The Old Green Mare

Granny Smith woke up in her rocking chair.  She had been having the strangest dream about how she was taking magic lessons from that nice lavender mare who was friends with Applejack.  The dream had been so vivid, too.  In the dream, she was a unicorn filly herself, with a white coat like that friend of Applebloom’s.  Granny Smith rocked herself back and forth a bit, contemplating what in Equestria the strange dream could possibly mean, or if it was all just a bunch of hokum from reading too many stories to her granddaughter before bedtime.

Feeling stiff (not unusual for a mare of her age), she stretched, expecting to hear her joints pop with a somewhat pleasurable pain that proved that she was still alive to face another day.  Today, there was neither, pleasure nor pain.  Not even a pop.

Now that ain’t normal, she thought, giving herself a routine neck adjustment.  Still nothing.  A lock of her mane had escaped the confines of her bun and drifted in front of her eyes in the process.  She gazed at it, curiously.

It was blonde.

Granny Smith didn’t remember going to the spa for a dye job.  As a matter of fact, she didn’t remember ever going to the spa… well, ever.  Leave those shenanigans to the young’uns, she figured.  Granted, she wasn’t about to let anyone call her old, but only a foal would delude herself into thinking that superficial treatments like hair dye and cucumbers on her eyes are what keeps a mare young.

Still, someone had apparently dyed her mane while she was asleep. She ruled out Big Macintosh on principle.  Applejack was too honest not to do such a thing without asking her permission first.  Applebloom, on the other hoof, probably thought that she could earn her salon cutie mark that way.

“Applebloom!” She called out to the filly.  The sound of her own voice surprised her a little.  Usually it was rather scratchy, full of clicks, pops, and white noise like the records she enjoyed listening to on occasion.  Today it was the steadiest she had heard it in ages.  It sounded almost—

“Was that you calling me, Granny Smith?” Applebloom asked as she entered the living room.  The filly stopped and stared at her grandmother with an odd look.  She looked as if she wanted to say more, but could not find the words to express herself.

“Yes, dearie.  Could you please be honest and tell your grandmother whether you had anything to do with this?” Granny Smith indicated her mane with a hoof, but Applebloom was no longer looking at her grandmother’s mane.

“I… um…”

“I’m sure your intentions were the best, dear, but I just wish you’da asked first.”

“I… um…”

“You can’t just go around dying your granny’s mane without her permission, y’know.”

“I… um… APPLEJACK!” the filly shrieked.  In an orange flash, her sister galloped into the room.

“Applebloom, what in tarnation are you yellin’ about at the top of your lungs?” Applejack said, both irritated and concerned.  The filly just pointed a hoof at their grandmother and shook her head, speechless.  The orange mare glanced at Granny Smith and turned back to Applebloom.  Then she did a double take and stared, mouth gaping open.

“Oh, stars above, is my mane really that bad?  Would one of you young’uns mind bringing me a mirror?  I’d get up, but my hip’s been acting all sorts of weird since I woke up, so I’d rather stay put just in case.  I do need to stop sleeping in this confounded chair…”

“Applebloom,” AJ began shakily.  “Y’all didn’t… um… do any crusadin’ activities involving your Granny, didja?”

“EeNope.”

“Just askin’,” the orange mare finished.

“Ya think we ought to get Twilight Sparkle over here?” the bow-maned filly asked.

“Eeyup.”

“Isn’t that the lavender one?” Granny Smith asked.  “If you ask me, I think the white unicorn friend of yours is better for fixing bad mane days.  Now would one of you please get your old Granny that mirror?”

“I’m not so sure that’s a good ide—“

“Mirror!”

“Yes ma’am.”

Applejack bolted from the room, returning a few minutes later with a full length glass that had been taken off of her bedroom door.

“Ya didn’t have anything smaller?” Applebloom asked.

“Do I look like Rarity?  I don’t carry one of those little frou-frou kits on me to ‘freshen up’ while I’m out bucking apples.”

“Well, what are you waitin’ fer?  Bring it over,” Granny said, her patience wearing thin.

“Now Granny, just so you know, it’s not necessarily bad, it’s just—“

“I’ll be the judge of that, thank you very much.”

Applejack sighed and turned the mirror to face her grandmother.

“Well I’ll be…”

Her mane was blonde again, although it was still done up in her familiar bun, the strand that had fallen into her eyes non-withstanding.  Her eyes no longer drooped.  Heck, nothing on her drooped anymore.  She removed herself from the rocking chair, realizing that she needed to climb down from it, but that it didn’t hurt her to do so.  She walked right up to the mirror.  Her double in the glass did the same.  They made silly faces, and stretched their muzzles with their hooves until she was satisfied that the familiar stranger staring back was indeed her own reflection.

“Merciful Celestia, I’m a filly again.”