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13

A week and a half passed slowly by. Macintosh, the “Little” moniker now abandoned for good, had been recently taught to plough a field to help his adoptive father, and was now staying at Sweet Apple Acres for a few days to help his grandmother; and although it was difficult, tiring work, it allowed his mind to wander from the fields and away, over to the city of Manehatten. Over to where Applejack still was. He sighed, remembering the journey to Granny Smith’s farm as he reached the end of a furrow and turned the plough around.

She had kissed the back of his neck, and told him that she loved him: an innocent display of familial affection and nothing more. But it had made his heart soar, and he didn’t quite understand why. She had kissed him before, and he her, and of course their parents gave them both plenty of hugs and kisses all the time, but although they all felt nice they were nothing to the electricity he had felt that day as he carried her on his back.

Again, he found himself asking: why? What was different? As far as he could tell, nothing. She hadn’t kissed him any differently from how she had previously, and it certainly wasn’t anything like those special, passionate kisses he occasionally saw his parents give each other when they thought they were unobserved (yuck, by the way). This, in turn, got him to thinking again about why exactly he hadn’t wanted Applejack to go in the first place. It wasn’t, he now knew, simply because he would be lonely without her. There was more to his feelings than that, he was certain.

What still eluded him, however, was just what this “more” amounted to.

Another furrow came to an end, and once more he turned the plough. The earth was soft beneath his hooves, perfect conditions for ploughing without being just too moist to turn everything into thick mud. There were another dozen or so to do before this field was finished, and then he could rest up for lunch. Some of Granny Smith’s apple pie might help to lift his spirits, if only for a little while.

Applejack.

Applejack, Applejack, Applejack.

A thought came to the colt as he pulled the plough along behind him. It was a strange thought, one that he had never considered before, and indeed he didn’t in general think about its subject in any other context than when thinking about his parents: what if he had a crush on Applejack? Could he… love her? As more than a sister? He shook his head quickly to clear it of such thoughts. Certainly they were not really brother and sister, but they were so like siblings now that it would be strange for them to be anything more. And besides, what would their parents think of that? What would Applejack think? He was still only young and had only now begun thinking of such things, but she was younger still, not even eight years old. Beyond the (very) occasional playing of Princess, Applejack likely never thought about “’fairs o’the heart”, as Granny Smith called them.

The other fillies and colts his age would likely find the whole idea strange as well. The opposite gender was still a strange and nary associated with phenomenon to a foal, cooties and the like being all too real fears. Macintosh himself had no fear of such imaginary poxes, but the opinions of one’s peers at such a young age are very powerful things, and he didn’t want to seem “weird”. His accent drew enough attention as it was, although with his size he didn’t get too much trouble.

One more furrow, one more turn. The colt shook his head once more. How could he even be sure that he was crushing on Applejack? He didn’t remember ever experiencing this feeling before, so he couldn’t tell if it was what he thought it was. It was all too confusing for the young pony, and he had to stop pulling the plough and hold his head to try and make it stop hurting.

“Macintosh!” He looked up at Granny Smith’s call, and saw the old mare hobbling as quickly as she was able to the farm’s decorative gateposts.

“Come quick! Y’all are in for a surprise!”

He unhitched himself from the plough and started trotting to his grandmother, before he heard a noise which stopped him where he stood. A laugh. A familiar filly’s laugh. A shiver started from his spine, shook out his tail, wobbled his legs and made the hairs of his mane stand on end. His cheeks began to burn as he looked across the field to the path beyond, and sure enough, there was Applejack, his sister (he told himself). The sunlight glistened off her coat as she galloped her tiny legs onwards, her emerald eyes seemed to sparkle like never before, and her mouth was formed into the prettiest smile he could ever remember seeing. The young colt’s heart fluttered in his chest at the sight of her, but he forced down his blush and galloped at full pelt to the gate, arriving just after Granny Smith.

Both older Apples pulled the giggling filly into a big hug, and as they did so a flash of magic caused three small red apples to appear on her flanks.
“Mah cutie mark! Mah cutie mark!” Applejack broke the hug and squealed in delight as she danced around in a little circle, hopping from her front legs to her back legs and ultimately ending up sprawled up on the ground, but she never stopped laughing once.

Eventually Granny Smith needed to go back inside to finish tending to a pie, so she left the foals alone and hobbled back to the farmhouse. Macintosh and Applejack hugged again, the colt bringing the filly close against his chest with both forelegs as she said something about being homesick and seeing a rainbow, but he honestly wasn’t paying much attention. She was back! Praise Celestia, she was back! He felt a few hot tears dripping onto his forelegs from his muzzle, but fortunately none fell on Applejack.

“Macintosh, yer huggin’ awful tight!” She giggled, and he pulled away with a badly concealed blush.

“Phew! Ah can breathe again!” Another giggle, echoed hollowly by Macintosh, before she was dancing around him again and telling him more about her experiences.

He tried listening, he really did, but instead he found himself thinking. For starters, about the feelings he held for Applejack. Considering how seeing her again had made him feel just then convinced him, as far as a colt could be certain of anything, that he was, in fact crushing on her. There could be no other explanation. But as for his feelings being reciprocated… Applejack was joyously happy to see him, she danced around him and hugged him and all the rest. But she was, above all, simply happy to back home. He was a part of home, so she was happy to see him again. But nothing she did, or said, gave any indication of her feeling anything more than filial love, and he cursed himself for being stupid enough to entertain the idea at all.

He was only ten, and she was only seven.

It was strange enough for one of them to like the other without the other returning the first’s feelings.

Applejack eventually went inside to get cleaned up from her journey, and Macintosh got back to his ploughing. When he came back inside later, neither Applejack nor Granny Smith could understand what made him seem so dejected. He headed straight for the room he had been staying in, refusing all offers of food and company for the rest of the day, and more hot tears stained the pillow he buried his face in as he mentally railed against the world for being unfair. It took until several hours after sundown had passed, but emotional exhaustion finally took hold of him and he slid into an uneasy sleep, replaying Applejack’s kiss over and over again.

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