Death To The Country

Chapter 1:

The First Morning

I

It was still dark when the alarm clock started its obnoxious song and dance around the top of the nightstand. Applejack stirred in her sleep for the first minute or so, until her eyes finally opened and she stretched herself underneath her blanket.

Letting out a yawn she propped herself up and brought her hoof down on the clock. It gave a final echoing ring, then slept again.

"Shoot," she said, kicking the covers off and rolled off the bed onto the floor. Still yawning she stepped over to the window and was greeted by the morning sky, a dull pink. She was rubbing her eyes when she heard the first rooster crowing. If she could only keep them in the house, then she would be rid of the contraption that made her ears ring every morning.

Problem was, she didn't have very good luck with chickens. That was Fluttershy's area of expertise. In fact, she thought she could hear a cacophony of roosters from the direction of her her home across the road and towards the woods. The animal-loving mare rejoiced in the sound, she thought. One of her quirks.

"Cockle-doodle-doo, chickees. Wake everypony up fer me, will ya?"

A quick trip to the bathroom was her next routine before the day started. A morning piddle came short and relieving, and then to the mirror. Her mane was messy, like it was every morning. Taking a brush in her teeth fixed the problem while she watched herself in the mirror.

She wasn't the type to wear any kind of makeup, obviously, or to fix herself up to look nice. She preferred to be dirty, sometimes. One advantage was that after she worked up enough of a sweat, she wouldn't have to worry about wasting all the hard work in the mornings, just to have it ruined by mid-afternoon.

After her mane was nice and course, and that was including her tail, she carefully tied them both into the buns that she favored so often. A quick look at her teeth showed the pearly whiteness in her smile. Well, not exactly pearly. Nopony could keep teeth at a perfect white all the time, unless their trips to the dentist were long and often. That, and how expensive it would be to keep up the habit.

With that, she was satisfied, and stepped out her door and into the dining area of the Sweet Acres household.

The house was quiet this morning. Quiet and dark. Granny Smith was probably still asleep upstairs. It usually wasn't until after breakfast that she was up and about, her day mostly made up of performing a few chores around the house and spending her time in her favorite chair. Getting along in the years, she wasn't much help with the apple-bucking anymore, her brittle frame barely lifting her out of bed sometimes.

But nopony could blame her. Spending her entire life on this farm had its rewards, and one of them was the rest and relaxation. Her old bones needed every minute.

Applejack almost called out for her little sister, but stopped herself when she remembered that the filly wasn't even there. Yesterday Apple Bloom had come to Granny and asked to spend the night over at her friend's, and she agreed almost immediately. At least, that was what Applejack had been told. The filly hadn't even bothered to ask her older sister about the whole business, but approval from her granny was enough for her to run off.

Of course, Applejack knew where her sister had really run off to. It did not take a genius to figure out that Apple Bloom was with the other Cutie Mark Crusaders, probably still asleep in that tree house of theirs instead, and not with Rarity and Sweetiebelle, as she had led Granny to believe.

The whole matter didn't bother her too much. The trio didn't get up to much these days, except for the usual antics of trying to find their special talents. Same old, same old. But it had been a long time since they had caused any kind of real damage to anything. All three of them were so accident prone that sometimes it was funny.

Funny until she was the one paying for it.

There would be time for scolding the filly later on in the day, but for now there was work to be done. She hadn't even left the house yet, and in her book that was falling behind.

Applejack headed for the front door and reached up for her hat from the shelf of knick-knacks on the wall. Fitting it snugly on her head she stepped out into the morning.

II

         Breakfast would be a little while longer. Setting her alarm clock a little earlier than everypony else, she felt content with being the earliest of the birds. One benefit was being greeted by a pretty morning sunrise. The sky was burning and melting into more vibrant colors, while a few pink clouds were scattered here and there. The air smelled like dew, apples, a faint scent of manure.

It felt good to be alive on mornings like this, and it felt even better to put in a hard day's work on the farm. The schedule for the next bucking was sometime next week, and she was prepared to keep the trees in shape until then. On the long list of things to do today, a good number of trees in the orchids needed some pruning, and her and her brother were slated for the job. It might just be the kind of job that lasts all day, but that was just fine.

The temperature still felt nice, and that always made the mornings the perfect time to work.

She trotted her way towards the barn when she heard a sound, coming from the inside. The doors were cracked open slightly. Unusual, since they were closed every night while her brother slept inside. She hesitated for a moment, when she heard another bang. A tool falling to the floor, maybe.

"Big Macintosh?" Standing there in the dirt she got no answer back.

"Big Brother? You in there?"

A moment of silence passed once more and she tried to call out again.

"I'm in here, Sis," the stallion's voice finally replied.

She was satisfied enough with that answer, when she stuck her head in the door. The inside of the barn was dark, the light from the window shining through and illuminating a section of barrels over in the corner. Big Macintosh was busy picking up a hammer off of the floor that had fallen from the tool rack and bounced off the workbench.

"Bein' a bit clumsy this mornin', huh?"

Mac didn't answer this time, as he gripped the hammer carefully in his teeth and put it back in its place on the rack.

Applejack didn't think too much of it, and approached the tools herself and precisely plucked the pruning trimmers from the wall. Still, her brother didn't say a word. Instead, he walked toward the barn window that looked out at the orchid. She noticed his expression almost immediately. He looked distant, almost.

One distinguishing feature of Big Macintosh was that he always looked as though he was in deep thought. That was one reason that everypony took a liking to him. This morning, though, something seemed ...different. Off. There was a word for it, but Applejack couldn't quite put her hoof on it.

She set the tool down, and when she looked to her brother her expression had changed to one of concern.

"Somethin' a matter?" she finally said.

Again, he gave her no answer, but this time she didn't press him, not wanting to seem like she was prying.

Mac sighed when he finally decided to speak. "Not rightly sure."

Applejack tilted her head and raised a brow. "Now that don't make much sense, Brother."

"Yep, I know," Mac said apologetically.

Applejack came closer and took a spot beside her brother, at least trying to see what he was looking at. There was nothing out in the orchids except for apple trees, and more apple trees.

"Really? Then what's got you lookin' so..."

A pause. "Distracted?"

Big Macintosh shrugged his shoulders wordlessly. Chewing on his piece of wheat like always, and even this was slow and deliberate.

She looked at him now, not getting a look back. "I haven't seen you like this since the orchids flooded that one time." A smile grew on her face, and she found herself almost wanting to laugh.

"I remember the look on yer face, like you were sad an' all, but you looked like you were gunna say 'I ain't gonna be the one that cleans this mess up.'"

She was surprised when Big Macintosh chuckled slightly, and that caused her to give a short giggle.

"Eyup," he said. "I remember. Lost a lot of trees that year."

Applejack nodded. "Mh-hm, and it was awful nice of some of them ponies from town ta volunteer and help plant new ones ta replace our losses. I remember how much you wanted to help. Someponies would start getting tired, and you would take over for 'bout three er four of 'em at once, draggin' a tree by yerself."

That got both of them laughing this time. She always liked to make her brother laugh, especially when he seemed to be in bad spirits.

"We got back more than half of what we lost," Big Macintosh said. "In fact, I remember those particular trees givin' off bigger apples than most."

"That's right, an' we've called 'em the 'lucky bunch' ever since," said Applejack.

Mac nodded in agreement. "Eyup," he said, flicking the wheat around with his lips, then went back to chewing it.

Applejack smiled again. "Now can you tell me what on yer mind?"

Big Macintosh turned to look at her sister, and his eyes met hers. Frustration there, plain as day. It made Applejack frown and look away.

"I mean, I don't like ta pry, but... you are my brother, and I can always tell when somethin's-"

"It's awright," he interrupted. "I know yer just lookin' out fer me." Then his attention went back to the window. The sky was growing brighter still. Birdsong floated in the air.

Applejack's frown faded, and she thought of what to say next, and she found the words on the tip of her tongue.

"Still ...it wadn't right fer me ta ask again. Y'all don't have ta tell me if'n you don't want to."

Big Macintosh sighed again, then turned away from the window. Back to the barn interior. Whatever he had been pondering on was over and done with, as he passed his sister and headed for the doors. He pushed one of them open with his nose, letting sunlight and fresh air into the barn.

Ponyville was already beginning to stir from its sleep. The main road was plain to see, beyond that the trotting fields that stretched towards the trees. The mail pony was just now passing by with his letter cart. He wore thick glasses and a small postpony's hat that barely covered his graying head of hair. It was too early to be dropping off any kind of mail, but still Big Macintosh gave a nod of greeting, and was given one back in earnest.

"That's just the problem, Sis," he said, looking towards town. A few miles away from Sweet Apple Acres, only the highest rooftops and towers were visible over the treeline.

"Hm?" said Applejack, joining her brother with the trimmers in her teeth again. She set them back down and said, "Whatdya mean?"

"I mean that I don't really know what's wrong," said Big Macintosh.

Applejack looked puzzled, obviously. "I don't think I follow ya."

Mac nodded again. "I don't know what's wrong, but for some reason, I can feel it."

Applejack shook her head. "Feel it? I can't feel nothin'."

"It's in the air," Mac said. "You can almost smell something bad when it's in the air like that. Kinda like smelling rain before ya see it."

Applejack scrunched her snout, then raised her head up and sniffed. "Well I don't smell nothin' but a beautiful mornin'." She smiled and looked her brother. "You must have super-smell. Shoot, you might even put Winona to shame with senses like that."

She wanted to laugh again, but when she didn't see a smile draw across her brother's face she decided against it.

"Maybe," said Big Macintosh. "But I just know. Somethin's up. And whatever it is, it ain't no good."

Applejack was frowning again. "If you don't mind me sayin', yer not makin' a lick of sense, Big Macintosh."

"Eyup," he replied, "I know that much. I don' even understand it myself. I didn't 'spect you to, neither."

Applejack wanted to say something, but she left it alone. Her brother was completely right. She didn't understand any of it, and there was probably no way that she would for a long time, or until things became more clear. Maybe her brother really was having bad feelings about something, or maybe he just had a stomach ache. It was anypony's guess.

They stood there a while longer, watching as several townsfolk made their way down the road, running their morning errands. Or going home, as the case may be.

Applejack was the first to break the silence. "So, these bad feelin's, doy'all know what it means?"

Big Macintosh shook his head. "Nnope," he said. "Ain't got no idea."

She smiled and nudged him in his side. "Well, t'aint no reason fer us to just be standin' around and gabbin' while there's work to be done, is it?"

Finally, Big Macintosh tried to smile, but it came out as more of a smirke. His strand of wheat perked up in his teeth. "Nnope."

"Alright then," said Applejack, as she bent down to pick up the trimmers. "Let's get to it."

With the tool in her teeth, she tried to speak. "Yuh go an' hijjuh dah card, an' branget wivus."

"Sure thing, Sis," said Big Macintosh, and with that he turned towards the barn and went to find the wagon, while his sister went ahead and trotted towards the first orchid.

III

Without another rest, his back was beginning to cramp up again, and there wasn't a curse word strong enough to say. And nopony to scream at. Out here, there was barely any signs of life. It seemed perfect, it really did, but he still wondered.

He raised his watch to check the time again, and this time the hands pointed to the right numbers. It was only a few minutes past six o' clock. This came as more of a relief than he had expected it to be. His shoulders were winding so tight they felt like the skins of drums, and his hoofs felt swollen against his shoes, so the thought of finally dropping the wagon was enough to make his ankles buckle and shiver.

The trail had become just that: a trail, roughly cut into the brush long ago. But without care or hooves to tread the way over so many years the path had grown into something of a wild passage between trees and shrubs, where everything and anything grew in the road and reached out like malicious hands to scratch and poke and prod.

And as the flora became more devious, so did the road itself start to fade into the environment, turning it into a hideous thing that threatened to throw him off course. It took concentration to keep on track, to pick out and navigate the spots where there was a little less plant life, or otherwise he could have gone in any direction.

Now, he sat down in the dirt again, but he didn't bother to remove the harness from the wagon like before. He didn't have the strength in him to muster up the energy just yet. He shook his head and tried to shake some of the sweat out of his tangled mane. Instead, he ended up spreading damp strands of hair into his face. He groaned and threw his head back, as much as it hurt his neck and shoulders to toss his hair around.

When he was satisfied, he sighed and hung his face low. Now, more than ever, he wanted that drink. The one he had been offered his first day here. But he declined, made some terrible excuse and lied about his reasons. And half a day later, here he was. Sitting in the forest, strapped to a wagon with one very dead stallion resting inside underneath a thin tarp and a veil of straw.

The very same pony who had offered him the drink.

Left alone to his thoughts, he found that the worst part of all of this was being alone. In fact, traversing these unfamiliar woods--with a corpse as his only company-- to cover up a serious crime made him realise that he had never felt more alone in all his life.

But there was still work to be done.

There was always work to be done.

The only way that things would be normal again, to really begin his fresh start as a newcomer to this town, was to make it look like nothing had ever happened. Like there had never been a murder, and that there was no evidence to suggest otherwise.

It wouldn't be the first time he was forced to do this, but each time he hoped it would be his last.

Fool you once, shame on you.

IV

The morning had shown its face as quickly as ever, the dawn cracking like a whip. The sky was lighting up with all sorts of colors, as if an elaborate light show was just now beginning. The spaces between the trees became more lively, and that, at least, made the trip a bit more smooth. It was easier to see that protruding root, or that thin patch of moss covering a hole, without the dim glow of the moonlight as the only way to see.

But with the coming daylight fastly approaching, something had caught his attention less than a half hour ago, something that was incredibly difficult to just ignore, and since then he had been wondering- and worrying -if what he was seeing was real or not.

He could blame the unusual results of his observation on just about anything that could be done to a pony's body to cause some kind of impairment; dehydration, starvation, exhaustion. But he could see, he knew that the idea was complete bullshit. He was young, and in good shape for a pony his age. And he knew this. A strapping stallion, with just the right amount of life experience to be ahead of the younger generations.

Meaning that even if he was obviously seeing things from fasting in the forest- or his mind was playing tricks on him -he had sense enough to know, to be able to tell whether or not something was real, or just an idea that grew from his imagination and into something more malevolent.

This one instance, however, was a tricky one.

Over the course of the trip, the environment around him was starting to change.

Not the way that it had before, when the straight beaten path had progressed into an overgrown wilderness that nopony had stepped hoof down for quite some time. This time, however, was something that was hard to put into words. Even now, he sat on his flanks and observed his new surroundings with the same kind of enthusiasm he had felt when he first stepped off the train just a day before, and yet that unease that followed him around was becoming overwhelming.

Everything was definitely different now, and for a moment he wondered if he had walked into an entirely new wilderness, if he was still in the general area of Everfree Forest. A listless, somehow mutated parody of a forest.

The trees were strange. Strange, in the sense that they barely resembled the proper shape or characteristics of a typical tree. Instead of healthy green foliage sprouting on the limbs, the leaves were a dark blue color from the base of the tree to the tip of the branch.

He remembered, clearly, that back in town there was a good number of trees with leaves that were a certain shade of blue. But unlike the local flora in town, the leaves looked unnatural to the point of grotesqueness. The shapes of the leaves formed points and angles that took him by surprise, with no stars or teardrops, and the exact color of blue that painted every one looked sickly and unhealthy.

This only applied to the trees that still had any leaves worth speaking of. The trees that were not in full bloom were barren in varying degrees. Some were made of nothing but tangled and warped branches that reached in all directions with gnarled tips, grabbing at nothing. Others only had one branch that was filled completely with otherworldly blue foliage, while the rest of the plant was barely alive.

There were other things that stood out besides the trees, things that simply screamed unusual to him.

The bushes closely resembled overgrown tumbleweeds- spiny, tangled vines woven into different round shapes like baskets. They were sprouting all over in different sizes, whether they were small and close to the ground or tall and balancing on a black stalk.

The ground was matted here and there with a thick green moss--a kind of green that was trampled by a piss-colored yellow--on a forest floor that was as pliable and unstable as mud.

Small, curled plants like ferns sprouted from the moss, but they were never any taller than his hoof. They were wide, however, like lillypads on open water. They were all blood red. At least, he thought they were.

The light of the morning was creeping thinly, and yet nothing was illuminated. Nothing shined on with the presence of dew. He didn't think there was any, even though the air was incredibly humid.

He also noticed, with uncertainty, that the terrain seemed different, as well. The rising and falling hills that he had traversed during the trip were gone. The ground seemed to be perfectly level, without any kind of dips or rises. It was strange, without a doubt, but then again, he wasn't complaining.

Checking his watch again, he marked his break at ten minutes on the dot, and got to his hooves. He noticed, though, that his hoof was pressing into the ground, on a fat patch of moss. There was a squishing sound, and a dark orange liquid seeped around the edges of his shoe. He could feel a certain dampness on his flanks, so there was no second guessing that the same liquid coated his backside. That bath he was planning when he arrived back in town just became a priority.

Getting the wagon moving again, he thought on how even more of that orange stuff was unearthed with each step, on whether it was drinkable water or some kind of inedible poison. Maybe some kind of nectar from the moss.

He wanted to stop where he stood, drop off the precious cargo and end this whole thing. Go back to civilization, where everything made more sense, then do everything he could to forget that it had even happened. Invent as many lies as he was capable of, and deny everything to his death.

But there was no stopping. Not yet. It didn't feel right to cut his losses in this place. Not until he went just a little bit further. The idea had occurred to him that this was somewhere that not many ponies ever ventured to. Nopony in that town would be willing to travel this far for nothing. None of them seemed the type. They were more the kind that were content with being surrounded by their friends and neighbors, a familiar and hospitable environment. And here in this part of the country he could imagine that it was the closest that the locals felt to feeling completely safe.

They were domesticated--a quality he had learned to recognise from experience--in every sense of the word.

The odds that one of those domesticated townsfolk would wander onto his cargo in a place like this was as likely as them ever being there in the first place. Slim to none. And that's what he was counting on, that was what he was taking a chance on by ever traveling this far into the unknown.

And still, his guts were bound in twine that just wouldn't stop tightening. Almost every fiber of his being wanted to turn around and leave. There was no mistaking the feeling of being somewhere that he should not be, and his mind was doing everything in its power to let him know.

But he could only push on now. There was always a point of no return, and he had already crossed his when he first killed the pony laying dead in the wagon seven hours ago. The weight of his cargo was enough to remind him of that fact, to keep him pulling. Everypony had their weights to bear, but his just happened to be more demanding. More urgent.

Even as he felt as though his body would give up on him soon, that his legs would just quit working and leave him breathless and motionless here in the middle of Everfree, he couldn't stop.

Keep going he thought to himself.

And that was all it took. No encouragements, no compromising. Just keep going.

Keep going until your hooves were going to fall off.

And then keep on going.

V

The mayor of Ponyville was out of bed with the first of the roosters, something that a pony of her position was used to, in her profession. It was inarguably one of the downsides to being the acting mayor of an entire town, along with decision-making and government status. But the job was not without its advantages.

One being, coffee came cheap.

She thought on this very thing as she blew gently into her mug of coffee. It was more a heap of sugar and cream with some coffee on top, but it was still scalding hot. She never took her cream cold, figuring her beverage would stay hotter longer. Once cold, it always turned into mud, no matter how sweet it was. This was fact of life, a law of the universe, by the hand of Her Grace Princess Celestia herself.

Miniature towers of vapor rose from the mug, and with each breath those towers erupted into harmless monsoons that disappeared in an instant. She wanted to take her first sip, but she was too worried about burning her lips, or her tongue, or both. This would make her entire day unpleasant, and she needed every bit of concentration to make it through today.

The truth was that, despite her agenda for today, she didn't have much of anything to do this morning. Her desktop was bare except for her drink and her intercom receiver. No paperwork to fill out from last night, no urgent calls, no announcements to make...

Or was it that she had not done any announcements yet?

It really wasn't part of the job to talk to all of Ponyville every day, but it was a reliable method of getting word out about a town assembly or an upcoming press release. Otherwise, she did not have much to say to the townspeople.

All at once she noticed how quiet her office was. As brightly colored and well decorated the room was, there was still a semblance of isolation- loneliness, even - when things got too quiet. The clock on the wall would beat out a rhythm which could grow maddening at times. Even with work to occupy her mind, she preferred company on the long work days.

There was her secretary, Miss Seacrest, who would pop her head into the office every once in awhile to deliver reports on missed messages and important dates, or just to drop by and see how she was doing that day. Mayor Mare had always thought that the pony's personality was one of her best features, and was one of the best parts of working here in town hall.

But Miss Seacrest had not stepped into the office quite yet. Mare always was the first to arrive to town hall when the day started, so there was usually nopony to greet her when she unlocked the doors herself. And unlike the mayor, Seacrest always had some kind of work to do, and this morning she must have her work cut out for her.

Mare decided to pay the secretary a visit herself in a short while, but not just yet. She was feeling an urge to do something else first, before the day's socializing began. Looking across her desk and through the window out onto the town, she watched the townspeople already bustling about their lives. Like worker bees emerging from the hive. The merchants were setting up shop in their assorted kiosks and booths towards the marketplace side of the main street, unloading their crates and barrels of goods for display. The shop owners were opening their doors and windows and flipping their signs to open as fresh smoke billowed from the chimneys.

It did her heart good to see the town as productive as it was now, as it always had been every single morning during her tenure as mayor. It was more than just a reason to feel more appreciative and responsible about her job. She thought more for the people of Ponyville than herself, and reminded herself daily that it was more than just a job. She was doing a service to these good ponies, and felt that it was her duty- and her duty alone -to see that the town was kept in good shape. Should any misfortunes fall upon their town, she would want to be there to give leadership, to help in any way she could.

She found her hoof reaching for the intercom system, flicking a few switches here and there to the proper channels. Before she could turn the microphone on she already lost her words. On the tip of her tongue, yet her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. She thought on what to say for only a moment, then made her decision.

The microphone was connected to a switch box with several different setting knobs across its face. One for volume/power, and the others for which speakers she wanted to speak through, each channel specifically connected to certain parts of town. She had found the one switch that she wanted, labeled TOWN HALL, and flicked it upwards. There was a click and a small red light came on next to it.

With that, she pressed her hoof down on the microphone's power switch, and there came a short high-pitched whine from above the room. The speakers had kicked on at the very top of the building, just a mere dozen feet above her head.

When she first tried to speak, she had to clear her throat to get rid of a frog that had lodged itself in there, and then her voice came clear and sweet, while echoing through the speakers.

"Good morning, citizens of Ponyville. This is your mayor speaking. I would just like to wish everypony a good morning, afternoon and evening. There is nothing to worry about, nothing important scheduled for today, but I do hope that you all make the best of it."

With nothing else to add, she ended her message. "That is all."

With the push of a button, the intercom was switched back off, and again there was silence. Mayor Mare took a look out through the window again and noticed that a few ponies down in the street were waving a hoof above their head in the direction of town hall. This made her smile.

Still, though, in retrospect she knew that she could have thought of something better to say. It wasn't that she imagined herself being too casual, but she felt more that she had been cheesy.

Before she could think anymore on it, there came a knock at the door, and on reflex she was up from her chair the next moment.

"Come in," she said, in a pleasant tone.

The door creaked open, and there was Miss Seacrest with a stack of papers tucked underneath one of her yellow wings. She was a plump pony, with a cutie mark shaped like a feather quill sitting in an ink well. Her glasses were a bit crooked, as they always were, and her blue hair was done up into a tight, hive-shaped bun today.

"Miss Mayah, yes, hello," she said in her Fillydelphia accent. Mare thought it was quite amusing. Not to mock the poor girl, but she couldn't help what she thought was funny and what wasn't.

"Yes, Delilah, come on in," said Mare.

Seacrest slipped herself in and gently kicked the door closed behind her.

"Good mornin', Miss Mayah," she said. "I'm sorry I didn't show up soonah, I was, eh..."

Mayor Mare spoke up before she could finish. "Oh, good morning to you, too. And it's alright if you were late. Really."

Seacrest nodded and shrugged at the same time. "I know, Miss Mayah. I was busy workin' on somethin' important, and I guess I just forgot. Then I heard ya message and decided to stop by anyways." She reached up with her wing, the one without any paper underneath it, and pushed up her glasses.

Mare smiled and pushed up her own. "Oh, what a coincidence! I was just planning on paying a visit to your office instead."

"Oh," said Seacrest, unsure even as she acknowledged the pardon, and pointed to the door. "Well, if ya want I can just go back to my office, and then ya can come."

This made Mare giggle. "No, of course not," she said while trying not to laugh too much. The whole matter struck her as hilarious. "It's fine, it's fine. I would never make you do something like that, Delilah."

Seacrest smiled. "I'm glad, Miss Mayah. By tha way, what was with the message? There's nothin' public comin' up." She came further into the room and approached the desk, carefully slipping the papers from under her wing with the tips of her feathers. "Ya just feelin' cheerful?"

Mare considered it. "Mmm, something like that," she said. "I suppose that I'm just in a good mood today."

However long the mood will last today she thought.

"Well that's always good ta hear, Miss Mayah," said Seacrest. "Now there's just a few things I'd like ta go over with ya, if ya don't mind?"

"Please, Delilah," said Mare, shaking her head slightly. "Why don't you ever just call me Mare?"

Seacrest shrugged her shoulders again. "Ah, sorry. I guess I've just gotten used to it. It's like a habit, Miss May--." She stopped herself for a moment, then continued, "Mare."

Mare rolled her eyes slightly, still smiling. "Oh, it's fine. Just call me what you prefer, Delilah."

Seacrest looked at Mare with a puzzled expression, then she smilled and raised her wings in approval. "Yes Ma'am, Miss Mayah."

Mayor Mare laughed again, but didn't do too well to hide it this time. Seacrest joined in with her.

"Very well," she said, and then took her place behind her desk again, facing the window. "About those papers?" Seacrest was to her back now, and the pegasus trotted around to the right side of the desk.

Seacrest flipped through a few pages. "Yeah, yeah, um," She was muttering a few notes to herself before she said anything.

"Crossed that out yesterday, that was two days ago, that one got canceled."

Mare sat patiently and waited, taking hold of her coffee between her hooves and blowing softly on the liquid again.

"Oh, here we go," Seacrest finally said aloud. "Todaay, you've got to fill out those order forms for more tools for those nice fellas over at the weather station. They say that some of their instruments are goin' on the fritz again.

"Mm-hm," the mayor hummed.

Seacrest flipped another page in the stack. "Ehm, you canceled that meeting with the head of the Winter Wrap-up Commission after he called in sick."

"Ooh, yes," said Mare, "I remember that letter." The writing had been barely legible, the author showing obvious signs of impairment. She had washed her hooves after reading it, fearing she would catch whatever bug had infected the poor stallion.

"And, er, Oh! Really important one here." Seacrest pointed her hoof to the inked note on the page. "You got a meetin' this afternoon with a Mister... Summers. Savory Summers."

The mayor curled her brow. "Savory Summers. Hm. Not quite sure I remember that name."

Seacrest nodded. "Yeah, I know, Miss Mayah, I'm the one that got the letter first. He wanted to meet ya and you agreed to set one up, so I wrote him back and scheduled it for today."

Mare nodded and said, "Yes, this much I know, but who is the stallion, exactly?"

Seacrest smirked. "You know, I don't really know myself. There was a business card in the envelope, and it looked all professional. Somethin' about real estate or somethin', I was too busy to really look at it."

Mayor Mare nodded in agreement. There would usually be all types of things lying on her desk by the end of the day, and it was a habit of hers to push it all into the drawer and sort it all out in the morning. Even as Mayor, she always liked to check out early.

"I'll dig it out later and have a look," said Mare. "In the meantime, the meeting goes on as scheduled."

"Yes Ma'am, Miss Mayah," said Seacrest. Is there anything else that you--"

There was a loud ringing sound that came from the hallway past the mayor's door. It was the buzzer connected to the reception desk in the lobby. It buzzed two more times in rapid succession, before Seacrest's wings sprang upward.

"Ooh, goodness!" she shouted as her wings started to flap and lifted her off the floor. In a short time she was back to the door. "Sorry, Miss Mayah, gotta take this. I'll be back latah. Chow!"

And then the Pegasus was out the door. It was a wonder that while she was in such a hurry that she didn't slam the door. Mayor Mare liked it that way.

Looking through the window, she thought about her meeting with Savory Summers.

It wouldn't be their first meeting. In all actuality, she had met the stallion on a previous outing to a restaurant in far-away Canterlot. What should have been a chance meeting seemed more like a planned encounter, she could tell. She had met several ponies before that tried the same trick.

A conversation was started, nothing more than idle chit-chat, a card was exchanged, and goodbyes were said casually. Mayor Mare reached down to her desk and slid open the drawer. There wasn't much to see at first, just a pile of unorganized papers. He brushed them aside, and sitting there in the bottom of the drawer were two identical business cards. Both dark gray, with white lettering.

Savory Summers

Summers Real-Estate

They were fakes, of course. Looking professional was what the printer had had in mind, and they had done quite a good job. There were no misprints, no evidence of wear and tear. There was even a legitimate address printed towards the bottom, for mailing purposes. 23 Heart Street.

But the catch was, there was no real estate business by that name, not one that existed anywhere in all of Equestria. No registrations, no business ledgers. She knew, because she had done the research herself the very next day. The address was real, at least, but it was a residential address. Mr. Summers's home was on Heart Street, instead of an established business.

It was enough evidence to prove that Savory Summers had been lying to her the entire time they had talked.

The world of politics had taught her a thing or two about fast talkers, and Savory Summers had been one, clear as day. And he was the kind that didn't know how to hide it too well. He spoke like a salespony, trying to sell a product with words. Mr. Summers, however, wasn't really trying to sell anything. All that he had wanted was a privately scheduled meeting.

And even now, she wondered why she had bothered to check at all.

She found herself intrigued by the whole matter, as she thought to herself the reasons why a pony would go through the trouble of lying, creating a business that did not even exist, to be able to just have a meeting with her. Her position as mayor obviously factored into it, and she was no fool when it came to matters of business. Many ponies had tried before to usher her into some kind of agreement or another, but she had always kept a cool head, kept her wits about her.

Still, though, the meeting would take place this afternoon, and she would put on her best smile, and try her best to uncover the truth, if Savory Summers wouldn't come out with it himself.

Mayor Mare finally took her first sip of coffee. It had sit too long, and was beginning to cool.

VI

A fog was growing in the forest, with the road gone altogether it didn't help his vision at all. There was a certain smell in the air, like water. A hint of methane. He could only guess that he was near a kind of swamp.

It seemed like a blessing, at first, but the reality of the situation was that he was starting to feel chills go down his spine. Along with the fog came strange sounds, like animals and insects chirping. But what his ears caught did not sound normal, The sound of crickets seemed deeper and more prolonged, and the steady rhythm that they produced was erratic. Tree frogs sounded fat and sick, with mating calls that were unnatural for something so small. It reminded him of a wounded cow.

Something moved in the corner of his eye, and when he turned to look he saw that it was a parasprite. Or something that looked like one. The shape that the creature was in made him shudder in disgust just from looking at it. Its wings were warped and beat slowly, with veiny static patterns streaking across the fleshy film.

Its body was bloated, with a burned-looking color on leathery skin with swollen lumps covered its sides. Instead of two beady eyes, there were three. Where two legs should have been there was only one. It was thick and muscled, bending the wrong way. It could have been broken, but somehow he doubted it.

The fat thing floated around for a moment, bobbing up and down and letting out exhausted chirps, before it darted towards the trees and disappeared into the fog. The only thing he heard afterward were the sounds of paper-thin wings beating in the distance. He thought that there was more than one source now, but he paid no mind.

There were things in the trees, as well. A snake hung from the branch of a dying pine. Its body was covered with lumps in various places along its slender form, and from the neck there sprouted three heads. Only two of the heads looked healthy- along with an extra nostril on each snout -while the third was shriveled and black, dead.

The eyes on the living heads were white, without any pupil. The snake was blind.

There were no birds in the swamp, evidenced by the distressing lack of any birdsong that had gone unheard since he first stepped into this strange place.

Soon, he saw puddles of murky water covered in algae accumulating in the moss, and as he continued the puddles formed into a stream that headed in what he could only guess was North. The town was back east, so getting back home would just take following the sun as it came to pass over. He made a mental note of it as he followed the stream, hoping to find a bigger body of water.

Not even ten minutes later, he found what he was looking for. Over a small hill there was a sort of pond that dipped into the earth, and that pond grew into a wide bog that dissipated into the trees. To him it looked like a lake, like a giant cauldron of some kind of brew with vapor rising from the surface in thick ribbons. The source of the fog.

The hill he was standing on was steep, and descended maybe a good twenty feet until the land became level again and went straight into the water.

Then he realized that his insides hurt, just like his muscles. It had come sudden and uncomfortable, and his knees came together when the pain set in. He thought that maybe he was hungry, but a sharp bite of pain in his lower gut said differently. He put a hoof to his belly and pressed, groaning as he examined the bog.

It was the perfect place to do the deed.

He had an idea of what to do, to unhitch the wagon and give it a strong push, then watch as the whole thing, along with its cargo, rolled down the hill. And then the wagon would sink. Sink until it hit the bottom of the water, and the only thing he would see would be the ripples in the water as escaped air bubbled to the top. Maybe a stain of red spreading in ribbons.

And that would be all.

The thought was more than a relief. He actually felt that a weight would be lifted from his shoulders, literally and figuratively. Once it was all said and done, it would feel as though he had never done anything wrong. That he would be absolved of all his sins. To wipe the slate clean.

But he was getting ahead of himself. He couldn't let the thing go just yet. Instead, he just pulled the strap and unfastened the harness, and with a couple of steps forward he was once again free of the wagon's pull. Walking around to the side, he stood up on his hind legs and leaned over the side. The wood whined as cracked under his bulk as he dug around in the straw with one hoof.

He found what he was looking for, and then he was back on solid ground. He held his saddle bag, a simple thing made of hide without any kind of markings or insignia. His stomach gave another rumble as he fit the thing onto his back and pulled the strap against his underside. The pack was heavy, but nowhere near as heavy as the wagon he had been pulling for nine hours.

Now there was nothing hindering him from his work, and he walked around to the back of the wagon and took a deep breath. Putting his shoulder against the back of the cart, he pushed with his legs and grunted as the wagon slowly started to roll

The entire thing felt heavier than it was while he had been pulling it as he shoved more, squinting his eyes and almost growling in effort. His shoulders felt as though they were going to split in half and his knees burned, but still he pushed. And then he finally felt a give in the resistance of the wagon, and then he did not need to push anymore.

He opened his eyes and looked down, watching as the thing on wheels buckled and shook and rattled as it rolled faster and faster towards the water.

He tried to smile, but he felt too light-headed to even attempt it as he tried to catch his breath.

The wagon was almost to the water, as a board or two snapped from the sides and fell to the ground. The twig that had been holding the rear gate in place finally broke in two, and it fell open violently and swung to and fro. Pieces of straw flew everywhere and left a trail down the hill.

Closer and closer to the water, and it would all be over.

Until something went wrong

One of the front wheels had been wobbling on the way down, and now the entire thing came undone. There was a loud snap, and the wagon came crashing onto the ground at an angle that raised the back wheels from the ground. Skidding in the dirt and quickly coming to a stop, the wagon now sat still, just a few feet away from the water. The wheel kept on going, however, and soon rolled into the bog and promptly sank.

"No," the pony said aloud, through his heavy breathing. "No, no, no."

Without thinking, he took off and ran ahead, hopping over the top of the hill and sliding down the side on his hoofs. His shoes cut into the dirt and moss and left deep cuts in his wake.

"No, no, no," he repeated again and again until he reached the wagon, and when he got to his hooves all he could do was stand there, while his mind raced with panicking thoughts.

"Ah, no!" he shouted, examining the wreck. "Son of a bitch."

Frustrated to the point of his face turning red, he turned around and bucked both of his rear legs at the wagon. The kick broke what was left of the boards that made up the side.

"Piece of shit!" he screamed finally, before he was quiet again. He stood and stared out into the water, thinking of what to do next. Turning around, he looked back up the hill. He didn't realize until now just how high it had been. He would have to climb all the way back up if he wanted to leave this place.

Just a minor inconvenience, unlike the fucking wagon, which was the worst case scenario come to life.

He didn't think on what to do next, instead just choosing to act on an impulse. He took his place behind the wagon once more and put his shoulder against the rear. He pushed and pushed, trying to step forward as he did so. But the wagon did not move.

He cried out and cursed as he strained, then turned around and kicked the thing twice. Then back to pushing again.

The wagon was stuck in the ground and would never move by itself, but with all his effort the ground started to give. The place where the wheel had gone missing soon raked a streak of soil from the ground. The other wheels started to turn.

He screamed as he heard something in his back pop, and a wave of hot pain washed over his torso, but he did not stop pushing.

He heard splashing, the water stirring, and looking ahead he saw that the wagon was halfway into the water. No more pushing. He turned around and bucked again, and again, and again. Every kick banged and echoed through the bog, and with every kick the wagon moved more and more until there was no more resistance.

He gave one more buck, but his legs hit nothing, and he went onto his stomach.

He could only lay still for a second, his lungs on fire as he tried to breath again. Then he tried to crawl, get to his side and face the water.

The wagon was sinking into the water. It floated at first as it drifted out towards the center, and then the back end buckled upwards and the whole thing began going under. Bubbles were everywhere, and as the rear wheels disappeared into the bog, he sighed in relief and rested his chin on his hoof.

The job was finished.

The only thing left now was a pool of straw that floated on the water, and just like he had imagined a patch of red liquid rose to the surface and spread outward in a circling arch.

He had finally done it. He almost laughed, but he went into a dry coughing fit when he tried.

It took a few more minutes for him to get his energy back, and he slowly pushed his way back onto all fours. His legs wobbled and he ached all over his sweat-soaked body, but that feeling of relief was something he wanted to bottle and keep forever.

With that, he turned and looked back up the hill, and he thought of how he was going to climb back to the top, let alone travel all the way back to town before noon.

He didn't bother to check his watch again, there was no point in knowing what time it was.

He sat back down on his flanks and breathed fire, closed his eyes feeling like he could go to sleep right then and there and wake up later with the energy to make the trip a second time. Otherwise, he felt as though he would drop from exhaustion if he didn't get any rest beforehand.

But with the job done, all there was to do now was relax.

He could smile now, and there he sat at the edge of bog and listened to the sounds of the water lapping on the shore as the bubbles stopped floating up.

VII

"How many more are there?" Spike muttered, as he picked up two more books from the table. They were both heavy, and he almost lost his balance as he stood back up. The entire table had been lined with books since last night, so many that he had to set a few down on the floor. Now, hours into his work, the area looked a little more tidy than it did before he first started.

The dragon had been moving books to the shelves since Twilight had first dragged him out of his basket, and sitting them on shelves and sorting them in different ways. One row of books were sorted alphabetically from A to Z. Another row was sorted by the specific contents of the tomes, ranging from field guides based on mythical creatures, to encyclopedias of types of magical elements.

He was reminded of the fact that he had not eaten breakfast yet when his belly let out a deep growling noise. Of course, Twilight had not eaten yet, either. After all, it was Spike that was supposed to be doing the cooking.

The clutter was left over from a non-stop session of reading last night. By the time Twilight had closed the cover on her last book, her eyes were so baggy and bloodshot that Spike would have laughed if he wasn't already asleep.

She was still upstairs, writing a few letters that he would probably end up having to send sometime today.

The two books that Spike held in his claws now were just nothing more than generic spell books, old and worn from years of use and abuse. He knew that Twilight had memorized just about everything in them by heart, just because he had seen her with them so many times. Spike didn't think she had read them last night, even if she was wanting to get around to it.

Either way, back onto the shelf they would go, like always.

Spike approached the shelves to do just that when his foot caught onto something, and he cried out as he went face-first onto the carpet, the books he was holding going wild.

He landed on his snout, and quickly sitting up he rubbed his nose with both hands.

"Ooouch," he said to himself, as his snout started to swell and his eyes watered.

"Spike?" Twilight was shouting from her perch at the top of the stairs.

Spike didn't answer at first. He was too busy rubbing his sore nose.

"Spike, hold on," said Twilight, "I'm coming down."

The dragon tried to speak up and tell his employer that he was alright, but before he could there was a spark in the room, and in a flash Twilight appeared before him from a ball of light.

"I heard something happen, and--" She took one look at the dragon and gasped.

"My goodness, Spike," she said,  "Are you okay?"

Once again, Spike tried to speak, but he didn't even open his mouth before he realized that Twilight wasn't finished.

"What happened?" she asked. "Oh, are you hurt? Oh, that looks painful. Is it painful?"

Everything Twilight said interrupted Spike when he opened his mouth. "Don't move, Spike," she said as she turned and trotted out of the room. "I'll be right back."

Spike, still rubbing his nose, sighed and said, "Twilight, I'm al--"

Twilight poked her head back through the doorway and gave Spike a stern look. "Don't. Move," she said, and she was gone again.

The assistant groaned and stood in the same spot, wiping the tears from his eyes with one hand and holding his nose with the other. He felt something warm and wet on his nose, and when he looked down at his hand he was a spot of red.

"Oh," said Spike. "I guess I'm not alright."

From the next room over, Twilight's voice called out, "That's what I've been trying to tell you, Spike. Now, just a moment."

And true to her word, Twilight came back into the library just a minute later, her horn glowing brightly and a couple of objects levitating around her head in blue balls of sparkling energy. One appeared to be a roll of bandages, and the other was a bottle of some kind, maybe a potion.

"I'm fine, really," Spike insisted as he watched the things float around.

Twilight sighed as the floating bottle shook back and forth, then stopped and uncorked itself.

"Don't be silly, Spike, you're hurt," said Twilight. She looked down at his hand, and saw the spot of red he had discovered on his own. "See? You're bleeding. Now, hold out your hand."

Spike didn't want to argue anymore, his snout was in too much pain. So he instead did what Twilight asked of him and extended his paw outward.

The bottle tipped over and a thick liquid oozed into his palm. It was blue and looked as though it had a glittery substance in it, like toothpaste.

"Now, rub that on your nose," said Twilight, pointing to his bleeding snout.

Spiked groaned in frustration and began rubbing the gel-like substance onto his snout. It felt cold at first, like mint, and then there was a tickling sensation as the pain suddenly faded away. His nose still felt swollen, though, but he guessed that the blue stuff would fix that, too.

"You really should be more careful, Spike," said Twilight, as a long strip of bandage unrolled itself in mid-air. "There's only so much I can do when you get clumsy like this."

A look of frustration grew on the dragon's face. "Hey, I'm not clumsy," Spike said. "I just have my good days and my bad days, and on my bad days there's bound to be an accident or two!."

"I know, I know," said Twilight.

The strip of bandage floated towards Spike's face, and the cloth began to quickly wrap around his snout.

"I'm just worried about you, Spike. And you know that I can't have my favorite assistant getting hurt on the job."

Her work was done, and Spike looked good as new with the bandage neatly wrapped in a bun on his face. He gently squeezed it with both hands. Twilight set the objects down on the table and leaned down closer to her assistant.

"Better?" she said, with a smile.

"Yeah," Spike said apprehensively at first, but then he smiled and said, "Tons better, thanks."

Twilight giggled and said, "You're welcome, Spike."

And with that, Spike went back to work picking up more books and taking them to the shelves with a smile one his face. It gave Twilight comfort to know that her assistant enjoyed his job, even if it came with its trials and hazards.

Twilight occupied herself now by trotting over to the window and peering out onto town. The folk of Ponyville were slowly working their way towards being a bustling community. The ponies that had already crawled out of bed were going about their day. The announcement made by the mayor earlier had been a pleasant greeting to those who heard it, and everypony seemed to have a spring in their step because of it.

"Spike," she said, "When you're done I have a few letters that I need you to send off."

Spike was busy climbing up a step ladder to place a book on the higher part of the shelf.

"Sure thing, Twilight. What are they?"

Twilight shrugged. "Oh, you know, the usual. Some important stuff for the Princess."

"Friendship reports?" said Spike, slipping the book into its place.

"No, nothing like that," Twilight replied. "It's much too early to send one of those. That, and I don't really have anything to report yet."

"Well, okay then," Spike said, satisfied.

"Oh," quipped Twilight, "And I'm expecting some company very soon."

Spike's expression lit up as he picked up another book and examined the cover.

"Company?" he said, "Who's that?"

"Oh, you'll see, they should be here any moment now," said Twilight. "Think of it as a surprise."

Spike scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I'm sure it will be," he said with some sarcasm.

Twilight smiled wryly and said, "Oh, I'm sure, too."

An hour passed before there came a knock at the door. Twilight was back in her roost upstairs, while Spike was busy cleaning up the leftovers from breakfast. Twilight was down to the bottom of the stairs before Spike could say anything.

"I got it, Spike," Twilight said. "Coming!"

She opened the door, and there stood one of her friends, Rarity.

"Good morning to you, Twilight," said Rarity. She was wearing one of her special hats for outings and carried a saddle bag on her back. It was covered in hand-sewn designs and bedazzled with all sorts of shiny decorations.

"Morning, Rarity," said Twilight.

Rarity strolled into the library while Twilight held the door open. "I apologize for the wait, but Pinkie decided to spend a little more time at the fruit stand than need be, for whatever reason."

"Pinkie?" said Twilight, as she went to close the door, but she felt a sudden shove as Pinkie Pie pushed her way inside at a rather quick pace.

"Yep," she said in a cheerful tone. "That's my name!" All at once she was hopping around the room, her saddle bag flopping up and down while she did.

Twilight smiled as she closed the door behind Pinkie.

"It's good to see that you're having a good morning, Pinkie," said Twilight.

Pinkie moved close to Twilight's face with a grin on her own.

"Oh, I always have good mornings, Twilight!" she said entheusiastically. "Oh, except for that one time that it rained all night and I went outside and stepped in the mud, but then I stepped in the mud again, and again, and again, and the next thing I knew I was dancing in the mud! But then it got all over my fur and my mane and my tail and then nobody wanted a hug because I was all muddy!"

Twilight raised an eyebrow, as Pinkie got close to her again. Her breath smelled of sweats.

"Isn't that funny?" said Pinkie with a wide cheerful grin.

Twilight smiled, then chuckled. "It is, yeah."

Rarity scoffed. "Well, what was not funny was how much time you took at the fruit stand, all because you wanted that pineapple," she said.

"Oh!" Pinkie perked up and reached into her pack, and produced a large ripe pineapple.

"But we don't get pineapples all the time here," Pinkie said, "And I had to have it. They are so sweet!"

Then Pinkie Pie suddenly took a giant-sized bite out of the fruit, skin and all.

She offered it to Twilight. "Wunt shum?" she said with a mouthful of pineapple.

Twilight shook her head and said, "No thanks, Pinkie, I just ate breakfast."

Rarity giggled and removed her hat, setting it on the round table, which was now free from the clutter of books from before.

"Well, isn't this place in rather tip-top shape," said Rarity. "Spike must work so hard to keep this place tidy."

Her eyes widened and she smiled, and she looked as though she had suddenly remembered something.

"That reminds me, I've got a little something here," she said, and then shouted, "Spike! Oh, Spike!"

The dragon poked his head from around the corner and his face lit up like a firecracker.

"Rarity," he said, dreamily, and made his way into the room in a comical fashion with his tail dragging behind him and his arms limp. He stood there and tried to wave to her with a limp claw.

"There he is," said Rarity with a smile. "My big reptile."

Her expression changed when she saw the bandages. "Oh, good heavens, Spike!" she said, "What happened?"

He broke from his spell on her and looked down at his snout. "Oh, it's nothing, really! Just an accident."

"Oh dear," said Rarity, leaning in closely to look at the injury. "I hope it doesn't hurt."

Spike smiled and pointed his thumb behind his back. "Nah, Twilight fixed everything," he said. "Can't feel any kind of pain now."

Rarity smiled and said, "Well, that's grand, Spike. And guess what? I've got a present here for you."

Rarity turned her head and slipped into her pack, digging around the contents.

"I've got it here somewhere, Ah! Here we are." Rarity presented from her pack a rather large jewel, a gemstone, bright green and beautifully sculpted.

Spike's eyes went wide and gleamed, and at the same time he found it difficult to keep his jaw from hanging open.

"A Boration Snake Eye!" he shouted, and looked at it for a moment longer, before taking it gently between his hands. He examined it with feverish attention to detail.

"Oh, is that what it's called," said Rarity. "I noticed it in the market, and the colored reminded me of you, and I knew how much you like it."

"Like it?" said Spike. "I love it!" He hugged the gem to his face.

"Mm hm, and what do we say?" said Rarity.

Spike suddenly became flush in the face and looked to the floor. "Um, thank you," said the little dragon.

Rarity giggled and gently patted Spike on the head. "You are so cute when you're embarrassed."

Spike didn't know what else to say. "Cute," he said, looking at his precious stone. "Yeah, cute's okay. I'll just go put this with my things." And then he rushed out of the room to go do just what he said.

Twilight smirked and said, "Wow, Rarity, that was very generous of you."

Rarity swung her curled hair. "That's me, darling, generous. Not to brag, I mean.

"It must have been expensive, though," Twilight said, moving over to the table and having a seat.

Rarity joined her. "Oh no, it's really no trouble at all. Money is no object these days."

Twilight nodded. "I take it business is going well at the boutique?"

Rarity threw her hoof up in agreement. "Darling, business has never been better. I'm still filling out so many orders, and I'm ordering materials from top-bit suppliers to make even more graceful outfits."

"You sound busy, Rarity," said Twilight. "How do you find the time to go out shopping, or even come here today?"

"Oh, I have my ways" said Rarity. "A businessmare has to have her priorities, but that's no reason for me to let my work get in the way of things like my friends. Or looking my best."

Twilight's attention went to the hat on the table. "I suppose you're right. I like your hat, by the way."

Rarity scoffed and turned her head from the hat. "That old thing? I dug it out of my special collection for today. It's really nothing special."

"Special-weshle!" said Pinkie Pie as she took another bite from her pineapple.

Twilight and Rarity both giggled at the party pony.

"Oh, yes," said Rarity as she wiped her eye and batted her eyelashes. "Things have gone so well lately, though I'm not sure why. Dresses and hats are just in high demand these days, I suppose."

Twilight smiled. "Planning on riding your good fortune?"

"Oh no," Rarity said, "I'm not going to 'ride' anything. This is just good luck, as of late. No need to think about retiring."

Twilight raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't necessarily talking about retiring."

"I know you weren't, darling," said Rarity, but before she could say more, there was a gust of hot air in the room and a flash of green coming from the next room.

"Twilight!" said Spike as he rushed into the room, clutching a scroll in his hands. "Letter for you!"

"Already?" said Twilight. "But I just sent off three of them this morning."

"Tell me about it," said Spike, and he belched a small lick of green fire from between his lips.

As Spike brought Twilight the scroll, Pinkie moved alongside him.

"Doesn't that ever hurt?" said Pinkie.

Spike smiled and said, "Nah, I got used to it a long time ago. It just feels like a breath mint now."

Spike set the scroll on the table, and Twilight unrolled it carefully with her hoofs. Her eyes darted left and right as she read the letter quietly to herself. Rarity leaned in closer and tried to catch a word or two, but her attention went to focus on Twilight.

Her expression was blank, it seemed, and her lips soon began to part.

Rarity curled her brow. "Well, what does it say, Twilight?"

Twilight didn't answer, but her eyes wondered off from reading and went to the center of the table. She was quiet, with a blank expression.

"Twilight?" said Rarity, tilting her head while Twilight remained silent.

VIII

He awoke to the sounds of splashing water.

He didn't realize at first that he had been asleep, but the reality came to him when he opened his eyes and saw the water just a few feet from his face. Strange little fish had gathered at the spot on the bank, observing him as he slept. They looked nothing like fish, some covered in feathers. Just more of the local wildlife here in Everfree.

The fish were not the ones causing the splashing, but the sound caused them to scatter into the bog, where they disappeared into the murky water.

His entire body hurt, and his eyes felt heavy. He felt damp, and knew that he had been sweating in his slumber. It made him feel dirty.

"Fuckin' hell," he said to himself, as he tried to reach and rub his neck, found that he couldn't, and instead checked his watch. It was six forty-five. He hadn't bothered to check his watch beforehand, so there was no telling how long he had been sleeping.

He tried to think on what to do next, while his thoughts were slow and sleepy. There would be the hike, then the trip back to town, where he hoped to get some proper rest before the meeting with Savory. The hill would take some time to climb back up with his muscles aching the way they were. An amusing thought of getting too old passed and he laughed to himself.

He tried to stand up, but his ears perked up, and again he heard the sounds of splashing. He finally raised his head up, with a creaking in his neck, and looked around. He couldn't see anything at first, just the bog with steam vapors floating up and forming a dense fog, same as before. Until he turned his head towards the splashing.

There, standing on the edge of the water just ten feet away, was a very tall pony. Mostly it looked like a pony, but something was off. Much too tall to be one. He couldn't discern any details, his eyes still blurry. The figure was standing there, clopping one hoof in the water, looking down into the bog. As if it was examining something.

He rubbed his eyes, already feeling cramps in his hoof. His body was so stiff that he could barely even turn his head, like a furry statue. He tried to say something, opened his mouth and took a breath. Then the creature turned around, and the air caught in his throat.

Creature was the right word to describe the thing standing in the water. It turned and faced him, and before he could find another thought his body acted, and he was on all fours with his head down.

It was incredibly tall, easily measuring three feet over him on all fours, and there was a great amount of overgrown, tangled white fur all over. Its mane had grown to an almost unbelievable length, reaching towards the ground from both sides of its head, and the tail dragged across the dirt. His snout had a square shape to it, while its brow was wide and broad with large green eyes. A long shaggy goatee fell from his chin. His hooves were long and split down the middle, like those of a goat.

It was a unicorn, that enough was plain to see, but what he did see defied the proper characteristics of any unicorn he had ever seen. There was a spiraling horn sprouting from the center of its head, in a pattern that closely resembled a screw. But there were also two other horns on each side of the one in the middle. They were both long and twisted, with qualities matching what he could only describe as driftwood covered in scratches and small holes, worn and weathered. Both of them curved upwards, before doing a looping turn and then pointing sideways away from the head.

It took a step towards him, and in his pack his hoof found the proper tool. Cold and hard.

He found himself almost surprised when it first spoke, in proper English, without any slurring or accent.

"You," it said in a deep, growling voice.

He didn't answer.

The beast took another step, and he flinched. He almost felt afraid. More than he had ever felt in his life. But he would never panic. The number one rule was to never panic. And yet, he felt the cold icicles of fear piercing his skin and spine, the aches in his muscles all but forgotten. There he stood on threes, one hoof still in his pack and holding his weapon. He hoped his reflexes were still sharp

"Do you understand me?" the creature said, genuinely.

He hesitated, thoughts and words buzzing around in his head like flies.

"Yeah," he said from a dry mouth that seemed full of sand. "I do."

The unicorn-thing nodded, shaking its hair about. "Good," it said, "now tell me, who are you and what are you doing in my home?"

He studied the beast, listened like a student to a teacher. The voice, though raspy and haggard, carried sincerity with each breath, noticing the calm and civil way that it was carrying on the conversation. It didn't want any trouble. This unicorn was curious.

Maybe a little too curious, which would be unfortunate for both of them.

"Home," he said, at first, "You live here?"

The beast seemed not to care that it had just been answered a question with another question, its expression staying a solid face of patience. But he noticed something. It was studying him, as well. From head to hoof, examining him like a sculpture. It was peculiar, but he couldn't say why. It wasn't important.

"Yes, this place is my home," said the unicorn-thing, "my land, and you are trespassing on it."

"I didn't see any fucking signs around here," he quipped back.

It seemed right to go on the offensive. As much as it pained him to think about it, he felt threatened, and the best way to deal with a threat was to be just as threatening. It wasn't a tactic to make himself seem equal to the enemy, but more of a way to convince them that he was not somepony to be fucked with. A way of putting the shoe on the other hoof, and then driving it in with a long, rusted nail until he hit bone.

The creature, however, didn't seem offended in the slightest. In fact, its attention went away from him for a moment, and its lips were moving. Mouthing a word silently. He could just make out what the thing was saying by reading its lips. It was repeating fucking to itself, as if trying to dissect the word.

And then its eyes, big and green, were focused on him once again.

"There is no need for signs or warnings," said the creature, "There are no trespassers, ever."

"What do you mean 'ever?'" he said.

The unicorn-thing turned its head for a moment and thought quietly, maybe thinking of what to say next.

"You are the first thing I have seen for many years that is not a wild animal," it said. "The first I have been able to talk to."

What he was hearing made sense enough to him, considering the creature's surroundings. Anypony would have been spooked, coming through the forest like he had done today. Seeing the wildlife and their almost macabre ecosystem would be enough to make the occasional hiker or traveler turn tail and head back to reality, back to safety.

But how long had it been, really, since this creature had seen any living thing other than the weird creatures that inhabited this place? He could only wonder.

"So what?" he said.

The creature seemed to frown. "So, who are you?"

His eyes darted and he hesitated. His name was not something he gave out freely. Very few people knew his real name, while hundreds of others knew him by dozens of faux monikers.

"Taxi," he said, making up his mind that it didn't matter whether he gave his real name or a fake one. Not to this creature.

The creature once again mouthed the word silently, before repeating it aloud. "Tack-see."

"Yeah, Taxi. What's yours?"

The beast went silent again, thinking of what to say.

"Who am I..." trailing off. "I am not sure of how to answer."

He raised a brow. "You don't know who you are? Your name?"

The thing nodded. "My name. Dubin." Pronounced doo-been.

"Dubin," said Taxi, relieved that he could finally address the creature on a personal level.

"Yes," said Dubin. "I believe that to be my name."

Taxi shook his head. "I don't understand, you're not sure that that's your name?"

Dubin shook his head. "It has been long since I have used it. I had but forgotten."

Taxi found himself confused by all this, but he had already chocked it all up to Dubin being a loner in the swamp. A (pony?) who hasn't left his home in quite some time, losing touch with the outside world. But his looks were the real puzzler. Freakishly tall, three horns, goat hooves. Maybe whatever it was that was affecting the fauna of this part of Everfree was working its magic on him, as well.

"What are you doing here?" Dubin asked again.

Taxi didn't hesitate with his answer, the art of lying swimming deep in his blood. "I'm just lost," he said.

"Lost," Dubin repeated.

"That's right," Taxi lied. "I wondered into Everfree, then I lost my way. I came from Ponyville. Know where that is?" He was on all fours now, the weapon in his saddle bag no longer seeming necessary.

Dubin arched his brow and shook his head slowly.

"I do not understand any of what you're saying," said Dubin. "Everfree? What is Everfree?"

Taxi thought of how to answer. He had only learned of Everfree just yesterday, first stepping off the train and into Ponyville. It was one of the first places he had heard about, one of the important landmarks. He wasn't even so sure that he was even in Everfree at all.

"Everfree forest," he answered. "It's simple. The folks over in Ponyville--that's a town not too far from here--named this place Everfree."

Dubin smirked. "I have never heard of my home called such a thing. And I have never ventured far enough to see such a place as 'Ponyville.'" He said Ponyville as if it was a strange word, new to his tongue.

"Doesn't mean that it's not there," said Taxi. A bit of sweaty hair fell into his face, and he blew it out of the way.

Dubin nodded and said, "This is true. Though I will not get to see it today. I have to find..."

Dubin tilted his nose up into the air and sniffed. He swivled his head around as he did so, looking for a certain odor. Taxi thought he looked like a bloodhound catching a scent."

"That smell," Dubin continued, and continued sniffing.

Taxi frowned. "Smell? I don't smell anything," he said, and turned back towards the hill. "I have to get going, I've got places to be."

"Wait," Dubin said, before Taxi could take a single step.

Taxi turned himself around again. "What?" he said. "What the hell is it? I'm in a hurry."

Dubin sniffed some more, and then took a step towards him again. Taxi no longer thought of the creature as a threat, but the feeling was creeping back up inside him. The feeling of suspicion, when a lie fails. One of the worst possible things that could happen in his profession. He felt as though he would start sweating all over again. Before he could say anything else, Dubin moved quickly towards him, so swiftly that Taxi couldn't catch the movement and react fast enough. The creature's snout was on his hoof, sniffing deeply.

Taxi backed away quickly, kicking up dust as he did so.

"What the... Back off," he said, angrily.

Dubin's expression changed as he raised his head again. There was worry in that look, Taxi could recognize it any day.

"There it is, that smell," said Dubin, and he started to sniff again.

His snout went to the ground, and he followed the trail of whatever odor had caught his attention. Soon enough he found, not too far from where Taxi was standing, a deep divot in the dirt where something had torn a straight line through the soil and towards the water. Dubin turned his head towards the bog and sniffed once more.

"That smell, it is here," he said. "Right here." He clopped a gnarled hoof down onto the deep scratch in the ground.

"What smell?" said Taxi from behind, while Dubin stared out into the swamp.

"It is blood," replied Dubin. "There is no mistaking it. I can smell blood. In the air, in the water."

Dubin turned back to Taxi, and said,  "On you."

Taxi had gone back to reaching into his pack while Dubin wasn't looking, and now the beast was staring at the thing he had found.

A pistol, polished and shining, in his hoof. Automatic, cobalt, wooden grips with illuminated sights.

Aimed straight between Dubin's eyes from three feet away.

"I told you I had somewhere to be," said Taxi. "But you just couldn't fucking leave me alone, could you?"

"What did you do?" said Dubin in a distressed tone, seemingly ignoring the weapon pointing at him. He probably didn't even know what it was. Taxi thought that was just fine.

"None of your business," said Taxi.

"What did you do?" Dubin repeated. His hooves were dug into the ground now, his head lowering. Taxi noticed that the horn in the center of the creature's crown had gone from a prefect white to a gray color right almost instantly before his eyes.

"If I told you, I would have to kill you," Taxi said. "Do you understand what I'm sa--"

Dubin stomped his hoof into the ground, creating a shallow hole. "Please," he repeated, raising his voice. "Tell me what you have done!"

Taxi gritted his teeth in anger. He had had enough of this behemoth-thing giving him the third degree. "Hey," he shouted, shaking the gun as he spoke, "Do you think I'm fucking joking here?! I will shoot you in the goddamn head, if you don't--"

Taxi then scoffed and stopped just short of threatening Dubin again, when he realized that he didn't have any kind of demands. He was threatening the creature for no reason. There was no proof that he had done anything here at all, yet he had broken the number one rule. He had panicked, drawn a weapon. And now here they were. He was aiming a gun at a hermit that lived in the swamp, while the hermit himself did not seem afraid in the least about getting shot. Or even dying.

And what would he ask of Dubin? For him to stay quiet--never tell anypony a thing--or he would die? Who would he go to tell? Dubin hinted that he had never even heard of Ponyville, and that he never would. Taxi felt as though he was threatening a figment of his imagination. Harmless to anypony, including him.

"No," said Taxi, lowering his weapon. "No, there's no point."

Who is he going to tell, the trees? Taxi thought. Here's hoping that they can't talk, too.

Dubin was still glaring at him, wordlessly waiting for his answer.

Taxi shrugged, making his mind up to go ahead and spill the apples, and said, "Fine, you want to know what I did? Then I'll tell you. I brought a dead body in a wagon, and dumped it into your swamp here." He pointed to the place on the edge of the water where the line in the dirt trailed off.

Dubin gasped, his eyes going wide, as Taxi returned his weapon to his saddle bag and turned back to the hill behind him. "There, now you know," he said, "and now, I'm leaving. I better not catch you following me."

He got a hoofhold on the bottom of the hill and started to climb. "If I see you again, I will not hesitate to kill you," he said, and then grunted as he pushed his way on up the weed-infested hill.

Dubin approached Taxi, looking up at him.

"Do you know what it is you have done?" said Dubin, in a slow, deliberate voice.

Taxi climbed up another few feet before he turned and looked down to the unicorn-thing.

"The fuck do I care?" he said.

Before Taxi could turn back to continue climbing, he noticed Dubin's face. It had twisted into the image of a monster, with the purest expression of anger than he had seen from anypony in a long time. His lips had parted to reveal a set of teeth. Short, sharp teeth. The horn, which had been gray just a moment before, was now giving off a dull glow of red light.

"Do you?!" Dubin shouted in a booming voice that surprised Taxi so much that he almost lost his grip on the hill.

Taxi gritted his own teeth and took in a breath to scream right back at the fucking unicorn-thing, that he would come back down off of the hill and beat him until he was bloody. Break his hooves, drown him in the bog, leave his body with the other poor soul that now rested at the bottom of the water.

But then he heard something.

Something big. Distant, from the other side of the swamp. The sounds of trees swaying and water sloshing. Coming their way.

Dubin turned around to face the direction of the noises, his hair whipping around once again.

Taxi looked out over the rising fog, and felt a sliver of cold in his chest when he saw the tops of the far trees moving back and forth, violently swaying. The sound of rushing water came closer. Then there was a noise. An animalistic noise that shook him to his core, deep and growling. Loud, like the roar of a lion.

He looked back down to Dubin, and almost at the exact same time Dubin looked up to him. The creature looked terrified, and for just a moment Taxi wondered if he should feel the same.

He thought about Dubin's question now, if he knew what it was that he had done, and as fear- real, true terror that made his stomach churn and his knees buckle -reared its ugly head again, he found the answer.

No.