The next day, Scootaloo and Applebloom made their way through Ponyville toward Carousel Boutique. Scootaloo looked as happy as ever, but Applebloom seemed- -and felt- -immensely tired.
“Rough night?” asked Scootaloo.
“I didn’t sleep a wink,” nodded Applebloom. “But I got the soil prepared. It wasn’t at all easy. Especially with what happened with my brother.”
“What happened to Big Mac? Was it the fruit bats again?”
“No. Somepony sent him a box of some weird plant, and it grew all over him and started sucking out his various juices. We had to wrestle him into an apple-cider vinegar bath. He’s been there since yesterday. He’s shrunk six sizes so far.”
“That doesn’t sound fun,” said Scootaloo. “Vampire fruit bats, chupacabras, and now plants…you’re brother sure does get sucked a lot, doesn’t he?”
“Maybe he’s full of sweet, sweet apple juice?” suggested Applebloom.
Scootaloo shrugged, and they both walked into Rarity’s house. The door had been torn free of its hinges, and Applebloom sighed, knowing that Big Macintosh would likely need to fix it once he was a little less vinegary. Other than that, though, neither of them thought of it as being especially strange. It was not unusual for ponies to leave their doors unlocked. Especially Twilight.
“Sweetie Belle?” called Scootaloo. “We’re here for the horser- -”
Applebloom immediately slapped Scootaloo in her filly face. “Quiet! What if Rarity hears?”
“Ow!” gasped Scootaloo, rubbing her face. “She’s in Manehattan, remember? You know, practicing gymnastics on her Pommel horse, remember? Celestia’s hot-buttered rump, Applebloom, you don’t need to scootabuse me!”
“Endanger my horseradish again, and I’ll buck you straight in your adorable face!”
Scootaloo’s wings twitched. “I do have an adorable face, don’t I?”
They walked into the kitchen. As they did, Sweetie Belle walked in from the other side of the room. She, unfortunately, did not look pleasant at all this early in the morning.
“Gah!” cried Applebloom. “Sweetie Belle, what happened to you?”
“I woke up,” muttered Sweetie Belle. She walked to the counter and stood on her hind legs, getting down some coffee and pouring about half a pound of sugar into it. As she did, they were joined by Rarity, who had done her best to not look like a prune with only partial success.
“Miss Rarity!” cried Scootaloo. “You’re not supposed to be here!”
“It’s my house!” cried Rarity. “YOU’RE not supposed to be here!” She muttered to herself as she walked to the open refrigerator. “Fillies walking into my house like it’s some kind of bus station…” She suddenly turned to Sweetie Belle. “Sweetie! Did you leave this door open?”
“No,” said Sweetie Belle, pouring herself a second and larger cup of coffee after having just finished the first. “I just got down here.”
“Well, it didn’t leave itself open! Look, it’s warm inside now! My potato salad is completely RUINED! I was going to eat that, and now I have to give it to Fluttershy!” She grumbled to herself as she took a large jar of pickled beets. She snapped off the lid and started drinking, swallowing the beats whole as they slid into her mouth. Scootaloo found this quite impressive, but Applebloom found it disgusting.
“Eew, Miss Rarity, those are beets!”
“Of course they are! Vinyl makes them, and I must say, she certainly does have a strange knack for beets.”
“I get beets a lot,” sighed Scootaloo.
“Still,” said Rarity, ignoring Scootaloo’s plight, “I don’t know who opened my refrigerator and left it open all night. I mean, it was just me and Sweetie Belle.”
The Cutie Mark Crusaders suddenly realized what that implied, and their eyes went wide as they all looked toward each other. Sweetie Belle and Applebloom no longer felt tired.
“Oh, well,” shrugged Rarity, closing the door. “The potato salad would have made me fat anyway. Now, if you excuse me, I am going to dress myself in an extra tight saddle and roll around in silk fabric for forty minutes or so. Any of you three that want to join me can, I have the most ADORABLE little saddles and bridles for fillies.”
“Why do you have to be so WEIRD!” called Sweetie Belle as Rarity left the room. She immediately turned back to her counterparts, though.
“Sweetie Belle,” demanded Applebloom, “where is my horseradish?”
“I don’t know,” said Sweetie Belle. “But he has to be around here somewhere.”
They proceeded to search Rarity’s house, causing severe disruption as they did. It was to no avail, though, as the location of the horseradish remained obscure. When the three fillies regrouped in the frontroom, they stood still before their eyes turned toward the door. It had been open when Applebloom and Scootaloo had arrived.
“You don’t think…”
They all paused for a moment more. “Sweetie Belle,” said Scootaloo, “I think he left.”
“But why?” cried Sweetie Belle, suddenly sounding terrified.
“What did you do to him?” shouted Applebloom.
“I didn’t do anything! I just went to bed and woke up and he was GONE!”
“He must have seen in the refrigerator,” suggested Scootaloo.
“The refrigerator?” said Applebloom.
Sweetie Belle’s heart sank. “The potato salad! And the cut carrots, and the beets!”
Applebloom gasped and clasped her hooves over her mouth. “He must have thought we were going to try to eat him!”
“But we weren’t!” exclaimed Scootaloo.
“Of course we weren’t going to eat him!” replied Sweetie Belle. “But all those roots in there…”
“He must have felt so betrayed!” Tears were welling in Applebloom’s eyes. “All those roots are like his family, and he had to open that door and see…it would be like me opening the refrigerator and…” She trailed off and shook her head, not wanting to describe the images that were flowing through her mind. “We have to find him and explain!”
“We have no idea where he is! How are we supposed to find him?”
Applebloom thought for a moment. “Well, if I could get Winona, we could track him by smell…” She paused. “But no, Twilight took Winona this morning, said something about alchemy and Gercolt of Ponia and gravy on wings, whatever that means. We don’t have a dog!”
“No,” said Scootaloo. “You have something better. You have ME.”
Applebloom gasped. “You’re right! We’ve gone over this, but nopony smells as strong as Scootaloo smells!”
“That might actually work! Hold on!” Sweetie Belle galloped away from the group and pulled a pleather collar and lead off of one of Rarity’s mannequins. She then slid it around Scootaloo’s neck and tightened it. Then, while holding onto the far end with her magic, Sweetie Belle pointed to the door. “Onward, Scootaloo! Find the horseradish!”
Scootaloo did not disappoint. She led Sweetie Belle and Applebloom through the town, pulling them along by the leash attached to her. At time, this resulted in stares from passerbies, but Sweetie Belle and Applebloom were more focused on looking for horseradish tracks. They did see a few where the ground had been moist, and that only helped them keep Scootaloo on the right path.
The course was meandering, going throughout Ponyville. Most of the path just involved walking around buildings or in damp areas, but in a few places there was some level of destruction. In the town market, for example, the potatomonger’s stall had been vandalized. The crates of potatoes had been broken open, and the potatoes freed. Being potatoes, though, only a few of them had actually bothered to escape. The rest had just lain in the street, slowly taking root.
The path eventually led to the worst possible place. After barely an hour, the Cutie Mark Crusaders found themselves standing at the edge of the EverFree Forest.
“Well buck me in broad daylight and call me an apple tree,” swore Applebloom. “It went in there, didn’t it?”
“My adorable little booper-place doesn’t lie,” said Scootaloo. “It’s in there. Can I have a treat now?”
Sweetie Belle threw Scootaloo a piece of Rarity’s now quite rancid potato salad. Then she steeled herself. “We have to go in there.”
“Yeah,” agreed Applebloom. “The forest isn’t a place for a horseradish! He could get eaten, or stepped on, or encounter soil that’s too damp and encourages root decay!”
“Thing is,” said Sweetie Belle, “we could get eaten or stepped on too.”
“Or get root decay,” said Scootaloo through a mouth full of potato salad. “Rainbow Dash had that once. It was messy. But she didn’t tell anypony because she thought it was embarrassing.”
“I can’t imagine why,” said Sweetie Belle as the trio entered the swampy forest. All around them, the light suddenly dropped off. The canopy of these and the chaotic, fast-moving clouds above them blotted out the sun, leaving the entire place dark and ominous.
“It smell’s a little musty in here,” said Applebloom.
“I know,” said Scootaloo. “I can’t pick up the smell. There’s too many better smells.” She sniffed the ground, and her wings extended suddenly. “See? I smell a beaver!”
She started walking in the direction of the scent, but Sweetie Belle tugged the Scootaloo-leash and pulled her friend back. “This way,” she said.
They quickly moved deeper into the forest, and though none of them admitted it they got lost within four or five minutes of entering. The trees around them seemed to begin to become taller and closer together, with thick, ragged trunks. Likewise, the ground became damper and mustier.
“There’s moss everywhere here!” cried Sweetie Belle.
“I know, right?” replied Scootaloo, who was rolling in a bank of the stuff.
“Eew, Scoots, don’t do that! There’s tardigrades in there! And you don’t know where it’s been!”
“It’s moss. It’s been right here. It’s not like it moves.”
“It does, sometimes,” said Applebloom.
“No it doesn’t,” protested Scootaloo.
Applebloom shook her head. “Then you haven’t heard Granny Smith’s stories.”
“You mean about the guy with the weird horn?”
“No, about when they came through this swamp on the way to Ponyville. About how the moss moves in the trees, and how it carried off my uncle Road in the night.”
Sweetie Belle gulped. “What…what happened to him?”
“Nobody knows. Well, until he came back. Apparently it wasn’t hard to fight off moss. But there’s other nasty things in these woods.”
“Like what?” asked Scootaloo.
“Scootaloo! Now is NOT the time to ask that!”
Applebloom, though, continued to tell her story. “Well, there’s the chupacabras, they’ll suck the apple cider clean out of you. And the star spiders, the moon spiders, the GIANT moon spiders. Deer. Fluffy-ponies. The undead, of course, and the walking onions. And Kak Loshad.”
“Kak Loshad?”
Applebloom nodded knowingly. “They say he walks around on two legs so that his hands can be free to catch you, and that he has a long, pointy nose.”
“What- -what does he use the nose for?”
“To sniff out little fillies who can’t run very well.”
“You mean like Sweetie Belle?”
“SCOOTALOO!”
“Exactly like Sweetie Belle! He chases them down, and, well…”
“What? WHAT?!”
Applebloom stopped. “He squeezes the vodka out of them.”
Just then, something made a sound in the brush, and the three fillies suddenly found themselves screaming and running through the swamp at top speed. They were screaming and crying, and at least one of them may or may not have wet themselves. The swamp was a scary place, after all. It was full of strange trees, vicious animals, monsters, and ruins left behind by an assortment of mages, wizards, and other weirdos throughout history.
They eventually slowed and stopped, but only because they reached a barberry bush and slammed headlong into a wall of thorns.
“Gah!” cried Scootaloo. “My beautiful face!”
“They’re in my nose!” cried Sweetie Belle, pulling herself out of the bush.
“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad,” said Applebloom.
“Easy for you to say! Earth-ponies don’t feel pain!”
“I do to feel pain. Whenever Diamond Tiara makes fun of me. Or if I ran into an acacia or maybe a hawthorn. These are just little pickers.” She wiped the branches away from herself.
Sweetie Belle was about to yell some more, but she caught a glimpse of a shadow moving through the boggy forest. She ducked down, pulling Scootaloo and Applebloom with her.
“Sweetie Belle!” cried Scootaloo. “I knew you would come to my side eventually! But bringing in Applebloom too- -”
“Quiet!” hissed Sweetie Belle as she smacked Scootaloo in the kisser.
Now in silence, the three of them watched. In the distance and through the trees, they saw a pony-like shape walking amongst the trees.
“Is that him?” whispered Applebloom.
“I can’t tell,” said Sweetie Belle. “There’s too much mist and junk. But I- -”
A second figure appeared in the distance. She was wearing a hood, but even though the distance Sweetie Belle was able to see that her legs and face were marked with black and white stripes.
“I think that’s Zecora,” she said.
“Zecora!” Applebloom stood up. “Of course! I completely forgot she lives out here!”
“And the fact that you actually come out this way several times a week,” noted Scootaloo.
“She knows all sorts of things about herbs and stuff! I’m sure she’ll be able to help us find the horseradish! Unless that’s it right there already!”
Applebloom raced forward, and Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle were forced to follow. The ground, though, was wet and swampy and at one point the group had to detour around a patch of poison joke and directly through a patch of poison oak. After what felt like hours, though, they did reach Zecora’s hut.
“This place is weird,” said Scootaloo. “And my insides are itchy. It must be cursed!”
“You’re itchy because you couldn’t stop eating the poison oak. Self-control, Scootaloo, come on!”
“Well, let’s hope a Zecora has a cream for that. Or we’ll be the three ichiest fillies in all of Equestria.”
“And something for food poisoning,” said Scootaloo as her stomach rumbled. “Because I’m about half an hour away from that potato salad pretending it’s King Sombra and coming back from the dead.”
“Only if it’s not too expensive,” said Applebloom, pushing open the door.
They all immediately gasped when they saw the sight in the hut. Zecora stared back at them, wide-eyed and standing over a large cauldron. In the iron pot sat the horseradish, watching them from the rim.
“Zecora!” shrieked Applebloom. “You’re cooking our friend! How could you!?”
Zecora rolled her eyes. “Little Applebloom, stop with this din. I’m so very tired of ponies thinking I’m boiling their kin.”
“Oh, cool, she really does rhyme!” said Scootaloo, excitedly.
“I am a Zebra shaman, or perhaps a witch. Of course I rhyme, you little bit- -”
“So you’re not cooking him?”
“It’s just a soak, there’s no need to hate. He had grown tired wandering and begun to dehydrate!”
“Dehydrating? Oh no!” Applebloom ran to the side of the cauldron.
“Then why does it smell like soup in here?” asked Sweetie Belle.
Zecora’s eyes narrowed. “Little filly, don’t defy me, and don’t be crass, or else I will shove my zebra leg squarely up you’re a- -”
“I’m just so glad you’re okay!” said Applebloom. She reached out her legs, and the horseradish, instead of stretching out its front legs in return, it retreated into the pot. Applebloom looked hurt. “Hey! Where are you going?”
Zecora sighed. “I’m afraid that when I found him, he was in a panicked state. Apparently he perceived himself about to meet a dire fate.”
“Wait, you can speak horseradish?” said Scootaloo.
“In ancient times, little Scoots, zebrakind knew that this was the most noble of roots.”
“You cheated on that one,” said Sweetie Belle.
“Do you think these rhymes are pure luck? Sometimes they come out bad, but I don’t give a fu- -”
“He must have seen the food in Rarity’s refrigerator,” said Applebloom. “Horseradish, I’m sorry! We’re not trying to hurt you! We don’t want to eat you at all!”
“Zecora might,” muttered Sweetie Belle.
Zecora dropped the large wooden spoon she was holding and stomped over to Sweetie Belle. “You think you are cute, hmm, like a baby plover? This zebra will make good on her promise, so get on your knees and BEND OVER!”
“Zecora!” Applebloom was on the verge of tears. “Why is he so afraid of me now?”
Zecora stopped just short of reaching Sweetie Belle. “To know that answer, you must understand the past. Of the horseradish kind, I am afraid this might be the last.”
“The last? But- -but why?”
Zecora paused for a moment, her expression becoming more serious. “Because so long ago, they were much prized by wizard and mage. They were hunted and ground, and so many died that none reached this age.”
“They…they ground them?”
Zecora nodded. “This root is stronger than any leaf or flower. To bind elements in alchemy, there is no ingredient with more power.” She paused. “I’ve considered it, and you’ve surely had notions of what good this walking root could do for your potions?”
“No,” said Applebloom without hesitation. “I would never do that! I grew him up from when he was a little sprout, and I’ve been working my darndest over the last few days to make sure he stays safe!”
“Yeah!” said Scootaloo. “He’s not just a root! We spent all of yesterday playing with him! And it was so much fun! He’s our friend!”
“A friend, you say, but are you sure? Can you really be such with one of his nature?”
Sweetie Belle stepped forward. “He listens, and he understands things! Yes, he is!” She turned to the cauldron, where the horseradish’s head was poking out. He was watching her. “But, Applebloom, we have to accept it. That maybe he doesn’t want to come back.”
“No!” cried Applebloom. “Sweetie Belle, don’t say that!”
“You saw what was in that refrigerator. Yes. We really DO eat roots.”
“I ate part of a potato a few minutes ago,” admitted Sweetie Belle. She groaned as her stomach rumbled from the rancid mayonnaise that had covered said potato. “And, yeah. I’m pretty much dead now.” She collapsed onto the floor, but the others ignored her.
“It’s not fair to him to ask him to come back, knowing that we do that.”
“But those aren’t like him!”
“But what if they are? What if the difference between a horseradish and a yam is like…like the difference between a pony and a zebra?”
“I believe that comment is a bit racist,” said Zecora. She took a step forward. “Say goodbye to your rump, and ensure that it has been kissed…”
“But what if that IS the way it is?”
The room fell silent, apart from the groans of agony as Scootaloo rolled on the floor.
“You’re…you’re right,” said Applebloom at last. She turned to the horseradish. “I’m sorry, horseradish. But…” She just sighed. “We’re terrible ponies, aren’t we? But we really do think of you as a friend, and we want you to stay with us. But we do eat other roots. It’s just something ponies do. So…” She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “I understand if you want to stay here with Zecora. Or just go live in a hole somewhere. Just know that it was…if was fun while it lasted.”
Applebloom turned away and started walking. When it became apparent that the horseradish was going to stay in the pot, they both turned away with tears and their eyes and went to the door. Just as they had opened it, though, a strange sound filled the air. It was something like a strangely musical squeak, as though several mice were singing in a choir but doing it badly.
Both Sweetie Belle and Applebloom turned around, and saw the horseradish extending its front limbs over the edge of the pot toward them. It was too small to get out on its own, though, so its legs just sort of waved. It was the horseradish, though, that had made that sound.
“You…you can make SOUND?” said Applebloom in amazement. “And…and you still want to come with us?”
The horseradish nodded vigorously and squeaked again. Applebloom burst out in tears and raced toward the horseradish, pulling it out of the strangely delicious smelling water that it was “soaking” in. “So you really are my friend! And I promise, I’ll never eat a carrot or a potato or an onion again! Just apples from now on!”
“And I don’t eat vegetables anyway,” said Sweetie Belle. “They’re gross. But not you, though! You’re an okay vegetable.”
They laughed, then turned to Zecora. “Thanks for your help, Zecora!”
“Ponies rarely come out here on visits,” replied Zecora. “So it was nice that I could be of assistance to you little shi- -”
She was interrupted as the horseradish squeaked and hugged her. She could not come up with a rhyme fast enough to mention how bizarre it was to be hugged by something that resembled a pony but was actual a tuber before it released her and left with Applebloom and Sweetie Belle.
“Hmm,” groaned Zecora after several long minutes. “It seems they have stolen the key to my brew.” Below her, Scootaloo- -who the others had forgotten- -moaned loudly. She had started to cry from the pain. Zecora smiled and picked her up. “But I think in its place, a Pegasus will do!”
The then tossed Scootaloo in the pot and went back to stirring it.
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