Sand.

It’s the one thing that always seems to last. It rolls through the air, settles anywhere, gets stuck to your hooves. Sand can smooth things like water, or cut like a knife. The one thing everypony reverts back to, sand is everlasting. And it seems it also liked to ruin Appleloosian crops.

“Shoot,” Braeburn slapped his hat on his knee. Looking around his orchard, crippled trees shattered themselves throughout. Very few healthy trees were left. Even his smaller crops, which had been sectioned off, were suffering. “This ain’t good...” He left his homestead, venturing towards the neighboring ranch, and they too had suffered from the onslaught of an apparent sandstorm. Funny, thought Braeburn. Ah know Ah didn't hear anythin' 'bout a storm passing through.

Braeburn made his way into town, heading for the sheriff’s office. Appleloosa was friendly, if that. They'd been hit by a string of robberies recently, and ponies were starting to get desperate. They still kept up the mask of courtesy, at least. He stopped, looking up to the one building that wasn't brightly colored. A sign hung above the entrance steps read "Police" as is swung in he breeze. It was an old building, tired from weathering the town problems, and it was one of the only places with a working telegraph machine. He tipped his hat to Silverstar, Appleloosa’s peacekeeper. Braeburn stopped at the machine, sitting down in a stool. He composed his thoughts and started transcribing.

“Receive Ponyville. STOP. To Macintosh Apple. STOP. Need help on farm. STOP. Crops dead and failing. STOP. Please come at earliest connivence. STOP. ROAD may be slightly dangerous. STOP. Please help. STOP From Braeburn. STOP.”

Satisfied, he turned to Sheriff Silverstar. “Howdy, sheriff.”

“Hello, Braeburn. How goes that farm o‘ yours?”

Braeburn shook his head. “Owning yer own farm ain’t easy. ‘Specially when sand kills near everything ya’ll own.”

“Ah suppose not” answered Silverstar. “It ain’t like our little bandit problem is any easier.”

Braeburn’s ears drooped. “Bandits still givin' ya'll trouble?”

“Yup, jus‘ hit Wheat Chaff’s farm yesterday. An‘ it seems every other train passin‘ through is travelin‘ light due to them.” He tsk-tsked. “Shame, really. They’re prolly good ponies, at some point.”

Braeburn shrugged. “Yeah, but what can ya do?”

“Ah’ll tell ya what Ah’ll do. Imma call fer some reinforcements. Hell, they can spare at least a few Pegasus reserves, right?”

A/N: Hey, everyone! Hope this just sparks interest in an upcoming, full story. Wasn't really sure if anyone would want to read it, so here you go.