How Does Your Garden Grow?

by Applejinx

Rating: teen
Tags: Romance, Braeburn, Big Macintosh, Slice of Life, Applejack, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 6793

Broke-Plot Mountain with Braeburn and Big Mac

Big Mac helps Braeburn bring better gardening to Appleloosa, and a spark of romance springs to life in the most unlikely places. We also learn a lot more about the Apple family in general. This was written for a fic contest, in a single weekend. It looks like I went over it afterwards to clean it up, but this is actually what went into the contest- no changes made after the fact.Thanks to the rigors of competition, we got ourselves some M/M romance right here in Appleloosa! (I consider Braeburn and Big Macintosh to be essentially unrelated, mind you- some ponies might not see 'em that way)

Published 2011-11-25 12:19:38 UTC
Last updated 2011-11-25 21:42:31 UTC

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.

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.