What My Cutie Mark is Telling Me

Chapters

What's in a name?
On The Road
Look at Us, We're Family!

What's in a name?

Pinkamena Diane Pie was different, she had known that for a while, her father Clyde Pie was dull copper. Her mother Sue and her sisters Blinkie and Inkie were shades of gray. But Pinkamena was different, she was pink. Granny Pie had told her she was special. She told her she was meant for great things, but Pinkamena didn’t feel special.

The rock farm was a ways away from Vanhoover. It was cold and nothing wanted to grow. Her family cultivated rocks for their income. Often one could ask what they were used for, but the Pies knew their many uses and so did their clients.

Her parents and sisters were content with their lives. Stock, rotate, harvest, sell, stock, this process was repeated on and on as far back as she could remember. Upon wishing to play with her sisters they would merely shrug, murmuring something about being too tired.

Unlike her family, she wasn’t content. She didn’t like the unsatisfying work that came from rocks. The rocks were so dull and dead. They didn’t grow or change, they remained unyielding, always gray,always the same- rather like her family.But she loved her family, she really did. Sure, at times they were strict and grumpy, but family was family.

One day, out of boredom when the rock rotating had been done, she wandered off into the nearby forest. Now, this forest wasn’t like those big green forests. It had thin gray trunks and dying leaves all-year round. When she had been even younger Granny Pie had told her of living, healthy trees. She’d say they were the most vibrant greens and grew the most delicious apples. Apples of all colors; red, green, yellow, they must have been such dazzling sights. She never got to see green, and the only yellow was the sun. She would see red when she cut herself on the sharp rocks though. But she liked red. Red was apples, red was life, red was not gray.

She smiled in the breeze, walking deeper into the dry forest. Her blue eyes scanning the gray, until they came upon a splash of color. She slowly walked towards it, a small, thin tree was growing there. Small green leaves stuck out, with a few dying leaves around it, and hanging in the center was a pink bloom. Hungrily, she stared at the tree, absorbing its tiny green leaves, and pink little flower. The tree was small and weak, many dried blossoms lay upon the floor. ‘It’s dying,’ she thought. Her eyes widened. She’d been smiling, thought she only noticed when she felt a frown creep back into her face.‘I can’t let it die,’ Pinkamena thought. Remembering an old spring nearby, she quickly trotted off.

Upon arriving, she found that it was still frozen over from last winter. Grabbing a stick in her mouth she began chipping at the ice until a steady stream replaced the ice. She put her mouth to the stream and held the icy water in her cheeks to their capacity. Pinkamena ran back to the tree and spat the water onto it. She did this several more times until the earth around it was completely moist.

She caught herself smiling at the little tree again, when a crow cawed in the distance. Looking up, she saw the sun was setting. “Ah’ll be back later.” she said and trotted off.

The next day a storm from Vanhoover kept the Pies inside all day. Her father and mother spoke of business, while her sisters played with their rock collections. Pinkamena pushed a chair to the window, her short, chubby legs too small to give her any visibility outside. “Pa, do yah think the storm is gonna get worse?” She asked her father, turning to him.

Her father looked at her, confused, “Ah don’t know, Pinkamena. But it don’t matter none, the rocks can take it.” He said giving her a reassuring look. She smiled back and looked back out to the brambly trees in the distance.

The next day the fields were too muddy to work and their parents had given the girls the day to play.

“Pinkamena, do ya wanna go looking for rocks?” Blinkie asked.

“Yeah, the storm could have brought some cool new ones!” Inkie agreed.

“Uhm... I think I’ll walk around, girls.” She answered, though her sisters’ smiles deflated. “But I’ll keep an eye out for any good ones.” Her sisters smiled back and trotted off into one of the fields.

She walked up to her mother, who sat knitting a gray scarf near the door. “Ma, do we have a watering pail?” Pinkamena asked.

Sue looked at her, confused. “No dear we don’t. Don’t have any use for one. Why?”

“Oh, no reason,” Pinkamena simpered meekly and trotted off to the trees. When she arrived at the tree she gasped in horror. It had been uprooted and laid on the floor. With her little hooves she began digging a hole and gently placed the tree in, filling it with dirt afterwards. But the little tree still wilted. Looking around she found a tall branch. With all the might her little body had she dragged it to the tree. After several exhausting minutes she was able to place the branch as a support. She smiled, and went to the stream again to fetch water for the little tree. After finishing, she sat down in front of it and admired it again.

The leaves were as green as last time, with the small pink blossom holding on tight to a scrawny branch. “It sure is hard work, but it’s worth it.” She beamed.

And so this continued for several months. Pinkamena would sneak off to the forest when done with her chores and would take care of her little tree. Each time, more green leaves appeared and the little tree grew stronger. Only the one blossom grew, but each time she visited, it was more beautiful and vibrant. At the end of the watering and any other miscellaneous works she would stare at the tree. The tree had become an indulgence to her, with its bright living colors in a desert of gray. Each and every time, her eyes gazed at the hues of green, the sturdy brown trunk and the ever-beautiful pink blossom. She loved this tree. It was her little secret, her sin. Life amongst the dead.

And so time continued with the young filly, her tree ever growing and life never changing. In time her sisters gained their cutie marks, related to rocks of course. But little Pinkamena couldn’t get hers. At times she would complain to her mother, but she would smile and say, “Don’t worry, in time you too shall have a rock of sorts upon your flank.”

At night, while her sisters slept, she would ponder her mother’s words. She tried imagining a stone on her flank, but she couldn’t, even with all the imagination Granny Pie had told her she had. ‘A rock cutie mark...’ Her heart felt heavy for some reason thinking about it. ‘I don’t think I want a rock cutie mark...’ She felt a pang of guilt, how not to want to have one? It was her family’s business, they all had one,Ma, Pa, her sisters, even Granny Pie. ‘But ah don’t want one!’ she screamed in her head. Upset with herself, her mind drifted to her tree.

It was still small, barely taller than her. She smiled at the thought of its green leaves compared to the gray all around. She thought of the pink blossom, the only one, so pretty and filled with expectancy. ‘I wonder what kind of tree it is?’ She asked herself. She couldn’t figure it out. She had never seen another like it and and none of the books at home spoke of trees. But still, she continued to care for it. Finally lulling herself to sleep with thought of what the fruit would be.

Winter came again, as brutal as ever, but Pinkamena kept visiting her tree. The leaves were not as green, nor the blossom as pink, but with her help they prevailed to the end. Spring was a few weeks away after she heard her father mock something called Winter Wrap-Up. He said it was some foolish thing they were doing in the south, instead of using magic, like Vanhoover did.

Pinkamina didn’t agree though. She smiled, thinking of her little tree, it must be beautiful being part of bringing new life, waking critters and and planting seeds. ‘PLANTING!’, she thought ‘how fun!’ Often, Pinkamena had thought of trying to grow more trees, but she had no seeds, and to ask her father would be suicidal. She had remembered the last time she had been foolish enough to mention growing nature to her father. It had been several months ago:

“Pa, why do we farm rocks?” She had asked at dinner.

Her father looked at her. “Pinkamena, you know why, we sell them for uses like- ” But he was cut off.

“No, I don’t mean that. I mean why rocks? Why not plants, like flowers or trees?”

Her parents looked at her like she had just said a foul word.

“Why grow plants, that’s so boring. Rocks are better”, her sisters said in unison.

Her father cleared his throat. “Pinkamena, the Pies have a rich history of being rock farmers, why would we throw it all away?” he said bluntly.

“I don’t know... I guess you’re right...” She frowned.

It was a memory Pinkamena did not like. That day she had felt so isolated. Never had she felt so distant from her family. Never again did she mention trees, instead keeping her little indulgence to her self.

Pinkie awoke the following day to the sun in her face. After a breakfast of plain oatmeal, she and her sisters headed outside to rotate the rocks again. This lasted until late afternoon, and by then Pinkamena was too tired to move. But she had to go water her tree. Her tired muscles groaned when she got up.

“Ah’m gonna walk,” she told her sisters and left towards the trees.

By then she had acquired a bucket for the water instead of carrying it by the mouthful. The last rays of Celestia’s sun cast a shadow upon the tree as Pinkamena indulged on its colors. She looked at the blossom when she noticed a round bulge forming from it.

Though the bulge was small, she recognized it. Granny Pie had brought this for her when she came back from one of her trips to Vanhoover, an apple. Pinkamina stared at the young fruit with bewildered joy. Yes, the fruit was green and unripe, but nonetheless it was there. Pinkamena could not stop smiling, this was the largest smile she could ever remember having. She could not wait to see it ripen. Gently, she touched the little bulge with her hoof, feeling bliss. After several minutes more she adjusted the tree’s support and left.

Each day she visited her tree, and just like the apple, she felt herself growing. Many a time her family would question her whereabouts, but she would nervously dismiss them. Pinkamena felt bad lying to her family, but she had no other choice.

Slowly spring came, the birds flew by more often and the apple began to show shades of red. But along with the apple, her father’s suspicions grew as well.

“Pinkamena, where do you go all the time?” her father would ask.

“Just walking around seems boring, that’s not like you,” her sisters would say.

One day, after Pinkamena had come back from preening the tree by hoof, a leaf fell out of her mane at dinner.

“Where did you get that leaf?” her mother asked.

“Oh um...I fell, it must have flown from one of the trees,” Pinkamena stuttered.

Her father looked at her. “All the trees around here don’t have leaves, it can’t be from them.”

“O-oh well...I don’t know then...he...he. Um...Mother, may I have some more hay casserole?” She said.

Her family looked at her suspiciously, but her sisters began talking about their rock collection, and Pinkamena’s leaf was dropped.

It was in the middle of the spring when the apple had fully ripened. She had snuck away from the middle of her chores to come look at it. It was big and red, as big as a saucer. She sat there looking at it, her heart filled with pride. She stared at it until she could only see red in her mind. Its beautiful greens and red, the sweet smell. The feeling of life that surrounded it. An oasis in a desert.

But looking at it she felt sad. “Now what?”

Did she just eat it? Hide it till it rots? Tell her family the truth? No she couldn’t tell them, her father would be mad, a rock farmer growing apples. She looked at her little tree, with bittersweet emotion. This would be the only apple, even with her little knowledge of agriculture she knew the tree was stunted. After a time the tree would grow no longer, no more blossoms would come back. The trunk was rubbery and would always need a support. She understood, it had been a miracle it had even grown at all. A miracle that an apple bloomed, as if it’s destiny had been magically changed. But it didn’t matter, this tree has given her so much. She reached to touch the trunk, but heard a squelch of mud from behind. Immediately she turned around.

Her family stood there. Their eyes shifted from her to the tree. Pinkamina stood in front of her tree unable to speak.

“Pinkamena, what is this?” Her father said bluntly.

“I-it’s an a-apple tree...” She whimpered.

“Pinkamena, did you grow it?” he said without emotion.

She couldn’t answer him, she was too afraid.

“Answer me, Pinkamena.”

“Yes,” she said, lowering her head.

“Pinkamina, we are rock farmers. It would have been one thing if it was something else like horseshoe making or-or something else...but apples... You betray the rock farm!” He said, his voice icy. His words cut her like a sharpened knife and sapped her of hope.

She looked at her mother and sisters, they didn't look at her. Her father walked to the tree and, with a swift buck, broke the support. The tree wilted. Pinkamina tried reaching her father, but her mother grabbed her and pulled her to her chest. Her sisters hid behind her. Her father continued to step on the tree, as tears fell down her cheeks, dampening her fur. Eventually she sunk her head into her mother’s chest, only to hear the crunching of wood and squish of mud.

Finally her mother released her and Pinkamena turned to the tree. Broken branches and dirty leaves lay everywhere. There vibrant colors fading even now, covered in the gray mud. And in the center lay the apple, bruised and covered in the dull muck. With shaky hooves she gingerly picked it up. and rubbed part of the mud on her fur. The apple shined from behind. She looked at her father, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Pinkamena, it was for your own good.” he said, panting lightly.

“Dear, we did this ‘cause we love ya,” her mother agreed with a weak smile.

Her eyebrows furrowed and she clenched her teeth. “T-this is what love is?” She gasped. “This is love?! No, it’s not!” Tears poured more heavily and she began to rub the mud off the apple furiously.

“Don’t you raise your voice at me young mare,” her father said.

“No! I loved this tree! It was the only good thing here! I hate farming rocks! Hate it!” she screamed, tears not falling continuously. “Ma, Pa, sisters...Ah love ya, but I don’t want to do this all my life. Growing this tree was the best thing to happen to me! I loved that apple tree!”

Suddenly she felt a sensation on her flanks and a small flash from the back of her eyes. Her parents stared at her, wide-eyed, her father like she was toxic. She turned around to see her flank. Upon it was a trio of red apples.

“You. Are. Grounded!” he yelled.

Pinkamena had never been grounded. She was always good filly. She had never yelled at her parents or gone against them. She didn’t do it because they were family and family loved one another. But she had yelled at them. She had been rebellious.

“No, Pa, you can’t. Ah did nothing wrong,” she said, hurt.

“Pinkamena Diane Pie! I am your father, you will obey me,” he said.

“A father lets his little filly find her own talent, not force her to get a dumb rock. This is my free will. Destiny chose this for me, this was meant to happen!”

“You better stop now...” He said.

“Clyde, maybe you should let her-” Sue began but was interrupted by him.

“No. No daughter of mine will be like this.”

“Then ah WON’T be your daughter!” She froze at what she had just said. Pinkie gasped at her own words. But it was too late to take it back.

Inkie and Blinkie stood wide-eyed behind their mother. “Is that how its going to be? I knew I should have kept you away from Granny Pie, she gave all these wild ideas.”

She loved pa, but she loved Granny too. She had always told her to giggle at the ghosties, to be herself. So yes she did give her these ideas, but no they were not bad.

“Granny Pie loved me! She treated me like myself, not like another rock farmer!” Pinkamena cried. “If that’s how you feel pa, A-Ah don’t think ah want to live here.”

“Fine! Leave, but I’ll be waiting for you to came back, begging for forgiveness.” He roared.

Pinkamena held on to her apple and ran to her home. She ran to her room and opened up a suitcase, beginning to pack her few possessions immediately. She heard the door open. There was yelling downstairs, but Pinkamena ignored it. She finished packing her few things along with the apple. Pinkamina shattered her piggy bank and put her few bits in a small bag around her neck.

Case in mouth, she trotted downstairs. Her mother and sisters stood together looking sad. Her father separated, with an angry face. She looked straight to the door and marched to it.

“Pinkamena, don’t leave,” Blinkie said, her other sister nodding in agreement.

“Inkaline, Blinkany, let her be. She chose this,” their father said.

Pinkamena walked faster, looking at her mother for the last time. She was silently crying. Pinkamena gave her a sad smile and walked out. Closing the door for the last time.

She began running as fast as she could. Past the house, past the farm gate, past the dead trees. When she was a ways away she stopped, gasping for breath. Releasing her case, she fell to the floor and sobbed. Looking to her flanks, she looked at the apples now residing there. She felt a great warmth in her chest. Again, she stood, grabbed her case, and began walking towards Vanhoover.

On The Road

Pinkamina had never known how far her home was from Vanhoover. Night had fallen, the moon being her only company. She walked on an old, trodden path through rocky dirt. Her case felt heavy by now, and she had been forced to leave a few things behind a while back. Wearily, she walked on, her stomach groaning with pangs of hunger, but she did her best to ignore it. Occasionally taking out the apple, she would consider eating it, but she would always end up sighing and putting it away.

Walking had always given her mind space to wander, and right now was no exception. She thought back to earlier that day. How the turn of events had come to be, in which her life had gone awry. She would never have thought that she would do something so crazy in her life. She chuckled at the thought of Granny Pie saying that Pinkamena was special.

She had always wondered about what her cutie mark would be, getting excited every time, but this wasn’t what she had planned. She had not planned to have to lose her family because of it. But if this was her true destiny, who was she to argue?

Pinkamina reached the top of a hill, and up ahead she saw something spectacular. The city lights were beautiful, like little stars shining nonstop. She had never seen something like this. Pinkamena began to trot quickly, eager to arrive, but soon a realization came to her. Where was she going? What was she going to do? Pinkamena didn’t have any other known relatives and she had never left the farm. ‘I guess I’ll figure it out when I get there.’

Thirty minutes later, she arrived at the city of Vanhoover. The city was paved with tall buildings and shining lights. Pinkamena had never seen so many ponies. They walked the streets talking to each other, chatting and laughing. She stood wide-eyed, so many ponies, of so many colors. She continued walking and saw a blue balloon pass her. She watched it for awhile and continued.

Normally a little filly would have been frightened, but for some reason Pinkamena didn’t feel that way. The crowds of ponies walking and laughing together somehow comforted her. The sounds of their laughing made her grin as if she herself had heard a joke. Whether the ponies were in a club, partying, or just strolling the nighttime streets, the sense of life and happiness helped Pinkamena forget her woes.

After some time of exploring the city, her legs began to feel heavy. Pinkamena walked until she found a hotel. She pulled out her bag and counted her bits. ‘Not enough’ she thought after looking at a sign with prices. With no other option, she walked into an alley and looked around. She found a box big enough for her. Pinkamena entered and pulled out her gray scarf from her case. Wrapping it around herself, she fell asleep, occasionally waking to stirs of alley cats or rats.

Next morning she awoke. At first she was confused, but memories flashed back to her head. Sadness filled her, but then hunger replaced it. Opening the suitcase she picked up the apple as evil ideas from her hunger came to her. She was about to bite when she heard voices from outside the alley.

“But I don’t like mustard!” a young colt cried.

“Then why didn’t you tell me!?” a mare answered.

“I-I don’t know!” he sobbed.

“Fine just throw it away,” she said.

Something in a wrapper hit her box and landed in front of her hooves. Pinkamina opened the wrapper to find an uneaten tofu dog with mustard. Wiping off the mustard, she quickly swallowed it. She combed back her straight pink mane and walked out with her suitcase. Her eyes widened. Vanhoover was beautiful by day too, even with no flickering lights, the skyscrapers’ shiny surfaces reflected colors onto the pavement .

She began walking and looking around. After several minutes of aimless trotting, she came upon a park. Her eyes widened as she saw the flora within. She began running, her case constantly hitting her chest as she ran in.

Dropping her case, she gawked, open-jawed at the beauty surrounding her. Her head span to take in all the sights. Even in the northern cold weather, the grass felt warm, a gentle breeze lifting her mane. The trees, vibrant and bright, stood over her as guardians of life and nature. She hid her case in a bush and ran to a patch of flowers. Happily she smelled them, her nose hungrily taking in every whiff. Finally, after trotting to and fro in euphoria, she fell to the grass, rolling in its warmth. She smelled the earthy moistness and sighed.

Upon opening her eyes again, she saw a filly’s head looking at her from above.

“Are you okay?” the filly asked, tilting her head.

Pinkamena rolled over and sat up. “Yeah.” She grinned.

The filly giggled. “In that case, Hi! I’m Daisy Drops, what’s your name?”

“Hi, i’m Pinkamena!” She answered at her new company.

“Do you wanna play?” Daisy asked, jumping in place.

Pinkamena grinned, nodding her head. Her sisters never wanted to play, so for her this was new. Together they ran further into the park, playing tag and chasing butterflies. They picked flowers and put them in their manes, Daisy being rather happy with braiding them into Pinkamena’s long pink mane. At one point Daisy had began to call her by Pinkie, but Pinkamena didn’t mind. She liked the sound of it. Pinkie sounded nice and friendly.

It was late in the afternoon when, from a distance, a mare’s voice called out, “Daisy, where are you?”

Daisy stopped running and called out, “Over here, mommy!”

The mare came into view and waved at her daughter. “Is this your new friend?” She said, looking at Pinkamena. The filly nodded her head, looking at Pinkamena.

“Well it’s time to go, say goodbye.” Her mother smiled.

“Bye Pinkie!” The filly giggled. “Maybe we can play tomorrow!”

Pinkamena agreed and watched as the mare put the filly on her back and flew home, the giggling filly holding tight.

Pinkamena sat there awhile after they left. She felt lonely now. Having watched the mother reminded her of her own. The pain in her heart returned, “Ma probably made dinner, they should be eating now.” Pinkamena’s stomach rumbled, the day of play had given her an appetite. She walked back to the bush she had hidden her case in.

Pinkamena retrieved her case and walked out of the park, as to where she would go, she knew not. She just began to wander again. Her hunger persisted and gnawed at her. As she walked, a shop’s window caught her eye. She stopped and looked at it.

The window showed pastries of all kinds, with rainbows of frosting. She closed her eyes, breathing in the warm scent.

“Would you like a free sample?” a mare asked.

Pinkamena turned around to see a mare levitating a tray with cupcakes. Eagerly nodding Pinkamena took one and ate it in a bite.

The mare looked at her and gave her a sympathetic smile. “Here have another,” she said and levitated another to Pinkamena.

Pinkamena beamed and took it, this time eating it slower, enjoying the sweet taste. Ma only ever made raisin bread. The toasty sponge warmed her mouth as the sweet frosting enlightened her tastebuds. She grinned at the delicate taste, never before had Pinkie tasted such sweetness. Licking the last crumbs, she thanked the mare and walked away.

Night fell again, and ponies began to come out to enjoy the night’s festivities. But Pinkamena was too tired. Slowly, she began to search for a place to sleep for the night. She came to a train station and, looking around, she found a rusty train car. The door was barely big enough for her. She pulled out her scarf and apple, leaving her case hidden in a bush nearby. She would sleep in the cart and get it tomorow. Squeezing through the slit, she went in. The cart was damp and dark, with only a sliver of moonlight. Pinkamena stumbled around until she found a pile of musty hay. Shifting into the the stack, hugging the apple, she hid with only her muzzle poking out.

A sudden jolt awoke her in the middle of the night. The train car had begun to move, so she quickly jumped out of the hay. Pushing her head through the slit, she watched as the train car began to gain speed. The train car had been connected at some point to a train. In a matter of moments the bush with her case was nothing but a blur. The train continued to gain speed, her flat hair whipping in the breeze as her few possessions diminished into the distance. There was nothing she could do now, there was no way to exit without injury. Sadly, she returned to the musty hay and fell asleep, snuggling the apple.

A ribbon of light hit her eyes as she awoke. She squinted at the light in her face and got up, rubbing her eyes. The train continued to roar on the tracks. Her stomach grumbled with dull aches of pain. It had been a long while since she had enjoyed a full meal. She missed her mother's casseroles, flavorless or not.

Pinkamena looked around, and stopped at the hay she slept in. The hay was too musty and had mold in some corners, to rotten to eat. She picked up her apple, noticing that it had become darker and bruised, it would no longer last. Her salvation and doom, and it had come to its end. With sadness, she bit into it. It tasted bland and warm in her dry mouth. It tasted rundown and dead. “I guess this is the end...” She sighed, again biting into the soft apple. She looked at it again and noticed a single seed. Pulling it out, she placed it in her bag with her bits and finished the apple.

She sat the edge of the car, her head poking out. Her hair snapped about in the wind, occasionally causing her to lose her vision. She watched as she passed lush grassy fields swaying in the breeze, soaring mountain ranges blocking the sunlight momentarily, their high peaks snow capped, long rivers carving the earth in hundred year old paths. Never had she seen so much beauty in her life. These were things only mentioned and told, but never seen. The sun glowed brightly, casting its warm and loving glow over Equestria, shading the valleys and forests. How could these marvels have evaded her? Truly now, her rock farm had held her from so many things. Her wanderings in the dry forest had changed her life.

She felt a liberty in her heart, her pains flying into the wind, dead leaves no longer weighing her down. Her branches would look bare for she had no family, but with time new, more glorious leaves would grow in their place.

The train continued its journey throughout the whole day, taking her to the next chapter of her new life. The ride was long and her muscles would ache, but never did she tire. Pinkamena knew that this was her destiny, wherever it might lead.

It was late afternoon when she couldn’t stand the hunger again. It came to her stomach, groaning, eating at her insides, taking away her ability to think of anything else. Wobbly from the train’s motion and lack of a real meal, she carried herself to the pile of hay. Digging through it with shaky hooves, she pulled out strands that looked cleaner and had no mold. The hay was dry and smelled like mothballs. It tickled her throat as she chewed, softly crunching it between her teeth. Finally, when she could stand no more of the taste and the groans had subsided, she lay on the hay, trying to wash the taste out with her saliva.

Celestia lowered her sun, making way for the young moon. The moon’s soft glow lit a section of the floor where the door was open. She sat in the moonlight. Pinkamena took off her bag, and looked at her possessions. Her gray scarf, a few bits, and the seed. Putting the seed and bits back in the bag, she put the bag and scarf on. How quickly she had lost so many things. Not only her material things, but others, like her family, her home and the only ponies she knew. And for what, a cutie mark? A tree? She pounded her hoof on the floor. “Why!? Why did this happen!?” She cried into the wind. Tears began to trickle down her cheeks, and she fell asleep. Pinkamena might have been a tree unburdened by dead leaves, but she certainly didn’t feel like a living one yet. More like a bare trunk still waiting for new life.

Next morning she awoke, combing her hooves through her dishevelled mane and stretching to relieve her hunger-cramped muscles. She sat at the edge for a long time after brushing and stretching. The sun was high in the sky when the train began to scale a mountain, Pinkamena marvelling as it ascended. Up ahead she could see a towering city. High pillars and turrets that forced her to crane her neck. Gleaming buildings and domes, flags flying in the breeze. Several minutes later, it slowed down into a station. At a full stop, she pushed through and jumped out, careful not be seen. She squinted in the light after having been in her darkness so long. Pinkamena climbed the stairs of the platform and looked around. The floors and wall were of white stone, with ponies dressed in stately outfits were walking around. Looking up, she saw a sign reading ‘Canterlot Train Station’.

Pinkamena gazed at the glory in front of her. The white stone towers and arches, the glossy marble pillars and floors. White limestone carved into turrets and decorative domes, an Equestrian flag flying in the breeze at the tip of the highest. Her father would have fainted at the sight.

She made her way to a bench and sat, taking in the glory of the capital. Her stomach moaned, and a wave of nausea hit her. She closed her eyes, putting her head to the cool wall behind her. Pinkamena let the coolness be absorbed as she waited for the disgust to leave her.

She felt another pony sit next to her. She opened her eyes to see a filly her age sat alongside her. The filly had a nothing but a handkerchief bag on a stick. She kept mumbling to herself with worry on her face. Pinkamena didn’t like to see her frowning, even if she didn’t know her.

“Is something wrong?” Pinkamena asked.

The filly turned to her, “It’s just that ah’m gonna see ma relatives in Manehattan, and ah’m more nervous than a worm on apple-cider making day,” she said. “What if they don’t like me?”

“Well, you’ll never know ‘till you get there, just get there and smile. Smiling makes everything better.” Pinkamena remembered Granny telling her that.

The filly smiled weakly. A train whistled in the distance as a call for Manehattan was made.

“That’s mine, thank yah.” The filly said with a wave of farewell and trotted of.

Pinkamena waved back and got up. She left the train station and wandered through the streets of Canterlot. The ponies all around her walked with noses in the air and looks of superiority written across their features. As she continued to walk, she felt herself become heavier, and a constant shiver came to her. Even though the sun heated the city, rays of warm light bouncing from its white walls, Pinkamena couldn’t stay warm. She wrapped her scarf closer to herself, trying to hold back the shivering. Occasionally her vision would blur and she would find herself on the floor.

The dull ache of hunger came again. She pulled out her bits and looked around. She arrived at a doughnut shop. A light amber colt with green eyes stood behind the counter.

Pinkamena used her only bits to buy a doughnut and walked off. She sat on bench and devoured it in few bites. Suddenly, nausea hit her again and she ran to the nearest trash can to release the doughnut.

Her body shivered again as a headache began to develop. Trembling, she got up and again began to walk through the streets. Everywhere she went, ponies looked at her with disgust and lifted their noses at her. She came to a mirror in front of a shop and looked at herself.

Her coat was dirty and her pink mane a mess. She looked pale and frail. She had bags under her eyes and looked no more than a street urchin.

She meandered through the city looking for something, anything. Pinkamena trotted shakily through the city, shivering every step, even under the glow of the sun. Arriving at a fountain, she gulped the cool water down, fighting back disgust.

“Hey young filly, hold on there.” A voice called out.

Pinkamena looked back to see a guard walking towards her, his tall figure and sharp spear looking menacing. PInkamena immediately began to run away, the guard running behind her. She swerved through the streets, crashing into ponies, trying to hide. Had she done something bad? Another guard joined him in calling out to her. But Pinkamena continued to gallop, with every step her head aching more. She reached the the entry gate of Canterlot and ran out of the city. Quickly, she hid in a nearby bush. The guards stopped at the gate looking for her, but soon left to search elsewhere.

She got out of the bush and stood panting, trying to catch her breath. Now that she no longer could return to the city, she gradually walked down the path away from Canterlot. Pinkamena knew not in which direction she headed, only following the path. She could no longer control her shaking and her headache began to blind her, stopping any thought. Down the the road she trod, trying to ignore the pain. Several times she had to run to a bush, only to retch, the taste of rotten hay in her mouth. As she walked the path she would stumble into blackness, having to pick herself up. After walking for some time she came to a hill with a sign, welcoming her to ’Ponyville’.

With slow, steps she continued walking. Her heart beat heavily, and she continued to black out, but quickly regained her steps. At last she arrived at the small town. All around ponies walked, chatting and laughing, in their own world.

Pinkamena walked through the streets of the village, trying to keep her head down. But with every step her vision became less and less, and her hooves felt more and more like lead weights. Her loss of vision came to a point where she hit something soft. Even the gentle blow was too much for her tenuous consciousness. She fainted, and the last thing she saw was a red figure standing over her.

Look at Us, We're Family!

It was warm, she was comfortable, there was something cold on her forehead. It smelled like apples, apples and warmth. Slowly, Pinkamena opened her eyes, and warm light blinded her. An ice pack rested on her forehead and a blanket atop her. The quilt felt snug and soft, the apple-patterned quilt hugged her weak body. But she did not know where she was, so with much struggle she sat up, her knees shaking in the process. She sat up weakly, the ice pack falling off of her. Her vision blurred, but finally settled. Looking around, she found herself in a bedroom. It was a simple room with a bed and nightstand. A small desk and a window. She looked towards the door.

At that moment she heard hoofsteps, and a pony stood at the door. A lanky red colt, who seemed to trip over his newly long legs looked at her stunned. His eyes widened as they exchanged a stare.

“Hi,” Pinkamena said.

“Granny!” the colt screamed, horrified, and ran out.

Pinkamena sat there as she heard an exchange of voices outside the bedroom and a pair of hoofsteps were heard again. An old green mare came into the room, followed by the colt hiding behind her.

“You feelin’ better youngin’?” the mare asked caringly.

“Yeah... where am I?”

“This here’s Sweet Apple Acres.” she answered proudly.

Pinkamena looked around the room again as if the room itself was the entirety of the said place. “How’d I get here?”

“I was sittin’ in the kitchen when Little Mac burst in with you on his back crying that he had killed somepony. Ain’t that right Little Mac?” she replied, turning to the colt hiding behind her. The colt didn’t respond.

The old mare walked over to Pinkamena and put her head to her forehead. “Yer fever has gone down...yah hungry?”

Pinkamena nodded as her stomach agreed, she thought back to the last meal she had with her family. It felt so long ago now.

“Come downstairs youngin’, made apple pie.” The old mare pulled the blankets off the filly and helped her off the bed.

Pinkamena got off the bed and wobbled in her place. She took a few shaky steps, Lil’ Mac noticed this, and putting aside his fear, walked to her from behind the mare. He stood next to Pinkamena, giving support. She smiled at him as they walked out of the room to the stairs just outside the hall. They walked downstairs, Pinkamena leaning on the colt the whole way down. At times she would lose her footing and would have to put more weight on the colt. They came into a large living room and was led to a dining room. Lil’ Mac helped her sit down at a chair and quickly stood away from her.

“Let me go get tha pie.” The old mare said and walked out, leaving the two foals alone.

Pinkamena looked at the red colt again and smiled, he responded by lowering his ears and shrinking.

“What’s wrong? Ah ain’t gonna bite” Pinkamena smiled encouragingly.

Lil’ Mac examined the pink filly. He lifted his ears back and took a small step towards her, his small thin frame shaking. He looked at her again, she continued to grin at him.

Pinkamena giggled. “You're funny,” She giggled. “Wanna be friends?”

At this Lil’ Mac looked at her quizzically, unsure of what he had heard. He opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by Granny Smith returning, a pie balanced on her back.

“Lil’ Mac, sit down, let’s have some pie.” she motioned to her grandson. “Yah ain’t allergic to anything are yah?” Granny Smith asked Pinkamena.

Pinkamena shook her head as the old mare served the foals and gave herself a slice. “So youngin’, what’s yer name?”

Pinkamena put down her fork and looked at the two ponies. “Pinkamena Diane Pie.”

The two farm ponies raised an eyebrow at the extensive name. They repeated the name simultaneously. Pinkamena didn’t like how her name sounded coming from them. She had always felt fine with her name, but it sounded wrong now. With their slow southern drawl the name sounded forced and too gaudy. That name was the name of a pony who needed an interesting name to replace their uninteresting life and she didn’t want to be uninteresting. She had left because she didn’t like uninteresting. No, she wanted to be interesting, special, something else.

“B-but you can call me Pinkie Pie.” she gave a weak smile.

The old mare smiled, “Well then, Pinkie Pie, eat up, yah need yer strength.”

Pinkie liked how this name sounded, yes, this was her name now, Pinkie Pie. She nodded and dug into the dessert. Pinkie Pie was a good name for an interesting pony.

The pie was delicious. The warm apple slices, sweetened with cinnamon, tingled on her tongue. The crust was warm and and fluffy. The moist crust and sweet apples combined together to make a perfect combination that she had never experienced before. Pinkie smiled and finished the pie in a bite. Crumbs stuck to her lips but soon were gone with a swish of her tongue.

“May I please have more?” Pinkie asked, pushing over her plate.

Granny Smith passed her another slice, as Little Mac still picked at his first slice. “When’s the last time yah ate?”

“Umm... ah don’t know, a couple days?” PInkie questioned herself.

“Now why in Celestia’s name is that?” Granny asked.

“Well, there was nothing to eat.” Pinkie frowned.

“Young filly, there is grass everywhere. If worst come to worst, why didn’ you eat that?” Granny reprimanded.

Pinkie looked at her confused, “A-Ah didn’t know you could eat grass.”

At this response Mac looked at Pinkie incredulously. “Yah didn’t know?”

Pinkie shrugged. “At home nothing grows, really. So I only eat things that last long, like hay or oatmeal. I’d never really had anything fresh.”

“Well Pinkie, if it’s green eat it.” Granny finalized. “So, Pinkie Pie, where are yah from?”

“A little north of Vanhoover.” Pinke answered as she took another piece off her plate, this time savoring it.

“That’s quite the distance, come here with yer family?” Granny asked.

Pinkie looked at Granny Smith and lowered her eyes. “A-ah came on my own.”

Granny Smith looked at the filly with knowing eyes. She saw pain in her blue eyes, their shine was gone as the crumb-filled lips quivered in a frown. Granny Smith understood the filly was hiding a wound that was still healing.

“Well... we have a spare room...” Granny said in a soft tone.

Pinkie looked up, ears perking as confusion showed on her face. “Do y-yah mean I can stay with you?”

Granny Smith nodded. Lil’ Mac dropped his fork, softly clinking on the plate. His eyes widened as he looked between his granny and the now smiling filly. “B-but Granny, where she gonna sleep?”

“In the spare room,” she answered.

“It’s not spare! It belongs tah-” he cried.

“Pinkie Pie.” Granny interrupted matter-of-factly.

Lil’ Mac frowned. A foal’s cry was heard up stairs. He hopped off the seat, hooves clopping loudly on the floor. “Apple Bloom's awake.” He grumbled and went upstairs. Pinkie watched him climb the steps, his small hooves angrily thudding up the stairs.

“Is he okay? Did ah do something?” Pinkie asked.

“Nah, just needs tah get use to another mare in the house. How ‘bout ah introduce you to the youngest apple?” Granny Smith smiled.

“Okay, Granny Smith.”

“Sugarcube, since yah live under this house yer family. Call me Granny.”

Pinkie nodded happily and headed upstairs with Granny.

They headed to one of the rooms, and as they got closer Pinkie could hear a baby’s coo. They entered the room, inside a small yellow foal sat on the floor reaching for a toy held by a smiling Lil’ Mac. Pinkie ran up to the foal, startling the colt. He dropped the toy, allowing the foal to reach it and place it in her mouth.

The filly was yellow with a red mane. She had a big pink bow in it and big black eyes. The foal looked at the new pony and giggled. Pinkie began to make silly faces, making the baby laugh even more.

“This here’s Apple Bloom.” Granny told the filly who was preoccupied making the foal giggle.

Mac tried to hold a frown at the pink pony, but had trouble as he watched his little sister grab at Pinkie’s mane.

“Pinkie dear, that room yah slept in is yer room now, yer bag’s in there. Ah gotta go do some chores. Lil’ Mac why don’t yah put Apple Bloom in her play pen and show Pinkie around the farm?” Granny Smith went downstairs as Apple Bloom bit into Pinkie’s tail.

Lil’ Mac unclamped the foal from Pinkie’s tail, a sinew of drool hanging from her mouth. He hoisted her onto his back and led Pinkie downstairs.

Lil’ Mac led her through the farm, showing her everything. At first he tried telling her the purpose, but quickly realized she was hardly listening. Instead he allowed her to bounce from place to place figuring it out on her own. She ran through the barn playing in the hay piles, occasionally munching on a piece. She climbed to the hay loft, nearly falling over in her haste, giving Lil’ Mac a heart attack. Upon encountering the various animals on the farm, dozens of questions streamed from her mouth. Mac tried his best to answer whatever he could decipher. Penultimately he took her to a carrot-themed building on a hill. She began chatting again, and with a roll of his eyes he grabbed her head and made her look forward.

Pinkie’s eyes shined at what she saw. Miles upon and miles of growing apple trees reached into the horizon, extending unknown distances, each in parallel lines, their apples like precious gems shining in the sunlight, ripe and ready for picking. Apples of every kind spotted the trees. Ruby red, emerald green and sunshine yellow apples grew in symmetrical seas of green leaves.

“This is all of Sweet Apple Acres?” She asked wide-eyed.

“Eeyup.”

“Where are we going now?” She asked as Lil’ Mac led her down the hill.

He stayed quiet and led her deep into the trees. They walked for several minutes, Pinkie gazing at each tree. Finally they reached a large tree with spread-out branches. Between its branches lay a clubhouse. A wooden ramp connected the grass and building. Before Lil’ Mac could tell her where they had arrived, Pinkie ran up the ramp as quickly as her short legs would take her.

Mac ran in after her. She trotted around the small room, the room itself was almost empty, with only an end table near its only window. There was nothing really special about this place, but nonetheless Pinkie looked around with a grin.

“OHMYGOSHISTHISYOURCLUBHOUSE! LIKESOMESUPERSECRETFORT! WOW! ANDTHISISALLYOURS?” She gushed.

“Eeyup.” He said, hoping his answer would satisfy all her questions.

“WOW! THISCOULDBEOURFORT! ITCANBEAPIRATESHIPORACASTLE! OR-ORSLEEPHEREONENIGHTANDTELLGHOSTSTORIESANDEATSMORESORSTAYUPALLNIGHT!” She continued.

Lil’ Mac reached an apple from the outside the window and stuffed it into her mouth. She began chewing and swallowed it.

“This is delicious!” She ran to the window and began pulling apples. She swallowed them in large bites. Mac stood stunned, how could such a little filly fit so many apples?

“Yer gonna finish all the braeburns.” He interrupted.

She finished the last apple. “Sorry,” she giggled. “Braeburns?” she asked looking at the apples hanging from the tree.

“Eeyup, that’s a braeburn.” He led her outside and pointed to trees in the distance. “Big Macintoshes, Golden Delicious and Granny Smiths.” He said indicating to several groups of trees in the horizon.

“Wow how many types is there?” Pinkie asked looking at the acres.

“More than 7500 kinds.”

“I’m gonna learn all their names...”

A few days later, Pinkie sat in the living room playing with Apple Bloom and Mac. “Did yer family plant all the trees?” Pinkie asked him as she tried to pull her tail out of Apple Bloom’s mouth for the third time that day.

“Eeyup.” Mac answered, watching the foal suck on Pinkie’s tail.

“How many have you planted?” She continued, still struggling to remove her tail from the foal’s mouth.

“Ah don’t know, lots?” He answered, now helping Pinkie get her tail back.

“Ah want to plant one, I mean that’s kinda how I got my cutie mark.” She informed, finally getting her tail free and quickly popping a bottle in the foals mouth.

“Sure, ah think we have some seeds somewhere,” Mac handed her a handkerchief for tail.

“Ah have mah own seed.” She chirped proudly, patting at her tail with the handkerchief.
Pinkie ran upstairs and came back with her small bag around her neck. With Apple Bloom atop Mac, they headed into the trees. By now Pinkie had learned the names of at least one third of the kinds of apples, even after Mac insisted she didn’t need to.

He took her to a hilltop, “Plant it here, that way yah'll always know which it yours.”

Pinkie dug out a small hole. She pulled out the small seed and placed it in the soil. Covering it with more soil, she nodded contently. “Ah wanna name it, but what?Greeny? Nah, how about Treeford?” Pinkie looked towards the pondering Mac.

“How ‘bout Bloomberg? Ah had an uncle named Bloomberg.” Mac offered.

“Bloomberg! Yeah, it’s name is gonna Bloomberg!” Pinkie jumped in a circle around the little dirt mound.

Pinkie had found herself a home and family at Sweet Apple Acres. With her her new family she found ponies that supported her. They may have not known who she was or her history, but she was family now and that’s all that mattered. ‘With a cutie mark like that yer destined to live here.’ Granny would say.

“School?” Pinkie asked one morning at the dining table.

“Eeyup, yer still a youngin’ and yah need yer education.” Granny told her as she served her pancakes.

Pinkie wasn’t sure about this. Since she had arrived to Ponyville she had been only within the apple farm, usually following Mac around and helping with whatever she could. As she was small and unable this usually meant caring for Apple Bloom. Pinkie had grown use to only being around these three ponies. Sure daily hired hoofs would come work the fields, but she wasn’t sure about leaving those she did know.

“It’s okay Pinkie, you’ll do fine.” Granny encouraged.

Pinkie looked at Mac. “Well, If yah want I'll come visit yah durin’ recess.”

Her face lightened. “You promise?”

“Eeyup.”

“But you won’t break your promise? This has to be a super duper unbreakable life-bonding never to be changed promise.” She warned.

Mac agreed again though with a little more thought this time.

“Since this promise is special it needs a special name,” she said.

“How ‘bout a Pinkie Promise?” Granny offered.

Pinkie gasped. “ A Pinkie Promise will be an unbreakable life-bonding promise. Let’s go!”

With Apple Bloom nestled in her carriage, the four ponies headed to town. This was the first time Pinkie got to get a real look at her new hometown. It was still early, but nonetheless the little town still had a sense of business. Ponies opened shop ready for customers, foals grudgingly walked to school rubbing their tired eyes and pegasi set up the day's weather. By the standards of Vanhoover or Canterlot it was nothing, but with a watchful eye Pinkie could see the workings of a busy town everywhere she turned.

Pinkie walked by Mac, staying close to him. She asked Granny Smith about each shop and place. With a practiced patience Granny answered her every question.

At last they arrived at the red school house. The paint looked new and the swings barely placed. They entered the door, a teacher stood writing lesson plans on the board. Foals talked to each other while waiting for class to begin. Two fillies walked up to the four. A magenta earth filly and a white unicorn filly.

“Hi Mac!” The magenta one called.

“Howdy.” Mac greeted the fillies.

“I’ll go talk tah Ms. Sharpener.” Granny said and left.

“I haven't seen you before.” The earth filly said to Pinkie.

“I’m Pinkie,” she said, smiling.

“I’m Cheerilee, and this is my friend Rarity,” she said, indicating the filly by her side.

“Hello darling,” Rarity greeted.

“Is she one of your cousins Mac?” Cheerilee asked noticing Pinkie’s cutie mark.

“Nope, but she does live with us,” he answered.

“So you could say Ah'm family!” Pinkie squealed remembering Granny’s words.

Granny Smith appeared with the other mare. “Hi Pinkie Pie. My name is Ms. Sharpener. Granny Smith tells me you’re going to be joining our class. Tell me, have you been to school before?”

“Hi, well my mah taught me some stuff at home. Like reading and math.” Pinkie answered. “Does that count?”

“Yes. Now come, class is going to start soon.” Granny Smith led Mac and Apple Bloom towards the door. Pinkie ran to them, “Bye Granny!” She squealed and hugged her.

Pinkie turned to Mac, “Remember you Pinkie Promised to come.”

“Ah know, ah know.” Mac assured her, and left with his grandmother.

And so class started. Pinkie enjoyed school, she was introduced to the class and sat near Rarity and Cheerilee. She enjoyed watching Cheerilee correct Ms. Sharpener while she and Rarity would giggle.

At home Pinkie’s mother would teach her and her sisters the basics but that was it. She liked it here. There was more ponies and they got to do fun things like color and eat cookies.

Pinkie enjoyed when they got to draw their cutie mark or what they would hope it would be. She looked around and looked at Rarity’s.

“Rarity what’s yer cutie mark. It looks really cool!” Pinkie asked.

Rarity looked at her cutie mark. “It means I’m fast at noticing things.” Rarity thought about it a little more. “Like I’m good at noticing details. Like Ms. Sharpener’s tie and hair band don’t match today. Or that filly’s dress has a missing button. Which also means I can pick up on the weather before it’s apparent.”

“And that’s where the cloud comes in on her cutie mark.” Cheerilee added as she crossed out another ideas for what to draw.

Recess arrived and all the foals ran out of the building, ready to play. They ran to the slides or swings, all excited to release their energy. The three fillies exited behind the rest.

“What do you wanna play?” Pinkie asked her new friends.

“Let’s play catch with the ball,” Cheerilee offered.

“But I can’t hit it. It hurts my horn.” Rarity complained. “How about jump rope?”

“I can’t grab the rope, it’s slips from my hooves all the time.” Cheerilee grumbled.

Rarity rolled her eyes and sat down, followed by the other two fillies. “So Pinkie, what brings you to Ponyville of all places?”

“Well...” She started hesitantly. “Hey look it's Mac!” She said pointing to the colt arriving in the distance.

The three fillies got up and reached him. Pinkie ran ahead of them and jumped Mac, toppling him over. Cheerilee and Rarity giggled at the bewildered Mac.

“OhmygoshMacyouwereright!Schoolisofun!Wegottodrawandread!AndnowIhavetwonewfriends, that’stwomorethanyesterday!” Pinkie spurted.

Mac just nodded, in the week Pinkie had been here Mac had learned how to decipher her waterfall sentences. He just ‘eeyuped’ and ‘noped’ in the right places. The two other fillies tried to understand her, failing terribly.

“So Mac, what brings you here?” Cheerilee interrupted.

“He Pinkie Promised he’d visit at recess.” Pinkie answered.

“A Pinkie Promise?” Rarity asked.

“It means ah can’t break it no matter what.” Mac explained.

The fillies accepted the answer and led Mac to the playground. After much arguing from Rarity, the foals spent the recess playing catch. The majority of the game consisted of Rarity dropping the ball, Cheerilee nagging her, Pinkie laughing and Mac playing peacemaker. At last the whistle blew and the foals were called in.

“Ah best be going Pinkie.” Mac said after putting away the ball.

“B-but-” Pinkie whimpered.

“Don’t worry Pinkie. Mac will walk you home after class.” Cheerilee offered.

Mac looked at her bewildered. He was about to argue, but was tackled by a grinning Pinkie. “Thank you Mac! Yah’ll are the best pony ever!”

Mac’s surprise was turned into a warm smile, but after noticing the other two fillies giggling, he pulled Pinkie off.

The school day followed casually as Pinkie learned about adding and multiplying. But eventually she got tired. ‘My talent is with apples not math, I want to get to the farm already.’ Pinkie thought tiredly. She yawned, quickly copying notes from the board. ‘My future is with apples...’ She yawned. After much yawning and writing the bell rang and the foals were excused. Pinkie stretched her forelegs and stood.

“School can be tiresome, but on the bright side we only have a few years to go!” Rarity squealed. Cheerilee had stayed to correct their teacher.

Pinkie turned to her as they walked out, “You seem really excited.”

“I am! My father says that with a talent like mine I should control the weather,” Rarity squealed again. “He says that after I graduate, he’s going to sign me up for weather training!”

“That’s super-duper cool, you’ll be awesome! Ah mean ah’ve never heard about a unicorn doing weather control, but if there is such a thing than yah’ll will be awesome!”

Rarity giggled at the praise, “Do you plan to work on the farm?”

“Eeyup! I love it there, ah’m never ever ever leaving the farm,” Pinkie answered.

They climbed down the steps. Outside Mac stood, waiting for Pinkie. He sat in the shade, a wheat stalk in his mouth. Pinkie pranced to him and assaulted him with the a summary of the rest of her day.

Rarity could find no break in her words, “I’ll see you two later.”

Mac waved to Rarity and began leading the talkative Pinkie home.

Pinkie awoke from her bed, groggily shivering at the breeze from the open window. She pulled herself from her soft bed and dragged herself to the window. She breathed in the cool air, the chilly zephyr slightly blowing her mane. Outside the once vibrant trees lay barren, their strong branches covered in snow. The once lush fields of corn and wheat were blanketed in powdery snow. The sun was just within the horizon, but shined off the snow creating a glowing effect. Shivering once more, she shut the window and hid under her blankets.

Time had progressed for the young filly. She was a common sight to the workers of Sweet Apple Acres, by now they had all learned how to understand her gushing sentences. She was Granny’s number one helper and the ‘best baker this side of the Everfree’ according to Granny. Mac and Pinkie occasionally with Rarity and Cheerilee were commonly found in the club house.

“Let’s have a fashion show!” Rarity squealed.

“No, let’s play house,” Cheerilee argued, bored of having to wear high heels and boas.

“How about space pirates who travel the universe in search of treasure and giving free cupcakes to all the good foals on a certain day, but we have to do it all within that night.” Pinkie would blurt.

“That kinda sounds like hearth’s warming eve except for the space pirates part,” Mac would blink. And so their days would be spent so.

“Mac, wake up, granny made cinnamon waffles!”

Mac woke up to a blue eyes staring at him. Pinkie stood directly atop Mac on his bed. She was nose to nose with him grinning from ear to ear. Pinkie’s face was a common sight to Mac in the mornings now or any other time. It was rare when he didn’t wake up to her face or hear her crash outside his door, when she tried to unsuccessfully stop a run to his room.

“Cinnamon waffles, why?” Mac asked, pulling himself out from underneath her.

“Ah don’t know, but let’s go!” She rushed, pushing him of the bed.

“But she only make those when something good happened,” Mac rubbed his sore hindquarters from the fall.

“I KNOW! Let’s go!” Pinkie grabbed his foreleg and dragged him downstairs.

They reached the kitchen, the sweet smell of baking wafting out. Apple Bloom sat in her high chair splattering oatmeal from her bowl everywhere.

“Good mornin’ Granny,” they recited.

Granny turned from the iron and wished them a good morning too. She set a plate of waffles for the two on the table and sat down with her own plate. Pinkie eagerly swallowed her waffles, regretting it as soon as her tongue began to burn. She began a series of motions of trying to cool the burning waffles in her mouth.

Mac watched her run around the table mouth opened and screaming, “What’s the occasion Granny?”

“A letter came in from Manehattan tahday.” Granny smiled at the now attentive Mac. “Applejack is comin’ for Hearth’s Warming Eve. "