Many More Months

It was still as dark as it was when they laid themselves down for slumber, when their hostess woke them. Still very groggy, they bathed, and dressed themselves in clothes set aside very purely, for work. They knew they would need it. None of them asked about breakfast, not wanting to impose. Very simply, they stepped outside and let the now, boot wearing, Applejack tell them what to do. Which was the same for each. Pick apples.

Applejack told them the baskets were in the barn. Spike, and Fluttershy took off. Twilight lingered however, having recovered mostly from this mornings shocking circumstances. Or rather, she walked with Applejack, trying to get her attention.

"Excuse me, Applejack," Twilight said, still at her side.

"Call me A.J." A.J continued walking.

"A.J, I don't think simply picking apples, will help you much."

A.J, glanced at her.

"Let me explain," she cleared her throat,"for one, the trees look as if they haven't been pruned in a long time. Two they aren't very orderly, it'd be alot easier to harvest the apples if they were in rows, a-,"

"Pardon me Twi, you know that magic uhh, right?" They stopped.

"Uhm, yes."

"So you can levitate things, an' that kinda stuff?"

"Yes, most people who take on magic do." Twilight said a-matter-of-factly.

"Ya' know where that'd be real useful?"

"Uhhrm-"

"In tha' orchord. Pickin' apples."

Twilight stared a second, before Applejack gently turned her in the direction of the barn, and gave a light shove. Twilight shrugged and began her walk to the barn in submission, as she could expect many months in this situation.

Spike was already hard at work. Only working hard because Twilight asked him to. If it were up to him he would be hid away, deep in a coma like trance. Probably in a maddening dream. He picked apples off any tree he could. Despite his dislike for Applejack, he would not let anyone have a reason to call him lazy. He picked the apples, placing them in the basket. He did this for hours. His stomach begged of him to eat. He didn't. Every time he filled up the basket he took it to the cart he was directed to, with the hope that someone would tell him to stop. He kept working as hard as he could. Which in all honesty, was quite easy. The only real chore was holding the basket.

Spike paused. He heard a loud noise, from deep within the acres of trees. He didn't know what it was. He let the basket stay in it's spot, while he went farther. He was getting closer, as the noise was louder. It was an agitating, thumping noise. But loud none the less. He started to feel uneasy. He brushed his left hand across his jacket breast, assuring himself that his gun was there. The thumping kept getting louder, and louder. Sometimes it would stop for a moment, then continue.

He walked past two trees that had grown close, and now he had pond the source of this noise. He looked to see the man who held him at gunpoint, yesterday. Now he was bare chested, and didn't wear that large hat, revealing that the scarf he wore, wrapped around his head, occasional tufts of hair poking out. But his unusual attire was not what really stole his attention. What did was what he was doing. Spike saw this man, not picking apples from the tree. Not shaking the apples from the tree. But punching the tree, so that they fell, a good amount landing in the baskets that lay around. Those that did not he would simply toss those into the basket, then resume his feat of strength. All Spike knew of the tree was that it held whitish, pink leaves that concealed its precious fruit.

Spike watched the brute, as he went around more trees, of a similar species, repeating his example of power. Spike was never one to be amazed, but this was something that left even his jaw upon the ground. Spikes focus went towards the man himself again, as he brought a basket back towards the others. He was easily eight feet tall, if not more. And his skin looked to have been burned, as one side held a beautiful bronze tone, while the other was scarred and melted. Spike grimaced. It all reminded him of his old 'ability' and why he was taken from him. He snapped back to reality, and realized, how much of a stalker he cam across as at the moment. He left, back to picking his apples for the day. As he could expect many months of this same, old, routine.

Fluttershy, while always a bit nervous was in a fantasy land. She walked round and round the orchards, plucking that apples from their sire's branch's. She could expect many months of this paradise. And she knew it. Was she in the fabled lands of the after life? No of course not. But it certainly felt as though that were true. Here she felt free of any, and all fear, save for her fear of heights. She almost wanted to fly. But no, every one has their limits. And that was hers. She hummed a tune to her self, feeling free of any worldly responsibilities. Next deciding on a break, as the sun was at its highest.

She settled under a much taller of the, usually, short and wide trees. It made her feel safe. Like it could wrap her in its limbs, and protect her from what she fears in this life. She took off her chelsea boots,(artificial leather of course) and simply rested. No fear. No pain. No humiliation. Just this.

Applejack, was not as happy as she seemed. No where near as happy. She felt old, at just thirty. But she knew why she felt this way. Unfortunately, yes, she did. She did not partake in the apple picking today, which only meant, to her at least, she would need to pick up the slack tomorrow. Tonight she would lay her body down early, simply to insure that she could. for today she was forced into a different type of labor.

It was only around noon. But she had put this off, as long as she could, taking a well deserved bath, after shooing off Twilight. Very depressed like she sat at her families heirloom in the corner of the lounge, a desk made from the first apple tree they had ever grown. Its wood, a beautiful hue. She felt it obligational for this to help her in the following task. Liquid filling up her eyes, she sat her hat down, to the side giving her enough room to do what she must. She almost cringed at the scrape of the wood as she opened the drawer, to withdraw a fountain pen, and a parchment. With a sigh, edging on a whimper, she got to work.

Dear, Applebloom

I know you miss me, and being on the farm. But there are reasons beyond the tribals, what ever their name might be. I know you didn't want to miss me and the land. I already said that. Mama and daddy brought us here hoping we could grow our apples in peace. But I missed that all up. I thought we was helping folks. I didn't think they would be so cut-throat with us when I said I had to stop giving them away and that I needed something in return. The only friend I got out here is some tall guy who can't talk good but he's like kin to me, and he would be to you. But that's my fault. I'm sorry you can't be here, but you wouldn't want to be here if you knew the whole reason you can't. I'm dying. I don't know how or why, but I am. And I don't want you to see me go. It would be too rough on a girl your age, to see her big strong sister wither away into nothing. I know granny does not have much more time, but she has more than me. I'm sorry I'm leaving you. I don't want to leave you, and its unfair. But if you have to blame anyone blame me. Just please promise your self you won't grow up to be an big old idiot like me. Get an education, because after I'm gone the apples aren't farmers no more. Again I'm sorry. I never were much of a writer, so I'm sorry I have to cut this so short. Just know that I will always love you, and I'll be with mama and daddy always watching you, in the sky. It will be our true paradise. What we thought Arcadia would be.

Love, your sister, Applejack.

The poor, woeful slid her paper to the right, so her tears would not ruin it, as her head collapsed into her arms, crying horribly into them. Pathetic sobs, being the only noise in the home at the moment. It was true, every thing she had written. She was dying. Of some illness she knew nothing of. Only that sometimes she cried blood, which made her fearful to cry in the first place. She would be gone soon. And all she could hope for, was that the stories she heard of, the afterlife, were true. She didn't want to die. No one did.

The day was coming fast to a close, the sun setting, and shooting its rays through the multi-colored leaves of the trees, and almost seemed to reach out and crab the farm, as if to pull it back into the forest, and more. The two farmers and the three who hand lent their hand sat around the table, Fluttershy, as one would expect, was eating as she was very hungry having not had supper last night. The only sound was the noise of silverware making scrapes along the plates, and the crunching of the fruit each of them ate. Be it apple, or celery.

You didn't have to know the woman, to tell she was deep in thought. Applejack barely ate her food. Which almost opposed her display last night, in which she almost shoveled the food down. If that weren't enough, she looked as if she was on the verge of tears the entire time. No one knew of the letter. At this moment only she did. And that is why she seemed this way because she was.

Author's Note:

Alright, some feels comin' at ya'. As always leave questions and criticism below please.

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Arcadia - Sir Alexander Wolfgang

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