//------------------------------// // Freckle Revolution // Story: Appledashery Vol. Two // by Just Essay //------------------------------// Days passed... Mornings of waking up to sighs. Afternoons of sweating to routine. Evening of saying the same words to the same family members under the same roof. With each progressive sunset, the lines in Applejack's muzzle grew harder and harder. It became an issue when she nearly snapped at Big Macintosh for simply asking if he could help with putting supper together. "Reckon I ain't good enough to make vittles on my own!" she had barked, or something close to it. She felt sick for hours afterwards. Those words belonged to a cantankerous old mare like Granny Smith, not her. An apology was given to Big Macintosh in the form of a freshly-baked apple pie. Not that it mattered; the stallion had evidently forgotten all about it. He trotted around the farm with a soft smile on his broad muzzle. Applejack knew that he was making frequent visits to Fluttershy's cottage, doing work around her house, building enclosures for the various animals in the pegasus' care, talking about anything and everything, sharing, living. Something about this new phase in the older brother's existence evidently enriched him—a joy gained through osmosis. It was the first time Applejack ever remembered envying her older brother. She sat on the bed in her room under nightfall, gazing into shadows, contemplating it. Contemplating herself... the pieces that she was struggling to pick up. She had something much like Big Macintosh did. However, it was nothing more than a mere glimpse. A flash. A flicker of light that was there and gone again. Had it shone longer—perhaps—Applejack would have had an opportunity to study the details... to understand the contours of this new landscape she found looming over her. But all she had left was a faint aura... a color... a feeling. It was then that she contemplated that maybe... just maybe the feeling was far more important than the substance. Longingly, her eyes darted across the room. She looked at a lonely mare in the mirror... then down at the drawers of the vanity just beneath the glass. A knob lingered, glinting in starlight. Applejack swallowed a lump down her throat. On stiff legs, she stood up and trotted across the creaking floorboards of her room. Rather swiftly, she opened the drawer and produced the tiny velvet container. Opening it, she exposed the feather to her eyesight for the first time in so many nights. And instantly her insides melted. She hadn't even touched it yet. Just seeing it there... embracing the reality... remembering with a brand new freshness the concept... the liberating idea of being needed... and worshipped... She sighed. A melodic thing. For the first time in so many evenings, it enriched her instead of deflating her. She carried the feather back to the bed—container and all—and placed it beside her pillow. Snapping it safely shut, she laid down and kept the thing close—unfocused—in the center of her vision. It wasn't exposed. But it was close. It was nearby. And it was hers. Nopony needed to know. Not even her. Applejack need only feel. And she did... and the smile accompanied her through the softest, most relaxing sleep she had enjoyed in weeks. When she awoke, it was with a brand new vibrance. So it was with a great deal of shameless courage that she plucked the feather completely from the container, stuck it in her hat, and plopped the article atop her blonde head. There, it would continue to be nearby. Safe. And hers. She owned it—if only for the sake of knowing she could earn something. And—with an extra kick in her step—she carried that enthusiasm into a full day of farm labor. She would soon find out that it was sorely needed...