Caudectomy

by Paracompact

Rating: teen
Tags: Horror, Tragedy, Dark, Sad
Length: 5550

The slow, slow agony of a little filly who can do little but wonder why nopony comes to her rescue.

The slow, slow agony of a little filly who can do little but wonder why nopony comes to her rescue.

Original author: Vuld Edone
Translated from the French by me. An excellent example of a "clean" hurtfic done right.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2017-04-25 19:33:11 UTC

Caudectomy

The air was calm and the sky overcast. The clouds needed to be cleared around noon. The work in the fields completed, the last hours of the morning passed to the small tasks around the farm. The barn was full of laughter.

Behind the pillars, bundles of freshly-cut wheat piled up all on one side, more numerously in the back underneath the loft where old bales rubbed up against new ones deep in the shadows against the gable. Ears of wheat were strewn about the earthen ground still dry and fresh from the morning. With a pitchfork in her muzzle and a hoof on the handle, the brave farmer raised up a bale against the wooden wall before dropping it with a great boom on top of the others. Behind her, at the top of the ladder, hopping along the planks of the loft, her little sister continued to laugh.

“Come on!” the little one repeated. “Like in the good old days!”

“Apple Bloom, we don’t have the time!” her big sister sighed while banging the bale with her hoof. “I’ve gotta meet up with the girls, and we need to make sure the wheat bundles are all put away. Don’t want ‘em spoiling behind our backs!”

The little one didn’t seem to have listened. She gauged the distance to the group, jumped up, and fell into a pile of hay covering the bottom of a pole up to head-level. The harvest from several days ago had nearly the same color as the filly’s coat, and while buried inside only the bright red ribbon tied in her mane stuck out. She waited several seconds before poking her head out and shaking herself down, then peeking over at her sister who was fully occupied with her inspection; she gave the bale a couple stabs with her fork, and pretended not to notice the little one.

But little Apple Bloom could recognize in her sister these small gestures and looks saying that she too wanted to play, and it was so many signals mixed with good memories that brought her out of the pile of hay to hop across the earthen floor to her sister.

“We could play hide-and-seek, or go hay jumping!”

The farmer sensed her little sister bouncing all around, and couldn’t help but give her a little attention as she felt a youthful and worry-free enthusiasm win her over.

“Could you calm it?” she chuckled, though her amused smile only served to excite the little one more. “I’m gonna tie you up like these bales!”

“You wouldn’t dare!” the little one retorted.

“Oh yes I will!” the farmer defied.

And as if to prove her point, she posed the fork against a pole to go search for a good rope. Her trot was joyful and all the more so excited by the amused cries of her sister. Applejack seized the rope between her teeth, turned around, and mumbled for the little one to watch out. The enthused filly wasted no time bounding around the interior of the barn.

Several gestures sufficed—together with some extra mumbling—to tie the rope into a lasso and in one flick of the neck, supported by the shoulder and a movement of the hip, to send it flying over the excited filly. The knot seized her in midair, a third of the way down her tail, and firmly tightened there.

The dry air strengthened the knot all the more, and the little one was stopped squarely in her tracks.

The farmer began to pull on the rope, holding it steady with a hoof and demanding the little one, at each gained meter of proximity, to admit defeat. And little Apple Bloom, absorbed in her game, resisted and repeated that she wasn’t finished yet.

“What’re ya gonna do, little devil?” the brave farmer asked, stifling a laugh.

“I’m gonna escape, you’ll see!”

And the little one, finally at her sister’s hooves after having been dragged across the barn on her back, turned over and attempted to trot away to escape her grasps. The knot held tight and Applejack, clearly amused, observed her struggling before looking around.

“She who laughs last laughs best...”

She raised her gaze, considering the horizontal beams near the attic of the barn, and—with a suddenly victorious smile—the mare sent the rope flying straight up, coiling it several times around the beam before falling back down. Then with a pull on the rope the big sister swept the filly off her hooves and into the air, suspended by her tail, upside down, several feet off the ground.

“So then, what’s your plan now?” the brave farmer said, triumphant.

The little one couldn’t stop laughing. “All right, you’ve won.”

Both sisters were amused, immersed in the fun, but the farmer took a moment to examine the rope and the suspended tail, and asked:

“Doesn’t that hurt?”

She was worried, breaking the laughter, but the little one just as quickly sought to vanquish her concern. Apple Bloom wanted it to keep going.

“Not at all! I just look real silly.”

“True ‘nuff you don’t look too fine...” her sister judged, gently pushing the little one with a muddy hoof to send her swinging back and forth.

The little one had a small jump of surprise, then continued to laugh, intoxicated by the movement. It was an invitation to continue, and her sister repeated her gesture, tapping her lightly to make her swing like a pendulum, all while laughing herself. She was still holding the rope under her second hoof, careful not to let her sister drop and hurt herself. Plus, she loved to see her little sister’s dazed face.

“If only Big Mac could see that!” she said suddenly without really thinking about it. Then she did think about it, and stopped the little one with her hoof. “Hold on, sis’! You’ve gotta hang around for your brother!”

She craned her neck, amused. “He’s gonna be shocked!”

“Here’s what you get for bothering me while I work...” muttered the farmer while taking the rope back between her teeth.

Applejack went over to the nearest post to tie the rope to it, with one knot and then a second, to make sure that it held. The column, unlike her sister’s tail, had absorbed the last night’s humidity. The rope could slide a little, almost not at all, but it was her sister, and she didn’t want to take the chance.

In the meantime, Apple Bloom was still swinging and laughing, her momentum diminishing little by little and calming the dizziness in her head. She watched her sister tie the knot and head over to the barn door.

“Hey!” she called. “You’re not gonna leave me here, are ya?”

“Big Mac’ll be ‘round in just a few!” her sister exulted. “Tell ‘em not to forget to put away the pitchfork.” And before leaving: “And no freeing yourself before he gets here!”

~~

The hay bales were collected rather late in the day. The farm had enough work to deal with in the morning after all, between the milking and the orchards. But there needed to be a storm, and the Apple family was harvesting early in order to put the crops under shelter. They would take care of other bales in the afternoon.

~~

When she saw the saw the hay-blond tail of her sister exit through the wide-open double doors, Apple Bloom felt an air of distress come over her. She suddenly felt alone, suspended upside down, free hooves hanging in the air, a small tension in her tail. But the air was cool, the laughter and the excitement continued to make her swing to and fro. She soon thought to the reaction her big brother would have when he entered, to his stupefied face upon seeing her upside down, waving at him.

Then the little one, restraining herself from bursting out laughing, kept silent as if waiting at a surprise party, and with a smile hidden behind her little hooves, she kept an ear out for any sign of hooves approaching.

Very faintly, she could make out the grating of the rope against the wooden beam. The rope budged even more faintly, in its last movements of swinging. The little one also thought she heard the wooden door creaking open, but it was just the cool morning wind. Then she heard hooves and sprang to life, ready to greet her brother, before realizing that the sound was getting farther away, and that it must’ve been her sister who was leaving.

For a second time the little one curled up on herself, impatient. “Come on Apple Bloom, you can do it!” But already boredom compelled the filly to breathe sigh and uncurl, and look around to occupy herself. Several minutes was proving to be an eternity.

Several minutes passed.

In her head, she become certain that several minutes had passed, first two, then three, and the filly supposed that it could still be a while. She reasoned that, even if her brother was on his way back, the field was far away, and that he could be dawdling. “He could at least get the move on,” the little one said aloud, sulkily, before looking around her and meditating on the empty and silent barn.

The shadows were weak but massive, painted on the walls and the bales and the loft behind her. They were only cut short at the building’s entrance, where the morning light was the strongest. But given the cloud cover the contrast was very subtle, and it was only because of the skylight that the barn’s surroundings were visible to her.

Three minutes, maybe four or five. The sound from the tension of the rope was muffled now, reacting now only to her small movements made out of boredom. Apple Bloom sighed, peeking over at the open door, reacting to the smallest sounds. She crossed her hooves over her chest, a little frustrated, observing her tail still tied by the rope keeping her aloft. She could feel the tension pulling on her tail, climbing up to the lower part of her back in an uncomfortable shiver. Every movement aggravated this tension further.

Suddenly, she decided that she’d had enough. The situation wasn’t funny to her anymore, with her brother so late. The filly stretched out her hooves, seeking to scrape the ground below her, which had seemed in hoof’s reach. When she realized this was useless, she took a small break, and pondered a moment before looking at the knot of the rope attached to her tail.

Then, at first hesitantly, the filly attempted to scrape the knot with her back hoof. She went about this tenderly, feeling it out, a bit dizzy from looking straight up. Her hoof brushed her tail, too low; she tried as hard as could to reach halfway but without touching the rope. The little one exhaled, and let her gaze drop back down. Her front hooves hung in dismay, and her little face marked a resigned irritation.

Suddenly she reached back up, stretching her hooves, then her head, then her torso, curving her back in an attempt to reach the knot. She struggled just to touch her tail with her front hooves and to cling to it. The rope began to swing slightly in response to this movement and the tension in her tail, once again rekindled, became painful. She dropped back down.

“Come on, brother, this ain’t funny,” she sighed after her failure.

Apple Bloom closed her eyes in an attempt to remain patient, but also to dull the pain of the needle that seemed to be lodged in her chest. The barn was familiar to her, at the heart of the farm. She just had to wait for her brother.

Or even her sister, the little one thought, her eyes once again focused on the silent, empty doorway. Outside, she could glimpse the yard leading up to the well, and she knew that sometimes the animals left their enclosures to come drink from it. It would be enough for one of them to come along so that she could call it and it could help her detach herself. Unless it was a duck, the little one thought somberly, and frowned. The rope continued to swing slightly.

Her eyes were starting to ring ever so faintly, which she attributed to the silence. She scratched her cheek, sighed, and tried to guess how many minutes had gone by. “What a dumb game.” The little sister looked around again at random, hoping for a presence, but only to her disappointment. Her head was spinning slightly, less out of dizziness than out of feeling faint. It was weak, and she thought it was from seeing the world upside down, as if the beams were holding up the earth, and the bales had been sucked up to the sky. She had a small laugh, a small laugh lasting several seconds, weakening until it was no more than a cough.

Her hoof brushed up against her ear, without her meaning to. Her whole body, as a result of being suspended, started to swell up. She felt her back hooves start to itch, her front hooves fill with pins and needles, and her head become heavy. Her head was ever so heavy.

She thought, once again, about detaching herself.

This time, the filly considered it seriously. She looked at the knot restraining her, and considered how to untie it and what would happen afterward. She would fall, and even if she was only a couple feet off the ground, her position was that she would risk injuring herself. She knew, having taken several falls in the past. If something happened to her, her big sister Applejack would never forgive herself. So the little one perished the thought, leaving it as a last resort.

She thought then that her best chance was to climb up to her tail, then the rope, in order to hold onto it while she freed herself. Her tail was in reach, she had grasped it once. It would be enough, then, to lean upwards enough in order to seize it. But the memory of the pain, and of the swinging of the rope, was still fresh in her mind. That pain was worse than the pain of remaining suspended, or even of the heaviness of her head.

There was nothing to do but wait.

She struggled to stretch her legs, and to bend them, attempting to ease the itching. These small gestures worsened the sensation, and it seemed to her that they were putting the rope back in motion. Every unexpected moment of tension, however slight, that interrupted her efforts made her wince. The strain in her tail reached all the way down to her neck. She had the impression that somepony was pulling on her tail nonstop, in repeated yanks, and she wanted it to stop. The little one was almost grateful that her head was so heavy, to help block out this pain.

Her breathing had increased slightly. The filly had her muzzle half open and was panting, both through her mouth and through her nostrils. She felt a drop of sweat start to form, softly on her forehead in her mane. With a hoof she tried to wipe it off but suddenly the pain overwhelmed her, coming from her tail, forcing her to freeze.

During this time, Apple Bloom no longer thought about listening to the sound of hoofsteps, or about watching the silhouettes by the door. Her attention was more and more focused on the slight suffering that she sought to alleviate. When she thought about it again, she peeked over at the front door, but her view—at first blurry, before several seconds of adjustment—was of nothing more than a deserted yard. Her ears rang, and she heard nothing more than the sound of her own breathing.

~~

Blood is pumped from the heart to the head then descends back down thanks to gravity. The facial muscles of ponies, although thick and strong, are not enough in themselves to pump blood back to the heart, and without gravity—or rather, against it—it will pool in the head. After thirty minutes, this pooling is considered dangerous enough to induce traumatic brain injury.

~~

She knew that noon had arrived when, in the distance, she seemed to hear the heavy and slow chimes of the clock tower. It could have been an illusion, the little one didn’t know anymore. She wished she knew whether it was market day, if Granny Smith was waiting for them at the farm, ready for lunch. She wondered where her brother was, and worried for her family.

Big McIntosh, the little one still believed in him, he would come. He was just late because of some chore, some detour, some accident. Hyperventilating slightly, the filly feared something might’ve happened to her brother. But in all the scenarios she could imagine, there was always a voice that asked where Apple Bloom was, and everyone would come to look for her. So she whimpered, feeling abandoned.

Her tail was really starting to hurt now. She tried to ignore it but couldn’t, and every time she cast a glance toward the knot in the rope, tilting her head slightly upwards, more pain suddenly materialized, forcing her to give up her effort.

But the idea became more and more plausible to her that noon had surely come and gone, and that it was very late, and that her family should’ve already been here, and that—worst of all—nopony would come for her. It was this latter thought that she stubbornly refused to believe, and the more she refused to believe it the more she told herself not to try anything, and just to wait. But the pain shot through her, making her moan under her breath, even when she didn’t move a muscle. Her thoughts were confused, crushed by the weight of her forehead. She wanted it to stop, she just wanted it to stop.

So, putting all her strength into it, the little one tried again to reach her tail. She curved herself, ignoring the pain darting through her, ignoring the impression that somepony was pulling on her tail, ignoring her croup that was on fire and the vertigo that seized her suddenly when—halfway up—she felt her hooves slide over her tail. Her gestures were clumsy, softened in a way, but she struggled through it. Apple Bloom gnashed her teeth as her eyes stung and filled with tears. She was hurting, but she would hurt worse if she didn’t do something. Her hooves hadn’t reached her tail but a second before they lost their grip, and, even in that very second, she realized she couldn’t hold on any longer, but desperately tried anyway, with an insane energy.

One last surge of pain made her completely let go. She cried out and let herself fall, head under hooves, her face covered in sweat. Her skull was buzzing like crazy, her ears thundering, and everything seemed to revolve around her in a vast spiral. The little one closed her eyes and flattened her hooves against her temple, praying that the pain might cease. She began to cry softly, in uncontrolled tears, without even feeling sad, but just because of the shooting pain that continued to seize her whole.

“Big Mac?” the little one called, weakly. She spoke as if they were right there next to her. And then, a little louder, “Granny?” She opened her eyes to the empty barn, where the shadows had barely budged. Everything seemed terribly far away and vague, wobbling. She called out again, as if the pony were just outside the door: “Applejack?” But each call only reinforced for her the silence and loneliness.

Despite the buzzing in her head, the filly shook herself. She took off the ribbon in her mane, nearly letting it drop, but caught it. She looked at her hooves holding onto the long red ribbon, and grit her teeth.

“Come on!” She closed her eyes in order not to think about it. “One more time!”

She pulled herself back up, though the pain just as quickly forced a cry from her throat. But already the little one was stretching out the ribbon in an attempt to pass it behind her tail and grab the other end. And on the first try, she succeeded. The ribbon slid down to her croup, but she held it there, and grasped both ends with the same hoof. She held on precariously, despite the horrible agony that had her grunting between her closed teeth, and tried one more time to take hold of her tail to pull herself up.

Suddenly the ribbon slipped out, owing to some weakness in her grip, and as she tumbled back down she saw the ribbon pass before her eyes, floating indistinctly before landing on the ground.

“Applejack! Big Mac!” the little one wheezed, every time the pain would allow her. “Anypony! Help!”

Her head was spinning horribly without cease, accompanied by a strident ringing in her ears. She felt like she was going to faint, wanted to faint, wished to faint but in the end the sound of her sobs returned to her and she found herself, little by little, back to her senses. Her tail was hurting atrociously. Her breathing was difficult, but rapid, a mild rhythm that gave her hiccups.

“Help...” the little one repeated, dizzy and listless. Applejack’s last words played on repeat in her head, among so many others: no freeing herself. She would’ve liked to cry more, but the pain rekindled itself between her tears, so instead she just moaned pathetically.

She tried in vain to understand why her brother wasn’t there, why her sister wasn’t there, why no animal came to drink from the well. Why Winona didn’t come barking at the door to find her. Then she realized that if Granny was at the market, Winona would go there with her, and so it was most likely this was what happened. But through the pain and the tears, this thought reassured her. The barn, which had been threatening to her up until now, became familiar again once her vision cleared: Soon Granny would return, and she would notice her granddaughter’s absence, and she would come to save her.

Even if the old mare didn’t notice, the little one repeated to herself to ease the weight that was crushing her temple with each heartbeat, her big sister would surely return before evening. There was work in the field, at the farm. And then she would realize that Big Mac still hadn’t returned. And then her big sister would soon be there; she just had to be brave like her, she told herself... It was hard to ignore the horrible tension digging itself into her croup, which only drew more tears from her. Maybe even her Crusader friends Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle would come looking to play with her. Ask where she was. And come to find her. Memories of them together soothed her suffering slightly.

Besides, Big Mac was going to return. He just had to.

So she had to hold out, be patient despite the pain. Apple Bloom let out a whimper, and budged slightly, only to endure once again a yank on her tail that sent pain radiating through her spine and burning through her stomach. She coughed, inhaled with difficulty and, with closed eyes, continued to weep, alone in the barn, praying quietly that somepony might come.

The shadows appeared to have changed. Her eyes once again open, full of tears, heavy in the buzzing of her skull, allowed her to see naught but vague shapes and figures. But the shadows had changed, become lighter with the passage of the day. She thought she saw movement in them, silhouettes even, nightmarish figures as well as reassuring ones. She called out to them with her eyes, her trembling eyes...

~~

The tailbone consists of four vertebrae and their network of nerves, emerging from the croup, or more precisely from the spine. The croup is sensitive at this spot in a number of mammals, especially those suffering from a herniated disk. A prolonged tension can provoke significant internal damage. Cutting the tail is practiced. Removing the vertebrae is criminal: It is referred to as a caudectomy.

~~

She had been unconscious for several minutes. It was the change of temperature that managed to break her faint and return the filly to consciousness. Immediately the pain came back to life, too, forcing a cry from her lips. Her memories were intact, including that of having passed out. It had been like a dark and abrupt veil that had silenced all her pains. She had fainted in an abyss and, one second later, had reawakened. But the little one was frantic. Her body, in more agony than ever, felt on fire up to her throat, and she was sweating profusely. She felt bruised all over, and her hooves no longer felt like her own, barely responding when she sought to move them. And her face, barely dry from before, flowed once more with tears.

Little by little the pegasi cleared the sky. The sun shined through gaps in the cloud cover and warmed the air, filling the barn with odors that the cold had kept stagnant and which now came to life. Scents of hay, of wheat, scents of the earth still fresh inside the barn, scents of the sacks of herbs and the plants outside.

She knew that time had passed, this time several hours at least.

So hope returned to her, that somepony would come to her rescue. She wanted to believe it, with all her being, and already her head was beginning to swirl again, but distantly, as though numbed... The little one had difficulty concentrating. She felt her breathing quicken, heard herself panting between her teeth, rapid and panicked gasps, punctuated by her whimpers.

The sun was beginning to shine through the barn door and the shadows near it were demarcated more clearly. She could see them, she could stare at them directly, concentrate on them and them alone. And, little by little, she saw the borders of these shadows in the bright light start to move, at first vaguely in her exhausted gaze, but then for real, over the course of minutes. Her already racing heart calmed slightly with this small surge of hope: She could see time passing, and this landmark—however minuscule—vanquished some of her distress. She didn’t know why she wanted time to pass, but time was passing.

Over time, the temperature increased. The air became hot, and entirely filled the barn. Slightly but noticeably, her heartrate quickened. The heat became a new source of suffering.

She drew breath in small, quick, choking gasps, sometimes muffled by the involuntary pleading murmurs from her lips, by the quiet cries of pain whenever her back strained, as though pierced with thorns, and she sniveled as she felt the tears stream down her muzzle, dripping toward the ground. Her mane was undone, hanging and unkempt. Her limbs hung limply and, just as the hot rays of the sun were about to reach her, she could no longer feel her back hooves.

The horrible burning sensation in her back legs was weakening to the point of being extinguished, and at that moment she realized she could no longer feel anything in her back legs. Worry set in, and she attempted in vain to budge them, cast helpless glances around her which made her cringe with pain. Then she turned her attention to her front legs, which she could barely move. She tapped one of them with her muzzle, and watched it bob back and forth gently, paralyzed.

Her thoughts were clouded, but a crazed sensation of alarm seized her and agitated her. Forgetting the pain, forgetting the distress, Apple Bloom had the instinctive need to escape.

A single glance made her perish the very thought of untying the knot at her tail. She looked around her, desperately, and spotted the other end tied to the wooden post. At random the memory came to her of her sister prodding her gently with her hoof, and of her own carefree laughter. She balked at the sight of the distance between her and the double knot, and at how hard it would be to undo. But the alarm was blaring in her, ordering her to act before it was too late. She had to try.

The little one began to swing, with what strength she still had. She felt the pain traverse her back, her neck, making her muscles tremble. Her whole body was seized with spasms and she cried out, feeling like her tail was about to be ripped off. But she forced herself to keep swinging and the rope, little by little, followed, and the pendulum movement took form. Each movement, greater than the last, accentuated the tension. She yelled, without catching her breath, and she didn’t want to thinking about her tail and the unbearable suffering it was causing her.

Before she had gained even half the distance necessary, Apple Bloom knew that it was impossible. That she was going to fail. The pain was too vivid, to the point of stiffening her whole body, the pain had her shaking to the bone. But most of all, the irregular swinging motion was diverting her from her course and, little by little, she lost sight of the knot. She wouldn’t have been able to reach it anyway, at best merely reach the tautened section leading up to it. She was swinging now only in a vain instinctual attempt to flee.

Then, brutally, the pain took back control. Her body slackened and she felt herself swinging in the void, helplessly, stunned by the effort and the agony. She mewled, choked up and battered, her breathing barely a whisper through her lips.

For several long minutes, the swinging continued.

When it was finally over, Apple Bloom budged no longer, made barely any sound apart from her breathing. She began to pray, quietly, while the pain in her skull ground her very mind to mush. She prayed that somepony might come save her. She asked forgiveness.

“Please, Applejack, come back...” she prayed. “I won’t do it again, I promise... I won’t bother you no more...” The movement in the rope was minuscule, but for her, it felt immense. “I didn’t mean to... Let me go, I’m begging you... I won’t do it again...”

The light from the entrance had crept further and partly covered her. She felt a new whirlwind in her head: the image of her sister engraved in her mind, her confused memories, her words.

“I won’t move... no more... I won’t bother you... at all... I’ll be... good...” Her voice broke the silence of the barn. “Mercy, Applejack, stop...”

One last time, possessed by a furious insanity, she wanted to fight. But her entire body, crushed by pain, rested inert. She hung, the rope weakening her movement, powerless. She was breathing as fast as she could, she felt her strained heart struggle harder as the dark veil approached. The little filly could no longer open her eyes, no longer cry. Exhausted. Her voice was reduced little by little to a murmur.

~~

Fainting, depending on the circumstance, can be a sign of intracranial trauma: Surges of blood have weakened the arteries and facilitated clots, causing lack of blood flow to vital regions of the brain. Every blackout is potentially lethal. The greater the heartbeat, and the longer the duration, the more risk it entails.

~~

One last time, little Apple Bloom regained consciousness. She thought she could hear the joyous voice of her sister next to her, and wanted to believe, however desperately, that her sister was there to save her. She no longer hurt. She no longer felt anything.

The little one tried to open her eyes. Everything in her was racing, still struggling, and her little heart was beating wildly. She managed to lift her eyelids, and was blinded by the light. The room was white, the drapes were white, the curtains were white, pulled open on a circle of flowers and sweets. Her sister rushed over to her to embrace her with all her strength, to kiss her on her forehead, and to rub her cheek against hers.

Again the pain resurfaced, very weak, very far away, as if deadened. Her head was lighter than ever. She saw it was dusk through the window. This detail erased for her seemed to erase the memories which were for her only a few seconds ago.

Her big sister tearfully begged her forgiveness, smiling, crying, kissed her again and repeated that she had been so afraid, so afraid, that if something had happened to her... And Apple Bloom trembled at the thought of what had happened to her, the pain the terror, the prayers. So her sister hugged her near, on this hospital bed, in this room filled with cards and get-well gifts, and her sister begged her through tears to forgive her.

And finally the little filly, in turn, bursting into tears, hugged Applejack in her hooves.