The sky is blue over Sweet Apple Acres, the same rich shade of blue as little Brio. All is not clear-clouds float over head like sail boats floating on a huge clear lake. The air smells of apples and wild flowers, and the ground smells earthy and rich. It’s almost a near perfect day to spend doing chores with the family.
Brio coos softly from the little baby sling attached to my saddle bag, made by Rarity-just like the little orange jumper he’s wearing. I have to admit, it’s a flattering color for the little fella. Not to mention it keeps his diapers from falling off.
As I arrive in the south orchard, I glance around. Nothing’s there. I suppose that isn’t quite right. There are plenty of apple trees, and crates, waiting to be filled. Big Mac’s here too, bucking the trees, already harvesting. But there’s no Apple Bloom.
“Big Macintosh, have you seen Apple Bloom?” I ask, tipping my head to the side as I trot over.
He glances at me. “Eeyup,” he says, gesturing with his head to the east field, where the tree house is.
“I’ll be back to help with the bucking in a second Mac,” I tell him, galloping off towards the east field. Brio giggles, apparently enjoying the rocking and bouncing at my side.
When I see the tree house, I trot up to it. I pause, staring up at it. She’s done a good job fixing it up. It almost looks like it did when I was a filly. I remember when he showed it to us for the first time, having only just finished building it. A special hideout, a secret fort for me, mom, Mac and-
And dad.
Swallowing a lump in my throat, I push my stetson hat up out of my eyes, trotting up the ramp to the club house. “Apple Bloom?” I say, pushing the door open.
A table is set up against the wall, covered in flasks, pots, and porcelain bowls I recognize from the kitchen. They’re chock full of things-powders, poultices, herbs and thick goopy liquids. All sorts of thick smells and orders waft off the table. I can smell something sweet, almost honey like, and something sour that makes my nose burn. I blink, holding back a sneeze.
Apple Bloom’s standing on the stool, mixing a bowl with what looks like a branch from one of the apple trees. She ignores me, focusing instead on her stirring.
“Apple Bloom, we need you down in the south orchard bucking apples,” I say louder, trying to get her attention in case she didn’t here me.
She lets go of the branch, and starts sifting something that looks like green sand. “Can’t,” she says stiffly. “I’m busy.”
“You can be busy after you do your chores,” I tell her, shaking my head. “Come on, we have lots to do.”
“I’m not coming, I’m busy,” she repeats, sprinkling the sand into the bowl she was stirring.
I huff, stomping my hoof. “Apple Bloom, put down all that silly potion stuff. You can play around with it when you’ve finished helping out,” I say.
Apple Bloom glares off me, stepping down off her stool. “I said no!” she snaps, shoving me back. Before I can step, she slams the door, and I can make out a sound like a lock sliding into place. The treehouse didn’t used to have a lock.
I’m tempted to kick the door open and drag her out to the field by the ear, but I don’t. For a moment I just stand there and stare at the slammed door. Then I turn, and trot down the ramp, Brio hiccuping loudly as I go. I guess she needs some time alone, then.