Halldecker

by Petrichord

Halldecker

Burnt Oak stopped, fiddled with the latch around his neck and tugged the yoke off his shoulders. Though it was only a little past midday, the Everfree Forest’s treeline blotted out most of the grey sky and weak winter sun, and a nightfall-esque gloom settled more heavily around Burnt Oak for every yard he pressed deeper into the woods. Blinking in the dim light, Burnt Oak turned back towards the large cedar sled dragging behind him and trotted towards a hooded lantern affixed firmly to a pole at the sled’s fore.

“I can see fine” Applejack called out behind him.

“It ain’t a matter of what we can see. It’s a matter of what can see us.” Burnt Oak readjusted the lantern’s angle, then turned back to Applejack. “If I had the eyes for it, we’d do this in the dark. I dislike the idea of paintin’ a target on us for the whole woods to see.”

“Even if it’s just the trees?” Applejack smirked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Especially if it’s the trees.” Huffing, Burnt Oak trotted back towards Applejack and lifted his side of the yoke up again. “Or are you tryin’ to make fun of my noble profession again?”

“No, sir.” Applejack shook her head, still smirking. “An Element of Harmony like me fights all sorts of crazy critters, but that don’t mean I ain’t afraid of cuttin’ down Hearth’s Warming trees.”

Burnt Oak smirked back as he secured the yoke around his neck. “Y’know, I’ll try my best to make sure you don’t eat those words. I don’t figure your father would have been happy if I let somethin’ bad happen to his daughter just to make a point.”

“‘Appreciate it” Applejack replied.

Together, they pulled in silence. Minutes passed, and snow trickled down between the gaps in the leaves, crowning Burnt Oak’s hat in white.

“Did pa ever help you with this?”

Burnt Oak chuckled. “Every Hearth’s Warming, twice a Hearth’s Warming. Granted, I won’t ask you to do it twice.”

“You didn’t even ask me to help you once.”

“I didn’t, no! Not that I’m complaining about you bargin’ in unannounced to offer a helping hoof. Your father was just keen on helping out even when there weren’t nothin’ in it for him. I keep forgettin’ just how much you take after him.”

Applejack grinned. “Thanks, Burnt Oak. I can’t imagine a finer compliment.”

Abruptly, Burnt oak stopped and raised a hoof, and Applejack froze in place. “I think we’re close.”

“How d’you figure?”

Burnt Oak pointed at a patch of loose soil, upturned and intermingled with the fallen snow. “Recent uproot. Pattern of soil dispersal indicates that somethin’ big was dragged around here, an’ I don’t know of a predator around these parts that buries prey that size.”

“Ain’t proof” Applejack replied as she took off the yoke, a hint of trepidation in her voice.

“No, it ain’t. Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be on our guard, though.” Burnt Oak bent down to examine the pile of loose earth. “...That’s troubling. Hey, Little Mac, come take a look.”

“Sure thing” Applejack replied. The crunch of her hooves against snow and soil filled the air as Burnt Oak reached towards the pile and gently extracted a dark green quill, long as his hoof and thick as a dinner fork’s tine.

“That look big to you?” Burnt Oak said, straightening up and offering the quill to Applejack.

“You gotta be kidding.” Applejack gulped. “It shoots these things out at other ponies?”

“Anything that moves and looks like it could make good fertilizer, yeah. ‘Nature, red in tooth and claw,’ y’know?” Burnt Oak readjusted his hat and gave Applejack a wan smile. “If it makes you feel any better, they normally don’t get that big for the size of the upturned soil patch we’ve got there. Either this is a fluke and nothin’ to worry about at all, or it ain’t a fluke.”

“And if it ain’t a fluke?”

“We’ll bag ourselves the best dang tree I’ve seen in years!” Burnt Oak chuckled. “Always got to look on the brighter side of things, one way or another.”

Applejack frowned. “Wouldn’t the brightest side be if there weren’t any of these, uh...these…”

“Wight Pines, dear. And it’s part of the circle of life! They turn critters that’d normally be in overabundance to mulch, then we cut ‘em down and put all parts of ‘em to good use, like nature intended.” Burnt Oak picked up a hatchet off of the sled and balanced it effortlessly on his back. “Look, dear, if you’re worried, there ain’t no shame in heading back. I won’t judge.”

“I wasn’t gonna be worried, but…” Applejack sighed, walked over Burnt Oak’s side and prodded a chainsaw laying on the sled. Not just any garden-variety chainsaw either, no; the beast of a machine practically gleamed in the flickering lamplight, and everything from the weathered rose-colored casing on its base to its thick, gnarled teeth suggested power and menace. “I thought you weren’t gonna bring this, Burnt Oak.”

“That ain’t for me. That’s for you. I don’t reckon anything’s goin’ to go southward, but I’d be a fool to let my pride get in the way of your safety when you’re offerin’ to help.”

“Questions aside about usin’ this in the way I think you’re suggesting, which I can’t say I’m expectin’ or prepared for in the least — what about the noise? Won’t that attract just about every varmint in the forest t’where we’re standing?”

“The noise is a problem, yes, which is why I don’t want you usin’ it unless it’s an emergency. But again, I don’t figure anything bad could happen. Relax, Little Mac. You’ve got a genuine, bona-fide Lumberjack lookin’ out for you.” Burnt Oak grabbed the handle of the chainsaw with his hoof and lifted it into the air, then — with surprising grace for a stallion of his age — gently lowered the contraption onto Applejack’s back. “How’s that feel? Think you can manage carryin’ it along with you?”

Applejack teetered slightly as Burnt Oak took his hoof away. “Balance is a lil’ tricky, but I’ll manage.”

“Glad to hear it, then.” Burnt Oak reached over to the lantern and grabbed its handle with his teeth. Silently, the two of them abandoned the sled and pressed on.

Snow crunched underhoof as they followed the dragged-soil tracks north. Wispy flakes of white continued to fall around them, but they did nothing to dampen the dim light that filtered down to them. If anything, their surroundings seemed to grow brighter, then brighter still.

Then they hit the clearing, and Burnt Oak almost dropped the lantern in awe.

Amidst the thicket-like forest, dense and overpacked with vegetation, the spot of land without as much as a root to trip over felt strangely yet undeniably pure. Snow coated the ground like cake frosting, smooth as ice on a pond and clean as a delicately trimmed diamond.

Burnt Oak set the lantern down and sighed contentedly. “Beautiful…”

“Sure is.” Applejack replied.

Silence. Softly, Burnt Oak took one step into the clearing, then another.

“Y’know, Little Mac? I’m gonna admit that this is the other reason I don’t mind bein’ a lumberjack” Burnt Oak breathed. “Moments like these, y’know? There’s something special about it.”

“Yeah…” Applejack paused. “Uh, Burnt Oak…”

“You should take a look, too!” Burnt Oak said, turning to look at Applejack. “Somethin’ the matter, dear?”

“Burnt Oak, I can’t see any tracks.”

Burnt Oak paused for a second.

Then, suddenly and without warning, he threw himself to the right. A second later, and dozens of pine needles shot into the ground where he had stood, kicking a large snow cloud up into the air.

“Almost let him think I was oblivious, Little Mac!” Burnt Oak laughed, then threw himself to the right again, and a second barrage of needles missed their mark entirely. “Not to worry, though. Hey, you crusty ol’ twig — you too much of a cowardly conifer to show your face, or what?”

Something on the far side of the glade shuddered, shifting about like an invisibility spell on the fritz. Then, with a roar akin to a miniature avalanche, the Wight Pine charged.

If it was still and silent, there was no doubt that it could pass for a normal pine tree, from thick trunk to gnarled tip. But the way it slid across the ground was anything but, to say nothing of how the branches curved in on its body like a boxer covering his chest. As Burnt Oak and Applejack watched, its many limbs pressed closer on themselves, then merged like taffy pulled in reverse, until two thick, heavy limbs protruded from where its torso might have been.

Then it opened its golden, glaring eyes and flexed its muscles.

This time, Burnt Oak dove forwards, in a fluid, controlled surge that looked not unlike the reckless charge of a berserker. Too close for comfort; the pine needles surged above him, picking his hat clean off his head and sending it tumbling into the snow.

“Y’all never could resist a good insult, could you?” Burnt Oak barked as he crossed the clearing, hopping deftly to the left to avoid another barrage. “I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything more from a limp-limbed drycone!”

The tree roared, spraying batch after batch of needles, growing more and more bare as Burnt Oak bounded forward. As he approached the two meter mark, the Wight Pine tensed up a bit and raised its thick limbs, grunting as it forced more needles to the surface and prepared to unleash another deadly deluge.

It was the opening Burnt Oak needed. With one final, fluid lunge, Burnt Oak reached back and plucked the perfectly balanced hatchet off of his back, forehoof lashing out in a flesh-and-steel blur as he swung directly at the tree’s base.

The tree howled in a deafening whine not unlike the amplified screech of chalk on a chalkboard. Burnt Oak’s hatchet bounced back, but the cut he left in the tree was clearly visible. It might have been strong, but it certainly wasn’t tough; it shouldn’t have been that much effort to —

Burnt Oak hopped backward as the Wight Pine swung downward. The ground shook as the pine’s thick timber fist slammed into snow and soil, and the stallion almost tipped off balance as he landed back at the glade’s center. Almost.

“That all you got, you termite-addled stripling?” Burnt Oak burst out laughing as the tree swung wide at him, easily ducking the blow. Surging forward, the Wight Pine punched again and again, limbs lashing out in unnatural fury, but its blows met nothing but air and snow. With snakelike grace, Burnt Oak wove between the Pine’s attacks and struck again, leaving another deep notch on the other side of the tree.

Howling again, the Wight Pine raised its arms, now studded with a fur coat’s worth of sharp, venomous needles. A sudden leap to the left kept Burnt Oak from being hit by the barrage of darts, but the snow took his legs out from under him and he fell to the ground in a heap, hatchet tumbling clumsily out of his hoof.

“Burnt Oak!” He heard Applejack cry out from behind him as the tree slid closer and pointed a long, needle-studded finger at his head.

Burnt Oak rolled, and kept rolling as he felt the Wight Pine’s needles kick up snow where his face had been seconds before. Finally gaining enough momentum to spring upright, Burnt Oak kipped back up onto his hooves just in time to watch the tree cock back its arm for a classic haymaker. There, only a body’s length in Applejack’s direction, was his hatchet. Not too far from the trunk of the tree; if he moved fast —

At the last second Burnt Oak twisted out of the way of the tree’s attack and bolted straight at the snaggle-barked beast. Out of needles once more, the Wight Pine lashed clumsily at him, strike after strike, following his hoofsteps and slapping as if trying to swat a loathsome fly. Too slow, much too slow; like a competitive skater, Burnt Oak slid almost effortlessly over the ground and snatched up the hatchet without breaking stride. He spun around, ready to —

The blow knocked him clear off his hooves. Blind reflex kept Burnt Oak’s hoof clenched firmly around the hatchet this time, but it didn’t stop the strike from lifting him into the air, and as something roared below him Burnt Oak floated over the ground for a moment or two like a makeshift pegasus.

The landing took the air from his lungs. Gasping and trying to sit upright, he saw the Wight Pine slither close to him, raising both thick arms in the air for a blow that would crack his skull like an egg. At the last possible moment, Burnt Oak raised the hatchet in the air between him and the pine in a desperate block, but it wouldn’t do enough, wouldn’t do any good at all, this was —

The tree brought its limbs down for the killing blow, and something stepped over Burnt oak. The screech of wood on metal filled Burnt Oak’s ears, and the Wight Pine roared in agony as it recoiled, wood shavings leaking off of its crooked fists.

“Ho ho hold your horses, partner. If you’re lookin’ for a proper dance, you best be ready for a filly that can really show you a good time.”

Risen up on her hind legs was Applejack. As she leveled her chainsaw like a sword at her unnatural foe, the sun shone a little brighter through the midwinter cloud bank, casting her outline in a beatific corona.

The two charged each other simultaneously.

Burnt Oak could barely keep track of their movements. He had thought himself fast, but Applejack’s forehooves slid so quickly from strike to parry to strike again that it seemed almost surreal, like movie frames run too fast through a projector. The Wight Pine wasn’t letting up steam, either, returning blow for blow with less grace but no less potency.

Chainsaw growling like a rancorous dragon, Applejack switched from nimble strikes to long, sweeping slices, battering the Wight Pine back as she carved an indelicate path across the clearing. The undisciplined part of Burnt Oak wanted to break out into applause, to whoop and cheer and stomp his hooves in delight.

The disciplined part of him got to his hooves, slid the hatchet back onto the crook of his back and charged.

“That all you got?” Applejack sneered as she parried a desperate blow. “I’ve had splinters more persnickety than you.” Defiantly, she brought the chainsaw over her head and swung down, as if trying to vertically split the Wight Pine in two. Burnt Oak barreled forward as the tree blocked the blow, wood shavings floating up into the clear winter air as the saw bit down —

And then the tree pointed its other palm at Applejack. A palm filled with fully-juiced, wickedly-pointed needles, leveled squarely at her face.

Applejack froze.

Roaring, Burnt Oak cleared the distance, whipped out the hatchet and swung right for the tree’s gaping notches.

************************************************

Burnt Oak winced as he knocked on the door of his cabin. Not from the bruises — those came naturally with the job — nor from the chafing around his neck from having to lug a heavy tree through miles of dense forest and barren winter countryside.

The wince came from knowing what came next.

The mare who opened the door for them was plump, in a soft-featured and pleasantly-rounded sort of way, with a silver coat and a wavy gainsboro mane that seemed almost perfect for a baroque model. The expression she wore, however, wasn’t.

“Look at you!” the chubby earth pony spat. “All banged-up and dusted-up again! And I bet you’re expecting me to fix up your cuts and drubbings right as rain again, aren’t you?”

“Sorry about that, Wettie.” Burnt Oak replied, ears folding back. “There was a bit of trouble getting the tree this year—”

“Oh, there’s always a spot of trouble, isn’t there? You could have gone out and gotten a nice old tree like a sensible old stallion, but no, I’ve got to go and marry the one colt nutty enough to slay monsters in the middle of winter! While he’s supposed to be celebratin’ the holidays!”

The silver-coated mare peered over at Applejack, expression softening as Applejack — just as cut and bruised as Burnt Oak — raised a hoof in greeting.

“Don’t mind us, dear.” The mare cooed. “It’s just a couple’s tiff. You know how it is.”

“She does indeed,” Burnt Oak interrupted. “Wettie, this is Applejack. She’s Bright Mac’s little filly, and—”

“You made one of Bright Mac’s children go out and haul the tree back with you?” The plump mare huffed, glaring daggers at Burnt Oak. “You can’t ask any of your other friends to help you out, but it’s perfectly fine to get somepony that’s practically family to—”

“Actually, ma’am, I offered to help” Applejack cut in. “T’weren’t no trouble at all.”

“That’s very kind of you, dear.” The mare beamed at Applejack. “And you can call me Whetstone if you like, sweetie, I don’t mind. Or Wettie. That’s Burnie’s little name for me” she added with a wink.

“That’s me” Burnt Oak clarified.

“Yes, that’s my dingbat of a husband.” Face flipping like a light switch from sweet to sour, Whetstone turned back to Burnt Oak. “Now, if you think you’re gettin’ off the hook just because she said it’s okay don’t make it actually okay. What were you thinking? She coulda got scritched up by a needle patch before they were safe to handle, or tripped and had the whole kit n’ caboodle drop on her!”

“I ain’t that flimsy, ma’am, don’t worry.” Applejack replied. “T’was kind of exhilaratin’, actually, helpin’’ Burnt Oak out with the work.”

“Helpin’ him…” Whetstone’s face paled, then flushed scarlet as she reached over, grabbed Burnt Oak by the ear and yanked him forward until their snouts almost touched.

“You made her help cut down the tree?” Whetstone screeched. “She coulda been killed!”

“She offered, Wettie!” Burnt Oak whined.

“It’s true. I did offer” Applejack added.

“That ain’t no excuse and you know it, Burnie! Now, listen — After the whole ordeal’s over and you’ve got food in your belly and your cuts all plastered up an’ the tree set up properly, you an’ I are gonna have a talk about what is and what ain’t acceptable to do with folks who are practically relations. A long talk. You got that?”

“Yes’m.” Burnt Oak replied.

“An’ as for you, Applejack…” Whetstone sighed, let go of Burnt Oak’s ear and tried to put on a weak smile. “Unless you got somewhere to be right now, you can stay for dinner. I recommend it, even. I guarantee I make the best cornbread an’ fig puddin’ this side of Appleoosa.”

“That’s...that’s real kind of you, ma’am.” Applejack sighed. “I normally wouldn’t want to impose n’all, but I could use a bit of a rest, really, after that whole hullabaloo me’n Burnt Oak had.”

“I bet you do, dear. Don’t worry - I’ll get you all good’n fixed up, too.” Whetstone turned around, sighing as she trotted inside. “I’ll be in the kitchen for a bit, makin’ up a couple more fixin’s for dinner. Make yourself comfortable, dear.”

Burnt Oak didn’t move as Applejack took a couple of steps into the house. When Applejack turned back to face him, he sighed and took off his now-perforated hat.

“She’s right, Applejack. I’m sorry. They aren’t usually that bad, but it still ain’t no excuse for—”

“Burnt Oak?”

Burnt Oak lifted his head. “Yeah?”

“I don’t think you understand just how many crazy shenanigans I get into on a weekly basis. I’ve done plenty of things just as foolhardy and dangerous as that was, an’...almost gettin’ needled aside, anyway...that weren’t so bad at all. Don’t you figure the Element of Honesty woulda given you a piece of her mind if she had a piece of her mind t’give you after the whole thing?”

“I just thought…”

“An’ that’s okay. We get thoughts like these, an’ it shows us that we’re careful n’ caring ponies. But trust me, I’ve seen worse.”

Applejack grinned.

“Besides - maybe you’ve got yourself a nice Hearth’s Warmin’ tree, but the Apple Family sure as sugar don’t. An’ what sort of apple would I be if I weren’t rarin’ to help out?”

Comments

[Akataja]

I think this story is super nice :D
I never thought about action Lumber jacking, but darn, you put the job of a lumber jack in a whole new light!

[Diamond Sparkle]

In Equestria the trees fight back.

[Meridian Prime]

I said it before, but I'll say it again - Applejack vs. Evil Christmas Trees is such a glorious concept, and you bloody well nailed it.

[FanOfMostEverything]

Brilliant work. I always love seeing Equestria as a pun-addicted deathworld, and you used Burnt Oak to his fullest here. His nickname for Applejack makes it all the more bittersweet. A great read all around. Thank you for it.

[Skulljack17]

It has such fun visuals to it, and ideas for what other kinds of work that might be influenced in similar ways. Perhaps loads of ore that get cranky when you try to mine them, or having to calm down a load of gourds before you get squashed by a squash. It's an underappreciated story and I love that I came across it.