//------------------------------// // Atonal // Story: A Duet For Land And Sky // by Estee //------------------------------// Interference would only make things worse. He'd just about convinced himself of that, and it was the central reason why he still didn't know what to do, if that was anything at all. Snowflake had been trying to think, to think of anything, and... it was as if his thoughts were nothing more than his namesake. Individually fragile, easily scattered by the smallest of breezes, and now there was a full tempest raging within his head -- but his hooves kept their own rhythm, maintaining the slow trot without any real conscious notice from their owner. Trotting through Ponyville, in the desperate hopes that giving his body something mindless to do would free his brain to work. It didn't seem to be helping. The internal storm had prevented him from giving Fluttershy an answer: what he would do if Applejack's plan worked. (He hadn't been told what it was, only that she had one -- and that was a part of what was keeping him from acting, out of fear that any action he could come up with would somehow negate hers.) All he'd been able to manage within the corridors of the police station was that he had to find out, and that was true enough -- but the initial search was taking place within his own mind, and it had been coming up empty for -- -- how long had he been doing this? Just... walking and trying, failing to think. A sufficient duration for Sun to have shifted through multiple hours (or so he presumed, as it was impossible to locate the orb behind the heavy cloud cover), more than enough to have passed some of the same places multiple times: he seemed to be on the verge of completing another loop, and even the weariness felt familiar. He'd been awake for far too many hours, and... he didn't have a goal. There was no reason to keep going, and so exhaustion slowly crept through muscles whose response time was steadily dropping. Trotting through Ponyville, because no pegasus (and presumably hybrid) was supposed to attempt flight with their mind so disordered. For... too long. Time in which something strange had been happening, and doing so repeatedly. Something which had never really happened before, a recurring event he didn't know how to deal with. Perhaps it would have been easier on a workday. It would have given him a destination, along with an increased level of manual labor providing something to do. Fluttershy had the advantage there: she could always return to the cottage, had trouble staying away for long, and the extended silence of his failure had finally reached the point where the need for morning feedings had called her home. But he was labor for hire. A mission meant all of his time was booked for an indefinite duration, with the palace carefully clearing any schedule he might have previously possessed. And once his near-sister returned -- well, part of the way the palace freed up booked time was through providing substitutes for him. He wouldn't be able to line up fresh work until the next market day, and that was still one Sun-raising away. Fluttershy had gone back to the cottage, promising to bring back Genova to his little house before Sun was lowered. He had just... walked. He briefly remembered the Princess mentioning that there were two other living ponies who shared his talent, and wondered if either of them had been gifted with mental determination. The ability to truly exercise the mind. But in his case, he was trying, he'd been trying for hours, and... Enough time to have thought of nothing, and to have seen far too much. Ponyville had a restaurant district of sorts, although it wasn't exactly at the level of quality which Las Pegasus hosted: for starters, his birth home didn't have to deal with the presence of Mr. Flankington. But it was something which had split. The eateries meant for unhurried meals occupied the original zone, while that which offered quick meals for those whose primary concern was being able to finish a full breakfast before the train departed (and potentially before their tongues reported on what had just been eaten) were located closer to the station. He'd wandered through that area, and huge windows designed to let those inside see exactly what was approaching the platforms had allowed him to spot the occupants. He didn't really know any of the ponies within. Typically, what little familiarity did exist would come on the subconscious level: those who shared streets and sky with him, generally at a fairly significant distance. In that sense, just about everypony at the cafe could be described as a stranger -- but there were six whom he had never encountered before and still recognized. Some talents ran in families and in this case, so did the iconography. Two of the Apple relatives had borne expressions tinged with confusion. (The stallion of that pair was reading a scroll, over and over: it was easy to see when his gaze shifted back to the beginning, along with how repetition was failing to bring comprehension.) One was fuming, three were openly worried, and all seemed to have been there for considerably longer than the average customer: one middle-aged mare was going through the sort of visible muscle twitches which generally appeared when a pony had both been still for far too long and had several mugs of wake-up juice suggesting that the first movement be in the very specific direction of a restroom. The sighting had nearly made him move away from the cafe at a considerably higher speed than had been used for the approach -- but rapid movement had the potential to draw attention and from what he knew of Spike's sendings, none of those who'd been summoned to Ponyville had any idea what he looked like. (He suspected they were expecting somepony who was considerably more handsome.) But their presence seemed to indicate the elder brother's angry plan was working -- -- except that they were at the cafe. Still in town, when their first move should have been to head directly for the Acres. And given how long they appeared to have been there... Perhaps it was something Applejack had done, to keep them off the farm for a little while: if so, it cut the chances of his trying to introduce himself to a number which threatened to dip below zero. And it was also possible that her actions accounted for the presence of another rather visible party within the cafe, although that was no guarantee. When it came to finding fast, reliable sources of food, the general rule was to eat where the police officers went... (Earth pony officers, who were watching earth ponies.) (He had no reason to think about that.) (Not yet.) Still, it redirected his path, and instinct kept the new one well away from the train station. But maintaining a degree of distance from the new arrivals still kept him among the long-time residents, and... that allowed the strangeness to happen. Over and over again. "Are you okay?" His tired gaze came up, managed to focus on the features of a leaf-green unicorn stallion. A pony who had never been in Snowflake's tent, had never hired him for any amount of labor, been to the cottage, or kept his distance on a work crew. "Yeah," he wearily lied. "That was a Tartarus of a fight," the impressed unicorn decided. "Everypony's been saying so." "...yeah?" "A pegasus beating an earth pony in close combat? The whole town's talking about it!" "...yeah." Because there was no way he was going to try explaining the 'pegasus' part. "I just wanted to make sure you were feeling all right," the stranger told him. "And Scootaloo. Have you heard anything about how she's doing?" Which was where 'yeah' ran out. "She's... just bruised." Physically. But Miranda knew... "That's good to hear," said the stallion who almost had to have been victimized by the Crusade, if only because it was something which was statistically hard to avoid. "Thanks." Turned, began to walk away -- and paused, with the light blue mane shifting under the weight of humidity and awkwardness. "Are you really going out with Applejack?" He'd found the best answer for that was a shrug. "Good luck," the unicorn sincerely offered and in doing so, concluded the latest iteration of the strangeness. Ponies didn't approach Snowflake, and for multiple residents to just strike up even the most casual of conversations with him... He hadn't known how to deal with the first encounter, not with a pony whom he'd made accidental eye contact with and found that mare acting in a way which wasn't instinctive retreat.. He hadn't seemed to be doing any better on the eighth. The twenty-first was uncovering no discernible improvement. It was making him look up a lot, although a society which included pegasi meant he wasn't exactly lowering his odds. (One of those sky-seeking glances had spotted a fast-moving air carriage, along with providing a momentary impression of exceptionally dark fur.) Ponies wanted to speak with him, and he -- didn't know what he was supposed to do with that. How long had he been trotting down the settled zone's streets, moving through the little crowd of ponies without having it scatter before him? Not long enough to settle his mind, not with everything he knew (or believed) overturned. But he'd just kept going, because it was something to do and there was a chance of having a thought emerge. An idea which would give him direction, provide a chance at solution, repair all the damage which had been done to Applejack's life, prevent what might already be happening to Scootaloo, find some way of fixing the world... All I ever do is break things. It was a thought, and a deep part of him knew it wasn't a true one. But it still felt appropriate, especially for a pony who had been born broken. One whom Doctor Gentle hadn't so much tried to fix as -- -- experiment on. I was his experiment. Something which could report back. Did he ever love me? Did he ever love any of us? Did he ever love his daughter? They were the kind of thoughts which did little more than curve in on themselves as they echoed, with the repetition producing an ever-tightening spiral towards the void which lurked at their center. And given any chance, time without interruption, that was exactly what they would have done. But he'd been moving in a loop, the next hoofstep brought him back to where he'd begun, and did so at the moment the other combatant came out. Snowflake's gaze had been directed towards cobblestone at the instant of emergence, and so the first thing he registered was red fur. Connecting the dimensions of the legs to the identify of the possessor took an extra second, the inevitable upwards shift found green eyes (the same green as the older sister) which had been prepared to blink away the brightness of Sun after hours spent away from it, started to do exactly that on instinct alone, and found only grey. It left them free to widen. Focus. "Y'look tired." I'm not up to this. That was a true thought, even if he couldn't quite find the precise definition within it. There seemed to be two possible meaning for 'this' and when it came to the primary, he knew he didn't want another fight. He was just equally dubious about his ability to make it through a second conversation. Tired, in so many ways. Overexertion seemed to account for most of it: physical, emotional, and definitely verbal. But he wasn't so weary as to not register the little gasps from the other ponies on (and above) the street, the sounds of hooves coming to an abrupt halt added to the sudden scent of fear -- with most of the last seemingly arising from a frozen pink-furred mare. "...yeah," he wearily told the farmer. Features far more handsome than his own briefly quirked. "So we're back to that?" There was something almost like a degree of amusement in the words, although it was hard to find within a familiar kind of matching exhaustion. The police station's doors opened behind the farmer. Amicable chatter emerged first, crashed to the cobblestones as the trailing officers got their first look at what was happening -- "-- ain't gonna be another fight," Mac quietly said. "We already know who'd win, right?" And softly sighed. "Why ain't you in bed?" Two days ago, I was a pegasus. Two days ago, the only thing I ever really needed to say in public was 'yeah.' He wasn't sure which he missed more. "I don't want to find out what happens when I stop moving," Snowflake wearily replied. "Pain?" It seemed to be a sincere question. "I'm used to pain." (The crowd didn't pull back at that, and he wondered why.) "Then it's dreams," the farmer stated. Snowflake silently nodded. "Yeah," the voice of experience offered. "They're gonna suck." The herd watched. Waited. But all they got was a moment when both stallions were doing nothing more than awkwardly shuffling their hooves. "What happened with the prosecutor?" Snowflake quietly asked. "Y'ever heard of 'pre-trial intervention'?" There was a new sound now, rising from the perimeter of the herd. "No." The big head dipped. "It's something they can do for first offenders, when... when it's a felony. When everypony else involved asked for leniency. Kind of like probation. Only there's counseling sessions, and Ah've gotta see somepony a couple of times a week, an'..." The wordless vocalization was spreading, and the low rumble forced green eyes to close. "Still have t' be in court next week," Macintosh managed to finish. "But if Ah finish it all, don't do anythin' that would break probation... it gets cleared from mah record. It'll just... take a while, and Ah -- can't really go anywhere until it's over. Or Ah break the terms. It'll be a few moons before Ah can --" But he was speaking through the murmur now. Something low-pitched, something ugly, a sound which just kept getting louder to the point where it almost covered up the pounding of hooves racing towards the inner side of the station doors -- "-- no!" The word hit the air at the instant the hard-kicked left-side door slammed into the outer wall. "I won't! You can't do this, you can't, I won't let you --" Snowflake was facing in just the right direction to see that the one who was in the lead had been running with her head down, not looking at anything except the path ahead. He could also tell that very little of that would have been visible through the fast-streaming tears, and so she didn't see the thick red left hind leg until her forehead went into it. The farmer tensed. Muscles bunched under fur, a wince shifted misery-filled features -- but that was all. The filly's little tumble to the right could be considered as nopony's fault other than her own, and the mare who'd followed her out perceived all of that. "You have to," that mare called out. "You don't have a choice, Scootaloo, I don't have a choice! There's no other way this can --" Which was when the mare, who'd mostly been focused on the fleeing filly, saw everything else. A dark-furred head slowly lifted. Grey-green eyes carefully surveyed the scene: two stallions, a pair of officers, and a crowd whose fear was steadily transmuting into something else. "-- oh, buck my life," Miranda half-muttered. "Snowflake, you should be in bed --" Which was cut off by exactly the wrong voice, one everypony in the settled zone eventually came to know all too well -- but which only the experienced knew to ignore. "-- he kicked her again! We just saw --" There was a split-second available after 'saw', a single instant before the herd's emotions settled into a new collective state, and it was the instant in which Miranda's horn ignited. "SHUT UP, DAISY!" (A pink jaw fell open, and the light from a hard-spiking double corona played across white teeth.) "I was right behind her! I saw what happened! She ran into him and he stayed still! Anypony moves to attack him and I'll treat it as assault! You say one more word and it's inducing a riot! SHUT UP and STAY SHUT!" The herd looked at the new lead mare. And then it shut up. Scootaloo slowly picked herself off the cobblestones. Looked at Mac, whose eyes had never opened. Focused on Snowflake -- He saw it coming before it ever began, recognized the trembling in the wings to go with the tension along the neck and the lowered head. He could have dodged it with the simplest of jumps, stayed out of reach using the most basic hover. And so he did none of it, choosing instead to take the blow as she charged into his right foreleg, held as still as he could as she reared up, began to kick against his sternum over and over -- "-- you! You told, you told, you told, it had to be you, it had to be and she's going to send me away, she's going to --" Which was as far as she got before a green-grey corona gently wrapped around her body. "I'm not reporting that as assault," Miranda softly told the herd, her field pulling Scootaloo back by half a body length as it carefully lifted the filly. "And neither is anypony else." "-- I hate you!" The tears were falling faster now as the filly flailed within the field bubble, and every one hit Snowflake harder than the kicks ever could. "I HATE --" It was almost a whisper, the words barely audible -- and yet they carried to every forward-straining ear. "-- I already had a search warrant." She stopped. Stopped fighting, stopped moving, almost seemed to stop breathing, her body slumping into a near-boneless state within the corona. Stopped doing anything other than weeping. Miranda looked at her officers. "Shift them back," the chief ordered. "Just the crowd. These two can stay." The corona intensified again. "But I want everypony else to put a few body lengths between us and the station." The badge-bearing ponies began to move. Miranda softly sighed. "I was trying to give you a chance to gallop yourself out," she told Scootaloo. "I didn't want to drag you back, not after everything else. And you were out of my office before I could even try. Rainbow would be proud..." The filly trembled. Miranda took a single slow step towards the bobbing bubble, raised it a little higher as the crowd was steadily moved back. (The farmer's eyes remained closed, and all Snowflake could do was watch.) "I had to tell him that, before he gave you up," the unicorn evenly, almost gently continued, dark fur standing out within greyed light. "I already had the Department Of Foal Welfare involved. We were going to knock on the door tomorrow, Scootaloo, and then we were coming in. We would have found the envelopes. It all would have happened anyway." "They love me," the filly whispered. Refusing to look at anything, and a body which often seemed to equate stillness with death made no attempt to move. "When was the last time you heard them say it? Words, Scootaloo. Not anything written in a letter. Words whispered into your ear by your parents --" "-- it's their jobs, it's too dangerous for me to be with them, they left me behind because they love me, you don't send vouchers to somepony you don't love..." "-- when?" And the only answer came from the trembling of orange wings. "You know who loves you?" Miranda quietly asked. "Snowflake does. He loves you enough to finally admit that you shouldn't be living like this. Not alone --" "-- it'll be a cot," Scootaloo whispered. The herd might have still been close enough to hear. To listen, distort, and gossip. And as Snowflake took a step forward, he wondered why it didn't seem to matter. "A cot?" he softly asked. "It was our house," the filly who had been so much like a little sister told him, every word shaking in concert with her feathers. "I did a good job. You saw. It was mostly clean, mostly except for the backyard and nopony cares about that anyway. I did all the laundry and I made my bed. But in the orphanage... the stories said you get a cot. A cot in a room with a dozen other ponies --" the words were coming faster "-- I lost our house, I lost everypony, everypony forever, I lost everything --" The field bubble rotated. A flicker of energy raised the orange chin, and the police chief offered her case for Honesty. "It won't be an orphanage." It was hope which opened the filly's eyes. Powerful, unstoppable, horrible hope. "...I can stay at home? Until they come back and explain?" Miranda shook her head. Desperate, more desperation in her voice than he'd ever heard, and all Snowflake could do was watch. "But you said --" "-- it won't be an orphanage," Miranda repeated. "I meant that. And the house will be held in trust. But I don't want you to lose Ponyville. So we're going to find somepony you can stay with. Somepony here. And that means I need you to come back inside, so we can talk about who that might be. Can you do that for me? Because I don't want to try picking out a place all by myself. I'll probably get it wrong." Stillness -- -- the little puff of mane bobbed up and down. "Do you hate him?" Snowflake's heart stopped. "...no." "Then tell him." The bubble rotated again. The elevation to Snowflake's eye level had taken place more than a minute before. "...I don't hate you," Scootaloo whispered. "I just... what are they going to say, Snowflake? I wasn't supposed to tell..." "You didn't." He almost managed to put a smile at the end of it -- but some burdens were too heavy to shift. "Yeah," she quietly agreed. "I didn't." And she did smile at that, for she had yet to see that there was any burden at all. Miranda's eyes closed. Opened again, under grey sky and dimmed light. "Can I put you down now?" the police chief asked. "And you'll go into my office, so we can talk about this? I'll join you in a minute." "...I guess so." The bubble slowly floated down. Tiny flickers of energy adjusted the filly's legs into a standing position, and then Miranda's corona winked out. The little body staggered a little: the filly hadn't quite been ready to take responsibility for her own weight. Moved forward -- -- green eyes shot open, frantically focused down and in doing so, the farmer found himself looking at the same thing as everypony else. Scootaloo nuzzled his right foreleg again, then glanced back. Took in the shock of the watching herd. "I forgave him," she told them, and blinked away the last of the tears. "I heard you, all of you, and... we all do stupid stuff sometimes, everypony here's done something stupid, and -- somepony forgave you. It was just a stupid accident on a dumb night, stupid instinct and... I forgave him. Why can't you?" Her wings trembled. Unfurled to a full span which was a little larger than it had been the week before, curled back in. "You have to forgive him," she insisted. "He needs to stay with his family. Somepony..." Newly-grown flight feathers shivered. "...somepony should get to keep their family..." And with head held high, her tail showing no more than the slightest bit of shiver, Scootaloo trotted back into the police station. Miranda took a slow breath. Looked at the silent crowd, and Snowflake saw that very little of it was gazing back at her. Too many eyes were closed, and nearly every head was down. "Go home." The ones at the back turned first, picking out their hoofsteps as if any impact might fracture an ankle. Pegasi slowly flew away. Flower Wishes had to be escorted off the street. The dark-furred unicorn looked at the two stallions. "Am I going to have any trouble out of you two?" "Nope," Macintosh stated. "No," Snowflake agreed. "Keep it that way." Another breath, and Miranda began to turn. "Because right now, I have to figure out how I'm going to finish overturning a filly's life. And once that's done..." She stopped. Her spine curved, and the shadow-filled tail sagged with something more than exhaustion. "...I need to visit the library." The question fell to Macintosh. (As far as Snowflake was concerned, the farmer had always been the better talker.) "The library?" "As you recently reminded me," the police chief said, "there's a local way of getting paperwork distributed in a hurry. And I need to send arrest warrants out across an entire continent. EQ 6:19:1. Neglect." A flicker of corona played across her horn, and winked out at the same moment the unicorn chose to simply kick the door open. "So if you'll excuse me," Miranda softly requested, "I have to go back inside and see if I can get through the rest of this Tartarus-freed day without telling her that." She went through the doorway, into the shadows of the station. Vanished. There was silence for a moment, with red and green eyes mutually surveying the emptied street. Eventually, they sought out each other. "So where are you headed?" the farmer asked. "No idea." "Me neither." The earth pony sighed. "Mind if Ah go there with you?" I slammed him into the dirt. It had been less than a day since the impact, and now the combatants were trotting at each other's sides. Reconciling the situation was presenting Snowflake with a certain degree of difficulty, although nowhere near as much as it seemed to be giving the startled townsponies. But under one of the other hooves, having everypony automatically back away enough to create the space for a (potential) mobile combat arena also produced the sort of privacy conditions he was used to -- -- except that the farmer was trotting at his side. "I saw some of your relatives. In the Purple Rein." "Yeah?" There was some surprise in that. "How did y'know?" Snowflake silently tilted his left ear towards the other stallion's mark. "...yeah," Mac echoed. "We've kinda got a theme goin'." Which was followed by an oddly rueful shrug. "It doesn't hold up for everypony, though. Samara didn't manifest one." "Who?" "My pegasus cousin." He blinked. "You've got --" "-- adopted." The big body heaved a deep sigh. "Long story, and she's the best one to tell it. If she can do it without crying. It... hasn't been long enough." A few hoofsteps passed before he opened his eyes again. "Anyway, she won't be here. I didn't send a scroll to her parents, because... well, y'can probably guess." "Are you going to talk to the ones in the cafe? There's at least six --" "-- not just yet." Which was followed by an exceptionally slow head shake. "Anger's like alcohol. It... lets things out." "So you're not angry any more." He didn't quite believe that. The farmer's lips quirked. "Ah'm too tired t' be angry." That I can believe. "...yeah," Snowflake ruefully agreed. "But nopony can make you angry like family," Macintosh sighed. "They're the ones who know how. Ah was angry, and that let stuff come out. Everything we'd been keeping down for too long. Ah thought bringing the family in was the right thing to do. She wouldn't listen to me, so -- get more ponies, and the words would have extra weight. But anger's like alcohol, and when the anger's gone -- you start asking yourself if anything you did made any sense. I thought it was right, and -- now I don't know. And..." A few more hoofsteps. "...we were both angry," he finally continued. "I haven't seen her that mad since our parents died. So now Ah'm wondering just how much she might want to take back. And... whether we even can. So Ah'm not ready to go see cousins yet, not until Ah figure out what kind of idea it really was." The shrug was surprisingly small. "Ain't sure what Ah'm gonna say if one of 'em sees us together, though. Snowflake?" Automatically, "Yeah?" With sudden irritation, "Look, Ah know it's a decent word. But if Ah've gotta talk, then you've got to kick a little variety in, okay? There's a question you never answered last night. I need to hear it now. Why you?" And all he had was honesty. "I don't know." The big red body stopped moving (with the white matching), and Mac's head took a rather dubious tilt to the left. "...really." "I don't. She didn't tell me --" The interruption was more curious than vicious. "-- thought you two didn't talk." "In the station, just before Sun was raised," Snowflake clarified. "It was -- mostly about the scrolls." "So she knows," Macintosh quietly said. "Well, knew, in advance. First ones would have reached the Acres hours ago." And frowned. "But y'said there's some in the Rein? That doesn't make sense. They all know where to go..." There was silence for a few heartbeats. It wasn't exactly something either stallion was uncomfortable with. "But y'don't know," the farmer finally finished. "Why it's you." Another sigh. "Guess we've both gotta ask her." A little more walking. They were coming up on the bowling alley. "She does have reasons for doing things, most of the time," Mac added. "Not always good ones. Ah'm pretty sure you weren't here for that one harvest..." The red brow furrowed. "The Rein. Why would they be there? There's gotta be a reason." "I don't know," Snowflake readily admitted. "Maybe Applejack told them to stay there?" "Why would they listen?" the farmer immediately countered. "Ain't nopony gonna take her too seriously right now, not after asking you out." (There was a part of Snowflake which realized he should have taken offense at that. He didn't quite manage to pull it off.) "She had a little warning that they were coming, so she could have planned something. But to make them stay off the Acres, or even stall... what's she up to? Did she tell you anything?" He searched the scorched trails of memory. "Just that she was going to meet some ponies." "So she might have seen the first ones come in at the station," the older brother considered. "And I know who that would have been. So..." The next words emerged in a low mutter. "...what would the ugliest, most stubborn mare in the world do --" The actual crashing sound came from inside the alley. It was completely typical, represented nothing more than a ball going into pins, and only happened to coincide with the slow-motion collapse of Macintosh's features. Every red limb had locked up. The big rib cage was heaving, eyes had gone wide with shock and horror -- "...no!" The farmer was too young for it, far too healthy, and Snowflake's first thought was still heart attack. "Mac? What's --" "-- how strong are you?" The words came at the same moment as the spin, and then the taller stallion was frantically staring down into his face, too-fast breaths blasting against the white snout. "Ah know you can lift me! Can you carry?" He wasn't good with words, and they were all he had to form the questions. "Mac --" -- which was as far as he got. "Can you carry? Can you get me t' the Acres? Tell me!" He was tired, he had almost nothing left to give -- but he'd just been offered a goal. "If we stay low." Just in case he was wrong. "Mac, what's going on? Why can't you just gallop --" A brief, bitter laugh, just before the farmer's accent further thickened with fear. "Ah ain't a sprinter, can't try t' reach the Acres from town at mah best speed without droppin'! Jus' get me t' the border, an' Ah'll do the rest! Will y'do that for me?" The big barrel was heaving faster now, and the speed was approaching that of hyperventilation. "Please!" He didn't speak. He didn't think. He just went up. "No! Don't leave, please --" Powerful white legs clamped against Macintosh's body. He didn't have techniques, not enough to get through the Academy, and the few he did possess were at exceptionally low strength. But there was maneuverability present in his unnatural flight and while he would never be able to match Rainbow, he also had speed. Snowflake had been vaguely aware of ponies staring up at them as the carry had begun, along with having heard a few distant cries of alarm: his guess was that they'd assumed it was part of another fight. Those ponies were now well behind them, and Mac had shouted the contrary all the way out of town. "Where do you want me to drop you?" Snowflake called out as greyed light began to highlight late-blooming fruit. "Your house?" "The border!" Mac shouted. "Jus' the border! Put me down at the first Idared!" "The --" "-- the tree with apples which have the red an' green all mixed up! Ah'll go in from there!" It didn't sound right. It didn't feel right. If things were that bad -- "-- I can put you wherever you need to go! If you need to search --" admittedly, there were portions of the Acres where the canopy was fairly thick, but the hunt would still be likely to go faster from the air -- "-- Ah don't hate you!" It almost made him miss a wingbeat. "An' not hatin' you," Mac yelled, "is why you're gonna drop me where Ah said! Let me do this, 'cause it's gotta be family! An' go left, that's the first Idared right there!" He tilted, dipped, sent the amputations into a descent pattern while his mind was too busy to wonder if it was actually doing anything, got the farmer's hooves close to the soil and then let go. "Stay here!" Macintosh shouted, legs already beginning to push forward. "Ah'll come back after! If'fin we're lucky, that'll be a few minutes!" He didn't know what was happening. He didn't know what the farmer was so afraid of. "But if you need help --" The orange tail lashed as it went into the trees. "STAY!" He hovered. Listened to the sound of hooves pounding against earth. I can't do anything. I'm not family. I'll never be -- Listened to the frantic breaths produced by terror, and then realized they were his own. -- this is all because of me -- He didn't know the Acres all that well, especially not from low altitude, and going into a thick branch at high speed -- -- there was a WHUMP! There always was, and dirt went up in all directions. I need to get there. The hybrid began to gallop. He'd never given chase this way before, not on hoof for more than a few seconds. Any such pursuit in Las Pegasus had taken place before he'd found the sky and as such, every last one had been strictly short-term. Whoever he'd been after would flare out their wings, flap a few times, and then laugh all the harder as they went where he could not yet follow. Moving with that intent for more than a minute brought him into several kinds of fresh territory, and pursuing on hoof over ground was completely new. But the soil supported him in a way vapor never had, and so Snowflake ran. It was tricky. He couldn't follow so closely as to let Mac see him, because that might make the farmer lose potentially-precious seconds to any verbal attempt at driving him back -- but it also meant he couldn't see the earth pony. Snowflake was trying to maneuver on sound alone, chasing down distant hoofsteps, and it meant he could only hope he was going the right way, he hadn't been on the ground long enough to figure out how sound might be distorted through bouncing off wood and he was already running down echoes -- (Up ahead, at the goal which he would never reach, an emerald had just flashed green.) -- his ears strained forward, and the last bits of long-dried blood fell into absorbing soil. Golden hooves pounded against the world, and he didn't know if he was making enough noise for Macintosh to hear him -- (An unseen sapphire dulled. The emerald flickered. Neither reaction was magically conveyed to the staff's bearer, for the enchantments had no way of reconciling his existence, and the only mare who even came close to noticing had other concerns.) "-- NOT ALLOWED!" -- which put all other hearing into question. A mare's voice, an angry one -- but it wasn't Applejack, it didn't sound like anypony he'd heard before, but it gave him a direction and he was pushing, something was happening up ahead, something which was only taking place because of him and he had to get there, it renewed the goal and -- -- he just barely spotted the strange patch ahead, a strip of land which overlaid the true like taffy pulled with dirt and rock, but he didn't have much experience with ground and so merely treated it as something which had to be hurdled -- -- running, he was still running, he'd only overflown the Acres a few times and it seemed as if he'd never crossed all of it, he hadn't known how much land there was, but he still had the goal, he could run even if he wasn't sure how long he'd been galloping for, he could get there, he could -- "SHE CHEATED!" He heard those words: there was no way not to hear them. It felt as if the entire world had been blasted by the scream, birds taking panicked flight from the trees, the irregular strips of earth almost vibrating with sheer channeled rage. It was the last sound his straining ears would deliver to his mind, as he raced towards his goal. Pushing forward through the trees, heading for what seemed to be a lighter section up ahead. A larger patch of grey -- -- and then the earth lanced its song through his soul. It is not deafness, not in the way some might consider the deprivation of a sense to exist. There is an orchestra, and then there is a pony who might be capable of hearing every instrument -- but only when they express themselves across what might be a single narrow range of notes. He can only hear the music which matches his own bars, and -- that's never been the whole of the song, not in the way the others know it. He has made some form of music, in his way. But he's never been aware of it. The closest simile may be somepony whose response to stress is a nervous humming, an action which never registers within their own consciousness, a soft low note which becomes completely lost in the background chorus of the Effect. And as for hearing, even within his limited range -- how could he be expected to hear when nopony around him has ever truly sung? It is the first time, and he has no way to prepare for that which has just taken over from every other sense he possesses. He loses the lesser kind of hearing, sight, scent, everything in the blast (and his body begins to stumble). He doesn't know what he's experiencing, has no way to recognize or reconcile. It is his first experience of the song, it comes all at once, and it has nothing of the gentle tide which rises from the Effect, something which carefully raises youthful singers through stages of awareness until their own voice finally resounds in their soul. This carries rage and fury and a demand that the world be something other than what it is, that is his first experience of truespeech, and there's something else a valley, a gap, a wound vibrations vibrations driven by anger, vibrations which shouldn't be there, which are about to he's not sure. There's a vague impression of something resting high, something else low, and it's too much to try and interpret in the midst of the overload. All he truly knows is the vibrations, for that is what he's always had. He drives a hoof into the soil and the world trembles. Ponies think it's sheer strength. It isn't. It never has been. A low hum, a touch of WHUMP!, and the vibrations aren't supposed to be there, not driven by rage, not something so clearly meant to hurt, and there's singing, singing in the form of a scream but it's singing to something and the scream shouldn't be there that which listens knows it so he tries telling the vibrations not to be without entirely knowing how, when he's been pushing for too long, and he loses his goal as he tries to flounder towards something approaching music, it takes everything he still has, everything left (and his body is collapsing), all he knows is the song and all there might ever be is the song and she couldn't use the collapsing soil, not in the face of an earthquake when anything she could force together could be vibrated apart. Her mindset was still locked into the principles of the duel, and Applejack couldn't debate -- -- the first clumps of soil fell, tumbled onto her back -- -- and then the next bunch was flung across the fosse, pushed by the sheer force of fast-emerging roots, stretching out over her back, the little white nodules flickering past her vision as the arteries of the Acres thickened into a protective roof, but it was taking too much, plants weren't supposed to grow this quickly and pushing so hard had a chance to damage the trees, she was doing it all by herself and she didn't know if it was going to be enough, if her barrier would hold, but it was her best chance to protect herself and Elstar, she was barely staying on her hooves, trying to keep the roots going while the vibrations did their best to knock her down and the shaking stopped. She staggered: there was a moment when it was the only thing she could do, especially after four legs which had been battling against the upheaval found nothing left to fight. Shaken eyes looked up, tried to see through the little gaps between the roots, saw only grey -- -- but she could still hear. "Who... who did that? I didn't --" The mare's voice was followed by that of the Advocate. The one who attended. Managed. Judged. The voice which was supposed to be heard above all others. "...no..." "Why are you all looking at me like that?" Akane demanded. "Did I say everypony could look at me like that? She cheated! I just --" The earth slammed together under Applejack's hooves, began to lift her out of the fosse at a speed better suited to Rainbow and she was trying to move faster than that, frantically attempting to gallop against a slope which wouldn't let her find purchase, knowing there was nothing she could do, knowing she had to do something anyway -- "Sun and Moon," her Granny whispered. "Oh, Akane..." "She cheated --" "-- it wasn't over!" Rocksteady cried, and Applejack heard the tears within the words. "I didn't have a chance to seal the results! She didn't cheat, and the land --" That was the moment when Applejack got within leaping distance of the rim. She slid somewhat upon landing, for Akane had been responsible for that portion of the perimeter, and the skid nearly ended in a collision: her dumb brother leapt aside just in time. There was no time available for staring at him, or looking back to where he'd just come out of the treeline. There wasn't time for anything except racing forward, desperately trying to reach her cousin, and the last bit of strength she still seemed to possess was channeled through her soul and into the land, pleading as the sobs rose from the bottom of the fosse, and Akane just... ...stared at them. In anger, in fury, in rage, and without anything approaching comprehension. Akane, who'd never been much for paying attention to stories or instructions, because her first preference for listening had always been herself. Please! A single note, her soul held against the world as it prayed for recognition. Please, don't -- They heard her then, all of the Maluses, for they had grown up among each other's voices, and the final burst of Macintosh's mad gallop slowed, stopped, and ended with his hindquarters dropping into the dirt. Granny closed her eyes. Apple Bloom, who had felt the desperation, began to cry. And Akane simply stared from her place on the rim, with her hooves half-covered in loose soil. "What's wrong with you? That wasn't interference! I just --" And then her hooves were completely covered. Rocksteady looked away. Macintosh began to shake. And Akane didn't notice, not until it had crept across ankles and hocks. "What is this? What are you doing? Stop it, Applejack, stop it, or -- fine, I'll stop --" All life comes from the earth. All life returns to the earth. For all the days and nights between, she will honor the contract... "-- it won't listen!" Up to the knees now, and she was attempting to jump, leaping in place, trying to get away -- but the world held her. "Why won't it listen? Make it stop --" They were brought to the earth in the first hours of their life, all of them. To make contact. They were brought to the world, and the world flowed across Akane's ribs, crept across her back, coated the mark as it flowed along her neck and over her frantic eyes and covered her screaming mouth and there was a statue of a mare on the rim, one created from pebbles and soil as her father sobbed within the depths of the pit -- -- the coating cracked. Fell away, leaving behind a mare whose natural hues had been masked by residual dirt, her ribs heaving, gasping over and over and over and over and it wasn't trying for air. Eyes widened to the point where it seemed as if the corners had to rip cared nothing about seeing other ponies, and twisting ears had no ability to find something they had never had any true part in hearing. She staggered forward, almost to the edge of the fosse. Dropped to all four knees, then sank lower. Pressing her body down, forelegs scooping in whatever they could reach, hind trying to kick it all against her. Repetitively, almost mindlessly, over and over again, as if it was the only thing left to do. It made no difference, as they moved towards her. It never would. She blinked up at them, as her left foreleg pushed a rock into fur and skin. Blood trickled down the edge. "Where is it?" the hollow voice softly begged. "Where's the world...?"