Up in the Clouds, Down to Earth

He grunts and pulls, one last time, straining at the weight of the collar around his neck.

The plow behind him moves a few measly inches.

Big Macintosh stops, letting his breath out in one loud gasp. He turns and looks back at his work – a not-unimpressive stretch of freshly-tilled earth, rich and dark and moist in the bright glare of the sun.

He snorts out loud, still panting a little. It's good soil, for sure, but it's hell to drag a plow through. Thick, heavy dirt, packed down hard under years and years of nature going about its way.

That's the best kind, of course. This field will be an abundant source of crops by this time next year, and his sister will talk about how great it is and how well the harvest is comin' in and how its all because of his hard work, now what would we do without you, you big red work horse?

He shakes his head, just a slight swaying of his chin. He didn't mean to, at all. It just happened.

You can't.

He's proud of his work. Of this farm. Of his family. Always has been, always will be.

Just keep pullin' that plow, colt.

He doesn't move, not yet. He knows there's nothing else for it, nothing else to do but just pull on through, even when it's an inch at a time, even when it's dragging a rusty, beat-up piece-of-manure plow through miles and miles of Equestria's hardest dirt. Over and over again. Every year. Forever.

Just keep pullin'. That's your job.

He sighs. He doesn't quite get back to work. Not just yet. He wipes at his forehead with a hoof, already sweaty and caked with dust. It's hot out – hot as high summer already, and that doesn't quite bode well. It feels like standing in an oven, out here in the open, surrounded by dirt and hazy air and the ever-present, maddening buzz of cicadas.

Stupid bugs. Ain't they got anything better to do but hang around all day and sing?

He's often dreamed of doing the same thing – just laying back, takin' her easy all day, every day. That's the ticket, alright.

Maybe the cicadas are on to somethin'.

Have some cushy job you barely gotta sweat over, take off early and have a few beers in you by suppertime. That's called having it made.

It's called bein' a lazy good-for-nothin'.

Yeah, it's true. He grins, caught by his own self. He doesn't want to be a lazy good-for-nothing. He wants to be useful. He wants to work hard.

Who would wanna spend their whole life diggin' around in a buncha dirt?

His grin disappears. He doesn't rightly know the answer to that one. He tries hard to forget he ever heard it.

His eyes dart up, drawn by movement. He does forget, instantly forgets every thought in his head.

There's a beautiful yellow bird, far away in the sky, bright against the endless deep blue field up above. She drifts past, slow and easy, like she always does.

Mac's eyes follow her. He smiles a little, not aware of it at all, just watching. Even from this far away he can still just make out the pink of her mane and tail, drifting out behind her. And there's also a little bit of... green? Must be saddlebags.

He knows plenty about her, of course. Hears it from his sisters all the time, knows who she is, what she's about. Even without all that, he would've figured out that she lives nearby – she flies past every day, sometimes a few times a day, on her way to town and back.

He always watches.

She even stops by the farm often enough. He always nods and says hello, polite and cordial like. She's never there to see him.

Fair enough. For the best, really.

But he still watches her fly. No harm in it – she's so far away that she couldn't even tell. He can't even make out much about her – seeing that pink and yellow speck in the distance is more a reminder, a touchstone for all the times he has seen her up close. She's pretty, of course, there are plenty of pretty mares around, but she... well, Celestia is a generous goddess sometimes, let's just leave it at that.

He sighs loudly, that easy smile back on his face for the first time that morning. He tries to remember the exact color of her eyes, the soft curves of her long mane, her sweet and demure little voice, to dredge all these things out of his memory and replay them. Anything to brighten up the stifling, dusty heat all around him.

He's heard AJ talk about a pet rabbit. A rabbit named Angel. He thinks, sometimes, that the name missed its mark just a bit.

Part of him – an old, buried part – wants to follow her. To go say hello, and tell her exactly what he thinks of her long pink mane and her big doe eyes and her sleek little wings. To find out what her sweet, breathy voice sounds like when she's really excited.

He shakes his head again. She's a nice girl. He knows that. A nice, kind, wholesome girl, and he's got no right to think of her like that. Especially not someone like him.

He bows his head, staring down at what he should be doing. She's up there, high in the sky, far away. And he's down here, stuck in the dirt. And that's how it is. And that's alright.

For the best.

When he looks up, she's gone. It's just him and a collar and a plow again.

He takes a deep breath, setting up on his hooves. He takes a step forward. He pulls.

* * *

Fluttershy slowly, stealthily pushes the branch in front of her to the side. It bends out of the way, and she finally has a good view of the field just on the other side of these trees.

She panics a little. Did he look? It looked like he looked for a second. She lets the branch go, cringing as it whips back into place inches from her nose.

Her heart pounds, like it always does. The leaves are so noisy, and her coat is so bright yellow, and what is she even thinking he's going to see her and then everyone will think she's a terrible pony.

She gets the urge to run, but she doesn't. She crouches down a little, peering through gaps in the leaves.

He's out there, pulling a plow. He's far away, just a handsome red shape, blurry through the wavy heat out in the sun. She stares with wide eyes, imagining all the times she's seen him up close, remembering what those big, sturdy muscles look like when they're unleashed upon some unwitting farm implement. She practically swoons, her eyes honed in on the bright green spot on his flank, wondering how the apple shifts and curves and flexes as he works.

Bright green. Like his eyes. Like his gentle, handsome eyes.

She covers her mouth with her hooves, hiding her guilty smile. This is wrong, wrong and bad and naughty, but she just can't help it. It used to be enough, just glancing his way whenever she flew by, knowing he was down there somewhere.

Used to be. This has almost become her new routine – she knows that if she doesn't creep up and get a good look at him, she's just going to think about him all day. Again.

Silly. As if she wouldn't do that either way.

She keeps dreamily staring at him. Weeks ago, Angel had asked when she was just going to buy some binoculars and get it over with. She'd unleashed the stare on him for that one, without even meaning to.

She bites her lip. She makes a mental note to apologize, again, to the little white bunny.

Big Mac has reached the end of his planned patch of plough dirt. He turns for another run, offering her a delightful panoramic view of his backside. Her eyes go impossibly huge as he turns, unable to make out any detail but plenty scandalized anyway.

She dives to the ground, ducking under her hooves. His head had turned towards her, looking at the trees far away.

He saw her. She knows, somehow, even though he's too far away to see where his eyes were pointed. Of course he saw her and he's probably thinking right now about what a strange, unlikeable pony she is.

She closes her eyes, still hiding there on the ground.

No. No, no, no. He didn't see you. He didn't.

She thinks it over and over again, slowly calming down.

Of course he didn't. Why would he look at you?

She sulks helplessly, raising her head for one last peek through the branches. Big Mac is still plowing, not paying her any mind at all. Pretending nothing happened, to try and save her the embarrassment. Such a nice pony.

She turns and skulks away, taking care to tread quietly as long as there are still apple trees around her. Gradually, the apples thin out, giving way to broad green leaves on fruitless branches. Ferns and bushes crowd around the ground, growing thick in the sunny patches here and there. She feels grass tickling at her fetlocks, and she slowly stands up straighter as she walks.

Fluttershy smiles, walking freely now. These are her trees. Her cottage is just over the next hill, down the trail of a lazy stream. This is a peaceful, quiet stretch of forest, perfectly suited to her needs.

She stops next to a particularly large and nice-looking tree. A gentle breeze is blowing up above the canopy. She sees the leaves move, of course, sees the shifting dappled light on the ground beneath her. But more, she feels it, feels the wind in her feathers and her pegasus blood, knowing it's there by instinct.

She drops her saddlebags and then drops herself, lying down on the ground with a happy sigh. It's not the bare dirt of an apple orchard, or the sterile grass of a tended field – she's lying among a mixture of grass and leaves and small twigs and soft moss, almost as wild as the Everfree.

She lies there, just taking in her surroundings. Over that hill, there is her house and her animals and a long list of duties to be done, feeding and cleaning and checking for good health. Not that it's unpleasant, at all, but it's going to be a long day. It's nice, for just a minute, to just lie here under the trees, by herself.

Of course, her work comes to her. She hears something scrabbling its way down the bark of the tree, and then a squirrel hops right up to her, sitting on its hind legs and staring up at the yellow pegasus.

"Why, hello there little friend!" Fluttershy says.

The squirrel stares back at her, twitching its nose.

"No, I haven't put out any food yet. Are you hungry?" she asks.

The squirrel keeps staring, twitching its nose at the fast pace only rodents are truly capable of.

"Of course you are. Let me see if I have anything for you." Fluttershy digs around in her saddlebags. She knows she has something – she always has something. She grasps a few acorns in her teeth and gently lays them out on the ground.

The squirrel gives a few delighted chirps, stuffing the acorns into its cheeks. Then it goes back to sitting and staring, its eyes full of twinkling joy.

"You're very welcome," Fluttershy says. "Now run along, little friend."

The squirrel stares back at her, not moving.

"Go on. Don't let me keep you."

The squirrel gives her a curious look, then takes off with a few friendly chirps. She watches it go as it darts up a nearby tree and disappears among the branches.

Fluttershy watches and waits, for a long time. Several seconds, at least. She casts a few guilty glances towards her home, knowing she should be heading back, to take on all her duties. But she doesn't go quite yet.

It's nice, sometimes, to take a few minutes. Like Rarity with her spa visits. Fluttershy likes the spa, too, but this...

She looks around again. Distant birdsong drifts through the trees, mingling with the rustle of leaves in the breeze. It's beautiful, and perfect, and still.

And alone.

She rolls onto her side, and then her back, slowly. Relaxing into the earth. She stretches, fluffing her wings out against the ground, feeling the feathers drag. She squirms this way and that, feeling the dirt and moss and pebbles against her coat, sighing at every pleasant little scratch.

She knows that somepony could come by and see her at any second. It still scares her, in ways that make her uncomfortable sometimes. But she's come to terms with this much, at least – this is worth it. It's...

She opens her eyes, staring up. Green leaves and blue sky and wisps of cloud, barely poking through, always shifting and moving.

It's just not the same, being indoors.

She takes one last cautious glance around, expecting crowds of ponies with awful cameras, glaring in knowing disappointment. Nopony is there at all. She breathes a sigh of relief.

She's alone. Alone and safe and here, under a lovely tree.

She curls her forelegs up against her chest. She crosses her legs, squeezing them together, gently dragging her tail against the ground.

He comes to her, in her mind. Like he always does. A big red stallion, handsome and calm and quiet. She sees him up close, not far off in the distance. Looking at her, the way he probably looks at a pretty girl like Rarity or Twilight, keeping his green eyes just for her.

She smiles, closing her eyes.

He looked at her once.

She freezes it in her head, fawning over it, turning it over and over for every last little detail. Relaxed eyelids, his big red muzzle dipping as he bowed just slightly, looking right at her the whole time.

He hadn't just looked at her. He nodded.

She sighs dreamily, remembering it over and over and over again. Him, he, the apple of her eye, looked right at her and nodded.

Other memories rush in. She can't stop them now, it's far too late. She chews softly on her lip as they build up and break through.

He greeted her. Her cheeks flush as she remembers it – he looked right at her.

Hey there.

The gentle rumble of his voice left her shaking and speechless, awe-struck. She actually looked over both shoulders at the time – surely there was some other mare just behind her. Surely he wasn't...

But he was.

Her eyes open. Her hooves have found their way down, between her legs. She tries to pay it no mind – this is just a thing that happens. Nature taking its course.

She closes her eyes again.

There were other times. He looks up from a barrel of water, his eyebrows rising when he sees her.

Afternoon

Her hooves push, hard, at the memory of his slow drawl. She squeaks, squeezing her thighs together, trapping her hooves between them.

She'd been walking with Applejack. Talking about the cows. Nothing that mattered, the moment they rounded the corner of the barn.

Hello

He'd said something else to his sister, but hello?

That one was just for Fluttershy.

Her back arches, her upper body supported on quivering wings. Her hooves are wet now, rubbing up and down, still squeezed between her trembling thighs.

Her lips break open into a wide smile. She was trying to save this one. The best one. A pub, softly lit, happy ponies all around them. Pinkie Pie chattering on, saying things about things and then other things. So much anger that evening, her friends at each other's throats for reasons she couldn't even begin to understand.

And then he was there. A big, easy smile on his face. He'd looked at her and nodded, and then...

Fluttershy

Her name. He'd said her name. He knows her name.

"Ah!" She gasps silently, shamefully moaning at the memory. Her hooves are doing all kinds of naughty things, pushing frantically at the hot place between her legs, driving the panting gasps in her chest.

She's gone, over the edge. No holding back now. Her mind soars up, moving past memory into feverish dreams – she sees the two of them, smiling and talking, a happy couple. She sees him take her in his big arms, snuggling together before a perfect sunset. She sees him bring her flowers, for no reason at all, just because, and she sees herself cook him a big dinner, helping him out of his collar after a long day, rubbing his sore, muscled shoulders...

She's panting heavily, her hooves moving quick as a blur. Her legs are spread in a shameful, not-nice way, splayed out to either side. Her wings tingle with every movement, stretched as far as they can possibly go, fanned out over the grass.

She's so close, just below the very tip-top peak of rapture. She sees them, her and Mac, surrounded by her approving, happy friends. Then they're alone again, nestled close together next to a warm fire, smiling against each other, together and happy and perfect together forever and ever and... and...

She hovers near the edge. Dare she even think it...? With an adventurous gasp, she does – foals, the two of them sharing beautiful bundles of life, taking turns licking their adorable little manes...

Her legs kick against nothing. Her hips buck, gently, while her heart pounds. Her eyes snap open, darting around in a panic, anyone could see, she's out in the open, outside, outside... it only makes her heart beat faster.

He looks up from their son, or daughter, a perfect and beautiful newborn. He stares deep into her eyes.

I love you

She beams with joy. She opens her mouth...

...

Nothing comes out.

He's going, the foals are going, fading away. Her hooves hammer at her tender privates, trying desperately to hold on, to just go that last little distance before it's too late.

Hey there

She looks away.

Afternoon

She pretends he hadn't said anything.

Hello

A million joyous words die stillborn on her lips.

Fluttershy

She stares at the floor, too petrified to speak. Pinkie Pie talks plenty. He talks to Pinkie Pie. Fluttershy sneaks away, saying she's just going to the bathroom. She leaves. Alone.

Her back relaxes, falling softly to the ground. She rolls to the side a little, still furiously rubbing with her hooves, wheels spinning in the mud.

She opens her eyes. He's gone. She sees only trees and grass and the forest around her, as still and peaceful as ever.

It's starting to hurt. With a pathetic whimper, she stops rubbing, leaving her awful hooves where they are. She rests her head against the ground, staring at nothing.

She tries to remember. To keep them, all her vivid dreams of a happy couple. All she can see is herself, timidly keeping her mouth shut. Alone.

Her eyes burn. She starts to bring her hooves up to wipe at them, but... they're a little wet still. She uses her foreleg instead, awkwardly rubbing her face. No bitter tears, today. Not right now.

She sniffs loudly a few times, letting her breath catch up.

There are things to do. She has children, plenty of children, depending on her.

She gathers up her saddlebags and makes her way home.