Not Really for Quadrupeds
The use of a scythe is traditionally called mowing, now often scything, to distinguish it from machine mowing. It takes time to fully learn.
The grass was cold under her hooves. It was also cold up her knees.
The filly atop a small hill took a look at the orchard in front of her and began doubting her decision. She forgot how many acres there were in the Sweet Apple Acres, but she did remember that everything that she could see at the moment was only half an acre.
She looked behind her where a small patch of ground was scooped up from her attempt at scything it. She told herself that even though uprooting the grass wasn’t really cutting it, it was still something that farmers did. Just not with a scythe.
Applejack sighed and let the scythe drop to the ground. The blade, already on the ground, plopped itself like her mother did after a hard day’s work. The middle handle fell from above her head next to her hind hoof like that time her father fell from the ladder. The top handle fell from way above her to way behind her like… like something. Maybe a tree, but young Applejack never really saw a tree being cut before. She heard it was way louder than the silent thump.
“Scything is impossible.”
It is, isn’t it?
Applejack jumped and whirled around, finding a tall black figure a few paces from her. He was standing on two legs.
Sorry to startle you.
“It’s alright, mister.” Applejack glanced at the scythe in his other two… legs? Wings? It was hard to tell what’s behind the cloak he’s wearing. His scythe had a pitch-black snath; almost like an absence of something rather than paint. “Who are you? I don’t remember seeing you around the farm.”
I’ve just arrived.
Applejack squinted, trying to make how his face looked like behind the hood. “What are you here for?”
Your parents.
Applejack made an “o” with her mouth. “Did ma and pa call you?”
In a sense.
She scratched her head. “Er, what’s it called, a mower? Are you a mower, sir?”
People prefer Reaper.
Applejack looked back at the orchard and the total lack of corn and/or wheat. “Sorry, sir, but I think ma and pa didn’t call you for crops.”
I noticed.
“Oh.” Applejack looked away.
...
“I’m just gonna…” Applejack took her scythe and slowly moved away from the reaper’s path to the orchard.
Would you like to learn?
Applejack stopped. “Sorry, what?”
The reaper used his other appendage to point at Applejack’s scythe. You were struggling to use that.
Applejack grumbled. “I wasn’t!” she lied.
You’re lying.
“No, I’m not!” she lied again. And then Applejack yelped as the scythe flew from her to the reaper. “Hey,” she shouted as she ran, “give that back!”
The reaper handed her the scythe when her little hooves finally brought her close. From the way he bent down, her father was only as high as his waist.
Applejack was about to shout some ugly words when she noticed that she was holding the top handle with her hoof. She held it upright with the blade at the top to find that she was at the same height as it was. “Wha—how?”
The reaper stepped forward and put his blade to the ground on his right.
Applejack stepped back.
In one sweeping motion, the reaper cut the tall grass in front of him, sending bits of green falling down from their almighty height to even lower than Applejack’s fetlock. It was silent; as if he was swinging through empty air.
Applejack harrumphed. “Well, it’s easy for you who’s standing on two legs!”
The reaper looked at her. He raised his appendage, showing that it was like a chicken’s feet but with five fingers and no claws. And extremely pale. With a flick of his finger, he positioned her scythe with the top handle on her mouth and the middle handle on her right hoof.
Applejack spat out the taste of wood from her mouth.
The reaper put the blade to his right just like before and waited.
Applejack, after finding herself a comfortable grip, put the scythe’s blade on her right.
The reaper swung his blade like before, and Applejack followed. She swept the grass in a circular motion while keeping the blade on the ground, creating a satisfying whoosh-ing noise as the grass in front of her bowed down. She grinned.
No.
Her grin vanished. “What?”
The reaper repeated the motion. Don’t push it.
“Then how—”
Let it move. The reaper swung again. Applejack noticed that his elbows weren’t moving; his right arm was kept straight and his left was kept at an angle while his upper body spun around. Like a weathervane.
Applejack tried again, this time holding the middle handle while keeping her hoof straight. She used her left hoof as the axis and swung her front body around. She looked at the reaper expectantly.
The reaper nodded. Practice.
Applejack flashed all her teeth in a silly grin and started swinging around in her newly-learned scything method.
Slowly.
Applejack giggled and slowed down as asked. She stepped forward a little with every swing, while next to her, the reaper swung every five or so of hers to keep pace.
Some time passed without her noticing. She glanced back and found that she had scythed quite far from where she started, leaving behind a narrow trail of cut grass and a row of what she had cut on her left. Right next to it was another trail, almost four times wider, and a windrow almost her height.
The reaper noticed as well. He took an hourglass from beneath his cloak, revealing only a few grains of sand left on the top, spinning around as if not wanting to fall.
Applejack frowned. “Aww, are you leaving?”
Your parents are waiting.
Applejack stared at the orchard in front of her. “Didn’t they hire you to cut this grass?”
The reaper looked at the horizon. Applejack followed, finding the sun almost touching the line of trees in the distance and the sky starting to turn orange. You should return home.
“Yeah, they gonna find out I stole the scythe from the sack.” She looked at him expectantly. “You’re not gonna tell them I stole the scythe from the sack, are you?”
Perhaps.
Applejack snorted. “Well, they ain’t gonna know! I’m a good liar!”
You’re a very bad liar.
“Oh, yeah!? What do you know? That—” Her eyes popped. “That they’re gonna be home soon! Oh, no, they’re gonna see me!” She ran with three hooves and the scythe on her fourth. “Oh no oh no oh—” She skidded to a halt. She looked again at the scythe, still her size. “Uh, mister, can you turn this back, please?” She turned around, finding that the reaper had disappeared.
“Mister?”
No answer.
She stomped on the ground. “He tricked me! Oh, what would ma and pa said when I show them that their favorite scythe shrunk?”
A lot, but Applejack couldn't hear ghosts, so the Grim Reaper endured the entire lecture.
The grass was cold under her hooves. The sun was warm on her face.
The mare atop a small hill gazed into the last half-acre of the orchard that hadn’t been mowed. The grasses were tall enough to hide a foal.
She was standing at the beginning of a seemingly random trail of cut grass. It ended abruptly a few paces away from her.
Applejack picked up a scythe from the ground. Its length was perfectly measured for her hooves and mouth, and it was the most comfortable scythe in the history of Applejack’s scythes. She had never found a more comfortable scythe; not even the one Rainbow gifted her for their anniversary which was measured and magically cut by Twilight herself. That one remained as a wall ornament back at the house.
Nopony knew where she had gotten that scythe. Applejack only told them that it was a gift from a very old friend. It looked as good as new.
Enjoying the view?
Applejack turned around and smiled. “About time you showed up.”
The reaper bowed his head slightly. Apologies.
Applejack looked back at the orchard and tried to stop her quivering smile. She shook her head, and her smile vanished. “Who am I kidding? This ain’t any easier.”
You’ve been working.
Applejack looked behind her and past the reaper to where the rest of Sweet Apple Acres’ grass was already neatly cut. Even some of the earlier-cut grass had already grown back to teenage grass. “I don’t have anything much to do.”
You’re a very bad liar, Applejack.
Applejack laughed. “Alright, alright. I don’t really want to do anything else lately.” She held the scythe in a familiar stance and put the blade to the ground on her right.
The reaper put his scythe to his right.
“Don’t you have other things to reap?”
The reaper took an hourglass, showing a little bit of sand left at the top. Your grandmother is quite persistent.
She sighed. “I know. She's said what she wanted to say. Told us to leave her alone to meet The Reaper herself." She gave him a disapproving look.
Apologies.
“Y’know…” Applejack looked at the grass under her. “They never really grow back after you scythed them.”
Your parents?
Applejack forced a cough. “That, too.”
The reaper willed his scythe out of existence. Then he reached out, and another scythe materialized, this one looking less black and more normal. Peened professionally, too.
“Grass is good for the trees.” Applejack looked at a stack of newly-cut grass from the previous round of scything. “You can use them for mulch; to keep the trees healthy and safe. They protect the saplings in winter.”
The reaper put his scythe to his right and started scything. Applejack followed. For every two steps she took, the reaper took one.
Applejack paused for a bit and said, “Can I ask you something?”
The reaper swung his scythe.
“How long do I have left?”
The reaper took an hourglass, showing some sand left at the top. Enough.
Applejack smiled. “Good to know, I guess.” She started swinging again.
The reaper looked at her. Curious.
“Huh?”
You don’t seem upset.
“That you're gonna take my granny?”
The reaper put the hourglass back under his cloak. Everyone.
"Including my friends?"
That would be correct.
"Even Twilight."
Eventually.
Applejack looked at the sky. "What do you suppose it's like, being there?"
Lively.
She snorted. "Seriously?"
Quite possibly.
"Do you have any special plans when you're taking me?"
I'll mow your grass if you so desire.
Applejack paused. "Wait, seriously?"
Not really.
"Aw, phoo."
I'll teach your nephew how to scythe.
Applejack glared at him. "You're not getting my lil' nephew near anything sharp, ya hear!?"
No promises.
Applejack leaned on her scythe. "I suppose he's gonna need to learn it someday."
One day.
She tapped on the handle a few times before saying, “It's quite hard.”
Cutting grass?
"Death."
The reaper raised his scythe and swung it high. A gust of wind blew through the orchard, cutting the rest of the unsuspecting grass to little stubbles. It takes time to fully learn.
"The inevitability of death?"
Scything.
Applejack laughed. "I suppose." She looked to her side to find that the reaper had disappeared. She let out a melancholy sigh. "I suppose."
