The forces around us.

Chapters

To start anew.
To take a first step.
To see clearly.
To seek a name.
To find a friend.
Creating a personality.
Getting Stuck.

To start anew.

Your eyes pop open and gaze upon a bright blue sky, clear as glass, and take a deep breath. You can hear the haggard undertone of your respiration, despite you yourself not feeling tired at all. Rather, it would seem that it would hurt to speak if your breathing wasn’t already so hoarse. Rolling off your back and standing up straight on all four hooves, you take a look of your surroundings.

Panning your head from left to right, you notice that you’ve woken up in the exact middle of a large clearing surrounded by lush evergreen trees. The tops of the trees and the blades of grass dance nimbly in the easterly breeze, rolling with the invisible force fluidly. The cool wind tickles your mane and fur, while still providing a sense of comfort and relaxation. As you enjoy the comforting air, the shadows on the ground started to grow in length. The afternoon sun appeared to be approaching the horizon, signaling dusk. You really should be thankful you didn’t wake up at the peak of noon, where your eyes might have met directly with the sun’s blinding light.

You cough, and your throat burns in response causing you to wince in pain. Turning around backwards in search of some source of relief, you find a small pond with crystal clear waters. You take a hearty swig and relish the soothing of your sore throat. It feels like it must have been several days since your last drink, or anything for that matter. The small ripples dance about on the waters, obscuring your reflection. When they finally settle, you retract in absolute horror.

You’re pale, everywhere. Your fur and mane don’t know where to stop and start and even your eyes would be completely white if it wasn’t for a small grey circle indicating where you were looking. You rotate yourself to get a decent look at your flank (strange as it may sound) and even your haunches are completely colorless. You’d scream, but your sore throat prevents you from making any noise other than another painful cough.

Then, it hits you like a thrown rock; you don’t remember who you are. Part of you can’t help find that cliché for some reason, but the other part of you is frightened that it knows the word cliché without really even knowing what it actually means. Trying to overcome unnecessary stress, you relay a list of questions to yourself. Name? Unknown. Address? Unknown. Birthday? Unknown. Why did you wake up in the middle of a clearing? Obviously unknown.

What do you know? You’re in a field, there’s a small pond with cool water, you’re as pale as a ghost (whatever that is), and you can’t speak thanks to a horrendously dry throat. You have knowledge about common things and yet know nothing about them.

Looking up, you notice the sun is setting at a quickening pace. It isn’t safe to be out in a place like this at night, you know that much. Taking another look around, you observe that there are two exits out of the clearing, parallel to each other on exact opposite sides of the circular field. There is one that appears to lead to a much denser (and creepier) collaboration of trees, possibly a forest, and the other looks more traveled, based on the hoof prints in the ground that seemed to have leveled the dirt.

Keeping this in mind, you form three logical conclusions about what your next plan of action should be:

You could stay here in this clearing and wait here for…something? While it isn’t necessarily ideal, it’s probably safer not to venture into the unknown, even if it’s not safe to stay here anyways. You have plenty of water, plenty of grass, and you could possibly use some of the trees on the ring of the clearing as some sort of a makeshift shelter. And by that, you really mean huddle close to them and hope it doesn’t rain tonight. It could be smart to stay where you are, knowing that you have what you need to survive tonight and maybe travel the next day. No need to push yourself.

You could go down the path that looks recently traveled. Chances are that you’ll meet somepony else who can help you, if they don’t freak out about your unfortunate color scheme of course. Then you could maybe figure out what’s going on. While you leave behind a source of water, something that really helps your throat in its current condition, it’s possible that you’ll find something else along the way. But, you’re also not sure how long that path is anyways or if it reaches any sort of civilization.

You could go down the gloomy, eerie path. You’re not exactly sure why you’d go down in there, but if there is a path leading into it, something has to be there. Paths aren’t built for nothing you know, they are made to get from point A to point B. The problem is, you don’t know or have any clue what point B is. But if you’re going to go that way, you should go while there is still some light left. If it’s a dense section of trees, that likely means creatures live in it. And if creatures live in it, you want to be able to see them.

You sit your pale flank on the ground and ponder your thoughts, raising your hoof to your chin.

What should I do next?

Updated A/N:

Admittedly, it’s a slow start, and for that I apologize. At the time I was writing this, the comments below helped me dictate where the story would go next because this was mostly experimental so if the format at the end of chapters seems weird, you know why. When it is re-written, that will not occur. Thanks for your time and patience.

To take a first step.

After a few minutes of pondering your thoughts, you come to the conclusion that staying here in this sparse clearing isn’t the best idea. But, it’s not the worst idea; you can only imagine the horrid things that would have taken place if you had ventured into the thick and overgrown forest, or what evil things could have lurked into the area from there. With a dry sigh, you begin to trot out to the recently traveled exit. Before you do, you stop back at the pond and take one more swig, soothing your throat to where it feels almost comfortable to breathe. Feeling prepared to venture out, or as prepared as you’ll ever be, you finally embark on the journey.

The exit to the circular field was airy and loose, if you had to describe it. It didn’t feel daunting or intimidating in any sense of the word, but welcoming and receiving. The late afternoon blue sky was still visible through the branches above the path. Before you step through, a twig snaps in the far distance, near the other exit from what you can tell. As you whir your head around, a hooded figure, about as tall as you and with an equine body and piercing yellow eyes, meets your gaze from afar. The cloaked menace raises a hoof and points directly at you. You think it might be saying something, but it’s too far away to make anything out. It lowers its hoof and starts walking towards you. You, on the other hoof, sprint out of there like a bat out of hell. If you were staying in the clearing or were perhaps traveling down that path, you may have had to deal with it but it’s none of your concern now.

You thrash through the underbrush as you make your hasty escape, ignoring the twisting and winding path leading around trees and other obstacles and focus on a linear trail of your own design. You’d think being the ghostly pale one would be more frightening than a shrouded being, but these are strange times. You check back to confirm whether or not it’s following you. Thankfully, for your sake, it isn’t. However, your muscles begin to tense as you keep galloping. It appears that you must have been in that area for longer than you initially thought, or rather, didn’t think. A searing pain shoots up all four of your legs and you are forced to come to a screeching halt. A fit of hacking and wheezing replaces a series of screams of agony. It doesn’t hurt (not enough to impede your traveling anyways) to walk, but rushing out of there was probably not your best plan. The time between your last series of movements must have been a good amount for your muscles to cramp in such a way.

Why didn’t I think about how long I had been there?

Thankfully, all that running did put you close to the edge of the forest, and you manage to walk out of the mess alive. The canopy had blocked out most of the light from the time, and you were running like mad, so you didn’t notice the sky changing to a swirl of luminescent oranges and reds. Looking up at the evening atmosphere, you notice the clouds above painted a picture that only true Romantics could ever appreciate. And you might appreciate that too, if you could remember what a Romantic was. Although it was beautiful in its own right, it was your only source of light and you needed to find something out here to help you. Sky gazing would have to wait.

The very first helpful thing to assist you is the comforting fact that the path was only a few feet away from where you exited. Looking down the trail, you also notice a thin blue line in the distance that possibly represented a river, which was also good.

Not a bad start…and where there is a river, there has to be a civilization of some sort.

Observing the river from both visible ends, you take note that there are mountains off in the north. The sun’s angle caused a freakishly long shadow to shoot out from in front of you, signaling that it was setting in the west. You were heading east, but you should follow the river south. You somehow remembered that streams all normally start in the tops of mountains and flow down to the sea, and along said flow, there were often towns or farms that needed its vital resource.

Admittedly, there wasn’t very much going on as you paced yourself, walking towards your next destination was simple if not slightly uncomfortable. The ground left tiny tufts of dirt where your hoof prints were, the air cooled to a chillier temperature, and your hooves hurt from the strenuous running. The path wasn’t very long, or at least to the body of flowing water. If you had to guess, it was approximately half a mile.

By the time you finally arrived, there was only a few minutes of raw daylight left. The sky was slowly being replaced with a thousand shimmering stars as the hues of the day receded into the horizon. Lapping up some cool water, you cleared your throat and finally felt convinced it would no longer hurt to try speaking. To test this theory, you take a deep breath and attempt to talk clearly.

“Finally, some-“

Before you could finish your first sentence aloud in who knows how long, a feminine shriek wailed from across the river. You turned to locate the source, and a lone pony about half your size was staring intensely at you in fear. You would have diagnosed her colors, but it’s too dark to tell whether it would be entirely accurate.

She probably thinks I’m sort of apparition and that I’ve come to haunt her. Well, I can’t blame her for that seeing how even in this twilight I’m still painstakingly white.

You stare at the filly, unsure of how to proceed. You take a moment’s pause and review the possibilities:

I could try to convince her that I’m not a ghost and maybe even get her to lead me to some sort of shelter. No child would be out here alone. I could probably even get her to point me in the right direction, or better yet, she might know somepony who could assist my condition.

I could pretend I am a ghost and make her flee and then follow her. I’m not sure if it’s the best idea right now to spill the beans that I know nothing about anything, and since she’s young it won’t leave any mental scaring about seeing a ghost. Her parents will probably brush it off as nothing serious, and I keep the element of surprise which could come in handy later.

I could just ignore the kid and keep following the river. Sure it might be dark, but as long as it’s not a new moon tonight I should have enough light to at least see a little of what’s in front of me. Sure I may meet something good here, but what if I could have met something better down there?

To see clearly.

A/N: I didn't even know I could write so much this fast. Also, I can't draw very well, but I feel like maybe adding an image for each chapter. As I've said before, if you spot an error I apologize. Please tell me so I may fix it.

Your gaze continues to lock and unlock as you stare and then look away, seriously considering your first two ideas. But you can’t stand there forever, and it’s getting a little too chilly for your liking.

“Excuse me, miss?” you call out to the filly across the stream.

She remains as silent as your fur is white, frozen in fear. And as the sun relinquishes all hold of the day, the unthinkable happens. You’re still visible, pale white as ever. But that’s not really possible…right? You should have been just as dark as your surroundings. You’re actually physically glowing, giving you an aura that represents the moon. You inspect your left foreleg and sure enough, you’ve become your own lantern. If you weren’t going to act as a ghost, you might have no hope of disproving her now.

“Please,” you plead, “I’m not a ghost or anything.” You lift a hoof, and she responds by bringing out an unlit lantern. A moment later, she lights it with a spare match, revealing a small yellow filly with a red mane and a large bow attached.

You attempt one more time to get assistance from her. “Can you help me? I’m a little lost out here.”

Surprisingly, she responds. “Ah’m not sure, you look like a spirit on somethin’ from the Everfree Forest. Mah big sister said to not talk with creatures from beyond this river.”

You’re a little offended by that last label. “Creature? I know I’m a little strange but I’m most certainly a pony.”

“You look like one, but none of mah friends glow at night.”

I may not remember everything, but I’m sure she’s right about that.

“Alright, that’s pretty fair,” you admit. “Can I at least ask why a little filly like you is out here?”

She swells her chest with pride and speaks with great pride. “Well, ol’ Big Macintosh is sick with some nasty stomach bug, and Applejack is takin’ care of him. She said she needed more water, and our pump isn’t workin’ quite right, so asked me to come out to the river and get some! Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go bring some water back.”

As if to prove a point, she brings out three steel pails stacked in one another.

You feel slightly concerned about that number. “Three pails? Are you sure you can carry three?” They were about half her size, each. From what you still remember about math, three halves is more than one.

“Are you sayin’ I can’t?”

“No, I’m not saying that at all. It just seems like a lot of work.”

She looks at you, unamused. “Right, well I gotta get goin’ back before Applejack gets mad or worried.”

She takes a pail from the stack and fills it to the brim with water, and sets it aside. She repeats that two more times and then prepares to pick up the buckets. The first one she holds in her mouth, and lifts it with relative ease. The next she hoists up on her back and keeps it upright with amazing balance. The last bucket sits on the ground, waiting for her to pick him up. She looks at it, concerned that she may not be able to complete her given task. Then she looks at you, and a determined look spreads again on her face. She tries to pick up both buckets with her mouth, but they start to tilt sideways when there isn’t enough room, and some water spills out. When it’s apparent that that plan won’t work out, she attempts to hoist the bucket on her back onto her head using her tail. The end result was a goofy looking maneuver with a bucket over her head…and water dripping down her mane. The lantern was also close enough, and some water seeped inside, extinguishing the flame.

“Are you sure you don’t need some help with that?”

She blushes out of embarrassment and removes the bucket off her head. “I-I guess so.”

Seeing as the river wasn’t too deep, you wade across the waters with relative ease, carefully minding not to step on loose rocks. When you reach the other river bank, you take the empty pail, refill it, and then grab the handle with your mouth. With your tail, mimicking her bucket maneuver earlier, you lift up the unlit lantern. You won’t need to use it, seeing as you are a light source now.

She on the other hoof, knowing perfectly well she can already balance two, takes the other and places it on her back, and smiles.

“’’Ead the ‘ay!” you state, the handle blocking some of your speech.

Somehow, she understands that you meant to say, “lead the way,” and she begins to walk back to the house. You follow by her side, not saying anything, mostly because the pail handle would make it rather difficult to do anyways. The first few minutes traveling back were uneventful, mostly just her pointing which way to go and occasionally stopping to rebalance the bucket on her back.

“So, ‘ow do you g’ow like that?”

You choose your next words carefully, not only so that you don’t give too much away but also so that she can understand you. “Well, really I jus’ found out today.”

“How can you go yer entire life and not know that you glow?”

You fib, “Well, I normally go to sleep very very early, before sunset. This is actually my first time staying up this late.”

Which is technically kind of true.

You continue to add some false logic to your argument. “Since I never saw the night time, I guess I never saw myself glow.”

She cocks her head to the side, just enough so that a small dribble of water escapes from the bucket in her mouth. “I guess that makes sense…”

Her eyes go wide, like she suddenly realized she forgot something important. “I never told you mah name did I? It’s Apple Bloom.”

“Well it is very nice to meet you Apple Bloom.” You drop the conversation, hoping that she won’t ask for your name.

With a slightly peeved tone, she asks, “Well? What’s yours?”

You stop dead in your tracks. Of course she asked… “I-… uhh… don’t know it.”

This time she stops and gives you a concerned, if not curious look. “Well how can you go your entire life not knowing your name?”

“Nopony ever asked.”

“Didn’t yer parents name you?”

“I never knew my parents.” Which I suppose is true right now.

“Then who raised you?”

“I did.”

“So you raised yourself.”

“Sure. Why not, Applebloom.”

She isn’t impressed with your answers.

“Alright alright, you caught me,” you lie. “You’re smart for a filly, asking all the right questions.” With a whisper, you admit, “I’m actually a secret agent. But you can’t tell nopony.” You wink.

“REALLY!?” she screams in excitement. “Oh wow a secret agent! It all makes sense now!” She almost begins to bounce, but she quickly reminds herself she’s carrying some cargo.

You laugh, somehow with a handle in your mouth, and continue walking. Over the next few hills, she asked you a barrage of questions about secret agent life, something you didn’t know too much about. Considering your limited knowledge about everything, you had to admit you came up with an interesting cast of villains. You especially liked the one who had X-ray vision, whatever the heck that was.

Man, I’ve told so many stories I wouldn’t be surprised if my voice goes out again.

Finally, after what seemed like a few hours (but was approximately 10 minutes), you arrive at Sweet Apple Acres. That’s what the sign called it anyways. An enthusiastic Apple Bloom runs past the gate and inside the house, leaving you behind with the spare pail and the lantern. A few moments later, you hear some kind of argument inside. You can’t hear Apple Bloom fighting back, but you can hear the bemused tone of an older mare, possibly the one named Applejack.

“What...Glowing...Secret Agent? Now Apple Bloom, what have I told you about being dishonest?”

It looks like Apple Bloom is getting scolded, and looking back on it, it would be very hard to believe your story.

Well, I don’t want to intrude on this. If it’s a family argument then it’s best to let them sort it out, and I can wait out here until it’s over.

But, Apple Bloom is telling the truth and she doesn’t deserve to be punished. I should barge in and confront the problem head on.

However, it looks like I’ve caused enough trouble already for her, and having an unexpected guest on her part may add to the problem. I might want to ditch the bucket and lantern and look for help elsewhere.

To seek a name.

Before you can make your decision, it appears (for once) that it has been made for you. The house door swings open, slamming against the adjacent wall. A miffed Apple Bloom stands in the archway and points directly at you.

“See? I told yah’ he’s right there!”

A larger mare walks through the door and then stops. They look like silhouettes from here, but you can tell from pure body expression that she is looking directly at you and is either shocked or in awe. She pushes her little sister back into the house and closes the door behind her. Moments later, that same little sister is watching through the window.

You remain completely still as the older one, who you still presume is Applejack, walks towards you. Your glow has intensified slightly, you notice, and you can see things farther away much clearer. Finally, from about twenty feet ahead, you see her in color. She’s orange, with a yellow mane in a ponytail and she has a set of apples as her…

Dang it, what’s the word? Tattoo? Mark?...Mark sounds right.

“So, yer the one who helped mah sister?” she asks sternly, still approaching.

“That’s correct,” you say astutely, working around the topic of names. You try not to move, holding your ground. It’s quite likely she’s thankful for escorting her little sister, but you are a stranger after all, as she is to you. A strong tension hangs in the air, almost thick enough to cut.

“So, I gotta ask, why were you out there Mr. Secret Agent?” She finally stops near you, keeping a safe distance away, but close enough to keep a quiet conversation.

Your increasingly brightening aura blocks some of your facial features, so you don’t think she notices the small band of sweat dribbling down. “I was out there because I was investigating my surroundings.” Which, you know…is kind of true.

“In the middle of the night? With no l-“ she stops herself short, realizing that I had a light the entire time. Me. “Right. Well why were you so close to the Everfree? You know that’s dangerous right?”

More perspiration beads up on your forehead. “Oh, I’m sure I’ve been through worse.” Wow, I’m really starting to sound kind of cocky; I need to pull back just a bit. If I act all high and mighty, I may not have any place to sleep tonight.

“Well surely somepony as secretive and sophisticated as yerself wouldn’t be stoppin’ by to help any ol’ pony.” She gives you the impression she’s not really buying your story, and you can’t really blame her.

“Like I said, I was investigating my surroundings and I must have gotten turned around at some point. As you said, the Everfree forest is dangerous and I guess the path took me in the entirely wrong direction.”

“To where?”

“What?”

“If you were goin’ in a direction, you must ah had a destination.” The tension reaches its peak.

You take a step back, unconsciously signaling to the orange farmpony that she found a tremendous loophole in your false tale.

Picking up on your tell, the one you assume is Applejack furrows her brow. “Listen here, Sugarcube. I don’t like dishonesty, especially around my farm. Now, either you come clean or go home.”

You wish you had time to think this over, but from the stern glare you’re getting from the protective mare isn’t worth causing more tension. Lowering the bucket and the lantern (Was I really talking through that the entire time?) you begin to apologize. “Alright, I’m sorry. I should have guessed I’m not a good liar.”

She raises her left brow.

“Right…you see here’s the thing…” you begin explaining your tale about waking up in the middle of a clearing and not knowing a thing outside of common knowledge. Since the time span was only over a couple hours, there really wasn’t much to say outside of what happened at the river and you discovering you glow. Never the less, you fail to dismiss any detail, seeing as they are the only details you know. As you finish, you take a deep sigh.

“That’s uh…really somethin’. But why didn’t you just tell me that was the case.”

“You would have thought I was nuts,” you argue.

She snorts in a small fit of laughter. “Yeah, I suppose yer right there. Here, let’s get you inside, it’s getting too cold for this out here.” That thick tense air you were feeling earlier lifts away like fog clearing, instantly and clearly.

Thank Celestia. Wait, who’s Celestia?

You both walk back to the house, silently. A giddy Apple Bloom meets you at the door, asking all about what happened. A bemused Applejack looks at you, insisting you tell her the truth. First you apologize for lying to Apple Bloom, twice, and then tell her the real real story. She cocks her head and looks at her older sister, and she nods to confirm that it’s the truth. When you both walk in, your glowing aura dissipates.

“Wait…why am I not shining anymore?”

“Oh I know!” Apple Bloom chimes in. “You didn’t start glowin’ until the sun went down right? Maybe it’s a night time thing?”

Taking a spot on the soft couch in the living room, you give a rebuttal. “But then why aren’t I glowing now?” Your flank sinks slightly into the cushions.

“I dunno Mr.-“ Applejack pauses, and you pause, and Apple Bloom looks at you again. “Well shucks, you still don’t have a name do you?” she asks, pointing a hoof at you.

Faking insult, you reply, “I do too have a name, Applejack!”

“How did you-?”

“Apple Bloom mentioned your name, and I’m finally now reaffirming it.”

“So what is it?” the younger filly asks, interrupting the argument unintentionally.

“It’s… It’s…”

What the hay should my name be? I glow during the night, I have amnesia…which I guess is the name for memory loss, and some other third thing.

To find a friend.

You gently lift yourself off the couch, observing the funny imprint from your flank. Walking over to the window opposite of the room, you see the luminescent moon slowly walk across the late night sky. The poor stars behind and near it are encompassed in its reflective glow. As miniscule strays of moonbeam trickle through the glass, the afflicted spots begin to relight the mysterious aura once again. Putting your hooves on the frame, you begin to assess the new variables.

Interesting.

“You alright there?” Apple Bloom asks with genuine concern.

“Yes,” you speak with confidence, “I am just fine.”

“Well that’s all nice and pretty, but you still haven’t given us a name, and if you aren’t I sure as hay will.”

“Of course,” you agree. “But I need to know a few things before I make my decision. First, what do you know of the moon?”

“It’s made of cheese,” Apple Bloom states as a matter of fact.

“Oh hush now Apple Bloom, he’s bein’ serious.” The farm mare joins you at the window, and looks up at the night sky as well. “It’s some kind a rock, and it floats around the sky, changing shape ever so slightly every night. Some cycle to do with Princess Luna I think.” She points to it directly, and continues. “Right now I’d say it’s just past a full moon and slowly workin’ its way to a new moon.”

“And yet that ‘some-kind-a-rock’ is making me glow with some kind of…” you side track for a moment, trying to think of the most appropriate word.

“Glow?” the younger sister asks. You turn around to face her directly.

“Sorry, no. Something a little more complicated, like an essence.”

A cog in the complex machine of your mind starts turning and forming a complete and seemingly obvious thought, or what seems obvious now.

“That’s it! It’s so simple!”

You face Applejack, who’s still staring out the window. You gently tap her on the shoulder, and she turns around.

“Greetings, my name is Lunar Essence and it’s a pleasure to meet you,” you greet her as if meeting for the very first time.

Playing along with your rouse, she replies, “Mighty fine to meet you Mr. Essence, I’m Applejack.” You shake hooves for a moment, sealing the deal.

“Wow! That’s such a neat name!” the young filly cheers as she runs up to shake your hoof too.

“Thanks, I guess it’s a step in the right direction.” The room gets quiet, either party not knowing what to say.

“So, anyways, I probably should get going.” You begin heading towards the door.

“What? Why?” Apple Bloom asks, questioning your motives.

“Well, I came and delivered the bucket of water and your lamp, and it looks like I’ve been repaid thanks to you helping me find a name.”

A foreleg stops you from moving by pressing against your chest. “Now I wouldn’t feel right lettin’ somepony like you go out into the night in your condition. Why don’t you spend the night here at Sweet Apple Acres. I know somepony who can help you.” Applejack stares into your eyes with genuine concern.

“Thanks Appl-“

“Probably.” She turns to her little sister, who was still standing in the middle of the room. “Alright, Apple Bloom, why don’t you go get Mr. Essence some blankets from the closet so ‘e can sleep on the couch.” She turns back to you. “That won’t be a problem, will it?” she asks kindly.

Better than a field, I’m surprised my back doesn’t ache like heck after laying down in that clearing for who knows how long.

“It’s fine, more than fine.” You nod your head. Apple Bloom returns with a soft hoof-knit blanket (unsurprisingly with apples woven on it) and hoofs it to you. With a kind thanks, you usher yourself to the soft sofa and lay down, beaten from today’s miasadventures. The two sisters go back to check on Big Macintosh, that’s what they said to you anyways, and leave you to rest. You’re not sure what time it is, but the comforting atmosphere sends you straight to sleep.

~~~

A voice echoes in the distance, calling out to you. It seems to be saying your name, but you can’t quite make it out.

…wake up. …wake up!

You slowly open your eyelids. It’s painstakingly white, everywhere. Immediately, you bounce up in shock. You’re standing, but on nothing. You can see, but there is naught to view.

…you’re awake, says the voice. Come on, we’re late.

“For what?” you reply into the nothingness.

This is just like you…

You think you catch a glimpse of a door closing, and from that glimpse you could tell it was closed with tremendous force, but not a sound was made.

You try to walk around the space, but there are invisible objects blocking your path. You attempt to feel around them, walking blindly with only your sense of touch to guide you. You manage to reach what you guess is a wall. Scuffling down one direction, you hit the frame of something. Using your hooves, you find a door handle.

The door opens for you, and the blistering white increases to an intensity beyond imagination, but only for a moment. Then, it’s all black, and you feel nothing around you. Even the ground disappears beneath your hooves. Slowly, you descend into a dark nothingness.

There are no words, you cannot speak. There is no wind to hear as you fall, there is no sight to see the ground, there is no smell to hint your fear, and no physicality of anything, even yourself, to grasp at.

You drift off into the unknown.

Creating a personality.

A/N: Huge apologies for being absent for a while guys. I hope you didn’t forget about Lunar Essence. Actually, it looks like I got some new trackers for this fanfiction somehow while I was out. That’s…astounding to me. Anyways, I’m still a smidge busy so if chapters are only every other day, you know why. Oh well, I’m back, and thus this chapter was born!

You roll off the couch and land face first, emitting a loud thump on the wood paneled floor. Scrambling to your feet, rustling through blankets in an attempt to free yourself from their comfort, you look around in all directions, reassembling your bearings.

“What? Huh?” There’s nothing there, and it’s still an hour or two before sunrise. Massaging your forehead with a spare hoof, you calm yourself down from the recent dream. Or, perhaps nightmare would be a better word. You’re not entirely sure; but whatever it was, it was messed up in all connotations of the word.

“Alright, calm down, Lunar,” you speak to yourself. “It was only a-“ a light creak resonates from the stairs, disrupting your self-induced post dream therapy. Softly, you call out towards the stairs, “Hello? Is anypony there?”

A few creaks and the familiar sound of hoofsteps later reveal the mare you know as Applejack. “Oh, mornin’ Lunar. What wakes you up at this hour?” She lets out a small yawn and grabs her hat off a rack on the wall, almost instinctually.

Grabbing and folding the blanket with your left hoof and mouth, you explain your story. “I had the strangest dream actually. I was floating…sort of, and then I was falling and then…I hit the floor…with my face.” It wasn’t the most elegant explaination, but you figure the bump on your head must have had something to do with it. Story completed, you set the perfectly folded square blanket back on the top of the couch.

“Err, alright.” She shrugs. “I hope you don’t mind, us Apples get up mighty early.” She waltzed into the kitchen, grabbing assorted pots and pans for breakfast.

“Not at all. Actually, mind if I help with the cooking? It’s the least I could do for letting me stay here last night.”

She looks out of the pantry, giving you a puzzled look before asking rhetorically, “Let an amnesiac help with the cookin’? Sorry sugarcube, but I hope you know that doesn’t sound quite right.”

“Alright, I suppose that’s fair,” you admit. Come to think of it, all I know how to make right now is pancakes. Not that there’s anything wrong with pancakes, they are a filling and delicious breakfast item, but I suppose it would be a bit dangerous. I don’t want to have to fetch more pails of water because I set the kitchen on fire. “But I do want to repay you somehow for letting me stay the night. Is there anything I can do that’s not breakfast related?”

Turning on the stove, she stares at you for a moment, looking you up and down. “Yeah, you look alright.”

Finally, a color other than white explodes across your face. Two large pink blushes race across, leaving the orange farmpony to mimic you. “That’s not what I meant!” she retracts hastily. “I mean you look in decent shape for applebuckin’.”

“Right, of course.” What the heck was that about? After clearing your throat, you continue the conversation as if nothing had happened. “So, applebucking?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty easy once you get into the swing of things,” she starts whisking some batter with her mouth while talking, “bu’ I’ ‘akes a ‘iddle ‘acdice.” You assume that means “but it takes a little practice”.

“Alright, sounds fair enough.”

After you let Applejack finish with her cooking, a few minutes later the rest of the apple crew, including a sniffling Big Macintosh (who seems to know who you are already thanks to Apple Bloom) and a grandmother (who only looks you in the eye for a moment and then accepts you as is), walks down the steps and sits at the table, eager for a hearty early breakfast.

An extra plate is prepared at the end of the table, specifically for you. Thanking Applejack, you sit down and begin slowly munching on some muffins.

“So, yer Lunar Essence,” Big Macintosh states with a sniffle. “Mighty fine to meet you.” He gazes at you with slightly red eyes and a inflamed nose. The red and the green contrast (the green from near his nose...) told you enough that he's been fighting this for a while.

“Thanks, it’s nice to meet you too. I apologize for your ailment. I hope it gets better soon.”

“It’s nothin’, it’ll clear soon and I’ll be back on the fields,” he states with upmost insurance, but with a rather monotone and unchanging voice.

Mostly, the conversation after that was discussing who had what chores, many of which you tried to offer to help, but were denied due to your condition. I have amnesia, I’m not handicapped… All while that was happening, you enjoyed a meal with muffins, toast, some cooked hay (however the heck that worked…) and some apple juice.

By the time the rooster crowed, the family had already split up into their respective duties, with you following Applejack to the fields for your first lesson in the magnificent art of Applebucking.

She said it was going to be a little bit of a walk to the field where you’re going to be working today, so you figure you might as well start up a conversation.

A/N: nope, this isn’t the game changer, looks like that chapter won’t happen until much later. That’s what happens when you think of more ideas. As always, if I messed something up, slap me in the face and tell me what I missed.

Getting Stuck.

A/N: So, I’m not reduxing this like I had originally planned, however I am continuing this again. The sad part is that the updates will be very sporadic because I’m working on two other fanfictions that warrant higher priority, running a group, and I edit for a few people now. Plus school and other stuff. I just don’t have the time I used to have. I may be ending the story a lot earlier than planned because of this as well, but stay tuned.

“So, does applebucking take more than the name implies?” you ask formally.

“Actually just a little.” She grins back at you. “Hit it too light and the apples don’t fall. Hit it too hard and it flings them all over the place.”

“And if you hit just right?”

“Well… perhaps I’ll give you a demonstration. But just once yah hear?”

You nod as you feel that’s pretty fair. You continue to trot beside her, watching her Stetson bounce up and down against her yellow mane. She looks directly at you and you pretend like you’re looking into the distance at other trees. Subtle, very sublte.

You arrive at no particular tree in the vast orchard and she stands next to it. “Alright Mr. Essence, here’s how it works. You’re going to take your hind legs and hit it just below the middle of the tree.” She draws an imaginary circle at the proposed area. “You’ll want to hit it slightly up so that the force goes straight up.”

“Wow, that actually sounds-“

“I ain’t finished.” Applejack interrupts your… interruption and then promptly continues. “If the tree wobbles and not all the apples fall out, you’ve hit it too light. If they start flinging themselves like mad in everywhich way, you done it too hard. You’ll know if you hit it right.” She backs up and rotates her body, backside to the tree. With swift and brute force, she bucks the tree and every apple falls down into neat piles. You find that pretty astounding and unique

“Well, good luck. I’ll come back ‘round noon to check on your progress.”

“Thanks Applejack.” You try your hooves at bucking the nearest tree. Unsurprisingly, you hit it a little too softly and only several apples fell. You hear the farm mare scoff a bit in the distance; you can only assume she watched you fail. You look around for her, but she’s disappeared behind a few of the hills.

Trying again, you put in a little more “oomph” into striking the tree and the results are satisfactory. Only two apples remain in the branches and you decide to cheat a little and run up the tree and strike them down with a fore hoof.

~~~

The work is strenuous and the sun hasn’t moved much since you started. You’ve cleared the first ten trees with minimal difficulty, though each one takes a little more out of you than the previous. Sweat is drenching your head and you presume that you’re still a little weak from everything that’s happened thus far.

You approach the next one and look up. It’s a taller than the rest by a large margin and it’s got a huge collection of plump red fruit. You’re not entirely sure if you’re ready for this one, but it is in your section so it has to be done. You rear your hind legs back and give it a solid whack.

Nothing.

You add some more force to your next buck.

One apple falls.

You give it one more go. You actually do worse this time.

Dang, this one’s tougher.

You think that maybe you can get a running start, spin in midair and then whack it. The extra momentum should aid you in completing the task. You refuse to be beaten by something as stationary as a tree.

You run a few paces back.

Wipe your brow.

Focus on the trunk.

And run.

~~~

“Hey Lunar, I thought I’d come see- what the hay happened here!?” Applejack asks with extreme fervor.

“I got a little… stuck.” There’s apples littering the ground in perfect piles but you’ve gotten your back legs completely

wedged into the trunk.

So, I’ll know when I hit it just right huh…