//------------------------------// // 6. Up the Mountain // Story: Workhorse // by Apple Bottoms //------------------------------// It had only been a week of his life, but Mel still expected to wake up with dust in his nose and the faint grumbling of his pen mates around him. Instead, he woke up in paradise.  Birdcall hit his ears first, and he lifted his head from his springy green bed. The forest rose around them; not the Everfree Forest, with its frightening monsters, enchanted undergrowth, grabbing vibes. Dark, heavy trees grew around them, sometimes their trunks too large for Big Caramel to even wrap his forelegs around, and their young saplings sprang up beside them. The mossy undergrowth provided a soft bed to shelter on, sleeping beneath one of the massive trees. Mel had tied a few branches together above them, forming a cover from the rain. (“This takes me back to camp days with my little brother. I was one of the junior assistant troop leaders,” Mel had explained, but he suspected Ramblejam was already asleep at that point.) It was still raining, and everything in the forest seemed dark, damp, and peaceful. It even smelled good, crisp and clean, and the acrid tang of sweat and fear no longer stung his nostrils.  Something moved against his side. Mel turned and found Ramblejam, his entire body pressed tightly against him, his face once more turned towards Mel’s coat. Caramel had been so moody at this age; Mel had been, too. The idea of snuggling together would have been anathema at this age, and yet here he was.  He turned to the other direction and found his neighbor - still yet unnamed - curled up closer to the edge of their little camp. He was still covered in dust and mud, despite galloping through the rain, and when he had his head tucked in like that, he still looked like a rock. A rock that was good to hide behind. He was asleep, and for that Mel was grateful.  They had galloped all night, only seeking shelter at dawn. Galloping had gotten increasingly difficult once they hit the forest, but they kept up a brisk pace. When Ramblejam fell behind, Mel tossed him over his back, and the pair trotted choppily over roots and brambles. They made it to the base of the mountain by dawn, and hadn’t stopped until the neighbor stallion found a thicket of trees dense enough he deemed to sleep in.  They would be chased, there was no question about that. They had freed their entire labor force, and the Apple farm plunder would only feed an army of that size for so long. So they had to keep moving, keep putting distance between them and their captors until - until when? Forever? Or maybe only until they found a border crossing, found some realm the Storm King hadn’t overtaken yet. The griffon realms? The dragon kingdom? But what realm would be truly safe, so long as the Storm King still lived?  And what of Caramel? Mel’s heart twisted painfully when he thought of his little brother imprisoned on the farm. At least he wasn’t alone, at least he had Big Mac, Mel tried to console himself. But it was little comfort, and Mel’s thoughts once again wandered to the Elements of Harmony. Where were they? They had conquered immortals, monsters that lived in only myth and legend, even battled through alternate universes. Who was the Storm King but an overgrown monkey with a magic stick?  He must have been getting agitated, because Ramblejam squirmed at his side and made a soft, protesting sort of noise, the noise a foal might make when being woken from a nap.  Mel looked down at him for a long moment, his shoulder sores now exposed, his father’s collar lying at his side. He lowered his head until he could press his nose between Ramblejam’s ears, and nuzzled him gently, smoothing down his ears until Ramblejam squirmed away and buried his face in his side once more.  Mel laid his head down, and watched Ramblejam sleep. Eventually, he closed his eyes, and let sleep take him once more. Free, free, free.  [***] When Mel woke again, it was when his neighbor returned to the camp, dropping mouthfuls of green things to the moss in front of them.  “Breakfast,” he said simply, his voice still roughened from the days of screaming.  Ramblejam was still pressed into Mel’s side, waking up slowly.  “This is, uh,” Mel looked over the morning’s offerings, “delicious.”  “You’re welcome,” the neighbor grunted.  “I mean, I do appreciate it, thank you,” Mel added, still studying the pile. “But is it all … edible?”  “Yes,” the neighbor stallion said simply, then knelt down, lowering himself to his belly so they’d all be on the same level. “It’s important to know edible things that grow wild. If the crop is light one summer, you’ll have a very thin winter. My mother taught me.” He pointed to several gnarled roots, mostly wiped clean of dirt. “Bull Thistle. Leek. Chickory. Shepherd’s Purse. Dandelions, roots and greens. Lots of little weeds, if they’re not spiny, taste fine. Little bitter, maybe.”  Ramblejam was considering the plants in front of them, less than thrilled, but carefully took one of the larger roots in his hoof. He wiped it off on his coat and took a tentative bite, and after a few slow chews, gobbled the rest down.  Mel chuckled and followed suit (with much less open distrust), and the trio passed breakfast in silence. It wasn’t a breakfast they were used to, but it wasn’t moldy hay, either.  “We need to keep going up the mountain,” the neighbor said at last, once their root supply had been demolished. “They are probably searching for us now. The rain may obscure our trail, but it will not erase it.”  “I agree, but we need to figure one thing out first. Who are you?”  The neighbor stallion frowned at Mel sharply.  “I mean, what’s your name? I can’t keep calling you ‘neighbor.’”  Ramblejam nodded, and watched the neighbor stallion closely.  The muddy stallion huffed out a breath, still frowning at Mel’s temerity, and finally rumbled out, “Plum.” And then, after a beat of consideration, he added a little softer, “Sloe.”  “Plum Slow?” Ramblejam asked, and Mel was grateful that he was confused, instead of mocking. The name was … unique, certainly.  The stallion frowned, and this time his ears flattened back against his head. “No. Sloe Plum. But … Sloe isn’t a common name. So I tend to go by Plum, being that my family, the Plums, have owned plum farms for generations.” Another beat. “Sloe is a kind of fruit.”  Mel nodded slowly, taking it in. “I’ve never met a Sloe. But I think you are the pony I am happiest to have met in my life to date.”  Sloe looked at him sidelong as he sharply turned his head away, and gave his head a little shake, making his muddy mane slap against his neck. “No need to get silly,” he rumbled. “It’s not like either of you introduced yourselves, either.”  “I’m -”  “Ramblejam, I know. And Big Caramel, or more commonly Mel.”  The pair stared.  “They weren’t exactly soundproof walls, you know. I had a lot of time, lying in the dirt, to overhear conversations.”  Mel considered Sloe with his brows high. “That makes sense.”  “Can we go now?” Sloe asked as he rose to his hooves and shook out his coat. It was still filthy, coated thickly in the dirt and mud of the paddock.  “Right. You okay to walk, Ramble?” Mel looked to the younger stallion, who was already following Sloe out of their camp.  “Sure. Can we get more food on the way?” Ramblejam asked, then trotted back to help Mel to untie the branches.  Sloe snorted. “Teenagers.”  [***] Sloe wanted to keep going at a gallop, but once they reached the incline, Mel was suffering. Ramblejam was much lighter than either of them, but he wasn’t exactly in top form, either. And for all that he insisted they needed to keep their speed up, Mel could hear Sloe panting behind his words. So, ostensibly for Mel’s sake, the trio slowed, and hiked their way up the mountainside more gradually. The cold of the rain helped, and soon Mel and Sloe’s burly frames were steaming with the effort of the hike.  It wasn’t a harsh grade, which Mel was grateful for, but most ponies don’t farm on hillsides, and Ponyville wasn’t known for its inclines. They took frequent stops, and although they found many green things to forage, they hadn’t found anything to drink yet. If they were going to survive, they needed water, and not just rain water.  It took about an hour, trying to hear anything past the rushing of the rain and their own hooves slopping through the mud, but eventually they heard something trickling, and found a little rivulet, swollen by the rain. It was hardly anything, barely deep enough to put their hooves in. Further uphill, it connected to a larger stream, and then they found a river, with a waterfall crashing down from a cliff face.  “Finally!” Ramblejam cried, and galloped forward, trotting in deep enough that his forelegs disappeared and dunked most of his face into the water, drinking deeply.  Mel didn’t bother to hide his amused laugh but followed him just the same, drinking just as greedily. They had turned their heads towards the sky occasionally, but it was only enough to slake their thirst for a few moments. The water here was crisp, cool, and delicious.  When Mel lifted his head he saw Sloe had followed suit, drinking a few yards away from him.  “Ugh, I’m so ready to be clean,” Ramblejam moaned, and dropped to his knees, rolling onto his side, back and forth. The water sloshed over his thin frame, and he emerged from the water sopping wet, and a slightly different color. It was hard to remember what he looked like, before he’d been coated in dust.  “Shouldn’t you wash downstream, so you don’t make the water muddy?” Mel scolded him, but lightly, finding it hard to be angry at him. He looked so silly, kicking his legs in the air like that.  “You’re going to freeze,” Sloe snapped, his ears tilted sidelong, and Mel could hear annoyance badly masking his concern. “It’s still raining. It gets cold at night, especially in the mountains.”  Ramblejam’s ears tilted back. Mel hadn’t considered that either, but the glance he shot at Sloe implored for patience.  “Good thing you’ve got me to keep you warm,” Mel answered evenly, and Ramblejam’s ears lifted, and Sloe’s tense frame relaxed.  “Right. Good thing,” Sloe rumbled in his chest, and turned to go. “We should follow the river further up the mountain. We will need a water source.”  But Mel was watching him, and as he lifted his muddy legs from the river, there was a clear demarcation between the muddy stallion and the clean legs. The mud had made him look brown, or black, something drab; but from his hooves to his knees, Sloe was a dazzling, sleek purple.  [***] They found the cave just before sunset, but it took them the better part of two hours to make their way to it. First because they went too high and found themselves stuck on a sheer cliff looking down at the cave. Then they needed to find something to eat, because it would be impossible to venture out after dark to forage. All the while the cold bit into their coats, and Ramblejam shivered fiercely with each step. Mel eventually tugged him up onto his back once more, ostensibly because he was ‘slowing down,’ but Ramblejam was a frozen lump against his back. He warmed up, gradually, right about the time that Mel was about to demand they give up to tend to their frozen youngest member. He could feel Ramblejam shifting as they walked, trying to press different parts of his frozen frame against Mel’s steaming body. Through it all, the rain continued pouring down on them, inexhaustible.  Sloe hadn’t been wrong about the mountain nights. By the time they stumbled into the cave, Mel was mostly frozen himself.  The cave was dark and eerie, but when he felt the rain finally cease falling onto his frozen coat, Mel decided that he could probably befriend a ghost if he had to. Or maybe even a bear. Anything, really, so long as he didn’t have to leave the cave. It was cold, sure, but so was the rest of the forest. At least the cave was cold and dry.  “We shouldn’t light a fire tonight,” Sloe said, clearly regretful as he shivered. “The Storm King’s army might be able to see it.”  “Right,” Mel agreed, shivering. He looked over the cave, considering, then slid the shivering Ramblejam off of his back. “Alright, down you go. I’m going to build us a wind break. You, shake off.”  Ramblejam frowned a little at Mel when he pointed at him, but did his best. His best was pretty terrible, Mel thought.  “Why do we need a wind break? We’re in a cave.” Sloe countered, watching Mel work.  “Because I’m already mostly frozen, and if one errant gust comes in here, I might scream.”  Sloe watched him for a moment. “Fair enough.” Then he joined him, helping him to push several large rocks closer to the mouth of the cave.  Soon the trio had a small shelter, such as it was, and Ramblejam eagerly cuddled up to Mel once more. Mel could feel the cold leeching through his coat, and while Ramblejam situated himself, he tried to wring out his mane and tail for him.  “Th-Thank you,” Ramblejam chattered, and hid his nose in Mel’s elbow.  “Sun and moon, your nose is like a little ice cube!” Mel laughed in protest, but didn’t push him off, and instead curled around him more protectively. He was so cold, colder than ever before; it scared him. But Ramblejam was still shivering, still cuddling close, still talking. That was a good sign, he thought.  Sloe settled himself on the floor a little ways away from them, and considered the pair. He wrung out his mane, too, and then laid his head down, still watching them. His blue eyes were so bright, Mel noted; they must be truly striking against the dark purple coat that he’d seen hints of. Sloe sighed, and shivered, and closed his eyes.  “How about you sleep with us?”  Sloe opened his eyes again, considering Mel very closely behind his narrowed gaze.  “You’re going to freeze over there. We’re all wet. We’ll be warmer together,” Mel spoke softly, not wanting to wake Ramblejam, who was already halfway asleep.  “I’m fine.” Mel’s brows furrowed. “I’m not. And Ramble’s not. He’s soaked to the bone.”  Sloe’s brows furrowed in kind, and his ears twisted back. He said nothing. His eyes dropped away, and he frowned at a point on the floor.  Mel let him sit in his silence for a few minutes, the occasional shiver rippling through him. He was large, and he’d spent the past few hours hiking, but even he was cold. Sloe had to be, too.  “I don’t mean to be this mean.”  Mel’s ears snapped to attention.  “I’m not … I’m not like this, usually.”  Sloe was still glaring at the floor, but Mel could see past the tight expression. He wasn’t angry; he was distraught.  “I didn’t mean to snap at Ramblejam, back at the river. He’s just a kid. But there’s so much - anger bound up inside of me, and it keeps leaking out, and I can’t seem to stop it. Every time I think I’ve pushed it down, it just -” Sloe shook his mane, and turned his head away, lying his cheek down on the cave floor. He sighed, deeply, and Mel could see the rise and fall of his shoulders.  “Hey.”  Mel’s voice was soft, but he knew Sloe heard him; he didn’t turn, but one ear twitched, then twisted towards him.  “It’s okay, Sloe,” Mel spoke softly, and not for Ramblejam’s benefit this time. “It’s not your fault. It’s - it’s everything. The camp, being captured, having to escape. Being on the run from - from horrible snow monkeys.” Mel tried to chuckle, but Sloe didn’t respond, and his laughter died.  Mel let the silence sit for a moment before he continued. “It’s easier to try and make it funny, I guess. If I sit down and think about everything that’s happened, I - I think I’d cry. And I don’t want to. Not in front of him, not - not in front of anypony. I’m scared. I’ve never been this scared in my whole life. I’ve never been on the run from anything before.”  Sloe listened, and for a long time Mel thought he might just be ignoring him, which made him feel even worse. “I’m scared, too. And then it becomes … angry.” Sloe’s voice was soft.  “That’s not you, Sloe. That’s - this. Everything, right now,” Mel consoled him. “This isn’t who you are.”  Sloe’s shoulders tensed. “You don’t even know who I am.”  “Of course I do.” Mel’s response was easy, almost glib, and Sloe turned to fix angry eyes on him. “I know the stallion who almost killed himself to escape. Who came back to save the others. Who helped me search the camp for other prisoners, even when it was dangerous. The stallion who saved us from being discovered, and then guided us to safety in the forest. That’s the Sloe I know.”  “I didn’t come back for the others,” Sloe said suddenly, and his angry expression faded as he dropped his eyes away. “I came back for you.”  It was Mel’s turn to fall silent, stunned.  “You’re the only one who saw me,” Sloe admitted guiltily, his eyes on the floor. “Who even noticed me. Cared. I didn’t … want to leave you behind.” Sloe tossed his damp mane to the other side of his neck. “So yeah, that’s who I am. A selfish pony who would have left the others behind to rot.”  “In your defense, the others were assholes.”  Sloe couldn’t hide his amused snort, and the quick glance he shot Mel was accusing.  “Sorry, couldn’t resist that one,” Mel grinned. “But you came back. That’s what matters. We’re in an impossible situation, Sloe. Normal rules - they don’t apply. This is survival. Everypony’s done things they regret, everypony is scared. Scared ponies make mistakes. That doesn’t make them bad ponies.” A beat. “I don’t think you’re a bad pony, Sloe. I think you’re a good pony in a bad situation. And I’d like to be your friend, even after we aren’t trapped in a mountain cave fighting for our survival.”  Sloe’s ears pricked up, and he stared at Mel. “Really?”  “Of course, really. If you’d want to be mine, that is.”  Sloe stared at Mel for a long moment, then pulled himself to his hooves, and came to Mel’s side. He settled himself down, carefully, as if waiting for Mel to kick him away. But Mel didn’t, and instead shifted himself, making room for him next to Ramblejam. Ramblejam was well and truly asleep, and allowed himself to be moved like a rag doll as the bulky stallions tried to find a comfortable sleeping position. Eventually they settled, with Ramble wedged warmly between them, and Mel laid his head down. After a moment’s consideration, Sloe laid his head down, too, and the pair were so close they could almost touch muzzles.  Sloe stared at Mel for a long moment, his expression that unreadable one again. Mel was getting a little better at reading it, he thought; he thought he might be confused, as well as something else. “I would like to be your friend, Mel.”  Mel couldn’t hide his quick smile. “I would like that very much, Sloe.”  Sloe’s smile was fleeting, but sincere; perhaps he had forgotten how to smile. “Thank you.”  “Thank you.”  Sloe sighed out a warm breath; Mel could feel it tickle on his face. He sighed, too, and before he closed his eyes, he could see the way it made Sloe’s ears twitch.  He was cold, and he was wet, and he was on the run from the Storm King’s army; but for the first time, Mel felt like this all might turn out okay.