With Appleoosa on the table, Braeburn and the townsfolk have to figure out how to pay back the investors who lent them the money to build their dream!
Appleoosa was created by the sweat of earth pony brows, stubbornness and more than a few bits. Now that Braeburn’s seen his dream come true, the investors have sent a pony representing their interests.
Turns out, Appleoosa ain’t the money maker they were looking for and they've come to Braeburn with an ultimatum: pay back their investment or lose the town he helped work so hard to build.
The aches and pains of a day’s job well done thrummed pleasantly through Braeburn’s body, and a satisfied hint of a smile played across his face. From the large hill overlooking the orchard, he could see the last few farmponies leaving for their homes.
Appleoosa’s apple orchard never failed to impress him with its stubborn determination to take root in the middle of a desert. The trees stood tall against the dust and wind, just like the hard headed ponies who tended the fruit.
Rays of orange light speared the purple sky and the faintest wisps of clouds hung across the edges of the horizon. Huge peaks far in the distance held the last remnants of a storm that had been a gift from the few kind-hearted pegasi who had arrived in the town with the earth ponies who built it.
“Well, g’night, Appleloosa.” Braeburn tipped his hat and smiled.
Just before he turned away to head home, something odd caught his eye.
Along the path that ran through the center of the apple orchard were two balls of light, bobbing to and fro toward the town. They looked like a reflection of each other, neither moving away from the other. They continued down the old dirt road in perfect tandem.
Braeburn squinted. Now what in Equestria...
Over the whispering wind through the apple leaves, creaking came to his ears. It was almost like...
“Wagon wheels?” Braeburn muttered to himself.
A moment later, he caught sight of the object through a gap in the trees. The silhouette of a pony appeared in front of a carriage, and the two lights he’d seen were lanterns clattering against the back of the vehicle. Unfortunately, it was too dark to make out any other details.
Braeburn reached up to take off his hat and scratch his mane. Who could be coming to Appleoosa so late in the evening?
The carriage disappeared back behind the trees, but he could still hear it clattering as it ran over the ruts in the old road. The bouncing lights continued to peek through the gaps like a couple of mischievous will-o'-the-wisps.
Braeburn clapped the hat back on his head and turned to the trail that would lead him to the town. If he hurried, he could make it just before the carriage arrived.
And then find out who our visitor is, he thought as he picked up speed. Granny Smith always said good news left with the dusk.
Braeburn hoped she was wrong, just this once.
*****
The carriage was just reaching the outskirts of the town when Braeburn trotted up to the general store at the end of the street. Light filtered out of the windows, interrupted only by his shadow, and spilled across the road.
Panting a bit from his run, Braeburn stared into the night and attempted to arrange his sweat-matted mane into something halfway presentable. His hat covered most of it, but the rest of his orange locks were sticking out like he’d just rolled out of bed.
Thankfully, he managed to tame his unruly curls before the carriage slowed to a stop in front of the general store.
It was a small buggy, built for one pony, if he were any judge. Dust coated the outside like a second skin and the small window built into the side of the door was covered in grime. The glow of a lantern on the inside was the only reason Braeburn even knew the carriage had a window.
The earth pony drawing the carriage hadn’t fared much better. Goggles protected his eyes and he wore a cap, but he was otherwise covered head to hoof in that same grime.
“Evenin’, sir,” the huge draft pony said in a deep baritone.
Braeburn put on his best welcoming smile. “Welcome to Appleoosa, stranger. Mighty interesting time to pull into town.”
Before the other pony could reply, the carriage door opened with a clatter and its occupant spilled out onto the ground. Dust puffed up from the road, causing the pony to cough and wave a stubby foreleg to clear the air.
He was a short unicorn with a balding head and a crisp, pinstriped suit. A coat as yellow as butter stuck out against the dark road and what little mane he had was an alternation of red and white. He also had a thin mustache that curved upward on the end of his snout like a couple of candy-canes.
“Confounded carriage!” The new pony stood back up and dusted himself off. His beady eyes surveyed the scene around him before settling on Braeburn. “You there, kid. You from around here?”
Braeburn glanced to the draft pony before returning his gaze to the unicorn addressing him. “Well, ye—”
“Good!” he declared and reached into a pocket to pull out a stubby cigar. “You know where Sherriff, ah, Silverstar’s located?”
Braeburn nodded and opened his mouth to reply.
“Finally, somepony reliable.” The unicorn put in before he could speak and walked up to pat him on the back. “Name’s Flimity Flim Flam, kid. Need to speak to your sherriff, pronto. Don’t suppose you all have a mayor yet, huh?”
“No, sir, we—”
Flimity nodded as if he expected the answer. “That’s alright, that’s alright. Just need to speak to somepony in charge. That is Sheriff Silverstar, correct?”
“Well, yes, and—”
“Well, what’re you waiting for, kid, take me to him!” Flimity exclaimed with an excited wave of his hoof.
The draft pony coughed.
“Oh, right, your payment,” Flimity said around his cigar, his eyes squinting with displeasure. He fished a wallet out of his suit and handed over some bits. “Here. And you wait until I come back before leaving, you hear me?”
Braeburn fought to keep a grimace from replacing his smile. He had a sinking feeling he knew who the pony was and why he was here.
*****
“Silverstar!” Flimity yelled as he burst through the door. “Where are ya?”
“What in Tartarus' tarnation!” the sheriff exclaimed, toppling backward.
Flimity caught Silverstar in a grasp of magic and deposited him back in his chair. “Careful, Sheriff, wouldn't want to take a tumble at your age.”
Sheriff Silverstar blinked at the two ponies in his office. “Who are you? Braeburn, what’s going on here?”
Braeburn gave the sheriff an awkward smile. “I’m sorry, Sheriff, he just—”
The unicorn stuck out his hoof to the sheriff. “Name’s Flimity Flim Flam, Silverstar, representative for a few interested parties in the town. Here to speak to you about a few things.”
The sheriff paled. “I-interested parties?”
Flimity grinned around his cigar and sat down in the cushioned chair in front of the sheriff's desk. “That’s right, Silverstar. May I call you Silver?”
“Whatever you like, Mr. Flam!” Silverstar nervously stroked his bushy mustache.
“Call me Flimity, please!” Flimity chewed on his cigar and waved at Braeburn. “You can go, kid. Ask my driver for a bit as thanks.”
Braeburn felt his face heat up. “Now wait just an apple-buckin’ minute here. What’s going on, Sheriff?”
Now it was Silverstar’s turn to offer an awkward smile. “Mr. Flam, sir, Braeburn’s actually a pretty good representative for the ponyfolk and... well, frankly, I trust him, especially since he solved our dispute with the Buffalo. I’d like him to stay.”
Flimity gave Braeburn another once-over and grunted. “Fine, fine, stay if you want, kid.”
Braeburn frowned and walked up beside Silverstar’s desk, unsure if he should glare at Flimity or just take the abuse. After a moment’s thought, he opted for the latter. Granny Smith always said to treat others with respect, especially if they didn't do the same.
“Now, Silver, let’s talk business,” Flimity said with a glint in his eye. “The investors back in Manehatten aren’t happy with the trickle of money coming from your little town here. And when investors get unhappy, they start clamping down on their stock.”
“Well, I won’t deny we haven’t been exactly prosperous with trade out here,” Silverstar started, “but we’re still only a year old, Mr. Flam. We’re just now sending out our apples to the closest cities. They’re some of the best fruits I’ve ever eaten, courtesy of the local Apple family.”
Flimity leaned back and moved his cigar to the other side of his mouth. “Look, Silver, I get you, believe me. I don’t want to run you ponies out. You’re good, upstanding folk. But the investors don’t see ponies, they just look at bits. And Appleoosa just ain’t pulling in the bits.” He paused to pull out his cigar. “I’ll give it to you straight: they want their money back and they’re thinking about scrapping this whole operation to invest in another project up in the new Crystal Empire. Lots of business opportunities up there.”
Braeburn could barely believe what he was hearing. “What? Since when do we owe money to anypony? We built this town up all by ourselves, with our own hooves. Good, ol'-fashioned earth pony know-how. Why—”
He felt a hoof touch his shoulder and he looked down to see Silverstar shaking his head.
“That isn’t exactly right, son. I should’ve told you this earlier, but, well... I thought we’d be seeing more bits coming through than we have. Never in a million years would I've thought we’d barely be breaking even.” Silverstar frowned and looked away. “We had to pull out a loan from some investors in Manehatten to get all the materials for the town. And then with the damage the Buffalo caused before we made up... well...”
“You’re in debt, boys,” Flimity finished and returned to chewing on his cigar. “But they’re still willing to give you a chance. Like I said, I like you ponies, making your own way out here on the frontier. So I put in a good word and they’ve agreed to let you pay off the debt all at once. They’ve offered a month to scrape it together. After that, time’s up."
Braeburn was taken aback. “You... you put in a good word for us?”
Flimity slapped Silverstar’s desk. “Course I did! I see potential in this town, same as I did before. You ponies just need a little motivation. And if I’m wrong, well, I’ll be complimented for my charity. It’s a win-win situation, you understand.”
Heat returned to Braeburn’s cheeks. “Oh, I understand alright.”
Without waiting for reply, Braeburn left the sheriff’s office before he said anything he'd regret.
The night outside was freezing, and it felt like something just as cold was clutching at his heart. His hooves thumped against the dusty ground in a blur of sound and motion. Braeburn didn’t know where he was going, other than away.
*****
Eventually, the flame of anger died away and exhaustion replaced it. His body felt numb, but whether it was from the cold or the fact that he might lose the town he’d worked so hard to build, Braeburn couldn’t tell. He finally came to a stop and sat with sagging shoulders.
He stared at the grass underneath him, his vision blurred from held-back tears. Crying wasn’t an option, not for him. He fought against the urge to let the tears fall, his teeth grinding together from the effort.
I’ve faced tougher trials than this and everything turned out okay in the end.
The thought took root for a moment before being whisked away by a flurry of questions. It seemed an impossible task. How would he be able to earn the money to pay them back? Why hadn’t Silverstar told him about the loan? Hadn’t he earned the other pony’s trust?
What was he going to do now?
Shaking his head to clear away the questions, Braeburn looked around for the first time.
Trees surrounded him, silent and watchful. Their leaves were still for once, for the wind had died down sometime in the last hour. Unripe apples were sprinkled all around the branches.
Braeburn closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. The crisp scent of the fruit filled his nose and he let the breath go with reluctance. His mind was starting to clear, surrounded as he was by the gently creaking trees. He always felt better out in the orchard, just like all Apples did. It was like the trees could sense his mood.
A rustle of grass shook him out of his trance and he snapped his head toward its source, the image of a coyote in his mind.
Instead, he found a friend.
Braeburn sighed and willed his heart to stop beating so wildly. “Howdy, Little Strongheart. You’re up late.”
The buffalo calf offered a soft chuckle and sat down beside him. “The same could be said of you, Braeburn Apple.” When he didn’t respond, she continued, “Does something trouble you, my friend?”
“You could say that,” he replied. “I’ve just been told something I don’t want to hear.”
“Ah,” Little Strongheart said thoughtfully. She rearranged herself with another rustle of grass.
Braeburn looked over at the calf to see her staring patiently ahead, a slight smile lighting her lips and stars reflecting in her eyes. She looked peaceful, at ease with the world, so unlike the rowdy calf he'd first met. He wished he shared her demeanor.
“Appleoosa’s in trouble,” he said finally, really feeling the weight of the words. “The investors who lent us the bits to build it want their money back and we don’t have enough. And I... don’t know what to do about it.”
Little Strongheart nodded.
Braeburn took off his hat and scratched his mane. “Just ain't fair. We built this town all by ourselves, planted these seeds and took care of the orchard. We even found a way to solve the dispute between our two cultures. But this... this is different. I can’t see what I’m supposed to do.” He looked down again. “What can I do?”
“Would you like me to speak to my father about these investors? I’m sure he would fight for those who offer him such delights on our stomping trail.” There was something in her tone that seemed almost teasing.
Braeburn caught a smirk curving across his face at the thought of the buffalo going to Manehatten. That would certainly be interesting.
“No, thank you.” He felt his smile fall, despite his lightened mood. “I don’t think violence or intimidation’s the way to go about all this. Besides, even if I didn't know about it, I agreed to build Appleoosa with my family and friends. I agreed to take the lumber and nails without really thinking about where it came from. That might’ve been my mistake, but Apples always keep their end of the bargain.”
Little Strongheart turned toward him and her mouth quirked into a smile. “Then you will find your way, Braeburn.”
Braeburn put his hat back on. “I hope so, Little Strongheart. Thanks for the talk.”
“I’ll always be around if you need me,” she replied with a wink. “We’re friends, after all. Just let me know if you need any help from the tribe.”
“Yes ma’am. I might just do that.”
With a tip of his hat, Braeburn turned back to Appleoosa. The town was as dark as the night around it, but the sight of it still made him happy. It was his home, just like the orchards he stood in.
“...which is why we need to band together to stop this.” Braeburn glanced out over the townsfolk of Appleoosa from behind his podium. “We stuck together to create this town with nothing but a dream in our hearts and the stubbornness to do something with it. We protected Appleoosa from the Buffalo and even worked together with them for the benefit of all us. I’m confident we can do something about this, as well.”
A few ponies seemed shocked by the news, their heads drooping to the ground. Others seemed angry, a rumble of discontent bubbling underneath their western decorum. None of them seemed roused by his speech. Above, the sun shone down on the crowd without even a breath of wind to cool the ponies off.
“Does anypony have any questions before we end the meeting?” Braeburn grimaced against the heat and disappointment hanging heavily in the air.
“I’ve got one!” the Salt Block’s proprietor, Morton Saltworthy, declared. He wore a disdainful expression behind his monocle. “What’re we going to do to get this money? We barely make enough to keep our town afloat!”
Breburn raised a hoof. “Now that there’s a good point. We don’t have enough bits to pay these fine folk back their investment. So I’d sure welcome any ideas on how to—”
“How come we weren’t never told about these investors?” another Appleoosan wondered.
“Well, I’m sure Sheriff Silverstar had his reasons...” Braeburn began, his eyes shifting from the crowd to the podium and back again.
“Silverstar made a deal without all our consent?” a large, tan stallion asked and stomped his hooves. “Who told him he could do that?”
“A pony like that’s our sheriff, too. No wonder he got us in a fight with the buffalo!”
“I say maybe we should just ignore these investors. What can they do? This is our home!”
“Yeah!”
Braeburn gulped and clapped his hoof against the podium. “Alright, alright, everypony, I know you’re all angry, but violence ain’t the answer. Twasn't when we fought the buffalo. Won’t be now.” A flash of orange and yellow caught his attention, so he took a deep breath to clear his head. “Now we’re all a little fired up, so how’s about we go home and cool down? We should make our decision all rational-like.”
“Braeburn’s right,” a pegasus said from the back. “Ain’t nopony ever made a good decision with anger on the brain.”
The crowd shuffled at that, and the mumbling receded. The tension that had been clouding the air began to evaporate.
He took the moment to clear his throat. “Meetin’s adjourned ‘til later, everypony. I just thought y’all should know what’s going on.”
“You’ve always done right by us, Braeburn,” one of the mares said. “We’ll have a cold drink and think on it. Right now, though, those apples won’t buck themselves.”
A chorus of agreement rustled through the crowd. Braeburn was relieved to see more thoughtful faces than disgruntled ones as the ponies disbanded. The Salt Block’s owner was one of the few who still seemed angry; thankfully though, even he trotted away, back to his saloon.
Braeburn let out a breath and swiped a hoof across his forehead. "Crises averted, for now."
“Mighty big problem y’all seem to have, Braeburn," a familiar mare's voice pointed out.
Braeburn smiled despite himself. “Tain't nothing we Appleoosans can’t handle, cousin AJ.” He turned toward the speaker and saw two other ponies beside her. His smile grew wider. “Well, if it ain’t Applebloom and Babs, too! I haven’t seen you two since the reunion!”
“Wasn’t that long ago,” Babs said with a raised brow.
Chuckling, Braeburn gave her a wink. “Even a minute is a long time when you haven’t seen family!”
The two fillies smiled and trotted over to give him a hug.
“Now what’re you three doing in Appleoosa?” He looked up at Applejack and grinned. “Not that I’m complaining.”
Applejack furrowed her brows. “Y’all said you’d watch these two for a week, back during the reunion. We talked about it through the mail.”
Braeburn tapped his hoof against his head. “Well shoot, I plum forgot all about it! We’ve been having our share of problems around these parts and I just...”
“What kind of problems? Anything we can do to help?” Applebloom asked with a frown.
Babs glanced around and squinted in the harsh light. “Somethin’ tells me yous ponies need all the help ya can get.”
“That’s true enough,” Braeburn replied, taking off his hat and clutching it to his chest. “Turns out the whole town’s in debt. We need to scrape together enough bits to pay back that debt, or we lose everything.”
Applejack’s eyes widened. “Pay ‘em back? Now why in Equestria would you need to pay anypony back? I thought y’all built Appleoosa on your own.”
“That’s what I thought, too! But, well...” Braeburn relayed what he’d learned.
“Hmm,” Applejack mused after a moment. “Well, I sympathize with your problem, but a debt’s a debt.”
Applebloom nodded, her giant bow shaking like a leaf. “And Granny Smith always says if you pay as you go, you never owe.”
“That there’s the problem.” Braeburn sighed and scratched his mane. “I’d appreciate any help you can give, cousin, because right now I can’t think up any way to save the town.”
“I can’t stay, Braeburn.” Applejack looked away with a frown. “Me and Big Mac’ve got our hooves full with the newest crop. S’why we couldn’t watch Babs and Applebloom this week.”
“I don’t need any watching!” Applebloom objected. “I don’t see why me and Babs couldn’t just stay with Rarity or Twilight.”
Applejack raised an eyebrow at her sister. “Rarity’s still recovering from that cutie mark crusader catapult you three created out of her ironing board and drapes. And Twilight’s busy with her new princessin’ duties.” She glanced up at Braeburn. “Sorry about all this. If you don’t think you can watch ‘em...”
“No, I insist. I promised.” Braeburn placed his hat back on his head. “Besides, here I am thinking of just me when you have your share of troubles.”
Applejack gave him a quick smile. “Now, that ain’t the attitude for an Apple to take. Even if I can’t stay, I can try and help some other way. You say you need ideas, right? Well, y’all ever think of tourism? A bunch of ponies stampeding through town might spruce up the cash flow.”
“It’s a good idea. But what do we have that’d interest other ponies? Much as we all love apples, not everypony in Equestria’s going to come just to see the fruit,” Braeburn countered, nodding toward the orchard.
“What about one-a those, whaddya call ‘em, festival things?” Babs put in.
“A festival sounds mighty nice, actually,” Applejack said and looked back to Braeburn. “Y’all’re having that buffalo migration coming through soon, right?”
Braeburn nodded eagerly as he realized what she meant. “Yeah. Yeah, that could work! We could make a whole affair out of it! I’d have to talk to Little Strongheart about the buffalo, but I don’t think they’d mind, long as they get our apple pies.”
“We could make some event stuff, too! Like apple pie eatin’ contests and apple dunk!” Applebloom said excitedly.
Babs glanced quizzically at her cousin. “What’s an apple dunk?”
Applebloom smiled and raised her hooves to indicate a big box. “It’s something Big Mac did back at last year's Harvest Festival in Ponyville. He sits on a chair over a bowl of water and somepony chucks an apple at a target. If they hit it, he falls into the water!”
“Well, that does sound like a lotta fun.” Babs blew her mane out of her eyes. “How’s about a Ferus Wheel? We have a big one sometimes in Manehatten.”
“Might be best not think that big just yet.” Applejack placed a hoof on Bab's shoulder. “Now, you girls behave for Braeburn and don’t get into too much trouble. Especially you, Applebloom.”
“Ugh, we’re not babies!” Applebloom rolled her eyes.
Applejack mussed her sister’s mane. “I know ya aren’t, but y’all seem to have a knack at getting up to no good.” She turned toward Braeburn. “You really sure you can watch ‘em?”
Braeburn winked. “I’m sure it’ll be a fair sight easier for me than you, cousin. Good luck on the farm.”
“Good luck on the town,” she replied with a smile. “See y’all in a week.”
*****
“Haven’t ever been to a place like this before,” Babs said, gazing at the landscape. “So different from Manehatten and Ponyville. So... flat.”
“Definitely ain't as dusty back home.” Applebloom sneezed.
Braeburn raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’ll have you know Appleoosa’s got her charms, too. Ain't all dirt and tumbleweed.”
Applebloom cast a discerning eye over the town buildings. “Kind of... worn, if ya ask me.”
“Could do with a fresh coat of paint,” Braeburn admitted as he stared at the general store's cracked awning and faded letters. The proprietor waved at them from a rocking chair on the dirt-covered porch.
“Might need more than just that,” Babs replied critically. She held up her hooves like she was taking a picture and grimaced. “Like a new building.”
“Alright, alright, t’aint all as bad as that,” Braeburn retorted. “We've just been so busy with the orchard and apple-bucking... maybe we forgot to tend to the town, too.”
They continued down the main street of Appleoosa as Braeburn showed them around. The two fillies continued to comment on the state of affairs, and by the time they reached the Sherriff’s office, Braeburn’s head hung down in shame, his ears drooping.
“...and those carriages could use some new wheels. I saw more than one spoke cracked,” Applebloom said succinctly.
“Not to mention the worn out clothes yous ponies wear. Sweetie Belle’s sister’d have a fit, I bet,” Babs replied.
Braeburn sat in the dirt and sighed.
“Well, it’s not all bad! At least the town... is... here,” Babs finished lamely as she patted him on the back.
Braeburn’s hat fell off his head.
“Ah... ahem,” Applebloom cleared her throat. “How’s Bloomberg doing?”
“Well, I’m glad ya asked, cousin!” Braeburn replied, suddenly chipper again. He picked up his hat and steered the two fillies toward the orchard road, trotting down it with a pep in his step.
*****
“Mighty hard to believe it’s only been a little while since we planted him in the ground,” Braeburn marveled, “but Bloomberg here is the number one tree in the whole grove! Always has apples ripe somewhere in those branches.”
The two fillies gaped up at the massive tree, its trunk and canopy dwarfing the surrounding ones. Bloomberg’s branches were littered with shiny, red apples, each as large as a filly’s head. The roots dug deep into the soil, their huge forms raising ever so often from the ground like a snake through sand.
Babs was the first to recover her wits. “That’s the biggest apple tree I’ve ever seen. Even the ones in Centrot Park aren't like this!”
Applebloom shook her head. “Sure is amazin’. My sis knows how to pick ‘em!”
Braeburn smiled at their praise. “We’ve tended to ol’ Bloomberg same as the others. It’s like Applejack knew Bloomberg would, well, bloom out here.”
“Why don’tcha use it as a tourist attraction?” Babs asked, holding up a hoof to shield her eyes from the glare of the desert sun. “It’s big enough to attract all kinds of attention. Dress it up all spit ‘n polish and make it a, whaddya call ‘em, picnic area.”
“Not a bad idea, cousin.” Braeburn rubbed his chin. “You two are coming up with more ideas than an old barrel comes up full of holes.”
Babs snorted. “Just common sense to make the biggest thing the main attraction. Why d’ya think Manehatten make such a big deal outta the Crystal Empire Building?”
“Good point,” he replied thoughtfully. “Why don't we talk it over with the sheriff? I'm sure he'd appreciate a solution to all this.”
*****
Sheriff Silverstar looked like he had aged several years since Braeburn had seen him last. His hat was sitting on the desk next to him, revealing a few silver hairs snaking between the brown strands of his mane. Slight wrinkles stood out on his face that hadn't been there before.
The sheriff looked up when Braeburn and his cousins walked in. “Howdy, Braeburn... and company.”
“You sound tired, Sheriff.” Braeburn frowned.
Silverstar sighed and lowered his head. “Lots of the townsfolk blame me for this mess we’ve gotten into. Can't say I blame 'em." He tapped a quill against a piece of paper. "I’ve had to listen to Saltworthy for the past hour, and deal with all these finances now that we’re losing time. Wears on a pony.”
“That last’s what I want to talk to you about, Sheriff,” Braeburn said.
“Tell me you’ve come up with another of your ideas, Braeburn,” Silverstar nearly begged. “I’m fresh out.”
Applebloom chose that moment to step forward, her eyes just peeking over the desk. “Well, sir, why don’t we do a festival?”
“A festival?” Silverstar seemed confounded. He looked up at Braeburn for clarification.
Braeburn just smiled and gestured to Babs, who was admiring a picture of Sheriff Silverstar and Chief Thunderhooves. He cleared his throat.
“Wha-?” Babs turned her head. “Oh, yeah, right. So we were thinkin’, wouldn’t some kind of party attract some ponies into comin’ to Appleoosa? Tourism’s a big deal up in Manehatten. Might help here if ponies knew somethin’ excitin’ was coming.”
Silverstar frowned. “But we don’t have—.” His eyes lit up. “The buffalo run!”
Braeburn grinned widely. “We could throw a big, week-long affair. Set up some picnic grounds, give a few rides out on our carriages and turn this place into a regular tourist attraction!”
“But we really need to fix up the town, first,” Applebloom tapped the sheriff's desk, which creaked in response.
Babs blew her hair out of her face. “Yeah, no one’s going to want to ride in a carriage with one wheel or walk into a building that looks like it’s about to fall apart.”
Silverstar leaned back in his chair. “Hmm. Could work. But it’d take the rest of our money to try and fix up the town. It’s a big gamble.”
“We don’t have a lot of choice, Sheriff.” Braeburn rubbed the back of his neck. “A gamble’s better than no shot at all and I can’t think of anything else to help us out.”
“I’ll need to start sending out mailmares and stallions to get the word out,” Silverstar said, reluctantly grabbing envelopes from a drawer.
“My cousin Applejack said she’d spread the word in Ponyville, too.” Braeburn stomped the wooden floor in emphasis. “We can do this, Silverstar.”
Silverstar’s brows drew down and the wrinkles reappeared on his forehead. “I sure hope you’re right about this, Braeburn. But I've been out of ideas since the start, so we'll do it.” He glanced around his desk and picked up a clean sheet of paper. “I’ll leave you to organize the town while I arrange the finances. You’d probably be the better pony to lead them now.”
Babs and Applebloom grinned up at Braeburn.
He gave them a confident smile, careful not to reveal how worried he was about the whole thing.
“Out here again, Braeburn?” the young buffalo said, her fur glistening in the moonlight.
Braeburn nodded, glancing over to see Little Strongheart sitting atop a boulder. “I’ve come up with a solution, thanks to my cousins. Thinking of a faire for the town and the buffalo run, if you don’t mind.”
Little Strongheart’s eyebrow rose. “I’ll have to talk to the Chief, but I don’t think he minds as long as we get to run our stomping trail.”
“I hope you’re right.” Braeburn climbed atop the boulder and sat next to the young buffalo. Her shimmering fur made her appear as if a spirit from the legends of her people. He grinned at the thought and looked up at the full moon. “If your tribe hadn’t’ve agreed, I don’t right know what I would have done.”
“Hmm,” she replied.
Grass rustled around them in the soft breeze, the wind caressing his face as he fell into his thoughts. Was this the right course? He had been sure it was earlier, with Babs and Applebloom spurring him on. But now, out here in the orchard, he didn’t know.
“If there’s anything I know,” Little Strongheart’s voice interrupted his reverie, “it’s that working hard for something, striving for a goal, is how anyone accomplishes anything. It is a teaching we buffalo are taught as younglings. Strive, always, like you did when you built this place. Like you did to create an agreement between our two cultures. If you hadn’t have tried, none of this would have happened and we wouldn’t be here, having this conversation.”
Braeburn felt a touch on his hoof and looked over to see a smile on the young buffalo’s face.
“Do what you believe in, Braeburn Apple. Be true to yourself and strive. I’m sure you’ll succeed.”
*****
The next day, Braeburn woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed with a new determination set in his stride. Babs and Applebloom seemed to share his newfound feelings and rose easily despite the early hour.
Babs rubbed her foreleg and shivered. "Kinda chilly out here, huh? Wouldn't have expected that in the desert."
"It'll warm up soon enough, cousin." Braeburn smiled widely. "Just keep moving and you'll do just fine."
"So what're we going to do first?" Applebloom asked, almost bouncing beside him. "Fix up the carriages? Change a roof? Build some stands?"
Braeburn chuckled. "Slow down there, Applebloom. We'll be doing enough hard work to last us the whole week. First, we're going to buy some supplies." He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and smiled. "Think you can help me out with that?"
Applebloom jumped into the air. "Does that mean I get to use some power tools?"
"Gee, here she goes." Babs rolled her eyes. "Let's just get this over with."
*****
With Applebloom's capable and gushing assistance, they found all the tools they'd need to start some of the repairs Braeburn had assigned them. Other ponies in the town also stopped by the old general store to pick up some things with the few bits they had. There was a jaunty atmosphere to the air, almost like yesterday's bad news had never happened.
Braeburn was carrying a bag in his mouth and the rest of the supplies in his saddlebags out of the store when the door opened with a clanging bell. A tall pony with a monocle walked in, almost bowling him over.
"What're you all bubbly for?" The Salt Block's owner, Morton Saltsworthy, eyed the crowded store with disgust. "We're gonna be evicted in a month, whatever happens."
The crowd grew quiet at his words and a chill filled the air. All of the ponies either stared challengingly at the naysayer or looked down at the floorboards.
"Now that's no attitude for an Appleoosan," Babs declared from Braeburn’s side.
Morton glanced over at her and squinted his eyes. "And what's a little filly from Manehatten know about being an Appleoosan?"
Babs faced him head on, not even flinching at his words. "I know that Apples were the ponies who originally came up with the idea to set up an orchard in the middle of the desert, crazy as it sounded. And as a Seed, I know Apples are the hardest working ponies who ever lived." She shifted her gaze to the store's occupants. "All you other ponies must be just as stubborn if you came down here to settle this place. So why wouldn't you all be stubborn enough to save Appleoosa? My Granny Smith always says you don't get nothing if you don't try. But if you do, there's a chance you might just get what you're looking for."
Braeburn felt a burst of pride spread through his chest. He almost let out a wild whoop at the filly's words before he remembered he was carrying a bag full of hammers and nails.
"Filly's right," a huge, green earth pony said. "Ain't no reason not to try. 'Sides, what would we do otherwise, sit around and mope? That ain't the Appleoosan way."
The rest of the store occupants nodded at the words and the conversations started up again, just as happy as before.
Braeburn grinned around the bag in his mouth and patted Babs on the back. "'Good 'erk.”
The Salt Block's owner scowled at the ponies and walked out of the store, mumbling to himself. The ringing of the bell was almost like the sound of victory to Braeburn.
Applebloom snorted as they left the store behind. "What was his problem?"
"Just scared," Braeburn replied, setting down the bag.
"Seemed a little more angry than scared to me," Applebloom said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.
"Hmm." He watched the monocled pony turn the corner ahead of them, the entirely wrong direction to return to the Salt Block.
*****
"Alright, grab that end, Applebloom." Braeburn strained under the weight of the carriage. "Now slide it on... just like that. Good!"
He set the buggy down with relief and backed away to admire their work.
The new wheel looked as it had been there all along. Only the relative cleanliness of it set it apart from its twin on the other side. The old one was sitting up against the Carriage Rental building— several of the wheel’s spokes were splintered and muddy.
“Eight down, nine to go,” Babs checked off a box on her notepad. “The next set needs another new wheel and a repaint and it’ll be right as rain.”
Applebloom nodded and waved to one of the ponies in charge of hauling the buggy. “Bring this one out and get the next one... uh, please?”
Braeburn wiped the sweat off his brow. “Why don’t you two take a little break? I wanna mosey about the town and see how everypony else is doing.”
“I can start the paint on the next one, actually.” Applebloom grinned up at him, her face streaked with paint. Her hair was tied back with an old bandana Braeburn had found. “We’ll take a break after that and work on the wheel when ya get back.”
Smirking, Braeburn glanced over at Babs. “Keep her in line, cousin.”
“You got it, boss.” She saluted smartly and disappeared behind the carriage being pulled in.
With the carriage painting left in a pair of capable hooves, Braeburn wandered through the streets. All around ponies were repainting and repairing the buildings they’d neglected. The town felt alive like it had back when they’d first built it. Ponies were singing and working together to create something they’d be proud of. There wasn’t any of the doom and gloom that had existed back when he’d given the news.
The scent of paint and lacquer coasted on the wind. Windows around the town were filled with apple pies and other treats. Their aromas caused a smile to form on his face. That sense of excitement he had felt earlier in the morning still lingered and was growing by the minute. Even if it was just the first day of preparations, he felt it was going to work.
“Paint this town, paint this town, one, two, three, four,” Braeburn sang to himself. “Together we can raise the money, one, two, three four.”
That’s what it reminded him of, he realized—the reunion, when everypony had been so disappointed when the barn had been destroyed. Back then, everypony had come together to rebuild the barn in record time.
“If a family can do it, a whole town is sure to get it done,” he said. “What’s a town but a big family, anyway?”
That thought felt just right.
A sudden impact jolted him out of his reverie. "Wha-"
"Pardon me," Morton said brusquely. A second later, his eyes narrowed behind his monocle. "Oh, it's you."
Braeburn frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you must look where you are going," he replied with a sniff. "Good day."
With a quick glance side to side, Morton walked off at a hurried pace and disappeared down a side street. The pony's derisively flicking tail was the last thing Braeburn saw before a clattering crash came from behind him.
"Help!"
Hopping to his hooves faster than he could think the words ‘apple pie’, Braeburn galloped toward the cry. He rounded the corner and took in the situation with a swift glance.
A stallion was clutching the edge of a roof, his back legs dangling precariously over the drop. Laying across the building opposite was a ladder that had evidently been holding the pony up. Hammers and paintbrushes littered the ground underneath the stallion. As he watched, a screwdriver fell out of the apron the pony was wearing.
"Hang on!" Braeburn sprung into action.
The ladder lifted easily, but as he started to stand it up, he realized one of the supports was broken. No wonder it had fallen.
Wishing reverently that he had been born a unicorn, Braeburn abandoned the ladder and looked around for something else that could salvage the situation.
"Slipping!" the stallion said from above, his hooves scratching against the side of the building.
An idea formed in Braeburn’s mind as he stared out into the field behind the house. "I'll be right back! Just hold on!"
His hooves dug into the dirt road as he rushed forward with all the speed he could muster.
A single annoyance obstructed his goal—a small picket fence. Doggedly continuing despite the obstacle, Braeburn leapt.
For a bad moment, he thought he had miscalculated his jump. He winced, the thought of pitching over the fence to land flat on his face whipping through his mind.
Fortunately, only the tip of his back hoof thunked into the wood.
Stumbling as he landed, Braeburn sighed with relief and fell back into a gallop. Ain’t gonna be winning any rodeos with that kind of jump.
Skidding to a halt before his goal, a bale of hay, Braeburn dipped his head down and grabbed the strap in his mouth. The strap tightened across his gritted teeth and he grunted against the weight of the bale, but he moved forward as fast as he could drag it.
He wasted no time throwing it over the fence, though the effort darkened the edges of his vision. Clambering over the fence more carefully than his graceless leap earlier, Braeburn grabbed the strap and strained toward the helpless stallion. A crowd was gathering in the alley and a few ponies were already running off, hopefully to get help.
"Braeburn!"
"'m co'in!"
Suddenly the weight was lightened and a familiar grunt sounded from beside him.
"Throw it!" Silverstar said, his teeth clenching the rope. "Won't make it otherwise!"
Grunting in affirmation, Braeburn spun with the sheriff, careful to keep his hooves from being tangled with Silverstar's. the two ponies turned on a pivot, the haybale lifting off the ground. They revolved once more and both of them let go at the same time.
The haybale flew through the air with all the grace of a carriage hurtling off the edge of a cliff, but it managed to slide to a stop just under the stallion falling from the edge of the roof. The pony hit the hay on his side and bounced off to the ground, landing flat on his face.
"Black Stone!" Silverstar yelled, rushing forward with Braeburn toward the fallen pony. "You alright, boy?"
Braeburn reached him first and rolled him over. After a quick check, he said, "Out cold, looks like. I'll go get the doc."
"I'll stay here." Silverstar winced. "Back near tweaked outta place with that throw."
As he galloped toward the old doc's house, Braeburn caught the faintest glimpse of a short, dark tail disappearing behind a corner.
"Well, aside from a few bruises and cuts, the kid's alright. Huh." House Call scowled at them, a stethoscope hanging below his neck. "What happened, anyway?"
Sighing and sliding into a chair, Silverstar shook his head. "Braeburn found him dangling from the roof with a broken ladder nearby and reacted quick enough to get a bale of hay underneath Black Stone before he fell."
The doc glanced between them. "Just Braeburn did, huh? Guess your back's hurting just because you were worried, huh? Not because you threw a bale of hay nearly the size of you like you were some kind of young, hotblooded thoroughbred, huh? Didn't—."
Silverstar held up a hoof. "Alright, I helped him. But what was I supposed to do, just let the kid fall? He's my responsibility. I'm the sheriff."
"Get a deputy like young Braeburn here then, huh?” House Call shook his head with a world-weary sigh. “Old billy-goats like you and I don't need to be lifting weights as heavy as that. Definitely shoudn't be twirling them like you were in some kind of howdy-do rodeo. Huh."
“I’m more worried about how the ladder broke,” Braeburn put in.
House Call snorted and waved a hoof. “Equipment here’s as busted and broken as the whole town ‘fore you whipped the folk up into a repairing frenzy. Not surprised a single ladder got swept out from under the fella, huh. Won’t be surprised if I see more foals like Silverstar coming in with a bunch of repair-related injuries. More work for me, huh?”
Braeburn opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated instead.
What if House Call’s right? What if I’m just jumping at ghosts? He turned away from the other two to stare out of the clinic’s dirty window panes. Sure, Morton’s a pain in the kiester, but he wouldn’t hurt nopony... would he?
“Another thing to check on, then.” Silverstar stroked his mustache. “Braeburn, ask the townsfolk to check their stuff before using it, alright? We need all hooves on deck for this hoopla we’ve got planned.”
“‘All hooves on deck’, huh. Actin’ like some kind of sailor now.” House Call shot Silverstar an evil eye. “Stop lifting haybales. I’ve got enough work without you breaking, too, huh.”
“You got it, Doc.” Silverstar tipped his hat and cantered to the door, but not before bumping his shoulder into Braeburn’s side. “C’mon, lollygag. Back to work.”
Frowning, Braeburn followed the sheriff, absorbed in thought.
*****
Lost in thought, Braeburn returned toward the makeshift workshop where he’d left his two charges. With the last warmth of the day nearing its end, it was time to wrap up and head to bed. Out in the desert, the howls of a local coyote tribe echoed.
Long day tomorrow, he thought with an absent ear flick. Long week after that. Wonder if Applejack’ll let ‘em stay for the festival.
As he drew closer to his destination, voices carried to his ears. They broke him from his ponderings and brought a smile to his face. Despite our issues, those two are a right ray of sunshine.
He started to turn the corner to say just that when Babs spoke.
“I’m just sayin’, maybe we should think about it.”
Braeburn peeked around the corner to see the two of them working on another of the broken wheels. Babs was holding it up while Applebloom hammered a nail home. There was a pile of more nails on the ground beside her, which she reached down toward to get another.
“And I said there’s no need to. We’ll get the money and then some.” Applebloom emphasized her statement with a strike of her hammer. “We Apples always find a way.”
Rolling her eyes, Babs replied, “I ain’t saying we won’t, but we should plan accordin’ly, dontcha think? I gots a few ideas, too.”
Applebloom sighed and leaned back from the wheel, allowing Babs to roll it and rest it against the wall. “I know you mean well, Babs, but I just don’t think it’s necessary.”
“Well, if you don’t wants to hear ‘em, I’ll keep my trap shut.” Babs stuck her nose in the air and closed her eyes.
Deciding the conversation wouldn’t be going anywhere good, Braeburn turned the corner with a smile on his face. “Howdy, cousins! Y’all workin’ hard?”
Babs looked up in surprised and then drew her eyebrows down. “How long were yous there, listenin’ to us?”
“Uh,” Braeburn stalled, looking to the side and back at her. “I wasn’t.”
“Braeburn wouldn’t eavesdrop like that,” Applebloom gestured toward him with her hammer. “Applejack always says that’s impolite.”
“You also don’t think belchin’ in front of other ponies is impolite,” Babs said skeptically, shifting her attention to Braeburn. “Besides, I can tell when ponies are lyin’.”
“Alright, you got me.” Braeburn smiled guiltily. “I heard you talking about the money. But you don’t have to worry about it. We’ll get it done, just like Applebloom said.”
“See?” Applebloom stared pointedly at Babs.
Babs grunted in dismissal. “Somepony’s gotta think about this kinda thing.”
“You might be right,” Braeburn said. “But right now, we’ve gotta hit the hay. Lot of work ahead of us.”
*****
Despite Braeburn’s worries about Morton and the potential sabotage, no more accidents occurred over the next week. The townspeople continued their repairing of the town, restoring it to its former glory with an old country cheer. Even when the short drizzles drenched the town or the brutal sun beat down hot on their backs, they worked.
Braeburn’s two cousins worked just as hard, repairing carriages and creating scaffolds. The townsponies accepted them into the family, laughing and joking with them like they’d always lived in Appleloosa. Babs and Applebloom even joined the meetings with Silverstar, helping to plan out the activities that the festival would showcase.
Bobbing for apples was a given, of course, a suggestion that made even Silverstar’s weary mouth lift into a smile. Having a picnic on the orchard’s semi-green hills was sketched out, day to day areas assigned, with a massive gathering under Bloomberg’s huge branches on the last day.
Between the trees they strung pennants, each with the crest of the several families living in Appleoosa. Apple, Seed, Plow... all of them were displayed equally on sheets of cloth four hooves wide. They blew spectacularly in the old west’s wind, magic from a local unicorn family up and running to keep the cloth from attracting the dirt blowing with the breeze.
Supplies were brought in with the weekly train, along with several tourists from as far flung as Manehatten. Applejack’s promise certainly bore fruit, for the closer the day came to the festival’s opening week, the more ponies arrived. Even a few griffons showed up, with zebras right behind.
Braeburn made sure the local inns and taverns had enough space for everypony showing up, from the ones who were staying the whole week to those just curious enough to explore for the day. Bureaucracy had never been Braeburn’s strong suit, but he did the best he could. Babs even offered to help him, pointing out more than few flaws in his recordkeeping.
That filly’s sharper than a new plow, Braeburn thought with a sigh and leaned back in his chair. Paperwork piled toward the ceiling on his desk in the Sheriff’s office. Thankfully, most of it was in the pile marked complete, but he still had more than a few pieces of paper to get through before the day was done.
A candle burned low on his desk, well away from the papers, and Braeburn looked up at the clock, noticing that dusk had fallen outside the window. It struck him after a weary moment’s worth of staring just how late it truly was.
I’d better get back home ‘fore those two get into any trouble.
The bustle of the day had died down, but when he left the Sheriff's office through the front door, he could still hear hints of merriment coming down from the nearest tavern—that of Morton Saltsworthy. When he glanced that way, he saw light spilling out onto the dirt road of the main street in town, patrons crowding both the inside and talking in the brisk night air on the tavern’s porch.
“Guess I can make a slight detour,” Braeburn said to himself after a moment of indecision. “Haven’t had a nice salt lick in awhile.”
Yawning to keep the exhaustion at bay, he moseyed down the street, the feel of the well-traveled road bringing a sense of peace to him. The plan seemed to be working so far, even though it’d been a long shot in the first place. But with all the ponies deciding to stay in town, it seemed the work had paid off.
The closer he came to the shop, however, the more his interest in a salt lick and the companionship of friendly ponies waned. As he walked, he felt his hooves carry him past the tavern, down a side street and away from the town. The darkness of the night sky grew clearer as the lights died away behind him.
Crickets sawed away their tuneless songs, cool wind whispered across the desert flats and stars glistened overhead. Puffs of dust billowed at his hooves, accompanying the steady clip clop of his trot. Earthly smells and the scent of apples beckoned to him, a siren song he couldn’t resist. Only the moon’s glow allowed him to see the path before him, but even without it, he wouldn’t have been lost on this trail.
Eventually he found himself in the orchard, as he knew he would. Life was simpler here, between the fruit trees he and the town had created. It was pure. Taking root in the wastes and transforming it into what it was now was a struggle, but it was worth it.
This, more than the town, is the reason for staying. We could lose our houses, our shops and our barns, but the one thing we’d hate to lose the most would be this orchard and the promise we helped create.
Braeburn found himself sitting underneath Bloomberg’s gigantic boughs. Even though there was no sign of Little Stongheart, it was still a peaceful evening. The leaves of the tree sang through the night. Wood groaned. Roots burrowed deeper. Life strove to live.
The next morning was the first day of the festival.
Braeburn yawned, trotting into the Sheriff's office.
Inside, chaos reigned.
Dozens of ponies crowded the small office, all of them shouting over one another to be heard. Just beyond them, Braeburn spied Silverstar, his head in his hooves and ears drooping to the sides.
“Yes, yes, I know what you mean, but I simply must—!”
“I’m not sure you know who I am, sir! My family is the sixteenth richest family in Manehatten!”
“If I wanted to go to the picnic, I’d go to the picnic. I’m looking for the Apple Dunk!”
Squeezing past the mass of ponies jostling for position, Braeburn tapped on the Sheriff's shoulder. “Looks like you need help.”
The Sheriff sprang upward as if suddenly revitalized by his voice. His eyes were rimmed in red, a truly depressed look etched across his wrinkled face. Even his thick mustache seemed to regain his gloss.
“Braeburn! Finally! Where have you been? These ponies have been asking so many questions all morning and I’ve just been swamped!” The Sheriff started, throwing his hooves up in exasperation. “Please help me.”
He smiled guiltily. “Sorry, sheriff, I overslept.”
Silverstar’s mouth opened and a look of utter disbelief came over him.
“You overslept?” the sheriff repeated blandly, then with more vigor, red springing to his cheeks. “You overslept! Braeburn, the first day of the festival, and you’re already slacking! By the Princesses’ royal keisters, you overslept?”
Even with the Sheriff's sudden outburst, the ponies crowding in to get his attention continued their rants, as if each were equally convinced that they had the right to speak before all of the others.
“Would you shut up, you featherbrained nincompoops?” Silverstar yelled over the cacophony, his voice a roar loud enough to match his younger days as a rodeo announcer.
The crowd stilled, their one-way conversations stalled. Surprise, indignant expressions filled their faces. Sniffs and shocked, outraged scoffs spilled through the gathered ponies. Then they began to speak, this time growing louder and more insulting with each voice lifted into the din.
Silverstar’s groan was barely audible as the sheriff lowered his face back into his hooves, defeated.
Patting the poor pony on the shoulder, Braeburn began answering questions and apologizing for his superior’s behavior.
*****
After a hail of almost continual complaints and worries, insults and questions, outraged guests and ponies looking for what they had lost, Braeburn finally finished an hour later. While not all of the ponies had been mollified with what he had told and explained to them, the majority of them seemed to be satisfied when they left the office, if not completely content.
Slumping in the chair he’d pulled up beside the sheriff, Braeburn let out a relieved breath. Muscles in his neck seemed to be pinched and he massaged them with a hoof, ruefully remembering it was his fault the situation had been so difficult.
“I don’t know how you do it.” Silverstar’s voice was muffled underneath his hooves, but the old sherrif brought his head up out of the makeshift bunker he’d made with his forelegs. “I don’t know how you deal with all these... these... blowhards.”
Braeburn chuckled and leaned back with closed eyes. “Practice, I guess, and a little of knowing what they’re going through. They all just wanted to come into town and have fun, free of any little worries. So when something happened that they didn’t like, they needed somepony to yell at.”
Silverstar looked over at him, unamused. “And that somepony had to be us, I take it?”
“Somepony in charge.” Braeburn shrugged and let out a yawn. “It’s worth it in the end, or so I keep telling myself.”
“Well, keep telling yourself that, because I don’t think it’s going to be any better tomorrow,” Silverstar replied irritably. “And don’t oversleep next time. Where were you, anyway?”
“At the orchard,” he replied, bemused. “After I finished all the paperwork, I decided to swing by and check up on Bloomberg.”
Silverstar sighed. “The old tree doin’ alright?”
“Not so old.” Braeburn defended his cousin’s gift. “Bloomberg’s just starting his third bucking season.”
“Could’ve fooled me with how big the durned thing is.”
The ring of the bell that announced another pony’s entrance put a stop to their conversation. Both ponies sat up, ramrod straight, placating smiles already appearing on their faces.
They needn’t have bothered.
“There ya are, Braeburn,” Applebloom accused, rushing forward and climbing up the desk until her forelegs and head appeared over the top of it. “We’ve been looking for you all day. You never came back last night.”
“Yeah,” Babs added from the side of the desk, “we thought yous got eaten by a coyote or somethin’ like that.”
Applebloom frowned over at the other filly. “I thought we agreed it was a Sass Squash.”
“Sass Squashes don’t eat ponies, ‘bloom. Besides, they aren’t even real, any which way ya looks at it.”
Braeburn wisely kept the knowledge that they were, in fact, real to himself. “Sorry, girls. I kinda fell asleep in the orchard last night.”
Applebloom gasped, loosening her hold on the desk as she brought a hoof to her mouth. “Ya mean you went out there in the dead of night, freezing your tail off, and you didn’t even bring us?”
“I’m happy staying in a bed,” Babs put in.
“We would all be so lucky,” Silverstar grumbled.
“Anyway,” Braeburn said smoothly to head off any arguments, “how are the preparations coming along for the grand picnic this afternoon?”
Applebloom’s face grew serious at that and she pulled a map out of the pack. She planted it on the table and unrolled it, pointing at several red-circled areas. “I was thinkin’ these spots would be the best places for today, based on the strength of the sun and the shade the apple trees’ll be giving at this time of day. Now, if ya look here...”
Tuning her out, and confident that Silverstar would catch any faults in her plan, Braeburn thought about Morton.
While none of the rides, like the carriage pulling or hay wagons, had malfunctioned yet, he planned to keep a careful eye out for anypony suspicious. Morton, however, had been content to stay in his tavern, serving the multitude of guests brought by the festival’s week-long affair.
Coincidences like that do happen, Braeburn thought in consternation. If Morton was just in the wrong place at the right time... well, no used thinking about it until I get proof.
Nodding to himself, he became aware that Babs was looking at him questioningly. Her brows were drawn down and he could tell she had her suspicions.
Smarter’n a whip, that one. Grimacing inwardly, he gave the filly a wink and a slight shake of his head. Not now. Maybe later.
The rest of the picnic planning passed quickly. Applebloom’s plans made sense on the whole, even if the mechanics of the exact areas shadows would cover best went a little over his head. Ponies would find the places that suited them, as far as he was concerned. Still, containing the guests to certain areas certainly would make cleaning up after them a great deal easier.
*****
Next on Braeburn’s list was the big fireworks display they were still working on for the first and last days of the festivals. A couple of earth ponies, the Rumbleblast sisters, had rolled up one day, offering up their frankly impressive assortment of explosive delights.
Babs was in charge of them, a slightly manic glee appearing in her eye as she talked with the two sisters. Surprisingly, they seemed to take orders from the filly well. It helped that they worshiped Babs after a few tales of her time back home.
“Yeah, I’ve seen a few shindigs up in Manehatten,” Babs was saying cooly, buffing a hoof on her chest. “Got ahold of a few of the bigger ‘works one time and shot ‘em off from the balcony of my family’s hotel. Surprised the ponies upstairs when that thing took off. Even rattled the windows! Mom and Pop grounded me for a month after that.”
Sparkler Rumbleblast sat rapt, in awe of the smaller filly, her eyes glazed over as if she were imagining the chaos she could make in a big city. Her red and orange hair seemed to explode outward from her head, with a pair of goggles keeping bangs out of her eyes. Her sister shared the look, though her mane was blue and green.
“Did you blow up any trees?” the other sister, Flamewheel, asked, her eyes as wide as saucers. “I heard there’s an entire garden in that big city of yours! Me and Sparkler totally destroyed an entire field of cherry trees this one time in Dodge Junction. Miss Jubilee was right annoyed with us, but we helped her out, replanting and caring for the trees. You know, I even found a way to put gunpowder in a cherry. I call it a cherry bomb! And Sparkler, she—.”
“Whoa, nelly,” Braeburn interrupted with a haunted look, the image of his orchards burning down in flames high in his mind. “Let’s try and keep the fireworks in the air where they belong, alright?”
Babs chuckled. “Don’t worry, cousin, I’ve got this under control. Years of practice in a cramped city teaches you a few things.”
Braeburn hesitated. The Rumbleblasts were doing this for free, and it’d certainly help the town if they charged for the fireworks show. “Well...”
“I cannot wait to blow up the sky,” Sparkler said solemnly, her first words since she’d arrived.
“That’s...” really scary, he thought. “... nice.”
Flamewheel squeaked in delight, prancing and twirling in a little circle. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! We haven’t had a job in, like, forever! I mean, you’re not paying us, but that’s soooo okay, because I make all my explosives at home and we have a lot of supplies that never run out and really, if I tried, I could make fireworks out of anything and this is going to be so much fun.”
“...right.” Braeburn smiled halfheartedly and backed away. “Well... good luck. Keep an eye on them, Babs.”
Babs saluted with a snort. “You got it, cap’n.”
*****
With the preparations for the night’s festivities well in hoof, Braeburn returned to his station inside the sheriff's office. There, he continued to offer directions and calm down all of the ponies who walked in, discussing sarcastically how his office could be in an easier place to reach or were distressed that their pet weasel had disappeared.
It was on the last pony’s behalf that Braeburn was forced to search for the animal.
Not that I can complain, he thought with a smile, reveling in the perfect weather between dusk and the evening.
The wind was just beginning to pick up, sending miniature whirlwinds that wended their way randomly across the streets. Even a few tumbleweed rolled across the bare dirt roads.
“Now if I were a no good, dirty, rotten weasel, where would I be?” Braeburn muttered, checking below one of the building’s crawl space.
Something moved in the darkness, too fast to see clearly. The shade moved between the wooden slats holding the building above it. A beady eye caught the last of the light as it stared at him.
Braeburn frowned and took his hat off. “You’re gonna make me go under there after you, aren’t you, little fella?”
The animals remained silent, its steady stare slightly unnerving.
With a resigned sigh, Braeburn fell to his stomach with a plop. I should be able to fit, he thought, straining to get between the ground and the top of the porch above. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten so many pies today...
He sucked his gut in determinedly and just managed to squeeze through to the dark, dampness underneath. Cobwebs caught in his mane.
Please don’t be any spiders, he prayed silently, grunting as he moved forward. A huge cockroach slithered across his hoof and disappeared into the dark. Braeburn shuddered. Bugs. Why’d it have to be bugs?
Still the animal sat in place, his shadow blocking the light that had been reflecting in its eye. It shuffled a bit the closer he came, but otherwise made no move to run about.
“That’s it, fella, I’m not here to hurt you,” Braeburn said placatingly between grunts of effort. “I’m just here to bring you back home. No harm done, right?”
As if in response to his words, the shadow shivered. Then, in a burst of movement, it streaked straight for him.
Braeburn cried out and reared back, blocking his face against the weasel’s sudden attack. In the process, he banged his head against the wood above. Stars exploded into his vision.
After a few seconds of not being mauled by a weasel, Braeburn opened his eyes and put down his arms.
In front of him was the “weasel”, its long tongue picking up the cockroach that had scurried past him a few seconds ago. A crunch later, and one that nearly sent the pies back up Braeburn’s throat, the bug disappeared into the thing’s gullet.
“A lizard.” Braeburn closed his eyes in exasperation. “Of course you are. Why make my life easy?”
The lizard just stared at him, its eyes not holding any answers.
*****
Extricating himself from the crawlspace was just as difficult as getting in. Thankfully, after a great deal of annoyance and a few pieces of fur he’d left on an old, stuck out nail, Braeburn freed himself.
“Welp, that’s not something I want to experience again.” He picked up his hat, dusting it off, and plopped it on his head. “Now... where else would a weasel be hiding?”
Hoofsteps from behind him sounded just before a familiar voice began rambling like a snake eating it’s own tail. “Howdy, Braeburn! That’s how you greet ponies around here right? We just said ‘hi’ back in Hoofington, but I guess ‘Howdy’ works too! It’s almost like ‘How’re you doing!’, right?” She paused for a breath. “Anyway, fireworks are almost ready! It’s going to be so much fuuuuun. Just you wait, you’ll like it. The sky is going to be so pretty tonight. I mean, it’s pretty every night, what with all those stars, but when you add explosions to it, like boom! and bang! and kablast! it gets like ten times better! Oh, hey, I also found a little friend while I was searching for some gunpowder in some water barrells over by the town hall! I think it’s a mouse, but it’s too long, so maybe it got stretched somehow and are you okay? You look like you burned off a patch of your fur. I know what that feels like.”
Only with a great deal of mental effort did Braeburn manage not to slam his hoof into his face. Instead, he turned around and saw Flamewheel smiling brightly at him with a weasel draped around her neck like some kind of living scarf. It’s blue fur matched the pony’s mane. Bright eyes looked around constantly, tiny ears flicking first one way and then the other.
“Well, I guess I can’t really complain,” Braeburn grumbled and eyed the animal, half convinced it wasn’t a real one.
Flamewheel’s smile grew brighter. “What was that?”
Braeburn returned the smile with an even larger one, clenching his teeth. “Said thanks, Flame’. I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for that critter.”
“What, the mouse?” Flamewheel looked down at her new friend. “You mean it’s somepony else’s? Aww...”
“‘Fraid so,” he replied, reaching for the little beast. When he drew too close, it hissed at him, swiping with a tiny, clawed hand. Grimacing, he drew his hoof back. “Actually, you can hold it a little longer. Mind accompanying me to the sheriff's office?”
“Absolutely!” She beamed, then grew serious. “Oh, right, sorry about talking so much. Sometimes I get too excited. I saw you were annoyed by it earlier, but I forgot. So. I’ll stop. Sparkler doesn’t like it either. Neither does Jubilee, or Babs, or... err, sorry.”
Braeburn drew in a breath to explain that it was fine, but he stopped himself instead. “Actually, I won’t lie and say it was fine, but I do appreciate you thinking of me instead of rattling off on another one of your tales. You’ve got a good heart under that bubbly outside of yours.”
Glancing away demurely, Flame smiled. “Thanks. You’re the first pony to say that.”
“No problem!” Braeburn said with a genuine smile. “Now let’s get that critter back to the sherriff’s office before the poor owner goes and kick’s the bucket.”
Startled, Flame gasped. “You mean she’s that worried? What are we waiting for! Let’s hurry!”
With that, she sped off toward the office, leaving him in the dust.
Bemused, Braeburn stood there, blinking away the cloud of dirt.
Night settled into the desert wastes outside the town, the sun long having sunk beneath the mountainous horizon. Crickets once again buzzed, though the stars were missing and the wind did not blow.
In most ways, it was entirely opposite from the night Braeburn had slept beneath Bloomberg’s branches.
Lights dimmed the sea of stars from lamps and candles and electric bulbs. Ponies danced and played, the buzz of their conversations drowning out the cricket’s songs. Scents of apple-baked pies and funnel cakes fought in the air.
Those smells are the reason I’m getting a bit pudgy, Braeburn thought critically. He poked himself in the stomach, feeling the slight give of fat instead of the muscles that he’d built up working the orchards.
He sighed, ruefully reaching in his vest pocket for another few bits. The vendor in front of him smiled knowingly, sprinkling a bit less sugar on his treat.
Buying another apple pie-flavored funnel cake would help the town, after all.
Munching on the right delicious treat, Braeburn looked around. His gaze fell over rows of striped tents, little pennants of all different colors limp in the breezeless evening. All kinds of events were being held in those tents, including one that caught his eye. He almost choked on his funnel cake when he saw who was in charge of it.
“Step right up, everypony, that’s right, step right up!” Flimity Flam gestured to the crowd with a cane, his mustache twirled so much it almost reached where it started. “Come right here and play my little game. You’ve seen these things before, no doubt, and you say, ‘Flimity, these old tests are... well, old!’ I say, you haven’t seen mine.”
The pudgy pony tapped his device with a cane. It was a large cylindrical tube with a peppermint-colored outer shell. Inside was a blue ball sitting on one end of a seesaw-like contraption. Above the noise of the crowds, Braeburn could hear a sharp whining sound.
“This right here is my patented, incredible, absolutely, positively amazing Hyper High Striker 7000!” Flimity Flam proudly stuck a cigar in his mouth and chewed on it. “Now, let me tell you, this is no ordinary Strongpony machine, no, no. It’s something almost entirely different! You see, this here tube has a fan at the top of it, blowing wind down into the bottom at high speeds! That little ball in there is being pelted, no, I say slammed into the bottom by this powerful breeze!”
Flimity pitched his voice lower, gesturing for the crowd to creep closer. “‘But Flimity’, you ask, ‘it’d be impossible to make it ring the bell!’ Well, as intelligent as you modern ponies no doubt are, you’ve never seen anything like this. It is not only possible, it is quite skill based. For, you see, the fan turns off at random intervals, giving you the chance to strike the see-saw and send that ball flying sky high! But you only have a quick, split second to act!”
The crowd’s faces grew skeptical at that, Braeburn included. He stared at the machine, glancing at it up and down to see if he could figure out the pattern. There had to be one, one that Flimity knew off hoof.
“Ah, but I see your doubting faces,” Flimity said tragically, his cigar and shoulders drooping. Suddenly, he sprang up, surprising a colt in the front row, his eyes alive and a smile plastered across his face. “But I can prove it’s possible with a quick demonstration. And trust me, audience, I’ll not be using any magic to do this. Watch my horn. It’ll be magic-free, I assure you! I could even do it blindfolded, if I wanted to!”
“Then do it that way!” A mare called out from the back.
Another mare in the front yelled, too. “Yeah, show us. Go on!”
Braeburn finished the last of his funnel cake and tapped his hoof against the ground. “I’ll do it!”
Flimity, who was just about to put on his blindfold, suddenly stopped, his face incredulous. “Say what, now?”
“I said I’ll go ahead and give it a try,” Braeburn said with a smile, determined to wipe the smug look off Flimity’s face.
“Well, well, well!” Flimity bellowed out an uneasy laugh. “If it isn’t Braeburn Apple! Nice to see you, kid!”
Grinning wider, Braeburn held out his hoof. “I’ll take the blindfold, if you don’t mind.”
Behind him, somepony gasped.
“You’ll do what, now?” Flimity asked deadpan, his cigar dropping to the ground.
“I’ll take that blindfold,” Braeburn repeated firmly.
Confusion was plain in Flimity’s face as he hoofed over the piece of cloth. Braeburn tied it around his head, concealing the world from view. His sense of sound grew sharper, but he could still only barely hear the whine of the fan in the fancy machine.
“Hammer.” He held out his hoof.
Something heavy was laid there. “I hope you know what you’re doin’, kid. This’d be mighty embarrassing for you if you missed. You can always back out, you know. No harm done.”
“Are there any tricks to this?” Braeburn asked instead of answering.
“Asking me for hints after acting so durned brazen, huh? You’ve got the guts of an ol’ bronco.” After a grunt, Flimity continued. “No tricks other than what I told the crowd. Hit the see-saw when the fan goes out and the ball’ll shoot straight up. Challenging, sure, but only a few ponies have the reflexes. I am an honest pony.”
“Hmm,” Braeburn replied noncommittally, lifting up the blindfold to find where he’d be striking. “Alright. Thanks.”
Flimity chuckled. “Your choice, kid.”
Returning the blindfold so that it covered his eyes again, Braeburn flicked his ears in the direction of the machine. If he concentrated he could hear it above the roar of the crowd. Listening for a few moments, he heard a slight catch in the whine. The catch came again a moment after, seemingly random.
But there has to be a pattern... otherwise Flimity wouldn’t be so confident.
So he waited. Sweat began trickling down his face and into the blindfold, but he tried to ignored it. The thought of all the ponies staring was making him nervous. Shifting from side to side, Braeburn pursed his lips. Again the pause came.
What if there isn’t a pattern? What did Flimity say? A split second to act? He grimaced.
“Any time now, kid,” Flimity’s voice came. “I know you want to prove me wrong, but the spectacle’s beginning to die down.”
Braeburn thought about just standing there until the crowd left, but he dismissed it as soon as it came. That would be unfair, even if Flimity might not be playing by the rules either. Can’t stoop down to his level, now can I? Apples aren’t dishonest.
Drawing in a breath, Braeburn drew back the hammer. Another catch in the whine. He held himself back. Not ready for it. Be patient.
It dropped again.
Not yet...
He held the breath in. His heart pounded in his ears. The crowd around him hushed and the anticipation grew until he could feel it in the air. Another pause.
Now!
Braeburn fumbled, his hoof slick with sweat, and the hammer dropped out of control. With a heavy clunk, it landed on the seesaw. A whoop sounded from the machine beside him and trailed off almost immediately, followed by a harsh buzzer.
The crowd was silent.
Before the first snicker came, Braeburn already felt embarrassment flush across his face. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the blindfold and threw it to the ground, knocking his hat off in the process. Muted laughter around him stung his pride. Flushing further, he grabbed for his hat and began to move away after putting it on, eyes downcast.
Somepony grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Hey, kid, it’s alright,” Flimity said, his voice filled with a strange concern. “I’ve seen even the bulkiest ponies drop the hammer. Ain’t the end of the world. I’ll even let ya try again, free of charge.”
But Braeburn could only hear the mocking chuckles around him. “I don’t want none of your sympathy. ‘Twas my fault I dropped the hammer, but you don’t gotta go and rub it in. Ya already goin’ after my town.”
“Your town? Kid, I set up shop here to he—.”
Braeburn shook him off and galloped away, teeth grinding together. Anger spun around in his mind, feeding off the embarrassment.
Why is he even here? Braeburn snorted, stomping harder into the ground than necessary. The impact sent up a puff of dust. Comes in here after tellin’ us our town’s no more worth the cost than a barrel half-full of oats.
He drew his hat down so he didn’t have to meet anypony’s gazes. The way ponies were looking at him, full of concern, was just too much. Ain’t their affair. They’re tryin’ to have a good time here. I won’t go spoilin’ it just because I’m a little hacked off.
So they moved out of his way, stepping to one side of the aisle or the other. He turned randomly between a row of tents. Somepony called his name, but he bulled on, not even glancing back.
It wasn’t long before the light of the festival fell away and the press of all the ponies faded. Still he walked. He kicked a stone and nearly tripped when it didn’t move. That only spurred his anger and he let out a ragged cry.
I just wanna shout and carry on like some kind of foal, he thought shamelessly, looking up for the first time.
Around him was the boundary of the orchard. A few yards away was a cactus, its spines gleaming in the light of the festival. Out in the distance were the mesas that shielded the orchard from the worst of the sandstorms. He imagined kicking one of them like some old pony hero and sending them flying.
He sat. Slowly, the annoyance drained away.
If only Little Strongheart were here... he thought wistfully as he looked up at the sky. Stars blinked down at him, nowhere near the amount he’d usually see. Only a few more days ‘til they get here.
Something kicked a rock behind him. Braeburn looked back.
“Hey there,” Applebloom said, flashing him a smile. “Why’re ya out here all alone? We’re sellin’ apple pies back there like... well, apple pies.”
He sighed, scratching the hair under his hat. “I don’t know. Just a little stressed out. All this festival plannin’ and worry about the town... just ain’t so good with copin’, I guess.”
Applebloom didn’t answer right away, instead sitting down beside him. She tucked her tail around her legs. “Well, me an’ Babs could help you more. It’s kinda fun. Babs might not say it to your face, but she’s been having fun, too.”
“Hmm,” Braeburn half-chuckled. “Kind of ya, but y’all’ve been doin’ more than I thought ya could. Far more’n I expected. Certainly surprised your sister.”
“Yeah.” A small smile appeared at his praise. “But we Apples stick together, just like ya said back at that town meetin’. Besides, Applejack won’t need my help on the farm for awhile. I’d just be sitting around doin’ nothing with Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle on vacation.”
Smiling despite himself, Braeburn pulled his cousin closer into a hug. “You’re a good pony, Applebloom. I wish everypony were like you.”
She snorted. “Applejack says there ain’t no pony like me better than getting into trouble. If everypony were like me, I’d be scared!”
Silly, he thought and let go of her. You know what I meant.
Ruefully, he stood and turned back to the lights of the festival.
He was just in time to watch part of the orchard explode.
Screams began almost immediately after the first explosion. A red hue colored the sky over the orchard as the fire raged. Branches crackled and pops echoed out across the desert as more fireworks exploded. An acrid stench filled the air, and the shadow of smoke billowed up to the size of a mountain.
Braeburn’s heart skipped a beat. His mind blanked.
What’s… happening?
Anger swelled up inside him like the red tide of flame lighting up the night sky. Shaking off his paralysis, Braeburn darted into a gallop. His muscles worked like steam pistons, and his breath came in ragged gasps that swiftly changed to coughing when the first wave of smoke caught him. With eyes watering like somepony had forgotten to turn off the tap, Braeburn leaped over the fence separating him from the festivities.
Inside the fairgrounds, city-folk ran around like cockatrices were chasing them and getting in the way of the few Appleoosans trying to respond to the sudden emergency. Panicked yelling and the sound of sompony crying for their mother were competing with the crackling blaze. One of the city-ponies ran into a barrell and sent it rolling into the crowd.
“Consarn it!” Braeburn said through gritted teeth, his heart pulling him to the orchard. “Ponies first. Outta the way!”
The last he said to the scrambling crowd. Heads turned toward him, and the ponies skipped out of his way like he was some kind of fancy Princess. Remarkably, no pony had run into the barrel, yet.
Braeburn didn’t waste the opportunity. He galloped forward, sight set to head off the runaway barrel. He nearly tripped when he saw where it was heading.
It was rolling toward a crying filly on the other side of the street. She was rubbing her eyes with a hoof and didn’t seem to see the danger barrelling toward her. Smoke formed a massive cloud behind her, dark and menacing.
“Haystacks!” Braeburn cursed. He tried to come up with a way to stop the barrel, but he wasn’t going to get to it in time.
“Gangway! Watch where yer goin’!” Babs’ voice called over the uproar.
Braeburn saw his cousin elbow her way out of the crowd, flanked by Sparkler Rumbleblast. The normally glassy-eyed pony held a determined expression on her face.
Just before the barrel could hit the filly, Sparkler jumped in front of it and whirled around. Her back legs kicked out and slammed into the barrel. It stopped in its tracks. Sparkler stepped back, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.
Meanwhile, Babs grabbed the filly and helped her onto the mare’s back. With that done, the two rejoined the crowd. They were heading away from the flames even now roaring over the tent they’d just left. ust as they were about to pass him, Babs looked in his direction.
“Braeburn!”
Pushing through the crowd, Braeburn grunted and wove his way around a couple transfixed by the burgeoning flame. They gaped at it, their eyes reflecting orange and red.
They probably didn’t even notice the poor filly nearly crushed, Braeburn thought venomously. Lookin’ out for youngin’s is everypony’s job!
“What’s going on?” Braeburn asked as he turned away from the couple to talk to Babs and Sparkler. He was still itching to get to the source of the fire and put it out.
Babs grimaced. “Something happened with the fireworks. A whole barrel exploded all at once.”
“What? How?” Braeburn yelled.
Babs threw her hooves in the air and almost fell over when somepony bowled into her. “Hey! Watch it!” She turned back to him. “I don’t know! One second I was lookin’ at a list for the display tonight, and the next, everything’s burning!”
Braeburn’s eyebrows drew down darkly. “I thought I told you to look after those two!”
Disbelief was visible in Sparkler’s eye at that. “What? You’re worried about that now? The orchard’s on fire and my sister’s missing! I think she was near one of the fireworks barrels when things started exploding!”
A jolt of fear rushed through him and glanced toward the fire. “And you didn’t help her?”
“I thought she was right behind me!” Sparkler yelled at him, tears in her eyes. “Then Babs saw this filly…”
Braeburn let out a frustrated breath and cursed himself for yelling at her. “I’ll find Flamewheel, then! Y’all get out of here and make sure everypony gets out safely!”
Sparkler shook her head. “I’m coming with you!”
“You need to get that filly out of here first. Babs can’t take her out safely.” He looked down at his cousin. “Get some ponies to form a water brigade. We need to save what we can of the faire! Orchard’ll survive longer, but we need this fire out sooner rather than later!”
“But—!”
“Go!”
Babs yelled after him, “Careful, Brae’.”
“Yeah, I will,” Braeburn replied under his breath as he galloped back into the crowd toward where the Rumbleblast’s fireworks had been quartered.
Something whistled into the air, drawing Braeburn’s attention. A shaft of sparks split the smoke, followed by an explosion of color. The firework crackled and zipped into the form of an apple.
Flamewheel!
Hooves beating against the ground like a high-paced drummer, Braeburn turned a corner with renewed alarm. He grimaced and jumped over a flaming pennant. Through the smoke he went headlong, eyes stinging.
Flames were spreading across the various tents, though the gaps between the structures were slowing it down. Piercing whistles and explosions thundered from the tent where they’d stored the fireworks. Branches of light zipped and spun. A nearby apple tree was aflame, apples shriveling in the heat and falling to the ground.
“Flamewheel!” he called out. He coughed fitfully against the smoke.
“Braeburn?” a weak voice called out.
He squinted, tears forming in his eyes as he tried to figure out where the sound was coming from. His eyes roamed over piles of flaming planks, a steadily burning barrel and charred tents.
The heat was growing almost too much to bear. Despite that, he kept on determinedly. Vision swimming, Braeburn tried to pull in pockets of air trapped in the smoke.
Come on, Flamewheel, where are ya? he asked inwardly. “Flamewheel!”
Only the flickering flames answered him this time. They danced gleefully in the dark air. They were mesmerizing. He couldn’t look away.
Dizziness hit him like a rock and his world tilted. His shoulder impacted the ground. Nothing but smoke entered his lungs. Braeburn choked, blinking his eyes.
I’m gonna die.
The realization came with a rumble through his body. It was like the feeling of hundreds of hoofbeats striking the earth. All sounds, even the crackling of the fire, felt muted.
A sense of annoyance coursed through him.
How come everytime I try to help, it ends up with me making a fool of myself? he thought. His eyes closed against the heat and smoke. Why can’t I just help somepony and do it right?
“Braeburn!”
On the edge of consciousness, Braeburn’s ear flicked. The rumbling was growing stronger, and somepony was calling his name.
Ma? He tried to speak the word, but he couldn’t draw in the breath.
“Braeburn! Hold on!”
Suddenly it felt as if the very earth was shaking beneath his body. Braeburn frowned and winced as a huge crash sounded to his right, followed by dozens more all around him. Bellows deeper than anypony could make thundered around him.
“Braeburn! By the ancestors, wake up!”
The voice was familiar, but Braeburn couldn’t place it. He opened an eye, but it was a colossal effort, like something was gumming his eyelids together.
Above him was a concerned face, brown-furred and with kind, concerned eyes.
“Little… Strongheart?” Braeburn croaked. His mind was reeling, and he could breath again! What the hay is going on?
A smile appeared across the young buffalo’s muzzle and relief danced in her eyes like joyful flames. “Oh, thank the ancestors.”
Concentrating on keeping the darkness at bay, he asked, “Flamewheel?”
She looked at him quizzically, then her face brightened. “Oh! Is that who you were trying to save? We found her under a tarp covered in wood. She’s burned a little bit, but alive.”
Relief spread through Braeburn like cool water and he finally relaxed. He let out a tired sigh. “Good…”
“Just rest now, Braeburn. We’ve got it under control,” Little Strongheart said.
So he did.
*****
Dawn was peeking over the mountainous horizon when Braeburn finally awoke. Light speared through the window and spilled across his sheets. The sound of laughter and conversation filtered in from the outside. Something buzzed in the corner of the room.
Flamewheel!
His body bolted up straight and he fell into a coughing fit. It felt like a dragging sensation every time he drew in a breath. Pain flooded through his head as well and he winced, holding his hooves to his head to keep it from falling apart.
A clatter of hooves came from his right. “Awake, huh?”
Opening an eye to look, Braeburn saw House Call’s stern face. An expression of distaste masked his muzzle, though Braeburn thought he saw a flash of relief in the old stallion’s eye.
Harrumphing, the doctor pushed him back down to the bed and pulled out a stethoscope. The metal was cold against his coat as House Call pressed the instrument to his chest.
“Breathe,” House Call demanded, brooking no argument.
Meekly complying, Braeburn drew in a hesitant breath. The dragging sensation returned and he coughed. With each cough, more pain swelled between his eyes.
Muttering to himself, House Call removed the instrument. He grabbed a chart and placed it on the nightstand next to Braeburn’s bed, then began writing on it. The scratches of the pen accompanied the buzzing sound coming from the water heater on the other side of the room. Another surge of laughter came from outside.
“Doc—”
House Call turned and glared at him.
Okay… no talking, Braeburn thought, suddenly feeling as if he were smaller than an ant.
The elder pony returned to his chart. After a few more notes, House Call sighed and rubbed a hoof against the side of his head, as if trying to stem a migraine.
Finally, he turned to Braeburn. “You’re an idiot. Huh.” When Braeburn didn’t respond, the doctor continued. “Normal, intelligent ponies don’t go running into a fire with smoke all in the air, huh. They wait for it to clear up. Or they grab something to breathe through. Huh. But you? No, you just run in, breathing in enough smoke to kill a Griffon. Huh.”
“Well, I was trying to save somepony—”
House Call threw his hooves into the air. “Oh, well then, excuse me! Saving somepony! Forgive me for disparaging the hero, huh!” The doc eyed him evilly. “Except… who ended up in trouble, too? Oh, that’s right, you did! Some buffalo broad had to come in and rescue your fool hide. Huh! ‘Sides, that somepony’s fine. She was smart enough to cover herself with a tarp.”
Braeburn looked down, shame reddening his face. The Doc’s right… I am an idiot. I couldn’t even save Flamewheel myself.
“Look.” House Call’s mask fell away and a tiredness Braeburn had never seen in the old stallion appeared. “I get it. You’re Braeburn. You do first and think later. But you really need to learn to do the opposite, for you and everypony else! You got lucky, huh. You got lucky because the Buffalo happened to be nearby and decided to help by stampeding through your little festival to put out the fire. But that luck can’t hold out forever, and frankly, we need you in this town, Braeburn. Huh. If something happens to you…” House Call grimaced. “Well, it’ll be a lot harder to cook something up like this festival you put together, I’ll say that.”
After a moment of silence, the old pony sighed. “Well, that’s your lecture for the day. Ya got a few ponies waiting for ya outside, huh. Try not to get yourself in trouble, alright? I’d hate to be the one trying to put you back together all the time. Too much work for an ol’ coot like me.”
When House Call turned to move away, Braeburn cleared his throat. “Thanks, doc. I… get it. Thank you.”
With a snort, the doctor waved his thanks away. “Don’t mention it, huh. Now, I’m gonna let a few ponies in. Try to keep talkin’ to a minimum, if that’s possible for ya. Y’ain’t recovered from everything yet. Walk around as ya please, though, but don’t go runnin’ around anywhere.”
Braeburn nodded and slipped out of the bed. He wobbled unsteadily on his hooves for a second, and then caught himself.
“Y’all can come in!” House Call yelled. “Carefully!”
The door crashed open and ponies spilled into the room.
“Braeburn!” Applebloom yelled, the first to recover. She scrambled to the side of his bed. “Y’all okay?”
Babs was next. “He’s fine, ‘Bloom. Doctor wouldn’ta let us in if he wasn’t.”
Flamewheel and Sparkler strode up behind the two fillies. Flamewheel had some bandages on her leg and side, but seemed none the worse for wear elsewise. They both smiled at him, and he smiled back.
Sheriff Silverstar crowded in behind them. “Well, you sure got yourself in a pickle, pardner.”
Braeburn’s smile fell away and he walked toward the door. “Orchard?”
“A few trees got burnt, but it’ll live,” Silverstar replied. “And—”
“Bloomberg’s okay, too,” Applebloom chimed in.
Silverstar scowled down at the filly.
Applebloom wilted, a sheepish smile on her face. “Sorry.”
“Yes, Bloomberg’s fine and dandy. So’s all our visitors and citizens, more or less. Luckily, your little cousin, here, got a brigade going before I could even shake a tailfeather, so to speak,” the Sheriff grumbled, pointing at Babs. “Saved some of the faire, too, but… well, it ain’t good, plain speaking.”
The hope Braeburn had felt before the fire wilted and died away. What now? That faire was the only thing we had… now it’s all ashes. Just like Appleoosa’s dream.
Somepony cleared their throat at the door. “Funny thing about disaster, though...”
Braeburn looked up to see Flimity leaning against the door. The candy-cane maned stallion was chewing on his cigar with a thoughtful expression on his face.
Behind him, the filly he’d tried to save waved at him. She was sitting on top of what Braeburn assumed to be her mother, who was smiling at him. Beside her, another pony stood and began to cheer. Soon, more ponies started to cackle, whoop and yell, until it sounded like a good ol’ fashioned hootenanny.
Braeburn broke into tears, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What…?”
Flimity grinned and winked. “Brings ponies together.”
