A War

by Comma Typer

Funeral

Months later

A solemn night.

Open, clear skies.

The moon bright.

The stars bright.

Shining down on silhouettes clothed in black and white, standing near a dug hole in the dry desert ground.

Silence.

A coffin lowered into the hole.

Whimpers.

Stifled whimpers.

Sobs.

Flowers thrown for him.

Landed on the coffin.

After a while, the diggers took up their shovels.

The silhouettes walked away.

Those diggers alone the ones left.

Digging, heaping dirt upon the coffin.

Until the hole was filled.

Gone.

Not a trace of the burial.

One of them placed a tombstone there.

Diggers taking their hats off.

In respect.

They left, heading for the lonely settlement over there past the fields of apple trees.

---

"Shame, isn't it?" the deep voice of Sheriff Silverstar spoke.

To a haggard Braeburn sitting by the lantern on the table.

Facing the wall.

Eyes closed, hooves on his head.

Hat covering his face.

A cold, dry night descending outside the window.

"Died at the worst time: alone. Not a single Pear family member present on 'is deathbed—kicked the bucket right after they all left."

Braeburn was silent.

"I'm neither an Apple nor a Pear," the sheriff carried on. "I don't know what's with this silly little feud that's goin' on between you two. But...I heard the doctor's sayin' somethin' about stress an' depression on the heart."

Silent.

"It's bad enough he didn't tell 'is secret to Applejack an' her siblin's."

Gripped Braeburn on the shoulder.

"You gotta carry the secret straight to 'em as soon as possible. Reveal everythin', let it out."

Silent.

"Braeburn..."

And Braeburn took up his hat.

Stood up.

Put it on his head.

Dry eyes.

Red eyes.

---

The sheriff waved the train goodbye as it left the solitary train station, bringing up a little sandstorm.

In his eyes, it got smaller and smaller.

Disappeared in the horizon.

That one lonesome sheriff.

Outside, Appleloosa was empty. No one was trotting around on the streets, no one was hanging out by the storefronts, no one was doing anything in their dusty yards. No light except for a few lanterns illuminating the dirt streets but only barely.

A tumbleweed passed him by.

---

Rocking the rocking chair.

Silverstar sat on it, sweeping more than half of Appleloosa in his vision with a swing of his head.

The chair creaking with every rock.

Never noticing the mare who tiphoofed away, toward the apple fields.

---

The mare stood before the tombstone.

Around her, nothing but stale land, hard ground. Behind her was the sight of apple fields, but they were distant.

Near her, that tombstone.

"Grand Pear..."

A tear trickling down.

Dropped.

Splashed on the dirt.

Raised her hoof to take her hat off.

"I know I shouldn't drop in unannounced," a voice said.

Pear Puree turned around.

Saw a cloaked pony.

"Who are you?!" she yelled.

The cloaked pony merely laughed. "If you want to know my name...my name doesn't matter. If you want to know who I am as in...titles...then, we're getting somewhere."

Pear Puree lunged at her.

The stranger's horn glowed.

Encased Puree in a magical bubble.

Stopped her in mid-air.

The cloaked pony shook her head. "Ah, ah. Where are your manners?"

She walked to the bubble.

Popped it.

Puree fell to the ground.

Glowed and levitated back up on her four hooves.

The stranger's horn stopped glowing. "Now, we're on the same page."

Puree groaned, feeling the pain in her knees. "Who...who are you?"

"You never learn, do you?" she asked, smiling. "But, if I have to answer the latter while disregarding the former: I am the one who works behind the scenes, the one who pulls the strings. The Princesses are better than me, but only in raw power...and, perhaps, a solid moral foundation, but, eh..."

Puree narrowed her eyes at her. "Are you some sort of criminal?"

"'Criminal' is a misnomer. Everypony assumes that a criminal is evil, and why not? The law is established for our good, to institute order. But, when that law is incomplete and imperfect, a reformer can and will be branded as a criminal."

Puree spat on the ground. "I don't care about your philosophizin'! What do you want from me?!"

The stranger laughed again, her teeth shining in the dark. "I only want you to see and to hear...then again, you have no choice but to follow me. If you refuse to be useful to me, I will kill you and bury you with your father—I'll make it undetectable, so they'll just assume you've gone missng. I've seen enough of your hoofwriting to forge letters—if I do say so myself...."

Puree gasped. "You dare say such things?!"

A gust of wind came by, flapping their manes.

And her cloak.

"If something is regarded as garbage, then it is thrown away, never to be thought of again—and the machine still operates the way it does, if not much better. Lessen the waste...that's what you call cleaning!"

"Are you sayin' that I'm useless?!" Puree shouted over the howl of the wind. "I have pear fields back in the Grittish Isles, and I process 'em into pear jam for the soldiers across the sea to eat! My husband...he's a soldier himself an'—"

"Blah, blah, blah, I don't care. I have contacts with ponies in the field of robots and machinery. They're more than glad to take over your little farm and turn it into something more productive. Besides, aren't we supposed to be improving everything to make sure our troops stay nourished?"

"But, I'll b-be out of my job an'—"

"You could serve as a canner," the stranger broke in. "You get paid a good sum of bits for making sure each can of fruit is closed tight and shut."

The gust ended.

Still, silence.

"I'll cut to the chase, Puree: I got a train to catch and you're coming with me. I'm in the mood to show you a few things out in...say, Old Villa, give or take an hour or two."

Puree blinked. "That's pretty far East."

"You'd be on your way 'home' in the Isles, anyway," the stranger replied. "You wouldn't want to stay here because...well, the emotions are too much."

Puree gasped yet again. "How did you know?!"

The cloaked pony smirked. "Common sense. You're one of his children. You just attended his funeral at a town dominated by ponies who are on the other side of...tension. You have no friends here—the sheriff is your closest one, and that isn't saying much."

Puree shuddered.

Glanced at the tombstone.

Glanced back at her.

"What will I do, m-miss?"

"You're bad at short-term memory," the stranger said. "Didn't I just say that you only have to see and hear? You have to follow me in order to see and hear what I want you to see and hear, but...." Shook her head. "Never mind."

Puree shivered. "What will you show me? What is it?"

The stranger shook her head again. "It's a surprise. Nothing given, nothing taken—is that how the phrase goes? Well, that doesn't matter, too. Now, if you don't have any other questions...."

She turned around and walked toward Appleloosa.

"Wait!"

The stranger stopped, not turning her head. "It is a question you want to ask, then."

Puree galloped up to her.

Tried to examine her face.

Saw her green eyes in that light.

"Who do you work for, really? If I can't know who you are, then at least tell me who is it that got you to do this...thing."

The stranger slowly shoved her away and laughed.

Puree watched her continue with that soft laughter.

The stranger took a step forward.

"I work for the good of Equestria. I use all means necessary in order to bring it good. Some will say that the means disqualify themselves, but when its end is undeniably favorable for everypony, then the means remain and I use them. Because of that, some call me a traitor, others call me a terrorist, and there are those who say that I'm doing the dirty work of the Princesses. Or Sombra. Or the third-parties who profit from this war whichever way it goes."

She smiled.

"That's my way of saying...I work alone."

The strange looked up to the moon.

"Let's go, Puree," she said, getting to a trot. "We're on a strict schedule."

"We?" Puree repeated.

But, the stranger was getting farther away.

Gleaming under the night's moon.