Workhorse

by Apple Bottoms

2. Boys with Blue Horseshoes

More ponies came in the following days. Ponies Big Caramel recognized, occasionally, but soon complete strangers filled their pen and then the surrounding pens. He didn’t see anyone he knew closely, and he was grateful for that; Big Mac didn’t seem to be in their number, and his little brother Caramel wasn’t there either.

Each day, a few ponies would be taken out for work duty. They’d return just before dark, occasionally after, covered in sweat and stumbling. They brought back sad stories. Muzzled, hitched to wagons, forced to transport entire towns of weeping foals in their wagons, or hitched to the lead of a whole chain-gang of ponies from an outlying region. That’s where they were now, Big Caramel eventually figured out, somewhere between Ponyville and the next town, far enough from anywhere that might provide a beneficial hiding spot for ponies who wanted to escape or mount a rescue. Big Caramel hadn’t been chosen for a work duty yet, but Jewelcrisp told him he was probably being saved until the apes decided his spirit had been broken.

Big Caramel didn’t intend to let that happen, ever.

On the evening of the third day (or at least he hoped it was the third day, the days were starting to blend together), they brought in a particularly paltry crop of work ponies. It was just one, actually, and he was - well, it would be unkind to call him scrawny, Big Caramel decided.

“Aren’t you a bit scrawny for workpony duty?” Jewelcrisp rasped.

Thanks, Jewelcrisp, Big Caramel thought darkly.

The little stallion puffed out his chest, and the wooden work collar that sat on his narrow shoulders jostled with the motion. It shouldn’t do that, Big Caramel noted. A snug fit ensures a minimum of chafing or workplace injuries. He was small, a palomino, with a pale yellow coat, white mane and tail, and pink edging his nose, ears, and hooves. He had dark brown eyes, and they were currently narrowed at Jewelcrisp rebelliously. He couldn’t have been that far out of his teenage years, Big Caramel thought; at least he had his cutie mark, which was a group of some kind of hairy-looking red berry.

“I’ve kept my farm running just fine, old man,” and Big Caramel noted that Jewelcrip was old enough that the young stallion’s jeers just made him chuckle. But the other stallions took a few steps towards the youngster, muttering things like ‘learn your place’ and ‘your paw oughta take a switch to your hide.’

Big Caramel stepped between them and offered a glare to the ones who had taken a step closer to the youngster. “Alright,” Big Caramel said, sharply, without any real idea what he might say next. That seemed to be all the discouragement they needed, though, because the others backed off to mutter amongst themselves.

Big Caramel turned to consider the little palomino, who was glaring at him just as fiercely as he had the others. “What’s your - problem?” He’d meant to ask what his name was. What came out instead was a confused accusation, since the palomino kept up the angry stare just as fiercely as if Big Caramel had been the one calling him names.

“I can fight my own battles,” snapped the littler stallion.

“Right, absolutely,” Big Caramel snorted, despite himself. “You could have definitely fended off several tons of angry ponies at once.”

“I can handle myself!” He stomped one forehoof and glared up at Big Caramel.

“I don’t -” Big Caramel blew out a sharp breath, which made his forelock flutter, and he stared down at the little palomino for a moment. “My name is Big Caramel.”

This seemed to startle the palomino out of his anger, and he considered Big Caramel for a moment, not sure if he could trust him. “Is everyone here named Big something?”

Big Caramel couldn’t hide his little answering laugh. “No; I mean, maybe they are. My name’s Caramel, but growing up it was Big Caramel, or just Mel. On account of my little brother is also named Caramel.”

The palomino wrinkled his nose at him. “Why are you both named Caramel?”

Big Caramel, or just Mel, rolled his eyes. “My father was also named Caramel.”

“So - you’re both Caramel Junior?!”

“Caramel the thirds, actually. Grandpappy was also a Caramel.”

“Does your family have a thread of insanity running through it?”

Mel laughed and shook his head. “Maybe. It was some kind of promise he made to his dad, I guess; something about wanting to carry on the family name. ‘Boys with blue horseshoes have always been named Caramel!’ And then they had two boys. And grandpappy was dead, and they didn’t want to risk disappointing him, so…”

“Right.” The palomino squinted, and looked down at his hooves. “Well, uh, I’m Ramblejam.”

Mel’s brows lifted. “I’ve never met a Ramblejam. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Ramblejam allowed, and when he looked up from his hooves, there might have been a note of guilt in his gaze. “Sorry about, uh …” Ramblejam gestured loosely with his hoof, not quite meeting Mel’s gaze anymore.

“That’s alright. It’s rough here for everyone. I think a little bit of anger is to be expected. You haven’t heard -” And here Mel turned to gesture to the next pen, where he was certain their neighbor was about to start screaming again, but instead locked eyes with said neighbor.

The dark, dirt-caked stallion stood quite calmly, very close to them, just on the other side of the fence. His eyes were no longer wild, although his mane still stood up in every different direction. They were blue, Mel realized suddenly, and wholly sane where they focused on him.

“I - oh. He - Hello, um, neighbor?” Mel stammered a little, embarrassed and not a little shocked to realize that their mysterious, insane neighbor was watching them as calmly as if he was any other pony waiting to join the conversation. Every day had been filled with his whinnying screams; Mel wondered what had changed that.

The stallion stared at him for a long moment, his gaze unreadable, and abruptly turned away, trotting to the far side of the fence to lay down. He almost looked like a large rock when he curled up like that, more mud than pony.

“Who is that?” Ramblejam whispered, and Mel realized that Ramblejam had tucked in very close to him, nervous of the stranger.

“I’m not sure,” Mel replied, his voice equally soft. “I haven’t gotten a name. He - he’s usually screaming.”

“Screaming?”

“It sounds worse than it is. Well - maybe not.” Mel admitted at last, his ears flicking back and forth in thought. “He throws himself at the fence every day, over and over. He usually only gives up when he can’t get up anymore, then he’ll lay down for a few hours, and go try it again. He’s been doing it since before I even got here.”

“Wow.” Ramblejam whispered, and suddenly seemed to realize how close they were, so he took a few steps back. “When are we getting fed?”

“Soon, I think; we usually get breakfast and dinner. I can’t guarantee the quality though. It seems to be just whatever bales of hay they can find from the local barns. Barely good enough for chicken bedding,” Mel admitted, and guided Ramblejam over to the patch of fence he’d taken to treating as ‘his’ bed. It wasn’t any different than any other patch of dirt in the pen, but it meant something, he thought, to have the same patch waiting for him at the end of the day. Plus, most of the others didn’t want to sleep on the part of the fence that abutted the screamer’s pen, so he could stretch out to his heart’s content.

“Great,” Ramblejam grumbled, and flopped down in the dirt beside Mel. “I’m starving.”

“Let’s talk, then. You’ll forget all about your belly,” Mel smiled. “Tell me about your farm. You have your own farm? You seem awfully young, so you must be very talented.”

Ramblejam allowed himself, for the first time, to look uncomfortable instead of merely angry. “Let’s talk about something else.”

Mel’s brows shot up. “What?”

“Food’s here!” Came an eager shout from the group, and just like that, they clustered at the front, jostling for position. The hay sometimes had better and worse bits, and the last pony to grab a flake got the worst one. Once, they’d been moldy, and Caramel had gone to bed hungry that night.

Ramblejam jerked upright, then paused, considering the massive bodies wrestling as their captors began tossing bundled squares of hay into the crowd.

“I’ll get you one. Stay here,” Mel instructed him firmly, and stepped forward into the crush.

Big Caramel wasn’t a small pony, as was evidenced by his name; still, wading into the throng of bodies was unlike any other sensation he’d ever had. He was pressed from all sides, elbowed, shoved, while all around him hungry mouths sought the next meal. He got lucky and caught the second flake that was tossed into the crowd, and easily lobbed it over his shoulder. Ramblejam sprinted forward to grab it, and only the ponies closest to him were paying enough attention to be angry. An extra shoulder-shove shut them up, and Caramel waited for the next flake to come close enough to snatch, then pulled himself back out of the crowd. It was almost harder than getting in, because for every inch he moved, another pony shoved past to take his spot. Once or twice a stranger tried to grab a bite from his flake, and Mel had to toss his head to keep his dinner safe, scattering hay across the bodies of his neighbors.

Finally, after a few minutes that felt much longer, Mel found himself next to Ramblejam once more, who was already powering down his hay as if someone might take it.

“Slow down,” Mel instructed him as he took a more measured bite of his meal. “It’s not going anywhere, and your belly always gets a little … fussy, in a place like this. Mine did.”

Ramblejam shot Mel a look that might have been more insulting if he hadn’t closely resembled a hamster at that moment.

Mel looked back to the throng, now less desperately crushed, as more and more ponies got their meals and wandered off to eat. Today was a good day; it looked like all of the flakes were full and un-molded, and everyone got to eat. Everyone, it seemed, except for his neighbor.

“Hey!” Big Caramel called as their captors began to walk away, ignoring the muddy stallion in the next paddock. “Hey! HEY! You forgot somepony! HEY!”

Mel was on his hooves before he quite realized it, trotting back to the front of their pen, trying to get the apes’ attention. The pair pulling the hay wagon turned to look at him as he shouted, and one pointed an accusatory finger at him as he grunted out something threatening.

“No, you forgot somepony! You forgot him! HIM!” Mel shouted, pointing one hoof at the muddy stallion, trying to enunciate clearly for their captors. He’d never heard them speak. Mostly they spoke through violence, and those magical staves. They grunted to each other, but it had no meaning to any of the ponies he’d met so far. “He didn’t get any food!”

“They don’t care, Big Caramel,” Jewelcrisp called boredly, still eating. “They didn’t feed him last night, either. They’re starving him out.”

“What? No - no, you stupid apes, come back!” Big Caramel shouted, a sharp thread of anger rocketing down his spine, making his tail stand on end. “Come BACK!”

Mel hadn’t even noticed they stopped feeding his neighbor until today. Guilt twisted in his gut like bad coffee.

“They’re not coming back, Big Caramel,” Jewelcrisp called again, and Mel thought he might kick him for the faintly amused tone in his voice, “and your shouting is getting annoying.”

“Shut up,” Mel growled, and shot Jewelcrisp a dark look when the larger stallion lifted his brows at him. He didn’t say anything else, and Mel was glad for that; he was so angry he might have kicked a puppy if they told him the puppy was on the Storm King’s side. Jewelcrisp by comparison would be much easier to vent his anger on.

Ramblejam looked smaller when Mel came back to his side, hiding from his anger, but Mel was on a mission. He bent down to take his flake between his teeth, and broke off a quarter of it.

“HEY! Neighbor!” Mel shouted, fighting back the anger. He took a hold of the larger chunk of the hay flake, and gave his head a sharp jerk. The flake flew out from his mouth, skimming neatly beneath the humming fence, and came to a halt on the other side.

The muddy boulder on the other side of the pen lifted his head, and considered Mel’s foolhardy actions silently.

“That’s for you,” Mel shouted.

The stallion stared.

Whether or not Mel’s action had any use, he didn’t particularly care. He was angry, and he was hungry, so he sat down beside Ramblejam to finish his remaining quarter flake, his ears back and his eyes far away.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Ramblejam asked, once he’d eaten most of his flake.

“Nah,” Mel lied.

The pair ate in silence after that. Ramblejam was too afraid to ask any more questions, and Mel was too afraid to vent his anger accidentally on Ramblejam.

He’d been angry before now; who wouldn’t be, in a place like this. But it was today that he'd finally been unable to contain his rage, when it felt like it reached such a white hot intensity that it had to come exploding out of him without any power to stop it. Mel considered himself a level-headed stallion. Maybe the neighboring stallion had too, once upon a time. Maybe he was on his way to joining the neighboring pen. That frightened him, a lot, and it only redoubled on the regular amount of gut-churning fear that he felt being trapped in a Storm King labor camp.

Mel had almost finished berating himself and fallen asleep when he heard something behind him. His head jerked up and startled the only other awake pony in the pens - his neighbor, coming to eat the flake he tossed to him.

The pair considered each other for a moment, green eyes staring into blue, before the silence was broken by a raspy voice, wrecked by days of screaming.

“Thank you.”