Where The Apple Cries

“And that,” Applejack said with a definitive nod. Her story done, she leaned back and crossed her hooves, flicking the rim of her hat back to push it out of her eyes –“is why yer room ain’t got a door.”

Apple Bloom, dumbfounded, sat with her haunches rested against the crate. She blinked, then blinked again. She looked to her hooves, and then to Applejack, and blinked once more. “What.”

“That was...” Big Mac started. He shared a glance with Granny Smith, both sporting a bright red flush, thoroughly mortified as they stood on either side of Applejack.

“...needlessly graphic,” she agreed.