Hearts Strong as Horses

TWO

  Roxie slept an extra three hours, waking at ten o’clock on a bright Saturday morning. Yawning, she hopped out of bed and stretched her legs and back, limbering up for some basic calisthenics. Her mother was a firm believer in healthy living, which explained why her father was quick to hide any evidence of hayburgers or hard cider, and why Granny had cut down on how many sugary treats she baked. Valencia Smith was a kind mare, but she was also a staunch follower of the virtues of honesty and keeping one’s word. She did not tolerate deceit.

  Once finished with her exercises, Roxie showered and quietly went downstairs, seeking breakfast. The heavenly scent of buttermilk apple pancakes wafted under the hungry filly’s snout, compelling her forward under its thrall. Nopony could resist the power of Carmen Smith’s cooking. Anypony that could, if such a being existed, had a will of mithril and did not require food to survive.

  Granny was, as always, the first to rise. She puttered about the kitchen in her trusty old apron, humming an old tune from bygone days. She smiled warmly when her granddaughter took a seat at the table and set to work devouring a stack of ten apple pancakes.

  “Mornin’ Granny” Roxie greeted cheerfully, pausing a moment to take a drink of cider from her mug, “I can’t wait for you to meet Pinkie. She’s a real hoot. Bet she’d be great at parties.”

  “Good mornin’ sugarcube” Granny replied back once she had the stove off and could focus her full attention to conversation. She sat down at the table with her own breakfast and a mug of strong black coffee. “Your friend sounds a bit like somepony I knew back when I was a filly. She was quite the joker, loved pranks of all kinds...especially the kind that scared you right out of your horseshoes. For the life of me I can’t remember her name, though I know it fit her nature perfectly.”

  Roxie cracked-up laughing as she pictured a younger Granny being surprised by a jack-in-the-box and leaping out of sight, leaving behind four horseshoes and a cackling mare in the bushes. To escape the retaliation of one as fast as an angry Earth Pony, the prankster must have been a Pegasi.

  Granny informed Roxie that Pa and Ma were out shopping at the market, and Mac was with some friends at a rodeo in the neighboring town of Wheatburgh. All would be returning within a few hours.

  There came a specific knock at the front of the farmhouse, used by the local mail-ponies. Roxie got up and stepped out onto the screened-in porch, enjoying the slight chill of early autumn. She took in a breath of fresh air and walked over to the screen door.

  A grey-coated Pegasus stallion waited patiently on the front steps. His polished bronze nametag identified him as Express Delivery, the trade name he adopted when he found his true calling. Many ponies did so as a way to show dedication to their special talent or career. Clutched in his mouth was a sheaf of envelopes, wrapped in the middle to protect them from drool or teeth-marks. He dropped the mail onto Roxie’s up-turned hoof.

  “Hi there Ms. Smith” Express said politely, “had a lot of stops to make today, so apologies for being a bit late. Do you mind terribly if I catch my breath here for a minute or two?”

  Taking pity on the hard-working pony, Roxie smiled and replied, “go right ahead. I’ll bring you some cider and a couple of fritters.” She hoofed over the mail to Granny and returned to the porch with the mail-pony’s drink and snack, which he gratefully accepted.

  “Thank you so much” Express said, biting into his fritter. His yellow eyes lit up at the heavenly taste. “Your family has rightly earned their reputation for having the best baked goods. You must be so proud to be a Smith.” Roxie sat down in one of the beach chairs, while Express took a seat on a very comfortable green couch that Bismarck hauled home and repaired for the family and guests to use.

  Nodding, Roxie replied, “I am indeed sir. One day I’m gonna be big and strong enough to help my parents and Mac with the harvest.” For now though, she was content with being a filly and all that came with being so.

  “Thank you for your kindness Ms. Smith” Express said, finishing the last of his cider. He departed Sweet Apple Acres and set course for home. Carefully tucking away his badge, he officially resumed using his birth name: Zippity Doo.

  When noon rolled around, right on the dot Roxie heard the strange springing noise that signalled the approach of one Pinkamena Diane Pie. The cheerful filly pronked along the country lane with ease, despite having a full saddlebag strapped to her back. All that jumping around must have given her almost superpony strength, especially in the legs. Sure did explain the rib-cracking bear hug yesterday. She would make a decent applebucker if she ever decided to assist in the harvest.

  “Hiiiiiii Roxie!” Pinkie called, grinning from ear to ear. She made one big jump and landed squarely at the base of the porch steps, leaving a shallow crater in the ground. Shaking dirt from her coat like a dog would water, the pink pony joined her friend on the porch.

  “Howdy Pinkie” Roxie greeted back, tipping her stetson, “welcome to Sweet Apple Acres.” She unhooked the saddlebag and gripped the strap in her teeth to pick it up. She was quite understandably shocked when it crashed to the floor and refused to budge.

  While Roxie was stubbornly using her head to try and push the bag along, Pinkie casually opened the flap and hauled out a polished silver cannon with flower decals on the wheels. A sticker on one side of the barrel read in big red letters:

Harlequin’s Hoofy-Dandy Party Cannon!!!!!!

Load her, light her, and let the fun begin!

Warning: aim away from anypony you do not

wish to cover in streamers and confetti

  With the weight suddenly gone, Roxie let out a surprised ‘whoa doggy!’ as she went skidding across the worn smooth floorboards, landing upside-down against the wall with a thud. Her eyes spun in opposite direction, while tiny semi-transparent apples orbited around her head.

  “You ok there, Roxie?” Pinkie asked, ready to dig out the medkit she always carried incase of emergencies, “I took out my party cannon so you could lift the bag. Looks like you got it already though. Thanks a bunch.” She hummed a nameless tune and rolled her cannon into an out-of-the-way corner.

  Roxie stood and shook her head, sending her hat flying neatly onto the couch. “How in the hay did you fit a cannon into your saddlebag?” She looked between the two, but gave up when her head started to ache from the strain of trying to make sense out of nonsense.

  “Oh that’s easy silly, I just-” Pinkie began, but was interrupted by Granny coming outside with a tray of cider and apple brown betties balanced on her back. She set it down on the table and looked over at the pink filly before her.

  “Well howdy there youngin’” she greeted warmly, “I take that you are Roxie’s friend?” The elder pony smiled at the filly, taking a seat on the couch to rest her weary hooves. She had long-since accepted that she was getting old, but she sure as hay didn’t have to like it! Her father had once told her ‘Carmen, you can’t outrun the reaper forever, but you can still make the son-of-a-biscuit work for it!’ Words to live by.

  “Hi there Granny Smith!” Pinkie greeted back, taking a seat on one of the cushions Roxie had set out for her, “me and Roxie are gonna play a board game. Would you like to watch or play?”

  “I’ll just observe little filly” Granny said, “I never could wrap my head around those new-fangled board games. My siblings and I played hide-and-seek, tag, princess of the hill, horseshoes. Simple little things like that. Why we’d even see who could buck the most apples off o’ the trees. Naturally I won most times. These old gams o’ mine used to be quite steadfast before the sands of time wore me down.”

  To Roxie’s surprise, Pinkie was listening closely to Granny as she spoke of her youth. She barely moved, her ears turned forward to catch every word. An outside observer might mistaken the filly for a very lifelike statue. When Granny finished her tale, she stretched out on the couch and promptly went to sleep. Pinkie’s attention turned to looking around at the time-worn farmhouse, seemingly entranced. Her mystified gaze circled back around to Roxie, and her trademark smile stretched across her snout.

  “This place is really old” she said quietly, “I can count the rings on the wood and tell you just how old, but you probably already know.” She opened her saddlebag and pulled out a bag of metal figurines, an instruction manual, a box marked ‘cards,’ two cardboard screens, and square sections that Roxie figured were part of the gameboard. She picked up the manual and flipped through it. Deadly Dungeons was a fantasy game set in a fictional place called Ponyland, with the center of civilization being Dream Valley. There were various characters classes, many monsters, and enough items to make jealous the infamous hoarder duo known as the Coltyer Brothers.

  Setting up the board and screens, Pinkie explained the rules of the game and how it worked. While it seemed complicated, once you started playing the fun was doubled. First thing was for each player to create a character.

  Pinkie's new character was a Pegasus mare, a bard named Sweet Serenade. She could hypotize crowds with her music or even put them to sleep if the enchantment worked right. Her personality was explained to be based on her Granny Pie: she could be quite silly, but when push came to shove her bravery was second to none.

  With some assistance, Roxie created an Earth Pony mare of the fighter class, basing the personality on both her parents. Applebuck possessed great strength tempered by wisdom and intelligence. Satisfied that she was ready to play, Pinkie narrated one of the adventures she had come up with, titled Escape From Midnight Castle, and the game began.

  The two fillies played for an hour, ending the treacherous journey to Castle Midnight with a hard-fought victory over King Tirek and his minions. Applebuck set off into the sunset with her rescued friends, serenaded by Pinkie having Sweet sing the ending song.

  “So, I take it you enjoyed Deadly Dungeons?” Pinkie asked once the last of the unseen credits scrolled away, grinning as she leaned forward to hear the answer. Making ponies happy was what the pink filly enjoyed the most; there was no greater feeling in all of the world, not even a sugar rush.

  Roxie nodded and smiled back. “Really fun game Pinkie. I’ll play it again with you sometime. Can I keep my character or will I need to make a new one?” She had taken a liking to the courageous Applebuck, and Sweet Serenade had proven to be an invaluable ally.

  “I’m good at remembering stuff” Pinkie replied, “so all your character info is safe, up here in the old coco.” She knocked on her head, producing a bizarrely hollow sound not unlike that of a Buffalo drum.

  Filing away the question of how that was possible in the part of her memory marked ‘questions that will never be answered,’ Roxie stood, stretching and arching her back like a cat. She heard numerous crackles as her bones settled back into their proper alignment.

  “So, what do you want to do next?” Pinkie asked, sitting back on her haunches, “I’m up for something exciting. How about a race?” She liked racing, or anything that let her move really fast and get her heart beating a mile a minute.

  Roxie sat up and tapped a hoof on her chin, eyes squinting as she thought for a few moments. Grinning, she stuck out her right forehoof and spat on it to seal the deal. “Challenge accepted!” she said with confidence, “we run from here to the fountain in Ponyville, loop around twice, and race back here. That sound good to you?”

  “Sounds dandy as candy to me” Pinkie replied cheerfully, looking just as confident as her friend. Shaking hooves, the two fillies trotted over to the lane. Somewhere in the span of ten seconds, Pinkie had donned a light blue tank top, matching sweatbands, and a Baltimare Colts cap made to hold drinks at hoofball games.

  Roxie slipped her canteen strap over her head, making sure the cap was easily lifted. Satisfied that she was ready to win, the young cowpony moved to stand beside her opponent. She crouched low in a sprinter’s position.

  “Three...two...one” Pinkie counted down, “onyourmarkgetsetgo!” She took off down the lane, a pony-shaped cloud of dust and confetti trailing behind to settle on the ground. Roxie took off after Pinkie, quickly flanking her to the left. She let out a gleeful ‘yeehaw!’ as she galloped along.

Spotting one of the new-fangled motorized carriages speeding along the narrow country lane at break-neck speed, the two fillies realized with dawning horror that they were trapped. The fences were too high to jump over, they could not outrun the carriage, and even on the shoulder of the road the sideboards would slice them like a knife through an apple.

  “Flatten yourself down as much as you can, so the car will pass over us!” Roxie yelled over the growing roar of the engine. Pinkie nodded and splayed herself out in the dirt, her mane deflating and her coat turning dull as abject terror gripped her heart. She sang ‘Giggle at the Ghosties’ to try and comfort herself, not at all ready to join Granny Pie in the Great Beyond.

  Roxie, afraid to die but willing to accept the inevitable, simply closed her eyes and waited for the brief pain of being run over. Instead, she felt a hot wind on her face and looked up to see a license plate reading [R3NTL] inches from her head. She and Pinkie sat before the polished green vehicle, breathing hard as the adrenaline pumped through their rapidly-beating little hearts.

  The front carriage door opened and a Unicorn in a fancy black suit got out. Somepony in the back seat loudly questioned what in blazes he was doing and to leave the dead where they fell, but the driver chose to ignore the protest. If he had just smashed two fillies, he was going to take responsibility.

  “Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead” the driver muttered to himself, slowly peering around the side of the car. Seeing that he had not become a murderer, the driver wiped his brow and let out the breath he had been unconsciously holding.

   “Are you two ok?" he asked, "I’m so sorry about nearly running you over. My passengers are in a big hurry, you see. They have important business to attend to just down the road."

  “We’re ok mister” Roxie replied, helping her still straight-maned friend over the fence so the car could pass by, “you just shaved about ten years off our lives, that’s all. Still got about sixty or so left, pending future accidents." She had no idea why she was making light of a near-death experience, but it helped her cope with the trauma.

  “Well that’s great news, e-except for the lost decade part of course” the driver said, looking quite sheepish with his ears folded back in shame, “I’ve got to get going before I get fired. You two be careful now. Might want to get this lane widened up some.” He got back in the carriage and drove off down the road at a measured pace. As the vehicle passed, Pinkie would swear on the Book of Harmony itself that she heard a cold voice growl, ‘If they get in the way again, run them over.’ A shiver ran marathons up and down her spine.

  Leaning against the fence, Roxie spoke up after a moment. “Pinkie, how about we call this race a draw and we just go get some ice cream over at the Clover Café, maybe do a little store-browsing?” She heard a sound very much like the rapid inflating of a balloon. Pinkie’s mane had reinflated and her coat returned to its healthy shade of bright pink.

  “Sounds super-duper to me, Roxie!” Pinkie said, cheerful once more. She pulled a small bag of bits from inside her mane and tossed it onto her back, where it rested snugly between her withers. Having learned the last few times not to question the ways of the Pinkie, Roxie followed her friend down the road towards Ponyville.