Zecora carefully pulled Macintosh back into her hut; not a difficult task, considering how terribly thin the once tall and muscular stallion had become. She set him upon her cot and lowered an ear to his barrel. His heartbeat mirrored his breathing, ragged and uneven. He wasn't just exhausted, he was practically dying. She caught a scent on his breath: the scent of berries rotting in the sun. She went cold.
That fool. Eating of the forest without a second thought! And of all the things he could have eaten to sate his appetite, it had to be that...
Macintosh had fallen prey to the toxin of the driftaway berry, one of the most deadly poisonous plants the already dangerous Everfree had to offer, and the final stage of the poisoning was even now beginning to show itself.
She slapped Macintosh's face; keeping the victim awake sometimes raised the chances of survival; at the very least it might give her a few extra minutes to mix up the antidote. Macintosh stirred and mumbled, "Jus' five more minutes, Granny," and weakly swatted her hoof away. She continued on this way: fetching flowers and leaves from cabinets and shelves and stopping momentarily to give Macintosh a slap and keep him at least semi-conscious, but it was having less and less of an effect.
Soon, Macintosh's already ragged breathing transformed into wet wheezes. Zecora worked all the faster, beginning to panic. She prayed to the spirits of her home that they would give her the time she needed...
Finally, her worry making the few minutes it took to create the potion feel like one minute too long, it was ready.
The thick, paste-like brew bubbled unappealingly, letting out a stink that made her eyes water.
Dipping a bowl into the light-orange mixture, she rushed to Macintosh's side, nearly spilling half of the antidote in her hurry. She got as much of it into him as she could, forcing him to swallow. Macintosh's forelegs shuddered weakly as he tried pushing the bowl and its foul-smelling contents away. She only hoped she'd been quick enough...
A minute passed, and his breathing seemed to improve, returning to the ragged gasping of before. It wasn't much of an improvement, but she took every crumb of positive news she could grab.
His breathing improved further and he was slowly working his way towards consciousness. His head began to rise from the pillow of the cot and his eyes opened very slightly. Zecora nearly clapped with glee.
Her happiness was short-lived.
Macintosh's eyes suddenly snapped open fully and his breathing reverted to wheezes even harsher than before — harsh enough that small droplets of blood sprayed from his mouth with each tortured breath.
No.
His eyes closed again and his head fell back onto the pillow. Soon his wheezes slowed and quieted.
Oh, please don't.
Slowed and quieted further still.
Please...
A few seconds later, Macintosh let out a tiny, pained whine.
...please...
And then he died.
Zecora looked down at the thin, sad form lying on her cot and a stream of emotions flowed through her in short order: pity for poor Macintosh over what he had been reduced to, anger at having him taken from her, fear as she watched him die after trying desperately to save his life and a combination of sadness and self-loathing for having failed him. These feeling were intermingled with a cold wind — a wind that cut like a razor in passing. Her stomach twisted; she almost felt nauseous. He had gone through all this for nothing.
He'd had his strength and maturity stripped from him by poison joke. He'd been pursued as prey by the ceocú and had struck it down in the end, despite his weakened state. He'd unknowingly eaten driftaway berries. And yet, even as their poison had been eating away at him, making him more and more exhausted as his efforts caused it to flow ever faster through his body he'd fought every step of the way (literally as well as figuratively) to reach her, only die in front her. He'd lost his strength, his dignity, and finally his life just for her.
And in the end, despite her efforts all she could do was watch it happen.
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't fair at all.
And now she had to tell his family of this and admit her failure to save him. She wondered if she should bring Macintosh's body back with her, but making her way there while carrying him would be somewhat difficult, even given her knowledge of which shortcuts she could take. It would be safe enough to leave him here.
'Safe' being interpretative in this case.
Would his family blame her for Macintosh's death? Would they say she didn't try hard enough? And what of little Applebloom, the first of her many friends? She would hate her now and forever, along with her sister and Granny Smith. She would no doubt lose her other friends as well. Things would be even worse than when she had simply been feared.
And just maybe that would be fair.
She gently wiped off the flecks of blood from around his lips (at least she could do that right) and turned to the door. The sooner this was over with the better.
'Better' being interpretive in this case.
She let out a final sigh, opened the door and stepped out into her forest.
From behind her came a wail. Her head whipped around and she saw Macintosh literally bounce upwards off of the cot and take in a huge breath of air. He collapsed into a heap on the cot and after letting out a series of moans like a foal having a nightmare drifted into unconsciousness. Zecora's heart rate almost doubled and a massive burst of emotion, the likes of which she never felt in all her life hit her like a club, causing her to practically stagger — a tidal-wave of joy, of relief and of that alien and yet somehow familiar sensation. She sobbed even as she reveled in it.
Quickly regaining her composure, or at least a semblance of it, she rushed back into her hut as fast as her suddenly unsteady legs would allow.
Zecora lowered her head to Macintosh's barrel again and listened. His heartbeat was strong and constant and his breathing, though sharp with stench of the antidote, was clear, with no rasping nor gasping. He soon began to sweat profusely as the potion raised his body temperature, flushing the poison out of him through his skin.
She fetched a rag and gently wiped his coat, being certain to ensure the sweat touched nothing but her hooves. The sweat contained the poison and, given how close to death Macintosh had come, this poison would be extremely concentrated. She would succumb quickly to its effect should she come in contact with it. Macintosh's coat had to be cleaned, though, or the poison would eventually seep back into him. He would only be safe for the amount of time that would take. Macintosh wasn't truly out of danger until the sweat was gone.
Zecora wrung the rag out into a bowl for later disposal. The rag and bowl would then be used as fuel for her cooking fire, the contact with the concentrated poison making them too dangerous to ever use again.
The heat made Macintosh whimper in discomfort, and he struggled slightly in his sleep. Zecora carefully restrained him, again being certain to touch him with nothing but her hooves. Soon he stopped struggling and returned to lightly snoring. Zecora wiped the remaining sweat from one side of his body, gently rolling him onto his other side and continuing, until she was sure every drop was gone.
Now that the sickly colt was properly asleep and his coat was clean, Zecora went to mix the potion to deal with his other problem. As she mixed, she considered the events of the last half-hour; certainly she would have been extremely worried if anypony else had been poisoned, particularly a friend. Likewise, curing them of their affliction would please her no end, as such a thing rightly should, but her reaction when it had been Macintosh's life on the line was far beyond worry and pleasure.
Zecora had been absolutely terrified at the thought of seeing him die. And when he had, even for that short time...
Her soul had just fallen apart, as though it had been frozen and then smashed with a hammer.
And when Macintosh had been returned to him, his awakening had been accompanied by the purest of joy — joy that brought light to her soul brighter than the rays of the summer sun.
Joy and something else. Something that was almost powerful enough to bring her to her knees.
She stirred the contents of the pot as she thought further. She looked over at Macintosh and felt a small surge of joy with every rise and fall of the colt's chest. Soon her eyes opened wide and she slowly stopped stirring as understanding finally struck her. She smiled at the peacefully sleeping colt; at last she knew what she was feeling. It explained her sudden interest in Macintosh when she'd first seen him and why thinking of him after that night under the stars made her so cheerful. It also explained why it always felt slightly familiar.
It felt somewhat like friendship, only infinitely more powerful.
She'd never truly felt this sensation, which Rarity — Zecora having found her fawning over her latest romantic pursuit — had described to her with the cryptic statement 'You'll know it when it happens', but after the day's events, Rarity's words made sense. The only reason it had taken Zecora so long to realize what she had been feeling was because of her isolation: the hike she'd taken was the first time she'd ever really left her forest 'for fun' and Macintosh was the first stallion she'd ever met in more than an impartial manner.
Zecora went back to mixing her potion, a warmth running through her that had nothing to do with the cooking fire.
Macintosh awoke. That was a huge mistake and he felt bad for doing it.
Then he just plain felt bad.
He felt like a huge bruise — there was no other word for it. Well, there was, but he'd been brought up to not use language like that, even to himself. He had a headache so bad he was surprised he was able to even think about it and he could literally see his heartbeat as a series of dull flashes in his vision. He moaned piteously.
I must be alive; I can't see the afterlife being so cruel as to leave me in this state. Then again, considering how my day's been so far... He tried getting his legs beneath him, but they would have nothing to do with it - just the movement made him light-headed and almost physically sick. Getting out of bed being currently impossible, he had to console himself with the only action he seemed currently capable of: another whiny moan. Hearing Macintosh finally awaken, Zecora trotted over to his side. He laboriously turned his head, which currently felt like a cinderblock being struck with a mallet, to look at her. She smiled, her eyes glittering.
"Good evening, Macintosh, I don’t know why you came here, but you’re cured of your sickness, you’ve no more to fear. Poison joke was the culprit, your age and strength it regressed, and yet you still made your way here; I’m very impressed."
She took on a serious expression and continued.
"I’m glad that you reached me, your chances were poor, you’d worn out completely; you stood at death’s door. For you'd been poisoned as well, I could tell right away. You'd eaten driftaway berries and nearly died yesterday! I quickly mixed an antidote for you. You were completely exhausted, slept a day, almost two. "
She smiled.
"You’ll be sore for a while, in my hut you should stay. The pain should be gone in less than a day.”
“Ze...Zecora, I...” mumbled Macintosh and yawned hugely.
“No need to speak, Macintosh, I can see you still need some rest. Just lie here a bit more, I think that’s for the best.”
“But what about my family, Zecora? They gotta be worried sick about me!”
Zecora nodded. “It’s true they were worried, but I told Applejack you were at my hut resting and that you’d soon be back. I told her this quickly, and my leave I did take, then I rushed back to my hut but you still weren't awake.”
“That’s good. As long as they know...” He yawned again and began to doze off. The pain dulled as consciousness once again slipped away from him.
Some time later, he was awakened by the smell of cooking vegetables intermingled with spices. He raised his head to see Zecora filling a wooden bowl with a thick soup. She brought over to him and helped him eat, gently spooning it into his mouth. He didn't know if it was because of something Zecora may have added to it or simply because he was so hungry, but each mouthful seemed to fill him with vigor, the last of the pain fading along with his hunger. The bowl was quickly emptied and Macintosh let out a contented sigh.
Well, now. Belly's full and the pain's gone, so now let's see if I can get myself upright. Done enough napping. Macintosh shifted his legs slightly, making his intent to stand clear to Zecora. Zecora gave him a slight look of concern and then a nod. With more than some assistance from her, Macintosh unsteadily got onto his hooves.
His legs were still quite stiff, but he was able to keep his balance and stay upright. He gave them a stretch, his knees popping in a satisfying manner. He took more than some pleasure when he looked at them - they were thick and solid as tree trunks again, instead of the thin gangly twigs they had been just a short time ago. He felt the strength he was used to returning to his muscles. He was about to speak up, when Zecora shook her head.
“First let us exit the forest, I’m sure you’d like out, and then you can tell me what this was about.”
Macintosh agreed without a moment’s hesitation; he’d been here far more than long enough. Zecora led him down a path hidden deep between several large bushes and they were shortly out of Everfree forest. He snorted; she made getting out look so easy, but then again she lived there.
“I am never going into that forest again”, proclaimed Macintosh. “No offense, Zecora ma’am.”
“None taken, my friend. Everfree forest is a danger, especially to someone to whom it’s a stranger." She put particular emphasis on the end her reply. "Now Macintosh, you going to say what led up to the events yesterday?”
He looked embarrassed. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that; seemed a good idea at the time.” Zecora cocked her head quizzically, a question in her eyes.
“Um...well ma’am...When we were watchin’ the stars that night an’ we stood together, I found myself quite taken with you, ‘specially after that look we shared. Didn't say anything at the time, though, since just being with you seemed enough. Would'a felt kinda wrong sayin' anything then - would'a ruined the mood.”
Zecora nodded.
Macintosh went on. “Next day, I figured that I should show you how I felt. I was gonna come by your hut with a gift an’ confess my feelings t’you. But then I got shrunk an’ that wolf-critter showed up..." Macintosh's eyes closed, his shoulders slumped and he looked down to the ground in embarrassment. "I’m sorry for the trouble I've caused... it was a stupid thing for me to do, an' I should'a known better. I’ll head on back home.” Macintosh started back to his farm.
Zecora called to him as he loped down the path.
“Wait, Macintosh, please, I have to confess, the blame is half mine in this whole sorry mess." Macintosh stopped and looked over his shoulder.
"I wish I’d said then but I have something to tell: on that night, while we star-gazed I felt it as well. An attraction to you, while we both watched the sky, and this feeling, it deepened; I didn't know why."
Macintosh approached Zecora as she explained, stopping a polite distance in front of her. She continued:
"I stood close to you then, that somehow felt right, as we two looked up and watched the stars on that night. This feeling was new, I could give it no name, but it is clear to me now that you felt the same. I felt it strongly as we stood there, just we two. I now understand, Macintosh... I love you too.”
Macintosh was dumbstruck. “You mean we both felt the same way then?”
Zecora nodded.
“And neither of us thought to make the first move?”
Zecora shook her head and smiled slightly.
Macintosh laughed and Zecora went pink with embarrassment.
Soon his laughing ceased and he gave the zebra serious look. "Don't you dare consider yourself to carry any blame; ain't right an' I won't allow it. Was my idiotic idea to do this, an' I pretty much deserved all that happened to me for bein' so stupid."
He looked deep into Zecora’s eyes. “But even considering how bad things turned out for me ‘cause I couldn't speak up when I should’a, it was worth it in the end. An' if I had’ta do this a hundred…no, a thousand times, knowin’ what would happen to me — turnin’ into a colt and workin’ myself near to death to reach you — I would have. Just for this moment.”
Macintosh grinned ruefully. “Though I gotta admit I'd shed no tears if I could skip the part about nearly dyin'... An' if it's all the same to you, I think if we’re gonna keep seeing each other...”
“...meeting outside Everfree would be less of a bother.” finished Zecora.
Macintosh let out a sharp laugh and the two gently nuzzled. “I gotta get back to th’ farm. I’m in enough trouble as it is already, what with my lyin’ an’ all. Come on by tomorrow. Providin’ I ain’t gonna end up countin' leaves for the next month, we can decide on what to do next. An’ of course the family’ll be happy to see you — you made quite an impression on Granny.”
As they shared a final farewell nuzzle, Macintosh continued back to Sweet Apple Acres, humming to himself and practically cantering with pleasure. Zecora smiled at the retreating stallion and melted back into her forest to await tomorrow.