“Out here again, Braeburn?” the young buffalo said, her fur glistening in the moonlight.
Braeburn nodded, glancing over to see Little Strongheart sitting atop a boulder. “I’ve come up with a solution, thanks to my cousins. Thinking of a faire for the town and the buffalo run, if you don’t mind.”
Little Strongheart’s eyebrow rose. “I’ll have to talk to the Chief, but I don’t think he minds as long as we get to run our stomping trail.”
“I hope you’re right.” Braeburn climbed atop the boulder and sat next to the young buffalo. Her shimmering fur made her appear as if a spirit from the legends of her people. He grinned at the thought and looked up at the full moon. “If your tribe hadn’t’ve agreed, I don’t right know what I would have done.”
“Hmm,” she replied.
Grass rustled around them in the soft breeze, the wind caressing his face as he fell into his thoughts. Was this the right course? He had been sure it was earlier, with Babs and Applebloom spurring him on. But now, out here in the orchard, he didn’t know.
“If there’s anything I know,” Little Strongheart’s voice interrupted his reverie, “it’s that working hard for something, striving for a goal, is how anyone accomplishes anything. It is a teaching we buffalo are taught as younglings. Strive, always, like you did when you built this place. Like you did to create an agreement between our two cultures. If you hadn’t have tried, none of this would have happened and we wouldn’t be here, having this conversation.”
Braeburn felt a touch on his hoof and looked over to see a smile on the young buffalo’s face.
“Do what you believe in, Braeburn Apple. Be true to yourself and strive. I’m sure you’ll succeed.”
*****
The next day, Braeburn woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed with a new determination set in his stride. Babs and Applebloom seemed to share his newfound feelings and rose easily despite the early hour.
Babs rubbed her foreleg and shivered. "Kinda chilly out here, huh? Wouldn't have expected that in the desert."
"It'll warm up soon enough, cousin." Braeburn smiled widely. "Just keep moving and you'll do just fine."
"So what're we going to do first?" Applebloom asked, almost bouncing beside him. "Fix up the carriages? Change a roof? Build some stands?"
Braeburn chuckled. "Slow down there, Applebloom. We'll be doing enough hard work to last us the whole week. First, we're going to buy some supplies." He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and smiled. "Think you can help me out with that?"
Applebloom jumped into the air. "Does that mean I get to use some power tools?"
"Gee, here she goes." Babs rolled her eyes. "Let's just get this over with."
*****
With Applebloom's capable and gushing assistance, they found all the tools they'd need to start some of the repairs Braeburn had assigned them. Other ponies in the town also stopped by the old general store to pick up some things with the few bits they had. There was a jaunty atmosphere to the air, almost like yesterday's bad news had never happened.
Braeburn was carrying a bag in his mouth and the rest of the supplies in his saddlebags out of the store when the door opened with a clanging bell. A tall pony with a monocle walked in, almost bowling him over.
"What're you all bubbly for?" The Salt Block's owner, Morton Saltsworthy, eyed the crowded store with disgust. "We're gonna be evicted in a month, whatever happens."
The crowd grew quiet at his words and a chill filled the air. All of the ponies either stared challengingly at the naysayer or looked down at the floorboards.
"Now that's no attitude for an Appleoosan," Babs declared from Braeburn’s side.
Morton glanced over at her and squinted his eyes. "And what's a little filly from Manehatten know about being an Appleoosan?"
Babs faced him head on, not even flinching at his words. "I know that Apples were the ponies who originally came up with the idea to set up an orchard in the middle of the desert, crazy as it sounded. And as a Seed, I know Apples are the hardest working ponies who ever lived." She shifted her gaze to the store's occupants. "All you other ponies must be just as stubborn if you came down here to settle this place. So why wouldn't you all be stubborn enough to save Appleoosa? My Granny Smith always says you don't get nothing if you don't try. But if you do, there's a chance you might just get what you're looking for."
Braeburn felt a burst of pride spread through his chest. He almost let out a wild whoop at the filly's words before he remembered he was carrying a bag full of hammers and nails.
"Filly's right," a huge, green earth pony said. "Ain't no reason not to try. 'Sides, what would we do otherwise, sit around and mope? That ain't the Appleoosan way."
The rest of the store occupants nodded at the words and the conversations started up again, just as happy as before.
Braeburn grinned around the bag in his mouth and patted Babs on the back. "'Good 'erk.”
The Salt Block's owner scowled at the ponies and walked out of the store, mumbling to himself. The ringing of the bell was almost like the sound of victory to Braeburn.
Applebloom snorted as they left the store behind. "What was his problem?"
"Just scared," Braeburn replied, setting down the bag.
"Seemed a little more angry than scared to me," Applebloom said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.
"Hmm." He watched the monocled pony turn the corner ahead of them, the entirely wrong direction to return to the Salt Block.
*****
"Alright, grab that end, Applebloom." Braeburn strained under the weight of the carriage. "Now slide it on... just like that. Good!"
He set the buggy down with relief and backed away to admire their work.
The new wheel looked as it had been there all along. Only the relative cleanliness of it set it apart from its twin on the other side. The old one was sitting up against the Carriage Rental building— several of the wheel’s spokes were splintered and muddy.
“Eight down, nine to go,” Babs checked off a box on her notepad. “The next set needs another new wheel and a repaint and it’ll be right as rain.”
Applebloom nodded and waved to one of the ponies in charge of hauling the buggy. “Bring this one out and get the next one... uh, please?”
Braeburn wiped the sweat off his brow. “Why don’t you two take a little break? I wanna mosey about the town and see how everypony else is doing.”
“I can start the paint on the next one, actually.” Applebloom grinned up at him, her face streaked with paint. Her hair was tied back with an old bandana Braeburn had found. “We’ll take a break after that and work on the wheel when ya get back.”
Smirking, Braeburn glanced over at Babs. “Keep her in line, cousin.”
“You got it, boss.” She saluted smartly and disappeared behind the carriage being pulled in.
With the carriage painting left in a pair of capable hooves, Braeburn wandered through the streets. All around ponies were repainting and repairing the buildings they’d neglected. The town felt alive like it had back when they’d first built it. Ponies were singing and working together to create something they’d be proud of. There wasn’t any of the doom and gloom that had existed back when he’d given the news.
The scent of paint and lacquer coasted on the wind. Windows around the town were filled with apple pies and other treats. Their aromas caused a smile to form on his face. That sense of excitement he had felt earlier in the morning still lingered and was growing by the minute. Even if it was just the first day of preparations, he felt it was going to work.
“Paint this town, paint this town, one, two, three, four,” Braeburn sang to himself. “Together we can raise the money, one, two, three four.”
That’s what it reminded him of, he realized—the reunion, when everypony had been so disappointed when the barn had been destroyed. Back then, everypony had come together to rebuild the barn in record time.
“If a family can do it, a whole town is sure to get it done,” he said. “What’s a town but a big family, anyway?”
That thought felt just right.
A sudden impact jolted him out of his reverie. "Wha-"
"Pardon me," Morton said brusquely. A second later, his eyes narrowed behind his monocle. "Oh, it's you."
Braeburn frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you must look where you are going," he replied with a sniff. "Good day."
With a quick glance side to side, Morton walked off at a hurried pace and disappeared down a side street. The pony's derisively flicking tail was the last thing Braeburn saw before a clattering crash came from behind him.
"Help!"
Hopping to his hooves faster than he could think the words ‘apple pie’, Braeburn galloped toward the cry. He rounded the corner and took in the situation with a swift glance.
A stallion was clutching the edge of a roof, his back legs dangling precariously over the drop. Laying across the building opposite was a ladder that had evidently been holding the pony up. Hammers and paintbrushes littered the ground underneath the stallion. As he watched, a screwdriver fell out of the apron the pony was wearing.
"Hang on!" Braeburn sprung into action.
The ladder lifted easily, but as he started to stand it up, he realized one of the supports was broken. No wonder it had fallen.
Wishing reverently that he had been born a unicorn, Braeburn abandoned the ladder and looked around for something else that could salvage the situation.
"Slipping!" the stallion said from above, his hooves scratching against the side of the building.
An idea formed in Braeburn’s mind as he stared out into the field behind the house. "I'll be right back! Just hold on!"
His hooves dug into the dirt road as he rushed forward with all the speed he could muster.
A single annoyance obstructed his goal—a small picket fence. Doggedly continuing despite the obstacle, Braeburn leapt.
For a bad moment, he thought he had miscalculated his jump. He winced, the thought of pitching over the fence to land flat on his face whipping through his mind.
Fortunately, only the tip of his back hoof thunked into the wood.
Stumbling as he landed, Braeburn sighed with relief and fell back into a gallop. Ain’t gonna be winning any rodeos with that kind of jump.
Skidding to a halt before his goal, a bale of hay, Braeburn dipped his head down and grabbed the strap in his mouth. The strap tightened across his gritted teeth and he grunted against the weight of the bale, but he moved forward as fast as he could drag it.
He wasted no time throwing it over the fence, though the effort darkened the edges of his vision. Clambering over the fence more carefully than his graceless leap earlier, Braeburn grabbed the strap and strained toward the helpless stallion. A crowd was gathering in the alley and a few ponies were already running off, hopefully to get help.
"Braeburn!"
"'m co'in!"
Suddenly the weight was lightened and a familiar grunt sounded from beside him.
"Throw it!" Silverstar said, his teeth clenching the rope. "Won't make it otherwise!"
Grunting in affirmation, Braeburn spun with the sheriff, careful to keep his hooves from being tangled with Silverstar's. the two ponies turned on a pivot, the haybale lifting off the ground. They revolved once more and both of them let go at the same time.
The haybale flew through the air with all the grace of a carriage hurtling off the edge of a cliff, but it managed to slide to a stop just under the stallion falling from the edge of the roof. The pony hit the hay on his side and bounced off to the ground, landing flat on his face.
"Black Stone!" Silverstar yelled, rushing forward with Braeburn toward the fallen pony. "You alright, boy?"
Braeburn reached him first and rolled him over. After a quick check, he said, "Out cold, looks like. I'll go get the doc."
"I'll stay here." Silverstar winced. "Back near tweaked outta place with that throw."
As he galloped toward the old doc's house, Braeburn caught the faintest glimpse of a short, dark tail disappearing behind a corner.