//------------------------------// // The Hackle-Raising Hoof-Fouler // Story: Goosed! // by Estee //------------------------------// As with so many of the other situations she'd been involved with since the Elements had been rediscovered, Applejack didn't find out how much trouble she was actually in until long after she stepped in it. It was one of the natural hazards of farm work, of course. The Acres were, in many ways, their own little ecosystem: four ponies, a myriad of (mostly) rent-paying tenants, more insects than Applejack cared to count or even think about unless one of them tried making a meal out of her product, birds everywhere, raccoons forever sneaking in to snatch one more snack (and one more, and one more, and...), squirrels, rabbits, some rather unwelcome and apparently permanent residents of what had once been the West Orchard, and then you got down to the weird stuff... all of which lived, breathed, ate, and excreted. Just about any early morning scouting trip across her own soil risked some degree of hoof befoulment, and it was a rare day which didn't see her dodging more than hoof-stubbing rocks which Apple Bloom was supposed to have removed six seasons ago. In this case, Applejack had been distracted: another natural hazard, especially in the early fall. Cider season was closing in, and that meant she had to pay extra attention to her crops during the early morning inspection of the North Fields, evaluating trees to see which ones were ready to let loose with just a little touch of concussive persuasion, checking for the aftereffects of insects and birds and nearly everything else which wasn't paying for the honor of their meals, simultaneously wondering if there were enough spices in the cellar because mulling for the winter stock was also just around the corner, and that was when she wasn't considering if she should use the probably-inevitable trip into town to check in with Cheerilee and get a few more depressing details on whatever her little sister and the other two had done to cost the school the use of their hoofball field, well beyond what had been contained by a note which had been trodden within a tail strand of illegibility, with every last hoofprint of a completely familiar size... It all left her with turning head, swiveling ears, and her mind focused on events yet-to-come. The squelch brought her hearing back to the here-and-now, and practically every other sense rapidly followed suit. She looked down at her left forehoof. She had stepped in... well, the piece which was still protruding was roughly the size and diameter of a minotaur cigar. The semi-solid was mostly greenish-grey, with hints of other hues, none of which warranted inspection for longer than it took for her pre-inspection snack to begin kicking her stomach, because the look pretty much matched the smell and the smell was... also somewhat reminiscent of cigars, plus there was the texture, some of which had squelched up her hoof and was soaking into her fur... She tried to tell herself that none of it had reached her tongue. She failed. An attempt was made to scrape most of it off on rocks, old tree trunks (of non apple-bearing varieties), and grass. All of it stuck to and coated the receiving surfaces while none of it came off her foreleg. This was something which should have been impossible, but the stuff didn't care. She took a glance around. The grass ahead was... well, "occupied" was a good word. So was "laden." "Trapped" definitely fit. The sheer quantity of waiting problem spots seemed to indicate either an extraordinarily dedicated group effort or a single horrible illness. Possibly both. Applejack frowned. "Now," she muttered to herself, "what are you...?" Because the stuff was a lot of things, all of them disgusting -- but it was also unfamiliar. She'd had intruders on the Acres, ones who weren't particularly concerned about covering up the aftereffects of their presence, and if any of them were still around... Avian, that was her best guess: in addition to Acres inhabitants both natural and undesired, she spent enough time dodging her way around the cottage grounds to have a rather good idea of origin sources for this category of foulness, and this variety struck her as having come from a bird. A big one. But that didn't necessarily mean much if the monster species got involved, one of the mix-and-match types where only the digestive system came from that which flew, including, for a few of them, the built-in desire for meat. But she wasn't going to retreat back to the house for backup, not unless she had to. She might be alone and facing down potential trouble which she knew nothing of -- but she was also standing on her own ground. Her soil. And until proven otherwise, that was enough. Applejack started forward, testing the air (and ground) with every sense (plus one), searching as she carefully made her way forward -- -- not carefully enough. It took six more squelches before she gave up and broke into full trot. She stared. She couldn't help it, any more than she could stop the little smile which found itself on her lips without initial permission -- but as she continued to gaze upon the visitor, she decided the tiny token of expressed delight was more than welcome to remain. Sure enough: one big bird. About two-thirds the size of a pony, settled down in the grass in front of one of her oldest, most reliable trees, one her Grandpa had planted so long ago, flourishing with the regularity of sunrise and sunset, bearing at least a sixth of the apples she was going to need for the trial batch all by itself -- -- she refocused on the bird. Black and white and grey, with those last two pleasantly phasing into and through each other along the body, passing through a number of fine shades before surging into deep black for the tail. The head was almost entirely a matching black: eyes and beak and feathers, but for a brilliant white streak at the very top of the long neck. A plump body. She had no view of the feet, but she was willing to bet they were webbed: this struck her as being some part of the aquatic fowl family. Related to swans, perhaps: the bird just had that... ...majesty. The long neck curved. The small head came up. Black beads focused on her and refused to blink. And still she smiled. Just a bird after all, and she was still on her own ground. "Well," Applejack breathed, "ain't you jus' the most regal thing..." Because there was no denying it: the bird was handsome. It had presence. It seemed to occupy six times the amount of Acreage it had camped out on, and that was before she accounted for the huge wings, which were now slowly beginning to spread. "Where did you come from?" Keeping her voice calm, under control: she would never have Fluttershy's talents, but she had enough experience with creatures in the wild to have some idea of what not to do. "'cause Ah know Ah ain't never seen you 'round here before, or anythin' like you..." Along with how to test. The wings, about a third unfurled, paused. The head bobbed slightly. Next step, then. "Can y'understand me? Ah know y'might not be able t' speak, but if'fin y'can understand, jus' spread yer wings the rest of the way an' flap once. Can y'do that for me?" That curve of neck came forward. The eyes kept staring. The wings didn't move. All right: no knowledge of Equestrian. But there were other tests, time-honored ones. Applejack brought up her left forehoof, tried to ignore the stuff that was still on it (and, after her trek across her land, on so many other places), carefully stomped it once -- paused -- again. Then the right foreleg, but with two stomps in rapid succession. And repeated the pattern three times. All the bird had to do was copy her once... It was amazing, really, how long it was going without blinking. So it ain't a thinker. Makes some things harder, others easier. But still, even knowing that it didn't recognize her words as anything other than noise, she kept talking: it would still probably respond to tone, and she kept hers gentle. "Are y'feelin' all right? 'cause you're producin' a mighty amount of mess for jus' one bird." Which didn't mean there hadn't been others who'd already departed from her grounds, but the possibility of this one being sick... "Ah've got a friend who can look y'over. An' Ah'll go get her for you, if y'need help. But right now, Ah jus' need you t' move away from the tree, 'cause... well, that's mah tree and Ah kinda need t' check it out from close up. So..." and this was the part a non-sapient bird would automatically respond to, there was no nest, nothing to guard, so all she had to do was take one careful step forward, just a few seconds away from trying that. "...Ah'll get a little closer, look y'over, take care of mah tree, and then if'fin y'need it, Ah can --" There was a sound like a faulty steamstack trying to vent, a furious hiss which indicated something deep inside the machinery was about to explode. And the wings spread, the neck thrust, the beak stabbed at the air as Applejack jumped backwards in a single four-legged bound, hat never shifting, her tail beginning to lash... The bird got up. The feet were in fact webbed. And nothing which charged across her ground with that kind of speed could possibly be the least bit sick. Applejack, startled in spite of herself, hating that such had been visible even to a bird, glanced back over her shoulder a mere five strides into her gallop. The bird had stopped chasing her, halting the rush a single body length into what she had instinctively seen as a full-scale chase. It was now prowling the grass in front of her tree, staring at her as wings beat at the air without ever quite making the body lift, neck curving about while that hissing just kept on coming... She could have gone to the cottage, right then and there. Turned her tail on it and let somepony else handle everything. But she didn't, because she'd figured it out, and the offense closed out every avenue of reason in the world. Because the bird was being territorial. On her territory. She stopped. Looked around, instinctively and carefully. Started to go back. She'd been within four body lengths when it had decided to react: that meant she knew where to stop... "Oh no y'don't," she whispered. "Not on mah Acres." It was staring at her again. The wings were assaulting the air. "So... here's what's gonna happen," she softly told the world. "Ah'm gonna aim this away from yer head. Jus' close enough t' scare you. An' then you'll know Ah mean business, an' you'll leave. Permanent. Y'got me?" It didn't understand her, of course: she knew that, could see nothing more than instinct and reaction and fury in those little black eyes. She just didn't care any more. "So... scram." She spun her body around, using her right forehoof as the pivot point. Her hind right leg kicked out and precisely impacted a rock which had been resting low in the grass, one which had probably been there all along and there was nopony around to claim different. The mineral missile hit the resilient truck a mere two hoof-widths to the right of the weaving black head, and the bird jumped. The wings curled back in towards its body, and the eyes finally blinked. "Want another?" Applejack asked. "'cause Ah got plenty more! Here -- free seconds!" Missing to the left, and she relished seeing it jump again. "An' it all stops jus' as soon as you clear out forever --" It blinked again. It charged. For something with a mere two legs, it had surprisingly good ground speed. Big Mac glanced up from his breakfast as she squelched her way into the kitchen. She'd gotten most of the stuff off her hooves: it was the only thing she'd taken care of before heading into the house. She hadn't paused long enough for her legs to dry. Or for anything else. "What..." Her big brother swallowed his next breath, tried again in a slightly steadier voice. "What happened to you? Who happened?" "Don't worry 'bout it," Applejack insisted as her eyes narrowed and dedicated legs wetly propelled her forward. She'd just sighted her target. "Don't worry 'bout anythin', just got somethin' Ah need t' ask..." "AJ," her far-too-interfering sibling cut in, "you've been in a fight. And I'm not sure you won. Those scratches --" "-- give me a minute here --" The target was starting to retreat. Some of that was instinct. The majority was practice. "-- we've got to paint the ones on your snout, make sure they'll heal right --" "-- jus' a minute, Mac, Ah've gotta --" Ah shouldn't have t' -- The target made a break for the living room. Applejack, who'd known it was coming, spun her body and whipped her tail across the exit. The target automatically went left, and that put her into the door frame. The elder sister waited exactly long enough for the younger's ears to stop ringing. "All right," she demanded from Apple Bloom. "What did y'do?" "Ah -- Ah ain't never done nothin'! Nothin' ever!" Applejack spared a moment for the ongoing, increasingly depressive amazement towards the miracle that was her sibling's self-editing memory. "Any Crusades goin' on out there in the North Fields that Ah should know 'bout, right now? Somethin' involvin' birds, maybe?" "No! Ah ain't never done nothin' with birds!" She noted the singular. "An' the other two?" "Naw! Nothin'! Applejack, Ah swear, we ain't never tried with birds before! Dogs, sure! You remember the dogs. And rabbits. Cats. Manticores the one time. Fish... come t' think of it, we ain't gotten around t' fish or birds yet, maybe --" "-- yer grounded for the rest of the day. Once y'get back from school." Apple Bloom blinked. "But -- Ah ain't never done nothin'! What do y'call that, punishin' me when I ain't --" Applejack thought about the look she'd just seen in her sister's eyes at the thought of Crusading for something to do with fish or birds, said "Ah call it a preemptive strike," and watched her youngest sibling sulk her way out, plopping into an empty corner of the living room with the highly insulted force of those whose most recent crime against mark-finding had been caught at the planning stage. Big Mac also watched her go, then sighed and turned his attention back to Applejack. "AJ, you know that ain't fair." "Ah also know Ah ain't never heard the one about manticores. An' Ah'm betting she ain't told you neither --" "-- it happened while you were in the Empire." She stared at him. "Anypony hurt?" "Nope. They got lucky. It was that one Fluttershy helped. Just carried them back." "An' you didn't tell me 'cause...?" He sighed. "Because nopony was hurt and you've got enough to worry about -- which maybe means right now. AJ, what happened out there?" "We've got a bird. In the North Fields." His gaze went over her several times, lingering on the scratches. "...one bird?" "'bout swan size. An' y'know how hard they can hit? This one's the same for strength. Only nasty. Got a grudge an' a temper an' it's territorial. Everythin' Ah could do... most Ah managed t' do was make it back off a little ways. Soon as Ah even pretended t' turn mah tail on it, it either settled in again, charged me, or second followed by first. Didn't hurt it, least not more than it hurt me." And judging by the wing-strike bruises she was just starting to feel, possibly a lot less. "Didn't want t' do much with a dumb animal who was jus' tryin' t' chase me off. But Ah ain't never seen a bird like this before an' Ah'm gonna do what Ah can t' make sure Ah never see one again." A slow nod. "Do you want me to --" "-- naw. Don't go out there." She was fairly sure her brother could take the thing if he had to -- which was why she didn't want him proving it. (She could have done the same if she'd been willing to go for fatal strikes. She'd been telling herself that all the way back to the barn.) "If'fin only 'cause y'don't want the fun of steppin' in this stuff. Ah'm gonna try a quick bath. Maybe a long one. Maybe... as long as Ah can get away with. An' after that... well, Ah think Ah'll jus' try the easy way." He visibly thought it over before saying "Okay. North Fields off limits for a little while. You can tell me more before you head out -- I wanna know what this bird looks like, in case it tries to get close. Want me to tell Granny when she gets up?" "Please. Right now, Ah'm just hopin' Ah haven't messed up too much of the house, an' Ah'm gonna make sure Ah don't mess up too much more..." She trotted out, through the living room, past a sulking sibling, to the ramp which led upstairs. After a few minutes, the sounds of splashing water made their way down. They went on for a while. "Big Mac?" "Yeah?" "We got any more kinds of soap than this?" "Nope." "Horse apples." "Hey! Does anypony know if there's a mark in soap makin'? Ah know ponies do it, so there's gotta be a mark, right? An' if y'want more powerful soap, maybe y'jus' gotta use more powerful stuff when y'make it! Like gravel an' scourin' sand an' maybe even acid...!" "Apple Bloom?" "...yeah?" "An' now you're grounded for a week."