A Pony a Day

by OfTheIronwilled

Growth (6/3/2017)

Apple Bloom walked into the old house silently. It had been a long time. There was a part of her that almost expected, after all of these years, for it all to be... different. Unrecognizable different. After all, some different ponies had been born to this place while she was gone. Some others had left. In cases like that, things got moved around, rooms were painted different colors, things got broken and replaced...

But for the most part, it was the same. A few new pictures, new decorations... but it still smelled like home.

As she stepped in, she looked to the right, to the side of the doorway they'd always put nicks into to measure their height. All of them were still there, along with a collection of new ones, with different letters carved beside them. One newer one, Jonagold, managed to make it all the way up to her knee. More impressively, there was another one that lined up perfectly with her line of sight, a few inches below the top of her head; Big Macintosh, year 35, it read.

Apple Bloom chuckled, and looked down -- way down -- at the last mark she had made in this house, the last time she was here. Now, it barely reached her barrel.

Huh.

She looked back at the mark on her flank, and then again to the nicks lining the door frame. Guess Applejack was right. She was a late bloomer. In more ways than one.

As she wandered quietly into the kitchen, that familiar room wafting out smells and the sound of Applejack's voice, she wondered if Scootaloo would look like an ant to her now.