Ballad of the Forgotten Apple

by Ice Star

Rating: everyone
Tags: Drama, Original Character, Apple Bloom, Crystal Ponies, Applejack, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 3802

Apple Bloom reads a book. Sort of.

One rainy sets in motion a bout of boredom for young Apple Bloom. Her sister tells her to read a book. Grumbling that books aren't immersive Apple Bloom reluctantly agrees to do some reading.

But now she can't put it down and is now swept up in the life story of a mysterious little poet filly, with a rather excellent vocabulary and a quirky personality.

Proofread by an anonymous user.
Possible sequel. My attempt to write a story about a 'normal' pony as well as test out some other forms of writing. Vaguely complete. Sorry. Contribute to the TVTropes page!

Published 2015-08-05 21:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2015-08-05 21:10:01 UTC

Chapter 1: Read a Book

Apple Bloom sighed as she stared out the rain-streaked window. Today was so boring with no crusading to do. This afternoon storm just had to ruin everything she could have done.

Sitting around wasn't achieving much...

She sighed and hopped off the pink couch where she had been window-gazing, and went into the kitchen where Applejack was making pie.

"AJ, I'm bored."

Applejack turned away from the pie crust she was focused on. "Did you do all your chores?"

"Yes."

"Well then why don't you go read a book?"

"I'm not Twilight."

"Of course you aren't; that doesn't mean you can't read a book. Even I like to curl up with a good one now and then."

"But books aren’t imm-immer-"

"Immersive," AJ quipped.

"Yeah, that," Apple Bloom replied.

"Looks like somepony really needs a book."

"I don't."

Applejack smirked before turning back to the pie-in-the-making. "No reading, no pie."

Apple Bloom frowned and left the room.

...

Granny's bookshelves were crammed with old books, classic volumes, scrapbooks, and other albums. Most of them were awfully thick to a somewhat reluctant reader like Apple Bloom.

Hmm, let's see. I don't want a big one or one that's too small. Preferably something that isn't too wordy either...

She shoved aside some heavy looking hardcover books and poked around.

Hey, what's this?

Wedged between two behemoths of photo albums was an old, probably-as-ancient-as-Celestia book. It was moderate in size and bore an unmarked cover that was slightly tattered. A few cobwebs clung to its worn and faded cover.

Huh. I suppose this will work.

She left the room and nonchalantly hopped up the stairs, thinking of how good that pie would be for such a dreary day.

...

Curled up on her bed with the mysterious book, Apple Bloom turned on her bedside lamp to brighten the gloomy room and make the atmosphere more appropriate for reading. She opened the front cover as carefully as possible, not wanting to damage her Granny's book and blew away a small patch of dust.

Strangely, the words were hoof-written.

Well, it is a little late to put it back...

She began her mandatory reading.

...

Day 1

My name is Amber Wave and this is my diary. I am six years old and was born to farm ponies in the Crystal Empire. I barely remember those ponies except that they didn't feed me and I was put in an orphanage where I learned how to read and write.

But I don't want to write about that because something exiting happened. Two ponies adopted me!

My new ma is named Paula Red and my new pa is Jonagold. They have a son named Honeycrisp who is my new big brother. He's already grown!

Ma and Pa are the leaders of a big group - they call it clan - of fifty some ponies.

I was really nervous when the empire was receding behind me, buildings gleaming in the sun. This was all I knew, and here we were heading south west.

'Where the wind takes us,' that is what Pa said.

With these ponies there are many sayings. Ma says every day is a new adventure which also seems to fit the mindset of these ponies.

Bye for now!

Amber

Day 2

Brrr! I'm so cold as I sit around a fire and write this. Now that the Gemheart Mountains are gone everything is so strange.

I decided to at least become more familar with the ponies here though.

Everypony seems to have very bright coats: yellow, brown, green, orange, red. How different fom the softer hues of crystal ponies. I have a quilt pulled around me as I watch Pa make camp. To keep my ink from freezing, I had to heat it in a pot like water.

I fit in pretty well with these ponies in the appearence department: pale green coat, shiny amber-brown mane and tail and gamboge eyes. I like to wear my mane in two loose braids. My mark is a 'feather' of wheat.

My talent is writing poetry and similies.

I'll write down what my family looks like: Ma is a red mare with a faded blue mane streaked with purple. Her mark is a red fruit shaped like a heart. She is short and plump, makes good food, and is as warm as a quilt.

Pa is big and strong with a brown coat and a dark orange mane. His mark is leaves caught in the wind.

Unlike Ma, he is a pegasus (there are no unicorns here, in fact I'd say that with the exception of a few other pegasai here that there is slight distrust toward non-earth ponies).

I just hope that they like crystal ponies enough to keep me around.

Next is Cris, like Pa he is a pegasus pony. His frame is not plump or strong but rather simple. He is a fast flier and is super strong! Dare I write stronger then Pa? He is yellow with an orange-red mane. Cris' mark is a wagon wheel spinning across clouds.

More to-marrow the biscuts are ready!

Day 3

I want to try to write in this journal every day and chronicale every moment of my life as I travel on this epic journey, down the river of life as I find myself in deep moments of self-discovery like a bird finds clouds.

One of my braids came undone today.

Day 4

We broke camp. My other braid came undone.

Day 6

I won't be able to write for a while. There is a storm in our wake.

Day 11

Almost all these ponies have a common ancestor. I sat around the fire in our new camp with the other foals while Elder Gala a mare so old her red coat faded to pink and her pale gold mane was whiter then snow told us the fabulous tale of a heoric earth pony:

Once upon a time now forgotten, predating the tribes themselves a stallion was born to two  woodsponies who lived in a bountious and enchanted forest.

His name was Stephan Apple for it was among the mighty wild forests of a distant realm that his lungs breathed the fresh air and he grew strong harvesting the glistening fruit.

As a colt his live-off-the-land parents moved thier roots and planted them permanately into in a citadel now lost. It was there that Stephan began his scholarly pursuits and reasearching all that he could. Around this time he was given the nickname of Steve. Steve Apple.

Steve began studies of sodliery as a young stallion. A shining star of a cadet he was appointed to the gaurd of a green-maned princess.

He met a fellow gaurd with woodsy origins named Winesap. She was a joyful and kind hearted mare and in time they wed.

Steve's princess was called to war and with her she brought all her soliders including Winesap and Steve. They bid farewell to their young ones leaving thier eldest daughter, Rome Beau in charge of all her siblings.

They never returned. Niether soldier no princess.

The city collapsed, some say in silence some say in choas. However it is undisputed that Rome Beau, Hero of All Apples, led her nineteen siblings out of the misty ruins, all clad in cloak and each holding a candle, silently remembering their Steve, Father of All Apples.

Such a tragic tale! After this Elder Gala organised a game, where we practised our navigation skill using the stars as our guide. Winners got sticky candies.

I wasn't a winner though but as I wlaked back to my wagon to see Ma, Pa, and Cris a colt about my age came up to me and gave me his sticky candy.

Have I made my first friend?

Day 12

I haven't composed anything since I got here but as I looked out at the inky night I couldn't help myself:

I am a gypsy and this is my song

Here I sing to the stars all night long

Gather around our fire and join the joyous throng,

Whistling this innocent melody you can do no wrong

I still haven't found time to rebraid my my mane, but am too embrarassed to tell Ma I don't know how.

Still no sign of the Sticky Candy Colt.

The wind is blowing something fierce I should go to bed now.

...

"Apple Bloom?" AJ called opening the wooden door, a plate with a fresh slice of pie balanced on her hoof. "I've got your slice of pie right here, fresh off the window sill."

The filly's eyes bored into the book. "Uh-huh, tell Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo I'll be down in a minute."

Applejack turned to look out the window, rumbly clouds still gushing rain, then down to the book spread out on the bedsheets.

Applejack smiled and rolled her eyes as she came in and placed the plate on the blue dresser.

"I'll just leave it here for you, okay?"

...

Day 13

When gathering clods of peat and stray timber for a fire I found the colt again! His name is Ginger Gold and he is pale yellow with a sprinkling of light brown freckles across his muzzle, blue eyes, and a dark brown mane and tail. His mark is a split 'Y' shaped branch with an apple on it.

I found him 'dowsing' out in the marsh that we've been camping in.

He wears a patched scarf and cap made out of old quilts and just like the other ponies he had a different way of speaking.

Our coversation started out with me shouting 'hi' over to him. He looked up from his dowsing and our chat went something like this:

"Howdy." (One of the gypsy ponies' words.)

"I'm Amber Waves. What's your name?"

"Ginger Gold, though mah friends call me Gin," he drawled.

"What's that your're doing there?"

He looked down at the stick he'd been carrying. "Dowsing."

"I like your hat, Gin."

"Thanks," he mumbled. "My Ma could make ya one, if you ever need a hat. She's a mighty good sewer."

"I'm six years old, how old are you?"

His brow furrowed. "Years?"

"Umm, winters." I'd almost forgotten that these ponies didn't use years.

"Well, Ah'm eight winters old."

I heard Cris' voice calling in the distance: "A-M-B-E-RRR! AMBER WA-A-VE!"

Before I grabbed my basket I called out: "Bye, Gin! Thanks for the candy!"

"Wait," he called.

"Yes?" I mumbled through a mouthful of basket handle.

"Ah really like your mane. It’s downright purty. Almost looks like syrup."

Briefly, I put the basket down. "Thanks."

Wanting to have hot dinner tonight I cantered back to camp carrying the fuel for Ma's cooking fire, while another sort of fire burned on my cheeks and my amber tangles flew behind me.

Day 16

Ahh! I had so much cooking to help out with at our wagon. Ma's been boiling so many oats and making so much hard tack you'd think we'd be feeding the whole world. I'm glad I won't have to make anything more for a while.

But today, during the noon-hours, I went over to Gin's wagon which was bright blue in color with a green trim. He lives with his ma, Dellie, and baby sister. I forgot her name since she was crying so much.

Gin taught me some new worlds so I wouldn't feel to out of place either:

Purty-pretty

Ah-I

Mah-my

Mighty-very

Syrup-a sugarly liquid that comes from trees

Rightly-really/correctly(As in 'Ah don't rightly know.') I'm not so sure with this one. Maybe if I hear Cris use it some more Ah'll get the idea

Shoot!-Used to express frusteration.

What in tarnation?-Sometimes used in place of 'By the stars!'

Golly-Wow! Used to show surprise and excitement.

Dowsing-trying to find water underground? I'm not too sure on this one.

Well, shoot! That seems to be all I learned today.

Day 17

Ah wove a mighty fine basket. Ma is proud.

We break camp tomarrow, heading into more marshier territory. That suits mah tastes just fine. I don't like the cold too much.

Day 20

Camp has been set up. But Ah'm sad.

So very sad, but you can probally tell by the tear-stains on the page.

Pa died. He just went to sleep and never woke up... We buried mah basket with him, under a nice tree on the trail.

Ma is weeping and Cris and I are doing all the cooking now. Ma is head of the Apple clan. I hope Pa likes baskets.

Amber

Day 25

Golly! Ah sure feel better now, though Ah still miss Pa. Now that we're in a less-snowy place with TREES! I can finally tell what season it is: summer!

Ah was born when the grain was ripest, according to the two mares who ran the orphanage. Ah don't remember their names.

But it's clearly the end of mid-summer. By the time Ah write 'Day 30' it will probally be my birthday!

Ma wasn't busy today so Ah decided to talk to her:

"Howdy, Ma."

She looked up and quickly put the sewing she was doing away and tidied her skirt. All the ponies here wore something for most of the time, normally to drive away the cold. "What do you need, Amber?"

"Ah was wondering if...you could braid my mane."

Ma reaches up to a shelf above the table she was sewing at and pulls out a basket that was neatly tucked away in our wagon.

A hairbrush is grasped in her hoof.

"Not like that Ah can't.”

Ma worked magic on mah mane, for Ah almost look like a different pony entirely. Golly! Instead of having mah amber waves of mane pulled into my normal loose braids they are now coiled  in loops beside my ears.

Like Ah'm wearing cinnamon buns.

Day 23

Ah went back over to Gin's today. He wanted to know why Ah was always hunched over this in the evenings. So I explained to him what reading and writng are then read him the poem Ah wrote.

"We gotta read that to Elder Gala!"

"What in tarnation! You mean you want me to show mah poem to her?!"

He nodded eagerly. "Yeah!"

"But...Ah don't want to. This is mah journal, Gin. It's private."

A confused expression crossed his face. "Then by the stars, Amber what was the point of showing it to me?"

"That's not the point, Gin! Ah'm going home."

"Amber, stop!"

I turned around but was still ready to strut across the plains if needed. "What?"

"Can we make a song? Ah sure do wanna try and make one, yours was so nice."

"It's called a poem."

"Puh-leeze?"

Golly! He was begging now.

"Let me go get mah ink."

This is what we made:

The tale of Rome Beau,

Is one every Apple should know

How in her duty she remained steadfast

and doomsday she did out last

She guided nineteen foals

And protected each of their dear souls

Never did she give in

On her mission to protect her kin

Through age, sickness, and sorrow

She never lost her dream of Tomorrow

Until at her journey's end

Only then did she greet death as her friend

Both Gin and Ah agree that we have to read this at tomorrow's campfire. What a surprise that will be.

Day 24

GOLLY! They loved it! At the end of the recitation of mah poem it almost seemed as if they lived it! Gin and Ah are getting started on our encoure right away. We even talked to Elder Gala more and got the best, most epic material in the whole gosh-darn world, even if its mighty sad at parts.

Nineteen seeds did she scatter

Yet her bound family did grow and shatter

Although she believed their location would suffice

The siblings became divided in the land of ice

Pink Lady, second born became a wife

But it was bringing her own foal into the world that took her life

Third born Fuji became a courier of news

Though in his line of duty it was his life that he would lose

Fourth born Wealthy was well named

'Twas for his money he was maimed

Fifth born Cripps-Pink lived only to fade

Becoming naught but a vengeful shade

Bonza who came sixth refused to say anything but a lie

Though she outlived her grounded enemies, cleverly soaring ever so high

Empire, the seventh name was an unusual misnomer

For like us Apples, he was a wind-bound roamer

Crab, Eighth in line was fond of territorial order

Drawing, with every line a defined boarder

Dear Ninth was musical Ambrosia who sang with a voice divine and clear,

Though she was stuck in buildings with empty rooms and homemade beer

Tenth was war-mad Jazz,

Sadly she perished in battle for holding her spear like a spazz

Eleventh was fortune-blessed Cox, residing in his manor

Yet he stole young foals to fill the ranks under his banner

Cameo is the elusive twelfth, who traveled the north-lands in disguise

His shadowy hood hiding his sightless eyes

Thirteen, Royal-Gala joined the Earth Pony Court

The other tribes she longed to thwart

Fair Fourteen is Pacific Rose

Glorious and blessed her life knew no woes

Fifteenth is foolish Akane

By hungry dragons he was slain

At our Sixteenth is sweet, small, and youthful Anna, who if you ever meet you should run

Every war she fought in she won

Then in rank Seventeen we have crazed Araine

Her frightening insanity caused others great pain

Gruff is Eighteenth, Baldwin of the Blade

A bandit adept in the Art of The Raid

Mute and voiceless, nineteen is Beacon who would always mope

Although it is said if you find her spectre she will preach to you of hope

Here concludes the tale of twenty Apples of whom we descend

More than one of them met with a tragic end

Well, that's all of 'em. Gin and I are estatic to read this at our next camp.

An interesting poem, and quite an interesting way to flesh out these distant ancestors of the Apples.

See you there little book,

Amber Wave

Day 30

Today Ah turned seven. Little did Ah know that Ma had the whole camp planning a celebration for mah first month here, and it just so happened to be mah (approximate) birthday!

It started when Ah woke up in the wagon, ready to do my chores. Ah made sure mah braids, coiled like cinnamon buns were not coming loose before grabbing a biscuit for breakfast only to see Ma standing there holding her latest sewing project, now complete: a white shirt with an enbordiered collar and a macthing blue skirt with a patterned hem.

"Golly, Ma that sure is purty, who are you making that for?"

Ma was always sewing gifts in her spare time, quilts and others of the sort for neighbors.

"Try them on," she said, passing the clothes to me.

"Are they for me?!"

"Yes, Amber you've been with us for a entire moon cycle and it is about time you had something proper to protect you from the cold."

"Thank you!" I shrieked, hugging her.

The fit fairly well too, although the sleeves are too long. Ma said Ah'll grow into them.

Ah spent the rest of the day playing hide-and-seek with Gin, who gave me some caramel candy when I mentioned it was my birthday.

When Ah came home Ah found some new ink that Cris made for me and an entire pie meant just for me!

After eating all the pie Ah went out to the campfire just like everypony else where Dellie was singing some of the gypsy songs and then Gin and Ah got a loud whoop for our poem about the Apple siblings of Rome Beau.

Ah taught Gin how to do some of the dances from the Crystal Empire.

He's not very good at.

Day 31

To help fit my new vocabulary Ah'm gonna try and develop an accent, so Ah may not write for a while.

Cheers,

Amber

The Tragedy of Twenty Apples

The tale of Rome Beau,

Is one every Apple should know

How in her duty she remained steadfast

and doomsday she did out last

She guided nineteen foals

And protected each of their dear souls

Never did she give in

On her mission to protect her kin

Through age, sickness, and sorrow

She never lost her dream of Tomorrow

Until at her journey's end

Only then did she greet death as her friend

Nineteen seeds did she scatter

Yet her bound family did grow and shatter

Although she believed their location would suffice

The siblings became divided in the land of ice

Pink Lady, second born became a wife

But it was bringing her own foal into the world that took her life

Third born Fuji became a courier of news

Though in his line of duty it was his life that he would loose

Fourth born Wealthy was well named

'Twas for his money he was maimed

Fifth born Cripps-Pink lived only to fade

Becoming naught but a vengeful shade

Bonza who came sixth refused to say anything but a lie

Though she outlived her grounded enemies, cleverly soaring ever so high

Empire, the seventh name was an unusual misnomer

For like us Apples, he was a wind-bound roamer

Crab, Eighth in line was fond of territorial order

Drawing, with every line a defined boarder

Dear Ninth was musical Ambrosia who sang with a voice divine and clear,

Though she was stuck in buildings with empty rooms and homemade beer

Tenth was war-mad Jazz,

Sadly she perished in battle for holding her spear like a spazz

Eleventh was fortune blessed Cox, residing in his manor

Yet he stole young foals to fill the ranks under his banner

Cameo is the elusive twelfth, who traveled the north-lands in disguise

His shadowy hood hiding his sightless eyes

Thirteen, Royal-Gala joined the Earth Pony Court

The other tribes she longed to thwart

Fair Fourteen is Pacific Rose

Glorious and blessed her life knew no woes

Fifteenth is foolish Akane

By hungry dragons he was slain

At our Sixteenth is sweet, small, and youthful Anna, who if you ever meet you should run

Every war she fought in she won

Then in rank Seventeen we have crazed Araine

Her frightening insanity caused others great pain

Gruff is Eighteenth, Baldwin of the Blade

A bandit adept in the Art of The Raid

Mute and voiceless, nineteen is Beacon who would always mope

Although it is said if you find her spectre she will preach to you of hope

Here concludes the tale of twenty Apples of whom we descend

More then on of them met with a tragic end