/co/ Vs. Ponychan: The Western Anthology

by Write Off

Rating: everyone
Tags: Braeburn, Big Macintosh, Random, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 65737

The best of /co/ and Ponychan meet at high noon, their only topic 'Big Mac Braeburn Western.'

TWENTY MINUTES LEFT!

Who will win? You decide in this anthology of stories by the best of both boards. /co/ goes up against Ponychan at high noon, the best of the best writing under the prompt of a 'Big Mac Braeburn Western.'. Who wrote what? You won't know until the end of the competition one week from 11/15/11. In the mean time read the stories and tell us which ones are the creme of the crop, the board with the most high ranking stories is winner! The single highest rated story is champion! Who will it be? Read, vote and find out!

VOTE HERE:
http://www.surveymonkey.com/s/JW8T8LN

Comment ALWAYS appreciated.

Published 2011-11-14 23:17:36 UTC
Last updated 2011-11-20 01:09:41 UTC

How Does Your Garden Grow?

How Does Your Garden Grow?

In Appleloosa, gardens were real different...

Big Macintosh blinked at the sight. With all the acres of prairie out there, the Appleloosans had confined their gardens to a tiny strip of land, tucked behind the bar, partially shaded by that building and divided into garden plots by tiny barbed wire fences. It was absurd, and a little upsetting, compared to how the citizens of Ponyville worked together with their harvests.

Braeburn, however, seemed undismayed.

“I think you’ll agree this here’s the finest set o’ gardens any of us could wish for! Why, we saw what you done with all them ladies in Ponyville, and we just rushed lickety-split to get some of that for ourselves! I done marked all them spaces off just right, and we sunk markers deep in the ground so there ain’t nobody can move them without it bein’ discovered, and everybody’s been just as charitable as can b... ‘scuse me a minute!”

He was squinting toward the end of the garden rows, and suddenly galloped off, charging at a pony who was quietly working on his garden, and who looked up, startled.

“I saw what you done there, Cleverhoof, you mangy varmint! I knows there was four pea pods on that vine!”

Cleverhoof jumped to his feet. “Braeburn, I warned you! If you don’t keep them miserable lil’ green things on your side, I said, I ain’t gonna be responsible for what might happen!” He had narrowed, creased eyes and a battered black hat.

“What might happen is a hoof upside your head, you claim jumpin’ son of a sick an’ confused cow! I will stomp your carrots until they grow pointy side up!”

Big Macintosh gulped, and began trotting toward the angry pair, the earth shaking gently beneath his weight. He’d never seen ponies so contentious in Ponyville, but here it seemed a common occurrence. His presence often quieted disputes, but these two didn’t even blink or look at him as he approached, and he wondered if he’d have to break up an honest-to-goodness fight- something mostly foreign to his experience.

Braeburn snarled, “You best not have dared to take MY pea pod, you scum-suckin unwanted piece of a pig’s breakfast...”

Cleverhoof grinned right back at him, inches away from Braeburn’s glare. “Y’all mean my pea pod, because of it sneakin’ onto my property? That pea pod?”

“Ah will ruin you...”

Cleverhoof snickered, and flipped something into the air. “Or do ya mean this one?”

It landed on Braeburn’s nose- a nice, fresh, pea pod, and Braeburn stared cross-eyed at it, while Big Mac stopped and his jaw fell open in astonishment. Then, Braeburn flipped it up into the air with a jerk of his head, and chomped- and suddenly, he and Cleverhoof were hugging, laughing, and Braeburn was bonking the other pony’s head playfully with his hoof, the battered black hat falling off.

“You crazy varmint!”

“Now, you keep your damn peas to yourself, y’hear?” laughed Cleverhoof.

“What the hay was that?” rumbled Big Macintosh.

Braeburn turned to grin at the farm pony, still hugging Cleverhoof to his side, and said, “It’s just this miscreant, I swear I’m gonna tan his hide one day...”

“You try it, ya prissy-boy, you jes’ try it...”

“All stealin’ my crops,” said Braeburn, “after I done set up this whole big beautiful garden in the first place! Call that gratitude? I ask you!”

“Big?” said Big Macintosh, with a look of polite disbelief.

“Well, sure! Everybody’s got a few feet! The way we care about land, it was hard to get even this much! After the orchard went in, there’s jes’ nothin’ left! Nobody wants to give up good grazin’ land- it’s such a joy to roam on, snackin’ on the grass, and o’ course you got to have it for the cows an’ all. That’s the important part. We done the best we could!”

“Don’t you need more sunlight?” said Big Macintosh.

“I’ll tell you, I was wonderin’ if y’all might have some pointers to that effect. Do it have to have sun... ALL day?”

Big Macintosh stared at the tiny, shaded, garden- speechless.

In Ponyville, Sweet Apple Acres was bustling and bursting with crops of every sort, and Applejack interspersed her cheery directions and busy labor with pauses, the better to listen to Big Macintosh’s story.

“You don’t say! I tell you, I din’t think even them lot was crazy enough to grow plants in the shade. And you say they ain’t got the space to grow a stalk o’ corn?”

“Corn grows up.” said Big Macintosh.

“That it do, but... hey, Apple Bloom! Not that seed, you want the clover for the far field, honey! That’s right! Well, that it do, but them roots go out, and they got to have some room to harvest, don’t they? What are they doin’ as far as winter cover crops?”

Big Macintosh sighed. “Prob’ly oats.”

“You’re not serious... gosh, I guess maybe you are. They’re that dumb?”

“Be kind.” said Big Macintosh.

Applejack gave her brother a sharp look. “Well, now, I’ll be kind if you will be firm. I keep telling you, Big Macintosh, it ain’t right how you growed up such a pushover. Why can’t you stand up for yourself? I’m sure if you told them what to do, they wouldn’t be havin’ this problem, but ain’t it just typical that you watched them do it all wrong, and didn’t say a word to tell them how wrong they were?”

Big Macintosh didn’t reply. He did open his mouth, but knew in his bones what would happen when he did that- just the same thing that happened every time, and so it did.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean that,” interrupted Applejack, “but that is jes’ what I’m sayin’! I realize you are a sweet ol’ galoot and don’t want to throw your weight around, but y’all got to realize there’s some times when it ought to be thrown. Won’t you listen to me? Big Macintosh! I requires an answer!”

Mac didn’t reply. As much as he loved Applejack, she required many things, from first choice on all planting decisions, final authority on farm hand hirings and firings, complete control of the retail side of the operation- back in the day, she had required even their mother’s hat, the master bedroom of the Sweet Apple Acres farmhouse, and the bed that would’ve held Big Macintosh with room to spare. She had been only a filly at the time, but her indomitable spirit was fully in flower even then. There was that time when she’d thought to escape her responsibilities in Manehattan, but it hadn’t lasted a week, and she had returned with a vengeance.

Applejack had told only her family of her interpretation of the new cutie mark. She bore three apples on her flank, and to her, they were the three apples- Granny Smith, Big Mac, and tiny foal Apple Bloom- and though she was afraid, Applejack fought from that moment on to rebuild a family around herself as the fulcrum.

She took care of Granny Smith when her bad hip rendered Granny unable to work, and raised Apple Bloom into a smart, confident filly. Though Big Mac and Granny did much of the child-rearing, Applejack remained the final authority- and would go to any length to hold that rank- and Mac had always cooperated. He remembered stormy summer nights, when both Granny Smith and Apple Bloom had cowered from the deafening thunderclaps and clung to him, and how tiny Apple Bloom had asked why Applejack wasn’t scared- like all the other Apple womenfolk- of thunder.

Big Macintosh, who didn’t share this fear, told her that her sister was very special, and the awed Apple Bloom had nodded and filed the information away forever, hero-worship firmly established. He hadn’t even lied, either- he knew that, upstairs in the big master bedroom, Applejack was all alone in that too-big bed, sweating out her abject terror without a peep, rather than seem like just another scared filly and lose her authority as head of the household.

The next morning, there were dark circles under Applejack’s eyes, but she’d never admitted a thing, and she and Big Macintosh agreed with a look and a nod how things would stand. That was the day Applejack truly grew up- and the day Big Macintosh grew a bit smaller inside, to make room. He abandoned any notion of making a life for himself, and worked to build his sister’s dream, uncomplainingly.

He never did tell anyone his interpretation of his own cutie mark- an apple, divided.

Applejack had turned Sweet Apple Acres around and built it into a thriving concern. It was as if she was driven to make up for the time she’d chosen to leave them for the big city. She’d done it, too- the farm thrived, the family glowed from her love and tireless attention, and Mac loved her as if she was his surrogate mother as well- but he also knew her, and knew one thing above all else: if Applejack required an answer from him, she would provide one herself.

And so she did.

“Now this is what you do...”

Big Macintosh listened, placidly, as his sister’s shrewd, stubborn farmer brain poured out a detailed plan of precisely who to talk to, where to go, what to do.

“The trouble is, them trees can’t be replanted again an’ again without shockin’ their root systems. There just ain’t no room left for reg’lar crops unless we get creative and make room. You’ll have to get ‘em to move two of the houses on the end, and take over part of th’ road, to do it. I realize it sounds crazy but them’s the only alternatives. An’ another thing, you’re tellin’ me they got their garden broke up into lil’ plots with barb wire? How they gonna rotate seed crops like that? I always thought them Appleloosans were crazy, but until I seen it, I wouldn’a believed it. With all them orchards, they ain’t left room for other stuff! Ponies cannot live on apples alone, and that’s me sayin’ it, you hear? They’ll all git colic. I can’t go straighten ‘em out, Big Macintosh, you got to go back there and teach ‘em how to do this.”

Big Macintosh nodded, obediently.

“You’re savin’ their lives, big brother, you know that? Oh, I wish I could go... promise me you’ll do exactly as I said? Ya gotta narrow that road, move them two houses somehow, where the drainage is good and the sun hits it right. You remember the place?”

Big Macintosh nodded.

“Now promise me you’ll go and tell them what for!”

To this, Big Macintosh had a correct answer- as always. “Ayep.”

Applejack hugged him, fiercely. “Gonna miss you! We got things under control, don’t you worry. I promise. Now go git ‘em!”

“Ah am a HIGH STEPPER!” proclaimed Braeburn.

He was, too. Once Big Macintosh had made it clear what must happen, Braeburn had swung into action, organizing Appleloosan ponies right and left. He’d resorted to Sheriff Silverstar at one point, when one of the settler ponies refused to budge- Big Macintosh wasn’t sure he could have faced the irate old stallion, but Braeburn was undaunted, and had even kept his smile unflagging while persuading the stubborn old coot to move his house.

“And that ain’t all, by a long shot! You got to be a high stepper too, the things you’ve done for this town an’ all! Why, I’m tellin’ ya, we got to teach you how to be a HIGH STEPPER yourself, Mac...”

The farm pony stopped digging, and gave Braeburn a look. “That’s Big Macintosh.” he said. One thing he’d clung to, through a life of caring for old grannies and little fillies, was the dignity of his full name, and he was damned if he was going to lose that to some prancing cowpony.

Braeburn’s eyes widened. “Uh, yessir! Why, after the stuff you done for us, we’ll call you any old thing you want. Jes’ as long as we don’t call you late for dinner, right? Get it? Late for dinner? Boy, our dinners are going to be a real treat once we get this crop thing going. They’ve been monotonous. Apples an’ milk, apples an’ cheese, apples an’ milky cheese, squashed up apples in milk with a piece o’ cheese- this here frontier diet is fine an’ all but I don’t mind sayin a change would be nice. Here, look at me, I’ll prove it: I, Braeburn, hereby declare that I don’t mind sayin...”

Big Macintosh snorted, interrupting him. “You been sayin’ all day. Dig.”

“Why, I would be delighted!” cried Braeburn. He grabbed a pony hoe between his teeth, and pitched in, clearing out a clod of compacted earth and allowing Big Macintosh to continue patiently digging the little trench in which they’d be placing seeds. Dropping the hoe, he laughed.

“Now who’d have thought the world would’ve seen the splendiferous Braeburn, diggin’ in the ground like a mare makin’ a garden? That’s fine for your Ponyville and all, but my sakes, I cain’t think of three ponies off the top of my head that would do this for me, not in these parts! Look at you go. Ya sure you ain’t secretly a mare or somethin’?” teased Braeburn.

Big Macintosh didn’t respond. He just kept digging. The chatter was no worse than Applejack’s chatter at home, except that he didn’t have to listen to this chatter as much.

Braeburn’s eyes widened. “Well, I’ll be. Got us a real strong an’ silent type right here in Appleloosa! That remark don’t even worry ya?”

Big Macintosh shook his head, and kept digging, unconcerned.

“My my, you are a one! We have got to get you to come to the dance! Now, I know there ain’t so many fillies as you’d be used to back in Ponyville, but I have never understood how you stand it, an’ that’s the truth. I calls it hen-pecked, and that’s fine for them as like it, with all your gardens and parties and garden parties and all, but it’s a stallion’s life out here in Appleloosa and you should come and dance anyway, y’hear? Ain’t nobody gonna mind or nothin’. If you can’t find you some fillies to dance with, I swear I’ll dance with y’all myself an’ be the envy of... uh...”

Big Macintosh had stopped digging. He blinked at Braeburn, eyes wide and puzzled. Braeburn rallied, instantly, and kept talking.

“Now don’t you fret, son, it ain’t but a cordial invitation. You deserve any old sort of invitation we have to offer! Every sort! And I insist on teachin’ you how to live a little! It ain’t right, the way you plod, like there’s a heavy weight on you, after you have helped us so much!” Braeburn’s voice rang out again, and he began to prance up and down, his hooves lifted high in the air in an exaggerated trot. “You should be walkin’ like this, out of joy in your wonderful accomplishments! You see? Be a HIGH STEPPER, like me! I ain’t ever saw no pony what deserved it more, or indulged it less, and that’s the truth, Big Macintosh! Now promise me that when we’re done here, you’ll go have you some dinner, maybe spruce up a little if that pleases you, and then come out to the dance! We got some o’ them buffalo comin’ out to be with us, and we’ll bust out the last of the pro-visions we got from Ponyville, on account of we’ll be replacin’ them with our own stuff, thanks to you! I do insist you come and be celebrated!”

To Big Macintosh, the conversational stampede was all too familiar, and his response was automatic.

“Ayup.”

His eyes widened again as he realised what he’d said, but it was too late to back out- Braeburn hugged him and whooped with delight, and Big Macintosh had to smile at that. Nobody’d ever been so excited to invite him to anything before.

They continued to work on the planting, and Braeburn kept being a high stepper all day long, his chatter never flagging.

The fire roared. The lamps glowed. The piano clanged- and oh, how the ponies danced.

Big Macintosh watched from the sidelines. Braeburn had tried three times to drag him onto the dance floor, but dragging someone as big as Big Macintosh took some doing. Even a body-slam had been inadequate- Braeburn bounced off him like Apple Bloom caught up in horseplay, and one stern look had garnered a ‘Yessir!’ from the hapless cowpony, who had gone back out to dance even harder by himself.

It was quite a sight, thought Big Macintosh- worth seeing without the distraction of trying to clumsily dance with four left feet. Braeburn frisked and kicked, high-stepping even more than usual, his hooves seeming barely to touch the floor. Other ponies thudded and clomped, but Braeburn’s steps were so light and quick that they rattled and tapped in an infectuous rhythm that threatened to make Mac’s head nod. He watched, pleased with the show, thinking to himself that it was one way to make the cow-pony shut up for five seconds at a time: Braeburn even looked happy, which was nice. For all his maddening chatter, he’d been a great help all day. Big Macintosh was due to head back to Ponyville the next day, though he hadn’t seen everything there was to see in Appleloosa...

“Pony.”

The voice was even deeper than Mac’s own. A huge figure loomed- Chief Thunderhooves, who had been watching the festivities with dignity, from the shadows.

“Walk with me, pony.” he said. Big Macintosh lifted an eyebrow, but the buffalo had already begun to head for the door. Mac glanced at Braeburn in confusion, and the cowpony looked back wide-eyed, and then managed to work a shrug into his moves and kept right on going, without missing a beat.

Big Macintosh followed the Chief outside, the racket dying away quickly as they met the chill outdoor air, and they walked down the street and up a nearby hill, without exchanging a word. Cresting the hill, a lovely starlit scene was revealed, and Chief Thunderhooves sat down with a grunt of satisfaction.

“Y’all wanted somethin’?” said Big Macintosh politely.

The buffalo looked sidelong at him. “Large pony. Large heart, to help his friends. His... noisy friends.”

“Ayup.”

“I desired quiet, pony. I can share it- with my friends.”

He fell silent, and Big Macintosh stared out at the calm scene- hills traced by moonlight, silence barely tickled by the distant noise of the Appleloosan dance, that blended with crickets and tiny night sounds.

They sat for a while.

“Thanks.” said Big Macintosh.

“I am pleased that you are pleased.” rumbled Chief Thunderhooves.

They sat. In the distance, a whoop was faintly heard- sounded like Braeburn, still partying like mad.

“Noisy.” said Big Macintosh.

Chief Thunderhooves nodded gravely, and they sat some more.

“We don’t carry on like that in Ponyville. ...except for Pinkie, ‘a course.” said Big Macintosh.

“Ah.” nodded Chief Thunderhooves. “Voice-Of-Much-Torment. Is she well?”

“Sure.” said Big Macintosh.

“Good. She is a kind pony. We are glad she is at home.”

“I’m goin’ home soon. Tomorrow.”

“Will you be glad?” said Chief Thunderhooves.

“In some ways.”

“What ways are these?”

Big Macintosh thought, and Chief Thunderhooves did not rush him. Mac could feel the patience, and it encouraged him to make it a good thought- his first instinct was to gripe about the maddening Braeburn and his chatter, but he hadn’t sensed any resentment towards the cow-pony from the Chief, and didn’t want to complain about someone Thunderhooves also considered a friend. Finally, he spoke.

“How is it, that Braeburn chatters so? Why can’t he be quiet? We manage it.”

Chief Thunderhooves nodded slowly, staring into the distance. Just as Big Macintosh was about to speak again, the buffalo answered.

“Little Chief Prancy Pony...”

“Lil’ what now?” said Big Macintosh, startled. A sidelong glance quieted him- a level gaze, as if to say ‘listen’. When Big Macintosh was listening, the Chief continued.

“Little Chief Prancy Pony must hear a friendly voice. It is lonely out on the prairie. He has learned to provide what he needs, himself.”

Big Macintosh thought about this a long time. Behind him, the faint cheery bustle of the dance crept out across the prairie, some way up the hill, hinting at its comforts. In front of him, the silence of the great open spaces hung in the air, impossible to fill no matter how you yelled or danced. Mac felt the tug of it, a soothing quality that spoke to him, and knew that he’d made a friend in Chief Thunderhooves simply by understanding this.

Behind him, another hint of a whoop filtered out over the hill, as Braeburn danced on, his personality trying dauntlessly to fill all the prairie, after spending all day helping Big Macintosh help the town. It was such a tiny, but brave, sound.

When Big Macintosh returned to the party, they cheered him again, just as they had when he’d walked in at the start of the night, and this time he allowed Braeburn to coax him onto the dance floor, and thumped about awkwardly for a solid ten seconds before retreating. He’d never danced before.

“I got to say, big brother, I don’t know how you do it. You’re goin’ out there again?”

“Ayup.” said Big Macintosh, packing his saddlebags.

“And you’re bringin’ your special pie? Your share of the pies I made from our very best pie apples? We picked off the Honeycrisps jes’ because you asked, Big Macintosh, won’t be pies like that for the rest of the season, and you’re not gonna eat yours?”

“Never said that.” said Big Macintosh.

“Why, you tricky thing,” said Applejack, “what you smilin’ about? You’ve met some filly out there in Appleloosa! Well, I declare. Why din’t ya tell me? I could’a used the pig apples, and made sure she don’t steal you away from us!”

Mac gave her a stricken look. “But...”

“Aw! Poor lil’ fella, I was only joking!”

Applejack looked into her brother’s eyes, and the stricken look wasn’t going away. It was subtle, but a sister could tell. Applejack realised she’d said something wronger than your usual wrong, and started to try and backpedal, more and more frantically as Big Macintosh’s morose expression deepened.

“I swear, I, I... swear on mother’s hat, I was only joking, honey. You’ve done so much for us over the years! Sometimes I’ve fretted, thinkin’ on it. We’ve tied you to this farm. You never got to grow up and have a life an’ a family of your own, jes’ us. Not that there’s anythin’ wrong with us! I guess it just come as a bit of a shock, honey, to be honest.”

“Uhhh...”

“Well, you can count on us through even this! Big Macintosh, while you’ve been gone Apple Bloom is takin’ on some of your work, and she’s jes’ dandy at it- she’ll be disappointed to leave off, really she will. The new help is jes’ dandy. Don’t you worry! I’m right glad I made you a real special pie. Now... what’s the lucky filly’s name?” Applejack leaned in, eyes big and expectant.

“Nope.”

“That’s a pretty n-,” began Applejack, and then blinked. “Now, wait, jes’ a minute! What you mean, ‘nope’? You’re not going to tell your sister Applejack who she is? Of all the inconsiderate, unreasonable ponies!”

“No, no! I mean, there ain’t no filly!” said Big Macintosh.

“There ain’t?”

“Nope.”

“Well, hell! Who do you reckon is worth one of my special pies, then? Braeburn?”

“Ayup.” said Big Macintosh, and Applejack’s jaw dropped.

“Hold on there!” he added, hastily. “Braeburn has been helpin’ me all week.”

Applejack rolled her eyes. “An’ that is just exactly what I can’t understand. How do you put up with that pony for more than five minutes? Prancin’ around with his motor mouth an’ all, talkin’ about dances and the wonderful things they got there and then talkin’ some more just ‘cause he’s in love with the sound of his own voice, did you ever hear the like?”

“Uh...”

“Seem to me I might have done all Equestria a favor by puttin’ alum in the pie so his mouth would shrink up to a dot, but that boy would turn around and talk through a straw, you mark my words. I can’t tell you how relieved I was to get out of there. But I got to be charitable, you’ve been telling me the things he done for the town’s garden, and you say he’s done it up right the way I tole you. Is that correct, now? Have the two of you got it set up the way it ought to be, and should have been done in the first place if it weren’t for them ponies in Appleloosa bein’ crazy?”

Big Macintosh just nodded this time, and Applejack’s smile burst forth.

“Well, that is all I would ask for! Ain’t like I have to sit there listenin’ to him. You go ahead and reward him with my best pie, Big Macintosh. An’ it’s okay that you didn’t meet some nice filly, but you know somethin’? What I said still holds. If it happens you do meet your nice filly... you remember that. Apple Bloom is almost grown. It ain’t right for us to confine you. What we have will endure always, but maybe you have a life to live, too.”

She hugged him- and after a little pause, Big Macintosh hugged back, and when they broke from each other, Applejack couldn’t see his eyes clearly through her own tears- but her smile hadn’t gone anywhere.

“Love you, big brother. Ain’t we all grown up a whole lot?”

Big Macintosh nodded. “Ayup.”

Braeburn and Big Macintosh trotted on, endlessly, across the hills and prairie. Night was coming on, and they were far from Appleloosa’s town, outside Appleloosan territory, and Braeburn was watchful- but still chattered away, his step as high as ever, as if the world was one big parade.

“It’s a fine wind over them hills, Big Macintosh. You stay in town too much, and you miss all the whole world! Now, I must warn you, if we run into anybody, y’all let me handle it. I do not believe this is buffalo territory, but there’s bandits and coyotes and I jes’ hate to think of Bessy out here all alone. You don’t mind if this takes all night? I can send you back, but I ain’t givin’ up until I find Bessy, I’m jes’ sayin’.”

“Don’t mind.” puffed Big Macintosh. He was winded. Braeburn seemed tireless, but Mac had never trotted such a distance in one stretch.

“That Bessy, I tell you, Big Macintosh... sweetest thing, but muddle-headed and that’s the simple truth of it. I reckon she musta saw a stick on the ground, and you know what that means! They’re all flighty, even the best of ‘em, and I’ll thank you to not say the S word in their company...”

“S word?”

“Snake!” said Braeburn. “And you be careful about that, too! If you get ‘em panicking, the next thing you know, they’re all stampedin’ for the hills. An’ there’s one big problem with stampedin’ for the hills. In fact, I believe it’s why them buffalo needed us to make them a stampedin’ strip, so on the whole I must say I understand in the long run. Get it? Long run? Anyhow, if our cattle get stampedin’ into the hills, they ain’t payin’ attention to where they’re goin’, and some of these places- like, take for instance this hill right over yonder there, you wouldn’t think nothin’ to look at it, but across the other side... oh, horseapples, wouldn’t you know it!”

Big Macintosh blinked. He thought he saw a cow up there, ambling away from them, and the next thing he knew, Braeburn was sprinting in that direction, at a full gallop.

Big Macintosh tried to keep up, but had to fall behind. He was close enough to see the cow look around, her eyes widen, and she began to run, but Braeburn was too quick- he blew past her, hooves pounding, and blocked her path, rearing and screaming “Hyaaah!”

The cow turned awkwardly and began to run back the way she came, but Big Macintosh was in her way, and she pulled up, just as Braeburn ran over, yelling “Bessy! Bessy! Hey, Bessy!”

“Oh.” said Bessy. Her voice was dull and soft. “Braeburn? Is that you, Braeburn?”

“Now, what did you run all the way here for, Bessy, sweetie?” panted Braeburn. He was sweating from his mad sprint, but still smiling.

“Here?” said Bessy.

“You know where you are, honey?” said Braeburn.

Bessy thought.

“Here?”

Braeburn’s smile became a bit strained. “Now ain’t that the truth? But honey, where were y’all goin, if I may be so bold?”

Bessy thought again. “Home?”

“An’ that’s a mighty fine idea! I tell you what, we’re all gonna go home- tomorrow, mos’ likely. You know it’s gettin’ dark, sweetie. We’re here with ya, even if we ain’t rightly cows no-how. Y’all jes pretend that we are, all right? We’ll make a nice lil’ bonfire, not too close to you, and we’re gonna keep you safe. Technic’ly, you was goin’ in the opposite direction o’ home, but I know we ain’t never had much luck teachin’ you them direction thingys...”

Bessy’s curiosity seemed to have evaporated- or, thought Big Macintosh, had never appeared in the first place. She’d recognized Braeburn, and his presence calmed her, but there wasn’t much else there. The Ponyville cows seemed brighter- perhaps it was living in a small town that did it, or perhaps Mac simply hadn’t paid that much attention, since Sweet Apple Acres wasn’t a dairy farm to him- he didn’t work with the cows. If Bessy was an example, these cows were even cow-ier than the ones he knew.

Braeburn’s voice was gentle now. “You promise to stay right there? Have a nice chew, how about? Somethin’ I would like to show my companion, if we can trust you to be good. I know, I know, you’re always good, ain’t ya? An’ I would say quiet, but you’re always quiet, jes’ like my heavyweight friend here, come to think of it- so why don’t we cut to the chase and say, if we can trust ya to stand here until we get back? That sound like a thing you can do for me, Bessy, huh? Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Braeburn waited, smiling his bulletproof smile, while Bessy thought about this, and he gave a big sigh of relief when she nodded.

“C’mon, Big Macintosh, somethin’ I’d like to show you- I was in the middle of tellin’ ya and there ain’t no explanation like the sight of your own eyes.”

He started back up the hill, with Big Macintosh in tow, and kept talking. “You see, there’s the problem with Bessy, and that’s the truth of it- sweet as apples, but she ain’t too bright, can’t see too good and it’s gettin’ dark. I am so glad we got here in time...”

They came to the top of the hill, and Braeburn glanced back to make sure Bessy still stood where he’d left her- and made his way slightly over the crest of the hill, no longer high-stepping in the least.

“Just you look at this here- an’ mind your hooves!”

Big Macintosh blinked. It was good advice. In the dark, it almost looked as though the hillside continued- but a stand of high grass concealed a nasty crevasse you could easily break a leg in.

“Don’t you want to fill that in?” asked Big Macintosh. “That there’s dangerous.”

Braeburn stared up at him, for once at a loss for words- and then, a great amusement came to his eyes, which crinkled up entrancingly around the edges, and the prancy pony began to laugh. “My sakes!”

Mac looked around, his face falling, and got it. They were on one hill, and had trotted across countless others, and there were other hills as far as the eye could see, any of which could have crevasses, or bandits, or snakes. He had no idea where he was, though Braeburn seemed to know every rock and crevasse- they weren’t even on Appleloosan land any longer. It was like a calmer version of the Everfree Forest, this place. Nobody was going to fill in the crevasses and make it be safe for cows like Bessy. It was up to ponies like Braeburn to go out into the wild- not to tame it, but to exist in it and look after those who needed help with that.

Braeburn reared and hugged Big Macintosh. “I’m sorry. Don’t mean ta be rude. It’s jes... fill in the crevasse! Oh, my dear. Come on, let’s get back to Bessy, we have a fire to make. Got me some flints and tinder in my saddlebags, won’t take hardly no time atall... always keep you some flints and tinder, as long as they don’t bump together when you run! I heard tell of some ponies gallopin’ like crazy across the plain ‘cos they set their saddlebags alight and were too foolish to roll on ‘em! Now, I won’t say that ever happened to me, I’ll jes’ say there’s a reason I don’t carry over-much tinder on any account, and that a burnin’ saddlebag ain’t a cozy article of clothing no matter how cold it gets at night in these parts...”

They trotted back over the hill, and Braeburn’s gait was bouncy once more.

“You yelled at Bessy mighty loud.” said Big Macintosh. “Surprisin’.”

Braeburn gave him a look. “You want to see what would happen if I hadn’t got her attention? Think hard on that one for a while. One thing about the ladies is, you’d best be heard if you got somethin’ to say.”

“Cows, you mean?”

“Well, shucks, you’re right, ain’t you? There’s all types o’ ladies, ain’t there? Stands to reason you’d think of that, you’re living the life back there in Ponyville! Yours are clever ones! You got hot an’ cold runnin’ fillies every day o’ the week!”

Big Macintosh made a face. “Sisters.”

“You ain’t jestin’ or jokin’, my friend. Gosh. Heh! Imagine if I had to shout like that at your lovely sister Applejack? What do you reckon would happen there?”

“Don’t know.” said Big Macintosh. The side of his mouth went up in an unaccustomed grin. “I’d give a lot of bits for a ticket to watch, though.”

“Hah! Ain’t that the truth! It’s funny. You and I- it’s like our worlds is opposites. I spend all my time with my ladies, you spend all your time in Ponyville with your ladies... got to say, mine might be easier on the whole, from what I seen. Land sakes! We love ‘em, but ain’t it a long haul at times?”

Big Macintosh nodded as they returned to Bessy. She didn’t even look up, as Braeburn began gathering twigs and sticks. “Big Macintosh, might you clear out a space over by that rock, while I gather us some wood?”

Bessy didn’t move as Mac dug a little fire-pit. He glanced curiously at her, but her eyes were heavy-lidded, and she chewed cud placidly. It gave another glimpse of Braeburn’s world, and Big Macintosh couldn’t help compare it with his own- back at home, Applejack would be helping lay the sticks for the fire so the air could blow through more easily, Twilight would be offering to light it, Apple Bloom would argue that her sister lit fires better without magic, Rarity would be questioning them about the dangers of embers and soot sullying her person...

Here, Braeburn threw wood down any old how. Big Mac could tell it wasn’t going to catch well, but didn’t say anything as Braeburn kindled his tinder and nudged it against the ungainly pile, and even though it would never be Applejack-approved, it lit up just fine- awkwardly, all on one side, threatening to go out, but there was nobody in the surrounding hills to care. Bessy didn’t care. She was all patience. Braeburn seemed happy with his ungainly cowpony fire. And Big Macintosh found that he didn’t care, either- he knew all about how that simple fire could be fixed, rearranged for a bright civilized burn suitable for cooking, but there was no cooking. There was just him, Braeburn, one very bored cow, and the quiet, empty night.

Or: just him, and Braeburn.

“Ain’t brought no playin’ cards,” said Braeburn. “We set off in a powerful hurry, din’t figure on being this far off.”

Big Macintosh shrugged, watching the fire. After a pause, he said, “It’s cold.”

“Uh, right- I kin get some more wood for that, I’m used to the cold. I’m bein’ inconsiderate, forgettin’ about you- y’all probably got a nice warm farmhouse back in Ponyville, don’t ya? This must seem terrible.” said Braeburn.

“...nope.”

“Well, now, nope about me bein’ inconsiderate, nope about gettin’ more wood, nope about you got a nice warm farmhouse to home, or nope about it seemin’ terrible?” said Braeburn. “

Big Macintosh’s eye twinkled. “Ayup.”

Braeburn gave him an exasperated look. “You are the most frustratin’ critter! I jes’ want to take care of you, Big Macintosh. I... uh, let me make that ‘we’, owe you so much. Are you really cold, or jes’ funnin’ me?”

“Ayup. Meanin’,” added Big Macintosh, as Braeburn got ready for another tirade, “I am really cold. Ain’t you?”

“I told you, I’m used to it. The cold ain’t nothin’ to me. But you don’t need to share it! There must be somethin’ I can do to get that fire goin’ and get you the warmth you deserve...”

Braeburn trailed off, and bit his lip. Mac had looked him in the eye- and smiled. Then, the bigger pony’s head jerked, in a gesture of beckoning. The grass by his side was soft and inviting.

“Well, ain’t you full of surprises, Big Macintosh.” said Braeburn unsteadily. “You sure are quiet-like. May I ask you, jes’ polite an’ all, if besides bein’ quiet... you are... observant?”

Big Macintosh’s eyes narrowed, but since his grin only got worse, the effect wasn’t off-putting. It was an expression that lived back home in Ponyville, on his sister Applejack’s face, and on that country mare it flourished and shone out often, revealing wicked fillyish glee and playfulness. It had never visited Big Macintosh’s face before, and found itself in similar, but unfamiliar territory- but equally at home.

It just didn’t seem the least bit fillyish, anymore.

Braeburn bit his lip, again. “We... got to have a lil’ talk.”

Mac didn’t look away, and his smile didn’t fade, and his eyes still glowed in the firelight.

“...in the mornin’.” said Braeburn.

Big Macintosh nodded, and the high stepper made little tiny steps for a change, as he sidled over to Mac’s side, and lay down with an endearing shyness- and no more words.

But he sure was warm.

Applejack peeked into Big Mac’s room. He’d only returned the previous night, and she figured he was unpacking- but to her astonishment, she saw him packing again, and not just the things he’d brought to Appleloosa before. He was packing his spare collar, his pictures of their parents, the toy he’d got from Twilight Sparkle...

Seeing her, Big Macintosh turned. “Gonna need a picture of you. An’ Granny, and Apple Bloom. You reckon maybe Twilight could magic some up for us?”

Applejack was speechless. Her eyes were wide- and then flooded with tears, and then they were hugging tightly. When they broke apart to look at each other, Applejack’s smile was all wobbly but as big as the dawn, and her eyes shone with love.

“Oh, Big Macintosh! Y’all know I meant every single thing I’d said? I am so, so happy. Oh, darlin’, you did it! Look at you smile! Jes’ look at that smile, I will never forget it long as I live!”

She embraced him again, and her tears were joined by a few of his, for there was a sadness as well as the joy- but the sadness was bittersweet, nothing he could really protest. He knew he could trust Applejack’s words, that things would be okay here. He would return often, for it would never stop being home. His home was just a lot bigger now- bigger than he had ever imagined. Countless acres of freedom had opened up, in his heart.

Applejack beamed at him, lip quivering. “You really did it, din’cha? You did what I said? You found you a filly out there in Appleloosa?”

That look, the devil-may-care look of wicked, adorable amusement, snuck onto Big Macintosh’s face enough to be seen, and Applejack witnessed it for the first time, her eyes going wide at a family resemblance she’d never expected to meet.

“Eeee... kinda.”

And with that, the look was doubled... and the hugs were, too.

Family

Family

“You sure about this Big Mac?”

The background of the station was a cacophony of bustling ponies punctuated by the shrill whistle of the waiting train. Foals cried as they were dragged along by their parents, and the ambient chugging of the idling engine made it hard to hear much of anything.

Applejack was standing within a foot of her big brother speaking well above her normal volume to be heard over the constant noise. There was no worry about being overheard by a passerby – everypony at the station was occupied with their own agenda, with no time to spare for the unrelated conversation of someone within earshot. This was provided they could be heard over the roar of different sounds, of course.

Big Macintosh took a moment to zip his suitcase closed after giving it one last check, the noise of interlocking metal drowned out amongst a thousand louder frequencies. He placed the suitcase on the ground besides his feet.

“Eeeyup.”

Applejack continued to balk as Big Macintosh lifted his suitcase off the ground with his mouth and began a slow methodical walk towards the train boarding area. Applejack kept up with almost double his pace, walking back and forth behind the bulky red stallion in an uncharacteristic display of worry.

“It’s just that it’s a long way to Appeloosa, almost two days, so that’s overnight too. You won’t know anyone there except cousin Braeburn, and you ain’t been away from the farm more than a couple days for as long as I can remember. You’re positive you wanna go?”

Big Mac lowered the suit case to clear his mouth for speaking as he stopped walking just in front of the waiting train doors. He turned to his sister, noting the worry in her eyes as a contrast to his permanently restrained demeanour.

“Braeburn said he needs me. That’s all there is to it. You know how I feel about the matter – Family comes first… despite what cousin Braeburn might think.”

“Macintosh!” Applejack’s face contorted from concern to admonishing anger.

“I ain’t gonna let you go down there if you’re gonna make trouble. If you still ain’t on good terms with Braeburn then you’d just better stay here, I reckon.”

Big Mac sighed loud enough to be heard over the nearby idling train.

“Braeburn and I get along fine, sis. We just don’t see eye to eye on everything.”

The glare he got back from Applejack prompted a further reassurance.

“Everything’ll be fine, I promise. Braeburn needs my help with the new orchard, and likely some work around town as well. After two weeks are up I’ll be on the first train back to Ponyville. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

A small smile crept across Applejack’s face.

“I dunno about that…”

She giggled slightly as Big Mac gave her his widest grin and nuzzled his head into hers in lieu of a hug.

“Alright, alright. Just promise you’ll try your best to be nice.”

Big Mac tossed his suitcase over the threshold of the train-car door, then turned back to his sister again.

“Ain’t goin’ down to be nice. There’s work to be done-“

His words caught as the disdainful look formed in AJ’s expression.

“-but, I promise I’ll try my best.”

Applejack managed a small smile.

“I suppose that’s good enough.”

Big Macintosh turned to enter the train but found himself pinned in place by the weight of AJ’s forelegs wrapping around him in an embrace. The hug caught him off guard, but he returned the gesture, albeit with a bit less force.

The hug went on for longer than normal, eventually prompting Macintosh to gingerly lift his sister’s hooves away. After one last look at the still bustling station, the red-coated colt stepped past the threshold of the beginning of his journey. Mid way through the door, he stopped, as if caught by an out of place though. Turning back, his mouth formed his words over the volume of the background noise.

“AJ, just a quick question before I go…”

“Yes?”

Big Mac leaned out of the door and peered down the length of the train to the very front car.

“Aren’t their ponies that pull this thing? I don’t see anyone up front, or any room for ‘em either.”

Applejack nodded enthusiastically.

“Twilight was telling me about this just the other day, actually. Something about gears and engines and magic and a mess o’ other sumthin’ I didn’t quite understand… but the long and short of it is there’s nopony pulling it. Thing practically drives itself, she said.”

“Something about that seems odd to me.”

Applejack sighed.

“Come on Big Mac, you ain’t even out o’ Ponyville yet and you’re already getting caught up on the silliest little things. Twilight said it’s all be tested, couldn’t be safer, and it means a lot less work – I don’t imagine the ponies pulling those trains were havin’ a real fun time.”

Big Mac answered with a reluctant nod.

“Fair enough, I suppose.” Curiosity satisfied, he made his way finally past the train-car doors. Pausing just before the point of closure, Big Mac turned one final time to look back at his sister, still waiting patiently for him at the departure area.

“Take care, sis. Don’t worry. Like I said, I’ll be back before you even notice I’m gone.”

The door closed abruptly, followed by the hissing and chugging signalling the start of the newly fabricated engine. Applejack pressed a hoof to the glass window of the train-door, letting it linger there for a moment before the series of interlocked cars began to move forward. Mac watched her hoof slip away as the train picked up speed, carrying the car he was in past the very end of the Ponyville station.

Despite everything he had said, Big Mac did have to concede that family obligation was not the most enticing reason for such a long trip. Two weeks in Appeloosa… and he already felt homesick.

“I sure am glad to see you cuz’!”

Big Mac responded with silence, perhaps due to the suitcase his mouth was occupied with at the moment. After meeting Braeburn at the train station the pair had begun the short walk into the heart of Appeloosa, down the main stretch lined with stores and busy passerby. Braeburn had beamed with unparalleled enthusiasm when Macintosh’s face surfaced among the departing crowd surging off the train, and had barrelled towards him with glowing eyes and an unsurpassed smile. Big Mac had acknowledged him with a nod, and a simple ‘Braeburn.’ The curt greeting hadn’t deflated the ‘native’ Appeloosan one bit, however – his smile had remained the whole while into town, and as he gave the informal tour of the town’s facilities. Every building explanation or scenery observation was punctuated by an exclamation of just how glad Braeburn was that his cousin had come down to give him a hand.

“So that over there is the bakery, and here’s the general store… that’s our local watering hole, The Salt Lick, fun place to spend time after a hard day’s work.”

Big Mac bobbed his head, but it was hard to tell whether it was in affirmation of Braeburn’s tour explanation or because the motion of walking along with carrying his suitcase prompted the movement involuntarily. Regardless, Braeburn’s hospitality continued at full force.

“The folks around here are real nice, cuz’. I know you’re gonna enjoy your stay. Lots of work to be done, of course, which I really appreciate you coming down for – but that’s no reason we can’t have fun afterwards, right?”

Mac gave no response. Braeburn’s smile faltered just slightly.

“And, uh… this is the hotel where you’ll be staying. I’d offer you room with me, of course, but the place is barely big enough for just one pony, let alone the two of us together. You understand, I’m sure?”

Silence. Braeburn’s grin wavered at corners of his mouth, along with the enthusiastic punch his words held a moment ago.

“So, uh… oh, one more thing! Miss Sarsaparilla’s place opened up recently just down the street. Lot of nice girls thereabouts, in case you get lonely.”

This prompted a raised eyebrow, the first definite response Big Mac had given. Braeburn sensed the implication, and backpedalled in his explanation immediately.

“No, er, nothing like that. They’re nice girls; just good to talk to if you don’t have anyone else around. You know? Though, I can’t say that some of the boys around town don’t fancy the odd one a little more than they should…”

As if prompted by the timing of the explanation, a purple coated pony in a frilly dress spoke up almost on cue. Her outfit was the whole nine-yards of western show-girl expectations, complete with black garters and mane done up in an elegant and alluring bun.

“Mr. Braeburn, I have to ask who your friend is.”

The pony’s voice was like a dribble of honey, tracing her tongue around every syllable before delivering it with sultry poise, all laced in a demure southern accent. She was tracing her eyes over Big Mac’s entirety – given his sheer size and build, there was a lot to take in. For his part, Macintosh had stopped in front of the hotel along with Braeburn before dropping his suitcase to the dusty ground. He met the purple filly’s gaze as she examined him, keeping his face locked in a noncommittal blankness.

“Ah, Miss Charity. This is my cousin Braeburn from Ponyville! He’s come down to Appeloosa to help us with setting up the new apple tree grounds, and give us some help around the town as well – Big Mac’s great with numbers and all that management type stuff. He runs the Apple Acre farms up in Ponyville pretty much all by himself!”

This prompted a sideways glare from Macintosh, noticing the glaring omission of his sister’s contribution to the farms operation. Despite the disdain in his eyes, his mouth kept silent.

“Big Macintosh, this is Violet Charity. She works down at Miss Sarsaparilla’s.”

Charity stepped up to the pair and demurely extended a hoof which Big Macintosh stared at before meeting it with his own. The two shook hooves, Charity batting her eyelashes as the farm-pony’s strong leg gave hers a good shake.

“Charmed, Mr. Macintosh. If you ever feel like some company in the evening, feel free to stop on by – I’d be happy to give you a night on the house.” Charity smiled brightly with eyes half-open as Braeburn’s mouth fell open with a slightly exaggerated cough.

Big Mac raised an eyebrow as he lowered his hoof, paying no attention to his cousin’s evident shock.

“I’m flattered, miss, but I’m afraid I’ll have to pass for the time being.”

Charity only smiled back at him, waving her eyelashes in exaggerated flutters.

“If you say so, Mr. Macintosh. Please do come by if you change your mind.”

And with that the lilac coloured pony turned and headed down the road, giving a wiggle of her hips as she made her exit. Braeburn took a moment to collect himself before managing a reply.

“Er… Well… see, your first day in town, and you’re already making friends!”

Macintosh gave him a blank stare. Braeburn rubbed the back of his neck with one hoof awkwardly, before once again managing to bounce back into his usual enthusiasm.

“So, where did you want to head to first, cuz’? It’s a bit late to get working, so the rest of the day is up to you. Anything tickle your fancy?” Braeburn swept a hoof across the panorama of available sights and attractions the pair had passed on their way through town. He turned back to find Big Macintosh already halfway inside the hotel.

“I’m feeling a bit tired from the trip. Gonna call it an early night.”

Big Mac’s voice was dull, almost monotone. He had thrown his suitcase onto his back where it balanced expertly as he made his way through the doorway.

“Er, but-“

The sound of the door closing cut Braeburn off mid sentence. He stood silently for a short while in front of the hotel before letting out a sigh. In the middle of the town’s main street, an errant tumbleweed rolled in the wind.

“We’re gonna need you on the far end today. Lotta rocks and debris that need to be cleared out. You should find your group already getting started, just hop in and help ‘em where you can.”

A young looking pony with a subdued yellow coat nodded at Braeburn’s explanation, his customary gallon hat shielding his brow from the sun. As he dashed off to the end of the work site, his hooves kicked up a small trail of dust, which prompted Braeburn into a slight cough.

Work on the new field was going well, but slow. The original apple orchard had been a great deal less arduous; in the search for suitable farmland to cultivate the settler ponies had stumbled upon a treasure trove left by nature. A single patch of hospitable, rich soil and potential seeding ground had been more than they had ever hoped for, turning a near hopeless venture of foolishness into a windfall of golden opportunity. What might have taken ages if it had even been possible without the advent of such a cache of potential farming land had been completed with unprecedented speed – and in only a year, the newly bustling community of Appeloosa had risen from the dark red dust.

That was the problem though: the rate of new ponies making their way to the frontier town were overloading the already new and fragile infrastructure. As fast the new housing could be built by the town’s best craftsponies, they were filled up; with still more folk waiting every day to be told there was room to accommodate their migration. If it was simply a matter of needing more houses, Braeburn was positive that a bit of extra work could sort things out, but things were more complex than that. Supplies this far out from any hospitable territory were scarce – water especially. The apple crops were the town’s livelihood, but with more mouths to feed every day, rationing was problematic. There were imports to be sold, and trades made for the bumper crop when it arrived, but the number of new occupants was simply more than could be supplied with the town’s resources.

So, they needed a new orchard. And, since it was well established the oasis of land that had made their initial apple plantation possible was now completely packed full, something had to be done to make new land available. Soil tilling, irrigation, cultivation – but first and foremost, they had to pick an area to clear. Cliffs surrounded the town at every other angle, and the patches of land capable of eventually being levelled were packed with errant boulders, debris, and native vegetation. Braeburn had grown intimately familiar with cacti during his time at Appeloosa, a familiarity that had turned into deep-seated resentment when the succulent spiny flora occupied otherwise perfectly usable land that could be filled with apple trees.

Asking for Big Macintosh hadn’t really been a choice – the workers in the town were hardy and ready to work, certainly, but no pony could measure up to the unrealistic standard of capability that Big Mac held himself to. He and Applejack had harvested the Applebuck Season crop at Sweet Apple Acres for years by themselves, besides the normal intake of apples along with running everything on the farm besides. Braeburn told himself confidence was a necessity, even in the face of the daunting task ahead; having Big Macintosh working at the speed of ten normal ponies was a great relief for the days ahead.

Speaking of…

Braeburn decided to take pause from his duties as foreman and investigate his cousin’s progress. He didn’t enjoy the hooves-off approach per say, but the management needed to be done by somepony, and Braeburn had set out from the first day of exploration as someone who could get things done. Raising Appeloosa up from the ground had granted him the badge of leadership permanently, even though he never considered himself well suited for the role in the first place. He was just a pony who new what needed to be done - something everyone in the Apple family seemed to have in common.

He found Macintosh in the west most quarry, shoulder to stone with a giant boulder. The rock Mac was struggling against was five times his size, the size of a small building. Other ponies were working further back closer to the main camp setup, pushing smaller rocks away, or shattering them in some cases. In many instances, however, almost every pony took the time to stare in varying degrees of awe the amazing work being done in front of them.

Despite his innate strength, however, Big Mac was not a super-pony. The gargantuan boulder was presenting the hard-working colt with a bit of trouble, only yielding to his furious shoving an inch at a time. Braeburn found it as good a time as any to hop into the work in earnest.

Macintosh looked down when he noticed another body beside him. Braeburn smiled up at him as he turned his head, giving a simple nod to acknowledge his cousin’s presence before tucking himself down and shoving against the rock again. The two ponies grunted together, straining against the insistent foundation of the boulder which began to give way in earnest. Even though Big Mac’s progress by himself had been admirable, Braeburn was no slouch when it came to physical labour, and together their combined force shoved the rock to the edge of the soon to be farming area, where it could wait for now.

As soon as the colossal stone slid into place, Braeburn backed away, panting and wiping sweat away from his brow. A cheer went up from the nearby ponies that couldn’t help but stop and watch. Braeburn took a moment to lift his hat off and give them a friendly wave, smiling brightly as he did so. He turned around to congratulate his cousin on a job well done – only to find him back to work, shoving another, much smaller rock towards the edge of the quarry.

“Hey Big Mac, that was a good show with that big one there, wouldn’t you say?”

Macintosh gave the final shoulder shove to plant his target into place, and then shrugged. His red coat was drenched with sweat from the combination of his hard work and the ever-present sun beating down from overhead, but he gave no sign of it agitating him, not even a short pause to wipe the sweat from his eyes. Again, it was right back to work.

Braeburn’s smiled dipped slightly.

“You know should probably pace yourself, cousin! We’ve still got the better part of two weeks to clear all this out… It’s a lot of work to do, for sure, but you gotta be careful you’re not working too hard.”

Macintosh grunted as he planted a rock several feet away from the edge line. He turned about face from the sizable stone and planted his front hooves in the ground as he reared his back legs up, pulling them in before delivering a mighty kick to the rock. The blow sent the grey rock bigger than two ponies flying backwards, tumbling over itself and landing well past the minimal clearance area for the new orchard plans.

“I’d prefer to get things done sooner, rather than later, if it’s all the same to you, ‘cuz.”

The word sounded less familial when Macintosh said it, for some reason.

Feeling more acclimated to the disarmed nature of his conversational skills with Macintosh over the past day and a half, Braeburn tried to continue his optimism.

“T’ain’t no matter to me. Heck, I guess the sooner we finish, the more time left for you to enjoy your time in Aaaapeloosa, right?” Braeburn stretched the first syllable out for an exaggerated distance, beaming at the idea that Macintosh might be revel in the free time his extra hard work would afford.

Big Mac paused, half way through another boulder transfer. He deflated with a slight sigh, before going down and pressing his shoulder into the stone.

“Eeyup. “

The answer didn’t seem quite as sincere as Braeburn had hoped.

Overhead, the sun shone vigorously, drenching the ground below in its scorching rays.

The pace of Big Mac’s work continued for the next week. Despite Braeburn’s constant reassurance that they should pace themselves, and that two weeks was more than enough time, Macintosh pushed himself as though the deadline for construction had passed days ago. Every day was a flurry of heavy lifting and rock rearranging. All this, along with the process of tilling the soil, enriching it to make the ground hospitable for the trees that would need to be grown there, and the matter of hauling in the seedlings themselves. Every day, Braeburn was amazed his cousin hadn’t simply collapsed out of exhaustion. He took the opportunity several times a day to check up on him, ensuring that he was well hydrated and not on the verge of collapsing from sun-stroke. Every time Braeburn approached with a flask of water, Big Mac either shook his head in dismissal, or, rarely, gave a small nod and a ‘Thanks,’ before returning to work.

Things had gone so well through the first week, in fact, that Big Mac was returning to Ponyville the next morning. Braeburn hadn’t been sure what to say when the discussion of logistics came up. The two had shared short words over dinner at the hotel.

“Well, I have to say again, I’m just floored with how much we’ve gotten done in only six days! The orchard’s practically up and running now – just a matter of giving the soil time to acclimate and then moving the trees in. I don’t know how you did it, cuz. You’re a natural at this.”

“Eeyup.” Big Mac took a leisurely bite of dinner course in front of him, chomping on a mouthful of hay fries quietly as the bustle of the hotel dining area went on in the background. Braeburn felt the silence was uncomfortable.

“So… so at this rate, there’s not much left to do at all. I took a look at the numbers you did up the other night, everything looked fine and dandy! So that means the next week should be a breeze. We can take it easy… I don’t know about you, but I sure could use a day or two to relax!”

Big Mac chewed another bite of his meal ponderously, placing his chin on his hoof and staring across the table, just past his cousin and off at nothing in particular.

“So… you’re saying we’re just about done at this point then. As good as done, probably.”

“Yes, exactly! I’m as surprised as anyone, but you really brought your A game when you came down here, cuz’! I dunno what we would have done without you.”

“Mm.” Another bout of chewing. Braeburn took the moment of silence to have a long draught of his dinner time sarsaparilla.

“So I was thinkin’ I could head back to Ponyville tomorrow, then.”

Big Mac’s voice caught Braeburn off guard. His cheeks bulged as the surprise threatened to cause him to spew the cold liquid across the table, but he restrained himself, which result in a panicked swallowing followed by a harsh cough. Macintosh simply stared forward blankly.

Past the strongest bought of the coughing, Braeburn pounded his drink back on the table, giving a worried look towards his cousin while he spoke with stifled coughs as punctuation.

“Tomorrow? But we… I thought you said you’d come down for two weeks!” Braeburn became caught up in another coughing fit. Big Mac waited for it to pass before speaking, taking a sip of his water as the opportunity presented itself.

“Eeyup. But now you’re saying we’re almost done. I reckon’ y’all don’t need me down here anymore, so I’m gonna take off back to Ponyille. Farm ain’t gonna run itself, y’know.”

“But cuz’… I still need your help! There’s planting to do, and books to manage, and… it’s all a bit complicated, you know? I was hoping you’d be down for at least two weeks to help us out. Besides which… you’re just gonna up and leave your cousin like that after barely seeing him at all?”

Braeburn managed a weak smile, but he could tell from Big Mac’s sombre expression that the prompt had tugged on entirely the wrong string.

“No offense, ‘cuz’, but I don’t particularly fancy spending any more time hereabouts. Nothin’ bad meant about you or your town… but there’s work to be done back at home. Can’t leave my family hangin’ like that.”

Big Mac stood up from the table as he finished his sentence, placing his napkin demurely on the top of his plate and making his way towards the stairs going to his room. Braeburn rose franticly behind him.

“Wait, cousin Mac… I’m your family, ain’t I? You’re just gonna leave me hanging when I need you’?”

Macintosh paused on the second step, his hoof held mid air as he turned his head back to his cousin.

“Well, I suppose that’d put us on about the same page, wouldn’t it, ‘cuz?”

Hooves thudded on the steps upstairs as Big Macintosh made his way to his room, leaving Braeburn standing in momentary shock at the bottom of the staircase. He took a minute to collect himself before galloping up to his cousin’s room, wearing the least friendly look he had mustered in months. His hoof pounded on Big Mac’s door.

“Big Mac, open up!” He yelled loud enough to draw the attention of a patron or two from down the hall, who peeked their heads out their doors in curiosity. Undaunted, Braeburn continued his shouting.

“Macintosh, open this door!” Braeburn pounded his hoof on the wood a few times more for good measure, the vibration of his hoof impacting the door skewing his hat with the force of his knocking.

Mid knock, the door popped open. Big Mac peeked through the small opening unassumingly, his face completely blank.

“Yes?”

“Don’t give me that!” Braeburn pushed his way inside the hotel room as he yelled, glaring at his cousin all the while.

“Where do you get off saying something like you did, Big Mac? Them ain’t no words for family to throw at each other.”

“Funny,” said Big Mac calmly, gazing at Braeburn disinterestedly through half open eyes. “I didn’t think it’d be such a sore spot.”

“You’re darn right it is! Where do you get off saying I’d abandon my family, for any reason? Y’all know I love every member of the Apple clan, you and AJ especially-“

Braeburn’s last word faltered as he saw Mac’s expression change, going from a nonchalant disinterest to narrowed eyes and a grim frown.

“Because that’s just what you did, ‘cuz’. Don’t act like you don’t remember. The very first year, no more n’ a month after our folks passed, and you took off to make your fortune in this Celestia forsaken desert.”

Braeburn balked slightly. He couldn’t remember a single time he had heard Big Macintosh raise his voice in anger, if ever at all. The sound was unsettling – he was used to the substantially sized stallion speaking only in the most subdued fashion possible. Hearing him reprimand with extra volume was disconcerting, to say the least.

“Now, look here, I didn’t abandon you all, I just-“

“I can’t think of a better word for it. You knew things were gonna be hard on Applejack and me, but you had better things to do with yer’ time than stay and help your cousins on their farm. You wanted to go make a name for yourself, be the first pony to set hoof in a new and exciting frontier town… all of that was more important than your family.”

He hadn’t forgotten the conversation between himself and his two cousins those years ago. Maybe the incident had just slipped to the back of his mind, because he hadn’t seen it the way Big Mac was presenting… the whole thing had been a whirlwind of sullen relatives and dismal conversations, and suddenly an opportunity had presented itself, and he had taken it. He knew Big Mac and AJ could handle themselves, even if things might be a little… difficult. And he had let Macintosh know what the situation was before he had left. Surely Mac would have said something if…

He remembered now. The words had been quiet, and brief – even then, Big Mac hadn’t raised his voice. He had just asked in a sunken, pleading tone, if Braeburn would stay.

“Please, Braeburn. We need your help. AJ’s still not ready to run things here, and Applebloom’s just a filly… I can’t do it without you.”

“I’m sorry Mac. Really and truly I am… but an opportunity like this doesn’t come along every day, or even in a lifetime! If I pass it up now, there’s no telling if I’ll ever get a chance to be a part of something like this again. I know you and Applejack will be fine without me.”

The first train out of Ponyville the next morning had taken him to the sprawling southern dry lands that would someday become Appeloosa.

Braeburn’s tongue floundered around his attempt at words.

“Mac, I… you know that you and AJ… If I had thought…”

“I’ll be heading out tomorrow morning. If you need any help with the books before then, leave ‘em outside the door and I’ll take a look before I leave.” Big Mac nudged his still stammering cousin towards the door, giving him a not-so-gentle shove outside into the hallway before drawing the door closed. He paused before the lock clicked, speaking out through a narrow slit in the doorway.

“But, it’s like I said… I’m sure you’ll be fine without me.”

The door slammed loudly. Braeburn stood in the hallway without a sound for a moment or two, before slowly making his way down the stairs and out of the hotel.

Braeburn and Big Mac met at the train station early after the first sunrise the next day.

“Morning, cuz’. You sleep alright?”

“Eeyup.”

Braeburn glanced back and forth awkwardly. The station was practically empty this early in the morning – ever since the recent innovation of the new automated train systems, more frequent and convenient runs were possible, meaning folks with poorly timed schedule obligations could still find some kind of accommodation. In this case, Braeburn wasn’t sure he saw anypony else waiting for the train besides himself and his cousin. Which he should likely mention to…

“So, uh, Big Macintosh… I was thinking the other night…”

The sentence took its time to assemble over the awkward pauses, but Big Mac said nothing, patiently waiting for his cousin to put the words together.

“Er… I was thinking maybe it would be alright with you if I came back up to Ponyville with you.”

Big Mac raised an eyebrow.

“Come back ta’ Ponyville? Pardon my asking, but might I inquire as to why?”

“Come on, cuz’… You know I miss you and AJ, and the rest of the family too, though they ain’t likely to be around this time of year… I just thought I could come up and say hi, you know? Pay a visit and see how y’all are doin’. It’s like I said last night, things are practically done on the new orchard, so I’m sure I could stand to take a few days off for… family.”

Big Mac lowered his eyebrow of suspicion, but his face remained sceptical. The tone of his speech, however, gave no indication he was anything but complacent. He shrugged.

“I suppose if you feel like making the trip and ya’ think the town’ll do alright while you’re gone.”

“Aw, they’ll be fine. I ain’t as in charge as people like to think… I just kind of know how things work. The place’ll run itself for a few days while I do something important.”

Braeburn’s grin was back in an attempt to convey to his cousin the implications of his visit, or what he hoped it might demonstrate in regards to the past nights discussion – but Big Mac said nothing, simply nodding his head slightly and staring patiently at the train station docking area, waiting for the vehicle to arrive.

The hiss of steam announced the incoming train several minutes later, wheels screeching as it pulled into the station. Big Mac heft his suitcase in his mouth, likely substantially heavy, though it was tiny in comparison to Mac’s sizable frame. Braeburn had opted for a more easily portable set of saddlebags slung onto his back, containing the things from home he’d need for a several days visit at Ponyville. Macintosh approached the ticket counter with his luggage, but stopped when tapped on the back by a hoof from Braeburn.

“No worries about the tickets, cuz’, got it all sorted out.” Braeburn beamed as he brandished the two boarding passes from the side of his bag. “Least I could do for all the help you gave in the last week.”

“I’d’a been able to pay for ‘em myself.”

Braeburn’s smile was unfaltering.

“No doubt you would, but I figured I’d do my part to pay you back.”

The single ticket held extend in front of Big Mac was a bright red, almost the same colour as his coat. He grasped it between his hooves, opting to toss his suitcase onto his back again with a flick of his head.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, ‘cuz.”

The two colts made their way to the train door where an automated mechanism stared at them from the door. A simple procurement of the tickets prompted a loud buzz and the sliding open of the train-car door. Macintosh entered first, walking slowly toward the first available seat and setting his suitcase on the floor. Braeburn took a few minutes to look around the car before settling, remarking on the comfortable looking nature of the interior. Mac simply nodded unenthusiastically.

Within several minutes, the train doors hiss and clamped together tightly, followed by the noisy outpouring of steam from the smokestack. The wheels began to turn, along with the first laborious clack of the engines dragging the cars across the laid our rail. Much faster than it seemed possible, the train was up and running, leaving Appeloosa a tiny speck off in the distance.

The first stretch of the ride gave Braeburn an opportunity to look around the train. After a quick tour, he deduced that he and Big Macintosh were the only passengers that early in the morning. He had attempted to gain entrance to the engineering car before realizing that this train, and all the trains in operation since a short while ago, were no longer operated by a real pony. Instead, a complex system of automate gears and magical levers told the train where to go, and how fast it needed to go to get there on time. All in all, much more efficient and less prone to error than a live conductor – and the same to be said about the automated engine instead of a group of ponies hauling the several tons of metal and passengers across giant stretches of land.

Big Macintosh said little, as had been the trend since his arrival in Appeloosa. He stayed in his seat for the first several hours, staring out the window at the passing scenery, or what little of it there was. Appeloosa and the surrounding area were not known for their scenic view – miles and miles of dry flat desert stretched out in every direction from the train, along with cacti and the occasional desert creature peeking out from its shade behind a rock. Big Mac didn’t see much of interest, but there was little else to occupy his time in any case, so a scenic observation seemed the best choice.

After a while, Braeburn made it abundantly clear the early wakeup was taking its toll on him. Work schedules in Appeloosa varied a good deal from the ‘waking with the sun’ policy at Sweet Apple Acres, and the lack of sleep couple with the week of hard work had left him feeling utterly fatigued. After several false starts at conversation with Big Macintosh, the sandy yellow earth-pony settled in for a short nap on the most comfortable set of seats he could find – not a difficult task, given the two cousins had the train essentially to themselves. Braeburn found himself thinking about his visit as he drifted off to sleep. He hoped Applejack would be happy to see him…

Braeburn awoke an indeterminable amount of time later with the sensation of an insistent nudging prodding him in the side. He heard his name being muttered through the haze of his vanishing sleep.

“Braeburn, can y’all wake up?”

The Appeloosan blinked, rubbing his eyes with his hooves to clear the sleep. How long had he napped for? And what was so important he could be allowed to rest the duration of the trip? At least one of those was worth vocalizing.

“Big Mac? How long was I asleep for?”

“Not too long, ain’t important. Just had something I needed to direct your attention to.”

A long yawn followed an exaggerated stretch as Braeburn got up from his makeshift sleeping quarters. His hat had become skewed in his sleep, and now hung lopsided to the left of his head, leaving a peek of bright orange bed-hair poking out from the lifted side. Still woozy, he followed Big Macintosh’s beckoning directions all the way to the side window, which Mac lifted open, letting the fast moving wind buffet the open section of the car loudly.

“D’ya wanna just peek your head out there and tell me if you can see what I thought I saw? Looks like something big at that there end of the tracks…”

Braeburn popped his head out the window as directed, squinting his eyes in the fast moving breeze. He directed his gaze to the far end of the train, and then followed the tracks forward as far into the distance as he could manage to see – a point that was approaching rapidly given the train’s level of acceleration. The cars were passing through one of Appeloosa’s many neighbouring cliff passages, with great red rock walls on either side. And, just as Big Mac had posited, there was something in the middle of the tracks at the end of the cliffy area – a giant obstruction, larger than the biggest boulder they had moved off the new orchard, was firmly planted in the center of the train’s path.

Mac’s voice cut through the whistling of the fast moving wind as Braeburn pulled his head back inside.

“Look like a big ol’ rock sittin’ right in our way?”

Braeburn nodded, unsure of what further to say.

“Jus’ checkin’. Ain’t no need to worry, I reckon’. I’m sure they’ve got all sorts o’ fancy mechanisms in place to check this kinda stuff.”

For some reason, Braeburn’s blank expression in response left Mac feeling a little unsettled.

“Braeburn? There is somethin’ in place to make sure we don’t up and crash, ain’t there?”

“I… think so…” Braeburn metered his words carefully, biting his lip as he glanced out the window again. His visible anxiety prompted a raised eyebrow from Big Macintosh.

The yellow colt hopped to his feet from the seat he had taken after his glance outside the window.

“I’ll go take a look at the engine room. Like you said, probably nothing to worry about… I’m sure we’ll pull up to a stop just a little ways away. Gotta be something in place for this kind of thing.” Braeburn’s momentary nervousness seemed to vanish, and he ran through the door adjoining their cart with the next, down on his way to the closed door of the operations room he had examined earlier. Big Mac simply looked on with concern.

A minute or two passed with no word from his cousin. Mac poked his head out the still open window, and saw the giant impasse still planted firmly in place – now looking a great deal larger and more imposing than it had at initial detection. The train was approaching quite rapidly, with no sign of slowing down.

Mac pulled his head back inside and calmly but speedily made his way down the series of train cars, stopping when he reached the sight of his cousin frantically scrambling through a search of the series of panels on the front of the next car.

“Braeburn?”

The voice that answered him was an exaggeration of cheerfulness, an attempt to mask the nervous undertone that carried it.

“Nothing to worry about, cuz’! Just tryin’ to find some kind of emergency stop button, you know, or something like that. Just in case the train doesn’t stop on its own, of course, which I’m sure it will. Really nothing to worry about.”

Mac furrowed his brows further. He walked to a nearby window and lifted it upwards, peeking his head once more outside and looking down the tracks. After a moment, he drew his head back in.

“Braeburn…”

“Cuz’, don’t you fret! Like I said, I’m sure there’s a measure in place for just this kind of situation. Just trying to see if there’s something I missed, you know, in case of a malfunction, or just for extra safety.”

Most of the panels on the door were hanging wide open, numerous switches and buttons in various states of attempted activation. Now Braeburn was yanking open the more firmly closed compartments, to find bundled sets of wires. He contemplated for a moment, a small collection of sweat forming on his brow, before yanking a pair of the wires outward with a snap.

“Braeburn…”

“Those wires ain’t no problem, just checkin’ all the options, you know. Ain’t no matter, should be pulling up to a stop any minute now.”

Big Mac’s voice raised above its normal subdued volume for the second time in as many days.

“Braeburn-“

The word was cut off mid-syllable, hanging in the air for a moment along with the disarming lack of sound that followed the pause when forty tons of metal suddenly stopped moving. The world hung still for a moment, time slowing to a crawl

It quickly reasserted itself with unprecedented volume. A screeching scream impacted the ears of the two colts inside the train, along with the rapid loss of gravity. The floor beneath them sailed upwards, quickly abandoning all pretence of proper directional assertion. Braeburn and Big Mac found themselves tumbling through the air into whatever object cared to bar their passage, sailing backwards into the rest of the train as the cars realigned themselves mid-air. The operations room door that Braeburn was forced to leave behind at the insistence of his new momentum took no time exploding into a shower of sparks and rapidly disassembling metal, followed by the rest of the nearby car along with it. Braeburn opted to close his eyes when the first brilliant flash of impromptu welding nearly blinded him, imagining that whatever happened going forward was likely out of his hooves regardless.

He felt his body tumbling for a while, the occasional impact of an unseen object jarring his body in various places, and likely, he suspected, leaving bruises in their wake. Though, he assessed at this point that if the train ever stopped moving, bruises would be the least of his concerns.

Meeting the ground was an impactful event. The hissing screech of metal on rock left his ears for a moment, only to be replaced with the sound of ten separate cars smashing into the dirt and sliding until their momentum vanished. The landing went relatively smoothly – Braeburn surmised the train had jostled in position a number of times before finally falling, and it was likely something of a miracle that it had chosen to land in relative mimicry of its original position. He thought all this while his ears filled with the grinding of metal on solid ground, moving forward with no vision until the train finally slid to a halt. At last, he opened his eyes.

The scene in front of him was one he could have done without. Shards of metal and sparking wires, along with the mangled mess of what had once been a spacious and accommodating train-car interior, now sandwiched together in a marvel of unintentional post-modern engineering, courtesy of their friend the road-block. Braeburn groaned, the impact of his various visits to the numerous interior objects catching up with him. His side hurt something fierce.

He found after attempting to stand, however, that his legs were still functional, if a little shaky. That was something. He said the first words that came to mind, yelling them through the mass of compacted train cars.

“Big Mac! Where are you?”

There was no answer but for the hissing of heated metal.

Both ends of his car had been closed off by the force of the impact – but there at the side where the automatic door had been, was now an inviting opening, beckoning him outside into fresh air, and away from the mangled train fragments. He opted to follow the former door’s invitation.

The car he was in had only partially folded, meaning no unnecessary acrobatics were required to make his way outside. The fiercely beaming Appeloosan sun directly overhead was a welcome sight. There was the matter of the rest of the train, however.

A quick glance backwards revealed the remains of the rock, evidently less sturdy than he had anticipated – or perhaps simply yielding at the behest of a giant weight of rapidly moving metal. Several crumbled cars stretched out behind him in various states of wholeness... under one of them, crushed almost flat to the ground, he thought he saw something.

A glimmer of red under the sunlight.

He ran as fast as his legs could move him towards the bright colour protruding from underneath the newly revised train car design, poking out from what he believed to be the door in a former existence. Approaching from only several feet away, he saw the face that went along with the bright crimson.

“Big Mac! You’re okay!”

“…eeyup.” Mac was pulling himself forward with his front hooves, essentially crawling through the dirt along the ground as he removed the rest of his body from the smouldering debris. Braeburn ran forward to help him, grasping a leg as best he could between his hooves and pulling his cousin forward.

“You are okay, right? I got a couple bruises from the tumble…”

As he finished his sentence, Braeburn took the opportunity to look over Big Mac’s entirety – he grimaced when he reached his hind right leg.

“…leg hurts pretty bad. Maybe broken.”

Braeburn nodded grimly at the disjointed limb. Legs were not supposed to bend that way.

“Can you walk at all? We should try and move away from here a bit…”

Big Mac raised himself to a standing position with his three most capable limbs before testing a bit of his weight on the damaged appendage. He said nothing, but the pursing of his lips told Braeburn the leg was out of commission for the time being.

“…hurts a fair bit. Can still walk, just gonna be slower.”

“That’s fine, cuz’. Here, I’ll help you get going, put your leg up here.”

Macintosh did as directed without the thing of a complaint, placing his foreleg on his cousin’s back, and hobbling along with him away from the shattered wreckage of the new and improved train car design.

The two paused when they had made a good distance from the smouldering metal and debris.

“So it looks like that ‘automatic stoppage mechanism’ we were hoping for ain’t implemented in this design.”

Big Mac grimaced as he sat, bracing as much of his weight as he could away from his injured leg.

“…eeyup.”

“I’m sorry cuz’. I had no idea something like this could happen. That boulder must have showed up overnight.”

“s’ not your fault.” Big Mac managed, still visibly pained by the soreness of his damaged appendage.

“What should we do? We ain’t even half way to Ponyville… and I dunno if there’ll be anyone out to come help. No idea what kind of messaging system they’ve got in those things. Though, from the look o’ what just happened, likely not a good one.”

Big Macintosh simply nodded, before tilting his head backwards and staring up at the clear desert sky.

“We could try and make it back to Appeloosa… can’t be too far, probably only a day or two if we go at top speed.” Braeburn paused, and gave a glance down at his cousin’s injury. “But, your leg…”

“I can still walk, just gonna be a bit slower.” Macintosh spoke his reply through gritted teeth, standing up from the red dust.

“You think you can make it all the way back to Appeloosa like that?”

Mac tested his weight again, drawing another grimace before he withdrew it.

“Ain’t got much of a choice, do I?”

“I could make the way back myself. It’d take two days tops, and I’d be back here with a group of rescue ponies before you know it.”

“Dunno if I can make it as long as that’d take without water. Don’t feel too keen on sittin’ here waitin’ neither.”

Braeburn sighed loudly. He didn’t like the idea of leaving his cousin in the middle of the desert with no protection or resources either. Was forcing him to walk all the way back to Appeloosa really a good idea though? It’d take the two of them that much longer to get back to civilization.

The dilemma solved itself while Braeburn was locked in contemplation – he turned his gaze to where his cousin had been to find the injured red colt hobbling forward in the direction of Appeloosa.

“Mac!” Braeburn ran to his side, lifting one of his front legs and bracing himself for support. Mac nodded his thanks.

“Alright. We’ve got a long walk ahead of us, but rushin’ isn’t gonna help us. Just take it nice and slow, alright?”

Big Macintosh nodded.

“Eeyup.”

The result of a first day’s walking was a small cave along the giant cliff-face the train had driven them past. Coupled with the setting of the sun, the shade practically made the end of the trek seem comfortable.

Braeburn had realized half-way through the walk that despite the tumbling of the train, most of the supplies in his saddlebag were still intact, including the emergency supplies he brought everywhere with him – in this case, a small canteen of water, and firestarters. The pair had no food among them, but Braeburn posited that a small camp-fire might be a good idea, both to scare away would be night predators, and provide a small feeling of homeliness. Big Mac had given his one word agreement, and the fire had been lit, and was now smoking and crackling peacefully at the edge of the cave.

“How’s your leg holding up, Big Mac?” Braeburn poked at the fire with a stick as he made conversation, acknowledging there wasn’t a great deal to discuss given the recent turn of events.

“’s alright. Doesn’t hurt too bad if I don’t think about it.”

“We’ll get you all fixed up soon, don’t you worry. I know this desert like the back of my hoof. Shouldn’t take us too long to get back to Appeloosa.”

Big Mac said nothing, simply staring at the brilliant flames in front of him as they swayed and danced in the night air. Eventually, he murmured a sentence even quieter than normal.

“Sorry I’m slowin’ us down. I appreciate yer’ bein’ so helpful.”

Braeburn gave his first grin since the crash of the train.

“Don’t you worry about it, cuz’. I know you’d do the same for me if I was hurt. After all, we’re family right? Kin gotta look out for one another.”

Mac was silent again. The fire crackled and spit as the two ponies sat beside it, neither of them managing to muster up anything further. Eventually, it was Big Mac who broke the relative silence.

“You like it here, Braeburn?”

“What, you mean in this cave? It’s no warm comfy bed waiting at home for me, but sure, it’ll do for now.”

“Not what I meant. Here, Appeloosa. You like it here?”

Braeburn considered the weight of the inquiry. Appeloosa was his home. He had built the town and orchard up from scratch where nopony had first thought it possible. It was his town, in more than just name, but in his heart as well.

“’course I do. Appeloosa’s my home. Watched it grow up since it was just a dream in my head.”

The fire popped several times more in the silence that followed Braeburn’s answer. He took it upon himself to break the silence this time.

“Is there a reason you’re asking, cuz’?”

Mac was silent for a moment, still staring at the swirling bunch of flames in front of him through half-opened eyes. Somewhere off in the distance of the desert, a wolf howled up at the brilliant moon overhead.

“Was just wonderin’ if it was worth leavin’ for.”

Braeburn’s disposition sank, but he answered regardless.

“Not the time or the place to bring that up, Mac. But, if you need to know… yes, it was worth leaving for. It’s like I said… you and AJ did just fine, and chances are Appeloosa wouldn’t be here today if not for me and the other settler ponies. Is there a reason you’re harpin’ on this?”

“Jus’ curious. Town’s nice enough, no doubt. Real good job you did puttin’ it together. Just suppose it’s a matter of priorities.”

“And what do you mean by that?” Braeburn’s voice took on a hint of anger now, a sign of growing frustration at his cousin’s avenue of inquiry.

“There’s plenty o’ stuff I coulda done with my life if I left the farm… Apples are all I’ve ever known, but there’s a whole world o’ possibility out there. Just wonderin’ what’s so different between us. I’ve been on the farm my whole life cuz’ my family needed me, but you ran off at the drop of a hat to chase your crazy dream.”

Braeburn turned to his cousin now, his face contorted in anger.

“Where do you get off, Big Macintosh? If it wasn’t for me and the rest of settlers, Appeloosa wouldn’t be here today, and neither would any of the ponies that make a living there. This whole desert’d just be one big empty pile of dust. You’re saying you think that’d be better?”

Macintosh leaned back on the rock he had found as a seat, staring up at the cave ceiling.

“Ain’t sayin’ no such thing. Just wonderin’ why you don’t feel bad for leavin’ your family by themselves when they needed you.”

“It’s because there’s more to life than family sometimes, Mac.”

Again, the fire took over the lull in the conversation, filling the would-be silence with the sound of the crackling flames. It went on for longer than before.

“Well, I guess that’s all there is to it then.”

Big Mac raised himself from the uncomfortable makeshift seating and walked as best he could to a corner of the cave away from the fire, lowering himself to the ground and closing his eyes, apparently attempting to sleep.

Braeburn found himself still fuming at the conversation that had just passed. He wasn’t about to let the discussion end so abruptly. Rising from the ground with a scuffle of his hooves on the dirt, he made his way to Big Mac’s impromptu sleeping quarters.

“So that’s it then? All you’ve got to say on the matter?”

The red coated colt said nothing.

“Darn it, Big Mac, I ain’t done talkin’ about this!”

The answer came from Mac without movement.

“I am.”

“No, that ain’t it. You can’t just prod and guilt me like this and then turn off when I’ve got somethin’ to say back. You tell me what makes you so sure that I done somethin’ so wrong… why you think having a dream, or a life outside your family is such a sin.”

The silence hung for a moment before Big Mac managed an answer.

“Havin’ a dream ain’t nothing to be ashamed of, and neither is goin’ after that dream. I ain’t holdin’ it against ya’ for doing what you wanted with your life.”

Big Mac propped himself up on his forelegs, turning to face his cousin.

“What I do have a problem with, is you thinkin’ any o’ that takes priority over your family. Family’s the one thing in this world you don’t get a second chance at. The folk that are closest to you, who care about you the most… ain’t no reason for givin’ ‘em less than everything, because they’ll do the same for you. Or at least… that’s the way it oughta work.”

Again, Braeburn found himself slightly dumbfounded. His mouth hung half open as Big Mac continued speaking.

“I’d’ve been the first person to give you a pat on the back and help you on to that train down here, Braeburn, if you hadn’t been getting on it with me an’ AJ needing you to stay so bad. That’s what I learned about you when you left – that ain’t no matter how bad your family needs you, you’ve got priorities higher than that. And that’s where you and I don’t get along – family’s everything to me, to all the Apple family asides yourself. I ain’t gonna force you to see things my way, but I also ain’t gonna forgive you for doing what you did when we needed you the most.”

Big Mac turned onto his side again, using his hooves as a makeshift pillow as the fire crackled several feet away.

“Sorry again for slowin’ us down so much. I’ll see you in the mornin’.”

Braeburn stood silently for a moment before making his way back to the fire. A couple kicks of dust and the flames were extinguished, leaving the moon as the only light for miles, shining onto the desert from overhead. Silently, the yellow colt curled up, and tried his best to fall asleep amidst the not-quite silent ambience of the desert in the background.

The next day’s walk felt a good deal more arduous. Whether because injuries had taken their time to settle, or because the early start meant longer underneath the sun, Braeburn found himself aching and exhausted only hours after he and Big Mac set out. Though the morning had started with Big Mac insisting he could walk fine on his own, a couple near-collapses by the red farm-colt had prompted assistance from Braeburn, and the two now walked together. At around half-past noon, by Braeburn’s estimation, he was in dire need of a break.

“What do you say we take a breather here for a minute, Mac?”

Macintosh shrugged noncommittally.

“’rather keep going, but if you need a break, I ain’t gonna keep walkin’ without you.”

Partly because you need me holding you up in the first place… Braeburn thought.

“It’s a long way to Appeloosa either way, I don’t see the sense in killin’ ourselves in the sun before we get there.”

Mac shrugged again. Instead of sitting alongside his panting cousin, Big Mac remained standing, tapping one of his good hooves idly against the dirt as he waited.

Braeburn felt slightly annoyed. He might not be walking for Macintosh, but he was certainly doing his part to help him along – and now he was here being guilted into taking a short break after hours of walking in the hot sun?

“You know not everyone’s as hard a worker as you are, Mac. Some ponies need to take the occasional break.”

Since the night before, the atmosphere between the two colts had been relatively sensitive. Neither had spoken much upon awaking, and the words shared along the first part of the walk were mostly pleasantries – as pleasant as they could be given the circumstance. Braeburn wasn’t sure what had prompted the verbal jab at his cousin, but now the awkward silence hung in the air between them, the last thing he wanted with still at least another day’s walking to do.

“Jus’ seems to me it’d be a better idea to keep goin’ till we get back. Don’t see the point in dawdling.”

“It ain’t ‘dawdling’, it’s called taking minute to rest so I don’t pass out from carrying you all the way back to Appeloosa in one go.”

Braeburn didn’t feel himself when he was anything but pleasant – and from the words that had been shared the night previous, he didn’t think he had any reason to be scornful or bitter. The words had simply come out that way, likely due entirely to the frustration he had felt building up since his first friendly hello had been rebuffed.

“…fair enough.”

Macintosh’s reply gave away no hint that Braeburn’s verbal jab had upset him – his tone was as neutral as ever. For some reason, this left Braeburn feeling a bit put out – he’d spent the whole of his cousin’s visit in an uncomfortable state of self-admonishment and accommodating guilt, and now when he had the nerve to speak up, Mac couldn’t even let out that maybe he had some kind of emotions as well.

“You know, Mac, maybe this says a little something about you. Ties in with everything you’ve been griping about. Holdin’ other folks to your unrealistic standards, whether it’s workin’ without stop or giving up their lives to spend ‘em with their family. Seems like maybe it’s not me who’s got the problem.”

No reply. Braeburn felt a heat burning inside him along with the sun from overhead.

“I’m tired of feeling like I owe you so much just ‘cause I did something with my life instead of sticking around in that going-nowhere town to help you on that stupid farm! Seems to me like you’re just jealous.”

“Nope.”

The one word reply broke the damn that had stayed the rest of Braeburn’s frustration. He kicked a large bunch of dust into the air with his hind legs.

“Well if you’re so sure of yourself then you can make your way back to Appeloosa on your own!”

And before he could take a moment to assess the ramifications of what he had just said, Braeburn galloped off into the distance, leaving Big Mac standing by himself in the scorching desert heat.

Braeburn ran for a good while before finally stopping, panting loudly as he wiped away the sweat that had accrued on his forehead. He stood for a moment to catch his breath, before the weight of what he had done caught up with him.

Could he really just leave Big Macintosh out here in the middle of the desert like that? He knew that Mac was a hard worker, never a pony to give up when set with a task – but given the circumstance, he wasn’t sure this was a job Macintosh could complete on his own. By Braeburn’s best estimation, Appeloosa was at least another day and a half away, and that was at the best conceivable pace. He could probably make it back in half a day by himself, going at full speed with the occasional break. But as for Macintosh…

He didn’t know the area as well as Braeburn either. There was a very probably chance he would get lost. Even if Braeburn managed to make it back and bring help as quickly as possible, they might not find him in time. And underneath the heat of the sun with no water for miles…

Why had he said those things, when normally restraint was so easy? The undertone of Mac’s attitude had been evident since he first greeted him at the train station. Braeburn might have forgotten the particulars of their exchange those years ago, but he hadn’t forgotten what the disagreement meant in the first place. He knew about Big Mac’s resentment, though he was usually reluctant to voice it. Instead, he had stayed surly and quiet the whole time, or any time he had seen Braeburn in the years following their exchange, the number of which Braeburn could count on one hoof. Mostly, he’d heard about Macintosh’s feelings through Applejack, whom he had stayed in at least semi-frequent contact with. AJ was apparently quicker to forget… or at the very least, she understood why Braeburn had made his decision when he had. Applejack was a normal pony, not a bizarre semi-construct of work ethic and family obligation.

Why couldn’t Mac understand, or forgive? Braeburn had done everything in his power to be pleasant and accommodating, in understanding of his cousin’s not-so-secret ire. And at every turn, he had been met with sullen disinterest and emotionless response. He had tried everything, short of admitting he was wrong.

Braeburn sighed to himself, still standing underneath the blazing sun in a patch of desert. He wished Applejack was here. He knew she could have convinced Macintosh of his unrealistic stubbornness. That was one cousin Braeburn could count on, at least.

Applejack. When was the last time he had seen her? She and her friends had visited Appeloosa a while ago with the delivery of a new tree for the orchard, when the dispute with the buffalo had been mid-swing. It’d had been nice to see his cousin, even given the nature of the circumstance, and her friends had proved instrumental in helping to sort out the problems between the ponies and their native neighbours. So what about before that?

He couldn’t think of another time. Not since that day, when he had left. Had it really been that long?

Two, three years… he wasn’t sure. The days had blended together. There was so much to be done to get Appeloosa on track, to make it grow from a simple apple-seed dream in the ground into the boisterous town it had become. There wasn’t much time for family visits. He couldn’t think of the last time he had seen Big Macintosh before now, either. Unless, on that day he had left, the last time they had spoken was…

He had been gone a long time, really.

There was so much work to be done though, surely he couldn’t be blamed if he hadn’t written that often. Visits were out of the question, a long train trip while the town was still growing. Really, it was perfectly understandable that he hadn’t spoken to his cousin in…

The three years since he had begged him to stay.

He had only heard from Applejack more than a year after. She had told him things on the farm were going well, though difficult.

Maybe he had forgotten to write back to that first letter for a while.

Scuffling up a bit of dirt as he turned, Braeburn began the run back to the spot he had left Macintosh waiting. He hoped he was still there.

He found Big Mac closer than he had expected him. Despite his injury, the colt had managed to make a decent pace in the direction he’d seen his cousin run off – whether because he meant to find him, or because he imagined that to be the direction that Appeloosa laid on the horizon. Braeburn slowed his pace as he approached, sweating from a little extra beyond the heat of the sun. Macintosh said nothing as Braeburn approached, but he stopped his awkward three legged hobble and met his eyes as he came closer.

The words were difficult to find.

“Mac, I’m… sorry. I didn’t mean that, honest. I just imagine this whole thing has got me a little on edge, what with the crash, and the heat, and all… I really am sorry.”

It was the best he could manage without touching on the thought that had prompted him to run back in the first place. It drew a nod from Big Mac, at least.

“No worries.”

He was always of so few words… unless you got him talking on the right subject. The one he had been very vocal about in the last few days…

Braeburn grabbed his cousin’s leg and placed it on his back, beginning the alongside walk in the direction of the setting sun.

“Appeloosa’s likely less than two days away by my count. Should be back in no time at all.”

Mac nodded, gritting his teeth slightly as he walked on. Strangely, Braeburn found the sight calming – it was odd to imagine that his cousin could feel any kind of strain, no matter how little he showed it. It made him think that maybe, they were both normal ponies after all.

The two shared few words as they continued their walk. Once or twice, Braeburn called for a stop to catch his breath, which Macintosh acknowledged without a word. He showed no sign of visible fatigue… but when his cousin remarked aloud about his thirst, Big Mac quietly grabbed the canteen from Braeburn’s bags and offered it to him. Braeburn had protested, saying the last of their water needed to be rationed carefully.

“Naw, it’s like you said. We’ll be back in town in no time at all, right?”

The remark had gotten a smile from Braeburn before he downed the last drops of liquid from its container.

Another night meant another campfire. There were no cliffs or caves to be found anywhere near the conclusion of the day’s walk, so the pair had settled into a patch of dirt mostly surrounded by cacti, in the hopes that the partial barrier might make the spot feel a little more enclosed. Braeburn had contributed the first snippets of conversation.

“Sure could go for a bite to eat when we get back… isn’t much to chose from out here.”

“Nope.”

Braeburn had been down to his last stompstarter as well – a box of wood and matches that could be easily lit from a simple press from a hoof. He reasoned that, given his estimations, they would likely reach Appeloosa by the end of the next day, and as such, there was no reason to restrict the use of the thing that would let them feel moderately safe at night. Luckily no desert creatures had made their present known through the course of the journey, but that didn’t they weren’t out there waiting for just the opportunity to do so.

With the lack of a proper shelter, they opted to leave the fire burning throughout the night. Big Macintosh was the first to turn in, laying down onto his side next to the fire. Braeburn followed suit shortly thereafter. He lay next to the fire, staring up at the stars over head for a while, before his voice spoke out over the noise of the flames.

“Big Mac?”

“Mhm?”

Macintosh was evidently still awake as well.

“How are things going… on the farm, I mean, with you and Applejack?”

“Fine. Good harvest this year. AJ and me manage to keep the place running.”

“Good, good… how about Applebloom? How’s she doing?”

“Goin’ to school. Don’t get her to help too much with the farm, bein’ so young. She’s always goin’ on about how badly she wants her cutie mark…”

“Kids at that age, huh? I remember when I was little, I wanted mine more than anything in the world… seems like an eternity for it to show up when you want it so bad.”

“Eeyup.”

The fire’s ambience covered the hole of silence in the conversation with another bout of pops and crackles, sending the occasional spark into the air, where it quickly dissipated.

“Mac?”

There was no response this time. Braeburn wasn’t sure if Big Mac had fallen asleep, or simply opted to remain quiet. He continued regardless.

“I ain’t sorry for what I did, comin’ down here to Appeloosa. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done with my life, and it’s made so many ponies lives possible… lives they never would have had if I hadn’t helped build the place up. But…”

The pause lingered over the sound of the fire.

“…but I am sorry for leaving when y’all needed me. I realized I ain’t seen you since I took off a couple years ago… that I ain’t asked how you and AJ were making out on the farm. That maybe I ain’t been the best cousin. So... I’m hopin’ you’ll accept my apology, for that, at least.”

Big Macintosh still said nothing, so Braeburn continued.

“I think I maybe understand where you’re coming from, not lettin’ this go for so long… You felt the same way I felt when you said you were takin’ off the other day. ‘cept you had a good deal more reason than I did to get upset about it. I didn’t even realize how long it’d been when I wrote you, askin’ for your help… three years!” Braeburn paused for a moment to collect his thoughts, tracing his hoof along the stars in the sky, in what he imagined must be a constellation he couldn’t remember the name of.

“I guess the difference between us… no, I don’t want to think there’s a difference. Because you’ve been saying ever since I first met you that you care about your family more than anything. I think I do too… maybe I just forgot about that. I ain’t gonna say I know you’re right, and that what I did was so unforgiveable… I think maybe you need to see things from my perspective too. Not everyone can spend their whole life on a farm with their family, workin’ their hardest every day for a whole lot o’ nothing. Maybe I could have picked a better time to leave… but I woulda gone just the same if I’d had the chance the year after.”

Braeburn sighed, letting his hooves fall to the ground.

“Maybe you understand more than you let on, and you just don’t feel like forgiving me… and I guess that’s fine, if it’s the way you want to be. But it ain’t ‘cause of some awful reason that I left you two to take care of the farm like I did. It’s because I know you… I know the Apple family. We always manage to come through somehow, no matter how tough things seem. So I knew you’d be fine, even if I wasn’t around. I guess I just didn’t say it the right way.”

Turning to his side, Braeburn’s voice lowered to just above a whisper as he curled up in preparation for sleep.

“ I don’t wanna think about how hard that first year must have been… and if I could go back, maybe I’d have done things differently… but I knew you’d be fine, you and AJ both. Still… I am sorry.”

With a tuck of his hat down, Braeburn closed his eyes.

“Good night, Big Mac.”

A wolf howled in the distance at the silvery moon hovering in the sky, almost drowning out the whisper from the other side of the campfire.

“Good night, Braeburn.”

Mid-afternoon the next day found the pair in another patch of desert, indistinguishable from the one they had rested at hours before. Braeburn had asked for another brief breather, feeling the toll of five hours of walking along with the aid he was giving Big Macintosh to keep him moving. He had paused to look off into the distance when he heard the loud thump behind him, the sound of a body falling into the dust. Big Macintosh’s legs splayed out on either side of him as he lay in the dirt, eyes half open.

“Macintosh! Are you alright?” Braeburn ran to his cousin’s side, eyes wide in distress. Mac raised one hoof and waved it in the air lightly as if to communicate that he was fine, but his face said otherwise, along with his words after a moment’s pause. As his hoof fell to the ground, he mumbled a real reply at a subdued volume.

“’m fine. Bit thirsty. Leg hurts. Just need a minute.”

It hadn’t even occurred to Braeburn that his always undaunted cousin could be feeling the slightest fatigue. He had soldiered on from the moment the two had left the train, protesting the first several breaks and showing no sign of strain. Braeburn hadn’t thought about the lack of water, or the fact that Big Mac had been carrying a very injured limb since the moment he crawled out of the train.

Braeburn suspected that a minute might be long enough… but the longer they stayed out in the desert heat, the thirstier they would get, and the worse Big Mac’s leg would be when they finally got somepony to tend to it.

“Minute’s fine, but we gotta get goin’ soon… longer we stay out here, the worse shape you’re gonna be in.”

In spite of everything, Big Mac smiled, a sight Braeburn couldn’t remember seeing for the longest time.

“Feels strange… you being the one telling me to hurry it up.”

Braeburn couldn’t help but grin back.

“When the time calls for it, cuz’.”

After several minutes had passed, Big Mac attempted to stand back up. His knees shook as his legs brought him upward, and from the look on his face, maintaining even a semblance of posture was difficult. Braeburn took his cousin’s leg again, placing it on his back.

“You just lean on me a little bit stronger. Ain’t too much further to go… I recognize that rock patch up in the distance, and then it should be just a short stretch and we’re home free.”

Big Mac grunted as he leaned his weight into his cousin, elevating his broken limb off the ground. For his part, Braeburn grit his teeth, but showed little sign beyond that holding up Big Mac’s considerable weight was a burden. After the two had braced themselves, they continued walking.

Uncharacterstically, Big Mac spoke up.

“Braeburn… why didn’t we just… follow the train tracks back to town…”

“Placement, mostly. Ain’t no shelter if you keep along ‘em for the first part. Besides which, ponies that laid ‘em out, namely, not me, didn’t have much of a clue how to get around out here. Fastest way to Appeloosa is through that stretch of cliffs we went through on the first day… guess they thought it was too much work to get a train through ‘em.”

Apparently the explanation was sufficient. Big Macintosh said nothing further, instead concentrating on each step he took, the amount of effort seeming inordinate for the simple act of walking. He couldn’t remember being this exhausted… a week’s worth of heavy labour, and now the lack of water and his injury… Big Mac was a hard worker, but even he had his limits.

Braeburn could sense his cousin’s fatigue. Mustering as cheerful a voice as he was able, he made an attempt at encouragement.

“Don’t you worry cuz’, not too much further now. Just keep up this pace and we’ll be in Appeloosa before sundown.”

“I hope so.”

Several more minutes of walking passed before Big Mac spoke again.

“I miss Applejack.”

“She’ll be happy to see you when you get back then.”

“Braeburn…”

“Come on, cuz’. Talking like this’ll tire you out. Let’s just keep walking.”

Despite his best efforts otherwise, Braeburn found himself calling another break after several more hours. Though he wasn’t noticing the heat as badly as his cousin, the sun overhead combined with the effort of carrying the brunt of Big Mac’s weight was taking its toll, necessitating another brief stop before they carried on. The sun was beginning to set now.

Big Mac had collapsed onto the ground again, eyes closed tight. Braeburn had given him a worried look, but another wave of Mac’s hoof had allayed his momentary fears – just for a minute, he had said, and I’ll be up and ready to go.

Mac’s eyes had flown open when he heard the sound of Braeburn shouting.

“Dang it! Get, get off!”

Several feet away, Macintosh saw Braeburn shaking his leg wildly. Something was dangling from his yellow coat, just inches above his hoof, leading to the rapid movement in an attempt to dislodge it. After several seconds, the thing went flying off into the dirt. Braeburn ceased his flailing, drawing his leg up to examine it.

“Braeburn?”

Braeburn gave the explanation without further questioning.

“Some kind o’ snake, musta snuck up on me. Bite hurts somethin’ fierce…”

Mac forced himself to stand, groaning as the accumulation of the last week and a half surged through his weary muscles.

“You gonna be okay?” Mac’s words sounded slightly strained as he made his way over to take a look at the bite alongside his cousin. Braeburn was sweating slightly, and his eyes had a half glazy sheen, like he was on his way to sleep. His words came with some difficulty.

“…should be fine. Couple of the species round here are poisonous, but it’s not too much to worry about. We’re almost home, right? Just need to make it a bit further. Come on, we should get going.”

Mac’s voice was thick with concern as he placed one of his legs on his cousin’s back. He kept his weight off as he questioned.

“Braeburn, are you sure? You don’t look like you’re feeling too good.”

“Perfectly fine, just a little sore! Come on, let’s get moving.”

Braeburn took his first step shakily, and Mac felt his cousin’s leg wobble as it threatened to give out.

“Braeburn...”

“Come on! We didn’t make it this far, to… give up because of some silly critter.”

The two stepped together for several feet before Braeburn paused. His face looked ill, and his legs were shaking in agitation. He mumbled to himself as he took another few steps.

“Ain’t, gonna… just a bit further… “

A small grunt left his mouth as his legs gave out, sending him face first into the dirt. Macintosh, having been using his cousin for balance, followed suit, plunging down toward the ground with unexpected velocity. The two ponies lay there in the brilliant sun, panting arduously.

“…’m sorry Mac. Didn’t mean to let you down again…”

Macintosh said nothing. His legs ached. His head was spinning from lack of hydration. Somewhere several feet behind the pair, an angry snake hissed and slithered away, leaving a trail in the dirt.

The sun made its descent past a great cliff in the distance, bringing the darkness of night along with it. A wolf howled at the first glow of the moon as it rose into the sky.

The sun rose the next day in Appeloosa, beaming brightly and showering the town in its warming rays. The town had been in a panic since the reports from Ponyville, saying the morning train had failed to arrive. With Braeburn missing, it had taken some time to organize a search party, and the next day the group of ponies had followed the tracks to find the smouldering wreckage of metal alongside the shattered fragments of the boulder that had obstructed the train’s path. They reported back that they had found no sign of the train’s passengers. Some saw this as hopeful news – others assumed it meant the worst.

After the third day with no sign Braeburn or his visiting cousin, most folk had given up hope. The work on the new orchard had continued as per the planning, but everypony arriving to plant the trees or sow the soil had done so with a grey cloud over their head. Work went much slower, with nopony feeling up to their best effort with their leader gone.

A pony had been setting up his fruit stall for the morning when he saw it – something off in the distance alongside the rising sun, slowly making its way towards the town. He couldn’t make out what the something might be, as the brilliant sun made it hard to see – even shielding his eyes, the brightness was too much. He could only speculate at what it might be – buffalo? Native ponies? Someone on their way to town from out in the desert?

The last was evidently the most accurate. As the sun rose above his head, Big Macintosh walked slowly towards the town of Appeloosa. He carried his cousin on his back, and his head was low to the ground, teeth gritted in determination as he made his way forward.

One of the ponies called to attention by the shopkeeper who had seen the approaching figure had recognized the pony on Big Mac’s back – almost everypony in town knew that face, and that hat. Braeburn looked to be unconscious, but it was indeed him being carried towards Appeloosa by a red-coated pony with a look of steadfast certainty on his face. As soon as the first pony had recognized him, everypony in the area had run out to meet the approaching stallion. Big Mac had collapsed as soon as the townsponies reached him, but he had done so slowly, making sure not to send Braeburn tumbling to the ground. The ponies had bombarded him with questions, immediately noticing his injured leg, and asking how long had he been walking for, what had happened, was everything alright. Macintosh had managed to murmur out a semblance of a response before fatigue overtook him.

“Braeburn’s hurt, bit by a snake. Needs a doctor. I could use some water.”

And with that, he had passed out, bathed in the heat of the sun and the frantic concern of half the town around him.

Several days of recuperation later found Braeburn and Big Macintosh on yet another train ride, this time with a group of strong-legged ponies pulling it at full force towards Ponyville.

The doctor had fretted over them equally, showering them with concern. Another few days, he had said, and Big Mac’s leg would have been written off, thanks goodness they made it back so fast. Many ponies had paid them visits in the infirmary, wishing them well and professing their amazement at the story – what had happened to the train? How had they survived in the desert without food and water, and still made it back so quickly with Mac’s injury? They were particularly amazed at Macintosh’s arrival, managing to carry his snake bitten cousin despite his own injury, to the edge of town. Big Mac had said it was nothing – he had just said that neither he nor Braeburn were the type to abandon their family when they were counting on them. Braeburn had smiled, and agreed.

The train was on its final stretch to Big Mac’s hometown. He was relieved know one in Appeloosa had known him well enough to write to his sister and inform her of the accident – that would have been several days of unnecessary worrying. Now, he was coming back just on schedule, and could happily explain what had happened without AJ fretting unduly.

He and Braeburn had selected the car furthers from the front, both of them lounging in the comfortable seats and watching the scenery. Mac’s hind leg was in a bulky cast which had been signed by everypony in Appeloosa, and was now more signatures and ink than plaster. Braeburn had managed to make it out of the doctor’s supervision without such a garish accessory, but he had been educated on the dangers of snake bites and given attention to his various bruises as well. Both of them had consumed record-breaking amounts of water, drinking until the last drop ran from the pitchers they were offered, and then asking for more.

Braeburn spoke up after giving a glance out the window at the rapidly moving scenery.

“Doesn’t look like too much further… should be at Ponyville in the next hour.”

“Sounds good to me.” Big Mac had stated repeatedly after the first day that he would take care to acknowledge his cousin’s travel estimations from that point forward – his accuracy had been one of few blessings on the walk back to town.

“So what are you gonna tell Applejack when you get back?”

Big Mac pondered for a moment, following Braeburn’s gaze to the window before tilting his head back and stretching. It felt like his body had worked a whole Applebuck season in a single day.

“Not sure. Gonna hafta mention it… just don’t want make her worry.”

“She cares about you cuz’, and she’s gonna worry no matter what you tell her. I think you should just give her the whole story… for simplicity’s sake.”

The red colt sighed in resignation.

“Eeyup. Just gotta find out how to do that…”

It had occurred to Braeburn in the last several days how much he missed hearing his cousin speak. For a stallion so great in size, Big Mac’s voice was calming and peaceful. It felt nice to speak and hear such a gentle response, where before, there had been gruffness or silence.

“’cuz?”

Big Mac lowered his head, removing his hooves from behind his neck and placing them onto the soft material of his seat.

“Mhm?”

“Do you think Applejack will be happy to see me? We got on well enough when she came down to Appeloosa last time, but I thought about some things since then… is she still mad at me?”

“Nope. AJ’s not the kind ta’ hold a grudge. She’ll be happy to see you, I reckon.”

The clacking of the trains wheels on the newly renovated track took over the conversation for a moment, rattling at the pair through the body of their train-car.

“Mac-“

Braeburn’s sentence cut off at his first word as Big Macintosh held his hoof aloft to signal a pause. The train rattled for a moment longer before Mac spoke.

“I’m glad you’re coming home to visit, Braeburn. It’ll be nice to have more family around.”

Braeburn smiled softly at Big Mac, who did the same in return. The two shared another moment of relative silence.

“It’ll be good to be home, Big Mac.”

Across the Broken Planes

Across the Broken Planes

The train pulled to a stop a mile outside the Appleoosa station. Cracked dessert ground spread out in all directions with a near perfect blue sky stretching out to the horizons lined with rocky hills and plateaus. Only one thing marred the sapphire sky. A column of black smoke rose from the direction of the settlement.

Stepping off the train, Big Macintosh moved to speak with the stallions pulling the engine. “This as far as you go?”
The stallion nodded, looking worriedly out at the ominous cloud of ash. “Regulation. Station is closed due to the emergency; we either let you off here or a mile beyond town.” The stallion eyed the large red earth pony. “It’s not that far off and you have a sturdy set of hooves, you’ll make it just fine.”

Big Mac nodded and gave the smoke pillar a long, hard look.

“You got family out there?”

“Eeyup.”

The stallion sighed and shook his head. “Well good luck to you then. Not exactly sure what went down, but it sure ain’t pretty.” Tipping his engineers cap, the Stallion returned to the head of the team and started down the track again.

Turning once more in the direction of Appleoosa, Big Mac broke into a thundering gallop across the plane.

Charred and twisted limbs reached towards the sky, a dark reminder of what used to be the town’s prized orchard. Most of the fires had been doused but embers still burned here and there and smoke poured from several of the buildings. Ponies were scrambling in the midst of it all. Bucket chains running from the well, ponies fetching supplies for this or that. The entire town was in chaos.

Stepping out of the temporary Sheriff’s building, the recently deputized Braeburn surveyed the damage with a heavy heart. Sheriff Silver Star was holed up in the infirmary with severe burns he received while evacuating a blazing school house, this left the yellow earth pony in charge of pulling the town back together. Turning his eyes to the tracks, he watched as another train sped by. A red blur on the horizon caught his eye. Smiling for the first time since yesterday morning, he galloped out to great his cousin.

“Thank Celestia you’re here, Macintosh. We need all the helping hooves we can get.”
“Happy to help,” Big mac replied as he surveyed the smoldering town with his usual appraising gaze. “What happened?”
Braeburn sighed. “I’ll tell you soon enough. First things first we need to clear some of that debris before it collapses.”

Nodding his head, the powerful red pony got to work.

That night, after most of the fires had been extinguished, Braeburn offered to share his tent with Macintosh. The deputy turned up the lamplight and threw his hat in the corner. “Bout a week ago these tough lookin ponies show up out of the blue, callin themselves the Roughriders. Lead by a mean looking peagasus goes by the name of T.R. Colt.” Braeburn sighed and sat down on his mat. “Well T.R. and his boys come riding into down and demand to see the Mayor, only we ain’t got one so we sent out the sheriff.

“T.R. introduced himself to all of us and gave us an ultimatum. He said we’d have to pay tribute to him and his, protection money as it were. If we didn’t pay up, bad things would happen. Well, you know Sheriff Silver Star. That pony is as stubborn as a mule and he didn’t budge an inch. They gave us three days to pay up, and we never did. We figured they just decided to leave well enough along, but then yesterday morning we woke up and,” he gestured towards the entrance to the tent, “suddenly the orchard was ablaze, ponies fleeing from the heat. It was still too dark to make out anything specific but a few folks say they saw some ponies in dark, carrying torches. No points for guessing who was behind it.”
Big Mac listened to the story with rapt attention. “When do we leave?”

“Beg your pardon?”

“This ain’t the kind of thing you let somepony walk away from.” Big Mac opened his saddle bag, pulling out a colt action rifle. It was designed to ride across the soldier, allowing for the user to tilt his head to look down the site and fire by kicking a leg. The gun was quite large and it was quite possible that it had been made specifically for the red earth pony.
“Oh Celestia, you’re talking about actually going out after them?” Braeburn eyed the gun warily.

“Eeyup.”

“And how exactly do you plan on finding them?”

Big Mac shrugged his heavy shoulders as he began cleaning and inspecting his rifle.

Braeburn let out a heavy breath, lying down on his side. After several minutes had passed, he spoke. “If we do this, we do it right. I’m a deputy now and I can’t just go around allowing ponies to take justice into their own hooves. We find him, we bring him in. Alive. You got that?”

Sliding the pieces back into place, the rifle came together with a metallic click. Putting the gun away, Macintosh nodded. “We do it right.” Dousing the lamp, he took his spot on his own mat. It was going to be an early morning tomorrow.

They set out in the grey hours before dawn, circling the town in widening circles, looking for any signs the Roughriders may have left behind on the hard packed dirt. That was going to be the greatest part of their challenge; the tough ground made for fewer tracks. Big Mac gave a low whistle, calling Braeburn to a halt. Pulling up short, the yellow earth pony trotted over to see what he had discovered.

Pointing a hoof at some trampled brush, Big Mac nodded his head westward. “They went thataway.”
Braeburn studied the bushes before looking off in the direction his partner had indicated. “There’s not much of anything out there to run to, just some hill country. How can you be sure?”

Macintosh grunted. “You got something else?”

“Fair enough,” Braeburn sighed. “Just wish we had a stronger lead to go on.”

It took them a couple hours to hit the hills. The sun had risen well above the horizon by now, putting the time around nine or ten o’clock. Holding up a hoof, Braeburn called for a halt. When Macintosh raised a questioning eyebrow, the deputy gave him a serious look. “Buffalo country, we need to barter for permission to pass.”

As if on cue, several bison moved out from behind hills and surrounded the two ponies. One of them, wearing a large feathered headdress, stepped forward to speak. “Braeburn, honored friend, it has been too long. What brings you to these pastures?”

Braeburn kneeled in respect, “Chief Thunderhooves, we come to ask for permission to cross your lands. We are in pursuit of out-“

The earth pony found himself suddenly interrupted as a much younger buffalo bounded into the circle, running up to give him a playful nuzzle. “Braeburn! It’s been forever since your last visit. What took you so long, huh?”

Chief Thunderhooves cleared his throat in an effort to regain control over the proceedings. “Little Strongheart, please. We are in the middle of something here.”

Blushing, Little Strongheart apologized and moved to join the circle of buffalo.

“Now then, as you were saying Braeburn?”

“Right, yes,” Braeburn started. “Two days ago, Appleoosa was attacked by a band of outlaws who have burned our orchards and left the town in ruin. We are in pursuit of them and believe they may have passed this way. Have y’all had any other visitors seek to cross your lands?”

Thunderhooves pondered this a while before speaking. “I am sorry that I cannot help you. A group such as you described did take refuge here two nights ago, but I am bound by the laws of my people to tell you nothing of them save that they were indeed here. Forgive me friend, but it would bring great dishonor to our people if we betrayed the trust placed in us by those that travel our lands.”

Braeburn sighed and hung his head slightly. “I understand, honored Chief.”

“Please, friends,” the Chief continued, “do not leave here in disappointment. For as long as you remain in our lands you may take whatever food and provisions you need, we ask for no price. Should you need room to rest, we can provide it. It saddens me that we cannot be more of service in your quest for justice.”

Braeburn nodded and thanked the Chief for his hospitality. Spitting on their hooves, the two of them shook and the deal was solidified. Turning to Macintosh, Braeburn gestured for him to follow. “Come on, as long as we’re here we might as well get something to eat.”

The two of them trailed after the buffalo, arriving at their village of tents in short order. Settling around one of the many fires, they gratefully accepted the bowels they were offered. The greyish brown mush may not have looked very appetizing but it was good sustenance for anyone with a long journey ahead of them. Didn’t taste half bad either.

“We can’t stay long here,” Big Mac reminded his partner. “T.R. gets further away every second we wait.”
Nodding, Braeburn took a mouthful of the mush he had been given and swallowing. “I know, we’ll leave at noon. See if we can pick up the trail again. Here’s hoping he didn’t change direction”

The two ate in near silence, only pausing to talk with the occasional curious buffalo. They were a nomadic people and tried to avoid larger settlements, so they didn’t get much in the way of news unless somepony came passing through.

At last it came time to leave. Making their way to the western edge of the Buffalo lands, Braeburn and Big Mac began looking for signs of their quarry’s passage. It was tough work, made even tougher by the dessert sun finally breaking through the cloud cover and giving the area its trademark heat.

A twig snapped and the earth ponies froze. Jerking his head towards a large rock off to the side of the path, Big Mac indicated they take cover and wait for their pursuer. A few seconds later, Little Strongheart came around the corner, looking worriedly over her shoulder.

“Does your father know you’re here, Little Strongheart?” Braeburn called out, stepping from behind the boulder.

“I reckon he doesn’t.” Big Mac replied, stepping out behind the young buffalo.

Little Strongheart jumped at the sudden appearance of the two ponies she had been sure hadn’t noticed her. “I-I couldn’t just sit by and do nothing,” she protested. “You said they attacked Appleoosa. Even if father isn’t going to help you, that place is like a second home to me now. I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing.”

Big Mac rolled his eyes, giving Braeburn a sideways glance. Braeburn shook his head and leaned in closer to the buffalo to speak. “Alright, you can come but only if you can make yourself useful.”

“I can tell you which direction they went,” Little Strongheart suggested. “I’m also pretty much the best tracker in the tribe. You can ask any of the other buffalo.”

Braeburn nodded. “Good enough for me, let’s get a move on.”

Beaming with excitement, Little Strongheart turned south. “They went that way. I think they may be headed for Colt Creek Canyon.”

“A lot of good hiding places there,” Braeburn muttered. “Good place for an ambush.”

Big Mac nodded in agreement. “How far away is it?”

Braeburn shrugged his shoulders. “A day and a half from Appleoosa, probably a full day’s ride from here. We should get started if we want to catch them. Lead the way, little sister.” Turning south, the trio set off in high hopes.

“Getting pretty dark, we should break for the night.” The stars shone high in the night sky, Luna’s moon barely a sliver against the speckled black. A dark mass sat on the horizon, the cliffs through which Colt Creek ran. Braeburn examined the tree they had stopped beside and nodded. “This is as good a place as any.”

Little Strongheart gave a happy sigh of relief and flopped down on the ground. “Thank Celestia, I’m exhausted. What do we have for dinner?”

Big Mac opened one of his saddle bags and tossed out some dried travel provisions. “No fires tonight. This is what we got.”
The young buffalo took a few tentative sniffs at the rations and winced. “This is it? Why can’t we cook something up proper?”
Braeburn shook his head. “They might have lookouts that would spot the fire and it would be bad of us to give our position away. No tents either, they might spot those from the cliff.” He took his rations and settled down. “We’re going to be getting up and making our way to the canyon a couple hours before dawn, so eat up and rest while you still can. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

Pouting, the young buffalo ate her food reluctantly and took a place opposite the earth pony’s to sleep.

“Can’t believe you talked me into letting her come,” Big Mac muttered. “It’s a dangerous business, what we do tomorrow.”
The yellow earth pony nodded wearily. “I know, but she was the only way we could have found this place. We were going completely in the wrong direction after all.” He sighed and leaned back against the tree. “She’s like a sister to me, Big Mac. I don’t want to see her getting hurt, you understand?”

“Eeyup.”

“Good.” Waiting until the soft sounds of slumber rose from the sleeping buffalo, the two earth ponies saddled up their bags and started for the canyon.

They reached Colt Creek Canyon an hour before dawn, the first rays of light beginning to trickle over the horizon to their left. The crack in the rock face was narrow, as was the trickle of water that flowed from it. Countless years of wind, rain and flowing water had worn the rock faces smooth and flat. With a wary eye on their surroundings, the earth ponies entered.
Big mac, having the gun, went in first. The passage was too narrow for them to enter side by side so they were forced to walk single file. If there was any shooting to be done, Macintosh would need a clear line of sight. Cloth bags tied around their hooves muffled the sound of their hoof beats, making their passage near silent. There were plenty of signs indicating recent use of the canyon. Scratches on the rocky floor from the passage of hooves told them they had found the right place.
“There should be something like a cave or an opening around here,” Braeburn said, keeping his voice low to avoid echoes. “I can’t imagine fitting a group into a space like this for too lo-” A sudden rumbling caused him to break off his sentence. Looking up, his jaw dropped and he pushed Big Mac forward, diving out of the way of a surprise rock slide.
“Well, look what we have here.” A voice cackled from somewhere in the canyon. The two earth ponies had fallen into a more open, circular area of the canyon. Glancing about wildly, they tried to pinpoint the source of the voice. “A true blue cowboy and his trusty side kick. Nice to see you again, Appleoosa boy! So glad you could drop by. I see you brought some muscle with ya.” Looking up, Braeburn spotted him. Standing at the edge of the canyon, high above the two of them a grey pegasus pony with a silver mane glared down at them with a wicked grin. A scare ran down one side of his face, crossing a milky white right eye and twisting part of his mouth into a permanent sneer. “My, you are a big fella aren’t ya? Had we met under slightly different circumstances, I’d have been happy to offer you a job. Might be kind of awkward now though, seeing as I’m bout to kill you.”

“Mac, he’s got us pinned in here,” Braeburn hissed. “Entrance is blocked off, we got no way out.”

Big Mac shook his head. “He’s not coming down here to kill us, he’s got his boys for that. I reckon they’re already down here.”

“Big and smart, I’m impressed Red.” T.R. Colt shook his head. “It’s a damn shame, really. Could a used a fine specimen like yourself. I’ll be leaving you boys to it then, be sure you say hi to my friends and smile real pretty when they gut ya.”

“Stay behind me,” Big Mac warned his partner, planting himself in front of the earth pony and readying his gun.

Braeburn cursed his luck for not thinking to bring along a real weapon, only thing he had on him was a rope. “Even if you do get em all, how the hay are we supposed to get out of here?”

“Colt left some of his boys down here to get us. They must have a back entrance or something to clear the rubble.” Big Mac shrugged his shoulders. “Doesn’t strike me as the kind of man to leave his own to rot.” Bringing the sights to his eye, Macintosh waited.

A gunshot rang through the air.

Cocking the gun, Big Mac took another shot and a second pony fell to the ground. “Y’all think you got something? Come on out and face me or I’ll show you just how yellow your bellies are,” Big Mac roared. The force of his voice startled Braeburn, he had never heard the normally soft spoken Macintosh raise his voice before. “Come and get me, you yellow bellied sons of donkeys.” Another gun shot, another man down.

The beast before Braeburn was an entirely different creature from the cousin Braeburn knew and loved. The Big Mac he knew was kind, gentle and never spoke ill of others. This thing in front of him was a blazing inferno of focused anger and precision. Braeburn couldn’t even begin to imagine what had happened to make him this way.

A voice called out from behind the rocks. “Buck this, this ain’t what I signed up for. Y’all can get yourselves killed if you want, but it just ain’t worth it. A gun flashed through the open air and landed on the ground. “I’m coming out now, I’ll come quiet. T.R. can go buck himself if he thinks we’ll throw away our lives for him.” Unarmed, a rust colored earth pony stepped into view with his head hung low. “We deserve whatever you got coming for us in town, but it beats dying out in some bucking gulch in the middle of bucking nowhere. Name’s Clyde, by the way.”

Nodding, Braeburn retrieved the rope from his saddle bags and bound Clyde’s neck. He made sure to leave enough slack for any others they could take alive. “Your pal here is smart, y’all should follow his example and throw down your guns. I’m not quite sure what’s gotten into my buddy here, but I don’t think he’d even feel it if you pegged him with one of your pea shooters. Why don’t y’all do the wise thing and come on out.” There were a few moments of tense silence before two more guns flashed through the air, landing in a pile beside Clyde’s piece. Braeburn smiled. “Very good, now come on out and get your share of rope before we run out.”

While Braeburn bound the other two captives, Big Mac allowed himself to go limp and fall back against the wall. “I think that’s about all I can handle,” he said in his usual, gentle tones. “Getting all worked up like that takes a lot out of a fella.” His eyes stared into space, his mind drifting to faraway places.

Braeburn took a worried glance at his cousin before turning back to their captives. “Alright you lot, how the hay do we get out of this place?”

“Got a back way in and out through a cave,” Clyde answered. Since being tied up he had decided to make himself as useful as possible to the earth ponies who had taken him in. “It’s hidden from the outside but we should be able to find it just fine from down here.”

With Big Mac keeping a bead on them, the group made their way to the rear passage with Clyde in the lead. The passage curved around and let them out about half way up the cliff, a quarter mile from the canyon’s entrance. The rock had been carved away into a narrow stair case, allowing all of the ponies to descend safely. The sun had just crested over the horizon as they were making their way back to the tree. An air of disappointment had entered Braeburn’s demeanor.
“What’s gotten into you?” Clyde asked the deputy. “You caught us, didn’t ya?”

“But your ring leader got away.” Braeburn replied. “Can’t track a Pegasus when they don’t leave tracks.”

“He can’t fly far, not on those wings,” another one of the ponies spoke up. “He thought we wouldn’t notice but I used to be a doctor. He’s got some kind of arthritis creaking up his joints. Sure he can glide and jump pretty good, but any kind of actual flying would have him in pain by the end of the day.”

“So what you’re saying is…”

“He’s still around here somewhere, yeah. Probably leapt from the cliff to get a good gliding head start.”

Stepping close to the deputy, Macintosh nudged his shoulder. “Can’t go chasing after him now, not with these three in tow. He’ll have to wait.” They were approaching the tree.

“Yeah, I know. And by the time we’ve turned these three in he’ll be long gone.”

“Well then, let me save you the trouble and take them off your hands now.” Came a voice from ahead of them.

Looking up in shock, Braeburn and Macintosh watched as T.R. Colt came out from behind the tree and threw Little Strongheart to the ground. Placing a hoof against the young buffalo’s head, he grinned wickedly. “No here’s what’s going to happen. You throw down your gun and send my boys over, and I’ll be generous enough to let this pretty little thing go. If you don’t…” he began applying his weight against Little Strongheart’s head, the little buffalo squirming from the pain. “Well, let’s just say things will get messy.”

Big Mac reached to ready his gun but Braeburn stayed him. “We don’t have a choice this time, cousin. He’s got us by the throat.” Walking over to Clyde, Braeburn began to undo his ropes while Big Mac unharnessed his rifle.
“Clyde, go on ahead and bring his gun over here,” called out. “That’s a mighty fine piece he has.”
Clyde picked up the gun and hesitated for a second.

“Come on Clyde, get it over here. Give it to me!”

Clyde turned and smiled. “Sure thing boss.” He pulled the trigger, a shot exploding from the rifles barrel and passing straight through the pegasus’s kneecap and causing him to crumple to the ground. The next shot hit one of his wings at the base, nearly severing it from the rest of the body.

“Celestia bucking dammit Clyde, what’s gotten into you?” T.R. roared. “You’re dead, do you hear me? DEAD!”

“You’re a damn fool, Ted.” Clyde sneered. “You just left the rest of us back there to die and you thought we were just gonna come running back to you? The Roughriders are done, Ted. It’s time we owned up.”

T.R. writhed on the ground, a stream of obscenities flowing from his mouth while Braeburn comforted Little Strongheart. Big Macintosh scowled at the former leader of the out laws, a gentle “tap” on the head rendering him unconscious. “Bandage him up. Won’t be no justice done if he dies before we get home.”

Clyde walked up to stand behind Braeburn. “I hate to do this friend,” he leveled Big Mac’s gun at his head, “but I figure I just helped you nab your catch so you owe me a favor. What’s going to happen here is I’m going to take this gun and I’m going to disappear.” He raised his eyebrows at Macintosh who had started to approach. “Nah ah ah, stay put now. Let me say my piece. Y’all won’t have to worry about me, you can be sure I’m staying well clear of your little town after this mess. What I need is a fresh start and with dear old Theodore out of the way I finally have the makings of my very own posse. You got your bad guy, the day is yours. Now the rest of us are gonna leave, and you’re not gonna follow.” The rust colored earth pony smiled. “You said it yourself, if he don’t get help soon he’s not going to make it.”

Braeburn swallowed. “Fine, get out of here.” Big Mac gave him an incredulous look. “Ain’t got much of a choice, do we?”
Chuckling, Clyde lowered the gun and stepped away. “I’m glad you could see reason. Go on and take your prize, cowboy. Perhaps we’ll meet again someday.”

Braeburn shot a challenging grin back at the outlaw. “You can count on it. As soon as I see justice done with this here Pegasus, I’ll be coming after you next.”

The russet pony laughed. “I’ll be looking forward to it then. Take care of yourself now, next time we meet I’ll just as likely buy you a drink as shoot ya.” Rounding up his companions, Clyde galloped off into the west.

“You sure we should be letting them go?” Big Mac wondered after the retreating outlaws.

“There will always be another chance,” Braeburn said with a sigh. “I’ll catch back up with them eventually.” Turning northwards, Braeburn helped Little Strongheart back to her feed while Big Mac slung a bound T.R. across his back. “Now let’s get going. It’s a long ways back to buffalo country and I want to see this son of a donkey live long enough to get what’s coming for him.”

With that, the three of them galloped off across the broken planes, the wings of victory speeding them home.

A Hoof Full of Bits

The sounds of the southwestern Equestria desert were the sounds of peace. Quiet winds blew through the open deserts, sending tumbleweeds rolling across the sandy plains. Rattlesnakes wound their way out of the desert heat and into the shade of the rocks that dotted the landscape. One would say that it was the quietest place in Equestria, if it weren’t for the melancholy whistle of the train.

Aboard that train were a dozen school children headed on a weekend trip to Appleloosa to learn how the settler ponies of the west lived. As they bounced throughout the train cars, bravely defying their bedtimes and several laws of physics, the group of adults assigned to them sat playing cards at the rear of the car. The stallion, a massive red beast, looked at his card before pushing his hat up to eye the mulberry pony sitting across from him.

“Got any twos?” asked Big Mac.

“Go fish,” said Cheerilee. Big Mac drew a card and dropped his final pair on the table.

“That’s your sixth win in a row, Big Macintosh,” said Carrot Top. “Are you sure that you’re playing fair?”

“Eyup,” said Big Mac. “Just lucky I guess.”

“Well, it’s ten thirty, we should probably round up all these children for bed,” said Cheerilee. “I can’t thank you two enough for coming all the way out here.”

“Not a problem, dear,” said Carrot Top with a toss of her orange mane. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to let you know sooner. I couldn’t imagine sending my little sister all the way out here by herself. Besides, I can’t remember that last time I was out west.”

“Couldn’t let you come out all by yer lonesome,” said Big Mac. “Besides, we ain’t spent all that much time together since before you went off to college.”

Cheerilee blushed, though she hid it well beneath her mulberry coat. She pushed aside her candy striped mane with a giggle before putting on her teacher voice.

“Alright children,” she called. “Everyone into the sleeping car. We’ve got a lot of walking to do tomorrow and I don’t want to hear any complaints that you didn’t get enough sleep.”

The sad complaints and disappointed “awhs” of the children were not enough to dissuade Cheerilee from corralling the children into the sleeper car. The Cutie Mark crusaders were, as always, the last to make their way into the car.

“Ah told yah we couldn’t hide from Cheerilee,” said Applebloom. “We already tried gettin’ our ninja cutie marks.”

“Pft,” scoffed Scootaloo. “Because that worked so well.”

“Maybe we’ll get our cutie marks for being cow-ponies!” said Sweetie Belle.

“Nah,” said Applebloom. “That’s a bunch of bull...” She stopped short as Big Macintosh shook his head in disapproval. “Baloney.”

With the last of the fillies and colts in the car, Cheerilee bid Carrot Top and Big Macintosh a good night and slid the doors closed behidn her. Big Macintosh yawned, stretching his hooves wide. He rolled his neck around to the side with a soft cracking and put his rear legs up on the seat in front of him.

“Are you sure there isn’t room for us back there?” asked Carrot Top. “It’s not going to be very comfortable to sleep out here.”

“Sure ain’t,” said Big Mac. “Less you want to spend the night with Miss Cheerilee.”

Carrot Top chuckled softly. “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind to much. I know you two were a thing back in school.”

“Those days are long past,” said Big Mac. “Cheerilee’s married to the job now and a pony like me ain’t got nothin’ to offer a clever mare like her.”

“Ah, don’t sell yourself short,” said Carrot Top as she settled into a chair. “You’re clever enough for any pony.”

A tinny bang echoed through the car as the train jostled a moment. Carrot Top sat bolt upright trying to figure out what that noise was. Big Macintosh only pushed down his hat and closed his eyes.

“Nothin’ to worry about, Top. Just some debris on the track,” said Big Mac. “Get some sleep. Like Miss Cheerilee said, we got a lot of walking to do tomorrow.”

Not even ten feet above their heads, a khaki feathered griffin stood atop the train car. Her landing was much harder than she expected and she waited with baited breath for someone to investigate. As the minutes ticked by with no acknowledgement of her presence, she crept from her position on the roof toward the couplings. She looked up, waiting in silence for a signal in the darkness.

It was nearly an hour before a light responded in soft flashes of green. The griffin crawled from the train top to the platform, inching her way along the steel walls toward the coupling. She paused to look into the windows and saw the adults she was looking for. A mare and a stallion, quietly sleeping in opposite seats. That meant the children were in the other car, alone and unprotected. The light again cut through the darkness with a soft twinkle. It was time.

The griffin slammed a rear paw into the coupling, releasing the rear cars from the rest of the train with a quiet snap. As the load lightened for the engineer ponies, the train began to speed up. The released cars began to lose momentum and the griffin rolled off the coupling platform. She took to the skies in a burst of wings that signaled the flickering light in the distance to approach.

An Mule and a diamond dog furiously pumped a hoof cart along the tracks as a splash of white filled the night sky with reflected moonlight. The Diamond Dog nodded to the mule and the two doubled their efforts. Within a minute, they on top of slowing train car. A moment later, the couples snapped together. The mule touched the slightest hoof to the brake, so as not to fill the air with the squeal of steel on steel. The cars began to slow as the train vanished into over the hills of the Appleloosa territory.

“Nice work, Goffin,” said the mule to the landing griffin.

“Naturally,” she replied, brushing her claws against her chest. “Nice to see that Maxie could keep up this time.” The Diamond Dog only growled at Goffin. “So, who’s the customer this time?”

“Well,” said the mule, wiping his brow. “This crop is from Ponyville. I hear they’re all pretty rich there, so the boss says it’s going to be a straight ransom job this time around.”

“And if they don’t pay?” asked Goffin.

“We’ll worry about that if it happens,” Max growled.

***

The squeal of steel brought Big Mac from his restful sleep to the state of groggy half awareness that comes with sleeping in a chair overnight. He blinked, wiping the sleep from his eyes as he stared out at the sun rising over the Appaloosa ruins. It was going to be a beautiful winter day; he only hoped Cheerilee had woken up the children so they too could watch the glorious sun rise. He shoved open the rear door to find that the back three cars had gone missing during the night. The engineer ponies at the front of the train were stretching their necks and hooves when Big Mac came galloping up to them.

“There’s cars missin!” he yelled.

“I thought it felt lighter than normal,” said the lead engineer. “Don’t worry, this happens a lot. I keep telling our engineers we gotta fix those couplings, but no one ever listens to me.” He scratched his nose with a hoof. “Which car was it?”

“The one with all the kids in it,” said Big Mac. The four train ponies snapped to attention at that, and shook off their harnesses. They galloped to the rear of the car as Carrot Top emerged from the door. The five stallions stared in horror as they looked up her.

“Awh, come on now,” said Carrot Top. “My mane’s not that bad, is it?”

Big Mac only pointed a hoof at the message tacked to the exterior of the train. It was a scroll of parchment, pinned to the car with a knife.

If you want to see your children alive again, bring two hundred and fifty thousand bits to the old Rock Cemetery by Sunday.

You cannot find us.

You cannot tame us.

Do not test us.

Carrot Top looked up at the note, then back at the crowd of Ponies that had gathered behind the train. They stood staring in horror at the note as they tried to process what to make of it. A group of stallions pushed through the crowd.

“Outta the way, outta the way,” the stallions yelled as they pushed through the crowd. The three approached the train car, pausing only to look at the note. The yellow earth pony looked at the note, before turning to Big Mac.

“What’s goin’ on here?” he asked.

“Looks like our train car fulla kids got foal-napped, Braeburn” said Big Mac. “Applebloom was with ‘em. I didn’t even hear anything last night. Must have happened after I went to sleep.”

“You seem awful quick to pass the blame,” said the cyan earth pony.

“Cormano!” scolded Sherriff Silverstar. “You show our visitor some respect. I didn’t deputize you so you could go around makin’ accusations.” The earth pony straightened his mustache. “Sorry, Big Mac. You were sayin’?”

“Well, I fell asleep round eleven last night,” said Big Mac. “I got up to get a drink around one, and the car was still there. Carrot Top was with me in the car. I’m sure she’ll tell you the same.”

“I didn’t hear anything either,” said Carrot Top. “Do you think they’re going to be okay?”

“Hard to say,” said Silverstar. “Cormano, get that letter.”

Silverstar and Cormano studied the note for a moment. The writing was a perfect script, clearly better than anything a pony could write by mouth.

“This looks like griffon writing,” said Silverstar. “All perfect and flowery. Unless it’s unicorn.”

“I’d say unicorn,” said Cormano. “Look at those loops.”

“There ain’t a unicorn in a hundred miles of here,” said Silverstar. “Get this back to the station and get Canterlot on the wire. I’m callin’ in the royal guard. You two better come with me.”

“Ah think we better get lookin’ for that car,” suggested Big Mac. “If it’s still on the tracks, it could cause a big problem for the next train to come through.”

“My cousin’s right, Silverstar,” said Braeburn. “I’ll take him up the tracks to see if we can’t find it. His marefriend can stay here with you.”

“This here is Carrot Top,” said Big Mac, “and she ain’t my marefriend”

“Well then,” said Braeburn, removing his hat. “Welcome to Apploosa, Miss Carrot Top. I’m sorry it couldn’t have been under nicer circumstances. I would have loved to show a beautiful mare like you around town. Don’t you worry none; the Apple family will get your sister back lickity split.”

“What makes you think I’m not going to help?” asked Carrot Top. “That’s my sister on that car too.”

“Well come on then,” said Braeburn. “We got a lot of ground to cover.”

Three ponies galloped into the rising sun, their long shadows dragging behind as they followed the iron railway back toward Ponyville. The disconnect had happened at night, sometime after one in the morning. That meant they had at least sixty miles of track to cover before the day’s end; double since they would have to make the return trip. Big Mac set a steady gallop for the ponies as they rolled through the desert to find their family.

***

It’s so nice getting to sleep in, thought Cheerilee from behind the darkened curtains of her bed. It could only be nicer if some pony was making breakfast. She sniffed the air, hoping against hope that somepony was making eggs. What she smelled instead was the scent of feathers and musty fur.

She recognized the scent of musty fur; she had encountered it the previous summer. She also knew that the scent meant nothing but trouble. It meant there was a Diamond Dog aboard her train. As she peered through the crack in her curtains, a grey head lumbered past. It took her a second to realize the car wasn’t moving. She checked the window; they were in the middle of nowhere. The fuzzy head turned to face her bed curtains.

Cheerilee burst from behind her curtain with a kick, knocking the Diamond Dog off his feet. When he went to stand, Cheerilee stomped him again. She turned to scream at the children, but a sharp left hook from a griffon claw sent her reeling. Cheerilee reeled back from the blow and ducked under second. She snapped forward, grabbing a mouthful of feathered wing. Goffin screamed in pain as Cheerilee reared back. She let go, sending Goffin tumbling across the car in an explosion of feathers. Cheerilee lifted a hoof, ready to deliver a knockout punch when the sharp sting of a sap knocked her to the floor in an unconscious heap.

“I thought we got all the fillies and colts!” coughed Max.

“This must be their teacher,” said Steel Wheel. “I thought you said she was on the train!”

“There was another mare in the other car!” said Goffin. “All you ponies look alike to me.”

“Oh shut up,” said Max, holding his ribs. “Put her in the cart with the children. Make sure those ropes are tight. I want them to hurt when she wakes up.”

Goffin bent down to bind Cheerilee when she saw her cutie mark. Three smiling sunflowers stared back at her as she roped the mare’s legs together. She looked to her own flanks, wondering what sort of mark she would have, if griffins got cutie marks. She shook the thought out of her head. If she was good at anything, it didn’t need to be displayed across her flanks. Goffin lifted Cheerilee onto her back and stepped through the doorway.

The sunlight was over the horizon now and the cart full of struggling fillies and colts stared back at Goffin with pleading eyes. Cheerilee dropped in beside them with an unceremonious thud. Steel Wheel looked back to the wagon, and shook his head.

“Let’s get going! We’re never going to make it to Ridgeline caverns at this rate,” he said.

“Don’t talk in front of the prisoners,” said Max. ”Any information we give them will only lead the authorities closer to our arrest.”

“Oh, they’re just kids,” said Goffin. “They’re probably too scared to remember anything from all this.” She leaned down into the cart. “Now you all just stay quiet, none of you will get hurt, got it?” She fluttered to the front of the cart. “Alright, You and Max head to the hideout, I’m going to head toward Hoofnail for some supplies for these brats. I’ll meet you back at the regular place.”

She took to the sky in a cloud of dust that left the Diamond Dog and mule coughing in her wake. Max wiped the sand from his eyes and snorted.

“Stupid Griffin,” he snarled. “Everyone who isn’t us is the enemy. I wish she’d get that through her feathered head.”

“Come off it,” said Steel Wheel. “We’re about to be rich. Once we ransom these kids back, you’ll never have to see her again. Now quit whining and help me with this cart.”

***

Carrot Top, Big Mac, and Braeburn slowed to a trot as they approached the rail cars. They had no idea if the children were still inside. If they were, who were they with? Were they in immediate danger? Braeburn motioned to Carrot Top to come with him and they started to sneak toward the car. Big Mac trotted around to the rear and positioned himself below the door. He glanced underneath the train car to find Braeburn doing the same. He clopped at the dirt three times, then pointed to the door. Big Mac nodded, and hoofed at the dirt. One. Two…

On three, Big Mac spun and bucked the rear door into an explosion of splinters. On the opposite side of the train, Braeburn did the same and the two ponies rushed through the car. Amid the flying splinters and shattered glass, it only took a moment to realize that it was empty, save for the children’s luggage that had been abandoned in the aisle.

“We’re too late,” said Carrot Top, looking around the cabin.

“Shoot,” said Braeburn. He put a hoof to his lips. “Beg your pardon for my language.”

“Hey Brae, what do yah make of this?” asked Big Mac, picking up a feather. The ponies looked at it for a moment, then noticed the pile of grey hair in the same spot. Carrot Top leaned down to sniff it, and recoiled in disgust.

“Well that’s Diamond Dog hair,” said Carrot Top. “Smells like burnt carrots and sweat. I don’t know about that feather though. It’s too long to be a griffin feather.”

“Unless it’s from a wing,” said Braeburn. “But they don’t shed flight feathers like that unless…”

“Someone got a few licks in,” said Big Mac. “I’m guessin’ it was Cheerilee. Well, she’ll keep those kids safe if it’s the last thing she ever does.”

“Don’t talk like that!” said Carrot Top. “We’re going to find them!”

“Well, we’re going to have to,” said Braeburn. “I ain’t got a quarter of a million bits to pay for ransom.”

“Me either,” said Big Mac. “I might be able to sell the farm for that price, but we’re in a lot of trouble if we don’t find those kids before tomorrow. What all is out here?”

Braeburn put a hoof to his chin, and thought.

“Well, Hoofnail is around here somewhere to the north,” he said after a minute. “That’s a real hole of a place where no self respectin’ pony would ever go.” He paused a moment. “Then again, we’re talkin about a pony that hangs around with griffins and Diamond Dogs, so there’s as good a place to start as any.”

“What are we waiting for?” asked Carrot Top. “Let’s get moving!”

“Hold on, young lady,” said Braeburn. “A pretty thing like you ain’t go no business in a town like Hoofnail. It’s all bandits and bad guys, and I won’t have you risking you pretty orange locks goin’ there.”

“Do I have to remind you that my sister is in this too?” asked Carrot Top. “I can fight just as well as any other farm girl, Braeburn. I do have brothers, you know.”

“Alright then,” said Braeburn. “Should be about dozen or so miles north of here. Let’s get going.”

***

It was the pain in her head that awoke Cheerilee. Not the sort of headache that one gets from a wonderful night on the town, but the sort of headache that comes from some taking a sap to the back of the head. She opened her eyes and looked out into the caverns.

In front of here were the dozen faces of her students, each one bound hoof and snout with tears of terror in their eyes. She looked to them all, counting their faces as if calling roll. They were all there, all accounted for and all unharmed. Cheerilee gnawed on her gag for a moment, grinding the fabric with her molars like it was hay. It finally snapped and she spit the rag to the floor.

“Is everyone okay?” she whispered. Sobs of fear met with nodding heads as Cheerilee looked over her class. She leaned down and worked the rope with her teeth. In a moment, she was free and untying her students.

“Don’t make a sound,” she whispered. “I know you’re scared, but if you make a sound, they’re going to come back here, and we can’t have that, now can we?” She quickly undid the ropes binding Applebloom.

“I’m scared Miss Cheerilee,” whispered Apple Bloom. “Why would they take us?”

“I don’t know, sweetie,” said Cheerilee, glancing down the cavern. “Help me get everypony else untied so we can get out of here. Quick as you can, just be quiet about it.” Applebloom swallowed hard and nodded. It was only a moment before she untied Scootaloo, and another as Cheerilee untied Sweetie Belle. “Help me untie everyone,” she said. “Hurry, I don’t know…”

“How the heck did you get free?” boomed a gravelly voice. Cheerilee shoved the trio behind her as she turned to face the Diamond Dog. “I told that feather head to make sure those ropes were tight.”

“You let us go right now,” snarled Cheerilee. “I swear by the light of Celestia’s sun, if you hurt one hair on any of their manes, I will end you.”

“Like a female knows how to fight,” scoffed Max. “I’m not here to hurt them, just ransom them back. If you’ve got two hundred and fifty thousand bits somewhere, you’re free to have them all.”

“No one’s got that kind of money,” said Cheerilee.

“Well, then the Diamond Dogs will buy them,” said Max, polishing his claws on his vest. “Raise them from fillies and colts and you’ve got loyal slaves to the end.” He chuckled. “You, on the other hand are nothing but trouble. Perhaps you should have a seat before these children see you torn to shreds.”

Cheerilee stomped a hoof in the dirt, and lowered her head. It had been a while since her last tussle, but she wasn’t about to let some Diamond Dog push her or her students around. The Cutie Mark Crusaders cowered behind her.

“I’m going to distract him,” she whispered. “You three get out of here and get us help. I know you can do it. I’ll hold him off.”

“But Miss Cheerilee,” said Scootaloo.

“Just do it!” she growled.

In a mulberry flash, Cheerilee was next to the diamond dog with a two hoofed uppercut that sent him sprawling to the cave floor. The girls dashed past the downed Diamond Dog, as Cheerliee stomped on his back. Max growled in anger and swatted Cheerilee into the cave wall.

Cheerilee rolled off the wall and bucked, knocking the Diamond Dog backward into a stone pillar. Max weaved underneath another hoof, then another. Cheerilee was no fighter, but she fought like mother for her students. She ducked under a swiping claw and reared back with a kick that sent Max to the ground, clutching his ribs.

“Alright,” wheezed Max. “I’ve had enough of you, mare.” He threw out a pawful of claws and charged across the stone floor. Cheerilee rolled away from the attack and turned to buck Max in the back. She stopped mid-buck as his claws hovered over Diamond Tiara. “One more move and the fancy filly here gets it.” Cheerilee came back down to her hooves, seething.

“Typical,” said a voice behind her. Cheerilee swiveled to face the new voice. It was somehow familiar, but distant, like the voice of someone she had spoken with briefly. “I should have given them better instructions. Something like “watch out for the mare with fire in her heart.” Are you okay, Max?”

“I’ll be fine,” he snarled.

“There is a reason I had you bring your fillies out here,” said the voice. “I knew that young miss Applebloom would be among them, and that her Big Brother and cousin Braeburn wouldn’t let a little thing like money keep them apart.”

“The Apple family doesn’t have that kind of money,” said Cheerliee. “The only way they could raise that much cash is if they…”

“Sold the farm?” asked the voice. “Yes, I’m well aware. It’d be well enough to see the Apple Family reduced to poverty. It’ll be even sweeter still to see all the cherry trees replace the apple trees. And none of that stupid buffalo nonsense to deal with either.” She squinted into the darkness, and snapped back when she recognized the pony.

“You!” said Cheerilee. “You rotten son of a…”

The crash of a paw sent Cheerilee to the stone again. Max held his head as he gathered more rope. The other pony approached, and sighed.

“Make sure she can’t get free,” said the pony. “And bind those children together. We can’t have our retirement fund getting away from us.”

***

They had gone the wrong direction and had to climb through a pile of lead slugs as they ascended the rear shaft of the mine. But after a minute of climbing, the three young fillies galloped from the cave and into the noon sunlight. There were running on pure fear now, their hooves and hearts pounding as every fiber of their being told them to run away. They ran for nearly ten minutes before pausing to take a breath.

“We gotta go back,” panted Scootaloo. “We’ve gotta help Cheerilee!”

“We are helpin’ Miss Cheerilee!,” said Applebloom. “We gotta find help.”

“How are we gonna do that?” asked Sweetie Belle. “We need big ponies. Like Carmel! Or the Doctor!”

“Dr who?” asked Applebloom. She shook her head. “No, we gotta find Big Mac. He’ll be able to fight… whatever that thing was. And he’s sweet on Cheerilee, so you know he’ll help!”

“Alright, where do we go then?” asked Scootaloo.

“Head for the tracks!” said Sweetie Belle. She pointed a hoof toward the desert. “If we follow the tracks, we’re bound to find some pony who can help us.”

A wind swept through the valley, howling across the open desert. The three girls stared out into the desert, looking for the straight lines of rail that were supposed to be out here. What they saw instead was an expanse of sand and distant mesas. The girls turned to each other, hoping that one of them would the answer. Applebloom finally pointed a hoof.

“Let’s go this way,” she said. “I think we came out a different entrance then we went in, but the tracks can’t be that far.”

The three fillies set out into desert with no direction, and no clue what to do next. After an hour of wandering, they were no closer to the tracks then when they started. Not even Sweetie Belle’s suggestion of a desert survival cutie mark could cheer the Cutie Mark Crusaders up. They simply walked along the sands, hoping for some glimmer of activity that they could run to for help.

For hours they walked, seemingly in circles as the sun climbed across the desert sky. It was winter, fortunately, and the sands didn’t burn with summer heat that would have left the fillies to roast. Instead they only grew tired as the sand passed beneath them and by the time the moon rose, the girls had collapsed by a rock.

“I’m tired,” moaned Applebloom.

“I’m hungry,” complained Scootaloo.

“I’m seeing things,” said Sweetie Belle. Applebloom and Scootaloo turned to Sweetie Belle in confusion. She pointed into the distance. “There’s some kinda big hairy pony over there.”

The girls looked to see a hairy figure in the distance, huddled over a campfire. Scootaloo and Applebloom rubbed their eyes to make sure they weren’t seeing things.

“Sweetie Belle, you’re not seein’ things,” said Applebloom. “That’s really there!”

“Maybe it’s someone who can help us!” said Scootaloo, jumping to her hooves. “Come on!”

With a renewed vigor, the three fillies galloped across the sands toward the hooded figure in front of the camp fire. Their spirits lifted as they drew closer; hopefully to some pony who would help them. They slowed to a trot as they approached the pony’s fire.

“Thank Celestia we found you!” said Applebloom.

“And who are you?” boomed the figure. The three fillies took a step back as the shape got to his feet. He was gigantic; nearly five times the size of the fillies, with massive horns and shaggy brown fur. His two tiny eyes sized up the fillies a moment before speaking again. “And how did you young ladies get this far out into the desert?”

“Wh… what are you?” asked Sweetie Belle. The creature tilted his head at her.

“You have never met a buffalo?” he asked. “We are the natives of this land that you call Appleloosa and we roam the plains in great herds.”

“But there’s only one of you,” said Scootaloo. The fillies looked to Scootaloo with looks of terror. “Well, I’m right aren’t I?”

“He could be the last of his kind!” said Sweetie Belle. “And you just made him feel bad!”

“I am a wanderer,” replied the buffalo. “You may call me Tall Grass.”

“Uh, pleasure to meet you,” said Applebloom. “I hate to impose, but can you help us? A bunch of us got snatched from our train and our teacher sent us out here to get help.”

“What would you have me do?” asked Tall Grass.

“You’re huge!” said Sweetie Belle. “You could smash that… whatever it was and help us free Miss Cheerilee and all the students.”

He turned to Sweetie Belle. “I know of your teacher,” he said. “But I am an old buffalo and I am no fighter. I can take you to a pony town nearby. You can find help there, I’m sure.

“You got anything to eat?” asked Scootaloo. “We’ve been wandering all day, and I’m hungry.”

“What is mine is yours,” said Tall Grass, gesturing to his pack. “We will go to Hoofnail shortly, for the nights in the desert are cold, and I have but one blanket.”

***

The town of Hoofsnail was, as Braeburn said, a total hole. The buildings were mostly assemblies of whatever scrap could be found in the desert nailed to burnt out frames and roofed with tin and tar paper. The nicest building in town, if nice was the descriptor you were going to use, was the bar. It had four walls, a second story, and even real roof. What it had in architecture, it lacked in class, which was apparent from the moment they walked in the door.

The walls were pocked with hoofmarks and knife holes and a pony wearing far too much makeup stood flaunting her aging goods at any pony who’d watch. A mule stood behind the bar, polishing a glass with a dirty rag as a Diamond Dog played an out of tune piano in the corner. A dozen pairs of eyes turned to stare at the trio as they stepped inside the bar. The piano went silent for a moment as Big Mac turned an eye to the crowd. The music resumed and the patrons went back to their drinks.

“What a dump,” said Carrot Top.

“Well, we’re not here for the atmosphere, that’s for sure,” said Braeburn. “We’ll start workin’ the patrons. Mac, you see if you can get any information out of the bartender.”

Big Mac swaggered to the bar and pointed to a bottle of rotgut caught his eye. The bartender swept up the bottle in a hoof and poured a shot for the big stallion. Big Mac grabbed the shot glass in his teeth and downed the vile fluid in a single gulp. It stank like turpentine and tasted like death, but it was enough to get the bartender talking.

“No one ever orders that,” he said. “Mostly because that’s what I use to clean the bar with. But you didn’t even flinch, big fella.” He rolled the cigar between his teeth. “I like you, stranger.”

“It’s nice to be liked,” said Big Mac. “But I need information.” He plucked the griffon’s feather from his hat and rolled around in his teeth. “This look familiar?” The bartender rolled his cigar again, sizing up the stallion.

“Could be,” said the bar tender. “What’s it worth to you?”

“Could be worth a whole lot, dependin’ on what you know,” said Big Mac. “You see, my sister’s been foal-napped. I don’t know if you have a sister, but I’m the sort of pony who would bring down the heavens for my family.” He dropped the feather on the bar, and slid the bar tender a hooful of bits. “You think of anything you want to tell me, you let me know.”

Big Mac swaggered over to a group of stallions that had cornered Carrot Top. He simply tapped one on the shoulder and motioned with a hoof for them to scram. The much smaller stallions quailed in the face of a giant like Big Mac and promptly found other places to be.

“Well, thank you, Big Mac,” said Carrot Top. “I was just about to punch him in the mouth.”

“Let’s see if we can get out of here without an incident,” said Big Mac. He looked over to see Braeburn downing shots with a group of laughing ponies. “And without getting completely hammered.” Big Mac walked behind Braeburn and tapped him on the shoulder.

“These ponies have somethin’ real interstin’ to tell us!” slurred Braeburn. “They say that the only griffin in all of Apploosa territory is a bird named Goffin and that she’s with a gang called the Hoof, Claw, and Paw. Ain’t that right boys?” The ponies cheered again as they raised the glasses for another shot.

“I think you’ve had enough,” said Big Mac.

“Naw!” said Braeburn, taking a swig of beer. “You do a shot, you chase it with a beer.” A big green eye winked at Big Mac. “Ain’t that right boys!” The ponies again cheered and did another shot. “So tell me, where can I find this Hoof, Claw, and Paw?”

“They have a cave in the middle of the desert,” said a pegasus. “No pony knows where it is, but they say it is guarded by magic!”

“No, no!” said a unicorn. “It’s guarded by a three headed Diamond Dog!”

“It’s guarded by me,” squawked Goffin. The trio turned to face the griffin, who already hunkered low and readied for battle. “Who the hay are you strangers?”

“The name’s Big Macintosh,” he said. “And I believe you’ve taken something that doesn’t belong to you.”

“If you think you’re going to beat anything out of me, then you’re dead wrong,” said Goffin. “Because my gang owns this town. Isn’t that right, boys?”

The screech of barstools and the clatter of beer bottles prompted the trio to stand back to back as the population of the bar surrounded them.

“First one to draw blood gets a round on me,” said Goffin.

The bar exploded into a shower of chaos as a half a dozen ponies jumped on Big Macintosh. Braeburn took the opportunity to dive under four ponies who came for him. Carrot Top weaved past the crowd to block Goffin from leaving.

“Where do you think you’re going?” asked Carrot Top.

“I don’t’ have time for you, mare,” spat Goffin.

“You foal napped my sister, nag,” snarled Carrot Top. “I got nothing but time on my hooves for you.” Carrot Top dove at Goffin, only to have the griffin dodge backward and take to the sky. Carrot Top rebounded off the wall to drag her back down to the ground. “I live with a pegasus, bird brain! Don’t think you’re going to get away that easy.”

Goffin raked Carrot Top’s beautiful mane with a claw, spraying hair all over the bar. A tail wrapped around her hoof and drug her off her feet before she could react. Goffin leapt on top of the yellow mare with talons ready to strike. Carrot Top bucked forward and caught the griffin’ beak with a vicious head butt. Stunned, Goffin reeled backward as Carrot Top got to her hooves. She grabbed Goffin by the beak and slammed the griffin’s head against the bar.

“Where’s my sister?” she demanded, before slamming her head into the bar again. “Where’s my sister?”

Braeburn jumped backward over a diving pony and landed along the bench. As another pony jumped at him from across the table, he stomped on the edge of the bench to flip it into the air. The opposite end of the bench smashed into the pony’s jam, sending him to the table in a heap. If it weren’t for the three ponies that jumped him immediately after, Braeburn would have said he was doing pretty well.

He managed to shake off one and rolled another into the fireplace, but the third hung on to Braeburn like he was in a rodeo. Unfortunately for him, Braeburn not only knew all about rodeos, but he was the reigning Appaloosa champion at bucking. Brae burn bucked backward, flipping completely over, and smashed the pony into the ground with a dropping elbow. Braeburn rolled to his hooves and jumped back into the fray.

The ponies punching Big Mac didn’t realize it at the time, but the stallion they were trying to subdue was several times stronger than the entire pile combined. He bucked hard, tossing every single pony off him with barely a grunt. Ponies flew through the sky like pegasi, only to come crashing to the reality that was the walls and windows of the confined space. He glanced around to see Braaburn take down another pony with a table leg.

“Get to the door!” yelled Brae.

“I got this feather head!” yelled Carrot Top, sliding the unconscious griffin across the bar. The bar tender popped up from behind his bar with a rag, and clamped it across Carrot Top’s muzzle. She struggled for a moment in muffled cries of panic before her green eyes rolled back into head.

Big Mac turned to buck any ponies still standing but found that every pony in the bar lay in a groaning heap on the floor. He paused a moment to admire their handiwork before the gallop of hooves turned his attention to the door. A streak of orange tail carried by a mule caught his eye as the bartender galloped into the night. The stallions scrambled for the door after him.

The mule didn’t have much of a head start, but even carrying another pony, he was faster than both Big Macintosh and Braeburn. He weaved in between decrepit houses, tossing debris in his wake as the stallions gave chase. Big Mac and Braeburn leaped over the barrels and dodged the troughs as they closed in on mule. He was darted into a stone building and the two stallions dove in after him.

The building was little more than a long pueblo hut, made from the mud and sandstone of the Appleloosa west. Exits were at either end of the building and the walls were hung with pick axes and other mining equipment. At the far end, a table filled with black packages wobbled as Steel Wheel struggled with the door.

“You just put her down now,” said Braeburn. “I’d hate to have hurt you.”

“You have no idea who you’re messing with,” said Steel Wheel. “You’ve got until tomorrow, or you’ll never see any of your precious kids again.”

“Buddy, you’re out of options,” said Big Mac. Steel Wheel grabbed up one of the black packets, and held it to his cigar.

“There are always options,” said Steel Wheel through is clenched teeth. The burning packet whizzed past the stallions and thumped unceremoniously against the wall.

“I’ve seen better throws from a filly,” said Braeburn. “What was that supposed to…”

Explosions are funny things. They’re big, loud, and exciting when viewed form a safe distance. Ten feet away inside mud and stone hut is not a safe distance by any stretch of the imaginations. The wood roof collapsed atop them, giving Steel Wheel valuable seconds before Big Mac could buck all the debris off. Braeburn burst from the rubble and caught sight of the fleeing bartender. Without a word, the stallions gave chase again through the empty streets of Hoofnail.

“We can cut him off!” said Braeburn, ducking into an alley. Big Mac skid along the dusty soil before finding traction again. The two stallions spotted Steel Wheel at the edge of the alley before he turned again toward the bar. They skidded to a stop along the road as they caught sight of a familiar pink bow.

“Big Mac!” shouted Applebloom as she ran to her family. “Cousin Braeburn! You found us!”

“Boy, are we glad to see you,” said Scootaloo. “You gotta help us!”

“We’ve been wandering the desert all day looking for help,” said Sweetie Belle. “If we hadn’t found Tall Grass here, we would have died out there!” Big Mac cursed as he watched Steel Wheel gallop into the night.

“Ain’t you glad to see us?” asked Applebloom.

“I am,” said big Mac. “But that pony that just ran past just grabbed Carrot Top.”

“I don’t think we would have caught him anyway,” panted Braeburn. “He’s too fast for a couple of big stallions like us.”

“I’m so sorry!” said Scootaloo. “We could have chased him down.”

“You girls aren’t going to do anything of the sort,” said Tall Grass. “I assume that you are Big Macintosh?”

“Eyup,” said Big Mac, extending a hoof. “Scootaloo said yer name was Tall Grass?

“That I am,” he replied, taking a hoof. “I found your sister and her friends wandering the desert with no supplies. They are very brave to have escaped their captors.”

“Do you know where they took y’all?” asked Braeburn.

“I think I can find it,” said Scootaloo.

“I think that pony called it Ridgeline Cave,” said Sweetie Belle. “He was talking about it when we were all tied up.”

Braeburn thought a minute, and nodded.

“I know where that is,” he said. “It was a lead mine before ponies used it as a spare parts depot for the trains. There’s a connecting rail line to it.” He put a hoof to his head as the realization dawned on him. “Of course that’s where they’d take them! It’s the perfect place for a band of desperados to hole up.”

“I too know where this is,” said Tall Grass. “If you wish my help, I will come with you.”

“I appreciate the offer,” said Big Mac. “But if yah can, take these fillies to Appleloosa and get in touch with Sheriff Silverstar The royal guard should already be here. Right now, these three are our best witnesses.”

“I will run with the speed of the wind,” said Tall Grass. “Fillies, if you will climb on my back, I can get us there before dawn.”

Big Macintosh gave each filly a reassuring hug before putting them on top of Tall Grass, and reminded them to stay brave no matter what. Tall Grass and Big Mac shook hooves again before the buffalo galloped out of town and into the desert.

In the mean time, Braeburn was busy scrawling numbers in the dirt. Big Mac looked over the scratching and made a correction. Brae looked back down at his numbers and pointed a hoof.

“About three hours that way,” said Braeburn.

“We need some supplies first,” said Big Mac. “I don’t know about you, but I’m about tuckered out from all this running.”

“We should probably hole up here for an hour or so,” said Braeburn. “I saw some food in that building we were in. I think we can hide there for a bit.”

After an hour nap, Braeburn and Big Mac were again cantering across the desert. With the fate of dozen lives hanging in the balance, the two ran in silence, hoping their prayers would keep the children and mares safe. Their saddlebags clapped against their sides as they ran, weighted down by all the food and water they could find.

They ran through the night, just two silhouettes along the desert plains. As the moon hung high in the sky, the cousins came at last to the tracks where Braeburn nodded a direction. Again they set off, cantering toward outcropping hills that served as the entrances to the caves with nary a word between them.

In a way, Big Mac was happy to have the time to spend with his cousin. Sure, the circumstances could have been a lot more pleasant, and all this running was really starting to wear on his hooves, but it had been a long time since they had spent any really time together. Even if it was all charging over the deserts of Appleloosa like a mad pony, it was time spent with family.

Braeburn, on the other hand, had no such delusions of grandeur. This band of crooks had ruined what had promised to be a perfectly wonderful weekend with his cousins, and they had denied him the opportunity to get to know Miss Carrot Top better. While the foal-napping was what really upset him, he couldn’t help but feel guilty that he’d even thought about Carrot Top, considering the circumstances.

The stallions came at last the fork in the rails that lead to the abandoned depot. Still cloaked in night, they crept along the squat hill, looking for any signs of posted guards. They were nearly on top of the entrance when they spotted a Diamond Dog blocking the rail with a hoof cart.

“I think there’s a back entrance to this mine,” whispered Braeburn. “Follow me.”

Sure enough, not even a half a mile over the hill, a narrow shaft led down into the mine at sharp slope. It was manageable for a pony of Braeburn’s size but Big Mac found himself squeezing through in certain spots. It was clearly no place for a big pony like him, but they made it to the bottom after a few minutes of struggling. The shaft emptied them into a large dump bucket filled with dime sized lead slugs. Braeburn crawled out of the bin and listened.

The soft weeping of foals echoed through the caverns as Braeburn and Big Mac made their way through the tunnels of the abandoned mine. Their ears led them to an open cavern where nine fillies and colts had been tied to a hoof cart. Just ahead on the tracks, two ponies stood arguing about what to do with the children.

“You brought another one?” demanded the pony in the shadows. “You idiot! What if they followed you?”

“I didn’t have a choice!” spat Steel Wheel. “Besides, we lost three of the fillies. We got to have something else to trade.”

“Fine,” said the shadowed pony. “Stick her with the other mare. If nothing else, we can always sell them off.”

“I think they’re talkin’ about Cheerilee,” said Braeburn. Big Mac Stood to charge, only to be shoved back down by his cousin. “Hold on, Big Macintosh. We gotta have a plan.”

“Well then here’s the plan,” said Big Mac. “You untie all those kids and get them ready to go. I’ll go down there and wail on those ponies till they tell me where they’ve taken Miss Cheerilee and Miss Carrot Top.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” said Braeburn. “I’ll meet yah outside. Good luck.”

Big Mac crept along shadows along the shadows as he closed in on the ponies. The cyan pony turned to glance in his direction a moment, but shook off the feeling as paranoia. He followed the two as they made their way into another tunnel where Cheerilee and Carrot Top lay bound on the floor next to some cans of paint.

“Well, we better get moving,” said Steel Wheel, knocking over a gold colored bucket. “Ugh, why’d we stick them in a paint room?” He shook his hoof. “I’ll get the one with the orange curls. You get the berry one. She looks kinda fat.” A sharp left hoof knocked Steel Wheel off his feet and into the wall.

“I’ll thank you not to call my friend fat,” said Big Mac.

The cyan pony threw a hoof that caught Big Mac by surprise. He was amazingly strong for his tiny size and mareish figure, but Big Mac shook off the punch and countered with a hoof of his own. A second and third crashing hoof sent the pony to ground in groaning agony. Big Mac paused to roll his neck when he actually looked at the cyan pony.

“Wait a second,” asked Big Mac. “Ain’t you deputy Cormano?”

“Who do you think set this up?” said Cheerilee as she spit out her gag. “He was the one who set up the field trip in the first place.”

Cormano rolled to his feet in a weak attempt to stand, only to find that a massive hoof pressed his head into the stone floor. He looked up, seeing only the cold face of the stallion he had wronged.

“I ought to end you,” said Big Mac. “You terrified a class full of fillies and colt. You foal-napped my friend. Your partner there tried to blow me up. I’m havin’ a real hard time tryin’ to come up with a reason not to kill you here and now.”

“I got a few,” growled a voice.

From nowhere, Max lunged at Big Mac, knocking him off Cormano and into the room beyond. Big Mac rolled to his feet as the Diamond Dog pounced again, digging claws into his coat. Clenched fist collided with iron jaw, as Big Mac stepped back from the swinging paws of the creature. Max ducked under a clumsy hoof, and smashed Big Mac in the jaw with a double uppercut. Max thought the battle was won before Big Mac Caught hold of his senses and ducked under a swiping claw.

Max dodged a hoof, then another as Big Mac Swatted and weaved around the Dog. Max struck back with claws that tore out great chunks of the stallion’s red coat. He realized after a moment, that he wouldn’t be able to tell if the stallion was injured. Max ducked under another hoof before a snap of teeth caught his arm. Big Mac big green eyes narrowed as he cocked back a hoof.

It was a punch to be proud of. If Big Mac hadn’t been clamped on Max’s arm, Big Mac would have put the Diamond Dog through a wall. As it was, the hoof sent his teeth flying instead. Big Mac cocked his fist back for another punch when he saw Cormano and Steel Wheel hustling the mares out of the cavern and into the night. He slammed Max to the ground and bolted after them.

The fresh air was a pleasant change from the staleness of the mine shaft, but catching up to the foal-nappers was far more important than enjoying a winter breeze. Big Mac galloped outside only to catch a fleeting glimpse of Cormano and Steel Wheel furiously pumping a hoof cart.

“A quarter of a million bits!” yelled Cormano as the Hoof Cat pulled away. “On the bridge at dawn!”

Big Mac turned and ran back into the cavern to find a mob of fillies and colts hugging Braeburn.

“They’re getting’ away,” said Big Mac. “We gotta go after them.”

“Well, we gotta drop off the children,” said Braeburn. “Can’t go running after desperados with a bunch of fillies and colts.’

“But we want to help!” said a little orange filly. “They stole my big sister!”

“Bonnie, don’t you worry none,” said Big Mac. “We’ll get Carrot Top back, or my name isn’t Big Macintosh.”

“What are we gonna do about the ransom?” asked Braeburn. “If they’re goin’ to the bridge, then we ain’t gonna be able to make a rescue like we did for the kids.”

Big Macintosh looked back into the cave for a moment when an idea struck him. “You load the kids onto that hand cart,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

It took him a moment to find it, but Big Mac finally found what he was looking for in the paint room. He trotted past Braeburn and the children, only to return a few minutes later with a sack of gold coins.

“Sweet Mercy of Celestia!” said Braeburn. “Where’d you find that?”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Big Mac. “Let’s get these kids home.”

***

With the dozen children and the giant sack of gold coins onboard, it was almost dawn before the cart finally pulled into the station outside of Appleloosa. Sheriff Silverstar was waiting at the station for them with the Cutie Mark Crusaders in tow.

“Hoof cart came rippin’ through here about an hour ago,” said Silver Star. “The engineers tried to run after them, but that grey mule was tossin’ powder charges off like it was his job.”

“We’ll take care of it,” said Braeburn. “You get somepony to look after these kids. Big Mac And I are gonna rescue the mares.”

“We ain’t gonna leave Miss Cheerilee behind!” protested Apple Bloom.

“Yeah!” said Scootaloo. “She’s counting on us to save her!”

“We can’t let her down,” said Sweetie Belle. Big Mac only shook his head.

“You’ve already done enough,” said Big Mac. “Things are gonna get ugly and I don’t want you to see what your big brother might have to do. You look after your friends. Braeburn and I will get Miss Cheerilee and Miss Carrot Top back. I promise.”

The two stallions rode away from the station, pumping furiously on the bellows of the hoof cart. With options fading fast, there was only one place along the rails that Cormano could go to keep Cheerilee and Carrot Top in check. He’d have taken the mares to the Dame River Bridge where he could contain and threaten them at the same time. The biggest problem was the east bound five o’clock. It would be passing over that bridge in less than a half an hour and there was no stopping a full herd of engineers.

There were going fast. Far too fast to be safe and far faster than any pony could run. The miles disappeared beneath the stallions as they furiously pumped the bellows and the cart nearly flew off the tracks on a few curves. As the sack of coins shifted with the cart’s bouncing along the rails, Braeburn couldn’t help but wonder where Big Mac got all that money. As the crested a hill, the Dame River Bridge came into view

The two stallions were too focused on the bridge ahead to notice the small, black bump between the tracks. As the hoof cart passed over the package, the wheels sparked, showering the powder underneath with molten steel. The spark was just enough to ignite the pile of powder between the timbers.

The cart launched off the tracks as if kicked by a giant. Braeburn and Big Mac held on to the cart for a moment as the cart rocketed through the air. From this high, they could clearly see an orange and a mulberry pony tied to the tracks in the center of the bridge. Braeburn took the opportunity to tuck and roll off the cart and into the sandy soil, while Big Mac rode the cart to the ground. Wheels flew in every direction at impact, but the platform remained whole and the sack of coins didn’t move a hair. Big Mac grabbed the sack and made for the bridge.

A cloud of dust formed in their wake as the stallions galloped toward the bridge. At the edge stood Cormano, flanked by Steel Wheel. They would have charged all the way down if Braeburn hadn’t noticed the line of familiar black packages in front of the bridge.

“Cross that line and you’re as good as dead,” said Cormano. “Put down the bag of bits where you are and kick it to me. Be quick about it; I heard the five o’clock to Appleloosa is running a bit early today.”

Big Mac dropped the bag in the dirt and bucked it over to the waiting ponies. Steel Wheel picked up the bag and glanced inside for a moment before nodding to Cormano. He only chuckled as he turned to leave.

“You won’t get away with this!” yelled Braeburn.

“Of course I will,” said Cormano. “I’ve got a nice place in the zebra lands all ready for me. Drinks by the beach every day, a big pool, a huge plot of land. All thanks to the Apple Family.” Steel Wheel spat his cigar on a line of black powder that lead to the packages

“So long, suckers!”

A trail of powder fizzled and popped as it raced toward the two stallions, but they were already over the line of charges before the fuse reached them. The air behind them filled with smoke and flame as they raced for the mares. Cormano and Steel Wheel galloped past Cheerilee and Carrot Top lying bound on the railroad tracks. The two stallions skid to a stop in front of their friends as Cormano and his gang galloped into the distance.

“Mmmrph!” yelled Cheerilee.

“We got yah, doll,” said Big Mac.

“We’ll have these ropes untied quicker than you can say…” The sharp whistle of a train filled the air as the five o’clock crested the eastern hill. “Train!”

The two stallions fumbled with the knots as the train sped toward the bridge. The engineer ponies atop the hill looked to each other in panic as they first caught sight of the herd of ponies on the tracks. With the train coming down the hill, there was no way for them to stop, even with all four engineers skidding along the rails. In about ten seconds, everyone on the track was going to be flattened by several tons of steel and hooves.

“Gotta jump!” yelled Braeburn. With a grunt, he pushed Carrot Top over the side of the bridge before leaping off after her. Big Mac snatched at Cheerilee’s ropes, pulling her from the tracks. Mare in mouth, Big Mac dove off the edge of the bridge. Yellow tail hairs caught in the cattle catcher as Big Mac fell through the open air.

It was a long fall. Long enough at least to see the panic in Cheerilee’s eyes as they fell. Long enough to let a lifetime of memories flash before his eyes. Long enough to regret ever bad thing he’d done. But as the river rose to meet them, he knew in that instant that it was almost over.

The icy shock of the river brought Big Mac back to his senses. Though the impact had nearly knocked Cheerilee out of his teeth, he held on. He ground his teeth through the rope, snapping the hempen prison just as they bobbed back to the surface. Cheerilee struggled free and wrapped her hooves around his neck.

“I can’t swim!” yelled Cheerliee. “Don’t’ let me drown please!”

“Just hang on!” said Big Mac. He spotted Carrot Top and Braeburn floating further downstream. “I gotta save them too.”

Despite everything he’d been through today, despite all the running and the fighting, Big Mac still found in himself to power through the water toward his cousin. Braeburn struggled to keep above the water, dipping into the river as he tried to keep Carrot Top above the surface. Even back in the old watering hole on the farm, Braeburn had never been a great swimmer and it took everything he could just to keep Carrot Top afloat. With a last push, Big Mac clamped his teeth around Braeburn’s vest, and started paddling to shore.

In a minute that felt like an eternity, Big Mac finally dug his massive hooves into the rocky shores of the Dame River a few hundred yards from the bridge. Exhausted, freezing, and completely expended, Big Mac dropped everypony and collapsed into the wet sand. A moment later, he looked up into the smiling faces of his friends.

“That was a heck of save, cousin,” said Braeburn. “I knew you were strong, but dang, you just drug three full grown ponies out of the Dame River all by yourself.” He took off his hat to wring it out. “Shoot, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were some kind of super hero.”

“Just doin’ what I need to,” said Big Mac. “Everypony okay?”

“Thanks to you,” said Carrot Top. “Is Bonnie okay?”

“All the kids are just fine, Miss Carrot Top,” said Braeburn. “We found Applebloom and her friends last night in Hoofnail and we dropped off the other children with the royal guard about an hour ago.”

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear that,” said Cheerilee, with sigh of relief. “I’m just sorry they got away with the money.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry,” said Big Mac, as he got back to his hooves.

“But that was a quarter of a million bits!” said Carrot Top.

“Nah,” said Big Mac. “You know all that room y’all were tied up in? Well, there was lots of gold paint in there. That cave used to be a lead mine so there were a bunch of lead slugs just sittin’ there.”

Bareburn’s jaw fell open in shock. “Big Mac you are a clever pony,” said Braeburn. “Shoot, you saved the day and you scammed the bad guys. Only thing you didn’t do was get the girl.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” said Cheerilee. She wrapped her hooves around his neck and planted a kiss that left him breathless. She pulled away with a smile. “Thank you Big Macintosh. You’re a real hero.”

“Well don’t that beat all,” said Braeburn.

“You did your part, too” said Carrot Top, planting a peck on his cheek. “Maybe this wasn’t such a bad weekend after all.”

“I really wouldn’t say that,” said Cheerilee.

“Well, Come on, every pony,” said Big Macintosh. “We’ve got a class to teach.”

The Singer, The Bandit and The Chicken

"'A thousand stories' you said, 'just waiting to be told' you said."

"And there are, don't you feel the excitement in the air? The lives of these ponies who live on the expanding frontier, struggling tooth and hoof to make their way, so far flung from central Equestria that they've created their own way of life, their own culture... Danger around every corner, adventure over every hill... To our metropolitan audience, this may as well be a dream, and the film in your camera is such stuff as dreams are made on.”

Tintype looked across the table at the black and white buck sitting opposite. He was doing that thing with his eyes again. “A mighty pretty line. Who'd you steal it from?”

“In this business we prefer the term 'appropriate', it sounds less court-ordery,” Showtime replied absent mindedly, his eyes continuing to grow wider and beginning to sparkle like gemstones. “There are a thousand stories out here just waiting to be told...”

The grey unicorn gave his salt cube a long, hard lick. “Just one story'd do.”

“And we'll find one, don't worry. Just keep that camera facing the saloon doors and make sure to start rolling before something happens.”

“We've spent over a month out here and tried this in half a dozen towns. You've thrown out what little footage I've shot so far, even the bits with the real-pretty dancers, because you're waiting for a perfect moment to come by and buck down the doors. It just isn't gonna happen.” Tintype took a swig of water to chase down his salt lick. “And how am I supposed to know when something is gonna happen before it happens?”

Showtime threw his hooves in the air. “I can't do everything myself! We're trying to show the ponies back home what the wild west is really about. All this boring day-to-day stuff just doesn't cut it.”

The stallion shook his head. “But that is what the 'wild west' is really about,” he grumbled to himself.

Tintype leaned back in his chair and glanced at the camera he'd set up beside him. As usual they'd chosen a table in the corner, out of everypony's way and with a good view of the door. Tintype had ensured that his shot of the saloon's entrance took in the bar, the other tables, and their patrons. If anypony were to dramatically walk in, then every reaction would be captured perfectly on film. But of course, that kind of thing only happens in Hollywood.

Heavy hoofsteps outside caught the director's attention, and as he stared out the window he began to grin manically. “Roll that camera, Tintype. It's Showtime!”

The saloon doors swung open, revealing two bucks framed by the bright light outside. Music and conversation came to a standstill and chairs were pushed from tables as every pair of eyes turned to face the new arrivals. One was huge, even bigger than Tintype, the other stepped inside wearing a friendly smile.

“Hey there! Now, there's no need to stop all your fun and games on our account, we're just tryin' to find some lost little ponies, and if any of you could answer our questions...“ The saloon had returned to normal, quickly loosing interest now that it had decided they were not a threat. “...it would be real helpful.” Braeburn looked around eagerly for any takers, but was ignored.

The second pony, a tall red stallion, stepped through the door. “We're looking for my little sister and her two friends.” His voice was slow and his words deliberate, commanding attention although perhaps not understanding. “She's a yellow pony with no cutie mark–“

“Who you callin' yeller'?!” The slurred interruption came from an olive green pony sitting near to the red giant.

Big Macintosh blinked once before continuing, “And a red mane. Answers to the name of Apple Bloom.”

“Hey! I ashked you a queshtion, tomato-face,” said the nearly-yellow pony as he stood up and wobbled slightly; at full height he was almost as tall as the red stallion. “Who'd you call yeller'?!”

“I didn't call nopony–“ A hoof struck Macintosh in the jaw, finishing his sentence and overbalancing his attacker. The almost-yellow pony fell onto a nearby table, knocking salt cubes and drinks across the room.

A brawl erupted, all along the bar and over half the saloon, only leaving the stage and a single corner, where a black and white buck shouted encouragement from atop his table and threw the occasional chair. Pies remained holstered, which was a good sign.

“Are you getting this Tintype?! Tell me you're getting this!”

The camera pony responded with a grunt, standing ready to intercept any threat to his equipment. He was the first to see that the shorter of the two new arrivals was making his way over to them, or, more correctly, to their corner of relative peace. Tintype refocused his camera, tracking Braeburn as he weaved and dodged through the melee.

It didn't take long for Showtime to spot him as well. “Look at that cowpony go! I want that on film.”

“Howdy,” said Braeburn, seemingly unfazed by the gauntlet he'd run. “This happen a lot round these parts?”

Showtime leapt off his table, grabbed the cowpony's hoof, and shook it vigorously. “I don't know, we only got here this morning. But wouldn't it be marvellous if it did?”

“Erm...”

“I'm Showtime, by the way,” said the director, still keeping his victim's hoof firmly shaken. He nodded towards his friend. “And that's Tintype.”

Braeburn managed to extract his hoof. “A pleasure to be makin' your acquaintances, my name's Braeburn and that there's Big Macintosh.”

Braeburn didn't point. He didn't have to. Like a great red ice breaker, Big Macintosh ploughed through the swirling mass of ponies and furniture, forging a direct path towards them.

“He's my cousin,” the cowpony said proudly.

Showtime's crazy grin hadn't left his face. “There's so much of him!” The producers eyes shone like diamonds, “I can see the two of you on billboards throughout Equestria... Follow me and I'll make you into stars.”

“Come again?”

“Your names in lights, your faces in magazines. Screaming fans, your own perfume!”

“Now that's a mighty fine offer you have there, but my cousin and I are a little busy at the moment. Ain't that right Big Mac?” Braeburn looked at the red stallion standing beside him for support, but Big Macintosh was distracted.

After exchanging friendly nods with Tintype, Macintosh had become interested in the camera and was watching as the handle on one side was turned by its operator's magic. Steadily, rhythmically, the handle span around, opening and closing the device's shutters and capturing the scene on celluloid.

Braeburn took a closer look at his cousin's face. “Hey, you're bleedin'; you all right?”

Macintosh nodded and ran his tongue over his bottom lip, cleaning up the blood.

“Hehe, that's my cousin. Took a blow like that and didn't even stagger.”

Showtime leapt on the chance to gather some back story for his possible stars, already starting to write their bios in his head. “Your cousins a country buck, right? Were you showing what the wild west has to offer?”

“Now how'd you know that Big Mac ain't from round here?” Braeburn asked.

“That's simple, we've spent a lot of time pony watching over this last month and city folk like Tintype and I stick out like a sore hoof. At the same time he doesn't carry himself like a local, and he looks like he was born with that yoke around his neck. No pony would wear one of them in this heat when they weren't at work.

“So if he isn't from the city, and he isn't from the west, he must be from somewhere in the middle.”

“Eeyup,” said Big Mac. “Ponyville to be exact. We're looking for my little sister and her two friends. You said you'd spent a month pony watching. Did you happen to learn anything about three lost fillies?”

Tintype stepped closer to join the conversation, his horn continuing to glow as its magic turned the handle. “I'm afraid not. This is actually the most exciting thing we've seen since we got here.”

“Aww shoot. These fella's have been on the lookout fer strange stuff going on and they ain't seen anything either.” Braeburn hung his head. “I'm sorry cuz', this is all my fault.”

“Nnope. It's just as much my fault as it is yours. I'm the one who talked AJ into letting them visit you in Appleloosa. What's important is finding those fillies and getting them home safely.”

“What'd these fillies look like then?” said Tintype.

Braeburn looked up and straightened his hat. “Well there's Apple Bloom, she's yellow and red with a big bow tied in her hair; and there's Sweetie Belle, a white unicorn with a curly mane; and there's the... um...” Braeburn looked over to Big Mac for assistance, but the big red pony just shrugged. “There's the orange one.”

Showtime aimed his grin at the grey unicorn. “Tintype! We've got to follow them on their adventure.”

“And help them out, right?”

“Yes, help them to become stars!” The director was practically dancing on his hooves. “We'll film the whole thing, an epic tale of saving lost family in a west gone wild!”

Showtime had to shout to be heard over the noisy brawl, but the sound of fighting began to die down as a piano started to play and movement could be seen behind the stage curtains. “The dancing mares! I want you to film the dancing mares!”

Tintype turned his camera to face the stage. “Last time you just threw away the footage.”

“This time's different! Can't you feel that spark in the air? Ze magics?”

The camera pony held his tongue, these saloon shows had always been entertaining at least. He noticed that the fight around them had grown quieter, and was about to ask his friend if he'd noticed it as well, when the stage curtains parted to reveal a little unicorn wearing a pretty dress. Her eyes closed tightly. His jaw hung open as she began to sing.

Bucks, stallions, and mares froze in place, half-thrown punches locked in mid-air and chairs levitating just overhead. All attention was focused towards the stage and the singer.

The little unicorn sang of a home so far away, a mother left waiting, and regret for the path taken. Her audience began to cry.

Braeburn nudged his cousin, eye's not leaving the performance. “Ain't that Sweetie Belle?”

“Eeyup,” said Big Macintosh, taking a purposeful step towards the stage.

The cowpony pulled him back. “Now hold your horses! I don't think them other patrons will take kindly to us interrupting this here song. We'd best wait till she's finished.”

Big Mac gave a snort but grudgingly relented. Somepony could easily get hurt.

-

Sweetie Belle's song did not last long, and when she finally opened her eyes she saw Big Macintosh and Braeburn in the audience. She barely had enough time to gesture for them to come round before she had to hurry off stage to make way for the regular performers.

Showtime and Tintype found themselves following behind the two Apple bucks, figuring that one way or another they were now involved.

They found Sweetie Belle waiting for them in a lounge usually used by the dancers, judging by the bits of costume left lying around. Standing beside her was an old mare, whose wizened features and scowling eyes told them that she had seen much over the years. And little of it had made her smile.

“So which one of you is the irresponsible layabout that let this filly run away, hmm?”

Braeburn stepped forward. “That would be me, ma'am.”

“And what are you going to do about the other two fillies that you lost?”

The cowpony met the crone's piercing stare. “Find 'em and make sure that they get home safe, ma'am.”

“Good,” she said, her scowl lessening. “Your eyes ain't lying.”

Big Mac spoke up. “Does that mean that Apple Bloom ain't here?” His voice was harsh, frustrated.

Sweetie shrank away from him. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.

The old mare turned her stare on Macintosh. He felt like he was just a colt again, back on the farm before he had even gotten his cutiemark. Granny Smith was telling him off, disappointment on her voice and in her eyes. He would never forget those eyes.

Big Mac's anger melted away, and he found himself looking at a filly who was relieved to have been found, yet scared to have been caught. He'd seen the exact same look from Apple Bloom before, and from Applejack before that. His expression softened. “I'm sorry Sweetie Belle. I'm just worried about my sister. Could you please tell us what happened?”

The little unicorn swallowed once and then nodded. “We snuck onto the train back in Appleloosa and got off in this town. But we were all hot and bothered by hiding on the train and we got into an argument over what we should try next. Apple Bloom said something about helping out in a town farther west, Scootaloo wanted to run with the buffalo, and I thought we should try laying tracks for the rail road. But they said that my idea was stupid because the tracks have already been finished, so I left them to go find somepony who could get me work on the rail road to show them that it wasn't a stupid idea. I looked back and I saw Apple Bloom and Scootaloo leaving town in different directions.

“Everypony just laughed at me when I asked about working on the rail road, and I began to think that it might not have been such a good idea after all.” Sweetie smiled at the old mare. “But Mrs Cabaret took me in and let me stay here. She even let me sing.”

Cabaret smiled, her wrinkles dancing around her mouth. “She's so shy she has to close her eyes so she can't see the audience. I'll be sorry to see her leave and the customers will too, but she doesn't belong here: you can't sing like that without missing home something fierce.”

“I've got to go now,” said the little unicorn.

“That you do. But always remember that you'll be welcome here.”

“Thanks for everything, Mrs Cabaret.” Sweetie Belle began to walk over to Big Mac and Braeburn, but paused when she noticed the dress she was still wearing. “Oh! I nearly forgot to give this back,” she said, trying to wriggle out of the clothes.

The old mare chuckled. “I think it looks fine where it is, Sweetie, and you shouldn't undress in front of all these bucks.”

Sweetie Belle cocked her head in confusion. “But ponies don't even wear clothes.”

-

They left the saloon, now five strong, and made their way to a row of shops. Big Macintosh wanted to leave at once, but they needed to buy supplies first so Braeburn left them to barter for extra food, water, and blankets. Sweetie's dress had been stowed in one of Big Mac's saddlebags.

Showtime was engaged in energetic conversation with a wandering trader. Tintype hung his head, in anticipation of his friend returning with something completely pointless that he was somehow really enthusiastic about. Big Mac's attention was focused on the approach of a tall dark unicorn who had a long metal rod hanging from his belt.

The unicorn tipped his hat. “Good afternoon.”

Macintosh was about to reply when Showtime suddenly reappeared, wearing a pair of ridiculous glasses: one lens was tinted red, the other was tinted green.

“Hello there!” said Showtime, “Might you be a Ranger by any chance?”

The unicorn chuckled. “I most certainly am. You've got a good pair of eyes on you.”

“That big iron on your hip is a dead give away.”

“Well it gets the job done. Actually I'm tryin' to find an outlaw by the name of Takes-us Red. A mare that's supposed to be even taller than your friend here, with the fires of hell blazin' in her crimson mane... Now I reckon there's some exaggeratin' goin' on there but it don't matter. She and her gang have been hitting the west bound trains hard this past week, so hard that they already sent me to deal with it.”

“That's a silly name,” said Sweetie Belle. “Why do they call her Tacky-something?”

The Ranger looked at the little unicorn and shrugged. “They call her 'Takes-us' because when you meet her she takes all your stuff at piepoint. I figure she's hidin' out in a town farther west, but I'm askin' around on my way there just in case. Might even raise a little awareness.”

“Actually we're also looking for some fillies,” said Big Macintosh. “My little sister Apple Bloom. She's a yellow and red earth pony.” He paused for a moment. “ And an orange pegasus. They're both about the same size as Sweetie Belle there.”

“Hmm,” said the Ranger. “I haven't heard anythin' about fillies matchin' those descriptions. Are they runaways?”

“Eeyup.”

“Cutiemarks?”

“Nnope.”

“Well, I'll keep my eyes peeled for 'em.” The Ranger turned to go. “Goodbye, and good luck.”

“Same to you,” Big Mac called after him.

Tintype watched the Ranger as he trotted away. He recognised the other unicorn's walk, disciplined with almost no vertical movement at all. But the camera pony was distracted by Showtime, who was moving a hoof back and forth in front of his own face.

“It's like it's really coming towards me!”

-

They made good progress across the sand dunes and the rocky terrain, their destination of the buffalo lands just another hour or two away.

The pace was too quick for Sweetie Belle; she'd tried to ride on Macintosh's back but found the going too rough, so she'd switched to Tintype, who's years of camera work enabled him to keep the ride smooth even at a trot. The saddle his camera was attached to also made for a comfortable seat.

Sweetie Belle and Showtime were currently trying to convince Tintype to put the 3-D glasses on his camera.

“The glasses make everything you see into 3-D, right?”

“No.”

“And the camera records everything it sees, right?”

“I guess.”

“So if the glasses were on the camera then everything it sees would be in 3-D... and that means that it would record in 3-D too!”

“No, that's not... It doesn't work like... No, just, just no.”

Tintype shook his head, this relentless barrage of insanity was wearing him down. That had almost made sense to him then.

“Aww come on,” said Sweetie Belle, who was currently marvelling at a world with three dimensions. “They really work, you should try them!”

Tintype looked around at his passenger: the glasses were much too big for her, making them look even more ridiculous. “No thanks, I can see plenty enough dimensions as it is,” he paused for a moment, “And they look silly.” She stuck her tongue out at him. He returned the gesture and turned back to face the way ahead.

“Miss Belle,” said Showtime, trying to attract her attention.

“Yes, Mr Showtime?”

“I forgot to mention this before, but when I heard you singing in that saloon, I imagined seeing your name in lights up and down Equestria... It was so vivid I could practically taste it! I can say without a shadow of a doubt that if you follow me, I can make you into a star.”

Sweetie Belle pondered for a moment. “So... do you have a rocket ship? Can you fly me to the moon?! I've always wanted to go there! Can we? Can we?”

Showtime hadn't expected a follow up question, and thinking about its possibilities made his eyes began to gleam. “That's a great idea!” He turned to his grey friend. “Tintype! Hey, Tintype!”

“What is it now?”

“Let's get a rocket ship, Tintype!”

Braeburn and Big Macintosh walked ahead of the others. They'd spent almost a week travelling as just the two of them and found that the added company took a bit of getting used to. Still, the mental torture being exacted on the unicorn behind them was quite entertaining.

Big Mac chuckled.

“You seem in better spirits today,” said Braeburn.

“Eeyup. This time yesterday the only thing we knew was that those lost fillies were somewhere farther down the line. Now we've found Sweetie Belle and if the orange ones with the buffaloes then we should find her in just a couple of hours. And Apple Bloom can't be too far away.”

Braeburn knew that his cousin was being optimistic, but this was the first bit of luck they'd had and he had always said that negativity never helped nopony. He also resolutely ignored anypony who said the words: 'double negative'.

-

Their first sign of buffalo was a rumbling in the distance, and as they crested a hill they could see the winding stampede as it flowed through a wide, well-beaten trail down below. It seemed to go on forever, looking more like a raging stream than it did a herd. Small figures ran across the carpet of moving bodies, buffalo calves using the backs of their elders as a road, jumping over gaps and chasing each other round. The onlookers noticed that one of the small figures seemed to be winged.

“Scootaloo!” said Sweetie Belle.

“The orange one!” said Braeburn.

The ponies galloped down the hillside. They pulled alongside the stampede and ran hard to keep up with it, but the buffalo were still moving faster than they were.

Braeburn was concentrating so much on running that he almost tripped over when a voice called out to him from the living wall of buffalo. “Hey bro, what's up?”

“Erm... howdy?”

“You looking for that little flyer, bro?”

The cowpony was confused, that was definitely the next part of the conversation, but several buffalo had already overtaken him and the original speaker must be somewhere ahead of him by now. Still, if it worked it worked. “We sure are.”

“Cool, I'll pass the message along.”

“Much obliged!”

The three nearest buffalo spoke in unison, “No worries, bro.”

Farther down the line, a small group broke away from the main pack and ran in the opposite direction, towards the ponies. They brought a little orange pegasus with them.

The two parties met and exchanged greetings. Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo jumped off their respective mounts and gave each other a hug before telling one another everything that had happened to them and all the things that they'd done to try and get their cutiemarks.

“Such a little dearie,” said the Buffalo that had brought Scootaloo, a cow judging by the sound of her voice. “Are you boys here to collect her?”

“Eeyup.”

Braeburn took off his hat. “Thank you kindly for looking after her, we're really much obliged.”

“That's all right dearie, our calves enjoyed the new playmate.”

The buffalo cow watched the two fillies chatting together as if nothing had happened. “I see you've already found her unicorn friend; Scootaloo told us about what happened. The herd thinks its seen her other friend too, Apple Blue was it?”

“Apple Bloom,” said Big Mac, listening intently.

“That's the one. The herd spotted a filly matching her description in a town you call 'Hoofston'; our stampeding trail runs close by but it is not our business to interfere with the world of ponies.”

Big Mac felt like their journey was nearly over, he couldn't wait to get going. “Can you give us directions to Hoofston?”

“Oh, just follow the trail and you can get there before nightfall if you get a good trot going. But be warned, this town is not linked to your rail road and it struggles to survive. It does not seem like a friendly place.

“Goodbye Scootaloo! You can come and run with us any time you want.”

The little pegasus turned away from her friend to wave at the departing buffalo. “Goodbye Missus Swift Tail, thanks for having me!”

With a final wave goodbye, the group of buffalo rejoined the herd, becoming one with the stampede as it flowed along the trail.

-

Big Mac set a brisk pace, but following the buffalo's trail after the stampede had moved on made for much easier going than the rocky terrain they'd gone through before. This allowed Scootaloo to ride on Big Mac's back instead of running to keep up. It also meant that Tintype had to match the Apple buck's pace so that their passengers could talk. He wasn't sure at which point he'd basically become a taxi.

“And this is my laser gun,” said Sweetie Belle, sweeping a hoof over the camera beside her. “I'm going to use it to shoot space aliens when we visit the moon... Scootaloo do you know any pigs that can fly?”

Scootaloo looked puzzled, Sweetie's plan had largely made sense up until that point. “Wait, what?”

“Tintype promised to get us a rocket ship that could fly to the moon but we have to find a pig that can fly first.”

“Oh,” said Scootaloo, as if that had explained everything. “What's that thing on the end for?”

“That's so it can shoot in 3-D.”

-

They reached the outskirts of Hoofston at dusk and made their way into town. Suspicious eyes watched them from every window, faces vanishing out of sight when the bucks returned their gaze. This wasn't quite what they'd been expecting to find.

Tintype turned to Braeburn. “Kinda spooky, isn't it?”

“Folks are usually a bit more welcoming,” said the cowpony, looking around at the nearby houses in varying states of disrepair. “But it looks like this place has had some rough times.”

Big Macintosh had run out of patience. “We're looking for my sister. A filly by the name of Apple Bloom. Has anypony seen her?” He spoke loud enough for the entire street to hear.

A door opened farther down the road and a young mare stepped out. She wore a neckerchief covering her face and looked the four bucks up and down. “Follow me,” she said. “I'll take you to the boss.”

They were led into a large building that must have served as the town hall. It seemed to be a gathering place, but the ponies they saw either covered their faces or remained in deep shadow. This did not bode well.

Sitting on a desk at the centre of the hall was one little pony.

“Boss,” said their guide, “this buck says he's your brother.”

Big Mac walked up to his sister, looking her straight in the eye. “Apple Bloom. What are you doing here?”

“Giving these ponies hope, that's what,” Apple Bloom replied.

“Hey, err, cuz,” said Braeburn, “you're gonna hafta explain that a little; these ponies look an awful lot like bandits to me.”

“The choice they had was starve or become bandits. So I told them to become bandits.”

Her brother scowled. “Apple Bloom. That's no decent way to live.”

“That was their only way to live! What little food they had went into the first pies we used to rob the train when it went by. The passengers cared more about not getting their manes messy than they did about their watches and jewellery. We sold that stuff in the other towns to buy food for the families back home. I made them buy seeds too but there's no where here for them to plant them.”

“Why not?” asked Braeburn.

“Because the only flat land around here is on the buffalo trail, they stampede over it every day and there are hundreds of them.”

Braeburn looked thoughtful. “You know, that reminds me of Appleloosa. Have you tried asking the buffaloes if they could move their trail a bit?”

Apple Bloom rolled her eyes. “Well of course we've tried asking–” She stopped suddenly and pondered for a moment, before turning to a nearby group of local ponies. “You did try asking, didn't you?”

“Oh yes, definitely.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“I'm almost certain that we did.”

“I mean, we must of, mustn't we?”

The group looked at one another and slowly realised the truth.

“Oh Celestia, we haven't.”

“Nope.”

“We are not clever ponies.”

Apple Bloom turned back to face her brother and cousin. “Is it really that simple?”

-

It turns out it was. The next day the buffalo agreed to alter their trail in exchange for a share of the produce, and Big Mac and Braeburn showed the towns folk how plough the land and grow enough crops to feed themselves, provided they ration out the food they did have to last them until the first harvest. The town was well on the way to being able to support itself without resorting to banditry.

A commotion swept across Hoofston on the heels of a runner, who sought out the Apple family to deliver news of what he'd seen.

"A stranger just rode into town from the south. Some folks say he looks like an outlaw but I don't think so. He's got a big iron on his hip."

"The Ranger," said Big Mac.

-

The Ranger waited at the southern edge of town, watching as the townsfolk gathered on the other side of the road. He idly tapped the big iron on his hip against a metal fencepost.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Big Mac and the others reached the front of the crowd. The Ranger stopped tapping and lifted his hat in surprise. “Well, I didn't expect to see you here. Have you had any luck with those missing fillies?”

“Eeyup,” said Big Mac. “And there ain't gonna be no bandit problem round here any more.”

“That's great news! Now I just need to give 'Takes-us Red' a tellin' off and I can head home.”

“About that,” said the Apple buck, as turned around, lifted his sister by the scruff of the neck and dumped her in front of him. “This is the naughty little filly who was behind all those robberies. She done it for a good reason but she still done bad and needs to be told off for it.”

The Ranger stared at Apple Bloom open mouthed. “Is that true?”

“Yes sir,” she replied, hanging her head.

Braeburn hissed at his cousin. “What are you doing?!”

“My sister done bad and maybe if this Ranger tells her off she'll learn something.”

“He ain't just going to tell her off! If they sent a Ranger then that means a branding!”

Big Mac's eyes widened. “What?”

“It's frontier justice, it's harsh because it has to be. A brand from a red hot iron will hurt for days, and it'll take years to heal over.”

“That ain't happening.” Big Mac strode forwards, putting himself between Apple Bloom and the Ranger. “You ain't. Branding. My sister.”

“Your sister?” Relief flooded the Ranger's face, and he drew himself up to attention. “In the event of a major felony being perpetrated by a minor, an older family member may be punished in their stead, as it can be assumed that they take responsibility for that minor.”

Big Mac was being offered a way to save his sister and he knew it. “Wait here Apple Bloom, I'll be back in a minute.” He walked towards the Ranger without hesitation.

As he approached, the Ranger spoke quietly, “You know, you could probably buck me out cold and be long gone by the time I came around.”

“I ain't hurting no pony who's just doing his job. Although I don't suppose you'd be willing to pretend...”

The Ranger chuckled. “I'm afraid I was never very good at acting.”

“Ah well. Lets get it over with.”

The Ranger's horn began to glow, heating one end of the big iron until it was red hot.

-

Their adventure over, they had all boarded the eastwards train bound for Ponyville. Showtime and Tintype had gathered plenty of footage and the black and white buck was now trying to pitch ideas for a space themed movie, which he wanted to film on location. Braeburn was relieved that the fillies had all been found safely, and was now travelling with them so that he could apologise to their parents in person. His morals wouldn't let him do anything less. The fillies swapped stories and lamented their lack of cutiemarks.

Apple Bloom would occasionally look down at Macintosh's cutiemark, and at the two letters that had been branded beneath it. Most ponies would see it as Bad Buck, but she knew that it really meant Big Brother.

Western Side Story

The sun beat down on the back of Big Macintosh’s head as he stood in the middle of the dusty main road of Appleloosa. With the sun just now beginning to set, he hoped that it’s glaring rays might blind his opponent at the other end of the street. He saw there’d be no such luck as the other stallion tipped their hat forward, shading his eyes.

“This is all your doing, cous,” Braeburn shouted from his end of the street. “And while it tears me up something awful, I’m gonna take you down.” Breaburn widened his stance, his head leaning closer to the barrel of apples at his side. “I ain’t holding back on you, jus’ cause I once considered you kin,” the stallion’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Are you ready to defend yerself?”

Macintosh gave a short glace at his own barrel of apples. Braeburn was smaller, but he was also much much faster. Macintosh licked his lips , “Eeyup.”

WESTERN
SIDE STORY

That same day, before it all went wrong, around lunch time; Macintosh was cozied up under the shade of a freshly bucked tree. He took an apple from the nearby barrel and carefully placed in on his forehoof before devouring it in a single bite. Braeburn appeared from behind the tree Mac leaned against, the other pony’s face full of awe. Macintosh only smiled, knowing that Braeburn was looking over each tree in the orchard and that he would find all the branches bare.

“Hooowee, Cousin Macintosh, you know you just cut our workload in half by your lonesome,” Braeburn declared, flabbergasted.

“Eeyup,” Big Mac said before helping himself to another piece of the literal fruits of his labor.
“Well, by all means, help yourself to as many apples as you please,” Braeburn said as he took a seat next to his much larger cousin. “You earned ‘em. On top of that, you can just say the word and I’ll have some whipped up into any tasty concoction you can think of.”

The two sat in silence for several minutes, the only sounds were the wind and Big Mac’s munching. The amber coated pony shifted uncomfortably as though he were sitting on anthill and just too gosh darn polite to move. It was obvious to Mac that his cousin had something eating at him, but not on his rump, something was on his mind. The large red stallion put out a giant hoof and gently placed it on the other’s back.

“Am I being that obvious,” Braeburn said with an awkward little laugh. “Truth of the matter cous, I didn’t just invite y’all out here to help with the harvest.” Braeburn scratched at the back of his orange mane before continuing, “I actually have a whole ‘nother problem all together.”

Big Macintosh urged his cousin on with a small push against his back. Braeburn sighed and continued, “I hear tell that you’re something of a stud back in Ponyville.” The red stallion turned slightly redder in the cheeks, but did not deny the claim. “And there t’aint no easy way for me to say it, but I’m just plain chicken when it comes to the mare folk. I just don’t have your way with words, I suppose.”

“Be that as it may, I’ve found me a gal who sets my heart aflutter. I actually met her when your sister came to town with her friends during that business with Bloomberg and the orchard and that... terrible song. ” Breabun shuddered at the memory. After a moment, reached into his vest and delicately pulled out a photograph, he hesitated before setting it on the ground and releasing it from his mouth. Macintosh’s large green eyes focused on the little snapshot lying in the dust, it was of an shyly smiling buffalo with a curly little mane and a feathered headband. “Her name’s Little Strongheart. Yeah, I know she ain’t exactly what you were expecting, but believe you me, she’s something special. She’s tougher than you’d imagine from looking at her; she might not be able to buck like you and me, but you just watch her run on open ground and woo-wee what a jumper! She’s smart too, during that trouble, she was about the only one with enough sense to try and sort things out without tusslin’.”

Big Mac hadn’t taken his eyes off the photo. He was having no trouble believing that his cousin could have an interest in such a lady. Braeburn continued on in his wistful description of the buffalo girl. “Anyway, after that whole affair, she and I became friends. She was real curious as she’d never really gotten to know us pony folk before and I sure as sugar ain’t ever gotten to know a buffalo, so I was a might curious too. We’ve spent heaps of time together, but lately I started to notice that ol’ butterfly feeling in the pit of my stomach.” Braeburn set a hoof next to the picture, the edge of his hoof barely touching the edge of her face in the photo. “I thought it mighta just been, ya know, a passing thing, but it’s been gettin’ to be something fierce. I think,” Braeburn paused and just stared at the eyes looking up from the photo. “I know it’s more than just a passing fancy. Cousin Macintosh, I do believe I’ve fallen for her.”

They were both entirely silent as the full impact of the words sank in. It occurred to Macintosh that this was probably the first time his cousin had given voice to his feelings to anypony. Braeburn gave the photo one last lingering look before pushing it back into his vest. “Well, here’s where things get sticky; I’ve made up my mind to let her know how I feel. I even bought her a gift to mark the occasion,” he trotted over to their carriage as he spoke and pulled out a wrapped up box. “Last time we were in town, I saw her making eyes at this hat and I ran out and bought it the moment she was out of sight.” He sighed heavily. “Trouble is, now that I know that I’m head over hooves for her, just the thought of talking to her gets all four of my knees a knocking and my tongue seems to swell up to the size of a dinner plate.” Braeburn nosed the box towards Macintosh, “So I’m asking you... No, I’m begging you, cousin, would you please take this to her over in buffalo territory and,” Braeburn gave a little smile, “use that silver tongue of yours to tell her that I think she’s, well, that she’s plum swell? Can you do this for me?”

The large workhorse looked down at the box and then at his cousin’s eager face and he thought of that other face that was on that small photo resting against the pony’s breast. Big Macintosh reached down and grabbed the box by the ribbon and lets it slide down until it was held firmly in his jaws. “Eeyup,” he replied finally. Braeburn’s hug nearly tackled him to ground.

* * *

It was a small task for Macintosh to get to buffalo territory. Since opening up trade with the Appleloosians, a clear trail had been made between the town and the buffalo herd’s current camp ground. He was met with warm greetings from the buffalo he encountered, something he was most thankful for as they were the first folks he’d met that dwarfed him in size. He hadn’t gone far into the camp when he heard a small voice calling after him.

“Excuse me sir,” the little raspy voice called. Mac turned around slowly and promptly forgot how to breathe. “Are you the pony they call Big Macintosh,” she asked curiously, looking up at him. He dumbly nodded and she burst into a bright smile, he was certain his heart stopped briefly. “I’ve heard so much about you from your cousin Braeburn. I’m a friend of his, my name’s Little Strongheart,” she said excitedly pacing towards him. “He showed me your picture in his family photo album so I recognized you right away. Strange that he did not mention you were coming into town, he usually shares everything with me,” she had a small note of concern in her voice. Any worries were replaced with amazement as she approached, she was having to crane her neck to look him in the eye. “Oh my, you certainly live up to your name. You are easily the largest pony I’ve ever met.”

Macintosh looked away and rubbed his neck just above his yoke. At that moment, the little energetic buffalo noticed the box on his back. “What is that,” she inquired with a hint of excitement. Macintosh blinked his eyes several times before he recalled his reason for coming out here. He regretfully tore his eyes from the little lady in font of him and pulled the present from off his back and deftly deposited it at her hooves. She looked up at him curiously, “A gift? For me?”

“Eeyup,” he said pawing at the ground.

As the gal carefully untied the ribbons from the box, Macintosh tried to remember the things his cousin had told him to tell Strongheart, but he found it hard to think with her fluffy tail twitching in the air. She let out a gasp after removing the lid of the box. She dove partially in and rummaged inside. She emerged wearing a large pink stetson. “Oh my goodness, it’s the exact same hat I was admiring in town the other day,” she rushed forward and put her skinny forelegs around his neck. Macintosh could no longer recall his name, let alone anything about what his cousin had said to him barely two hours ago. “Thank you so much Big Macintosh,” she cried. “Your cousin must have told you as much about me as he told me of you. This is such a thoughtful gift.”

Things clicked into place in his head and he was suddenly aware that the situation had just taken a turn for disaster, he inhaled to begin an explanation when he felt her lips brush against his cheek. He decided explanations could wait, and why were folks so hung up on explanations anyway?

The little buffalo blushed and looked down at the ground. “Oh, I’m sorry. That was terribly forward of me. It’s just,” she looked up at him from under the brim of her new hat, “all of the men I know are from my tribe and when you grow up with someone, they feel more like family than anything else. I have told Braeburn this and to suddenly have his much talked about and rather handsome cousin come by with a gift that he was aware that I very much wanted, I can not help but think that this may have been his intention. I suppose what am I trying to say is that, if you’re interested, I would not mind if you wished to call on me.” She was blushing as she finished speaking. She put a hoof to her mouth as a fearful look swept across her face, “Oh dear, or have I made a terrible mistake? Are you interested in courting me?”

He could feel her lips on his cheek and her coat against his chest from moments ago, he could still smell her mane.
“Eeyup,” he answered, almost bashfully. The look on her face did much to help bury that rotten feeling growing in his stomach.

* * *

Macintosh took his time getting back to Braeburn as he tried to think of the right thing to say to explain what happened, it didn’t help. Braeburn went into a flurry of questions the moment he saw Mac, “So what did you say? What did she say?” When Macintosh didn’t answer, the other stallion got antsy. “Did something happen? Did you lose the gift? Did she hate it? At least tell me, did she like the hat?”

“Eeyup,” Macintosh said, not looking his cousin in the eye.

Braeburn was all smiles, “Well that’s a weight off my mind. Braeburn’s smile faded when Macintosh still refused to meet his eye. “What’s wrong with you cous,” Braeburn asked earnestly. “You’re acting like a colt who got caught with his face in the cookie jar.” Macintosh’s ears drooped in response and all expression fled from Braeburn’s face. “That smudge on your cheek,” he said hollowly, “I bought her that on her first trip into town ‘cause she was curious about our makeup. You gave the gift as though it were from you, didn’t you?” Big Macintosh felt as though he about three inches tall.

Braeburn tiled his head down, his hat hiding his eyes. “I told you she was something else, I guess you know that now,” he whispered miserably. Braeburn jerked his head up and pressed forward so that was nose to nose with his cousin. “How could you do this to me cousin?” Braeburn shook his head and stepped back. “No. You ain’t no kin of mine no more. That was my gift to her. Those were my thanks she gave you. And by all rights, that’s my affection you’re getting,” Breaburn stamped his hoof angrily. “And you know what that makes you? A thief and a liar!”

Braeburn furiously paced around Macintosh, who was raising to his full height. “So I’m calling you out thief,” Braeburn spat. “We settle matters personally out here in Appleloosa, with an old fashioned duel. We usually wait until noon, but I don’t think I can hold myself back that long. Sundset, main street, and bring your own barrel of apples cause you ain’t touching anything else of mine,” Braeburn finished and stomped off with an angry snort, leaving Macintosh glaring at his fleeing backside. He didn’t much care for being called a thief, he needed to buy some apples.

* * *

Sundown, Big Macintosh and Braeburn stared at each other from opposite ends of the street. The citizens of Appleloosa watched from their windows, lest they be struck by a stray apple, the only other pony on the street was Sheriff Silverstar. “Now I want a good clean duel here,” the mustached sheriff said loudly. “I’d also like to add that if y’all wanna take a moment to talk out yer differences, well, I think that would be just absatively grand.” Macintosh opened his mouth to speak and shut it immediately as Braeburn threw one of his apples into the air and gave it a buck, sending it smashing into the dust between Mac’s forelegs. Silverstar whistled, “I’ll be taking that as a ‘no’. Carry on boys.” With that, the sheriff darted into the nearest building. A second later, cautiously peered from behind the swinging door.

“Unless you want to just hold still while I start bucking, I’d suggest you go for your own barrel when I count three,” Braeburn said loudly, his tail twitched in anticipation. “One,” Macintosh raised a hoof, preparing to step to the side. “Two,” Braeburn’s mane shifted in the sparse breeze.

“Wait!” a small voice shouted from a nearby side street. Both Big Macintosh and Braeburn turned to see Little Strongheart whip around the corner, her little legs running at a full tilt. “Just what is going on here,” she demanded as she skidded to a stop.

“Just walk away Lil’ Strongheart, this here’s about to become an ugly scene,” Braebrun said glaring at Mac.

“Ugly scene,” Strongheart repeated in disbelief. “What reason could you possibly have to duel with your own family,” she said angrily as she stepped closer.

Braeburn faltered and took a step back as she approached. “That thief ain’t no kin of mine. He lied to you and stole you away from me!”

“A thief? Stole me,” the buffalo’s voice trailed off as she echoed his words. “Braeburn, what is it you are implying?”

Braeburn broke out into a sweat that had nothing to do with the heat. “That hat was from me, Macintosh just made like it was his gift to you. And along with it he stole your afec,” he paused, stumbling over the words. “He stole your thanks.”

“I realized as such, that’s why I’m here,” she said pulling a slip of paper from under her new hat. “There was a receipt in the box and it was dated for the same day as when I first saw this hat in the shop with you, so I knew it was impossible for this to have been from your cousin.” Strongheart turned to face Macintosh, “And shame on you Big Macintosh for leading me on like that.” Big Macintosh’s ears plastered to his skull.

Braeburn let out a relieved sigh and slumped as the tension for the upcoming fight evaporated. “Well that sure is a relief-” He was cut off by Little Strongheart slamming her forehead into his.

“And you Braeburn, I am so very disappointed in you,” she said, tears standing in her eyes. “You’ve often told me that you respected my opinion and my intelligence, but when you had an issue regarding my behavior with another your first instinct appears to be to try and beat him into submission as opposed to coming to me about it. Do you view me as one of your carnival prizes to be won in some silly competition,” she raised one leg and knocked the hat from her head. “I thought you held me in higher regard than that. I thought,” she rubbed her eyes with her foreleg, “It no longer matters what I thought. I do not wish to see either of you again. You may beat each other senseless for all I care, but it shall not have anything to do with me.”

Little Strongeart took only two steps before colliding with the red coated wall that was Big Macintosh. The small young lady looked up, unimpressed, “I have no interest in anything you could have to say, but if you feel you must unburden yourself, make it brief so that I might be home before too late into nightfall.”

The large pony took a single breath, “Ma’am, I am sorry I deceived you with my lie of omission. The truth is that the hat was a gift from my cousin here, but I was too taken by you to deliver it or his message properly. I have a bit of a reputation back home for being an expert with the ladies, but the truth is that the only gals waiting for me are my granny and my sisters. So I don’t ask you to forgive me for my indiscretion, but try to not to think to harshly on me for letting a pretty gal kiss me and being stunned into stupidity immediately after.”

“Much more important is that I ask you to forgive my cousin. Braeburn’s one of the kindest and most level headed ponies I know. He really does think very highly of you and told me as such himself. The trouble is that anypony is prone to make a right fool of themselves when they’re, well, in love.”

Little Strongheart stood perfectly still for several seconds before turning to see Braeburn sitting on his haunches and holding her discarded hat in his forelegs, hiding his face behind it. She lightly walked toward him and laid down so that they were face to hat. “Is this true, do you have such affections for me?”

Slowly the hat lowered so that Braeburn’s eyes were visible. “Eeyup,” he said shakily. “The fact is, I think you’re the greatest thing since apple pie and, well shoot, if you’d be willing, it’d just about make me the happiest pony in all Equestria if I could be the one to court you. In fact, there’s supposed to be a Mild West Dance tonight and I bought you this hat for the occasion. I’d understand if you still don’t want nothin’ to do with me, but I think you should keep the hat. You just look real purty in it is all,” he finished, trailing off.

Little Strongheart looked around nervously and lowered her head, still looking up into Braeburn’s eyes. He pulled the pink hat away from his muzzle and gingerly placed it atop her curly mane. She raised her head and smiled at him. Breaburn cleared his throat, “So buffalo gal, won’t you come out tonight and dance by the light of the moon?” Little Strongheart leapt forward, lips first, the brims of their hats collided and were knocked from their heads. All down the street, the town’s folk “awww”ed their approval.

Not too many paces away, Macintosh gave the new couple a pleased looking over, ignoring the small pangs he felt in his chest. He had only just turned when he heard Braeburn say to Strongheart to, “Sit tight a moment,” and he was galloping to Mac’s side. “I’m sorry for how I acted cousin, I guess I really can’t judge you too harshly for losing your head over her. She seems to have that effect on ponies.” A sly smile spread out on his youthful face, “But I can’t help but notice that this whole thing seems to have ended up with me giving her that hat and telling her my feelings myself. In fact, a suspicious pony might think that everything after you got that there peck on your cheek was all part of some half cocked scheme to get somepony to grow spine enough to tell a gal that he cares. But that’s just ridiculous talk, ain’t it?”

Big Macintosh smiled broadly. “Mmaybe,” was all he said.

Sweet'n'Salty

The dawn sun creeped along the bedroom’s floor, a cool breeze ruffling through the slightly-ajar window, causing the blinds to softly whisper as they caressed the wall. Nearby, a large red stallion snored deeply, each breath reverberating like a drum. Big Mac was a fitting name for the stallion, his form easily able to dwarf most other ponies. The hay-stuffed bed sagged underneath his weight, each dream-induced roll causing it to warp precariously, yet it remained miraculously intact.

Big Mac’s sister, Applejack, occasionally asked him why he kept it; the bed was the same one he had slept in as a foal–the hooves hanging from the end a testament to it never being built for such a large being. No matter his answer, whether it was for nostalgia’s sake or simply to save bits, Applejack would scoff at it. He didn’t mind his younger sibling’s pressing, though; he’d learned long ago that when she latched onto a subject it was easier for all of those involved to just let it run its course.

At least until she had insisted that he needed to take a vacation. That he hadn’t taken to very well. It was one thing to rest if he was injured, like during the Applebucking season a few years ago, but to just leave all of the work to Applejack? He simply couldn’t, especially after how close his sister had come to hurting herself when she tried to do it alone last time. However, she’d proven herself to be the more steadfast–or stubborn–of the two and, after months of poking and proding, he had finally relented.

She had promised that she wouldn’t do it alone this time, at least. Applebloom was finally big enough to help with some of the easier tasks, and Applejack’s friends had personally assured Big Mac that they’d keep an eye on her and chip in if needed. He still felt uneasy about leaving, though. Unlike his sister, who went on all sorts of adventures with her five friends, Big Mac was more than comfortable with simply living day-to-day, to enjoy the little things in life. Work was his life, and he was about to walk away from his life’s work. For the stallion, it was akin to being an apple tree that grew oranges.

The sun finally crawled high enough into the sky to touch Big Mac’s snout. He sniffled and wiggled, as if he was trying to cast off a butterfly that had landed on it. Finally, the inevitable happened, and he let out with a roaring sneeze. His sage-green eyes flew open, their pupils contracting in the sudden brightness. After a few seconds he opened them again, rubbing the night dust out with his forehooves. The bed groaned in protest as he lifted himself up into a slouched sitting position, staring out at the rolling fields speckled with apple trees with half-lidded eyes.

Finally, he forced himself up, a few muffled pops sounding as he stretched out his stiff joints. He knew there was still a couple good decades left in his body, but suddenly the thought of a short vacation seemed a little more inviting. Big Mac walked over to the wall where, beside the door to the hallway, hung his yoke. He nosed it up and let it slide down his neck until it came to rest on his shoulders, its familiar heft and polished wood welcomed by the stallion. His yoke was another thing Applejack had asked about, why he always wore it, even when he wasn’t doing work. That he’d been able to answer easily enough; “You’ve got ma’s hat, Ah’ve got dad’s yoke.” She hadn’t brought it up again since then.

The yoke was the only thing Big Mac wore, barring the vest during Winter Wrap-Up vest and his dad’s dress shirt, which he would only wear if he ever got married or for a funeral. As clothed as he was ever going to get, Big Mac tip-hoofed out into the hallway, his large size belying just how light on his hooves he could be. He made his way downstairs, briefly peeking into the living room to see Granny Apple snoring peacefully in her rocking chair.

A few moments later Big Mac was weaving through the apple trees at a leisurely trot. A well-placed tap on one tree knocked a loose an apple, which he neatly caught with his mouth. It was still tart and tough, not quite ripe enough for normal sale, but perfect for cooking. He munched on it thoughtfully, wondering about just what Applejack had planned for his “vacation”. She had insisted on making all of the arrangements herself, especially after he’d suggested going to Zebrica to do peace work.

“That ain’t no vay-cay-shun,” she’d stated matter-of-factly. “Heck, doin’ that sorta work is probably even tougher than buckin’ the trees.” Big Mac had lost his planning privileges after that. All he knew at this point was that it was going to involve a train and family. As long as Applejack wasn’t sending him off to be with the Oranges, though, he was fine with it. He’d never been the best at handling finances or plans, anyways.

The harsh sound of sawing interrupted his musing. His curiosity piqued, he followed his ears until he came across a tree with branches littering the ground around it. “Applebloom? That you up there?” he called.

The sawing stopped and a yellow face, half-obscured by a rose-red mane, popped out of the branches. “Hiya, big bro! Goin’ to the train station now?”

Big Mac smiled. “Eeyup. But before Ah do, just what’re ya doin’ up in the tree, Applebloom?”

Applebloom pursed her lips and blew the wayward hair out of her face, revealing a pair of bright orange eyes. “Well, somepony’s gotta trim the trees, and Ah figured Ah could practice my grafting as long as Ah was at it. That big ol’ windstorm from last week did a nasty number on some o’ these here branches, after all.” She disappeared back into the leafy bough of the tree, a few muffled rustles coming from its depths before the mare dropped gracefully from the tree. Applebloom spat out the saw that had between her teeth. Twisting around to show Big Mac her flank, she finished with, “I mean, it is mah special talent!”

Big Mac chuckled. “Yer never gonna let me forget it, are ya?”

“Nope!” She shook her back end, showing off the pair of bandaged branches represented her talent. Applebloom had put the experience she’d gotten from fixing up the old tree house to good use when she’d checked out a book on apple tree growing and found a chapter on how to repair dead branches by grafting. Her Cutie Mark had followed shortly after.

“Well, Ah’d best get goin’. Make sure yer big sis don’t work herself t’ the bone, OK?”

Applebloom gave a mock salute. “Don’t yah worry ‘bout Applejack; ah’ll take care o’ her! Yah just go an’ enjoy that vacation!”

Big Mac waved goodbye–which was enthusiastically returned by Applebloom–and returned to his walk. Going through the trees wasn’t the fastest way to the train station, but his chance encounter with his sister was just one of the reasons why taking the scenic route was often the best way to travel. Big Mac enjoyed taking notice in the things that other’s missed in their hurry to get from point A to point B. He relished the moist morning dew as it tickled his hooves, birds tittering as they carved graceful patterns in the sky, the hypnotic swaying of leaves in the wind. Finding a good straw of wheat in one of the many patches he had planted around the orchard–he always made sure to have some at hoof if the urge struck him–he sighed with contentment at how peaceful things were, then sighed again when he saw his destination come into view.

His face brightened, however, when he saw who was waiting for him. “Well, hey, if it ain’t mah little cous’n!” A yellow stallion galloped up to him.

“Braeburn!” Big Mac said as he followed suit, the two meeting halfway, each rearing up and putting their forehooves against each other. “Been age since Ah’ve seen you!”

They backed off and fell down to four hooves once more. “Heh, when your l’il sis told me that yah were goin’ on a trip, Ah told her I’d be happier than a buffalo with an apple pie t’ take yah to Aaaapleoosa!” he announced enthusiastically.

“Ah’m more than happy to see you again, Braeburn!” Big Mac turned to his sister, who had been watching from the sidelines with a wide grin.

“Now do yah think this was a good idea?” she teased.

Big Mac moved the sprig of wheat from one corner of his mouth to the other in thought. “Well, Ah still think it would ‘ave been better if yah didn’t put it during Applebuckin’ season, but Ah think Ah’ll be able t’ deal with it.

“Good. Now, th’ train’s gonna be here any moment now, so ya’ll best get over there. Wouldn’t do for yah to miss it, after all.”

Braeburn nodded in agreement. “C’mon, little cous. We can catch up during the ride.”

Big Mac copied the gesture. “Sounds like a plan. Just give me’n’Applejack a sec, will yah?” Braeburn complied and trotted off to the platform. Now alone, Big Mac went up and pecked his sister on the cheek. “Ah’m glad you talked me inta this, sis. Still, yah gotta promise me yah’ll let yer sister and yer friends help yah do th’ applebucking, OK?”

Applejack waved a hoof dismissively. “Don’t yah worry ‘bout little ol’ me, yah just go enjoy yerself now, ya hear? Ah’ll see yah in a month, saltcube.”

The stallion looked confused for a moment. “Saltcube?” he asked earnestly.

Applejack shrugged. “’Figured that Ah needed somethin’ fer stallions, since sugarcube jus’ don’t sound right.”

Big Mac snorted in amusement. “Well, yah know I’m not one fer salt.”

“Ah haven’t forgotten. Oh! And ‘fore yah go, yer stuff is with Braeburn. Jus’ a couple o’ snacks fer th’ trip an’ the like. Ya’ll take care now!”

The two siblings briefly nuzzled each other before going their separate ways, Applejack back to the farm to get started on the harvest and Big Mac moving to join Braeburn at the terminal.

-=-=-=-=-=-

The scenery rushed by in a blur of brown, tan and gold. Rocky crags sprouted from the desert’s barren land like earthen fingers, the occasional flash of green appearing where a cactus or hardy grass had clawed their way out from the sun-hardened ground. Even Big Mac found it difficult to find the beauty in such a dry and arid land but, without any exterior diversions to distract him, he found it easy for him and Braeburn to have long conversations. Braeburn regaled Big Mac with buffalo tales of folklore, like the Golem of the Desert who had created the plateaus and the legend of the Moon Crow, a crafty god who had himself been outwitted by the buffalo maiden he had wished to wed. When Big Mac’s turn came up, he would talk about the larger-than-life events at Ponyville, like the Ursa Minor attack and, somewhat reluctantly, the time he had become convinced he was a dog during Discord’s brief reign. Braeburn had laughed long and hard at that, and while at first Big Mac’s ears had burned an ever-brighter shade of red, he hadn’t been able to resist joining in too.

They didn’t even notice that night had snuck up on them until the conductor had knocked on their door, telling the pair that the train’s curfew had come and gone and that other passengers had complained about their loud rambling. Reluctantly, the two retired and, with the candle snuffed out and Braeburn mumbling in his sleep, Big Mac watched the star-studded night pass by. He counted the stars in Ursa Major and Minor, marvelled at the burning contrail of a shooting star and, most of all, marvelled at the moon. It was in full display, proudly displaying itself for all to see and revel in. Before, with the Mare in the Moon imprinted in it, it had seemed alien, threatening. Now, though, it seemed warm and inviting, always willing to guide those lost in the dark with its bright evanescence. Out here, in the desert, the night sky’s beauty more than made up for the land’s harshness.

A look of contentment on his face, Big Mac slipped under his covers, shortly followed by his slipping into dreams.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

FWEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!

The train’s whistle served as a suitable replacement for a rooster. With a mighty yawn the stallion got up. Braeburn was already up and about, as evidenced by the lack of his leather vest and a note hanging on the bedpost that simply read “Gone to get breakfast”.

Big Mac put on his yoke and, after asking a bored-looking janitor for directions, found his way to the dining car. It didn’t take long for him to Braeburn, or rather, it didn’t take long for Braeburn to find him. Big Mac supposed that it was one of the advantages of standing a couple of heads higher than other ponies. The pair made their way back to the table Braeburn had been waiting at.

Big Mac looked down at the empty table. “Haven’t ordered anythin’ yet?”

“Nope, been waitin’ for you, cous.” He leaned over and picked up a pair of menus that had been leaning against the table’s leg. “Take your pick; this one’s on me.”

After a couple minute’s deliberation, Big Mac settled on a fruit salad while Braeburn ordered hashbrowns. Big Mac, in typical fashion, ate his breakfast at a leisurely pace while Braeburn finished his in a matter of minutes, leaving the Appleloosan to monologue. He talked about how much Appleloosa had grown in the past few years, moving from a simply frontier town to a moderately busy trading centre. He also talked at length about the relations with the native buffalo, who had been more than courteous as long as there was a fresh supply of apple pie and their stampede route remained unblocked. “There are even some buffalo who’re living in town now!” he’d said, obviously enthused at the good relationship Appleloosa had with them.

By the time Big mac was finished the train was on the last stretch of tracks before it reached Appleloosa. Braeburn paid for their breakfast and then the two stallions headed back to their cabin to gather their belongings. A few minutes later the train stopped to let passengers disembark, closely followed by new riders boarding the train.

Watching the train recede into the distance, Braeburn said, “So, you like your first train ride, cous?”

“Eeeeyup.”

“Well, you’d best get ready for more, ‘cause we’ve just gotten started!”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Big Mac had been expecting a slow stroll to see the sights of Appleloosa; instead, he got a whirlwind tour of just about every “Fine business establishment”, “Culinary experience” and pony of noteworthiness, which was most of them when it came to Braeburn. Post offices that were easily three times the size of Ponyville’s, auction houses that played host to everything from ore sales to original Van Dough, bistros that had sparkling juice from local vineyards and clubs that moved from Mild West dancing to disco in the span of a single day. It was, according to Braeburn, all thanks to Appleloosa being the epicentre of the railway.

While Big Mac was more than capable of working for long hours and with heavy loads, he was far from an agile pony, and so he quickly found himself faltering due to the break-neck pace. The desert sun beating down didn’t help matters either, and it didn’t take long for his matted coat to become several shades darker from sweat. Braeburn, on the other hoof, barely seemed fazed at all by the heat; if anything, he was even more excitable. Finally, when Big Mac felt like he couldn’t take another step, Braeburn stopped in front of a seedy-looking saloon.

“An’ here’s the original waterin’ hole of Appleloosa, th’ Salt Block!” Big Mac, despite how exhausted he was, couldn’t help but think about the oxymoron of calling a place that sold salt a “watering hole”.

However, before he could puzzle over it further, he felt the now-familiar push of Braeburn. “C’mon, cous, let’s get a drink!”

Big Mac dug his hooves into the dust, finally deciding to forgo passivity. “Ah don’t do well wit’ salt, Brae.”

“You don’t like salt?” he asked, a look of surprise dominating his face.

“Eeyup.”

Braeburn seemed non-plussed for several moments. He gathered his wits and asked “…No salt at all?”

“Eeyup.”

“What if I bought it? Would you have some?”

“Eeeenope.”

Braeburn sighed. “Well, dang, I was lookin’ forward to letting you try some Appleloosan salt; I have it from several salt tasters that it’s th’ best in just about anywhere!”

Big Mac nudged the distraught stallion lightly. “Don’t yah worry ‘bout it it. Right now, all Ah’m really interested in is a cold drink.”

Braeburn brightened up, if only marginally. “Well, what’re we waiting for? The Salt Block can also mix up a mean margarita —non-salted rim, of course.”

“Sounds good t’me, Brae.”

They trotted up to and through the swinging doors. It only took a second for the smell of unwashed bodies, cheap liquor and cigarettes to hit Big Mac in the face like a frying pan full of burning cinders that had been used to cook rotten eggs. Braeburn, for his part, took a deep breath and let it out, an expression of contentment on his face. “Ahh, th’ old Salt Block, nowhere quite like it.” He craned his head back to the queasy Big Mac. “Well, time’s a-wastin’! Let’s get a drink or two before we had back out; I’ve gotta take you out to meet Chief Thunderhooves and Little Braveheart still!”

Braeburn began to move through the sardine-tight mass of bodies, effortlessly flowing through them like water through a dam. Big Mac tried to follow in his cousin’s wake, but the instant Braeburn got past one of the saloon’s many denizens the hole would close right back up, leaving the stallion to bull his way through and mutter apologies to angry glares and threatening growls. Diamond Dogs, rats, griffons, monkeys, ponies of every breed and even a few buffalo filled the interior to nearly bursting, and the little space that left over was filled by the smoke that wafted from innumerable cigarillos perched limply in their owner’s mouth, muzzle or beak.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Big Mac caught up to Braeburn, who was already sipping away at a Manehatten Long Island, the dirty glass rimmed by unnaturally white salt. Noticing Big Mac’s arrival, Braeburn slid a margarita towards him, the salt-virgin concoction filled with a red ichor that sloshed with milky undulations. It was topped with a single wilted cherry. It took a moment of mulling for Big Mac to remember that margaritas usually had a lime or lemon instead.

Braeburn raised his glass and announced, a little too loudly for Big Mac’s taste, “To the best cousin in Equestria!” He downed the rest of his drink in one go and banged his hoof on the countertop for another. As the earth pony barkeep refilled the glass, Braeburn directed his attention to Big Mac and said, “Well, drink up!”

Big Mac stared at the glass for a second and, with more than a little apprehension, he took a sip from it. The brew slimed down his esophagus, burning the entire way down, until it fell into his stomach with the weight of an iron ball. If he wasn’t worried about the damage it would do during the second trip, Big Mac would have thrown it up; judging by the numerous discoloured stains on the counter, it was a fairly normal occurrence.

“You gonna finish that?” Braeburn asked, gesturing to the mostly-filled cup. Big Mac tried to rasp an answer, then decided to spare his throat the torture and merely nod a yes. Before he could even blink the mixture had disappeared down Braeburn’s throat. “Guess you weren’t that thirsty after all! Maybe you’d prefer a-”

He was cut off by the sound of a fight breaking out. Three Diamond Dogs had leaped up, surrounding a stoic pegasus that wore a desperado hat and a long, flowing cloak.

“Little pony cheat us!” the first one, a tall and lanky mutt whose right eye was white with cataracts, spat.

“Yes, puny pegasus steal from us!” cried the second member of their motely group, his four chins flopping around as his corpulent body tried to stand up.

The fourth slowly stood up to his full height, its body criss-crossed with numerous scars and a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “We do not take kindly to being scammed, ranger,” he hissed as his hand slid down to where a collection of weaponized confectionaries rested.

The ‘ranger’ simply regarded them cooly. “It does not take a genius or a cheater to beat a pack of mangy dogs at poker, especially when their tails wag at good hands.”

The first dog reached over the table, a dirty fingernail pointing at the pegasus. “Stupid pony will pay for insulting u-“

The pony casually flicked the paw away. “Watch where you’re pointing those things, unless you’re letting someone cut ‘em.”

The fat one finally managed to get up and fell towards the mysterious equine. “When we’re through with you, no pony will be able to find your body!”

“If you sat on me, I doubt even YOU could find me again between your cheeks.”

The oversized dog lunged , slowly, at the pegasus. “Why you little-“

The leader of the pack grabbed him before he could reach his target. “Now now, that’s no way to do things like a proper gentlecanine.” He turned his gaze to the pegasus and said, “How about we do this the old-fashioned way? Ten paces, turn and pie.”

The pegasus gave a demure smile. “Those two against me wouldn’t be a problem, but three against one? Even for me, that’s not a fair fight.”

The two gazed levelly at the other for several seconds, not a single patron making a peep, at least until Braeburn said, “We’ll help you, Mister!”

The pegasus glanced at them, almost looking as if he didn’t consider them to be worth his time, before shrugging and saying, “If you want to.”

Big Mac looked at his cousin in horror, his mouth moving but unable to form words.

“Barkeep! Two glasses of courage juice for me and my cous!” Two glasses were dropped in front of them. “Drink up!” Braeburn downed his in one gulp and, much to Big Mac’s surprise, he drank all of his own too. This time, though, the red stallion noticed something different about it, not just that it was edible, but also the slight tingling on his tongue and lips.

He looked down at the glass to see salt ringing the edge, each crystal glittering in the distilled sunlight that had stolen its way through grimy windows. They danced a merry jig in his vision, casting rainbows across the drab interior.

“Eee-uh-oh.”

The world faded from vision.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

One eye opened, but the other seemed to befirmly welded shut. Big Mac also noticed a stickiness on his head, warm and cloyingly sweet. Then something wet ran across his face and, with the impulse caused by its passing, his other eye managed to crack open the sugary shell that had been covering it. One of the scantily-clad dancers from the saloon was licking bits of frosting and filling off of his face.

“UH-buh-wuh…huh?” he managed to sputter out.

The pony dancer, her coat as white as fresh snow, smiled brightly at him. “Hehe, so you’re awake? I bet you’re wondering about what happened, right?”

“EEEeeeeeEEeee…yup?” he replied drunkenly, still feeling the lingering aftereffects of the salt in his body.

She giggled again at his less-than decipherable response. “Well, you see Mister, you, Mr. Braeburn and that ranger went out and had a pie’n’cake duel. Needless to say, your head got beaned pretty good by a shortcake, but not before you managed to feed that fat one next-to bursting with long johns.”

His eye twitched at the thought of even touching that dog.

“Your… cousin, was it?... managed to nail the tall one with a classic Appleloosan apple pie, but when he was grabbing a second one the leader of their pack got him right in the chest with some sort of Istallion dessert bread…Panatonie, I think it was.” Seeing Big Mac’s panicked expression, she quickly added, “Don’t worry though, it wasn’t even stale yet. You should be more worried about the last Diamond Dog. That ranger knocked him clean off his clock with a fruit cake. Didn’t even know you could still get those, supposed to be outlawed. Anyways, Sheriff Silverstar was mighty glad that you three took out those mutts since they’ve been making a mess of the town for some time now. Does that answer your questions?”

He nodded.

“Hehe, good. Now, where was I?...” Big Mac felt the cleaning commence again and closed his eyes, deciding to just go with the flow of things.

At least until he felt a second tongue on his chest.

His eyes opened and he saw a very familiar hat. “Braeburn?” he managed to say with little difficulty.

The yellow stallion grinned. “Yep, now hold still; you’ve got some frosting a little lower.”

As the tongues continued to caress him, Big Mac realized he had a lot to think about, and more to talk about with Applejack.

Mostly about how she and Rainbow Dash handled their relationship.

Forever In Azures So Bright

Across the plains, a thousand head of jackalope thundered.

"Keep 'em in line!" hollered Braeburn Apple, his ragged blond mane flowing in the wind as he ran. "Lariat, Spur, them's headed fer th'hills!" Two of the stallions galloped closer to the flowing carpet of jagged brown antlers, cutting off their exit. Like two puddles meeting, the errant peninsula merged with the larger group.

Over the next few minutes, the herd's panic gradually subsided, and the stampede came to a stop. The dust cloud they'd raised slowly melted away in the light breeze.

Braeburn trotted over to his cousin, McIntosh Apple, flush with excitement. "Whoowee! That rattler sure made a mess of things." He looked around. "Ah reckon here's as good a place as any for the night."

"Count'em up, boys," shouted Big McIntosh to the other five ponies.

The chuck wagon arrived about half an hour later. The commotion meant they wouldn't eat until after dark. While they waited, Spur played his harmonica to match the setting of the sun and the rise of the moon. Soon the smell of baked beans wafted through camp; Cookie Cutter's meals went a long way toward making the day's aches disappear.

The final day's pace was more sedate. Lariat kept a closer eye out for snake dens while they walked, and Spur played a tune he thought might keep the jackalope calm. They'd lost about twenty head in the stampede, but the rest were in fine shape. The chuck wagon rattled on behind them.

Together, ponies and jackalope rounded the foot of a mesa. Braeburn whistled, and tipped his hat. "Well now, ain't that a sight fer sore eyes." Nestled against the other side of the mesa was a bustling frontier town: Snakebit.

The herd halted while Braeburn trotted ahead. Ten minutes later, he returned with a pony wearing a tall white hat. Without further incident, they rounded the critters into a low-fenced corral near a ranch on the edge of town.

Four more corrals sat next to the one with Braeburn's herd. One had rabbits; the other three also held jackalope. "Snakebit's Autumn Auction is th' biggest livestock auction 'roun' these parts," said Braeburn to Big McIntosh, watching the herds mill around in their pens. "Why, Ah'm plumb grateful t'you fer helpin' out with th' drive."

"Anythin' for family," said McIntosh.

And then the waiting began. Throughout the afternoon and into the evening, stagecoaches carrying well-dressed ponies came into town.

The next morning, all interested parties assembled at a stage near to the corrals. The crowd milled about, their coin purses pregnant with riches. Two Pinkerton detectives, unicorns with sharp-filed horns, stood off to the side. No funny business would be allowed, and the ponies present knew it.

Starting slowly, then quickly increasing pace, the auctioneer played the crowd like a fine instrument. Bids were placed, bits were exchanged. After all was said and done, the auction bursar passed out bags of money to each of the drive heads.

"Hey cousin, look at this," said Braeburn, tipping his hat back.

McIntosh whistled at the size of the money bag. "Ah had no idea antlers were such a valuable commodity out here."

Then they paid the hired hooves. Cookie Cutter got a bonus for keeping them well-fed and watered. Spur said he'd stick around town for a while looking for work. Lariat booked a coach back to greener pastures. The others were Snakebiters, citizens of the busy little town, and they headed for the bank as soon as they'd gotten their pay.

McIntosh hefted the considerably lighter purse back into his saddlebag. He said, "My portion'll sure help out th' farm, 'specially with Applebuck season coming up, an' us needin' a few hired hooves of our own. So, where's this wagon you keep goin' on about?"

"Right over there," Braeburn said, pointing. Near the ranch where the auction had been held, a dust-brown pony stood in front of a covered wagon loaded with supplies. He wore a fancy vest more elaborate than Braeburn's, and his black mane was slicked back.

The other pony saw them, and waved them over. "Ah'm Dusty," said the pony, "An' you must be Braeburn Apple. Boy, you're the spittin' image of Bismarck."

Braeburn smiled, and shuffled a hoof. "Thanks. We all miss pa. So, these the supplies?"

Dusty gestured to a clipboard hanging from a nail on the side of the wagon. "Manifest's right there. Ah'll wait 'til you're good and satisfied."

Braeburn and McIntosh inventoried the wagon thoroughly and efficiently. "...and one dozen fairylights. That everythin', Cuz?" asked Braeburn.

"Eyup. Every last oat, nail, rope, and light," confirmed McIntosh, pulling out the purse.

Braeburn counted the trader's share into a second bag, then placed the significantly reduced remainder back into the saddlebag. "Pleasure doin' business with you, Dusty," he said, holding out a hoof.

They shook, and the trader trotted away. "Well, compadre," Braeburn said, turning toward his cousin, "We're on our own."

They started out that afternoon. McIntosh took the first shift pulling the wagon. They made their way out of town, up the trail.

For a few minutes, Braeburn walked ahead in silence, keeping his eyes peeled for rattlers, cougars, and other varmints. Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer, and dropped back to converse. "Folks say yer sister helped free th' other princess from the moon this summer," he said.

McIntosh sighed. "Folks say rightly."

Silence reigned for another minute. Braeburn piped up again. "I betcha that'd make a good tale fer th' trail."

McIntosh looked at him. "Eyep." He plodded on at a steady pace past brush and cactus.

"C'mon, cousin," Braeburn said, leaning toward him, "We only get big news 'round these parts, not the details. Ah haven't seen her since that summer at yer pa's ranch playin' Gooseberry by the pond. How's little Jackie doin'?"

McIntosh smiled, a gleam in his eye. Braeburn realized McIntosh had been dying to tell the story.

"It all started this Spring, when we sent in a bid to cater th' Summer Sun Celebration. Seems this year, Princess Celestia picked our village to host. Now, Sweet Apple Acres has been loyal to th' crown fer generations, an' my sister Applejack had a bright idea. See, we were already gonna host the Apple Family Reunion to coincide. Why not have all our family pitch in and bake their specialties? But then th' trouble started..."

By the time McIntosh brought the story to a close, sunset was near and they'd gotten twice as far as their last camp on the way in.

"Well imagine that," said Braeburn, "My little cousin Applejack, a genuine heroine." He looked around. "Ah think this'd be a good spot t' stop today."

"Eyup." McIntosh halted, put on the wagon's brakes, and undid the straps.

They prepared their simple meal of oats. "Ah wish we could'a convinced Cookie t' come back with us," said Braeburn wistfully, "That pony has a real talent with food."

"Reckon that's why he got that spatula mark," said McIntosh. Clouds drifted across the western horizon. As the sun set, the sky turned a pale blue near the sun, while the clouds became firey orange and deep purple. He marveled at the glory of the heavens. On the trip out, he'd been too occupied by herding jackalope to pay much attention.

And suddenly, the sun sank. The stars glistened and twinkled, a vast ocean. It took his breath away.

The moon moved sedately into the eastern sky, its pearlescent and perfect surface shedding light on the lone prarie. Braeburn whistled. "That never ceases to amaze," he said.

"Ah can see why y'all settled out here," McIntosh said, still gazing up.

The following morning, Braeburn took his turn pulling the wagon. McIntosh walked ahead a ways, watching for things that might hinder them. They passed red rock formations, the land nearby sparsely grassed. They climbed moderate hills, and carefully made their way down the other side. They forded shallow streams, the water a blessed relief to their trailworn hooves.

They unhitched and stopped for lunch atop a hill.

As they ate, Braeburn told McIntosh about Appleloosa, and its relation to his father, Bismarck Apple. "He was a good pony, my pa," said Braeburn, "Stubborn streak as long as his farm's fence-line, kept the family fed no matter what. He'd always had a dream of movin' out west and settlin' new land, but circumstances conspired to keep him in Ponysylvania. He'd stay up nights planning th' town, lists of all th' jobs that needed fillin', supplies fer th' first few years, families that were interested in goin' out to th' frontier with him, an' financiers who'd bankroll th' town charter."

He looked to the horizon. "Ah'd stay awake at night listenin' to him mumble around the pencil in his mouth. I grew up dreamin' of the day we'd all move out here. Wide open land, far as th' eye can see. An' then, the accident happened. So Ma and I sold th'farm, gathered up his notes, an' got in touch with his contacts. Seems he'd been further along than we'd thought. We laid the foundation of th' courthouse just two months ago, an' we should be gettin' rail within th' year." He looked at McIntosh. "Thanks fer taking th' stagecoach out to Appleloosa from th' nearest rail stop, by th' way."

"Thanks for th' ticket," said McIntosh.

"That town's growin' faster'n a hog-fertilized orchard, I tell you what." Braeburn said. Then he sighed. "But he planted th' seeds, Ah've only watered them. Reckon Ah've got a wide hat to fill."

A sudden noise made them both look at the wagon. They locked eyes with a young pronghorn buck, who looked just as surprised as them. He had one of the smaller parcels of oats in his teeth. Then he narrowed his eyes, turned, and darted off.

"Dagnabbit! Come back here!" hollered Braeburn, galloping after him. For a few moments, he thought he might catch up. Then the buck kicked him in the jaw and accelerated.

Braeburn was simply outclassed. The buck was at least twice as fast as an earth pony. Amazed by the speed, he slowed to a trot.

Then he heard McIntosh far behind him. "Braeburn! Braeburn!"

It took him a minute to get back to the wagon and McIntosh. He rubbed his jaw with a hoof. "Dagblasted coup-countin' natives!" he shouted in the direction of the buck.

"Coup?" asked McIntosh, a puzzled look on his face.

"Fer pronghorn bucks t' grow up in their elders' eyes, they gotta touch an enemy an' get clean away," Braeburn said. "Thanks fer stayin' with th' wagon. If this'd been a raiding party, an' you'd followed me, we'd've been picked clean. The town's dependin' on me t' get these here supplies, an' Ah almost let'em down."

"Ah'll haul th' next leg" said McIntosh, maneuvering himself into the wagon's straps, "You keep an eye out."

The sunset was just as amazing on that second day, and they made good time. But the next morning was grey and overcast. They walked on, apprehensive. McIntosh tried to lighten the mood by sharing the tale of the dragon his sister's friends had chased off a mountaintop, but after the telling was done, silence fell.

A sharp caw caught their attention. About a dozen lengths to their left, a blackbird landed on a dessicated buffalo skull in a gully. Braeburn shivered in the wagon's harness. "Well, that ain't somethin' you see every day."

By mid-afternoon, Braeburn estimated they were only another half a day from Appleloosa. From the top of another small rise, he pointed. "You see those two mesas way off in th'distance?" he asked.

"Eyup."

"Appleloosa's just around th' one on th' left." He smiled. "We're almost there."

A blackbird's caw sounded, but this one was much louder, and much deeper. Braeburn's ears went back, and his eyes got wide. "Thunderbird! Run!"

A low thrumming noise echoed off nearby hills. McIntosh looked up.

An enormous black shape soared overhead, and for a moment, McIntosh thought it was a dragon. But the shape was of a massive bird of prey. Each time it flapped, thick black stormclouds rolled off the wake of its wings. Idly, he realized how Appleloosa watered their crops without pegasi.

"RUN!" shouted Braeburn a second time, and pulled the wagon as fast as he could gallop. McIntosh followed. They dodged holes and rocks, cacti and fallen logs. Behind them, a wall of rain and lightning surged toward them.

"Over there!" cried Braeburn, heading toward a dark hole in a cliff wall. It was a cave. As they neared it, they saw that there was a somewhat steep slope at the entrance.

"Keep going!" said McIntosh, dropping behind. Braeburn nearly stumbled. The wagon had never felt so heavy, so ponderously slow. With a grinding noise, the wagon's middle stuck on the lip of the cavern.

With a mighty shove, McIntosh pushed the back end of the wagon inside. Braeburn did lose his footing this time, and fell forward. The interior of the cave was level, and wide enough for the wagon to comfortably fit.

The sound of the downpour was nothing compared to the thunderstrikes that echoed all through the cave, as Braeburn struggled to his hooves. He yelled, "Cousin McIntosh!" But he was deafened by the thunder. He pulled off the straps holding him to the wagon, and turned around.

McIntosh stood inside the cave, panting from the exertion, safe from the lightning. They looked at each other, and smiled. Then they both laughed with relief. They'd made it.

But as the noise of passed, they heard another voice laughing.

"Well, what do we have here?" asked a light grey unicorn stallion, leering. "Two little lost sheep. And they brought presents!" Behind him, the cavern was dimly lit, enough to see a light pink pegasus mare and a massive blue earth pony.

McIntosh stamped his hooves and snorted. "We don't want trouble."

"It's a little too late for that," said the unicorn, lowering his head as if to charge. His horn glowed. "Turn over your goods, and we'll let you walk out of here."

Braeburn wondered what spells the unicorn knew. "Now don't be hasty here," he said, walking in front of McIntosh, "Perhaps we can come to some sort of financial arrangement." It was a bluff. After paying the trailhooves, the cook, and the trader, he barely had enough left to pay the town's financiers and McIntosh.

"Hah!" laughed the unicorn, "There's enough gold in these caves to start our own bank. Now don't get me wrong, your bits are appreciated. Just leave the wagon, and head on out into that storm. There's a town not far from here. And if you tell the sheriff we're here, we'll hunt you down and gut you." This last was said with no humor at all.

The Apple cousins looked at each other. "Gooseberry?" said Braeburn.

"Mulligan," replied McIntosh. Suddenly, he swiveled and kicked Braeburn-

-straight toward the unicorn! The startled unicorn's horn let off a bolt of white energy which passed harmlessly beneath Braeburn, who slammed into the unicorn. Then it all became a blur of flying hooves and horseflesh and instinct.

Yet somehow, a single burning thought kept him going, aimed his hooves where they needed to go, gave him the focus to duck at just the right moments: Appleloosa, his pa's town. His town.

And as swiftly as it started, it ended. He found himself standing over two unconscious stallions. The pegasus was lying against one wall, wiping blood from her mouth. With fear in her eyes, she leaped into the air and flew out of the cave.

In the distance, the cry of the thunderbird echoed once more.

Braeburn winced as he moved. His right hindleg hurt, but he figured he could walk on it. "Let's get out of here, cousin," he said, turning to McIntosh.

But McIntosh lay unmoving against the wagon. His side was singed by what appeared to be spell damage. Braeburn was horrified; how much more damage was there internally? Then he shook his head and worked his way under McIntosh. He loaded his unconscious cousin into the wagon, hitched himself up, turned it around, and pulled the wagon out into the rain.

The storm towered over Braeburn. As he pulled the wagon, he grimaced; his leg was hurting more than before. But his cousin was wounded, the supplies were in danger, and those two outlaws could wake up at any moment. Steeling himself, he ran.

The rain had made the dry desert ground muddy, and he could feel the wagon getting stuck. But he kept his eyes on that distant mesa, and the road home. He ran, avoiding the obstacles in his way.

He galloped, forcing himself to breathe in a rhythm. In-out-two, in-out-two. He pictured Appleloosa as it would be in a year: rail station, clock tower, stores on both sides of main street.

In-out-two, in-out-two.

The ground sucked at his hooves. The wagon got heavier.

In-out-two, in-out-two.

The pain in his leg became a dull throb.

In-out-two, in-out-two.

He pictured an orchard full of family trees, each a gift from a different Apple in the traditional manner.

In-out-two, in-out-two.

He could picture the rail stallions pulling trains into Bismarck Station, running for days on end without stopping. If they could do it, so could he.

In-out-two, in-out-two.

Was the mesa closer? He couldn't tell.

In-out-two, in-out-two.

The sky grew darker. Night must be falling above the clouds. At least it had stopped raining.

In-out-two, in-out-two.

The sun shone, briefly, across the underside of the vast storm. It looked like a rippled sea of gold. Then it set.

In-out-two, in-out-two.

The clouds parted, and there was the moon, pure and unblemished. A note of pride struck his heart: an Apple had done that.

In-out-two, in-out-two.

The pain throbbed, and he winced. Yet he had to keep going.

In-out-two, in-out-two.

In-out-two, in-out-two.

In-out-two, in-out-two.

With the moon lighting the night, nothing mattered any more except the rhythm.

In-out-two, in-out-two.

In-out-two, in-out-two.

In-out-two, in-out-two.

And suddenly, he was in front of the infirmary, unhitched from the wagon, pounding on the door. Then, he was lying in front of the infirmary, gazing up at Doc, who had an expression of surprise. "Cousin's in th' wagon," he muttered. And then he lay still.

When he came to, it was daylight. He was lying in the soft white sheets of the infirmary. A needle was in his foreleg. His right hindleg felt stiff and sore. He was exhausted.

Across from him, on another bed, McIntosh's torso was covered in bandages. He looked at Braeburn with a curious expression. "Feelin' better?"

Braeburn smiled weakly. "Eyup."

McIntosh laughed. Then he said, "Half a day. 'Member you were tellin' me about your pa? I figger that hat fits just right."

The Quiet Dragon

The Quiet Dragon

The sound of the rails clicked in his ears.

Big Mac lay in his cabin, trying and failing to sleep. He could never sleep on trains, this being his third time riding on one. He avoided it when he could. Big Mac couldn’t much see the point in trains. If it were up to him he would have just galloped the way, sure it might have been slower, but was there any need to rush? He would’ve gotten there in his own time. The way he liked things.

But there was Applebloom to think about. She was too small to make the journey on hoof, the train was the only viable option.

Granny Smith had insisted he bring her along. Apparently in an effort to ‘Make her more worldly’. Though it probably had more to do with the fact Applejack had talked her into leaving the small filly out of her last trip. So Big Mac was saddled with her, along with a saddlebag of apple seeds, slowly making their way through the night by train to Appleloosa.

He turned in his bed. It was too small, not that he wasn’t used to it, Big Mac was large for his age, or any age for that matter. Outside of home he could hardly depend on things being built to accommodate him. Still, it was a mattress and a pillow, he couldn’t ask for much more than that.

Nonetheless sleep evaded him. More so when he felt a slight tugging at his ear.

“Big Macintosh...” said a small voice.

“Yes Applebloom?” he yawned.

“I can’t sleep.”

Big Mac rolled over and opened his eyes. Applebloom stood staring back at him, eyes darting around the dark cabin. He put on a calm smile.

“What’s wrong?”

She twiddled her hooves a bit. “Well...you know I’m a brave pony an’all. But you see I was sittin’ in my cabin thinking about....how you might be lonesome in these dark cabins. What with all the shadow’s and junk....Thought you might get a bit frightened.”

Big Macintosh stared at her for a moment.

“The long and short of it is....would you like me to sleep in your bed?...Just to make sure you stay safe. We’re on an important mission you know.”

His calm smile turned into one of amusement. “Eyup.” he rolled over to make room for the small filly. She quickly hopped up and made herself comfortable under his blanket.

“You still safe?” she asked suspiciously.

“Eyup.”

“Good.”

Big Mac yawned again. “Goodnight Appleboom.”

“Goodnight Big Mac.”

Soon he heard her lightly snoring as she used his back for an improvised pillow. The familiar sound helped him finally drift off to sleep.

The sound of the whistle woke him up the next morning.

The call of the conductor, “Apaloosa Station! All ashore that's going ashore!” rang out through the train. The old pony laughed at his own joke and proceeded to slow the train as it pulled into the cheerily painted train platform that awaited them.

Big Mac carefully got out of bed, trying not to wake Applebloom. No point in waking her up just yet, let her get a bit more sleep before we head out. He thought.

The cabin wasn’t much larger than the bed, he hardly had to walk two paces to get from one side to the other. He reached over to the coat rack, on which hung his old saddlebag, it had been with him for ages, it was only fitting it would come with him here. The apple seeds were inside, tucked safely among the many pockets.

He had to make sure they got to town without incident. These weren’t ordinary apple seeds, they had been bred special for the ponies of Appleloosa, Applejack and Granny Smith had worked on them for months. Though to be more specific Applejack had worked while Granny Smith slept and offered the occasional pearl of wisdom such as ‘Alfalfa is good for the digestion.’. She assured them that they would be the fastest growing, sweetest tasting, heartiest growing apples in all of Equestria. Which would surely help the struggling crops of Applaoosa.

It was an easy enough errand, but after Applejack’s last visit she thought it necessary that they have a guard. You never knew what might happen.

After making sure he was proper in the small mirror nailed to the wall, her prodded Applebloom with a hoof.

“Wake up,” he said simply. He wasn’t one to say more than what was needed.

She mumbled something and simply turned over.

“Wake up,” he repeated.

Applebloom groaned. “Do I have to?”

Big Mac nodded.

There was silence for a moment.

“You nodded didn’t you?” asked Applebloom.

Big Mac nodded.

“You know my eyes are closed right?’

Big Mac nodded.

With a grunt of frustration the small filly open her eyes and hopped on to the floor.

“Fine, I’m up! I swear, you make a better Apple Bucker’ than you do an alarm cock.”

Big Mac nodded and headed out the door of the cabin out into the hall to join the crowd of ponies pouring out into the station. Appebloom followed close behind, trying to avoid stray hooves. Seeing her struggling, Big Mac hefted her onto his back. She looked a bit cross for the help, but didn’t complain.

He recognized a few ponies from Ponyville among the various others they had picked up on stops along the way. A few of them waved cordially as he made his way through the crowd. He offered a few words of greeting then continued on his way.

Big Mac gave a friendly nod to the conductor as they descended the stairs onto the platform. He looked around the station for their contact. It was rather easy to do since he was a good head higher than most of the other ponies in the crowd. He saw a sign reaching above the crowd a small ways away by the ticket booths. He made his way over, the crowd parting in front of him like a force of nature. He muttered a few polite sayings as he bumped in to the slower of the ponies in his way.

When he reached his destination he found a female buffalo waiting for him. She was small, but strongly built, a large torso making up for her rather spindly legs. She wore a pair of feathered earrings along with a matching head dress, onto which someone had stuck a sign that read ‘BIG MACINTOSH’ in hastily scrawled letters.

“I am Little Strong Heart,” said the buffalo. “It is nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he said smiling.

Applebloom peeked her head out from behind Big Mac’s large neck. “I’m Applebloom!” she said, peering over Little Strong heart. “You’re a funny lookin’ pony.”

Little Strongheart laughed. “I am not a pony, I am of the buffaloo. It is nice to meet you Applebloom.”

“Oooooh.” Appbeloom hopped from Big Mac’s back and inspected her more closely. “I never met a buffalo before. My sister told me stories about you.”

“Good thing I should hope?”

Applebloom nodded enthusiastically. “Is it true that you robbed a moving train!?”

Little Strongheart laughed again. “Oh, yes, but that was back when ponies and bafaloo were not getting along. We are friends now. No more such adventures for me.”

“Awww...” Applebloom said, disappointed.

Little Strong Heart poked her with a hoof. “But you never know.” she winked at Big Mac. “We might have some adventures of our own while you’re here.”

Applebloom brightened. “Well come on then! What’er we waitin’ for!” She was off like a shot into town.

There was silence for a moment.

“Should we.....catch her?” asked Little Strong heart.

“Nope.” said Big Mac.

Applebloom was back at his side before word finished leaving his mouth.

“Um....were are we going?” she asked.

Little Strongheart led them through the town square. The colorfully clothed ponies of Appleloosa going about daily life around them. Applebloom looked around in wonder at all of the busy ponies and bustling shops. It was a far cry from the quiet town of ponyville.

Big Mac looked rather impassively at his surroundings. He wasn’t really one for travel. He liked seeing new things just fine, but if he were being honest with himself he really just wanted to deliver the seeds and get back to ponyville as quickly as possible. Still, he saw no point in rushing, might as well enjoy the walk. It was a nice enough day, and everyone seemed friendly enough.

Little Strong Heart stopped in front of a hotel. It looked a touch run down, but in that homey kind of way. Or at least that might be what the landlord might want them to think, thought Big Mac. Better to look run down in a good way than run down in a bad way.

“This is where you’ll be staying.” said Little Strongheart, gesturing to the building. “I hope you will be comfortable here.”

This was one of the rare moments when Big Mac raised an eyebrow. “Staying?”

“Oh yes.” Little Strongheart nodded. “It was insisted upon that you at least stay the night.”

Applebloom tapped on her leg. “Insisted by wh-”

“Well howdy cousins!” called an exuberant voice.

“Oh.” said Big Mac.

A yellow pony in a brown vest and hat skidded to a stop in front of them. “Hope ya’ll had a pleasant trip!”

Big Mac nodded. “Hello Braeburn.”

“And if you ain’t a sight for sore eyes! I ain’t seen you since the last Apple family reunion.” He shook Big Mac’s hoof enthusiastically. “And I must say it’s also good to see them there apple seeds! We need them something awful.” he nodded to a few sickly looking twigs sprouting up from the ground. “The winter was harsh, friend. But now, you’re here! And we can get those crops’a growin!”

Big Mac’s shoulder was beginning to hurt. His cousin never quite seemed to know when enough was enough when it came to hoof shakes.

Applebloom seeing her brother’s distress pipped up helpfully. “Hello cousin Braeburn.”

He, much to Big Mac’s relief, stopped shaking hooves and peered down at Applebloom. “Well will you look’ee here!” he said with a smile. “This big’ol filly simply can not be the little foal I left year before last!”

Applebloom smiled. “I sure am!”

“Why when I last laid eyes on you, you could barely stand.” he beamed. “Apple Family genes no doubt. This one here’s gonna make us proud! Just you watch!”

Applebloom basked in his praises. “You bet! I’m gonna be the strongest, toughest, best Apple pony there ever was!”

Braeburn mussed her hair with a hoof. “You sure are. Now come on you two, bet you’re tired from your journey. Thanks for bringin’ em, Strongheart.”

“It is my pleasure. I hope that the both of you enjoy your stay.” She bent down to look at Applebloom. “If you and your brother are not busy later tonight, I could give you a tour of the buffalo settlements.”

Applebloom gave her brother an imploring look. “Can we?”

Big Mac sighed, he’d hopped to be home by the end of the day. But it wasn’t the Apple way to turn down such hospitality. It looked as though he was going to be sticking around for a while. Might as well enjoy it.

He nodded.

“Yay!” Applebloom yelled with a little hop. “We’ll be there!”

“I am glad.” Little Strongheart smiled. “Now if you will excuse me I have a few errands that I must take care of.” she nodded to Braeburn. “I shall see you all later.”

“Bye!” Applebloom waved her off as she disappeared into the crowd.

Big Mac turned to Braeburn, waiting for the cowpony to show them to their rooms. He found him staring of into space. This was strange for two reasons, one because it wasn’t a normal thing for ponies to do, and two because it was one of the rare moments when he was quiet.”

“Braeburn?” asked Applebloom, hopping up and down in front of him. “Are you alright?”

Big Mac followed his line of vision, eyes coming to rest of a Pony he recognized from home. A pale yellow mare with an orange mane.

“Who is that?...” Braeburn asked, transfixed.

Applebloom looked back and forth between the two. Seeing Big Mac wasn’t going to answer she took the initiative. “That’s Carrot Top, she’s from our home town. She sells carrots tomatoes and junk in the market. Last time I heard she was down here helping with the other crops.”

Braeburn tilted his head. “Other crops?”

“You know...” Applebloom made a face at the word. “Vegetables.”

“In Appleloosa!?” asked Braeburn, aghast at the very idea. “But we ain’t planted nothin’ that wasn’t apples since this town was founded!What about tradition?!”

“This town ain’t hardly three years old,” said Big Mac.

Applebloom looked at her brother, this being the longest sentence he’d bothered to put together in a little while.

“Anyway, why don’t I introduce you!”

Braeburn shook his head sharply. “Oh no little, partner that won’t be nec-”

“Come on!”

By the time Big Mac registered what had happened an unwilling Braeburn was halfway across the street to intercept Carrot Top.

He looked forlornly at the hotel, sighed, then turned to follow.

When he caught up Braeburn was trying to collect himself outside the general store. Through the window he could see Carrot Top buying a bag of fertilizer. He briefly wondered if he should offer any words of advice on the matter, but opted not to. It wasn’t his place.

The door opened with the jingling of a bell and Carrot Top stepped out onto the storefront. Braeburn was uncharacteristically silent she walked towards them. She quickly recognized Applebloom and Big Mac and waved cheerily.

“Hello you two!” she smiled. “Applejack told me our trips down here might end up around the same time.”

“Hiya Carrot Top,” said Applebloom. “Sure is a coinci....coincid...Um...”

“Coincidence,” said Big Mac helpfully.

“Yeah that,” Applebloom continued. “Meeting you here.” She gestured to Braeburn, who was beginning to look as though he had swallowed a large lemon. “Have you met our cousin?”

“I don’t believe I have.” She held out a hoof to Braeburn. “Hello, I’m Carrot Top.”

“Oh!” said Brarburn snapped out of his trance and shook her hoof. Big Mac noted he actually managed to stop in a timely manner. “Well howdy there...I’m Braeburn. It’s nice to meet you miss.”

“Likewise,” she said with a small bow. “Always nice to meet the locals.”

“Well,” Braeburn said with some pride. “It certainly doesn’t get more ‘local’ than me, Miss Top! I been here since this little town was founded.”

“Oh really?” You were among the first settlers?”

“Sure enough! Would you like a tour?” Braeburn gestured to the town at large.

“That would be lovely! I was just on my way to inspect the spot for the vegetable patch, but I might as well take a little detour first.”

Braeburn made a face at the word ‘vegetable’ but offered his hoof and led her away into the street.

Applebloom stood staring for a moment.

“So....Who’s gonna’ show us to our rooms now?”

The mare at the front desk was kind enough to look up their room numbers in the registry. Big Mac walked carefully up the stairs which creaked dangerously under his weight. He had a brief flash of himself falling through the third floor then second and into the lobby.

“Big Mac? Is somethin’ wrong? Hurry up!”

Big Mac swallowed the small lump in his throat. He had never told anypony, but he wasn’t very fond of heights, the idea of falling that far terrified him. Still, he was Applebloom's gaurdian until this trip was over. He couldn’t show he was frightened. Though this did not stop him from cursing the fact all the rooms on the ground floor were booked. Hopefully the floor was well built.

The two of them eventually reached their destination, their ‘Rooms’ actually consisted of a single room with a bed, and a couch done up with sheets and pillows. It was a nice enough room, but a bit small for Big Mac, as usual.

Applebloom walked in examining their new surroundings, she pushed down on the mattress a few times, experimentally.

“Well it’s a might small.” she said. “But nice. This is gonna be a fun stay!” The small filly did a little hop. “Thanks for taking me.”

Big Mac smiled despite himself. “Eyup.”

“Well, I suppose you’ll get the bed, seein’ as you’re so big and I’ll take the couch.”

Big Mac nodded, and flopped down onto the bed. It groaned plaintively, but held his weight. He hadn’t gotten much sleep on the train the previous night, he was tired.

“Big Mac?” Applebloom poked his large hide. “Big Mac? Oh come on! We just got here! You can’t be sleeping already. I wanted to see the town! Big Mac!?”

Her voice was drowned out as he drifted off to sleep.

A few hours later Big Mac was awakened by a knock at the door. He begrudgingly opened his eyes and looked out at the room. It was colored slightly be the sunset casting various reds and yellows throughout the room. Applebloom appeared to have been playing with the small amount of things she brought before tiring herself out and falling asleep on the couch. She snored lightly in the corner of the room.

Blearily Big Mac got out of bed, walking slowly across the complaining floor to see who was knocking. He opened the door to find Little Strongheart waiting there.

“Hello, Big Macintosh,” she said cordially. “Are you and your sister ready for the tour?”

The memory of her offer slowly crawled back into Big Mac’s sleepy brain. He looked over to Applebloom sleeping on the couch. Once again he decided not to wake her to early, he leaned over, grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and hefted her onto his back. Applebloom was a very heavy sleeper.

“Eyup.”

He followed Little Strongheart out the town, things were winding down as all around them shutters closed and fillies were tucked into bed. It might not have been Ponyville, but some things were the same everywhere, he mused.

She led him past the outskirts of the settlement and out into the desert, the sun was halfway under the horizon, casting streaks of deep purple and violent red against the landscape. Big Mac stopped to stare for a moment.

“It is very pretty is it not?” said Little Strongheart. “The sunsets on Appleloosa are some of the best in Equestria. It is one of the reasons I picked this time for the tour.

Big Mac bent back to nudge Applebloom. She groaned plaintively in her sleep.

“Wake up,” he said urgently. Or at least as urgently as he ever managed to say anything.

“I don’t wana...” she whispered.

Big Mac rolled his eyes, he reared up on his front legs and gave a sharp buck, tossing Applebloom into the air. She woke up with a yelp as he caught her by the scruff of the neck an turned her towards the sunset.

“Hey! What are you tryin’ to do kill m-...” she paused as she looked to the horizon. “...Wow...” she said softly.

Little Strongheart chuckled. “I thought you would enjoy this. Now, come along, we don’t want to be late.”

Big Mac put a mesmerized Applebloom back on his back and they continued down the trail to the bufallo settlement. .

The sun completely sunk behind the horizon as Luna began her nightly work. The moon hung large in the sky surrounded by more stars than Big Mac or Applebloom had ever seen. The ponyville sky was well lit to be sure, but it couldn’t hold a candle to the desert at night.

Applebloom almost fell from Big Macintosh’s back craning her neck up to look.

“This is amazing....”

“Indeed,” Little Strong heart nodded. “Living in the desert one gains a strong regard for nature and the universe. The sky is part of us, and it is part of you, Applebloom.”

“Really?..” Applebloom asked in wonder.

“Yes, and Big Mac too, everything is tied together, you must simply know where to find the strings.”

Applebloom inspected her surroundings. No doubt looking for small wires, Big Mac suspected.

They came to a large rock formation, it formed a kind of natural stadium, surrounding a large section of desert on all sides. Little Strongheart walked up an incline to a hole in the side Big Mac would never have spotted, she nodded back to them and they followed her into the dark tunnel.

The three of them walked for a short way before coming out into the center of the formation, the moon right above the large opening that yawned open above their heads.

“We, are here,” Little Strongheart said with a grin.

Bufallo sat around in a large circle where a huge fire burned brightly. They were chanting something that the two ponies could not understand.

“We are in luck, the ceremony is just beginning.”

“Ceremony?” asked Applebloom.

“There is no direct translation, but the closest that I am able to come is ‘The time of myths’.” She gestured to the fire. “The elders and all the buffalo of the herd sit around the fire and tell the stories of our heritage. It is a month long celebration of the stories of our forefathers. If I am right, then tonight the first, is the story of the Quiet Dragon. I shall translate for you if you like.”

Big Mac nodded and Applebloom did the same.

“Wonderful. Come! Sit!”

They were led to the edge of the circle, where two other ponies were sitting. When they got close enough Big Mac noticed that they were Braeburn and Carrot Top.

“Howdy cousin.” Braeburn whispered, patting the ground next to him. “You’re just in time. I’m glad Strongheart could bring you.”

They sat down, listening to the growing chants around them.

Braeburn leaned over to Big Mac and whispered in his ear. “Big Mac?”

Big Mac nodded.

“I think Carrot top maybe a bit sore at me.” he looked over to the mare, who turned her nose up and away from him. His ears drooped. “I’m not sure what it was I did...Think I might’ve let slip that I ain’t too keen on a vegetable patch in these parts....but do you have any advice? I hear you’re not bad with fillies.”

One of these days Big Mac was going to be sure to hunt down the pony who kept spreading that rumor. He shook his head vehemently. “Nope.”

“Oh...” Braeburn looked crestfallen. “Alright then, worth a try.”

Big Mac sighed. He wasn’t heartless.

“Flowers.” he said simply. “Try flowers.”

“You think that’ll work?”

“Eyup.”

Braebrun’s trademark smile lit up his face again. “I know just the place, and it’s ain’t far from here. If I hurry I can be back before the first story is over.” he turned back to Carrot Top. “I’ll be right back miss.”

When she didn’t reply his ears drooped again.

“Well....I’ll just...be back then.” He got up and walked out of the tunnel back into the desert.

Applebloom shuffled closer to the yellow filly. “Well that wasn’t too nice...”

“He deserved it.” she said haughtily. “‘Vegetables have no place in Appleloosa indeed! They’re my life’s work. How do you think you would act if I insulted your apples?”

Applebloom was taken aback. She looked after the cowpony frowning. “That jerk!”

“Exactly.”

Big Mac rolled his eyes. Fillies.

After a while the chanting stopped. Big Mac was surprised by the sudden lack of sound. In the silence an ancient looking buffalo stepped slowly towards the center of the circle. His headdress was larger than any other buffalo, and he wore a thick cloth filled with pockets around his body.

“That, is the story teller,” said Little Strongheart. “He is the oldest of buffalo, and the most highly regarded. I hope one day to be as respected.”

He stopped in front of the fire, gesturing around with his front hooves he began to speak.

“Brothers,” Little Strongheart translated. “Sisters, times have been hard over the winter for all, with slow dying crops and scarce water. But, Mighty Buffalo, a time of prosper is surely at hand!” He pointed to Big Mac and Applebloom, much to their surprise.

He began to speak so they too could understand. “These heralds from a faraway place have brought plenty. According to the ponies of Appleloosa, with the seeds the big one carries we shall sow a new crop. One that shall not wither, and shall not die! One that shall make sure both pony and buffalo alike are well fed and happy!”

A cheer went up. Big Macintosh’s cheeks burned as he looked around the circle. He wasn’t used to such attention. Generally he preferred to stay in the background. Still he did the only thing he could think of, and took a bow. Applebloom did the same.

Little Strongheart looked sheepishly at the two of them. “I may have been less than honest about the true reasons for wanting you here. There has been much talk of the crops you bring, Big Macintiosh. You are, as you would say, celebrities.”

Big Mac was shocked by all the focus being put on him, but fortunately they quickly turned back to the ceremony. The story teller did not switch back to buffalo language, for their benefit.

“Now, we begin a legend as old as the Buffalo, the legend of the Quiet Dragon!” he reached into one of his many pockets and threw some powder onto the fire. It burned bright blue, rising high into the night, it seemed to roar like a beast as he spoke.

Applebloom ducked behind Big Mac’s flank as the story continued.

“Long ago, when the world was new and chaos had not yet been tamed, there was a buffalo. The buffalo. He lived in world in which nothing could be depended on. Any food there one moment, might not be there the next and any shelter he found was as liquid as water melting away as the world changed, constantly, unceasingly. It was a hard life.” he paused to inspect the crowd. “One day, he found a river. This being a rarity he drank his fill until his belly was so full it hung beneath him. It was a happy day as rarely was his thirst quenched so well. He fell down by the river’s edge and slept straight through the night.”

“The next morning, he was surprised, the river was still there! In all the chaos around him, it had stayed constant. He had never seen this before, and once again he drank his fill, until his belly was once again full and his thirst quenched. He once again slept by the river edge, happy for this stroke of luck. The next day the river was still there! This was such a shock, he almost feared to drink from it a third time in case it was a illusion, but he looked around and, right next to where he had slept, a berry bush had grown. No longer fearing he ate ravenously, the berries were sweet and ripe, and the water cool and wet. Once again he slept.”

“It was on the forth morning when he awoke, that he not only found the berry bush, and the flowing river, but also a dragon. It’s resting form surrounding him like a wall. In fact, he realized, it had been there the whole time, surrounding the river, and the bush, which had bloomed into the most colorful flowers he had ever seen. It stood protecting him from the chaos that reigned outside its scales. The dragon lifted it’s head and looked deep into his eyes. he thought it would speak, but it offered no words, no reason for what it was doing, it just stared at him, and he understood. He picked one of the many flowers on the bush, and offered it to the dragon. It took his offering then it laid it’s head back down upon it’s massive front paws, and continued to sleep, in silence.”

“It was then, that he knew he would be safe. He lived, under the protection of the dragon, until the chaos ended on the day the Sun and the Moon did battle in the sky, and in the aftermath the buffalo did thrive.”

“It is said, that the dragon did not move again, not for any reason, and it was said that as the centuries passed, it turned to stone, and it is the structure in which we all now sit. The Quiet Dragon, who brings proposer and life, and shall once again, our home among the chaos of the desert.”

There was a cheer from the crowd as the story teller finished. Big Mac looked at the walls that surround them.

“And every year, we go, and collect the flowers that bloom in the desert, and leave them as an offering. From his pockets he produced several color flowers, which he tossed into the fire. They burned quickly, releasing a wonderful smell into the air.

“Do you think it’s true?” Applebloom asked.

Big Mac shrugged. “Don’t know.”

Still as he looked closely at the walls, he thought he could vaguely make out the slightest hint of scales...

A boom interrupted his thoughts. The left wall of the Quiet dragon exploded inwards, Buffalo were thrown off their hooves as the ground quaked. Dust from the falling boulders clouded the air. On instinct Big Mac covered Applebloom, Little Strongheart and Carrot top, fending off the small debris that slammed into his back.

The sudden explosion disoriented everyone, there was pandemonium as buffalo stampeded around them.

“Stop!” called Little Strongheart from under Big Mac’s protection. “Calm down!”

A voice rang out from the dust, it was high pitched and shrill, yet definitely male. “You should listen to the little one!”

As the air cleared Big Mac could see a Buffalo standing alone among the debris in a huge gouge in the rock wall, his headdress was ragged and dirty and his fur was missing in large patches. He had a crazed look in his eye.

“Bear of the Desert.” Little Strongheart practically spat the words.

“Who in the wide world of Equestria is Bear of the Desert?” Applebloom screamed in the chaos.

“A rouge buffalo, he was exiled from the herd many moons ago. He was not happy with the pony buffalo settlement. He thinks we should use violence to exile the ponies from the desert. He does not like the peace was have made.”

“Buffalos!” shrieked Bear of the Desert. “This false peace you have, with the ponies of ‘Appleloosa’ shall end tonight!” He looked around at the buffalo, many of them flaring their nostrils in anger. “I see you! Who look at me with such angry eyes! Is it me you should direct your anger at? Or is it the ponies you think you know so well?” he gestured accusingly at Big Mac, hunched over the fillies protectively. “What has happened since you made your false peace with them? Your crops have died, your winters have taken so much from the once healthy proud buffalo. It is because the Dragon is angry! And today I shall let him vent is rage!”

The storyteller step forwards to challenge him. “What madness do you speak? There is nothing to be gained by senseless war! We have peace, what more do you want?”

“Old fool! We have so much more! And shall have so much more! Witness the first step to the return of legend, for I have found the way, to wake the sleeping dragon!”

He began to chant, low at first, then growing louder.

“Stop him!” yelled the storyteller.

Several large buffalo descended on Bear of the Desert, pounding their hooves into the dirt as they stampeded towards him.

They stopped in their tracks as the ground once again began to shake.

“You’re too late! It is done!”

The walls began to move around them, stones falling like rain from the walls as they shook and rocked. Big Mac grabbed Carrot Top and Applebloom, tossing them onto his back, and nudging Little Strongheart towards the exit tunnel. He galloped forwards, dodging falling boulders as they pelted the ground around him. The tunnel wouldn’t hold up long, it was already half blocked with fallen rock. Bear of the Desert’s laughter echoed behind them as he made a final leap into the tunnel. The walls around them seem to get smaller as the walls around them moved, Big Mac and Little Strong heart struggled not to trip on the uneven stones beneath their hooves. The tunnel slowly collapsed as they made their way to the end. Big Mac shoved Little Strongheart ahead of him, pushing her the last few feet out of the tunnel. He gave a sharp buck hurling Apple Bloom and Carrot top out after him. The falling boulders got larger and larger as he tried to make it out fast enough.

He jumped, and was thrown by the rush of air as the boulders finally closed off the passage.

Several buffalo stood outside, staring as the Quiet Dragon shook, Big Mac wondered what was going to become of the ones left inside, but I couldn’t stop to worry about that. He quickly rounded up Applebloom and Carrot Top again and they proceeded to run to a safe distance.

He stopped to look back at the Dragon, it shook itself free, tearing it’s body from the last of the debris. Against the pale moonlight it’s scales showed bright blue.

“The legend is true!” Carrot Top exclaimed.

Big Mac stared back as he ran forwards, the creature’s head rose up and it let out a fierce roar. He stopped short as he slammed into something going in the opposite direction.

Carrot Top and Applebloom flew off his back as he came to a stop. He bounced off the thing coming towards them and fell to the ground.

“What in tarnation is goin’ on!” yelled Braebrun, rubbing his head. He was holding a colorful flower in his mouth.

“The legend is true!” said Little Strongheart. “The Quiet Dragon is awake! And I think it’s under Bear of the Desert’s control!” The dragon got to it’s feet, it’s giant body flowing like water as it moved. It’s eyes were bright red. It gave a roar. “It is in pain!”

Braeburn stood in shock for a moment, then he grew serious. “We gotta warn the town, come on!”

The three of the galloped towards town, the Dragon thundering behind them, it’s long strides covering far more ground than they could.

“Does the legend say anything about how to stop that thing!?” asked Braeburn.

“No! The dragon was never violent! It’s meant to protect us not harm us!” Little Strong heart said sadly. “This is not right!”

Big Mac thought back to the legend, then looked at the Flower in Braeburns mouth. Suddenly he had an idea. The dragon was catching up to them, there was no way they’d reach town in time. He tossed Applebloom over to Breaburn.

“Give me the flower!”

“What?!”

Big Mac shot him a look.

“Fine, but I hope you know what you’re doing.” He passed the flower to Big Mac.

He had to admit he really didn’t. He skidded to a stop, and turned to face the Dragon.

“Big Macintosh!” called Applebloom.

He didn’t look back, the Dragon was almost upon all of them, if this didn’t work, he didn’t know what would happen.

The Dragon stopped as it reached him, it’s claws, bigger than his entire body, gouged into the desert floor in front of him. In it’s wake he could see Bear of the Desert following close behind.

“Why have you stopped!?!” he shrieked. “Go! Go forth and clense the desert, destroy this pony fool!”

The Dragon looked at the buffalo, it’s red eyes contorting in pain. Then it reached it’s head back, let out a roar which shook the night and descended upon Big Mac. He was lost in a rush of scales.

Applebloom buried her head in Braeburn’s flank with a sob and Carrot Top leaned towards him with fear.

“I’m sorry....” said Little Strong heart.

“Wait! Wait a minute!” said Braeburn. “Something’s happening!”

The Dragon lifted it’s head, it’s eyes wide and no longer red, to see Big Mac head up, offering the flower to the beast.

“What is this!?” yelled Bear of the Desert. “You are the creature of legend! Do not bend to this...pony invader! Destroy him!”

The Dragon did not move. Instead it stared into Big Mac’s eyes.

He understood.

It took the flower, gently from him, and laid it’s head down to rest.

“No!” cried Bear of the Desert. “No! He is not one of us! You cannot take his offering!”

All at once the beast’s tail whipped out and wrapped around the shrieking buffalo, he was lost in a prison of scales. His muffled cries fading as it curled it’s tail around its’ body. It’s great bulk surroundIng Big Mac, still staring at him.

With the sound of grinding stone the Dragon began to turn to solid rock, the sand around it’s body rising to cover it. The walls rose and rose until Big Mac was lost inside. They wavered and shook until it was an exact replica of the previous structure.

Then all was silent.

After a while, Applebloom managed to speak.

“Big Mac?”

There was silence.

A sob crept into her voice. “Big Mac?.....”

Her voice echoed through the desert, but there was no reply.

“Big Mac!?” she yelled desperately. “Please tell me you’re okay!” tears began to stream down her face. “Please...”

Suddenly the sound of stone filled the air again, a hole appeared in the side of the wall. Big Mac, dizzy, but quiet alright, walked through.

“Eyup.” he said, then fell over.

The Buffalo moved happily into their new home, The Quiet Dragon had a new legend. Big Mac slept through the night, it took several of them to move him back to town, and several more ponies to get him up to his room. Applebloom stayed by him worriedly the whole time, lying in the small bed, nestled against his flank.

The Buffalo had a new story to tell, the Legend of the Quiet Pony, who faced the Quiet Dragon. Bear of the Desert was never seen again, though they say if you listen to the walls you can still here him, in the company of the Dragon he tried to control.

Big Mac opened his eyes first thing in the morning. He was sore in several places, and this was not helped by Applebloom’s constant hugging. But he was alright. Carrot Top and Braeburn seemed to get along a lot better, Big Mac took as evidence the face he caught the cow pony eating a carrot for breakfast that morning.

“It’s not bad.” he said.

That evening he and Applebloom boarded the train, this time lighter one bag of Apple seeds. Applebloom insisted on staying by Big Macs side the whole ride.

He looked back as Appleloosa faded into the distance, a new rock formation a bit closer than before.

When he got home Granny Smith asked him if he had fun, he simply replied,

“Eyup.”

(Extra) And That's How it Happened

And That’s How It Happened

The Unfortunately Abridged Recollection

“Eeyup,” the drunken stallion groaned, idly raising a hoof to sweep away the beads of sweat pooling on his brow. Moaning slightly at the pressure, relief seeped into his head as he pawed clumsily at an ice-pack held firmly against his face by a tentative hoof. He wasn’t quite sure of its owner, although he assumed it was his own; in his slightly dazed stupor, it didn’t really matter.

Usually he had a better stomach for salt. Back in the day, they’d called him Ol’ Ironsides, and he’d been notorious for never failing to hold his liquor, whatever that liquor might be; now he felt like a particularly greenhorn lightweight, struggling to hold down a bilious mixture of that morning’s breakfast and last night’s dinner sloshing around urgently in his belly that threatened to come back up for a second round.

Green in more ways than one, he thought miserably, casting a forlorn glance at the spot on his flank emblazoned with what could only be described as his own little mixed blessing. Envy, inexperience, illness, he’d heard most of the metaphors; none of them came close to covering the wild mass of emotions that churned within his heart. On top of all that pseudo-philosophical nonsense (best left to the throes of other, better intoxicants in his book), the haze of inebriation fogging his mind refused to cloud the one spot of memories he so desperately wanted to forget - instead, the absence of distractions brought them sharply into focus, pulsing and pounding in the back of his mind like a second, deafening heartbeat.

Taking another sip of the powerful saltwater concoction with which he’d gotten so used to drinking away his sorrows, Big Macintosh, the proud, fiery owner of the Sweet Apple Acres farm in rural hick town Ponyville, cursed under his breath, eyes skittering nervously around the bar.

Most of the time, being a hefty chunk of pony, Mac had very little to worry about, but that night it felt as though all eyes were on him, intensely judgmental gazes burning into the back of his skull. Behind the counters that separated Mac from his secret shame - row upon row of bottles of the stuff - stood the gruff, silent bartender, blind, wrinkled eyes staring off into the distance at Celestia knew what. His horn, a chipped, battered old thing that looked like it’d seen as many hard times as the pony it was attached to, flared intermittently with sparks and dim crackles, weak magical aura deftly navigating a sodden, dirty washcloth round the rim of a misted-up shotglass. Mac’s mouth contorted into a grim smile at the occasional looks the grizzled unicorn threw in his general direction. It was no secret that good ol’ Vanish was blind as a bat, and about as dirty as his namesake mixers, but Mac appreciated his presence regardless. The sly old fox liked to keep an eye on things, instinctively, even if those eyes didn’t work. That was comforting enough for the crimson earth pony.

The normal clientele, affectionately deemed ‘the usual suspects’, milled busily around the bar. The place was populated with the sorts of ponies that’d commonly be found roaming the streets at night: riff-raff, crooks, scum, Canterlot’s dregs that simply wouldn’t do to be seen in the daytime. They tarnished Equestria’s good, clean, wholesome image just by existing. Most of the time Mac loathed their lot, careful never to associate with them for fear of becoming one. Another lost soul in the sea of charlatans and criminals relegated to the shanties and subterranes of Bottomtown Canterlot. Today, on the other hand, and not for the first time in his short yet chequered history, he sympathised with the poor bastards. They faced a tough plight, and he couldn’t help the strange, unwelcome mix of pity and compassion that he felt for them, one that settled itself comfortably in the nooks and crannies of his broken heart and simply would not leave. It pestered him like a rash. The comparison seemed apt enough for Mac: his feelings, to him, were the very same. The Princess’ fair capital suffered as he did under the natural byproducts of the experiences, thoughts and emotions that made them what they were.

Or, he thought, smirking amusedly to no one in particular, just plain messed up.

A small, nefarious-looking group of ponies cloaked in thick, woollen black garb skulked around the pool table in the corner of the bar, quietly bickering over who would get to use the good cue for the last shot before it snapped. Ponies of all description, and many simply nondescript, silently slipped about the tables, serving drinks to the subdued late-evening crowd Mac recalled from his youth; littered about the place were faces he recognised, but couldn’t quite put to names,save the mint-green unicorn tucked away with a white unicorn and grey earth pony in the corner. They’d stolen Mac’s favourite alcove. Heartstrings, that was the name. Or, at least, as close as he’d be getting on what was sure to be his life’s most horrific hangover. Never again.

Turning in his seat to catch a glimpse of the dark, empty side of the bar, the stallion was alarmed to find he’d suddenly acquired a new companion, brooding sullenly over a bright red drink.

“He calls it a ‘Bloody Luna’,” the mysterious hooded pony mumbled, lazily waving a hoof in the bartender’s direction. Mac gaped. How had he joined him so quietly? He must have been so absorbed in his own sulking that he’d completely ignored everything else. Par for the course, he supposed. “Tomato juice, Bitannican Sea Salt and a twist of lime rum. Sprig a’ celery too, if you’re feelin’ it.” The speaker paused to gulp down another mouthful, wiping away flecks of spittle from the corner of his mouth. “Care to try?”

Mac frowned slightly, forehead creasing as he looked at the glass clasped tightly in the other pony’s hooves. They had an effeminate voice, thickly-Western accent masked by a badly put-on Canterlotian; nice manner, though. Cute. Beautiful cadence. Definitely the sort of voice Mac liked to hear moan. But that wasn’t really all that important to the earth pony at the time; the voice itself was vaguely familiar, and he was having difficulty placing it in his state. Reluctantly resigning himself to the undesired attention, Mac shifted in his seat, back to his own glass, resting glumly on a drab black coaster nearby. Empty, too. Against the dull matte colour of the wooden panelling, it was profoundly chilling.

Pushing anything resembling a coherent thought out of his head, Mac took another drink.

“Don’t drink mares’ drinks,” he slurred, glaring. His tongue felt thick and clumsy in his mouth, struggling to form the words he wanted around its own mass and his quivering jowls. How drunk was he, anyway? Sure as the apples back home were red he wasn’t sober. Sitting up primly, he forced himself to slow down and speak elegantly, get the words out proper. “Let me get you a real colt’s liquor.” He clapped his hooves. “Mixer, a Rowdy Howdy for my pal here. Send ‘im packin’.”

Nodding grimly, the unicorn started working away at a mixture of different ingredients above the sink. Normally, Mac enjoyed watching, but at the moment the more pressing concern was relishing the coming destruction of this mysterious stranger that couldn’t leave well enough alone. The only pony in the world that could handle a Rowdy besides him was Granny Smith. It was bound to drive off his new devotee.

“You’re the boss,” the other - presumably an earth pony, Mac noted, judging by the lack of lumps or protrusions under his hooded jacket - said, gratefully accepting the drink. Mac cheered up a little at that. No one, but no one, could handle a Rowdy good as he did -

Instead of the small, quick sip he’d expected, followed by a whooping, hacking cough and a night spent comatose, the stranger raised the glass to his lips, sniffed it, and then downed it, all in one smooth motion, barely flinching throughout.

Mac was utterly gobsmacked.

“Now that,” the other chuckled, licking his lips appreciatively, “was a kicker.” He smacked his lips together, smiling. “Mighty respectable of you to know my tastes ‘fore I even tell you my name.”

The westerner’s drawl, arrogant and cocksure, abruptly became more than a little irritating. Moodily, Mac took a sip of his own now-tasteless drink. It had gone flat. The red stallion chalked it up to another insult on the part of fate, and added it to his rapidly growing list of indignities, alongside the bartender’s clear inability to mix a proper drink and this strange westerner’s upstart attitude.

“So what’s got a fine red colt like you lookin’ so blue?”

Mac, startled out of his broiling reverie, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Why should he tell some nosy busypony his story?

Harrumphing loudly, he snorted, leaning over the countertop to grab another glass. The foreigner’s hoof on his shoulder, cold and shod in iron, was enough to make him leap from his seat in brazen fury; next to him the other pony shrugged, withers raised in exasperated disbelief and what seemed to be mild shock.

“Don’t be a big filly now, cous’,” he laughed, pulling down his hood to reveal the smiling face of the pony Mac hated most in the world right now.

Braeburn.

“Darn it, ‘Burn!” he squealed, disbelief seeping into his tone as his voice cracked in anger. “I told you not to come near me again! Not after that spectacle at that bar in Appleloosa!”

“But cous’!” the yellow pony cried, throwing his forelegs in the air and leaning back, “where would I be without you? I still need your help! You’re my favourite Apple, now come on and help me out!”

“Never again,” Mac groaned, rubbing his temples with his hooves. “Not after that last one. Nope. I’ve had my fill of dumb ponies, enough to last me a lifetime.”

“Hey!”

“Well, it’s true, ain’t it?” The red stallion turned to look the yellow colt in the eye. They stared at each other for a moment in silence; then, Braeburn, ever the diligent sycophant, fell to the floor, prostrating himself before his cousin.

“Please, Mac, please!” he begged, almost in tears. Mac cast a wary eye around the room, taking things in. Ponies were beginning to turn and stare, some were gossiping, others giggling, and even more simply outright laughing; that wasn’t on. No one laughed at an Apple.

“Look, come on, let’s go discuss this in private,” he groaned, pulling the still-teary Braeburn up from the floor and gently wiping away his tears. Or, at least, attempting to be gentle. To the Appleloosan himself it was more like being beat in the face by a gigantic hoof.

“Hey, quit it, cous’!” he yelped, dancing away from the blows and raising his own forelegs in a defensive stance. “I didn’t even do anything except say sorry!”

“And this time you’ll know not to make the mistake in the first place! One apology plus hundreds of stupid mistakes just don’t add up!”

“Now hold on, fellas,” Mixer piped up, “I won’t have fighting in my bar unless there’s a good reason for it. Now sit your rumps down and tell me what’s got you worked up, Mac. You’re one of my best customers, never had any trouble from you, I need to know.”

“Fine.” Mac crossed his forelegs grumpily as he sat down. Like a petulant child, really. Braeburn looked more contrite across from him, head downcast as he rested himself on an upturned stool.

“So who’s gonna tell it?” Braeburn said, melancholy. Mac’s response was a harsh glare.

“Me, of course.” He pumped a hoof in the air. “So keep your trap shut for a while, y’all hear me?”

At that, silence fell over the three. Others turned back to their own business, clearly uninterested, but Braeburn looked eager and enthusiastic, desperate to impress. Mac couldn’t quite shove past the anger he still felt.

Slowly, with some difficulty, he began. “Eeyup, it all started a few days ago, when I went down to Appleloosa.”

It’d all begun a month beforehand, when, on his routine trip to the small frontier town of Appleloosa to monitor their orchards and check in on his darling cousin, Big Macintosh, farmer and ranger extraordinaire, had run into Little Strongheart of the local buffalo clan.

Now, Mac was no stranger to the buffalo. Two years spent learning to ply his trade in the Arid Line fields of the far south, with an eclectic mix of creatures great and small, spanning sources across the globe, had given him enough knowledge of the buffalo, amongst others, to make him way of them in general. Where he was a settler, they were nomads. Where he was peaceful, they were warlike, bellicose. The only common ground they shared was a fierce, ardent devotion to the bands of kin and clan, which, though Mac could respect, did not ease his misgivings. Once he’d fought a buffalo - a maddened, bloodthirsty creature at its worst - and had barely escaped unscathed. His fears were only natural.

Unlike most that had been wronged on the Arid Line, though, Mac believed in second chances, though his encounter with Little Strongheart hadn’t been too kind on that count. Their exchange had initially been quite heated. She was something of a pariah among her kind: small, lithe, cunning and beautiful where most buffalo, even their females, were slow, large and ponderous. A dangerous vixen among oxen.

That wasn’t what was troubling, though. Oh, no, not at all. Mac had had little trouble reconciling that with his dated notions of chivalry. It had been a completely different issue they’d discussed, once they’d finally settled down and started getting along like a house on fire, that had won his attention. Otherwise he would have spared nary a second thought for the crafty young girl...

“You did what, cousin Braeburn?”

Applejack could not have sounded more livid at that point. The two colts swore in unison, each certain they could see the veins bulging in her forehead and steam pouring from her ears as she fumed. Under his breath, Mac was muttering sourly, unintelligible gibberish that seemed scolding. Not much of a resistance for the yellow colt to fall back on.

“Now y’all listen here, and listen good now,” AJ growled, taking a heavy step forward. In response, Braeburn lurched back wildly, reeling, and even Mac recoiled slightly, careful not to make eye contact with his sister. If she noticed him any more than she already did, she’d turn her attentions on him, and that would undoubtedly lead to her somehow making everything his fault. Even if it didn’t make sense to do so. Mac was in no mood for a tongue-lashing, though he did feel some shred of camaraderie with his cousin...once, years ago, he’d had to put up with being put through the same thing. Thankfully, Granny Smith hadn’t been so blunt and angry at the time.

“I ain’t happy with this, not one bit. How could y’all forget your duty to the Apple family like that?”

Mac scoffed at that. She wasn’t going to give him the duty spiel, was she?

“Now hold on one apple-buckin’ minute!” Braeburn shot back. The words didn’t even sting Applejack’s hide. Braeburn took a defensive step forward (or, at least, as the red pony explained it; who would ever be privy enough to his internal narration to be confused by it, anyway?). “What duty? I’ve done my bit for the family just like everypony else! Quit doggin’ me, cous’!”

“Oh, she ain’t doggin’ you yet,” Mac whinnied, grinning. “You’ll know when she starts, ‘Burn, promise you that.”

Braeburn threw an amused glance in his direction. Applejack, not so much.

“Speakin’ a’ doggin’,” she cooed, leering, “I got half a mind to let Winona keep that doll of yours if you don’t shut up and sit down while I’m lecturin’ my cousin.”

That cowed Mac. He was left speechless. She’d promised she’d never tell anyone about the doll!

“Lucky for big brother you only have half a mind,” Applebloom muttered, stubbornly pawing at the ground with an angry hoof.

“Why, I never!” Now Applejack turned on the filly, wide eyes blazing with newfound ire. “I oughta clobber you upside the head for that one, clout you good and proper! Go on and get to the house with ol’ Granny Smith, she’ll give you a right hollerin’. Teach you to mind your tongue!” She shooed the filly away. “Go on, get!”

“No fair!” The filly whined, slinking away as she grumbled. “Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle get to go to Disneigh World and I have to come to this stupid dumb boring old nowheresville town in the desert...”

“That filly,” AJ sighed, once the last speckles of red had turned the corner, out of earshot. “I just don’t know what to do with ‘er. Don’t she know family’s the most important thing you can have?”

“Ease up on her a lil’, cous’, we were all the same at that age,” the yellow colt chimed in disapprovingly.

“As I remember it,” Big Mac added sagely, “somepony I know didn’t learn that lesson ‘til she found her Cutie Mark.”

She whacked him good for that one.

“Ouch!” Mac groaned, pressing one hoof to the sore spot on the back of his head where he was sure there’d be a ripe shiner in the morning. Sometimes the big stallion felt like a peach.

“So what’s this here duty I got to the Apples I ain’t yet fulfilled, cousin AJ?” Braeburn was solemn once again, staring determinedly at the orange mare. She sighed back, smiling kindly in spite of her earlier behaviour. Mac marvelled at that. Knowing what was coming next, her sheer hypocrisy, he wondered how she managed to make it seem almost like she was doing the work of angels.

“You stallions need to be bringing more Apples into the world so they can do their duty too,” she said, casting a cursory glance at the now-silent red stallion. Mac had gone through it all before, and he knew to keep quiet. Apparently, Braeburn couldn’t figure it out.

“‘T’ain’t fair at all!” he yelled, stomping in protest. “I don’t see why it can’t be you and the other girls doing all that. Horseapples, girls are better at parentin’ anyway. Why, even Mac’d be better for it than me! He’s bigger!”

At that, AJ scowled. Mac sighed audibly. Braeburn’s expression quickly became perplexed.

“What’d I say?”

“Mac has a...” AJ paused, trailing off as she struggled to find the right words. “Problem. With mares, I mean.”

“A strappin’ bronco like Macintosh?” the clothed pony scoffed, now looking like he could barely hold his shock, struck dumb at the notion in his equally dumb vest and hat. Mac hated it more than anything else, when ponies questioned him. “Why, that’s plum unbelievable!”

Again Mac sighed and cleared his throat, loudly enough to earn everypony’s attention.

“I ain’t interested,” he droned lowly, keeping his eyes fixed on AJ. She appeared to be torn between being tortured by guilt and gripped by anger, at least until Braeburn came to the realisation, when her face turned blank. “That’s AJ’s ‘problem’”.

“I don’t like your tone,” she growled. Mac had to resist repeating ‘problem’ with added sarcasm and air quotes. It was a tough one.

“Ah!” Braeburn interrupted them, tone one of surprised understanding and what seemed to be acceptance. “So you’re a stallion-shagger!”

“Not so loud!” the mare hissed, as Mac let out a belt of hearty, uproarious laughter.

“There’s a new one,” he chuckled back. He hadn’t laughed so hard in a while.

“Surely you can still-”

“No, I can’t,” Mac interjected, cutting the smaller colt off with a shake of his head. “Believe me, ‘Burn, I’ve tried. I’ve tried so darn hard. But I can’t, and AJ won’t make me try again if I won’t make her try with a boy. It’s our gentlecolt’s agreement.”

“And I’m stickin’ to it,” AJ continued. “‘s only fair.”

“Yeah, fair to save your own skins,” came Braeburn’s angry repartée, “but where does that leave me?” The air hung heavy for a moment after that, laden with a pregnant silence, before he continued. “All I want is to marry Little Strongheart and spend the rest of my life with her, cousins.”

Mac understood. It was only fair, after all, and it was simple and poignant enough to break the silence and shatter his resolve. The yellow pony’s pleading stare and heartfelt words tipped the scales from saving his own skin to making some small sacrifice, and that was enough; he was sure AJ felt the same. When Braeburn wanted something, he cut through all resistance like a hot knife through fresh butter. They were all hard-pressed to stop their hearts from melting.

Despite his overbearing zeal and gregarious, enthusiastic mannerisms, the yellow pony’d always occupied a soft spot in the hearts of the two siblings. They loved him dearly, for some reason, and as they shared a look, each knew the other had already given in.

“Granny Smith won’t be happy. Again,” AJ said, mouth set in a flat line.

“Don’t you worry yourself about that, sis,” Mac said, already forming a fancy solution in his head. He’d had opportunity to discuss it at length with Braeburn’s ecstatic bride-to-be earlier that day, though it had completely slipped his mind ‘til then, and though he dreaded putting it into action, he had to admit his desire to see his family happy won out over any selfish self-preservation instinct. “I’ve got a plan.”

“You’ve always got a plan,” the other two chorused together. That was a little bemusing, but impressive nonetheless. Alone, AJ added, “what is it this time?”

“Why, AJ,” he chortled, throwing a foreleg around their hesitant withers, “Braeburn and I are goin’ to go on an adventure!”

Six brothels, eight bars and fifty-four breaks down the line, Mac had long since given in to the growing pile of reasons to hate his cousin more than anything else he’d ever had opportunity to hate. Loathe, despise, abhor, however he felt, it was an achievement, considering Caramel’s cooking and the rising price of biofuels. Somehow, though, the yellow pony had managed to do it, and Mac lauded him for it just as he hated him.

“Some adventure, right, cous’?” the colt in question roared happily, full of liquor and empty of...brains? Potential kids? Product? Mac didn’t want to think too hard about it. Braeburn’s sexual machinery was a train of thought that led to bad, unspeakable, reprehensible places, and he refused to get near it at all. With an inner flourish he struck it right out. “Boy, I’ve been all over the Western Ways and I ain’t never explored so much uncharted territory!” Whooping and hollering, he leaned over to nudge Mac in the side with a hoof, grinning lecherously. “You gettin’ me, partner?”

That was it, Macintosh decided, retching. The last straw.

“Never, ever, ever,” he began, eyes lidded with rage, “call me partner again, ‘Burn.” Now he was spitting the words out, shivering with disdain. The chill running up and down his spine wouldn’t relent, and neither would the filly serving them at the end of the table, staring unabashedly at his rump. Ponies of all kinds and had been flitting about, flirting and teasing him all week; did none of them see the wedding bands he wore around his fetlocks? Engaged, ponies, engaged! At times he just wanted to scream stop hitting on me. “I heard exactly what y’all were callin’ those last fifteen mares and I ain’t any ‘a them. Celestia’s sake, and quit drinking so much, don’t you know it kills your libido?”

“I still can’t believe my darlin’ put you up to this!” The stallion hiccoughed, choking on his glee. Ignoring Mac too, he noted angrily. “Best week ‘a my life!”

Mac, in turn, chose to ignore Braeburn’s delighted demeanour and shameless flirting. The stallion (because that had to be what he was now) seemed to want any mare with even a passing interest, and frankly, who could blame him? He was young, lusty, and drunk stupid. Mac recalled his own years spent like that with fond nostalgia. The awful stench of alcohol, salt, sweat and sex, on the other hand, was one the red pony did not miss, and it drove him to distraction. Infuriating.

The entire week had been the same, in all truth - dangerous, unpredictable, crazy and definitely unwanted. He’d regretted the entire thing from the get-go, and felt especially remorseful about letting Braeburn know he had his future wife’s permission to do whatever he liked. It meant his cousin’s stag tour had been far more lively than he’d ever wanted, and they’d met with even less success than they’d thought. He blamed Equestria’s thriving sex industry...they must have put something in the water.

“So now what, cous’?” Braeburn sighed dreamily, happily tracing an indecipherable pattern across a new mare’s flank with an approving, hungry glint in his eyes. “How do we find out which girls are preggers? Go back and ask ‘em all?”

Mac didn’t have a clue what answer he wanted. He’d only recently learned what the hay ‘preggers’ meant. To his knowledge, two of the hundreds of mares the yellow stallion had bedded were actually full of Apple seeds, and both of them were adamant about keeping the children. Damn them, that was his mantra, and damn Equestria’s strict moral fiber that meant even the whores were responsible. Each time he failed to convince them, whether with bribes, coercion or cajoling, he came a step closer to just giving up. For all he cared, Braeburn could adopt and pray the family matriarch passed away before inspection day.

“Nothin’ now, Braeburn,” he muttered, rising to his hooves. “And will you quit fondling that hussy’s tits? We’ve got work to do here, y’know!”

The pony in question appeared affronted, but Mac honestly couldn’t care less, and apparently, neither could Braeburn, hooves still travelling all over her body.

“This is work, cous’,” was his reply, moaned through a sudden burst of pleasure as another mare came to join them. Disgusting enough to turn Mac’s stomach.

“Have your fun, then, Braeburn,” Mac sighed dismissively. “I’m done. Good luck on your own.”

He so rarely used the yellow stallion’s full name that he was sure it’d be enough to get his full attention, and he’d come bounding after him, begging for forgiveness, promising to do better next time. But when he turned, Braeburn was still sitting with the two mares, and a further two had come to join him; now he barely even noticed Mac’s departure. Mac felt like crying himself. The yellow pony was just too busy adventuring inside-

“Now, hold on, cous’!” cried a voice, in a thick western accent. “That wasn’t how it happened at all! Quit tryin’ to make me look bad all the time!”

“You do that enough yourself,” Mac tutted reproachfully. Braeburn’s voice had been piercing enough to snap him out of storytelling mode, and the small group of ponies gathered around them were now glaring disapprovingly at Braeburn, himself still awkwardly posed with his forelegs raised in defiant disbelief. Some moaned, though whether in relief or frustration Mac didn’t know; one pretty, innocent young mare was fidgeting and blushing far to much for normal, too red-faced and heated to even be in the bar. Mac frowned menacingly at his reprobate cousin, but that only prompted him to keep on talking.

“You just plain ran out on me! No explanation or nothin’, I wasn’t even doing none of that stuff! And you left me with the tab!”

“Are you callin’ me a liar?” Mac had admittedly embellished the truth, occasionally - purely for effect, of course - but that was exactly how he remembered it. To the letter!

“Yeah!” Braeburn seemed more than mildly miffed. “I couldn’t do any of it without your support and you just plum left me for no raisin! You know how disappointed me and Strongheart were?”

He did know. He didn’t forgive the fruit pun, would never forgive that, but he had apologised to the buffalo girl...after recounting the whole thing in gruesomely specific detail. The play-by-play was all the evidence he’d needed to win her forgiveness, and her apologies.

“She’s already over it,” he sighed, taking another stiff drink. “She’s even thinking about breaking up with you if I don’t forgive you, and I haven’t, y’all best know.”

Someone in the crowd booed at that, and he was joined by catcalls, whistles, and a tomato thrown straight at Braeburn’s head. The yellow pony dodged deftly enough to give the impression of being used to it.

“I know,” he continued, mumbling miserably, eyes downcast. “I was a real ass.” Afterwards he nervously cleared his throat, glancing around the room. “No offense to any asses in the peanut gallery, of course.”

“None taken!” cried an indistinct voice from someone, somewhere nearby, followed by a wave of titters, giggles and guffaws. Macintosh pondered how drunk they had to be to find that funny and not mildly sad. Meanwhile, Braeburn cleared his throat again, dropping down to one knee in front of the withdrawn red stallion, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes in anticipation of rejection.

This was it, Mac realised. Braeburn was pulling out the big guns in pursuit of reconciliation. He was done for, no matter how much he might hate Braeburn right then, and horsefeathers, that was most certainly how it had happened!

And yet, how could he say no to the puppy-dog eyes?

“I should have been better, taken it more seriously,” the yellow colt whispered, clasping Mac’s hooves in his own. “When Mad Sheriff Whiplash came after you for his sex dungeon, I shouldn’t have trapped you in there with him.”

“We got him eventually,” he replied, “though I don’t think I’ll ever forget the things he taught me in there.”

“When those angry hookers from Sextopia stole our last skin of water and tried to sic those critters on us, I definitely shouldn’t have dropped a barrel on your head and knocked you out cold.”

“...I don’t even know what to say about that one.” He raised a hoof to his chin in thought. “Ate some good snakes that night, though.”

“And I most definitely shouldn’t have spiked your drink in the sheikh’s tent when we were trying to convince her to let us pass through the sacred valleys of her mothers!”

“Next time I’ll let you rot in the dungeon,” Mac whispered, suddenly cold. “I never want to pass through those sacred valleys again. Ever!”

“Point is,” Braeburn sighed, “I did a lot of stupid things I should never have done to you. That was the best week of my life and it would only have happened had you been there. So thanks, cous’.” Around them, peals of raucous laughter broke out in rippling waves; some were cheering, some were hooting, some were swooning, but all were watching them in awe. “I promised I’d be an Apple to the last and the only thing I did like an Apple was be plain ol’ rotten.”

“Eeyup,” Big Macintosh said, expressionless.

“Can y’all find it in your heart to forgive a sorry buck?”

“No,” Mac said, as their eyes met. Braeburn’s own eyes narrowed, and Mac’s blinked, widening. He could practically feel the hardness in his heart flowing away like a river, and much as he tried to dam it up and just hate forever, he knew he couldn’t. Like so many pips through a pony’s hooves.

“Come on, cousin Mac!” Braeburn chortled, now smiling, as he took another swig from his drink, emptying it. The last few drops pooled at the bottom, and Mac knew they’d eventually disappear; why fight it? His resolve was the same as that god-awful drink. “I really need a wingpony.”

With a weary finality, the crimson earth pony stood, shook the last vestiges of drunkenness out of his mind to be replaced with a painful sobriety, and nodded.

“Our adventure ain’t done yet, sadly,” he laughed, trotting towards the door. “And I still have a date with a whip-happy sheriff, as I remember it!”

Braeburn galloped after him, to the sounds of drunken ponies celebrating behind them.

Poem of friendship

(To all of those reading: this is a poem about to friends [Bic Mac and Braeburn] just talking over a western [hence the

description of the dirt] nights sky. It’s abstract, but it covers the prompt)

The ground.

Beneath us lies a layer of hard yet soft, wet yet dry dirt, that shines a brilliant shade of grey over the night sky.

The air.

In between us swims the sea of life that grants the power to express the feelings that we have, through our words.

The sky.

Above us soars the beacon of sleep that keeps us awake, prolonging the dance of the wind, binded by the earth.

We talk of things.

Subjects of love.

Subjects of hate.

Subjects of violence.

Subjects of healing.

Subjects of harmony.

Subjects of discord.

Subjects of lies.

Subjects of truth.

Two colts Cities that are
from two cities vastly different

Held together by one thing

Friendship

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RESULTS!

RESULTS!

TOP FIVE

1.Family by NTSTS(7.8)
2.Hoof Full of Bits by Vanner (6.93)
3.The Quiet Dragon by Squeak (6.78)
4.The Singer, The Bandit and The Chicken by Usea (6.59)
5. Western Side Story by Pacce(6.17)

Forever In Azures So Bright by Duplex (6.14)

How Does Your Garden Grow? by Applejinx (6.6)

Sweet'n Salty by Ion Strum (5.77)

Across the Broken Planes by Pagemaster (5.54)

Poem of Friendship by Shuckle (4.22)

/co/:
Family by NTST (7.9)
The Quiet Dragon by Squeak (6.81)
Western Side Story by Pacce(6.19)
Forever In Azures So Bright by Duplex (6.14)
Across the Broken Planes by Pagemaster (5.53)

AVERAGE
6.51

Ponychan:
Hoof Full of Bits by Vanner (6.97)
The Singer, The Bandit and The Chicken by Usea (6.62)
How Does Your Garden Grow? by Applejinx (6.8)
Sweet'n Salty by Ion Strum (5.79)
Poem of Friendship by Shuckle (4.28)

AVERAGE
6.11

WINNER
/co/

Champion NTSTS!!!

Congrats dude! You're the winner of the whole shebang! Of both boards you came out on top!