The Bucks Stop Here

by Camojoe

Chapter 4: Memory Road

The thin blades of grass would wave in the breeze, just on the hillside behind AppleJack. Standing at the tree line with her hat pulled down, lowered over her eyes, casting dark shadow under the brim. Taking a moment she would lower slightly stepping into the woodlands. Looking around and through the brush, she would decide her direction.

As a filly she would remember running through the woods here in the bottoms, but only went as far as the creek bed. Not much of the ground and creek path had changed, but over the years the vegetation had overgrown the area she mainly played. It was no longer a grass covered section of runoff but was now covered in thorny briars and gooseberry bushes. So the easiest path would be through the creek itself.

Pushing through the brush, mangled over the run-off, and then down the ridge, she would lean back carefully and slide down the rough dirt embankment. Stepping forward with wide leap of a trot she would reach the bottom of the slate and pebble covered creek bed. There was water running in small streams that bent and flowed in different directions throughout the floor. The creek itself, running south west, was lightly watered by the falls that spilled from Canterlot. But during this time of year the creek was mostly dry with little pools and streams here and there. The Orchard wrapped around the eastern part of town as it was actually bigger than most would expect, stretching from the rocky hills on the western most side of White Tail woods, to the river south of Canterlot, circling the western side of the large river bend.

Looking both up and down the creek she would have to decide which direction she was going to go, north east toward the river inlet, or south west deeper into the White tail woods? Aside from the railway that cut through the woodlands west of her, the White Tail Woods was primarily a large woodland area, scattered with creeks and hill topped meadows. It was a maze less dangerous than that of the Everfree, but its over-all size was larger. If she were to get lost the railway would be the only direct line back.

Turning north word making her way slowly up the creek, she would decide to follow the creek to the inlet as it wrapped not far from the borders of the farm and would be the best decision over all. AppleJack may be a stubborn pony… But she was not a foolish one. Following this path would be closer in proximity and completely circles around back to the farm.

AppleJack wasn’t much for holding grudges; to her it was more work than bucking apples. But leaving such a rock unturned in the collection of today’s activities doing what little they have, just added to her frustration. If she was unable to catch the culprit she would at least have walked it off.

Keeping a watchful eye, she carefully examines the area for any tracks or signs that may help lead her. All she had though was a simple idea to continue onward to a small pond over the hill top further upstream. Other than a few standing pools in the creek, the pond was the only clear water between now and the river. She would have to eventually leave the creek anyway and head east towards the river, so that would be the first direction to start off with.

As she made her way up creek she would catch a few glimpses of her past childhood, from slopping in the mud in the summer; to fishing when the creek would get higher during the spring after the snow melted. Even the old cave she dug out in the side of the embankment was still there. The entrance had caved in but she could still make it out. Other than fishing and playing, for some reason this memory seemed less enjoyable.

As she continued she would begin to remember the mischief she got herself into. It made her pause for a moment with a little grin. This was only for a moment as AppleJack did not want to get side tracked and it was already late in the day. She wanted to be back before nightfall. She was well aware that even though the wild pack of dogs that chased her as a filly were long gone. She preferred not to be here after dark.

Crossing a small stream to continue along the creek, she would catch the sight of where it looked as if somepony had tried crossing the creek and had difficulty climbing out. The tracks left behind were not pony tracks either. She was used to seeing these tracks in the past, but could never find out what made them. Granny Smith mentioned something about it but she never could put a face to it. She knew she would soon find out, as a powder blue down feather wiggles before her.

“It must ‘of fallen off as ‘eh climbed up.” AppleJacks eyes narrowed as she observed the little down feather. Then with a careful glance up she would slowly prop her front hooves against the wall of the creek and quietly lift peeking over the edge from below.