The Prince of Dust

by redsquirrel456


Chapter 6

“They’re almost here.”

Rarity fanned herself in the shade of the train station pavilion. The warning was almost biblical, utterly ridiculous in how portentous Sheriff Silverstar made it. But it sent a thrill through her all the same. Familiar jitters rose up to shake her composure, and she beat them down with familiar appeasements.

You’re not ready.

Nopony ever is.

They’ll hate it.

Only if you do. Do you?

I’m not sure.

Then let’s find out.

She smoothed out her dress. It was a brilliant amalgamation, in her estimation, of country and neo-classical styles, with a large red train that rode high on the flank and a tight matching faux-corset. The dress beneath was a bright white that gleamed in sunlight with bold black trimming. She had barely found enough material in town to make her own dress, let alone the townsfolk’s, and had with great reluctance allowed them to pick out attire from their own wardrobes. It was a constant battle in her mind to convince herself that the ‘straight out of a history book’ look was still acceptable in this day and age.

There was Silverstar with his star polished and gleaming on his vest, the other landowners dressed to the nines, and Braeburn in a snappy three-piece suit. Her breath had hitched in her throat when she first saw him; he said it was an old dusty thing from his grandfather, who helped lay the foundations for some of Equestria’s first westward towns. She almost insisted that she help him fit and clean it, but he said he had to do it himself.

Privately, Rarity wondered if it had been just to surprise her.

But… wait, on his lapel. Was that a…?

“Wrinkle!” Rarity cried out, hurrying over to him like she’d cried out ‘fire!’ and immediately began brushing down his jacket.

“Uh, Rarity—” Braeburn stuttered.

“Shh! I need to fix this.” Rarity tugged on the cord of his bolo tie and used her magic to prim up his mane.

“You need to take a breath before you pass out,” Braeburn muttered. “Everypony looks fine.”

“But you can’t look fine! You must look perfect.”

Braeburn took her hoof and pulled it away from his jacket. He smiled, head tilted gently to one side.

“You know, my grandfather owned this suit. Wore it to all the big social functions. Met lotsa nervous ponies at ‘em. He told them all the same thing: Everypony’s got their own vision of perfect, an’ there’s no way to know what that is. The best thing to do is what you can, ‘cause the rest is just gonna be.”

Rarity took several deep breaths, tried to say some things that stuck in the back of her throat.

Braeburn kept talking. “I know it’s hard to let go when you think you’re the only one who can save the day—I felt like that sometimes when the buffalo first came to town. But that day we made friends with ‘em taught me that just opening your hooves to opportunity instead of closing them tight around what you already got is sometimes the best thing you can do.”

Rarity finally took a step back and willed her shaking hooves to stand firm on the ground. She took another deep breath, imagining the stress as a great big ball in her chest, and then let it swirl out with her breath.

“Do I look all right?” she asked.

“Beautiful,” said Braeburn.

“That will have to be enough,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips.

He winked. “More than enough.”

“Clear the tracks!” the local train engineer shouted. “Train’s a-comin’!”

The Dust Dogs had kept to themselves as they promised. Rarity had almost forgotten about them in the rush. What a pity, she thought, that she couldn’t get them on her side. It would’ve been lovely to show that not just two, but three races could live in peace. Such was life, though.

“Places everypony,” Silverstar barked out. The gathered Appleloosans assembled into orderly lines, practicing their best grins.

Bona Fide was not among them. Rarity hadn’t seen her the last few days except for glimpses of her skulking about, whispering poison into the ears of the townsfolk. Every time Rarity tried to approach Bonny, the orchard owner ran off without a backward glance. It worried Rarity, but what could she do? Apple Tart and Little Strongheart were not present at the station either, having taken up positions at other special showcases Rarity had been frantically throwing together.

The train screeched as it pulled into the station, drowning out her inner demons. Rarity seized the moment of silence that followed to fill herself with a breath of warm dry air. She reached into a mental closet and pulled out her showmare mask, sliding on a smile and trying to put some glow in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes.

The train dragged to a halt. Dark shadows shuffled behind the windows. Rarity found that she wasn’t nervous. There was too much anticipation for that.

The door slid open. Filthy Rich was the first pony to step outside, his gaze neutral and all business. He wasn’t impressed by the glaring sun or bothered by the distressing heat. He must have already been sweating like a pig in that corporate two-piece suit he wore, but he hid it under an emotionless veneer and so much cologne that Rarity could smell it from five feet away.

As if he was the plug on some huge drain, a procession of similarly uptight ponies spilled from the train, some of them unable to hide their eagerness to stretch their legs. Short-cropped manes on the stallions and buns or other modest styles for the mares, and power suits for them all; it was almost too formal for Rarity’s liking. Was this what the elite of the Heartland thought was in style? She’d have to do something about that once she was big and famous.

“Fillies and gentlecolts, esteemed guests,” she said in grandiloquent fashion, “welcome to Aaaaaapleoosa!”

The gaggle of ponies behind her couldn't contain at least some cheers and applause, which quickly died down in the face of the stern faced business ponies. Rarity felt her enthusiasm shrivel like a dead weed.

But then Filthy Rich’s face split open into a smile, and he nudged the stallion next to him hard in the ribs.

“Ha ha! I told you they do that out here, Pie Chart. You owe me ten bits!”

Rarity let herself breathe again as the tension melted away. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be a disaster after all.

The visitors filed off the train and were greeted in turn by Rarity and Sheriff Silverstar, who wore a bell-bottomed striped shirt and suspenders under a sleeker, cleaner black vest. He put on a smile and affected his least rustic accent, which Rarity thought stuck somewhere between a choking bull frog and a Trottingham pony with a dry throat. At least the others didn't seem to mind, exchanging polite how-do-you-do’s with the Appleloosans. Expressions were nervous and uncertain, but not malicious or spiteful. Rarity allowed herself to hope a little more.

“Hey, I know you! You’re Rarity! That Rarity, from Ponyville! What are you doing out here?”

She turned to find Filthy Rich approaching her directly, and did a little curtsy.

“Yes, I am that Rarity,” she preened, fluttering her eyelashes. “It was merely happy coincidence that I came when I did, and the Appleloosans were gracious enough to let me spearhead our little meeting. A pleasure to see you, mister Rich.”

“Yep, my corporate buddies convinced me to come along. I thought it high time I saw for myself what the state of Equestrian development is out here on the fringes. I have to admit, I thought the town would be a little bit… bigger.”

“There are many considerations to building a city this far from Equestria proper,” Rarity replied with the utmost politeness. “The train is the only practical method of reaching it, and it’s the end of the line.”

“The end of the line so far,” Filthy corrected her. “Believe me, growing apples in the middle of a desert is quite a feat, but if that’s all they plan on doing with all this potential they’re squatting on, I have to say I’m a little disappointed.”

“Just wait until after today, mister Rich!” said Rarity. “I assure you hearts and minds will all be changed by the end.”

Braeburn called out from somewhere at the front of the crowd. “Follow me right this way, gentleponies, and we’ll see you to some refreshments and the beginning of our tour!”

“Thank goodness,” a business mare said, adjusting her collar. “It’s boiling hot and the train food was atrocious.”

“Of course,” Rarity replied with a wink, “what would a tour of Appleloosa be without first sampling what everypony loves about them: their food!”

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It is said the quickest way to a pony’s heart is through their stomach. Over a thousand years of careful grooming and guidance by benevolent, immanent deities who moved the Sun and Moon gave ponies a distinct taste for comfort and the finer things in life, and food was chief among them. So it came as no surprise to anyone that by the time they reached the large barn Rarity first dined with the Appleloosans in, it had been converted into one of the biggest repositories of western cuisine ever assembled, chiefly the apple variety. Fritters and pies and tarts and cakes and turnovers were laid out with precision detail, all designed to make mouths water and ponies shiver with anticipation. Rarity smiled as she saw more than a few pairs of eyes widen appreciatively, Filthy Rich’s included.

“Have a seat!” said Sheriff Silverstar, gesturing to the circular tables laid out among the piles of still-warm food. “Allow us to bring the feast to you. Now Appleloosa’s main export is, of course, agriculture focused around the apple. Over eight hundred bushels per harvest, an’ that’s out of a bone-dry desert! Tuck in an’ find some of our hidden treasures,” he winked, “so’s we don’t get this all started on an empty stomach. While you eat, I’ll let one of our orchard managers, Peace N’ Plenty, fill you in on some of the finer details of Appleloosan export economics and our special growing technique, found only here in Appleloosa, which is essential to the taste and quality of our product.”

The presentation was quick and succinct, meant to nudge the city ponies towards the idea that the town was, in fact, doing fine on its own, and did not need some distant Canterlot overlord fiddling with time-tested traditions. Rarity chewed her hoof through it all, noticing some of the visitors were more interested in eating than listening. Once it was over, ponies began to socialize over the food, because there was frankly no better time to be socializing than lunch time. Rarity flitted between gaggles of business ponies mingling with Appleloosans like the very archetype of a social butterfly, ensuring every conversation went smoothly, every little interaction ended with a smile or a hoofshake, and every shared look held no hint of malice.

There was nothing to it, she kept telling herself. Nothing to worry about. This was all going to go fine, Rarity. What are you talking about, Rarity? Just that everything is perfect, Rarity. Of course it is, I made it, we shouldn’t be worried. Worried? Who’s worried? Not I, Rarity!

“So your name’s still Rarity. Good t’ know.”

“Gah!” Rarity squeaked, almost leaping out of her dress. “Braeburn! You startled me.”

The cowpony smiled, and Rarity blushed. “Sorry ‘bout that. But you were talkin’ to yourself an’ lookin’ more spaced-out than a pony stuck in Princess Luna’s mane.”

“I’m just going over some of the other plans I’ve made,” she whispered back, pulling him away from the main crowd. “If being Twilight’s friend has taught me anything, it’s that you can never double-check things enough. Do you know how the rest of the preparations are going? I know it was down to the wire for some of it.”

“Apple Tart an’ Little Strongheart are ready at the orchards, an’ the rest of the townsfolk are just about ready up an’ down Main Street. We’ll bedazzle these city folk, you watch! Everypony’s excited. I don’t think a lick of ‘em even noticed how you kept bossing them around the last couple days.” He gave her a playful nudge in the ribs, which only made her titter and blush even more.

“Oh, do go on. I know you Appleloosans secretly like to show off. In any case, we’ll be wrapping up here soon. Go and tell the others to make their final preparations. I’ll take them around the orchard next to give you more time.”

Braeburn turned to trot away, but was stopped by a magical tug on his tail.

“Braeburn,” Rarity whispered. “Good luck.”

He gave her a tip of his hat and another dashing smile before disappearing around the barn door. Rarity turned around and took a deep breath.

“Attention everypony! If you’ll just follow me right this way we will show you exactly where—and how!—the Appleloosans procure all this delightful cuisine.”

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The orchards were just as Rarity remembered: a beautiful oasis of green amidst a sea of brown and yellow. She barely heard the rustle of leaves over the chatter of the ponies around her, but the way they continued to sway in a gentle breeze and glitter in the sunshine was more than enough comfort. They would never change, whatever happened today.

Apple Tart and Strongheart’s presence calmed her as well, their practiced smiles lighting up their faces as they greeted the approaching crowd. With them were a whole gaggle of Appleloosans dressed up for work, many of them orchard managers. From among them a tall stallion stepped forward; Rarity recognized him as Gold Delicious, from when she’d been running around speaking to anyone and everyone willing to help.

“Esteemed guests,” he said. “Welcome to Appleloosa’s orchards. Here we planted and raised up every tree you see by hoof. Within the year we had this beautiful crop, helped along by lots of sweat an’ earth pony magic.”

“And these are?” a brusque, grim-jawed mare from Rail Co. asked, gesturing at the wide paths between the trees.

“Ah!” exclaimed Little Strongheart, whose mere presence caused more than a few of the business ponies to take a step back. “Those would be the running lanes the Appleloosan ponies kindly installed for us. My name is Little Strongheart! A pleasure to meet you all. I am here as a representative of the buffalo who live in this place alongside our pony friends. We have a tradition called the stampede which reaches far back into our ancient history, which was very nearly disrupted when the settlers first came here. But with the help of a few good friends and the delicious apple pies of Appleloosa, the ponies have chosen to respect us by allowing our passage through here on our annual stampede.”

“You… share the land with the buffalo?” one of the magnates asked, unbelieving, peering at Strongheart through his monocle. “And they run—pardon me, stampede—right through the orchard?”

“Not very often,” replied Apple Tart, jumping to Strongheart’s side. “But when they do it’s a real hoot an’ a holler! We ponies look forward to it because it shakes the apples right off the trees - makes our job easier by a country mile! And in return the buffalo get a share of our harvest.”

“How much is that, exactly?” asked Filthy Rich.

“Just a pie per buffalo who wants it,” Gold Delicious said with a nervous grin. “It barely affects our overall volume of output.”

Rarity chewed her hoof as the business ponies muttered amongst themselves. Surely they didn’t think a pittance of pie was too much to give? Then again, she’d seen how they acted in Canterlot…

A growing rumble beneath her hooves provided a welcome distraction. Right on time, Rarity thought. Strongheart shaded her eyes with a hoof and smiled. “Ah, here come some of my brothers and sisters now. Perhaps you would prefer a live demonstration?”

Everypony lined up along one of the running tracks, watching the growing cloud of dust on the horizon. The rumbling grew and grew, and Rarity felt it in her hooves, stampeding up her legs like the buffalo themselves. The earth ponies in the crowd became visibly agitated, shifting weight rapidly from hoof to hoof; the Appleloosans had smiles on their faces while their fancier counterparts looked more worried than anything else.

Strongheart smiled, eyes narrow, jaw set. She was watching her people play out a performance that dated back centuries, if not more. The pride she felt was that of a mechanic and his well-oiled machine, or a dance teacher at a student’s ballet.

The rumbling became an earthquake. The buffalo surged into the orchard, their movements fluid and precise despite their bulk, and the trees quivered at their passing. Leaves trembled and trunks jangled, apples danced and wobbled. Without warning they began to fall in droves, loosened by the enormous power of buffalo hooves. Rarity’s horn thrummed; there was magic in the air and the ground, the buffalo's’ own unique art at work. Appleloosans rushed forward to gather them lest they be trampled, and returned them to the sorting barrels.

The buffalo swept by like a hurricane, and left a silence much like the passing of a storm. Eventually even the dust settled, and the only thing that seemed to have changed was that there were no apples on any of the nearby trees; they’d fallen off to the last. The city ponies seemed to be in shock, every last one of them stared wide-eyed at the running lane. It took a bit of prodding to get them to snap out of it.

“That was…” Filthy Rich stuttered. “That was impressive! Most impressive. I have never seen seen such a… unique way of harvesting apples.”

“Most of us stick to good old fashioned applebuckin’,” said Silverstar with a proud smile. “But when the buffalo swing round, well, we aren’t ones to say no. It’s all about applyin’ the lessons that Equestria taught us: that everyone, pony or otherwise, has a role to play, and all of ‘em have something to give us.”

“We can’t ignore a single life,” Rarity said with conviction, but a small dart of guilt pricked the back of her mind. The Dust Dogs were still out there somewhere, and the townsfolk had all agreed not to breathe a word of it to their visitors. Rarity hadn’t necessarily agreed to keep mum about them, but she hadn’t disagreed either.

They’ll keep to their word because we kept to ours, she thought to herself. They must. It’s a problem I’ll just have to solve later. Just let everything be for now, like Braeburn said.

The business ponies seemed humbled by that simple statement. Rarity hoped it meant they were mulling it over, wondering what their own decisions for the future of the town meant in light of it, but she knew it was a fool’s hope. She’d seen miracles happen, but a pony’s heart changing overnight was never one of them.

“And you say you don’t even pay them a day’s wages?” one of them asked.

“Out of context that might sound bad,” said Silverstar, “but the truth is the buffalo just plain don’t want any.”

“My people lack for nothing here,” Strongheart cut in. “We had all we wanted before the settlers came. Yet one thing we lacked: friendship. Now we have that too, and our lives are fulfilled. Everybody here gives what they can, and it is enough.”

“Perhaps we don’t use one of those newfangled harvesters an’ combines you see back up north,” said Silverstar, “but it gets the job done, no mistake. All natural too!”

The Appleloosans then gave their visitors a quick run-down of apple sorting procedure and even demonstrated some of their traditional cider presses; all part and parcel of the Appleloosa way of life. There was a lot of muttering and not scribbling from the city ponies, and many mentions of “unorthodox” and “obsolete.” Rarity resisted the urge to chew on her hoof; all they needed to believe was that Appleloosa had everything under control, and was capable of making its own decisions without some corporate executive peering over their shoulder. That’s all they needed right now: a little trust from their fellow ponies. Surely that wasn’t too much to ask?

“Well, we’ve eaten your food, seen your orchards, and met some of your, ah… unique neighbors,” said Filthy Rich. He wore a grin on his face like it was uncomfortable and ill-fitting. “But where’s the real meat of the town? The sights and sounds of Appleloosa? Where’s the real heart and soul of it all?”

A shared smile was passed around by the Appleloosans—and Rarity was happy to note they shared it with her, too.

“Just follow us back to the main street,” she said, affecting a slight western twang. “You’ll be wantin’ to hold onto your hats.”

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The main thoroughfare that ran through Appleloosa was its life. It was like a central artery around which the rest of the town operated, from which it derived nourishment, and where ponies returned when they needed to recharge. Everything from weddings to fairs to funerals were held on it. On most days, it was nothing more than a simple pathway well-trodden by dozens of hooves daily. No more or less important than any other patch of ground.

When the tour came to town again it had been transformed. Once dusty, empty streets were still dusty, but now they were host to all manner of festivities. Stalls and ribbons decorated every corner. Ponies smiled and waved and gave their best howdy-dos. There was a station for bobbing apples, booths for pie-eating and dress-fitting, western dances both mild and wild already in progress, and a band played their best over it all.

“Howdy there, fillies an’ gentlecolts!” Apple Tart said as she peeled off from the crowd. She wore a special white hat just for this occasion - though Rarity still thought the chaps were more than a little gaudy. “Hope ya’ll worked up an appetite for fun out there on the trail! Appleloosa’s got all kinds a’ things left to show you city-folk. Hey, who wants a horse-drawn horse-drawn carriage, huh?!” She actually hopped in place, and Filthy Rich took a step back, bewildered.

This was where Rarity went in for the kill: not at the start, where they were told in numbers and abstract business-speech how Appleloosa was still viable, not in the orchards where the strangeness of partnering with buffalo threw them for a loop and they saw the pickers hard at work, eager for another harvest and happy to support their town. It was here, where Apple Tart’s sincerity and lack of guile convinced their visitors that all was well and here was town that was certainly not a, forgive the expression, apple ready to be plucked by avaricious corporations. It was an appeal to the soul, Appleloosa batting its eyelashes and asking You wouldn’t tear apart a wonderful place like this, would you?

Rarity watched Filthy’s expression closely. He was confused, a little indignant even, at the young mare giggling and cavorting shamelessly. But then something switched off in his mind, and Rarity saw the gradual shift from a frown to a smile. He was charmed as effectively as if one of Zecora’s brews had done the job. Rarity allowed a little smile of her own. Hook, line, and sinker.

“Well, this does look char—aaaaah!”

It was all he could get out as Apple Tart grabbed him by the hoof and pulled him, and by extension the rest of the business ponies, into the mess of smiling faces. It reminded Rarity of when she’d arrived in town - it felt like so long ago now.

Braeburn came up alongside her. She watched him out of the corner of her eyes. He stood proud and tall, a smile on his face. His eyes were half-shut, as if he could fall asleep on his hooves. It was a weary kind of happiness, the sort you only got after a long and trying time of labor that you knew it was worth it in the end.

“I think we hit the nail on the head,” he said. “So to speak.”

“They do seem happy,” said Rarity, watching Coldcock show a crowd of astonished onlookers how a ‘professional apple bobber’ played the game. “And I must admit, I feel a slight tingle, mister Braeburn, a downright buzz of accomplishment. Today was a good day. One could forget the hustle and bustle of preparation and pondering mysteries. Today, as you said, we can just… let everything be.”

“Oh, I’ve had many good days recently, miss Rarity,” Braeburn replied. She saw him turn towards her, and her cheek flushed where his gaze landed. “It was a good day when you came to town. When you agreed to help. When you set all this up. When you threw yourself into this not just for my sake, but the sake of everyone here.” His smile turned sly as he leaned in and gave her shoulder a nudge. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were gettin’ attached to this town.”

Rarity tossed her mane and did her best to look aloof. “There are some things about it I’ve grown rather attached to, it’s true,” she said, looking back over her shoulder. “Maybe even a few someones.”

Braeburn scoffed and raised his hoof, trying to look affronted. “Oh, someones, huh? Can’t even remember names, can we?”

Rarity shrugged and half-turned, moving closer to Braeburn. “Well, there may have been one or two… no, the one, really… that left a greater impression than most.”

Braeburn put his hoof down, taking him a step closer to Rarity. “The one? Who might that be?”

Rarity turned her face to his, looking straight at him, their noses a mere half-inch apart. “Must I give hints? I love being coy, but I hate waiting.”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t be waitin’ no longer.”

“Agreed.”

Rarity took a breath. Braeburn’s eyes widened.

There was a crash, then a scream, then a series of concussive thuds.

Both ponies’ heads snapped around to see the crowd surging, twisting and coiling like a wave, then bursting in all directions, running away from plumes of dirt that burst out of the ground like geysers. Larger shapes darted among the ponies, using the settling clouds of dust as cover, shoving over mare and stallion alike, grabbing at stalls and pulling them down by sheer brute force, sweeping the food and the crafts away to scatter them across the street.

“Wha… what…?” Rarity gasped, her lip quivering. Silverstar was shouting over the din of panicking ponies, but even his baritone wasn’t enough. Ponies were following their flight instinct, fleeing with the herd. Braeburn had already leapt into the din, snatching up a rope and tying a lasso to bring one of the big hulking shapes to the ground. Rarity squinted into the dust cloud, trying to see, trying to—

“Ah!” she yelped, jerking away from a stinging pain on her cheek. At her hooves, a rubber band fell limply to the ground.

“Oh, no,” she whispered, and charged into the fray.

From out of the dust loomed Ruff, the Dust Dog alpha, bearing a long spear and menacing anypony who got close. He pointed left and right, commanding his Dogs to pulverize anything that looked like pony hooves had built it.

“Destroy it!” he screeched. “Pull it down! Smash it! Leave nothing standing!”

“Ruff! Ruff, stop!” Rarity shouted up at him, grabbing the spear from his paws and snapping it with her magic. “Why are you doing this? We’ve done nothing to you!”

Ruff snarled at her. “You! You made promise and broke it like you broke my spear! Pony is a liar! Pony will lie no more! We will chase you all out. We will make this land ours. Dust Dogs forever!”

“But we kept our promise! We never once touched you!”

Ruff took a swipe at her with his dangerous claws, forcing her back. “If that is true, then why are tunnels blocked? Why are gems and picks and timber gone? Pony brings more ponies, pony has party for hurting Dogs! Ponies chased us out of rocks and into dust, and that was not enough! Ponies never leave us alone! Now Dogs will take from you like you took from us!”

Without warning he snatched up a pawful of dirt and threw it in Rarity’s face. Rarity sputtered, wrapping her magic around the dirt to clear it, but as it came away Ruff filled her vision and shoved her down, rushing away into the dust cloud before she could catch him. She stood, coughing and trying to shout through lungs full of scratchy Appleloosa sand, trying to regain control, that lovely little thing she’d had just minutes ago and now it was all gone, gone, gone. She felt all of her work slipping away, all the plans and preparations and hope for the future, trampled in one ugly moment.

Is this really how it’s going to end?

“Stop,” she wheezed, watching more Dogs spill out of the ground, a basket of apples go flying over her head, Appleloosans trying to rally together and counterattack. Apple Tart was throwing pies for all she was worth at anything that moved, and Coldcock was living up to his name throwing punches every which way, but none of it was fixing this, none of it was working how she intended it.

“Stop,” she said again, louder this time, and flopped into the road again as somepony or something shoved her, kicking and screaming before running away again. She felt a flash of hot anger in her head, beneath her horn, and it swelled up into the tip, gathering in the swirls like an angry whirlpool.

Her head and horn sparked like an open wire as she stood up, furious at the Dust Dogs, at Bona Fide for not showing up, at Braeburn for making her come here, at the dust that stung her eyes, at the whole situation that demanded so much precarious perfection all the time—

“I said STOP!”

The magic burst out of her in a brilliant explosion of furious noise and light, expanding out in a mushroom that enveloped the entire street, brushing away the dust and bowling over pony and Dog and buffalo alike.

For a few seconds everything was blessedly silent, and Rarity closed her eyes, hung her head, and breathed.

“I’m sorry,” she wheezed. “I’m sorry, everypony. I-I just got a little carried away, and there was nothing else I could think of, a-and I’m sure if we just… just take a moment to sit down and talk, then—”

She looked up.

The Dust Dogs had already gone back into their holes, leaving ugly piles of dirt all over town. The few buffalo who had come were gathered together, looking around sheepishly at the destruction. The Appleloosans and city ponies alike stared at Rarity in utter shock, huddled in the wreckage of the faire. Not a single stall had gone untouched, every sign defamed, every saddle and nail and plank crushed or cracked or bent. Even a few storefront windows had been smashed in.

Filthy Rich poked his head out of a water barrel, wiping his mane out of his eyes.

“What in the wide world of Equestria was that?!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

“That,” said Sheriff Silverstar, helping Braeburn out from under a heavy plank, “would be the Dust Dogs we’d been treatin’ with.”

“We had a treaty with them,” Strongheart said, pushing to the front of the crowd. “They promised us they would not bring harm to the town!”

“You have monsters like that out here?!” one of the city ponies blurted out. “And you didn’t think to take any kind of precaution against them?”

“We did!” protested Apple Tart. “Rarity talked to ‘em, an’ Braeburn too! The Dogs promised they wouldn’t do nothin’!”

Rarity hung her head. Oh, Apple Tart. Sweet, earnest, naive Apple Tart. She thought she could just assure their problems away, but now many heads turned Rarity’s way, and some of them were angry.

“This was a terrible accident,” she said as calmly as she could. “It is not Appleloosa’s fault where the Dust Dogs live. We did not even know they existed until a matter of days ago - “

“And you didn’t immediately contact the Royal Guard?!” a heavyset stallion in fancy clothes balked. “We knew this place was on the frontier, but this is beyond the pale! Is this going to happen regularly? Are you going to try and make these canine catastrophes your employees too?”

Rarity winced. More than a few buffalo and Appleloosans bristled, and who could blame them; how dare he belittle what they’d accomplished?

“You don’t know the first thing about our intentions,” Braeburn said with an edge to his voice Rarity hadn’t heard before. She raised her hoof to stop him; bless his heart, he thought he was coming to her defense, but these weren’t the right words, it wasn’t the right time—

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Filthy Rich cut in above the growing clamor. “Obviously this region isn’t as safe or as settled as we thought. And there have been, as you all said, no efforts to bring in outside help? This whole presentation was to show how self-sufficient you’ve all become, right? How you don’t need anything from Equestrian proper?”

“Now that’s puttin’ words in our mouths!” Sheriff Silverstar erupted, bulling his way into the center of the argument. “We were never gonna just shut you all out; ain’t miss Rarity here proof of that? Tartarus, we sell apples to half you folks here an’ you make good money off it!”

“Sheriff!”

A pony came charging down the street, skidding to a halt in front of Silverstar. “Bad news, Sheriff! Rotten, terrible, awful! It’s awful!”

Silverstar rolled his eyes at the young colt. “Oh, what is it boy, spit it out!”

The colt took several deep breaths and then let it all out in a rush. “It’s the apples, sheriff! The apples! Them Dust Dogs raided the orchards when we were busy with ‘em out here. Half the crop’s gone! Trees torn down, apples missing an’ smashed, some it was on fire-”

“Oh no,” Braeburn whimpered, rearing up and kicking his legs in fear. “Bloomberg!”

He scampered away with the colt in tow, leaving Silverstar and the others staring in awkward silence. The Sheriff pulled his hat off and turned to the city ponies. “On behalf of Appleloosa, I would like to extend my deepest apologies. We had no proof that something like this would happen—yes, it does seem that our faith in their word was misplaced.”

“The only proof we have of anything is all this,” Filthy calmly retorted, gesturing at the wreckage surrounding them. “You say you tried to negotiate with those creatures, and that fell through. They’ll be back, for sure. You might be able to rebuild, you might be able to see it coming next time, but don’t kid yourselves. Nobody wants to live in a town where they’ll be under siege.”

“We can handle it,” Silverstar began, but Filthy raised his hoof for silence.

“Sheriff, some of your own benefactors came here to know that our trust in you was not in error. Appleloosa’s been a fine example of Equestrian ingenuity and earth pony self-sufficiency for over a year now; don’t think we’re ungrateful. But you can’t expect us to just let this slide. We can’t buy apples from a town that can’t keep its apples safe, and we can’t build rails where monsters will wreck them. I know why you called us here; you wanted to ward off a hostile takeover. But after today I don’t think you need to worry about that, or even any continued purchases and investments in just about anything you do until this… problem… is solved.”

He adjusted the lapels on his suit. “You can expect that the Princesses will hear about this, too. Perhaps reconsider what you call ‘standing on your own’ in the meantime. You’ll be doing a lot more of it in the future if you decide to stay here.”

Silverstar hung his head, humiliated, as did many of the other Appleloosans. The city ponies gathered themselves and marched stoically back to the train station, throwing their bags haphazardly onto the train and haranguing the conductor and his team of train-pullers to take them away as soon as possible. Rarity followed them, quickly catching up to Filthy Rich as he was picking up his bags at the platform.

“Mister Rich,” she began, “surely you’re not just going to write off an entire town because of one deplorable incident. Nor should you think so terribly of the Dust Dogs. Why, when I went to speak with them I formulated my own theories about why they’re so aggressive. Did you not notice that the only thing they actually stole was—”

“Miss Rarity,” Filthy cut in with a heavy sigh. “You’re a good pony. Anypony can see that. You have a big heart and you want to see the good in everyone, even those miscreants who sacked the town. It’s very generous of you.”

“Thank you, but—”

“But you must leave some room for reality. Those Dust Dogs can’t be reasoned with if they’re going to go to such extreme lengths. No, the best thing Appleloosa can do right now is either leave at once, or wait for the Royal Guard to come and sort those beasts out. I know that’s the first thing I will lobby for once I return to Ponyville.”

“You’re not even going to listen?” Rarity gasped. “You’re going to leave just like that? Today was going so beautifully! One smirch on the canvas does not ruin the whole picture!”

“No, but it devalues it quite a bit,” replied Filthy. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a train to catch. You’re welcome to come, if you like. I know I wouldn’t want to stay knowing those monsters will come back any moment.”

Rarity huffed and planted her hooves firmly on the ground. “I came to Appleloosa because it needed my help,” she said quietly. “I am not abandoning them now.”

Filthy stopped with one hoof in the train. He looked back at Rarity, and for a brief moment, Rarity thought she saw a twitch of respect. He took a breath as if to speak. Then he turned away again, and shrugged.

“Well, don’t let me stop you.”

Rarity fumed until the train had vanished out of sight. She stalked back into town, ignored by the Appleloosans as they picked the street clean of debris and filled in the holes the Dust Dogs left behind. They were sullen and bitter, avoiding her gaze, even refusing to look her way. It was an abysmal feeling, to see such a huge crowd of ponies and buffalo feeling so lonely. It took all of Rarity’s willpower not to break down and cry right there in the street. It would be so easy, so simple. Apathy and regret were the paths of least resistance; if you didn’t even try, nobody could accuse you of failure.

But Rarity was not one of those ponies. It hurt, of course. The ache in her chest refused to quiet down, and every step felt as if her hooves were laden with lead. Her eyes burned from both dust and unbidden tears. But she couldn’t do it here, where so many ponies would see. She was not so selfish as to force them to experience that.

She didn’t even have her favorite fainting couch. The breakdown would have to wait; she still had a job to do. She went back to the main street, fully intent on finding Braeburn, Apple Tart and all the rest, and getting them together for a new plan. Inertia was their greatest enemy and the only way to keep them from sinking into a stupor was to keep them moving.

She passed the rest of the townsfolk, dismally picking up bits and pieces of their once-grand plan. A few of them shot her dirty looks. She didn’t blame them. Under Bonny’s leadership many of them resented her for coming in the first place, and now they probably blamed her for failing to keep the Dust Dogs out of town. They were angry and wanted a scapegoat.

She ignored them anyway, marching out of town and into the orchard. More Dust Dog holes marred the ground here, where sullen earth ponies dug the dirt back into them. Farming equipment was scattered all over the ground, the main barn had been broken into and a few barrels and hay bales trashed. It was stunningly quiet, save for the murmur of angry voices. Curious, she poked her head into the storage areas, where the sorting barrels had been upturned. Most of the apples were gone, the rest smashed to pulp.

“This wasn’t just a provocation,” she whispered. “It was a raid.”

She reached the trees and stopped, a hoof over her mouth.

It was a ghastly sight. Whole trees had been stripped of apples and leaves, many hacked down, some of them still smoking where the Dust Dogs had clumsily tried to set them on fire. Yet here, too, almost no apples remained amongst the wreckage. There was no way the Dogs got all of them, of course, but she noticed the absence of apples more than the presence of smashed ones.

She found Braeburn among a small crowd of ponies, trying to account for all the damage that had been done. She trotted up to him with a hopeful smile, but something about him made her stop. He was scowling, speaking curtly, and jabbed his hoof rather than pointed gently.

“Make sure there ain’t no stragglers in the south orchards,” he commanded a young mare. “An’ somepony tell the rest of the townsfolk we need help cleanin’ up this mess!”

“Braeburn,” she said, gently touching his shoulder. “I need to speak with you.”

“Not now, Rarity,” he grunted, pushing past her to start yelling at another group of farmers. “Shift your flanks, ponies! We gotta get these apples off the ground an’ into the sortin’ barrels afore they go bad!”

“Braeburn,” Rarity tried again. “The ponies from Canterlot have gone.”

“I know, I saw the train leavin’,” Braeburn muttered, his anger blunted for only a moment. “Figures. This was all gonna be a bust from the start. Appleloosa’s too stubborn to change… even for its own sake.”

“We’re not licked yet,” Rarity began. It was breaking her heart seeing him so despondent, his strong shoulders hunched and his head drooping nearly to the ground. “We have to find out what’s best for Appleloosa right now, Braeburn—”

“What, so another disaster happens?” Braeburn muttered. “This whole thing’s gone from bad to worse. Best case scenario, the Royal Guard comes out here to flush the Dust Dogs out, an’ we slowly waste away now that we’ve lost the trust of all our best buyers. Worst case, we sit here an’ waste away anyway since nobody but the buffalo will speak to us after this.”

“But you can’t give up!” whimpered Rarity. “You just can’t! You were so proud of this place! You wanted to make it your life!”

“Even the best-tended trees can wither. Shoulda just told them city-folk never to bother,” Braeburn said, his voice hollow and distant. “This town sprang up in a year an’ might just fall apart that fast, too. Boom, bust.”

Rarity felt her eyes stinging again, and swiped her hoof across them. “I refuse to admit that all of this was a waste of time, Braeburn,” she said, moving to stand right in front of him, looking him in the eye. “I refuse to admit that we are a waste of time.”

Braeburn recoiled, blinking rapidly. “Wuh-I-I never said that,” he simpered, curling one hoof in front of him. “But… but look around you, Rarity! Without revenue from our apples, we can’t get what we need to keep Appleloosa goin’. Ponies were always just happy about the status quo: gettin’ just enough from the Heartland to get by. Now we’ll get nothin’ a t’all. Not even help from the buffalo can keep this place goin’. Equestria won’t trade with people who don’t got a lick of goods apart from the teepees on their backs.”

Rarity struggled to control her breathing. The anger and guilt and frustration was building again, a little Rarity in her mind’s eye trying to keep the lid on a boiling-over pot. “We’ve been beaten down before, we all have. But to just roll over and admit defeat is not something I expected out of you,” she said, her voice a whispered whiplash.

Braeburn’s ears wilted. “This’s been goin’ on longer than you were here, Rarity,” he muttered. “Way longer. You remember when we talked about honesty, Rarity? I’m bein’ honest now.”

He stepped closer and looked her dead in the eyes. “I said I learned how not smilin’ can do some good. But deep down I haven’t really smiled in a long time. I’ve tried, really, I’ve tried to believe that this can turn out well. But I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep hoping an’ watching all our best-laid plans fall apart. Look up there.”

He pointed to a hill not far to the east, where half a stump sat.

“That was Bloomberg’s place of honor.”

Rarity took a deep, solemn breath. “I’m so sorry, Braeburn.”

“They tore him down too. Ripped out all the apples, snapped all the branches. Guess they figured since it sat so high up, it was a good idea for them to tear it down.”

“I know what that tree meant to you.” Rarity put a hoof on his shoulder. “But please, Braeburn, you’ve all put so much into this place. Don’t let this one incident frighten you all off.”

Braeburn trudged away until her hoof slipped off his shoulder. Rarity found it exceedingly hard to hold back tears now. “You know this wasn’t just ‘one incident.’ It was the icing on the cake. We’ve been tearin’ ourselves apart for months now. What can we do now? Stay? While this town becomes a war zone between the Guard and the Dogs? Watch us wilt on the vine when all our outside help gets scared off by them ‘crazy frontier ponies who can’t keep themselves safe?’ Nah. When a field gets exhausted, you rotate it, leave it fallow. You start anew. Trees’ll grow back.”

He gave her one more look over his shoulder.

“But they ain’t gonna grow here.”

-----------

“I don’t believe that pony!” Rarity fumed as she paced at the edge of the orchard, driving a furrow into the ground with her hooves. “After all we’ve done together! After all the faith he put in me!”

But perhaps, she thought, that was the problem. Perhaps she was the problem. What if she hadn’t come? What if she had let all this play out on its own? She wouldn’t have spoken to a single Dust Dog. She wouldn’t have come to blows with Bonny or come up with the idea for this stupid, stupid fair, she wouldn’t be here wondering why everything was going wrong when all she’d wanted was to do right by everypony.

“Perhaps too much faith in me,” she whispered. What had she expected, in the end? To simply waltz in and change everyone’s minds? No, she hadn’t, but she hadn’t expected it to be this hard, either. Nopony really expected not to work a day in their lives. But there were limits to what a single pony could do. Some mountains were too high. Some seas too wide.

Maybe if she called upon her friends they could come and sort things out. Twilight Sparkle had the ear of the Princesses, and between them all they could figure something out—

But it was a bit late for that now, wasn’t it? The disaster had already happened. What could the Princess do, order her ponies to do business with a small town in the middle of nowhere? There was nothing left for her to do here and Applejack was going to be so disappointed and everything she’d hoped would come of all this would instead vanish into the ether.

She could see it now: the train station at the edge of Appleloosa, run-down and wreathed with fog— there simply had to be fog—the town’s windows shuttered and boarded, the buildings empty and full of dust, its orchards picked clean and the trees all barren. She would stand at the edge of the platform as a stiff, cool breeze tugged at her dress, and sigh as Braeburn trotted up behind her.

‘Will you not go with me?’ she’d ask, and like the damnably chivalrous stallion he was, he’d say ‘This is my home, and I must be the last to leave, ya’ll,’ and then he’d offer her something to remember him by, something cruel in its kindness, like a single leaf from Bloomberg’s branches. She’d turn and beg and cry and her mascara would run, and Braeburn would touch her cheek and say something so dreadfully romantic she’d be lost for words. The train would come like a herald of doom and she’d ride it into the horizon, watching Braeburn recede into the distance, waving goodbye, goodbye…

Rarity avoided going back to town. She didn’t want to see it anymore. She didn’t want to see the ponies glaring at her, blaming her, judging her. She didn’t want to see the fruit of her failure, the buffalo who would be so disappointed, the stallion she had grown so very fond of heartbroken, poor little Apple Tart who would probably never get that train to Baltimare…

Her emotions roiled, bowling her over again and again. Every time she tried to find a quiet spot and hold it down, another fresh wave of sadness or anger or frustration would follow, tearing apart the flimsy rationalizations she told herself to make this mess seem more logical. How had it all unraveled so quickly, like a spool of thread rolling down a hill? There had to be a reason.

Or maybe there had to be a reason because she couldn’t stand the alternative, couldn’t admit that some things really were beyond her control. It was all so complicated now, and she sorely missed those golden weeks when she was only pen pals with Braeburn and they talked about frivolous things like what sunsets looked like and how terrible expectations left unchecked could be.

There’s a lesson I could have learned long ago, she thought. I came for Braeburn and stayed for the unmitigated disaster. It was like the creeping dread of that day her friends demanded more and more and more for their Gala dresses, gradually drowning her original intent in a sea of unnecessary distractions.

“Thought ya’ll’d come by.”

“Braeburn?” she asked, raising her head. Had he come after her?

But it was only Rusty Hinges, standing sullenly on the porch of his and Bonny’s house. Rarity came to, looking around in a daze. Somehow she’d wandered all the way back up the hill to the isolated ranch her antagonist lived upon. What a strange coincidence, if you happened to believe in coincidences.

“Oh,” she said, drooping again like a melting wax figure. “I thought you were… You have a very grown-up sort of voice for such a young colt.”

Rusty’s face scrunched with skepticism. “Izzat s’posed to be a compliment, lady?”

Rarity chuckled bitterly. “It depends on your viewpoint I suppose. But whyever would you think I’d come out this way? I was merely walking in a daze, you see. I’m sorry, but I  seem to have helped doom your town.”

Rusty wiped his nose. “Yeah. I saw all that commotion. Most excitin’ week this place has ever had. Usually it’s just a sandstorm or a fight at the tavern or something boring like that. But I thought you’d come out here to yell at my sister.”

“Where is she?”

“Gone into town to yell at you, I guess. She left not long after the train did; you musta missed her.” Rusty gestured back at the house. “She were holed up in here while everypony was gettin’ ready for that brou-ha-ha you cooked up. Didn’t let me outta the house, no sir. Just watched it all through the window and sneered atcha. ‘Look at ‘em,’ she’d say. ‘All scurryin’ around like headless chickens. All following that Rarity pony like a bunch of ducklings follows its Mama.’”

Rarity turned towards the little colt, took a step, one hoof raised. “What do you think of me, Rusty?”

The boy looked surprised to be asked his opinion. “What, me? What’s it matter to you?”

“Everything,” Rarity said before she could stop herself. “What I mean is, I want to understand what I am to this town. Everypony back down there—I know they look at me either as some kind of savior or an arrogant dude pony. They weren’t made to deal with the problems I brought, with the problems they had before me. Your own sister can’t stand the sight of me. You must have some thoughts on all this.”

Rusty scuffed his hoof on the porch. He looked pensive. Overwhelmed. Rarity was about to apologize for going off on him when he looked up again.

“I dunno if it makes any difference,” he said, “but you don’t seem like a bad pony. I think everyone’s just kinda too angry to look around an’ think. I know my sister is.” He scuffed the porch again, looking everywhere but right at Rarity. “She never really asked me how I felt,” he said. “Not once, even before we came here.”

An awkward silence prevailed between them. For a while there was nothing but wind.

“You wanna sit down in the shade, miss Rarity?” Rusty asked.

Rarity smiled. Any kindness was a treat right now. “Why how kind of you to offer, mister Hinges,” she said with a curtsey, enjoying how he flushed and shilly-shallyed at her overwrought appreciation. Rarity seated herself on a bench beneath the awning.

“I made mistakes,” she said. “I saw what the town thought of me when I got here, but in the end I perhaps made it too much about myself. I thought it would be simple to win them over. Just show them what a wonder my plan would be, just wait and see… wait and see. It always worked with my customers in Ponyville because they already believed in me.”

“Yeah…” Rusty grumbled, sitting down on the front stairs. “We all made mistakes.”

“That’s a very mature way of thinking,” said Rarity. “Do all colts grow up so fast around here?”

“Dunno. No new births just yet,” said Rusty, the humor in her voice going right over his head. “An’ I ain’t all grown-up just yet. But… yeah. Me an’ Bonny have been on our own for a while now. Our parents, they, uh…” He clamped his mouth shut and looked away. “Bonny don’t like me speakin’ about them.”

“Did you want to?” Rarity asked tenderly, carefully, like she was coaxing a terrible admission from Sweetie Belle.

Rusty licked his lips. “I, I dunno,” he said. “You wouldn’t understand. But sis… Bonny, she… she’s angry, Rarity. An’ it’s not just with you. It’s with this whole thing, with Appleloosa, an’ bein’ here, an’…” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I haven’t been able to talk to her in a while. I mean normally I don’t even talk this much!” He looked up at Rarity, desperate and small. “But she’s been gettin’ worse. Always telling me to keep quiet an’ do what she says, or pushin’ me outta the way. I’m sick of it! It ain’t good for her! She’s done so much to take care of me, but when I try to say anything about anything, she just-”

“Shh,” Rarity cooed, coming over and laying her hoof on the back of his head, gently stroking his mane. “There, there. Deep breaths. I must say this is the most talkative I ever thought you’d be.”

“… It’s cuz I feel guilty,” said Rusty, glaring at the ground but not moving away from her hoof. Rarity wondered if this was the first motherly, tender touch he’d felt in a long time.

“Why is that?”

Rusty chewed on his hoof. Then he seemed to come to a decision and nodded to himself. “She’s gonna tan my hide, but I don’t care. She dragged us all the way out here, least she can do is make up for it.” He looked up at Rarity, and she was taken aback by the flinty look in his eyes. “I think she done sabotaged you, miss Rarity.”

Rarity felt a knot of hot, squeezing guilt upset her stomach, but she just kept stroking his mane. “I suspected as much,” she whispered. “But I didn’t want to think about it. The Dust Dogs said something about their things being stolen and their mines being trashed.”

“I didn’t know she’d go so far, I swear! But it’s the only thing that makes sense. How she went off without bein’ seen the last few days, how angry she’s been… an’ when she came back, she was all dusty an’ stuff, an’ never answered me when I asked where she’d been. Please don’t get her in trouble though, miss Rarity. I swear she just thinks this is for our good or somethin’ stupid like that. It always is with her.”

“Why do you think she’s done all this?”

“She wants to be in control,” Rusty groaned. “She always wants that. It’s cuz of the way our family was back before she brought us from M—” He clapped his hooves over his mouth, eyes going wide. “I-I mean…”

“Manehattan, am I right?” Rarity asked wryly.

Rusty blinked. “How’d you know?”

“Her accent slipped back in the Dust Dog mines. I knew then, and you only confirmed my suspicions. Not only are you and Bonny not natives to the frontier, you were not born anywhere near it.”

Rusty slapped the porch with his hoof. “Wol’, I don’t wanna go back there anyway! I’ve lived out here long enough I talk the talk an’ walk the walk. But Bonny, she never got over what happened to bring us out here.”

“What did, exactly?”

“I shouldn’t say it,” Rusty said, shaking his head. “I ain’t good at talkin’ about that sorta thing. It’s grown-up stuff. Me an’ Bonny, we both grew up too fast. But she’ll talk about it if you press her enough. She won’t have a choice. I-I’ll make her talk to ya! She can’t just hide from it no more, it’s gonna wreck everything we built!”

“Don’t worry,” said Rarity. “I will speak with her, properly. Mare to mare, where she can’t hide behind her position or her anger. But not right now.”

“Then what are ya gonna do?”

Rarity stood up and dusted off her dress. “First of all, I am going to get changed. Then I am going to fix what your sister has tried to destroy.”

“But how? Those Dust Dogs—”

“Are not beyond reason. I know that because they have reasons. They had a reason to come here, a reason to stay, a reason to attack. I will give them a reason to be at peace. If and when we deal with all these… distasteful distractions, then perhaps we can finally return to resolving the dispute tearing this town apart. But one thing must be solved at a time.” She walked back to the path leading into town.

“Miss Rarity,” said Rusty. Rarity stopped and looked back.

“You ain’t a bad pony,” he said. “I hope you can fix it.”

Rarity gave him a smile, but it slipped away as soon as her back was turned.

She went back into town and found Apple Tart pacing in front of Ben Barette’s Mane Care, worried out of her wits.

“Rarity!” Apple Tart said when she spotted her approaching. “I’ve got bad news. Bonny’s been stirrin’ up trouble, started haranguing ponies somethin’ awful after the city-ponies left. I think she’s tryin’ to turn everyone against you! I tried to get Braeburn but he’s just a mess an’ Silverstar’s fit to be tied an’ I don’t even know where Strongheart is how do you lose a bunch of buffalo I mean I’m not sayin’ she’s fat or nothin’ but—”

Rarity plugged her mouth with a hoof. “Stay calm. This is not the time to panic. It is the time for action, and quick action. Find Little Strongheart and tell her to meet me outside the town. Then… I would like you to bake a pie.”