//------------------------------//
// Goatpocalypse Now (Getting the Goats) / Goatpalooza 
// Story: Goats of Summer 
// by SparklingTwilight 
//------------------------------//

Lightning Dust and that assistant-of-mine stallion had kissed at the Truth-or-Dare and a lot of times since then. I made a point to sleep in the tents rather than in the obnoxiously overstimulated cabin and Biceps kept to the skies at night.

So tha' campers came to me when they had a problem.

It was a penitent-looking group of six: three earth ponies and three pegasi.

"Counselor cousin, ma'am, Fiddlesticks, ma'am," Apple Bloom started.

"We made a bit of a mistake." One of the pegasi elaborated.

"Go on," I said.

"We were workin' together, like you said."

"And were on a quest--something productive and fun!"

"An' we went an' were out-of-fences, like you done did."

"What?"

"When you were fallin' over 'cause of tha' funny fruit."

"We wanted ta' find more of it for our herbal scavengin' badge."

Celestia-buck-me.

"And... all of you came back safe?"

"Yep." Nods all around.

"And the mistake is? Trespassin'?"

A gulp. "More than that, Ma'am."

"We found the plant!"

"Muh ... friends scouted, holdin' us, an' we sniffed it out. There were lots o' mounds o' goat dung."

"Of course."

"An' tha plants were growin' in some an' we harvested them--an' some goats chased us!"

"But then they snatched up an' ate what we dropped an' they started shakin' and actin' weird an' we waited an' watched. Then they were runnin' backward!"

"Into their herd!"

"Which stampeded."

"So many goats."

"Coming!"

"Here!"

"Coming here!"

"A goat stampede?"

"Yeah." We did not have a lot of time.

"Get to high ground. Rally the others. Don't delay." I rushed to our campsite and scanned the skies for Biceps or Lightning Dust. Pausing for a moment to haul my fiddle out of my tent, I saw her. "Lightning Dust!" I waved fiddle and bow over my head. She came tumbling out of the sky and stopped far enough from me to *not* cover me with dust.

"Goat stampede. Coming this way. Warn the campers! Get them to high ground."

"They're really scattered--" Lightning Dust met the crisis without joking, without messing around but with a surprising objection.

"You fly--fly fast," I insisted.

"We don't know where everypony is. But the stampede is all in one place. I'll lead it away."

"Wait. Goats aren't cows. You can't just herd 'em with a few nips at their heels."

"I'll dust them."

"It's not that simple... but maybe." I raised my fiddle. I'd grabbed it to make a loud sound to summon the campers, but now I had another idea. "Music soothes."

"Nogoat is gonna hear that."

"Drop me near them."

We heard the sound of hooves approaching. Lightning Dust grabbed me up and I held my fiddle and its bow and we sped She huffed and puffed--flying wasn't hard but holding a sturdy earth pony while doing so was certainly more than her normal training regime. We overflew the lead stampeders and veered to a side of the canyon they were racing through, then she dropped me on an outcropping.

"Don't die!" She called back then started circling around and around, building up dust and dirt in a whirling cyclone.

Hoof upon hoof clattered against the earth and their sound reverberated. Good acoustics if I aimed right. I played a few untuned discordant notes and shifted ever-so-slightly in turns around the canyon till I heard something back. Then I went to work. A sample from the wildest bit I knew: The Fiddler Went Down to Tartarus. Focusing on the song, and singin' loudly with the music, I didn't see what was happenin'. If it was workin'--it was. If it wasn't--I couldn't fix it.

I heard 'bout what happened later from Lightning Dust who was sort of a reliable narrator for this very specific circumstance. She had whirled around and around and the goats in front came to a stop. The ones in back ran into them and there was stacking and brayin'; sorry, braying, Lightning Dust said. She geared up for another spin, and the goats, pushed from runnin' goats behind, but stubbornly stayin'...staying upright got ready ta'--tooh run again. Celestia. Lightning Dust's accent's awful.

Anyway, from Dust's words: at the chorus with: "But if you lose, Ti-rAk gets your soul." The sound broke through. The goats' ears shot up. The ones in front shouted to the ones behind "QUIET MOTHER-----ING SHEEP----ERS! DON'T BE BAAA----AAAD!" I'd repeat the full words but they're not appropriate for campers--camper's'll say as close as they can get to them anyway but if they cut out on some of the sounds, then maybe it's a little better. Probably.

Braying blasted out the sound. Lightning Dust raced to the rear of the herd and zipped back and forth over the running goats, dangerously weaving among them and causing some to stumble. She took a horn in her haunch, lacerating it, but she kept bloody going--if she hadn't, she'd have been trampled. She threw the back rows into disarray so they weren't pushing forward and instead they were pushing all around.

And I played.

I had a hundred--more--goats listening. My largest audience. I looked up for a breather at the end to see if I'd done anything. And oh how had I. Lightning Dust complimented my sweaty triumph.

That's enough a' Lightning Dust-isms--I saw the rest. I played again an' again for tha' goats and they calmed and after like an hour 'an a half dispersed. My neck hurt. My limbs hurt. Lightning Dust flew me back ta' camp. We'd worked together. Our friendship-work had saved tha' campers. (Note, at 2:05)

*

I was downin' water. Gallons of it. An' restin'. Lightnin' Dust an' me. The campers had congratulated us. Said they'd throw a party tomorrow. Were givin' us space for the night. Too soon, camp would be done. I loved camp even though it was exhaustin'. A final prelude my final year of school. Then gotta figure out what ta' do with my life. Had my cutie mark, but that just pointed a vocation, not specifics. I hadn't liked playin' for big crowds--I'd thought. But maybe if I kept my head down like today, I could enjoy it.

"Hey Fiddlesticks," Lightning Dust said.

"Yeah?"

"Gotta pee." She'd also been drinkin' prodigious amounts.

"Then do it. ... Outside."

"But after... we gotta talk."

"Fine."

She shuffled out rather than flyin', displaying her bandaged haunch as she retreated out of the room.

When she came back, I challenged her: "Workin' your courage up to talk or just teasin'?"

"Bit of both," she shrugged, then climbed upon her bed. "I'd rather be on a cloud. But I'd rather be here."

"What?"

She sighed. "Finally got to read Bulk Biceps' journal."

She goaded me. I did not respond. After all we'd done--selflessly--still she was tryin' ta' get my goat.

"Youse don't wanna let summer pass without resolvin' things with him."

"What do you mean?"

"You know. He doesn't show it, but he's under-the-moon disappointed. And even though he's a pegasus who can barely fly--his opinion matters. Youse keep runnin' from confrontation. And rubbING off on me--by Celestia. Anyways, a few words mighthaps help in the long fly, y'know. You never know when youse might encounter him again."

I didn't say anything for a long time. Neither did she. The campers were chatting outside. "Did you put it back?"

"He'll never be the wiser."

"How much did you read?"

"He didn't give me a great evaluation. I probably won't be a counselor next year."

I harrumphed.

"It's my own fault. Fair. 'Too childish.' But you really screwed him up. For some pony who didn't actually screw him, that is. Though you did get him--"

"You have such a kind way of puttin' things." Sarcasm dripped.

"Jest think about it," she said in her infuriating Manehattenite accent. I hated her so much. She saved all the campers' lives and was injured and kept goin' and did all the right things and I wanted to hug her for her sacrifice but now I hated her so very much.