Workhorse

by Apple Bottoms

Rating: everyone
Tags: Caramel, Adventure, My Little Pony: The Movie, Drama, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Original Character
Length: 14144

Equestria has fallen to the Storm King. When the farm ponies are thrown into a work camp, Big Caramel will have to figure out how to survive captivity without losing his mind like his neighbor. Without the Elements, is there any chance of escape?

Equestria has fallen to the Storm King.

It felt like it could never happen in a place like Ponyville, where the biggest concern most years was the summer harvest. Danger remained safely outside of the realm of their charming little hamlet, locked away in the Everfree Forest. Whenever danger appeared, the Elements of Harmony were soon to follow, blasting away any evil that might threaten the pony populace! It felt like no real harm could ever befall Ponyville.

But now the Elements are gone and the princesses are imprisoned. What will happen to the innocent townsfolk left behind?

Follow the adventures of Big Caramel as he is thrown into a work camp and fights to stay alive with other imprisoned worker ponies. He'll have to contend with a screaming neighbor who's lost his sanity, a self-appointed leader of the farm ponies, awful food and worse working conditions. Will a new friend offer a hope for escape, or merely a distraction from their inevitable fate?

It can't get much worse than the constant screaming - right?

A/N: Big Caramel was the popular name for this background pony a decade ago, but the wiki says he is also called Creme Brulee or Chance-A-Lot!

I would call this story dark, but it has no gore or any other special warnings. It's a grim setting, but not especially grimmer than the movie itself, it just focuses on the grim parts the movie glossed over.

Published 2022-09-30 22:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2022-10-01 21:28:48 UTC

1. Capture

Big Caramel landed, hard, on what felt like packed dirt. He fought to get back to his hooves and failed.

Canterlot’s takeover had been brutal, he’d heard. Hundreds, maybe thousands (maybe hundreds of thousands, according to some panicked observers) of the Storm King’s shock troops had stormed the pony capital, and banished (or killed? Some observers would swear they saw Twilight Sparkle led off to be beheaded) the Princess of Friendship and the entirety of the Elements of Harmony. The other princesses, their only hope of rescue, had been turned to stone. The pony kingdom, it seemed, had fallen.

The takeover had spread rapidly, something that only a well-trained and precise army could do. It was clear they had done this many times before. Under General Tempest Shadow’s command, the Storm King’s army flooded nearby towns, robbing every village, citadel, even individual farms of their populace. All of them were shackled, chained together and led off to various unknown locations. Ponyville had been no different; they had hoped for a better outcome, since they had a few days to prepare before the shock troops arrived. Many had tried to flee, some had tried to hide, and ultimately almost all of them had been discovered.

Big Caramel had landed in a different place than many of the other ponies of his town. Perhaps because he’d tried to fight, maybe this was a punishment. He was bigger than most of the average townsfolk, so he’d stayed behind, joined the makeshift militia that had formed in the brief days they had before the army arrived. It had been a rout, but of course it would be. They were a group of farmers brandishing pitchforks, and their enemy was an elite group of simians bearing magical weapons. Big Caramel hadn’t expected much different, but he had held out some hope for a surprise arrival of the Elements to push back the invading force. It had happened enough times that Big Caramel was disappointed when it didn’t happen this time.

Back to the current issue, the packed dirt he had landed on. If this was a prison it was a makeshift one, because it seemed to be a simple rectangular wooden pen, like you might find on any of the local farms. It had been thrown together quickly, that was obvious, but any hope of escape was crushed when Big Caramel caught the sound of a magical hum coming from the wooden boards. Of course - they’d enchanted it, probably with those magical sticks they carried. Those things packed a wallop, which Caramel knew firsthoof. It had rendered him barely conscious after just one whack with it, and that’s how he’d ended up here. His ears were still ringing, and his legs felt like jelly, but he forced himself upright at last, trying to gather his bearings.

Other ponies were there; he hadn’t seen him at first, stunned as he was. They stayed near the edges of the pen, eyeing him. They were all large, like he was, hulking and muscular. Mostly stallions, he noted, but there were a few burly mares among their number. Some of them he recognized from the local fairs as farmer ponies. It looked to be a large group, but Caramel realized that was only because of their sizes. There couldn’t be more than ten ponies with him.

“Hello,” Big Caramel offered, cautiously.

“Well,” one particularly burly stallion spoke, walking closer to inspect him, “we were afraid you might be down for the count.” He was large, older; late forties, if Big Caramel had to guess, and somewhere between heavy and muscular. Broad as a barn, with a coarse-ground voice and a dark, dark blue coat. Almost purple, with a mane of light blue and piercing green eyes.

“Ponyville has fallen,” one stallion whispered in a quavery voice, hiding behind the others.

“Burrbarrow will be next,” spoke another, his voice twisted. “My sister lives there. She has foals - they’re so small - what are they going to do to them?”

“What are they going to do to us?” another voice hissed.

“What - what is this place?” Big Caramel asked, talking over the anxious whispers. “Why are we here?”

“Why, lad,” the burly stallion chuckled, in a voice that was anything but happy, “you’ve just joined the Storm King’s workforce. Congratulations.”

“You don’t know that, Jewelcrisp,” a voice snapped, female this time.

“Oh, don’t I?” The pony called Jewelcrisp turned to consider the glaring mare who was nearly as tall as him and just as broad. “I was there when the Crystal Kingdom fell; I already wore one tyrant’s chains. I know what comes next when they separate the strong from the weak.” Big Caramel looked at him a little more closely. Beneath the dust of the pen, he could see the flecks of shimmer that defined him as a crystal pony.

“Wh - what happens to the weak?” asked a tremulous voice - the one from before, Big Caramel noted, the one who was frightened for his sister.

“Shut up!” snapped another voice.

“What happens to the weak?” The first voice repeated his question, but panicked now, rapidly spiraling out of control.

“I don’t know, exactly,” Jewelcrisp admitted at last, frowning towards the group at large. The group quieted their frightened whispers, waiting for his next words. “I wasn’t with them. No one felt like talking about the occupation much, once we were freed. At least, I didn’t.” Jewelcrisp turned away, and his shimmery tail swished as he stared out of the pen, watching their captors. “I know I saw my neighbors after it all happened, though. Before I moved away. Didn’t wanna stay, after all of … that. I’d see them occasionally when I was working.

We’ll be delegated to the brute work. We’ll harvest the food from the fields, plow, harvest the orchards. An army marches on its stomach, after all. And the Storm King’s army looks like it has a mighty appetite. Like a flock of locusts, I expect.”

His voice was cold, hard; it made Big Caramel’s stomach do flip-flops to hear him speak. He followed Jewelcrisp’s gaze and watched the Storm King’s army sitting around a fire, toasting their latest conquest. They were eating from barrels and baskets labeled Apple Family Farms, and Big Caramel’s stomach fell to somewhere beneath his hooves.

A scream tore Big Caramel from his reverie, and his head snapped wildly to and fro, trying to find the source. The other ponies hardly seemed to register the sound.

“You’ll get used to him,” Jewelcrisp snorted, and jerked his head sharply to the right. “That’s our neighbor.”

Slowly, Big Caramel crossed to the right side of the pen.

To the right of their pen stood several other pens; it seemed the army was preparing for a far larger workforce. But the pen directly to their right held only one pony, and he shrieked like a banshee. He was covered in dirt from his ears to his hooves, with dark streaks where his foamy sweat had begun to form into a sort of mud. Beneath the filth was a coat that looked black, but Big Caramel couldn’t be sure. His eyes were rolling, mostly white now, with a mane that was somewhere between a beige and brown. It was hard to get a read on him, and the only certain descriptor that Big Caramel would have given was that he was big, and strong.

He backed himself into a corner with deep, heaving breaths, and took off at a gallop.

“No!” Big Caramel shouted.

The stallion threw himself into the far wall with a whinnying shriek of rage, and was blasted back with almost equivalent force, the magic crackling as the scent of singed fur filled the air. He laid still for a moment, then slowly gathered himself up onto his hooves, legs shaking, as he prepared himself for another run.

“What are you doing, stop!” Big Caramel shouted, tossing his mane in distress. “You’re going to kill yourself!”

“He’s been doing that for days,” Jewelcrisp rumbled, and Big Caramel realized with a little start that he’d come to stand next to him. “He was in with us the first day. Screaming and kicking, couldn’t get a word out of him. Every time the guards brought in new ponies, he’d rush at them - got a wicked bite on one of the apes the first time, that was something to see.” Jewelcrisp gave a dark little chuckle. “They separated him after that.”

“Why is he -” Big Caramel shook his mane again, wincing as the stallion was blasted back in yet another failed run.

“Captivity doesn’t suit some ponies. They crack,” Jewelcrisp replied a little softer, so the other surrounding ponies wouldn’t hear. “Didn’t expect it so soon, but what do I know? I did my best to forget those days, and here I am again. Maybe that’ll be me, in a week or two.”

“A week or - how long will they hold us?” Big Caramel turned to look at Jewelcrisp.

“As long as they need to eat,” Jewelcrisp replied, and the scream of the neighboring stallion cut through his words. “Or until we die.”

2. Boys with Blue Horseshoes

More ponies came in the following days. Ponies Big Caramel recognized, occasionally, but soon complete strangers filled their pen and then the surrounding pens. He didn’t see anyone he knew closely, and he was grateful for that; Big Mac didn’t seem to be in their number, and his little brother Caramel wasn’t there either.

Each day, a few ponies would be taken out for work duty. They’d return just before dark, occasionally after, covered in sweat and stumbling. They brought back sad stories. Muzzled, hitched to wagons, forced to transport entire towns of weeping foals in their wagons, or hitched to the lead of a whole chain-gang of ponies from an outlying region. That’s where they were now, Big Caramel eventually figured out, somewhere between Ponyville and the next town, far enough from anywhere that might provide a beneficial hiding spot for ponies who wanted to escape or mount a rescue. Big Caramel hadn’t been chosen for a work duty yet, but Jewelcrisp told him he was probably being saved until the apes decided his spirit had been broken.

Big Caramel didn’t intend to let that happen, ever.

On the evening of the third day (or at least he hoped it was the third day, the days were starting to blend together), they brought in a particularly paltry crop of work ponies. It was just one, actually, and he was - well, it would be unkind to call him scrawny, Big Caramel decided.

“Aren’t you a bit scrawny for workpony duty?” Jewelcrisp rasped.

Thanks, Jewelcrisp, Big Caramel thought darkly.

The little stallion puffed out his chest, and the wooden work collar that sat on his narrow shoulders jostled with the motion. It shouldn’t do that, Big Caramel noted. A snug fit ensures a minimum of chafing or workplace injuries. He was small, a palomino, with a pale yellow coat, white mane and tail, and pink edging his nose, ears, and hooves. He had dark brown eyes, and they were currently narrowed at Jewelcrisp rebelliously. He couldn’t have been that far out of his teenage years, Big Caramel thought; at least he had his cutie mark, which was a group of some kind of hairy-looking red berry.

“I’ve kept my farm running just fine, old man,” and Big Caramel noted that Jewelcrip was old enough that the young stallion’s jeers just made him chuckle. But the other stallions took a few steps towards the youngster, muttering things like ‘learn your place’ and ‘your paw oughta take a switch to your hide.’

Big Caramel stepped between them and offered a glare to the ones who had taken a step closer to the youngster. “Alright,” Big Caramel said, sharply, without any real idea what he might say next. That seemed to be all the discouragement they needed, though, because the others backed off to mutter amongst themselves.

Big Caramel turned to consider the little palomino, who was glaring at him just as fiercely as he had the others. “What’s your - problem?” He’d meant to ask what his name was. What came out instead was a confused accusation, since the palomino kept up the angry stare just as fiercely as if Big Caramel had been the one calling him names.

“I can fight my own battles,” snapped the littler stallion.

“Right, absolutely,” Big Caramel snorted, despite himself. “You could have definitely fended off several tons of angry ponies at once.”

“I can handle myself!” He stomped one forehoof and glared up at Big Caramel.

“I don’t -” Big Caramel blew out a sharp breath, which made his forelock flutter, and he stared down at the little palomino for a moment. “My name is Big Caramel.”

This seemed to startle the palomino out of his anger, and he considered Big Caramel for a moment, not sure if he could trust him. “Is everyone here named Big something?”

Big Caramel couldn’t hide his little answering laugh. “No; I mean, maybe they are. My name’s Caramel, but growing up it was Big Caramel, or just Mel. On account of my little brother is also named Caramel.”

The palomino wrinkled his nose at him. “Why are you both named Caramel?”

Big Caramel, or just Mel, rolled his eyes. “My father was also named Caramel.”

“So - you’re both Caramel Junior?!”

“Caramel the thirds, actually. Grandpappy was also a Caramel.”

“Does your family have a thread of insanity running through it?”

Mel laughed and shook his head. “Maybe. It was some kind of promise he made to his dad, I guess; something about wanting to carry on the family name. ‘Boys with blue horseshoes have always been named Caramel!’ And then they had two boys. And grandpappy was dead, and they didn’t want to risk disappointing him, so…”

“Right.” The palomino squinted, and looked down at his hooves. “Well, uh, I’m Ramblejam.”

Mel’s brows lifted. “I’ve never met a Ramblejam. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Ramblejam allowed, and when he looked up from his hooves, there might have been a note of guilt in his gaze. “Sorry about, uh …” Ramblejam gestured loosely with his hoof, not quite meeting Mel’s gaze anymore.

“That’s alright. It’s rough here for everyone. I think a little bit of anger is to be expected. You haven’t heard -” And here Mel turned to gesture to the next pen, where he was certain their neighbor was about to start screaming again, but instead locked eyes with said neighbor.

The dark, dirt-caked stallion stood quite calmly, very close to them, just on the other side of the fence. His eyes were no longer wild, although his mane still stood up in every different direction. They were blue, Mel realized suddenly, and wholly sane where they focused on him.

“I - oh. He - Hello, um, neighbor?” Mel stammered a little, embarrassed and not a little shocked to realize that their mysterious, insane neighbor was watching them as calmly as if he was any other pony waiting to join the conversation. Every day had been filled with his whinnying screams; Mel wondered what had changed that.

The stallion stared at him for a long moment, his gaze unreadable, and abruptly turned away, trotting to the far side of the fence to lay down. He almost looked like a large rock when he curled up like that, more mud than pony.

“Who is that?” Ramblejam whispered, and Mel realized that Ramblejam had tucked in very close to him, nervous of the stranger.

“I’m not sure,” Mel replied, his voice equally soft. “I haven’t gotten a name. He - he’s usually screaming.”

“Screaming?”

“It sounds worse than it is. Well - maybe not.” Mel admitted at last, his ears flicking back and forth in thought. “He throws himself at the fence every day, over and over. He usually only gives up when he can’t get up anymore, then he’ll lay down for a few hours, and go try it again. He’s been doing it since before I even got here.”

“Wow.” Ramblejam whispered, and suddenly seemed to realize how close they were, so he took a few steps back. “When are we getting fed?”

“Soon, I think; we usually get breakfast and dinner. I can’t guarantee the quality though. It seems to be just whatever bales of hay they can find from the local barns. Barely good enough for chicken bedding,” Mel admitted, and guided Ramblejam over to the patch of fence he’d taken to treating as ‘his’ bed. It wasn’t any different than any other patch of dirt in the pen, but it meant something, he thought, to have the same patch waiting for him at the end of the day. Plus, most of the others didn’t want to sleep on the part of the fence that abutted the screamer’s pen, so he could stretch out to his heart’s content.

“Great,” Ramblejam grumbled, and flopped down in the dirt beside Mel. “I’m starving.”

“Let’s talk, then. You’ll forget all about your belly,” Mel smiled. “Tell me about your farm. You have your own farm? You seem awfully young, so you must be very talented.”

Ramblejam allowed himself, for the first time, to look uncomfortable instead of merely angry. “Let’s talk about something else.”

Mel’s brows shot up. “What?”

“Food’s here!” Came an eager shout from the group, and just like that, they clustered at the front, jostling for position. The hay sometimes had better and worse bits, and the last pony to grab a flake got the worst one. Once, they’d been moldy, and Caramel had gone to bed hungry that night.

Ramblejam jerked upright, then paused, considering the massive bodies wrestling as their captors began tossing bundled squares of hay into the crowd.

“I’ll get you one. Stay here,” Mel instructed him firmly, and stepped forward into the crush.

Big Caramel wasn’t a small pony, as was evidenced by his name; still, wading into the throng of bodies was unlike any other sensation he’d ever had. He was pressed from all sides, elbowed, shoved, while all around him hungry mouths sought the next meal. He got lucky and caught the second flake that was tossed into the crowd, and easily lobbed it over his shoulder. Ramblejam sprinted forward to grab it, and only the ponies closest to him were paying enough attention to be angry. An extra shoulder-shove shut them up, and Caramel waited for the next flake to come close enough to snatch, then pulled himself back out of the crowd. It was almost harder than getting in, because for every inch he moved, another pony shoved past to take his spot. Once or twice a stranger tried to grab a bite from his flake, and Mel had to toss his head to keep his dinner safe, scattering hay across the bodies of his neighbors.

Finally, after a few minutes that felt much longer, Mel found himself next to Ramblejam once more, who was already powering down his hay as if someone might take it.

“Slow down,” Mel instructed him as he took a more measured bite of his meal. “It’s not going anywhere, and your belly always gets a little … fussy, in a place like this. Mine did.”

Ramblejam shot Mel a look that might have been more insulting if he hadn’t closely resembled a hamster at that moment.

Mel looked back to the throng, now less desperately crushed, as more and more ponies got their meals and wandered off to eat. Today was a good day; it looked like all of the flakes were full and un-molded, and everyone got to eat. Everyone, it seemed, except for his neighbor.

“Hey!” Big Caramel called as their captors began to walk away, ignoring the muddy stallion in the next paddock. “Hey! HEY! You forgot somepony! HEY!”

Mel was on his hooves before he quite realized it, trotting back to the front of their pen, trying to get the apes’ attention. The pair pulling the hay wagon turned to look at him as he shouted, and one pointed an accusatory finger at him as he grunted out something threatening.

“No, you forgot somepony! You forgot him! HIM!” Mel shouted, pointing one hoof at the muddy stallion, trying to enunciate clearly for their captors. He’d never heard them speak. Mostly they spoke through violence, and those magical staves. They grunted to each other, but it had no meaning to any of the ponies he’d met so far. “He didn’t get any food!”

“They don’t care, Big Caramel,” Jewelcrisp called boredly, still eating. “They didn’t feed him last night, either. They’re starving him out.”

“What? No - no, you stupid apes, come back!” Big Caramel shouted, a sharp thread of anger rocketing down his spine, making his tail stand on end. “Come BACK!”

Mel hadn’t even noticed they stopped feeding his neighbor until today. Guilt twisted in his gut like bad coffee.

“They’re not coming back, Big Caramel,” Jewelcrisp called again, and Mel thought he might kick him for the faintly amused tone in his voice, “and your shouting is getting annoying.”

“Shut up,” Mel growled, and shot Jewelcrisp a dark look when the larger stallion lifted his brows at him. He didn’t say anything else, and Mel was glad for that; he was so angry he might have kicked a puppy if they told him the puppy was on the Storm King’s side. Jewelcrisp by comparison would be much easier to vent his anger on.

Ramblejam looked smaller when Mel came back to his side, hiding from his anger, but Mel was on a mission. He bent down to take his flake between his teeth, and broke off a quarter of it.

“HEY! Neighbor!” Mel shouted, fighting back the anger. He took a hold of the larger chunk of the hay flake, and gave his head a sharp jerk. The flake flew out from his mouth, skimming neatly beneath the humming fence, and came to a halt on the other side.

The muddy boulder on the other side of the pen lifted his head, and considered Mel’s foolhardy actions silently.

“That’s for you,” Mel shouted.

The stallion stared.

Whether or not Mel’s action had any use, he didn’t particularly care. He was angry, and he was hungry, so he sat down beside Ramblejam to finish his remaining quarter flake, his ears back and his eyes far away.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Ramblejam asked, once he’d eaten most of his flake.

“Nah,” Mel lied.

The pair ate in silence after that. Ramblejam was too afraid to ask any more questions, and Mel was too afraid to vent his anger accidentally on Ramblejam.

He’d been angry before now; who wouldn’t be, in a place like this. But it was today that he'd finally been unable to contain his rage, when it felt like it reached such a white hot intensity that it had to come exploding out of him without any power to stop it. Mel considered himself a level-headed stallion. Maybe the neighboring stallion had too, once upon a time. Maybe he was on his way to joining the neighboring pen. That frightened him, a lot, and it only redoubled on the regular amount of gut-churning fear that he felt being trapped in a Storm King labor camp.

Mel had almost finished berating himself and fallen asleep when he heard something behind him. His head jerked up and startled the only other awake pony in the pens - his neighbor, coming to eat the flake he tossed to him.

The pair considered each other for a moment, green eyes staring into blue, before the silence was broken by a raspy voice, wrecked by days of screaming.

“Thank you.”

3. Back to the Farm

Mel awoke the next day to the familiar sounds of grunting, the traditional warning they got before they were tossed breakfast. But when it came coupled with the pounding of hooves right next to his head, Mel woke up with a great deal more speed than usual.

“Mel, wake up! Mel!” Ramblejam hissed, his soft tenor voice shot-through with terror. “They’re picking ponies for the day - they’re not feeding us first! Jewelcrisp says he thinks that means they’re - they’re out of food!”

“It’ll be alright, Ramblejam,” Mel soothed him as best he could, his voice still raspy with sleep. His thick voice made him think of his neighbor, of the secretive words he’d shared last night just before he darted to the far corner of his pen, and he looked to him. His neighbor was where he’d left him the night before, curled into a ball, but the pen was cleared of hay. He was pointedly ignoring the hooting apes as they opened the neighboring pen. The pair of Storm King grunts moved swiftly through their group, pointing to ponies, sometimes grabbing them by the mane or ears if they didn’t move quickly enough.

“Sometimes they feed the ponies on the job. You should try to come with me, we can find something together,” Mel spoke in a low voice, and reached out with his hooves to touch Ramblejam’s collar. “Let me fix this for you, it’s too loose -”

Ramblejam jerked away from him with a soft cry that he couldn’t bite back in time.

Big Caramel’s eyes widened. “Ramblejam?”

Ramblejam was looking anywhere but at him.

“Ramblejam, what happened?” Mel pressed, and pushed closer to him, trying to shield their bodies behind the crush of ponykind at the front gate. He reached out a second time, and moved more carefully; Ramblejam didn’t fight him, but he leaned as far away from him as he could as Mel lifted his wooden collar up his neck.

Deep, weeping marks had been carved into his shoulders and neck. Open sores wept where the collar dug into him, his coat darkened where they leaked blood and fluid. You didn’t see these kinds of sores from collars that fit wrong; you saw them when you worked too hard, for too long, pulling wagons that were too heavy. Mel had gotten something in the same place when he’d been an overeager youngster, but his had been no more than light scrapes, and his hair had rubbed off in places. These kinds of injuries had to be done over weeks - maybe months - to get this bad.

“Ramblejam?” Mel whispered.

“NEW KID!” Jewelcrisp shouted. It had some notes of the jeering from before, but now it mostly sounded frightened. “They want you!”

Mel’s head snapped to attention, and he caught sight of their simian captors working their way through the pen towards them, shoving ponies aside as they went.

Mel yanked the collar back down on Ramblejam’s shoulders, and he wished he couldn’t see the way that it made him flinch. “I’ll go in Ramblejam’s place,” Big Caramel shouted, to who he wasn’t certain, and placed himself in front of Ramblejam as the apes approached.

One pointed at Ramblejam and went to move around him. Mel darted in front of him, and angled his back end towards the other when he tried to circle around the large stallion.

“No. You take me,” Mel insisted, and when the ape grunted at him insistently, he simply repeated himself. “You take me. Not him. He’s not going today.”

The apes grunted at each other, pointing at Mel and Ramblejam in turn, hooting and growling. One shook the muzzled bridle towards Ramblejam, and before he could quite think it through, Mel shoved his face into it, pulling it behind his ears with his hoof.

The pen went silent and the two Storm King grunts stared at Mel in baffled silence. Finally, one reached up to fasten the clasp that held the muzzle on, and gave the lead rope a tentative tug. Mel fell into step behind him, and let his head hang a little lower as they led him out of the pen. The other ponies eyed him with a mixture of shock, and maybe outrage. Ramblejam stood where he’d left him, frozen, and watched him be led away. The neighboring stallion had gotten to his hooves to watch him be led out of the pen. As the gate latched behind him, his neighbor gave a sharp, wailing whinny, and it echoed in the air as Mel took his place at the end of a line of shackled work ponies.

[***]

Big Caramel hoped that he would have still volunteered in Ramblejam’s place if he’d known how brutal the work would be. But when he collapsed mid-afternoon, he wasn’t certain that his charitable beliefs would have been strong enough.

The work was brutal, harvesting and ripping up every inch of edible greens from the farm they’d been assigned to - the Apple family farm, as it turned out. They didn’t only buck the apples from the trees (which no one was very good at), they ripped down every branch, yanked out every leaf they could reach, and then their ape handlers climbed into the trees to rip out anything green that remained. It was all tossed into the wagons, and once they were full, they returned to the camp.

Big Caramel wasn’t lucky enough. He was one of the larger stallions there, so while some of them took off to return the wagons and their payload, he was hitched to a plow and led to a potato field. This wasn’t something Mel was used to in the least. He was from the city, but he did his best, right up until he collapsed in the field.

“Mel!”

Big Caramel lifted his head weakly; that almost sounded like his little brother.

“Mel! Oh my stars - Mel!” And then suddenly there he was with his forelegs thrown around Big Caramel’s neck, crying into his mane.

“Caramel!” Mel gasped and leaned into him, his legs too weak and trembly to return the hug. “I thought you - I was afraid -”

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Caramel gasped, and lifted his head, twisting until he caught sight of the handler in charge of this field. “We’re okay. They sent me out to give you some water.”

“Water?” Oh, sweet mercy!

“Drink, here, this is for you.” There was a moment of fumbling, a few spilled drops, and then a cup, with blissfully cool well water. Mel drank it so quickly he thought he might drown in it; this didn’t sound like the worst option of the day. “Oh Mel, this is - I’m so sorry, Mel. I’m so glad you’re okay, but - but you’re not okay.”

“There’s worse-off guys in my camp,” Mel countered quickly, and his mane twitched when he thought of Ramblejam’s shoulders. “I’m okay. They’re feeding us - until today. Are you okay? What’s happening here?”

“I know you told me to run, but I couldn’t leave Big Mac, I couldn’t. And he wouldn’t leave Granny and Apple Bloom, but Granny couldn’t run, and -” Caramel ran over himself trying to explain, and took a heaving breath as he refilled Mel’s cup from his bucket. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Mel coughed as some of the water went down badly in his panicked gulping. “It’s alright. I knew Big Mac would probably have to defend his family, I just figured they’d already be gone.”

“They held off the Storm King’s army for a day, but … well, they blew up the hayloft.” Caramel chuckled, despite himself, and brushed away his tears with the back of a hoof. He looked older, Mel noted; he didn’t even want to think about how bad he probably looked. “Now they hold us captive here, and we have to harvest the crops before they’re ready. Mac’s wrecked with Applejack gone. He keeps saying she’s gonna come back and save everyone, but sometimes - sometimes he looks so lost, Mel. Like he’s a million miles away.”

“He’s got you,” Mel reminded his little brother, his voice low. Caramel poured him another cup, and he held onto it for a moment, considering his little brother. “He’ll be okay. You’ll be okay, too. You just have to stick together.”

Caramel considered Mel for a moment, his eyes welling up with tears, and finally gave a little nod. “I hope so,” he whispered, his voice thick. “I’m so scared.”

From the other end of the field, a guard holding a staff grunted something threatening at them.

“That’s my cue,” Mel grunted and pushed himself upright on shaking legs.

“Are you okay?” Caramel asked, eyes wide and frightened as they darted over his much bulkier brother’s body. Mel was the strongest pony Caramel knew, and it clearly rattled him to see Mel in this condition.

“I’ll be alright. You helped,” Mel reassured him.

“When you plow, don’t let it get perpendicular,” Caramel spoke quickly, making it look like it was taking him a long time to gather his bucket and cup. “The plow only needs to get a few inches into the dirt, potatoes aren’t deep. Try to keep it parallel to the dirt, let the plow do the work. If it gets too deep and you have to pull hard, stop and give it a kick with your back leg.”

“Huh,” Big Caramel mused, his brows lifted. “You know a lot about farming. And here I thought you spent all your time on this farm making out with Big Mac.”

“Mel!” Caramel hissed, and despite their situation, he laughed, and he looked young again.

Mel shared the laugh, quick and quiet; he hoped he looked like his old self, too. He shot a quick glance towards the guard before he continued speaking in a lowered voice, trying to block his mouth from the guard’s line of sight. “I need you to get something for me.”

[***]

The day dragged. With each field plowed, ten more seemed to spring up. They harvested carrots, potatoes, apples, herbs, grass, even the few eggs that had been laid since the army laid siege to the Apple family farm and plundered everything. Anything that was green had been razed to the roots, even the dandelions that cropped up on the paths behind the henhouse. When they left it, everything but the buildings on the Apple Family Farm had been razed to the ground, and briefly Mel was grateful that Applejack wasn’t there to see it happen. Mel and Caramel watched each other as long as they could, until a curve in the road cut them off. And then Mel was alone again, dragging his heavy wagon the many miles back to camp.

“Mel!”

Big Caramel had almost forgotten that someone was waiting for him. With his higher-pitched voice, for a moment the exhausted Mel had thought it might be his little brother again.

“Hey, Ramble,” Mel greeted him, tiredly, as he followed the others into the pen. They were all as worn-out as he was, and not even Jewelcrisp could offer a smart remark.

“You’re okay?” Ramblejam looked him over closely, his ears flicking back and forth.

“Yeah, just wanna - lay down for a second.” And that he did, immediately, all but falling into the dust. It felt as comfortable as flopping onto his bed back home, and if he closed his eyes, he could almost see the glowing stars that Caramel had affixed to their ceiling.

“Got something for you,” Mel added after a long silence, making Ramblejam jump. He shook his mane and tried to fumble with the braid that Caramel had tied there. In the end, he had to have Ramblejam help him. Caramel had such dexterous hooves, he’d always been good at braiding and delicate work like this. It had been the work of only a few moments to braid the little jar into his mane.

“It’s a salve, for your shoulders. You - stay here -” Mel grunted, and pulled himself to his hooves, many aches and pains already starting to make themselves known. “I’ll get some water to clean it first.”

It wasn’t any kind of sanitary, carrying water in his mouth to clean out weeks-old wounds, but it was better than letting them heal with the dust of the pen in them. Mel helped Ramblejam out of his collar and then spat the water (as indelicate as it sounded) onto the injuries, until they looked clean enough to apply the salve.

“Granny Smith’s family recipe, he said. Good for everything,” Mel murmured, carefully smoothing the salve into Ramblejam’s shoulders with the hoof he cleaned with trough water. Mel had to give the apes one thing; they might not feed them well, but there was always plenty of clean, fresh water. They had to know firsthand that ponies could go a couple of days without food, but never without water.

Ramblejam jumped even under his tender touch and nodded, keeping his eyes on the horizon.

Mel worked in silence for a long time, his touch gentle, before he broached the subject they’d abandoned hastily that morning. “How did you get these?”

Ramblejam tensed under his touch.

“I know this wasn’t from anyone here - these are working injuries, aren’t they?”

Ramblejam swallowed.

“You’re not in trouble. I just - wanna know.” Mel fell silent for a few long moments, considering his next words carefully. “Did someone hurt you?”

“No! You said they’re working injuries, right? So I worked,” Ramblejam muttered, and turned his head away from Mel.

“They work you when you’re too small?” Mel pressed, wiping the last of the salve onto the worst of the sores. “Farming families forget that not all of the foals are big enough to plow -”

“My Pa died, okay?” Ramblejam snapped, his ears flat. His eyes closed, then squinched tightly shut. “Last winter.”

Mel’s brows lifted.

Ramblejam was quiet for a beat, perhaps waiting for Mel to pick up the slack in the conversation; when he didn’t, more words seemed to spill out of him, unable to stem the flood. “It’s just me, and Ma, and my little sisters. Pa was able to plow and grow and buck all of the rambutans, and we handled the rest of the farm. But - but with Pa gone - I thought I could pick up the slack. I’ll be 17 this fall, and - and I’m old enough, to take over.” Ramblejam’s words were failing him now as fat tears began to roll down his cheeks. “But we just fell further and further behind, and - and I couldn’t b-buck all of the rambutans in time, and - and it just wouldn’t heal, and it kept hurting -”

“It’s alright, Ramblejam; no foal could be expected to take over a job like your Pa’s,” Mel comforted him gently, but Ramblejam wouldn’t be comforted. His voice rose to a wail as he sobbed.

“Did it hurt Pa? Did we - did he hurt, like that, every day? And we just - let him d-do it? Did we - did we make -”

Mel grabbed him sharply, and dragged the sobbing teenager against his chest. Ramblejam was in no position to fight, and he all but melted into the larger stallion’s burly chest, hiding his face in his neck as he sobbed.

“You listen to me,” Mel said thickly after a moment, when Ramblejam had to take a break to gasp out a few strangled breaths. “Your Pa loved you. Hauling and bucking don’t hurt when you’re a grown up. And even if it did, it wasn’t your job to fix it for him. Your Pa knew what he was doing, and I’m sure your Ma wouldn’t let him get hurt. You were just a foal. You got that?”

Ramblejam nodded wetly against Mel’s neck, and Mel gave his neck a light, cautious stroke. When Ramblejam melted into him further, he repeated the stroking, and let his chin come to rest between his ears.

“You’re just a foal. Your only job was to love him, and I can tell you did. I’m sure he knew it, too. So you did your job.” Ramblejam’s sob rose to a soft, throaty wail, only for a moment, and then he was lost in Mel’s neck again, hiccuping softly until he fell silent. Mel continued to stroke his neck until he felt Ramblejam grow heavy against him and his body went slack.

Mel eased him down onto the packed dirt and laid down beside him; he didn’t sleep for a long time.

When he woke up during the night, he found Ramblejam snug against him, with his head tucked against his broad side.

4. Rain

The next morning opened with rain. Rain seemed to suit everyone’s mood, exhausted and worn out from the pen. The simian troops ran for cover, hooting and hollering with excited dismay, and the ponies had no choice but to stand in the rain and bear through it.

“Ain’t got no pegasus ponies on the job to kick these clouds away,” one of the farmer ponies yelled over the rain. His symbol was a leafy head of chard; he would know what he was talking about, Mel supposed. “It might take days to pass.”

Big Caramel wasn’t feeling good, to say the least. He wasn’t a farmer pony, he was a town pony. Sure, he was built as solidly as Big Mac, but he wasn’t someone who woke up before dawn and spent his days doing back-breaking labor for the love of it, come rain or shine. Oh he worked, he wouldn’t deny that, but when it got too rainy, they simply canceled deliveries at the flower shop he worked at, and he’d stay inside and help with the trimming. He liked that part more than he should, he supposed. He was good with the cart, but he hoped sometime they might let him try arranging. Wasn’t it funny, the things he thought were important back then. Wasn’t it funny how “back then” had only been last week.

The morning was shaping up to be boring, cold, and miserable, until Mel caught movement out of the corner of his eye. The neighbor stallion was on the run again, charging through the rain to slam his body into the opposite side of the fence once more. Mel had hardly heard him, over the steady patter of the rain, the rumbling of the thunder. He couldn’t smell it, but Mel could remember the scent of the singed fur, and it drove him to action.

“Hey! Neighbor!” Mel shouted, trying to get his attention over the thunder. “Why don’t you stop with that? You’re just going to hurt yourself.”

The stallion gave no indication that he had heard him and continued his latest run, slamming into the fence. The blast shot him back, and he skidded in the mud that his pen had turned into, his side heaving as he panted.

“C’mon, give it a rest, will ya?” Mel tried to cajole him the second time, tilting his head as he stared down at him. “You can come talk to me for a bit, take a rest. C’mon.”

“The rain will only be here for a few days. It’s not nearly cold enough to last,” the stallion panted, meeting Mel’s gaze for a moment before he staggered to his hooves once more, swaying until he found his balance.

“I know, so why don’t you just, I dunno, take a rest? You should try to find somewhere to stand, maybe you can keep yourself warm if you can set your head away from the rain.” That was pretty useless advice, once Big Caramel said it out loud. Still, he felt bad, like he should have something better to suggest. But what was there to say? He was alone, in the rain. He didn’t even have a herd to cuddle up against for warmth, like Mel did.

Mel wasn’t sure he wanted to cuddle up with his own group, but he wasn’t going to admit that out loud. The group had been distant once he’d placed himself between them and Ramblejam, and things hadn’t gotten any friendlier in the days since.

“No. I have to hurry,” the stranger insisted, his eyes rolling and wild. The muddy stallion snorted and tossed his head, pawing at the ground before he took off on another wild dash, slamming into the fence again. He was blasted backwards, same as before, landing in almost the same place as the first time, chest heaving as he laid in the mud.

“You - I can’t watch you do this. You’re just hurting yourself!” Mel protested, ears flat, and turned away. After a moment, he glanced over his shoulder, hoping that his dramatics might have some effect. The stallion hadn’t even seemed to hear him as he teed himself up for another run. With a heavy sigh, Mel turned his attention to the daily breakfast delivery - apples, this time, from the Apple farm they’d just pillaged. Those, at least, were easier to rub the mud off of before you ate them, Mel supposed. Mel rolled half of what he got over to the stranger, and his neighbor ate them from where he laid in his latest mud puddle.

“D’you think we’ll ever g-get a warm breakfast?” chattered Ramblejam, trying to finish his breakfast around chattering teeth.

“Why don’t you join the group? They’re all hanging close,” Mel spoke to him quietly, already finished with his half rations, desperate for something else to focus on.

The look Ramblejam shot him spoke volumes.

“Right. That’s the vibe I got, too,” Mel admitted quietly. “Was sorta hoping I was wrong.”

“Why do they dislike you? You seem - n-nice.”

“C’mere, at least we can stick together,” Mel instructed him softly, pulling the smaller stallion close enough to press his side against Mel’s. He felt the bead of his cold skin when it pressed against him, and it worried him. Mel’s coat was thick enough to withstand the rain, but it didn’t feel like Ramblejam’s was. “Get a group of ponies together, and they start looking for someone they can have fun disliking together. If somepony interrupts their game, that’s no fun.”

Ramblejam huffed out a sound that Mel thought might be a laugh, but it was far too shivery. “How’re you so warm?”

“I’m bigger than you. Maybe my coat is thicker, too.”

“Fatter,” Ramblejam teased, very softly.

“What’d you say?” Mel demanded, but his voice was warm with amusement, and the instinctive nervous reaction faded from Ramblejam’s slim frame. “How very dare you.”

“If the Storm King’s troops try to eat us, I’ll tell them you’d be the most delicious,” Ramblejam teased, and he rubbed his cold face against Mel’s broad golden shoulder as he laughed.

“No one’s going to eat us,” Mel began seriously. “But if they did, you’d be last on the list, since you are technically classified as a string bean.”

“Hey!”

“And I don’t need to be a farmer to know that.”

Ramblejam tried to head-butt Mel’s shoulder, but Mel was as solid as one of Maud’s boulders. Ramblejam’s repeated attempts only made Mel laugh, and soon the pair were laughing together, soaked in the rain, their laughter lost in the thunder.

Mel felt a pair of eyes on him, and when he turned to look he locked gazes with the neighboring stallion. He watched them with some unknown emotion, but if Mel had to put a word to it, he would have chosen ‘confused.’ Wanting to be warm, no doubt, and Mel tried to shout to him again.

“Just give up the fence. Try to stand away from the rain - face this way, it’s better,” Mel called, but the stallion shook his head. “Please,” he added, and he meant it.

“I can’t wait for the next storm.” As if emboldened, the stallion backed up to the far end of the paddock once more and took off at a run, even faster this time. His crash into the mud was even more spectacular as a result.

“That guy has problems,” Ramblejam muttered, only loud enough for Mel to hear.

“He can’t help it; it’s this place,” Mel replied, his voice low as his ears fell back. “It’s changing all of us. Not for the better, I fear.”

“Maybe not them,” Ramblejam disagreed quietly, and pressed his face into Mel’s shoulder, turning it so the cold half could leech some warmth.

“You should stand under me, if you’ll fit. Kneel down or something. It’ll be warmer if you can stay out of the rain,” Mel called after a moment, turning his head to try and shield Ramblejam’s face.

“What about you?”

“I’m warm enough like this. Down you get.” And, surprisingly, Ramblejam figured out a way to fit under Mel. He wasn’t the tallest stallion there, but neither was Ramblejam, and the promise of warmth in a storm was enough to make anything worth trying.

“You’re so warm,” Ramblejam sighed, pressing his cheek against one of Mel’s front legs, trying to press himself everywhere at once. For all that Ramblejam wanted to pretend he was doing this only at Mel’s insistence, the way he immediately glued himself to every available inch of Mel’s coat confirmed the lie.

“And your mane is so wet!” Mel laughed, and Ramblejam laughed in reply at the way it made his middle bounce. “We should try to nap. Not much else to do in a storm like this, I think.”

“You can sleep standing up?”

“Well, I’ve heard farmers can. Some of them seem to be,” Mel hummed, nodding over to the rest of the ponies in their paddock, several standing with their eyes closed. “No better time like the present to learn.” Mel let his eyes slip closed as well. It was calming, at least; he could focus on the sound of the rain, instead of the sight of his neighbor slamming into the fence, over and over.

“Then I must be able to, too,” Ramblejam insisted firmly, “since I’m a farmer.”

“Exactly,” Mel agreed, and sighed. Getting sleepy. Getting sleepy … This wasn’t working, but Mel found himself falling into a relaxed sort of meditation anyway, focusing on the sound of the rain, the gentle pressure of Ramblejam’s body beneath him as he settled.

Mel would have sworn he was mostly awake, but when he jerked back into alertness, it was much darker, and his legs were as stiff as if he’d been standing there for hours. Had he slept? Had to be; all of the other ponies were gathered on his side of the fence, and Ramblejam was still under him, too nervous to come out. It was still raining, but Ramblejam felt dry beneath him. Thankfully, the other ponies seemed to take no notice of them at all.

“Where is he?”

“Did they take him away?”

“Did they eat him?!” one panicked voice rose to a sharp whinny. “Are they going to eat us?!”

“Shut up,” Jewelcrisp growled, “check the group, see if they put him in our pen.”

As the other ponies bickered among themselves, Mel slowly turned to consider his neighbor’s pen, his eyes scanning it rapidly.

He’d worn a furrow into the mud, running forward and getting blasted back; but the far end of the pen, the same spot he kept crashing into, was broken.

“He got out,” Mel whispered, and the pen fell silent. Then, the screaming began.

5. Escape

“He escaped! He escaped!”

“How could he escape? Did he have magic?”

“He just kept running into the magicked wall - how was he still standing?”

“Was it the rain? Did the rain weaken the magic?”

“OW - no.”

“I have to get out of here!”

“Let me out, let me out!”

“Calm down! Everypony just CALM DOWN!”

The paddock was in pandemonium, and not even Jewelcrisp’s angry barking could quiet the panicked herd. Some circled back and forth searching for an exit, some were testing different parts of the paddock walls, searching for a weak point. A few just rocked in place and cried.

“How’d he get out, Mel?” Ramblejam whispered up to Big Caramel, peering up from between his front legs. He was nervous to come out before, and that was when everyone was quiet. Now the pen was practically a riot.

“How would I know? I told him to stop,” Mel grumbled, still watching the opposite pen. The magic they had enchanted the wooden planks with repelled the rain drops, creating a sort of fine mist that he could see even in the darkness. The broken paddock wall had no fine mist.

Mel supposed he couldn’t blame the others for their reactions. If the others hadn’t been already searching their own paddock walls for weaknesses, he would have been. And he couldn’t deny there was a certain appeal to the idea of just sitting down and wailing into the darkness about the unfairness of their situation. He was happy for his neighbor; he’d found a way out. Perhaps the others weren’t, but Mel was. At least one of them got out, one of them wasn’t trapped here anymore. That was one less pony suffering. But he had Ramblejam to watch out for. If he broke down crying, then all hope was lost. If he could hold strong, then Ramblejam could, too.

The low rumble of their shouting rose in a single-voiced panicked scream as something came crashing into the paddock.

“Storm King! He’s here for us!”

“They must be punishing us for his escape!”

The herd flooded past Mel, and it was all he could do to stay upright as the herd stampeded past him to the far end of the pen. Briefly, he was grateful that Ramblejam was still tucked safely beneath him, because any smaller pony would have certainly been crushed in the panic.

Mel held still, not out of any particular bravery, but because he still shielded Ramblejam beneath his midsection. So as the others fled he was in a unique position to see what had crashed into their prison: a massive tree, branches and all.

There were no trees for at least a mile.

As he watched, something climbed the trunk, fought past the branches, and leapt into the paddock. Dark, shadowy, filthy.

It was his neighbor.

“YOU!” Jewelcrisp’s voice was angry. Why, Mel couldn’t have guessed.

The group receded further against the far wall as their neighbor approached, close enough that they could feel the warning hum of the magic on their coats. But the mud-soaked stallion stopped in front of Mel and considered him.

“Time to go,” he said simply and turned. He took off at an easy canter and leapt over the paddock wall.

For a moment, Mel could only stare; was it really that easy? He only managed to get one leg off of Ramblejam before the herd behind him sprung into action, taking off at a gallop in unison, moving with a single purpose. They flowed over the paddock wall with such effortless grace it reminded Mel more of a river, and soon the river trickled and ran dry. Everypony was gone, except him and Ramblejam.

“Our turn,” Mel spoke softly, and climbed off Ramblejam, who began shivering as the rain hit his dry coat. “Can you make it?”

“Sure,” Ramblejam lied, and Mel considered him for a moment before he walked to the fence and gave it a careful tap with his hoof. Nothing. The tree crashing into it had served the same purpose as their neighbor’s body slamming: it broke the fence, which apparently also broke the magical seal.

“Alright, up you go,” Mel instructed, and turned around to help lift Ramblejam up, pushing from his seat when he struggled to get a hoofhold on the wooden beams. Soon Ramblejam was over the fence, and Mel trotted back a few steps. He could have climbed over too, sure, but this felt better. He took off at a gallop, the fastest he’d gone in what felt like a lifetime, and soared over the fence.

He landed beside Ramblejam and his neighbor. The others were already gone, vanished in the darkness and the rain.

“There’s a forest about a mile out, then a mountain. If we can get into the mountain forest, they won’t be able to track us.” His muddy neighbor paused. “Probably.”

“Okay,” Ramblejam agreed, when Mel didn’t immediately reply. “Let’s go.”

“What about the others?”

Ramblejam and his neighbor looked at Mel, and then at each other. “They’re already gone. They didn’t wait for us,” Ramblejam spat, his ears flat.

“They probably ran for the forest, like I did,” his neighbor agreed.

“Not them - the other pens.” Big Caramel didn’t move. “We can’t just leave them.”

“We can’t save everypony.” His neighbor turned, ready to gallop towards the forest.

“But we can save them. We can save the others, here, with us,” Mel disagreed, and stood for a beat longer. Then Mel turned, and began to lift the tree. It was huge, and heavy, but Mel was huge and heavy, too.

Ramblejam glanced between the pair, then trotted after Big Caramel and began pushing on the other side of the tree, trying to help him lift it.

The neighbor stallion stared at them for a long moment, then released a low, frustrated chuff through his nose and followed Ramblejam. “Lift like this. If you can get it on your back, it’s not hard to drag.”

Slowly, methodically, the trio moved through the rain and the night. With three hauling the tree instead of one, they worked quickly. One would drag it, the others would lift it, and together they’d work the tree until it was angled high enough to come crashing down to smash the magic fences. They freed five other pens that way, and floods of massive ponies poured over the paddock walls. Big Caramel tried to tell everyone he could to make for the mountain, but he wasn’t sure they could hear him.

“Can we go now?” the neighbor stallion asked at the last pen, as they watched the final herd of burly farmer ponies vanish into the wall of rain.

“What if they’re keeping ponies somewhere else in the camp?” Mel asked, his brow furrowed, drenched in sweat. His neighbor must be even stronger than he looked, to have managed to drag the entire tree all the way from the forest.

“They aren’t,” the neighboring stallion frowned.

“But they might. I can’t leave anypony behind,” Mel whispered.

“Can’t or won’t?”

Mel frowned. “You don’t have to come. It’s safer if I go alone. If you want to make for the forest, then you can go. Take Ramblejam. You’ve done more than enough.”

The neighbor stallion scowled at him.

“Thank you. For freeing us, and for helping the others. I’ll take it from here.” And Mel turned, and trotted into what felt like his doom.

He tried to calm his pounding heart, which felt so loud that the guards must be able to hear it, and walked cautiously until he reached one of the tents. This was the tent closest to the prison paddocks, where they’d been held; it was darkened now, so it must only be used when they needed to use the prisoners. Mel edged his hoof under one corner and peeked inside. Rows and rows of bridles, saddles, and various harnesses were hung on large wooden racks, and there were fresh barrels of pony-sized chains and manacles in each corner. There was one rack made up entirely of what looked like whips, crops, and spurs; Mel wondered what they needed spurs for, and what they intended to do with the ponies when they were done hauling their food and troops for them.

“Mel.”

Big Caramel thought he might jump out of his skin! But when he whirled, it was only the bedraggled Ramblejam behind him.

“Ramble!”

“What, you thought I’d ditch you? No way!” Ramblejam snapped back when Mel snapped at him.

“You just about gave me a heart attack!” Mel hissed, but there was relief behind the anger, and he gave Ramblejam a little shake, followed by a quick hug. “C’mon. We gotta stay on the edges of the camp, make sure no one sees us.”

The two took off into the darkness, the rain silencing their hoof-falls in the mud. The camp seemed mostly deserted in the middle of the night. There were no other paddocks that they found, but many tents filled with the food they’d stolen from the Apple farm (Ramblejam grabbed a few apples and gobbled one down hungrily on the spot), one with barrels of water, another with extra armor. They found one tent that held metal weapons, but Mel waved Ramblejam off from it. Too much risk of making noise, or dropping something, or injuring themselves. Mel didn’t want to admit that he was also a little afraid of what he might do with a weapon if he found one of the guards.

They had almost circled the entire camp when they came upon the tents that glowed from within, or were darkened and quiet; from inside, they could hear the thick, heavy breathing of the guards as they slept. A thrill of terror went through Mel as he considered what he wanted to do to the Storm King’s soldiers that had imprisoned them, and he hastened to move past them. They were passing one of the tents that was lit from within when suddenly the easy, raucous chatter became louder as one of the tent flaps flung open, and Mel had to scramble to hide himself between one of the other tents.

Mel and Ramble cowered next to the opposite tent, listening to the heavy, grunting breaths of a guard sleeping on the other side of the thin fabric as the voices came closer. They were loud, playful, grunting to each other in the rain; they were having fun. In only a moment, they would be upon Mel and Ramblejam, and there was nothing he could do. If they ran, they would hear them, as close as they were, and pursue. Perhaps, if they held still, they would simply turn and go another way.

Ramblejam pressed tight, tight, tight against Mel’s side as the voices got louder and louder; Mel could hear Ramblejam’s heart pounding against his rain-slicked coat. This was it. Briefly, Mel hoped that the neighboring stallion was far away by now. He wished, suddenly, that he’d at least gotten his name.

Mel could see the puff of the first guard’s breath rounding the corner before he did, and as every muscle in Mel’s body clenched for a fight, a sharp, howling cry hit his ear.

Wolves!

The guards froze, then darted back the way they came, running back to the lit tent as they hooted to each other. They heard it too, and they were worried. What they intended to do about the threat, Mel didn’t care, because Mel was ready to leave now, thank you. He grabbed Ramblejam by the scruff and took off at a gallop, giving the tents a wide berth. A few tents away, a dark, muddy figure joined his gallop.

“You!” Still no name, Mel noted.

“I couldn’t let you go get killed by yourselves,” the neighbor stallion noted, matching Mel’s stride smoothly.

“That was you?” Mel realized suddenly.

“I was circling the camp the other way. I thought we’d cover more ground, meet in the middle. All I found was supply tents and wagons, no more pens of ponies.” The neighbor stallion considered Big Caramel with a sidelong glance. “I found you at just the right time, seems like.”

“Seems like,” Mel agreed, and he couldn’t help the wide, euphoric grin that split his face. “Thank you.”

“You saved me first,” the neighboring stallion said simply, and turned his eyes forward, focusing on their run.

Mel shared his giddy grin with Ramblejam (who returned it, the expression perhaps a little sharper with fear), and tossed his mane, relishing in the feeling of the rain as it ran down his body. The Storm King camp was behind them, the forest lay ahead, and he was, free, free, free.

6. Up the Mountain

It had only been a week of his life, but Mel still expected to wake up with dust in his nose and the faint grumbling of his pen mates around him. Instead, he woke up in paradise.

Birdcall hit his ears first, and he lifted his head from his springy green bed. The forest rose around them; not the Everfree Forest, with its frightening monsters, enchanted undergrowth, grabbing vibes. Dark, heavy trees grew around them, sometimes their trunks too large for Big Caramel to even wrap his forelegs around, and their young saplings sprang up beside them. The mossy undergrowth provided a soft bed to shelter on, sleeping beneath one of the massive trees. Mel had tied a few branches together above them, forming a cover from the rain. (“This takes me back to camp days with my little brother. I was one of the junior assistant troop leaders,” Mel had explained, but he suspected Ramblejam was already asleep at that point.) It was still raining, and everything in the forest seemed dark, damp, and peaceful. It even smelled good, crisp and clean, and the acrid tang of sweat and fear no longer stung his nostrils.

Something moved against his side. Mel turned and found Ramblejam, his entire body pressed tightly against him, his face once more turned towards Mel’s coat. Caramel had been so moody at this age; Mel had been, too. The idea of snuggling together would have been anathema at this age, and yet here he was.

He turned to the other direction and found his neighbor - still yet unnamed - curled up closer to the edge of their little camp. He was still covered in dust and mud, despite galloping through the rain, and when he had his head tucked in like that, he still looked like a rock. A rock that was good to hide behind. He was asleep, and for that Mel was grateful.

They had galloped all night, only seeking shelter at dawn. Galloping had gotten increasingly difficult once they hit the forest, but they kept up a brisk pace. When Ramblejam fell behind, Mel tossed him over his back, and the pair trotted choppily over roots and brambles. They made it to the base of the mountain by dawn, and hadn’t stopped until the neighbor stallion found a thicket of trees dense enough he deemed to sleep in.

They would be chased, there was no question about that. They had freed their entire labor force, and the Apple farm plunder would only feed an army of that size for so long. So they had to keep moving, keep putting distance between them and their captors until - until when? Forever? Or maybe only until they found a border crossing, found some realm the Storm King hadn’t overtaken yet. The griffon realms? The dragon kingdom? But what realm would be truly safe, so long as the Storm King still lived?

And what of Caramel? Mel’s heart twisted painfully when he thought of his little brother imprisoned on the farm. At least he wasn’t alone, at least he had Big Mac, Mel tried to console himself. But it was little comfort, and Mel’s thoughts once again wandered to the Elements of Harmony. Where were they? They had conquered immortals, monsters that lived in only myth and legend, even battled through alternate universes. Who was the Storm King but an overgrown monkey with a magic stick?

He must have been getting agitated, because Ramblejam squirmed at his side and made a soft, protesting sort of noise, the noise a foal might make when being woken from a nap.

Mel looked down at him for a long moment, his shoulder sores now exposed, his father’s collar lying at his side. He lowered his head until he could press his nose between Ramblejam’s ears, and nuzzled him gently, smoothing down his ears until Ramblejam squirmed away and buried his face in his side once more.

Mel laid his head down, and watched Ramblejam sleep. Eventually, he closed his eyes, and let sleep take him once more. Free, free, free.

[***]

When Mel woke again, it was when his neighbor returned to the camp, dropping mouthfuls of green things to the moss in front of them.

“Breakfast,” he said simply, his voice still roughened from the days of screaming.

Ramblejam was still pressed into Mel’s side, waking up slowly.

“This is, uh,” Mel looked over the morning’s offerings, “delicious.”

“You’re welcome,” the neighbor grunted.

“I mean, I do appreciate it, thank you,” Mel added, still studying the pile. “But is it all … edible?”

“Yes,” the neighbor stallion said simply, then knelt down, lowering himself to his belly so they’d all be on the same level. “It’s important to know edible things that grow wild. If the crop is light one summer, you’ll have a very thin winter. My mother taught me.” He pointed to several gnarled roots, mostly wiped clean of dirt. “Bull Thistle. Leek. Chickory. Shepherd’s Purse. Dandelions, roots and greens. Lots of little weeds, if they’re not spiny, taste fine. Little bitter, maybe.”

Ramblejam was considering the plants in front of them, less than thrilled, but carefully took one of the larger roots in his hoof. He wiped it off on his coat and took a tentative bite, and after a few slow chews, gobbled the rest down.

Mel chuckled and followed suit (with much less open distrust), and the trio passed breakfast in silence. It wasn’t a breakfast they were used to, but it wasn’t moldy hay, either.

“We need to keep going up the mountain,” the neighbor said at last, once their root supply had been demolished. “They are probably searching for us now. The rain may obscure our trail, but it will not erase it.”

“I agree, but we need to figure one thing out first. Who are you?”

The neighbor stallion frowned at Mel sharply.

“I mean, what’s your name? I can’t keep calling you ‘neighbor.’”

Ramblejam nodded, and watched the neighbor stallion closely.

The muddy stallion huffed out a breath, still frowning at Mel’s temerity, and finally rumbled out, “Plum.” And then, after a beat of consideration, he added a little softer, “Sloe.”

“Plum Slow?” Ramblejam asked, and Mel was grateful that he was confused, instead of mocking. The name was … unique, certainly.

The stallion frowned, and this time his ears flattened back against his head. “No. Sloe Plum. But … Sloe isn’t a common name. So I tend to go by Plum, being that my family, the Plums, have owned plum farms for generations.” Another beat. “Sloe is a kind of fruit.”

Mel nodded slowly, taking it in. “I’ve never met a Sloe. But I think you are the pony I am happiest to have met in my life to date.”

Sloe looked at him sidelong as he sharply turned his head away, and gave his head a little shake, making his muddy mane slap against his neck. “No need to get silly,” he rumbled. “It’s not like either of you introduced yourselves, either.”

“I’m -”

“Ramblejam, I know. And Big Caramel, or more commonly Mel.”

The pair stared.

“They weren’t exactly soundproof walls, you know. I had a lot of time, lying in the dirt, to overhear conversations.”

Mel considered Sloe with his brows high. “That makes sense.”

“Can we go now?” Sloe asked as he rose to his hooves and shook out his coat. It was still filthy, coated thickly in the dirt and mud of the paddock.

“Right. You okay to walk, Ramble?” Mel looked to the younger stallion, who was already following Sloe out of their camp.

“Sure. Can we get more food on the way?” Ramblejam asked, then trotted back to help Mel to untie the branches.

Sloe snorted. “Teenagers.”

[***]

Sloe wanted to keep going at a gallop, but once they reached the incline, Mel was suffering. Ramblejam was much lighter than either of them, but he wasn’t exactly in top form, either. And for all that he insisted they needed to keep their speed up, Mel could hear Sloe panting behind his words. So, ostensibly for Mel’s sake, the trio slowed, and hiked their way up the mountainside more gradually. The cold of the rain helped, and soon Mel and Sloe’s burly frames were steaming with the effort of the hike.

It wasn’t a harsh grade, which Mel was grateful for, but most ponies don’t farm on hillsides, and Ponyville wasn’t known for its inclines. They took frequent stops, and although they found many green things to forage, they hadn’t found anything to drink yet. If they were going to survive, they needed water, and not just rain water.

It took about an hour, trying to hear anything past the rushing of the rain and their own hooves slopping through the mud, but eventually they heard something trickling, and found a little rivulet, swollen by the rain. It was hardly anything, barely deep enough to put their hooves in. Further uphill, it connected to a larger stream, and then they found a river, with a waterfall crashing down from a cliff face.

“Finally!” Ramblejam cried, and galloped forward, trotting in deep enough that his forelegs disappeared and dunked most of his face into the water, drinking deeply.

Mel didn’t bother to hide his amused laugh but followed him just the same, drinking just as greedily. They had turned their heads towards the sky occasionally, but it was only enough to slake their thirst for a few moments. The water here was crisp, cool, and delicious.

When Mel lifted his head he saw Sloe had followed suit, drinking a few yards away from him.

“Ugh, I’m so ready to be clean,” Ramblejam moaned, and dropped to his knees, rolling onto his side, back and forth. The water sloshed over his thin frame, and he emerged from the water sopping wet, and a slightly different color. It was hard to remember what he looked like, before he’d been coated in dust.

“Shouldn’t you wash downstream, so you don’t make the water muddy?” Mel scolded him, but lightly, finding it hard to be angry at him. He looked so silly, kicking his legs in the air like that.

“You’re going to freeze,” Sloe snapped, his ears tilted sidelong, and Mel could hear annoyance badly masking his concern. “It’s still raining. It gets cold at night, especially in the mountains.”

Ramblejam’s ears tilted back. Mel hadn’t considered that either, but the glance he shot at Sloe implored for patience.

“Good thing you’ve got me to keep you warm,” Mel answered evenly, and Ramblejam’s ears lifted, and Sloe’s tense frame relaxed.

“Right. Good thing,” Sloe rumbled in his chest, and turned to go. “We should follow the river further up the mountain. We will need a water source.”

But Mel was watching him, and as he lifted his muddy legs from the river, there was a clear demarcation between the muddy stallion and the clean legs. The mud had made him look brown, or black, something drab; but from his hooves to his knees, Sloe was a dazzling, sleek purple.

[***]

They found the cave just before sunset, but it took them the better part of two hours to make their way to it. First because they went too high and found themselves stuck on a sheer cliff looking down at the cave. Then they needed to find something to eat, because it would be impossible to venture out after dark to forage. All the while the cold bit into their coats, and Ramblejam shivered fiercely with each step. Mel eventually tugged him up onto his back once more, ostensibly because he was ‘slowing down,’ but Ramblejam was a frozen lump against his back. He warmed up, gradually, right about the time that Mel was about to demand they give up to tend to their frozen youngest member. He could feel Ramblejam shifting as they walked, trying to press different parts of his frozen frame against Mel’s steaming body. Through it all, the rain continued pouring down on them, inexhaustible.

Sloe hadn’t been wrong about the mountain nights. By the time they stumbled into the cave, Mel was mostly frozen himself.

The cave was dark and eerie, but when he felt the rain finally cease falling onto his frozen coat, Mel decided that he could probably befriend a ghost if he had to. Or maybe even a bear. Anything, really, so long as he didn’t have to leave the cave. It was cold, sure, but so was the rest of the forest. At least the cave was cold and dry.

“We shouldn’t light a fire tonight,” Sloe said, clearly regretful as he shivered. “The Storm King’s army might be able to see it.”

“Right,” Mel agreed, shivering. He looked over the cave, considering, then slid the shivering Ramblejam off of his back. “Alright, down you go. I’m going to build us a wind break. You, shake off.”

Ramblejam frowned a little at Mel when he pointed at him, but did his best. His best was pretty terrible, Mel thought.

“Why do we need a wind break? We’re in a cave.” Sloe countered, watching Mel work.

“Because I’m already mostly frozen, and if one errant gust comes in here, I might scream.”

Sloe watched him for a moment. “Fair enough.” Then he joined him, helping him to push several large rocks closer to the mouth of the cave.

Soon the trio had a small shelter, such as it was, and Ramblejam eagerly cuddled up to Mel once more. Mel could feel the cold leeching through his coat, and while Ramblejam situated himself, he tried to wring out his mane and tail for him.

“Th-Thank you,” Ramblejam chattered, and hid his nose in Mel’s elbow.

“Sun and moon, your nose is like a little ice cube!” Mel laughed in protest, but didn’t push him off, and instead curled around him more protectively. He was so cold, colder than ever before; it scared him. But Ramblejam was still shivering, still cuddling close, still talking. That was a good sign, he thought.

Sloe settled himself on the floor a little ways away from them, and considered the pair. He wrung out his mane, too, and then laid his head down, still watching them. His blue eyes were so bright, Mel noted; they must be truly striking against the dark purple coat that he’d seen hints of. Sloe sighed, and shivered, and closed his eyes.

“How about you sleep with us?”

Sloe opened his eyes again, considering Mel very closely behind his narrowed gaze.

“You’re going to freeze over there. We’re all wet. We’ll be warmer together,” Mel spoke softly, not wanting to wake Ramblejam, who was already halfway asleep.

“I’m fine.”

Mel’s brows furrowed. “I’m not. And Ramble’s not. He’s soaked to the bone.”

Sloe’s brows furrowed in kind, and his ears twisted back. He said nothing. His eyes dropped away, and he frowned at a point on the floor.

Mel let him sit in his silence for a few minutes, the occasional shiver rippling through him. He was large, and he’d spent the past few hours hiking, but even he was cold. Sloe had to be, too.

“I don’t mean to be this mean.”

Mel’s ears snapped to attention.

“I’m not … I’m not like this, usually.”

Sloe was still glaring at the floor, but Mel could see past the tight expression. He wasn’t angry; he was distraught.

“I didn’t mean to snap at Ramblejam, back at the river. He’s just a kid. But there’s so much - anger bound up inside of me, and it keeps leaking out, and I can’t seem to stop it. Every time I think I’ve pushed it down, it just -” Sloe shook his mane, and turned his head away, lying his cheek down on the cave floor. He sighed, deeply, and Mel could see the rise and fall of his shoulders.

“Hey.”

Mel’s voice was soft, but he knew Sloe heard him; he didn’t turn, but one ear twitched, then twisted towards him.

“It’s okay, Sloe,” Mel spoke softly, and not for Ramblejam’s benefit this time. “It’s not your fault. It’s - it’s everything. The camp, being captured, having to escape. Being on the run from - from horrible snow monkeys.” Mel tried to chuckle, but Sloe didn’t respond, and his laughter died.

Mel let the silence sit for a moment before he continued. “It’s easier to try and make it funny, I guess. If I sit down and think about everything that’s happened, I - I think I’d cry. And I don’t want to. Not in front of him, not - not in front of anypony. I’m scared. I’ve never been this scared in my whole life. I’ve never been on the run from anything before.”

Sloe listened, and for a long time Mel thought he might just be ignoring him, which made him feel even worse. “I’m scared, too. And then it becomes … angry.” Sloe’s voice was soft.

“That’s not you, Sloe. That’s - this. Everything, right now,” Mel consoled him. “This isn’t who you are.”

Sloe’s shoulders tensed. “You don’t even know who I am.”

“Of course I do.” Mel’s response was easy, almost glib, and Sloe turned to fix angry eyes on him. “I know the stallion who almost killed himself to escape. Who came back to save the others. Who helped me search the camp for other prisoners, even when it was dangerous. The stallion who saved us from being discovered, and then guided us to safety in the forest. That’s the Sloe I know.”

“I didn’t come back for the others,” Sloe said suddenly, and his angry expression faded as he dropped his eyes away. “I came back for you.”

It was Mel’s turn to fall silent, stunned.

“You’re the only one who saw me,” Sloe admitted guiltily, his eyes on the floor. “Who even noticed me. Cared. I didn’t … want to leave you behind.” Sloe tossed his damp mane to the other side of his neck. “So yeah, that’s who I am. A selfish pony who would have left the others behind to rot.”

“In your defense, the others were assholes.”

Sloe couldn’t hide his amused snort, and the quick glance he shot Mel was accusing.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist that one,” Mel grinned. “But you came back. That’s what matters. We’re in an impossible situation, Sloe. Normal rules - they don’t apply. This is survival. Everypony’s done things they regret, everypony is scared. Scared ponies make mistakes. That doesn’t make them bad ponies.” A beat. “I don’t think you’re a bad pony, Sloe. I think you’re a good pony in a bad situation. And I’d like to be your friend, even after we aren’t trapped in a mountain cave fighting for our survival.”

Sloe’s ears pricked up, and he stared at Mel. “Really?”

“Of course, really. If you’d want to be mine, that is.”

Sloe stared at Mel for a long moment, then pulled himself to his hooves, and came to Mel’s side. He settled himself down, carefully, as if waiting for Mel to kick him away. But Mel didn’t, and instead shifted himself, making room for him next to Ramblejam. Ramblejam was well and truly asleep, and allowed himself to be moved like a rag doll as the bulky stallions tried to find a comfortable sleeping position. Eventually they settled, with Ramble wedged warmly between them, and Mel laid his head down. After a moment’s consideration, Sloe laid his head down, too, and the pair were so close they could almost touch muzzles.

Sloe stared at Mel for a long moment, his expression that unreadable one again. Mel was getting a little better at reading it, he thought; he thought he might be confused, as well as something else. “I would like to be your friend, Mel.”

Mel couldn’t hide his quick smile. “I would like that very much, Sloe.”

Sloe’s smile was fleeting, but sincere; perhaps he had forgotten how to smile. “Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

Sloe sighed out a warm breath; Mel could feel it tickle on his face. He sighed, too, and before he closed his eyes, he could see the way it made Sloe’s ears twitch.

He was cold, and he was wet, and he was on the run from the Storm King’s army; but for the first time, Mel felt like this all might turn out okay.