Apple Bloom felt the tears plastering the fur of her cheeks freezing in the icy wind. She’d left all her clothing at home in her rush to exit.
They’d be following after her, of course. There would be accusations. Lectures. Recrimination. She deserved it all. She knew that. It didn’t help.
The naked trees reached up into the clear skies, like twisted, dead husks. She knew that the spring thaw, and Winter Wrap Up, would bring new life to the orchard; for now all she saw was death. She ran, shaking her head to dislodge the tears that still flooded from her eyes.
Finally she found the trees she was looking for. She didn’t hesitate, running up to the twining pear and apple tree trunks. Heedlessly she approached the trees, rearing up at the last second to slam her hooves against the trunks. With gut clenching sobs she beat her hooves against the trees, screaming and whimpering her rage, her grief, and her emptiness.
Apple Bloom didn’t bother to count the minutes, but eventually she became tired, slumping into the thin layer of snow that spread over the frozen ground. She was shivering with cold, her face clenched in her hooves.
It was so stupid. She was almost an adult. She had a job. She had a marefriend. Grownup ponies didn’t break down like this. They didn’t scream at their family and throw pancakes. Applejack never acted like this; she cried on the inside.
Apple Bloom was such a failure.
Something thick draped over her, covering her with warmth. It was a quilt. She could smell the scent of apple cider; this was one of Granny’s quilts, that she wrapped around herself for her winter naps.
“Granny?” Apple Bloom’s voice was harsh, raw with sobbing.
“Nah,” came Applejack’s voice. Apple Bloom pulled the quilt down so she could see her sister.
Applejack was busy with something. She was piling sticks next to the paired trees, about a pony-length away. It was the beginnings of a campfire, Bloom realized.
“What are you--”
“Have ta warm up the ground, if I’m gonna dig,” Applejack said quietly, and Apple Bloom’s breath caught in her throat. She saw the other things her sister had brought; a pair of shovels, and a small bundle, wrapped about in another one of Granny’s quilts.
Her eyes stung. Her chest ached, and she dashed helplessly at her new tears with one hoof, not caring if she was smearing dirt and snow into the matted fur. She pulled the blanket over her face, to hide herself from her sister’s gaze. Silently she trembled underneath the warmth of the quilt.
“Ya know yer gonna have to go back and apologize,” Applejack said. Apple Bloom could hear her finishing with the fire, then listened to the scratch of a match against Applejack’s hoof. She heard her sister blowing. Then she could feel the warmth of the fire.
“I know,” she whimpered. Guilt burned hotter than the fire, but not hot enough to warm her icy gut. “I’m sorry.”
“Eeyup,” Applejack drawled solemnly. Apple Bloom waited for more, waiting for the lecture, the countryisms, even the shame and reproach. Applejack was silent. Once again Apple Bloom nosed her way out of the blanket to look at her sister.
Applejack sat next to the fire, with one hoof holding her hat to her chest, the other hoof resting lovingly on the shapeless bundle in the quilt. Apple Bloom gulped, jerking her eyes away from the limp package, and to her sister. Applejack’s eyes were wet as well. She watched for several minutes, waiting for some sort of reaction, but Applejack just sat there, crying softly.
“How do you do it?” Apple Bloom whispered. Applejack shrugged.
“I don’t know how to answer that, Bloom,” Applejack sighed. “At least, not in a good way.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve had experience.” A chill colder than any winter fell over the two of them, and Apple Bloom looked up at the trees that entwined about above them. She was too young to remember, but Applejack wasn’t.
“It’s… it’s not fair to compare the two,” Apple Bloom admitted, and finally Applejack looked back at her, her eyes brimming with sympathy and love.
“Oh, sugarcube. Don’t say that. Hurtin’ is hurtin’. It doesn’t matter to the pony that’s in pain.”
“But…”
“Hush. You don’t have to apologize for how you feel. And you don’t have to feel bad cuz you can’t remember them.”
That was exactly what she’d been thinking.
She lifted the blanket and stood, sliding over to where Applejack was sitting. Wordlessly she wrapped the blanket around both of them and leaned into her sister. She remembered when Applejack had been so much taller than her. Now they were nearly the same size, and Applejack leaned back into her. The two sisters embraced.
“I’m so sorry, Applejack,” she whispered. Applejack nodded. “No, really. This is probably harder on you than on me. She was your pet, after all, and--”
“None of that. Winona was family to all of us. You get to cry just as much as I do.”
Apple Bloom let out a humorless laugh. “I think I’ve been doing a mite more crying than anypony today.”
“Could be,” Applejack shrugged. “Doesn’t mean we’re not all hurtin’, though.”
“Yeah, I know.” Apple Bloom sighed. “I promise, I’ll go apologize to Granny and Mac. There was no cause to yell at them, or say what I said, or--” She broke off in a new flood of tears, hot liquid shame pouring from her eyes as she shook
“Hush. Hush now, Bloom, you’re okay,” Applejack rubbed her shoulder with her hoof. “Mac and Granny’ll forgive ya. Ponies do silly things when they’re in pain.”
Apple Bloom cried herself out. Maybe it was hours, maybe it was days. When she opened her eyes, the fire was down to embers, cooling slowly. A ring of melted snow surrounded them.
“I reckon we could get started,” Applejack sighed. She held out a shovel to Apple Bloom, and took up the second herself. The two of them dug into the dirt, warmed just enough by the fire to be workable. Each sister turned the dirt to smother the last of the embers, then cut into the ground with their shovels.
“It don’t…” Apple Bloom sniffed. “Um, it don’t need to be too deep, does it? On account of Winona being so small.”
“Nah,” Applejack sighed. “Just deep enough that timberwolves won’t get to her.” Apple Bloom’s stomach roiled at the idea.
She hated this. She hated all of this. There was a gaping hole, an emptiness, where there had once been a bright spark of life. A part of her cut away. She had to force herself to keep digging.
“How do you get over it?” she whispered, barely loud enough to be heard over the shovel cutting into the dirt. “I mean, if I could know she was still out there, watching over me, it’d be all better, right? Like, maybe by putting her near Mom and Dad’s trees means she’ll be with them, too?”
Applejack dug several more scoops before she could answer.
“Do ya want pretty words, Bloom? To make ya feel better? Or do you want the truth?”
“I can’t have both?” she whimpered, hating how much like a foal she sounded.
“Maybe.” Applejack shrugged. “I don’t know. Some ponies might tell ya that. That she’s in some kinda afterlife. That she’s watching out for ya, that Mom and Dad are there too, and Grandpa Pear, and everypony else that’s passed. Is that what you want me to tell ya?”
“Are they?” Apple Bloom’s shovel bit deep into the dirt, her thrust powered by desperation.
“The truth is, I don’t know,” Applejack sighed, glancing over at the tree. “I wish I did.”
“No.” Apple Bloom was shaking. “No! That’s not okay! That’s not enough!” She threw down her shovel and rounded on her sister, her eyes blazing. “I hate it!”
Applejack wasn’t fazed. She glanced down at Bloom with all the wisdom of old grief in her green eyes.
“Eeyup,” she said. “I do too. But there’s nothing I can do to fix it. And for me, if it’s a choice between a comfortin’ lie, and a hard truth, I know what I’m always gonna pick.”
“Is this what you meant? Asking if I wanted pretty words, or the truth?”
Applejack nodded. She didn’t pause her own digging; Apple Bloom knew she always worked through her pain with physical labor. “I could tell ya pretty words, Bloom. Or you can face the hurt head on.”
“Maybe that’s easy for you!” Apple Bloom shrieked. It was just like this morning, at breakfast. Everypony was handling this better than she was, and it filled her with a hot, burning fury. “Yer the pony of honesty, after all. No platitudes for you! But we can’t all be a rock like you, AJ! Not everypony’s as strong, or as fearless, or as…”
She couldn’t see. She could barely breathe. She hated this. She hated all of this. She envied some of the ponies who would drink their cider until they couldn’t stand up any longer. She’d never seen the appeal before. But now?
“I ain’t strong, Bloom,” Applejack whispered.
“Horseapples,” Apple Bloom swore. Applejack looked up, eyes flashing, ready to scold her sister, but Apple Bloom saw the words die on her lips. “You know it. Don’t lie.” She didn’t want to look at her sister any longer, but there was still work to do. She picked up the shovel and slammed it into the dirt again, so hard the wooden handle splintered slightly. With a wrench driven by her fury, she ripped the dirt out of the ground hard enough to spray it into the air.
“Okay. I won’t.” Applejack sighed. “Maybe I’m handling all this better than you. Maybe not. You tell me what to say to make it better, Bloom, and I’ll try.”
“You mean you’ll feed me pretty words?” Apple Bloom sneered, and Applejack nodded. The anger flooded out of her, and she slumped against the shovel propped into the hole. “No. No, AJ. I don’t want pretty words.”
“Good girl,” Applejack said. She lifted one last shovelful out of the hole, and walked over to Apple Bloom. “The truth is, nopony knows what happens. And maybe it’s nothing. And maybe you need to be okay with that.” Apple Bloom looked up sharply. “But if it’s true, and there’s nothing after, that’s okay too.”
“How is that okay?” Apple Bloom shook as her sister wrapped her in a tight hug. “How is any of this worth it? What’s the whole point of life, if there’s nothing?”
“The point is, you make your own point,” Applejack said. “You decide what it all means. If it means nothing, then you give it meaning.”
“But my friend is dead!” Apple Bloom pointed a hoof at the limp bundle. “And her life meant nothing?”
“No, Bloom. Her life meant everything to you, to me. Her life is in our memories. The joy Winona shared with us. The pain. The beauty. Everything she gave us. That’s what she meant. And now you need to decide what that means for you.”
Apple Bloom stared up at her sister, who smiled sadly.
“If this is all there is,” she waved a hoof and took in everything, from the trees, to the skies, to the distant farmhouse, to her sister and the dead dog lying wrapped in a blanket at their hooves. “If this is all there is, I’m gonna make the most of it. I’m gonna love my family, my friends, my marefriend, as much as I can. And when I go, I’ll be happy that I lived a life of love.”
Apple Bloom stared at her, breathing hard. She thought about her friends. She thought about her family. She thought about her own relationship, and the sometimes sweet, sometimes silly pegasus she’d probably be crying on later. She sniffed, and nodded at Applejack.
“C’mon. Let’s get her in.”
The two ponies lifted the quilt reverently into the hole, setting it down. Silently they began pushing the dirt over the quilt. Each pile of dirt that sprayed down on the faded fabric was a knife in Apple Bloom’s chest. She tried not to think about it too hard.
Eventually there was nothing more than a mound of turned dirt and ashes. Apple Bloom smoothed it down lovingly with her hooves.
“Goodbye, Winona,” she whispered. “You were the best dog. I don’t know if you can hear me. If you can, remember we loved you. If not, I’ll remember you. I promise.” She glanced over at Applejack, whose smile was proud and sad. “It gets better, right?”
“Family helps,” Applejack admitted. “I don’t know if I coulda handled this as well if you weren’t here. Make sure that marefriend of yours treats you well, too.” Applejack gave a sardonic laugh, only partially strained. “If she’s anything like Dash, and we both know she is, she’ll have some stupid little present to try to cheer you up, like flowers or balloons or something. But her heart’ll be in the right place.”
“Is Dash coming over for you, too?” Apple Bloom asked, and Applejack nodded. “Good. Cuz you need to take care of yourself, too.”
“Thanks, Bloom. C’mon. Let’s go back home. They’ll be waiting for us. And you still have to say sorry to Mac and Granny.”
“I will.”
The two sisters trotted home. The hurt wasn’t gone. But at least they had each other. And when they reached the farmhouse, they also had a pair of uncomfortable looking pegasi, each holding a box of chocolates in their hooves.