Bad Applesby Lidocaine VarnishChaptersEat the CloudsBig Red's EscapeA Gun for AJA Pansy for Your ThoughtsLoose EndsEat the CloudsBad Apples Eat the Clouds Apple Jack didn’t want to wake up. She was cold. Her senses returned to her slowly. She smelled damp, rotting wood, and wet earth. Her body ached from the cold. She was on the ground, beneath an oilskin slicker, hard up against a large, rotting log. Apple Bloom had been huddled against her most of the night, sobbing quietly beneath the slicker. Occasionally she’d leave, gathering snow to hold against Apple Jack’s face. For the most part, Apple Jack had been able to remain somewhere between unconscious and sleeping fitfully. The snow felt good against her swollen face. Apple Bloom had wanted to go back for Granny Smith. Apple Jack had been able to drag her away—it was too late for Granny Smith. Apple Jack fought the urge to curse at the aches and pains she was feeling. She didn’t know where Apple Bloom had gone. When she stuck her head out from under the slicker, she let out the slew of curses she’d been holding in reserve. The brightness hurt her eyes, hurt her face more as it forced her to squint. Tried to squint—her face was so swollen that it wasn’t able to squint. It hurt plenty as it instinctively tried. Her eyes throbbed with the light coming from the overcast sky. Patches of snow all over the wet ground threw more light at her. The wet, black, bare trees offered no sympathy…no shade, no respite from the scattered light pelting her from every direction. The forest was a world of mud, soggy snow, bleak skies, and dead winter trees. Apple Jack plodded dully toward the farmhouse. Toward what had been the farmhouse. Apple Bloom was sitting, staring at the remains of the cabin. She’d already been busy—some of their belongings had been dug out of the ashes. Anything she found that had any use left in it had been placed in a pile. Some of the still-usable timbers from the house had been nudged into another pile; furniture and timbers too smashed or burned to be usable had been pushed into another pile. Still other timbers had been pushed up into a small campfire, before which she still sat. Apple Jack estimated that the fire was just a couple of hooves to the inside of where their front door used to be. “You all right, sugar cube?” Apple Jack asked uselessly. Ignoring the question, Apple Bloom replied, “Sis, you’re gonna tell me EVER’THIN’ you know ‘bout Paw’s shootin’ ahrns.” A long silence followed. Apple Jack trod up to warm herself at the fire, sitting down. She shifted to cuddle against Apple Bloom. After a time, Apple Jack asked again quietly, “So how’re you doin’, sugar cube?” Apple Bloom’s eyes were reddened, but dry. “Ah’m tired a cryin,” she said. “I guess I’ve cried enough—I’m done with it.” After a moment, she added, “Bout the same’s you, I reckon,” with a rueful smile. “Better’n you, if you count the face.” Apple Jack let out a laugh that was as much a cough. “Granny Smith’s over there. Near where her rockin’ chair used t’ be.” “Oh, I’m sorry, sugar cube,” Apple Jack said, hitting her own forehead with a hoof. “You oughtn’t have to’ve seen that.” “It ain’t her,” Apple Bloom said simply. “It’s only what she left behind.” “You’re raht.” Then Apple Jack snickered. She paused, smiling at a memory. “She blooded one’ve ‘em…smacked ‘im raht’n’a nose. Blooded ‘im good.” She added soberly, “Th’ last thing she said was, ‘I’ll see your souls trampled in hell bah Nahtmare Moon.’” They both smiled. “Said it with such strength ‘n’ conviction, one of the Pegasi dropped a pie on the floor right where ‘e stood.” Apple Bloom smiled broadly, proudly at Granny Smith’s spirit. “’f anypony can lay a curse and make it stick, ol’ Granny Smith’d have the power to,” she said. Apple Jack nodded. “They stomped her to death after that,” she said. “We’re gonna need a place to sleep,” Apple Jack said. “’Course they set fahr to the barn ‘n’ shed…bastards even caved in’a root cellar,” Apple Bloom glowered. “’Guess they din’t think it’d burn ‘nuff,” she spat. “They even torched th’ chicken coop an’ th’ fucking SPRING HOUSE.” After spending the night huddled under a slicker, the root cellar would’ve been downright cozy. It stayed the temperature of the earth, while the temperatures above ground plummeted with night. “Quickest’d be ta scratch a dugout inta the side of a hill,” Apple Jack speculated. “Far from here.” Apple Jack looked at her sister. “’N case they come back.” “Raht. Good thinkin’.” Apple Jack stroked her chin with a hoof. “How ‘bout that little holler you used to play with yer dolls in? It’s not too close, not too far…small and out of the wind, but with good drainage.” “Yeah!” “Be a pain ta drag th’ stove up in ‘ere, but we kin take the panels apart.” Apple Jack was warming to the idea. “Maybe th’ trees’ll break up the smoke some…sure won’t be easy for anypony t’ find.” “Ah lahk that,” Apple Bloom agreed. “That’s why I lahked to keep my dolls there.” Apple Bloom thought a moment. “You don’t think we should leave the farm, do you?” she asked darkly. “It’s been the family farm o’er a hunnert years,” Apple Jack said slowly. “And Ah’d like t’ be here ‘f…’f….” Neither of them wanted to say “If Big Mac comes back.” They buried Granny Smith, commending her soul to Luna and the Earth. They wished for something more permanent than a wooden plank to mark the spot, but it would serve for the time being. They retrieved Paw’s guns from the ashes—a Sharps’ rifle and a .44 Colt Walker cap-and-ball revolver. The Sharps had fared well, but the pistol required some disassembly and cleaning. Apple Jack had to smile at the irony—Paw’d bought the Sharps in case there was any trouble with the Buffalo…but the only use it should’ve seen would have been against a renegade squad of Pegasus Solar sky infantry. Apple Jack was chagrined that the bullets had melted and mingled together, the lead shiny from its recasting into a rectangular shape formed by the cardboard box they’d been in. Some of the powder was still good, and before night fell they made use of the “daylight” to inspect the percussion caps and set aside a hoof’s full of them that seemed undamaged by the heat. After dark, once settled into whatever shelter they could muster, maybe she’d be able to recast some of the lead back into bullets. They were able to drag a patch of un-burned roof away from the site of the cabin into the ravine, and scratched out a good depression in the side of the hill. They made a hollow large enough for the two of them to sleep in, huddled together for warmth, and covered the floor with the driest of the leaves and pine needles they managed to find. They nudged a huge rock up in front of it to build a fire against. It would reflect some of the heat back at them, and shield the fire from anypony’s view. There wasn’t much to eat, save for a cake of oats that’d once been oatmeal, cooked into the shape of a puck from the heat of the house burning down. It was dusted generously with black and gray ash. It seemed a fitting repast. They’d found a couple of singed blankets. Shaking some branches free of snow, they spread them and dried them somewhat from the muddy ash they’d been mired in. It was long after dark before they finished cobbling together the crude shelter. After a day of toil and how they’d spent the previous night, it was as cozy as a feather bed. They’d been busy all day…but now, lying in bed, they had nothing to think about but their current situation. The fire was warm. Although the cold seeped in around them, they had a roof over their heads (if no walls). They had covers…their trusty slicker formed the top layer, to ward off any moisture or wind-driven snow. Huddled together, they had warmth. Sleep was long in coming. Tired of brooding over her thoughts, Apple Jack began to speak. “I wonder if Big Mac didn’t feel that somethin’ was comin’.” “How d’ya mean?” “A couple of nights before the SA came to take him, he was talking to me. Wanted to tell me something Paw told him. I didn’t think nuthin’ of it at the time…but it was kinda creepy a couple days later when he was gone.” “He said Paw told it to’m…said it was passed down from father to son. Seein’ as there weren’t no Apple males in the Holler t’share it with, he wanted t’share it with me. Said it was important, and somepony else in the family should know it.” Apple Jack laughed. “And now I’m tellin’ it ta you. I hope it don’t mean I’m gonna be gone in a couple of days.” “Don’ even say that,” Apple Bloom said dourly. “Anyway…if this ain’t the time ta share it, I don’t know what would be.” “It’s about Earth Ponies, and their place in the universe.” “You know how they say that Earth Ponies have a special kind of magic that makes them able to do things with the earth?” “Yeah?” “Well that’s bullshit.” “We have an affinity with the Earth ‘n’ all, but it’s not magic. It’s not magic like the Unicorns have, and it ain’t magic like the Pegasi have to walk on their clouds.” “You know the story about where ponies come from…how Celestia created the Pegasi. She took air and water—clouds—and shaped them into a pony with wings. She couldn’t make a pony as powerful as herself, but she was able to make a pony with wings, and give it the magic it needed to live in the sky.” “She liked the Pegasus…so she tried to make a different kind of pony. She took air and light, and mixed them together. She shaped them into a pony with a horn, and gave it magic. She couldn’t give it both magic AND wings, but she could give it magic…in its horn.” “Luna saw the ponies her sister had made, and she wanted to make a pony, too. She wanted to outdo her sister…she wanted to make the strongest pony she could…a pony stronger than the ones her sister had made.” “She’d seen how Celestia made her ponies out of air and water, and out of air and light.” “Now there were ponies with wings, so she couldn’t make a pony with wings and call it her own. There were also ponies with horns, so she couldn’t make a pony with a horn, and call it her own.” “She went into the Earth, and gathered up iron.” “Luna made her ponies out of iron, so they’d be the strongest, toughest ponies around.” “That’s why an Earth pony is stronger than any other pony of the same size. Without wings or magic, an Earth pony can easily beat a Pegasus or a Unicorn at just about any task.” “That’s also why we can’t fly,” Apple Jack added with a laugh. “Luna looked at her work. She wanted more than strength and endurance for her ponies. She couldn’t give them horns or wings…she had to give them something unique. Something that could be their own.” “She also saw that without wings or magic, they’d always have to do things the hard way. They had the strength and endurance for it, but that wasn’t enough. Not enough for Luna—not good enough for Luna’s children” “So Luna gave her ponies…gave us…something that Celestia never gave to her ponies.” “Luna gave us the knowledge of how things work.” “The Unicorns had knowledge—they had knowledge of magic, and could write about it. The Pegasi had knowledge of the clouds and weather. But Luna gave all the rest of the knowledge to the Earth Ponies.” “Now, this wasn’t part of Celestia’s plan. Nopony was supposed to have all the knowledge; nopony was supposed to have as much knowledge as Luna gave to her children. Celestia was angry…and that’s one of the reasons she exiled Luna to the moon.” “We have something better than magic. Magic can fail…but the world will ALWAYS work as it does.” “The Unicorns made fireworks…toys for the sky that flash and make noise. It took an Earth pony to put it inside a barrel of steel, and make a gun. Sharps? Colt? Winchester? Gatling? All Earth Ponies. Pegasi never made guns. Unicorns never made guns. Unicorns had gunpowder…but WE make the guns.” “Wonder what they called it before we invented guns?” They both giggled. “But we have the knowledge of such things…we can do more with less. We can make our tasks work in harmony with the world, so we can get more done with less effort…make the world do some of our work for us. Without magic. Without wings.” “We have knowledge. We have invention—creativity and understanding.” “When Luna gave us this knowledge, she gave us the future.” “Celestia wanted to keep things in balance, and gave her children what she gave them. Luna’s children…you take a look at them. At first, we seem to have less. We don’t have magic. We can’t fly.” “But our knowledge grows. It gives us the tools to unlock other secrets. We can do things the other ponies can’t—and not only because of strength. It’s because we see the world differently than they do. We know more about its workings than they do.” “We grow the crops. We work the iron. We build the engines, we build the machines.” “The other ponies…the Pegasi and Unicorns…they can do these things. But it’s always the Earth Pony who figures it all out…who SHOWS ‘em how to do it.” “The future belongs to the Earth Ponies. The Earth belongs to the Earth ponies…and the Earth Ponies belong to the Earth.” “Wow,” Apple Bloom marveled. “Ah never thought ‘bout it like that.” Apple Jack nodded. “Me, neither…’til he told me.” The coming of the Pegasi had destroyed most of their preparations for Winter, not to mention their home. Even building the modest home they planned with an economy of effort, there was a lot of work to be done. The work kept them warm during the day, and they were able to sleep as well as possible during the night. By the time Hearth’s-Warming Eve came, at least they had a hearth to warm. It was a small dugout-cabin, and offered at least a representation of every comfort they’d had in their generations-old farmhouse…if not space. There was one room in the cabin, formed by three walls that were mostly the sides of a hole dug into the earth. They’d built a front wall and a few hooves’-worth of wall all the way around to offer some headroom, and a roof over it all. They had both a fireplace and their iron stove, salvaged from the house. One end of the cabin, near the door, was the kitchen, and the far end, which was shorter, was a space to sleep. A crude wooden table separated the bedroom from the kitchen. There were a couple of small windows made from the few unbroken panes of glass that’d been salvaged from the house. They’d found a few bits (currency) in the ashes of the house that the Pegasi had missed, and were able to clean off a few items to barter for some flour and a couple of bales of hay. The hay would serve both as mattress and food. “Breakfast ‘n’ bed,” Apple Jack had joked in a rare moment of mirth. Apple Jack was proud, and Apple Bloom was indifferent; they didn’t seek any help from their neighbors. Everypony in the hollow would’ve been happy to help them out…but they preferred to suffer and toil themselves, without assistance. The labor helped them cope, and they wanted to be alone with their sorrow. It was unspoken between them, but the more time that passed after the attack, the easier it would be to explain the fire as an accident, and avoid saying anything that might lead to any suspicion that the sexual assault had even happened. They didn’t know quite what they’d do if either of them had been gotten with foal. What served as the center of town was a trodden street and four buildings; two buildings, really, but each had a detached kitchen associated with it. The smaller of the two was Dry Goods' Store, which served as store, restaurant, post office, and informal meeting place for the town. The larger of the two was Town Hall, which served to house any formal town meetings or celebrations, as the school house, and as overnight accommodations for anypony traveling through or visiting. The Town Hall’s only current regular resident was Miss Vellum, the new Unicorn schoolmare. The last schoolmare had retired several years ago, and Miss Vellum was betrothed to one of the Hollow’s residents, Clay…or Clayton, as he’d recently started asking everypony to call him. As an outsider (having been brought to the hollow by Clay—ton), she was the only Unicorn amongst the ancestral homes of all the Hollow’s Earth-Pony families. Postwar tensions between Unicorns and Earth Ponies weren’t usually as great as those between Pegasi and Earth Ponies. Although usually serving Solar Army forces, most Unicorns kept a lower profile than the Pegasi, and were perhaps better educated and more…tactful. Most of the Hollow’s residents had gathered in Town Hall for the Hearth’s-Warming Eve party…or were on their way. Neither Apple Jack nor Apple Bloom were feeling the spirit of the season very much…but they were both desperate to have SOMETHING be a distraction from their lives. Apple Bloom spotted some school friends, and plodded off in their direction. Not really knowing what to do with herself, Apple Jack stepped to the side, out of the traffic flow from the door, and idly surveyed the room. Dry Goods appeared out of the crowd. “Evenin’, Miss Apple. Happy Hearth’s-Warming Eve,” he said genially. “Happy Hearth’s-Warmin’ Eve,” Apple Jack mumbled. Dry Goods was a handsome colt, very sober and not much given to talking. He’d taken over the store two winters ago, when his father had died of pneumonia. Gossip was traded in his store almost more than bits and goods, but Dry Goods spent most of his time listening. For his pensiveness, many regarded him as intelligent (not in a negative way), and sometimes sought his advice. Out of all the tales bouncing around his store, he tried to distill the truth for anypony who asked him or came around looking for news. “Some punch? Got the reg’lar punch, and the grownup-punch,” he held up a mug and a glass. “I reckon the grownup-punch’d be mighty agreeable…thank ya.” He offered the glass and she took a sip. They stood quietly for a minute, suddenly simultaneously excusing themselves from one another with a polite nod. “Mares and Gentlecolts,” the mayor began, raising her voice. “I’d like to wish you all a warm welcome, and a happy Hearth’s-Warming Eve!” Apple Jack took another sip of punch. It was potent, but smooth. She felt like a dark mote floating at the edge of a bright constellation. She tried to shed her darkness, and open herself to the happiness of the ponies surrounding her, celebrating the holiday. Her attention drifted around. She took another sip. Her eyes began to feel big, and her head kind of floaty. The mayor’s voice faded away, and she found herself listening to the ponies immediately around her. “…bought him some land down in the valley, swept a society Unicorn off her hooves at her deb’tant ball. Wants to be a ‘’spectable’ valley pony.” “’Bout abducted her, Ah hear tell,” laughed another pony. “Guess he’s just too good for us anymore,” sighed another, but not maliciously. Another shook his head. “You know Clay…shoes always too big for his hooves….” “Not sure I lahk havin’ a Un’corn in the Holler,” piped in a grouchy voice. Apple Jack had never met Miss Vellum…Apple Bloom had said she was “nice.” “Miss Vellum!” boomed the mayor’s voice suddenly, shaking Apple Jack from her reverie. Murkily from what she’d been half listening to, she surmised Vellum would be telling the traditional Hearth’s-Warming Eve story. “Thank you, Mayor Mare,” said Vellum, launching into a breathy greeting and warm wishes for the holiday. Vellum was a pretty filly…a Unicorn with a snowy, sparkling white coat. She was younger than Apple Jack would’ve suspected…barely a hoof’s full of years older than Apple Bloom, and maybe a hair younger than Apple Jack herself. Apple Jack’d never really MET a Unicorn before, except maybe briefly in passing, on a trip down to the valley for supplies. Her speech was formal and crisp, but not ostentatiously so. She used some large words, but did so naturally—she wasn’t putting on airs expecting people to be impressed by them—they were just the words she used. “…story of Chancellor Pudding Head and Smart—“ Vellum was saying. “Puddin’ PIE!” shouted the voice of a young foal from the audience. “Cook—I’m sorry?” Vellum said. A voice far in the back of the room, sounding a little more hostile than the speaker intended, corrected, “The Chancellor’s name was Puddin’ PAH...not Puddin’ Haid….” A murmur rolled about the room. Vellum recovered, and covered, quickly. “Of course—I’m sorry. Chancellor Pudding Pie and Smart Cookie.” She cleared her throat. Before continuing, she asked, “Did I get any of the other names wrong?” “You kin call the Peg’si ‘birdshit’ fer all Ah care—ow!”called a colt’s voice from the back of the room. The filly he was with had smacked him lightly in the head…but his remark elicited some giggles from the gathered crowd. “Uh…ma’am,” he added, bashfully. “Maht make the storeh more ‘njoyable,” remarked a voice that sounded like an older stallion, triggering a few more titters. Vellum’s grin wasn’t as brittle as it might have been. She coughed, covering what almost sounded like a sputter. “I’m not sure I’m as well acquainted with the story as I thought I was,” she was saying quietly to Mayor Mare. Everypony knew the story. As a Unicorn, she’d just never heard the way it was told by the Earth Ponies. “Tell us the story ‘bout Puddin’ Pah an’ the Griffon!” called the possibly drunken voice of a colt too old to be listening to the little foal’s tale he was asking for. Cries of “Yeah! Puddin’ Pah an’ the Griffon!” sounded from about the room. A chorus of young foals began to chant, “Puddin’ Pah an’ the Griffon!” in unison. “I don’t know that one,” Miss Vellum said. “I’d love to hear it, though…somepony?” Vellum stepped back as another mare volunteered, and started making her way out of the audience. Despite her poise, Vellum looked grateful to be able to flee the stage. Apple Jack had finished her punch. Making her way to a different table, she found a warm bowl of mulled “grownup” apple cider, and ladled her glass full. “…time before the Griffons and Pegasi were as good friends as they are now….” Miss Vellum had drifted back into the audience, taking a station near the punch bowl. She sipped demurely from a glass balanced clumsily on her hoof. She seemed reluctant to use the magic to drink, as she customarily would have. She’d been uncomfortably aware enough at the stares she’d attracted using her magic to manipulate the ladle…a task of a complexity she dared not attempt with bare hoof. She was trying to disappear into the audience. “…Chancellor’s best friends, the Griffon Skar….” “CAW! CAW!” screamed the foals in the loudest chorus they could muster, accompanied by some of the drunker adults. Miss Vellum jumped, unprepared for the audience-participation part of a story she’d never before heard. “…Chancellor Puddin’ Pah…” “WOO! WOO!” “…knew that the Earth Ponies didn’t have any more love for the Pegasi than they had for the Griffons. They were tired of slaving away to feed the Pegasi, and didn’t want to give them even MORE food so they could wage war on the Griffons. Some of the Earth Ponies were even friends with Griffons, and didn’t want to help anypony who wanted to attack the Griffons….” To her credit, Miss Vellum was listening politely…even intently…to the story. “Then Commander Hurricane—“ “FWISH! FWISH!” “asked, ‘If you don’t give us food, what are we supposed to do?” “And Chancellor Puddin’ Pah replied—“ “EAT THE CLOUDS!” Informal tradition was that anypony who got the chorus wrong would get poked. If the foals were particularly rowdy, the poking could become quite…zealous. Nopony got the response wrong this time…not even the drunks. Apple Bloom had only been half listening to the story. Some of her classmates were participating, but most of them considered themselves too old for the story. She was catching up with schoolmates she hadn’t seen in weeks. There’d been so much work at the farm, she hadn’t gone to school since…since that night. Apple Bloom coughed. Her nose stung, and tears welled up in her eyes. “Eat the clouds,” she whispered. Her nose began to run immediately. She cursed herself. She’d told herself (and Apple Jack, for that matter) that she was done crying…but this had snuck up on her. Everything fell together, and she chuckled grimly. Then she chuckled less grimly. Eat the clouds. It was an Earth Pony saying, perpetuated by the popular story currently being told, if not actually originating with Chancellor Pudding Pie herself. When a pony had nothing more substantial than clouds…when a pony had nothing…had been deprived of EVERYTHING, they could be said to be “Eating the clouds.” It was to start from nothing. To “pull yourself by your own bootstraps,” to “suck it up.” It was when things couldn’t possibly get worse…rock bottom. Or it could be used derisively, as Chancellor Pudding Pie had coined it. It was perfect…it summed up the Apples’ situation in three neat words. Big Mac was gone. Granny Apple was dead. The house was burned down—there was nothing but ashes, and the hole in the side of the hill that they’d scratched out to LIVE in. Maybe they could excavate the root cellar, and reclaim some of the food they’d stored…before. The maple sap would start flowing in a couple of weeks; they’d collect it and make syrup and maple sugar. With luck, they’d have enough to sell. The apple trees would bear fruit again, but that was months away. Right now, they had clouds…and each other. Eat the clouds. It was beautifully, Existentially perfect. There was a commotion in a corner of the room. Another holiday tradition…and perhaps one of the reasons older ponies requested the story of “Pudding Pie and the Griffon,” was the drinking game. Everypony would pick a different character…and whenever the response for that character came up, they’d down a shot of apple brandy—the homemade kind that came in a jar. A pony had fallen to the floor, and in a fit of giggles while trying to stand back up, had pulled one of his fellows to the floor on top of him. Miss Vellum was making her way through the crowd. So were a couple other jars of apple brandy. At the sudden distraction, somepony unintentionally thrust a brandy jar into Miss Vellum’s hooves. She regarded the jar a moment. Realizing his mistake, the pony reached to take it back, saying, “Uh, miss—“ Vellum had taken a sip. Anypony in the vicinity who realized what had happened was still and silent, eyes riveted to the young society Unicorn who’d been strangely dropped into their hollow… And jumped when Vellum suddenly cried out “WOO WOO! Now that’s what I’M talking about!’ She took two large gulps. A couple of ponies blanched at the thought of taking down the spirits in that quantity that quickly. Vellum wiped a drip at the corner of her mouth with the back of her hoof. “Nopony told me this was going to be a REAL party!” she said loudly. She offered the jar around, realizing she’d accidentally intercepted a jar intended for somepony else. “Ah’m sorry t’wasn’t muh better stuff,” mumbled a pony, the one from whom the jar had originated, by way of apology. She waved a hoof dismissively. “It’s the best I’ve had in months—hell of a lot better than the swill we used to brew in our rubber boots at finishing school.” Vellum’s remark was greeted with genial laughter. “Ol’ Clay’s gonna have ‘is hooves full with that one!” a pony remarked. Apple Jack was doing something she couldn’t remember having done in a long time. Relaxing. She let the crowd and the cider and the brandy warm her…kept her mind away from dark thoughts. A hoof tapped her shoulder, and a face lurched out of the crowd, excessively close to hers. “Miss Apple!” it exclaimed. Miss Vellum grinned charmingly, if a little manically, and then stepped back to a comfortable distance that wasn’t invading Apple Jack’s space. “Sorry, Miss Apple. Miss Apple, I’ve been wanting to meet you! Apple Bloom’s said…told me about you.” “Uh…hi?” Apple Jack was at a loss. School hadn’t been one of her favorite pastimes. She’d done well enough, but she hadn’t been brilliant. She’d never gotten over a slight dread of teachers. Yet, this filly…this teacher…was younger than she was. And possibly as drunk. “You’re Apple Bloom’s mm-sister!” she said, seizing Apple Jack’s hoof. Apple Jack’s mind was still slogging through the fact that this was Apple Bloom’s teacher…and what a teacher was. “We’ve so missed Apple Bloom…I hope she’ll be back to class soon.” “Uh…yeah…well…” Apple Jack stammered. “We’ve had a lot of work on th’ farm, gettin’ ready for Winter ‘n’ all….” “I understand….” Vellum trailed off, cocking her head and staring a little glassily into Apple Jack’s eyes. “Miss Apple?” she asked. “Uh…yah?” Vellum leaned forward slowly, giving the impression that she might not stop--might possibly even fall. Apple Jack braced herself, and was hard pressed to stop herself from backing away. Vellum lowered her voice, saying conspirationally, “Apple Bloom…is very special.” Apple Jack blinked. Vellum seemed frozen in time for a moment, not moving at all…collecting her thoughts. “I know I shouldn’t be playing favorites…but Apple Bloom really is one of the smartest fillies…smartest ponies in the class!” She tapped Apple Jack stoutly on the chest with one of her hooves. “You and your family have done a splendid job of bringing her up!” “Uh…thanks?” “I really do hope she’ll be back…or at least continue her studies…” Miss Vellum was saying. “It…she…it…it’d be a real shame for her not to continue…her studies.” “Ahm sorry…Ah’ll try to get her back to class, soon’s we can spare her at the farm…” Apple Jack promised uneasily. Vellum smiled broadly. “I hope so.” “Sis, Ah—“ came a voice. “Oh, Miss Vellum!” Apple Bloom yelped, instantly ashamed of her recent absence from school. She contemplated bolting off, but she’d already been seen. Her mind scrambled for something she might say to excuse her recent absences. “Apple Bloom! Happy Hearth’s-Warming Eve!” Miss Vellum gushed. She regarded Apple Bloom with a warm smile…and then her features dropped. “Oh, my….” The moment she regarded Apple Bloom, seeing her for the first time in weeks, in a weird mixture of intuition, Unicorn magic, and alcohol haze, she saw that Apple Bloom was with foal. Somehow, her revelation sucked Apple Jack and Apple Bloom into itself, and that instant, the three of them knew with absolute certainty that Apple Bloom was pregnant. Vellum’s thoughts surged ahead. Of course Apple Bloom wouldn’t be returning to school…not until after she delivered. She wouldn’t want to be seen, particularly after she began to show. As far as she knew, there WEREN’T any males that had anything to do with the Apple family…and Apple Bloom didn’t have a coltfriend. She’d probably want to keep the whole thing a secret. It was nopony’s business but her own. Apple Bloom hadn’t had anything to drink…her body was beginning to tell her something was going on, although she hadn’t realized it consciously yet. Miss Vellum came to her senses first. Apple Jack was still processing the revelation, with a growing sense of dread. Apple Bloom began to feel that she was on the verge of tears again. “I was just telling your sister how much we missed you at school, and she was telling me how much work there was to do around the farm,” Miss Vellum said quickly. “You’re a brilliant, brilliant student, Apple Bloom…but I realize it can take a lot of time to come into town for school when there’s a lot of work to be done. It’d be a tragedy for you to lose any time at your education, though…would it be okay if I came out to the farm to bring you some of the lessons to read?” “S-sure…” Apple Bloom stuttered. The Apple sisters were stunned on a number of levels…not the least of which finding out that Apple Bloom was PREGNANT. Miss Vellum swept forward, giving a startled Apple Bloom a warm, hard hug. “Congratulations!” she whispered, her eyes thickening with tears, although she’d said nothing aloud about the matter. Releasing Apple Bloom, she gave a befuddled Apple Jack a hug. The party continued well into Hearth’s Warming Day. Miss Vellum nearly beat Mayor Mare (the reigning champion) at bits—but the last shot had missed her mouth slightly, soaking her chin and neck. It’d been a splendid evening. Miss Vellum became a frequent visitor to the farm, bringing lessons and books and papers out to Apple Bloom, and coaching her in her studies. She often just “happened to have” cakes or food with her, but maintained the premise well enough that Apple Jack couldn’t chide her for bringing things. Even after Apple Bloom began to show, Vellum made no mention of it, to the sisters or to anypony else. When the time came, she suggested vaguely that maybe they’d taken in the foal of a distant cousin, otherwise orphaned by the war. Big Red's EscapeBad Apples Big Red’s Escape “Hey, Stump! Big Red’s askin’ ta see ya.” “Stump” looked up. “He’s in the ‘Infirmary.’” Stump shrugged, and started trudging toward the patch of dirt that was referred to as “The Infirmary.” Dirt stretched for acres and acres—to the horizon. In some directions, the horizon was a stockade wall. There had been trees at one time. All that was left now were the trunks, stripped of bark and branches. Some of the stripped trees looked unnaturally bright and bleached against the trodden soil. Some were surrounded by loose soil, having been dug through to get at tender roots. A couple of the “trees” had even been upended, baring their wiry balls of roots to be chewed on by the prisoners. Stump had been digging for roots when he received Big Red’s summons. Stump had only been at Andersonville for a few weeks. He’d been a big, strong pony (earning him the nickname of “Stump”)—but starvation was stripping him of his muscle. He was visibly thinner, but not yet rickety. He spent most of his time digging up roots. Some he ate, but most he gave to those too enfeebled to dig. The “Infirmary” was on the downhill, downwind, downstream corner of the enclosure—the most foetid part of the “camp.” That was the corner everypony went to shit, and the ground was foul and swampy. Most in the Infirmary were dying of dysentery, and it made perverse sense that the ponies producing the most diarrhea should be housed the closest to where the waste would have to be carried. Unfortunately, it left the sickest ponies occupying the unhealthiest atmosphere the entirely foul camp had to offer. Breathing through his mouth was little protection against the stench. Stump’s eyes began to water. He began to salivate, swallowing frequently to fight the gagging that was constantly rising up within him. He didn’t want to lose any “food” he might have in his stomach, and his saliva was probably cleaner than any of the “water” they had to drink. “Hey old timer,” Stump said, sounding funny while talking without using his nose. He was greeted by a ghastly fit of coughing that served for laughter. Big Red was lying on the ground, on top of a sodden blanket. He was coughing into the scarlet-stained hoofkerchief he kept held in front of his mouth. “Good ta see ya, Stump.” “You, too.” “I’m surprised to be seein’ anything anymore,” Big Red muttered, almost to himself. Big Red was a hoof-full of years older than Stump. They looked strikingly similar, however, even with the flesh withered off them as it was. They were both red, quite large, and of very similar build. Their manes were nearly the same color. They could have been related—could even have passed for siblings. But they weren’t. “You know, they’re going to start processing us and releasing us soon, now that the war’s over,” Big Red began, but had to pause for a chest-rattling fit of coughing. He spat some blood off to the side. Big Red continued, in a much quieter voice, “You know, word ‘round camp is that you’re Big Mac. Stump was silent. “Anyway, I was thinkin’…I’m prolly not going to make it out of here.” He motioned, indicating his bloody hoofkerchief. “And after a week or two more in this place, you’ll be able t’ pass for me.” Another fit of coughing laughter racked his chest, and he spat a up a bloody gob of phlegm. “So, if ya think ya might have some trouble getting discharged with the papers you got, I’m more’n happy to swap with you. Even if I won’t be able to march out of here, I figger my name can.” Stump took off his hat. “I’d be mighty obliged, old timer,” he said solemnly. Big Red smiled. “Ahm mighty happy to do it…partic’larly because I won’t be able to do much with m’ freedom if Ah ever git it back.” They exchanged identification papers. Big Red’s cutie mark was a green tomato that’d been cut in half. The cutie mark on his ID papers was a crudely scrawled approximation of his cutie mark, done in black ink with no indication of color. Stump’s own papers were forged, and they weren’t a very good forgery, at that. One of the wax seals was missing, and another was distorted enough to give the impression that it’d been removed from a different document and transferred. The paper wasn’t of very good quality, either—inferior to the paper that would be used for any important documents. “I won’t write to nopony ‘til I’m sure you’re away,” Big Red said. “If you run into any of my kin, tell ‘em what happened.” “I will,” Stump replied. “Big Red?” repeated the Solar Army Pegasus in the corporal uniform, eyeing Big Mac skeptically. “Ain’t you the one they call ‘Stump?’” “Ain’t nivver said ‘Stump’n’ any a’ my papers,” Big Mac said, keeping his eyes as wide and vacant as he could. He had his blanket draped over him, covering his back and his cutie mark. Calling it a blanket was being generous—it was worn through in a number of places, and looked as though soaked with grease. It was too thin and tattered in a lot of places to even take a patch, and hung lankly off him like a piece of rotted lace. The green of his cutie mark was visible through the tears, although there wasn’t enough blanket missing to identify the green apple that was his cutie mark. The Corporal squinted at the paper, as though staring at the letters would cause them to transform into words he’d recognize. He rotated the paper ninety degrees. “This ain’t yer cutie mark,” the Corporal said. One of the Pegasus guards beside him rolled his eyes. “’Course it is,” Big Mac said blandly. He stepped his back end around sideways, bringing his blanket-covered cutie mark closer to the table. The Corporal and guard ponies made sour faces as the smell of the blanket wafted toward them. “See? Take a look!” “Ugh, weren’t you issued a blanket when you got here?” said one of the Pegasi, suppressing a gag. “This is the one y’all issued me,” Big Mac said blankly. “Smells like’t was taken from a corpse.” It probably had been. “Ga head—take a look,” Big Mac repeated. The Corporal’s lips pursed and his cheeks filled briefly. He looked appalled at the very thought of touching the dank-looking cloth. “Celestia’s gash, Perce,” groused one of the Pegasi guards. “Line ain’t gittin’ any shorter.” “Ain’t gittin’ na earlier ‘n’a day, neither,” the other guard muttered, wiping his forehead with a foreleg. The sun was beating down on them, making everypony irritable and fidgety. “Always figgered you hill ponies had t’ be stupider than any of t’other mud ponies,” the Corporal growled, rotating the paper another ninety degrees so that he was now looking at it upside-down. “Ain’t nothin’ ‘n them hills….” Big Mac was itching to reply, ‘Y’all should come up t’ th’ hills sometime…we’ll show ya what we’re all about.’ Instead, he kept a blank, stupid look on his face. ‘Don’t rise to the bait,” he told himself. ‘Gettin’ out’ll be your revenge.’ He repeated it to himself over and over. “Whatever,” the Corporal glowered, inking his stamp and stamping what he erroneously took to be the bottom of the page. Unseen behind the Corporal, one of the Pegasus guards face-hoofed. Big Mac had to stop himself from wincing at the error. He had to play the bumpkin and get himself discharged; he had to keep his head down, play stupid, and not do anything that might get him noticed or remembered. The Corporal handed the paper back to him. Big Mac took the paper, and stood blinking at the Corporal. “Well git the fuck out of here, dumbass!” the Corporal thundered, indicating the gateway out with a sudden pointing thrust of his hoof. One of the guards moved back to avoid getting hit, and swayed queasily. The guards were barely better-fed than the inmates. Big Mac nodded as though he was used to being spoken to in that manner, and trudged off toward the gates. He wanted to break out in a full gallop…but didn’t want to look suspicious. All the other released ponies had trudged out. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure how long he could sustain a gallop, as emaciated as he was. He couldn’t help but throw sidelong glances at the guard towers. The guards appeared to be dozing, or nearly so, in the hot afternoon sun. His heart thudded in his chest as he approached the “Kill Line”—a rickety fence some forty hooves inside the perimeter of the stockade fence. For the past few weeks of his life, anypony crossing that line had been shot dead, no questions asked. Now he was crossing it. The lazy trilling of the cicadas was drowned out by the thud of his heart in his ears. Stepping between the guard towers, through the open gate, he nearly just collapsed. Forcing himself to stay upright, he kept plodding on. One step outside. Two steps outside. Three steps outside. This couldn’t be happening. He hadn’t heard a gunshot all morning…but he couldn’t believe he was being released. Big Mac was a wanted pony, notorious for his exploits with the Lunar rebels. Nopony in the Solar Army would consider letting him pass, if they knew it was him. He reached the tree line. The dirt was still trodden bare, and the trees were as pale and flayed of branches and bark as the ones inside the enclosure had been. In fact, the landscape outside looked pretty much the same as it had inside…the stench wasn’t as strong, however. Walking further into the trees, he realized his jaw had been clenched, and his chest tight. He took a deep breath—a breath that didn’t make him want to throw up. He still expected to hear a report, and catch a bullet in the back of his head at any moment. A couple of miles out of Andersonville, and there was still nothing to eat. There were a few solitary blades of grass poking out here and there…but Big Mac was shaking too hard to grasp them with his mouth. The trees were still gnawed free of bark. He broke into a canter, and then a gallop. Had everything been eaten while he’d been prisoner? Was the rest of the world as desolate and malnourished as Andersonville? The guards had been wasting away, too…. The world was swaying dangerously around him, and he slowed down. He spotted a patch of grass. He crept up to it slowly, and put his face down close to it. He tried to do it silently, as though it was something that could be startled, and would run away—or worse, that a noise would just make it disappear. He grasped it in his teeth and pulled it up, roots and all. He tossed his head, shaking most of the dirt free of the roots, and then ate it, roots and all. Even the dirt outside tasted better…and he’d eaten worse than dirt. He saw more patches of grass. Now he was biting the blades low, and only eating the grass without the dirt. Seized by a spasm, he fell over, heaving. His stomach cramping, with difficulty he threw up the hoof-full of grass he’d managed to eat. His body collapsed, exhausted by the simple effort of vomiting. “Of course,” he muttered to himself. Once his stomach settled itself, he ate a small portion of the grass he’d thrown up. A Gun for AJBad Apples A Gun for AJ NOTICE: It’s about to get violent. Just sayin’. Applejack and Apple Bloom were beginning to get their lives back into some semblance of order. It was a normal enough evening, just like any other…as normal as they could be, anymore. Applejack had hustled to get her chores done early, so she could get into town and purchase some supplies at Dry Goods’ store. The sun set early this time of year, and it was near full dark before she even got to the store. Thankfully, there was light in the windows, and Dry Goods was still doing business. She walked in the door, and her blood ran cold. At the counter, arguing with Dry Goods, was a Pegasus in Solar Army livery. Just at the sight, her chest tightened. Something behind her eyes popped. She could smell wood smoke…she could feel the flames all around her, the heat soaking into her as the building burned down. It wasn’t Dry Goods’ place that was burning, though. She could hear Apple Bloom screaming in the next room, although some distant, silent part of her knew that Apple Bloom was safe back at their new “home.” She could feel and smell the disgusting slime all over her body…. Could a pony be in more than one place at once? she’d ask herself later. She was in Dry Goods’ store, but also inside the Apple homestead on that other cold night, inside it as it burned down. She was looking through a tunnel at the Pegasus. She could hear them talking, but it seemed far away. More than anything, she felt rage. She’d been rendered helpless, then. This time, it was different—her eyes weren’t swollen shut. She was standing up strongly on her own four hooves—not crawling pathetically on the floor. She wasn’t helpless now. Between the tunnel, and the exploding, shimmering white stars that filled her field of vision, it was difficult to see…but she could see the Pegasus well enough. She was also somewhere else…somewhere off to the right, beside the wall, watching herself. Without a thought, her hunting knife was looped and lashed to her hoof from its scabbard. What’s she going to do with that knife? she wondered dully, watching herself from a distance. She was quiet on her hooves as she approached the counter. Dry Goods’ eyes met hers. They darted down to the knife in her hoof, and looked back into hers. His expression never changed; he never acknowledged her approach, although his eyes looked straight into hers. The look that met her eye was a knowing one. Possibly a corner of his mouth raised a little. She threw her left foreleg around the soldier’s neck, holding fast, and stabbing him at the base of the throat. She felt him tighten in shock. She pulled, trying to cut. Warm fluid was spilling out all over her hoof and foreleg, but the knife seemed to have run into something it couldn’t cleave. She pulled it out, stabbing again in the chest, and all hell broke loose. The soldier’s wings unfurled in a panic, flapping desperately to get away, to fight her off. He lifted off the floor. Hindered by her weight, he veered in her direction with what would otherwise have been a mighty takeoff. They careened into the wall, Applejack bearing the brunt of the collision. The Pegasus was kicking wildly in a blind panic. He wasn’t striking Applejack with his hooves, but being lifted off her hooves and thrown into a wall made holding on enough of a challenge. She was glad the knife was firmly lashed to her hoof…but as his next flap took them jarringly to the ceiling, striking her head and shoulder again, she had to concentrate on preventing the pummeling from driving the knife accidentally into part of HER. The second blow, her head to the ceiling, dimmed her vision. Her shoulder throbbed, and her grip loosened. She hoped she wouldn’t fall too far, or too awkwardly, when she blacked out. The calm self of her, resting against the wall, wondered if there wasn’t a better way to have done all of this. There seemed to be blood and feathers everywhere, hanging nearly still in the air. Then the Pegasus began to scream. Applejack was tight and silent, emitting the occasional grunt as her body was thrown against something. She was holding on as tightly as she could, and being smashed against anything the Pegasus could blunder into. She wondered if she could stay latched to him through a blackout…and whether the wounds she’d already dealt him would kill him before he could beat her to death against the store’s four walls. A hideous gurgling, braying, shrieking was coming out of the Pegasus’ throat…a higher note than Apple Bloom had struck that night, she thought grimly. He seemed to be giving voice to the outrage that Applejack was feeling at that moment, the shock and surprise Applejack had felt that night. That was a rib, Applejack thought as she felt something snap in her side. They’d fallen from the ceiling, her crushed between him and the awkward edge of a shelf they’d knocked down earlier. She buried the knife in his chest again, now using it as a hoofhold. His struggles worked against him, injuring him further, and he was dragging her more and more feebly with every beat of his wings or kick of his legs. Panting in a ghastly wheeze, he weakened. He could only lift himself barely off the floor, dragged down by Applejack’s embrace. Finally, he was just twitching on the floor beside her when his blood stopped flowing. Stunned by the pummeling she’d received, she stared into space, seeing nothing. The world was distant, her pain irrelevant and unfelt. On her hooves again, Dry Goods was talking to her. She couldn’t hear him; her ears were ringing, or else the braying of the Pegasus was still echoing in them. She didn’t really unravel what he’d said until later. He clapped her briskly on the shoulders, and shoved a mason jar into her hooves as he led her to the door. His voice warbled, “Don’t you worry about anything, little lady— —I’ll just have the boy bring your stuff by the farm tomorrow.” Applejack gave a start as a jolt of pain hit her face. “—okay, sis?” Apple Bloom was biting her lower lip with concern, a bloody washcloth in her hoof. She was back in their crude dugout. Apple Bloom had lit the extra lamps, shedding as much light as they had. Steam rose from the washcloth, and from the kettle on the floor beside them. Applejack must’ve been home a while, for Apple Bloom to have drawn and heated the water already. With a shaky hoof, Applejack brought the mason jar to her lips. Liquid fire ran down her throat, and even the effort of keeping herself from coughing felt like a knife sinking into her chest. She brought the jar back down, eyes watering and fluid running out of her nose. It had to be the Ferrys’ apple brandy—top-shelf stuff. Nopony else in the hollow could brew it as well as they did. Without thinking, she offered the jar to Apple Bloom. “Thanks, sis…” Apple Bloom smiled. “But a mare in my condition—“ “Oh, yah,” Applejack mumbled. “’course.” Apple Bloom’s brow knit with concern. “What in the buck happened to you?” “Sich language,” Applejack slurred, beginning a chuckle that turned into a cough and then a gasp and a wince. “Think I broke a rib,” she managed to hiss through her clenched teeth. Frowning, Apple Bloom rinsed the cloth in the kettle and pressed the excess water out of it. Applejack tried to hold still as Apple Bloom continued cleaning out her wounds. The warm cloth felt good, even if the countless little cuts and scrapes didn’t. The jar on the nightstand was two-thirds empty. Sun was coming in through their tiny window. Applejack sat up quickly, but the knife in her head and the knife in her chest threw her back to the bed. “Dammnit…half the day wasted,” she grumbled. She let out a long wheeze as her weight dropping to the mattress triggered another spasm of pain. She could smell her own breath reeking of rotten apples, and began to wonder what had led to her current situation. She was really beginning to like the black, dreamless sleeps she’d been having lately. In a way, it was like starting the day completely fresh. Except for the hangover. And the broken ribs. And the cotton mouth. And the dry, gritty eyes that felt like they were rasping about inside their sockets. Beside the jar was a pitcher of water that Apple Bloom had left for her. She drained it, and let the mattress claim her again. Lowering herself slowly made her ribs hurt, too; she pondered which hurt more, easing herself down slowly or dropping. Easing was less pain, but for a longer period of time than simply dropping. They seemed to come out at about a draw. It wasn’t too bad if she could keep the light out of her eyes, and not move. She pulled a pillow over her face. Applejack drifted toward consciousness, listening to Apple Bloom clattering about the corner of the room that served as the kitchen. She was trying to be quiet, but there was only so much you could do in a one-room dugout. Soon the aromas of coffee and oatmeal were filling the place, and Applejack noticed that the empty pain in her stomach was vying with the pain in her ribs for attention. They ate in silence. Applejack was glad that her sister had taken over all the work that day…but felt at a loss as to what she should do with herself without any chores. It was nearly dusk when a hoof on their door made them both jump. It was the Goods’ boy, pulling a light cart with their order—hay, oats, some flour, a couple of blankets. Urchin unhooked himself from the cart, insisting on unloading the cart for them and carrying the stuff in. Applejack was up and around, her head frankly giving her a little more trouble than her ribs. “What’s this?” she asked. Something folded up in the blanket was oddly heavy. Unwrapping it from the blanket, she saw that it was a cavalry pistol. Apple Bloom paused from putting away their foodstuffs in the cupboard, looking at her sister questioningly. Applejack was examining the pistol in the dim light. “Mr. Goods said you left it last night when you went home,” Urchin mumbled. Investigating further, Applejack found a wallet with a couple hundred bits’ worth of Solar Army scrip in it. Her hooves began to shake again. She’d been able to keep it out of her thoughts until then. “I can’t take this—“ Applejack protested. Urchin looked confused. “Mr. Goods said it was yours…he promised me a whuppin’ if I brung it back,” he said sullenly. “Same’s ‘iss,” he added, unwrapping a jar of apple brandy from another blanket and offering it to her. “I din’t order that—“ “Mr. Goods sent it…he said to me to tell you he hopes you feel better. Ma’am.” Applejack worked her jaw in thought. “Tell him…thanks,” she said quietly. “Another gun, sis?” Apple Bloom asked quietly after Urchin had left. “Seems so,” Applejack said. “You said you wanted a gun of your own…you take paw’s.” “You sure, sis? I know how much it means to you….” Applejack smiled. “I got his hat.” Applejack looked at the pistol in her hoof. “You take paw’s pistol,” she repeated. More quietly, she added, “Looks like this un’s found its way to ME.” The Solar Command made numerous inquiries as to the whereabouts of their missing soldier. Nopony was coming forward with any information. Nopony in the clannish mountain hollow knew anything about it, despite repeated questioning. By all accounts, the Pegasus had never made it to Dry Goods’ store—hadn’t been seen by anypony since he’d left the barracks. Speculation was that the lone soldier had been ambushed by thieves. The remains were found late the following summer, at the bottom of Augustus’ Ravine. Foul play was apparent, but there was nothing there to shed any light on the nature of the attack. A Pansy for Your ThoughtsBad Apples A Pansy for Your Thoughts “So…looks like we’ve got ourselves a Big Mac here.” The desk was impeccably neat—ink blotter, inkwell, pens—everything arranged square with the edges of the desk. A single neat stack of papers was immediately in front of him, centered perfectly. The Unicorn behind the desk was dressed just as impeccably. He seemed quite proud of his uniform. It was clean and pressed, and everything on it looked bright and new. Captain Pansy was a little slip of a Unicorn, with a hairline moustache. A dainty little pince nez completed his outfit. Big Mac had found the tittering and snickering of the Pegasus guards strangely unnerving; now he was as hard pressed as they were not to grin. “I have here a warrant for your arrest—“ “Sorry to interrupt, cap’n,” Big Mac said, “but that looks more like a grocery list…’less that’s my name ‘twixt the eggs and butter.” Pansy flustered, and moreso when Big Mac asked in a deadpan voice, “You makin’ cupcakes, Pansy?” “None-the-less,” Pansy uttered each syllable distinctly, “There IS a warrant for your arrest at the capital, and I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Not to mention the price on your head, which we’ve saved the taxpayers by catching you ourselves.” One of the guards stifled a groan. He would have favored a cut of the bounty in lieu of the 3-day pass he was likely to get out of it. “Don’t you know how dangerous this pony is?” Pansy scolded. “I want to see him in irons IMMEDIATELY!” None too quickly, one of the guards trudged out to comply with the order. Big Mac was caught, and this time, there were no doubts about his true identity. It was almost a relief—he didn’t have to maintain the charade of being a nopony, keeping his head down and trying not to be noticed. It was small comfort against the prospect of being sent to some Luna-forsaken hellhole like Andersonville had been. Hopefully Andersonville had been dissolved. He’d only had a couple of blissful weeks out of that place before he’d been caught again. He almost snickered at the thought that it’d been a good thing he hadn’t been caught so often at the BEGINNING of the war. The good captain looked as though he might be turning pink beneath his glisteningly-white coat. Big Mac was glad he’d managed to stifle the snicker at himself--he didn’t need to do anything to make his predicament worse with the captain. Whenever he needed to straighten his face, he could always brood over the fact that he’d probably get a very lengthy imprisonment, as long as they didn’t charge him with treason. If they DID charge him with treason, execution would be likely. He’d been careful—but they probably picked up his trail when he’d gone back to the Hollow to look for his sisters and Granny. He was sure nopony in the Hollow would have turned him in…but there was that Luna-damned Fort Lincolnlog nearby. Although Applejack and Apple Bloom had already gone, at least he knew they were still alive. And he knew what had happened to Granny Smith. Details were scarce, but he was sure she must’ve gone down fighting. He had these thoughts to console him while the dainty captain gloated. The private returned with the irons, and started to fasten Big Mac’s front hooves together. His front hooves chained together with iron, the private moved to his back hooves. “What the FUCK am I doing?” he asked himself suddenly. He’d been cooperative the entire time. It was easy to do at the beginning, being caught unprepared before so many guns. He’d habitually fallen into the broken demeanor he’d assumed at Andersonville, and come in without a fight. As the back irons snapped shut, he tried to look as though he was just shifting his weight. Then he bucked the private in the face. When his weight came down, he reared up, catching the guard on his other side beneath the chin with his two iron-bound legs. It was the hardest blow he could muster under the conditions, but hobbled, it wasn’t the hardest blow he could deal. More than anything, the guard was momentarily startled. With armed guards in the room, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to slug it out with them—he had to surprise them, and then run like hell before they could shoot him. Without even waiting for his front hooves to come down, he launched himself across the desk at Pansy. He launched awkwardly—he hadn’t thought it entirely through before he’d started. Now there were curses and gunshots, and he slipped into pure terrified survival mode, striking blindly in Pansy’s direction with his forehooves and mouth. He caught a glimpse of Pansy’s terrified expression, Pansy raising his hooves before him in defense. Big Mac’s hooves didn’t connect with Pansy in any meaningful way, but he seized onto Pansy with his mouth, clamped down, and snapped his head to the side. Electricity galvanized his jaw, the muscles contracting so tightly he could only imagine the fibers would be snapping. His head felt as though ablaze, and he had a vision of his own skull blackened and charred, with all the flesh itching, burning, and sloughing off. The black empty pits of his eye sockets were erupting with blue flames. He couldn’t even scream, as the flayed bones of his jaw were still clamped shut. There was a weird “THWUP” sound, and all sensation was blotted out by a blinding blue light. Instinctively, Big Mac scrambled to his feet, feeling his hooves sinking into soft earth. He launched himself into a gallop… And ran immediately headlong into a tree. Staggering to the side, he broke into a shaky gallop, flinching every time the shadow of a tree passed over his face. It seemed as though his eyes were crossed, or something else was amiss with his vision. Things didn’t seem quite right, but they seemed to be getting slightly more…normal. He was struggling for air, his breath coming in short pants. He forced himself to take a deep breath, to slow down…to try to focus on his surroundings. He noticed his jaw was still clamped tightly shut. There was a bright blue flicker in his vision that was intermittently blotting out his sight. He struggled to a halt, and tried to spit out whatever was in his mouth. He thrust a hoof into the side of his mouth, pulling and prying. Nearly falling over with his efforts, he finally got his jaw open, spitting out whatever was in it. He sucked in a deep lungful of air, expelling it quickly through his newly-opened mouth and took in another. “Dafuq?” he thought. Thought was returning to him, as was his vision. He shook his head to clear it. He was standing in the woods, surrounded by trees. He looked down, and shuddered with revulsion as he realized what had happened. He’d broken off Pansy’s horn with his mouth. “Oh, fuck,” he gasped, dropping to the ground. He retched a few times, but perhaps trained by Andersonville, didn’t throw anything up. Unicorns could teleport, couldn’t they? He struggled upright, looking around in a panic. He was alone. No soldiers, no fort, no Pansy…except for the fragment of his horn. Big Mac shuddered again. Killing a pony was one thing…but tearing a piece off one just seemed…revolting. Much less to do it with one’s mouth. It was nothing he would ever plan to do. He’d been fighting for his life, and it’d been an accident. He didn’t REGRET doing it…he just wished it’d happened a different way. What do you do with a Unicorn’s horn? he wondered. Was it like a pony that was dead? Should it be buried? He backed away from it. He surveyed his surroundings. Right now, he had nothing but his hat—and— and no irons on his legs. Damn weird. He didn’t need much. A gun would be nice. A blanket for some comfort would be good. Looking at the sky, he determined which way was west, and trotted off in that direction. Loose EndsBad Apples Loose Ends Dry Goods was none too thrilled when the Pegasus soldier walked into his store. It was late afternoon. Dry Goods had been planning on closing soon. It was summer, and he’d have a few more hours of sunlight to attend to things outdoors. There seemed to be another Pegasus in Solar Army livery loitering on the front porch of the store. Goods couldn’t take a careful look without being conspicuous about it. Although ostensibly under the fort’s protection, most of the residents of the Hollow viewed the Solar Pegasi as the biggest threat in the region. At the very best, they were regarded as an occupying force. Goods was instantly suspicious. Since the disappearance of the soldier the past winter, SA seldom ventured into the hollow in groups smaller than four or five…and never very late in the day. “’Afternoon,” said sergeant Roark in what he thought would be an amiable voice. “I’m looking for a couple of mares who have a farm up near here…by the name of ‘Apple,’ I think.” Stroking his chin as though trying to recollect the name, he said “Hmmm…oh, the Apple family.” After another pause, he added, “Haven’t seen hide nor hair of ‘em since before Hearth Warmin’s Eve. Do y’know how they’re doing?” Roark grunted. “What d’ya need ‘em for?” Goods asked. “We just need to ask a few questions,” Roark said vaguely. He surveyed the store idly. After a few moments, he added, “Well, if any of them should happen to come by, could you ask them to contact me? Over at Fort Lincolnlog…ask for Sergeant Roark. It’s a matter I’m handling personally.” “Ah…will do!” Goods nodded with feigned enthusiasm. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” “No, no…that’ll be fine. Thank you very much.” Roark’s mouth tightened up at the last few words, as though they’d left a bad taste in his mouth. Goods watched him walk out, exchange some terse words with his companion, and then they both walked out into the middle of the street and took to the air. “Boy, fetch me the rug from the front door and bring it to me out back,” he ordered. “But I already beat it this morning,” Urchin protested. “No questions, boy—just do it. Or I’ll be beating you.” Dry Goods affixed the rug to the clothesline, beating it with a wicker beater. He had to put some force into it to raise some dust, for it had been beaten pretty well earlier. More than anything, he was surreptitiously scanning the skies and the woods, making sure the Pegasi had actually gone. “Boy, can you git to the Apples’ farm without being seen?” he said quietly, not pausing in his work. “I-I think so….” “Good. I need you to bring ‘em a message. Tell ‘em a couple of SA were looking for ‘em…and they was very well armed. ‘Far ‘s I know, the SA ain’t adopted Winchesters yit, and both these boys had ‘em…it don’t smell like government business.” Urchin nodded. “Mind the sky…stay under the trees where you can’t be seen from above. Don’t let anypony else see you, for that matter, and don’t tell nopony what I said or what you’re doing besides Applejack or Apple Bloom.” “And bring something with you from the store—I don’t care what—in case you do get seen—so you kin give ‘em some bullshit excuse about deliverin’ it to somepony or other.” Urchin nodded. “Good boy. Be careful—it’ll be worth your while in more ways ‘n one, hear?” Dry Goods scanned the sky once more as he began taking down and folding the carpet. “Go.” Urchin was out of breath by the time he arrived at the Apples’ dugout. Wary of being seen, he darted in the open door without knocking. “Sorry Miss Apple,” he gasped, pausing for air. Apple Bloom had been bustling about the kitchen, mixing up cornmeal batter. She’d put a deep kettle of oil to heat up on the stove. “Urchin! What brings you here?” she smiled, wiping her hooves on her apron. “I was just about to make some corn fritters…want some?” “Mr…Goods…sent…me,” he panted. In a rush of words, he imparted Dry Goods’ message, and recounted what’d happened at the store. “Out—now!” Apple Bloom whispered urgently. She bounded out, slamming the door behind her. She dove for cover every bit as fast as Urchin did. “Didja see mah sister?” Apple Bloom called, unholstering her father’s Colt Walker. “No. I—“ “Well you’d best get outta here, then,” Apple Bloom interrupted. “If ya see her, tell her…but get yourself the hell outta here, unnerstan’?” “Okay,” Urchin said. He didn’t know much about what was going on, but the urgency of the situation was becoming more and more apparent to him. Apple Bloom crept deeper into the bushes, waiting tensely. She wondered if she should try to summon Apple Jack with a shot, but decided against it. She heard a rustle behind her and froze, hoping she’d chosen ample cover to be concealed from all directions. She turned her head as much as she dared, to see if it’d turn out to be her sister or somepony else. Sure enough, it was a Pegasus in SA livery. He was moving slowly, and close to silently. He stopped, and her heart caught in her chest as she thought she’d been seen. He was completely still for a few tense moments. She realized he was staring off past her—toward the dugout. After a few moments, he took out his pistol and marched quietly but directly to the door. He smashed it open with his shoulder and ducked inside. Shoot him in the back? Apple Bloom wondered. Busting down the door, armed, he wasn’t there to borrow a cup of sugar. There was some rustling inside the cabin, and a moment later he stepped back into the doorframe, leaning against it and scratching his head idly. He scanned the area. Apple Bloom took aim and fired. The door frame beside his head burst, and he fell back in surprise, rolling to the side. “Fuck!” Apple Bloom hissed, cursing herself for not having practiced more. Now alerted, he was using the cover of the front log wall of their dugout. Everything was silent. Time passed. She wondered if the bastard was going to be waiting there all day. She could try shooting through the chinking between logs…but she didn’t know precisely where he was, and she wasn’t sure the bullet would still have enough force left to do anything if she could get it through the logs. She could see the oil kettle on the stove, though…. “Sorry, Granny…I swear I’ll buy you another kettle,” she said to herself, half in jest. Granny Smith hadn’t any use for a kettle anymore. The kettle burst spectacularly, flashing brightly as the small splatters caught fire from the flames of the stove. The larger spatters conducted the flames outward in a whoosh, a tongue of liquid fire cascading down the front of the stove and outward. “AH FUCK!” she heard from within the cabin. She jumped as Roark exploded out the front of the door. For some reason, she’d imagined he’d continue his waiting game. Instead, he rolled grunting over the jagged ground, extinguishing most of the flames. As she brought her gun to bear, he coiled and jumped off the ground, aiding himself with a mighty THWUMP of his wings. She shot, apparently missing. Again she failed to anticipate his actions; she expected he’d just take off, but he only jumped out of sight over the edge of the ridge…and out of reach of her gun. She heard the crash and the snapping of branches as he landed blindly on the other side of the mound of earth. More rustling, sounding vaguely as though receding, greeted her ears. She bounded out from her cover, but paused just before cresting the ridge—would he just be waiting there with his gun aimed right at her? Her gaze darted to the side, and she was just about to dart to the side and crest the ridge elsewhere when she heard a more distant crashing from the other side of the hill. She jumped up to see the Pegasus leap up again. In a mixture of flight and jumping, he darted up into the forest canopy and clambered out of sight. She could see and hear branches disturbed, but his actual position was hidden as 50-hoove-long branches shook, swayed, and groaned as his weight touched them and left them. “FUCK!” she hissed again. “Sugar cube! Sugar cube, are you alright?” Applejack called, bounding through the brush. “Yeah…careful! There’s at least two of ‘em!” Apple Bloom shouted back. Applejack skidded to a halt, looking all around her, and up. Apple Bloom spotted a dark fleck in the sky. “Over there, maybe?” There was a lone Pegasus hovering in the sky at some distance. He had a view of the small ravine they were in. He seemed to be watching, and moving in closer for a better view. Dropping to the ground, Applejack assumed a steady firing position, and lashed her Sharps rifle to her hooves. Roark’s cohort laughed out loud when he saw the smoke cloud from the Sharps being fired. “Crazy bitch…nopony could hit anything at this distance.” Applejack was scrambling to reload, fumbling awkwardly for her cartridges while keeping her eyes on the Pegasus in the sky. A thin cloud of red and feathers burst out of the base of the Pegasus’ left wing. She could almost hear the satisfying thwack! of the bullet striking its target. For a moment, she, the gun, the bullet, and its target shared an exclusive, fleeting Zen-like connection with one another over the great distance. The Pegasus rotated backward a bit with the blow. Bone ground painfully on broken bone as the useless wing trailed behind him, shaken by the wind. He began to fall through the arid, cloudless sky. “Nice!” Apple Bloom rasped breathlessly. “Dammit to Luna, I let the other one git away!” Apple Bloom said, striking a log with her hoof in frustration. “Sounds like yeh burned ‘im a bit, though!” smiled Applejack. “Din’t see how much,” Apple Bloom replied sadly. “That was good thinkin’, though, if you didn’t have a direct shot.” Despite their casual conversation, they were both shaken. In the quiet afterward, it was sinking in that they’d just had a very close encounter with death. “D’ya think that one died?” “Dunno,” shrugged Applejack. “They kin walk on clouds…I don’t know if there’s magic protects ‘em from falls. Fall lahk that’d kill an Earth Pony, ‘sure.” Apple Bloom nodded. “I don’t think they was expectin’ us to be armed,” Applejack observed. “Good thing we were.” Then she sighed deeply. “I don’t reckon we should linger here any longer, though…with one shot or dead, they’ll be back…and we oughtn’t be here when they do.” Apple Bloom sighed. “You’re right…I guess we knew this day’d come,” she said glumly. “Let’s git our stuff, and light the hell outta here.” “Ya think we should tell anypony?” Applejack paused a long moment. “No,” her voice shook a little. “We don’t know where we’re going…and if nopony else knows we’re even gone, we’ll be that much harder to find. Apple Bloom nodded. “Ah’ll miss the Holler,” she said sadly. Applejack felt moved toward uncharacteristic tears.
Eat the CloudsBad Apples Eat the Clouds Apple Jack didn’t want to wake up. She was cold. Her senses returned to her slowly. She smelled damp, rotting wood, and wet earth. Her body ached from the cold. She was on the ground, beneath an oilskin slicker, hard up against a large, rotting log. Apple Bloom had been huddled against her most of the night, sobbing quietly beneath the slicker. Occasionally she’d leave, gathering snow to hold against Apple Jack’s face. For the most part, Apple Jack had been able to remain somewhere between unconscious and sleeping fitfully. The snow felt good against her swollen face. Apple Bloom had wanted to go back for Granny Smith. Apple Jack had been able to drag her away—it was too late for Granny Smith. Apple Jack fought the urge to curse at the aches and pains she was feeling. She didn’t know where Apple Bloom had gone. When she stuck her head out from under the slicker, she let out the slew of curses she’d been holding in reserve. The brightness hurt her eyes, hurt her face more as it forced her to squint. Tried to squint—her face was so swollen that it wasn’t able to squint. It hurt plenty as it instinctively tried. Her eyes throbbed with the light coming from the overcast sky. Patches of snow all over the wet ground threw more light at her. The wet, black, bare trees offered no sympathy…no shade, no respite from the scattered light pelting her from every direction. The forest was a world of mud, soggy snow, bleak skies, and dead winter trees. Apple Jack plodded dully toward the farmhouse. Toward what had been the farmhouse. Apple Bloom was sitting, staring at the remains of the cabin. She’d already been busy—some of their belongings had been dug out of the ashes. Anything she found that had any use left in it had been placed in a pile. Some of the still-usable timbers from the house had been nudged into another pile; furniture and timbers too smashed or burned to be usable had been pushed into another pile. Still other timbers had been pushed up into a small campfire, before which she still sat. Apple Jack estimated that the fire was just a couple of hooves to the inside of where their front door used to be. “You all right, sugar cube?” Apple Jack asked uselessly. Ignoring the question, Apple Bloom replied, “Sis, you’re gonna tell me EVER’THIN’ you know ‘bout Paw’s shootin’ ahrns.” A long silence followed. Apple Jack trod up to warm herself at the fire, sitting down. She shifted to cuddle against Apple Bloom. After a time, Apple Jack asked again quietly, “So how’re you doin’, sugar cube?” Apple Bloom’s eyes were reddened, but dry. “Ah’m tired a cryin,” she said. “I guess I’ve cried enough—I’m done with it.” After a moment, she added, “Bout the same’s you, I reckon,” with a rueful smile. “Better’n you, if you count the face.” Apple Jack let out a laugh that was as much a cough. “Granny Smith’s over there. Near where her rockin’ chair used t’ be.” “Oh, I’m sorry, sugar cube,” Apple Jack said, hitting her own forehead with a hoof. “You oughtn’t have to’ve seen that.” “It ain’t her,” Apple Bloom said simply. “It’s only what she left behind.” “You’re raht.” Then Apple Jack snickered. She paused, smiling at a memory. “She blooded one’ve ‘em…smacked ‘im raht’n’a nose. Blooded ‘im good.” She added soberly, “Th’ last thing she said was, ‘I’ll see your souls trampled in hell bah Nahtmare Moon.’” They both smiled. “Said it with such strength ‘n’ conviction, one of the Pegasi dropped a pie on the floor right where ‘e stood.” Apple Bloom smiled broadly, proudly at Granny Smith’s spirit. “’f anypony can lay a curse and make it stick, ol’ Granny Smith’d have the power to,” she said. Apple Jack nodded. “They stomped her to death after that,” she said. “We’re gonna need a place to sleep,” Apple Jack said. “’Course they set fahr to the barn ‘n’ shed…bastards even caved in’a root cellar,” Apple Bloom glowered. “’Guess they din’t think it’d burn ‘nuff,” she spat. “They even torched th’ chicken coop an’ th’ fucking SPRING HOUSE.” After spending the night huddled under a slicker, the root cellar would’ve been downright cozy. It stayed the temperature of the earth, while the temperatures above ground plummeted with night. “Quickest’d be ta scratch a dugout inta the side of a hill,” Apple Jack speculated. “Far from here.” Apple Jack looked at her sister. “’N case they come back.” “Raht. Good thinkin’.” Apple Jack stroked her chin with a hoof. “How ‘bout that little holler you used to play with yer dolls in? It’s not too close, not too far…small and out of the wind, but with good drainage.” “Yeah!” “Be a pain ta drag th’ stove up in ‘ere, but we kin take the panels apart.” Apple Jack was warming to the idea. “Maybe th’ trees’ll break up the smoke some…sure won’t be easy for anypony t’ find.” “Ah lahk that,” Apple Bloom agreed. “That’s why I lahked to keep my dolls there.” Apple Bloom thought a moment. “You don’t think we should leave the farm, do you?” she asked darkly. “It’s been the family farm o’er a hunnert years,” Apple Jack said slowly. “And Ah’d like t’ be here ‘f…’f….” Neither of them wanted to say “If Big Mac comes back.” They buried Granny Smith, commending her soul to Luna and the Earth. They wished for something more permanent than a wooden plank to mark the spot, but it would serve for the time being. They retrieved Paw’s guns from the ashes—a Sharps’ rifle and a .44 Colt Walker cap-and-ball revolver. The Sharps had fared well, but the pistol required some disassembly and cleaning. Apple Jack had to smile at the irony—Paw’d bought the Sharps in case there was any trouble with the Buffalo…but the only use it should’ve seen would have been against a renegade squad of Pegasus Solar sky infantry. Apple Jack was chagrined that the bullets had melted and mingled together, the lead shiny from its recasting into a rectangular shape formed by the cardboard box they’d been in. Some of the powder was still good, and before night fell they made use of the “daylight” to inspect the percussion caps and set aside a hoof’s full of them that seemed undamaged by the heat. After dark, once settled into whatever shelter they could muster, maybe she’d be able to recast some of the lead back into bullets. They were able to drag a patch of un-burned roof away from the site of the cabin into the ravine, and scratched out a good depression in the side of the hill. They made a hollow large enough for the two of them to sleep in, huddled together for warmth, and covered the floor with the driest of the leaves and pine needles they managed to find. They nudged a huge rock up in front of it to build a fire against. It would reflect some of the heat back at them, and shield the fire from anypony’s view. There wasn’t much to eat, save for a cake of oats that’d once been oatmeal, cooked into the shape of a puck from the heat of the house burning down. It was dusted generously with black and gray ash. It seemed a fitting repast. They’d found a couple of singed blankets. Shaking some branches free of snow, they spread them and dried them somewhat from the muddy ash they’d been mired in. It was long after dark before they finished cobbling together the crude shelter. After a day of toil and how they’d spent the previous night, it was as cozy as a feather bed. They’d been busy all day…but now, lying in bed, they had nothing to think about but their current situation. The fire was warm. Although the cold seeped in around them, they had a roof over their heads (if no walls). They had covers…their trusty slicker formed the top layer, to ward off any moisture or wind-driven snow. Huddled together, they had warmth. Sleep was long in coming. Tired of brooding over her thoughts, Apple Jack began to speak. “I wonder if Big Mac didn’t feel that somethin’ was comin’.” “How d’ya mean?” “A couple of nights before the SA came to take him, he was talking to me. Wanted to tell me something Paw told him. I didn’t think nuthin’ of it at the time…but it was kinda creepy a couple days later when he was gone.” “He said Paw told it to’m…said it was passed down from father to son. Seein’ as there weren’t no Apple males in the Holler t’share it with, he wanted t’share it with me. Said it was important, and somepony else in the family should know it.” Apple Jack laughed. “And now I’m tellin’ it ta you. I hope it don’t mean I’m gonna be gone in a couple of days.” “Don’ even say that,” Apple Bloom said dourly. “Anyway…if this ain’t the time ta share it, I don’t know what would be.” “It’s about Earth Ponies, and their place in the universe.” “You know how they say that Earth Ponies have a special kind of magic that makes them able to do things with the earth?” “Yeah?” “Well that’s bullshit.” “We have an affinity with the Earth ‘n’ all, but it’s not magic. It’s not magic like the Unicorns have, and it ain’t magic like the Pegasi have to walk on their clouds.” “You know the story about where ponies come from…how Celestia created the Pegasi. She took air and water—clouds—and shaped them into a pony with wings. She couldn’t make a pony as powerful as herself, but she was able to make a pony with wings, and give it the magic it needed to live in the sky.” “She liked the Pegasus…so she tried to make a different kind of pony. She took air and light, and mixed them together. She shaped them into a pony with a horn, and gave it magic. She couldn’t give it both magic AND wings, but she could give it magic…in its horn.” “Luna saw the ponies her sister had made, and she wanted to make a pony, too. She wanted to outdo her sister…she wanted to make the strongest pony she could…a pony stronger than the ones her sister had made.” “She’d seen how Celestia made her ponies out of air and water, and out of air and light.” “Now there were ponies with wings, so she couldn’t make a pony with wings and call it her own. There were also ponies with horns, so she couldn’t make a pony with a horn, and call it her own.” “She went into the Earth, and gathered up iron.” “Luna made her ponies out of iron, so they’d be the strongest, toughest ponies around.” “That’s why an Earth pony is stronger than any other pony of the same size. Without wings or magic, an Earth pony can easily beat a Pegasus or a Unicorn at just about any task.” “That’s also why we can’t fly,” Apple Jack added with a laugh. “Luna looked at her work. She wanted more than strength and endurance for her ponies. She couldn’t give them horns or wings…she had to give them something unique. Something that could be their own.” “She also saw that without wings or magic, they’d always have to do things the hard way. They had the strength and endurance for it, but that wasn’t enough. Not enough for Luna—not good enough for Luna’s children” “So Luna gave her ponies…gave us…something that Celestia never gave to her ponies.” “Luna gave us the knowledge of how things work.” “The Unicorns had knowledge—they had knowledge of magic, and could write about it. The Pegasi had knowledge of the clouds and weather. But Luna gave all the rest of the knowledge to the Earth Ponies.” “Now, this wasn’t part of Celestia’s plan. Nopony was supposed to have all the knowledge; nopony was supposed to have as much knowledge as Luna gave to her children. Celestia was angry…and that’s one of the reasons she exiled Luna to the moon.” “We have something better than magic. Magic can fail…but the world will ALWAYS work as it does.” “The Unicorns made fireworks…toys for the sky that flash and make noise. It took an Earth pony to put it inside a barrel of steel, and make a gun. Sharps? Colt? Winchester? Gatling? All Earth Ponies. Pegasi never made guns. Unicorns never made guns. Unicorns had gunpowder…but WE make the guns.” “Wonder what they called it before we invented guns?” They both giggled. “But we have the knowledge of such things…we can do more with less. We can make our tasks work in harmony with the world, so we can get more done with less effort…make the world do some of our work for us. Without magic. Without wings.” “We have knowledge. We have invention—creativity and understanding.” “When Luna gave us this knowledge, she gave us the future.” “Celestia wanted to keep things in balance, and gave her children what she gave them. Luna’s children…you take a look at them. At first, we seem to have less. We don’t have magic. We can’t fly.” “But our knowledge grows. It gives us the tools to unlock other secrets. We can do things the other ponies can’t—and not only because of strength. It’s because we see the world differently than they do. We know more about its workings than they do.” “We grow the crops. We work the iron. We build the engines, we build the machines.” “The other ponies…the Pegasi and Unicorns…they can do these things. But it’s always the Earth Pony who figures it all out…who SHOWS ‘em how to do it.” “The future belongs to the Earth Ponies. The Earth belongs to the Earth ponies…and the Earth Ponies belong to the Earth.” “Wow,” Apple Bloom marveled. “Ah never thought ‘bout it like that.” Apple Jack nodded. “Me, neither…’til he told me.” The coming of the Pegasi had destroyed most of their preparations for Winter, not to mention their home. Even building the modest home they planned with an economy of effort, there was a lot of work to be done. The work kept them warm during the day, and they were able to sleep as well as possible during the night. By the time Hearth’s-Warming Eve came, at least they had a hearth to warm. It was a small dugout-cabin, and offered at least a representation of every comfort they’d had in their generations-old farmhouse…if not space. There was one room in the cabin, formed by three walls that were mostly the sides of a hole dug into the earth. They’d built a front wall and a few hooves’-worth of wall all the way around to offer some headroom, and a roof over it all. They had both a fireplace and their iron stove, salvaged from the house. One end of the cabin, near the door, was the kitchen, and the far end, which was shorter, was a space to sleep. A crude wooden table separated the bedroom from the kitchen. There were a couple of small windows made from the few unbroken panes of glass that’d been salvaged from the house. They’d found a few bits (currency) in the ashes of the house that the Pegasi had missed, and were able to clean off a few items to barter for some flour and a couple of bales of hay. The hay would serve both as mattress and food. “Breakfast ‘n’ bed,” Apple Jack had joked in a rare moment of mirth. Apple Jack was proud, and Apple Bloom was indifferent; they didn’t seek any help from their neighbors. Everypony in the hollow would’ve been happy to help them out…but they preferred to suffer and toil themselves, without assistance. The labor helped them cope, and they wanted to be alone with their sorrow. It was unspoken between them, but the more time that passed after the attack, the easier it would be to explain the fire as an accident, and avoid saying anything that might lead to any suspicion that the sexual assault had even happened. They didn’t know quite what they’d do if either of them had been gotten with foal. What served as the center of town was a trodden street and four buildings; two buildings, really, but each had a detached kitchen associated with it. The smaller of the two was Dry Goods' Store, which served as store, restaurant, post office, and informal meeting place for the town. The larger of the two was Town Hall, which served to house any formal town meetings or celebrations, as the school house, and as overnight accommodations for anypony traveling through or visiting. The Town Hall’s only current regular resident was Miss Vellum, the new Unicorn schoolmare. The last schoolmare had retired several years ago, and Miss Vellum was betrothed to one of the Hollow’s residents, Clay…or Clayton, as he’d recently started asking everypony to call him. As an outsider (having been brought to the hollow by Clay—ton), she was the only Unicorn amongst the ancestral homes of all the Hollow’s Earth-Pony families. Postwar tensions between Unicorns and Earth Ponies weren’t usually as great as those between Pegasi and Earth Ponies. Although usually serving Solar Army forces, most Unicorns kept a lower profile than the Pegasi, and were perhaps better educated and more…tactful. Most of the Hollow’s residents had gathered in Town Hall for the Hearth’s-Warming Eve party…or were on their way. Neither Apple Jack nor Apple Bloom were feeling the spirit of the season very much…but they were both desperate to have SOMETHING be a distraction from their lives. Apple Bloom spotted some school friends, and plodded off in their direction. Not really knowing what to do with herself, Apple Jack stepped to the side, out of the traffic flow from the door, and idly surveyed the room. Dry Goods appeared out of the crowd. “Evenin’, Miss Apple. Happy Hearth’s-Warming Eve,” he said genially. “Happy Hearth’s-Warmin’ Eve,” Apple Jack mumbled. Dry Goods was a handsome colt, very sober and not much given to talking. He’d taken over the store two winters ago, when his father had died of pneumonia. Gossip was traded in his store almost more than bits and goods, but Dry Goods spent most of his time listening. For his pensiveness, many regarded him as intelligent (not in a negative way), and sometimes sought his advice. Out of all the tales bouncing around his store, he tried to distill the truth for anypony who asked him or came around looking for news. “Some punch? Got the reg’lar punch, and the grownup-punch,” he held up a mug and a glass. “I reckon the grownup-punch’d be mighty agreeable…thank ya.” He offered the glass and she took a sip. They stood quietly for a minute, suddenly simultaneously excusing themselves from one another with a polite nod. “Mares and Gentlecolts,” the mayor began, raising her voice. “I’d like to wish you all a warm welcome, and a happy Hearth’s-Warming Eve!” Apple Jack took another sip of punch. It was potent, but smooth. She felt like a dark mote floating at the edge of a bright constellation. She tried to shed her darkness, and open herself to the happiness of the ponies surrounding her, celebrating the holiday. Her attention drifted around. She took another sip. Her eyes began to feel big, and her head kind of floaty. The mayor’s voice faded away, and she found herself listening to the ponies immediately around her. “…bought him some land down in the valley, swept a society Unicorn off her hooves at her deb’tant ball. Wants to be a ‘’spectable’ valley pony.” “’Bout abducted her, Ah hear tell,” laughed another pony. “Guess he’s just too good for us anymore,” sighed another, but not maliciously. Another shook his head. “You know Clay…shoes always too big for his hooves….” “Not sure I lahk havin’ a Un’corn in the Holler,” piped in a grouchy voice. Apple Jack had never met Miss Vellum…Apple Bloom had said she was “nice.” “Miss Vellum!” boomed the mayor’s voice suddenly, shaking Apple Jack from her reverie. Murkily from what she’d been half listening to, she surmised Vellum would be telling the traditional Hearth’s-Warming Eve story. “Thank you, Mayor Mare,” said Vellum, launching into a breathy greeting and warm wishes for the holiday. Vellum was a pretty filly…a Unicorn with a snowy, sparkling white coat. She was younger than Apple Jack would’ve suspected…barely a hoof’s full of years older than Apple Bloom, and maybe a hair younger than Apple Jack herself. Apple Jack’d never really MET a Unicorn before, except maybe briefly in passing, on a trip down to the valley for supplies. Her speech was formal and crisp, but not ostentatiously so. She used some large words, but did so naturally—she wasn’t putting on airs expecting people to be impressed by them—they were just the words she used. “…story of Chancellor Pudding Head and Smart—“ Vellum was saying. “Puddin’ PIE!” shouted the voice of a young foal from the audience. “Cook—I’m sorry?” Vellum said. A voice far in the back of the room, sounding a little more hostile than the speaker intended, corrected, “The Chancellor’s name was Puddin’ PAH...not Puddin’ Haid….” A murmur rolled about the room. Vellum recovered, and covered, quickly. “Of course—I’m sorry. Chancellor Pudding Pie and Smart Cookie.” She cleared her throat. Before continuing, she asked, “Did I get any of the other names wrong?” “You kin call the Peg’si ‘birdshit’ fer all Ah care—ow!”called a colt’s voice from the back of the room. The filly he was with had smacked him lightly in the head…but his remark elicited some giggles from the gathered crowd. “Uh…ma’am,” he added, bashfully. “Maht make the storeh more ‘njoyable,” remarked a voice that sounded like an older stallion, triggering a few more titters. Vellum’s grin wasn’t as brittle as it might have been. She coughed, covering what almost sounded like a sputter. “I’m not sure I’m as well acquainted with the story as I thought I was,” she was saying quietly to Mayor Mare. Everypony knew the story. As a Unicorn, she’d just never heard the way it was told by the Earth Ponies. “Tell us the story ‘bout Puddin’ Pah an’ the Griffon!” called the possibly drunken voice of a colt too old to be listening to the little foal’s tale he was asking for. Cries of “Yeah! Puddin’ Pah an’ the Griffon!” sounded from about the room. A chorus of young foals began to chant, “Puddin’ Pah an’ the Griffon!” in unison. “I don’t know that one,” Miss Vellum said. “I’d love to hear it, though…somepony?” Vellum stepped back as another mare volunteered, and started making her way out of the audience. Despite her poise, Vellum looked grateful to be able to flee the stage. Apple Jack had finished her punch. Making her way to a different table, she found a warm bowl of mulled “grownup” apple cider, and ladled her glass full. “…time before the Griffons and Pegasi were as good friends as they are now….” Miss Vellum had drifted back into the audience, taking a station near the punch bowl. She sipped demurely from a glass balanced clumsily on her hoof. She seemed reluctant to use the magic to drink, as she customarily would have. She’d been uncomfortably aware enough at the stares she’d attracted using her magic to manipulate the ladle…a task of a complexity she dared not attempt with bare hoof. She was trying to disappear into the audience. “…Chancellor’s best friends, the Griffon Skar….” “CAW! CAW!” screamed the foals in the loudest chorus they could muster, accompanied by some of the drunker adults. Miss Vellum jumped, unprepared for the audience-participation part of a story she’d never before heard. “…Chancellor Puddin’ Pah…” “WOO! WOO!” “…knew that the Earth Ponies didn’t have any more love for the Pegasi than they had for the Griffons. They were tired of slaving away to feed the Pegasi, and didn’t want to give them even MORE food so they could wage war on the Griffons. Some of the Earth Ponies were even friends with Griffons, and didn’t want to help anypony who wanted to attack the Griffons….” To her credit, Miss Vellum was listening politely…even intently…to the story. “Then Commander Hurricane—“ “FWISH! FWISH!” “asked, ‘If you don’t give us food, what are we supposed to do?” “And Chancellor Puddin’ Pah replied—“ “EAT THE CLOUDS!” Informal tradition was that anypony who got the chorus wrong would get poked. If the foals were particularly rowdy, the poking could become quite…zealous. Nopony got the response wrong this time…not even the drunks. Apple Bloom had only been half listening to the story. Some of her classmates were participating, but most of them considered themselves too old for the story. She was catching up with schoolmates she hadn’t seen in weeks. There’d been so much work at the farm, she hadn’t gone to school since…since that night. Apple Bloom coughed. Her nose stung, and tears welled up in her eyes. “Eat the clouds,” she whispered. Her nose began to run immediately. She cursed herself. She’d told herself (and Apple Jack, for that matter) that she was done crying…but this had snuck up on her. Everything fell together, and she chuckled grimly. Then she chuckled less grimly. Eat the clouds. It was an Earth Pony saying, perpetuated by the popular story currently being told, if not actually originating with Chancellor Pudding Pie herself. When a pony had nothing more substantial than clouds…when a pony had nothing…had been deprived of EVERYTHING, they could be said to be “Eating the clouds.” It was to start from nothing. To “pull yourself by your own bootstraps,” to “suck it up.” It was when things couldn’t possibly get worse…rock bottom. Or it could be used derisively, as Chancellor Pudding Pie had coined it. It was perfect…it summed up the Apples’ situation in three neat words. Big Mac was gone. Granny Apple was dead. The house was burned down—there was nothing but ashes, and the hole in the side of the hill that they’d scratched out to LIVE in. Maybe they could excavate the root cellar, and reclaim some of the food they’d stored…before. The maple sap would start flowing in a couple of weeks; they’d collect it and make syrup and maple sugar. With luck, they’d have enough to sell. The apple trees would bear fruit again, but that was months away. Right now, they had clouds…and each other. Eat the clouds. It was beautifully, Existentially perfect. There was a commotion in a corner of the room. Another holiday tradition…and perhaps one of the reasons older ponies requested the story of “Pudding Pie and the Griffon,” was the drinking game. Everypony would pick a different character…and whenever the response for that character came up, they’d down a shot of apple brandy—the homemade kind that came in a jar. A pony had fallen to the floor, and in a fit of giggles while trying to stand back up, had pulled one of his fellows to the floor on top of him. Miss Vellum was making her way through the crowd. So were a couple other jars of apple brandy. At the sudden distraction, somepony unintentionally thrust a brandy jar into Miss Vellum’s hooves. She regarded the jar a moment. Realizing his mistake, the pony reached to take it back, saying, “Uh, miss—“ Vellum had taken a sip. Anypony in the vicinity who realized what had happened was still and silent, eyes riveted to the young society Unicorn who’d been strangely dropped into their hollow… And jumped when Vellum suddenly cried out “WOO WOO! Now that’s what I’M talking about!’ She took two large gulps. A couple of ponies blanched at the thought of taking down the spirits in that quantity that quickly. Vellum wiped a drip at the corner of her mouth with the back of her hoof. “Nopony told me this was going to be a REAL party!” she said loudly. She offered the jar around, realizing she’d accidentally intercepted a jar intended for somepony else. “Ah’m sorry t’wasn’t muh better stuff,” mumbled a pony, the one from whom the jar had originated, by way of apology. She waved a hoof dismissively. “It’s the best I’ve had in months—hell of a lot better than the swill we used to brew in our rubber boots at finishing school.” Vellum’s remark was greeted with genial laughter. “Ol’ Clay’s gonna have ‘is hooves full with that one!” a pony remarked. Apple Jack was doing something she couldn’t remember having done in a long time. Relaxing. She let the crowd and the cider and the brandy warm her…kept her mind away from dark thoughts. A hoof tapped her shoulder, and a face lurched out of the crowd, excessively close to hers. “Miss Apple!” it exclaimed. Miss Vellum grinned charmingly, if a little manically, and then stepped back to a comfortable distance that wasn’t invading Apple Jack’s space. “Sorry, Miss Apple. Miss Apple, I’ve been wanting to meet you! Apple Bloom’s said…told me about you.” “Uh…hi?” Apple Jack was at a loss. School hadn’t been one of her favorite pastimes. She’d done well enough, but she hadn’t been brilliant. She’d never gotten over a slight dread of teachers. Yet, this filly…this teacher…was younger than she was. And possibly as drunk. “You’re Apple Bloom’s mm-sister!” she said, seizing Apple Jack’s hoof. Apple Jack’s mind was still slogging through the fact that this was Apple Bloom’s teacher…and what a teacher was. “We’ve so missed Apple Bloom…I hope she’ll be back to class soon.” “Uh…yeah…well…” Apple Jack stammered. “We’ve had a lot of work on th’ farm, gettin’ ready for Winter ‘n’ all….” “I understand….” Vellum trailed off, cocking her head and staring a little glassily into Apple Jack’s eyes. “Miss Apple?” she asked. “Uh…yah?” Vellum leaned forward slowly, giving the impression that she might not stop--might possibly even fall. Apple Jack braced herself, and was hard pressed to stop herself from backing away. Vellum lowered her voice, saying conspirationally, “Apple Bloom…is very special.” Apple Jack blinked. Vellum seemed frozen in time for a moment, not moving at all…collecting her thoughts. “I know I shouldn’t be playing favorites…but Apple Bloom really is one of the smartest fillies…smartest ponies in the class!” She tapped Apple Jack stoutly on the chest with one of her hooves. “You and your family have done a splendid job of bringing her up!” “Uh…thanks?” “I really do hope she’ll be back…or at least continue her studies…” Miss Vellum was saying. “It…she…it…it’d be a real shame for her not to continue…her studies.” “Ahm sorry…Ah’ll try to get her back to class, soon’s we can spare her at the farm…” Apple Jack promised uneasily. Vellum smiled broadly. “I hope so.” “Sis, Ah—“ came a voice. “Oh, Miss Vellum!” Apple Bloom yelped, instantly ashamed of her recent absence from school. She contemplated bolting off, but she’d already been seen. Her mind scrambled for something she might say to excuse her recent absences. “Apple Bloom! Happy Hearth’s-Warming Eve!” Miss Vellum gushed. She regarded Apple Bloom with a warm smile…and then her features dropped. “Oh, my….” The moment she regarded Apple Bloom, seeing her for the first time in weeks, in a weird mixture of intuition, Unicorn magic, and alcohol haze, she saw that Apple Bloom was with foal. Somehow, her revelation sucked Apple Jack and Apple Bloom into itself, and that instant, the three of them knew with absolute certainty that Apple Bloom was pregnant. Vellum’s thoughts surged ahead. Of course Apple Bloom wouldn’t be returning to school…not until after she delivered. She wouldn’t want to be seen, particularly after she began to show. As far as she knew, there WEREN’T any males that had anything to do with the Apple family…and Apple Bloom didn’t have a coltfriend. She’d probably want to keep the whole thing a secret. It was nopony’s business but her own. Apple Bloom hadn’t had anything to drink…her body was beginning to tell her something was going on, although she hadn’t realized it consciously yet. Miss Vellum came to her senses first. Apple Jack was still processing the revelation, with a growing sense of dread. Apple Bloom began to feel that she was on the verge of tears again. “I was just telling your sister how much we missed you at school, and she was telling me how much work there was to do around the farm,” Miss Vellum said quickly. “You’re a brilliant, brilliant student, Apple Bloom…but I realize it can take a lot of time to come into town for school when there’s a lot of work to be done. It’d be a tragedy for you to lose any time at your education, though…would it be okay if I came out to the farm to bring you some of the lessons to read?” “S-sure…” Apple Bloom stuttered. The Apple sisters were stunned on a number of levels…not the least of which finding out that Apple Bloom was PREGNANT. Miss Vellum swept forward, giving a startled Apple Bloom a warm, hard hug. “Congratulations!” she whispered, her eyes thickening with tears, although she’d said nothing aloud about the matter. Releasing Apple Bloom, she gave a befuddled Apple Jack a hug. The party continued well into Hearth’s Warming Day. Miss Vellum nearly beat Mayor Mare (the reigning champion) at bits—but the last shot had missed her mouth slightly, soaking her chin and neck. It’d been a splendid evening. Miss Vellum became a frequent visitor to the farm, bringing lessons and books and papers out to Apple Bloom, and coaching her in her studies. She often just “happened to have” cakes or food with her, but maintained the premise well enough that Apple Jack couldn’t chide her for bringing things. Even after Apple Bloom began to show, Vellum made no mention of it, to the sisters or to anypony else. When the time came, she suggested vaguely that maybe they’d taken in the foal of a distant cousin, otherwise orphaned by the war.
Big Red's EscapeBad Apples Big Red’s Escape “Hey, Stump! Big Red’s askin’ ta see ya.” “Stump” looked up. “He’s in the ‘Infirmary.’” Stump shrugged, and started trudging toward the patch of dirt that was referred to as “The Infirmary.” Dirt stretched for acres and acres—to the horizon. In some directions, the horizon was a stockade wall. There had been trees at one time. All that was left now were the trunks, stripped of bark and branches. Some of the stripped trees looked unnaturally bright and bleached against the trodden soil. Some were surrounded by loose soil, having been dug through to get at tender roots. A couple of the “trees” had even been upended, baring their wiry balls of roots to be chewed on by the prisoners. Stump had been digging for roots when he received Big Red’s summons. Stump had only been at Andersonville for a few weeks. He’d been a big, strong pony (earning him the nickname of “Stump”)—but starvation was stripping him of his muscle. He was visibly thinner, but not yet rickety. He spent most of his time digging up roots. Some he ate, but most he gave to those too enfeebled to dig. The “Infirmary” was on the downhill, downwind, downstream corner of the enclosure—the most foetid part of the “camp.” That was the corner everypony went to shit, and the ground was foul and swampy. Most in the Infirmary were dying of dysentery, and it made perverse sense that the ponies producing the most diarrhea should be housed the closest to where the waste would have to be carried. Unfortunately, it left the sickest ponies occupying the unhealthiest atmosphere the entirely foul camp had to offer. Breathing through his mouth was little protection against the stench. Stump’s eyes began to water. He began to salivate, swallowing frequently to fight the gagging that was constantly rising up within him. He didn’t want to lose any “food” he might have in his stomach, and his saliva was probably cleaner than any of the “water” they had to drink. “Hey old timer,” Stump said, sounding funny while talking without using his nose. He was greeted by a ghastly fit of coughing that served for laughter. Big Red was lying on the ground, on top of a sodden blanket. He was coughing into the scarlet-stained hoofkerchief he kept held in front of his mouth. “Good ta see ya, Stump.” “You, too.” “I’m surprised to be seein’ anything anymore,” Big Red muttered, almost to himself. Big Red was a hoof-full of years older than Stump. They looked strikingly similar, however, even with the flesh withered off them as it was. They were both red, quite large, and of very similar build. Their manes were nearly the same color. They could have been related—could even have passed for siblings. But they weren’t. “You know, they’re going to start processing us and releasing us soon, now that the war’s over,” Big Red began, but had to pause for a chest-rattling fit of coughing. He spat some blood off to the side. Big Red continued, in a much quieter voice, “You know, word ‘round camp is that you’re Big Mac. Stump was silent. “Anyway, I was thinkin’…I’m prolly not going to make it out of here.” He motioned, indicating his bloody hoofkerchief. “And after a week or two more in this place, you’ll be able t’ pass for me.” Another fit of coughing laughter racked his chest, and he spat a up a bloody gob of phlegm. “So, if ya think ya might have some trouble getting discharged with the papers you got, I’m more’n happy to swap with you. Even if I won’t be able to march out of here, I figger my name can.” Stump took off his hat. “I’d be mighty obliged, old timer,” he said solemnly. Big Red smiled. “Ahm mighty happy to do it…partic’larly because I won’t be able to do much with m’ freedom if Ah ever git it back.” They exchanged identification papers. Big Red’s cutie mark was a green tomato that’d been cut in half. The cutie mark on his ID papers was a crudely scrawled approximation of his cutie mark, done in black ink with no indication of color. Stump’s own papers were forged, and they weren’t a very good forgery, at that. One of the wax seals was missing, and another was distorted enough to give the impression that it’d been removed from a different document and transferred. The paper wasn’t of very good quality, either—inferior to the paper that would be used for any important documents. “I won’t write to nopony ‘til I’m sure you’re away,” Big Red said. “If you run into any of my kin, tell ‘em what happened.” “I will,” Stump replied. “Big Red?” repeated the Solar Army Pegasus in the corporal uniform, eyeing Big Mac skeptically. “Ain’t you the one they call ‘Stump?’” “Ain’t nivver said ‘Stump’n’ any a’ my papers,” Big Mac said, keeping his eyes as wide and vacant as he could. He had his blanket draped over him, covering his back and his cutie mark. Calling it a blanket was being generous—it was worn through in a number of places, and looked as though soaked with grease. It was too thin and tattered in a lot of places to even take a patch, and hung lankly off him like a piece of rotted lace. The green of his cutie mark was visible through the tears, although there wasn’t enough blanket missing to identify the green apple that was his cutie mark. The Corporal squinted at the paper, as though staring at the letters would cause them to transform into words he’d recognize. He rotated the paper ninety degrees. “This ain’t yer cutie mark,” the Corporal said. One of the Pegasus guards beside him rolled his eyes. “’Course it is,” Big Mac said blandly. He stepped his back end around sideways, bringing his blanket-covered cutie mark closer to the table. The Corporal and guard ponies made sour faces as the smell of the blanket wafted toward them. “See? Take a look!” “Ugh, weren’t you issued a blanket when you got here?” said one of the Pegasi, suppressing a gag. “This is the one y’all issued me,” Big Mac said blankly. “Smells like’t was taken from a corpse.” It probably had been. “Ga head—take a look,” Big Mac repeated. The Corporal’s lips pursed and his cheeks filled briefly. He looked appalled at the very thought of touching the dank-looking cloth. “Celestia’s gash, Perce,” groused one of the Pegasi guards. “Line ain’t gittin’ any shorter.” “Ain’t gittin’ na earlier ‘n’a day, neither,” the other guard muttered, wiping his forehead with a foreleg. The sun was beating down on them, making everypony irritable and fidgety. “Always figgered you hill ponies had t’ be stupider than any of t’other mud ponies,” the Corporal growled, rotating the paper another ninety degrees so that he was now looking at it upside-down. “Ain’t nothin’ ‘n them hills….” Big Mac was itching to reply, ‘Y’all should come up t’ th’ hills sometime…we’ll show ya what we’re all about.’ Instead, he kept a blank, stupid look on his face. ‘Don’t rise to the bait,” he told himself. ‘Gettin’ out’ll be your revenge.’ He repeated it to himself over and over. “Whatever,” the Corporal glowered, inking his stamp and stamping what he erroneously took to be the bottom of the page. Unseen behind the Corporal, one of the Pegasus guards face-hoofed. Big Mac had to stop himself from wincing at the error. He had to play the bumpkin and get himself discharged; he had to keep his head down, play stupid, and not do anything that might get him noticed or remembered. The Corporal handed the paper back to him. Big Mac took the paper, and stood blinking at the Corporal. “Well git the fuck out of here, dumbass!” the Corporal thundered, indicating the gateway out with a sudden pointing thrust of his hoof. One of the guards moved back to avoid getting hit, and swayed queasily. The guards were barely better-fed than the inmates. Big Mac nodded as though he was used to being spoken to in that manner, and trudged off toward the gates. He wanted to break out in a full gallop…but didn’t want to look suspicious. All the other released ponies had trudged out. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure how long he could sustain a gallop, as emaciated as he was. He couldn’t help but throw sidelong glances at the guard towers. The guards appeared to be dozing, or nearly so, in the hot afternoon sun. His heart thudded in his chest as he approached the “Kill Line”—a rickety fence some forty hooves inside the perimeter of the stockade fence. For the past few weeks of his life, anypony crossing that line had been shot dead, no questions asked. Now he was crossing it. The lazy trilling of the cicadas was drowned out by the thud of his heart in his ears. Stepping between the guard towers, through the open gate, he nearly just collapsed. Forcing himself to stay upright, he kept plodding on. One step outside. Two steps outside. Three steps outside. This couldn’t be happening. He hadn’t heard a gunshot all morning…but he couldn’t believe he was being released. Big Mac was a wanted pony, notorious for his exploits with the Lunar rebels. Nopony in the Solar Army would consider letting him pass, if they knew it was him. He reached the tree line. The dirt was still trodden bare, and the trees were as pale and flayed of branches and bark as the ones inside the enclosure had been. In fact, the landscape outside looked pretty much the same as it had inside…the stench wasn’t as strong, however. Walking further into the trees, he realized his jaw had been clenched, and his chest tight. He took a deep breath—a breath that didn’t make him want to throw up. He still expected to hear a report, and catch a bullet in the back of his head at any moment. A couple of miles out of Andersonville, and there was still nothing to eat. There were a few solitary blades of grass poking out here and there…but Big Mac was shaking too hard to grasp them with his mouth. The trees were still gnawed free of bark. He broke into a canter, and then a gallop. Had everything been eaten while he’d been prisoner? Was the rest of the world as desolate and malnourished as Andersonville? The guards had been wasting away, too…. The world was swaying dangerously around him, and he slowed down. He spotted a patch of grass. He crept up to it slowly, and put his face down close to it. He tried to do it silently, as though it was something that could be startled, and would run away—or worse, that a noise would just make it disappear. He grasped it in his teeth and pulled it up, roots and all. He tossed his head, shaking most of the dirt free of the roots, and then ate it, roots and all. Even the dirt outside tasted better…and he’d eaten worse than dirt. He saw more patches of grass. Now he was biting the blades low, and only eating the grass without the dirt. Seized by a spasm, he fell over, heaving. His stomach cramping, with difficulty he threw up the hoof-full of grass he’d managed to eat. His body collapsed, exhausted by the simple effort of vomiting. “Of course,” he muttered to himself. Once his stomach settled itself, he ate a small portion of the grass he’d thrown up.
A Gun for AJBad Apples A Gun for AJ NOTICE: It’s about to get violent. Just sayin’. Applejack and Apple Bloom were beginning to get their lives back into some semblance of order. It was a normal enough evening, just like any other…as normal as they could be, anymore. Applejack had hustled to get her chores done early, so she could get into town and purchase some supplies at Dry Goods’ store. The sun set early this time of year, and it was near full dark before she even got to the store. Thankfully, there was light in the windows, and Dry Goods was still doing business. She walked in the door, and her blood ran cold. At the counter, arguing with Dry Goods, was a Pegasus in Solar Army livery. Just at the sight, her chest tightened. Something behind her eyes popped. She could smell wood smoke…she could feel the flames all around her, the heat soaking into her as the building burned down. It wasn’t Dry Goods’ place that was burning, though. She could hear Apple Bloom screaming in the next room, although some distant, silent part of her knew that Apple Bloom was safe back at their new “home.” She could feel and smell the disgusting slime all over her body…. Could a pony be in more than one place at once? she’d ask herself later. She was in Dry Goods’ store, but also inside the Apple homestead on that other cold night, inside it as it burned down. She was looking through a tunnel at the Pegasus. She could hear them talking, but it seemed far away. More than anything, she felt rage. She’d been rendered helpless, then. This time, it was different—her eyes weren’t swollen shut. She was standing up strongly on her own four hooves—not crawling pathetically on the floor. She wasn’t helpless now. Between the tunnel, and the exploding, shimmering white stars that filled her field of vision, it was difficult to see…but she could see the Pegasus well enough. She was also somewhere else…somewhere off to the right, beside the wall, watching herself. Without a thought, her hunting knife was looped and lashed to her hoof from its scabbard. What’s she going to do with that knife? she wondered dully, watching herself from a distance. She was quiet on her hooves as she approached the counter. Dry Goods’ eyes met hers. They darted down to the knife in her hoof, and looked back into hers. His expression never changed; he never acknowledged her approach, although his eyes looked straight into hers. The look that met her eye was a knowing one. Possibly a corner of his mouth raised a little. She threw her left foreleg around the soldier’s neck, holding fast, and stabbing him at the base of the throat. She felt him tighten in shock. She pulled, trying to cut. Warm fluid was spilling out all over her hoof and foreleg, but the knife seemed to have run into something it couldn’t cleave. She pulled it out, stabbing again in the chest, and all hell broke loose. The soldier’s wings unfurled in a panic, flapping desperately to get away, to fight her off. He lifted off the floor. Hindered by her weight, he veered in her direction with what would otherwise have been a mighty takeoff. They careened into the wall, Applejack bearing the brunt of the collision. The Pegasus was kicking wildly in a blind panic. He wasn’t striking Applejack with his hooves, but being lifted off her hooves and thrown into a wall made holding on enough of a challenge. She was glad the knife was firmly lashed to her hoof…but as his next flap took them jarringly to the ceiling, striking her head and shoulder again, she had to concentrate on preventing the pummeling from driving the knife accidentally into part of HER. The second blow, her head to the ceiling, dimmed her vision. Her shoulder throbbed, and her grip loosened. She hoped she wouldn’t fall too far, or too awkwardly, when she blacked out. The calm self of her, resting against the wall, wondered if there wasn’t a better way to have done all of this. There seemed to be blood and feathers everywhere, hanging nearly still in the air. Then the Pegasus began to scream. Applejack was tight and silent, emitting the occasional grunt as her body was thrown against something. She was holding on as tightly as she could, and being smashed against anything the Pegasus could blunder into. She wondered if she could stay latched to him through a blackout…and whether the wounds she’d already dealt him would kill him before he could beat her to death against the store’s four walls. A hideous gurgling, braying, shrieking was coming out of the Pegasus’ throat…a higher note than Apple Bloom had struck that night, she thought grimly. He seemed to be giving voice to the outrage that Applejack was feeling at that moment, the shock and surprise Applejack had felt that night. That was a rib, Applejack thought as she felt something snap in her side. They’d fallen from the ceiling, her crushed between him and the awkward edge of a shelf they’d knocked down earlier. She buried the knife in his chest again, now using it as a hoofhold. His struggles worked against him, injuring him further, and he was dragging her more and more feebly with every beat of his wings or kick of his legs. Panting in a ghastly wheeze, he weakened. He could only lift himself barely off the floor, dragged down by Applejack’s embrace. Finally, he was just twitching on the floor beside her when his blood stopped flowing. Stunned by the pummeling she’d received, she stared into space, seeing nothing. The world was distant, her pain irrelevant and unfelt. On her hooves again, Dry Goods was talking to her. She couldn’t hear him; her ears were ringing, or else the braying of the Pegasus was still echoing in them. She didn’t really unravel what he’d said until later. He clapped her briskly on the shoulders, and shoved a mason jar into her hooves as he led her to the door. His voice warbled, “Don’t you worry about anything, little lady— —I’ll just have the boy bring your stuff by the farm tomorrow.” Applejack gave a start as a jolt of pain hit her face. “—okay, sis?” Apple Bloom was biting her lower lip with concern, a bloody washcloth in her hoof. She was back in their crude dugout. Apple Bloom had lit the extra lamps, shedding as much light as they had. Steam rose from the washcloth, and from the kettle on the floor beside them. Applejack must’ve been home a while, for Apple Bloom to have drawn and heated the water already. With a shaky hoof, Applejack brought the mason jar to her lips. Liquid fire ran down her throat, and even the effort of keeping herself from coughing felt like a knife sinking into her chest. She brought the jar back down, eyes watering and fluid running out of her nose. It had to be the Ferrys’ apple brandy—top-shelf stuff. Nopony else in the hollow could brew it as well as they did. Without thinking, she offered the jar to Apple Bloom. “Thanks, sis…” Apple Bloom smiled. “But a mare in my condition—“ “Oh, yah,” Applejack mumbled. “’course.” Apple Bloom’s brow knit with concern. “What in the buck happened to you?” “Sich language,” Applejack slurred, beginning a chuckle that turned into a cough and then a gasp and a wince. “Think I broke a rib,” she managed to hiss through her clenched teeth. Frowning, Apple Bloom rinsed the cloth in the kettle and pressed the excess water out of it. Applejack tried to hold still as Apple Bloom continued cleaning out her wounds. The warm cloth felt good, even if the countless little cuts and scrapes didn’t. The jar on the nightstand was two-thirds empty. Sun was coming in through their tiny window. Applejack sat up quickly, but the knife in her head and the knife in her chest threw her back to the bed. “Dammnit…half the day wasted,” she grumbled. She let out a long wheeze as her weight dropping to the mattress triggered another spasm of pain. She could smell her own breath reeking of rotten apples, and began to wonder what had led to her current situation. She was really beginning to like the black, dreamless sleeps she’d been having lately. In a way, it was like starting the day completely fresh. Except for the hangover. And the broken ribs. And the cotton mouth. And the dry, gritty eyes that felt like they were rasping about inside their sockets. Beside the jar was a pitcher of water that Apple Bloom had left for her. She drained it, and let the mattress claim her again. Lowering herself slowly made her ribs hurt, too; she pondered which hurt more, easing herself down slowly or dropping. Easing was less pain, but for a longer period of time than simply dropping. They seemed to come out at about a draw. It wasn’t too bad if she could keep the light out of her eyes, and not move. She pulled a pillow over her face. Applejack drifted toward consciousness, listening to Apple Bloom clattering about the corner of the room that served as the kitchen. She was trying to be quiet, but there was only so much you could do in a one-room dugout. Soon the aromas of coffee and oatmeal were filling the place, and Applejack noticed that the empty pain in her stomach was vying with the pain in her ribs for attention. They ate in silence. Applejack was glad that her sister had taken over all the work that day…but felt at a loss as to what she should do with herself without any chores. It was nearly dusk when a hoof on their door made them both jump. It was the Goods’ boy, pulling a light cart with their order—hay, oats, some flour, a couple of blankets. Urchin unhooked himself from the cart, insisting on unloading the cart for them and carrying the stuff in. Applejack was up and around, her head frankly giving her a little more trouble than her ribs. “What’s this?” she asked. Something folded up in the blanket was oddly heavy. Unwrapping it from the blanket, she saw that it was a cavalry pistol. Apple Bloom paused from putting away their foodstuffs in the cupboard, looking at her sister questioningly. Applejack was examining the pistol in the dim light. “Mr. Goods said you left it last night when you went home,” Urchin mumbled. Investigating further, Applejack found a wallet with a couple hundred bits’ worth of Solar Army scrip in it. Her hooves began to shake again. She’d been able to keep it out of her thoughts until then. “I can’t take this—“ Applejack protested. Urchin looked confused. “Mr. Goods said it was yours…he promised me a whuppin’ if I brung it back,” he said sullenly. “Same’s ‘iss,” he added, unwrapping a jar of apple brandy from another blanket and offering it to her. “I din’t order that—“ “Mr. Goods sent it…he said to me to tell you he hopes you feel better. Ma’am.” Applejack worked her jaw in thought. “Tell him…thanks,” she said quietly. “Another gun, sis?” Apple Bloom asked quietly after Urchin had left. “Seems so,” Applejack said. “You said you wanted a gun of your own…you take paw’s.” “You sure, sis? I know how much it means to you….” Applejack smiled. “I got his hat.” Applejack looked at the pistol in her hoof. “You take paw’s pistol,” she repeated. More quietly, she added, “Looks like this un’s found its way to ME.” The Solar Command made numerous inquiries as to the whereabouts of their missing soldier. Nopony was coming forward with any information. Nopony in the clannish mountain hollow knew anything about it, despite repeated questioning. By all accounts, the Pegasus had never made it to Dry Goods’ store—hadn’t been seen by anypony since he’d left the barracks. Speculation was that the lone soldier had been ambushed by thieves. The remains were found late the following summer, at the bottom of Augustus’ Ravine. Foul play was apparent, but there was nothing there to shed any light on the nature of the attack.
A Pansy for Your ThoughtsBad Apples A Pansy for Your Thoughts “So…looks like we’ve got ourselves a Big Mac here.” The desk was impeccably neat—ink blotter, inkwell, pens—everything arranged square with the edges of the desk. A single neat stack of papers was immediately in front of him, centered perfectly. The Unicorn behind the desk was dressed just as impeccably. He seemed quite proud of his uniform. It was clean and pressed, and everything on it looked bright and new. Captain Pansy was a little slip of a Unicorn, with a hairline moustache. A dainty little pince nez completed his outfit. Big Mac had found the tittering and snickering of the Pegasus guards strangely unnerving; now he was as hard pressed as they were not to grin. “I have here a warrant for your arrest—“ “Sorry to interrupt, cap’n,” Big Mac said, “but that looks more like a grocery list…’less that’s my name ‘twixt the eggs and butter.” Pansy flustered, and moreso when Big Mac asked in a deadpan voice, “You makin’ cupcakes, Pansy?” “None-the-less,” Pansy uttered each syllable distinctly, “There IS a warrant for your arrest at the capital, and I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Not to mention the price on your head, which we’ve saved the taxpayers by catching you ourselves.” One of the guards stifled a groan. He would have favored a cut of the bounty in lieu of the 3-day pass he was likely to get out of it. “Don’t you know how dangerous this pony is?” Pansy scolded. “I want to see him in irons IMMEDIATELY!” None too quickly, one of the guards trudged out to comply with the order. Big Mac was caught, and this time, there were no doubts about his true identity. It was almost a relief—he didn’t have to maintain the charade of being a nopony, keeping his head down and trying not to be noticed. It was small comfort against the prospect of being sent to some Luna-forsaken hellhole like Andersonville had been. Hopefully Andersonville had been dissolved. He’d only had a couple of blissful weeks out of that place before he’d been caught again. He almost snickered at the thought that it’d been a good thing he hadn’t been caught so often at the BEGINNING of the war. The good captain looked as though he might be turning pink beneath his glisteningly-white coat. Big Mac was glad he’d managed to stifle the snicker at himself--he didn’t need to do anything to make his predicament worse with the captain. Whenever he needed to straighten his face, he could always brood over the fact that he’d probably get a very lengthy imprisonment, as long as they didn’t charge him with treason. If they DID charge him with treason, execution would be likely. He’d been careful—but they probably picked up his trail when he’d gone back to the Hollow to look for his sisters and Granny. He was sure nopony in the Hollow would have turned him in…but there was that Luna-damned Fort Lincolnlog nearby. Although Applejack and Apple Bloom had already gone, at least he knew they were still alive. And he knew what had happened to Granny Smith. Details were scarce, but he was sure she must’ve gone down fighting. He had these thoughts to console him while the dainty captain gloated. The private returned with the irons, and started to fasten Big Mac’s front hooves together. His front hooves chained together with iron, the private moved to his back hooves. “What the FUCK am I doing?” he asked himself suddenly. He’d been cooperative the entire time. It was easy to do at the beginning, being caught unprepared before so many guns. He’d habitually fallen into the broken demeanor he’d assumed at Andersonville, and come in without a fight. As the back irons snapped shut, he tried to look as though he was just shifting his weight. Then he bucked the private in the face. When his weight came down, he reared up, catching the guard on his other side beneath the chin with his two iron-bound legs. It was the hardest blow he could muster under the conditions, but hobbled, it wasn’t the hardest blow he could deal. More than anything, the guard was momentarily startled. With armed guards in the room, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to slug it out with them—he had to surprise them, and then run like hell before they could shoot him. Without even waiting for his front hooves to come down, he launched himself across the desk at Pansy. He launched awkwardly—he hadn’t thought it entirely through before he’d started. Now there were curses and gunshots, and he slipped into pure terrified survival mode, striking blindly in Pansy’s direction with his forehooves and mouth. He caught a glimpse of Pansy’s terrified expression, Pansy raising his hooves before him in defense. Big Mac’s hooves didn’t connect with Pansy in any meaningful way, but he seized onto Pansy with his mouth, clamped down, and snapped his head to the side. Electricity galvanized his jaw, the muscles contracting so tightly he could only imagine the fibers would be snapping. His head felt as though ablaze, and he had a vision of his own skull blackened and charred, with all the flesh itching, burning, and sloughing off. The black empty pits of his eye sockets were erupting with blue flames. He couldn’t even scream, as the flayed bones of his jaw were still clamped shut. There was a weird “THWUP” sound, and all sensation was blotted out by a blinding blue light. Instinctively, Big Mac scrambled to his feet, feeling his hooves sinking into soft earth. He launched himself into a gallop… And ran immediately headlong into a tree. Staggering to the side, he broke into a shaky gallop, flinching every time the shadow of a tree passed over his face. It seemed as though his eyes were crossed, or something else was amiss with his vision. Things didn’t seem quite right, but they seemed to be getting slightly more…normal. He was struggling for air, his breath coming in short pants. He forced himself to take a deep breath, to slow down…to try to focus on his surroundings. He noticed his jaw was still clamped tightly shut. There was a bright blue flicker in his vision that was intermittently blotting out his sight. He struggled to a halt, and tried to spit out whatever was in his mouth. He thrust a hoof into the side of his mouth, pulling and prying. Nearly falling over with his efforts, he finally got his jaw open, spitting out whatever was in it. He sucked in a deep lungful of air, expelling it quickly through his newly-opened mouth and took in another. “Dafuq?” he thought. Thought was returning to him, as was his vision. He shook his head to clear it. He was standing in the woods, surrounded by trees. He looked down, and shuddered with revulsion as he realized what had happened. He’d broken off Pansy’s horn with his mouth. “Oh, fuck,” he gasped, dropping to the ground. He retched a few times, but perhaps trained by Andersonville, didn’t throw anything up. Unicorns could teleport, couldn’t they? He struggled upright, looking around in a panic. He was alone. No soldiers, no fort, no Pansy…except for the fragment of his horn. Big Mac shuddered again. Killing a pony was one thing…but tearing a piece off one just seemed…revolting. Much less to do it with one’s mouth. It was nothing he would ever plan to do. He’d been fighting for his life, and it’d been an accident. He didn’t REGRET doing it…he just wished it’d happened a different way. What do you do with a Unicorn’s horn? he wondered. Was it like a pony that was dead? Should it be buried? He backed away from it. He surveyed his surroundings. Right now, he had nothing but his hat—and— and no irons on his legs. Damn weird. He didn’t need much. A gun would be nice. A blanket for some comfort would be good. Looking at the sky, he determined which way was west, and trotted off in that direction.
Loose EndsBad Apples Loose Ends Dry Goods was none too thrilled when the Pegasus soldier walked into his store. It was late afternoon. Dry Goods had been planning on closing soon. It was summer, and he’d have a few more hours of sunlight to attend to things outdoors. There seemed to be another Pegasus in Solar Army livery loitering on the front porch of the store. Goods couldn’t take a careful look without being conspicuous about it. Although ostensibly under the fort’s protection, most of the residents of the Hollow viewed the Solar Pegasi as the biggest threat in the region. At the very best, they were regarded as an occupying force. Goods was instantly suspicious. Since the disappearance of the soldier the past winter, SA seldom ventured into the hollow in groups smaller than four or five…and never very late in the day. “’Afternoon,” said sergeant Roark in what he thought would be an amiable voice. “I’m looking for a couple of mares who have a farm up near here…by the name of ‘Apple,’ I think.” Stroking his chin as though trying to recollect the name, he said “Hmmm…oh, the Apple family.” After another pause, he added, “Haven’t seen hide nor hair of ‘em since before Hearth Warmin’s Eve. Do y’know how they’re doing?” Roark grunted. “What d’ya need ‘em for?” Goods asked. “We just need to ask a few questions,” Roark said vaguely. He surveyed the store idly. After a few moments, he added, “Well, if any of them should happen to come by, could you ask them to contact me? Over at Fort Lincolnlog…ask for Sergeant Roark. It’s a matter I’m handling personally.” “Ah…will do!” Goods nodded with feigned enthusiasm. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” “No, no…that’ll be fine. Thank you very much.” Roark’s mouth tightened up at the last few words, as though they’d left a bad taste in his mouth. Goods watched him walk out, exchange some terse words with his companion, and then they both walked out into the middle of the street and took to the air. “Boy, fetch me the rug from the front door and bring it to me out back,” he ordered. “But I already beat it this morning,” Urchin protested. “No questions, boy—just do it. Or I’ll be beating you.” Dry Goods affixed the rug to the clothesline, beating it with a wicker beater. He had to put some force into it to raise some dust, for it had been beaten pretty well earlier. More than anything, he was surreptitiously scanning the skies and the woods, making sure the Pegasi had actually gone. “Boy, can you git to the Apples’ farm without being seen?” he said quietly, not pausing in his work. “I-I think so….” “Good. I need you to bring ‘em a message. Tell ‘em a couple of SA were looking for ‘em…and they was very well armed. ‘Far ‘s I know, the SA ain’t adopted Winchesters yit, and both these boys had ‘em…it don’t smell like government business.” Urchin nodded. “Mind the sky…stay under the trees where you can’t be seen from above. Don’t let anypony else see you, for that matter, and don’t tell nopony what I said or what you’re doing besides Applejack or Apple Bloom.” “And bring something with you from the store—I don’t care what—in case you do get seen—so you kin give ‘em some bullshit excuse about deliverin’ it to somepony or other.” Urchin nodded. “Good boy. Be careful—it’ll be worth your while in more ways ‘n one, hear?” Dry Goods scanned the sky once more as he began taking down and folding the carpet. “Go.” Urchin was out of breath by the time he arrived at the Apples’ dugout. Wary of being seen, he darted in the open door without knocking. “Sorry Miss Apple,” he gasped, pausing for air. Apple Bloom had been bustling about the kitchen, mixing up cornmeal batter. She’d put a deep kettle of oil to heat up on the stove. “Urchin! What brings you here?” she smiled, wiping her hooves on her apron. “I was just about to make some corn fritters…want some?” “Mr…Goods…sent…me,” he panted. In a rush of words, he imparted Dry Goods’ message, and recounted what’d happened at the store. “Out—now!” Apple Bloom whispered urgently. She bounded out, slamming the door behind her. She dove for cover every bit as fast as Urchin did. “Didja see mah sister?” Apple Bloom called, unholstering her father’s Colt Walker. “No. I—“ “Well you’d best get outta here, then,” Apple Bloom interrupted. “If ya see her, tell her…but get yourself the hell outta here, unnerstan’?” “Okay,” Urchin said. He didn’t know much about what was going on, but the urgency of the situation was becoming more and more apparent to him. Apple Bloom crept deeper into the bushes, waiting tensely. She wondered if she should try to summon Apple Jack with a shot, but decided against it. She heard a rustle behind her and froze, hoping she’d chosen ample cover to be concealed from all directions. She turned her head as much as she dared, to see if it’d turn out to be her sister or somepony else. Sure enough, it was a Pegasus in SA livery. He was moving slowly, and close to silently. He stopped, and her heart caught in her chest as she thought she’d been seen. He was completely still for a few tense moments. She realized he was staring off past her—toward the dugout. After a few moments, he took out his pistol and marched quietly but directly to the door. He smashed it open with his shoulder and ducked inside. Shoot him in the back? Apple Bloom wondered. Busting down the door, armed, he wasn’t there to borrow a cup of sugar. There was some rustling inside the cabin, and a moment later he stepped back into the doorframe, leaning against it and scratching his head idly. He scanned the area. Apple Bloom took aim and fired. The door frame beside his head burst, and he fell back in surprise, rolling to the side. “Fuck!” Apple Bloom hissed, cursing herself for not having practiced more. Now alerted, he was using the cover of the front log wall of their dugout. Everything was silent. Time passed. She wondered if the bastard was going to be waiting there all day. She could try shooting through the chinking between logs…but she didn’t know precisely where he was, and she wasn’t sure the bullet would still have enough force left to do anything if she could get it through the logs. She could see the oil kettle on the stove, though…. “Sorry, Granny…I swear I’ll buy you another kettle,” she said to herself, half in jest. Granny Smith hadn’t any use for a kettle anymore. The kettle burst spectacularly, flashing brightly as the small splatters caught fire from the flames of the stove. The larger spatters conducted the flames outward in a whoosh, a tongue of liquid fire cascading down the front of the stove and outward. “AH FUCK!” she heard from within the cabin. She jumped as Roark exploded out the front of the door. For some reason, she’d imagined he’d continue his waiting game. Instead, he rolled grunting over the jagged ground, extinguishing most of the flames. As she brought her gun to bear, he coiled and jumped off the ground, aiding himself with a mighty THWUMP of his wings. She shot, apparently missing. Again she failed to anticipate his actions; she expected he’d just take off, but he only jumped out of sight over the edge of the ridge…and out of reach of her gun. She heard the crash and the snapping of branches as he landed blindly on the other side of the mound of earth. More rustling, sounding vaguely as though receding, greeted her ears. She bounded out from her cover, but paused just before cresting the ridge—would he just be waiting there with his gun aimed right at her? Her gaze darted to the side, and she was just about to dart to the side and crest the ridge elsewhere when she heard a more distant crashing from the other side of the hill. She jumped up to see the Pegasus leap up again. In a mixture of flight and jumping, he darted up into the forest canopy and clambered out of sight. She could see and hear branches disturbed, but his actual position was hidden as 50-hoove-long branches shook, swayed, and groaned as his weight touched them and left them. “FUCK!” she hissed again. “Sugar cube! Sugar cube, are you alright?” Applejack called, bounding through the brush. “Yeah…careful! There’s at least two of ‘em!” Apple Bloom shouted back. Applejack skidded to a halt, looking all around her, and up. Apple Bloom spotted a dark fleck in the sky. “Over there, maybe?” There was a lone Pegasus hovering in the sky at some distance. He had a view of the small ravine they were in. He seemed to be watching, and moving in closer for a better view. Dropping to the ground, Applejack assumed a steady firing position, and lashed her Sharps rifle to her hooves. Roark’s cohort laughed out loud when he saw the smoke cloud from the Sharps being fired. “Crazy bitch…nopony could hit anything at this distance.” Applejack was scrambling to reload, fumbling awkwardly for her cartridges while keeping her eyes on the Pegasus in the sky. A thin cloud of red and feathers burst out of the base of the Pegasus’ left wing. She could almost hear the satisfying thwack! of the bullet striking its target. For a moment, she, the gun, the bullet, and its target shared an exclusive, fleeting Zen-like connection with one another over the great distance. The Pegasus rotated backward a bit with the blow. Bone ground painfully on broken bone as the useless wing trailed behind him, shaken by the wind. He began to fall through the arid, cloudless sky. “Nice!” Apple Bloom rasped breathlessly. “Dammit to Luna, I let the other one git away!” Apple Bloom said, striking a log with her hoof in frustration. “Sounds like yeh burned ‘im a bit, though!” smiled Applejack. “Din’t see how much,” Apple Bloom replied sadly. “That was good thinkin’, though, if you didn’t have a direct shot.” Despite their casual conversation, they were both shaken. In the quiet afterward, it was sinking in that they’d just had a very close encounter with death. “D’ya think that one died?” “Dunno,” shrugged Applejack. “They kin walk on clouds…I don’t know if there’s magic protects ‘em from falls. Fall lahk that’d kill an Earth Pony, ‘sure.” Apple Bloom nodded. “I don’t think they was expectin’ us to be armed,” Applejack observed. “Good thing we were.” Then she sighed deeply. “I don’t reckon we should linger here any longer, though…with one shot or dead, they’ll be back…and we oughtn’t be here when they do.” Apple Bloom sighed. “You’re right…I guess we knew this day’d come,” she said glumly. “Let’s git our stuff, and light the hell outta here.” “Ya think we should tell anypony?” Applejack paused a long moment. “No,” her voice shook a little. “We don’t know where we’re going…and if nopony else knows we’re even gone, we’ll be that much harder to find. Apple Bloom nodded. “Ah’ll miss the Holler,” she said sadly. Applejack felt moved toward uncharacteristic tears.
