The tea danced in its cup as the train car rattled, flying over the tracks. A veritable sea of grass blurred in the cabin’s window, though only one of its occupants was still entertained by the spectacle. A young woman thumbed through her papers, making sure that nothing had disappeared between the sixty-third and sixty-fourth inventories. She dressed plainly, though the dyes in her clothes and fine leather shoes marked her as one of adequate wealth. Her snow colored hair was trimmed short, falling just to the nape of her shirt.
Her companion pressed himself against the window in an attempt to see the train's destination, counting the seconds until he was no longer confined to his seat and able to move his legs to his satisfaction once again. He sat awkwardly in his seat, his backward knees keeping his feet suspended in the air.
“Spike,” her purple eyes shot from her papers as he began to press his cheek against the glass. “Scales.”
He made a chirp and retreated slightly from the window, endeavoring to be impatient more responsibly. He disliked being confined to the cabin, but he disliked being lectured for scratching yet another thing with his face even less.
She served her papers into a stack once more, the gasp from her companion signaling that was almost time to disembark.
In short order, her ticket was checked, her luggage collected and she took in her new home; the halfling village, Ponyville, the southernmost township of the Empire’s main territory. Dwarves, Halflings and Half-Elves milled about their business, this town's hustle and bustle much more subdued than Camelot’s cacophony of goings-on. Even over the train’s smog of spent coal, the air was clearer than she had breathed in a long time.
“Hey Twilight,” her charge tugged at her sleeve. “Where are we going now?”
She blinked before unfurling the documents she had been given. “We’re going to the town hall first, then we’ll move our luggage into the library.” She rolled the sheaf, before signaling Spike to follow her. She pressed through the station's crowd, before entering the village proper.
A small bell jingled as the doors swung open, briefly disturbing the silence of the building. The dwarven receptionist disinterestedly flipped through a book as they arrived at the front desk. Eyes flickered upwards before refocusing on her book. “Leave a name a-” Her head shot up, finally registering the woman in front of her. Twilight was used to strange looks and the occasional stare, but it had been a long time since her appearance had left someone gobsmacked. After a second that felt like an hour, the receptionist forced a cough. “Can I help you?”
Twilight produced a document. “I’m from Camelot, we’re moving here to operate your library while I pursue independent study!” she beamed, genuine excitement attempting to cut through the miasma of awkwardness threatening to blanket this conversation.
“...’We’?” Too late.
Spike straightened his legs, his head peering over the desk. “This is my apprentice. I’m a Wizard, well, Junior Wizard, and I’ve been assigned as his teacher!”
She stared. One second turned into five, and five turned into half a minute as she and the young kobold held a staring contest. Finally, a thought broke through her stunned silence. “It’s a Wizard?”
Spike made a frown. “*He’s* a Sorcerer.” He turned up his snout, looking very proud of himself.
The receptionist blinked once again, before rising from her chair. “I’ll go get the mayor.” With that, she went through a door leading deeper into the building. Silence returned, highlighted by the *tick, tocking* of the clock on the far wall.
Twilight wondered if it was one of her father’s designs.
With nary a minute passed, the door opened and the receptionist beckoned them through. A brief walk and a few turns later, they were let into the mayor's office. Papers were stacked high, the sun peered through musty curtains as the mayor, an aged halfling woman, dabbed sweat from her brow. “I’m told this is about the library?” Her eyes widened when she beheld her guests, but collected herself much quicker than the receptionist.
“Indeed; my name is Twilight Sparkle, and I’ve been sent by the Department of Mysteries to replace your late librarian.” She gave an even, but genuine, smile and presented the relevant papers.
“Oh good!” she said, looking over the documents. “I was afraid of having to go without one for a few… well, I’m just glad you’re here. We get elves visiting here from Camelot from time to time, though they aren’t quite as…”
Twilight stifled a sigh. “Blue?” she offered.
“Educated!” the mayor exclaimed, an uncomfortable smile attempting to crack her face. “My name is Mayor Mare, and I’d like to welcome you to Ponyville!” She reached out for a handshake, a forced enthusiasm attempting to smother her faux pas.
The bolt slid back with a *thunk*, and the oak door swung open with a loud *creeak*. Dust motes danced in the air as faint sunlight shone past the drawn curtains. A large dwarven man laid their luggage on the floor, nodded at the newcomers before leaving without a word.
It was all Twilight could do not to start pulling books off the shelf and pour over their contents, but she knew that cleaning could not wait.
Twilight tasked herself with sorting the luggage and putting it away. Spike volunteered to dust the shelves, but she was positive he just wanted to ride the rolling ladder. Hours ticked away and the sun set to Twilight neatly making her new bed. As she had expected, her apprentice's playing had made dusting take twice as long as it needed to, but was done all the same.
“Waf or e oin omorow?” Spike choked through his mouthful of jerky.
“Spike, swallow your food.” He did so. “Tomorrow we’re going to get groceries and finish a few things we need to do before we open to the public.”
He nodded, before yawning a deep, squeaky yawn, earning a giggle from his teacher. “Head up to bed, I’ll join you in a minute.”
He nodded, slowly making his way up to the loft as Twilight drew a sheaf and began penning a letter.
He always woke before the sun rose, the predawn darkness a treasured ease on his eyes. Kobolds were a cave dwelling race in eras past, their sight conditioned for lowlight environments. Spike never had the chance to explore the caves beneath the Capital; Twilight and her family wouldn’t take him, and even his child's mind understood that it was dangerous for him to go out unsupervised.
Which is why, on mornings like this, he never wandered *too* far.
He quietly slid the kitchen window open before slipping out into the dark. The moon hung low in the sky, but it was enough to highlight the village with its pale glow. Keeping low to the ground, he darted to and fro; down dirt roads and through the spaces between the buildings, up chimneys and patios, over roofs and under carts. The wind danced over his scales as he dashed forward- he paid no heed to where he was going, only where forward might take him next. Within the hour the square mile around the library was as known to him as the inside of his shirt, or would be, had he elected to wear one.
While the sensitivity of his eyes was often a hindrance, his vision would catch the slightest hint of sunrise well before the dawn broke, signaling a time to return. In nary a minute the window was shut and the kobold safe, silently climbing the stairs to dress for the day.
While Spike was strong, cunning, a scion of arcane power and other pleasantries his mirror grew tired of hearing, he was also impatient. He was *supposed* to read his book if he woke before Twilight did, but he would rather die than sit through another page of that garbage. The sooner Twilight woke, the sooner they could start practicing magic!
He crept to the side of her bed, before harshly whispering; “Twilight! Hey, Twilight!”
Twilight Sparkle came from a long line of late risers, as did many Drow. Their own sunlight sensitivity, combined with the Empire’s tradition of conducting business during the day, led to the dark elves developing their own tradition of pursuing personal ventures well into the night and rarely rousing themselves from sleep before they needed to begin preparations for the day's business. While this habit of not rising with the sun has led to their race being underrepresented in early start careers, such as farming or military services, it allows them to fit right into academics.
Naturally, Twilight merely groaned and weakly shoo’d Spike away. “C’mooon,” he protested. “We haven’t practiced since we started packing. I’m getting rusty!”
One eye peeked behind heavy lids. “...Breakfast?”
“Twi, it’s dawn; I just woke up,” he lied. “I haven’t had time to-”
“Breakfast first, then practice.” She turned her face into the pillow, clearly having spoke the final word.
Spike made an exaggerated noise of complaint but made his way down the stairs. Shifting through their packed provisions, he produced two eggs, an iron pot that he could just fit both of his fists into, and a skin of water. He scoured the kitchen for kindling before collecting his tools at the kitchen stove. He placed the kindling and pot, set the eggs at the bottom and poured the water until the eggs were only just submerged. Looking around to ensure he wasn’t seen, he extended his index fingers, pointed them at opposite sides of the kindling pile and began to concentrate.
It always came from his stomach. Spike was never sure why; every other spellcaster he knew were Wizards, tight lipped with whatever arcane talents they may have accumulated. Instinct played a key role in nearly every aspect of Spike’s life, so questioning whatever mechanics lay behind his power was never as important to as how his power felt. It burned its way up to his chest, utterances of power flowing from his tongue, words he had never learned but always known, before shooting down his arm and into his hands, begging for direction and release. The surge followed his outstretched fingers and threw themselves as arcs of lightning upon the dry wood, igniting them into a controlled blaze as fast as one could blink.
Boiling eggs was a chore Spike had learned to relish.
The sun crested over the treeline as he watched the meal cook. While everyone else was just stirring from their beds he carefully poured the boiling water so as to not lose the eggs, before taking them into his hand and pouring the rest of the water skin onto their shells. He thumbed the flaky coating off the warm treats before going up the stairs.
Twilight was already sitting up in her bed, rubbing what remained of the sleep from her eyes. Hard boiled eggs were not her favorite meals but she was hardly ever in the mood to complain about filling her stomach. Without a word her hand took the offered morsel from Spike’s outstretched paw directly into her mouth. Spike did the same, making a concerted effort to *not* eat it in a single bite as he was a well-behaved boy who certainly deserved to practice his spellcraft today.
With her bite well chewed, Twilight swallowed. Without looking at her charge; “Which spell did you cook this with?”
Spike definitely did *not* choke on his egg, and positively did *not* attempt to stammer out plausible deniability.
“I heard you casting it from here. Did anyone see you?” Now she was looking at him, and that look was all business. Clamping his mouth shut, he pointedly shook his head.
“Good.” She popped the last bite in her mouth. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you; casting spells is dangerous, especially for young spell-casters. Don’t cast without my supervision or you will get yourself into serious trouble. Am I clear?”
He looked down, but nodded.
“Good.” She flicked her wrist, and an ethereal hand pulled the curtain shut. “Show me.”
He looked at her puzzled.
“I want to see what spell you cast.” This look was much softer, bearing a twinge of excitement.
“Oh I’ll show you!” His tail wagged and a twinkle came to his eye. He spread his stance together and held his hands out, palms facing and fingers curled to form a split arc. His eyes burned with focus as the chanting returned, his voice and a voice that was also his rising to a crescendo as furious static bolts danced between his palms. When the tiny storm calmed, Spike clapped his hands once before bringing them to his hips.
She let out a little laugh. “That’s a little heavy duty for lighting a stove Spike!” She calmed herself before continuing. “But you seem to have gotten a good hold on casting that cantrip, well done!”
“Does that mean I can cast some serious spells now?!”
She giggled again. “Not quite,” he pouted. “Buuut maybe soon.” He beamed brighter than the sunshine struggling to push through the heavy curtain.
With a yawn, Twilight rose from her bed. “Alright, it’s time to get ready to go out. Can’t get groceries without going outside!”
Hair brushed and shirt buttoned, the two made their way out into the town’s early morning. Unlike many of the other women, with dresses that flowed down to their calves, Twilight Sparkle was very partial to pants and shirt tucked into the waist. Spike dressed even less extravagantly, wearing naught but a plain tunic stopping just short of his knees.
The stares from the townsfolk continued, but Twilight’s wave drew hesitant returns. ‘With time I’ll be as common as any other neighbor’, she hoped.
The dwarven male from yesterday nodded and paid her no mind, and as she put her hand down to continue on her way, she stopped with a jump.
Standing under the bakeries sign post was a Half-Orc, staring right at her. Despite the near fifty feet of distance, Twilight could feel that she had made eye contact. A wide grin threatened to split the stranger's face, her pearly white tusks threatening to blind the neighbors with the morning sun. With an *incredibly* enthusiastic wave, she ducked into the bakery and out of sight.
Her heart calmed after a moment, and she continued on her way, shooting glances at the door. “Stay close Spike.” He pulled an inch closer, transfixed on the bakery.
They were among the first to reach the market, canopies erected and stalls displaying their goods, their merchants scarfing what remains of their breakfast before the morning rush.
A dwarven woman adjusted the last display basket, the lightest wisp of sweat tickling her forehead before being lost in her bushy brows. Hair tied in a simple bun hidden in her hat, beard proudly braided with charms and simple self made bangles, her mustache shaved to the skin to show the world her full lips. She bit the bottom lip as she stepped away from the basket, relaxing when the stack of apples held firm. Her sister had in her head that if the basket was overflowing, their crop would appear bountiful and healthy, making their customers think they should buy more! She could see the sense in that, but while she knew someone who could make it look just right, Applejack couldn’t really sell food that had been sitting in the dirt.
The sound of boots hitting the ground queued AJ to right herself and put on her ‘Service Smile.’
She had seen her share of exotic folk during her time, so AJ’s double take wasn’t nearly as pronounced as the other passerbys. This was the first time she had seen a Half-Gnome, so surprise still flashed on her face, but was quickly replaced by a genuine smile. “Howdy!” She stretched her hand out and upwards. “Name’s Applejack; welcome to Ponyville!”
The dwarfs' casual response caught her off guard, but Twilight was more than happy to find a genuinely polite conversationalist. Back home she took offense at being welcomed to her city, but she surmised that everyone knew everyone, and that everyone *knew* she was a stranger. Keeping her back straight, her hand met AJ’s and gave a polite shake.
Applejack noticed that her handshake was quite weak, but said nothing of it.
“Thank you! My name is Twilight Sparkle, the new librarian. This is Spike; he’s my apprentice.” Spike waved and AJ gave a polite nod.
“Nice to meet you Miss Sparkle. How can I help you this morning?”
What followed was a brief exchange of Twilight’s complex grocery list. Applejack named a price and was taken aback when the Wizard paid without haggle. With a thank you and a wave, she went on her way to the next errand.
As the two turned to complete their next errand, Spike found himself bowled over by a halfling woman in a dead sprint, longsword jostling on her back. “Hey!” She did not slow down, and villagers began moving in the opposite direction as course shrieks rode on the morning air.
AJ’s brow furrowed and she cursed under her breath. “What’s going on?” Spike asked, eyes wide and pulling closer to his teacher.
“Blights.” The dwarf dipped behind a counter, rounding onto the street with a broad-headed axe, pulling a lid from a barrel. “Can you fight?” Twilight nodded. With silent understanding the two followed the halfling, the kobold not far behind.
As the three rounded the corner they beheld a frightening scene; an overloaded cart and five figures of dead wood, each formed in a facsimile of a man, raging with awkward gait and stiff movement, being engaged on both sides by the Halfling wielding her sword with both hands and a Firbolg brandishing a club adorned with mistletoe. Applejack charged and Twilight chanted words of power, donning a visage of opaque golden armor. “Spike, go hide!” and she followed at a distance.
With a hollow groan, a mossy blight smashed its arms against the halflings' armor, earning a yelp as the paladin's arm wrenched awkwardly from the force. Sensing that his companion had taken the back foot, the firbolg spoke forth the natural powers, summoning a ball of flames into his palm, which he then beaned into the horrors back.
Bellowing a wordless cry, the dwarf charged, before attempting to cleave the blight's leg in two, but failed to fully separate the limb, allowing the creature to regrow the connective ‘tissue’.
Two other blights, one tall and lanky , the other squat and thick as a wall, came to their brethren’s aid, the first spitting a hail of splinters and thorns on the dwarf, forcing her to shield her eyes, allowing the latter to approach from the flank and slamming its first into her ribs.
She gave a hollow ‘oof’ as the air rushed from her lungs and legs threatened to give out. Before any of the monsters could capitalize on the opening, three darts of magical force pierced the mossy blight's torso, felling the creature and dispersing the animating magic. Another hulk, it’s hide peppered with old jagged stone, roared a hallowed shriek and charged at the Wizard.
Twilight’s heart threatened to burst; she had severely miscalculated how much attention that would draw to herself, and now she was about to eat a face-full of branch and stone for the trouble. She froze, helpless against the approaching threat, her li-
*BOOM!*
Her ears rang as the bruiser flew backwards, tumbling head over ass on its trip to the dirt. A shadow cast over Twilight, and standing beside her was the orc, and a shell shocked kobold hiding between the giant woman's legs, fingers smoking from a fresh spell.
The blight attempted to rise to its feet, before the orcs staff met its rising head with *crack!*
Amidst the brawl another blight, claws lined with thorny bramble crawled beneath the cart before a mystical word sent it running, and a finely dressed High Elven woman emerged from underneath, rapier in one hand and sending stone in the other.
The halfling brought her hands back to the hilt of her sword before rushing the lanky blight, driving the blade clear through the waist and hoisting the beast above her head as the firbolg, club now alight with a honeyed aura, called a thick, thorny vine from the earth, which pulled the spitter from the two stout folk.
From the ground the spitter shot a volley at the Firbolg, shooting wood deep into his calf. Applejack dashed to his aid, splitting the blight's head with her axe. “Get the other one!” She shouted, pointing to the fleeing blight. The orc woman dashed to their final foe, shouting, “Go long!”, infusing her staff with magic before smacking a loose stone with a mighty golf swing, sending it straight through the creature's head.
The woman who had hid beneath the cart began yipping as she fruitlessly tried to wipe the dirt and what little blood she had spilt from her stockings. “By the Sun, this ensemble is ruined! I’ll never be able to get these blood stains out!”
“Rarity, they’re tiny and you’re wearing black; no one can tell.”
“*I* can tell! Oh, I’ll have to make new ones from scratch!”
The dwarf rolled eyes before turning them to the halfling, whose helmet had been tossed to the ground to reveal a scarred face and hair every mismatched color of the rainbow, brow furrowed as she placed a glowing palm on her injured limb. “You okay Dash?”
“I had it under control.” She didn’t. “Go check on Scotch,” she pointed to the Firbolg.
The Druid in question was a fresh faced mountain of a man, and demonstrated a remarkable talent for shrinking when observed. He silently pulled the wood from his leg, before laying his hands on the open wounds. “Magna Medicana!” The holes and gashes closed, and he rose to his feet. “…’m okay.”
“See? Nothing to worry about! The only danger Rarity was in was a wardrobe malfunction.”
The elf in question was digging through her cart, scrounging for the necessary cloth to repair said wardrobe.
Twilight blinked, unused to others using magic openly. “Spike, are y-” The orc filled her vision, nearly crushing her diminutive hand in a mighty handshake.
“Wowiee, a wizard! I’ve never met a wizard! Well, I met the librarian but she didn’t talk to anyone and now she’s dead but now you’re here and not old so now I get to know a wizard!” Twilight wondered if this was a result of magic or if the war-prone nature of orcs she had read so much about gave them an undocumented increased lung capacity.
“She’s Pinkie Pie, in case she forgets to tell you. This is Twilight,” she points to the dazed half-gnome, “and this is Spike.” The kobold waved, his belly still in the dirt. The elf performed a facsimile of composure, attempting to straighten her frazzled hair before giving a formal curtsy.
“Rarity, a pleasure to meet you.”
The halfling rolled her healed arm, not bothering to turn to the newcomers. “Name’s Dash.”
The firbolg waved without a word.
Twilight blinked, and absent mindedly wiped her hand on her shirt. “…nice to meet you. Are you all adventurers? Or does everyone here fight like that?”
The halfling turned with a cocky smile. “Ponyville’s a frontier town; you gotta be this awesome to survive.”
“We used to be a frontier town. Most of us were taught to fight because our parents knew how. What surprises me is that a city-slickin’ newcomer fights as well as you do.”
“My family is military, and basic battle tactics are part of a wizard's education.” Not a complete lie.
Applejack chewed the inside of her lip, but smiled. “Well, just as handy. Rainbow was near to not having an arm to heal.” The halfling in question raised the middle finger on her now good arm. “Welcome to Ponyville! ...Again.”
A bulletin board stood outside the town hall. It was smaller than the two were used to, but significantly less cluttered; rare was the post that was pinned haphazardly over another, the papers yellowed and rendered unreadable by the sun carefully removed and disposed of. The registrator they had met their first day thoroughly rearranged the board so that every ad and invitation was perfectly legible, before pinning a poster that dwarfed the others in every dimension. A finer sheaf that would weather days of torrential rain before it broke down, its words scribed with the most patient of hands, adorned with seals and signatures that confirmed that it was indeed endorsed by The Exalted Lady.
“Our Holiness From Mount Celestia calls upon those who behold this declaration; those who are able shall embark on a divine mission into the Everfree Forest, discover the source of the Blight menace that recently assailed the town of Ponyville, and route this evil or inform Her Grace’s Army on how they can do the same. Those who fulfill their quest shall be compensated appropriately after proper documentation has been submitted and reviewed by the Canterlot Oversight Committee.”
Spike traced the palms of his hand, the feeling of that spell fresh in his memory. He and Twilight hadn’t left each other’s side in the three days since the attack, and while he had bristled at this in the past, the extra long stares he received made him wish she wore dresses he could have hid in.
By high noon the two had taken a copy of the poster to the Hunter’s Lodge, those that had been in the fight gathered around a table. Applejack thumbed the knot of her beard, puffing her pipe as she mumbled calculations.
“So, we’re doing this?” A wolfish grin rippled and warped the scars on Rainbow’s face, her eyes shining with excitement at the opportunity to get another.
“We can’t afford not to, them monsters’ll kill folks if they keep rampaging, let alone how many livelihoods they could ruin.”
Rarity was visibly uncomfortable, but said nothing, shooting glances at her new neighbors and their quiet anxiety.
But if she was uncomfortable, the druid was nearly inconsolable; Butterscotch quaked as he poured over a map of the forest, as he knew very well what kind of monsters that might find them if they weren’t careful, and the sidelong glances he gave his halfling friend he was taking that as a given.
If Pinkie was phased by any of this, dangerous quest in a forest that held host to the walking dead and other monstrosities or the jeopardy Spike had placed himself in by displaying his sorcerous ability in public, she did not show it. “We’re gonna kick so much butt! This’ll be just like that time me and Maud were in that cave only this time I don’t have Gummy or my sister and we’re going to a forest which is *not* a cave but I have six friends coming with me and it’ll be so much fun!” Twilight tried to tune her out, but Pinkie’s bubbly nature and aforementioned obliviousness had her hugging, shaking and otherwise touching Twilight regardless of how much she bristled at the contact obstructed that crumb of solace.
“So where are we going, and what is our route?” The dwarf said, having had her fill of sitting and worrying.
Twilight scanned the map once more. “We’re looking for someplace with lots of foliage and lots of latent magic,” she pointed to a spot about a mile from the old castle. “This patch isn’t mapped very thoroughly; what’s here?”
Butterscotch wrung his fingers. “That’s where the Planetar that was defending the castle died during the cataclysm. It’s not a short trip, getting there will take the better part of the day.”
“By all the dead divines why do we have to go camping…” Rarity moaned as she daintily massaged her sinuses with her pinkies.
“And what kind of asses am I gonna kick?”
“Manticores, hydras, zombies, rampaging elementals-“ He had visibly worked himself up until Rarity pressed her soft hand onto his shoulder.
“Or we encounter none of these horrible creatures because we avoid them?” She reached up to scratch the scruff of his beard. “After all, we do have an experienced druid to guide us~”
One could light a match by pressing it to the tips of his ears. He sunk into his seat, any response trapped behind lips that refused to move.
Twilight had gotten more than a little restless. “Alright; we’ll all meet here tomorrow at dawn. Bring a few shares of rations and your weapons. Who can spare camping gear?” Applejack raised her hand. “Perfect.”
The group departed from the hunters lodge, each going there separate ways. Applejack looked to the sky and frowned; she didn’t know how long she would be gone, and she knew it was too late to get half the work she needed to do done. But she wasn’t going to back down; her new friends got themselves into trouble by helping her, so it was her job to get them out of it.
She trudged her way back to her farm, arriving just after the sun had passed it’s zenith. Her brother spotted her return, but she beat him back to the house, and Granny Smith had beat him to the punch.
Granny was an old woman, even for a dwarf. At three hundred and thirty four years of age, she could barely walk, and only one of her hands still opened all of the way, but the ravages of time had left her lungs untouched.
“You just had to get the ‘nethers involved! Now you’re running off to abandon the farm and involve yourself in business that ain’t yours!” She yelled after her eldest granddaughter, hobbling on the second step of a staircase Applejack had cleared while Granny was struggling with the first.
“It’s a paying job Granny, and I ain’t going to be gone for more than a week.” AJ knew that her grandmother wouldn’t respond to the fact that the ‘nethers in question had gotten themselves in trouble because she asked for their help, and decided that fruitlessly appealing to pragmatism would be less painful.
Big Mac wordlessly offered his arm to Granny, half carrying her up the stairs as she continued to argue with his sister. She asked her if she didn’t care about planting season while she packed travel clothes, asked who was going to going manage the planting while she was gone, insisted that Applebloom was too young to do it and getting very huffy when it was suggested that Big Mac teach her as he carried Granny to the barn after Applejack.
Applejack knocked around for camping gear before loading it into a cart. “Granny; I’m going. There’s enough money to pay for food for the week, and there’ll be enough of my share to pay for farmhands to help us pick up the slack. Bloom is still learning the ins and outs of farming and Mac is more than capable of teaching her.”
With the final word, she brushed past them and went back into the house. Granny fumed silently, before commanding her grandson to carry her back to her chair. With her settled, it was his turn. “Go tell Bloom to come down and prepare dinner before you get back to work. And shave that beard! Her stubble is coming in and you can’t be showing her up!”
Big Mac wordlessly went up the stairs, but stopped by his own room first. He fished for an old chest in his closet before carrying it to the barn.
Applejack stuffed an old backpack with clothes she could stand to destroy and a pair of boots with life still in the leather. She made her way to the barn where her brother was loading supplies into a cart. She took a deep breath and smiled, “Thank you Mac.”
He nodded as he hoisted coils of rope and poles into the bed. “A ten foot stick doesn’t sound very useful in a forest bud.” He shot her a look and a small smile that said ‘you never know!’
After an hour of work, the cart was loaded with everything Applejack and her party would need, except for one last thing. She had a strong suspicion of what was in the chest, and was confirmed when he opened it. A suit of chainmail, meticulously cared for, sat in the chest, along with other things that had once belonged to their father. She pulled him into a hug and whispered a ‘thank you.’