//------------------------------//
// Chapter Two 
// Story: And the Prairie Grass Blew 
// by Avid_Reader 
//------------------------------//

Shouldering through the heavy door of Mrs. Periwinkle’s boutique proved to be a poor choice for Grainne. The bulky package of alterations that she had exchanged her last load for did no wonders for her balance despite spending years carrying such loads on the farm. For the moment this didn't seem to be an issue, for time had slowed when her eyes caught the stallion standing in the street looking back at her. Not in all her years had she seen such a pony grace the streets of Ponyville- a stallion with a frame not much larger than average, yet corded with muscle in a way that Grainne had never seen. The cords roiled under his dusty red coat, a color bleached by the elements to a slightly more serious shade than the pastel of a common pony’s. His mane, tail, and fetlocks had obviously gone uncut for a goodly amount of time, giving off a well-traveled appearance alongside his worn outfit. Grainne couldn't help but gasp as the stallion lifted his head a bit, revealing a surprisingly young face framed by a handsome square jaw and set with deep emerald eyes that she could easily loose herself in, if not she had not been brought out of the beautiful time lapse by the utterance of a baritone “Howdy!”

Finishing her gasp with an unfocused stumble off the boutique’s short landing, the package sitting on her back was bucked halfway to the literally breathtaking mystery stallion. Despite a quick recovery, Grainne gratefully took the proffered hoof to steady herself. “Whoa nelly!” she gave a suddenly nervous chuckle, “My, you can be pretty quick on your hooves, there.”

“Quick Pick Apple, miss. Some say it comes with the name, and I let them.” A barely perceptible heat came to his cheeks to match Grainne’s freshly flushed look as they became aware of the way their coats blended together in the impromptu hoof-hold. Grainne’s eyes widened as she heard his last name, watching as her hoof was lowered in a smooth motion that was followed by a tip of Quick’s well-worn hat. “You alright, miss?”

Grainne felt the heat spread from her cheeks to further down her neck. Since when was Grainne Smith one to be easily flustered? “Righter’n than rain, right now, Mr. Apple. My name is Grainne, Grainne Smith, by the way.” Her last words slowly died in her throat as she began to notice even more details about her new acquaintance. That knife strapped by his chest was rather large, and even she could deduce that the clinking emanating from his clearly heavy saddlebags was rather valuable in nature. What was the business of this young stallion here in Ponyville?

She looked back into the face of the chivalrous colt. There was a definite sense of honesty in those striking green eyes- bolstered by an underlying glint of determination. Such a face invited trust in a way that Grainne found rather endearing, despite the weathered hardness that accompanied it. The way he moved his jaw as he practiced rolling her name out of his mouth was a rather cute reaction Grainne had had the pleasure of causing many a time. She barely noticed the small passing herd of fillies who were barely able to stifle their giggles while pointing out the young couple.

Once again the two young ponies broke eye-contact, their cheeks re-igniting from the realization that they had been staring at each other in the middle of Mane Street for a second time. “Please call me Quick, I’m not quite as grey-maned as Pa yet.” Grainne smiled even broader at the wonderful rumbling chuckle that followed Quick’s request. He swept the nearly forgotten package up from their hooves and settled it over his broad back. “Right pleased ta’ metcha, Grainne. You need any help getting this here package somewhere?”

Grainne barely caught a denial from forming on her lips. She may have not actually needed the help, but suddenly the prospect of not having to carry another package out to the orchard was made even more desirable by the fact that this handsome young stallion would be accompanying her. “I’d appreciate that, Quick. You mind trotting on out to our orchard?” Grainne couldn’t help but glance back at Quick Pick’s cutie mark around those heavy saddlebags he wore. As she had heard was custom in the Apple family, it was apple-based, only Quick’s depicted a long straight knife neatly slicing a red apple. It was not entirely unlike the ‘pick’ of a knife she had noticed in the barely-concealed barrel harness, she noted, as she glanced back at Quick for a response, subconsciously flipping both mane-braids to one side of her shapely neck.

“I sure wouldn’t, Grainne!” came the easygoing reply amid another blush-inducing grin.









I scrambled to keep alongside the beautiful young mare that I had the good fortune of meeting. Momma Apple was always adamant about how us colts treated the fillies, and walking alongside a mare in your company was only the proper thing to do, no matter how shapely the curves of her flanks surrounded their amazing pie… uh, pie-shaped cutie marks. I suddenly felt several years younger in the presence of this eye-catching mare, and blamed it on the months spent out in the desert surrounded by colts. Shifting the weight of the bulky package and my saddlebags around on my back for a more comfortable position, I looked over to Grainne. “Say, you don’t happen to live out on the Smith orchard, Grainne?”

The proud, radiant smile I received was perhaps even more beautiful than Celestia’s sunsets over the Great Palomino. “I sure do, Grainne Smith is my full name. We helped put this here town on the map with our Zap Apple jam!”

“I’ve heard so, I was actually meaning to stop by your orchard while I was in Ponyville! Yall’s Zap-Apple jam is the only apple-related thing I have ever seen us Fillydelphia Apples buy before. Right special stuff you have there.” Grainne looked over with another one of those adorable blushes that perfectly accented her intensely green coat. “Well thank you, that’s a mighty fine compliment from the Apple Clan, Quick.”

Now even more content with my load and destination, I matched Grainne’s pace and settled into a smooth tölt to keep the package smooth upon my back. Grainne noticed my change of gait and promptly copied it with a surprised smirk, but sped up a tad. Welcoming the change of pace and the way the graceful tölt stretched my travel-weary muscles, I obliged the mare’s challenge and pulled abreast once more. We stayed at the deceptively comfortable pace through the rest of town and onto her farm’s road, garnering no small amount of appreciative attention by the other ponies making their way home for supper. It had been months since my heart had felt so light, affording my aching hooves the bounce needed to keep apace with this wonderful mare. Looking out over the golden waves of the blowing prairie grass I saw a mix of the ocean and the desert I had left not too long ago, the combination blending into an increasingly familiar and comforting sight alongside Grainne.

We slowed to a recovery walk as the fairly small orchards passed by, revealing the Smith family home. It was a one-story affair well-built by earth pony hooves, yet was obviously an original settler pony house on the small side compared to any of our Apple family homes. Wonderful smells wafted through the open kitchen window upon the evening summer breeze, reminding me just how long I had gone without a decent home-cooked meal. My longing recollection of my own mother’s cooking was cut short by the inquisitive voice of the mare beside me. “You don’t see many ponies not from the isles able to hold the ole tölt like that, Quick. Fine form you had there.”

This was far from the first time I had been complimented on the versatility of my gait, but coming from Grainne brought that unfamiliar heat back to my face. “It comes naturally enough to me, I suppose; I’ve been able to since not long after getting my cutie mark here. Probably didn’t hurt any that Uncle Cloptarf showed me how while helping out with the still.”

Grainne’s rich laugh made me feel like I could tölt across the entire county, and I couldn't help but to join the melody with my own bass chortle. I went to open the door for Grainne, garnering a lingering smile from her, but my usually sure hoof swished through the air on account of the door opening for both of us, reveling a middle-aged mare with just the beginning streaks of grey in her tied-back mane. Her solid shade of blue eye shadow caught my eye when she blinked, and I definitely began to see the family resemblance in Grainne and her mother as far as their face and builds.

“Why Grainne, I do believe that I said to run a package into town and maybe pick one up, not pick up a package and a colt to carry it for you, missy.” I couldn't help but to chuckle at the familiar eye-brow cocked posture of a mother. Only then does she look over at me, giving me a solid once-over with a discerning glance. “My, you did pick a handsome one, though, Grainne. He looks plum tuckered, though! In with ye two, suppers been on for awhile now.” Another raised eyebrow for Grainne, resulting in a sheepish smile from the younger mare.

“Now ma, this is Quick Pick of the Apple family back east,” Grainne politely introduces you as you both enter the house, “and this is my Ma, Sow n’ Sew Smith.” I stopped once I was inside the doorway and removed my hat, giving a slight bow to the matron of the Smith household. “A pleasure to meetcha,’ Mrs. Smith.” I turned to hang my hat on the surprisingly well-made coat hanger next to the door, and slid my saddlebags to the ground next to it. After a moment of thought, my knife harness came off too and was carefully tucked in between the two sets of saddlebags I now owned. It felt odd to have it off after so long, but I knew that my own Momma wouldn't approve of wearing it in another family’s home. I turned back to Mrs. Smith, who had watched me unload my outfit with thinly veiled interest, which was definitely peaked when the saddlebags chinked to the ground, followed by my trusty pick. “You must be starving colt, I’m lucky I still cook like I have my own colts home, or we wouldn't have enough grub for a gen-uine travelling Apple.”

I appreciated the good mare’s lack of questions regarding my load. It was not that I was uncomfortable sharing the tale of what the desert had blessed my brothers and I with, but I felt that it was a story not suited for such a cheery home nor would it be smart to flaunt the hard-earned gold. The underlying understanding of Mrs. Smith spoke of a true travelling pioneer pony, a trait that made me feel even more at home. Nonetheless, a knowing motherly smirk rose to her face. “Sounds like you've been right busy, colt. Come on in and take a load off those hooves.”

I gratefully accepted the mare’s invitation with a wry grin and proceeded to follow Grainne to the kitchen through the narrow halls of the Smith home. The motherly mare snorted at the slightly exaggerated hip roll of her daughter from behind me, and I tried my Apple-honest best to watch the bouncing braids of Grainne’s mane and not those of her slightly swishing tail on the thankfully short walk to the kitchen. Upon walking through the doorway, I immediately spotted a large, thickly built stallion sitting at the head of the table. His straw hat was hanging on a hook by the kitchen door behind him, and his rich black mane had a surprising lack of gray in it from what the rest of his weathered continence would suggest. I met him steady in the eyes as he glanced up from the local paper, the dark brown of his showing a brief flash of surprise before settling back into a steady gaze. It was a look that I was well-familiar with from my own father, but the realization that I had just walked in the door with this stallion’s filly gave it a whole new meaning. Stepping forward as the patriarch of the Smith family pushed back from his table and stood over me by nearly a full hoof-height, I could feel that steady gaze look me up and down. Out of my peripheral I saw that the females of the household had left it to us as they scurried about, finishing setting the table. Refocusing on the large stallion in front of me, I watched as he scuffed a fore hoof off on his work shirt and held it out to me. I met in a powerful hoof-shake, one that I was just able to match and one that defiantly had me remembering the shake of my Pa. “Tumbleseed Smith,” came the low rumble of a greeting from Grainne’s father. “Ah reckon you’re an Apple, son,” he followed up with right as I was opening my mouth to return it. Slightly bewildered by the uncanny recognition of the stallion, I took a beat to answer.

“You reckon right, Mr. Smith, I indeed am Quick Pick, proudly an Apple. Have you met my folks before, sir?”

The steady eyes of Mr. Smith lit up with a spark of a smile. “Yes colt, I've done business with many an Apple back during our travelling days. Near every tree in our orchards are from Apple family stock, I've not found better apple seeds in all of Equestria.” He turned to sit back down at the sturdy kitchen table after sweeping his paper to underneath his chair. Waiting until the mares had found their seats; we both sat down together and looked over a meal that was truly wondrous to my eyes and snout. A variety of apple-baked goods was spread over the table and I truly wondered if Mrs. Smith had spontaneously cooked more food upon my arrival to her table. Studying my expression, the good mare spoke up, “I told ye so, Quick. I can tell a well-traveled pony when I see one, so don’t be afraid to dig in. Go at er’ colt!” Needing no other prompting, dishes were passed and I started in on the best meal I had received in months. 

Over that wonderful dinner I discussed how things were around the land of Equestria, gathering that the Smiths had once traveled the realm as settler ponies themselves. Grainne’s parents asked about the latest first-hoof accounts of the happenings in the east despite my several-month old recollections until the talk turned to the local apple farming. The whole Smith family had something to weigh in on converting the prairie fields to the rich farmland of their orchard, with Grainne knowing a surprising amount about the cultivation of their special Zap Apples. I was more than a little amazed to find out that she was the one to discover the rare fruit in the Everfree as little more than a young filly, and had helped to refine the Zap Apple jam production process ever since. Watching as she got up from the table just as we all were starting to recline in our chairs, I felt truly ready to burst until Grainne proudly returned with a fresh pie off the cooling rack. “I made this earlier today,” the pretty young mare exclaimed around the handle of a pie cutter, “and I sure am glad we have company to share it with instead of watching Pa wolf er’ down.” Mr. Smith snorted at the accusation while his wife gave a twinkling laugh. I just barely caught the wink directed at me by Grainne after the statement, and tried to focus on the coming pie to alleviate the durn heat building in my cheeks at the Smith family table. Soon I was staring down at a fresh slice of apple pie, presented in such a way to make even my Ma envious. As soon as the whole family was provided with pie, I dug in with a gusto that surprised even myself. Only a couple of bites in, I slowed to properly swallow and stared into the bemused eyes of Grainne across the table, who had been appreciatively watching my pie-destroying abilities. “Grainne, this is the best apple pie this Apple has ever had in his life,” I said with the utmost Apple-sincerity possible with a snout covered in crumbs. The entire Smith family broke out into laughter, which I happily joined in on. “You better believe it colt, that’s the best apple pie you’ll find this side of Cantorlot Mountain!” Mr. Smith declared. I could only stare into the laughter-filled eyes of Grainne Smith and return the prior wink. “I sure do believe that’s best I could hope to find in all of Equestria, Mr. Smith.”