Chapter 4: Slippery Sands
Big Mac awoke to a curious tapping on his window. The stallion stirred, dragging his hooves across his face in an attempt to wipe away his morning grogginess. Ah shouldn’ta stayed up so late, he thought. He got up and moseyed over to the window, not really questioning why, who or what was knocking on it. He unlatched the lock, sliding the glass pane up to allow a yellow pegasus mare in.
“Spitfire, the hell are ya’ll doing here?” Big Mac croaked. If he was being completely honest with himself, Mac would’ve liked nothing more than to have Spitfire alone in his room, but he highly doubted Spitfire would go for it. Especially this early. He left the window and sat on his bed, eyelids drooped and sagging.
“Mac, you gotta come see this! ...Out in the square! There's a...” Spitfire paced around the room, fuming about... something. “It’s...it’s just sitting there, taunting me...” she muttered to herself.
“What’s sittin‘ there?” Mac asked.
Spitfire looked up from her hooves, peering right through Big Mac towards the town square. She trotted to the window she entered, nudging her head forward. “Follow me” she said, propping her hooves on the windowsill.
“How?” Big Mac inquired, quite annoyed by now. His notorious morning mood was starting to bleed through, and the angry, nonsensical mare before him wasn’t helping him endure the early hour. “Ah can’t fly.”
Spitfire opened her mouth to say something, but only a light gasp of realization came out. “Damn...I didn’t think of that.” Big Mac rolled his eyes; he could have easily taken the stairs, of course, but if Spitfire didn’t think of it, then he could get back to bed. Mac crawled back under his sheets, groaning.
“Ya’ll keep workin‘ on that conundrum, Spit. Ah’m going to sleep.” Mac forced his face into his pillow, drowning out the sounds of Spitfire’s rambling. He could smell his hair in the lining of the pillow, the stench being slightly off-putting. Mac didn’t mind; So much as he got a few more winks, he could probably put up with a large number of annoyances like that. Not included in those annoyances was being involuntarily carried over town.
Mac felt a tug around his chest as two yellow forelegs quickly wrapped around his body. Before he could even voice his protest, Spitfire pulled him into the air and out the window, banging his head against the frame on the way out.
“SPIT! ...*Ow!...Put me d-down!” Mac cried, scared out of his wits. He kicked his legs furiously, trying to tread through the air, to grab ahold of something, anything solid. Struggle as he might, Spitfire‘s grip on Mac was strong, though it made it much harder for her to maintain flight.
“Mac..quit...moving!” The pegasus said through labored breaths. “You..really gotta...lay off... the snacks!” Spitfire groaned, flapping her wings as hard as she could. Flying while carrying someone wasn’t something new to her, but she’d never handled anypony this heavy before. “How much do you eat!?”
“Hey!” shouted Mac. “Ah workout everyday! So what if Ah get a little hungry?”
With Appleloosa coming into view, Big Mac relaxed a little, allowing Spitfire to gain a semblance of control. The sun was just about to rise over the backdrop of a pair of mountains in the distance.
Spitfire wagered it was somewhere near griffon territory. She’d never been remotely close to entering griffon terrain, but she had heard plenty of stories from some of the older members of the air force. They were renowned for cliff-side architecture, not having cities like Cloudsdale since their cloud control was historically poor. The lifers in the force had told her stories of grand mountain cities, with gothic-style stone battlements and big, ominous towers.
Amidst her daydreaming, Spitfire felt a sudden jerking under her. Looking down, she spied a terrified expression on Mac’s face. She thought it was funny to see the large stallion so worked up until she saw where he was staring. The ground was approaching quite rapidly.
Spitfire’s eyes shot open, putting all her strength into slowing their descent. She flared her wings, trying to create as much drag as possible. Big Mac drew his hooves up into his body, preparing for impact. “Crapcrapcrapcrap.....” Spitfire’s cursing rose in volume until a hard impact, accompanied with a thud rattled the two.
Spitfire tucked her head in, trying to roll with her momentum. She was used to crashing; becoming a Wonderbolt didn’t happen overnight, and practice makes perfect, all that nonsense. The rough sand in the town was still softer than what she was used to; Wonderbolts traditionally trained on land to harden their bodies, so the sand worked to cushion their fall a little. Spitfire slid on her slide to a halt, dragging up dust and debris with her. She caught of glimpse of Big Mac, who was doing his best impression of a scared ostrich, his head buried under a foot of dirt.
Spitfire pushed herself up, groaning and grumbling as her newly-appointed aches and pains showing up. She looked down, grimacing at a large red streak across her side. That'll sting tomorrow. Craning her head around, she found herself relieved, though not surprised, to see Big Mac clamoring to his feet as well. Spitfire walked over to him, shaking out her mane. “You okay?” she asked
“Ugh...yeah” he grunted. “Though, Ah do believe that’s the worst wake-up call Ah’ve ever experienced.”
Spitfire laughed, patting him on the shoulder. “Yeah, sorry about that.” She quickly changed demeanor, remembering why exactly they were here. “C’mon, follow me.” Spitfire anxiously led Big Mac towards the center of town, where a rather large crowd was starting to gather. Ponies who happened to poke their heads outside were being drawn into the crowd, talking amongst themselves and trying to figure out just what it was they were looking at.
Spitfire pushed and ground her way through the mob, pulling Big Mac along behind her. Bumping their way to the front, she grabbed Mac’s head in her hooves and pointed it upwards. “What the HELL is that doing here?” she asked rhetorically.
“...Ah have no idea.”
Mac’s jaw hung open as he looked upon the statue of Mint Julep’s father, standing in the middle of town square. The bronze monolith portrayed a burly stallion standing on his back hooves, his right foreleg pointing defiantly into the sky and his other was placed on his hip. The stallion wore a long gentlecolt’s coat with small tails tapering off at the end. The coat covered his back thighs, and Big Mac had to admit, the statue was very nice, and it certainly would add a bit of zazz to anyone's lawn. Although, the statue would’ve looked much nicer with it’s head intact, or there at all in fact. The head and connecting neck of the stallion was severed just above the shoulder, a rather smooth cut around the base of the opening. It wasn’t perfect, sure, but considering the material and probable lack of equipment, it was a pretty impressive removal.
The disfigured metal adonis stood on a slab of white marble. The stand was slightly worn on one of it’s corners, rounded from time and wind. Mac eyed the front of the stand, where another piece of cast bronze was drilled into the base. Big Mac inched up to it, there was some form of writing on it, but it was too small to read at a distance. Walking up, Mac was able to decipher the bottom line of text:
“...Property of the Julep Estate.”
“Well, at least we’re making progress” chirped Spitfire while walking circles around it. “Let’s try and I.D. this sucker, maybe rustle up the usual suspects, Sheriff ” she said teasingly.
Mac looked up, disgruntled. “We? Oh, no no. Listen, Ah’m willing ta give ya advice, maybe a little background info here an’ there. But that’s all Ah’m willing to do.”
Spitfire narrowed her gaze on Big Macintosh. She trotted forward, poking him in the chest with her right hoof. “What’re you sayin? The glorious “Sheriff Macintosh” isn’t gonna help catch whoever did this?”
“Eenope.”
Spitfire blinked. “And why not?”
Mac frowned a bit. “Well, why should Ah? It ain’t mah job, anyhow!” Mac stood tall in front Spitfire, arching his neck upwards.
“Well maybe not, but you still-”
“Spitfire, AH. AIN’T HELPING.” Mac matched the glare from the pegasus. “An’ futhermore, Ah don’t appreciate you taken advantage o‘ mah good hospitality.”
“Puh-lease.” Spitfire flared her nostrils, thinking of a way to rile him up. “Ya know what? I think you’re scared to get your hooves dirty!” As soon as the words left her mouth, Mac’s mouth twisted into a violent scowl.
“...Ah’m going.” Big Mac turned, walking back into the crowd.
“Wait...but...” Spitfire suddenly lost what fight she had in her, realizing she might've crossed a line.
“But nothin’!” Big Mac interjected. “Now listen, you come to me if ya want apples, an’ nothin’ else! Ah gotta work ta do.” Mac trotted away defiantly, pounding against the ground hard with twinges of anger, dust kicked off his hooves as Mac made his way through the crowd, towards his cousin’s homestead and away from the commotion behind him. “ ‘Sides” he shouted, “Ya didn’t even check tha name-tag!” Macintosh chuckled grimly. “Some detective” he muttered under his breath.
Spitfire flopped her plot down, frustrated. “Why’d I say that?” she asked herself. “Why’d it even start in the first place?” Spitfire sat in front of the statue, tapping her chin deep in regret. So deep, in fact, that she hadn’t heard Sheriff Silverstar come up behind her.
He tapped her lightly on the shoulder. “Hey.”
She didn’t reply.
“Um...miss Spitfire?”
“Huh, what?! What is it?” Spitfire snapped out her trance and turned to the lawman.
“...Ooookay, then” Silverstar said awkwardly. “Ah was just going to ask whether we should bring Miss Julep up to speed.”
“Oh yeah, we should probably go tell her, huh?” Spitfire’s gaze shifted back and forth, a bit embarrassed that she had been distracted so easily. She stood up and followed Silverstar out of the crowd towards his office, his deputies circling around the scene and escorting ponies away.
Silverstar entered the police department, walked into his office and plopped into a large green wheel-y chair. It slid back when he landed, but Silverstar quickly adjusted himself. He handled an older-looking phone in his hoof, a black earphone connected (by wire) to a traditional, rotary-style receiver. The sheriff placed his hoof to the keypad and dialed Mint Julep’s number (to the astonishment of Spitfire; the fact that he was able to dial that thing without wings or talons baffled her).
“May Ah speak to Miss Julep?...Hello, this is....yes, Ah know it’s rather early, but...If you’ll just come on down to mah office, Ah think we found somethin’ ya might be interested in. What?...Yea, right now.”
Silverstar hung up the phone, rubbing his temples with a grimace. “That mare’ll be the death o‘ me” he sighed. “So, she’ll be headin‘ in soon to take a look.” Silverstar looked over to Spitfire, who was standing in the doorway. “Whadda ya make of all this?” he asked.
Spitfire shrugged. “I think... I have no idea. I mean, who steals something, just to return it?” She trotted to the front of the desk and sat in one of the chair across from Silverstar. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
“Ya got me on that one. Ya gotta figure it means sumthin’?”
Spitfire looked at the sheriff, running a hoof through her mane. “Well, it’s obviously a threat. Whether it’s towards Julep or us, I don’t know.” Silverstar nodded in agreement.
“What we need is to catch these ponies in the act.”
Spitfire lit up a little. “I know! We could set up a sting!”
“A sting?” asked Silverstar, confused.
“Yeah. You know the saying, criminals always return to the scene of the crime. We’ll just set up a couple of guards to watch over the statue, and if anyone approaches it, we nab ‘em.” Spitfire grinned, proud of having finally come up with some type of plan.
“Well, that’s all fine an‘ dandy, if you can get miss Julep to agree to that.”
Crap, thought Spitfire. “Yeah, that....might be a problem. Don’t know if I’m the most receptive person to have talk to her.”
Sheriff Silverstar pawed at the air. “Well, Ah guess you can let me worry about Julep. Ah can git her to agree. Now...” He cocked his eyebrows, “What was that commotion between you an‘ Mac?”
Spitfire sighed. “I don’t know.” Wow, I’ve been saying that a lot lately. “One minute we’re joking around, and the next he just freaks!” She shook her head. “All I did was ask him to help out.”
“Did ya ask, or tell?”
Spitfire’s ear dropped. “Ehhhh... hehe...” That gave Silverstar his answer.
“Well, there’s yer problem. Macintosh ain’t one to be prodded ‘round.”
Spitfire rolled her eyes sarcastically. “Yeah, I kinda figured that out. Plus, I do know he isn’t very keen on getting involved.”
“Is that what he told ya?”
Spitfire pulled back, looking incredulously at the sheriff. ”Huh?”
Silverstar chuckled. “Why do ya think he helped you out in the first place? That stallion’s got a great investigative mind. Ah know, surprising, right?” He responded to the look of uncertainty from Spitfire. “But he really was a great sheriff.”
“Then why’d he leave?”
“Whelp, he’s got a family to support back home. That and, well..”
"And what?" Spitfire asked.
Silverstar shifted in his chair. "Look, it ain't mah place to say. Regardless, he left."
“So he just up and left? Dropped everything and went home?”
“Pretty much.”
Spitfire scoffed. “That’s pretty irresponsible.”
Silverstar chuckled. “How do ya figure?”
“He had an obligation to this town, and just because something goes wrong, he stops everything? Just leave it for the next guy?” Spitfire stood from her chair and began to pace the floor.
“Look, it ain’t that cut an’ dry, nor is it the full story” huffed Silverstar. “Sides’, ‘taint really yer business, now is it?”
“No, but...” Spitfire looked down at her hooves and sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. I don’t even know why it bothers me so much.”
“Well get it outta yer head. Ah need ya right fer tonight.”
“...Right. See you tonight, then?”
“Yup” silverstar nodded. “Ya might wanna talk to Mac too; apologize an‘ what not. In times like these, ya’ll wanna keep yer friends close.”
“Yeah, I’ll...keep that in mind.” Spitfire left the sheriff’s office, trotting outside to see that most of the townsponies had left the rather distracting scene. A guard of three deputies surrounded the statue, encouraging a few more rebellious on-lookers to “move along.” Spitfire slowly started to walk towards the statue, just thinking.
How in the hay did that statue get here? It ain’t light, not by a long shot. And how did nopony here anything? Maybe Mac could...oh yeah. He’s pissed at me. Spitfire kicked at the dirt underneath her hooves. She stopped in front of the square, looking up at the image of the late Mr. Julep. How could the head be severed so cleanly?, she thought. The closest town was Dodge Junction, and they didn’t have the facilities to pull something like that off.
“Hmmm...” Spitfire pushed up and into the air, twisting around a few spare clouds from the storm the night before. She’d hoped the cool crisp air whipping through her coat would relax her, maybe help push those unfocused thoughts out of her head. Instead, it only proved to give her more time to think. Why can’t I just leave well enough alone? She already knew the answer to that one. Because the captain of the Wonderbolts doesn’t back down. She had recited that line so many time in her career, it became a personal mantra of sorts. As a filly, Spitfire never shied away from tough answers or hard decisions, even if that wasn’t the best idea. And she definitely didn’t hold back we something interested her. Ha, this town’s so boring, I have to badger the only stallion I know into avoiding me. I really should talk to him, though.
Spitfire began to descend towards Braeburn’s ranch (she made a mental note to meet this mystery pony at some point) until she realized that it’d only been an hour at most since the squabble. “...I’ll give him some time to cool off” she said to herself, pulling back up to dart above the clouds. She landed deftly on a smallish grey nimbus, stretching out into it’s pillowy mounds to rest. I’m gonna be up all night, a few winks will be good. She closed her eyes and eased into a gentle slumber.
Big Macintosh pushed his way through the crowd, not giving a single care about the glares he received for his rudeness. “Drag me out here to do ‘er job fer her...” Mac muttered under his breath. “That’ll be the day.”
Trudging back to Braeburn’s ranch in a foul mood, Big Mac barely acknowledged his cousin as he arrived at the barn. Mac threw on his plow; three more trees had died, two from the storm last night. They needed to be up-rooted before new tress could arrive. He came to the first ruined tree, seeing that the tumultuous rain had drowned the poor sapling. This was a rather young Golden Delicious tree, It barely had a full season’s harvest under it’s leaves. Mac dislodged from his plow and bucked the tree. Hard.
It felt good to release form of that built-up tension, he noted. The tree shook violently, splintering up the core while chucks of bark rocketed from it. Another good buck should handle it, he thought. Mac’s thoughts drifted to the fiery yellow pegasus, thinking she could use a good buck too. The thought propelled Big Mac’s legs through the tree, crushing the trunk to the ground. He pushed out a strained sigh.
That ain’t right... He’d never consider violence in a serious manner, but Spitfire seemed to be able to rustle his jimmies like no other. The few times they did argue, Spitfire always threw Mac into a fit. But why’d she get me so dang angry? Ain’t even like that's been the worst of our arguin’. Ah just... He huffed as the plow, now fastened to his collar, ripped into the earth and under the roots of the dead tree. It popped up, the roots crackling and snapping when the trunk went vertical. Mac looked back to survey his work, pleased with the progress.
After dong the same with the second tree, (which was another Golden, though a bit older than the first) Mac arrived at the last of his work for the day. The tree was a large, dark oak, scarred by time and age. This giant was strong, and Big Mac was sure it was at least three times as old as he. Depositing his plow at the scene, Mac trotted back to the barn to retrieve an axe. Braeburn was waiting there.
“Howdy, cuz” said Mac. The workload had improved Big Mac’s attitude, though he was still dwelling on what happened that morning. He wasn’t so angry anymore, but he was still aggravated by Spitfire’s incessant questioning.
“Hey Mac, didn’t catch ya this mornin’.” Braeburn walked into the barn, following him. “Ya head inta town early today?”
“Yeah, but that wasn’t by choice.”
“Ah know. Ah heard yer shouting” Braeburn chuckled.
Mac growled, finding an old, worn axe. He placed it over his shoulder and turned to Braeburn. “Ya’ll would’ve to, if’n a crazy mare shows up an’ drags ya outta bed, only ta...”
“Now hold up, there” interrupted Braeburn. “If that happened, Ah’d be doin’ a lot different type a shouting” he said with a cheeky grin. “Now how is any o‘ that a problem? Ah know ya’ll ain’t a mornin‘ pony, but ‘taint no reason to be as angry as ya are.”
“Ah ain’t angry” Mac lied.
“Mac, Ah been around ya long enough to know yer moods. And it’s obvious to me something‘s botherin‘ ya.”
Mac narrowed his gaze on Braeburn, but said nothing.
“Ah’d wager it has something ta do with that pegasus friend of yours.
Again, nothing from Mac.
“Ah’d say....build up of sexual tension?”
That made Mac smile. “Ya’ll got no idea what yer talkin’ about.”
Braeburn nudged Mac, winking. “Ya can't hide that from me, cus. Yer sweet on the mare.”
“We’re just friends, Brae. An‘ barely that as of right now.”
“Ya’ll fight?”
“Kinda.”
Braeburn scratched at the ground. “Well ya better apologize, and fast.”
“And what if it ain’t mah fault?” Mac said, raising his brow.
“Then ya better do it even faster. Ya’ll know what mares are like.” Braeburn winked, trotting back to his field.
Mac chuckled throatily. His cousin had a certain way of looking at things, but he figured he was right in some aspect. Ah prolly should apologize. Ain’t no point in bein‘ confrontational. Mac nodded, returning to his task. As he lined up his axe against the old bark, Mac decided he would apologize to Spitfire the next time he saw her. With his mind settled, Mac gripped the axe in his mouth, pulled back, and swung into the oak.
Spitfire sat on her haunches, teetering back and forth on the roof of The Salt-Lick. After she talked with Sheriff Silverstar for a bit, he cleared out her look-out spot above the bar, and left her to her job. It was one of the only building with a relatively flat top, plus the large banner overhead the entrance provided ample protection and cover. Perfect for a good lookout. Silverstar and her hadn't found this spot until the third night, and they'd used it ever since.
She sat with a steely-eyed glare on the statute. This was her chance to end her torment of boredom. She could catch the thief, extract whatever info she needed, and finally get sent home. Not that she was overly eager to do so. Despite her best efforts, the small town and it’s inhabitants were starting to grown on her. Silverstar was nice, and his deputies were helpful enough, though she rarely saw them. And there was Mac...
Spitfire sighed. She intended to talk to him on the day of the fight, but she’d overslept, nearly missing her first posting for the stake out. That was a week ago. But some way or another, she hadn’t seen mane or tail of the red stallion. She hoped he wasn’t still angry, though seeing that he was still sour after all those years, Spitfire feared he might hold a grudge. She reached down between her legs, grabbing a thermos full of hot coffee. She brought it to her lips, but stopped when she saw ...something.
Even in the dark of night, Spitfire could see a dark figure standing at the base of the bronze Mr. Julep. She scooted forward, trying to get a good look at the pony. Damn, their back’s turned. Spitfire rose into the air quietly. She hovered down to the ground, approaching ever so cautiously so as not to alert the intruder of her presence.
Spitfire lunged forward, wrapping her hooves around what she thought was the thief. She heard the brush of sand underneath her, as well as the low hum of unicorn magic. A cloud of dust obscured her vision. “Oof!” Spitfire grunted when her face hit the dirt, having somehow missed her target. She quickly got up and turned around. The mystery pony was still there, now standing where she previously was with it’s back still towards her.
Spitfire stiffened as the pony turned it’s head, peering directly at her. She glared at it accusingly. “Who are you?” Spitfire demanded. “What are you doing here?”
The pony in question was covering in a large brown cape, with dusty bandages wrapped up it’s forelegs. It’s head was also wrapped, a single lock of grey mane sticking out. No horn, Spitfire noticed. It’s clothing hided the gender of it’s wearer, it’s fur was a brownish-yellow color. The eyes on this pony seemed to pierce into Spitfire’s soul, terrifying and depthless with milky white irises.
Without warning, the pony shot to it’s right, jumping forward and dashing behind a cart. Spitfire gave chase, flaring her wings and rocketing towards the pony. It ran into an alleyway, but Spitfire was close behind. The rumble of hooves echoed against old wood, reverberating off the wall and mixing with the flap of Spitfire’s wings. She reached out, almost able to grab the tattered cape in front of her. The runner quickly cut left, making Spitfire put up, lest she slam head-first into a wall. She just barely avoided the wall, her wings screaming with stress when she shot straight up.
Spitfire spun upside down and turned left, corkscrewing back down into the alleyway. The alleyway branched out like a riverbed, each possible turn leading to new turns, and new escape routes. Spitfire saw the pony turn a corner, and she resumed her chase. Swinging around the corner, she watched the edge of the pony’s cape turn right.
Damn this guy’s fast, she thought. Even with her wings, this pony was giving her a literal run for her money. Spitfire followed the pony throughout the town; every time she felt she got close, the intruder gave her the slip. She chased it out of town, out towards the farmland. How is this guy not tired? The pony led Spitfire to a familiar tract of land. He barreled through a desolate orchard, bounding over a large hole in the ground.
“MAC!” Spitfire bellowed, hoping he wasn’t the heavy sleeper she figured he was. It seems she was at least a little lucky tonight. Big Mac opened his window, only to have Spitfire yet again sweep him off his hooves and fly away.
“IS THIS GONNA HAPPEN EVERY DAMN TIME YA COME OVER!” Mac shouted over the wind.
Spitfire ignored the jape, instead trying to resume her search for the shrouded pony. No matter how fast it was, it had to be tired by now. Setting Mac down, she shot straight into the sky, cresting just under the cover of cloud. From the higher vantage point, she caught sight of the pony; It was dragging something behind it, making a distinct track behind. Spitfire couldn’t tell what it was, but it looked big.
What the hell are they thinkin’? They’re running straight into the desert. Spitfire darted towards him, leaving a trail of cloud behind as she made up the distance quickly. She realized the pony was dragging Mac’s plow, which was helping her more than she realized. Al....most...there... Her hoof brushed the edge of the dirty shroud, startling the runner. The thief dove straight into the sand hooves-first, somehow launching with enough power to pull the plow in with him. The sand acted like butter as it spread around him, and the pony disappeared into the yellow sea. Spitfire swore she saw a faint rainbow glow form around the pony, but as far as she could tell, they weren’t a unicorn. She shook it off as weariness working on her brain, and she flew back the Big Macintosh.
Mac watched a befuddled Spitfire return to him. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. “Any reason fer waking me up in the middle of the night?” he asked curtly.
“There..was a...pony. I caught ‘em in front of the statue...and chased them here.” She was still working through the event in her head. “I thought you might wanna know someone was trespassing.” Spitfire looked up from her hooves, worry on her face. “He..they just...he’s gone, Mac. Just, dove, right into the sand. Gone.” Spitfire panted with wide eyes, her exhaustion finally hitting her. Her legs were wobbly and her breath haggard.
Macintosh looked worried as well, but for a different reason. “Ya’ll sure ya got enough sleep last night? Yer not making a lick o’ sense.”
Spitfire frowned. “I know what I saw. Regardless, he’s gone now.” She plopped down, sitting in a slump.
“Well...thanks, Ah guess.” Mac scratched the back of his head. “...And um, look, Spit...”
“No dude, I gotta say something.” She stomped her hoof. “I may not agree with you sitting back because of ...whatever reason you have, even though it isn’t any of my business.” Mac frowned, and started to speak but Spitfire placed a hoof over his mouth. “I’m not finished. Be that as it may, it wasn’t right of me to question that, or push you into anything if you don’t want to help. Basically...” Spitfire looked up at Mac, giving him her best sad puppy eyes. “...I’m sorry.”
Mac looked away hesitantly. Those eyes were working hard and well. “Ah...Ah’m sorry, too. We both kinda jumped the shark on that one, huh?”
“Yeah.” Spitfire sat, holding out her forelegs. Big Mac looked at her strangely. “C’mon, bring it in.”
“Um...” Mac stared at the mare. “What are you-?”
“Fine, make me do all the work” Spitfire huffed. She leaned in and embraced Mac, wrapping her forelegs around him tightly. She could feel Big Mac tense up at her touch, and it made her chuckle a bit. Eventually, Big Mac returned the hug, though reluctantly. “All better?” she asked, pulling away.
“Eeyup. By the way, using those eyes like that is cheatin'.”
"Not in my book" chuckled Spitfire. "But seriously, I am sorry about what I said. It was stupid of me to assume you would help, and to take advantage of that."
"It's...it's okay, Spit." Big Mac smiled warmly, looking down at his friend. " 'Sides, Ah couldn't stay mad at you long anyhow."
“Good” she smiled. Spitfire nodded back towards the farmhouse. “It’s late. You mind if we go inside?” Mac nodded his approval, leading Spitfire back.
“Might as well, looks like we got a bit to talk about.”
“Uh-huh” Spitfire chuckled for the first time in a week. “Oh Mac, by the way... I think that pony stole your plow.”
“...WHAT!?”