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                    Heart of the Apple                     
                    -by Novus Draconis-                    
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        Prologue:  Life on the Equestrian Frontier         
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Author's Note
Those of you who haven't read NaterRang's excellent web-comic, I recommend you do. It's not necessary to enjoy the story, but it puts everything in a better context. You can find the link in the description.
Prologue: Life on the Equestrian Frontier
“There you are. Master of the sky.”
One claw held the binoculars to his eyes while the other worked a pencil, writing notes in a little book.
Yantzen Van Pelt watched the Roc circling in the distance. Whoever had known the griffon from years before would not have recognized him today. While not elderly, he was considered by those of age to be young and by the young to be old.
Once upon a time, he had been one of the most feared soldiers in the Griffonian army. The so-called Crimson Major. That name still struck terror into the hearts of those that heard it and his exploits were still recounted in hushed tones.
But the idealism of his youth had not weathered the reality of life well and he soon grew tired of war. Unexpectedly, he had vanished. Some said he had been captured and imprisoned, some said he was dead. Yet, here he was, living in a tiny cabin on the Equestrian border, observing nature and content for the first time in memory.
“Fourth sighting in two weeks.” He muttered, scribbling this information down. He closed his little book and dropped it into his bag before swinging the entire package onto his shoulder. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”
He gazed at the river that bordered his home, thinking of fishing later. Though he had found his taste for meat had waned, fish was still a nice treat. It was more for the enjoyment of the experience rather than the actual food he probably wouldn't catch. Despite the effort he put into it, he still wasn't much of an angler.
He caught a glimpse of something unusual at the river's edge, gently bobbing in the current and, with a single flap of his wings, he settled down by it. Wrapping a claw around it, he strained to drag it up onto the bank. It was much heavier than it looked, but, now that it was clear of the water, he could see it was an earth pony mare.
She must have been very beautiful, but now her cream-colored coat and rose-tinted mane were a matted mess from the water and blood. All four of her legs were badly broken and, as he pressed his claws along her flank, he could feel the grinding of broken ribs. Both of her eyes had swollen shut and her muzzle appeared to be broken.
“You poor thing. How did you end up all the way out here?” He sat up and looked about for a search party. Somebody had to know who this little pony was. Her family had to be worried. This was somebody's daughter. Actually, she was old enough to be a mother. Yantzen's mind turned, unexpectedly, to her babies. They would be waiting for her to return, wondering where their mommy had gotten to.
He knew that he was exceptionally isolated. That was the reason he had chosen to live out here, in solitude. There were no neighbors and the nearest town, a tiny hamlet where he sold what he grew and purchased what he couldn't grow, was a half-a-day's journey to the west. This mare must have fallen in somewhere upstream and rode the river down. If that was the case, nobody would know where to look for her.
So, it had fallen to him. He couldn't go out and find this mare's family without any knowledge of who she was. He would carry her up to the house, find something to wrap her in, and lay her to rest somewhere where she wouldn't be disturbed.
As he lifted her up, she let out a groan and gave a feeble kick. Yantzen froze, wondering if he had seen what he had actually seen. It wouldn't be the first time something survived more than he expected. He laid her back down where she whimpered and shifted slightly.
“You're alive?!”

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            Chapter 1:  Who are you?  Who am I?            
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Chapter 1: Who are you? Who am I?
Darkness.
Darkness and pain were the only things I knew. Everything hurt. Every breath burned in my chest. My head throbbed and felt nearly twice its natural size. I shivered with cold and burned with heat. My stomach churned and I wanted to empty it, but couldn't bring myself to.
Slowly, I opened one of my eyes as wide as I could and light immediately struck me like a blade. I closed it again and let out a moan of misery, trying to lift a leg to cover my eyes. My legs, something was wrapped around each one of them. I couldn't move them more than a few twitches and even that was agony.
Despite the pain, I opened my eye again.
The light wasn't as bad this time, but it still hurt. I let my vision roam as I took in my surroundings. I was lying on a bed and covered in several warm quilts. The small room was warmed by a fire across from me. The room was cozy, full of old furniture that looked hoof-made. Hoof-stitched quilts were draped here and there. From the pot hanging over the fire, the spicy scent of stew wafted over, making my mouth water.
Somewhere outside of my field of vision, I began to hear a rhythmic metallic squeaking and splashing. I strained to turn my head and see what was going on, but I couldn't lift it more than an inch before my strength gave out. My head dropped back to the soft pillow and I lay there, panting from the exertion. The world seemed to swing around me crazily. I closed my one good eye and pleaded with myself to not make a mess. The shock would kill me.
A cold, wet cloth was placed across my forehead and I sighed my pleasure as my feverish skin was cooled. I opened my eye again to reveal my benefactor.
“Ah, you've made it through the night. I guess that means you're going to be okay.” He leaned close and clicked his beak thoughtfully. “I can only assume it's been a while since you last ate, but I don't think solids are a good idea while you're recuperating. Do you think you could keep some milk down?”
The very thought of eating anything caused my roiling pit of a stomach to launch flashes of hot bile up my throat. I had no appetite.
The griffon shook his head. “Regardless of how you feel, you must try to eat something. All of the work I've put into mending your injuries will go to waste if I allow you to starve. As I hate wasted work, I have every intention of making you eat. Besides, milk will help settle your stomach.”
A feeble whine was all I could manage in protest.
My griffon caretaker ignored my complaint. He gave a satisfied nod and stood, disappearing for a moment before returning with a small cup.
“Here we are. Nice warm milk. I don't keep any cows, but the silver bit I have in the jug does a fine job of keeping the milk from spoiling for a while.”
He sat down on the edge of my bed and gently wrapped a claw around my barrel. Hot daggers of pain shot through my ribs as he pulled me into a reclined position against his chest. Tears welled up in my swollen eyes and he lightened his grip.
“I'm sorry. I know that hurt. Hopefully, we won't have to do this for much longer.”
Free of the quilts, I finally got a look at my body. What wasn't hidden by white bandages was a foreign landscape of purple and swollen flesh. My legs were held in heavy wooden crudely-fashioned splints.
“It's not the best work.” The griffon confessed. “I'm not exactly a doctor, but you should be fine. Here, the sooner you start taking in nutrition, the faster you'll heal.”
I stared at the cup he held before my muzzle, the creamy milk sloshing within, and turned away from it, pressing my head against his chest.
“Oh, come now. You're far too old to be acting like this. You should know better.”
“'M not hungry.” I managed to croak.
“Be that as it may, I'm not leaving until you drink it all. Think of it this way, the sooner you do as I say, the sooner you'll be rid of me and can get back to resting.”
That was all there was to it, apparently. He was a stubborn old bird.
Stubborn.
The word turned up a memory of an old mare with a green coat, arguing with me over something. Something trivial, but I'd be damned if I knew who she was.
Reluctantly, I turned my head back to the cup and wrapped my lips around the rim.
“There we go. Good girl.”
He began to tilt the cup as I drank.
“Not so fast. Not so fast now.” He lowered it and I sat, panting for breath.
The milk slid down my throat to my stomach and the heat eased somewhat. I felt a brief flash of annoyance that he had been right.
Again, the cup was pressed to my lips and I continued to drink, draining the cup. I was surprisingly full, despite the fact that I couldn't remember when I had last eaten.
Actually, I couldn't remember much of anything.
Carefully, the griffon slid out from beneath me and helped me settle back into a semi-comfortable position in the bed. Everything hurt, but I managed to shift into a spot where some things hurt less. I watched the griffon as he moved about the cabin, washing and putting away the cup, and generally straightening up.
“Who are you?” I asked.
He turned. “Who am I? My name is Yantzen and this is my home. I found you in the river just outside. I'd like to help you find your family. Do you know where they are?”
I thought hard, drawing up only hazy memories of a green-coated stallion with a brown mane and a half-grown, red-coated colt only to have them vanish as soon as I tried to concentrate on them. Finally, I ceased my efforts. “I'm sorry. I can't.”
Yantzen shrugged. “If you can't, you can't. There's nothing to be sorry about. In time, we'll find where you belong. Until then, you'll stay with me. I can't, in good conscience, toss you out the moment you're well enough.”
He peeled back the quilts and gently prodded me with a talon, assessing my injuries. Occasionally, he'd ask me to tell him where he was touching or how bad the pain was. He undid some of the bandages to get a better look at the wounds themselves. I tried to see what kind of condition I was in, but I still couldn't lift my head very high.
He straightened with a satisfied look. At least, I thought he looked satisfied. Beaks weren't the most expressive facial features.
“You Earth ponies are tough, I'll give you that. There doesn't appear to be any spinal injuries and none of the wounds are infected. That's all very good. I'm going to change your bandages. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to wash you, first.”
“Why is that unfortunate?” I asked.
He fixed me with a grim look. “Because it's going to hurt.”
With great care, he removed the blood-stained bandages, letting the wounds sit in the open air while he heated the water and fetched soap. I maneuvered so that I could catch a glimpse of what everything looked like.
A massive cut, closed by thread, ran along my flank from hip to wither. Another ran up my hind leg. Smaller cuts and abrasions covered my battered form, but those were the only two that needed direct attention.
“Most of your injuries are internal. The worst of them are to your legs and your ribs. What I think happened was that you fell from a great height and landed in the water on your belly. Does anything sound familiar?”
I shook my head. “I can't remember anything.”
He nodded, sitting down next to me. “Try to not do that again. It's rather painful.”
“So I gathered.”
From the steaming pot of water, he removed a wet cloth, which he loaded with soap. “I'll do my best to be as gentle as possible, but it will still hurt a great deal. Remain still and I will be done faster.”
I nodded and laid down, trying to remain relaxed as he worked the blood and filth from my coat. He started just below my ears and worked his way down, taking extra care at the wounds. I couldn't help the bit of squirming at his ministrations. However, I moved enough for him to feel the need to pin me with a talon.
Gently, he rolled me over and spread my legs so that he could wash my belly and under my tail. As he finished that, he rolled me onto my other side and began again from my neck. The bedding beneath me felt damp.
“Think you could change the sheets while you're at it? They're a little wet.”
He nodded. “Indeed. That was my intention.”
When he finished washing me. He folded the sheet around me and used it as a sling to move me to a pile of quilts on the floor. He was either very strong or I weighed very little. More than likely, it was a bit of both.
I watched while he moved quickly, changing out the damp sheets for fresh ones from a chest at the foot of the bed. He moved quickly and efficiently with practiced precision. The crisp sheet was stretched taut over the mattress and the pillows were neatly arranged. Satisfied with that work, he folded me back into the sheet and returned me to the bed.
He looked me over once more while idly scratching at his brown and silver plumage. “On a scale of one to ten, how bad would you say the pain is?”
“Six.” I replied.
He nodded and disappeared, returning with a jar of white ointment. “This will numb the pain for a while, allowing you some rest.” He opened the jar, took a talon-full of the goop, and began to spread it over my body.
The sudden absence of sensation was a welcome relief compared to the constant ache I had been in. I watched as he worked, carefully massaging it into my coat and skin. The powerful scent of mint hit my nose and I snorted my displeasure.
“I know.” He replied sympathetically. “Believe it or not, the mint oil I added actually improves the smell. The herbs I used to make this are known for their potency, not their pleasant aroma.”
He replaced the lid on the jar and set it aside. Taking fresh bandages, he wrapped my wounds and dragged the quilts back over me.
“The ointment will numb the pain for the rest of the day. Rest while you can. I must tend to my garden, but I'll be in periodically to check on you.”
I nodded as the heavy pressure of exhaustion began to fall over me. The pain was gone, for now, but all of the moving about had consumed what little energy I had. I felt good and clean. The bedding was clean, soft, and smelled fresh. Between the ointment, the fresh bedding, and the general feeling of safety, I soon found myself dozing.

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              Chapter 2: Meinen Weg zu finden              
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Chapter 2: Meinen Weg zu finden
Healing was excruciatingly slow. Confined to the bed as I was, I had little to do other than stare at the ceiling and try to remember. That task, in and of itself, was frustrating enough. There was information that I knew I had, but I had no access to it.
So just laying and staring while my body slowly healed was what I ended up doing.
Yantzen kept busy, always bustling about, tending to one thing or another. My needs required a great deal of his attentions. I couldn't do much for myself except alert him when I needed something. Three times a day, my wounds were inspected and my bandages changed. As each day passed, the swelling went down and my skin returned to its natural color.
After weeks of healing, Yantzen decided that it was time to remove the splints from my legs. With great care, he unwrapped my right foreleg and pulled the wooden splints away. The muscle had degenerated enough that the knobs of bone were obvious.
He took my right foreleg and manipulated it. I let out a groan as muscles that hadn't been moved in many days began to flex and relax. He repeated the process with with my other three legs, studying the movement with intent and watching for any weakness in the bones and joints. Satisfied that everything was strong enough to move without injury, he stood back.
“It looks good,” he reported before clicking his beak, deep in thought. “Do you need anything?”
I licked my lips. “Ah could use some water.”
He nodded and disappeared, returning with a jug and small wooden cup. Taking the two to a nearby window sill, he set them down and began to fill the cup. Glancing out the window, he straightened with a gasp, giving an excited chirp and fleeing out the door. It wasn't unusual for him to do this when he spotted something interesting, but there was one problem.
The bird-brain had left the cup, and the water, on the window sill and out of my reach.
The more I stared at the cup, the more I wanted the water. I had just gotten the splints off of my legs and couldn't very well hop out of bed and trot over to it. Besides, the pain would be unbearable.
So I resolved to ignore my growing thirst and try to rest while I waited for Yantzen to return. It was very warm that day and, even without the quilts and sheets, I was very hot. I began to pant as sweat ran through my coat. Somewhere in the distance, a bird began to sing a very irritating song. I found myself growling curses at the offending creature and at Yantzen and at the world in general.
Even though he was easily distracted on occasion, he always remembered that I depended on him for everything and returned within a few minutes of leaving to see to my needs. However, time continued to drag on and he did not return. For a moment, I wished that he would remember me and come back to find me dried up like a raisin, uttering my misery through cracked and bleeding lips. That would certainly show him.
I lay there, sweating and panting, and he did not return. Rolling back over in the bed, I glared at the cup and jug as if they would float to me through sheer force of will.
I couldn't very well walk to them, even though it would only be a few short steps. I wasn't fully healed and the pain would be more than I could handle.
But I really wanted that water.
I braced myself for the pain that would come and rotated my body. Extending my forelegs, I carefully allowed my weight to settle onto them, hissing in expectation of the pain. This was it. My legs would collapse, I would tumble to the floor, and that's where Bird-brain would find me.
But my muscles held, straining against the weight, but holding. My legs trembled slightly as I took one step, then another, then another, dragging my hind legs clear of the bed. Setting all four hooves on the rough wooden floor, I expected that the bones in my legs would snap like dry twigs and I would collapse in agony, never able to walk again.
That didn't happen. Instead, I groaned as stiff muscles moved for the first time in weeks. There was pain, but nothing that I couldn't bear.
With slow, tiny steps, I inched my way to the window sill and the water it held. Joints creaked as they flexed, and became slightly swollen from even this bit of use. With a drawn-out grunt of exertion, I levered myself onto my hind legs and brought my fore hooves onto the window sill, seizing the cup and gulping its contents. I had gone through three more before pausing for a breath. My eyes were drawn to the vista beyond the window and it was breathtaking.
The cabin was surrounded with tall, stately pines that swayed in the gentle summer breeze which caressed my coat through the open window. Just past the trees was a broad river that sparkled like a sea of gems in the sunlight. A green meadow, stretching as far as I could see, occupied the space beyond the river, flowing like its watery counterpart with the breeze.
And just on the other side of the window was Yantzen. He sat comfortably, waiting for me. The bird-brain had been there the entire time, listening to my misery and getting his jollies from it.
“Hello,” he said. “Nice to see you up and about.”
I let out a low growl, knowing he had been there.
“You realize your mistake?” He asked. “Eventually, I would have come back in, figuring you were still too weak to get up and move on your own. Unfortunately, you beat me to the punch. It's nice to see that you can move on your own again. I do not have to bring your meals to you. You can join me at the table.”
In a fit, I flung the cup at him. His talon moved faster than I could keep track of and he snatched the missile out of the air. “Ah, your foreleg works as well. That is good to know. Now you can cut your own bread. I baked it so it is only fair. Besides, those hooves of yours look like they would be good at mixing and kneading dough.”
He gestured behind him. “Do you like what you see? It is quite a beautiful place, I must say. You will get to see it all because, tomorrow, you will be joining me on my morning walks.”
I held up a hoof. “No, no, no. Going from the bed to the window was hard enough. Ah can't go for a hike in the forest yet.”
He nodded. “We will not be going far. Not at first, but you need to strengthen your legs. It will hurt, but you will become stronger. Now, what would you like for supper?”
I had been subsisting off of milk and only started back on solid foods a few days before. “Carrots.”
“I have carrots. How about some fresh-baked bread to go with it?”
I smiled. “Ah like bread.”
Standing, he came to the window. “Well, little pony, you have managed to go from the bed to the window. Let us see if you can make the long and difficult journey to the table. I do not think you have it in you.”
So, he wanted to egg me on? I wasn't one to back down from a challenge.
“Think ya'll can best me, City-Slicker? Ah'll kick your plot clear across town.”
I blinked, the memory of the stallion was sudden and unbidden, but I knew him. I didn't know his name, but I knew him.
Yantzen cocked his head. “Are you alright, little pony?”
My attention snapped back to him. “Ah'll show ya what Ah have in me, bird-brain.”
x----x
“So this is it? This is what you have in you?”
True to his word, Yantzen was taking it easy on me. Our morning walk comprised of doing laps around his cabin. It wasn't large by any standard, but it was still a trial, especially after the fifth lap.
“Lay off,” I panted. “Ah only...just got...outta bed...yesterday.”
“I expected more from you, little pony.”
“Ah have a name, ya know.” I snapped back.
“Oh? You have remembered it then? Please share it.”
I paused and stared at the ground a moment, trying to remember my name. It was all so frustrating and I wanted nothing more than to know everything that I knew I should know. However, I had made no progress for all of the effort I put in.
“Ah can't.”
He blinked at me. “You cannot remember your name or you cannot share it?”
“Ah can't remember!” I snapped. An instant later, I regretted my tone. “Ah'm sorry, Yantzen. It's just really frustratin'.”
He sat down next to me and placed a talon across my back. “I understand. Be patient. All will become clear soon enough.” He stared at my cutie mark, a single red apple with a white heart in the center. His fixation was unnerving me a little.
“What is it?” I asked.
“You ponies, are you not named for this mark?”
“I suppose. Sometimes the mark coincides with the name, sometimes it doesn't.”
Yantzen raised a talon to scratch at his white, feathered head. “I cannot continue to call you 'little pony'. It is rude and condescending. If you are in need of a name, and cannot remember your own, then I shall give you one. Your name shall coincide with your mark and I will call you 'Appleheart'.”
I snorted. “Bit simple, don't ya think?”
“Indeed, and it will be easy to remember. Come, Appleheart, we will go inside and have our breakfast. Then, you may rest.”
After a breakfast of tomatoes and eggs, I chose to rest outside. As much as I liked Yantzen's little house, it could get stuffy, especially with his cook-fire and the summer heat. I lay in the grass and watched as he milled about in his garden, with his little bucket and his tools and his big straw hat. My attention was taken when a pair of colorful butterflies flitted past my nose. With no small effort, I pushed myself to my hooves and made after them, but they were far too fast for me to keep up.
I followed the butterflies around the house where I spotted a small plot filled with beautiful flowers. Blossoms of every hue showed their colors with pride. Tulips and posies mingled with pansies and daffodils.
“Beautiful, no?”
Yantzen came up and sat down beside me. “My wife loved flowers and I built special boxes so that she might grow them from the windows. Everything was always so dreary in Beaklin, where we lived, but those flowers made everything so bright and cheerful. Whenever she saw them, she looked so happy, and I was happy that she was happy.”
“Where is she now?”
He heaved a heavy sigh. “She is gone.”
My ears fell. “Ah'm sorry.”
From his vest, he removed a small wooden pipe and a pouch of tobacco. After filling his pipe, he struck a match and lit the fragrant weed, taking a few puffs before speaking again.
“Do not be, I am not. I loved her and I know she loved me. She lives in a far better place than anything I could give her and I know she waits for me there. In good time, I will join her, but I must atone for my sins before I may. I keep these flowers to remind me of what I am forever working towards.”
I wondered what terrible things he had done that he felt the need to atone for, out here and alone. I didn't press him, though. He would tell me when he was ready.
I sat with him while we watched the flowers and he smoked on his pipe, speaking quietly in a strange language. While I didn't know the language, I could recognize the cadence of his words. I had heard them dozens of times before, but I couldn't remember where.
“Gott, der Schöpfer von allem, was gut und heilig ist, halten meine Hilda nah an Ihre Brust, geben Sie ihr den Komfort konnte ich nicht, bis ich für meine Wege von Mord und Schmerz vergeben worden und kann sie noch einmal mitmachen. Bitte versichern ihr, dass ich an ihre Seite, wo ich immer gehört haben zurückzukehren. Ich brauche nur meinen Weg finden.“