The sun this morning was no bastard. Her smile was gracious, like that of a proud mother watching over her children. Around daybreak a team of pegasi had worked tirelessly to herd up and clear brooding overcast. A fine job they did. The sky was an azure canvas for all those on the world below to enjoy.

Whisper was glad for the touch of warmth on her face, perhaps more so than anyone else. While other ponies pulling carts packed full of apples or heaving great stacks of timber were sweating bullets and hiding beneath shade, Whisper smiled and turned her dry brow up to the sun. She saw it through a slit in the canopy of green. A breeze carrying the scent of fresh apples kissed that brow, ruffling her braids.

How much nicer you are in the strange land, Whisper thought. I remember when you would blister and burn. Why the change of heart?

Whatever the answer, Whisper was grateful. In that moment, she was willing to forgive twenty years of heatwaves, scorchers, and bone dry deserts baked of substance.

“Sweet Celestia! Feel that wind!” Whisper allowed herself to be pulled away from the sun and towards the sound of the voice.

The cart she had been helping to fill all morning had nearly reached maximum capacity. She could already see the some shiny red apples poking over the sides of the wooden cart- most were honeycrisps, but they'd surely get a few braeburns before the cart was really good and full.

That's when Whisper noticed a peculiar kind of apple atop the load that. It was no red delicious, granny smith, or honeygold. In fact, Whisper doubted that this kind of apple even grew on a tree.

Still smiling, Whisper trotted on back to the cart. The pony laid sprawled atop the mound of apples, a stallion with a familiar green coat, hardly gave her so much as a glance as she neared. Though the orchard trees provided shade aplenty, it did nothing for the heat that left the air dry and heavy.

“You know, Granny Smith will have your hide for a winter blanket for lying about on the job, Grimes,” Whisper said amiably. “And one could only imagine what she'd do if she saw you bruising all those innocent apples.”

Grimes Golden only huffed stuffily, blowing long strands of mane from his face. He kept his face pointed to the sky.

There was a flash of mischief in Whisper’s eyes as she reached up and rapped a hoof along the side of the cart. “Knock knock! Anypony home!”

Whisper finally got a response. It was a single, dying word that escaped Grimes like a ponies final breath.

“Noooo…..”

“Oh, come on, Grimy! Are you an apple or aren't you?”

Surely that would stir Mr. Lazybones, he hated that name more than the apple emblazoned on his flank.

“No, I’m not a apple… I'm a pony, damn it.”

Finally Whisper got more than a single word from the bugger. Though he looked like an Apple, and even had the name too, Grimes spoke without the charming drawl that seemed to drip from the lips if his family. Whisper continued to look up at him, patiently. After a moment, she gave the aged wood another rap.

This time, the response was immediate. Grimes bolted upright, head rotating so that he could glare down at her. Some of his almond colored mane fall to the side of his face, slick with perspiration. Whisper felt the stinging heat of his gaze, but weathered it just as merrily as she everything else. Years had been spent with Alabaster, a stallion with a temper matched only by dragons and the fires of tartarus. Compared to him, Grimes Golden’s hissy fits were nothing more than sand in Whisper’s eye.

“How the hay are you not tired?” Grimes asked. “We've been bucking trees and lugging this brute of a cart around for hours!”

“I’ve been bucking and lugging. And you know, we'll be out here for hours more if we I’m the only one working. If we hurry, we might be able to get some of that sweet, sweet tea your cousin made.” Whisper felt a pang of shame that she had forgotten the filly’s name.

She was just the cutest thing, what with that big red bow and those eager eyes!

This did not spur Grimes as she had hoped it would.

“I’m serious! Look at you! You're not even sweating!’

“Why, Grimes Golden, don't you know that ladies don't sweat?” Whisper’s smile became sardonic. “It's far too harmful for our complexion.”

The rain clouds darkening Grimes face thickened, and for a moment Whisper that she was going to see a little bit of lightning. His face cleared, though, nevertheless. It was now resignation Whisper saw on the stallion's face.

Grimes sighed, his shoulders dropping. “Can I get another minute? Give me just another minute, please, and I'll hop down and hitch myself up to the cart. It’s only fair, seeing as you pulled the last half hours.”

“Aye, that's the spirit!” Grimes couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. “I'll just collect the baskets and give you a few minutes. If it makes you feel any better, we’re nearly done.”

It doesn't, is what Grimes had thought about saying, but found he had exhausted his reserve of ill-temper. He could no more throw a rock through stained glass then he could speak ugly to the face beaming up at him.

That face… There was a caress of heat upon the earth-ponies cheeks, but he chalked up to the sun. The bastard had slipped through the gaps between the treetops and was shining directly on his face now.

Grimes thanked the sun and moon that he would have a couple more minutes of reprieve and allowed himself to fall back onto the stack of apples. Their fragrance consumed him and offered comfort dispute Grimes’s obvious contempt for the things. Hadn’t he use to drift off to sleep much the same way as a foal? Except then, his bed had been a basket instead of a wagon.

Whisper went about collecting the wicker baskets scattered about the trees, humming as she did so -the song was one she had known since childhood, and was a personal favourite of Alabaster’s.

Though her spirits still soared high on that cloudless sky, there was a hint of apprehension when she glanced back at where Grimes Golden lay. She had to be wary of this one. For the two days she had known the Apple family, she figured them to be simply folk. Not stupid, just simple. ‘Ask no silly questions, and I'll play no silly games’, she had heard the old mare named Granny Smith say once. That was all fine by Little Whisper. She could do without questions.

But Grimes Golden was different. He carried not his family’s affinity for the harvest, nor the aversion for silly questions. While the rest of the Apples had their eyes locked solely on the job at hand, Whisper noted how Grimes’s tended to wander.

Whisper wouldn't let herself dwell upon the thought for too long. Caution was to be expected, but too much could just be as fatal as none at all. She had tricked much craftier minds than Grimes Golden before -Captain Fluffy. Never forget about Captain Fluffy, girl.

She would allow herself to enjoy the day, for it really was quite a beauty. Not even Grimes with all his grumblings could soil that.

The work at Sweet Apple Acres was demanding, and not just for those bucking trees in the apple orchard. Just as Ponyville was going through a reconstruction, so too was the town’s most beloved apple farm. The mighty skeleton of a barn stood half finished, teams of ponies working hard to erect the hefty beams that would support the structure.

Those not working on the barn were either fixing up the ruined hen house or patching up gaps in the farm’s fences. There was work aplenty for the thirty or so sopping brows paid for by the town's money, and Granny Smith was going to use every ounce of hired muscles for as long as she could. It was a chore and a half convincing her bullheaded granddaughter that they needed the extra help. Thankfully she was away for the time being, and Granny Smith wouldn’t have to put up with her bellyaching.

From the tenacity of them all, one would think that nothing could detour these hard workers from their hammers and nails, trees and apple carts. And that was about the truth. Nothing could stop them…

...except, perhaps, two powerful words.

Granny Smith toddled out of the big house, her joints creaking like the branches of an ancient tree, and stood for a moment just outside the house’s threshold. She smiled and heaved herself up on her hind legs. The old girl might not have as much getup and go as she once did, but she certainly had her moments. Granny Smith’s hooves dipped into the pockets of the apron she wore and produce two items: a brass triangle and a wooden spoon.

She struck the instrument in rapid succession, calling out in a croaning voice that could have been heard from Ponyville.

“Luuuuunch Tiiiiime!”

Every sweaty brow from the barnhouse, outhouse, and the orchard turned up at the sound of her voice. Their weary faces cracked, making way for beaming grins. The working ponies wouldn't just throw down their tools or kick off their harnesses -it would come out of their pay should they carelessly damage the equipment - but they did move with haste. It wasn't long before the first wave of empty stomachs started stomping their way up to the big house.

Granny Smith grinned, her heart uplifted by the sight of so many hungry, hardworking ponies. She dropped back to all fours and turned around to call through the open front door.

“Best move your flank, Apple Bloom! Them’s some hungry ponies coming up here. Might be I’ll have to feed you to them if ya keep them waitin’!” The old mare cackled as if it were the funniest thing she had ever said.

A shrill voice, one that could only belong to a filly of eleven or so, called back. “I'm hurryin’, Granny, it’s just these straps. You made ‘em too tight! Feels like I'm fixin’ to pop!”

Granny Smith laughed again. The first couple of pairs were now within only a few yards of the house. The smell of them drifted through the air, pungent and suffocating. Granny didn't seem to mind, however, for she shared with each of them her toothy grin -the dentures helped her greatly with this.

“Boy howdy, I can smell the hard work on ya, so I can,” Granny said to the first of the ponies, a chestnut colored mare. At the her sheepish smile, Granny laughed and added, “Ain't nothin’ to be ashamed of, girly. Tis a good smell. It reassures this old bag of salt that y'all ain't out there twiddling your hooves!”

More ponies had appeared now, and Granny Smith was getting ready to holler at her granddaughter again when the sound of squealing wheels could be heard through the open door. A moment passed and a filly emerged, her own grin almost as wide as the one her grandmother had.

“Ya’ll ponies hungry?” She asked happily. A tiny makeshift harness could be seen around her midsection.

She waited for no reply before she came trotting out to meet the gathering crowd, trailing behind her was a tiny wagon the same color as the blazing red bow atop her head.

“Bout time you got out here, Apple Bloom,” Granny said, giving the filly a loving ruffle of the mane. “Thought I was gonna have to get in there and drive ya out like a steer.”

There was a clammer of chuckles from the farmhands that only grew louder as the filly huffed and shooed away Granny’s hoof.

“I would've been out here sooner if you had fixed the harness like you said you would. Feels like I'm gettin’ a hug from Fluttershy’s pet snake again.” Apple Bloom sulked for a second longer before her enthusiasm boomeranged. The way Apple Bloom beamed at them restored some of the farmhand’s gumption, but her words did the job far better.

“Well, what are y'all waiting for? Princess Celestia? Dig in!”

Lidded eyes first popped wide open, then weary hooves were drove into a near gallup. Granny Smith’s cawing laugh could barely be heard over tromping of hooves. Apple Bloom found herself joining in with Granny as the crowd herded around the wagon.

Hungry stomachs tend to make hungry eyes, as farm hands knew this all too well. It was the eyes that ate first today as the ponies drank in the glorious banquet before them. There were six baskets -baskets much like those used in the orchards- in Apple Bloom's wagon, each lined with a checkered cloth and stuffed to its brim with food.

The first pair of baskets held a simply commodity: cheese sandwiches on wheat. There wasn't nary a pony in Ponyville that had never tasted a cheese sandwich, yet in that moments, the farmhands could think of nothing more delicious than the old mare’s hoof made sandwiches. They would each pick two sandwiches and tear through the napkins wrapped around them almost the moment they had departed from the wagon.

The second and third set of baskets held what the ponies coveted most of all: freshly baked rolls, nearly the size of ripe apples, piled up in two of said baskets. Melted butter glistened on the baked bread’s golden skin much like the sweat clinging to the farmhand’s coats. Lastly, two more baskets held apple fritters fresh from the oven. The ponies gathering up their share were drunk off the intoxicating aroma drifting on the wind.

Granny Smith watched the ravenous horde with an almost motherly satisfaction. The one thing she loved more than seeing hard working ponies was seeing those hard working ponies eat hearty. It had been years, far too many years, since she got to dish up a large meal for something other than a family reunion. She thrived in the labor and relished in the faces smiling around mouthfuls of apple fritter.

It wouldn't take long for the crowd to thin out once the farmhands had their grub. Some -breeze ins from the north without nary a friend, mainly- would sit around in the yard and eat by themselves. Granny would drift amongst them, chatting and always earning a smile or two from these lonesome souls. Others, ponies who had roots buried deep in Ponyville, would take their lunches back to their worksites. Chatter and laughter could be heard faintly, even from the Apple’s front porch.

“I think lunch was a success,” Applebloom chimed, watching with delight as the dozen or so ponies taking their meal in the garden began to scarfed down their sandwiches.

Granny gave Apple Bloom another rustle of the mane, this time getting a grin instead of a frown. “Apple Bloom, with enough grit, spit, and love, ya'll will find that nearly anythin’ will be a success.”

Apple Bloom’s nose wrinkled. “I really hope you used more grit than spit, Granny.”

Granny Smith was just about to make her rounds amongst the gorging ponies when one of the final waves crashed down upon the lunch cart. These were the ponies who either shook down trees in the far orchards or who tilled the field over the next hill. They always started their lunch hour off a bit late, taking the extra time to secure their wagons and plows.The sight of them gave Granny Smith pause. She decided that wouldn't set off just yet. Leading the trudging figures up the hill was a familiar mountain of red fur and brawny muscles.

“Was wonderin’ when ya’ll would be makin’ your way up here,” Granny Smith called out, favoring her grandson with a smile when he neared.

He stopped just short of the lunch cart and blew some of his sandy mane from his eyes. The ponies he lead had no such courtesy. They parted and swarmed the wagon on all sides, though, not with near as much zeal as the first wave.

“You don't look so good, Big Mac,” Applebloom said, reaching to pat her big brother’s hoof. “Is it that new field? It’s giving ya’ll problems, ain't it?”

Big Macintosh winced as pins and needles daned up his aching back. “Eeyup,” was all he said. Seeing that momentary flare of pain in Macintosh wounded Granny Smith, but she did her best not to show that she had seen it. He knew just as well her that these were hard times, and hard times demanded hard work.

“I thank ya big for dragging a plow through that craggy pile of dirt, Big Mac. I think the world of ya for doin it. We need that field tilled and ready for seed soon. With how everything’s boomin’ in town, I'm afraid it’s the only way for us to keep up with demand.”

Macintosh just shook his head and gave the old mare a tired, loving smile. Think nothing of it, that look said. Granny beamed, rising up to plant a sloppy kiss in the stallion’s cheek.

“You're one in a million, Big Mac.” Then, after a moment’s consideration, she laughed and hugged the filly next to her. “Well, perhaps three in a million if you don't mind me sayin’. You youngsters keep the spiffy in this old mare’s jiffy, so you do!”

Though the two siblings didn’t quite understand the old mare’s use of words, the sentiment behind them was clear.

The tender moment was ruined, however, by a low, grumbling sound. Two sets of eyes looked at Macintosh, and under their weight a flare of color on his cheeks managed to cut through the crimson of his fur. Applebloom and Granny Smith busted into a gale of laughter.

“You hungry, ain't ya?” Granny Smith wiped away a tear rolling away from her shining eyes. “Well go on and get you some grub, Big Mac, these two silly fillies don't need no tending after. Do we, Apple Bloom?”

“Nope!”

Macintosh didn't need any more convincing. He gave the two a quick tilt of the head before circled back around to the baskets of food. Though the throng around cart was particularly thick at the moment, the mountainous stallion had no problem getting food. The ponies gathered around parted ways for him. Reverence glistened in their eyes as they watched Macintosh. There wasn't a single one of them who hadn't crept out to the edge of the Apple’s field and watched as the stallion heaved his plow through tough, gritty earth.

The mare who stood closest to Big Macintosh glanced sideways at him, noticing the ripple of muscle beneath his grimy coat. She remembered how those they pistoned beneath a sheen of sweat. The mare shrank away from the stallion, glad she was not born of the winged variety.

Granny Smith stayed where she was for the time being, waiting to see who was left. If her memory served her right -and it did do so on some days- there were still two more teams yet to arrive. They would be the pairs sent on the fatherst end of the orchard.

The old mare’s gaze swept side to side across the treeline. Minutes ticked away, and Granny Smith had the idea of unhitching Apple Bloom and sending her to see if what was keeping them. The thought no more crossed her mind when two silhouettes slipped through the curtain of tree trunks. Granny Smith couldn't quite make the figures out at first, the harsh glare of the sun playing evil tricks on her bad eyesight, but they solidified soon enough.

Granny Smith grinned and then cackled. “Well hello there, you two! Working hard or hardly working?”

Though the approaching mare returned the greeting with equal gaiety, while the stallion only glared down dourly.

“She laughs too much,” Grimes said under his breath, his legs aching as he fought his way up the hill. The damn thing hadn't felt near as steep when he set out that morning.

“If she keeps cawing like that, she'll sprout wings and fly.”

The mare he spoke of was still too far to hear him -though I could probably shout it in her face and she not hear it, as old as that bat is- but the one at his side heard him just fine. Grimes had expected a sour look, or perhaps even a few sour words, from Little Whisper. It would have been welcoming to see the bitterness in his heart mirrored on the face of one so sweet. What he didn't expect was the smile and the friendly bump of her flank against his.

“No need for that,” Whisper said amiably. “There’s nothing wrong with a pony who likes to laugh. Might do you some good to try it sometime. Might even find out you like it.”

“Please, you're starting to sound like Pinkie Pie, and I've rather enjoyed the town’s vacation from that pink monster, if you don't mind.”

Despite himself, Grimes couldn't help but smile. There was just something about Little Whisper’s good nature that was infectious. It seemed to spread like a fever. There was no more talk between them as they came upon the party of ponies.

“Working hard, Granny,” Whisper said, still struggling to say that last word. Granny Smith insisted that everyone called her Granny, and she wouldn't accept anything less.

“Always working hard.”

“That's good to hear, dear!” Granny Smith gave the mare a once over, then showed off her dentures in another toothy grin. “Now, if I hadn't seen you buck a tree clean into yesterday and haul a cart around the farm, I'd say you'd been hardly workin’.”

“Well, Granny, it's just like I told Grimes, it isn't ladylike to sweat.” Then, in a thick, syrupy drawl that could’ve been cultivated on that very farm, Whisper added, “It ain't proper like, no siree.”

Everyone around, even the few nosy ponies at the cart who had eavesdropped on the conversation by chance, gave Little Whisper a double take. If it weren't for the fact that the strange mare had blow into town just a few days ago, they probably would've sworn the mare had some Apple in her.

Granny Smith’s reared her head to the sky and roared with a laughter like none before. After a moment, when the gale had slackened to a giggle, the old farmer regarded Whisper with glistened glee.

“Boy howdy! I ain't laughed like that in a moon or more! I say thank ya for it, so I do!”

“And I say you're welcome,” Whisper said, first beaming, then sobering up some. “Is it alright if I take my lunch in town again, Granny? I don't mean to offend, if I do, but I know my friend would like to have lunch together. Still a bit shy around all the new faces, he is.”

Granny waved a dismissive hoof. “Ain't no offense here, Missy. Believe or not, I know what's it's like to have a special somepony…” The old mare tapered off, her good humor turning wistful for a moment.

“Feels like ya just can’t be around them enough. Nay, if you don't mind the walk into town, I don't mind you taking it. You may be a little late gettin’ back, but I know ya work hard enough to make up for it. Ain't like this work is goin’ anywhere anyhow. And it ain't like you're workin’ on my dime anyways!”

Whisper grinned, thanking the mare profusely. She didn't take the time to correct Granny on the matter of her ‘special somepony’. If ponies simply assumed such between Whisper and Alabaster, and many did it seemed, then let them. A story that ponies wove for themselves to believe would be much easier to believe than one she’d have to make up.

Granny Smith took her eyes off Whisper and fixed then upon the next pony. When she spoke, she did so without any of the joviality from before. She almost sounded morose.

“Good to see you're still standing, Grimes. Minding yourself alright?”

Grimes gave a shrug, than glared at the older pony. “Not a whole lot of trouble for somepony to get into while strapped to a cart of apples, is there?”

“You’d be surprised,” was all the mare said.

Granny Smith peered past the two ponies in front of her, glancing left and then right. From the sigh and shake of her head, it was safe to assume Granny Smith didn't see what she was after.

“I don't take it either of ya saw those two dunderheads on your way up here, did ya?”

“Abel and Fable?” Grimes asked, rolling his eyes. “No, haven't seen hide nor hair of them. Have you checked the outhouse, yet? Maybe they've decided to get a return on their brains.”

That was the first time Little Whisper, or Grimes too for that matter, witness Granny Smith scowl. Granny opened mouth to show Grimes just how sharp her own tongue could be, when the air was ripped away from her.

A howl, maybe from fearsome cerberus himself, silenced everything. It hung in the air like some forlorn pendulum in its intensity, weighing upon the world as if it might just crush it.

Eyes were screwed shut and ears were strained. No one was sure how long it yowled on. What everyone at Sweet Apple Acres that day did remember, however, was how the blood in their veins ran cold and how gooseflesh broke out amongst them like an infectious rash. For many it would stick with them even when the horrible beast fell silent.

Heads lifted from their lunches and traced a rising arch to the orchard. Though no one dare say word, their wide, frightful eyes spoke plenty. If Quill had been there and half a country away, then he would have known that look for what it really was: the look of prey scenting a predator.

Thankfully for everypony else, no one had to break the silence -they might be sitting there till this day if they had to. There came first the flight of hooves, and then the screaming. The screaming wasn’t as bad as that mighty howling, but it was close.

“GRAAAAAANNY!” The single world, rising almost as high as the howl itself, was screamed in an odd duet. It came again, but by then two figures had broken through the treeline. The ponies raced like mad cows. They were already halfway up the hill before anyone could make out who the crying duo was.

A second later two stallions, both with shaggy brown coats and matted manes, collapsed at the hooves of the party in front of the big house. While most of the working ponies on the farm had worked up a good sweat during the first half of the day, they were nowhere near as damp as these two. In fact, they were practically drenched in perspiration.

By the gods, they're terrified, Whisper thought. It’s so strong I can taste it from here!

And indeed she could. It was a sour, lemony taste that stuck to the roof of her mouth like gum. Whisper didn't like it, not one bit.

“What in tarnation is goin’ on?” Granny Smith all but yelled at Abel and Fable. Whisper wasn't sure if she did so because her hearing had gone out with that soul wrenching howl, or simply because of the fear flashing in her eyes.

It was a solid two minutes before anyone got an answer from either Abel or Fable. They laid there for a time, chests heaving and mouths panting. One of them -Fable, Whisper had guessed- opened his mouth to try and speak, but all that came out was a low squeak. He shook his head and fell back down to the grass. Granny Smith was patient, however, or patient enough. The unease in her guts started to wiggle and writhe with each passing second..

By the time the twin brothers had caught their breaths, a gaggle of ponies had gathered. Lunches long forgotten - some even left discarded- they muttered furtively to one another.

“We seen ‘em, Granny!” The one who had tried to speak did so now, actually managed to rise up on long, shaky legs. Fable, Whisper guessed.

“Say true!” the other brother shot off, not daring to trust his own . “Seen them with our own eyes!”

Granny glanced between the two. “Seen what?”

“Out there, at the edge of the orchard!” Able said.

“By the Everfree!” Fable finished. “Saw it lumberin’ around in the shadows all sneaky like. Couldn't quite make it out. It was only when the darned thing broke cover that we really saw it!”

Fear burned and turned to cinders in Granny Smith's eyes. “No more pussyfootin’, ya cowardly cusses! If y'all don't start talkin’ straight, I'll throttle the answers out of ya!”

The ponies closest to Granny Smith took a step back. Anger baked of her old flesh like an oven. Apple Bloom, still trapped by the harness and wagon, looked the most frightful.

Abel shook his head and buried his face into his hooves. It came down to Fable, the eldest of the pair by five seconds. The chestnut colored stallion reeled for a moment, the ground becoming unsteady. He looked to his fellow ponies, eyes seeming to plead for help. When he received none, Fable took a deep breath and pushed on.

“Timberwolves.” The word was no more than a whisper, yet it’s reaction was immediate. There was a collective gasp as the crowd drew back.

Fable continued. “We saw Timberwolves, Granny. Biggest buggers you’ve ever seen.”

“This better not be another tall tale, Fable. Timberwolves are serious business now.”

Though her words hinted at a touch incredulity, anyone could see the truth in Granny Smith’s face. She believed the frightened stallion. She believed, and she was afraid.

“I say true! Honest! But that's not all, Granny, not even the worst of it…” Fable bit his lower lips, chewing it as he chewed over his next words. “There was blood, Granny… the cussed thing was in it from snout to ear… blood… everywhere…”

While Little Whisper had the luxury of working under shade this broiling day, many more were not so lucky. Construction of a large scale held sway over Ponyville. Ponies crawled like flies over the bones of buildings still growing, working fast to outpace the heatstroke only around the corner. As they hammered away, piecing together board and nail, the sun hammered back upon dozens of sweating brows.

One worker, an earthpony, spat out his hammer and glared up at the sky with hatefully. The sun glared back. His vision doubled and then tripled as perspiration trickled into his eyes.

After a moment, he shifted that expression from the sun to the ivory pegasus only a yard or so to his right. It was only the two of them on the scaffold. There was another, a twitchy stallion named Peacock, but was now thirty feet or so down on the ground.

“Hey!” the earthpony called, practically yelling over the commotion of machinery. When the pegasus only continued to hammer away at his own board and nail, the earthpony hollered again. “Hey, bub!”

The pegasus sighed and spat out his own hammer. He reluctantly looked at the other pony, teeth already grinding. Alabaster could practically feel brooding thunderstorm rolling over him.

“What, Sandal? Did you think that your hoof was a wooden plank again? I'm sure the clinic would just love to see you again this week. Keep this up and you’ll probably get a half-off coupon for your next concussion.”

The Sandal’s broad brow furrowed. What might’ve started as content in those dull eyes of his now boiled into flesh anger. Instead of retorting, he displayed a bit more intellect than Alabaster had first given him credit for by pointing to the sky. Although many of Sandal woods thoughts were slow, spite was not beyond him.

“Why do you feather brains gotta completely clear out the sky? And today of all days! It’s middle of freakin’ summer. My cousin, Cobble Pot, was able to cook his breakfast on the freakin’ sidewalk!”

Alabaster had to take a deep breath to still his raging heart. Today his nerves were on a considerably sharp edge. Not because of the heat, either. A scorcher in Ponyville felt more like the start of spring in the Dragonlands. It wasn't even the jibs and ribbing he suffered from Sandal or his drinking buddies.

No. The real reason was much simpler, and -to Alabaster, at least- it made the most sense.

I hate this fucker’s face, Alabaster thought. I hate his stupid, idiotic, imbecile face. It’s practically offensive to looking him in the eye! Yet here I am, stuck with him for another gods damn day!

“Tell me something, Sandal Wood,” Alabaster said, his voice betraying none of the obnoxious fumes clouding his mind. “Does it look like I work with the weather team? Does it look like I spend the day clearing the fucking skies?”

Alabaster turned now. The tools strapped around his midsection rattled and clanked. Alabaster had hoped the halfwit would see these things and understand that he had more than enough tools to brain him dead. Instead, Sandalwood only looked at the wings on Alabaster’s back.

Oh, you son of a bitch.

“I don't do anything to the weather!” Alabaster screamed. “I don't even know a single pegasus, let alone a team of them. Stop fucking me with already!”

Sandalwood didn't seem to get the message, however. Perhaps that hard hat of his didn't just protect him from the impact of blunt objects, but blunt words as well. When he only continued to stare incriminatingly at Alabaster, the pegasus snorted.

Why do I always manage to attract the mocho dum-dums? Do I have a sign stuck to the back of my head saying ‘stupid wanted’ or something?

“You know what, forget it,” Alabaster said, looking around for his hammer. “We don’t have the time to waste, big boy. Just fill your mouth with that hammer and stop talking to me.”

“You talk pretty big,” Sandal commented. “Pretty big indeed.”

“That's ‘cause I am ‘pretty big’. If I were to show you how ‘pretty big’ I am, I'd break the damn scaffold. Now shut up!”

Alabaster found his hammer and went back to work. What Alabaster hadn't noticed as he gave Sandal a final, warning look, was how those dull eyes grew dangerously sharp. It wouldn't have surprised Alabaster to see it, however. The desire to fight baked off the flat headed stallion like a fever.

Seems like the kind of guy to get plastered at a bar, then try to pick a fight with any unlucky buck who had the misfortune of crossing his path. Alabaster then smirked. Either that, or he wants to fuck. What a fucking laugh that would be.

“Now look here,” Sandalwood growled. “Ain't nopony gonna tell me to ‘shut up’. Sandalwood talks as much as he damn well pleases!”

Alabaster rolled his eyes and shifted the hammer in his mouth. There was too much work to be done to waste time on this rowdy meathead. Besides, Onyx would be making his rounds about this time. It would mean a demerrate if Alabaster was caught fighting, and that’s if he was lucky.

Alabaster wasn’t taking the bait, but he feared that wouldn’t much matter. Sandalwood wanted a fight, and from the way he puffed as he stalked towards Alabaster, it seemed Sandalwood was used to getting what he wanted.

Alabaster sighed and waited. He wouldn't mind taking a punch or two if it meant he could reasonably plead self-defense when he bucked the bugger off the side of the building.

Sandalwood had advanced half the distance of the scaffold, face contorted into a wicked scowl, when voice called to them.

“What's going on here?”

Both stallion’s gave a start, each looking one way then the other. It dawned on Alabaster, he knew who that voice belonged to. Think of the devil he’ll pop up to scare the shit out of you.

Alabaster was the first to look up. There he was, standing on a support beam and staring down at the stallions with a mixture of weariness and annoyance. Alabaster had to give it to Onyx, he was more graceful than any earthpony he had ever met -it seemed the tired old sod leapt and skidded across the beams as easily as Alabaster would maneuver a heavy draft.

The wind shifted and Alabaster could smell what he should have before: burning tobacco. A cigarette from the corner of the grey stallion’s mouth, just as it always did. Quite the novelty that was, as Alabaster had yet to anyone in Ponyville sell such a vice.

When the two stallions simply continued to gape, Onyx took a long drag from his smoke and blew out a ring.

“I’ve wasted enough breath asking once. Do i really need to ask again?”

Alabaster waited, knowing it wouldn't due to be the one who blabbed first. Figured he would only get talked over by the big galoot anyways.

Sure enough, Sandalwood went babbling.

“New guy has some lip on him,” Sandalwood said prudently. “Sounds like he's trying to rile a fight, it does. Even went as far to insult me mother.” The stallion had the gile to summon up some look of contempt.

“That so?” Onyx asked, his cool gaze shifting from Sandalwood to Alabaster. “Is he telling the truth, Alabaster?”

Alabaster shrugged. “I don't have time for his games, boss. You're a smart cookie, I'm sure you can figure out what's what easily enough.”

Alabaster said this without the slightest trace of snideness, and Onyx must’ve knew this. He took another drag and nodded. Alabaster figured Sandalwood must have been a grade-A shitster for that to have actually worked.

Onyx returned his attention to that flat browed face and said, “Get ground level, Sandal, I got something else I need you for.”

Sandalwood opened his mouth to argue, but Onyx cut him to the quick. “Either climb down, or get thrown down, Sandal. We don't got time for this shit.”

Alabaster had to repress a grin. Onyx was the only other pony in Ponyville who didn't seem to mind dirtying their tongue up from time to time.

Sandalwood gave Alabaster one last glower before nodding to Onyx. He shuffled by and began the climb down..

Don't go slipping, Alabaster thought, watching him. Gods forbid you do me any favors.

“Alabaster!” Alabaster jumped again.

“Yeah, boss?” Alabaster said, giving an innocent smile. “What's up?”

Onyx studied Alabaster for moment, then said softly, “Meet back up with me before you break for lunch, yeah? I want a word.”

“Am I in trouble?” Alabaster regretted the question immediately. How guilty had he just sounded?

“I think a stallion like you is always in trouble, Alabaster. If you mean that you've got trouble with me, the answer is no. Just want to talk is all.”

Alabaster shrugged, then nodded. “You got it, boss.”

One last drag and Onyx was gone, waltzing off along the beam as if it were a catwalk. Another pony was sent to pick up Sandalwood’s slack, but this fella -a pony even younger than Alabaster- was nowhere near as gruff as the pony before. In fact, he didn't say more than five words to the Pegasus.

That was just fine with Alabaster. His temper now rose with the temperature, and he no longer trusted his bastard of a tongue.

The day toddled on till midday, when a high pitched whistle cut through the din of work site nine. There was a symphony of sighs, sounding more like a rising wind, as the sweating ponies put away their tools, switched off their machines, and wiped at the brows that were now free of those hot hardhats.

Lunch time.

Alabaster stretched, welcoming the slight ache of a hard morning’s work, and removed his own hardhat. The last few hours had been a grace without the likes of Sandalwood. Left to his own devices, Alabaster had been able to double his pace.

Won't be long till they’ll have to promote me. Site director Alabaster. The thought made Alabaster grin fiendishly.

He stood atop of the half finished building for a moment, the scaffold abandoned, and watched with interest at the ponies far below. They milled about in the trodden dust and dirt. They clamoring this way and that, looking like little beetles playing amongst the powdery earth.

Better take note, Onyx, I'm on the high rise. Alabaster’s grin faded. Suddenly he remembered that he was due in Onyx’s office right about now.

“Oh, damn it,” he muttered.

Those clusters of ponies beneath him now began to move, filing towards the gape in the tall fence enclosing site nine -most of the workers proffered to take their lunch in town, to the Fancy Tulip more than likely. One pony, no bigger than an ant to Alabaster, did not move. Alabaster didn't need to make out the pony to know who it was. The weight of those granite colored eyes was proof enough for him.

They stared at one another for a moment when at last Onyx turned away. He didn't make for the exit, however -why would he, the bastard doesn't need a lunch with all the nicotine and caffeine he consumes. Instead, Onyx trailed a line straight to the tin trailer set aside to the furthest reaches of the enclosed lot. The working ponies of site nine called this ‘The Hot Pot’, though never when Onyx was ever in earshot.

Alabaster was in no hurry to face Onyx till he was sure that the boss was nice and comfy in that tin can. For the moment, Alabaster closed his eyes and allowed himself to be cradled by the breeze. It was fairly constant at this height. It wouldn't be until a minute later that he would realize that his wings had unfolded.

Briefly, the still waters of his mind rippled, and the faces of his friends appeared on its surfaced. They too would be breaking for lunch soon.

Alabaster was pulled from his thoughts by the call of a distant voice.

“Luuuuunch Tiiiiime!”

“Great,” Alabaster sighed. “Sounds like it’s time I get my ass in gear.” If the Sweet Apple Acres was taking its lunch right now, that meant it would only be five minutes or so before Whisper got to town -depending on what they had her doing up there.

Not wasting any more time, Alabaster leapt. His shadow raced after him as he glided towards the Hot Pot. He was still a story high when he reached it, so he choose to descend in tight spiraling circles. To a passing pony, he must've looked like a vulture. He landed with practiced grace at the door.

Better just dive in, he thought, rapping his hoof against the door. Like a pool of icy water.

When Alabaster was met with only silence, his ears perked up as he tilted his head and listened. Nothing at first, then the sound of ruffling papers and the closing of draws. Damn, dude, you had a minute to get ready. Why didn't you get your shit together then?

“Come in!” Onyx called.

Alabaster jumped back, then felt silly for such sheepishness. Wasn't as if Onyx could see him listening.

The door swung inward at Alabaster touch. The pegaus was only two steps past the threshold when he was hit with the pungent reek of tobacco. Outside the smell was bearable and -Alabaster hated to admit this- almost appealing. It was a rare odor that had nearly vanished completely upon his and Whisper’s arrival to Equestria. But here, in the Hot Pot? It was like a shotgun blast.

“Something wrong?” Onyx sat behind his desk, if one could call a shabby construct such, watching Alabaster achromatically. Little Whisper always said that Alabaster was an easy book sometimes. Onyx must've just found her bookmark.

To Alabaster’s credit, he did do his best to curb his usual bluntness. Unfortunately, brutal honesty could as naturally to him as profanity.

“Just the tobacco, boss,” Alabaster said as politely as he could. “Just not use to it is all.”

Alabaster closed the door behind him, much to his chagrin. A healthy breeze would’ve aired the place out good.

Onyx gave a small, knowing nod. “You're not the first to tell me so. You should hear the mayor when she stops by. Nearly puts the bitch in a fit.”

There were no other chairs in the office, so Alabaster was left to stand. He hated it. A part of Alabaster expected to see Onyx’s hoof dip beneath to press a button, releasing the trapdoor that would’ve been beneath him.

Nothing was said between the two stallions for a second. They simply stared at one another. Alabaster took this as a scare tactic of sorts. It never occurred to him that the stony faced pony was simply trying to figure out how to start.

“This is about Sandalwood, isn't it?” Alabaster said, too impatient to bear the silence any longer. Onyx was taken aback, but only for a moment. `The pegasus had given him an in to a conversation he had been dreading since that morning.

“In a way, yes…” Onyx trailed off, his gaze drifting. It fell upon a set of filing cabinets to his left, and lingered there for a moment. He hid his frustration well, but perhaps not as well as he would like.

Finally his eyes snapped forward as he said, “You're a straightforward kind of fellow, Alabaster, and I respect that... so allow me to be straightforward with you.”

Alabaster didn't like how those eyes hardened.

“Tell me where you’re from, Alabaster. Where you’re really from.”

Why me, was Alabaster’s first thought. The second was spent wondering why he couldn't just have something nice for once. He hadn't done anything wrong -if one counted having an occasional drink on the down-low wrong, which he didn't. Thankfully, his exasperation worked well to combat his shock.

“Kind of... from all over the place,” Alabaster said. “Like I told you before, me and my friends have been trailblazing for a good few years.”

Onyx sighed. A serpent’s tail of smoke curled up from the corner of his mouth. The current cigarette had already burned half way down and wouldn't last much longer at this rate.

“Don't play me for a fool, Alabaster. I've had a close eye on you these last few days. You're a hard worker, I'll give you that, but you're more than a piece of wondering trail trash. I've seen how you move and how you act around the others. Don't say much, tend to keep to yourself… yet… still manages to create rifts without even trying. I’d say you were made of steel wool by how you rub ponies wrong.”

“Ever think I'm just an asshole?” Alabaster gave a hopeful smile. “Cause I am. You should just ask my friends. If you think dunderheads hate me, imagine what it’s like for someone with more than two brain cells.”

The drawer to Onyx’s desk slid open, and out came the pack of cigarettes Alabaster had been waiting for. ‘Marelboro’ was printed on the side of the green box in blocky letters, the ivory silhouette of a mare prancing about on its front. From the way the cigarettes rattled as Onyx shook one out, Alabaster guessed boss-pony might be due for a new pack soon.

“I'm gonna says this again, Alabaster. Please don’t make me say it for a third time... don't play me for a fool.”

Once the cigarette was in his mouth, next came the lighter -a shiny little contraption with a burning phoenix decorating its side. He flicked it open and lit the bad boy up. By the time the cherry was burning, Alabaster’s nose had become numb to the smell. Small favors.

Onyx snapped the lighter shut. “I know you're not from Equestria.”

Stay hopeful, Alabaster thought. Didn't the Mayor say that there were some ponies who sympathized with foreigners? Though he knew of only one, their current landlady, Miss Dandelo, he supposed it possible Onyx was another.

“I take it Mayor Mare told you?” Alabaster asked. “She said she had told a few people about us and our situation.”

To Alabaster’s mounting displeasure, Onyx shook his head. “That crazy mare steers clear of me as much as she can. No, it's something a little simpler than that. I know the look of an outsider. Suppose I was much like you myself when I first came to Equestria.”

Alabaster’s astonishment must have tickled Onyx fiercely, for a smile peeked around the butt of his cigarette.

“That's right. My father was a vagrant worker from Stalliongrad. He came drifting over here with me and my mom some thirty years ago. Though things weren't nearly as bad as they are now, not many ponies thought too fondly of the Northern Countries. As a child, I found myself at odds with a few children I grew up around. If I had a bit for every bloody muzzle and purple bruise from those days, I’d be a rich pony...”

That flustered look returned now. “Do you get where I'm going with this, Alabaster? Or am I just running my gob here?”

“I… I think I do?” Alabaster didn’t mean for that to sound like a question. “Kinda just… sideswiped me there. This wasn’t exactly what I was expecting… Guess I was expecting more… yelling...”

“No. No yelling. I'd talk more about it, but we don't have much time. I don't want to waste your whole lunch hour, and I don't want anypony on site nine to know I kept you this long. Might start some unsavory rumors about us.”

The fuck do you mean by rumors?

The usually stony expression Onyx wore melted a tad, and through it shone through a softer emotion that Alabaster had known so little of: sympathy.

“You did right by ignoring Sandalwood. Give him a week or two and he’ll find some other sod to pick on. For right now, just hold your patience. I don’t need you breaking somepony’s legs over schoolyard insults.”

Alabaster’s mouth flew open, but before he could even speak his defence, Onyx silence him with a hoof.

“I'm not scolding you, Alabaster. You’ve restrained yourself well, but do you remember what I said earlier today? You’re trouble, whether you try to be or not. You reek of it like an alcoholic reeks of apple beer.”

Alabaster had the urge to act indignant, but he feared that he might not have scrubbed away the scent of the prior night's sin. He looked at Onyx levelly, trying to repress his growing confusion for later questioning. Time was short, after all.

“Alright… but if I'm such trouble, then why keep me on? You make me sound like a liability. Wouldn't it be easier to send me on my way and let me be another’s problem?”

Onyx’s smile was wistful. “Somepony had to give me a chance, or else I would've been more than liability… I’d be a corpse. Suppose I'm that somepony to give you a chance, Alabaster.”

Onyx fell quiet for a moment after that. The Hot Pot suddenly seemed to become even smaller, growing hot and uncomfortable in the smoky air.

Finally, as if not knowing what else to say, Onyx said, “I hope we have an understanding, Alabaster.”

“Don't worry, boss,” Alabaster replied, his thoughts reeling somewhere between disbelief and jubilation. “I read you loud and clear.”