The Outlaw, The Star and the Big, Big Sky

by TotalOverflow

Chapter 2

The Outlaw, The Star and the Big, Big Sky

By TotalOverflow, 2012

Chapter 2

“--She done gone an’ broke mah heart--She done gone an’ broke mah heart--She done gone an’ broke mah heart--”

Braeburn’s ears twitched as he creaked open an eye, releasing him from the grasp of his freakish dream, wherein he was trying and failing to outrun a large, purple tree with carnivorous peaches in its branches. Smacking his mouth once or twice he slowly sat up, his mind finally registering the sound of a skipping record player from outside his open door.

“Dang thing,” he yawned, stumbling out of bed, “knew I shouldn’t’ve left the thing on last night.” He teetered to the door, reaching his hoof over to the contraption.

“--She done gone an’ broke mah heart--She do--”

“Yeah yeah, how many times can yer heart be broken...” he mumbled, replacing the needle in its home. He yawned again, and looked out the window, through which the sun was just about ready to rise above the mountains. He sighed at his fitful sleep, and walked back to his room to look in the mirror. A disheveled yellow pony with small bags under his green eyes tried to focus back on him. He gave himself a sniff, his nose suddenly pervaded with the strong scent of last night’s campfire mixed with the sweat of a bad dream. “Phew, better take a dunk out in the river before headin’ into town,” he muttered. He left his hat and vest on their hooks by his bedroom door and walked outside, slamming the front door behind him.

“Today’s Saturday,” he reminded himself, “still lots of work ta do today...should prob’ly see if Applebumpkin could use any help...need ta check in with the sheriff first...” He stopped, looking up to the brightening sky. Dark blue to the West and paler in the East, a single star shone high above, apparently having missed the morning’s memo.

“Meet a star,” Braeburn muttered. He shook himself, resuming his trot toward the river by the apple orchard. When he arrived he dunked his head in the chilly water, and gave himself a brisk bath. He shook himself dry and shivered in the morning twilight, helped himself to an apple and then made his way back home. Just as he reached the door the sun rose high enough for its warm rays to fall upon him, sending a brief prickle up his spine. He looked over his shoulder at the great ball of light in the sky.

“Heh, thanks Celestia,” he muttered, suddenly finding the sun uncomfortably bright. He let himself inside and returned to his bedroom, tossing on his dark brown, buckled Stetson hat and his snug leather vest. Then, more out of habit than anything else, stepped over to his bed and gave it a shove, pushing its wooden frame a couple feet to the left. Kneeling down he fumbled with a floorboard until it came loose, revealing a small hole dug in the earth. Inside rested a box a little smaller than his head. He stared at it.

“Still there,” he mumbled, his mouth going sideways. After a tense moment of staring he replaced the plank of wood and moved his bed back, stepped out of the room, closed the bedroom door behind him and stood for a moment against it in a daze. “Still there,” he repeated, as if to remind himself that he would never forget. He felt his eyes close.

Distant bells chimed. Keeping his eyes closed for a moment longer, a sudden chill rushed around his neck. “Today. Today’s the celebration.” He opened his eyes and did his best to put that little box out of his mind like he did every morning. Swallowing, he moved away from the door and put one hoof in front of the other until he reached the front door.

“Why is it still there?”

---

Braeburn smiled his friendly smile, the box under his bed forgotten as he trotted down the roads of town, ponies of all ages crawling out of their homes and beds for this Saturday morning. Grinning and greeting everypony in his path, Braeburn went right to the sheriff’s office, bushy-tailed and bright-eyed for whatever tasks the mustached pony may have for him.

“Mornin’ sheriff,” he announced as he pushed open the door, “I was-”

He stopped when he saw that the sheriff, seated tensely at his desk, was not alone.

Leaning against the far wall was an aging stallion. His hide a muddy brown and mane striped grey, the stallion wore a large-rimmed grey hat and a long, tattered duster reaching to his spurred boots. His arms were crossed and he regarded the world with stoney-grey eyes.

His name was Tanner. ‘Rawhide’ to his enemies.

He was a pony Braeburn had hoped never to see again.

“What in tarnation is this flour-flusher doin’ here?” Braeburn said cooly, his smile replaced with an icy stare.

“Speak o’ the devil, if’n it ain’t li’l Braeburn,” said Tanner with his wicked chuckle, “y’all sure’ve grown.”

“Spare me,” growled Braeburn, “I’ve a right mind to throw you outta town faster’n a hog can squawk!”

“Best watch yerself there, boy,” hissed Tanner, pulling his coat aside to reveal both his terribly long rifle (a feat of most likely illegal engineering and the last thing countless ponies ever saw) and his glimmering silver sheriff’s star. “Remember who y’all are talkin’ too.”

“I ‘member plenty,” retorted Braeburn, “s’though I could ever forget.”

“Then you keep on rememberin’, or soon a memory is all yer gun’ be.” Sheriff Tanner fell to his front hooves and stepped slowly toward the door and the yellow stallion in its frame. “Give me a reason, Apple. Give me that one thing an’ Ah promise you, you’ll be seein’ the business end o’ my buddy,” he patted the firearm beneath his cloak, “jes’ like yer friend.”

“Braeburn!” barked Silverstar, interrupting Braeburn’s tensing muscles. “Git over here.”

“Listen ta yer sheriff now, boy,” said the brown earth pony, tipping his hat as he stepped out the door, “he’s the only thing keepin’ you outta the ground.” His spurred boots clinking with every step, ‘Rawhide’ Tanner kicked a cloud of dust behind him as he left the building. His words rang in Braeburn’s long, pointed ears.

“Sheriff, I swear...”

“Braeburn, don’t let that ol’ mudsill get under yer skin. Yer past is over. Don’t let guys like him dredge it up again.”

Braeburn let loose a sigh, any trace of a good mood long faded away. “Why’d he come here?”

“Came ta spread rumors ‘bout the buffalo bein’ spies and no-gooders,” said Silverstar, reclining in his chair, “an’ ta throw his weight ‘round. But don’t pay him any mind. He’s off ta his backwater li’l excuse fer a town.”

“He said what about the buffalo?” Braeburn asked, his anger replaced with a cautious curiosity.

“Jes’ what a snake like him would say, that they’re lurkin’ about an’ watchin’ us. But Tanner would put out a hit list on baby ducks if’n he thought they looked at him funny.”

Braeburn stared out the door.

“Braeburn? You got somethin’ ta tell me?”

“Uh, no, nuthin’.”

“Have you heard somethin’ ‘bout the buffalo?”

Braeburn turned to meet the sheriff’s unflinching eyes. He was not an easy one to pull the wool over.

“Just ol’ Salty bein’ Salty,” sighed Braeburn, “but like you said, Sheriff, it’s nuthin’. An’ even if them buffalo are out lookin’ fer somethin’, it’s their business, not ours, right?”

“Right,” Silverstar answered, leaning forward in his chair, “but if they’re lookin’ fer somethin’ that’d cause ‘em ta stay an extra month in these badlands, why ain’t they tellin’ us?”

Braeburn swallowed. So he had noticed.

“But tain’t important now,” the sheriff conceded, “we’ve got our celebration ta take care of, an’ them buffalo can handle themselves.”

“Yeah,” the yellow stallion nodded his head, “so what’d you like me ta do t’day?”

“Best do what yer good at fer now,” the sheriff peered out the window, “I have a feelin’ the town’s gun’ need it.”

Braeburn looked outside to see the townsfolk walking skittishly through town, whispering to each other and looking around nervously. The stallion took a breath, pushed back his hat and stepped outside. A smell rose off the town...it took him a minute to recognize it - it was not one he experienced often in this town.

Fear.

An unusual sensation, but not unexpected considering recent company. Tanner was known throughout the western deserts as a brutal enforcer of the law, which made him loved or feared, depending on who you asked. Pity and mercy were not in his vocabulary, as anyone who’d been on the run from him could tell you, although they rarely lived long enough to tell anyone.

“Spurred boots,” Braeburn heard somepony remark, “he wears spurred boots so his bucks can tear a pony in half!”

“Ah heard he calls his rifle ‘The Reaper!’” whispered another, “Celestia knows it’s lived up ta its name!”

The yellow stallion let loose a sigh. Tanner had the worst timing, showing up today of all days. What should have been a carefree day of festivities was fast becoming rumor riddled, the streets scattered with nervous and guilty-looking ponies. Braeburn straightened his vest. He’d do his best to get everypony’s mind off the intrusion, but as a blue-grey pony sulked over to Braeburn - his head low and his ears flat - Braeburn knew it would not be easy.

“Braeburn?” said Slate, “is it true? Is ‘Rawhide’ here?”

“Just left,” replied the stallion, “an’ good riddance.”

“What...” he stuttered, “what did he want?”

“Nuthin’. Look, Slate, don’t worry about him, ‘kay? You’re under Sheriff Silverstar’s jurisdiction now.”

“Yeah, but...but it’s ‘Rawhide’ Tanner! Jurisdiction don’t mean beans ta him!”

“Slate, just calm down.” Braeburn began trotting down the road, signaling for the cowering colt to follow.

“But! But if he knows Ah’m here-!”

“Slate!” Braeburn scowled, spinning on a dime to face the blue pony. “You’ve been pardoned, all right? It don’t matter if he knows you’re here or not. He can’t touch you. So don’t let him get to you. Now, come on. What’re you gonna get Minty tonight?”

“Huh?” asked Slate, standing a little straighter.

“Well, come on, buddy! Tonight’s the celebration! Surely you’ve got your fiancé a gift!”

“Uh, well...”

“Slate! Sha-hame on you! You’d better get your rear in gear! Now, c’mon, let’s go find somethin’ she’ll like. I heard Miss Seam just got a new shipment o’ dresses from that designer in Ponyville!”

“Heh, uh, okay,” chuckled Slate, his ears finally perking up.

---

Braeburn tipped his hat to Slate, who galloped off with a package dangling from his mouth. It had taken the pair at least an hour to pick out the perfect gift for Minty, which turned out to be a pair of candy-cane socks and a pendant in what Slate hoped was her favorite shade of green. Cheering up Slate took longer than Braeburn had hoped, but it seemed the rest of the town had managed to carry on well enough by themselves. Most ponies in the street didn’t seem concerned any longer about Tanner’s arrival. In fact, most found the sky more interesting. They craned their necks, all staring up at something as they strolled along. Braeburn smiled, glad that they were able to get their minds off of...

“Wait, what?” he mumbled, finally glancing up to see what the others found so fascinating.

That same star, the one he saw earlier that morning, was still in the sky, shimmering away.

“What do you reckon?” said a nearby voice. Braeburn recognized it as the sheriff’s, but held his gaze upon the star.

“Kinda strange,” he said, “stars don’t usually show up durin’ the day, do they?”

“Not usually, no, but it’s probably nuthin’.”

Braeburn lowered his gaze.

“What’s goin’ on, Sheriff?”

“Well,” he said, straightening his vest and beginning a light trot down the road, signaling for Braeburn to follow, “I’d like ya ta go down ta the quarry fer a bit. Y’know, jes’ ta check up on things, make sure it’s running smoothly an’ all. And, uh...” The sheriff leaned in and lowered his voice, “I think I saw Tanner ride out in that direction. Make sure he didn’t cause any trouble.”

“All right,” Braeburn nodded, “when’s the next train come in?”

“Should be arrivin’ any minute, here,” said Silverstar, glancing to the clock tower. It was mid morning, and from the distance the chugging sound of a locomotive could be heard tearing across the landscape.

“Oh, an’ Braeburn,” the sheriff called behind him as he trotted away, “don’t be ‘fraid ta let the workers off early t’day. It’s the Summer Sun Celebration, after all! Speakin’ of,” the sheriff stopped, peering over his shoulder at the yellow pony, “I just got news that Princess Celestia up an’ changed locations at the last second this year.”

“Oh? Where’s it now?”

“Ponyville. Ain’t that somethin’? ‘Parently some stallion in town convinced the royal event planner ta switch at the last minute.”

Braeburn smiled and gave a silent nod of assent as the sheriff trotted off. Braeburn licked his lips and cantered over the tracks to the station as the train rapidly approached. Half a dozen worker ponies littered the station, shovels and pick-axes slung over their shoulders. Seated on a bench out front was a mare, pale blue with a large pink hat. Linky, Braeburn realized.

“Howdy again,” he said, tipping his hat and leaning against the wooden building.

“Hey,” she nodded. Beside her were large satchels filled with canteens. Little dribbles of water leaked out beneath the caps.

“What’s all that for?” asked Braeburn.

“Fer the workers,” she replied, “gotta bring ‘em somethin’ ta cool ‘em down.”

“Well ain’t that big of you!”

“Tain’t nuthin',” she chuckled, “it’s sorta mah job.”

“You work out in the quarry?” frowned Braeburn.

“Yup, Ah fix any horseshoes that break out there, but sometimes Ah help out with the diggin’ too. T’day’s mah day ta get the drinks.”

“That quarry ain’t no place fer a lady like you ta work in,” sighed Braeburn, pushing his hat back on his head.

“Ah wonder how many times Ah’ve heard that now,” she said, mildly annoyed.

A loud whistle blew as the train rounded a wide turn, coming into view in the distance. Massive clouds of dust rose into the sky behind the locomotive, and the great black engine was being pulled by four burly stallions, each adorned in conductor’s gear.

“Tsk,” Braeburn shook his head, “they still haven’t gotten that engine fixed, eh?”

“Nope,” replied Linky, “that ol’ train was on its last legs anyhow. Looks like it’s dead for real this time.”

“Why don’t they just buy a new one?”

Linky scoffed. “Got any idea how much a train costs? Besides, Promontory an’ his posse love showin’ off how strong they are.”

“Yeah, but smell ain’t everythin’.”

Linky laughed for the first time since Braeburn met her, and he puffed out his chest in accomplishment.

The whistle blew again, proclaiming the train’s arrival as it pulled up to the station. The four stallions pulling the engine ground to a halt right next to several troughs along the tracks. The lead stallion stuffed his nose in one and grunted loudly.

“Hey! Where’s the water!” he bellowed. A colt, not quite an adult but not quite a child, wearing a visor and a tag reading ‘Ticket Master’ on his vest teetered out from behind the station, buckets of sloshing water dangling from a pole across his shoulders.

“Uh, sorry, sir!” he said, his voice cracking slightly, “uh, the pump was stuck!”

“Hey, Lucky!” the second stallion in the procession laughed, “better hop to it before old Promontory gets cranky!”

The lead stallion whinnied. “Yeah, yeah, shut up back there! An’ make with the water, Lucky!”

“Yes Dad! I-I mean, sir! Uh, I mean-!” stammered Lucky as he shakily filled the troughs. The others laughed.

“Don’t be so nervous, kid,” said another in line, “you’re gonna have ta toughen up if ya ever want ta grow into a real stallion!”

“Yeah, but don’ toughen up too much,” chortled another, “or you’ll end up like yer pa, all brawn an’ no brain!”

“Ah said SHUT UP BACK THERE!” bellowed Promontory, trying and failing to hide a goofy grin. The others laughed as they drank. Lucky scurried over to open the train doors but they swung open before he could reach them. Several dirty and sweaty ponies poured out, greeting the ones at the station and exclaiming their relief that their shifts had finally finished. One arriving colt leaned over to Linky.

“Hey there little filly, got any water fer me?”

“Get lost, Peb,” she said, flatly, “this here water’s fer the quarry ponies that actually work.”

“Fine, fine!” he threw his hooves in the air and walked away, “Ah’ll go get mah own water.”

“All right, let’s get going,” said Promontory, “ALL ABOARD FOR THE QUARRY!!” The workers around the station piled in the doors, joking and pushing each other around and teasing Lucky, who profusely apologized for his existence. Linky whinnied slightly and stood up, reaching for her satchels.

“Oh, hey, need a hoof?” asked Braeburn. Linky gave a chuckle and effortlessly chucked the bags on her back.

“Nah, Ah think Ah can handle ‘em.” She carried the large, swishing bags into the train with ease. Braeburn sighed and followed.

“Oh, hi, Mister Braeburn,” said Lucky, the poor colt’s voice cracking like an eggshell as he closed the door. “Oh!” he gasped, “did you want to go to the quarry? Sorry!” he pulled open the door again, “uh, sorry!”

“S’okay, Lucky,” chuckled Braeburn, “but you need to be a little more assertive.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Hey Braeburn,” called the rail-pony at the back of the line, “takin’ a trip to the quarry?”

“Yeah, I heard it’s nice this time of year.”

The pony laughed and Lucky closed the door as Braeburn ambled down the train cars. The frontmost cars of this train were lined with bunks, ideal for lounging or sleeping in, and the walls had an appealing wooden finish. It didn’t smell quite as appealing, however, smelling just how you’d expect a train car full of tired, sweaty quarry ponies to smell. The train’s front car was where the workers decided to reside for the trip, lazing in the beds and chatting it up with each other. Linky was on one bed, joking around with all the others. Braeburn had a hard time understanding the ‘quarry lingo,’ but smiled and greeted the workers. They smiled back, but were content to quickly return to their heated debates about shovels and rocks. Braeburn sighed inwardly and pushed on to the next car, which was a compartment car with several individual rooms. He looked inside the first room through its window.

“Empty,” he mumbled. The compartment had benches on both sides and overhead spots for luggage, but no-pony was there. He continued along until he finally found one with somepony inside. Cinder was reclining on the right bench, his hat resting beside him. Braeburn tapped twice before sliding open the door.

“Hey Cinder, mind if I join you?”

“Naw, go ahead,” he answered, sitting a bit straighter. The whistle blew and the train lurched forward as the scenery, slowly at first, began passing by the window.

“Thanks,” said Braeburn, hopping onto the other bench. “Why ain’t you out with the other miners?”

“We ain’t miners, kid. Miners work in a mine.”

“Oh, aheh. Well, why ain’t you out with them...uh, the others?”

“Those kids?” grunted Cinder, “bah, they’re too loud. Sometimes it’s nice just ta have a li’l quiet, y’know?”

“I suppose.”

“An’ you? Finally comin’ ta the quarry ta try yer hoof at some real work? Yer hooves could use some toughenin’ up. Jes’ look at mine!” he held one up, large and dirty, “like rocks, they are! Not like yer soft city slicker ones!”

“Heh, maybe they’ll harden up a bit. The sheriff sent me ta check up on things. Make sure it’s all runnin’ smoothly an’ all.”

“It’d be runnin’ a lot smoother if it weren’t fer them quakes.”

“Oh, right,” said Braeburn, leaning forward, “I heard they’ve been gettin’ worse.”

Cinder heaved a long sigh and propped himself up on his seat. “They have. It’s weird, y’know, gettin’ quakes way out there, but they don’t get felt in town. That’s not normal.”

“I’ve never been in an earthquake before. Are they really that far reachin’?”

“If a quake happened in Stalliongrad we’d feel it here, even if just a li’l rumble.” Cinder shuffled in his seat. “But these quakes...they don’t feel like real earthquakes. Real earthquakes...they feel like the whole world is shakin’ right beneath you. These quakes feel more like...like...” He sighed. “It’s hard ta say, y’know? There just somethin’ ain’t quite right ‘bout ‘em. It’s like...like instead of comin’ from beneath you, it’s like they’re coming from beside you.”

Braeburn frowned.

“Hey,” Cinder threw his hooves in the air, “don’t look at me like that. I don’t understand it neither.”

---

About twenty minutes later the train’s whistle announced their arrival, and Braeburn followed the others off the train, stepping down the stairs into the hot desert. Their ears were assaulted with the noise of shovels, hammers and pickaxes being driven into the rocks behind the hill. Leading from the tracks was a smaller railway running past the station, over the hill and toward the quarry behind. The station was little more than a plank of wood on legs, and a few workers were reclining in its shade.

“All right, ponies!” the lead conductor pony bellowed at the them, “we’ll be back in a minute! You’d better have the next load ready an’ waiting!” Yawning and shuffling around lazily the workers came to life. With a heave Promontory and the others pulled the train away, giving the whistle a blow.

An older stallion scratched himself and replaced his hat. “You heard ‘em, fillies!” he yelled “go get that cart up here!”

“Moron,” Linky muttered. Braeburn suppressed a snicker.

The workers burped, grunted and snorted as they trotted over the hill, following the smaller set of tracks. Braeburn, Cinder, Linky and the other ponies walked close behind. As they crested the hill, the full quarry came into view.

At least as large around as the orchard in town and a hundred feet deep, the giant pit was cut to look like a massive, circular staircase with shoulder-high steps leading downwards to what could make a serviceable amphitheater. Along the ledges of rock dozens of ponies worked, digging out the precious stones to be shipped off to construction sites in Equestria. The small set of tracks stopped near the edge of the quarry where several ponies were loading a cart with blocks of rock.

“How was the harvest this mornin’?” Cinder asked as the group approached.

“Eh, s’okay,” replied one of the worker stallions, “we had to throw out a bunch of it ‘cause it was too dry’n crumbly.”

“Sandstone is like that,” Linky commented as she passed out canteens. The diggers offered gurgly ‘thank yous’ for her efforts. Once the cart was loaded they pulled it back toward the station.

Braeburn coughed at the dusty air. Cinder laughed and hurried down the rocky steps. Coughing again, Braeburn crept toward the edge of the quarry, peering down the angular pit.

“Howdy Braeburn!” shouted a stallion a few levels down, “ain’t seen ya fer a while!”

“Yeah, I’ve been...Hey, what’s that noise?”

A rumble, growing in intensity had perked Braeburn’s ears. A moment later Braeburn felt his hooves tremble as the ground beneath him shook, the heavy noise echoing around the badlands sending small pebbles bouncing. As soon as it appeared, the tremor stopped. A small trail of dirt ran down the pit walls and ponies stood straight again.

“Was...” Braeburn swallowed, “was that an...”

“A quake? Ayup,” said the stallion below, “that was a pretty small one. Nuthin’ too special.”

“We get those all the time!” laughed another who resumed his work as though nothing happened.

“Really?” said Braeburn, concern etched onto his face, “uh, where’s the boss?”

“Took today off,” called Linky, who was hauling her bag of empty canteens back up the pit walls, “said he’d-”

“Here comes another one!”

Another sudden earthquake shook the pit, more violent than the first. Braeburn fell to his knees to keep from falling over the edge as the intense sound churned his innards. A yelp came from inside the pit as one pony was thrown from his perch, barely gripping onto the step below him. A few collected stones and cubes of rock shuddered, loosened and inched toward the edge of the ledges.

And then, it stopped once again.

Braeburn hopped to his hooves, steadied himself and hurried down the steps. He got a few levels down and helped the pony who had tumbled.

“You okay?” Braeburn asked.

“Fine, jes’ fine,” grunted the stallion, dusting himself off, “now that them quakes are done.”

“I sure hope that was the last one,” sighed Braeburn, taking off his hat and wiping his brow. From above, a toothless wheezing sound echoed down the steps.

“Now, Deputy,” it said. Everypony looked up in unison to see Salty, covered in dust with a shovel in his hoof standing on the lip of the quarry’s edge. “Bad luck ‘lways comes in drees.”

From all around the rock pit an ear-shattering noise erupted, followed by an intensely violent earthquake that turned Braeburn’s legs to jelly. The ground was no longer ground, now a thrashing beast beneath his hooves. The thundering tremor knocked pony sized rocks clear from the walls of the pit, sending them careening down toward the workers, bouncing and splintering along the way. Braeburn barely dodged out of the way of a boulder, and he was thrown to the ground. The sandstone beneath him split and fell away leaving him frantically clawing for any solid footing. He found none, instead finding himself swimming in a sea of debris and rubble. The entire quarry was collapsing, rocks, boulders, ponies and shovels tumbling down toward the crumbling center, screams drowned out by the roar. Braeburn, his mouth filled with stones and his eyes tearing from the massive cloud of dust, resigned himself to an untimely end.

A hoof grabbed his, and through gritty eyes he looked up to see Linky grinding her teeth in exertion. He looked back to the growing pile of rubble where ponies struggled to break free and evade the onslaught of falling rocks. Braeburn felt his stomach jerk as Linky momentarily lost her grip on the pit’s wall, which had now lost almost all its angular steps. All that was left were slippery slants.

Hopping down toward the center mass was Cinder, who set to work digging out the ponies. Once free, Cinder ordered them to run, up the crumbling walls and toward the world above.

The rumbling faded for a moment, only to pick up again even more powerful than before. Braeburn watched as Cinder hurried over to the last entrapped pony who was near the center of the mound.

But then, a strange thing happened. Braeburn felt the whole world jerk to the left.

The pony, whose back leg was caught, suddenly began sinking, the rocks and debris around him began falling downward like sand in an hourglass. A sharp ‘cracking’ sound rose from the ground, and Braeburn watched on in horror as the quarry became a giant funnel, sucking everything down into the earth. The pony’s other leg went under, shortly followed by his rear as Cinder bore into the pile of rocks and rubble with little effect: the ground was falling away too quickly, taking the ocean of wreckage and the trapped pony with it.

Braeburn looked up to Linky, whose eyes were shrunken and mouth agape in terror. He pulled his hoof free, letting himself plunge down toward the sinking mass. Clambering up its side to Cinder he set to work digging around the trapped pony, whose front hooves had now fallen under. His mouth was open in a scream hidden beneath the roaring quake. The pair threw dirt behind them, managing to pull one of his front legs free, followed by the next. Braeburn felt his hooves burn in pain and saw the dirt around them suddenly tinged red. He dug regardless, ignoring the pain and the dust that invaded his eyes and lungs. He felt his rear hooves sink into the rubble once or twice, kicked to free them and resumed digging without missing a beat.

The dirt around the three had become a crater, its center dipping low into the earth. Braeburn’s hooves screamed in pain as the trapped pony pulled his last leg free, and the trio hurried up and over the concave mass, tumbled down the edge and up the quarry’s walls where Linky and the others helped them up, away from the enormous hole. Braeburn turned and watched in morbid fascination as the rocks and debris in the center of the funnel completely fell away into the earth, leaving a small shallow hole in the very middle of the giant pit. The sides, now completely smooth and slanted, sent small streams of stones tumbling down, and the rumbling tremor finally abated.

The silence was almost as deafening as the earthquake moments ago. Braeburn looked around at the group, who stared dumbfounded at what remained of the quarry, too stunned to blink or even breathe. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted something in the west, standing in the shade of a fallen butte of rock, watching.

A buffalo.

Braeburn’s hooves thudded in agony, and he instinctively glanced down to see his hooves, their heels bleeding and their tips splintered and cracked, had dust and small pebbles wedged into the exposed flesh. Linky knelt down and poured some water over them, and Braeburn winced in pain. When he looked up again, the buffalo was gone.

Cinder hobbled over, his own hooves bloody but not nearly as badly as the yellow stallion’s.

“Well,” Cinder coughed, collapsing down onto the earth, “all that work fer nuthin’.”

---

“The quarry is WHAT!?”

“Gone. It’s all gone.”

Braeburn stood delicately on his bandaged hooves inside the Sheriff’s office. Chisel, the large, tan stallion in charge of the quarry, buried his head in his hooves. Silverstar sat stoically in his seat, scowling intently at his desk.

“But,” Chisel muttered, “how ken it be gone? What’re me an’ mah men an’ Ah s’posed ta do now?”

“Well...”

“Ah knew Ah shouldn’t’ve taken the day off!” Chisel stomped around the office, repeatedly knocking himself in the head. “Ah mean, there Ah am, loafin’ at home an’ Ah feel a li’l rumble, an’ like the fool Ah am, Ah think ‘prob’ly them buffalo havin’ a li’l fun, stampedin’!’ Turns out ta be the biggest durn quake o’ them all!”

“Chisel,” interrupted the sheriff, “I don’t think you could’ve done anythin’ even if you were there.”

“Dang quakes!” Chisel slammed a hoof on the floor, “what’ve they got ‘gainst me an’ mah rocks? They ain’t natural, Ah tells ya!”

“Well,” Silverstar cleared his throat and pulled out a few forms, “from what I’ve seen, that quarry was dryin’ up. The rocks aren’t strong no more. Maybe now’s a good time ta find a new place ta work?”

Chisel released a long sigh.

“Eeyeh, Ah s’pose yer right.”

“Nopony got hurt bad,” Braeburn offered, “so at least there’s that.”

“Eeyeh.”

“Well,” Silverstar said, standing, “let’s worry ‘bout it later. T’night’s the celebration! An’ I’m sure all them ponies could sure stand somethin’ ta take their minds off recent events...an’ recent visitors.”

Braeburn bit his lip.

“Eeyeh, Ah guess,” Chisel resigned, “look forwards an’ all that. Ah guess Ah’ll be headin’ then. Go get ready fer t’night. Heh, the wife’s been jumpy as a flea on a hairy mutt she’s been so excited!” Chisel gave a weak laugh as he left the office.

Braeburn sighed and hobbled over to the bench on the other end of the room beneath the community events board.

“Are y’all okay, Brae?” asked Silverstar, still standing, “yer hooves took a right fine beatin’.”

“Linky an’ Doc said it should heal up within a week,” he sighed, “looks worse than it is.”

Silverstar nodded and sat down again. The pair were silent for a minute. All Braeburn could think about was the buffalo near the quarry. The way it just looked on in indifference, as though that catastrophe meant nothing. Ponies could have died, and that buffalo just stood there, watching.

“Braeburn? What’re you frownin’ ‘bout?”

“Oh, uh,” Braeburn swallowed, “just thinkin’.”

“Hmm.”

Braeburn kept his eyes focused on the floor and pulled his hat down to hide his face. He heard the sheriff sigh and begin rustling some paper.

“Sheriff,” Braeburn said after a moment. “What’s goin’ on?”

The rustling stopped.

“I don’t know.”

The office was silent. Silverstar sat motionless at his desk, staring through his papers while Braeburn kept his eyes glued on the floor. Suddenly the yellow stallion’s hooves got itchy and he stood.

“What do ya want me ta do?” he said, his voice dry.

The sheriff stared ahead for a second longer before answering. “Losin’ the quarry’s goin’ ta mean a lot of paperwork. I wish I could let ya go an’ enjoy the rest o’ the day b’fore the celebration, but...”

“S’all right,” said Braeburn, moving toward the desk, “if we start now we should get finished with time ta spare.”

“Thanks, Brae,” the sheriff chuckled. “Y’know, ya’d make a fine deputy.”

“Reckon I would,” mumbled Braeburn.

---

Paperwork, files and economy reports were all Braeburn saw for the next few hours. Once the pair finally dealt with all the necessary forms and mapped out potential new digging sites, Braeburn used the rest of the afternoon to help his cousin Applebumpkin with the baking, stopped a fight over a bet in the saloon, caught a foal slinging rocks at the apple trees (thank Celestia that Marmalade didn’t find him first) and even helped Vinny wash some of his grapes, who didn’t seem to want the help. He would have helped with the decorating as well, but the mares in charge chased him away.

By seven the town was radiantly arrayed in multicolored, hoof-sewn banners and streamers. Foals ran about with home-made lanterns, and tables of baked goods and refreshments lined the roads. A few games had even been set up, and Braeburn caught a glimpse of Slate trying over and over to win a prize for Minty, whose smile was brighter than ever. The town was jovial, and somepony had even organized a small choir to sing in front of the clock tower.

Braeburn smiled, but it was an unnatural one. He wanted dearly to enjoy the night, but throughout it all he could not get his mind to stay off of what happened the last two days. There was a feeling in the back of his head like a crow’s claw digging into his skull. Tanner’s intrusion, the terrible earthquakes, the buffalo. He felt particular pangs of anger and guilt whenever his mind dwelt on the buffalo.

“Braeburn?” asked Marmalade, “y’all okay?”

“Yeah.”

Braeburn had spent the last hour or so helping his sister at their apple stand, slicing and passing out snacks to ponies. The night had gone by in a blur, and it was already a quarter to midnight.

Braeburn reached for another apple to cut but found the cart empty. “We’re outta apples,” he announced, “I’ll head down to the orchard an’ get some more.”

His sister laughed. “Them ponies are hungry t’night. You sure ‘bout goin?” she asked as he buckled himself into the cart, “Ah can go. You should stay offa yer bad hooves.”

“My hooves are fine,” he retorted, “and...I could use the time ta think.”

“Hah, don’t hurt yerself.”

“At least I can think.” Braeburn rolled the cart away, an evil smirk on his lips.

“Yeah, well...shut up,” grumbled Marmalade behind him.

Braeburn’s smile was short lived. Trotting briskly for the edge of town, he avoided everypony’s gaze. He just wanted to be alone.

“What’s goin’ on?” he muttered to himself as he approached the hill overlooking the orchard, “What’re them buffalo up to?” He stopped. “Shouldn’t talk like that. Them buffalo are good folk.” He looked over his shoulder to town. “Right?”

He sighed and pushed up the hill, his hooves stinging beneath their bandages. As he came to the hill’s crest he looked down upon the orchard, its legion of apple trees sleeping under the starry sky. Listening to the sound of the wind through the leaves and the crickets in the dirt and the babbling of the river and the singing and laughing from town behind him, he smiled.

“Nothin’s goin’ on,” he murmured to himself, “nothin’.”

He made his way into the orchard, unbuckled himself from the cart and began bucking a few trees. It hurt more than he’d expected, putting all his weight on his front hooves. After a minute or two of work he heard the clock tower chime, announcing midnight’s arrival. The town erupted in cheers, and fiery crackles echoed through the field as colorful fireworks exploded above town.

DONG

“Yeah, nothin’s goin’ on.”

DONG

“Once I’m done here I’ll go find Applebumpkin.”

DONG

“Hope she’s got some fritters left!”

On the fourth toll the entire apple field lit up in a blindingly white light followed by a heavy thumping sound from above.

“That ain’t no firework,” muttered Braeburn, looking up to see the sky flash repeatedly. Something pure white hurtled to the ground far off in the distance, crackling and hissing, scattering sparks and flares throughout the sky. Overwhelmingly bright, it screeched toward the earth, swerving at the last moment in the orchard’s direction. Braeburn ducked for cover as it careened overhead.

Half a second later it impacted with a tremendous CRASH behind him, deafening and blinding him momentarily. He felt a small spray of dirt land on his back and he shakily rose to his hooves. His eyes starry and ears ringing, he peeked out from behind a tree.

At the top of the hill, where Bloomburg, Cousin Applejack’s favorite tree was supposed to be, there was instead a burning trench ten feet wide, rounding up over the crest. Scorched pieces of Bloomburg’s remains littered the hillside, and other nearby trees were shattered, bent, crushed or burning in the crater’s wake.

Braeburn swallowed.

“Applejack’s goin’ ta kill me.”

---

This story is incomplete, and I need your help to finish it. Please comment and leave feedback on this chapter. Let me know what you think and any way this story can be improved.
Thank you.

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