A hatless Applejack snapped awake, gasping a lung-full of air. Her chest pressed hard against the warm tile beneath her. Immediately, instinctively, Applejack scrambled to her hooves, eyes desperately glued to the unicorn sleeping in the bed beside her.
It was the same every time she woke. The same breeze flowing through the open window behind her. The same tick from the wall-clock. The same gashes on a purple body, hugged with red gauze and bandages.
And her sleeping friends scattered around the hospital’s recovery room.
Still, Applejack squinted hard through the darkness. She had to be certain Twilight was still there, that nothing had hurt her again. Applejack released a long, quiet breath, careful to leave her other friends undisturbed. She bit the curse rolling under her tongue, for she had failed again. Failed to stay awake. To watch Twilight without as much as a blink.
This time, Applejack wouldn’t fail. This time she would hold consciousness with a crushing grip. With dark bags weighing her eyes, Applejack fell to her haunches, and resumed her diligent watch for the fifth time that night.
Minutes passed, and the clock’s ticking grew louder, like guns firing at the ear. Applejack’s tired, narrowed eyes fluttered shut. But she fought it. It didn’t matter what, or how long it took; Applejack would be the first thing Twilight saw when she woke up. It was only fair for the unicorn that saved her life. That saved all of them, really.
Applejack’s eyelids lifted, jaunted awake by the memory. Claws, cold as steel. Fangs, sharp as blades. Black scales, hard as diamond. And those eyes, red as the blood that stained through Twilight’s bandages.
Applejack shivered. She could still hear the dragon’s booming laugh. She could still feel her own ribs prodding into her lungs, that cold grip clutching her. Crushing her. Her friends sprawled about in bloody heaps. And Twilight… Damn it all if Applejack forgot the unicorn’s rage. Shouting at the dragon. Blasting it with volley after volley of magic. Futilely kicking at its ankles with all her might.
Applejack would never forget what she saw in Twilight that day. Nor would she forget the giant, clawed hand crashing into Twilight. Or the bones crackling as Twilight’s body hit the mountainside. Damning memories, they were, memories Applejack frantically shook away. But in their place, came another memory. One that left her mouth dry and bitter like never before.
Applejack glanced at the nightstand beside the bed, and grimaced at the golden trinkets boxed in glass, cushioned by a velvet pillow.
A constant reminder of her duty. Of their duty.
Never had the Elements of Harmony looked so evil. They were responsible for this. They condemned Applejack and her friends to a life of peril. They skewered Twilight Sparkle with all those tubes, wrapped her with all those bandages. And they—the only reason Applejack hadn’t thrown them off a cliff—brought them together. Kept them together.
The Elements healed the worst of Twilight’s wounds, of all their wounds. The Elements trapped that dragon into the mountain which would’ve surely been their tomb. The Elements saved them. And that was the problem. If one should fall, the Elements would be useless. The dragon knew that. Any worthy enemy would know that. What if Applejack had succumbed to her own injuries during that terrible ordeal?
What if Twilight did?
Applejack’s blood hammered through her body, making sleep a long-forgotten need. Her moistening eyes stayed on Twilight, orange hooves clutching the ivory sheets over the unicorn. It just wasn’t enough. Raw emotion wasn’t enough. Strong faith wasn’t enough. Magic wasn’t enough.
If not for the Elements of Harmony… If not for Twilight…
Applejack looked toward the unicorn like she’d realized something spectacular. It was ridiculous, really. All this time, after everything they’ve shared with each other—learned with each other—Applejack fully comprehended Twilight’s importance. It was so obvious; the Elements hadn’t salvaged their victory, Twilight did. Without her, Applejack would have perished. Their friends would’ve perished.
But without the Elements, Twilight would’ve perished.
The revelations tumbled down on Applejack like mossy brick-walls. In that moment, everything made sense. In that moment, Applejack saw how vulnerable they all were. Worse, she saw how weak Twilight Sparkle truly was.
Applejack shook her thoughts away once more. The last thing she needed was to cry all over again. Tears were shed plenty and full already. And tears wouldn’t save anypony. Tears wouldn’t protect loved ones. And only then had Applejack found a solution.
It was right in front of her this whole time. Since the day that chariot landed in Ponyville, Applejack had wasted so much time, believing friendship would be enough, that any obstacle could be toppled with an insurmountable bond. She’d fooled herself. They all did. Twilight brought them together. Twilight kept them that way.
And she was weak. Pregnable. Destructible.
If Applejack could somehow change that—if she could somehow reshape Twilight, harden her—nothing would hurt her again. Nothing would threaten to take Ponyville’s greatest treasure away. Yes, Twilight wouldn’t need the Elements of Harmony. If her body was sharp and powerful as her mind, Twilight wouldn’t just be a force to be reckoned with. She’d be a force of Nature.
And Applejack would never hear those pained cries again. Would never see such a wonderful pony hooked to a heart monitor.
Applejack’s lip trembled, and she buried her face in Twilight’s covered belly, holding her sobs through sheer willpower.
The fur on Applejack’s neck bristled. The endless breeze, the only thing ensuring none of this was a terrible nightmare, stopped. Yet she still heard it, whistling through the window, making the curtains dance to its sad, wayward tune. Applejack lifted her head and frowned into the white sheets, unable to meet the new arrival, the pony blocking the breeze.
“Well done…” came a soft voice, gentle as a winter snow drift.
Applejack nearly scoffed, but held her tongue. She guessed correctly who it was, which only angered her more. There were several questions Applejack could’ve thrown at Princess Celestia. Why she gave them such a task. Why she wasn’t there when Twilight was first hospitalized. More pointedly, why she showed her face at all.
Every one of those questions threatened to burst from Applejack like a wind funnel, complete with stomping hooves and thrown objects. She didn’t move, though. Despite the approaching hoof steps, Applejack stayed exactly where she was. Her ears stiffened, somehow unnerved by Celestia’s steady breaths, somehow growing even more protective of Twilight.
“I’m proud of you all,” Celestia said. “Yet again, you’ve done Equestria a great service.”
By now, Celestia stood beside Applejack. Her snow-white stature towered above the frowning farmer, above the slumbering Twilight. For the first time, in a long time, Applejack mulled over her own words. Worse, she fought the urge to slap Celestia stupid. But only when Celestia’s hoof rested on Twilight’s chest did Applejack actually want to kill her.
Celestia didn’t deserve to be in Twilight’s presence, let alone touch her, for what she’d put them through. Celestia either didn’t notice Applejack’s glare, or didn’t care. The two bathed in much less than companionable silence, watching over Twilight.
“Thank you… Applejack.” The farmer’s bulletproof glare cracked in an instant, completely caught off guard by the tears gathering at Celestia’s eyes. “I was so relieved when you’d all returned. But seeing Twilight draped over your back, I—“
A thousand times over, Applejack cursed her own forming tears. She restacked her glare, now softened by glistening eyes. The desire to point all the blame, all the hatred, all the bitterness at the sun princess bounced within Applejack like molecules in a balloon. The instant Celestia turned to her, Applejack’s angry gaze fell back on Twilight. Celestia’s hoof guided Applejack’s face back toward her.
And it took every lesson of humility ever beaten into Applejack’s subconscious not to slap it away.
“Can you ever forgive me, Applejack?” Celestia pleaded, her face the epitome of sympathy and guilt. “For what I’ve put you all through that day?”
The word ‘no’ echoed in Applejack’s head so loud, her ears nearly bled. Instead, tears rolled down her face, unrestricted. Applejack broke her gaze, turning away as much as she could. Mercifully, Celestia released the young mare and turned toward the window. Head bowed. Eyes closed.
Celestia’s magnificent wings jutted out, and she seemed more than ready to leave. And finally, Applejack found her voice. “What was it all for, Princess?” The farmer squinted at the cracks in her own voice.
Celestia wasn’t moving, yet, somehow, she’d stopped right in her tracks. She stood tall before the open window, letting the breeze caress her, letting the question sink in. Applejack frowned deep at Celestia’s back, the silence trying her patience.
“Y’all could’a had the Royal Guard handle it. Shoot, ya could’a had Discord handle it.” Applejack accused. “Why us?” Celestia remained frozen. If she was breathing, it was impossible to tell. Applejack held her gaze, her falling tears long-forgotten. “All I want is the honest truth, Princess,” she said. “What was it all for?”
Celestia’s slightly-turned head was Applejack’s only hope of getting an answer. Truly, she hadn’t expected one, all but wishing Celestia would just fly off.
“Careful Diplomacy.”
**********
Applejack wasn’t a forceful pony. Quite the opposite in fact. Yes, a paper-thin line stood between honesty and boorishness. Where one stripped away every lie, and lay the truth bear with unforgiving force, the other tore defenses away and crushed the opposition with an icy grip.
Applejack had reassured herself she was the former. Twilight needed help after all, needed somepony to support her shaky steps. It didn’t matter how adamantly Twilight feigned her lack of fatigue, or claimed she could walk on her own. Surely, as far as Applejack knew, a pony waking from a week-long coma needed help.
And with a little force, help is exactly what Applejack provided.
No, no. Not force. Applejack wasn’t a forceful pony. She was a compassionate, dependable pony who dutifully considered the wellbeing of her friends. Honesty was her tool, her weapon. And if Applejack had to use it on a friend who couldn’t acknowledge her own stumbles?
She could handle an empty glare with a fond smile.
“Now don’t go shootin’ me that look, Twi.” Applejack couldn’t do away with her teasing tone.
For the third time since they left the Hospital, Twilight grumbled beneath her breath, and shot a little pout to the dirt road. Perhaps if Twilight hadn’t actually needed something strong to lean on, to keep her hooves steady, she might’ve had ‘lecture’ ammo.
Applejack smiled on. Why wouldn’t she? Twilight recovered with little more than a few scars. She could walk, talk and think straight. Twilight was healthy. Twilight was alive.
Soon, the pair reached Golden Oaks Library. Much to Applejack chagrin, Twilight had a terrible time opening the front door with her magic. She tried to hide it, of course; every failure covered with a crooked smile. When the deed was done, Twilight tore herself from Applejack, and walked inside with very forced balance.
“Thanks… for walking me home, Applejack,” Twilight said, unable to look at the other mare.
Twilight’s knees buckled beneath her, and Applejack’s next words immediately died. She leaped forward and cushioned Twilight’s fall, lifting her back to her hooves. Applejack could’ve laughed, could’ve teased Twilight for her little blush and averted eyes. If she were cruel. Applejack was many things, but not cruel.
“Sugarcube? Are you—“
“I’m fine!” No sooner had her words snapped out, Twilight cringed. “I… I’m fine, Applejack.”
“Twilight…” Applejack hesitated, frowning against her own weakness. She knew if she hesitated anymore, intervention would never come, Twilight would never change. “Twilight, you… I… It just ain’t enough.”
Twilight began to shake, and Applejack battered down her own barriers, briskly marching through all her doubts. “Twilight, we need more. You need more. You’re not—“ Applejack’s throat clenched when Twilight looked to her with wet eyes. “You’re not strong enough, Twilight.”
Applejack would’ve liked to think she was ready. Ready to brave the consequences of her honesty. Ready to combat Twilight’s rebuttals with cold hard fact. She may have indeed been ready for Twilight’s shouts and stomps. But tears rolling off her cheeks? Nothing prepared her for that.
“Shut up,” Twilight whispered.
Those two words bludgeoned Applejack’s heart to pieces. But she kept her jaw squared and her will solid. “No, Twi. I… I should’a said somethin’ a long time ago. I should’a seen it, should’a known.”
“Shut up!” Twilight ripped away from the farmer again, cursing her wobbly legs.
Applejack frowned, fighting the sting in her eyes, squinting through the waviness. “Twilight, you were there! Y’all saw what happened to us! You need to hear this!” she shouted.
Twilight paced—or rather stumbled—in angry circles. “No I don’t! We’ve won, Applejack! There’s nothing left to talk about!” she declared.
Applejack nearly laughed, but thought much, much better of it. “Ya almost died that day.” Twilight flinched back at Applejack’s change in tone, her pacing grounded to a halt. “And if ya did, so would the rest of us.”
Twilight glared emptily at the farmer, but all too soon, her tearful eyes wandered aside. “But I didn’t. I’m standing right in front of you. We made it.” Her momentum receded.
“And the next time?” Applejack voice was as leveled as her brow, deftly and quietly picking Twilight to pieces. “What then?”
Tough but fair. If Applejack kept thinking that, she could endure Twilight’s tears just a little longer. Twilight said nothing that time, and Applejack went for the ending blow.
“The Princess swooped in the other night, Twilight.” With Twilight’s perked ears, Applejack almost didn’t continue. Almost. “I asked her why she sent us instead of somepony else.”
Twilight frowned and Applejack knew exactly why; questioning the Princess was taboo, especially for the unicorn. “I’m sure she had a good reason,” Twilight said, very much defensively. “She always does.”
“Oh? Then maybe y’all can explain what ‘Careful Diplomacy’ means.” Applejack hadn’t meant to point at Twilight, or to sound so accusing, but her thoughts with Celestia weren’t exactly… cordial.
Twilight’s gaze fell to the floor, and she mouthed the words silently. Of course she didn’t know what it meant, Applejack thought. “Twilight, if she sends us off again, if we gotta go through somethin’ like that again...”
The moment Twilight turn her head away, Applejack knew she’d won. “Just… What do you want from me Applejack?” Twilight asked, her voice squeezed in her throat.
Applejack took the plunge. “I want ya to be better, Sugarcube. I… I wanna help y—“
“So then help me!” Twilight yelled in fresh bout of tears. “Fix me!”
No. No, Applejack refused to shed a single tear. “Twilight…”
Finally, any strength Twilight clung to left her, and her rump hit the floor. “I know I’m weak, okay?! I know without the Elements, we’d all be…!”
Applejack stepped forward and pressed her forehead against her friend’s. “I don’t gotta be this way. We can make you better. We can.” Applejack was unsure whom she tried to convince, really.
“How, Applejack?” Twilight said, thoroughly drained of aggression. “If I can’t handle one stupid Wyrm, then how can I stop bad things from happening to you?”
Honestly, Applejack hadn’t planned that far ahead. Worse, the question itself held a galaxy of complicated answers. But as the two mares stood face to face, forehead to forehead, the answer became as simple as farm life. Ironically.
Applejack smiled. “The Acres could sure use a dedicated worker, Twi,” she said. “It ain’t much… but it’s a start.”
If experience taught Applejack anything, Twilight Sparkle and farm-life didn’t mix. And not because of Twilight’s physical ineptitude, her lack of stamina, or even her tendency to obsess and overanalyze the simplest task—no, those were very solid reasons to doubt Twilight.
More than once, Applejack’s eyes swept over Twilight’s… much-less-than-impressive physique. Indeed, she’d been rested and restored to full strength. But how much ‘strength’ could really be in those flat, undefined little legs? Perhaps a little, if she could carry two full saddlebags from the library to the farm.
Still, Applejack couldn’t help but shoot uncertain glances toward the unicorn walking beside her. Twilight finally noticed, and met Applejack’s glance with a raised brow.
“Sugarcube, are y’all sure you’re nice and rested up-like?” Applejack asked. “Farmin’ ain’t a walk in the park, ya know.”
Twilight smiled. “I think three days is plenty of time, Applejack,” she said. “We either do this now, or not at all.”
It wasn’t much, but Applejack clung to a small rush of relief. Twilight truly was dedicated to this. Not surprising, really. Anypony as obsessive as Twilight surely had a one-track mind. Applejack’s smile waned when Twilight stared at the grass they walked on.
“I’m… sorry I yelled at you that day, Applejack,” Twilight said with wilted ears. Applejack slapped Twilight’s shoulder with a *pfft!*. “That was a lifetime ago, Twi.” Then her smile sharpened as the unicorn winced at the sting. “Ain’t sayin’ I’ll go easy on ya.”
A thought occurred to Applejack, and this time, her smile completely vanished. “What’s wrong?” Twilight asked.
“Can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner,” Applejack said mostly to herself. “Twilight? What about the Library. What about Spike?”
“Oh, Applejack,” Twilight said with a wavy hoof. “I thought you’d have more confidence. Spike’s proven enough that he can hold the fort for a while. Besides, Pinkie Pie agreed to help out when she ca—“
“Ya said what, now?” Applejack cut in with a vivid grimace. “Pinkie? Alone with Spike? Without parental supervision?”
Twilight shook her head and giggled. “Your grasp of the obvious inspires me. What’s the big deal?”
Applejack’s eyes slowly lifted to the sky.
“I just spent two hours baking that jewel-cake Pinkie…” Spike says, his voice eerily calm. “And you jumped in it.”
Pinkie shakes the globs of frosting off her hooves. “I-I didn’t mean it! But I saw one of those nasty little spiders and… and—“
“Two. Hours. Pinkie.”
“I’m sorry!”
Spike blinks once. Pinkie blinks twice.
“Run…” Spike mutters.
“I-I… what?”
“Run.” Spike pulls out a nail-bat from behind him. “Now.”
“Applejack?” Twilight calls gently. “Applejack.”
“Wha-huh?”
“We’re here.” Twilight pointed to the overpass of Sweet Apple Acres.
Applejack cleared her throat in what she hoped was a professional manner. Despite the implications, she’d just have to trust Twilight’s judgment. There were far more important matters at hoof. Applejack continued along the path, but Twilight stopped dead in her tracks.
“I… I don’t know about this, AJ,” Twilight said.
Applejack also stopped, sighing in defeat. She was afraid of this. She knew three days was too long. She knew she should have convinced Twilight to rest up at her farm. At least that way, she’d have little choice but to do the deed. Now Twilight doubted their conviction.
All the same, Applejack gave Twilight her most winning smile—the one that always worked. “I believe in ya, Sugarcube. We can make this happen. After I’m done with ya, you’ll be haulin’ bricks for sport.”
Applejack was always an honest pony; if she didn’t believe her own words they couldn’t be true. But in that moment, Applejack hadn’t believed anything more in her entire life. If only because she had to.
Despite herself, Twilight smiled with a tiny blush. “It’s not that,” she said, her grimace returned. “I know you’ve already talked with your family about this, but… I don’t want to impose.”
Applejack just stood there, staring at Twilight like her mane jumped off her head and ran off. “Impose. Impose, Twilight? Really?”
Twilight gave the farmer an inquisitive stare. “Well… yeah? I mean, I’ve never lived on a farm before. Never bucked apple trees, planted crops by hoof, or slopped any hogs. And don’t get me started on pulling plows.” She winced at that last mention.
If there was a force on Heaven or Equestria that stopped Applejack from laughing her flank off, she’d find it one day, and personally thank it. “Sugarcube, let me be clear as water on this,” Applejack said, her face falling even. “My family loves you.”
Again, Twilight smiled and blushed. “Oh, well… I always thought I was a good family friend but—“
“Loves. You.” Applejack was sure she’d unnerve herself if she caught her own wide-eyed stare. “Sure, they were right fond of ya when ya first came to Ponyville. But after your fancy organizin’ with that whole ‘Flim-Flam’ deal? Land sakes, Twi, they wouldn’t shut up about ya for a week!”
As though it were even possible—amazingly, it was—Twilight turned even redder. “R-really?”
“Got three empty bottles of aspirin to prove it.” Applejack gave a light frown.
Obviously the new information was sinking in. Twilight gently scraped at the grass and couldn’t erase her smile. “Wow. I-I didn’t think…”
“I don’t lie, Sugarcube,” Applejack proudly declared with a hoof to her chest. “Now quit your fussin’ and get a move on. Gotta get ya reacquainted with the land, and all.”
With that, Applejack marched forward, her pace brisk and focused. She perked her ears, listening for Twilight’s hoof-steps to follower her. They did. The two mares crossed the over pass into the acres, completely oblivious to the other’s smile.
These filled Twilight’s nostrils as she woke in a bed that wasn’t hers. The back of her mind registered imminent danger, at first, being surrounded by so many unfamiliar things. Until memories—fond and sickly sweet—flood her vision. Twilight had arrived at Sweet Apple Acres with Applejack the previous day.
As promised, a full tour was given, complete with a list of duties, work locations, and sleeping arrangements.
But it was Twilight’s exceedingly warm welcome yesterday that had her smiling at the ceiling of her new room. She’d never seen Big Macintosh light up like a Hearths Warming tree before. To boot, she was downright terrified that Granny Smith—bless her heart—would cook her a meal she couldn’t possibly finish. Which happened, of course.
And Applebloom?
Twilight swore that filly ran on batteries that never died. Running in circles around her. Squealing with delight. Asking her again and again how long she was staying. More than once, Twilight was tempted to empty a bottle of aspirin herself.
Yet, all Twilight could do that morning was smile tiredly, the sun barely peeking behind the distant mountains. Twilight yawned and snuggled deeply to her soft, welcoming pillow. Memories could wait; sleep was calling to her. Seducing her. Promising her the world and more if she gave in. With gentle snores and a dreamy smile, that’s exactly what Twilight did.
The door swung open. “Rise and shine, Twilight!”
Of course. Of course Applejack was a morning pony. Twilight wanted to stay silent, but a tired, much-too-early groan escaped from beneath the sheets. Bit by bit, any chance for more sleep was knocked away by Applejack approaching steps.
“Up and at ‘em, Sugarcube!” Applejack cheered and yanked the blanket away with her teeth. “Breakfast is waitin’ for us downstairs, and we got a whole day ahead of us!”
With another groan, Twilight futilely reached for sheets that weren’t there anymore. Then realized Applejack wouldn’t leave until she got up. Did that encourage Twilight to start the day three hours earlier than normal? No.
Applejack leaping onto the bed and nudging her off the edge, however? Well…
**********
“Aw, come on, Sugarcube?” Twilight ignored the farmer nestling against her, much preferring to glare at the fields of apple trees before them. “I said I was sorry.”
“And I said I’m not talking to you,” Twilight replied.
Was Twilight being fair? She certainly thought so. Shunning Applejack away seemed a perfect exchange for the welt on her forehead. “It was an accident. Y’all know I’d never do that on purpose.” Try as might, Applejack couldn’t hide her pleading tone.
“Really,” Twilight said flatly. “You seemed pretty eager to me.”
By that point, Applejack stopped nuzzling Twilight and offered a bright, apologetic stare. “Shucks, Twilight, I feel downright low,“ she said. “Just… Just tell me what I gotta do about this, alright?”
This time, Twilight tried harder to ignore the other mare, turning her head further away. Applejack constantly poked her head around Twilight to establish some kind of eye contact, but was always denied.
“Please?”
And there it was; a smile pulling at Twilight’s lips. She squashed it, though, finally looking at Applejack. “Fine. How about you get to bucking those trees, and I’ll think about it.” Applejack’s ears wilted, and Twilight smile almost escaped her grasp. “Meanwhile, there’s a wonderfully shaded spot—all the way over there—with my name on it.”
There was a long pause. When Applejack leveled her brow, Twilight finally smiled. “Y’all know that ain’t happenin’, right?”
Twilight sighed. “Yes… but it was worth a shot.”
Immediately, the worry melted from Applejack’s face. Her ears perked again and she laughed. For all she was, for all she’d done, Twilight couldn’t stay mad at Applejack. No matter how much the sting on her forehead disagreed.
“Come on, then.” Applejack turned sharply toward to trees. “Ornery lil’ cuss…”
Twilight would’ve liked to counter that remark, but most ponies found it hard to speak after a tail brushed against their face. Twilight sputtered and shook her head straight again. She glared at the retreating Applejack, and knew—just knew—she was smiling.
Which was fair. Twilight was smiling too.
Twilight followed her friend, and after a short trek, both stood before their task; acres and acres of apple trees, ready to be bucked, surrounded by gaggles of straw-baskets. Twilight stood tall with her fellow mare, all but questioning a rush of excitement.
She had seen Applejack work before, though rarely. Hard and unending, driven by years of toil and burning sun. Yet, no matter how little Twilight had seen, to simply watch her was exhausting.
Every deep, crackling impact of hooves against tree bark. Every muscle rippling and shredding beneath that orange coat. Just the thought of it shot aches through Twilight’s legs, and she imagined how it must feel. The impact. The force powering through her bones. The sturdy *crack* of tree bark.
“Alright,” Twilight said, her smile sharpened. “Let’s do this.”
Just as Twilight took her first step, something clamped her tail. She gave a displeased grunt and looked behind her. It was Applejack. The farmer dropped Twilight’s tail from her mouth and frowned.
“Not so fast, Surgarcube,” Applejack said. “Remember what we agreed on?”
Twilight rolled her eyes and sighed. “No magic,” she answered flatly.
Applejack narrowed her eyes, and Twilight shuffled on her hooves a bit. “Good. Now remember, I see that horn o’ yours go off, ya get flicked.” With a clipped nod, Applejack approached her side of the trees—the left side.
Twilight approached the right side. She stood before her first tree of the day, every conceived image flashing past her like city lights. Although, Twilight didn’t remember the trees being so big. Or so thick. Or so very, very intimidating.
Of course, before, she could use magic without Applejack crushing the chance with a domineering hoof. She shook those away. It was ridiculous to back down now. She’d promised Spike. She’d promised Applejack and the others. She’d promised herself… And it was a tree. A tree! Twilight restacked her resolved, and with a diamond-cutting stare, observed her opponent.
She’d studied this foe once before, dissecting every strength, weakness, benefit, and detriment of this ‘Apple-bucking’. More pointedly, the trees.
This tree was thick enough to land both rear hooves without any embarrassing slips. But with its height and probable density, she’d have to exert the corresponding force for optimal fruit descent—
“Uh, Twilight?” Applejack called out. “Yoo-hoo? Twilight?”
“Wha-huh?” Twilight turned left to see Applejack buck her fourth tree. The unicorn’s jaw nearly dropped through the earth’s crust.
“Just kick it, hun.” Applejack gave her friend a sly smile. “It ain’t gonna bite.”
Twilight practically threw her stare back at the tree. “I-I know that! I was just… analyzing my options—“
“Overthinkin’ it, like always. Gotcha.” Applejack turned away from her friend and walked to her next tree with a smirk. Twilight whipped her head back toward the farmer. “I do not overthink things!” she declared.
Applejack emptied her tree with one solid buck, and turned back to Twilight with that smirk. “That so? ‘Cause where I’m standin’, I see five empty trees on this side, and on yours? Well…”
Twilight narrowed her eyes and lowered her voice. “Are you saying I’m slow?”
“What? Me? No! No, no, no. Psh! No!” A brief pause. “Pfffft—yeah!”
Suddenly, analyzing was stupid. Trees were stupid. Analyzing trees was stupid! With shrilled growl, Twilight spun on her fore-hooves, lifted her rear-hooves, and launched them at the tree. And it was every bit as satisfying as she imagined. The impact. The force powering through her bones. The *crack* of tree bark.
With a smile, Twilight hooves fell to the ground. A new sensation tickled her, and she shuffled where she stood again. Her legs trembled against the feeling; like the tiny wing-beats of a million flies swarmed inside them. Adrenaline pumped her veins and her smile grew.
“Hmm… Eeyup.” Twilight raised a brow at her friend, whose eyes peered into the treetop.
Twilight followed the stare, and a lone apple met the tip of her horn with a crunchy *splat*. She yelped, shook the apple away, and glared cannonballs at its unfallen brethren. “One apple? One apple, are you kidding me—“
“Tut, tut, tut. Give it a sec,” Applejack said.
Moments passed… and four more apples fell in the baskets below. Twilight’s eye gave a creaky twitch. “That’s… But I… What the—“
“Just kick it harder, Sugarcube,” Applejack assured. “They’ll all fall down. Today… Maybe.”
“Rrr! Applejack!”
The farmer chuckled. “Oh, I’m just teasin’,” she said. Applejack stepped to Twilight’s tree. “Here, Twilight. Watch me.”
Twilight was half-tempted to ignore Applejack and finish the job herself. But Twilight knew a thing or two about foolish pride; a lesson learned from Applejack, in fact. She may not have asked for it, but Twilight needed help. So she sealed her lips shut, and fell back on her haunches.
“It’s all in the backbone, Sugarcube,” Applejack instructed, assuming the position. “Use it to steady your front-hooves, use it to guide your back-hooves. Keep your back straight, your head low, and push!”
On her final word, orange hooves crashed into the tree with, not one, but many *cracks*. The tree wobbled and quaked, and Twilight found herself doing the same. Her eyelids pulled back, almost painfully so, as every remaining apple fell without a fight.
Absurd, is what it was. Twilight had seen this many a time before. But only now, after diving into apple-bucking for the first time, Twilight could only stare, barely catching the drool peaking from her mouth.
“How… H-how’d you do that?”
Applejack steadied herself and adjusted her hat. “Years o’ practice, Sugarcube,” she said.
“But I kicked it as hard as I could. And you… you made it look so easy.”
Twilight didn’t notice, but Applejack blushed as she quickly turned around. “T’ain’t nothin’, really. Now pick up your jaw and start buckin’, pony-girl. We still gotta haul these suckers back,” she said, pointing at the apple-filled baskets.
The shock hadn’t worn off, but Twilight did as instructed. Just as she prepared for her next tree, her eye caught Applejack, whom was already on her seventh. Just then, everything she thought she understood about farm-work came undone like a ball of yarn.
One shot—one kick—and every apple fell. Just like the ones before, and the ones after. Twilight found her eyes combing every fiber of her friend’s muscles. Admiring them. Fearing them.
Envying them.
She glanced down at her own flat, undefined legs, still tingly from her first buck. Weak. Pathetic. Incapable of the feats Applejack merely sneezed at. Suddenly it all made sense; more than it had when Applejack first said, ‘I want ya to be better.’
The teasing, the forthright demands, the discipline, the ‘no magic’ nonsense. That wasn’t just Applejack being Applejack. It was Applejack living up to her own word, her own promise. As she had the day Twilight first met her.
“You’re so strong, “she muttered.
Twilight was not. Yet she smiled contently. Because she knew, if she stuck around, if she listened to Applejack, learned from her, rejected her own pride and accepted the Apple way, she could be everything her friends wanted, everything they needed.
It worked for Applejack. It could work for Twilight too. It had to. After all... a promise was a promise.
With that buzzing tingle far and forgotten, Twilight trod to a full tree and bucked for the second time. Then the third. Then the fourth.
