//------------------------------//
// New Pastures 
// Story: One is Silver 
// by El Dante 
//------------------------------//

	The limb shook from its base with an even but intensifying rhythm. At the perfect moment, Jacqueline Apple stalled the final downward bend before releasing it. The apples fell softly from the branch and landed in the barrel-bottom basket below, cushioned by the tall grass underneath. Not one apple was bruised.
    Applejack, as she was known, lowered herself from the branches. She removed her flimsy leather hat and wiped the sweat from her brow. The sleeves of her plain white cotton work shirt were cut short, and the power of her arms could easily be seen. She was not of a particularly bulky build, but the long years of farm life were evident on her well-developed form. 
    As she walked over to the next tree, already set with baskets around it, she shaded her eyes with her hat see a stranger, a Starcrest with dark purple hair, riding past on a fine stallion. Perched on her shoulder was a rather odd lizard that didn't seem to be enjoying the ride. "That ain't a riding skirt," Applejack said to herself. The rider had to lean far forward to avoid compromising her attire, but her position seemed appropriate for her full gallop. Any slower and it would have been unbecoming. "Nice to see a new face 'round here, though," said Applejack. The stranger followed the path leading into town, rounded a hill and passed out of view.   
Some time later, Applejack slid out of the final tree of the row after finishing with the last branch. The day’s picking taken care of, she headed back to the house for her sister. They had just bought a new expanse of land, and Applebloom still had to learn to plow.
She traced back several trees, but stopped when she crossed rows. “Hey, you!”
The figure stooping over the basket gave a startled jump. She hastily tied the sack and sprinted down the row.
“Stop, thief!”
The thief was faster than Applejack had expected, even with the load. She was quickly losing ground to her. The day’s picking had left her ill-prepared for the chase.
As they passed by her house, Applejack quickly ran inside and retrieved something from the entryway dresser drawer. In seconds, she was out the door again.
The thief was getting crafty, and started to weave between the rows. Applejack followed as best she could, but could now catch only glimpses of her. When the thief finally broke from the field, she was riding horseback. Applejack couldn’t tell when she had mounted, but could now at least get a good look at her.
She had twin curls her hair, magenta and navy-blue. Her simple white dress was well-worn and had yellowed with age, but was surprisingly clean.
Knowing that on foot she would be no match for a horse, Applejack stopped and took aim. She held in hand a device few would believe achievable, capable of firing pre-primed rounds in quick succession. The revolver. As it had not yet reached the industry, its components were crudely hand-crafted, as were the bullets. Though the concept was promising, what Applejack held was not yet as effective or reliable as blade or bow, and prone to jamming in unfamiliar hands. But here it would suffice.
Bang! Bang!
Bang!
The shots split the air, echoing from the surrounding hills. The thief rode off with pace unbroken. Applejack had fired high, and had aimed to miss. The apples had been from the bruised basket, worth nothing on the market. Though they needed every sale they made, she understood stealing to eat. She knew that in her place, she would have to do the same. After all, all it would take...
Applejack perished the thought. She could not risk hitting the horse, she decided. To ride a horse that came to you was fine, hitching one a pardonable offence, but to harm one was sin.
“What was all that ‘bout?” Applebloom asked her once she returned to the house. “What happened?”
“Thief stole some apples,” answered Applejack, returning the revolver to its drawer. “She won’t be back.”
“D’ya shoot her?”
"Nah, missed. She got the idea, though." Young Applebloom seemed disappointed.
"C'mon, Bloom, let's see about that new plot." "And you’ll be doing a double shift of the plowing. Don’t moan. You earned yourself a detention today, if ya'll recall, and that's just what you get. You’re doing tomorrow's work today. Fair's fair." The two walked together down the seemingly endless rows of wonderful-smelling trees, the sun still high in the afternoon sky.
When they arrived at the plot, they found their older brother Macintosh already at the site, leaning on a post of the wire fence, watching what they had been awaiting for days to appear. The plot had already been weeded over the past week, and all the tools were in place, and at last the final piece had arrived.
"Horse showed up?" Applejack asked. It was a fairly obvious question, as the beautiful beast slowly roamed not ten yards beyond the fence before them, but it was a question she felt deserved to be asked.
"Eeyup," Mackintosh replied plainly, not taking his eyes from the much welcome creature.
"Well, time to hook 'em up," she said as she nimbly vaulted the fence.
Mackintosh gave a slight nod, eyes still held, his hair, fair with a hint of strawberry and well due for a trim, bounced lazily in front of his face. "Eeyup," he agreed, his low voice ringing heavily.
Applejack grabbed the coil of rope from a peg of the fence and tied one end of it into a slip-knot. Calmly she approached the horse and slid it down its strong neck, tightening it gently. She led the horse over to the plow, backed it up to it, and began to strap it in.
"Ain't that like hitchen them?" Applebloom worriedly asked from behind the fence.
"It's only to hold 'em steady so he don’t hurt himself," she replied, not looking up from the task at hand.
"Eeyup."
The horse, nervous at the intimidating device, gave a whinny and a fidget, cutting its flank on one of the metal shafts of the plow. "Dammit," Applejack muttered under her breath. "Like that."
"Ya hurt him! Lookit all them scars on his flank! This plowing job ain't safe. We shouldn't use horses for it," Applebloom decreed with a stubborn pout. "Why do we even need this here plot anyways?"
Just like a kid, Applejack thought to herself. Don't mind if someone gets shot, but lay a finger on a horse and we have to start a whole liberation.
 "Applebloom," Applejack turned briefly to her sister, "we need this plot to up our sales since we had to lower our prices to keep up with Flim-Flam United Fruit." She mockingly jerked her head with the name of the dominating trust. "And we don't hunt down these horses. They wander in when they please. The plows scare them some, sure, and they's a bit dangerous. There's always a risk. But look at them scars. This ain't his first time. Horses are anything but stupid. They ain't coming here on accident. They keep coming back, but they don't have to, they want to. They want to help." She belted the final strap and patted the horse's broad neck, stroking her fingers through its coarse mane.
Mackintosh chuckled, his massive shoulders heaving under his scarlet flannel shirt. His jaw protruded into an odd smile, droopy eyes pleased at his sister's words.
    "Eeyup."