//------------------------------// // CMC Filly Scouts // Story: Half-Baked Biscuits // by Admiral Biscuit //------------------------------// CMC Filly Scouts Admiral Biscuit June, 2013 Applejack and Rarity were sharing a peaceful moment in Carousel Boutique.  While the earth pony was normally only marginally more likely to be seen there than Rainbow Dash, today was a special occasion.  The two of them were having tea--although the farmer was actually drinking black coffee from a chipped enamel jug--and sharing Filly Scout cookies. The reason for their celebration was twofold.  First, Rarity had purchased a vast quantity of the thin mints--she couldn't resist them, which is perhaps why an intrepid filly, bedecked in a little beret and a sash with crudely sewn badges arrived at her door in the first hour of the annual fund-raiser.  Upon buying the filly's entire stock, Rarity had discovered that the new den leader was not a local.  Within the hour, Sweetie Belle and Applebloom each had new uniforms; for good measure, Rarity chipped in for Scootaloo, too.  They had gleefully foisted the fillies off on the unsuspecting den mare for a whole week of summer camp, and the two had cheerfully skipped back to the boutique. "Ah do feel a little bad about the whole situation," Applejack commented, taking another thin mint.  "Poor mare's got no idea what she's up against." Rarity waved a hoof dismissively.  "She'll be fine.  Probably.  And the flyer said that the camp builds character, and that's just what those fillies need." "Somepony's gonna get a hoofful of character, but ah don't know if'n it's gonna be our sisters, or the den mare." THE HIKE INTO THE WOODS The Cutie Mark Crusaders stood upon the train platform, gazing out into the woods as if it were a new territory to conquer.  Although their big sisters had helped pack their bags, they had promptly discarded half of the items as 'useless' and replaced them with what they believed to be more fitting for a trip into the wild.  First on that list was their wagon.  Applebloom had cleverly disassembled it, and spread the pieces throughout their bags.  She'd expertly pegged it back together as soon as they left the train, and loaded it with their saddlebags and scootaloo's backpack.  The den mare raised an eyebrow at their ingenuity,but said nothing. The first five minutes were uneventful.  The sole purpose of the train platform was for access to the camp, so the woods came right up to it. A few cartponies were loading supplies into their wagons, which led to some good-natured griping among the filly scouts about why they needed to carry their backpacks.  The den mare intervened, and in hardly any time at all, the den was marching through the woods, cheerfully singing a marching song. "Can anypony tell me what kind of tree that is?" "A tall one!" "An oak." "This is boring," Scootaloo whispered as the den mare stopped yet again to point to a tree.  "A tree's a tree." "Unless it's an apple tree," Applebloom interjected. "I bet if we get to camp first, we'll get the best campsite," Sweetie whispered.   "Ah dunno.  I think we're supposed to stay together." "It's a path to a camp.  How hard can it be?"  Scootaloo flapped her wings impatiently.  "Last one there's a rotten apple!" "Hey!" The three fillies charged off along the trail, the wagon bouncing behind Sweetie Belle.  Although Applebloom had done a credible job engineering a harness from leftover rope she found in the barn, it was not rigidly attached, although she had at least considered that they might want to steer the wagon.  On the first downhill grade, Sweetie made the unfortunate discovery that the wagon lacked any type of brakes.  In a regretful moment of inspiration, leapt to the side to let the wagon pass--only to remember too late that she was tethered to it. As her two friends disentangled her from the wreckage at the bottom of the hill, Sweetie looked at her flank hopefully. "It's just as well," Applebloom offered.  "Nopony would want a run over and dragged by an out of control wagon cutie mark, anyway." "You'll juft haf to be careful on downhills, thaf's all," Scootaloo muttered around a mouthful of backpack. "Yup."  The three fillies started galloping down the path again.  In no time at all--and after only three more wagon crashes--they arrived at what they presumed was their campsite.  There was a fire pit and a picnic table, anyway. "Wind's blowing this way," Scootaloo said, pointing with a hoof.  "That's the side of the fire we want to put our tent on, 'cause heat gets blown along with the wind." "Ok."  They dumped their bags out on the ground, quickly locating the ridgepole and three of the four support poles. "Ah . . . close enough.  If it falls over, we can always get a stick," Scootaloo muttered.  "Remember to leave the open side by the fire." MORNING, DAY ONE The morning got off to a rough start.  The three fillies reeked of wood smoke, and the ground under the tent was far lumpier than they'd expected.  On top of that, the tent had collapsed on them when Sweetie went off into the woods as a result of too much punch before bed. The den mare broke up their brief scuffle and handed them a map and a compass. "What's this fer?" Applebloom asked suspiciously. "Breakfast," the den mare explained.  "It's an orienteering exercise.  All you need to do is follow the directions on the map, and you'll get to the dining hall." "Sounds easy enough," Sweetie said.  "Let's go!" Forty minutes later, the three fillies huddled in the woods, staring at the evil compass. "Ah think it's busted.  The dang needle always points in the same direction, no matter which way we go." "I'm hungry," Sweetie moaned.  "I bet everypony else got a compass that worked." "Ah say we go back to camp an get a different compass." "Yeah."  Scootaloo scratched her head.  "Um, which way is camp?" "Well, duh.  We followed the white end to get here, so let's go away from that, and I bet we'll get back to camp in no time at all." The three fillies set off determinedly through the woods. AFTERNOON, DAY ONE "Here are your hatchets, girls.  Don't go too far, and remember that the blade is sharp.  You can either strap the loop to your dominant foreleg, or use your teeth.  Unicorns, if--and only if--you have good control of your magic, you may try using the hatchet with your horn. "Next, we have a simple folding saw.  Two fillies should use this, one on each end of the handle.  Pull slowly back and forth, and it will saw through logs with ease.  Remember what you've learned about identifying wood; you want dry softwoods to start your fire, and only use hardwoods on an established fire." "Got it," the three fillies said excitedly, grabbing their implements of destruction.  They happily skipped off into the woods. "Ah don't think we've ever tried to get cutie marks in lumberjackin'." "Oh, there's one."  Sweetie pointed a hoof at a dead pine tree. "She said softwood, stupid.  Pine cones are hard.  We want a tree that makes soft fruit, like a cherry tree." "Scoots, how are we gonna know if it's a cherry tree if it's dead?  And who'd plant a cherry tree in a forest, anyway?" "Mah sis says birds sometimes carry seeds from fruit an drop em an they grow inta trees." Scootaloo looked at her skeptically.  "Why would they do that?" "Ah dunno.  Ah guess they want a place to sit, or somethin." "How about this one?"  Sweetie kicked it with a hoof.  "It feels . . . soft?  Kind of?" Applebloom cast an appraising eye over the tree.  She walked around it, occasionally bucking the gnarled bark.  "It's too punky.  It'd make good kindlin, but that's all.  'Sides, it's way too big fer us.  Even if we could chop it down, we'd never get any logs back to camp.  Ah think we should jest look fer some big branches that've come down in a storm." "Like that?"   Sweetie and Applebloom turned to look where Scootaloo was pointing.  Sure enough, a sizeable tree had fallen over, getting wedged midway down in the branches of another tree. "Yeah!  This is perfect!  We kin climb up the trunk, an chop off the top part!" EVENING, DAY ONE Sweetie Belle held a flaming stick aloft.  "I don't think it's working." "You're supposed ta turn it an not put it all the way in the fire." "But it cooks faster if it's in the hotter part."  The former marshmallow dribbled off the end of her stick.