• Published 29th Dec 2012
  • 12,586 Views, 1,189 Comments

Mother of Invention - zaponator



Awake and alone, Applejack will find a way to survive.

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The Sound Of Silence

Applejack had never been called crazy. Stubborn, sure. Extremely stubborn, even. It was practically a defining trait. She had even nearly run herself into the ground out of sheer stubbornness once during a particularly hard applebuck season, though she had learned a lesson out of it at least. Nopony would ever call her crazy though. There were a surprisingly large number of ponies in Ponyville that would fit to the description of that word, but Applejack could always be depended upon to remain off that list. After all, she was too stubborn to be crazy.

Now that she found herself staring at a set of cellar doors inexplicably present on a deserted island, she had revised her stance. She was definitely crazy.

Applejack stood, unmoving, gazing silently at the sight that had nearly shocked her out of her skin when she was swimming. The rectangular section of exposed dirt and pair of downward-facing doors looked out of place to the point that Applejack had to rub her eyes several times just to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. Pinkie's saddlebags were strapped to her back once more, her hat was in its rightful place atop her head, and the sheathed knife was a reassuring weight on her left foreleg.

Her mane, or what was left of it, along with her tail and coat were still coated in lakewater. She hadn't exactly taken the time to dry off after her frantic dash back to shore to gather up her effects, pausing only briefly to strap on her saddlebags and don her hat before sprinting along the shoreline back in the direction of the strangest sight she’d yet encountered on the island.

The afternoon sun helped a little, warming her coat and steadily drying her off, but a cool breeze was wafting across the surface of the quiet lake, causing Applejack to shiver uncomfortably. Maybe she should have taken the time to dry off.

Applejack shook her head, realizing that she was just stalling. Taking a tentative half-step forward, Applejack craned her neck to get a better look. She was closer than she had been when she first spotted the oddity while swimming, and was able to examine it a little better.

A smooth patch of dirt was laid out in a rectangular shape, about four or five pony lengths wide, and about nine or ten long. It was perpendicular to the beach, positioned about between the shoreline and the jungle. The trees were fairly far back from the beach in that area, so that left the rectangle with plenty of open grass on all sides.

From afar, it had seemed a perfect rectangle, but even from Applejack's distance she could tell that it wasn't quite. The edges were slightly jagged, with grass edging in a little further in a couple places, like it the jungle was attempting to reclaim the land and having a hard time of it. The ground itself inside the grassless space was hard-packed, dark brown earth.

Applejack took a few steps closer. She looked to her right and eyed the jungle warily, but it was distant enough that she wasn't very worried. Another breeze came across the waters to her left, and she suppressed an involuntary shiver.

A squat stone frame housing a pair of heavy, wooden doors sat against one of the shorter edges, jutting out into the grass and looking ten times more out of place than the patch of dirt. It was situated on the side nearest the jungle, and furthest from the water.

Applejack paused, glancing between the cellar doors and the jungle, almost expecting something, anything, to happen, but nothing did. She sighed, and trotted the last bit of distance between her and the site.

Closer up, she was able to spot a couple more details. Namely, Applejack noticed a few old, weathered bits of plank wood lying in the dirt. A few bits of wood near the edges had even been covered by encroaching grass, after lying there for Celestia knows how long.

Looking over it all, only one conclusion came to mind. It looked like the foundation and start of a simple cabin. Applejack had already acknowledged that ponies must have lived on the island at some point or another, but actually seeing signs of real civilization was another thing entirely.

It hadn't just been crazy ponies scrawling symbols on cave walls, there had been ponies living in and building houses. Relief warred with disappointment inside Applejack, and she grimaced at the ensuing headache. She wasn't sure whether to be excited or terrified. She supposed that whatever ponies had lived on the island had planned a lakeside house, but had somehow only gotten the land prepared before abandoning it.

One thing struck Applejack as odd though. Usually, when building a cabin, the general idea was to construct the actual building first, and then add on a cellar. After all, there wasn't much need to store food yet if you didn't have a house to live in. This had an added benefit when building in a secluded or remote area, in that it provided a place to sleep comfortably while working on ancillary things like a cellar.

Applejack noted the clear presence of a cellar, and the distinct lack of an actual house. This, disturbingly, worked against her original thought that the construction had simply been abandoned early on. It seemed ever more likely that the cabin had been completed entirely, and had a cellar added on. A cold ball of ice settled in Applejack’s stomach as the full implications of that dawned on her. She couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the cabin for it to be so utterly gone… and wonder the same for the ponies that had presumably lived there.

Her coat had dried completely in the sun, and the chilly breeze had not returned, but Applejack found herself shivering. Shaking off the sudden chills, she stepped forward and onto the dirt without hesitation. Applejack had seen some strange things in the past couple years, but she was still a pony to take most things at face value.

Still, she quickly realized how tensed her muscles were just as soon as all four hooves had left the cool grass behind for bare earth. Applejack willed herself to relax, breathing deeply. The place didn't give off the same sickly feeling of wrongness that she was already uncomfortably familiar with after two harrowing encounters. It was a more natural unease, borne from the much simpler fact that such a sight didn't belong. It wasn't a thing that Applejack would think to see on a deserted island, and it was perfectly understandable to feel a little off balance for it.

Her thoughts almost wandered back to whatever had been stalking her at night, but Applejack quickly shook her head and refocused on the task at hoof. Nothing had jumped out of the earth to attack her, no heart-rending and inexplicable fear had gripped her, and she hadn't run face first into the wall of an invisible house.

It was, apparently, just an old cabin that had decayed to nothingness. Not that she had expected anything else, of course. It just never hurt to be absolutely sure.

Applejack poked around in the dirt for a couple minutes, but was unable to find anything of use. None of the old bits of wood were large enough to even bother picking up, most of them strewn about like large splinters.

That still left the cellar. She trotted over to the stone frame and looked over the old, wood doors set into the stone frame, tilted slightly towards Applejack so that their bottoms came into contact with the ground. They were in surprisingly good condition, given that the house itself had apparently been abandoned long enough ago to disintegrate entirely. The doors were clearly constructed by a pony who knew a thing or two about carpentry. Thick and heavy looking, not a single crack or imperfection between the boards. The wood was weathered and aged, but still looked plenty strong, clearly well-chosen and cut to perfection. They were unpainted, and none of the surface was embellished with any sort of decoration or engraving, simply allowing the natural grain of the wood to show its own beauty.

Applejack reached out with a forehoof, almost not sure if she was seeing right. Sure enough, her hoof thunked against hard wood, the deep sound testifying to its thickness. Applejack shook her head with a low, impressed whistle.

The hinges hadn't fared quite as well, covered almost entirely in rust. Applejack became seriously concerned that they might not even move any more. If she couldn't open the door, she certainly wouldn't be able to break it open. In fact, she would probably have an easier time breaking the hinges off with a rock than smashing through the sturdy doors themselves.

Frowning in worry, Applejack gripped one of the door handles in a forehoof. She spread her other three legs, steadying herself, and breathed deeply, tensing her muscles in preparation. With one last breath, she brought all her considerable strength to bear, pushing up with her other foreleg and pulling with all her might on the door's handle.

In a blink she was teetering on her hind hooves, and then she was falling backwards. She hit the dirt on her back with a sharp exhale. Her hat tumbled from her head, but otherwise she was none the worse for wear. It took Applejack several dazedly blinking seconds to realize what had happened, and even then she didn't quite believe it.

Rolling up to her hooves, Applejack quickly scooped up her hat and deposited it on her head before looking back to the cellar doors. Sure enough, the one she had pulled on stood wide open. She carefully approached the still-closed door, and gripped the edge with a forehoof. Applejack gave it a tentative pull, and it moved without any resistance. With a weak chuckle, she pulled it open all the way.

The hinge moved as smooth as anything, and without a single squeak of noise. With both doors open Applejack peered inside. Dust-covered, wooden plank stairs descended for about 5 steps before being swallowed by endless blackness. Cool air wafted out of the opening, bringing with it a smell of staleness. Suddenly, the day itself began to grow less bright, as if the sun's rays were being sucked into the void that lay beyond the cellar doors. Applejack shivered.

Shaking her head, Applejack glanced up at the sky to see that a fairly large cloud had crossed paths with the sun again, resulting in the dimmed lighting. She snorted, muttering under her breath, "Well that ain't forebodin' at all…"

Applejack idly noted that clouds seemed to be doing that more and more often lately, but pushed that contemplation aside for the moment. Gulping dryly, she tilted her hat forward slightly, mostly out of the nervous need to do something, and stepped onto the first stair.

Her forehooves made an echoing clunk against the wooden step, but it did not creak. With ever-growing apprehension, Applejack took step after step, slowly easing herself into the blackness below. Small clouds of dust kicked up beneath her hooves as she went, the rhythmic clunking of her hooves against the hardwood the only sound besides her own beating heart.

Applejack kept her pace painstakingly slow, but not out of fear. Well, not only out of fear. She allowed herself time for her eyes to adjust as she went, the blackness constantly staying about three steps in front of her as she descended into the unknown.

Time seemed to stretch on, and Applejack began to wonder just how deep the staircase led, unsure if she had taken 10 steps or 100. She didn't dare look back though, keeping her eyes forward and opened wide. She didn't dare take her gaze off the darkness for even a second.

As her vision adjusted further, more details of her surroundings became apparent. The walls on either side of her were covered by wooden planks, holding back the immense earth behind them with the same indomitable strength as the cellar doors. Metal sconces lined the right wall at even intervals, but there were no torches within any of them.

Applejack continued undaunted. Step, pause, breathe, step. The process repeated, taking several moments on each individual step. Despite her agonizingly slow pace, Applejack did eventually reach the bottom.

A floor of flattened earth came into view a few steps ahead; Applejack resisted the urge to rush down to meet it. Instead, she allowed her eyes to adjust as always, and slowly, carefully arrived at her destination. Her eyes were open wide, darting every which way, but she was surrounded by nothing but darkness. Her ears pricked up, flicking in all directions, but only silence greeted her.

Applejack risked a glance behind her, being as quick as possible so as not to lose her low-light vision. Apparently the trip hadn't been nearly as long as she'd thought. It was certainly deeper than a normal cellar, but only by a bit. In her brief look, Applejack estimated that the staircase was about half-again as long as a normal cellar's. She huffed as she turned back around. It had felt a lot longer.

Standing on the floor of the cellar, Applejack allowed her eyesight to adjust. It took a couple minutes of idle waiting, but there was enough sunlight trickling down to eventually allow her to see well enough. Vague shapes resolved themselves into objects. Two sets of shelves ran directly away from the entryway, extending all the way to the back wall with a bit of a gap between them. Another two sets were affixed to the walls to Applejack's left and right. The whole room was vaguely rectangular in shape, and contained nothing else besides the two pairs of shelves. The walls and ceiling were covered with the same sturdy wood as the way down. More torch sconces were attached to the front and back walls between the shelves, but they were again empty.

Applejack moved forward into the room, her previous apprehension replaced with tentative eagerness. The dust was just as thick down there as it had been on the steps, and Applejack's first few rapid trots kicked up enough to make her pause in a brief coughing fit. Waving a hoof in front of her muzzle to clear the air, Applejack looked a little closer at the shelves.

They were constructed of wood, with thin struts holding up three layers of shelving. Contrary to the rest of the construction, the wood of the shelves appeared old and decrepit. They were coated in as thick a layer of dust as everything else, and the ancient wood of the shelves seemed barely capable of holding itself together. In fact, as Applejack looked closer in the dim light, it appeared that a large section of the rightmost wall of shelves had collapsed completely. Applejack was almost hesitant to investigate further, for fear that they might all fall down at a single breath.

She decided, then, to start from the left side of the room, stepping over to that side and moving between the two sets of shelves there. Items lined most every inch of them on all levels, but most of the items were decayed to almost nothing. She moved past petrified vegetables that had long become impossible to eat, if not outright hazardous. She passed over old jars and masonry, even the tiniest of cracks leaving them completely empty and dry after enough time. Still, she checked each one carefully. Applejack almost considered taking a few for her own use, before remembering that she had no way of repairing them anyway, and placing them back on the shelves with a sigh.

The first slightly useful item Applejack came upon were some old blankets. They were decayed and weak, and probably wouldn't last a couple nights if used as actual bedding, but Applejack took them anyway. If nothing else, the old, dry fabric would burn well.

After a few more minutes of the debris and detritus, Applejack concluded that there was nothing else to be found on that side of the room. Heaving a disappointed sigh, she moved over to the rightmost pair of shelving units.

Again, there wasn't much of use. There were a few stacked plates on one shelf. Applejack couldn't tell for sure in the darkness, but it appeared to be a set of fine china. Either way, she certainly had no need of them, and passed them by without a second thought. Her heart leapt as she came across a fairly long, coiled rope. Applejack picked it up with a smile and stuffed it into her saddlebags. If there was one thing she was missing, it was a length of rope. Already, the search had become worth the trouble.

When Applejack came upon the collapsed section of the shelves against the wall, she found that it encompassed nearly half of the total length of shelves, leaving nothing more than a pile of smashed wood and detritus, the remnants of planks indistinguishable from the dusty remains of whatever had actually been stored on the shelves. In all honesty, she didn't expect to find much within the mess. Her suspicions were mostly correct, the whole area consisting primarily of piles of indecipherable junk. There were a few cardboard boxes within the rubbish, however, that drew Applejack's attention. She picked one up that had broken open, and peered inside to find it filled with destroyed glassware. Whatever had been inside the box was thoroughly smashed up, but some of the others seemed in a little better condition.

Unfortunately, none of them were any more indicative of their use than the first one. A few simply contained more glass shards, and one or two even contained reams of blank paper, though it was decayed and brittle.

The last thing in the pile of collapsed shelving that held any interest was a small canvas bag containing a few cut gemstones. Applejack took one out, a perfectly cut ruby, from what she could see in the half-light, and turned it over in her hoof. Far as she could tell, it was just a plain gem, not exactly an uncommon sight in Equestria. She put the ruby back in the sack, and was about to toss it aside like so much other junk, when something on the outside of the bag itself caught her eye. She lifted it up to her face, but was unable to determine exactly what it was in the dim lighting of the cellar other than a jumble of black lines painted on the surface of the bag. Whether it was some sort of message, or perhaps an explanation as to the benign gems' significance, Applejack couldn't tell. She placed the sack back in her pack, resolving to examine it again topside.

Going over the last section of shelves, the second-rightmost ones, Applejack found some more decayed fruit, a couple unidentifiable bits of debris that might have been food at one point, and lastly, right up against the back wall of the room, at the very end of the shelf, two wooden crates.

Applejack approached the crates, finding them both nailed shut. After a moment of consideration, she drew her knife and wedged it underneath the lid, and hoping that the crates were old enough not to simply break her only knife. With a sharp twist, the lid of the first crate popped off easily, the nails not finding much purchase in the aged and rotted wood.

With an anticipatory grin, Applejack sheathed the knife and peered inside. The crate, to Applejack's slight disappointment, contained nothing but empty bottles. Clear glass, about a liter each, and none of them containing a drop of any sort of liquid. To say it was a boring find would be a gross understatement.

Still, Applejack knew exactly why they had been boxed up and stored. Good quality glassware was not exactly cheap, though the new mass-produced stuff got more inexpensive every year. There was a reason Applejack served her famous cider in wooden barrels and wooden pint glasses. She hadn't exactly filled up her saddlebags with anything else, so Applejack grabbed a couple of the empty bottles. She could find a use for them later.

Unable to think of a reason not to, Applejack also popped open the other crate. This one was a little more interesting, as the bottles were full. Applejack blinked as she stared at several filled bottles made of dark brown glass. She picked up a bottle in her hooves, the liquid within sloshing as she turned the bottle. Unable to find any sort of label, not that she could have read it in the dark, she realized, Applejack shrugged and took the cork in her mouth. With a quick yank and a loud pop, the bottle was open, and Applejack was immediately hit with the pungent smell of strong alcohol.

She swiftly set the bottle down and covered her muzzle with a hoof. From what she could tell, the bottles were full of rubbing alcohol of some sort. The stench of it was almost overpowering, stinging her sinuses harshly. Applejack quickly stuck the cork back in the top of the bottle and allowed herself to breathe again.

It was a good find. Even if she wasn’t familiar with tropical environments, Applejack knew well enough that infection was an extreme danger. Even a fairly minor cut, if left untreated, could become infected, most of the time ending in death if still left untreated.

Smiling at her good fortune, Applejack stuck one of the bottles in her bag. Even though she hoped she’d never actually need it, Applejack couldn’t deny that she felt a little safer knowing that tripping on a sharp branch and cutting her leg wouldn’t likely kill her. Leaving the rest of the bottles in the box, Applejack turned to leave.

As she reached the exit, Applejack took one more glance back over the room to see if she'd missed something. Apparently, she had. She blinked as she noticed a dark shape up against the back wall, directly across from the doorway and in between the two pairs of shelves.

Applejack approached the object, which became clearer as it grew nearer. By the time Applejack reached it, the dark shape had resolved into a hardwood writing desk. It was old and decayed, worse than the stairs or doors, but not nearly as bad as the shelves. She searched the drawers first, finding stacks of paper in much better condition than the crumbly stuff she had found on the shelves. Applejack stuffed one stack into her saddlebags, seeing as there was still some space left in them. In another drawer she found several quills, as well as a few inkwells. After a quick check, Applejack determined that the inkwells were still sealed. Shrugging, she grabbed an inkwell and a few quills and stuffed them in her bags. She wasn’t much one for writing a lot, but she had room to spare in the bags. Lastly, in the very last drawer, Applejack found a small, gold locket on a slender, gold chain. It was alone in the drawer, looking somehow out of place, gleaming in such a dreary basement. Applejack carefully lifted it out and put it in her bags. It was far too dark to see, seeming even slightly darker than when she had first entered the cellar, and Applejack would have to examine it more closely later.

Finally, Applejack examined the surface of the desk. It was chipped and scuffed, but clearly from heavy use rather than age. Whoever had lived there had apparently loved to write. In the center, sitting perfectly symmetrically with the edges of the desk, was a thick book. Applejack couldn't see any distinguishing markings in the dimness, but she stuck it in the bags anyway. Hopefully, it would contain some answers, or at least some useful information.

Satisfied that the cellar was well and truly explored, Applejack tipped her hat in a reflexive farewell to nopony, and turned to trot back up the stairs. The sun blinded her as Applejack reached the surface, and she scrunched her eyes shut with a hiss of pain.

Shielding her vision with a forehoof, Applejack squinted into the light of the fading day. She had apparently spent more time away from camp than she had thought, for the sun was already well on its way to the horizon when Applejack was finally able to open her eyes enough to check.

The darker orange light of late day gave the lake a whole new brilliance, almost taking Applejack's breath away. The new colours of evening danced across the waves in indecipherable patterns as the soft lapping of the barely-moving water on the beach provided quiet background noise. The temperature was still warm by most standards, but slightly chillier than it had been earlier that day, especially with the breeze coming over the lake. Applejack no longer felt the urge to swim, but only wanted to sit on the edge of the water, basking in the peace and calm until the sun set.

That thought was enough to shake Applejack out of her reverie with a cold dose of remembered fear. There was no way she wanted to be away from camp when night fell. Without wasting any more time, Applejack set off at a trot towards the river mouth.

She reached the river quickly, and set a slightly quicker pace than she had on the way up. It was a little harder going with a saddlebag full of things, but nothing near Applejack's limit. She broke a sweat by the time was nearing her clearing, but only barely.

Fortunately, the sun was still in the sky somewhat when Applejack finally emerged from the jungle and into her little camp. Her fire was barely alive, but there were still a few red hot coals, and Applejack quickly made that her first priority. Within a couple minutes, she had tossed on some more wood and nursed it back to a crackling blaze.

The flickering flames gave Applejack some form of comfort, and she finally relaxed, exhaling heavily and dropping to her haunches. She took a long pull from her canteen, and sat there panting for breath. Maybe she had pushed herself a little harder than she'd thought on the way back, but it was a good thing she had. As Applejack sat in front of the fire, the last weak gasp of the evening's dying light finally gave way.

Applejack unbuckled the saddlebags and swung them around, plopping them down on the grass in front of her. First she withdrew the quills and inkwell. She stared at them blankly for a moment, still struggling to come up with a valid use for them, before simply shrugging and placing them with her little pile of supplies. Returning to her stuffed saddlebags, she took out the stack of good paper she had grabbed from the writing desk. She looked it over carefully in the brighter light of her fire, but so far as she could tell it was just some regular paper. With a shrug, she stood and took the paper over to her lean-to. It would need to be stored in a dry place, at least.

As Applejack poked her head in and set the papers down in a corner, she spotted the rubber chicken lying where she had knocked it down that morning. A small smile crossed her lips at the sight, and she hesitated for only a split second before reaching in and picking the chicken up in her mouth. With that, she went back outside and walked around to the other side of the fire. She set the chicken down, propping its back up with a small rock so that it was in a sitting position facing the fire. She then walked back over to the saddlebags and sat down. For a few moments, Applejack simply sat in silence, watching the little rubber chicken from across the fire, a little nostalgic smile present on her face.

The fire crackled and popped, snapping Applejack out of it. Her smile faltered, she broke her gaze and looked down at the ground beneath her hooves. Shaking her head, Applejack went back to sorting through the items she had collected.

Next came the old blankets. Applejack was careful not to let a spark catch on them as she examined the aged fabric. As she had suspected, they were quite old and seemed fairly easy to tear, so they would be useless as bedding. Not that she needed any extra blankets in the tropical heat anyway. Applejack balled them up and tossed them inside the lean-to. If nothing else, they could be used to make torches.

The empty bottles she’d taken, along with the one bottle of rubbing alcohol, went into her pile of general supplies next to the coconuts and flint. Even with more light, there was apparently no discernable label on any of the bottles. If Applejack had even been considering drinking any of them, that would have only put her off, but she didn't take them to drink anyway.

Applejack withdrew the length of rope with almost reverent care. It was old, but it was also well-made, and definitely in usable condition. She couldn't help the grin that spread across her face as she tried the strength of the rope. Applejack carefully coiled it up and hung it from one corner of the lean-to. She didn't have any express purpose for it at the moment, but there was no end to the possible uses of a good rope.

The last items left in her saddlebags were the ones Applejack didn't quite know how to start with. On the chance of gaining some answers, Applejack started with the book. She examined the outside in the firelight for any sort of identifying marks. It was a dull brown colour, with no apparent title or design anywhere on it. The only defining characteristic was a gold clasp holding the cover of the book shut.

Applejack blinked, tilting her head in confusion. There was no keyhole that she could see, or any other way of opening the clasp. In fact, it appeared to just be a solid piece of metal fixed in place to prevent the book from opening.

Snorting in frustration, Applejack gripped the front and back covers of the book in her forehooves and pulled them apart as hard as she could. Her muscles strained, and her breath came quick and fast. Grunting with effort, she gave it her all, pulling with more than enough strength to tear the covers from the book entirely. Still, nothing happened. The book held resolutely shut, and Applejack finally gave up, slouching and panting for breath.

Applejack stood with a low, dangerous growl, and pitched back to cast the wretched book into the fire, hesitating at the last second. After one or two calming breaths, she gave the book one last harsh glare and tossed it against the large rock at the edge of the camp. It hit with a loud smack, and fell down onto the ground next to the rest of her supplies.

Groaning loudly, Applejack flopped on to her back, crushed by yet another shot at some answers eluding her. As she lay there, she gazed up at the star-filled night sky. A few scattered clouds, large and small, drifted across the starscape slowly but surely. It seemed odd to think that, wherever they were, her friends were staring at that same moon, those same stars. In a way, it was a little comforting.

Something struck her as odd, though, and it took a few minutes of careful scrutinization for her to figure it out. Normally, in a small town like Ponyville, lacking the constant lights of a big city, the stars were countless and endless points of vibrantly bright light. It was one of the things Applejack loved most about farm life, the sheer brilliance of the night sky. The stars tonight, though, didn't look quite how she would expect. The untamed wilderness of the island should have provided a perfect environment for a dazzling night sky to rival even Ponyville's, but instead the stars were sparser and more spread out. It reminded Applejack more of what she had seen as a filly staying in Manehatten, with its sleepless city lights, if anything. It simply wasn't right. Just like that, any comfort the night sky had given her was gone completely.

Applejack rolled back to her hooves, intent on looking at the last two items and just going to sleep. The day was starting to wear heavily on her, and already she was stifling a yawn as she reached into the saddlebag.

Her hoof found the chain of the golden locket, and she pulled it out for inspection. It was nicely made, and very well taken care of. The surface still shone beautifully, despite clearly being quite old. After turning it over a few times in her hooves, Applejack found the release to open the lid. The top flipped open with a click, and Applejack turned her back to the fire in order to let the light illuminate the inside of the locket.

It was an old, somewhat faded picture; a black and white shot of a pony's face. It was a mare, and she looked at the camera with a beaming grin. Her face was so full of life and joy that Applejack almost thought for a moment that the mare was looking at her. The mare's eyes, despite the old and faded nature of the picture, sparkled in such a way that Applejack was certain she had been laughing when the picture was taken.

Applejack wondered who it could have been. They could have been the owner of the house, or a close family member, daughter, mother, maybe even a special somepony. They could have been a good friend, a best friend, one close enough that the owner of the locket always wanted a reminder of them wherever they went.

Whoever they were, they clearly meant a lot to the owner of the locket… and yet had been left in a basement to collect dust. Not for the first time, Applejack wondered what happened to the ponies that had been before her, but for the first time she thought about them on a much more personal level.

Had the owner of that locket lived on the island by choice, or had they been another lost soul like Applejack herself? If they had also found themselves stranded on the strange island, how long had it taken them to resign to the idea of living there permanently? To build a cabin, a home, there on the island was the final acceptance of never returning to wherever they came from.

With a breathless shudder, Applejack wondered how long it would take her to reach the same resignation.

Her hooves shook as she placed the locket within the lean-to, and she sat down hard when she went back to the saddlebags. Applejack breathed heavily in and out, carefully bringing her emotions under control once more. The last item in the saddlebag would be simple enough.

Applejack withdrew the canvas bag of gems. She once again pulled out a gem for closer inspection, this time able to see it much better in the light of her fire. It was an emerald, cut into a square shape. Every facet was absolutely perfect, flawless. The gem reflected the light brilliantly, a truly beautiful sight. However, as she reminded herself again, not exactly an uncommon thing. As beautifully crafted as the gems were, a bag that size wouldn't even be worth all that much, all things considered.

As Applejack stuffed the emerald back in the sack with a disappointed sigh, she remembered that something on the outside of the bag had caught her eye, and lifted it up to look closer. What she saw nearly caused her to drop the bag in surprise. Applejack blinked once, before her eyes shot wide and she leaned back in shock.

There, painted with expert precision on the outside of the bag, was an all-too-familiar symbol. It was an outline of a unicorn pony's head over a large pair of pegasus wings that flared out to the sides, with a large, triangular outline surrounding the whole thing.

Applejack sputtered. It was exactly what she had seen in the cave, minus the strange words. That meant some connection between the cabin pony and whoever had been in those caves. She wondered if it had been the same pony, or if there had been several ponies working together. Perhaps there was a whole group of them living on the island, but if that was the case, it left the disturbing question of what had happened to them.

Shuddering slightly, Applejack set the bag of gems with the rest of her supplies. It was strange, and even disconcerting, but wondering about it wasn't going to help her get home. Applejack pushed the disturbing thoughts out of her head for the time being, and turned to enter the lean-to. Just before going in, she stopped suddenly in remembrance. Turning around quickly, Applejack went out and grabbed the rubber chicken, taking it inside and carefully setting it down against the wall.

Applejack yawned widely as she removed the knife and set it down within easy reach. The day had certainly been a fairly eventful one, but she still wasn't quite sure of how productive it had been. She placed her hat down carefully before lying down on the soft blanket herself with yet another yawn.

She lay there, alone in the semi-darkness created by the small bits of light that penetrated the wall of her lean-to. Applejack's hoof idly wandered to the little gold locket lying next to her. She flicked it open, staring at the happy, carefree smile of the pony within, so full of life and joy. It reminded her of her friends, or one in particular, at least. She flicked the lid shut again and fought back sudden moisture at the edges of her vision.

She wouldn’t give up. She would see her friends again. It was only a matter of time.

She popped the locket open and gazed at the brightly smiling pony within one last time before setting it aside. Applejack wasn’t sure if she should laugh or cry, but couldn’t muster up the energy for either.

Curled up tighter on the relatively soft blanket, Applejack fought off shivers despite the humid heat of the jungle. She pulled remembered images to the forefront of her mind, desperately clinging to them, and all the feelings that they brought. Bright, smiling faces. Her family, her friends. Five mares looked into her mind’s eye with smiles frozen in the midst of a laugh, each mirroring the pony in the locket.

Applejack’s breathing slowed. Her eyes closed gently, and her shivering ceased. Slowly, Applejack drifted into unconsciousness.

It was only a matter of time.

Author's Note:

Edited by Pilate. Pretty much the swellest dang zebra you've ever seen.