Once again, song filled the air of Sweet Apple Acres. That evening as Sweetie Belle sang for her friend, her voice was more powerful, clearer than ever before. She knew it—and so did her audience. As she charged into the last verse, the crowd's thundering hooves threatened to drown her out. She didn't let that happen.
Triumphant and exhausted, she almost collapsed, but Apple Bloom rushed forward, throwing her long, thin forelegs around her. While Sweetie Belle's voice had grown over the years, her stature hadn't kept pace, and the hug hit her with so much force that it threatened to topple her from the stage.
“You're totally amazing, Sweetie! That was the best birthday present ever.”
When at last released, Sweetie Belle flipped back her mane and with a wry smile, said, “Hey, I was just getting warmed up.” For that, she was rewarded with a playful shove.
Then they laughed. They laughed like the genuine friends they were. Bloom grinned without shame, for she appreciated the luck she'd enjoyed. She'd found two of greatest friends anypony could ever hope to have. Who else but Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo would have stuck with her all these years? Nopony else would have defended her and supported her, even after they'd gotten their cutie marks.
Like a cold shadow, the emptiness rushed in, depriving her of the warmth of music and friendship, leaving her heart hollow. It was that bleak feeling that lurked beneath every joyful moment, waiting to seize her and drag her down. Her laughter and grin vanished. This time the change had swept in so rapidly it frightened her.
“Hey. Hey,” piped Sweetie Belle in a shaky voice. “Scoots is waiting. Let's… let's get some cake, okay? We'll hang out—just the three of us—like old times.”
The pall gradually lifted and Bloom eked out a grin. Maybe she needed that, just time with them. Like old times—and some cake. And after all, cake wouldn't make things perfect, but it seldom made anything worse.
“Yeah. Let's find a spot.”
Before they hopped from the low wooden stage, Sweetie Belle raised a hoof and waved to Scootaloo, who was already on her way. All three queued up with the other guests and watched in anticipation as Pinkie Pie cut thick slices from her elaborate creation. Applejack handed plates to Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo, and finally her sister.
“Give this ol' birthday girl plenty of extra frostin', Pinkie. There's lots of work for her to do this summer, and I don't want her complain' she was starved.”
The surrounding guests laughed.
“Thanks.” Bloom shot a bitter glare across the table. “I almost forgot.”
How could Applejack's corny humor rile her so? There'd been too much to deal with these last few week with tests and school ending, and even the preparations for her party, and now every comment grated. Summer meant one thing on the farm, and nowadays, work reminded her of failure. Did Applejack's joke imply that? She hovered on the verge of lashing out when Scootaloo jostled her.
“It was a joke, Bloom. Stay chill.”
“Yeah. Just ribbin' ya a little.” Applejack grinned and grabbed Pinkie's hoof. A glob of frosting splatted on the plate. “More sweets for the sweet sixteen. Happy birthday, sis.”
She didn't face her sister, instead she tilted her head and said, “Let's head over there, girls.”
The trio ambled towards a clump of trees near the edge of the orchard. That way they'd end up a respectful distance from the party, but not so far that they'd be accused of being anti-social.
“Gosh,” exclaimed Scootaloo. “Nopony can joke with you anymore. Lighten up. It's your birthday after all.”
“Another year wasted.” Apple Bloom hadn't bothered to look at her, for the words were for nopony in particular. What was wrong with her? Surrounded by her family and her dearest, longest friends, and she couldn't tolerate one of her sister's lame jokes. No longer angry, she now felt numb. Weren't birthdays joyous occasions, something special to make you happy about being a year older? Maybe, she thought, she was too old for parties.
“What do ya mean waste—” A hoof dug into Scootaloo's hind leg and she yelped. She swiveled to find Sweetie Belle scowling and shaking her head. “Oh. Sorry.”
They reached their spot and ate in silence. The delicious cake, as always, disappeared sooner than any of them wanted. Pinkie's over-sugared masterpiece managed to restore cheer to the birthday girl, but despite her improved mood, she studiously avoided that extra frosting.
“Thanks for coming, girls,” Bloom said and put down her plate. “I really mean it. And thanks for singing, Sweetie. Your song was dynamite.”
“Yeah,” Scootaloo added. “You really belted that one out.”
Sweetie Belle huffed and turned up her nose. “I'm not so sure belted is a proper description. I have power and range—the director of the Manehatten Academy told me so himself.” She closed her eyes and held a pose of perfect indignation. But the act last only for a second, for her left eye cracked open ever so slightly and the corner of her mouth slipped into a roguish smile. Much to her delight, a childish giggle infected her friends.
With a lightened heart, Bloom seized the moment. A question had lingered in her mind all week, but with all the commotion, she'd put off asking it. Now they were together and hardly any time remained.
“So, I know we've had a us party and all tonight, but I was thinkin'. We should have a party of our own—just us three—like when we were Crusaders, ya know. We could start off with some sodas at The Corner and then—well—do whatever we wanted after that. Whatdaya say?”
“Tonight?” Sweetie Belle asked.
“Heck no! We'd make ourselves sick. Tomorrow. We'll make it a regular Saturday night on the town, okay?”
“Ooooo…” Sweetie Belle's face contorted into a grimace.
“What's the matter?”
“Don't you remember… Rarity's taking me to Manehatten. I'm at the academy until the second week in August.”
“You said classes started on Wednesday.”
“Yeah, well…” Despite the evening cool, Sweetie Belle fidgeted as if she sat under the noonday sun. “Rarity needs to visit Coco on Monday, plus there's a show she wants to see—it closes tomorrow night. She's got the tickets and everything. We have to leave early tomorrow morning, and, well… you know how she is.”
Bloom felt her face redden. How dare they do that to her! All she'd wanted was one more outing, like when they were young, something to let her forget the present, if only for a single evening. Was that so much to ask? Terrible images and awful thoughts welled up again and she struggled to strike them down. Then she knew what to blame—their cutie marks.
Blame? How could she begrudge the excitement Sweetie and Rarity enjoyed in their lives? No, she wouldn’t deny anypony those wonderful experiences that talent brought. But wasn't she entitled to good things too? She deserved everything they had and more. As soon as the thought flash in her mind, it repulsed her.
It was wrong to feel that way. It wasn't anypony or anything's fault but her own. She'd thought spiteful and shameful things about her friends. She didn't deserve them. Apple Bloom stared at the ground and prodded the hard earth. In the twilight, she couldn't tell if her hoof had struck a rock or a root.
“Oh,” she said and looked up, only to face Sweetie's plaintive eyes and quivering lips. She forced a smile. “Seein' a Manehatten show sure will be exciting, won't it?”
“Oh, sure,” Sweetie Belle squeaked with mock earnestness.
Bloom fell silent. She'd lost one friend for the summer, but realized Scootaloo remained and her hopes rose. She opened her mouth, but before she could say a word, Scootaloo sprang to her hooves.
“Well—it's gettin' late and…” Scootaloo ruffled her feathers and flashed a contrived grin.
Bloom closed her mouth and let her head sink to her chest.
“Listen.” Scootaloo ran her hoof through her mane. “Dash and I are heading to the games. You knew that, right? We gotta be on the ten o'clock to Las Pegasus if I'm going to make the Sunday trials.”
Of course. Scootaloo hadn't shut up about the games in a month, but Bloom realized she'd blocked it all out.
“I'm sorry, Bloom.” Scootaloo breathed out deeply and deliberately. “Honest I am.”
So this is how summer would turn out. School was out just two days and she was already alone. Yet, how could she blame them? They had lives while she had—what? A wait for something that would never come? She sighed. Better abandoned than pitied.
“I'll be back in two weeks…”
Two weeks. Two dreadful weeks alone. An eternity without a hope of distraction, not a moment to forget herself.
“We'll have a blast when I get back. I promise.”
It wasn't Scootaloo's fault, or Sweetie Belle's. It was hers. They were headed for once-in-a-lifetime opportunities, because they deserved it. They had lives—real, exciting lives—while nopony Apple Bloom remained rooted in Ponyville like some dumb old tree out in the orchard. Perhaps she already possessed the perfect cutie mark. She was nothing and would always be nothing.
“Hey, Bloom,” Applejack shouted. “Come and show your muzzle over here. Cousin Braeburn's gotta be leavin' soon.”
She stood but couldn't pry her eyes from her hooves.
“I guess I'll be seein' you two—” Before she could even think of looking up, Sweetie Belle was wrapped around her neck.
“We'll be back as soon as we can.” Sweetie Belle looked directly into her eyes. “We love you, no matter what. Don't you ever forget that you silly… you.” After a final hug, she stepped back and shot a glance at Scootaloo.
Scootaloo's hug lacked enthusiasm, but 'mushy stuff' didn't fit with that cool persona she'd cultivated. Apple Bloom forgave her. She couldn't recall when Scoots had hugged her last. Had it been as long ago as last fall? Hearth's Warming Eve?
When Scootaloo pulled away, she found herself pulled back. “We love ya, Bloom,” she grunted under the crushing grip. “Stay cool, okay?”
She nodded and let her go. In the distance she saw Applejack's silhouette in front of the laughing guests milling about the tables. The fading light made the distance look a lot farther than it seemed just a few minutes ago. She set off, plodding across the field with her head close to the ground. Halfway there she stopped, straightened herself, and drew a foreleg across her face, before trotting the remaining distance to join her sister.
—❦—
With Saturday morning deliveries to Ponyville complete, Apple Bloom ditched her cart behind the greengrocers and headed to the train station. Thirty-five minutes remained before the southbound train to Las Pegasus departed, and she'd managed to arrive before Rainbow Dash and Scootaloo. While she waited on the platform, a car-and-a-half down from the engine, she listened to the tick of expanding metal and the hissing of unseen valves opening and closing. She enjoyed listening to the mechanical beast's music but didn't appreciate its sulfurous breath.
When the pair finally showed, they went straightaway to the ticket window where Rainbow became engaged in an animated discussion with the clerk. Something about window seats was all Bloom could hear over the hiss of vented steam and the chatter of boarding passengers. The argument continued. Scootaloo looked at her and shrugged.
Departure time neared and the dispute remained unresolved. Then the stationmaster became involved, and at last acceptable tickets slid beneath the metal grate. A victorious Rainbow and an embarrassed Scootaloo walked towards her.
“What nerve thinkin' he can rip me off like that.” Rainbow's strident tone attracted the attention of the nearby passengers. “I know what I paid for. Hey, Bloom. How's it goin'?”
“I'm all right. I—”
“Thanks for coming to see us off,” Scootaloo said. “Hey, Bloom… I…” She paused and scratched her head. “About last night and junk. I wanted to say I'm sor—”
“C'mon, squirt.” Rainbow inserted herself between them. “We gotta hustle. That gyp-master ate up all our time. We gotta get aboard.”
Rainbow Dash shuffled Scootaloo into the coach. Bloom walked down the platform and watched them navigate their way down the aisle, until they took the hard-won window seats. Scootaloo grinned through the glass and fiddled with the window's latch. It appeared jammed or broken. Every attempt to open it failed. Rainbow helped by hovering over her and making frustrated gestures. The train started moving long before the sash flew up.
“See ya, Bloom.” Rainbow's head jutted from the car, her face ablaze with an enthusiastic smile. “We'll be back in a couple of weeks—with a ton of trophies.”
As the train gathered speed, the conductor came by and scolded Rainbow. The window was closed. Scootaloo waved, never managing to utter a word.
Bloom loped alongside the moving train all the way to the platform's end. She leapt to the ground and walked besides the tracks a bit farther, waving until even the brightly colored caboose disappeared in the distant trees.
It was good to see Scootaloo one more time, but it provided little consolation. The high point of the day had passed, and only humdrum chores remained. She sought to delay that for a while.
She wandered through the streets, past the greengrocers and her cart, past the deserted Carousel Boutique, past the library and the town hall, and found herself outside the park. On the arched bridge over the little brook, she stopped and threw her forelegs over its low side. She hung her head over the edge and watched the current flow. The ripples in the slow-moving water formed a hypnotic spiderweb of light on the gray-green sand. Small fish, desperate to complete their unfathomable tasks, darted between the featureless rocks embedded in the stream's bottom.
Once she and Sweetie Belle had fished in this spot, figuring their special talent was angling—never mind they couldn't stand touching icky worms. But they'd thought and done stranger things through the years. So many things over so many years.
The silvery side of a minnow flashed as it scurried from an unseen danger.
When all three of them were blank flanks it had been easier to endure; it was a common bond, a shared plight. They'd found each other and never again would they be alone. How proud they'd been that they'd taken what others saw as failure and forged a solidarity greater than any friendship.
And their bond never weakened, even when Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo graduated from their club. But Bloom was alone now and had been alone for so long that the pride and joy of those distant days might as well have been a dream. Yet, she preferred to exist in a fading dream than live in the disappointment of the present.
Sweetie Belle was first and it was the happiest day of their young lives. Soon they'd all reach the end of their quests—they knew it. They'd discovered the secret and the rest would be easy. Then, after five weeks of grueling anticipation, Scootaloo reached the end of her quest.
Then they'd all waited for her. And waited. Why hadn't it come?
The pleasant part of the dream ended. Now it filled with accusatory looks from Applejack and endless urging from everypony. The farm held so many opportunities—one of them was bound to work for her. Try, try, they all said. She heard that many times and always it yielded failure.
A rogue cloud passed overhead, obscuring the light and turning the stream a uniform gray. The shadow consumed the fish, the rocks, and the sand. Gray became black, a blackness ever blackening, mutely calling to her, beckoning her to join it.
Give up, its taut whisper hissed. You know you deserve nothing.
She tore herself away. Home—she had to get home—now.
Before she'd left the bridge, a voice hailed her from near the park's fountain. “Miss. Oh, miss.” Hooves banged against the bridge's wooden deck as the caller raced to reach her.
Apple Bloom turned and faced a panting stallion, his extended hoof holding a sheet of paper.
“Here…” he managed between gasps. “You… tonight.”
“Huh?”
A bit dizzy, he put his hoof down and panted. As he struggled to catch his breath, she looked him over. He was at least as old as Mac—no, older—and not in the best shape, that was certain. What business did he have chasing after a young mare like herself?
“I ran… clear across the park… to catch you.” Again he extended his hoof, offering her a paper with a headline printed in bold type. “Here.”
She took it from him.
“We're having a magic lantern show tonight. Eight-thirty at town hall.” Recovered, he straightened him tie in an attempt to look presentable. “Pictures from the settlements in the new territory.”
She looked at the flier.
Fantastic Opportunity! Ponies of All Skills Needed!
At the beginning of the school year they'd talked about the settlements across the sea. Things would have changed since last fall. It might be interesting, but—school was over.
“Uh, no thanks,” she muttered and attempted to return the flier, but he refused to take it back.
“Please reconsider. We're going to have refreshments.”
They stood immobile, him with a smile, her emotionless.
“Keep it, please. In case you change your mind.”
“Well, I don't—”
“Pardon me, I have to go.” The stallion swung around and trotted after somepony else in the park. “Sir! Hold up, sir.”
She read the words splashed across the top of the page.
Ponies of All Skills Needed!
What nonsense. She watched the stallion as he attempted to convince another unwilling party to take a flier. Look at him, she thought, how foolish with his pack and jumble of papers. And that flyer? Trash. Why, she should just toss that dumb old paper into the water and be done with it.
But she didn't, and turning, she set out for her cart and home.
—❦—
An old tree standing alone in the field provided a modicum of relief from the late afternoon sun. Granny said she and her pappy planted it there for just such a purpose, and for that, Apple Bloom was grateful. Less than an hour of work remained before supper and then—nothing. Saturday night's plans were dead, killed last night at the party and buried this morning at the depot. The beaded sweat on her brow ran down her face, and she yanked the red bandana from around her neck. As she wiped the sweat away, something scratched her cheek and then fell to the ground: It was that flier from the foolish stallion in the park. She picked it up and unfolded it.
Saturday, Eight thirty Ponyville City Hall.
Go to a dumb old educational talk on a Saturday night? She wondered if anything could be sadder or more boring. Better to sit in the parlor and listen to Granny snore until it was time to help her up to bed so she could snore some more. And to think that feller thought having refreshments might convince her to go. Anyway, they'd talked about the plans for the new territory last fall, right after school started. His silly old talk? Nothing but old news.
Ponies of All Skills Needed!
They were supposed to build whole new cities over there—but that would take years. It made sense that they'd need ponies with lots of different skills. Cutie marks of all types dashed across her imagination. You'd need an awful lot of ponies to build up a town like Ponyville, wouldn’t you? You'd need carpenters, painters, and ones who knew how to thatch roofs. Heck, they'd need ponies to build the roads. And bridges. And fences.
How long did they say it took to get there? Almost a week on-board ship? Gosh, she thought, that would be like forever. She'd been away from Ponyville before, yet no farther than an overnight train trip could take you. What type of ponies would you need on a ship for a voyage that long? What cutie marks would they have?
Maybe the captain would have a telescope and the first mate one of those brass navigation thing-a-ma-jigs. Thinking about their fancy marks made her grin. A navigator certainly would have a compass or a map, or maybe both. It would feel swell to have one like that. And a ship would need cooks and carpenters too. And all those ponies for the sails!
Her mind filled with visions of coils of ropes, pulleys, and rolls of canvas, alone and in fanciful combinations. You'd need at least one who knew how to repair the sails, so they'd have a mark with needle and thread. Why, she'd almost forgotten knots! A half dozen of them would undoubtedly have cutie marks with the most intricate knots, ones showing everypony their expertise in—
She crumpled the flier and hurled it to the ground. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair. They were heading out to start whole new towns, places that would someday become cities. Why did those ponies get the chance to contribute something and she didn't?
She stood transfixed, her hoof poised over the wad of paper as the roiling darkness swept over her again. Sickness filled her.
Stamp, its bitterness goaded. Stamp it— stamp them. Grind them into the earth.
“This is not me,” she gasped. “This is not me.” With eyelid clenched shut, she forced the impulse back. And when her hoof came down, it did not stamp and it did not grind. Instead, it flattened and smoothed away the wrinkles. She read the words again.
Eight thirty Ponyville City Hall.
—❦—
After supper, she'd hastily announced she was heading into town for the night.
“Going to see your friends?” Applejack had asked.
Apple Bloom's muttered reply only resulted in an admonition not to stay out too late. Did a mumble count as a white lie? At the time, she didn't let it bother her: She couldn't get out the front door fast enough. Now, more than halfway to town, the cool breeze coming at day's end unsettled her. With the sun still above the horizon, it somehow seemed unnatural.
Maybe it wasn't the breeze that perturbed her. Her dishonesty with her sister? They were closer than any sisters anywhere, but they still kept secrets. It was only right, wasn't it? And this wasn't the first time she'd ducked out on her—heck, not even the thirty-seventh time. The breeze returned and she shivered, but when it died, her uneasiness remained.
No, she told herself, this whole thing was a stupid idea. Her heart raced as if she'd galloped to town and back twice. What was she doing here, sneaking away like she'd even consider—
The idea was dumb; she was dumb; everything was dumb.
Right before the bridge into town, she halted and swiveled around, intent on heading home. But when she did, she saw their farm awash in the final rays of the sun. Tonight it hovered like an illusion, luminous and serene, a perfection no photograph could ever hope to capture and no painting could ever do justice. That was her land, her home. Her family had lived there for four generations. Sweet Apple Acres was her heart as much as the one thundering inside her chest. It was a home she could never leave. She belonged there.
Yet why hadn't it told her that? Where was the unequivocal proof her destiny lay there? Wasn't she meant to spend her life working its soil and tending its orchards? The farm told Applejack and McIntosh that in no uncertain terms. What did it want from her? All her work, everything she'd learned, every accomplishment she'd made, had only ended in betrayal. Why did it deny her so?
Behind her, the town clock struck the half hour.
—❦—
The meager crowd was settling down in front of the stage as she came through the town hall's door. A final group drifted away from the table of ransacked refreshments. In the back, the mayor and her assistant attended to the seldom used projector. A stack of large glass slides lay on a table next to it.
She glanced about the room, trying to pick a spot to sit. She recognized almost everypony in there, but none were her age, and none were close friends of her family. She worked her way into the crowd, and the mayor, heading for the stage, brushed past her.
“Evening, Apple Bloom.”
She didn't respond and moved towards the far end of the seated crowd. There she spotted an older couple right up front. Their faces looked familiar, but she didn't recall their names. They looked like customers from the apple stand in town as they appeared too stodgy for cider enthusiasts. There'd be no danger sitting behind them.
Mayor Mare took the stage. “Good evening. Tonight, by the grace of Her Highness, the citizens of Ponyville will enjoy a special honor, a tour of the newly opened territories.”
A tepid stomping of hooves greeted her remarks. Mayor Mare cleared her throat and continued. “Well, without further ado, I'd like to introduce Mr. Will Stock who will give tonight's presentation.”
The mayor left the stage and a stallion stepped forward. Apple Bloom recognized him from the park.
“Good evening, ponyfolk,” the stallion announced. “Thanks for taking time to come out this evening. I hope you'll enjoy our presentation.” He gestured towards the back of the room. “Ms. Mayor, are we ready?”
Mr. Stock nodded in response to the mayor's wave and the lights dimmed. He disappeared as an aerial view of a enormous island appeared on the screen to his left.
“After years of complicated negotiations with the Griffon Empire, the Princesses signed the treaty allowing for settlement of the new territory a short eighteen months ago. Now, join me tonight on a tour of this fantastic new land, filled with opportunities for ponies of all types.”
The slide changed to a shipboard view of the island.
“We start our journey by pulling into the recently constructed harbor town of Neighpier, the island's largest settlement.” He began talking over a short run of slides that featured the highlights of the primitive town.
To Apple Bloom, Neighpier looked like it wasn't half the size of Ponyville, no more than a smattering of buildings arranged along a dirt road. Barrels and crates cluttered every part of the wooden boardwalks in front of its rustic buildings. Even compared to the frontier town of cousin Braeburn, the town felt crude.
Mr. Stock paused and stepped into the projector's light. His solid tan coat took on an odd, dappled appearance.
“But let's face it, folks. Neighpier can't hold a candle to Ponyville and I'm sure you didn't show up tonight to see pictures of a general store that my own grandmother called antiquated.”
A chuckle spread through the crowd and Bloom found herself nervously joining in.
“No, you came to see what lies behind this little town, and we're going to get to those breathtaking pictures. But let me assure you, as one who's been there, everything is twice as beautiful when you look upon it with your own eyes.” He stepped back into the darkness.
On cue, the slide changed to a cloud top view of the islands's interior. Apple Bloom almost cried out. It changed again and a pristine plain engulfed her. Mr. Stock continued his practiced travelogue in a smooth baritone, but the lush images drove his words from her mind. He went on about the vast, fertile plain nestled between the two parallel mountain ranges, the dense forests growing at their foothills, and the many rivers winding down to the sea.
She knew all that from when they'd talked about the place in class, but now she saw it. She saw it as if she stood on that very plain, surveying the land with her own eyes. Those gentle rolling hills—a perfect place for an orchard, apples definitely, peaches if it got enough rain. And that wide, flat plain; what you didn't plant in wheat and corn you could use for grazing a dairy herd. She wondered how the cows back at the barn would react to that sea of tall, sweet grass.
Slide after slide, Mr. Stock took them over the landscape, sometimes on the ground, sometimes in the air. The untouched beauty of the land almost became monotonous, yet somehow, each picture managed to out do the previous one. Finally, with the box of slides exhausted, the journey ended and the lights came up.
Mr. Stock moved from where he'd been narrating to center stage and faced the modest assembly.
“I hope everypony enjoyed seeing that as much as I did telling you about it. But I'm afraid to say, I'm not done talking yet. No, I'm afraid I'm about to deliver what we in the business call the pitch.” His face took on a broad, shrewd smile as he began to pace across the front of the stage.
“As you've seen, this is a land with tremendous potential. That's why the Princesses worked so hard to secure it for Equestria. But the land won't reach its potential without ponies, all types of ponies, but especially farmers.”
He halted near where Bloom sat. As his eyes wander over his audience, and for an instant, his gaze met her's. Her insides jumped, but his look slid smoothly over her and he resumed his pacing and his pitch.
“Yes, farmers. Because little Neighpier is going to grow with ponies from all over this land.” He turned and faced them with a challenging stare. “And they'll build other towns too, filled with even more ponies. And if there is anything I've learned about ponies over the years”—he glanced from side to side, now addressing them in a confidential tone—“they love to eat.”
Bloom laughed heartily along with the crowd.
“And the Princesses want them to eat well, with food grown right outside their cities, just like they do here in Equestria.” Mr. Stock positioned himself at center stage and his voice grew insistent. “And the only way that's going to happen is with farmers. Farmers who will turn the potential of those beautiful plains into the reality of bountiful farms.”
Mr. Stock thrust his hoof out towards the audience. “Farmers like the folks who founded Ponyville.” He paused, as if expecting a response, but received only silence. He put his hoof down slowly. “The Princesses understand the difficulty of the task, so every possible assistance will be given. Tools, seed, supplies, and of course, the land—everything—free and clear for those who choose to make this beautiful island their home.”
A non-committal mumble arose. Bloom wasn't quite sure what the reaction meant, but before it died out on its own, Mr. Stock spoke again.
“So”—his voice rang out—“in conclusion, I encourage everyone of you, regardless of your proclivities, to consider joining us in settling these new territories. I can honestly say I look forward to one day calling some of you neighbor. I thank you.”
The hoof stomping was tentative and far from stampede volume. Bloom felt a touch dissatisfied with Ponyville's civility.
“Now, as long as we have time, and the Mayor permits,” Mr. Stock began, “I'll entertain any questions you folks might have.” A heavy, uncomfortable silence hung in the hall until a stallion on the far side of the room piped up.
“So, how come them griffons didn't want the island for themselves? I mean, it seems like a swell place. Sort of daft giving it all up, eh?”
“Good question,” Mr. Stock said as he walked to the questioner's side of the room. “They loved the mountains, but it's too distant from their empire. Not practical, you see? Because of that, the Princesses seized the opportunity and opened talks to acquire the territory. That was about five years ago. I'm told the reason the agreement took so long was strictly—um well—financial.”
“Did they all leave?” asked a mare in the center front.
“Almost all. A few choose to remain in their homes up in those beautiful mountains, but the entire island is Equestrian territory now.”
The old stallion seated in front of Apple Bloom cleared his throat and bellowed, “So nowadays, the Princesses are sending ponies out to be eaten by griffons?”
An uneasy chuckle worked its way across the room. Mr. Stock's head snapped towards the question's source. He swiveled and took a few languid steps before replying.
“Now, sir, if a griffon says that he wants you for dinner, the only thing you need to worry about is bringing a good appetite.” The crowd laughed politely and Mr. Stock wheeled around, but as he did, the stallion blurted out another question.
“You showed us plenty of pretty pictures tonight, but it amounted to no more than a Podunk town surrounded by mountains and forests. Those hinterlands ain't hardly a place for civilized folk to move to. Why would anypony in their right mind want to live on this island of yours? ”
Sudden quiet seized the hall. Mr. Stock walked across the stage, the dull thud of his hooves reverberating in the silence.
“For the same reason they came to Ponyville in the first place.”
“And that is?”
“Why, the same reason they go anywhere.” Mr. Stock leaned forward, his unblinking eyes bearing down on the old stallion. “To build a life for themselves, to be creators, founders.”
He held his head up and addressed the entire crowd. “Now, I'm not saying everypony's cut out for that, but for those that feel they can do the job, for those that have the urge to do something new, here is an opportunity, a chance for them to do something that will be remembered for generations.”
The old stallion didn't let a second pass. “Well, if it's so great, why ain't you there right now?” The old mare seated next to him jabbed his side and he glowered at her.
Bloom shrunk back from them.
“Oh, I'm headed there, and soon, but…” Mr. Stock's vibrant smile returned. “You see, I signed a two year contract to work at the customs house to cover my costs. But I've got a wife and a colt who's not yet one, and to pay for their tickets—and a lot of other necessities—I took this job trekking across Equestria encouraging ponyfolk to consider joining us in our new home. Otherwise, I wouldn't have come back after my first time over there.”
He pivoted abruptly, facing away from the old codger, and flicked his tail. “Now, does anypony else have a question?”
A few random mutters came from the audience.
Mr. Stock's eyes swept over the gathering a final time before he declared, “Well then, thanks to all for coming and goodnight.”
A weak round of stomping followed and the crowd broke up. Most headed for the door. A few went to the table with the snack and drinks and consumed the last of the scraps. Mr. Stock left the stage and walked to the back of the room. He talked to Mayor Mare while they loaded his slides back into their box. Meanwhile, the older couple in front of Bloom launched into a bitter dispute that their whispering scarcely concealed.
As nonchalantly as possible, she moved away and watched the mayor and her assistant break down the projector. Mr. Stock returned to the stage with his slides, and as he did, the bickering couple approached him. The mare head butted the grumpy stallion forward.
“Go ahead, Hayward,” the old mare growled under her breath.
“Uh, young feller,” said the stallion.
Mr. Stock took a deep breath and faced them. “Ah. What can I do for you folks?” While he sounded cheery, Bloom couldn't help notice he fought to maintain his taxed smile.
“Tell him,” snapped the mare.
“Give me a chance, Whinnifred. For the love of…” The stallion wet his lips before continuing. “Uh, no hard feelings, eh? Just having a bit a sport you understand.”
“It's fine, sir. I've had plenty of tougher questions at these gigs.” Mr. Stock nodded. “No hard feelings.”
“Good, good.” The old stallion's face relaxed. “Well, then. Good luck to you and the missus over there. Watch out for them griffons now.”
Mr. Stock rolled his eyes.
Before the couple drifted away, still squabbling, Bloom stepped forward, her hoofsteps sounding altogether too loud in the nearly deserted hall.
“Uh…”
“Yes?” he asked in a voice still tinged with exasperation. But his tone changed as he turned and saw who was behind him. “Oh, it's you, miss. I'm glad you decided to come.”
“Yeah, well…” She stood paralyzed and speechless, her mind crowded with disorganized thoughts. In the periphery of her vision, she caught the last member of the audience making for the door and wished for nothing more than to join her.
“You had a question?”
She stammered, finally forcing something out, “Not a question, but…” Gosh darn it, she thought, why was it so hard? She decided it would be better if she didn't look, so with a bowed head, she plowed headlong into her speech.
“I'm real sorry for the way that pony treated you tonight and I don't want you to think this is a bad place or nothing 'cause Ponyville's a good place to live and everypony is really friendly—” She gulped a breath. “Well, most of the time anyways.”
He chuckled. “You've got that right. You folks have a nice little town here, and that doesn't make my job easy. And there's no need to apologize for anything—especially him.”
The easy grin of Mr. Stock settled her and a smile of her own began to grow.
“You see,” he continued, “all these small towns are alike. It's hard not to like living in a place like Ponyville: decent jobs, lots of friends, a good community—everything you could want, really. Why would you want to leave that?” He sighed. “But take a big place like Fillydelphia or Manehatten. Lots of ponies there, so you'd think it'd be easier for everypony to fit in, right? But it isn't. We get a lot more interest in places like that.”
She looked puzzled. “Then why are you talkin' to folks in Ponyville?”
“Because I'm more likely to find the ponies with the right skills here. Big city ponies might think they'd like the adventure of starting something new and roughing it, but they don't always have the skills or the stamina. They're going to need to know how to start from scratch, to do most everything for themselves. Not forever, but for quite a while. We're going to need ponies with good heads on their shoulders, practical, hard working folk. We need ponies that won't give up when they encounter their first problem. But you folks went through that just two or three generations ago, so you understand. That's why we go to places like Ponyville.”
She nodded, for she'd heard words like that before. Granny talked that way whenever she reminisced about the early days of the farm.
“So, what—” he began.
She saw his head tilt and his eyes shift: He was looking for her cutie mark. Now he'd know; he'd judge her, just like everypony else. He'd join all the others and deem her worthless, pitiable, that poor blank girl with nothing to show for a lifetime of failure.
Apple Bloom shifted, taking a half step sideways so he couldn't see her flank.
With slow and deliberate movement, Mr. Stock straightened his head and brought a solemn gaze to bear on her.
A sudden rush of fear demanded she charge through the doors and run back to the safety of the farm. But his placid eyes seemed to command her with a silent but insistent no. She didn't move.
In a smooth and even voice Mr. Stock asked, “So, what is your name, miss?”
“I—uh—I'm Apple Bloom. From Sweet Apple Acres, Mr. Stock.”
“Call me Will,” he said and the corner of his mouth crept up almost imperceptibly.
“Yes, sir—I mean—Will.” The pounding in her chest gradually receded.
“Sweet Apple Acres,” he repeated and rubbed his chin. “That's that big orchard and farm at the south end of town, isn't it?”
“Sure is,” she said and then swallowed uncomfortably. “We're one of the biggest farms hereabouts. Maybe the biggest.”
“No doubt, no doubt.” He straightened the pile of fliers sitting on the stage and let his gaze wander off as he spoke. “Big farm like that must take a lot of ponies to run it. You got a big family?”
“The Apples are a real big family, but there's only four of us on our farm.”
“You don't say.” After a brief hesitation, he stop fiddling with his papers and returned his attention to her. “Quite impressive. Only four ponies to farm a place like that?”
“Well, three. See, Granny don't farm anymore, but she takes care of the house and cooking and jam making—all kinds of things.”
“And you help with the farming too?”
“I sure do.” Saying those three simple words made her stand up tall. She raised her head so that her height nearly matched his. “I can do anything my big brother or sister can. I can fix things too. And, shoot, Granny says I'm the best assistant she's ever had in the kitchen.”
“Glad to hear that. You Apples seem like a hard working bunch.”
Yes, they were a hard working bunch, including herself. A sensation flowed through her, one she almost didn't recognize. Was it pride or something else? Whatever it was, it left her feeling self-assured.
“And you like your family? You like living on the farm?”
“Heck yeah. Why wouldn't I?”
A serious look descended over Will Stock's face.
“Why did you come here tonight, Apple Bloom?”
Her mouth hung open as she searched for what should have been a simple answer. Because her friends were out of town? An amusing distraction on a boring Saturday night? Those sounded like half-truths now—no, they weren't even that, they were lies. At that moment, she felt her entire body jump, as if stuck by a precise lightning bolt. Was she—
Something inside her shrieked that it was wrong to think that way. She shrunk back from the idea. Yes, thoughts like that were wrong—they had to be.
Why did she come then? If not the unthinkable, then what? She grasped at fleeting reasons, anything that might resemble the truth, but nothing was. As she floundered, Will Stock asked another question.
“And why did you stay after all the other ponies left?”
Again she found herself swept back towards the forbidden reason. The more she scrutinized her motives, the more her doubts grew, and the cacophony of thoughts became unbearable. Yet, even with so much of her wanting to escape, she remained anchored to the floor.
Without warning he turned towards the stage. Released, her body sagged.
Will Stock took a flier, flipped it over, and scribbled something on its back. “I assume you know where the inn is.”
“Yeah,” came out like a feeble whisper. “Everypony does.”
“Good. I'm staying there until Monday morning. After that, I'll head south, right past your farm.” He folded the paper in half and offered it to her. “I've got two more stops before I leave for Neighpier.”
She stared at him and then the paper, afraid to reach out and touch it. How could paper and words hold such dread? It was no different from the flier he'd given her that morning, yet somehow, with his questions and her inability to answer, it was more than ink on paper. To even consider taking it would be an indictment of everything she thought she was.
Again she looked at him, but now his face seemed different. When he'd questioned her, he looked grave, almost as if passing judgement, but now his face, still serious, appeared concerned.
“If you want to talk to somepony, please, come see me.” Will Stock held the paper just inches from her.
She grabbed it and dashed out for home.
—❦—
Apple Bloom had been in turmoil ever since she'd left town hall, and if she'd actually slept, she couldn't be convinced of it. When she closed her eyes in the stillness of her room, an endless loop of pictures from the island sped past with Will Stock's voice, asking why again and again.
At least now it was morning—Sunday morning—and Sunday chores were always lighter. In her sleep deprived haze, the work seemed doubled. Unable to concentrate, she attempted to perform every action on automatic, but even that didn't help much. She'd caught herself feeding the chickens twice, not that they minded. No matter how hard she tried to focus, she found herself unable to escape those questions that echoed like a lost cry in a deep, empty well.
With her chores finished, she pointed herself in the direction of the farmhouse and trudged along in a daze.
How could she pay attention to anything while she repeatedly heard those questions? Why had she gone? Why did she stay? Even when she pushed herself close to an answer, it was if a wall sprung up and blocked her way. Exhausted, she preferred not to fight, yet some impulse drove her back. Why, she asked herself.
“Hey, sis.” The nearness of Applejack's voice made her jump. Her sister had been walking along side her for some time, but Bloom hadn't noticed.
“Awful long face ya got there,” Applejack said. “Especially on such a fine mornin'.”
“Didn't sleep well,” she said brusquely.
“Oh. I see.” They continued on and were close to the farmhouse before Applejack said anything else. “Anywho—I was wonderin' if you were up to anything later today?”
Bloom stopped short. “What?”
“Ya know, like if ya got plans or something.”
“No.” She tried ignoring her and shuffled the remaining distance to the house.
“Good, 'cause I thought we might go out and—ya know—try something new for ya today.”
Apple Bloom stamped onto the porch, turned, and faced her. Couldn't Applejack see she didn't want anything to do with that now? That was so like her, always meddling. Why she should—
Then, there it was, like when you turn a corner and somepony is standing there, just waiting, knowing you'd eventually show up. The darkness engulfed her. She fought, but it was desperate to complete its stranglehold.
She's taunting you. No, that wasn't true. She means well. It's just Applejack.
She's like all the others. None of them understand. But Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo—
Liars. Nopony loves you. You're a failure. They all hate you. No!
Hate them. Hate her.
She wrenched herself away and disappeared inside the house, the door snapping closed behind her.
“Okay. Yeah, that's good,” Applejack called out as she sat by the porch. “Get some rest, but when you're ready, you come and find me, okay?” No reply came from inside. She removed her hat and brushed back her forelock. Jamming her hat back on, she began to walk away, but before she took two steps, she halted and looked at the house.
“It's out there, ya know,” she announced with urgency and then stared at her hooves. She poked at the dusty ground.
“I'm just sure it is,” she whispered.
—❦—
Apple Bloom blundered upstairs, the steps little more than a blur. Lurching down the hallway, she somehow found her room, and then yanked open and slammed the door. With her face pressed deep into her pillow, the pain flowed out.
Applejack's piteous comment had struck deep. Her sister didn't mean it, she never did. Yet that faux cheeriness hurt more than the insults she'd received as a filly. Her tormentors worked hard to wound her, scheming and searching for opportunities to attack, to belittle everything she'd done. That knowledge made her tough and resilient, yet her sister's sympathy had a sting sharper than their vilest epithet.
Old memories dislodged forgotten heartbreaks in a torrent of sobs that swept away the accumulated pain. The downy pillow muffled the release of her suffering. But beneath that heap of sorrows lay the enemy only she knew. There dwelt the afflictions bred of those hurtful years: jealousy, resentment, self-loathing. Year after year, they'd strengthened and demanded obedience. She'd fought so hard against them. For the brief moment on the porch with her sister, she'd stood on the edge and their dark visage had called for her surrender. She screamed into the pillow and beat her hoof on the bed. That wasn't her true self—it couldn't be. Plunging into an abyss darker than night, she raged at them.
They were the liars! She was good and kind! They recoiled. Her life held value! It was nopony's fault! They retreated. With perspective, she recognized them. They were no sickness, nothing thrust upon her, but her own creations. The long frustration had twisted itself into hate. Her fear perverted honest desire into jealousy and bitterness. There was a burst of impulsive laughter. She'd deceived herself, but could now see the answer that hate and jealousy had obscured.
This wasn't the right place, that was why. Nothing was wrong with the farm or herself or anypony else. She was no failure, for her destiny had never been here to find. But was it waiting for her on that far away island? Maybe—or maybe not. Suddenly the whole idea of destiny felt irrelevant.
As clear as water it came to her: She had no goal, only a path forward, one she must determine for herself. The farm was a starting point, dictated only by the circumstance of her birth, and she'd stayed too long, being unwilling to admit that. Desire and frustration had trapped her, corrupted her, and to stay would surely invite those lies back to command her life. And if any goal was left, it was only to be herself. Then the voice inside her reached out to her like a warm and comforting touch.
Go, it said.
—❦—
The clunk of the clerk's hooves on the wooden stairs made her jumpy.
“He'll be down in a minute.”
“Thank you, ma'am.” Bloom hovered by the desk for a bit before moving closer to the door. Time dragged until she heard the uneven cadence of somepony coming down the stairs.
“Good day, Apple Bloom.” Mr. Stock stood on the last step, no hint of emotion on his face.
“Good day, Will.”
A sudden sense of unreality filled the inn's tiny lobby. It felt like being alone on stage in some stupid dream play, and she'd forgotten all the lines. Before her stood her uncomplaining audience, straightening his tie, waiting for the performance to begin.
After a long pause, he broke her paralysis. “How about we go for a walk?”
She nodded and they went outside.
Will Stock strolled along side her through the streets of the town, glancing at store fronts and feigning indifference towards her. After a distance, he veered right, directing them towards town hall.
Bloom remained quiet, still unsure of how to start. She felt relieved when Mr. Stock took the lead.
“Have you figured out your 'why' yet?” he asked.
She replied with a sharp nod of the head. “Think so.”
“And now you have questions.”
“Yeah.” She hesitated briefly. “About a house…”
Will's reply came in a monotone. “Sawn lumber, windows, doors, nails, tar paper—all delivered free.”
“And if I need help with it?”
“They can arrange for a crew to put the whole thing together for you—if you like.”
“No, uh, I think I can do it myself.”
“Good.” Will remained non-comital. They rounded another corner, now taking them east. “And what else?”
“It's awful late to get anything in the ground this year.”
“They understand. You'll get a food allowance. Free of course, like the house, but with one important difference.”
“What's that?”
“Nopony will cook it for you.” A hint of a grin cracked his otherwise deadpan face.
“Oh.” She supposed she should acknowledge his attempt at humor, but she had another question. “And about the weather…”
“Ah, the weather,” he chortled. “The Weather Patrol's still getting the hang of it. Remember, they're all new to the job over there. With those ocean winds coming in over those mountains—well— that's a tad tricky they tell me.”
“So, like… What if the winter got real bad?”
“You won't be alone.” Will looked at her. “You'll have neighbors.”
“But if got really bad—I mean, really, really bad—or if I got hurt?”
Will's speech became rushed. “If there's an emergency, there's Neighpier nearby and somepony will get you there. Look, they're sending you out to do a job, they—” He took a breath and slowed down. “We aren't going to abandon you.”
She pursed her lips and nodded. In hindsight, the question seemed silly. She forced herself to relax—unsuccessfully.
“How far would I be from Neighpier?”
“Not far. They haven't laid out plots in the interior, yet alone constructed roads.” He paused and his voice warmed. “I can make sure you'll be close enough so you won't have an excuse if we invite you to supper.”
She chuckled. “And about school—”
“School?” He halted with his mouth hanging open. Will licked his lips before putting on an idiotic grin. “I guess I should have asked this earlier, but—how old are you, Apple Bloom?”
“Sixteen as of last Friday.”
“Oh, thank heavens,” he sighed. “Now, don't take this the wrong way, but—uh, well—I thought you were a bit older than that.”
What began as a snort, she managed to reduce to a giggle.
“School's not compulsory past sixteen,” he said. “You don't have to go.” They resumed walking.
“I know. I just—well—want to.” Bloom cocked her head to the side. “Granny says school's good for ya no matter what ya end up doin'.”
Will chuckled. “Finish school, start a farm—you sure don't mind work, do you?”
“I guess I don't.” She matched his pace, but her hooves scuffed along the ground, kicking up dust.
Silence returned as they meandered through the sparsely populated streets. On occasion, Will shot furtive glances towards her, but she remained mute. They neared the edge of town, so he took two consecutive lefts. Now they were headed in the direction of the inn. It was almost in sight when Will spoke.
“You all out of questions?”
“Uh, no.” She stopped and kept her eyes focused on the ground. “Your flier said ponies of all skills and…”
Bloom raised her head and found him impassively staring at her. But she sensed something concealed behind his uncaring appearance. He knew her question—he must. But he'd helped her as far as he could. She had to be the one.
“Will they take me—given my condition?”
“Apple Bloom,” he began, “you're a hard working, honest young mare. When I look at you, that's what I see—that's all I see—nothing less. Your questions showed you aren't some fool adventurer, but somepony who's willing to take risks, but calculated ones. That's the type of level-headed folks we need over there.”
She watched the solemn mask he'd maintained slough away, revealing a sincere smile.
“I, for one, would proudly call you neighbor.”
—❦—
It was all planned out. They'd eat and retire to the parlor like they did every Sunday night. Then she'd tell them, explain every last bit, explain it a dozen time if she had to, until they understood. Once they did, they'd be happy for her. Bloom knew they would. It wouldn't be easy though, so she worked out a speech, to get everything right, and gone over and over it in her mind. But when Granny called her for supper, she felt unprepared.
McIntosh was already seated at the table in their cramped kitchen. Next to him, Applejack was her usual self, scooping up mashed potatoes and delivering them to her plate with an urgency suggesting they might somehow escape. She seemed oblivious to everything that wasn't edible.
Drained and anxious, she sank into her spot across from her brother and sister. She looked down at her untouched plate.
Granny Smith seemed mindful of her. When she'd first entered the room, there'd been a gentle brush, not an uncommon occurrence, but the way the old mare smiled, with all those wrinkles and her eyes looking so bright, made it different. Granny put another bowl on the table and sat next to her.
“Eat sumptin', child,” she whispered and began to stoke her mane. “Ya need yur strength.”
“Yes'm,” she mumbled. The fork felt miles away as she reached out for it. Her first mouthful held no taste, but the second was better, and the third almost normal.
“That's my girl,” Granny cooed. She patted her and returned to some important puttering by the stove.
“Yeah, eat up there before Mac and I finish it all,” quipped Applejack as she filled her plate again. “We got us a ton of work tomorrow mornin' and even more in the afternoon. Ain't that right, big brother?”
His mouth was full, so McIntosh nodded politely.
“I can't help,” Bloom heard herself practically shout. “I mean—”
Applejack's face was all puzzlement. “What do ya mean ya can't help?”
“I mean…” She thought of her plan and the speech, but couldn't go back. “I mean I won't be here.”
“If ya need to go into town, ya can do it after supper. Work comes first.”
“No, I mean… I'm leavin'. Leavin' the farm. Tomorrow. Somepony's coming to pick me before noon.”
McIntosh swallowed a half-chewed mouthful.
Applejack fixed her eyes across the table. Her bewildered mouth hung open, the words clinging to her tongue. Then she guffawed.
“Oh, that was a good one.” She leaned back and waggled her hoof. “Ya had me there!”
“It ain't a joke.” Bloom surprised herself with the confidence in her voice. “I'm leavin'.”
The laughter halted. “What in the blue blazes— I mean—” Applejack stumbled over words before pausing to collect herself. “Listen missy, talk like that is nonsense. This is your home—our home. All of us, we belong here. All of us, ya understand?”
Apple Bloom said nothing.
“Ain't that right Mac?” No reply. “Granny?”
Bloom looked towards her grandmother. The old mare's face hung as if the decades had caught up with her in a single afternoon, but her voice was calm and steady.
“Tell us where yur goin', child.”
What she said bore no more than a vague resemblance to her practiced speech. She explained how she went to the lecture, learned about the new lands, and how it offered a chance for her start again. But how could she convey the urgency she felt? She tried, realizing that they could never understand. And when she'd finished, the silence in the room hung for a long, heavy second.
“And who is this 'somepony' who's takin' ya there?” Applejack asked.
“Mr. Will Stock. He's a nice fellow with a family and everything. He's got a job with the government to recruit ponies—”
“I don't care two bits if he's got a job polishin' the princess' shoes. What right has he got fillin' yur head with cockamamie rubbish. Why, I've got half a mind to box his ears for—”
“Applejack,” Granny yelled. “I didn't raise ya to talk like that.”
Applejack folded her forelegs and glowered. The growing storm on her face chilled the room. At last, with legs uncrossed, Applejack leaned forward.
“Tell me,” she said in a slow, measured tone. “What do you hope to find over there? What does that place got that we ain't got right here?” She tapped the table with her hoof. “Huh? Tell me, Bloom. What is it?”
“I… I ain't certain. I ain't sure anything's waiting for me anywhere—or ever. And if it ain't, well, I guess that's what I am, okay? But I can't stay here. I'm certain of that.”
Applejack's shaky smile was a poor disguise. “This is all nonsense, Bloom.” Her words floated out calm and cloying. “Discussion's over now. Yur staying and that's it.” She picked up a spoon and began shifting the contents of her plate without purpose. Beneath the brim of her hat, she peered out through narrowed eyes. Nopony moved.
Bloom glanced at Granny and then her brother.
“I'm leaving when Mr. Stock comes for me tomorrow.”
“Dang it!” Crockery clattered as Applejack slammed down her spoon. “Can't nopony talk no sense into this girl? McIntosh, you—you tell her she's not leaving.”
Bloom looked at him. His dispassionate face seemed to move towards her. Her heart pounded during what seemed like an eternal wait.
“Now, Bloom,” he said in a slow, deep voice, “you sure?”
“Mac—” She needed a short breath and then started again. “Mac, It's not like I don't love the farm, or that I don't love everypony. Y'all know I do. But there's something—something else—for me and it ain't here.” Apple Boom struggled to recall part of her practiced speech.
“See, first I thought it was like the farm's fault that I didn't have a cutie mark, so I blamed it. Then I thought I was broken, or that I'd done something bad, somehow, and was bein' punished for bein' a bad pony. So I blamed myself and I wound up all twisted up inside. And bein' messed up like that, every time I heard the part of me that said I should go, I thought it was bad and wrong. I hushed it up, and that started makin' me all angry and hateful like—to everypony, even myself. Ya understand?”
He didn't blink.
“I don't want to be angry or hateful, Mac. It ain't me—it just ain't. That's why I can't stay. Staying's right for y'all, but I can't. What if it were to happen all over again? What if I couldn't make it right next time? See, I gotta go, otherwise—I don't know what I'd end up bein'.”
If emotion dwelt beneath Mac's stare, she couldn't tell. Bloom breathed uneasily, awaiting his judgment.
Big McIntosh dipped his head slightly and stated, “Then go.”
Applejack exploded. “Has everypony gone plum crazy?” She jumped up and thrust out her hoof. “Are you two gonna let her walk outta here on some fool adventure halfway around the world?”
“It's in the blood, AJ,” Granny said. “She has it. Ah felt it from the very day she was born.”
“Poppycock! It ain't in her blood. Somepony put them ideas in her head.” She stamped her hoof. “And they're wrong.”
Granny shook her hoof at Applejack. “I recall some little filly who got it into her head that her life weren't on this farm neither. That filly found herself just fine—but only by goin' and coming back.”
Applejack glared at Granny, her face drawn tight and hard.
“Don't you forget,” added Granny, “we trusted ya enough to leave.”
“That's different!”
“How?” McIntosh asked.
“Because it was me, that's how. I was going to relatives anyway, while she's headin' off Celestia-knows where with somepony we don't even know.”
“True enough, but she's a durn sight older than you were.” Granny paused and added, “And better schooled, too. I trust her judgment as much as I trust my own.”
Applejack took a deep breath and raised her hoof, but her reply was quashed.
“I reckon sixteen is old enough for her to decide what she needs to do and where she needs to go. I say if'n she needs to leave, so be it.” Granny held Apple Bloom tight, contradicting the words she spoke.
With lips pulled razor thin, Applejack glowered at her sister.
Apple Bloom's speech held a special part just for her sister. She'd planned to tell her how much she loved her and how grateful she was for everything she'd ever done. Yet, while those furious, quivering eyes bore down on her, she couldn't speak. But she couldn't look away either, so she looked deeper.
That wasn't anger. It was fear—she knew for she'd seen the same in herself. Applejack's stare couldn't stop her anymore and she could tell everything she'd planned. But now the words seemed hollow, feeble shadows of what could only be known in the heart.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered.
The ground melted under Applejack's hooves. She swayed and staggered before regaining her footing.
“No,” she moaned.
“I'm sorry, AJ.”
“Please. Don't leave, Bloom…” Her voice came apart. “Don't do this to me.”
“I have to. For me.”
Applejack wandered towards the door as if she'd been struck blind. Colliding with the doorjamb, she stumbled out of the kitchen. McIntosh got up and followed her.
Despite Granny's protective grasp, doubt crept into Bloom. She'd figured Applejack would be happy for her—eventually—right? Didn't she always want her to find her way in the world? And what about Mac? Most times there weren't enough words to know what he really thought. And everything happened so fast. Was she pulling some selfish, childish stunt? But how could it feel so genuine?
“Granny?”
“Child, life ain't nothin' but one change stacked on top of t'other. Sometime ya git to pick your own, but ya can't picks 'em for nopony else. Your sister's heart is gonna needs time before it learns that. So ya do what you need.” Granny began rocking her to and fro. “And if things don't workout, we'll still be here, waitin' for ya.”
—❦—
It felt like the longest night, and midnight had passed by the time Bloom made it to her room. She sat by an open window and watched Sweet Apple Acres sleep beneath the starlight. Eventually, she slept, too tired for dreams.
Too soon dawn came. By the time the mid-morning sun had driven away the cool, but the heat of noon had not yet come, two suitcases rested by the front porch stairs. Nearby, Granny sat in her rocker, while McIntosh waited by the door with Applejack by his side. In front of the house, Apple Bloom sat, her eyes fixed on the road, while the song birds dipped between the trees lining the path.
The Apples saw a pony pulling a battered wagon, filled with baggage, along the road. He turned and approached their house. The birds, unperturbed, kept up their conversation as he plodded up the path. He turned the wagon in a circle in front of the house and unhitched himself.
Will Stock stretched and faced them. “Good morning, folks.”
“Mornin',” Granny Smith said and continued rocking.
McIntosh's head dipped. Applejack said nothing.
Bloom retrieved one of the suitcases and brought it to Mr. Stock, who loaded it into the wagon. She returned with the second bag and waited while he stowed it.
“Ready?” he asked.
She breathed out slowly. “Almost.”
“I… well… I'll wait over there.” He pointed and went to the wagon's far side, where he sat and looked out in to the orchard.
She turned around and hesitated for a moment, looking at figures on the porch. Then Bloom walked to her brother and sister.
Applejack buried her face in Mac's side. “Don't say them words. Don't say 'em, Bloom.”
Apple Bloom held her in silence, then whispered, “I'll see you again.”
“Promise?” Applejack's side began to heave.
“I promise. I will see you again,” she said and let her go. Next she turned to Mac.
“You take care of yourself, Bloom.”
“Mac, I wrote some letters last night, to friends and fam—” Applejack interrupted with a gasp.
Mac nodded. “I'll take care of 'em.” He lead their sister inside.
Bloom began a slow march to the end of the porch where Granny rocked away. But Granny threw open her forelegs and she rushed to her. The old mare's hug hurt her side but she didn't care. She was determined to soak in every last bit of her.
“Now, I got—” Granny said as she fumbled for something at her side. “Where in the… where'd it go now…” She retrieved a small muslin bag and pressed it into Bloom's hooves.
“These here are for you,” she instructed. “You take 'em and you put this old place to shame, ya hear?”
There was no need ask, for she knew the bag's contents. Johnathan and Honeycrisp. Braeburn and McIntosh. Golden Delicious and Granny Smith. Hundreds of brown, tear-shaped seeds—the intertwining of her family and the land.
She threw herself at Granny a final time, but soon set her free.
“Now you git going. The day ain't gettin' no younger, and you got plenty of work ahead of ya.”
“Yes, Ma'am,” she said and hopped off the porch. She walked to the wagon and slipped the bag of seeds inside her saddle bags before putting them on.
Mr. Stock hitched himself up. He shook one shoulder then the other, letting the harness settle comfortably around his shoulders.
“Good day, Ma'am,” he called out.
Granny nodded and kept up the even pace of her rocking.
Mr. Stock leaned into the harness and the wagon rolled down the path with Bloom walking alongside. All the while, the birds above kept up their rapid conversation. The path ended, and without ceremony, they turned on to the road and headed away from Ponyville.
Along that road ran two sights familiar to everypony in those parts: the white rail fence that surrounded Sweet Apple Acres and the creek that flowed through Ponyville. The creek lazily made its way across the countryside, bobbing and weaving next to the road, meandering into the forest to occasionally rendezvous with a brook and grow larger. Both creek and fence accompanied the travelers as they headed down the road. The creek was the first to depart, making its way into the valley, searching out the river that would eventually take it to the sea. Then the fence ended.
The forest on both sides enclosed them, muffling the tromping of their hooves and the faint squeak of the wagon wheels. The time and place she'd been bound to for so long was gone, and the strangeness of the new that lay ahead of her began to sink in. First there'd be the voyage, taking her farther away than she'd even known. It would afford her even more time to think and plan, for there'd be precious little time once she arrived at her new home. Home: The word seemed simultaneously frightening and exciting. But that was still a distant future, and the past, still near, refused to fade. She sought to confine her thoughts to the present, two silent ponies walking along, pulling a squeaky old wagon.
The forest road went on for quite a distance, while Bloom's thoughts hopped between the future and the past. Around a bend, the forest receded, affording a clear view of the river valley to the southwest. They stopped and gazed at the farms dotting the broad plain below. They were ordinary farms, the type that could be found all over Equestria, containing simple homes populated with mares and stallions who labored in those fields. But to the two onlookers the scene held something different, something painted in hopeful colors one could never describe.
“One day,” he murmured.
“Yeah,” she said in a single, reverent breath.
Will paused a moment and then leaned into the harness. The wagon began to move.
“Uh, Will,” she said, “I'd like to pull.”
He halted. “Sure.” They exchanged places and set off again.
The exertion felt good, even with the sun beaming down on her. It wasn't a burden at all. It was almost effortless.
They'd traveled no more than a quarter mile when Apple Bloom began to feel lightheaded. A queasy feeling welled up inside her. The road ahead swam in her eyes, yet she kept moving. Every hair of her coat stood on end while a sweat, both hot and cold, washed over her, and she stumbled as a flash of light appeared behind her.
Then everything returned to normal. It was over and she'd hardly missed a step.
At the fringe of her vision she caught Will Stock staring with an expectant look, but she refused to acknowledge it and kept her sight locked on the road ahead.
“Well,” Will asked with a mix of excitement and puzzlement. “Don't you want to know what it looks like?”
“Nope.” She shook her head a single time.
“But it's been so long coming. You must want to know what you were meant to be.”
“I already know what I was meant to be. I don't need to look.”
“Do you now?” His voice sparkled, carefree and light, hanging on the verge of laughter. “Then tell me. What are you, Apple Bloom? What are you going to do with your life?”
For once, the words flowed easily, as if they'd always been there, patiently waiting for her to give them voice.
“I'm a pioneer. I can do whatever I want.”
