//------------------------------// // Acceptance (Nagging Doubts) // Story: In Swept a Blizzard // by Wintergreen Diaries //------------------------------// Chapter 4: Acceptance (Nagging Doubts) “Alright, that should be enough fer now.” “Finally!” Falling gratefully to the freshly tilled soil, a young filly reveled in her freedom from the curse of chores with an exhausted groan and a faceful of dirt, though that was more a byproduct of over-animated celebration. Prying her snout from the earth long enough to glare in in the direction of her sister’s chuckles, Apple Bloom soon gave up her glowering and accepted the offered helping hoof. “Ah don’t know how you an’ brother do this every day, sis,” the young filly asserted, dusting herself off as she stood. “Ah wasn’t even runnin’ but it feels like mah hooves are about to t’ up an’ fall off!” “Oh, it ain’t that bad,” Applejack replied with a grin, collecting various tools and tossing them into a nearby cart. “Farmin’ just runs in our blood, Apple Bloom. Ah’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.” “Ah sure hope not,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Ah’d sooner build a barn than till a field.” “Well, farmin’ is more than just harvest season,” Applejack mused, adopting a thoughtful expression. “More often than not, ah’m hard pressed t’ keep up with all the repairs around here, an’ havin’ somepony t’ tidy things up ‘round the farm would really take a load off my back.” “Really?” Apple Bloom exclaimed, perking up at the idea of doing something other than farm work. While she took as much pride in the farm as either of her siblings, she just couldn’t find the same pleasure in a row well planted that made Applejack beam, and the thought of being able to help in someway that didn’t scream “absolute drudgery” was like a glass of cool cider after a day in the fields. “Do ya really mean that, sis?” “Sure do, sugarcube. Take that fence over yonder,” she motioned, drawing the filly’s attention towards the dilapidated timbers that could hardly constitute a notable landmark, much less a right and proper fence. “Ah’ve been meanin’ t’ fix that fer absolute ages, but with everything else that needs doin’, ah just can’t seem t’ find the time. You know ah’m not one t’ sweat the small stuff, but we sell our apples all over Equestria, and that type o’ thing just doesn’t look good for potential buyers. Besides,” she continued with a rueful chuckle, “ah’ve learned a thing or two from Rarity, an’ there ain’t nothin’ wrong with makin’ things look nice. Don’t tell her ah said so, though.” “Mah lips ‘re sealed, sis!” Apple Bloom chortled as new life surged through her veins. “Gosh, ah can’t wait t’ try my hoof at somethin’ new! But, uh… sis?” “What is it, Apple Bloom?” “Ah’m right thankful that you’re lettin’ me do somethin’ other than work in the fields, but…” she hesitated, her ears drooping down in disappointment. “Ah haven’t the faintest idea how t’ fix a fence.” “Don’t you fret none,” Applejack reassured the filly with a grin, stooping down to collect her hat and tossing it onto her head with practiced flair. “Ah was plannin’ on payin’ Twilight a visit this afternoon, an’ ah’m sure she has somethin’ ‘bout carpentry in that library o’ hers. Besides, it ain’t like ah expect you to finish such a big project in a single day. What ah do expect is for somepony t’ be dashin’ off ‘fore ah find more work that needs doin’.” “Already gone, sis!” Apple Bloom called over her shoulder, kicking up dust as she sped off towards the clubhouse. Laughing quietly to herself as she watched her sister disappear amongst the trees, Applejack finished tidying up their workspace and strapped herself into the cart, pulling the loaded trolley with ease. In truth, she was somewhat grateful to Apple Bloom for giving her a legitimate excuse to drop by the library. While there was nothing wrong with worrying for a friend, Applejack wasn’t exactly adept in veiling her intentions, and she somehow doubted Twilight would appreciate being spied on. “It’s not like ah’m tryin’ t’ invade her privacy or nothin’,” Applejack reasoned with herself as she arrived at the barn. “Ah just can’t get that crazy colt outta mah head. Ah know it ain’ right t’ judge a pony ‘fore you know ‘em- Zecora is proof enough that appearances can be deceivin’. An’ now that ah think about it… he didn’t really seem like a bad sort, but…” She sighed as she put the last of the watering cans with the rest and paused, staring down at the hay-strewn floor. “Maybe it’s just me...” she murmured, hiding behind the rim of her hat. “Even if ah’m wrong, Twilight is one of mah best friends. Ah can’t just ignore this feelin’, not with her.” Nodding to herself as she reflected on all the times Twilight had helped her see the truth buried beneath life’s haze, Applejack reaffirmed her decision and rose, closing up the barn and heading down the beaten path leading back to town. It wasn’t long until she came upon the library, which thankfully appeared no worse for the weather, and after a few moments her knocks were answered by a very distracted bookworm’s dutiful assistant, tome in claw. “Hey there, Applejack,” Spike greeted her casually. “What brings you here today?” “Oh, ah just wanted to poke mah nose where ah’ve no business stickin’ it to ease concerns ah can’t rightly justify havin’ in the first place,” she answered in her head, steeling her nerves. She had no intention of lying, but beating around the bush was just as hard for the mare. “Well, Apple Bloom has been havin’ trouble findin’ her place round the farm,” Applejack began, accepting Spike’s unspoken invitation and trotting inside. “She’s earnest t’ help more often than not, but it don’t take much more than an hour fer her t’ lose interest. Ah do mah best t’ keep things interestin’, but ah can’t make everythin’ a game, an’ ah know she’s strugglin’ t’ keep up with ‘er chores. Long story short, ah was hopin’ y’all might be able t’ help me find a book ‘bout carpentry, or just fixin’ things in general.” Pleased with having answered in complete honesty without letting on that there was more to the story, Applejack grinned as Spike set his book aside and jogged to the center of the room. “Carpentry, huh?” he repeated, his eyes roaming the shelves. “I know we have something about that somewhere, but since it isn’t about magic or crazy adventures, it may take me a little while to find.” “Don’t fret none, sugarcube. Ah don’t mind waitin’.” “Gives me more time t’ find out what ah really wanna know,” she added in her head, taking a seat and looking around. “Whole place ain’t buried in snow, so ah guess that’s a good thing. Spike seems like his normal self, too. Maybe that feller got lost along the way?” Given that the library was the only building carved into an oak tree that she’d ever seen in or out of Ponyville, the notion struck her as unlikely, and with that in mind she was forced once again to call her misgivings into question. “If he’s here, then things are clearly alright, an’ ah don’t need t’ go pokin’ around any further. Ah should just get mah book and go home.” If anything, the library was more peaceful than she’d found it anytime in recent memory. Most of the books were shelved, Twilight wasn’t fretting about her most recent magical experiments and the finer points of arcane theory that Applejack couldn’t begin to comprehend, and between the gentle warmth in the floorboards from the afternoon sun and the dust motes dancing merrily in the gold shafts, the evidence stacked against her hunch was staggering. And yet, even with the perplexing normality of the setting, the fact that she hadn’t laid eyes on Twilight gnawed at her mind like an apathetic beaver with a toothache. “Shoot, there just ain’t any way around it… ah’m not gonna have any rest until ah see Twilight mahself,” Applejack concluded, scuffing at the floor with a hoof. With Spike otherwise distracted trying to find literature with inherent worth towards the practical, Applejack was free to roam, though her trained sense of smell caught the scent of berries in the air as she neared the staircase and drew her instead towards the kitchen. Rounding the corner and coming to a halt in the entryway, Applejack found both the friend she counted as dear to her and the pony she had sent away, too apprehensive to offer her own hoof. “Somethin’ must be wrong with me, thinkin’ ill o’ that feller; He ain’t a threat t’ anypony.” Ashamed to have been so short-sighted to not have seen past the newcomer’s outward appearance, Applejack let her ears droop as she watched the stallion, the very image of calm, ripple the quiet with the feathery sound of a turning page. Washed free of weeks worth of dust and soil, his mane shone a brilliant white and glinted in the sunlight, and between the snowflake crested on his flanks and the heart she hadn’t noticed within the crystalline image, Applejack found little defense against the pangs of guilt that knotted in her stomach. She was looking upon the emissary of winter, and found herself to be more cold than he. “Ah… ah couldn’t have been more wrong,” Applejack thought to herself, dropping her head. “Ah guess… sendin’ him t’ you was the right thing t’ do after all, Twilight. Ah’m glad you were able t’ see what ah couldn’t.” Though she would have liked nothing more than to head home then and there, her heart wasn’t about to let her off the hook; even if the stallion had no idea of her misgivings, she still felt obligated to extend her hoof. "Hey." Thoroughly ingrained in the daring adventures of a mare with much to do, the stallion didn't show any immediate signs that he had heard Applejack's words. "Beg yer pardon," she tried again, taking a step closer and pausing as he slowly raised his head, gave Twilight's wall an inquisitive stare, and blinked. "Shucks, he's just as oblivious as ever. He don't seem nearly as messed up, though, so ah guess that's good." "Over here, pardner," Applejack bid him, stifling a hesitant chuckle as he turned his baffled gaze towards the source of noise. "You feelin' alright?" "Much more now than I was before," Cerulean responded drowsily, pawing at his eyes like a sleepy colt up past his bedtime. "I appreciate your pointing me to this place. Twilight has been more welcoming than I could have hoped; she has my gratitude, and you as well." Hearing herself thanked with such frankness soothed the mare's conscience over having been so quick to pass him along to another, though even knowing that this mystery stallion hadn't viewed her actions in a dim light, there yet remained something about him that set her ill at ease. "Shoot, ya don't have t' thank me none," Applejack replied, awkwardly glancing away to collect her composure. "Come on, AJ, there ain't nothin' t' be worried about! This stallion don't look like he could mean anypony harm..." Her inner reprimand did little to quiet the anxiety that seemed to be pooling in her chest with every moment spent near the stranger, and though she genuinely wished to make him feel welcome to the community, it was all she could do to keep from beating a hasty retreat. "What's... what's yer name?" "You may call me Cerulean, if you'd like," came his amiable reply, accompanied by a smile Applejack would have loved to return. "Cerulean, huh? Ah'm Applejack," she returned as calmly as she could manage. Ordinarily, that would have been the queue for her to give the other pony a hearty hoof shake and a friendly pat on the back, but the notion of moving even a step closer made her shudder, and she remained firmly rooted in place. Shaken for reasons she couldn't comprehend and desperate to fill the quiet, Applejack turned away from Cerulean and fixed her attention on Twilight, who remained quite contentedly nose deep in her story. "Uh... Twilight sure seems wrapped up in that book." "That she is," Cerulean agreed, looking upon her with apparent fondness that only served to worsen Applejack's countenance. "Of the mares I've known, none have matched the reverence with which she studies. It's..." he paused, his smile growing a little wider, "really rather endearing." "If that's really what this feller thinks, then maybe this is where he belongs," Applejack reflected, muffling her sigh as it slipped from her muzzle. "Twilight's been feelin' pretty blue lately, an' right now she looks happier than I've seen her in weeks. Even if it don't sit right with me, ah ain't got no right t' go about neighsayin'. Besides..." she thought, her focus drawn to the tranquility that had found a home in the stallion's once vacant eyes. "If anypony can help 'im, it'll be her. She's the glue that keeps us all together, an' we all know it." Grateful in part for her bullheaded nature, she mentally gave her worries the buck and cracked a feeble smile as the unmistakable gurgle of an emaciated pony's neglected stomach sounded with startling volume, drawing her attention over to the spread that lay read, waiting, and forgotten upon the table. "Goodness, Twi, you're somethin' else," Applejack thought to herself, shaking her head as she returned to the main room. “Spike, have ya-” “Found it!” he exclaimed as if on cue, unshelving a weighty volume. Sliding down the ladder and landing on the floor with a heavy thump, he took a moment to rebalance himself before tottering over and gratefully setting the book in Applejack’s outstretched hoof. “That should be everything you need to know about anything that needs fixing: busted pipes, broken hinges, chimney… stuff? Everything!” “Thanks, Spike, this is exactly what ah was lookin’ for,” Applejack replied, glossing over a few pages before slipping the weighty guide into her saddlebag. “Ah’ll be headin’ back t’ the farm now,” she started, seeing no reason to linger. “Ah can tell that Cerulean feller enjoys a good book almost as much as Twi, but that pony need t’ eat. Make sure they both get around t’ eatin’ soon, alright?” Despite having seen more than enough to lay her worries to rest, her misgivings with the newcomer still lingered in the back of her mind as she started back towards the farm with her troubled eyes cast towards the road. Questions without answers and worries without reassurance filled a steadfast heart with doubt, bringing memories that she’d thought had been laid to rest bubbling to the surface. Quickening her pace until she was barreling through town, the mare’s attempts to leave her anxiety behind proved ineffectual, and as she slowed to a stop outside her house, breathless and shaken, she took another moment to wish Twilight well before seeking solace in the quiet of her room. While it is commonly held that librarians lead a dreary and dull existence, surrounding themselves with musty tomes and lofty words found only in the scholastic musings of the modern philosopher, this couldn’t have been farther from the truth for Twilight. Irrevocably ingrained in the lives of the ponies around her, her days were typically stitched together with threads of friendship and patches of improvisation, forming with every fond memory a patchwork quilt that represented the frantic mad dash that was her daily routine. When she wasn’t rendering assistance to her friends, priority was given to expanding her understanding of unconventional magicks and their applications, with the result being the relentless hounding of responsibility that rarely made way for relaxation. Therefore, when she did find the few scant minutes to let her mind drift away to another place, she relished those moments far more than she had before coming to Ponyville. Counting each page sweeter than honey and soothed by the late afternoon sunlight drenching her back, the mare punctuated the conclusion of another gripping chapter with a cavernous yawn, pawing at the air as she stretched out on the bench. “It’s been so long since I’ve taken a break like this,” she mused to herself, blinking drowsily at the novel before her. “I haven’t looked at the time, but I know I’ve been reading for quite a while, now. I’ll have to be sure to thank Spike for leaving me be. After all,” she thought with a grin, “what could be better than a few hours with a good book?” Chuckling quietly at the rhetorical question, she soon found herself quieted by an unexpected and different answer than she had held within herself just moments before as she rolled from the bench and found a different kind of story nestled between her hooves. While not sure what had prompted Twilight to use him as her perch, Cerulean couldn’t rightly say that he minded. Having spent much of his time the last few years by himself and wrapped in a mantle of cold despair, the warmth seeping into his coat was even more invigorating than the shower had been when he’d first stepped into the flow, and rather than question the mare’s habits, he laid his head upon his book, savoring the comfort. Suspecting that Twilight’s current position was nothing more than an accident, which it was, Cerulean expected that she would be quick to move away, but as pleasant seconds meandered past and no motion to move was made, he found himself intrigued by his living blanket. Turning slightly to make inquiry, his question was laid aside as his muzzle connected with one which he hadn’t expected to be quite so close, and he froze with his lips pressed lightly against the mare’s cheek. Unbeknownst to Cerulean, Twilight had been similarly afflicted by a reluctance to move, albeit for different reasons. Spike had been spot on when he asserted that Twilight liked it when other ponies read. This proved doubly so when said pony happens to be a stallion. Upon her landing, Twilight was bombarded by several potent observations, not the least of which was the realization that her desire for another story had been hastily fulfilled. Shifting from drowsy daze to awed wonder, her analytical mind found itself overwhelmed trying to categorize all of the emotions cascading upon her: the embarrassment of falling on top of her guest, the allure of physical contact, the panic of hastily formulating her potential explanation, and the unquestionably provocative nature of sharing a book with the freshly washed stallion. Though she would have liked another few minutes to explore the wealth of feelings roiling within, Twilight was snapped from her contemplation by the gentle coolness of lips upon her cheek, prompting immediate action despite her being completely frazzled. “Oh my goodness!” Twilight yelped, leaping upright and scuttling away. Crashing into the fridge in her haste to put some space between her and the stallion she’d been laying upon, Twilight felt her cheeks ignite as the realization of what had happened began to piece itself together. Bringing her hooves together and covering her mouth, she found them to be ineffective at stemming the overflow of apologetic babble that was tumbling out despite her best efforts to make rationality her muse. “I’m so incredibly sorry for sitting on you! You don’t even look like a bench! I mean, you’re soft enough you could pass for a sofa but then why would anypony put a sofa in the kitchen when they should obviously be in the living area? I don’t even have a living area because this is a library and that would be strange but I still have a sofa and it’s really very soft but I think you might actually be softer, and… and…” “Twilight?” Grateful for the calmness of the colt’s tone and eagerly accepting his call as an invitation to restrain her babble, Twilight let her words trail off as she fixed her attention on what somepony who was most assuredly a welcome addition to her library. “There’s really no need for you to apologize,” he assured her with an awkward smile. “I’m quite sure of your ability to tell the difference between pony and furniture. If anything, I should be the one saying sorry.” “But why would you be sorry?” she prompted, still hiding behind her hooves. Though she knew what Cerulean might be referencing, she couldn’t be positive that it hadn’t just been her mind blowing things wildly out of proportion, but she soon found that their all too brief moment of romance had happened exactly as she imagined it had; the tinge of color turning his cheeks from blue to red was proof enough for her. “W-well, I… may have, um…” he started, glancing away as an unfamiliar sensation tickled the sides of his muzzle. “It wasn’t on purpose, and… and, it’s like… I don’t want you thinking I’m, you know… one of those… types?” It was, perhaps, the first time Twilight had heard Cerulean’s speech anything but collected, and it held for her an entirely different charm than the loquaciousness of his formality. Reassured that she wasn’t the only one having difficulty with her words, Twilight allowed herself some quiet laughter as the colt continued bumbling about, skirting the dreaded “k” word and all too aware of the fact that he was rambling. “Cerulean?” With the horseshoe on the other hoof, the stallion let his words trail off as he waited for Twilight’s chastisement of his deplorable sentence structure. Instruction, however, wasn’t where the mare’s mind was, and he soon found that peculiar tingling in his cheeks growing stronger as he met her bashful gaze. “There is little doubt in my mind that what happened was an accident. You don’t strike me as somepony that is forward by nature, and even if it had been on purpose, I… think I would have been okay with that.” It was a huge admittance on her part, and one that Cerulean didn’t quite know how to handle. Still flustered from trying to dance around what had happened and even more so by Twilight’s honesty, a trait which was more alluring to him than her curves, he opened his mouth to speak before he had any idea what he was going to say, and Twilight was once again introduced to the less scholarly side of her friend. “Well, it didn’t bother me when you sat on me. In fact, I wouldn’t mind if you sat on me again.” Words can sometimes make much more sense in one’s head before their spoken than after, and for Cerulean, that was one such case. It seemed logical to him that if Twilight were open enough to admit she had enjoyed their little foray into romance, if it could even be labeled as such so brief was the event, then he could feel comfortable enough to explain why bodily contact was so desirable. Tact, as it would turn out, was the missing ingredient, and in seeking for it, Cerulean discovered it to be quite elusive, and he felt a rush of heat sweep over him as his statement was met with a muffled giggle. “I-I mean, it’s not like I enjoy being sat on!” he explained hurriedly. “It’s just, you know, you’re really hot-” Swaying slightly from the dizzying levels of failure clouding his head and cringing as Twilight snorted, doing her best not to laugh, Cerulean sought to purge his mind of the toxin known as “stupidity” with a very solid application of hoof to the face. “...warm,” he mumbled, “I meant to say that you were warm, and it felt amazing-” Convinced that any high standing he may have garnered in Twilight’s mind as a cultured colt was now effectively a dilapidated hull lain to rest at the bottom of the sea of shame, Cerulean loosed a drawn out sigh and let his ears droop towards the floor. Whether the pony held any interest for him or not, the fact of the matter was that the more awake he became, the less eloquence he managed to retain on account of his mind racing ever faster than his tongue could follow, and this condition only intensified when in the presence of cute mares. Twilight, he held, fell firmly into the “angelic” category, and thus the fact that he managed coherent thought at all after having slept was a mystery in and of itself. He recognized, however, that she was also somepony who was both learned and knowledgeable, and though she had never shown herself to be anything other than understanding, Cerulean couldn’t help but fear that her laughter was the dismissive sort rather than the accepting. It wasn’t until he felt a gentle tug on his ears that he lowered his hoof from his face, finding his ears gentle set back to their upright position by the mare with gentleness in her grin. “Given how talented you are with ice magic, it makes sense that you’d be really cold,” she began, taking a seat before him as the light faded from her horn. “Being out in the wild for a while, I’ll bet there weren’t many ways to keep yourself warm. That’s why it didn’t bother you when I sat on you, isn’t it?” “I… yeah, something like that,” Cerulean said slowly, mystified by the mare’s accurate deduction. “You really understood all that from what I said?” “Your writing wasn’t that messy,” Twilight teased playfully, coaxing a smile from her hesitant friend. “When you take out all the possible meanings for the vocabulary you chose and just look at the literal interpretation, it wasn’t hard to make the connection. Couple that with your previous behavior up to this point, and you have a simple statement of your enjoyment of another’s warmth. That’s really not so odd, right?” she concluded, waiting for confirmation with her head tilted ever so slightly to the side. “When you say it that way, it doesn’t sound odd at all,” Cerulean returned, shaking his head lightly. “I’ve never met a mare that- that’s adorable.” Pausing his thoughts momentarily as Twilight tilted her head the opposite direction in conjunction with her cheerful smile, Cerulean forced himself to avert his gaze as the blush began to boil under the surface. “I’ve never met a mare that pays so much attention to my condition. She gauges, she thinks, and most importantly, she takes the time to understand. It… makes me feel as though I might be worth something, even after… that.” Forestalling a shudder as nightmares threatened to rise before their time, Cerulean fixed his gaze on Twilight and let the calmness come, his heart steadying simply from being in the mare’s presence. “I appreciate your understanding, Twilight. Thank you.” “Oh, it’s nothing special. I’m just doing what I can as a good editor should,” she replied modestly, glancing towards the table. “Speaking of which, are you hungry?” Before Cerulean could even begin to respond, the room was filled with the rumbling gurgle of a stomach in desperate want of sustenance. “I’m a touch peckish, yeah,” Cerulean replied with a sheepish chuckle and one hoof over his noisy gut. “I think I should be able to fix that,” Twilight declared, beckoning him to follow. Momentarily disheartened as she took her seat at the bench to find that all of the food she’d set out had warmed to room temperature, Twilight hadn’t the time to fret as she looked up and found Cerulean salivating over the unimpressive spread. After observing for a few seconds in quiet amusement, Twilight remembered her manners and set about getting things started. “Spike?” she called over her shoulder, glancing towards the doorway. “Lunch is being served!” “Finally!” he exclaimed from the main room. Abandoning his clerical duties with the telltale thump of books being hastily discarded to the floor, the hungry dragon rushed into the kitchen, vaulted onto the bench, and eagerly reached towards the nearest source of sustenance. “Ah! Not so fast, Spike,” Twilight chided, rescuing the berries from his clutches. “Since we have a guest, I think he should be served first.” “Fine, whatever, just do it fast!” he pleaded, shoving the large bowl of greens towards the stallion secretly hoping nopony noticed the puddle of drool he’d wiped from the table. “Here, eat something, quick!” He needed no second bidding. Even with her expansive vocabulary, Twilight had trouble describing the sound that her guest made as he fell upon the offered salad with ravenous desire, but it spelled out in her mind something like “omphch.” Lukewarm and unadorned, Twilight watched in stunned silence as Cerulean devoured half the bowl in the blink of an eye despite the food having been left out for much longer than recommended. By chance, he happened to look up, and was corrected not by Twilight, but his own sense of decency as he looked at the trio of smaller bowls set on the table and realized that the bowl was meant to be shared amongst the three. “I-I’m sorry,” Cerulean stammered, hiding himself behind the bowl. Quietude followed in the wake of his feast and was disrupted as he nudged the bowl forward, cringing at the scraping sound it made as it was returned to the center of the table. “I can’t believe I just did that… Have my manners really become that atrocious? Ugh, I’m horrible…” While her guest tried to busy himself tracing the wood grains on the table to distract himself the embarrassment of uncouth indulgence, Twilight found herself exerting every fragment of self-control she could muster not to leap across the table, tackle Cerulean to the floor, and give vent to any number of primal urges that came to mind, most notably “the huggle and squee.” Whether intentional or accidental, the stallion just a few hoof lengths away was displaying the same spontaneous and often uncontrolled excitement that had left her wanting to hide several times in the past few hours alone, and the comfort that came with this realization was something she was eager to return. Aquamarine eyes filled with anxiety met those of gentle violet that conveyed only a depth of understanding deeper than Cerulean knew, and with a smile Twilight nudged the bowl back. “It makes sense that you’d be hungry, given how long you’ve been wandering around,” Twilight explained in an encouraging tone, floating over the bowl of berries and setting it near to him. “I prepared this lunch quite some time before you finished your shower. I wasn’t expecting you would take so long, and it got kind of warm. I was worried you’d be bothered by it, and I was even going to ask if you could help cool it down again, but that doesn’t seem like it’s really an issue for you,” she concluded with a smile, glancing down at what remained in the salad bowl. “Eat as much as you’d like, Cerulean. I’ve got more in the fridge.” “...You mean you’re not gonna kick me out after eating half your lunch before you’ve even had any?” he asked with both puzzlement and expectation. On one hoof, he found Twilight’s characteristically intelligent reply rather fitting, but then, she was the only mare he’d met who was so enamored with critical thought, so he couldn’t really help but feel some measure of surprise. He had, after all, just openly shown himself as being a glutton, or so it seemed to him. Twilight just thought he seemed hungry, but it was Spike who jumped in and eased his concerns. “If she kicked ponies out for eating too fast, then I’d be homeless,” Spike replied along with a few reassuring chuckles. Hopping from the bench and clambering onto the counter, he grabbed another large bowl from the cupboard while Twilight rifled through the fridge for more food. “This one time, I ate a whole cake to myself in ten seconds. It was, like, this big!” he boasted, puffing out his chest as he held his arms as far apart as they could reach. “Not to brag or anything, but I can eat just about anypony under the table. If anything, I’m impressed!” His stomach growled. “And jealous,” he added under his breath. “Keeping a growing dragon full is no easy task,” Twilight explained as she lifted the bowl from Spike’s claws and began dicing vegetables over it. Levitation in and of itself was a simple matter for most unicorns, but Cerulean couldn’t help but marvel as she simultaneously shredded lettuce, chopped cabbage and carrots, plucked the best buds from dandelions, and continued in casual conversation all at once; he was lucky if he could levitate three things without blowing a few neurons. “Pony food doesn’t provide high enough levels of minerals for a dragon to live off of, so I have to balance Spike’s diet with various gemstones to keep his scales and spines healthy.” “Kind of like ponies who take vitamin supplements to offset a poorly rounded diet?” Cerulean ventured, mesmerized by the casual display of levitation mastery. “Exactly!” Twilight quipped, pleased that her guest wasn’t merely listening to be polite. Finished with her preparation, Twilight took her seat at the table and applied herself to her meal as her body suddenly seemed to realize that it had been several hours since its last feeding, though she couldn’t help but let her mind wander as she flashed a smile at the pony seated across from her. “Every time I feel like I’ve made some horrible mistake, he responds to it with an understanding I haven’t found in other stallions, and every time he feels like he’s made a mistake, it only makes me more comfortable because I don’t feel quite so different. I know it’s too early to say anything for sure, and I have no idea where all this will go, but I think… I’m really going to enjoy this story.” Applejack wasn’t known as Ponyville’s most dependable pony for nothing. No matter how great the challenge, there wasn’t much that the mare would hesitate to confront, but even the strong have their weaknesses, and she couldn’t have felt any more feeble as she quietly closed the door behind her. Glancing disinterestedly about her modest abode as she neared her bed, she tossed her stetson over to her dresser before flopping onto her mattress with nought but a tired grunt. The rhythmic tick tock of her wall clock marked the slow passage of time as she stared beyond the confines of her sanctuary through half-lidded eyes, her mind far away from Sweet Apple Acres and towards a city that she wished she could forget. Desperate to distract herself as darkened memories caused her to shudder, Applejack eased herself upright and stared at the patchwork quilt that acted as her bed’s comforter. It was hoof made, every stitch made with the same quality and care that the Apples prided themselves for having. For a brief moment, a smile returned to her as she ran a hoof over the time-worn fibers made from affordable but comfortable cotton, and with a wistful sigh she lifted her gaze to find her own anxious green eyes peering back. “Mah face is as poor at lyin’ as ah am,” she muttered, regarding her appearance with disdain. “Ponyville’s most dependable pony, reduced to a frightened little filly by some stallion an’ a little bit o’ snow- it ain’t right!” Springs creaked as she slammed her hoof down on the mattress, but her anger was short-lived: she had no right to feel as she did, no reason to hold Cerulean accountable for events of which he held no part or portion. Her frustration was solely with herself, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept the lingering dread that remained in her heart even after having seen how docile the newcomer’s temperament could be. “Why can’t ah get mah head on right, even after all this time?” she wondered, her voice barely above a whisper. She knew the answer, but she didn’t want to accept it. How could she expect to overcome what she never took the time to confront? Working on a farm, she had plenty of examples to prove that problems don’t simply disappear if they’re left alone. In fact, more often than not, their condition decays, and it was with this in mind that Applejack let her head hang in shame. “Ah’ve… nopony t’ blame but mahself, but that… that just doesn’t seem fair,” she said quietly, shaking her head. Her ponytail swished around and gently wrapped around her hoof, and after a brief delay, she reached over and undid the simple tie that held it in place, letting her abundant mane tumble down around her shoulders. Few would hardly recognize the country flower if she dared set hoof outside the farm, but with her hair undone and her tail as well, she could hardly stomach stepping outside her room, let alone into town. She knew that others would find her to be lovely, and that couldn’t be any more terrifying for one who had almost been taken for that very reason, but that didn’t forestall the desires within: every mare wants to feel beautiful, and Applejack was no exception. A knock on the door caused her to start, and even though she knew by the sound that it was the only stallion she had ever come to trust, she couldn’t suppress the pang of nausea that caused her to shiver. Quietly cursing under her breath, Applejack fumbled around with her hair ties for a few seconds before letting her shaking hooves fall uselessly to her sides. There was no way to hide, she soon realized, and even if she had, the pony on the other side would have shredded right through her charades. “Just get in here before ya break it down,” Applejack growled with every ounce of strength she could muster, glaring briefly at the door but turning away the moment it began to open. She didn’t bother looking to see who it was: there was no mistaking Big Macintosh’s knock, or the sound his hooves made on the wood floor. “Whaddaya want, Big Mac? Now ain’t exactly the best time.” “Ah’d like t’ know what’s got mah sister all worked up,” he stated plainly, taking a seat by the bed. “What makes you think ah’m upset?” she snapped back, knowing full well it was painfully obvious. “Can’t you see ah’m busy havin’ a fashion show?” There was a brief delay wherein Big Macintosh employed one of his most honed skills, namely a knack for not being needlessly wordy, before his soft reply snatched the wind from Applejack’s sails and deflated what was left of her confidence. “Applejack, you were distracted by somethin’ most all afternoon, an’ then you forgot t’ count the apple barrels like you said you would. You don’t just ferget things like that unless somethin’s on yer mind.” Big Mac may not be the most talkative pony Applejack could think of, but his powers of perception were second to none. “Ah… ah guess that was a dead giveaway, wasn’t it?” Applejack ventured with a wearied groan, hanging her head and peering up at her brother. His ever present sense of calm was something that the more hot-tempered mare envied, and she couldn’t count how many times she’d taken refuge in Big Mac’s quiet reassurance. “Eeyup,” he said gently with an encouraging grin. “What’s on yer mind, sis?” “A whole lot, brother,” she confessed with a heavy-hearted sigh. “Ah found some stallion ah ain’t ever seen ‘round here hangin’ about the orchard with Apple Bloom. He looked like he’d taken bathing lessons from our pigs and couldn’t hardly see straight. On top o’ all that, he kept… snowin’.” Big Macintosh blinked. “He was a unicorn, an’ he was makin’ it snow in the summertime. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?” “When ah think about how yer friend Twilight turned a frog into an orange… nnnope, not that odd.” “See, that’s just part of the problem!” Applejack huffed. “Ah thought for sure that there was somethin’ eerie ‘bout that stallion, so ah sent him over t’ Twilight’s figurin’ that if he was havin’ trouble with his magic, she could help.” “Eeyup.” “Ah was frettin’ all afternoon ‘bout sendin’ that strange stallion t’ one of mah friends, so ah went to check on ‘em this afternoon…” Big Macintosh heaved a sigh as he began to piece together what was really going on even before Applejack finished her explanation. “That stallion ain’t the one with the problem, brother. It’s… it’s me.” Not bothering to wait for tears to form, Big Macintosh reached over with a hoof and easily pulled Applejack close, holding her tightly. “When ah found ‘im, they were just readin’ like they didn’t have a care in the world. Ah didn’t even know his name when ah walked in, but in the short time that he’d been there Twilight had ‘im all cleaned up and civilized. He was probably just down on ‘is luck, and ah… ah turned him away ‘cause ah… ah couldn’t…” “Hush now, it ain’t that bad,” Big Macintosh murmured softly, squeezing a little tighter as his sister’s shoulders began to quake. “There ain’t no real harm done, an’ ah reckon Twilight’s right thankful that ya sent him t’ the library; Ya’ll know how that mare likes readin’.” “T-that ain’t the point!” Applejack managed, sniffling and despising every drop of weakness trying to seep out from the corners of her eyes. “Ah… ah hate bein’ like this, Big Mac… suspectin’ ill of a pony just ‘cause they ain’t a mare... It ain’t right, it just ain’t!” With nowhere else to turn, she buried her face in her brother’s chest and let the dams break. Yielding without reservation as heavy hooves drew her close, Applejack let the last of her walls fall down flat, accepting comfort from the one pony who knew just how fragile she really felt, and the only pony whom she had trusted with her deepest secret. “There’ll be time t’ work later on,” she heard murmured in her ear. “Just rest fer now, sis. You ain’t carryin’ this burden on yer own.” Even had she wanted to work, Applejack doubted she would have had the strength, and with little more than a feeble nod, she succumbed to the desire to be accepted as she was: a frightened filly who, despite her every intention to be honest, pretended to be the strong pony she never was.