Sensation - Appleloosa

by Vivid Syntax

Rating: teen
Tags: Soarin, Romance, Original Character, Braeburn, Profanity, Slice of Life, Sex, Drama, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 142250

It's been an eventful year since the accident took Soarin's career from him, and Braeburn remembers every moment. He may say he's content, but there's something desperate behind those bright, green eyes.

Trees are the same. Year in, year out. They're reliable, and as long as you take care of 'em and watch out for blight and pests and such, you know what you get. But ponies ain't trees.

It's been an eventful year since the accident took Soarin's career from him, and Braeburn remembers every moment. He may say he's content, but there's something desperate behind those bright, green eyes.

Cover art by Stratus35

Published 2018-08-25 02:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2024-06-26 18:10:44 UTC

Chapter 1 - Apples on the Wind

A rooster crows, and as much as I want to rush outside, grab it by its neck, and shove it in a barrel, I tell myself to appreciate the experience of waking up in the middle of nowhere.

I do what Braeburn told me, and it works, mostly: I take it one sensation at a time. There's the crow of that rooster, of course, but as obnoxious as it is, its initial sharpness has faded. It's endearing, in a way, and so much more natural than an alarm clock. I take a deep, deep breath of the dry desert air. The scent of cut wood fills my nostrils, tinged with the subtle hints of thousands of home-cooked meals. The air tastes dusty out here, and it's a little salty. My back is stiff from sleeping in an overly-soft mattress all night, but the pillows are firm and comfortable. As my consciousness returns, one more sound tickles my ears: snoring in the next room. With a smile on my face, I finally sit up and open my eyes.

Braeburn's guestroom. Or Braeburn and Soarin's, I guess. It's cozy, and in the dim light of the pre-dawn, I can see the dozens and dozens of framed pictures that fill the walls. It's tough to make out details, but they're full of smiles. Most are new. Some, I recognize from Soarin's Cloudsdale condo. Has it been almost a year already?

I softly clear my throat and stretch out my neck as the rooster crows again. "Okay, I'm up," I grumble. With a shake of my spiky – well, it's supposed to be spiky – brown-and-gold mane, I stand up and rock in place to get the feeling back into my hooves. The floorboards don't creak at all, and I laugh to myself. "Not in the guestroom. Braeburn wouldn't stand for it." Quietly, I slip on a purple t-shirt and sneak out the bedroom door with the softest of hooffalls.

The door to the master bedroom is cracked open. As I pass by it, I peer inside, and I see a big, sky-blue pegasus stallion, head buried under a pillow and one wing splayed awkwardly on the bed behind him. He snores, but not too egregiously, and I hope for his sake that wings don't get too stiff like that. "Sleep well, Soarin'," I whisper as I work my way down the dark steps.

I follow the soft whoosh of a teapot that's not quite ready. As I round the corner of the staircase and walk towards the kitchen, there he is: a butter-yellow earth pony stallion with a beautiful chestnut mane. His shoulders are tense, but he breathes deeply and smiles in the first hints of the morning light. "Hey there," he says in a raspy voice. "Ol' Barnaby wake you up?"

I chuckle. "Afraid so. You?"

"Heh heh. Not this time." Just as the water boils and the kettle starts to whistle, he deftly turns off the burner with a practiced hoof. There's a bracelet on his fetlock: a simple cord with a series of beads (some of them very large) arranged in a pattern. I can't help but frown – the bracelet hangs loosely on him, and there are fewer beads than I expected. "He's a stinker, but he keeps most of us from sleepin' the whole day away. Now, I got green and black tea – nothin' fancy, mind, just oolong – and a press for coffee." He leans against the counter. "What's your preference?"

I shrug and meet his gaze. "Whatever you're having."

Braeburn smirks. "Careful, Vivid. This ain't Whinnyapolis. Folks have opinions 'round here, so best speak your mind if you want somethin'."

I laugh. "Let's try the oolong."

"Comin' right up." He reaches into the cabinet and pulls out a rustic-but-clean tin, then scoops a spoonful of tea into a couple strainers. "You're just in time for the show, too."

My eyebrow raises. "Show?"

By way of answering, he motions with his head towards the back door. "Grab a seat."

I do as I'm told and make my way outside. There are two outdoor lounge chairs and a small table sitting on the back patio. I seat myself and take in the view. The sun just barely peeks over the hills, shining a brilliant golden ray of light onto the Appleloosa orchard. Out here, at the edge of town, the orchard is about the only thing I can see besides the desert, which stretches into the faraway hills. My fur bristles at the slight chill – so strange considering how hot it'll get during the day. The scent of apples is on the wind.

Braeburn sneaks out of the back door. He deftly carries a tray in his mouth, which he sets down on the table. On it are two mugs, each with a strainer in it, accompanied by small pots of cream and sugar and a plate to put the used tea on. "Give 'em a couple minutes," he whispers. With a sigh, he sits in the other chair, and we look out at the expansive desert.

My brain is comfortably fuzzy. The rich, bold smell of the oolong lingers in the air, and my mouth waters. Ol' Barnaby crows again, but it's much less grating now. In fact, it feels like nothing in the world could bother me. We sit in silence together, enjoying the peace and quiet.

We breathe.

Neither of us move until we take our tea out of our mugs. I shift a bit in my seat and rub my eyes with a groan. Braeburn turns his head to me with furrowed brows. "You sleep okay?"

"As much as I was able," I reply. "Thanks for picking me up so late last night. Sorry the train was so delayed."

"Aw, ain't nothin' to be done about that. Worst case, you could have just caught the one that's comin' this afternoon." I'm very careful not to react to that. Braeburn lifts his tea to his lips, blows on it, and tips it back, but he stops himself. "Hm… One more minute."

I glance at my own cup. The steam continues to rise. "In any case, it's a shame to miss even a moment of this place. It's absolutely beautiful."

"You're speakin' my language, Viv." He rotates his shoulders and cracks his neck. "Honestly, I'm just happy you made the trip. Heh heh. Think you're a few weeks late, though. Soarin' was tryin' to get you out here back in August, right?"

I smile. "What, and miss this?" I jerk my head towards the orchard. As if on cue, the wind shifts slightly, and the sweet scent of apples mixes with the tea. "I just hope I'm not in your way."

Braeburn waves a hoof. "Perish the thought. And hell, September's even better. More activity, more apples, little cooler… I just hope you don't mind if we spend some time preparin' for the harvest to hit in earnest."

"I hope I can make myself useful. And maybe I can get an apple-bucking lesson while I'm here."

"Heh heh. You're in good hooves. If I can teach Soarin', I can teach anypony." We share a laugh, and Braeburn finally tastes his tea. "Mm… Not bad."

I taste mine as well. Like everything Braeburn has ever made, it's much better than he gives it credit for. I'd let him know, but I'd hate to break the stillness. For a few moments, we sit together and watch the scenery fade from dark blue to gold.

I jump a bit when Braeburn speaks up. "Pride and joy right there," he says with a much heavier voice than I was ready for. "Lot of work in 'em, and I was happy to have a whole summer with 'em again."

"They're beautiful," I reply. I turn to Braeburn. "I heard Big Mac is in town to help out, too, right?"

Braeburn's eyes are furrowed just slightly. He smiles, but he seems stiffer, and there's no magic Apple family aura of calm radiating from him anymore. "Mm-hm." He blinks a few times and smiles politely. "Stayin' at the Tumbleweed. I offered him the couch, but he insisted on giving us space."

I wince. "Oh dear. I hope I didn't displace him with my visit."

Braeburn wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. "Naw, you didn't put him out none. It's just his way." He looks back outward. "It'll be nice havin' the help. There's a bunch to do, and havin' Mac around'll save us all a couple days." He speaks quickly, yet he seems more relaxed now. "A few bushels, too. I've got some of the colts workin' the fields already to get the early ripeners, but any day now, the peak will hit, and I still need to make sure all our equipment's in order. The apples will go bad if you don't get 'em fast enough, but they make good sauce if you're quick. It's…" He looks back at the orchard, and the color drains from his voice. "It's an excitin' time."

Something needles me, and I say calmly, "You've got it down to a science."

Softly, he says, "Trees ain't complicated."

I pause. My ear flicks as I feel a familiar warmth at the back of my skull. "Unlike… ponies?"

"Heh." Braeburn shakes his head. He fiddles with the mug in his hooves, never looking away from the orchard. "Trees are the same. Year in, year out." He goes silent. His jaw tightens up, like he's about to speak, over and over again. I'm about to say something when he finally continues. "They're… reliable, and as long as you take care of 'em and watch out for blight and pests and such, you know what you get. You don't have to worry about whether they'll be back next season. There's day-to-day concerns, of course, but overall, it's comfortable. The cycle continues, and your roots grow strong. But…" He stares down into his tea. "But you're right. Ponies ain't trees." He drains the rest in a big gulp.

Gently, I reach a hoof over and rest it on his wither. "I've got a pretty good ear if you want to talk about it."

"Heh heh." Braeburn casts me a sidelong glance. "And write another book?"

"Up to you," I say casually, taking back my hoof. "I know some ponies would be interested, but it doesn't matter unless you want to talk."

Braeburn nods and sets his mug down. "Yeah." He takes a deep breath of the morning air. "Yeah, maybe. It'd be nice to talk to somepony that's not so involved in everything." He smirks and narrows his eyes at me. "Did Big Blue put you up to this?"

I feel a lump in my throat, and my nose scrunches up. "He… may have mentioned that you have a few things on your chest." I look back at Braeburn. "I hope you're not mad at him."

Braeburn smiles warmly. "Why would I be mad? Because he saw that I was in pain and asked for some help makin' me feel better?" He playfully taps the foreleg rest of the chair. "Naw. He's a treasure, that one." His eyes glaze over. "I love him so much, Viv. He makes me happy. Lights up my world and keeps every day interesting." He frowns suddenly.

I lean closer. "Yes?"

Braeburn shakes out his mane. "Aw, nothin'." He waves a hoof again. "Yeah, okay, I'll take you up on those ears of yours. It'll give me somethin' to do besides fret."

My heart feels heavier. "You must have a lot on your mind."

"Well, yeah, with the town and all. But…" He shakes his head and smiles at me. "Let's give it a rest. Sunrise in Appleloosa's a treat, and I'd hate to spoil it for you."

Is his hiding from it? Maybe, but I have faith he'll open up in time. I nod. "Here's to that."

We relax back into our chairs as the first hint of hot air brushes against my chin. Ol' Barnaby crows one more time, and I go through all my senses again.

It's peaceful out here. Soothing. It makes me happy, and my body unwinds one sinew at a time.

Braeburn clearly needs to process a few things, but he's a wise pony. I'll heed his words and enjoy the morning. Breathe in, breathe out. I can just close my eyes and–

Chapter 2 - Have a Seat

"Hey. Heeeeeey." A feather pokes my side as a raspy voice fills my ear. "Psst! You gonna wake up? The sunburn's a bitch out here."

His breath tickles my ear, and my eyes flutter open. I smile. "Morning, Soarin'."

He stands in front of me, grinning wide and holding a glass full of water just above my head. "Aw… You know, I was just about to do it."

I laugh. "I don't doubt it."

He sets the glass down gently with his… Wow. His forelegs look stronger, much better than the last time I saw them. Sure, there's a tiny amount of swelling around his fetlocks, but that could be from practice as much as anything else. They still look off, but he stands proudly on them, like he's in no pain at all. "Jeez, how's your neck?"

I, however, am. I sit up and immediately wince. "Fine until you mentioned it." Soarin' gives me a hoof. I stand, accept a hug, and say, "How you been, buddy?"

He blows a raspberry. "You wanna be here all day?" He rolls his weight backwards and bows down, stretching out his forelegs.

Don't stare at his legs. "I already am, smartass."

Soarin' chuckles, a broad grin on his face.

I reach out and lightly punch his shoulder. "So," I say with a cocky tone. "Colt Scout Jamboree, was it? Think you're ready?"

His grin grows even more. "Haha! Not even close." Did he just shiver?

With a deep breath, my voice softens. "Seriously, though, how are you feeling?"

He sucks in a big breath, eyes wide. His smile grows broader and he stands up straighter as he looks at something in the distance. "Good," he says in a squeaky voice. "And…" He laughs and shakes his head. "And maaaaaybe like I might puke." At once, he reaches out a wing and pulls me in for a hug. "Thanks for coming."

"Wouldn't miss it." I hug him back, and we separate.

"You, uh…" Soarin' nervously runs a hoof through his mane. "You still good to help out with Braeburn today?"

"Certainly." I look out to the orchard again and squint at the light. "I'm glad this is all working out, too. You were right – it sounds like he needs to talk through a few things."

Soarin' starts to respond, but we hear the front door open. Braeburn's voice echos through the house. "You up, Blue? Mac's here."

Soarin' fluffs out and then flattens his wings. "Out back, Applebutt." He turns to me. "We cool?"

I wink in response.

We walk into the parlor from the back door. Soarin' immediately races to Braeburn's side and runs his body along his coltfriend's, like a cat would. Braeburn laughs and reciprocates. He pushes Soarin' a little harder and forces him to the side, making way for a gigantic earth pony stallion to step past. The new stallion has a red coat, wide hooves, and an orange-blonde mane. "Mornin'," he says in a low, masculine voice.

Braeburn tears himself away from Soarin' and steps up to the new pony. "Vivid, this is my cousin McIntosh. Folks call him Big Mac for short."

I extend a hoof. "Pleasure to finally meet you."

He looks me up and down. Seemingly satisfied, he shakes my hoof. "Pleasure's all mine."

"Hey!" Soarin' interjects. "You didn't say that when we met."

"Heh heh," Big Mac rumbles. "Well, Vivid here didn't barge into the house in the middle of a storm." He moves over and gives Soarin' a crushing hug. Soarin's spine pops four times. "You turned out to be a keeper, though."

Braeburn moves to the kitchen. "I'll whip us up some grub."

Soarin' pulls away from Mac, then steps over to give Braeburn a kiss. "I got it, babe."

"Aw, you'll be on your hooves all day, Blue." He pulls a pan out of a cupboard. "I don't mind."

Soarin' wheels around and shuts the cupboard door. "Heh. Weeeeeell, I mind." He playfully whaps Braeburn with a wing.

Braeburn sets his jaw. "C'mon, Blue. I gotta do somethin' today. Already gonna drive me nuts not helpin' with the jamboree."

Soarin' scrunches his face up with a smirk and gives a teasing shake of his head. "Nuh-uh. You've got tons on your plate already, Applebutt. You're entertaining guests, prepping the orchard, and…" He makes a little circle with his hoof. "…probably a bajillion other things. You gotta let me have something. Just for today? Please?"

Braeburn's voice lowers. "Soarin'…" His eyes droop. "You know I'm already havin' a tough time. Can't I help at all?"

Soarin' pauses, eyes a little more open. His expression fades, and he notices the slight crease on Braeburn's forehead. He sighs, then forces a smile. Actually, I don't think it's forced at all. "Together?"

Braeburn's eyes brighten. His face relaxes, then he theatrically sticks out his lower lip as he pretends to ruminate. "Hmm… Yeah, I can live with that."

"Okay. Agreed."

"Agreed."

They stare at each other for a moment. Then, at the same time, they stick their tongues out and each make a "nnnng" noise, followed by a shared laugh and a quick nuzzle.

Braeburn turns towards the counter. "Frittatas?"

Soarin' gives him a wing-hug. "I'll do the peppers if you've got the onion."

"Cheater. Heh heh."

As Big Mac and I finally follow them into the kitchen, I whisper to him, "Are they always like this?"

He laughs low and whispers back, "Eeyup."

We sit at a small kitchen table that's pushed to the side of the room and watch them work. Soarin' and Braeburn move fluidly around each other to gather ingredients and prepare the pans and the oven. Braeburn steps with confidence and grace, and even though Soarin's hooves clearly aren't as practiced as his coltfirend's, he does a great job weaving around Braeburn so that they're hardly ever in each other's way. Eggs get cracked, vegetables get diced, and a dozen subtle, delicious scents fill the small room. Braeburn puts the kettle back on to make some coffee.

"Gimme a hoof?" Big Mac asks me, nabbing my attention. We pull the table away from the window and position four chair comfortably around it. I sit with the sun at my back – maybe it'll balance out the warmth radiating from my face.

I relax into my chair as Soarin' tests the heat of the cast iron pan. "You two work well together."

Braeburn cranes his neck to see us. "Well, it took some adjustment."

I raise an eyebrow. "How so?"

Braeburn waves a hoof. "Aw, you know how it is." Soarin' bumps his flank with his own. "Hey!"

Soarin' flashes a grin. "Story time!"

"But we're–"

Soarin' interrupts him with a kiss. "I can take over, Applebutt. It's mostly mixing at this point, and I could use the practice with my coordination." He jerks his head to our table. "Have a seat." He rolls back and stretches his forelegs again with the same motion as before, like he's done it thousands of times.

Braeburn starts to protest, but then he smiles smugly. "Fine, mister." He rinses his hooves quickly. "You win, but you get to brown the onions."

"Aw…" Soarin's thrashes his tail once behind him, like a colt right before he gets an award, and he speaks cheerfully. "You got me."

Braeburn takes Soarin's face in his hoof, then leans in and kisses his forehead. "Darn right I do. And I ain't lettin' go." He turns to sit at our table, leaving Soarin' with a dopey, love-drunk look on his face. "Jeez, where to start…"

I shrug. "How about with the move?"

Braeburn smirks. "Ya' mean movin' Blue's caravan across the whole of Equestria?"

Soarin's ears flatten. He mumbles, "It wasn't that much stuff."

Braeburn uses his bombastic mayor voice. "Well, I do beg to differ, sir."

I chuckle and feel a familiar thrill go up my spine. "Last minute packing?"

Braeburn rolls his eyes. "Like you wouldn't believe."

==X===X===X===X===X==

If there's on thing that'll prove real friendship, it's asking somepony to help you move. Luckily, we've got some mighty fine friends.

Course, directing that many ponies is a chore in its own right, and Soarin', well…

I was great!

Naw, you weren't.

We were scrambling to finish packing up Soarin's condo back in Cloudsdale. Soarin' kept pacing back and forth in his bedroom upstairs while I folded those blankets he likes so much. He would occasionally stop to hover, slap his hooves to his face, and stretch his skin down, like he wanted the bags under his eyes to be even bigger. He kept shouting, "I don't know, I don't know!" as he'd flit from room to room trying to answer Fleetfoot and Fire Streak's questions. "Just… shove stuff in a box and we'll figure it out when we get there."

Fire Streak shrugged and stacked some photo frames into a chest. "You got it, bro!" Always enthusiastic about helping, that one.

Soarin' winced. "Eh, not like that." When he saw Fire Streak's expression flatten, Soarin' went slack and plopped back down to the floor on all fours. "Sorry, bro. Just please be careful with those."

Fleetfoot laughed. "What's wrong, Soarin'? Forget how to be a leader already?"

Soarin' half-growled, half-groaned.

I finished packing the blankets into some luggage and stood up. "He's mighty attached to those, Streak, and I am, too. I don't have copies of all of those yet." The answer always seems obvious when you're not the one with the responsibility. "Could you please grab some extra packing paper for those?"

Fire Streak swiveled his ears forward as it hit him. "Oh! Yeah, can do. Don't know why I didn't think of that." He grabbed some paper and continued packing.

"Yeah, like that," Soarin' sighed. "Thanks." He had that look he gets sometimes, like he's been awake for days, so I did what I always do: I let him know I was there for him. Soarin' loves being touched, so I walked up and rubbed my flank against his. You should see his face melt when he unwinds like that. He relaxes, and he takes a deep breath, and he always gives me a little cuddle to show his appreciation.

I said softly into his ear, "Streak's got it taken care of, Big Blue. Try to focus on the big stuff."

Soarin' groaned and looked down at his legs. He still had his braces on in those days, leftover from the, uh… accident. He grumbled, "You mean like the big stuff you won't let me carry?"

I hugged him close. "Not like that. Fleetfoot's got a point, though."

"Nice!" she gloated.

Soarin' glared at her.

Nothing that an even tone couldn't diffuse, of course. "I mean like directing. Fitting things into the moving trailer." I ran a hoof through that wild mane of his. "Making decisions is the hardest part, but when push comes to shove, you're good at that." I kissed his cheek. "You've made a hell of a lot of tough choices before."

His eyes widened a bit, and I could see a bunch of memories – not all pleasant, mind – play behind his eyes. But he understood, and he smiled at me. "Yeah. Good call. Thanks, Applebutt."

"Any time, Blue." I gave him one more squeeze, then left him to strategize about which boxes to carry down first.

I walked down the stairs to the main level and surveyed the surroundings. Most of the condo had been cleared out already, but the occasional Wonderbolt would flit through and grab something else to haul outside (and sneak one of the appetizers I'd made for them). I dipped into the parlor and found Miss Holli there, patching up a hole somepony had made in the wall.

Miss Holli's a wonder. There's nothing she can't do, whether it's doing half again her job at Soarin's favorite restaurant, giving advice to a sad pony who needs it, or, apparently, cloud masonry. She smoothed over a section of the wall with her trowel, wiped some sweat from her forehead, and acknowledged me. "Hey, Cutie!" She dropped the trowel into her bucket of… liquid cloud, I suppose? I never did quite figure out how it all works. "Everything running smoothly?"

Without a thought, I picked up some of the cloud-bubble wrap and carefully wound it around a lamp that Soarin's had forever. "Mm… Sort of."

"Soarin's losing his marbles up there, isn't he?"

We shared a laugh. "Something like that. Here, lemme take that trowel from you for a while." Miss Holli wouldn't let me, of course. She's mighty kind and more than a little stubborn. Always has been, from the first time I met her. She'd shown up early that morning, too, with tools to patch up the outside and the inside of the house. Now, I know a fat lotta nothin' when it comes to fixing cloud buildings, but when I wasn't helping Fleetfoot get some of the larger boxes out the back door, Holli showed me a bunch of different techniques she was using, from patch jobs to structural work. I lament that I didn't have time to practice what she showed. Though, I suppose earth ponies can't really pick up clouds. Those enchanted horse shoes are great for walking around, but they ain't really built with finesse in mind.

After a while, I heard a whistle blow outside. "Better go check on Spitfire," I said with a look over my shoulder.

Miss Holli chuckled. "I'd be more worried about the rest of the team. She's working them pretty hard." She picked up her tools again. "You go on, Cutie. I'm about done here."

With a quick bow and another thank-you, I walked out into the back yard. Spitfire was doing what she does best. "C'mon, 'Bolts! I've seen stronger wing flaps on a housefly! Now get that bookcase into the trailer before I make you start over!"

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am!" Wave Chill and Sightseer replied in unison. They hitched up their wings and floated carefully but quickly towards a giant moving trailer. It was one of those massive ones that you only ever seen when somepony's moving out. Soarin' was paying a fortune to get it delivered out to Appleloosa, but I can't say no to him. It's not like I had much at my place in those days. I hadn't thought Soarin' had much, either, but that trailer was getting full mighty fast.

"And don't scuff anything!" Spitfire picked up a box of books and placed it delicately in the trailer, right on one of the last open spaces on the floor. "Braeburn worked hard to make that bookcase look perfect!"

That got a small blush out of me. I picked up a small box and–

It was the biggest one, wasn't it?

…

Maybe.

I stuck the box on my back and followed her to the trailer. "Aw, you don't need to be so hard on them. Heck, I honestly did a pretty roughshod job getting it functional again." I mulled on it a bit. "Could use another touch-up. That corner looks a little wobbly, too, not to mention the uneven coat of paint on the right side. What it really needs is some detail work. A nice design, maybe."

I kept watching as they loaded it in, and I didn't snap out of it until I felt a couple hooves lift the box off my back. "Heh heh," Spitfire chuckled. "Nothing but perfection. You're a pony after my own heart, Braeburn." She grew artificially serious again, the way she does. "But these colts are getting out of weightlifting practice for this, so I'm not letting them off easy." She blew her whistle. "Move it!"

Spitfire's quite the pony. I've got the utmost respect for her and the rest of the Wonderbolts. What they do seems impossible, and not just because I don't have wings. I've seen their shows dozens of times now, and every time, my jaw drops at their sheer power and synchronicity. If anything, seeing them perform such amazing feats over and over again is more impressive, because they never miss a beat. Spitfire and Fire Streak are phenomenal leaders, and of course, they've always taken care of Blue.

I think that's the thing that surprised me the most. Growing up, we took it for granted that country folk form the tightest communities. When folks have to rely on each other for just about everything, that's when you forge your strongest bonds. You got no choice. Everypony always warned me: don't go to the city. You'll be forgotten there, and everypony's too busy to reach out a helping hoof. And while I've met my share of rude ponies in the big cities, well, the thought that they're too busy to form bonds of their own? Naw, that's a myth. The way the Wonderbolts come together in the middle of all that noise, in the middle of all those reporters and fans and the pressure of altogether too many eyes on them… Well, it's impressive. And humbling. They're some of the closest-knit ponies I've met, and the way they've embraced me and Blue has made me rethink more than a few things. They're a big reason we were able to move in the first place.

The job loss insurance helped, too.

Oh, hush. I ain't gonna spend my breath talking about finances, especially when there's praise to heap on good ponies.

Spitfire had everything under control, like usual, and after working up a small sweat getting our couch into the trailer, I caught Soarin' out of the corner of my eye, standing in the middle of the now-empty parlor. He looked… down.

When Spitfire wasn't looking, I whispered to the colts, "There's fresh lemonade for y'all in the fridge. If she gives you guff, you can blame me."

Wave Chill wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Thanks, bud. You're a bro."

Sightseer let out a whooping sigh, too. "Yeah. I could certainly use it."

I took care of one more box, asked Spitfire about the weather to give the colts some cover (she still hasn't forgiven me for that), and headed inside once they were safe and snacking in the kitchen.

Even with all the activity buzzing around, it felt like just the two of us. Soarin' ascribes all sorts of stuff to "earth pony magic" – feeling calmer around us and such – but I don't think that's quite right. I think it's love. When you love somepony, you can just tell what they're feeling, just from the little things: how they stand, how they position their wings, the way the breathe. It ain't even a conscious thing, really. You just sync up somehow, and having somepony there to experience life with you is calming. You know you're not alone.

But Blue looked lonely in that room. I pressed up against him and gently asked, "What's on your mind, Blue?"

He sighed. "It's…" He shook his head. He wanted to keep his feelings in, but he knows better. "It's weird seeing it so empty." His voice was heavy, and he turned to me with sunken eyes. "Like, it's just a stupid condo, but we have a lot of memories here, Applebutt. It feels like we're leaving it all behind."

I kissed his cheek. "That's why we're bringing all the furniture, love." Originally, he'd hesitated when I'd asked about moving the furniture, but I'd insisted for exactly this reason. "To remind us. We'll carry this room and everything that happened here with us." My, uh… Hm. Yeah. My bracelet felt real heavy on my fetlock. "Good and bad, we'll keep it all with us. Always."

His head dropped, and he laughed at himself. "I don't know why I get so attached."

I kissed him again. "I'm glad you do, because I like that you're attached to me." That got a smile out of him. "And it ain't like we can't visit Cloudsdale from time to time. I know how hard it is to move."

Soarin' turned to me, a tired smile on his face. "You're the best, Applebutt." He reached over and hugged me, and I hugged him back in that big, empty room where we'd grown so much.

After a little more packing and a whole lot of cleaning, we said our goodbyes to our friends. There were some tears, certainly, and a lot of hugs, and I wish we'd spent a little longer, if I'm honest.

Ha!

What?

You earth ponies and your long goodbyes.

Well, what can I say? I like to savor the sweet moments in life.

The whole team saw us to the train station with our bags, and Soarin' and I never left each other's sides once we loaded the train.

And as sad as it was to leave them, I was excited to return home. Appleloosa has so much to offer new settlers, and I knew Soarin' would thrive here. Call me greedy, but I wanted him here with me, too. My life had felt so incomplete without him. Even with all my responsibilities and all the friends I have here, I still found time to miss him, every time I had a quiet moment. It added up to a lot of missing him.

Soarin' shook as the train pulled away, so I held him close until he calmed down. It's a singular feeling, being there for the pony you love. In some ways, it's like tending the orchard or helping manage the town, but this was deeper. Supporting Soarin' gave me a purpose, an anchor in a crazy world, and no matter how scary his recovery or his therapy or the move got, we had each other. I promised myself I'd see him through all the dark and the light times, and in exchange, I'd always have a reason to get up in the morning. We finally had a clear direction, and we spent the rest of the day chasing the western sun.

Chapter 3 - Welcome Home

==X===X===X===X===X==

"Breakfast is done," Soarin' calls out casually from the stove.

Braeburn leans back to speak to him, and his tail wags a few times. "You got it handled, Blue? I can slice an orange or something."

As he begins to stand, Big Mac held up a hoof. "I'll help him, Braeburn."

Braeburn furrows his brows, and his tail stills. "You're a guest, Mac. That ain't right."

Big Mac remains firm. "What ain't right is interrupting your story. Besides, you always say your home is my home, so I ain't really a guest."

Braeburn snorts, but then he shrugs and resigns himself with a wave of a hoof. "Alright, alright." He playfully jabs at Big Mac's hoof. "But I'm usin' that logic on you next time I come over."

"Fair enough," Big Mac says with a gentle nod. He's not smug, just straightforward. He walks to the fridge and digs for the fruit. As careful as he is, those big hooves of his knock against a few bottles and jars, but he ignores it.

Braeburn shakes his head. "If y'all keep treatin' me like a princess, you'll spoil me rotten." He turns back to me. "So where was I?"

My stomach rumbles. The food smells good – not Braeburn good, but tasty – and I say, "You were on the train, and everything was all packed up."

"Right. Well, uh…" He looks out the window and pauses with a dopey smile on his face. I see Soarin' behind him, looking at the back of his head with a sly grin. Braeburn continues. "It was a pretty quiet ride, really. We slept almost the whole–"

"AAAAHAHAHA!" Soarin' roars, barely hanging onto a plate.

"Soarin'!" Braeburn snaps at him, his face beet-red.

Soarin' wipes a tear. "Aw, c'mon, Applebutt. You don't expect him to believe that, do you?"

Braeburn frowns. "Blue, I'm tryin' to be polite here. We don't need to get into–"

"Y'all bucked," Big Mac casually states. He looks over his shoulder at Braeburn, who looks like he's swallowed a hot cattle brand. Big Mac smiles. "Nothin' to be embarrassed about. Yer with the colts, cousin. We've all been there."

"Oh, sweet!" Soarin' chimes in. "Sugar Belle finally putting out?" Soarin' serves the egg dish onto four plates on the counter. The steam billows from it, and the fresh scent of peppers hits me hard.

"Uh, e… eeyup." He continues cutting oranges with a wobbly hoof.

Braeburn chuckles. "Now who's embarrassed?"

Big Mac clears his throat as he finishes cutting oranges. "Well, I'd thank you to characterize it a little more nicely. Sugar Belle's a proper, respectable mare." His voice grows lighter, dreamier. "She's a sweetheart, and she deserves to be treated like the wonderful, kind–"

Soarin' winks. "You're helping with her cream pies. Got it." We share a laugh as Soarin' moves the plates to the dining table. He nuzzles Braeburn, who looks pensive. "See? It's okay to open up about this stuff, Applebutt. You're safe here." He looks at me with a smile, and my heart warms.

I chime in. "I certainly won't judge, Braeburn." My instincts tell me a dozen different techniques to get an interviewee to answer difficult questions, but if nothing else, I've gotten better at turning that part of myself off over the past year. "This is about you, and you don't have to share anything you're not comfortable with. I think you'll find it's easier to speak frankly, though, and it might make you feel better." Braeburn dodges my gaze. "Back me up, Soarin'?"

"He's right, babe." Another nuzzle. "It gets easier when you're honest."

As if to buy time, Braeburn takes a bite of his frittata. His face lights up like somepony's pinched his ass. "Mm!" He turns to Soarin' and kisses him. "Well, if your advice is half as good as this breakfast, I suppose it's worth following." Between bites, he continues.

==X===X===X===X===X==

Soon as the door closed on our sleeper car, we were bucking like it was a Celestia-damned rodeo. Can't say for sure what it was. Nervous energy? Excitement of moving in together? Just being pent up all day? Whatever it was, it was damn satisfying to get it out of our systems.

And I'm sorry to disappoint, but I ain't gonna go into all sorts of lurid details about it. I'd like to keep some things private.

I'll fill you in later.

Like hell you will.

To be fair, we did sleep some. Eventually, after we changed trains south of Canterlot late that night. It was a pleasant ride and a good sleep, and I remember waking up with Soarin's legs wrapped all around me. My back was sweaty, but I could feel his heartbeat, and I woke up slowly just before we pulled into home.

Appleloosa. Ain't no other place like it. Even in the desert, it's so full of life, from the busy stores to all the craftsponies' work stations to the constant hum of farming, and at night, it's like you can feel the whole town breathing in harmony. Those slow, beautiful moments… They linger, like a sweet, slow kiss, and the autumn air lets you know it's okay to put down your work and rest. The whole world is settling in with you.

It's quiet out here. It gives you time to think.

Time to just be.

I ain't wise enough to know why ponies need space like that, but it all works together to make me feel so good. Maybe the air's just cleaner. Maybe it's that out here, pulling into the train station, I knew I had a place in the community. In any case, having a small army of townsponies waiting for us at the landing didn't hurt.

They roared like lions as we got off the train. Their big cheers of "Welcome home, Soarin'!" and "Happy to see you!" just about made my ears ring. Of course, getting there on a Friday like we did, we were with a trainload of tourists, and the warm welcomes extended to them, too.

We gathered our bags, and I stepped off the train to another round of cheers. Smile on my face, I laughed and waved them down. "Alright, alright, settle down, y'all." All those ponies – my town – over a dozen had come out to welcome us, and I couldn't help but swell. It went quiet, like it does whenever they expect a speech, and as silly as I always feel addressing a big crowd like that, I've learned it's easier to give them what they want. "Y'all, thank you a whole bunch for making us feel welcome." I pulled Soarin' close, all casual-like, though he stumbled a bit. "Soarin's excited to be here, ain'tcha?"

"What he said!" Soarin' exclaimed to a chorus of laughs and stomps.

"And I am, too. Always feels good to return home." I pushed his hat down onto his head, and he laughed like a colt. But then, I remembered myself and cast a glance behind me at the trainload of ponies waiting for us. "But we're holdin' up the line, so let's focus that town pride on all our guests. Who's with me?"

The crowd erupted in cheers as the tourists filed off the train, and shoot, there wasn't a tourist in the bunch that didn't have two ponies offering to get their bags. Pridesong pulled out his guitar right away. Some of the city folk tried to sing along, and they just loved the accents of folks out here. I was all too happy to help, but others kept swooping in to lend a hoof, like country ponies do. A bit irritating for me, but they were just being polite. Silver lining: it gave me time to talk with the tourists about all the fun events we had planned for the weekend, and Soarin' got to take a few photos with fans, too.

Soarin's free to disagree with me, but those little moments are important to him. It's especially true out here, where we don't have much of a celebrity culture. Soarin' always bounces off the walls when one of the tourists wants to spend some time with him. He slips on the professional persona like a well-worn flight suit, too, like he does it every day. That's not to say he's disingenuous, of course – he takes time with every fan he meets, and he glows for days afterwards. It rejuvenates him. Lets him know that he's still somepony, and even while he's recovering, he's an inspiration to ponies across Equestria.

That about right, Blue?

Couldn't have said it better myself.

It fills me right up, too, because it's how I know he's okay. Appleloosa's great, but we don't have all the entertainment or restaurants or clubs like Cloudsdale does. I don't want Blue to get bored, even if he tells me not to worry about it.

That's because you don't have to worry about it.

See?

When the tourists were all on their way to the Tumbleweed, my good friend Slate stepped up to us. Slate's a good stallion. He's got a gray coat and a dark blue mane, and he always dresses in a nice, white shirt and a vest that has a constant layer of dust. He smells like cigar smoke, which his wife Desert Bloom doesn't appreciate, but I'm in no position to fault somepony for their vices, especially such a helpful stallion like him.

He smiled at us and tipped his hat. "Pleasure to have you both back. Trip go alright?"

"Pleasure's ours!" I said. I still hadn't toned down the excitement from talking to the guests, and I saw Slate's ears fold back. I quieted down a bit. "And yeah. It was a mighty fine ride." I subtly kicked Soarin's hoof with mine, and I said through gritted teeth, "Nice and relaxing." Soarin' got the hint, and Slate nodded politely. He's a right honorable stallion.

Hey, remember when he walked in on us after our first night together?

…

You know, the day the giant media scandal broke?

Eat your eggs.

Just saying. We probably smelled awful that day, too.

Slate rumbled a laugh. "Yeah, I'll buy that with an order of liquid sunshine." He bent down. "I'll get your bags."

I told him, "Aw, Slate, you don't have to get those. It ain't much."

He hoisted one onto his back. "If it ain't much, it won't kill me to help out. Besides, between the three of us, we can get it in one trip."

Soarin' made a move to pick up our biggest bag, but Slate, ever wise, played it off and got him to take a bunch of the smaller ones instead. From there, it was a short trip to the house. Slate caught me up on the repairs to the clock tower and the latest news from the buffalo, but I must admit I was only half paying attention. My heart was too busy fluttering on the approach.

My house might not be much to look at, but it's home. At that time, there wasn't much for decoration – just some knickknacks here and there with a few pictures of my parents back in Haulihay, where I grew up. I am proud of the nice curtains my Great Aunt Ginger made for me before she passed, and I always keep them clean. I'll admit, the house is big, too big for a bachelor pony living on his own, but it's… aspirational, I suppose is the right term. Built it myself with a lotta help from the townsponies early on in the settling process. My Pa, Cortland, wanted to come out and help, too, but I'd sheepishly asked him not to.

See, the decision to help start up Appleloosa was mine and mine alone, and even if I was too pigheaded and unsure to elucidate it at the time, it was important for me to make it on my own. Pa understood, though. He knows what a stallion needs, and I think he was proud of me for standing up for myself.

Course, walking through that door was nothing new to me, but it was new to Soarin', and I wasn't gonna miss it. I tried to lag behind him with Slate, but Soarin' hesitated on the front step.

I cocked my head. "You alright, Blue?"

His wings shifted a few times, and he turned back to me and smiled. "Just…" He blushed and looked down with a little grin. "I dunno. It's stupid."

I stepped beside him and pressed against him. "Aw, don't be that way, Blue. What is it?"

He shrugged, and his eyes flicked up. "Not to be too fruity, but I was kiiiiiiinda hoping you'd be the one to welcome me in." He flashed his teeth, the way he does whenever one of his fans says something that really gets to him and he doesn't want to show it.

"Heh heh," I chuckled. "Then allow me." I reached into my pocket, slowly took out the key, and unlocked the door. His eyes were fixed on that lock, and a smile broke out on his face like a crack across ice when the door finally opened. He stuck his face in like a dog after his supper, and I raced in a bit to keep him from injuring himself.

Slate dropped our bags inside the doorway, just past the tight little entryway with that old floorboard stain. Still need to replace those boards. Slate tipped his hat again and said, "I'll let you two get settled." We thanked him, and he left us alone.

Soarin' bounded into the living room, leg braces be damned. The curtains were drawn to keep the house cool, and as Soarin' threw them open, he looked… Well, I don't want to make him sound small, but he had the wild-eyed look of excitement a colt gets when he's someplace new. He kept sticking his face everywhere, examining everything from the stove to the grain of the wood. He got a mighty chuckle out of a very special pair of Wonderbolts goggles that I'd enshrined on a dresser, right where I could see them every day. And then, all at once, he stopped in the middle of the room, and he looked at me.

I wish I could frame that picture. The love of my life, standing in our home, looking as comfortable as a pony who'd been there his whole life. His eyes were soft and strong and handsome, and he wore this smile that seemed inviting and amused all at once. He stood with his forehooves together, proud and tall. And as blue as his coat is, it blended beautifully with the all warm colors around him, like he'd been painted there from the start.

I was drawn to him like a hen to a roost, and my heart fluttered as I moved close and whispered the words I'd been waiting to say for months: "Welcome home, Big Blue."

Without thought, I closed my eyes, and we met with a deep, deep kiss.

I can still remember that feeling. Warm. Soothing. Perfectly fit to my mouth.

Blue is an amazing kisser. He's gentle, but he always puts just a little force behind it, like a firm hug. It lets me know he really cares, and I think he knows it.

We lingered.

We let ourselves taste each other.

And we breathed together in our new home.

I love him so much.

When we finally broke apart, Soarin' looked deep into my eyes. "Surprised you aren't running off to welcome the tourists."

I softly brushed his face with my hoof, and I whispered, "I've got to a pony to welcome right here."

"Speaking of which…" I could almost hear his eyebrows raise.

I laughed, then brought him into a hug and lightly nipped at his shoulder, which made him melt. "Heh heh. Yeah, alright, ya' perv. I'll give you the proper western welcome."

==X===X===X===X===X==

Braeburn picks up his coffee mug with both hooves, and he looks out the window with a soft, warm smile. The sunlight makes his golden face glow. He doesn't squint at the light. He just closes his eyes and feels the warmth on his fur.

He takes a breath and moans softly.

Braeburn sips his coffee, sets his mug down with a small clink, and looks back at Soarin', who's been quietly watching him this whole time.

Braeburn clears his throat and looks down at Soarin's chest with a smile. "It's, uh…" He pauses.

Soarin' sets his hoof on Braeburn's, and they look deep into each other's eyes.

They kiss. It's quick but tender, and they both relax into it, like they're moments away from cuddling each other to sleep. Soarin' steals another quick peck on Braeburn's nose, and they look at each other for another moment.

Braeburn turns back to me and waits for just a moment longer. "Mmm…"

==X===X===X===X===X==

We, uh… We took our time getting reacquainted with each other. As excited as I was to show him the town in a new light, he deserved some comfort first. Weirdest thing, too – he'd never actually been inside my room before, so he was all jittery to make it into our room. I'd say we did a mighty fine job of it.

And like I said, I ain't gonna go on about our private moments, but we made love. Real love. The honorable kind, like you do with somepony you expect to spend all your days with. Every little touch is intentional, even if it's just a reaction to what came a moment before it, and we found our rhythm in no time. His body has always been astounding, from his hooves to the tips of those beautiful wings. Even better is his spirit. When we were locked together like that, I felt like the missing piece of me had filled in. I… I don't even know what I'd do without it anymore.

We were a hot mess a while later, but it didn't matter. We just marinated in that feeling. Soarin' was holding me, and his heavy, tired breath on the back of my neck sent shudders through my body as we both straddled the line between asleep and awake. Either way, I was living in a wonderful dream.

But I heard a loud knock on the door downstairs, and right as the fear of being walked in on was about to shoot through me, I felt a squeeze around my middle. Soarin' whispered in my ear, "Anypony important?"

A young mare's voice called out, "Mayor Braeburn? Are you home?"

I sighed. "Yeah, sounds like it." I rolled over and kissed his nose. "I can ask her to leave if you want."

Soarin' nibbled on my nose in response. Through a mouth full of snout, he mumbled, "Nah, I'm not here to get in your way, Applebutt." He let go when I giggled at how much it tickled. "Go be amazing. I'll be here when you get back."

"You're a dream, Blue." It was almost painful to tear myself away from him, but I stood up all the same. Even though it was already getting hot outside, the air felt so cold without him pressed against me, and a devilish part of me wanted to leap right back into bed. I've got a little self-control, though, so I went to the window, opened it up, and poked my head out. "Sorry, Abby. I'll be down in two minutes. That okay?"

Abby called up. "Oh! Great! I'll see you soon!"

I turned around to see Soarin' wiggling his ass at me. "I'll be juuuuuust fine, Applebutt. You go and focus on your play date. Don't let me distract you."

Shaking my head and smiling, I trotted to the bathroom and ran a wet rag over my dirtiest parts, and even if I was a little moist, I threw on a blue polo Soarin' bought me, and I looked presentable. Sort of. I rushed downstairs and opened the door. "Hoo! Sorry about that, Abby. Come on in."

Bright Abacus – folks just call her "Abby" for short – is the quickest pony you'll find. Smart as a whip, that one. She's average size for a mare, about my age, and her pastel green coat always makes her look cheery. Her maroon mane was up in a bun, like usual, tied up under that comically tiny hat she always wears. She grimaced with a foreleg full of papers. "Oh dear. I'm not catching you fresh out of the shower, am I?"

I waved off her concerns. "Naw, you're good, Abby. Those the sales tax numbers for the report?"

With an emphatic nod, she declared, "They sure are, sir!"

I raised an eyebrow.

She blushed. "Oop! Sorry, still working on that."

I've been trying to get her to just call me Braeburn since the election. She prefers "Mayor Apple," so "Mayor Braeburn" is our compromise.

Abby sat down and shuffled through a few of the papers. "I've drafted a copy of the full report as well. Could you please go over it with me if you have a moment?"

See, I was officially elected mayor about a month or so prior, and I knew I needed a deputy if Canterlot was gonna keep demanding my time and presence. Abby was the first to come to mind. I started to peek at the reports and–

You're really just gonna gloss over that part?

What, the election?

Yeah. It was a pretty big deal, Applebutt.

Aw, not really. It wasn't hardly even an election at all, since nopony else wanted the job. Heck, I'm half-convinced Daisy Spring just convinced everypony to give me the title, since I take on the work anyway. It means a lot to me that I got so many votes of confidence, but honestly, it didn't change how I spend my time all that much. I still write the reports and visit Canterlot, and the title just grants me a little extra authority when I sign letters to ponies that never read them. They gave me a real nice sash, though. It reads "Mayor" on it in big, red letters. It's soft and silky, and Blue likes when I wear it for, uh… nefarious purposes.

I… don't really need to spend more time tooting my own horn, I hope. It's just a job, and I'm happy to do it.

I nodded at Abby. "Sure, I'll take a look. Mind if we take it to the office, though? Soarin' probably needs his rest." I could already hear him snoring upstairs. "Sorry I don't have much to offer you."

Abby bowed demurely. "I wouldn't want to impose. And I'm sorry for jumping on you right away. The report's just due soon, and I haven't written a full one before, and I'm not sure what they're expecting, and–"

I held up a hoof and laughed. "You had me at 'please,' Abby."

We walked towards town. I didn't lock the door behind me – no need, of course, and I wouldn't want Soarin' to lock himself out somehow. Abby was off like a shot the moment we left the front porch. "I'm fairly confident the numbers are all correct. I compiled and tabulated them myself."

With a frown, I said, "Now, Abby, I told you not to do that."

She flinched, and her back stiffened. Her breathing was heavy all of a sudden, too, and she clammed right up.

I took a deep breath. Not like a big sigh or anything, but a big, relaxed breath of the warm air. I've found it's a lot easier to show somepony how to relax rather than tell them. Ha! Can you imagine? Somepony shouting, "Relax! Relax!" at you when you're all wound up? Wouldn't get far, I reckon.

Abby followed suit, though. She usually does. "I didn't want to leave it to chance, Mayor Braeburn. Woodwork's always a little lax on his numbers, and even if some degree of rounding error is acceptable, I don't want to get in the habit of accepting sub-par work."

I frowned. "But what did I tell you about the long term?"

Abby's lip stiffened, and she recited our previous conversation to an almost scary degree. "Doing work for other ponies when it's their responsibility is unsustainable. It centralizes too much work on one pony and robs the others of their opportunity to learn, grow, and feel satisfied by a job well done."

We passed by Haberdasher's Hat Shop, right as a unicorn couple, mare and stallion, walked out with some new, smart-looking hats. "That's right. You don't–" The unicorns gave me a big, star-struck smile, so I did what I'd learned to do: relax my shoulders, smile wide, and remind myself it wouldn't take long. I stopped in place. "Hold that thought, Abby." I turned to the unicorn couple and gave them a bright smile. "Hey there! Welcome to Appleloosa!"

The mare stepped forward. "Excuse me, but are you Braeburn? The one from the magazine articles?"

My mane prickled a bit as the memories flooded me all at once: all the details of my life that I'd tried so hard to keep private, scattered all over the pages of those rags, and I wanted to snarl. But I remembered the training Soarin' had given me. I shrugged politely. "'Fraid so. Sorry I ain't much to look at up close, but I'm excited you came out here all the same."

"Oh, nonsense!" the lanky stallion said. "You're every bit as handsome as Cosmare said you are." He withdrew a camera from a pouch. "May we?"

"Aw, of course," I said with a bit of dishonest cheer. "Thank ya' kindly for askin' first. Means a lot. Abby, would you please lend us a hoof?" She silently nodded and took the camera, hooves shaking. I kept up appearances and turned back to the couple. "Come on in close now. We can get Mane Street in the background."

Abby snapped a few pictures, and the couple thanked me about a dozen times. The mare introduced them as Twinkle Star and Gemcutter. "Thank you again so much," she said with a polite bow. "Do you think we'll find Soarin' around here somewhere?"

Some things never change, I suppose, no matter how remote you try to be. Forcing a grimace, I said, "Probably not today. He's resting now. We just moved him in this morning." They couldn't hide their frowns, so leaned in and whispered, all secret-like, "If you're here all weekend, though, you're likelier than not to bump into him."

Gemcutter smiled. "Superb! We'll let him rest and keep an eye out, then. Thank you again, sir."

"Heh. 'Braeburn' is just fine. Preferable, in fact. Pleasure meeting both of you." They said their goodbyes, and as they turned towards the Salt Block, I thought, 'You take all the time you need, Blue. I'll keep the fans off your back.' My tail whipped once, and I smiled. 'And tonight, I get to show you our home all over again.' I must have had the goofiest smile on my face, because I heard some snickering from Tender Leaf as she trotted by.

Abby snapped me out of my reverie. "How do you do it, Mayor Braeburn?"

"Do what?" I asked. I knew, of course, but she needed some practice being clear about what she needed.

Abby shuffled her hooves. "Well, talking so informally with visitors. And everyone else, I suppose."

Softly, I said, "By remembering that they're ponies, not just numbers that blow through town." I paused and waited for her to make eye contact. "They've got feelings, and even if I find them a bit forward, they deserve to be treated right. Everypony does."

She sighed. "I should be better at that. You need a deputy that can handle all your responsibilities."

I set a hoof on her withers. "Now, be gentle with yourself, Abby. It's a chance to grow." Withdrawing my hoof, I stood up and spoke firmly. "And rather than lecture you, I'll practice what I preach: why don't you give it another crack with Woodcraft this afternoon? After we look over the rest of the report."

"But… what will I say to him?"

"Something different from your usual. He's easygoing almost to a fault, so nothing you come up with is gonna offend him."

She smiled. "You've got it, sir."

I pursed my lips. "Abby…"

"Oops. Right."

With only a few more short stops to greet the visitors, we made it to the office. It's really just a big, public room with a desk and a few jail cells that hardly ever get used, but it's a nice place to get work done outside the house. A change of scenery can do wonders for my focus.

And I needed it. As much as I wanted to help Abby, my mind kept floating back to Soarin' and all the things I would show him. I bounced in my chair a bit, and I felt myself rushing to get everything set up. I took a deep breath and recentered, though. Work before play, after all.

We settled in to review her first report. Abby's good, and she's only gotten better as time has gone on, but she's a bit formal for my tastes (and even Canterlot's, it turns out). I gave her a few pointers about the power of a good anecdote and drafted some stories about how the new teacher, Shiny Apple (no relation), was doing so well in the new schoolhouse. We threw in another one about our plans for an elder care community, which needed to get moving sooner rather than later. Even the most underpaid clerk in Canterlot can't resist a good grandparent story.

It took about two hours to review the sales numbers, ensure we'd met all the expectations for the report, double-check our projections, revise our recommendations, and proofread everything. We can be efficient, but it takes time to do these things right. When we were satisfied, I turned to Abby. "Good work, Abby. You ready to go talk to Woodwork?"

She fiddled with her hat. "I'll try."

"That's all I can ask. You have a good one."

We parted ways, and I had to tell myself not to gallop all the way home. There was so much to show Soarin', and I wanted him to feel settled and at home as quickly as possible before the homesickness could get him. I knew all too well what it felt like, and I wasn't about to put him through it.

My mind absolutely swam with thoughts about what we'd do. I had my usual tour route memorized, of course, since I gave it to tourists at least once a week, but I kept thinking about little variations I could add to make it more special. I could show him the spot where I'd spent my first night under the stars, and there were lots of little alleys and places to sneak a kiss or two. My heart felt like it would burst just thinking about it all.

I didn't hear snoring when I got home. Soon as I walked inside, in fact, I knew he wasn't there. Call it a sixth sense or whatever you fancy, but it's real. Still, I snuck up to the bedroom and carefully opened the door.

I stuck my nose in, and I got a little thrill that it already smelled like him a little bit. I whispered, "You there, Blue?" No response. When I looked, it was clear he was gone.

It felt like the bottom had fallen out of my bucket, and I was left staring at a hollow, useless vessel.

I shouldn't complain. It was a small thing. Really, it was. But his hat, the one I'd given him, was gone, too, and the house felt incomplete, like it had before he'd moved in. It was tough, though, because I'd had all these plans, and… I really shouldn't complain.

I went back out. Not as quickly, mind. My hooves felt a little heavier, but I picked up my step and pranced along like nothing was wrong. That's something I'm probably a little too good at, if I'm honest, but I bet you'll find that most gay ponies in Equestria have gotten pretty skilled at it.

The town seemed huge all of a sudden, and I couldn't decide where to look. My head was all fuzzy. I felt like a she-bear in heat, like I was sniffing the wind all around for my partner with nothing else on my mind. Ponies bustled past me, and I was still friendly, of course, but from the way they stood off and waved rather than coming up to say hi, I figured I must have looked pretty desperate. I still feel guilty about that.

But when I heard a loud laugh coming from the Tumbleweed, I knew I'd found him.

I had to squeeze to get through the door. The Tumbleweed's lobby is plenty big, but it ain't meant to be a show stage for a group of thirty or so ponies like that, and Soarin' can command an audience wherever he goes. Seemed like nearly all the tourists were there to hear him talk about life with the Wonderbolts, and it reeked like perfume and big city pollution. Soarin' was perfectly casual, leaning back in a big chair with his foreleg over the back. It must have been hell on his spine, but he played it off all relaxed-like. "Streak was looking green, but, like, I couldn't blame him. It was a lot of tequila. I was freaking gone by that point, too, so when he started to yak, I grabbed the only thing I could reach: the face mask for his flight suit."

The crowd erupted in laughter and amused gasps, all but me. Somepony near the front asked, "Did you catch it all?"

Soarin' grimaced and rolled his eyes. "Aw, dude, heeeeell no. Those masks are good, but they aren't waterproof, and I'd conveniently forgotten about the eye and nose holes. I'd basically made a giant funnel, and my hooves and stomach were a huge mess."

Everypony laughed again, while I just felt cold, like I was alone on an island with a big ocean between me and Soarin'.

When they calmed down, I saw Gemcutter near the front ask, "Did he have a replacement?"

Soarin' grimaced evilly. "Oh, that's the best part. The team always provides clean ones for every show, buuuuuut there weren't visible stains, so Spitfire made him wear it to the show, and dudes, that smell was awful. Happy birthday to him, I guess." As the crowd applauded, Soarin' noticed me in the back. "Oh, hey! The star of the weekend is here!" He waved me up.

The crowd turned and stared at me. They weren't expecting a speech this time. I wasn't a leader; I was a toy. An amusement with a funny accent. But they parted, and I told myself that what mattered was everypony else having a good time. I could be a monkey for a few minutes if I had to be. As I made my way to the front, I steeled myself and loudly asked, "Y'all having a good time so far?" They cheered, and I smiled and laid on the thickest accent I could get away with. "Glad t' hear it. It's just about time for the historic tour, and don't forget, we've go our Countin' Stars Campout tonight." They all leaned in, and my tail wagged just a bit. "It'll be a hoot! And it's open to anypony that wants to join."

"Will Soarin' be there?" a mare blurted.

It was that empty bucket feeling all over again, and I couldn't help but count the number of eyes on Soarin'. There were damn near sixty of them.

"Well…" Soarin' rubbed his chin theatrically.

Somepony else in the crowd shouted, "Please? I'd love to hear more stories!"

I was speechless. My mind raced with all the activities we had planned for the weekend, and I wondered whether it was all just a big waste. Would anypony come to the dances? The big Sunday brunch? My joints were welded in place, and I felt foolish.

Soarin' began to answer. "I'd really–" He saw me. I was doing my best to hide what was behind my broad, stiff smile, but I can't hide from Blue. His mouth flickered down, but he recovered before anypony noticed. He addressed the crowd again. "Sorry, folks, but I've got a special one-on-one tour later." He leaned over and kissed my cheek, which drew an "Aw" from the visitors that just about covered up their disappointment. "You should all go, though. Applebutt puts on a hell of a show."

I can always count on Soarin' to lighten my mood in his own special way, and I slapped my face as the crowd burst out laughing again. I must have looked redder than a rose.

Soarin's wings and face drooped, and his ears folded back. "Uh… W-what did I say?"

I sighed, straightened up, and spoke in as bombastic a voice as I could. "That's Mayor Applebutt to you, mister."

Soarin' cocked his head askance. "Mayor Apple–" His eyes widened. His face flushed, and he covered himself with his wings. "Aw, fuck," he mumbled.

The crowd laughed again, and so did I. For real, this time. Sometimes you just gotta roll with things. If you can't laugh at yourself, you're in for a miserable life.

I suppose it all worked out in the end, and I should be thankful for that. I got to give three tours that day – two for the visitors and one for Blue – and they were all engaged with it once we got going. My tour with Soarin' was great, too, once Pridesong and Merriweather took a good majority of the tourists out to rough it in the wilderness.

It felt strange, of course, having Soarin' rescue me like that in front of the crowd. I… I didn't like it. I work hard to make sure everypony has a great time here, and seeing how easy it can be overshadowed hurt more than I want to admit.

And please don't think I didn't appreciate it, Blue. I did. Really. No, really. I mean it. It's just… I care so much and put in all this effort, and seeing that nopony gives a hoot as soon as–

Ugh. No, not like that. Sorry. What I mean is, I don't want anypony to feel…

…

Sorry. I… I really shouldn't complain.

Chapter 4 - Because Somepony Has To

==X===X===X===X===X==

I sit rigidly, and my eyes dart to Soarin'. He wears a saccharine, stiff grin, the same one he once used for photos after particularly rough performances. We make eye contact and both avert our gazes. The only sound is the scrape of Big Mac's fork on the plate as he finishes the last few bites of his frittata. Big Mac doesn't look at anyone, which makes it easier to let my eyes linger on him.

He clears his throat and drains his coffee.

Soarin' and I say nothing.

And meanwhile, Braeburn continues to apologize. "Aw, I went and spoiled the mood." He laughs. It's hollow. "Water under the bridge, y'all." He waves a limp hoof.

No response, just a few restless shifts in our chairs and eyes that look anywhere but each other.

Braeburn senses it, too. "Really, colts. I'll be fine."

Soarin's ears swivel forward. His eyes brighten, the eyes of a university student who has finally solved their final math problem. "You're already fine, babe." He swoops in and kisses Braeburn's cheek, then wraps his wing around him for a side hug. "Finest stallion I've ever cuddled."

Braeburn gently rests his head on Soarin's shoulder. "You're a dream, Blue. I'm a lucky colt."

"Me, too, Applebutt." Soarin' stands and starts clearing our empty plates. "Aaaaaaand as much as I love being a snuggly snuggle pony, Vivid needs his tour, and I should probably finish getting the jamboree ready."

Braeburn chuckles. "I don't suppose you'll let me help clean up?"

"Heh. Not a chance."

There's a shift in Big Mac. I can't put my hoof on it, but we both breathe more easily. He stands as well. "We'll take care of it, cousin. You go show Vivid the town. There's a whole bunch to see, and it's a lot to be proud of."

And with a few sentences, here we are back in polite conversation. We prance along like everything is okay, just like Braeburn said. There's a part of my brain that desperately wants to believe in fairy tales, and it tells me that this problem is already solved. Braeburn will get to the end of his story, and I'll find that everything is okay. But it won't be, because the beauty and tragedy of stories is that they don't ever really end. They continue and linger, and innocence lost is nigh impossible to recover.

But it isn't all doom and gloom, either. The story goes on, and Braeburn can continue to grow and learn and heal and become stronger, just like Soarin'. That's the value of retelling stories, I suppose. You can learn from them. Ponies have had stories for as long as we've existed, to pass on wisdom and make sense of an inconceivably vast world.

And there is no vaster world than the inner mind of a pensive pony.

Braeburn shakes his head and finishes his coffee, then sighs. "I'll figure out a way to earn my keep again one of these days."

I raise an eyebrow. "You're a landowner, farmer, mayor, event organizer, and a tour guide. Frankly, you already do an unreasonable number of things, Braeburn."

Big Mac rumbles again with laughter. It's beautifully masculine, and it makes my skin tingle from the base of my spine to the top of my head. It could put me to sleep in seconds if I let it, and I start imagining–

Easy, there. He's taken.

Big Mac says, "Aw, never tell an Apple he's too busy. We don't do well with down time. Idle hooves and all that."

Braeburn stands and stretches in time with Soarin'. "Mac's right. And I s'pose we better get movin' before the devil decides he wants to play." He winks at Soarin'. "He gets mighty needy when he's riled up."

Soarin' wiggles his ass as he runs some water. "I'll be good, babe. And I'll–" His voice cracks just slightly, and my heart leaps to my throat. "–s-see you later. This afternoon. For the jamboree."

Braeburn squints and examines him. "Well, we might swing by for lunch."

Soarin' looks to me, and coolly, I ask, "I thought you usually take lunch out in the orchard?"

Braeburn shrugs, still eyeing Soarin', who shuffles in place and stretches his forelegs yet again. "Yeah, but it ain't the law or anything."

I chuckle. "Well, I'd like to get the full farm pony experience. I've had enough lunches at my desk for one lifetime."

Big Mac chimes in. "I'll bring a basket out with me when it's time."

I lean in. "Unless you're trying to make excuses to come back and check on the jamboree?" I smile broadly, head turned to the side.

Braeburn groans. "Can't get anything past y'all." He grunts. "Okay, let's brush our teeth and go. I could use a quick shower, too."

We clean ourselves up without further issue, and Braeburn grabs a hat off the hat rack. It's simple and wide-brimmed and looks much like the one he gave Soarin', but this one is a vanishingly light blue with a dark blue ribbon and trim. I stick with my t-shirt, jot a few notes down onto a notepad, and return it to a saddlebag that I strap onto my back. As Big Mac dries the last dishes, Braeburn nuzzles Soarin'. "Love you, Big Blue."

"Love you, too, Applebutt," he replies softly. They hug for a tender moment. "It's gonna be an amazing day."

I can't help but smile.

As we say a few more quick goodbyes, Braeburn steps outside. I stand at the entrance, look behind me, and give Soarin' a silent, crazy-eyed cheshire grin. Soarin' is shaking but trying to keep quiet, and Mac has a hoof on him to steady him. I let that image burn into my mind as I step into the dry air of the shaded porch, close the door behind me, and turn to find Braeburn staring at me.

In a stern, quiet voice, he says, "I know what y'all are doin'."

My tail thrashes involuntarily, and I sweat. I swallow the lump in my throat and face him.

Steady, now.

Equally quiet, I respond. "Soarin' is worried about you, Braeburn. He didn't give me tons of detail, but he knows that you're struggling."

Braeburn hangs his head. "So I need to keep acceptin' more and more help until I'm not doin' anything at all?"

I blink. "You do lots of–"

"Abby can more or less do the job on her own now." He looks up at me. "I've hired a manager for the orchard since I keep trottin' off to Canterlot for meetings, and Cactus Petal gives as many tours as I do these days. Shoot, probably more." His heavy eyes gleam. "All because I'm not here as much as I should be."

Tentatively, I ask, "Then… why do you do it?"

He shrugs and huffs. "Heh. Somepony's gotta, and I don't know if anypony else has the stomach for it."

I take a deep breath, hoping Braeburn will follow suit. To my relief, he does. "Then, maybe this is like what you said to Abby. Maybe you're giving everypony a chance to grow."

Braeburn snorts. "What's with everypony usin' my words against me today?"

"You've got a lot of wisdom." I step up and playfully nudge his shoulder with my nose. "You can't fault us for paying attention."

"Yeah, I guess." He shakes out his mane and readjusts his hat. "Sorry for bein' a downer. Let's get on with the tour, shall we?"

Good. Back on track.

I smile brightly. "Sure! But can I ask about your trips to Canterlot? How do you make it all work?"

He turns and steps out into the sun. "Truth be told, I ain't sure I do."

==X===X===X===X===X==

It was early November, about a month after Soarin' had moved in. We were at the train platform, and I straddled the threshold of the train door while Soarin' refused to let go of my hoof. I laughed, "Blue, I promise I'll be okay, and I'll be back Wednesday night."

I'd put off the big meetings for as long as I could, but the Ministry of Agriculture was having their big end-of-the-year summit that week, where we'd all have to answer about our production and tax policies for the year. It was doubly important, since most of the major budgeting and resource allocation decisions would be made that week, and Appleloosa needed a friendly voice at the table.

But Soarin' was stuck on me like a porcupine, wearing the hat I'd given him back in Baltimare. I could feel everypony's eyes on me – a whole train full of tourists was watchin' us. See, I was leaving on a Sunday afternoon, and as much fun as the weekend had been, I could tell they were eager to get home.

Soarin' was putting on a show for them. Well, for me, too. He whined, playfully, "But what if we need each other?"

I kissed his forehead as the train whistle blew. "We'll always need each other. Now I really gotta go. Love you, Blue."

"Love you, too, Applebutt." That part wasn't a show, and neither was the real sadness on his face as we finally parted.

The tourists on the train gave me space to walk, and the train started just as I sat down.

And, true to form, Soarin' ran along the platform as we pulled away. I opened the window and shouted, "Love you, Blue!"

"Don't forget about me!" he wailed.

I snickered. "I won't!"

He ran out of platform and took off flying. "And write to me every day!"

"Soarin', I'll be back before my letters would even get here!" The wind noise picked up, and the other ponies crowded around.

Soarin's wings beat faster. "I'll cover postage! For overnight!" He knew that I knew that he was being dramatic, but it showed he cared.

"Honey, how? We share a bank account!"

He had to shout to be heard. "Should I open a new account for it?"

The folks on the train were getting a good laugh. "Soarin', that's–"

"What? Can't hear you! I'll do that! Hey, can I borrow some bits from our account to open the new one? Or should I get a third account specifically to borrow the bits from?"

"Soar–"

"Do you think they'll suspect bank fraud? I don't need that on my record, and my candy ass won't survive two days in Silverstar's cell." His wings beat faster as the train picked up speed. "Maybe I should just rob the place and make it easy!"

The train was overtaking him, and he had to strain to keep up.

I shook my head. "Aw, no! I ain't gonna be an accessory to no crime!"

He flashed a grimace. "Oh! Speaking of accessories, pick up something fun from Spurs and Saddles!"

"BYE!" I slammed the window shut, blew my breath on it, and drew a little heart in the vapor while the rest of the passengers laughed their butts of at us.

Satisfied, Soarin' grimaced, blew me a kiss, and finally coasted to a soft landing behind us.

He's a hell of a stallion.

==X===X===X===X===X==

We reach Mane Street. It's idyllic, like a foal's book. Ponies canter about, setting up tables outside their shops or cleaning up the scant litter in the street, and it's even more colorful than I'd heard. Paper lanterns on thick ropes hang between buildings, which frames the big, open sky in beautiful pastel colors. Outside of almost every storefront are flags in rich blues and greens, the official Foal Scout colors. The townsponies smile as they place decorations and wash their windows, but their movements are efficient, the same way a nervous aunt would be just a few hours before guests arrive for Hearth's Warming. Still, most of them take time to wave when they notice us.

We trot along as Braeburn gestures to the city. "You'll have to excuse the scurryin'. Folks are excited for the jamboree. We want to put on our best face." He frowns and looks at a sign that a young mare is painting. From what I can see, it's the only one that references Troop #883R. "Wish Blue would have personalized the decorations a little more."

I cock my head to the side. "I think they look nice. Don't you like them?"

Braeburn shrugs. "I do. Quite a lot, actually, but it ain't about me. We gotta think about what the scouts would like." He sighs. "But that's Soarin' decision to make, I guess."

"He's got a lot on his mind," I say. "There's been a lot to plan, and he probably went with what he's most comfortable with." I lower my head a bit. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but he's learning, and he needs space to grow, too."

"I suppose," Braeburn groans. He turns and looks to me. "Now, first things first. We can't have you wanderin' around Appleloosa without a proper hat." He abruptly turns towards the nearest building, just a few steps away. "I'm takin' you to Haberdasher's."

A famous Appleloosa-crafted hat from Haberdasher's? "Sure!" I light up as we walk through the swinging doors.

Hasty Haberdasher stands up from beside a large box in the middle of an aisle, and she welcomes us in with a warm how-do-you-do. She looks like she's almost done restocking, and I shudder to think how long it must take her. I count a row, do some quick math, and… There must be nearly six-hundred hats in here! They're organized by foal/mare/stallion sizes and then by color, and they're straightened perfectly. Braeburn quickly explains that Hasty's business has been one of the biggest since tourism picked up, since all the hats make great souvenirs. Braeburn smirks. "Knickknacks may seem nice for a few minutes, but ya' can't beat practicality."

After refusing four times, I accept Braeburn's offer to buy me a hat. Hasty laughs and says there's no point in fighting hospitality. Plus, she'll give Braeburn a good deal, anyway.

Braeburn is very complimentary as I model several of the hats. Unhelpfully so, actually, and I settle on a deep, almost-black purple cowpony hat with silver rim and a lighter-purple band.

Braeburn smiles. "Old standby color?"

I adjust it. It fits my head perfectly. "Yeah. I think it looks elegant."

He throws his head back. "Ha! If it's elegant ya' want, ya' really gotta reconsider why we wear hats in the first place."

I shrug and look at myself in the mirror. I think it looks dashing, even if it does scream, "queer cowpony." I turn back to Braeburn. "Well, I like it. I'll take it."

Hasty is true to her word and gives Braeburn 30% off the sticker price. Hell of a deal. As we leave, I realize what a difference it can make to have the sun out of my eyes. The town sits before us. Each building is painted a different color, all with their own beautiful flaws, but in a similar enough style that none of them appear gaudy. I ask, "Do you do much shopping in Canterlot?"

Braeburn shakes his head. "The less time I can spend there, the better."

==X===X===X===X===X==

Those tall Canterlot buildings make me dizzy. The stale air near the train station and all the noise from the ponies don't help, either. Gives me a headache. I always pack some bastionroot to chew on for the way in, and that helps, but I rush to my hotel every time.

I'm lucky the train schedule favors me. We leave Appleloosa in the afternoon, so it's around midnight by the time we pull into the city. I ain't one to stay up late most nights, but it's worth it to make it through downtown when hardly anypony is around. Even that late on a Sunday, though, music, hoof traffic, and cabs can be found on every corner. The buildings stretch high – not as high as Baltimare or Manehattan, but tall enough to make me feel claustrophobic. And there's so much light, too, with barely any stars to speak of.

The… bars are open, too. They're frou-frou and spendy and downright foolishly posh, but none of that stops my mouth from watering. None of it keeps the cravings at bay, and it doesn't stop that dark voice at the back of my head that tells me, "You're stressed. Sit down and take a load off." Moments like that, though, I flick my fetlock and hear the clatter of those beads against each other, and I remind myself how many days in a row I've been sober. It's usually enough to clear my head.

Thank Celestia the government sector is quieter. Still too bright, but there aren't shops trying to entice you at all hours of the night, and the bar in the hotel lobby closes early. The check-in process at the Triple Fern is pretty slick, if a bit impersonal. All I need to do is show my ID, and a wooden-looking attendant in an over-starched jacket fetches a room key for me. It's almost always the same room, 214, which is a blessing. The less I have to navigate and think, the better.

It's always the same routine: I head up to my room, set my stuff down, and get ready for bed immediately. It's fast and simple. Thank my lucky stars, I'm always so tired from the ride and the late night that I flop into bed and fall asleep before I can start to feel lonely.

And I need the sleep, too. Meetings start at seven-thirty sharp, so it's always a short night, but at least I'm used to getting up at dawn. It gives me time to get cleaned up, grab some coffee, and put on my suit.

Don't laugh, now, but I'm proud of how I look in that suit. It's a nice, dark-brown three-piece with lacquered oak buttons. I put a lot of work into keeping it dust-free, and Soarin' keeps it pressed better than a professional launderer ever could. It's tailored to fit me perfectly, though it almost looks like I'll bust out of it if my chest puffs up too much, and I don't dare let myself start getting fat again. I wear a white undershirt with light-gray pinstripes and my granddaddy's bolo tie with the jeweled apple clasp. My blue stud earring needs to come out, unfortunately, but I learned a trick from Soarin': I pin it inside-out on my shirt, under my suit jacket, so I can feel it against my heart whenever I need it.

And, like I do every morning, I take a few minutes to sit on the bed, breathe, and repeat my daily affirmations.

"It's a…"

==X===X===X===X===X==

Braeburn's lips are pursed, and his eyes are unfocused.

He pauses, just for a moment, right in the middle of the street.

Gently, I say, "Would you–"

He shakes his head and waves a hoof. "Sorry. I'm…" He rolls a thought around in his head. "It's not that I'm embarrassed, per se. This is just mighty personal."

I spot a bench nearby and jerk towards it with my head. "Would you like to sit down?"

Braeburn opens his mouth, but instead of speaking, he just nods. We move to the bench and have a seat.

The dryness of the air finally hits me while we sit silently for a moment. I take another deep breath, and once again, so does Braeburn.

I don't rush him. He faces towards the dirt, but I catch him glancing at anypony that passes us by, and once it's just the two of us in earshot, he says, "I… don't wanna be afraid of it, though. I don't wanna feel like I'm alone with my you-know-what."

I give him more time.

Braeburn sneers at himself without looking at me. He chews on his lower lip, then sighs and mumbles, "My… alcoholism." He straightens out, makes very direct eye contact with me, and repeats in a clear but flat tone. "My alcoholism."

I don't allow my facial expression to change, and quietly, I respond, "Thank you for being honest with me. I can only imagine how hard that is to even say."

His jaw clenches, and he shakes his head and looks at the dirt again. His shoulders sag. He speaks much more quickly. "I suppose it's just a little embarrassing. Small town sensibilities, I guess. Kind of ironic, too: the most open secrets are the ones nopony wants to talk about."

He sighs, pauses, and continues.

==X===X===X===X===X==

Anyway. I, uh…

I was hunched over on my bed with the shades partly drawn. I got my bead kit out of my travel bag and started.

Loud enough so I knew I meant it, I said, "It's a new day, and a new opportunity." I carefully slipped my bracelet off my left foreleg. "Yesterday had challenges, but I did my best. I can take things one day at a time." I counted the beads, starting with the big, thirty-day ones. There were three of them: blue, yellow, blue. "I'm stronger every day. The past doesn't control me." I counted the weekly beads next. Just one medium-sized white one. "I believe in myself, and I have the support of my friends and loved ones." Two small daily beads: red and orange, the start of the rainbow. "I like who I am, and I deserve to treat myself with respect." All told, I had ninety-seven days' worth on my string, with a few clear square ones to fill it out on my foreleg.

There were so many days, so many struggles and victories on that simple little string. Beautiful colors, all of them, and I liked the design. Heh. You know, every time I get to thirty days, I get to rearrange the beads or decide on a new color scheme, however I want. It's a fun activity, and maybe it seems small, but it means a lot. It helps to have something to look forward to.

I undid the clasp on one end of the bracelet, reached into my little box of beads, and took out a yellow one. As I slipped it onto the string, I said, steady and proud, "I'm ninety-eight days sober, and today, all I have to do is make it to ninety-nine." My chest swelled up with pride. I re-clasped the bracelet, put it back on my foreleg, and took a moment to appreciate it. I was sad Soarin' would miss morning one-hundred, but I knew he'd help me celebrate on Wednesday evening, and until then, all I had to worry about was making it through the day. I knew I could do it, and I repeated my affirmations as I made my way out of the hotel and to my first meeting.

And this might seem… I dunno. Just, thank you for… Well…

Thank you.

Here. Let's take the long way to the town hall. I ain't gonna cheat you outta your tour just because I'm all mopey.

That Monday, the first meeting was with Agricultural Minister Wheatberry and a dozen representatives from the farming regions around Equestria. Most of them dwarf Appeloosa, but I'd bet my house the Southwest will be as big as the rest of them one day.

The government sector buzzed like a beehive, even before sunup. The major summits are staggered so as not to crowd too much, but it always seems like there are a thousand ponies there to keep Equestria running, and I'm sure I've bumped flanks with more than a few incredibly important ponies that I didn't recognize at the time. I managed to catch a glimpse of Princess Luna once, about a block away from me. It was quite a sight: even for somepony like her, the hive of ponies only paid the minimum required amount of deference before moving on to their other duties.

That morning, I was due in Puddinghead Hall. It's a regal building that doesn't really fit with its namesake, and it's all polished, brown stone and wood as far as the eye can see. The hallways are straight and utilitarian, with a few portraits and some frankly cheap-looking vases of fresh flowers every dozen steps or so. Makes me wonder who pays for that stuff, but I bet I wouldn't like the answer. The hallways were nearly at capacity that morning, and it seemed like everypony walked quickly and right up next to somepony else, talking at a pace that would make your head spin. Over the many months I'd traveled to Canterlot, I'd learned to suppress the urge to greet everypony I meet, but I still gave a friendly nod to anypony I made eye contact with.

The door to the Daisy Shine meeting room was wide open, and I slipped in along with two other representatives. A large oak table dominated the cramped room, and aside from a fancy portrait of Daisy Shine, the only decorations were a few end tables, some big, fabric squares to help with the acoustics, and a gem-lamp chandelier that cast the room in a warm, yellow light that felt out of place in such a cold, utilitarian space. With a few small, polite good-mornings, we all took our seats (and I took a much-needed breath) as the door closed behind me.

Minister Wheatberry banged her gavel, and the first half-day-long meeting began. Part of the challenge is just the stamina it takes to sit in those uncomfortable chairs without fidgeting or shivering too much. The meeting itself is a lot of listening, with just a few questions and very little chance for input. You really need to make your few words count.

And I still had a lot to learn.

I spoke evenly but firmly when my turn came up a couple hours in. "Our bumper crop of apples is going to partial waste. We can process and can some of them, but we still need the railway to be expanded south towards Klugetown, Mount Aris, and the Minotaur lands. As you'll see on page fourteen of my report, the Canterlot Economic Council's exploratory analysis found that demand is high for fresh fruit, and–"

Wheatberry adjusted her glassed and interrupted. "Mayor Apple, this isn't an infrastructural meeting." Her voice is screechy, and she wears those dark robes that all the ministers like so much. Her gray mane and golden-brown coat make her look older than she is, and the way she looks at you makes you feel like you're back in middle school history class without your homework. "Your concerns have been noted, and your proposal was submitted to Minister Hillcutter's office, so it will do us no good to complain further about irrelevant topics."

My collar felt hot. "But it ain't–" I took a quick breath. "–isn't irrelevant, your Honor. The tourism industry is doing well, but not enough to offset our losses from the apple deficit." My hooves tremored as I flipped through my copy of the report – can you believe they have ponies whose whole job is to scribe copies of those things? – and I found my data. "Our harvest was well within the council's recommendations from last spring, albeit on the higher end–" It always hurt to admit that we'd perhaps been a tad overzealous, but damn if I ain't an honest pony. "–but with our small population, our only feasible option is to push for higher production."

Representative Grapevine, a polished, slick-looking earth pony from San Franciscolt, leaned forward on the table and gestured loosely with a hoof. "Mayor, we all must reconcile with the variance in the council's estimates. None of the esteemed members claim to be perfect." Easy for him to say. The San Franciscolt region's been doing fine lately on the back of a wine trade deal with the dragon lands. He spoke dismissively and half-lidded his eyes. "Part of our job is to ensure the robustness of our economies." The condescending glee in his voice reminded me of all the reasons us country folk avoid the city. "I know that you're new, but surely you were aware of that simple fact?"

Ugh! They do that all the time. It's a tactic. Ostensibly, all the farming regions cooperate for mutual benefit, but almost every pony in Canterlot seems like they're just out for themselves, and they try to score points by putting others down to make themselves seem more knowledgeable. Makes me angry enough to spit.

My shoulders tensed, but I steeled myself and met his gaze. "That variance is felt much more acutely when applied to a rural community. Macroeconomic pressures don't scale down based on output, and the council itself admits on page thirty-nine that, when taking Reinsian theory into account, the erratic behavior of the markets is more detrimental to smaller economies." Grapevine's slimy smile faltered, and I grinned a little wickedly. Forgive me for the hypocrisy, but I couldn't help but think, 'Damn straight. I did my homework, you son-of-a-bitch. You ain't the only one with big, fancy words.'

As usual, my inflated pride was short-lived. Wheatberry's brows crossed at me. "But you are clearly aware of those pressures, Mayor Apple, and you know that Appleloosa's losses are your responsibility." My blood ran cold. "Your town's startup fund loans are beginning to come due. You will need to produce those funds, preferably though proper management." She jotted a note down on her pad. "I suspect a raise in taxes would be the simplest way to secure them."

I grit my teeth a moment and wished I could splash some cold water on my face. Well, and everypony else's. "Taxes are already high, Minister. Raising them any more will threaten tourism and the ponies living there, especially the retirees." My voice was raising, both in volume and pitch. "Where else can they go? Farmers can't retire to Manehattan." I told myself to rein it in, but it was taking all my focus not to back down.

"If I may, Minister," came an airy voice. It was Primrose, the representative from Ponyville. She looked at me from across the table, in her seat next to Wheatberry. "This is why we advised you to diversify your economy last spring, Mayor. Ponyville's cut flower exports have been doing exceptionally well, as have our new expansions to the pear orchards. Why not invest in more than apples and pocket gardens?"

I always feel cornered by Primrose. I've got family in Ponyville, so I hate to push too much of my agenda at their expense, and she knows it. I flushed, barely keeping my voice level. "Ponyville has markets cornered clear past Haulihay, and we can't just grow a new crop overnight! What would you have us do?"

Wheatberry frowned and, somehow, grew stiffer. "Mayor Apple, I'm not unsympathetic to what you're trying to accomplish, but Appleloosa is your responsibility, not Representative Primrose's. If you cannot procure the funds by early next year, we may need to discuss bankruptcy options."

My heart fell to my hooves. The room went cold, and Primrose smirked as I tried to stutter a response. The walls closed in on me as a dozen ponies all snapped to attention and looked at me at once. I shuffled through pages of reports, looking for anything to help me, but I could barely read the words on the pages as images of an Appleloosa ghost town flashed through my mind.

And I thank my lucky stars for Cotton Creek. "Minister," he said in that smooth, Southern bayou voice of his. "With due respect, it has not been our policy to abandon regional economies, and bankruptcy proceedings would not be beneficial for anypony." Cree, as his friends call him, is a big, burly stallion with a milky coat, a light-brown mane, and a short, well-kempt beard. He represents the deep southeast, including the whole Hayseed Swamp region. "Hayseed would have folded too, a few years back, without a renegotiation of terms. I don't think we need to invoke the specter of bankruptcy yet."

My muscles unwound, and my jaw relaxed, but my ears folded back. I tried to tell myself I should be grateful for Cree's help, rather than embarrassed for my own shortcomings, but it doesn't really work like that.

Wheatberry spoke while I caught my breath. "To the contrary, Representative Creek. Great leadership, in no small part your own, helped your region to flourish in time to repay your most recent loans."

Cree, ever relaxed, nodded. "Thank you dearly, Minister, but it weren't just me, much as my ego would like to believe it." He shook his head. "Naw, we mustn't forget the boon we received from Mage Meadowbrook's return. It was a mighty windfall for us and our medicinal herb exports, but we'd be in the same boat as Appleloosa if it weren't for that lucky break, which frankly was a bit of a miracle."

The rest of the ponies at the meeting murmured. Leave it to Cree to defy convention. Wheatberry looked back at me. "Mayor Apple, do you have any reasonable near-term proposals to meet this year's targets?"

I looked at Cree, who gave me a reassuring nod. He'd bought me an opening, and I wasn't about to waste it. I took a slow breath, looked over the recommendations at the back of my report, and squared my shoulders. Right on cue, I felt Soarin's stud against my heart. "I propose a temporary zero-percent tax rate on exported fruit and hoofcrafted goods."

"Absolutely not," Grapevine interrupted.

I continued, unabated. "It's in line with the stimulus for Vanhoover a decade ago, and it would free up our funds for distribution further east. The Horseton economy is transitioning to finished products, which has led to a shortage of fresh food." I took a moment to read the room. I could see the gears turn behind Primrose's eyes, but she wasn't coming up with any counterpoints, and Wheatberry wasn't interrupting, either. "It would help establish a much-needed trade route within our national borders, and we'd make our losses back – and more – in the new markets over the next few seasons. We wouldn't miss any payments early next year, which would also ensure no delays to the other regions' support payments."

Cree didn't miss a beat. "Seconded."

Grapevine finally spoke up with forced confidence. "Granting a zero-percent tax rate again so soon sets a dangerous precedent."

It was a weak argument, and everypony knew it. Representative Russet from Seaddle just laughed. "We're all smarter than slippery slope arguments, Representative." He turned to Wheatberry. "Thirded."

I felt lighter than air, and I could feel the winds start to blow my way.

Wheatberry thought a moment, then looked around. "A one-percent tax rate through April of next year. We'll have six minutes to discuss."

Primrose and Grapevine argued against it, citing a rippling effect in lost revenue, but Cree and Russet helped argue back that Appleloosa struggling would have the same effect magnified threefold. That's the thing about slippery slopes – they cut both ways.

At the final vote, I held my breath and caught myself fiddling with my bracelet, which I'd tried hard to keep tucked into my sleeve. My lucky day, the final vote was nine "ayes" and four "nays," and Wheatberry had come around to our side as well. I finally started breathing again, and I told myself I owed Cree another meal.

==X===X===X===X===X==

We exchange greetings with a passing Sheriff Silverstar on our way into the town hall building. He sees my hat, stifles a chuckle as I shoot him a dirty look, then wanders away. Braeburn doesn't seem to notice.

I say, "Sounds like Cree is firmly in your corner."

Braeburn purses his lips. His mouth opens, but he doesn't say anything, so instead he closes it again and rolls his tongue around.

Sore spot? I try to move on. "Old friend of yours?"

Braeburn sighs. Talking about these meetings has made him tense. "Naw. He's just a good stallion who took me under his wing, so to speak."

With a raised eyebrow, I ask, "Wait, he was a pegasus?"

Braeburn rolls his eyes. "Earth pony. Does a hell of a good job, too." He shifts partly back into his tour guide voice, but some of his tension lingers. "This here's the town hall."

He gives me a quick tour. The town hall is mostly a large, empty space with rows and rows of benches and a couple long tables at the front. In one corner is a wood desk, which Braeburn explains was moved over from Silverstar's office for him to use in his official capacity as mayor. There's a door in the opposite corner that leads to the clock tower, as well as a kitchen area. "Since we use this place for birthday parties and wedding receptions and such," Braeburn explains.

"Looks nice." I want to pay attention, but I'm eager to jump back to his story. "Did Cree take you up on lunch?"

We sit down on a couple of the benches. "Heh. Dinner, actually. We never have time for lunch in Canterlot."

==X===X===X===X===X==

We ate at the Triple Fern's restaurant. It's overpriced, but it's easy and never too busy, since nopony but visiting officials and sensible folk would turn down that fancy Canterlot cuisine. Yeah, I know. Part of the political game is going out to dinner with the other representatives and pretending to have a good time, but a stallion can only take so much.

Cree and I sat at our table in a semi-private corner of the restaurant, ties loosened, shirts partly unbuttoned, as a waitress delivered two virgin margaritas. Cree drinks, but he abstains during our meals as a courtesy to me. It's bad enough that I have to decline all the various champagne toasts at the end of every summit, and I think he wants to cut me a break.

I had a hoof on my forehead, and my foreleg leaned on the table. Mighty impolite, but I had a splitting headache. I kept trying to sit up proper, and Cree, bless him, was too tired himself to correct my bad manners. "Two more days," I groaned.

"Y' did good, Braeburn." His accent came through a lot stronger outside the meetings, and he relaxed back into his chair in a way that couldn't have been good for his hips. I wasn't in any place to correct him, either. "Y' barely been at this a year. First summit, too. I know it feels like you should have it all figured out by now, but it's all too damn complex. There's still a hell of a lot I can't wrap my dumb ol' head around." He half-waved a hoof. "Wheatberry's tough, but y' stood your ground. Should be proud, that."

I mirrored his posture. "Heh. Hard to be proud when I needed a rescue."

Cree shrugged one shoulder. "Eh, everypony does from time to time. I was the same way at your age. S'like anything else: y' get used to it."

We both relaxed with our drinks, saying nothing. The waitress came back and told us about the special salad, which we both ordered without really even listening. She hurried away.

We kept sitting there. I felt like I could just melt into a puddle.

Occasionally, we'd sip our drinks.

We were just too damn tired to talk.

So instead, we let our bones rest.

I looked out the window. A light drizzle made everything seem dull and more lifeless than the desert. "How do you do it, Cree?"

He scratched at his belly. "Which part?"

I thought of Soarin' and of home, and my heart felt lethargic all of a sudden, like I was stuck in detention while all my friends played outside. "I mean puttin' up with all the bullshit and the travel and such. I miss home somethin' fierce right now, and it's barely been a day."

Cree took a big breath and let it out with a growl. He looked outside, too. I saw in our reflections that we had the same look: like we were both looking past the city and all the way back to our homes. "It's lonely work, I admit. But I do it the same as you." He shook his head. "I know there's a bunch of ponies counting on me, and if I don't do it, who will? Helps me to remember all the folks that work in transport and such." He turned back to me. "Just appreciate your time home when you can. Hold that colt of yours tight, and let him know you're always thinking about him."

Before I knew it, my hoof was on the stud, which was still pinned inside my shirt. I took it out, and without needing to look, I stuck it back in my ear. Feeling its weight again helped me remember what Soarin's hugs felt like. "I will, Cree."

He took a sip of his drink. "S'good. Y' never know how much time you'll have b'fore the next emergency comes up."

With another big sigh that turned into a yawn, I frowned and looked at him. "That sounds mighty ominous." I hesitated and fidgeted with my stud a bit. "How much time do you get with Honeydew these days?"

He paused, took a drink, and shrugged. Cree takes his time and chooses his words carefully. He's like Mac that way, and maybe that's why I gravitated to him in the first place. "I split my time fifty-fifty or so." He looked down and mumbled, "Maybe sixty-forty favoring Canterlot these days."

I frowned. "Sounds awful."

He shook his head. "Some ponies do a lot more than that. Seems like anypony that wants a steady career in this field is here almost all the time." He yawned, and his eyes darted around the room. When he was sure nopony was looking, he reached down and scratched his nethers. "Frankly, I don't understand how they can claim to represent the interests of their homes if they're never there. But it seems t' happen to everypony. The time away creeps up and up."

I shook my head and drank my margarita in a few big gulps. It didn't satisfy. Tasted fine, but it had no warmth to it. No life. "I don't wanna be uprooted, Cree."

"Mm-hm. It's a shitty choice to have to make, but y' gotta ask yourself whether you care more about your own health and happiness or making sure your region has theirs." His eyes glazed over. "Hell of a gamble either way, since you never really know as much as you need to for an informed decision."

"Hell of a choice…" I trailed off.

We sat silent for a few moments more while Cree sipped his drink. The waitress came, delivered our salads – fancy dressing can't cover up low-quality greens – and we quietly thanked her. I picked at my salad a bit.

Cree looked out the window again. "I'm lucky I've got Honeydew back home. She keeps me grounded." He looked back at me and smiled, and something about it made me think of Jonah. "And hey, now you've got Soarin', too."

That thought helped, but soon, I felt heavier again, and my thoughts rolled over in my head. Sure, Soarin's here in Appleloosa, but how long is that gonna last? A couple years, maybe? Appleloosa ain't for him, not long-term. He's a celebrity. He needs the cities to feel purpose just like I need the country, and my home feels like it's just a place for him to rest and recover. Are we gonna part ways again when he gets back into the 'Bolts? I didn't know.

I still don't know, and the more time goes by, the more I feel like I keep making the wrong choice. Soarin' and I… I wanna say we'll be together forever, but I… I don't know for sure. Who can? We have different needs. But then, what the hell am I talking about, like I understand what a pony needs? I should be spending the time I can with Soarin' while he's here, while he's available to me, and yet every few weeks or so I haul myself off to Canterlot, separating myself from him, from my hometown, from everypony. I need my roots, but more and more, it seems like I ain't got anything to be rooted to. Not my place in my community, not my coltfriend, nothing. I'm doing all this work to watch out for my community, but after all's said and done, who'll be left to watch out for me?

Chapter 5 - To the Core

==X===X===X===X===X==

Braeburn abruptly stands and nickers. "Dammit, there I go again."

Softly, I say, "It's okay, Braeburn."

"But it ain't." His back hoof stomps involuntarily. "You were kind enough to come all the way out here. Least I can do is be a proper host." He wrenches his eyes shut and throws a hoof to his face before taking a deep breath. Softly, so he thinks I won't hear, he mumbles, "And now I've gone and flipped my lid at you."

Frustration radiates off him like skillet fresh off the fire, and instinct forces my body to shrink back. "I'm asking questions, Braeburn. I really just appreciate the honesty."

He squares his shoulders. "How your legs feelin'? Gonna be ready to buck some trees this afternoon?"

Do I steer him back to his story? He's still putting up walls, but perhaps it's best to let him relax for a moment.

"Of course," I reply with a smile. Despite my swirling thoughts, my reaction feels natural. "I haven't bucked apples since I was a colt."

Braeburn smirks. "Careful now. You city folk tend to get tired mighty quick."

"I'm known for my endurance," I say with a wink.

"Heh heh. We'll see." I lead the way to the door, then Braeburn quickly peers behind himself. "Let's get you a drink first."

My shoulders tense. "I'm fine with water from the hose," I mutter.

"Naw," he chuckles. "Handlebar gets after me if I don't bring guests to the Salt Block. He's got all these 'specials' he wants folks to try."

As we exit out the front door of the Town Hall, I ask quietly, "You're not going to try to get me loaded, are you?" It's shaky, and I swallow hard.

We trot across the street, where ponies eagerly hang a few more decorations and keep aggressively cleaning. "Depends on how much of a lightweight ya' are," he laughs.

A witty retort dies in my throat. Braeburn carries himself with the poise and bounciness of a young pony at their first Grand Galloping Gala. His tail swishes excitedly behind him, and I find myself waiting for him to falter in confirmation of my suspicions. He doesn't, and I remind myself how easy it is to become an enabler.

Braeburn slows and walks beside me. His smile is warm, like a friend who's caught you looking through his porn stash right before he admits he's done the same to you. "Ya' don't need to be so stiff." There's a beat. "Part of… livin' with my disease is acceptin' that others can be more responsible than me." He holds up his fetlock between steps. "I'll be good, I promise. I ain't throwin' all these beads away again."

I nod for lack of anything to say. I've known a few others like Braeburn in my life. They've all had slip-ups. Some of them got better. Others…

We step onto a porch underneath a giant, wooden sign that's probably the most freshly-painted thing in town. As we walk through the swinging doors, I inhale the rich, malty, woody smells of the Salt Block. Every Whinnyapolis brewpub wishes it had this level of authenticity, from the hoof-made bar stools and tables to the lingering smells of dirt and cigar smoke. A piano sits in the corner, and the bar itself has been polished to a sheen that I can see from the doorway, with a wide array of liquors and mixers arranged on several shelves behind it. There are enough seats for half the town, it seems, though currently the only patrons are an older green mare at the bar and a husky purple stallion that looks like he's getting ready to leave. Even with the emptiness of the bar, I can feel the residual energy from a hundred rowdy nights. The bar itself is attended by who I can only assume to be Handlebar. The mustache is a dead giveaway. He's a slender gray stallion wearing a tight-fitting, red-and-black vest, and he's got the only monocle I've ever seen outside of Canterlot.

Braeburn sneaks in past me while I gawk, and he releases a sigh of pride. "Yeah, it's mighty impressive. Handlebar peddles a hell of a product, so you best brace yourself. Drinks are strong out here."

I tell myself to lighten up, and I force a laugh. "I'm still an earth pony, Brae. It takes a lot to get us–"

I stop in my tracks and stare wide-eyed at the green mare sitting at the bar. She's got a white mane and an orange handkerchief tied around her neck, and the screechy voice she's using to berate Handlebar is impossible to miss.

Braeburn nudges me. "Uh, I suppose it's quite a sight, but you might wanna taste a…"

For a moment, I scramble to think of a reason to leave, but Braeburn pushes past and sees her, too.

"…Granny?"

Granny Smith turns her head, smiles broadly, and waves us over before downing what appears to be her third shot of peach schnapps. Handlebar has clearly decided it's just easier to leave the bottle with her at this point.

Braeburn trots quickly to her, and I'm a step behind. "Granny, what in tarnation are you doin' out here?"

"Teachin' this youngin' to respect his elders." She sneers at Handlebar and grumbles, "Tryin' to cut me off, the dang son of a–"

"No, I mean in Appleloosa." Braeburn cocks his head, unfazed, as if he's asking why somepony would bother painting their fence brown. "Ain't you needed for the harvest back home? What in Equestria dragged you all the way out here?"

I think I might pass out.

She rolls her eyes. "Eh, leave it to Big Mac to keep quiet 'bout the details." She waves a hoof. "The farm's fine. Applejack's got her friends and students helpin' her out, and frankly, their constant singin' was gettin' on m' nerves." She chuckles. "Ee-hee-hee. Course, I do appreciate her makin' a 'lesson' out of free labor." She looks back at Braeburn. "An' I figure you could use some sage advice out here."

Braeburn tries to blink away his confusion and stumbles over his words. "Uh, good to see you, too."

Granny Smith glares at me with eyes that could pick ice. "And who's this supposed to be? Some kinda namby-pamby, prim 'n proper, spikey-maned, colt-cuddlin', chickenhearted, flank-shakin', sequins-wearin', chuckle-headed, gadabout, ninny-rascal sauce-box stallion-of-the-week that spends all his time tryin' to smell like a Celestia-durned flower patch who wouldn't know a garden hose from a rattler snake if it bit him on the baby-makers?"

I blink.

Braeburn steps in. "No, Granny. This is Vivid. He helped Soarin' write that nice book."

"Oh! Pleasure to meet ya', then." She smiles so wide that her dentures start to fall out, and she extends the boniest leg I've ever seen.

"…Pleasure's all mine," I manage.

I suppose that could have gone worse.

Braeburn sits down next to Granny Smith, and I sit next to him. He nods at the barkeep and says, "Appleloosan Eye-Opener for each of 'em, and a sarsaparilla for me, please." He sets a small stack of bits on the bar and turns back to Granny Smith. "Granny, why didn't you tell me you were gonna visit? I coulda set you up someplace nice, and it's already a busy weekend." He shakes his head. "I'm mighty pleased to see you, of course, but this is all so unexpected."

Granny Smith blows a raspberry. "Aw, ya' ain't my keeper. I can do as I please." Her voice chills and lowers. "Besides, it ain't like you're knockin' down our door to visit."

Braeburn pouts slightly. "I guess, but–"

"But nothin'. And don't get all mopey, now. You're a busy stallion, and I know your diggin' in tight with that colt of yours." She cackles. "When he ain't diggin' into you, that is."

Groaning, Braeburn says, "Granny, can we please leave my sex life outta this?" He turns to me. "You'll have to excuse her. …Uh, Vivid?"

My mind is still reeling from visualizing that rattlesnake comment.

Braeburn snorts. "Aw, Granny, ya' spooked him!"

"No, no," I say, snapping back to reality. "I'm fine."

Three drinks slide down the bar with a slick grinding noise. One, the sarsaparilla, stops in front of Braeburn. The other two are an unsettling yellow, like orange juice that shouldn't be trusted, but there's no going back now. "Cheers," I say, raising the glass. I slam it back. It's sweet, sweeter than orange juice, with some kind of spice that's mild but WOW there it is. I feel like I might breathe fire, and my head reels back.

Granny snickers, but her reaction isn't much different after she drinks. "Hoo-wee!" She slams the bar with a hoof, and I worry she's going to snap herself in half. "That's what I was after. Nice work, Handlebar." She looks at me. "Still in your seat, city-slicker?"

I'll feel it later, I'm sure, but before I can speak, Braeburn says, shakily, "I-is it good? Do you like it?"

I look. And I frown. Braeburn is staring at me with the broad smile and wide eyes of a beggar pony asking his father if he can get that shiny new toy in the store window for Hearth's Warming. My heart aches. What can I say?

Through a cough and a broken smile, I mumble, "It certainly lives up to its name. I think I might need one of those sarsaparillas to chase it with."

Handlebar nods and starts pouring, and Braeburn relaxes. "Heh. Old Handlebar'll get ya' if you let him."

I look past Braeburn's shoulder at Granny Smith. Her ears are down, and her frown is even more pronounced through all her wrinkles. She glances between Braeburn and the bottle of schnapps, then pushes it away. Quietly to Handlebar, she says, "I'll, uh, call that good for now." She stands up, cracks her back, and boisterously announces, "I s'pose I better mosey 'fore I drink your friend here under the bar. Just don't get preg'nt or nothin'."

Braeburn laughs politely. "I won't, Granny."

Maybe it's the warmth in my cheeks, but I can't help but softly say, "Not that Soarin' isn't trying."

Before Braeburn can turn to me in disgust, Granny Smith grabs his shoulder and goes in for a hug. She says softly to him. "And don't you believe for a second that I'm goin' anywhere 'fore we spend some time. Your family loves you, Braeburn."

Braeburn clutches her tightly, pauses, and says, "Thanks, Granny."

She takes her leave, and a thought strikes Braeburn. He looks at Handlebar. "Uh… Did she pay?"

Handlebar, stiff as a broom, replies, "Mister Windsong said the drinks are on him this weekend."

"What? Why?" Braeburn narrows his eyes, then shakes his head. "Did he stop by and see Granny or somethin'?"

Handlebar pauses, wide-eyed, but then he calmly returns to cleaning up the shot glasses and putting away the bottles. "Mister Apple, have you ever spent a weekend away while being in charge of fifteen foals all on your own? I imagine the scout leaders will need some relief, and your very generous coltfriend has already paid me to open up my stores to whomever needs it."

Braeburn sighs. "I suppose."

I laugh nervously, and when I finish, I say, "You know, drinking bills aside, you have a pretty great family, Braeburn." I shake off the tingle of the Eye-Opener. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but they really seems like they're there for you, no matter how long you're gone."

Braeburn sighs as the second sarsaparilla comes my way. "Yeah, I suppose they are. They stuck with me through all the bullshit with the media and gettin' forced outta the closet and such." He spins his glass lazily and looks down. "Did Soarin' ever tell you about that night in Haulihay? At my parents' house, right after the story broke and we hid in Las Pegasus?"

I shake my head. "I got his perspective, but it seemed like you were alone with your parents for half of it. All I really know is what happened when he was with your dad or when he was waiting for you." I sip my drink. "It sounded like a pretty big night."

Braeburn drinks deeply, and he can't hide the frown on his face when his drink is so much less fun than mine was. "Heh. 'Big' doesn't do it justice." He stares ahead at the rows and rows of alcohol bottles. "Seems like things got 'big' every time I went home." Voice lowered, he turns to me. "Mind if I back up the story a bit?"

I nod. "Go right ahead."

==X===X===X===X===X==

Appleloosa's my home. I think it's always been my home since I first set hoof here, when it was just covered wagons, crates, and some building supplies. There were fourteen of us in those days, and even though Trailblazer had scouted the perfect spot – a nice valley, close enough to water and flat enough to actually grow crops – there were so many ways that it could all go wrong. Optimistic or not, we were at the edge of a cliff, and one major blunder could literally have killed us, leaving us nothing but piles of bleached bones out in the desert.

And it was all such a relief.

See, there were no expectations of me out here. Sure, I needed to do my part, and you bet I worked my ass off every single day to help things move along, but everypony was in the same boat. Nopony cared who you were or where you came from or who you liked, long as you put your back into everything you did. I didn't need to worry about everypony asking questions. Nopony felt like we could judge. Heck, half of us were out here because we had some kind of criminal record or debts we'd defaulted on.

That was the one thing we all had in common, I think: we wanted a fresh start. Copperline had left a marriage that had fallen to shambles, on mutual terms, of course. Dawn Light's carpentry business had failed, and she'd had to sell all her tools just to break even. Hell, Tinker was probably the one of us that had caused the least trouble, but even he'd found his family stifling once they'd tried for the hundredth time to make him a farmer.

And then there was me. My Pa, Cortland, had always envisioned me taking over the family farms, and in many ways, so had I. He joyed in showing me the way to tend the trees, manage a business, know who to hire, all of that. And please don't get me wrong. I appreciate it immensely. I am who I am today because of the guidance my father gave me. He was always there to assist me, but it got overwhelming. See, he taught me his methods, but then I was only allowed to use his methods. Any time I would try something different, he'd tell me why it was wrong or explain how he'd tried it before to no avail. I know his heart was in the right place – he wanted to save me time and grief – but he had his own vision for my life, and he held those ideas very, very close to his heart.

And, well, part of that vision was continuing the Apple line. He came from a big family, and it weighed heavy on him that he only had one son. Granted, he and my Ma – her name's Gala, and she's an angel – they had agreed to only having two foals. Pa'd gotten the procedure after I was born, before my big brother Jonah passed. I think it was always at the back of his mind that I was his legacy, so I had to turn out perfect.

That meant it was on my mind, too. He didn't know I was gay, of course, and I'd meant to keep it that way. I'd realized I was different about the time my hormones really started churning. Same story as a lot of folk, I think: confusion, denial, fear, and more than a little experimentation. I learned a hell of a lot about myself in the summer after graduation, much as Ma wouldn't approve. Course, that just led to more fear of being found out, which in turn meant deciding to just not talk about it. Thing is, I couldn't just not talk about, so I had to learn to talk around it, and I sure as hell never admitted what I was out loud.

You get it, right? Seeing all the love and hope in Pa's eyes whenever he'd talk about the bright future I had in front of me… You cannot imagine how hard it is to break someone's heart like that unless you've been through it. Ma, too, wanted grandfoals real badly, but nowhere near as much as Pa. I knew what it would do to him, so I put it off and put it off, but that mental burden proved to be far too much for me. I ain't sure anypony can deal with it forever. Eventually, you just gotta tell the truth.

Or, in my case, run.

To this day, I swear up and down that I didn't come to help found Appleloosa just because I'm gay, and I hope you understand that there were many, many layers to it. At least, that's what I tell myself.

If nothing else, I breathed easier out here. It was a hell of a lot quieter than Haulihay, which of course is silent compared to the big cities, but it's all about what you're used to, I suppose. In our case, we had to adjust to salty, dusty air, constant water runs, and living out of circled wagons with the distant coyote calls lulling us to sleep. That atmosphere gave us room to be ourselves, and far from being bored, we always had plenty of ways to make fun.

One night, Dawn Light was hiding behind one of the wagons, and she motioned me over. I moved quiet as I could. "Copperline's scared of ghosts," she whispered with a mischievous grin. She pointed daintily under the wagon at him. Poor Copperline. He was sharpening axes without a worry in the world.

I narrowed my eyes. "You're a terror."

"No, we're the terror." She flashed another smile. "My momma has these records all about this stuff. You need vocal effects to really sell it. You in?"

I didn't have a second thought.

It was well past dark, and Copperline started hauling some wood from a nearby grove, ready to be cut up. I've got good eyes, so I was lookout. "Here he comes," I whispered as he trotted on the opposite side of the camp.

Poor Copperline didn't stand a chance. He was whistling that same tune he never let up on, and as he crossed near us, we both groaned like we practiced, both at once: "Whooa…"

Copperline stiffened up like a goat. "Uh… Springleaf? That you?"

"Myuuunnggg…" We groaned and threw our voices every which way, not letting up.

Copperline shook. "Guh… G–" He dropped his wood and leapt in the air. "Spirits! Ghasts!" He wailed and ran in circles, and he didn't stop until the whole camp was on high alert and had found us busting our guts behind the wagon.

Springleaf wasn't too happy when she found us. She had feelings for Copperline, and she charged at us like a mad bull in heat. "Aw, you dogs! You sonabitches!" We were laughing too hard to run far, and she whacked us each a few dozen times with the soft side of a broom, and the camp got a good laugh as she chased us and beat us for a good five minutes.

We made it up to Copperline, of course. Dawn Light and I took half his chores for a week. He said it wasn't worth it, but he eventually came around, and if nothing else, we had each other to keep ourselves sane.

Good thing, too. Constructing the first few buildings was a lot harder than we'd thought. Dawn Light was plenty talented, but very few of us had built more than a barn before, and always with help. I've never sweat so much in my life as I did that first June, when the heat spiked before we'd been smart enough to build ourselves any shade. We were hungry all the time, and fights broke out, even if level heads always eventually prevailed. Still, it took a toll, and Juniper and Brushbuck ended up calling it quits in midsummer. We couldn't blame them, but hell if it didn't make everything even harder and put a tremendous amount of doubt in our minds.

There was one thing that made all the toil easier, though: a stallion named Flint Spark. Flint had come with us after his fiance had broken off the engagement. Said he wanted to work with his hooves and work out his frustrations with the world. "Better to build something out of the pieces than worry about how it used to be," he'd always say. He was the kindest, most laid-back pony I've ever met. He put in more than his fair share of work, of course, and that big, silvery chest of his just gleamed in the sunlight. If I close my eyes, I can still see him and remember the smell of that mighty, sexy beast working next to me. And whenever I had my way, he was working next to me.

There was a weird sense of bliss in those days that only comes from wearing your body out. Plus, I got to be near a pony that I'd have done just about anything for, but unlike back when I was at school or in Haulihay, I wasn't worried. It excited me, sure (in more ways than one), but it was a warm, tingly feeling all over my body, without any of the cold dread of anypony finding out. I hadn't told anypony at camp yet, and instead I just marinated in the feeling and the daydreaming while I could. I still miss those days sometimes. They were simple. They were full of hope.

Flint pulled me aside behind a wagon one hot day in August. He was all smiles and relaxed as can be. Meanwhile, my heart thumped in my head and my thoughts ran wild with possibilities. He sat on the dirt with a big plop, like he always did, and he shook his head and smiled at me.

I could barely stand, and my legs had locked up.

He invited me to sit, and at least I could remember how to do that. Mercifully, he didn't leave me hanging for long, and he rumbled with that low, smooth voice like a deep river. "Braeburn, I hope you know that I am very, very flattered, and you don't need to pretend around me."

My lip quivered, and I was light-headed. "Wh-what…" The primal section of my brain was, at that very moment, trying to will all my indecent thoughts into reality, but I was welded in place.

Flint nodded. "I see the way you look at me, Braeburn. Ya' ain't the first stallion to look at me like that. I just want you to know that you can tell me anything." He shrugged. "Now, I don't wanna string you along – I am a lover of mares and mares only–" He set a hoof on my shoulder, and I nearly melted. It felt just like all those dreams I'd had. "–but you're a good friend, and I'm happy to help you figure out anything you need." He looked at me straight with those beautiful, fiery red eyes.

My whole body relaxed, and my heart sang, along with my mouth. "I am so fuckin' gay for you, Flint Spark." My eyes opened like floodgates, and my hoof shot to my mouth. My stomach turned, and I shook so hard I thought I'd break a tooth.

Flint just nodded. "And you're a mighty brave pony for sayin' so. C'mere." He scooted forward and brought me into a hug. My brain kept flashing with ways he could hurt me and call me mean names or, preferably, how he could throw me down in the dirt and have his way with me, but neither came to pass. He just held me until I stopped shaking. "You ain't told anypony that before, have you?"

"Nuh–" My voice was weak. I took a couple deep breaths – that scent of his helped a bunch – and I whispered, "Never."

He said back softly. "Well, I know for a fact that every other pony here sees how much of yourself you're putting into the town, and I hope you feel comfortable enough to tell them one day, too."

Flint was an angel, and he quickly became my best friend out there. We'd drink whiskey late at night after most folks had gone to sleep. He played a decent banjo, and he'd let us take the edge off of our testosterone in each others' presence, which is a lot further than I ever thought I'd get with him. He said it was a thing that young stallions did together. I'd never done it so openly, for obvious reasons, but he said there wasn't necessarily anything gay about it, and he didn't mind me looking at him while I took care of myself. He even let me cuddle him a few times, though we never kissed. He said that was a little too far for him, and I respected it.

With time and with Flint's encouragement, I came out to the rest of our group. They were mostly warm to the idea, though a few were clearly uncomfortable, and it took a week for them to not eye me every time they turned around. I don't blame them, of course, but I can still wish it were different.

Flint was the one to encourage me to come out to my parents, too. He was a wise pony, but I think he projected his own relationship with his own parents onto mine. See, in his mind, telling them that he suddenly wasn't getting married was just like coming out, but it turns out he, uh… missed the mark on that one.

At the start of fall, the Appleloosans – Trailblazer came up with the name, and Dawn Light wouldn't stop making cracks about how loose the Appleloosan Apple was around Flint – we Appleloosans had come up with a rotation scheme. Not tons you can build in winter, and many of us were needed at home for the harvest, so we left about five ponies in town at a time while the rest of us went back to help (and, honestly, to beg for additional supplies).

It was September twenty-fourth when my turn came up. It was the first time in six months that I was visiting my parents, and as much as my stomach churned at the thought of our upcoming conversation, the trip home was over in the blink of an eye.

My home looked so familiar and yet foreign that day. It was the same as always, and I'd long ago memorized the steps to the front door. I walked up, smelling the sweet, ripe apples on the air with my suitcase in tow. Flint had told me to focus on the familiarity, and that's what I did: I remembered all the walks I'd taken with my Pa and all the cooking lessons from Ma, and it made it feel like home again.

Still, I knew there was a difficult conversation to be had. It felt a little like swinging a flashlight around in the darkness, with something you just can't see lurking there, but I focused on the light, and I walked to the front door.

Ma and Pa greeted me like always. See, my Ma, Gala, would always find some knitting to do when she knew I was coming home, so she could park by the window and watch me arrive. She's a light-orange mare, a little heavyset, but Pa just says it's 'cuz she's a real mare. I get the blonde streaks in my mane from her, though the rest of her mane is a much darker brown.

The moment I walked in, Ma bounded up to me, practically shouting, "Oh, my big strong Braeby is home!" She wrapped me in a warm hug that made me feel like a foal, and as much as I would have resisted that feeling before I'd left for Appleloosa, not having to be an adult for once felt really, really nice.

Pa wasn't far behind. He's a solidly-built stallion with a reddish-brown coat, about my size, and his golden mane has orange and brown mixed in. He gave me a hug, too, along with a, "Welcome back, son." With a jerk of his head towards the porch, he proclaimed, "Lemme pour my town-founding stallion a stiff drink. I wanna hear all about his stories on the frontier."

Ma jokingly scolded him. "Cort, you're really gonna start drinking at ten in the morning?"

Pa just gave me a side look and a smile, and he asked, "I bet my colt can handle himself, eh, Braeburn?"

I smiled and stared at him. "I bet I could take my old sire down a peg."

"Don't get cute, colt," he said with a lower voice. He pressed his forehead to mine, and we play-growled while we pushed at each other for a few moments until Ma broke us up.

"This is what I get for not having fillies," she said with a laugh. "I'll whip up some lunch in a while. Don't tip over, colts."

With his dominance firmly reestablished in his mind, Pa walked me through the kitchen and out to the porch. I remember he walked with more swagger, and at first, I thought it was because he felt like a king in his castle, but now, I think he was proud of me and ready to hear all about what we'd built.

And hooooo, did I have a lot to say. He poured us a few drinks, and we sat down. I told him about everything from foraging to gathering wood to all the little slip-ups and what went wrong. He reveled in it all, and he'd lean in and ask things like, "So how's your group with a saw? Folks cutting the boards right?"

I tipped another swallow of whiskey into my mouth and let the fire settle. It was the good stuff, too: River Valley Reserve, the stuff that went down smooth but left a burning fire in its wake. Not violent on the stomach, mind, but enough to make you question your choices and realize the strength in it. It had a little of that peat flavor I've never been a huge fan of, but the molasses-like sweetness came through on the front end, melting into a dry, almost oak-like flavor on the back that made your mouth feel like a well-worn brick furnace.

I licked the flavor off my teeth and said, "O' course, Pa." With some faux-humility, I added, "…and I showed them that clamp-and-block technique to help keep 'em the same size, like you said."

"And?" I could almost hear his smile curl up.

"And you were right. It makes it a lot easier." Truthfully, I was upselling it, mostly for his ego, but after all the advice he'd given me over the years, I could stand to give him a little extra credit now and again.

"Thatta colt!" he said, raising his drink. We clinked our glasses together and took another swig. "Which parts of the wood did you use for the baseboards?"

He had an opinion, and maybe the drink had loosened me up, but I didn't bother trying to sugar-coat it. "Well, honestly we didn't give as much thought to it as we could've. We needed to get it together so we could sleep indoors before the storms came, and the wagons can only do so much." I braced myself for a lecture.

But Pa just smiled and shrugged. "Well, y'all got a lot to think about out there. I'm sure you made the best with what you had."

I was damn near speechless. Years of lectures and lessons and opinions… I could even see it in his eyes that he might have told me about how he would have set aside the thickest boards right away, since they needed to take the most stress.

But he wasn't lecturing. He was just smiling and waiting for me to continue, not like I was a young upstart. Like I was an equal. It felt strange. I've been about his height since puberty, but it was the first time I'd ever felt like I was seeing him at eye level, without judgment. He wasn't trying to teach me. He was just letting me be. Letting me teach him and share my experiences, the experiences I'd gained on my own. Well, not entirely on my own. I'd put a lot of his lessons to use. They'd become my tools, but I was proving I knew how to use them. He was my father, and I was his son, but we were both stallions.

I wanted that conversation to go on forever, and it damn well may have. Ma came out at nearly one and said, "You know, I can lock this door if you're both going feral. Lunch is ready."

"Thank you kindly, Gal," Pa said, finally standing up. "How long we been cluckin' like hens out here?"

Ma laughed. "Near three hours by my clock."

I startled. "Three hours?"

"You seemed like you had a lot to talk about. I didn't want to interrupt."

Warmed, I said, "Thanks, Ma."

"Of course. Sandwiches are ready."

I didn't tell them at lunch. I wasn't avoiding it, I don't think. I was just embracing what I was feeling talking to them. Pa let Ma ask me all the same questions, and she didn't mind when I brushed over a few things I'd already told Pa, but she asked plenty about the people there and the food supply and the schedules and planning and everything.

It was a nice meal. Cucumber and roasted pepper sandwiches with homemade hummus spread on Ma's grainbelt bread. The fancy chips that Pa always said cost too much. Two pickle spears, with the stems cut off just how I liked them. A chocolate chip cookie Ma had baked the previous day, still soft. A glass of whole milk and a glass of water. Forks and knives "in case we need them." The sun hitting a little crystal flower that sat in the middle of the table and lit up like a rainbow. Just like all the meals I'd had growing up.

…

I took a nap after that, and so did Pa. We needed to sleep off the drink, but I only passed out for an hour or so.

When I came back downstairs, Ma was back to her knitting by the window. She looked so peaceful in the afternoon light, sitting in her big, puffy chair, and she barely had to even look at her work. Instead, she eyed the scenery outside: rolling hills of wheat and arugula and, of course, our orchards. Her chair rocked gently back and forth, the same rhythm she'd used when I'd been a newborn, and her breathing matched it. She took one deep breath, then turned to me, her eyes adjusting to the dimmer light inside. "Welcome back, son. Was worried you and Cort were going to sleep all afternoon. Hm-hm!"

I like her laugh. Some folks think it's a tad irritating, but to me, it's the sound of comfort. I haven't picked it up myself, but it echoes in my head whenever I find some banal, amusing truth out there in the world.

I picked up my pace just a hair and sat down next to her in the guest chair next to her. "Naw, I ain't much of a napper. Seems like a bad habit to get into."

Ma folded her work and let her hooves rest. "Can I be a mom for little bit, Braeby?" she asked with a smile.

"Course," I said with a nod. In my teen years, I would've bristled, but after a few months out in the desert, sitting and getting a little pampered seemed mighty nice.

With a tip of her head, Ma asked, "Are you getting enough sleep out there?" When I barely avoided rolling my eyes, she raised a hoof, as if she was going to bring it to my lips. "I know, I know. But sleep is important, and every night I think about you in those…" She rolled her head dramatically. "…uncomfortable bedrolls, and I worry. It's hard not to."

Something about her voice unsettled me. I leaned forward a bit. "Why are you worried?"

"It's my job, Braeby. Hm-hm!" She picked up her needles again and carefully watched each little stitch. "Cort doesn't want to replace our mattress, even though he's started complaining about his back. I know you're young, but that sort of thing can wreak havoc on you all your life, not to mention all the mistakes and accidents that can happen if you're sleepy and trying to, I don't know… to saw a log or something, and I shudder to think about those sorts of icky things. But it's hard not to, Braeby."

I chuckled to myself. "Ma, you don't need to worry about anything. I'm pretty good with my hooves, too." I picked up a couple knitting needles. "See?"

She smirked. "Little further back, dear."

"Well," I said with a shrug. "I bet I've got enough sleep to help you finish what you're workin' on."

She continued rocking. "Frankly, I'm more concerned about the whiskey than the lack of sleep." With a mock-scolding tone, she said, "So you better not get any blood on that scarf, young colt."

I smiled. "Somethin' for your Lily Mares group?"

She nodded and sighed. "Oh, you're insightful as always. Yes, we're doing the fundraiser for homeless ponies again this year. The sale's not until November, but it's never too early to start."

"Mighty fine cause," I said, starting the first few stitches. I remembered the basic technique, and as long as I was only doing a scarf, there wasn't anything complicated about it. "I s'pose I'm technically homeless myself for now. We're all sleepin' in the barracks until we can get a few houses up. "

I felt a hoof on my leg, and I looked up to my mother's soft eyes. They twinkled in the afternoon light. "Son, you're never homeless while we're around."

I paused, and then, I smiled, and I felt her love deep down in my bones.

She was right. I was home.

We chatted as we worked, about Appleloosa and my friends and all our hopes for what we were building, and she showed me how to cover up my knitting mistakes so they wouldn't be so obvious. It all felt so easy, like a summer day from my colthood, where time barely seemed to pass. It wasn't until the sky became stained orange that Ma finally set down her scarf.

She stood up, stretched out her back, and softly kissed my forehead with warm lips. "My big, strong stallion." She didn't say anything else as she walked to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

I hardly remember any of my thoughts from that evening, other than the unpleasant few that danced around the back of my mind. I managed to ignore them, mostly, because everything was like it was supposed to be, and I had… I had a lot of faith in them. In all of us.

I… I held onto that faith as long as I could.

…

Dinner was stew.

I-I-I don't… I don't remember what kind, exactly. Something with onions.

…though that's most stew, I suppose.

Ma makes a really good onion cheese stew, full of…

…

It came up as we ate our salads. Mixed greens. Raspberry dressing.

Our forks tinked against the plates. Lots of chewing sounds. A little talk of plans for the weekend, tending to the orchard and restocking my supplies for out west and such, but eventually, there was a lull in the conversation.

I could feel it coming. I was excited. I was done with hiding. I was ready to get a big hug, tearful or not, and my posture straightened up. I thought I knew exactly how it would go.

Ma timidly approached the subject first. "Must get a little lonely out there with just the twelve of you," she said with a hint of mischief in her voice.

I knew immediately what she was needling for. A little chill went down my legs, but I followed Flint's advice and thought to myself, 'They're my parents. They love me. It doesn't change anything, and they'll be glad I was honest with them.'

Pa was quick on the uptake, too. "Got your sights on any of the mares out there, son?" His voice was so hopeful.

I chuckled nervously. "Not particularly."

Pa tapped his fork on his plate and pointed it at me. "Heh heh. What's the matter? Settler ponies look too homely for you?"

"Cort, be nice," Ma said with a small kick under the table. "Looks aren't everything. I married you, didn't I?" They both laughed and bumped noses, and Pa gave her a kiss and a loving nip on her nose.

Pa turned back to me. "I'm just saying, it takes a certain kind of pony to deal with the harshness out there, and that might not be what Braeburn is after." He looked up at me. "Though I hope you won't let the other stallions push you outta the way if somepony's caught your eye. You gotta fight for what you want, son."

I shook my head and told myself, 'It's okay.' I cleared my throat. "It's not that, exactly, Pa. I–"

Ma smirked. "Now don't you go telling us you're too busy to think about it. I know what young stallions like you are like. Little devils, only care about one thing." She cast a playful look at Pa, who grimaced proudly back and gave her a lusty wink. Ma rolled her eyes and looked back at me. "I know you're busy, Braeby, but you need to take time for yourself, too. You need to think long-term."

Pa cut in. "Just make sure you put a ring on her before you get her pregnant. I don't need grandfoals that badly." He and Ma laughed again.

"I…" I remembered that warmth on the porch and that reassuring touch from Ma. My head was spinning, but it felt like I was balancing an anvil on my back, and I was finally ready to let it drop. "I don't think you need to worry about that any time soon, Pa."

Pa asked, "Why's that? Mares go home for the winter?" He flashed another big, toothy smile.

"Naw, it ain't that," I said. I relaxed into my chair a bit. I could feel it bubbling up inside me, the words that I'd fought down for a decade. I thought of Flint and Appleloosa and all of the love my parents had for me, and the words grew like a tree out from my belly to my throat until the bloomed into a fully formed thought. "I'm… just gay."

Both of their faces wrinkled up. Pa snickered – Flint warned me he might – and he said, "Well, sure, and I'm next in line for Princess."

I took a deep breath and said it again. "I know it sounds loony, but I mean it, Pa. I'm gay." I shrugged, with all the tenderness I could muster in my voice. "Always have been, I think. I love you both. You're the most important ponies in the world to me, and I want to be honest with you: I like stallions." I leaned forward, bearing my soul to them.

And they didn't like it one bit.

They just stared, mouths open, not breathing, suddenly holding hooves. The table seemed like it was growing wider, and I felt like there was nothing below me, like when you take a step at the bottom of a staircase in the dark, but you've miscounted and there's nothing there, and you realize you're about to tumble.

That moment hung there like a long-dead spider in a web, and all the world was silent.

Pa lowered his voice and growled, "That ain't funny, son."

I sighed and sat up straighter. "It's–" My voice cracked. I cleared my throat. "It ain't a joke, Pa." I called on the strength I'd prepared, but I quickly found it in short supply. "This is hard, I know. It's hard for–"

He raised his voice and snarled. "Some kinda hippie commune out there, hm?! Teachin' you all kinds of nonsense?"

I shrunk back and looked at Ma. "Ma, I didn't mean–"

Her eyes were wide, and her face was pale. Barely above a whisper, she asked, "You haven't told anyone, have you?"

I felt the tears welling up, and my voice shook. "Ma, why is that what's botherin' you? Why–"

Pa cut in. "There's a hell of a lot 'bothering' us, Braeburn. What kind of bullshit is this?"

"Cortland!" Ma snapped. "Watch your mouth."

"I'll swear as much as I fuckin' want to, Gal! I–" He shook his head. "Sorry, but I…" He cranked his head back to me and growled, "Son, what the hell is wrong with you? "

Ma's eyes were glazed over. She shook her head, lost in her own world. "This…" She was starting to cry, too. "I… should get the stew."

"Gal, we don't need no damn stew right now," Pa said, annoyed.

"I… Excuse me." Ma stood up and left. She didn't walk to the kitchen. I tried to look up, but my eyes had fallen to my hooves, and I heard her racing up the stairs.

Pa pleaded, "Now, Gal, don't be like that." The door to their bedroom slammed, and his voice filled with fire. "Now see what you did?"

My ears rang. I tried to think of Flint, but all my damn brain could tell me was, 'He probably knew this would happen. I'm fuckin' stupid for thinking I wasn't alone.'

"Look at me, colt!"

I snapped to attention, just like when I was young.

Even with our eyes on the same level, he was looking down on me. I was left staring at a mountain of a pony with a mine shaft full of gunpowder.

Pa shook and sneered. "Son, I thought I raised you better than–" He slammed a hoof on the table and shook his head, and his eyes caught the mantle, where we kept our family pictures. Tears welled up in his eyes. "Dammit, B–…" He paused.

He wouldn't say my name. I drew a sharp breath and couldn't even sob.

Pa grabbed a half-smoked cigar from his ash tray and brought it shakily to his lips, all without looking away from the mantle. He felt around for a light, and when he didn't find one, he slapped the cigar back down on the table, marring it with tobacco. "Dammit."

My legs were weak, and so was my voice. I felt like I was at the bottom of a deep pit, a dark hole with just the slightest bit of light at the top, and I knew he was up there. It took all I had left to say, "Daddy, I love you both."

He was about to go off like a powder keg. I could feel the heat of his stare fill the room around me, enveloping me and threatening to blow the roof off the house.

He took a deep breath and let it out with a growl. "I know, and we…" He shook his head and grit his teeth. "We love you, too, but this ain't the time to talk about that!" He leaned in like a snake about to strike. "You see what you did? To your mother? You went and changed our lives forever, Braeburn. Forever. And you don't seem to understand–" He snorted. "You don't seem to appreciate that. Forever."

Their lives. Their lives! To this day, it kills me that I wasn't angry at him for saying that. Instead, I thought to myself, 'I'm a bad son.'

The chair screeched terribly as he stood up. "My wife needs me." A few words stopped in his throat, but after he thought for a moment, he let them out anyway. "And I'm going to be a strong husband for my wife, because that's how it's supposed to be." He stomped away up the stairs, marched into the room, and slammed the door behind him.

My mother cried. She tried to stifle it, but I heard her all the way downstairs. It was the only sound I could hear.

I sat there, stunned, for… three minutes, maybe? It had all happened so fast. It…

I was shut down. I had, in fact, taken a tumble, but unlike the bottom of the stairs, I never landed.

The stew was going to burn. I couldn't let the stew burn.

I got up from my chair. Silently, so I could still hear my mother's tears. I was afraid to make noise. My head and my heart were up there, waiting at the outside of their door, while my body put the stew away and cleaned up. Silently.

I sat in the kitchen. They didn't come down.

I didn't make it up to my room that night. Instead, I slept on the couch downstairs. Didn't use the rollaway, and I didn't give myself any pillows or blankets. The sun set, the tears came, and I shivered through the night.

Because, I told myself, I had ruined my parents' life, and I didn't deserve any better.

Chapter 6 - At the Root

==X===X===X===X===X==

A glass squeaks as Handlebar cleans it with a half-soaked rag.

Braeburn slumps onto the bar. I sip at my nearly-empty sarsaparilla.

Give him a moment.

"Ya'…" Braeburn looks up at the rows of alcohol. "Ya' ever think…"

Squeak. Squeak.

I set the glass down. "Yes. All too frequently, I believe."

"Heh." Braeburn shrugs. "Always feels like brains are betraying you. Know what I mean?" He turns his head to face me. "When your mind races, you just want it to calm down, and when you're left with the silence and all your troubling thoughts, you'd beg for any kind of noise to take it away."

==X===X===X===X===X==

The sun crested over the arugula on the neighbor's farm, just like it did when I was a colt. I lay on the couch downstairs at my parents' house, watching the sunlight creep down the wall. Slowly. Inevitably, until it hit the back of my head and cast a weary-looking shadow against the wall.

My head weighed down on the foreleg rest. My neck was stiff as a board. I figured I must’ve slept at least a little, but I couldn't be sure, and the only thoughts in my head were echoes of the things I'd told myself a thousand times that night.

The floorboards upstairs creaked. My parents stepped lightly, going about their usual routine, but they chatted. They chatted a lot. It seemed like they were spending an awfully long time with the door closed.

Truth be told, I thought about running. The whole night, I'd wanted to just up and leave – sleep at the train station and get out as soon as I could. I told myself it was still an option, but fight or not, that's not how my parents raised me.

And anyway, their door opened. Ma walked down the steps with a big smile plastered on her face like a filly had drawn it. "Morning, Braeby. Have you been up long?" You ever cracked a wine glass? It looks like it has just enough integrity to hold water, but you know that the slightest touch could leave you sopping wet.

I sucked in a big breath and sat halfway up. My neck spasmed, and I set my head back down. "Didn't really sleep much, if I'm honest."

There weren't any birds, or at least I couldn't hear any. It struck me, like all the joy in the world had left for a vacation.

Ma came down and frowned dramatically. "Braeby, you look like you haven't slept at all." She walked over and brushed my mane out of my face, and I kept myself from sneering. Maybe I was just too tired to react. "I told you, growing stallions need their sleep."

Bracing myself for my bones to fight me, I sat up looked at her. Ma hadn't slept, either. Her mane was all out of sorts. It was the kind of thing she’d say was shameful on any other day.

Pa walked out of the bedroom upstairs. I just caught his hooves before he walked into the bathroom. Even that little glimpse nearly made me jump behind the couch.

Ma put her hoof on my shoulder. "I just want to say one thing, and then I'll drop it."

'I don't want to drop it,' I thought. 'I want to talk about it, but neither of you will even face it. Don't you know hard this was?' I mumbled, "Alright."

She hugged me close and said, "We're not mad. It's going to take time to get used to it, but we don't want you to beat yourself up. Everything's already forgiven."

Forgiven. That's what sealed it for me, I think. I realized then how ill-prepared they were, how much I'd truly blind-sighted them with something that I figured would have been obvious.

"We love you, Braeby."

I hugged her weakly back. "Love you, too, Ma." For the first time in my life, I wasn't sure if I really meant it.

Pa came downstairs just then. "Mornin'," he said with the raspy tone of a hungover bear. "Glad you're still here. Didn't think you would be."

"I don't run from my problems, Pa." I hadn't meant it to sting like a scorpion, but I didn't have much kindness left in me.

Pa snorted. "Don't you start with me–"

"Cortland," Ma snapped. "None of that."

He stood up straight and went to grab his cigar. "Yes, dear."

Ma pursed her lips at him, then looked back to me with artificial cheeriness. "I'll make some breakfast."

We didn't speak much over the food. Just a few comments about the neighbors. I mostly asked questions about things I didn't care about, like the state of the old fence, how the neighbors’ chickens were doing… It was all window dressing to fill up space and keep the light from striking anything unpleasant.

We wrapped up breakfast, and all of us stared out the window to the porch. We were silent as the dead.

Looking back, I don't think I blame them. They weren't any more prepared than I was. Hell, they were so much less so. They hadn't thought about it for a decade.

"Well," I said after a few long moments. "Suppose I'd better hit the road."

My ear swiveled towards them. I wanted them to ask if I was really leaving already. There were supposed to say, "Aw, no! You just got here. Can't you stay for another day or two?"

Ma looked at Pa. Pa shrugged and said, "Well, if you think that's best, I won't stop you."

I… didn't think it was best. I kicked myself for even bringing the idea up. And yet, what was I supposed to do? Cave and beg them to let me stay? I'd already committed to it, and my brain reeled with the game of chess I suddenly found myself playing.

Finally, I just said, "Thank you for having me," and I stood up from the table. I didn't offer to help with the dishes. Instead, I walked to the door, grabbed my bag, and reached for the handle.

Ma spoke up and walked over. "Will we see you at Hearth's Warming?" Her voice whined in the way she'd always scolded me for.

I paused, worried I was pausing too long, and just said what came to mind. "...Yeah."

The room was still behind me. I looked over my shoulder at Pa. He frowned at me, like he was wrestling with himself, but he didn't say a word.

With a sigh, I thanked them again. Ma said, "Love you, Braeby."

And without looking, I mumbled, "Love you, too."

I looked to Pa. He was still there, frowning and glancing at the mantle. He didn't say anything, and, well, stubbornness runs in the family, I think.

As I shut the door behind me, I finally heard Pa shout a weak, "Love you, son."

I could have stopped the door and said something back to him. And I'm ashamed to say, I didn't.

The train ride back home – back to my real home, as far as I was concerned – was long and not particularly interesting. Of course, nothing was particularly interesting to me at that time. Everything was just gray, and so was the long, long walk back through the desert. The train got delayed by some malfunction, which left me about four hours of daylight to make a full day's trip, and that's already at a decent clip.

I camped out that night. Didn't feel like cooking anything, so I just nibbled on a few snacks that I had leftover in my pack. Without the threat of rain, I unrolled my sleeping bag onto the ground and made a small fire. There are coyotes out in the desert, of course, and I heard a few of them howling a long distance away. A few, uh… A few dark thoughts crept into my mind, but if there's one thing the wilderness it good for, it's letting all those feelings drift into space as you look up at the stars.

Sunrise woke me up to smoldering embers. Wordlessly, I packed up and marched home, weighed down by the fact that I'd slept better out in the middle of nowhere than in the house where I'd grown up.

Flint, Dawn Light, and Copperline were on shift back in town, since Springleaf had to go back early on account of a short-notice wedding. It was a skeleton crew, but there were a lot of small projects that weren't too dangerous: building benches, sealing roofs, and making bed frames, which they were in the middle of when I arrived at around dusk. They greeted me with a warm welcome, but Flint's face turned ghostly pale after I said hello without any color in my voice. Dawn Light was the first to ask, "Everything okay, Braeburn? Did you miss the train?"

I cleared my throat and looked to Flint, who stood there with a dumbfounded look on his face and a hoof over his heart. Ma had always told me to laugh through life, and I suppose I wanted to cling to the old vision of them, the one from before that weekend. With a small laugh, I said, "Eh, you know me. I tend to let my mouth run off." I nodded at the bed frame. "Could use a nice place to sleep and somethin' to take my mind off it, though. Alright if I pitch in a bit?"

You can only have so many hooves on a project like that, so Copperline took to making supper. He's a wizard with stews, and the smell of it carried us past sundown. The whole time, my friends didn't ask what I was upset about, which I appreciated immensely.

I finally told them about the talk over dinner. Copperline and Dawn Light were slack-jawed at how my parents had reacted, and Flint moped.

Dawn cast him a side eye. She poked his side and said, "Now, what're you so dour about?"

Flint chortled. "Heh. Braeburn is neglecting to mention that it's my fault. I'm the one that put him up to it." He looked up and shook his head at me. "I'm mighty sorry, Braeburn. I know words don't help, but truly, I would switch places with you in a moment if'n I could."

I sighed and set my spoon into my half-empty bowl of stew. "Ya' wouldn't think so, but the words do help, Flint." Looking around at the ragtag group of us, I felt like a baby bird piercing through his eggshell. The world had seemed so small before, and in some ways, I was looking for a new family to imprint onto. I'm damn lucky they were such good ones. "I'll be okay. I got all the family I need right here."

Copperline snickered. "Course, if we're family, you should probably stop trying to get into Flint's drawers before folks start talkin'."

"Ha!" I laughed along with the others. "Careful, Copper. I might cotton to that kind of humor, but he certainly won't."

"Who won’t?"

And that's when Flint tackled him to the ground. They wrestled each other, laughing all the way. Copperline fought the good fight, but Flint got him in a headlock and shouted, "Who's the li'l bitch now, eh, Copper? Ha!"

Copper slapped the ground and choked out, "I am! I am!"

With a smug smirk, Flint got off him, and we finished our supper, swapping stories about the stresses of family life and fights and all the freedom we got out here in the wilderness.

I'm a very lucky pony to have found them all. Even though most of them moved away, I cherish the times I had with them as some of the most valuable of my life. I don't think I ever grew as much as I did in those first couple years with the Appleloosans.

We plugged away at chores and tasks for months, and by the week of Hearth's Warming, we had both houses in the town fully furnished. We all slept in the same building, of course, partly for warmth and the rest for company, but it was nice knowing there was an escape if we needed it. Plus, it was a great place to lock up all our gear when we headed home for the holidays. We weren't too worried about thieves because, well, if somepony was desperate enough to march all the way out there and steal our supplies, we figured they needed it more than us.

Hearth's Warming at home was… well, oddly, it was normal.

Well, no. Not quite.

What's normal, really? The three of us were together, and we swapped gifts – the ones from me were mostly hoof-made – and we had a big meal and…

…

And, every twenty minutes or so, I'd feel a nagging at the back of my skull telling me to bring it up again. From the rigid way Ma kept fiddling with the stockings and Pa’s compulsive smoking, I think they were feeling it, too.

It didn't really let up, even on the train ride out to Ponyville a week later. I purposely sat across the aisle from my parents in the window seat, and no matter how quietly they tried to whisper, I could hear my Pa ask Ma over and over if they should say something.

I should explain. See, we have a tradition to take the ride out to Ponyville over the New Year. It's been our custom ever since my Pa's brother Uncle Bright and his wife Auntie Butter passed, so we can keep the cousins company. Big Mac and Applejack are old enough to handle it, of course, but Apple Bloom still really appreciates it, I think. I do, too. It's, uh… It's nice for some things to be stable.

The Ponyville Apples sure know how to do up a place nice. There must have been a mile of garland trimming the walls, and there were paper snowflakes far as the eye could see. You could tell that little Bloom had hung them up, because they only came to shoulder height on the rest of us. Their house was supposedly a little drafty, but with seven ponies in a five-pony house, it was plenty cozy and warm.

I remember Granny was the first to catch on to the sour feeling in the air. She said to Pa, one night after Bloom had gone to bed, "So what's with all the tension? Y'all are wound up tighter'n a dog leash 'round a pole."

"Ain't nothin', Ma," Pa said without looking up from his paper.

"Don't you lie to me, colt!" She rocked forward in her chair and glared. "I ain't too old to tan yer hide, and don'tcha forget it!"

Granny's stink-eye can break down a brick wall, and Ma– sorry, I should use their names, shouldn't I? To avoid confusion. My Ma Gala stopped knitting her blanket and knit her eyebrows instead while she stared at Cortland.

Cort cleared his throat and spoke firmly. "It's been a strange year." He nodded at me. "Braeburn striking out on his own has led to a few disagreements. But we love him." If he'd been any more wooden, we could've used him to raise a barn. "We'll all get over it sooner or later."

My hackles raised, and I wanted to bark at him. Granny glanced at me, too. "Eh, don't get your vest in a twist, Braeburn. You're a young hothead, just like every stallion in this family. I know the grown-ups seem like a lot of simple fools, but this ain't our first time 'round the block."

Granny's words got me to cool off, if only in deference to authority, but I felt my legs tense up like I could spring at any moment.

Applejack spoke up next. "What's got you all riled up, Braeburn? You can tell us." She smiled broadly. "We're family!"

You wanna know one of the weirdest things? Just that year, Applejack had become the Element of Honesty, and for months and months after that, nopony wanted to talk to her about anything. I think a lot of us were afraid we'd get exposed for all the lies we'd ever told or something. In retrospect, it must have been pretty lonely for her.

"Cousin, I appreciate it," I said with a sigh. "And you're right. We're family." I knew I couldn't lie to her – earth ponies always know when you do – so I had to get a little creative with the truth. "Pa's right, though. It's hard on all of us with me bein' out of the house and makin' my own decisions. Foundin' a town ain't easy, especially with only a dozen of us or so." The more I talked, the more I missed Appleloosa, and the more I thought about the family I had back there.

"Well, if you need help, y' shoulda asked!" She hopped up and walked over. "Why, I bet I could help you plan out everything you need while you're here this weekend!"

Gala laughed. "Hm-hm! Applejack, we really appreciate the help, but there's only a day left in the year. No need to focus on work."

"Aw, ain't no harm in thinkin' out loud, Auntie Gal." Applejack turned back to me. "And Braeburn's the most motivated pony I know. I'm sure he's just burstin' to get back there and get to work."

'If only you knew,' I thought to myself. I looked over to the couch where Applejack had been sitting, and Big Mac looked up from his paper at me. He smiled and just nodded in the way that always reminded me of Jonah, my older brother who died of carmine fever when I was little. That got me to finally breathe a little easier, and I said to Applejack, sincerely, "Thanks, cousin. I'd like that."

We headed off to her room to draw up plans for the orchard. She also mentioned she'd put in a good word for me with Twilight Sparkle, and maybe Princess Celestia could help us out, too. I thanked her for the offer, but I let her know that if I was going to found a town, I wanted to do it on my own and not riding somepony else's coattails.

"Now, don't be stubborn, Braeburn," she said.

"I ain't tryin’ to be stubborn, but this is…" I sighed. "It's important to me to have a space that I make for myself. I imagine you'll understand if you decide to move out someday."

She just shook her head. "Can't imagine why I'd want to do that anytime soon, but point taken. Now, about the orchard…" She was back into it, lickity split, and she offered up a tree from their orchard to help us get started. "His name's Bloomberg, and I'd be happy to bring him out there once the train gets constructed. Any plans for that, by the way?"

"Actually, I'm working on a draft proposal right now." It was true. I'd needed something to keep my mind occupied when we weren't working, and taking care of the paperwork ended up being a good way to do it. I guess I started and just never stopped.

"Darn tootin'! I'm sure it'll be a big success, Braeburn."

Applejack and I worked on half a dozen different little projects. Mostly I explained to her about problems we were having, and she helped trouble-shoot them. She’s nothing if not a hard worker, and I’m eternally grateful to her for everything she’s done for Ponyville and for me. But, well… I didn’t tell her. There’s some things that you just need to talk to another stallion about, right?

I was tossing around in my cot, probably around midnight or so. Like every year, I was set up in Big Mac’s room. I knew he was awake, and he knew I knew he was awake. Call it a family connection or whatever you like. But Big Mac wasn’t one to drag something out of other ponies. He just left the door open, ready for you to walk in.

Despite the chill in the air, I was sweating. My mane was plastered to my forehead. I sighed and groaned, “You up, Mac?”

From his bed, I heard a soft, “Eeyup.”

I took a few more breaths of the cold night air. Their house always smelled like my parents’, with just a little more carrot and a little less arugula on the back end. The quilt on top of me was heavy, just like the ones I’d grown up with, all made by Granny over the years. A little moonlight peeked in through the curtains. It was just enough to keep yourself from bumping into a table. The pillow under me was wet, and my muscles buzzed, like I was desperate to run.

Big Mac gave me time.

Finally, I sat up, and he did the same. My shoulders sagged, and I swallowed a lump. “You, uh… You’ve probably realized that things feel different this time around.”

Big Mac paused. “...Eeyup.”

“And, well… You ain’t wrong. It’s…” I wanted to say that things had been tense. The words felt heavy and died in my mouth. I scraped my brain for more, but my lungs felt like they’d collapsed in on themselves.

“Take your time.” He nodded slowly.

The thing about being queer is that you never stop having to come out. It gets easier with time, and the world is getting better every day, but there’s still that hurdle to jump over with every single pony you meet. Every. Single. One. You need to make the decision whether they can be trusted, whether this time is right, how they’re going to react and what you should be prepared for. It’s all this math in your head, all the time, and it’s exhausting. Doubly so when you need to do it a lot with a lot of high-stakes conversations.

But I suppose Big Mac already knew, in some ways. I’d made reference to “those types of ponies” when we were younger, back when we were supposed to start chasing mares. He’d asked me then if I liked something else instead, and at the time, I’d told him that wouldn’t it be crazy if I did? He’d said it wouldn’t be crazy, and he’d given me a big hug.

So I told myself, I already had one hoof in the door, and the other three just had to follow. I sat up, and I whispered, “I’m gay, Cousin Mac.”

He nodded, then said, “Say it again?”

I snorted and felt liked I’d taken a hoof to the chest. “Mac, you’re killin’ me. It’s a damn hard thing to say, and I know we gotta be quiet, and thank you for that–” I felt myself getting wound up, and Mac put up a hoof to let remind me how thin the walls were. “–but you really needed to pick this moment, right now, to go hard of hearing?” He didn’t respond, so I growled, “Really?”

Slowly, calmly, he said, “Say it again.”

“Why?” I snapped.

He didn’t waver. “Say it again.”

My throat tightened up. Tears welled up in my eyes. “Mac, I…” I looked at him. Just a little light reflected off his big, glassy eyeballs, and I could see him staring right at me. No judgment, not even concern. Just something warm, and he was making a space for me, like he always did. The words finally came back to me. “I’m gay, Mac.” They didn’t stop there. “I’m a homosexual. Don’t even care about mares at all. I’ve lusted after other stallions and dreamed about doing all sorts of things with them, and I want to find one that’s right for me and lead a happy life and feel his body on mine, and… and I’m gay. I’m pansy-sniffin’, colt-cuddlin’, dick-lovin’ gay, Mac.” My body felt like a deflated balloon.

Mac slowly stood up from a creaking bed, calmly walked over to me, and wrapped me up in a big hug. “You had it in you to tell me twice.” He squeezed harder. “So you’ve got it in you to speak with Uncle Cort and Auntie Gal again, too. And you can tell the whole world when you’re ready, and your family will still be here for you. Ain’t no stoppin’ you, Braeburn.”

A wave of relief rolled down my back, and I sank into his hug. “Thanks, cousin.”

We stayed up for over an hour, I bet. I told him about Flint and what I’d been feeling, and he listened. When I struggled, he took over and told me about the kinds of dream he’d been having about a few mares in town, the kind of dreams that I won’t repeat here for his privacy. But he did it for me. Even if we were attracted to different kind of ponies, it gave me something to anchor to, made me feel normal, if only for a few minutes at a time.

Mac was encouraging, and I came to him a few times again during that visit, just to check in and talk privately. He was all for me telling everyone and getting it over with, but, well… I wasn’t there yet. I told him I needed time, and I wanted to have a real coltfriend and get that experience before I told anypony. He understood, and he offered an ear whenever I needed it.

The rest of our trip felt warmer after that. Not like Hearth’s Warming celebrations in years past, but close enough that I could unwind over a spicy, boozy drink with the family and have a real conversation, and by the time we headed our separate ways, I felt stable and ready to get back to work.

And I suppose… Time just went on.

That spring, another six ponies showed up in Appleloosa, all ones that the others had convinced to come out our way. The town officially had its second wave of settlers, and buildings went up faster and faster. More ponies came to help with planting, and by summer we had a real town, complete with a sheriff and a schoolteacher for the three foals that we had. Of course, it wasn't many years before he had his hooves full.

Applejack and her friends visited us late that summer, right after the train tracks were finished. She delivered a big ol' tree she'd named Bloomberg. She was the first in my family to come see the town, and they even helped us settle an issue with the local buffalo herds. Though, uh… not without some difficulty.

But I kept myself busy. Busier and busier all the time, either writing proposals, putting together events, trying to make other ponies feel welcome, and constructing more houses for our growing numbers. The work had a nice rhythm to it. The sun became a heartbeat. It rose and fell, and by the end of the day I’d make a new friend or get further on some project. That whole time is a blur. I like to think I was happy. Maybe I was just lost in my work. I don’t know. But I was caught off guard when the apple harvest started up in the fall, and that took up all my time for a few months. Autumn rolled into winter, faster than I could turn around, and this time, we didn’t need to worry about shifts. There were plenty of ponies that could keep the town running while a bunch of us went home.

Hearth's Warming that year went the same way. My parents talked about how proud they were that Appleloosa was growing, but… that same feeling was there, like a loud, sour note you just barely can't hear.

The seasons rolled on. Big Mac visited me a few times that year, and every time, I'd feel like I was spending the whole time complaining to him. He's a good listener, but I can't help but think I drove him to his limit.

Appleloosa really started coming into its own, too. Our farm grant was approved, and the crops came in better than we could have imagined.

There were sad days, too. Flint moved away that summer, a little over two years after I'd first met him. His ex-fiance has said she wanted to patch things up with him, and he was willing to give her another chance. Sadly, she hadn't changed much, but Flint ended up meeting a nice mare that wanted to settle down with him outside Ponyville.

Something broke in me when I got the letter from him about his new engagement. I'd never really let go of those fantasies of being with him, even if I knew it would never happen. But after a few weeks and a lot of whisky, I felt a little more free, and, well, I started dating.

There weren't many options, of course. Appleloosa was still in the dozens, and the first other gay stallion to move into town came that fall. Roughshod. A beast of a stallion, and while we weren't really each other's types – I was too energetic for him, and he was too lazy for me – it was nice to have somepony to talk to. And don't think too ill of me, but I'd missed having another soul to relieve my urges with. Truth be told, I might have been too eager for him. We only barely lasted three months, but part of that was how much he missed city living. At least, that's what I tell myself.

Hearth's Warming came around again, and again, we took the trip to Ponyville. I remember it striking me at my parents' doorstep that I hadn't seen them in a year. I'd barely noticed. The holiday passed as normally as one could expect, with polite conversation and no mention of my personal life beyond the building of the town.

The more I think about it, the more I realize how much the town was becoming my identity in those days. It was the one part of my life I could share openly, without worrying what they'd say. Maybe it's a part of growing up, but I felt like my connection to my old home was growing weaker and weaker by the month. It's supposed to be that way, I think, at least a little. Maybe. I dunno. I liked growing on my own, and in the end, the space did me good.

But I needed companionship, just like everypony else. Appleloosa continued to thrive and grow, and we hit the hundred pony mark that year. Slate and his wife and young filly moved in that year, along with Pridesong and Hasty Haberdasher, the mare that now owns our prized hat shop. The tourism industry I helped set up certainly didn't hurt with the recruitment, I think.

Feh. Not for lack of trying on my part, though.

Sorry. I don't mean to be hard on myself, but in those days, I was more riled up than a dog in heat. I'd fallen into the job of giving tours on top of everything else, partly because I was always eager to volunteer, and I was something of a perfect fit. See, one benefit of being a queer is that nopony is threatened by you. Everypony's expecting some rough and tumble, grizzled cowpony to steal their mare or tempt them away from their stallions, but most folks can tell right away that it ain't happening.

And that means the ones that swing your way can spot you from a mile away.

It's terrible, I know, but I can't tell you the names of all the ponies that shared my bed that year. Probably couldn't even count them. For a while, it wasn't even about companionship – it was about proving I could do whatever I wanted. Almost like a power trip, I'd say – I'd had to hide for so many years, and I was finally claiming what I wanted for myself.

Course, drink anything long enough, and you'll find it doesn't satisfy. By late spring, I started trying to convince every other stallion I slept with to come visit again. A few did, once or twice, and I even managed a long-distance relationship with Roughshod again for a few more months. But as soon as those all fell apart, I'd be back in reality, managing a town full of ponies that were beginning more and more to wonder if everything they'd ever heard about gays was true.

Pridesong was the first to confront me, the day after the solstice. He marched into the jailhouse, where that public desk was in those days, right as I was finishing up a letter to Canterlot. I greeted him warmly, even though I knew he meant business. "Mornin', Pride. Fine day for a stroll."

He stood tall and stared me down. Walked right up to the desk without blinking.

"Can I, uh… help you?"

He let out a rough sigh. "Braeburn, you gotta stop with all the stallions."

I paused, and I swallowed, and I tried to casually fold up the paper I'd written. "Pride, my business is my own." I cleared my throat. I was half expecting him to interrupt, but he waited patiently. "I don't see you begrudging any of the young colts gettin' head over hooves for the fillies."

Pridesong snorted. "That ain't why I'm here, Braeburn, and you know it." He sat up straighter and lowered his voice, just like so many of the straights do when they talk to you about your sex life. Like they're so damn insecure that they gotta reestablish their stallionhood or some damn nonsense.

Sorry, I shouldn't generalize. I just… Hmph. I've had a lot of these conversations over the years, and after all the shit I've been through, I get to rag on the straights a little, too, right?

He said, "I got no problem with which way you swing–"

"Bullshit." I stared him in the eyes from under the brim of my hat.

"Fine," he grumbled. "But I can get past it. I will, one of these days, and I don't complain about that." He set a hoof on the desk. "What I will complain about is your promiscuity. What kind of example you settin' for the foals around here? Seein' somepony big in the community treatin' others like used hankies?"

My lips felt stiff. "Pride, do you have any idea how hard it is out here to meet somepony? If I'm 'promiscuous,' it's because I ain't got the luxury of spending a lot of time before they move on! What, you expect me to ask them out to a nice dinner, buy them flowers from Celestia-knows-where, and let everything unfold over a bunch of months? When the hell does that happen?"

"So ya' learn to deal with it!" He flicked a hoof in the air. "Braeburn, one bachelor to another, I'm sympathetic. Really, I am. You think I don't feel that itch, same as you? But Celestia's name, Braeburn, you haven't met a dick you wouldn't bend over for, and folks are talkin', and I don't know if I wanna raise a family in a place run by… by that."

"By what," I growled. I almost hit him back about that "raising a family" bit and how he wasn't even close, but my mind was reeling. "Maybe you can't handle–"

"Braeburn!" His shoulders sank. "Braeburn, I take no joy in tellin' you this, but folks are callin' you a damn whore."

That… That shut me up right quick.

"And frankly, I'm having trouble not agreein' with 'em. You do a lot for this town. I get it, but holy hell, you still gotta maintain an image for the rest of us."

I let a rattling breath. "I don't owe you my sexuality, Pride."

"Braeburn." His eyes were sad. "You've got a reputation, and it ain't a good one. You know what one of the tourists said to me?" He frowned, deeper, and he hesitated. "I was at the Salt Block, and I tried to give this guy a warm welcome, and he was laughing and asked, 'Where's that whore y'all got out here? I don't go for stallions much, but a warm body's a warm body, right?' Right to my face! What the hell am I supposed to say to that?"

I was… stunned. So stunned that we parted with little more than a blush from Pridesong.

It wasn't supposed to be like that. I was reclaiming my sexuality. I was living free. I had picked myself up and brushed off the dirt, and I was starting to explore who I really was.

But that’s not what my new family saw. They saw a floozy, a harlot that was tearing down their way of life faster than he could raise buildings. I was a workhorse in every sense, but the more I worked, the further my little hideaway felt.

I’d helped build Appleloosa from the very first days. It was meant to be my refuge, a place I could grow into my own and finally feel free. But with each new pony that arrived, with each new set of eyes on me, it felt less and less like mine. It was theirs, a space that I was allowed to be in, where I was tolerated, but only just. I was on the outside again, even in the community whose heart I’d crafted myself.

The desert had never felt so barren.

After that, I spent weeks looking over my shoulder, always trying to eavesdrop on the whispered conversations as I walked down Mane Street. I’d catch a few words, and none of them were pleasant. So, eventually, I didn’t walk around as much. I’d contribute in whatever way I could, then go home for the evening to sulk. I’d settled into a house at the edge of town, and I rarely got bothered.

I still gave the tours, though, and I’m proud to say that I stayed upbeat for the guests. They still had a good time, and I loved seeing them, even if I felt the weight of the town on me every time a handsome stallion showed up. I didn’t pursue them anymore. Feeling the constant judgment of dozens of ponies does a good job killing the mood. Those tours all blended together, all except one.

It was a small group. They’d come the last weekend in August, when it was too damn hot, even at night. I was shocked any of them wanted to travel, and all but one of them looked like they were melting from the second they got off the train.

He was a beast of a pony. Built like a farmer or an industrial worker, and with a sheen to his coat that sparkled like a mirage. He was statue-like, chiseled and still, with a square jaw that I desperately wanted to feel on my face. The way he stood – solid on all four hooves, head held high – was unusual for a pegasus. It gave him a kind of power, like he was surveying a new kingdom for himself with just the slightest movement of his eyes. He smiled like Pa used to when he looked over the fields after a harvest, as if he was drinking in a year’s worth of work. But this stranger wasn’t looking around at all. He was looking directly at me.

My heart jumped to my throat, and then that cold shame pressed down on my shoulders. So, I did what I’d learned to do and averted my gaze. I knew what I was in for if I started ogling him, and like a coward, I hid from my feelings.

But he wouldn’t have any of that. He puffed out his chest and stretched his wings as he marched straight up to me. I started with my usual greeting, a hearty “Welcome to Aaaaaapple–!”

And he interrupted me with a long whistle. “Well, isn’t that exceptional.” His low, powerful, smooth voice made me quiver, like he was massaging me with sound. He stepped up close, and since he was nearly a head taller than me, I got a good look and a beautiful whiff of that gorgeous, muscled chest.

I stuttered and said, “It’s, uh, quite a town! None like it.”

“Oh, I haven’t even looked at the town yet, cutie.” He stood up straighter. He could tell I was looking at his chest. “You’re the exception.”

Sweat poured down my face, but I still felt a chill gripping my heart. “E-exception to what?” I finally looked up. It was like his eyes had captured the sun, and it began to warm me from the inside out.

“If I might be so forward…” He reached down and took my hoof in his, and I swear, if there’d been a breeze that day, I’d have been swept away. “I’ve always thought that love at first sight was a fairy tale.” I nearly fell over as he lifted my hoof to his lips and gave it a kiss. “But I know somethin’ special when I see it.”

My head spun. My stomach, too. I thought about all the town staring at me, wondering if I was back at it, but as I felt his heavy hoof hold up mine, everything else melted away, until it was just him and me on that train platform. I swallowed hard as I began to dream again for the first time in weeks. “Stranger, I… I admit I’m not usually at a loss for words. I…” I didn’t pull my hoof away. He continued to hold it. “I’m Braeburn, and it’s, uh… extremely nice to meet you.”

He smiled so warmly. “Well, I’d say the pleasure’s all mine, but if I have my way, you’ll be gettin’ plenty yourself.” He winked at me. My heart pounded and my imagination ran wild. “But where are my manners?” He set my hoof down, then gently brushed some of my sweaty mane from my face. “You can call me Bronze.”

Chapter 7 - The Scent of Flowers and Rain

==X===X===X===X===X==

Braeburn takes a deep breath. He stares forward, unfocused, at the shelves of booze in front of him. His sasparilla glass rests on the bar, long empty.

Handlebar has politely stepped away to give us space.

I lean forward, putting myself into Braeburn’s field of vision. “Should we take this conversation elsewhere?”

Braeburn nods. “Yeah… Yeah, I suppose that’d be easiest.” He rolls his eyes. “I’ll admit, without the buzz, there ain’t much appeal to spilling your sorrows at a bar.” He knocks the bar once with a hoof and tips his hat at Handlebar. “So I s’pose there’s no need to darken your establishment, Handlebar. I’ll let you get this place back to a proper mood.”

Handlebar merely nods and thanks us for our patronage.

We swivel on our stools and head outside. I keep my eyes peeled for any more surprises from Braeburn’s family, but as we step out into the light, it’s Appleloosans as far as the eye can see. They’ve picked up the pace, and several of them give Braeburn big, showy smiles as they hang more decorations.

Braeburn stops a few steps into the street. “Well, usually this is where I’d bring the tour to the library.” His voice is bouncy again. “But can’t much tell a story where it’s supposed to be quiet, and Abby’ll likely be in there runnin’ numbers. Shame, too. We’ve got a little folk museum in there.”

Scanning for anypony I recognize, I half-heartedly ask, “Museum?”

“Hardly worth mentioning, if I’m honest, but some of the townsfolk wanted us to preserve little pieces of our history. It’s got the shovel that we used to first break the ground, and, uh… You alright?”

I snap back to him and realize how much I was looking around.

Braeburn cocks his head. “They don’t bite, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He chuckles. “Or maybe you’re findin’ everypony a little too friendly. Lots of city folk have that feeling the first day or so. We consider it a badge of honor.”

I shake my head. “Forgive me, I’m just not used to hearing stories like this in public spaces.” It’s true, even if I’m omitting half the reason I’m so watchful. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to continue out here.”

Braeburn purses his lips. “Mighty considerate of you. Most ponies in town have read the book. The ones who are old enough, at least, so they know.” He shakes his head. “But you’re right. I’ll probably be a little more at ease with some privacy. Hm…” He taps his chin. “Oh! How about we take a spin around the orchard, then head up to the hill for a view of the whole town? We can watch the train come in when it’s time.”

I chew the inside of my cheek. “Let's do the view first. Big Mac said he’ll meet us for lunch in the orchard, anyway, so the timing might work out better.”

“Heh.” Braeburn prances past me. “Or you’re puttin’ off the apple bucking chores for a few more minutes.”

I coyly shrug. “There are a number of benefits, yes.”

We walk through the alley next to the Salt Block, and as we head towards a hill covered in buffalo prints, we are quickly out of earshot.

Braeburn continues. “Bronze is a gentlestallion. Always has been, and I think that’s what makes him so…” His gait winds down like a toy at the end of its string.

I can think of a number of different words he might say. Dangerous. Cunning. Malicious.

“...beautiful.”

I feel like a sack of flour just hit me in the head. “Excuse me?”

Braeburn hangs his head. We pause for a moment, and he looks up at me with guilty eyes.

==X===X===X===X===X==

I don’t… want you to think I’m trying to reform him. Or paint some rosy picture, or apologize for what he’s done. He hurt me, and he hurt Soarin’. I’m sure he’s hurt others. But I don’t want you to think it’s so simple, either.

See, the morning when Soarin’ and I broke up, he told me how much he’d learned about himself in those few months together. I think that’s why ponies seek out relationships. Or at least part of it. Being with somepony teaches us about ourselves. And loathe as I may be to admit it, I learned so much from Bronze.

Bronze didn’t linger at the train station platform, at least not once he caught me looking at all the other tourists that were eying us. He just smiled and nodded. “Forgive me for coming on strong, Braeburn. If you’ve looked in a mirror today, I’m sure you’ll understand why.” He reached into his bags and pulled out a black, wide-brimmed cowpony hat – one of the few tourists to ever bring his own – then put it on and tipped it to me in one smooth motion. I think he put it on just to greet me. “I figure I don’t need to cause a scene. I’ll see you ‘round, cutie.”

I thought I would melt.

He brushed past me as he walked to the stairs. His thick, muscled body shoved me just a little, and he rumbled with a low laugh that made the back of my head tingle. “Might wanna attend to the other tourists, though.”

I swallowed and looked back at the rest of the crowd, still fiddling with their bags and looking all around. They needed guidance. Shaking off the mental fog, I straightened my shirt and my hat, trotted up to the group, and greeted them with a big ol', “Sorry for the delay, folks! Welcome to Aaaaappleloosa!”

Maybe I’m just prone to lovesickness, but as much as I was weighed down by Pridesong’s warning, my insides tickled whenever I thought of Bronze. I brought the rest of the tourists to the Tumbleweed, but Bronze was conspicuously absent from the tours I gave for the rest of the day. Never once did I spot him, and you can bet I was looking.

And yet, I scolded myself for getting riled up. I told myself I couldn’t let it happen again, and so, for two agonizing days, I played the perfect host, and whenever Bronze would show up for an event, I would stay with the group and treat him like anypony else.

Bronze would later accuse me of playing hard-to-get, and it had driven him wild.

It was day three for this tour group, early in the afternoon. Once Pridesong got his guitar out and Lily Bloom started the first line dancing lesson, I finally had some free time to relax. Of course, ‘relax’ means jumping in and dancing with everypony else to help them get in the spirit. It was a good group, too. Didn’t take too much to get them invested and having a good time.

Lily Bloom called for a water break after three songs. “I know, I hate to be a wet blanket, y’all, but it’s hot today! You’ll thank me when you don’t have a splittin’ headache tonight.”

The crowd flocked to a table full of water that Handlebar had set up outside the Salt Block. Enterprising pony that he is, he’d set up lemonade for sale, too: normal and spiked.

I took that moment to slip away. As much as I wanted to keep the fun going, I had faith in my compatriots, and I dipped into Sheriff Silverstar’s office to get some paperwork done.

But just as I was closing the door behind me, I saw Bronze. He stood tall, far away from the crowd, and in his hooves was a bouquet of desert lilies, all dressed up with fairy dusters. And he was looking right at me.

I caught the door and stood there, slack jawed, as he approached.

Bronze held the flowers to his chest. His strong, beautiful wings were folded pristinely at his sides. He reached me and stood just a hair closer than was probably appropriate for public. He sat down, took off his hat, and held it to his heart while he presented me with the flowers.

They smelled like the sweetest perfume I’d ever smelled, and I felt dizzy.

Bronze’s mouth turned up in a small smile. “Braeburn, I’ve been waiting for you to take a break all day, but you’re just too giving, ain’tcha?”

My eyes fluttered. “I... I don’t know about that.” I swallowed. “I just want everypony to have a great time, is all.”

He rolled his eyes. “Cute, driven, generous… Sir, it is a wonder you ain’t been snatched up by somepony yet.” He stuck out his lower lip and shrugged. “Or maybe you have. I shouldn’t presume, but I’d be willing to wrestle him to the ground and more if it means winning you over.”

My voice caught in my throat. “This is so sudden.” I finally grabbed the flowers from him.

“Like I said, love at first sight.” He fiddled with his hat. “Heh. And there I go presumin’ again. But Braeburn, I’ve heard about you.”

My whole body stiffened up, and Pridesong’s words echoed in my head.

Bronze’s eyes fluttered, and his voice went all quiet. “And you’re even more amazing than they say.”

…and the tension rolled off me as quick as it had come. “What do you mean?”

“Aw, where do I start?” He finally noticed how much he was handling his hat, so he plopped it back on his head to make himself stop. “You’re a town founder, a true gentlestallion, handsome as all get out, strong, polite…” He blew air out of his lips. “And that’s just knowing you for five minutes." He stood and puffed out his chest. “And I reckon you were raised by a good family, too, so you like things a bit more traditional.”

I flinched at ‘family.’ Bronze’s eyes narrowed, just a touch, and it was like he already knew everything.

But he didn’t falter. “So I’m not waiting anymore for a perfect moment.” He blushed. It’s the second-reddest I’ve ever seen his cheeks. “I’m courtin’ you, Braeburn. I want to get to know you better, so I’m officially asking you to spend some time with me.”

It all felt so natural and right. It wasn’t like any of the flirting or leery eyes I’d gotten from any of the other stallions. This one felt different. Purer, somehow. I wasn’t pursuing him at all, but he was adamant that I give him a chance. It felt… powerful.

And once I realized how powerful I was, I sobered up and knew I had to make the responsible choice. My head hung, and I got a whiff of those daisies. So clean and bright out in the dusty land, and it made my words all the heavier. “Bronze… I’m flattered.” I forced myself to look him in the eye, and I saw his heart breaking just like mine had dozens of times. “But I’ve been down this road far too often, and I can’t live through another weekend romance.”

“Heh,” he chuckled through a broken smile. “I suppose it’s a good thing I lied to you, then.”

Ice stabbed through my chest. “You w-what?” I looked down at the bouquet and held it at foreleg’s length, like it was made of rattlers.

“Shit!” His wings sprung straight out, and his eyes were the size of dinner plates. “Fuck! No!” His ass plopped onto the porch. He waved his hooves in front of him like he was swatting a thousand flies. “No, no, you misunderstand, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I– dammit.” With a quick yank, he pulled the brim of his hat over his eyes, then wrapped his wings around himself. Inside, I heard him mumble, “This weren’t how it was supposed to go.”

Seeing him all bundled up like that flipped off my fight-or-flight switch. I didn’t feel icy any more. More like I’d just watched a pony rub all their clean laundry in the dirt before hanging it to dry. “You, uh… You okay, Bronze?” I held the flowers a little closer to my chest again.

He slowly unfurled his wings, then peeked out at me from under his hat. I’ll never forget that look: like a foal who knitted you their first sweater, but he forgot the hole for the head and is hoping you’ll still like it. He lingered on me, and when he saw I was looking back, he sighed, shook his head, and laughed at himself. “See, you got me all flustered, Braeburn.”

That is the reddest I’ve ever seen his cheeks.

I offered him a hoof, and he took it to stand up. My stars, his body felt good, even from just that little bit of contact.

Bronze brushed himself off. “What I meant was, I ain’t really a tourist.” He took a deep breath and steadied himself. “I misled you a bit, because I didn’t want to put any pressure on you. See, I’m here for good, Braeburn, if Appleloosa’ll have me. Chattahoofa wasn’t working for me, and I want a fresh start. I came with every intention of staying. I’d had…” A goofy smile flashed on his face. “...ideas about meeting the famous gay founder of Appleloosa, but when I saw you, I… Heh.” He laughed again, then took his hat off to fan himself. He was mighty sweaty, and that just made his gorgeous coat glisten all the more. “I was worried you’d think I was taking things too fast. Wouldn’t be the first time, because, well, look at me.”

I felt like I was drooling as I took another gander at that shimmering chest of his. “Oh, I’m lookin'.” My eyes shot wide open, and I slapped the hoof with the flowers to my mouth.

He smiled back. “I’ll take that as a sign of interest.”

With those lilies and dusters up in my face, it was like I was looking at him on the page of a storybook, framed by the beauty of the wilderness. But he was real. He was perfect because he was imperfect, and he wasn’t afraid to be true to himself, in front of me or anypony else. He already knew me well enough to approach me when I wasn’t in the middle of my duties. Most of all, he made me feel safe.

It was too late for me. I was already in love. So I just smiled and told him, “Yes, I’d like to spend more time with you, Bronze.”

He tried very, very hard to keep cool, but his wings hitched up, he fanned himself again, and his eyes couldn’t hide the joy he felt with his whole body. He cleared his throat. “Well, then you enjoy those flowers, sir, and I’ll swing by later after all the festivities.”

I didn’t know what else to say, but one of the tourists clearly did. I was so wrapped up in Bronze’s eyes and the way the sunlight glinted off his flanks that I hadn’t seen a blue-purple unicorn stallion trotting up to us. He spoke with a Neighagara accent. “Sorry to interrupt, but could you, uh, take that inside, please?”

Bronze slowly turned his head and raised an eyebrow. “Beg pardon?”

Something in the air changed. It was like there was a darkness to it all of a sudden. I knew it all too well: a tangle of feelings when somepony doesn’t approve of my “lifestyle.” But it was different, too. With Bronze there, it wasn’t mixed up. It was focused, and terrifying as it should have been, I was utterly fascinated that it wasn’t pointed at me for once.

The unicorn pointed back to the crowd. “Look, I’ve got my kids here, and we want a family-friendly vacation. I really don’t want anything shoved down our throats out here.”

Bronze moved with horrifying gentleness. He took his hat off, set it on the porch in front of the office, and turned to the unicorn. Calmly, he said, “Just call me a faggot. It’ll save us some time.”

The unicorn and I both recoiled. He said, “There’s no need for language like that.”

Bronze sneered at him. “Ain’t no worse than what you’re already implyin’.”

The unicorn shook his head and waved a hoof. “You have to understand–”

“No, you have to understand. There is nothin’ wrong with a stallion lovin’ other stallions, and I will mess up anypony that tells me otherwise.”

“I-I don’t want trouble. I just want what’s best for my family.” The unicorn feebly puffed up his chest, but he was still dwarfed by Bronze.

“I don’t have time to tell you everything wrong with that statement, but let me make one thing clear.” He leaned in close to the unicorn’s face and snarled through gritted teeth. “If I weren’t so giddy from meeting the most worthy stallion I’ve ever laid eyes on...” He jerked his head back towards me. “I would have already shoved those flowers so far up your ass that I’d have punched your teeth out from the inside.”

The unicorn’s jaw dropped.

Bronze leaned in more, spreading his wings aggressively. “And far as I’m concerned, that option is still on the table. Now you go back to your kids and tell ‘em I’m a pedophile or whatever lies you were gonna say anyway. I'll be fine. I've heard worse." He snorted and shoved his face against the unicorn's. "But stay the fuck outta my business, and we won’t have trouble. Got it?”

In reply, the unicorn turned up his nose and turned away, stomping back to the crowd.

Bronze ran a hoof through his mane and folded his wings in. He looked back to me. “Sorry. I’m rough around the edges.” He hung his head and looked genuinely sad. “I know I probably just made your job harder, but understand: I cannot and will not abide by any of that shit in my life, and you shouldn’t either.” He turned to face me. “And something tells me you’re too nice to push back, Braeburn, so even if I don’t have much to offer yet, let me offer you this: I can push back for you.”

I clutched the flowers to myself, and I…

Oh, Celestia’s name…

…

It was all right there, plain as day. I’d exchanged a couple dozen words with him, and already, he’d shown me how quickly he would turn to violence. I had seen first-hoof the kind of stallion he really is.

But at the time, all I saw was a pony who finally understood, a pony who would protect me from anyone that bothered us. And as awful as it is, it made me feel safe again.

==X===X===X===X===X==

Braeburn pulls his hat down over his eyes as we reach the base of the steep hill. We stand to the side, far away from the deep valleys of buffalo prints.

I take a deep breath. “You didn’t know, Braeburn. Not really.”

He looks up at the hill in front of him. “No excuses.”

==X===X===X===X===X==

The first time Bronze wrapped those wings around me, he might as well have stuck me with a brand. I felt like I would be his forever.

It was our first date, if you want to call it that, just a couple days later. He came over to my place to make dinner. Bronze is a natural in the kitchen. We had a savory vegetable hash with Chattahoofa-style grits, and for a side, he blended an incredible whipped cream fruit salad with a warmed herb syrup. It was the freshest thing I'd eaten in the desert, and I'm still impressed he found so much produce on such short notice.

We sat on a padded bench that you could generously call a couch. I leaned onto his chest, and before I knew it, those gilded feathers began to stir.

Bronze smirked. "I've seen you eying them, cutie. Got a thing for feathers?" As he spoke, he slowly stretched them up and around us.

It was like a pop-up storybook, but all around me. Each feather seemed to flex and stretch on its own, but they all danced together in perfect harmony, unfurling larger and more intricately each moment. Light filtered in through them, bathing my face in a metallic glow. It felt like I was a caterpillar who was finally ready to transform, and Bronze would help me become the radiant, colorful, happy butterfly I was meant to be.

I inhaled deeply. The fresh fruit and warm, rosemary-laden syrup smelled like the captured essence of July, mixed with the lightly dusted wings of a pony that already loved me for who I was.

"You okay, cutie?" His voice was gentle but unwavering, and he wrapped a leg around my waist. He fed me the first bite of the fruit.

My eyes fluttered. I knew I would wake up, and yet, it wasn't a dream. That flavor, that moment… sweet, complex, fresh, safe, dripping with expectation and desire. I lay my head at his neck. "You're an angel. No other explanation."

His chest bounced with a laugh. "Oh, I assure you, I'm a lot more infernal than you might suspect." He gave my ass a squeeze.

I moaned and made a move to kiss him, and he obliged.

That first kiss might as well have been our hundredth, like we'd been doing it for months already. With his extra height, we were the perfect size for each other, and everything fit. His mouth tasted like the remnants of our dinner along with a flavor that was uniquely him.

And when he pulled away, he blinked three times, then shook his head. "Wow."

I chortled. "Didn't know I was that good a kisser."

"Not just the kiss. It was…" He looked at me like a sleepy puppy, then kissed my forehead again.

"Mmm… Careful how much you rile me up, or we may not get through this fruit."

He cocked his head back. "You just enjoy your fruit and kisses, cutie, because that's all the sugar you're gettin' tonight."

I lightly whapped his chest. "Aw, what kind of devil are you, not even trying to tempt me at all?"

"The kind that looks out for your pride, cutie." He set down the spoon he'd used to feed me and wrapped me in both forelegs.

"How do you mean?"

He sighed. "This town don't deserve you, Braeburn."

"What happened?" When he didn't respond, I repeated myself. "What happened, Bronze?"

He pursed his lips. "I don't want to spoil the evening, but for the sake of you not worrying…" He shook his head. "I had to slap some sense into a stallion today. He said some awful stuff about you and your sleepin' habits."

I deflated in his embrace.

"Don't mope, cutie. I set him straight. Like I said, I'll push back, remember?" He held me tight and kissed my forehead. "And while I don't ever think we should live our lives to please others, I ain't gonna give that asshole the satisfaction." He lifted my chin along with my spirits. "Now, to be fair, I don't much like buckin' on a first date. I’m traditional like that. I don't want you to ever think I'm just in it for your body, gorgeous as it is. So tomorrow, you're gonna to hold your head high, and anyone that makes a snide comment, you tell 'em the truth: that this time is different, and you're willing to take it slow, because what we're starting is special."

…

It sounds nice, don't it? Show the town that I wasn't what they expected. Feel pride in my chastity. Stick it to anypony still thinking I was a two-bit whore.

But I was doing it on his terms. He was already in control, stepping in and isolating me from the town. Looking back, I think that's the way he wanted it.

Bronze squeezed my flank. "But don't you worry. I'm eager as you are, and I'll make that perfectly round apple butt mine soon enough."

His.

Gall, I really didn’t know a thing, did I? Even after a lifetime of feeling shackled by my parents’ expectations, of hiding from them and wanting so desperately to be out on my own, I was so quick to get tied up by anypony that wanted me. I could forfeit everything I was if it just meant feeling that sweetness on my mouth and that warmth suffusing my body, even for a night, the next morning be damned. And no matter how many warning signs I saw, I kept falling into it, over and over again, until I was totally dependent on him, and he’d taken over my life.

He’d certainly taken over my thoughts. We agreed to spend a week together before we got physical, but every day, when I’d see him, my mind went straight to what he’d do to me.

But I did as I was told, and Celestia be damned, I felt absolutely no shame in myself. Might have been the first time in a year. Merriweather was the first to give me a side-eye that next day, and I gave her a bright “Hey there!” in response.

She hammered away at a washtub that had sprung a leak. “Mornin’, Braeburn.” She narrowed her eyes. “You seem chipper.”

“Course! Had a lovely dinner with Bronze last night, then got some much-needed shut-eye. Pretty darn close to the perfect evening, I’d say.”

She let out a little feh. “Right.”

It’s the sort of reaction that would have bothered me just a week prior, but like magic, I thought of Bronze and how he handled these sorts of things. “Truly!” I cantered up to her and her washbasin. “And yeah, I know what you’re thinkin’, but this ain’t like those other times. Bronze is somethin’ special.”

Merriweather grunted and set her hammer down. “Braeburn, you expect me to believe that?”

“I do.” I nodded at her. “Say what you will about my habits, Merriweather, but have you ever known me to be a liar?”

That gave her pause.

So I shot back a glistening smile. “So you ask anypony you like and see whether Bronze came back late last night. They’ll all tell you the same story. Cross my heart.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, then cocked her head, then went wide-eyed. “No foolin’?”

“None at all, tempting as it was,” I said with a wink.

With a snorted laugh, she picked up her hammer again. “Well, if that’s true, then good for you. Makes me feel a little better to see you settlin’ down. You have a good day.” She went back to her work.

And I trotted along. See, I knew she’d ask about us later, and I knew that she’d hear about how Bronze came back to town right after the dinner hour.

See, Bronze was staying in the workers' home in those days. It’s a long bunkhouse we’d built mostly as temporary housing, and it was meant for anypony that needed a place until they could get their hooves under them. There was one for the bachelor stallions and one for the mares and families. I’d offered Bronze a room in my house, of course, but he wouldn’t have any of that. He wanted to protect my reputation.

I headed there next, and I knocked on the front door. Nopony was there, and that told me all I needed to know: Bronze was out in town making himself useful, and that gave me comfort.

A few more ponies stopped me to say hello. Most were very curious about how things were going with Bronze, since they'd seen him come home early, too. They had sympathy in their eyes, like they assumed we'd already broken up. Hoo, I tell you: the smug feeling you get from undercutting nasty assumptions about yourself is quite a drug. Almost makes that week of abstinence worth it. Almost.

I headed back to my orchard for my chores and upkeep. I’d hired Fertile Seed to help dig holes for the transplants, but he’s never been a fan of me, and he’d jumped over to the tomato and sorghum fields at the first opportunity. I thought of him as I started digging, about how I wished I could hold over his head what a good little colt I’d been, but he’d find out soon enough. I chuckled to myself, “That’ll burn his hide somethin’ fierce.”

That made for lonely work in the field, though, and a little before noon, I was starting to get a headache from the August heat. I’d taken most of my water breaks like I was supposed to, but my canteens had run dry, so I’d skipped my last one. I knew what to watch for, though, so I sat down, took my hat off my head, and wiped my brow.

And all of a sudden, I was in the shade. I blinked and looked around: a perfect patch of darkness encircled me, and I realized how much cooler I suddenly felt. “What in tarnation?” I scratched my head, and I finally looked up.

“Hey there.” Bronze lazed on a cloud the likes of which I’d never seen in Appleloosa. He looked down at me, the sun giving his head a corona that looked like a halo. “Lookin’ hot, Applebutt.”

I snorted a laugh. “That all you can think about? My big, round, apple-y ass?”

Bronze shrugged. “Looks even better from up here. You takin’ care of yourself?”

“Not quite, but…” I shook my head. “Wow! Where’d you get a cloud in these parts?”

“Morning run over the foothills.” He gestured in the direction of the MacIntosh Mountains, which was miles away. “Moisture beats against the hillsides in the morning. If you’re quick, you can scrounge up a few o’ these before it all burns off.”

My eyes widened. “A few?”

He smirked at me. “Yeah, but we’ll see. No idea what the climate’s like out here yet, so hopefully this can be my full-time gig. Already went and sold a couple to some very happy customers.” He patted the cloud, and a few dozen drops fell onto the ground around me. “This one’s for you, though.”

My eyes fluttered. Appaloosa had always been an earth pony settlement, and I hadn’t even considered the utility of having a pegasus around. But it all seemed like it was falling into place. “Well, that’s mighty kind. What do I owe ya’?”

“Dinner,” he said without hesitation. “Don’t feel like you need to go all fancy, neither.”

“Aw, you’re just tryin’ to show me up! I ain’t servin’ plain ol’ grits after that masterpiece last night.”

He stood up, then glided down next to me. “Well, one of us was unemployed and had a lot of time on his hooves.” He kissed my nose. “And be grateful I'm not giving this cloud to you for free. I figure that wouldn’t sit right with you.”

“Readin’ me like a book.” I kissed his nose, and he puffed up in response.

“Mm, that’s nice.” He looked back up. “You just let me know where you want this, and I’ll get to waterin’. I gotta scout out another prospect this afternoon, but meet me at the Salt Block around five, y’ hear?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

I directed him to a few trees that were withering. The cloud he’d found was small, not enough for very much of the orchard. But for the plants that had struggled out in the desert, it was like breathing new life into them.

I took lunch at home, and when I hit up the Salt Block in the early evening, most of the stallions in town were already there. I was downright shocked when Pridesong waved me over to a table with him and Slate.

I raised a hoof at Handlebar, and he got right to pouring me a round as I sat down. “Evenin’, colts. How’s life treatin’ you?”

Slate smiled his stoic smile and sipped a beer. “Family’s good, so I can’t much complain.” His eyes flicked to Pridesong. “And how’s our resident musician?”

Pridesong had this defeated smile on his face. It was the kind you get when you stop letting your younger cousin win at a sport, but then they go and beat you anyway. “Well, I’m eatin’ crow for dinner tonight.”

Slate chuckled and sipped his beer.

I already knew what he was on about, and I was in a good mood. “Well, say no more, friend.” The waitress dropped off my beer, and I flipped her a couple bits.

“No, no, I’m owning up.” He sighed and shook his head. “Bronze came back home early last night, and you would not believe the teasing he got about not being able to, uh…”

I laughed into my ale. It tasted so sweet that day. “...to score with 'that damn whore?'” Saying those words like that, it didn’t sting. Even after just a few days, it felt like Bronze had opened my eyes to a whole new outlook on life.

Pridesong blushed. “Yeah.” He took a big gulp of his beer. “But he said y’all are takin’ it slow, and he said that you were a right gentlestallion last night.”

I leaned back in my chair. “He’s the gentlestallion, Pride. I’ll admit, he’s a looker, but with him… I don’t know. Somethin’ about him makes me willing to wait.”

Pridesong nodded at me. “Well, I’m proud of you, Braeburn. I guess I was wrong about you.”

I shook my head. “Naw, you weren’t wrong about my behavior.” My head cocked to the side, and I thought about what Bronze would say. “Well, maybe. Still figuring it out. I'm not convinced I did anything wrong, but if it’s affecting the town’s reputation, then, well, I need to consider that, too.”

Pridesong cut in. “Now, don’t you start apologizing. I’m the one in the wrong here.”

Slate rumbled a laugh. “Seems like we can move past it all then.” He raised his glass. “Here’s to living with each other more easily.”

“And here’s to Bronze,” Pridesong added, raising his glass, too. “Seems like he’s a real positive change for this town.”

“To Bronze,” I toasted.

And behind me, a smooth voice laughed. “Well, you Appleloosans must be awfully easy to please.”

I turned around, and I saw my fairy-tale stallion, sweating and smiling and ready to join us.

Bronze walked in, gave me a tender pat on the shoulder, and sat with us for another round, on him. He used the bits he’d gotten from his first delivery, of course, and if he hadn’t already endeared himself to Slate and Pride, well, he was in their good books by the end of the night.

To this day, I wonder about that night in the bar. Was he manipulating us all, trying to get on our good side so that he could do what he wanted, and none of us saw it? Or is it just that nicest ponies can do terrible, terrible things, and you'd never know it? Frankly, I don't know which I find more disturbing.

Chapter 8 - The Caress of Feathers

==X===X===X===X===X==

We catch our breath at the top of the hill. Braeburn wasn't kidding about the view, and we're careful not to step anywhere near the buffalo grounds. The orchard looks healthy and strong, arranged in neat rows, and I get to smell that beautiful scent on the breeze again.

Braeburn points to a tree. "See that wide one, with the little bare spot on the left side? That's the one I was digging a hole for. And the cluster over on the right? Those are the ones Bronze watered that day.” He sets his hoof down and gazes, pensive, at all of it. “They're all doing well. Take whatever message you want from that, I suppose."

I look out over the scenery. "Sounds like Bronze established himself quickly."

"And that's what made him so appealing. None of this…" Braeburn waves a hoof in front of his face, like he's clearing smoke. "...uncertainty about tomorrow."

I tilt my head. This uncertainty, Braeburn?

He continues. "He wanted to set down his roots. I think that's what he was looking for, just like me. A place he could live and be content and call his own." He shakes his head. "But maybe I was too stubborn to give any of it up. But then again, Appleloosa is my home. I built it with my friends. Hell, there's only six of us from the original group still here. Sticking around for the better part of a decade counts for something, right?"

I nod and let him continue.

He hangs his head. "But Bronze wanted to get as deep in as I was. Maybe that's admirable. I dunno. At the time, at least, it seemed wonderful." He sighs. "And maybe it's what I needed."

==X===X===X===X===X==

We were true to our word and kept things family-friendly all week, and then, well, we disappeared into my house for two days and came out smelling worse than two pigs in a garbage heap.

It was the happiest, most relieved I’d ever felt. And part of me still hates him for that. And the rest of me hates myself for hating him for it. He gave me comfort. He stood up for me. I can’t help but wonder sometimes, what would it have been like if it had worked out?

…

I don't like to think about it for too long.

We'd been dating for three weeks or so. Seeing each other more frequently, but not too frequently. Dinner almost every night. Spending pleasurable time together just as often as we could.

We were cuddling on a Sunday night. Didn't shower afterwards, because I needed to wash the sheets the next day anyway, and it felt nice to just be held. I had my face on Bronze’s chest while he brushed my back with his wings. It felt like he was slicing through all the tension in my body, and I could have sworn I melted into a puddle of liquid pony.

Which, again, would have been fine on account of the upcoming laundry day.

Bronze was on his back with a foreleg around my shoulder. "Mmm… that was mighty fine, Applebutt." He moaned. "Mighty fine indeed."

"Better than fine, Wings," I mumbled, some drool spilling out my mouth.

"Haha!" Feeling his chest rumble made the dark room seem bright. "Didn't quite get that, cutie. Ya' fallin' asleep? Or just so stallion-happy that it's addled your brain?"

"Bit o' both," I moaned.

He rubbed my back and kissed my head. "You know, the straights–" He always said that word with a tiny flash of malice. "–they always say to gay ponies, well you just haven't met the right mare yet."

My head rolled to the side so I could hear him better. "Heard that one plenty. What's your point?"

He hugged me tight. "Maybe they just haven't met the right stallion. Ass like that could turn the staunchest breeder to our team.” He tapped my butt. “Maybe we should try it."

I laughed into him and kissed under his chin. "Hell naw, because it's my parents that say shit like that to me."

Bronze roared with another laugh. "Well, I guess your daddy's my responsibility, then. Think he can ride half as good as you?"

I buried my face in his pit to muffle a gleeful, disgusted laugh-scream.

Bronze snorted. "Aw, don't be like that. Just imagine: I could take your daddy back around the house, press him against the wall and–"

"Ain't listening!" I stuffed my hooves into my ears. "I ain't listening!" I wrenched my eyes shut, but I couldn't help but giggle at the absurdity of it.

Bronze tickled my sides so I'd flinch, and he gave me a big kiss. "Naw, you've already ruined me for other stallions. I would like to meet him, though. Your Ma, too." He squeezed me. "Figure it’s the only way, since you're so tight-lipped about 'em."

I sighed. "They're still not over me being gay, hon."

"And they ain't gonna get over it unless you force 'em." Something in the air always changed when Bronze got all determined. At first it had been electrifying, but even after just a few weeks, it put me on edge. I was learning to give in. "Might as well get 'em there sooner."

"They'll come around, Wings," I offered weakly.

Bronze petted the back of my head. "And in the meantime, what? Let their sourness hurt my coltfriend? Naw, naw. That won't do."

My hooves tingled, and I smiled. "So I'm your coltfriend now?"

He hugged me close. "Course. I know you want to move slow…" I didn't. He knew it. "...but I wanna be in your life for a long time, Braeburn, and I don't want to waste a moment. When can I meet ‘em?"

My head spun. I had so many thoughts about how badly it could go that I couldn’t hardly picture any of them. "This feels real sudden, hon."

"Nonsense.” Bronze rolled on his side to face me. “The longer you wait, the more entrenched they get. Let's write a letter tonight. We'll see if we can visit in a couple weeks."

My brain dug for excuses while my stomach churned. "It's so soon."

Bronze smirked down at me. "How long since you came out again?"

My ears drooped. "...Three years."

He huffed. His warm breath rolled over my face, hot with anger. "That ain't 'soon,' Braeburn. If they ain't on board by now, they need a lesson."

My mind flashed with another scene of Bronze and my father, less absurd but no less distressing. "You ain't gonna… rough him up or anything, are ya'?" Even then, I knew.

Bronze just laughed. "Heh, only if he deserves it."

"Bronze!" I rolled onto one leg and glared at him.

He threw up his hooves "Yeesh! I was kidding! Take a joke, Braeburn." He sighed. "I promise I'll be a perfect gentlestallion.” His eyes narrowed. “You trust me enough to do that, right?"

That stung me deep. It always did. Just a few weeks in, and I already felt like I owed him so much. I’d spent years tossing about in the dark ocean, flailing for companionship, and here was a captain that seemed to know all he needed about steering a queer relationship. It all seemed so logical.

I lay my head next to his. “I trust you, Wings.”

“Good. I’m holdin’ you to that. No more hanky-panky until you show me a letter.”

I chuckled. “There’s that devil again, ready to make a deal.”

He just flashed a sharp smile.

We started that night. Bronze had all sorts of pointers, of course. He told me to keep it brief and casual – I needed to demonstrate that this was totally normal, and that they were the weird ones for not accepting it. I wasn’t to use the term “coltfriend,” either. Just “somepony special I’d like you to meet.” Set no expectations, give no details that they could object to. Make it about wanting to share something important to me, so that if they rejected it, they’d be faced with a whole mountain of guilt. They’d have to be the bad guys, and Bronze went one step further in planning our next move: if they gave a noncommittal answer, I could use my Hearth’s Warming visit as leverage. I could say that, well, we were planning on visiting Bronze’s home over the holidays, so it was either this, or they’d have to come visit us sometime, on our own turf. If they said yes, I would emphatically agree to the earliest date they suggest or imply, before they can add additional terms or back out.

You don’t get that good at a game without playing it a whole bunch.

Two days and five drafts later, Bronze sent the letter for me, and then the waiting began.

I busied myself the best I could. There were chores, of course, and a few more ponies had moved in that weekend. Grassy Ridge, bless him, was about the eagerest farmhand I’d ever seen, even if he didn’t have much practice. But, he was willing to clean up the tools and do whatever oddjobs I needed help with. It helped to show him around, and he latched onto Pridesong real quick. Those two are still great friends.

But between moments, I always felt dizzy. Thought it might have been heat stroke for a while, but I had no other symptoms. Even when I wasn’t thinking about my parents directly, it was like this weird buzzing noise in the background of everything I did. I tried not to think about what my parents would say – no expectations was good, right? – but it never stopped humming there like a fly in my ear.

And each day, I found myself checking my mailbox more and more, even when I knew the train hadn’t been in yet. And a few days in, I really, really couldn’t take it anymore. I’d gotten a nice bottle of spiced rum the last time deliveries were made to town, so after the fifth day of no mail, I marched into my house and downed two shots of it.

That smooth warmth bloomed in my throat and spread all around my body. It was like the desert flowers after even a little rain. Whole valleys will explode with color and life, and after so much worrying about what would happen, a sense of safety and peace washes over you. In those days, two shots wouldn’t hardly get me buzzed, but it was enough to take the edge off.

I set my forehead on the cool countertop and whooshed out a breath, right as Bronze came in to start on dinner. “Hey, Applebutt. Still no… Heh. Either you’re partying without me, or no word yet, huh?”

I looked back up at him. “Afraid not, Wings.” I shook the bottle. “Want a nip? It’s the good stuff.”

He trotted happily up to me. “Only if you do one with me.”

“Can’t say no to that.”

We traded shots, then made dinner. It became our nightly ritual: work, booze, and food. Bronze said it helped, since looking at how nervous I was, he figured I’d down whatever was left of the bottle when I finally got a response.

And, well, he was damn near right. Day eight, I finally heard back. The mail system was still a bit out of sorts, but eight days to and from Haulihay? No chance. It meant they’d either waited to open it, or they’d done the same thing we had and spent days trying to get their response right.

I felt dirty. What had our relationship come to, hardly ever communicating, and even then, only through tactical, practiced words designed to trap them into doing what I wanted? The rest of the bottle didn’t stand a chance, but luckily, I guess, Bronze took down half of it.

We sat on my couch, already tipsy. I’d crinkled the letter when I’d flopped onto Bronze. “Shit,” I cursed at myself.

“Okay, you had your medicine, your coltfriend who knows what he’s doing is here, and there’s no time like the present.” He hooked a foreleg around my neck and side-hugged me. His breath smelled like alfalfa and rum. “Open it.”

I stared down at it in my hooves. I don’t mind doing most chores, but this felt like having to raise a barn with nothing but spit and driftwood. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Alright, then.” Bronze was quick. He jabbed at the paper and yanked it from my hooves.

“Hey!” I whipped around to him, but I was a little more drunk than I thought and nearly fell off the couch. “Give it back!”

He just ripped it open with his teeth, fell back on the couch, and used his hind hooves to keep me away while I flailed at him. His wings popped up and made a little shield around him, and I couldn’t see what he was doing. “Hm… Oh, my…”

Ice shot through my body. “Bronze, c’mon! That’s mine!” I tried to get at him, but he wrestled me away with his hind legs.

“I believe it’s ours, since I helped you write it.”

"Asshole!" I shouted. I still feel guilty about that.

"Naw, I'm the dick, remember?" He fended me off again. I deflated, and he finally peeked out of his wings. “You sure you wanna read this?”

“Well, I don’t want you to read it first!” I sat back on the couch, folded my forelegs, and scowled at him. “So, yeah. I wanna read it.”

“Good,” he said with a yawn as he sat up. “Because I’m drunk, tired, and I think I was holdin’ it upside down. No fuckin’ clue what it says.” He gave me a little smirk and passed me the letter. “C’mon, that was a little funny.”

I wrinkled my nose at him. “You didn’t need to steal it.”

“But now you want to read it.” He side-hugged me again. “So problem solved, right? Go on, now. Give it a look.”

I opened the letter. Even through the boozy haze, my mind raced back into hyper-analyzing every little detail. The first line read, “Hello, Braeby!” My mother. That shocked me at first, but I’m guessing she and Pa had gone back and forth, and he’d deferred to her when she said he was too worked up to write straight.

I read out loud. “We’re so glad to hear from you, son! And you’re always welcome to your old home. We’d love to have you for a visit. We’re not really sure about the timing, though, since harvest is getting going in full force–”

“There it is,” Bronze cut in.

“Shush,” I responded. I kept reading. “–and we’ll be away to visit Ponyville starting on the twenty-fourth to check on Granny Smith.”

Bronze was smirking and looking out at nothing. “Sudden trip, out of nowhere, with a bullshit reason. Seems pretty standard.” He shrugged. “Now she’ll probably mention Hearth’s Warming.”

My eyes had already glanced at the page. I spoke more quietly. “We hope you’ll be at Hearth’s Warming again. We don’t expect you to make a big deal out of it, but we’d love to have you. I know your friend probably has his own plans, so maybe we can meet him another time.” My forelegs went slack.

Bronze tapped my shoulder. “She doesn’t hate you, Braeburn.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t think she did.”

“Good. Just wanted to make sure you knew that.” He glanced down at the page. “Anything more?”

The paper felt like lead, but I looked through the rest of the pages. “Mostly updates about the farm and the family. Nothing more about the visit.”

“Welp, that’s settled then.” He slapped his thigh and stood up. “We’ll leave on the Friday train after it drops off the tourists.”

My head snapped up. “Wait, what?”

He turned around and cocked an eyebrow, like I was the one speaking nonsense. “We’re going to visit them. You and me. This weekend.”

“What are… What?” I flipped through the pages. “What are you on about?”

Bronze sighed. “They’re leaving in a week and a half and seem to be mysteriously busy until Hearth’s Warming, but they didn’t say anything about this weekend. What she did say is that you’re welcome any time, and this weekend falls into that category. She left an opening. We’re taking it. So, that’s that. I’m gonna head back to the bunk and start some laundry and packing.”

I felt like I’d been thrown out of a speeding train. “Just like that? Show up unannounced? Bronze that’s–”

He… didn’t quite yell. He didn’t have to. Just raise his voice. “Braeburn, you want this fixed or not?” He huffed and walked back towards me. “Applebutt, I’ve seen this a bunch before. Don’t let ‘em off the hook.” He loomed over me, and he opened a foreleg for what turned out to be a hug.

I accepted it. Like a ragdoll, I leaned into his shoulder. “Seems mighty impolite,” I mumbled.

Bronze’s voice softened. “It ain’t impolite, cutie. It’s bein’ an adult.” He pulled back and looked me in the eye. “Because here’s the thing: parents are like any other ponies, and they act childish sometimes, because they basically are just children. They don’t have a damn lick of sense when it comes to ponies like us, because they don’t know. So, we have to be the grown-ups.” He sighed, then pulled me in again and wrapped me in those safe wings of his. He whispered in my ear. “I know it’s scary, but you’ve got me. I promise, Applebutt: I’ll make this right for you. Trust me?”

I sighed. “I trust you.”

And like he said, that was that.

We only had a day and some change to get ready. At Bronze’s suggestion, I gave Grassy Ridge a whole list of chores to do. Bronze half-joked that I should let him help run the orchard, and I let it slide. Just to be safe, I asked Slate to keep an eye out, too. The flurry of activity kept me from worrying too much. Bronze spent the night to keep my mind off things, too.

The Friday sun arrived all too quickly, and with some overnight bags and food, we walked to the train station just as the train arrived. It felt all kinds of wrong to not be greeting the tourists, even though it was only a group of six this time around. But Pridesong knew what to do, and he and Merriweather could handle it. Instead of emphatically welcoming them all to our town – my town – I quietly said goodbye to my home and stepped into the unknown.

We sat in a few of the front seats of the train. See, there weren't that many seats in the passenger car, since room had to be made to haul produce and such. One exciting thing: this same train was hauling some of the early apple harvest to Haulihay, so I got to coordinate the delivery a bit. Ended up saving us some grief and the cost of an escort.

As the train wheels lurched, I wondered if I should dash to the front and pull the brake. Bronze held me tight and kept a wing around me. "You'll be fine, Applebutt. I'm right here."

"Yeah…” I looked out the window. I couldn’t remember how long it had been since I’d been on that train. Hearth’s Warming, I suspected. “What will I say, Bronze?"

For once, he didn't try to control every little detail. "If there was ever a time to speak from the heart, Braeburn, this'll be it. You tell 'em everything, right from the get-go. No pussy-footin' around. You're there to tell them the truth, no matter how ugly."

My head thumped against the glass. "I can't just barge in and start a fight, hon."

"Hell, I'm not even sure we'll make it through the front door."

I twisted my neck to shoot him a look. "Really?"

Bronze looked forward at nothing, like he could already see the scene playing out. "The important thing is that you're showing up, Braeburn. If they ain't willing to at least let you in to talk, well, that should tell you everything you need to know."

My heart dropped to my hooves.

He continued, "Fact of the matter is, you need to be ready. Ready to drop them from your life if it comes to it."

A fire raged through my veins out of nowhere. "That's absurd."

He just shrugged. "Sometimes, that's how it is, though. A pony ain't willing to make room for you in their life, so the best thing to do is move on. Hell." He furrowed his brows at me. "You think I should still be trying to patch things up with my uncle? The one who can't get through one conversation without calling me evil?"

I thought about my own extended family, how each of them would react when I told them who I really was. Deep in my heart, I wanted to believe everypony would come around, but that faith stood on shaky ground. "Family is family, Bronze."

"Except when they ain't."

He’d said it without any hesitation. I felt dizzy again.

Bronze hugged me. "Just trying to protect you, Applebutt."

"It ain't like that, Wings." I shook my head. I wasn't sure at all. "They’ll… They’ll understand eventually."

Bronze took in a deep breath and let it out with a growl as he let go of me. "Well, if'n you're fighting this hard to keep 'em, they can't be that bad." He tipped his hat over his eyes and crossed his forelegs. I thought that was the end of it and he was going to catch a nap, but he said, "So tell me, what are they like?"

He was calculating again, like he often did, but I felt something underneath it, too. “They’re wonderful, hon.”

“Seems to me like wonderful parents wouldn't be so distant.” He didn’t move.

“You don’t think they’ll listen, do you?”

Bronze’s head tilted up. I could see his beautiful, golden eyes. I never figured out why they sparkled, even when it seemed like no light could reach them, but it… I’m glad they do, because it helps me remember the good inside him.

He was squinting at the front of the car, a big panel with nothing on it. His forelegs were still crossed in front of his chest, tighter now, and his shoulders had pulled forward and in, like he was trying to ball himself up from the cold. Just above a whisper, he said, “Ponies don’t change, Braeburn. No matter who they are.”

“Wings…” I set a hoof on his leg, and he flinched. “Hon, we all grow. Ponies ain’t that different from trees. It takes cultivation, but… anypony can change.”

He spat out his words to cover a sob. “Fairy tales.” He shook his head, just a little. “Ponies don’t change. That’s why you gotta have a clear head. That’s why you gotta have principles.” His head hung, and those shining eyes disappeared behind his hat again. “You lay out what you’re looking for, and you make an offer. And you hope that they find it agreeable, because if they don’t, well… Ain’t no sense giving ‘em all your strength, trying to pretend it’s fine. It doesn’t get better. Best you can do is tell ‘em the truth and move on.”

I touched the back of his neck. “Bronze…”

He took a deep quick breath. “They don’t change, Braeburn. We become who we are, and maybe we don’t fit in where we thought we did.” Another big breath, and he looked right at me. His eyes were wet. “But it’s okay. Because when you find somepony who makes you happy, who knows the real you, deep down, and still loves you, it–” He shook his head and smiled, and his breathing slowed. “You find your place. All you gotta do is hang on for dear life, because you know it’s meant to last forever.”

Bronze looked so small and delicate and ready to flee, like a bumble bee on a flower. His eyes didn’t have their usual intensity. They were searching. They were reaching out.

And I would be damned if I let him suffer. “Wings, your place is here, letting me hold you.” I turned and reached out my forelegs.

He huffed, and a shaky smile broke across his face. A tear fell from his eye. He leaned in an inch, then looked at me again, like a deer you’re trying to hoof-feed. And when he saw me, still there waiting for him, he heaved my way and hugged me tight. His head rolled against my neck, and it was wet. “I’m… I’m supposed to be the strong one,” he whispered.

“We’re strong for each other,” I whispered. I kissed his cheek. “You’ll have plenty of chances soon, I’m sure.”

He sighed and finally unwound, and I held him there, awkward as it was across our seats like that. As the scenery rolled by, I let him rest.

A few minutes later, he asked, “What were they like? Your parents.”

He needed me. He needed a happy story. And I… Again, I don't want to justify what he did or who he is. He chooses to get violent. And I hate him and love him and feel so sorry for him at the same time. But I didn't want him to suffer. I still don't.

So I gently pet his head. "You ever been to a box cart derby?"

I told Bronze about the time Pa helped me build a box cart and we won second place. I told him about Ma teaching me to cook, the conversation about who Jonah was when I was old enough, our annual holiday trips to Ponyville, when I fell out of our tree house and Pa felt his heart stop…

And slowly, Bronze unfurled like a flower. He pulled up, peeked out from under the brim of his hat, then sat on his seat to hang on every word. I kept asking if he wanted me to stop, but he kept telling me to keep going. And he had questions. And he told me about the times his daddy took him to work or showed him how to use tools, but how something always seemed off once he hit his teenage years. But he loved hearing my glowing reviews of my parents, and even when they had done something that hurt me, I tried to explain what they were thinking at the time. I guess talking about it helped me, too.

As the train began to slow down, Bronze stared off into the distance again. “You’ve got some good parents, Braeburn.”

I looked out the window with him. “Yeah. I’m lucky.”

“And they raised a good son. A treasure.” He shook his head. “They’d have to be damn fools to let you slip away from them. Anypony would.” That look of focus came back, and he set his hoof on mine. “I ain’t gonna let that happen, Braeburn.”

The train rolled to a stop. I brought his hoof to my lips and kissed it. “Let’s not dawdle, then.”

We grabbed our bags and heaved them onto the platform, because we both had some quick work to do. A representative from the local grocer was there to pick up the produce. Bronze started unloading crates while we discussed, and he inspected a few of the apples and the sorghum.

He tried to pull a fast one about how an unacceptable percentage had been bruised in transit – they hadn’t been – but he wasn’t ready for the Braebronze double-team. I had our contract practically memorized from how many times I’d had to go over it, so I could cite whatever numbers he tried to fudge. When he started getting out of line and trying to go over my head, Bronze stepped in and lectured him about honesty and how bad it would be for his business if he didn’t keep his end of the bargain. We went a few rounds like that, but in the end, the inspector signed all the papers, and everypony at home would get paid fairly.

Bronze nudged my flank after we got the last crates loaded onto the cart. “Nice work, Braeburn. You've got a way with numbers that I can only dream of.”

I nudged him back. “Well, you got us over the finish line, mister enforcer. I’m countin’ on those fancy words of yours today.”

Bronze sighed and leaned on the back of a bench. He looked at me funny.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothin’. Let’s get going.”

That train stop had been just outside Salt Lick City on the west side, same direction as Haulahay. The carriage ride felt mighty expensive, and we thought about walking, but Bronze recommended I save my strength for the talk. As a compromise, we got into one of the larger, group carriages. They can be fun, too, since you meet all kinds of interesting ponies on the hour-long ride or so, but on that day, I was grateful nopony seemed to pay us mind.

It means they didn’t say anything when Bronze and I held hooves, either. I like to believe they noticed but thought it was too cute to object to.

My heart raced, of course. What would my parents do? Certainly they wouldn’t slam the door on me, but would the excuses keep coming? Would they invite us in, but then get called away? Hell, would both of them even come see us?

I looked to Bronze, and he had that faraway stare again. His eyebrows would knit from time to time, and I finally asked him, “What are you thinking about?”

He took a deep breath but didn’t stop looking at the horizon. “When I would need to step in.”

That’s all there was. We made the rest of the trip, and walking the three blocks to my parents’ house took no time at all, even if I wished it had.

My parents take pride in keeping their house looking fine. Pa touches up the green paint every year, same shade as the deep green grass, and he’ll replace a whole section of the siding rather than let one slat look out of place. Neither of them worry too much about things like dusting, but Ma keeps the big, bright windows spotless. She says it lets the world in a little easier, and we always had great views of the land. The lawn looked healthy and free of weeds, and it all seemed just like I’d remembered it.

And here I was, ready to change it all up again. I saw Ma through the window to the living room, but she didn’t notice us yet. I seized up.

Bronze leaned into my side. “Keep breathing, Applebutt. If they’re as good as you say, they’ll make room for you.”

The warmth at my side melted the ice in my heart. “Maybe ease off on the ‘Applebutt’ for a while.”

He kissed my cheek. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He picked up his bag and trotted to the door.

“Thank y–” My eyes went wide. “Hey, wait! Wouldn’t dream of saying it, or of easing off?” I grabbed my bag again. “Bronze!”

He cast me a sly look over his shoulder, and he stopped right in front of the porch. I caught up, but he just motioned at the door with his head. “Go on.”

I took a deep breath, stepped up to the door, and reminded myself that I had my Wings to catch me if I fell. I knocked.

Ma was never one to leave anypony waiting. I could hear her hoof-falls as she went straight for the front door, and it opened right quick. “Braeby!” Ma’s got a light-orange coat and a chestnut mane, and I get my streak of blonde from her. She’s a bigger pony, or “a real mare,” as Pa always says, but she was practically bouncing the moment she saw me. “Oh, goodness! I’m so sorry I wasn’t ready to greet you!” She cocked her head. “We didn’t get another letter. Are you…” She trailed off and looked behind me.

I looked back, too. There was Bronze, standing tall but inoffensively. He still had his hat on his head and drew as little attention as possible. He had a pleasant but almost vacant look on his face. When there was too long of a pause, he tipped his hat. “Mrs. Apple, ma’am.”

Ma was stunned when I looked back at her. Her jaw hung open. “Sorry, we didn’t have your room cleaned.” She saw our bags. “Do you want to…” She looked back at Bronze. “We really don’t…” Finally, she called over her shoulder, “Cort? Hey, Cortland? We have guests!”

Guests.

Bronze felt it, too.

My Pa Cortland appeared in the doorway a moment later. He’s a broad stallion, about my height, with a brownish-red coat and a mane full of orange and gold. Every step he takes is solid, because he always said that a stallion should be sure of himself. I tried to keep that in mind. Pa said, “Well, don’t leave ‘em out in the heat, Gal.” He saw me. “Braeburn, son! Good to see you! To what do we–” He saw Bronze, too, and his expression hardened. “Ah, okay. Gonna be like this, is it?”

That cut deep. It felt like a line drawn in the sand, but this one was an impenetrable screen door. I took a deep breath. “Ma, Pa, there’s somepony important I’d like you to meet.”

“And this is how you wanna introduce him?” Pa sneered. “Show up, unannounced, force us to speak on your terms?”

“Cortland!” Ma snapped. She looked at Bronze. “Sorry about him. We like having Braeburn’s friends over, but we were caught a little unaware.”

Ma still had one hoof on the door. Pa stood next to her. We talked through the screen, two sides of a great divide.

I held my ground and didn’t look away. “Pa, I ain’t trying to be confrontational. I’ve met somepony special, and he’s my coltfr–”

Pa cut in. “Pick your words careful, now, son.”

I gritted my teeth. “I’ve been thinking about these words for years now.” I ran a hoof through my mane. “Years, Pa. I still don’t know what to say, but I’m sick of not saying it.”

Pa shook his head. “Well, if you don’t know what to say, then maybe you ain’t ready to say it.”

That struck me right in the gut. “I’ve been ready, but y’all don’t want to listen.”

Ma shook her head. “We’ll always listen to you, sweetie.”

“But you don’t wanna hear it!” I stomped a hoof. “And that’s the problem.”

Ma looked back at Bronze. “We’re sorry you’re involved in our family drama. Braeby’s usually a lot more pleasant than this.”

“Ma, please don’t ignore me like this.”

Her tone firmed up when she looked back at me. “I’m not ignoring you, son, but I find myself having to clean up a mess you’ve made, and we’re trying to do it gracefully.”

I snorted air from my nostrils. “No, you’re sweeping it under the rug, just like you have been for three years!”

My Pa jumped in. “Don’t yell at your mother, son!” He put a foreleg around her withers. “We ain’t the ones at fault here.”

That word “fault” sent my brain spiraling. This was a disaster to them, I told myself. They thought that it was some great personal failing on my part. To them, I’d been the one to bring this unpleasantness into their lives and onto their doorstep. To them, they’d already washed their hooves of it all. They didn’t want me.

And… I believed every one of these terrible lies that had worked their way into my heart. Years of pent-up bitterness bloomed into a hateful flower, nourished by loneliness and fed on the dark sunlight of disappointment.

My eyes stung. “Please, Ma! I just want to talk. Let us come in and sort it all out.”

Ma stopped. She held a hoof to her heart. But she didn’t move.

My jaw quivered. “...Pa? Why?”

Pa’s eyes cast downward. His tone darkened. “It’s… our job to watch out for you and help you see when you’re making mistakes. No matter how hard it is.”

I shook my head. “This ain’t a mistake, Pa!”

“Ain’t it!?” he roared, snapping back at me. “How long before you come with some new stallion and we have to start this all over again?” He knew. The rumors about me had reached home. “Braeburn, I’ve heard what it’s like out there, what you do.” His whole face was redder than I’d ever seen it. “You think I’m proud of it? Proud that my son’s a damn…” He swiped at the air and looked away. “I can’t even say it!”

I beat my chest. “I’ve never gotten to be myself, Pa! And I’m learning, and it’s hard. Damn hard, but it ain’t like I’ve had anypony to guide me!” I pointed a hoof at them. “Hell, I tried to be honest with you, and you treated me like a damn pariah! No word, not talking when you calmed down, nothing! I’ve had to figure out all this shit on my own, so why the hell should I let you dictate my life now?”

Pa grabbed Ma, who was quivering with a mix of embarrassment and rage that I’d never seen on her, and he held her tight. “Because we’re your parents, Braeburn!”

Right then, a wicked, wicked thought crossed my mind. I remembered back to what Bronze had said about making the offer and seeing whether they’d accept it. And if they weren’t going to? Well, then maybe they weren’t really my parents anymore. I hated that thought, but I burned with fury. I wasn’t the one making the decision. They were the ones being unreasonable. They’d had years to come around, and instead, they’d grown more and more estranged with almost no effort to keep me in their lives. And now, with their son on their doorstep, they weren’t ready to open their hearts. In my mind, that all but sealed the deal. If they were going to hurt me, then I could hurt them back. Oh my stars, how I could hurt them with just a few words. I could drive a spike so deep in their hearts that they’d never feel anything again, and I wanted to do it more than I wanted to breathe.

And… I was ready for that to be the end.

The pain of a thousand angry, bitter nights rose up from my hooves. It twisted in my chest and erupted from my mouth. “Well, if you can’t accept me, than I guess I’m no longer your s–”

“If I may,” Bronze boomed. All three of our heads whipped towards him.

He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then, he took a hoof to his hat, removed it, and carefully set it on top of his bag all in a fluid motion. He then turned back to us, took a few steps to stand beside me, and said, “Mister and Missus Apple, my name is Bronze Dusk, and I care very, very deeply about your son. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Pa pursed his lips. “Wish I could say the same.”

Ma wanted to snap at him again. I saw it in her eyes. But she didn’t.

Bronze just nodded. He spoke evenly, like he was facing down a raging bull. “That’s fair. But if you allow me to say my piece, and if you do not find it satisfying, then I will leave, and you will not see me again.”

Pa sneered at him. “And what, take my son with you? Forever?”

Bronze shook his head. “I don’t control Braeburn’s actions, Mister Apple. He will make whatever decision he sees fit.” He paused and nodded at them. “However, if you are concerned about what would cause Braeburn to leave and not return, I would like to point out something: we have been standing here for several minutes, and you have not allowed your son into his childhood home. Now, there–”

“Don’t you turn this on us!” Pa yelled. Ma just narrowed her eyes and shook her head.

Bronze remained stoic. I tried to do the same, but I could feel my teeth chattering. I was still ready to let loose and turn my back.

Pa looked Bronze up and down. “That it? That all you wanted to say?”

“No, sir,” Bronze replied. “But I feel I must wait for you to finish. I do not like being interrupted, so I do not interrupt others.”

Pa clamped his mouth shut. He growled, but then he finally nodded at Bronze to continue.

“Thank you. As I said, I’ll say my piece, and then you can determine whether we can come in. I’ll be brief.” He took a half-step back, so that I was a little ahead of him, between him and my parents. I started to turn around, but he held up a hoof to stop me. “I would like you to look at the pony between us. Take a real good look at him.”

Ma and Pa squinted at him at first, but then, I felt all eyes turn onto me. I still felt everything: my rage, my fears, how much I still loved them, and my fading hopes for everything to work out okay. I wanted them to understand the pain I was in, but… Bronze knew best, or so I told myself.

Bronze continued. “Braeburn Apple is a treasure. He’s a diamond out in that inhospitable desert, shining brighter than any pony I have ever seen. He’s diligent in his work, fair and earnest with his neighbors, a leader through and through, a planner, an organizer, a pony that makes even the haughtiest city-slickers feel at home out west.” His voice was soft, just like those fairy dusters had been. “Braeburn is kind to the elderly, gentle with foals, and a friend to everypony in between. He ain’t perfect – nopony is – but he’s as damn close as I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been a hell of a lot of places, pardon the language.”

Ma and Pa were still staring at me. I could see them swell with pride at all the nice things Bronze was saying. They tried to hide it, to stay angry and focused and suspicious, but it was there. And yet, that pride was hidden behind a curtain of doubt and anger and fear.

Bronze kept going. “And it is baffling to me that his family would greet him with anything other than open hearts and tears of joy. I do not mean this to disparage you, but rather to keep you from making the biggest mistake of your life.”

Ma breathed heavily. Her eyes were fixated on me. “It… feels so complicated.”

“Ma’am, all due respect, but it ain’t.” Bronze’s voice shook. Just a little, enough that only I would notice. His head bobbed back and forth, a little faster each time he took a breath. “He’s the best stallion a parent could ask for. He’s the best founder that Appleloosa could ask for. Yet you two, his parents, are having trouble even addressing the wonderful, fundamental fact that he is learning to love somepony else in a new way. And I know why that is.”

Pa pursed his lips. “You don’t know about our family.”

Bronze swallowed hard. “Sir, I do, because I’ve seen this story play out over and over and over again, and it almost always ends in heartbreak.” I cast a glance at Bronze. He was blinking more. There was something in his voice, an emotion I couldn’t quite place. “It’s because you feel like you’ve already lost him. Finding out that he’s gay was such a blow to what you thought you knew about him, it felt like–” His breath caught in his throat, and with the next thing he said, it all made sense. His elocution changed to be even more precise, and his tone dropped, and he stared out into the distance. “It felt like you were watching him die in front of you.”

I finally realized what that emotion was. He was quoting someone he had once loved.

Tears formed in Ma’s eyes. “We thought… We had so many dreams.”

Bronze took a shaky breath. “And I am begging you to realize that your beloved son ain’t gone. He’s right in front of you, and he loves you, and even despite the pain he’s felt these last three years, he has nothing but positive things to say about you, even when I don’t think you deserve it.”

Pa stood there. His lip quivered.

Bronzed stepped forward to be next to me again. “I’m not asking you to accept me. Hell, I’m not asking you to accept that he’s gay yet.” He shook his head. “Frankly, I don’t think you’re ready for that conversation. But I want you to realize how perilously close you are to shutting a door that will not open again.” He cleared his throat to cover another sob. “And I will not abide by anypony hurting him in that way, no matter who they are. I do not want Braeburn to feel the pain of losing his family. He is a light that I will not see snuffed.” He tapped his hoof on the ground for emphasis. “He deserves love, and he deserves kindness and so much more. Do whatever else you need to.” Bronze waved a hoof. “Pretend I’m just his friend, or tell me to go sleep in a ditch. Whatever it takes, but please. Please.” He took another step forward and bowed his head. A tear dropped from his face to the porch. “Let him through that door.”

My whole world hung in the balance in that moment. It felt like a delicate, beautiful ornament on a hair-thin thread, ready to fall to the earth and shatter completely.

I looked at my parents. My father stood there, still trying to be the broad, sure-hoofed pony that he always wanted to be. But he was scared. He looked small. His eyes were wet. And yet, he didn’t move.

Ma held a hoof to her face. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and her tail, usually so bouncy and vibrant, drooped behind her. She sobbed, “I don’t want to lose you, Braeby.”

The hatred in my body drowned in an ocean of sorrow. Bronze was right: we were standing at a cliff’s edge. My throat was tight. My knees felt weak. I choked out a whispered, “I don’t want to be lost.”

But none of us moved.

I could feel the whole world slipping. We needed a lifeline, but none of us knew how to use a rope.

None of us except Bronze. “Please,” he said, his head lowered. “For him.”

It was like a dam burst, and my Pa threw open the screen door. “Son,” he sobbed. He rushed out, Ma right behind him, and they grabbed me and hugged me tight.

“Pa…” I buried my face between them. “Ma…” I hugged them back, and hard as I could.

The whole lot of us cried, and Ma stroked my mane. “Sh-sh-sh, it’ll be okay.”

I felt my parents again. Not just touching them. I felt them. Felt connected to them, like they loved me again, like they could actually see me for me. It wasn’t all fixed, no, but was a step. We felt together again. It was the first time I’d felt that way in almost three years, and the overwhelming gratefulness I have for Bronze for that kindness has yet to fade.

My ear pricked when I heard him try to quietly step away. I glanced his way, and he had a sad, satisfied smile on as he turned back towards the road.

Ma wouldn’t allow that. “Bronze, get your ass in our house.”

Pa chuckled. “Language, Gal.”

Ma sniffed. “He ain’t just some guest, Cort. He’s…” She looked in my eyes again. It reminded me when she’d tucked me in for bed when I was a foal. “He’s special to Braeburn, and Braeburn is too important for us to ignore that.” She looked up at Bronze. “So welcome in. You can set your bags by the fireplace, and we’ll set you up right.”

Bronze, his head still hung meekly, smiled and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

And the four of us walked in together.

Chapter 9 - The Taste of Poison

Author's Note

Content warning: some very dark themes ahead.

Chapter 9 - The Taste of Poison

==X===X===X===X===X==

Even with all the jamboree preparation, the city below us is warm, welcoming, and peaceful. Sitting here feels like snuggling in a cozy bed with a heavy comforter on a cold winter night. I can’t imagine the pain of losing something like this. Nearly losing his family must have been a thousand times worse.

Braeburn shakes his head. He pulls in a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out through his mouth very, very slowly. “I owe Bronze an unfathomable debt. One that I don't think I can ever repay.” He pauses. His eyes close. His lip quivers, and his words are shaky. “I just wish he could be happy. I wish I could help him.” He looks at me. His head isn’t shaking, more like lolling back and forth. “He’s wounded, Vivid. And I have to remind myself that–” Braeburn looks back out over the horizon. He bites his lip. “I have to remember that it doesn’t make it okay.” He blinks away a tear. His voice has a slight whine. “But as backwards as it sounds, I want him to be happy. I want to know that he’s better and… at the same time, to never see him again. Heh. It’s just a whole tangled mess of feelings, ain’t it?”

I scoot a little closer, and offer a hug.

Braeburn holds up a hoof. “Sorry. I…”

“I understand,” I reply as I shift back to where I was.

He moves that hoof to his heart. His eyes close, and he smiles warmly. “I love Soarin’ Windsong more than anypony I’ve ever met. He’s my…” His head bobs again. “He’s my mate, my missing half. I…” Braeburn frowns. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen.”

Dust skitters across the hillside, blown by the wind.

I offer, “What do you mean?”

Braeburn sighs. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen when he gets better.” He looks me in the eyes, and I see a glistening void of uncertainty. “He wants to be a Wonderbolt again. Needs it. And he can’t do that here any more than I can live my whole life in Cloudsdale. He’s the love of my life, but it might not–” He winces and looks down to his house. “I don’t even want to say it, but it’s true. I don’t know if we can make it work.”

My stomach feels like lead, and my spine wants to leap from my body.

Braeburn, hoof still over his heart, looks up at the sky. “I want it to work. Desperately. I want to be with him forever. But it feels like a personal failing, because even though I try to believe my whole heart is his, there’s a tiny sliver that will always love Bronze.” He blinks away another tear. “Terrible of me, ain’t it? But that little bit of doubt, all this…” He waves a hoof in the air. “...uncertainty. Frustration. It can break a pony. It can make him do awful, horrible things.”

==X===X===X===X===X==

We stayed at my parents’ place the whole weekend, and Bronze was a perfect guest. He slept on a rollaway bed my Ma set up downstairs and never made a move on me. He helped out around the house, even when Ma insisted he should rest. We kept the conversation polite, though he never mentioned why he'd moved to Appleloosa. Just existing there with my coltfriend felt like a positive step.

The only friction came on Saturday evening. I had insisted that I'd do the dishes, and Bronze insisted on helping. That way, my parents could relax and enjoy the coconut rum pie I'd made. Ma and Pa sat at the table with their forks clinking their plates, and Ma said, "I'm glad Braeburn is making friends out there."

The air had that haze of darkness again, or maybe I was just imagining it. But Bronze kept his cool for my sake. "He's got plenty, ma'am, and the lot of 'em are good ponies, the kindest you'll meet." There was a pregnant pause as Bronze looked down at a plate he was drying. "And he's got a coltfriend to look after him, too."

I flinched, then went back to the pan I was scrubbing. It felt like it wasn't my turn to speak yet.

Pa set his fork down and wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Well, it’s a complicated thing, ain’t it."

"All due respect, sir, but it ain’t, and I don't abide by folks erasing what Braeburn and I have." Bronze continued drying a set of silverware, like nothing had been said at all.

I tensed and looked over my shoulder. Ma and Pa both set their silverware down and looked over at Bronze, then at each other, then at me. Ma sighed and said, “We don’t want to erase either of you. It’s… well, it’s all just a bit strange.”

My eyes shot to Bronze. Bronze’s nose wrinkled into a sneer, and I could just tell he wanted to lay into them, but he was keeping a lid on it for me. He finally jerked his head towards them in the subtlest of ways.

I understood. I wrung out the washrag and set it over the faucet. With a deep breath, I turned around. “I know you’re still learnin’, Ma, but I don’t think it’s ‘strange.’ It’s normal, just a bit different from what you expected. There’s a lot of ponies like us.”

Pa furrowed his brow and set his jaw. “You know what she meant, Braeburn.”

He was getting defensive. It seemed foalish, but I remembered what Bronze had said: we were the adults here. They needed our guidance. “I know, Pa, but the way you talk about it matters.” I stepped up to the table and set a hoof on it. “If you keep focusing on what’s so different, then that’s all you’ll ever see me as: an outcast who didn’t fit the mold.” I looked at each of them, and I spoke again as Ma tried to cut in. “I love you both immeasurably, and I want all of us to grow together in this.” I shrugged. “Heh. Easy for me to say. I’ve had over a decade to think about it, and it’s still pretty new for you two.”

Pa’s eyebrows raised. “You’ve known for that long?”

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Ma asked.

I shivered when I thought about how I’d come out to them and how they'd reacted. A quick shake of my head banished that scene from my mind. “Well, we weren’t ready. And maybe Bronze is right: maybe we still ain’t. But we’re gettin’ closer, and, well, that’s good enough for me.”

My parents’ shoulders relaxed. There was a calm moment, and the only sound was the tinkling of silverware as Bronze continued his labor.

Pa spoke first. “Yeah. That’s good enough for us, too.” He knocked on the table with a hoof and sat back in his chair. “But don’t let us get away with not talking about it, son. I appreciate you being a stallion and gettin’ us to address it.”

My breathing felt light and easy. “I can do that, Pa. We can chat when I visit for Hearth’s Warming.”

Ma’s eyes lit up. “Oh, we’re so glad you’re coming, Braeby!” She breathed out. “I was worried. I thought we’d made you feel unwelcome this weekend and that you wouldn’t want to come. And, well…” She looked at Pa, who gave her a resigned smile and a nod as he lit his cigar. She turned to Bronze. “Well, Bronze, I don’t know what your plans are, but if we haven’t been too off-putting, we’d like to have you over for Hearth’s Warming, too.”

I felt like I could sprout wings and fly. I looked at Bronze, and a shaky smile spread across his face.

Bronze paused. He didn’t look up right away, and his eyes were wide. Like watching ice melt, I saw a smile – a real one – stretch across his face. Bronze basked in that moment. I know it meant the world to him. True to form, he simply nodded at Ma and said, “Ma’am, it would be my pleasure.”

The kitchen felt warm and bright. It felt normal, like even if all the tension wasn’t gone, at least some of it was. That little change lightened the load on my mind to a degree that I didn’t know was possible. I said, “That sounds mighty nice,” as I walked back to the sink and picked up the rag.

Bronze whispered, “Proud of you, Braeburn,” and he gave me the smallest kiss on the cheek. He knew both my parents would see – it wasn’t that he didn’t care, but more like he knew that they were ready to move just one more tiny step towards coming around. I peeked at my parents a moment later, and to my overwhelming joy, they both just smiled at it.

We left Haulahay Sunday morning after an early breakfast. We were riding home on the afternoon tourist train.

And… well, the goodbye didn’t hurt. At the start of the weekend, I was afraid that I’d be saying goodbye forever, but I left feeling like it would all be okay. My parents stressed one more time that I was welcome to come back for Hearth’s Warming, and I invited them out to the second annual Appleloosa rodeo, which, sadly, they wouldn’t be able to make. It left me feeling like we all had the desire to connect again, which was one of the greatest feelings I could imagine at the time. Hell, I hadn’t felt that way in three years.

And on the ride back? Bronze and I just cuddled and napped in each others’ embrace. That was all that we needed. It struck me how different it felt. I'd expected Bronze to spend the whole time scheming with me about our next move, but he was relaxed in a way I'd rarely seen. I think seeing my family change their minds did him a world of good. It showed him that, for once, he was wrong about other ponies and how they saw us. He had hope that things could get better.

We arrived back in Appleloosa. Merriweather and Pridesong hadn’t disappointed. We stepped onto the train platform to the small crowd of visitors, all wearing new hats and chattering like squirrels about the fun they’d had that weekend. We greeted them warmly and swapped places: us leaving, and them getting on the train, and side by side, Bronze and I walked back to my house. Bronze shielded my eyes from the sun with his wing, even though I didn’t need it with my hat on, but I think he just wanted an excuse to stay close to me a little longer.

As we got to the front door, I fished out my key and slipped it in. “Wow, I still can’t believe that went as well as it did. Thank you again for everything, Wings. I’ll need to repay you some–”

My face flushed as Bronze felt me up.

“Applebutt,” he growled. He leaned in, so close that his hot breath tickled my ear. I could hear the low, rumbling need in every word he said. “I know how you’re gonna thank me. See, I’ve been a good colt all weekend.” He licked in my ear, making me gasp. “And now I’m gonna be real, real bad.”

And… hoo, he wasn’t kidding, and I loved every second of it.

The next morning, I was still riding high from the weekend and the, uh, afterparty. And I felt ready to tell the whole world who I really was. Bronze was encouraging, of course. “Might as well let ‘em know. No sense hidin’ your beautiful self any longer. Who you gonna start with?”

As I pulled a quill and inkpot from a desk drawer, I told him, “I know just the pony.”

My aunt Honeycrisp has always been the progressive type. Never married, because she said she was married to her work and didn’t need some stallion trying to tell her what to do. Even as a colt, I remember overhearing her argue with the family on how queer ponies were treated, and I had nothing but happy memories of visiting her farm just outside Manehattan.

I didn’t need Bronze’s help this time, and he left me to my own devices. For the most part. He still looked over my shoulder and read what I was writing, but… Hm. No, I ain’t gonna let him spoil this memory.

I’ll be honest: I didn’t come out to her in that letter, nor in any of the ones that followed. It didn’t feel right. I told her that I wanted to reconnect and that I wanted to share some news sometime, face to face. For me, that was enough. She wrote back, welcoming me to her farm any time. I responded that maybe I’d swing by to see those spring varietals she was so proud of, and, well, that ended up being one of the most pivotal decisions of my life.

Bronze and I settled back into our country life. The sunrise welcomed me each morning. The days were hard on my body but nourishing for my soul, and the evenings were full of music and camaraderie in the town square. After being in Appleloosa for over a month, Bronze finally moved into my house in mid-September, and our nights were all the sweeter (if a bit too short).

But… it wasn’t all great for Bronze. See, he’d had an intuition about the climate in the MacIntosh mountains, and he’d been right: the seasonal shifts had pushed the moisture further south as the fall rolled on, which meant he could only get about half as many clouds as before. A change in the water supply is a mighty blow during the harvest season, and it didn’t take long for Bronze to get an earful.

Fertile Seed approached us one morning in the general store. His face was as red as I’d ever seen it. He marched up to Bronze and shouted, “Bronze, where the hell are my clouds!?”

Bronze pursed his lips and stood tall, chest out. “Mister Seed, as I said, you weren’t the highest bidder yesterday, and those clouds are a lot harder to come by right now.”

Seed shouted over him. “Highest, my ass! You told me I’d be getting at least three a week!”

Bronze shook his head. “I told you I’d do my best, and you’d be third in line. Most days, I can only get two. That ain’t my fault.”

Fertile Seed stomped. “That’s a Luna-damned lie!” He gestured all around, and I thought he was going to back-hoof Bronze, but Bronze didn’t even flinch as Seed continued his tirade. “You’re an extortionist, that’s what you are! I wouldn’t have planted those late-season rows if you hadn’t been promising me every which way that I’d be clear through harvest!”

I stepped forward. “Woah, now, Fertile Seed. We can solve this.” I looked to Bronze. “Now, this is a misunderstanding, right? Bronze, did you promise Fertile Seed the clouds like he said?”

Bronze pursed his lips. “He musta misheard me.”

“Liar!” Fertile Seed shouted. “You’re a damn liar!”

Bronze’s wings hitched up. I noticed, but Fertile Seed didn’t. He also didn’t notice Bronze’s hind legs building tension or his jaw tightening.

My heart dropped into my stomach. I knew what was about to happen, and I couldn’t let…

…

Hm.

I was about to say, “I couldn’t let Bronze get labeled a monster by the town.” My first thoughts were of him. I suppose some folks would think that’s noble – stand by your stallion and all that – but I didn’t really care about what would happen to Fertile Seed. A stallion could have gotten very, very badly hurt, and all I was thinking about was my coltfriend’s reputation.

I… I don’t like that one bit.

But I leapt in, regardless, and my tongue spat out words as fast as I could think of them. “Easy, you two. Bronze will make this right. We’ll make this right.”

Fertile Seed relaxed just a hair. “Unless you’re hidin' a well somewhere, I don’t see how.”

I took a deep breath. “We can help with the harvest. Get the larger crop right at its peak, then redirect the water to the new rows. You come out ahead, right?”

Fertile Seed cocked an eyebrow. “So you’re gonna work for free?”

Bronze grunted. “No.”

Fertile sneered back. “Well, then it ain’t much help.”

The other ponies in the store were staring at us. It felt like a wall of eyes, even if it was just a few of them. I shook my head and focused. “Seed, labor’s stretched thin right now. Everypony’s harvesting, and any time we spend on your field is time away from the orchard. We’ll do it for regular pay, but we’ll still need to handle the apple orchard, so we’re giving you something valuable, too: our time.” My words and my thoughts were all over the place, but as long as I was talking, Bronze wouldn’t make a move. It wouldn’t have been honorable, and he’d hate that.

Fertile Seed smiled and shrugged. “I suppose I could use a couple extra stallions around.” The spiteful glee radiated off him like a mirage in the desert.

I could feel Bronze getting hotter next to me, and he shook his head. “You get one.”

“Excuse me?” Seed was right back to the cliff’s edge.

But Bronze remained stoic, like he always did. He operated in one of two ways: intimidation or manipulation, and if nothing else, I’d at least switched him to the latter. “Braeburn did nothing wrong. He’s going to miss my help, sure, but this is my debt to repay. You only get me.” His eyes flashed with fire. “For a fair price.”

Seed smirked. “Well, I’ll see you at noon, then. Don’t be late.” He turned up his tail and left.

I looked around at the store. A few other ponies finished their shopping, politely looking away, but I knew they’d be talking about it all day. I sighed. “Sorry about him, Bronze. He’s a–”

“Don’t you ever fuckin’ fight my battles for me," he hissed in a low whisper.

I leapt like a cat and whirled to face Bronze. My heart raced. “Wh…”

Bronze stood tall and looked down at me. His face was dark, but his eyes still shone. “You heard what I said.” He flicked his head at the doorway. “Braeburn, you’re a stand-up stallion, but that damn fool was gonna walk all over you, and you just let him. I can handle myself. Don’t treat me like a Celestia-damned foal.”

I wanted to say something, but I was stunned.

He snorted. “Your mouth’s hangin’ open. Let’s finish up and get the hell outta here.” As he grabbed an extra bottle of gin from the shelf, he mumbled, “‘Cuz apparently I’ve got a job to do.”

He walked away, and I trailed behind like a lost sheep.

We got back to the house, and Bronze was ruthlessly efficient putting the groceries away. He didn't say so much as a word to me before he left. It left me silent as well.

But as is usually the case, I felt a whole lot better out in my orchard. Harvest was in full swing, and I'd hired a couple workers to buck the apples and separate out the ones for fresh sale, storage, and cider. Sweat rolled off my back and my face, but every once in a while, the cool September wind would blow through and refresh me like a flower in spring. Breathing in that apple-scented air made my heart stir, and I felt a tired calm come evening.

That calm didn’t last. The door slammed as I was making dinner, and I heard Bronze shout, "The fuck is wrong with that son of a bitch!?"

Everything in my body felt tight, like a hungry tiger had stalked in. His head was low, and his shoulders were up. He stomped towards me.

I thought about what I'd feel like in his position, working for a stallion he hated for reasons he disagreed with. My head spun with what to say, but every thought was interrupted by another stomp as Bronze marched closer and closer.

Bronze kept shouting. "I ain't a damn expert, and it ain't my fault he refuses to show me what to do! The fuck does he think is gonna happen!? Quality checks, my ass!" His head thrashed all around, like he was trying to buck violent thoughts out of his mind. And he kept getting closer.

Nothing came to me. I'd defended myself against all kinds of shouting from the townsfolk, but now, facing down the pony that had captured my heart, I had nothing. My bones shook. As I glanced back, I saw a line of bottles, and I remembered the one thing that always helped me settle down.

Bronze fumed and stared daggers at me. "What, just gonna stand there!? Take his side like everypony in this fuckin' wasteland?"

I had to act quick. I took a breath and finally settled on, "Naw, Seed's an asshole. You're right, babe." I pulled out two shot glasses and uncorked the gin we'd bought that day. "I think we could use a little treat, though. Want a shot?"

Bronze growled, "Fuckin’... might as well." He relaxed his shoulders, just a touch, but it felt like I could breathe again.

I poured the shots and passed him one. "Cheers."

Bronze's hackles were still raised. "Feh. Cheers? Really? To fuckin’ what?"

Calm as I could, I shrugged. "Surviving the day?"

His lips pursed. "I'd rather thrive, but I'll take what I can get." He tapped his shot on mine, and we both downed them.

It was good stuff. Juniper-forward. Fresh without being too harsh or burning. Well-bodied for a gin, enough to let the deep, complex flavors of earth, grass, and a touch of mint swirl and develop in your mouth and settle on the tongue before washing down your throat. Strong, floral finish that mellowed out the other flavors and left the smell of spring in your nose, leaving you with a satisfying taste but craving just a bit more.

Bronze tipped his head back and smacked his lips. "Well shit, do I know how to pick 'em, or what?"

"I'd say you do." I gave him a wink and a kiss. Admittedly, my good humor was an act, and I silently prayed it would be enough. As his anger unwound, though, my thoughts shifted to easing his pain. My face brushed against his, and I felt him relax a little more. Looking back, I think I was playing him, the same way he played me. At the time, it just felt like what I had to do to survive the moment. I really hope Bronze doesn’t feel that way all the time, but I suspect he does, and he probably always has.

"Heh. Two for two." He kissed me back. "And speaking of doubles, I could go for another."

I smiled. "I reckon you're right."

In fact, we each took two more shots.

The third one finally got to Bronze. He blew air out of his lips and thrashed his head around with a smile on his face. "Haha, that's the stuff."

The warmth had spread to my hooves, and I felt another wave of heat already starting in my belly. I rubbed my nose under Bronze's chin. "Feeling better?"

He grunted, but it turned into a relaxed sigh halfway through, and he brought me in for a quick hug. "Yeah. Thanks, Applebutt. Need a hoof with dinner?"

"I'd never say no to you."

We had toasted oat cakes, apples, and salad that night. Nothing fancy, but we never needed fancy, and it settled the alcohol nicely.

Bronze grumbled from across the table. He was hunched over. "Not looking forward to tomorrow. That sorghum is a bitch to harvest."

"Yeah," I sighed. "Mighty noble of you to step in like that."

He scoffed. "Nothin' noble about it. Seed's loud and grows a staple crop. He's the kind of guy that could turn the whole town against me."

I wanted to protest, but I found myself agreeing.

Bronze saw my hesitation. He reached a hoof across the table to mine. "I'm just watching out for both of us, Braeburn. He's an ass, but he'll shut up after a few weeks, and folks'll see that I ain't the one doing wrong. Just gotta position ourselves right."

I shook my head. "I really don't like thinking about my friends as game pieces, Wings."

He shrugged. "That's how it is, Applebutt. But don't worry about it." He brought my hoof to his lips for a kiss. "That's what you've got me for."

Despite the lingering fear that he’d snap again, I smiled.

He leaned back and took another sloppy bite of his oat cake. "Course, it'll be easier if I know what the hell I'm doing next month. You hiring for the late harvest?"

My neck tensed. "I've thought about it, babe, but I'll be honest–"

"Please do."

I glanced out the window. "Folks I respect…" I didn't want to bring up my family. "They always warn against mixing love and work, at least early on."

Bronze stared at me, still chewing. "Seems understandable, but misguided." He swallowed. "Wouldn't you want to know whether you work well with somepony before you commit?"

"I…” He had a point, and I shrunk down. “Maybe, but I ain't sure yet."

“Look me in the eye.” Bronze always spoke with a lot of gravity, but this one had extra weight. “Do it. Now.”

I obeyed.

Bronze searched me. His eyes locked onto mine, and I could see the gears turning in his head. Finally, he just yawned and grabbed another cake. "You'll come around."

And that was the end of it, at least for that day.

I tried to settle back into the routine, and time went on. Early morning, Bronze would leave to scrounge up whatever clouds he could, then report to Fertile Seed by noon. I'd spend my mornings out in the orchard and the afternoons with paperwork. Then I'd come home and start dinner, and Bronze would come in, exhausted and shouting, and I'd put out the fire with a few shots of quality booze.

But, well… You ever actually tried throwing alcohol on a fire?

We drank. Every day. A lot, and it only got to be more and more as time went on. Bronze… I don’t blame Bronze for how much I drank in those days. I can’t, because if I do, then it means I have no control over my life or my choices. And if that’s true, then I can never truly learn to live with my alcoholism. I’ll relapse. And I won’t get better. So, yeah, the situation was bad, and it was deteriorating, but I chose – I chose – to have every single one of those drinks.

I… reasoned with myself that it was cheaper to drink at home than go to the bar. I told myself, naw, it had nothing to do with that knot I felt inside or how I would worry, more and more every day, about what Bronze would be like when he got home. I could hide it, I'd tell myself. I could hide everything: the stress, the shouting, the fights over control of the orchard, because I didn’t want anypony to come between us. Nopony needed to see. It would blow over, I'd say, always to myself, since I spent more and more time working things out with Bronze and less time out with my other friends. But it was okay, I’d say. Once Bronze got through a couple weeks of harvesting, everything would be okay.

I just… kept telling myself it would all work out, and I wouldn’t have to feel alone again.

But Bronze didn't have the special kind of stamina or patience needed for that work. He'd be angrier each day. Louder, too. It felt like he was growing, in a way. This ever larger, looming presence that occupied my thoughts.

It was a powder keg, and the fuse was expiring fast. See, the clouds dwindled even more, day by day, and Bronze would get an earful from anyone with an opinion about the dry spell, which was everyone.

And it wasn't like he got a break. Harvests and disasters wait for nopony.

Just before sunrise on a Tuesday morning, we woke up to a low, upsetting buzz. It was consistent and impossible to ignore, and it gave us a sinking feeling in our stomachs.

Groggy and a little hungover, I squinted at the window as massive brown wisps bumped against the glass. I groaned, "The hell…?"

Bronze growled next to me and sat halfway up. "What's… Shit!" He threw the covers off, stumbled out of bed, and took to the air. "Locusts!"

My skin crawled. "Dammit!" I grabbed my hat and didn't even put my vest on before I chased him down the stairs and outside.

It was like Hell itself had come to Equestria. The sky was darkened with rust-stained light, and there was so much motion that you couldn't make sense of anything. That horrible buzzing was everywhere. It swelled and settled but never stopped, and at its lowest hum, you could hear the panicked yelling of the ponies all around town.

Bronze was in the air swatting at them and spitting out the ones that got in his mouth. "Fuckers! I– GLHK!!"

I shouted, "I'll get help!" and dashed towards town. Moments like that, I’m grateful I can focus instead of panic, just like my daddy taught me. I tried as hard as I could to ignore the constant, leathery brushes against my face and the unsettling crunches under my hooves. My stomach turned with every step.

They thinned out as I got into the center of town, and Slate, bless him, was there and had a plan. He stood in the middle of dozens of frantic ponies gathering pots and firewood. He was pointing and shouting. "Merriweather! Help Petunia crush the cinnamon! Buckeye, get every lemon from the store and bring it back here! Grassy! Shred that mint and get the water boiling, NOW!" He barked orders, and everypony followed, whether out of respect or fear.

I dashed to him. "Slate! What do we need? What is this?"

Slate turned to me. He kept yelling. "Braeburn! Great, glad you're here." He jerked his head at a fragrant pot of some kind of boiling potion. "Aunt Bellflower's insect remedy. Got any sprayers?"

My thoughts came into sharp focus. "Five in my shed."

"Bring 'em here and fill up. I'll send a few colts to your orchard. Spray every tree, and don't skimp! Can Bronze get the treetops?"

My head reeled. He wanted me to abandon everypony and protect my own crops when the whole town needed help. "I'll be okay, Slate. Appleloosa needs–"

He stomped. "Appleloosa needs its namesake export. Ya' ain't being selfish, Braeburn, but don't be dumb, neither! Now go!"

Slate was right. As loathe as I was to focus on my own crops, it had to be done. I galloped back to my shed and fumbled trying to carry all my sprayers.

Bronze swooped down behind me, spitting out bug pieces. "What's the plan?" He grabbed three of the sprayers as we rushed back to town.

I huffed, "Insect repellant! Folk remedy!"

"Will that work?"

I shook my head as I ran. "Fuckin' hope so."

We rallied at the town center. Slate sent three stallions with us and told them to listen to me, or there would be hell to pay. I snapped into my leadership mode. Honestly, I don't remember hardly anything from that day besides pushing myself and the team to protect every last tree. Four of us covered most of it, and Bronze got the fuckers that clung to the treetops. Everything else, all the way to dusk, is a blur, but I'll say this: I've never been so thankful for cinnamon. Slate's family remedy did the trick, and by the end of the day and with a few additional coats of repellant, the swarm had gotten the message and moved on, leaving us to survey the damage.

Ten percent of the town’s crop. Doesn't sound like much, does it? But imagine an entire month of your life, gone. Just gone, overnight while you slept. You wake up and find out that everything you accomplished that month never happened. That's what it felt like.

And everypony in town felt it, too. The next four days seemed like they took a month. Folks worked doubly hard to reap and salvage what they could. But every night, when we were dog tired, we had to meet at town hall to decide what to do.

Me, Copperline, and Dawn Light were at the center of it. See, Appleloosa didn't have a proper government yet, since we were still unincorporated. It was just the council of founders, so we got to hear every panicked plea and angry shout those nights. It broke my heart more than anything. Here was a town that was just starting to flourish, and a setback like this could have killed it all. Everypony hurt real, real bad.

The three of us sat on a long table at city hall, much more official than I liked, but, well, folks needed somepony to yell at. Our solution ended up being a combination of the annual rodeo and additional support from a Canterlot farm grant. Even back then, I had my eye on making Appleloosa a much larger tourist destination, and to me, it all just made a lot of sense. To others, not so much.

Two hours into the meeting – which was supposed to be thirty minutes – I was at my wit’s end, so Dawn gave the presentation about the rodeo. It had been her idea, anyway: for our second-ever rodeo, we could upscale it and invite tourists from out of town to participate. We would hold contests and give out prizes, and the extra injection of money could keep us from the brink. Dawn was a marvel, but not everypony was convinced.

I think it was Penny Ante that shouted her down first. “Dawn, how do you suppose we feed all these folks you want in our town?”

Quake jumped in after her. “Hell of a thing to open up on short notice! That’s supposed to be our tradition, Dawn!”

Dawn snapped back, “Appleloosa has welcomed every damn one of you!” She pointed an accusatory hoof. “I ain’t trying to pull rank, but show some sense and think! Where would you be if we’d shut up the town before you all got here?”

Copper fiddled with his quill and ink, trying to keep up with the meeting minutes.

I sighed and leaned forward. “Folks, I know we all have independent preferences, but we gotta think like a collective right now. If we start going down the road of eating each other, there won’t be anything left.” I looked out into the audience and spotted Bronze, leaning against the wall towards the back. He gave me a small smile and a nod, and I thought, ‘Thanks for the support, Wings.’ If nothing else, I knew nopony would try to start something with me as long as Bronze was there.

Fertile Seed threw his hat down. “Fat lotta good the collective does if my family starves, Braeburn!”

That got Copper to finally snap. “Would you fucking listen to yourself! The only reason it wasn’t worse was because we worked together! Like Celestia-damned friends!”

Somepony shouted down Fertile Seed, but then somepony else came to defend his views, and the whole meeting turned into another shouting match. Another forty minutes later and with a splitting headache, we finally got the group to settle on our plan. The vote was about a seventy-thirty, which is probably the best we could have hoped for.

We didn’t linger after the vote, and Bronze escorted me out. I was slumped over, and my vision was blurry. Bronze hugged me close. “You didn’t take their shit, Braeburn. Nice work.”

I forced a smile and mumbled, “Learned from the best, babe.” I stretched my neck. “Course, now I gotta figure out how the hell to convince Canterlot to give us more money. And I gotta do it without selling out everypony here.” I groaned, “And we’re out of whisky.”

“Heh. No we ain’t.” He leaned down and kissed my head. “Picked up a couple bottles today. Figured you’d need ‘em.”

“You’re a dream, Wings.” I shuffled along. “Yeah, I’m in no condition to write proposals tonight. Copper takes good notes anyway, so it can wait ‘til tomorrow.” I sighed. “Let’s just get hooched and call it a night.”

Bronze tensed up all of a sudden and stopped in his tracks.

“Huh?” I looked up at him. “What?”

He stared at me, wide-eyed. “...Oh. Ha! Hooched. Yeah, that makes sense.”

My head cocked to the side. “What did you think I said?”

He wore a warm smile. “Thought you said ‘hitched,’ and, well, it was mighty unexpected.” His eyes rolled up to the sky, and he wore a little grin. “Though… not entirely unwelcome.”

My fiery, metallic stallion stood there in the starlight, and my head reeled with possibilities. “You, uh, thinkin' of proposing already?”

Bronze looked back down, paused, and looked me over. Like magic, a shooting star shot behind him, and he leaned down to kiss me. “You got enough on your mind, Applebutt.” He started walking back to the house.

And I followed, giddy as a school filly. We got absolutely smashed that night on smooth, burnt-oak whisky, and it was one of the more intimate and warm cuddle sessions of my life.

That warmth only lasted until morning, though, and come sunrise, Bronze and I were both back in the leftover nightmare from the swarm. As if the bug corpses weren’t enough, we had to deal with the extra birds, lizards, and snakes that had moved it to feast on the free protein. It was like a second plague, right after the first, and the stress built up as quickly as it had disappeared.

So there was more work.

And more yelling.

And more of that feeling of dread all day, knowing I’d have to be ready once Bronze got home.

And a whole, whole lot more drinking.

It was one night, a few weeks later, about a week before the rodeo. I’d gotten the second appeal to Canterlot finished after our first appeal had been rejected, and I’d started on the bottle early. I was already tipsy when Bronze walked in from a day of cleanup with Fertile Seed, just about the only job he could find.

And…

==X===X===X===X===X==

Braeburn stares out at nothing. His eyes are unfocused. He lifts his left foreleg and pulls it in towards himself, as if guarding it.

I take a deep breath. As I exhale slowly, I remind myself to be as calm as possible. "You're safe here, Braeburn."

He sets his hoof back on the ground. "I know," he sighs. He shakes his head. "But it don't always feel that way."

I could say a hundred different things, and ninety-nine of them feel wrong. "You don't need to tell this part if you don't want to."

Braeburn continues shaking his head. "Of course I don't want to.” He takes several breaths. “But I really don't want to keep it in, either."

==X===X===X===X===X==

That night was the worst I'd seen him. Stomping in, his wings flared out. "That fuckin' son of a bitch can choke on my asshole! The hell does he think he is?"

I’d already prepared a shot of tequila with salt and lime. I held them up to him. "Hon, take a breath. It'll be alright. Want a–"

He slapped the shot glass out of my hoof, and it shattered against the wall. "I don't want your booze, you worthless, stupid drunk!”

Immediately, I felt dizzy. The tequila in my stomach tried to claw its way back up. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. I told myself that everything would be fine. I just needed a drink to steady myself. I just had to get back to the routine, and it would be okay. I would survive another moment, another day. So, as if by instinct, I turned around, took my shot, and bit the lime. The sharp citrus cut through the smooth fire of the alcohol. The warmth washed over me, and I felt a moment of comfort and peace.

Bronze broke that peace like he had the glass. "Don't you fuckin' turn away from me!" He grabbed my flank and violently spun me around, so he could press his face up into mine. "I wasn't done, Braeburn!"

"Sorry!" I shouted at him. "You scared me!"

"I scared you!?" He stomped and snorted. "Braeburn, I've been working my ass off for a chicken-shit miser who hates me, and now I gotta tiptoe around my own home because you're jumpy?"

I… I wanted to crawl under the floor and hide, and my damn stupid mouth kept running away from me. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean anything by it." I felt my gaze slip down, but I remembered how Bronze always wanted to be looked in the eye, so I looked back up. He was still furious. It cowed me instantly. "You're right. It's awful. I don’t need to make you drink.” And right then, my damn optimism just had to rear its head. “But it's only for now. It'll get better."

He snorted again, then turned away from me. He paced around the kitchen. "Shit doesn't get better, Braeburn. Hell, I'm ready to say fuck it and move us back to Chattahoofa."

That cut right to my soul. “Bronze, I can’t leave here! This is my home!”

He jabbed a hoof to his chest. “It’s supposed to be our home, Applebutt! But I hate it here, and you don’t seem to give a rat’s ass about that.” I swear I saw a tear start to form in his eye, which hurt more than the way he was acting.

“I do care, Wings. It’s just been a rough month out here. It happens from time to time. We’ll get through it.”

Bronze snorted and ran a hoof through his mane. He sneered at me. “Be a hell of a lot easier if my damn coltfried showed me some support!” He stepped up to me. “But he’d see me toil for some asshole rather than just let me help him. Why the fuck won’t you let me help you run the orchard? Or at least hire me?”

I looked up at him. He wanted an answer, and he wanted it now. There were so many things I could say, but my mind just kept spinning. Bronze could play this game a whole hell of a lot better than I could, and I couldn’t see a move that would get him to calm down.

“Answer me, Braeburn!”

I spat out the first thing that came to me. “Bronze, you’ve got a lot of talents, but you ain’t a farmer. I need to maintain this crop for the town. The apples are important, and a lot of difficult decisions need to–”

He slapped me hard across the face.

…

He… He hit me so hard, it…

It…

It sounds so fucking simple like that, doesn’t it? It was an act. A moment. It was quick. It didn’t hardly hurt at all, and it hurt so damn much, because it made me feel worthless. Worthless. I was a stupid colt getting punished for being so damn useless. I-I-I couldn’t even keep my coltfriend happy. What the fuck was I even doing?

Those feelings were wrong. I know they were wrong. But I couldn’t stop feeling them. And right then, I felt like nothing but a failure. I…

I saw stars. But they were all out of sorts. They had this wobbly, off-kilter shape to them. The colors were sickly instead of bright. They brought me no comfort.

There was a long silence. My head hung to the side, and I couldn’t move. My neck hurt. My face hurt. So did my chest. My pulse raced, but I felt nailed to my kitchen floor.

Bronze growled, “That was for lying.” He lowered his hoof, took a deep breath, and adopted an eerie calm. It was like a snake before it strikes. “Now, tell me the real reason you won’t share your orchard with me.”

I still hadn’t moved. Tears welled up in my eyes. I had been right: I couldn’t play this game like Bronze, and stripped of any ability to lie, the only thing left was the truth. “Because it’s my baby, Bronze. It’s my safe place, where I can get away from all my troubles. It’s important to me.” I looked back up at him. “It's mine, and I–”

He hit me with a wide left hook on the other side of my face.

Blackness crept in around the edges of my vision. I stumbled but kept myself upright. I shook my head and blinked away two tears of pain.

He spoke evenly. “That one was for being greedy.”

My jaw was tight. I tried not to cry. Everything felt heavy.

Bronze went right back to being all fired up. “I can help you, Braeburn! Why the hell can’t you see that!?”

I choked out, “Bronze, try to see things from my perspective.” I don’t know where that defiance still came from. I think I loved my trees more than I was afraid of Bronze.

“Your perspective?” He leapt up into the air and flapped, lording over me. “Babe, I’ve seen your perspective. You sit at a desk half the day, fiddle with some apple trees for the rest of it, then come home and drink until you make an ass of yourself and pass out on me. You think you’ve got it rough?”

“I-I didn’t say–”

“How about you see things from my perspective, huh!? You think I like being the only Luna-damned pegasus out here? Everypony staring at me and wondering why I don’t magically make the weather better? I bet half of ‘em blame me for the locusts, too!”

I looked up at him. “Wings, look, I’m sorry. And you’re right, I don’t know what it’s like for you.”

“Well maybe you should.” With one hard flap, he wheeled around and scooped me up. I screamed, but he had me around the barrel and the neck. “You fuckin’ like that, Braeburn?”

I choked out, “Put me down!”

He just flapped again and hovered, his head bumping against the ceiling. “What, you don’t like it up here? Where everypony’s always lookin’ at you and judging you?” He started doing laps around the kitchen and entryway. “Just waiting for you to slip up and fall?”

“Bronze, stop it!” By that point, I was dizzy, and I didn’t know up from down.

“This ain’t shit, Braeburn!” He loosened his grip and let me slip, just a hair, just enough for fear to bolt through me. “I’ve got half a mind to take you outside and play catch!”

My blood ran cold. I thrashed in his grasp. Even just a little bit up like that, it felt like a mile, and my brain reeled with the fear of being brought outside. The floor seemed so far away. “Stop it! Let me go!” I nearly twisted out of his grasp.

He roared, “Fine, have it your way!” And he pushed me away from him.

I… fell. I fell towards the floor, and my brain raced a mile a minute. I knew I wasn’t falling the right way. I wasn’t angled properly. I didn’t know how to land. I straightened out my left foreleg to catch myself, but I…

==X===X===X===X===X==

A hollow breeze brushes our faces. Braeburn’s equally hollow eyes are cast down to the dirt. He rubs his left foreleg gently.

I reach for anything to say and come up empty.

Nothing happens. Nothing continues to happen. It feels like coming home to find your house has been robbed and destroyed. It feels like there must be something, anything you can do to fix it. There must be some action you can take to undo what’s happened. But there isn’t. The damage has been done. All that remains is the wreckage. But this isn’t wreckage. This is a pony. A living, breathing pony who survives and lives on. What was done to him was monstrous, and there is nothing that can change the past. Only the future.

Braeburn whispers, “I don’t like heights.”

The desert expands infinitely around us. Even though I’m here with him, Braeburn looks so alone.

He speaks up, broken by a few tiny sobs. “I don’t like it.” His head shakes, just barely. “I don’t like ladders. I don’t like being picked up.” His teeth chatter. “Soarin’ knows that now. He didn’t always.” A small smile flashes on his face. “But I feel safe with him. There’s so much beauty up there. Because he’s up there, too. I…” He swallows hard. “I don’t like heights, but I don’t want to give them up.”

For lack of any other response, I nod.

Braeburn draws a shuddering breath. “Folks…” He sniffles. His voice is barely above a whisper. “A whole bunch of folks have told me to sell that house. Once they knew what happened there. They say it’s bad for the soul to be in a place like that. To be reminded every day of the darkest times of your life.”

I watch him.

He looks back at me. A few tears roll off his face and into the dirt. “But that’s my house, Vivid. It’s my home. I built it with my friends in the first days of Appleloosa. And it’s where Soarin’–” He chokes up. “It’s where Big Blue came back for me.” A broken smile crosses his face. “He traveled all across Equestria just to see me again. He was genuine. He made me… made me feel like I could really pick up the pieces and be better.” His lip quivers as he half-laughs, half-sobs. “He made me feel like things could get better. And he was right. It’s gotten so much better, and…” He swallows again. “I don’t want to lose it all again. I–”

Braeburn tries a few times to continue, but each time, he cries.

I lift a hoof, but remember his rejection of it.

But Braeburn sucks in a breath. “Yeah, I’ll take that hug now.” He scoots closer, and I embrace him. He cries into my shoulder, and I say nothing.

And I wonder again how much of this he’s told Soarin’.

We spend a few moments like that, above a gorgeous town built by dedicated earth ponies. The sun is a warm embrace, the wind a cool drink of relief. And in the meantime, Braeburn weeps.

He clears his throat, and his voice is clearer. His head remains on my shoulder. “C–... Can I keep going?”

Gently, I say, “Whenever you’re ready.”

He pulls away and rubs his eyes with a fetlock. “Suffice to say, I screamed.”

==X===X===X===X===X==

I screamed so much. My left foreleg had a hairline fracture, and I couldn’t hardly move. But it wasn’t just the pain. I was afraid. I wasn’t safe in my house, and I knew it, deep down. The world felt like it had shattered. Everything I’d built, everything I thought I understood. It was all so far away. Nothing felt safe anymore, and that hurt worst of all.

Bronze… He swooped down immediately, and it was like night and day. “Applebutt! Oh my word, I’m so sorry!” His voice was full of pain, too. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He tried to move my leg out from under me, but when I screamed again, he let it be. “Gah, I’m so fuckin’ stupid! Stupid!” He punched his own forehead with a hoof. “Stupid! Aw, Braeburn, I got too angry, I’ve been so stressed. You gotta forgive me, babe, please!”

My whole body shook. I could barely see, and I wanted to pass out, but… but my coltfriend needed me. I muttered with chattering teeth, “Wings…”

Bronze gently rolled me to one side, off my leg, and he lay down next to me. His eyes were wet, too, and he held my other hoof. “Sh, sh… It’ll be alright, Applebutt.” He spread his wings around the two of us, and even then, it brought me so much comfort to be wrapped up in that cocoon. “I’ll go get the doc, and we’ll get you fixed up. I’m sorry, Braeburn. But you gotta forgive me. Please. Please don’t be mad. You’re my whole life, Braeburn. Please don’t send me away.”

Our eyes met. I saw that same vulnerable colt I’d seen on the train ride. He needed comfort. He needed me.

And I… I realize how… baffling that must sound. Him needing comfort from me, the coltfriend he’d just nearly killed. It’s… I’ve read that it’s not uncommon for ponies like him. Call it self-centered. Call it trauma. Either way, he was suffering, and I’ve never been one to leave a pony suffering.

…

I can't hate him. I just… can't. Believe me, I've tried. So instead, I just keep hating myself for still loving him.

With my good foreleg, I cradled his chin. I forced a smile, and I said, gentle as I could, “Never.”

Chapter 10 - The Glimpse of Paradise

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter 11 - The Echo of Your Voice

Author's Note

Content warning: some very dark themes ahead.

Thanks to Bright Sight for helping me with pre-reading on this chapter.

Chapter 11 - The Echo of Your Voice

I was happy with Bronze. He’d convinced me that he'd never hurt me again. And, well…

Hearth's Warming felt whole and complete in a brand new way. We walked into my parents' place, all bundled up and with a few small packages, and Ma and Pa welcomed us both with big hugs. Ma gave Bronze an extra long squeeze. "Oh, we’re so glad you could make it, Bronze. Thanks for coming."

Bronze was graceful as always. "It's my pleasure, ma'am."

Ma pulled back and gave Bronze a faux-stern look. "None of that, now. It's Gal and Cort in this house." She tapped his chin. "Maybe Ma and Pa before long."

Bronze smiled. "If you say so, Gal."

That little moment brought the spirit of the season to my family's home, and it never left.

We stayed in Haulahay for three nights. It was full of games, tours of the farm, gifts, and more. My parents were so touched by Bronze's carving of me. They actually still have it on their bedside table, despite everything, and they wish me goodnight before they fall asleep, every single time.

We didn't drink too much, and I was craving it something fierce by the second night. I suppose that should have been a sign.

I met my Pa out on the porch while Bronze helped Ma with the dinner dishes. It was cold out, and dark besides, but we had some heavy wool blankets to warm up under. Pa had his cigar lit and was enjoying the magical deep blue color that only comes out in winter.

I slipped onto a chair and under a blanket. "Got your flask out here, Pa?"

He tossed it to me and laughed. "You think I'd be without the berry brandy this time of year?"

I took a deep pull. It tasted like blackberry jam that had gone just a little off. It had a chew to it, like you could feel the berries on your tongue, and it didn’t so much burn as punch its way down to your stomach. Basically, it was the cheap shit, but it was tradition.

With a laugh, I said, “Every damn year I tell myself it’ll taste better.” I tossed the flask back to him. "Now, I ain't gonna belabor it, but we gotta have a chat. Promised you I would."

Pa sighed. His breath made a big, white cloud that quickly dissipated. "Yeah. You did." He shifted in his chair. "I'll be honest, I still got no idea where to start."

"That's okay, Pa. It's how I felt most of the time, too.” I took a deep breath. It was rare that I found myself in control of a conversation with him, and that control felt as fragile as a glass spider web. “So, let's start with acknowledgement. Your son brought his coltfriend of four months home for Hearth's Warming."

Pa was stoic. "Eeyup, that's right."

I flicked a hoof at him. "Think you can bring yourself to say it?"

Pa sighed again and stared out at the fields. "My son…" He trailed off. His head shook, and I worried that the ice would grip his heart. Instead, he looked at me, and he found his smile. "My son Braeburn, who I love more than anything, is home for Hearth's Warming, and he brought his coltfriend who makes him happy."

I felt light-headed and giddy, and it wasn't the brandy. "Thanks, Pa."

Pa chuckled to himself. "Don't thank me. Seems like the bare minimum." He puffed his cigar. "And it was still harder than it should have been."

"It'll take time. I'll keep botherin’ you about it.” He tossed the brandy back when he saw me eying it, and I took another pull. Still awful. “So, what do you think about Bronze?"

Pa took another puff and blew out the smoke, long and slow. He shrugged. "He's a good stallion. Polite, pulls his weight, helpful, maybe a little stiff, but that's probably our fault."

"Ha! Maybe, but hell, how relaxed were you the second time you met Grandma Gown?"

"Heh. Fair. As far as Bronze, he's a gentlestallion. If you…” Scratching at his chin, Pa glanced my way. “Please don't take this the wrong way, but if you'd been a mare, he's the kind of stallion I'd want for you." His jaw tightened. "Is that bad to say?"

"Not at all, Pa, not as long as you don't get hung up on it." I shook my head and tossed back the flask.

He drank from it and asked, "How about you, though? Do you like him? He makes you happy?"

I nodded. "He does. Life's better with him in it. I've started to love him."

Pa saw right through me. "Started?"

I shrugged and acted all coy. "Well, okay, I'm head over hooves for him."

His next words were sterner. "And does he treat you right?"

I froze. That night flashed back in my mind. The feeling of falling. But I didn't want that to be my answer. I thought of all the time we'd spent since then, how Bronze had been so kind and taken care of me. He was better now, I told myself. "He does."

Pa shook his head. "Okay. Good. Guys like him, wandering workers, I always get suspicious. They tend to have a mean streak, at least in my experience. Hard for them to hold a job, even if they seem polite on the surface, and I’ve had to fire more than a few.” He looked back at me after another puff. “Just don't rush into anything."

My brain locked out any of those thoughts. After all, Bronze had managed the orchard while I was recovering, right? "He's been in Appleloosa for four months, Pa. He's adapting."

Pa grunted and looked out to the land. "Okay, son. I don't know much about…” He waved in front of him. “...all this, and that makes me worry. Just be careful, okay?" He started to inhale his cigar.

I felt like being a smart alec. "What, afraid one of us is gonna get pregnant?"

Ha! Pa gasped and sucked down half his cigar, then flew into a coughing fit. Meanwhile, I laughed my ass off. We didn’t approach the subject again, and I still feel warm when I remember that conversation.

All too quickly, the weekend ended. No big fights, no weird moments, just a nice holiday, which I couldn’t be more grateful for. With that, it was time for the second leg of the trip to Ponyville.

Bronze saw us off at the station. He was taking a train to Chattahoofa to spend a few days with his sister's family, and he was real excited to see his niece and nephew again.

Around the corner of the platform, we found some privacy. The station was a major hub for the whole southwest, so being anonymous was easy enough, especially amidst the holiday travelers. We shared a big, big hug that went on forever. I rubbed his face with mine. "I don't wanna be away from you that long, Wings."

Bronze held me close. "Neither do I, Applebutt, but it'll be okay. Maybe next year."

"Yeah, maybe.” I looked down at the ground. “I've got half a mind to come out to everypony the moment we get there."

Bronze grabbed my chin and tilted it up. "Naw, that'd rub your folks the wrong way. They'd feel trapped, and then they'd get desperate." He thought for a moment. "Be proactive. Tell your parents you want to work things out with them before telling the family. It'll put them at ease so nopony asks questions."

"Heh. And what about AJ?"

He waved a dismissive hoof. "Eh, keep her focused on the rodeo stories and town management, and you'll be fine. And if you wanna talk to Mac, make damn sure Bloom ain't listening." He hugged me again. "You'll be okay, and I'll be home soon."

We finally parted at last call, and Bronze waited on the platform, waving his stark, black hat as we pulled away. I watched until I couldn't crane my neck any further, and all I was left with was the view of farmland and the smell of salty, stale train food.

I sat alone, but it didn't take long for Ma to move next to me as I looked out the window. She spoke gently. "You miss him already, don't you?"

I nodded. "I do." Ma put a hoof on my shoulder, but she didn't say anything. I looked and saw her smiling. "What? What's wrong?"

She paused, and she sighed. "Nothing’s wrong, Braeby." She looked into my eyes. "I was just thinking about this weekend. It was good to see you so happy again."

We shared a little smile, and nothing more needed to be said. The train rolled on.

Mac, AJ, and Little Bloom welcomed us at the train station, and it felt like a party from the moment we walked in the front door. I could go on and on about our conversations, the walls teeming with decorations, the delicious food that never stopped coming, and the stallions-only poker game that Granny Smith always wormed her way into (and always won). But like in Haulihay, it just felt normal. That’s all I wanted for Hearth’s Warming, and I got it.

Well, there was one other thing I wanted. That night, Mac and I were settling into bed in his room. I insisted on taking the rollaway, since it was too small for Mac. I had no intention of sleeping, though. I wanted to finally talk to him about Bronze.

But Big Mac is full of surprises. About twenty minutes after we laid down, pretending to sleep so nopony would bother us, he was on his back staring at the ceiling and tapping his hooves together. He whispered, "Uh… You up, Braeburn?"

I was waiting for the right moment, too, and there's no chance I was going to sleep. I whispered back. "Course. I ain't so tired I'll just flop into bed like an old casserole. What's on your mind?"

"I've, uh…" He whistled a little tune of all things.

Snickering, I said, “Mac, how often do we get to have conversations like this? Out with it.”

A dopey smile crawled across his face. "I've met somepony."

I leapt out of bed to his bedside, smiling broader than a psycho killer.

"Gah!" Mac shouted, nearly rolling off the bed. "Braeburn, c'mon! You scared me!"

"Sorry!" I whispered, and I thought back to Bronze’s advice. "But be quiet. Bloom might still be awake."

We both listened, and I snuck to the door to check the hallway. No movement or sound, just a creaky floor. We were safe.

I pulled my bed right next to Mac's so we could whisper more easily. I rolled into it on my side, and said, "Okay, we're clear. Tell me about 'em, cousin! That's so exciting!"

Big Mac blushed and rubbed the back of his head. "Well, it ain't much yet."

"Oh, fiddle faddle. Mac, you never talk about yourself, especially unprompted." I scooted closer. "So this must be somepony real special. What's their name? What are they like?"

That goofy smile rolled over his face again. "Her name's Sugar Belle. She's a sweetheart, and she’s a baker out in OT."

"OT?"

"Eeyup. Stands for Our Town. I call it OT so folks don't get confused." Mac always was a wise one. "But she's kind, Braeburn, and she's a real hard worker. She's doing her best for her community. And her treats are the best I've ever tasted."

I smirked. "Ah, so you've tasted her treats already?"

Big Mac went ghostly white. "N-n-no! Not what I meant. She, uh, she's such a nice mare, and I, uh, I wouldn't want to, uh…" He shook his head. "I wouldn't want to have impure thoughts."

I nudged his shoulder. "Hey, now, none of that."

Mac cocked an eyebrow. "None of what?"

"Nothing impure about it, Mac. You're a stallion. She's a mare. Heh, if ponies were so obsessed with keepin' 'pure,' then there wouldn't be any foals at all." I smiled inwardly when I realized Bronze would agree with me. Sometimes we gotta educate the straights.

Mac tapped his hooves together. "Still feels embarrassin’ to think about."

"That ain't embarrassment, Mac. That's excitement." I touched my chest. "It's a feeling that what you're doin' is right. That she's worth pursuing. It feels different and risky and strange, but trust me, it's a good thing, cousin."

Mac smiled at me shyly. "I appreciate your wisdom, Braeburn."

I snickered. "What's the world coming to where I'm the one giving you advice."

"Aw, heck, don't sell yourself short." He rolled up onto his side. "Though I'm sorry if this is a painful subject. You've said how hard it is for you to date out there. I don't wanna bring you down."

I smiled broadly. "Well, as a matter of fact…"

We stayed up late that night, two grown stallions having giddy conversation about their crushes, like a couple of teenagers. I think, honestly, that it was the first time for both of us. Mac hadn't dated much, on account of having to help raise his sisters, and I'd never had many ponies to talk about it with, either. He didn't know much about Sugar Belle, but he'd practically memorized every detail of each time they'd interacted. It was a joy to hear him recount it all. And I told him about Bronze and all our adventures and how happy he was making me after all my years of colt trouble. Mac was scandalized but very curious when he found out we weren't exactly chaste. He had a few questions, too, and we both spoke without judgment. It was a huge load off my mind. We finally knocked out at around 2 a.m. for a very, very satisfying sleep.

What followed was two days of relaxation. There was no tension. I was with my family, and even though I missed Bronze terribly, the time passed by quickly. We had plenty more meals and even exchanged a few gifts. My cousins got me the rest of my favorite book series and a few of the side adventure books. If you’ve never read the “Free to Fly” series, you’re missing out.

But eventually, it was time to say goodbye. I timed it this time around. From the first “Well, we should get going” to the final hug, it took four hours, nine minutes, and about twenty seconds. Just don’t tell Soarin’ he’s right about earth ponies. That meant that I nearly missed my train, though, so my goodbye to my parents was truncated. For the first time in years, though, it didn’t sting, because I knew there would be many more.

I slept most of the way back – family’s great, but they can really take it out of you – and I dragged myself to my home. My house was a welcome sight after a week away. Things were well, and I spent the afternoon with some bourbon-spiked tea and my new copy of “Whitewing's Big Score.” Just ask Soarin', it's a real page-turner.

The house felt bigger, and not in a great way. As much as I held onto the warmth of the season, it wasn't the same without Bronze. So, I decided to ease back into life and be lazy one more day, and I swung by the Salt Block for dinner.

Pridesong was out visiting home, but the whole place was still full of music and ponies. Mostly it was younger folks and the elderly that had settled, but with how big Appleloosa had already gotten, there was a fine mix of others, too.

I sat down by Wheat Mane and Wood Chip, who was one of my regular laborers. "Evening, colts. This seat taken?"

Chip put on airs and tipped his hat. "Only by you, Mister Apple."

I laughed him off. "You know I hate that."

He chuckled with me. "Yeah, but it's fun to burn your biscuits sometimes." He took a big drink of his beer. Then he started to say something, then he drank again.

I cocked an eyebrow. "You alright, Chip?"

Chip swallowed. "Eh, I'll be fine. Is, uh… Is Bronze joining you tonight?"

"Naw, he's still visiting family. Won't be back for a few days." I saw his shoulders relax. "Why? What's wrong?"

Chip waved a hoof. "Aw, don't worry about it."

"Friend, that's exactly what you say if you do want somepony to worry about it."

He sighed and grasped his empty beer glass with two hooves. "Not tonight. It'll spoil the evening. Let's just get another round and sing ourselves hoarse, and we can chat during pruning tomorrow, yeah?"

I smirked. "Okay, but I'm buying. Part of your bonus, I reckon."

"Thanks, Mister Apple."

We caroled along with the bar, and after sunset, those songs got a lot more ribald. Handlebar was serving dinner for anypony that wanted to buy it. Tasty, not as good as home cooked, but it wasn't bad.

Towards the end of the evening, when folks were sloshed and conversation had gotten sparse in favor of digestion, I looked at all the wonderful ponies in my community. Maybe it was the alcohol – I was hammered by then – but the scene felt like something from a storybook. We were together as a big group, not to solve problems like at the meetings, but just to take a moment and appreciate the life we had. I looked around and thought, 'I've missed this.'

I surprised myself at that. Try as I might, I couldn't shake the thought that it had been a long, long time since I'd been out like this, just me. I turned back to Chip. "Hey, uh, weird question, but do y'all do this often?"

Chip blinked, bleary-eyed. "Yeah, most weekends since harvest. Me 'n Sunrise been wondering if we'd ever see you out again." He drained the last of his beer. "It's good to see you outside work, Braeburn."

"Well, good to be back, Chip." I thought back to the last few months. It was all with Bronze. Especially after our fight, I had stayed inside the house to avoid questions. But I realized, no, it had been before that, too. And even though I'd gotten Bronze out in the town a bit lately, I was far less involved than I would have ever wanted. I mumbled to myself, "I'm too drunk for this."

"What was that, Brae?"

Red-faced, I shook out my mane. "I'm gonna turn in, Chip. Thanks for the company. You have a good night."

"You, too. Juniper and I will swing by tomorrow after I shake the hangover."

"Right. Yeah. See you then." I tipped my hat and headed for home.

I slept alone in my bed for the first night in months. Well, "slept" is generous. Soarin' used to talk all the time about how he hated the quiet. I've usually been a fan of it myself, but the house felt… empty. I didn't have the breathing of my lover to lull me to sleep. Didn't have his warmth at my side.

And nighttime is when all the little demons come out. I tossed and turned, and the more I thought about how I wasn't sleeping, the more my pulse picked back up.

I thought about what Chip said. The fact that he’d left it vague gave me all kinds of anxiety, since it meant that there were problems in the orchard I didn't know about. Bronze had only run it for a few weeks, but apparently Chip and the others hadn't wanted to tell me what was wrong. That spiked my heart rate again. What was so bad they didn't want to say when Bronze was around?

I tried to narrate to myself. "It's okay. You can talk to Bronze. He'll–" I stopped dead cold. I knew what he'd say if he thought I was criticizing his efforts. He wanted to be invested in the orchard. It was the touchiest subject with him, and if he got heated again…

My left foreleg twitched with phantom pain. I hated where my thoughts were going, so I finally got up. As drunk as I already was, it took three shots of cinnamon whisky to knock me out for the night.

There's a certain kind of hangover that you can enjoy. It's when you can sleep in the next day after a night of living it up. Your head hurts like hell, sure, but you know you deserve it, and it's worth it.

I'd managed to sleep through the roosters crowing, and it was midmorning by the time I got up and started breakfast. Simple and fried, naturally. Settled my stomach good.

Chip hadn't set a time, so after breakfast, I headed out to the orchard. To my surprise, he and Juniper were already out there, pruning some of the withering branches. I trotted up to them. "Mornin', y'all. What are you doin' out here so early?"

Chip kept his eyes on his work. “Well, lots to do, and I figured it would get the booze outta my blood, right?”

I smirked and took another step towards them. “Yeah, feels like the only way sometimes. Got an extra shears out here?”

“We’ve got it, Braeburn.” He still wouldn’t look at me.

“Aw, I don’t mind helping.” I shrugged. “Not a lot going on. I ain’t gonna dock your pay or anything if that’s what you’re concerned about. I hope that’s not what it is.” I laughed, “Or I’m a hell of a lot worse an employer than I thought.”

Chip looked at Juniper, and Juniper gave Chip a little scowl. Chip looked at me, then back at her, and Juniper flicked her eyes between him and me. Chip sighed. "Bronze back yet?"

I shook my head. "No, and I'm mighty concerned that you've asked twice now. What happened?" Despite his protests, I grabbed a shears and started helping.

Chip cast a glance around. "Well, uh…"

Juniper huffed. "Aw, grow a pair, Chip." She removed her hat and scratched at her mane. "Braeburn, Bronze seems like a nice enough stallion, and I'm glad you get along, but he's a bad farmer and a worse boss."

I reeled. "I… What? Bronze ain't your boss. Hell, I ain't even your boss, not really."

Chip groaned. "That ain't how Bronze sees it." He sheared another small branch. "Remember when he took over for a few weeks after your accident?"

I tensed at that word. "Yeah, I do."

Juniper snipped one as well. "Fact you didn't notice means we did our job, I suppose." She snorted. "Bronze had all these ideas about how things should be done, but they were flat-out wrong. Trimming perfectly fine branches, bucking apples too early, all sorts of nonsense. We got by with just pretending to do what he wanted and fixing it when he wasn't looking."

"He didn't seem to notice, either," Chip said. "Which was good for us, but it doesn't speak to his farming skills too well."

My stomach churned. "I'm… I'm real sorry, you two. I didn't know."

Juniper snarled. "Well, why the hell not?"

Chip snapped, "June! Be fair. He was hurt." He wiped his forehead. "And I'll be honest, I could put up with that, but my word did he get heated. He lost his temper over every little thing."

I felt dizzy. "He what?"

Juniper sighed. "Okay, you need to communicate better with your coltfriend, clearly." She took another deep breath and looked at me. "Yeah, he yelled. A lot. Made it mighty unpleasant."

"Well why didn't you tell me?" I put a hoof to my temple to make my head stop spinning.

"Well, for one, we knew you had a lot on your plate, and we didn't want to complain. For the other, Bronze threatened to withhold our pay if we bothered you."

I flushed red. "He does not have the authority to do that."

Chip nodded. "That's what we thought, but we didn't want to risk it."

I covered my face for a moment. "I'm so sorry, you two. I hope I can make it up to you next season."

They grimaced at each other.

My ears turned down. "Oh dear."

Chip cleared his throat. "Mister Apple, we appreciate all the work you've given us the last couple years." He was all official. I hated it. "But we've been thinking about making our own farm for a while now, and, well…"

June's eyes softened. "After that whole experience, it felt like the right time to apply for a loan."

I faked a laugh and scratched at my cheek. "Heh. Haha. Wow, uh… Ha! Can’t blame you, I guess. I suppose it's too late to talk you out of it?"

Chip shook his head. "Sorry, Braeburn. Papers are signed."

Inside, my heart was breaking. Outside, I had to remain professional. "Well, I'm sad to see you go, but I'm happy you're taking such a big step together. I wish you two nothing but success."

Juniper held Chip's hoof. "Well, we appreciate you taking this so well, Braeburn."

I tipped my hat and smiled. "Absolutely! No problem at all."

I was panicking. My insides were swirling so much that I thought my ribs would tear themselves out of me. I was down two of my workers for the next season, likely half of what I needed for the expansion I had planned. With the way Appleloosa was growing, laborers would be ever harder to come by, and even if we had a good year, I had nowhere near the money to get into a bidding war for whoever was left. And I couldn’t talk to Bronze about it. He’d been the one to drive them away, and he hadn’t told me, so he assumed I didn’t know. But he was pushing for more responsibilities around the orchard, and if he’d made those two leave, that meant he might do it again with anypony new that I got, which would exacerbate his anger and my panic, which would cycle over and over until–

…

I nearly blacked out on my hooves, and I excused myself when Chip and Juniper said they’d finish up, no charge, as a thank-you. My brain was fried, and, well, maybe I shouldn't be surprised I found myself at the Salt Block again before even noon.

Handlebar cocked an eye as I sat down. "Hair of the dog, Mister Braeburn?"

"Double old fashioned," I mumbled.

He paused. "You expecting somepony–"

I shot him a look that could kill.

He twitched his mustache and cheerily said, "Coming right up."

I…

…

I… drank. So damn much.

In those forty-eight hours, I drank more than I ever had before. And unfortunately, I've had more in less time since then.

I didn't want to think. I didn't want to feel. Everything in my head was spiraling, spiraling out of control, because as complicated as things had been with Bronze, now they were a thousand times worse. It wasn’t just that he hadn’t learned about the trees. No, his actions were actively hurting them. That meant his actions were hurting me. I teared up when I had that thought. He’d promised he wouldn’t do that again, and it had taken him less than a week to break that promise in secret. I dug and dug through my thoughts for a way to resolve it all, but nothing came.

Until something did. A terrible chasm opened up in my chest when I realized it. The way things stood, I couldn’t have them both. No, I had to choose between my coltfriend and my orchard. One would poison the other. Sure, maybe I could reconcile it, maybe with time it would be okay, but it was so, so much worse than I imagined. My workers, gone. Bronze aggressively making decisions that could hurt whole lines of trees. But he needed support, and if I didn't let him try and grow himself, it would hurt him.

And… he would take it out on me.

What would I give up for Bronze? What would I give up to feel safe for a few more months? But what would happen when it was through? Would I watch what I'd built slowly die so that I wouldn't drive my coltfriend away?

It was questions. Nothing but damn questions.

There's… not a specific moment when I became an alcoholic, I don't think. It was a process. It was cultivated. In a twisted way, it's like my orchard. But those couple days… I can't deny that I was sick by then, and it had its hooks in me deep. Because I dove into it, head first, and I couldn't stop myself.

I acted sober enough to buy some bottles of cheap whisky from the general store, and I drained one of 'em that day. Was sick as hell overnight, which at least kept me from taking in more. I don't remember the following day. Or the next.

Bronze came back on the third day of my bender. I hadn't met him at the train station, and instead, he walked in the front door with a confused, gentle shout of, "Braeburn? Y' okay? …hello?"

I roused myself from the bed upstairs. Hoarse and with my mouth tasting like vomit, I shouted down, "Hey there, Wings!"

I rubbed my eyes and didn't hear him walk up the stairs, so I figured I had a moment to collect myself. But, you know, wings. He hovered in and landed. "Mornin', sunshine. I– Hoo!" He sniffed at the air a couple times, then quickly covered his nose. "Holy hell, Applebutt. You got the flu?" He walked up to my side and felt my forehead.

"Naw, just got a little crazy the last couple days," I mumbled.

"Damn, sorry I missed the party." He chuckled. "Hell of a rager from the look of it." He set his bag down and crawled into bed with me, and his warmth gave me a moment's comfort. "It'll be okay, Applebutt. Let your big stallion take your troubles away."

"Heh. Not sure how much I can take, Wings."

He laughed. "I admit, I figured we'd already be at it by now. Probably best if we hold off, though. Not to offend, but I don't think it'd be pleasant for either of us."

"Yeah, that's fair. Head is killin' me, too." That part was honest, at least, but not for the reason he might have expected.

Bronze held me close and gently wrapped me in a wing. "You wanna keep restin’?"

"Naw, I wanna catch up. How was–"

Bronze interrupted and hugged me tight. "How was Ponyville?"

"Uh, good!" I leaned into him. Something tickled my brain, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. "Great, even. Got to tell Mac all about you, and we stayed up late like a couple adolescent fillies. Wonderful seeing the family, again, too. Felt like home again."

Bronze got stiff. "Okay, so now I know there's something wrong."

My jaw tightened, and I looked up at him. "W… what do you mean?"

His golden eyes were soft, but with just a tiny trace of venom behind them. "Braeburn, nopony has a weekend full of joy and life-changing conversations, then comes home and gets blackout drunk for days."

I couldn’t move.

He squeezed me tighter. "And cutie, I know it's been days, because you clearly ain't showered. So, best fess up and tell me what's on your mind." He hugged again. "Then we can get to the pleasant stories."

He had me. There was no way around it, and his hug felt like a scorpion's claws right before the tail strike.

I sighed. "Chip and June ain't coming back to the orchard next year, and I'm worried Sunrise might leave, too." I quickly searched Bronze's face for a hint of violence.

He remained calm, but his forehead creased. "Huh. Mighty strange." Lowering his voice, he asked, "Did they say why?"

Like Bronze had taught me, I told the version of the truth that served me best. "They said they wanted their own plot of land to farm, and it felt like the right time."

He quickly cut in. "They didn't say anything else?" He was direct. Probing.

I prayed I could sneak just one lie past him. I shrugged. "That's what they told me. Did they mention anything to you when I was recovering?"

Bronze looked out at nothing, like he always did. "Nothing in specific."

Feeling just a tiny bit bold, I asked, "They weren't having problems, were they?"

And then, my lover lied to me. "Nope, they were good.” He stuck his lower lip out, like he was thinking hard. “Needed some direction, of course, but it was a pleasant few weeks. Good folks, no big issues."

Bronze didn't have a tell. There was no easy way to see that he was lying to my face. If I hadn't spoken to Chip, I would have completely believed him. And that's what scared me most of all.

What scared me second most was that I was now keeping a secret from him, and I couldn't let him find out. "Huh. Weird. Well, maybe they're just eager."

I held my breath. There was a beat. It passed.

Bronze groaned and cuddled up to me. "Well, fuck 'em. We'll find better help." He kissed my cheek. "And you've got me now. We'll take care of the orchard, no matter what."

My heart wasn't in it. "Sure. We will, Wings. You and me."

Those lies would eat me hollow.

We spent the better part of the day catching up. I told him about the Ponyville trip, and he had all sorts of stories about playing with his niece and nephew. He'd taken out some of his mine money to get them both dolls and compasses, since they both wanted them, and Bronze would fight like hell to make sure they never felt ashamed of liking "colt" or "filly" toys. And even as scared as I was, I couldn't help but wonder what kind of father he'd be.

But he'd lied to me, and the comfort I'd built up with him over the last few months vanished, bit by bit.

It was little things at first. I’d catch a glimpse of him talking to somepony in town, and then that pony would seem to avoid me for a while afterwards. Things of mine would be misplaced or moved. Not too noticeably, but enough that it couldn’t all be a coincidence. The worst was my letters: in some of my ongoing communications with Big Mac and Aunt Honeycrisp, I realized the letters had been opened, then re-sealed. It was expertly done, but suddenly, my private conversations weren’t so private, and I felt trapped. I couldn’t reach out to the ponies I loved for help, or Bronze would know. And through it all, I felt more and more alone.

The time of year didn’t help. See, between Hearth's Warming and the first days of spring, there's this ennui that can grip a farm pony. You can fix stuff around the house, but it's too cold, and there ain't much sunlight, so that means very little time anyway. You check the trees, but it's not like they're doing much. They don't need much care beyond simple checks and pruning, and Chip and Juniper were already finishing that out. The festivals are over, and nopony really wants to go through with another round of planning big gatherings. You can do paperwork, and I had some, but I'd already included most of what Appleloosa needed to report in the aftermath of the locusts.

So, you just kind of wait it out.

At the start, I tore through most of the “Free to Fly” books I'd gotten for Hearth's Warming, and I especially loved “Whitewing’s Big Score.” We didn’t have a library back then, so folks mostly just borrowed books from each other. As compelling as they are, though, you can only read so much before you go stir crazy.

Bronze got bored real quick. He isn't much of a reader, and when I tried to show him about farm loans and planning out space and resources, he just said, "That's what I've got you for, Applebutt. I'm more of a hooves-on leader type."

My father's warning played back in my mind.

I cocked my head to the side. "It might not look like much fun, but it's important. I find it kind of enjoyable, like a puzzle."

"Well, all the more reason for you to keep doing it, then, cutie," he said with a smirk.

Eventually, Bronze got wanderlust and spent his days exploring the mountains. I would have loved to join him, but he needed his space, and, obviously, I can't fly. I would do some amount of paperwork, fret about what would happen at the orchard, and then spend time trying to find replacement workers.

But it's a small town, and word spreads. Nopony wanted to work with Bronze once they found out Chip, June, and Sunrise were out. Oh, I found out about Sunrise at the Salt Block one afternoon, and I was mighty pissed he hadn't told me himself.

I despaired, and Bronze would find me at the Salt Block. And he’d ask questions like, "Thinking about moving back to Chattahoofa yet?"

I’d groan, "I ain't leaving, Wings."

And he’d shrug and reply, "If you say so."

The mountains got lonesome for Bronze after a couple weeks, and his flights got shorter until he didn't even bother. That left us with a bunch of time we wanted to make disappear, him from boredom, and me from fear. You can guess how we did it.

Honestly, most of February and March are a blur. There were good moments, of course. I started trying to teach Bronze about trees, and he seemed at least partly interested, but we were both drunk through half the lessons. I managed to sober up enough in the mornings to get my paperwork done for the town and for my orchard, but by noon, I was already deep in the bottle. Bronze would spend his time sleeping in or asking around about workers when he was sober enough to, but he didn’t have any luck.

It was destructive, but the problem was that it was so damn comfortable. Everything was a haze, and I was numb to the pain. Any time I got bored, I had a big, strong stallion right there that would make love to me at the drop of a hat. We would be lost in each other’s bodies and in our whisky. With the money Bronze had brought back, we had plenty to drink all the time. We never needed to worry about running dry or coming back to reality. Slate tried to talk to me about it a couple times, said a lot of folks were worried about not seeing much of me and Bronze, but I just let it roll off my back.

We even took a trip to Coltifornia at one point, just to go see something new. It was a weekend trip, I think. I don’t remember hardly any of it. We ended up not leaving the hotel much. We did a winery tour – that part was fun, at least – but mostly we stayed at least buzzed and just fucked in the hotel room.

And the whole time, at the back of my mind, I kept thinking about the orchard. What would Bronze say when he found out I knew? How could I get him to shape up? What would I do if he couldn’t? What would he do?

Nothing that another shot of vodka couldn’t suppress for a few more hours.

It got… bad. We finally eased up come early April, when it was time to start planting, but by then, our bodies were so wrecked that we couldn’t go more than a few hours without at least a little something. Bronze had an uncle that had gone through detox, so he knew how to ease off, but damn. The shakes were the worst. I had all this nervous energy and nowhere to put it, and it got downright painful, to the point where I was trying to convince Bronze that I just needed to take the edge off. It was like my whole body had given up, like I needed alcohol to fuel everything, and it took a good two weeks before I was back to my regular drinking habits instead of the constant bender of the wintertime. But I did it. Planting season was approaching, and I loved my trees more than I loved being drunk. That's what I told myself, anyway.

But that meant it was finally time to face reality.

We got lucky, in a sense. One morning, Bronze and I were at the Salt Block, scoping projects. Hasty Haberdasher had given us a dirty look – she didn't approve of how much we’d drank over the winter – but she left us mostly alone. I was going over plans for reductions when a young couple approached us. Fruit Shine and Collard Green were new in town, and they were looking for any job they could get. They’d heard good things from Pridesong, and they were both interested in our apple varietals out west. And just like that, the sky seemed bluer, and I felt like I could actually see the rest of the planting season out in front of me.

That night, we had an easy dinner and celebrated with a bottle of the good whisky. Cuddling up on our favorite spot on the couch, Bronze took another pull. "Lookit that, Applebutt." His words were slurred. "It all worked out." He reached over and tickled my sides with his feathers. "Power of your positive thinkin', I'd say."

I was at least as drunk as he was. The room was tilting but not quite spinning. I laughed at the way his feathers touched me. "Aw, you – haha! Stop that – you helped a bunch, too, Wings. Like you said, fuck anypony that won't work with me."

"With us." His voice was dark and very focused.

"Right, sorry," I said. "With us."

"Braeburn." He wasn't tickling anymore.

I sighed. "Wings, I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it." The air changed. My mane felt like it was standing up. Stupidly, I pressed onward. "You seem tense. What's wrong?"

He snorted. "What's wrong is–" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. That gave me hope. He knew he was getting heated and he didn't want to lose it again. He sighed and looked at me straight on. "I'm disappointed, Braeburn."

My heart sunk. "How so?"

"Disappointed in myself, in you…" His head listed left and right. "Braeburn, I know you've been fiddling with the plans for the orchard. You seemed to have it all figured out once we got the new hires."

I nodded. "Uh-huh. I needed to be ready once we offered them the job."

"So, then, where's my job offer?"

My gaze sunk. "Bronze…"

"Don't you 'Bronze' me." He pulled away and stood up. "Look at me." When I did, he held a hoof to his heart. "What am I doing so wrong that you won't let me help?"

"Nothin’, babe. I’ll give you more to do. But you still need to learn."

He stomped. "Then why ain't you teaching me?!"

I leaned forward at him. "I'm trying! But there's nothing hooves-on to do right now besides some pruning, and you didn't want to read anything I gave you."

He shook his head. "They're living creatures, Braeburn! There's no way it's that simple."

"Yeah, they're alive!" I stood up, too. "And they need rest! That's what the winter is for!"

He just kept shaking his head. "Naw, naw, I see. I see what you're doing. You're setting me up for failure!"

I gasped. "Dammit, Bronze! I would never do that. I don't want to hurt you, and I'd certainly never endanger my trees for some petty feud."

He grit his teeth. "It's always the damn trees! You care more about them than you do me!"

"No! But they need care, too, and… and so do I!" I stepped up to him. "It's my home, Bronze! Founding the town, dealing with all the bullshit… My orchard is the one place I can go and focus and not worry about anypony else. And I ain't givin' it up just because you're impatient!"

Deep down, I knew I was playing with fire.

"You really don't trust me at all, do you!?" His wings flared out, practically filling the room. "Braeburn, look at yourself! You're a damn lushed-up fool, and the whole town knows it!"

I took half a step back, but I tried to maintain my composure. "No, it's just the winter time. I'll be better come spring."

"Will ya' now?” Bronze stepped forward and got in my face. “Because spring is here, and you're drunk off your ass! And don't you start blabbin' about pressures. I've talked to the ponies in town. They all think you act like some kind of king. King Braeburn, gotta have everything his own way!"

I knew he was a liar that would say whatever he needed to get the upper hoof. And yet, it stung. I'm sure he knew it would.

I retorted, "I ain't a king, but I ain't a fool, neither! I don't see anypony else volunteering all their time for the public good! Hell, I worked hard to get where I am, to get this town where it is! So yeah, I have some opinions on how to keep it alive!"

"You think I don't work hard? Shit, I scoured every eligible worker in town, I brought in water, and I constantly scout for new sources. You think you're the only one that works hard!?"

"If that's what you think, then–"

"Dammit, Braeburn!" He raised a hoof and brought it down on my face.

"Fuck!" I shouted as I covered my face with a hoof. The injury felt hot, and I knew it would be bad.

There was a moment of deathly quiet.

I finally looked up at Bronze, who was gritting his teeth. "Dammit!" He stomped. "Shit! Fuckin'–" He stomped around the room, cursing up a storm.

I remained motionless. I was still angry as hell. The pain only made it worse, but unlike Bronze, I could control myself.

Bronze paced another few laps, then snorted as his wings drooped. He craned his neck to look me over, then turned towards the kitchen and mumbled, "Gonna be a black eye. I'll get you some ice."

I still stood, motionless except for heavy breathing as I felt my eye swell with a hot, pulsing pain.

Bronze quickly got a rag and some ice. While he tended my wound, he said to himself, soft enough that he thought I wouldn't hear, "Look what you fuckin’ made me do."

I was fuming mad, but my survival instincts kept me in line. Sure, he was helpful now, but if I didn’t want it to get worse, I would have to try again a different night. I didn’t say another word to him until bedtime, when I told him I loved him.

==X===X===X===X===X==

We walk across the plateau, away from the town. We're distant now, too far away to hear the activity. Braeburn hasn't looked back.

He sighs and stops. "About here. I think this is where we camped out for a few nights."

The sudden turn of the conversation startles me. "I'm surprised that's what's on your mind."

He sits in the dirt and shrugs. "Just avoiding it, like usual, I suppose.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “That black eye…I ain't gonna say it didn't hurt, because it did, but it felt… less so? Numb, I guess, maybe in self-defense. I wasn't feeling betrayed that time. More like, 'Yep, there it is again.' And it came with a measure of relief, because if it was like the first time, then Bronze was going to go back to being the perfect coltfriend."

I sit next to him, then ask a question I already know the answer to. "Was it like the first time?"

Braeburn purses his lips. He chokes up. "Not at all."

==X===X===X===X===X==

It was like the fight never stopped. Next morning, we woke up to Ol' Barnaby crowing, and Bronze rolled outta bed right away. He lifted the blinds before he'd said a word. He squinted at me. "Yeah, black eye. Better stay inside for a couple days."

Out of instinct, I rubbed my eye, then winced at the pain. "I gotta get out there and spray the trees for spring pests."

Bronze sneered. "And I s’pose that's too much responsibility for me, ain’t it?"

I glared at him. "Which bugs are we spraying for, and what mix do we need to keep them away without hurting the trees or the bugs that pollinate them?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it. He shook his head. "I'll make breakfast," he grumbled.

For what it’s worth, I followed through on my promise. I brought Bronze out to the orchard, and I showed him all the techniques I knew for preparing the trees for springtime, how to allocate water resources, what to spray for, and a whole mess of other things. I gave him a chance to try, I celebrated when he did something correctly, and I helped him gently when he messed up.

It wasn’t enough.

Mid-afternoon, Bronze snorted and jammed a pruning shears into his toolbelt. “Dammit, Braeburn, you’re treating me like I got no skills at all.”

With a deep breath, I faced him. “Bronze, you’ve got all sorts of skills. But the fact is, this is new to you. And that’s okay. But this is important, base-level stuff. You don’t need to master it all, Wings. You just gotta get some exposure and practice.”

He shook out his mane. “I should be working with Fruit Shine and Collard Green. Givin'... tours of the orchard and learning what their strengths are.” He waved a hoof. “I’m sick of spendin’ all my time on this petty laborer shit.”

I grit my teeth. “Bronze, it ain’t petty. It’s what needs to get done. I pitch in on this kind of work all the time. And yeah, I’ll be giving those two pointers, too. They ain’t any different from you.”

“Like hell they ain’t!” His wings hitched up. “Braeburn, one of us loves you and lives with you and is tryin’ to make a life here, but you’re treating me like I just waltzed up to you lookin’ for a job. Treating me like I’m disposable! Applebutt, I don’t want to spend my whole life dangled by bosses that get rid of me the moment they get sick of me or find out I’m gay or not perfect or–” He wrinkled his nose. “Or whatever! I had enough of that shit back in Chattahoofa. I don’t want it here, too.”

My mane stood on end. I thought back to everything that Chip and Juniper had told me. I thought about what it would mean for my trees and my livelihood if I turned Bronze loose on our hired help. I gulped and focused again. There was still a way to make it all work. “Wings, I promise I wouldn’t do that. But to be a good overseer, you need to know all this. It’s basic stuff, and if you don’t know what you’re doin’, then you won’t notice if they’re screwin’ up.”

He waved me off. “I’ll learn on the job. It can’t be that hard.”

“It is! And if you screw up, that’s a whole season’s worth of apples we could lose, and then I’d go bankrupt! Not to mention what would happen to Appleloosa.”

Bronze bared his teeth. “But I ain’t cut out for this, Braeburn! I’m a social pony. I’ve got social skills. You’ve seen ‘em, or did you forget who fuckin’ kept your parents from disowning you?”

I gasped at that.

He blinked a few times. He breathed heavily. “I know I can help you, Applebutt. You know how much help I can be. But you’re treating me like you–” His voice caught in his throat, and he stood stiff. “Like… y–”

His golden eyes had the same intensity as always, but they had a depth that I’d rarely seen, a cold, lonely depth that stretched on further than I could make out. Bronze’s ears drooped, and his wings sagged at his sides. His lips were parted. He took four breaths. And he looked as small as I’ve ever seen him. “You don’t think I can do it.”

My eyes flicked down and back to him. I felt something uncoil in my chest. Yeah, he was right. Terrible as I felt about it, I realized that that is what it came down to. But he’d said it. Not me. And I couldn’t bring myself to say anything else.

“You…” He shook his head. “You really don’t think I can do it, do you?”

“Bronze–”

“Why?” he whispered. Tears were already welling up in his eyes. “Why don’t…” He reached up and covered his face with his hat, then stared down at the dirt. His shoulders flexed, and I saw his chest and neck quiver. But when he looked up a moment later, he had that look again, the look of calculation and control, and his eyes burned hotter than the sun. Steady and intense, he asked, “Why don’t you think I can do it, Braeburn?”

That look of his washed over me. In an instant, I accepted that he was going to beat me again. And at that point, the floodgates had been breached, so there was no point holding back. “Chip and Juniper told me what happened.” I tried to relax my muscles so it wouldn’t hurt as much.

But his strike never came. I watched as he snorted and breathed heavily. He stomped on the ground. “Those mother-fuckers!” He shook his head all around and grit his teeth and screamed. “Fuck! Dammit, stupid, son of a bitch and his skank-ass wife just– Fuck!” He whipped towards me. “And you fuckin’ knew this whole time? I oughta beat your ass for lyin’ to me for so long!”

“Bronze–”

“And you trusted their word over mine? What the hell is wrong with you, Braeburn?”

“You just said that it was the truth, with your own words!”

He sucked in a breath, stunned. “No, I–” He shook his head some more. “I didn’t…” All at once, he undid his belt of tools and let it slough off him onto the ground. He turned and spread his wings. “Fuck this shit.”

He took off, and he was out of sight before I could orient myself. I dashed home to find he’d already left.

Bronze had taken his camping gear and a pile of rations, plus enough booze to kill a pony a few times over. I was worried sick, but there was so damn much to accomplish, and what the hell could I do? I asked Slate, privately and without too many details, if we should send out a search party, but he said it was probably Bronze just blowing off steam. Spring fever and all that.

I managed to not drink myself stupid, on account of having to show Fruit Shine and Collard Green all about the orchard. They asked a couple times about my black eye, but I just waved it off as another accident. I made a big meal that night and every night, hoping that he’d come back. I ate a lot of leftovers that week.

He finally showed up after dark four days later. Dinner was already put away, but I rushed to the door to greet him, and I threw my forelegs around him. “Wings! Thank Celestia you’re okay! Where were you? Gall, I’ve been worried sick about–”

He kissed me as hard as he ever had, and he held me tight. His breaths were ragged, like he was trying not to sob. Or maybe he was trying to control his rage. His wings wrapped us in a cocoon, and he pulled away to rub his face into mine. “Missed you, Applebutt. I need some comfort real, real bad.”

With a gentle touch to his face, just to make sure he was real, I said, “Wings, I’d like nothing more.”

We went upstairs right away and made love.

…Well, no. We had sex. It was drawn out and passionless.

We flopped onto the bed afterwards with space between us. Bronze massaged between his eyes like he had a migraine. And I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, mind blank. After we both caught our breath, Bronze turned, kissed my cheek, then turned back over and fell asleep. And I just… gave up and passed out, too. I never did find out what he’d done for those four days.

The whole world felt broken. It was like a crystal vase full of molten gold, but there was a crack at the base, caused by the heat, and all that beauty was leaking out and dropping into darkness. And I was just watching it, because I had no idea how to make it stop. I saw everything unraveling, but the choice I had to make – to save the gold or to save the vase – it felt too painful to go through with.

From then on, Bronze and I slept in the same building, but we didn't really live together. We didn't talk much at all. I kept up token efforts to teach him about the orchard, but my heart wasn't in it and neither was his. He stopped coming to the lessons entirely after a couple days, and with the spring thaw in the mountains, he spent sunup to sundown gathering clouds and making a hefty bag of bits. And like magic, everypony in town loved him again.

He came in late one night. He'd eaten at the Salt Block again. His shoulders were slumped, and I was making some cookies for him to take along the next day. It felt like the only way I could support him. He looked dead tired, and as he trudged towards the stairs, I called out, "Chip and June said they got some clouds from you this week. I'm real proud of you for not holding a grudge, Wings. Takes a big pony."

He just kept walking up the stairs. "Feh. 's just business."

The bedroom door slammed. Those were the only words he said to me that day.

But I finished those cookies and wrote him a note, and he took them the next day. I… I still had hope, foolish as it was.

Fruit Shine and Collard Green took to their new tasks well. They were eager to learn, happy to do some extra reading, and willing to listen to feedback. They were great, and it pained my heart how different it felt from teaching Bronze.

So, I kept ignoring the problems. I kept ignoring the choices I had to make. Now instead of booze, though, I threw myself into my work and told myself that Bronze and I would figure it out.

The time flew by, and more of that gold leaked out into darkness.

I came home on a Thursday night after a town meeting. As tired as I was, I was pleasantly surprised to find Bronze back already, sitting in the kitchen. I hadn’t spoken to him in two days. "Wings!” I shouted. “Good to see you."

He gulped a glass of whisky. He'd broken out the ice, and I wondered what the occasion was. "Welcome home, Braeburn," he said, his words very slurred.

My stomach dropped.

He set his glass down on the table, harder than he likely intended. "What, you scared?"

My jaw quivered. I thought about running, maybe finding an excuse to leave, but I was in no mood to lie to him again. "Yeah. I am."

His lip quivered, too. He turned to look out a window. "Well, no point beatin’ around the bush. One of us has to stallion up about this." He looked at me. "Braeburn, do I got a home here or not?"

That stabbed me right through the heart. My eyes softened. "Of course you do, Wings. I want this to be our house, our home."

He glared. "But you won't trust me with anything you really care about."

My body went slack. "Bronze, we've been over this. You need more time." I walked up to the table and put a hoof on it. "You need cultivating, just like the trees do."

He slapped my hoof away. "You're just fuckin’ toying with me, like everypony else!"

I rubbed my hoof. "I'm sorry! Bronze, I really am, but what would you do in my position, hm?"

"What, you mean like if I found a mine, and my so-called 'family' snatched nearly all the value from under my nose!?" He snorted. "Well, I suppose I would get burned! Because I trusted somepony I loved, but I guess I'm the only damned stallion in this country who thinks that way! You were supposed to be better than them, Braeburn!"

I froze. Fair or not, it reminded me what he'd been through and what this orchard probably meant to him. "Wings, please forgive me. I-I… I know this is hard, and I want you to succeed, but–"

"But I ain't worth the risk, huh!?" He picked up his glass and leaned back in his chair. "Oh, I get it, Applebutt. Let there be no confusion there." He drained his whisky, and the ice struck his teeth. "I just moved out to the middle of nowhere, spent eight months giving my heart to somepony who can't–" He was crying. "...who can't decide whether I'm too much of a fuck-up wanderer to be worth keeping around, but you – you – you're the one taking all the risk." He threw his forelegs up. "Oh yeah! That sure as shit makes sense to me! Can't believe I was too dumb to see it before." He slumped in his chair and crossed his forelegs.

The tears welled up for me, too. "Wings, don't say that. I wanna make this work."

He looked up and whispered, "Do you?" His jaw tightened. "Or have you been learning a lot more than you let on about playing other ponies?"

Hoof to my heart, I told him, "I would never."

There was a beat, and his gleaming, golden eyes filled with tears. "I wanna believe you." He shook his head. "But you're just like everypony else."

He stood up and walked past me. I reached for him, but he recoiled and dodged my touch.

As he climbed the stairs, he shouted back, "You've got one more chance, Braeburn." He marched upstairs, and the bedroom door slammed so hard it shook the house.

I was utterly paralyzed. I bet I stood in my kitchen for twenty minutes, still as a statue, until my legs got stiff and I flopped down in the living room. My mind had burned down to ashes, and as I tried one more time to weigh the needs of my orchard, my town, and myself against the needs of Bronze and our relationship, I cursed all the time I’d wasted. I’d spent months drinking away the time with the pony I loved, because making decisions was just too damn hard for me, and now, it felt like I was trying to catch the last few grains of sand in an hourglass. But I had nothing left. No creativity, barely any patience, nothing left to say. I didn’t want to give up my orchard, but Bronze didn’t want to be patient. I didn’t want to give up my coltfriend, but I had a whole town to think about. It all swirled together. I couldn’t even cry. The emotions were all too riled up, too mixed to even get out. I was just… paralyzed. I still couldn’t make a choice.

And that’s how the exhaustion took me. I slept on the couch that night. Our couch. The one we always cuddled on. I slept on it cold and alone, and I didn’t dare move.

And midmorning, I woke up to stomping hooves coming down the stairs. I snapped up and dashed to the kitchen. Even then, I thought I could just get back to normal and not have to decide.

Bronze didn't acknowledge me as he came down the stairs, but I could feel the heat coming off him from halfway across the house. He walked towards the entryway, and when I turned, I saw his wings up, his head low, and both his travel bags at his sides.

The realization seized me, and I dashed to him. "Wings, don't go!"

He half-turned his head with a snort that stopped me in my tracks. He paused once he knew I wouldn’t come closer. "I'm so…" He wouldn't look at me. I heard him grit his teeth. "...fucking disappointed in you, Braeburn."

My blood ran cold. “You… what?”

Bronze hung his head. “I believed in you, Applebutt. I thought you would–” He wiped at his face with a fetlock. “–believed you’d come up and apologize last night. I opened the door and everything. I wanted to… believe it could work.”

“Wings,” I whispered. “It can. You matter to me.” I sighed. “It’s hard, because the orchard–”

“You still think this is about some fuckin’ trees?” he spat as he scowled at me. His eyes were on fire. “Braeburn, I just want you to apologize.”

I was stunned. I knew it wasn’t just about the trees, but… it already all seemed so broken.

His face twisted in a snarl. “But you can’t even fuckin’ do that!” As he shouted, he flapped his wings and spun faster than I’ve ever seen anypony move, and his right foreleg met my jaw.

I stumbled to the side and tasted blood. “Gah!” My eyes wrenched shut, and I threw a foreleg up to cover my face.

“Why!? Why ain’t I good enough, Braeburn!?” There was a blow to my stomach. “After everything I’ve done for you, w-w-why–” He was trying so hard not to cry.

There was… screaming. There were… more blows. I honestly…

…

I don’t remember it. Not those moments. Everything was cold. I was tired, exhausted. All the desire to help in the world didn’t mean anything if I couldn’t get the words out. I was in pain. I was numb. It was the last few moments I would spend with Bronze in our house, and they… they slipped away.

My body ached. It was a dull pain. I knew it would hurt more later. One of my ribs felt a little like my leg had. But the only thing I could feel was myself reaching out to him.

I picked myself up off the floor. I must have fallen at some point. “Wings…”

He turned and bucked me, right on my cutie mark. Another bruise. Another souvenir. I didn’t even scream that time.

Bronze faced the door. His voice was quiet. “I still love you, Applebutt. But you’ve failed me.” He shook his head. “And I can’t stand to live with somepony who don’t trust me.”

It’s downright unbelievable, ain’t it? A stallion losing his temper and beating you senseless, then saying he loves you and going on about trust. I get it now. It’s how he maintained control. It’s how he comforted himself at my expense, how he made me the bad guy. But it is so, so damn hard to see it when the pony you love is leaving you.

Bronze picked up his bags, still facing away. “I’ll come back when you apologize.” He opened the door without looking back. “I–” He paused. “I love you, Applebutt.”

And despite everything, I told him the truth. “I love you, too, Wings.”

His head hung, and he walked out the door and took flight. He never looked back.

The door closed with a gentle click. My whole house was silent.

And yet, I’d swear that I could still hear him. All his words of rage and pain, his coaching, the times he comforted me, the compliments, the stories, the complaining about the work, the little growls in my ear, the sound of him laughing at an absurd story or panting while we made love… I could have sworn that I heard it all, but it was just bouncing around in my head.

Because he was gone. My coltfriend of eight months, a mender of families, a drinker, a gentlestallion, an abuser, a cloudbringer, fighter, town hero, somepony who filled my life with light and fear and adventure, a pony that I had thought I would grow old with…

Gone.

All because when the time had come, I didn’t make a choice. I hadn’t been honest. I had let fate play its hand, always trying to be blameless of the outcome and avoiding what I feared most. But in making no choice, I had made the worse choice of them all.

So, I paid the price for it. I slumped down on my floor, and I cried with nothing but memories, injuries, and the ghost of his last words to remember him by.

Chapter 12 - Coal Shaft

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter 13 - The Apple Thief

As I finished my letter to Aunt Honeycrisp, I heard three strong knocks on the door. I groaned and answered. What I saw was less of a pony and more of a tea kettle that some fool had sealed shut and put over a fire. I asked, “What is it, Pridesong?”

“Barely a day!” He stomped, and his back hoof kicked out. I’m surprised he didn’t throw his hat on the ground. “I mean, dammit, Braeburn! Couldn’t even wait one day?!”

Between my leftover anger at Bronze, my guilt over sleeping with Coal Shaft so quickly, and my desire to get the hell out of town, I didn’t have much patience left for Pridesong. “Mind your business.”

He snorted. “You got the gall to–” He grit his teeth. “Ugh! So this is it, Braeburn? Going back to sleeping with every tourist that waltzes into town?”

I saw red again. “That ain’t the way I do things, and you know it! And Coal Shaft came on to me, for your information.”

“Braeburn, this ain’t good for you! It’s not healthy!”

“Aw, what do you know?” I felt the ache on my cutie mark. “You don’t know what it’s like, what I’ve been through!”

He stared daggers at me. “I know I defended you when folks were callin’ you a damn slut and a shame to the community!” He shook his head, and his voice lowered. “And I feel like a fool for telling them they were wrong.”

That hit me deep, but I was too exhausted to avoid burning another bridge. My lips tightened. “Good day, Pridesong.” I shut the door in his face. He didn’t linger. He stomped away, and I wouldn’t talk to him again for weeks.

I got my letter sent off. Aunt Honeycrisp wrote back quick, and she invited me to come over as soon as I was ready.

And, well, I had some things to take care of before that. Namely, my orchard. That would take a few more days, at least, especially lining up somepony to help the new workers. Slate had offered in the past if I ever needed a break. He did a little of everything, and like me, he cared more about his community than the bits in his pocket, as long as his family was housed and fed.

It made sense to ask him, because, well… there was one more thing.

I stood in my kitchen that afternoon, staring at a cabinet full of booze. Most of it Bronze had bought with his mine money. My eyes pored over the selections, and I could almost feel each one in my mouth when I looked at them. Scotches, brandies, vodkas, rums, gins… Every flavor lingered in my mouth like a phantom, compelling me to do just a little taste test.

But I remembered what Bronze had said, how many times he’d insulted me for being a lush. I knew what I needed to do, but that didn’t mean I could do it. My hoof tapped on the floor. I stood welded in place, my mind reeling with all the different reasons not to go through with it. ‘That detox was hell. Will I really stay off it? Just a little won’t hurt. It’s an awful waste to get rid of it. I can be responsible this time. It’ll be different.’

I felt like I was falling, but this time, I caught myself. I sucked in a breath and said, out loud, “Yes. It’ll be different, because I won’t have it in the house.” I grabbed as much as I could carry and brought it to a wagon out behind my house. It took several trips, but I loaded it up and brought everything over to Slate’s.

It didn’t take many words. Slate understood, and by then, he’d heard Bronze had left and that he’d been none too kind to the workers. And, well, if that one day in the street was any indication, he at least suspected Bronze had a violent streak, too. I asked him to help mind my orchard. I offered him full-time pay, but he did it for a lot cheaper. He said, “Braeburn, you do more than your share for this community. Least I can do is return the favor while you get your head and your heart right.”

I shook my head. “Not sure if I’ll be able to do all that, Slate.”

He nodded to the pile of booze. “Seems like you’re taking good steps. Don’t doubt yourself so much.”

I smiled, and after I gave him a few more instructions and set up some time to go over the particulars of the orchard, I returned home.

I threw myself into my work again, teaching the new workers, getting Slate up to speed on my plans, checking on trees, and planting a few new ones in an expansion. It was smaller than I'd hoped for, but, well, I was down one very important pony.

And I thought of him every night. When I got back to my house, I would call out, "Miss you, Wings," hoping I'd miraculously hear a response. I wouldn't, and then I'd be sad all over again. I started writing him letters, too. Stacks of 'em, going on and on about my day and how I missed him and how I was embarrassed and proud of my night with Coal Shaft at the same time and how I'd find him again after my trip to Honeycrisp's. I couldn't send them, of course. Bronze never gave me his or his sister's address, so I had no idea where he was. I was writing them for me.

I remember one of them was just simply:

Wings,

You deserve better. I'll always love you, and I hope I can be the home you're searching for someday. I'll get there.

Please come back.

Applebutt

The week went by, and I kept blinders on. Work, chores, sleep. Merriweather and Copperline came to check on me after they heard Bronze was gone, and a few folks got angry about broken promises for clouds, but I just… tuned it all out. I didn't go to any town meetings, either. Merriweather at least said she'd lead them, and she does good work. Nopony asked about my bruise the whole week. Not to my face, at least.

We didn't get any tourists that weekend (a blessing, honestly, because who knows what would have happened), and with hardly a look back, I took the Sunday-Monday train to the station in Hoofenburgh, a few stops west of Manehattan. The trip took almost a day, but I didn't mind. They call it liminal space, I think, where nothing happens and nothing matters, and let me tell you, I never wanted to leave. I knew if I looked back, then I’d feel it all again. That was the last thing I wanted.

But Auntie Crisp pulled me out of my funk the moment I stepped off the train. "There's my big hero of the west!" Auntie Crisp is tall for a mare and built like a workhorse. She wears makeup, because she says it puts folks at ease, but she works out so they won’t get too comfortable. As soon as she saw me, she gave me a giant hug. "Now, I got us a carriage, and don't even think about carrying your own luggage while you're my guest. I won't have anypony accusin' me of bein' an imperfect host."

I laughed. "Wouldn't dream of it, Auntie Crisp."

With a satisfied nod, she picked up my bags. "Good colt. Let's roll!"

The carriage ride was pleasant, even if it felt much too fancy for little ol’ me. We talked about the state of Appleloosa, what was being built next, the condition of our orchards, a little gossip about the family (you can’t not talk about ‘em right?), and all about her upcoming trip. She’d decided to make it a double-header: while she was in the city, she’d swing by the bottling company for her annual visit. Auntie Crisp had her hooves in a lot of pies, and I was grateful that she had so much to talk about.

Because the truth is, I was back to wearing the mask, just like when I gave tours. I was used to it – you’ll find that most queer ponies my age are, I think – but at least it was easy around her. She didn’t pry.

Her farmhouse was as clean and idyllic as ever. It was actually her second: she’d turned her starter house into a break room and general-use building for her laborers and built a new, more perfect house for herself on the perfect hill in her orchard. It was like a fairy tale: surrounded by trees, far removed from everything else in the world, ideal for watching the sun rise or set on porches, and meticulously painted and re-painted to look spotless. Inside was full of awards and mementos from all her family members and friends, and she had a lot of them.

Once I got settled in, we took it easy for the rest of the late afternoon, and she filled me in on the orchard work I’d do to earn my keep. She knew me well enough to know I couldn’t sit around with no purpose. We had a slow-cooker wild rice soup that night for dinner. Not my usual fare, but it was savory, creamy, and filling. I had seconds on her recommendation. Auntie Crisp nodded at the liquor cabinet. "Digestif? I've got a fresh batch of moonshine."

A lump appeared in my throat. "I'm, uh… tryin' to quit the sauce."

She let it roll off her back. "Good for you. You'll be healthier for it. Need me to lock it up?"

I looked over to the cabinet. It would be so easy to sneak a nip. "Naw, I'll be good."

Auntie Crisp laughed. "Don't be too good, now, hon. I'd hate to see my shiny little nephew grow dull."

I blew air from my lips. "No chance of that any time soon." It came out flatter and angrier than I had intended. Sometimes the mask slips.

She paused and cocked her head. "Okay, I’m done pretendin’. What's got you all out of sorts?"

Immediately, I responded, "Just… lots going on." It was a standard answer, one that usually got folks to move on. I ran my spoon around the inside of my empty bowl.

"Is it related to that news you mentioned? From your letter a few months back?" When I looked up at her, she added, "You said you wanted to say something face to face, if I recall."

I stammered, "I… I might have– I don't know if it's really the right time to…" My head swirled. I remembered what I'd said, how I'd planned to tell her I'm gay. Shouldn't have surprised me that she was waiting for it.

Ever sly but kind, she reached over and gently grabbed my hoof. "Well, I'm just grateful that you wanted to come out." There was just enough of a pause for me to suck in a breath, look directly at her, and swivel my ears her way. She still wore the gentlest smile I could imagine. "To the farm, I mean."

I released my breath. "Ha. Haha! Uh… yeah. Of course! Thank you for havin’ me."

“Pleasure’s mine.” She gave my hoof a squeeze. "I can't imagine how hard it must be in Appleloosa: lots of pressure, projects all the time to lose yourself in… and from what you’ve said, you’ve got some big dreams.” Her voice was soothing, but she spoke directly, without a hint of hesitation. “I would guess that the way you live your life might even rub some ponies the wrong way, folks who don't understand how beautiful it is. How simple it is, really." She held onto my hoof and met my gaze. "And maybe this wasn't the best time to come out, and that's okay. I'm happy to see you all the same."

I gulped. I didn't want to tip my cards, but, well, she clearly knew. "Did… did you talk to my parents?" My eyes felt heavy and wet already, like the first few drops before a thunderstorm.

She chuckled. "Heck, you think my little brother keeps in touch? Mighty generous assessment. I bet I talk to Gal more than him these days." She took a deep breath, guiding me to take one myself. "But I hope you know: you can come out anytime you want, and I will always have a big hug and a shoulder waiting for you. I love my nephew no matter what."

My lip quivered. Tears welled up. I felt something that I don't know if I'd ever felt before. It was like… Imagine every day, when you left your house, you had to walk through a field of stinging burrs. But then one day, you find that all of them had been replaced with the softest daisies you’d ever seen. My skin prickled and my muscles tensed all the same, like they always had, because my body couldn’t reconcile with the tenderness that my mind told me was real. It felt soft and warm, and yet, a part of me was still afraid that those daisies held thorns beneath their petals. "Muh… I'm…"

But I was feeling things again. The dam was bursting.

Auntie Crisp stood up, walked around the table, and gave me a big hug. "Sh… It's okay. Let it all out, Braeburn."

I cried into her shoulder, much as I tried to stifle it, and it all spilled out. “M-my coltfriend broke up with me.” I hugged her back, tight as I could. “Bronze, he… I love him so much, but I screwed up, and now h-he… He’s gone, Auntie Crisp. He left. H-he–” I choked up.

Auntie Crisp stroked my mane, but she didn’t say anything. She let me go at my own pace. These daisies had no thorns at all.

The softness of it all sent more words tumbling from my mouth. “We were so happy, but it all went wrong, and he was my first real coltfriend, long-term, living together, plannin’–” I sniffled. “–plannin’ and dreamin’ of the future a-a-and…” I couldn’t get more out.

“Wow,” she whispered without judgment. “That’s a mighty pain to bear on your own, Braeburn. How long were you together?”

“Eight months,” I sobbed.

She squeezed me tight. “Oh, Braeburn… Yeah, that’s a long time. Heck, half the straight couples I know had gotten engaged by then. Plenty of time to fall in love.”

“I love him so much. And I’m…” I realized I hadn’t said it, and it felt like a lead weight in my mouth that I had to spit out. “I’m gay, Auntie Crisp. Colt-cuddlin’, stallion-lovin’ gay. And I want that to be okay. I like bein’ gay. It makes me happy. It feels right.” I thought of Bronze, and my heart broke all over again. “But I… I haven’t told Ma and Pa, because they’re just starting to come around, and if we broke up, then…” My mind spiraled, a tangled mess like a yarn ball that the cat got ahold of.

But Auntie Crisp was true to her word. She had nothing but acceptance for me, plus a pair of the most patient ears I’ve ever experienced. I told her nearly everything: when I’d known I was gay, coming out to my parents, and most of the story with Bronze. I… I didn’t…

…

I didn’t tell her about the abuse. I still wasn’t ready. I still didn’t want anypony to try to keep Bronze away from me.

Our conversation took us long past sunset, and Auntie Crisp was nothing but kind. I was exhausted from my travels and our talk, and I excused myself to go to bed early. She understood. Whether it was being in a new spot, the smell of those magical spring varietals, or the relief from knowing I didn’t have to worry about hiding around Auntie Crisp, I fell asleep immediately.

My life as a gay stallion came up a few more times during my stay. She never pushed it, but she always listened. I will remember her kindness for the rest of my life.

Work on Auntie Crisp’s farm is mighty different from my orchard. There’s more of a science to it. The trees she cultivates are hearty, but they take a lot of sun. The species is still so new, she doesn’t know all its weaknesses yet. See, she’s always been a scientist. First in the family to get her doctorate. Agriculture, naturally, and she’s been experimenting with apple trees since before I was born. Her life’s work is trees that can pollinate in the autumn when the late summer insects are going wild, hibernate over winter, and give fruits in the springtime. Apples are good for long-term storage, but nothing beats fresh, and the sales from her Springsweet variety have been plenty to fund more of her research. Heh. Folks will pay a pretty bit for fresh fruit when there’s none around.

Two days flew by in the blink of an eye. Auntie Crisp would give me lessons and let me taste test the apples. I’d work with the laborers most of the day, partly to learn, and partly to meet them, since I would oversee them while she was at her conference over the weekend. At night, we’d review her presentation and negotiation tactics. Now, I don’t claim to be a smart pony, but if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s sell an idea to big wigs, and Auntie Crisp was very pleased with my suggestions.

And, in the quiet moments, I would think of Bronze. I took lunch alone out in the orchard, and I found myself talking to the trees. “I hope he’s okay, Ferdinand.” Auntie Crisp wasn’t sentimental enough to name them herself, so I just gave them names as I went. “I don’t… want him to suffer.” I deflated. “I want him to come back, and maybe we set some boundaries. Or, hell, maybe I tell him the expansion is his to do what he wants with. It’s small enough. I can take the hit if it goes to hell. Appeloosa can, too, if I massage my production report to Canterlot. Do you… think he’d like that?”

Ferdinand didn’t answer. I took another bite of his apple. The Springsweets lived up to their name, with a flavor that was almost grape-like. It reminded me of frost wine: something about the chill of winter made the sugars develop in a certain way. It made me think of the taste of Bronze’s lips.

I set the apple down next to me and sighed. “I bet I can find his sister in a directory somewhere. Dusk ain’t such a common family name…except, shoot, she’s married. Maybe I can leave him my letter somewhere? I bet he’d read it.” I got a little thrill up my spine. “He said he’d come back if I apologized. And then he’d…” I trailed off. “Well, he’d be the same as always.”

I lay back under the tree and looked at Ferdinand’s dense, healthy leaves. “Ferd, what do I do?”

Ferdinand still didn’t answer.

So, I thought about someone else. “You there, Jonah?”

Jonagold. My older brother, who passed away from a fever when I was too young to remember. I’ve seen pictures, of course, and he looked a lot like Big Mac.

I told him the whole story, start to finish, from the day I met Bronze. He listened, I think. I like to believe he’s always there, watching me and still trying to be the big brother he only got to be for a short while. Laying it all out for him, I got a pit in my stomach. “It’s… Hell, it’s a real messed up situation, ain’t it, Jonah?”

At least I was admitting it.

Wednesday night, we made a big batch of pie crust and baked a pie together for dessert. We ate half of it ourselves and stored the leftover crust while we did the last little touch-ups to Auntie Crisps’s presentation. She felt ready, her bags were packed, and I was set to watch the orchard until she got back Tuesday morning.

I had one more good sleep, and I dreaded returning home to the nightmares that awaited me.

The morning was like the others that week, except that Auntie Crisp was heading out early. She gave me one more big hug. “Now, I know you’re working, but you’re still a guest. Anything in the house is yours, whether you need it or just want it.”

I nodded. “Thanks, Auntie. It’ll be okay. You’ve got a tight ship running here, and it seems simple enough to keep it going.”

“You’ll do great.” She kissed my forehead. “Take care now, Braeburn. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

Another thing that separates her from most Apples? She can actually say a quick goodbye.

We parted: her heading down the road, and me out to the orchard to buck a few apples for the weekend farmer’s market. The bucking took a little more work: Springsweets have tougher stems, you see, to keep the nutrients flowing during late-winter cold snaps. But the exercise did my brain good. It got me thinking about my bucking technique, power versus accuracy and all that, which kept me from thinking about anything else.

With a full cart, I walked through the lines of trees, smelling the sweet scent that filled the air in the morning sunlight. It felt serene, except for a nagging feeling. You know how sometimes when you’re alone, you could swear there was somepony else there? It was that feeling, all throughout my body. Call it earth pony magic or whatever you like, but the trees seemed on edge. I resolved to examine them as I walked into a small clearing.

And right then, a big, blue idiot shouted, “Gotcha!” as he careened towards my cart.

I ducked, since I thought he was diving at me from the tree. I shouted, “Whoa, there!” right as he crashed into my apples and let out a confused, awful scream.

That blow he took was nasty. Apples ain’t heavy, but crashing into a pile like that probably wasn’t too different from a brick wall, to say nothing of the way he tumbled ass over tea kettle through the grass. His body bent horribly, and it was all the worse when he crashed head-first into a tree.

He went deathly quiet, and I screamed, “Holy hell!” as I unhitched myself as fast as I could. I rushed over to him, and thank Celestia, he was still breathing. I checked him over: no immediate damage, but he was groaning and barely conscious. His safety goggles had slipped down onto his neck during the crash, but at least he’d been smart enough to wear them. Yelling and tapping his cheek didn’t rouse him, so I poured my canteen over his face to try and wake him up. And thankfully, that got him to open his eyes, though only for a moment. The sunlight must have hurt him something fierce, so I gave him my hat and helped him to the cart, where he finally mumbled a word of thanks.

My mind and my heart raced. I tried to remember every little thing I knew about treating injuries, but it all escaped me. Plus, I wasn’t really experienced with checking wings for damage. If nothing else, I knew I had to keep him conscious, so I chatted him up as best I could while I brought him back to the farmhouse. Honestly, I don’t remember much of what I said. I just babbled and babbled, trying my best to keep him with me, though I think I steered the conversation into a few awkward spots from time to time.

Heh. It tickles me that Big Blue remembers that moment so clearly, almost word for word. He remembers a lot, and it's a joy to hear him tell our story. I suppose you know all about that already. Now, I don't wanna talk your ear off, so I ain’t gonna repeat everything Big Blue’s already told you. He tells the story well, probably better than I could, and I'm happy leaving it be. Mostly. But if you’ll indulge me, I’d like to fill in a few gaps and let you know what kind of pony he really is.

The stranger introduced himself as Soarin’ and acted all goofy. I assumed it was the hit to the head, but I’d have slapped him if I’d known what was really on his mind when he talked about eating my pie.

I was focused, though. He could have been injured. Hell, he was injured, far worse than we knew, but I wanted to get him back someplace safe where I could call for help if I needed to. And…

…

Well, I didn’t call for help. Outwardly, he seemed okay, like he’d just taken a light hit and that he could walk it off. I shouldn’t have let it go so easily. I should have worried that he’d had internal bleeding, or noticed when the symptoms came up later, when he was having more and more trouble reading, but there was so much going on, and I…

Big Blue says I shouldn't blame myself for his aphasia. He tells me that I did all I could, and that he has to take responsibility for his own decisions and mistakes. I admire that in him. It helps me feel less guilty. Most days, at least.

We got to the house, and he could already walk on his own by the time he crawled out of the cart. I offered, “You can lean on me if you need. Don’t want you fallin’ down again.”

Soarin’ blinked a few times, then stood taller and shook out his mane. He stumbled a bit, but he stabilized himself. “Eh, I’ll be fine. But do you have, like, a hose or something? I’m kiiiiiinda covered in applesauce right now.”

I shook my head in surprise at how quickly he’d bounced back. “Uh, sure thing. You need help?”

Soarin’ narrowed his eyes on me. He wore a confident smirk, the kind you always see big celebrities use when they’re posing for fans. I could practically read his mind: ‘Do you want to help?’

And I… dammit, no use denying who I am. Yeah. The thought crossed my mind, like it did with just about every guy I met. To say that Soarin’ is a handsome stallion is to say that the ocean is a little wet. Seeing him stand up, no longer in the middle of an emergency, I…

I told him, “It’s around back,” and I curtly walked around the house, assuming he’d follow. I cursed myself for falling for this again. ‘Dammit, I’m here to get away from all that, not to just throw myself at the first dolt who falls outta the sky.’ Soarin’ followed at a short distance, and I showed him the hose. I snuck a peek as I walked away. He was… testing out the pressure on his more sensitive parts.

But I walked into the house and sighed. We had some of the leftover pie from last night, so I threw it in the oven. I grunted and thought, ‘No, that won’t do. Auntie wouldn’t approve of serving old pie.’ So while it heated, I got out the peeler and some of the overwinter stock of red and golden delicious apples, and I started whipping up an old recipe of my mother’s. With all the tools and spices out from earlier in the week, I got it in the oven lickity-split.

Soarin’ came in through the kitchen door after shaking out and drip-drying, and he set his wet goggles and my hat on the hat rack. He’d taken his sweet time, and I was worried he’d passed out again. But when he walked in, his eyes fell right onto the leftover slice of Auntie Crisp’s pie that I’d set on the table. “Woah…” He sniffed in, and his eyes went wide, pupils dilated.

I jerked my head towards it. “I’m working on a fresh one. That one’s old and probably ain’t good anymore, but you’re welcome to it in the meantime if you–”

He flapped his wings and was at the table before I could finish.

Soarin’s got a… let’s call it what it is: a borderline sexual obsession with pies. On the one hoof, who could blame him? It’s the best dessert there is. On the other, wow, he just lets all decorum go when he gets his face on it.

He was literally licking the plate when I laughed at him and said, “Tastes good, doesn't it?”

“Yeah!” His wings flared up. “Oh my gosh, that’s amazing! Better than Bad Sun, even! Got any more?” His tail wagged like a puppy’s.

I laughed again. “Comin’ right up. Sounds like you’re a connoisseur.”

We chatted about pies for far, far longer than I ever have with anypony else. Soarin’ went on and on about the different kinds he’d tasted, from exquisite, fluffy meringues in Manehattan’s finest restaurants to homemade fruit pies in run-down diners. I got the sense that he was somepony rich, or at least important, since it seemed like he’d been all over Equestria. Whenever the conversation turned to my own experience, I steered it back so as not to bring the mood down.

But he was so full of life. It was infectious. When Soarin’ talks, he uses his hooves and his wings and his whole face. He feels things strongly, and I found myself just watching him move. His gestures were smooth and graceful. His expressions were big, like he was in a theater show and wanted the back row to see. And gosh, his wings. I… have a certain affinity for wings, you might say. They flexed and flared and accentuated every little story he told. When he spoke, I didn’t think about my troubles or my home or even Bronze. I swear, the light from the window framed him like an angel, and I was completely enraptured from that first conversation.

We talked about pie for an hour. I know, because my timer went off, and I had to take my special Two-Apple Twirl out of the oven. He asked for another slice of Auntie Crisp’s pie while he waited, and even after that second piece, he absolutely tore into my fresh one. I imagine he burned his mouth, but he didn’t let on.

And the whole while, I felt like a shy filly in front of him. I remember I crossed my legs, all coquettish, and I asked, “So… ya’ liked it?”

He looked me over, then his face lit up like the sun. “I bucking loved it! Anything to wash it down with?” He pointed to my aunt’s liquor cabinet. “How about one of those?”

My heart stopped. I thought back to the winter: how easy it had been for me to fall into bad habits. I wanted so hard to be better, and as embarrassed as I was, the pain in my chest won out. “I-I’d rather we didn’t. Please.”

That beautiful stallion of mine… I could see it on his face: he knew he’d crossed a line, and he wanted to make it better. He made this goofy face and tried – terribly, I might add – to imitate my way of speech. “Aww, don't they teach yew tuh hold yrr liquor out west tharr?"

I laughed at that and poked fun back at him. I took his plate and moved it to the sink, and another thought crossed my mind: maybe having somepony else here wasn’t so bad. I certainly wasn’t looking for a new Bronze, but in many ways, Soarin’ reminded me more of Coal Shaft. He made my life easier by existing in the same space as me, and so, fatefully, I let myself ask, “Can ya’... stay a while?”

And to my immense joy, he responded with an enthusiastic, “Sure!”

I decided that, just this once, I could be bad and leave the dishes. We moved to the living room and shared the couch. Yeah, just like I did with Bronze. It wasn’t lost on me what I was doing, but I tried to keep my distance. For the moment, at least.

I figured out pretty quickly that he was one of the Wonderbolts, and it wasn’t long before I mentioned the Free to Fly books I’d been reading. Turns out Soarin’ is a big fan, too, and we lost ourselves in another conversation. I…

==X===X===X===X===X==

Braeburn stops in his tracks. He looks up at the sky, all smiles. I ask, “Everything okay?”

He keeps looking into the big blue yonder. “Yeah.” He takes a few breaths and closes his eyes. “It’s a pleasant memory. Things were simple, at least in that moment. Soarin’ and I… We clicked. We fit together like puzzle pieces.” He shakes his head. “I was dealing with so much shit at the time. But with Soarin’, it all melted away. He made me feel safe. He made me feel like I had a friend, somepony like me who liked to explore and impress and who was maybe a touch too enthusiastic.”

I chortle. “Maybe a touch.”

Braeburn shrugs. “Okay, a lot. But he felt like he was in my corner. And he… He did something special that day.”

==X===X===X===X===X==

A ways into our conversation, he started hitting on me. Oh, he thinks he’s all subtle, but I knew, and it wasn’t unwelcome. I’d been looking him up and down all day, and he was definitely my type: strong pegasus, massive wings, tall, well-built… Basically, he had the same body type as Bronze, but maybe a bit more lithe and streamlined. I liked that, too.

And he was checking me out. But he stopped, because he noticed something that everypony else had been too afraid to address. “You, uh, look like you bruised your apple there.”

My eyes flicked to my cutie mark. Sure enough, the bruise that Bronze had given me was still there. It was mostly healed by then, but it was still visible for anypony looking. My mind finally remembered Bronze, and the past few weeks rushed back. I tried to brush it off. “Aw, it’s fine. I’ve had worse.” That part slipped out, and sadly, it was true.

“Jeez, not too much worse, I hope.” Soarin’ reached out a hoof and gently set it on my leg. His voice got all quiet. Tender. Loving. “I… I don’t want you to hurt.”

…

Imagine, if you can, seeing the color blue for the first time. It would be beautiful, wouldn’t it? Gorgeous shades, natural, a component of so many things in the world. Soarin’... didn’t want me to hurt. He wasn’t afraid to point out that he knew I was in pain. He wasn’t afraid to address it directly. He was honest about it, and his honest feeling was that he wanted good things for me, devoid of any other worries or expectations or disappointments.

Our eyes met, and I saw something else. The way he looked at me, I saw past all the worries about his head injury, the lusting after my body, the easy chats about books… He was searching. Lonely. He was lonely like me. I could see it reflected in his eyes, like he was all at once reaching out for me to save him and promising he’d catch me from the freefall I’d been in since Bronze left.

So, I let him catch me. I leapt forward and kissed him with everything I had.

Was I attracted to him physically? Of course, but in that kiss, the way he latched onto me right away, I knew we both needed each other for far more than our bodies. We felt each other deeply. We rolled around a bunch, and I felt myself get more and more lost in his passion.

And then all at once, I thought, 'I'm doing it again.'

I froze up. Tears welled up in my eyes as all my past mistakes crashed into me at once. 'Why am I being so stupid? He's just going to leave, and I'll be heartbroken all over again. Why can’t I just be satisfied with a friend instead of ruining everything with my damn libido?' I found my voice and said, "Suh... sorry. I think I have to– Gotta. I didn't…" The dam was trying to rebuild itself, trying to keep me safe behind the stone. I wanted him to stay, but if he did, I felt like it would all fall apart. My thoughts were a mess, but I didn’t want to hurt him, and somehow my twisted logic settled on, "You should go."

Soarin' took a beat, but he was as far gone as I had been. "Aw, c'mon, babe. We were just getting to the good part." He bucked his hips at me. "Don't tell me you don't want more of this."

He tried to feel me up again, and in a sudden flash of anger, I slapped him away. Remember what I said about emotions always finding a way out?

He grabbed his hoof. "Ow! Fuck! What was that for?"

The dam had broken. "You some kinda idiot!?" I shouted through my sobs. "I told you to leave!"

He shoved me off of him, then shouted, "Fine! Have fun in the closet you psycho!"

He was shouting. They always shouted. What's more, he apparently thought it was as simple as me not knowing I was gay. If only. What hurt worst, though, was that I had been wrong. Maybe Soarin’ hadn’t understood me the way I’d thought. Maybe I’d been completely wrong, and if history was any indication, I’d probably leapt to conclusions again out of desperation, like I always did. I stumbled on my words. "I…" My head hung. I tried to finish, but I was lost in my thoughts, and it took a moment to find my way out. "I ain’t… closeted, exactly.” I sighed, and I realized what a terrible pony I’d been. “I'm sorry. Please don't go."

But by the time I looked up, he was gone.

All that anger came back, but now, I had nopony to point it at but myself. I stood there, in that big, empty house, feeling utterly hollow and cursing my stupidity. I hadn't learned a thing. Same as after Bronze left. Nothing was different. I laughed at myself bitterly to keep from sobbing more. "Yeah, same old Braeburn. Heh."

I looked all around, disoriented. "Never learns. Too dumb to keep himself together." I paced, going nowhere in particular. "Just a wreck who… who, who c-can't…"

I walked by the liquor cabinet. My mind raced with what I'd promised myself, but what did I have left? So I just sniffled and said, "Fuck it."

That moonshine tasted like Springsweet pie and relief.

After that, Aunt Honeycrisp's farmhouse felt even worse than my home had, because now, I was failing her, too. It hurt to be miserable. It hurt me to think I'd ruin her farm in the process, like I was risking ruining my own. It was a cold, growing pain, like a boulder rolling over your chest.

I was half-drunk by the time I decided to abandon my post. I got drunker as the alcohol seeped into my blood and I wrote Big Mac a letter, begging him to come and cover for me. And I was damn near flat on my face when I stood at the train station and finally found somepony traveling to Ponyville who would deliver it for me. I don’t even remember what they looked like.

But Big Mac came the very next day. I was drunk as a skunk, and I laid out everything, except, again, how Bronze had abused me. For once, he didn’t have advice. At least he was a good listener. He wanted me to stay off the booze, and I promised him I would. We both knew I was lying.

But there wasn’t anything else to be done. The thoughts about Soarin’ haunted me, and if I was going to be haunted, I figured I might as well do it with the ghosts who’d gotten there first. So, I packed up my things, plus a bottle of Auntie Crisp’s moonshine. When I was leaving, I saw that the big blue idiot had left his goggles hanging on the coat rack. I can’t tell you if it was shame or sentimentality that made me take them. I think maybe, I just wanted a reminder to not be so stupid again. So, I headed home and slept through most of the train ride. When I walked in my front door, I left the goggles on my coat rack, where I’d see them every day, feel a little pang in my heart, and try to just get through the day without being such a damn fool.

I fell into my old habits. I didn’t see much point in fighting them anymore. It was clear that this was my life: a lonely pony jumping from one fleeting encounter to the next, never finding the love he desired, and killing himself slowly with sweet-tasting poison.

That weekend’s stallion was named Mellow Harp. Nice enough guy, brilliant musician, bit of a scrawny unicorn. We had almost nothing in common. That didn’t stop me from trying to date him long-distance, though. He, wisely, declined.

I managed to stay sober enough during the day. I told myself that was the deal: work hard when the sun was up to keep myself distracted, drown my sorrows once it went down. The days were getting longer, and there was a lot to do, so thankfully my liver got a break for most of the day.

It was a long week. I hadn’t forgotten about Soarin’, or Mellow, or Coal, or Bronze, but I was pushing forward. Not moving on – hell no, each experience felt like a rock tied to my hooves – but like most burdens, you can learn to live with them, and you never expect them to go away.

But that’s the thing about Soarin’ Windsong. Noticing my bruise wasn’t just a fluke. He cared about me. Really cared. Soarin’ was special like that. He was different from all the other coltfriends and one-offs I’d ever had.

Because unlike them, Soarin’ came back.

Chapter 14 - Far From the Tree

Of course, at the time, I was pissed.

I answered a knock on my door one Wednesday, and Soarin’ stood there all fluffed up like a foal scout. “Hi, Braebu–”

“Aw, hell!” I slammed the door right in his face, and I shattered a bottle of whisky that was nearby when I opened it again to spit on him.

But… Soarin’ wouldn’t be deterred, not by the heat, the law, nothing. And when I saw Silverstar moving to arrest him for Celestia-knows-what, I waffled. Again. And I told Silverstar to let him in.

We yelled. Screamed, even. I was so damn tired, and apparently, Big Mac had told Soarin’ about Bronze, which left me wondering just how much I could trust my own cousin. My head spun thinking about my family and what a disaster everything was with them, and I missed Bronze even more. He would have known what to say. He knew how to handle families.

But funny enough, family disasters are what finally closed the gap between Soarin’ and me. When I accused Soarin’ of not knowing that kind of loss, he grew real small and whispered, “Actually… I do.”

Soarin’ opened up to me. He was vulnerable in a way I doubt he’d ever been. He rarely – if ever – talked about his mother in those days, how she’d left Soarin’ and his father when he was a colt. Worst of all, Soarin’ had woken up in the middle of the night and seen her leave. That image was burned into his mind for life.

It all felt so familiar. I shut right up, because, truthfully, he did know what it was like. Hell, he might have known better than I did. And suddenly, the loneliness I’d seen in his eyes all made sense. But something still didn’t add up. “Why’d you come here? Nopony travels all the way across Equestria just to be polite.” I was almost afraid of the answer, so I convinced myself to ask again, “Why'd you come here?"

He didn’t hesitate. “To apologize. And… I wanted to see you again.” A cute little smile flashed across his face, and light sparkled in his eyes despite the dark.

And for just a second, I felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe our time at Honeycrisp’s farm wasn’t a fluke. He felt like a friend, somepony I wanted in my life. But that hope felt all too familiar, just like it had with every other stallion, and I couldn’t bring myself to act on it. I was too afraid to jump in again and get hurt, and so, I let him drift away.

After a silence, he stood to leave. “Take care, Braeburn. Thanks for letting me get that off my chest.”

And then, Soarin’ did something so tiny, but it meant the world. He walked to the door and stopped in front of the shattered whisky bottle. He could have flown over it, but instead, he grabbed a dustpan and cleaned it up. I don’t know what it is about small gestures, but they always seem more important than the big ones. You don’t plan for moments like that, so they reflect what’s really in your heart. And Soarin’ truly was a stallion that cared.

Thankfully, small gestures cut both ways. As he finished cleaning, he saw the coat rack. He grinned and laughed, “Nice goggles.”

And… that was the start of it. I fumbled in embarrassment, but after he’d shown me his true colors, after he’d opened up and listened, I could already feel myself falling for him. As much as I tried to withdraw into a hard shell of misery, I had to admit that there was a pony right in front of me who'd seen something in me, who wanted to know me more, because he liked me, and because he felt like we needed each other, and dammit if he didn’t come all the way across Equestria just to spend more time with me. I felt my heart bloom as I realized: this wouldn't be our last meeting.

Soarin’ had come back. He came back the next day, too, and the next, and each time, I learned more about him. I saw deeper into his soul, whether he was trying to learn apple bucking (and making a fool of both of us in the process) or touring the town or just spending time while I did my paperwork. It felt different. It felt right.

Not everypony approved, of course. To Pridesong, Soarin’ was just another weekend stallion that I'd forget about soon. To Hasty Haberdasher, he was enabling my alcoholism, though to his credit, Soarin’ worked hard to correct that once he knew it was a problem. And to my shame, I started by trying to hide our burgeoning relationship to avoid any more drama with the town. But before long, I felt like he was worth the risk.

Hell, I was preening him on the damn floor of the town hall two days in. Might as well have had him mount me on Mane Street while I was at it.

The strangest thing, too, was how we didn’t get intimate. I mean, you know me at this point. After three days, we still hadn’t done anything physical. That finally changed on Soarin’s fourth night in town, but not at all the way I’d expected.

We had gone dancing at the Wild West Dance with the whole town, and then we walked around the orchard, just the two of us. Once we got closer to my house, I could feel the tension building up in Soarin'. He was hungry. I knew what was coming, and I knew what it might mean. If we slept together, well, who’s to say he wouldn’t turn into just another weekend stallion? My mind cycled through Bronze, Mellow, Coal Shaft, and all the others. I couldn’t even name them all.

But I didn’t want to lose him, and like I said, I didn’t have much in the way of resisting old habits. We stood on my porch, and I struggled to get it all out. “You have certain expectations, right? Third date and all." I glanced back to my orchard, because I couldn’t meet his gaze. "I-I wouldn't say no." I flashed back to our experience at Aunt Honeycrisp's. "And I'd try not to… lose my head again." I resigned myself to this potentially being the end, and I finally looked back at him and said, "We both deserve some comfort."

Soarin’ got this look in his eyes, like he’d just seen a piece of art that spoke to his soul. He didn’t look needy anymore. He looked certain, solid. His whole posture changed. Calm radiated off him in a way I'd never seen. “Yeah, we do.” He paused, and his shoulders relaxed. I thought it was disappointment at first, but it was something else entirely. “But only when you’re ready.”

He gave me the smallest kiss. Pure. Innocent. No disappointment, no judgment. I felt… It's hard to say, really. The whole rest of the world felt like it disappeared. It was just me and him, standing together, his lips on mine for the briefest moment, and in that space, I felt as safe as I ever have. Even if neither of us knew it at the time, I think that’s the moment we both truly fell in love.

He stepped back, and his eyes were soft, deep wells of kindness. “Good night, Braeburn.” With nothing but a smile that I’ll remember forever, he turned, took off into the sky, and faded into the black.

I stood there on my porch with the door open, and I realized what was so different: Soarin’ was giving me a choice. He had me wrapped around his hoof. He could have done whatever he wanted with me, just like Bronze had. But he hadn’t. He was letting me choose. It felt so foreign. Mind boggling, even.

I had a good long think about the town, my reputation, and the beautiful stallion who spoke with his actions more than his words. But thoughts all seemed inadequate. Feelings did, too. Whatever was happening went deeper than that. Instead, there was a truth, a sense that something needed to be made right in the universe, a force that was calling me to do what I knew had to be done.

And even simpler than all that, it was what I wanted, so I chose to be with Soarin’.

==X===X===X===X===X==

We walk along the dusty plateau, and as we step closer to town, little specks of color brush against our hooves. They're desert flowers, tiny like scraps of paper. They dot the landscape and bring it to life.

Braeburn walks tall, his face to the sky. "That first time we made love, we synced up like a dulcimer and cello: movement that was light and flowing and energetic with a strong undertone that kept us stable." His head shakes, and he smiles. "I still can't believe how it felt. It was complete. That's the only word for it. My body liked it, yeah, but there were so many more layers. We brought each other to the heights of pleasure. We made each other feel safe. We laughed and joked and tickled each other with no shame at all. We were present. We were together." He lowers his eyes and looks at me. "That's all that we needed. It's all that I want now."

I nod. "Sounds like you made the right choice."

Braeburn smiles up at the sky again, surrounded by tiny flowers. "Ha! I did. And a damn good thing, too, because I wouldn't have survived the next month without him."

==X===X===X===X===X==

It was such a beautiful morning, waking up next to my lover, right up until Soarin' scrunched up his face and asked me, "Eeeeeever wonder what it's like to be famous?"

No rest for the wicked, as they say.

I don't think I'd ever seen a paparazzo before, and if I never see one again, it'll be too soon. Soarin' knew how to handle them, to a point, but I was in way over my head. Thank goodness Slate stopped by when he did, even if we weren't exactly decent.

Our escape plan was straightforward: I'd sneak out just before the Sunday train left, then hop on while Soarin' distracted the media. We would hide out in Las Pegasus until the heat died down. The only problem was that the timing needed to be airtight, and stuck in the hotel like I was, I couldn't do it alone.

But Slate had arranged for that, too, and after he and Soarin' had left, I waited for somepony to give the secret knock. It was heavy and loud and distressingly familiar, and with my head hung low, I opened the door. "Hey there, Pridesong."

He frowned beneath his hat, but he didn't scold. "You okay, Braeburn?"

It threw me. "Uh…” I looked behind me to the window with the curtain drawn. The room was all darkness. “Well, I've been better.”

Pridesong stood tall and sighed. “Yeah. I can understand that.”

A long silence passed.

I mumbled, “I’m sorry, Pride. Sorry for all this. Sorry for…” I shook my head. “Sorry for being the way I am, I suppose.”

Pridesong snorted. “Oh, you knock that off.”

“Pardon?” My ears turned towards him.

“Just…” He looked into my room. We could hear paparazzi out in the street. “You didn’t cause this. You didn’t mean to bring those leeches here.”

I went slack. “Maybe, but they are here because of my choices.” I shook my head. “Because I’m so damn stallion-crazy. A damn slut. And now, they might be killin’ the town.”

“Braeburn, don’t bash your work like that.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Heh. Why not?”

He rolled his eyes. “Braeburn, you founded this damn town yourself. Yes, with help, but you built it up, and ponies around here are tougher than a few idiots with cameras. Have a little faith.” He scratched at his neck. “And… you ain’t a slut.”

Sitting down to sulk, I groaned, “Feh. You sure about that?”

Pridesong rolled something around in his head, and he took a seat with me on the floor. “Braeburn, you didn’t go to dances in high school, did you?”

I shook my head. “No. What’s your point?”

“I suppose you didn’t date much, either?”

“Just enough to cast off suspicions.”

“Yeah, thought so.” He pursed his lips. “And I need to remember that. I was a… I was very irresponsible as a young buck. Most stallions are. And I think I forgot that.”

My head turned to the side. “So… why you askin’ about dances?”

“Last night. The Wild West Dance.” He gazed off into nothing. “I saw the way you were dancing with Soarin’. You were just… so damn happy, the same way I was when I got my first kiss. It reminded me of half my friends with their first marefriends. It struck me – hard – that maybe you’ve never gotten that.” He flicked his hoof at me. “And plus, I could tell you hadn’t been drinking, which, no offense, is a minor miracle in its own right.”

“Heh,” I chuckled to myself. “Yeah, Soarin’s got that effect.”

“And I just can’t be mad at you for wanting that, Braeburn. Heck, I’m after it, too. So, uh…” He snorted again. “We don’t want to scare the tourists off, but–”

“Didn’t you used to hate the tourists?” I cut in with a smile.

“They like my songs, and they tip well,” he said with a shrug. “But we gotta get you to a good place. Appleloosa wouldn’t be the fine community it is without you, and I wish you nothing but the best.”

I narrowed my eyes on him. “You’re talkin’ like I’m never comin’ back.”

He didn’t budge. “Are you? You’re dating a celebrity. You really think he wants to hang out here?”

Those words haunt me to this day.

I shook my head. “Pride, I’m sorry, but I’m in no position to think that far ahead right now.”

He sighed. “Right. ‘pologies. But just know, Braeburn: you do a damn fine job keeping Appleloosa afloat, even if I don’t always approve of your choices, and we’ll miss you a bunch. You best come back, if only for a visit.”

I looked him in the eyes. “I will, Pride. And thank you.”

“Good. Now let’s get you on that train.”

And just like that, it felt like I had another friend.

Soarin's plan worked, mostly. Pridesong was my lookout, and we hopped from building to building until the last dash to the train. But in the end, one of those parasites did manage to get a photo.

The train took off regardless, and a few minutes later, Soarin' joined me in the engine room. He flipped his lid when I told him I'd been caught, and all the feelings I'd had when Bronze had gotten angry came flooding back. I felt myself collapsing, but Soarin' noticed, and he changed his tune right away. You know how sometimes, in your dreams, you feel like you're falling and then get jerked awake? It felt like that, except I came back to warmth instead of fear.

We cuddled on the floor and caught our breath. Soarin' promised he wouldn't lose his temper again, but then he insisted, "You have to promise me something, too, though."

I turned my head. "What is it?"

"If you're not happy…" He looked at me; really looked hard. "Like, if I'm doing something that makes you sad or I get too angry or something, and you're not happy, you have to tell me, okay? I… I wanna be better than Bronze."

I didn't want to think about Soarin' being the same as Bronze, and ice gripped my heart. I hadn't been able to stand up to Bronze when it had mattered. Could I do that to Soarin'?

"Promise?"

I told myself that I would try. "…Yeah. Okay. I promise."

Once it was all clear, we went back to the passenger car, and Soarin' told me his story about getting cut from the Wonderbolts and how he’d met me. That pony leads an exciting and stunning life, and anypony that says celebrities have it easy hasn't met one like him. We cuddled on the train and caught our breath. Everything felt topsy-turvy, but Soarin’ knew how to put a smile on my face. He wanted to sweep me off my hooves, and as we rolled into Las Pegasus that evening, hoo! He succeeded.

Las Pegasus was a dizzying sight. There were lights everywhere, and music, and seas of ponies, and even though the air was foul with the smell of a dirty city, it didn't detract from my wonder at it. From the moment we stepped into the Strip and I got got by a living statue, everything felt like magic.

What made it all the more special is when Soarin' called me “babe.” He was so casual about it, I practically melted.

On the run like that, living moment to moment, I felt like a criminal in all the right ways. I asked Soarin' if, just for the night, I could let loose and not worry about drinking. He was clearly uncomfortable with it, but he wanted to spoil me, and we went wild.

I was downright overloaded that first evening, like a colt who'd had his first taste of sugar. There was sightseeing, roller coasters, dancing, drinking far more than I should have… Soarin' kept bringing me someplace new, beyond my wildest dreams.

The craziest place had to be the strip club. I still can't believe he took me there. We'd been on maybe three dates (depending on how you counted), and he was all too happy to let me get bug-eyed and play around with other stallions. Turns out that bothered him more than he'd thought it would, but still, that confidence and comfort was exactly what I needed.

I mean, it's utterly ridiculous, right? For as much as I'd kept a lid on exploring my sexuality, there I was: publicly masturbating a hunk of a stripper while my new lover openly stroked himself over how much I was into it. Basically, I was in the middle of every one of those bad ponies that parents warn you about. Their loss. They don't know what they're missing. Hoo!

Stud – that was the stripper’s name – Stud also called Soarin' my coltfriend. That caught us both off guard, since really, we barely knew each other. It gave us both pause, but that really wasn’t the place to discuss it.

After we left the strip club, we were both riled up, so we snuck into an alley and swapped some, uh… southern kisses, if you catch my drift.

…

Don't give me that look. You know what I'm saying: we traded some gob-stoppers.

…Played with some thick straw in the teeth.

Ya' know: bobbing for the big apples.

Sword-swallowing.

Nature's breath mint.

Wetting his whistle.

Buffing the helmet.

Whitening our teeth.

Slurping the milkshakes with a side of taters.

…

It was blowjobs, okay? Swapping blowjobs in a nasty back alley.

...which I guess makes me one of those ponies to avoid, too, huh?

We didn't want our fun to end, and we stayed up past sunrise dancing, drinking, and making out, until we finally had to call it quits back at the hotel room.

But that wasn't the last surprise of the night. Day. Whichever.

As we cuddled in bed, I told him, "Thanks for takin' me out tonight, Soarin'. Gonna remember this night forever. I'm… I'm sorry about what I said in front of Stud."

He turned his head like a puppy. "What do you mean?"

"The coltfriend thing. I mean, are we…" My mouth ran off before my brain could catch it. "It's just that I don’t know where we are, and you're doing all these nice things for me and I don't know how I'll ever repay you. And you're really sweet, but I can't help feelin' like we're just stumblin' through whatever the hell is going on, and maybe I'm too weak-minded, but I just want to know. I-I suppose you're not used to bein' all serious, what with bein' a celebrity and all, and– Oh, and there I go making assumptions. I shouldn't–"

He calmed me with a gentle but forceful hoof to my lips. "Babe, we can be whatever you want. All you gotta do is ask."

"But it can't be that easy, can it? There's so much that–'' I shook my head, and I looked at my Big Blue. His eyes were kind, and he was listening. Really listening to me. And I thought, well, maybe it can be that simple, if he’s willing to risk it, too. "Aw, hell. I'm bein' stupid. Soarin', would you do me the honor of bein' my coltfriend?"

Without a moment’s hesitation, he nuzzled into my chest. "Totally."

And just like that, I had a coltfriend again. From then on through the rest of our trip, my imagination would run wild in our quiet moments. What would it be like to live together? Work together? Would we get married and, somehow, raise foals? Grow old together? But first things first, I figured I should introduce him to my parents. That thought made a pit in my stomach, but knowing I had Soarin’ with me made it a lot easier.

We kept up the fun the next day and dyed our manes to blend in. I went with hot pink, just to really lean into the gay lifestyle as hard as I could, and Soarin' showed me how to strut my stuff. I was actually pretty good at it, and folks were cat-calling me all day.

It helps to have a killer ass, of course.

On a whim, I even got an earring. Can you believe it? It's a blue stud, the same one I’m wearing right now, but I never would have expected that of myself. Soarin’ didn’t want one for personal and professional reasons, and I could respect that.

I'd like to say I was lost in the fun, but as the days went on, reality crept back up on me, like it always did. The thoughts came back: what would happen when everypony found out? That photographer had snapped a picture of me, and it was too much to hope that it wouldn’t be everywhere soon. It took up more and more of my thoughts, until the city seemed to lose its luster, and the whole Gayburn act stopped being as much fun. It felt dirty. It didn’t feel like me.

And on Friday, the story broke.

I collapsed in the hotel hallway when I saw it, and I went out and bought every paper I could. They all had it: pictures of me on the train and Soarin' outside my house. Soarin’ was still asleep, and I spent an hour or more sat outside our room, just poring over every word. None of them were kind. Phrases like “Soarin’s secret harlot” and “Wonderbolt homewrecker” lined every page.

My head felt hot. The hallway closed in on me. I knew that this was bad for me, taking all this in, all alone and with nothing to break the cycle of my thoughts, but I couldn’t move. The only thing I could do was read more and more and more, and each turn of the page made it worse and worse. My whole skull felt like it was in a vise, and I was cranking it tighter myself by insisting on reading more. I suppose I thought I’d find at least one kind article, but there were none to be had.

And it only got worse when I realized that everypony would know. My whole family would hear about it. AJ, Granny, all my cousins… It would be the talk of the town in Haulahay, and I had embarrassed my family name more than it ever had been before. “Harlot.” I could hear them say it. “Faggot.” It played over and over in my head, and my chest felt tight. Gosh, I wonder if I almost had a heart attack.

I might have never left that spot if Soarin’ hadn’t eventually rushed out looking for me, and right away, he knew. Unable to think or feel anything else, I asked him to give me space. He wanted to help. He really, really did, but there wasn’t anything he could do.

Or so I thought. He rushed out and got a stud, a yellow one, just like mine, just so I wouldn’t…

==X===X===X===X===X==

Braeburn slows his pace. His lip quivers, and a weak smile crosses his face. He wipes at his eye, and the beads of his sobriety bracelet clack together. “Just so I wouldn’t feel alone.” He stops and turns to me. “Soarin’ knew what was wrong. It wasn’t the attention or the fear. It wasn’t even that I’d been outed to all of Equestria. It was that I felt alone.”

I turn my head. “How do you mean?”

“I was away from home. Both of my homes. I’d had my big moment of truth robbed from me – I would never get the chance to tell my family who I was on my own terms. I hadn’t told my parents about Bronze. I’d alienated myself from the town I’d nurtured from its infancy.” He shakes his head. “And Soarin’ saw all that. He couldn’t fix it, but with his actions, he told me that I wasn’t in the thick of it by myself. No matter how many stupid mistakes I made, he, well, heh.” Braeburn rolls his eyes. “He was willing to make them with me, just so I wouldn’t feel alone.”

A warm breeze blows, and I catch a glimpse of shiny blue in Braeburn’s ear.

Braeburn holds a hoof to his chest. “That’s love right there. That’s him telling me that I would be okay, because he’d be there with me. That’s why we wear these studs: it’s a reminder that we’re always with each other. And I want him to be a part of every aspect of my life.” He starts walking towards the orchard again. “That meant it was time to introduce him to some of the most important ponies to me.”

==X===X===X===X===X==

Soarin’ took it well when I told him I wanted him to meet Ma and Pa. We took a few photos to commemorate our trip – just another way Soarin’ always brought light and positivity to a dark situation – and we washed out our manes and tails.

The trip to Haulahay was smooth. And quick. Too quick.

Can you blame me for being nervous? This was the second coltfriend I was bringing home in a year. Sure, I wanted to believe Ma and Pa had continued to come around, but it still felt perilous, you know? They’d liked Bronze. Bronze had helped repair our relationship. What did it say about me that we weren’t together anymore?

We stayed at a cheap motel that night on my dime (I insisted). Couldn't hardly sleep, but Soarin' was all over me and determined to kiss away the pain. We ended up sleeping in (or trying and failing to, at least), and headed out in the afternoon.

We got to my parents' place easy enough, and I gave Soarin' one last kiss before we opened the door. Even Bronze had only dared that one kiss in front of them at Hearth's Warming, and I really didn't want to push it. I had enough on my plate.

And I didn't want to get seen by the neighbors, so I waltzed right in. "Ma? Pa? Ya' home? I've, uh, got somepony I'd like you to meet."

Poor Soarin'. I should have given him more warning. Big Blue was stiff as a board from the moment we walked in.

To be fair, so was Ma. She was acting all bouncy in her ‘polite host’ way, which meant she'd seen the news and was trying to hide her feelings. The blue stud didn't seem to bother her outwardly, but I knew better. If that hadn't been enough of a tell, she called Soarin' my ‘friend’ right away.

I fetched Pa from the porch. Like Ma, he commented that he was glad to see that I was okay.

We did introductions, and my stars, it made my stomach turn. It felt like a bad stage play: everypony was wooden and going through the motions, like we were being watched.

Which, to be fair, was a concern. Reporters had been bothering my parents since the day they swarmed Appleloosa. The agencies must have looked me up and sent a few to Haulahay, too.

Dinner wasn't any better. It went on and on and on, with all of us trying to wrench the conversation where we wanted it to go. Ma wasn't afraid to wrestle it to ‘pleasant’ topics, which amounted to a whole bunch of nothing. We were eating past dark, I think, just because they didn't want to address what we were all feeling. But the tension boiled over, and Pa had to raise his voice to get us all to quit. He took Soarin' for a walk around the farm just to ease the tension.

But that left me with Ma. She stood up and wordlessly ran the sink water to wash the dishes.

I wish I could say I rarely felt that uncomfortable in my foalhood home. I really wish I could. That feeling was familiar, though. I felt like I was teetering on a cliff with Ma right beside me, and if either one of us panicked, that would be the end.

I cleared the bowls and plates and brought them over. She was already hard at work washing the soup pot, and I towel-dried the few leftover plates from their lunch to make room. Water splashed quietly. Cloth silently met porcelain. We didn’t look at each other.

Eventually, I remembered that I had to be the adult. “I don’t wanna give each other the silent treatment, Ma.” At first she didn’t say anything, so I added, “I’m sorry the reporters have been bothering you. It ain’t fair how they target small folks like us.”

She snorted, which she almost never did. Her breath fogged up the bottom of the stew pot. “Well, that’s what happens when you bring a big pony into things, I suppose.”

My neck felt hot. “It ain’t my fault, Ma.”

“If you believe that, then why did you just apologize?”

“I–” She was right. I hated it. “I am sorry, Ma.” Bronze’s voice bounced around in my head. “But I’m not sorry for dating Soarin’.”

Ma let the soup pot fall back into the filthy water. “Braeburn, we raised you better than this.”

I snapped at her, “Better than what?”

“Oh, you know what I mean!” She scrubbed harder, then moved the pot to the opposite side of the sink. She grabbed for some silverware and then very purposefully went for the bowls instead. She always said not to wash knives when you were angry.

“No, I don’t!” I rinsed the pot. “Because I don’t know if you’re sayin’ you don’t want me to be gay, or to not bring shame to your precious reputation, or what!”

“Sleeping around, Braeburn!” Her mane bounced as she turned towards me. “I mean, really, Braeburn! We didn’t even know you’d broken up with Bronze! And I don’t know about two stallions, I really don’t, but I’m left wondering if you were… were cheating on him or you dumped him because you found a celebrity or something else entirely. And every explanation is worse than the last!”

The pot clanged into the sink. “Ma, I would never cheat on anypony!" Fuck me, I guess, but I was so damn sure of myself. "Geez, you really think that about me?”

“I don’t know anymore!” She turned back to the bowls and scrubbed them out, much less thoroughly than she was used to. “You’re always going to be my little Braeby, but I’m seeing sides of you I never thought I’d see.”

I sighed. “Well, I need to grow up on my own sometimes,” I mumbled.

“Certainly, but I never thought of you as a cruel pony, son.”

My face scrunched up. “What? What are you talking about?” I picked up the soup pot and started drying.

She rolled her eyes, then narrowed them on me. “You broke that poor stallion’s heart, Braeburn. Bronze is a good stallion, maybe even – and I am shocked I’m saying this – maybe even marriage material for you, and the way you couldn’t figure things out with him just… Oof!” She turned back to her work and scrubbed even harder. The bowls practically flew into the other side of the sink.

And I kept thinking, ‘Where the hell does she get off yelling at me?’ I slung the drying towel over my shoulder and boomed back, “Ma, it's complicated, and I don’t appreciate your judgment right now. You don’t know what happened!”

“Yes, I do, and I’m mighty displeased that I had to hear it from Bronze!”

I staggered. “What? W-What do you mean?”

“Son, I thought we’d figured this all out. I thought things were getting better!” Her eyes were just a little shiny, but she fought through it. “But Bronze stopped by last Friday – he’s got a letter for you, by the way – he stopped by without you, and he was just as shocked as we were that you hadn’t told us!”

“B-Bronze was here?”

“Yes! And Braeburn, I…” She shook her head. “Braeburn, he’s a good stallion. He checked up on us. He had no idea where in Equestria you were, and neither did we.” She wouldn’t look at me anymore. “Like a knife to my heart, Braeburn. I thought we were done with these secrets.”

“I want to be!” I pointed a hoof at her. “But I knew you’d be angry. And disappointed. And I needed to figure things out first.”

“And you figured it out by jumping in bed with a celebrity? And letting the Celestia-damned media in on all your private goings on?” She huffed. “Oh, listen to me. Cort would be staring daggers at me for my language.”

“Ma, I’m–”

“I don’t want to hear it, young colt.” She was shutting me out again. “Not now. I’m too hot in the head. I’ll finish these. You just get the bed ready.” She glanced at me. “Soarin’s sleeping down here tonight, understand?”

She’d cut it off. That was the end. My muscles unwound – the anger couldn’t carry me any further, and what was left was a cold resignation. I told myself that Soarin' and I would leave tomorrow, and that my family was back to where we were before Bronze. “Yes, Ma…”

Disappointment is a miserable but all-too-familiar companion. I did as I was told, and by the time I got new sheets on the bed, Ma was wishing me good night over her shoulder and heading upstairs. “Your letter’s in the box by the window.” The whole staircase felt trapped, so I just let her go and flopped down on the rollaway. I figured I could at least make it smell a bit like me. Soarin’ always liked that.

When I was sure Ma wouldn’t come downstairs again, I found the letter, and I lay in the rollaway to read it by dim gem lamp light. I swore I got about a dozen paper cuts, but I think my hooves were just prickly as I unfolded it. There was a little light of hope inside me, but I tried to keep it cautious. I read the letter.

Hey, Appleslut,

I sighed. “Yeah, I probably deserve that.” I decided to do it all in one go, before I could stop myself.

Certainly didn't take long to hop on another pegasus, did it? Did you even wait until the bed was cold before you grabbed the next piece of meat that flopped into your lap, or were you cheating on me the whole time?

Shouldn't be surprised. You never think of anypony but yourself in the heat of the moment. What about all the ponies back in Appleloosa? It's going to be tough for them to adapt. I know it's tough for me, but I guess you've already moved on…

It's terrible, Brae. I'm not even mad, just disappointed. But I'm here for you, Applebutt. If I'm right, you'll ask your parents to bail you out again, and by the time Gal gives you this letter, I'll be back in Appleloosa, taking care of the orchard you were in such a rush to abandon. I'll tend to it for as long as it takes, until you're ready to apologize – not just to me, but to your town.

But you know what, Brae? I already forgive you. You weren't in your right mind, not with the fight, and not with this new fling you're rebounding with. I understand: you're under a ton of pressure. That's why I wanted to help out with the orchard in the first place. And I'm sorry you got so offended by that, I really am. I didn't want to hurt you, but you deserve the truth.

And the truth is, the Braeburn I love – and you know I do love you, cutie, with every part of me, just like I know you still love me, deep down. It's what keeps me going. I need you, Braeburn. You're the one shining star in the night sky. Do you remember what you said that night on Silverstar's roof, Applebutt?

The Braeburn I love would make it right. I believe in you, and I know you'll come around. See you soon.

Your wings, always,
Bronze

To my own surprise, it didn’t hurt as bad as I thought it would. I groaned, “Well, he ain’t wrong.” I folded the letter and tucked it into my vest so Soarin’ wouldn’t accidentally discover it.

I rolled onto my back and put a hoof to the bridge of my nose. A massive headache came at me from nowhere. I nickered softly as the room spun around me like I’d had seven shots of tequila. Bronze was back in Appleloosa, waiting for me. He would want to take over the orchard, and Slate would only be able to stake so much claim to it. And I wasn’t in any shape to take care of it remotely. Meanwhile, my new coltfriend was off in the fields with my father, and who knew how that was going? And I had to patch things up with my mother. And worry about the monthly reports for Canterlot. And stay away from the media. And figure out how to explain all this to the extended family. And probably a dozen more things I was forgetting.

I felt like a used matchstick. I rubbed my temple. “Not tonight,” I moaned to myself. “Ya’ ain’t gonna solve it tonight. Not like this. Get some sleep, and Soarin’ can help out in the mornin’.” My heart sank thinking about Soarin’ and I sleeping apart – that was one more thing to have on my mind – so I rolled over and tried to nap until they got home. I didn’t really sleep, just zoned in and out a bunch.

Soarin’ and Pa came back a bit later in shockingly good spirits. That ended as soon as they came in and saw me. I could tell, even though I was turned away from the door. Pa tried to make conversation, but I wasn’t having it, like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

But Soarin’ must have gotten through to him, at least a bit. In the end, Pa said, “Night, son. I’m glad you’re home.”

Despite it all, he was still glad to see me. That kept the embers in my heart glowing a bit longer, and I found my voice. “Night, Pa.”

Soarin’ and I checked in with each other, just briefly, just enough to wish him good night and agree that we should follow my parents’ instructions and sleep in separate beds. Even as I climbed those creaky steps and snuck the letter into my locked nightstand, I doubted my choice, and I wanted my Big Blue to make the decision for me. I didn’t close my door the whole way. In my heart of hearts, I thought he might join me anyway.

And Soarin’ Windsong always comes back for me. This time was no exception, and I felt like I could sprout wings when he came in an hour later, after my folks were asleep. We cuddled. Then we cuddled a bit more vigorously. It eased my mind and brought me clarity, and Soarin’ has always been good for that.

My gosh how we chatted after that. We talked for so long, and it was all about family. We talked about how I still speak to the ghost of my big brother Jonah, and he does the same with his dad. We talked about family leaving us, and as much as I wanted to bring up how Bronze had been through the same thing, I held my tongue. We talked about making amends with our parents – him with his estranged mother, and me with mine – and that got us heated.

We called a truce pretty quick, though, and Soarin’ told me about the talk with Pa. He explained that most of all, Pa was scared of losing me, and he just wanted me to be happy, even if it was with another stallion. And that Pa would always love me. Frankly, I was stunned that Pa would open up to anypony like that.

Mostly because of how rarely he opened up with me.

The conversation turned a bit. Soarin’ admitted that he’d told Pa about the abuse, which sent a chill through my spine. But the more I thought about it, the more his reaction when he’d come in made sense. He knew I’d been hurt. He was glad I was home, safe and away from ponies that would do me harm. Soarin’s story must have been true: Pa was scared of losing me. That made everything clearer, and suddenly, I found myself wanting to talk to both my parents again.

I admitted to Soarin’ that Bronze had brought me a letter. He wanted to read it, and with some prodding, I let him, but he ended up seeing some old drawings I’d made as an adolescent. Soarin’ didn’t laugh, though. He just… kissed me. Warmly.

It took me months to figure out what to make of that night. I think that, between all the running and action, we hadn’t had time to just sit and talk without worrying about our next move. Strange as it was, the fight with my parents gave us that moment. Out in the country like that, breathing the clean air and safe with my coltfriend, it all seemed so clear: we were both fighting the same battle with our families, and Soarin’ needed a little help with his.

I hugged my Big Blue tight. “I want you in my life, Soarin'. I like you bein' here. And I want my family to want you, too.”

He deflated. “Yeah. That’d be nice.” He was thinking about his mother, too, and he didn’t believe it was possible.

But I did. “And I think we've both got some peace to make with our folks.”

Soarin’ protested more. He argued that his mother wouldn’t want to see him again. I argued back that he needed to do it for himself, and we went back and forth until he rolled away from me, and the real heart of the matter came out. “I can’t do it.”

I reached out and held him. “Yes, you can. I know you're strong enough. And, well… If you need somepony to show you it can be done, I suppose that falls to me." I kissed his cheek and stood up, then marched to the door.

Soarin’ looked up at me. “What are you–”

I looked back at my Big Blue, hiding beneath the covers like a colt in a thunderstorm. It was rare for him to look that vulnerable. He had no choice – a Wonderbolt needs to be a paragon of courage. But we’d connected, and I knew that the facade couldn’t hold. “You don't gotta be the brave one all the time, Soarin'. I'll take the lead on this one, so get some rest. This might take a while.” Before he could protest, I walked into the hallway.

That house had never felt so intimidating. But I could almost feel Soarin’ behind me. With how much he’d been taking the lead the past couple weeks, it’s no surprise that he needed some help. As his coltfriend, I wanted to give him that.

With Soarin’ in mind, nothing could stop me. The floor creaked as I walked to my parents’ door, and I knocked softly and stuck my nose in. “Ma? Pa?”

Pa sat halfway up, paused, and mumbled, “Braeburn, it’s the middle of the night.”

‘No going back now,’ I thought. “Yeah. Sorry 'bout waking you, but I, uh, I think we need to talk.” I didn’t wait for them to invite me in. I grabbed the chair by my mother’s vanity and sat down.

Ma yawned. “Braeby, do you really think this is the time?”

“Yes,” I said without hesitation. In my heart, I didn’t want to leave Soarin’ without something to hope for. In my head, Bronze’s coaching about being direct and putting them on the back hoof came to mind. Now was the only time.

Pa grumbled. He sat up and gave the gem lamp a half-turn, enough to light the room without making them see stars. I could see all their old wedding photos, the hoof-crafted dressers, knickknacks from their life, and all the familiarities of my foalhood. Bronze’s carving of me was on my mother’s bedside table.

Ma sat up and set her eye mask next to her. “Braeburn, is this about our little disagreement earlier?”

I shook my head. “No, Ma. This is about us. All of us. That includes Bronze and Soarin’.” I was still gathering my thoughts – and there were a lot of them – but I didn’t want to just start yelling at them. I had to be direct and controlled. “So I wanna know the honest truth: what do you think? Of me, of Soarin’, all of this.”

The air was thick, like I was breathing in gelatin. Neither of them said anything.

I nodded at them. “Let me have it. I’ll try not to get steamed up.”

Ma grimaced. “Braeburn, this is a lot to ask, especially so late at–”

Pa cut in. “You’re being foolish.”

“Cortland!”

Pa turned his head to her. “He’s a grown stallion, Gal, and he asked for the truth. This ain’t the time to sweep things under the rug.”

Ma looked back and forth between us, and I explained, “I meant what I said, Ma. Don’t hold back.”

Her jaw clenched and relaxed. “I’ve said my piece, Braeburn. I don’t know much about two stallions loving each other, but… I can get past that. Eventually. I’m trying. Really. But I’m disappointed in you, Braeburn!” Her voice rose again a little, and Pa set a hoof on her withers to calm her down. “I don’t want a son of mine just… galvanting about, picking up whoever looks at him nice.” She shook her head. “And just tossing folks away when you’re done with ‘em! Bronze is a gentlestallion, Braeburn, and I’m disappointed you don’t seem to see that.”

Pa flinched. I looked away.

Ma went stiff. “What? What did I say?”

Pa’s gaze fell. “Gal, Soarin’ said that… He told me that Bronze is no saint.”

“What’s that mean?” Ma pleaded. She poked Pa with a twitching hoof. “Cort, you’re scaring me. What do you mean?”

Pa looked up at me, and I sighed. Is it strange that I drew strength from Bronze, even as I told my mother how horrible he’d been? “Bronze was violent with me, Ma.”

I wasn’t ready for the look she gave me, how it looked like her whole face just shattered. “What do you mean?”

I shrugged. My mind went back to the moments after Bronze had pummeled me. I felt detached. I let the words flow out of me without feeling, because that’s the only way I could get them out. “He hit me. There were three different occasions. Black eyes, bruised ribs. He’s, uh, he’s the reason–” The numbness burned away, and I fought through the pain that surged back into me. “Did AJ tell you I had a broken leg during the rodeo?”

Realization hit my mother’s face, and she crumpled, burying her face in her duvet. But she looked up again immediately. “Braeby, I’m so sorry.” She made a move to stand up.

But I held up a hoof. “It ain’t time for hugs yet, Ma.” That stopped her cold, but both of them must have known I was right.

Pa held her. His voice was shaky and quiet. “Why didn’t you tell us, son? Why did I have to hear it from Soarin’?”

“Heh, because he can’t keep his mouth shut.” I chuckled bitterly and blinked away a tear. I folded my forelegs across my chest. Everything felt tight. There were a million off-ramps, and I could have ended the conversation at any point if I’d wanted to. Hell, a big part of me did want to, but I remembered that Soarin’ needed to see that things could get better. I kept going, and I was willing to tell them what they needed to hear, even if it hurt them. “It was hard, Pa. I felt alone. I felt like Bronze was all I had. And to be fair–” I made eye contact. “–would we even be having this conversation if it weren’t for him?”

Ma shook her head. “Braeburn, you don’t owe that monster a thing.”

“It ain’t that simple, Ma.” My jaw quivered as I thought about the last few weeks of my life. “Nothin’ is. I wish it was, but it’s all confusing. Might always be, who knows? But Bronze was–” I choked up. Thinking about Bronze in the past tense, like he was gone, still gutted me. “Bronze has been an important part of my life for almost a year. He’s helped me more than anypony has, save for the two of you and maybe, maybe Big Mac. I… I didn’t wanna lose him. But he walked out on me, because he wanted something I couldn’t give him. And…” I shook my head. “And I made mistakes, too.”

There was a long, drawn-out silence.

Ma held onto Pa. Her tone took on a slight edge. “This is why we were worried, Braeburn, ever since you told us you were gay.”

My jaw clenched. “Ma, what right do you have to be angry?” I felt my voice rising, and I imagined Soarin’ hugging me from behind to calm down. “I told you both the truth. The truth! I wanted you to be a part of my life, my relationships, the ponies I care about.” I gestured big with my hooves, just to get the energy out. “But you didn’t like that! Couldn’t accept it! Couldn’t accept me, and you were really surprised that I stayed away in Appleloosa for so long?”

Pa mumbled, “We weren’t angry, Braeburn.”

“Sure as hell looked different to me.”

“We were scared.”

I pursed my lips. “Scared you wouldn’t get grandfoals? Scared your neighbors would gossip?”

“Scared you wouldn’t be happy, son. Scared you were inexperienced, and you’d make bad decisions.” He looked me up and down. “And, well, were we right?”

That shut me up.

“Braeburn, look at yourself.” His voice found its sternness. “Your private life is national news. You seem miserable. Hell, Bronze seemed to be the only thing that could make you smile in the past four years, and it turns out that was a mistake, too!”

I snapped. “It wasn’t a mistake, Pa! I loved him!” Truthfully, I don’t know whether I said “love” or “loved.”

Ma cut in. “But you don’t know how to handle yourself! How long have you known this Soarin’ fellow, anyway?”

I snorted and cast my glance away. “Two weeks.”

“Two weeks!” she shout-whispered. “Two weeks with this guy, and you’re already abandoning your home with him.”

Pa’s jaw was tight. “This is why we’re scared, Braeburn. You’re making bad decisions. We want to protect you, son, but we can’t, not from all this.” He gestured wide. “You’re young, and you get hot-headed and love-drunk.” He shook his head. “And you don’t seem happy, Braeburn. These stallions you choose to be with: beating you and dragging you around the country. Son, I know you, and that’s not what you need. We’re scared because you don’t know how to manage yourself.”

My conversation with Pridesong came back to me. “And whose fault is that?” They didn’t respond, so I continued. “Y’all, you think I don’t wish I could’ve had some experience with all this? You know how queer ponies were treated when I was younger, right? And I’ve heard you say nasty things about how odd they are, even if you don’t remember it. I never got the chance to date and be young and make mistakes.”

Ma faltered. “You were always so busy.”

“I was hiding, Ma! I was hiding in my work, like always, so nopony would ask questions.” My high school life came back to me. “Didn’t you think it was weird that Pennywhistle and I didn’t last? Or how I kept insisting that Bismark should go on trips with us? He wasn’t just my friend, Ma. I liked him. I liked him a lot, and he’ll never know it!”

She shrunk further. "We didn't know," she whispered.

I sighed. "Or maybe you didn't want to know. Lemme ask you this: did you suspect it?" My parents stared at me. Their silence already told me the answer, but I needed to hear them say it. "Be honest. Did you know I was gay?"

Pa swallowed and cleared his throat. "We wondered. But we didn't want to question it."

My shoulders felt tight. "Well, now you know why I didn't want to tell you, either. Why I don't tell you things." I looked out the window. "It hurts too much to say."

They looked out the window, too. The stars shone brightly out there, beautiful, but behind the glass and out of reach.

Ma whimpered, "We don't want you to ruin your life Braeburn. All this nonsense with the media? We can't protect you from it. We won't be able to save you if it keeps spiraling out of control." She was near tears.

I thought back to Honeycrisp's, how I'd felt with her. There was a hole in my stomach when I realized how long it had been since I’d felt that way with my parents, and I understood why. "I don't need saving, Ma." I unfolded my forelegs. "I just need to know that you'll still love me. That you'll still be there for me even when things don't go your way."

Pa's lip quivered. "You're breaking our hearts, son. Of course we will be."

My body felt hollow. I realized what it had come down to, why I’d stayed away for so many years. Why we’d lost all that time and all those memories that could have been happy. I looked right at them and stated plainly, "But you weren't."

It was so quiet, you could hear ice melt.

My chest felt tight. Breathing got difficult. "You weren't there when I told you I'm gay.” My voice cracked. “You weren't there when we started drifting apart." I thought of Bronze, how he never let fate take hold of his life, how he struggled and grit his teeth and never stopped looking for what he wanted. I felt so small compared to him. "All three of us, we just let it happen. I… I don't want it to happen. I want to feel like you'll always love me again." My breath shuddered. The truth rolled out of me like a thick fog. “And right now, I don’t.”

Tears landed with a swift pat-pat on my parents’ comforter. Ma was shaking. Pa couldn’t take his eyes from me.

I just sat there, waiting for them, like always.

Pa took a breath. His jaw was quivering. He instinctively reached for a cigar that wasn’t there. It was like he was afraid to blink. “We’re sorry, son. We’re really, really sorry.”

My cheeks were wet, too. “Me, too, Pa. I’m sorry, too.”

Squeezing Pa’s hoof, Ma asked, “Can it be time for hugs n–”

“Yes,” I squeaked, cutting her off and standing up. They didn’t waste any time, either, and they embraced me on both sides. They kissed my cheeks in turn, and we held each other close. It felt like a tripod, like any one of us letting go would make the whole thing collapse, so we held on tight.

My parents’ breath smelled like stew and toothpaste. Pa needed a shave, and Ma’s neck was real sweaty. Her mane was all out of sorts, and Pa’s shoulder still had a small bump where an old injury had scarred over. They tried a couple times to say something, but they gave up when all they could do was mumble over each other. We held on like that until my forelegs started to cramp. When we pulled apart, I could still smell cigar smoke and perfume in my mane. It smelled familiar, and I didn’t want it to leave.

We didn’t… solve everything that night. It felt like we solved very little. I can say one thing, though: my parents and I were honest with each other. I knew I could talk to them again, even in the middle of the night during a giant scandal. They’d shown me that much. They were willing to rebuild. Again. No matter how many times it took. I promised myself I’d tell them personally the next time I had big news. Despite the sad circumstances, I would keep that promise.

We all took a deep breath, and I centered myself. “I think that’s the big stuff. Sorry for botherin’ you late at night.”

Ma shook her head. “You’re never a bother, Braeburn. Thank you for telling us.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll… I’ll try to keep it up.”

I started to turn, but Pa grunted. I looked at him. “Yeah?”

His cheeks were tight. “Don’t worry. It’s…”

I finished for him. “It’s not nothin’, Pa. Please don’t be like that.”

He sighed. “Are you happy, Braeburn? With Soarin’. Does he make you happy?”

I set my hoof down and pondered. My gaze went to the door, and I thought about my Big Blue, waiting for me to know I was okay. I thought about our dates, Las Pegasus, even the way he kept me company at the motel. And I spoke honestly. “I don’t know.”

Pa deflated. Ma put a hoof on his shoulder.

I looked back at them. “Thing is, I’m still broken up about Bronze. I don’t know what’s going to happen next, and we barely have a plan, but Soarin’ is taking care of me. Soarin’, well, he knows what he’s doin’, at least as much as anypony can in this situation.” Two weeks of memories flooded my brain. “And he brings me joy.” A smile crept across my face. “Joy like I’ve never known. He’s passionate and vibrant and with an energy like a colt’s. I like him. I like him a lot, and… I wanna see where this goes, because…” I closed my eyes and felt the words as much as I said them. “I’ve never felt quite like this about anypony. Not even Bronze.” I chuckled to myself. “And he’s sleepin’ with me tonight. We both need it.”

I looked back at Pa. He wasn’t quite smiling, but the tension had left his face. “We won’t stop wanting to protect you, Braeburn, even from your own mistakes.”

I shrugged. “Well, like it or not, I’m a grown stallion, and these choices are mine to make. Even if they are mistakes. Especially if they’re mistakes. I have to learn about it all, too.”

Pa nodded. “I can respect that. You just be sure to come back safe, okay?”

“I will, Pa.”

Ma took a step forward. “We’ll do better, Braeby.” She sniffed in a little breath. It was painful for her to say. “Next time you come home, we’ll do better. We’ll make sure you know that you’re loved with all of our hearts.”

They would keep their promise, too.

I smiled, and a weight fell off my back. “Love you guys, too. Good night.”

“Good night, Braeby.”

“Good night, son.”

My body was more tired than after a double-shift plowing the fields. My mind was, too, but in a good way. It was quiet inside my head on that walk back to my bedroom. And when I got there, I was met with a blue pegasus who needed a cuddle, and after a few words to let us both know we were okay, we drifted off to sleep. Together.

Chapter 15 - Parallels

There’s a beauty and a terror in how we learn from each other, and it’s amazing how we can find ways to try again when we fail. The tracks always feel parallel, but sometimes, we can change course. It might just take a few tries. I’m getting ahead of myself, but I have a lot of feelings about this next part.

My parents were a lot more welcoming the next morning, and even though we still had a ways to go, I could breathe again. It wasn’t unlike after their first meeting with Bronze, but I told myself that Soarin’ wasn’t like him. And I still stand by that.

Soarin’...

…

We took a carriage, since it was raining, and a reporter sweet-talked his way into our car. We didn’t know it at first, and when we figured it out, Soarin’ lost his temper. He threatened to beat that stallion’s face in, and he only stopped when I screamed.

That was the start of the trouble, I think. No, the media scandal and getting chased out of Appleloosa were trouble, too, but they weren’t… relationship trouble. I saw Soarin’ in a light that I hadn’t seen before, and as hard as I tried to push the thoughts away, it reminded me of the worst moments with Bronze.

‘He’s not Bronze,’ I told myself over and over. But it was hard not to see the resemblance, not just in their looks, but in how quickly I’d fallen for them and how scary they got when the world turned on them. I wish I’d had the discipline to banish those thoughts.

Our next stop was Ponyville. The train ride was strained between us, and overnight, Soarin’ got a mysterious, giant bruise on his forehead, likely from sitting up too fast. I tell myself that if we hadn’t been fighting, if we hadn’t been so fatigued and cramped and exhausted from being constantly on the run, that I would have realized how bad it was. It was another head injury, and he didn’t even remember it. That’s about the reddest flag you could ask for.

We met up with Big Mac in Ponyville. Soarin’ didn’t take too kindly to how I leapt on my cousin for support instead of him. He flew off in a huff, but really, I think he was as tired as I was. We made up, of course. I spelled out a message for him in a clearing from old rotten wood. He saw it and flew down because, well… Soarin’ always comes back.

Soarin’ was as haunted by his rage as I was. He thought he was no good, and he worried that he could never be good enough for me, that I loved Bronze more than him and that he was nothing more than a replacement.

I wouldn't let him believe that. Yes, he had a bad day, but he’d been so kind to me, too. Soarin’ knew the pain I felt, and more than anything, he never left my side, even when he could have saved himself a lot of grief. I wanted him to know the truth. I didn’t feel like I owed it to him or anything. I’ve spent so much of my time keeping secrets, and Soarin’ was growing on me more and more every day. I wanted him to know.

I told him everything about coming out and about Bronze. Including the violence. Understand, I had told noponyabout the gory details of Bronze’s abuse, not even Big Mac, and I’d spared my parents the worst of it. Soarin’ was the first to hear everything. And my Big Blue held me through it all, listening without judgment.

And in telling the story, in reliving all the joy and pain of my time with Bronze, it all felt so familiar. Soarin’ wanted to go to Cloudsdale. That was his orchard, the thing he wanted from me that I couldn’t give him. He didn’t have a plan. He just wanted to keep running and keep me beside him. Even though he cared about me dearly, he was going after what he wanted. What he needed.

I resolved not to make the same mistake again. It wasn't just about me; I didn't want to let Soarin' and me drift apart like I had with Bronze. I wanted a clean break, time for us to take a breath and let the media frenzy die down. I believed in my heart that we'd have another chance, maybe long-distance, if we could only give ourselves a happy ending for now. So, I told him, “I wanna take you on a date, Soarin’.”

He sounded confused. “Uh… sure, Applebutt. Whatever you want.”

“Not whatever.” I cuddled up into him, there on the grass. “A real date. A nice one, just the two of us.” I’d already arranged for a stop at Auntie Crisp’s, and I promised myself I would make it perfect. After everything with his mother, his dad passing, and his troubles with the Wonderbolts, Soarin’ was sensitive to folks abandoning him. I had to be delicate. I had to take it one step at a time. The best-laid plans, right?

We stayed in Ponyville for a few days, and I officially came out to my extended family. Yes, they knew. They’d seen the papers, but there was still the ceremony of it all. I still got to tell them, more or less on my own terms.

Big Mac, Granny, AJ, and Little Bloom all gathered in the family room, and Soarin’ and I sat next to each other on a loveseat. Little Bloom was full of questions, but AJ kept her in check. I took a deep breath, and I held Soarin’s hoof as I said it: “It’s true. We’re together, and Soarin’ is my coltfriend. I’m gay, everypony, and I’m happy I can finally tell you the truth.”

==X===X===X===X===X==

We take a seat at the top of a hill overlooking Braeburn’s orchard. In the light of the late morning, the leaves radiate a verdant glow, and the apples shine like gilded rubies.

Braeburn smiles. “I draw so much strength from that pony. Think about it: I didn’t start off with ‘I’m gay.’ I started with our bond. Even then, I knew that as long as I had him, I could face anything.”

I nod. The sweat collects on my back. “That’s still true, isn’t it?”

“Of course. Together, there’s nothing we can’t face.”

Braeburn looks over at the town. We can see a bit of Mane Street, and ponies are still hanging decorations for the jamboree. Tables are getting set out and filled for a big welcome feast. Two ponies hang up a few more streamers: dark blue and gold. Soarin’ flits all around. He slaps his face, then flies over and replaces the golden streamers with green to match the rest of the Foal Scout decor.

“Ha! If he’d let me help him, that is.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “He looks stressed, but I think he can handle it.”

“But wouldn’t it be better if we were together?” Braeburn turns to me. I feel the weight of his eyes on my shoulders, and he squints at me. “You’ve got something uncomfortable to say. You can say it.”

He’s more than right, of course. There are a lot of things I want to say, but I settle on, “It’s hard to trust somepony with projects you care about. You mentioned parallels, and… that was a struggle with Bronze, too, right?”

Braeburn groans, then shifts in place. “Yeah, I suppose so.” He adjusts his hat. “Sometimes it feels like I’m still the same rash pony I always was. But then, I think about that chat with the Ponyville Apples, how much better it went that time.” He smiles. “And I know I’m making progress.”

==X===X===X===X===X==

Granny teased me, like is her way, and AJ figured out pretty quick that Big Mac already knew. Bloom ran off in excitement, but she promised not to tell. Here’s a tip: never trust a filly with your secrets.

I should be grateful, though, because I got to see Soarin’ play with Bloom’s friends. He’s a hell of a lot better with foals than he gives himself credit for, and watching him give Scootaloo rides tugged at my heartstrings.

And once we snuck onto the train out of Ponyville, courtesy of Big Mac and Miss Rarity, we were on our way east, riding in the lap of luxury with a bottle of lube that got used up real quick. We arrived at Auntie Crisp’s without any other drama, and we had each other.

And I kept telling myself it’d be alright. The irony isn’t lost on me. Here I am, nearly a year and a half later, worried about the same things. But I’ve already lost him once. I know how much it killed me. I can't let it happen again.

Our date went about as perfectly as you can imagine. I wasn’t afraid of what was coming, and neither was Soarin’. We were present and at peace with each other, whether we were racing to the swimming hole, making love on the beach, or cooking dinner together. I showed him how to make my Two-Apple Twirl, the first thing I ever made for him. We ate it after dinner, and it’s still my favorite pie.

And then, we watched the sunset on a nearby hill. The evening was perfect, and there was a feeling in my chest that I’d only ever felt for one other pony. I’d felt it for a while, known what it was, but I’d been afraid to let it out. You can’t break something that doesn’t exist, and so you keep it safe by keeping it secret. But there was no denying anymore. I’d only known the guy for three weeks, but Soarin’ Windsong had already stolen my heart.

No, not stolen. His heart had grown with mine. They’d intertwined, and I was finally ready to look at the majesty of what the two of us were becoming.

Soarin’ knew what I was about to say, and we teased each other, and he tackled me to the grass, and when I looked up at the big, beautiful sky, all I saw was him. He was the only thing in my world, and he was all I needed. I had so many plans about exactly the right time to tell him, how I wanted us to be holding each other and where we’d be. I didn’t need them. The words came out on their own, and they were as perfect as anything I could have imagined.

“I love you, Soarin’.”

There aren’t words to describe the joy, the happiness, relief, pleasure, excitement, humility, and everything else that washed over Soarin’ in that moment. The only way he could say it was to reply,

“I love you, too, Braeburn.”

We kissed again, and I wanted to be with him forever. And… so did he. But he didn’t want to think about the cost. I had, because I’d been through this already. I knew what was right.

I broke his heart right on that hill, not three minutes later, all because I wanted him to know the truth. I hugged his head to my chest and breathed in that wild blue mane of his. "Today had to be perfect for you, Soarin'. I want you to cherish it. I want you to know how I feel about you, how good you really are, and how much you mean to me. Promise me, Soarin'. Promise me you'll remember it forever."

"Of course I will, Braeburn, but… why?"

I sighed and let him know what was in my heart. "Because it's time for me to go home."

He ripped himself from me, and I suppose I got a taste of my own medicine. He looked just like I must have back when we first met, when I realized that no, this wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. He was in so much pain. I rambled. I told him it would be okay. I told him I wanted to make it work, but it was like he couldn’t hear me.

And all at once, he said, “Come live with me.”

He begged me. He pleaded like he was pleading with an executioner, and I… I didn’t want him to hurt. So like with Bronze, I relented, and Soarin’ was so happy that he scooped me up and flew me into the air, much to my chagrin. But as happy I was to see him relieved, I was disappointed in myself. Once again, I gave up some of what was essential to me, because I truly believed that this time would be different. I hoped that we could make it work.

I still hold that hope to this day.

The next morning, we made our way towards Manehattan and stopped at a balloon launch that would take us to Cloudsdale. I had to get those special magic horseshoes to walk up there, which meant a whole testing process. And…

…

I don’t want to say this part, but I feel like I should, for transparency. Soarin’ doesn’t know this yet. I’ve never told him. As soon as he hears it, he’ll feel guilty. I wish he wouldn’t. He didn’t know.

When I was trying on my horseshoes, I was Celestia-damned terrified. I kept thinking back to the last time I’d been that high up. I trusted him, though, and I jumped onto the testing cloud. Soarin’ teased me and picked me up from off the cloud. He held me midair, and I-I…

I had flashbacks. I thought of Bronze picking me up, dropping me, and breaking my leg. It all felt the same, even the way I couldn’t stop thrashing around, trying to break free. He nuzzled me, and that got me to relax a little, but he kept holding me up, even after I told him to let me go. And, well, I resisted, and I slipped. And I fell. It was hardly a fall at all, just a tiny bit, but in that split-second, the whole episode with my leg flashed in my mind. Time slowed down, I swear it, and I relived some of the worst moments in my life.

I practically bit Soarin’s head off, but I still loved him, and he apologized. And honestly, getting to ride in that balloon may have been worth it.

We took a cab to Soarin’s house, and I realize I’m in no place to judge, but wow does that pony need to learn how to decorate. It was all cloud-white, and sure, there was a clean look to everything, but it all felt so sterile. Soarin’ says it’s part of being in the military: you learn to live without a lot of comforts, and you don’t need much to get by, especially when most of your meals are handled by nutritionists of the highest order.

But as I explored my new home, there was one place that had all colors of the rainbow: the liquor cabinet. I stared at it, dumbfounded. It was all the good stuff, too; bottles of high-end vodka and imported rum that I could never even think of affording. There were liquors in there that I’d never tasted, and taking me by surprise like that, I was weak. My mind reeled with the possibilities. What cocktails could I make? Did the top-shelf stuff really taste better straight? Did it burn less, or more? How different were the imported varieties from domestic?

I slurped up some drool and finally called Soarin’ over. “Mighty, uh… mighty fine selection you’ve got here.”

Soarin’ fluttered over and cast a glance at it all. “Uh, yeah. Is… that okay?”

Like the addict I am, my first thought was, ‘If I tell him no, he’ll get rid of it.’ Quickly, I reassured him and tried to change the subject. “Yeah. I promise, Big Blue. Like you said, if I ain't happy, I'll tell you. It'll be fine. Don't you worry about me."

He saw right through me. “I can get rid of–”

“It’s fine, Big Blue,” I snapped at him. That shook even me, and I talked myself down. “I promise. No need to get rid of it all for my sake.” I changed the subject again, and we went about our business, but every time I looked back at the kitchen that day, I could feel Soarin’ looking back at me, too. It had taken all of ten minutes to get paranoid.

That first week up there was eventful as all hell, because we could never catch a break in those days. Soarin’ had to report to the academy, and he nearly got fired. He says I was a big hero that saved his job, but all I did was speak truth to power. We split a bottle of champagne that night, and…

…and you understand exactly how much the alcohol was wound up in my life, right? It didn’t matter the occasion. Celebrating a victory? Drink. Need to forget your sorrows? Drink. Spending time with friends? Drink. Half a bottle of champagne was next to nothing for me. It was terrible.

It is terrible, because I could get back to that same place if I’m not careful.

My support group says I need to celebrate the small victories, too. I didn’t drink for the next several days, despite all the stress. See, Cloudsdale is a giant, open city, and since it exists in three dimensions, everything feels so much bigger and more spread out. And yet, I felt utterly trapped. I couldn’t go anywhere without an escort, on account of the mob of “fans” that would swarm me every place I went.

I broke down a few times. Didn’t let anypony see. Just couldn’t take it, like how a pegasus would feel without their wings. Something essential was missing from my life, and I hadn’t even had a moment to collect myself and, as Slate had put it, get my head and my heart right. I sugar-coated it when Soarin’ asked. Just a couple days in, and I was already lying. I knew I wasn’t happy, but I convinced myself it would all change.

One bright spot was meeting Miss Holli. She’s one of my few friends from Cloudsdale, a waitress from the Bad Sun Rising restaurant. She swung by a whole bunch in those early days, and having somepony to talk to about cuisine made the long days without Big Blue bearable.

And on Friday night, after Soarin’s big return show at home, we hosted a party so that Soarin’ could introduce me to all his friends.

I don’t remember it.

There are little flashes of memories: sitting with Wave Chill on the stoop, trying to sweat away my frustrations on the dance floor, participating in far too many shot-drinking contests… But I can’t tell you much more than that.

If Soarin’ hadn’t told me later, I would never have understood his kindness. Soarin’ thinks he failed me, but he stayed with me that night. He never stopped taking care of me. I resisted. I told myself I needed space. But the truth was, I had too much space. I needed my coltfriend close by, yet I kept pushing him away, because I knew how much it would hurt him to tell him the truth.

I admitted that I wasn’t happy, I think, but maybe not in those exact words. I was crying over the lack of trees between bouts of puking into a garbage can. Plus, as they say, in vino veritas, I told Soarin’ that Bronze had called me a drunk and made me feel worthless. Soarin’ was gentle. I remember him being gentle.

Like most drunks, I asked Soarin’ to never let me drink again, but that didn’t even last a day. Fire Streak finally came clean about something he’d noticed, and… Soarin’ came back and told me. We didn’t know the full story at the time, just that Soarin’ couldn’t read or write anymore. It felt like poisoned lightning through my veins. Terror struck me dead still as he lay there, quivering and explaining it all to me, while I desperately tried to comfort him.

And I saw my part in all of it. How I’d not gotten help when he’d crashed in the orchard. The trouble he’d had reading things all over Equestria. The bump on his head from the train ride. I went through all the same little moments Soarin’ had, and even though Soarin’ told me otherwise, I blamed myself.

So I tried to drink. That was… I think that was one of our first big fights. Just four days of living together, and we were at each other’s throats. Soarin’ talked me down, though, and we reaffirmed how much we loved each other.

I’ll say this for the Wonderbolts: they take care of their own. Doctors Radiant Hope and Gentle Soul are some of the best in the business, and the fact that they’re husbands just brought a… an ease to the both of us. In the middle of our fighting and adjustments, here was a couple that was as different as Soarin’ and I, but they made it work.

I think about them a lot these days. Shoot, I even reached out to Soarin’s therapist, Doctor Soul, for advice. He’s a good pony, if a little uncouth.

Once the nightmare of Soarin’s aphasia was laid out for us like that – a path to recovery, something that gave us hope – I had to battle with the second major challenge of Cloudsdale: boredom. And historically, I have not won those battles.

In the next few days, I had to find things to do. Cleaning everything for the party had taken care of most of the maintenance, at least the things I could work on, since I’m not much for cloud masonry. I had books, but those can only take you so far. Miss Holli was busy during the day, and I couldn’t easily go out and make friends on account of the media ponies and, well, the fact that everypony in Soarin’s neighborhood had jobs or other ways to entertain themselves.

The liquor cabinet sat there. Taunting me. Inviting me. Teasing me. It was like all I had to do was press a button, and magically, the boredom would go away.

Parallels.

It got bad in just a couple days. I would open the cabinet doors just to argue with them. I’d scowl and say, “You ain’t gonna get the best of me. I’ve gotten rid of you before, and I’ll do it again if I have to.”

But it wasn’t about standing up to them. I got a giddy thrill every time I opened the cabinet, like my brain was rewarding me for taking a step closer to it. That’s how addiction works. You build up the anticipation. It tingles your brain. You start to feel the drunkenness before you even touch the bottle, like your stomach is preparing itself already. Like your whole body is telling you, “Good, do it. You’ll feel so much better.” There’s power in refusing it, for sure, but the more you let it build up, the harder it gets, until you–

…

Until you relapse.

I hadn’t gotten there yet, but I wanted to test myself, to prove to myself I could do it. I failed that test. I made Soarin’ a drink one night, and even though I didn’t drink it, per se, I gave him a long, slow kiss once he’d finished, just to get a hint of the rum and cola.

And oh, my stars… I’d pushed myself past the limit at the Friday party, but that had just reintroduced it all to my body. Even just that little taste, from licking the booze off Big Blue’s lips, it gave me a high that I’d been missing all week. That was the tipping point, I think. The lies would come shortly thereafter.

But I knew it was wrong, and the fact that I’d hidden my failure from Soarin’ ate away at me. I turned to the only thing I knew could keep my mind occupied: Appleloosa. With Soarin’s permission, I started a communication with Slate, so that I could get my monthly report done and at least pretend to help the town.

That opened a whole new can of worms, though. I knew from Bronze’s letter that he was at my house, still vying for my orchard. I couldn’t write to him directly. That would have killed Soarin’. Anything to do with Bronze set Soarin’ on edge, really.

I sat in Soarin’s home – it never really felt like “ours” – on the couch I’d repaired myself. Soarin’ didn’t keep plants or pets, so nothing around me was alive. The air was cool enough that I considered grabbing a blanket, even with the sun shining through the biggest windows. It was still.

The stasis seeped into my joints and my chest. I sat on that couch for twenty minutes, thinking how cold I was and how I should do something about it. But there was more to it than that. I’d felt this cold before, just that past winter, when the heavy drinking had started. Despite everything that Soarin’ was promising me and what he was trying to do, I was alone, completely isolated, just like I had been with Bronze.

I reached out to a pair of comforting ears. “You there, Jonah?”

He didn’t answer, but I knew he was there.

I sighed. “This ain’t… what I’d hoped for, big brother.” I shook my head. “I can’t leave, and even if I could, I can’t hardly get around. I don’t know anypony. Nopony needs me. I don’t need me. Soarin’ keeps sayin’ he’ll take care of me. Hardly any work to be done. Just a lotta nothin’.” I pressed a hoof to my face in shame. “Listen to me, belly-achin’, like there ain’t a million ponies that would love to be in my position.” I ran my hoof through my mane. The enchanted horseshoe snagged a few of the hairs, a pinprick reminder of why I didn’t belong. I groaned, “This ain’t a way to be, though. Not for me. I… don’t even know where to begin.”

My head reclined back onto the couch. It was cold. “Makes me nostalgic, I suppose. Thought I had it all figured out in Appleloosa. Fresh start, fresh ponies. Same ol’ Braeburn, though.” I sighed again. “But Bronze is back there now. I brought him into the community, gave him a place where…” My head shook. “He had a place where he felt like he belonged. He’s never had that before, and I took it away from him.”

I swear I could feel Jonah poke my cheek, like he was telling me to hush.

“Okay, you’re right. He drove himself away. But it’s hard to think about how I could have made it better.”

I imagined Jonah asking if I would go back and change it if I could.

“I don’t like leaving ponies unhelped, big brother, especially not folks from my town. And Bronze has been there most of a year. He’s an Appleloosan, like everypony else there. But I love Soarin’ more than Bronze. But I still love Bronze, too. Does that make sense?”

Jonah didn’t answer that time.

“I guess not. It hasn’t made sense for me, either.” I grunted and dragged a hoof down my face. My neck was getting uncomfortable, all craned back. “And I know, I know… I need to give it time to adjust, but… what kind of life is this? Look at this place!” I sat forward and gestured around. “Fancy, but it’s so sterile. Nothin’ dynamic about it. Where’s the adventure? And fancy choreography in a stadium doesn’t count.” I winced. “Please don’t tell Soarin’ I said that.”

I had faith Jonah wouldn’t tell him.

“But what’s my future like here, then? I know what’s waiting for me back home. There’s so much for me to do. So much I need to get done.” My eyes darkened. “And it feels weird puttin’ things on scales like this, but do I love Soarin’ more than I love Appleloosa?” My jaw clenched. “It ain’t nice to think about.”

Jonah kept listening.

“And there’s always a chance that Bronze really wants to get better. Maybe Slate or somepony can help him... Heh. Did you hear when Ma actually said he was marriage material? That was before she knew everything, of course. But maybe he could get better? And if he did, would it be better than…” I didn’t want to finish. I shook out my mane and snorted. “But I’ve only known Soarin’ for a month! I should give it all more of a chance! But time is precious, and…”

I went back and forth like that with Jonah for what felt like the whole afternoon. In the end, I did what I’ve always done: I hedged my bets. I wrote to Slate and asked him to give Bronze a job, but to keep him at a safe distance from my house. I made it clear that Bronze was supposed to be a worker, not an owner or a boss, but that he could learn while he worked and to go easy on him. I told Slate that I was staying in Cloudsdale, at least for now, and that I would try to visit to properly set up somepony to take care of the orchard, since it wasn’t fair to keep piling it on him, as much as he might have offered.

It feels so horrible in hindsight, but it seemed so logical at the time. I was stringing along two stallions at once, because I couldn’t commit to a life with one or the other. I felt trapped between the two of them. That feeling hasn’t… entirely faded.

==X===X===X===X===X==

My coat stands on end, and my jaw hangs loose. Unblinking, I stare at Braeburn.

He looks out over Appleloosa, into the distance. “Go on. Ask it.” His jaw quivers. His breathing is shaky.

I swallow. “I’m not sure I–”

“Don’t toy with me.” His body remains still, and his head turns to me. “Ask it.”

Gentle as I can, I ask, “Do you… still think about going back to Bronze?”

Braeburn blinks in rapid succession. A tear falls to the ground. He chokes out, “I betray Soarin’ every time I have that thought.” He gasps, then composes himself. “It ain’t often, but… I’m so sorry, Big Blue.”

My blood runs cold. “Braeburn… Bronze abused you. You can’t trust a pony like that.”

“Can you trust a pony that nearly beats a reporter to death? Or that toys with me when I’m afraid of heights?” He looks back at me. “Or how about a pony that steals my letters?” He shakes his head and closes his eyes. “I don’t mean to disparage Soarin’. Soarin’ Windsong is a gem of a pony, a wonderful stallion that deserves happiness and peace, but nopony is flawless. Soarin’ is better than Bronze on so many levels. I get that. But what if Soarin’ isn’t here?” His head hangs low. “And what if Bronze is?”

I remain stunned.

Braeburn huffs. “Do you wanna know the worst part about Bronze working the orchard for Slate?” He looks to his trees. “He learned. He learned about those trees and what it takes. Slate was surprised, but he said it himself: Bronze made progress while I was away. Worked hard for it.” He grits his teeth. “Was it just a ploy? Or did he really want to get better?” He shrugs. “I don’t fuckin’ know. Just like I don’t know what’s going to happen with Soarin’. It’s like with my parents: I want to know he’ll always be there for me, but I don’t. He always comes back…” He raises his voice. “...but why’s he gotta leave so damn much in the first place!?” Braeburn stomps a hoof in the dirt. “I hate it. I hate that I have these thoughts. But as time goes on, it feels like I’m trying to wrangle a cloud with a lasso.”

My thoughts spin. “Braeburn, have you considered–”

He waves a hoof and chokes up. “No, no, no, I’m not dealin’ with this now. I need… I need to remind myself why I love Soarin’.”

==X===X===X===X===X==

The next month felt all too familiar. It was no better than winter in Appleloosa. That same ennui set in. Nothing to do. Nopony to connect with. Starting over in a new community after four years in Appleloosa felt insurmountable.

Soarin’, bless him, he knew something was wrong, but he didn’t know how to fix it. The more he saw me spiraling downward, the more he panicked, and it made him paranoid. Soarin’ read one of my letters to Slate. He stole it in the middle of the night, and he didn’t come clean about it until after we’d moved to Appleloosa.

To be clear, I still think he’s better than Bronze.

But we were both feeling it. Soarin’ was busier than ever between his training, his check-ups with the therapist, and his role as captain. And yet, he still made time for us. He arranged for a trip back to the ground, just for me, so we could spend the day on the grass. Am I greedy for saying it wasn’t enough? I missed Soarin’ dearly. I missed him when he was at work, and even though I had occasional visits from Miss Holli on Fridays, there was nothing to do.

C-Can you… Can you even imagine a pony like Soarin’? He was trying so damn hard. Gifts, time, conversations, bringing me to his shows personally and giving me backstage passes for the rest of the season. There was so much kindness, and yet every day, I thought about our date at Auntie Crisp’s, and I cursed myself for not telling him no.

It got rough a day after the trip to the ground. I remember, because Monday had been hell. I’d tried to get some fresh produce – not even a full grocery list, mind you, just asparagus, herbs, lemon, and some turnips – but even with an escort, there was all kinds of attention, and by the end, my appetite had been spoiled.

Tuesday morning found me in the kitchen, staring at the booze again, having the same conversation about how I was going to resist it. But I could feel it in my chest: I wasn’t going to resist today.

This is the part where folks often say that they couldn’t control themselves, that they felt like they were disassociated from their own bodies and something else made the choice for them. I can’t let myself believe that. I have to believe that I’m always in control, because if I’m not, then my alcoholism wins out.

At the time, I just grunted, “I can handle one shot. Just to take the edge off.” Bargaining. Rationalization. “Wine is supposed to be healthy, right?” Talking myself into it. It didn’t matter. Soarin’s not really a wine drinker, anyway, but he did have a high-quality bottle of Aviator gin stored in the back. “Fuck it. A toast to my new life.” Trying to spin it as something positive. “Yeah, that’ll do.” Agreeing with your own foregone conclusion.

I found a plain shot glass without Soarin’s cutie mark or anything on it, which took some digging. I didn’t want to be reminded of him while I drank.

I poured it, and the scent of juniper and herbs hit my nose, like a breath of lung-clearing air in the mountains at summertime. My brain fogged over, relaxed like it hadn’t been since the Friday party. I picked up the glass and swirled it a bit, like I was evaluating it, but I wasn’t patient anymore, and I downed it in one gulp. The juniper was forward. The burn on it almost felt like a limoncello with its citrus kick. The herbs mellowed it all out, though, harkening back to a cold summer salad on a hot day, tantalizingly refreshing and bright, with a sharp sour that cracked like a whip on your tongue on the back end. I moaned and rolled my eyes back in my head as I turned the shot glass over and set it upside-down on the counter. “There. Just one. Easy.”

That ain’t how it works.

Hell, I can probably still walk you through the logic right now. After the first one, you tell yourself that it hardly had an effect. You don’t feel it at all once the taste fades, because it takes time for the alcohol to get into your system. You tell yourself that you can handle a second, since the first isn’t pulling its weight. So you have a second. Then you start feeling warm from the first one, and it’s followed by a giddiness that asks, well, wouldn’t you like to be just a little naughty? Don’t you deserve it? You’re a big stallion, after all. You can handle three. And from there, you’re a goner.

I didn’t drink myself stupid that day, but after a long afternoon nap, I panicked when I realized my breath absolutely reeked of alcohol, and since Soarin’ was giving a talk about safety as part of his penance for giving the team grief, he probably would be home a few minutes early. The room spun from the leftover alcohol in my system, and I rushed upstairs to the shower to try and sober up.

I went through two cold clouds and was on a hot one when I heard the bathroom door open. “Hey there, sexy!”

“Soarin’!” I leapt in surprise and nearly tumbled, but I caught myself. My heart felt like I was running a hundred-day race. I babbled, “Hoo! Scared me. Sorry, I was gonna get dinner ready, but I got a little distracted.” My first lie of omission. “Just felt a little funky, ya’ know?” That one was just a regular lie.

I could hear the smirk on Soarin’s face when he said, “Or maybe you just wanted to have some fun.”

My brain snapped into place. He’d given me a way out without realizing it. I could keep my drinking hidden from him. I wouldn’t have to let him know my shame, and tomorrow, I promised myself, I would be better. “Heh. Well, then, uh… Grab a hot one, and we’ll get started.”

I… blew my coltfriend in the shower, and before I let him kiss me, I asked to use some mouthwash. See, Soarin’s mouthwash has alcohol, and the mint is so strong that it would cover up and blend with the gin. He didn’t suspect a thing. I felt like shit, and I promised myself I would get better.

But I only had one pony to hold me accountable, and you’ve seen that guy’s track record, right?

I tried hard the next day, and I found myself staring at the cabinet again. I had to leave, or I'd fail again. There's a little coffee shop I'd seen just off the Sunrise Estates grounds. Same one Big Blue took you to, actually. I practically ran there so I couldn't look back.

Their food was divine. No idea how they got such fresh ingredients, and the cheese was spectacular. I felt a little awkward sitting alone there, early for the lunch rush, but I kept nibbling. It was expensive, but Soarin' had told me not to worry about that. I got an extra large, sugary mocha drink to go with it all. I told myself that I was avoiding my vices, so it was worth it, but really I was just swapping booze for sugar. It became my go-to spot. I would do my few chores in the morning, then grab a book and spend the afternoon at Coffee Shot.

Of course, that wore thin pretty quickly, too, and it didn't take long to supplement my activities with a little hooch. It all fit together so well: as long as I only got drunk in the mornings, I could sleep it off and get a coffee eye-opener in the afternoon. Plus, the strong coffee smell covered up the booze.

I knew it was just a matter of time before I got caught. I think I wanted to. That's how it always works: the shame and loneliness pull against each other, with you in the middle. You don't want to bring in anypony that would make you face reality, but you desperately want somepony to answer your silent cries for help. So, you sabotage yourself, because it's almost a passive way of admitting the truth.

And the truth was that I was in a bad, bad way, stuck halfway between my love and my home, and I still couldn't make a choice. I drank more every day.

Anyway, I think that's why I filled the old alcohol bottles with water instead of replacing them. That’s about the time we stopped making love, too, and I gained weight at an alarming pace from all the booze, sugar, and lack of exercise. Miss Holli noticed during her visits. She kept asking if I was alright, but I always waved it off.

Soarin' was in denial as much as I was. Even so, that stallion of mine is a treasure. He kept working harder and harder, even through his therapy and all my guilt and moping over the injury. He made more time for me. He got my friends in Appleloosa to send me a care package. He kept promising that everything would be okay, because he’d never stop trying. Soarin's had so many ponies abandon him over the years, and I promised both him and myself that I wouldn't do that to us.

It all came to a head when Soarin' poured himself a drink one night and spat out water. He knew right away what had happened, and it was a massive relief to finally have it out there what a huge failure I was.

We fought. Or at least he did. I was so sick to my stomach that day that I hadn’t even bothered trying to hide it with coffee, and I didn’t have the energy to resist him. That killed him more than anything, I think, because he desperately wanted to be better than Bronze, to not lose his temper or insult me for my bad habits. He succeeded, mostly.

But me? I had already given up. This was as bad as it had ever been. "I'm sorry. You deserve more than me, Soarin'. I'm a lost cause."

Soarin’ held his anger in and frowned. “I don't believe that.”

My head thumped, and my heart raced. I spoke faster and faster. “Face the music, Soarin'. I've failed you. I failed you like I failed Bronze, like I failed everypony. I failed Ma and Pa by bein' a Celestia-damned faggot. I failed Appleloosa by not gettin' my shit together and leavin' when the reporters showed up, and I failed you by not bein' the coltfriend you deserve! You'd be better off without me.”

He shuddered. “No, I wouldn’t.” Then he repeated the same thing he’d been saying for months. “I’m going to fix it.”

I snapped at him, “How, Soarin'? How? We're sittin' here, goin' back and forth and talkin' past each other, and nothin' changes. It's like we're stuck in the mud here, and we ain't even got wheels on our cart!”

We yelled until we felt drained, and I repeated my mantra. “I promise I won’t ever leave you, Soarin’, and I don’t want you to think I will. I’d never do that to you.”

I’d meant it to comfort him. I’d meant it as the truth, too. For what little it was worth, Soarin’ seemed happier most days with me there. He wasn’t the sad pony I’d seen in my parlor or the broken stallion begging me to live with him. At least, he hadn’t been. But that day, it failed. He wasn’t comforted by my words or my presence, and everything in the world felt broken. Soarin’ settled on the opposite end of the couch, collapsed in on himself, and mumbled, “You promised you’d tell me if you weren’t happy, Braeburn.”

And I mumbled back, “Told you I was a failure.”

I slept on the couch that night, away from my love. I didn’t make him anything for breakfast, and he didn’t ask as he flew out the door.

I did nothing that day. Didn’t eat. Didn’t cook. Didn’t clean. Just loafed around like I was sick. I drank, obviously, but even that didn’t help, and I probably only had a few pulls, anyway, and that was only at the end of the day.

And when Soarin’ came back that evening, I was in the kitchen, having a weak pull of whisky. I turned to him and said, “Hey.”

Soarin’ looked different. Relaxed. “Hey. You drank less today. I’m proud of you.”

I sneered at him, in no mood for more conversation. “Why? I didn’t quit.”

He walked towards me. “But you took a step.”

I got a vibe from him, not unlike what I’d felt when Bronze was angry, but this was calmer. “You’re actin’ funny, Soarin’. What’s goin’ on?”

He invited me to the table, and once I joined him, he gently set his hoof on mine and looked me in the eye. I saw love there, still shining bright despite everything we’d been through. “Braeburn, I want to take you on a date.”

My jaw dropped. It wasn’t lost on me what he was doing. He was inviting me on a proper date, using the same words I had. This was something serious. My mind spun with thoughts of him kicking me out, which I wouldn’t have blamed him for, but every time I wanted to panic, I saw those bright green eyes again, and their softness enveloped me. Breathlessly, I said, “Of course.”

Soarin’ forced a broken smile. He stood up and kissed me, softly, and he held my head to his chest. His breathing was irregular. “Thank you,” he whispered. “It’s… going to be important.” He kissed my mane again. “Wanna order out tonight?”

I looked up at him. He sparkled, radiant and calm. I felt close to him again, and not just because he was holding me. It was like I’d come out of a dark cave after a year. “Can we make something together?”

He just smiled in response.

And things got better. Soarin' was calm. He wasn't promising to fix things anymore, but he stayed supportive when I told him I went all of Wednesday without drinking. We made love again. I even got a sky cab to have lunch at Bad Sun Wednesday, just so I could see Miss Holli, and the sunshine felt like it was burning away a mold on my soul. But… something at the back of my mind didn’t sit right.

Miss Holli stopped by to chat as she cleaned up lunch. "You're looking mighty bright today, Sugar. Things turning around?"

I drained the rest of my coffee – black, no cream or sugar – and said, "I think so, Miss Holli. Soarin' has a big date planned, and…" I felt sad all of a sudden, seemingly from nowhere. "And I think things might change a bit soon."

She paused, then sat down across from me. "What's going on, Braeburn? You're all over the place today."

I sighed. "Don't I know it." I looked at her from across the table. "And I appreciate your visits. You've made me feel very welcome. I’ll never forget your kindness."

Miss Holli frowned. "You sound like you're leaving."

I looked out the window. Bad Sun is on the street level, and outside, hundreds of ponies were scrambling back to work out their next appointment, swarming the sky in high-traffic areas. And I didn't recognize a single one. "Yeah. I think I might be."

There was never a dawning moment of realization that Soarin' was letting me go. It was more like a feeling that grew over the course of the day, and it seemed more likely as the day dragged on. After I wished Holli well and promised to keep in touch (and I have), I paid my bill and hailed a cab.

Flight has never lost its magic, as long as I feel secure, and I watched the city pull away from me as the cabbie flapped her wings. She turned her head and asked, "Where to?"

"Sunrise Estates, please."

"Sure thing, Mister Apple." I grunted at that, but at least she was polite and didn't act like a fan. "Bad Sun is a great choice. How are you liking life up here?"

"Up and down," I sighed. She laughed at that. "Huh? Oh, uh, no pun intended."

She shouted back over her shoulder, so I could hear her over the wind. "Missing your old home, I take it?"

"Yeah." Home. I was lucky to have two, full of ponies that cared about me, even if I didn’t always feel it. Soarin’ didn’t have that. He had a big, empty house and teammates that he was just now letting himself get close to.

"Might be worth a trip to refresh your soul, then. I'm going to visit my parents in a few weeks. Can't wait for that little break."

I thought about Ma and Pa. I wondered what they'd think when I told them about Cloudsdale. I was excited to tell them the good parts, at least, and I could truthfully say Soarin' had kept his promise to be good to me.

But who would Soarin' talk to? He had his team, and he chatted up his father's ghost from time to time, but it can't have been the same. We'd talked so many times about his mother, and he'd always avoided it. I felt guilty, having parents to talk to and him still feeling alone.

An idea struck me. ‘Soarin’ doesn’t have any parents to talk to. But he could.’ I played our conversations about his mother over in my mind, and he’d always said that she wouldn’t want to be bothered. But he hadn’t even tried. I realized that was the scariest part for Soarin’, and if starting the conversation was the hard part, then there was still a way I could help him.

I cleared my throat and asked the cabbie, "Pardon me, miss, but do y'all have a hall of records up here?"

It took an afternoon of poring over books and sweet-talking some kindly clerks into helping me out, but I found her: Jetstream Nimbus. She’d remarried, apparently, and moved to Manehattan, where she and her husband had two pre-teen foals. That made them Soarin’s half-siblings, and I marveled at the idea of how he would react.

I managed to sneak back home without any issue, and for lack of a better place to hide the paper with her information, I stuck it in Whitewing’s Big Score shortly before he got home. I knew he wouldn’t be reading tonight, since he hadn’t picked the book up in ages.

We cooked again that night, and I showed Soarin’ how to make a glaze for warmed fruit, which my Ma always brought out at parties. He nailed it by the third try. We made love again, and after an hour of cuddling, Soarin’ fell asleep spooning me. I slept solidly that night for the first time in weeks.

I woke up bright and early, snuck out from his grasp, and made a hearty breakfast of fried hay and cheese. The whole time, Soarin’s mother was on my mind. After he finished eating and walked towards the door, I got real sly and asked him, “You gonna be back at your usual time, Big Blue? I’m thinkin’ of makin’ vagrants’ bindles tonight.” I was probing, making sure he wouldn’t be home early.

He nuzzled me. “I have no idea what that is, but I’ll be here, Applebutt.” Heh. I’d gotten too cute, and he hadn’t actually answered my question. He kissed me sweetly and left for work.

And as soon as the door closed, I felt a jolt of electricity up my spine. I turned and looked back at our home. “Alright, clean up, then mission time.”

Helping Soarin’ with his mother gave me something I’d missed since we’d left Appleloosa: a purpose. It was something only I could do, something that I cared about, because I care about him. I opened the windows to let the light in, and I felt the wind move through me like it had back in Appleloosa. The day felt refreshing and wide open. Time felt short, and my brain buzzed with all the little steps I needed to take to make this a success.

I latched onto it hard, because all that activity kept me from thinking about one cold fact. If Soarin’ was planning what I thought he was, then this was my last day at his house.

Once I had double-dried the table just to be sure, I got my stationary out and took notes. The quill flew across the paper as I tried to get down all my ideas. “Set up a meal? Naw, that’d be too hard to schedule. Maybe his half-siblings have an event coming up, and he could meet her there? But no, that’d put them all in an awkward spot, wouldn’t it? I suppose they could meet someplace important, like their old house.” I snorted a laugh. “And get run off by the current owner. C’mon, Braeburn, think harder!”

I settled on the simplest thing: I could write a letter to Jetstream, signed by Soarin’, and open the door for them to meet. I spent an hour practicing Soarin’s hoofwriting from the few examples I had, and I wrote down a bunch of phrases he liked and words he used when he was being official, just to make it sound like him. I really, really wanted him to feel like he could just send it and build up that momentum, like he always said was important in his shows.

My fetlock was tired by midmorning, and I went and got a coffee from Coffee Shot. Cream and sugar this time, because I figured I could be a little bad while I was trying to be good.

And the fresh air did me good, like always. Thoughts and phrases snapped into place, and I came back and re-wrote the whole thing, just to correct a few pieces that felt off. Oh, it was magical. I was creating again, making something, and just that act brought such lightness to my body and so much energy to my bones that I thought I’d never stop.

Once I’d folded the letter and addressed the envelope, I set it aside. “Now, when to…”

It was nearly noon, and gravity claimed me again. I was halfway done with my last day in Soarin’s home, because he was going to let me free.

And I didn’t want to leave.

The house suddenly felt full. I’d spent a month and a half – forty-six days – living in Soarin’s house. As much as it hurt to think about the boredom and the pain of fighting my addiction, I remembered all the little moments we’d spent together. Times we’d cuddled, when Soarin’ had given me the care package, cooking lessons, the times Miss Holli had come over, making breakfast on the weekends, preparing for his shows… Every little spot in the house had a memory attached to it.

And here I was, the pony that wasted it all. “Wasted,” I huffed, as I felt tears come to my eyes. “Jeez, Braeburn, look at all the opportunity Soarin’ gave you, and–” I looked back at the blank piece of paper. I thought about what I wanted to tell him and how much it would hurt him to hear me beating myself up again. I didn’t want him to hurt. I never wanted him to hurt. My jaw quivered. “And you’re lettin’ me leave so we can both get better.”

I picked up my quill and tried to get it all down. It was a jumbled mess of thank-yous and telling him I love him and apologizing for not being better at adapting.

Halfway down the second page, I wrote the words, “I’m sorry for abandoning you,” and I froze. The words felt real, like they were going to leap off the page and strangle me. What would that do to him? Was he really going to call it off between us? Or… was he going to let me do it? Give me the chance to say goodbye like I’d planned at Honeycrisp’s, with the door open for a different future? He’d begged me, begged me to stay with him. Having another pony leave him is what he feared most.

And yet, I had no doubts. “He’s gonna do it,” I said out loud. “He’s gonna let me hurt him so I can be happy.” I felt it deep down. I knew it was going to happen, and I…

I-I f-f-felt so…

…

…

I felt so loved.

It was overwhelming, like a geyser that rose up from my chest, like the air itself had coalesced into one big hug, all around me. I could feel Soarin’, too. I could feel him holding me, folding us both in his wings, protecting me from all the dangers of the world, and when the time was right, opening those wings to let the sunshine in, so I could open like a seed and grow into the pony I needed to be. So I could flourish.

“Oh, Blue…” I sobbed into my foreleg, then full-on cried when that warm feeling refused to go away. “You’re so good, Blue. I-I–” I bawled, “I don’t wanna hurt you, Blue.”

I looked down at the page, then crumpled it up and threw it to the floor. It wasn’t good enough. Nothing felt good enough for Big Blue.

But if that first one was a mess, the second one was a disaster. I spoke out loud, letting the words flow, and desperately tried to jot it all down. “Soarin’, my love, my Big Blue, my coltfriend, I don’t know what to say. I know what you’re planning, and I’m… humbled by it, and overwhelmed, and I don’t want to hurt you. But if I leave, it’s going to hurt you. But you’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you?” I grit my teeth. “You’re going to hold me tight, then let me go, because you’re my hero, Soarin’. You came back for me when I thought nopony would.” Tears dropped from my face onto the page, and my writing got faster and messier. “You came back for me, and you never abandoned me. You always tried to make it better. I’m sorry we couldn’t make it work. You deserve love and a pony that can make it work, and–”

I lost control and scribbled all over the page. It all felt so inadequate. I slapped the quill pen down on the table and walked to the window.

It really is beautiful up there, in the clouds. The sunlight bounces off everything, making the whole world bright, and there’s always a little rainbow in the corner of your eye. But I’d seen real beauty, and it was in the selflessness of my coltfriend.

I made myself a small snack and stood looking out that window, determined to find the perfect words so that Soarin’ wouldn’t be sad. I thought to myself, ‘I can make it easier for him. I can keep the pain away if I do this right.’ I’d written so many letters to Canterlot, trying to convince them to help keep Appleloosa afloat. This was no different, I told myself. It was just a matter of massaging it all into place, and I spent an hour on the notes for it.

The words were hard and cold as stone. “My Hero, Soarin’ Windsong,” I read aloud after I’d meticulously written each word from my notes. “They say that once in a lifetime, you meet a pony who can truly turn your world around. I’ve met that pony, and he goes by the nickname Big Blue. When I first laid eyes on him, I…” I rolled my eyes and blew a raspberry. “This is fuckin’ garbage.” I smashed it up and threw it over my shoulder.

And I turned back to a fresh, blank page. It hurt to start again, to realize that I was at square one. My whole body felt heavy. The quill was like a barbell, but I picked it up anyway. This was my task, and Soarin’ needed me.

My brain was fried from all the planning and notes. All I had left was what was in my exhausted heart, and well, maybe that was for the best. I started writing.

Hey, Big Blue,

Forgive me if I ramble. I've started four times now, and this ain't easy. I'll do it, though, because I love you, and you'll always have my love and support.

It struck me how easily I’d told him that. But after I sat with that feeling, I knew it to be true: Soarin’ was special to me, and there’s a part of me that would always love him.

I've figured you out, Blue. This date of yours over the weekend? I get what you're doing, and honestly, I couldn't ask for a better send off.

I grunted at those last words. I didn’t like them, so I crossed them out and tried again.

~~send off~~ way to be let go

I nickered. “Dammit, not that either.” I sighed. “Sorry, Soarin’, I don’t think I’ve got another one in me.”

I've figured you out, Blue. This date of yours over the weekend? I get what you're doing, and honestly, I couldn't ask for a better ~~send off~~ ~~way to be let go~~ way to spend our last few days together. (Sorry for the mistake, but I ain't starting again. It might kill me.)

You're giving me what I need to grow, and I can't fathom how much it must hurt you. You're selfless, kind, sweet, brave, and all the other good words in the dictionary, and I count my lucky stars that you're in my life.

I set the quill down, sat back and stared out into nothingness. ‘Is he in my life? Or only for another day or two?’ I thought about leaving him. I imagined what it would feel like, having my bags packed and walking out the door, and my heart tore in half, slowly but seemingly irrevocably. I whimpered again, “I don’t want to hurt you, Blue.”

But Soarin’ deserved to know what his actions meant to me. With that, I took up the quill.

Truth is, I'm scared, Blue. I don't think I can muster the strength of character to say goodbye when the time comes. I hope you'll forgive me if I falter, but then again, I suppose you reading this means we did it, didn't we? I'm already proud of you as I write this, Soarin', for so much, from how you've loved me to how you made me a better stallion to how you're taking care of me even now. You'll be spectacular, Soarin', no matter what you do, and I'm going to cheer you on the whole way.

The tears flowed at this point. A few landed on the pages. I hoped Soarin’ would notice so that he’d know I was sincere.

And I hope you don't mind, but I did some snooping. The hall of records is pretty good up here, so your mom wasn't hard to find. She hasn't gone too far, either. It looks like she's with a unicorn guy in Manehattan. Weird for a unicorn to be named Nimbus, ain't it? Must be part pegasus, but dammit, I'm rambling.

I hope you'll contact her, Big Blue. I know it'll be rough, but I believe in you, and you need this. I don't know when you'll be ready, but when you are, I want you to know that I'm thinking of you and hoping and praying for everything to go smoothly, and I'm going to help out any way I can. To that end, I took the liberty of drafting a letter for you. Use it or not, it's up to you.

There was so much more to say, and yet, my hoof wouldn’t move. It felt final, what I was writing, like once I committed my name to the paper, our fates were sealed. I didn’t want it to end. It wasn’t just that I didn’t want to be lonely or that I was afraid another stallion had come and gone. It was Soarin’. He was the only pony I was thinking about as I wrote my letter.

I felt possessed by the end of it. There wasn’t any logic to what I wrote. I just let it come.

Ending this thing is proving harder than starting, so I'll just say this: I'll always love you, Soarin' Windsong. No matter what happens this weekend, you're in my thoughts and my heart, and you'll always be my Big Blue.

Your Applebutt, forever,
Braeburn

The house was deathly quiet as I set down the quill. I stared at the page. “That’s… Yeah, that’s it, ain’t it?” A few more soft tears fell on the page, and before I could ruin the whole thing, I put the two letters into envelopes, which I labeled in the best hoofwriting I could.

As I held them, I looked around. I hadn’t actually figured out when to give them to Soarin’, or how. I just knew he’d need them after I was gone, if in fact I was able to leave. But I saw Whitewing’s Big Score just sitting there on the table. Soarin’ hadn’t finished it, but he’d promised me he would one day. Swallowing a lump in my throat, I said, “Yeah, that’ll do.”

Gently, I placed the envelopes inside, right where he’d bookmarked the page, and I carried it back to the bookshelf like I was transporting a holy relic. Before I placed it on the shelf, I kissed the cover and said, “I love you, Soarin’.” I hope he felt it.

I hadn’t left myself much time to cook dinner, so I threw myself into preparing everything. The pastry took the longest, so I just did a rough puff pastry instead of the full one that I was planning. It took my mind off of… everything, but the sorrows weighed down my soul all afternoon.

But in the evening, Soarin’ walked in. I turned to see him round the corner into the kitchen, and I just… marveled. He looked stunning. He wore his captain’s uniform, complete with the golden bars signifying his rank. His tie was crisp and clipped so perfectly it looked like he’d never left the house. His wind-blown mane still bounced with life, his wings were perfect as always, and his face… That smile of his lit up the room. It didn’t matter that I’d never see him like that again. For just that one moment, I got to pretend like everything would be like I’d always dreamed. “Hey, Blue.”

==X===X===X===X===X==

Braeburn has his eyes closed. He remains steady. He breathes deeply, like he’s appreciating every mote of dust, every twist of air that curls around his ears. He swallows, and his eyes move rapidly beneath his eyelids. Slowly, he breathes in, then out.

His head lowers a few degrees, and he looks to the town. “Soarin’ gave me everything. And on that last trip together, he worked so hard to give me one last beautiful memory to cherish.”

==X===X===X===X===X==

From the moment we stepped off the train in Baltimare, I felt it: this was our last weekend together.

Friday night was comforting. Wonderbolt management confined us to our rooms, but Soarin' and I got to stay together. We made the most of our time.

I remember looking into his eyes. They shone like emeralds, as bright as the day I'd met him. I kept telling myself, 'It's okay. It's not happening yet. I'm safe.' And I did feel safe. I didn't know what Soarin' would do the next day, but on that night, I got to hold him again. That night passed in the blink of an eye, and I desperately grasped for a few more seconds wherever I could.

The next day, our date was more spectacular than I can describe. It started with a big opening ceremony, where I got to see Princess Celestia herself raise the sun. She was the second-best part. Soarin' flew in a big display that morning to welcome the summer, and he was flawless. I swear I could feel my blue stud earring tingle every time he flew past. And afterwards, he dashed at me like a puppy and embraced me before we went on to what was next.

It's one of the clearest memories of my life. I could walk you through every moment and every conversation we had that day. We went to the museum to see the history of Baltimare, and Soarin' made no secret that he expected Appleloosa to have a museum like that someday. My heart warmed, not just because he'd found something I liked, but because he knew I belonged back home to help it flourish. He supported me and what had to happen next.

If it wasn’t obvious before, I knew it there and then.

Soarin’ kissed the bottom of my ear. “You’re going to be more famous than me one day.”

I snickered. “Hardly. There ain’t much of a market for historical figure lunchboxes.”

Soarin’ shrugged. “Maybe not, but you’re doing something important. Lasting. I'm just here to make an organization look good. I'm not improving anypony's life or anything.”

"One pony's, at least," I interrupted. I looked up at those eyes again, and I rested my head on his shoulder. He was warm. He was comforting. My mind kept coming back to what a treasure he was. The air was thick between us. We both knew what he wanted me to do. He… wanted me to break up with him. Or at least tell him that I was leaving. That I wasn’t happy. We both knew, but I hadn’t said it. I hadn’t stood up for myself. I’ve hardly ever stood up for myself, and the few times I had, Bronze… hadn’t taken too kindly to me. But Soarin’ wasn’t Bronze. He was making space for me to say it when I was ready.

I didn’t know if I could. “I keep… askin’ myself if…” The words rose to my lips, but they stopped short. ‘...if this is what we really need, and I think the answer is no. I’m not–’ I couldn’t even think of the words, let alone say them. Letting them out would hurt Soarin’ beyond belief, the one pony in the world who kept coming back for me. I couldn’t do that to him.

Weakly, he asked, “What is it, Applebutt?”

But I’d already swallowed the words. “Never mind.”

There was lunch at the museum, shopping in the big city, and a coffee break in the park. Big Blue even gave me one of his feathers to turn into a quill. I use it when I write to folks I love. Dinner was the fanciest (and only) 30-course meal I've ever eaten, and we finished the night with private seats at the Sapphire Shores concert, where we cuddled while waiting for the show.

By then, though, my heart had sunk to my hooves, and Soarin’ had noticed. Gently as he could, he asked, “What’s wrong, Braeburn?” in that voice parents use when they already know the answer. “You can tell me anything.”

I kept thinking about him, crying and alone, harkening back to when he was a foal and his mother had left. I was lost in my own head, and I sobbed despite my best efforts. The concert was starting, but not even an appearance by Princess Celestia could rouse me.

Soarin’ could, though. “Braeburn, c’mon. What’s wrong?” He reached under my chin with a wing, and he lifted my face to his. “Please don’t hide from me. Not tonight.”

I could read it all over his face. We both knew what tonight would bring, but as much as I wanted to hide it, my coltfriend had asked me for the truth. Of everypony in the world, I didn’t want to hide from him. “I know what this is, Soarin’.”

He tensed, then breathed out and hugged me close. “I’m… not very subtle, am I?”

“Heh. Not really, no. I… figured it out on Thursday. You were actin' weird, and I kept thinkin' about it all day, and… and I realized that you wanted to make me feel better in case I had to…” My breath caught in my throat.. “Y–… You want me to–”

Since I wasn’t ready to say it, Soarin’ threw me a life preserver. “I want tonight to be perfect for you, Braeburn. We can be sad later.”

I don’t know if he wasn’t ready to face it yet, either, but he was right. There would be time for tears later. As the music started, I stood up and offered him a hoof. “Then I’ll be damned if I let you down.”

Relief washed over his face, and he took my hoof. “I love you, Braeburn.”

“I love you, too, Soarin’.” Truer words have never been spoken.

We danced. We lived. We breathed the cold night air as our bodies shook and bounced and twirled, feeling the joy of being together. And when we’d danced ourselves stupid and collapsed into a pile, Soarin’ nibbled on my ear, just the way I like, and he asked, “You having a good night?”

“The best of my life.”

He ran his hoof along my sweat-drenched body. “I'm glad, Braeburn. That's what I wanted. I want it to be perfect for you. If there's anything else you want, I'll make it happen.”

I knew what I wanted, and it wasn’t a gift or a show or any of the experiences folks dream about at the Summer Sun Celebration. All I wanted was something that only Soarin’ could give me. I leaned down to his ear, and I whispered, "I wanna make love to you, Soarin’ Windsong.”

He held me close. Even in the middle of a crowd of singing, dancing ponies, we might as well have been the only ones in the universe. “There’s nopony I’d rather do it with, Braeburn Apple.”

That ride back to the hotel felt different. I wasn’t afraid. We had already synced up, him and me, one soul in two bodies. I had everything I wanted, and there was no tomorrow. There was just the moment we shared.

And behind the closed door of our hotel room, we did as we’d said. We made love. Real love. The kind that’s not even about pleasure. My body enjoyed it, sure, but truthfully, I hardly noticed. The whole time, all I could think, all I could feel was my coltfriend, Soarin’ Windsong, and his desire to be with me, and my desire to be with him. Our bodies were just vehicles for our spirits. It was fluid, like a mixing of blue and yellow paint that creates the most beautiful green, the same green as the trees and the grass and all the life in the world.

It felt like I was alive, like I had woken up for the first time in years. I was meant to be with Soarin’, and him with me. It was natural. It was in line with the stars. Our love felt like it could bring all the desert flowers into bloom all by itself, like it could fill all of Equestria with color. I’ve said it before: Soarin’ is so full of life. He shared that life with me, and he awoke it in me, too. And I want to share that life with him forever.

But…

…

Even the most beautiful dreams have to end. We held on as long as we could. We were lost in each other and didn’t want to be found, but as we lay panting in the hotel room, the rest of the world, the story and the truth that we’d been running from ever since we’d left Appleloosa, it all finally caught up with us.

There I was, the love of my life lying on top of me. I had felt everything I wanted, and when the moment came…

I faltered. “I can’t do it, Soarin’.” I could feel his heart collapsing. He hugged me, and I hugged him back. “Please don’t be mad.” And all of a sudden, I knew what he’d felt back at the orchard, on our first date. “Please just… Please just hold me tonight. I need you, Soarin’. I still need you.”

Soarin’ wrestled with himself, and I could see on his face that I was causing him so much pain, maybe even more than if I had brought myself to say it. All he could manage was a choked, “Okay,” as he moved to spoon me.

I felt exhausted. I felt like I had nothing left. And I felt like a failure, because I was.

I held onto the one thing in the world I knew. “I love you, Big Blue.”

He held me tight, and he whispered back, “I love you, too, Applebutt. I always will.”

I cherish that moment. If Soarin’ had been any other pony, he could have gotten mad. He could have made it all about himself, accused me of messing up all his plans. Or he could have broken down and fought me over it. Hell, earlier in our relationship, he would have done exactly that. But not that night. That night, Soarin’ put aside his fears and his anger. He put aside everything, just so I would know I was loved.

How could I leave a pony like that behind?

And yet, Soarin’ wasn’t done. He wouldn’t let me make a mistake that would cost me my future, my happiness, even if he was collateral. I fell into a fitful sleep, barely able to fight away consciousness as my heart ached for the pain I was putting him through. And Soarin’ stayed with me, and he let me know it would be okay.

I could hear him that night. Maybe not all the words, but enough of them. They reached me in my dream. It was a terrible dream, the two of us huddled out in a cold winter with only each other to keep warm, but that heat felt like it was dying. But he kept saying, “It’s okay, Braeburn. It’s okay. I want you to be happy. I promise I’ll be okay. I love you. It’s okay to leave me. I love you. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

And I shivered against the cold. I huddled tighter and tighter to Soarin’. I couldn’t speak, but I ached for him. I didn’t want to leave him like this.

But he just repeated it. “I’ll be okay. I love you. You can leave. It’s okay.” I could feel his voice getting weaker. It terrified me, but in my dream, I finally opened my eyes. I could see my orchard. It was right in front of me, not two steps away, all sunlight and warmth. And I looked behind, and I saw the Wonderbolts flying through the sky, cheered on by thousands of ponies. It was just our little patch of earth, just the spot where the two of us were, that made us both shiver and feel so cold.

I told him without speaking, “But how will I know you’ll be alright?”

And Dream Soarin’ just kept responding, “I promise I’ll be fine. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

And…

…

I stood up. I stood and walked two steps, and I was in my orchard. All the cold left my body, and as soon as I had feeling, I turned around to look at Soarin’, but he was gone. I squinted, and I saw him. He was free. He was soaring through the skies, true to his name, living life without me. I knew deep down that we both hurt, but he was happy. He had earned what he needed. He would be okay.

I smiled, and my eyes fluttered open as the tiniest glimmer of morning dawn crept into our hotel room.

Soarin’ wasn’t wrapped around me anymore. But even so, I wasn’t cold.

I raised my head, and I saw my beautiful coltfriend. His eyes had bags. He snored. He looked like a lump of a pegasus with beautiful wings splayed all behind him. And he was beautiful.

My chest felt full, and a sob rose to my throat. I let myself be sad for just a moment, and I whispered, “I’ll do it, Big Blue. For both of us.”

With that, I stood up to pack my things.

Chapter 16 - The Art of Conversation

“I love you, Soarin’.”

Those were the first words I spoke when he woke up. As he joined me by the window, I held onto that feeling for dear life. We went back and forth on how silly it all was, how we both knew what was happening, but Soarin’ had been right. I had to say it. I had to make it real, for the both of us.

“I love your sense of humor. I love how much you care about me, even if it means you don't get what you want. I love how handsome you are and how you show me so many things I don't know about." I trembled. "I l-love how you make me feel when I'm around you. I love you." I felt myself shaking. "But I'm leavin' you."

…

I got the clean break that I wanted. If you remember nothing else about Soarin’ Windsong, remember this: there is nothing he can’t do. When it came time, he let me go. There were tears, of course. Laughs, too. I even gave him my hat to remember me by, since that dang fool still hadn’t gotten one for himself.

In the midst of it all, he was still looking out for me. Half slumped over, he told me, "You don’t have to face Bronze on your own. You have a team, Braeburn. They're all on your side, and… and I'm never going to stop rooting for you."

There is not a spiteful bone in his body. There I was, bringing him face to face with loneliness, and all he could think was to remind me that I would be okay, that I had good ponies on my side. Even if it felt like I was leaving my heart in that hotel room, he made sure I knew I could carry on.

That’s love right there. And that’s what gave me the strength to walk out the door for what I thought would be forever.

The world felt quieter as I stood on the hotel’s threshold. The city noise was muted. The vibrant smells and colorful buildings had gone dull. And me? I felt numb. The only spark in me was the thought, 'Soarin' loves me enough to let me go. I won't let him down.' I took a deep breath, said to myself, "Eyes forward," and took my first steps into the light.

The trip to the train station was painfully uneventful. It felt like something more was supposed to happen, like I should get mugged or nearly get hit by a cab, but it was just… nothing. It was over.

I kept feeling for my hat, thinking I'd forgotten it, but I laughed at myself each time when I realized that it wasn't mine anymore. Being hatless helped me blend in, honestly. The train station was already packed with folks trying to get home before the real rush on Monday. I hesitated at the ticketing window, and Soarin’s words rang in my head. He was right. If nothing else, our Equestrian tour together showed me that. For what I was facing, I knew I’d need my whole team on my side. I told the cashier, “One for Hoofenburgh, please.”

From wandering the platforms to getting a quick breakfast at an overpriced, greasy, diner at the station, nopony asked me who I was or where Soarin' was hiding (and it would stay that way, thanks to some quick thinking from Big Blue and a favor from a kindly ex-marefriend of his). I sat on the bench next to a young couple reading their magazines. They didn’t even look up. I waited for the train alone. I was back to being a nopony.

It gave me time to think clearly, something I'd had precious little of the past couple months. And yet, nothing came. My head and chest were empty. I idly spun my ticket in my hooves. "Back to Appleloosa," I mumbled. "Home." Everything still felt dull. I'd left my heart in Baltimare.

The train was stuffed with ponies. Everyone was tired from a full weekend, so they didn't have time to notice me. It was just as well. I didn’t notice any of them, either, and I barely noticed when the train pulled into Hoofenburgh.

It felt wrong dragging myself to Auntie Crisps’ again unannounced – and to be clear, “dragging” is the operative word there – but she spotted me on the road, so I didn't have time to turn and run. She galloped up to me with a big smile.

I waved when she got close. "Hey there, Auntie Crisp. Sorry to–"

"Oh, shush. Hugs first." She threw her forelegs around me. She was covered in dirt and smelled like the orchard, just like farmer should be. "I'm always happy to see you."

I was shocked how hard I squeezed her back, and even more so that I couldn't bring myself to let go. I remembered Soarin's voice. 'It's okay.'

I breathed.

It was like she could sense when I was finally ready. Auntie Crisp spoke evenly and quietly, like she was worried her voice could shatter a room full of crystal. Like usual, she could read me like a book. "Did it happen again?"

"No,” I whispered. I cast my eyes to the dirt. “It was different this time. It was better.” My whole barrel suddenly ached. “But it hurts much worse."

She gave me a little laugh, the kind you give a foal when they injure themselves on the playground so that they know it'll be okay. "That's always the way, ain't it?"

I insisted on not keeping her from her work, and she insisted on keeping me company. Apples are stubborn, so after some negotiation, we agreed that I'd help her all afternoon, then we'd knock off early to make a nice dinner. "Since you're helping, it'll go twice as fast." It wouldn't, and we both knew it, but that was as much of a concession as I could get from her.

We spent the afternoon taking core samples from a few trees to test their health. The Springsweets still needed extra care, and even if a lot of the specifics went over my head, I loved learning about the science of it all.

That night, I gave her the rest of the story in the parlor. I don’t hardly remember talking about it. It felt like I was a piano player, hitting every note with perfect precision but somehow missing the life behind the music. She listened, and she gave me more hugs than I can count. I needed every single one.

When I'd finished, she set a hoof on my shoulder. "That pegasus really left a mark on you, didn't he?"

I laughed. "I could probably do with a few less marks. Seems like I'm getting quite a few these days."

"Aren't some of them good, though?"

My foreleg itched, but it was quickly replaced with the memory of Soarin’ holding me the previous night. One last time. "I suppose, but I'm doubting myself on just about everything these days."

She chuckled. "And yet you're still wearing that stud, I see."

I hadn’t felt the weight of it until she mentioned it. I reached up and touched it, and my memories fluttered to the day I’d gotten it. I looked back at Auntie Crisp, and she nodded in return. She was holding back and waiting for me to get to the right conclusion. I swallowed. “You’re gonna say he’s still with me. You want me to know he’s still thinkin’ of me. That he’s still wearin’ his stud, too.” I held a hoof to my heart. “You want me to know that he’s going to be with me forever.”

Her smile turned into a smug little smirk. “Did you ever doubt it?”

I flicked my ear and felt it again. “Never.”

She leaned in and pulled my head close, so that she could give me a kiss on the forehead, like she had ever since I was a foal. “Keep it in your heart.”

I stayed overnight. Didn’t sleep, of course, but at least I was someplace familiar. I didn’t cry that night. I think it was because it didn’t feel real yet, even after talking about it. Everything felt like the few moments when you wake up from a dream, where you’re still getting acclimated to reality. It was a floaty feeling, like a beach ball in the water. Auntie Crisp brought me some herbal tea at around midnight when she realized I was awake (or maybe it was intuition), and she kept me company far longer than I felt I had the right to. And once she was gone, I lay back down, and I traced my stud with my hoof. “Keep it in my heart,” I repeated. “I will, Big Blue.”

I packed up the next morning, much to Auntie Crisp’s protests, but she relented when I told her that I needed to keep moving. After sending a quick letter to Slate about my eventual return, I took the early train to Ponyville. I half-slept in my seat from sheer exhaustion and only woke up as the announcement was made that we were pulling up to the station. For old time’s sake (and because I’d learned not to trust Little Bloom), I hopped off the train about a mile outside the town as it slowed down. The attendant saw me, and she was spittin’ mad, but there wasn’t much she could do about it.

Like usual, I found Big Mac out in the fields. He was weeding the carrots under an oppressive summer sun, and the air was perfumed with the smell of fresh hay. I hid behind a tree and hissed, “Psst. Cousin!”

“Bah!” He jumped with a fright, then looked all around. “Uh… Hello?”

I snickered. “Here, dummy.” I stepped from behind the tree.

“Braeburn!” He trotted over to me and gave me a big hug. “Aw, and here I am flat-hoofed. Didn’t know you were comin’.” He paused, and went stoic. “You on the run again?”

“Not quite.” I let my bags slump off my shoulders. “I’ve, uh… Soarin’ and I…”

He snorted. “He didn’t mistreat you, did he?”

I shook my head. “Just the opposite. He treated me with nothin’ but respect. He made sure I’m gettin’ what I need, but that means, well…” I flicked my ear to feel the stud. My eyes fell.

Mac shifted onto his right side. “Means what?”

Folks had always said it was supposed to get easier with time and retelling. Whenever I’ve grieved, that’s been the advice. And yet, here I was, and the weight of it was heavier than it had been with Auntie Crisp. I had to push it out of my mouth. “Well, we ain’t together no more.”

Mac straightened up. “Oh, my. You, uh… you okay?”

“Hasn’t really hit me yet, I don’t think.” I shrugged. “Well, it has, maybe a bit, but it’s windin’ up for another blow.” I met his eyes. “Soarin’ gave me some advice, and I think it’s good. That’s why I’m here.”

Mac raised an eyebrow. “So why you hidin’ out in the trees?”

“I’d like to talk to my whole family, minus Bloom.” I gasped and waved a hoof. “N-n-not that I don’t like her! It’s just, uh… She’s…”

“Haha!” He threw his head back in laughter. “Naw, you ain’t wrong. I get it. Hm…” He tapped his chin. “I bet I can get her to go to a sleepover tonight. Do you mind waitin’ out here for a while?”

Getting a filly to go see her friends is like bucking an apple off a stick. AJ helped out this time and took Bloom and her friends on a campout, and they didn’t suspect a thing.

That night, around the kitchen table and some peach cobbler, I told the story again to Granny and Big Mac. I’d still expected it to hurt less this time. I was wrong. I shook and rattled my silverware as I neared the end. “And he let me go. It hurt him. I know it damn near killed him. But he did it.”

Granny shook her head. “Aw, he didn’t ‘let you’ do nothin’, Braeburn.”

My hoof slammed on the table, harder than I would have liked. “He did, though, Granny!” I had never shouted at Granny before. “You don’t know how hard that was for him!”

I think she would have scolded any other member of the family for acting out like that, but that night, she just waved it off. “Pfft, I don’t give a sack of applesauce about some flighty bird-kisser.” Please forgive the slur. She’s from a different time. “Braeburn, you chose to leave. You gotta stand by that decision, ‘stead of heapin’ it all on Soarin’.”

Big Mac sat with his forelegs folded. “She’s right, Braeburn.”

“Durn tootin’! I knew you were the smart one.”

I fiddled with a cup of cocoa. "I'm still worried about him."

Big Mac raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Mac, don't be cruel." I looked up and saw Mac had that soft little smile of his. He was waiting for me to understand something, too. I wondered if he’d learned it from Auntie Crisp. "I don't want him to suffer."

Mac just nodded. "Is he the most important pony to you?"

I looked back at my mug. "Yeah. I think he is."

"More important than yourself?"

My voice caught in my throat.

Mac continued. "And think about what Soarin' would say."

I sighed. He had me there. I hadn’t stopped thinking about what Soarin’ would say since I’d left. It was his words that rang in my head and kept me going. Too bad for me, I don’t think I’d really listened. I’d clung to the sound of his voice, sure, and I’d taken his advice. But that wasn’t what was really at the heart of it.

I relaxed my jaw and mumbled, "He'd want me to take care of myself."

"Don't mumble," Granny chided.

"Sorry.” I unpacked my thoughts one at a time. “He'd want me to take care of myself first. He knows I need it. He… He wants me to be okay before I ever worry about him." I ran a hoof through my mane. "I ain't so good about putting myself first, though."

"Ain’t that the truth. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get you a Hearth's Warming present?" She sat up and waved her hoof around. "Every year it’s some nonsense about 'Oh, just come fer a visit' or 'Your hospitality is enough.' Braeburn, I'm old! I don't wanna travel, I just wanna send ya' a nice broom or somethin'! Now what was I sayin'?" She scratched at her neck. "Oh, right. The true meaning of Hearth's Warming is family. Or… somethin'."

I laughed. "Thanks, Granny. I'll try to pick better gifts." I turned to Mac. "And I'll try to take care of my needs. If I can figure out what those are."

Mac leaned onto the table. "So what comes first?"

I had a long, hard think about it. "I gotta tell Ma and Pa about us. About how we–" The sadness welled up again, but I pushed it back down. "...how Soarin' and I aren't together. They deserve to hear it from me. I ain’t makin’ that mistake again."

Mac smiled. “Eeyup.”

I spent all of Wednesday with Big Mac. He told Bloom that he was making another trip out to Our Town, and the two of us spent the night camping out in the wilderness. We didn’t say much, and we didn’t need to. Any time I started worrying about Soarin’, Mac would ask again: was I going to stand by what I knew was right? I would think of Soarin’ and what he was sacrificing for me, and I always replied, “Yes.”

We returned the next morning in time for the train out to Haulahay. Bloom was with her friends, AJ gave me all kinds of hugs, and Mac gave me a solid pat on the shoulder that helped me stand up a little straighter. Granny offered to introduce me to a friend of hers from her bridge club that was still a “dynamo in the sack, despite his age.” I politely declined, and I took special care in not asking how she knew something like that.

And back on the train I went, another day with myself and my thoughts. They weren’t silent this time. I didn’t openly weep on the train, mostly out of fear of drawing attention from the dozen or so other passengers, but more and more, it felt like the sadness was an army, and I had nothing but a toothpick to fight them off.

Outside of Haulahay, I stayed in the same motel that Soarin’ and I had stayed at before. I asked for the same room, in fact, but it wasn’t available, and I collapsed into bed and didn’t rise until the next morning. My dreams that night were beautiful and cruel.

I got to my parents’ front door in the late morning after a whole lot of dawdling. As fate would have it, half a continent away, my lover was meeting his mother, too, not twenty minutes earlier than me. I like to think our hearts were still intertwined like that, even if we didn’t know it.

The knocking came slowly this time, but Ma answered quick, like always. “Braeby! You–” She saw I was alone.

It all washed over me again. My tear ducts filled. My shoulders were tight. My mind raced with images of what she’d have to tell her friends now about the gay son who couldn’t hold a relationship to save his life. I had flashbacks to my previous visits, and I told myself that they’d worked out in the end. But unlike when I’d had Bronze and Soarin’, I thought I was completely alone.

But I wasn’t. Ma’s eyes drooped at the sides, but she forced a smile and held a hoof to her heart. She knew right away. “Come on inside, son. You’re home.”

I hugged her right in the doorway for Celestia knows how long. I wrenched my eyes shut, keeping the emotions in check, even as my throat tightened and my legs shook. I didn’t even hear Pa wander up and hug me, too, but I sure as hell felt him.

I told myself I still had to be the adult, because my parents weren’t ready for me to explain away another breakup. At the back of my mind, wicked thoughts stirred about them scolding me, their whore son, for sleeping and splitting on another stallion, but it didn’t come to pass.

Instead, we went inside, settled in the family room with some herbal tea, and Ma and Pa sat and listened to the story. It was the third time in four days, and this time, it felt like somepony was pulling my muscles out of my body like a long strand of spaghetti. I kept myself from sobbing – kept telling myself I had to stay strong – but the tears still flowed. Pa offered me a drink, but I declined, and he didn’t offer again.

At the end of it, I wiped some snot on my fetlock and finally looked up. “So that’s it. We’re done.” My neck ached from how much I’d been hunched over. I looked up at them, holding hooves opposite me on the couch. “Granny says that he didn’t let me go, that I was the one who decided, but I feel like, well, like it was a team effort, I guess.”

The silence was thick in the air, like curdled butter.

Pa grunted. “Proud of you, Braeburn. That’s a tough loss.” His jaw moved, but I don’t think he had anything else to offer.

He was trying his best, and I had to give him credit for that. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

He squeezed Ma’s hoof. “I know it hurts, son, but…” He sucked on the inside of his lips. He wanted a cigar, badly, but he was holding off on it for my sake. “But you’ll be okay. You’ve got a lot goin’ for you back in Appleloosa. You’ve got friends there. Good ponies.”

The thought of Appleloosa tumbled through my brain. It all felt torn to pieces and floating around in chaos, like a snow globe made from memories. The only solid thing, the only detail I could be sure of, stood like a statue in the middle of my thoughts. “Well, and Bronze, too.”

“Then I’m goin’ back with you.”

I sat right up. Ma’s head pulled way back as she stared at Pa. She looked him up and down, but then she set her jaw and her eyes, and turned back to me. “Double for me, Braeby.”

There hadn’t been any hesitation this time. That’s what finally made the dam burst. “Thank you,” I choked out before it flooded out of me.

I swear, I got more hugs that week than any other time of my life. Every single one felt genuine. They never lost their warmth. Of course Soarin’ was right. I did have a team, one that had been right in front of me the whole time, if only I’d put in the work to trust them. I can never thank him enough for helping me see that.

Ma and Pa offered to drop everything and accompany me. I declined, saying that I needed to have this conversation with Bronze on my own, but that their support meant the world to me. They were no less stubborn than Auntie Crisp, though. They said they weren’t going to leave me high and dry, not this time, and they insisted on finally visiting Appleloosa the following weekend. They wanted the whole tour and everything. I don’t know what it is about my coltfriends and fixing things with my parents, but I’m a damn lucky stallion.

I spent two days in Haulahay. We talked about Soarin'. We talked about Appleloosa. They offered over and over to be with me when I faced Bronze. I told them the truth: knowing they were willing to fight for me was enough.

I lay in bed on Monday night. I was home, someplace familiar, but something didn’t quite sit right. "I got two homes now, I suppose." My chest got all heavy. "Maybe three."

My foreleg draped across my stomach, the other one behind my head. The ceiling was dark. At one time, my Pa had painted little stars with glow-in-the-dark paint, but when I’d gotten to be a teenager, I’d wanted them painted over. Too cool for beautiful stars and all that. I regretted it almost immediately. Sometimes, though, if I squint hard, I think I can still see a little of that glow coming through.

“Miss you, Big Blue.” I wondered about him going for a flight at night, among those beautiful stars. It was a danger for sure, with no way to keep from running into other pegasi. “That wouldn’t scare you one bit, would it?” I laughed. “Naw, you’d dive-bomb and twirl and spin and… whatever else you’d do. Deep in the dark. Never afraid.” My eyes closed. “You’re not alone, either, Soarin’. You’ve got a team, just like I’ve got mine.”

I lifted my head and looked at my door. My whole life, I always closed it when I went to bed. This was only the second time I’d left it open, just a crack. Subconsciously, I think. But this time, Soarin’ didn’t come in.

My head hit the pillow again. “You take care, Blue. Heck, maybe I can ask Jonah to tell Skywise to tell you how much I’ve been thinking about you for…” I blinked at the moonlight. “Has it been a week already?” My head rocked against the pillow. “Guess it has. I ain’t seen you for eight days.” I chuckled. “Still on my mind as much as ever.”

But he wasn’t the only one I was thinking about. I swallowed. “I’m seein’ Bronze tomorrow, Soarin’. I’m…” I didn’t know what I was. I hadn’t had time to focus on it. The whole week, I’d been with the ponies that loved me. I’d been thinking about the one who’d let me go. There hadn’t been room in my head for fear of an ex-coltfriend, a relationship that felt like a sand-encrusted relic.

“I ain’t afraid, Big Blue.” I scratched at myself. Ma wouldn’t have approved, but she wasn’t around. “I’ll admit, it’s a mighty uncomfortable thing to face. I suppose that’s why I haven’t. It’s been easier to relish our memories. Heh. Not sure I’ll ever get over you, Soarin’.”

The air buzzed. I could hear the crickets outside, the small creak of the house against the wind, and the stillness of my room. My muscles were relaxed. The taste of toothpaste and cream pie lingered on my tongue. I could smell his feathers, just a little, or maybe it was my imagination.

But I was at ease. “Or… maybe I will someday.” And as sad as it was, I let myself smile.

At that moment, I think I was over Bronze. Soarin’ wasn’t a rebound – I will never let him think it was – but he’d shown me a different way. I didn’t need Bronze in my life anymore. Soarin’ had released… No, we’d let each other go, and I was standing by my decision. And I could let Bronze go, too.

But I wasn’t quite ready to be done with my blue featherhead. “Mind if I dream about you tonight, Big Blue?”

I could practically hear him say, “Sure, but wet dreams only.”

I snorted, then turned and buried my head in the pillow to stifle the laughter. I marveled at how that pony had gotten into my head over the past months. I fell asleep to dream about him.

…

And dammit, I was so pent up from being with family all week that dream Soarin’ got his wish.

Despite Ma and Pa’s objections, I left on my own that Tuesday. I wasn’t alone, though. I kept Soarin’ in my heart, along with all my family, and I didn’t fear.

That train ride was the quietest I’ve ever been. I looked out the window and let the world pass me by. I noticed everything, from the whispered conversations of ponies nearby, to the difference in temperature between the car and the glass window, to the places where my vest touched my body. I felt at one with everything around me. I imagined it must have been how boulders felt. And I felt about as tough and unshakable as one that day.

As the scenery rolled by, it became more and more familiar. I started identifying rocks that I’d passed by dozens of times in my life. The closer I got to Appleloosa, the more I felt my heart bloom. Something about the familiarity, the need for hard work, the call of settling someplace other ponies couldn’t – it all called to me. This was where I belonged. It still is, no matter how often I need to go to Canterlot to help it grow.

I opened the window a crack and smelled the dusty air. It filled my lungs and swirled inside me and filled up my whole body, like the first breath I’d taken after spending months underwater.

I didn’t feel lonely, as weird as that was. I’d expected to. But I thought about Ma and Pa, Big Mac, Aunt Honeycrisp, and most of all, I thought about Soarin’. They believed in me. They’d all heard the truth, and they were still with me, right behind me, cheering all the way and giving me space to do what I needed to do. For them, and for myself, I could stand up to Bronze.

About halfway between Haulahay and Appleloosa, a blue earth pony stallion swaggered up and sat down next to me. “Vacation?” he asked.

I looked over at him. He was cute, for sure, but it felt different. “Goin’ home, actually.”

We chatted a bit, and I gave him the schtick about all the things he should do while he was there. He introduced himself as River Rush, and he finally asked what I knew was coming. “So, I’ve heard there’s this pony out there who’s famous for welcoming outsiders, if you catch my drift.”

I nodded. “You’re lookin’ at him.”

“Oh! Uh…” He blushed. “Lucky me, then! You still doing the traditional welcome?” He flashed a smile that I think he meant to be sexy.

I considered him. The thought ran through my mind that, once I’d talked with Bronze, I would be single again. I could do what I wanted. And yet… “Sorry to disappoint, stranger, but I’m not in the game right now.”

“Aw, shoot,” he said with friendly dramatics. “That Wonderbolt ruined you?”

I shook my head. “Not ruined, River. Just… gave me a lot to think about.” I saw another stallion, a buff-looking unicorn, glancing our way. He had this look of frustration on his face, the same look you get in a bar when somepony else hits up a handsome stallion before you work up the nerve. I jerked my head towards him. “But you ain’t struck out just yet.”

River looked over his shoulder, and the unicorn looked away. They exchanged near-misses for a while, until they finally met eyes and smiled at each other. River looked back at me. “Well, thanks for your honesty. Looking forward to the weekend.” He stood up to go chat with his new prospect.

I chuckled. “You have fun, now, River.”

And I wanna be clear: there’s nothing wrong with casual sex, at least not in my book. My fellow townsfolk may disagree, but we all need comfort sometimes, right? Love blossoms in different ways. Sometimes you court a pony like folks have done for generations, and you get your fairytale. Sometimes your cart gets overturned by a big blue idiot, and you have the adventure of a lifetime, full of twists and turns and heartache. And sometimes, you bond with a stranger on a train over getting some ass out west.

That buff unicorn’s name was Halo, by the way. He and River got married this past June. Probably the strangest thank-you card I’ve ever gotten, but I cherish it all the same.

I didn’t hardly think for the rest of the train ride. I’d start to go down the road of what to say or how to act, but unlike every other moment in my life, I wasn’t worried about what somepony else would think. I didn’t feel like I needed to prepare. I felt solid, like I was made of diamond, and everything came back to one thought, which I said out loud as the train rolled to a stop. “I’m ready.”

Bronze was waiting for me, of course, right on the train platform. He had a sparkly orange bag with gold tissue paper next to him, and he wore this smile that… Well, it reminded me of games of cards. It was the smile you wore when you knew you’d win the pot, and now the game was just getting your opponent to bet more.

Soarin’ once told me that he was worried about the train station, how he thought I’d throw myself at Bronze as soon as I stepped off. I laughed to myself at that. I understood his concern, but standing on the precipice, it felt ridiculous.

I grabbed my luggage and exited the train. Bronze breathed in deeply and said, “Sight for sore eyes. Good to see you again, Applebutt.”

I raised a hoof. “‘Braeburn’ is fine.”

It’s rare to see Bronze shaken up. He’s gotten real good at hiding it. “Aw, well… Okay, Mr. Braeburn,” he said with a wink.

I took a few more steps onto the platform so other folks could get off, and Pridesong was there to welcome everypony. He started his whole tourism speech before he saw me. “Braeburn! Welcome back!” His face went pale when he realized I was talking to Bronze. His ears folded down. “Do you, uh, want to take over the tour?”

I smiled. “I’m good, Pride. And thank you, I’m happy to be back.” I turned back to Bronze. “I hear you’ve left some things in my house. Wanna grab ‘em quick?”

Bronze took a half-step back. “Sure, App– Braeburn.” His hoof knocked the bag. “Oh, I got you a gift.”

“Let’s save it for back at my place, Bronze.” I grabbed my luggage, even though he made a move to help, and we walked towards my house.

I could feel him next to me. It was like a giant machine, tailor-made to calculate and manipulate, to find just the right buttons to push to get what he wanted. There was a danger to him, an unpredictability, thrilling in its own way, yet one I’d found terrifying in the past, like he’d been a sword hanging above my head that could drop at any moment. Now, walking towards the house I hadn’t seen in two months, he didn’t feel any less dangerous, but I’d realized something: as long as I kept my wits about me, I could step out from under the sword.

Bronze carried the sparkly bag. “Slate told me you were comin’ home.”

“Or you stole his letters,” I responded casually without looking at him.

He paused, then laughed. “Can ya’ blame me? I was so excited to see you again.”

‘Wish I could say the same.’ I could have said it out loud. I could have turned his cruelty back on him, and I bet a lot of folks would tell me I should have. But I’m not that kind of pony. “I’m glad you’re doin’ okay, Bronze.” That much was true.

We arrived at my house, and I unlocked the door. Walking in, I could feel it. The air was stale. Nopony had been inside. That was a comfort. “Come on in. We should probably talk.”

I felt an intense, needy energy swell behind me, and it made my spine tingle. Bronze stepped in after me, set the bag down, and immediately pressed my back up against the wall, his chest against mine. I dropped my luggage to the floor as I took him all in. He was the same, muscular stallion with the more gorgeous wings in Equestria and eyes that were made of magic. His breath was hot, rough, and dripping with lust. “Been waitin’ a long time, Applebutt.” He closed his eyes and leaned in for a kiss.

And like I was waving away a butterfly, I held a hoof to his lips. “No.”

Bronze froze.

And I kept going, even and calm as a stream in springtime. “You ain’t my coltfriend, Bronze. We need to talk.”

He shook his head, but he didn’t back off. “The hell did that Wonderbolt do to you, Braeburn? You ain’t a cruel pony.”

It’s amazing what a little experience can do for you. I stared him down. “You’re right. I ain’t. That’s why you deserve the truth.” My voice gained a slight edge. “Now, let me go.”

Bronze held himself against me, then sneered and backed off. He mumbled, “The thanks I get…” He picked up the bag and walked towards the couch. Our couch, the one we’d always cuddled on.

Bronze had taught me too well for his own good, or maybe my time with Soarin’ had taught me to face things as they are, full of beauty and pain at the same time. In either case, I knew what that couch signified. He wanted to be comfortable, to relive the good times, and to put me at ease. But this wasn’t supposed to be an easy conversation. “Let’s chat at the kitchen table, Bronze.”

He looked back at me. The bag hung from his teeth. He shrugged. “Probably better that way. Might wanna grab a few shot glasses.”

‘Not a bad idea,’ I thought, and then I tensed so hard that a blood vessel popped in the back of my head. I felt pain, immediate and warm, and I took a deep breath. ‘No. None of that shit today. You don’t need it.’

“You okay?”

I sighed and walked into the kitchen. “I’ll be honest: not really, but we’re here, and I ain’t gonna run from it.” The chairs squeaked as we pulled them out and sat opposite each other. He set the bag on the table in front of me, but I said, “I can’t accept that, Bronze.”

He nudged it with his nose. “At least open it, Braeburn. I promise it ain’t anything nefarious.”

Maybe he believed that. Regardless, I reached in and pulled out a bottle. Cinnamon whisky, the same as he’d given me at our first Hearth’s Warming together. My mouth watered, but I repeated, “I can’t accept this. I’m sorry, Bronze, but I’m trying to quit.”

He sneered. “Why?”

I drew into myself like a turtle. It was the first crack in my confidence. “I don’t wanna say.”

Bronze raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said you were gonna be honest.”

“Yeah, I–”

“So be honest.” I looked up at him. He was attentive. Focused. He took his hat off and set it on the table, and I saw that beautiful mane bounce on his head, clumped a little from the desert dust. His gaze settled back on me. “Go on. It’s just you and me. You’re safe here.”

I unclenched my jaw. “I’ve made some bad decisions w–”

“I’ll say,” he spoke over me, and I flinched.

“–when I’m drunk, Bronze. When I’m drinkin’ at all. When it’s a habit. It’s never a good sign.”

“So you’re gonna fight it all alone? Braeburn, you really think you can do that?” He leaned forward on the table. “I’ve seen what happens when you get bored. I admit, I should have done more to stop you from bein’ so reckless.” He held a hoof to his heart. “That’s on me. But you lost your damn mind on that stuff. If you’re serious about this, I don’t want you to be without support.” Everything he said was so comforting. It was exactly what I wanted to hear. He knew that.

I shook my head. “I don’t want your help, Bronze. We drank a lot together, and–”

He snorted. “You blamin’ this on me?”

“Not at all! Bronze, I know you–”

“I just want the best for us, Braeburn.” He shook out his mane. “And I know you do, too. I know you don’t want either of us to hurt.”

I stumbled on my words. “That’s… true.”

My mind whirled. He saw everything, plain as day, and he was two steps ahead of me. He was defending himself against anything I could say by framing it as an attack against him, making me doubt my own feelings, because what kind of pony would I be if my true feelings ended up hurting somepony I cared about?

That’s why we practice, I guess. That’s why we gotta wreck a perfectly good relationship with a somepony we love, because it makes us ready for the next one. My wits came back to me, and I looked Bronze square in the eye. “But we can’t hide from the pain, Wings.”

He paused. He cast his eyes down. “You sound like you’re about to rip my heart out, Braeburn.”

"I want to tell you the truth, Bronze. I want you to know I’m speakin’ from the heart."

His voice dropped. "You keep sayin’ that. So tell me the truth: do you still love me?"

He'd set a trap for me. If I said yes, he'd have his hooks back in me and could blame everything in the past few months on my recklessness. If I said no, he'd call me out for lying and mistreating him. He said he wanted honesty, but I think the truth is the one thing he wasn't ready for. I nodded. "Just like I still love Soarin'."

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His wings had been so tight and close to his body, but they dropped. His ears fell. Neither of us had expected the silence that followed.

I cleared my throat when I couldn’t take it anymore. "I know it's not the way you wanted. I–"

He grabbed the bottle of whisky and practically tore the top off, then shoved it in his mouth. He wasn't just taking a pull. He was chugging it.

My stomach turned with a phantom burning. "Bronze, stop that." He didn't. He drank a frightening amount of whisky as I stared at him, until I yelled, "Stop!"

"Why the hell should I!?" He slammed the bottle onto the table, hard enough to leave a mark. "Not like you wanted it! Not like you wanted me!" He wiped his mouth and threw his hoof around, swatting at the air. "This how you treat your coltfriends, Braeburn? Or am I just such garbage that it don’t matter? Would you treat Soarin' this way?"

I felt like wet paper. "Bronze, I wasn't trying to–"

"I don't give two shits what you're tryin', Applebutt, because look what you're doin'! Look what you're doin' to me!" He slapped his chest as he spoke. "I've been loyal to you, Braeburn! I could've left for good, but I knew it would hurt you. I waited for you for months. For months, I waited!" He jabbed a hoof at the window. "I went and worked the orchard – just like you said – and I learned! You think I liked it!? I did it for you, Applebutt. And you won't even consider what I have to say! How much I love you! How I've changed!"

It all felt so familiar. I started to collapse. My brain was fuzzy and disorganizes. My voice was weak. "I'm sorry, Bronze. I really, truly am."

He reached out and grabbed my hoof. "Just give me another chance, Braeburn. Please. Don't you owe me that much? After everything we've been through?"

I looked down at his hoof in mine. I loved the way our coats shone together in the light. "I want you to be happy, Bronze."

His voice got soft. "I want us to be happy, Braeburn. I'm here for you, right here, right now, when nopony else is.” That stung, but my heart knew he was wrong. “Can't we just try again? We're all we've got, Braeburn."

His grip was so strong and reassuring. I remembered all the times he'd held me, shielded me with those feathers of his. I remembered our dates and all the good times, and I…

I thought of Soarin'. I remembered this same feeling just a week prior, standing on the edge of a major decision, but now, I knew I could do what needed to be done. Bronze wasn't ready like Soarin' had been. Deep down, I knew that the two of us weren't right for each other.

And I remembered Honeycrisp, how she made sure I knew I would always be loved, Bronze or no. I thought about Granny and Big Mac, and how I needed to stand by my decisions and not be swayed. I thought of my parents, ready to accept me and welcome me back, ready to come visit when I needed them.

And again, I thought of Soarin'.

My eyes met Bronze’s. His eyes shimmered with a shifting uneasiness that I’d never seen. He was scared, just like Big Blue had been. But he was scared for himself. Bronze saw what he wanted, and he was willing to take it by whatever means he needed to use.

I finally realized: he’d convinced me to step under the sword again. He had me in his sights, and he’d been in control of the conversation since we’d sat down. But this time, I knew what he was doing, and I could stop it. “You’re doing it again.”

And just like that, I wasn’t under his spell anymore.

He coiled up like a viper. “Yeah, I’m trying to help you, Braeburn.”

I shook my head. My body tingled, down to my bones. My stomach felt like it had split in two, just to give me two different gut feelings. I wanted to comfort him. I wanted to send him away. I wanted to give in and to stand up to him at the same time. And since my gut was no help at all, I followed my heart. “No. You’re tryin’ to control me.”

His wings began to fan out, the way they always do when a pegasus feels threatened. “It’s not control to be lookin’ out for your best interest, Applebutt. I’m just trying to help you see the truth.”

It had taken a lot out of me to bring that thought to the surface, more than I’d been ready for. My nerves felt frayed, and I said, louder than I intended, “I know the truth already!”

Bronze was as unshakeable as I’d tried to be. “Calm down,” he scolded. I didn’t even realize how riled up he was getting me. Even if I was resisting, he could still steer the conversation better than any Canterlot politician.

“No!” I nickered. My head felt hot, but with him on the defensive, all my feelings rushed to the surface, and my diamond facade shattered. “I’m right to be angry, Bronze. Hell, I’m pissed. You fuckin’ hurt me, Bronze!”

He stuck out his lower lip and shrugged. “You hurt me, too.”

I snarled, “I never swung at you! Never broke your damn leg.”

“Don’t be dramatic.” He uncorked the whisky. “It was a fracture.” He took a short drink.

“Dra–” I was so hot I was choking on my words. “Dramatic!? Bronze, I’m scared of heights now! You gave me a black eye and a bruise! I’m still not comfortable in my own home, and I’ve been worried sick for months that you were gonna pull something while I was away, because how the hell do I know you wouldn’t, and then where would we be?”

With the slightest smirk and a cold stare from those sparkly eyes, Bronze casually slid the bottle of whisky towards me.

Still hot-headed, I snorted and grabbed it, then lifted it to my mouth without thinking. “You don’t know th–”

I stopped just before I tasted it. I could smell the fumes from the bottle. Almost cloyingly sweet, like candy, with spice that warmed my whole face. More than that, it brought me back in time. I remembered lying on the rug with him, laughing about how we’d made it through such a hell of a harvest season. I remembered making love in front of the fire. Exchanging gifts. Taking him home for Hearth’s Warming with Ma and Pa. I remembered loving him.

It was wonderful. It was a glimpse of paradise. And yet, I didn’t want it.

Gently, I set the bottle down. Slowly, I reached for the cork and resealed the alcohol inside.

Bronze’s eyes flickered between me and the bottle a few times. “You’re not just gonna let it go to waste, are ya’?”

My heart felt heavy. It was the same feeling I’d had with Soarin’, just days before. It was the feeling that told me it was time. It hurt. I knew I’d hurt him, too, and for all the things he’d done to me, I didn’t want to do it to him. But he had to hear it, just like I had to say it. And if I denied it any longer, he would get the better of me sooner or later. I had to do this for me.

I swallowed hard and sat up. “It wasn’t a waste, Bronze. None of it.”

He looked up and didn’t respond.

My body relaxed into my seat, and I forced myself to speak clearly. “I learned so much from you, Wings. Folks would probably call me a loon, but I’m grateful for what we had. You…” I glanced out the window, out to my orchard. “You’re a part of my life now. You showed me how to stand up for myself. How to have tough conversations. What real love felt like.” My head shook. “And you hurt me. Bad. And I wish you hadn’t, but here we are, and I grew from all that, too.”

I thought about telling him about my bruise: how, if he hadn’t given it to me, I would have never met Soarin’, the pony I loved even more than him. I didn’t tell him. I didn’t want to be cruel.

Bronze’s ears were down. “You’re talkin’ like it’s over.” He shook his head. “This conversation ain’t over. I ain’t done yet.”

“No, the conversation ain’t. But we are.”

He teared up, but he didn’t blink. Quietly, he asked, “Don’t you still love me, Braeburn?”

“I do. There’s a part of me that’ll always love you, Bronze.”

“I’m hopin’ it’s your whole heart.” He looked so small, then, like a colt who’d lost his mother, with two hooves in front of him on the table. Bronze had had it rough, and ultimately, I think he needed some comfort.

But I reminded myself that it couldn’t come from me. “I’m sorry, but it ain’t.”

…

And again, I’m grateful for the practice that Soarin’ had given me, because when the going gets tough, we always fall back on what we’ve done before.

That injured colt disappeared into a flash of anger. He grit his teeth. “So that’s it? Easy as that, kick me to the curb?”

I had to laugh bitterly at that. “This is anything but easy, Bronze.”

The air changed again. I was back to the times before Soarin’, when Bronze would storm in and threaten to tear down everything. My spine tingled. My shoulders drew in. I reminded myself that I’d been through this already, though I questioned the wisdom of telling my parents to stay home.

Bronze’s wings flared out, and he slammed the table. “Why!? Why can’t you just love me, Braeburn? This ain’t how it’s supposed to be!”

My eyes watered. I whispered, “I think it is.”

His eyes watered, too. He had raised a hoof to slam the table again, but as he leaned over it, he set his hoof down. “The hell does that mean?”

He loomed large over me. Throughout so much of our relationship, I relished his size and strength. It’s how he’d protected me. He was daring, confident, and stubborn enough to hold back a whole town’s fears and anger, so I wouldn’t have to face it myself. That’s not how we grow, though. Trees didn’t get to be big and hearty by being kept safe from the world. They take cultivation, and so do we.

I swallowed and looked up at him. His posture, his face, everything about him tried to project anger and pain. It all did, everything except his eyes. I still love those eyes. I think they must be magic. No matter how dark it gets, they have a light inside them. I hope it never gets extinguished.

…no matter how anypony might hurt him. “You learned, didn’t you?”

His wings drooped. “I don’t want to learn, Braeburn. I wanna be with you.”

“But you did learn, didn’t you?” I felt larger than him, like I was handling a newborn chick.

His jaw quivered, and he blinked. “I learned about the orchard, Braeburn, just like you said.”

“And what about ponies?”

He stared at me, and he sobbed. He collapsed into his chair with his forehooves on his temples.

I reached across the table and touched his shoulder. “It’s okay, Bronze.”

He knocked my hoof away. “Another fuckin’ step on the journey, right?” He didn’t look up. “Another little episode, and I keep wanderin’. That how it’s supposed to be?”

I spoke as gently as I could. “Wings, Appleloosa can be your home. You’re still welcome here. The folks around here care about you.”

He snapped up. “But you don’t!”

Just as softly, I said, “You know that ain’t true, Bronze.”

Bronze deflated, because he did know. He knew that I cared deeply about him, and even despite that, I had decided to break it off. “Y–” He huffed. Words piled up on his tongue but died on his lips. He was looking for more anger, but he couldn’t find it.

I stroked his hoof. “We both learned from it, Bronze. You’ve got something to think about, but like you said: you’ve changed.” I didn’t fully believe it, but he needed to hear it. “You can keep changing. Keep growing. Don’t let this be the end.”

“No.” His head shook, faster and faster. “No, this ain’t the end. I ain’t givin’ up on you, Applebutt.” He stood and violently grabbed the whisky. “I’ve heard that damn story about growth so many times. No more.” He turned and walked.

I sighed and stayed at the table. “Don’t do this to yourself, Bronze.”

He continued walking. I didn’t follow. For a moment, I thought that would be the last I’d ever see of him, and my soul ached for it.

He rounded the corner towards the front door, and all I could see were the flicks of his tail and a few feathers. “I ain’t givin’ up on you, Braeburn. Not on us.”

Every bone in my body told me to call after him, to go comfort him, to keep the conversation alive. My heart knew what we needed, though. Soarin’ had taught me to let go.

His voice quivered, and he yelled. “I don’t care what it takes, Applebutt. I’m gonna prove to you that I’m worthy of you. And I’m leavin’ this damn whisky here, whether you like it or not.” He stood there, right on the threshold, for an awfully long time, grunting and shaking around, like he couldn’t bring himself to leave. “I-I want you to think of me when you drink it. Just promise me you’ll think of me sometimes, okay, Applebutt? Please?”

I had to remain silent, for both of us, as cruel as it felt.

The air felt like glass, and Bronze finally broke. “I said I ain’t givin’ up!” I heard the glass bottle knock hard on the floor. He threw open the door, and it slammed behind him.

…

I’ve told you before: I can’t hate him. I think he learned from what we had, whether he wanted to or not. But that learning and growth is uncomfortable. It’s never what we want at the time, to be shaken out of our beliefs, no matter how destructive they might be.

But on the other side, it’s glorious. The house felt brighter. Freer. I sucked in the air of my home – my home, and nopony else’s – and for the rest of the day, it felt like it had when I’d first moved in. Despite my loneliness, despite my worries about what was to come, I felt that little spark again. It was a comfort, the idea that my future was my own, to shape how I wanted. I had hope again. I felt my heart, and I flicked my ear to feel the weight of my stud earring. And after about ten minutes of catching my breath, I smiled and whispered, “I did it, Blue.”

I breathed easier that day. Everything felt like it had ended, like I’d turned the last page of a book, and I had given myself room to contemplate the story. For years, maybe for most of my life, there had been this buildup of something that I’d known I’d have to face. It’d been present in my thoughts ever since I’d known I’m gay, and I could never, ever see past it. What a relief to find that I had survived and that there was so much more of my life to live.

Of course, if I’d been paying attention, I’d have remembered: the Wonderbolts backstage passes were in the side pocket of my luggage, which had been sitting right by the door.

Chapter 17 - Acceptance

Folks say that home feels smaller once you've seen the world. I suppose that's true, in a way, but returning to Appleloosa felt like putting on your favorite pair of boots. And the thing about boots is: you wear 'em so you can work.

I was still catching my breath when I heard a knock on the door. My whole body tensed, but I realized it wasn’t Bronze. He would have just walked back in. I unwound when I heard Copperline ask, "Braeburn? You in there?"

I took two deep breaths, then stood up and called back, "Comin’, Copper” as I walked to the door and opened it.

Copper stood there with a big grimace on his face, knees pointed inward like he was cold, and eyes that screamed for a hug. Pretty usual for him, honestly. "Welcome back, Braeburn. Hope I'm not interrupting anything."

I smiled and shook my head. "You're good, Copper. Truth be told, I could use something to take my mind off things for a bit."

"Oh thank goodness!" he sighed. "Because just about everypony in town has questions about the farm grant allocations, and Slate needs help with a letter from somepony named Long Reign or something, and, uh, shoot, I had five things." He grimaced again. "It's all back at my desk if you don't mind a walk?"

I chuckled. "That sounds great, Copper."

I've always thrown myself into my work. For years, it was an escape from facing my troubles. But after my time with Soarin', I found purpose in it again. The fears about the townsfolk not accepting me stung less and less. Catching up on the paperwork left me exhausted in the best way. Life had rhythm that I slid right back into, like I’d never left, and as much as I missed Soarin', the feeling was one of fondness, not loss.

Bronze had practically disappeared. Pridesong said he saw Bronze fly directly north from my house, likely following the train tracks. I wondered if I'd ever see him again, but I wasn’t afraid. It was a nice change of pace, not tying my happiness to another stallion. That had another effect on me, too: I realized I could appreciate a fine stallion without needing him in my bed. I won’t say that the desires went away, but maybe the “need” of it all was a little less.

Everywhere, life felt renewed. Folks seemed genuinely happy to have me back (though in Fertile Seed's case, it was because I kept folks from yelling at him so much). There were lots of ideas for new projects for the town, and a whole lotta folks wanted my input. If I were a cynical pony, I would say that it’s because I’m useful, but I felt more like a neighbor returning after a long trip.

Most magical of all, Slate and his wife Desert Bloom welcomed their new colt into the world, just three days after I got back. Things felt new again. Things felt right. The days passed quickly, and my biggest trouble was keeping the flies out of my face.

And with that energy, I welcomed my parents a week later. "Hey there! Welcome to AAAAAAPPLELOOSA!"

Ma beamed, and Pa cocked an eyebrow with a little smirk. “You greet all your guests like that?”

“Every single one, Pa!” I hooked them both by the shoulders. “C’mon, I’ll show you around. Y’all are gettin’ the full treatment!”

Matter of fact, they got even more than they bargained for. Pride gave the regular tour to the other three visiting families, and that left me to tend to my parents. I hardly made progress through the town, though. Just about everypony we bumped into wanted to meet ‘em and say how happy they were with my work and to have me home. I was redder than my cutie mark by the time we’d made it halfway down Mane Street.

But Ma and Pa ate it all up. Ma got real huggy, and she would say all sorts of things like, “Oh, my big Braeby has always been a go-getter. Did you know he’s been helping plan the orchards since before he started school?” Pa was no different. He’d stepped off the train with a little slouch, but by the time we were done, his head was so high that I might have mistaken him for a giraffe.

They loved my house, too. Although, to my shame, I still hadn’t unpacked my luggage. Ma was the first to notice. “Do you always leave your bag by the door? Hm-hm! Too busy with the town to even unpack?”

My heart felt heavy. Truth is, I didn’t want to move it. It was the last thing I’d done before leaving Big Blue. I think deep down, I believed my adventure with him wasn’t really over if I never unpacked.

But as I stared at it again for the umpteenth time, a little string untied itself from my heart. “Yeah,” I said with a nod. “I should take care of that.” I reached down and picked it up.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to scold, Braeby. You don’t need to do it now.”

I laughed and waved a hoof. “It’ll be okay, Ma. I gotta do it eventually.” I brought it upstairs, set it on my bed, and looked it over. To myself, I whispered, “When I’m ready.” I kissed the bag and went back down.

Pa was inspecting everything. He was rocking the hoof-made chairs, giving my couch a little kick, and knocking a hoof against the wooden walls of my house. His lips curled into a smug smile. “Seems like that dovetail joint is keeping everything in place.”

My head bounced side to side, and I smiled back at him. “Okay, okay, you were right.”

“And did you take my advice on the couch assembly?”

I perked up. “Actually, there’s a nifty trick you can pull with some of the shorter logs. My old, uh… My old buddy, Flint, showed me a while back.”

Ma laughed and walked towards the kitchen. “I know where this is going. You colts have fun. I’ll start on dinner.”

Pa raised an eyebrow. “Little trick, you say?” He walked over to the couch, crouched down, and inspected it closer. “Mind showing me what you mean?”

We talked shop so long that Ma threatened to throw our dinner to the coyotes. That meal felt just like back in Haulahay. Maybe better.

They insisted on staying at the Tumbleweed to give me my space, which was great and all, but I had promised them the full experience. We took the overnight camping trip that Pridesong always organized for the tourists. My parents loved seeing the stars in the big, big sky like that. I don’t know if they’d seen it so clearly since they were my age. And even with four families worth of ponies, there was little sound besides the murmured conversation and the slight whoosh of the soft breeze.

During s’mores, Pride approached the three of us, his guitar slung across his back. “Evenin’, folks. Thanks for comin’ out. You must be Cortland and Gala.” He tipped his hat. “I’m Pridesong. Folks call me Pride, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, Pride!” Pa was shaken, and I didn’t understand why until he added, “Are you, uh… one of Braeburn’s special friends?”

Pride’s face flattened. “Not that kind of Pride, sir. I’m straight as an arrow.”

Pa shrank. “Sir, I am verysorry for insinuating.”

Pride held up a hoof. “Happens all the time, sir.” He sat in the dirt. “I just came to tell you what a wonder your son is.”

I shook my head and smiled. “Oh, don’t start that.”

“Heh. I’m gonna.” He turned back to my parents. “None of this would be possible without his work, especially raising the orchard. We’d have starved long ago without him, and we’ve missed him terribly the last couple months. We managed, because he and the other founders helped set us up right, but it’s a mighty blessing having him back.” He looked at me. “We love him, and we love having him in the community.”

My heart raced, and I felt warm all over. My marshmallow toasted while I listened, and I held myself there, perfectly still.

Ma and Pa basked in it. Ma leaned on Pa’s shoulder, and Pa threw a hoof around her and said, “That’s very kind of you to say. Thank you for telling us.”

“We’re so proud of him.” Ma cast a glance my way. “I wouldn’t change a thing about him.”

The desert sands didn’t feel so cold that night. I drew warmth from more ponies than I ever thought possible.

…and from my marshmallow, which got burned all to hell.

Ma and Pa stayed for the whole weekend, and it was good feelings all around. At the Saturday Wild West dance, I showed off the dance moves I learned from the Wonderbolts, and as goofy as I felt, folks all joined in. The Sunday community brunch was just about as well-attended as I’d ever seen it, though I was approached by a few friends who…

…

Yeah. I have a lot of friends now, more than I'd ever believed.

A few friends approached me during the meal, eager to ask my advice on a town problem. And a lot just wanted to meet my parents, hear stories about my trip, and spend time with me. My parents got to see me in my element, and when they left on the Sunday train, Pa gave me the most solid hoofshake I've ever gotten. I promised to visit more often, and we said our goodbyes.

For a few days, I breathed easily. I didn't stop thinking about Soarin' or Bronze, but the load was lighter. I wished them both well every night before I fell asleep.

And I'd barely had a drink since I'd gotten back. Pa and I had split a flask of apple whisky, but that was it. Please don’t judge – it gave us something to bond over, and I let him know that I was trying to take it easy once we were done. The temptation wasn't that bad when I was so focused on my town and with friends around me. Even if a lot of it was work. I think spending time in my orchard helped, too. Managing water, culling the sickly fruit, spreading branches on the younger trees…

Those feelings carried me until Tuesday evening, when I was finally ready to unpack. It felt like a ceremony. I set my luggage square on the center of my bed and ran a hoof across the top. "Love you, Soarin'."

There wasn't all that much, but every item felt like a treasure. I took out the pink shirt he'd gotten me in Las Pegasus. It was still sweaty from dancing at the Sapphire Shores concert. No telling how much bacteria had grown on it since then. All the same, I held it up to my nose and sniffed deeply, and my eyes fluttered with the hint of Soarin' on it. I let the feeling wash over me, and then, I let it dissipate. "Gonna miss that a whole bunch. Thank you for everything, Big Blue."

Slowly, I draped it over my laundry basket to air out overnight, and I went back to unpacking. Giving each little object its moment, I took out my bolo tie, the quill pen made from Soarin's feather, and the pair of goggles he'd left at Auntie Crisp's the first time we'd met. Every one of them had a happy memory attached. I gave them all time to breathe.

That left the front pocket, and…

You know how your brain can tell right away that something is wrong? Call it intuition or subconscious or whatever, but it's that undeniable feeling that, even if you can't fully describe it, you know something ain't right.

The zipper wasn't closed all the way. I always zip it closed tight, and my heart leapt to my throat. "M-might have gotten jostled." I was lying, and I knew it. I hesitated, and I opened the pocket.

My backstage passes to the Wonderbolts shows. Soarin' had gotten them for me for the whole season. I kept them with my luggage so I'd never forget them. There were fewer than there were supposed to be, and they were all askew instead of folded nicely together.

I tore them from my luggage without a word. Three were missing: last week's, this week's, and next week's. "No," I whispered. I thought I would puke. "No, h-h-he wouldn't."

I checked through every pocket on my luggage four times. Nothing. I felt dizzy. I searched all around the house. They were gone. I knew what was happening, even if I wasn’t ready to admit it. I fell on my rear end and put a hoof to my temple.

My skin tingled like it wanted to crawl away. "He took 'em. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t!" I gasped for breath, and I could feel the adrenaline pumping all the way to my hooves. I knew how Bronze handled frustration, and as much as I tried to deny it, I knew what was happening. "No. No no no no!"

I threw my door open and ran to the train platform. I didn't even realize until I got there that no, of course there wasn't a train at sunset on a Tuesday. My throat sealed up, and I choked out, "Soarin'. Please…"

I paced up and down the platform and prayed he could hear me. "You're in trouble, Blue. What do I do?" I stopped and swallowed and wrenched my eyes shut, like my brain was a sponge and I could wring out a good idea. Thankfully, I heard Soarin’ one more time. "I have a team.”

I took off towards Slate’s house, but he was dealing with a new foal, and I almost toppled over myself screeching to a halt. The world spun as I looked around Mane Street. Folks were filing out of the Salt Block, but I still heard music. "Pride!"

I dashed to the door, but I forced myself to walk to not cause a panic. Pride was just putting away his guitar when he saw me approaching him like I had a concealed knife. He shrunk away. "Braeburn? You seen a ghost or something?"

I whispered, "Out back."

Pride raised an eyebrow. "There's a ghost out back?"

I slapped a hoof to my face, then ushered him through the back door.

Pride turned to me as soon as we were outside. "Braeburn, what's all this about?"

"Soarin's in trouble!" I spat out. "Bronze, he–" My eyes got wet as the gravity of it hit me. "My passes are missing. He's gonna hurt Soarin'!"

Pride’s eyes were wide as the moon. A cold breeze blew between us, but he extended a hoof, placed it on my shoulder, and made sure we had eye contact. "Well, we ain’t gonna let that happen."

Hearing somepony else tell me it would be okay unwound me like a cat with a ball of yarn. "Thank you, Pridesong."

He grabbed his stuff and stayed up late with me at the city hall. We pored over train schedules and found a route that would get me out east as fast as possible. Everything routed through Canterlot on the supply train, and it was going to be a pain no matter what. I could arrive Friday at the earliest, depending on the city, but I had no idea which one it was in. I cursed my faulty memory. We came up with a plan that involved tight turnarounds and a fall-back if I missed an exchange.

I thanked Pride and ran home to pack some essentials. And once I had that, I froze. What could I do but wait? I paced some more.

Until I heard a knock on the door. I rushed to open it, then scratched my head. "Pride?"

He stood there with his guitar on his back, looking as exhausted as, well, a pony that had already stayed up past midnight looking at train schedules. "Yeah. Figured you could use some company."

Despite myself, I couldn't help saying, "You're just about the last stallion I'd expect to hear that from. Especially in the middle of the night."

He blushed and shook his head. "Don't make me regret coming here, Braeburn."

"Sorry. But… Why are you here, exactly?"

"Because if I know you at all, you'll be up all night worrying, and you need to be sharp for the trip." He nodded to his guitar. "Might as well have some music."

"You really don't have to–"

"I know, Braeburn. But you asked for help. I don't want to leave the job half done."

My mind felt like it wasn't bouncing around my skull anymore. "Thanks, Pride."

He put on a warm smile. "What are friends for?"

Pride kept me company all night, and with his beautiful voice, I actually got some sleep at around 2am. He stayed and slept on the couch, and in the morning, he promised to keep the rumors in check and get the other founders to pick up the slack.

The train didn’t leave until evening, so I busied myself with chores and getting affairs in order with the laborers until it was time. I hopped on with not much besides clothing, some essentials, and a few books.

That train ride was absolute hell. Imagine your home burning down, but you’re strapped to a table, and you can just barely see it out of the corner of your eye. You pray that it’s not too late, but every second that ticks by while you sit there, useless, is just a little more danger and loss. All I could do was ask every single other passenger if they knew where the Wonderbolt show was, but none of them knew.

Thank the stars for Pridesong and his extra work with me. There was a delay outside of Ponyville due to a giant cake on the tracks (guess who). I missed the early-morning trains and had to wait until noon to leave for Canterlot. I was shaking by the time I made it, and I was so wracked with worry that I could barely read the train schedules. Thankfully, one of the tourism stands had a schedule of the Wonderbolts shows. My target was Fillydelphia.

But that meant more waiting. Since I’d missed the morning trains, I could either wait for the direct train the next day, or take a roundabout way through Manehattan and hope there were no delays, which would get me there an hour earlier. I had to make a decision. I…

…

I-it…

…

I looked. Later, after it was all over. The Manehattan train didn’t have any delays. If I had taken it, and if traffic had been favorable, I might have made it in time for the show. Soarin’s told me a hundred times that I made the right decision, that Manehattan is a nightmare to navigate, and it’s just as likely that it would have been too late anyway. I almost believe him, out of necessity, if nothing else.

But I chose the direct line. There were fewer stops, so I thought there would be fewer delays, too. On occasion, I have nightmares about being back in that station and facing that choice.

At the Canterlot station, I ran around trying to see about express mail delivery, or even dragonfire mail – I had enough bits to cover the fee if I skipped most of my meals – but without an address, it was for naught. The authorities, well… They hear a lot of complaints and threats and all that kind of nonsense, especially directed at celebrities. I raised hell about it, so much that I had to get pulled into a back room for a while, and I gave them the story. They said they’d “look into it.”

I would have stayed in the train station all night if I thought it would help, but there was a motel next door, so I rented a room to try and get some sleep. I think I got a little, but not nearly enough, and the wake-up call found me already dressed and preparing to check out.

Back on the train, it all started again. Reading didn’t help. Worrying didn’t help. Nothing helped. I had to reach my Big Blue.

I nearly abandoned my bag when the train stopped in Fillydelphia, just for fear of it slowing me down. I sprinted through the station until security yelled at me. It felt like walking on needles when I slowed my pace.

And outside, it was no better. I might as well have been staring at a waterfall trying to figure out how to swim up it. Buildings were everywhere. Not as tall as Baltimare, but packed with an ocean of ponies celebrating or on vacation. Fillydelphia is a historical city, but you wouldn't know it from all the noise and young ponies carousing. My head spun, and I spent a good ten minutes in a daze until I found the cabs. I had no idea how to hail one – Soarin' always took care of those things – so I'm very fortunate a kindly stranger gave me hers, and I told the driver, "How far away is the stadium where the Wonderbolts perform?"

"I can get you there in about half an hour," she replied. "Faster if we're lucky."

"Yes, please." I slumped into my seat. My stomach lurched, and I put my head down. The cabbie must have noticed, because she threw a sick bag at me before she took off at a gallop.

I felt like a plow with all the screws removed. Thoughts turned over and over in my head, each one worse than the last. 'Just gotta get there, Applebutt,' I told myself.

My blood ran cold when we arrived less than twenty minutes later. "We're here. Twelve bits."

My head snapped up. "Already?"

"Yeah, weirdly quiet tonight.”

Quiet.

She smiled. “Must be your lucky day."

"My stars, I hope so." I shoveled far too many bits into the sick bag and gave it back as I dashed off.

The Fillydelphia stadium is a marvel. It’s a massive structure, made to look like it’s made of marble with splashes of color and intricate designs at the top. But it looked like a monolith that I'd have to climb. I hadn't figured out a plan. I just hoped that if I made enough noise, somepony would listen.

Two things stopped me before I even made it to the gate. First, the announcer was starting the second act, but his tone was off, and he used the word "unbreakable." Second, a lot of ponies were already filing out, and most of them looked solemn.

Panting, I dashed up to a young couple. "I'm real sorry to bother you, but what's going on? Why are all these folks leaving?"

They grimaced at each other, and the mare spoke. "They're still doing the show, but…"

I was far too in her face, and I’m sure she thought I was on drugs. "But what? Please tell me."

She recoiled. "One of the Wonderbolts had a nasty accident. They airlifted him out and everything."

I died inside. "Do you… know who it was?"

"Soarin'. The captain guy."

…and my soul fled my body.

"Misfire during the pyrotechnics, it looked like. He was fluttering around like he was drunk or–"

I didn't even thank them. I turned and ran back to the cab, and luckily, the same one was still there. She turned her head. "Back so soon?"

"Hospital! Please!" I leapt into the seat.

She snapped to attention. "Uh, sure! Which one?"

"The fancy one!"

"...what?"

"Wherever they'd bring an injured Wonderbolt!"

"Oh, uh… I think I know. Ten minutes, tops." She dashed off as soon as I was in. Bless her for it.

But that ten minute ride gave it all time to sink in. I huffed and stared out at the city whooshing by, like I was floating. My stomach was filled with ice. I think I dissociated, and then I couldn't feel anything at all. Things moved around me, but I didn't see them, didn't hear them. Everything was a blurry buzz of colors and lights that were far too bright. I hated every moment of it, but I couldn't even get my jaw to close when my mouth dried out.

'It's my fault.' I thought about every choice I'd made since I first left Haulahay. If any of them had been different – if I'd stayed with Bronze, if I'd been honest with Soarin' about not being happy, if I'd followed up sooner – then he wouldn't have had his "accident." That ride lasted longer than the train. If Tartarus is real, then I know what I'll be doing there.

A bunch of stuff after that feels like a blur. It was faces and ponies and yelling and who knows what else. I’m not even sure I’ll remember it in the right order.

I didn't even register that we'd stopped until the cabbie poked me. "Looks like a crowd. You'll have to walk."

I looked up. Amid a busy, dirty street, a crowd was gathering near the entrance to the hospital, and a couple reporters had already shown up. Security and the police seemed overwhelmed just keeping folks outside.

And inside, my love was fighting for his life. I jumped out of the cab and tried to pay, but she refused (apparently I'd overpaid for the first trip three times over, and she felt bad). I thanked her and walked towards the crowd with no idea what I would do. At the back of my mind, I worried somepony would recognize me.

To my great fortune, the right pony did. I was stopped by a hoof on the shoulder and a stern, "Braeburn."

I turned my head, and I recognized his brown coat and cream-colored mane. "Eagle Eye?"

It was the guard that had been assigned to me when I lived in Cloudsdale. He looked both ways, then threw a wing over me. "Follow me. Head down."

I'd been through that drill before. He snuck me through the security entrance, where he directed me to the front desk. There was already a crowd of overworked staff there, and a bunch of official-looking ponies in suits mumbled about optics. Soarin’ manager, Bottom Line, wasn’t in the group, which I was grateful for, but as soon as some of the others spotted me, they growled at Eagle Eye. "No visitors."

Eagle Eye saluted, and an argument ensued. They wanted to keep the incident under control, and they weren’t sure whether I posed more of a risk in the hospital or outside with the reporters. They went back and forth, debating Soarin's health like I wasn't even there. I felt like my whole body was compressing into a black hole.

Minutes later, with the management still arguing, a stallion's voice interrupted my thoughts. "Pardon me. You're Braeburn, right?"

I blinked back into focus and saw a middle-aged pegasus couple: a tall stallion with an orange coat and blonde mane, and a very chipper mare of pink and dark blue. "Uh, yeah. I'm real sorry, but I can't–"

The mare spoke up. "Are they REALLY not letting you in there!?" I suppose it was more shouting than speaking. "Oh my GOODNESS, that's ridiculous. You're his COLTFRIEND for Luna's sake!"

My ears folded down. "I appreciate the thought, but there's a lot going on, and–"

She was already digging into her purse. "Oh, NONSENSE. You should be in there waiting for him. Sunny, you're better at art than me." She passed the stallion a small sticky pad and a pencil, and his eyes brightened. "That's just AWFUL that they'd keep you out here like this." She held out a hoof and literally pushed me back to management while I tried to protest, but she was very strong for her size. "Excuse me, but we have a special delivery here."

I gulped. "Ma'am, I'm not sure what–"

Management cut in, "Absolutely not, and unless you want to be escorted off the premises, you want to back off right now."

I felt a slap on my left flank that made me jump. I looked to see that the stallion had attached a sticky note to me. On it, he’d drawn a pie with wings and a parachute. He smiled wide and said, "It's okay. Soarin' can vouch for him."

I was stunned, and doubly so when I looked back in front of me and saw that the management was just as dumbstruck as I was.

The mare continued, "Please? Soarin' NEEDS his coltfriend right now. I’m sure of it!" Of course she didn’t know we weren’t coltfriends anymore. Soarin’ would never have let word get out about something that could hurt me. My eyes got wet knowing he was still thinking of me.

The managers huddled up. Eagle Eye made another comment about media attention and how I'd be the first one they'd look for, and that finally got them to pause.

The head honcho turned to me. "Fine. But you're a pony of interest, and you don't leave without an escort. Got it?'

I nodded. "Y-yeah. Of course."

"Good. Follow me." He gave me a color-coded pass. "Temporary. Don't lose it." He didn't waste time, and as if yanked by a rope, I followed, my head still spinning.

I looked over my shoulder and mumbled, "Uh, thank you! For this!" The couple just smiled and waved as management escorted them away. Even if I didn’t know who they were, I was grateful, and I wondered if Jonah and Skywise had sent them.

As much as I wanted to understand what was happening, my stomach turned and reminded me about the next few moments. Soarin’ was here, in this building, and I was being led to him, and I would hate what I’d find.

The halls were sterile and tight, brightly lit with white, unnatural light. Everything was organized and far too clean. It smelled like stale death and chemical wash. Nothing about it said healing, just stasis.

Every room had a whiteboard outside with names and a schedule, and I looked at every single one. I saw Soarin's name from ten paces away. Once I did, I fixated on it and nothing else, to the point that I bumped into the manager in front of me. He turned around with a snort. "We're here. You are to wait in this room and, again, not leave without an escort. Understand?"

I folded my ears down. "Y-yes, sir." I peeked inside the room. The lights were out, and the bed was neatly made. I turned back to the manager and, with the tone of a foal who'd lost his favorite toy, I asked, "Where's Soarin'?"

His face tightened, all except his eyes. "Information will be shared when it's deemed appropriate."

"You don't know, do you?"

"I–" His voice caught in his throat. He let out a rumbling breath through his nose. "No. We… all hope for the best." He held the door open, and his voice softened. "Wait here. We'll send somepony to check on you once the front area is secure."

I nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome." He waited for me to walk in, and then he left.

It was a perverse mirror of the fancy hotel rooms that we'd stayed in so many times. The walls were clean, the metal was polished, and the private bathroom looked spotless. But there was no color to be seen. It was all white and chrome. I had to keep looking at my hoof to make sure I wasn't colorblind.

I had nothing to do but wait. The rush of my trip was wearing off, and the exhaustion of two days’ travel was finally creeping up on me. The heat of adrenaline was replaced with the cold fear that I'd come all this way just to not see him. It paralyzed me. I was so still that the automatic lights turned off.

A nurse walked past, did a double-take, and then knocked on the door. "Sir, can I help you?"

"I don't know." My joints were stiff. I shook my head and told myself to be reasonable. "Do you know where Soarin' is?"

She frowned. "I'm sorry, but I can't give that information out." With a once-over, she added, "And visiting hours are over. You shouldn't be here." She made a move into the room and stood next to a small panel with a few buttons. I had no doubt that one of them called security.

My mind did a backflip thinking about trying to get back in the building. "It–" I gulped. "It's alright. I have a pass. See?" I dug it out and held it up with a wobbly hoof. "Security brought me here."

The lights flickered on as she stepped in and examined my pass. She frowned. "I'm very sorry, but only immediate family is allowed."

And… What I said next was the most natural-sounding lie I've ever told. "It's okay. I'm his husband."

I couldn’t believe what I’d said, and yet, it sounded exactly like me.

She blinked and recoiled. "Oh! I'm… very sorry. I didn't realize he was married."

My stomach dropped, but I couldn't bail out now. I shrugged and grimaced. "Well, yeah! Celebrity marriages and all that. Heh heh." I could feel the sweat on my forehead. When she turned her head at me, I kept babbling while I dug out my ID. "See, I don't wanna brag, but it was a mighty big story a couple months ago. I'm Braeburn. Uh, Apple. But, please don't tell anypony I told you. Heh."

I fumbled my ID onto the floor. She picked it up and looked at both sides. "I don't suppose you have your marriage license on you?" She eyed my hoof. "Or a ring for that matter?"

I froze. If she was going to throw me out before, how much worse would it be after lying about being family?

My ear flicked, and I felt the weight of him, like it was meant to be. "Our studs. We didn't use rings. Wanted to be different." My chest tightened when I realized I had no proof, but I had faith in Big Blue. "Did you check inside his flight suit? It should’ve been there during the show, pinned right near his heart."

The nurse narrowed her eyes, but she walked over to an unmarked cabinet on the wall, took out a key, and unlocked it. "You may want to turn away. This could be upsetting." She put on some gloves and pulled out a small bin.

My stomach churned. There was a sealed bag, and inside was a flight suit, stained red all over the legs and stomach. It had been all cut up with scissors, likely to get it off him. I felt black creep around my vision, but I held onto my wits.

Mercifully, she was quick. She found the chest and mumbled something as she pulled the backing off the stud and removed it. Slowly, she turned around and held it out to me. "Very sorry, Mister Apple. I imagine you want to keep this close."

I just nodded.

She gave it to me and then headed for the door. "The couch folds out if you'd like. Let me know if you need anything."

There was just one thing I needed. "Is Soarin' okay?"

"He's in the ICU." She paused and saw me twisting my head at her. "The intensive care unit. He's experiencing a coma–" My heart tore in half. "–but the good news is that he's partially responsive, and there's no obvious swelling in his brain. Given his history of head injury, he needs careful monitoring overnight, but we hope to transfer him her in the morning if there are no further complications."

"Can I see him?"

She frowned. "I'm very sorry, but I don't think that's wise. I'll let you know when we have more information." She paused at the door. "Try to get some rest. He's in good hooves."

She left, and the room fell back into silence.

I flopped onto my back on the couch. She'd mentioned it being a pullout, but I could already tell that it was more comfortable as is. I groaned and threw a foreleg over my face.

Immediately, I wanted to spit on myself. 'I called him my husband.' I sighed with a rumble. 'Where the hell do I get off doing something like that? We ain’t even dating anymore!'

I was still holding his stud, so I took my foreleg away from my eyes, letting the light hit me square in the face. I held it up. Soarin's stud. The light filtered through, and sure enough, it shone like my coat on a summer day.

"Husband." It came out all gnarled this time, like I'd swallowed a tree knot. I remembered everything we’d talked about in that hotel room in Baltimare. It all flooded back: why it had gone wrong, how we needed to give each other space to grow, and why we knew it wasn’t right. And yet, here I was, lying about being closer to him than I had any right to be. But I couldn’t just let it end like this. My eyes stung. “F… Fuck…”

I fiddled with the stud until the automatic lights turned off again, and it finally hit me how tired I was. I bet I’d gotten less than 10 hours of sleep in the last three nights combined, and with nothing else to do but wait and pray, I pinned the stud to my vest and let sleep take me. I drifted away with the thought, 'I'll wait as long as it takes, Blue. Please be okay.'

==X===X===X===X===X==

Braeburn clutches his chest. “Gets me exhausted just thinking about it. And yet, deep in my heart, I knew what I wanted.”

Gently, I ask, “Have you… thought about marriage since then?”

Braeburn folds his hooves, and his eyebrows knit. He looks down at Mane Street, where Soarin’ is having a hurried conversation at the food table. “I have, but… I don’t… I won’t tie him down like that. I know what it’s like, being bound to a place, bound to a pony when your destiny is calling you across the country. I need to settle. He needs to roam. We need each other.” He scoffs. “We ain’t figured it out yet, but every day that goes by is another day closer to Soarin’s recovery. We’re both eager for him to try out for the Bolts again – he talks about it all the time – but what happens when he does?” He shakes his head. “I told you before, I still don’t know the answer.”

==X===X===X===X===X==

I woke up cranky to the smell of wilted spinach and old hash, and I sat bolt upright. “Soarin’!?”

Eagle Eye leapt back. “Yeesh! Sorry, Braeburn. Just me.”

Eagle Eye had good news, at least. Soarin’ had done well overnight, but they needed to run a few more tests. He’d brought me lunch, if you want to call it that, and I thanked him for his kindness. He said I’d be the first to know when there was news.

And so, I had another day of waiting, just like on the train. This one was even worse, and I was jumpy at every little movement in the otherwise motionless room. My head cranked to see every pony that walked by. I did it so much my neck hurt, and except for a few walks around the floor to keep myself from going stir-crazy (with an escort, of course), I didn’t leave.

In the late afternoon, the air changed. I think I smelled him first, but the wrongness of it sent my brain into a thunderous panic. I leapt up from the couch where I’d been trying to read one of my books, just as the first corner of the bed came into view. The same nurse from before pushed him in on a bed with a bum wheel.

There he was, on his back, wings strapped down and forelegs held up in the air with restraints, both of them in casts that were stained the lightest pink for reasons I didn’t want to think about. He was out, but not really asleep. His eyes moved too much, like those nights where he was worried I was leaving him. All sorts of wires and tubes were attached to him, feeding fluids into machines or into his legs, but for the moment, at least, none of them were screaming in panic.

“Soarin’...”

The nurse – I never did get her name, did I? – set him up in one corner of the room and re-checked every little wire and tube as she spoke. “We’ve got some good news. He’s had a few short conversations today, though he doesn’t seem to remember them. He’s very in-and-out, so please don’t expect too much of him. He needs rest.”

His body… It looked so broken, and I had none of the tools to fix it. “Can I hold him?”

She grunted and turned her head. “Officially, no, but I’ve been around long enough to know I can’t stop you. Please be gentle.” She finished checking a few more things before she left again. “Mind the wires. I’ll be back in five minutes to finish another check-in.”

It was quiet, save for the beeps and whirring of the machines, a harsh lullaby that was too regular to be natural. I stepped towards him. It felt like walking on broken glass. "H… Hey there, Blue."

There was a joy in seeing him again. His chest was just like I remembered. It was sweaty and a little matted. I think I focused on it because it was the only thing that looked normal. Like petting a newborn kitten, I stroked that soft chest. "Oh, Blue…"

I… had this idea that he'd wake up right when I touched him, just like in the stories. When he didn't, I…

…

It… wasn't pretty. The nurses heard me wailing and rushed to check on me, and they had to get a stallion in to pry me from his bedside. I kept blubbering about how it was my fault and how I was sorry, and my legs shook so much I couldn't stand. It took me a good twenty minutes to calm down. There was one pony in the world I wanted, and he was right there, locked away from me by his own mind and body, all because of the choices I’d made. Choices we’d made together.

Once I’d caught my breath, I turned to the nurse and said, “I’ll be okay. Thank you.” She gave me some vague encouragement, but it fell on deaf ears, and a security pony stayed with me for another ten minutes to be sure I wasn’t out of my mind. He left with a warning that he’d be nearby.

And, once again, I was alone with my Big Blue.

But… the feeling washed over me that he wasn’t really mine.

I brought a stool over and sat at his bedside. I put my hoof on his chest again while the machines continued their rhythmic chirps. I hung my head. “I know what you’re gonna say, Soarin’. You’re gonna tell me I shouldn’t be worried about you. You’re gonna do everything you can to make me feel better.” My head shook. “That ain’t gonna do it this time, Big Blue. I–” I choked up, like I’d swallowed an apple whole. “I need you to come back to me. I need to apologize for this one. Please. Please come back to me, Blue.” I looked up, expecting some eye flutters or any other sign that I was getting through to him.

That ain’t how it works.

My jaw clenched and quivered at the same time. I stood from the stool, and it made a horrible screeching noise, but that didn’t even get a rise out of Soarin’. That made my heart sink even lower. I wanted to collapse on him, but I knew a broken leg when I saw two of them. I had to be gentle.

I hugged him. He’s the love of my life. How could you fault me for it? I hugged him, and I laid there with him, careful not to put too much pressure. I inhaled his scent. Even with the sterility in the air, I felt it tingle the back of my mind, all the way to my spine, and, well… You get loopy in a situation like that, and I briefly wondered if some love-making would help him wake up, but I realized pretty quickly how, uh… nonconsensual that would be, among all the other problems.

I needed a moment of normalcy, though. I needed him to know, deep down, that I was with him. I remembered the first time he’d told me he loves me, how he held me and nibbled my ear in a way that made me feel so safe and secure. I couldn’t preen him with his wings strapped down, so that would have to do.

It felt right, having his soft ear in my mouth. The taste was just like I remembered, and the feeling of every little hair on my lips told me that he was real, still breathing. That we were together. My tongue even found the hole for his piercing, and I played around with it. I lingered until it got wet, and I whispered to him, “I’ll be right here, Blue. You heal up. I’ve got all the time in the world.” When I was ready, I pulled back, and I looked him over again.

No, he wasn’t my Blue. But I was his Applebutt. A part of me would be his forever. I never wanted him to doubt it, so I took the stud from my vest and put it back in his ear.

To stop me from crawling into bed with him, I lay back on the couch and rambled at him. “I’m still real sorry, Big Blue. I know I’ll get over it, but this ain’t at all what I wanted. I… suppose you want to hear about somethin’ else, though, right? Let’s see… Heh. I know you said you don’t want foals, but Slate’s new colt would change your mind in a heartbeat.”

I spoke to him, on and off, for hours. When I wasn’t talking, I’d just lie on the couch as the minutes ticked by. I didn’t even eat dinner that night. I didn’t want to not be there when he woke up, and as I was drifting off, I remember telling him, “You’ve always been there for me, Soarin’. I want to be there for you, too. You just gotta wake up, Blue. I’ll be here whenever you can come get me.” My eyes fluttered closed, and I fell asleep, worrying that I’d never hold him again.

But what did I tell you? Soarin’ Windsong always comes back.

==X===X===X===X===X==

Braeburn stands and stretches his hips, then nods at the hill. We begin our descent towards the orchard.

"That must have been a relief," I say.

"Heh, a relief and a panic. He was in and out so fast, and I was overjoyed that he said a few words, but, well…"

"Yes?"

"Soarin' didn't much approve of me blaming myself for his injuries. He made that displeasure known, even though it hurt him to do so. That meant, well… It meant that I didn't have a reason to stay. I'd come to apologize, and I had, and that was that. But he told me he could hear me, and he asked me to stay with the few words he could manage. How could I say no? I promised to stay with him as long as it took, and I would keep talking all night if it helped him."

==X===X===X===X===X==

I kept a hoof on his hip and talked to him about anything that came to mind. A lot of it was repeating our favorite memories together, hoping that would shake him out of it.

And it was so strange. Soarin' has said that he always felt on the edge of being asleep and awake, and it showed. Around three in the morning, when my voice was getting hoarse, he lifted his head and asked in a remarkably clear voice, "Can I wake up now, Braeburn?"

I blinked at him. "You're… already awake, Soarin'."

He shook his head, and his voice got groggy. "No. I'm asleep. You wanna wake up?"

It was like seeing a pony with their mane and tail switched. The pieces were there, but it didn't add up. "We're awake. We're having this conversation."

"Oh." He paused. "You should sleep. I'll keep watch."

"I gotta watch over you, Big Blue."

"Is okay. I can watch him." His eyes closed, and he was back out.

Utterly bizarre, and my imagination tortured me with visions of him being this way for his whole life. He doesn't remember that conversation, nor several others like it.

I kept talking as long as I could, but I fell asleep around four, hunched over the bed with my head resting against Soarin's side. For as little sleep as I got, it was restful, and I felt safe with my head against his body.

"Uh… Braeburn? Good to see you."

I startled just before sunrise, and my neck hurt like hell. I blinked until a cream-colored stallion with a blazing mane came into view. "Fire Streak?"

Streak stood there in his captain's stance, proud but a little less solid than the pony behind him. Spitfire took a step forward. She had her sunglasses on, even indoors. "How's he been?"

I rubbed my eyes and looked at Soarin', who hadn't moved since I'd gone out. "About like this. He comes in and out. Can't really predict when." I tried to shake off the exhaustion, but nothing doing. "Sorry. I'm not really explaining well."

Fire Streak's eyes dipped down. "You look like you haven't slept, Braeburn. Are you okay?"

Spitfire cut in. "He's clearly not."

"Spitfire!"

"He's here, isn't he? Not a very good breakup if he's already back after a couple weeks."

Streak snorted. "Over the line, captain."

Spitfire paused in a way I'd never known her to. She took a deep breath and sighed. "Am I wrong, Braeburn?"

My head drooped, and I rubbed Soarin's hind leg. "Naw. I know I ain't supposed to be here, but… I can't leave him like this."

Streak cocked an eyebrow. "How'd you get here so fast? The story just broke yesterday."

"I'll tell you someday." Even then, I knew not to spread rumors. Maybe I should have told him so they could catch Bronze, but Soarin' wouldn't have wanted me to stir up more trouble for myself. He told me as much one day.

The two of them stayed a while and offered words of encouragement. We chatted, but I can't tell you about what, and then they left, saying they'd come back tomorrow. I wouldn't see them again for months.

Spitfire's words stuck with me. "I'm here, ain't I?" I stroked Soarin's mane. He moaned in pleasure, and I wondered if he was close to the surface. I rambled about Slate and his new colt again. My throat hurt, but I kept on. When Soarin' opened his eyes, I couldn't help but chuckle. "Heh. Your timin' is terrible. Fire Streak and Spitfire were just here." I gently patted his chest. "They were real worried about you. Said they'd try again tomorrow."

Soarin' took a look around the room, but he was feeling it as much as I was, and he knew he didn't have much time. "Sorry, Applebutt. I'm fading again, but we… need to talk."

My first instinct was to argue, but I was already primed for the conversation. "Yeah, you're…" I looked down. "You're right." I traced his chest with my eyes and my hoof. "First thing when you wake up?"

He was already collapsing back into bed. "Yeah. Get some… rest, Braeburn. I promise I'll come back."

"Same, Soarin'." I stroked him again, but he was already out. I kissed his forehead. My eyes felt ready to fall out of my head, so I dragged myself over to the couch and did as I was told.

Four hours, tops, but it was something. Only, I'm not sure it did much good. You know how sometimes, before a big meal, you're not hungry at all, but after that first bite, you're starving? It was like that. I wanted to sink so deep into that couch that I’d become part of it, but the sunlight would have none of that.

My stomach was complaining, too. I looked up and saw that Soarin' was still out but breathing. "I'll be right back, Blue,” I whispered. “Actually…" I found a notepad and made a little tent sign with the words, "Be right back. ~Applebutt"

I hadn't seen hide nor hair of Wonderbolts management all night, so I assumed they'd figured I wasn't a risk. I peeked out in the hallway. Eagle Eye spotted me, but he just waved me through.

As I stepped out, I tried not to think about how long I'd been in that room. It was a maze navigating those hallways, but with some guidance, I made it to the front desk, where a stylish, older mare was raising her voice about some policy or other to the poor desk worker. I paid it no mind and walked past to the cafeteria.

The food was as miserable and sour as my mood. Stewed, salty spinach, dry oat cakes, some fruit that tasted like it'd been around the world a few times… I shouldn't complain, though. I was grateful to have anything. I choked some of it down before my appetite gave out.

And I was surprised when that mare from the front desk waltzed to my table, set down a bouquet of blue flowers, and stated, very plainly, "You're Braeburn, right?"

I blinked at her, and my imagination snapped back to all those interviews with the media. I started to lie. "Sorry, you must be…" I finally got a good look at her. Powder blue coat, a mane the same shade and volume as Soarin's (though much less messy), with just a hint of smugness when she realized she was right. It clicked together. "Oh! You must be Ms. Nim–"

"Jet is fine," she interrupted. "Preferable, really. I don't want to feel old." She took a small perfume bottle out and offered it to me. "You want a bit?"

I frowned and tried to subtly sniff myself. "Sorry, do I smell that bad?"

"Nah, it's just gin." She sprayed it into her open mouth, then replaced the cap. "I know they don't want it to be a frat house in here, but like, it's a bit puritanical, right? To not let a worried mother calm herself down?" She smiled. I think that was her way of joking. In a way, it reminded me of Blue. "I'm already going to write them a supremely bitchy letter about not letting me see my son."

"I, uh, I wouldn't know." A few rusty gears turned in my head. "Did… so Soarin' reached out to you?"

She nodded. "He did. It was very big of him."

“That’s… that’s wonderful, Jet.” My heart swelled at the first good news of the day. "I'm proud of him."

"I think I'd feel the same if I'd been a better mom." She took a deep breath. "But we're starting to make it work. We've got a Skywise memorial date here in a couple months if he's up for it." Her face darkened. "How is he?'

I pushed the spinach around my plate with a spoon. "He'll be okay. Eventually. Only I, uh… I might not see it."

She folded her forelegs and sat back. "Leaving is hard, isn't it?"

"Ha! Don't we know it." I looked up, and she had this expression on her. I've only ever seen it on Ma and Granny Smith. "I take it Soarin' told you about us?"

"He did. Frankly, when I saw you today, I didn't believe it was you at first." She leaned on one hoof and looked all over my face. "Buuuuut you matched the description. You have that youthful, innocent look that made me think you're, like, barely legal."

I cocked an eyebrow. "I'm twenty-six, Jet."

"Thank Luna. I was worried Sky had raise a pedophile." She casually took another squirt of gin. "Still swinging a few years younger, though."

I laughed. "Not too many. And he's pretty coltish himself."

"He's got a great spirit." She sighed and looked me up and down. "I'm glad he's got you here, but I hope you don't feel tied to him." She shrugged. "You broke up. He's not your responsibility."

"That's a… mighty detached way to look at things." My spine lit up with electricity as I remembered who I was talking to. "Sorry! I-I didn't mean anything by it!"

"Ha!" She threw her head back in a way that reminded me eerily of Soarin'. "You're all good. I'm not delusional, Braeburn. I realize I'm the last fucking pony you should take relationship advice from." She mumbled something. "Though I've got some if you're looking for it."

"I'll take whatever I can get."

She didn't wait a breath, like she was going to say it no matter what I'd said. "Time away is important." She brushed her mane absentmindedly. "You get so deep into something that you can’t see it clearly anymore. You think that what you’re feeling is going to last forever, because you can't imagine it being any different."

I paused. "Does it get better?"

She grunted. "It does if you're not a fuckup." She turned away, then forced herself to face me. "Sorry. I can tell you this much: it stops getting worse, at least. Sometimes when you're in freefall, it's enough to just glide. Or… something. I don't know any good earth pony metaphors."

"You're fine." I waved a hoof and scratched at my head. "...though I'm not sure I follow."

Jet forced herself to stop fidgeting and folded her hooves. "I needed to get away from Sky. And, unfortunately, the cost of that was not getting to see Soarin'." Looking down, she shook her head. "Yeah, I made mistakes, but would Soarin' have been better off with two parents who were at each other's throats, compared to a dad who devoted his whole life to him? I don't think so. And being away helped me reevaluate my life and what I needed. It sucked, but it made things better." She looked up at me with a broken smile. "And time away from Soarin' will do the same for you. Maybe you'll end up together again someday. I dunno. But I do know you'll never be satisfied if you just keep coming back to him and not standing on your own hooves." She put a hoof on mine. "Soarin' thinks the world of you. Give yourself a chance to shine, like he knows you can."

She held my hoof, and I gave hers a squeeze. She had a weary strength to her. I recognized it, and again, it reminded me of Granny. It felt like somepony who was exhausted but who had gotten very good at working through it. "So… Jet. Why did you reallycome sit with me today?"

A tired smile. That's all I got, and it was enough. We shared a deep breath.

Jet laughed. "Like I said, take what I say with a grain of salt, because who am I to talk?" She stood up and grabbed her purse. "I’ll try again, though. And could you do me a favor and deliver these flowers for me?"

I smiled at her. "Of course."

"Thanks. You're a good pony, Braeburn. Spend time on yourself. You deserve it."

As she turned to leave, I said, "You're gettin' pretty good at that mom stuff, y' know."

That stopped her in her tracks. She took a beat, looked over her shoulder, and gave me a wink before walking to the door.

The flowers smelled like a field after the summer rains. It wasn't hard to see who they represented, and that seemed mighty big of her. I picked them up, disposed of my half-eaten meal, and walked back to Soarin's room.

There had been other deliveries, and the small table was already crowded with gifts. I put Jet's flowers front and center, right where Big Blue would see them.

And I was back to waiting. A dark part of me wished he'd stay asleep so I wouldn't have to go through it all again, but I'd promised him. I loved him too much to abandon him. Regardless, my body couldn't take it, and I fell asleep again for another short nap until a nurse brought me some coffee.

Blue finally stirred in the mid-afternoon, and we… Heh. We both stalled. We talked about his mother and how I got into the hospital and laughed at the absurdity of it all. It felt fine until he got all serious, and he was the first to say it: “Braeburn, we both know it wouldn’t work.”

That was the heart of it. Well, the head of it, I suppose. The heart wants what it wants, but for once, we had to lead with our logic. And on that level, I appreciated it.

Even if I’m still cursing it to this day.

Soarin’ shook his head. “Not right now. Not like this. I’m going to be pretty useless for Luna-knows how long, and I won’t tie you down again.”

I looked out the window, out at that big city that kept moving, kept buzzing despite everything. It seemed unfair. Didn’t they know somepony was suffering here? Somepony important, who meant the world, who was unique among every other pony I’d ever met? And even then, it needed to keep moving. Those ponies out there couldn’t put the world on hold, not even for a Wonderbolt. I was facing out west, towards Appleloosa. Didn’t I have the same responsibility? I’d rushed here at a moment’s notice, leaving it all behind. Again. Soarin’ was willing to face the truth, and I needed to be, too.

I turned back to him. He was so gentle around the eyes. I petted his sweaty, messy mane and felt the coarse fibers one more time. “You're right, Blue. You're right. Heh. It's no wonder I fell for a pony who's so smart and kind."

Soarin’ could feel the finality in my words, and he flinched. "I-I mean, maybe someday if–"

But it was my turn to take the lead. "Let's, uh… Let's not do that to ourselves, Soarin'." I felt his chest. His heartbeat was strong and healthy. "If it happens, it'll make me happy, but we… We can't. Not now. Like you said, not like this."

He lowered his eyes. "Yeah. No point in torturing ourselves."

"Right."

He stared at my hoof on his chest. We were both thinking the same thing, but this time, I let him say it first. "I still love you, Braeburn."

"I still love you, too." The easiest thing in the world to say. I saw his eyes flutter, and at first, I thought he was crying, but all too soon, I realized that he was slipping away again. My heart ached. It pumped harder, trying to overwhelm my brain’s ability to make the right choice. "Is there anything I can do for you while I'm here? Anything at all?"

He didn’t hesitate. He knew what was coming, too, that big, brave pegasus of mine. "Don't make me say goodbye again."

My eyes watered, but I couldn’t help but laugh. "Makin' me do it instead? Heh heh." I gave him the biggest hug I could without hurting him. "I can do that, Soarin'. I'll, uh… I guess I'll just… stay until you fall back asleep." I recoiled at the thought, but Soarin’ used his little bit of movement to rub me with his hind leg.

His eyes fluttered fast. "Thanks, Applebutt."

I held him. I didn’t know if I could ever let go. "How you wanna pass the time?"

He smiled, and he said the one thing that could make me happy, because even at a moment like that, Soarin’ put me first. "Tell me about Appleloosa."

I gasped. I smiled. He… wanted me to tell him how much I was thriving, to remind me that I’d be okay. And, well, he knew me. He knew I wouldn’t stop once I got going. "Aw, you should see it, Blue. Everything's in bloom, and the late summer varietals are just startin' to come in." I think my tail whipped like a puppy’s as I thought about it all. "And even if it's too hot in the daytime to go whole hog, the nights are cool and pleasant, and the dances are wilder than I've ever seen."

Soarin’ mumbled, "Do you dance much these days?"

My voice cracked, but I wouldn’t let him see me frown. "Heh. I-I'm the talk of the town, Soarin'. A few of the townsponies think my new style's a bit weird, but it makes all the tourists more comfortable. They like seein' somepony else who doesn't quite fit."

His eyes closed. They stayed closed. His mouth moved, but nothing came out. I felt like I was hanging by a single piece of straw.

"B-but… But I do fit in there, Blue." I sobbed, no matter how hard I tried to fight it. "I get it now. I got it when I stepped off the train and everypony was jealous of my blue stud – mares and stallions alike. They–… Dammit. They s-say it makes me look more confident, and even some of the usual nay-sayers have been quieter lately."

Soarin’ lay still. He wiggled a little, like he was trying to tell me he was still there.

I wouldn’t let him down. "Heh. Amazin' what a little change can do for a pony. Or a big one, I-I suppose.” Every word felt so inadequate, but I kept talking, in the hope that some of it would get through. “But I'm… I'm grateful, S-Soarin'. Appleloosa feels like–… It feels like h-home, and I'm happy there. Truly happy, Soarin', so don't you worry 'bout me. I'll be fine, Big Blue. I'll be okay. I promise I’ll be okay, even if we’re apart."

The machines beeped and whirred. His breathing was deep and even. Like an anvil on my chest, I realized I might never hear his voice again. I wanted to scream. I wanted to shake him awake or ask a nurse to bring some blankets so I could wait by his side forever. I wanted to write a letter to Slate and tell him that Appleloosa was his now, to do with what he pleased. I wanted anything to change, so that I wouldn’t have to keep my promise.

But… that thought put a wrinkle in my chest. We’d promised each other we’d let each other go. I couldn’t save Soarin’. It wasn’t my place. He had what he needed, and as much as we wanted each other, we… didn’t need each other. Not then. Maybe never again.

My body felt like a puppet with cut strings. Soarin’ lay below me. I ran a hoof across his face and by his ear, where his stud glinted in the artificial light. The breath escaped my body, and it felt like a part of my soul was being left behind. “...And you’ll be okay, too. I have to believe that.” I leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. And then, as gentle as I could, I said, “I love you, Soarin’ Windsong, and I’m so proud of you.”

With a view of him sleeping peacefully, I closed my eyes, and I walked out of the room.

I don’t remember that walk. I think Eagle Eye must have taken my pass at some point, and I hope I wasn’t too rude, but I could hardly focus on anything. I was too busy telling myself to do the hardest thing in the world: just let it be.

There were a few flashes of the outside world. I remember the sun hitting my face. The city air was stale, but so much better than inside. The crowds had dispersed outside the hospital.

Actually, they'd crowded around a news stand instead. Almost exclusively stallions, and it didn't take long to see why. The stand had a slap-dash, hoof-written sign that just read, "WHIPPED CREAM!" Curiosity got the better of me, and I waited in line to see what the rush was all about.

And wow, I couldn't believe they were allowed to sell papers with pictures like that. It was Soarin's ex, Sapphire Shores, splayed out in all kinds of lewd poses and covered in whipped cream. I'm gay through and through, but I'd be lying if I said those images didn't get my imagination running a bit wild with ideas. I think… It felt like too much of a coincidence, for something like that to be all over when Soarin’ had just crashed a few days ago. I considered whether the Wonderbolts had anything to do with it, but it wasn’t really their style. I wanted to believe that the universe had somehow known we both wanted to be left alone, and it gave us a break. Turns out, it was one last bizarre gift from the most thoughtful pony in the world.

The gruff salespony grumbled, "Buy it or move along, bub."

"Oh! Uh… s-sure." I panicked and bought a paper and two magazines, since I felt bad for gawking, but that left me with a foreleg full of smut to deal with in public. I groaned as I stepped away, and I thought, 'Maybe Pride will want 'em.'

If nothing else, it gave me something to focus on as I waited at the train station. I read those rags front to back, and when the train came, I found my seat and had a good, long think. The buildings outside flew further apart in a way that felt too metaphorical not to laugh at.

'There was a lot less ceremony this time,' I thought. But, then again, Blue and I had already said our goodbyes. As horrifying as the last couple days had been, it was just a bonus on top of our time together. I got to reaffirm that we'd made the right choice, because even after seeing each other again, we knew we'd be okay, and we stayed the course. It felt right, even though it hurt.

Jet's words rattled around in my head, and I asked myself, 'When's the last time I went after what I wanted? Really tested myself to see if I could get it?' I shifted in my seat. 'Hell, what do I want for that matter?'

The train continued pulling away from the city, and I started seeing more trees. 'More trees, for one. I want more for Appleloosa. I want more out of my town.' It felt uncomfortably passive, so I corrected myself. 'I want to do more with it. Been ignoring it for far too long.' A pang of shame pierced my heart. How long now had I been so focused on my love life that I hadn't shepherded Appleloosa to its full potential? A year, maybe? And what did that full potential look like?

I stopped looking out the window. Instead, I leaned back in my chair, eyes toward the ceiling. A lot of ideas sprung to mind, some that I'd put away months ago, some that were brand new. My skin tingled with the possibilities. A smile worked its way across my face, even as my tiredness started to take me.

But before it did, I said aloud to myself, "Rest up, Braeburn, 'cuz then it's time to see what you're really made of."

Chapter 18 - Swords and Branches

Author's Note

Author’s Note: Special thanks to L.S. Daely and Jeff for lending their indigenous perspective to this chapter and the issues within. Thanks to Fiaura the Tank Girl for additional insights.

Chapter 18 - Swords and Branches

I rolled into Appleloosa on the Tuesday supply train, and let me tell you, I was mighty sick of trains by then. Springleaf was there to receive the produce, and she, uh, greeted me as I stepped onto the platform. “Skies alive, Braeburn! Put some of that down. You’re gonna fall over!”

See, she was cross because even though my eyes were droopy and my mane was a sweaty mess, I was carrying one-and-a-half ponies’ worth of oranges. “Aw, I don’t mi–” I yawned. “–ind, Springleaf. Might as well save a trip, right?”

She whapped me on the nose with a clipboard. “The only trip you’re takin’ is to the doc when you fall asleep halfway down the stairs. Drop ‘em, Braeburn.”

I groaned. I was in no hurry to argue anymore. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Now, let me help with your things.” Springleaf’s a wonder. She’s one of the founders, and her expertise with low-water growth saved our butts during that first planting season. She insisted on carrying all my belongings. Don’t tell her, but I had a small stumble on the stairs. “You need rest, Braeburn. We’ve got a midweek town hall tomorrow, and we need your know-how.”

“Should I swing by Silverstar’s and take a look?”

“Naw. I’ll bring some paperwork this afternoon. Canterlot’s makin’ demands, and we were in the dark on how to fix it. The reading’s thick enough to hammer nails.”

We made it to my place, I had a quick check-in with Collard Green and Fruit Shine, and then I flopped into my bed as soon as I could. I didn’t sleep, mind you. Just rested my eyes.

Arriving home felt like a transition. You know how sometimes, you read a good book, and when it’s over, you find yourself just… floating in the real world? Your mind is still back in the story. You were so engrossed that reality doesn’t seem real, and now that you’re back, it takes a bit to remember what’s in front of you. That’s how it felt in my room, coming back from seeing Soarin’.

I unpacked right away. I took a beat, took a breath, and recentered myself. I was ready.

Between laundry, groceries, and working out sales contracts for my apples, I was busy clear into the afternoon. And then Springleaf brought the paperwork over. The stack thudded on my table, and I gulped. “You, uh… weren’t kiddin’ about the size of all this.”

She nodded and smirked. “Welcome back, Braeburn. No place like home, right?”

I felt warm all over my body, and I smiled back at her. “Darn tootin’!”

That legalese was a nightmare. They could’ve put a summary in it, but I suspect they wanted to weed out anypony who wasn’t dedicated to the job. Lucky for Appleloosa, I would leg-wrestle a bear if it meant keeping the town alive. I barely left my house for the next day, and when the meeting came up the following night, I was… well, still confused, but I’d made progress.

Dawn Light, Springleaf, and I were on rotation for the founders’ council, but I was only half paying attention. Mostly, I was still pouring over the documents. We sat at the council table before the crowd as I gave summaries the best I could, even though I was still up to my eyes in legal terms, and I figured the town would hate what I’d found. I cleared my throat. “Now, in order to gain representation, or more funding for that matter, Long Reign says we need to have a formal election for city council, and then we’ll need a mayor. It’ll be a headache, but–”

From the second row, Cactus Petal raised her hoof and shouted, “Hey Braeburn? You done runnin’ off to wherever the hell it is you go?”

I nearly pressed a hoof to the bridge of my nose in frustration, but I held it together. “That’s, uh, not really relevant, Ms. Petal, but yes. I’m…” The whole conversation in the hospital played in my mind again, and I gave myself a moment to really feel it. I was content with my choice. “My business out there is concluded. I plan to remain here for a while.”

“Great. I nominate Braeburn for mayor.”

“Seconded,” came Pridesong’s voice from the back.

My ears flattened and my eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

That got a small laugh from the crowd. Cactus Bloom spoke over them. “Well, Idon’t want to do it. Why not you?”

“Because I’m a mess.” That one got a big laugh.

Turns out, Cactus wasn't the only one who felt that way. I reeled for a while, but the more folks spoke up about my hard work, how I never gave up, and how much I listened to everypony, the more the air tasted like electricity. I’d get a sudden question like, “Well, how do you feel about tourism?”

And I’d answer honestly, “I never want to sell out our way of life, but welcoming folks is a big part of who we are. It’s a boon to our businesses and our population, and I’m for it as long as we work hard to keep it on the rails.”

There’d be a murmur with that same charged edge, full of energy and wonder. And somepony else would ask something like, “What’s your plan for the locusts?”

“Well, Slate and I are both stockpiling ingredients for that remedy of his, and if we incorporate, Canterlot will help monitor swarm activity.”

More excited mumbling. “How about taxes?”

“Local and focused on the public good.”

“Rail expansion?”

“Lots of opportunities to the south!”

Some small cheers. “Working with Canterlot?”

“We’re proud Equestrians, but Appleloosa is our home, and we should make the big decisions.” That got the whole room cheering, and my heart swelled.

As it calmed, a stallion named Boulder spoke up in the back. “What about public decency?” The room fell quiet, and half the audience looked back at him. A lump formed in my throat, and when I didn’t answer, he added, “Y’ heard me. What about our pride? Really think we should be represented by a bachelor who–” He made a little circle with his hoof. “–y’ know, gets around.”

My face flushed as Fruit Shine countered, “C’mon, now. That ain’t fair.”

“Ain’t it? Braeburn, I’ve got no problems with you bein’ a coltcuddler, but you gotta know what they say about you, right? Outside the town? I ain't sure that’s the best pony to put our stamp of approval on.” The whole room turned their heads to me.

I leaned forward and considered it. Really considered it. There were so many things I could say. I could turn it on him and ask if he wasn’t young once. I could apologize and say I’d grown. I could get angry and call him out on his own faults. At the back of my mind, Bronze’s voice fed me a bunch of options, but in the end, I went with the most important lesson I’d learned from him. “I’m proud of who I am, Boulder.”

Half the audience tilted their head one way or the other, and there were as many raised eyebrows as there were ponies.

I sighed. “Have I made mistakes? Done things other folks don’t like? You bet your flank I have. But would I change it? That’s more complicated.” I realized I was slouching, so I sat up straighter. “This is who I am, Boulder. I’m a young bachelor. I’m gay. I got swept up in a whole media scandal that brought you a bunch of grief.” I thought of Soarin’. “But I’ve always come back. Four years I’ve been out here, trying my damndest to nurture this place, to help my neighbors like my parents taught me. Appleloosa is my home, and more than that, it’s a part of me. And that part is growin’ bigger every day. I couldn’t stop it if I tried.”

They all leaned forward towards me.

I set a firm hoof on the table. “So you’re stuck with me, like it or not. You don’t have to vote for me, Boulder.” I looked around, and the words blossomed from my mouth. “None of you do. Maybe you go back home and decide, yeah, Braeburn’s slept around too much. He drinks more than I like. You decide you want somepony else to lead, and I get no votes at all. That won’t stop me. I’m gonna do everything I can, every day, to bring Appleloosa into its own, because that’s who I am, regardless of titles. I love this town, and I love these ponies. I want Appleloosa to flourish.”

Teasingly, Pridesong spoke up again. “So… you gonna run for mayor, or what?”

The crowd held its breath. As much as I knew how often I jumped into things quickly, this one felt as right as it had with Soarin’. I chuckled. “Yeah, okay. You got me. I’m in.”

The cheers nearly blew the doors off.

I made them promise to have a real election with a debate and everything, too, since it needed to be official (if I was reading the documentation correctly). It would be a long process with all sorts of applications, but it was a start. We adjourned with an energy I'd rarely felt.

Pridesong met me at the door. “Walk ya’ home?”

“Pride,” I teased. “Folks’ll think there’s somethin’ between us if you keep doin’ that.”

“Naw, they know I’m the straightest damn stallion in this town.” Yeesh. What’s with straight folks and always shoving it in our faces?

…

Sorry, that was a bad joke.

I cantered next to him. "Well, in that case, I have a souvenir for you."

"Hm? I don't much like trinkets, Braeburn."

"It… ain't that, exactly. You'll see. Think of it like a thank-you for everything."

His pace picked up. I'm not sure he noticed. "My pleasure."

'I'm sure it will be.'

We chatted about nothing the rest of the walk back. Pride didn't want to come inside, on account of needing to be up early the next day. I reassured him, "Don't worry. This'll knock you right out." I grabbed the magazines from just inside and gave them over.

Pride's jaw hit the dirt. I laughed my ass off while he babbled. "You, wow, where did– That's Sapphire–" He shook it off. "You buying porno now?"

"Naw. It was a weird circumstance. They were selling it right on the street."

He looked between me and the magazines. "No foolin'?"

"Mmhm. I'll give you the whole story sometime. And if you don't want those, I'll–"

"Now hold up, I didn't say that." He quickly tucked them under his foreleg. "You're a fascinating pony, Braeburn."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Night, friend."

"Night, friend."

My dreams that night were full of promise, and maybe wondering whether Pride was gonna buy some whipped cream.

Next morning, I was out with my hired hooves, getting caught up on work and squaring my debts. Orange Horizon trotted up. "Ey, Brae? You got a moment?"

We were wrapping up anyway, so I finished my conversation and gave Orange my full attention. "Always. What's on your mind?"

"I had this idea for the town. For extending the train tracks further south, like you said. I know we haven't gotten the approvals yet, but I think we can make it work, especially if you're the mayor."

"Well, I ain't the mayor yet, but I'm happy to hear you out, Orange." The train expansion was sticky. Folks were split between wanting their crops to have more reach and keeping the town from getting crowded. We also didn't have the funds on our own, and Canterlot had been very slow to reach a recommendation, especially on account of one other major detail.

Orange continued. "We could build a shortcut, right? Split the rail so that only interested folks come into Appleloosa, but not folks who’re just passing through. We wouldn’t have train whistles at all hours, either."

"Well, the problem is getting a track that far out."

"Easy enough. Let's expand west!"

I held up a hoof. "I'll stop you right there, Orange. That's buffalo land."

"Aw, they'll come around, I bet."

I shook my head. "It ain't about comin' around, Orange. It's… complicated." All the legal paperwork whirled around in my mind again. "But we definitely need to talk to them about all these plans.” I turned towards the west, and I sighed. “Time for another round of hard conversations, I suppose."

Orange shrugged. “Well, you want to be mayor, right?”

Appleloosa and the buffalo got off to a rough start. See, when we first settled, we had no idea that the buffalo herds used this land as their ancestral stampeding grounds. It didn't come up until we'd been here a whole year, though admittedly, we would’ve figured it out if we’d been paying closer attention. And I do mean we. I don’t blame any single pony for what happened. Nopony should.

A year in, trees had been planted, buildings had been raised, and families had moved in. It came to a head during that summer, around the first harvest. The buffalo wanted their land back, and the settlers wanted their homes. Appleloosans argued that the buffalo only used the land for a few minutes once a year, so they weren't really the stewards of the land. The buffalo argued back that they had been there since “time immemorial,” as they call it, and that it was integral to who they are, and that we'd stolen it from them. Frankly, I think we're in the wrong here, and I would move the whole town if I could.

The one grace is that most of their route runs through my orchard, so I got to make the call for our side. We settled on a compromise: we would clear the trees and the few buildings from their ancestral path, and we would offer them apples and pies once a year in exchange for their assistance knocking the apples loose. I think it worked because each side could feel like they were the owners. For the buffalo, they got their tradition back, and we have healthy commerce and trade; they help us, and we help them. For Appleloosa, most folks feel like it's our land now, as long as we respect the agreement and give back the stampeding path. As for me, I'm not the creature that should decide what's right and wrong. The best I can do is listen, do my best to do right by the buffalo, and take care of the ponies in my charge.

And that means ensuring everyone a seat at the table. I let folks know I intended to contact the buffalo. They would be nearby, since their annual stampede was only a few weeks away, and their summer home was about a two-day journey from Appleloosa. We hoped that Strongheart, one of their leaders and (I'm proud to say) a friend of mine, would let us interrupt for a few minutes, at least.

I brought it up at the weekly town hall a few days later. This one wasn’t so well-attended. They usually aren’t unless trouble is brewing. As they say, the world is run by those who show up.

Officially, it was supposed to be Dawn, Tinker, and Copper running this one as part of our founders’ rotation. Dawn and Copper were happy to be in the audience, though, since both Trail and I had reason to be present. Once we got past the agenda and headcount, I opened it up. “Folks, just one big idea today before we open it up for Community Voices: with this incorporation, we’ll have to reexamine our relationship with the buffalo.”

The crowd nodded. Most of them already had opinions, but the fact that I hadn’t gotten shouted down meant they were still of open minds.

I looked through my notes again. “The fact is, Appleloosa is growing, and we’ve got a lot to be proud of. Canterlot seems content to let us manage our relationships out here, but that comes with a lot of responsibility for bein’ good stewards and good neighbors. It’s important for our friends to know we’re lookin’ out for them, especially as circumstances change.”

Sandstone, a fairly new addition to the town, spoke up. “You givin’ away our autonomy, Braeburn?”

“Absolutely not, but I ain’t about to take autonomy away from the buffalo, either. Bad blood leads to more bad blood.”

“It’s our land, Braeburn.”

My neck felt hot. A statement like that is a minefield, and especially if I was considering being mayor, I had to navigate it carefully. “If by ‘ours,’ you mean ponies and buffalo, then yes, Sandstone. Keep in mind: we settled here without their permission.”

Sandstone huffed. “And whose fault is that, Braeburn?”

“Mine,” Trailblazer said authoritatively. The room went dead quiet. Between his sepia coat and wheat-colored mane, he looked like he was straight out of an old photo, especially with that scowl on his face. He folded his forelegs and leaned forward. “It’s my fault and mine alone, Sandstone, so if you’ve got a problem, take it up with me.”

Words rose to my throat, but this was a matter of pride, so to speak. I knew not to interrupt a stallion when he was owning up to something.

Sandstone stood up. “My problem is that we’re paying rent instead of owning this land.”

“What’s done is done, Sandstone.” Trail shook his head. “You don’t gotta live here. But if you want to, then you can’t ignore reality: we settled on buffalo land, and we owe it to them to treat ‘em fairly as possible.”

Sandstone tightened his lips. “Maybe you shoulda thought of that before setting up a whole town here, then.”

Trail just nodded. “I made a bad call, folks. I know it. It’s… a stain on my legacy, and a big one at that.” His head dipped down. “I’m the stallion that invaded buffalo lands. If the history books remember my name, that’s what it’ll be for.”

The room felt darker, and I couldn’t help myself. I cut in. “And he’s already apologized for it, up and down and every which way.”

“And I’ll be apologizin’ for it until I die. Heck, probably beyond that if I get any say in my obituary.” Trail looked back out at the crowd. “I ignored the hoof prints. I knew what they meant, deep in the back of my mind, and I still told the group to settle here, since it was the flattest land we’d found. I shouldn’t be surprised that we weren’t the first ones here. Like Braeburn, I want the buffalo to have a say in what happens. There’s a lot of wisdom in folks that have been here for generations already.”

Sandstone snorted. “I ain’t givin’ up my home and my plans for the sake of some outsiders that charge through here once a year.”

Trailblazer’s shoulders tightened, so I took the lead, before his head blew off. “Well, I think a lot of folks would agree that we’re the outsiders, Sandstone, but that’s why we’re here to have the discussion. The fact that you showed up means you care, and we owe it to you to hear you out, just like you owe it to us to consider what we’re proposin’.” I didn’t like playing the country versus city card, but sometimes folks need to feel exceptional to feel heard. “That’s what we all have in common out here, right? We ain’t chasin’ bits or fame. We’re after a good life, and that means helping each other in a way that nopony in Canterlot can understand. So, let’s figure out what we offer and what we want.”

That was a long, long meeting, but I’m grateful for the discussion we had. There was no chance we’d ever make everypony happy. That’s the thing about compromise, though: you don’t get everything you want. If you do it right, though, everyone gets what they need. The most contentious points of discussion were the land acknowledgment (which Trailblazer insisted on) and seats on the future council to be reserved for members of the buffalo tribe. We got to a decent spot, though. We agreed that the negotiations would be in the open, in front of anypony who wanted to attend, and that they would be held in Appleloosa. I knew I was setting myself up for a lot of stress, but it had to be done.

After the meeting adjourned, I felt dizzy, like my brain had been through an apple press. Trailblazer saw me and asked, “Heard you’re tryin’ to quit, but that was a hell of a meeting. Can I buy you a beer?”

I thought back to the flask of whisky I’d split with Pa. Addict that I am, I convinced myself one wouldn’t hurt. “Yeah, but keep me to just one, y’ hear?”

It was a quiet night at the Salt Block. Pride was playing slow songs with Grassy Ridge on the banjo, and the mood was relaxed. Trail and I grabbed a seat, and he ordered a couple beers.

As we waited, he looked at me. “Lots of work ahead, I’d wager.” He was leaning on the table with his forelegs folded again. His body always seemed tighter since the first contact with the buffalo. I still hope he can forgive himself someday.

“Don’t I know it,” I agreed with a sigh.

Trail started to say something, but Raindrop had stepped up to us. She’s part-owner of the general store, and it didn’t surprise me what was on her mind. “Evenin’ colts! Sorry to bother, but I had a couple questions about those buffalo negotiations. That okay, Braeburn?”

Trail shook his head. “Give the stallion a break, Raindrop. It’s been a long night already.”

I held up a hoof. “It’s okay, Trail. Folks deserve to be heard.”

Raindrop grimaced and paused. She waved a hoof back. “Oh, no, he’s right, Braeburn. I could have spoken up at the meeting. You colts enjoy yourselves. I’ll catch you later.” She bowed and was gone before I could protest.

I laughed and looked at Trail. “I gotta hire you as my bouncer.”

He smiled at me as a waitress delivered our beers. There was an extra shot of whisky included for each of us on the side, but when I asked, Trail just shrugged. The waitress clarified, “Compliments of Handlebar. He appreciates the work you two do.”

I stared down at that shot and made my decision immediately. ‘It would be rude to refuse.’ The pang of guilt was easy enough to ignore in the face of being polite, which I think says something about society. And me, of course. I promised myself I would take it easy.

We toasted to the work ahead of us and had our shots. Our chasers were beer and a pleasant conversation.

At one point, Trail asked, “Who’s gonna be the runner?” He was referring to communicating with the buffalo. Strongheart had told a few of us their locations and seasonal migration, so we could find them if needed. It showed a lot of trust.

I nodded. “I figure you, me, and Dawn. We’ve got the most level heads, I reckon.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is it worth your time, Braeburn? There’s lots to do here, and it’s over a day each way, even if we hurry.”

I drained the rest of my beer. It was a strong, sweet ale that was grown from our local hops supply, and it had an almost fruity start and bright finish that covered up the punch of bitterness sandwiched between. “I’m sure, Trail. This trip is worth it.” We spent the rest of the evening talking about everything from our approach to how we’d kick off negotiations.

If we were going to negotiate, though, there was something I needed, and I knew just where to get it. A couple days later, I brought Dawn Light with me as a witness. You could lose her in the first rays of morning sunshine like that; her pink coat and blonde mane radiated the type of beauty that drives the straight stallions wild. Together, we walked to one side of the orchard with carts and bushels to meet an old friend.

"Hey there, Russell." I gave his trunk a gentle tap, and I could practically feel his apples quivering as his boughs bent to gravity's pull. "I got a real important job for you this year. Think you can handle it?"

Dawn snickered at me, but I ignored it.

Russell stood strong. He's always been an early bloomer. I named him because his leaves are the loudest when the wind blows through, being at the edge of the orchard like he is. He's also a gala tree, which makes me smile these days. Late July like that, he was already full of apples just waiting to fall.

I took a few turns around his trunk, evaluating the apples that looked ready. 'Small bug bite on that one. The one on the right has a strong stem, might be hard to get. Ooh, that one– no, some rough color on the bottom.' You can't rush these things, especially when they're for someone else. Dawn waited patiently, smiling as I made my laps and looked at the branches from all different angles.

I thought about getting a ladder, but the shiver in my spine told me I wasn't ready for that.

"There we are," I whispered as I spied my choice. It wasn't picture-perfect, but it had character, shine, a deep red color, and no evidence of bruising. Plus, it was hanging by a thread at the end of a branch, and its siblings weren't quite ripe yet, so I wasn't likely to screw it up. "Keep an eye out, Dawn. I might miss."

She snorted a little laugh. "Naw, you won't."

Her confidence aside, my stomach rattled like it was full of rocks. I set my hat – the new, blue one I’m wearing right now, in fact – I set it down right below that apple and made a little nest with some grasses. Paying no mind to Dawn's chortles, I traced the branch with my eyes, then felt along Russel's trunk. A few knocks against it, and I knew the spot to buck. "Right here."

My heart picked up the pace as I took my stance. I looked over my shoulder once, then relaxed, closed my eyes, and steadied myself. I raised my hind leg, feeling the muscles coil and gather strength. The temptation to let loose was like a teenager’s voice in my head, but I kept it under control, and with an exhale, I gave Russell one swift, light buck, right on the mark. I swear, I could feel the vibrations travel up his trunk, into the branch, and into the stem of that apple, letting it drop like a tooth falling out. It landed perfectly in the middle of my hat with just the slightest pfit.

Dawn Light sat and clapped her hooves together. "And here you were, worried."

I held my head high and grinned. "I've had some practice."

"Lotta work for one apple, though."

Playfully, I knocked her shoulder with mine. "With an attitude like that, it's no wonder I'm in charge of the food."

She responded by flipping my mane over my face. "Okay, apple expert. Have we messed around enough to start filling some bushels?"

I retrieved my prize, enshrined it in a small box, and stuck my hat back on my head. "Indeed we have."

Russell and his neighbors happily provided eight bushels. Before long, we had everything we needed, and Trailblazer met us on the edge of town with a big wave. With little more than a last look at Appleloosa, the three of us headed off into the wilderness in the early morning sun.

We didn’t say too much, partly on account of wanting to save our energy, and partly due to spending so much time together already. There’s a level of comfort that you need to walk in silence with somepony, and after four years of building up Appleloosa, we were about as comfortable as friends could be. There’s a lot to be said for ponies that can work on a project that big and stay friends.

Dawn pulled the biggest cart, but if anything, she was the one setting the pace. Trailblazer carried the least, since he was doing the tracking and keeping an eye out for any signs of trouble. He walked out ahead, and Dawn walked close to me a few hours in. “No idea how much use the buffalo have for wood, but I can build a structure if it sweetens the deal.”

“That’s mighty kind, Dawn,” I replied. “Keep that in your back pocket. I ain’t sure how they’d take to that, since it’d be harder to migrate with something rooted in place. Maybe we can set up something along their stampede route.”

“Wouldn’t want to get in the way of their run, of course.” She lowered her voice. “Think Trail is gonna be okay?”

I looked forward. Trailblazer was about fifty paces ahead, and his head was on a swivel. Even out in the sun for so many hours like that, he was focused on his job. I wondered if he was like me, and it was something to keep the thoughts away. “I think this’ll be good for him. Give him a chance to make things right.”

“Don’t let him go too far.”

I skipped a step. “How do you mean?”

“Darkness on the soul, Braeburn. He’s a good pony. He wants to set things right. I’m worried he’ll get tunnel vision, though, and put you in a bad spot.”

“Put us in a bad spot, Dawn. I ain’t the town.”

“Ain’t you?”

That got me to full-on stop. “No, Dawn. I’m not.”

She eased to a stop, too. “Braeburn, for all intents and purposes during negotiations, you are.”

I shook my head. “We’ve got three of us here. We’re all founders.”

“And only one of us wants to be mayor.” She sat in the dirt and caught her breath. “I don’t mean to pressure you unfairly, Braeburn. That’s how it is, though. Somepony has to make the call in the end. I’ll support you where I can, but I just know wood and tools. You’re the one who’s got other folks figured out.”

My ears dropped. “I really don’t think I do. I’m just willing to try and bumble through it.”

“And that’s why you’re in charge. ‘Those who show up,’ right?”

“Hey!” Trailblazer called back. “You two alright?” He turned his cart around and headed back for us.

Dawn called to him. “Yeah, just needed a breather.” She whispered to me. “We got faith in you, Braeburn. Just make the right call.”

“Heh,” I laughed nervously. “If only it were that easy.”

We broke for a light lunch, and the rest of the day was uneventful. Trailblazer found a rocky outcrop for us to set up camp nearby. After he helped us arrange our tent to preserve heat, he set up a condensation net to get us some extra water overnight. Dinner was simple, and it was full of laughs as we reminisced about that first autumn out in the desert, all alone. Dawn had brought some whisky. I only took a few pulls – again, using politeness to mask desire – and Trail wanted to keep a clear head, so Dawn had more than she intended, and she fell asleep first. I will say, the temptation was strong that night, and I resisted having more when Dawn offered. I gotta celebrate the little victories, too.

I took some water, and Trail stirred the fire with his shoulders slumped inward. I took a deep breath, double-checked that Dawn was out cold, and whispered, “You don’t gotta beat yourself up so much, Trail.”

“I’m gonna make it right.” He held his poker in the fire and looked right at me. The orange light reflected in those glassy eyes of his. His eyebrows were knit. “So help me, Braeburn, I’m gonna fix my mistakes.”

I frowned. “You gotta let some of that stuff go, Trail. It’ll eat you hollow.”

“Maybe it should.” He looked back at the fire and idly poked at it. “Maybe it’s what I deserve.”

I scooted closer and threw a foreleg around his shoulder. “Trail…”

He laughed. “You gonna make a move on me, Braeburn? I might not compare to Flint, but I’ve got the endurance of a stallion twice my size.”

I snorted. “I didn’t know you swung my way.”

“Nah, I’m just pullin’ your leg.”

The air grew cold and stiff between us as he went back to tending the fire. I kept my foreleg around him as I said, “We all make mistakes, Trail.”

“Do we? Do we all invade a whole nation of good creatures and disrupt an entire way of life?”

“Well, in this case, yeah, we all kinda did.”

“Bad choice of words.” He sighed. “I appreciate it, Braeburn, but I gotta do this for me. I’ll make it right.”

Something about his tone had an edge to it. “We are gonna make it right, Trail. I know…” I tried to put myself in his hooves, and I thought back to when I was at my lowest, when I thought I had screwed everything up myself, and I remembered some wise words. “You’ve got a team out here, Trail. We help each other. That’s how we survive.”

“Will you let me at least say my piece to the buffalo, Braeburn?”

Dawn’s words echoed in my head. “As long as it doesn’t hurt the town, Trail. Keep in mind: we’re responsible for all of Appleloosa right now.”

His head hung. He looked back into the fire. “Sure. You’re right.” He set his poker down. “We should get some sleep.” He shrugged off my foreleg and made for bed faster than I could comprehend. “Night, Braeburn.”

I sat next to the fire a moment longer. “Night, Trail.” The stars were beautiful that night, like always. I fell quickly asleep while Trail tossed and turned.

Morning saw a quick breakfast. I checked Russel’s first apple, which was still safe in its box, along with the bushels. We headed out without any trouble.

We didn’t need to travel for long, though. Within the hour, we saw a large cloud of yellow-brown dust moving towards us, and we could feel the ground shake beneath our hooves. Trailblazer stopped and turned his head, then nodded me and Dawn forward. She gave me a wide gesture and a little, “After you, Mister Mayor.” I chuckled and walked to the front of our pack.

I could tell Strongheart from a mile away, which ain’t an exaggeration. She’s grown into a fine leader within her tribe, and even with how big she’s grown, she hasn’t lost even a step of her natural agility. Good thing, too. They stopped on a bit, right in front of us. As the dust cleared, she tipped her head to us. "It is good to see you again, Braeburn, Dawn Light, Trailblazer."

I'd already removed my hat and bowed to each of them. "Likewise to you Strongheart, Water Giver, Wrestler.” Each of them had names in their own language, of course, but Strongheart recommended we use the translated names to avoid slip-ups. To her credit, she’s organized language lessons for a few folks in town, and I hope to become fluent one day. “Thank you for meeting us out here. Great timing, too."

"We saw your fire last night. It is our pleasure to see you here. What brings you?"

"We'd like to discuss some changes in Appleloosa. May we enter your lands and talk?"

She smiled. "You are welcome to."

"Great! But first things first…" I turned to our carts, where Trailblazer stood stiff as a board. For the moment, I thought nothing of it. “We’ve got a little gift for you.” I gently grabbed Russel’s first apple, which was in a little covered box, and I presented it to Strongheart.

She accepted it, opened it, and smiled. “Thank you, Braeburn.” She looked at the bushels we had with us. “But I think the bushels will save you some trouble.”

“Nothin’ doin’.” I stopped myself when I remembered not to use idioms. “Sorry, but that one’s special. That’s the very first apple of the season. We want you to have it.”

“I was wondering what the extra effort was all about. It is much appreciated.” She looked down at the apple. “This is a gift, yes? And we can do with it as we want?”

I nodded. “Absolutely. All yours.”

“Great.” She pulled a gourd full of water from her side, then carefully washed her hooves. When they were clean, she gripped the apple firmly. “Hrng…” With a twist, it split in two, and she broke it further into six pieces, three of which she offered back to us.

My heart swelled. Despite the iciness I felt from Trailblazer next to me, I had hope.

After our snack and a few more pleasantries, the buffalo led us into their camp. We didn’t all speak the same language, but Strongheart helped us translate. The buffalo were marvelous hosts. They ensured all our needs were provided for, prepared a meal, and offered us a blanket for our return trip. We tried to decline, but Strongheart warmly told us that it would be rude not to accept.

For our part, we gave the buffalo the apples and promised them that this wouldn’t count towards their annual payment. These were special, along with the cinnamon and little bit of cardamom we’d brought. I could tell their mouths were watering – they did enjoy our spiced pies, after all – and we showed them how we make fire-baked apples for dessert, even though it was only about ten in the morning.

We finally got down to business after the buffalo took away the remnants of our meal. A dark-brown, graying buffalo approached. Her face was sunken at the sides, but as she walked, the other buffalo gave her space and reverence. She sat in front of the fire and the three of us. Dawn sat up straight, and I thought Trailblazer would fall over. I set my shoulders and paid attention.

Strongheart bowed her head and introduced us. “This is one of our elders. You may call her Mountain.” She said something to Mountain that I couldn’t understand, except for, “Braeburn, Dawn, and Trailblazer.”

Mountain nodded to us. “Dawn is a beautiful name. Braeburn means apple, yes?”

The weight of her words felt like lead on my shoulders, and I spoke like a colt who’d knocked over Granny’s vase. “Yes, ma’am. It’s a type of apple.”

“I understand. Trailblazer, I do not. What is the meaning?”

Trail went white. “It means an explorer. Somepony– Somebody who finds new lands.”

She raised an eyebrow. “But you settled in ours. These are very old lands.”

Trailblazer’s mouth opened. I saw his eye flick back and forth, and sweat rolled off of him. Quietly, he said, “I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

Trail’s jaw chattered. “Because, I… I’m…”

Dawn cut in. “He’s sorry for all of us, ma’am.” She took a deep breath. “He’s sorry that we settled on your land.”

“I told them to settle here,” Trailblazer interrupted. The entire camp went quiet, and everyone looked right at him. “I was the scout. I found the spot, and I ignored the signs that y’all lived here. I’m truly, truly sorry.”

Mountain stared at him, studying him. With no other regard, she turned back to me. “What business do you bring today?”

I thought Trailblazer would cry. His breathing was short, and his eyes darted all around. But I had to keep going. “Appleloosa has decided to change how we run ourselves. We’ll cooperate more with Canterlot.”

Mountain barely moved. “That is where the pony leader lives, yes?”

“That’s right.” I took a deep breath and forced my shoulders to relax. “There are some big changes coming to the town. We want to consult with you before we make any decisions.”

She didn't miss a beat. “When you say consult, do you mean you will tell us what you are doing? Or we will tell you what you can do?”

“We’ll need to–”

“We’ll do whatever it takes to make it right!” Trail blurted out. The eyes swiveled back to him, and Dawn and I held our breath.

Mountain turned her head. “You will dismantle your home and move away?” When Trailblazer went stiff again, she faced Dawn. “Does this pony speak for Appleloosa?”

“No, Mountain,” Dawn said.

“Then who does?”

My jaw clenched. I glanced at Trailblazer, whose eyes had unfocused, and I realized he was beyond my capacity at the moment. As sorry as I was for him, he couldn't be my focus. I looked back to Mountain. “Well, that’s part of the problem. We don’t have formal leadership. Right now we have a council.”

“Then how can we trust your words will have power in Appleloosa?”

I was stunned at how quickly she dismantled any authority I thought I'd had. I don't blame her, though. She had to ensure her people's safety, just like we did.

She was right, of course. None of us had any formal power, and the founders’ council would, by necessity, give up what little we had for the new system.

Dawn came to the rescue again. Sort of. “We’re selecting a new leader, and Braeburn is expected to win.”

This gave Mountain pause. "So Braeburn will be your leader?" She looked at me with eyes that were so heavy, my legs nearly buckled. Dawn, Trail, and practically every other buffalo followed her lead.

They wanted me to commit to a decision. They wanted to know that somebody was in charge, was thinking hard about what would happen, and ultimately, would be responsible if things didn’t work out. After everything with the media scandal, I’d grown averse to sudden bursts of attention, but this was something else. With all eyes on me, I think it was the first time I truly felt what it would be like to be mayor.

It felt… strange, to say the least. I didn't want to feign confidence, but I had to face facts: I wasn't just another pony in Appleloosa anymore. It wasn't even that I was a founder. I had to believe that, deep down, I was the best pony to lead, and that’s a terrifying sword to see lying in front of you.

I admit, I hesitated in my own mind. Bronze’s voice echoed in my head. “King Braeburn.” The night he gave me that black eye. He’d been screaming about the town, how they thought I had to have everything my own way. Who was I to think that highly of myself? How dare I deign to be a leader?

And yet, Appleloosa needed a leader. It needed somepony to pick up that sword, and do it for the right reasons. The thing about power, I’ve learned, is that you can’t just have it. You have to use it, because if you don’t, things go off the rails right quick. In a way, I was already using that power – what did it say that I, of all ponies, had decided we need to open difficult negotiations to avoid heartache in the long run? No, I wasn’t ready to be leader, not yet, but I was willing to reach for that sword before it was lost to rust.

I spoke to myself as much as I spoke to her. "The choice is ultimately the town's, Mountain. I have every intention to become the leader, and most of Appleloosa supports me.” A truth that bolstered my resolve. “I can't guarantee the outcome any more than I can guarantee the rains, but I will do everything I can to do right by my town, and I want to do right by you, too."

Mountain looked me over. She nodded. "Do not forget the promises you make. I hope we will speak of these matters again." She looked over the herd. "Chief Thunderhooves is not here. We will discuss with him our terms for negotiation, and we, too, will be fair. However, we must discuss with the leader of Appleloosa, and for that, you must have a leader. We will meet after yours has been selected."

I nodded back. "That's fair. That might take months, though."

"We can be patient. In the meantime, you are welcome to stay overnight.”

We politely declined their offer, partly on account of how sick Trailblazer looked. Ultimately, we agreed that we couldn’t hold negotiations until we had a mayor, and we’d have to finalize the town charter after that. It would be a small headache to work through the bureaucracy out of order like that, but I resolved to make it work.

I think that’s what Appleloosa needed: a strong-headed leader who was too stubborn to let problems lie, but who could learn to navigate complex relationships outside the town’s borders, be they in the buffalo lands or in Canterlot. For Appleloosa’s wellbeing, and for my own, I needed to become that stallion.

Chapter 19 - Guys' Night

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter 20 - Say You Will, Say You Will

==X===X===X===X===X==

Braeburn opens the lock to his shed. "Might wanna take your shirt off. It'll get dirty haulin’ bushels."

We stand at the edge of his orchard, north of his house and just east of the buffalo trail. The fragrance is overwhelming, even here. It makes my head swim in such a pleasant way, especially in the rising heat.

Wood clatters against wood while I take my shirt off and hang it on a hook in the shed. Braeburn does the same and sets the bushels down on the wagon. "Now, I'm not gonna run you ragged, but I wanna see some improvement before I let you go."

I smile. "Taking some drill sergeant tips from Spitfire?"

"Ha! Hardly. You'd know if I did. Let's see what you got with Twinkle over here." He points to a tree with some very shiny apples.

My heart races. I'm used to being more passive in stories like this, but now it's my turn to be judged. I hold my head high and step up, trying to keep my shoulders back and project confidence.

Braeburn laughs. "You gotta relax, Viv."

I blow air out of my lips and hop in place, shaking out my limbs. "I don't really do that."

"Then you best stay a few extra days until you learn." He walks up to the tree with me and shows me how to stand properly. "Back straight but not tight. Eyes forward. If you look over your shoulder, you'll end up twisting your body and falling to the side. Just worry about hitting it square with both hooves."

I try to mimic Braeburn’s stance. He reaches out and pushes a bit on my chest, presses my haunches down and forward, adjusts my chin… I feel like a show dog. "This feels unnatural."

"Years at the desk will do that to ya'. Give it a go."

I take my stance.

"Even breaths, and just go for it. Exhale on the buck."

I rock my weight onto my front hooves. A fire smolders deep within me, ceremonial in a way. I exhale and kick, trying to think as little as possible. There’s a connection to my roots that I haven't felt in years as my hooves hit the trunk.

Of course, I only knock four apples down. Braeburn seems pleased. "Not half bad!"

My ears fold down. "That was pathetic."

"Naw, don't get in your head like that. Your form was good. It's just a matter of scaling up. You know what they say?"

I remember some advice from my dad that he got from his grandpa. "When you're splitting wood, it doesn't matter if you get it right in half or just shave off a little. As long as you make progress with each swing, you're doing well."

Braeburn stares. "That's… probably better than what I was gonna say, actually. Old farm family wisdom?"

I smirk. "You know it."

I take a few more bucks at the tree, and the power in them increases. After we find our rhythm and Braeburn takes position by another tree, I ask, "With Soarin', it seemed like everypony wanted you back together. Do you feel like you had much choice in the matter?"

Braeburn bucks one more time and answers, "Oh, I'd already chosen. They were just helpin' me face it."

==X===X===X===X===X==

I bet I spent twenty minutes at my kitchen table, debating on whether to address it to "Soarin'" or "Big Blue." In the end, I trusted my heart.

Hey there, Big Blue,

Been a crazy couple months, hasn't it? I guess we're used to that, though. Fortunately, the media has kept off my ass. I've got Sapphire Shores to thank for that, though I suspect it ain't a coincidence.

I'm trying to decide whether to keep it brief or write a novel so you can practice. Let's go with the former.

I'll be in Canterlot on the 31st and 1st on election business. Yep, it's official: I'm running for mayor. Between that, the buffalo negotiations, the harvest, and my new, very close friends, there's so much to catch up on. Can we get lunch or dinner on Friday? My treat if you pick the place. If you're not traveling with the team, I understand.

I'd love to see you again, even if we're just friends, and I hope you feel the same.

Applebutt

I thought it would hurt to send, but slipping it into the mail slot felt like sending a Hearth's Warming list to Auntie Crisp.

Waiting for a response was the same. I'd sneakily poke my head into the post office every time a train arrived, just in case he sent a rush letter. I was almost disappointed when it came the regular way a few days later, but that feeling quickly gave way to glee as I tore it open back home.

(3rd try. Feeling good about these one!)

Hi, Applebutt!!!

His hoofwriting was better than I expected, but it deteriorated towards the end.

Bad news, good news, band news, good news:

Bad news: I'm not cleared to travel with the team.

Good news: I know what train there taking, and I'm a private citizen. Kind of.

Bad news: I can't get us backstage at the shower, or management will have my ass. Probably not the showers, either. Heh. Unless…

Good news: that means I'n free Friday night. Meet at the Fillygree Stalble at 6? I'll have a privates room.

Sorry for bad words. Migraine. Can't wait. Miss you. Tons.

Blue

I lifted the page to my nose and took a deep whiff. It smelled like his house. Laughing at myself, I set the paper back down. "Yeah, I'm doomed."

It's strange what can make a week feel long. During harvest, I'm always dog-tired by the time I crawl into bed. That one winter with Bronze, every day dragged on as I waited for something else to go wrong. With Soarin's letter, it was like knowing I had a birthday party coming up, and every little thing reminded me of the gift I was about to receive.

Folks noticed, too. I bumped into Dawn and Trail at the grocery store. Dawn said, "Somepony's got a bounce in his step. Did Soarin' get back to you?"

"That he did, Dawn! We've got everything set up for Friday night. Looks like I've got a nice night ahead in Canterlot." I blushed. “As friends, of course.”

Trail stood a little taller. "Happy for you, Braeburn." He wore a sad smile, but there was a hopeful light in his eyes that I'd missed.

Folks commented all week how chipper I was. The only gray cloud was Sandstone, who was officially running against me for mayor (and my only opponent, in fact). Ahead of our meeting in Canterlot, I offered to split the cost of a sleeper car with him. His response was, "Thank you, but no, Braeburn. I wouldn't want folks to think I was sleeping with the enemy." Still, I wouldn't let it get me down.

But Wednesday night, as I packed my bags, I leaned over my bed and stared at my clothes. “Easy, Braeburn,” I whispered to myself. “Soarin’ is just your friend. Don’t forget that.” I had to repeat it a bunch of times. “Friend.”

Folks always talk about how hard it is to stay friends after a breakup. My mind ran with images of us sitting awkwardly or getting bored or, heaven forbid, having a fight right in the middle of the restaurant. Those thoughts were punctuated by pictures of it going the exact opposite, too, with the two of us tearing our clothes off and making out on the table before we’d even placed our drink order.

But a heaviness settled on my heart. “No. I ain’t doin’ that to us. Not again.”

I built a wall around my heart that night. Brick by brick. As much as I loved him, I remembered every word we’d said to each other in Baltimare. I recounted the disagreements, the fights, the hugs goodbye, and everything else that told me that we weren’t dating anymore. All the logic. All the emotions. A part of me would love him forever, sure, but we both had futures to think about. As much as I wanted him to be a part of my life, we needed to be responsible.

With a deep breath, I reminded myself, “It’s just dinner. It ain’t a date. He’s an important friend, and I’m happy to see him. Nothin’ more.” A thought burned at the base of my neck. “Maybe someday, but not right now. Friend. Friend.”

As the day drew closer, though, I felt that knot of excitement in my stomach, and it grew so much that I could hardly sleep on the mail train Thursday night. Luckily, I'd learned from the previous excursion, and I brought some paperwork to study up on. It put me right out.

There's not much to say about the Friday meetings. Sandstone was standoffish in the waiting room where we spent most of our time. He kept glancing at me nervously. See, he hadn’t dressed up at all, whereas I was in a nice, brown suit with my apple-clasped bolo tie. I’d wanted to look presentable without letting Sandstone accuse me of looking too “city,” and given that he never commented on it, I think I hit the mark.

We were only invited into those big, scary boardrooms when we were needed, and then we'd wait outside again. When we did speak, it was clear how ill-prepared Sandstone was. Oh, he talked a lot, getting pretty adversarial about how Appleloosa wouldn't get bossed around by Canterlot, but he was talking out his ass whenever the ministers asked a policy question. Everypony knew it, and I think it made me look better, even if it made the town look worse. Shame, really.

At four-thirty, Sandstone and I parted ways without much of a goodbye. He was catching a passenger train to spend the night outside Haulahay.

I headed over to the Filigree Stable. It was inside the City Center hotel, not too far from the Garden Center Suites where we’d had our guys’ night, and I sat at the bar. I know what you're thinking, but I wanted to test myself. I'm happy to say I passed. Whenever I had an errant thought about getting some booze, I reminded myself I didn't need it and that Soarin' would be proud of me.

The Stable lived up to its name. Intricate metalwork covered every surface. The lighting was low so that the polished details could really shine. It all looked so delicate; I was even afraid to put my hooves on the bar for fear that I’d bend some silver decoration. The pony-watching was nice, though, and I was certainly taken aback by a burly, milky-white stallion in a tweed jacket who plopped down next to me.

“Seat taken?” he asked in a deep-south accent that put me at ease.

“All yours, partner.” I reached up to tip my hat, only to discover that I didn’t have one.

The stallion rumbled a laugh. “Heh heh. Old habits, yep.” He tipped an imaginary hat back at me. “Fancy meetin’ another country colt up here.” He turned to the barkeep. “Two whiskeys. Neat.”

I choked up and blurted out, “Well, uh… Sorry, friend, but I, uh… I’m not drinkin’ these days.”

He gasped a little. “Oh, damn! Apologies.” He leaned into the bar. “Hold that order, barkeep.” He looked at me sincerely. “My mistake. What are you takin’ then? My treat.”

I knew better than to refuse an offer like that. Wouldn’t be polite when a stallion is setting things right, and I wanted to lighten his mood. “Eh, somethin’ fruity, like me.”

He snorted a laugh. “Alright, I gotcha.” He ordered a pineapple saffron cordial for me and then turned back. “Hell, I sure am steppin’ in it, ain’t I? Orderin’ a gay stallion a drink, and the wrong one at that. Should let you know: I’m happily married.” His jaw tightened a tick. “To a mare. Sorry.”

I chuckled. “All good, friend. I ain’t lookin’ tonight, but I’m flattered.” I extended a hoof. “Name’s Braeburn.”

“Cotton Creek, but friends call me Cree.” He shook my hoof. “I'm the Ag Rep from down in Hayseed. Yourself?” Agriculture Representative, I'd eventually figure out.

“Oh! Uh… well, mayoral candidate for Appleloosa, I suppose. Nothin’ as important as all that.”

Cree raised an eyebrow. “First rule of government: your part of the world is always the most important.” He leaned on the bar and spoke with his hooves. “Folks hear you backin’ down, they’ll leap on you faster’n a timber wolf on a sheep.”

I blushed. “Sorry. Still new to this.”

Cree waved a hoof dismissively. “All good, friend, all good.” He whapped me on the back. “We all gotta learn sooner or later.”

“Heh. I hope not.” The drinks showed up in front of us. I could smell the pineapple even through the strong fragrances that wafted from the restaurant. “I really just want to get back home to my business once I’m done here.”

Cree smirked. “‘Cept y’all got farm loans and a locust problem.”

I sat up straight. “You’re smart as a whip, ain’tcha?”

“Naw, I just pay attention. Sorry to tell ya’, friend, but this ain’t the last you’re seein’ of Canterlot.” He grabbed his whisky, took a sip, and nodded in approval. “Appleloosa’s got a lot of attention right now. Wheatberry – that’s the Agriculture Minister – she’s got her eye on that place like a hawk on a mouse. Real curious if a desert farm region could expand our trade to the south without needing a lot of proppin’ up.”

I narrowed my eyes on him. “You know an awful lot.”

“Necessity. Ya’ don’t wanna be caught with your trousers down around her. And friend, if’n you get your mayoral appointment, then get used to writin’ a lot of reports.”

I spun my mocktail in my hooves. “Heh. I do that already.”

Cree smiled. “Well, then I imagine you’ve already got the job.” He lifted his drink. “Cheers to you, and good luck on the campaign. Look me up after you win.”

“Of course! I owe you a drink, after all.”

We clinked our glasses, and it was the start of a beautiful friendship.

Cree kept me company for an hour or so. Conversation was mostly light, but we swapped stories of family and home, and we promised to make trips out to each others’ towns one day. As enrapturing as he was, I kept an eye on the clock, and I said my goodbyes just before six. I'm grateful that he occupied my mind during that time.

I gathered my wits and checked the clock for the fourth time in as many minutes. My heart fluttered, and I remembered, ‘Soarin’ and I are friends. He'll be tempted, too, and it's up to me to keep myself in check. This isn't a date. This isn't a date.’ Satisfied with my emotional masonry, I walked to the front and asked, "Six o'clock for Soarin' Windsong?"

The hostess nodded and grabbed a few menus. "Welcome to the Filigree Stable. Right this way, please."

"Is he here yet?" My tail wagged, but I shook my head and reminded myself: walls.

"No, sir. You're the first to arrive."

I nodded and wondered if I should wait in the lobby for him, but I followed. The Stable was smaller than the fancy Canterlot restaurants I'd seen. It felt classy but cozy. She brought me to a small private room in the back, and I caught the eye of a few snooty Canterlot socialites who would no doubt gossip about the mysterious cowpony in the back room the next day. The room had a divider, at least, so we couldn’t see the rest of the restaurant, and I took a seat.

I fiddled with my napkin and all three of my forks, constantly telling myself that it was just seeing a friend. That nothing was going to change between us, and that no matter what, we would take care of each other. Even so, I couldn't ignore the feeling in my heart. It beat faster and faster, sure, but it was something else too. Like a flower that's just waiting to bloom in springtime.

My heart jumped to my throat when I heard a rhythm of quiet, mechanical squeaks getting closer. I put together exactly what it meant when I saw him walk around that corner.

There he was. He gave this cute little gasp, and as soon as he had, a smile formed on his face. It spread wider and wider, until it became this really big, toothy, dopey grin. I saw the little crow's feet around his eyes, and it looked like he was sleeping pretty well. Even more heartening, he still wore his yellow stud earring, just like I wore mine. And despite the massive, chrome braces on his forelegs, he stood tall and proud, and he was beautiful.

Then he threw his head back and laughed and laughed and laughed, and he covered his face up like he was embarrassed. He wasn’t just cute; he was a damn fantasy come to life.

And I thought, 'Aw, shit, I'm still in love with him.'

I chuckled lightly and quipped, “What, got some food in my teeth?”

He shook his head as the last little bit of laughter left his lips. “You're fine, dude.” My eyes found his leg braces again. They were probably the best that money could buy, but they looked unnatural on him. He was still showing scars where the accident messed up his legs, and I realized this was the first time that I had seen him outside of his casts. He didn't let it bother him none. He sat down across from me. “It's good to see you, Braeburn.”

"Likewise, Soarin’."

We just stared into each other's eyes. They hadn't lost their glow, shining like emeralds. Neither of us said anything. If you asked me at that moment or immediately afterwards, I probably would have said that there were no words that I could bring to mind, or that there was nothing that I’d want to do that would break this moment. Truthfully, though, I think it's because I didn't need to say anything at all.

We would have stayed that way for hours if the waitress hadn't interrupted us. “Can I start you with anything to drink?”

Soarin's ears flattened as he looked between her and me. “Oh. No thanks.”

“It's okay,” I reassured. “I'm 2 weeks sober.” That word felt good in my mouth, better than the alcohol ever did.

Soarin’ rested on a foreleg. “You're amazing, Braeburn.”

The waitress didn't miss a beat. “We have a fun selection of non-alcoholic cocktails. I recommend the lavender orange juice spritzer.”

Soarin' cut in. “Is it yellow?

“Uh, yes! It is.”

“I'll take it.” He leered at me.

And I smirked back. “If you've got a blue mocktail, I'll take that.”

The waitress left to fulfill our orders, and I turned back to Soarin’. Before I could speak, he started, “Wait, hold on. I'm sick of these things.” He held his legs out to the side, and he bent his neck to grasp an oversized wingnut with his lips. With some very uncomfortable twists of his neck, he loosened it and slid the first one off. “Uh… Sorry. This takes a bit.”

“You're good.” I tried not to stare, but that was hopeless. My heart ached for him.

He repeated the process on his other brace, and it wasn't hard to see how frustrating it was for him, but as it slid off, he sighed and sat up, holding his thin forelegs out. “Tada!”

I smiled. “You look good like that.”

“Wow, Braeburn,” he said with a mocking lilt. “It's been two minutes, and you're already hitting on me. I mean, I get it. I'm a celebrity.” He leaned back and waved his forelegs around dramatically. I tried not to notice how skinny they looked. “Not that I blame you, but I'm trying to stay a little professional here.”

I looked away and ran a hoof through my mane. “Yeah, sorry about that. I told myself I wouldn't do that, and well, here I am.”

“You're good, Braeburn.” He shrugged. “And hey, accurate if you believe the fan letters.”

I was grateful for the change in conversation. “Been getting a lot of those, I reckon?”

“Oh, dude, tons. It's been good reading practice, but I'm way behind. Something to do when I'm sick of physical therapy.” He held up his hooves. “Makes these bad boys super dry, though. Did you know that paper is absorbent? It's like trees need water or something.”

I snorted a laugh. “Sorry, I shoulda warned you.”

“Braeburn. I've eaten over a dozen apples in my life.” He theatrically held a hoof to his chest. “Clearly, I'm the expert here.”

The way that stallion could make me laugh, like it was nothing at all. “How have you been, you doof?”

“Good.” He nodded. “Good.”

I frowned. “So, you ain't been so good.”

“Oh, it sucks!” He dragged down the skin under his eyes. I started to wonder if that's why they always look so stretched and baggy. “I don't want to complain, and I promise I won't trauma dump on you, but like, yeah. I'm sure you remember how hard it is to even…”

He was remembering Bronze. He was going to say that I knew what it was like to have a broken leg. And he was right. I clarified, “Yeah, I do. But if I counted all those scars that we have in common, I think folks imagine we're cut from the same cloth.”

“Nah. I wouldn't want to date my cousin. No judgment.”

“I oughta up and leave after that,” I snickered.

“Not before you tell me about all your stuff.” He leaned in. “Wouldn't want to leave me hanging, right?”

“Never.”

I gave Soarin’ the long and short of my life over the past two months. He paid attention to every word, and with a few jokes for extra flair, he asked a whole bunch of questions about my mayoral campaign, the buffalo, and my trip to Canterlot with the guys.

Soarin’ hadn't been idle, either. On top of his physical and reading therapies, he'd met with his mother twice: once in the hospital and once at his place. He was trying to work things out with her, and they were making progress. They had scheduled their third meet-up the following week on the anniversary of his father's death.

“Proud of you, Blue.” I reached for him before I remembered my wall.

He noticed, but he stayed chipper. “Couldn't have done it without you, Applebutt.”

Time flew. There's an ease in talking with Soarin’, like a colt telling his friend about summer vacation. We got our dinner, but I hardly paid attention, and we'd nearly finished eating by the time my mouth was dry from going on about how I’d stood up to Bronze and my own parents’ visit.

Soarin’ picked at his dinner omelet. “Sounds incredible, Braeburn. I'm not surprised you're so busy.”

Meanwhile, I polished off a caprese salad that had some of the best basil I’ve ever tasted. “Aw, ‘busy’ doesn’t cover half of it. What else you been up to, though?”

“Physical therapy, mostly. And brain therapy. Lots of that. It's… most of my world right now.” His voice lost its color. “It's going to take a lot to get back to where I was, if I get there at all.”

All my attention focused back on him. Whether friend or lover, my heart wouldn’t let me leave him sad like that. “You're Soarin’ Bucking Windsong. You'll get there.”

“Yeah. It's still a long ways off, though. And I've been laying low.” He glanced at me. “I didn't want to draw attention to you. I think we're mostly in the clear, though.”

My ear flicked. “Only mostly?”

“Yeah. The world's moved on. There's this one guy who's bugging me about writing a book about us, but I haven't gotten back to him yet. I wouldn't say yes unless you cleared it first.”

My mind spun with all our previous media experience. “I'm surprised you're considering it.”

His shoulders were tense and growing moreso. “Keeping it all in is hard, Applebutt. Doctor Soul says that talking through it helps. He's probably right. Aaaand to be honest, the residuals might be kind of nice. No idea how long I'm going to be without a regular paycheck.”

My instincts to help kicked in harder, but I fought back. ‘Friends.’ I cleared my throat. “Well, don't do it just for that, of course.”

“I wouldn't.” He crossed his forelegs and looked at some art on the wall. “I kinda want to make sure your story gets told, too. You got rawed by the media, and maybe it would help set things straight. Well, gay. So to speak.”

I sighed. “I'll think about it. Maybe we can talk more next time.”

He flashed his pearly whites. Even if it was for show, he couldn't hide the brightness in his eyes. “Careful, Applebutt. You're already promising to see me again.”

“Of course I am.” The instincts won out, and I reached across the table and held his hoof. The love bloomed in my chest again. “I've missed you terribly.”

“Me, too.” He squeezed back, and even though it was weaker than what I was used to, it was perfectly him. Soarin’ looked at me. But at the same moment, our memories and promises hit us again. His voice became sad. “We made the right choice, Braeburn.” He was asking as much as telling.

“Yeah. We did.” I could feel him tense again. “But there's a big ol’ ‘but’ at the end of that sentence, ain't there?”

He shrugged. “You know how I am with big butts.”

I braced myself. I knew this was the moment I'd be tested, and I reminded myself of what we both needed when we'd split up.

But… I wondered if we needed something different now. And then I immediately recognized the crack in my wall. I shook off that thought and hardened myself. “Go on, then.” My heart fluttered despite my desires.

“We made the right choice, but that doesn't mean it has to be the last choice.” He looked me in the eyes. “Right? We can choose again.”

It's astounding how much a sentence can bring me joy and haunt me at the same time.

He continued. “We're here now, and things are different, and… we said how it might have worked if we'd had more experience–”

“And if circumstances were different. Right.”

“Right.”

We held onto each other. The walls were cracking more now. I wanted nothing more than to stand up, walk around the table, and hold him. What stopped me was the memory of Cloudsdale. I remembered how bad it had been, especially for Soarin’: working through his aphasia, trying to balance the drama with the team, and keeping me happy and entertained to the best of his ability. Something had needed to give, and in the end, it had been me, which had been even harder on him.

I choked up. “Blue, I know where you're going with this, and I don't want to hurt you again.”

“And I'm not going to pressure you. Heh. You've got a much clearer head than I do. Literally. Just full of junk up here.” He knocked his temple with his free hoof. “But I think about you every day, Applebutt.”

“Same,” I answered immediately.

I looked up at the clock. We'd been there for almost two hours already.

My mind tumbled. Every thought of getting back together with him was met with a hundred ways it could go wrong. And yet… “How would it even work? Hypothetically.”

“I… have a couple ideas, but I don't want to throw too much on you.” He lowered his head, closed his eyes, and had the same wrestling match with himself that I’d been having. He looked back up. “It's enough to just put it out there, I think.”

I squeezed his hoof. “Heh. Or you don't have a plan at all.”

Soarin’ smiled. “Braeburn, I know better than to lie to an earth pony. I've had a lot of time to think about it, but I don't want to rush this time.”

“I believe you, and you're right. No need to rush.” The tick of the clock was like a thief tapping my shoulder in a dark alley. “So…”

He sighed. “So, we shouldn't give ourselves the time to make a mistake.”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Right.”

…

The wall had held, and I felt so, so damn bad about it. I quickly followed up, “This was great. I love seeing you again.”

Soarin’ agreed just as quickly. “Yeah. Same. Same here.”

We looked into each other's eyes again and held each other with our thoughts. I got lost in those eyes. There was kindness there. Love. I felt safe again, like I was wrapped up in a green blanket on a cold night.

…until his eyes flicked behind me, and he whispered, “The waitress is being super patient.”

“Oh!” I turned my head and saw her waiting. “Sorry! Uh, one–”

“Two checks, please.” Soarin’ winked at me.

“Blue, I told you I'd pay.”

“Yeah, but we're being responsible, right? Taking it slow.”

I snorted. “Alright, but I owe you a meal.”

“Huh. Guess we have to meet up again, then.” He winked once more. “Oh well.”

We finally let go of each other's hooves, and I realized how sweaty mine had gotten. We paid, Soarin’ put his braces back on, and we walked together out of the restaurant and into the hotel lobby. Thankfully, we didn't see any cameras as we walked to the front door and stopped.

Everything already felt like it was over. We weren’t doing a long goodbye, which I cursed myself for despite the wisdom in it. My stars, how I longed for him.

Clearly, he returned the feeling. He gave me a quick hug. “Thanks for this, App… Braeburn. This was great. I'm looking forward to the next time.”

“Me, too, Bluh-Soarin’.” I nudged his face with mine, and we chuckled together. I didn’t want to leave without setting another date, so I asked, “When are you–”

“WHORE!!!” shrieked a stallion's voice. “HARLOT!!!”

Soarin’ raised an eyebrow and looked back towards the restaurant. “The fuck?”

With a groan, I hid behind a hoof. “Ah, shit.”

Gallant Heart marched up to the two of us, right in the doorway, redder than a fire and roaring like one, too. “The absolute nerve of you to show your face like this!”

Soarin’ snickered. “Old coltfriend?”

“Naw,” I said. “Gallant, it's okay. This is–”

Gallant pulled out his pocket square and threw it on the ground. “It is most certainly not okay! You lied to me!” He put a hoof to his heart and turned to Soarin'. “Mister Windsong, I am terribly sorry, and it brings me no joy to say this. This… slut has been cheating on you.”

Soarin’ tried to stifle his smile. “How?”

“With–” Gallant’s lip quivered. “With me, sir.” He spoke quickly. “I asked him directly about you two, and he said you'd broken up, and I assure you that I never would have–”

“No,” Soarin’ interrupted. “I mean like, we are broken up, so how could he cheat on me?”

“You…” He went pale and looked between us.

I groaned and forced a smile. “We're grabbing lunch to catch up, Gallant. As friends.”

Gallant stumbled on his hooves. I think he nearly fainted. “Sirs, I apologize profusely.” He stuffed his pocket square back into his pocket as he mumbled in terror. “Please don't allow my behavior to reflect poorly on the Garden Center Suites. I… really like my job.”

I sighed. “You're good, Gallant. Just take a moment next time, okay?”

“I will.” He paused. “I can get you a free night if you're still single and want to–”

“I'm good, Gallant.”

“Fair enough.” He scrambled away.

Soarin’ burst out laughing. “Good for you, Applebutt.” He lowered his voice as a hoity toity couple walked past us, and we moved away from the door. “Glad you're back in the game.”

“Heh.” I ran a hoof across my mane. “Hardly. That was the guy from our guys’ night. I haven't had time to get off since he and I spent a night together. How about you?”

“Nah. Sex isn't really feasible with my injuries. I don't know if my junk even works right now.”

“Bullshit.”

He rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine, I bought a couple toys.”

I snickered. “Front or back?”

“...both.” He glanced away and blushed.

Pride swelled up in me. “And are they the same colors as me?”

“Actually, no. I didn't want to be creepy.” He grimaced and rubbed his leg. “Buuuut I do imagine they are.”

“I'll take that as a compliment.”

“Yeah. It's not as good as the real thing, but it's great for leg strength and hip flexibility. Might have to give myself a workout later.”

“Heh. Yeah, don't let me stop you. I need to hit the rails, anyway.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

We smiled at each other.

I felt the cruel tug of the world. Thoughts of Appleloosa crept back to mind, and I reminded myself how I should be grateful for what I'd gotten. Joking or not, he was right that we had to be responsible.

And yet, neither of us could avoid it. Soarin’ broke first, “Actually, could you–”

“Do you want a– sorry, go ahead.”

“No, you go.”

“I insist.”

Soarin’ softened. “I'm still pretty wobbly, and I'm supposed to walk instead of flying. Could you… escort me back to my room?”

“And here I thought you'd make a joke about me trying to get in bed with you.”

“Eh, it crossed my mind, but… I want to be real with you, Braeburn.”

“Me, too, and yes. I'd love to.” The thoughts came back. “But that's it, okay? I'm not going to force myself on you.”

A bit rigid, Soarin’ replied, “Right. Yeah. I'll be good, too. Responsible.”

“Responsible.”

We both smiled, and then we walked to the elevator. This one was automatic, not like at the Garden Center Suites, and it was all the better. We started by standing a respectable distance apart, facing the door, but almost as soon as it closed, Soarin’ raised a wing, and I sidestepped and nestled into him. I rested my head on the side of his neck.

We felt very comfortable there, together in the quiet.

That ride could have lasted forever, and I wouldn't have minded. We stepped off on his floor, and we walked down the hallway. Soarin’ stumbled a few times, and he took the long way down the halls while we listened to each other breathe.

But after the second lap around, his legs were getting shaky, and we arrived at a room we'd already passed by twice. Soarin’ hesitated, and then he dug out his key, opened the door, and crossed the threshold. He turned around, and we looked at each other. We saw each other. “It was great spending time with you, Braeburn.”

“Likewise.”

We stood there. Neither of us moved.

And smiles curled across our faces.

Soarin’ hid behind a braced hoof and groaned. “I swear I didn't mean for it to go like this.”

With a half-sigh, half-laugh, I admitted, “I know. Neither did I.” I felt like I was glowing. “But it was always gonna go like this, wasn't it?”

“Heh. With me tricking you into coming back up to my room?”

“Naw. With it turnin’ into a date.”

Soarin’ looked at me, ears up. “We said it wasn't a date, Braeburn.”

I don't know why, but I started choking up. “Why not? This is all I ever wanted, Blue. Something normal. A nice meal. Conversation. The chance to fall in love on our own time. And… I like what I've seen.”

“Me, too,” he whispered. His lips quivered. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“Same.”

“Then…” He got all small, and his eyes got wet. “Wanna keep going?”

So did mine. “I do.”

Soarin's jaw rattled, and he took a shaky breath as he stepped aside to invite me in.

Sure, those thoughts about being responsible came back. I knew what I was doing, but being with Soarin’ felt so right, more than anything else. Soarin’ didn't need to tear down the wall. He'd found the door.

And I walked in with no more hesitation. We embraced that moment—not clinging to it out of desperation, but experiencing it fully and appreciating it for the miracle that it was—and we made love the way only the two of us could. It was the slow kind, where all you want is to draw it out more, because the journey together is the best part.

Mm…

…

When I'd rolled back into Appleloosa from my time in Cloudsdale, I'd had this feeling about being home again. The air was easier to breathe. My body felt lighter. Everything down to my bones relaxed and unwound, and I let go of all my cares. I'd thought Appleloosa was the only place that could make me feel that way. Happily, I'd been wrong.

I lay there, spooning him and massaging his chest while lightly kissing his neck. He moaned, and slowly, I found every little way I could shift my body closer to him.

I tried to scratch my face, but he took his shaky foreleg, grabbed my hoof, and kept me wrapped around him like a blanket. I didn't mind the itch at all, and he didn't even open his eyes.

Seeing him like that, blissful as a spring morning, brought back all the wonder of our time together. I rested my face on his head. “I love you, Soarin’.”

I felt his body shiver with delight. He turned his head, and with sleepy eyes, he said back, “I love you, too, Braeburn.”

If seeing him again was bliss, then hearing those quiet words was paradise.

He hauled himself around to face me, and we hugged each other tighter.

We held each other.

We breathed.

We existed.

Together.

I kissed his cheek and confessed, “I never want to leave.”

“Okay, but then who's…” He didn't finish.

“Heh. What was that?”

“...nothing. Forget it.” His shoulders went slack.

“Blue, you're bein’ mighty cagey today. What's on your mind?”

He looked up with puppy eyes. “I don't want to wreck it. I just… want to enjoy this time with you.”

I cradled his face, then brought him into a long, slow kiss. His mouth had a hint of aluminum and oil from his leg braces, but he still tasted like my Blue.

But he should have known better. When he started to pull away, I stuck my tongue out and ran it along the roof of his mouth. And he had a laughing fit, just like I knew he would. “Hahaha! Haha! Ow!” His right foreleg tensed. “Ow ow ow!”

“Sorry, sorry! Didn't mean to hurt you!” I grabbed his foreleg and started rubbing.

He shook it off. “It's okay. Just weird.”

I cuddled back up to him. “In that case, there's more where that came from unless you fess up.”

He looked at me with nothing but love. “I was going to say, if you stay here, who's going to welcome me to Appleloosa?”

My head rested on the pillow, and I watched him. He was serious. “Blue, that won't work. It's… There's nothing out there for you.”

“There's you.” When my response got caught in my throat, he added, “You can say it. I've had the same thought, and I'm still trying to figure out what it means.”

“It's not enough, Blue. I’m… hell, this hurts to say, but I know from experience: one pony is not enough to base your life on. It's unfair to the both of us.”

“I know. But…” He kissed my shoulder. “I think this time, at least we know that going in.”

“You've put a lot of thought into this, haven't you?”

He reached out and gently stroked my face. He could only keep it up for a few seconds before he had to rest. “I'm trying, Braeburn. I really am. I told myself I wouldn't bring it up today, that we'd take it slow, and I wouldn't pressure you.” He swallowed. “But the second I saw you, I–” He stifled a laugh.

“You did that earlier, too. What's so funny?”

He sighed and focused on me with those dreamy eyes. “I told myself the whole way in that I'd play it cool and just be your friend, but the second I saw you, my first thought was, ‘Oh, fuck, I'm still in love with him.’”

I felt warm all through my chest. “That was my first thought, too.”

He nuzzled me without a word, and I returned it.

But that big, stupid wall came back. “I don't want us to hurt each other again, Soarin’.”

“I think it's unavoidable, Braeburn, no matter what we do. But… I don't want to give up.”

“Neither do I.”

Soarin' looked deep in my eyes. Here was a pony that had seen beauty and excitement all across Equestria, and of all the things in the world he could have been looking at, he fixated on me. "It's funny," he remarked without an ounce of humor. "I can barely walk, my career got derailed, I have no idea what's going to happen… and I wouldn’t change it, because it brought me back to you."

I didn't give in, per se. Giving in implies I wanted to resist it. "So we try again?"

He brought my hoof to his lips. "It's not 'again,' Applebutt. I want to keep trying, because I have never, ever stopped loving you."

Then we held each other close, and he said…

And I never will.

Chapter 21 - Work and Play

==X===X===X===X===X==

Soarin’ wears a large saddlebag stuffed with materials. He trots up and rubs his face on Braeburn’s. “And I mean that.”

“I know you do, love.” Braeburn rubs back.

They stand there, moaning softly. They're both back in that moment, and it heartens me to see them like this.

Braeburn kisses Soarin's ear, the one with the stud. Soarin’ rests his chin on Braeburn’s head. “Remember how you made fun of me for taking so long with my story?”

“Okay, fine, you got me.”

“Seriously, you're just now at the part where I moved here?”

“There's a whole bunch to cover! And I already told him about the move itself, right at the start.”

“Seems like our mayor is…” His voice fades, and he hugs Braeburn all of a sudden. “Thanks for talking to somepony about it. You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah. Lots to get off my chest.”

Soarin’s tone darkens. “Even if Mac stops by? I… don't really know what his plans are after lunch.”

A pregnant pause. They speak more quietly, but not so much that I don't hear.

Braeburn mumbles, “Yeah. I… might ask him to stay, actually. I don't like hiding things from him.”

“You sure?”

“No. But… I need to process it all sometime, right?”

My neck feels hot.

Braeburn strokes Soarin’s face. “And how are you holdin’ up?” Soarin’ doesn’t answer. “I’m sorry this is all happening on Sky’s rebirthday.”

Soarin’s jaw trembles, and he holds Braeburn’s hoof against his face. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “I’m actually glad it all worked out. Gives me something else to think about today, and it’s gonna make September seventh a lot happier from now on.”

“Ha! You gonna celebrate the Foal Scout Jamboree every year now?”

“Something like that. Dad’s…” His head rolls side to side. “Dad’s gonna be really proud of me by the end of the day.”

“He already is.” Braeburn rocks onto the tips of his hooves and kisses away the tears from each of Soarin’s eyes. Soarin’ smiles and kisses Braeburn back before licking the salt from his lips.

Braeburn glances at me, and his ear flicks. He clears his throat. “How's the prep going?”

Soarin’ sucks in a breath, and his eyes go wide. “...Good!” He grimaces. “Really great! Not stressed at all!”

“Ha! I know you're lying.”

“It's called a cry for help, Applebutt.”

“So you're finally gonna let me step in?”

Soarin’ and I lock eyes, and my heart thumps so loud that I can't hear anything else. I stammer, “I'm sure he's got it, Braeburn.”

Braeburn sighs. “I know. It's just… I see how hard you're working, and it's tough not to be there for you and the town. You get it, right?”

“I do,” Soarin’ says. “And like, I actually do need your help on a couple things. I know it's short-notice, but do you think you can give a speech to everypony? Maybe around two-thirty?”

“Oh, you mean like this one?” Braeburn reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a small stack of notecards.

Soarin’ wrinkles his nose and tries to hide a smile. “Have you been carrying that around all day just to shove it in my face?”

“Maybe.” He puts the cards away. “How dressed up should I be?”

“I'll bring some clothes to the shed fifteen minutes ahead of time.”

“Shouldn't I shower at home?” When Soarin’ freezes, Braeburn calmly says, “It's okay if you've got a surprise. Gives me somethin’ to look forward to.”

“Dammit. I was hoping you wouldn't figure it out.”

“You're sly, Blue, but it's mighty hard not to be suspicious when you've got me busy all day. It's okay, though! I won't try to guess. So, what's in the bag?”

“Oh yeah! I've got a little present. And… it was going to be an excuse to keep you from downtown, but also I kiiinda need help, like, today.” He sets the bag down at his side and digs into it. He pauses a moment, and my heart jumps to my throat when I see a tiny flash of red. “No, not that.” He settles on a cardboard tube and a blanket. “So, you know how I wanted to go national with the buckball league?” He sets the blanket across the grass.

“Uh-huh. It's ambitious, to say the least.”

“Yeah, ambitious… so…” He offers the tube to Braeburn. “Maybe hold onto your butt.”

“That's your job,” Braeburn laughs. He opens the end of the tube and gasps as he unrolls the blue paper. “Blueprints?” On it are plans for a massive stadium. “Holy hell, here in Appleloosa!?”

“Yeah! Like, I know it's a lot, but… well…” He takes a step closer to Braeburn. “Remember what you said about investing myself in the community?”

“Soarin’, there's no way you can afford this.”

“I…” Soarin’ winces. “...might need a loan, yeah.”

“Figures, but… wow, this is something. Blue, it's a silly backyard game that we made up.”

“Correction: big backyard game. It's been huge on the east coast ever since that meet-and-greet, and it's getting bigger. Trust me, we really wanna jump on this train before somepony else does.”

“Yeah, but a whole stadium? You–” Braeburn’s voice catches in his throat.

Soarin’ makes an arc with a foreleg, like a terrible salespony. “It's aspirational!”

As Soarin’ sets his hoof down, Braeburn grabs it and shakes it weakly. A sad smile breaks on his face. “And it gives the Wonderbolts a place to perform.”

Soarin's ears flatten. “Yeah… B-but the team could practice here, too! Spitfire wants a place for spring training, and it would be good for tourism, right? Heh heh…”

“Soarin’, you can't build a whole stadium just to spend more time with me.”

“Braeburn, I would do anything to spend more time with you.”

“I know. That's what worries me.”

Soarin’ droops and hugs Braeburn tightly. “We'll figure it out, Applebutt. I promise I have a plan.”

“Heh. Wanna let me in on it?”

“Later. I've got, like, zero time right now.” In the distance, we hear a train whistle. Soarin’s jaw drops. “Uh, actually I have less than zero time.” He quickly leaps into the air and steals another quick peck. “Love you, talk to you later! No peeking! …Love you!”

“Love you, too! Twice!”

Soarin’ gives it a beat, smiles, and then zooms off back to town. Braeburn shakes his head and waves, the breeze tugging at his mane.

I come up and sit next to him. “He never stops, does he?”

“Naw, even if it means his plans ain't fully thought out.” He rolls his head towards me with a sly smile. “Keep a secret?”

“Of course.”

“He's giving me a big plaque to put in the town hall. Smooth obsidian. Says ‘First Mayor of Appleloosa’ and everything. I'm guessing he's got the whole town in on it.”

I pause and smile, but not for the reason Braeburn thinks.

Braeburn laughs. “I suppose that means I'm right.”

“What do you mean?”

“Blue stashed it in the shed with his buckball gear. I think it slipped his mind when he asked me to help set up the league game the other day. I tried not to notice, but it was hard to miss.”

I smile at Soarin’s choice of “hiding” spot. Subtle and believable. Sounds like Braeburn doesn't suspect anything yet. “I can neither confirm nor deny any details.”

“Ha! That means I'm right. Just hope it doesn't distract from the jamboree.” He stands up. “Break's over, though. Now, what were we talking about?”

“Soarin’ had suggested moving to Appleloosa. It sounded like you both liked the idea, even if you were nervous.”

“‘Liked’ is a hell of an understatement.”

==X===X===X===X===X==

I saw him again two weeks later. On Trail’s advice, I spent the whole weekend in Cloudsdale. It wasn't too far out of the way, since I had a short Thursday meeting in Canterlot. Soarin’ met me with a skycab. When I protested, he said he’d flown himself on the way there to save some bits, which put me at ease.

My fear of heights disappeared with his wings around me. We fell asleep wrapped up in the back seat, only to wake up as we descended to the security gate of the Sunrise Estates. But I got a chill as we walked up to his home. The memories were still raw.

As soon as the door closed, Soarin’ turned to me with a hungry gaze and said, “Okay, gonna be real: I know the rule is ‘business before pleasure,’ but I will be way too distracted to get anything done if we talk logistics right away.”

I snickered. “C’mere, you.”

I’d missed sleeping on a cloud mattress. They don’t have enough support, but the temperature regulation is perfect. I sometimes wonder how much it would cost to get one down here.

We woke up from our post-cuddle nap and spent an hour just talking about the last two weeks. Soarin’ had been busy: one of his physical therapists was from Dodge Junction, and she was looking for an excuse to get out of the city. “There’s this student loan forgiveness program. It’s for doctors in rural areas, and she’s super into it.”

Tired and sticky as we were, I grilled him hard while we snuggled on the bed. Years on the Founders’ Council had taught me the right questions to ask, and I put Soarin’ through the ringer. I'd ask, “What would you do for work?”

And he'd respond, “Part time at the launderer's pressing clothes, part time coaching foal sports. But it would take a few months to get stable, so I’d need to rely on my insurance for spending cash.”

“How would you pass the time?”

“Reading and therapy exercises, which is practically a full-time job. Plus learning more about cooking.”

“What about being a Wonderbolt?”

“Spring training is my first big chance to get back in the game.” He laid back and stared up at the ceiling, like he was following a map that I couldn’t see. “Until then, I keep up my therapy and go to weekend training sessions every once in a while. I’ll schedule them for the same weekends that I get checked out by the gay doctors.” He cast a glance my way. “You know, to make sure I’m still queer enough.”

I groaned. “Doctors Hope and Soul are professionals, Blue, and mighty fine folk besides.”

“Laughter’s the best medicine!”

I nudged his neck with my nose and gave his jaw a quick kiss. “Did Soul tell you that?”

“Nah. He said the best medicine was a good prostate milking.” I laughed, and Soarin’ continued. “But yeah, I’d have to come back every few weeks. Since I’m on medical leave, I can only fly with the team a set number of hours, which changes all the time. Here, lemme go grab the schedule that Streak and I worked out.”

By the end of the day, he'd convinced me to give it a shot. I was worried he'd have to move all his stuff again if it didn't work, but he said that moving wasn't a big deal.

We spent the rest of the weekend together. We didn't go anywhere, since spending time together cooking and working on a puzzle (to practice dexterity and spotting details) gave us plenty to do. I was proud of Blue: he'd gone shopping and gotten a lot of produce and some spices. It was a strange mix, but we made a nice stir fry for dinner.

We talked about the book, too. We figured out the rules of engagement for talking with a reporter, and we agreed Soarin’ would vet you before letting you know about our recent history. I'm happy that all worked out.

A couple weeks after that was the interview, but you know all about that.

We sent letters daily. We were like two adolescents going back and forth, even when we didn't have anything to talk about. Soarin’ got practice reading and writing, and I got a nice little meditation at the end of every day, where I could unwind and almost feel him getting closer and closer.

The letters weren’t all that interesting, really. They didn’t need to be. With how often I got them (sometimes two in a day if there’d been a delay), they were more like an acknowledgment. “I’m still here, and I’m thinking about you,” they’d seem to say.

I remember reading one of his letters glorifying Streak’s performance. I was at my kitchen table with coffee and an apple muffin, reading by the light of the sunrise. Mighty hard on the eyes, but once I was finished, I looked out at my orchard. The window was wide open, and the scent of fresh apples rolled in through the window. I closed my eyes and let it wash over me. It was a warm breeze that day, gentle on the face, caressing me like feathers. I moaned at the light touch.

The next time I saw him was a Tuesday, a week and a half after the interview, and Soarin’ had come out to Appleloosa for a very special occasion.

We were out in the dust by the schoolhouse, and I'd chalked up some boundary lines for a local sport we called buckball. Can't tell you who came up with the idea, but it’s our very own local sport (or at least it was in those days). Buckball had evolved a bunch over the prior couple years, but it’s still pretty straightforward. I explained to Soarin’, “Okay, so you've got the bucker, the fielder, and the goalkeeper. Now, you've–”

“Which one's the coolest?” Soarin’ interrupted with a big smile.

I chuckled. “Well, I like bein’ bucker, on account of how important ball control is.” I waited, and he gave me a wink. “I bet you'd like fielder best, but honestly, it'd probably be a bit rough on your forelegs, so–”

“I'll do that one!” I should’ve known better than to egg on a Wonderbolt.

I explained the backyard version of the game: there are three zones. The buckers stay in a half-circle at the middle, and they try to buck the ball to their fielders (either one or two, or more if you've got a playground full of foals). They run around the back half of the field and try to throw the ball onto a basket tied to their goalkeeper’s back. To do that, they gotta get through the opposing team's field zone. It's a no-contact sport, save for occasional crossed legs from the buckers. There's lots of nuance and strategy about offense versus defense, but basically, stay in your zone and get the ball into the basket.

I tried to be all suave and keep the ball up in the air with just one hindleg (to moderate success) as I finished my explanation. “And no flyin’. We're still figuring out the rules for non-earth ponies. Got all that?”

Soarin’ saluted. “You got it, captain! So, is Pride coming, or…”

The school bell rang, and we turned just in time to see a bunch of foals and their teacher, Mr. Shiny Apple (again, no relation), leap from the windows and doors, and dash outside like a stampede.

Soarin’ playfully glared at me. “This was a setup.”

I flashed a smile and cocked my head. “Think of it as exercise. See if you can keep up.” I turned to the onslaught. “Hey there, foals! Who wants to play buckball with a Wonderbolt!?”

Soarin’ leapt in. The foals did, too. Shiny, in his wisdom, helped us switch up the teams every few plays so that everypony got a chance to play with Blue. Soarin’ was on his game as much as I'd ever seen him. He scored a few points in style, but he passed to every single foal there so they could feel special. With all the fun we had, it didn't even matter what the score was.

My side won, though.

…

Cut me some slack! He's a professional athlete. I gotta take my wins where I can get ‘em.

We finally called it when the dinner bells rang, and as soon as the last foal was running home, Soarin’ flopped into the dirt. “How the hell do you keep up with them!?”

“Ropin’ in unsuspecting special guests, mostly.” I helped him up. “How are your legs?”

He shook them out. “Eh… I probably went too hard. Gonna be sore tomorrow, but that's a hell of a lot more moving than I'd do in therapy.” He bounced on his legs, like he was inspecting them. “Good work, Applebutt.” He kissed my ear.

My chest felt heavy as I thought about the pain he’d experience on my account. “Aw, I should have checked on you more.”

“You're fine. I'll be okay.” He leaned in and puffed up his chest. “Not to brag, but every time I go to the doctor, they tell me what a big, brave colt I've been.”

As I laughed, Pride stepped up to me. “Evenin’, colts. Looks like y'all had fun.”

“We did, Pride, and the foals did, too.” I tried bouncing the ball on my foreleg, and I did a little better this time.

Pride looked over to the town, where folks were bustling around everywhere. “Some folks might think you're trying to curry favor in the election. Bring in a ringer, have the kids tell their parents what a nice guy Braeburn is. They might get ruffled up.”

“Aw, let ‘em,” I said with a sigh. “This is who I am, Pride. I love this game, and I love my coltfriend. They don't have to vote for me if they don't want to.”

Soarin’ stepped beside me and gave me a hug. “Look at you, not caring what anypony thinks.”

I recoiled as if he’d touched an open wound. “Oh, I care, but something about a national scandal puts things in perspective. I really do hope I get plenty of votes.”

Pride asked, “Speaking of which, I don't see a sticker on that vest of yours. Haven't you voted yet?”

“Naw.”

Soarin’ leapt like a scared cat. “Wait, what!? Braeburn, the polls close in, like, twenty minutes!”

I felt like I hadn’t done my homework and was staring down detention. “I know, I just… feel weird voting for myself, right?”

Pride cocked his head. “Weirder than if you didn't do everything you could for the town, including vote?”

He had me there. “Yeah, can't put it off no longer.” I set the ball in a basket nearby. “Let's mosey.”

Soarin’ stayed close as we walked into town. The air buzzed, and I turned heads with every step. Some folks wished me luck. Some nodded. The ones standing around Sandstone looked smug.

Town Hall had a crowd. Handlebar had a bunch of tables out front and was serving free drinks for anypony that voted. I got a few cheers as we walked inside the building, but I just waved politely. See, Cree had once warned me not to do anything that could be construed as coercion, no matter how benign. A few folks asked if I'd join in for a celebratory drink if I won, to which I politely declined.

Inside was much quieter. Soarin’ waited on a bench, on account of how he wasn’t a citizen at the time, and I stepped up to the table where Merriweather was checking folks off the list. I was third in line.

Granny once said that you gotta take time and make memories before you zip through your whole life, especially when your heart is racing. Ten seconds, she says, is all it takes. Like usual, she was right.

I looked around and counted out the seconds. I noticed as much as I could.

‘One.’ The air was humid and a little rank. Town Hall rarely had this kind of hoof traffic, even on big meeting nights. It had the smell of paper and ink, too. I was familiar with both of them, but it was thick that evening. ‘Two.’ Somepony had put up a few banners with Appleloosa flags on them: a red apple on a green star and dark yellow background, representing how we thrive in the desert. ‘Three.’ There were five little booths in total, each with simple blankets thrown over basic frames. Nothing special, but enough for privacy.

The line kept moving, and I stepped up.

‘Four.’ The fading daylight cast the room in a golden glow. It was made all the more vibrant when Fertile Seed lit a few lamps. ‘Five.’ Next to the table at the front, somepony had gotten the podium out. It was freshly polished. ‘Six.’ Merriweather spoke softly as she passed the next voter their ballot.

‘Seven.’ Merriweather had mine all ready, and she gave it to me without me having to say anything.

‘Eight.’ The paper weighed nothing in my hoof. I kept thinking I had dropped it as I walked towards the ballot booth.

‘Nine.’ I took the closest open one, second from the left. It had a dark green blanket on one side and a heavy quilt on the other. I set my ballot down.

‘Ten.’ And there at the top of the page in clear, bold lettering, was my name: Braeburn Apple.

Amazing how a bunch of letters can have so much meaning, right? Arranged like that, in a way I’d seen so many times… But it was special. Everypony in town would see that name tonight. It was me. It was my ideals. It represented everything I’d done for the town, everything I hoped to do. The promise to work for the brightest future I could create. It was me taking my hat off and holding it to my heart and asking the town, “Will you have me? Am I good enough?”

I paused while I held the pen. I thought of the meeting with the buffalo. The locusts. The nights with Flint and all the others building the first houses. Even just the buckball game with the foals that afternoon. And I smiled. “Yeah,” I whispered. “I think I am.”

I marked a little check next to my own name, and whether or not I would win, I was proud of myself.

Once I’d slipped my ballot in the ballot box, I meandered out into the street, feeling like a puppet with strings on all my joints, like I was floating and going through the motions of it all. I think my brain was trying to keep itself from overthinking, and I’d glided through the crowd by the time Soarin’ caught up with me.

Sorry to report, but I don’t remember much of what folks said. I think it was encouraging, at least. Remembering Cree’s advice, I kept my responses to things like, “We’ll see how Appleloosa feels, and I’ll be proud to be here either way.”

We might have been out there an hour or just ten minutes. I honestly couldn’t tell you. Soarin’, though… Soarin’ was a hero. He managed most of the conversation and talked me up, and every once in a while, I would catch a look from him that read, ‘Don’t worry, Applebutt. I’ll work the crowds for you.’

My trance held until a bell rang and Slate announced, “Polls are closed! Get in here, y’all, because it’s a historic day.”

You didn’t have to tell the crowds twice. They slurped up the last of their drinks or took them inside with them, and they filled the seats very, very quickly.

Soarin’ bumped my flank with his. “You coming, Mister Candidate?”

“Huh? Uh, yeah!” I was still floating, but now my chest was pounding like I was on a Las Pegasus roller coaster: a mix of excitement and the one-in-a-million chance that things would end in absolute disaster.

I tried to relax as we took our seats. “Tried” is the operative word there. Sandstone and I had reserved chairs at the front. Heh. Wasn’t enough that we were being judged. The whole town had to watch it happen to us. Slate and a mare named Ribbon were the election judges, and while I knew Slate wouldn't try anything, Ribbon had been hoof-picked by Sandstone to keep things fair.

I squeezed Soarin's hoof as Slate cleared his throat. “Alright, folks, ballots are all in this here box.” He tapped a well-built wooden chest with the word “BALLOTS” in big, clear letters. “Let's get to it.” There was an awkward stomping of bated approval.

Slate reached into the box and pulled out a few piles, which he set on the table between them. He tilted the box towards Ribbon, who nodded when she saw that he’d gotten them all. Slate picked up the first ballot and read in a loud, clear voice, “Sandstone.”

I felt like the chair had been ripped out from under me. My skin felt cold. But Soarin’ was right there, and he squeezed my hoof to keep me from despairing.

Slate showed the first ballot to Ribbon, who made a tally as Slate returned the ballot to the box. “Sandstone,” he repeated as he read the second ballot.

I could feel everypony's glances. They were like dozens of needles, but I had to maintain composure, win or loss. My mind tumbled, but it didn’t have any time to spiral, because Soarin’ squeezed again.

“Braeburn.”

All the tension disappeared, and I tried to figure out the math and the likelihood that the first two were a fluke, but my thoughts only got so far before Soarin' squeezed yet again.

“Braeburn.”

Slate tallied the votes quickly, and after every single one, Soarin's hoof pressed mine. It became my heartbeat and my reminder to hang on. No matter which way each vote went, Big Blue was right there next to me, experiencing every moment and helping me pull through.

The gnarled knot turned to a mix of disbelief and excitement as Slate said my name more and more. Ribbon checked each ballot and kept the tally herself, which Slate double-checked. Ribbon tried to hide it, but it was as clear as day when we got down to the last few: I was going to win.

“...and last one: Braeburn. What does that give us, Ribbon?”

Ribbon triple-checked her tallies. “Twelve abstain, thirty-eight Sandstone, and seventy-one Braeburn.” The ponies (and my soul) were already swelling as she proclaimed, “Folks, Appleloosa’s got a new mayor!”

The sound washed over me. Town Hall was louder than a Sapphire Shores concert. Soarin’ was wrapped around me and kissing my cheek. Pride was already playing music. I felt taller, even as I sat in my seat. Hooves clapped me on the back, and the room felt bright.

Out of the corner of my eye, Sandstone nodded and stood, and I did the same. We met in the middle, and he offered a hoof. His voice sounded exhausted, but he managed. “You'll do great, Braeburn.”

“Don't go easy on me, Sandstone.”

“Oh, I won't,” he smirked. He nodded at the table up front, and folks were already chanting for a speech.

I took to the podium. As they fell silent, I straightened up and stated plainly, “Thank you.”

“That it?” came Trail's voice, and the whole room burst out laughing, myself included.

We settled down, and I continued, “Naw, I got plenty more, but I didn't want to say anything stupid for my first words as Appleloosa's first mayor.” I took a breath. “But I mean it sincerely: thank you. Appleloosa's been…”

My eyes fluttered and felt wet, and I tilted my head back to keep the tears from running down my face. Memories flooded my mind. As much as it felt like the start of something new, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was the end of something, too.

“Gosh, I've been out here for five years now, folks. Time has flown. The town has grown. Dammit, I didn't mean that to rhyme.” The audience chuckled. “I am proud beyond words of everything this town has done. Everything we do every single day. It ain't always easy, but we make it through. Together.” Soarin’ caught my eye. “Things change. Ponies grow. We learn from our past, keep it in mind as we move forward. Today, we're starting something new, and I promise you I'll give everything I have to Appleloosa.”

They roared with excitement. I felt big. Huge, even. It gave me the push to say more. I leaned forward on the podium. “And folks, I know it don’t bother most of you none, but I gotta say it: y’all did something historic tonight. I…” I shook my head and looked out at the crowd. “Growin’ up, I never thought I’d see the day that a gay stallion got elected to a position like this, least of all for the first ever mayor of a town. I’d bet that’s never happened in Equestrian history. It’s gonna be a footnote in all the books.” The crowd was silent, and I didn’t want to leave them hanging. “So thank you. You’ve made some queer little foal’s life a little brighter, because now he believes in himself just a little bit more.”

The crowd erupted in applause and loud whistles.

“But right now, what matters is the job I can do, and I sure as heck am gonna do my best by you. Appaloosa’s still got a lot of growin’ to do, and we’ve put down the roots we need to succeed.” They started cheering again, and I rode that swell of energy. “We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us, and many, many more successes besides. We’re going to expand the rails, increase our crop yields–” They were really hollering now. “–work with our friends, the buffalo, raise our families right, and establish ourselves as the heart and soul of the Equestrian southwest! Who’s with me!?”

The cheering was deafening, and everypony, even the ones that hadn’t voted for me, could feel it. My eyes, though, fell on the only pegasus out there, how he stood up and cheered louder than anypony else, hooves up in the air, like he was supporting me with his own forelegs. The sheer joy on his face was infectious, and it made my whole chest glow. With him beneath me, I felt like I was flying, utterly unstoppable. And I realized with a small gasp, ‘Oh. This is what Blue feels like during his shows.’ Somehow, I felt even closer to him in that moment, closer than I thought was possible.

Before the tears could get to me, I shouted, “Now, let’s celebrate with music and buckball!”

And for the first time—but certainly not the last—the entire town followed my lead.