Farewell, Friends

The trees were bursting with apples, the scent of the ripened fruit heavy in the air, as Twilight glided down over the familiar orchard. She landed lightly by the farmhouse, the warmth of the sun on her wings doing little to ease the tension in her chest. Glancing upwards, she spotted her guards taking a discrete formation in the clouds above, hovering like shadows. Normally, the sight would have brought a chuckle, maybe a wry smile, as both she and her guards knew who would be the first into a fight if trouble arose. But not today.

Today, Equestria’s fiercest warrior wasn’t here to defend the land, nor face an enemy she could best with magic or might. She was here on a mission of friendship and mercy, and it left her in no mood for joy. She felt none of the triumph that usually came with flying over the hills of Sweet Apple Acres, just a deepening ache in her heart.

A clattering sound from the barn broke her thoughts—fruit baskets shoved roughly, tools knocked over—so she cantered towards it. As Twilight approached, she wondered if Applejack was the one behind the commotion, though her heart tightened at the thought. What would she find on the other side of those old barn doors?

Twilight called out to her friend, her voice tentative, but loud enough to carry across the orchard. For a moment, there was no response. Then, from within the barn, came a bewildered reply, “Twilight? What in the hay are you doin’ here?”

The large doors creaked open, and Applejack trotted out, her gait uneven, favouring one leg as she moved. Twilight couldn’t help but gasp softly at the sight. Applejack looked gaunt, her frame thin and wiry beneath the familiar stetson. Her mane, once so vibrant, now appeared limp and streaked with grey, while the tired bags under her eyes stood out starkly against her fillyish freckles. The once robust farmer, full of vitality and strength, had withered.

Applejack adjusted her hat, trying to act casual as if nothing were wrong, though her limp was unmistakable. “Ah’m just gettin’ ready for apple buckin’ season,” she said, her voice light but strained. “Gotta make sure the barn’s ready to process the harvest.”

Twilight’s heart ached as she saw her friend soldiering on as if she hadn’t aged a day. The barn was too quiet, too empty. Where was her family? Where were the farmhands? She couldn’t help but wonder why Applejack was facing all this work alone.

Trying to compose herself, Twilight forced a gentle smile and asked, “How are you, Applejack?”

Applejack blinked at her, seeming to miss the real question. “Oh, Ah’m fine. Just busy. Lots to do before the harvest really gets goin’.”

Twilight stepped forward, her tone firmer but still kind. “I didn’t ask what you were doing, AJ. I asked how you are.”

For a moment, Applejack’s eyes widened, that familiar bug-eyed look she always got when trying to tell a lie. But this time, she didn’t follow through. Instead, she let out a deep, shuddering breath, her legs buckling as she sat down in the dirt. Her head hung low as tears welled up and began to streak down her muzzle, leaving damp trails on her weathered fur.

“Ah feel so guilty, Twi’,” Applejack whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. “Ah’m relieved she’s gone... and ah hate myself for it.”

Twilight felt her heart clench as she moved closer to her friend, gently sitting beside her. Applejack’s words came in halting sobs, her chest heaving as she struggled to get them out. “Ah never wanted to watch her fade away like that... Piece by piece. Day by day... It was tearing me apart to see her lose herself... ah just... ah couldn’t bear it anymore.”

She sniffed, wiping at her tears with a hoof, but they kept coming. “And now ah feel like the worst pony in Equestria. Like ah’m some kind of... monster. Ah should’ve been stronger. Ah should’ve wanted to keep her here, no matter what.”

Twilight, her own throat tightening with emotion, reached out and placed a comforting wing over Applejack’s back. “Applejack,” she said softly, “what you’re feeling isn’t selfish. It’s... it’s not wrong to be relieved. Losing someone like that... watching them fade... it’s one of the hardest things anypony can go through. It doesn’t mean you loved her any less. It doesn’t make you a bad pony.”

Applejack’s sobs quieted, but her gaze remained fixed on the ground. “But it feels selfish,” she muttered, her voice small, almost broken. “It feels wrong.”

Twilight shook her head gently, her voice steady. “No, AJ. It’s not selfish. It’s just... it’s part of the pain of losing someone we love. You didn’t want her to suffer. You didn’t want either of you to suffer.”

Applejack looked up at Twilight with tear-filled eyes and managed a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Twi’. Ah don’t know what ah’d do without ya,” she said softly. But then, as if the weight of everything settled back on her shoulders, she deflated, her ears drooping and her gaze returning to the ground.

“Ah just... ah can’t do it anymore,” Applejack admitted, her voice hollow. “Ah can’t face the long evenings alone. Ah never thought it’d be this hard.” She paused, taking a shuddering breath before continuing, “Granny Smith... she used to say that keepin’ busy would keep the pain away, and maybe she was right. That’s why ah’ve been workin’ myself to the bone, every single day. Ah don’t wanna think any more, Twi’. Ah just want to stop... feelin’.”

Twilight’s heart sank as she listened, her eyes wide with shock. She hadn’t expected Applejack, the strongest and most resilient of them all, to be carrying such a heavy burden. “But, Applejack,” Twilight began, her voice tinged with concern, “you’ve got your family. Apple Bloom, Big Mac, all your grandfoals... surely their love, their support, is enough to help ease the pain?”

Applejack shook her head, her expression distant, almost numb. “It ain’t, Twilight. It just... it just ain’t enough.” Her voice trembled, her honesty raw. “Ah love ‘em all, more than ah can say, but when the sun goes down, and it’s just me and the quiet... ah can’t stand it. Nothin’ fills that space. It’s like a hole ah can’t ever patch up,so ah cover it with exhaustion until ah can't stay awake no longer.”

Twilight felt a lump form in her throat, unable to comprehend how deep the sorrow had run. “But you’re not alone. I'm here for you,” she whispered, trying to offer comfort. But Applejack, the steadfast farmer who had always been the one to hold others up, looked back at her with eyes filled with an emptiness that Twilight had never seen in her before.

“Ah know y’all are here,” Applejack replied quietly, “but it’s just not the same without her.”

Twilight remembered it all too well—the moment when she’d wrapped her wing around the frail shell of the once indomitable Applejack. How her friend had leaned into her, burying her face against Twilight’s chest, her whole body trembling with the weight of emotions she’d been holding back for far too long. Harsh, jagged sobs tore from Applejack, shaking Twilight down to her very core. The sound was raw and primal, like a dam breaking, and it shocked Twilight deeply. She had rarely, if ever, seen Applejack shed a tear before, and now here she was, utterly consumed by grief.

Twilight could sense that this wasn’t just sorrow for Rainbow Dash, though that loss cut the deepest. It was as if Applejack had chosen solitude so nopony could witness the full shame of her despair. Twilight had never realised how much her final friend had been hiding from her. The princess, so used to being the one to solve problems, felt helpless in the face of such profound agony. There was no easy solution, no magical fix.

As Applejack’s sobs gradually slowed, her breathing became shallow and hoarse, giving way to the fitful, restless sleep of a pony truly spent. Twilight carefully gathered the exhausted mare up, her heart heavy with a mix of sorrow and tenderness. With a soft glow of her horn, she teleported them both to Applejack’s bedroom and gently laid her friend on the bed. Applejack didn’t stir, so deep was her exhaustion.

Twilight stood there for a long moment, watching over her old friend. Her first instinct was to send for the royal physician, to do something, anything, to help. But she knew Applejack. There was no way she would agree to rest, no matter how desperately she needed it. Stubborn to the end, she’d refuse the respite, as if stopping for a moment would let the grief overwhelm her entirely.

With a heavy sigh, Twilight turned and went downstairs. The farmhouse kitchen was simple and familiar, a place of warmth and comfort. She set to work, making a nourishing broth, hoping that it would give Applejack the strength she needed, even if it was just a small gesture. Twilight found herself grateful for the distraction of busying her hooves with the simple task. It kept her from the paralysing feeling that there was nothing she could do to truly help her friend, nothing that would make the aching loneliness go away.

After lowering the sun, Twilight sat in quiet meditation in the yard of Sweet Apple Acres, letting the stillness of the evening settle around her. The beauty of her surroundings—rows of sturdy apple trees, their leaves shimmering in the rainbow hued after-dusk sky—stood in sharp contrast to the painful memories of the day's events.

As she looked around, her thoughts drifted to the many foals who had passed through Sweet Apple Acres over the years. This land, which had been in Applejack’s family for generations, had become more than just a place of hard work and harvest. It had become a sanctuary for young fillies and colts, some orphaned, others simply in need of a loving home. Twilight marvelled at how Applejack and Rainbow Dash had opened their hearts and home to so many, shaping lives that might otherwise have been lost to neglect or hardship. It was a monument to their love—not just for each other, but for the future of Equestria.

In truth, it had been Rainbow Dash who had first pushed to foster. Her desperation to care for young ponies had always been clear to see, especially in the way she treated Scootaloo. To the outside world, their bond might have seemed purely sisterly, but Twilight had always seen something deeper, something maternal in Rainbow’s fierce affection for the disabled young Pegasus. Over the years, Rainbow’s determination to give foals a safe, loving home had only grown stronger. Yet Applejack had embraced the idea just as wholeheartedly. Sweet Apple Acres, once a quiet, traditional family farm, had become a haven for strangers in need of parents, and Applejack, with her deep sense of responsibility and love for family, had welcomed each and every one of them. Together they had given so many young lives a chance for happiness and a trade, a purpose they might not have found elsewhere. Rainbow and Applejack had left a legacy not just in their land and crops, but in the hearts of those they had cared for.

So deep had been Twilight’s meditation that it was a shock when she realised she could hear birds beginning to stir in the branches, their songs gentle and sweet, signalling it was time for her to raise the sun. At her command the first rays of sunlight began to creep over the horizon, and Twilight stood slowly, feeling the weight of the day ahead on top of the sleepless night that had just passed. Even as the light spread across the farm, chasing away the shadows of the night, Twilight felt a pang of bitterness at the cruelty of it all—how life carried on, indifferent to the suffering of those who remained behind.

With a heavy heart, Twilight made her way back to the farmhouse, her long shadow stretching ahead of her, as if tethering her hooves to the earth. Each step felt heavier than the last, as though the weight of the morning’s light had suddenly become a burden. The thought of the conversation she was about to have twisted in her chest, and she felt a tightening in her throat. She had to try—she had to make Applejack see sense, to help her friend grasp what was still worth holding on to.

As she approached the familiar wooden door, Twilight rehearsed what she would say, though the words felt woefully inadequate. She would try to remind Applejack that she wasn't alone. Even if Rainbow Dash was gone, the legacy of their love lived on in their family—both by blood and through adoption. There were foals who had grown up under their care, now full-grown ponies with lives and families of their own, each one a celebration of the home and love Applejack and Rainbow had built together. Twilight would tell her to draw them close, to gather her children, her grandfoals, and take comfort in them. They were the living embodiment of the love she and Rainbow had shared, the enduring proof of all they'd worked so hard to build.

Twilight would plead with Applejack to hold on, to just endure a little longer. She knew her friend was hurting, that the exhaustion of grief weighed heavier than the physical labour that had filled her days. But she would beg her to see that tomorrow might seem a little brighter, that there was still hope to be found in the lives of those who loved her. Maybe—just maybe—if Applejack could take solace in the love that surrounded her, she might find the strength to face another day.

Twilight reached for the door, her heart aching with the knowledge that her words might not be enough. But she had to try.

Twilight was in the palace when the news came. It had only been a few scant weeks since she’d last spoken to Applejack, and every day since had been a battle against the urge to check in on her old friend. But Twilight knew Applejack’s ornery stubbornness—knew that the proud farmer wouldn’t take kindly to her interference. The memory of their last encounter lingered painfully in her mind, the image of a broken, exhausted Applejack who had buried herself in work rather than grief. Still, Twilight had held back, respecting Applejack’s wishes, even as it tore at her inside.

That morning, as the daily stack of correspondence was delivered, her eyes immediately caught the Ponyville postmark on a plain envelope. The moment she saw it, a sense of dread gripped her heart. The warmth of her chambers drained away, leaving only a cold, hollow feeling as she tore it open, hooves trembling. The letter once again bore the signature of Mayor Tiara, but Twilight’s eyes glazed over the formalities as she scanned for the inevitable truth. A tradespony, it said, had found Applejack in the orchard, lying slumped among the trees she had tended for so many years. The scene had been hauntingly peaceful, the first leaves of autumn gently blanketing her still form. But the quiet beauty of it did nothing to dull the shock.

Applejack’s heart had given out, the letter explained. Exhaustion and malnourishment had claimed her in the end. Twilight’s magic flared, crumpling the parchment in her grip as a wave of fury and grief washed over her. How could this have happened? In a land of abundance, amidst the orchards that had once fed half of Equestria, Applejack—who had given so much of herself, who had loved and worked and sacrificed—had died of want. But Twilight knew the truth, the unspoken part that no letter would ever say: Applejack’s heart hadn’t failed because of hunger or toil. It had broken the day Rainbow Dash fell from the sky, and though her body had endured, the desire to live had already slipped away.

Twilight wanted to scream, to rage against the cruel injustice of it. To lose Applejack in the very orchards that had defined her life felt like a betrayal of everything she had stood for. She had poured her love, sweat, and soul into the earth, and in the end, it had taken her too. The Princess slumped in her chair, hooves shaking, her eyes stinging with tears that would soon fall.