Sweet Apple Anthology

by Bad_Seed_72


Year Seven: Blood Is Thicker Than Water

Year Seven: Blood Is Thicker Than Water

In the distance, the evening stars pointing west led two mares to a stretch of cactus-dotted plain. By squinting through the cool mist of twilight, Babs Seed could see the faint outlines of tents and lean-to’s arranged in a circle. We must be gettin’ close ta Yukon. Keeping close besides Apple Bloom, she quickened their collective pace.

“Almost there, Bloom,” she muttered, her hooves beginning to ache from their journey from the Buffalo camp to their current destination.

Apple Bloom cross-referenced her map and quickly tucked it back away in her saddlebag. With a relieved grin across her muzzle, she said, “Ah sure hope so. Ah think we’re not all the way there, but it’d be nice ta stop an’ sleep fer a bit.”

Desert night embraced them with crisp forehooves. The atmosphere stole their breath and converted it into telltale steam, declaring to all of ill will that they were approaching. Although preferable to the scorching madness of before, Babs Seed silently agreed. Would be nice ta stop an' get unda some blankets. Horseapples, it's cold. She reckoned it would take quite awhile before she would tolerate either half of the desert coin—dawn or dusk.

Suddenly, Babs Seed stopped in her hoof-steps. She halted Apple Bloom with a forehoof and pricked her ears. We ain’t alone anymo’. Apple Bloom did the same, dreadfully realizing that a third rhythmic breathing had joined theirs in the night.

From the corner of Apple Bloom’s eye, a dark gray figure raised something in his forehooves.

Her breath caught in her throat.

That figure met her gaze and began to gallop towards them, revolver raised, eyes two pools of indiscernible black in the darkness.

“Babs!”

Snapping her head around, Babs Seed managed to stammer, “What the—“ before a forehoof silenced her and pushed her down into the sand, damp with evening mist. Apple Bloom stood in front of her fillyfriend, her forehooves raised in opposition, pupils dilated and hindhooves flexed, ready to spring.

“Bloom! Don’t!”

Babs Seed wrestled out from beneath her and jumped in front of the mare, teeth as a timberwolf’s, jaws poised and molars glistening in the moonlight. “STOP!” she screeched, her heart mocking her resolve, fluttering into arrhythmia.

Iffa dis is the end, it’ll be me, not youze.

Apple Bloom brushed against her coat, grabbing her again, but Babs Seed was the stronger. She stood fast in front of Apple Bloom, hackles raised, Fate galloping towards her with a ready revolver and thundering iron hooves.

There was no Appleloosian Deputy to protect them now.

Closer, closer, closer the figure came, his weapon clear and visible beneath Luna’s lantern. When he was mere yards away, an alarm sounded within Babs Seed's mind, and she launched off her hindhooves.

~

Skagway, the sourest of sourdoughs, found his vision failing him in his later years. When he’d reckoned that he’d best meet his visitors in the sand before they could subject him to their own nefarious whims, he’d taken off as fast as his hooves could carry him.

Through the desert night, he could determine two figures: one noticeably bigger and taller than the other. “So, a mare an’ a stallion team o’ thugs?” he mumbled, quickening his pace. “Not on ma watch!”

As the stallion approached, fifty feet away, then thirty, then twenty, his grip on his weapon began to slip. Cursing his foalish, tired old forehooves, he hesitated for one accursed millisecond, looking down at the weapon…

WHAM!

Suddenly, Skagway was trapped to the sands, irritating grains sticking to his dark-gray fur and his disheveled white mane. A pair of unshorn fetlocks pressed down on his throat, making his eyes bulge in wide surprise. He struggled to breathe or speak, a monstrosity of a mare staring deep into him, her irises emeralds, precious jewels and treasures he had dedicated his life to extracting. And here the prospector was, flailing his forehooves and pushing against hers, feeling the darkness wrap around him for the final time…

The mare released him an instant before he was overcome. Skagway coughed and sputtered, spraying the ground with spittle. He lurched behind himself and fumbled for his revolver. “… Where…. where… is ma…”

“Lookin’ fer this?”

The second figure in the shadows joined the brute towering over him. This one was a yellow mare with a wavy-red mane, a small bow tucked within its lengths. She maintained a tight grip on the weapon, both her fetlocks squeezing around its grip, keeping it trained straight down. Her eyes wild, she demanded, “What in tarnation is wrong wit’ you?!”

His attacker—her cropped tail, colt's manecut, and a nick in her left ear attesting to the wildness her hooves had already demonstrated—snorted and shook her muzzle. “Shouldn’t have paused there, bucko. Now, tell me who youze are befo’ I—“

“Who am Ah?!” he growled, rising to his hooves. He took a few steps towards the larger mare, deflecting the accusation and pointing back at her. “Who are y’all?! Did y’all jus’ think ya could—“

Babs Seed tensed her muscles, ready to pounce once more. One mo’ step, mothabucka, an’ I’m gonna geld youze so fast—

The stallion immediately halted, his expression morphing from justified rage to bemusement. His eyes fell to their cutiemarks, both containing a familiar red fruit.

“… Apples?” the stallion whispered, lowering his forehoof. “Wait!” he exclaimed, taking a step away from his visitors. “Y’all… y’all are Apples?”

“Dat’s right,” Babs shot back. “Youze gotta problem wit’ dat?”

His gaze narrowed. “No, not that Ah would’ve know it from yer city-slickin’ tongue.” He shifted his attention to the smaller mare. “Are y’all related ta Braeburn Apple?”

“O’ course! He’s our cousin,” Apple Bloom answered, keeping a steady grip on the gun. Unconvinced, she hissed, “What’s it ta ya?”

“If Ah would’ve known that, Ah wouldn’t have charged after ya.” The stallion brushed sand from his mane and coat, shuddering as he touched his ribs. He glared at the the larger mare. “Yer lucky ya didn’t break anythin’! Ma ribs are bruised, Ah betcha, but at least Ah can walk! Oh, bobtail, yer one lucky lil’ bit—“

“I am the lucky one?!” Youze buckin’ scum. “Youze jus’ tried ta shoot us! Youze is lucky I haven’t cut the small talk an’ finished what I started!”

Apple Bloom trotted a few steps towards the stallion. “Who are ya? What are ya doin’ here? An’ give me one good reason Ah shouldn’t jus’ shoot ya now.” Her final words trembled as they left her tongue, adrenaline surging through her veins unsure if fight or flight was the correct response.

The stallion removed his Stetson and sighed. “Ah’m sorry. Please, lemme explain.” He stared at the ground, weighing his options. His old bones could easily wrestle the weapon from the forehooves of the yellow Apple, but the orange one was far too strong for his weathered muscles. Years of digging through the sands of the badlands, sleeping beneath a blanket of fire and ice, and his own skirmishes had taken a toll on the stallion. The moment he raised a hoof against one, the other would fight back, with iron or steel, and that would be the end.

Besides, he realized, the thought sending waves of sickness to accompany the agony in his chest and abdomen, the rest of his camp was sound asleep. Nopony had stirred through their current tussle. Nopony would wake if Fate decided to snip his thread short on this silent spring night in the wasteland.

He kept his muzzle low and closed his eyes, powerless.

Apple Bloom raised an eyebrow and glanced toward Babs Seed. “Should we….?”

Babs Seed spat on the sand and trotted over, pressing her muzzle against the stallion’s. She paused, waiting for him to meet her eyes, to strike her, to do something.

He didn’t.

Taking a cautious step away from the grizzled stallion, Babs Seed hissed, “Explain youzeself.”

On command, the stallion lifted his head and put his Stetson back on. He met their gaze, and began, choosing his words carefully, “Ma name is Skagway, but some ponies call me Soapy, on accounta—“

“Wait! The Skagway? The Skagway o’ Yukon?” Apple Bloom asked, incredulous.

“That’s right,” Skagway said. “Me an’ ma crew’ve decided ta git an early start on minin’ this spring. Normally, we’d be out even further west o’ here, diggin’, sluicin’, somethin’. But we were plum lucky, found some gold dust in the sand here a day ago. We’re jus’ gettin’ ready ta start diggin’ tomorrowa, actually,” he said, his eyes shining. A tear threatened to make him a fool amongst the three. So close. So close he was to striking it rich, but his failing vision and trigger-happy ways would make that dream an eternal one.

“Ah’m sorry. Ma eyes are goin’ bad, an’ Ah didn’t see y’all were mares, an’ harmless ones, at that…” He gestured to their saddlebags, as well as their obvious lack of any hostlers. “Well,” he added, staring at the orange brute, “Ah thought y’all were harmless.”

Ears flattening, Babs Seed rounded on the stallion. “Why, I oughta—“

“Babs!” Apple Bloom clamped down on the tip of her bobtail and yanked her backwards, eliciting a YIP! of surprise and a glare. “Let him talk.”

Youze is too nice fo’ youze own good sometimes. Ahhh. An’ still takin’ Ma too seriously. Rolling her eyes, Babs Seed muttered, “Continue...”

A faint smile forming at the corner of his mouth, Skagway said, “Anyway, Ah’m sorry fer runnin’ towards y’all. Ah thought you were some o’ the scumbags who keep rollin’ through here.” He gestured towards the plains. “All ‘round us are comin’ ponies o’ all shades an’ intentions… Many o’ ‘em are innocent, but not all. Some o’ ‘em, ‘specially wit’ those East tongues—“ he shot a scowl towards his attacker—“been tryin’ ta rob me o’ ma workers. Last time was a few months ‘go.”

“Well, Ah’m sorry we attacked ya, too, Skagway.” Apple Bloom mustered a slight smile to match his. “We jus’ left Appleloosa, an’ Ah’m sure ya’ve heard ‘bout the shootin’ there.”

He nodded. “Ah have. Which is why Ah wished Ah would’ve known y’all were Apples befo’ Ah jumped ta such… er, bad conclusions. Braeburn’s a right ol’ hero, an’ anypony related ta him must be o’ good stock.” He neglected to add, So Ah hope, with another glare towards the larger mare, but refrained.

Babs Seed snorted and rolled her eyes. Well, maybe we should wear giant “We're related to Braeburn!” signs befo’ we go anywhere else. All these ponies out heeya act like anypony wit’ ma speech is bound ta rob o’ shoot ‘em. “Dat’s puttin’ it lightly,” she grumbled, blowing her mane from her eyes. “Anyway… sorry ‘bout earlier.” Though youze can’t blame us. Horseapples.

Babs reluctantly extended a forehoof to the stallion. “I’m Babs Seed, an’ dis is Apple Bloom.”

Skagway slowly shook forehooves with the mare, surprised to note the firmness of her grip. “Nice ta meet ya.” He then completed the greeting with the other mare, who passed him his revolver afterwards.

The stallion holstered the weapon and sighed. “Not the best o’ ways ta meet, but Ah’m glad that’s cleared up. Now, what can Ah do y’all fer?”

“Um, actually, heh,” Apple Bloom said, twirling a forehoof in the sand, “we were, um, comin’ out ta Yukon ta find ya…”

“Oh! Y’all want ta be part o’ ma minin’ team?”

They nodded.

“After nearly breakin’ ma spine an’ shootin’ me wit’ ma own weapon?”

Slower this time, they nodded.

Skagway tapped his chin with a forehoof. “Y’all got some nerve,” he grumbled after a few moments, furrowing his brow. “’Specially you, Manehatten accent.”

Bracing her hooves in the sand, letting her spare rage dissipate in the tensing of her muscles, Babs Seed offered, “Well, iffa it makes youze feel betta, I’ll do mo’ o’ the heavy work. Least I could do, right?” An’ wit’ youze weak bones, somepony’s gotta do it.

He paused. Then, once his decision was made, Skagway said, “Oh, Ah’ve got somethin’ fer you an’ mind, bobtail. But fer now, let’s git some rest, shall we?”

Neglecting to wait on a reply, Skagway pivoted on his hindhooves and began to canter towards his camp in the plains. His visitors followed swiftly, their heavy hoof-steps a rhythmic metronome against the silence.

~

Apple Bloom ruffled through her saddlebag and retrieved three tightly-rolled blankets, a few stakes, a hammer, and a ten-foot length of rope. She carefully strung one end of the rope around a limb of a “W” cactus (provided with no other classification by Strongheart, she reckoned that this sufficed) and pulled it taut towards another. Once the other end of the rope was secure, tied around another strong cactus limb, she draped the largest and thickest blanket over the rope.

With Babs Seed’s assistance, they stretched out the blanket on opposite sides of the rope, creating a makeshift shelter that resembled an upside-down “V”. Apple Bloom hammered a stake in the four corners of the blanket and unrolled a second blanket beneath the structure. The two mares crawled into the shoddy tent and wrapped the last blanket around themselves.

Babs peered out through one of the open ends of the tent towards the rest of the camp. The rest of the miners had arranged their tents or lean-to’s in a circle around a fire pit. A few hardy souls constructed no shelter at all, sleeping under the moon with the starry night sky as a blanket. Skagway was one of these, his Stetson resting on his stomach, his revolver resting beside the boulder he utilized as a pillow.

These two cacti were a few yards to the side from the epicenter of the camp, giving the mares of clear view of their fellows. Must be at least ten otha ponies heeya, countin’ Skagway. Wonda what dat bastard’s gonna have me do. Bet all ma bits it won’t be fun.

Apple Bloom wrapped her forehooves around Babs Seed’s torso from behind and snuggled into her fur. “Mmm… ya like ma tent, sugarcube?” she whispered, closing her eyes.

“Heh, I do, Bloom,” Babs whispered back, returning the embrace. Rare desert snow or rain would be deflected by their shoddy shelter, while the expected dip in mercury would be battled by the three blankets between them and the night air. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. And the burgeoning nomads were willing to settle for enough.

“Hey, Babs?”

“Yea?”

“Ah’m gonna write ta Sweetie an’ Scoots tomorrowa. Remind me ta ask Skagway where the nearest mail-pegasi are o’ somethin’.”

“I will. An’ I’ll write ‘em summat, too. Speakin’ o’ letters, have youze heard back from Applejack yet?”

“No…” Apple Bloom lifted her head onto the mare’s chest and frowned. “Ah’m worried, Babs. Ah wish there was some way we could help her.”

“I’m sure we’ll figure summat out.” Least I could do. Fo’ all dis. With a meager smile, Babs Seed urged, “Let’s get some sleep fo’ now. I’ve got a feelin’ Skag’s gonna rouse everypony at dawn.”

With only an hour between them and a brush with the Reaper, and a few hours remaining before Luna retired to Celestia’s rule, neither mare could debate her suspicions, and they quickly fell into a deep slumber.

~

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

Babs Seed creaked one eye open, pulled from dreams of a mysterious stallion galloping far and away, just beyond her reach. She’d almost caught him when the annoying racket of metal-against-metal interrupted her egress. Groaning, she pulled the blanket further over herself and Apple Bloom.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

A shrill soprano called out into the morning mist, “SOUP’S ON, EVERYPONY!” The rough clanging of a spoon against a pot continued, summoning all but two of the mining team from their slumber.

Apple Bloom yawned and smacked her lips, wrestling out of the cover. Babs immediately pulled it back over herself and groaned.

“Mmm… what time is it?” mumbled Apple Bloom, running her forehooves through her mane. After a few quick brushes, she deemed herself sufficient, and sought next to rouse her partner. She poked Babs in the shoulder. “C’mon, Ah think they’re startin’ breakfast.”

“It’s too damn early!” Sun’s barely risen, barely got any sleep… Babs Seed buried her muzzle under the blanket and slammed her eyelids shut.

Poke, poke. Babs Seed brushed the intruder away, who sighed, exasperated. “Babs, hon, we don’t have much o’ a choice.”

“Well, tell Skagway he can buck off! I’m goin’ back ta sleep!”

Apple Bloom shrugged and trotted out of the makeshift tent. “Suit yerself. It’s too early fer this anyway,” she muttered, shaking her muzzle.

In the middle of the camp, a curly-maned mare was serving a line of hungry miners bowls of oatmeal from a large, boiling pot. The pot simmered above a combination of a steady flame and a rising mercury. Dawn had just breached the boundary between Earth and sky. Already, Apple Bloom felt a few drops of sweat forming on her neck and forehead. She shook them off and took her place at the back of the line.

In front of her, a stern unicorn mare turned around and snorted. “Great fare, huh? You would think for ten bits a week, they’d at least throw in something better than oatmeal.”

She giggled. “Aw, Ah don’t mind. Ah’m jus’ glad ta git somethin’ ta eat. Last night was mighty… tirin’.”

“Pfft. I prefer buckwheat pancakes myself. Say,” the unicorn began, eying the other mare quizzically, “I don’t think I’ve seen you before. You must have just come in and talked to Skagway this morning, right?”

Apple Bloom rubbed the back of her neck with a forehoof. “Uh, ya could say that.” Changing the subject, she introduced herself, sticking out her other hoof. “Ah’m Apple Bloom. An’ you are?”

“Dyea,” she said, gently shaking hooves. Dyea smiled and inched forward with the serving line. “What’s a pretty mare like you doing out in this uncharted territory all alone?”

Giggling, Apple Bloom said, “Ah’m not alone. Ma partner is sleepin’ in our lil’ tent ova there.” She pointed at the makeshift tent, which was rising and falling in time with the exhausted snores of one stubborn mare. “She doesn’t wanna git up. Ah’ll jus’ save her somethin’.”

“Oh, I know the feeling.” Dyea fanned herself with a forehoof. “My husband was just like that. Always sleeping in well past breakfast time. I wasn’t as generous as you are, though,” she added, smirking. The mare’s smirk quickly devolved into a frown. “Oh, those were the years… until the bandits came.”

Apple Bloom paused, moving forward in the line. Only a few tired, exhausted-looking stallions stood between her, Dyea, and two hot bowls of oatmeal. “Ah’m… Ah’m sorry ta hear that,” she muttered, averting her eyes.

Dyea dismissed, “It’s not your fault. Wasn’t anypony’s fault. That’s just what comes with the frontier. You and your mare be careful, alright? And if you need any help today, just ask me. Skagway’s got a soft spot for me, if you catch my drift.”

Laughing at Dyea's wink, Apple Bloom nodded her understanding. A few minutes later, Dyea gracefully accepted the breakfast offered to her by the camp chef and whisked away. Next, came the Apple mare’s turn, and when she reached the head of the line at last, found something far more than just oatmeal.

The camp chef’s eyes met hers, forehooves frozen in mid-pass of a steaming bowl of oats. “A-Apple B-Bloom?”

Apple Bloom blinked, disbelieving. It couldn’t be. There was just no way it could be. Not after all of this time. Despite every rationalization, she couldn’t shake away the thought, the recognition.

Again, the chef stuttered, “A-Apple B-Bloom? Is dat youze?”

“Allspice?!”

Setting the bowl down on a stool, Allspice threw her forehooves around Apple Bloom, hugging her tight. “I thought I heard youze voice earlier! I knew it! Oh, Celestia, it’s so good ta see youze! Youze grown so tall!”

Squeezing her back, Apple Bloom pulled away and laughed. “Ya should see Babs, when she gets up, she’s really—“

Allspice interrupted, “Babs is heeya too?! Celestia! First I saw Citrus an’ Libra jus’ a few months ‘go, now youze an’ Babs? It’s right-ol’ family reunion out heeya, haha!” Allspice slapped her own flanks and chortled uncontrollably, clutching her sides. “Horseapples, I neva woulda thought—“

“Allspice!”

Skagway trudged over to his camp chef, set down an empty bowl of oatmeal, and snorted disapprovingly. “Hurry up an’ finish wit’ breakfast. We gotta break camp in ‘bout thirty.” The stallion nodded and trotted off towards a group of his workers, who, in the absence of instruction, dealt a quick game of poker between themselves. “Hey, fellas, got no time fer silly games!”

Rolling her eyes, Allspice passed the last bowl of oatmeal to her ward and remarked, “Guess I gotta get packin’ dis stuff. We’re gonna be headin’ out soon.”

“Ta where?” asked Apple Bloom, taking a quick bite of the breakfast. As expected, it was delicious. Allspice may have aged over the years, her locks of curly mane dotted sporadically with gray, but her skills were just as sharp as the chef’s knife on her flank.

“Whereva ol’ Soapy leads us. Good oatmeal?” Apple Bloom nodded. “Good. Save some fo’ Babs. Actually… iffa youze could manage ta get her up, dat would be great.”

Apple Bloom smiled. “’Course Ah can. Ah was jus’ bein’ nice. Gimme a sec,” she said, again putting down the bowl.

Allspice began to dissemble her camp cooking equipment, watching as the mare galloped over to a tent hung between two cacti and crawled inside it. There was a quick tussle, a rustling of blankets, and a dragging of a red-and-pink bobtail between a pair of displeased jaws, but, somehow, the remaining occupant emerged at last, rubbing sleep from her eyes and scowling.

“I told youze ta tell Skagway—“

“Oh, Babs!” called Allspice, waving an eager forehoof.

Babs Seed turned towards her, internal processes slowing to a halt. No! No way! It can’t be… but, is it? “A-Allspice?”

Allspice laughed into a forehoof, her beaming smile brighter than any desert sun. “Dat’s ma name, kiddo. Now, come an’ get some breakfast befo’ we hike out.”

Trotting up to her, Babs Seed began, “But, how did youze—“

“No time!” Allspice thrust the bowl of oatmeal into her waiting forehooves. “Hurry up an’ eat, both o’ youze, an’ we’ll have plenty o’ time ta talk once the real fun begins.”

~

Skagway rounded up his crew of twelve and led the way into the desert. The crew—eight stallions including himself, four mares, and only one unicorn amongst eleven Earth ponies—carried or pulled their camp on their backs. Along with saddlebags came hauling carts, pickaxes, shovels, building materials for a sluice, pans, barrels, rope, wrenches, and other mining equipment.

Skagway trotted them out about a mile from camp before he stopped. They arrived in a stretch of desert plains with a rare oasis in the center. He grinned. It hadn’t been an illusion after all. “Y’all see,” he said, trotting over to the oasis, “what Ah’m seein’?”

One of the miners piped, “Ya, but Ah reckon that’s jus’ the whiskey talkin’!” A clamor of laughter accompanied his drunken chuckles, the speaker swaying with morning buzz. It was always five o’ clock somewhere for some ponies.

Babs Seed, Apple Bloom, and Allspice brought up the rear of the pack, laughing even harder as Skagway strode up and smacked the offender across the muzzle. “Stupid drunk,” Babs muttered, snickering.

Skagway glared in her direction and snorted. He trotted back over to the oasis and dipped his forehoof into the water. Warm as expected, the oasis was nevertheless deeper than he'd assumed. Grinning, he exclaimed, “Got mo’ than enough water here fer sluicin’!”

Apple Bloom mumbled curiously to the camp chef, “Why don’t he offer ta have everypony fill up their jugs?”

“Youze don’t drink desert water,” Allspice replied. “Too stagnant. Celestia knows what grows in dem oasis out heeya. Jus’ drink cactus water. Youze do know what dat is, right?”

“Yea,” Babs answered. “Buffalo told us all ‘bout it.”

Allspice smiled. “Good.”

Skagway clapped his forehooves together, rousing his workers to attention once more. “Everypony, get ta yer assignments! We’ll be needin’ ta clear the ground first. At the same time, carpenters, build the sluice. We’ll need it 'specially once we break ‘bout twenty feet down, but might find somethin' befo'. That’s where the gold is. Allspice, set up fer lunch in a few hours, an’ ma two new miners, come ta me.”

With another strike of his forehooves resounding against each other, the camp set to work. Dyea and three other stallions gathered wood and nails from their sluice supplies and began to construct the device. Four grizzled-looking stallions began to sharpen their pickaxes and shovels, marking points of entry into the Earth with stones.

Allspice left her two long-lost friends with a wink. “Don’t worry, we’ll have plenty o’ time ta talk while youze is workin’. I have a feelin’, though, youze might not wanna talk, heh.”

Before Babs Seed could question why, the answer strode up to her, his gait hesitant and obviously pained. “Well, ain’t it ma favorite two new recruits,” mused Skagway, looking over the mares. “I s’pose y’all wonderin’ what I’m gonna have ya do?”

“Youze wondered correctly.” Babs Seed flexed her muscles and spat upon the ground, unflinching from the stallion’s suspicious gaze.

He flared his nostrils but said nothing, turning his attention to Apple Bloom first. “You ever built anythin’, Apple Bloom?”

Confidentially, she answered, “’Course Ah have, Skagway!”

“Please...” He chuckled as he said, “Call me Soapy. All ma friends do. Bloom, Ah think ya should help Dyea an’ the others wit’ the sluice. Ever built one o’ those?”

“No, sir, Ah haven’t.”

“Easy enough. It’s a simple slope we run water down ta search through gravel an’ clay fer gold. Just a long filter runnin’ down inta a collection box. Shouldn’t take mo’ than an hour o’ two ta build. Then, y’all be sluicin’ whatever our prospectors dig up. But,” he stated, shifting his gaze to Babs Seed, “we have ta have somepony ta haul all that earth from the minin’ site ta the sluice.”

Babs Seed tapped her chin with a forehoof. “Lemme guess,” she said sarcastically, “youze want me ta do it?" 'Cuz I kicked youze flank like it was nothin’?

Skagway laughed and smacked her back playfully (or, seemingly so) with a forehoof. “Hah! You flatter yerself, bobtail, bein' smarter than Ah thought! Yes, Ah want ya ta do it ‘cause, well, yer so strong, ain’t ya?” He growled, shooting her with an expression that could bore holes through the muzzles of lesser ponies. His newest hire merely blinked back at him and awaited instruction.

Skagway groaned. “Follow me,” he said, urging her in the direction of a cart stationed near the prospecting stallions, who had already begun to strike at the merciless sand with their tools.

Babs Seed began to follow, looking back at Apple Bloom. Apple Bloom nodded and ushered her to follow him. “Have fun, sugarcube!” she teased, trotting off towards the carpenters and Dyea.

“Gee, thanks,” Babs mumbled under her breath. She followed after the stallion, who waited expectantly beside a large, empty one-pony cart. “Say, Soapy—“

“Yer not ma friend, an’ ya can’t call me that,” Skagway snapped. He lifted the horse-collar off the cart and nodded towards it. “Git into position inta the cart an’ Ah’ll snap ya in. Yer gonna be haulin’ sand, ore, an’ gravel today. All o’ it goes inta the sluicer. Wait ‘till the cart is full ta bring another load ta the sluicin’ ponies, ya hear?”

His only reply was the mare lining up against the cart and slipping under the ropes connecting to the collar. Standing tall, matching him in height, Babs Seed accepted his challenge and lowered her neck. Skagway immediately snapped the collar around her neck and checked to ensure the ropes were secure. Once confirmed, he took a few steps away from the mare and laughed.

“What’s so funny?” she snapped, glaring at him.

“Never had a mare do this befo’,” he replied, his grin wide enough to split his muzzle in two. “Nothin’ ‘gainst ‘em, jus’ never did it. Let’s see how long the first one lasts.”

Babs spat on the ground and shot back, smirking, “Longa than youze think, Soapy.”

Skagway swallowed the urge to smack that indignant smirk off the mare’s face and turned away, taking to his hooves and more important matters. The rest of the camp demanded far more attention than the one he’d cast with the most tiresome task of all. Always a gambler, he began to place his own wager: how long before this one would beg somepony to relieve her?

He heard her call out behind him, “’Ey!”

“Yes?” Skagway asked, spinning around, countenance innocent as could be. Perhaps he wouldn’t need to place any wagers. Perhaps she would give up already. It was all he could hope. City-ponies were usually trouble—though Allspice had proved to be a worthy exception—and his aching ribs witnessed to the possibility that this one might be even more so.

“When do I start haulin’?”

~

The first day of mining work was the hardest. After an hour of putting around, twirling her forehooves and counting crows circling through the Heavens, Babs Seed was ordered to begin her duties.

She would pull the cart over to the new mining site, where four stallions, who were covered from snout to tail in sand, dirt, and clay as the day wore on, would quickly shovel ore and earth into the cart. The site was about ten-by-ten feet in size, and growing progressively deeper. There was always more than enough, and the cart would be filled until its contents spilled over the sides.

She would then pull the load, each hoof-step heavy and slow, about twenty yards away to the sluice. The sluice was fed water from the oasis down its track and into a deposit-box at the end of its waterway. Apple Bloom and the three stallion miners would sift through the sand, dirt, and clay, their forehooves and fetlocks muddying within minutes. Dyea would utilize her unicorn magic to detect anything that deposited in the box—gold dust or, hopefully, nuggets—before then emptying this, too, into a separate pile.

And so, the process repeated, hour by hour, with a break around high noon for lunch. Allspice whipped up a hardy meal of beans and corn, which Babs Seed devoured without hesitation. The hardest labor—constructing the sluice—behind her, Apple Bloom glanced worriedly at her mare, picking at her own plate. “Are ya alright, Babs? That cart looks awful heavy…”

Slurping down the last of her lunch, Babs nodded and rose to her hooves, clutching the plate as if it were her lifeline. “I’m fine. Nothin’ I haven’t done befo’. I’m gonna go get some mo’. Starvin’ out heeya.”

“Well, alright,” Apple Bloom tentatively replied, Libra’s promise at the forefront of her mind. “If ya start hurtin’ o’ anythin’, jus’ let me know an’ Ah’ll take over, alright?”

Trotting away, Babs called over her shoulder, “Youze got youze own work! An’ I’m fine!” Betta get some Celestia-damned gold outta dis. Skagway’s got it out fo’ me. Damn ol’ fool.

Meeting Allspice besides her simmering pot, Babs Seed held out her plate and begged with her pupils. Allspice chuckled and heaped a second serving onto her plate in response. “Got youze workin’ hard, ain’t he?”

“Sure is,” Babs said, plopping down on the sand. Bothering not for a stool or proper manners, she practically mauled her meal, a timberwolf brought far beyond the reaches of the Everfree. Allspice watched in a mixture of curiosity and revulsion, choosing only to shake her head and chuckle again.

“Youze need ta be careful. Celestia knows when we’ll hit gold. Iffa eva. An’ iffa we stay heeya fo’ a few days an’ don’t get anythin’, Skag’s jus’ gonna move us a few miles an’ try again.”

“Youze know,” muttered Babs between bites, “why don’t he jus’ get a unicorn who can detect gold?”

“Youze don’t think he’s tried?” Allspice shook her muzzle and crossed her forehooves. “Dyea’s the best we got, an’ she can only go through ore once it’s in the deposit box. She don’t have no mo’ skill than dat. Few years ‘go, when dis all began, a couple unicorns wit’ dat magic struck it rich an’ ran off wit’ mo’ gold than youze can shake a stick at.”

Licking her plate clean, Babs Seed arched her back into the sand and cracked her vertebrae, releasing tension. Ahhhh… nice lil’ break. “’Ey, Allspice, befo’ I forget… was wonderin’ ‘bout summat.”

Putting out the fire and beginning to tidy up her field kitchen once more, Allspice kept her gaze glued to the task at hoof and casually replied, “Go ‘head, ask me anythin’.”

“Where’s Greyhoof? Didn’t he go out heeya when he left?”

Allspice paused. Then, hanging her muzzle low, she answered to the sand, “Greyhoof… is no longa wit’ us, Babs Seed.”

“… Oh,” Babs said, sitting up on her haunches again. “Oh… dat’s awful ta hear. I—I always liked him.”

Allspice smiled sadly and, forcing herself to continue in her work, replied, “An’ he always liked youze. But, Greyhoof was an ol’ stallion, Babs. I was lucky ta see him a few times out heeya. He was workin’ wit’ anotha camp fo’ a while. I think he… I think it was jus’ his time.”

“I see. Do youze think he was happy?”

“Happy?” Allspice repeated. She met Babs Seed’s eyes, wide and full of hope, and couldn’t deny her. Nor she could deny it herself. Slowly, she answered, speaking of these things for the first time in years, “I don’t know. He died few years ‘go, an’ I wasn’t talkin’ ta him then. But, I’d like to think so.

"I mean, dis was betta than bein'… there, youze know?”

Babs Seed nodded. Oh, I know.

~

The unforgiving sun dipped and hid within its void in the horizon. Once the faintest of stars began to peek out from the cover of night, Skagway ordered his crew to put down their tools for the day. They did so with glee, prospectors especially, plopping aching backs and stomachs onto the rapidly cooling sand.

Skagway strode over to his hauler and removed the collar from her neck. Grinning, he taunted, “Had enough? Gonna call it quits yet?”

Her muscles burned with lactic acid, fibers torn and stretched without discrimination. Her bones ached from the marrow, joints sore and stiff from the repetitive burden across her shoulders, neck, back, and hooves. Her fur was drenched in sweat, dripping down her neck, muzzle, and chest, sparkling beads of salt and saline reflective in the dying embers of day.

“Absolutely not,” Babs Seed said firmly, shaking her head (which aggravated a brewing dehydration headache). She exhaled hot steam through her nostrils and smiled smugly. “I think I’ll stick heeya wit’ youze ‘till we strike gold. O’ youze run outta bits ta pay me, whicheva comes first.”

Scowling, Skagway hissed back, “Payday’s every Friday—which is tomorrowa, so you an’ yer marefriend be paid only fer two days first. Go an’ git some dinner befo’ ya fall down.”

He spun and departed, joining the rest of his crew as they assembled before Allspice’s cooking fire for the third and final meal of the day. Babs Seed stretched out her hooves and cracked her back, sighing. Celestia, dis is hard work. But it’ll be worth it. Jus’ gotta stock up some bits, an’ then—

Apple Bloom galloped up to her and nuzzled her neck. “Hey, how are ya—“ Her words were cut short by the mare’s wincing at her touch. “Babs, are ya alright?”

Babs Seed shrugged and shook out more of her tension, popping several joints. “I’m fine. Sorry. Jus’ a lil’ sore, heh. ‘Ey, sorry I wasn’t much fo’ talkin’ earlier. Jus’ kinda lost maself in dat work.”

“It’s alright,” assured Apple Bloom, joining her as they trotted towards the serving-line. “Ah wasn’t much fer talkin’, either. Kept ma eyes open fer gold, an’ we didn’t git any, not even dust. But yer sure yer alright?”

“Yes,” Babs said, unsure if she harbored a lie or let the truth set sail. Jus’ first-day soreness. Haven’t worked a plow in a few months. Jus’ rusty. “First day’s the hardest, dey say. We’ll be fine. Jus’ wanna get some gold an’… oh! ‘Ey, did youze ask Skagway ‘bout mail-pegasi?”

“Yeah, Ah did.” Taking their places in line, Apple Bloom beamed with excitement, visions of parchment and ink dancing through her mind. “He said there’s at least one who comes by every Friday! Ah’ll have ta write ‘em both tonight. Were ya wantin’ ta write ‘em, too, Babs?”

“O’ course.” I hope dey doin’ alright, Sweetie an’ Scoots. All dis talk ‘bout the East bein’ bad is makin’ me worried.

~

For the next four months, Babs Seed and Apple Bloom settled into an exhausting, yet freeing, repetition. The timing of Allspice’s fire-cooked meals—reminiscent of both home and hearth—marked the three stages of their days. First, there was breakfast, usually oatmeal or toast with peanut butter or jam, that awaited Apple Bloom after successfully rousing a usually-reluctant Babs Seed. Then came lunch (beans most of the time, with some vegetable) about two hours into work, when Babs Seed's back and Apple Bloom's forehooves began their daily ache. Finally, dinner completed their day, hearty stews and casseroles subjecting them to carbohydrate-induced bliss and lulling their muscles to repair.

They exchanged letters between Clousdale and Canterlot the most, though Ponyville and Appleloosa remembered them as well. Scootaloo had almost completed her academy training and was living in the dorms with Featherweight, who set his eyes on a photographer job with the Cloudsdale Gazette. Sweetie Belle was about half-finished with her first album, Sapphire Shores eagerly assisting in the production and development of the record. Apparently, her special somepony followed her to Canterlot, though the two did not live together. Silver Spoon attended university nearby, enrolling in writing and debate classes.

To the West, Citrus Blossom continued to accumulate savings, waxing excitement about her plans for the clothing store. No precise date had been nailed down, though she wrote of it as if the time was immediately at hoof. (Such is the language of dreamers.) Libra maintained a steady job as the general store owner's accountant upon his store's re-opening and Braeburn reported no more suspicious activity than the frequent bar-brawls and petty thieves (locks had become mandatory, and thieves with them). Appleloosa, to Babs’s and Bloom’s relief, remained standing, waiting patiently for them when and if they would return.

Further West, Applejack wrote that the crops were flourishing as expected, though sales remained stagnant. There was enough to keep operations running. Smoothly would not be an accurate description of affairs. “I am hoping that, soon, a new town or bar or something will spring up and demand our business,” she wrote, her hoof-writing staccato, deep, words crossed out and re-written over her original intent. Both her recipients made note of this and whispered of it amongst themselves.

“Youze know what I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout, Bloom?” asked Babs Seed one evening, stretched out on the sand.
Apple Bloom was working knots and kinks out of her back with strong but gentle forehooves. Stubborn she was, and she pulled that cart, day after day, load after load, even as Skagway moved them from one site to the next, chasing gold, chasing dreams.

“What, Babsy?” Apple Bloom whispered, digging her hooves into her back. Babs winced and groaned. “S-sorry. Are ya sure ya don’t want me ta switch jobs wit’ ya? Ah can ask Soa—“

“I’m fine,” Babs dismissed, exhaling. “We’re gettin’ close, I’m sure.”

Four months had passed, 320 bits earned between them and not one drop of gold to show for it. Perhaps, she reasoned, the bits would be enough. An’ soon. “Anyway, I was thinkin’, ya know, ‘bout what’s goin’ on wit’ AJ an’ everypony at home…”

Sighing, Apple Bloom confessed, “Ah’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout that a lot, too. Ah wish there was some way we could help. Ah notice a lot o’ these prospectors an’ such drink. Maybe they’d be interested in some Apple Family fare?”

“Exactly. I’ve noticed it, too.” Lotsa ‘em are drunks. An’ drunks need dey sauce, but youze can’t find dat in a cactus. “Maybe… maybe we should think ‘bout puttin’ up stakes somewhere. Build a business o’ summat.” Babs Seed craned her neck to look back at Apple Bloom, smiling. “I know youze can build anythin’.”

Blushing, Apple Bloom dismissed, “Oh, Ah’m not that good. Ah jus’ try ma best.”

“Youze build sluices like dey was nothin’!”

“’Cuz they aren’t, Babs."

“Well, there was the clubhouse, an’ the barn roof, an’ what ‘bout dem blueprints fo’ Citrus?”

Apple Bloom paused briefly, then begrudgingly accepted the praise. “Ah… Ah guess Ah do know somethin’ ‘bout that. But what we’re ya thinkin’, sugarcube?” Massage completed, she curled up next to her and guessed, “Maybe a store?”

Outside, the wind howled, teasing sand, sending it flying into the atmosphere. June would soon give way to July, the hottest month of the year in Appleloosa and the desert plains that laid lawless beyond it boundaries. Babs Seed remembered a rush of wind, a cloud of dust, a dark night seven years ago. She remembered a structure that housed an angel of the Most High itself, an angel in white apron and black bowtie and Manehatten accent.

Tools and paintings of country life inside, and rows and rows of labels upon his shelves. A space that filled her with awe and wonder, more home than she’d known in years, if ever. And the best, truest manecut she’d ever received, and would always wear, in memory of him and all that she had overcome.

A place where the water and the whiskey flowed freely, not one speck of innocent blood entangled within the mix. A place where—although she did not yet know it—the shadowy figure of her dreamland had found his freedom and his destiny, called past the horizon and into the wild.

The Waterin’ Hole.

Whispering low, fear and excitement bound into one breath, Babs Seed replied, “No, Apple Bloom. Not a store.

“A bar.”