//------------------------------// // Chapter 1: Farm Fresh // Story: The Hatchling // by Dafaddah //------------------------------// Granny Smith rocked herself on the porch in the agreeably pleasant company of her granddaughter's faithful old dog Winona. “There ain't much left fer us to do these days, old girl,” she said gently. “With Apple Bloom off ta Canterlot fer college, and Big Mac's young'uns old enough to do chores, all I have left ta worry about is that stubborn granddaughter o' mine.” She glanced down at the grizzled pooch. As usual, Winona was curled-up on the rug next to her rocking chair, snoring away. Granny cackled sweetly. “Havin’ a nap, are ya, old girl? Well, y’all deserve it, waitin’ patiently all day on that filly to come home.” The dog slept on. “Never you mind me gabbin’ away, sugarcube,” said Granny. “Anyways, y’all are pert’ near deaf by now, and Ah cain't claim these ol' rags ta be any sharper!” Granny flicked her ears and cackled some more. The breeze was pleasant today, putting her in a good mood. It made her feel like talking a spell, even if the only ears around were attached to a sleeping dog. “Yup,” she continued, “Ever since the war that girl’s done spent most of her days at the castle, carryin'-on as Minister of Defense, whatever that is. I keep sassin’ her, tellin’ her that she’s let all that Element of Honesty hoo-haw plum take over her life. She ain’t done a lick of farm work in years. Why, she ain’t even had time to find herself a special somepony of her own! And that’s a crying shame, I tell ya!” With these emphatic pronouncements, Winona raised her head and looked Granny in the eye, one ear high and the other low. The dog's expression set the old mare to chuckling. “Heeee, hee, hee! I guess I haven’t been chasin’ every widower in town, neither, have I? But ya cain’t blame an old mare fer wantin’ better things fer her granddaughter, now, can ye?” The dog barked once. “So there! You was payin’ attention after all!” Granny smiled tenderly at the pooch. “Ya’ll are a good ol’ girl, ya'hear?” Winona’s tail thumped the rug a few times, then she lay her greyed muzzle back onto crossed forepaws. With a sigh, she closed her eyes. Granny sighed as well. She loved how the lazy heat of a late summer afternoon warmed her old bones. The heady scents of the Hyssop, Sage and Sweet Autumn Clematis lining the porch vied in turn for her attention as they danced in the breeze. Finally, the constant chorus of crickets and cicadas gently pushed all thoughts and concerns into the very back of her mind. Her eyes slowly closed of their own accord, the gentle rocking of the chair swayed to a stop, and the aged mare’s snores joined those of a faithful old dog’s. Applejack crept quietly up to the front porch, the setting sun sketching longs shadows behind her. She smiled at the sight of her grandmother and Winona resting peacefully together. Granny had been old ever since she could remember, but only this summer had it become possible for her to even attempt sneaking up on her aging pet. Well looky here! she thought affectionately. Two grand old ladies catching Z’s in the summer heat!  While Applejack stood there lost in thought, Granny Smith’s eyes cracked opened.  “Why, hello there, sugarcube!” drawled the old pony. “Is it supperti...” Granny’s eyes shot wide open and her ears rose to attention as the sound of her voice trailed off. “Granny?" said Applejack, concerned. "What is it?” The old mare stood up creakily from her rocking chair. Her eyes narrowed as she looked out across the farm. “Somethin’ ain't right!” Applejack turned around, nervously glancing from farmhouse to barn to barnyard looking for anything amiss. Everything seemed in place. “What’s not right?” she asked. Her grandmother shivered and pulled her shawl tight. “Somethin’s powerful wrong –” she raised a foreleg and pointed towards the Zap Apple orchard “– and it’s in there.” Applejack looked in the direction her grandmother indicated as a sour feeling grew in her belly. She wasn't sure whether that was her reaction to Granny being upset, or if her earth pony senses were catching up to the old farm-mare's more experienced ones. “Hey Mac!” she shouted. As expected, her brother was in the barn washing up from the day’s labours. His huge red head stuck out the barn door. “Ayuup?” he replied as usual. “Granny Smith says there’s somethin’ strange up in the Zap orchard. Let’s go check it out.” “Ayuup!” He grabbed a freshly cleaned and oiled yoke from a peg on the barn wall, and thus equipped plodded up to the house. Applejack herself often wore a ceremonial sword as Minister of Defense, but she was glad she wasn’t in uniform today. She did her best fighting with hoof and tooth and unencumbered by armor, something she had discovered during the war. Together they trotted warily in the direction of the orchard. The first thing they noticed was the smell. There was a hint of ozone to it, as well as sulfur, tar and, surprisingly, chocolate milk. She and Mac looked at each other and shrugged. They entered the orchard side by side, two pony lengths apart. It put them sufficiently distant from each other to present separate targets, yet close enough to easily fall into a back-to-back defensive stance if needed. My brother, the gentlecolt farmer/warrior, she thought with a glance at Mac. The war may be over, but it’s still with us.   She and Mac moved slowly through the orchard. They had almost reached the center of the stand when Applejack noticed a metallic glint reflecting the setting sun. “Hey Mac! Do ya see what I see?” she whispered. “Ayuup,” replied her brother. “Looks like an egg.” “Sure does, don’t it.” The siblings approached it carefully. It was indeed an egg. About the size of a hoofball, and pure gold in colour. It nestled between the gnarled roots of the oldest Zap Apple tree in the orchard, as if it had always belonged there. Applejack looked around. The tree seemed hardly worse for the wear, although that wasn’t saying much as Zap Apple trees spent much of the year looking somewhat dead. Big Macintosh stepped forward to take a closer look but Applejack rushed forward to bar his way. “Y’all have foals ta raise, Mac, Ah don’t,” she said, looking him in the eye. The pain was still there with the green, even after all these years. The stallion nodded and stepped back. “Y’all be careful, AJ,” he admonished her. A tight grin split his muzzle. “And as I recall, you have a niece and a nephew to spoil, kiddo.” She grinned at her brother. He don't say much, but when he flaps his jaw what comes out is what needs sayin'! She inched up close to the golden object. Her neck swayed back and forth as she carefully eyeballed it from all angles. “It’s egg-shaped all right. And it don’t seem to be connected to the tree or the ground unner it,” she informed her brother. Applejack brought her muzzle in close and took a sniff. “And this is definitely where that smell is comin’ from.” She caught Big Mac’s gaze. “Stand back a bit. Ah’m gonna try to pick it up.” Big Mac didn’t look happy about it, but he nodded and complied. She turned back to the egg and placed a hoof to either side of it. She felt its texture with the frog of her right forehoof. “It feels just like an egg, Mac. An' it’s right warm to the touch, like a fresh one just laid.” Applejack gathered her courage. “Here goes…” She squinted her eyes and pulled up. The object rose smoothly and she cradled it in her forelegs. She felt a slight movement from inside the object and stared down at it, eyes wide. Big Macintosh noticed her change of expression. “What is it, sis?” “Ah think it’s fer sure an egg, and Mackie –” a strange smirk appeared on her face “– whatever’s in it, it’s alive.”