Lightning. More lightning. Networks. A skyful.
Through constant strikes, rain fell. Brown drops soaked the soil.
Pegasi managed all weather phenomena. Nitrogen-fixing, for one. Nitrates – nitrogen and oxygen cooked by the lightning – rained down, nourishing Sweet Apple Acres.
Once a month. Compulsory.
Thunder too.
Indoors, baby Apple Bloom whimpered and burrowed deeper, tucked between young Applejack’s protective legs.
The fireplace crackled. Stoically, Granny Smith and Big Mac watched the lightning outside.
Apple Bloom clung tighter to Applejack. Heard the lie: "It'll get better soon." Compulsory.
Thunder pained her ears. She burrowed deeper until Applejack’s voice rumbled through her chest: “Hurts, don’t it? Ah’m sorry. It needs doin’. Can’t dodge this one.”
Applejack’s heart beat faster. Funeral directors. Yesterday.
Compulsory.
Applejack held on tight. “Don’t cry. Ah’m here for you.”
Then, the thunder stopped.
Cautiously, Apple Bloom let go.
The clouds vanished. Sunbeams shone. Waiting, ready for new life...