//------------------------------// // Chapter 2: Going Separate Ways // Story: No Country for Bad Ponies // by Jay Watson //------------------------------// The first raindrops began to fall, just as the weather-pony had predicted earlier today on the news, the gray clouds that had been gathering for the latter half of the afternoon gave them warning of the coming end of their outside activities. They had been playing ‘king of the mountain’ around the big dirt pile in Sprout Cloverleaf’s back yard; a new in-ground pool was being dug and this dirt mound was a ready-made ‘mountain’ to use. The four boys; Sprout, Hitch, Pete Prancestep and Val Vanderhoof attacked the mound of dirt with loud battle cries, clamoring up the steep dirt to get to the top. Hitch got to the top first but was knocked off by Pete, who intern was rolled off by Sprout who was then shoved off the top by Val. They try over and over again to get to the top, the light rain becoming steadier and causing the dirt to become muddy. It is great fun for them, laughing and carrying on as they knock each-other from off the top of the dirt mound. It looked like Val Vanderhoof might have the best of them but Sprout gave one last desperate charge up the dirt mound. He gave Val and solid push off the top, causing his friend to go sliding down the side in the dirt mound to the bottom and unable to gain a footing in the wet dirt. Pete and Hitch made valiant attempts to scale the mound one last time but the rain was making it impossible by turning the dirt into a muddy quagmire. As hard as they struggled to climb up the increasingly muddy dirt mound, they fell over repeatedly, covering them in mud as they slid back down. Sprout stood atop the dirt mound, the rain now coming more steadily down as he realized that he was not going to get pushed off, his friends could not climb up to reach him. Triumphantly, Sprout reared up on his hind legs and thrust his forelegs high above his head in victory. “I made it, Ma! I’m on top of the world!” He shouted out as another crack of lightning and boom of thunder rumbled from the sky above them all. It was just then that Phyllis Cloverleaf came to the back porch door to call her son and his friends in. “Boys, the pizzas are here! Suppertime!” Her voice carried over the noise of the thunder. “Alright! Pizza! C’mon guys; last pony inside is a rotten egg!” Sprout hooted as he came charging down the dirt mound and led his friends to the basement door of his family’s house. This was going to be the best birthday sleep over night; hot pizza, video games and surely a killer pillow fight between them all later tonight were in store for them, the bonds of friendship growing. Just as they were about to step inside, Sprout’s mom opened the door to stop them. “Hold it! Hold it right there, you four! You are not coming in this house filthy dirty like that. You are going to rinse that dirt off with the garden hose first. I’ll get some towels for you boys.” Phyllis gave them that Mom look; the one all mother’s use when getting some rowdy-fun colts in line; stern but loving. “Yes Mrs. Cloverleaf.” Hitch, Val and Pete responded in unison, half-expecting it, anyway. Sprout was already over at the garden hose reel hanging on the concrete wall, opening the spigot for them. “Aw, mom, we’re not that dirty.” Sprout whine a little, embarrassed by his mom’s sudden interruption in their good time. “Huh, try saying that to my dining room rug with hooves dirty like that!” Phyllis turned from the doorway and was only five or six steps away when she heard them at it again; now using the garden hose to spry at each other in some kind of fracas over who has the nozzle end. She rolled her eyes a little at boys’ incorrigible behavior, collecting some large beach towels from a nearby closet. “We’re done!” She heard her son yelling to her, done with their tomfoolery and now hosed off clean. Phyllis returned with the fluffy towels for them to dry off, only to see the four of them standing there grinning dumbly and dripping wet from head to hoof, their manes and tails completely soaked. “I said to clean yourselves off, not take a shower!” She gave a slightly exasperated sigh. “You boys get inside and I’ll get some more towels for you.” She opened the door and Pete and Val stepped in first. “This is going to be great tonight, Hitch. I’m glad you could come.” Sprout was happy to have all his invites here for his eleventh birthday, especially Hitch, whom he looked up to like a big brother. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything, Sprout. That’s what best colt-buddies are for.” Hitch was glad to spend the Friday night over his schoolmate friend’s house for a party. He just hoped he liked the new video game he got for him. It wasn’t one of the ‘shoot’em up’ type games that Sprout was into but was neat RPG-type one that got good reviews in a gaming magazine he’d read. Sprout threw a foreleg around Hitch’s neck, throwing another foreleg up high over his head, yelling out his happiness. “Best colt-buddies forever-r-r-r!” Hitch laughed along with his good friend, sharing in the making of memories to last a lifetime. Just then, the moment was interrupted by an unexpected visitor in the form a small blue and white feathered woodpecker, landed on the railing of the porch steps that began pecking loudly and incessantly at the railing. The loud pecking sound it made seem like it was so much closer to Hitch’s ear. Almost as if it was right next to him, but yet that bird was a good twenty feet away. What the-? What’s a woodpecker doing out here? I don’t remember seeing… Hitch looked at Sprout again, watching as his red earth-pony friend’s face began to morph and meld into an image of disassociated swirling colors and blurriness. What’s happening?! Everything around him seemed to swirl into a vortex of colors until going dark, but still that loud tapping persisted in his ears. Then he understood what was happening. Wait, I’m dreaming! From the depths of his sleep the persistent sound drew him up to consciousness, breaking though the barrier of sleep to greet a new dawn. His eyes crack open, thin slivers of light enter his pupils from the bright sun beaming through the nearby window, alerting his brain that it was time to get up. The fuzziness within his mind started to recede, becoming aware of his surroundings now and slowing rising up from his bed. Hitch gave a big yawn and stretch, flexing his forelegs high up over his head. He rubbed his eyes with the back of a foreleg, getting the ‘sleeping sand’ out of them. He could remember what he had just been dreaming about; the party for Sprout’s eleventh birthday and how much fun the four of them had way back when in those innocent times of their youth. He smiled at first, recalling the fun time but a bit of sadness touched his heart, remembering what Sprout had said to him that day. Hitch’s voice quivered a little when repeating it to himself. “Best colt-buddies forever.” With a sigh, he pushed back his comforter, slipping out of his bed and giving his forelegs a big stretch up over his head and yawning once more. He took a quick look out the window just above his bed. His sudden appearance in the window frightened off the small woodpecker who had been drilling away on his windowsill. So that’s what I was hearing. He made his way over to the bathroom to relieve himself and splash some cold water on his muzzle to help bring his brain fully awake. He headed for his small kitchen for breakfast, stopping by the backdoor window to look out and check on his bird feeders this morning. Sure enough, the feeders were empty, and he would have to refill them again. With the coffee pot warming up on the stove and his waffles toasting away in the toaster, he headed outside to do his morning duty. The moment he stepped out from the sliding glass door and onto the tiny deck off his kitchen that faced the backyard, the chirping and tweeting coming from the birds waiting in the nearby trees intensified. He stepped out into the yard space, collecting his containers of feed out of a nearby locked cupboard. Hitch unhooked the control line, lowering the three feeders to chest-height on his ingeniously designed counterbalanced line system he had strung up between two trees, making it easy for him to refill them. His feathered friends began to swoop in, whizzing right past his head as and vocalizing their delight at seeing Hitch once again. A small chuckle escaped him, delighted to be so close to them and pleased to have won some over as a friend. Just as he was about to pour in the mixed seed into one of the feeders, one small brown and white bird came to land right on his hoof, looking right at him, its head cocked slightly. ‘Tweet-twa-tweetily tweet?’ The small bird chirped, as if asking Hitch a question and he smiled back at his feathery visitor. “Well I’m glad to see you too.” Hitch had no idea what it could be asking but wished he did. Two other birds came down to land on one of the feeders, also looking at Hitch and chirped excitedly, alerting others nearby that breakfast was being served. Hitch saw more guests appear in the tree limbs around his backyard area, waiting. With the feeders now full, he added the weights to the line to raise the feeders high up overhead. Once more, Hitch chuckled to himself at how many birds came darting in to grab a peanut piece or some seed and then fly off to the safety of the tree branches. Back inside his home, Hitch could watch from the small kitchen table he was sitting and eating at to observe the coming and going of birds to his feeders. With just his coffee left to sip on from his morning meal, he slowly slipped out the sliding glass back door to stand quietly on his small porch and watch the colorful birds come to feed. Before he had to get to the station house, Hitch could take a few minutes out of this morning from the very hectic past few weeks to indulge in some early morning bird watching. He noticed up high in one branch of a nearby tree was a large bird with vibrant red feathers and long tail plumage that swayed slightly in the early morning breeze that was coming in off the bay. “Ah, red bird, good morning.” Hitch quietly saluted his returning mysterious visitor, raising his coffee mug to it. The bird shifted its body a little, still not taking notice or interest in the food Hitch had put out. He noted it was the third morning in a row he’d seen this unusual bird. He cocked an eyebrow at his peculiar visitor, unable to figure out what kind of bird it was and why was his ‘bird friendly’ backyard unappealing to it. The feeders were full, and the birdbath was clean and filled with fresh water. What else was missing? “Not impressed with my offerings, eh?” He joked with a slight smirk, imagining the bird could hear him from all the way up there. The red plumed bird shifted slightly on its perch, as if to keep a better grip in the early morning’s easterly breeze off the ocean. “I’ll convince you yet to come down for a visit.” Hitch was not a pony to give up so easily, especially when it came to his little bird sanctuary. This was his favorite time of the day; spending a quiet morning watching as the birds come in to feed on his feeders, listening to the various caws, squawks, and chirps and cries each type made. He loved discovering which bird made what sound and then being able to pick them out by their calls, even if he could not see them through the cover of green tree foliage. Was it his imagination, or did it seem like this bird was holding its beak up in the air in some sort of display of indifference or superiority to his desire for contact, as if to say to Hitch, ‘Fat chance of that happening, buster!’ A shadow past over Hitch as he stood there looking up at the red bird in the tree, now causing him to look away. Circling above him was the culprit, now waving at him to get his attention. “Morning, Sherriff Hitch.” Zipp Storm came swooping down to land right next to him, all smiles and bearing a delivery. The earth-pony was glad to see her again. “Morning, Zipp, nice to see you here again. What brings you back to Maretime Bay so soon? I’d thought you and Pipp would still be trying to smooth things over with the ponies of Zephyr Heights.” This was a nice surprise for Hitch, getting a chance to talk with Zipp alone and out of the eyes of the public. Zipp was briefly embarrassed by him for pointing that uncomfortable fact out. “Yeah, well….,” she hemmed and hawed a little, rubbing the back of her head with a forehoof, “we’ve been busy the past couple of weeks trying to explain ourselves on a whole bunch of streaming videos and interviews we’ve had to do. It’s been tough and I needed to escape the attention for a little while. So I volunteered to act as a courier today.” She began to rifle through her carry-bag to fetch what she was supposed to deliver to him. “Where’s Pipp? She didn’t join you?” Hitch saw Zipp procure a manila folder from her bag and then present it to him. “She’s doing interviews for positions in her new salon she opening here in Maretime Bay; her agent just closed on a storefront the day before.” She felt a pang of nerves hit her as Hitch opened the folder and took out the cover letter to read. “What’s this?” He was impressed by the official gold-foil embossed seal and letterhead adorning the top of the page, indicating to him that this was from Queen Haven herself. Hitch began reading aloud softly. “Greetings, Queen Haven of Zephyr Heights would like to extend her gratitude to Sherriff Hitch Trailblazer…” He quickly read ahead of the letter, mumbling though the formalities, seeing how long it was and wanted to get to the crux of the letter’s contents. His eyes widened at one reaching the important part. “…as a gesture of good will and friendship between the pony races, her Highness would like to offer Maretime Bay’s police force candidates for the position of… deputy?” He looked up at Zipp, not sure by the intentions of this offer. “My mom, along with the head of Ministry of Justice, thought it might be a good idea to have some pegasus ponies from Zephyr Heights apply for the position, if it’s okay with you.” She bit her lower lip briefly before continuing. “That is, unless you have some pony else in mind for the position already.” Zipp didn’t want to seem like she or her mom were stepping over any boundaries Hitch might be holding in reserve. Everything still seemed so up-in-the-air after these few weeks that no pony was sure how anyone would react after everything Equestria had been through. “Oh, no, it’s not an issue with me. I just never suspected any pony from Zephyr Heights had an interest in law enforcement in an earth-pony town.” This was a new and interesting proposition for Hitch as sheriff, curious would it would be like to have a pegasus pony for a deputy. He pulled out the files from the folder, briefly looking over the applicants. “Cloudjumper.” He recited the first name, scanning the photo and scanning the brief cover letter and a small rundown of his work experience. Two more files with two more stallions passed his eyes, each pony mugging for their respected cover shots with looks of sublime confidence. “Wildwind and Powerglide.” He didn’t know who they were but would read up on their files later. The last file caught his attention. “Zephyrina Storm?” Hitch wasn’t sure if his eyes were playing tricks on him but when he looked up at his guest; she had a small amount of pink appearing on her muzzle and wore something of a sheepish look. “I thought we worked pretty well together in the recent past and, well, since I’ve been clerking for one of the judges in the Ministry of Justice, I thought this might be a good opportunity for me to learn more about earth-pony law enforcement while doing actual field work.” Hitch gave her a quick smile, pleased to see she was interested in working together again. “I’ll move it to the top of the pile of applicants.” A quick thought popped into his head, now that she was here. “Hey, Zipp, quick question. When you were flying right above the treetops just now, did you get a close look at that red bird with the long tailfeathers sitting high up in this tree?” He pointed up to the treetop where he’d seen the red bird perch itself in the same spot for the past three mornings. She looked up to where he indicated. “What red bird?” Hitch turned his head to look up at the treetop to where he expected to see the bird in question. “It’s right-” He stopped, spotting the tree limb was now vacant of its feathery occupant. “It was right there a second ago.” He looked back at Zipp, a bit of egg on his face. She only shrugged. “Sorry, I didn’t see any red bird while I was up there.” “Huh. That’s funny, for the past three mornings the same red bird has come to sit on that high tree branch. At least, I think it’s the same bird.” Hitch was sure his visitor would’ve been there. He’d only looked away for a moment to speak with Zipp. “Anyway, I’ve got to be here today to greet the first pegasus family that’s moving to Maretime Bay and we’re supposed to meet them at the train station.” Zipp pointed to the letter again and had Hitch read more. The sheriff returned his attention to the letter, finding what she said to be correct; a pegasus pony family was moving to Maretime Bay and Queen Haven had requested Hitch and Sunny to act as an impromptu welcoming party. “Sunny’s staying with her friend Latte Cream at her apartment in town until the construction company can get more of the new lighthouse built for Sunny to return to. We can stop by where she’s staying and pick her up on the way to my office.” “That’ll work. Hopefully Pipp can join us after her interviewing this morning. I know my mom would be glad she did.” Zipp hated to be the only princess present when acting as the welcoming committee. She never had the right words to convey that made a good impression. That was Pipp’s specialty. She’s so much more used to being in the public spotlight. “You want to come inside for a second? I want to brush my teeth before we head out.” Hitch was already opening up the sliding glass door on the porch to let her in, aware she’d never been here before. “Sure.” Zipp followed after Hitch, stepping inside his abode for the first time and glancing about. He shut the door behind her. Hitch was heading for the bathroom when he stopped, turning his head back to her. “Help yourself to some coffee on the stove; I’ll just be a minute.” He went off to the bathroom, getting ready for his busy day. “Thanks, I will.” Zipp appreciated the quick pick-me-up of` some fresh coffee and pulled out a mug from an above-counter cabinet and poured herself some. She could hear the water running in the bathroom sink and could see Hitch’s flanks from the open bathroom door as he brushed his teeth. Zipp looked around the kitchen, curious to learn something new about Hitch. Like most girls, she suspected what a stallion like Hitch’s place might look like. She half expected to see empty pizza boxes, empty beer bottles, old fast-food wrappers and paper bags strewn around everywhere, dirty clothes on the furniture and the floor along with a sink full of dirty dishes. But, to her surprise, she found none of that. The kitchen was clean and free of mess, the sink clear of any dirty dishes. Sniff! Sniff! Zipp could smell the lemon-scented cleaner used to keep the kitchen tidy and she nodded approvingly. Hmmm, clean kitchen floor, no bad smells, no dirty laundry lying all over the place; this pony knows how to keep his home in order. Zipp thought to herself while looking about the living space. She found something on his coffee table that was interesting. One was a book on amateur bird-watching and the other was an open folder containing a dozen or so professionally done portraits of Hitch dressed in various outfits, posing and mugging for the camera. She quickly looked through a few of them, finding herself ogling one in particular that accentuated Hitch’s strong stallion physique. She took a few more sips of her coffee, admiring the photo collection of her friend and wondered how many times he’d done this before. Did he have some kind of ‘Hitch Trailblazer Fan Club’ here in Maretime Bay? Hitch rinsed his mouth of toothpaste and left the bathroom to join Zipp in his living room, seeing her taking interest in something on his coffee table. When he stepped closer to see what it was, he felt a pang of embarrassment. “Oh, you’re looking at those?” He said with a touch of dread, as if caught with something he shouldn’t have in his possession. Zipp chuckled a little from his discomfort, seeing him squirming some. “What’s up with these? You switching careers from law enforcement to fashion modeling or something?” she gently poked fun, smirking. “Yeah, well…” He momentarily trailed off; now it was his turn to feel embarrassed at having to explain himself. “They’re for next year’s Maretime Bay charity calendar and I was supposed to select the ones to use. But I think I might forgo doing it anymore.” Zipp turned away from the pictures to face him, seeing some self-consciousness appear on his muzzle. “Really? How come?” “Well, since we’ve helped Sunny bring back magic to Equestria and now the pony races are coming together,” he paused to look down to paw through a few of the pictures, selecting two or three that were what he thought his best and favorites, “and now some pegasus pony families are going to move here, maybe this isn’t the image I should project. What would those ponies from Zephyr Heights think?” She looked down at the three photos he’d pulled out, one of them being the one she’d found her eyes repeatedly falling on in admiration. She could see by his expressions in the pictures he enjoyed taking them and clearly wasn’t camera shy. He enjoyed dancing and being in the spotlight, much like Pipp, so why the self doubt all of a sudden? “Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure no pony would think anything less of their town’s sheriff if he wanted to take some attractive pictures for a calendar, especially if it was for charity.” Zipp thought it cute of him to do something that most guys would be far and away too self-conscious or unnerved to try. Still, he looked at the pictures more, second-guessing himself. “Maybe; I’ll see in a few days if I feel like going forward with it. This was the first week here in town where we weren’t inundated with that media circus of news reporters and camera crews.” Zipp gave him a small pat on his back with a wing, assuring him. “Don’t worry, Hitch. Things are settling down and pretty soon everything will go back to normal. You’ll see.” Zipp could still seeing doubt in his eyes. “Normal; I don’t know what that supposed to mean anymore.” He said with a small sigh, momentarily looking away from the pictures on the table. She gave him a friendly bump of her withers against his body, getting his attention. “Join the club, Hitch. We’re both in unexplored territory.” Once more, she gave him a little crooked smile, letting him know she got his meaning. “C’mon Sherriff, it’s time to go.” She gulped down the last of the coffee and made sure to put the mug in his kitchen sink and not leave it on a table, being polite. Hitch slipped the hoop of his harness under his right foreleg and over his head, his bronze badge hanging perfectly off his left flank, buffed to a high shine from its proud law pony. He held open the front door of his condo for her, waiting. Just as she was about to step outside, a picture hanging right by the door on the wall caught her eye. She stopped suddenly to look more. “Hey, what’s this?” She wasn’t sure at first. “Oh, that,” Hitch brightened, getting to share something fun about himself, “it’s a drawing I did in art class when I was in secondary school. We could only use a piece of charcoal on the canvas-board to draw with. Every pony in the class had to select their subject to draw by picking it out of a fishbowl.” Zipp could see what it was. “It’s a bird; a bird…rising up?” She squinted her eyes, studying the image closer. “That’s what my teacher said too but I don’t think it looks like it. I really wasn’t sure how to draw it so I did this kind of quick, and I was sort-of ‘meh’ about how it came out. But my teacher loved it. She made me not change a thing or try to touch it up even though I wanted to. She gave me an ‘A’ grade and it was the only high mark I got in art class that year. But you should’ve seen the masterpieces Sunny whipped up in class. She almost always got A’s.” Hitch played down his success, comparing his meager artistic attempt with Sunny’s naturally creativeness. It was just something from his colt-hood to remind him of how a ‘little success’ can surprise him when he wasn’t over-thinking. “An ‘A’? Cool! I wasn’t the artistic one in school either. Pipp could come up with all sorts of artsy stuff on the fly; I struggled for even one good idea. I think it looks great and you should be proud of how it came out.” Zipp gave him a little ego boost and she was rewarded with one of his signature sly smiles. “Thanks.” Just then, they heard a train’s whistle blowing in the distance, alerting the two of them of the approaching duty they were to both be a part of today. “We should get down to the station; the family we’re scheduled to meet is due in on the first train this morning.” Zipp moved out the doorway and let Hitch lock up behind them. He walked beside her down the street and heading towards the train station. “I hope there are only one or two reporters attending this little function.” Hitch was already suspecting the worst. He was missing the quietness of Maretime Bay before they’d set the world all topsy-turvy like they had. Zipp only shrugged a little and gave a small laugh. “You know my mom; she’s probably sending a bunch of news reporters to cover this and try to squeeze some good press out of it too.” “Grea-a-a-t.” Hitch groaned while rolling his eyes in exhaustion. Zipp had an easy solution for her duty-weary friend. He hasn’t had a single day off from being on duty as sheriff for three weeks. “You know, after this little function if you’d like to get some extra rest, I could cover for you and do your normal patrol route around Maretime Bay. Maybe help this new family settle in and such?” She was eager to help, to demonstrate her usefulness to him. “I could just stay in the office and catch up on some paperwork, along with review the files you brought. It would be great to not have to be on hoof-patrol all day again.” Hitch thought through Zipp’s offer, figuring out how he could get more of his job done rather than resting like Zipp though he should. But she settled for his take on the offer. “Sounds like we have a plan now, sheriff.” From out of the carry-bag slung across her body, Zipp produced a bronze badge of her own, ‘acquired’ from a friend who was member of Zephyr Heights Patrol Force and slung the leather holstered symbol of law enforcement around her neck on its silver chain. It surprised Hitch to see her flashing around an obviously real police pony’s badge. He opened his mouth, about to ask the obvious follow up question to seeing her brandishing it, but then stopped himself. “You know, I’m not going to even ask where you got that from.” Hitch would not bother with it, figuring that a princess like Zipp could get her hooves on ‘anything’ if she wanted. Zipp only laughed again, seeing how Hitch would rather have ‘plausible deniability’ on his side then knowing the truth. =====*****===== Click-clack! Click-clack! Clack-clack! The train wheels went along in rhythmic progression. Steady, unwavering and relentless. The train’s momentum hurtled Sprout Cloverleaf down this stretch of track to an unknown final destination that awaited him. He and three other stallions got on the train at the platform, but Sprout didn’t make eye contact with them, wanting to avoid any chance of recognition. All of them sat apart from one another in the car and had remained silent since departing, more than an hour ago. Sprout kept staring down at the dirty floor in front of him from where he sat. His breath came in quick inhales and exhales with a long drawn out pause in-between as if he were still in shock and reeling from the events happening around him. It felt so surreal to him, like an unfolding nightmare he could not shut his eyes to. He could tell the train was heading south, far away from Maretime Bay but still along the coast, never getting out of sight of the shoreline. Sprout had never traveled further than twenty miles from his hometown in all his life, patrolling only length and breadth of Appaloosa County to which he was a deputy in serving. He never crossed over the boarders into the neighboring counties in the land of Unicornia to the east or those of Pegasopolis kingdom to the North. That was inviting trouble if he did. He didn’t notice one of the other stallions in the car was sliding across the seats to move closer to him, apparently curious about him. The stranger tried to get his attention. “Psst! Psst! Hey! Hey, kid, ya’ll alright over here?” Sprout glanced up to see the pony just across the aisle looking right at him. The gray stallion with white mane and tail was smiling pleasantly enough, trying to elicit a response from Sprout. He spoke in that peculiar dialect of Ponish; like he’d heard from other earth-ponies who hailed from one of the three major counties out west of Appaloosa County, on the coast. Sprout guessed by Splinter Wood’s appearance that he was only a few years older than himself; maybe closer to Hitch’s age. He caught sight of Splinter Wood’s cutie mark; that of a saw cutting through a plank of broken wood, surmising he worked in the construction industry. Sprout kept his mouth shut, only nodding his head a little to the question as he continued to stare down at the floor, his breath still coming is short-quick gasps. “First time in trouble with Johnny Law?” He asked. Again, Sprout only nodded. “Don’t sweat it, kid. It’s not as bad as them lawyers try to scare ya’ with. This is my third time serving, ya’ know.” He almost sounded like he was bragging about it, comfortable with his situation. The two other stallions in the car did not move over to speak with them. One of them sat with their eyes closed, apparently nodding off while the other was staring out the closest window at the landscape passing by, lost in their thoughts. “What’s your name, kid?” The stranger continued his query. “Sp…Sprout Cloverleaf.” Sprout stammered slightly, speaking his name very quietly. He did try took look up and make eye contact, not wanting to seem rude or impolite. “Splinter Wood; a pleasure.” He extended friendly forehoof and Sprout guardedly extended a forehoof to return to shake. Splinter Wood gave a small chuckle at Sprout’s nervousness. “Do you know where we’re headed (cough!)?” Sprout’s mouth was so dry that his words came out like a raspy smoker’s whisper; like he had no voice. He tried to clear his throat, trying not to look too nervous. “No plumb idea. I’ve never been out of Pommel County in my life; out west of the Canterlot River from here. Where ya’ from, Sprout?” “Appaloosa County.” “Never been there, sounds nice enough.” Splinter Wood shrugged when hearing where Sprout hailed from, not really sure where that was. He didn’t push Sprout for too much information about him, sensing the red pony was on edge and looking a bit pale, unnerved by this trip and unsure what was to come next. Sprout, for his part, didn’t go into much detail when answering Splinter’s questions, fearing he’d reveal something about himself that he might regret. This small talk went on for perhaps another twenty minutes until they could feel and hear the train was now slowing down, coming into their destination at last. The two other stallions in the car, too, realized what was happening and collected themselves for what was coming. “We’ll catch up later.” Splinter Wood returned to his seat, waiting like the others for whatever officer was to receive them, and take them off the train. The car came to its shuddering stop at the platform of the depot. Through his window, Sprout spotted a yellow stallion stepping towards the car door. There was that distinct metallic sound of a key sliding into the car’s locked door. Ca-click! Click! Scre-e-e-e-ek! The lock unlatched and the heavy metal car door slid back on its dry tracks, the lack of lubricant made a horrible loud metallic scraping sound that caused all who heard it to grit their teeth in reaction. In stepped the yellow stallion that opened the door, turning and walking right to where Sprout and the three others sat. “On your hooves, the four of ya’!” He ordered, his green eyes glaring right at them. Sprout didn’t hesitate when given the order, getting to his hooves quickly and stepped out into the isle. Splinter Wood and the other two stallions did likewise, not wanting to keep the guard pony waiting. “Outside, let’s go!” The yellow stallion ordered and the four of them filed out of the car and onto the station platform. Two things caught Sprout’s attention the moment he stepped out of the transport car. Straight away, he spotted three more guards waiting close by, each was armed with ‘flick sticks’; spring-loaded batons strapped to a foreleg of an officer. A pony swung out his or her foreleg with which it’s strapped to, and the baton’s light-tension spring would allow the wooden shaft to extend out, striking the target. Used for subduing riotous and unruly ponies by force, they were standard issue to all police departments across Equestria, including Maretime Bay. But Hitch had gone against standard practice and chose not to issue them. Available to use if necessary and kept in a locker for safety? Yes. A standard issue item for his department when they were on patrol? Not if Hitch could help it. ‘Presence is power, Sprout. If they see and respect the pony on patrol, then they’ll respect the badge and the law behind it. By winning over trust of the citizens, it almost guarantees you won’t need to use one.’ That was something Hitch had tried to teach him when becoming a deputy; learning how to build a rapport with the community so if they see something and suspect something, they would come to you and tell. That was how a bad element was kept from taking root in their little town and kept every pony safe. But now seeing the guards now armed with them made the batons seem more intimidating and threatening. He knew from his police training how much it hurts to be struck with one and had no intention of reliving the experience. The second thing that hit Sprout like a brick in the muzzle was the sheer intensity of heat and humidity from what he was accustomed to back in Maretime Bay. The sun was merciless with its intensity, causing him to blink a few times and catch his footing as he staggered slightly. It took him a couple of seconds to adjust. “Let’s get movin’.” The yellow stallion led them to the far end of the platform and down the small flight of stairs to the ground. The three other guards followed right behind them, keeping Sprout and the others within striking distance of their batons. Sprout and his fellow interns followed the lead officer down the dirt road away from the station, heading into the rural backwoods of this area and out of sight of any pony. They walked along in silence, no one speaking up to question of where they were going or why they had to walk to get there. The still heat and mugginess did nothing to make this trek any more bearable for any of them, unaccustomed to the environment. There was a long, gradual bend in the road that brought them alongside a meandering stream as they headed further into the wooded countryside. Being so close to the water brought an onset of biting insects to feast upon them. Every pony walking along was swishing the pests away with their tails, annoyed with their persistency. “Geez, what do these things eat when they can’t get ponies?!” Splinter Wood snarled aloud as he swatted away more of the pernicious bugs flying all around his head. This irksome interlude was short lived as they eventually came to meet up with the body of water that fed the stream they were walking along. There was a vast wetland stretching out to their right so dense with vegetation that it was impossible to see beyond. This was a sight for Sprout to see for himself, never seeing cypress trees or a real swamp. He’d never been more than thirty or so miles from his hometown and this landscape was as unfamiliar and as alien as any he’d seen before. They soon reached a fork in the road and bore onto the left fork, heading away from the wetland areas and stream and out of the range of the biting insects, for which they were all grateful to get away from. Coming up into view, perhaps another two-hundred yards ahead Sprout spotted what appeared to be the beginnings of a fenced-in area and the roofs of some buildings just beginning to be seen. Steadily closer they approached. Sprout could actually see what their final destination was after this brief two-mile walk as the entire compound came into view. Its appearance caused Sprout to wonder about this place and the idea of what he thought ‘going to jail’ was like. The lead officer stopped ahead of them, pointing out to them where to stand. “You stallions get lined up over here,” he pointed to a white spray-painted rectangle on the dirt ground. The spot was right in front of the porch of a small and tidy-looking white slat-board sided house with blue shutters and a white-picketed fence. Sprout saw a stallion kneeling behind the security fence who was watching with two hound dogs by his side. One of the dogs gave a couple of yelps and woofs at the four new arrivals, annoying the officer who’d lead them here. “Kibble, you gonna keep them dogs quiet?” The lead officer groused, annoyed at the dog’s brief whining and yelping. “Sorry, sir. They just caught a whiff of the newbie’s scents.” The brown stallion held the leashes of his hounds a bit tighter, maintaining control over the dogs. The two hounds settled down at his control. The lead officer walked over to the porch-front where a tan stallion wearing a smart-looking white shirt and a fedora hat stepped outside from the house and onto the porch, looking over the new arrivals. The lead officer handed this pony a manilla folder with official paperwork. “What have we got here today, Mr. Buttercup?” He took the folder from officer Buttercup and removed its contents held within. Mr. Buttercup sneered at the foursome standing off to his right. “Looks like four of the sorriest sacks of pony shit I’ve ever seen, Warden!” He slowly walked over to give each one a look-over, casing each one up and down to see if there was a troublemaker in their midst. “Maybe, but let’s have a look here at the files anyhow.” The warden licked his dry lips while looking over the first file, speaking up to find out which one the four in front of him was the one. “Uh, Quickstep, case two-six-zero; convicted of mareslaughter and sentenced to two years.” “It was an accident, mister!” The pale gray stallion softly pleaded, repeating his case once more. “My harness broke and the cart rolled down-” “You call the warden, Warden. You hear?” Mr. Buttercup poked his left forehoof firmly in Quickstep’s chest, giving him a warning look before moving on down the line of newbies. Quickstep gulped down the lump in his throat, fearing this pony’s ire. “Stargazer, case two-eight-nine; convicted of trespassing and resisting arrest; sentenced to one year.” The Warden continued on with the next file and to the third pony standing in front of him. The light blue pony with the styled gray mane spoke up, responding with a snarky tone in his voice. “I was in the bathroom when they locked up the planetarium and I couldn’t get out, the stupid morons!” Mr. Buttercup did not like this pony’s attitude and let know it be known, striking Stargazer hard in the hind legs with his baton and causing Stargazer to crumble to his knees. “Shut that damn smart mouth of yours, fella! You call the warden, Warden, you got that?!” The warning came through loud and clear as Stargazer corrected himself. “Yes, Mr. Buttercup.” “And you call all the rest of us here Sir, got it?!” He wasn’t done with him just yet, moving in close to Stargazer’s left ear to speak and make his point clear. “Yes, Sir.” Stargazer was not going to make this mistake again, looking down at the ground in submission when answering. But the Warden didn’t seem too concerned about this particular new arrival’s attitude. They all got in line with the program soon enough. “This stallion’s goin’ to make us proud of him, Mr. Buttercup?” He continued on with the next file. “Uh, Splinter Wood?” “Right here, Warden.” Splinter raised a forehoof to identify himself to the warden. “Case number three-oh-two; convicted of breakin’ an’ enterin’ and assault; sentenced to five years,” Something else caught the warden’s eye, something useful to his operations here, “and a former member of the Carpenters Union, to boot.” Splinter Wood took a quick look around, seeing two or three other inmates maintaining the buildings and tending to the grounds. He played his hand as best he thought. “I figure that might come in real handy ‘round here, Warden, seeing that you’re sprucin’ up the place an’ all.” The warden gave a sideway head nod in some kind of vague agreement while finishing his reading over of his file. “Maybe,” he got to the last file in the collection. “Uh, Sprout Cloverleaf?” Sprout raised a foreleg, speaking quietly. “Right here, Warden.” “Case three-five-one; convicted of maliciously destroying private property and… vehicular assault. Uh, what was that?” The warden was briefly perplexed, unsure if he’d ever seen two more mismatched charges in one case against a pony. His curiosity got the better of him and had to know. Looking up, it struck the warden to see just how young this last pony was, guessing Sprout had to be in his early twenties at most. Sprout hesitated a little before speaking up; unsure of what these ponies might think when he told them what he had done. “I… I modified a construction bulldozer and tried to tear down an ex-friend’s house in a fit of rage, Warden.” The three other newbies all turned to look at Sprout, unsure of what they’d heard. It threw off both the warden and Mr. Buttercup as well, never hearing such a weird thing to do to land a pony in jail with. The warden stood there listening, his imagination trying to conjure up an image of what Sprout’s peculiar crime might have looked like. As dumb as it seemed comical, it prompted the most obvious question from the warden. “Huh. We ain’t never had one like you here before. What’d you think doin' that was gonna get ya’?” Sprout didn’t answer immediately, looking away briefly to try to come up with the right words to explain his actions that day. He looked up at the warden again, shrugging ever so slightly. “I guess you could say I just wasn’t thinking, Warden.” The warden was still perplexed as he read aloud more of Sprout’s file, finding Sprout’s background was the exact opposite of every other convict under his watch at this facility. “Well… it says here you previously served as a pony of the Law; graduating in the top five of your class from the academy, two commendations from your department for bravery in the line of duty, a commendation for life-saving acts during a natural disaster and a special blue-shield EMS pin award for community service.” He looked up again at Sprout, still perplexed by this collection of conflicting facts of crime and background. “Son, this don’t make no sense.” Sprout answered honestly, looking up at the pony wearing the fedora. “I was just dedicating my time to serving, Warden.” The warden quite honestly didn’t know what to make of Sprout. Still, he’d been convicted and that was enough of an explanation for him. “Well ya'll got yourself some time to dedicate here; two years’ worth.” He pointed to Sprout’s file, showing the sentence handed down to him at his trial. The warden addressed all four of them, giving them a quick introduction to what kind of ponies they’ll find while here. “Well, heck, that ain’t much time for your four but we got a couple of fellas here that’s servin' a stretch of twenty years each. We’ve got one fella servin' all his years here. We’ve got all kinds of ponies servin' here, and ya’ll gonna fit in just fine with them. But in case you get struck with ‘pegasus in the blood’ and try to fly on outa’ here to take off for home, you’ll get yourself a bonus stayin’ time and a set o' leg chains to slow ya’ down just a little bit, as a safety precaution of course.” Quickstep, Stargazer, Splinter and Sprout were a bit surprised by the rather blasé way the warden spoke about this place, watching him casually lean his right withers up against one of the white porch-roof supports while talking to them. The warden handed one of the sheets of paper from the files back to Mr. Buttercup; a list of the names of the new inmates and what time they had to serve. “The rules around here are simple and you’ll learn them soon enough. Trust me when I say it’s all in your hooves. Now, I can be a good guy and we can get along just fine while you’re here, or I can be the meanest sombitch you’d ever met.” The warden watched their reactions, seeing them become uncomfortable at the idea of what they could be subjected to while they were under his watch for misbehaving. None of them seemed particularly interested in finding out just what. He noticed the red earth-pony on the end, the youngest of the four, actually shrinking away slightly at the warning. He made it simple for them to understand the situation as he retreated to his waiting wicker chair to sit down on and the tall glass of lemonade to quench his thirst. “It’s all in your hooves now.” He reiterated as he plopped himself down and looked over at these new arrivals, wondering how they were going to work out. “Alright, let get movin’.” Mr. Buttercup pointed out the way, back down the little gravel hoof-path to the main gate of the compound, just to the right. Single file, they marched to the gate; a guard on the inside unlocked the two chain-link fence doors that was the only entry or exit out of the compound. Sprout still had a hard time understanding quite what he was looking at, the expectation of what he was going to find and what was actually here were complete opposites of what he imagined. This is… jail? He caught his brain asking himself this again, questioning if this was really where he was going to spend the next two years. The buildings were all wood framed, single-story structures painted white with green shingled roofs; a living space for the incarcerated, a kitchen, guard’s quarters and four guard towers at each corner of the fencing that were barely eight feet from off the ground. The entire compound was surrounded by only a single row of eight-foot-tall chain-link fence without any barb wire. Sprout would have believed any earth-pony worth his salt could jump that fence with enough of a running start and make a break for it. Mounted above the entryway to the compound hung a sign, reading: ‘Division of Corrections, Work Camp number Ten’. “One at a time through, move it!” Mr. Buttercup ordered. Through the chain-link doors and straight to the barracks they went. They stood in line, waiting at the door to the barracks for the lead officer. “Bringin’ them on in, gatekeeper!” Mr. Buttercup gave the door several hard bangs with a forehoof, calling out to someone on the inside of the barracks. A few seconds later, a guard pony appeared at another door adjacent to the main barrack’s entrance, bearing a key in one forehoof. He proceeded to unlock the outside door and pull it open, swinging the door back on its squeaky hinges. Mr. Buttercup passed along paperwork to this guard but did not follow them in. “Inside, move it!” Mr. Buttercup snarled at them, giving one of the new arrivals a warning look not to lag behind. The four newbies quickly stepped through the doorway and into a small holding hallway, boxing them in on both sides and above constructed of two-by- four wood frames and more chain-link fence. The door to the outside was still open with Mr. Buttercup watching. The whole space to stand in was tight, perhaps five-feet wide by ten-feet long in size. There was just enough room for them to just squeeze in. The same guard pony that had unlocked the outside door now unlocked the second inner security door remotely that would let Sprout and the others to enter the inmate’s living space. As they stepped inside, a pudgy middle-aged stallion dressed in a dirt-stained white collared shirt with his mane slicked-back and streaked with gray while puffing on a lit cigar, took the paperwork from the door guard they’d been given by Mr. Buttercup, quickly looking over the names of these new arrivals. He got down to business. “Listen up and listen good! You are assigned a bunk in which to sleep in and you will only sleep in the bunk assigned to you. Any pony sleeping in a bunk not assigned to him spends a night in The Stall.” He waved them on to follow him down the row of bunk-beds that lined each wall of the room. He pointed out an empty bunk and called out a name. “Stargazer!” The light blue pony moved to where he was instructed, finding on the thin mat that was to be his mattress to sleep on, a waiting pile of five clean blue work-shirts. Each shirt had the same number sewn on the front pocket sleeve that corresponded to the bunk he was assigned. He was number twenty-three. “Splinter Wood!” The pony in charge moved down a few paces then stopped, pointing to an upper bunk to the tan stallion that was to be his. Splinter hopped up into the bunk, finding five similar blue work-shirts waiting for him. He was assigned number twenty. “Quickstep!” The gray stallion moved across the room to the opposing row of bunks to the lower bunk being pointed out to him, nervous to be close to this pony in charge who incessantly puffed away at his stogie, polluting the air with its burnt tobacco odor. Quickstep reached down to pick up the shirt up off the top of the pile; he was assigned number seventeen. “Sprout Cloverleaf!” The pony in charge walked down past two bunks before stopping again, pointing to an upper bunk, positioned directly below one of the light fixtures that hung from the wood rafters. This was to be Sprout’s bunk. Clamoring up, Sprout sat on the meager padding and picked up a shirt from off the pile to read what number he had been assigned. He was number eleven. “You four get dressed in one of them shirts. Each one of them shirts got a laundry number on it. You will remember your number and always wear the shirts with your number on it. Any pony that don’t remember his number spends a night in The Stall.” Sprout and the others did as ordered, dressing in one of the shirts and listening to what was being recited to them. Splinter and Sprout hopped back down off their bunks to stand with Stargazer and Quickstep again, buttoning up their shirts while they listened. “These here are your servin’ bowels and ya’ keep them with ya’.” Bonk! Ba-bonk! Bonk! Four rough-looking, beaten up and very used-looking wood bowls were tossed onto a nearby table for them to use. “Any pony loses or breaks his servin’ bowl spends a night in The Stall.” This middle-aged stallion continued on with their education, sounding almost like a pre-recorded message of the list of dos and don’ts, slowly pacing up and down in front of some of the bunks nearby. “There’s no horsin’ around or fightin’ in the building at any time. You got a grudge against another pony; you two settle it out in the yard on Saturday afternoons. Any pony horsin’ around or fightin’ in the building spends a night in The Stall.” “First bell is at five minutes to eight; you will get in your bunk. Last bell is at eight, any pony not in his bunk at eight spends a night in The Stall. You get two bed sheets; every Saturday, you put the clean sheet on the top, the top sheet on the bottom and the bottom sheet you turn in to the laundry pony. Any pony turnin’ in the wrong bed sheet spends a night in The Stall. No pony will sit on their bunks without showering first from outside work detail. Any pony caught sittin’ on his bunk without showering first spends a night in The Stall. Any pony don’t bring back his empty pop bottle spends a night in The Stall. Any pony loud-talking spends a night in The Stall.” He finished his speech with a small huff of exhaustion, now addressing them directly. “You got questions, you come to me. I’m Sugarfoot, the floor-walker. I’m responsible for maintaining order in here.” He looked right at Sprout, checking to see if this youngster understood what he was saying. “Know what happens to a pony that don’t help maintain order in here, boy?” “Th… they spend a night in The Stall?” Sprout managed to get the words out, sounding rather timid and unsure of just what ‘the stall’ was but figured that was probably the answer. Sugarfoot rolled the cigar around to the other side of his mouth, clamping it tightly in between his teeth. A tiny smile of satisfaction appeared on his lips. “You catch on real fast, junior. I can see you’re not going to be a hard case to deal with.” As Sprout and the three others collected their bowls from off the table, Sugarfoot stood over by the chain-link fence door, watching as the score of inmates returned from work detail and were heading right for the barracks. “Thirteen… fourteen… fifteen…” Each pony announced his number to the counting officer standing at the main gate of the compound, the counting officer marking off on a clipboard each inmate’s number as present. The inmates trotted up into the barracks, pass Mr. Buttercup and some greeting Sugarfoot as they entered, going right past them. Sprout noticed several of the inmates were wearing leg chains, the distinct metallic clinking of the links alerting him. One of the inmates, seeing Sprout and the three others standing in the barracks getting dressed, stopped to point out to each one as he counted. “One… two… three… four,” he stopped another inmate on his way in, a tallish pony with a sandy-blonde mane and tail that was wearing glasses and was covered in dirt and grime. “See? I told ‘ya. There’s four of ‘em this go ‘round. You owe me a cold drink, High Stakes. I was right this time.” The sandy-blonde pony named High Stakes looked around at the four new arrivals, disappointed for losing the bet. “I owe ya’, Augusta.” More followed, passing by them without even so much as a look. But one pony stopped to ask them a question. “Hey, any of you guys from Saddle Brook County?” He looked at the foursome, three shaking their heads. Sprout pointed to himself. “I’m from Appaloosa County, east of you. Sorry.” He knew of the county asked of, remembering it from the map that hung inside the station house right above Hitch’s desk. “Meh, forget it.” The brown and white pony waved it off with a forehoof and continued on to the showers, eager to clean up and get ready for mealtime. The other inmates headed on for the showers, joking to themselves and going on about the newbies looking so clueless standing there. Sprout didn’t know what to make of this, just trying to deal with the fact he was here was enough for his brain. More of the inmates came trotting in, all covered with sweat and grime from working all day outside. He looked around at Stargazer and the others, all thinking the same questions. All four of them were sure they were going to get the answers as soon as those guys got cleaned up and back out here. Sprout was more than a little intimidated by the looks of some of the inmates. Worse, the age gap between him and the others was even more apparent. One or two looked old enough to be his mom’s age. He was the youngest pony here and he could not help but feel vulnerable by this fact. Splinter Wood gave Sprout a small pat on his back, getting Sprout’s attention away from watching those inmates heading for the showers and to look at him. “Don’t let ‘em scare ya’, kid. Just be cool and it’ll be fine.” Splinter’s easy smile quelled a little of Sprout’s apprehension, letting him know he had backup should he need it. Sprout would do as his new acquaintance advised; just be cool and especially watch what he said. The last thing he wanted to do was make enemies of these ponies on the first day.