Author's Note

Hey, my beloved readers!

Sorry about not posting for a loooooong while. Writer's block, graduation, summer vacation, and a buncha other junk took me and my passion for writing away, but I'm hoping to return to posting more often. Thanks to vectorVII for reminding me and reigniting my interest in continuing this story. Again, sorry if this chapter isn't as good as the last three. I had an idea for this months ago that I somewhat forgot about, and this chapter was a quarter way down when this story went on a hiatus. I'll try better next time.

I hope you all enjoy it!

Chp 4: Freedom at a cost

January 17, 1912

-Day 6

I owned another horse when I was no taller than Daddy’s shin.

Its name eludes my withering memory, but I’d never forget its sterling white coat and blonde mane; Pretty and prissy weren’t my thing then, but denying its beauty would be a crime. That horse wasn’t some show pony, mind you. Pa bought the poor thing from a neighboring farmer’s grieving family two days after he died- left the horse and other livestock starving before his family returned from a trip to Canada. A plowing horse, I think. It’s not like it matters now. Damn coyotes.

I’m gettin’ ahead of myself. It’s been a hot minute since James and I were locked up; three days almost. Room service might require a touch of improvement and the mattresses replaced, but sitting, trapped, inside these cells isn’t the worst outcome I dreaded. Thank the lord these furry bunch aren’t killers. Albeit reluctantly, we’re given three square meals a day and the occasional look so they remind us that we weren’t forgotten. Also, Miss Iron passes by, even visits. She’s how I know the town we’re in is called Appleoosa. Two ‘alicorns,’ winged AND horned ponies, rule over as a diarch’s- whatever that means, but their citizens treat them no different than gods; However, if proven factual, moving the sun and moon qualified for said title. And aside from pegasi, unicorns, and ‘earth ponies,’ griffins, yaks, and hippogriffs, among numerous other storybook creatures, exist and reside in their little slices of society.

James didn’t look happier knowing such. And I’m right there with him. This cell is too small for us grown men- I think these folks didn’t build human-sized cells in advance for us.

I can’t say I’m experienced regarding these sorts of interests. My boy cared far more about fantasy than real life. He’d kill to switch places with me, perhaps.

Basics aside, Appaloosa’s damn near done rebuilding after Comet’s raid, which means sooner or later all that pent-up emotion, fear, and wonder’s gonna fall unto James, me, and our reluctant roomie. Big Iron says rumors of ‘grotesque monkey monsters’ are flyin’ around, and the Equestrian military may get involved. I’m hoping it ain’t so.

God knows we’re-

An interjecting click halts Finn’s cataloging to mark the arrival of Appleoosa’s deputies, High Ace holding their cell door open. “Alright…who-mane’s- is that what Big Iron called them?” Whispering his question while craning his head sideways, his lanky partner nodded unsurely. Finn held his tongue, correcting his jailers wouldn’t do him any favors in obtaining freedom, a warning glare swiftly closing James's mouth. “Oh, okay. Alright, who-mane’s, we’re taking a field trip. Our sheriff wants a little chit-chat.” Besides the shorter deputy's silly attempt at sounding intimidating, Finn nodded politely, beckoning James to join him as he stood, storing his notebook in his pocket. Bless Big Iron’s heart for grabbing and returning it.

Shimmering Comet’s input wasn’t added, his still form laid out like a dried log on his cell’s bed, breathing soundly, sleeping. “Come now, I hope those lanky legs of yours aren't for show, Who-manes!” Golden Spur beckoned impatiently, waving his hoof toward himself and the open cell-house’s entrance.

“Yeah, yeah.” Finn heard James grumble.

Soon, blinding light floods his and his partner’s sensitive vision. Being trapped inside for three days dulled more than their danger senses. Since their bandoliers, hats, weapons, and supplies were confiscated alongside their mounts, both men shield their squinted eyes using their hands, sweat already caking healing skin. The deputies stuck close by as they escorted the Rangers to an unknown destination, traveling the somewhat busy dirt road.

Several other ponies either working on repairs or simply passing by shot bewildered and cautious looks, whispers flying through the air.

“Golly, they’re stranger than Molly described!”

“Agh, beady little eyes, furless hides, and…tiny noses. Poor, ugly lookin’ things!”

“Disgusting perverts, parading their work whorse’s when foals are around!”

Aaaalright, it may be best not to eavesdrop right now. Speaking of, where did their mounts run off to?

“Y’know, ma’am, you’ve got some pretty eyes there. I’m Rye Catcher, yours?”

Finn’s horse gave a bellowing, passive whine, bumping into furniture as she clumsily tucked her legs, sitting on the bare living room floor of Rye Cather’s home. James’s steed sat nearby, chewing peacefully on a potted plant.

Rye chuckled, waving a playful hoof. “You’re funny.”

Never mind, maybe it’s best if he and James discussed releasing themselves from imprisonment and finding some well-needed lodgings. Those cell beds were as comfortable as the cave floors back home.

Rounding another corner and reaching the road end, a hospital- indicated by the large red plus sign above its entrance -marked their short journey’s conclusion as Golden Spur and his friend waited impatiently beside its doubled-door entrance. Entering, as expected, all eyes landed on them. Several ponies suffering injuries from the attack sat scattered around a crowded waiting area, a receptionist working overtime filling reports, setting appointments, and whatnot, looking as exhausted and spent as everyone else. Damn, why were pony buildings so short on the inside? Finn’s hatless crown could bash a similar-sized hole in the ceiling if he jumped hard enough, and James nearly grazed it.

“Outta the way, folks, comin’ through!” The spindly gold deputy commanded, sweeping a gentle foreleg as if performing an unspoken spell, creating a clear trail forward. Walking through, Finn noticed ponies intently judging them, flinching and looking away if he tried making eye contact. “Sheriff Silverstar’s up here,” Golden Spur pointed up a set of stairs leading upward. “Keep your voices low, Who-mane’s. He’s still recovering.”

“I-It’s Human.” James spouts, his older peer mentally face-palming.

High Ace, the dark blue, shorter deputy, raised a brow. “Huh? That’s what he said.” James went to argue further, but Finn’s firm grip resting on his shoulder and a stern look dissuaded the young buck. Dismissively shaking his head, High Ace nodded to his partner, and the four-man/stallion convoy continued onward.

Finn hadn’t found himself confined within too many hospitals throughout his life. ‘Too expensive, too far out from his parents and family home, and too frantic. Plus, death’s stench covered every square inch of one. Medicine, to Finn’s limited medical knowledge, improved drastically since his youth, but it didn’t mean he trusted the white-coated reapers anytime soon. His parents never had trouble taking care of him when he fell ill, why pay someone else to do so? The air here reeked terribly of alcohol and chemicals stinging his nostrils, tears flooding his vision’s corners. How can anyone tolerate this shit hole?

For his part, James looked no less crabby than this morning. Finn couldn’t blame him, getting imprisoned by cute equines and all. ‘I just hope he checks himself before doing anything foolish. Oh, who am I kiddin’? Knock on wood.’ He lamented.

“Here,” Interjected High Ace, stopping the Rangers before a door numbered twenty-six in worn brass numbers. “We’ll be outside. So don’t get any funny ideas!” He warned, his non-intimidating intimidation coming back full force.

“It’s-”

James was swiftly cut off, Finn’s cuffed hands seizing his bicep and giving the Appleoosa deputies a friendly smile. “We hear y'all loud and clear, Boss Man! You don’t have to worry about anythin’.” He reassured, speeding off with his partner, and closing the door behind him. Inside, bedridden and visibly tired, Appaloosa’s injured sheriff immediately acknowledged their intrusion and wormed himself into a semi-seated position. The recovery room’s decorations were as sparse as Silverstar’s person (pony?)- missing his red neck bandana, hat, and blue vest -sporting bedside tables and medical supply cabinets displaying unknown chemicals.

The exhausted justice overseer nodded an unspoken greeting, motioning for them to sit on two visitor seats alongside his metal-framed bed, which they obliged. “Mighty fine mornin’, sirs.” He coughed, covering his mouth, “Or at least, I hope it’s good for y’all, heh. I apologize, I’m feelin’ a bit sour recently.”

Somehow, Finn couldn’t shake an uneasy feeling, observing Appleoosa’s sickly sheriff. Or was he the one being observed? Something about Silverstar’s movements seemed…off.

No matter, Finn dismissed his incertitude and nodded. “Ah, no need. Thanks for letting us talk with you.” Finn replied, forcibly sagging his stiffened shoulders. “I’m Finn Cullen, and this here’s my partner, James Adrian. We’re law enforcement officers from the state of Texas, but I imagine you also have no clue where that is?” Silverstar’s head slowly shook, vertigo momentarily washing over him.

“‘Can’t say ah have.”

James, more rigid and stiff than an iron bar, leaned forward, hints of desperation and reluctance lining his weary eyes. “Are ya sure? Positive? Can you be mistaken?” Again, another head shake.

A frown bent Finn’s lips downward, sympathy flooding his heart. Big Iron brought some maps one night ago, one of Appleoosa and the second depicting landmarks and natural formations nowhere identical to Texas’s largely desert or forested areas. Hell, ‘Manehatten’s built off the northeast coast, and cities made of clouds and crystal! For all the fantastical and wondrous mysteries await far beyond this town’s borders, Finn felt James’s pessimism. Meeting and getting imprisoned by magical talking ponies was enough strangeness for a lifetime.

“Again, sorry Mr. Adrian, Mr. Cullen. Equestria’s been finely charted for centuries and I haven’t seen nor heard of such a place.” Silverstar added, sensing James’s inner turmoil.

“Likewise, magical pony.” Finn chuckled, keeping his voice light and charismatic. “Let’s just say we’re not from here and leave it at that.”

Unfortunately, Finn’s jest wasn’t received well, as Silverstar’s brow furrowed with suspicion. “Yeah, let’s. By the way, I hope you don’t mind me askin’.” Like getting kicked dead-center by a raging bull buck, Finn’s awareness returned to full force, hands tightly clenching. “It’s funny, ya know. The weapons those vermin used to attack our town with– they looked mighty familiar to your weapons’, Mr. Cullen and Mr. Adrian.” A sudden, thick tension made it harder to breathe, one wrong word, and this unwanted trip takes another turn down shit creek.

Carefully, Finn maintained direct eye contact while straightening his posture. “Do you mind elaborating, sir?” It’s always the same question, but it proved no easier to answer the third time.

Ripping away the sheets covering his hooves, Finn failed to hide his grimace. A thick cast protected his right frontmost appendage, its length shorter compared to its left twin. “Doc says I’ll never walk normally again, especially with a prosthetic.” He explained. Finn saw the same weapons that caused Silverstar’s emproved amputation, pale imitations copying Civil War flintlocks.

He heard a shot ring out minutes before Appleoosa came under siege, thinking James was out hunting.

‘I guess I was wrong.’ Finn mentally commented as Silverstar recovered himself.

Throwing the covers back on, Silverstar began violently coughing, only subsiding his spontaneous fit seconds later. “So, I’ll come out and say it straight like: Are you two connected to the Zebracian Liberation Front?” He repeated, his hardened tone never wavering.

The door behind them cracked open, its quiet groaning deafening to Finn’s ears.

Nothing left anyone’s mouth for what felt like hours, blistering, stuffy air adding sweat to Finn and James’s tight-knit brows. Zebracian Liberation Front? Whatever sick bastard thought what happened three days ago was considered liberation, Lord knows how twisted and sadistic their leader was. This lord person. Finn scoffed. Whoever’s behind this death circus act is, they don’t deserve to share God’s holy title.

Eventually, to his horror, James sharply stood, face contorted by unleashed anger. “No, we aren’t! How can you even say such bullshit?!” He shouted, righteous anger burning in his eyes. The younger Ranger stomped toward Silverstar, stopping mere inches away from a startled sheriff, pointing an offending finger. “If it weren’t for us, your town would’ve been destroyed, and more than your hoof would be splattered across the dirt! How about showing some gratitude, you filthy fucking mule!” Any additional ranting was swiftly ended once Finn regained his senses and roughly pulled back James, flipping around to face him.

“What the hell’s wrong with you, boy!? I had it under control! But, as usual, you’ve gone and fu-”

“You’re right.”

Finn’s voice dropped like sacked bricks, hearing Silverstar’s solemn voice, looking over his shoulder to see the stallion’s head bowed. “I don’t appreciate your foul name-calling, Mr. Adrian. However, Appleoosa’s a welcoming and accepting community. But we’re also isolated and overly cautious. Plus, I had to make sure you were trustworthy first. Please excuse my rash accusations, sirs. I needed to know myself whether you were trustworthy or not.” Silverstar chuckled.

Exchanging glances, Finn giving one saying their short-lived discussion wasn’t over yet, they retook their seats. His first words, showing his injured hoof, both were attempts to entice certain reactions.

James's outburst did worse than hinder things, but Finn would make it right.

He will.

“Don’t apologize. If anything, we're as overly cautious as you are. We’ve been lost and stuck here for nearly six days. Nothin’ other than sand and hungry vultures for most of it. I know I can’t ask much from you, but please trust me when I say that we never heard nor came into contact with these Zebracian Liberation Front fellers.” Finn confirmed.

Sheriff Silverstar hummed, a calculating face judging Finn’s expression before snorting. “Good. That might be the first good nugget of news I’ve heard all week. So, now then, pleasantries aside, let’s discuss business.”

It’s three past noon, the blazing gas sphere overhead bathing Appleoosa with draining heat and blistering light. Big Iron, storing a hammer in a rusted red toolbox, dragged her hoof across her forehead, breathing an exhausted breath. Despite her aching muscles yearning for relaxation, she smiled proudly as if Celestia’s radiant heat didn’t affect her- much. Living amongst open deserts and shadeless dunes practically required any fur-bodied creature to shave their coats short.

Luckily, not unfamiliar with back-breaking labor, Big Iron shook off her discomfort and itching shoulders as she climbed down a rickety wooden ladder and set down Mrs. Cotton Eye’s toolbox. “All done, ma’am! Your roof’s hole-free and repaired. Thanks for lending me your husband's tools- I would’ve fetched mine, but it’s mighty generous of you.”

An elderly unicorn mare returned an equally warm smile, leaning heavily on her cane and avoiding stepping on her injured left hind leg. “Oh, don’t thank me dear. You’ve run yourself ragged helping us. It’s the least I can do. Keep Em if ya want.” She pointed to the toolbox.

“Oh, I can’t, Mrs. Cotton Eye.” Big Iron rejected politely rubbing the back of her head.

Cotton Eye frowned, empty eyes reducing a once motherly gaze, her sights lowered and focused somewhere distant. “Go ahead, it’s not like he’ll be using them anytime soon.” She muttered.

Big Iron paused, flinching. Everypony around town had either the same or similar thing to say. Thirty total, and another twenty-two lucky enough to recover and see their families again. Her Ma and Pa weren’t too badly hurt- receiving cuts and scrapes from running -and their house hadn’t been hit by flames. Still, out of the three-hundred and seventy Appleoosian residences, she determined they were emotionally struck the most. ‘Dad’s eyeing the liquor cabinet again- I hope he doesn’t find the key, and mom’s hunkered down and gone reclusive.’ Big Iron thought as she politely waved off Mrs. Cotton Eye, who barely responded.

Well, that would happen if it turned out your once-thought-dead brother came back and tried burning down and purging his hometown.

“Shimmy, why?” She choked, absentmindedly wandering the busy streets. Had she done something wrong? Did she not do something enough? Big Iron worked her flanks off ever since her father was laid off. Maybe if she’d been there more, her baby brother…

No, she mentally snapped, shaking her head. This isn’t a time to think, it’s a time for rebuilding!

“Okay. I still have to help repair the barley’s windows, install new door frames for Saint Cavalier drug store, and build Rye Catcher a new stable. Huh, if ah’m rememberin’ right, he wanted a fairly large stable. Who knew a librarian wanted to start ranchin’.” She wondered how well his care is toward those ‘whorse’s’ they rescued. Golf-ball-sized eyes of obsidian, huge teeth, dull coats and manes, Big Iron’s sure they couldn’t even talk like regular ponies. Not to mention their monstrous height. Finn and his friend…ride them? The more she ventured this bizarre line of questions, the weirder they steadily became.

Suddenly, ripped from her thoughts, Big Iron fell and landed on her rear with a startled yelp, rubbing her muzzle. “What the?” She exclaimed, bewildered.

“Oh, I remember you, uh, Big Iron, right?”

Hold on, she remembered that voice. Momentarily distracted and forgetting her muzzle’s aching, the workaholic’s head craned up, meeting a familiar, middle-aged human’s smiling face. “F-Finn?!” Various variations of surprise ran through Big Iron’s mind as she stood, “What’re you doin’ here- outside?” She asked.

The older human laughed lightheartedly, outstretching his right hand. “Come now, you almost sound like you didn’t want us to be freed.” He joked. Big Iron sheepishly grinned, reaching out.

Feeling his digits wrapping around her hoof, it felt oddly disorientating how easily Finn lifted the heavy-set (but toned) mare onto her hooves without so much as grunting.

“If I wanted to see hairless monkeys trapped in cages, I’d spend time wanderin’ a Griffin zoo.” She retorted. “Say, where’s your friend? James, right?” Behind Finn, audible groans drew Iron’s and nearby ponies' attention to see the towering, lanky man struggling to haul three stuffed bags down the jailhouse’s steps. ‘Geez, how far did I walk?’ She thought to herself, James carelessly dropping the bags upon reaching solid ground, breathing heavily.

Eventually regaining the ability to inhale properly, James turned to Finn. “Would…It kill…you…to help me…move this shit?” He gasped between each breath.

Finn huffed. “Don’t give me that hogwash! I’m old and frail, youngin’s like you shouldn’t be whining about a bit o’ heavy liftin’!” There are traces of impish snark behind his mock offense, and James apparently knew this, scoffing and rolling his eyes irritably.

“Heavy lifting my-.” Ceasing his spat response, James’s eyes quickly scrutinized Big Iron’s existence before falling back into mild indifference. “Oh, It’s you, the…mare who visited us.” How come he sounded so unsure?! “Hey, while you’re here, can you grab some of this crap since somebody is too pathetic to help me.”

His request visibly annoyed his aged companion, “You scoundrel! You can’t go askin’ ladies to carry your stuff because you can’t.” He argued.

“Naw, it’s fine, Mr. Cullen.” Walking over, she bent down and hoisted the longest bag onto her withers, adjusting for the weight. “Wow, you weren’t kiddin’, James, what’s in here?” She openly pondered, rolling her shoulders.

“Our weapons and ammo” Finn casually answered.

“Oh.”

Nevertheless, disregarding her clear uneasiness, Finn picked the lightest-looking bag. “We also got our belongings and some food and ‘bits’ as thanks for saving your town. Sheriff Silverstar’s a generous ma- stallion. You’re lucky you’ve got such a kind person in charge.” While James picked up the final, fattest bag, Finn’s furrowed eyes searched down both directions of the road. “Although our newest problem is that we don’t know any place we can stay. Or what we’re goin’ to do next.”

Without skipping a beat, Big Iron Answered. “Oh! You can stay at my place.”

Astonishment weaved itself into every fiber of both Finn's and James’s visages, “What? We can’t do that, Miss Iron! You’ve done enough for us, it wouldn’t be right to barge into your home.” Big Iron giggled, covering her mouth.

“It’s a good thing I’m inviting y’all. So there’s no reason to barge inside.”

James just sighed.