"Hey! Applejerk!" you shout as you march back up the hill, "I'm not done with you!"

"Go away," she mutters, "I'm a busy pony."

"Liar!" you hiss, "You're just sitting there eating! What are those, post-it notes you're snacking on?"

"No!" Applejack gets up. "I don't have to put up with you!" Was that a lie? You can't tell.

"I think you do." You let out a snarl that would terrify a small rodent. Cracking your neck, you hiss menacingly, "So... I heard you like apples."

You groan, slowly lifting yourself off the ground. You can't quite remember what happened in the past twenty minutes, but the pounding in your head and the ache in your stomach doesn't bode well. You look over at the figure beside you. Applejack isn't moving, and you can see apples surrounding her, saliva pouring out the corner of her mouth. It seems like a cruel parody of a Hotdiggedy-Demon video.

You can't remember much. There were some mean words exchanged, and then there was something about apples... so... many... apples... You shudder. As the expression goes, 'What happens at Sweet Apple Acres stays at Sweet Apple Acres.' This is one thing you'd prefer to stay (undiscovered, preferably), and quickly flee from the farm.

>Better move on to the next pony before someone discovers you with the body.