Year Seven: Buffalo And Settlers
Year Seven: Buffalo And Settlers
Braeburn patrolled the perimeter of the train station, his 38-caliber revolver safely holstered on his left shoulder. The weapon was finely crafted by Colt Manufacturing, the largest weapons manufacturer in Equestria. Within the past three years, Colt had begun to create weaponry that could be wielded by Earth ponies and pegasi alongside unicorns. The result had been, well, a double-edged sword.
On one hoof, the availability of firearms gave law-ponies such as Braeburn and Sheriff Silverstar the upper edge against all those who threatened the serenity of their settlement. On the other, the wide distribution of steel and lead ultimately gave way to an explosion in crime. Whispers from visitors and vagabonds alike spoke of a vastly different Manehatten, Trottingham, and Canterlot than Braeburn could ever fathom. Bernie Madhoof’s evil, though chilling, seemed naught in the face of the chaos that reigned through those city streets.
None of this, of course, was reported by the media. All Braeburn knew was second-hoof information. Nevertheless, he considered the sources, and trusted them well. He was grateful to be a desert dweller, safely hidden from the chaos beyond.
Though the newspapers spoke otherwise, Braeburn heard through the desert grapevine that there was a mass exodus taking place among the upper crust of the cobblestones. Many were going westward or northward, finding refuge in the Crystal Empire, Appleloosa, or the uncharted lands. Braeburn and his fellows happily welcomed the resulting economic boost. He wasn’t as pleased with the riff-raff that blew in from the East.
His Deputy’s badge shining in dusk’s light, Braeburn continued his rounds, keeping his eyes wide open for any sign of trouble. Appleloosa’s first true saloon had opened just a few weeks prior. It seemed salt couldn’t satiate every traveler’s thirst after all. Some required stronger brews. Braeburn’s nostrils flared at the thought. Alcohol was nothing but trouble.
Braeburn was grateful that crime in his fair city was currently minimized to mere bar brawls and back-door gambling. He hadn’t installed a lock upon the front door of his freshly-constructed abode; he’d found no reason to do so. Appleloosians simply had no need for thieves, and without locks or keys, they made none.
Cousin Citrus and Auntie Orange were in their cozy abode, doubtlessly preparing a fine dinner for the three of them. Citrus had become a fine chef over the years. Both mares had found better work, to Braeburn’s delight. Things were finally starting to go right for their little Appleloosian trio. The Most High, he reasoned, allowed them to enjoy the fruits of their labor at last.
Finding the train station secure, Braeburn chose to patrol through town next, his hoof-steps slow and quiet. Past the general store, the school-house, the post office, the saloon, and the salt-bar he trotted, the autumn dusk crisp and clean. He tipped his hat to several townsfolk on his way, his gesture enthusiastically returned.
Nopony followed him or acted suspiciously; everypony seemed engrossed in completing their day’s work or day’s shopping, chasing daylight before it faded. Only the sunset raced the stallion as he completed his patrol and returned to the Sheriff’s office.
Braeburn took his seat on the porch and stretched his hindhooves out on the railing. Winter would soon be upon the settlement within less than two months. His mother’s orchard would need to be harvested in the meantime, but the stallion didn’t worry.
Cleaning his revolver, Braeburn the deputy smiled into the setting sun, unaware that his fledgling city would soon grow in population by two.
~
Apple Bloom ran a forehoof through her saddlebags, hastily double-checking their supplies.
“Maps… parchment… quills… ink…” She paused, one hoof squirming around at the bottom of the bag, searching for some undiscovered item. “Um… Babs?”
“…. Nnggggghhhh…”
“... Seriously?!”
Babs Seed continued to snore, drool trickling down her muzzle and chin. Lost to the world, she’d sprawled her hooves all over her side of the train cab. Whilst her counterpart had napped, Babs had done her best to keep awake, despite her boredom. Of course, the moment Apple Bloom awakened and began to gather her wits, Babs Seed had fallen fast asleep.
Apple Bloom sighed and patted her on the shoulder. “C’mon, we’re almost there. An’ Ah can’t find ma compass. Git up an’ help me find it.”
Her eyes darting back and forth beneath her tightly-squeezed eyelids, Babs muttered from the depths of her dreams, “…. Nggghhhhh… no… I don’t want any oranges…”
Face-hoofing, Apple Bloom surrendered and grabbed Babs’s saddlebag instead. A quick rifling through its contents revealed that Babs Seed had forgotten to pack a compass as well. Of course. Some adventurers they were already proving to be. Apple Bloom made a mental note to pick one up in Appleloosa.
After securing both their saddlebags and storing them under the cab seat, Apple Bloom stretched out on her side of the cab and let her thoughts meander. They were rocketing towards Appleloosa first. For how long, neither had yet discussed. She knew, however, that they would not settle there.
Equestria was far and wide, and Appleloosa was but one tiny dot on the charted territory. There was far more to be explored and experienced. Much of it would never be captured by surveyor’s eyes. Things were moving far too rapidly. Boom-and-bust towns were cropping up everywhere, following the flow of bits and glory.
Babs Seed stirred in her sleep and continued to saw magnificent logs. Stifling a giggle, Apple Bloom muttered, “Ah shoulda known ya needed yer sleep. Keepin’ yerself up wit’ worry last night an’ all.” She shook her head.
Although they were both time-rich, freed from all true obligation or bounds, nopony had time to worry. Minus a compass, they had everything they needed with them.
Apple Bloom passed the time by watching the desert fly them by, a landscape of plains, cacti and tumbleweed below the horizon, majestic hawks and fiery sunset above it. The window of their cab was slightly open, allowing a fresh breeze to escape. She smiled as its scent teased her nostrils.
It was clean, new, fresh, and real.
~
Citrus Blossom carefully carried a few bowls full of hot chili over to the kitchen table. Braeburn had constructed a masterful dwelling with Silverstar’s assistance. No longer would the three of them huddle hoof-to-hoof together around their tiny table, noshing their scraps and lamenting either the snow or the heat. While it still lacked plumbing and electricity, their home was far more comfortable. She couldn’t thank Braeburn enough. He was far more noble and authentic than any Manehatten colt had ever been…
“Citrus, something on your mind?” Libra Scales asked. She sat patiently at the table, leaving her chili untouched. Dinner was a family affair. With no sign of their Deputy yet, her ravenous stomach would have to wait just a little longer.
Citrus blinked and shook her muzzle, chuckling lightly. “Oh, nothing, Mother.” She trotted over into the kitchenette and grabbed a few utensils. Placing them alongside the bowls, she asked, “Has Babs written you back yet?”
Libra sighed. “No. I haven’t heard from Applejack recently, either. I told her in my last letter—oh, maybe a month or so ago—that I was ready to start paying her back.” She frowned. “I feel simply terrible for how much we’ve borrowed over the years.”
“Well… now that things are going good for us at last, surely, we can repay her kindness, right?” offered her daughter, taking a seat at the table. Citrus, too, left her meal untouched. “After all,” she said, gesturing with a forehoof, “Appleloosa is growing, and our savings along with it. I’m willing to pitch in my part, too, Mother. Applejack deserves it.”
“You don’t have to do that, Citrus. This whole fiasco was my fault, anyway.” Libra hung her head, staring into her bowl. Nearly seven years had swept them by. Anypony would surmise that the time for forgiveness of the self was long past due, especially when one had spent so much time ruminating on their transgressions. But the rational mare couldn’t bring herself to cast aside all of the past. Her debts to Braeburn and Applejack surpassed mere bits. Someday, Libra vowed, she would repay them… somehow.
Taking her mother’s forehoof in hers, Citrus replied, “But I want to. To her and Braeburn both. They deserve it.”
Squeezing her forehoof back, Libra remarked, “Indeed, they do. But Applejack hasn’t replied to me. I won’t be sending anything her way until I hear from her again. That mare and her pride...”
The door to their not-so-humble shack burst open. Autumn breeze held it taut against the entryway, tossing sand into the doorway. Braeburn stood in the threshold, a wide grin across his muzzle. “Auntie! Citrus! Ah have a surprise fer y’all!”
Both mares rose to their hooves and joined him in the entryway. “What’s that, Braeburn?” asked Libra Scales.
“You'll see.” He took a few steps forward and ushered with a forehoof. “C’mere, y’all. Auntie an’ Citrus are waitin’ ta see ya.”
Both mares looked towards his gesture and leapt from their hindhooves, galloping through the sand and the wind.
There, a few yards behind him, Babs Seed and Apple Bloom--weighed down only slightly by their saddlebags--picked up their hooves and met their counterparts in the middle. Babs Seed crashed into her sister, almost tackling her to the ground. Citrus laughed and laughed, squeezing her tight. “Babs! Oh, it’s so good to see you! I know it hasn’t been that long, but—“
“It felt like foreva,” finished Babs, crushing her in a hug. “I know! I can’t believe Graduation wasn’t even six months ago.”
Libra Scales embraced her niece, joy written across her muzzle. Their meetings had been even more infrequent over the years than Babs’s had been. In spite of her own reservations, Libra was glad to see that they had made this trip together this time.
And, if their full-to-bursting saddlebags were of any indication, it seemed that this trip would be far from a short visit. Much would need to be discussed, but for now, she merely hugged Apple Bloom tight and said, “And it’s so good to see you, Apple Bloom! I’m glad you decided to come out here.”
“Heh, me too, Auntie,” Apple Bloom replied, nuzzling her. She broke the embrace and gestured towards their abode. What had once been a small, compact shack was now a wide, finely-constructed cabin, windows on each side and a chimney on top. Fine, strong heartwood supported the structure, not a nail out of place. The shingles on the roof appeared as fresh and strong as they had ever been, even after two years of sun, wind, and snow. “Wow! So this is what ya built, huh, Braeburn?”
“That’s right, cuz!” The stallion beamed with pride. “An’ Ah know yer the one who’s s’posed ta be good at buildin’ things, but Ah think Ah’ll give ya a run fer yer bits!” Rustling his cousin’s mane with a forehoof, Braeburn squinted through the wind and said, “Let’s get inside, y’all, befo’ it gets too thick out here. Lookin’ like we might have a sandstorm soon.”
Sandstorm? Maybe, then, I’ll see dat stallion… he did say I have ta come out heeya ta find him—oh, come on, Babs! It was jus’ a dream. Idiot.
Shaking her thoughts away, Babs Seed followed Braeburn and the others into the cabin, shutting the door behind her. She turned to lock the door, only to be interrupted by another chuckle from Braeburn.
“We don’t have any need fer locks, Babs. Don’t ya remember where ya are?” Rearing up on his hindhooves, his emerald-green eyes wild with excitement, Braeburn whinnied, “We’re in Aaaaaapple—“
Libra silenced him with her forehoof as she let out an exasperated sigh. “I think they know where we are, Braeburn.”
Four hooves back on the floor, the stallion mumbled back, avoiding the quizzical expressions shot his way by his two newest wards, “Oh, Ah guess yer right…”
~
After a delicious dinner, which was quite impressive in its simplistic splendor, proving that Citrus Blossom had truly, indeed, learned to cook, Libra Scales glanced over to Babs Seed and Apple Bloom. The two fillies sat side-by-side again, talking excitedly with Citrus and Braeburn.
The stallion was spinning his usual Deputy tales to a wide-eyed Babs Seed, tales of gold and silver and oil and vagabonds and Buffalo. Citrus was detailing her plans for a clothing store to Apple Bloom, itemizing the fine threads she would carry for the growing Appleloosian populace.
Apples they all were, engaged in conversation about wild dreams.
“So, youze gonna show me youze gun?”
Braeburn rubbed the back of his neck and avoided her gaze. “Heh, well, Ah’m not sure if Ah should—“
“C’mon,” Babs teased, poking him in the chest. “I may talk like one, but I assure youze, Braeburn, I ain’t no ghetto-pony.”
He laughed. “Ah wasn’t ‘fraid o’ that. Ah’m jus’ not that comfortable wit’ it yet, an’ less so wit’ havin’ somepony else handle it. Sorry.” The stallion tugged on his Stetson and patted the holster on his shoulder. “Silverstar an’ Ah jus’ got these. Haven’t had ta use ‘em yet. Hopefully it’ll stay that way. But Ah’m not so sure, what wit’ everypony from the East comin’ here…”
“From the East?” Apple Bloom turned curiously to the stallion. “What do ya mean, Braeburn?”
“Well, there’s a lotta city-ponies comin’ out here,” he slowly explained, contemplating his words. “Fer better o’ fer worse. Ah mean, on one hoof, it’s good, their business an’ their growth. But on another, Ah’m kinda worried. Who knows… who might come.”
From the corner of his eye, Citrus and Libra exchanged knowing gazes. Nearly seven years since he’d last tasted an orange, Braeburn hoped never again to know the sting of that fruit, nor the muzzle of its master. For now, Appleloosa was far beyond the sights of one Bernie Madhoof.
Seizing her opportunity, Libra Scales grabbed Babs’s forehoof. “Honey, remember how I said there was something I needed to tell you?”
“Yea?” Babs said hesitantly.
“Well, I think it’s time. Come on,” Libra urged, tugging on her hoof. Babs planted her haunches firmly in her stool. “Come on. Let’s go outside and talk.”
Babs stayed put.
Sighing, Libra Scales tugged a little more forcefully. “You may be bigger than me, Babs Seed, but I am still your mother. Come on, let’s go outside and talk.”
“An’ what can’t youze tell me in fronta everypony else?” In fronta Apple Bloom?
Crossing her forehooves, Babs shook away her mother’s grasp. “No mo’ secrets in dis family. It don’t do nopony no good. Right, Citrus?”
Citrus Blossom fidgeted with her own hooves. “Well, um, Babs, you see…”
Braeburn’s expression matched the mare’s, choosing to dodge the bullets he sensed being aimed his way. “Ya know, Auntie always means well—“
“I’m not a foal no mo’. Anythin’ youze need ta tell me, youze can tell everypony. I’m not playin’ secrets wit’ youze, Ma. Youze eitha tell everypony, o’ youze tell nopony. Right, Apple Bloom?”
“Actually, Babs, Ah think ya should listen ta her.”
Babs tapped her ears, left first, then right, clearing them of any gibberish or nonsense. “Sorry, Bloom, I think I heard youze wrong. Say dat again?” Don’t youze get it? She’s gonna try ta—
Apple Bloom shook her head sternly. “Ah said, you should listen ta her. Ah don’t mind.” Smiling towards her aunt, she added, “Ah’m sure Auntie wouldn’t want ta talk ta ya in private if it wasn’t somethin’ mighty important.”
A grin curling at the corners of her muzzle, Libra nodded in approval. She turned to her daughter once more. “Let’s go outside and talk. It’ll only take a little bit. I promise.”
Groaning, Babs relented, “Fine. See youze all in a bit,” she mumbled, following her mother out of the kitchen and towards the front door.
The wind howled its hello into the abode, escaping through the entryway as the door ceased to close in their egress. Braeburn quickly rose to his hooves and secured it, keeping the night far and away.
Citrus Blossom giggled and shook her muzzle. “Wow. You’re good.”
Running a forehoof casually through her mane, Apple Bloom chuckled and said casually, “Ah try ma best.”
Braeburn hung his Stetson on a hook on the cabin wall and joined his cousins at the table. “An’ yer doin’ good, Apple Bloom. Ah’m really glad y’all came out here. How long do y’all plan on stayin’?”
“Not sure. Through the winter, Ah’ll bet,” Apple Bloom said. “Ah wanna stay an’ get ta know y’all a bit better. An’ Ah know Babs wants ta go minin’ sometime, an’ Ah don’t think we can do that when everythin’s buried under the snow. Speakin’ o’ which, how long does winter last here?”
Braeburn tapped his chin with a forehoof. “Well, not too long, usually only ‘bout three months. Through the end o’ January. Then February comes an’ the heat returns. Which is another thing Ah wanted ta talk ta y’all ‘bout.”
The stallion raised a disbelieving brow. “Y’all ever been out in the wild like that? O’ in heat like that? It’s not that easy. Ah think yer—“
“Braeburn, don’t you think we shouldn’t worry about this for now?” Citrus interrupted. She rolled her eyes. “I mean, she already said they’ll be staying for a while—“
“Ah know, but—“
“And you know Babs has been through—“
“Yes, Citrus, Ah know, but Ah’m jus’—“
Apple Bloom strode over between them and put a forehoof on each arguing shoulder. “Ah’m sure we’ll figure it out soon, Brae. An’ Citrus, yer right. We’ll be stayin’ here fer a while.”
“Told you,” Citrus said, smirking at him.
Braeburn stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry. Both fillies giggled and exchanged high-hooves, ignoring the crossing of dusty forehooves and a half-hearted pout.
“Say, wait a minute...” Citrus eyed Apple Bloom with a knowing smile. “’Get to know us better’? Any particular reason for that, Apple Bloom? After all, we’ve been here for a while, been in Appleloosa nearly the whole time while you and Babs were growing up… any reason it’s more pressing now that you are mares?”
Deflecting any ulterior motive, Apple Bloom stumbled, “N-no! O’ c-course not!”
Her muzzle betrayed her, flushed with crimson, and two sets of forehooves pounded the table in glee, laughter filling the air of a shack meant for three.
~
Two mares traversed through the desert plains, down past the highest point in Appleloosa and towards the apple orchards below. The wind halted in their steps, granting them a peaceful, comfortable silence. Libra Scales and her grown daughter trotted among rows and rows of mighty Appleloosa heartwood, branches full with the last of the harvest before winter’s snow.
I’ve neva seen ‘em up close, Babs realized, staring at the trees as she passed them.
Although Aunt Barbara’s breed was a particularly hearty tree, it lacked the height or girth of the orchards on Sweet Apple Acres. A grimace announced itself on the filly’s muzzle, a supreme irony brought to light. An’ they’ll be needin’ help wit’ the harvest befo’ the snows come. So much fo’ gettin’ a break from farm work. Horseapples! Ah, well. At least I’m heeya, way out in the West…
Libra Scales suddenly stopped and patted the sand beside her. “Sit down, Babs. You’ll want to be sitting down to hear this.”
Obeying (however begrudgingly), Babs Seed glanced down at her mother and asked, “Why did youze bring me way out heeya?”
Libra Scales pointed towards the horizon in the distance. “Look, way out there. What do you see?”
Squinting through the darkness, Babs Seed couldn’t determine anything at first, seeing only a heap of broken images in the wasteland. She leaned forward on her haunches and strained her eyes, detecting at last a flicker of a campfire and a small billow of smoke. “Looks like some ponies are out there.”
Libra nodded. “This is the Appleloosa city limit,” she explained, drawing a line in the sand a few feet in front of them. “This is where Braeburn and Silverstar’s protection ends. Beyond this line is the frontier, the badlands, the uncharted territory. That’s where the gold, oil, and silver are springing up, and all the camps and settlements around them. That’s where the Buffalo roam. That’s where you and Apple Bloom want to go, isn’t it?”
“O’ course. It’s adventure, Ma. An’ youze know how I have a taste fo’ adventure.” An’ danger. Even iffa I’m not the one ta seek it, somehow, it always finds me. Am I blessed o’ cursed in dat way?
Laughing, Libra pulled her daughter close. “I thought so. Such adventurers, like my old friend…”
Babs Seed nuzzled her mother’s neck gently. “Tell me ‘bout youze ol’ friend again.” For a reason she couldn’t quite articulate, she enjoyed hearing about her mother’s mysterious stallion, emboldened by tales of the vagabond.
“Heh, well, there’s not much more to tell you, Babs. I do know that he had a brother, but I never met him. They were distant. He said he was nothing like his brother… His brother valued bits and things, power and prestige, and earning more of them all. His brother was married and had a foal of his own. My friend had neither. He was a restless spirit. He was jumping from temp job to temp job at the time. I hope he found what he was looking for,” Libra mused, smiling in her reminiscence.
“I hope so, too,” Babs whispered. I hope he found his happy endin’. Everypony deserves one. Most o’ us, anyway.
“Yes, he was an adventurer. As you are. But, there is one place I do not want you adventuring.” She leaned down and stared straight into her gemstones, crushing them with her own. “You must promise me this, Babs Seed. You must promise me to stay as far away from there if you can, and to be extremely careful if you do chose to venture out into this place.”
Anticipating her response (and somewhat relieved that the conversation had not escalated to matters of the heart), Babs Seed nodded and waited for her to continue.
Libra Scales paused, rustling the dust beneath her hooves. Her coping mechanism of choice proved useless, inefficient. Five years after she had done the same to her daughter, Babs Seed grasped her forehoof, stopping her. “Sorry. This is just really hard for me to explain, Babs.”
“Jus’ go on an’ say it, Ma,” Babs urged, lowering her volume to barely above a whisper. “I promise I won’t be mad. I mean… As much as I wanna explore, I know iffa youze tell me dis, there must be a good reason fo’ it.”
“Babs…” Libra pressed her forehoof to the cold desert sand, a rush of energy invigorating her at the contact, providing the strength necessary to choke the next words from her throat. “Do you remember when we reunited here and I told you how Manehatten is no longer our home?”
Again, Babs Seed nodded.
“And I told you that your father and I divorced?”
Babs Seed gave her affirmation.
Libra Scales, the mare whose cutiemark represented good judgment and wisdom, inhaled deeply, night air chilling her lungs and shaking her hooves. Her breath billowed on its exit, a premonition of the harsh winter that was to come. And many more to follow. But none would contain the ice and venom of Bernie Madhoof’s heart.
“Ma, what’s wrong?” Babs asked, her ears flattening. Youze look so… pained. Like dis is summat dat’s been burdenin’ youze foreva. “Youze can tell me anythin’… Iffa dis is ‘bout Bloom an’ I in some way, well, dat’s alright, I know youze are try—“
“Your father was going to kill us.”
Seven years of constant worry, seeing Bernie Madhoof in every unfamiliar form, in every haunting nightmare, in every rumination of the past, came to a zenith in seven words.
The mare who set them free buried her muzzle in her forehooves, unable to face the filly towering above and beside her. Her words trembled under the caress of the desert moon.
“Babs… He… he wanted us not only gone, but dead. He had the police on his side... he probably still does... There wasn't anything we could do. We could only run... And… and it was my fault… It’s my fault Citrus and I were homeless, and Braeburn had to take us in, and I didn’t see you for a year and… and…”
No tree struck her on the spine, and yet, Libra Scales crumpled onto the sand. An unshorn fetlock was embracing her tight, its owner sprawling on the Earth next to her. “Ma, I’m sure it ain’t youze fault. How could it be?”
Babs Seed retained a hold on her own venom, her blood boiling with pure, righteous rage. What kinda fatha would want ta kill his own foals?! His own wife?! I have no fatha. I am fathaless. I am. I relent even callin’ him dat. Fatha. Youze don’t deserve dat title. Youze ain’t even a stallion. Youze is scum.
Fuck youze, Bernie Madhoof.
“… You don’t understand… You’ll never understand,” Libra choked through her tears. “I was supposed to protect you and Citrus… and I failed. If it wasn’t for an assistant of his showing up at the last minute and telling us what had happened, we would be—“
No. “Don’t youze even finish dat sentence. Don’t youze dare.”
Snapping her neck up to face her daughter, Libra grabbed the sides of Babs’s head with rough, unshorn fetlocks of her own and stared into her, eyes wild, afire. “Promise me you won’t come near him. Near the Mansion. Near the Hill. Near Manehatten itself, if you can. Promise me. Promise me, Babs Seed!”
A fatherless filly answered, “I promise youze, Ma. I promise.”
Mere feet away from the limits of civilization and the law, mother and daughter wept as one, in sorrow and in joy, lucky and thankful to be alive, having tangoed with the Reaper so long ago against their own will. Close to the line they had been, and by an act of nopony but Celestia herself had they refrained from crossing it.
Unbeknownst to them both, there was, like all things, a reason they were spared. A reason that would be revealed in time, on the chessboard of Life’s most dangerous game.
~
Hypocritical as it was, Babs Seed chose not to heap the full truth upon Apple Bloom’s brow, telling her instead that Libra Scales had simply requested that they stay out of Bernie Madhoof’s way. Apple Bloom sensed her fillyfriend’s apprehension at the mere utterance of his name but chose not to press the issue.
Applejack had long ago told her that Uncle Orange had chosen to divorce and separate from the family, and that seemed reason enough. Not everypony chose reunion. Some chose dissolution. And Apple Bloom didn’t mind dissolving ties from somepony who set Babs Seed on edge.
The two budding nomads slept in the guest room, heeding Libra’s warning of thinly-insulated walls and sensitive ears. Apple Bloom had seen many strange things in her short, humble existence, but watching an orange coat of fur turn red from tip of the snout to the last strands of its tail was the most amusing of all.
Predictably, Babs Seed and Apple Bloom enlisted themselves in orchard work, hoarding their meager bits as winter drew near. In their spare time, both sought to grow closer to their cousins—Apple Bloom with Citrus, and Babs Seed with Braeburn. Neither neglected Libra Scales either, filling the memories lost between them, tales of schoolfoal antics and Appleloosian adventures making up for all their lost time.
It was during one of those workdays, sweating beneath Celestia’s desert blaze, that Babs Seed began to suspect things were far more sinister out in the West and the best than she’d expected.
~
CRASH!
Powerful hindhooves sent another branch full of red fruit tumbling into a basket below. Craving the taste of cider, or, at least, the relief of water, upon her parched throat, Babs Seed worked quickly, pushing her apple-basket from tree to full tree. Apple Bloom was working out here as well on the other side of the orchard. November’s calendar was rapidly dissipating from them. Soon would come the snow.
Babs Seed's muscles flexed beneath her coat, weathered from many years of hard, physical labor. She wiped the sweat from her brow with a forehoof but was mostly unfazed. Despite the familiar, repetitive motion, at least she was being paid for this exertion. An’ paid well. Enough fo’ a lotta things. Gotta get a compass, some mo’ campin’ equipment… lotsa things befo’ spring comes. But not paid enough ta not goof off...
“'Ey, Apple Bloom!” she shouted across the fields.
Apple Bloom looked up from her basket and yelled back, “What, Babs?”
“Watch dis!” Babs grabbed three apples from her basket, holding two in one forehoof and one in the other. She threw one into the air, then another, then another, attempting to juggle them. Attempting.
All three apples crashed to the dust, SPLAT!
Horseapples!
“Wow… that was sure impressive!” Apple Bloom chuckled, stifling a wave of laughter with a forehoof. “Good one, sugarcube! Why, ya sure won me over wit’ that!”
Turning away, Babs grumbled, “I did it fo’ real the otha day when it was jus’ me out heeya!”
“Suuure ya did. Don’t worry ‘bout it! We’re not gettin’ paid ta juggle anyhow!” scolded her fillyfriend, returning to the task at hoof. “Work’ll be over soon. An’ maybe we can go ta the saloon after.”
Babs Seed cantered up to Apple Bloom, skidding to a stop and kicking up a small cloud of dust. “Saloon? Youze wanna go ta a saloon?”
Apple Bloom shrugged. “Why not?”
“Because—“
“That’s what they call a ‘rhetorical question,’ sugarcube.” Apple Bloom rustled Babs's mane with a grin. “It’ll be fun! We haven’t had much o’ a chance ta interact with the townsponies, an' this'll be the perfect time ta!”
“But,” Babs Seed protested, “I don’t wanna drink.” Alcohol makes the monstas come out from behind their masks… Wait, would dat make me a monsta iffa I don’t want ta drink? But I ain’t no monsta. I’m a brute. There’s a difference. Brutes have souls. Somewhere.
“We don’t have ta. We can jus’ get some water o’ juice. Silly filly. You worry too much, ya know that?”
“An’ youze are too—“
CRUNCH, CRUNCH.
Pivoting on her hooves, Babs Seed's ears flicked erect and alert, sensing the subtle weight of hooves snapping branches. She swept the orchard, finding no workers but themselves in the thicket of woods. Neurotransmitter spurred adrenaline to fire, fight-or-flight response detecting that things should not be as they are. A low growl issued from the mare’s throat.
“Babs? What’s wrong?”
From the far end of the orchard, Babs Seed’s pupils caught a flash of movement, and she bounded forward, forehooves outstretched in a primal pounce. C’mon, youze, I know youze are watchin’ us—
“Babs!”
Apple Bloom cantered after her mare, following her as she dodged trees left and right, snaking through the orchard after some unknown entity. Babs Seed stopped as suddenly as she began, her hackles raised, her teeth gritted. “Hey!” she exclaimed, almost slamming straight into her in her own ceasing, “What was that all ‘bout? Did ya see somethin’?”
“Somepony was watchin’ us,” Babs snarled, her molars threatening to morph into canines. She tensed her hooves, searching for any sign of the intruder. “Somepony was spyin’ on us.”
“It was probably jus’ a critter o’ somethin’. Again, ya worry too much, darlin’. C’mon.” Apple Bloom wrapped a forehoof around the mare. “Let’s jus’ finish up our trees an’ go socialize fer a bit. Bein’ out here in the sun’s gettin’ ta yer head.”
“Says youze!” Babs snapped, spinning on her hindhooves. She immediately shook her muzzle, ready to smack herself. “I… I mean, I’m sorry. Dat came out wrong.”
“Don’t worry 'bout it. It’s alright. We’re in an unfamiliar place,” reassured Apple Bloom. “Ah’m sure it’s jus’ a trick o’ the light o’ somethin’.”
Seven years out of Manehatten would’ve led most ponies to believe that Babs Seed had long surmounted her past. Apple Bloom knew better. The speed of her hooves and the quickness of her muscles may have been a blessing of biology, but they had been honed by one dark night long, long ago, when the transition from millisecond to millisecond had made all the difference. Neither would ever forget that, and one of them was hesitant to delay in the shadow of any danger.
Sighing, Babs Seed released her tension, feeding the Earth with the energy through her hooves. “Youze is probably right.” Mustering a slight smile, she agreed, “Let’s get through dis work an’ then go meet some new ponies. I think I might even buy a pretty mare a drink, iffa she lets me... Maybe youze know her? Could be ma wing-pony?”
Giggling at her foalish wink, Apple Bloom said, “Oh, yer quite the charmer, ain’t ya? Ah might know a mare who might have a problem wit’ that… Silly.”
They finished their work with haste, oblivious to a pair of eyes watching them from a cliff-face above, its owner scampering through the heated stone with expert hooves.
~
Appleloosa’s premiere saloon, lacking an official designation or namesake, welcomed any and all comers. This included both established settlers (those who had seen Appleloosa from its humble beginnings) and itchy-hooved wanderers (those who barely knew the town outside of a map). The bartender was a tall, lanky gray Earth pony stallion, the brother and rival of the salt-shop owner. Here, only the finest of draughts were served, including Applejack Daniel’s, a whiskey meant only for the most virile of drinkers.
Two mares trotted into the bartender’s saloon, pulled up a stool, and ordered a round each of the drink. Never one to deny bits, the stallion merely took their change and shrugged, fetching their drinks with haste.
“Ah thought ya weren’t gonna get a drink,” Apple Bloom said, tapping her forehooves on the bar.
“Well, youze were right. I worry too much. I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Babs dismissed, matching her rhythm. I’m sure jus’ one won’t hurt. I don’t have ta be like… Bernie. I can drink jus’ one an’ be fine.
A forehoof found its way on top of hers, a pair of concerned eyes staring back at her. “Are ya afraid ya’ll get in too deep because o’ how Uncle Orange is?”
“He’s not… I mean, maybe.”
“He’s not what?”
The bartender slammed two glasses of whiskey down in front of them. “Here ya are, partners. Two rounds o’ Applejack Daniels.”
“’Ey! Where’s the ice?”
The stallion rolled his eyes. “As ya shoulda noticed, ma friend, we’re in a desert.”
“Don’t mean youze can’t have no icebox!” protested Babs Seed, pushing her drink aside. “Besides, three months outta the year, youze only have snow!”
“City-dweller like you won’t know jack ‘bout Appleloosa,” huffed a baritone voice beside them.
Two muzzles turned and discovered a black stallion with a disheveled white mane sitting next to Apple Bloom at the bar, his Stetson covered in grime and sand. The stallion smirked. “That’s right. Ah know yer accent. Yer from Manehatten, ain’t ya, bobtail?”
“Not exactly,” Babs shot back, grasping her drink despite its warmth. The bartender gave up the battle and turned his attention to other customers. Babs narrowed her gaze and added, “We are from Ponyville,” taking Apple Bloom’s forehoof in hers.
The stallion snorted. “Aww, y’all gonna be like that, are ya? That’s too bad. Yer a mighty pretty mare, missy,” he said to Apple Bloom, his grin revealing several missing molars and a stench on his tongue rivaling that of any timberwolf.
Apple Bloom forced an uneasy smile. Through her teeth, she muttered, “Why, thank ya. But, uh, Ah—“
“What was dat?” Disregarding her drink entirely, Babs hopped from her stool and stomped towards the stallion on her hindhooves, forehooves clenching. Oh no, youze didn’t.
Pounding a quick shot of his own Daniel’s, the stallion laughed and mused, “Well, it’s jus’ a damn shame such a pretty mare is wit’ somepony like yerself.” He rose off his own stool and clarified, “Fillyfoolin’ Ah can handle, but not when a fine young farm-filly’s wit’ some city-slickin’ dyke such as yerself.” He beamed, broad and mocking, crossing his forehooves in defiance.
The bartender, who was busying himself with cleaning dusty shot glasses, paused, sensing the shifts in the atmosphere between the sourdough and the bobtail mare. He was never one to pass up an opportunity for a good show of hooves.
However, he loathed Silverstar—though he was mildly indifferent to the young stallion who was giving him a run for his bits—and hated the mere thought of the old coot breaking up yet another bar brawl. “Now, settle down, Pickaxe,” he ordered, glaring at the black stallion. “Yer jus’ askin’ fer trouble. They ain’t hurtin’ nopony.”
Pickaxe scoffed, “Trouble? This filly here gonna give me trouble?” He pointed at Babs Seed and smacked his forehooves on his stomach, whooping with laughter. “T-that’s a g-good o-one!”
Apple Bloom jumped down and wrapped a forehoof around Babs’s torso, whispering in her ear, “He’s jus’ drunk, let it go, he’s not—“
BANG!
A sea of muzzles turned towards the double doors of the saloon. In the threshold, a figure clad in black from muzzle to tail, cutiemark and coat hidden beneath swaths of dark cloth, held a pistol high, firing a warning shot in the ceiling.
Pickaxe stumbled on his unsteady hooves to the floor, fumbling on his shoulders for a revolver he’d forgotten in the desert. Babs Seed shoved Apple Bloom to the floor, shielding her body with her own. She weighed her options in a split second, knowing that she would leave her vulnerable if she darted forward. But if she did not take quick action, the intruder would surely open fire, and here he was, holding his weapon tight and beginning to lower it…
BANG!
The stallion crashed into the floorboards below, his pistol clattering to the ground. Another stallion stood strong behind him, his revolver smoking with the last remnants of spent lead, gunpowder, and fire.
“Braeburn!” Babs exclaimed, stumbling to her hooves and pulling Apple Bloom up beside her.
The Deputy rushed inside and scanned the scene, searching for an accomplice, a snake hidden within their sand-swept grass. All patrons were either cowering on the floor or rising slowly to their hooves, forehooves raised in surrender.“Everypony alright?!" he screeched, keeping his revolver steady. Murmurs and whispers were his answer.
“Are youze alright?” asked Babs Seed, frowning at Apple Bloom.
“Ah’m fine, sugarcube,” Apple Bloom said. “Are you? Yer shakin’…”
“N- o I’m not!” Babs said, locking her hooves in place. Who the buck was dat? No, who the FUCK was dat?! Dis is Appleloosa! Dis ain’t no big city! An’ didn’t Brae say he neva used his gun? Well, not until ta-day...
Braeburn trotted over to the intruder and placed another bullet between his eyes for good measure. He then shook his muzzle and raised a forehoof to the saloon. “Somepony, tell me what happened!”
Apple Bloom trotted up to him. “It happened so fast, Brae, he—“
“Are you an’ Babs alright?”
“Yes, we’re fine. But whoever this is—“ she gestured towards the gun-pony below, sleeping forever on the floor of Appleloosa’s first saloon—“he didn’t say nothin’ o’ anythin’. He jus’ trotted in, shot through the ceilin’ once, an’ then ya shot him.”
C’mon, pull youzeself togetha! Nopony got hurt but the scum himself… It’s jus’ a gun, what’s the big difference ‘tween dat an’ a knife, o’ hooves?
Scolding herself, Babs gritted her teeth and trotted over to Pickaxe, offering a forehoof to the stallion. “C’mon, lemme help youze up.”
Grumbling, Pickaxe accepted her offer, though he muttered, “Ah’m sure our culprit is a city-pony…”
Braeburn tossed daggers with his eyes towards the grimy stallion. “What?” Pickaxe pleaded, throwing up his forehooves. “We ain’t got no crime here in Appleloosa until the city-dwellers started pullin’ in.”
“That’s enough, Pickaxe.” Braeburn scowled. “Take yer prejudice someplace else.”
“Are ya kickin’ me out, Braeburn?” he taunted, stumbling towards the deputy. “Without big ol’ Silverstar ta protect ya? Really? Ya think ya can—oompfh!” The stallion caught a forehoof to the stomach, clutching his torso.
Patience struck down and bleeding all over the saloon floor, Braeburn Apple grabbed Pickaxe and tossed him through the saloon doors, calling, “Git outta here!”
The stallion sailed through the dusk and landed forcefully on his stomach, groaning and cursing his intoxication.
Laughing, Babs Seed smacked Braeburn across the back. “Wowza, Braeburn, youze really showed him!”
“Anythin’ fer you, cuz.” He laughed. “Now,” he began, striding over to the fallen on the floor, “let’s see who our criminal is…”
With a few quick tugs of his iron hooves, Braeburn split the fabric covering the intruder, ripping the black tactical uniform from flank to neck. A simple cutiemark of a fork and knife adorned the stallion’s gray flank. The deputy recognized none of it. The body appeared to have no identification strapped to its shoulders or hooves, and the garment possessed no pockets.
There was, however, one thing of note.
Near his tail, the stallion had been tattooed with a black orange and the initials K.K.
Peering over his victim, Braeburn narrowed his eyes, squinting the letters into clarity. “KK? Does that mean anythin’ ta anypony?”
He glanced back up to the sea of muzzles, some familiar, some strange. All of them shook their heads in the negative. “Tarnation. Well, Ah can’t jus’ leave him here—“ the bartender coughed in annoyance, to Braeburn’s eye-roll—“but Ah can’t bury him alone. Ah’m gonna need a few ponies ta help.”
Near the back of the bar, three seasoned miner-ponies trotted up and assisted the Deputy, carrying the body of the gun-pony between them. They made haste out of the saloon, but not before Braeburn turned to Babs Seed and Apple Bloom and said, a touch of humor in his voice, “Tell Auntie an’ Citrus ta start dinner late. Ah’ve got work ta do.”
~
Appleloosa was abuzz with wild rumors and speculation after the shooting. Traditionally a welcoming, hospitable community, some within the settlement began to fear and resent outsiders, natives of Canterlot, Trottingham, and Manehatten who came for adventure or refuge. Sheriff Silverstar and Deputy Braeburn did their best to stamp out the hostility. They’d scratched their heads, had newspapers from far and wide flown in, and even written to Celestia herself, all for naught. Nopony knew what “KK” meant, or why a stallion with that mark would be in Appleloosa, or why he had turned a weapon on a bar full of innocent ponies.
Resilient beneath the desert sun, Appleloosa’s economy continued to flourish, even as winter knocked on its door. Babs Seed and Apple Bloom were understandably shaken, though both denied it furiously. For the first few days afterwards, sleep eluded all at Braeburn’s abode. Citrus and Libra began to feel old fears creeping through the cracks. Had the ghetto twisted its gnarled roots towards their little slice of paradise? Was the stallion a messenger of Madhoof’s? Had he found them at last?
Nopony knew. Still, they installed a lock on the front door to their dwelling. It was not thieves they feared; materialism meant nothing to them. What little they owned, they could easily part ways with, by force or choice. No, the five Apples in the sand wondered if there were more around the corner, more stallions with pistols and tattoos.
Lock and key kept them out. For now.
~
A week after the shooting, Babs Seed was in the apple orchard again, slaving away for another satisfactory clink of bits in a mason jar. Apple Bloom was assisting Citrus at home, helping her draw up blueprints for the shop of her dreams. Heh. Bloom be good at helpin’ wit dat. Filly can build o’ fix anythin’, I swear. ‘Cept ma accent.
Throughout seven long years, Babs Seed had been unable to shake her speech. At first, she’d been hesitant to do so. Like the nick in her ear, she believed some reminders were necessary, some evidence of where she had been and who she was then. The city accent was one such remnant of Manehatten, the place she’d been born and raised and fled for higher things. And to higher things she would stay. A promise is a promise. Not dat I would want ta go ta such a wretched place anymo’. Buck dat.
Filling up another basket full of apples, Babs Seed dragged a fresh basket to another tree. December was impeding now, winter thundering its hooves on their oak. Soon, the snow would come, painting everything white and clean again. Perhaps then, she reasoned, the townsponies and her own suspicion would calm. Soon would come a new year, tabula rasa, and once the snow melted, the wild. Into the wild she would go, and find that gold and that silver and that oil, that adventure and glory.
CRUNCH, CRUNCH.
Babs Seed spun around.
There.
Behind a large chunk of sandstone ducked an orange blur, the figure shorter and leaner than Babs Seed. Babs wasted no time, taking to her hooves towards the boulder, pushing off her hindhooves with all her might.
This time, Babs timed her tempo perfectly, and just as she reached the rock, the blur caught scent of its pursuer. It darted from behind the sandstone and rushed towards town. Not dis time!
Gulping down oxygen, lifeblood stirring and rushing much-needed energy towards her muscles, Babs Seed pounded her hooves against the dust, over and over, thundering her speed. Her prey turned to look back at her, foolish and weak. Babs Seed stretched her forehooves again and pounced.
CRASH!
Two orange coats of fur struggled against each other, the one with a red-and-pink two-tone mane to match possessing far more than the upper hoof. Babs pinned her quarry to the torched terrace and screeched into the ear of the…
… Buffalo?
“Who are youze?!? Why were youze spyin’ on me?!”
Trapped beneath the weight of the mare, the Buffalo cow squirmed and gasped, flailing her cloven hooves uselessly across the sand. “Please! Please, let me go! Let me explain!” she shrieked, struggling to gain a hoof-hold. She yelped in pain as two powerful fetlocks overcame her own forehooves, pressing them down into the desert. She shook her head rapidly, so fast that the two eagles’ feathers on her headband were poised to take to the air after their rightful owner. “Please! I didn’t mean you any harm!”
“Likely story!” Babs growled, utilizing all of her might to keep the Buffalo trapped under her. An’ I respected youze kind. Horseapples. “Youze the same one who was spyin’ on me a week ago?”
“Yes! Yes! It was me! Please! I beg of you, let me go! You’re… hurting… me…”
The Buffalo cow tilted her head back and gazed deep into those emerald eyes, her own copper shining with wretched tears. “Please…” She gasped, the weight of the pony thrusting her into the blazing sand sending waves of pure agony through her body. The sand scorched her stomach, mocking her hesitation. “Please, Babs Seed, please let me go.”
Mouth agape, Babs Seed backed one hindhoof off her, and then another. She pressed her forehooves down, hard, keeping the flailing Buffalo hostage. “How do youze know ma name?! Huh?! Who are youze?!”
“I’m…” Coughing, the Buffalo choked, “I’m Little Strongheart… Daughter of the leader of the Buffalo tribe, Chief Thunderhooves… Warden of the Spirit World… High priestess of The Great Mystery…”
“Great Mystery”? “Spirit World”? Is dat like… The Most High?
Cautiously, letting her adrenaline rush freely, Babs Seed released Little Strongheart from her grasp. She stood tall on all four hooves, several feet taller and many pounds of sinew and muscle stronger. Gaze glued to every minute movement, the mare watched in silence as the cow stumbled to her cloven hooves, sputtering sand, shaking herself back into reality.
Little Strongheart panted and glared at her. “I didn’t even do anything to you! What’s wrong with you?!”
“Youze were spyin’ on me, like I said, an’ youze admitted! Now, where I come from, iffa somepony’s spyin’, it’s not fo’ a good reason.” Babs lips drew back in a snarl. “So, spill youze beans all ova the sand, befo’ I strike youze down again!"
“Violence solves nothing,” Strongheart hissed, brushing sand out of her coat. “My tribe learned that lesson long ago. And as one of Braeburn’s kin, you should know that, too.”
“An’ how, exactly, do youze know dat ‘bout me? What, are youze gonna tell me ma favorite color o’ summat, too?”
“It’s yellow.”
Dammit. Keeping a wary distance from Strongheart, Babs Seed harrumphed. “So youze got lucky. Whateva. I guess youze jus’ been spyin’ on me long ‘nough ta know ma name, an’ dat I’m related ta Braeburn, an’ what color ma fillyfriend is.”
Little Strongheart smirked. “You think that’s all I know? You’re funny, Babs Seed. No. You ponies are funny. Your eyes are wide open, yet, you are blind. Your ears are pricked, but they are deaf. Your nostrils may flare, but they detect nothing.”
“I don’t have time fo’ youze riddles!” Babs exclaimed, taking a heavy hoof-step towards the Buffalo. “Tell me what youze know, an’ why youze were heeya, o’ I’ll buck youze teeth in. There was a shootin’ heeya recently, as I’m sure youze have heard, so forgive me iffa I’m not exactly welcomin’ ta strangers who spy on me.”
“Yes, I have heard. And I have also heard that you are seeking to go into the wild,” Little Strongheart said, nudging towards the Appleloosian city limit, that invisible dividing line between orchards and desert. “I can help you. I can offer you guidance. I can help you learn what you will need to know to survive. That is part of the reason I was spying on you.
“The other part, you might not believe.”
Babs Seed raised an eyebrow. “Youze be surprised the kinda things I’ve been through, an’ the kind o’ things I would believe. Hit me wit’ youze best shot.” Not literally, o’ I’ll buck youze teeth in.
Joining her side, Little Strongheart extended a hoof in friendship. “Before I tell you that, please, allow me to make a proper introduction. I promise not to spy on you, Apple Bloom, or anypony else from this day forward. I promise to help you and tell you what I know. And I hope you would promise not to… How did you say it? ‘Buck my teeth in.’” She beamed, burying a brewing laugh.
Babs Seed glanced at the cloven hoof, then at Little Strongheart, then back to her hoof, then back to her eyes again. Little Strongheart was small enough that she possessed no real physical threat, and a glance across her hooves revealed no hidden weapons. The deal weighing heavily in her favor, Babs grinned and shook hooves. “Alright, youze got a deal. Now, tell me what youze know.”
Little Strongheart sat on her haunches and smiled at her new friend. “While Buffalo do not have cutiemarks like you ponies do, we all have special talents. They just do not declare themselves on our flanks. And like yours, each of ours are unique. Me, I am sensitive to the Spirit World, the Source From Which All Things Flow, the Ground of Being, the undercurrent of reality from which all magic springs.”
“Magic?” Babs Seed said. “I am an Earth pony. I have no need fo’ magic.”
Little Strongheart shook her head and chuckled. “Ah, that is where you are wrong, Babs Seed. Earth ponies have magic—in some sense, it is the strongest magic of all. Your magic is from the Earth, from the ground, from the chasms beneath the mantle, all the way down to the core of our Earth. Of our being.”
So dat explains why me an’ Citrus got cold in Canterlot. The cobblestone. It separates us. But what ‘bout places like Manehatten? Where Earth ponies live all year ‘round? Is dat why everypony is the way dey are? Is dat why I was so unhappy? “Go on…”
“Well,” Strongheart continued, “it was only a few weeks ago that I felt a surge of magic, a swing of power, near our camp. You see, we are wanderers. Nomads. Vagabonds, as you ponies would say. We follow the seasons and the growth of our food. The desert grows our food. We have no need for planting. And we are closer to Appleloosa this time of year, before the snows come. So, I felt this upswing of magic, this potential and surge and channel, and I needed to find it.
“So, I staked out the orchard, waiting for it to come again. And then you trotted in and started harvesting, and I knew I found the source.”
Silence.
“Babs Seed,” Little Strongheart said, picking up one of the mare’s forehooves, “you have incredible power and magic for an Earth pony. You… you might just be as powerful as the mare who made these trees grow, long, long ago.”
Aunt Barbara’s orchard rustled in the autumn breeze.
“Youze kiddin’ me… Me? Powerful? Youze don’t know a thing ‘bout me,” Babs dismissed, removing her forehoof from Little Strongheart’s grasp.
“We’ve already established that I do. Far more than you would like to admit,” Strongheart argued, stern. “You say you want to go out into the wild? You want adventure? You want to explore? I will not stop you. I will only bless you. Because you have the ability, the power, to achieve whatever you wish.”
“So, is dis like a hobby o’ youze o’ summat? Goin’ ‘round, tellin’ random ponies dat dey have special powers?” Babs scoffed, shaking her muzzle. “Give me one good reason I should believe youze. Jus’ one.”
Little Strongheart rose to her hooves, pointing them towards the horizon. “I will give you that and many more, if you seek and find me. For now, your heart is closed, and you will not listen to me. You are not ready, yet, to go into the wild. You are waiting for winter to pass. So am I. Once spring comes, my tribe will stampede, and we will take off beyond the horizon, into the wild. And if you want to follow us there, you can. Nopony related to Braeburn is unwelcome in our presence.”
Offering one last parting smile, Little Strongheart sprang off her nimble hooves, bounding towards the sandstone and the cliff-faces, leaving Babs Seed in her dust.
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2275382
Welp, new chapter is up for whenever you're ready, my friend!
Ah! Black Keys for the opening! best. Chapter. EVER!
Dat rising action.
Seriously, when I saw this line
My first thought was "Oh boy, shit's about to get real."
I also kind of guessed that Little Braveheart was the one spying on Babs. The title kind of gave it away. But then Babs caught her and she explained why she was spying.
Now that part, I have mixed feelings about.
When she said that Babs has special powers, I'll admit I became a touch worried. Super-Babs would kind of wreck this story, in my opinion. But then I thought about it, and realized that I trust you enough not to give her super powers.
Still, kind of unnerving. I mean, does this mean she has some sort of connection to the Earth that allows her to like, sense stuff, maybe? The best guess I have is that she would be some sort of walking compass (as I typed that, I remembered that they forgot their compasses.
). Or maybe she, can, umm... Talk to trees?
She'll be pretty good at communicating with Fluttershy if that is true.
Overall, it was a pretty awesome chapter. Makes me want more. MOAR I SAY!
-RisingOne
Ok, this is one of my personal pet peeves here... the so-called "guns cause crime" fallacy.
Let us look a cities such as Miami, or Houston, or several other larger major cities where the law abiding citizens are allowed to not only own, but carry firearms. Yes, they still have crime, but the rate of violent crime involving firearms is lower than you would expect.
Now, let us look at cities such as Chicago, Washington DC, New York, Los Angeles, where the ownership of firearms is very restricted, and the private carry is virtually forbidden by law. The violent crime rates are through the roof.
Let us look further now.
In the first cities mentioned, the biggest majority of firearms related crime happen to be when you have one gang going after another. The rate of violent crime against law abiding citizens is significantly lower. In the second group of cities, not only do they have inter-gang related crime to deal with, but violent crimes against law-abiding individuals is through the roof as well.
Think about it. In DC or New York, the average citizen is virtually FORBIDDEN to even own a firearm, much less use one. Those who choose to be the wolves amongst society know this, and know all their targets have been turned into lambs with "eat me, please" signs velcroed to them. In the cities where lawful carry of firearms is permitted, the wolves know very well that their intended victims might just put a hole in their foreheads big enough to watch TV through.
On a related note, though statistics compiled over several decades by the FBI and Justice Department, it has been discovered that over 50% of violent criminals that are apprehended are caught by the intended victim, who just happened to be armed. Also, it is estimated by the Justice Department that only 10% of failed violent crime attempts get reported, where as with the remaining 90% of the time, once the "wolf" realizes that the "lamb" he was about to assault/rob has teeth that look a lot like a .357 Magnum, the just turn tail and run.
So, PLEASE, do not feed into the BS that guns "cause" crime.
MOAR!
2277971 Maybe not in other cities. But crime rates in Manehatten increasing is expected. After all the ultimate villain and
complete jerkassinsane puppetmaster Bernie Madhoof is controlling everything.Oh, the Apples are known far and wide.
2277971
This isn't a rant about gun control. I think I can understand how you stipulated that from the chapter, but a few points against you:
1. This is a work of fiction.
2. New technologies are often tested, used, and abused using trial and error techniques. Somepony is bound to do lots of incredibly stupid crap that 'levels the playing field,' as it were.
3. Mass emigrations and waves of exodus into smaller, tighter communities bring a lot of paranoia and mistrust until these strangers prove themselves to the local communities. Usually.
4. This is a work of fiction.
I felt I had to put that one twice.
2277928
Or it could have to do with her size and strength? There are plenty of fics that portray earth pony magic as basically super strength and healing.
Anyway, interesting chapter. Odd seeing a King's Knight out here in Appleoosa... It's possible that he went out there independently, but unlikely. I suspect that he was under direct orders for the king of mixed red and yellow himself.
In regards to the whole Strong Heart spying on Babs thing, it seems slightly random to be introducing fantasy concepts like 'destiny' and 'shift of earthly power' into what has otherwise been serious drama/noir/coming of age hybrid thing. But, I guess you know what you're doing, so... I won't complain or criticize. Just,you know, exercise caution and restraint when it comes to powering up your character. Babs already has a huge advantage in a fight purely because she's big enough to break anyone that crosses her in two. It almost makes me think of Silver Storm, but somehow with less Subtlety.
I'm sorry, that last pun was bad.
fc05.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2011/346/9/7/fluttershy_squee_by_yourfaithfulstudent-d4iymty.png
Awsome chapter. Keeps getting better and better. Oh, and here's more awsome lyrics:
"It's to the blood we sing and burn
Thousand blackbirds on a string return
There's a solitary sun too high
Gone without the chosen one, goodbye
The ashes scatter
Burning Jacob's ladder
I'm afraid I might fade away"
2278630
Ooh, I forgot about the enhanced strength thing. That could work, too.
2277893
Thanks!
Black Keys are indeed awesome.
2277971
For what it's worth, I fully support the Second Amendment. I have absolutely no issue with citizens owning guns. The statement was from Braeburn's perspective as a deputy, and the "explosion in crime" from his perspective has to do with firearms becoming available to Earth ponies/pegasi. But is it really? Perhaps there is some other reason that excrement is starting to make contact with the rotating blades of a cooling device?
I'm sorry if this came across as being pro-gun control, that was not my intention. The good guy with the gun stops the bad guy with the gun, after all...if Braeburn hadn't been there, who knows who that Knight may have shot. 
2277928
Thanks, RisingOne! I'm glad you enjoyed this chapter. Regarding the Little Strongheart thing, 2278630 raised an excellent point. Maybe it's not so much that Babs will be able to talk to Fluttershy's in the desert (lawl) or navigate by instinct (though they should probably get some compasses even so). Maybe it's not something new, some kind of new "power"....we'll see.
2278302
MOAR shall be had, my friend!
2278356
2278430
Agreed on all four (well, three) points.
A bit confused by the bemused AJ face though (
), perhaps it's because I'm still waking up, LOL.
2278630
2278930
LOL!
>Inb4 Babs x Fluttershy 
2278958
Thanks, Quakescape! Glad you liked it!
And now I gotta go listen to that awesome song...
2279309 Sorry that I came off the way I did. Normally, I would have let it pass, but last night, my anger was more in control, and for that, I do apologize.
2279321
No worries, my friend.
It's all good.
2279309 I have seen stranger pairings
2279382
Same.
2279957 Big macintosh x Human discord
2279309
Only cause its AJ.
I don't like how it made the stories look
2280100
fc02.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2011/289/9/a/big_macintosh_nope_avi_by_baxtermega-d4d2udj.png
2280315
Ohh, of course! I should've realized.
Best Mane Six deserves all the emoticons. 
And I forgot to say, yes, they are known far and wide. For better or for worse.
2280336
I agree. The text is too bold and the italics are too light.
Edit: ^ This appears to be only happening on my mobile version...with Firefox on Windows 7, it looks normal now... WTF knighty?
Oh, damn...KK's in Appleoosa...
2281039 And this sudden writer's block makes me angry.
2281051
Eeyup.
2281063
Try listening to some music. That usually helps me get into the zone.
I really liked this chapter and you've done excellent work as always... the reveal where Libra finally told Babs what it was that her father was going to try was as jarring as it was emotional which I think is what you were going for, I loved it. It also reinforces (to me at least) Bab's cutie mark being about protecting others... and let me tell you, there is nothing more dangerous than the person trying to protect the person they love (or ponies in this case) and although they don't know it's meaning yet, the "King" has made a mistake by revealing his knight in such a manner... now it means they have a starting point to work from.
"Never get caught up in the idea of your own invincibility, it is the surest way to find just how mortal you really are." (quote I used in an RPG a few years ago)
2285430
Thanks, Shadow_Wolf! You're exactly right on the Libra reveal part. Agreed...nothing more dangerous than someone protecting someone they love, at all cost.
Love that quote. Let's see how/if it applies to Madhoof throughout this universe.
2285669
Thank you and glad you liked the quote... if it's one thing I'm good at it seems to be coming up with stuff like that and hopefully it shall apply to he who would be king later on... I await the next chapter with great anticipation as always
2285950
You do seem quite good at that, my friend.
New chapter should be up by late Wednesday my timezone at the latest.
sorry about not commenting, but skyrim was calling, and i had to answer the phone
wait, a knight in appleoosa?
2292349
No worries, my friend! I know that feel very well!
And Dash is exactly right...
2293498
hmm... you know many things, including the [REDACTED], is this your attempt at sending a knight-assassin (oxy-awesome-moron) to send babs to the void?
2294158
All shall be seen in good time, my friend. Either here or in SR.
2307349>>2307421
25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mcz617rSy01r38j04o1_500.gif
It's good to have you back, Wayword. Amazing poetry, ten mustaches!!!!!
2307534
Been doin' pretty good, but missin' youze poems!
BraeBurnXStrongheart?
Booya.
2316572
Hmmm...now I gotta do that in a story sometime.
Probably not this one though.
I have never seen an author develop better feels for antagonists. You've made me love silver spoon, start to like diamond tiara, and as I've mentioned before I wanted to hurt hoity toity SO FREAKING BAD. But now madhoof has won the "villain who must die painfully" award. You have reached the very deepest part of my anger with the magnificent way you have portrayed his character. I swear if I could I would do things to him that would make him regret ever setting his very being into existence. I hope Babs gives him the beating of his life that he will remember beyond his vile grave.
I am not meaning to upset you with this, I love the way you have portrayed him and I have never seen an author that has mastered the manipulation of feels like you do. Your are the master of emotions and hammer for an anvil in this sense. The only thing I can think of that could ever feel the need for improvement in this series is the pacing, it feels a little slow sometimes but even pacing is mostly spot on for me. Anyway very much looking forward to more. You have inspired me.
*nods head in approval* amazing. Just... Wowza. You're a BraeburnXLittle Strongheart fan, I take it? :D
What is one of Madhoof's King's Knights doing in Appleloosa?
That cannot be good.
This was a nice coming of age story for Babs and Apple Bloom. Now it suddenly turned into a Western. And then just as quickly, Little Strongheart rolls along and tells Babs she is The One making this the beginning of an epic adventure story. A lot of blending genres here. I like it!
This is an interesting take on Little Strongheart as sort of a mystic shaman type.
3654234 now all we need is a pony named "Nobody" and we'll have spaghetti western too
Oh on oh no oh no oh no
This is bad this is very bad
6068901
Been a while since I read this..... Enlighten me?