Some fears never had a chance to take root in those who grew up on farms. Dirt was a prime example. Any potential rupophobes either got over that very quickly or, like Cousin Encore, ran away to a life where they didn’t have to work with soil every day.
Spiders were in the same camp. The trees, the chicken coops, the barns… spiders were going to find somewhere to make their own little homesteads, and they ate several kinds of parasites. Cobwebs outside of the orchard were a minor nuisance, one best answered with a broom and gentle encouragement to set up shop where it’d do more good.
Of course, that didn’t mean Applejack was prepared for seeing Ponish words written in silk strands between the slats of the pigpen’s fence.
She squatted down, tilting her head to make sure she’d seen the message correctly, dew and the light of dawn helping to highlight it. “‘Some pig’?”
Applejack looked back up. The pigs were still asleep at this early hour; she’d only noticed the web out of the corner of her eye while moving between two other chores. “Sorry, Miss Spider. Them pigs is already spoken for. Long-standin’ deal with… truffle hunters.” She felt her muzzle scrunch at the euphemism. Still, never knew when Apple Bloom might be listening. The filly might suspect the truth, but there was no need to tear apart her innocence if it didn’t interfere with work.
A quick search showed no sign of the author beyond the web itself. As such, Applejack shrugged, made a mental note to move her surprisingly literate tenant somewhere more useful, and kept making her way to the chicken coops. The farm wouldn’t take care of itself, and neither would she if she didn’t get a move on. “If I stopped at every weird thing between here an’ th’ Everfree, I’d never get anything done.”
The next day dawned bright, beautiful… and even more verbose.
Applejack tilted her head. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Maybe more praise of one of the pigs, if that’s what it had been. Maybe a more specific order. Definitely not the blend of numbers, letters, and things that weren’t quite either that wrapped around a good half of the pigpen.
Once the chores were done—some things took priority, after all—she brought Fluttershy over to take a look.
“I know it ain’t doin’ any harm,” she said on the trot back to the Acres, “but it’s strange as all get-out an’ I wanna be sure it ain’t leadin’ up to trouble down the line.”
Fluttershy nodded. “I understand. I’ll do my best. Spiders aren’t the easiest creatures to talk to.”
“I guess that makes sense," said Applejack. She'd never given the "talking to animals" business too much thought—she could get the chickens to listen two times out of three and that was good enough for her—but she thought she saw the reasoning. "Too different from ponies?”
“No, it’s just that most of them are very shy.”
Applejack bit her lip for the better part of a minute, keeping an eye on Fluttershy for any sign of a smirk or suchlike. “Y’ don’t say.”
“Oh yes," said Fluttershy, sincere as a politician wasn't. "Web-weaving spiders don’t get out much.”
“Huh.” If Applejack bit her tongue any harder, she might just chop it off.
Fluttershy gave her a sidelong glance. “I am aware of the irony.”
“Oh, thank Celestia.” Applejack let herself breathe again as they passed through the Acres' gate.
Fluttershy started giggling, and Applejack couldn't help join in. But a gasp broke through mid-titter. “Oh my!”
“What—" Applejack reared back once she saw the pigpen for herself. "Land sakes!”
The entire fence was coated in glistening strands. Diagrams, stars, distressing shapes, and every kind of fancy mathematics under the sun seemed poised to swallow the whole drove like a hungry textbook. The pigs themselves were cowering in their pens. Applejack watched as one of the sows poked her snout out, squealed plaintively at her, and ducked back inside.
Fluttershy had taken to the air, surveying the mess from above. “My goodness, I’ve never seen such prolific webbing! Where is your little friend getting all of it?”
A horrible possibility came to mind. Applejack shifted her hat down and glared. “Those hogs’re spoken for, dang it! I ain’t lettin’ no eight-legged freeloader eat into our—”
In hindsight, it may have been a good thing that the whole web lit up with purple light at that point. No telling what Fluttershy might have thought otherwise. As it was, both went silent and shielded their eyes as the glow intensified past the point of pain.
Once the spots cleared from her eyes—and after she told herself she just imagined seeing the bones in her leg—Applejack saw a woozy Twilight Sparkle shaking her head. The unicorn stumbled a few steps, then nodded. “Okay. Proper size, proper number of eyes… That could have gone worse.”
Applejack took a deep breath and asked for strength. Her life had definitely gotten more interesting since the Summer Sun Celebration, there was no denying that. “Do I even wanna know?”
“Long story," said Twilight, who clearly didn't want to tell it. She looked around and wilted. "Did... did nopony notice I’d been gone for two days?”
“Awful busy time for the farm. Ain't had time t' go into town all week.”
“It’s manticore mating season," added Fluttershy. "A lot of creatures are staying in the cottage to keep away from the dominance fights.”
Twilight sighed. “I see. Well, I’d better go let Spike know I’m fine, at least.”
"Twilight!"
Her head perked back up Rainbow Dash swooped down. Pinkie galloped into view, Spike taking a leaping dismount off of her and directly into Twilight's forelegs. "We've been looking everywhere for you!" he said.
Applejack snorted. "Nopony told me."
Dash rubbed the back of her neck the way she always did when she was caught out. "Well, Spike's been looking everywhere for her. I kinda only found out about this ten minutes ago. And hey, Rarity's too busy with some dress order to come out of the shop!"
"I'm on lunch break," added Pinkie. "Mr. and Mrs. Cake and I are figuring out how to work in world-slash-friend-saving breaks if this keeps up."
"Yeah, this coulda gone better." Dash landed, head hanging low. "We really dropped the ball, Twi."
Fluttershy nuzzled the unicorn. “But you’re a terrific, radiant, humble mare, and we're glad we're your friends. Never doubt that.”
“Thanks, everypony." Twilight looked at the pigpen, where wisps of silk still clung to the scorched fenceposts. At least the pigs didn't seem harmed. Spooked, but unharmed. "Still, I don’t think I’m getting a friendship letter out of this one.”