Bedrock

by RazedRainbow

Rating: teen
Tags: Maud Pie, Pinkie Pie, Profanity, Violence, Alternate Universe, Drama, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Pie Sisters
Length: 13367

As peace finally settles on a war-torn Equestria, Maud must confront the ghosts of her past.

'Peace': a word Maud Pie swore was impossible. The war ended, and still she fought for the resistance. But with the Crystal Empire holding their end of the amnesty and power of the kingdom once again in the hooves of a Princess, the world continues to descend back into something resembling normalcy.

For Maud, this is the worst outcome. No longer can she hide behind a curtain of violence. She must face her final battle: returning home.

A spin-off of Cynewulf's wonderful tale of AppleDashery, General Amnesty. Written with her blessing. Go read all of her things if you haven't already—especially General Amnesty.

Published 2018-07-04 00:30:07 UTC
Last updated 2018-07-10 00:35:28 UTC

I

Part One: Clasts

I

The bag looks like any other. We made sure. Just another saddlebag at a cafe on a street maps often forget. Give it a second or third glance and you still could not tell its contents could shake the core of the world. A landslide of unrest and retaliation tucked under plaid stitching.

It rests now. Like the street and the fog and Uncle Malachite hours and miles away. I run a hoof along the bomb. So much work and planning for nothing. Thankfully. I had no doubt Rainbow would not go through with it, but there were times as the carriage rolled by where I had a hoof resting on my shootstick. Waiting. Hoping.

But it had been a silent afternoon. No explosions, no shots, just the typical chatter of Canterfolk and the occasional whimpering from an embraced couple no one batted an eye at. Only I paid mind. From coffee and lecture to hugs and finally retreat off into the crowd. They were lucky I did. They had forgotten the package.

Blending in is always easy. I reached the table before the waitress could return and notice her patrons had forgotten a bag. I dropped a couple bits near their check once I had managed to get up in a chair and scooped up the bag and waited. The waitress eventually returned, primed to either fuss out or lead me to another table, but one glance of the wheels beside me ceased her tongue. She asked if I want anything, and I answered, “Just a minute.”

She left, and here I sit. If she returned I did not notice. The only thing I noticed was the bag resting on my lap. All Rainbow had ever wanted, primed and ready, forgotten just like that. Was it really that easy?

Haystack’s hooves cut through the silence. I do not see him, but he has a canter that is unmistakable. Rapid and jumpy, like pebbles dancing along a riverbed. He is a block away and coming fast. He shoots right past the cafe with his shadowed muzzle fixed straight at the rooftop. I tap a forehoof against the table. The space of the street ricochets the clank just enough times to hit his ears. He turns, jumps, freezes, smiles, frowns.

“Thank Celestia.” He collapses onto the chair across from me. His chin bounces on the tabletop. I hug the bag to my chest. A simple bounce would not blow this cafe but you can never be too careful. He stares at it as well. “She backed out. Thank you, Applejack.” Eyes dart to the water glass sitting on the table. He sniffs and frowns. “Could’ve picked a bar.”

“The bars were too crowded.” I place the bag on the table. Haystack’s baby, Haystack’s problem now. “Someone might get curious.”

He nods and lifts the flap of the bag and then nods again. Maybe a second glance would reveal a world and flame, but no. All those mugs of coffee-laced whiskey and hours pacing around the den of his house had lead to nothing. His grin is nearly infectious. His immediate frown is. “You didn’t report back.”

“I covered.”

“Yes,” he says with a shake of his head, “but you didn’t come back, Maud. She left. Mission aborted. Come home and have a drink. But I wake up, and you’re still not back. I thought you’d gotten yourself arrested. You know how many damn bits guard bribes cost us last time?”

“Nobody bothered me. Nobody noticed.”

“And I was supposed to know that?” He sighs and takes a sip of water, then downs the rest in a single gulp.

“I wanted to make sure the package was contained.” Haystack had never discussed what to do if Rainbow Dash had changed her mind. All he managed to mumble was a few words about ‘fire at who’s still moving.’ I am not going to leave a bomb where some distracted colt could peek inside.

The words strike true. He stares into the empty glass. His frown remains. “You could’ve still brought it back to the house. Off the street, out of danger.”

He is right. I could have. I should have. I stayed here anyway. I do not know why. “I’m sorry.”

“Forget it, let’s just get this damned thing in the past.” He walks around the table and grabs my wheels. Time and time again I tell him not to. I can handle transfers just fine, but Haystack gets protective when angry, and he has every right to be peeved tonight, so I do not argue as he wraps his hooves around my torso.

“One,” he says. “Two.”

“Three,” I finish. I shift my forehooves and lean forward and he takes care of the rest. I hear the familiar clunk of dead hooves on metal.

“Sorry,” he mutters. What for, I did not notice. I turn to help with the straps but Haystack is an old pro by now. My hind legs are secure in the harness before I can get my forelegs steady.

Haystack leads the way, the could-have-been end of Malachite the Younger—potentially Equestria—draped over his sides as though he was cantering home from the market. “Think any of the bakers are open this late? Or is it ‘this early’ right now?” He chuckles but does not smile.

“No.”

He groans. “Well… this is a celebration worthy of only the week-old bread anyway.”

My stomach rumbles. “Good enough.”

Laughter echoes in the still dead street. It is a song I had thought I might never hear again.

I close my eyes and let it carry me home.

II

II

I closed the book. Waited. Recited. “Quartz, muscovite mica, potassium feldspar, biotite mica, amphibole, pyroxene, olivine.”

“Olivine, huh?” piped a voice from the kitchen. “She sounds cute.”

“Olivine is an ultramafic rock, Pinkamena,” I said, running through the list in my head. “And, in some deposits yes, she is.” I opened the textbook and glanced at the chart. All correct save one skipped. Plagioclase. Easy to remember, but all over the place melting-wise.

“You should introduce me sometime. I bet her and Boulder get along perfect.” Pinkamena was at the door. Pink strands curled out from under the brim of her chef’s hat and her blinding grin still took a blink to get used to. She had a tray balanced on her back.

“They all get along with Boulder.” I patted my best friend resting on the table beside me. He was always so good when I needed to study. Never budged. My gaze returned to the book. I had been too cocky about the reaction series. Plagioclase’s secrets needed to be read again.

Mid-definition the book slid off my desk and onto my bed, replaced by Pinkamena’s tray. “I was studying, Pinkame—” A frown cut me off. “Pinkie.” The name she insisted we call her still had not stuck, but I was getting better.

“Studying on your birthday? Please, Maud, you’ll have moh than enough time for that later.” She giggled. Rock jokes. At least she was trying.

“Hardness was last unit.” Talc first, corundum last. Hopefully it would not be a trick question on the final. “We are focusing on melting this week.”

Pinkie’s smile did not waver. “Well, then I have something you’re just gonna melt over.” She pulled back the foil to reveal a gray cake. “Doesn’t it rock?”

“Hmm… pearly luster.” I took a sniff. “Vanilla, blackberries and… feldspar?” The sweeter smells bury the scent well but it had that dusty drop-off. Definitely feldspar. Calcium rich. Above pyroxene.

“I think that’s how you say it.” Pinkie tapped her chin, smile never wavering. “I just saw it in the cabinet and the name just screamed ‘you.’”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

Pinkie bust into chortles, throwing a hoof over my withers. My old chair swayed and threatened to topple. I reached out to Boulder for support. “You are too funny, Maud. You have to try open mic night next time you’re in Ponyville.”

“Hm. There are some sedimentary clusters near the community center I am interested in collecting samples from.”

She laughed again. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’” Her eyes were closed and lost in mirth. I reached for my textbook but a hoof slapped it away. “Nuh-uh. You can study after your cake. You only turn seventeen once.” Somehow, in the blink of an eye, she had a slice on a plate plopped before me, complete with candle. I had stopped trying to figure how she did it years ago. “I was going for something rocky, and I knew you have field study on the North Luna Ocean this summer, so I was gonna make it coral-y but—”

“Coral is not rock.” Not even close.

“I know.” Pinkie sighed. Her curls drooped a little. Her hat somehow managed to sag too. “You say that so much nicer than Limey.” Like flipping a switch she perked up again. “Soooooo, I remembered that trip to Canterlot a few years back where you had those rock buns you liked so much, so I asked a few questions annnnnnd ta-da! Supersized!”

Pinkie’s lung capacity never ceased to amaze. I closed my eyes, pictured the row houses, the gray sandstone walls and, of course, The Rolling Stone Bakery. “Those were good buns.” She snorted a giggle at that. Walked right into it. I took the fork that had seemingly appeared out of thin air and bit into Pinkie’s work.

“So…” She leaned forward. I could feel the hairs of her muzzle touching mine. “Did I do it justice?”

I chewed. Swallowed. Stared. Her eyes were kyanites. “It’s up to spar.”

She blinked.

“Spar,” I repeated. “Feldspar.”

She blinked again. Then it hit her like a wave and she let out a wailing laugh and pulled me into a bearhug. I could feel my ribs snapping. “You’re the bestest most kindest most awesomestst sister ever, Maud.”

I could not breathe. My bones were on the verge of dust as she hugged tighter. I smiled.

III

III

I pass Haystack as we reach his block. Between the cobbled streets and inclined lanes, my back can take so much walking before the shocks start. At least Haystack’s house is in a plateau district. That is something.

The stairs and the wheels add up to even more pain, but quick and dirty equals faster rest. I dig out the hidden key and throw the door open before Haystack can even request to help. The couch is all there is.

Boulder Jr waits on the windowsill, still as stone. He’s too good for me. I make sure to tell him as much with a pat after the straps are undone and my body is in an embrace of felt and spring. This had to be what clouds felt like. Lucky pegasi.

Haystack chuckles but says nothing. I turn just in time to see his tail disappear into the bathroom. He can read me like a book. A blink and he emerges, bottle in teeth. “Tw’, righ’?” he manages.

“Mhmm.” They tell me one, but two keeps the barbs out better. I swallow before he can fetch a glass of water. He sighs. Maybe another chuckle is hidden somewhere beneath those wrinkled cheeks, but a frown takes over.

“Some day, huh.” He walks over to the kitchen and starts a kettle of tea. The leftovers of that Zebraican blend Rainbow brought by earlier, probably. She did not even stop to say ‘goodbye.’ She had her own issues to deal with, sure, but a wave would have been nice.

“I’ve been so beside myself all day that folks are probably getting worried," he says between sips. "Or at least getting a headache from all that Appleloosan swing.” He scoffs and fetches another cup from the cabinet. “Want some?”

“No. Thanks.” The pills are doing their job. Zebrican tea is always black. Caffeine would only bring the pain back. Sleep sounds nice, too.

“I reckon I need to make a report before turning in.” He groans.

“Need to take care of that too.” I point a wobbling hoof towards the swaying table. If I could never leave this couch again, that would be great.

He rubs a hoof against his forehead. “That too.” A gulp and the tea is gone. He then grabs the bag and carefully shuffles off to the basement. Somewhere among those old mine shafts, the bomb would be passed off and disarmed by its maker, its packaging destined to be tossed into some bin or corner to be forgotten. A shame. It really is a nice bag. Purple and gold, briolette pattern. Amethyst. Reminds me of something Rarity would have stitched.

The name stabilizes the world and I sit up on the couch. Not because of Rarity—nothing against her. No, her name meant more to Pinkie than me.

Pinkie.

I try not to think about her too much, but after the parade she had charged right over the walls and refused to leave. Not at the cafe, not for a step on the walk back, and not here. I close my eyes. All I can see is pink and green and purple. Lightning snakes up my spine. It is summer and I am shivering. I wrap the throw as tight as I can.

It was not the first time she had jumped the barricades post-mission. Often times she did, success or failure, and often times I could wipe it away, be it with a fight or a flight. Today had not been a success. Not a failure either. Love had won out. Peace. And still she had bored in.

I stare at Boulder Jr, then out the window behind him. No answers, more questions. The moon is full. The streets are lit. Through the reflections of our spartan den, I can see the a pony or two still strolling and/or stumbling their way home after a long night. There is no smoke, no screams in the distance, no crystal soldiers on the prowl.

It almost looks like Canterlot should.

I swallow. The pills always fill my throat. Sleep beckons, but my eyes remain locked on the window as they do every night. Tonight they are not the eyes of a bodyguard, however. No, I am far from these streets.

I am among the mountains and quarries. I am staring at a looming stone, the shadows of a farmhouse painted on it by the setting sun. Carts rattle beside me. I hear voices all around me. Peppy. Angry. Somepony laughs, somepony yells, somepony whimpers. Olden-time sayings move through the air on the backs of dust and sweat and fresh-baked stone scones.

I am home.

I sigh to no one. Sleep is winning. As the sands pull my head and eyelids down, I can tell it will not be sound.

V

V

There is no sunlight when I wake. I rub my ear against the arm of the sofa. I can still hear her. For a moment, I think I’m still in a dream, but the mildew is all Haystack’s. I bury my ear further into the felt, move my head a little. It tickles enough to wake me up. Soon silence is my only companion once more.

I sit up and check the streets. Street lamps and moonlight bathe the stones. Not even a hint of the sun. It might still be closer to dusk than dawn. Plenty of hours left to sleep. Plenty of hours left to avoid it, too. I tap on the table lamp and the den is bathed in a tanzanite’s glow.

Getting into the harness is second nature. I slide off the couch and it is right where it always is. The tanzanite is dim, but enough to get situated—no hoof on carpet, each leg on its own side. I take the straps in my mouth and pull. Tight, but not too tight. I won’t be strapped in long. A mare on a mission. The wheels are silent on the carpet. Maybe too silent. I stare at the door. If I blink, I will hear her.

I hear her anyway.

I open the door by the centimeter. The squeaks are louder that way. They drown the echoes out long enough to get to the workout bench. Unhook, push up one half, drag up the other, lay flat. I hear a familiar whir. Legs secure. Condensed magic. Not sure how it works, and I have too big a headache to think about it now. I take a deep breath and blow it out. Set one: go.

The carpet here is louder than the den’s—scratchier too. Loud is good tonight. I lower myself until I can see the old stains, can practically smell the sweat of sleepless night’s past in the shag, and then push up. Down. Up. Over and over. I do not count. My breaths build in my ears. Each rise pushes her further away.

I slow. Stop. I allow five seconds of rest, then pick up the closest weight vest. Bolts are starting to spark up my back. I will regret this come dawn, but I accept it. I will take a backache over heartache any day.

I am a few good gasps in when I notice a shadow at the door. I freeze and stare, one hoof on a nearby dumbbell. I can recognize him by his outline, but assumptions can be death here. Red and orange briefly pulse near the shadow's face. I can smell Zebrican tobacco.

“Can’t sleep, huh,” Haystack says. Not a question.

“New report?” I ask. A thunderstorm would be nice. Something to do, somepony to track. A decent distraction.

“New record,” he chuckles. Figured. Haystack’s circadian rhythm had always been two measures offbeat. He eats and sleeps and worries around cycles of twang and big band. He nods over his withers. “Water?” Again, I can tell it’s not a question.

“I am fine.”

“Water,” he repeats. “I’ll be right back.” He must have been standing there longer than I had thought. I need to focus. In the streets, that could equal death. I unstrap the vest, wait for the magic to hiss again. It comes quicker than expected. I am still in push-up position and nearly slide onto the floor. My forelegs burn and shake. Mostly from the workout, but she pushes down as well.

I am able to get situated into my harness before he can get back, but he still insists on tightening the straps himself. Loose would be better, as I still have two more sets to do, but the company is nice so I let him do as he pleases. It keeps the mind fresh. Focused. Far away from it all.

That is if the first sip of water is not followed by questions. “What’s chiseling ya, Rock Girl?” he asks.

I let the cold swash across my teeth. Haystack loves his nicknames. It is charming enough. “I have things on my mind.”

“Understatement of the century.” He crosses his forelegs on the table, leaning forward. Moments like these I find ‘Father’ a more fitting code name than ‘Cousin.’ He can stare with the best. My throat burns. I swallow the lump.

“I can’t stop thinking.” I take a second sip. The glass is empty. “Rainbow Dash. Applejack. It dug things up.” I put the empty glass to my lips and hold it there. Hopefully Haystack will jump in and carry the conversation. But he stays silent. Watching. I am in the scope now. “I keep thinking about her.”

His gaze is distant. Realization hits with a furrowed brow. “You mean…” He pauses. I have told him not to speak of her. Not to distract. We had no room for these distant thoughts.

And tonight was proving resistance is futile. “Pinkie. Yes.”

Haystack knows her and he does not. We—she, mostly—had visited his cart many a time for evening grub back when detritus still covered our manes and the air burned with magical smoke. We did not stay long, but we were constant. He had tried small talk once or twice, but I was me and Pinkie was not Pinkie back in those days. There are pieces though. I can tell from his look.

I need another glass. I back away from the table and go to the sink. Running water is a good way to drown thoughts. I down the glass in a single gulp and fill up another. I will probably regret it later, but I do not care.

Haystack is still staring off into a distant time and place when I get to the table. Combing over past conversations, most likely. I have not told him much, but he has his ways of putting puzzles together. A flash passes over his eyes before he puts on his normal, wrinkled expression. “Will be a while ‘til the next storm, you know? Dash’s stunt was the first in weeks, and I don’t see her begging for another bomb anytime soon.” He shrugs. “Hell, might be the last ever. Never know when the Sun’ll come out from behind the clouds.”

I frown. I know where this is going. I do not like it, but I play along. “You’re saying?”

I say the words to myself as they escape his lips. “You should go.”

“What?” I know the answer.

Haystack smiles. “No need to play dumb, Rock Girl. Ain’t your style.” He reaches for his pipe and lights it. Blows a perfect ring. “I’m done with smuggling bombs for a good while. The amnesty is holding. Canterlot is feeling like Canterlot again. We aren’t getting rounded up anymore. Guards stay their hooves rather than pounce on sight. The stalls are starting to show full baskets again.” He shrugs. “Most we can do now is watch. Maybe things will be good, maybe they won’t. Times are changing, regardless.”

“That sounds like giving in. And after we nearly helped reignite the war?”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to stir up the hornet’s nest if they aren’t stinging. We don’t exactly have a strong backing nowadays”

“Yet you gave her the bomb.”

“I owed her. I hoped like hell she wouldn’t go through with it, and she didn’t. Just like I hope you’ll chip away that face of yours and listen to me.” He chuckles. I keep frowning, staring. I say nothing. If only it worked on him. After a long pause he speaks up again. “You may not think it, but you got your tells, Maud. This has been eating you up since you rolled in that door, fetlockband, stolen harness and all. So much as mention your family or get you thinking about them, and boom! Fresh, open wounds. I can see it feasting on ya right now.”

He knows me well. “I’ll write a letter. You need me here. Just in case you owe anypony else favors.”

He smirks. “You have an address?”

“You can get one.”

“True, but…” He shakes his head. “Words on paper don’t heal this. I’ve seen it before. Felt it.” He pauses. For a second I see his eyes mist, but he blinks them away. “Go to them. With all you've given, you deserve a clear mind at least. So does your family. That’s the only way you’re gonna get it.”

It will never be clear, but he is right on the first part. Nothing tears at me more. So silence it is.

He smiles. Reading my mind, probably. “Don’t worry. Storm comes in, I’ll send you a note. Got plenty of dragonfire.”

I shake my head.

He rolls his eyes and nearly drops his pipe from his teeth. “Do I need to make that a direct order?”

“Is this a mission?”

It is Haystack’s turn to shake his head. He sighs. “Celestia save me, you never lose that damn fire in your eye, do ya?” He pauses to take a drag. “No, it’s not a mission. Unless you want finding yourself to be your only objective.” He smiles with tight lips.

I don’t return it. “I can't just leave.”

“If anypony’s earned the right to ‘just leave’ it's you.” He stretches. “But... whatever rolls your stone. Farmer might have something for the south. That's probably where they are. I’ll find something if not. Anything to clear your mind.” He glances towards the basement door. “Two hours left on that record. How ‘bout we just get some shut-eye, yeah?”

I cannot even begin to think about sleep. “Okay.” I blink and I am moving towards the couch again. Now my forelegs have betrayed me as well. Haystack follows, and I do not argue as he unhooks the straps and helps me up. A fresh wave of pill drunk has my vision and body bobbing. I should not have let Haystack ruin my rhythm, but the water tasted good. Warm welcome tonight.

“Rest easy, Rock Girl. You've earned it.” Haystack taps the lamp as I let a yawn past my lips. Darkness again. A few hoofsteps and I am alone again. I cannot even think about resting, and it certainly won’t be an easy one. She is too loud, too close.

They all are.

VI

VI

“Be honest with me, Doc.” Pinkie coughed. “This is the end for me, isn’t it? I’m a big girl. I can take it.”

I peered into the medical tent just long enough to catch Marble roll her eyes as she placed a bandage on Pinkie’s scraped cheek. Not even a fresh wound. No blood. Just an excuse. I could not blame her.

I turned my attention back to camp before the smoke could settle into the back of my mind. At least out here, the real here, the smoke was friendlier. It was a sunny day along the Canterlot walls, but a winter one nonetheless. Winds rattled the tents and covered them with campfire fog. Unicorns trotted towards Caravan Corner to try and scrounge up a jacket or scarf while the pegasi circled above the fog with only their natural coats.

I started to rest against the tent again. Maybe I could venture another look, but second looks only brought flames to go with the smoke. A second longer, and eyes might pop out of the dark. I was shale enough.

I listened for Pinkie’s voice and took a step away as soon as a giggle sounded. They were safe. It was clear for me to leave.

I walked towards nowhere. I had ventured through tent rows many times, and there was little to see within Canterlot’s walls. All the cathedrals and noble houses were cut from the same deposits of sandstone and granite as the walls surrounding them. The more interesting outcrops were along the outer rims, anyway. I could find some phyllite peeking out among the unicorn’s commune, and maybe some amphibolite if I could talk one of the griffons into letting me chip around their perches. I would take their fish breath over a wine-stenched noble any day.

“Yo, Rock Bitch!” Before I could turn, blue fur covered the pebbles I had been identifying (granite, obviously). I looked up to find a familiar smirk peeking out from behind rainbow bangs. “Just the pony I’ve been looking for.”

“I've been here.”

Rainbow Dash cocked her head. “Yeah...” Her lips moved in unreadable words. She shook her head. She looked around, over my shoulder, back towards the tents, back to me. “Where’s your better half?”

I motioned behind me. “In there.”

Rainbow’s ears slumped. “Oh. Shoot. How bad?”

“She’s fine. She’s talking with Marble.”

Rainbow laughed but her eyes were sharp. “Sheesh, Maud. Gut’s weighing me down enough as is, don’t scare me like that.” She trotted by me and into the medical tent before I could ask more. I weighed whether to follow or look for more samples. There werea few pebbles close to the mess tent that needed a closer look to determine if they were rounded or angular, so I took a detour.

“Heads up!” The pebbles were closer to the road than I had thought. Luckily a pony wagon had approached first. A griffon one and I would know exactly how many directions of cleavage my head had.

“Sorry,” I said.

The pony chuckled in return. It was higher than the seven-day stubble let on, but rough. “I see the rumors are true.”

I blinked. “Rumors?”

He waved a hoof in the air and brought it to his hat. He tipped it back, showing off his receding maneline. “Apologies of my own, Miss Pie, but your reputation has painted an accurate picture.” He pointed to the rocks with an odd waving motion and laughed again. He could give Pinkie a run for her money. It was a nice laugh. Nice voice. He should go into radio.

His eyes dimmed. “Um… no need to offend, Miss Pie, honest, I was just…” His hooves shuffled in place. He raised one to his chest and attempted a bow. “Haystack’s the name. Just a simple supply pony needlessly shooting the breeze. A thousand apologies.”

“Any relation to Needle?”

He paused mid-bow. Surprisingly, his hooves held him.

“It’s a joke,” I said. “Needle. Haystack.”

This chuckle was more a cough, but at least his hooves had steadied. “Of course. Of course. Heheh. A bit slow on the uptake as you can tell.”

“Any slower and you would have crushed me.”

His mouth moved, and I could read the echo, then his chest popped out with a cough. At least he was smiling again. “Your reputation truly does precede you.” Not sure what reputation that was. At least it was one that did not make him cower too much. That was different. New. Nice.

I took the chance to glance at his cart. The body slumped close to the ground and the wheels rested at slightly crooked angles. Quickly-made plus a heavy load. A peer at the load and I could not keep my jaw locked. Boulders. Dozens of them. Some wheel-round, some shaped like a half-eaten scone. All far from home. Broken children. Fit for only one thing.

I glanced at him. I did not know what my face spoke, but his pinned ears told me the sparks from my twisting gut had reached my eyes. “These are not for fortifications,” I stated.

“Celestia’s orders,” he said. He looked like he wanted to say more but resorted to silent glances.

“They use rocks for weapons.” I frowned. “They abuse them. Not us. They protect us. Disappointing.”

“Celestia’s orders,” he repeated. “Not mine.”

“I know. Just disappointed. It makes us like them.” I sighed and looked back in. “Solid choices, at least. Basalt, sandstone, gabbro. Common, but heavy.” I stared at him once more. “You know your rocks.”

His lips twitched. “Eh, it was mostly second-hoof. Know somepony who knows somepony. All that usual jazz.”

“You’ll need to introduce me.”

“Heeeey!” Speaking of rocks, a voice like pebbles in a horseshoe. “Ain’t this a day of perfect timing!” I did not need to turn to know it was Rainbow Dash, but I stole a glance anyway. My instincts were correct. Not only was the wild-mannered pegasus on her way, but Pinkie followed in tow. She smiled, but the shimmer in her eyes was not a happy one. The glaze of a sister dragged away from a talk they never wanted to end.

Rainbow bumped a hoof against Haystack’s. “Just the guy I wanted to see.” She looked over at us with a smirk, then back to him. “You got the goods, right? Didn’t spoil the surprise, yeah?”

He smirked. “My lips aren’t that loose.” He reached into his cart. Rocks scraped carelessly along wood. Pinkie placed a hoof on mine. Am I shaking? He emerged with a sack in his teeth. It was at our hooves in a blink. Small bounce, no rattle. Not rocks.

Pinkie moved before I did. She leaned down, sniffed the sack, then sprang up. Her nose twitched. “Is that, that that-that—?” She was looping. Nothing a tap on the head could not fix.

“The best sugar I could muster.”

Pinkie blinks. “But—”

“Y’all saved my ass out there yesterday,” Rainbow butted in. “Again. Figured I owed ya for that, so I pulled some strings and dropped some bits and ta-da!” She flared her wings and spread her forelegs at the same time.

“But, but—” I closed Pinkie’s mouth with a hoof. I could feel her jaw trying to work. She would settle eventually. Always did.

“Just save me one of whatever you bake, alright? Keeping me from becoming a pancake compensates enough.” She slicked her mane back with a hoof. It fell in front of her eyes again. She licked her lips. “Hmm, I could go for some pancakes.” She shook the dream away and stuck her tongue out. “And don’t waste it on a stinkin’ pie. Those are the wo—oof!”

There was nothing like a Pinkie hug to take the breath out of you. Rainbow struggled and clawed and wheezed but smiled nonetheless. “You. Are. The. Best.” Pinkie punctuated each squeal with a squeeze. I could hear her sniffle.

“Need anything else, Rainbow?” Haystack asked as the pegasus fought to get her neck free. “Applejack have a thirst for anything?”

“Heh, besides nagging me over everything?” Rainbow got her neck out of Pinkie’s grasp. Pinkie moved on to her torso. “Nah, we’re good for the moment, Hay.”

He nodded. His gaze drifted over Rainbow’s head. I could not see what he was looking at but there was nothing but the medical tent there, and his frown reflected it. “How about something for...” He drew circles in the dirt. Letters, maybe. I could tell he knew the name, but did not want to speak it. Rainbow did too. Maybe even Pinkie. The hug ended quicker than normal.

Rainbow stared off into the sky. Pinkie stared at the ground. I kept my eyes straight ahead. I had clearly missed some news, but asking would only make the silence heavier. I found some more pebbles near Haystack’s cart. Mafic. Igneous. Like shards of glass. Pyroxene?

“Fleet...” Rainbow finally muttered. “Only thing she needs is space and time for now. You’re the best, but even you don’t have the connections to barter miracles.” Rainbow rubbed her nose and sniffed. “She’s done.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Figured I’d ask. Sure there had to be something... I dunno. Something comforting she would like, y’know?” The question crawled out like he already knew the answer.

Pinkie cut in. “Red velvet’s still her favorite cake, right?”

“She ain’t a filly.” Rainbow shook her head. “As I said, space and time is all. Don’t see creature comforts helping. She’ll probably just throw ‘em” She almost smiled. “I dunno, Hay. Maybe a bottle of Griffonstone gin for when the meds wear off will ease her into it better. Calm the mind. Celestia knows she loves that stuff too much.” She forced a laugh, but it is almost a whimper. “And if she turns it down, and the bottle’s still in one piece, pass it my way, alright? AJ's never tried it.” She tossed a few bits through the air.

Haystack caught them in his teeth. “Consider it done.” He tucked them behind his scarf. “Well, I’m running behind on this delivery as is, so…. Good seeing you again, Rainbow. Pinkie.” He tipped his hat at each of them. I glanced at Pinkie. She stared at the ground. “Glad I could be of service.” He turned to me and winked. “And a pleasure meeting you, Miss Maud. I’ll be sure to raise your concerns with the Princess when I see her.”

I shrugged. “No need. It is what it is. Just my feelings. I understand.”

He shook his head. “I am sure she will keep your thoughts in mind. You’re connected to rocks more than anypony here. In the meantime...” He reached into the cart once again and pulled out a smaller, rounded bit of igneous—basalt—and placed it in my hoof. “To a good home.” He laughed, but it was a nice one. No mockery at all. He meant it. “Keep fighting the good fight, Rock Girl.”

I held the stone close. A spitting image of Boulder—like a son. I did not know if Haystack knew for sure, but there was a glimmer in his eye. He knew Pinkie and Rainbow, so… “Thank you,” I said. “I won’t forget this.”

I did not.

VII

VII

Habits. Set in stone. Tough as quartz.

I am poetic this morning. A distraction. Everything is different today. I turn the corner at the end of Lu Street ready for a staring contest that never comes. I look behind the pillars of the facade, down to the side yard, but there is no guard to be found. I look over my withers and Haystack does not even have his bag of bits at the ready. Times really are changing.

I carry the old rhythm. Each blind corner, each flanking alley, step after step, I am ready for a glint of crystal or gruff ‘Halt!’ You can never be too sure.

At last, near Donut Joe’s, I notice a guard where they should. A smaller guard, more interested in the flanks of passing stallions and pointing out directions to some sleepy-eyed griffon than threats to the peace. They were bonier than normal, but a javelin is still a javelin. Long, sharp, always seconds away from striking.

I prepare for a glance, a flash of recognition, a spark of anger. Close quarters combat would spell defeat for me regardless of stature, but I can still buy Haystack enough time to disappear. I eye the row houses to my right. Unicorn architecture—sun-dried clay, blue and white. Fancy. Fancy equals terraces, and terraces in this district equaled elevators. A rooftop and a good angle, and I could shadow Haystack clear to the market. If only I had a shootstick with me.

“Easy,” Haystack whispers from beside me. “Don’t give ‘em a reason” Was I that obvious? A glance down to my tense steps confirms it. I stop, breathe deep, then step again. Looser. Good enough.

Habits die hard.

I am comfortable in my hooves enough to look back up… and immediately lose rhythm once more. Stalls and ponies surround me. The market had somehow snuck up on me.

“Okay…” Haystack’s voice drifts under the morning crowd. He may be talking to me, but his gaze is to the right, aimed at a four-story house decked out with iron gate, impenetrable rose bushes, and obvious security dressed in suits camped out on a bench. One of them—a griffon with greying chin scruff and a scar on his beak to match—meets my stare and immediately hops up, his talons sparking the cobblestone. Expected. When it came to dealing with these nobles, I played the bad cop, and chokeholds are hard to forget.

Haystack always plays the good cop—the only one necessary today, as his stony glare says. “Wait here. I’ll take care of this.” He sighs, eyes darting behind his clenched eyelids. I can guess what they are scanning. Blood, teeth, broken figurines from before the Nightmare era, and, of course, me. Memories. “For the love of Celestia,” he groans, “just wait. Let me handle this.”

He is off before I can speak otherwise, and I am left with a symphony of housewives and foals. The smells of burning caramel and fried dandelions and full, rain-soaked trash bins drown out the oxygen. That those sounds and stenches exist would make the resistance sing, but I am scanning the rooftops. A few good lookout positions on the western edge. Difficult to sneak up to, but a good view of Farmer’s mansion and some of the Crystal Guard’s favorite posts. Market Square Post stands out. There is always a working elevator there.

Each stand could hide trouble. I repeat it over and over with each step across Market Square. The days of knives held out of sight by grinning ‘merchants’ may be over, but all it takes is one glance of recognition, one guard that remembers that buck to the nose in another life, to cause a landslide.

I do not know if the approaching guard is one of those. His eyes are familiar. Blue and piercing, darting from merchant to patron and back again. The look a guard should have. His coat does not reflect sunlight like the others’, but I am not taking any chances. I hold my breath. I am known enough. If he catches sight of me…. Fighting is out of the question, and though the crowd is thick enough to disappear into, I cannot leave Haystack behind.

‘Plan C,’ it is: find a stand and blend in. I step to my left.

The market has always brought both the ornate and the odd, and the stand I choose fits the latter. It is not even a ‘stand,’ just a rug draped across the ground. The merchant is at eye-level despite this. I blink, and he blinks back. I need to look like I am actually shopping, so I glance down. Atop his rug are sticks, sticks, and more sticks. Some twigs, maybe even a branch or two. Not whittled or shaped. Just sticks. And at the end…

I lean forward. The stumps had not caught my eye at bark-level, but as the sun hits them at the right angle I am petrified. Purples (definitely quartz) and orange (also quartz) glimmer within the core. I lean forward and sniff. Volcanic ash. Dragonlands residue, perhaps?

The vendor clears his throat. “You like sticks?” he asks flatly.

I shrug. “No. I like rocks.”

He stares. “I am afraid this is not a rock stand, but a stick stand.”

“These are filled with silicates instead of organic material”—I motion to the stumps—“so they are rocks.”

“Technically, that is correct, but they also have retained their previous wooden structure, so they are sticks.”

“They are both.”

“You could say that.” He has not blinked this entire time. Time moves in hurried steps and rushed chatter all around, but here it is like waiting for metamorphosis. The change in pace is nice, though.

Speaking of paces, it usually takes a guard fifteen paces to get from one end of the square to the other. Though we had not been talking long, more than enough time had passed to clear a path to the Post. “Goodbye,” I say to the vendor.

“He’s still behind you.”

I pause. The stallion's face remains unreadable.

“The guard,” he says. “He’s behind you.”

I nod. Questions bounce around my head. Pebbles in the current. I swallow them and stare at the sticks. I wait. And wait. And wait some more. No hoofsteps clank and fade into the distance. The crowd drowning it out, but they too have become hushed. “Clear?” I ask, gaze not leaving his wares.

He does not respond.

I look up. He is no longer looking at me, but to my right, and his expression has changed. Mouth agape, drooping eyelids parted just enough to almost look shocked. For this stallion it might as well be a scream.

“What a cute little shop.” That voice. Gentle, yet powerful enough to carry over a crowd. Demanding love, respect, and silent fear. At the moment, as the outline of Mi Amore Cadenza wavers in the corner of my eye, I fit the third.

VIII

VIII

“Oh. My. Goodness.” Mi Amore Cadenza coos each word as she reaches down close enough to one branch that the rose petal on the end flutters in her breath. Odd to see royalty so close to the ground. For the first time since she had approached, I dare to look at her.

She wears the crown, of course. The regalia. Expected. Malachite had done similar when he had taken over, dressing up like ‘true’ power and visiting the ‘lower’ folk of the market while still being close enough to the noble houses to not choke on commonality. I look around the market. Each stall seems to be occupied, and though ponies have stopped to stare I hear no distant screams or panic.

No, all is calm. Nopony is being 'unponied' today. Too calm, though. I would sneak off, but I can feel the eyes of that guard of hers boring into the back of my head. I want to turn back—there had been something familiar about him—but a spear could be through my eyes before they could lock on if he was one of ‘those’ guards. It was not worth the risk.

I move a loose chunk of cobblestone beneath my hoof. Limestone. Dull, but easily crushable. Rock dust in the eye. Just enough to disappear, grab Haystack, and go.

“Shiny.” Cadenza is singing her words now. Were it not for the horn and tiara, I would have thought it was a teenage filly beside me. She has moved over to the petrified stumps. “Would these not look lovely in the throne room? Crystal and nature as one.” She claps her hooves together. I look for acne.

To complete the teenager cycle, her smile vanishes in an instant as she turns to the guard. Safe to steal a glance now. Yes, just as I expected: golden armor, golden helm, various scars, steely eyes. The guard I had tried to duck. Of course, upon blinking again, I notice that steel has started to bow. After all, there is no hotter forge than the glare of a royal ignored.

“Shining Armor,” she hisses. “We are here as a couple. I am your wife, not somepony you need to escort. Drop the ‘Captain.’”

“I’m not letting my guard down,” he answers the moment she finishes.

The back of her head is to me yet I can see her roll her eyes. “Take a look, Shiny.” She turns and motions in all directions, forehooves toward the stick seller, wings towards the other stalls, and her eyes… set right on me. I blink. No, through me. Not my face, but my legs. The wheels. “These are simple ponies, not threats.” If you only knew, Princess.

Shining Armor frowns. “Cadance, you’re smarter than this,” he hisses. “‘No threats.’ There are always threat—”

She cuts him off with a hoof over the mouth. “I understand, dear,” she says, “but it is not just ‘love’ I can feel in the air. I can sense the opposite. The breeze here carries only love”—she looks at me—“or… indifference. No hatred, though. Not for me, at least.” She moves her hoof to his cheek. “It’s okay. We’re okay now.”

He says nothing. He does not look at her, nor me. His head is angled to another guard to his left, crystal helmet the only part visible over his burly form. There is a static spark of blue. The spear in his hooves twist. He sighs. “Yeah.” He shakes his head. “They’d look fine.” He does not even look in their direction.

She smiles and nuzzles him on the cheek. “I can always trust your eyes.” Her voice is a light whisper, one with a story buried in it. She glances at the crystalline guard behind him. She puts her muzzle next to Shining Armor’s ear and I can barely make out another “It’s okay.” She turns to the vendor. “How much, dear?”

Combine the slack jaw, pinprick eyes with the bowl cut and he is actually kinda cute. “Uh…” He blinks. “Technically, twenty bits each, but for you… consider them a gift.” I can hear a question mark at the end. Almost changes pitch, even. “Your Majesty,” he throws in as the guard behind her growls.

Cadance shakes her head and smiles. Her horn lights up and the petrified wood floats before her. Twist, turn, hold the tongue right. Was she a jeweler in a past life? She repeats the process with a second stump before plopping them down next to her guard-cum-husband. Another flash of magic and an entire coin purse rests on the rug. “Thank you.” She looks at him, then me, then him, then me again. I cannot tell who she is talking to when she says, “I wish you well.” Did she just wink?

She is gone before I can answer that question. I hear the shopkeeper call out an unhearable ‘Goodbye,’ and catch sight of her, stumps held close by magic, following this Shining Armor character flank-to-flank before catching sight of some other stand. She is washed away by a gathering circle of ponies.

That is our hope? And Haystack says the storm chances are poor. Sunbeams now, but I can see the thunderheads of a thousand coups ready on the horizon.

Speak of the devil, I can hear him wheezing before he can squeeze through the crowd. His diet of Neighshville whisky and caramelized hay bits was catching up to him a lot quicker than he was catching up to me. “Thank Celestia,” he huffs as he pops through a couple wandering grandmares and plops down in front of me.

“Hello,” the merchant and I flatly harmonize.

Haystack waves a hoof in the air as he catches his breath. “Well,” he gasps and motions towards the Princess, “this is why I need to read the reports every morning, yeah?” He shakes his head. “Princesses and Uncles and Cousins in the same damn place. I’m still waiting for the shots.” He is not the only one.

“Technically,” the merchant butts in, “this was an unannounced visit. None of us had any way of knowing.”

Haystack and I cock our heads at him. No way. Haystack finds his voice where I cannot. “Cousin? Cousin of... Benches? Branches…? Cousin of… ugh, crap.”

“‘Cousin of Sticks.’”

Haystack blinks. “So you are a Cousin. The Cousin here, yeah?”

The merchant nods. “Mudbriar. Eyes and ears of the market,” he recites. Hadn’t heard the name before, but ‘Cousin’ is ‘Cousin.’ Makes us harder to track. Looks like it works.

Haystack blinks and reaches for the flask he had left back at the house. He smacks his lips. “You’re expecting us, right? Needle… umm, Needle in the Haystack?” He glances at me. “That’s still the sign, ain’t it?” Haystack never was one for the code names. Farmer and his cronies were.

I nod, as does the merchant. His focus is not on Haystack. He looks right at me. “And this is the legendary Maud the Marauder.” He nods towards my back, and the wheels. “Good disguise.” Guess the secret’s even safe among Cousins. I nod. He is still looking towards my back. Waiting for me to break character, perhaps. He is lucky he is cute or he would be getting the two that work to the face.

Haystack cuts the silence. “You got the order?”

Mudbriar finally breaks his stare and nods once more. He rises and rummages through the small cart behind him. Hm. Leggy—but like twigs. Flat flanks. I am more a ‘personality’ mare anyway, and he’s pretty good there at least. He emerges from the sea of wood with two small sticks in each hoof, leafs bunched from the top to the bags at the bottom.

“Ah,” I say. “More sticks.” What a surprise.

“Saplings, technically.” He places them at my hooves. “Future Fuji trees for Sweet Apple Acres.”

At least it is not a heavy delivery. Was hoping for something better for the cause, but maybe Haystack is right about the changing weather. “Ponyville, huh?” Predictable. Obvious. After all that happened, that would be where they’d be. Good farming around the gorges.

Haystack chuckles. “All Farmer’s benches and fountains come from there. Surprised you didn’t recognize your sisters’ handiwork.”

I almost chuckle. Almost. Flashes of griffon body slammed through granite zip through my mind. Still feel bad for the rock. I knew it was ours. Just not sure where from. “Other things on my mind,” I manage. I cannot take my eyes off the newborn trees before me. “This is it?” I ask. There had to be more.

“Yep.” Haystack takes a raspy breath. “Just in the nick of time too. Next train leaves in”—he looks to the giant clock overlooking the square—“twenty minutes.” He clops a hoof on the ground like a father trying to get his filly to leave a candy shop. I sigh and tuck the saplings in my saddlebags. This was it.

The shopkeeper, Mudbriar, suddenly lets out a breath as I walk past. A light change, noticeable only by a filly hoping for a farewell. I glance over my withers. He is looking back there again. I check, and see why. One of his branches had gotten a little too close, somehow gotten latched to my dress and left a good scratch on my flank. I could see red coming to the surface already.

“Sorry, Cane can be a bit clingy.” He reaches down. I try to pull away but not much I can do back there anymore. He stops. “It’s alright,” he says and pulls my dress from the snag. Gentleman. Touches nothing but the dress and metal accidentally or otherwise. Still, my heart races. I am there again. The smell of alcohol and blood, a rip in the smoke.

Another slightly-louder breath pulls me free from my thoughts. He is staring still, mouth open slightly. Chances are he finally noticed the atrophy. Secret’s out for this one. He is sweet, so I hope that is all. It is a while before he speaks again. “I have a bandage if you need it. Some ointment too,” he says. “That looks like it hurts

I shake my head. “Don’t worry. Technically, it’s nothing.” It takes a while but the joke seems to hit. His lips turn up ever so slightly. His eyes are still shimmering though like Limestone when Marble would twist an ankle pulling a cart from the quarry and she thought nopony was looking. Not as dull as he lets on. Cute and understanding: keep it up, Mudbriar.

A thousand words seem to fill his mouth as he opens it, but can only muster one statement as he waves. “See you later.”

I almost smile.

IX

IX

“Out of the way, assholes!” Limestone growled as she pushed through a gathering of guards and drunks, knocking over several glasses and nearly knocking one wobbly stallion over. I followed, a little less pushy, and nodded an apology—especially to the soaked guard gripping his spear a little tighter.

I caught up to Limestone just in time for another rant—not that I would have had trouble hearing her blocks away. “Why’s a mare always gotta swim through crap to get a drink after an honest day’s work, huh?” She shook her head and glared daggers at anything in her path. “What’s with all these lowlifes? This is the town of ‘everything,’ yet none of these bucks can even handle their liquor? Bah! Pathetic.” She spat on the cobblestone.

“It’s Friday,” I said. No point in doing anything but playing along. I knew this would happen as soon as the invitation had come in. Limestone would go on and on about not going to Canterlot for some ‘stupid’ party, would work all day every day of the week, and finally decide at dusk Friday—today—to catch a train to ‘get wasted on the good stuff’ before Pinkie’s party.

‘Good stuff.’ Sure. As expected, I followed her on a beeline to the first tavern with ads for the cheapest cider and posters for the local sports teams covering the doors. I made sure to cut in front of her before we reached the door. She cursed, pushed, but if she had lead the way, some poor sod was getting knocked out.

The tavern itself was pretty nice. Dim but navigable, not much smoke in the air, patrons from all walks of life sitting around and talking—socialite here, artist there, a table of helmetless guards chatting it up near the door. Too clean and too bright for Limestone. ‘Pretentious manure,’ she would call it. I turned, expecting her to be stomping out the door, ready to punch the first pony she saw. Instead I found myself looking only at wood.

Uh oh.

“Hey!” Limestone pulls on the back of my dress before I could start my search. “We getting wasted or what?”

I sighed. “Sure,” I said as we made our way to the bar. “This place serves drinks on the rocks?”

“Of course, it’s a damn bar—” Suddenly Limestone’s eyes went wide and she groaned. “As if I hadn’t heard that joke enough from Pinkie.”

“She got it from me.”

“Well your jokes suck.” She waved the barkeep over.

I shrugged. “Pinkie and Marble like them.” Should I? I bit the inside of my cheek and continued, “I guess you could say that, for you, they cross the lime.”

Limestone did not even bother glaring. “Yo!” she growled. “Rum and cola. Captain Celano’s. And double that crap.” She finally looked in my direction. ‘Death would be too good for me,’ it read. “Triple it if Little Miss Chucklebuck here doesn’t check herself.”

“And I’ll have a Canterlot Crown... on the rocks.”

“Triple it,” Limestone grumbled. “You’re the worst.”

“I try.” Maybe I was going overboard, but if I did not get the fun in now, it would not come later. A couple more drinks, and the yelling and punching would start. Then I would have to drag Limestone to some hotel to sleep off her bruises and hangover. Not a great Friday.

Once we were served, silence became the topic of conversation. I was halfway through my first drink—and Limestone her third—when a twangy voice broke in between us. “Ya’ll not even gonna come say ‘Hi’?” A strong hoof fell upon my withers.

Limestone buried her face in her hooves. “Hey, Applejack,” I said.

The farmer looked the same as always: hat pulled back, mane tied in a tight ponytail—though a few strands did hang loose along her shoulders. I glanced behind me and found the culprit sitting at a table near the back wall. Rainbow Dash waved a wing as her hooves cradled a mug of cider. Her mane was a little off-level as well. Whether from Applejack’s hooves or just being Rainbow Dash, I could not tell.

“Sorry,” I said once I realized Applejack was still waiting glassy-eyed for a response, “didn’t notice you two.”

Applejack stared at Limestone. “Heh, oh, I understand.” She patted hard enough to sting. “Reckon I’ll forgive ya if you join us for a drink.” She waved down the bar. “Dregs! Two Sweet Apple Acres ciders. From the gold barrel, yeah?”

I took a sip. “I already have a drink.”

She tossed her mug in the air and caught it on her head without a slosh. “Ya really turnin’ down a birthday present, ya silly filly?”

“My birthday’s tomorrow.”

Applejack smirked. “Might wanna check the clock.”

I sighed. She was right. Kinda surprised Pinkie hadn’t popped out of the cider mug complete with party hat and streamers yet. I finished my drink with a burning gulp, got up, and followed Applejack to the table. Rainbow Dash eyed the two mugs with a frown. “Hey, where’s mine?” she whined.

“You’ve had more than enough, sugarcube,” Applejack said. Rainbow disagreed but kept her lips pursed in a pout.

I had a thousand questions worth asking. One was what they were doing in Canterlot—though I knew the answer to that one already. Pinkie was never good at the ‘surprise’ part of surprise birthday parties.

Another, as I looked around the tavern from this angle, was why all the guards? Of course, I pretty much knew that answer as well. I had read rumblings in the newspapers mentioning this new Empire that had literally appeared out of thin air (unicorn magic never makes sense to me) may not be the nicest bunch. Rumors of skirmishes, farms razed in the north. Rumors—but could explain the amount of armor and spears laying around. I would be drinking up if there was a fight around the corner too. I took a deep swig of cider.

“Hey!” Rainbow’s hoof punched me back to the table. “You even listening to me?”

“No.”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled and nodded to the bar, right where Limestone had been sitting. I did not hear any yelling, but maybe she was already at the chokehold stage. I gulped down another mouthful of cider. Then I caught sight of her. I nearly tipped my chair to the ground.

Limestone was talking to somepony, and from what I could tell it was a civilized conversation. I could not get a good look, but they were a pegasus, greenish blue, white mane—mare from the build. They were leaning a bit close to Limestone, and…. Limestone leaned even closer to them. Shoulder to shoulder. “Liquor’s kicking in,” I mumbled.

“Your sister’s gonna bang a Wonderbolt,” Rainbow chuckled and leaned back in her chair. “Jealoussss—ow!” She rubbed her foreleg and grinned at a glaring Applejack. “Heh, not being serious, AJ.”

Applejack snorted and straightened her hat. “So, Maud, how’s the ol’ rock farm treatin’ ya?’

“Same as always.”

“Find any, uh, any neat rocks?”

“Marble found a deposit of lapis lazuli the other day with flakes of pyrite and calcite.”

They blinked.

“It is blue and yellow and white.”

“Oh, that’s pretty neat,” Applejack said. “Bet they were mighty pretty.”

“Tears were shed.”

“Cool…” Rainbow leaned back and looked around. “Hey! I bet if Fleetfoot’s here, that means Spitfire’s here too. I should check if my application for the Bolts went through.” She rose with a flap of her wings but was pulled down by the tail.

“Now, Rainbow,” Applejack said, muffled by the hair, “ain’t kind to be runnin’ off on guest. ‘Specially on their birthday.”

Rainbow groaned. “I’ll have plenty of time to talk to her at the party. C’mon, AJ.” She looked at me with big eyes while Applejack shook her head.

“I don’t mind,” I said. Rainbow was gone in a blur before Applejack could let go completely. The farmer gagged and brushed strands of reds and blues and greens from her tongue.

“Lapis lazuli, huh?” A new voice entered the picture. I turned around. A white stallion looked back. Earth pony, blue mane, sitting at a table with three other ponies who might as well have made up quadruplets. They all wore armor. “That’s my birthstone.”

I blinked. Lucky guess. Could tell from his delivery he had no idea what he was talking about—and clearly he was not from Trottingham—but I let him have his moment. “Mine’s bloodstone,” I said.

“That’s my favorite. Love that name. And that… bloodstoney look.”

I looked over at Applejack. She rolled her eyes. Agreed.

The legs of his stool scratched the floor as he turned. “Sweet Apple Acres cider, huh? Best there is.”

Applejack smiled. “Well, thank ya kindly. I always make su—”

“Like anything else?”

“Depends.”

“Saw you had a glass of something else up there.”

Persistent. Applejack was scooting closer to me, hooves pressing into the table. I did not want to start a scene, so I answered, “Just a Canterlot Crown.” Applejack winced and groaned.

“Excellent choice,” he said, leaning forward some more. “Care for another?”

“Not from a stranger.”

“Not even another birthday present?” I did not answer. “Don’t worry, I ain’t a stalker. That friend of yours just talks loud.” I kept quiet. He sighed. “Sunward Spear’s the name.”

“Maud Pie.”

“Alright, Maud. Strangers no more. So… how about that—”

“I would rather not.” I looked toward the bar where Limestone and the pegasus—her name escaped me already—sat temple to temple. “I am the designated carrier.”

“You sure? I can help—”

“I’m fine.”

“Really, no joke, I—”

“I am fine.” Fire coursed through my veins. Judging by his flinch, he could see it in my eyes. He turned his stool around and sighed an apology that was not clear. I looked over at Applejack. She mouthed, ‘Damn.’ No big deal. I wasn’t trying to be mean, but the stone never proves its point gently.

Something fell to the floor beside me. I looked down. A spear. Mr. Desperate must have knocked it over. Sure enough, two hooves grasped it. I heard Sunward Spear mumble, ‘Sorry’ as he picked it up.

Then I heard the rip.

I looked at my dress. Ripped right up the side. My hind leg was visible all the way to the cutie mark. No pain, though. No blood from what I could tell. I glared up at the culprit. Sunward Spear, complete with namesake shaking in his hooves as he stared wide-eyed straight at the rip. “I’m so sorry.” He did not look away. No, he leaned forward, placing the spear against the wall while reaching straight for—

I stood.

He raised his hooves. “I’m sorry, Maud,” he repeated. He leaned forward again. Pig. “You’re not hurt are you? Did it cut you? I swear that was an accident, I—”

The rest of his words fell upon the table. I marched past the bar. Limestone pulled her lips free from the Wonderbolt’s as I passed. “Maud?” I didn’t bother answering. I was ruining her night. Too bad. I couldn’t stay there.

“Maud, wait!” I shouldn’t have looked but I did. Sunward Spear had risen, his posse following behind. Applejack stood nearby as well, but not giving chase. The whole bar sat frozen—everything was still. “I know how it looks but I swear that was a complete accident. I would never… I’m sorry… Look, I just wanna make sure I didn’t cut you.” He stooped down again, stared right at the cut in my dress as he approached. He reached out.

You want to feel my legs, huh? Feel this.

One kick. Right to the muzzle. Direct hit. Crunch. Would’ve stomped on his bloody face again but somepony grabbed me from behind. “What the fuck, Maud?” Limestone’s voice shook. I looked down, around. Sunward lay on the ground, groaning as blood bubbled from his nose. Rainbow Dash stood next to Applejack ready for a fight while the farmer held her down. Limestone just stared. Not glared. Stared.

“Sorry,” I said before zoning out.

The rest of the night went by in a series of blurry flashes. Some questioning, a threat or two of charges by Sunward’s buddies. Sunward himself told them off, said it was his fault. That it was an ‘accident’ but he understood. Either he was standing hard by his story or it was the truth. Could’ve just been the concussion talking. All I knew was that I wanted nothing to do with him or that city for long time.

“Maud!” Limestone chased me down Main, sprinting to catch up with my march towards the train station. My dress was still ripped, my flank stinging in the chill mountain air. “C’mon, Maud! Pinkie ... your party... Wait up, dammit! Talk to me!” she roared. She always did. No effect.

“You can stay.” She didn’t respond. She frowned as always, but the daggers in her eyes were dull. She sighed and followed. “I’ll write her a letter,” I mumbled. “She’ll understand.”

I did not write that letter. She still understood—or at least, I liked to assume she did. I expected her to pop up at the farm one day, cake and party blowers in hoof. Maybe she would have, had she gotten the chance.

X

X

I walk into something. I raise a hoof. Haystack pushes it back down. I blink. Just him. Not a building or guard. I breathe deep.

“Ya alright?” he asks. He knows the answer. No, but no point dwelling. Just walk. He pauses, nods, pats my foreleg. We continue towards the train station. Each step seems to take minutes. I am slacking. How many guards had we passed? Focus, Maud.

“Sun’s coming out.” I look up. Overcast. Not a ray in sight. Not sure what smoke Farmer had offered him but it must be some good stuff. He nudges me. His gaze is not on the sky, but towards the shops beside us. “Looks like Our New Majesty paid Lower Canterlot a visit.”

He is not wrong. Amidst the scaffolds and burnt out buildings and walls painted with pictures of loved ones… ponies are smiling. On one corner a suited stallion clearly in the neighborhood for nothing but pleasure drops bits in a homeless pony’s cup; a baker emerges into a side-alley with bread for a disheveled filly; in the shadows of Canterlot’s fractured walls, guard and worker talk in friendly tones. Hammering and scraping serenades. A miracle.

“They love her,” Haystack says as he looks up at the stone. “Even Farmer didn’t sound too disappointed.”

I glance at my surroundings. Sorcery. No other explanation. A memorial sits under a fountain in a nearby square. “He follows the bits. We could be in chains, but as long as he and his get their wine...”

Haystack frowns but nods. Hammer against rock is the only sound. “Think your sisters had anything to do with this?” he finally says.

I shrug. “Maybe the sandstone.” Definitely something they would find around Ponyville.

“So that’s what it’s made of.”

“It is a mix. Sandstone, granite. Might be some gneiss and basalt in there too. Tough rocks.”

“Interesting.” Haystack pulls back his hat and cranes his neck back even further. “Always just ‘rocks’ to me.”

“I know.”

“All these months, you’d think I’d have pick up on some of these.”

“It’s not so hard if you try. And you’re smart.”

“That’s not very nice. I tried hard.” I cannot tell if he was going for a pun there. “Just never really thought about it much.”

I shrug. “We all take things for granite, sometimes.”

He smiles. “I’m gonna miss you, Rock Girl.” Why does he have to make it sound so final? I swallow, nod. He makes the first move. Silence is the day’s conversation.

He stops near the memorial, reads the names, shakes his head. I keep walking. For a moment, he will just have to be a sitting duck, but he knows better. I whip around as best I can and keep my eyes on the roofs overlooking the square. Fire flares up in my back. He laughs. Sparks of green. My forelegs falter. I need to rest.

“Watch it!” I had chosen to lean against a haydog stand, nearly pushing it into the street. The vendor pushes back. The wheels hit a rock, and I nearly tumble. Haystack catches me. He is out of view but I know it is him. My gaze is focused on the vendor. He glares. Spits. I am nearly blinded by the shine of his crystal coat. Looks like the Princess’ spell was wearing off.

Haystack pats my withers and rights my wheels. He is a good pony. Too good. Here I was about to abandon him. With each step closer to the train station, I find myself hoping more and more for something to happen. An explosion, a shot ringing out, a crystal guard hungry for revenge or justice or whatever they could want from us, Celestia herself popping out of thin air. But there is only steam and crowds and the shadow of her.

Screams in the valley. Laughter in the shadows. Blood. Sweat. Crystal eyes. Lifeless.

Get out!

I make sure there’s something solid beside me before I fall over. A wall. I cough. Haystack rests a hoof on mine. I meet his gaze. Nothing to read, yet saying it all.

No more hiding.

“Promise,” I say, “that the moment something happens, you’ll let me know.”

“Nothing—”

“Promise.”

He smiles. “You’ll know before I even do.”

Good enough. Dwelling on this or dwelling on that. Just more running. Haystack was not going to allow that. Either I was getting on that train on my own, or he was going to make me. I could see it in his eyes: he was making me.

I ran a hoof over the tile and turned my head. The wheels stared back at me. I like surprising ponies with what I can do. I look at Haystack once more and nod. This was my walk, my decision.

“Looks like I’ve got a train to catch.”

He smiles. “Better get your ass in gear, then.”

“That’d be hard.”

He just shakes his head. He has always been more of a pun guy.

For the first time that morning, we do not walk in silence. “So, how’s Ponyville?”

“You’ve spent more time there than I have. Closest I’ve gotten to there is… well, here.”

“Loyalists?” I ask. “Daily showers? Sunny? Humid?” The lingo rolls off my tongue without clicking. I cannot even remember what ‘humid’ is code for.

“Couldn’t tell you. No stations.”

“So loyalists. Shutting ‘em up.”

“Possibly. Look, I told you not to worry about that. The amnesty is strong. No tar, no feathers… well, maybe a few feathers.” He laughs. I do not get it. “Sun’s coming out.”

I nod.

He frowns. “I swear, Maud, if I pick up the paper and you’ve re-started the damn war...”

It is my turn to say, “Trust me.” He nods. An unsure one. I cannot blame him. I was a mare set in stone. Tune-changing only came with time. Months. Years. Not suddenly. Not like now. But I am also a Pie at heart.

I wait for the stench, the feel of flames on my back. There’s a hint of smoke in the back of my nostrils, but nothing a snort cannot fix. I adjust the cuff of my dress.

And like that, we are there on the platform. Ponies in ratty clothes push by us like waves to a pier. Suitcases fall and clatter, yelling, crying foals. Ponies finally returning home. Fitting. The sea of wings and horn beats against Haystack and I ceaselessly. Soon it will stop. We will have the platform to ourselves. A moment alone to deliver pearls of wisdom, life lessons—

“Shit.” Haystack’s voice. I look back. His focus is on the far end of the platform, his brown coat seemingly a shade lighter. I trace his gaze. A guard. Crystal. Spear in hoof, glaring not at the crowd but at us. It was anypony’s guess why: I had punched my fair share of guards over the months, but mostly in Upper Canterlot. Not here. It did not matter. He recognized us, and he was marching over. He checks a mare out of the way and starts our way.

I play it out in my head: I would hold my ground. He would raise his spear. I would wait for the air, push back. It would clank to the floor right as I smashed a forehoof against its hilt. Hit it right and the blade would break off into the air. I would try and catch it. Succeed and I would have the upper hoof. Fail and I would dodge long enough to buy time for Haystack to flee.

I look over my withers. Haystack has already turned. I think I hear him say, ‘Stay safe’ or ‘good luck.’ The sea of refugees floods around him. So much for a sentimental departure. I duck down as low as the harness will let me and snake through the crowd. The train car has stairs, but the commotion of the platform would cover the noise. Shocks shoot up my spine with each step. I throw the door closed behind me, back into a corner, and wait

The guard has already found his target. A zebra clad in shawl. I sigh. Poor guy, but still a relief.

“Everything alright, Miss?” I jump. The conductor had managed to sneak up on me in this time. He begins to stutter an apology.

“It’s fine,” I say, “I’m fine.”

He looks to my back. “Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the handicap seating is up front.” He forces a laugh. “Though I guess you don’t mind that, seeing as how you climbed up here anyhow. Still, I could help you through to the front cars if you’d like.”

“It’s fine.” I push by him as gently as possible and go through the motions: unhook the straps, pull myself up onto the closest bench, pull my legs out of the aisle. I place my saddlebags on the floor and pull Boulder Jr out. He gets to ride on the bench.

The conductor cocks a brow, but takes my ticket and puts the harness behind my seat without any more questions. Sometime later the whistle blows and I feel a lurch. The car is empty besides Boulder Jr and I. The gray of the platform and steam is soon replaced with blue and yellow.

I push myself up in the bench, sitting as straight as I can without my legs sliding off. For as far as the eye could see there is nothing but valleys, waterfalls, microscopic roofs of distant towns, and above it all, the sun. Haystack had been right all along.

I shake my head. He would be fine on his own for a few days so long as he watched the cupboard. No point in worrying—at least not about that.

The train hits a bump and I nearly slide off the bench. I reach over and move Boulder Jr to the windowsill. A sight as beautiful as this should be shared with all. I push myself up again and rest my head against the window.

The train roars through a tunnel. When we emerge, I catch a glimpse of my eyes’ reflection. They look just like hers.

Author's Note

'Part One' done. Stay tuned for Part Two (as soon as school gives me enough time to write it, at least)

IV

IV

Pinkie is crying.

Somewhere. Darkness and flashes with each blink, pitch shifting with each turn of my head, the sights never changing, until...

She stands next to a packed cart. Father frowns, as does Limestone, as do I. Their brows are furrowed. Mine are not. An elderly mare helps her up onto the seat next to her and pats her head.

She keeps crying.

Smoke fills my nose. Marble has Limestone’s hoof in hers, gray on burnt gray. Others blur around them. Some cough. Some moan. She leans against my shoulder. I do not raise a hoof or lean closer. I am stone.

She keeps crying.

She swipes rubble off her uniform and her eyes grow wide. Upon the gray sleeves is a new dark red glistening in the moonlight. She falls on her haunches. It is on her hooves and face. Mine too. The other troops are off in their tents or around the campfires singing and drinking. She bows her head and shakes. I watch from the fire pit. She shakes. I study the pulse of coal embers.

She keeps crying.

I lay on a rough mattress. She is there. Always there. I try to lift my hoof for her to grasp, but the magic holds it still, just as it does my lips. She hugs me and is at the door before I can comprehend. I want to follow but my legs refuse. A doctor pushes my head down. My last memories of her are tinted in a sea of black spots and morning breath. She leaves my vision.

She keeps crying.

And she keeps on. Here. Among the black. A memory? A dream? I take a step towards the sound, but fall. I end at my flanks. A nightmare, but a real one.

Dark paints all, as always. But I stare anyway. Blink. Rub my eyes. Stare again. There is a line of pink at the edges of all this. Somewhere, in another space, she coughs. The pink streaks shake like seismic waves. She is buried somewhere in all this. Somewhere in another space. Not somewhere in another time.

Right now. Distant. But right now.

I go to run. No wheels here. No good. Too aware, too real. I can only lay and wait until waking beckons.

And she keeps crying.