//------------------------------//
// Prologue 
// Story: The Wheat Fields 
// by kbooms 
//------------------------------//

Sometimes, when I’m feeling low or otherwise introspective, I come out here to the wheat fields.  We only got a dozen or so acres of wheat and corn - a little more’n three times as much wheat as corn, thanks to Miz Pinkie Pie and her pastries - set away from the orchard where they can get some sun.  Not many ponies even know it’s here, even though they’d get no apple pies or muffins or sandwiches without it.  So it’s quiet and still out here.  This is where I tend to do most of my thinking.  

Times come when I miss Ma and Pa.  AJ and I both like to visit their section of the orchard during some of those times to make us feel close to them again.  It’s where their essence still feels strongest to us, I suppose.  We set in the rows upon rows of Jonagolds and wonder where it all went wrong or whether we coulda done something.  Sometimes we come on our own, and sometimes we come together.  We’ve even met up unexpectedly in those familiar rows a time or three.  

Times come when I miss them and don’t wanna be close to them.  When I’m mad at them for leaving us like they did, intentional or not.  There are times I wanna scream and never stop ‘cause of the pain that just don’t seem to go away completely.  That’s when I come here.

The wheat’s different than the trees.  Everypony knows our affinity for farming apples and it sure is our specialty.  The trees are beautiful in their own way.  They’re big, strong, patient as rocks… lots of the things ponies say I am.  

Lots of ponies think I’m shy.  Some think I’m mentally stunted or just not too bright - “nothin’ ‘tween the ears,” as Granny likes to say.  All ‘cause I don’t really like to say too much.

I ain’t really any of those things. I’m a normal pony, same as everyone else in this small town.  I went to school for a time - afore I had to work the place on my own after Pa… left us.  I ain’t a scholar by any means, but I can spell and write and run a ledger just fine and I know how to keep it in the black.

As for being shy, well.  I like other ponies just fine, and Ma, Pa and Granny raised us to be right hospitable.  Might be I just don’t feel the need to bore anypony with useless small talk about the weather, is all.  Granny says real stallions don’t need words and they just show what they mean through their actions.  Strong and silent-like.  Like Pa.  She says that a lot.  And a lot of times when AJ hears it she gets a real sad look in her eyes.  Kinda like the one she had right afore she left for Manehattan all those years ago.  

The wheat ain’t quite ready yet.  I can taste the bitterness in the stalk I bit off to chew on - Pa ain’t here to tell me not to chew on the produce anymore, after all.  I can still see a bit of green here and there in the fields as the wind flows through the field in small, irregular spurts.  I think that’s the thing I like best about the wheat.  The slightest breeze will come through and all the stalks’ll bend with it.  Don’t know for sure how the wheat feels about it, but the wind don’t hurt it any… and the shimmers of amber and green and gold certainly look mighty fine from where I stand.