//------------------------------// // Spring 3: It's The World Gone Crazy // Story: Harvest Seasons // by Bucephalus //------------------------------// Spring Chapter 3 It’s The World Gone Crazy That morning, the birds that had chosen to live around the abandoned farmstead were in for a rude awakening, as suddenly the air was filled with a shout of especially rude curses. The excessive swearing was soon followed by an off-white pegasus who climbed out of the small hole hidden beneath a bush of stinging nettle, angrily muttering to himself. As he waded through the shrubbery, he kept staring at his wobbling hooves like they had been the source of all his problems; and in a way, they mostly were. Indeed, George Sparrow found himself, once again, in the form of a miniature horse. “Again with this form!” George grumbled, stumbling to the yard from the bush, “As if I hadn’t slept badly enough, I have to wake up to this!” When he had finally woken up in the small shrine hidden underneath the surface of the earth, George had realized the unfortunate fact that his form had once more changed, this time back to that of a colorful equine. There seemed to be no reason for it, as far as he thought about it: he had changed when he had been bathing last night, and now, when he woke up, he was back to his four-legged form. In addition, now that he was back on the surface, he also realized that his stomach was rumbling more than ever. It was time to get some grub. I wonder if warm water has something to do with it? George mused as he started firing up his Trangia once more. That morning’s breakfast turned a bit more fanciful than the lunch he had prepared yesterday. Along with asparagus and wild garlic, he managed to procure some Garden Angelica and clovers, which he added to the mix. His best find of the morning was, by far, the tell-tale signs of certain leaves in a suspiciously bumpy patch of earth not far away from the main house. Pulling the stalks, George was pleasantly surprised to find that the potato population of the small garden had survived through the years. The tubers were small but inviting, and though they weren’t as golden as store-bought ones, they still made George lick his lips. Still, he had to admit that washing them in the rain water he had gathered two nights ago was a difficult task with hooves. As was chopping them up with his knife. To make the breakfast even more delicious, George also got his revenge on the stinging nettle by adding them to the mix. He parboiled the leaves that had caused him indescribable pain the previous night, dipping them into boiling water, washing them afterwards with cold water, and finally shredding them up to use as a last-minute addition to the mix he had prepared. After the extensive preparation that had taken him over an hour, the results were finally laid before George, and he admitted, it had all been worth it: the fried asparagus, unevenly sliced potatoes, and Garden Angelica were topped with finely shredded stinging nettle, clovers, and wild garlic. Especially the potato had retained some of its crispy golden color, and the starch that had spread to the plants had given them a thin yet somewhat crispy coating. The fragrance of the finished breakfast, irresistibly delicious to someone as starved as George, floated up towards the cool spring sky. … Screw it. I know I’m gonna burn my mouth in any event, so might as well dig in. It’s not like I can use these stumps to properly eat, anyway! George thought and grinned, leaning towards the plate resting on the grass. So good was the smell of the potato-and-worts breakfast before him that George completely forgot the world around him. Even the last night’s crushing depression felt like it was far away now that he had somewhat proper food to enjoy, and the warm sun shining upon him. True enough, being back in the form of an animal was an unbelievable hindrance, but George was willing to pay that price for this one moment. He knew that if he had transformed once before, there had to be a way to repeat the said change. It was only the matter of figuring out the trigger. Hungrily, the off-white pegasus dug into the potatoes, chewing them up loudly and like a mangy dog. Tears of joy streamed down on his face as the irresistible smell was joined by the unbelievable taste, so good and basic that it would have put a smile on anyone’s face. With no additives there to ‘fix’ the flavor, George could taste every imperfection and minute variation that were part of the wild ingredients, and it made the whole experience that much sweeter. This only served to increase his appetite, and thus he continued to eat with even more ferocity. Still, had he not been in such a food-induced trance, George might have heard the approaching steps on the sand road. “Mighty fine lookin’ breakfast ya got there, pardner,” a sudden voice interrupted George’s meal. “Didja’ fix it up from the plants ‘round here?” George’s mouth clamped shut, and his head turned like a rusty hand of a clock, eyes wide and pupils shrunk to pinpoints. There, not ten steps away from him, stood the orange creature with the corny cowboy-hat he had seen last night, a big smile plastered on its face. The green eyes of the animal were staring at him with barely-contained curiosity sparkling in them. Now that the thing was far too close to him, George could also see that its tail and mane were both tied up, enforcing the idea that it truly was sapient and civilized. George couldn’t help it. His jaw dropped and the half-chewed asparagus fell from his mouth. “What’cha lookin’ so surprised fer?” the creature said and chuckled, “Ya scampered away so quick last night, it’s almost like ya ain’t seen anypony ‘round these parts before.” Getting up, George slowly walked over to the creature, never once taking his eyes off of it or blinking. As he approached, the thing quizzically raised its eyebrow, looking both a bit confused and amused by his reaction. “What’s the matter, pardner? Ya look downright spooked,” it asked, still maintaining its smile. As an answer, George pressed his head against its, staring straight into the eyes of the animal like he was accusing it of destroying the good atmosphere of the morning scenery. “You. Are talking,” George stated flatly. “Um, sure Ah am? Something wrong with that, sugarcube?” the creature asked, looking rather weirded out by now. “You are talking. And I’m understanding what you’re saying,” George continued, his voice tinted with disbelief. “Ah reckon that’s the case, yeah. Ain’t that what chitchat is all ‘bout?” the thing said. “But, you… you were supposed to make weird horse noises,” George said, sweat dripping down his forehead and his eyes glinting somewhat maniacally. “Hey, no need to get rude, mister. Ah know Ah got a bit of an accent, but that ain’t no reason to make fun of me,” the creature said, starting to push back with its own forehead, “Ah can speak proper an’ all, just like ya do, if Ah want to.” It took few seconds for the meaning of the creature’s words to register in George’s brain; and when they did, his scream, filled with both confusion and panic, echoed through the farmstead. “W-what the heck’s wrong now?” the creature asked while staring at George, who was rolling on the ground, screaming at the top of his lungs. “Mighty sorry to say this, pardner, but you’re actin’ as crazy as a chicken in a rollin’ barrel!” It took considerable time for George to calm down from his crash-course of verbal communication with unknown creatures, but eventually he was able to stop expressing it through incomprehensible yelling. Standing up, he wildly scanned his surroundings to find the orange perpetrator of his troubles, only to find it staring curiously at his breakfast. When the creature realized George was staring at it, it took a step backwards, a slightly wary look rising to its face. “Feelin’ better there?” the creature asked, cocking an eyebrow, “Or ya plannin’ on rollin’ some more?” “I… I think I’m all out of confused frenzy. I burned through my reserves last night, and this is just the fumes,” George answered, “Okay, the toy horses talk now. Makes as little sense as everything else, but I should be able to live with that. Not like I got a choice, anyhow.” “Ah gotta say, ya ain’t makin’ a lick of sense yourself, pardner,” the creature answered dryly, “Now, if ya don’t mind me askin’… just who are ya, an’ what in tarnation are ya doin’ here at the Faraway Farm?” Faraway Farm? George raised an eyebrow. This place has a name? Well, it does make sense, but how does this unholy beast know it? Did it name this place? Or is it common knowledge around here? I did see it with another creature last night, so there must be more, but… just how many? George frowned, tapping his chin with one of his forelegs. He knew next to nothing about the creature in front of him, other than the fact that it spoke with a ridiculous accent and was most likely female, judging by its voice. Still, questions like “How can I suddenly understand it?” and “Why is it still here?” or even “If I stuffed it in the oil drum and tossed it into the river, could it find its way back?” filled his mind, and he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he shouldn’t divulge too much information. Especially since there was the matter of the riddle and its message. “… George. George Sparrow,” he finally said, walking over to his breakfast plate, “and I’m here to eat my breakfast, as you can see.” The strange creature chuckled. “Well howdy-doo, Gorge Sparrow,” it said with a smile, though George noted it still looked a bit wary. “The name’s Applejack! Sorry ‘bout interruptin’ yer meal.” “George,” he flatly stated, “George Sparrow.” “That’s what Ah said,” Applejack said, tilting her head in confusion. “Gorge Sparrow.” “No, not Gorge. George,” he repeated. “Like Ah said, Gorge,” the creature said, frown now crowning her face. “Ya hearin’ all right there, pardner?” “Like I said, it’s… you know what? Never mind. Call me Bone Marrow for all I care,” George finally said, relenting. “So, what do you want… um, Bobblejack?” “Applejack,” the creature replied, “Ahm here to see what in tarnation made somepony take a bath in an abandoned farmstead like this one. Why, it’s been decades since anypony even set foot here, so ya can’t blame me for bein’ mighty curious ‘bout this one-pony shindig.” There’s that word again. Pony. Why does she keep adding… wait a minute. George grimaced at the thought, but his inner curiosity was already forcing his hand. “Sorry, just hold on a minute. Are you… are you supposed to be a ‘pony’? Really?” George asked, tilting his head. To his surprise, the look on the orange creature’s face changed from wary but smiling to outright dissatisfaction. Taking two steps forward, Applejack suddenly bobbed him two times in the chest with her front leg, before settling to staring at him threateningly from an all-too-short distance. “Now listen here, mister,” the creature said, “Ah know ya pegasi ain’t always seein’ eye to eye with us earth ponies, but Ah ain’t sittin’ here and just listenin’ to close-minded talk like that. Pegasi, unicorn, or earth pony, everypony’s created equal, an’ if ya disagree ‘bout that, then ya ‘n I are gonna have a personal problem here.” So now I’m a bigot among freaky horse creatures? Oh joyous day, George grumbled in his mind. Still, aside from stepping on some toes… if they existed… looks like these things are supposed to be ponies. Not only that, but there’s three varieties. Reno’s mullet, I can’t wait to see how unicorns are supposed to look in this Tove Jansson’s lost manuscript. “I didn’t mean it like that. Ugh, just forget it,” George finally said, taking a step back and rolling his eyes. “So, okay: you know who I am. Satisfied? I still have this breakfast to finish…” “Now hold yer horses there,” Applejack said, stomping the ground once. “Ah know who ya are now, plus Ah can see you’ve set up a shop here… but Ah gotta wonder: why? This here farm ain’t been in use fer years, an’ if yer a traveller, Ah know ya could’ve gotten a better place to sleep in Ponyville. It seems mighty strange to me that you’d choose to stay in this place when there’s a town not far away from here.” Town? One that’s near here? It must be where that gaudy tower is rising from, but… Ponyville? The name alone gives me plenty enough reasons not to go, George thought as he munched on the now-cold potatoes. Still, it has to be suspicious to have some unknown… pony… settle in an abandoned farmstead out of nowhere like this. This creature’s far too smart for my liking. I have to come up with a good reason for being here, though, because… George grimaced in his mind. He had no choice but to stay in the farmstead, after all. If the riddle was to be believed, he’d have to make the place flourish again in three years, or he’d be stuck in this crazy world. Because of that, he couldn’t afford to be chased out by some toy horse local. This place, this Faraway Farm, was connected to his survival, and he was damned if he was going to let some overly nosy creature get in his way. Therefore, his answer was surprisingly simple. “’Why’… Well, that’d be because I now own this place,” George stated, popping another asparagus to his mouth. “Beg ya pardon?” Applejack asked, her eyebrows nearly jumping out of her head. “Well, just see here.” George put down the plate and scanned his surroundings, eventually finding his backpack in the same place he had left it the previous day. After opening it and rummaging through the contents, he finally emerged with a stack of papers that had been, mercifully, spared from the torrential rain two days ago. Dropping the papers a little smugly before the surprised orange creature, George walked back to his plate and continued on with his breakfast. “Read ‘em. Should show you what I’m talking about isn’t a lie,” George spoke with a slight grin. “Hard to argue with that text.” It was a gamble, but George was rather sure it would pay off. After all, judging from the accent and the hat of this ‘Applejack’, it was easy to see she was a working class creature; hardly the type to be in the good graces of the officials often selling lands. Therefore, if she was presented with something official-looking enough, she’d buy it, hook, line and sinker. Not to mention that in truth, those papers proved he did own the farmstead; just not in this world. Wait. Do these ‘ponies’ even use papers for official stuff like this!? George thought, suddenly feeling cold sweat dripping down his back. His worries seemed to be for nothing, though, as Applejack was intently poring through the papers, face scrunched in concentration. Chuckling at the sight of the creature trying to get through the legal jargon, George hummed a bit to himself as he returned back to his plate. If these creatures were this easy to fool, he’d have no problem getting himself a nice amount of cash to start rebuilding the farm with from the nearby town. Unfortunately, George’s plan, as often was the case, did not go exactly as he wanted. After all, a full two minutes later, the off-white pegasus found himself dragged down the sand road by one determined-looking orange kin of his. “Wait, what’s going on!?” George exclaimed, unable to comprehend the sudden change in the situation. “We’re gonna see Twilight about them papers, mister!” Applejack answered, sounding gravely serious. “Ah can’t accept it! This can’t be right!” “Wait, Twilight? Who’s that!? What’s happening!?” The protests and questions of George Sparrow fell on deaf ears. ◊◊◊—Harvest Seasons: Spring—◊◊◊ “You have got to be kidding me.” After about a half-an-hour of frantic running and dragging, Applejack had managed to get George all the way to the town she had mentioned. While George had some suspicions about the place because of the overly specific name, he still readily admitted that the village exceeded every expectation he had of it. Or, rather, it was an even greater nightmare than he could have thought. It was like the Alpine architecture had a violent collision with medieval house-planning: Thatched roofs and overhanging upper floors with timber frames as far as the eye could see, intertwined with buildings of the most outlandish designs straight out of a 90’s fairy tale picture book. Colors ranged from tolerable to garish at best, seemingly having no rhyme or reason as to how they were arranged. It isn’t too much to hope it’s just a sign they have a caste system of sorts, right? Right? George thought in desperation. Flailing after the orange equine who kept his mane in a tight lock in her mouth, George had the unfortunate pleasure of witnessing even more of evolution’s rejects: namely, the rest of the populace. It was as if the coloring of the houses hadn’t been enough, as the ‘ponies’ themselves were even harder to look at. Screaming pastel colors and bright hues were mixed in an unholy matrimony, giving birth to the various toy horses populating the village. This is like Matisse’s nightmare, George grumbled in his mind. Innumerable curious pairs of eyes seemed to follow their surprisingly hasty journey through the city. George even saw some of the ‘ponies’ start following them, as if they had nothing better to do than to gawk at the misfortune of a downtrodden farm-owner; or perhaps it was because he had been made into a some sort of spectacle by his orange captor. Had he been paraded through the streets by a cowboy in his homeworld, he would have definitely earned some glances. Cowboy? Or should it be cowboy horse? Cowhorse? Horseboy? No, wait, this thing is female… George mused in his mind as the journey continued. Being stared by locals like he was the sin against nature, being dragged by an apparently frenzied creature with a ridiculous accent and having to endure the sight of a town with no shame… even George eventually got to his limits; or rather, it was surprising he hadn’t had an outburst faster. Determined to put a stop to the parade, George dug his feet into the ground with force and performed a hair flick that would have left a certain outlaw-hunting-outlaws green with envy; all with the intention of tripping up his captor. Too bad Applejack was one step ahead of him, and before he knew it, George found himself on his back, staring straight up to the bright blue sky. Even the sun seemed far too shiny, as if making fun of his predicament. “Now, calm yer chickens, mister, ya ain’t in a rodeo,” Applejack spoke somewhere above him with a slightly amused tone. “Why, we’re already here. No need to get antsy.” George cursed under his breath as he picked himself up from the ground. “’Here’ being where exactly, you miserable…” Words died on George’s lips when he saw what lay on the outskirts of the town, just roughly ten meters from where they were right now. His gaze climbed ever higher and higher as he marveled at the building in front of it. It completely dominated the landscape, being vastly different in its architecture and atmosphere. Even George, who wasn’t the most humble person, could not help it… … He let out a huge, mocking snort before exploding in laughter. “Oh my God, what is that thing!?” George spoke amid his ridiculing guffawing, sounding almost like a hyena. “That… that is the most ridiculous castle I’ve seen! Gwahahaha, I mean, I did see it from the distance, but up close it’s even worse!” George, who was unable to laugh and keep himself standing at the same time, succumbed to the chuckles and rolled around on the ground, pounding the dirt and shrieking in amusement. Applejack, on the other hand, stared at him like a lunatic. “Whoever built that has no sense of taste whatsoever! Reno’s mullet, the rest of the town was bad, but this is the worst!” George said and cackled. “What the hell is that? That gaudy, outlandish purple color! Those gigantic wind chime wannabes hanging from the balconies! There’s even a who-knows-what-the-hell crystal star on the top! Just what sort of attention-seeker lives in that place?” George’s laughter, as obnoxious and overbearing it was, was silenced when a very matter-of-factly cough came from behind him. Looking up with a cocked eyebrow, he found himself looking at another creature; this time a purple one with both wings and a horn. It also wore the most deadpan expression he had ever seen. “… That would be my castle,” the creature stated. About half an hour later, after George’s first moment of amusement in this world had deflated like an unfortunate whoopee cushion, he found himself inside the castle in what he could only assume to be the throne room. He had been dragged there, non-violently this time, by Applejack and the purple creature apparently known as “Twilight Something-or-other.” George would have made the effort to remember the name had she not lived in the atrocity that was the castle they were in. As he was ushered into the circular room with multiple thrones, George could not help but think of his situation and how absurd it had gotten so quickly: one minute he was just minding his own business, enjoying his heavenly breakfast, when the orange toy horse comes marching in like the saints. Then it was yelling, confusion, allegations of racial bigotry, followed by questioning the ownership of a farmstead before being paraded through the town like some sort of prize animal. It all ended here, in the throne of a creature that resembled her abode far too much for George’s liking: slightly bigger, nauseatingly violet, and more accessories than good taste can handle. Still, I think for now it’s best to keep my mouth shut about my true nature. Whether they’d believe me or not, they’d still lock me up, and farming is damn difficult behind the bars, George mused in his mind. I wonder, though, what was so strange about those papers of mine. If there had been any glaring problems, I think the orange one would have just called them forgeries; If she didn’t recognize the language, she’d have just called them scribbles. No need to drag me all the way here. So does this mean she understood what she read there, and something in there didn’t sit well with her? But how could that be? One other thing that made George slightly surprised, and even a bit wary, was how relatively calmly he was taking all this. Sure enough, he had one nervous breakdown after meeting the cowhorse for the first time, and he had spent a night naked in an underground shrine, both emotionally exhausted and violated by stinging nettle. Had it been enough for him to truly take meeting these sapient creatures of another world in such a stride? Or… had it all been pushed back by necessity, as sometimes happened? George dreaded the idea of another outburst of negative emotions in the future. And speaking of negative stuff… how come I’m no longer feeling anything from my dive to the darned shrubbery? George thought, frowning to himself. “Umm… Mister? Is everything all right?” Finding himself the target of two curious stares, George made a non-committed gesture with his front leg, almost falling over in the process. “Sorry, was just thinking,” he answered with a half-truth. “It seems my feelings of peace and quiet just took a one-way trip to Honolulu, and have no intention of returning.” “Beg ya pardon?” Applejack asked, scrunching her face in confusion. “Just forget it.” George rolled his eyes. After clearing her throat rather loudly, the creature with the dubious honor of owning both wings and a horn took a seat on one of the thrones (one with the same mark as was tattooed to her posterior, as George noted) and turned her attention to the two who had arrived. Applejack was wearing a strange expression, switching between annoyance directed towards George, and odd anxiety that stemmed clearly from somewhere else. “Ya know, Ah understand Twilight ain’t much fer formalities, but ya still could show a lil’ respect towards her,” Applejack suddenly said, glancing at George, “She is a princess, after all.” “Princess?” George said, looked at Twilight with raised eyebrows, and snorted, “Well, that explains a lot.” “Watch it, mister,” Applejack said, “Ah get the idea ya ain’t the most sociable fellow, but it don’t hurt to be polite.” “It’s all right, Applejack, really,” Twilight said with a smile, “I don’t need ponies posturing every time they meet me. I’d go crazy if that was the case.” “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that,” George commented, looking at his own legs, “I can barely stand with these things. I wouldn’t even know where to begin to make them kneel.” Twilight’s smile froze for a good second before she hurried to continue the discussion. “A-anyways! You came to see me, Applejack?” she asked, “What’s going on? And who is this, um… lively friend you’ve got?” “Hell if I know,” George said, cutting before the orange creature’s words, “There I was, minding my own business, when Caddyshack here—“ “Applejack,” the pony in question corrected. “… Applejack here waltzed in, demanding to know who I was and what I was doing here. And, when I told her, she dragged me off here like I was an illegal immigrant,” George said, shooting a dirty glare at orange creature. “What?” Twilight asked, looking rather surprised. “Applejack, can you explain?” “Sure can, Twilight,” Applejack answered, crossing her front legs, “Ya remember Faraway Farm? The farmstead that’s been abandoned for, gosh, twenty years already? Well, yesterday Apple Bloom said she had spotted something movin’ down there, so we went to investigate. An’ sure enough, we find something over there: an oil drum bath that’s been knocked over, an’ this feller here, hidin’ in the bushes. When we tried to approach, he let out this ungodly noise an’ fled. Made every strand of hair in mah mane stand up, he did.” Wait. Ungodly noise? Is she saying she couldn’t understand last night when I yelled as human? Just like I couldn’t understand them? George thought, frowning. This is getting more and more confusing. “So come this morning, Ah went to check again, only to find him eatin’ breakfast there like he’d own the darn farm,” Applejack continued. “Actually, that’s what he claimed. An’ accordin’ to these papers… well, just look at ‘em yourself, Twi.” Applejack handed over the stack of papers that had been the crux of this whole problem, and Twilight began pouring through them with speed that made George fatigued just by looking. As princessy as this La Mansión Maldita was, he could clearly see that the image didn’t really match with that of the purple toy horse sitting on the throne; if anything, she looked more like an overworked accountant during the height of the summer season, or a poor college student assaulting a lecture hall in a post-test-induced frenzy. Well, now the cowhorse went and did it. My otherworldly ownership papers might fool a simple working class ‘pony’, but against a royal with a nerdy countenance, I expect them to be as effective as piece of wet toilet paper in the eye of a hurricane, George grumbled in his mind. Might as well start packing my things right away. “… Huh. That’s strange,” Twilight said, looking at the papers with quizzical eyes. “I haven’t heard anything about the Bureau of Land Administration setting up any contract for a deed lately… but according to this seal, this is the real thing. Wow, the whole thing was paid in a single installment, even. That’s a lot of money to move around.” “What?” George’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “Yeah. There is nothing wrong with these papers as far as I can see,” Twilight said with a smile, “Your payment was adequate and the land was transferred under your name and is now your responsibility, as you now own the legal title to the farmstead and its surrounding fields. Oh, wait, looks like they made a mistake with your name. They added additional ‘e’ here for some reason…” George wanted to make a dry comment, but deemed it not worth the effort. “Now wait just a darn minute,” Applejack interjected, “Ah know it seems fine an’ all, but there’s a mighty big problem here! Ah happen to know that neither Faraway Farm nor its fields were ever s’posed to be sold again.” Both Twilight and George stared at the hat-wearing pony with surprise. The look on Applejack’s face was somewhere between anxiety and righteous, subdued anger. A quick glance to the purple pony told George that this was something of a surprising development. “W-what do you mean, Applejack?” Twilight asked, “That’s the first I’ve heard about this.” “Ya came here ‘bout a decade later, so ya wouldn’t know ‘bout it,” Applejack started, looking like she was carefully choosing her words, “But Ah know the officials promised that they’d keep Faraway Farm as the Crown’s property. Sellin’ it to some random stallion ain’t what was agreed on.” “I… I don’t know what to say, Applejack,” Twilight said with a troubled face, “If it was a verbal agreement, it might have been forgotten if there was a change in the Bureau members, but other than that…” “’Tis certain you might not know what to say, but as for I, it rather invites a choice word or two.” The unknown voice that rang through the throne room caught the attention of the trio, and they turned to face the source. There, in the large doorway, stood a figure of a pony draped in a large travel cloak, with a hood pulled to cover the wearer’s face. The entrance of this mysterious creature was enough to cause Applejack to take a step forward while sizing up the newcomer. “That voice…” Applejack murmured. “Ya can’t possibly be…” “I cannot recall if ‘twere a verbal agreement or simply wishful thinking on your father’s part, but alas, it seems the farm has acquired a new owner,” the pony continued, “I suppose I’d feel bad for you, Applejack, if it did not amuse me so.” “An’ just what in blazes are ya doin’ here?” Applejack asked, her voice gaining a steely edge to it, “Apple Cobbler?” The figure in the doorway put her hoof on her hood and pulled it back, revealing her face. To George’s surprise, it was yet another orange pony, female as her voice suggested. Her mane was long and colored like flaxen wheat. The azure eyes of the mare stared at the group with dry amusement in them. “’Tis simple,” Apple Cobbler said and smirked, “I am merely informing these two that the reason as to why you are so against Faraway Farm being renovated is, well… ‘twould be because your own father worked so hard to drive it out of business, is it not?” Silence as deep as a grave descended into the throne room.