Year Five: Out Of The Woodwork
Apple Bloom always rose with the dawn.
This morning, however, she shied away from it, burying her face beneath the covers. The stomping of hooves down the stairs near her room and general commotion below announced the departure of Granny Smith, Big Mac, and Applejack. All three elder Apples had cast their best dice the prior evening, bargaining with their youngest member.
“Babs ain’t gonna be back ‘till late tomorrowa mornin’, maybe midnight if the trains run good, Apple Bloom. Why don’t ya come ta the rodeo wit’ me? Ah’m sure ya’ll have a good time if ya do.” Applejack offered her a sincere grin.
“Ah’m fine,” Apple Bloom had said. “Ah think Ah’ll jus’ stay home an’ relax.”
“What’s that now, youngin’? Ya don’t wanna come wit’ yer big sister ta the rodeo?” Granny Smith asked, holding an ear trumpet up to her head and eying the filly suspiciously.
Again, Apple Bloom declined.
Big Macintosh chose to stay out of this particular brewing argument. The soft-spoken stallion reckoned the reason why, plain and blank as day. He decided not to press the issue, and cut Applejack off with a stern glare when she began to protest once more.
They’d left her alone accordingly.
Now, listening as Applejack fumbled with her saddlebags in the living room—“Tarnation! These things are gettin’ old!”—and Granny set a pot of oatmeal to boil on the kitchen stove, Apple Bloom fought the sunrise. She threw the blankets over herself and closed her eyes, transporting herself to a place beyond Sweet Apple Acres.
In her mind’s eye, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo didn’t cancel their Crusader meetings with awkward, forced smiles and half-truths. There, Babs Seed didn’t hold her close and launch into tired reassurances that the day would come, and it would be brilliant and glorious and wonderful. There, other ponies didn’t whisper behind her back in Cheerilee’s class, placing bets on just how long it would be before she threw up her hooves in submission and accepted her fate.
Permanent blankflanks were unheard of in present-day Equestria. An old book of equine history, quietly borrowed from Twilight’s library and kept concealed within her saddlebags, revealed to Apple Bloom that this had not always been the case. There had been some ponies long, long ago who never acquired their special talent.
Dark, ancient days forced those unlucky beings into servitude and slavery. They were regarded as slightly better than mules, though not on the same scale as full-fledged ponies, regardless of race. Those times, of course, were gone with the dust of yesteryear and vowed never to return again (long as Celestia had some say in governance). Still, the past premise and slim possibility sent a chill down Apple Bloom’s spine.
She’d tried everything. Sweetie, Scoots, and Babs picked the very corners of their brains, scooping out gray matter and ideas, but nothing worked. Nothing. Every occupation short of Royal Guard or royalty itself had been tested and found worthless.
Apple Bloom loved Babs Seed so, but found no solace in her words.
“Go, Babs. Go an’ see yer sister. Ah’ll still be here,” she’d reassured Babs, watching her pack away an overnight saddlebag for the trip.
Babs trotted over and nuzzled her filly’s neck. “Are youze sure youze’ll be alright? Youze been awful quiet lately.”
“Ah’m fine,” Apple Bloom lied. Swallowing honesty—grateful she was not an Element, unlike her sibling—deception surfaced, and added with a forced grin, “Ah’m jus’ tired. Been studyin’ too much, Ah think. Ah think Ah jus’ need ta sleep in an’ relax fer a while.”
Babs Seed narrowed her gaze. “But youze neva study. An’ youze do betta on dem tests than me.”
“Heh, well, first time fer everythin’, right?”
“I guess so…”
“Jus’ say hi ta Citrus fer me, please?”
“O’ course.”
Apple Bloom despised liars and lying. The truth, however, proved to be far too difficult for her to articulate. Everypony knew it anyway. There was no use in complaining or whining or ranting about it; her words never drew her closer to obtaining the sacred mark, anyhow. The bottom of her heart urged optimism and determination. The rest of it folded its cards and walked away from the table.
Eight years of crusading—five of which took place with her favorite filly in the entire Universe—all amounted to naught. She was bare. It was worthless. Maybe, she was worthless, too.
Apple Bloom groaned, muzzle to the pillow, wishing to sleep again, all day if she could. Summer sun would derail her plans, along with the call of duty. Applejack likely left a list of chores behind in the kitchen, just as she always did. Apple Bloom sighed. No rest could be found for the wicked or the blankflanked.
Downstairs, the farmhouse door creaked open, its hinges crying for oil. Heavy hoof-steps of Big Macintosh exited first, slow and steady. Light, eager hooves of Applejack followed him, and then, last but not least, the careful steps of an elderly mare were the last to leave. A slam of a door, a click of a door strike, and the front door was secured, leaving only its upstairs occupant.
A set of paws bounded across the floorboards and crossed her threshold, unwilling to be forgotten. A tongue panted eager ha-ha-ha, and a bell on a collar rang out "Good morning" in familiar happy-critter-talk.
“Mornin’, Winona,” Apple Bloom whispered, peeking out from under her blankets. The hound barked happily and hopped over, tail wagging and eyes bright. She nudged her mistress’s forehoof with a cold, wet nose, urging her out of bed. Apple Bloom chuckled and shook her head. “No, not yet. Heh. Come up here, girl. It’s too damn early ta get up.”
Winona plopped down on her haunches and looked quizzically at the filly.
“Ah said, Ah’m not gettin’ up.”
Winona whined and tilted her head to the side, confused.
Apple Bloom repeated, “Ah’m not gettin’ up, Winona. Ya can sit there an’ make puppy-dog eyes at me all ya want. But Ah’m not gettin’ up.”
Celestia’s rays blared through her window, coaxing her eyelids to greet the dawn. Again, Apple Bloom hid, reluctant to face the new morning. No promise whispered in the sunlight. She would be alone all blasted, cursed day, a whole farm to her responsibility.
Jumping on the bed, the hound leaned down on top of her master and licked her ear. “Aaah! Winona! Stop that!”
WOOF! WOOF! (“Don’t you think it’s time to get up yet?”)
Apple Bloom attempted to swat the dog away, flailing a forehoof behind her. Winona saw this only as a game and began to play with the hoof, wrapping her paws around it, pouncing on it, prey pursued by predator.
“Go away! Ah jus’ wanna sleep, Winona!”
The dog switched sides and licked Apple Bloom’s cheek, barking into her ear. RRRRRUFF! RRRRUFF! (“You know moping never solves anything, right?”)
Defeated, the filly wrestled out from her blankets, flinging them to the floor. Her faithful companion tugged on one of her fetlocks, growling playfully. Apple Bloom sighed and relented, “Alright, Ah’m up! Sheesh! Ya must be hungry o’ somethin’. Come on…”
Rubbing the last remnants of sleep from her tired eyes, Apple Bloom followed the farmhoud out of her room, hooves stomping against the cold floorboards. Winona happily weaved in-and-out of her hooves, tail wagging and brushing against her fur, yipping with glee.
Apple Bloom rolled her eyes. “At least one o’ us is happy ta be awake,” she muttered, lumbering down the stairs and towards the dimly lit kitchen.
YIP! YIP! YIP! (“It’s such a beautiful day, silly filly! Just you and me! We’ll get to play all day!”)
Winona guided her mistress into the kitchen and pawed at her empty food dish. She crinkled her nose and looked pleadingly up at the unamused pony, who merely sighed and fumbled through the pantry for a bag of dog food.
One happy hound later, Apple Bloom scoured the kitchen, finding, to her chagrin, Applejack’s infamous list. The litany awaited her on the icebox, staccato hoof-writing resigning her “day off” to a monotony of farm chores.
“Let’s see... feed the pigs, clean the cellar, collect the eggs, check the fields, check the orchards... Horseapples, Applejack. Ah shoulda jus’ went wit’ ya to the rodeo!” Apple Bloom grumbled, cursing her foalishness.
A well-fed hound dog accompanied a reluctant filly out of the farmhouse and towards the fields. On the horizon, dawn broke in full swing, shades of red, yellow, and orange, announcing a new day, a new promise, a new hope. Holding, within its cloudless sky, a wellspring of magic, potential, possibility.
The future, and change, as they always do, belong to everypony, though not every pony can discern it. Some, like Apple Bloom, her every hoof-step chipping at a journey of a thousand miles, require their blinders to be removed, first.
And while some, like Babs Seed before her, found destiny early and bright and obvious, others heeded the mantra of wait and bide, however reluctantly, however unknown. The truth waits for nopony, nor advances for anypony. It is bound by no schedule, undeterred by any obstacle, unspurred by any urging.
Apple Bloom trotted out into the dawn.
~
The sun rose to its apex in the atmosphere once Applejack’s final task had been completed. Sweat dripping from her wild, unbrushed mane and her unshorn fetlocks, Apple Bloom fell down into the grass. She crossed her forehooves behind her head and peered up at the cloudless blue sky, perfection mocking her from above.
“Ah wonder what Babs an’ Citrus are doin’. O’ Applejack. O’ Granny an’ Mac. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all,” she mused. Beside her, a loyal Winona only curled up on the grass and began to snore in response.
Though tempting, Apple Bloom could find no sliver of slumber within her. She knew she wouldn’t find it until very late tonight. It had been like this for the past few weeks; she would fight to awake with the dawn, reverting to a laziness usually reserved for Babs Seed. Once awake, she could not find sleep until the very last seconds of twilight. Seemingly nothing had instigated it.
There were no bullies in Cheerilee’s class anymore—not if Babs had anything to say about it. Diamond Tiara, abandoned by her best and only friend, regressed to silent daggers and piercing glares. Nothing vile uttered from her fetid maw anymore. Silver Spoon proved to be only an acquaintance. At the very least, this kept a second potential antagonist from the Crusaders and their games.
The Apple Family remained supportive and generally cheerful. Applejack appeared more worried about the farm and finances than normal, but otherwise, Apple Bloom could detect no crisis. No, this strange insomnia, this malaise and despondence, came from somewhere within her heart and soul. It scared her.
No. It terrified her.
She cursed herself, knowing that she was worrying not just her filly, but everypony who cared about her. Only one year stood between her and adulthood, and here she was, blankflanked as a newfoal, beginning to lose hope and steam and will and why was the sky so damn blue on a day like this?
Apple Bloom petted Winona, careful not to wake the hound from her peaceful slumber. Rising to her hooves, she reasoned that if anything could cheer her up, it would be found in the far corner of the orchards.
Hooves pointed towards the south, Apple Bloom broke into a trot, then a canter, than a gallop, determined to kick away the black cloud above her, pegasus wings or not.
~
“What the?!”
Apple Bloom shook her muzzle, slamming her eyes shut. No. She was still asleep. She was still in her bed, alone, cowering beneath the covers, brushing Winona away. She was still in the farmhouse—the dark, dim, cold farmhouse. She wasn’t here.
She wasn’t seeing this.
Apple Bloom opened her eyes again.
There, nestled between the branches, were the remains of the Cutie Mark Crusaders clubhouse. Well, that’s what it used to be. Any good number of adjectives or nouns suited it far more sufficiently at this moment: wreck, shell, skeleton, crumbled heap of rusted nails and mold-stained wood.
Between Sweetie Belle’s vocal lessons, Scootaloo’s flying sessions with Rainbow Dash, and the seemingly endless myriad of chores Applejack demanded from Babs and Bloom, nopony had visited this part of the orchard in weeks. Months. What purpose did it serve, anyway?
One of the upper branches of the strong apple tree had weakened and faltered, crashing straight through the roof. The heat of the summer sun, coupled with a fresh round of mold spores blowing through the breeze and the dip of night’s mercury, cultivated a colony of black mold along the outer walls of the clubhouse. A few of the floorboards were missing. These had most likely, Apple Bloom surmised, fallen to the same curse as the outer walls. Ropes connecting the drawbridge to the platform around the structure hung by their threads. The drawbridge itself threatened to break and burst under the filly’s hoof, Apple Bloom cautiously testing its strength.
Apple Bloom’s incredulous expression morphed into pure, unrefined rage. Her lips drew back in an animalistic snarl, her brow furrowed.
“So this is what Ah get! Ah’m the only one left, the only one who’s bothered ta come by this thing, an’ it’s broke?!” she screamed, blood pumping furiously through her boiling veins, fueling the trembling within her limbs. Apple Bloom pointed towards the rot on the walls. “How could this have happened?! How could nopony notice?!”
The bright summer afternoon contained no answers for her. Birds perched in nearby apple trees chirped obliviously, a few pegasi soared above in the cloudless sky, chasing the thermals, and the wind began to tumble and wrestle the grass, whispering its wisdom. It fell on deaf, flattened ears, one filly face-hoofing and arguing in the confines of her mind.
Would it be worth fixing? Or would it just be a waste of time, effort, and materials? And, if she determined it was worth it, who would help her? Sweet Apple Acres possessed only a blankflank and a hound dog on its roster; neither of them were particularly skilled carpenters.
Eight years. Eight years of Crusades—all, in the end, unsuccessful—rotted and shattered and hung in the balance before her. Apple Bloom’s first instinct was to just gallop away, pretend she’d never seen it, and go back to bed. Go back to her dreams, to her fields of green and gold, heading off into the horizon with Babs Seed, to a place where she knew who she was at last.
Apple Bloom cursed her weakness, and with a sigh, said, “Ah guess Ah’ll go see if anypony in town can help me wit’ this. We’ve still got a year. Maybe we’ll use it again.”
Silently, she added, Befo’ they leave us behind, fer Cloudsdale an’ Canterlot.
~
Pinkie Pie stuck her head through the top half of Sugar Cube Corner’s front door. “Hiya, Apple Bloom! How are you doing today on this grrrrrrrrrrrrrreat day?! Ooh! Would you like to try a cupcake?”
The party pony magicked a random cupcake from thin air and offered it to the frowning filly. “I made them myself! They have a super secret special ingredient! Oooooooooh! I’ll tell you if you promise to keep it a secret!”
Apple Bloom shook her head and mustered a weak smile. “That’s alright, Pinkie Pie. Ah actually was wonderin’ if ya’ve seen Scoots o’ Sweetie Belle ‘round today.”
“Ooh! Scootaloo was here earlier, with that one coltfriend of hers—oh, it was just so cuuuuuuuuuuute!” Pinkie gushed. She clapped her forehooves together and hopped excitedly. “Silly filly thought I was in the back but I was watching! And they were so cute and omigosh I can’t wait until I find my special somepony too and... oh! Did you want a cupcake?”
“Er... that’s alright, Pinkie. Thanks anyway. Ah’m gonna go ask Rarity instead.”
“Well, alrighty then! And don’t forget the gliiiiiiiiiiiiiiter!”
For no apparent, known reason, Pinkie Pie dumped an entire bucket of lusterdust on the filly, who summoned a half-hearted thanks and took off towards Carousel Boutique. “Ah bet Ah know what that 'special ingredient' is,” she mumbled, shaking waves of gold glitter from her mane.
~
“Oh my stars, darling! Look at your mane!” Rarity exclaimed, nearly fainting at the sight. “Oh my, my, my, my dearest Apple Bloom, you must let me fix that up for you!”
Backing away from the door and the distraught unicorn, Apple Bloom dismissed, “Ah’m fine, Rarity! Ah was jus’ wonderin’ if—”
“Nonsense! Please, come in!”
Apple Bloom dug her hooves into the dirt. “No,” she replied, firm. “Ah was jus’ wonderin’ if Sweetie Belle was here still. Ah need her help wit’ somethin’.”
Rarity stifled a gasp with a forehoof. “She didn’t tell you, darling?”
“Didn’t tell me...what?” Apple Bloom raised curious eyebrow.
“Sweetie Belle is in Trottingham this weekend, working with one of the finest vocal coaches in all of Equestria!” Rarity gushed, her eyes sparkling with visions of fame and fortune. Riches and notoriety eluded the fashionista; perhaps, vicariously, they could find her sibling, and she could rejoice in what would never be. She could only hope.
Rarity continued, “Oh, yes, Apple Bloom, she is definitely on the radar now! Why, once you beautiful fillies graduate, I bet all the stars in Canterlot she’ll be going on tour! She has quite a powerful voice, you know.”
“Heh... yeah...” Apple Bloom sighed, crestfallen. “So she ain’t here is what yer sayin’?”
Rarity blinked. “... Are you alright, my dear?”
“Ah’m fine. Thanks anyway, Rarity.”
Rarity reached out towards the uncouth filly, far too slow. Apple Bloom pivoted and kicked up her hindhooves, sending a cloud of dust in her wake. The fashionista coughed and muttered under her breath, “Just like Applejack, never taking fashion advice. Why, lusterdust? With her mane? Oh, it’s simply a crime against fashion!”
~
Against the dusty Ponyville roads, the rolling green hills, and the dirt of the fields, Apple Bloom thundered her hooves. To the southern fields she galloped, alone and apart, towards the clubhouse. Towards her memories, her foalhood dreams, now shattered and diseased.
“It’s not even worth it,” she mumbled, gritting her teeth, the wind catching her wavy mane. “It was stupid ta begin wit’. What did... it... git me? All o’ this...”
She reached her destination and paused. Taking a few, deep breaths, she gazed back towards Sweet Apple Acres and its empty farmhouse, back towards the mess before her, and back again.
Apple Bloom weighed her options. She could let it go, leave it be, pretend she’d never seen it. Nopony would care. Nopony would notice. Neglect reigned supreme, leading to this state of affairs.
Something deep, buried, a spark below her desperation whispered, “What’s the harm in trying?”
ARF! ARF!
Apple Bloom spun around, no longer alone. “Winona! What are ya doin’ out here? Get away from that clubhouse! It’s dangerous!”
ARF! ARF! (“You know you could fix it, right?”)
Winona ignored her, brushing against her hindhooves. Apple Bloom groaned. “Yer gettin’ on ma nerves today, Winona. Ah’m goin’ back home. Nothin’ worth salvagin’ here,” she muttered, gaze downcast to the taunting fields of green beneath her hooves.
RRRRRRUUUUUUUFF! (“You give up too easily.”)
Winona darted in the direction of the barn and back again, summoning her own beastly gods in prayer of telepathy. Her mistress blinked and rolled her eyes. Again she darted towards the barn and back to her hooves, nudging her snout in that direction. WOOOOOF! (“Big Mac keeps his tools there, silly filly!”)
And then, when Apple Bloom still didn’t get the message, Winona began nipping at the filly’s forehooves. GRRRRRR! (“You’re as stubborn as a mule! And they say you Earth ponies are smart? Ha!”)
Desperate, Apple Bloom grumbled, “If Ah follow ya, will ya leave me alone?!”
YIP! YIP! (“You got a deal, sister!”)
~
The doors to the barn swung wide, revealing little within. The few remaining animal friends who shared Sweet Apple Acres with the ponies wallowed in the mud near a section of fence. None dwelled within the barn anymore. The sheep, cows, and goats had been sold months ago. Applejack offered no explanation, saying only, “Times are gettin’ tough, Bloom. An’ you'll be a mare soon, an’ you'll know what Ah mean.”
Apple Bloom had shrugged it off, pretending to understand. So much awaited after that momentous year. Eighteen. She was almost seventeen now, one year of school to go, two summers until she’d be free to decide her fate. Fate and Destiny were a mystery. Brushing aside the summons of deeper, darker thoughts, Apple Bloom trotted inside the barn.
After locating a wheelbarrow, the filly set to work, opening Big Mac’s toolbox. Several hammers, saws, clamps, and a pound of nails were borrowed. A large stack of spare wood rested in a corner of the barn. This, too, was raided, boards and sheets of apple heartwood bundled up with the tools. Apple Bloom made a mental note to pay Big Macintosh back for the supplies. The bits she’d been provided through “earning her keep” would more than cover the cost.
Winona spun in circles, chasing her own scraggly tail, eliciting a final few giggles from her mistress. “Ya jus’ wanted me ta laugh an’ cheer up, didn’t ya, girl?” Apple Bloom chuckled, watching the hound lose her own games.
RRRRRUFF! (“Yes! But you feel better now, huh?”)
A slight spring in her step, Apple Bloom pushed the heavy wheelbarrow full of supplies towards the clubhouse. Mid-afternoon beckoned, leaving her to her own devices for the rest of the day. Babs Seed would be the first to arrive back, per Applejack’s timeline. Maybe, if she was lucky, Apple Bloom would repair it by then, or at least try to.
She didn’t want to go back to sleep. There was work to be done.
~
On the face of the Ponyville clock-tower, minutes, hours passed, the sun amplifying its temperature, leading many to seek refuge within their homes. The streets soon cleared, the town baked in the radiance of Celestia’s rays. Vendors packed up their carts for the day, gambling lost wages against the unrelenting heat. Mercury threatened to boil within its thermometer. The weather patrol team pulled no punches; the summer had been mild enough that a scorcher was due.
THUD! THUD! THUD!
Apple Bloom clutched two nails in her teeth and drilled another one into a fresh two-by-four on the side of the clubhouse. Balancing on her hindhooves, she reached up and smacked the hammer with all her might, driving the latest nail deep. Sweat drenched her mane and blurred her vision, taunting her, mocking her, constantly reminding her of the remaining option. She could quit. Nopony would know. Nopony would care.
Apple Bloom would, though, and the very thought ached more than her tired muscles or her fleeing breath. She would care. This was all she had left. Preservation at all costs. Keeping the dream, however broken, alive, was her mantra, a command repeating itself on endless loop within her consciousness. Keep going. Keep working.
She paused, spat the nails out, and took a brief rest before carefully climbing back down, avoiding the weakened drawbridge, which would be tackled next. Balancing a board on her back, Apple Bloom scampered back up to the platform.
She grasped a rotting, mildew-covered sideboard and pulled, hard as she could, her hooves trembling. The wood struggled but did not release, intent on being frozen, stuck in place, stuck in time. Apple Bloom cursed and yanked again. It stayed.
“Celestia damn it!”
Casting aside her tools, Apple Bloom wrapped her forehooves and braced her hindhooves against the offending board, shoving it this time. Bearing down her lean, sinewy figure upon it, the wood finally relented with a CRACK! Splinters dug into her fetlocks. She winced but grinned with smug satisfaction. The last board of this wall was ripped away, falling to the rotting floor instead.
One side down, one to go. And then the floor. And then the drawbridge. And the roof.
Apple Bloom threw back her mane and checked the position of the sun in the sky. Mid-day. 1500 or so. A few hours had passed. She gritted her teeth and continued anyway, despite her muscles and despite her thundering heartbeat, which both demanded rest.
For the first time in weeks, she felt strong. Alone.
~
Apple Bloom collapsed on the grass. She sprawled her forehooves, her body heaving, dripping with sweat, ligaments and tendons punishing her resolve. She’d lost count of the chimes of Ponyville’s clock-tower, of the morning star’s journey through the horizon, of the times she’d wanted nothing more than to trudge on back home. The roof had been the worst. She’d stretched carefully over the remaining shingles, hindhooves struggling for a grip. She’d fallen once, maybe twice. She couldn’t remember.
There’d been no breaks, no pauses, no in-betweens. Through it all, she’d let her mind wander to its deepest haze, its most secret fears, things that went bump in the night and exacerbated her insomnia. Things with far more significance than a cutiemark. Graduation. Adulthood. Sweet Apple Acres. The desert. Appleloosa. Babs Seed.
Babs Seed was going to leave. Apple Bloom bet all her meager bits on it. She’d never said it, but she knew. Babs didn’t have to say a word. A gleam and wonder twinkled within those emerald irises she adored so, a glint and a shimmer that no star could match, when she spoke of Appleloosa or the badlands beyond. The rumors were alive. Oil, silver, gold. Promise, possibility. Tabula rasa. New beginnings.
The bareness of her flank, her supreme lack of special talent (or any talent at all) dwarfed in comparison to that dilemma. Apple Bloom reckoned herself lucky and blessed to possess the foresight to know. Maybe, she thought, she even knew before Babs could fathom it. With the barrier of a year or so (or longer, given Babs's clueless nature) perhaps she could weigh the options, decide whether she’d stay or go.
Four would soon become two, Apple Bloom understood. All the promises of their foalhood, that they’d be friends forever, would amount to nothing in the call of dreams and destiny. Bittersweet. All those memories would be bittersweet.
Only a year remained. A year, and it would all change. Just like her mind, body, heart, and soul. Maybe not for the better. Maybe for the worse. Maybe. Too much anticipation. Too much uncertainty. Must go back to bed.
None of that mattered now. There was only the burning sensation through every fiber of her existence, the gentle rustle of the breeze over the grass. The sunset blazing in the heavens, seas of yellow, orange, and red, last dying embers of daylight.
And, Apple Bloom realized with a smile, the clubhouse.
“Ah did it,” she mumbled, peeking above the grass.
The Cutie Mark Crusaders clubhouse would hold fast now, a defiant edifice in the face of timeless, reckless, unforgiving Nature. Fresh boards carved from the heartwood of powerful apple trees supported its sidewalls. New shingles decorated and protected the roof, each nailed precisely and correctly next to its partner. The floor had been completely ripped out and replaced. What little that could be salvaged was thrown into a pile of dead, rotting wood below the structure, along with a bucketful of rusted nails and weathered shingles.
Apple Bloom stumbled to her hooves, panting, her stomach painfully empty, her throat scratchy, dry, parched. In a dream-like trance, she looked over her shoulder and whistled for Winona, finally ready and willing to head back inside, to sleep, to the darkness of dreams, to her carousel of thoughts.
Her words trailed off, unfinished, interrupted by a flash of light.
~
By the light of the moon, Babs Seed pointed her hooves towards home, down the crest of the highest hill. She struggled to keep her eyes open, fighting the call of the Sandmare. Damn it, Citrus, I was havin’ the best dream eva, an’ youze had ta go wake me up. Nearly tripping over a wayward stone in her path, Babs shook herself awake and followed the path to the farmhouse.
Down, down, down she trotted, through thickets of apple trees, the parish lantern in the pristine sky her guide when her eyes failed her. She exhaled, her breath a cloud of dragon’s-smoke, hoping against all hope that Apple Bloom was still awake. Or, instead, that Applejack or Big Macintosh had come home early. Granny Smith, even. Somepony to speak with, to bounce the night’s twisted turn of events off. Somepony to laugh with.
Reaching the door after a final, scattered eternity, Babs Seed fumbled with her key and opened the door. She entered slowly, keeping her hooves quiet, and slipped her saddlebag off her aching, sore back.
Through the darkness came a slow clip-clop of hooves and a smoky, “Hey, Babsy.”
Babs blushed, startled. “A-A-Apple Bloom? Why are youze downstairs?”
Apple Bloom joined her in the threshold, nuzzling her neck. Babs reached back to close the door, stopped by a forehoof on her shoulder. “Ah wanted ta show ya somethin’. Don’t close the door. Ah need the light.”
Confused, Babs Seed stammered, “Ah... all... alright?”
Trotting before her, moonlight illuminating her figure, Apple Bloom brushed her tail over her flank and grinned.
There it was, proudly displayed. Finally come, long and last, nowhere near to least. A tango of destiny, fate, the right choice, the right time. The cutiemark.
It was a shining red apple with a hammer and nails.
Babs Seed immediately embraced her filly and choked through happy tears, “I knew youze could do it! I knew youze would! An’ it’s beautiful, Bloom! It’s jus’ as beautiful as youze.”
Holding her tight, holding her close, Babs whispered, “I told youze neva ta give up. An’ youze neva did. I... I love youze, Bloom. An’ I’m so proud o’ youze.”
Returning the gesture, Apple Bloom whispered back, “Ah love ya too. But... Babs?”
“Yea?”
“There’s somethin’ Ah need ta ask ya."
Without missing a beat, Babs shot back, “Sure, Bloom. Shoot.”
Taking her forehooves in her own, Apple Bloom cautiously asked, “Do ya think a lot ‘bout... next year?”
Babs asked, “What do youze mean?”
“After... graduation. When we're all grown up, an' free ta choose. Where do ya wanna go? Do ya wanna stay here? On the farm? O’...”
Apple Bloom swallowed as she paused, gathering strength to rise above her intuition, to prove it a liar. “O’ do ya wanna go out there? Out there in Appleloosa? O’ beyond?”
Hay iffa I know. “... What brought dis up?” Babs asked, throwing a forehoof around Apple Bloom's neck.
“Ah... Ah don’t know. Ah... Ah jus’ worry, Babs.” Apple Bloom nuzzled her filly once more, slower this time, distracting herself from that brewing, rising, foalish fear.
Together. Together always meant "forever," didn't it, or was that just a tack-on, an option, an accessory, miscellaneous addition?
Did together surpass the boundaries of geography, the conflict of interests, the flow of time?
After a brief pause, Babs Seed raised a question of her own. “Well... do youze know what youze wanna do?”
“N-no... not really,” Apple Bloom said. “Ah don’t. Ah didn’t even know what Ah was good at until today, Babsy. Ah don’t know. Sweetie an’ Scoots, they... they seem ta have it together. An’ you do, too. But me? Ah... Ah dunno.”
Babs laughed. “C'mon. Youze always been the stronga o’ us, Bloom. Even then. Even when we first met. Rememba when I ran? Rememba when I couldn’t tell youze how I felt? Youze told me, then, dat I’m strong. An' maybe, in some ways, I am. But youze is stronga.
“Youze always been.”
Apple Bloom chuckled weakly, a small smile rising above her fear. “A-alright, whateva ya say. But... ya still didn’t answer ma question.”
“Because I don’t have an answer,” Babs Seed said. “But,” she began, leaning in close to her filly, “maybe, soon, we can find dat answer, togetha.”
~
Apple Bloom slept with the twilight, and rose with the dawn. She found no need to escape in dreams. There was nothing to hide from anymore. Her deepest fear was calmed. Her only perceived inadequacy was corrected, struck down, all by her own hooves, though her heart held space for two, instead of one.
A year remained. A moment in time to pass. And, then, would come the greatest journey.