The winds blew across the grand prairie land around the township of Appleoosa, rolling along eddies of dust from the scrubland that danced in the bright, clear moonlight. The wind fairly seemed to breathe, passing between buildings and materials at an angle sufficient to produce gentle whistles and low moans. It added to the sense of emptiness and aloneness. The town was surprisingly quiet; even the saloon was understated. The homes and shops were all dark and quiet. Outwards from there, in the outskirts with the farmsteads of the wealthier ponies, everything was as equally dark and quiet, save in one instance.
The Bell Estate was little more than a large hobby farm designed to justify the presence of a large manor house in the style of Upper-Terrace Canterlotian. Even so the property was bordered by the standard wooden fence with an entrance that boasted an arch which proclaimed its name and bore a few horseshoes, in keeping with the style of the area. A single light was on in the middle of the manor. And close to the window was a steady, huffing grunting and groaning that was disguised by the moaning wind.
Inside a parlor room, illuminated by candlelight, was the elegant miss Clarion Bell, sole heiress of the Hoofington Bell line and inheritor of a goodly chunk of bits. The unicorn mare was not her usual, well-put-together self. Her dark lavender mane was out of control, strands of it pasted down to her dusty orange coat by the sheen of sweat that glistened on the velvet-like hair. Her luminous green eyes looked at nothing, opened wide and fixed on a far point as she gave a drowned-out cry. Her shout was overpowered by the bellowing roar of her guest, a beefy, light-brown buffalo brave by the name of Howling Gale, one of Chief Thunderhooves’ bulls. He, too, was matted down with sweat, huge head thrown back as he trembled above Clarion’s smaller form.
The moment over, both mare and bull collapsed slightly, Howling holding himself up from pressing down on Clarion’s back. The only conversation, for a long while, was a nearly-identical panting from both of them. Finally, after a long sigh and deep breath, Clarion chirped, “May I draw you a bath, Howl dear? I certainly know I require one. Perhaps we could share.”
Howling released a deep, gruff laugh and finished it with a quick breath. “Whew! No thanks, Clari. I know your tub is huge, and you really… really had it tonight.” He leaned down as much as possible and rubbed his face against hers, unashamedly mingling sheens and finishing with a teasing lick over her lips. “The other guys won’t notice if I’m sweating. I’ll tell them I was stampeding. That’s not all a lie…”
“Howl! Goodness!” Clarion wiggled herself out from under the buffalo and gave him a mock-stern look. “That is a most disrespectful way to speak to a lady such as myself.”
“But… you love it when I talk like that.” Howling leaned in and kissed Clarion gently on the lips. “I’ll have a dip in the river. That should take care of it.”
“Most clever and expedient. Yes, that should do well for you.” Clarion returned the kiss and added a close, warm press of necks. She gently stroked his neck and nudged him gently. “Do you wish my companionship as you leave?”
Howling shook his head and set off, slightly rubber-legged, towards the parlor door. “No, that’s ok. You should run that bath. Besides, it might get complicated if we were seen together.”
Clarion opened her mouth to comment, but the words caught in her throat. She watched the big buffalo lumber out of the room, to discreetly and silently exit via the back door and then leave through a cleverly hidden swinging fence section. She wanted to tell him she didn’t care about being seen, but it was a lie. She wanted to say that was just the way it had to be. That broke her heart. But she couldn’t deny it.
In the bright light of day Appleoosa was quite a bustling and cheerful place. Lots of drinking and salt licking at the saloon, dances in the street, art projects, and lots of cheerful greetings. The primary difference, between how it was several months ago and how it was at the time was there were also buffalo going through town, bulls and cows. They greeted their pony neighbors in a friendly fashion, but there was always… some sort of distance between them. A socialized separation.
“So we have everything ready for the big festival. Plenty of pies for our… new near neighbors. It was never much of a concern before, of course. Changes the game a bit, doesn’t it?” Clarion was walking down the street, smiling and nodding as her fellow wealthy farmstead owner Abundant Sheaves discussed the latest, tedious news. “Of course you will come along and bring your charm and some lovely baked goods. You somehow seem to have a way with their kind.”
“With… their… kind…” Clarion disguised the ice in her voice behind a well-practiced warm smile and the appearance of slow agreement with the statement. “Yes I… I would rather say that I have that, indeed. But please… let us… leave off talk like that and try talking about something more pleasant. Have you been keeping track of the new matters from Canterlot?”
“From Canterlot? It is the first thing I look at before I even sit down for my breakfast! Oh I may live here, for my own excitement, but my heart, and soul, will always belong to the rarified atmosphere of Canterlot. Someday I shall return there. But never mind. Was there a particular piece of news you wished to discuss?” The wheat-blonde unicorn turned blue eyes eagerly across at her walking partner, quick to gossip.
“Ahh, well… there’s more talk about us, out here in the wilds. The Canterlot elite seem to find us quite quaint and a worthy topic for conversation. Though primarily, I suspect, because of our very comfortable and peaceful coexistence with the buffalo. And, of course, the relation between our townscolt and one of the buffalo. It’s all very exciting and encouraging. As… far as the Canterlot elite are concerned.”
“Ahh, yes… our townscolt…” Abundant was in such a quandary that it actually showed on her face, to some small degree. If the Canterlot elite spoke about it, it was a topic of great interest to her, and her opinion was primarily slanted towards what they said. But for all her affectations of enlightenment and broadmindedness, Abundant was far from encouraged by the marriage of Braeburn and Little Strongheart. “I hear that they are the talk of the fine ponies. Isn’t that… wonderful?”
“I certainly think so. It makes us the talk of all the elites and, in some small fashion, gives all of us a higher profile and status. We become so much grander just for living here. Isn’t it exciting? We do nothing and all the wonderful reputation falls into our saddlebags.” Clarion allowed herself a smug smile disguised as a pleased look born from a bigness of heart.
“Mmm, yes well… let us leave off this talk of Canterlot and discuss more local matters. How is your farm coming along? I understand you have not hired any help. Most curious. One would assume that you would hire some strapping stallion or robust mare to assist your endeavors.” Defeated, Abundant fell back to the topic she had ignored previously.
“Why would I even need to? Let us not try to fool one another, it disrespects us both. It is nothing more than a hobby farm, growing food for myself and none else save for welcome company. I may easily tend to my plots with my own two hooves and the use of unicorn powers. The soil has been tilled and turned and the seeds planted. It is the place of the land’s mana to do the rest.” Clarion lost her winning smile, knowing what her supposed friend meant. Paid or induced eye-candy and perhaps more. She was so disgustingly naked in her impropriety… the accusation, even made internally, stabbed at her guts like a knife.
“Oh tush, Clarion, you’re no fun at all. So prudish and proper, one could hardly call you a mare at all. Where is your spice and passion? Probably locked up behind a chastity harness. I wonder if you even know what passion is.” Abundant rolled her eyes and looked with pity upon her companion. “My word. You could even use a buffalo for such. Anything. Debasement is better than complete celibacy.”
Clarion bit back a chillingly cutting comment and fought hard to keep herself from showing her dire offense. She turned her face away, hoping it was interpreted as hiding a blush. The new position allowed her to see Howling Gale, trundling through town just for the sake of doing it. Her hoof went up, automatically, “Hello How-!” That was as far as she got before she remembered. Stallions greeted buffalo bulls, if there was a reason, such as general camaraderie or a matter to be handled. Mares most certainly did not openly speak to bulls, least of all in such a familiar form. “How goes it, my townspony?” She lamely finished by greeting a nearby green stallion in a Stetson.
“Uhh… goes… good, miss Bell. Right nice of ya ta ask.” The stallion looked over in confusion, a sheepish look on his face, his hoof tilting his hat. Behind the confused stallion, Howling Gale looked a bit confused. Then he noticed Clarion. He just gave a small, secret smile and lumbered on, with the barest, tiniest flick of his tail. She was going to get it.
At that moment, Clarion wished she could show her anticipation of future bliss.
“You always… you always keep your… promises, Howl, dearest…” Clarion pressed her matted, sweaty body against the thick-bodied buffalo, as ever unashamedly mingling her moist fur with his, rubbing her cheek against his thick, powerful neck. “I do believe I shall need a pillow for near-future seating. I cannot thank you enough, my love.”
“You’re too kind, Clari. I’m just a big ol’ lumbering buffabrave. There’s a dozen more of me out there right now ramming their heads into each other.” Howling wrapped his surprisingly-stubby legs around Clarion and gave her a warm, tight squeeze.
“No. That is where you are wrong, Howl. You always have been.” Clarion grabbed that leg like it was the last floating debris in a squall. “There are not a dozen of you out there at this moment. Nor are there half a dozen, nor a hoofful, nor even a single one. There is only one of you. ONE. And he is in my embrace right this second, loved more than I can possibly say.” Tears began to slowly streak down Clarion’s cheeks, hitting the carpeted floor with soft plips in the silence.
“Hey, hey now, Clari… Shhh, it’s ok…” Howling slowly stroked Clarion, drawing her in closer and tighter to his huge body, rumbling deep within himself to try and give her a gentle massage. “I love you. I love you as much as you love me. I hope. I’m not as… classy about you as far as talking goes. But you mean everything to me. Clari… I don’t show it but I hurt too.”
Clarion grimaced, teeth gritting. Of course. Idiot pony. Stupid, stupid over-refined Canterlot boor! Wallow in your own self-pity some more, you wretched mare. “I know…” She whispered gently, coming up to kiss Howling right on the lips, licking them lightly as she pulled away. “I never presumed you were some block of unfeeling wood, immune to the suffering that comes from this. By Celestia, you must hurt even more. Your heart is so much bigger than mine. There is so much more to break.” Clarion smiled a tiny bit, and kissed Howling again.
“I don’t know. You’ve got a really big heart in that petite body.” Howling gave a throaty chuckle and kisses Clarion on the forehead below her horn, and again right on the horn. “You have enough heart in you for a dozen ponies. A whole lot more than some other ponies I know. All the bulls talk about some cold-hearted snake that loves to watch them stampede and… stampede over her. They love to get that action, but hate how she seems almost offended by them being there. What was her name? Something like… Ample… Generous…”
“Abundant…” Clarion spoke the name with a mixture of shock and contempt. “Are you… are you saying that she… with your tribe mates? Abundant Sheaves the unicorn mare? Another rich pony like me? That Abundant Sheaves?”
“Well, yea. She’s almost famous. Now, she keeps them very, very quiet. And none of them want to ruin a good thing. She’s good for a quick romp, but she’s very angry about it, I guess. All the guys tell me that she lets them do pretty much anything, but she has this terrible look on her face, and wants them to leave the second they finish.”
“Yes… Yes, that sounds like my DEAR friend.” Clarion couldn’t believe it. And yet, she believed it all too easily. She had mentioned debasement was better that celibacy. She was never good at celibacy, but to think… she would dally freely with the bulls, hating them every second. And during the day, she trotted about grandly, acting like she was better than them. “We’re not all like that. Almost none of us are like that.”
“I don’t know about that. I haven’t met most ponies.” Howling could see that Clarion was upset, and a different type of upset than she had been a short time before. He kissed her on the lips and nudged her softly. “But that doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is you’re not like that.”
Clarion blushed deeply, her anger fading away with the pressure of Howling’s lips, her body slumping down, tamed and relieved, for the second time. She considered that she ought to just listen to her sensible darling more often. Her life would be better and easier. Better and easier… “I can’t possibly thank you enough, Howl. You may not even realize the scope of the help you have given to me. I see now I have been so wrong. I should trust you more. I finally know what I need to do.”
Howl looked down at Clarion, looking pleased yet confused by the compliment that seemed to imply more than just a bit of complimenting. “Uhhh… Clari… you ok? You’re sounding a little… odd.”
Clarion smiled an enigmatic smile and patted Howling on the neck and sighed loudly. “I feel wonderful. Now, stay here with me. I will hear no objections. You will stay here, by my side, until Celestia’s sun graces the sky. For the first time, I will see it with you.”
Howling and Clarion not only savored the sunrise together, but ate a large, elaborate breakfast together at Clarion’s table. Through it all, Clarion said nothing. Howling asked questions, and made comments, but got nothing more than an enigmatic smile and warm and tender kisses. They cleaned up together, with some fussing over Howling’s fur and the cleanliness of his feathered accessories.
Most surprising of all, they left her house together, though her front door, and traveled out into town proper. They were together, walking down the street and attracting some stares and whispers. Clarion walked though it all with a blissful, unconcerned smile; Howling was looking more than nervous, not sure what to think of all the attention focused on him, and on her.
They moved unhurriedly down the main thoroughfare to the center of town, the heart of Appleoosa near the saloon, the train depot and the art spaces. Once there, Clarion looked around at the inhabitants of the town center, and found her target. Abundant Sheaves, with whom she had a prior engagement at that time. “Clarion, dear? What are you doing? I thought we were getting together to discuss plans for our festival.”
“No. I’m not going to be doing that. I think we can no longer be friends, Abundant. Your disgusting contemptuousness towards our neighbors has sickened me for the last time. Now, be quiet.” Clarion spoke with a smile, her words all the more cutting as they lacked any rancor or flame.
“What?! Well I never! I have most certainly not been contemptuous towards our neighbors! I have nothing but respect and admiration for the buffalo Why else would I invite them to my soiree?” Abundant looked stung by the accusation, pleading her case to the crowd looking at her.
“For appearances. Making yourself look good in front of the good folks around here and the Canterlot elites. And maybe so you can butter them up to encourage them to keep working for you.” A gasp rose from the implications of the accusation, Abundant spluttering and flushing.
“Why you… that’s… how… You take that back!”
“Take what back? You always hire new folk to tend your field and plow the lanes. If folk take it wrong that’s their business. Why are YOU taking it in a way that I don’t mean?”
“I- I- I…” Abundant looked around. All her neighbors. Staring. Whispering. Knowing.
“But that’s no matter. The real matter is what I can’t deny anymore. I love you all, my neighbors and friends. But if I have to lie to you to get along, then it’s not worth it at all. I will say this openly, and without hesitation any longer, to break the dam of silence and fear!” She swiftly turned and grabbed a very surprised Howling, planting a hard, deep kiss on his lips, drawing gasps and cries from the watching population. Parting with a sigh, she smilingly said, “I love this bull, Howling Gale. I always have, I always will. And nopony will take that away from me.”
Braeburn fiddled with his bowtie before the mirror in his room, snorting softly in frustration. He twisted and turned the thing all around, but did nothing except tangle his hooves up with the oddly-shaped band. "Consarn it. How do ah do up this thing?"
"Why would you even bother with that awful thing?" The voice from the doorframe was slippery and amused, a smile actually felt through the words. Braeburn turned to look, finding his uncle standing there, in all his smiling glory. Bad Apple, the exiled scion. A warm caramel coat hugged his lithe body, while his mane was deepest black, slicked back with shining pomade, not a hair out of place. On his body was a white shirt with a ruffled chest, a black waistcoat and a black suit coat. At his neck, a black piece of lace tied in a bow. On his flank, the mark that exiled him: an apple, with bright red skin, a wedge cut out to show sickly green flesh within. "A bit of lace will always do you better."
"Uncle! Y'all came!" Braeburn dashed into an embrace with the older stallion, squeezing him tight. "But ah thought Silverstar said..."
"Oh never mind him. I know his type better than you might know. He's not going to get on me. He knows a good pony when he sees one. And knows that the ponies I snookered were cheaters. Even if he was really a hard-flank, I'd never dare miss your wedding. I'm the only one in the family to see it."
Braeburn's enthusiasm suddenly found itself dampened, his head hanging sadly. "Awww uncle, ah can't thank ya enough fer comin' here ta give me a lil bit a moral support. We're gonna need it."
"Well, as I said before, there are fine ponies in this fine town. And not all of them are Apples. Hardly any are kin. The vast majority will support you, even if a few fear Apple family power pushing down on them. And then there's all of her kin that will be there. I understand they are very much in favor of this. Good. Take heart, my nephew. It's not as bleak as you imagine."
Braeburn nodded slowly, scratching on the ground with his hoof. "Ah guess yer right, uncle. Gonna be a good crowd comin' in ta see the sights. Somma them ain't none too happy. But Celestia herself ain't got no problems, and even gave it a nod an' a smile. An' ev'rypony in town wants ta keep her happy."
Bad Apple dug around in a saddlebag and pulled out a bit of black lace, long enough to make for an effective bow. "Here, nephew. Go ahead and put it on. It may not suit that tuxedo, but neither does that hat. So it should be alright."
Braeburn took it with a nod, quickly sliding it under the collar of the shirt and tying it off at the throat, forming a slightly-lopsided bow. Once it was finished, he finally noticed that the bottom seams of the ribbon were rigid, and extended along the lace a bit. "Uncle..?"
There came a soft laugh, and a wave from the caramel conpony. "Ignore that, nephew. It's better if you don't ask. Just know that if you ever face a locked door, you have a solution close to hoof. Meanwhile, best keep getting ready. You're expected."
"Yes uncle. Gotta give it mah all. Gonna make things a whole lot better, even if t'aint what Granny Smith wants..." Braeburn went back to the mirror, to fuss with his attire.
Bad Apple silently slipped out of the door and crossed town, through the ponies crowding around and decorating the place, with assistance happily provided by the local buffalo. He had his hooves aimed towards the back of the general store, which had been set up as the bridal suite.
In there, Little Strongheart was blushingly looking at herself in the mirror. She had never been better groomed in her life. Her fur had been scrubbed, brushed, and conditioned into perfection, hanging in soft waves on her lithe, gracile body. Her headband and feathers remained on her head. It was not at all interrupting her other head-accoutrement, a filmy veil, which was flipped back to allow her to see herself being made over. Her eyes had been shadowed and eyelashes enhanced with mascara. Light touches of blush and lipstick had been applied, in amounts that suited her face. On her body was a lovely white gown, fitting slightly oddly on her form. "I feel this may have been a mistake..."
"Oh I do hope not." Bad Apple was there at the door, leaning against the frame, his presence causing the three mares in the room to jump a bit. "I'm looking forward to this."
"Oh! H-hey now, who are you? Where did you come from and what are you doing here?" He was suddenly confronted by a light-colored mare with a messy mop of bright orange atop her head, a country hat precariously perched upon it.
"Please, please, peace!" Bad Apple didn't even flinch, just smiled his snake-oil smile and slowly strolled into the room. "I'm on the groom's side for the wedding. More specifically, well... she knows who I am. I'm certain Braeburn has informed her of me."
"Yes. I know this stallion." Little Strongheart turned around and slowly moved over to the pony. She brought him into a strong, warm embrace, squeezing him with great force, almost making him squeak. "I am so glad you are here. You have made my future husband so happy, knowing that some family will be with him. I thank you."
"It's only right. I should be here for him because he is doing a wonderful thing. You will be wonderful for him. I know you two will be blissfully happy together. And I am going to be there for the two of you in an... official capacity."
The buffalo maid tilted her head slightly, looking curiously on her future uncle. "What sort of official capacity do you mean?"
In place of a verbal answer, the stallion reached into his saddle bags and pulled out a small, brightly-colored pamphlet, prominently stating, 'So you want to Hybridize' on the cover. The attending mares all giggled and looked knowingly at one another. "Sooner or later, you will need someone for this. And I am offering myself as the one."
The young cow looked over the pamphlet for a moment and then blushed, the redness showing past even her makeup. "O-oh... I see! Yes, that will be wonderful. It is most generous of you to donate your time."
"It is my distinct pleasure. It's truly the right thing to do. And don't worry about your dress. Even if it was cut for a pony, you're the one wearing it. He won't care how it looks on you, because he has eyes for you. Plus I would imagine he will very much like how it looks on the floor." Bad Apple slipped out of the room to a chorus of laughter and soft, scandalized squeaks from Little Strongheart .
Bad Apple was back out on the streets, occasionally lending a helping hoof to the decorators, sprucing up the town with a full measure of pride and commitment. It was his nephew, after all, and he wanted everything to be just so for the happiest day of his life.
The ceremony was being held in the center of town, which had been set up with flower-bedecked arches surrounding the altar which had been set with various objects significant to both ponies and buffalo. Behind the altar was spread the grand banner of the newly-united Equestria, glowing sun cupped by the crescent moon. Bad Apple was actually stricken by that image, for some reason. He was taken back to his childhood, to a moment with his brother Blenheim, 'I wonder if she's lonely.' Probably not. Not surrounded by courtiers and her sister. And the Grand Galloping Gala was coming once more. The second of the new era, when she was promised to be in attendance.
The grand banner was not mere window dressing for the sake of looking impressive. There was actually a member of the government present that day. Peppermint Pinfeather, the sitting Minister of Inter-Sentient Affairs. He was a slightly-heavyset and jolly-looking hippogriff. At the forepart he had the head and body of a booted eagle, and the wings thereof; his trunk was a lion's, but in a reddish tone with white accents; his rear legs were pony legs, with the same reddish-and-white tone; his tail was a lion's tail with a tuft at the end, and long pony hair growing from it, with a red and white striped pattern going down it. He wore a sharp, black suit and a small set of rounded spectacles on his beak.
He stood up before the assembled with a wave, receiving a thunderous stomping-ovation from ponies and buffalo alike. He cleared his crop and opened his forelegs in a grand, sweeping gesture. "Ponies! Buffalo! Friends, and truly united Appleoosans and friendly inhabitants of the land known as Equestria! You have become, in the eyes of Canterlot and your fellow citizens, truly notable and celebrated beings! On this day, this wondrous day to be remembered in the annals of our land, you unite two members of your respective lines, in a bonding of love, trust and mutual adoration. To unite hearts and communities, sealing with a kiss your close companionship, making your two groups one.
"Now I know... unification is never easy. Becoming one always involves a history of friction and prickling. Otherwise you would have been one at the start. But, it CAN happen. No matter how long you have been known to one another, or how recently it has become a matter of consideration, it takes only cooperation, understanding and, at long last, as the final step, love. The blending of two strangers to make one. The final act of unity. The ultimate unification of flesh, blood and heart. To make a bloodline without division. Oneness. Harmony. The thing for which we all strive." He clutched a talon to his chest, heaving an emotional sigh while tears built at the corners of his eyes. After a moment he resumed. "My parents, even in an enlightened age and place, knew the pain of friction, but came together. And even I faced a bit of a problem from the ponies around me. I continued on. And here I am. A government member, in a vital position. And it becomes my distinct and great pleasure to serve as the Equestrian government witness, to officiate this marriage ceremony. Speaking of that, we must get to it. But first, I understand the father of the bride and the officiator of the second half of this celebration wishes to speak. Chief Thunderhooves, the audience is yours."
The great buffalo leader strode up to the altar to great cheering and stomping. He nodded his large head, shaking the feathers of his headdress, before beginning his speech. "My people, old and new, I may call you all my people now. We will be of one herd now. We will honor your Princess, respect her ways and yours, become one with you so far as we may while maintaining our own ways. You are our neighbors, our friends, and now, one of you will become my family. I welcome this, most openly. I hope for a long, warm period of peace and plenty!" The chief stomped his hooves to enhance his words, the audience hooting and stomping their hooves.
Peppermint applauded the chief's speech and stepped back up to the fore. "But, enough of the abstracts. The time has come for the actual event. Music! Let's get this show on the road."
The music began, a traditional Equestrian groom's march. Braeburn moved down the aisle, his uncle at his side. They were an odd pair. The riverboat-rider wearing almost the uniform of the rivers, while the farm pony looked incredibly awkward in his rented tuxedo and personal hat. The unifying detail about them, the black lace at their throats, somehow diminished all the disparity, making them look good. Once they were at the head of the aisle, the music ceased. Then Chief Thunderhooves nodded and spoke. "Good. Begin the music."
There was a sudden chorus of unfamiliar music, the steady thump of drums, with background rumbles from deeper drums occasionally, and the airy, ethereal whistle of pipes. All heads turned towards the back, several ponies gasping softly, Braeburn chief among them. There she was, Little Strongheart, veiled, in the beautiful white dress, her feathers sticking up to add a lovely artistic touch. She was alone, her bridesmaids already at the head of the aisle. As soon as she reached the head of the aisle the pipes stopped and all the drums thumped out once, loudly.
There were two ceremonies, both reasonably elaborate, embellished and enhanced with all the optional pieces for the sake of spectacle and grandiosity. The full Equestrian ceremony involved setpieces representing the six Elements of Harmony being passed between them with promises to fulfill the represented element interpersonally and in married life in general. For the buffalo celebration there was a great amount of ritual chanting, involving responses from the couple, with Braeburn allowed to answer in Equestrian, along with the scattering of dust, the touching of the couple with various desert plants, and the placement of a feather in each one's headgear, giving Little Strongheart three and Braeburn a single one.
The two ceremonies were concluded as one, with the exchange of golden rings placed on each other's left legs, and a kiss which inspired a gigantic, terrifically-loud cheering, thunderous stomping and the tossing of not a few hats and bonnets. The cheering was loud and long, and faded out slowly. But what did not fade was the kiss. That took a gentle nudge from Braeburn 's best stallion, both newlyweds pulling apart with dark, hot blushes.
The ceremonies done, all the town, ponies and buffalo alike, went off for the reception, leaving the happy couple behind, with Bad Apple by their side. "So... this is it. You did it. I never figured it would be you. Always thought it would be Big Macintosh. Or Applejack. At least she's engaged now. But you two... You two... congratulations." The stallion came into hug his niece and nephew.
The two younger folk hugged the stallion tightly and smiled at him. "Ah sure am glad you was here, uncle. Ah'm jes... ah... ah was so afraid. But y'all was right. The town came out fer me an' Lil' Strongheart. Ah can't thank ya enough."
"Yes, I too want to thank you, very much, for standing with us so strongly. You have inspired my husband to strength and certainty, and that is why we are here." Little Strongheart gave a tearful kiss to Bad Apple’s cheek.
"It's my pleasure you two. You're going to go far. Don't forget to contact me when the time comes. You'll need me for... certain things." He gave a saucy wink to the couple, and got a scandalized laugh for his troubles.
"Uncle... y'all do have yer ways about ya. Ah swears ya have got an endless supply a'somethin' in ya." Braeburn shook his head with a wide grin and gentle nudge against Bad Apple's chest.
"I do it all to help those who need it. For example, I helped you AND your bride by reassuring her that her dress was perfectly fine, through assuring her that your concern would be more for the way it looked, not on her, but on the floor..." Bad Apple staggered back with the sudden force of Braeburn's laughter, Little Strongheart burning with a tremendous blush. "So, your wife is ready for your physical interest. Not that she isn't already, I'd guess..."
"Uncle..." Braeburn suddenly joined his wife in a blush, and fanned himself with a hoof.
"None of my business! None at all. Best get out to your wedding reception. You should get a chance to eat your own food. And they need you there to cut the cake. Plus, wedding presents!" Bad Apple clopped his hooves together and rubbed them, with a playfully-greedy grin.
"Yes! I have been told we shall receive many lovely gifts to decorate our home!" Little Strongheart pranced in a circle with a bright smile.
"Well... don't getcher hopes up too high, darlin'." Braeburn gently placed his hooves on his wife's shoulders, giving them a warm rubbing. "Them folks wants to be seen and impress them other folk. But they ain't gonna be that generous when they ain't gotta be named. Prolly gonna be a powerful small pile of presents."
"Well, don't sell your townsponies short so quickly. Plus you get gifts from her family. I do know one thing for certain, you're not getting a gift from me." Bad Apple looked to the sky then stretched out casually.
"Wha? Uncle? What are ya talkin' 'bout? No gift? Ah mean, if ya wasn't plannin' on gettin' us a gift ya sure as shoots didn't need ta tell us that."
"Oh I plan to get you a gift. I plan to get you something magnificent. Thing is, there are no promises in my... let's call it a line of work and leave the more specific definitions to the ones writing tickets. It's all a wink and a hope. But I CAN promise you one thing, my kin...I will do my level best to deliver. But for now, I've gotta go and get to doing it." With a final hug to his niece and nephew, the enigmatic stallion trotted off slowly into the dusty distance, off to the mysterious lands that so often held him.
The two young ones stood there, just watching him go. After the dust began obscuring his form Little Strongheart drew her husband along. "Come. He was right. We have gifts and food and especially a cake to enjoy."
Braeburn stared off for a bit longer, catching the very last bit of his kinspony vanishing before he shook his head and familiarized him self with the phrase every husband learned by heart, "Yes, dear."
Time passed, the seasons and society rolling along with a lazy regularity. Despite the high-minded intentions of the grand ceremony and powerful words, things became merely cordial between the buffalos and the ponies, but there was at least peace and trust. The relationship that had spawned the initial focus, however, remained on the lips and minds of the finest ponies in Equestria, which kept some measure of attention focused on Appleoosa and made everyone there more aware of their status.
Braeburn had been changed, somewhat, but not too much. He was no longer working in the apple orchard, because the managers were kin, and they were instructed to have nothing to do with him. But as they did not own the town, and were still under scrutiny, could not just throw him out of town. He worked in the grain fields and occasionally the mine. He may have been slight and slim but he was still an earth pony and he still had his strength. It wasn't too bad of a life, it was hard, honest work, and it supported him and his wife.
Little Strongheart, for her part, had learned to cook and work wood, making her a natural for carving and working in a local restaurant. Her status as a local celebrity made it very popular, while her cooking and pleasant conversation made it very successful. The carvings she made on the side, as a kind of hobby, were snapped up by the Canterlot elite as genuine buffalo artworks of great significance, bringing in more bits. Between the two, their lives were far more than comfortable.
But there was something missing, and both of them could feel it. A kind of added coldness from the citizens of Appleoosa that were very much in the pockets of the Apples. The rest were most pleasant and cheery enough; the allegedly-unaffiliated were only cheery and agreeable when there were outsiders there that could press more strongly on their reputations than the Apple family members could. They wanted that “more", but kept in their heads the idea they could never have it.
One day, when Braeburn and Little Strongheart had the day off, as they often did in order to enjoy one another's company, there was a knock on the door. It wasn't exactly uncommon; there were occasionally buyers for woodworks, a reporter from one of the more distant dailies once in a blue moon, or one of the local occupants of the town wanting to shoot the breeze, sometimes a foal or calf looking to hear the story of their meeting again. It was a local citizen, one of the ones that had been distant and cold. He held out a gift box with a smile. "Hey there you two. Listen, I, ah... sorta dropped the ball on the wedding gift. So... here you go." After passing it off, he turned and cantered away.
"Powerful strange, that..." Braeburn looked down at the gift in his hooves. Where it was joined by a second, placed there by a blushing mare who turned and galloped away. "Ah'll be..."
"What is going..?" Little Strongheart was stopped by a small pile of wrapped parcels, deposited by a small collection of smiling ponies who ran off afterwards. "Is this a pony custom?"
"T'aint no pony custom ah know of..." As Braeburn contemplated the gifts, he noticed a pony approaching. "Cousin..." It was his kinspony, Rootball Apple. A brownish earth pony with a dark black mane shot through with white and red streaks. The main overseer of the orchard, since Braeburn had been moved along to his new situation.
"Braeburn..." The pony sheepishly stroked his mane and looked down at his hooves. "Well... y'see..."
"Ain't y'all s'posed ta keep yer distance and hold yer tongue 'round me 'n' mah bride? Didn't figger YOU, of all folk, fer the kinda trend-buckin' maverick y'all are seemin' right now. So what's yer game, Rootball? What more'r you gonna try 'n' take from me? Y'all can't take what matters, less'n y'all an' th'other kinfolk means ta do harm ta mah wife. In which case, ah'd love ta see ya try." Braeburn snorted, a kind of injured hatred in his steely eyes. All the lack and emptiness was gathered up in that gaze, transformed into daggers glared down at his kinspony.
Rootball deflated like an old balloon, not an ounce of fight in any nook or cranny of his being. He was nothing but the ultimate show of absolute submission and defeat. "We was never gonna do nothin' like that. We never hated yer lovely wife. We was jes... doin' as we was told."
"Yea. Y'all was good at that." Braeburn sniffed and started to turn away from his relative. "Gitcher carcass offa mah property. It's still mine."
"Braeburn..." A hock came out and hooked around Braeburn's leg. Rootball looked up with shining eyes. He was a being made of contrition, authentically, organically. "The word done come up. We need ya back at th' orchard. Ya was always good at managin' it; ya cared fer the trees and they always grew such good apples... Braeburn , she said we could see ya. You 'n' yer bride. Y'all are back on the family tree, right under yer momma. Right where ya was."
Silence. Long and heavy. Braeburn looked down, dry-mouthed, at his cousin, barely moving anything more than his head and eyes. “What are ya tryin’ ta say? The word done come up? Y’all mean..?”
“Yup. No restriction.” Rootball slowly rose and nodded sheepishly to Little Strongheart. “Ma’am. Have a pleasant day.” The stallion turned and walked away, leaving Braeburn and Little Strongheart silent and confused.
Over the next few weeks thin streams of back-wedding-gifts trickled in, along with contrite apologies from family and townsfolk. Things even came in from out of town, offering genuinely-happy sentiments for the union. But through it all nopony told them what had actually spawned such a sea change in an iron overlady like Granny Smith.
“Telegram! Telegram for Braeburn and Little Strongheart Apple.” The Pegasus mare at the door was a bright blue, with electric yellow hair. She was wearing a skintight uniform of red and darker blue, with a lightning bolt logo on the sides. “Man, no wonder they hired a super-fast delivery service. This place is the BOONIES.”
“Yea, well, y’aint gotta live here if’n ya don’ wanna.” Braeburn took the telegram envelope and passed along a generous tip to the mare, who zipped off with a smile. “Sassin’ ‘bout our town like that. It’s a beautiful town…” Braeburn opened the letter with a slight scowl, eyes scanning over the paper. As he read his eyes went wide and his jaw dropped, the telegram falling from his grip, leaving him staring at nothing.
“Dear? What is the matter? What happened?” Little Strongheart considered her husband, who looked out unblinkingly. She took up the telegram and began to read it, gasping softly.
NEPHEW AND NIECE STOP
WON YOUR READMISSION FROM GRANNY SMITH STOP
GAVE UP OWN CHANCE BECAUSE WAS NOT NEEDED STOP
ENJOY YOUR WEDDING PRESENT STOP
KNOW YOU WILL BE HAPPY STOP
SAVOR LIFE STOP
I CAN NEVER SEE YOU AGAIN STOP
B
“He… he… Granny Smith…” Braeburn worked his jaw and let out what few words that came into his head but swiftly flew out of his thoughts as they swirled around in his brain. “That’s why they was all so nice…”
“What does this mean? He may never see us again? I thought he was going to be… here for us when the time comes for our calves?” Little Strongheart looked over the message, a puzzled expression on her features.
“Well darlin’… he ain’t exactly… welcome in the family. Ain’t no explanation savin’ his griftin’ ways. But ah never believed… but, Granny Smith exiled him. An’ me. But now we’re in the family again. They can be kind and talk again. But we’re in the family, so we can’t talk ta him. He may as well be dead ta us.”
“Dead to us…” Little Strongheart mused on the statement, while she snuggled in against her husband, who had begun to softly weep.
Later still, things in Appleoosa had returned to a previous normalcy that made things more relaxed, warm and comfortable. With no restrictions against Braeburn, and with him back at his former position, the town hummed along with great energy and efficiency. And it made Braeburn exceptionally happy.
“My dear?” Little Strongheart approached Braeburn as he lounged out on a sofa, humming pleasantly to himself while he flipped through the local paper. Good news and chili recipes. Plus a society page concerning the doings of the nicer and richer hobby farmers of the region.
“Yes, love? What’s on yer mind?” The paper came down to show off a smiling face, radiating perfect contentment. “Did y’all see this? Miss Bell done got herself involved with Howling Gale. Good on him! Ah always knew it was gonna happen. He did shoot her the nicest looks.”
“Yes, I heard much about it during the last tribal stampede. I gave him much encouragement. But… I need you to come with me. It will be a long journey, but it is one we must take.”
“What is it? Somethin’ the matter out in the tribe lands?” Concern immediately leapt to Braeburn’s face, the paper coming down. He rolled off of the couch and went to his wife’s side.
“No, there are no problems. But it… I wish for it to be hidden for now. I need you to trust me, and come with me.”
“Ah’ll always trust ya, darlin’. If ya say it’s important, and ya say ya wanna be mysterious, ah’ll follow ya at th’ ends of th’ world.” Braeburn swept a leg grandly, drawing his wife in for a passionate kiss.
Little Strongheart held tightly to Braeburn, taking the kiss as deeply as possible, and holding it nearly as long as she had on the day of their wedding. They parted with a gasp, and she blushed as she turned towards the door. “Th-thank you. I see, every day, how right it was to fall in love with you.” With a flick of her tail she leapt off, with Braeburn galloping at her heels, keeping pace remarkably well.
They broke from the confines of the town, and beyond the loose demarcation line that identified Equestrian exclusive land from the co-sovereign buffalo tribal lands. Normally ponies were allowed but given certain scrutiny if seen by buffalo, as their laws were largely ascendant within their territory, but Braeburn was by law and tradition one of them, so had no restrictions.
The tribal lands were very pristine, even more so than the pony lands. There were no built-up areas per se, though there were loosely-tended areas providing the necessary food plants, medicinal herbs and traditional gems. It was, in some sense, somewhat similar to how things worked in the much more traditional zebra lands. Equestrian ethnologists were having a wonderful time exploring the similarities and writing long papers on both cultures.
Though the land was flat there were still localized rises and divots that could obscure areas. One such gentle rise hid something off in a distance, what looked like a cactus grove intermixed with other native plants, and also large, standing stones. Their thundering hooves led them towards the cacti and stones.
Braeburn strode slowly as he approached the area, falling further behind Little Strongheart. There was almost a palpable aura of magic. He felt the land’s mana, his earth pony body nearly tingling as he strolled among the cacti and stones. It was so powerful. It was like being in the orchard, but with a far greater impact. “What is this place?”
“It is a sacred site to our tribe. It is here we honor those lost, and the great chiefs and stampeders, in legend and in our days. When a tribe member dies we honor them here. When a chief or medicine-speaker dies, we set a stone for them and let it grow. But as well, if one who means much has died, we may set a small stone and an object to represent them. And we who lost them may come and honor them.” Little Strongheart slowed and stopped, to allow her husband time to catch up to her.
The plants and stones loomed, adding to the immensity of the place, a pressing force of mana and history, making Braeburn shrink down a bit, in awe and respect. His trembling hooves took him to his wife’s side, finding her by a low, red stone. It was vaguely cylindrical, like a tiny version of one of the pillar rocks found in the local canyons. It was very unassuming, save for the single piece of decoration on it. A piece of black lace, tied into a bow near the top. “Ah see…”
“He walks Equestria. And we may call him to support us so we may have children. But as you said, when he told you what he had done for you, to us and your family, he is dead. We may honor him here, he who gave strength.” The young cow knelt down and touched her head to the stone, beginning to chant something softly in the buffalo tongue.
Braeburn stood and watched for a while, feeling the subtle drift of the heavy mana flow change. A unicorn probably felt such a thing all the time. But here there was so much, and of a type he knew, he could actually note the subtle ebbs and flows. He silently moved to his wife’s side, and went to the ground as well, bringing his head down to touch the stone. “Can ya… teach me that?”
The chanting ceased, Little Strongheart slowly sliding across the ground to press against Braeburn’s side. Her head came to rest against his, and her lips moved, slow and steady. Every syllable stretched and over-pronounced, made comprehensible and digestible to a foreign ear and foreign speaker. He repeated, just as slowly, with trembling and faltering. But they went on, slow and even, praising in unity the memory of a pony that was not gone, and giving honor to one vilified.
Sheriff Silverstar presided over a town that was the envy of a great portion of Equestria. Certainly, it was not as big as many areas, nor as impressively modern and shiny as the big cities, or even that rich or necessarily powerful. What it mainly was, was peaceful. A single sheriff sufficed to oversee law and justice, with never a deputy to be called nor a posse to be gathered. They were visited by a circuit judge every now and again, but he scarcely did more than slap backs and have a dash of salt and mug of cider at the local watering hole. Most of the justice needed was stern talking and the occasional fine and bit of community service.
It was better than it had been, surely. There had been a kind of posse called up when the buffalo had made their incursion into the town thanks to mistakes made. And he was willing to admit that the inflexible position of the town had caused the situation to a great extent, to say nothing of neglecting to ask questions beforehoof. But after that laughable pie war, things had become so much better. Calmer, nicer, more cheery. All thanks to the marriage of Little Strongheart and Braeburn.
That brought a smile to him when he thought of it. Peace and happiness, brought about by a wedding. Happiness on top of happiness. Glorious. It had ushered in a time of masked serenity. There was kindness, but only by tradition. No real connections. Then another happy couple was revealed. Clarion Bell and Howling Gale affirmed themselves as a loving couple, before the whole town, breaking that division between the ponies and buffalo entirely.
Since that point, he had been enjoying the way the town operated. There was no tension running through it, no well-mannered smiles hiding a strain. There was genuine camaraderie, most clearly visible in the fact that mares and cows could freely talk to bulls and stallions. They did that, and formed even more interspecies bonds. There were still same-species relationships, many, many more than the other kind. But there were enough to be very significant, and encouraging.
Silverstar nodded his way through town, walking placidly past the ponies and buffalo lining the streets. They offered waves and smiles and cheerful greetings and getting back kind greetings and tips of his hat. The day was nearly done, and his little stroll around the town had been good for him. It gladdened his heart and worked his muscles, giving him a workout and a lighter soul. His waxed moustache quivered in all the delight residing in his chest.
He found that he really needed all that, all that lightness in his heart and all the strength of body. Because when he entered his own house, he was confronted by something that sapped him body and soul.
“There you are. I was wondering where you had got to. Listen, you gotta do something ‘bout all them buffabulls.” His wife was there in his face in the living room. She was a pale blue earth pony with a nicely coifed greenish mane. She was wearing a white bonnet and modest orange gingham dress.
“Ah was doin’ mah usual rounds, Cordelia dear. Ya know that.” He kept a smile on his face with all his strength and practice. He simply walked along and picked a paper up from the coffee table and had a casual seat on the sofa. “Now, what’s all this ‘bout the buffalo?”
“I was talkin’ ‘bout them buffabulls. Lech’rous, leering brutes! I see them all the time, with their eyes raking all over me, looking at me thinkin’ all kinds of disgustin’ things! Your own wife getting leered up by those disgusting brutes.”
“Darlin’, ya know ah love ya. Love ya lots. But darlin’, ah gotta tell ya, that ain’t the case. Them buffalo is tryin’ ta be polite to ya, sayin’ ‘hello’ ta ya an’ all that. Jes like they been doin’ ta all the other mares an’ stallions and what have ya. They is a friendly folk, jes like the pony folk.”
“Oh Silverstar don’t give me that! Dontcha think yer own wife is worth bein’ ogled by them buffabulls?”
“Now Coredelia, ah didn’t say ya wasn’t purty! Ah said them buffalo wasn’t lookin’ at ya like that. They was jes bein’ polite to ya. You are a real purty mare, Cordelia. Never ferget that. It’s why ah married ya.”
Cordelia huffed softly and shook her head, sitting herself down on the couch with a grousing grumble. “Yea, ya always tell me that. But ya still don’t never take my complaints seriously. Never seen ya run in them buffs few oglin’ mares ‘r other crimes they been doin’ out there.”
“Can’t run ‘em in fer crimes they ain’t committin‘. Ain’t a crime ta smile and say ‘good day’ ta any critter ya wish. Buffalo got the same rights as any pony. And as ah uphold the law, ah make sure they have all their rights.” Silverstar scowled behind the paper, but kept his voice calm, even and diplomatic.
“Don’t you sass me, Silverstar! They ain’t ponies and that’s what matters. Sure they got rights and such. But why do they get so many rights ta be lewd and vulgar? Runnin’ ‘round like that all thumping and sweaty. T’aint right I tell you. Gotta put ‘em back into proper place. Can’t have them thinkin’ they’re too much like ponies. Already got them takin’ mares. Disgustin‘.”
“Mmm. Whatever ya say, darlin’.” Silverstar set the paper down on the couch and slowly rose from his seat. “Ah’ll be at the Salt Block. Never too good ta let them alone few too long. Shouldn’t bee too long out.”
“Oh go on an’ get. And run in one’a them jes ta keep them on their split hooves.” Cordelia snorted softly and moved over to the couch, picking up the paper and flipping to the social page, scowling at the engagement announcements that were interspecies in nature.
Silverstar sighed and shook his head as he slowly trotted through the town, down the dusty streets amid the cheerful smiles and waves. The difference between then and before was his attitude. He returned weak smiles and half-hearted waves. He seemed tired and slumping. Even his noble moustache drooped pathetically.
He finally managed to reach the Salt Block, dragging his heavy form through the saloon doors. His tired mood was in great contrast to the attitude of the establishment. There was a jaunty bit of music pouring forth from the piano, the pony at the keys hammering out the tune with a jaunty energy. All around were cheerful stallions and bulls, in the main. As it got later the population tended to become very male. A few mares filtered around and mares in bright dresses danced happily onstage. All the bulls and stallions were getting along famously, clattering mugs and tinkling salt plates, hugging or laughing or both. So cheerful. Amazing a town like that could contain a mare like his Cordelia.
“Evenin’ sheriff. What can ah get ya this evenin’?” As soon as Silverstar sat at the bar, Morton the bartender was there, a smile on his face and cheerful sparkle in his eye.
The jaunty music and sparkle in the lanky pony’s eye served to lift Silverstar up from his funk a bit, a smile finally curling up on his lips. “Well Morton, ya can get me a mug a’ that Apple Family cider ya been keeping back fer me and a little pile of local salt. No need ta be fancy.”
“Right ya are, sheriff. Comin’ right up.” Morton reached down to the floor and opened up a cellar door, his hoof steps thumping loudly on the stairs. After a time he came back up with a frothy mug of apple cider, setting it down in front of Silverstar. “Straight from Ponyville right to yer lips.” He then reached under the bar and put out a small metal plate, onto which he poured a small quantity of roughly-granulated salt. “And here, fresh outta the mines.”
“Morton, ya always got jes what everypony needs.” Silverstar lifted the glass and gave a toast to Morton, turning around to watch the dancing mares onstage. He took a small swig and smiled a little brighter. Nothing like Apple family cider to brighten the mood.
The mares on the stage danced for a short while longer before the jaunty song ended with a big hit of the keys and a flip of the skirts. As the crowd stomped their approval Silverstar took a lick of salt. A bit daring, but well within the law. There was no harm in a little daring skirt flip to give the folks a good bit of entertainment.
The piano started again. The tune was slow, somber, thoughtful. The spotlight shone brightly on the center of the stage. Into that spotlight stepped a buffalo cow. Her fur was extremely pale, bordering on white with just a light touch of brown to give her a beautifully pale café au lait tone. She wore a perfectly tailored chanteuse dress in muted purple and wine, but also had a beaded headband with two feathers, indicating she had performed tribal entrance ceremonies and come of age. She opened her mouth and began to sing in a warm, sweet tone. “You don’t bring me flowers. You don’t sing me love songs…”
The song was a duet, a very somber and heavy duet, sung by the buffalo lass and the stallion at the piano. The subject cut very deeply, forcing Silverstar to lick up his salt and ask for more, while drinking large swallows of the sweet cider, which was suddenly a little bit less sweet.
By the time the song was over, and not a few stalwarts in the audience were sobbing, Silverstar had completed three plates of salt and killed off the large mug. He did not order anything else, just turned back to the bar and ignored the new, once more happy, tune coming from the piano. From high to low to high to low again. It had been quite a day.
“Appleoosan cider please.” The voice… Silverstar turned to find the buffalo maid chanteuse beside him, standing at the bar with a smile. She turned aside and nodded. “Good evening mister sheriff. Did you enjoy the show? I’m new here and I was very nervous about performing.”
“Ma’am… ah must say ya have a beautiful voice. And… ya look darn good, if ah may be so bold, o’course.”
“Here you go. Ain’t she something, sheriff? She came in askin’ fer work, I heard her sing and… well, y’all see the result.” Morton smiled proudly, nodding his head as he set down the mug of local cider.
“Morton, s’like ah told ya. Ya always got what everypony needs. She is magnificent!” Silverstar looked back to the buffalo cow. “Ah’m so sorry ma’am. Excuse me bein’ rude. Sheriff Silverstar. Ah’m the law ‘round these parts.”
“A great pleasure to make your acquaintance sheriff. My name is Cactus Blossom. I know, it’s not very pretty. Who wants to be named after something prickly?” Cactus self-consciously fiddled with the straightened mop of hair between her ears.
“No ma’am! Ah think it’s a right purty name.” Silverstar answered very quickly, shaking his head very emphatically.
“Th-thank you. That’s very polite of you to say.” Cactus sipped slowly at her cider, relaxing against the bar and looking around.
“Ah mean it. Ah’ve seen some very purty cactus flowers out there.” Silverstar turned back to the bar. “Morton? Can ah get another mug a’ that Apple Family cider?”
“Right away, sheriff.” Down he went to the cellar and came back up with another mug of cider. “Any more salt?”
“No no, I am quite good on salt.” Silverstar started to take a drink, but suddenly found himself looking across at Cactus Blossom again. He found himself offering the mug. “Ma’am? Ah don’t mean ta be forward, but would you care to try some a’ this Apple Family cider? Straight from Ponyville. Morton likes ta save me a little cask of it when it comes around.”
“O-oh… Are you certain? I have heard that it is rare, and very delicious.”
“Ah’m sure. The casks come in from Braeburn, who gets ‘em as part of being in the family, but he don’t ever seem ta want it. Go ahead. Have a bit.”
“Thank you very much, sheriff.” Cactus took the offered mug in dainty hooves and took a very small sip. “Oh! It’s… it’s delicious! Thank you for sharing this.”
“It’s no problem at all, miss Cactus ma’am. Ya gotta share, after all. But, folks ‘round these parts don’t like bein’ reminded of that awful song.” Silverstar and Morton both gave a short laugh.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand that reference. I am… not from the local tribe. I am from a related tribe but from further away. I came here because I had heard it was much more exciting with more opportunities for work and more chances to meet others besides buffalo.”
“Well, ah think y’all will find our lil’ town a nice, friendly place. We all get along here real well.”
“Oh yes, I know! The other day, I saw a buffalo bull with a mare. It was very touching. And I heard all the peace came from a buffalo cow marrying a stallion.”
“Yep. Those two. Braeburn Apple and Little Strongheart Apple. Good couple. Ah’ve known ‘em since before they was married.” Silverstar smiled, taking a sip from the mug of cider, without even bothering to wipe the edge.
Silverstar and Cactus Blossom continued to talk, for a good amount of time, without needing to order anything else. The stallion gave numerous amusing anecdotes, including a detailed account of the quick and farcical war of pies. That got Cactus laughing with glorious abandon, her laughter just as sweet as her singing.
As the hour grew later Silverstar turned his thoughts toward home. But the very notion of it seemed very distasteful, even more so than it had earlier. But still, he had no choice. He rose up from the bar and tipped his hat. “It pains me ta say it, but ah must get along ta home. It was a great pleasure ta meetcha.”
“Oh no, the pleasure was mine, sheriff. You are a very charming, generous and engaging stallion.” Cactus rose and offered her hoof for a parting shake.
Silverstar looked down at the dainty split hoof, his own coming up with a small tremor of hesitation. He brought it over and touched it against the two rigid toes, frog against the fleshy equivalents on her hooves. The dexterous toes gave a short wiggle, probably just as a natural reflex. The sensation was… pleasant. “Ma’am… it’s been a great honor.” With a nod and a smile, Silverstar stepped away from the bar and strolled out into the town.
Sheriff Silverstar presided over a town that was the envy of a great portion of Equestria. He looked over his town and smiled a little bit. As he walked along the dusty streets things seemed a bit brighter, even if only under the glow of Luna’s moon. He still felt the cloven press on his hoof. He was dancing on air, all the way to the front door of his house.
The house was dark, and silent, looming over his head like a ghost. There was an aura about it, like he could feel Cordelia through the walls. The cloying, choking prejudice radiating out, reminding him of what he could expect within as soon as she awoke. He looked down at his hoof, considering the touch for a moment longer. Then he sullenly pulled the door open and slipped into the loveless blackness.
