//------------------------------//
// Flashback 1 
// Story: Reconciling Annabelle Smith 
// by Crowley 
//------------------------------//

Ponyville Town Square
63 years ago

“Argh, fingle-fangle!”

A fine selection of groceries - oranges, pears, pretty much anything that wasn’t apples - rolled across the recently cobblestone’d streets. The unfortunate soul who had dropped them had also dropped the unpleasant exclamation in despair. It wasn’t easy carrying extra shopping when both saddlebags were full. It was even harder to hold the paper bag with a fore-hoof and keep a grip on it after bumping into a stallion.

He was a well-built stallion. A pegasus with his head in the clouds; no, in the good way. He was training to be a cloud-soaring, hard working, rear-end-kicking member of the mighty Scarlet Wings. And it goes without saying that this stallion was you.

Luckily for her, you were also polite. You were helping the nice lady scoop up her fallen groceries mere seconds later.

“Oh my goodness! I am so sorry madam-”

“It’s fine, I was in a hurry-”

“Wasn’t looking where I was going-”

“I’m in a rush, you see-”

“I think that’s just about everything. No wait, there’s just-”

You’d remember this part for years to come; your finicky hoof hovered over a small orange, one of the few things that had rolled further away than you thought. The mare’s hoof reached forward at the exact same time.

You touched hooves together. A warm connection, but for some reason it felt like a mild electric shock for both of you. You both just… stopped in your tracks. Never before had the physical contact of a mare done that to you.

You remember soaking up her appearance that moment; her pale green coat, her dusty blonde mane and tail done up in braids, her amber eyes like a cosy coal fire on Hearth’s Warming Eve. You also remember forgetting to breathe until she spoke.

“Thank you.”

You looked back at the orange in your hoof’s grasp. Then back to her. Bashfully, you popped the fruit back into her grocery bag.

“Not a problem.”

With that, she started to trot away. You noticed her saddlebags were full to near-bursting, and that she was struggling with the third recently-dropped bag in her fore-hoof, pressing it close to her chest. 

Not if you could help it.

“Madam? Excuse me, madam!”

She turned back to face you as elegantly as she could with her hefty encumbrance.

“You said you were in a rush? I could help carry some of your stuff home if you like. That way you wouldn‘t be struggling.”

For a moment, she hesitated. As if she was trying to confirm whether or not you were just joking about your offer. “A gentlecolt like yourself? You’d really lend an extra hoof to a little mare like me?”

“I insist.” you smile and nod curtly. Time was really no object to the likes of you. At least, not while you were in your youth. You were more than happy to scoop up her extra bag in your wings, and stroll towards the farmhouse outside of the small, friendly town with her.

“The name’s Annabelle Marie Smith. My friends call me Annie. What’s yours?”