Grainne Smith blew another loose strand of blonde mane out of her eye as she trudged up the hill. Some had tried to name it, this hill on the edge of the Smith family orchard, yet even now it simply remained ‘the hill’ to the townsponies and her family. This was the hill they had climbed together years ago, the same hill that they looked down upon the plot of land appointed to them for the first time from. Native prairie grass still grew upon the hill sides, walling the hoof-worn path that Grainne so often took. Welcoming shade soon graced her down-turned eyes, and she smiled up at the oak providing it. The young tree was the first thing her father, planted on their new land, what was once referred to as their ‘travelling oak.’ That oak had been grown from a seed in their wagon by her parents, an oak to be planted alongside the Smith family, and had matured quickly from the fertile soil of Ponyville County and the loving magic of a family of Earth ponies.
A snort accompanied a rather forcefully kicked rock from Grainne’s spot under the tree.
“Durn letters.”
The young mare mumbled over the slightly dampened letters pulled from her shawl. The trot to town wasn’t far, yet just long enough for her to work up a sweat. These were letters she preferred to read in the open privacy of her spot under the tree, from where she could look up and over the rolling plains towards Ponyville and trace the bright new track work of the railroad towards Cantorlot Mountain. Once she came here to simply rest in between the many chores of her day, but now Grainne found herself coming up here to think.
“Thinkin’ is all well’an good,” Pa had said once, “Until you thank yerself silly.”
Grainne Smith remembered that line of wisdom as she gingerly tore the seal and unfolded the first of her letters with her teeth. She sure had thought herself silly the past few months, she thought as the letter was spread under her work-scuffed hooves.
Gran-
Grainne huffed down at the letter; she hated that nickname and tolerated it only from her brothers and her favorite cousin- it made her feel way too old. Rose was a tough one to sour on, though- that was for sure.
You wouldn’t imagine what Alfriston did for me today…
And another letter detailing Rose’s love life. Sometimes Grainne wondered if these letters were meant for her or for Rose’s diary. Still, the romantic inclinations of her cousin were beginning to rub off on her as she read letter after letter atop the hill. This Alfriston of the Apple clan sure had won Rose’s heart in their months-long courtship, and the ‘Rose-colored’ depictions of him and his tales of the other Apple brothers were definitely intriguing for young Grainne. The growing emptiness of the house had amplified such thoughts after her brothers had left- Iron Shoe was a grown stallion married to a wonderful mare, and already owned his own farrier shop in Fillydephlia. Octavo had already made his way to Cantorlot, where he was playing some jig he had found, and wrote home often of a beautiful grey-coated filly he had met there. Now a young mare herself, Grainne found herself thinking about love, mired in perhaps the most dangerous thinking there is to be done.
Upon finishing her share of the mail, Grainne readjusted her hoof-sewn shawl and set off back down the hill toward the farmhouse. The Smiths still lived in their original home that was built following their arrival to their new land, but much like the town of Ponyville it had a more broken-in and homey feel about it, the rough-sawn edges worn smoother with time and familiarity. The heavy front door still creaked when Grainne pushed her way in, and a deep breath brought in the smells of the Smith home. The assault of her mother’s ever-present cooking was lessened by the scent of fresh and old carpentry, courtesy of her father’s various projects.
“Grainne honey, did you fetch the mail?” called her mother, Sow n’ Sew.
“Yes ma, I got them right here.” Said letters were emptied out of Grainne’s shawl and laid onto the sturdy kitchen table, while her own were tucked back into its folds.
Sow Smith looked back from the washbasin with a raised eyebrow. “You remember ta pick up my sewing from that new boutique?”
“Aw ma, I plum forgot. Rose sent me another letter!”
“I swear, that filly must be sending entire copies of her diary ta ya’. You best not let all that talk of her romancin’ get to your head an’ go forgetting life round here.” Sow turned back to washbasin and primed it with the bucket of well-water that Grainne kept filled. “Lucky your chores were done, you should have the time to get to town and back before supper. Go ahead and take that package settin’ in my rocker, I finished Mrs. Periwinkle’s order early.” A nod of the elder Smith’s head sent Grainne back out of the kitchen with a token huff.
“An don’t be late fer supper, Grainne!”
The rhythmic thudding of my sore hooves had long been my only companion on the dusty trail back northeast, which had been slowly widening as the roll of the plains grew more pronounced. Both shoed and roughly unshod hoof prints were visible in the dust of the road, their origins blatantly obvious in such a tame setting. Such riddles of the road kept me occupied as the miles passed under my brisk walk. Stopping on the crest of the largest slope I had climbed yet, the first Equestrian settlement I had seen in months came into view. Ponyville’s limited sprawl was set out before me, a fairly new settlement that my brothers had spoken of. Convenient to my journey was the new set of tracks leading to the Cantorlot terminal, cutting my travel time to the Fillydephlia homestead in half. The small Smith Orchard was just visible, south of the town near the looming Everfree. It was well known to those in the apple business that the Smith’s special Zap Apple Jam had quite literally put the town on the map. Perhaps a visit to the acclaimed orchard was in order- I certainly had the bits to lay over for awhile.
A solid stone bridge met me into the hamlet of Ponyville. The obvious workponyship of the stone bridge was impressive for such a young town, yet the clear stream that cheerfully burbled beneath it was equally impressive to me. One learned to appreciate the simple sights such as these, which were gratefully easy on the eyes after the shifting red sands of the Palomino. From this welcoming scene into the town, I started off on a path to the train station I had picked out from my former vantage point on the hill. Ponies of all types and walks of life regarded my passing with a mix of veiled interest and suspicion. I looked back at them- even though it was obvious that this was an Earth pony farming town, a surprising amount of unicorns and pegasi made up the community. I blamed them not for their impression of me, for I indeed warranted it with my trek-weary body and worn outfit.
With a good few swipes of my hat I brought the worst of the dust off of my sides and saddlebags before entering the town’s largest general store. ‘Barnyard Bargains’ was an odd name for such a place- it seemed more akin to a moniker of one of those big-time department stores found in the cities back east. The swinging door was caught with a deft kick from my rear hoof, catching the stretched spring from slamming it shut. A tall stallion with a dark grey coat and a styled mane looked up from behind the register counter with an appraising look that rather quickly faded to one of distaste. Flashing a wry grin to him and to the only other occupants of the store I had noted upon entering- a pair of older stallions set up to a checkerboard by the front window- I began to hunt through the surprising large selection of gear. Picking out a solid length of rope to replace my lasso and a fresh set of heavy canvas saddlebags, I meandered on up to the impeccably clean counter. The clerk pony had been watching me carefully the entire time, not afraid to stare down any who entered his domain. I tossed my lot onto his counter and reached back for a bit bag, exposing the handle of my knife with the twist of my barrel.
“We may not have us a sheriff, but that sure doesn't mean we welcome trouble round here,” the tall clerk finally spoke up, calling the attention of the checker-playing ponies to us. He looked pointedly at the knife holstered under my barrel by my left shoulder, then to the obviously heavy, clinking saddlebags strapped over my back. “Or those who bring it.”
I brought my head back around and dropped a small bit bag upon the counter, resting a heavy hoof up beside it. The clerk glanced down at the bag and met me eye-to-eye once more. “Trouble is just a less romantic name for adventure, and despite not looking for either, both come easy for an Apple. I don’t aim to start any round here, but I will finish it if trouble arises.” I gave short chuckle as the eyes of the other stallions in the store grew slightly. “Quick Pick Apple, at yer service.”
The tall clerk gave a snort followed by a wry grin after a few beats. “Stinking Rich,” he introduced as he hoof bumped me over the counter, “I’ve done business with your folks back east while I was still traveling. Good family you got. Came out here before there was a town and finally set up shop. I must say- you look like you’ve been to Tartarus and back, colt.”
“You’re not too far off there, Rich.” I admitted ruefully as I rolled my left shoulder, comforted by the weight of my trusty pick near it. “I’m just looking to re-outfit and layover some afore I head back home.”
Stinking Rich’s countenance had gone from hardliner clerk to a more amicable, easy-going expression. “Well you picked a right-fine place to do so, Quick. That’ll be two fer the rope and four fer the bags.”
I pulled the requested bits out of my bag on the counter and pushed them over in a neat stack. “I reckon so. Nice little town yall have here.” The rope went over a hook on my old bags and the new pair was draped over the lot. This wasn't the place to be showing off the contents of my bags by switching sets now. “Mr. Rich.” A nod of my head and I turned for the door.
“Apple.” Stinking Rich called after. “You need anything, you let me know. Your family helped me out when I was just a colt myself.”
Looking back into the sincerity of his eyes, I saw the potential for a friend. “Thank you.” What my family did for this stallion I did not know, but the Apple clan never spared a helping hoof when one was needed. Emerging from the cool of the store, I took in the tidy little town surrounding me. Barnyard Bargains was situated near the train station on the end of the main drag, presumably to draw the ponies disembarking from the train. On the far end, past the town center, lay an odd building that I had spied from the hills outside of Ponyville. In the distance it appeared to be built in a perfect circle, the periwinkle blue paint making the rather impractical building stand out. With a few hours till sunset and having nothing better to do, I began to make my way back through town to the strange building.
Coming up on ‘Periwinkle’s Boutique,’ as the hanging sign proudly proclaimed, more details became apparent. The soft blue paint still had a sense of freshness to it and the roof was done in shingles rather than the regional preference for thatch. Such obvious expenditures made the entire one-story affair seem a tad upscale for the young town it was situated in. Not being one for such frivolity, I gave a snort and began to turn away, my curiosity abated. Swinging my head back around at the sudden opening of the Boutique’s door, I found my walk arrested. Making her way out of the doorway stood one of the most beautiful fillies I had ever seen. Braided lengths of straw blonde mane stood out against the sheen of her cheerful green coat and her trim body moved with a muscular grace built from years of hard work. For one of the first times in my life words failed to come to my mouth as the young mare settled a pair of sharp orange eyes on me that seemed full of laughter. They widened a bit as my body subconsciously turned to face her. Time slowed as I quickly snapped my jaw shut and found my voice.
“Well Howdy!”