> Forever Summer
>  by Cold in Gardez
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> The First Day of Summer
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The morning dawned like any other late-spring day in Ponyville. Birds singing, gorgeous sun lighting the eastern sky, et cetera, et cetera. The usual, in other words: Ponyville being Ponyville. Celestia's favorite little town, where everything was perfect.

Except for all the terrified ponies. That was a bit unusual, but we'll get to them in a moment.

The day looked to be a scorcher. The sun wasn't even over the horizon, and already the humid air stuck to ponies' coats and smothered their tongues with each breath. High above, the early-risers of the Ponyville Weather Team had already cleared away the night's thin overcast, leaving only a deep azure that slowly bled to grey and pink in the east. A weak breeze rustled the highest leaves on the great oak in the town square, but at street level the air barely stirred, as if it too were still trying to wake.

The farm ponies were already up and getting to work. They rose with the sun, or maybe a bit earlier, depending on how lazy the sun was being that day. Celestia was known to sleep in sometimes, despite the attempts of her entire staff to break down her chamber door and rouse her so that she might raise the sun. On those days, the darkness lasted a little longer than normal, until in a sudden moment the sun raced into the sky, settling into a mid-morning position like a sheepish foal who hoped her tardiness had not been noticed.

It was always noticed, of course. But ponies, even farmers who needed the sun, tended to love their princess even more, and so they never let her know that it bothered them. They just worked in the dark some mornings.

Today was not one of those days. Celestia had not slept through her alarm, and the sun rose precisely when the almanac said it would. The farm ponies noticed this, nodded approvingly, and then cast wary, frightened glances over their shoulders.

In the heart of town, the shopkeepers and business ponies were slightly slower getting to work. Business hours were not farm hours, after all, and town ponies tended to rise later in the day, not until the first rays of the sun broke through the windows to brighten their bedrooms.

Today, those ponies lay in bed, still but not asleep. They clutched the covers to their chests and stared at the ceilings or the doors. They tried to breathe as quietly as possible.

Finally, there were the town's pegasi, most of whom were still asleep and had no intention of waking until the sun was closer to noon. The few exceptions – the aforementioned weather team members, who woke under protest, and the town's animal caretaker, living out on the edge of the Everfree – were among the only pegasi the rest of the town would see for half the day.

Thus it was that the sun dawned on Ponyville, on a normal, beautiful, mundanely perfect late-spring day. Normal, except that it was also the first day of summer break.

The foals were loose. Cheerilee's free babysitting-slash-educational services were done for three months, and the schoolteacher herself was already halfway to Las Pegasus, where the first of many heavily salted margaritas waited for her on the pool deck.

The foals were loose. They blinked their gummy eyes and tottered out of bed, wondering for a few confused moments where their parents were, and why they were not being hustled into the bathrooms and off to breakfast and out the door with book-stuffed saddlebags and lunch pails. And then the last fog of sleep drifted away, and they remembered running out the schoolhouse doors, and they shrieked with joy. Summer – the magical promised land of summer – had finally arrived.

The foals were loose. And that was terrifying.
> Apple Bloom's Morning
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Apple Bloom woke to absolute stillness.

The farmhouse was as quiet as a winter night. The old timber walls, usually raucous with creaks and cracks in the slightest of breezes, were silent, as if still asleep themselves. No hoofsteps from her sister or brother echoed up the stairs, and the faint morning light creeping in beneath the curtain told her they were already awake, putting to rest the day's first chores. The only sounds were her breath and the faint thrum of blood beating in her ears.

Outside, an early robin warbled a few tentative notes. Nothing else answered.

The silence was perfect, almost sacred. Some impulse – the one that kept her from shouting across the classroom when Ms. Cheerilee was already angry with her – cautioned her against speaking now. The peace of the morning was sepulchral, and it demanded respect.

“It's summer,” she whispered into her pillowcase.

She climbed out of bed, setting her hooves down on the bare wood floor as gently as if it were eggshell. The room around her was warm already, on its way to cloying, but she knew better than to open the window. That would let in the world outside, and the perfect silence would be lost to the wind. Better to leave the window closed and trap the quiet where she could keep it for later.

Silence was rare on a farm. If it wasn't treated carefully it could break, just like the time she wasn't careful with Big Macintosh's collection of exotic fruit jams and preserves. But silence didn't turn into a sticky mess all over the cellar floor and three weeks of extra chores when broken – it was just gone, and no matter how much she yelled or stomped or cussed, it didn't come back. It had to be held gently, like baby ducks, and coveted for every second it lasted.

Breathing was too loud, so she stopped and ignored her burning lungs as she crossed the room to slip out into the hallway, closing the bedroom door behind her and sealing the silence inside. It would still be there at the end of the day, waiting for her, to lull her off to sleep.

But the end of the day was hours and hours and hours and hours and hours from now. She couldn't even conceive of the day's end, not when the sun had barely yet broken the eastern sky, and her friends had not yet arrived, and they had not marched round the endless world and done a million things. When they had not yet traced the orchard's rows, hiding between the moments, searching for the spot where the sun stood still and every day was the same as the one before and the one after. When the hot brush of wind on their coats drew out their sweat and melted the rough edges from the hours, blending them, until morning and noon and evening and night were all one memory with no beginning they could remember and no end they could foresee. A day – a season – defined by the single thread that stitched them together, that ran through them as the sun runs through the sky: the boundless joy that was the breath in their lungs and the strength in their limbs and carried them up and out and down, down the endless paths of summer, all of it waiting just beyond her door.

“It's summer,” she said again, louder now. She grinned, and the stairs creaked beneath her hooves as she galloped down them and out the farmhouse door.

“It's summer!” she shouted on the porch, startling a covey of doves roosting on the lawn. She laughed as they filled the air, and she chased them across the grass, down the dirt path leading out the arched gate, into the endless rows of apple trees beyond. Through the misty orchards she rode, until her legs ached and her chest burned, and all the while she could not stop grinning like a madmare.

“AJ!” she yelled, bursting into a clearing where her sister set out rows of empty baskets. “It's summer!” She was gone before Applejack could reply.

She ran again, vaulting a small stream that meandered through the trees like a tired snake. The muddy banks squelched beneath her hooves as she landed, and she stopped long enough to stomp in the muck a few extra times, just because it was summer, and she could, and there were no school desks to sit at or Miss Cheerilee to scold her for being dirty or stupid Diamond Tiaras to make fun of her bow. A bow, she realized, that she wasn't even wearing – it was still back in her bedroom, keeping watch over the silence, wrapping round it like a gift for her return.

Apple Bloom grinned and jumped into the mud again, splashing it all up her legs and over her belly. It felt wonderful.

“It's summer! Ha!” she yelled at the rustling trees. And then she ran some more.

By the time she reached the edge of the orchards, where the dirt path became a true road leading down the way to Ponyville, she was exhausted. Strands of her mane plastered themselves against her sticky coat, her legs shook, and her breath was the loudest sound on all the farm.

And she couldn't stop smiling.

She wasn't quite sure what time it was. Clock-time, that is – she knew it was about thirty minutes past sunrise, and in another hour the sun would be well clear of the trees, and just standing outside in its rays would burn the sweat from her coat and send her scurrying for water or shade. In the summer, the sun stayed up forever, and lunch was forever far away, and dinner forever further. The sun was the summer, and she worshiped it because she loved the princess like a good little filly, but mostly because the sun was summer and summer was freedom and oh Celestia how she loved that.

Applejack wasn't around to stop her, so she dropped to the ground and rolled around in the dirt, kicking up great clouds of dust that clung to her coat, turning her dun to match the mud on her legs and belly, easing the itch of drying sweat and tickling her nose. She sneezed a few times and laughed at the cloud of dust it produced.

Time passed, and she wasted it, lounging on the dirt road. Back on the farm, wasting time was a crime – if Applejack or Granny caught her doing nothing, she'd have another day's worth of chores dropped on her shoulders in a flash. But out here, on the fringes of the farm and an endless day ahead of her, there was nothing better to do with time than waste it. She closed her eyes and let the sun bathe her in its rays, giving her coat a nice toasty feel, like it was a furnace and she was just a few inches too close.

The faint clop of hooves on dirt eventually broke her reverie, and she cracked an eye open to see a white filly with lavender mane trotting down the path. The unicorn stopped a few steps away and looked down at her with curious eyes.

“Heya, Sweetie,” Apple Bloom said. She wriggled her back into the ground some more.

“Hi!” Sweetie's voice was high and sharp enough to cut glass. “Were you rolling around in the dirt?”

“Yup. S'fun.”

“Applejack said you weren't allowed to do that.”

“Well, Applejack ain't here, is she?” Apple Bloom stretched her legs as far as they would reach, and then rolled up onto her haunches. A faint plume of dust billowed from her coat as she moved, which Sweetie Belle leaned away from. “Where's Scootaloo?”

“Getting the wagon. She said we might need it to carry stuff.”

That was the brand of genius Apple Bloom had come to expect from their friend – it seemed like every plan of theirs eventually needed a wagon, either to haul scraps to build something, or to ride in as they escaped the consequences of their actions. Honestly, every pony should have a wagon, as well as a pegasus with a scooter to pull them around. It just made sense.

“So?” Sweetie took a seat beside her. Upwind, but that was probably a coincidence. “What's the plan?”

“Plan?”

“Uh huh. For today.”

“Oh, like, crusading?” Apple Bloom tapped her chin with her hoof. “Well, it's summer, right? We should do something for summer!”

“Rarity says if I don't stop hanging around the Boutique, she'll get me a summer job in the salt mines.” Sweetie paused. “I don't know what those are.”

“They're probably underground,” Apple Bloom said. “What do you think a mining cutie mark look like?” Probably something cool, like a pickaxe. Way better than apples, in any event. She turned to peer at her blank hip, imagining it so.

They chatted for some time, waiting for Scootaloo. She wouldn't be long – a cloud of dust was already rising from distant Ponyville, creeping closer with every moment. A small, orange blur moved at its head, and if Apple Bloom squinted, she imagined she could see Scootaloo's purple mane whipping in the wind as she flapped her way closer.

In due time, Scootaloo arrived, just as Apple Bloom expected. She panted for breath, her mane stuck out behind her in dust-encrusted spikes, and she wore a tremendous smile on her face.

“Girls!” She kicked off her helmet and turned to grab some sort of rolled-up piece of paper from the wagon. Her wings buzzed with enough energy to lift her a few inches off the ground. “We're getting our cutie marks today!”

“You said that yesterday,” Sweetie pointed out. “We stayed an hour late to help clean the school.”

Scootaloo sank a few inches, until her hooves rested on the dirt. “Er, well, I thought we would.” She paused, frowning. “Miss Cheerilee said lots of fillies get their cutie marks by dusting erasers.”

“Anyway, what's that?” Apple Bloom asked, motioning with her chin at the paper. “Blueprints? You know my sis said we can't use her tools anymore.”

“Even better!” Scootaloo unrolled the parchment on the dirt, revealing a map of Ponyville and its environs. “We're going treasure hunting!”


* * *


Treasure hunting started with a map. Apple Bloom knew this because she read Daring Do and the Treasure of Tartarus for school, and it started with a map.

Well, she hadn't read it, technically. Scootaloo had read it, several times, and perhaps Apple Bloom had cribbed some of her book report from Scootaloo's incessant recounting of the story. But there was definitely a treasure map on the cover; Apple Bloom remembered that. There was also a dog with three heads, a pony-sized spider with vampire fangs, and a giant fire-breathing snake, all of whom were attempting to devour the titular character. With any luck, though, they could avoid those things today.

That said, what Scootaloo unrolled on the dirt before them did not look like a treasure map.

“That doesn't look like a treasure map,” Sweetie said. “It looks like a regular map.”

“It is,” Scootaloo said. “But it has an X on it, see?” She pointed her hoof at the upper-left quadrant of the map, where indeed a large red 'X' marked some spot. “X is for buried treasure.”

“Did you draw that X?” Apple Bloom asked.

Scootaloo leaned away. “I... no. It was like that when I found it.”

Sweetie Belle eyed the mark and gave it a dainty sniff. “It smells like crayon.”

“So? I bet lots of pirates use crayons!”

“Why would pirates bury treasure in Ponyville? There's no ocean here.”

“There's a creek,” Scootaloo said. She pointed with her wing toward the small trickle of water that ran through Sweet Apple Acres. “That's like an ocean.”

“It says 'Equestrian National Geodetic Survey' and 'Property of Ponyville Town hall,'” Sweetie said, turning the paper around to read the legend at the bottom.

“Well, duh.” Scootaloo rolled her eyes. “Obviously, the mayor wants the treasure for herself.”

Apple Bloom frowned. Beside her, Sweetie Belle nibbled on the edge of her hoof, still staring intently at the map.

Above them, the sun had barely budged. How long had she been waiting on the path? Nearly an hour, at least. Maybe two hours. Yeah, definitely at least two hours. It was going to be a long day – they had all the time in the world.

“Heck, works for me,” Apple Bloom said. “Lead the way, Scoots.”

“Yes!” Scootaloo hopped in place, her wings buzzing to give her a bit of extra lift at the top. She snatched the map away from Sweetie Belle, who let out a quiet snort of protest. “Cutie Mark Crusaders, treasure hunters!”

And then they sat in silence.

“So, uh...” Apple Bloom leaned forward. “Which way?”

“Um.” Scootaloo turned the map, then spun in place, holding the paper before her as if it were a scrying dish. “Uh, top left?”

“That's not a direction,” Sweetie Belle said. “You have to plot your position on the map, shoot an angle to your target, and then use a compass to orient as you navigate toward it.”

Silence again. After a few seconds, Sweetie dug her hoof into the dirt.

“Rarity sent me to filly scouts last summer after I tried to help clean the Boutique attic,” she said. “I got my orienteering badge.”

“Oh.” Apple Bloom thought back through the mists of memory to the previous year, when Sweetie had vanished for several weeks. “Was that the time everypony got really excited and the fire ponies went to the Boutique and Rarity had to close it for several days until they finally found Opal?”

More silence. Eventually, Sweetie nodded.

“Huh,” Scootaloo said. “I wish I could go to filly scouts.”

“It was pretty fun,” Sweetie mumbled.

“Okay, look.” Apple Bloom plucked the map from Scootaloo's hooves and passed it over to Sweetie. “Do you think you can find it?”

Sweetie's horn sparked, and the map begrudgingly lifted into the air, surrounded by the faint lavender glow of her magic. It wobbled and drifted in the wind, but she managed to keep it upright, though they could see her jaw clench with effort, and a faint sheen of sweat shone on her forehead. After a moment, Scootaloo reached out with the tip of her wing to help hold it steady while Sweetie studied it.

“It's, uh,” she paused to catch her breath. “It's somewhere in your orchards, Apple Bloom.”

Apple Bloom frowned. “Where in them? They're big.”

“I don't know. The X is too big.” Sweetie Belle let the light around her horn die and grabbed the map with her hooves before it could fall. “It's almost a mile across.”

“It is not!” Scootaloo grabbed at the map and tugged it away. “It's the perfect size!”

“Girls, I'm sure X is fine,” Apple Bloom said. “Obviously, whoever buried the treasure had some special marker, and the map was just to find Sweet Apple Acres. If we find the marker, we'll find the treasure.”

“What's the marker, then?” Sweetie asked. She was back to nibbling at her hoof.

“Ooh! Ooh!” Scootaloo's wings buzzed again, lifting her briefly into the air. “I bet it's something cool, like a pony skull on a stick!”

Sweetie recoiled. “Eww! Scootaloo!”

“Scootaloo, there's no pony skulls on sticks in the orchards.” Apple Bloom said. “I'm sure I'd have noticed that by now. It's probably something normal, like a rock or a tree.”

“Oh.” Scootaloo deflated again, frowning at the map. “There's trees in the orchards, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Maybe it's one of them?”

The three sat in silence, considering that possibility. A gust of hot wind blew across the path, threatening to snatch up the map, but Apple Bloom stomped on it with a hoof before it could escape.

Was it really possible? That all these years, Applejack and Big Macintosh had been farming for apples, while a buried treasure hid just beneath their hooves? And that of all things, a tree was the special marker for where it rested? There were thousands of trees on the farm, spread out over forty-five acres of orchards. It took more than an hour just to walk all the way around Sweet Apple Acres, and that didn't count all the time she spent plucking weeds from the fence like Applejack told her to. It would take weeks to search every tree. Maybe even months.

Apple Bloom looked up. The sun hadn't moved from its spot in the sky. It was still morning – early morning.

“Yeah, maybe it is,” she finally said. “Let's look for a tree, girls.”


* * *


Trees were easy to find on Sweet Apple Acres, it turned out. They found their first one just a few steps away, a thin poplar sapling already half as tall as the barn, its silver and green leaves fluttering like shutters in the faint wind.

Scootaloo ran up to it. “Do you think—”

“No,” Apple Bloom said. “That's only a few seasons old. Pirate maps are much older than that. C'mon, I'll show you where the old trees are.”

She led the way back to the orchards, past the farmhouse and the arched gateway, past the oat and barley fields. They passed the wild woods where their tree house waited for them that evening, past the watering hole where they went skinny dipping. Hours passed while they walked, miles passed beneath their hooves, and eventually they reached the first row of apple trees. It stretched out in the distance to either side, vanishing beyond the horizon.

“These are the young ones,” Apple Bloom said. “They're too small for real apples.”

Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle mumbled approvingly, and followed as she led the way past the rows. With each mile that passed, the trees grew taller, their branches closer together. The smooth trunks grew gnarled and warped, their bark riven with deep faults like parched earth, and the air around them hung in a still, foreboding hush.

“These are the grown-up trees,” Apple Bloom said. She kept her voice low, and the others had to lean in to hear her. “Applejack says I'm not allowed to play with them.”

“Why not?” Scootaloo whispered back.

“They don't like foals.”

“Uh...” Sweetie Belle hunched her shoulders, looking around furtively at the gathered shadows. “Are... are these old enough for pirates?”

“Not yet. Come on.”

Again she led the way. The rows were further apart now, and thick roots churned the soil into a maze of crags and gullies. Up and down they climbed, each row its own mountain, each path between them a valley. Above them, the towering trees leered at the interlopers.

Hours passed as they trekked deeper into the acres. Occasionally an ancient basket rolled along in the winds, its bottom rotted out and its insides smeared black with the fetid remains of apples long past. The air was hot and dry, even in the perpetual darkness of the ancient orchard, and Apple Bloom found herself starting to pant for breath.

“Are we... are we there, yet?” Scootaloo mumbled. She hopped down from a particularly tall knot of roots, using her wings to glide down the sloping earth.

“Almost,” Apple Bloom said. “Just a few more rows, I think.” She ignored their groans, and pulled herself up over a tangle of roots nearly as tall as Big Macintosh. She paused, licked her lips, and froze at the sight before her.

They had made it. The heart of the orchards. The trees here were monsters, with trunks thicker than Twilight's library and crowns that reached for the heavens hundreds of feet above. They rose like pillars from the earth, their branches supporting boughs each the size of a barn. There was no sky above them, only leaves, millions and millions of leaves, more leaves than there were stars, all combining to cast the perpetual shadow of night on the ground far, far below.

“Wow,” Scootaloo whispered. “How old do you think these trees are?”

“At least twenty years old,” Apple Bloom said.

“Wow,” Scootaloo whispered again. “That's older than Rainbow Dash!”

The three picked their way over the tangled roots of the final row. The trees before them, these ancient guardians, grew not in rows – the earth around each was barren for a hundred paces, a vast courtyard paying homage to the titan at its center. Years of wind and shadow had swept the bare dirt flat, except for the occasional divot, like a small crater, large enough to swallow one of them whole. Scootaloo stopped at the edge of one and peered inside.

“What's this? An antlion nest?”

“Nah,” Apple Bloom said. “It's from the apples. When they fall.” She pointed up with a hoof, and they craned their heads back to see huge, swollen fruits hanging from the branches far above. The smallest of them was larger than a cider barrel.

“Oh,” Scootaloo said. She swallowed audibly and stepped away from the depression.

Apple Bloom lost track of time as they walked between the trees. It was a different world. A bounded world, with flat earth beneath their hooves and a green heaven hundreds of feet above. Despite the canopy's height, she felt its weight pressing down on her shoulders. There was no sun here, nor sky, only towering pillars that held the heaven and earth apart, extending as far as the eye could see in every direction, until even their monstrous stature vanished into darkness.

“I like it here,” Sweetie Belle said. “It's very peaceful.”

“It's awful dark,” Scootaloo said.

“Shh,” Apple Bloom hissed. All three froze. “I think I hear something.”

They pressed their rumps together, each facing a different direction. Three sets of ears perked up and strained forward, itching for the slightest sound breaking the orchard's haunted silence.

Nothing. Only the faint background rustle of the leaves, far above. Apple Bloom let out breath she hadn't realized she was holding and slumped to her haunches.

“Nevermind, girls. I guess it's just the—”

“I hear it,” Sweetie Belle said. Her voice was just above a whisper, and she raised a hoof to point toward the nearest tree. “Voices, that way.”

Scootaloo bounded toward it before Apple Bloom could stop her. She cursed quietly, and took off running after her friend. As they drew closer, she heard the voices too, even over her hammering heart and the pounding of her hooves. They reached the tree and huddled together against a grasping root quite a bit taller than they were. The voices – two of them, both masculine, and bickering over something – were just on the other side of the trunk, and not quite loud enough to make out.

“Oh my gosh!” Scootaloo whispered. “I bet its pirates!”

“It sounds like colts.” Sweetie Belle frowned as she spoke.

“Well, they're not allowed on my farm,” Apple Bloom said. She huffed, took a deep breath, and bounded atop the root. “Hey, you! Pirates! You're not allowed on... hey! You're not pirates!”

Below her, huddled against the opposite side of the same root, crouched Snips and Snails. They stared up at her with slack jaws and wide eyes, and both broke out into huge smiles at the sight of her.

“Hey, Apple Bloom!” Snips shouted. “Snails, it's Apple Bloom!”

“Apple Bloom!” Snails shouted back, either toward her or toward his friend, she couldn't quite tell. “Snips, it's Apple Bloom!”

“I know!” Snips answered. “Apple Bloom! Hi!” He waved his stubbly little leg wildly, apparently trying to get her attention.

“Ugh.” Apple Bloom spun around to face her friends. “It's not pirates. It's Snips and Snails.”

“Cool!” Scootaloo jumped up onto the root as well, her hooves scrabbling for purchase on the wet bark. Eventually her wings provided enough of a boost push her over the top. “Hey, have you two seen any pirates?”

“No, they haven't,” Apple Bloom said, before either of the colts could answer. “And what are you two doing here, anyway? There's no colts allowed on Sweet Apple Acres!”

“What about Pipsqueak?” Sweetie Belle called up from the ground.

“But what if the pirates are colts?” Scootaloo asked. “Then how would they bury their treasure?”

A pair of simultaneous gasps responded. Apple Bloom looked down to see Snips and Snails staring up with wondrous expressions.

“Pirates?” said one.

“Treasure?” said the other.

“Great. Good job, Scootaloo.” Apple Bloom scowled at her. “Now everypony knows about it.”

Scootaloo at least had the dignity to blush. “Sorry. Maybe they can help us look?”

Sweetie Belle finally pulled herself up onto the root with them. The wet bark smeared dark streaks along her belly and legs. “Maybe we could get Pipsqueak to help us look?”

“No one's helping us look!” Apple Bloom stomped her hoof. “These are my orchards, and it's mah treasure!” She paused. “And, you know, yours too.”

“But—” Scootaloo started.

“No! No buts! You two are leaving,” she pointed her hoof down at Snips and Snails, who withered under her gaze, “And we're finding that treasure.”

“Aww, but—” now Sweetie Belle tried.

“No!”

“What if we told you where the treasure was?” Snips asked.

Silence followed. The three fillies stared at each other, then poked their heads over the edge.

“You know where it is?” Scootaloo asked.

“You'll share it with us?” Sweetie Belle asked.

Fools, all of them! Apple Bloom scowled down at the colts. “You're lying! You don't know where it is.”

Snips grinned. It was a sly grin, greasy, and filled with far more cunning than she was used to from him. “Maybe we don't. Or maybe we do.”

“We do?” Snails asked. His expression was as vacant as always.

“Shut up!” Snips elbowed his friend and turned back to Apple Bloom. “Ahem, we do. And if you'll split it with us, we'll tell you where it is.”

“Why would you tell us, though?” Sweetie asked. “If you know where it is, why not just get it all for yourself?”

Silence again. Even Snips looked baffled now.

“Because, uh...” He frowned down at the dirt. “Oh, because it's buried treasure! We need more ponies to dig it up!”

“Awesome!” Scootaloo jumped off the root and glided down to the colts, landing between them. “Lead the way!”

No! Disaster! Apple Bloom tried to rally her side, but already Sweetie Belle was sliding down the wet bark on her rump to join the others. They stopped and looked up at her, waiting.

Her sister had an expression for moments like these. Her eyes would narrow, and her brows draw together, and her mouth would purse to a thin, bloodless line. She would lower her head, until the brim of her hat hid all but her pupils, and that's how she let ponies know there was a problem.

Apple Bloom tried to pull it off. She squinted and scowled, but without the hat, it was all for naught. Snips and Snails gawked at her. Sweetie Belle raised an eyebrow. Scootaloo looked confused.

Whatever. It was good enough. “Fine, but I'm still in charge!” She paused to let that sink in. “But, uh, you can lead the way. You know, to the treasure.”

Snips beamed, now that all eyes were back on him. “Right! It's, um... uh... one of these.” He spun around in a slow circle. “There!”

He pointed, and suddenly it was obvious to them all. At the edge of their vision, half-lost in the shadows, a crooked, gnarled monster of a tree rose above its brothers. Bare limbs like a skeleton's grasped at the air hundreds of feet above their heads. Its bark had fallen off centuries ago, leaving only a pale, rotten trunk behind. The mud between its roots had sloughed away to reveal cavernous, gaping hollows leading into the earth.

“Oh, wow,” Scootaloo whispered. “Is that old enough for pirates?”

“You know, I think it is,” Apple Bloom said. They wandered closer to the giant, and with every step it seemed to grow larger. Its roots stretched out beside them, as long as city blocks. Shards of desiccated bark littered the dirt, forcing them to take long detours in their approach. A faint breeze – the first Apple Bloom had felt all morning – began to blow through the rattling branches, setting them knocking, clacking, and cracking high above.

It took hours, but eventually they reached the base of the tree, and they gathered around an opening in the earth. Showers of loose dirt, upset by their hooves, spilled over the edge and were quickly lost in the darkness. Sweetie Belle stayed back a few steps. The colts stayed behind her. Only Scootaloo and Apple Bloom dared to stare into the abyss.

There, carved into the edge of the pit, a worn spiral stair wound its way down. Faintly, deep in the earth, Apple Bloom thought she saw a spark of light, a solitary star in the night.

“It's pretty deep,” Scootaloo said.

“Uh huh.”

“Do you think it's safe?” Sweetie asked. She had sidled up beside them, and now peered into the pit as well.

“Nope.”

“Sweet! Come on!” Scootaloo jumped, landing on the stairs a few feet below the edge. Behind them, one of the colts let out a sound that was a mix between a gasp and a squeal.

“Cutie Mark Crusaders, treasure hunters!” Sweetie shouted, and then she too jumped.

Apple Bloom turned back to the colts. They huddled beside each other, looking lost.

She snorted. “Are you two coming, or what?” She turned back to the pit. Within just a few steps it had swallowed her, and the smell of dry, ancient earth and an even older darkness became her world, and she began the long slow march into night.

Ahead of her, she heard the excited voices of Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle as they felt their way forward. Behind her, she heard Snips and Snails' trembling steps as they followed, and she smiled.

Summer was off to a great start.


* * *


Down, down they went. The dim twilight of the orchard world had vanished above them hours ago, and now their way was lit by bulbous, glowing mushrooms that sprouted from the crumbling walls. They were blue, and stole the color from everything they touched, leaving Apple Bloom's coat a dirty gray and her mane an inky black. Gravid and tumorous, the mushrooms hung over their heads, raining down from their undersides a constant drift of florescent, dust-like spores. Their hooves left dark trails in it as they descended.

“Stop.” Scootaloo, at the head of their column, froze and held up a wing. “I think I heard something.”

“Was it treasure?” Snips asked.

A moment passed while the girls considered that.

“Uh, no,” Scootaloo finally said. “It sounded like something clicking.”

“I hear it too!” Sweetie said. “It's like... chittering?”

“Chattering?” Apple Bloom offered. She couldn't hear a thing herself, not over the sound of her suddenly ragged breath.

“It sounds like a giant centipede,” Snails said. He looked, for some reason, deeply intrigued by the possibility.

There was a pause.

“Um, how big are giant centipedes?” Sweetie asked. She glanced down at her hooves and then over the edge of the dirt stairs into the abyss below.

Snails sat and held his front hooves out, a few inches apart. “About this big?”

“Oh.” The tension drained from Apple Bloom's shoulders. “That's not so baAAAAHHH!”

The dirt wall beside them burst out in a fetid shower, filling the air with dust and mold. The chattering sound – it was definitely chattering – grated on their ears as a legion of coiling, writhing centipedes spilled from from the holes all around them. They were huge, dozens of feet long, with hundreds of spiny legs that flowed with an eerie grace, propelling them along the stairs toward their prey.

One landed on the stairs in front of Apple Bloom and reared up, until its scissor-like jaws were level with her head. It clacked them at her and reared back to strike.

Applejack had not raised a fool. She had, over the years, drilled countless lessons into Apple Bloom's head, on subjects ranging from the value of hard work to the value of hard work. She was an endless fount of knowledge, most of it unsolicited, but all of it valuable. In the abstract, anyway.

What, Apple Bloom wondered as she stared at the giant rearing centipede, would Applejack say in this situation? She imagined her big sister standing there, cowpony hat perched on her head, lasso dangling by her side. The rest of the world slowed, the giant centipedes freezing in the act of striking, while Applejack cleared her throat.

“Now listen, sugarcube,” she said. “If there's one thing you need to remember, it's the value of hard work and dedication. That's the earth pony way! Every day, doing the same task over and over, from sunrise until sunset, and then you do it again the next—”

“Ugh! Whatever!” Apple Bloom jabbed with her hoof, punching the centipede about where she thought its throat would be, assuming centipedes had throats. It recoiled with a loud crack, its chattering suddenly replaced by a high-pitched keen as it struggled to escape. She gave it another kick with her hooves for good measure, and then turned to see how her friends were coping.

They seemed to be fine, actually. Sweetie Belle was swinging a stick at a centipede, keeping it at bay while squeaking, “Ew! Ew! Ew!” Scootaloo had somehow managed to wrangle one, and was now riding on its back as it attempted to climb the walls.

“Don't hurt them!” Snails cried. “They're more afraid of you than you are of them!”

“Whee!” Scootaloo shouted. She fluttered her wings to stay on the centipede despite its frantic bucking, until at last it managed to twist and toss her away to float back to the stairs while it escaped.

“It's icky!” Sweetie Belle wailed. She whacked the centipede with the stick and followed it around, whacking it again and again until it vanished back into the crumbling hole from which it had emerged. In moments they were all gone, turned tail and fled, leaving only settling clouds of dust behind.

Apple Bloom panted, slowly recovering her breath. “Good job, girls. I bet the pirates left those as a trap. We must be getting close.”

Everypony perked up at this, except Snails, who stared after the centipedes with a forlorn look. Snips gave him a little nudge, and they scrambled to catch up with Scootaloo, who was already descending further down the stairs.

Apple Bloom brushed a bit of dirt off her chest. “Earth pony way,” she mumbled, and then she raced to catch up.

Hours passed again, and the air grew warmer around them the deeper they tread. Eventually, the stairs ended, and they came to rest on a broad plane of hard-packed dirt peppered with stones. In the very center of the pit, a deep 'X' was etched into the dirt by some unknown hoof.

“There it is,” Scootaloo whispered. She stepped up to the edge of the mark and lowered her head to stare at it, her eyes wide. “What now?”

“Now?” Apple Bloom spit on her hooves and rubbed them together. “Now, girls, we dig. And, uh, you too, colts.”

And so they dug. The sound of pickaxes and shovels breaking the earth filled the pit. They loaded huge buckets of dirt and winched them to the surface with an ingenious system of ropes and pulleys. Deeper they dug, building scaffolding as they went to keep the groaning walls at bay. Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle swung from the lines, bearing torches to light their way. Snips and Snails worked the gears in the sweltering heat, ignoring the sweat pouring down their sides. And always Apple Bloom dug deeper, her iron legs and tireless, earth pony heart driving them onward. She cracked the rocks with her hooves, and Scootaloo loaded them into the buckets, and Snips and Snails pulled, and heaved, and sang away the days and weeks. Never hungry, never thirsty. All their needs had been replaced by that one desire, the promise beneath their hooves drawing ever closer, the treasure.

It seemed like they dug forever. They might have, until one day Apple Bloom's pickaxe struck not a rock but something far harder. It rebounded, and a loud clang filled the smoky air. Snips and Snails stopped the gears, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo paused among the ropes, and they all stared down at Apple Bloom's hooves.

Something glimmered in the dirt. Apple Bloom brushed her hoof across it, revealing a metal joint. Beside it, she faintly saw the lines of a wood grain.

“It's here,” she said. “It's here! It's a treasure chest!”

They scrambled to gather around, hooves pawing at the loose, hot stones, slowly unearthing the massive chest. It had sunk at an angle, and they struggled to crack the rocks entombing it.

“Hammers!” Apple Bloom cried. The pit rang with the sound of their blows as they demolished the rocks, sweeping them away to reveal the ancient oak and brass fittings of the chest.

“Tackle!” she shouted. Snips and Snails fastened canvas straps around the exposed lid, tightening them down with sharp motions. They whistled up the pit to Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle, who pulled the ropes that led to the crane that led to the pulleys that slow pried the chest out of the earth's grasp.

Apple Bloom leaned forward. Sweat poured down her coat in the intense heat of the depths, and the air shimmered, setting everything dancing, swaying. She pressed her hoof against the treasure, feeling the tight grain of the oak bands as it finally lifted free.

And an evil, orange light spilled out from beneath it.

“Uh oh.” Apple Bloom danced away from the heat licking at her legs. It followed, flowing across the pit floor, molten, burning, brighter in their wide eyes than the sun.

“Lava!” she shrieked. “Run girls, it's lava!”

The fillies screamed, and the colts screamed too. The treasure chest dangled and fell back into the lava with a splash, but still it rose, slowly consuming the pit floor. Flames danced up the ropes, filling the air with black smoke shot through with orange embers.

They ran up the stairs, the rising lava not far behind. The entire pit began to shake, and massive boulders spilled down the walls, crashing into the steps just behind them. The world rumbled, and the stairs threatened to slide into the geyser of lava climbing with them.

“What about the treasure?!” Snips shouted. He clung to Snails' back as they bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“Forget it!” Apple Bloom shouted back. She weaved around a boulder that smashed into the step in front of her. “It's gone!”

“But—”

“No buts! Just run!”

A bright blue star fell beside them, followed by another. It was the glowing mushrooms, she realized – they were getting close to the surface.

“Faster!” She choked back a cough; the smoke was so thick she could barely see Sweetie's white coat, just a few feet in front of her. “We're almost there!”

The world swayed again, and the pit shuddered as huge roots burst out of the walls. Above, high above, Apple Bloom heard an ominous creak. The smoke smothered everything, but she thought she could barely see a brightening around it's edge; daylight, however dim, finding its way to them.

Or it could be the lava, which was rapidly catching up to them. No matter how fast they ran, or how many broken gaps in the stairs they jumped, it rose faster and faster, bubbling with noxious gases that stank of sulfur and ash.

“I can hear it!” Scootaloo shouted over her shoulder to them. She was the highest, and she stopped a dozen yards ahead. “I can hear the wind!”

So close! Apple Bloom ignored the searing heat on her flanks and leaned forward, pushing Snails' rump with the top of her head. He yelped, but the extra burst of speed was enough to outpace the bursting lava, and they spilled out of the pit, back into the forest and the clean air, hacking, panting, covered with dirt and soot.

“We made it!” Snails rolled in the dirt, extinguishing the embers that still clung to his mane and tail. “Oh, thank Celestia, we... uh oh.”

“Huh?” Apple Bloom turned back, and then looked up, and up, and up.

The ancient tree was swaying. Its root popped from the ground, unanchored, and at its base the bubbling lava erupted from the ground, consuming all it touched. The earth shook beneath her hooves, like she was standing next to a racing train, and above them the giant tree began to tilt.

“Uh, run,” she said.

They screamed as they ran. They couldn't help it. Behind them, the massive trunk fell in slow motion, creeping toward the ground. A powerful wind came with it, shoving them forward. The loudest sound Apple Bloom had ever heard, a shriek of breaking timber like all a forest were dying at once, chased them across the bare dirt.

The tree landed, and the ground beneath them jumped. They flew into the air for dozens of feet, tumbling head over tail, and bounced, and rolled, and slowly slid to a stop.

For a long while, all was quiet except for five ponies' panting breath. The rest of the forest – the wind, the bird, the insects – had all been stunned into silence. New sunlight poured down on them from the hole torn in the orchard canopy by the fallen giant.

Eventually, Apple Bloom stirred. She pushed herself up onto her front hooves, wincing at the pop in her joints. “Ow. Um, is everypony alright?”

“I'm good.” Scootaloo shook her head, sending a shower of dust into the air.

“Yep!” Sweetie Belle was still upside-down. The ash and dirt had stained her white coat a dull, dirty gray, but her eyes were as bright as ever.

“Huh?” Snips seemed confused by the question, but no more so than usual.

“Those poor centipedes.” Snails sniffled. “Do you think they got out?”

“Yeah, I'm... sure they're fine,” Apple Bloom said. She gave the fallen tree a long look, then peered down at her flank.

Still blank. A bit hard to see beneath the smear of dirt and ash, but still blank. She sighed.

“Well girls,” she said. “I guess we aren't Cutie Mark Crusaders Treasure Hunters after all.”

“Aw.” Scootaloo poked at her coat. “I thought we had it for sure, that time.”

“But what about the treasure?” Snips asked.

“Eh.” Apple Bloom shrugged. “It probably wasn't much anyway. Otherwise, why would the pirates have left it?”

“Oh.” Snips looked glum for a moment, but then something shiny caught his attention, and all was well again.

“So, what now?” Sweetie asked. She had managed to right herself, and took a seat next to the colts.

Apple Bloom looked up. The sun was near its zenith, just an hour or so from noon, she guessed. “I dunno. It's about lunchtime.”

“We told our parents we'd be home by lunch,” Snails said. “Sorry about the treasure, girls!” With that the two colts stood and hopped across a nearby stream. Within a few steps they were back on the path to Ponyville.

“Pff, whatever,” Scootaloo said. “We don't need treasure for our cutie marks.” She stood and jumped onto the fallen tree, walking along its length for a few paces, until she reached the shallow hole they had dug at its base. “Come on, I have another idea!”

“Is it more digging?” Sweetie asked. “I don't think Rarity wants me to do any more digging today.”

“Nah, it's better than digging. We're going exploring!”

Apple Bloom pondered that. Exploring sounded fun – more fun than digging, at least. She stood and walked around the tree, over to the stream that separated Sweet Apple Acres from the rest of Ponyville. She walked through it, letting the cool water wash the dirt from her hooves, and then stepped onto the far side. Ahead, just beyond the row of trees, she could see the outlines of Ponyville's steeples and weather vanes against the hazy sky.

“Sounds good, Scoots. Lead the way!”
> Applejack's Day
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I’m gonna kill ‘em. I really mean it, Mac.”

“Eeenope,” Big Macintosh said. He’d always been the calmer of the two.

“Well, alright, not really.” Applejack frowned at the fallen tree. It was an old one, and only half its leaves had come in that spring. If she were being honest, it was probably going to be chopped down in a few weeks anyway, to make room for a new sapling.

But that was her job, not theirs. Just a few hours into the first day of summer, and they were already on the warpath.

“How did they even knock it down?” she asked. She stepped over to the uprooted bowl, a mass of broken and stripped roots clogged with dirt. A few tiny centipedes crawled through the disturbed earth around her feet. “They just dug it up?”

“It was already fallin’ over, AJ. They just gave it a little nudge.”

“But why? Why, Mac? Did they think they’d get a tree-uprooting cutie mark?”

He shrugged.

She sighed. “Whatever. I’ll go get the axe. You start thinkin’ of chores for her to do.”

“Eeeyup.”
> Scootaloo's Afternoon
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Scootaloo?” Apple Bloom’s voice sounded behind her.

Scootaloo didn’t answer immediately. Her wings were caught up in a wild rose’s thorns, and it took several painful tugs to free them, plus a few feathers. She gave the tangled stems a kick, which didn’t do much besides shower her with pink petals.

It did feel good, though. She let out a little huff of satisfaction and turned to see how her friends were doing.

Apple Bloom seemed fine. Although she was by far the dirtiest of the three, having taken several detours to stomp in puddles or kick loose bark from the trees, she didn’t have any trouble moving through the brambles and stickers that filled the Whitetail Woods like foam in a bubble bath. She just set her hooves and plowed forward, and the plants either broke or tore out at the roots.

Sweetie Belle also seemed fine, to Scootaloo’s immense surprise. Thorns had left a few rusty scratches up her legs, and her chest was smeared dark with grass and bark, but she moved with surprising ease through the thickets, somehow finding the little trails that tunneled between the vines. She was even humming some quiet tune beneath her breath, and every few steps a little chirp of song would burst out from her lips, as though she couldn’t quite keep it hidden in her breast. The brambles that kept catching in Scootaloo’s wings slid right off Sweetie’s coat, and she barely noticed them in passing.

Filly Scouts again, probably. Now Scootaloo really wished she could go.

“What?” she called back to Apple Bloom.

“Where exactly are we going, again?”

“You know.” Scootaloo tried to wave her hoof, but ended up snagging her leg in another rose. “Ow. Uh, exploring.”

“We’re not getting very far,” Sweetie said.

“And we’ve been out here for hours!” Apple Bloom pointed up at the sun, which barely poked through the shifting leaves over their heads. It had barely moved since they had begun their trek through the woods.

“Well, duh!” Scootaloo pushed herself through another bush, this one thankfully without any thorns or brambles or nettles or stickers. “You gotta walk a long time to get somewhere no pony has ever been before. Like, at least another hour.”

So they walked for another hour. Or more! It felt like at least five to Scootaloo, and that the sun should be ready to set at any moment, but the rays breaking through the canopy barely budged. 

Finally they stopped beside a narrow stream. Cobblestones poked out of the water, and insects flitted across the surface, leaving little expanding circles in their wakes. Scootaloo licked her parched lips and stumbled down the root-laden banks to splash in the water. A few seconds later Apple Bloom landed beside her, sending up a huge spray that soaked them both and left them giggling. A quick dunk slaked her thirst, and she relished the cool, mineral taste of the fresh streamwater. 

“Do you think we’re exploring yet?” Sweetie asked. She walked along the stream until she found a shallow slope and slid down to join them.

Scootaloo gave the surrounding woods a glance. They were more open now, with larger trees spread farther apart and less underbrush to block their path. There were no trails, or old fence posts overgrown with vines, or rocks stacked atop each other like foals might make. The woods were pristine and untrod.

“I think we are,” she answered. After a short pause, she added, whispering, “Awesome.”

“So what now?” Apple Bloom jumped across the exposed stones to the stream’s far bank. “Go home?”

Scootaloo’s stomach rumbled, reminding her that lunch was now several days of wandering overdue, but she ignored it and twisted her head back to stare at her flank. Still blank – not that she expected any different, but it never hurt to be sure. “Nah, let’s keep going. I got a good feeling about this.”

They hopped up onto the far bank and kept walking. Around them the trees slowly changed, growing larger, their trunks broadening and growing wide roots that dug into the marshy soil. The roses and honeysuckle faded away, replaced by ferns that rose above their heads and slender climbing vines that stretched between the branches. Mossy beards hung from the trees, and a heady, floral scent filled the humid air. Huge leaves dripped water all around them, dappling their coats.

“Huh, never been here before,” Apple Bloom said. She paused to examine a lotus floating in a small pool. The pink blossom was nearly the size of her head.

“I didn’t know Ponyville had a rainforest,” Sweetie said. A long millipede crawled out of the thick litter beneath her hooves, probed at her leg, and then scuttled away.

Scootaloo frowned. “It’s not a rainforest. It’s a jungle.”

“Does Ponyville have a jungle?” Apple Bloom asked.

There was a pause as the three considered that. Above their heads, a troop of monkeys bounded from branch to branch, sending bits of bark and broken twigs raining down on them.

“I guess it does,” Sweetie finally said.

Jungles were pretty cool, Scootaloo decided, even if the hot, wet air kept matting her feathers. She glanced back at her flank on the off chance that… no, still nothing. She let out a quiet sigh and tromped forward. “C’mon girls. We’re not done yet.”


* * *


Eventually the jungle gave way to a vast marsh. A few inches of turbid water covered the squishy mud as far as they could see – which wasn’t far, for all around them grew great stands of sawgrass and cattails so thick the world ended in a green curtain just out of hoof’s reach. Above them, faintly through the slender tips of the waving grasses, Scootaloo saw willows and pines swaying in the breeze.

“Is this, like, a swamp?” Apple Bloom asked.

“I think it’s a bog,” Scootaloo said.

“Maybe a fen?” Sweetie poked at the tall grass crowding them. Something skittered away with a quiet splash.

“What’s a fen?”

“I think it’s like a swamp,” Sweetie said.

“Oh.” Scootaloo frowned down at the muddy water. “Okay, I guess it’s a fen.”

“Whatever,” Apple Bloom shouldered her way between them. “Are we done explorin’? I’m getting hungry.”

Scootaloo opened her mouth to tell her friend that no, they weren’t done exploring, and wouldn’t be until she was good and ready to be done, but her stomach chose that moment to let out another gurgle. She covered it with a cough and a blush.

“I think we passed some blueberries,” Sweetie said. “Maybe we could eat them and keep exploring?”

Hm, blueberries. Scootaloo decided she liked that idea. “Yeah, sounds good. C’mon.”

The three of them turned and pushed back through the grasses, seeking out their path in broken stems and orange feathers and hoofprints in the water. Scootaloo took the lead, of course, and eventually she stumbled over an old rotting log, half submerged and barely visible beneath a tangle of thin vines. The stems wound all round the wood, into the water, and then back up the grasses, crawling up them, expanding outward and upward. Tiny five-petalled flowers, a pale eggplant color with bright yellow stamens, poked out from between the arrowhead leaves.

“Score!” Scootaloo shouted. She dove into the brush, pulling at the leaves until she found what she wanted – clusters of berries, still a pale green this early in the season, but delicious nevertheless. She chomped them down, relishing the acidic, sweet taste as they burst on her tongue.

“Mm!” Apple Bloom was already neck-deep in the shrub herself. She pulled out of the bush, a half-dozen stems trailing from her mouth as she chewed, a blissful, contented expression on her face. “S’good!”

They devoured half the bush in a heady rush, ignoring the stains the berries left on their lips and coats. Several minutes passed in bliss before Scootaloo realized Sweetie Belle hadn’t joined them. She was standing to the side, a sprig held up with her magic just a few inches from her face. There was an intent look on her face, like Twilight Sparkle sometimes got when reading a really thick book.

“Uh, Sweetie?” Apple Bloom wiped her mouth with her foreleg. “You gonna eat that? Cuz if not, I’d—”

“I don’t think these are blueberries,” Sweetie Belle said.

There was a pause.

“Er, yeah they…” Scootaloo gave the plant a longer look. “Really?”

Sweetie Belle shook her head.

“Well…” Apple Bloom turned and spat out a few bits of the berries. “What are they, then?”

“I think it’s nightshade,” Sweetie said. She seemed very calm about the whole thing.

There was another, longer pause.

“Uh…” Did they taste a little different, now that she thought about it? A little bitter, beneath that first sweet bite? A little metallic, like sucking on a nail? She sat down hard, not minding the mudding water soaking her hindquarters. “Aren’t those, you know, bad for you?”

“Poisonous?” Apple Bloom asked. There was a slight green cast to her face.

Sweetie seemed to think about that for a moment. “I think so.”

“But…” Scootaloo stared at the green pulp staining her hooves. “They’re not red!”

“They don’t have to be red to be poisonous.”

“Yeah, apples are red, and they aren’t poisonous!” Apple Bloom voice rose in indignation, but as soon as she finished she winced and curled over, her forelegs held around her abdomen. “Oof, uh, I don’t feel so good.”

Neither did Scootaloo, now. Her tummy rumbled, and she hugged her legs around her belly. “Me too. Are we gonna die?”

“I can’t die!” Apple Bloom wailed. “My sister will kill me!”

“You girls only ate a few. I think you’ll be—”

“Oh Celestia, we are! And I never got my–” Scootaloo paused to check her flank, “–my cutie mark!”

“Me neither!” Apple Bloom stumbled over to wrap her in a hug. “Oh Scoots, I’m sorry!”

Scootaloo buried her face in Apple Bloom’s shoulder. “No, I’m the one who should be sorry! I led us here!”

“Girls, it’s really not—”

“It’s not fair!” Apple Bloom bawled. “I just wanted blueberries!”

“But now we’re going to dieeeeeee!” Scootaloo couldn’t help drawing out the word into a wail.

“You don’t have to die,” something whispered. Its voice filled the fen, slithering between the tall grasses to their ears. Everything else went still – the wind, the buzzing insects, even their hearts froze. They stood stock-still, only their eyes daring to move, darting about the tight confines of the leafy blind.

Scootaloo recovered first. She swallowed and licked her suddenly dry lips. “Who… Is somepony there?”

“Not somepony,” the voice returned. It was quieter now, and they had to strain to hear it. “Down here. By the log.”

Scootaloo twisted in place, pushing Apple Bloom’s legs away. The log was just a few steps from them, still covered in the damaged remains of the nightshade bush they had devoured in their hunger. In the shadows beneath it, covering the dark wet bark, a small shape caught her eye. It was not the brown of rotting wood or the bright green of leaves or the pale, enticing purple of nightshade flowers. It was dark blue and shone like a gem when tiny bits of sunlight fell through the tall grasses to touch it. She licked her lips again and slowly reached out with her hoof, brushing away the concealing vines.

A spider perched on the log, just inches from her snout. A plump, round body the size of her hoof balanced on eight spindly legs that narrowed to needle points. Its carapace was polished, and the sun reflected in it was a bright point that left spots in her eyes. Upon its abdomen rested a pale star, the only break in the featureless perfection of its smooth skin.

“Hello, little ponies.”

“Oh, wow,” Scootaloo whispered. “You can talk?”

“Spiders can’t talk,” Sweetie said, suddenly beside her. Despite her words, her eyes were wide and filled with wonder, and she slowly lifted a hoof toward the spider.

“Magical spiders can.” The spider leaned back, and its two front legs, segmented needles nearly a foot in length, rose up to brush against Sweetie’s hoof. “But that’s not important. What’s important is the berries your friends ate.”

Oh, right, the poisonous nightshade in their bellies. Scootaloo grimaced again, already imagining the berries’ juices seeping into her bloodstream. 

“You can help us?” Apple Bloom asked. She hadn’t approached the spider and still stood behind the others. 

“If you wish.” She could see the spider’s tiny mouthpieces quivering in time with the voice. “I can lead you to the magic spring, which cures all ailments.”

Scootaloo’s tummy gurgled again. “That would be really awesome, miss… uh, what should we call you?”

The spider was silent for a long moment. Its quivering fangs froze, and it rested there, half its weight on the log, the rest pitched forward to lean against Sweetie Belle’s hoof. The silence extended, and Scootaloo began to fear that her words had offended it. She opened her mouth to apologize.

The spider beat her to it. “Spiders do not have names, little pony. You may call me whatever you like.”

“Okay, um…” Scootaloo glanced at her friends, who looked at her blankly. “How about Starry?”

“No, Webby!” Apple Bloom said. She pushed forward, joining the rest of them next to the spider’s log.

“Bitey!” Scootaloo countered.

“Leggy?”

“What about Rarity?” Sweetie said.

There was silence as they stared at her. Even the spider seemed taken aback.

“Really?” Scootaloo said.

“Well… nevermind.”

“Right.” Apple Bloom was slow to turn her attention back to the spider. “Sorry, I guess we’re not very good with names.”

“That’s quite alright. I never needed one before.”

“Well, how about just Missy?” Scootaloo said.

The spider tapped its front legs against the log. Its eyes, eight black gems that caught the sun and sparkled just so, seemed to focus on Scootaloo as it thought.

“Missy. Very well, you may call me Missy.” The spider bobbed and spun in a quick circle, its nimble needle legs flashing in the sunlight as it moved. “I have a name. This is wonderful. Thank you, little ponies.”

“Sure, sure,” Apple Bloom said. “So, about that magic spring…”

“Of course, you wish me to lead you to it? I will be happy to do so, if you can assist me.”

“Oh, it’s like that, huh?” The bitter taste was suddenly back in Scootaloo’s mouth, and she fought to keep the scowl from her face. “What do we have to do?”

“There is a wicked badger who lives in this bog with me,” Missy said. She scuttled along the log until she reached a dark hole and darted inside. When she emerged a moment later, a large white ball, soft as cotton and covered with countless strands of silk, was fixed to the underside of her abdomen. “Every month he comes and destroys my egg sac before it can hatch, and so I have no little spiderlings. I will lead you to the spring, if you take me and my children with you.”

“Oh. Oh!” Scootaloo flushed and tried to ignore the hot well of shame seeping up the back of her neck. “I mean, yeah, of course we’ll help you.”

“Babies?” Sweetie looked intrigued. “Okay!”

Apple Bloom shrugged. “Whatever. As long as we get to that spring.”

“Wonderful, just wonderful.” Missy skittered back toward them, and then seemed to step out into the air. Her body wobbled and she swung upside down, dangling from an invisible line of silk. She crawled up it until she was nearly level with their heads, and she beckoned Scootaloo closer with one leg. “Come closer?”

Scootaloo paused. “You don’t bite, right?”

“Not friends, no.”

“Well, okay.” Scootaloo ducked her head under the spider’s dangling body and shivered as those eight needle points found their way into her mane. Missy wiggled in place and settled between Scootaloo’s ears. “Comfy?”

“Quite. This is fascinating. I did not realize ponies were so soft.”

With Missy as her guide, Scootaloo led them back through the bog. Eventually the tall swaying grasses and soggy mud gave way to sandy soil and short pine shrubs. Countless fallen needles muffled their hoofsteps, and the rotten stench of the swamp gave way to the sharp tang of junipers and evergreens. Far above them a hawk circled, a lone dot in a vast blue sky, its shadow occasionally flitting over their path. The sun was just past noon, Scootaloo guessed.

The hours passed, and they stopped at a small stream to drink and kick the sand out of their hooves. It coated them and turned each of their legs the same dull dun.

“Hey, how far away is this spring, anyway?” Apple Bloom asked.

“Oh, very far, little pony. If it were near, it wouldn’t be magical.”

That made sense, Scootaloo decided. Nothing in Ponyville was magical – it was just a plain, boring village where nothing exciting ever happened. She snorted and kicked at a clump of sandy grass.

“Are you okay, Scootaloo?” Sweetie Belle asked. There was barely any white left in her coat after their day’s adventure – only patches of her coat showed through the melange of sandy tan and barky brown and swampy green. The mess didn’t seem to bother her, which was odd when Scootaloo considered Sweetie’s sister.

“Yeah, just...” She glanced over to see Apple Bloom splashing in the stream, apparently content to ignore them for the moment. “Don’t you wish there was more magic in life, sometimes?”

“Like, more unicorns?”

“No, more… I dunno.” She scowled and kicked the clump of grass again. Between the stalks and the grains of sand, something pale and smooth, like the inside of a seashell, caught her eye. She blinked and leaned forward, sticking her muzzle into the blades for a closer look.

A milky eye stared up at her. She jerked back and sucked in a quick breath, nearly dislodging Missy from her head.

“Oh ho, a snakeskin,” The spider said. She dug her spindly legs back into Scootaloo’s mane and brushed her fangs against Scootaloo’s ears. “You should take it. It may come in handy.”

“But…” Scootaloo bit her lip and leaned forward. The snakeskin wound all through the grasses, pierced in places by them, filled with sand in the tiny shallows of its scales. It was not a large skin – only a few feet long if she were to stretch it out. A garter snake, perhaps, or a young rat snake.

“Take what now?” Apple Bloom asked. She tromped up beside them and peered down into the grass and then jerked back, just as Scootaloo had. “That thing?”

Sweetie Belle tapped the skin with her hoof and scrunched her face in concentration. A flickering light surrounded her horn, and slowly, fitfully, the snakeskin lifted out of the grasses. A quiet rain of sand trickled down as she shook it clean, and it hovered between the three of them like a fish swimming through the air.

“Well, okay,” Scootaloo said. “Sweetie, you got it?”

“Uh huh!” Sweetie floated the husk behind her head and draped it over her shoulders like a shawl. “Neat!”


* * *


They continued, and the hours turned into days. The soil beneath their hooves grew drier, the pine shrubs shorter, and the air hotter. The sweat dried on their coats, forming a white crust beneath their eyes and along their barrels like lichen growing on a boulder. The flat earth began to buckle and then to swell into huge sandy dunes, frozen waves that rolled on and on away from them into the distance. At night the temperature plummeted, and they huddled together beneath Scootaloo’s wings, their teeth chattering as they named the stars and constellations, and when the sun rose they were already on their hooves, trudging through the sand, always following Missy’s directions.

The dunes grew, and when they stopped atop one Scootaloo peered back. Their hooves left a trail winding through the valleys and hills, growing smaller and smaller with distance until they vanished on the edge of the horizon. Far beyond, nothing more than a smudge in the hazy air, she saw what might be the shadow of a forest haunting the edge of the world.

“Hey, uh, how much farther is it, Missy?” Apple Bloom asked. It was the first words any of them had spoken in hours.

“Not much further, I think. Just to the edge of the desert.”

“But aren’t we past that?” Sweetie asked.

“The far edge, dear.”

“Alright, come on.” Scootaloo turned to look ahead. Faintly, at the edge of her vision, tall shapes like chimneys seemed to float above the shimmering air. She squinted at them, and peered up as a shadow suddenly darted overhead. A hawk circled far above them, a black grain of sand nearly lost in the blue. She stared at it for a few seconds, then lowered her head and stepped over the lip of the dune. Together they slid down the steep side, squealing with a moment of joy.


* * *


In time the loose sands gave way to hard-packed dirt and rugged arroyos. They trudged up and down short-walled canyons filled with boulders and the ghosts of streams. Towering columns of basalt dotted the badlands like the pillars of some monstrous cathedral, and the starry vault of the night sky was their ceiling.

Still they wandered, following Missy’s gentle proddings, eager for the magical spring to quench their thirst and and cure them of the poisonous nightshade still in their bellies. At least, Scootaloo assumed it was still in their bellies. They weren’t dead yet, but maybe it was a slow-acting poison. She pondered that for a few hours as the sun beat down on their backs. Beside her, Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom were likewise silent, lost in their own thoughts. Only the occasional flitting shadow of a hawk high overhead kept them company. 

Scootaloo was so lost in thought that she nearly stepped over the edge of the world. She stumbled to her knees with a yelp, her wings buzzing to pull her back from a cliff that dropped thousands of feet. The canyon before them was huge beyond comprehension – the far side was lost in the distance. Clouds floated by below them, casting drifting shadows on a rich green valley through which a sparkling river flowed.

“Whoa,” Apple Bloom exhaled. She stood on the edge and gawked down at the abyss. “Is that… is the pool down there?”

“It is, little pony. We are almost there.”

“Great!” Sweetie Belle chirped. “But how are we getting down?”

“There is a ferryman, so to speak.” Missy lifted a leg and pointed to their left. “Walk along the edge until you find him.”

“Alright. Come on, girls!” Scootaloo took off at a gallop, ignoring the quiet squeal as Missy bounced along in her mane. The lip of the canyon was like a knife’s edge just feet away, and her wings buzzed as she leapt over shallow draws and defiles that eroded the stones beneath her hooves. Behind her, she heard the rapid crack of hooves on rock as Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom raced to keep up.

“I said walk! Walk along the edge!”

“But this is faster! Woo!” Scootaloo leapt over a particularly large cut in the cliff’s edge, her wings outstretched to carry her the extra distance.

“But you’re going to miss him, little pony! Stop!”

Scootaloo skidded to a stop. Her chest heaved and her lungs burned, but she ignored the discomfort. Indeed, there was nothing special about the cliff here. Just broken stones, a few cacti and a lone spindly tree growing perilously near the edge. “What? I don’t see nothing.” 

“There, by the edge. Be careful, please, for both our sakes’.”

Scootaloo frowned at Missy’s tone. There was a quaver in the quiet hiss she whispered in Scootaloo’s ear. She sounded worried. Afraid. 

Her pause gave Apple Bloom and Sweetie time to catch up. They stumbled to a stop beside her, scowls on their faces. Apple Bloom barely looked winded – Sweetie was bent double, her breath wheezing in her throat.

“Did ya have to run?” Apple Bloom asked.

“Let’s… let’s just… wait a minute,” Sweetie managed to say after a few false starts.

“Yeah. Now, hush, Missy says this is it.” Scootaloo walked toward the edge, stopping when she reached the line of cacti growing along it. They were huge things, swollen in a thousand different forms: she saw spiny ball cacti and a fluted cactus trunk rising high above her like a tree. Cactusy vines wound around them and spilled over the edge beyond her sight. In the center of the mass, stubbornly clinging to the edge of the cliff, a gnarled locust tree leaned over the precipice. Half its branches were bare and dead, the rest sprouted thousands of tiny yellow-green leaves that fluttered in the faint breeze.

“What, this?” Apple Bloom asked. She gave the nearest cactus, a squat bowl-shaped mass of thorns spotted with bright red flowers, a careful nudge with her hoof.

It nudged her back. The three fillies squeaked and jumped away, eyes wide as the mass of plants moved. The countless spines twisted like grass in the wind, their hard, serrated edges rasping against each other and setting the fillies’ hair standing on end. The ground before them rumbled and broke, and the locust tree lurched away from the edge of the cliff. Its roots tore free from the rocky soil, and the tree crawled toward them with a lurching, ponderous gait. Its trunk, Scootaloo now saw, was wreathed in wicked thorns, some as long as her leg, all bristling with smaller thorns which themselves sprouted even smaller thorns. In places they bent back toward the trunk or branches, puncturing the smooth bark and drawing out weeping runnels of sap.

They stared up, gawking, as it spoke. “What brings you here, little ponies? Why do you disturb me?”

Missy ran the needle tip of her leg up the edge of Scootaloo’s ear. “I cannot speak to trees. You must ask him for passage below.”

“We, uh…” Scootaloo stared up at the tree, her mouth hanging open. “What?”

Sweetie stepped forward, though she kept a careful distance from those vicious spines. “Hello, Mister Locust Tree. We’re sorry to disturb you, but we need to go down into that canyon. Can you help us?”

“You have come a long way. I have watched you for days, ever since you left the pine barrens.” The ancient tree twisted its crown, and though it had no front or back that Scootaloo could see, it seemed to be gazing into the distance behind them. “What draws you here?”

“We ate some bad berries,” Apple Bloom said. She rubbed her belly for emphasis.

Scootaloo took a step closer, so close the long thorns brushed against the ruff of fur on her chest. “There’s a magic pool in the canyon, Mister Tree. It will cure us if we drink it.”

The tree shook, and Scootaloo suspected it was laughing at them. A shadow darted overhead, and the branches quaked again as a hawk landed in them. It stared down with its round, red eyes. 

“You walked all these leagues for a magic pool? Is there no magic back in your village?”

“In Ponyville?” Scootaloo snorted. “There’s no magic in Ponyville. It’s boring!”

“Its filled with chores!” Apple Bloom said.

“And sisters!” Sweetie Belle made a face.

“And grown-ups! They’re all so… grown-up!” Scootaloo said. She scowled and kicked a stone, sending it tumbling off the edge of the cliff. It vanished without a sound.

“I see.” The tree shivered again. “Well, I will be happy to convey you to the bottom of the canyon. If you will do one, simple thing for me.”

Scootaloo leaned back. “Okay. What?”

The tree swelled. Its trunk expanded, as though it were taking a deep breath, and the bristling thorns belted to its trunk seemed to reach toward them. “I am a honey locust, and I am cursed with these thorns. My only friends are these cacti, and they cannot love me, for they are cacti, and they are as cursed as me. For centuries I have brooded over this cliff, little ponies, and all I have ever wanted was a hug. If you will hug me, I will carry you down.”

“Ooh, um…” Scootaloo leaned away from the thorns. “That’s, uh… Is there anything else you want?”

“No. Just a hug.”

“You can’t hug trees!” Sweetie Belle said.

“Sure you can,” Apple Bloom said. “My sister does all the time.”

Silence. All eyes turned toward Apple Bloom. She ducked her head and scuffed her hoof on the dirt.

“Applejack says it makes the apples bigger,” she mumbled.

“Right. So, you wanna…” Scootaloo waved at the locust tree.

Apple Bloom touched the tip of her hoof against one of the thorns. She jerked it back with a yelp and stuck it in her mouth. After a moment she shook her head. “Nope.”

“Ugh. Sweetie?” Scootaloo asked. The unicorn just shook her head. 

Think! Scootaloo pounded her head with her hoof, nearly dislodging Missy in the process. She gave the thorns another long stare. They seemed longer than before, long enough to pierce her whole body. Perhaps she could squeeze between them, and give the tree a pat on its trunk? She edged closer and tried to slide her hoof between the countless points, but only made it a few inches before she felt the first pricks against her leg. She groaned and pulled back before they could break her skin.

“Maybe there’s another way?” Apple Bloom said. She rubbed her belly with a hoof and grimaced. “But, uh, we should probably hurry.”

Scootaloo’s tummy rumbled, and she imagined the berries still in it, seeping their poison into her veins. “Right. Right. Okay, think girls. What can we…” She trailed off as her eyes fell on Sweetie Belle.

The unicorn fidgeted. “What?”

“Do you still have the snakeskin?”

“Uh huh. I tied it in my mane.” Sweetie’s horn glowed, and the snakeskin unwound itself out of her mane, sending the hair falling in loose waves over her withers. “What about it?”

Scootaloo spun back to the tree. “Mister Locust, would you accept a hug from a snake?”

The locust’s leaves rustled quietly. The hawk perched among them tilted its head at the snakeskin, as if pondering its value as a meal. After a moment it turned its attention to its wings, running its beak through the feathers to preen them.

“I suppose that would be acceptable,” the tree said.

“Yes!” Scootaloo snatched the floating snakeskin in her teeth, ignoring the stale taste of dry parchment it left in her mouth, and wrapped it around the trunk. She stepped over barrel cacti and between palm-like lances to fully encircle the tree. The long thorns punctured the skin, holding it fast, so that even the whipping wind barely disturbed it.

Scootaloo stepped back and examined her work. The snakeskin was long enough to wrap fully around the tree, with the split tail reaching just past the empty mouth. If she squinted, she could imagine it was a real snake giving the tree a hug. 

That was silly, of course. She shook her head and looked back up at the locust’s swaying branches. “How’s that feel?”

“It is…” The branches shivered like a sigh. “It is wonderful. Oh, I never imagined a hug could feel so good. Thank you, little ponies.”

“Er, you’re welcome,” Scootaloo said. “You can, you know, keep it, too.”

“You are so kind. Please, climb in my branches, and I will take you down the cliff.” So saying, the tree bent its crown toward them, until the lowest branches brushed against the dry soil. Thousands of soft leaves, no larger than flower petals, teased her muzzle.

Scootaloo reached into the foliage, pushing it away to find the thicker branches that could support their weight. There were thorns among them, but they were green and soft, and they bent as she pressed her way forward. The hawk, just a few feet away, squawked at her and mantled its wings. She shushed it and settled on the branch, close enough that her flank brushed against its feathers. The other fillies followed her, but kept their distance from the hawk.

“This is safe, right?” Apple Bloom asked.

“You’re not going to drop us?” Sweetie Belle said.

“Of course not. But you should hold on tight.”

“Why?” Scootaloo shifted her weight as the tree rose back to its full height. “How exactly are we getting—whoa, whoa! Wait!”

The locust tree didn’t heed her cries, which were quickly joined by the other two fillies. Missy dug her legs into Scootaloo’s scalp as the tree lurched toward the edge, and with barely a pause it tilted over the precipice. Its roots churned the soil and sent a shower of rocks tumbling down the cliff, and step by step it began to descend the sheer rock wall. 

The trip took less than an hour, though it felt far, far longer to Scootaloo. She stopped screaming after the first few minutes, saving her energy instead for gripping the branches and flailing her wings in a desperate attempt to stay within them. Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom, who had no such advantage, made do by clutching each other and praying to Celestia for most of the trip. The hawk simply glared at them.

By the time they reached the bottom the sun was well past noon, and they stumbled out of the branches in a daze. Even Missy seemed exhausted, and spiders were not known for their fear of heights – at least, Scootaloo was fairly sure they weren’t.

“There, little ponies,” the locust said. “I have brought you down the canyon as you asked. Thank you again for this wonderful gift, and I hope you find the magic pool before the poison berries overcome you.”

“Er, yeah.” Scootaloo said. “Thanks, um… thanks.”

“You are more than welcome! Farewell, little ponies!” With that the tree turned and began its ponderous ascent of the cliff, its thick roots burrowing into the stone and dragging it slowly up the heights. The hawk nestled in its branches flapped and took to the air, circling above them once more.

Sweetie Belle groaned. “Are we done? Is it gone?”

“More important, are we near the pool?” Apple Bloom pushed herself up into a seated position and peered around the canyon floor. 

“We are very close, little ponies,” Missy said. “There is a garden in the center of the valley. The pool is there.”

“Okay, cool.” Scootaloo peered toward the far edge of the canyon. It was miles away, but down the sloping valley floor a patch of bright green beckoned them. She could faintly smell the faint tang of young leaves and cold water. “Come on, girls. We’re almost there.”

Together they trudged toward the oasis. It was downhill, and the dirt was soft beneath their hooves. The miles passed quickly, and soon they pushed their way through a grove of young ferns and palms, all surrounding a deep pool in the bend of the valley’s central river. It was a brilliant blue, bluer even than the sky above, and so cold a misty haze hung over the water’s surface.

Scootaloo stopped at the rocky bank. She felt like this was a time for a speech. That she, as the leader who had brought them all these leagues, should thank Sweetie and Apple Bloom for their efforts and congratulate them for making it this far. And if she weren’t hot and dirty and exhausted, she might have; Instead, she lowered her muzzle to the still waters and took a long drink. It was cool and delicious, and she drank until her belly sloshed and she had to sit back on her haunches.

“Ooh, that’s good stuff,” she mumbled. On either side, the other fillies were quiet, taking drinks of their own.

“Do you feel cured of the poison nightshade?” Missy asked.

“Umm…” Scootaloo rubbed her belly. It felt the same as before – maybe a bit fuller, now – but it didn’t hurt. “Maybe? I don’t feel poisoned.”

“Me either!” Apple Bloom said.

“Good. And I think this will be the perfect spot for my spiderlings to hatch.” Missy crawled down Scootaloo’s muzzle, secured a line of silk to her nose, and lowered herself to the ground. She felt at the air with her legs, then skittered over to a nearby fallen log with her egg sac. “Thank you again, little ponies.”

“It was our pleasure, Missy. Will you be okay here?” Sweetie Belle asked. The water had washed the dirt from her muzzle, and now it was the only white part of her entire coat.

“I believe so. You have been so helpful, and for all your efforts I would like to offer you a final gift.”

Scootaloo’s ears perked up. “A gift?”

“Yes. I have a little magic left in me, and I would like to use it to grant you your cutie marks. Specifically, spider-helping cutie marks, for helping a little spider like me find a new home.”

There was a silence. The girls exchanged a look.

Apple Bloom spoke first. “Uh, that sounds really wonderful, Missy. But what would it look like?”

“I am not sure. I have never given a pony a cutie mark before. Like a spider, I imagine.”

“That, um, that sounds wonderful, and all,” Sweetie Belle said.

“But, you know, we really are supposed to find our cutie marks ourselves. That’s what Twilight says. And she’s a princess!” Scootaloo said.

“You are certain?”

Scootaloo peered back at her flank. It was smeared with dirt and grass and even a bit of blood, but beneath it her coat was still as featureless as before. As featureless as she feared it would always be. She sighed.

“Yeah, we’re sure. Thanks, though.”

“You are quite welcome. Will you three be able to get home by yourselves?”

“I think so.” Scootaloo peered past the pond. On the far side, she saw the road leading out of Whitetail Woods. Ponyville was just around the corner. “I guess this is goodbye.”

Silence answered her. She lowered her head and peered into the brush where Missy had vanished, but only shadows lurked there. 

“Well, that was fun,” Apple Bloom said. “Let’s not eat strange berries anymore, though.”

Sweetie Belle peered up at the sky. The sun was several hours past noon, and the heat of the day was just starting to wear them down. “We should probably head back. I bet Rarity will let us use her shower.”

Scootaloo sighed. “Well, girls. Sorry we didn’t find any magic.”

“It’s okay.” Apple Bloom rubbed her shoulder. “There’s always tomorrow.”

“I guess.” Scootaloo looked back at the pool. It was smaller now, small enough to hop over. “Alright, Sweetie Belle. Lead the way.”

And so they walked back to Ponyville.

> Rainbow Dash's Day
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rainbow Dash was engaged in her favorite pastime when Applejack and Rarity finally found her.

She was atop a cloud, limbs akimbo, stretched out in a position that would have been considered risque if anypony could see her, but she was on a cloud, and nopony could see her, so she could sleep however she wanted. Ha.

The summer sun was warm on her belly. The cloud was soft beneath her back. Wonderbolts filled her dreams – Wonderbolt stallions, to be specific – and she was having a wonderful day.

“Rainbow Dash! Rainbow Dash I know you’re up there!” Applejack’s voice drifted up from below.

Dash ignored it. She was good at that.

“Consarn it, Dash! Wake up!”

So it went for a while. She might have been able to ignore it for the rest of the day, had not Rarity’s voice joined Applejack’s.

“Rainbow Dash!” she shrieked, as only Rarity could. “Wake up right this instant!”

Ugh! Fine. Dash rolled to the edge of the cloud and glowered down. “What?”

“Have you seen our sisters?” Applejack yelled up at her. “I need to talk with them. Now.”

“I told you, she’s not my sister!” Dash shouted back.

“You know what I mean!”

“Regardless, where are they?” Rarity said. “I told Sweetie to go and play, not become a property-destroying ruffian.”

“Look, you two, I’m very busy today,” Dash said. “Can’t this wait?”

“Busy?” Applejack had the gall to look shocked. “Busy doing what? Napping? Today is supposed to be partly cloudy, but you’re sleeping on the only cloud in the sky!”

That was unfair. Dash scowled at them. “The forecast calls for variable weather!”

“Variable, or lazy weather?”

“What are you, the weather police?”

“No, but I can call them! You want that, Dash?”

Ugh, no, she didn’t. The weather police were harder to deal with than Rarity after a bad date. “Oh, for the love of… No, don’t call them. I’ll get some clouds. Just, you know, give me a minute.”

“And our sisters?” Rarity asked.

“Eh, I’m sure they’re fine. They couldn’t have gone far.” Before the two could respond, Rainbow Dash was in the air, zooming away to find a quieter cloud to finish her nap.