Chapter 8 - The Pacifistic Warrior
"Shuh bangity bangity bang!" sang Applebloom as she bashed two hammers together, heads first. A disgruntled red stallion held his little sister aloft atop his back as she nailed the ramp back to the Cutie Mark Crusader's tree house.
"Ya done yet?" asked the annoyed big brother.
"Uh, just about," said Applebloom as she stopped banging the hammers together and back onto the nails.
Three nails later and a quick save to catch a falling filly, brother and sister headed back to the farm house trying to finish their last few chores before the sun set, and the skies were already orange.
They reached the barn and set about they're different duties, Applebloom went to take care of the chickens while Macintosh sat down to sharpen the horrible dull plow.
The red work stallion was left alone with the stone on metal rasping sound as he drew the whet stone down the length of the blade, working out dents and chinks out of the big metal plow from where rough runs into rocks had left them.
The work helped to try eradicating the mental image stuck in his head, but the sight of Twilight sashaying her hips back and forth while leaving over the hill earlier had been near-imprinted onto his mind.
Finally coming to the point of satisfaction for him, he set the now sharper plow was set down. He inspected the harness and wood frame, glad to see both holding up. Big Macintosh threw the whet stone so it landed right back on the work shelf where he had grabbed it.
The red farm stallion was excited to say the least for his bed, because that meant he could sleep and as soon as he slept time would seem to go faster through the night and then it'd be his day off.
And he was looking forward to it.
It wasn't often he'd get a full day, well half-ish day because of Applejack's lunch date with Twilight, but still. He usually had to settle for moonlight meeting. Which were romantic as can be, but did wear down on the participants.
The sun head set and night was falling rapidly so Macintosh left the barn for the night.
As the red stallion headed up from the barn and towards the house, a weird sound, a sound that was way out of season.
"Is that a howlin' Timberwolves, I hear?" asked the creaky old Granny Smith from the rocking chair on the front porch.
Applejack poked a confused head out the front door, "Sure sounds like it, but Zap Apple season is ways away..."
"HOOOOOOOOOWWWWUUUUUU!!"
"Okay, that one was way closer," now Applejack sounded worried. "Uh, Mac, keep headed this way would ya?"
Big Macintosh continued moving toward the house, now at a brisk trot.
He was almost at the porch when all the blood drained from his sister's face and she jabbed a hoof towards him, actually at something behind him, "MACINTOSH, RUN!"
Not even questioning his sister or her actions, Macintosh broke out into a flat out gallop. The racing stallion dared a quick flash of sight over his shoulder.
At least eight Timberwolves had exploded out of the tree line that bordered Sweet Apple Acres, and were charging straight for the farm house.
Granny Smith had already gone inside and was thankfully standing to the side of the door as Big Macintosh barreled through.
Applejack slammed the door closed and rammed the dead bolt home.
The red work pony reached for the wood chopping axe behind the door. He picked it up in his mouth and tested the weight by swinging a few graceful figure eights in the air.
He braced himself, ready to swing.
Thundering paws grew louder.
The wolves bayed as they grew closer to their prey.
You want dinner? silently asked Macintosh as he swung the axe again, Good Luck.
The noises of the hunting Pack grew closer and louder, bearing down on the farm house.
Louder.
Closer.
Louder.
Closer.
Louder until the point that Macintosh thought they had already started trampling about inside the house.
The thundering grew even louder and the stallion braced himself for the unheard but definitely felt climax.
And then nothing.
The thundering paws passed the house. Yes, passed around the farm house and began fading into the distance.
The red stallion looked at his sister in the Stetson, they traded confused looks. Gears whirred and turned inside their head at the recent events.
Both looked at each other with shock as they reached the same conclusion.
Big Macintosh sprinted out the door, axe still in mouth as his eyes confirmed what he feared.
The eight, now seeming to be plus eight Timberwolves had completely by passed the farm house and farm in general.
And we're heading straight for Ponyville.
Twi..., Macintosh sprinted into another flat out gallop as fear for his lover set in.
"Mac, look out!" Applejack's voice barely registered in his mind, but the giant blue, be speckled with stars paw slamming in front of him did.
His jaw dropped and the axe dropped out of his mouth in absurdity at the giant looming over him.
Night sky blue fur.
Studded with stars.
The Ursa Minor probably hadn't even noticed Macintosh as it stepped over him, or the white picket fence it crushed in multiple places.
It was following directly in the path of the Timberwolves...
Toward Ponyville as well.
Big Macintosh picked up the axe in his mouth and sprinted for the village again.
()()()()()()
Ponyville was for all intents and purposes, a War Zone.
Or at least the bit that Big Macintosh saw.
But strangely enough, as far as he could tell, nopony had been harmed. Ponies were either running screaming and hollering or just seemed dazed. Macintosh didn't bother too much brain power on this question of uninjured ponies.
The red powerhouse soon caught up with the Timberwolves and Ursa Minor on there path of destruction.
The night sky blue Ursa Minor carved a swath of destruction like a small tornado was passing through Ponyville, mostly avoiding full on crushing buildings but taking down walls and windows.
The Timberwolves however were absolutely swarming over buildings. Shoving themselves threw windows and doors before emerging shortly after.
Often, ponies would flee terrified from their homes screaming. TheWolves maybe gave them a passing snarl or bared teeth but no pursuit.
What are they doing...? now Big Macintosh questioned the Timberwolves strange behavior.
Something's stirrin' up these creatures mighty fierce, Macintosh suddenly had to leap sideways as the Ursa Minor unknowingly swung a heavy paw that was on a trajectory to occupy the same space as him.
Whatever he landed on violently started bucking and writhing before Macintosh realized he was on another pony.
Leaping off him, Big Macintosh then ran at full gallop to catch up with the pack.
He then targeted the first Timberwolf he saw, a smaller one that had just entered through somepony's doorway. The red stallion charged through the door after it.
As it ended up as, the Timberwolf had turned around and was about to exit the house when Big Macintosh blew through the door and into the Wolf.
The large stallion straight up broke or dislocated the Wolf's left shoulder as Big Macintosh had lowered his right shoulder, his much stronger and tougher shoulder.
The Timberwolf went sprawling down the foyer, it quickly regained composure on its three legs and charged the ready stallion.
As it limped a charge at him, Macintosh side stepped with ease and swung the axe up and then viciously down on the Wolf's neck.
The Wolf's body went slack and hit the floor, but not as a whole. When it hit the floor, the Wolf's body parts went flying everywhere
Big Macintosh turned away to start walking away, to find his next target, the sound of wood clattering around and hitting the tougher floor boards cause the stallion to pause.
Turning about and looking at the wood pieces that once was a Timberwolf, he couldn't believe his eyes as a sickly green magic surrounded the wood. The scattered pieces then reformed into the snarling, vicious form of the recently deceased Timberwolf. It was within striking distance, and it raised it's right paw to slash at him with it's wooden claws.
The red work pony didn't even give it a chance, the axe was swung around in a haymaker movement, shattering the Timberwolf's foreleg. It glared fiercely at him before resuming it's approach.
Big Macintosh brought the axe down square on it's forehead. Splitting the wood there and plunging into empty space.
He yanked out the axe with a cold tug as the Timberwolf collapsed for a second time. This time, Big Macintosh didn't walk away, he watched the pile of scrapes. After a good moment of them not moving, Macintosh began to walk away again, only to hear wood clattering yet again.
Fed up with retarded regenerating wolves, Big Macintosh went on a chopping frenzy. Slamming the axe up and down until all that was left was tinder mince meat.
Breathing heavily, Macintosh snorted at the pile of finely chopped wolf, daring it to regenerate.
Grunting in acknowledgement, he shifted the axe shaft in his mouth.
And for a third freaking redundant time, the pile shifted in its sickly green glow again.
His back still turned, Big Macintosh looked back over his shoulder.
Wide, intense eyes that appeared ready to kill.
Pursed lips that conveyed an annoyed attitude.
All in all, Big Macintosh looked about 500 percent done with this Timberwolf's regenerating bovine excrement.
Swinging the blade flat to the pile, not blade first but to provide the most surface area. He swung it like a cricket bat, sending tiny bits of wood flying everywhere. Out the door, into the kitchen, and into the adjacent room.
Then, to his utter horror, the pieces still tried to pull themselves together.
This is Ridiculous. I can't kill this one Timberwolf, how do I kill the others?, the red stallion kicked a larger piece savagely out the door.
A sudden though accrued to him, one of a slightly reclusive stallion. There's only one pony here that probably knows how to fill these things, and he's a pacifist...
()()()()()()