So in the end Big Mac came back home to Sweet Apple Acres, with Ol 'Bessie undamaged but also unshot on his back, the bear unslain, but the threat ended, perhaps in part due to his actions.
He was not sure whether to feel as if he had won or lost. He had tracked the bear successfully; he had gotten him at bolt-point, in a position in which he probably could have killed him. But then the Hermit -- Miss Fluttershy -- had intervened and defeated him with her mind-magic.
And she could have slain him, once she had him fixed in her gaze. Of that Mackie was certain. He had never felt anything like the terrifying glare from those beautiful blue eyes.
In the end no one had been slain. Or even hurt. Or worse than frightened.
And the Hermit?
Where Mackie had thought to find a confused young teenaged Pegasus filly, he had instead encountered a force of Nature, a mind-witch out of one of the more frightening Nightmare Night tales, like "The Eater of Eyes." And when he had been overcome, at her mercy, instead of eating his eyes she had talked reasonably to him and secured a mutual promise of peace between himself and the bear.
And when she had that promise, from both the bear and himself, she suddenly became more what he had first imagined her -- a shy little filly who dwelt alone because she was afraid of Ponies; who befriended beasts, probably, because they were the only friends she had. A strange little filly who lived all alone in a house at the end of the lane from Ponyville, where it turned and became the road to Sweet Apple Acres.
Which was the real Hermit? The mind-witch? Or the innocent young filly? Or was she both?
He could not decide which, turn the question about as he would in his thoughts.
The farmhouse now loomed before him.
Well, thought Big Mac. Time ta face the music.
He opened the front door and stepped inside.
The whole family was gathered in the main room. Gramps was still sitting at the table, now reading a book. Granny was crouched down with Bloomie, doing something elaborate with the little filly's dolls and doll-dresses. Despite his trepidation, Mackie could not help but smile at the sight: knowing Granny, there was probably a whole story that went along with her actions. Granny was a wonderfully imaginative and skilled story-teller.
Granny's whole face lit up with joy at the sight of her grandson.
"Mackie!" she cried happily, getting up -- a bit stiffly, Mac noticed, her hips had been hurting her lately -- and running over to him, to enfold him in a warm embrace. "Are you whole, boy? Did that dreadful bear hurt you?" She sniffed and patted him in various places, quickly checking for injuries, rather as if he had been a little foal, rather than a big strapping stallion, well able to report on his own condition.
Mac was both comforted and embarrassed by the attention. He very obviously wasn't a little colt any more -- but sometimes, it was nice to be mothered.
"Mulciber's Forge, Greenie!" Blackie exclaimed. "He's a full-grown Pony who's been out hunting bear, not a little colt who fell down and might have a boo-boo! Let him breathe!"
Granny shot her husband a look of annoyance, but backed off from Big Mac.
""Mackie," cried Apple Bloom, "You're okay! You're okay!" The little filly ran over and flung herself around his right foreleg, nuzzling him.
"Eeyup," replied Big Mac, giving his little sister an affectionate nuzzle in return.
"Did you have to shoot the bear?" asked Bloomie, proving by this statement that she hadn't been completely asleep when they were getting out Ol 'Bessie earlier. "Oh, I hope you didn't have to shoot the bear!" She detached herself from his leg and looked up at him anxiously.
"Bloom," said Granny, "maybe yew'd better back off Mac for a moment, let him get to the table and sit down so he can tell all of us what happened." She reached forward and picked up Apple Bloom with one foreleg, kissing her head until the small filly squealed and giggled, momentarily distracted.
Big Mac took the advantage of the opportunity to step up to the table. As he briefly stood before his grandfather's level gaze, he felt a bit like a military officer going before a tribunal. Not that there was any hostile criticism in Blackie's eyes. Rather, it was Mackie's own awareness that -- if he had succeeded -- it had not been in the way he had originally hoped to win.
Mac hoped that what he had done would meet with his grandfather's approval.
"Pull up a chair an' sit down, Mackie," said Blackie, smiling at his grandson.
Big Mac did so. As was often the case these days, the chair creaked a little under Mackie's weight.
"How are yew, Mackie?" Blackie asked him. "Have yew come to any harm?"
"Eenope," replied Big Mac.
"Did yew find the bear?" asked Blackie.
"Eeyup!" answered Big Mac, proudly.
The old stallion leaned forward and looked deeply into Big Mac's eyes.
"Did yew git it?"
The nub of the issue, and the source of Mackie's trepidations in this interview. There was a perceptibe pause, as Big Mac tried to figure out the best way to explain himself without sounding weak and whiny. Finally, he chose the simplest solution.
"Eeeenope."
It was the honest answer, but still Big Mac felt his face flush. He knew his cheeks were probably purpling, a sing that his grandparents, who knew him better than anypony else still alive, could read well. Then, very suddenly, he added: "But Ah think we're all safe now!"
Blackie cocked a bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrow at him. "Perhaps," he suggested, "yew'd better tell the tale at length. We could spent forever playin' Sixteen Questions on a hunt like this."
So Big Mac told them.
It was a comortable and friendly sort of interrogation. Granny brought out some apple pie and cider, and they all enjoyed the pie and cider together as the questions and answers went back and forth. Mackie's grandparents smiled at him, and gently prodded the taciturn young stallion, upon the frequent occasions when words failed him. Fortified by pie, cider and kindness, Big Mac related the whole story of what had befallen him.
All three of his listeners -- Gramps, Granny and little Bloomie -- paid rapt attention to the tale. Gramps asked some highly-pertinent questions, which in the course of answering, Big Mac perceived new insights into his adventure. He saw how some of his choices had been very good ones, and others not so good. He realized with full force that his grandfather was an expert in work such as he had just attempted.
Granny's questions were fewer but if anything even more insightful. She was curious as to the reasons why he and the other two actors in their little drama -- the Hermit and the Bear -- had chosen as they did. One question, in particular, flustered him greatly, without even being all that inherently personal.
Big Mac had wondered, out loud, as to why the Hermit had become so shy at the very end, when at the start of it she had been so forceful.
Granny looked at him almost in disbelief, as if he were a very small Pony standing next to a broken cookie jar, mumbling his innocence through a mouthful of cookies, that he had no idea how it had all happened. And then she smiled at him, and said:
"If'n yew think back on it, Ah'm shore yew'll see the reason."
And for a moment, Big Mac was about to protest No, Ah don't see no reason -- Then he contemplated just how he may have seemed to the Hermit, who avoided the company of her fellow Ponies, but was just getting old enough that she might have begun to perceive one obvious disadvantage of her solitary life, suddenly confronted with his own self. And then he knew. And the knowledge took him to new depths of embarrassment, because Mac had certainly not been trying to influence the Hermit that way.
He certainly did not want her the way he had wanted Cheery -- still did, really, though he knew now that it was unlikely he'd ever have the smart, beautiful, classy young mare, two tantalizing years his elder, in any such fashion. Nor even the way that he had ogled -- and on two shameful but delightful occasions, more than ogled -- some mares of far less intelligence and virtue than Blackcherry Lee Punch. Among other things, the Hermit was really just a young filly: under her mysterious powers, little more than a child.
But he did feel strangely protective toward the mind-witch; he knew that she could not be all that experienced with the use of her abilities, or with life in general. He knew how close he'd come to accidentally shooting her, something which he was devoutly thankful he had not done, because he did not think her powers could have protected her from a bolt hard-driven by Ol' Bessie's metal cables, nor that she would have survived a hit from one of those bolts anywhere near the center of her mass.
At no point had the Hermit actually tried to kill him. Or even hurt him, really. Facts which spoke well in her favor, because once she did have him in the grip of her power, she could have done whatever she willed with him. He did not think that the strange teenaged filly who called herself "Fluttershy" was at all evil.
Some of the questions his grandparents asked him were strange. For instance, if he had at any point seen anything that looked like a glossy black bug-pony with translucent wings and a jagged horn. Or if he -- under the Hermit's power -- had felt like he unaccountably loved her?
His answer to both questions was "Eenope." The only big flying thing he'd seen that day was the Hermit herself. And he'd been frightened by Fluttershy's power, rather than feeling love for her -- he only started to feel sympathetic toward her at all after she released him from her spell.
For some reason, Mackie's grandparents seemed relieved by both answers. Though Big Mac was not quite clear at that time as to just why they might imagine him to encounter bug-pony monsters or seductive witchcraft -- well, the Hermit was a mind-witch, but she didn't seem to be that sort of an enchantress, at least as far as Mac could tell.
Finally, their questioning ended, and Big Mac had to ask a giant question of his own; one which he had been putting off asking until they had heard all his testimony.
"Did Ah do right?" Mac asked his grandparents, his eyes shifting from his grandfather's gray eyes to his grandmother's orange. "Yew sent me out there to put down the bear -- and Ah didn't. Ah let it live -- and worse, Ah promised not to hunt it again. The Hermit had me at a disadvantage, but at the moment she asked for my word, she only had mah muscles under her power, not mah mind. Makes all the difference. Ah cain't break mah given word -- not if she keeps to her side o' the bargain.
"So Ah failed yew, failed all o'yew. Ah didn't shoot the bear, though Ah had the best arbalest ever made. Ah couldn't -- Ah was too slow, an' then the Hermit had me. There was a moment Ah could've shot the Hermit -- but Ah couldn't just shoot somethin' that Ah thought was a harmless Pegasus filly. It just ain't in me. Ah'm not strong enough, inside, to hunt monsters."
Big Mac hung is head in shanme.
"Oh, Mackie-boy," Blackie said slowly. "Yore a young fool. A wonderful young fool."
Mac looked up in surprise. His grandparents wre both smiling at him.
"Mackie, yore the right kind o'fool," said Greenie. "Same kind o'fool as mah husband." The two elderly Ponies looked at each other with a look of utterly shameless and naked love, one that was almost indecent to witness, and then they directed a version of that love back at him.
"Yeh see," Blackie said. "Ol' Bessie's a deadly weapon. Any fool -- any brute with good eyes and steady hooves and the will to harm another -- kin kill with her. Don't take much brains nor even bravery -- Bessie's a ranged weapon, and kin kill most things with one good hit.
"Ah made all sorts of bolts for Bessie. Wide, narrow, sleepy, pizen, explosive, smoke, incendiary -- even Banes that can take down things bigger'n stronger'n yew'd think. Some could even kill an -- well, never yew mind. But there's one kind of bolt Ah've never been able to make, not even with the help of the best mage." His gray eyes gazed directly into Mackie's own.
"One that kin bring back to life someun' that Bessie's kilt," Blackie said. "Some day, mebbe, Ah'll tell yeh some of mah old stories -- the ones that ain't so much fun to remember -- and we'll talk about 'friendly shooting.' Which ain't all that friendly, really. Ah'm not a perfect Pony -- Ah've made mistakes in mah life -- and Ah wasn't always the one to suffer the wust for them."
"What Ah'm saying is that it's not bein' able to kill with Bessie that makes yew fit to bear her, or to be a monster hunter," Blackie paused, and when he spoke again his eyes were moist and his voice thick with emotion.. "It's knowin' when not to kill with Bessie that makes yew fit. An' if it means yew hesitate to shoot somethin' that looks like a sweet young filly, when yew have no reason to think she's anything but that, that makes yew the kind of fool Ah'm proud to call mah grandson. Or mah successor as a monster hunter."
Blackie reached out a hoof for Mac's own, and they held hooves. Greenie started outright crying and went around the table to hug him again. Bloomie, of course, could not be denied, and took possession of one of his hind legs.
"Thank you," Apple Bloom said, "for not shooting the big doggie!"
After they had all calmed down, Blackie said:
"Now, in dealing with the bear, Ah think yew did pretty good. Yew talked with his owner, or friend, or whatever it is with Fluttershy and Harry, and yew got her to see that she had to keep him clear of other Ponies or he might get hurt. Oh," said Blackie in response to Mac's startled noise, "that yew did. She was skeered when she thought yew were gonna shoot him, and she may have even realized that she came close to gettin' shot herself. An' yew skeered the bear, too.
"Yew ended the threat. Which was all yew needed ta do. We were all figgerin' that meant yew needed ta' shoot the bear, but yew don't, long as the bear knows it cain't be safe if'n it skeers Ponies. Ah have no partic'lar gripe against bears living in the woods. Long as they leave Ponies be, Ah'll leave them be.
"Yew know," said Blackie, "Yew'd be amazed at how many times our unit ended a threat from some kind'o monster by talkin' to it, lettin' it know that the best way for it to keep on livin' was just not be a threat to Ponies. Or how many kinds o'critters Celestia's willing to keep the peace with, long as they don't hurt her little Ponies.
He looked soberly into Big Mac's eyes. "Yew did risk yore life, yew know. Bear coulda ambushed yew. Hermit coulda been not as nice as she turned out ta be. Someday yew prolly will have to shoot, cause it'll be yew or it. Yew got a bit lucky today."
"For which," said Greenie, "Ah am very glad! Better when the hero wins an' nopony -- heck, even nobear -- has to die!"
"Hero?" asked Big Mac. "Me?"
"Oh yeh," said Blackie. "Yew were a hero today."
"A true hero," added Greenie, "like a knight in some ol' tale." She smiled warmly at him.
"Yay!" cried Bloomie delightedly. "Mah big brother's a hero!" She looked at him. "We should get yew a cape and stuff so yew can run around like one'a those fairy tale crusaders!" she decided enthusiastically.
"Eenope," said Big Mac to his little sister. "Ah'm not wearin' a cape. It'd look silly, an' catch on things."
"Awww ..." said Apple Bloom in disappointment.
"All Ah did was what needed to be done," said Big Mac. "Ah wasn't fearless. Ah was skeered."
"Heh, yew'd be a real fool if'n yew weren't skeered," Blackie said. "Ah was terrified in Antarctica. And that time north o'Griffonstone ..." he shivered. "Ah'm just glad Ah did what Ah needed ta do -- an' shot straight."
"So you are a hero," said Granny. "Now, let's get some real food on the table, afore we all spoil our appetites with too much dessert."
"Aww, Ah like dessert!" commented Apple Bloom. "And capes! Mebbe now that Mackie knows he's a hero, he'll wear the --"
"Eenope," said Big Mac, laughing.
In the farmhouse was only warmth, and light, and life.
And in the house at the end of the lane leading from Ponyville, where the road turned to become the one to Sweet Apple Acres, the hermit Fluttershy Wind, who had fled her family rather than be corrupted by their evil, cuddled against the broad warm furry body of her dear friend, Harry Bear, who had been badly shaken by his near-shooting, but was calming down now under the loving ministrations of the yellow-and-pink Pegasus. He sighed in contentment, and Fluttershy rested against him, with the little white rabbit resting against her in a mass made of of three different species, and all were happy and at peace with one another.
And Fluttershy drank in their ample love, replacing the energy she had expended in that desperate Stare. And she was full, and content, like a Queen in the midst of her own little Hive. And if she was sometimes troubled by a strange tugging on her spirit from the southwest, she was not thinking about it right now.
And some hours later, on the Moon a lost and lonely soul stared down at the City and Palace Canterlot, and past it to the ruined castle deep in the Everfree, to which she meant to return. In her, Love warred with Hate, and it was far from obvious which would triumph in the end.
Though, in just seven more years, all the world would have a chance to find out.
END.