Fresh pine smell—minty and cool to the nostrils and down the throat.
Sugar Belle's bakery had been undergoing a few small changes within the last several days, one of which was that fresh pine smell emanating from its single dining area inside—with its few simple wooden tables and chairs with no cloth nor other covering to grace them.
The bakery's town was, like those tables and chairs, simple. There was only one street—not even paved, for it was just a wide open space of flattened dirt. On each side was a row of brick houses that were similar to each other in appearance—a mix of gray, red and brown; brown, wooden roofs that slanted; thin, narrow windows (though some had curtains inside). Trees were sparse and they especially stood out in this little town because there was no grass—in fact, the surroundings were dry, desolate, and empty, void of even plant life save for the occasional flower that rose alone. Jagged mountains were on one side, providing decent shade to the village's inhabitants and sheltering them from too much heat from the sun at times.
As the town sluggishly woke up from its past night's sleep and to the glowing sky as the sun climbed into a grand view and a grand morning—as more and more ponies walked out on to the only street and prepared for the day's works and other engagements; as the lengthy shadows reappeared from the structures, the ponies, the mountains, the trees—Sugar Belle, a pink unicorn with curly purple hair, was preparing some baked apple goods and other apple treats: apple pie, apple cake, apple fritter, candied apples, apple donuts, apple syrup, apple ice cream, apple turnovers, apple caramel.
Behind the double-deckered counter with its delicious and attractive food displays of such apple foods, a sink lay clean and polished. A note was nailed on the brick wall with the words: "This week's apple delivery: seven baskets." A blue ribbon and a clock, too, was on that wall/ Some framed photos were hanging there, most notably that of Sugar Belle plus three other ponies, presumably her friends: a white Earth pony stallion with still white hair, a blue unicorn stallion with a curly mane and a curly tail that matched hers, and a dark blue pegasus with winded hair that sort of flowed mid-stop in the picture.
One of the few small changes, aside from the new smell, was the inclusion of a vase of flowers on each of the tables inside. The tables outside had no such decoration—not yet, at least.
Sugar Belle was quiet, not saying anything as she fixed the display plates of food at the counter—with her horn glowing cyan, she rotated one plate a little clockwise, moved another a teensy bit to the right, and swapped a plate of apple fritter and a plate of candied apples, switching their positions. A hoof on her chin, a furrow of her eyebrows, and, smiling, she dusted off her forehooves.
Then, the door opened.
Sugar Belle looked up, keeping that smile. "Hi, there!" She walked out of the counter and into the dining area, approaching the newcomer."You must be new here. May I ask what's your name?"
"Watts Onion," he said. "I'm in the middle of a tight trip, so can I, uh—" and he dashed to a chair and sat down; then, smiling awkwardly "—have something to eat? Please?"
"Well, OK," she said, drawing it out in her curiosity. "What will you be having?" She walked out of the way, letting him see the entire range of apple dishes.
"It doesn't matter," Onion blurted out, raising a hoof. "What's the one with the most energy? Most sugar? Keeping me alert and ready for anything on the path?"
"Are you an adventurer?" Sugar Belle asked, eyes narrowed though the smile did not fade away.
"Yeah! I'm an adven—"
A hoof knocked down the vase.
Quick to pick it up with a hoof.
He placed it gently back on to the table, back to where it had been.
"Heh-heh-heh-heh?"
Sugar Belle looked irritated, though kept it slight and subtle. "Don't worry—I have some extra vases just in case. Be careful next time, would you?"
"Oh, yes, I will, miss, uh—"
"Sugar Belle," she said. A pause. "You were asking for something that would give you a punch of energy?"
"Yes, yes, yes!" Onion said, nodding his head up and down fast.
"You must be in a hurry, then," she commented as she levitated a plate of caramel apples and candied apples toward his table and placed them there.
Two plates were now on the table. On one were a few candied apples on sticks—a sugar coat hardened around much of the apple, set to crack at the first bite. On the other were a few caramel apples—layers of sweet brown caramel dotted with sprinkles and chocolate bits.
Before the mare said anything, Onion grabbed two caramel apples and scarfed them down in rapid succession, disregarding all modes of proper eating etiquette since he was not wiping nor otherwise cleaning his mouth, he did not finish his first apple completely before getting on to the second one, and he did not even thank Sugar Belle for giving him food.
She, meanwhile, glanced outside with irked eyes and mouth that showed some shame. The street had only a hoofful of ponies, none of whom glanced back at the bakery.
"Watts Onion," she said, trotting to him and in an authoritative tone, "you don't have to eat like that even if you're in a rush."
Onion gulped down another bite. "If I don't this, I'll miss out!"
She opened her mouth to say something.
But he went back to eating even more of the apples at a speedy pace.
While he was eating, he dropped a bag of bits on to the table.
Sugar Belle, now agitated by that act, levitated the bag of bits and looked inside. She then levitated out a few bits, saying, "Here's your change, Watts—"
"Keep it!" Onion managed to say before he returned to his quick meal.
She sighed as she levitated the few bits back into the bag, trotting back to the counter and wearing a bothered face on her.
"How far can a unicorn run, anyway?" Isobar asked as he and Wakey and Dally sat inside a swift carriage as the puller galloped, shaking and trembling the carriage as it wheeled and reeled over rocky roads and bumpy streets, turning over to the lonely ways under the morning sky with its cool, gentle breeze—now separated from city matters and immersed in the open grass fields.
"I don't know!" Wakey yelled as she held on tightly to her seat, bracing for any sudden and unannounced bumps. Turning to Dally—"You?! You're a unicorn!"
"I don't know, either!" Dally yelled back, also holding on tighly to her seat, eyes open and glasses away.
The outside was a whirl—a blur, unfocused even more by the abrupt jumps of the carriage, sending its passengers flying to its ceiling—"Ow!" "Ouch!"
"Sorry!" the galloping puller shouted. "But, you asked for it! This is as fast as I can go without endangering the three of you!"
"Without endangering?!" Wakey yelled. "You're going to bruise us at this speed!"
"You asked for it!" he repeated in that same loud shout.
"Alright, guys," Isobar told as he held parts of the carriage with a firm grip, "hold on tight!"
"Why?!" Wakey shouted.
"This doesn't look smooth to me!"
And the carriage went through a series of bumps and jumps and humps, hurting the poor heads of the passengers as they constantly and consistently hit the ceiling—"Ow! Ow!" "Ouch! "Ow!"—leaving the driver unscatched as he galloped over the obstacles.
Then, that was over.
"You want me to help you find some escaping pony!" the puller shouted before any of his passengers said a word. "Well, I'm doing my best and I'm doing it by running!"
So, there were no complaints—just more screaming as the carriage rocked and teetered about at that high speed. Dally was left clattering her teeth, Wakey was venting out her frustrations at the runner—who was no longer paying any more attention to her, just focused on the rough path ahead—and Isobar remained quiet though he, too, was showing some dread by hurling his head around in panic.
Late morning.
Onion—with full saddlebags—was trudging along in the small forest populated by those same woodland creatures from before: rabbits, birds, bears, deer, and a runaway giraffe.
The sunlight was spotty, having to penetrate through the thick foiliage of the trees; that did not do much to hinder Onion, though, since the path ahead was still very clear.
Crisp air, quiet sounds—only his own hoofsteps in his sprint and the voices of the creatures.
Huffing, gasping—sweat down his face, drenching it down.
And he kept running.
The carriage screeched on the only street of the town.
"We'll be asking some questions around," Isobar said as he floated himself out of the carriage, his friends alighting on to the ground with Dally comforting a dizzy Wakey with turning eyes. The pegasus then faced the driver. "Stay here, please?"
A grumble, but he nodded.
"I can't believe it," Isobar said as he hovered away from the standing carriage and looked around him—taking in the sight of the entire settlement. "To think that we're in Starlight's old village. But, Mid Level said he was headed this way—" and off he followed the two mares.
Wakey was sitting at a table outside a house, spouting out murmured syllables—incoherent and sloppy.
"I know we don't want to lose Onion," Dally said, looking at the approaching pegasus as he sat down at the other side of the table, "but I don't want to lose Wakey, either—at least, I don't want to continue by leaving her inside a clinic to recuperate."
"Where's the medicine store, then?" Isobar said, turning his head around.
There was a clothes store—for a dress sign was over there. But, there was no medicine store in sight. Only ponies buying things and talking to each other—no clear evidence of any medicine here.
The door opened.
"What's going on here?" Sugar Belle asked. Then, she saw the dizzy Wakey slumping on the table and gasped. "What happened?"
"Do you have some vitamins here?" Dally asked, raising her voice—uneasy.
"Wait here!"
And Sugar Belle rushed back inside the bakery.
"She does," Isobar said, wiping the sweat off of his face.
Dally sighed.
"I'm...hungry..."
The two looked at Dally with shocked expressions.
Then, they looked at each other.
"Uh, is that it?" Isobar asked, lowering a brow.
"She might collapse, and you say 'is that it'?!" Dally snapped out at him.
"OK, OK, I'm sorry!" Isobar said, holding up his forehooves and flying away from her.
The muddled, confused pony then struggled, raising her head up slightly—and sniffed.
"Is that...apple pie?"
Isobar and Dally looked up.
Dally sniffed, too. "That is apple pie."
Isobar peeked through one of the thin windows.
"Perfect," Isobar said. "A place to eat food. Perhaps he stopped over here." He looked at Dally who was now patting her friend on the head. "Wanna help me and go in?"
"I'll stay here," Dally said.
Isobar nodded and flew inside.
Noon—specifically, some minutes after noon.
A train station stood with no other pony structure near it. There was the railroad stretching along the fields on one side and on to the jagged hills on the other. A dirt path was running parallel to it.
It was a peaceful scene. The train at the station was still, its bearded and uniformed conductor opening his watch as he stood on the platform.
Idyllic. A few birds were flying overhead.
"Wait!"
The conductor looked up.
"And, where are you from, sir?" he asked as Onion scrambled on to the platform. "You look very familiar."
"No time!"
And then he was inside.
The conductor looked around him.
Nopony else.
A look at his watch. Then, he closed it.
"All aboard!"
He went inside.
The doors closed.
The wheels moved, faster and faster.
And then, the train was going, the landscape going by in an unclear fashion.
The conductor walked up to the only passenger inside the vehicle—he was seated, eyes looking off onto the fleeting background with its greenery and the mountains off over there."Where will you be hopping off, sir?"
"Ponyville," Onion said. "Need to collect all the food, all the drinks, all the supplies I could get!"
The conductor raised an eyebrow. "What for?"
"I'll be searching for something—something!"
A frightened face was upon the conductor—then, as quickly as it arrived, it departed, replacing it with a sturdy look. "I wish that you'll find wahtever you'r searching for. You seem to be quite troubled with it."
And the conductor walked away at a leisured pace.
Onion's hooves were shaky and trembling as he looked outside, seeing the beautiful fields under the noonday sun, brightened and shining in all of its natural elegance and vastness.
"What did you say was the closest train station?!" Isobar yelled as he and his friends were back inside the carriage—with its bumpy ride.
The landscape was, as before, a blur, a whiz.
"Near the Honorary Forest!" the driver yelled.
"Where's that?!" Isobar shouted.
"You'll know where when we get there!"
Isobar groaned as he braced himself—holding on to his seat along with Wakey and Dally.
Then, the bumps.
"Ow!"
"Ouch!"
"Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!"
Late afternoon.
Inside a gingerbread-like bakery, Onion rested a hoof as he gasped for air, blathering his list of sweets to order while dropping a bag of bits on to the counter and rested his head on the counter. This attracted the attention of many of the customers who were busy with their own sweets and conversations.
"I wouldn't have that much if I were you," the pink mare said from behind the counter in that high-pitched voice. "The way you're acting—you'll end up dozing off after you eat your entire list! I mean, the food, not the actual list—but, you know what I mean, right?"
"It's for...a good cause, a good reason!" Onion protested—or was able to say before he returned to placing his head on the counter.
"Ya' sure about that?" she asked.
"The sugar's gonna...give me what I need for the trip."
"Trip to where? Winsome Falls?"
He straightened himself up—surprised. "How did you know that, Pinkie?"
"It was a guess!" Pinkie said, smiling. "Also, I know what goes on in the news—you think I don't know you, silly?"
"But, could you please make the order quick?" Onion asked.
She sighed. "Don't say I didn't warn ya'!"
And she pulled out some boxes of muffins, cakes, and pies.
"And, that would be for dining in or taking out?" Pinkie then inquired, smiling.
"We're nearing Ponyville, guys!" the driver shouted as he pulled the carriage closer and closer to Ponyville, the sky becoming orange as the sun was setting.
The three were now quiet as they looked upon that famed town—just over at the side was that bright purple castle of crystal, the Castle of Friendship. The town itself, however, was in line with a more humble style—cottages with hay roofs and thatched walls.
Isobar sighed, a bored yet thoughtful face on him. "Why, Onion?