Big Macintosh had always been the earliest riser at Sweet Apple Acres, up well before either Applejack and way before Apple Bloom. His eldest sister liked to be up at dawn and watch the sunrise over the orchards, but Mac was usually up well before that.
He’d go out into the trees, pass the family’s private gravesite with just a respectful nod, and sit where the family’s lands gave way to the wilds of the Everfree. Big Mac was never entirely sure why he came out here, while the lowering moon still cast deep and long shadows through the trees, but on times like this, while the moon was full and brilliant, the forest took on a less ominous feel, and simply became more mysterious, or even mystical, and bordered on almost beautiful. This routine of his had started shortly after Applejack had gone to Manehatten. He hadn’t even been sure why it had started, but when he’d talked to Granny about it, she’d just grinned and said something about ‘the forest callin’ out for company’. Big Mac hadn’t understood it then, and he didn’t understand it now.
But over the years, it had never felt right if he didn’t just come out here and sit where the clean cut grass of the orchard began to give way to the wild of the forest. He’d shared this feeling with a few close friends of his, and none of them could give an answer beyond theories and guesses as to why he should feel like this.
This morning, though, was different. This morning, as the moonlight filtered through the trees, the spiderwebs showing up as strands of silver gossamer, Big Mac heard the gentle crunch of hooves on fallen leaves, and as he stared into the forest, a green mare emerged out of the silvery darkness, her green mane and tail littered with branches and leaves. The mare shimmered and flittered as she stood in place, and her mane and tail floated in a breeze that Macintosh couldn’t feel. But as physically stunning as the mare appeared, Big Macintosh couldn’t break his gaze away from her eyes. Eyes that were simultaneously soft, warm and comforting, reminding him of that Fluttershy pegasus that Applejack hung out with sometimes. But the mare’s eyes were also hard, like twin chips of emerald, and just as sharp. There was a darkness in this mare, and Big Mac didn’t like it.
When the mare finally spoke after a long moment of looking over Big Mac, it was with a voice that was equal parts wind through the trees, murmuring rivers, and howling timberwolf.
"Everfree is pleased with your clan, Apple,” said the mare, and then she turned back, heading back into the depths of the forest.