tried to flutter open, but she felt them stick against each other and pull before coming apart.

She was struck immediately by how dark it was.

“Hello?” she called out, but her voice would go no higher than a simpering mewl. “Is somepony there?”

“Rarity?” an equally dismal and tuckered voice answered. “Izzat you?”

“Apple Tart,” Rarity grumbled. She turned her head and her stomach followed suit. “Gracious me. What happened last night?”

Apple Tart snorted, which soon devolved into a fit of giggles that echoed around the dark room. “You,” she started, and then fell back into laughter. “You, an’ me, an’, an’ there were so many other ponies!”

She saw the vague outline of hooves flailing around in the dark nearby.

“Yes, dear, I remember a party of some sort,” Rarity grumbled. Apple Tart’s voice wasn’t just irrepressible, it was painful. She rubbed her temples and curled up on her side, groaning aloud. “Too much cider. Too much salt. The salt! Oh, curse the pony who dug up salt! It must have been in the air.”

“Ha ha ha,” Apple Tart cackled. “Can’t take the strong stuff, eh, city pony?”

“City pony,” Rarity said. She sat bolt upright and stared into the dark, her headache vanishing in the tide of concern that washed over her. “Apple Tart,” she whispered, “where was I found last night?”

The other mare tittered. “Found? I guess wherever I was found. It was a ca-raaaazy night, girl! Whoo!”

“Erm, yes,” Rarity muttered. “Whoo-hoo indeed.”

She relaxed into the soft mattress, willing her mind to gather itself up and focus on remembering. Last night came back to her in fits and starts, little snippets of memory that danced at the edge of her mind’s eye. She remembered the Salt Block, and talking to ponies, ponies who stared at her, both amazed and begrudging. Most of all she remembered Braeburn, and lifted her hoof to peer at it. She still remembered him letting her touch him, indulging her perhaps because she was full of cider. The thought stung her—she was a lady of grace and sophistication, not some floozy who tossed away inhibitions at the first drop of alcohol. But then she also remembered being exceptionally thirsty and still was, and then she leaped off her bed searching for a glass of water to wash her mouth with.

She remembered something else, something unfriendly, something that came at her when she was most vulnerable. Now that she thought about it, it was terrifying to realize.

“And where are we now?”

“Where everypony who drinks like we did belongs,” Braeburn said as he creaked open their door, an intense silhouette against the light flooding in, making Rarity blink and throw a hoof over her face. “Back home.”

Rarity’s heart skipped a beat at the word ‘home.’ For a ghost of a moment, horrible visions of being kicked out of town and sent packing to Ponyville in shame flashed through her mind. But then she remembered that if Apple Tart and Braeburn were here, she couldn’t possibly have been carted all the way back there.

“Oh my,” she exclaimed, realizing that the light was falling across her uncombed mane which felt disheveled and sticky, and her awful, dingy coat that probably had who knew what stuck to it now, and oh goodness was that some kind of stain on her hooves?! She lunged for her bed, grabbed her blanket and threw it over her head, then dove under the pillow for good measure.

“Don’t look at me!” she wailed, well aware her undignified behind was sticking up into the air. “What kind of uncouth stallion walks in on a lady before she’s had time to make herself presentable?! I haven’t even had my coffee!”

She heard Braeburn chuckle and watched his shadow retreat from the doorway through the blanket’s thin fabric. “Sorry, Rarity. Just wanted to check on ya’ll since I heard you talkin’. I am glad to know you’re okay—”

“Yes all right that’s all well and good but I’m afraid I hear a bathtub calling my name right now see you in a jiffy so nice of you to drop by!”

The door clicked shut.

Apple Tart cackled, waving her hooves in the air. “Shoot, Rarity! That any way to treat a friendly good mornin’?”

“When my mane looks like this,” Rarity hissed, throwing the blanket off and pointing at the ruffled, puffy, purple feather duster on her head, “anything is permitted! Braeburn didn’t see me like this last night, did he? Did anypony?”

Apple Tart rolled over and blew a raspberry. “Don’t get your tail in a twist. Only them ponies what found you saw you with your mane down.”

Rarity groaned.

“Well, Braeburn saw you too of course once we got you back inside.”

Rarity groaned louder before snapping her head up from the pillow.

“Point me to the bathroom! I cannot let anypony see me like this! Or you, for that matter!”

Apple Tart rolled over once more, turning her back to Rarity. “Ooh, no. I’m not gettin’ pulled into this. Brae wouldn’t’ve let us drink like that if we had work in the mornin’. I’m goin’ back to sleep. My mane’s seen worse days—yaaah!”

Rarity trotted towards the bathroom with Apple Tart’s tail firmly gripped in her magic.

“Then such abuse cannot be allowed to continue!” Rarity declared, deaf to Apple Tart’s sputtering and cursing as she clawed at the hardwood floor while Rarity dragged her along, reaching out in vain to her pillow. “Just wait, Apple Tart. Give me an hour… or three… and it will be like last night never even happened!”

“It’s like last night is haunting me!”

Rarity charged out of the bathroom, almost in tears, with Apple Tart close behind. She got as far as the kitchen before running smack into Braeburn, sending her to the floor and him only staggering back a few steps.

“Whoa there!” he said, straightening out his hat before offering Rarity his hoof. “What’s all the commotion? I barely got lunch set up!”

“You don’t understand!” said Rarity, waggling her hooves around her head and thrusting her face towards him. “I have bags under my eyes! What kind of graceful mare goes about showing off the unwashed residue of last night’s escapades?”

Rarity tore away from Braeburn and paced the floor of the living room, chewing on her hoof. If she went out there now she’d become the laughingstock of the whole town. She could hear the barbs being slung her way now: Look at that silly mare! She must only use three hundred brush strokes to comb her mane instead of the requisite four! She said as much to the air, ranting and raving about how her image was tarnished forever and she had brought shame and dishonor to Braeburn’s household. She particularly liked her poetic description of her descendants’ gruesome and tragic fates all stemming from this one moment of hygienic indiscretion.

She spun around for a second circuit of the room and found herself almost face-to-face with Braeburn, who looked down at her with his eyes narrowed, chest puffed out and hooves set on the floor. The look in his eyes reminded her all too much of the look Big Macintosh gave Apple Bloom and the other Crusaders when he was putting his hoof down on their antics, and she suddenly felt very small and silly.

“This ain’t the only thing botherin’ you, is it?” he said in a quiet voice.

Rarity cringed behind her hoof. “Am I that obvious?”

Braeburn shook his head in a way that made his golden locks dangle pleasingly over his shoulders. “Don’t take no offense, Rarity, but I’ve gotten good at knowin’ when a pony’s really unhappy, an’ what they’re unhappy about. After the talks we’ve had an’ those letters we shared, I don’t think ‘bags under yer eyes’ is gonna get you into such a tizzy. You got too much fortitude for that.”

Clearly you haven’t known me long enough, thought Rarity, but she enjoyed the compliment. She let her hoof down and her breath out in a tepid sigh. “I suppose there is no point in hiding it.”

She lifted her foreleg, showing off the growing bruise where she’d knocked her elbow on a table.

“I found it while I was cleaning myself up. And then I remembered why I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Braeburn gritted his teeth so hard Rarity swore she heard them start to crackle.

“Rarity?” Apple Tart asked, her eyes wide and childishly innocent of what Rarity remembered of last night. “What’s the matter? Somethin’ I can help with?”

“We’ll be all right,” said Rarity, and when Braeburn didn’t add his own platitude she turned and noticed him staring at Apple Tart’s mane, which was done up in a very neat and tidy up-style with a large bun.

“Huh,” said Braeburn. “Lookin’ good there, Apple Tart!”

“I am?” Apple Tart’s hoof flew up to her mouth, and then to her mane. She touched it gingerly and then leaped for the stairs. “I am! Oh my gosh I have to figure out how to do this again!”

Braeburn clicked his tongue and glanced sidelong at Rarity. “You’re gonna make a city mare outta that filly. I think it’s what she wants.”

Rarity swished her tail. “She was almost unnaturally calm when I warned her of the ordeal of mane-care. Several of my friends would get bored or run for the hills if I brought it up.”

Her tail swished again, and she felt Braeburn’s swish in kind.

“... We found you next to a water barrel. Kinda lost track of you durin’ the night, I suspect,” he said quietly.

“I wasn’t alone,” Rarity continued for him, staring at the far wall.

“I know. I’m sorry, Rarity. Somethin’ could’ve happened to you and—”

“Braeburn, please,” said Rarity with a coy smile, heading for the kitchen to get that long-ago promised coffee. “I know you are a gentlecolt. No need to sully it with overeager chivalry. You have nothing to apologize for.” But he did.

“But I do,” he pressed, hanging back in the kitchen doorway as she poured herself a cup of steaming coffee. “Last night was supposed to be a fun one. One of those nights where nothin’ goes wrong. An’ somethin’ almost did.”

“You talk as if things going wrong is becoming a frequent occurrence, if you’re looking to get away from them.”

She watched him sigh, dig a tiny divot in the floor with the edge of his hoof. “Not things. Ponies.”

Rarity sniffed, quickly realizing that this talk was more for his benefit than her own. She couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit miffed, but she bit those feelings hard and reined them in. “I saw the looks I got in the Salt Block, and coming into town. I’m well aware of what ponies might have to say about somepony like me.”

Braeburn huffed and stamped his hoof. It made a satisfying clunk against the floor. “Beg my pardon, Rarity, but they shouldn’t be sayin’ such things in the first place. You’re Applejack’s friend—an Element of Harmony besides—an’ that makes you okay in my book. An’ hey!” He pointed with his hoof, leaving Rarity feeling faintly accused of something. “Why’re you so calm about this? You were all but attacked in my town, an’ I can’t stand the thought of there bein’ ponies who would do that here! It just ain’t right!”

He started to pace and she backed up against the counter, having no intention of interrupting. This was the very thing she’d come to Appleloosa for.

“This is such a nice town, an’ I wanted you to see it that way again. But I got so nervous cause I know there’s a lot of things goin’ wrong here. An’ I wanna tell you about it, I do, you deserve it for reachin’ out like this. But how do I do that? These are my kin. I can’t just tell you this pony or that pony’s about to go off the deep end, after so many years of makin’ ‘em smile an’ takin’ care of their foals. It’s like everypony’s starting to turn into a different pony.”

He turned back to her, their muzzles barely an inch apart. His eyes were widely cast nets, trying to catch the barest shadow of an answer.

“How’re you doing it?” he asked. “I need to know.”

Rarity smiled and lifted her nose until the tip of hers tickled his. His ears snapped up and his tail flicked behind him. Without giving him time to think, she sauntered away, heading for the back porch. She turned back and noticed Braeburn watching her, his eyes wide and his neck held straight. He was rapt with attention, hanging on every word she said. He must have been in such a state to be turning to her for advice.

It frightened her. Her tail flicked again and she looked away. She wasn’t used to being a role model for anypony but her sister, and she had no intention of building up an undeserved reputation here. She decided to start by bursting his bubble early.

“I’ll admit without shame that I was scared that night, Braeburn, for the few seconds I found myself in a room alone and quite defenseless with a strange pony. They belittled me, or at least tried to, but that wasn’t the worst part. I learned in Canterlot and Manehattan that ponies can be unnecessarily cruel and downright treacherous when it comes to their own desires. The way they stare at you and gawk, whispering to each other. The way they mark you and turn up their noses, the way they look at you and say ‘you don’t belong.’ I tried to fit in in Canterlot, and I tried to fit in at Manehattan, but both places had ponies who had a very specific idea of which ponies went where and what they should do. That was the horrible part; the idea that you didn’t even deserve to be a part of the circle, whether at its nadir or its zenith. Not belonging can kill a pony.”

Braeburn’s flanks slumped nearly to the floor, and she knew from the way he kept his gaze locked on the floor that he felt guilty for arousing such feelings in her. It made her heart skip a beat, wondering if she was going too far… But if this town was suffering, how could she go back to her little bubble life and pretend she hadn’t come out here for anything more than to ogle Applejack’s cousin?

“I do not feel like I belong here, Braeburn. I know it’s only been a few days, but I… I can see it. I can feel it. That my mere presence aroused such miscreant behavior is proof positive that somehow, my being here is dangerous.”

Braeburn pulled off his hat and looked up at her. She held his gaze with the same authority as in the party.

“I think you knew that. Didn’t you?”

His gaze slid like oil back to the ground.

“I wanted to keep it from you, but I didn’t at the same time,” he said, his voice crackling like dry leaves. “I hoped last night things’d go so well it might cover up what was goin’ on an’ I wouldn’t have to say it. Downright deceptive of me, I know. But you sent that letter sayin’ you were comin’, an’ I… I didn’t want you to see Appleloosa like this. I didn’t know what to do, so I… I tried doin’ nothin’, I guess. I tried to keep you an’ the town away from each other. Away from… me.”

But was that for my sake, or Appleloosa’s? Rarity thought, and she instantly berated herself. He had loved this town long before he had even heard her name. Her hooves wobbled of their own accord when she realized that; she felt like she teetered on a tightrope.

“You’re a glitzy pony, Rarity, an’ I mean that in the best possible way. Ponyville’s a big strange city to us folk, an’ names like Canterlot an’ Manehattan are daydreams. It’s all so… weird, I guess. Things are big out here, but they’re empty too. Lotsa space for a pony to roam an’ think. To do their own thing. The big cities are so crowded, we just assume everypony’s always messin’ with each other somehow. Can’t avoid it when there’s so many of ‘em. Folks think anypony from where you’ve been from has gotta be… well…”

“A meddler?” Rarity supplied. “I was accused of being as such. I’m astounded I remember it with such clarity.”

“I’m sorry,” Braeburn gasped, breathless. “Stuff like that ain’t supposed to happen here. I just want everypony to be happy.”

Even his mane drooped. “Oh,” she whispered, “you’re just like Pinkie Pie. Come here, you.”

She trotted over and embraced him, feeling him neither tense up or relax, mumbling something incomprehensible that might have been another half-hearted apology, stuck between stock and sincerity. He felt like a wooden board in her grip. To remove the awkwardness she started talking again.

“My dear Braeburn, I don’t want to belittle yours or any other town, but very few cities have a grasp on what life in Ponyville is like.” She pulled away, walked to the the back door and pushed it open. The sun was miserably far across the sky; she’d slept away half the day and then ate up the rest fixing Apple Tart’s mane to distract herself from the hangover. Oh well, it wasn’t as if she was missing dressmaking time.

Wait. That’s exactly what she was doing. Best keep talking and not think about it.

“Ponyville is one of the friendliest towns in all of Equestria. Growing up there has taught me more about life than anything I could have learned in Manehattan or Canterlot, as much as I believed otherwise. The ponies in Ponyville are loving, kind, accepting… a little hysterical at times, and often quite prone to following the leader. I blame Pinkie Pie for her song and dance.”

“Heh, I still remember that one,” said Braeburn, rubbing the back of his head.

“But most of all I have friends there. Not just ‘friends,’ Braeburn. Those friends are the kind of pony you see somewhat often and generally don’t wish bad things upon them. I mean true friends who never abandon you for anything. Knowing that they are still there, waiting for me, no matter how bad my own life gets… that is what gives me strength.”

Braeburn’s sigh was familiar to her. It was a sigh that carried weariness and frustration. He had things he wanted to say and no words that would suffice.

“Appleloosa was like that not too long ago. Listen, Rarity…”

“Braeburn—”

He threw his head to one side, knocking her interruption out of the air. “Please. Just lemme say it. I’m sorry. Okay? I put you in this situation.”

“I came of my own accord—”

“I know, I know. But I coulda said somethin’. I coulda warned you or just told you to stay away. But I let you walk out there an’ run right into our troubles without a hint or nothin’, an’ then I just left you high an’ dry. But I told you, Rarity… I love this place. I love these ponies. Seein’ ‘em like this… it’d hurt you too, you know? What if your friends started actin’ all beastly? Wouldn’t you wanna keep ‘em safe from their own shame?”

Images flashed in her head of buildings floating upside down over checkered hills and polka-dot trees. Grey, washed out ponies wearing her friends’ skin sneered at her, and she snarled right back while a mishmash creature laughed at them all. They'd said awful things. Hurtful things. Things that pierced her deeper than anything Bonny could hurl at her.

She came to with a quick flick of her mane, passing it off as a nervous tic. Braeburn’s lips were still moving and sound gradually caught up with them again.

“—an’ I just couldn’t let you see ‘em like that. I wanted to fix it an’ hide it at the same time. I—”

“Stop,” she said. “Just… stop.”

She walked forward and grabbed his hoof, not letting him pull away, though he tried to in surprise.

“Braeburn, you weren’t entirely honest with me. That is all right. You are under stress. But please, no more dishonoring my good intentions. I want to help. I did help. I am helping. I am trying to be a friend to Appleloosa.”

He gulped.

“Tell me what is wrong,” she said, in that iron voice coated in velvet she’d learned in Canterlot. She’d heard the Princesses use it more than once.

Braeburn stared at their joined hooves.

“Bona Fide’s got reason to be angry,” he whispered. “There’ve been more outside ponies comin’ around than usual. Out-of-towners like you. Appleloosa’s gettin’ bigger, Rarity. Like a buffalo ready for his first stampede. Ponies wanna steer where this place goes, they wanna… get their hooves all over it. All over what we’ve made.”

Is that how you feel, Bonny? Rarity wondered. Like you helped make this place? Make Braeburn?

“What sorts of ponies?”

Braeburn chuffed, studying their joined hooves intently. Why did he do that, Rarity wondered? Contemplating him and her, in this room, or something about the act itself? “Oh, ponies with big names an’ bigger egos. Rich, Rail Gauge an’ Co., a few big plantations from Dodge Junction are joinin’ the fun. Heck, even some quacks callin’ themselves Flim an’ Flam with their big fancy steam machines swung by not long ago. Bonny’s fit to be tied, along with a lot of other important ponies in this town. They want us left alone. Some of us like the new attention. Think it’ll do us good. That’s where I’ve been all this time, you know… listenin’ to arguments. Complaints.”

“And you’ve heard so many you don’t know what to think anymore, except you want everypony back the way they were.”

Braeburn nodded. Rarity’s mind flew back to the times when she was in Canterlot during Fancypants' party, wishing to be with her friends, but ashamed of their behavior at the same time. Not certain whether to laugh or cry, whether to put them in a box or hold them up and scream at the top of her lungs that she was not ashamed.

Her hoof began to pull away, but this time it was Braeburn who stopped her.

“You can help,” he said.

“I can,” she said, “and I will.” The thought made her shiver.

“Now that,” Braeburn said with a smile, “is somethin’ I can believe.”

The grip of his hoof tightened, and she knew she was stuck.