Year Seven: Into The Wild
“Buffalo, ya say?”
Apple Bloom dropped her quill into its inkpot and glanced up from her blueprints. She’d only about half-listened to Babs Seed’s rehashing of the encounter in the orchards. Babs sat on her haunches on the guest-room bed, repeating Strongheart’s odd speech as best as she could remember.
Once finished, Babs Seed shook her muzzle, exasperated. “Youze aren’t even listenin’ ta me, are youze?” she mumbled, glaring at her fillyfriend.
“Ah’m sorry, Babs. Ah’ve jus’ been workin’ on these blueprints all day… guess Ah got a lil’ carried away,” Apple Bloom sheepishly admitted. She held up the parchment, a proud smile across her muzzle. “They’re almost done. Citrus will love ‘em, don’t ya think?”
Trotting over, Babs took a look at the parchment. Several detailed sketches of a simple one-level store, complete with precise dimensions and measurements, nearly filled the entire page. “I think she will, Bloom. How long did it take youze ta draw dis?”
“Not very long. But it’s not a very complicated idea, an' we won't be buildin' fer a while, anyway,” replied Apple Bloom, staying humble. “Anyway,” she said, putting down the blueprint and turning her full attention to Babs, “Ah’m sorry Ah got a lil’ distracted there, sugarcube. So… the Buffalo said somethin’ ‘bout magic? O’ power?”
“Both, actually.” Babs sat on the bed again and crossed her forehooves, her muzzle a mix of skepticism and curiosity. “Lil’ Strongheart told me she could sense summat ‘bout me, summat dat led her ta spy on me. But I ain’t nothin’ special—“
“That’s a lie, an’ you know it.” Packing up her quill, ink, and sketch in her saddlebag, Apple Bloom joined her mare, sitting down beside her. She grinned and ran a forehoof over Babs’s left ear, gently passing over the nick. “This says ya are.”
“I jus’ got lucky,” Babs muttered, pushing her forehoof away, chills rocketing down her spine. Not now. Composing herself, she remarked, “Still, I dunno iffa I should believe her o’ not. She could jus’ be observant, playin’ guessin’ games wit’ me.”
“Ah dunno. It wasn’t jus’ Slinga, Babs—“
Babs snapped, “Don’t say his name.”
“… Sorry. It wasn’t jus’ him. Think ‘bout it. All ya’ve done over these years. Fightin’ Tiara, an’ then all the work ya did on the farm—work that even Applejack can’t do—an’ then the timberwolves…” Apple Bloom gestured to Babs Seed's cutiemark. “Maybe she’s onta somethin’ ‘bout ya. Who knows? But fer better o’ fer worse, Ah wanna meet her when we go.”
Babs nudged her playfully. “Oh? So youze gonna follow me out inta the wild, too? What do I hafta do ta get rid o’ youze?” she teased, pulling Apple Bloom close to her.
“Hmmm… yer gonna have ta do mo’ than spin crazy tales ‘bout Buffalo spies,” Apple Bloom taunted back, chuckling softly and leaning against her. “Oh, an’ one mo’ thing, befo’ I forget.”
“What’s dat?” Babs asked.
Apple Bloom said, “Ah saw somethin’ in town today that’s pretty promisin’.” She broke their embrace and strode over to her saddlebags again, retrieving a different piece of parchment. Clutching it in her mouth, she passed it to her fillyfriend, who read its contents out loud:
“SPRING HELP WANTED!
NEED STRONG HOOVES TO MINE NEW CLAIMS. ASSISTANCE NEEDED IN TRANSPORTATION AND HAULING OF ORE, PROSPECTING, AND SLUICING.
LOCATION: YUKON SETTLEMENT (TWENTY MILES WEST OF APPLELOOSA)
PAY: TEN BITS PER WEEK/TEN PERCENT OF HAUL (WHICHEVER IS GREATER)
CONTACT: SKAGWAY (A.K.A. “SOAPY”)
JOIN A WINNING PROSPECTING TEAM! BE PART OF THE EQUESTRIAN GOLD RUSH!
BOTH GREENHOOVES AND SOURDOUGHS WELCOME.”
Though written in the language of her forefathers, its words eloquent in her own thick, accented tongue, Babs Seed comprehended little of it. Greenhooves? Sourdoughs? Surely dey don’t mean bread! Somepony named “Skagway”? An’ what is “sluicin’,” anyhow?
Gibberish it was, though not all was without merit. Between its unfamiliar lines, the ink whispered of possibility and promise, a mark in history, an opportunity for adventure. Gold. The foundation of coins, jewelry, and wiring. High in demand for time and time eternal. Beyond the horizon and into the wild it laid, hidden under thick chasms of earth, accessible only by the most daring of hooves.
“So, what do ya think?” Apple Bloom asked, hopeful as she leaned up on her hindhooves.
Grinning, Babs Seed mused, “I think spring betta hurry up an’ get on its way.”
~
Winter soon arrived, unbidden and without warning, a thief in the skeptical desert night. As a blanket of white began to bury the desert, sending Appleloosa into almost three months of slumber, the train lines halted their service. Most of the Appleloosians breathed audible sighs of relief. Though there were no strange attacks on the saloon or anywhere else within the city limits, peace could not be located among the minds of the shaken settlers.
Sheriff Silverstar and Deputy Braeburn, to their dismay, broke up far more saloon and salt-bar brawls between townsponies and city folk than anything else. With a quick draw of their revolvers, most were settled. Many of the Appleloosians had yet to acquire their own steel. Whether this was for better or for worse, Braeburn knew not. All of his thoughts fixated on the strange stallion and his stranger tattoo instead.
Although Silverstar seemed satisfied with no explanation other than, “That was one crazy mothabucker,” his Deputy wouldn’t cease his inquiry just as quickly. A black orange. The initials K.K. But oranges couldn’t survive in this climate, Braeburn reasoned. And besides, even if they could, the apple orchards would strangle their roots, soaking up all radiance and nutrients. Photosynthesis couldn’t save an orange tree in the shade of a mighty apple.
Dismissing the idea of a rival farmer seeking to uproot Appleloosa from its foundation (after all, for what other reason would an orange-inked stallion be in the city of apples?), Braeburn let his thoughts circle and circle, carousel of a madpony, all through his patrols, his meals, his conversations with the four ponies he loved the most.
He let his consciousness creep into dark crevices one night, the stallion checking the chambers of his revolver for what seemed like the hundredth time. All eight rounds were hot and ready. All eight were poised to fly, lest somepony come and wreak havoc upon his town again. Or his loved ones.
Outside his windows, winter cast its magic, snowflakes falling in a torrent of white. Appleloosa slept all around him. Braeburn kept a tight grip on his hoof-gun and pressed his muzzle to the glass. Though the blinding white could cleanse Appleloosa of its sin, ushering in a new year and a new dawn, it couldn’t reveal the secrets scampering impishly away from his prying consciousness.
“Black orange...” Braeburn muttered, holstering his weapon securely on his left shoulder. The wind howled a nonsensical reply. Think about it, pressed the voice of the deep, the wisdom of the Earth itself. Think.
“Orange… could it be…”
Cursing himself, Braeburn removed his Stetson, shaking away any remnants of his suspicion.
“No,” he whispered, firm. “It’s been far too long fer that.”
~
Orchards dormant for the winter, general store boarded up for the season (though an apologetic, “Come back in February!” sign adorned its storefront window), and any construction plans for a clothing store cast aside until the heat overcame the frost left five Apples without much to do. Well, except converse. And converse they did, making up for all their lost time and intermittent meetings.
Joining the rest of her family on the living room couch after a particularly satisfying meal, Citrus Blossom looked expectantly to sibling and cousin and asked, “So, have you two decided what you’re doing once spring comes? Gonna stay and work in the orchards some more?”
“Well, actually, Citrus, Bloom an’ I were thinkin’ o’ goin’ ta Yukon.” A confident grin swept across Babs's muzzle. “I think we can strike it rich. Don’t youze, Bloom?”
Giggling, Apple Bloom rolled her eyes and remarked, “Ah wouldn’t say rich, but Ah sure would like ta try. At the very least, we’ll meet some interestin’ ponies an’ such!”
“Interestin’ is puttin’ it lightly.” Braeburn tipped a glass of apple cider to his lips and glanced curiously at the duo. Wiping his muzzle with a fetlock, he said, “Ain’t no law out in them sands, ya know. Yukon ain’t much better. It’s on the map, but it ain’t got a Sheriff o’ anythin’ yet. Not ta mention everythin’ else… The sand, the heat, the hardship. Are y’all sure that’s where ya want ta go?”
This time, Babs Seed was the one to roll her eyes. “Youze worry too much, Brae. It ain't too far out. An' dey’re recruitin’ fo’ help out there, so it’s not like we’ll be all alone.”
“’They’ are recruiting? Who is this ‘they’?” Libra inquired, raising an eyebrow. She narrowed her gaze and slowly shook her muzzle. “You need to be careful, both of you. We’ve stayed in civilization for good reason. There is a lot of adventure out there, but a lot of risk accompanies it. And you are a reckless one, Babs.”
“I am not!” Babs protested.
Citrus giggled into one of her forehooves. “Oh, Babs, do you think I’ll ever forget those nights I stayed up until two A.M. waiting for you to come home? Do you think I’d ever forget your life after midnight?”
Babs Seed blew a strand of mane out from in front of her eyes and crossed her forehooves. “Hmph.”
Chuckling, Libra Scales turned to her niece and ordered, pointing to her daughter, “Make sure she doesn’t get too wild and reckless out there, Apple Bloom.”
“Oh, o’ course not, Auntie Orange!” Apple Bloom grinned and grabbed her fillyfriend’s forehoof. “Ya hear that, Babs? Auntie’s puttin’ me in charge o’ ya!”
Babs slipped out of her grasp, gasping in a half-hearted display of disbelief. “Youze?! In charge o’ me?! But…but… I’m olda than youze!”
“Only by a few days! An’ that don’t count fer nothin’! Right?” Apple Bloom gestured playfully to her elders, who all nodded, taunting grins of their own across their muzzles. “Ya see! Now, Ah’m in charge! An’ Ah say… Git me some mo’ apple cider, sugarcube!” She offered her empty glass to Babs Seed.
Babs looked from the glass to Apple Bloom and back again. Sighing, she grabbed it and trotted towards the kitchen, muttering about monsters of her mother’s creation.
Citrus Blossom scooted closer to Apple Bloom and laughed. “You know, I don’t think that’s what Mother meant… but, again, good job.”
Nonchalantly, running a forehoof through her mane, Apple Bloom replied, “Thank ya, Citrus. But no, Ah’m not like that. Ah’m jus’ havin’ a lil’ fun, that’s all.”
“As you should,” Libra said. “Before she gets back, though, there is something I would like to say to you, Apple Bloom…”
“Yes, Auntie?” Apple Bloom asked, ears pricked to full attention. “What is it?”
“Please, do take care of her. I may not fully understand… things between the two of you,” Libra Scales slowly began, “but I do know that she will listen to you when nopony else can get through. And she is stubborn. Always has been. An Orange family trait, I suppose.” Apple Bloom smiled and nodded.
Libra continued, “For better or for worse, once Babs latches onto something—or somepony—“ her niece blushed but remained silent—“she doesn’t let it go. So, if this mining thing turns out to be a lost cause, make sure she doesn’t break her back or something out there.” She arched her spine, popping several joints for good measure. “If anypony would know about the dangers of pushing oneself, it would be me.”
“Don’t worry, Auntie. Ya can count on me,” Apple Bloom promised, taking her aunt’s forehoof in her sincerity. “We’ll be jus’ fine.”
Libra Scales nodded approvingly. “Good.”
Braeburn joked to Apple Bloom, “Well, Ah’d like ta hope y’all git yer hooves on a compass o’ two befo’ ya take off! Hate ta have ta round up a search party ‘cuz o’ that!” He laughed and messed her mane. “Some adventurers y’all would be!”
Apple Bloom laughed with him and pushed his forehoof away. “Aw, Brae, we won’t forget! Ah made a list o’ things we need ta get befo’ then anyway.”
“Good. Ah’ll help y’all as much as Ah can. Learnt a thing o’ two from the Buffalo ‘bout survivin’ out there. In fact, Ah’ve been out in the wild a bit befo’, long, long ago. But that is another story fer another time,” Braeburn said, a litany of tall tales of his own surging to the surface.
Babs Seed returned from the kitchen, a full glass of cider in her forehooves. “Took you long enough, Babs!” Citrus teased. “And you forgot to bring me one!”
“Youze didn’t ask!” Babs scowled, passing the drink to her fillyfriend. She took her seat on the couch and glanced curiously at the others. “What were youze all talkin’ ‘bout, anyhow? Had ta rummage through the cabinets ta find anotha jug o’ cider, but youze sure were talkin’…”
Wrapping a forehoof around her neck, Braeburn messed his cousin’s mane to match her counterpart’s as he taunted, “Oh, ya know, jus’ placin’ bets on how long it’ll be befo’ y’all be beggin’ ta come back home! Ah give it a week!”
Snickering, Babs ruffled his mane in return.“I hope youze didn’t bet all yer bits, Brae, ‘cuz youze would be broke! Right, Apple Bloom?”
“That’s right! Ah said two weeks!”
~
December and January swept Appleloosa by indiscriminately. Inevitably, economic growth stagnated for those two months trapped under the frost. Once February came to pass and the sun reigned from on high on the atmosphere, the wheels of commerce and capital began to churn once more.
The general store re-opened. Libra Scales resumed her duties as accountant there. Braeburn’s patrols doubled, his hometown flooded with more visitors and vagabonds of both noble and infamous stripes. Appleloosa found a new influx of ponies from the East among their numbers. With Apple Bloom’s assistance, Citrus Blossom finalized her blueprints and business plan for a Western clothing store. Citrus decided to wait to embark on her enterprise, however, and took a receptionist job at Appleloosa’s first hotel.
Babs Seed and Apple Bloom let their hooves itch for two more weeks into February. They managed that short time wisely, stocking up on supplies and packing their saddlebags to the brim. Two compasses found their rightful place in their saddlebags, along with (among other things): flint, steel, matches, rope, hatchets, maps, utensils, emergency rations and water, First Aid kits, and, last but not least, a heavy-duty knife. This last inclusion had been at Braeburn’s insistence. The stallion practically begged them to pack a weapon.
“Ya jus’ don’t get it, Babs," he'd said harshly to the stubborn mare. “Not everypony’s gonna be as welcomin’ as us. Ya remember Pickaxe? He was tame compared ta what the frontier has ta offer at its worst.” Frowning, he mumbled, “If Ah had a gun ta give ya, Ah would.”
“An’ I would turn dat down as well,” Babs Seed snapped back. “I don’t need no weaponry. I’ve got all I need right heeya.” She stomped her forehooves and leaned back on her hindhooves. Last thing I want is a damn knife. Have had enough o' knives fo’ a lifetime, thanks ta some scumbag back in Manehatten.
Remembering her vow to a certain aunt, Apple Bloom reasoned with Babs, “But it’s better ta have it an’ not need it, then ta wish we had it, don’t ya think? Besides, if ya don’t want in yers, Ah can carry it in ma bag.”
Sighing, Babs relented, “Fine.”
And so, a heavy-duty combat knife found its way into the bottom of Apple Bloom’s saddlebag, buried beneath a mound of blank parchment and enough ink to fill several tomes with her thoughts. This pleased the Deputy and irritated his more bull-headed ward. Nevertheless, this item’s inclusion would prove to be an important one. Beyond the horizon awaited not only adventure, but danger, too, from within and without.
~
Applejack paced in her room, scribbling solution after solution upon the over-sized parchment stationed in the corner of her bedroom. The floorboards were littered with crumpled-up mistakes and foalish ideas. Midnight mocked her insomnia and tugged at her eyelids. Deep, dark circles formed under the mare’s eyes, unable to be concealed by any amount of makeup or dismissal. Even Rarity would not be able to wipe the stress from her fellow Element’s tired eyes.
Elements. Elements of Harmony. Applejack strode over to the parchment and picked up a quill once more. “Let’s see... It’s spring now, so we’ve got plantin’ ta do… Few months fer the apples ta grow… So, no sales on that yet. Got enough food ta last us ‘till our own crops grow fer a bit. Tons o’ Daniels down in the cellar, though…”
Applejack, Fluttershy, and Pinkie Pie were the only ones of the six remaining in Ponyville. They were also the only three of the original group to assist in this year’s Winter Wrap-Up. The others had departed for one reason or another before the snows came.
Rainbow Dash had taken up permanent residence in Cloudsdale, flying in her own Wonderbolt blues alongside her biggest fan. Rarity joined her sister in Canterlot, the fashionista’s diligence paying off at last. Twilight Sparkle ruled over Equestria with her mentor in the royal capital as well. Twilight wrote often—more than anypony else—but it still wasn’t the same.
Soon enough, Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy would find their own ways and leave her, too.
Applejack scolded her anxiety and focused on the task at hoof. “Can’t sell it ta anypony else in Ponyville. An’ nopony in the East wants our drink. Well, Ah guess Ah’ll have ta send mo’ Daniels ta Appleloosa.” She groaned, nearly snapping her quill in half in frustration. Her original idea proved to be the only solution. Literally every merchant, restaurant owner, and bartender in the larger cities refused to stock her family’s whiskey. But why?
Sitting on the edge of her bed, she opened a drawer on her nightstand and pulled out two pieces of parchment. One was covered in Apple Bloom’s hoof-writing, detailing her and Babs Seed’s latest adventures in Appleloosa. The other was blank, intended for its possessor to put her own ink to its surface and scrawl out her own secret heart.
It would be so easy, Applejack reasoned, to beg Apple Bloom to come back—no, to beg them both to return—and fill the empty square feet of the farmhouse. It would be so easy to pull them from their foalish fantasies and nudge them back to reality, to the seasons and the crop cycles, to the dilemmas at hoof.
Though she’d read it a thousand times before, as the letter was almost a month old, Applejack lost herself once more in her sister’s words:
“Applejack—
How are you doing? How’s Mac and Granny? And Winona? I hope you all are getting through the winter well. We’re doing alright. With the snow here, Citrus, Auntie Orange, Braeburn, Babs, and I are going stir-crazy. We’re all sick with “cabin fever,” as Braeburn calls it. Well, I think I’m alright. Though Babs is looking like she’s going to smack her sister or Brae one of these days… especially when they keep… oh, never mind. That’s just speculation on my part.
Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that we will be heading out around mid-February to Yukon. It’s a small settlement about twenty miles west of here. Ponies say it’s the center of the gold rush. I’m really excited, but I won’t lie… I am scared. But I know we’ll be alright. Between Babs and I, nothing can stop us.
I hope to hear from you soon. I’ll keep writing as much as I can when we’re on the road. Not sure which towns have post offices or mail-pegasi, but I’ll try my best.
Love,
Apple Bloom.”
Applejack grabbed a blank sheet of parchment and a quill. She stared intensely at the leaf of paper, words fragmenting and jumbling before her eyes. She couldn't find the strength or will to cross the distance between the quill in her hoof and the parchment in the other.
On this night, like many more before, Applejack couldn't think of anything to write.
When a clock in her room announced in its echoing chime that an hour had passed, the mare packed away both items, closed the drawer, and slumped down on her bed. She removed her Stetson and tossed it across the room, not caring where it landed.
“It’ll be fine," she mumbled, pulling the blankets over herself. "Ah don’t need any help. We’ll get through this.”
Applejack chewed her words and swallowed them slowly, letting them sink and settle like a stone in her innards. They were bitter, hollow, providing no nourishment or peace.
She hated lying.
~
On the morning of February 15th, the day after Hearts and Hooves Day, Babs Seed woke with the dawn. She inhaled the morning mist entering through the guest-room window and carefully slipped out of bed, leaving Apple Bloom to her own dreams. Apple Bloom twitched and mumbled but remained asleep.
Good. No rush. Babs Seed quietly trotted over to their saddlebags and opened her own, digging a forehoof through the contents. Compass… map… matches… Bloom’s got flint an’ steel in hers… some food, some cider, some water…mirror… blankets… looks good… Satisfied, she swiftly exited the room, careful not to slam the door behind her.
Libra Scales sat on her haunches on the couch in the living room, sipping a mug of coffee. She spotted her daughter and beckoned her to join. Babs Seed obeyed and took a seat beside her. “Mornin’, Ma.”
“Good morning, Babs," Libra greeted. "Is today the day?”
Babs nodded. “It sure is, Ma. I jus’ checked ma bag. I’m all packed up. I’m sure Bloom’ll check hers once she gets up an’ be fine. She’s the mo’ organized o’ us, afta all,” she added, cracking a smile.
Her mother’s muzzle soon matched hers. “Well, I suppose there has to be somepony to match the force of nature that is my Babs Seed.” She chuckled, pulling her filly into a sideways-hug.
“Yea.” Babs giggled back. “I guess so.” She returned the gestured and embraced her mother. Retracting, she looked into her mother's eyess, relishing the peaceful silence. Youze say youze are tryin’. I think youze are doin’ mo’ than dat. But I won’t spoil dis. I won’t quit while I’m ahead…
“Something on your mind, darling?”
“No, Ma.” Babs smiled. “I’m jus’ excited fo’ ta-day. Jus’ lookin’ forward ta it. Thank youze again fo’ lettin’ me an’ Bloom stay heeya.”
Libra dismissed her with a casual wave of a fetlock. “It’s no trouble at all, hon. You are family, and always will be. And if Yukon doesn’t turn out to be as great as you hoped, don’t hesitate to come back. Or if you need anything—bits, supplies, anything—just send me a letter. You did pack parchment, quills, and ink, didn’t you?” she chided her filly. Despite her daughter towering over her (literally and figuratively), Libra Scales would never cease to be Babs Seed’s mother. And any good mother second-guesses the hasty packing of her adventurous foal.
“Nope. I didn’t pack dat. O’ food. O’ water. O’ a map. O’—“
“Alright, alright! I get it. You’re all packed up. Yeesh.”
“Exactly. Why are youze so up early, anyway, Ma?”
Libra Scales sipped her coffee, willing herself awake. Work waited patiently, several hours away. The rest of the household was sound asleep. No breakfast demanded to be cooked, no chores beckoned to be performed, and Celestia’s daybreak was gentle enough to lull most dreamers back to the recesses of their refuge.
No, the reason Libra squirmed from her slumber in twilight’s fading light and caffeinated herself into cohesion was staring back at her, orange and red-and-pink and emerald and bobtailed and wondrous and strong and ready.
“No reason. And I could ask the same of you.”
Another smile. “Fair enough, Ma, fair enough.”
A matching grin. “Now, let’s wait for everypony else to wake up.”
Libra Scales grasped her filly’s forehoof, and found a mare grasping hers back instead.
~
Braeburn double-checked both of his cousins' saddlebags, ensuring that they were strapped taut and secure. He circled around both of them in the threshold, checking, checking, checking—
“Everythin’ alright, Brae?” Babs Seed asked, shooting him a suspicious glance. “Youze checked our bags ‘bout four o’ five times now…”
He ceased his pacing and rubbed his nape with a forehoof. “Ah, well, heh, heh, Ah was jus’ makin’ sure. Hate ta have y’all lose anythin’ out there. Ya would never find it again if ya lost it.”
Citrus Blossom strode up to the stallion and nuzzled his neck, eliciting a sudden burst of crimson across his muzzle. “Citrus! What are ya—“
“They’ll be fine, Braeburn,” Citrus soothed, breaking away from him and embracing sibling and cousin in unison. “Right?”
“Right!” Babs and Bloom exclaimed.
“See? You worry too much. Aren’t you supposed to be protecting Appleloosa right about now?” Citrus teased, nudging his shoulder. “I’m sure there’s a bar fight or two calling your name.”
He snorted. “Oh, ha, ha. An’ aren’t ya s’posed ta be workin’ down at the hotel?”
“I don’t have to be there for another hour or so,” countered Citrus. Ending their playful quarrel, she turned to the two budding vagabonds and grinned. “So, how long do you two want us to wait before we send out a search party?”
Libra Scales rose from the living room and joined her family in the threshold to their abode. She snickered and scolded her eldest, “Now, Citrus, as I’ve told you before… No party is worth attending if you tell everypony about it! Let’s have it be a surprise!”
Apple Bloom laughed and laughed, stomping a forehoof on the floorboards in glee. Babs Seed face-hoofed and groaned. She grumbled, “Ugh, we’re burnin’ daylight heeya…”
“Fair enough. Let's go," Libra said as she unlocked the door. A resulting rush of early-morning desert breeze teased five manes, entering without regard for custom or permission. All five Apples rose their hooves in opposition against the wall of wind and trotted out into the sand.
Babs Seed and Apple Bloom took a few tentative hoof-steps forward before turning around. No words were exchanged between the three behind and the two beyond. None were required.
Together, in near-synchronization, Braeburn, Citrus Blossom, and Libra Scales nodded their approval, their permission, their blessing.
Apple Bloom met her mare's eyes and asked, “Are ya thinkin’ what Ah’m thinkin’, Babs?”
Locking onto her gaze, Babs Seed answered, “I think so, Bloom. Youze ready?”
“Ready!”
“Alrighty, then. Three…”
“Two…”
Before she could reach one, Apple Bloom launched off her hindhooves towards the apple orchards and the Appleloosian city limit, towards the Buffalo and the Yukon. Babs Seed called out, “Cheata!” and bounded after her, her hooves striking the scorching sand and propelling her forward with ease.
“Don’t forget to WRITE!!” screeched Libra Scales, her muzzle upturned in a scowl. “Celestia help you both if you forget to write!”
The trio shared hearty chuckles, slapping backs and clutching ribs, their two wards fading into the horizon, racing for the sun, soon reaching the orchards and crossing that invisible boundary between civilization and frontier, camaraderie and solitude, known and unknown.
Citrus Blossom took a hoof-step towards her mother, eyes wide with concern. “Mother? Are you crying?”
Libra Scales shook her head and blamed it on the sand cast by the wind.
~
“… Babs…”
“… Yea…?”
“… Are ya sure ya saw Lil’ Strongheart out this way?”
Babs Seed swayed slightly, her hooves gelatinous and uncharacteristically unstable. Sweat rained from her brow to her snout, dropping down to the desert sand only to be evaporated instantaneously, steam borne of scorching heat. Although she’d won their little race, she felt no celebration was in order. “Yea… I’m sure,” she mumbled, doubt poorly concealed within her tone.
Apple Bloom brushed up against her coat and nudged her to stop. “Hold up. Yer gettin’ off the path again.”
Before embarking on their hasty journey, Apple Bloom had wrapped twine around her compass and tied it to another string, creating a necklace. This ensured that at least one of them wouldn’t be forgetting such a vital tool. She balanced the instrument on a forehoof and held it out to Babs. “See?” She pointed towards a trajectory slightly to the left of Babs’s hooves. "That way. West.”
“I know what way west is!” Babs snapped, repositioning her course.
“Ah’m sure ya do,” Apple Bloom muttered under her breath, matching her counterpart’s pace. Silently, she added, That’s why Ah’ve had ta do this a second time already. Been only an hour o’ so.
Biting her tongue, Babs Seed continued onwards, resisting the urge to toss another jab her filly’s way. Barely sixty minutes and maybe five miles into their trek had passed, and the heat was already beginning to prove relentless. Braeburn’s words echoed in her mind, his admonitions regarding the nature of the climate proving unfortunately accurate. How could dis be dis hard? It’s jus’ walkin’! Buckin’ apples in dis heat ain’t half as bad… maybe it’s because we’re gettin’ furtha west? Hotta out heeya, maybe?
Long past the city limits, neither mare caught hide nor hoof of the Buffalo, boar or cow alike. Their only companions under the blazing desert sun were the occasional tumbleweed and rows and rows of cacti. They paused every few minutes to sip from their canteens but otherwise pressed continuously towards the west, the west, the west. Yukon was the ultimate end in mind, but the Buffalo’s strange words and promises of assistance were not forgotten.
Although pride prevented Babs from admitting it audibly, she scanned the empty horizon feverishly for eagles’ feathers, nimble hooves, or a blur and dart of orange fur. Youze said I wasn’t ready ta go out inta the wild. Dat I was waitin’ fo’ spring ta come. Well, spring’s heeya, but where the buck are youze? Maybe youze was jus’ flappin’ youze gums. Well, good riddance. Buck…
Panting, Babs stopped in her tracks and fumbled for her canteen in her saddlebag. Apple Bloom waited patiently, studying her map and eying her compass curiously. Quickly draining another quarter of her canteen, Babs Seed re-capped it and placed it back in her bag. “Ugh. So damn hot. Good thing we packed extra,” she said, trotting over to her filly. “’Ey. We are on the right path, right?”
“Ah think so. Lucky Yukon’s actually on the map. Ah was worried it might not be.” Assured that their route was correct (albeit unforgiving), Apple Bloom secured her map once again and led the way.
Babs Seed hastily matched her pace and strode alongside her. No signs of civilization—of Buffalo or settlers either—greeted them in the desert plains. The fillies were the only sign of life under Celestia’s fire in the sky. Fifteen miles to go.
“Hey, Babs?” Apple Bloom asked after a few minutes, breaking their silence.
“Yea?” Babs glanced at her from the peripheral of her pupils, keeping her main gaze uncluttered. C’mon. No teepees, no fire pits, nothin’. Dey’ve gotta be ‘round heeya somewhere. Iffa we don’t see no Buffalo befo’ we get ta Yukon, somepony’s gettin’ dey flank kicked next time I check ‘em spyin’. An’ I will.
Taking a deep breath, Apple Bloom cautiously inquired, “What does… what does Auntie really think o’ me?”
“What do youze mean, Bloom?” Babs answered, offering a question of her own. Gaze sweeping from left to right, searching for clues to a certain Buffalo cow’s whereabouts and dangers in the desert alike, she commented, “Youze is family. She loves youze. Why wouldn’t she?”
“No, Ah don’t mean like that,” Apple Bloom flatly replied. A fresh bead of sweat trickled down her neck, borne of something other than a rise in the mercury. “Ah mean… um… like us. What does she think o’ you an’ Ah?”
Before she could fumble a response, Babs Seed’s left ear—far more sensitive than its twin—flicked to attention, detecting the shift of weight against sand. “Wait a sec, Bloom.” Pausing, she searched for the source of the noise. Sand, sand, cactus, cactus, tumbleweed, sand, hoo—
Adrenaline fired in a split-second within her veins, spurred by the shock of her discovery. There, hidden about fifty yards away near a cluster of boulders, Little Strongheart was trotting towards the northeast. In the very, very, very distant horizon, Babs Seed could make out the shape of a few teepees reaching towards the heavens.
“’Ey!” she bellowed across the plains, hackles raised in a concoction of both tense apprehension and genuine excitement. The Buffalo cow stopped, confused. “’Ey, Strongheart! Ova heeya!” Babs shouted, rising up on her hindhooves.
“That’s her!” Apple Bloom exclaimed, whipping her head around. “Wow! She’s a lot smaller than Ah thought!”
“Wait ‘til youze see the males,” Babs muttered, snorting. “Dey are big. Real big. Make-Mac-look-like-a-foal big.”
Little Strongheart located her at last and began to gallop towards them. Always one to meet in the middle, Babs took to her hooves towards Strongheart.
Swallowing, Apple Bloom mumbled, “Sounds great, Babs, jus’ great,” and followed after her.
~
Little Strongheart met Babs Seed in the desert plains, skidding her nimble forehooves to a halt with ease. Accustomed to the climate, no sweat drenched her headband or her mane, nor did she struggle to find her breath among the arid heat. Babs Seed was a different story, and so was Apple Bloom. Little Strongheart waited in respectful silence for them to compose themselves before saying, “It’s so good to see you, Babs Seed! I was afraid you may have changed your mind about coming out here.”
“Well… hah… I… er… we been lookin’ fo’ youze all mornin’,” Babs stammered, bracing her hooves in the sand. Five miles o’ so… fifteen ta go…c ould make it by nightfall, but… horseapples. “So,” she began, rounding on the Buffalo, “youze said youze could help us? An’ youze would tell me what’s wit’ youze foalish lil’ riddles?”
Little Strongheart chuckled, shaking her mane slowly. “Oh, you silly ponies. I do not speak in riddles. I speak only the truth. If you do not understand me, it is only you who—“
“Yea, yea, we get it." Babs rolled her eyes. “Youze some kinda wise-pone o’ summat. Whateva. Anyhow… oh, shoot. Where are ma manners?” Somewhere where it ain’t so Celestia-damned hot.
Nuzzling her mare, Babs introduced them. “Little Strongheart, dis is Apple Bloom. Apple Bloom, dis is the weirdo who was spyin’ on us in the orchards.”
Apple Bloom glared at her. “Babs!”
Innocently, Babs exclaimed, “What? She was!”
“It’s alright,” Strongheart said, extending a forehoof to Apple Bloom. “She meant no harm, nor did I. It is very nice to meet you, Apple Bloom.”
Shaking hooves, Apple Bloom replied with a grin, “Thank ya kindly. Ah’ve heard lots ‘bout ya. Ah gotta tell ya, Ah'm mighty curious ta hear what ya have ta say. An’ we could use any advice ya have fer gettin’ out ta Yukon. Didn’t realize it would be this hot. It’s nothin’ like—“
“Working with the trees?” Strongheart guessed. Two nods confirmed her suspicion. “Yes, many who come out here notice the same. Besides the shade, it is far more humid out here. Nothing grows out here but several species of cacti. Luckily, my tribe has long learned how to identify the edible varieties and—“
“Youze eat cactus? These things?” Babs Seed gestured to a tall, prickled green plant, its surface covered in hundreds of protruding slivers. Skeptical, she added, “Youze really expect me ta believe youze? First, youze spy on me, say I’ve got some kinda magical powers o’ summat. Then, youze tell us youze eat cactus?”
Little Strongheart paused. “Well… if you do not believe me, and do not wish to follow me back to our camp, feel free. We have plenty to eat and drink, and do not hesitate to feed our friends. Speaking of which, I suppose you two already know how to find water out here, outside of the towns, don’t you? If you don’t, you have a long road ahead of you...”
Silence.
“No? Well… I will not force you, but if you would like, you can follow me.” Little Strongheart spun on her hooves and pointed them towards the northeast. Mustering one more parting grin, she leapt from her nimble hindhooves and churned them quickly against the plains, sending up a cloud of dust.
Urged by promises of food (her stomach growling in protest) and more than a little spite, Babs Seed swallowed her pride. “I think we should follow—“
“Already ahead o’ ya,” Apple Bloom taunted, galloping after the Buffalo.
~
Little Strongheart led the two ponies through the sands and to their camp. A hoof-full of teepees pitched in a circle marked the boundaries of their current refuge. Most Buffalo chose to sleep under the stars; only Chief Thunderhooves, Little Strongheart, and a few of the other Tribe Elders dwelt in the teepees.
Noon sun rising in the sky marked prime foraging time for the Buffalo tribe. As a result, the camp was nearly empty when they arrived. Only Chief Thunderhooves and a few slumbering Buffalo boars remained. The Chief snorted a cloud of steam and gazed skeptically at his visitors. “My daughter, who are these strange ponies?”
Strongheart introduced her guests, gently nudging them towards the massive Chief, who was about twice the height and three to four times the weight of Babs Seed. “Chief, this is Babs Seed and this is Apple Bloom. They are both relatives of Braeburn’s.”
At the mere mention of Braeburn, the Chief's expression instantly softened. “Anypony who is related to Braeburn is a friend of ours. Welcome, my friends,” he kindly greeted, a slight grin appearing at the corners of his muzzle. He gestured towards his teepee—the largest in the camp. “Please, take refuge in the shade of my dwelling. I can see you are not yet used to the heat.”
Babs bowed low, in deference and in awe of both the Chief’s hospitality and his sheer size. Mac would be a twig in his hooves… an’ me, a little speck. Betta not cross him. “Thank youze, Mis—er, Chief.”
Apple Bloom, too, cast her muzzle to the sand graciously. “Thank ya kindly, Chief. Ah promise y’all, we will repay yer hospitality.”
“Nonsense,” he replied, waving them off with a forehoof. “Braeburn has brought peace between my tribe and yours. The very least we can offer as thanks is a little hospitality.”
“Thank you, Chief,” said Strongheart to her father, embracing him. She then trotted into the enormous teepee and beckoned the two mares to follow. They did so without sparing a moment to hesitate, strength beginning to deplete under the sweltering sun. Rest. Rest sounds good ta me.
Inside, the teepee was about twenty feet in diameter, practically empty but for a fire ring in the middle and various clay pots and jugs strewn about. Some appeared to be packed full of flowers and strange, green fruit. Others were filled with a strange gray-and-brown mush that looked suspiciously similar to oatmeal.
Little Strongheart grabbed one of the full jugs and offered it to Babs. “Here, drink. Don’t drain your canteens while you are here. We have plenty of water.”
Babs Seed accepted it and tilted her head back, draining about half of the jug before passing it off to Apple Bloom, who finished it. Both fillies plopped down on their haunches near the fire ring, discovering that the ground was surprisingly cool and pleasant beneath them. “Ahhh. Thank youze, Lil’, er, Strongheart.”
“Oh, no, it was nothing. You are welcome to take as much water as you need.” Little Strongheart trotted over to one of the pots and retrieved two pieces of unfamiliar green fruit. “You both are hungry, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am!” Apple Bloom chipped, beaming. She eagerly accepted the piece offered to her and dove right in, smacking her lips and noshing it down as fast as she could. To Babs’s quizzical muzzle, she just said, “What? Try it! It’s real good!”
“What is it?” Babs studied the fruit in her hooves. It wasn’t recognizable or comparable to anything that had grown in Sweet Apple Acres, nor any cuisine that had been imported into the Orange Family Mansion. She sniffed it and found it slightly sweet. She took a tentative bite. Bursting with flavor, the fruit proved far more than merely satisfactory, and soon Babs Seed practically inhaled it.
Little Strongheart laughed and sat on her haunches beside them. “That is a fig cactus. You know the cacti out there with the three limbs at the top that form a ‘w’ of sorts? Well, if you kick any of the three limbs open, you will find these fruit. If you kick the trunk open, you will find water. There are other things we eat—“ she nodded in the direction of the faux-oatmeal dish, which, frankly, made Babs’s stomach churn—“but that is the most prominent. And the most useful you shall find out here in your journeys.”
Slurping down her last bite, Babs mused, “Wowza. Guess I shouldn’t have mocked youze fo’ eatin’ cactus, huh?”
“Who can blame you? It is quite strange to you ponies.” Smirking, Strongheart added, “Most of you have not ventured beyond Appleloosa. It is only in the past few years that the both the brave and the reckless have dared to come out here into the uncharted lands. I seen many of them struggle to survive, and help them when I can… But… sometimes, it is not enough.” Hanging her head low, she whispered, “There are bones in the desert, if you look hard enough…”
A chill announced its arrival down Babs Seed’s spine. She quickly changed the subject, rounding on Little Strongheart once more. “Well, I thank youze fo’ the advice. It’s very good ta know. We’ve got fifteen miles ta go ‘til Yukon, so we might need it. But… the otha things… what youze said ta me a few months ago—“
“Ah, yes, of course. There are two things I wish to explain to you, Babs Seed, and two ways I can explain them.” Little Strongheart dug a forehoof into the sand. “I can simply tell you, or I can show you. But if you wish to be shown, you must wait until nightfall. It is your choice.”
“’Show’ us?” Apple Bloom asked, skeptical. “How can ya show us what ya think?”
Strongheart explained, “I will show you using a technique that was passed down to me by my father, and his father before him, and his father before him. But, we must wait until nightfall to do so. You are more than welcome to rest here until then. Or, if you would rather, I can tell you everything I know right now. But you may not believe me or fully understand this way.”
Apple Bloom placed a forehoof on her mare’s shoulder. “What do ya think? Do ya want ta stay an’ rest, an’ see what she wants us ta see? O’ do ya jus’ wanna go? We might be able ta make it by nightfall if we leave now.”
Stretching out her forehooves and cracking several joints, Babs Seed offered, “Youze is right, but maybe we should wait until nightfall ta go out there ‘gain? It'll be nice an' cool dat way. Maybe we should sleep durin' the day fo’ a bit?”
“Hmm, that’s true. Would be a tad easier ta git there when the sun ain’t strikin’ us silly. An’ makin’ some o’ us irritable,” Apple Bloom added, smirking at her mare. Babs blushed and averted her gaze. “It’s alright, sugarcube. Ah’m not mad. But maybe we should rest.”
Little Strongheart rose to her hooves and trotted towards the teepee’s entrance. “I’ll be back to wake you when dusk arrives. For now, try and get some rest… And feel free to eat or drink whatever you like in here. The Chief won’t mind.”
She left them with a smile and covered the entrance to the abode with a makeshift door constructed of several pieces of deadwood nailed together. This darkened the inside of the dwelling and kept the furious sun at bay, leaving two mares alone in the dim, tepid teepee.
Babs Seed stretched out on her belly and pushed her saddlebags away. Yawning, she mumbled, “Let’s get some sleep… I’m too tired ta deal wit’ dis nonsense, anyhow.”
Curling up beside her, Apple Bloom quietly replied, “Ya know, Strongheart's mighty smart. She knows what she’s talkin’ ‘bout. Maybe she knows what she’s talkin’ ‘bout wit’ what she told ya few months 'go, too.”
Pulling her close, Babs grumbled, “I sure hope so,” and soon drifted off into midday slumber.
~
A pair of gentle forehooves tapping on her shoulders roused Babs Seed from the company of the Sandmare. Little Strongheart and Apple Bloom were standing next to her, though the Buffalo was the offender. She grunted and rolled over in the dirt, squeezing her eyes shut. “Suppa time already?” she muttered, resisting the temptation to drift back asleep.
“Of course! We have plenty. And you’ll be able to meet more of our tribe! Rise and shine, Babs Seed!” Strongheart quipped, poking her again.
Babs brushed her away and reluctantly rose to her hooves. Shaking dust from her coat, she pondered, “Shouldn’t youze say summat like dat in the mornin’? Mo’ like ‘rise an’ dark,’ right now?”
Strongheart rolled her eyes. “Technicality.”
Grinning, Babs Seed followed her out of the teepee, Apple Bloom trotting beside her. “It’s the technicalities—the split-seconds—dat count the most. Youze shoulda known dat. Dat’s why I caught youze.”
Apple Bloom flicked her mane towards her mare and scolded her, “Now, be nice, sugarcube. Lil’ Strongheart knows it all too well, Ah think.”
“Youze know,” Babs said with a huff, “youze is takin’ Ma’s lil’ commandment a bit too seriously.”
“Somepony’s gotta be the mo’ reserved o’ us.”
Reserved? “’Ey, wait a…!”
The sight of a roaring bonfire, flames billowing in thick tongues and spirals of smoke rising towards the Most High launched Babs Seed’s retort into the distance. Around a circle of coals and stones, Chief Thunderhooves and several old, weathered Buffalo boars sat on their haunches, devouring bowls of the faux-oatmeal sludge she’d seen in the teepee. The remainder of the tribe—mostly males, though a few cows Strongheart’s size or smaller wandered about—took their meals outside of the fire pit, sharpening their horns or practicing their stampede charges between bites.
Little Strongheart led the two mares to Chief Thunderhooves, who scooted from his position, leaving a wide berth of room for the three to take their places. The Chief looked up from his bowl, his snout and muzzle dripping with the remainders of his meal and welcomed them. “Good evening, my friends. Please, come and sit by the fireside. We have plenty for you to eat.”
Apple Bloom and Babs Seed bowed a subsequent time in deference before sitting beside him. The coals and stones around the pit were hot near Babs’ hooves, but not unpleasantly so, a majestic contrast to the chill of the desert night. Night alicorn reigned supreme and solitary, transforming the arid heat of day to a cool, haunting mist. Little Strongheart joined her visitors, balancing two bowls of mush and offering it to them.
“Um…” Babs muttered, staring into her bowl. “Ahh… what is dis?”
Strongheart plopped on her haunches beside Apple Bloom, choosing not to partake in the nightly meal. Hunger could not find her on a night like tonight, revelation awaiting. “It is ground-up leaves and blooms of the fig cactus plant mashed into a paste. Their flowers only bloom in the middle of spring. For now, the plants you see around you—“ she gestured towards the multitude of towering cacti throughout the desert plains—“will not bloom for several months. But, further south of here, they already have. That is where we stampede. Once our supply from winter’s hibernation begins to dwindle, we rush south to find more.”
Never one to turn down a good meal, Apple Bloom dug her snout into her bowl and greedily slurped every last morsel of the mushy stuff. After considering it for a moment, Babs Seed shoved her bowl towards her mare. “Ehh… dat’s nice. But youze know what? I’m not really hungry—“
“Mo’ for me!” Apple Bloom exclaimed, starting on her seconds within a heartbeat.
Little Strongheart chuckled. “There’s more where that came from, Apple Bloom. You sure you’re not hungry?” she asked Babs, concerned. “I’d be more than happy to go get you some more fruit—“
“I’m fine. We’ve got a lotta ground ta cover ta-night, an’ I don’t want ta do it on no full stomach, neither. Now,” she began, narrowing her eyes, “show us what youze wanted ta show us. Tell me the meanin’ ta youze riddles.”
Quickly finishing the last of her supper (even going so far as to lick the bowl in a most uncouth manner), Apple Bloom tossed her own two bits into the ring of fire. “Yea! Show us, Lil’ Strongheart. Ah’m curious.”
Such was the understatement of the century; Apple Bloom crossed her forehooves and tapped her hindhooves expectantly, staring at Little Strongheart, each passing second lengthening into a minute. “Well?”
“Very well,” Strongheart answered after a few moments. “I shall show you what words cannot articulate.”
She reached up into her headband and located a small, concealed pouch near the two eagles’ feathers. The jet-black pouched was barely the size of a forehoof and was tightly closed with a twine drawstring. Opening it, she tossed what appeared to be a hoof-full of sparkling dust onto the fire.
The blaze before the eyes of the Chief, the Elders, the mares, and Little Strongheart radiated brightly, morphing into a blinding white. Then, just as rapidly, it darkened into a foul, fetid black, blacker than night, blacker than the mane of Babs Seed’s sadistic piercer.
“W-what the?!” Babs Seed felt the fur along her spine and shoulders spring to attention. All warmth from the bonfire disappeared into a vacuum of blackness, and the night soared downwards in the mercury, turning her breath into icy frost. Apple Bloom began to rise to her hooves, her own hackles raised.
Little Strongheart stood tall on all four hooves and commanded, her voice lowered by several octaves, “Do not be afraid. What you see in the flame is merely an illusion. It is merely cold fire, cast by the magic of our ancestors.” She secured the pouch and set it on the ground beside her.
“W-what did youze jus’ do ta it?! It’s black! An’ cold! Tell me!”
Little Strongheart shook her head. “No, Babs Seed, it is not.”
“Ah see it, too,” Apple Bloom blurted, fear driving her to stand on all fours. “It’s c-cold… like it’s takin’ all the warm outta the desert—“
“Be not afraid,” Chief Thunderhooves said, his wise, weathered muzzle still dripping with ground-up cactus blossoms mashed into a paste. Though comical, neither mare laughed at the sight, and continued to stare him down. “Cold fire is an ancient divining technique passed down to me by my father, and his father before him, and his father before him, and—“
“They get it, Chief.” Little Strongheart groaned, trotting over to them. She placed a forehoof on each of the startled mares’ shoulders. “I assure you, nothing has truly changed. What you see is merely an illusion, a reflection of things to come.
“I am gifted—as I have told you, Babs Seed—to know things of the spirit, of the world beyond and around us. The sand I sprinkled on the fire is of the deepest Earth and the strongest magic, harvested long ago before the settler-ponies came, and all with them. It reveals what lies in store for those who gaze upon it.”
The flames of the cold fire roared in time with her words, mimicking the inflections of the Buffalo’s voice. Before two pairs of irises—one fiery-ruby, one emerald—the tempest remained vigilant in its chill and darkness. Before the copper of all but Little Strongheart, the fire was akin to any other flame, light and radiance a beacon in the desert night.
Babs Seed pulled Apple Bloom off her hooves and pulled her mare beside her instinctively. Whether it was borne of the need to protect or to be comforted, she wasn’t quite sure. All she knew, as she stared into the hypnotic cold fire, was the overwhelming blackness, the cold…
Cold like cobblestone, like a clearing near Manehatten Lake, like her former father’s touch in the Orange Family Mansion…
~
Somepony was shaking her.
“Babs?!”
Her mane was drenched in sweat. So was her muzzle, snout, and face.
“Babs, wake up!”
She cracked one eye open. Above her, Little Strongheart and Apple Bloom glanced worriedly into her eyes. She grunted and was pulled up onto her haunches by her mare’s forehooves, who, once she was stable, promptly took them up against the Buffalo. “What the hay is wrong wit’ ya?! What did ya do ta her?!”
“I didn’t do anything! I—“
“Liar!”
Apple Bloom pulled her forehoof back somewhere between Ponyville and Appleloosa and launched it forward.
An forehoof caught hers in time and deflected the blow.
“A… Apple Bloom…”
Babs Seed stumbled to her hooves again and brushed against her fur, swaying. “It’s… not… her… fault. I—“
A rush of hooves surrounded them, barricading them within a circle of enraged brown, black, and orange coats, enormous Buffalo boars with war-paint marring their muzzles standing their firm ground. Shit.
Cold, mocking sweat rushing down her nape, Apple Bloom stuttered, “S-s-sorry… Ah was j-jus’—“
Strongheart broke through the circle and shouted to her fellows, “Leave them alone! Let them go!”
Chief Thunderhooves trotted up beside her and stomped his hooves twice on the ground in warning. The circle of Buffalo crumbled, its members bounding away on their own hooves. Nopony would dare to raise a hoof against the Chief’s daughter. Skeptical as they were—eying the two strangers with menacing gazes—they nevertheless obeyed and resumed their previous duties. Some sharpened their horns a second time.
Little Strongheart steadied Babs Seed on one side, while Apple Bloom took the other. Together, they guided Babs Seed towards the bonfire, which was now familiar shades of red, orange, and yellow. C-cold… so… cold. Must… sit. Panting, exhausted, and confused beyond description, Babs Seed chose to sit in front of the flames. Thankfully, the flames radiated heat instead of a strange, sickening chill.
Holding Babs Seed up with their forehooves, mare and Buffalo sat in silence.
Finally, the Chief whispered, leaning close to Babs, “What did you see, young one?”
“I didn’t see anythin’,” Babs replied, each word requiring a strange, insurmountable effort. “I jus’ felt.”
“An’ what did ya feel?” Apple Bloom asked.
“Cold. Hollow. Empty. Dark. An’… An’ I remembered… I remembered what it was like back there.”
“Ya can’t mean….” Refusing to even consider the possibility, Apple Bloom rounded on Little Strongheart once more, snorting hot steam through her nostrils. “Ya took her there! There o' all places! How could ya do such a thing?! Ah trusted ya!”
“Please! I mean no harm!” Little Strongheart pleaded, raising her forehooves in surrender. “I didn’t take anypony anywhere! What one sees in the cold fire is different for us all, a premonition of probability and possibility—“
“Then, why were ours like that?”
“I have felt it too, Apple Bloom,” Strongheart shot back, taking a few hoof-steps away from them. “I have felt the blackness, the coldness, the foreboding dark. It is rolling into Appleloosa and the frontier, and has for several months now. Right before the shooting…”
She took a deep, shaky breath. “Right before the shooting in town, I was staring into the cold fire, as I usually do. I look into it often. It is my duty to divine the spirits, to see what our ancestors can teach us. And, when I did—“
“The same thing that just happened to your mare happened to my daughter,” Chief Thunderhooves said, turning to Apple Bloom. “She, too, lost consciousness, overwhelmed by great fear and trembling. There is great danger coming to this land. From what—or who—we do not know. But, the spirits do not lie. Within those sacred sands, one can divine the truth. And the truth is some great evil, rolling in…”
Feeling his temper begin to spark and rise, betraying his calm countenance, Chief Thunderhooves stomped away his thoughts. “From where, we do not know,” he finished, though his heart said otherwise.
“So… lemme get dis straight,” Babs said, finding her strength once more, replenished by both the desert sands beneath her hooves and the radiance of the flames. “Youze… wanted ta tell me dat I have some kind o’ power, an’ how ta survive in the desert, an’…. youze wanted ta warn us?”
Little Strongheart nodded. “Yes, I wanted to tell you of this, also. As for your magic, Babs Seed, I cannot divine it. I can only sense it. I am drawn to sources of magic, to those who possess power and strength beyond normal measure.”
Apple Bloom assisted Babs Seed to all fours. Babs Seed raised an eyebrow and remarked, “Did youze say… strength?”
Strongheart nodded again. “Yes,” she explained, “strength. Strength comes in all varieties, especially among Earth ponies. Some are able to grow crops, such as the mare who planted those orchards in the sand.” Aunt Barbara. “Some are able to bring peace and harmony in the midst of chaos, whose words and hooves find common ground where there is none otherwise.” Cousin Braeburn.
“There are many more kinds of magic and strength,” Strongheart added, stepping towards the towering mare, “and I cannot discern them all. I cannot identify what only you can know for yourself. All I do know is that you, like the one who grew your trees or the one who keeps your city safe, are one whose connection to the Earth has not yet been severed. One whose might and magic is strong. Your speech may be from the East, but your heart is not. Isn’t it, Babs Seed?”
Immediately, Babs answered, “No.” It neva was.
Although she had no answers of her own to provide if prompted, Little Strongheart asked anyway, “Do you know what your power is, Babs Seed?”
Amongst the Buffalo, five miles west of Appleloosa and many, many more away from her roots in the cobblestone, Babs Seed flicked her left ear, and knew. No explanation was necessary. It was apparent from her fetlocks to her snout, from the tip of her bobtail to the one rebellious strand of her red-and-pink mane. It was apparent in the way she towered over all the other Apples but one—and that one had "big" in his name.
She nodded, feeling her muscles ripple beneath her coat.
“Then,” Little Strongheart said, taking the bobtailed mare’s forehoof in her own, “promise me this.”
“What?”
“Both of you, be vigilant,” urged Little Strongheart, staring at both mares. “For I fear that the darkness may not only be rolling towards those who strike up gold and silver beyond the horizon, but upon us all in the West. It shall settle amongst us all, whether we will it or not. And when the time comes to choose the side of the darkness or the light, harness your strengths towards righteousness.”
The foal in the clearing, now a mare in the desert, nodded her affirmation. And so did the other beside her—the one who had been beside her though seven years of trial and tribulation, daggers and deserts alike. Apple Bloom sensed her own surging of energy, adrenaline rushing at Strongheart’s words, her own hackles rising amongst the darkness.
She too, knew the answer to Strongheart's inquiry, and, if asked, would've offered her own truth.
They stood there, builder and destroyer, two sides of the same coin.
~
Babs Seed and Apple Bloom accepted the Buffalo’s parting gift of several pots filled with fig cactus and “that mushy stuff,” (as Babs referred to it) tucking the rations into their saddlebags. While Luna’s lantern still lit the desert sands, they set their course back to Yukon, double-checking their compasses and maps.
They left the tiny camp, waving forehooves goodbye until a distance beyond mere geography separated them. Grateful they were for the Buffalo’s friendship and alliance, though neither could shake the chill of the cold fire. Its black, flickering flames charred their bones to the marrow, visions of what had and could be tormenting their minds and extending their silence.
After what seemed like hours, one of them spoke again.
“’Ey, Bloom?” Babs asked, striding close beside her mare, her heavy hooves a rhythmic clip-clop in the silent night.
Apple Bloom whispered, “Yes, Babs?”
“What did youze think o’, when youze saw the cold fire?”
Apple Bloom paused, then muttered, “… Ah don’t wanna talk ‘bout that.”
Nuzzling her, Babs pressed, “C’mon. Youze can tell me anythin’.”
Apple Bloom sighed. “Ah know Ah can. Ah jus’… Ah don’t wanna think ‘bout it. Ya know how ya said ya thought o’ Manehatten, an’ all the things that happened there?” At her nod, she explained, “Well, Ah didn’t think o’ anythin’ that’s happened ta me befo’. Ah thought o’ somethin’ Ah never want ta happen.”
“… Oh.” Babs glanced curiously out of the corner of her eye, keeping the other half of her gaze steady for any sign of predators in pony or coyote clothing. “Well… who knows iffa it’ll come true. Dey don’t know everythin’, right? Lil’ Strongheart didn’t even know everythin’ ‘bout me.” She doesn’t know what ma cutiemark means, o’ what happened way back then.
“Yer right. Ah shouldn’t worry.” Chuckling slightly, Apple Bloom added, “Though, ya sure gave me a scare when ya passed out. Don’t do that again. Yer too big fer me ta put on ma back anymo’.”
“… Is dat why youze keep stealin’ ma food?”
~
Skagway, also known as “Soapy,” was a seasoned prospector, the sourest of sourdoughs. The stallion patrolled the perimeters of his camp on this clear, crisp night, thanking Luna for her gift of a full moon. His camp slumbered peacefully, a few miles away from Yukon. The spring had come, and with it arrived several new miners. Most were greener than cacti. In their inexperience, they were easy to exploit, hauling ore, digging ditches for sluicing, sifting through pan after pan of worthless desert sand.
The stallion made his rounds around his camp, keeping a steady forehoof near his revolver. The weapon was a recent but necessary acquisition. News of the shooting in Appleloosa rocketed through the frontier, spread not by pegasi wings but tall tales over Applejack Daniel’s and games of poker. The wild was no longer the haven of vagabonds and dreamers. Vagrants and scoundrels were occupying the sands as well. Skagway would have none of that nonsense.
Just before Witching Hour, the small hand on his pocket watch inching towards the two, Skagway’s ears pricked erect, detecting the shift of two sets of hooves against the sand.
Nopony would be out at this hour for a good reason.
The stallion drew his revolver and spun around, ready to face anypony who opposed him. There was no law in the desert. There was only Skagway.
He moved his forehoof achingly close to the trigger. “Two o’ ya, huh? Well, come an’ get me, ya demons.”