Big Macintosh stopped his cart and slid out of its harness. I’d better take a look – see what I’m up against this time. He walked up to the edge of a deep ravine. Below him, a dense forest sealed out the sunlight from its depths. It seemed quiet from above, but the stallion still trembled at the sight of the forest. He sniffed the air, and gritted his teeth. Even though it was quiet, and even from high above the treetops, he could smell the pheromones. Aggression. Fear. Hunger.
He shook his head, walking back to the pie cart. I should think about somethin’ else. Hope Applejack ain’t done anythin’ stupid about Apple Bloom. He bowed his head and started pulling the cart again, going along the side of the ravine towards the far end and the only safe way down. Nothin’ to be done about it now. Besides, I’ve got bigger problems right here.
More quickly than he would have wished, Big Mac reached the entrance to the ravine. The forest began only a few meters from where he was standing. It was dark under the seamless canopy, but not too dark to see; but it was dense enough that he could only see a few trees in. The smell of pheromones was stronger here, and he could almost see them wafting up from the treetops.
He slid out of his harness again and opened a small compartment in the sloped top of his pie cart. A string of three glass bottles slid out, clinking against each other. Each bottle was filled with a milky-white, viscous fluid. He tied both ends of the string to the harness, making sure the bottles didn’t touch the ground. Sliding back into the harness, he pulled forward once again and descended into the ravine. Only a few meters into the forest, he lost sight of the outside.
Big Mac stumbled through the tangled roots, dragging his cart behind him. The cart’s wheels were too big to fall in between the roots, so as long as they could pass between the tree trunks, it wasn’t hard to pull. The same was not true of his own hooves, though. He was painfully aware of the racket he was making as he crunched and thumped through the forest. As he continued, he became better at balancing his footing on top of the roots. He was soon walking at normal pace, though he kept his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him.
Big Mac always put on a brave face about the pie deliveries, but he never enjoyed them. Still, he couldn’t let Applejack or Granny Smith know exactly how dangerous they were. As far as anyone knew, this forest was no worse than the Everfree – that is, anyone but him. The stallion’s focus lapsed for a moment, and he ran headlong into a tree. From higher up on the trunk, something as long as his leg stirred. He nearly threw himself backwards, pushing the cart back a few meters. The creature spread its clear, membraned wings and launched itself off the tree. It hovered for a moment, and Big Mac stared at it, trying to identify it despite its formidable camouflage. It was flat, about as wide as he was, with six jointed legs folded underneath its brownish camouflaged exoskeleton. Its wings buzzed rhythmically for a few moments, and it flew off. The stallion breathed a sigh of relief. “Only a cockroach,” he whispered to himself. “Nothing bad yet.”
He continued through the forest, and the canopy soon thinned out. Trees still towered above him, but there were fewer. Shrubs and moss covered the forest floor, but he could just stomp through them. The trees here were ancient, and blocked out almost all the sunlight. It was pitch black, except for the occasional bright flash that betrayed the presence of a dog-sized firefly. Big Mac reached back and lit the lamp on the front of the cart. He could see now, but his light was a dead giveaway as well. He pressed on, hoping to find the waterfall before anything found him.
Big Mac’s walking made less sound in this part of the forest; the shrubs were soft and cushioned his steps. That was the only reason he heard what was behind him. A muffled skittering at first, it grew loud as the centipede crawled up over the pie cart. Big Mac turned to look at the creature for a moment; it was long and thin, about as long as he was, but it bristled with more legs than he could count. The stallion whipped the cart around, throwing the predator off, and took off at a gallop. The centipede followed, smoothly gliding over the flattened bushes Big Mac left in his wake. It was gaining on him.
Big Mac didn’t have time to look back and realize it, though. He tore through the underbrush as fast as he could, with the bottles clinking at his side and the pies sliding in the cart. One of the bottles hit a tree trunk and broke. The liquid inside splattered onto the tree, letting off a powerful odor. The stallion shook his head and charged on. I’ll just have to do with one less, he thought grimly.
The centipede continued to chase him until it caught scent of the spill. It reared up and turned away, quickly skittering out of sight. Big Mac slowed down slightly. I haven’t lost that creature yet, but I’d best save my energy. I might need to sprint.
He continued, trotting quickly through the trees, listening for the return of the centipede. Before long, he heard its rapid footfalls from off to his left. He turned right and resumed his gallop, slowly curving left as he did. The centipede was soon visible, its legs rippling in waves as it raced towards him. It was about to reach the cart when the trees quite abruptly stopped. Big Mac charged out into the open, with the centipede close behind. Here on flat ground, the stallion could keep up with the insect; but he was already tired and couldn’t keep it up for long. He heard a harsh buzzing noise growing in volume, and he stopped. The centipede dashed around the cart – and in a flash it was gone. Big Mac chuckled and looked up, watching the dragonfly that had taken the centipede. “Shouldn’t have followed me out here.” He took a deep breath and resumed his path. Before long he’d crossed the waterfall’s river and entered the forest again.
He’d reached the side in the shade of the ravine wall. Here, the underbrush thinned, as did the canopy, and although there was less light up top, more of it penetrated to the floor. Big Mac blew out his lamp and pressed on. Up in front of him, he saw an enormous beetle. He froze. These beetles were peaceful enough to other species, unless they were startled. They were sensitive, though, and even catching his scent unexpectedly could make the creature charge. Judging from the enormous horn, it was a rhinoceros beetle. Not fast, but it could tear him to shreds if it caught up. It was the size of the stallion and the cart combined.
He decided the best way to approach the beetle was to pass behind. It wouldn’t be able to turn very fast, even if he did surprise it. He crept slowly and silently around its back, starting to walk off, when the beetle began to turn. He glanced back, and saw it raise its elytra. It flapped its wings and took off with a deafening hum, moving towards him faster than he had anticipated. He looked around and ran into a hollow tree trunk, hoping it wouldn’t realize to head him off.
The hum stopped for a moment, and Big Mac listened. Had it landed? Or left? Suddenly, the section of trunk just in behind him collapsed with a resounding crunch. The humming appeared again, and the beetle landed in front him. It thrust its horn into the tree, but didn’t quite reach the stallion. The beetle simply pressed harder, and the old, rotting wood began to fracture. Big Mac reached to his side and threw one of the bottles in the beetle’s face. It recoiled, waving its front legs in distress. The stallion dashed out of the log and ran as fast as he could. The beetle did not follow.
Big Mac continued forward – he was nearly there, as far as his dead reckoning told him. He’d made this delivery three times before, and it hadn’t failed him yet. He looked back at his pie cart, continuing to walk at a slower pace. It looked surprisingly undamaged for all the trauma it had been through; the pies were a little shaken up, but none of them had even flipped over. Suddenly the stallion felt something sticky hit his face. When he reached up to brush it off, his legs caught the sticky substance too. He tried to back up, but whatever had stuck to him held him firm. He realized, slowly and with dread, that he was caught in a spiderweb.
It didn’t take long for the spider to appear. It lifted him up, along with his cart, and began to wrap him in more webbing. Big Mac tried to remember what he knew about spiders, to see if he could get himself out of this. His last stink bomb was webbed to his side; he couldn’t use it against the spider. He was completely entangled. There was little to do but wait for what would inevitable come next: a venomous bite, then digestion, before being sucked dry like an apple in the hands of a vampire fruit bat. The spider came up in front of him to bite. He was going to die.
A glob of something hit the spider straight in the face. It flailed its legs, clawing at the goo, but the predator only managed to entangle its feet as well. Two more globs hit it and knocked it off the web. Termite soldiers the size of Big Mac’s head began to swarm all around him, and the spider. They dissected the spider with their mandibles and carried it off as food. One of the soldiers came up to him and opened its mandibles. It leaned in and bit, cutting the web around him and peeling it off. The stallion dropped to the floor and stood, bits of grass and dirt sticking to his right side. The termite soldiers gathered around him and led him a short distance to their nest.
Big Mac breathed a sigh of relief as he got into the tunnel, and opened up the pie cart. Each worker came up to him with a coin between its mandibles, and he would exchange it for a pie to be taken to to the queen. As he closed up the empty cart and put away the money, he could smell a pheromone message spreading throughout the nest: Thank you. He nodded at one of the workers as it passed. “You’re welcome. Eeyup.” He turned and walked back out of the nest. “Now all I have do is find my way out,” he murmured to himself. “No sense waitin’ here.”