Applebloom left Canterlot at dawn.
Having spent the last of her money on a bag of oats, she resigned herself to following the train tracks on hoof. The Equestrian countryside was nearly beautiful, but Applebloom's spirits admitted no comforts in her state. Instead, the tranquility of the plains underscored the land's indifference to her plight.
How could so many lives go so wrong? Was there some curse upon the retrievers of the elements of harmony? Or on Ponyville itself? It had seemed so certain when she'd left that at least some help might come their way. Instead, every pony she encountered had become a wretched shadow of her former self. Fortune had forsaken her friends and family, and now she could only return to a life of filth and foraging.
Except now, it would be worse. Now, she had witnessed the casualties of contagious misery. Now, she had extinguished hope.
She walked along the rails for hours, the scenery slowly progressing from verdant plains to rolling mountains. Her legs ached with the drumming of her hooves, her back with the unforgiving bedrest of paved streets, and her heart with an emptiness previously reserved for her stomach. It began to drizzle, then to rain in earnest. Applebloom soldiered on. Only when lightning struck did she think to find shelter.
Unfortunately, shelter was not forthcoming. There were trees enough to hide under, but the increasingly frequent booms of thunder reminded her it was not merely rain she sought to escape. She left the line of tracks to descend into a nearby valley; if she could not find a place to hide from thunderclouds, she would at least get farther from them.
The mountainside was a labyrinth of trees and undergrowth, made slick by a layer of mud, rain, and foliage. She stepped as carefully as she could, but the inevitable misstep occasionally took a leg or two out from under her. Though the clouds admitted little light and the trees even less, she could make out waterflows forming on lower ground, ephemeral tributaries, some large enough to carry away an unprepared pony. She began to question whether lower ground was where she wanted to be.
The heightening downpour assaulted the landscape with a barrage of wet needles. The wind tore at the trees, which waved their arms in surrender. Silt cascaded down the mountainside, searching for an escape route; the river provided one with violent eagerness.
Applebloom, too, was under attack. Water pounded against her brow and blinded her no matter what direction she faced. Thunder echoed through her slight frame and stung her ears. Her mane clung to her neck in matted locks, and her hooves sank into the liquifying ground. Her discomfort turned to fear.
She ran along the level contours of the mountainside, as if to outrun the storm. Wind, mud, and brush opposed her every step. The stormy curtain defied her attempts to get her bearings, and within minutes she'd lost sight of the tracks. The mountains suffered in every direction. She pushed forward, driven not toward any destination but away from wherever she was.
A bright flash illuminated a tree in the not-too-great distance, and a crash of splintering wood deafened her. She veered away from the strike. Another flash, even closer, lit the forest in a blink of blue light. Thunder shook her innards against her bones. She felt as if the clouds were taking pictures of her torment and laughing at her distress.
Her front hooves slipped, flailing for a hoofhold as she tumbled over a cliff and into a well of muck. She kicked frantically until she found her feet and lifted herself up.
There was a cave, here. The mouth was large; she had been lucky not to have fallen directly over it, as she surely would have broken several bones. The interior descended steeply, advertising only darkness beyond the first few meters. At the promise of shelter, Applebloom didn't think twice.
The floor was solid rock, and, judging from the echoes of her hoofsteps and the dwindling thunder behind her, the cavern could have housed a barn. Water streamed in from the entrance, but she left it behind as the floor turned suddenly upward. Warm, gentle winds pulsed through the tunnel.
As her eyes adjusted to the subterranean lighting, she started to make out vague shapes. Stalactites and stalagmites lined up like bulbous teeth. Ahead, she could just see an opening into a still vaster space. The air thickened, heating Applebloom's drenched coat, but it was still to humid to dry off.
She took one stride into the void-filled chamber and immediately became aware of her growing nervousness. Glad as she was to be out of the storm, her current circumstances did not remedy her vulnerability. She had led herself into the pitch darkness, weak and battered, and now she stood deep underground, deprived of all sensation but the water dripping down her side and the alternating gusts of wind . . .
The ground shook. Something very, very big had landed only a few feet ahead of her. A cacaphonous shifting sound pervaded the chamber, and wind—no, breath!—retreated away from her into some behemoth creature. Applebloom stood, paralyzed with fear, as green flames erupted above her, illuminating the face of a colossal purple dragon.
The dragon lowered its fire-wreathed maw in front of Applebloom, its forked tongue twitching between its tree-sized fangs and its wide yellow eyes dilating. A sonorous roar quaked the chasm—
—and swiftly stopped. "Oh!" echoed a deep, creaking voice. "Hi, Applebloom!"