Nopony gave her a second glance, as she stepped off the train. The desert winds had weathered her down to a ghost, to a little wisp of earth-tone flesh and bone that slipped right under the eyes. Her neck slumped forward from work and wind and tiredness, and her tired eyes skirted around constantly, watching high and around for danger. Nopony gave her a second glance as she slung a dusty green duffel over her back, sighed, and began plodding along.
She walked with slow, steady intent. Her shoulders rippled and rolled with the strain of carrying most of her weight, and her back legs trembled and shook. Nopony noticed. The years away had worn her into a ghost, into a little wisp of earth-tone flesh and bone that slipped right under the eyes. And so she soldiered onward, puffing a strand of greasy, sun-whitened hair from her tired eyes. She walked with slow, steady intent, towards the town center, towards the sunset, towards the silhouette of a cupcake.
She butted the pink door open with a slam of her head, steadfastly ignoring the CLOSED sign before her tired eyes. Somepony gasped, and somepony trotted out from the kitchen. And her eyes lit up and her neck straightened as bright, wonderful pink filled her vision. She smiled with her wind-chapped, frowning lips as those bright pink legs hugged her tight. She hadn’t smiled in years, it seemed. At least one. The constant, weary loneliness had ground her into a ghost, into a mere wisp of the pony she had once been. But she smiled into that wonderful, bright pink shoulder as a cascade of joyful babble and banter cascaded over her, and some of her terrible, dusty emptiness was filled.
The noise stopped, and Pinkie pulled away from the hug, looking her over curiously. “AJ, what happened?” she asked, herding her to a table and sitting her forcefully on a plush cushion.
“Appleloosa went under in the big drought,” she rasped. The dust and wind had scraped her voice into a ghost, a mere wisp of its old authority. “Started tryin’ to help other frontier towns.”
“Can I get you something to drink?” Pinkie gave her a gentle pat on her over-muscled, aching shoulder and a nervous, worried smile. Applejack returned a ghost of that smile and shifted on the plush pillow to ease her aching hip.
“Some water’d be much appreciated,” Applejack grunted. Pinkie nodded and ran to the kitchen, popping back out a minute later with two glasses and a large pitcher balanced on her back. Applejack helped her unload onto the table and poured herself a shot, tossing it back like whiskey. She sighed in relief as the cool water trickled down her throbbing, burning throat. She poured another, and another, and finally met Pinkie’s questioning eyes.
“After Brae and his folks skipped town, I was about to do the same, head back to Ponyville,” she began. The water had done wonders for her voice. “Ran into Cherry Jubilee, you know ‘er. She said Dodge Junction was in the same pickle. So I picked up and moved and worked to save it, but th’ drought got them, too. Dust storms started up, meaner n’ a cat in the bathtub, so ponies skipped outta there, too. So I moved again and again, an’ all of ‘em got the same.” Applejack met Pinkie’s eyes and watched as concern shifted to fear inside them.
“There ain’t no frontier left, Pinks,” she whispered, shuddering. “It’s all gone to dust.” She poured another shot of water and downed it like whiskey, sighing in relief as it quieted her stomach.
Pinkie rushed off again and came back with a cupcake, a milkshake, and a tiny little party hat. She put the silly cardboard thing onto Applejack’s head. It tickled and scratched her greasy, dusty mane. And Pinkie lit a single candle for the cupcake and pushed it across the table, smiling gently.
“Welcome home,” Pinkie giggled. Applejack blew out the candle in a little huff of air, and a tiny little laugh of her own burbled up in her chest. It was a ghost, a dusty little wisp of how she used to sound. But it was a laugh all the same, the first in a long haze of work and dust and disappointment. It was a start.
Applejack bit a clean half of the cupcake and nosed it over to Pinkie again before assaulting the chocolate malt before her. The thick drink, cold and creamy, felt more intense, more real to her than anything in the last years ever had. Her brow furrowed when her straw gurgled at the near-empty bottom of the glass.
“Pinkie, is this still home?” she asked, shifting on the plush pillow to ease her aching hip. She’d been a ghost, a dusty wisp of earth-tone flesh and bone, just passing through for so long she’d nearly forgotten quite what home meant. Family, for one, Dinners and laughter and staying put, resting.
--TIME--
Pinkie raised her eyebrow and caught Applejack into a hug, humming a cheerful, meandering ditty that perked Applejack’s ears and brought another ghost-smile to Applejack’s dusty, weatherbeaten face. “It is if you want it to be,” Pinkie murmured, still hugging her tight. “Apple Bloom would love to have you back on the farm, and Twilight and Fluttershy and Rarity and Rainbow will all want to see you too, and…” Pinkie swallowed and hugged Applejack a little tighter still. “I’m glad you’re back,” she said, nuzzling Applejack fervently. “And I really want you to stay.”
The dust and the drought and the despair had beaten Applejack’s hope into a ghost, a meager, dusty wisp of what it had once been. But she could feel it wavering and growing stronger, fluttery and warm in her chest. “That sounds mighty nice,” she rumbled, leaning into Pinkie’s wonderful hug.