Sensation - Appleloosa

by Vivid Syntax

Chapter 9 - The Taste of Poison

Even with all the jamboree preparation, the city below us is warm, welcoming, and peaceful. Sitting here feels like snuggling in a cozy bed with a heavy comforter on a cold winter night. I can’t imagine the pain of losing something like this. Nearly losing his family must have been a thousand times worse.

Braeburn shakes his head. He pulls in a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out through his mouth very, very slowly. “I owe Bronze an unfathomable debt. One that I don't think I can ever repay.” He pauses. His eyes close. His lip quivers, and his words are shaky. “I just wish he could be happy. I wish I could help him.” He looks at me. His head isn’t shaking, more like lolling back and forth. “He’s wounded, Vivid. And I have to remind myself that–” Braeburn looks back out over the horizon. He bites his lip. “I have to remember that it doesn’t make it okay.” He blinks away a tear. His voice has a slight whine. “But as backwards as it sounds, I want him to be happy. I want to know that he’s better and… at the same time, to never see him again. Heh. It’s just a whole tangled mess of feelings, ain’t it?”

I scoot a little closer, and offer a hug. 

Braeburn holds up a hoof. “Sorry. I…” 

“I understand,” I reply as I shift back to where I was.

He moves that hoof to his heart. His eyes close, and he smiles warmly. “I love Soarin’ Windsong more than anypony I’ve ever met. He’s my…” His head bobs again. “He’s my mate, my missing half. I…” Braeburn frowns. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen.”

Dust skitters across the hillside, blown by the wind. 

I offer, “What do you mean?”

Braeburn sighs. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen when he gets better.” He looks me in the eyes, and I see a glistening void of uncertainty. “He wants to be a Wonderbolt again. Needs it. And he can’t do that here any more than I can live my whole life in Cloudsdale. He’s the love of my life, but it might not–” He winces and looks down to his house. “I don’t even want to say it, but it’s true. I don’t know if we can make it work.”

My stomach feels like lead, and my spine wants to leap from my body.

Braeburn, hoof still over his heart, looks up at the sky. “I want it to work. Desperately. I want to be with him forever. But it feels like a personal failing, because even though I try to believe my whole heart is his, there’s a tiny sliver that will always love Bronze.” He blinks away another tear. “Terrible of me, ain’t it? But that little bit of doubt, all this…” He waves a hoof in the air. “...uncertainty. Frustration. It can break a pony. It can make him do awful, horrible things.”

We stayed at my parents’ place the whole weekend, and Bronze was a perfect guest. He slept on a rollaway bed my Ma set up downstairs and never made a move on me. He helped out around the house, even when Ma insisted he should rest. We kept the conversation polite, though he never mentioned why he'd moved to Appleloosa. Just existing there with my coltfriend felt like a positive step.

The only friction came on Saturday evening. I had insisted that I'd do the dishes, and Bronze insisted on helping. That way, my parents could relax and enjoy the coconut rum pie I'd made. Ma and Pa sat at the table with their forks clinking their plates, and Ma said, "I'm glad Braeburn is making friends out there."

The air had that haze of darkness again, or maybe I was just imagining it. But Bronze kept his cool for my sake. "He's got plenty, ma'am, and the lot of 'em are good ponies, the kindest you'll meet." There was a pregnant pause as Bronze looked down at a plate he was drying. "And he's got a coltfriend to look after him, too."

I flinched, then went back to the pan I was scrubbing. It felt like it wasn't my turn to speak yet. 

Pa set his fork down and wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Well, it’s a complicated thing, ain’t it."

"All due respect, sir, but it ain’t, and I don't abide by folks erasing what Braeburn and I have." Bronze continued drying a set of silverware, like nothing had been said at all.

I tensed and looked over my shoulder. Ma and Pa both set their silverware down and looked over at Bronze, then at each other, then at me. Ma sighed and said, “We don’t want to erase either of you. It’s… well, it’s all just a bit strange.”

My eyes shot to Bronze. Bronze’s nose wrinkled into a sneer, and I could just tell he wanted to lay into them, but he was keeping a lid on it for me. He finally jerked his head towards them in the subtlest of ways.

I understood. I wrung out the washrag and set it over the faucet. With a deep breath, I turned around. “I know you’re still learnin’, Ma, but I don’t think it’s ‘strange.’ It’s normal, just a bit different from what you expected. There’s a lot of ponies like us.”

Pa furrowed his brow and set his jaw. “You know what she meant, Braeburn.”

He was getting defensive. It seemed foalish, but I remembered what Bronze had said: we were the adults here. They needed our guidance. “I know, Pa, but the way you talk about it matters.” I stepped up to the table and set a hoof on it. “If you keep focusing on what’s so different, then that’s all you’ll ever see me as: an outcast who didn’t fit the mold.” I looked at each of them, and I spoke again as Ma tried to cut in. “I love you both immeasurably, and I want all of us to grow together in this.” I shrugged. “Heh. Easy for me to say. I’ve had over a decade to think about it, and it’s still pretty new for you two.”

Pa’s eyebrows raised. “You’ve known for that long?”

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Ma asked.

I shivered when I thought about how I’d come out to them and how they'd reacted. A quick shake of my head banished that scene from my mind. “Well, we weren’t ready. And maybe Bronze is right: maybe we still ain’t. But we’re gettin’ closer, and, well, that’s good enough for me.”

My parents’ shoulders relaxed. There was a calm moment, and the only sound was the tinkling of silverware as Bronze continued his labor.

Pa spoke first. “Yeah. That’s good enough for us, too.” He knocked on the table with a hoof and sat back in his chair. “But don’t let us get away with not talking about it, son. I appreciate you being a stallion and gettin’ us to address it.”

My breathing felt light and easy. “I can do that, Pa. We can chat when I visit for Hearth’s Warming.”

Ma’s eyes lit up. “Oh, we’re so glad you’re coming, Braeby!” She breathed out. “I was  worried. I thought we’d made you feel unwelcome this weekend and that you wouldn’t want to come. And, well…” She looked at Pa, who gave her a resigned smile and a nod as he lit his cigar. She turned to Bronze. “Well, Bronze, I don’t know what your plans are, but if we haven’t been too off-putting, we’d like to have you over for Hearth’s Warming, too.”

I felt like I could sprout wings and fly. I looked at Bronze, and a shaky smile spread across his face. 

Bronze paused. He didn’t look up right away, and his eyes were wide. Like watching ice melt, I saw a smile – a real one – stretch across his face. Bronze basked in that moment. I know it meant the world to him. True to form, he simply nodded at Ma and said, “Ma’am, it would be my pleasure.”

The kitchen felt warm and bright. It felt normal, like even if all the tension wasn’t gone, at least some of it was. That little change lightened the load on my mind to a degree that I didn’t know was possible. I said, “That sounds mighty nice,” as I walked back to the sink and picked up the rag.

Bronze whispered, “Proud of you, Braeburn,” and he gave me the smallest kiss on the cheek. He knew both my parents would see – it wasn’t that he didn’t care, but more like he knew that they were ready to move just one more tiny step towards coming around. I peeked at my parents a moment later, and to my overwhelming joy, they both just smiled at it.

We left Haulahay Sunday morning after an early breakfast. We were riding home on the afternoon tourist train.

And… well, the goodbye didn’t hurt. At the start of the weekend, I was afraid that I’d be saying goodbye forever, but I left feeling like it would all be okay. My parents stressed one more time that I was welcome to come back for Hearth’s Warming, and I invited them out to the second annual Appleloosa rodeo, which, sadly, they wouldn’t be able to make. It left me feeling like we all had the desire to connect again, which was one of the greatest feelings I could imagine at the time. Hell, I hadn’t felt that way in three years.

And on the ride back? Bronze and I just cuddled and napped in each others’ embrace. That was all that we needed. It struck me how different it felt. I'd expected Bronze to spend the whole time scheming with me about our next move, but he was relaxed in a way I'd rarely seen. I think seeing my family change their minds did him a world of good. It showed him that, for once, he was wrong about other ponies and how they saw us. He had hope that things could get better.

We arrived back in Appleloosa. Merriweather and Pridesong hadn’t disappointed. We stepped onto the train platform to the small crowd of visitors, all wearing new hats and chattering like squirrels about the fun they’d had that weekend. We greeted them warmly and swapped places: us leaving, and them getting on the train, and side by side, Bronze and I walked back to my house. Bronze shielded my eyes from the sun with his wing, even though I didn’t need it with my hat on, but I think he just wanted an excuse to stay close to me a little longer.

As we got to the front door, I fished out my key and slipped it in. “Wow, I still can’t believe that went as well as it did. Thank you again for everything, Wings. I’ll need to repay you some–”

My face flushed as Bronze felt me up.

“Applebutt,” he growled. He leaned in, so close that his hot breath tickled my ear. I could hear the low, rumbling need in every word he said. “I know how you’re gonna thank me. See, I’ve been a good colt all weekend.” He licked in my ear, making me gasp. “And now I’m gonna be real, real bad.”

And… hoo, he wasn’t kidding, and I loved every second of it.

The next morning, I was still riding high from the weekend and the, uh, afterparty. And I felt ready to tell the whole world who I really was. Bronze was encouraging, of course. “Might as well let ‘em know. No sense hidin’ your beautiful self any longer. Who you gonna start with?”

As I pulled a quill and inkpot from a desk drawer, I told him, “I know just the pony.”

My aunt Honeycrisp has always been the progressive type. Never married, because she said she was married to her work and didn’t need some stallion trying to tell her what to do. Even as a colt, I remember overhearing her argue with the family on how queer ponies were treated, and I had nothing but happy memories of visiting her farm just outside Manehattan.

I didn’t need Bronze’s help this time, and he left me to my own devices. For the most part. He still looked over my shoulder and read what I was writing, but… Hm. No, I ain’t gonna let him spoil this memory. 

I’ll be honest: I didn’t come out to her in that letter, nor in any of the ones that followed. It didn’t feel right. I told her that I wanted to reconnect and that I wanted to share some news sometime, face to face. For me, that was enough. She wrote back, welcoming me to her farm any time. I responded that maybe I’d swing by to see those spring varietals she was so proud of, and, well, that ended up being one of the most pivotal decisions of my life.

Bronze and I settled back into our country life. The sunrise welcomed me each morning. The days were hard on my body but nourishing for my soul, and the evenings were full of music and camaraderie in the town square. After being in Appleloosa for over a month, Bronze finally moved into my house in mid-September, and our nights were all the sweeter (if a bit too short). 

But… it wasn’t all great for Bronze. See, he’d had an intuition about the climate in the MacIntosh mountains, and he’d been right: the seasonal shifts had pushed the moisture further south as the fall rolled on, which meant he could only get about half as many clouds as before. A change in the water supply is a mighty blow during the harvest season, and it didn’t take long for Bronze to get an earful.

Fertile Seed approached us one morning in the general store. His face was as red as I’d ever seen it. He marched up to Bronze and shouted, “Bronze, where the hell are my clouds!?”

Bronze pursed his lips and stood tall, chest out. “Mister Seed, as I said, you weren’t the highest bidder yesterday, and those clouds are a lot harder to come by right now.”

Seed shouted over him. “Highest, my ass! You told me I’d be getting at least three a week!”

Bronze shook his head. “I told you I’d do my best, and you’d be third in line. Most days, I can only get two. That ain’t my fault.”

Fertile Seed stomped. “That’s a Luna-damned lie!” He gestured all around, and I thought he was going to back-hoof Bronze, but Bronze didn’t even flinch as Seed continued his tirade. “You’re an extortionist, that’s what you are! I wouldn’t have planted those late-season rows if you hadn’t been promising me every which way that I’d be clear through harvest!”

I stepped forward. “Woah, now, Fertile Seed. We can solve this.” I looked to Bronze. “Now, this is a misunderstanding, right? Bronze, did you promise Fertile Seed the clouds like he said?”

Bronze pursed his lips. “He musta misheard me.”

“Liar!” Fertile Seed shouted. “You’re a damn liar!”

Bronze’s wings hitched up. I noticed, but Fertile Seed didn’t. He also didn’t notice Bronze’s hind legs building tension or his jaw tightening.

My heart dropped into my stomach. I knew what was about to happen, and I couldn’t let…

…

Hm. 

I was about to say, “I couldn’t let Bronze get labeled a monster by the town.” My first thoughts were of him. I suppose some folks would think that’s noble – stand by your stallion and all that – but I didn’t really care about what would happen to Fertile Seed. A stallion could have gotten very, very badly hurt, and all I was thinking about was my coltfriend’s reputation.

I… I don’t like that one bit.

But I leapt in, regardless, and my tongue spat out words as fast as I could think of them. “Easy, you two. Bronze will make this right. We’ll make this right.”

Fertile Seed relaxed just a hair. “Unless you’re hidin' a well somewhere, I don’t see how.”

I took a deep breath. “We can help with the harvest. Get the larger crop right at its peak, then redirect the water to the new rows. You come out ahead, right?”

Fertile Seed cocked an eyebrow. “So you’re gonna work for free?”

Bronze grunted. “No.”

Fertile sneered back. “Well, then it ain’t much help.”

The other ponies in the store were staring at us. It felt like a wall of eyes, even if it was just a few of them. I shook my head and focused. “Seed, labor’s stretched thin right now. Everypony’s harvesting, and any time we spend on your field is time away from the orchard. We’ll do it for regular pay, but we’ll still need to handle the apple orchard, so we’re giving you something valuable, too: our time.” My words and my thoughts were all over the place, but as long as I was talking, Bronze wouldn’t make a move. It wouldn’t have been honorable, and he’d hate that.

Fertile Seed smiled and shrugged. “I suppose I could use a couple extra stallions around.” The spiteful glee radiated off him like a mirage in the desert.

I could feel Bronze getting hotter next to me, and he shook his head. “You get one.”

“Excuse me?” Seed was right back to the cliff’s edge.

But Bronze remained stoic, like he always did. He operated in one of two ways: intimidation or manipulation, and if nothing else, I’d at least switched him to the latter. “Braeburn did nothing wrong. He’s going to miss my help, sure, but this is my debt to repay. You only get me.” His eyes flashed with fire. “For a fair price.”

Seed smirked. “Well, I’ll see you at noon, then. Don’t be late.” He turned up his tail and left.

I looked around at the store. A few other ponies finished their shopping, politely looking away, but I knew they’d be talking about it all day. I sighed. “Sorry about him, Bronze. He’s a–”

“Don’t you ever fuckin’ fight my battles for me," he hissed in a low whisper. 

I leapt like a cat and whirled to face Bronze. My heart raced. “Wh…”

Bronze stood tall and looked down at me. His face was dark, but his eyes still shone. “You heard what I said.” He flicked his head at the doorway. “Braeburn, you’re a stand-up stallion, but that damn fool was gonna walk all over you, and you just let him. I can handle myself. Don’t treat me like a Celestia-damned foal.”

I wanted to say something, but I was stunned.

He snorted. “Your mouth’s hangin’ open. Let’s finish up and get the hell outta here.” As he grabbed an extra bottle of gin from the shelf, he mumbled, “‘Cuz apparently I’ve got a job to do.” 

He walked away, and I trailed behind like a lost sheep.

We got back to the house, and Bronze was ruthlessly efficient putting the groceries away. He didn't say so much as a word to me before he left. It left me silent as well.

But as is usually the case, I felt a whole lot better out in my orchard. Harvest was in full swing, and I'd hired a couple workers to buck the apples and separate out the ones for fresh sale, storage, and cider. Sweat rolled off my back and my face, but every once in a while, the cool September wind would blow through and refresh me like a flower in spring. Breathing in that apple-scented air made my heart stir, and I felt a tired calm come evening. 

That calm didn’t last. The door slammed as I was making dinner, and I heard Bronze shout, "The fuck is wrong with that son of a bitch!?"

Everything in my body felt tight, like a hungry tiger had stalked in. His head was low, and his shoulders were up. He stomped towards me. 

I thought about what I'd feel like in his position, working for a stallion he hated for reasons he disagreed with. My head spun with what to say, but every thought was interrupted by another stomp as Bronze marched closer and closer.

Bronze kept shouting. "I ain't a damn expert, and it ain't my fault he refuses to show me what to do! The fuck does he think is gonna happen!? Quality checks, my ass!" His head thrashed all around, like he was trying to buck violent thoughts out of his mind. And he kept getting closer. 

Nothing came to me. I'd defended myself against all kinds of shouting from the townsfolk, but now, facing down the pony that had captured my heart, I had nothing. My bones shook. As I glanced back, I saw a line of bottles, and I remembered the one thing that always helped me settle down. 

Bronze fumed and stared daggers at me. "What, just gonna stand there!? Take his side like everypony in this fuckin' wasteland?"

I had to act quick. I took a breath and finally settled on, "Naw, Seed's an asshole. You're right, babe." I pulled out two shot glasses and uncorked the gin we'd bought that day. "I think we could use a little treat, though. Want a shot?"

Bronze growled, "Fuckin’... might as well." He relaxed his shoulders, just a touch, but it felt like I could breathe again. 

I poured the shots and passed him one. "Cheers."

Bronze's hackles were still raised. "Feh. Cheers? Really? To fuckin’ what?"

Calm as I could, I shrugged. "Surviving the day?"

His lips pursed. "I'd rather thrive, but I'll take what I can get." He tapped his shot on mine, and we both downed them. 

It was good stuff. Juniper-forward. Fresh without being too harsh or burning. Well-bodied for a gin, enough to let the deep, complex flavors of earth, grass, and a touch of mint swirl and develop in your mouth and settle on the tongue before washing down your throat. Strong, floral finish that mellowed out the other flavors and left the smell of spring in your nose, leaving you with a satisfying taste but craving just a bit more. 

Bronze tipped his head back and smacked his lips. "Well shit, do I know how to pick 'em, or what?"

"I'd say you do." I gave him a wink and a kiss. Admittedly, my good humor was an act, and I silently prayed it would be enough. As his anger unwound, though, my thoughts shifted to easing his pain. My face brushed against his, and I felt him relax a little more. Looking back, I think I was playing him, the same way he played me. At the time, it just felt like what I had to do to survive the moment. I really hope Bronze doesn’t feel that way all the time, but I suspect he does, and he probably always has.

"Heh. Two for two." He kissed me back. "And speaking of doubles, I could go for another."

I smiled. "I reckon you're right."

In fact, we each took two more shots. 

The third one finally got to Bronze. He blew air out of his lips and thrashed his head around with a smile on his face. "Haha, that's the stuff."

The warmth had spread to my hooves, and I felt another wave of heat already starting in my belly. I rubbed my nose under Bronze's chin. "Feeling better?"

He grunted, but it turned into a relaxed sigh halfway through, and he brought me in for a quick hug. "Yeah. Thanks, Applebutt. Need a hoof with dinner?"

"I'd never say no to you."

We had toasted oat cakes, apples, and salad that night. Nothing fancy, but we never needed fancy, and it settled the alcohol nicely. 

Bronze grumbled from across the table. He was hunched over. "Not looking forward to tomorrow. That sorghum is a bitch to harvest."

"Yeah," I sighed. "Mighty noble of you to step in like that."

He scoffed. "Nothin' noble about it. Seed's loud and grows a staple crop. He's the kind of guy that could turn the whole town against me."

I wanted to protest, but I found myself agreeing. 

Bronze saw my hesitation. He reached a hoof across the table to mine. "I'm just watching out for both of us, Braeburn. He's an ass, but he'll shut up after a few weeks, and folks'll see that I ain't the one doing wrong. Just gotta position ourselves right."

I shook my head. "I really don't like thinking about my friends as game pieces, Wings."

He shrugged. "That's how it is, Applebutt. But don't worry about it." He brought my hoof to his lips for a kiss. "That's what you've got me for."

Despite the lingering fear that he’d snap again, I smiled.

He leaned back and took another sloppy bite of his oat cake. "Course, it'll be easier if I know what the hell I'm doing next month. You hiring for the late harvest?"

My neck tensed. "I've thought about it, babe, but I'll be honest–"

"Please do."

I glanced out the window. "Folks I respect…" I didn't want to bring up my family. "They always warn against mixing love and work, at least early on."

Bronze stared at me, still chewing. "Seems understandable, but misguided." He swallowed. "Wouldn't you want to know whether you work well with somepony before you commit?"

"I…” He had a point, and I shrunk down. “Maybe, but I ain't sure yet."

“Look me in the eye.” Bronze always spoke with a lot of gravity, but this one had extra weight. “Do it. Now.”

I obeyed.

Bronze searched me. His eyes locked onto mine, and I could see the gears turning in his head. Finally, he just yawned and grabbed another cake. "You'll come around."

And that was the end of it, at least for that day.

I tried to settle back into the routine, and time went on. Early morning, Bronze would leave to scrounge up whatever clouds he could, then report to Fertile Seed by noon. I'd spend my mornings out in the orchard and the afternoons with paperwork. Then I'd come home and start dinner, and Bronze would come in, exhausted and shouting, and I'd put out the fire with a few shots of quality booze.

But, well… You ever actually tried throwing alcohol on a fire?

We drank. Every day. A lot, and it only got to be more and more as time went on. Bronze… I don’t blame Bronze for how much I drank in those days. I can’t, because if I do, then it means I have no control over my life or my choices. And if that’s true, then I can never truly learn to live with my alcoholism. I’ll relapse. And I won’t get better. So, yeah, the situation was bad, and it was deteriorating, but I chose – I chose – to have every single one of those drinks.

I… reasoned with myself that it was cheaper to drink at home than go to the bar. I told myself, naw, it had nothing to do with that knot I felt inside or how I would worry, more and more every day, about what Bronze would be like when he got home. I could hide it, I'd tell myself. I could hide everything: the stress, the shouting, the fights over control of the orchard, because I didn’t want anypony to come between us. Nopony needed to see. It would blow over, I'd say, always to myself, since I spent more and more time working things out with Bronze and less time out with my other friends. But it was okay, I’d say. Once Bronze got through a couple weeks of harvesting, everything would be okay. 

I just… kept telling myself it would all work out, and I wouldn’t have to feel alone again.

But Bronze didn't have the special kind of stamina or patience needed for that work. He'd be angrier each day. Louder, too. It felt like he was growing, in a way. This ever larger, looming presence that occupied my thoughts.

It was a powder keg, and the fuse was expiring fast. See, the clouds dwindled even more, day by day, and Bronze would get an earful from anyone with an opinion about the dry spell, which was everyone. 

And it wasn't like he got a break. Harvests and disasters wait for nopony.

Just before sunrise on a Tuesday morning, we woke up to a low, upsetting buzz. It was consistent and impossible to ignore, and it gave us a sinking feeling in our stomachs. 

Groggy and a little hungover, I squinted at the window as massive brown wisps bumped against the glass. I groaned, "The hell…?"

Bronze growled next to me and sat halfway up. "What's… Shit!" He threw the covers off, stumbled out of bed, and took to the air. "Locusts!"

My skin crawled. "Dammit!" I grabbed my hat and didn't even put my vest on before I chased him down the stairs and outside. 

It was like Hell itself had come to Equestria. The sky was darkened with rust-stained light, and there was so much motion that you couldn't make sense of anything. That horrible buzzing was everywhere. It swelled and settled but never stopped, and at its lowest hum, you could hear the panicked yelling of the ponies all around town.

Bronze was in the air swatting at them and spitting out the ones that got in his mouth. "Fuckers! I– GLHK!!"

I shouted, "I'll get help!" and dashed towards town. Moments like that, I’m grateful I can focus instead of panic, just like my daddy taught me. I tried as hard as I could to ignore the constant, leathery brushes against my face and the unsettling crunches under my hooves. My stomach turned with every step. 

They thinned out as I got into the center of town, and Slate, bless him, was there and had a plan. He stood in the middle of dozens of frantic ponies gathering pots and firewood. He was pointing and shouting. "Merriweather! Help Petunia crush the cinnamon! Buckeye, get every lemon from the store and bring it back here! Grassy! Shred that mint and get the water boiling, NOW!" He barked orders, and everypony followed, whether out of respect or fear. 

I dashed to him. "Slate! What do we need? What is this?"

Slate turned to me. He kept yelling. "Braeburn! Great, glad you're here." He jerked his head at a fragrant pot of some kind of boiling potion. "Aunt Bellflower's insect remedy. Got any sprayers?"

My thoughts came into sharp focus. "Five in my shed."

"Bring 'em here and fill up. I'll send a few colts to your orchard. Spray every tree, and don't skimp! Can Bronze get the treetops?"

My head reeled. He wanted me to abandon everypony and protect my own crops when the whole town needed help. "I'll be okay, Slate. Appleloosa needs–"

He stomped. "Appleloosa needs its namesake export. Ya' ain't being selfish, Braeburn, but don't be dumb, neither! Now go!"

Slate was right. As loathe as I was to focus on my own crops, it had to be done. I galloped back to my shed and fumbled trying to carry all my sprayers.

Bronze swooped down behind me, spitting out bug pieces. "What's the plan?" He grabbed three of the sprayers as we rushed back to town. 

I huffed, "Insect repellant! Folk remedy!"

"Will that work?"

I shook my head as I ran. "Fuckin' hope so."

We rallied at the town center. Slate sent three stallions with us and told them to listen to me, or there would be hell to pay. I snapped into my leadership mode. Honestly, I don't remember hardly anything from that day besides pushing myself and the team to protect every last tree. Four of us covered most of it, and Bronze got the fuckers that clung to the treetops. Everything else, all the way to dusk, is a blur, but I'll say this: I've never been so thankful for cinnamon. Slate's family remedy did the trick, and by the end of the day and with a few additional coats of repellant, the swarm had gotten the message and moved on, leaving us to survey the damage.

Ten percent of the town’s crop. Doesn't sound like much, does it? But imagine an entire month of your life, gone. Just gone, overnight while you slept. You wake up and find out that everything you accomplished that month never happened. That's what it felt like. 

And everypony in town felt it, too. The next four days seemed like they took a month. Folks worked doubly hard to reap and salvage what they could. But every night, when we were dog tired, we had to meet at town hall to decide what to do. 

Me, Copperline, and Dawn Light were at the center of it. See, Appleloosa didn't have a proper government yet, since we were still unincorporated. It was just the council of founders, so we got to hear every panicked plea and angry shout those nights. It broke my heart more than anything. Here was a town that was just starting to flourish, and a setback like this could have killed it all. Everypony hurt real, real bad.

The three of us sat on a long table at city hall, much more official than I liked, but, well, folks needed somepony to yell at. Our solution ended up being a combination of the annual rodeo and additional support from a Canterlot farm grant. Even back then, I had my eye on making Appleloosa a much larger tourist destination, and to me, it all just made a lot of sense. To others, not so much.

Two hours into the meeting – which was supposed to be thirty minutes – I was at my wit’s end, so Dawn gave the presentation about the rodeo. It had been her idea, anyway: for our second-ever rodeo, we could upscale it and invite tourists from out of town to participate. We would hold contests and give out prizes, and the extra injection of money could keep us from the brink. Dawn was a marvel, but not everypony was convinced.

I think it was Penny Ante that shouted her down first. “Dawn, how do you suppose we feed all these folks you want in our town?”

Quake jumped in after her. “Hell of a thing to open up on short notice! That’s supposed to be our tradition, Dawn!”

Dawn snapped back, “Appleloosa has welcomed every damn one of you!” She pointed an accusatory hoof. “I ain’t trying to pull rank, but show some sense and think! Where would you be if we’d shut up the town before you all got here?”

Copper fiddled with his quill and ink, trying to keep up with the meeting minutes.

I sighed and leaned forward. “Folks, I know we all have independent preferences, but we gotta think like a collective right now. If we start going down the road of eating each other, there won’t be anything left.” I looked out into the audience and spotted Bronze, leaning against the wall towards the back. He gave me a small smile and a nod, and I thought, ‘Thanks for the support, Wings.’ If nothing else, I knew nopony would try to start something with me as long as Bronze was there.

Fertile Seed threw his hat down. “Fat lotta good the collective does if my family starves, Braeburn!”

That got Copper to finally snap. “Would you fucking listen to yourself! The only reason it wasn’t worse was because we worked together! Like Celestia-damned friends!”

Somepony shouted down Fertile Seed, but then somepony else came to defend his views, and the whole meeting turned into another shouting match. Another forty minutes later and with a splitting headache, we finally got the group to settle on our plan. The vote was about a seventy-thirty, which is probably the best we could have hoped for.

We didn’t linger after the vote, and Bronze escorted me out. I was slumped over, and my vision was blurry. Bronze hugged me close. “You didn’t take their shit, Braeburn. Nice work.”

I forced a smile and mumbled, “Learned from the best, babe.” I stretched my neck. “Course, now I gotta figure out how the hell to convince Canterlot to give us more money. And I gotta do it without selling out everypony here.” I groaned, “And we’re out of whisky.”

“Heh. No we ain’t.” He leaned down and kissed my head. “Picked up a couple bottles today. Figured you’d need ‘em.”

“You’re a dream, Wings.” I shuffled along. “Yeah, I’m in no condition to write proposals tonight. Copper takes good notes anyway, so it can wait ‘til tomorrow.” I sighed. “Let’s just get hooched and call it a night.”

Bronze tensed up all of a sudden and stopped in his tracks.

“Huh?” I looked up at him. “What?”

He stared at me, wide-eyed. “...Oh. Ha! Hooched. Yeah, that makes sense.”

My head cocked to the side. “What did you think I said?”

He wore a warm smile. “Thought you said ‘hitched,’ and, well, it was mighty unexpected.” His eyes rolled up to the sky, and he wore a little grin. “Though… not entirely unwelcome.”

My fiery, metallic stallion stood there in the starlight, and my head reeled with possibilities. “You, uh, thinkin' of proposing already?”

Bronze looked back down, paused, and looked me over. Like magic, a shooting star shot behind him, and he leaned down to kiss me. “You got enough on your mind, Applebutt.” He started walking back to the house.

And I followed, giddy as a school filly. We got absolutely smashed that night on smooth, burnt-oak whisky, and it was one of the more intimate and warm cuddle sessions of my life.

That warmth only lasted until morning, though, and come sunrise, Bronze and I were both back in the leftover nightmare from the swarm. As if the bug corpses weren’t enough, we had to deal with the extra birds, lizards, and snakes that had moved it to feast on the free protein. It was like a second plague, right after the first, and the stress built up as quickly as it had disappeared.

So there was more work.

And more yelling.

And more of that feeling of dread all day, knowing I’d have to be ready once Bronze got home.

And a whole, whole lot more drinking.

It was one night, a few weeks later, about a week before the rodeo. I’d gotten the second appeal to Canterlot finished after our first appeal had been rejected, and I’d started on the bottle early. I was already tipsy when Bronze walked in from a day of cleanup with Fertile Seed, just about the only job he could find.

And…

Braeburn stares out at nothing. His eyes are unfocused. He lifts his left foreleg and pulls it in towards himself, as if guarding it. 

I take a deep breath. As I exhale slowly, I remind myself to be as calm as possible. "You're safe here, Braeburn."

He sets his hoof back on the ground. "I know," he sighs. He shakes his head. "But it don't always feel that way."

I could say a hundred different things, and ninety-nine of them feel wrong. "You don't need to tell this part if you don't want to."

Braeburn continues shaking his head. "Of course I don't want to.” He takes several breaths. “But I really don't want to keep it in, either."

That night was the worst I'd seen him. Stomping in, his wings flared out. "That fuckin' son of a bitch can choke on my asshole! The hell does he think he is?"

I’d already prepared a shot of tequila with salt and lime. I held them up to him. "Hon, take a breath. It'll be alright. Want a–"

He slapped the shot glass out of my hoof, and it shattered against the wall. "I don't want your booze, you worthless, stupid drunk!”

Immediately, I felt dizzy. The tequila in my stomach tried to claw its way back up. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. I told myself that everything would be fine. I just needed a drink to steady myself. I just had to get back to the routine, and it would be okay. I would survive another moment, another day. So, as if by instinct, I turned around, took my shot, and bit the lime. The sharp citrus cut through the smooth fire of the alcohol. The warmth washed over me, and I felt a moment of comfort and peace. 

Bronze broke that peace like he had the glass. "Don't you fuckin' turn away from me!" He grabbed my flank and violently spun me around, so he could press his face up into mine. "I wasn't done, Braeburn!"

"Sorry!" I shouted at him. "You scared me!"

"I scared you!?" He stomped and snorted. "Braeburn, I've been working my ass off for a chicken-shit miser who hates me, and now I gotta tiptoe around my own home because you're jumpy?"

I… I wanted to crawl under the floor and hide, and my damn stupid mouth kept running away from me. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean anything by it." I felt my gaze slip down, but I remembered how Bronze always wanted to be looked in the eye, so I looked back up. He was still furious. It cowed me instantly. "You're right. It's awful. I don’t need to make you drink.” And right then, my damn optimism just had to rear its head. “But it's only for now. It'll get better." 

He snorted again, then turned away from me. He paced around the kitchen. "Shit doesn't get better, Braeburn. Hell, I'm ready to say fuck it and move us back to Chattahoofa."

That cut right to my soul. “Bronze, I can’t leave here! This is my home!”

He jabbed a hoof to his chest. “It’s supposed to be our home, Applebutt! But I hate it here, and you don’t seem to give a rat’s ass about that.” I swear I saw a tear start to form in his eye, which hurt more than the way he was acting.

“I do care, Wings. It’s just been a rough month out here. It happens from time to time. We’ll get through it.”

Bronze snorted and ran a hoof through his mane. He sneered at me. “Be a hell of a lot easier if my damn coltfried showed me some support!” He stepped up to me. “But he’d see me toil for some asshole rather than just let me help him. Why the fuck won’t you let me help you run the orchard? Or at least hire me?”

I looked up at him. He wanted an answer, and he wanted it now. There were so many things I could say, but my mind just kept spinning. Bronze could play this game a whole hell of a lot better than I could, and I couldn’t see a move that would get him to calm down.

“Answer me, Braeburn!”

I spat out the first thing that came to me. “Bronze, you’ve got a lot of talents, but you ain’t a farmer. I need to maintain this crop for the town. The apples are important, and a lot of difficult decisions need to–”

He slapped me hard across the face.

…

He… He hit me so hard, it… 

It… 

It sounds so fucking simple like that, doesn’t it? It was an act. A moment. It was quick. It didn’t hardly hurt at all, and it hurt so damn much, because it made me feel worthless. Worthless. I was a stupid colt getting punished for being so damn useless. I-I-I couldn’t even keep my coltfriend happy. What the fuck was I even doing? 

Those feelings were wrong. I know they were wrong. But I couldn’t stop feeling them. And right then, I felt like nothing but a failure. I…

I saw stars. But they were all out of sorts. They had this wobbly, off-kilter shape to them. The colors were sickly instead of bright. They brought me no comfort.

There was a long silence. My head hung to the side, and I couldn’t move. My neck hurt. My face hurt. So did my chest. My pulse raced, but I felt nailed to my kitchen floor.

Bronze growled, “That was for lying.” He lowered his hoof, took a deep breath, and adopted an eerie calm. It was like a snake before it strikes. “Now, tell me the real reason you won’t share your orchard with me.”

I still hadn’t moved. Tears welled up in my eyes. I had been right: I couldn’t play this game like Bronze, and stripped of any ability to lie, the only thing left was the truth. “Because it’s my baby, Bronze. It’s my safe place, where I can get away from all my troubles. It’s important to me.” I looked back up at him. “It's mine, and I–”

He hit me with a wide left hook on the other side of my face.

Blackness crept in around the edges of my vision. I stumbled but kept myself upright. I shook my head and blinked away two tears of pain.

He spoke evenly. “That one was for being greedy.”

My jaw was tight. I tried not to cry. Everything felt heavy.

Bronze went right back to being all fired up. “I can help you, Braeburn! Why the hell can’t you see that!?”

I choked out, “Bronze, try to see things from my perspective.” I don’t know where that defiance still came from. I think I loved my trees more than I was afraid of Bronze.

“Your perspective?” He leapt up into the air and flapped, lording over me. “Babe, I’ve seen your perspective. You sit at a desk half the day, fiddle with some apple trees for the rest of it, then come home and drink until you make an ass of yourself and pass out on me. You think you’ve got it rough?”

“I-I didn’t say–”

“How about you see things from my perspective, huh!? You think I like being the only Luna-damned pegasus out here? Everypony staring at me and wondering why I don’t magically make the weather better? I bet half of ‘em blame me for the locusts, too!”

I looked up at him. “Wings, look, I’m sorry. And you’re right, I don’t know what it’s like for you.”

“Well maybe you should.” With one hard flap, he wheeled around and scooped me up. I screamed, but he had me around the barrel and the neck. “You fuckin’ like that, Braeburn?”

I choked out, “Put me down!” 

He just flapped again and hovered, his head bumping against the ceiling. “What, you don’t like it up here? Where everypony’s always lookin’ at you and judging you?” He started doing laps around the kitchen and entryway. “Just waiting for you to slip up and fall?”

“Bronze, stop it!” By that point, I was dizzy, and I didn’t know up from down.

“This ain’t shit, Braeburn!” He loosened his grip and let me slip, just a hair, just enough for fear to bolt through me. “I’ve got half a mind to take you outside and play catch!”

My blood ran cold. I thrashed in his grasp. Even just a little bit up like that, it felt like a mile, and my brain reeled with the fear of being brought outside. The floor seemed so far away. “Stop it! Let me go!” I nearly twisted out of his grasp.

He roared, “Fine, have it your way!” And he pushed me away from him.

I… fell. I fell towards the floor, and my brain raced a mile a minute. I knew I wasn’t falling the right way. I wasn’t angled properly. I didn’t know how to land. I straightened out my left foreleg to catch myself, but I…

A hollow breeze brushes our faces. Braeburn’s equally hollow eyes are cast down to the dirt. He rubs his left foreleg gently.

I reach for anything to say and come up empty.

Nothing happens. Nothing continues to happen. It feels like coming home to find your house has been robbed and destroyed. It feels like there must be something, anything you can do to fix it. There must be some action you can take to undo what’s happened. But there isn’t. The damage has been done. All that remains is the wreckage. But this isn’t wreckage. This is a pony. A living, breathing pony who survives and lives on. What was done to him was monstrous, and there is nothing that can change the past. Only the future.

Braeburn whispers, “I don’t like heights.”

The desert expands infinitely around us. Even though I’m here with him, Braeburn looks so alone.

He speaks up, broken by a few tiny sobs. “I don’t like it.” His head shakes, just barely. “I don’t like ladders. I don’t like being picked up.” His teeth chatter. “Soarin’ knows that now. He didn’t always.” A small smile flashes on his face. “But I feel safe with him. There’s so much beauty up there. Because he’s up there, too. I…” He swallows hard. “I don’t like heights, but I don’t want to give them up.”

For lack of any other response, I nod.

Braeburn draws a shuddering breath. “Folks…” He sniffles. His voice is barely above a whisper. “A whole bunch of folks have told me to sell that house. Once they knew what happened there. They say it’s bad for the soul to be in a place like that. To be reminded every day of the darkest times of your life.”

I watch him. 

He looks back at me. A few tears roll off his face and into the dirt. “But that’s my house, Vivid. It’s my home. I built it with my friends in the first days of Appleloosa. And it’s where Soarin’–” He chokes up. “It’s where Big Blue came back for me.” A broken smile crosses his face. “He traveled all across Equestria just to see me again. He was genuine. He made me… made me feel like I could really pick up the pieces and be better.” His lip quivers as he half-laughs, half-sobs. “He made me feel like things could get better. And he was right. It’s gotten so much better, and…” He swallows again. “I don’t want to lose it all again. I–”

Braeburn tries a few times to continue, but each time, he cries. 

I lift a hoof, but remember his rejection of it.

But Braeburn sucks in a breath. “Yeah, I’ll take that hug now.” He scoots closer, and I embrace him. He cries into my shoulder, and I say nothing.

And I wonder again how much of this he’s told Soarin’.

We spend a few moments like that, above a gorgeous town built by dedicated earth ponies. The sun is a warm embrace, the wind a cool drink of relief. And in the meantime, Braeburn weeps.

He clears his throat, and his voice is clearer. His head remains on my shoulder. “C–... Can I keep going?”

Gently, I say, “Whenever you’re ready.”

He pulls away and rubs his eyes with a fetlock. “Suffice to say, I screamed.”

I screamed so much. My left foreleg had a hairline fracture, and I couldn’t hardly move. But it wasn’t just the pain. I was afraid. I wasn’t safe in my house, and I knew it, deep down. The world felt like it had shattered. Everything I’d built, everything I thought I understood. It was all so far away. Nothing felt safe anymore, and that hurt worst of all.

Bronze… He swooped down immediately, and it was like night and day. “Applebutt! Oh my word, I’m so sorry!” His voice was full of pain, too. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He tried to move my leg out from under me, but when I screamed again, he let it be. “Gah, I’m so fuckin’ stupid! Stupid!” He punched his own forehead with a hoof. “Stupid! Aw, Braeburn, I got too angry, I’ve been so stressed. You gotta forgive me, babe, please!”

My whole body shook. I could barely see, and I wanted to pass out, but… but my coltfriend needed me. I muttered with chattering teeth, “Wings…”

Bronze gently rolled me to one side, off my leg, and he lay down next to me. His eyes were wet, too, and he held my other hoof. “Sh, sh… It’ll be alright, Applebutt.” He spread his wings around the two of us, and even then, it brought me so much comfort to be wrapped up in that cocoon. “I’ll go get the doc, and we’ll get you fixed up. I’m sorry, Braeburn. But you gotta forgive me. Please. Please don’t be mad. You’re my whole life, Braeburn. Please don’t send me away.”

Our eyes met. I saw that same vulnerable colt I’d seen on the train ride. He needed comfort. He needed me.

And I… I realize how… baffling that must sound. Him needing comfort from me, the coltfriend he’d just nearly killed. It’s… I’ve read that it’s not uncommon for ponies like him. Call it self-centered. Call it trauma. Either way, he was suffering, and I’ve never been one to leave a pony suffering. 

…

I can't hate him. I just… can't. Believe me, I've tried. So instead, I just keep hating myself for still loving him.

With my good foreleg, I cradled his chin. I forced a smile, and I said, gentle as I could, “Never.”