//------------------------------// // Bloom // Story: Night Mares // by NCMares //------------------------------// Big Mac and Granny Smith, A lot of that stuff they’ve said about the Northwest is just tall tales and such. That’s not to say there ain’t any truth to it, though. I can’t lie and tell you that it’s all OK. I can’t tell you not to worry when McIntosh knows that you should. I can’t tell you that we spend most of our time lying around, bored, or that I haven’t taken life. I wish that I could. I really do, but I couldn’t do that to you, brother, and I couldn’t write to you both in separate. You’d know I was trying to hide something from you, Granny – you always have. I’d come to regret it, anyway. I’m sorry to do this, but I have to believe that this is less painful than the lie. That’s what Applejack would do, right? I haven’t heard anything about her, but to know that she’s written takes a huge load off my back. She’s still out there rolling around in one of those tanks, I reckon. I’m always thinking of you three and the farm. That batch of apples you sent with Twilight was some of the finest things I’d ever laid eyes on. I’m sorry about what I said back when. You probably don’t even remember, but I take it back – apples are the most perfect fruit in the whole wide world. I’m also sorry about what I said of the farm. The Acres are my home and always will be. I’m so glad Mackie’s shoulder’s all patched up, too. Takes more than a little bullet to keep my big brother down! You must have brought in some hired hooves to tend the farm, I bet. Keep them in line, and mind Little Bitsy. She’s probably grown up to be a  mighty respectable young tree by now. Say hi to old Winona, too. …Don’t mind the little spots – it’s just a leak in the tent. It rains a lot up here. I’m also sending my weapon home, just like McIntosh did. I won’t be coming after it, but Twilight just gave us some new ones and… I just figure… McIntosh ought to understand. I named it after him - rugged and tough. This here new one is AJ – faithful and strong. That kind of describes Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle, I reckon. You know Scoots got her cutie mark? After all this time she’s finally gone and done it. It’s a little box, having to deal with what you’ve heard about communication magic and the like. Me and Sweetie are still crusading. Maybe I’ll have something to show when I come home. You’ll know who the enemy is soon. We got a hold of a prisoner and Scoots got him to squeal. They’re not looking to settle anything peacefully, that’s for sure. You’ll read all about it, and when you do you’ll wish you were up here with me and Applejack. We’re doing the right thing. I love you. So, so much. We’ll be heading out soon, so it might be some time before I can write you again. I’ll be careful. I promise. Love, Applebloom --         Big McIntosh set the paper down and rose from the soft bed. He sighed to the moonlit room and subtly shifted his weight to his good shoulder.          “She’ll be a’ight, Mac,” a raspy, hollow voice assured him, “She got Pa’s grit and Ma’s resolve.”         He sucked in a breath and swallowed hard.          “Yup,” he whispered.          “Lemme see that gun,” Applejack croaked under the numerous stitches holding her throat together.         He looked to the corner where a beat-up, long rifle stood upright. He gently set it next to the bed then stood back, silent.          “I’m gonna get some shut eye,” she finally announced.         He nodded and limped out into the hall, softly clicking the door behind him. When his hoofsteps could no longer be heard a pair of scarred orange hooves grasped the rifle. One hoof slowly ran over the twenty-six notches etched into the body. When it met the spot where the trigger ought to be Applejack frowned. She grunted in the great struggle to sit up to get a better look in the moonlight. She sighed and studied the weapon. The trigger was tiny – far too small for a hoof to get a hold of like normal rifles. Which meant that this wasn’t a normal long rifle. She suddenly choked out a sob and opened her eyes wide, letting the tears fall freely. “No,” she whispered and snatched the rifle up, hugging the cold metal close. She clenched her eyes as tight as she could and sobbed in long pained hums, lips firmly pursed. “No!” she cried out, drawing tiny beads of blood from the myriad stitches. She began to rock back and forth. She’d seen them herself in the forests of the Northwest. She continued to see them in her frequent nightmares. The mares with legs of steel, who could lift a stallion with ease and crush his head with their bare hooves. “Not her,” she whimpered. She blinked her eyes open and saw them – merciless, cold and terrifyingly lethal. She looked into their eyes and immediately shut her own, hanging her head. Nopony could know. Nopony could know until they absolutely had to. It was their secret. Applejack laid her head over the gun and whimpered. “Not Apple Bloom…”