The road to Sweet Apple Acres was long and dark, but not to Applejack. Having walked the path near every day of her life, she knew it like the back of her hoof. Every turn and bend, every rock and dip, every rain-dug gully and cart wheel rut. She could walk the whole trail from Ponyville to her front door blindfolded, and actually had on one occasion in order to prove a point.
Not that it really mattered right now. Anything in her way today could easily be floated over, around, or, if need be, through. Not to mention how the glowing orbs that passed for her eyes illuminated the road ahead in a hazy green glow. And even as her path was straight and set, she found her mind began to wander.
She wasn't particularly worried about building herself a golem. True, there was something Twilight had said about choosing materials that they had a personal connection with which had concerned her at first, but she knew every piece and part of the farm as well as she knew herself, so she had no worries about finding a compatible material.
No, what worried Applejack now was a factor that would make the task much more difficult for herself than for the others. While they were all returning to empty homes (or at least sleeping relatives), that would not be the case for her. Though early in the morning for most ponies, this was prime working hours for the Apple clan.
Granny Smith will have gotten up first in the wee early hours when the nightclubs in Canterlot had only just shut down. By now, she'd have cooked everypony a gut-busting breakfast, checked that her still had encountered no problems overnight, done some darning, and half a dozen other chores.
Big Mac will have been up for a few hours, wolfed his breakfast, and headed out to start bucking the trees. Probably the North orchard, given the season, assuming nothing schedule wrecking had happen while Applejack had been away.
Given it was a weekend, Applebloom probably had been allow to sleep in a bit, but even with that in mind Applejack reasoned that the filly just as likely should have been up and starting her chores at least an hour ago.
But regardless of how long they'd been up, it didn't change the fact that she was very likely going to have to explain her current situation several times over, all while avoiding scaring anyone or making them cry. Death was... a tricky subject among her household.
Speaking of family, at some point during her musings Applejack had been to hear a rhythmic thumping noise. A noise so familiar, she hadn't even acknowledged it until she was practically on top of it. And as she crested the hill, the source came into view.
The tempo-keeping baseline of Sweet Apple Acres: Big Mac bucking trees.
She hesitated before approaching. Would it be better to try and slip on by, leaving her brother none the wiser to her condition, face the music and make herself known? She sucked in air through her teeth, not that she had teeth, nor lungs, nor a need to breathe, but the gesture felt right and made her feel a more normal.
She would tell him. Openness and honesty was always the best policy and would likely save her some hassle in the long run if she tried to keep it a secret. Seeing no sense it putting it off further, Applejack approached her elder brother, during which she tried to make her actions as obvious and noisy as possible (a generally futile effort) so she wouldn't startle him.
When she got to his side, he still had not noticed her. Frustrated at her inability to be obvious she stomped on a twig. Much to her surprise, it actually broke and Big Mac whirled around at the sudden noise. His pupils shrank and his sweat seemed to freeze at the unholy sight before him. Applejack scuffed a hoof through the ground as she came to the abrupt realization that she hadn't thought to figure out how to handle this conversation.
"Howdy Big Mac," she tried with a wave that accidentally clipped through her hat. "Ah'm home."
Her brother stared back, wide-eyed and wordless.
"Okay, yer not panicking and that's good." Applejack said soothingly and started to place a comforting hoof on his shoulder before he shied away and she thought better of it. "It's really me, Applejack. Ah'm alright. Things just... went a mite south on the trip and Ah ended up in right more pieces than a body ought to be."
"Ahuh."
"But don't worry! Twilight says she can fix it. She's got a magic... Uh..." Ghostly gears spun uselessly in her brain for a moment before she shrugged and gave up. "A magic something-or-other that should put me right as rain."
Silence fell between them. Neither moved nor spoke as ghostly glowing eyes met narrowed living ones. After a long moment, Big Mac nodded, turned, and went back to his bucking.
It was so anticlimactic, it took Applejack another few seconds to process. That was it? A nod, and right back to work? Frankly, she was a little disappointed. Even from her iconically laconic brother she'd expected something. Shock? Grief? Not that she wanted him to feel bad, but still, a little display of emotion might have been nice. Just to validate that her death held some weight.
Could it be disbelief? Was that it? Had her brother, unable to cope with the loss of his sister, chosen to just ignore and not believe in such a grim circumstance? Not that she blamed him. The idea of her being a ghost was, honestly, pretty unbelievable.
"Uh, it is really me, ya know? You ain't dreamin' or seein' things. It's me. Yer sister. A spooky ghost."
"Ah heard ya," he adjusted a basket and bucked again.
Applejack frowned. "Well you sure are takin' this mighty well, aincha?"
He stopped and turned to meet her gaze. "You're here. Y'seem fine, mostly. Ya'll've come back a lot worse before."
Applejack took a moment to consider that before shrugging and smiling. There had never been any need to have been worried; Apples were made of sterner stuff than that. "Well, can't argue with that Ah suppose. Ah'm headin' back to the house to let Granny and Applebloom know. Holler if you need me. Ah've got to find somethin' to make me a body out of till Twilight can fix mine."
"Check the barn," Big Mac commented as she started to leave.
Applejack dipped her hat in thanks and continued her way to the main house.
After finding her worries with her first family member unfounded, Applejack was almost excited to present herself to her grandmother. Not to be unfilial, but the mare was old. She'd dealt with death countless times and probably wouldn't even bat an eye at her granddaughter's early ghost.
What Applejack did not expect was for her sweet, beloved grandmother to level a pitchfork at her the moment she reached the porch.
"So, it's come to this then," the old mare said levelly. "You come to take me away, Pear? The Pale Mare tired of getting whupped so she sent you instead to convince me to go? Well I'll tell you the same thing I always tell her; I ain't leavin'! There's life in these old bones yet an' I got too much left to do! I'll fight ya if I have to, Pear. I ain't ready to go but I'm more than ready to rumble. Come on, let's go, put em up!"
"Granny, what in Tartarus are you on about?"
"Mind yer language, Applejack," Granny Smith chided reflexively before she froze as the implication of her words dawned on her. "Applejack? "
"Yes'm," the ghost nodded, "Who's this 'Pear' you thought Ah was?"
"Never you mind." Granny Smith snapped before immediately changing the subject. "So... Yer dead then?"
"Nnnn... Well yes and no," she wavered, unsure how to explain the magical process that even she didn't understand to a mare who thought a unicorn using anything beyond levitation was intentionally showing off. "But it's close enough. "
The older mare snorted and tossed away the pitchfork as she settled back into her porch-side rocker. "Feh, smells like alicorn shenanigans."
"Well... yeah," Applejack admitted. "But it weren't Twilight's fault and she's promised to patch me up quick as she can."
The elderly mare shook her head. "That friend of yours has more smarts than sense. What she needs is a good stallion to tie her down, keep her grounded. You make sure she knows yer brother is still on the market."
Applejack winced at her grandmother's bluntness, thankful at least that they were alone. "Er, Granny, Ah'm pretty sure Big Mac already has a mare he's mighty sweet on."
"An until they get hitched, he's fair game," Granny retorted, "He could do worse than a princess. Even if she is the Princess of book-learnin' and headology."
"Ahuh. Well," Applejack's eyes darted around, exceedingly uncomfortable with the subject of her brother's love life. Luckily, inspiration struck in the form of the the barn Big Mac had recommended for building supplies. "Anyhow, Ah still plan to pull my weight around the farm. Just have to go make a body first."
"You do that." Applejack began to float away, but her granny had one last comment. "An keep yer eyes peeled fer Applebloom. I sent that filly off to feed the chickens durn near an hour ago and ain't seen hide ner hair of her since!"
The big double doors of the barn were unlocked and partially open, much to Applejack's relief. She hadn't been looking forward to figuring out what she'd have to do otherwise.
Like most barns, this one was primarily storage for things that were too big and ungainly to fit in the house or too numerous or weather-sensitive to store in the sheds. Effectively the junk drawer, taken to new heights. Thus, it was a veritable banquet of potential golem building materials. From overflow crops to the ill-fated remains of failed cutie mark crusades, there was little that could not be found in the barn, if one only had the time to look.
However, given she still had chores to do (and a lunch date with the girls after), time was not something Applejack had a considerable abundance of. The farm mare considered her options, as she did with most things, on a scale of practicality and ease of use.
The first, and most obvious, option was a barrel of apples. Very small, tart, and more than a little under-ripe. The result of an unexpected cold snap thanks to the nearby Everfree. They were no good for eating, but could make a nice vinegar. They certainly wouldn't go amiss if she were to repurpose them. Applejack tried to picture what such an apple golem might look like... and quickly banished the image from her imagination as a cold shudder passed through her. It was far, far too similar to her first encounter with Discord. She had no desire to revisit the memory of how it had taken him only a few minutes to break her of her most closely held principles. Besides, Twilight had instructed her to make something discreet, and a shambling pile of loose apples was probably not the best way to go about doing that.
In another part of the barn there was an upper loft filled with straw. Well aged and dry, it made excellent filler for whenever a mattress or seat cushion needed restuffing. She could probably make a decent golem out of that. It'd be lightweight, easy to move in, and with all the small fibers she could probably make it look decently like fur. When viewed from a distance. Even though it was the wrong color. Still, not a bad option.
There was also a pile of sticks tossed against a far wall. Old branches and roots, mostly. Ones too small for the log pile and too big for kindling but perfect for whittling into handles and hat racks and crochet hooks. They too might make a good golem. A lot sturdier than the straw, for sure, if at the cost of looking a lot less discreet and a lot more pony-made.
To her right by the door sat a pile of bricks. Probably leftovers from a repair job or possibly a failed venture for masonry cutie marks. They were certainly the most traditional golem material available, seeing how they were clay, in a sense. And bricks would make for the sturdiest golem. But, under the other hoof, the bricks were not without problems. For one thing, there was their rigid shape. Could she break them into smaller pieces? Or would she have to settle for a very blocky, cubic golem? That sounded difficult to move in. Not to mention very conspicuous, even moreso than the sticks.
But then again reconsidering the sticks, a golem made from those would undoubtedly bear an uncanny likeness to a timberwolf. Which, again, would be very conspicuous. Not to even bring up the potential panic she could cause when going into town.
And so Applejack turned back to the straw as she reevaluated her options. All in all, it wasn't a disagreeable option. And besides, even if the result turned out poorly, there was no reason she couldn't abandon the form and try again with something else.
Her mind made up, she headed for the straw.
The ladder provided a brief obstacle before she remembered that flying was now an option available to her. With a small burst of willpower, the ground fell away as she began to rise.
Applejack stared intently at the straw. Now that she was there, she realized she had really no idea how to start. Moving objects with sheer willpower was hard enough, let alone trying to build anything complex. As she gazed into the straw, studying it, scrutinizing it, willing it to reveal its secrets, she noticed something beginning to change. It was as though the straw was glowing, though without any light. Like the memory of a sensation, the lingering feeling the moment after an embrace has ended. She leaned in, focusing on the feeling. It was warm too. She took a step forward. Another one. Ano-
*VWORP!!*
And without so much as a warning, she found herself suddenly pulled deeper in. The straw was... warm. Surprisingly so. Then again, maybe it had been silly to assume what possessing straw felt like. But beyond that, all sensations felt muted. Though she could feel things now, so she assumed something must have worked.
Putting aside her pride at this minor success, Applejack set to tackle the next and bigger issue. Being just a big ol' pile of straw was not going to help things. She needed something more compact and pony-shaped. She tried to take a step forward and found some of the straw moving with her. It felt rather like walking through through seaweed, how it clung and held for a moment before breaking off or coming with her. A few more steps and she was out of the pile... aside from the part of the pile that was now her. Rather than a giant pile, she had become a roughly pony-sized pile of straw. She even had a vague sense of limbs, random and messy though they were.
She lifted what felt like a foreleg and a messy column of straw moved with her. Once she figured out where each limb was, she made an effort to try and get herself in a more equine shape. Applejack quickly found that modelling with the straw was surprisingly easy. If she pushed in an overextending strand or brushed a patch flat, the straw stayed where she put it. Working slowly but with the patience borne of years spent getting plants to line up in neat coordinated rows, she soon found herself with a pair of passable forelegs.
Her hind legs came next. Though trickier in design, her tree-bucker's instincts made it easy to tell if the shape was beginning to go wrong. The longer she worked, the easier the work became and the more naturally the straw flowed with her intent. When one leg began to buckle under the weight of her torso, Applejack got creative. She gathered stout roots from the wood scrap pile and added them to her legs, fixing them in the center to act as bracing bones. When she found her legs still too light to properly grip the ground, she buried a brick in the end of each hoof. After all, no one ever said she had to use only one material. Or so she hoped. Some, if not most, of Twilight's golem-making lecture had gone in one ear and out the other, though not for lack of trying on the apple farmer's part.
By the time she got to her torso, sculpting the straw was almost second nature. She sent a bristling wave down her body, something like a shiver if she were flesh, and all the bristly parts of her barrel smoothed themselves out into proper coordinated lines. She could still feel a dense disorganized mass at her core, but the insides didn't really matter so she let it alone.
All that was left was her head, a task for which she needed a mirror.
Applejack descended from the loft slowly, carefully putting a little weight at a time on each hoof before committing to the step. Her legs started wobbly and unfamiliar, but grew steadier with every step as the farm mare found her balance and new center of gravity. By the time she reached the ground floor, she could almost trot naturally.
Luckily for her, the barn did have a mirror. An old gaudy thing from before Applejack had been born, relegated to the barn after an errant cutie mark crusade had left a large crack in it. Broken through it was, it still reflected just fine, and was stored away just in case any member of the extended family ever had a need of a big gaudy mirror (and also happened to be friends with a pony who wielded a mirror repairing cutie mark).
Applejack approached the dusty old thing with a small degree of trepidation. Though she could feel her shape, in truth she couldn't say for certain how she looked. What would she in the mirror? A mess? A pony? A monster?
When she reached it, she took a deep breath, her chest expanding reflexively even in absence of air intake. In one swift motion she swiped away the dust that shielded her from her reflection.
She froze... and then laughed.
"Well ain't that a sight?" she managed between chuckles. "Ah look like some poor scarecrow whose head got blown off by a pegasus banking too low."
It was indeed an accurate comparison. While her body was a remarkably good replica of the one she had lost, everything above the shoulders was a chaotic mass of orange-yellow fibers without a hint of form or shape.
"Let's see what we can do about that then."
She focused her will on one of the most outstanding strands and slowly, like a retreating snake, it began to pull itself back into the central mass. She tried another, then two, then three at once. As her skill increased, more and more pieces of straw began to move, and soon her entire head resembled a writhing gordian knot made from live snakes, weaving and twisting and flexing themselves into shape. In time, order emerged from the chaos. Strands of straw lined up into an arced and supportive neck. Finer strands twisted and knotted into a familiar manestyle. Straw pulled back to form a pair of gaping cavities for eyes and a deeper one for a mouth. Like an explosion in reverse, the disorder sucked into itself, leaving behind a familiar face.
"Much better," Applejack nodded as she finished and the last strands tucked themselves away. "Though Ah do still look more scarecrow than pony. Actually... that gives me an idea."
Leaving the mirror, Applejack sought out an old trunk in which the family stored seasonal clothing. After some digging, she returned to the mirror with her prize. It was an old lump of sackcloth, patched with scrap fabric of various colors, which had for many years served as her de facto Nightmare Night costume. With a bit of wriggling, she pulled it on. Now she truly did look like a scarecrow, which was fitting since, prior to its life as a costume, the sackcloth had indeed been stuffed with straw to keep birds out of a field until one fateful day where it had become intimately acquainted with Rainbow Dash at high speed.
Applejack took in her new form and grinned, which was slightly unsettling with her hollow eyes. She grabbed a pair of apples from the nearby barrel and popped them into the sockets. With a little tightening of the surrounding straw, they fit perfectly. The stems even moved where she looked, like pointy pupils. Running with the idea, she grabbed six more and nestled them into her flanks, thus restoring her cutie mark.
"Not too shabby, if Ah do say so myself." She gave her new legs a stretch. They flexed with strength and easy, the individual strands rustling slightly as them scritched and scratched against each other.
"As fun as that was, Ah reckon Ah'd best be gettin' to work. Chores ain't gonna get done if nobody's around to do them. Heh, no body. Ah'll remember that one for Rainbow Dash."
She grabbed her working stetson from it's rack by the door and flipped it onto her head with a practiced ease. It was a tad smaller than her adventuring stetson (which had been unfortunately lost alongside her body), with a wider brim better suited to blocking the sun throughout a hard day's labor. She'd have to replace the adventuring stetson eventually, once the travelling stetson salespony was back in town.
She was just about to leave when something caught her eye. The hook on which her hat so often spent its night on. She'd seen it so many times, day after day, that she'd almost stopped recognizing it as anything other than just a hook. But it was much more than that.
Tacked to the wall at hat-hanging height was a horseshoe. A pair really. Her father's horseshoes. Too small tor Big Mac and too big for anyone else, they'd been put to use as best they could.
A strange idea came to her then. It was a small thing, a trivial act. And yet it also could mean so much. With a tug, she unhooked the pair from their hanging nail and held them up. The metal was old, but in good condition, and the edge had been polished to a shine but the daily rubbing of her hat against the metal.
Applejack could not say exactly why she did what she did next. There was just something about the shoes, something that felt right.
She lifted a back hoof and stared into the fibrous frog, curious but cautious. With a bit of willpower, the strands of straw shifted and loosened, easily widening the base of her leg. She set the shoes down and stepped onto them. Bits of fetlock-like straw strands curled around the shoes' edges, tightening down and securing them in place. When she lifted her leg, the shoes came right along with it. A perfect fit.
With a smile on her face and a bit more spring to her step, Applejack left the barn behind to break in her new body with some refreshing morning chores.