• Published 21st Oct 2016
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Appledashery Vol. Two - Just Essay



Rainbow Dash and Applejack have a long, joyous, arduous relationship.

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Patching Up

The sun was going down.

But that wasn't the reason for Applejack's agony.

Th-Thwack! She flung her lower limbs at another tree trunk—nearly missing.

Only a smattering of apples fell into the basket.

Wheezing, Applejack lunged forward and leaned against the tree. Her lungs ached and her knees throbbed even harder. The teenager's single ponytail hung like a dead snake over her shoulders as she lingered there... attempting to catch her breath.

The pony gulped. She looked up the hill, squinting in the gathering darkness.

Hundreds upon hundreds of trees stood before her—all of them glistening with fruit under the last gasp of daylight.

The freckled teenager bit her lip. She turned and gazed weakly towards the west.

The Apple Family farmhouse stood on the hilltop, forming shadows before the burning horizon. Already, Applejack could see tiny lights peeking out from the upstairs window. No doubt Granny Smith was putting little Apple Bloom to bed.

To bed...

A tender breath purred out of Applejack's lips. She imagined the cool waters of a comforting bath... or the blissful tug of velvety blankets wrapped snugly over a soft bed.

Her muscles ached and she smelled of sweat and filth all over.

The mare's nostrils flared... and a frown adorned her muzzle.

Clenching her teeth, Applejack abandoned the trees. She trotted west... but not towards the farmhouse.


Applejack struck a match held between clenched teeth. She winced from the tiny flame's heat against her lips, but nevertheless managed to light the wick of a kerosene lamp. Leaning back, she spat the match onto the ground and stamped it out with her bruised hoof. Then—with careful motions—she lifted the lamp up and onto a metal holster set within the corner of a half-empty wagon. Three other lanterns flickered from the other corners of the vehicle, and a dim halo of light formed around it. It was enough illumination to work with—or so Applejack told herself.

Going on eight solid hours without rest, Applejack drew the wagon closer to the trees. Crickets began their nightlong song around her. Hooting owls and the distant howls of timberwolves filled the rest of the night. Applejack trembled slightly, but nevertheless kept her teenage eyes forward.

Approaching the first of many lines of trees, the mare swung her lower body—

THWACK!

...and resumed her diligent work on the orchards.


It was about two hours later that the unthinkable happened.

CRACK!

The noise of the wood snapping startled Applejack more than anything. She spun around and gasped.

The front right wheel of the lantern-lit wagon shattered completely. The rest of the vehicle teetered, and a lamp or two nearly fell to the dry grass below.

Applejack rushed forward—steadying the vehicle and ensuring that a blaze didn't start. Catching her breath, the sweaty mare leaned down to examined the damage. The wheel must have gotten caught in a gopher hole—the mare assumed—and the resulting shift in weight led to the inevitable catastrophe.

The mare exhaled heavily. She turned and looked behind her shoulder. Beyond the penumbra of the lamp's light, she could scarcely see the rest of the trees... but she still knew that all of them needed to be bucked.

With a prolonged groan, the mare stopped what she was doing, turned towards the barn, and began a long and mind-numbing trot.


Th-Thump!

Applejack dropped a spare wagon-wheel to the ground. She couldn't recall precisely when it was fashioned together by the local Ponyville carpenter. All she knew was that Pa was a resourceful stallion who prepared for anything and everything, and now she was about to reap the benefits of his forward thinking.

Or so she hoped...

The hard part now was getting the wagon lifted so that she could attach the replacement wheel. This would have been a lot easier with an extra hoof to assist her... but Applejack was no beggar.

First, she removed every single basket of fruit—a task that took nearly half-an-hour. Next, she grabbed several two-by-fours and a mound of mulch. Positioning the mulch beneath the right side of the wagon, she utilized it and the two-by-fours as a primitive lever mechanism. It took all her feeble strength... but the teenager was eventually able to tip the wagon up so that its front right side was raised high enough to work with.

"Rrnnnngh... mrnnnngh... guhhh!"

Sweating and heaving, Applejack pressed a shorter plank between the wagon and the soil, locking it in place. Under the starry night sky, she then set to work in removing the old wheel and sliding in the new one. This required ratcheting and unratcheting numerous nuts and bolts—a mechanical process that the mare was none-too-familiar with. So she had to learn on the spot... which required—to her frustration—more than two hours of frustration and multiple wasted trips back and forth to the barn for previously-inconceivable tools.

At last, the mare was sliding the newer wheel onto the wagon. However, it was resisting her. Applejack pondered if she needed to add more grease in order to make it fit in place, but the night had stretched on long enough and she was losing valuable time. So, with stubborn might, she pushed and shoved against the wheel. At last—with a swift jolt—it shoved neatly into place.

The problem was—Applejack's grip slipped, and her front left forelimb scraaaaaaaped against the lower chassis of the wagon. The air instantly smelled of blood, but Applejack could hardly notice through the blinding-flash of pain.

"Aaaaaaaaugh!" The teenager shrieked then fell back on her haunches. She rolled over into a fetal position, clutching her fetlock as hot streams of blood trickled loose. "Ssnkkkkt-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaugh!" The mare's eyes clenched shut as she gnashed her teeth. Her muscles quivered as wave after wave of pain rolled through her tiny body. "Mrmmmmfghh—aaaaghhh! Mmmmm-Mamaaaaa... Mamaaaa..."

It took a minute or two for the true torture of that exclamation to set in. Applejack silenced it by silencing herself. So she sat there in a slump, waiting for the numbness to take over.

It never did.

Eventually, she sat up, blinking away the tears. She gazed through the misty amber light of the lanterns, examining her wounded fetlock. Sniffling.

The cut was deep... but she had had worse. Or so she told herself.

Sighing, the mare fought the shudders in her lungs and limped towards the barn.


"Mrnnngh..."

Applejack's limb stung like it was on fire. The ointment was doing its job. Beside her—scattered across a lamp-lit table—a series of bloodied needles and suture strings lay in a scattered mess. Using her teeth, the mare tightly bundled a bandage around her injured limb.

Then, taking a brave breath, she stood up—testing her weight on her patched wound.

It hurt to stand.

So... she walked.

Taking a swig of water, she weathered a heavy breath and shuffled out—wincing—to rejoin the wagon, tighten the new wheel in place, and resume bucking the apples off trees.

All the while, a cold sun rose in the east.

It was soon morning.

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