The song of distant thunder echoed across the plains.
Looking like little more than a faint, ragged line of majestic purple low along the horizon from this distance, the Southern Range was dwarfed itself by an array of towering, black anvils. The rumbling thunderheads, sending the low notes of their chorus for hundreds of miles in every direction, almost looked more like mountains than the mountains themselves, but with night long since fallen upon the Southern Plains, such tricks of distance and perception were to be expected. The horizon itself flickered with light, where, many leagues away, forks of lightning lashed at the lush earth past the mountains. Buffalo legend spoke of green and fertile lands past the mountains, a geographical boundary which served as both a physical and, in a way, mental barrier to the understanding of the natives of the Plains.
Every now and then, storms ran up against the mountains, perishing as they struck the dry, desert air, often bringing with it a rush of rejuvenating water to the parched scrublands and salt flats. Tonight, though, no rain came; there was only the oppressive thickness of the air, and the suspicious absence of the usual chorus of crickets.
Thunderhooves, chief of the buffalo clans, turned restlessly on his mat. Visions of his youth tormented the aging bull, memories of times and friends long since passed. With more a dull grunt than a gasp, he awoke, slowly rousing his bones into letting him sit up. Blinking his eyes drowsily, he remembered for a moment storms that had terrified him as a calf. He let out a snort of frustration. He was too old to be scared of such things now.
Wasn’t he?
Thunderhooves tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable again, fall back to sleep, and dismiss his troubled musings. A few minutes later, he gave up. Tonight, it seemed, there would be no sleep. Flipping grumpily over onto his stomach, he mulled over the peculiar behavior of those in the buffalo camp earlier that night. With the air so stifling and uncomfortable, he doubted he was the only one still lying awake, but the camp, like the desert, remained eerily silent. The drums and voices had died down early that night, and everybuffalo had seemed eager to escape into their tents and sleep this evening through. All the fires had been stamped out, and the camp was devoid of light, save for that of the occasional flash of lightning.
The chief wondered whether the storm had anything to do with this. Looking about his tent uneasily, he felt as though a shadowy pall hung over the camp that night. Thunderhooves had never been a particularly superstitious bull, but something about this night seemed… ominous. It disquieted him.
Another flash of lightning, and a peal of thunder. He heard a rustling at his tent flap. Set on edge by his dark thoughts, his fight-or-flight instinct kicked in, and he was quick to jump to the conclusion that some intruder had found its way to his tent. If it wanted a fight, then so be it. Flaring his nostrils and tensing up, Thunderhooves turned – and found only Little Strongheart. The orange-coated calf was staring forlornly at the chief, standing firmly in place, though he could tell she was trembling at the knees. Even by the poor light, Thunderhooves could see that the fur under her eyes was stained with tears.
“Chief,” she whispered, a wavering in her voice, “can I sleep in here tonight?”
Thunderhooves closed his eyes, regaining his senses. This night was fraying his nerves, to be sure. He had very nearly jumped at Strongheart, and found himself feeling rather foolish. He rumbled in assent. “Come, little one,” he invited in as soft a tone as someone with a voice so deep could.
Strongheart plodded weakly to Thunderhooves’ side, lying down and nestling against him. Though the presence of the chief seemed to calm the calf down, Thunderhooves thought he heard a bit of sniffling. He sighed, shaking his head. It truly pained him to see Little Strongheart like this. He had known her parents, both great braves of the tribe. He found her endearing vivacity and courage reminded him greatly of her mother, and the chief was tremendously proud of the young cow that Strongheart had grown up into. He frowned as he recalled the tragic day of her parents’ death. Thunderhooves had raised her from infancy, and he had come to think of her as his daughter. He was loathe to see his young charge in distress, especially that which he could do nothing to prevent.
The buffalo chief was not stupid. Though in his old age he tended to wind on in his words and convince those around him of his rapidly-approaching senility, he could see past his own snout. Strongheart had awoken tearfully from her sleep too many times to convince him that this was anything normal.
“Little Strongheart,” Thunderhooves rumbled. The calf opened her eyes, blinking, and stared questioningly up at the chief. He continued, “Have you been having nightmares?”
Strongheart blinked again, clearly surprised by the question. Glancing away, she opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing. Noticing her hesitation, he offered, “I have nightmares too, little one.” He smiled, trying to lighten her mood somewhat, and received only a slightly reproving stare for his trouble. His smile wavered. Strongheart seemed to think he was patronizing her, and she was likely correct. Sometimes he forgot that the younger buffalo was hardly a child any more.
After a few moments, she sighed, breaking eye contact and resting her head on her forelegs. “It’s not really important, Chief.”
Thunderhooves let out a long, thoughtful hum. “Maybe so… if they did not make you wake in tears so often.” He turned his gaze down toward the curly-maned little buffalo, sending her a meaningful look.
Thunderhooves heard Strongheart sigh. She stared at her hooves, and squirmed under the bull’s probing stare, ashamed that she had tried to brush away his concerns so rudely. He was only worried for her, after all. “… Yes, chief. I’ve been having nightmares,” she relented. “They’re just silly dreams,” she continued after a moment’s hesitation.
The chief shook his head slowly. “What, then, do you dream of, Little Strongheart?” The calf held a breath, meeting his gaze with trepidation, obviously unwilling to detail her nightmares. After a moment, though, Little Strongheart exhaled, and began to describe what she had seen.
The young buffalo’s nightmare was laid out in surprisingly vivid detail. She spoke of creatures and beings which existed only in myth and tales, of desolation and destruction to come. Though he’d never admit as much, even the great buffalo chief felt uneasy at the images Strongheart was painting in his mind.
Towards the end of her explanation, Little Strongheart was crying again. Chief Thunderhooves allowed the conversation to end there, placing a comforting hoof on Strongheart’s head. He regretted forcing the calf to relive her nightmare, but at least he now knew what troubled Strongheart – and now troubled him. He could feel in his bones that there was some terrible significance behind these dreams. Just what, he could not say.
Though Little Strongheart soon fell asleep, Chief Thunderhooves got no sleep that night. He was far too busy planning a letter to an old friend.
Celestia stared out at the horizon as her sun finally dipped out of sight, the dying shades of twilight setting the sky alight in a myriad of different shades and hues. Despite having seen hundreds of thousands of them in her lifetime – creating them, in fact – Celestia never grew tired of watching the sun set in the evening. Nearly all of Equestria was visible from here. A dark patch amongst the valley bottom, which itself was already dark in the failing light of dusk, marked the Everfree Forest, the site of her and Luna’s ancient capital. Not allowing herself to be caught up in memories of times long past, she shifted her gaze outward. At each horizon, great blotches of pale yellow light highlighted the positions of some of Equestria’s most major cities: Vanhoover, Las Pegasus, and, its silhouette visible amongst a colossal bank of cumuli, Cloudsdale. Millions of ponies thronged even into the night in every corner of her kingdom.
She turned her gaze back to the dark blotch. A smaller point of light lay next to it, the small town of Ponyville. She remembered when the town had been founded, all those years ago. She herself had chosen its location, and the town, which had remained a very small and close-knit community despite all the decades that passed, never failed to surprise her with both its many charms, and the peculiarly strong character possessed by its inhabitants. She thought of six ponies, very dear to her, who lived in the village, and smiled.
Her smile wavered as she thought of the very likely danger that she herself was about to place those same six ponies in. With a sigh, whatever positive feelings she’d been enjoying fled her, and her worries returned. It seemed worrying was really all she ever did these days, and she resented it. If only she could just stop worrying for a time…
As if to highlight her concerns, Celestia scanned the letter she had received for a third time, her brow furrowing as her concern grew. Each time she read it, it only grew harder – not due to any true difficulty on her part, but because with each scan of the page, the gravity of the situation at hoof grew only starker. Not since the return of Discord had the princess felt quite that sort of unwelcome emotion – the wrenching of fear in her gut. Only a great threat to Equestria, and, for that matter, the world, could inspire such dread in the alicorn’s heart.
And if ever there was a threat to this world, this was it.
Stepping back inside with the sensation of a great weight on her shoulders, she lowered the letter down to a table at her side, and stood a moment in thought. Her horn sparked back to life a moment later, raising a blank scroll, pen, and ink well. ‘My faithful student…’
If there was one thing Twilight Sparkle hated, it was being unable to understand something. And try as she might, the bookish unicorn could make neither head nor tail of the cryptic message sent to her by Princess Celestia, and it aggravated her to no end. It refused to go into any further detail than to urge Twilight and her friends to hurry south to Appleloosa, and there to seek out Applejack’s cousin, Braeburn. Despite every contrived effort to pore over the wording of the letter and discover some hidden meaning, Twilight’s efforts were repeatedly frustrated by the simple fact that no such meaning existed. Twilight loved her mentor to pieces, but the princess could just be so inscrutable sometimes.
Regardless of her reservations, Twilight had rounded up the other Element Bearers and Spike, her six closest friends, and they had made haste to the train station for the long ride into Equestria’s southern borderlands. The lavender pony huffed quietly, stowing the letter back into her book pouch. If nothing else, she consoled herself, occupying herself with imagined secrets hidden in the princess’ summons had passed most of the long train ride by quickly. The plains and forests of Equestria had given way to the sparse scrubland of the western frontier. They couldn’t be far from Appleloosa now.
Twilight took a moment to glance around the train car which she and her friends had chosen to occupy for the duration of the journey, wondering how the remaining five bearers of the Elements of Harmony had been passing the time. Down by the far end, an excited Pinkie was chattering about something or another to a less-than-enthusiastic looking Rainbow Dash. Rarity and Fluttershy were glimpsing out the window, taking turns pointing out the scenery to one another, voices quiet so as not to awake Spike, who snoozed nearby. As Twilight’s eyes fell upon Applejack, she felt a slight, guilty twinge at the corner of her mouth for the obviously concerned expression her friend was sending in her direction. She hoped she hadn’t worried Applejack too much by her huffing, muttering, and glaring at the letter… well, almost as much as she hoped Applejack wasn’t going to head on over towards her to ask about Twilight’s strange behavior. It would be terribly awkward to have to explain herself to her friend.
Predictably, of course, the librarian’s hopes were ignored by fate, and the farm pony came trotting over.
“Twi,” Applejack began worriedly, “what’s eatin’ ya? Ya haven’t done anythin’ but try ta burn a hole through that letter with yer eyes since we got on the train.”
Twilight peered out the window, scuffing her hoof on the floor anxiously. Much as she cared for her worker pony friend, she felt rather cornered by Applejack’s questioning. After a moment’s silence, she reluctantly responded. “I was just… examining the typography. The Princess is using a different font for the header on her stationary lately.” Twilight put on her most unconvincing grin.
The deadpan stare she received in return for the brazen lie spoke volumes about just how much stock the Element of Honesty put in Twilight’s reply. The unicorn fidgeted, her attempts to wave off Applejack’s concerns foiled, and told the truth. “… Oh, fine… It’s the letter, Applejack. Doesn’t it seem strange that Princess Celestia would just send us off across the continent without any explanation why?” Twilight magicked the letter back out of her satchel, wiggling it in the air for emphasis.
Applejack arched a brow, following the erratic motion of the letter in Twilight’s magic with her eyes. “Ah reckon so. But Ah’m sure the Princess has her reasons for not tellin’ us everything. Don’t ya think yer overreactin’ a bit?”
“Overreacting?!” Twilight cried out, scandalized, drawing the stares of the rest of her friends. Spike snored slightly more loudly for a moment. Twilight felt her face heat bright red in embarrassment as it sunk in just how silly she was being. “… O-okay, maybe you’re right.” She sighed quietly, and her friends returned to what they had been doing after a few awkward moments’ silence. “But what possible reason could the Princess have for not telling us? It all seems very odd.”
Applejack, for her part, offered a shrug. “Can’t say Ah know. But she said to talk to my cousin once we get there.” Applejack glanced out the window, eyeing the landscape as it passed by. “Braeburn will know what’s goin’ on, Ah bet.”
Twilight looked skeptical. If her general impression from their last visit was any sort of indication, Braeburn probably didn’t even know what was going on inside his own head half the time, let alone with whatever problems had arisen in the plains around Appleloosa..
Applejack seemed to notice the look on Twilight’s face, and rolled her eyes. “Ah know what yer thinkin’. He ain’t as thick as ya probably think he is.”
The purple unicorn stammered, worried she had offended her friend by unintentionally insulting a family member. “A-Applejack, I didn’t mean-“
The cowpony waved a hoof dismissively. “Don’t worry about it Twi’.” She tilted her head, one ear pointing further upward than the other as she detected some sound. “The train’s stoppin’.” The other ponies all looked around as well, conversations ending. Spike awoke from his slumber, stretching his arms and showing off his fangs with an enormous yawn. Outside the windows, blurs took the more recognizable forms of yucca trees and cacti as the train began to slow down. All six ponies, and the young dragon, crowded to one side as Appleloosa came into view. The town had grown by leaps and bounds since the group’s last visit, sprawling out over a few more square miles than it had previously. Adobe and wooden buildings alike, some now a few stories high, still maintained the same rustic atmosphere as ever.
Finally, the locomotive ground to a halt at the train station and the seven friends hurried to the door, eager to finally get off the train. Each chattered amongst themselves, eager to see all that had changed in the town over the last few years, with the exception of Twilight and Applejack. “We’ll get it figured out soon, sugarcube,” she assured the librarian as they stepped onto the platform. “Jest enjoy yerself till then, all right?”
“Welcome to AAAAAPPLELOOSA!”
Twilight merely winced.
