Short Scraps and Explosions

by shortskirtsandexplosions

End of Ponies - Chapter 9 - Original Applejack Arc Climax

I've been on the Internet for a long time. I've played Starcraft, DoTA, TF2, and other games. I always wondered if it was possible to reach through the Internet and piss someone off so hard that the earth's poles shift.

I think that's what happened when I forced Vimbert to read this atrocity. Whenever I explain to marsupials how important it is that I use pre-readers, I cite this chapter as an example. The horrible thing is that I didn't see a single thing wrong with it. Vimbert outright *saved* End of Ponies when he tore this thing a new rectum.

Remember that badass fight scene that Harmony has with all of the trolls outside of the Apple Family farm? Replace that with a marshmallow campfire scene. Remove all of the danger, all of the threat, and all of the conflict from the last pony's life. That's the abomination that this "climactic chapter" was.

I took Vimbert's words to heart. I went back through the entire Applejack arc. I tossed in new threads, new themes, new motifs, and new motivations. What came out of the whole procedure was an entire arc that was transformed into something godly. Vimbert even gave the chapter his seal of approval, and I've felt fantastic about EoP ever since.

See? Revisions are a good thing.

---

The End of Ponies – by short skirts and explosions

Chapter Nine – A Place That Isn't Empty

Scootaloo immediately regretted every sin she had ever committed the very moment the pitcher of ice cold water came cascading over her backside. An imploding shriek—her face contorting like she was giving birth to an iceberg—and she clutched her shivering self in the sloshing waves of the ivory bathtub surrounding her. Applejack paced across the second story bathroom of her house and placed the empty pitcher besides a gently flickering lantern.

“Now don't go makin' faces like a frog left out in a snowstorm!” Applejack chuckled under her breath. “You ain't gonna suffer none. Just relax, and let the cold waters drag the heat of the day clear off ya! Nothin' finishes a long sore day of apple buckin' like a traditional Apple Family dip in the tub! Cleans your pores right out! Bet you were wonderin' how come I've worked in the Sun all these here years and yet I don't look like a raisin-coated mule!”

“A-A-Actually I-I-I was wondering if bl-bl-blood freezes at the s-s-same temperature as w-w-water,” Scootaloo hissed through clattering teeth.

“Pfft—Go soak yer head—” Applejack blinked at her own words. “Uh... Eh, y'all know what I mean.” She winked and motioned with an orange hoof. “Soap's over yonder. And I got some of the finest shampoo from Aloe and Lotus' Day Spa in downtown ponyville. Normally I don't subscribe to none of them froo-froo mane conditioners, but it was donated by Lady Rarity—now there's a pony who knows how to come out of a day's work lookin' as sparkly as Princess Celestia's lookin' glass!”

“Th-Th-Thanks, Miss Applejack,” Scootaloo shivered to produce a smile. “S-Sincerely... Y-Y-You are t-t-too kind.”

“Call me 'AJ',” the farmfilly smirked and backtrotted out of the bathroom door. “Just be sure to dry yer hooves after yer done. And if you smell somethin' a wee bit spicy, that's just Granny Smith makin' her one-of-a-kind daffodil alfredo! She only fixes it up once in a blue moon—on account of havin' a special guest and all.” She smiled.

“That... uhm...” Scootaloo blushed to the core of her projected self's being. “That's r-really sweet.”

“No it ain't!” Applejack blinked. “It's spicy—” She caught herself. “Oh, heeheehee—Right. Enjoy!” She closed the door behind her, the mare's hoofsteps creaking straight through the wooden foundations of the old farmhouse.

The copper-coated pegasus sloshed back in the tub, her shivers waning to a stillness under the gentle lull of the amber lanternlight. She brushed a few slick black strands from her forehead and gazed at her own hoof up close. Scootaloo knew that she was merely occupying the projection of her soul self. Those were not her limbs dripping with moisture and those were not her senses shivering under the frantic thrill of the cold liquid. And yet, she couldn't remember feeling more at ease, more royally pampered, more in tune with herself than she did at that moment—and it was nothing more than a humble bath.

Scootaloo knew that in her lonely days before her lonelier days, she would have reveled in experiencing something half as wholesome as this. In all the twilight eons of navigating the Wastelands, she would never have foreseen a moment when she would feel this... clean. It only took her a twenty-five-year ride on the back of reverse-time to experience it. The surreality of the moment should have been suffocating, but with each centimeter that she allowed her soaking self to descend into the waters, she suddenly didn't care.

The last pony closed her eyes, her body floating suddenly in a weightless pool of lucid cold. Like always when her eyelids were shut, she saw the gray ash and snow stretching on into the horizon of her bitter consciousness. But as her Entropan body settled warmly into the waters, the freezing mists faded away, and there bubbled to her mind's surface the wispy vistas of Cloudsdale, its blue beds and ivory buildings glistening under the gold bands of a lively Sun. Hundreds upon hundreds of pegasi floated gaily in the electric air, their eyes as bright as their souls, and they all parted ways as Scootaloo floated through them, gently hovering to a stop before a wide bed of fog. There was laughter, a deep chant of daily joy, and out from the blue-on-blue there soared a figure into crisp clarity, her mane and tail shimmering with every shade of the rainbow as she gazed down at the young foal and gave a devil-may-care grin. But just as Rainbow Dash turned to fly away—a spicy smell filled the air, like a great valley of trees burning far below. Thick iron bars suddenly obscured the flight of the prismatic pegasus, and then the great ashen explosion roared through the sky on burning moonrocks that slammed into Scootaloo's face with the force of millions of screaming ponies.

A loud splash. The filly was clasping hard to the side of the tub, hyperventilating. The flickering light around her wasn't Equestria in flames—but the gentle dance of a lantern in the corner. The spicy smell in the air wasn't ash, but a delicious meal waiting for her and the Apple Family downstairs. She was in the past, and the past was the here and now—but it all seemed so fake to her once again. In the fading trails of a reborn epiphany, Scootaloo reminded herself that the only real things in this world were those that left fossils behind.

It didn't mean that she couldn't enjoy the moment—like the fleeting phantom that she was—soaked from head to tail in an exiled Goddess' skin. A mute curse floated towards the ceiling, seeking the forehead of a three hundred year old Spike. Then there was the softest of smiles. With a gentleness and grace that she only knew from reading books, Scootaloo reached for the soap and conditioner and bathed like a princess.

---

Scootaloo couldn't take her eyes off the portraits. There were dozens of them—black silhouettes of rural ponies, framed in dark ovals that swarmed gently past her one generation at a time as she sauntered slowly, pensively down the creaking stairs of the Apple Family residence. She emerged upon a warm toasty world. A fireplace crackled lazily at the far end of a den furnished with plush love seats and afghans. As a blurred Apple Bloom scampered across the living room—giggling in a fit over one thing or another—Scootaloo glanced around the corner to see a brightly lit dining room, flanked by a kitchen where Granny Smith was currently growling at Apple Bloom to settle down. The old mare wobblingly navigated her lime-wrinkled self around an eating table before placing down a steamy plate full of straw and daffodils, sprinkled deliciously with peppery oats.

A barking nose. The last pony briefly jolted, but relaxed as she saw Winona scampering up and running circles around her, a gleeful Apple Bloom hot on the collie's fluffy tail. The two went cantering off towards another section of the house as Scootaloo's attention was drawn towards a wide portrait lining a distant hearth. Within the wooden frame the happy image of six ponies stood in a familial pose. Granny Smith was seated in the center, flanked by a red coated stallion with sharp green eyes and a mare of silken orange complexion. The mare was cradling an infant foal with a light bush of red hair, while two adorable ponies—one crimson and the other orange—hugged her legs and faced the invisible portraitist.

The pegasus was so engrossed with the calm faces hovering in the shadows across from her that she barely registered a porch door opening and slamming shut. A hulking red form clopped on tired limbs as a sisterly shadow called in from the adjacent hallway:

“Macky, didja finish barricadin' the barn? That's where they're likely to go bangin' them bony heads of theirs first!”

“Eeeyup,” Macintosh strolled past Scootaloo. He politely nodded his head—then jolted with a double-take at her mane. A blink, and he suppressed a snickering smirk as he swaggered his way into the dining room.

Scootaloo blushed slightly, her face awash in copper confusion. Just in time, Applejack pattered up, tossing her hat onto a nearby wrack.

“Whew-Wee! I swear, sometimes I feel like Epona invented 'work' first and 'ponies' second to make an excuse for the former—” She took one glance at Scootaloo. “Oh, you're done, Copper-Bottom—” She too jolted. “Whoah Nelly! Eheheh—Ya do know, sugarcube, that we've got a mirror in the bathroom, don'tcha?”

“I-I don't read you, Miss Appleja—er—AJ,” Scootaloo's eyes narrowed. “I almost passed out in the tub. Did the trolls beat me with an ugly stick before I came down here or something?”

“Nothin' of the sort,” Applejack pointed with an amused hoof. “Didn't yer Momma ever teach ya how to brush yer mane proper?”

“H-Huh?” Scootaloo stupidly blinked and ran a hoof over her neck, only to feel a certifiable mountain of fuzzy tangles spreading upwards towards the ceiling. “Holy cow! Eheh—Oh yeah, th-that's right...”

“There's a brush over yonder on the table. Be my guest.”

“Hmmm?” Scootaloo only barely registered Applejack's offering. “Oh—Uhm—To be perfectly frank, I've never... uh... Eheh.... How do I put this...?” She bit her lip. The only time the last pony had ever toyed with her hair after the Cataclysm was when she weaved the shaved pink strands into various rags, bindings, and insulators for use on board the Harmony. There was a time, in her Ponyvillean childhood, when she once experimented with a rainbow assortment of dye... which ended with relatively hilarious results, not that she had anypony to share it with.

“Pfft!” Applejack rolled her eyes. “What's this world comin' to? I bet yer Canterlotlian citizens would just die without one of them servants waitin' on yer manes night and day! C'mere—” She gently tugged on the pegasus' shoulder and planted her down on a plush stool in the center of the den. Seating herself on the edge of a couch, the earth pony snatched the brush from the table and proceeded diving into Scootaloo's forest of amber-streaked black threads. “Now sit tight. With the way y'all left it, this might smart a bit.”

“This might what?—Ackies!” Scootaloo winced, one eye tightly shut as several tangles were yanked clear, tugging at her roots. She felt like a hundred thousand nooses were pulling at every inch of her neck. “Snkkt—Y-You mistaking my skull for a tree you forgot to buck, AJ?”

“Quit yer whinin', Harmony,” the farmfilly murmured, squinting at her work as she straightened the curls out into long onyx threads. “I'm only doin' this cuz you got some really fine hair, if I do say so myself. It's an utter shame to see it all in shambles like this. The only other pegasus pony I've seen with a 'do this long is my good friend Fluttershy. It perplexes me why she never flies. She practically trips on her bangs everytime she so much as breaks into a canter—Tilt yer head down.”

Scootaloo obeyed, her bobbing vision scanning the plush rugs of the den under the flickering fireplace. “You seem to have a close knit group of friends,” the pegasus spoke through the lips of 'Harmony'. “So far I've heard about Twilight Sparkle, Lady Rarity, and now Fluttershy?”

“Oh, we're a tight bunch—Us gals,” Harmony smirked as she threaded the amber streaks together and then shifted her concentration on Scootaloo's ends. “Anypony who knows a thang or two about our brush-in with Nightmare Moon will say it's all on account of the Elements of Harmony—heh, now there's a smatterin' of irony for ya. But I always liked to think that it was a great deal more heartfelt than that. I was always well acquainted with Pinkie Pie and the Cake families over at Sugarcube Corner before fate flung the whole lot of us together. And everypony in Ponyville knew about Fluttershy—well, relatively speakin'. The pegasus has always lived in a lonely cottage outside of town. She never really showed her face much until she became part of our little circle of friends—the 'Mane Six' as some gabberin' townsfolk like to call our little pow-wow.”

“'Mane Six',” Scootaloo chuckled—wincing a bit as another tangle bit the dust. “That's original.”

“Nah. Not really,” Applejack briefly droned. “But still, there's something about my friends and I that is just so...” She paused for a moment and chuckled. “Oh shucks, I do sound like a braggin' fool, don't I?”

“No, it's alright,” Scootaloo gulped, suddenly feeling her heartbeat. “Do go on.”

“Well,” Applejack spoke and resumed brushing from behind. “We all found out one day that we had a special connection. As a matter of fact, we were destined to all find each other at some point or another—On account that when we were all little foals, one single event echoed across the whole of Equestria. In some manner or another, it was responsible for all of us gettin' our cutie marks at precisely the same time. Now what are the odds of that happenin'?”

Scootaloo tried to steady her breath. A warm sensation was blossoming deep inside her gut as she sat upon the precipice of a legendary story that the pegasus knew all too well. Over several lonesome years spent in an ashen sky, the last pony often did all she could to bury the bitterly ironic implications of the memory. But she wasn't sitting there in the past and having her hair brushed for her own benefit. She tilted hear ears back towards Applejack as she dutifully asked: “What was it? What caused all your cutie marks?”

“You ever heard of a Sonic Rainboom?”

“Educate me.”

“Yer a pegasus and you don't know about the--?”

“What's in a name?” Scootaloo retorted. She tried not to sound short; she was slightly successful. “It's all in the experience, isn't it?”

“Darn tootin'. This Sonic Rainboom was what resulted in all of us getting' our cutie marks. And on top of that, we learned that it was caused by none other than one of us gals in the first place!”

“Who?” Scootaloo secretly smiled. “Fluttershy?”

“Snkkkt—Hahaha—Heavens, no! But a certain blue pegasus by the name of Rainbow Dash. You better memorize that name, cuz I swear it's gonna be a legend someday.”

“Yes,” Scootaloo murmured, her hooves kneading the rug beneath her. “I-I'm sure it will be...”

“Y'know, in a lot of ways—You kind of remind me of her.”

Scootaloo's eyes dilated. She hadn't expected to hear that. Ever. She bit her lip and nearly whimpered, “R-Really...?”

“In less than two days, I've considered you to be both a pest and a blessing. No two words better describe Rainbow Dash in a heartbeat.” A slight drawlish chuckle, and she playfully nudged the copper pony's shoulder. “I'm joshin', of course. Yer as sweet as candy rain in my book, Harmony, which is the least I can say about Rainbow Dash. That tomcolt can be a regular thorn in the hoof from time to time, but I love her all the same.”

“I...” Scootaloo exhaled, smiled warmly into the shadows, and said, “I'm sure she loves us too.” A blink, and she winced slightly at how that came out.

“Heh—If you say so, copper-bottom. Maybe once we get this Apple Harvest taken care of, I could introduce you to the gals. I like celebratin' with my friends after a long week of apple buckin'. Yer free to come with!”

“I-I'll think about it,” Scootaloo said. Gazing forward, she fidgeted slightly—fought to scale the opportunity of the moment—and eventually seized it. “Hey, AJ?”

“Yes, Harmony?”

“What...” she cleared her throat. “Wh-What would it take, d-do you think, for a pony to seek audience with Princess Celestia?”

“You mean the Princess Celestia?” Scootaloo could positively feel the weight of Applejack's dumb blink from behind. “Yer a Servant of the Court of Canterlot and yer askin' me about meetin' up with the Princess?”

Scootaloo winced at that—all of that. She should have seen it coming from twenty-five years of reverse-time away. Still, she painted her tongue silver and persisted, “I know how much you dislike bureaucracy, Miss Applejack. It's only natural to hate the process of red tape. Even a pony of my stature and service has to go through several layers of offices before I can so much as submit a letter to Her Highness.”

“Like when you plan on reportin' on this Sweet Apple Acres?”

“Yes—NO,” Scootaloo tugged briefly on the end of her hairs and sat up straight. “Ahem—This isn't about my inspection of the farm. Not this.”

“Then what is it about, Harmony?”

“It's... It's...” Scootaloo bit her lip. A thousand dying faces flicked in and out of a blink. She calmed herself and managed, “It's a personal matter. That's all. I-I know it's rather foolhardy for a pony—anypony—to think that she can easily make contact with the Princess, somehow circumnavigating the waiting list of so many other concerned citizens who write to her on a daily basis. But... B-But in my service to Her Highness—in all of my travels—I have... how can I say this... I've uncovered some findings about the lands of Equestria that I think need a close review, and there're no offices in my Court that can properly filter—uhm—what I have to report on.”

“I see. And you call that a personal matter?”

“I... Er...” Scootaloo inhaled. Then a brief smile. “What's more personal than the safety and future of Equestria? You may hold a great deal of faith in this land, Miss Applejack. And that's all well and fine for you. You're an earth pony. You live here. But me? I don't live entirely in Canterlot—Not like you think.”

“Just where do you live, Harmony?”

Scootaloo lingered. She closed her eyes, returning briefly to the ashes. “I live in the skies, AJ. It's not just a part of my pegasus nature—It's all about what I do, what I believe in, and who I am.” She reopened her amber orbs, and the rich warm flicker of the den seemed muted suddenly. It brought a chill up her spine. “Someday—maybe eons from now—the skies will be all that's left of Equestria. Those who have spent so much time traveling—those like me—can see things that other ponies can't, all ponies except Her Highness. Princess Celestia sees all.” A gulp, then a murmur: “Or at least I certainly hope she does...”

“I can't pretend to know the texture of yer words as much as yer tryin' to paint them to me. But you've been awfully polite to my words. With the way the days have unfolded, I see every reason to respect yers all the same.” There was a gentle clapping sound of the brush being placed onto a table top. Two hooves rested on Scootaloo's shoulders. “There ya go. It ain't no prima donna hogwash—but I reckon you look mighty elegant.”

Scootaloo shuffled, standing up from her stool. She trotted across the room and glanced into the reflective surface of a grandfather clock. The reflection sported a gorgeous black mane blossoming from her scalp, and the one amber streak swam steadily down the centerpiece of the thickly forested threads.

“It looks... pretty,” the pegasus blushed slightly.

An orange reflection sauntered up next to her, smirking. “Yes, you do,” Applejack patted her shoulder as the two's complexion hovered numbly against the rotating hands of time. “Don't sell yerself short, girl. All them wisecracks I made yesterday about you bein' dainty and all; they're true in a way. But it's a darlin' truth. I'm sure you'd drive the colts back at Canterlot into a faintin' spell if you ever took the moment to come down from them skies you love.”

Scootaloo exhaled, her breath incidentally fogging the clockface briefly as her eyes fell past the sloping length of the hour hand. “I'm not sure if I can ever afford to come down...”

“Good thang we stumbled into each other,” Applejack winked. “I reckon it gave you a chance to get better acquainted with the Earth. I'm sure the Earth was missin' you mighty fierce too.”

“Y-Yeah. Maybe so...”

Applejack rubbed her own chin with a hoof. “Y'know, it ain't that much of a stretch to get in contact with the Princess—Now that I think of it.”

Scootaloo flashed a hyper glance Applejack's way. “It 'ain't'?” She blinked.

“Well, on account of my friend Twilight,” the orange mare mused. “She's always writin' letters on friendship and Ponyvillean life to Celestia. She's her magical apprentice, you see.”

Scootaloo shifted where she stood. “You don't say...?”

“At first I was a bit miffed that every little thang I did or said around Twilight could very well have made it onto the pages of a letter that her lil dragon friend sent to Her Highness. But then I came to trust Twilight Sparkle for whom she really is—a gentle, endearing, and good-mannered pony. And—heck!—I'm all about tellin' the truth, most of the time at least. So I figured—'What the hay's the big deal'? And it's never bothered me since.” She smiled proudly. “I have no doubt that what's happenin' right here on this here farm could come to the Princess' attention, thanks to Twilight—in some way or 'nother.”

“And th-then the Princess would want to sp-speak with me?” Scootaloo stammered, her wings briefly fluttering.

“Pfft—One hoof at a time, sugarcube. But it's certainly a start, isn't it?”

“Where in tarnation is everyone—AJ! Miss Harmony!” Granny Smith wobbled out from the brightly lit kitchen and gawked at the two ponies. “There you are—Elektra Alive, ladies! Food's-a-gettin' cold! Bring yer flanks in here and take a bite before them nasty critters stop hidin' in the forest!” She hobbled back under the gathering shadows of Macintosh and Apple Bloom at the table.

Scootaloo winced slightly. “Where are my m-manners? I'm not used to a regular eating schedule. I didn't mean to hold up supper, honest.”

“Don't worry yer sweet head about it,” Applejack winked and motioned with her snout as she trotted over to join her family. “How about you put that mouth of yers into munchin' instead of mopin'?” she said with a chuckle.

The copper pegasus nervously trotted after her, dipping her head humbly into the warm aura wafting off of the dinner table. Granny Smith was already serving heaps of the steamy daffodil alfredo onto each of the five plates while Macintosh, Apple Bloom, and Applejack were shuffling padded stools into place and taking their seats. Scootaloo was so mesmerized by the scents of the well-cooked meal that she took little notice of the seat she was shuffling up towards. She heard someone's throat clearing. Glancing up, she saw Macintosh gazing deadpan at her, shaking his head, and waving a hoof negatively. With a blink, Scootaloo took a second look at the spot that she was about to sit in. Its place at the table was dusty, plain, with the only thing adorning it being a vase full of well preserved orange blossoms. The spot directly next to the seat had a pair of antique colt's horseshoes criss-crossing in memory. She blushed deeply and winced apologetically Macintosh's way, watching as the crimson stallion gladly motioned her towards a guest stool on the other side of the table, which she quickly took—shuffling up until she was suddenly at chest level within the conjoined breath of the family and with no means of escape.

She had felt this cramped and caged before. The Harmony's cabin left little room for anypony to shuffle around. Inside her airship Scootaloo was either piloting, runecrafting, reading journals, or lying in the hammock. There was nothing necessarily uncomfortable about the claustrophobic lifestyle; she was the only living thing who would ever need to use the cabin. But this—this dinner table full of breaths and smells—this was like being cornered by vicious harpies from all sides, only they wanted to bless her rather than eviscerate her. The last pony was not accustomed to being the recipient of anything other than her own cold shoulder throughout the years. It was positively suffocating.

She also wasn't accustomed to traditional eating habits. With forlorn eyes, Scootaloo watched as the family exchanged smiles and polite phrases of gratitude before offensively dipping the entire weight of their snouts directly into the spiced plates of straw and flowers. Scrumptious oats and delicious white petals dribbled off their delighted maws as they treated their table like one large trough. If Scootaloo had lost all of her faint memories from foalhood, she might even have been disgusted. She realized that she was the source of her own confusion. For decades, her diet consisted entirely of mushroom stew and meat broth, and very early into her zeppelin lifestyle the pegasus had crafted for herself metal braces attached with eating utensils so that she could fish her meals out of a collapsible container that could be discarded in a heartbeat for if she needed to jump into her cockpit and steer clear of a sudden obstacle or air pirate attack. Scootaloo had been alone for so long, she had forgotten what it meant to eat like a pony. Strangely enough, it was the first incongruity that didn't make her feel shameful.

She cleared her throat, wrenched her eyes off of the ungainly eating habits of her hosts, and gazed at the food on the plate before her. She knew the daffodil alfredo had to be delicious; her senses told her that it smelled delicious, but there was no convincing the supposed 'gut' of her projected soul self that she needed to be hungry for it. Her need to eat was the same as her need to sleep, and it was all related to the unnatural stamina that aided 'Harmony' so well in her endless apple bucking that day. In fact, the only reason she took a bath was because Applejack insisted.

She didn't want to wait until the four blessed ponies in front of her insisted that she join in the meal. So, leaning her snout down awkwardly, she opened her lips like a giant copper crane and snapped a rattling bite of the heap of flowers and straw.

The soonest that the oats entered her mouth—they melted around the crunching contours of the flower stalks until a grand cornucopia of home-brewed tastes gathered into a frothing ball against her tongue and exploded endorphins directly into her brain. Her eyes almost rolled back in her head. This wasn't quite like the apple she had bitten into the day before; there were no bitter sweet emotions attached to this. This was quite simply an onslaught of pleasure, something she hadn't gotten from food in a while. She remembered suddenly what it meant to consume something simply for the sake of the experience and not for the sake of survival. It was a joyously awkward shimmer that danced up and down her spine, like having waltzed in on a muffin buffet at Sugarcube Corner. She pondered a little too heavily on this, so that she was blind to her avid devouring until she blinked her eyes up with a mouthful to see four amused faces staring at her.

“My my, they certainly starve you in the Royal Court of Canterlot, don't they?” the lime coated mare snickered.

“Don't go pickin' on her, Granny,” Applejack winked between munches. “She done deserved a good scarfin'. Besides—Who can resist yer wonderful alfredo?”

“Yeah! Can Miss Harmony visit us some more?” Apple Bloom stifled a belch and beamed. “I wouldn't mind chowin' down on this every week!”

“Oh Sugarcube. What would make this a special occasion if we did that, then?”

“We should let ponies visit us more often, AJ! When's all yer Apple Buckin' gonna be finished, huh? I feel like we've been a bunch of lonely rock farmers, what with all this work and no play!”

“The soonest we get this here harvest done, I reckon we're in for a heapin' load of celebration. I mean it; this year's been a real doozy.”

“You can say that again, child.”

“Eeeyup.”

“Why—If I had a bit for every basket of apples I've filled this year alone, I'd fancy myself being nearly as rich as Rarity.”

“That reminds me, AJ. Where has that most resplendent pony been lately? It seems like Lady Rarity is a no-show everytime I go to visit the Ponyvillean Market.”

“Oh, she's just bein' her normal fabric fussin' self, Granny. No doubt she's workin' on the latest task for that fabulous fashion critic from Canterlot, Hoity Toity.”

“Now AJ—If yer don't know a pony's name, it ain't polite to go on fillin' the blank, now is it?”

“No, Granny. I mean that is his name. He's 'Hoity Toity'.”

“A name like that in the Canterlotlian elite? Preposterous! Next thing y'know, Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Ponies will be passin' out doctorates to colts named 'Mister Whooves'!”

“Er... Ahem... So, Harmony,” Applejack took another bite of alfredo and smiled down the family table. “Tell us a little bit about the sorts of things that a Royal Servant of Canterlot gets to see in her travels, why don't ya?”

“Oh, uhm...” Scootaloo fidgeted, swallowing down another scrumptious lump of oats and smiling nervously. “It's not necessarily good dinner conversation.”

“Are you kiddin'?” Apple Bloom nearly bounced out of her stool, her hairbow twitching atop a grinning head. “I've never met a pegasus working for the Princess before! I bet you see all kinds of cool and amazin' things in your work!”

“Where I go isn't nearly as important as what I do,” Scootaloo said. A clearing of the throat and she half-murmured aside: “Or whom I do it for.”

“Do you ever see any sea serpents?”

“Uhh,” Scootaloo blinked. “I beg your pardon, kid?”

“Sweetie Bell says that there are tons of sea serpents out beyond the mountains bordering the Equestrian Valley! She says they're called 'leviathans', on account that they're so big that they can't fit their big 'ol selves into normal lakes and rivers!”

Scootaloo didn't bother stifling a knowing smirk. “This 'Sweetie Bell' sounds like a walking dictionary.”

“Nah, she just tries really hard to impress other ponies. I think it's because she's tryin' to look as classy as her sister, Lady Rarity. She's not nearly as confident about thangs as my other friend—”

Scootaloo's heart briefly dropped when Applejack interrupted her little sister: “That's quite enough jabberin' about yer Crusaders, Apple Bloom. Y'all can talk about that another day.”

“Awww—But Sis! The whole point of being a Cutie Mark Crusader is wantin' to go out into the world and do everythang to get a cutie mark! I bet Miss Harmony here has done just that!”

Before Applejack could interject again, the copper pegasus spoke, “It's true. I've been to many places. And it sounds like you've got a noble thing going with these 'crusader' friends of your, Apple Bloom. But I don't think you should be so obsessed with the outside world, kid. Especially when you've got so much that's awesome right here.”

“What do ya mean, Miss Harmony?” Apple Bloom blinked widely at her. Applejack raised an eyebrow. A mute Macintosh and Granny Smith gazed over half-munched alfredo.

Under the spotlight of so many warm pairs of eyes, Scootaloo crossed her hooves atop the table and breathed soundly. “I've seen many things in my flight,” she said, plucking the words from the gray fields of her mind with caution. “I've seen deep granite chasms etched into the earth from millennia ago, when things that were done to this world were performed by the whim of a Goddess with absolute permanence in mind. I've flown under the shadows of mountains too high for any Canterlotlian chronicler to measure; they are natural monstrosities so large that to simply comprehend them reminds a pony of just how tiny a speck she is in the mere twinkle of Epona's eyes. I have seen... I have seen wastelands, Apple Bloom—Wastelands that stretch on for hundreds upon hundreds of kilometers, where the only sign of life that could possibly exist is the indestructible spirit of ponydom. The world is a huge place, and when it's stripped bare of all of the pretty things that make it recognizable, it becomes clear really quick that the only hoofprint you can ever hope to make is the sort of mark you can etch upon the souls of each other, of the ones that you love, and the ones that you would forever... forever miss if they were to fly off along the wild winds of what lies beyond the mountains and never ever return. The world is huge, and it is amazing—But, personally, I have found so much of it to be...to be empty.”

Scootaloo's lips lingered. She gazed up with a brief fear. The warmth in the eyes of the living ponies had faded slightly. As they regarded her, their faces seemed a little... paler. She knew exactly how to change that.

With a smile, the pegasus finished, “But here—No, there is no emptiness here. You can dream and wonder about the outside world all you want, Apple Bloom. But let me save you the trouble when I say that there's nothing better than a home. You can go on a thousand exoduses and cover a million miles—by land or by air—but having a home is all that matters. And this home, Apple Bloom, this gorgeous and beautiful home where your family lives; it is a good home. And I am willing to bet that if you too were to see the many sights of Equestria and beyond, only here would you feel complete. Anywhere else would just be empty.” She glanced up at a sisterly orange mare. “Where else would the Earth so generously give back for you simply being you?”

Applejack smiled sweetly.

“Well, I hope I get to see some leviathans someday!”

“Apple Bloom! Heavens to Betsy!” Granny Smith rolled her eyes and then smiled at the guest. “Would you like seconds, dear?”

“I would love some, Ms. Smith.”

“I rightly share Apple Bloom's melancholy over the vittles,” Applejack mused while the elder scooped Scootaloo another heap of straw and daffodils. “Tomorrow night, we're likely back to me cookin' the same old boring meals like I do every week. It's nothin' for you to fancy, Harmony. I don't quite have Granny's gift of spicin' here. But I reckon my meals are decently healthy!”

“And borin'!” Apple Bloom made a wretching face.

“Mmm... Eeeyup.”

“Oh hush, you two!” Applejack briefly frowned, folding her hooves in a pout. “So what's wrong with a little bit of spinach and celery here and there?”

Scootaloo suddenly snorted. She cleared her throat and did her best to hide a smile.

Applejack blinked curiously across the table at her. “What? You have something against spinach and celery?”

Again, Scootaloo jerked. Avoiding Applejack's gaze, she blushed slightly and shrugged. “No. No ma'am. That sounds absolutely delicious—”

“What's so cotton-pickin' funny, then?” Applejack confusedly raised an eyebrow. “You look like yer about to spill yer liver all over the table!”

“Ugh—AJ, darlin', please!” Granny Smith groaned.

“It's nothing—Just...” Scootaloo gestured with a hoof, hesitated, then let loose another busting smirk. “Hmm... Your voice—”

“What about it? Huh?!?”

“The way it sounds when you say the word... ahem... 'celery'. Just—I dunno—makes me feel all g-giddy inside,” Scootaloo let loose a flock of giggles and coughed it down before taking a ladylike bite out of fresh alfredo.

Macintosh blinked. Apple Bloom's cheeks exploded as she tried to hide a snicker.

Applejack's frown was only overwhelmed by an ever thick curtain of perplexity. “I don't get it! What's so fancy about the way I say 'celery'?”

Apple Bloom broke into uncontrollable foalish giggles. A distinguished pegasus gently joined her. Even Big Mac's lips started curving.

“Say it again, sis! Heeheehee!” Apple Bloom was red-faced.

“Nuh uh! My supposedly 'humble guest' has outright turned the whole family table against me!” Applejack turned her snout up. “I don't get what the big deal is! I swear, her Canterlotlian sophistication is pollutin' the whole household!”

“Come on! Say it again! Say it again!”

“You say it, blast yer yellow hide! This ain't the sort of dinner I washed my hooves for!”

“Awwww!”

Silence, save for the random clattering of plates. Granny Smith chewed long and hard on a few strips of straw. Macintosh dabbed himself with a napkin. Apple Bloom hovered on the edge of her seat. Scootaloo's eyes were locked onto a suddenly interesting spot on the ceiling.

Applejack frowned, frowned, snarled, then let loose spastically, “'Celery'?!?” She shrugged.

Apple Bloom, Scootaloo, and Macintosh immediately curled over in laughing fits. Applejack facehoofed and sighed while Granny Smith smirked quietly to herself.

---

An hour later, most of the lights in the house had been put out—save for the blaze in the fireplace, which was still crackling and sparking with a heated sigh over the soft shapes of embroidered furniture. Nestled in the sofa upon Granny Smith's lap, washed up and socked-up and ready for bed, Apple Bloom blinked smilingly as the lime-coated elder embraced her with a book in her hooves, rattling off a bedtime story to the dancing shadows of the room.

“'But the baby yellow birdie didn't mind none when the other songbirds tried to make fun of him. 'I'll get my own tree!' he said. 'Then I can sing big and strong just like the others!' So he flew and he flew and he flew and he flew, but all of the large trees were all filled with birdies already. He knew it was impolite to hop into another family's nest, besides it wouldn't help his singing none to share the branches with other birdies. He needed to practice on his own! Finally—one cool and crisp mornin'—the baby yellow birdie found a tinnnnnnny sprout of an apple tree just over the hill yonder where the rising Sun first appeared. She was such a teeny tiny thing that none of the other songbirds wanted to nest in her—but for the little yellow birdie, she was just right. 'Finally, I have a tree and she's just the size that I can learn to sing in!' So he made his nest and practiced every mornin', but his singin' wasn't gettin' any prettier. He wanted nothin' else but to sing big and strong—But it wasn't comin' out right! Finally, one mornin', he left the tiny sprout of a tree, but not without saying, 'Don't fret, Miss Apple Tree! I know just the thing that will make you grow. All of the other birdies live in big trees because they have families! Maybe if I had a family of my own, then you would become big too'!”

From the bottom of the farmhouse's stairs, Scootaloo listened in on the tale. She sat on the bottom step, covered in shadows, as her ears pricked foalishly to take in Granny Smith's recital. From the toasty look across Apple Bloom's firelit features, the pegasus could tell that she was well familiar with this bedtime story. It was Scootaloo's first.

As Granny Smith continued her gentle tale, the copper time traveler glanced aside to see Big Macintosh propped up on a stool before the screened porch door. With hard green eyes, he stared out into the darkness shrouding the orchards, watching for any sign of the nightmarish creatures that were lurking beyond. He had a spade balanced across his forelegs, and if he was teetering on the brink of exhaustion, he heroically didn't show any sign of such.

A shuffling of hooves, and Applejack sauntered down from the top of the stairs and sat down next to Scootaloo with a groaning sigh. “Any sign of them varmints?”

Scootaloo slowly shook her head. “No. By the way, I thought it was Macintosh's turn to keep watch first. Shouldn't you be asleep?” Her voice was stealthily hushed beyond the ranges of Apple Bloom's hearing.

Applejack's was too: “I would say the same about you, but looks like I'm not the only restless one.” Nevertheless she yawned and leaned against the nearby wall with bloodshot green eyes. “Here's my family, havin' a gentle moment, and yet there are such horribly nasty creatures just beyond the fences.”

“And what a nice moment it is,” Applejack murmured towards the cozy fireplace and the old and young bodies curled before it. Something Spike had said about the past brushed the surface of her mind. She suddenly felt like a foreign virus, infecting a pure Equestria with eyes that had seen ash and misery. “What I wouldn't give for a whole lifetime of moments like this...”

Applejack turned towards her, and a soft voice came out of her that soothed the pegasus ears. “All of those thangs that yer were goin' on about at the dinner table, about you seein' so many sights in the world and it all bein' so incredibly empty...” She leaned her head to the side. “Is that how you feel about life in general, Harmony?”

Scootaloo tried to reassure her with a smile. The result was akin to handling balloons with rusted gauntlets. “Life is never empty, AJ. It's the stuff that life tries to fill.”

“I reckon yer one of them trough-is-half-empty kind of ponies.”

“Not really. I like to drink out of a cantene.”

“Pfft—Cop out!”

“Heheheh,” Scootaloo giggled lightly. Then, with a returning sigh, she hugged her forelegs to herself and lowered her head, gazing at the firelight and the unraveling bedtime story beyond.

“The years went by, but the yellow birdie didn't notice,” Granny Smith went on as Apple Bloom yawned and curled tighter against her. “Because he was so enamored with the family he made. He had no idea that he would be so happy to have a wife and two little chickies. He found he practiced his singin' simply by treatin' his kids to some lullabies. He forgot all about little Miss Apple tree back home, because his whole life had become one big beautiful song, and his family had become the chorus. And without even knowing it, he had become big and strong, just the kind of daddy that his chickies needed. It was a total surprise to him when one day they moved back to the west side of the orchards, and there the yellow birdie found himself stumbling on an enormous apple tree that was just the right size for his family! But he was scared at first, because every other bird who tried to live inside her branches was thrown out—as if the tree had come alive and refused to be nested in! 'That tree! She ain't no good!' the other songbirds said. 'She doesn't like no birds no-how!' But the yellow birdie wasn't scared. He needed a tree for his family, and she was just the right size. 'Please let me build a nest in you, Miss Apple Tree!' He begged with folded wings. 'I swear that I'm big and strong and my family needs the room!'.”

Scootaloo's wings absent-mindedly flexed and unflexed. A pit formed in her stomach as she thought about all of the skies she had flown in during her life; and none of them were golden. A dismal hum broke the tranquility of the room, so that she finally forced herself to glance aside and murmur Applejack's way:

“Hey, AJ...”

“Mmm—Yes, Harmony?” Applejack leaned away from the precipice of drowsiness.

“Have you—That is...” the pegasus fidgeted, fumbled, then proceeded, “as an earth pony, have you noticed anything strange about the land?”

“You mean other than nasty little trolls poppin' out of it and wantin' to kill all of us?”

“Ahem. Yes, besides that,” Scootaloo bit her lip, but continued uttering, “Have you felt... I don't know... any tremors or strange earthquakes or... or just about anything that would seem really out of place in the land of Equestria?”

“Can't reckon I have. This here is pretty sound land. Only tremors we get is when cattle stampede from time to time. I had to save Ponyville all by myself from such a mess one time. Well, heheh, Winona helped, but that's besides the point.”

“You haven't noticed any bizarre things in the sky? Any... er... eclipses or other strange phenomena happening for no reason?”

Applejack squinted sideways at the pegasus. “Does this have anythang to do with that report you've been dyin' to share with the Princess?”

Scootaloo instantly blushed, glancing away. “Guess nothing gets past you, AJ.”

“Guilty,” she smirked. “Sugarcube, my family and I are very grateful for all the things you've done for us over the last day and a half. It was because of your foresight that Mac and I didn't get chomped to bits by trolls. And it was because of your smarts that we've gotten so much apple buckin' done at a record rate. But I'm beginning to think that you're awful worrisome about a lot of things.”

“I-I guess it is in my nature,” Scootaloo smiled nervously. A gulp. “But—There are strange things ahoof in Equestria. I really, really must get in contact with the Princess somehow.”

“Like what kind of strange things?”

“I-I really don't want to cloud your head with it, Applejack,” Scootaloo smiled plastically. “Let's just say that there are... th-there are worse things in this world than trolls.”

“Whew—If you say so,” Applejack ran a hoof through some night-tosseled threads and shrugged. “Cuz I can't imagine anything worse than creatures who just wanna hate on a humble family of farm ponies. It's almost as if they want to bring out the worst in us. Those traps that Macky and I made?—Plus them farm tools we were fixin' to smack against them varmints' heads...?” A chill ran down the mare's spine as she shamefully glanced into the shadows. “I shudder to think how downright dirty we were plannin' on gettin'. You were right with what you said at sundown, Miss Harmony. Ponies are creatures of life. We should know nothin' about bouncin' back the misery of monsters.”

“Bouncing back misery...” Scootaloo nodded in suddenly deep thought. “Right...” She listened intently as Granny Smith finished her story.

“And the moment he built a nest inside her branches, the leaves started shakin' something fierce. At first the yellow birdie thought he was gonna be thrown out like all the others. But then he realized that there was somethin' musical to the way them leaves were rustling. And sure enough, he started singin' to the beat, and what came out of him was the most beautiful song that there ever was sung in all of the orchards. To his joy, he realized that she was the same apple tree he tried to build a nest in so many years ago, before he flew away to find himself such a happy family. She had waited for him all that time, so that she was big enough for the whole family and all of their happy songs. And that's when the yellow birdie thought to himself, 'Hmm, my favorite little tree isn't such a little tree anymore'. So she sang her song, big and strong, and they all lived in that great big tree happily ever after. The end.”

Granny Smith very, very quietly folded the book shut, for the little foal nestled in her lap had fallen into a soft slumber, her tiny form rising and falling with gentle breaths. The lime coated elder smiled and lovingly nuzzled the child's crimson mane as the firelight dwindled into shadows across their warm embrace.

The gentleness spread lightly across the room and lit something brightly in Scootaloo's center. Her breath left her, and when it did—it was like the echo of a manabullet ricocheting dead off a target. With suddenly bright eyes, she bounded up to her feet with a grin.

“That's it!” she hoarsely whispered.

“Wh-What's it?” Applejack blinked up at her with tired eyes. “Harmony, did you just suffer an aneurysm or somethin'?”

“Almost as good as that!” she beamed down at the orange mare. “I got an idea! I know how we can get rid of the trolls!”

“What?!” Applejack stumbled up to her feet. “H-How?”

“Got any marshmallows?”

“Uhhh...What the hay?”

“Well do you or don't you, girl? This is frickin' important!”

“I reckon I still do from the last time one of Apple Bloom's friends visited--”

“Good! Get them, get Macintosh, and follow me!” Scootaloo brushed past a startled stallion, making him fall out of his stool as she darted out the front porch, all the while staying within anchorage. “But most of all—Bring a smile!”

---

It was late into the morning hours when a wave of leathery bodies finally pierced the dark wall of the forest bordering Sweet Apple Acres' southeast border. There was a reason for why they didn't begin their march until then. In the glinting moonlight, many recently hewn bludgeons of sharp rock and gnarled branches manifested in the creatures' grips. They hissed and drooled with a bloodthirst that tugged them—clamoring—over the rickety wooden fence and through row after row of night-shrouded apple trees.

Flashes of loud teeth marked many drooling snouts as the trolls regarded the fruitless trees with disgust. Obviously put off by the extent to which the harvest had been gathered in their absence, they pressed themselves forward in a bounding canter, their mangy limbs kicking up clumps of dirt and grass as they began a nocturnal charge towards the center of the farm—towards the household of the equine who resided on the landscape.

A mutual hunger growled through their acidic stomachs as they pierced the last rows of orchards, closing in like one massive snake of leathery torsos onto the apex of the Acres. They expected to see a lone farmhouse sleeping under the curtain of darkness, unprotected on all sides by flimsy windows that their fresh weapons could mash through in a single hissing heartbeat.

What they found instead was a billowing pulse of hot orange light. Growling in disdain, the leathery line of trolls flinched at the edge of a dirt clearing, shading their squinting eyes and wretching maws with a forest of pointy bludgeons. In one hateful glare, they refocused their vision on what turned out to be a brilliant bonfire, and seated in a soft circle around the blaze were three ponies. Something was roasting in between them on a trio of sharp sticks... and they were laughing and smiling...

“Hahahaha!” Applejack beamed with curved green eyes as she waved a toasted marshmallow over a lick of flames. “Did I ever tell y'all about the one time that Twilight Sparkle squared off against a hydra at Froggy Bottom Bog?”

“No!” Scootaloo munched on the end of a puffy white treat, gulped, and smiled. “Do tell us, AJ.”

“My pleasure, Harmony!” Applejack smirked slyly at the copper pegasus and a certain red stallion. “It was me, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, Twilight Sparkle, and Twilight's dragon apprentice Spike—and we was all flounderin' with this whole row over Pinkie Sense that brought us there to begin with. When all of the sudden, this huge hulkin' thang with four heads came surgin' up out of the swampwater! It had the lower body and tail of a dragon, but the quadrupled head of a snake! And it was comin' straight for us!”

“Why, Applejack...!” Scootaloo gasped widely and stabbed another marshmallow onto her stick. “What ever did you do?!?”

“Sit tight, listen—And I'll tell y'all!”

The trolls blinked their beady white eyes. A rubbing of their scalps and several exchanged glances; the monsters frowned and marched thuddingly across the dirt clearing, closing in on the three helpless victims in their marshmallow reverie.

The orange farmfilly continued, undaunted by the peripheral sight of the leather forms shuffling out of the treeline towards them. “So we immediately broke into a panicked gallop up the hill all quick-like. But there was this cliff we had run our stupid selves into, and the only way to safety was to jump across a bunch of dangerous rock pillars to get to a mountain on the other side of a gargantuan canyon!” Applejack grinned mischievously as she related this harrowing tale with extreme guile. “The hydra was closin' in fast! And we could only hop across the dang pillars one at a time! So Twilight Sparkle took it upon herself to distract the four-headed monster, even if it meant sacrificin' her own precious life!”

The trolls' strench filled the flickering air as they shuffled their way up towards the flanks of the three ponies. Applejack continued storytelling like they weren't there. Scootaloo was gazing only at her, nodding her head with childish interest. The only noticeable sign of nervousness was from the large red stallion. Macintosh shifted with brief discomfort atop the log where he was seated, but soon he too was thoroughly engrossed in the story, insomuch that he completely and utterly ignored the trolls and the violent looking weapons hanging in their gnarled hands.

“First, she got it in her head to try and outsmart them—by 'them', I mean the one huge hydra. But she figured she didn't have the courage. So—and I even heard her from afar—she goes 'What would a brave pony like Rainbow Dash do'? And in seconds flat, she's runnin' plum towards the hydra at full gallop, screamin' her head off like her horn had sunk into her brain overnight!”

“Wow, that was either extremely noble or extremely stupid!”

“A little of both, I reckon. But wouldn't you know it?! It worked!! The hydra was so dumbstruck by the unicorn's movement that it just about tangled its heads together while trying to take a bite at her!” Applejack chomped onto a mushroom and stuck a few more onto her stick while mumbling with a full mouth. “The morale of the story is that sometimes bein' a complete moron in the heat of panic can save yer skin a lot longer than it takes to second guess bein' a moron to begin with!”

“Hahahah,” Scootaloo grinned, seemingly oblivious to a trio of trolls that stood in a pyramid behind her, leering and waving their spiked clubs to impale her from above. “Well, y'know, there's a reason why hydras are so territorial! It's a common habit across Equestria for poachers to hunt bogs for hydra claws. You see, hydra blood is tempered at an extremely high temperature on account of a thermal-powered circulatory system.”

Applejack briefly winced as her eyes darted frightfully, motioning behind Scootaloo's shoulders.

Scootaloo merely winked at her and continued on with her rambling, “If you slice the toenails off of hydras, you can expose some of their bloodstream while it's still raw and harness a special energy known as orange flame—which has many useful properties, such as operating steam-powered machines and attracting various forms of metal with a highly charged magnetism.” The trolls behind Scootaloo, confounded by her utterly still and unafraid stance, stopped waving the weapons over her skull. They glanced at each other in mute confusion, their beady eyes losing all menace with each blink.

“I wouldn't rightly know much about hydras—But I know a brave unicorn when I see one,” Applejack mused. A pair of trolls dustily ran up to her, hissed, and barred their claws directly in her face. She slyly reached a hoof past them and snatched another marshmallow from a bag before flippantly stabbing it with her roasting stick. “I knew from then on never to underestimate Twilight's courage in the line of danger. Not that you'd think much of danger on such a pretty night as this.”

“I know, right?” Scootaloo leaned back, inhaled long and hard, and breathed out in a drunken grin. A troll leered over her, roared with several serrated teeth looming quite obviously in her eyesight. She made no note of it. “It's like Epona blanketed the night with her own hooves. What I wouldn't give for every night to be as delightful as this one—Especially when spent in the company of friends.”

“You would call us friends? Awwwww shucks,” Applejack blushed and smiled Macintosh's way. “And here I thought we was just sharin' scary stories!”

“Scary stories? Perish the thought!” Scootaloo raspberried and yawned as another pair of trolls waved their splintery weapons before her. “These are merely tales of Equestrian intrigue and silly unicorn bravery!”

“Well, it was a recount of somethin' I myself experienced.”

“And you wove the recollection so well, AJ.”

“I bet I could be bested!” She winked and glanced over at her brother, ignoring a pair of fist-shaking trolls in between them. “Macky? I bet you've got a doozy of a story to share with Harmony and me!”

Macintosh shrugged. He opened his mouth to talk—

“I've got one!” Scootaloo interjected, gulping down another marshmallow as she leaned forward with wagging eyebrows. “There was once this ugly talking baboon named 'Pitt', who had a bunch of monkey brothers who he treated like crap. One day he got the bright idea to build a rest stop at the top of really tall mountain.”

“On the top of a mountain??” Applejack campily slapped her knee with a hoof and guffawed, “That's so cooky!”

“So he and his twelve brothers build this giant wooden shack on the top of the frickin' thing. But they built it too close to the edge, you see,” Scootaloo grinned as several trolls sat on their haunches, banging their heads and re-blinking as if it could somehow rearrange the scene into something with more carnage. It didn't work. “Next thing Pitt knew, he and his brothers' building was starting to fall one meter at a time over the mountain's cliff. So they built all of these vertical support beams nailed into the mountain's side to keep the thing from plunging into the abyss beneath the clouds. But it was still a horrible location. Everyone who came by the 'Thirteen's Den' drank themselves silly and fell to their deaths in a drunken stupor. Pitt was losing customers faster than he could earn them!”

“What a pity,” Applejack grabbed another marshmallow as a troll strolled straight past her, frowning at Macintosh. “What happened next?”

The one troll marched straight towards the red stallion and bravely snapped the pony's marshmallow stick in half with barred teeth. When the stallion didn't flinch, the troll whooped, howled, then jumped mightily onto a nearby wooden cart, tossing the thing onto its side before snapping one of its wheels loose and smashing it to splintery bits just a few centimeters before the colt's hooves. Macintosh was beginning to shake as his brow creased angrily. His glaring eyes almost wandered the troll's way, almost—when he heard a whistling sound.

Glancing over, Macintosh saw Scootaloo glancing at him, her campy smile briefly faded as she shook her head gently at him. He calmed down as the pegasus' grin swiftly returned and she continued with the tale, “Well, turns out it was all the fault of Pitt's oldest brother. The orangutan was color blind, you see—And he thought that in Pitt's sketch of the 'Thirteen's Den' the baboon wanted the thing built on the edge of a lake. So, all that time, he had designed the rest stop to have a pier on its side—Hence why it was built too close to the edge of the mountain.”

“Oh, what a heapin' pile of absurd!” Applejack smirked. “Did the brother learn his lesson?”

“I guess you could say that,” Scootaloo swallowed a marshmallow in one gulp and smirked. “Pitt kicked him off the mountain and renamed the place to 'Monkey O'Dozen Den', which was a heck of a lot more marketable and increased the living patrons over the dying ones just enough to stay in business.”

“Is there a morale to this here story that involves brave unicorns?” Applejack blinked dumbly as a pair of bored trolls drooled behind her.

“When it comes to brass tactics, monkeys never spank each other. They go straight for the gullet.”

“That has nothing to do with unicorns.”

“Did I mention that the orangutan's skull was impaled by a stalagmite on the way down?”

“HA! Heheh—Well, sounds like monkeys could sure use a hug where you come from!”

“And how!” Scootaloo giggled. “If only all creatures in Equestria could be as happy as ponies.”

“Tis a shame! Because once yer a pony, there ain't no goin' back to doom and gloom, y'all reckon?”

“Yeah, I reckon!”

“Heeheehee—!”

Finally, the largest and ugliest of the trolls stomped directly over to Scootaloo, hissed from deep within his throat, and spit straight into her face. Macintosh and Applejack only slightly winced, attempting to maintain their airs. The circle of leathery creatures craned their necks in bloodthirsty anticipation of Scootaloo's reaction.

With the slimy saliva still cascading down her snout, the last pony grinned angelically and cooed the two farm ponies' way. “Have I ever mentioned I absolutely love pony music?”

“Oh yeah? What flavor caters to y'all?”

“Strings. Sometimes violins—But mostly the cello,” Scootaloo smirked. With a toss of her mane, she flippantly flung the foreign moisture off her face and stared into the fire. “It's so beautiful. It's a little mournful, and yet jubilant in its own rights.”

“Yer don't say? I'm a fan of the dulcimer myself.”

“Imagine that!”

“And Big Macintosh here fancies himself a lyre when he pays the village a visit from time to time, ain't that right, Macky?”

“Heh heh heh,” the stallion blushed deeply. “Eeeyup.”

The two fillies giggled at him as the trolls slumped in an air of boredom and defeat. With each liquid second that bled into minutes that bled into an hour, the monsters positively wilted under the happy chorus of the equines' stories, jokes, anecdotes, and even a campfire song or two. The invading force of clawed creatures paced about in slumped duldrums, resorting to smacking each other unenthusiastically every now and then with their suddenly useless weapons. This could very easily have carried on for a purgatorial eon, when suddenly one of the trolls lurched where he stood.

All of the trolls glanced at him—then gasped. From the top of his head, pouring down towards the bottom of his pointed toes, the creature was glazing over with white granite. He was turning into stone. With several gurgling gasps, the trolls spun eastward in horror—only to instantly freeze as the rays of the rising sun caught them stupidly unaware of the passage of time. The anticlimax of that night's raid had ensnared them, and soon they would all be as useless as they were before they were dug up.

A great panic filled the ranks of the leathery monstrosities. Many of them bolted towards the shadowy cover of orchard trees—only to have the reflection of sunlight off the dewy leaves catch their skin and transform them to rock in mid-dive. Others ran towards the overturned body of the wooden cart, ultimately slamming into the wooden finish with stony thuds. As every leathery body turned into a concrete effigy, the last and largest of the trolls shrieked like a terrified infant, leaped over the bonfire, and scampered in desperation towards the shadowed interior of the barn.

Applejack very swiftly stood up, hoisting a length of rope in her teeth. “Whoah there, partner!” She flung a lasso across the morning-kissed farm and wrapped a coil of yellow fiber around the scampering cretin's waist. With a mighty tug, she dragged him back over towards her side and unceremoniously hugged the twitching troll like a teddy bear. “No need to be rude! It's just a simple campfire and roastin' of sweets among friends! Take a seat! Let us love and tolerate the stuffing outta y'all!”

The troll kicked, screamed, and fought to get out of her grasp. The burning line of golden sunlight swam over him—And soon he too was just as still and solid as the rest of his granite companions.

“Hmmph,” Applejack mocked a frown and dropped him like an ivory paperweight before dusting off her hooves. “No reason to go all stiff on me!”

Macintosh whistled, standing up before the dwindling campfire as he proudly observed the three dozen stone bodies blanketing the edges of the dirt clearing in the center of the farm. Every troll was now a pale white facsimile of its former self. Their weapons lay in tattered piles between them. Glancing over at his sibling, Macintosh smirked and saluted with a hoof.

“Well, I gotsta admit,” Applejack tilted the brim of her hat and smiled Scootaloo's way. “That was a sightlier better result than I was expectin'. Harmony, just how did you know they wouldn't rip us straight down the mane on the spot?”

“There's an old saying from Canterlot,” Scootaloo leisurely nibbled on a marshmallow and smirked up at the two ponies standing before her in the halo of frozen trolls. “'Don't feed the parasprites'. It means that there's no point in humoring creatures who only serve the purpose of spreading misery and multiplying it. Trolls are just that, Miss Applejack. It isn't enough that they exist to inflict pain, but they must feed off of the hate and malice of others or else their very instinctual nature would yield no effect to begin with!”

“And I reckon that being the opposite of mean and angry around 'em only quadruples the 'poison' to their system,” the orange mare smirked. “Well, I'll be. Sometimes the best way to deal with monsters is simply to be a pony.”

Scootaloo nodded. “History has taken advantage of trolls' weakness in the past too. Several millennia ago, the entity Discord had hired them as the chief grunts of his army. For centuries, trolls ruthlessly sacked and pillaged ponydom, until the Alicorn Sisters... simply ignored them. That's how the Chaos Wars ended.”

“And our war too, it would seem,” Applejack rubbed her scalp underneath her hat and glanced forlornly at the many, many statues. “Thanks to the Sun, at least. But I reckon this victory won't last that long. What do we do with them??”

“Heh! Are you kidding?” Scootaloo finished a marshmallow, dusted her hooves off, and stood up on all fours. “The way I see it, the Earth gave these to you, even if you didn't ask for them. There's only one thing to give the Earth back.”

Macintosh and Applejack blinked the pegasus' way. The siblings shared a glance, a thought... and then a smile.

---

“This is the last one, Macky! Give it all yer got!”

Macintosh grunted, growled, and finished shoving the last of the three dozen white troll statues into the deep well dug into the north end of the orchards. The stony creature gave way to gravity. Macintosh slumped over the edge of the hole, panting, and waited until he heard the loud thud of the last statue landing atop the pile of all its companions that had collected at the bottom of the hole. The red stallion exhaled, wiped the sweat from his brow, and winked at the two fillies behind him.

They nodded back, and together shoved a huge wooden cart filled to the brim with topsoil. On the count of 'three', the two heaved the wagon on the hinge of its back wheels and dumped a thick clump of dirt so that it filled the bottom end of the hole, opaquely sealing it from the shimmering morning light overhead.

Together, all three ponies shoveled dirt into the rest of the well until there was no chance of light filtering in or out of the obscured 'tomb'. After half-an-hour or so, Macintosh punctuated the task with a large wooden marker stamped into the soft earth that was piled above the abominable seal.

“Once Apple Buck Season is over, we'll place somethin' more permanent over it,” Applejack said under a curtain of early morning sweat. “We'll make sure them varmints are never dug up again.”

“Very good,” Scootaloo nodded, shaking flakes of topsoil off her hooves. “This way, they'll never be exposed to twilight. All this time they were sitting under the bowels of your family's very land. And in such beautiful irony,” the pegasus smirked the farmfilly's way, “the Earth is doing you the favor of covering them up again.”

“As they should have been all along,” Applejack gulped. “Well, I for one am glad they're back.” She bit her lip momentarily and glanced forlornly Scootaloo's way. “You do reckon that is all of them?”

“I'm pretty sure,” Scootaloo nodded. “Trolls are either all out or all in. Your night terrors are over, Miss Applejack.” She patted her shoulder with a smile.

“So, Harmony, expert on trolls,” Applejack smirked. “Think you have enough of that there gumption in you to be an expert on apple buckin' once more?”

Scootaloo grinned wide. “So long as I have my galloping marker on the ground.”

“Yer sure do!” Applejack motioned with her snout. “Macky! Wake up Granny and Apple Bloom! We're gonna need the whole family on this one!”

---

The morning was electric.

Under buzzing cicadas and melodic birdsong, five ponies threaded the apple orchards with agile precision akin to a steam engine. Big Macintosh pulled a large wooden cart full of empty baskets. On a pattering of hooves, Apple Bloom moved the light containers off the wagon and onto the grass where she and Granny Smith gently laid them underneath the branches of multiple fruit trees. Then, once all of the baskets were lined up, Applejack spotted them and gave 'Harmony' a whistle. The copper pegasus extended her wings, galloped, and took to the air. With a sharp inhale, she twisted sideways and bounced from tree trunk to tree trunk as Applejack ran beneath her, calling out whenever she missed a few apples in one or two of the targets. Even when Scootaloo did have to make a return flight, the entire process was lightning quick. Before the noonday Sun rose, a good half of the western orchards had already been shaken free of fruit.

The whole procedure was a rapid exercise—but no single pony bore an unnatural brunt of legwork. Applejack, of course, sweated a great deal from having to guide the pegasus in mid gallop, but she had plenty of time to rest in between apple bucking. The process of loading and unloading baskets between rows of trees consumed enough moments for breathing, and when it was time for another row of fruit to be shaken, Applejack was clearly as energized and unstoppable as her helpful pegasus companion.

Scootaloo reveled in the process. The victory of the previous night's 'campfire session' had lifted an indescribable weight off of her projected wings. A foalish sensation fluttered in her heart, and she felt for a brief moment as if she had just launched the Harmony on its maiden voyage all over again. With every blink and every gasp of her twisted flight against the rows upon rows of trees, it was easy to forget that there was a horrible future awaiting everything that was. It was easy to forget that she was a citizen of twilight, and not of the glorious rays of the Sun glinting off her copper feathers. And yet, at the same time, the last pony realized that as much as she could not salvage the future, she could very easily salvage this... and savor it.

This day, this moment, this heated breath amongst ponies in the gentle green sway of leaves and grass; it wasn't just a memory that festered in an unsavory corner of Scootaloo's lonesome mind. It wasn't some fabrication, a dream that the last pony had concocted for herself in an effort to lend credence to the lighting of a rainbow signal after every other stormfront. This moment was dynamic; this moment was new. This was a moment filled with sweat and hope and joy, and for once the pegasus could find an excuse to live in it—as the earth ponies did so naturally. For the first and only episode in the history of time, the fossils of the past and a ghost of the future were sharing an event, and there was no need for shame, not even a whiff of it.

As the farming family got more and more acquainted with the unorthodox apple bucking process, they decided to try something more ambitious. With Scootaloo's approval, they doubled the number of baskets and fashioned a runway of apple tree rows three times as long as what the pegasus had been ricocheting her hooves against previously. Applejack took a deep breath and got an extra running start. When Scootaloo took off this time, she mentally counted an entire three minutes before landing back on the ground—upon which her projected self teetered in monumental dizziness. Applejack was quick to catch her, and in a shared glance both fillies giggled ridiculously. Gazing back at Scootaloo's handiwork, she was mesmerized to find a previous half-an-hour's work done in a single stride. After they gathered the apple baskets, they returned with an even greater vigor, and soon Scootaloo would be sky-bucking longer and longer distances, spilling the air with the cascade of glistening apples.

The noonday Sun burned like a hot rock skipping across a green lake. For a brief respite, Granny Smith wheeled out a cart covered in glasses filled with apple juice. Applejack and Macintosh were relieved to have something to quench their thirsts. Apple Bloom sipped happily in between childish ramblings about one crusade or another. Scootaloo... was positively intoxicated with her first sampling of fruit drink in a quarter of a century. It took several chuckling sets of hooves to wrench her away from the table so as to start the next row of apple bucking.

The five ponies' harvest stampeded clockwise into the hilly northern section of the Acres. Scootaloo bounced so hard against the wobbling apple trees that she almost feared hurdling herself into a tunnel of green flames without warning. She kept her ears and eyes on Applejack. The orange mare was her center, the fulcrum upon which her entire day of winged bucking hinged. And every time she looked at her—even in a passing blurred glance from branch level—the orange pony was always smiling, always supportive, always faithful... and strong.

Scootaloo started to understand why the Apple Family never crumbled immediately after the tragic loss of Apple Shine and Orange Blossom. The freckle-faced farmfilly—the one outstanding middle child that could—was the very epitome of earth ponydom. She lived in complete service to the world, and to those who lived on the face of Elektra's hoofcarving. It no longer bothered Scootaloo that Applejack had been so viciously spiteful to her when she first landed upside down in one of the apple trees two days prior. A self-righteous pony could easily be forgiven, so long as her heart had been hardened by pure sincerity rather than bitter pride.

When the hundreds of rows of orchards whittled down to dozens of rows of orchards, Applejack insisted that Scootaloo 'take a breather'. The three divided the work as they proceeded to buck the trees in a more conventional style. As an afternoon Sun began its melting slide towards the western horizon, Granny Smith wheeled something else out. But instead of glasses of apple juice, the lime-coated elder provided a record player. With a liberal cranking, the sounds of Stallionivarius warbled through the air, lathering a cushion of melodic softness on an already cooling day. Scootaloo beamed, feeling her projected self become more energized—if that was even possible. Applejack for once found herself humming to her grandmother's 'old-fashioned' tunes, using it as a cadence for every tree she shot her rear hooves into. Macintosh shoved aside the large baskets being filled by the minute, smirking amusedly as a giggling Apple Bloom stood on his backside and attempted an awkward dance to the darting strings coming from the record.

The Sun drifted further West, and the five roaming ponies dwindled to three. The blue sky turned into a copper haze, matching the dirt-flecked coat of the pegasus as she soared her way down one last row of trees, kicking them methodically and watching as the last of several apples fell. By then, even her projection's 'invulnerable' lungs were panting. The joys and jolts of the long hard working day had pulled at all the corners of her mind, so that everytime she closed her eyes she was seeing blurring orchards instead of blinding ash. For what it was worth, she counted that as her greatest blessing yet.

---

“Nnngh!” Scootaloo breathlessly rammed her rear hooves up into the millionth green apple tree. Several familiar thuds kissed the air as the baskets beneath her were filled. She took a long, meditative breath, and backtrotted to take a look at her work. Her flank bumped into a large wooden object. Without thinking, the pegasus instinctually spun and kicked the bark behind her. A dull, hollow noise rang into the air, and Scootaloo blinked to see a dead husk of a tree wobbling torturously behind her.

“Watch it, copper-bottom!” Applejack chirped as she and Macintosh were suddenly trotting up over a hill in the crimson sunset. They balanced a large basket full of bright apples between them. “No sense in yer kickin' Old Betsy like that! She ain't done nothing to you!”

Scootaloo flashed cock-eyed glances between Applejack and the aptly titled tree. “'Old Betsy'? AJ, are you for real?”

“She's the oldest tree on the farm!” Applejack motioned towards the precariously leaning black trunk. “I reckon most outsiders think it should have been felled long ago. And they might be a touch right about that—But Old Betsy's been around for a lot longer than the whole lot of us combined. And it'd be a blasted shame to let something so ancient go collapsin' like it was a condemned building in the way of viewin' a lake, ya savvy?”

“Do all earth ponies hold value in old things?” Scootaloo smirked.

“So long as they have character, darn tootin'!” Applejack winked. She nudged her brother, and the two of them coordinatedly lowered the large basket of red fruit. “Say, Harmony, why don't you have a look-see beyond that hill over yonder?”

“What? Do we finally get to buck the last of the orchards?”

“Did I or did I not tell ya to take a gander?”

Scootaloo gulped. She pattered lightly up the hill and glanced over the huge expanse of Sweet Apple Acres stretching beyond the crest of the northernmost rise. Her amber eyes twitched to see an entire field full of green leaves, brown bark... and not a single red flash of fruity skin to be had. A hot breath filled her lungs, and she exhaled all her doubt into the scarlet bands of the bowing Sun.

“Well, I guess that means I can stop being a living pinball.”

“It means you can stop, period! We all can stop!” Applejack leaned against the basket of apples, smirking. “We did it, Harmony. Another crazy year, another crazy harvest, and another crazy last-second miracle. I swear by all that is holy, I am not going to let next year's Apple Buck Season go to the dogs again!”

“Miss Applejack,” Scootaloo looked at her, smiling. But after a few blinks, something cold and deathly pulled the edges of her lips down. “I-I'm sure you won't have to... to w-worry about Apple Buck Season next year...”

“No reason to be lookin' all glum, girl!” Applejack smirked. “If you wanna show up for the next harvest—I seriously doubt that any of us would turn down your assistance.” She cleared her throat. “And that is by no means a proposal, ya hear?”

“R-Right...” Scootaloo gulped. Chasing away the melancholy breath, she glanced at the baskets. Her eyes narrowed. “Say—What's going on with the fruit you've got there?”

Applejack and Macintosh exchanged amused glances. “Oh, this? We done finished the harvest in time for the delivery, didn't we? We here Apple Family ponies have a tradition which we save the last basket of bucked apples for.”

“And that is—” Scootaloo shrieked girlishly as two hooves-fulls of fruit were suddenly bulleted her way like a swarm of sweet tasting comets.

“Apple fight!” Applejack laughed and giggled mischievously as she and her brother flung a cornacupia of apples, filling the air with a red blur that surged in Scootaloo's direction. The pegasus gasped, shielding herself with copper wings while chuckling profusely. With a daring glint in her eyes, the pony survivor pivoted her body and reverse kicked a few of the collapsed apples back, forcing Macintosh and the orange mare to duck low and hide behind the basket from the expertly aimed bucks. After two long minutes of flung apples, the air sang with a fruity sweetness, corraled by the panting breaths of laughing ponies.

“Pfftt!” Scootaloo raspberried through a face splashed with applebits. “So much for the 'test of preservation'!”

“Oh, that hogwash?” Applejack rolled through a lasting wave of red-faced chuckles and finally rose up from hiding behind the basket. “Darlin', I only conjured that so-called 'preservation rule' just to see if I could rid my farm of one persistent bureaucrat—” An apple slammed the orange mare directly in the face, splattering fruit mesh and seedlings all across her snout.

“HAH!” Scootaloo shouted at the end of her throw. “Who's 'chicken' now, sassafras?!?”

Macintosh laughed heartily at his messied sister and trotted away to catch his breath. Shaking her face to fling off the top layer of apple bits, the farmfilly smirked sloppily at the pegasus and sighed in gentle defeat.

“Yes, yes. I reckon you got me. Ya happy now?”

“Heeheehee—Oh, Miss Applejack,” Scootaloo wandered over and extended a wing of bristled feathers. “Here, allow me.” She gently scraped the mush clean from the orange mare's freckled face.

“I done told you—Call me 'AJ',” the hatted pony replied, gazing at her companion with sudden clarity. “Yer a blessin' from heaven above, y'know that, right?”

“Hmmmmm,” Scootaloo smirked lightly as she then brushed her wing clean on the grass. “Depends on how you define 'heaven'. I'm just doing my job—for the Court n'all.”

“Now who's shovelin' around hogwash??”

Scootaloo blinked awkwardly at Applejack. “H-Huh?”

The farm pony was staring at the pegasus with gentle yet firm eyes, eyes that dragged Scootaloo's soul in like a haunting black hollow from a gray future. “There's no more need in pretendin', sugarcube. I know why yer really here. I know why y'all have been stickin' to my stubborn hide like a frog to a lilly pad.”

“Uhm...” Scootaloo bit her lip nervously, feeling a rise in trembles. “Y-You do?”

“Mmmhmmm,” Applejack gently nodded. Her gaze was piercing, but a loving glint cascaded across her emerald pupils. “This was never about doin' some investigation for the Princess, was it? Nopony ever does as much as you have—with such inspirin' selflessness—out of duty. Yer kind of generosity can only come from the heart, especially when there's so much more important things yer kind can be doin', I reckon.”

Scootaloo gulped and glanced towards the floor. “You're r-right about one thing, AJ. There... is so much more stuff I can be doing. There's always a bigger picture—and it's not necessarily a bright one. But when I-I came here, and I saw you and your brother about to crumble to bits over your stressed selves, and I envisioned this beautiful farm stumbling into one gigantic hole or another—be it with trolls or with a missed harvest date—I just couldn't let all of that awful stuff happen. Even if I flew off somewhere far far away where there's nothing colorful or lively to match the warmth of this place, I know that I could never rip the gorgeous green land you've got here from my eyelids. I was compelled, AJ. But I don't think that's something that comes from the heart.”

“Sure it is, Sugarcube,” Applejack trotted over and nudged her face to look into hers. She smiled sweetly. “You're obviously a very brave pegasus. I know it may not be my place, but I reckon you have seen none too many pretty things in yer life. A lot of ponies pass by Sweet Apple Acres, and I'm quick to take a decent survey of them. Some of them ponies—their coats are laced with happy memories, others with a lifetime of trials, and even others with a dark shade of ignorance. You, darlin'? I see a lot of sadness cloudin' you. Ain't nothin' to be ashamed of. We all take to our own kinds of moods—like blankets that you switch with the season. I only hope that you take a deep look at the world around you and realize that maybe it's high time yer season changed as well, into somethin' brighter mayhaps? Because yer heart is most certainly one of the brightest I've seen in years.”

“That's just it, AJ,” Scootaloo murmured, gulping a lump down her throat and gazing past her. “Where I come from... the season never changes. It's a lot easier to say that there are no seasons at all. There's only... me.”

“You say that as if it's an empty prison, Harmony. I only wish you would take a gander at yerself and realize that you have so much to be proud for... and happy, even,” Applejack grinned. “Yer bright, yer resourceful, you don't take horse hockey from no-pony, and you can buck trees like there's no tomorrow.” A chuckling breath, then a wink. “Why, if I had all of yer qualities—even if the only season I had to look forward to was colored with the shades of myself—well, I reckon I'd feel right at home.”

Scootaloo sharply inhaled. As her eyes cascaded over the horizon, she cursed herself a thousand times over. She cursed herself because she had every impulse right then and there to tell Applejack that Equestria was ending and there was nothing anypony could do about it. She cursed herself because with one simple breath, she could very easily explain that the only season left to the world would be one covered in endless ash and twilight. She cursed herself... because suddenly all of those horrible things didn't scale in importance to what she was about to say. She cursed Spike too, fought the tears, and smiled Applejack's way, saying, “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart—For it's taken you to show me that it's still there.”

“My pleasure, sugarcube,” Applejack nodded with a smile. She then read further into Scootaloo's moist eyes and added, “And I promise—on my family's honor—that I'll do what I can to get Princess Celestia's attention for you. Perhaps Twilight Sparkle can make herself useful for more than just loudly chargin' at hydras.”

“Oh, Applejack, that is most appreciated--” Scootaloo began, but her ears pricked at the sound of a happily giggling voice cresting up the southside of the hill.

“AJ! Miss Harmony!” Apple Bloom pattered up into view, her crimson sprout of hair matching the burning horizon as she trucked a saddlebag full of records and beamed. “Look at what Granny Smith found in the attic! It's a bunch of songs that Lady Rarity lent us months ago! Somethin' about a cello player that Miss Harmony fancies!”

“Octavia???” Scootaloo grinned wide. “This day just keeps getting better and better already!”

“Apple Bloom, darlin', watch where yer trottin'—” Applejack called out.

“Watch where I what-now?” Apple Bloom balked too late, for her hoof had caught in an unearthed root of the ancient tree aptly named 'Old Betsy'. The little foal fell flat on her chest with a grunt, and the tiny vibrations from her collapse was just enough to add insult to Harmony's bucking injury earlier. With a groan of somber fate, the heavy gnarled tree wobbled, teetered, and fell directly on top of Apple Bloom. “Aaahh—!”

“Apple Bloom!” Applejack shouted, her eyes wide as emerald saucers.

Something scarlet billowed underneath Scootaloo's projected amber eyes. Not even the coldest winds of the dying world could snuff out her snarling voice. “NO.” In a copper blur, she soared on bright wings and rocketed towards the falling tree. Blades of grass and flakes of apple skin lifted into the air as she converged on the hapless foal.

A thunderous crash vapored outward from the scene. Applejack flinched against the blast wave, blinking in horror to discern the outcome of the debacle. As the dust and earthen bits settled, an equine form was lying on its side next to the tree. After half-a-second of stirring... Apple Bloom rose up to her tiny legs, dizzily reeling. “Nnnngh... Wh-What happened?”

In a galloping roar, the older sister skidded over to the tiny filly's side. “Darlin'! Are you okay? Oh thank goodness! Let me hold you!” Applejack squatted down and nuzzled the foal dear to her. “Apple Bloom, sugarcube—Watch where yer canterin' next time! I almost lost you, girl!”

“My saddlebag!” Apple Bloom dazedly glanced at the fallen baggage that was still rolling down the hillside. “All of Lady Rarity's records are probably shattered now! I don't get it! What happened? Where's—” The foal glanced aside, and her amber eyes exploded. “—Miss Harmony!”

Applejack blurredly looked down. She gasped. The heavy weight of fallen Old Betsy had formed a veritable crater in the soft earth. Where a brave pegasus had flown herself to shove Apple Bloom heroically out of the way... there was now only gnarled bark and mulch.

“Oh Dear Celestia alive!” Applejack cried and shoved, shoved, shoved at the hulking body of the collapsed tree. As her every muscle strained and heaved, the wooden monstrosity refused to budge. “No no no no!” She tilted her snout towards the rows of orchards and shouted: “Macky! Macky, for the love of Elektra, get yer flank over here and help me!”

The red stallion was already galloping towards them, spurred on by the desperate shouts of his distressed sister. With wide eyes, he regarded the visiting pegasus' horrific fate.

“We can't waste any time! We gotta get this off of her! Grab some rope! Hurry!”

Apple Bloom was a sobbing mess, the reality of the situation cascading from her eyes in silver tears. “Oh sis—I'm so sorry! I'm so, so very sorry! This is all my fault—”

“None of that, y'hear?!?” Applejack snarled, forcefully shoving against the trunk from all angles while Macintosh galloped towards the barn. “You did nothin' wrong, Apple Bloom! But t'ain't the issue right now! Run yer hooves into town and fetch Nurse Red Heart! Tell her it's an emergency, and while yer at it we could use all the extra ponies we can get!”

“R-Right away, sis!” Apple Bloom scampered off on pale yellow hooves, panting breathlessly.

“Oh dear Epona, give me strength!” Applejack hissed as she put her entire back into pushing the length of the gnarled tree. It barely budged. There was nothing but dead silence from beneath its gigantic weight. She bit her lips in the strain until blood flowed.

Then Macintosh returned. With mute coordination, the two siblings fixed the rope around the largest branch sticking out the top of the collapsed tree and harnessed it to the wooden yoke on Macintosh's back. With a combined effort, they pulled and tugged and hoisted with all of their combined might. Finally, under the bleeding red kiss of the sunset, they rolled Old Betsy over and kicked it down the hillside where it joined Octavia's records with a somber series of muffled thuds. Macintosh tossed his yoke off before he could be dragged to a pitiful death and galloped back up the hill alongside Applejack.

Both ponies gasped—frozen in mid lurch.

There was nopony in the crater, not even the outline of one...

“Wh-What in tarnation...?” Applejack breathlessly murmured. She gulped as the first tear in years rolled down the strong pony's cheek. “M-Miss Harmony...? Macky, wh-where did she go...?”

---

A mane of short violet stubble wilted under purple manalight. Muscles stirred liquidly under a brown coat as a pair of scarlet eyes fluttered moistly open. Her snout resting on the stone floor, Scootaloo gazed shakily upwards, blinking.

Spike was lying on his mountain of gemstones, gazing calmly down at her. A fuming breath, and his emerald eyeslits twinkled at the sight of her. “Welcome back to the future, child. The green flame has ended.”

The last pony gulped, shuddered: “It's so cold...”

“I know, old friend,” he reached a scaled hand out and stroked the back of her shaved mane. “I know.”

Her limbs achily shuffled against the stone floor of the cavernous laboratory. She wobbled and struggled to sit up, her face wretching at the gray staleness around her. “I was th-there for over two days. We bucked apples. I ate daffodil alfredo. There were trolls.”

Spike raised an eyecrest curiously. “Trolls?”

“G-Granny Smith—She loves Stallionivarius. She tells a beautiful bedtime story. And Apple Bloom—” Scootaloo's scarlet eyes widened. With a gasp, she jumped up onto all fours and nearly collapsed into a table. “Apple Bloom! She's... She's...”

“Calm down, Scootaloo—You've just been through your first lengthy trip. Take a deep breath.”

Scootaloo conceded, but not on Spike's behalf. She gazed shakily into the bright green effigy of the past that was dissipating before her once-violet eyes. Her ears flickered and she said in a stronger tone, “She's alive. I-I saved her. Apple Bloom's alive. And then the tree... This large tree fell on me, Spike. But... I-I don't get it.” She looked at her ordinary brown self with her ordinary hooves and the worn metal shoes nailed into them. “I could do so many amazing things in my Entropan body. I could kick trees off their roots. I could fly loops around the orchards without breaking a sweat!” She spun and gazed confusedly up at Spike. “I-I thought I was invulnerable! Why am I here?”

“Nopony is invulnerable, Scootaloo. Especially one who is so bravely projected into the past by the mere sails of her soul essence. With enough calamity and duress, your Entropan body will surely buckle—And the result is identical to leaving the range of your anchorage. You're inevitably drawn back to the present.”

“Then that's what happened...” Scootaloo gulped. “The tree slammed into me, and I was sent back here.” She gritted her teeth, hissed, and jolted. “Spike! You gotta send me back! I-I had about two or three days left to that green flame, didn't I? There's still so much to do! I only barely scratched the surface of accomplishing our task! Applejack was only starting to suggest we get Twilight to contact Princess Celestia for me and—... Spike?”

The dragon was slowly shaking his head. “No, Scootaloo. I cannot send you back. Not right now. Not after I've concentrated so much of the green flame on Applejack—”

“—you've lost your magical cohesion, and you must bind me to another pony instead,” Scootaloo finished somberly for him. She gazed forlornly into the floor and sighed. “Will I ever be able to go back to Applejack again?”

“On another occasion?” Spike nodded his scaled head. “Absolutely—if it permits.”

“You mean if there's hope for me coming closer to finding an answer to the Cataclysm, which there isn't,” Scootaloo trotted lonesomely towards the rows upon rows of clockfaces. “Not with Applejack, there isn't.”

“You are certain of that?”

“I did nothing, Spike!” The last pony spun and frowned bitterly. “I didn't see a single eclipse, didn't smell one burning cinder, didn't feel any tremors—I found nothing to point me in any direction that might paint a picture of what killed Celestia and Luna and all of the ponies in turn! Two days of bucking apples, mooching off the Apple Family's bathtub and kitchen and I didn't learn diddly squat! Don't you see? I've wasted your green flame! And for what?! Nnngh... I swear... You should have just left me to the danged trolls in Ponyville's town square.”

“I see,” Spike nodded regally. A slight cough, and the violet pendant around his neck spun as the dragon slowly marched on iron haunches around the pony. “So, you mean to suggest that in all of that time spent in the past on Applejack's humble farm, you accomplished nothing whatsoever?”

“Well, I—!” Scootaloo started, blinked, and then sank down onto folded hooves. Her nostrils flared one last time as she gave up the fight, then softly murmured, “I saved them from suffering a tragic Apple Buck Season. I discovered a way to help them get rid of ancient trolls that had been resurrected on their land. I got Granny Smith to share her music, so that she began happily trotting around without her walker in a renewed spirit. I... saved Apple Bloom from 'Old Betsy'. I got licked by a dog. Heh—I think I even got Big Macintosh to laugh a few times.” The brown pegasus blushed slightly at the last recollection.

“That certainly doesn't seem like nothing,” Spike's scaled jaw curved.

“Spike, in less than three months—The whole Apple Family will be dead,” she suddenly spat.

“And those are three months that, thanks to you, they shall now experience alive—And if I may dare say so—They shall do it happily.” Spike stood up on his lower legs and gestured his sharp arms wide. “Death surrounds us for endless fathoms, Scootaloo. That can never be changed about the Wasteland, even if you and I succeed in bringing the Sun and Moon back. But in a time of life—in an era of peace that only you, the last pony, can visit—you have gone out of your element and maintained equilibrium. I remember seeing Applejack in the last days of Equestria. I remember how stressed she was, keeping to herself during an Apple Buck Season during which her friends rarely saw her. But then I also remember—in the blink of a single weekend—her returning to Ponyville with a smile. And now, thanks to you, Scootaloo, I know why that is the case. I can't tell you how immensely happy it makes me to know that she and her family were capable of smiling—Up until the end of all smiles.”

“She...” Scootaloo stammered, her eyes growing concave. “A-After I was done helping her with the apple bucking, Applejack told me she knew I wasn't working for the Royal Court of Canterlot. She told me I did everything from the heart.”

Spike reached down and gently tilted the pegasus' chin up. “When you're projected into the past, Scootaloo, you are merely an extension of your soul self. All things considered, you are all heart.”

Scootaloo bit her lip. She choked to say: “That's hardly s-something invulnerable, Sp-Spike.”

“But it's something special,” he smiled back down at her. “And I'm glad Applejack was capable of showing you that.”

“B-But I'm not going back into the past for myself,” Scootaloo murmured, then planted her hooves emphatically around Spike's clawed hand. “Am I, Spike?”

He stood back up, nostrils fuming in emerald thought. “You may have given Applejack and her family smiles, Scootaloo. But we have the one thing in our quest for the Cataclysmic truth that none of our pony friends will ever receive more of—And that's time. I suspect that soon, in your journeys, you will find the answers we both seek. That is...if you are willing to continue your journeys?”

Scootaloo exhaled long and hard, gazing at the far end of the laboratory. “Your green flame isn't the only thing that needs to maintain cohesion, Spike.”

“Perfectly understood. I will only send you when you're ready, child,” he smiled with an emerald wink.

Scootaloo barely registered it. She was sauntering over towards a lab table, atop which a very familiar skull rested. The scarlet in her eyes grayed a little further as she navigated the hollow in the bony center—no longer afraid of the vacuum within. “Spike, tell me something.”

“Anything, old friend,” he stood behind her.

She raised a hand towards the dusty skull, eyeing several scars where the three hundred year old dragon had flaked off necessary samples. “Have you collected enough of Applejack's ashes for any future occasions of binding me to her?”

“Absolutely. More than enough, as a matter of fact. We no longer have any use for her brittle remains—I suspect. Why, Scootaloo? What are you thinking of?”

“A gift, Spike,” she smiled gently, brushing her hoof across where Applejack's soft freckles would have been. “I'm thinking of a g-gift.”

---

Below the shadow of the moored Harmony, a barren plot of Sweet Apple Acres miraculously remained unswallowed by the Cataclysmic sinkhole that lingered just beyond the ash-laden trees. A bent rusted arch flanked a plateau of gray soil that was bespeckled with white stones, stained by acid rain and soot over the past twenty-five years. Towards the front of this arrangement of rocks, just beyond a glistening pair that marked the previous generation, the last pony finished piling the last bit of dirt atop four fresh graves, atop of which she had erected brilliant obelisks of moonrock—the type of stone that could never stain.

With a sagging breath, Scootaloo stabbed a self-crafted spade into the ground and slumped down to her curled legs; she was a sweaty and dirty mess, and she reveled in it. She hoisted a hoof up and peeled a pair of amber goggles off her forehead, so that she stared naked down at the four mounds of earth covering the skeletal remains she had gracefully carried—one after another from the ruins of the storm cellar—into their respectful resting places.

A few flakes of ash fell to her fluttering ears. She ignored them, engrossing herself in the reflective sheen of her scarlet eyes against the four moonrocks—like four equine spirits staring up at her from the earth. A gentle smile, and then she shut her eyes and lowered her snout until she was a few centimeters away from kissing the ground.

She spoke into the shattered bosom of the world, “I know it has been forever since anypony returned to you. But, I suppose it's better late than never—Because I've never met anyponies that deserved to be put to rest anymore than these four right here. And though I don't expect you to give me anything, I hope that you give them peace. For they have given so generously and lovingly to you, up until the end of time—All of them.” She shuddered as she tilted her face up and gazed at the stones upon stones upon stones. And though she almost forced herself to, she couldn't cry. She was too intensely serene, too strong. “And it is a good thing, a beautiful thing—This land. Because now it is anything but empty. A home forevermore. Perfect h-harmony.”

Scootaloo's brown face forged a painful smile, reminding herself—like a ghostly pair of green eyes once did—that she had a heart to produce it with. Shutting her lids, she raised her hoof to her lips, kissed it, and pressed it to Applejack's moonrock tombstone before getting up, flexing her wings, and returning to her airship.

---

Hours later, in the growling mists of the snowy Wasteland skies, Scootaloo sat calmly at her workbench along the Harmony's port side. A flickering lantern illuminated a disc spinning on the record player, but it was not Octavia's name that twirled around the spindle, but rather a lone sample that Scootaloo was able to scrounge from the den room of the Apple Family's dilapidated farmhouse. And like so many other miracles that graced the pegasus' soul in so many projected days, Stallionivarius still played perfectly.

Several metal instruments graced the cramped cabin's air, instruments which Scootaloo hadn't used since she was a little foal. Before getting to work on her latest tinkering, she squinted through goggled eyes at the waves of ash billowing outside the cockpit windows. The last pony was a shivering waif of a body, with a shaved mane and gangly brown limbs that resembled a pathetic insect rattling inside a rusted iron jar. But as cramped and claustrophobic as the womb of the Harmony always was—it suddenly seemed different to her, a little less cold, and a little less... empty.

“Maybe I can't fix all of dead Equestria overnight,” she murmured to an orange farmfilly who wasn't there, and yet was. She breathed gently to herself amidst the rocking of the cabin. “But small things... I've always been able to tinker small things. One at a time, I guess.”

That said, she delightfully returned her attention to a tiny banged-up scooter resting on the workbench before her. She replaced parts, polished parts, and restored parts—anything and everything that was directly in front of her, all the while relishing in the warm moment. She maybe even smiled.

Comments

[Pashoo]

That was pretty good. I can see why Vimbert kinda raged, though. The trolls got downgraded from an actual threat to a minor nuisance. It was mostly jarring specifically because we'd already seen what the trolls did in the previous chapters. In any case, this was a good reason to reread a chapter of End of Ponies, so I'm alright with it!