> Friendship Hearts
>  by Silver Letter
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Ep1: Peppermint Drops 2
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	I bless ponies for having hearts made of sugar. It’s part of who I am, my simple and complicated life. I come from candy. I come from those that make it but it’s far more than that, more than the fact that I am so devoted to the delicious powder that so many of us call ‘white gold’. My mother described to me how a heart is so sweet that it allows us to attract one another like bees to pollen. I can remember it so vividly. She made sweets all day and the memories of it burned in my head, an imprint of love. The strongest scent of sugar would come from my mother’s body long after her stacks of cookies were made. It’s a scent strong enough to taste on cold mornings when she would hover by the edge of my bed and give me some to eat. She told me that the tongue was one way our hearts felt the world around us and that ponies make candy to feed our hearts. It’s why we call our loved ones sweetheart. 

As if to fulfill my mother’s words, I had fallen for a mare who is literally sweet. Sweetie Drops was her name, the mare I met all those sugar coated years ago when I was a foal. She was another teacher in my life who taught me everything I needed to make my first candy on my own. Sweetness has a way of sticking around through our memories, reminders of pleasure and love. I remembered it more than most other things. My first batch of Peppermint Drops wasn’t perfect. I burned them a little and it filled my kitchen with smoke. When I paced around before Sweetie arrived to see me, I tasted something sour like I was chewing on a lemon. My mother never cared for sour tastes. She would say that it meant something different. It’s there when we are feeling down or are afraid. We use that word for more than mere taste too. Nopony wants to have a sour attitude after all. The sweetness of a kiss and the smell of sugar clinging to my coat made that day all so special. We recall our first time together every year. 

What I learned about our hearts only made more sense as I grew up. Being a candy maker has the power to bring it to life. Parents always sugarcoat their words around their own foals; the little ones are the biggest consumers of my product. It’s just one way that candy bridges two ponies together. Sometimes, they really need it. I can tell when a pony wants some candy to make peace with a significant other. A colt that comes to buy candy might want to strike the right spark to start something special. It can be a moment of truth or a last resort. Sweetness is all too familiar to us all. We just use it in different ways. 

For me, sugar has always been a part of my life. It’s always in my thoughts. I’m sure if my heart was extracted, it would be as pure white as bone. For me and Sweetie, our Peppermint Drops form the jewel adorning our relationship. I don’t know where we would be without something so unique. Its taste and the way our mouths cool like we had dropped ice against our tongues was really just for us and us alone. 

I make candy every morning and I make plenty. I start work early in the morning when few others are awake and it has been like that since I first gained the responsibility of opening our shop when I turned 18 and graduated from school. Sweetie still thinks I should go to Canterlot and pursue some formal education. But she’s almost 30 and has gone through all that already. She thinks a culinary institution would be great for me; one that can open doors for me just by being there. But I don’t feel a fire burning under me for change. I’m the kind of pony to stay in bed rather than to face a cold morning. I see that I’m twenty and I still have a long time to think about it. 

We run a joint shop together on Mane Street. We were always on the move. Moving up as Sweetie called it. The western side of town by a stream or near one of the unicorn neighborhoods. Each place gave us more room so we bumped elbows and rumps less and less. From one cheap oven to two brand new ones where we live now. A chef always needs her space and there are two of us. Two different things being made in the same place. This is how it’s always been. When Sweetie bakes, the place is permeated by the smell of chocolate. She is a chocolatier after all. My specialty is peppermint. I love the way it sounds when I crack it into chunks and its overpowering taste that’s like nothing else. Being that it is a part of my name, it could sound rather obvious. Don’t make fun though. It takes time to realize even something so close to one’s sugary heart. 

I can only describe our place as perfect. Space is so premium that we are grateful to have so much. Our location is where everypony goes to shop in the evenings, and we are across from the most popular florist in town too. How convenient, I must say. Then again, I’ve worked long enough here to see how having that much traffic is a double-edged sword. If I fail to open the shop at eight AM sharp, the ponies might even bang on the doors. Ponies here can be obsessed over a few sweets. So many hooves step through that our welcome mat is all worn out. I am always manning the counter or working to make another batch of peppermint something. Candy canes, mint swirls, or perhaps peppermint bark. 

Of course there are lulls in the year. The beginning of spring is when a lot of ponies’ taste for all things sweet wanes, especially peppermint. They really gobble it up from the first snowfall to Winter Wrap Up. The cold season for cold candy that we crunch between our teeth. Chocolate does remain popular enough that Sweetie makes it up to late spring. Lately, I have to shrug my shoulders a lot at their requests since she’s been out of town on a hunt for rare ingredients. She does that on occasion to get really valuable stuff for new recipes. She loves to get out of the house; more than I do so she’s always off to Manehattan or to some obscure natural reserve. When she’s gone, I am left in charge full time but with spring started, ponies are more interested in playing outside than candy.

I don’t waste time; when nopony is here, I’ll sweep the floor and write orders for new ingredients like flour and peppermint. When I do, I think about her being off at some distant city or floating down a river on a raft, taking in the sweet air of a rainforest. I would love to go with her one of these days but the bills are tough and we would have to hire an assistant to cover for us while the shop is running. For a year or so, we have been on the fence about it. We can’t afford to just close the shop and lose all that revenue. Summer is something else entirely. 

I continue to write, all hunched over my notepad like an old pony, taking down costs and delivery times and such basic things. It’s still early and the pale morning light brightens my front displays. Ponies walk to school and to work outside my shop. 

A customer clatters the front door. The bell attached rings. I spring to life and flash a beaming smile as the mare walks in. 

“Welcome to Peppermint Drops, the shop for all things chocolate and sweet!” We think it is fitting to name our shop after our signature candy, although it’s too special to sell to just anypony. It’s hard to explain why. It’s just special to us. I came up with the slogan when I was little. I am not embarrassed to still say it even if it a bit childish and nopony else really has a slogan. 

It has to be her. The richest mare in town. She’s a special kind of pompous sort, a gold chain wearer, and decadent nose raiser. The dreadful name of Spoiled Rich. I can never forget it. It’s imprinted on my mind too. She’s middle aged but isn’t all that good looking unlike her daughter. She tries to use lots of makeup to conceal it and make her look like she was graced with a little beauty to match her wealth. I was never fooled. She’s the mother of Diamond Tiara, the filly that used to bully everypony in my class, the tormentor that hated many of us being a ‘blank flank’; the ponies that hadn’t yet gotten their cutie marks, their special talents in life. Would she ever apologize? Not on her life. 

She still has that same smug strut. That same look of unblemished wealth. She needs jewelry specially made to not slip off her tiny hooves. A black leather purse is worn around her neck and it hangs by her side. Looks like one that costs a whole lot of money. 

Along with every other business on Mane Street, we sometimes have rich customers come in. I don’t stereotype and some of them are pretty decent and tip sometimes. Even when they don’t, we can’t afford to turn them away. We know better even though I personally think Mrs. Rich is contemptible. The only good thing is that they typically place orders ahead of time. They even pay us via check every month. The candy is already waiting for her thanks to Sweetie Drops. 

“Where is Ms. Drops? She usually gives me my order in person,” the mare says with a heavy inflection. 

“I’m sorry. She had to go to Manehattan for the weekend,” I reply. I excuse myself to get her chocolate. I always hate it when she speaks and I do want to grab the order and get her out of there. I don’t feel sorry to think that. Even she was probably born with a heart of sugar but her words are made of bile. 

I give the lovely red box over to Mrs. Rich. Next to it is a small sample wrapped in white wax paper. The pickiest of clients got to have a little taste test before they took it home. As much as I dislike this mare, I had to think about her when I made her candy. I watch her unwrap it and place the small chocolate bite against her teeth. She cuts it in two and takes half into her mouth, swirling the chocolate around with her tongue. Her eyes narrow like she was some kind of food critic but that’s normal for those so absorbed in their own opinions. I know that she is tasting the red velvet filling. It’s my recipe. The candy is probably for her daughter. Diamond Tiara loves the color red most. The chocolate is extra sweet. That is Sweetie’s doing and it is a good idea since the extra sugar must suppress her mother’s urge to vomit out something hurtful like a cat hacking a hairball on my welcome mat. 

Mrs. Rich swallows the candy and her heavy demeanor seems to subside at least a little. Her brow relaxes but she doesn’t smile. “It is splendid. Give my regards to Ms. Drops.” She grabs the box and is soon gone to bother somepony else. I sigh and lean against the counter as soon as she is gone. My cheeks are sore from having to keep up a fake smile the entire time. I am ready for a break and the day has just started. I heard that she is a boss of one of her father’s companies and she is a bully just like her daughter was in the schoolyard. At least Tiara managed to change her attitude even if her mother never will. I’ve long ago stopped believing that her sort will ever change. I hope that the day can only get better from here at least. 

More shoppers out on their morning strolls comes in to sample some of the candy and to buy trays for their families, their friends or themselves. I sell a fair amount. We’re pretty successful despite relocating ourselves often enough. When we started, ponies were not so eager to try us out but word of mouth is easily the best way to get popular in a small town. I sure know the power of words when everypony knows everypony. When noon comes and I can finally close the shop, I take off my apron. We normally quit to clean up in the evening but today is anything but normal. I set out the card saying that we are closed. It is just a half day. 

After I close the curtains and clean up at double time, I pack up a small ice chest and sling it over my back. Everything is ready. I turn off the back light. I then go out into the streets of Ponyville. 




I should have worn a jacket or at least a hat in case it started raining. It is spring after all and pretty muggy. As if a warning, I walk past a deep puddle at the side of the road. My wavy reflection stares back. I think about where all the years went. My hair still has curls at the ends but has definitely flattened since my school days. My teeth are probably the straightest in town. Even more than Tiara’s and I can tell does all manner of things to hers like bleaching and using invisible braces. I know the colts think I’m rather attractive now that I’m older. I don’t lisp when I speak anymore and ponies ask if I ever model for fashion designers. Too bad and so sad for the colts that I’m already taken. Taken by love, by age, by friendship. 

I spring into a light trot going out of town. The road inclines upward where all the roads are dirt in the country. I come to the edge of Sweet Apple Acres, the founding farmland of my home town. Things has not changed much around these parts since I was little. The sweet air used to make my childish mouth drool. I only smile fondly when I visit my friends now. Old Granny Smith had long since retired, leaving the farm to her grandchildren.

I don’t expect to see the elder sister around. She possesses some royal responsibilities, believe it or not. I can’t feign to understand any of it but I have known that she is often at the Friendship Castle. I turn my head and that beautiful spike of crystal catches the sunlight perfectly from here.  

Everything seems well and good today. Chickens are out pecking at the ground and Big Macintosh is pulling a heavy cart. I wave at him. I used to see him a lot but not so much anymore. 

I go and knock at the front door of their farmhouse. The farm filly I know and love answers it. 

“Twist! You’re finally here!” she exclaims. Her strong farm hooves squeezes me as tight as an apple in a cider press. That’s our way of greeting each other. Both formal and yet not at the same time here on the farm. I smile, wide eyed and happy. Afterwards, she brings me into the house.  A lot of old country photos hang from the wall and the place is dominated by wooden things: wood floors, rocking chairs, furniture, and an old fashioned radio in the corner. 

“I know it’s been a long time. I couldn’t wait to see you,” I say. 

We walk into the kitchen where a couple glasses of Apple juice waits. It does look rather appetizing after the walk. Condensation creates a ring of wetness on the wooden table. 

“I couldn’t wait either,” Apple Bloom says. “After your last letter, I was just so excited to talk to you in person.”

I sit down and giggle. “It seems so much has happened lately. Has anything changed around here since I last visited?” 

Apple Bloom thinks about it for a moment while I sip the ice cold juice but she shrugs her shoulders. 

“Well, we’re painting the barn and getting a new harvest going. Uh, Apple Fritter is dating again apparently.”

Apple Bloom is rather gorgeous with her wavy red hair and strong body. It’s a part of what attracts me to this place. That was before I met Sweetie Drops. Bloom was my first friend and when she grew up, she stopped wearing her bow in lieu of small trinkets like a flower brooch in her mane or a locket tied around her neck. She’s an Apple and she sure bloomed. I find that maturity so pretty. I think her sugary spirit has always been her best part. I love her cutie mark, a shield with an apple in the center. Now that’s a long story to tell. Still, I’m sure that it must have come from her heart.  

We both know that I didn’t come over to talk about the farm. I do care about it but nothing is going on even by the farm’s standards. Apple Bloom is excited to see what I had brought. Earlier over the phone, I did slip an errant hint as to what it is by telling her that it might make her teeth quiver. 

Inside the ice chest lies four large green cold pastries in the shape of ovals, about the width of a foal’s hoof. 

Apple Bloom stares at them eagerly. “Wow, that looks delicious!” she says. She sniffs inside the chest, tilts her head slightly then furrows her brow in thought. “But…what is it?”

I smile and place one on a saucer then cut it in half. “This is a special dessert. A rice cake filled with this frozen apple mixture,” I reply. I had never made a rice cake for anypony before. Sweetie taught me this recipe she got from some fancy restaurant in the west. It took hours to make. As she looks at it with uncertainty, I am reminded of how foreign it might look. No one in our town sells it as far as I know. Not that Apple Bloom would ever turn down an honest gift. The two Apple sisters know their manners. 

She holds it in her hoof and takes a large working filly’s bite. Her teeth works on the rubbery rice cake as she chews it a bit more noisily than I would prefer. The lovely smell rises from it and reaches me from across the table. I am already confident that I can make a candy that is right for her and that rice cake reminds me of her so much. What other candy is tough on the outside and so sweet on the inside? A flush spreads across her cheeks and I know that she can tell, even if she doesn’t know why. It may just make her think of the orchards and of home. 

“I think this is some of the best candy I’ve ever tasted!” she declares. 

She loves it so much that she eats the entire thing and even licks her hoof clean. I finish my glass of juice while she puts the rest of the candies in the ice box. One is for the others to have. 

“Wait right there, Twist. I have something for you too.” Apple Bloom leaves the kitchen for a moment but returns quickly with a basket that is covered with an apple print sheet. She sets it on the floor. 

“You didn’t have to, Apple Bloom,” I say modestly. We exchange gifts a lot but I am not sure what to expect. She removes the sheet and inside is a variety of things. I am blown away by how amazing they are. They are all so pretty: the tall candles, a fine tablecloth and a bottle of the Apple Family’s own wine. Yes, they do have a vineyard. Their label might not be much but the ponies around here swear by it. 

She always knows what to do to make me feel closer to her. She has that certain sparkle in her eyes when she is overjoyed. Seeing it just makes me want to be honest. And I very much want to tell the truth to somepony as important as she. The truth of what is important to me right now. Each of us growing up, moving on with our lives and getting married. Nothing else can matter to us. 

“I just had this feeling that this anniversary of yours is going to be a very important day in your lives. I just wanted to make it a little more special,” she says. 

I giggle and move my chair closer. I don’t want anypony to overhear. I end up whispering my plans to her. She can barely contain her glee and lightly gasps and soon is so happy that she hugs me and even pecks my cheek. If that’s how she reacts, I can’t wait to see how my Sweetie Drops will this evening. 




I have everything ready for her homecoming. All the candles are lit. I made a really rich salad with nuts and a fine vinegar dressing. Our kitchen table looks like something that belongs in a restaurant with that dark blue tablecloth. It is a quarter past six and I hear her clopping right on time. She fumbles for her keys and turns it in the lock. I rest my hooves on the counter, propping my head up and wait casually for her to enter. When she does, she sees me and a weary smile grows on her face. 

“Welcome home, Sweetie,” I call out lovingly. 

“Thanks, honey. I am glad to be back. What a journey that was,” she says. Sweetie has so many bags that I wonder how she can carry it all or even fit through the door. She sets them in a cluster. 

I go beside her. “You brought so much home with you,” I remark, impressed. It looks like she went on a spending spree. 

“I know,” she replies, hugging me. We share a kiss, the first I’ve had in several long days. Long days working alone and nights lying alone. “But it can wait here until tomorrow. Tonight is our anniversary and that’s far more important than anything else in the world.”

Later, we are sitting by candlelight. The food I made is exceptional but the wine easily outshines it. I can’t thank the Apples enough. We go back and forth for a while about her trip to the big city and me handling the daily affairs of the shop all by myself. We both had made a fine time of the last few days. She had a lot of new recipes in mind when she explored the many exotic goods shops in every back alley and in every nook and cranny for something rare. She found a vial of saffron worth its weight in silver and expensive dried berries from dragon country. 

I tell her about how well I did. All her regulars seem to take a liking to me even if I didn’t know their favorite recipes by heart. Everypony knows I’m skilled at candy making in my own way. I don’t fully mention how much I missed her though. I tell her that I do but not that it starts to bleed into my work. My very first batch of chocolate cookies, the most basic of basics, came out too sweet. I just poured way too much sugar in the dough, a silly mistake. But at least that didn’t happen a second time. And yet, I daydreamed about her, often when I crunched numbers to the point where it strained my eyes. I didn’t know how Sweetie manages to do it. 

Some of the candles burn themselves out. We almost finish off the wine too. Sweetie is getting that content look that tells me that the night is still rather young with our nerves drenched in wine as it is. It is still hard to tell where it would end up tonight. Love and liquor has a way of dispelling any sense of fear. We call it inhibition. We ponies like keeping secrets sometimes but we also love to let things out too. I won’t end up with nothing here, not when I am feeling this good. A tingle rushes up my spine. I’ve always make the first move when we are together. It is like tradition. 

I reveal a saucer with a few Peppermint Drops candies on it. She looks at them with her eyelids heavy, almost dreamily so. I hold one with my hoof and reach over to her. She leans forward and takes it in her mouth. I then slide one on my tongue and roll it in. These candies are perfect. The peppermint shell crunches and gives way to its melty core. The flavors blend in a swirl of delight. 

We tell each other how much we love one another. I wait for those words that comes as if the chocolate is a key to feelings kept secret. Before I made Peppermint Drops, I didn’t know that I had made more than a mere candy. I was so happy that it was her I got to first. She is the most important one after all. The first time we used it, she opened her heart to me. It was so long ago and now, I am ready to give something back, and something I feel is more than equal. 

I reveal the round silver jewelry case I was keeping safe. I have no fear or hesitation. All that has been swept away. I am calm, my face and hoof steady. She looks at it as if expecting more chocolate at first but that dissolves as soon as she sees the sparkling red inside. 

The Sweetie I know always takes everything in stride. Her love blooms through long sessions of quiet baking. When her finances aren’t as good as she had hoped, she would never let it rile her temper. I have prepared myself that she will be overjoyed but also as sharp as she ever was. I suppose the thought of getting married is that one exception. The wedding pendant before her appears to consume her. I can see the glittering ruby in the fiery globes of her eyes. 

“I love you very much,” I finally say. “If there are any two ponies that should be together, it should be us. If you accept this, I’ll be the happiest mare ever.” I’m not really good at coming up with things like a proposal. Words aren’t really my thing. I am definitely a practical pony. Always just telling ponies exactly what I feel so I just waited until the moment came. I must admit that it is better than I realistically expected. I didn’t revert to that old stuttering filly that I used to be.

But as soon as the full weight comes down, I shake a bit. I know there is no taking anything back or pretending that something was misspoken. My breath is seized and I can hear every last sound around me. Even the wind outside or the slow flicker of the candle’s flame. 

But it is alright. She moves closer. Cupping her hoof beneath mine, she takes the pendant and puts it over her head. The jewel rests below her neckline. It looks ten times as beautiful with her wearing it. The platinum chain shimmers against her coat. 

“I love you too,” she says. We both embrace and I can feel the cold pendant press against me. We both cry a little. Sugar water streaming down our faces. It’s the good kind when a new part of our lives starts. Suddenly, the last dying candle flickers one last time and dies, plunging the room into darkness. 



 
> Ep2: A Wise Friend
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	I can find no greater peace than with my Sweetie Drops. She does everything for me. She knows when to make things warm and where to put her hooves where I like it. When our intensity rises and when things die down and I start to feel chilly, she pulls me in and her hooves hold me tightly and they are so very protective of me. Our flowery duvet is a fluffy cloud, drifting us to sleep. There is a smell that lingers before I start to dream. It’s a very sweet smell but unique; it’s not like candy or honey or even flowers. We candy makers use our mouths every day. We are adept enough at it to sense our love; each kiss and sweep of our tongue on our coats detects what our hearts must be feeling. Her cutie mark stands out with a taste like hard candy. She tells me that certain parts of me are as cool as mint. Our hooves are small. They’re great for handling delicate objects and doing fine work on candy. Being brittle and soft, we use them very well. When I finally sleep, I think somepony might have spilled a bag of sugar in the room. It’s that strong.



When it is early out and the sun has barely risen, I no longer smell anything. It’s dark in our room. Sweetie’s head rests on my forearm and her mane and tail coats my body. I yawn and prepare myself for the long day ahead. I have to move slowly as to not wake her. She loves to sleep in and today is no exception even though she is going to run the shop by herself, giving me a well-deserved day off. I would rather stay in bed but I have no time for it. There are lots of things for me to do today that demands my attention.

I go to draw a quick bath. I wash myself quickly with my rose soap. It’s a soap from Roseluck, one of the Flower Fillies and our close friends. The soap is a fine gift and I use it every day. Us five love to hang out and talk. Ponies see us as the most feminine mares around without a doubt; we’re not the ones to talk to about rodeos or working outdoors. Gardening is another matter of course. We’re busy at the shop a lot so we don’t see each other every day but when we do, it’s always at a picnic or sometimes we have a tea party together in Daisy’s shaded garden. I can always count on them for a quiet afternoon. We turned into friends years after Sweetie introduced us. I make a special candy infused with a cherry blossom flavor that they can’t really get enough of. I make sure to give them some as a gift every month or so.

After I bathe, I style my mane until it’s shimmery and bouncy. I grab my sun umbrella and head downstairs into the shop. I then make sure that my notebook is clearly visible for Sweetie to find. She needs it for her special orders. She’ll be working all day which is a good thing, I surmise. I need her to stay indoors so she won’t be bored and ask questions as to where I am going.

Marriage is a special thing in Equestria and we ponies don’t take it for granted. The amount of time and effort that goes into it means that two ponies are right for each other. A broken marriage is so uncommon that I don’t know any pony personally that’s gone through it. I love Sweetie so much that I’ll go through any effort and hardship for her. I don’t even mind that it will take up to a year for make sure everything is set. The most impressive of them all is something that I’m sure Sweetie won’t see coming. I anticipate seeing her eyes light up when she sees what I have to offer. I’ll be just as happy when the great day comes.

When I leave the house, I have my umbrella sitting on my back. I look through a faint pink colored pair of glasses. The sun is out and the air is hot and dry enough to make my tongue and mouth uncomfortable. I drink water from a bottle. Flies buzz near my ears and I quickly flap them. I know that it’s Princess Celestia’s doing. In school, I was told that she decides to make Equestria a bit hotter or colder every decade or so. She does it to prevent the weather from being too stagnant. While I see the wisdom, it makes the heat no less difficult to bear. But it doesn’t matter, I think. I have bigger issues to consider this morning. I have to go all the way to the dark forest that borders town. My friend there awaits me.



I travel for over a kilometer to the edge of these dense wildlands. I remember when I was young and the forest was something that all foals spoke of in hushed voices. That was a long time ago. It was always a magical place where there were always monsters for legendary knights to slay. The place of terrible trials, curses and phenomena called by lightning and dark magic. The newest princess has her own magic, the kind to pacify parts of a forest. I don’t hear of any attacks on ponies from wild animals anymore; the stories of attacks echo from my youth. Even if there is any lingering doubt remaining, the pendant swaying at my neck gives me enough confidence to press onward.

The mass of trees is a wall of shadow still and the canopy is very thick and hard to see through. I decide to leave my umbrella hanging from a nearby fence while I pass through. I am very alert and scan my sides often. Even if there aren’t large animals about, spiders and insects can scare me witless. Some say I am nearly as bad as Lily when it comes to that. Luckily, the path is well maintained on Princess Twilight’s orders. Thanks to her, the forest has been more easily traveled if one wishes to go as far as the restored Castle of the Two Sisters. The Princess’s friend, Zecora, also benefits from having an easy path. She’s my friend and I’m going to see her within an hour if I take no breaks on the side of the path.

Getting there is easy. Where there used to be thick bushes with thorns, only a few trees and shrubs remain. I cross plank bridges over the numerous vein like creeks. When I arrive, I see the familiar hut I’ve been to many times before. When it comes into view, I know I am truly safe.

I admire Zecora’s hut. It’s one of the most isolated places I know but somehow still welcoming, a calm recess in the forest where the animals seem to know not to bother the special zebra that lives here. I can’t help but think that she has mystical powers she’s gained from her homeland. She’s no pony and as sad as it sounds, she used to be feared. Ponies wouldn’t dare speak to her or even approach her. She was just another frightful specter like all the rest. I hardly knew better as a foal and when I heard her name, my heart was filled with dread. Looking back, I know that I was what Zecora would call a “silly filly”, one of the many things she loves to say. Of all my friends, she is one of the most interesting to speak to. I’m not the only one that’s glad to come and be friendly with her. Other ponies like it too. Apple Bloom helped fix the leaks in the roof and a local mare, Rarity, painted it a fresher shade of green.

I knock on her door. When I do, it pushes the door open as it is just slightly ajar. I am surprised but I try to look inside.

“Hello? Zecora?” I say to announce myself. I get no response so I nudge the door open gently with a hoof. The hut is unoccupied. A pot sits on a stove so I go near it and feel that it’s still warm. Smoke drifts upward from black coals. I smell it but it is faint compared to the eclectic randomness that is Zecora’s hut: spices too numerous to name, fruiting plants, strange foreign masks. I notice though that the place is not as full as it usually is. Zecora has so much stuff that one can barely walk around. As I scan her table for anything that might help, I see a drawing out of charcoal and paint. It looks like a large pointy rock with some moss growing on it. A detailed drawing of a flower and an arrow pointing to the top. A hasty scribble below says “five km east”.

I hope it doesn’t mean that this place is that far and to the east no less. Going east is entering the deeper part of the forest where even Twilight’s influence fades. Such places can be the dwelling places of nightmares.

I consider turning back, despite the fact that I need the zebra’s help. But what if she needs mine? She could be trapped or even injured. I weigh both the pros and cons of going. There are plenty of cons: getting lost, getting hurt or injured or eaten by giant monsters. But would a decent pony just do nothing while her friend is in danger? Rarity wouldn’t shy away from danger but everypony knows that I’m frailer than she. I don’t recall the last time I’ve been near anything dangerous.

Minutes tick by as I think and look at the drawing. I soon pick it up and fold it. I need to stop wasting time. Today, I must be bold.

I leave the area with nothing but a vague idea as to where my friend is. There is a very thin animal trail leading east but it’s not much. Certainly not maintained like the path is. I will have to watch my step for anything from snakes to quicksand. Trepidation already sinks in as I go.

As I keep hiking on this unplanned journey, my mind wanders over to my Sweetie as I walk. She’s probably in the kitchen right now, making something tasty for somepony. I usually hate places that are totally devoid of sweetness, like a murky swamp. I step on a twig and I snap to attention. I look around me, thinking that I came across something but there’s nothing but insects and an occasional rat. I try not to touch anything gross and try harder to avoid falling into large pits of mud that flank the narrow sliver of dirt that I’m walking on.

The forest turns more into a giant bog where huge masses of fog keeps below the canopy. It all must have been like that before it started drying. Up a hill, I look down over the valley below. There are trails of smoke rising over the far mountains. They are not signs of pony civilization though. Nothing but sulfur geysers spewing out steam all the time. It’s dangerous country out there.

I keep going until the trees thin out and there’s more dry land. The rocks are harder on my hooves but at least it’s firm ground far from the bogs. Here, the sun is stronger and makes me pant as I go ever higher through this shrubby country. I didn’t like the forest but at least it was cool. I can see where I’m going now but the bad thing is that this rock is actually more like a cliff and the green stuff I thought to be moss is actually patches of trees. My muscles could very well be spent by the time I climb it but I have no choice. I am going to just have to take it if I want to reach Zecora.




I don’t have a history of being an outdoor pony. Sweetie is the one that likes hiking. She loves participating in the autumn Running of the Leaves and adores Winter Wrap Up. She just likes nature, I guess. I like it too but not as much. I can settle for watching it from afar or in a magazine. When I do go out, I prefer the small things. I can handle a good sunset or catching snow on my tongue after a good snowball fight. Climbing upwards is anything but small. My bones and lungs are begging me to quit as I scale the cliff. I hate hiking.

After what seems like an eternity, I reach the summit. I know she’s around. I can already sense that I’m not alone and a strong smell of incense is all around me. The exact kind that was at the hut.

I finally see her sitting near some rocks. She is as still as a black and white rock. Her eyes are closed and her straight mane ruffles in the breeze. She looks very peaceful. I have no idea if she is resting, meditating or thinking. I don’t make much sound as I approach but she stands up, sensing my presence as easily as if I had come blaring a trumpet.

“Zecora, it’s me, Twist,” I say to not alarm her. But she looks at me and smiles.

“I had known it was you.”

“That’s good,” I reply. The wind is hot and dry and it is bothering my coat. I feel like scratching it. “What are you doing in such a remote place?”

Zecora motions over to a small bag full of flowers. Some of them stick out and they look like the brightest clouds.

“I need these for a brew I am making. I was very grateful that they were here for the taking.” Her way of speaking always amuses me. She loves to rhyme. She told me once that it promotes tranquility, which I believe.  I had never met anyone before that could change a heart by the sound of her voice alone. Aside from the aggressively stubborn, most change their minds about her when she speaks. It was in town when I met her.  

I look at the flowers; they are pretty with large white petals. “The flowers grow here all the time?”

“No, they mostly bloom in summer.
If they didn’t, things would be glummer.
For this plant is very important.
It forces some illnesses to go dormant.”

“Wow, that is important,” I agree. “How are you going to get all these flowers back to your place? It’s kind of far.”

Zecora ties up the large sack and pulls it tight with her teeth, causing the golden rings on her neck and foreleg to rattle.

“It’s very simple so don’t worry.
I can get us both back in a hurry.”

“Awesome….but how?” I say hesitantly.

I watch as she demonstrates a device that she breaks apart and unfolds. It looks like some kind of winged object, a glider. It’s painted with a bright red and black pattern like some birds have. I am impressed.

“You’re going to use that to get home? That’s great.”

I like a lot of things about Zecora. She’s not just pragmatic and intelligent but has kindness and generosity that few can match. There are ponies like doctors that can help fix wounds and cure illnesses but they often lack what Zecora has. She has the power to cure fear of a forest and give a future princess her confidence. What she has is wisdom and it’s something that’s so often in short supply.

She lets me go with her on the glider. I hold on to a safety bar and the bag is tied to it between us. According to her, our weight should be close enough to let us fly easily. I believe her of course; I never knew her to lie. When her hooves push us off the cliff, a fearful whine escapes me. Perhaps her smell and my trust in her prevents me from fainting. But, soon I am giggling as the craft stabilizes. It’s incredible how much ground we can cover. Trees and streams fly under my hooves with no effort at all. I let myself relax and watch the dangerous territory pass by. I definitely prefer this way over walking back. Zecora finds a small clearing close to her home. It isn’t long until we are safe in the hut.

I sit on a chair as Zecora sets the bag down next to the cauldron. I am glad to be back on solid ground as much fun as that was.

“Ah, my brew is nearly done,” she says merrily.
“Now, the last step has begun.”

She turns to me.

“If you may, please throw some of the flowers into there.
Then use the long spoon and turn with care.”

I get up. “Sure, Zecora. I’m glad to help.” She goes and does something outside. I open the bag and grab a hoofful. The petals are so thick that they’re like paper. I throw them on the surface and then press them in gently. Doing so makes the dark liquid bubble.

Zecora seems to be doing things around the house. I wonder if it’s house cleaning time. She’s putting a lot of things into small bags. After I finish with the flowers, I go out to see what she’s up to.

“I think I got them in now. Do you need help with your organizing?”

“Organizing? No, I am preparing to travel.
To get there safely, I must make sure my things don’t unravel.
It’s a long journey to my home land.
Past dense jungle and hot sand.”

I am surprised as I don’t ever recall her going away from the forest. “Is there a reason for your departure? Like a family emergency?”

She shakes her head after tying a knot.
“I always travel there once a year.
I consider our relationship very dear.
We also love to share and trade.
It’s often medicines we’ve made.”

“Ah, you give them medicine that they don’t make themselves?” I ask.

“It’s the least I can do.”

I decide not to press any further into that. I don’t want to sound like I’m prying into her personal family business. Later, we are in the hut and she has tea set out for us. I like it so I drink some but it’s unsweetened. I am fond of adding sugar in my teas. It’s quiet enough that I can hear the brew settling down. I notice that she is giving me a firm gaze. It can be hard to tell what she’s thinking until she speaks. It reminds me of when she was a stranger to Ponyville. The fear of the unknown is very strong and persuasive under the right circumstances. Even my own fears didn’t leave me fully until I actually came to this place and saw it for what it was. It is certainly unique for what it is but it’s still just a home like mine.

We’ve been good friends for years. I give her candies on her birthday. Her favorite is only the purest of chocolate with no additives like sugar. The pieces are jagged and nearly as dark as tar. Even I think that kind of chocolate has a harshness to it which makes it tough to eat but it doesn’t stop her from enjoying it. I feel that the chocolate helps us to get closer over time somehow. Yes, it’s just a candy but just making it causes me to think about her and the chocolate that even I don’t eat.

“Twist, is there something on your mind?

I am sure it is good; perhaps something of a joyous kind?”

She must notice my pendant so I smile happily and hold it up so she can see it.

“Yes, I got engaged to Sweetie Drops yesterday. It was such a perfect night. It couldn’t have gone better.”

She grins wide and peers into the fine gem.

“Well firstly, congratulations, Twist.
If you came to ask for me to come to your ceremony, I’ll make sure it won’t be missed.”

I would normally be shy to bring up such things but with her, I just feel grateful. “Thank you. I hope you do come when it does happen. Maybe in a year or so. We’ll have to see. But I came to ask you about something a bit more pressing although still related. Our ceremony is going to be just amazing. For somepony as great as Sweetie, nothing less than the best will suffice. I have lots of things planned but for that, I want the Princess of Friendship herself, Twilight Sparkle, to attend.”

“I’m sure that she would love to see such an affair.
Of the marriage of such a wonderful mare,” Zecora says.

“Yes, I’m sure. Of course, getting her to come is the hard part. She’s so busy and I don’t know when or even how I could bring the subject up. She might just say no and I’ll be so disappointed if that happens.” I am not sure if it’s the steam from my tea or my worries that makes my eyes water ever so slightly.

“It is true that Twilight is very busy.
But you don’t need to put yourself in a tizzy.
You’ll find a way to get her help, I am sure.
A perfect wedding, you’ll ensure,” she speaks calmly. I believe she tries to assure me that things will be okay but it’s hard to find faith even in her words. I know I definitely can’t do it on my own.

“Thanks,” I say. “If you can do anything to get me closer to Twilight then I would very much appreciate it. I know you’ve been friends for a long time. I don’t want to sound like I’m taking advantage of course but I am just not in the same position that you’re in to speak to her.”

There is a brief pause as we both sip our tea.

“It may be difficult to help you now, I’m afraid.

I’ll be gone so long, it will be delayed.”

I can’t help but sigh. This entire trip might just be for nothing. Why does she have to go right when I need her? Zecora possibly notices that it’s a setback for me as she tries to cheer me up. But even I barely wish to listen to her wise words at this point. Even my bones are exhausted.

“Twist, there is no need to despair.
You’ll find a way; you’re a smart mare.”

I manage to smile at her compliment but my mind is still burdened. “Yes but it still won’t be very easy. I have a year but Twilight travels all the time. Not to mention she has the whole year booked and planned out as far as I’ve heard.”

“That may be true,” Zecora concedes.
Yet, you can understand how her friendships grew.
There are more ways than being direct.
It involves understanding, kindness and respect.
It’s not something merely to collect.”

I nod and stand up. “It sounds really involved but I guess I got to try.”

Zecora goes and gets me a small flask full of that medicine she made. “For the road,” she says kindly. I take it.

“Thanks.” We both hug each other. Her coat is very soft and it smells of incense.

“I know you have the ability.
Just remember that friendship is the key.”

We say our goodbyes. As I am walking back to town, I think about her advice. It’s a lot to chew on, even for her. I don’t want to believe that she was trying to avoid being direct because she can’t help me. If she was able to stay, I’m sure that it wouldn’t have been any trouble to get me an audience with the princess and to get the ball rolling on befriending her. She not only knows the princess but the ponies that are in the royal inner circle. I don’t think I am aware of any others that are that close. At least in my town. Most ponies don’t go through this kind of trouble. But it’s not trouble, only a privilege. I don’t see Sweetie as just a filly friend; she’s like a princess and I’ll never let my princess down.




I return home and see that the shop is closed. I enter and set my umbrella aside. I need a long bath tonight.

“Hello? I’m home,” I call out. I hear Sweetie’s steps coming down the stairs.

“Welcome back, honey.” I notice how the light coming through the window falls upon her body. Some dried flour in her mane is highlighted and any smudges and smears upon her stand out. With the pendant on her neck, the entire ensemble is just perfect. She is a working mare, loyal to her craft and me.

“Sorry I was gone longer than I wanted. I went to see Zecora in the forest,” I tell her. I lean in and give her a kiss. Her lips are dry and greasy.

“Oh, I don’t mind. How was she?”

“Very well. She’s going to see family soon. I guess we won’t be seeing her for a while.”

Sweetie frowns lightly. “That’s unfortunate. Are you able to get any new shipment of that special sugar?” I realize that I forgot about that. She’s talking about a kind of sugar that we love to use for our signature candy. Zecora knows where to get it and gives it to us nearly for free. Before, I had to use my entire allowance as a child to buy enough just for one batch.

“It didn’t come up actually. We were talking about other stuff,” I admit regretfully. “But we have enough of it for a while, don’t we?”

She does understand why and isn’t disappointed. “I suppose she is happy to hear about us?”

“Very much so. I think we’ll invite her to our ceremony.” Sweetie picks up a notepad and pencil.

“Excellent. Any others you’ve spoken to?”

“Not anypony yet. What are you writing down?” She ceases writing briefly.

“I’m making a reminder about Zecora. It will help for our long term planning. If you make other arrangements, make sure to put them down so you won’t forget,” she says.

“Sure, no problem.” I walk towards the kitchen. “Do you want any coffee? I could use something to pick me up.”

“Alright, make two,” she mumbles. She’s already lost in thought so I head immediately to the stove. Pouring the powder in cups and setting the fire is very routine and soon, I am staring into my own reflection in the kettle. I don’t know why but it’s funny how one can strain to think of an answer to a question and then as they set it aside to do other things, even the most basic of things like bathing, the idea forms in their mind like it was there all along. It was what Zecora said about a key. It didn’t make much sense then but I am coming to realize that she was talking about what I want for my wedding: having Twilight Sparkle attend. And I can think of only one friendship that could be a key; a key buried so far in the past that I will rather avoid the mess that might come with it. Just contemplating it makes me uncomfortable.

I make the coffee and pour some sugar into the cups. I push the thought of friendships and keys aside while I go to Sweetie. I just want to relax and maybe eat some pie later.

> Ep3: The Madness of Miss Cheerilee
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The town I live in is small, a little thing protected from the outside world by its forests. It’s slower and ponies live closer to each other. There are those little markets that ponies associate with small town living, the ones where friends and family bump into each other and gossip and chat. We have a few of them; not on every street corner. And like so many small towns, we have lots of small businesses; not all of which are able to stay open all year. For Peppermint Drops, the off season comes at the start of summer. It’s when we choose to close down. I have to admit that I get a tinge of sadness when that time rolls around and I see our large oven turn cold. I know that we save money when demand is low but it feels more permanent than the end of the school year used to be; it’s because I care about it.

But at least, for what it’s worth, we clean out the store of absolutely everything. The yearly sale keeps us on our hooves from sunrise to sunset for a week. It’s a rare time that I find work to be difficult but everything must go and at a 75% markdown, all the display cases are soon bare. We earn some money and don’t have to throw it all away. If the ponies want chocolate after, they can go to the general store or the Cakes’ bakery for their birthday cake needs. At least those places never close down.

I wake up. It is morning and the quietest it has been in a while. I can even hear the birds outside instead of the bustle of a kitchen downstairs. The silence is thought provoking. It’s probably past breakfast. I am still in the same position in bed as when I flopped on it last night. My whole body is refreshed. I start to crave the rich taste of coffee so I get up. After I go to the washroom, I enter the kitchen to find Sweetie already there.

I step around a cardboard box full of packed up kitchen accessories and materials. It’s strange how different how this place is without a ton of ponies at whatever hour it is. It’s lacking the distinctive warmth of ponies. There is the peacefulness of white sheets and a sign that says “closed until fall”. But I still have my mare and she is all the company I need. She is stirring her coffee. Her hair shimmers in the light as she turns and sees me. Her head rests on her forearm and her eyelashes flutter delightfully.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning. It looks like you’re up before me.”

“I know but you obviously needed the rest. And I like getting up before you once in a while.”

I go pour myself some coffee. “Did you see the sunrise?”

She must think I was teasing as she scoffs playfully. “I was hardly up before you. I am the one that really needs her sleep.”

“Excuse me then. Well, do you want to make an omelet? That sounds good to me today.”

“I can if you really wish but it’s nearly noon.” Sweetie is fiddling with the idea in her head. When she bites her lip lightly and lowers her voice, I can tell that she wants to do something else. I’ll cave sooner or later so it may as well be now.

“What were you thinking?” I ask.

Now that she knows she’s won, she looks excited.

“We should go out together!”




I don’t mind going out and doing something that involves us actually going out of our home. We don’t have much to do anyway. We dress up in some light spring attire, flowery frilly dresses and large floppy hats. The sleeves are so long that they reach the hooves. They are just full of spring colors: rose, yellow, baby blue. Today is not as hot as it has been. It’s partially cloudy and I think rain is coming soon. Maybe at nightfall.

The two of us stroll to a local park. Ponies like to take their pets there often so one might hear the sound of a dog or occasionally an owl. It’s also a great place to picnic so we bring some food and sweets in a small basket that’s normally used for carrying eggs. The park is green and peaceful with lots of trees and even a slow stream coursing through to a nearby lake. It’s not particularly hot out but we decide to go and lay in the shade of an ancient oak. It’s good that we brought a quilt to lay on with all the seeds and small rocks that can irritate a pony when she lies down.

I am glad that I didn’t bring my umbrella. It’s just extra weight that I just do not want right now. Even my pendant is heavy around my neck this morning. I don’t expect to recover fully from such a stressing week in just one night but I am more prone to being idle than I thought I would be. I can just drift off to sleep if I wish with only the sounds of distant bells reminding me of the time. But instead, I sip cold tea and listen to Sweetie as she talks about what’s to come this summer. Unlike me, she is perpetually excited. In this respect, we must look like opposites. The lazy and energetic mares.

Out of the corner of my eye, I think I notice several fast moving objects closer to the edge of the hill near the road. With my tinted glasses, it’s hard to see them as anything more than distant dark blobs. I barely tip them lower as Sweetie drones on and I see that they are foals. More than one and moving in a cluster like a small herd.

“Oh, Sweetie. That can’t be foals, can it?”

She also tilts her head towards where I am looking.

“I suppose. School isn’t out yet, I don’t think. I wonder what they are doing around here,” she says somewhat suspiciously.

My head is resting on my hooves but I raise it suddenly. “It could be that they’re on a field trip?”

Sweetie frowns and waves a hoof at me. “To the park? Don’t be silly.”

It might be silly but there’s not much reason to concern ourselves in the matter so I reach for a small cookie to eat. It’s a gingerbread. Sweetie resumes talking about one of our neighbors and how she’s been gaining some weight and maybe she even has a foal on the way. I half listen but her voice seems to drown out as the sound of hooves grows ever stronger.

“Do some ponies mind?” Sweetie complains irritably.

I hear voices rise near us and we both stand to seek out the source. We spy the foals winding their ways around the trees in no certain direction. They must be playing. I find them cute as soon as I see them even if they are a bit noisy. Sweetie doesn’t think so though. She puts her hoof to her lips and whistles sharply at them. They stare at us for a moment and three soon turn around and runs off in the other direction. But one of them, a filly with a golden coat, approaches instead.

Sweetie looks at me almost regretfully. It’s easy to provoke her ire but it doesn’t mean that she doesn’t feel sorry for others. I am not sure what to think as the filly comes closer. Sweetie didn’t intend to be mean or anything. She just dislikes having her quiet time broken.

“Sorry. We were just having some fun,” the foal says. Her voice is very plain and unassuming.

Sweetie clears her throat to get the filly’s attention. She is very good at being sympathetic and at the same time, giving a stern eye.

“It’s not a good time for fun, is it now? Exactly why are you all out of class?”

“Um, because the teacher let us out early?”

“What an odd day to do such a thing.” The filly shrugs and looks at the ground.

“It’s alright. We were just wondering,” I say. Now that things are explained, I want to cheer the filly up. I stand so I can see her more closely. “So, what’s your name?”

“It’s Busy Besy.” Her tail swishes on the ground and I see that she has a cutie mark of a beehive with little bees flying around it.

“I like your cutie mark.” It look so delightfully sweet that I almost want to go and touch it. I lust after sweet marks and can even grow weak at their sight.

The filly’s disposition brightens after my compliment. “Thanks. I like to take care of bees a lot. It’s how I got it.”

“I bet nearly everypony at class likes it too.”

“They sure do.”

“You may go back to your friends. Have a good day.”

Busy Besy says bye then heads back to where her friends must be waiting, a lot happier than before. I wave at her. I like her; she gives off a good first impression. Too bad her companions aren’t as friendly as she.

“Busy Besy…never heard a name like that,” Sweetie mentions.

“It’s a cute one and it suits her well.”

“You’re right. I think she may be one of the good ones.”

I tilt my head and gaze at her. “The good ones?” It strikes me as strange why Sweetie would say that when she usually doesn’t converse with foals very much. But then again, she did figure me to be a good foal too.

“She’s good mannered, I guess. We both know how bad foals can get.” She resumes drinking her tea.

“True.” We relax after that, not speaking for a little while and enjoying the silence. I think about the foals. Unlike Sweetie, I like foals unconditionally. I take the rowdy and rough with the sweetest of them. My teacher was Miss Cheerilee and she liked me a lot. I recall her sweet smile she would give me in the mornings when I would go to class. It’s like she was saying that this was our home away from home and she our mother. She called us my little ponies. I wonder how she’s doing. It’s been years since we’ve seen each other. I can just imagine how fun that teaching a new generation of foals must be. Maybe she won’t mind a surprise visitor?




I wake early next morning. So does Sweetie; just because the shop’s on break, it doesn’t mean that we don’t need income. She’s found herself a nice little side job working for the Cakes as a delivery mare. It’s decent money for a few hours a day. I don’t have a job just yet but I look in the paper every week. I am not sure exactly what I want to do. Part of me just wants to relax and take every day in stride. That’s how I feel as I eat breakfast and prepare to head out. Sweetie is gone already so I have nothing to distract me from going to visit Miss Cheerilee.

It’s only 7:30 and the morning air is nippy with cold dew clinging to my hooves as I walk across the grass. I wear a light sweater that may be tied around me by the time I return.

I don’t run but trot at a nimble pace to beat the first foals to the schoolhouse. When I see it, I smile fondly. Everything is as I remember it: the shiny bell at the top, the freshly painted sign, the multitude of hearts adorning everything and the tall brass flagpole in front. Around the front door, I notice that they added some new pruned bushes and even replaced some of the aging playground equipment that used to bruise my arms when I misjudged a jump. What is there looks like plastic.

I don’t need to bother knocking and I stroll into the place like it’s a childhood home revisited after many years. The room’s unoccupied and the shades are still shut so my eyes adjust to the candlelight. More has changed in here since my day. There is still a picture of the princess on the wall but there are charts of stars and kingdoms too. I almost trip over wires crossing from a hole in the wall over to the front desk where a small computer lies. They have technology in schools now. Foals today are very lucky. I raise my voice and ask if there is anypony there.

The back door opens and I see a mare. But she is in shadow and doesn’t move much when she notices me.

“You must be a parent,” she assumes. She goes and raises the curtains one by one so the light streams in then she blows out the candles. She lowers herself on the chair with a noticeable squeak from the wood. She breathes heavily with each movement. I want to speak but the words are not coming out. Even with the light, I don’t know who I’m looking at. Is this mare truly Miss Cheerilee? Or is my memory so distorted by time that I barely recall her in the flesh?

I finally find my voice and I smile. “I’m not a parent….I’m actually a student that used to come here years ago.” This pony before me has to be my teacher. It has to be even if there’s not a lot for my memories to latch on to. I look for the familiar all the time -I’m even surrounded by it- but I find so little with her.

“A student? When did you come here?” she says impatiently. She leans forward and the chair scrapes backwards while she taps a pencil up and down against the desk.

“Like I said, years ago. Don’t you remember me? I’m Peppermint Twist.” I beam this time and turn to make sure she gets a look at my cutie mark, the same one that she congratulated me on when I was little. After, I extend a hoof out to her. “It’s so great to see you again after so long.”

I am not sure what reaction I was expecting. Not necessarily an explosive outburst of joy or a cascade of tears. But anything than a silent stare through those thick and cloudy glasses of hers. She doesn’t meet my hoof but wordlessly rises and leans her whole weight through her heavy and fleshy forelegs on the desk, eliciting a groan. Her mouth curls downward and her thick cheeks puff and twitch. Before this, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her angry before. Sometimes disappointed or even upset but never angry. The dense kind that I never thought a mare like her could even express. My hooves feel glued to the floor and very small.

“So what is this supposed to be then? Some kind of stupid trip down memory lane? Do you know how many foals I’ve taught? Hundreds! So you know what? I just don’t have time for this shit. I have a class to run!” As she speaks, I can now catch a glimpse of her yellow stained teeth and creases at the edge of her mouth. Her once vibrant mane is now faded and flat. She brushes a strand from her face.

I realize that she is truly almost a completely different pony. There’s nothing here that’s the same as the mare I once knew. Even her voice sounds weighted.

“I’m….sorry. I didn’t mean anything bad.” I try to pick my words carefully; the last thing I want to do is offend her more. “I just wanted to stop by. I met one of your students. She’s Busy Besy. She said that you let class out early yesterday?”

“So? Who cares?”

“Well…Mrs. Cheerilee…”

She sighs annoyingly. “It’s still “Miss”. As for class being let out, I had to grade tests. In fact, the students should be in shortly so why don’t you just leave.”

There is another silence in the room so I turn to leave. There are no more words exchanged as I close the door behind me. I can barely register what happened in there. The way she spoke to me was as if I was a total stranger. I am too numb to cry or walk home. I instead go to the playground and sit on one of the swinging seats. I’ve never been so sad on a swing in my life.

Soon, foals come down the road and start going inside the school. I just watch from afar. To them, I’m just some mare perhaps enjoying the nice day. Walking down memory lane. My mind is heavy with doubt.

Later, the foals come out for lunch. It is warm by then and I’m holding my sweater in my hooves. I hear their excited screams and the loud clopping on grass as they scatter about. A few decide to head to the playground and they see me there. I notice that Busy is among them.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

I get off of the swing. “I’m kind of just hanging out,” I reply halfheartedly. “How was class?”

“Boring as usual,” another foal says.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.” I don’t feel like conversing right now so I leave them alone and go towards the windows. I peek inside but the classroom is empty. I walk around the school to the back. To my surprise, I see Miss Cheerilee leaning against the brick wall. As soon as she sees me, her hoof that is carrying a lit cigarette drops to her side. But as it’s just me, she instantly relaxes her posture. A stream of smoke escapes her mouth as her hoof rises to take another drag. Her belly jiggles at the same time.

It’s hard for me to understand what I’m seeing. She was never an athlete or a model, but she has really let herself go. I wonder what could have happened to make her like this?

“Miss Cheerilee! Is something the matter?”

My heart and my voice ring the same concern but she ignores me. Her gaze drifts towards a distant hill as she keeps slowly blowing out that smoke. I try to step closer and I say her name again. I fear that I upset her again as she drops the cigarette on the wood chips beside the door and digs it in with her hoof.

“What is it?!”

My mind is confused. It’s my oldest and most favorite teacher but somepony else speaking in her place, glaring at me with those eyes of hers. It’s disturbing on a cosmic level as if my mother was hitting me for no reason.

“Um, I just wanted to talk.”

“What the hay do you want?” Cheerilee snaps. I think of something to try and calm things down.

“This place hasn’t changed that much.” At least that is true; the place is almost a picture perfect representation of the past.

“You didn’t look hard enough. This place changes every year.”

“I’m sure it does. It takes some getting used to?”

She pulls out a cigarette and lights it. “Not really. Things just change every year. I know to expect it.”

I hear the sounds of fillies playing. The voice of Busy Besy the sharpest. It’s so comforting even from afar. An idea enters my head.

“It really can’t be easy though. Being on your own?”

She looks at me oddly. “What do you mean?”

I want to change topics; one that will elicit a little less anger. “I happen to be looking for a part time job. I get along great with foals and I’m very good at noting down things as I work for a business. I know that the school can definitely use a part time assistant!”

Cheerilee drops her spent cigarette to put it out. “Are you kidding?”

“Of course not. I’ve never been known to kid,” I say seriously.

“Don’t you have a shop or something?”

I nod. “The shop is closed from summer until fall. I need to find work until then and the last of spring will be a great time.”

She lights another cigarette. She seems to ponder my seriousness. “Do what you want. I’m not sure it’s in the budget but…if you want to work so badly then come by tomorrow morning to learn what you have to do.”

“Thanks, Miss Cheerilee. I sure will.” I turn and leave. I can’t help but wonder why she would acquiesce so easily. But as I walk across the field and see the foals run and jump about, my thoughts turn towards how great it will be to see them more often. I am sure that things with Cheerilee will improve over time. They can’t always be bad. Maybe I just caught her on a bad day.




I pour enough honey into my tea to make it just right. I then settle down in bed and reach for a book that I’ve been into lately. I can hear Sweetie swishing water in her mouth as she brushes her teeth. We spend at least ten minutes per day brushing for obvious reasons. She comes out and yawns. She is wearing her pink silk sleepwear. She patters to the bed in the slippers I bought her for her last birthday.

She settles in but doesn’t reach to turn off her lamp just yet.

“Twist?”

I lower the book. “Yes, what is it?”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier.” I can tell that she’s had me in her thoughts. She tends to worry about me a lot. I mentioned the school, Cheerilee and the idea of being an assistant with her at dinner. As usual, she was happy about it. She always is. But things change when she has more time to think it over. “Are you sure about this mare? About who she is and such?”

“You mean Cheerilee?” I look at her skeptically.

“I am aware that you two used to know each other but I also know that you don’t always get along with strict ponies.” She is right but I am not sure how to explain things. Cheerilee being a completely different mare. If I did, she would surely make a bigger deal out of what is really nothing. Sweetie mentioned earlier how she sees Cheerilee going to town sometimes. She would only go out in the evening and always wear something like a coat or a cloak. For whatever reason, she seems to want to be left alone.

She rubs my shoulder. “Just be careful out there. You’re my precious candy cane,” she says lovingly. She hasn’t used that name in so long that I chortle under my breath. It came from me being so fragile in my youth but now, it’s a term of endearment if a rare one.

“I’ll be perfectly fine.” We share one last kiss before she rolls over to sleep. I start to read in the light of my lamp. I am going to wake extra early as promised. I am already ahead of things since I know one of the foal’s names. I bet they will be just delightful and a joy to get along with.




At dawn, I go back to the old school. Clouds obscures the sun and makes the schoolhouse look darker. A row of crows sit on the roof and watch me, a mare with saddlebags, approach the front door. It may be dreary but I am pumped up to start my first day as Cheerilee’s assistant. I’ve helped my mother out with candies and baked in my shop for years. Being an assistant is my life but I’ve never done anything like this before. To be under the hoof of somepony besides Sweetie will take some getting used to but I can handle it.

Inside, I draw the curtains and let in as much light as I can. I then take a closer look around. Cheerilee’s computer is off. I move a chair up to the front desk so I can have a place to sit and observe the class. My nostrils fill with the smell of the wood of the desks, the chalk behind me, and dust that floats in the air. It’s all so familiar from the days when I used to sit in one of those very seats. If only it could remain like this then it might just be perfect.

Soon, Cheerilee enters from the back and meets me. In the back of my mind, I wonder if she even left the school at all. When I turn to face her, I see that she’s rather groggy. Her eyes turn to slits, miserably rejecting the light. Even through those thick glasses, I see that they are streaked by red blood vessels. Most pictures of monsters from the forest are drawn with the same eyes.  

She plops in the teacher’s seat and holds her head in her hooves. “You’re here 20 minutes early.” Her words are slow and heavy as if talking to herself. Or maybe her voice is so loud to her that she has to be quieter. Either way, I don’t smell anything on her so that’s a decent start.  

“Yes, I wanted to discuss things for my first day. Things like the syllabus and such,” I reply. She looks at me and I instantly start to feel bad for her. She’s gotten so old.

“I don’t open the curtains until after.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t like the light so early in the morning.”

“Because you are used to drinking a lot?”

“It’s none of your business,” Cheerilee hisses. The anger in her voice sharpens and I draw back a bit in my chair. Before I could apologize, she grabs a textbook and shoves it to me. I take it and look at the cover. It is Elementary Equestrian Geography 7th Ed and it is the teacher’s version. There is a crystal pony brushing the hair of a pretty sheep or at least I think it is one.

“The students are studying from this. Read chapter 5 to get caught up. Just remember that you are my assistant and will do what I say at all times.” She gets up and returns to the back room. When she is gone, I sigh softly. Coming here has done nothing but deflate my spirit. Maybe it was a bad idea to even come and talk to this mare with her acidic words. But I don’t leave. Sweetie would be disappointed in me and worse, I would feel like a total failure. I flip the book open quickly before I change my mind and start to read the stuff the class is working on. Some of the material sounds familiar as I scan each page. There’s some new sections about some foreign lands that I barely knew about as a foal. It would be fascinating to check out a book specifically about things like the Griffin Kingdom or others.

The first students push the wooden door open. I look up and smile as two colts enter. They are talking and laughing and they both have a backpack on. They have athletic builds with firm legs and broad shoulders. I bet they play sports after school.

They settle down and put the backpacks on the floor next to their seats. They then notice me. They are obviously confused as to why a much younger mare is sitting where their teacher is supposed to be. I am trying to appear as kind as possible but perhaps that might throw them off even worse.

“Hello, you two,” I say. At first their ears twitch as if they can barely hear me. I see that I have to work on my voice projection so I try again and one of the colts says hello back, albeit hesitantly. I wave for them to come to the desk but only one of them does after a bit of whispering to his friend. He is a rather tall colt. Almost as large as an adult but he still has some growing to do.

“Good morning.”

“Uh, Cheerilee ain’t here?” he says. Suddenly, the school bell is rung. It’s the same that rang every day when I went to school.

I giggle. “I guess she’s ringing the bell. What’s your name?”

“Uh, it’s Field Cross. I, like, thought that you were a substitute or whatever.” He has a kind of monotone voice that some have when they train their body but not their brain so much. I see that he has a cutie mark, a wooden hurdle used as obstacles in certain track events.

“I am kind of like an assistant. I’m going to help out around the class. My name is Twist.”

“That’s cool.”

I can tell that he would rather go back to his friend so I let him. Within a minute, more foals stream in. Fillies and colts take their seats. Some of them look at me oddly but I try to remain cheery towards them all. Busy Besy comes in last and I make sure to give her a wave. At least she does the same before sitting in the second row next to a filly with a long ponytail.

One of the things I was honestly looking forward to when I got up was being given a gift. Of course it might be a little early since I’m new but it doesn’t hurt to at least hope. I used to give stuff to Cheerilee. Sometimes it would be a candy cane or some other sweet. Things like that aren’t considered to be bad. They actually make a relationship between a teacher and student better. Apple Bloom was always Cheerilee’s favorite. At the start of the day, a polished red apple would be there every morning. Whenever there wasn’t was when the filly couldn’t come to class.

But I don’t think it is very likely to happen today. In fact, no pony even did anything to give me a friendly greeting this morning save for Busy Besy. It’s hard to believe that Cheerilee would let that go away. Maybe she is right and a lot really has changed. What a pity to lose such a tradition.

I notice that the room is quiet now. Cheerilee hasn’t come back yet so I clear my throat. I’ll get it started on my own today.

“Hello class and good morning,” I say. “I am Miss Peppermint Twist but if you want, you can just call me Twist.” The students stare at me and I’m the only adult in the room. Feeling nervous as I write my name on the chalkboard in my neat and flowing writing. “Well, while Cheerilee gets in here, perhaps I can learn your names?” I point to a few foals and I ask who they are. Their names interest me so I ask a question or two about them. I am able to learn about a few local family names, one of each kind of pony. I stand as I speak. My voice definitely projects further and I am more confident as I address the foals. As I banter, I even manage to elicit a faint smile or two from them, a sparkling of sweetness. But soon, it all fades as I hear the sound of hooves pounding on stairs.

The back door opens and whatever positive feeling was in the room vanishes in an instant. Even my heart sinks a bit. Cheerilee’s presence is a kind of weight that dominates the room. She sits at her desk and I sit as well.

She has a stern stare. “You all must be aware by now of the mare that is with us. She is an assistant which I have allowed to join this class to make it more efficient as I do my lectures. Are there any questions?” There isn’t a hint of joy in her voice. She speaks only to inform. No questions are asked. The foals do seem quite focused but I am put off by how controlled they are. It’s even abnormal.

I at least try to focus on being a good assistant as she does her lecture. She’s been at the teaching game for so long it’s obvious that she’s good at the pure teaching part. I am able to follow along as she rattles off dates and events and writes them down on the board with quick and jagged strokes. I occasionally glance at the students. They are hard at work copying it down. I must admit that if it works then maybe it’s a good system. I kind of wish that some of my peers would have put more effort into their studying. I feel kind of bored though. There isn’t much to do right now except read along.

After the lecture, the class has to start a quiz that was scheduled before lunch break. The papers are distributed and as the sounds of writing begins, Cheerilee leans towards me.

“I’m going out for five. Handle things here,” she whispers.

“Uh huh.” She heads out immediately and doesn’t even say thanks or anything. But being in charge…at least that’s something. I decide to read some of the textbook while I sometimes glance upwards to watch the class. If I had to describe them, I would say that they were docile. They don’t dare to so much as cough. So when I hear a rustling of paper, it’s as loud as a twig snapping in the forest. I never try to make it obvious that I am keeping watch but my gaze finds whom had made the sound. It is a young filly sitting at Busy Besy’s left. A little unicorn. A tiny paper on her hoof being pushed to her neighbor, who isn’t responding.

The first infraction on my watch. It’s about time for me to start stretching my disciplinary muscles. I stand and walk firmly over to her desk. Some of the foals look up at me.

“Is that a note I see?” I concentrate for a few seconds until her name pops into my head. “I would think that it’s a bad idea to do that, especially during a test, Star Spirit.”

“Sorry, Well, I moved here last week and I was just asking about…um…stuff,” she says, her guilty voice trailing off. I tsk and take the note.

“Well, I guess since you’re new and all…”

Before I can even finish, I am interrupted by Cheerilee’s sudden return.

“Why are you out of your seat?” she says coldly at me. I turn to her.

“Uh, I was talking to Miss Spirit for a moment.”

“Concerning what?”

I have no choice but to be honest. “She was passing a note.”

Cheerilee snorts loudly. “Oh did she?” She returns to her seat. “Star Spirit, come over here now.” The filly does as she is told, albeit slowly. I think she’s afraid. I might be too. The other foals keep writing.

“I’m sorry…” Star Spirit manages to whimper. Her ears are drawn back and her lip quivers.

Cheerilee reaches into a desk drawer and rummages around for a second. I am unsure what she is doing but the air feels really tense all of a sudden. When she withdraws her hoof, she is wielding a short measuring stick made of wood.

“You need to learn the rules. Hoof on the table,” she commands. The poor filly swallows and does so. My eyes practically bulge open but there is nothing I can do as Cheerilee slams the hard edge of the ruler against the end of her hoof.




“Oh dear! Was that really true?”

The shocked murmuring voices around me concur after I tell them about what happened at the school.

“I mean, the horror of it,” Lily says. “Getting hit like that? For like, nothing!”

I am with Sweetie and the girls at the Flower Fillies house. Some tea and sandwiches are spread out on a table before us. The dining room has a skylight, glass doors and a bunch of potted plants around. Since I told them about what happened, they’ve been telling me how they felt about it. I try to listen but sometimes, I can only hear the cry of that filly. No, it was a scream; it was one bad enough to shatter glass.

Sweetie touches my shoulder. “Are you alright? You’ve kind of been staring into space.” She worries about me.

“I’m sorry. I’ve just been thinking.”

“About quitting?” Roseluck interjects. “I would totally do that too. I mean, I knew that mare was bad but not that bad.” I can tell that  she’s the most agitated out of all my friends even as she takes a bite of a sandwich.

“What do you talking about? You knew she was mean?”

“Word gets around. She’s kind of known as a harsh teacher. Even so, she shouldn’t hit them. They’re just foals, am I right?”

The others eat their sandwiches but I don’t have much of an appetite right now.

“Why doesn’t somepony say something about it?” I say. I glance at them all. They were so outspoken a second ago, fully sympathetic, and now they can only shift uncomfortably and quietly in their seats as if a bad secret was told.

“Dear, she’s been a teacher for so long that she’s like an institution. I know it’s upsetting to see her after so many years but she has changed. And unless you go to the superintendent of the schools, I don’t know what you or anypony else can accomplish,” Sweetie says.

I see now. Her words speak of the obvious and they can only inflame the heavy feeling in my heart. How can we just accept that ponies can change so fully and become so awful? I don’t want to hear it, even from my Sweetie.

I stand. “I’m afraid that I’m not really up for tea. I think I just want to go and think about things.” What I am most likely to do is bury my head in a pillow and cry but I would rather not tell and look pitiful in front of everypony.

“I hope we didn’t make you mad,” Lily says apologetically. She holds a hoof to her mouth.

“Don’t worry. You haven’t. Please enjoy your sandwiches, fillies. I’ll see you all later.” I go out and Sweetie follows me into their garden. Rows of flowers cross their yard up to huge hedges close to the wall. The breeze moves a line of fresh sheets. It is a nice day, I must admit. The perfect weather for kite flying if I wasn’t feeling so down.

“Those girls are so apathetic sometimes. Kind of like the rest of this silly town. I wouldn’t blame you if you quit that job,” Sweetie says. She holds me close and I nuzzle her neck.

“I know…but I shouldn’t.”

She lifts my head up so I am gazing into her eyes. “I don’t think that job is worth being around her. You can always find something else.”

“Yeah but if it wasn’t for her, I would love it. I just know it.”

Sweetie frowns. “I guess that’s the problem. We can’t do anything about it.”

The cold sound of wood on hoof echoes in my mind still. It makes me want to hold Sweetie harder.

“All I know is that nothing will change if we don’t try,” I say. “But if I do anything, I shouldn’t be alone.”

Sweetie is my sweetest friend because she has never let me down in all our years. I know she’s not going to start now.

“If this is what you want then I’ll be behind you no matter what.”

We release our embrace. “Thanks. This is exactly what I want.”

“Then I’ll see you at home.”

“Alright. Have fun with the girls. I mean it.”

I walk home. I think about Busy Besy and the other foals the whole way. Sweetie needs help. I need help. They need it. They especially and probably more than I know.




I wrote a letter to the school superintendent and sent it to him pretty soon after that day. I didn’t know what would happen or if it would even have an effect. I may be fired for reporting on Miss Cheerilee. But it doesn’t stop me from going back to school the next day and the day after that. I grade a lot of papers while she lectures. Her voice is worse than that artificial speech they have on computers. At least those things have an excuse to sound so flat. I desire to go less and less. There are no smiling faces and I really won’t get an apple on my desk. Not in this class. It is as joyless as a rock farm with a slave driver equally as cold.

With every day being so difficult, I nearly forget about the letter as I return home after work. I check the mail as always and see an orange envelope. The familiar logo tells me that it’s the school district and my heart races as I open it with care. I skim it and my mouth opens, turning into a confused grin as I realize what it is. It’s not a notice of termination at all; in fact it’s the opposite. I’ve been given Miss Cheerilee’s job! I read further and then it dawns on me. She was given a two week suspension so it means that I will be the one to replace her. There is no one else available to do it nearby.

I am beyond pleased and I want to tell Sweetie and the fillies all about it but there is something else on my mind. It has come as such a surprise that it interrupts my elation. I hardly wanted this. I think about how much of a bad turn of events this means for Cheerilee. Most wouldn’t care. They would just be happy but I’m not them. This is just me being my silly old self, too idealistic to give up on making things better between the two of us. I know I’m stubborn. Only one like me would grab my umbrella and go see her. I would never brag about getting her job, to rub it in her muzzle. But maybe there might be a chance that she has seen the error of her ways so to speak. It’s not my fault after all. I wasn’t trying to get her suspended. If she understands that then it’s all for the best.

I sort of daydream in my head as I go. Often, that helps me to plan things ahead of time and I want to make sure that I can tell Cheerilee what needs to be said. She may be angry after all. In fact, I should expect it.

I remember her old farm house when I was a filly. It’s looking worse for wear lately but it hardly comes as a surprise. The formerly white paint peels, the yard is thick with weeds and the garage is full of strewn pieces of junk. It wasn’t as if her place didn’t used to look rural to say the least; but the word ‘neglect’ comes firmly to my mind. I would expect to see such a place in a magazine depicting the extreme poor.

I head up some creaky steps and tap on her wooden door. Nopony answers.

“Hello!” I announce myself. I look around the patio and press my face to the glass. It’s very dark inside and hard to see. The outline of a pony head appears and the shock causes me to yelp as I push away from the window.

“Over here!” I notice that the voice is coming from the sheet metal garage across the yard from the house. I approach to where a broken down old carriage rests on a bed of gravel. I walk around it until I see Cheerilee bent down near some old paint cans. The place is damp and stinks of mold.

“I’m sorry for intruding, Cheerilee, but I wanted to come and talk to you.”

“I thought it was you. What are you doing here?” she says. She doesn’t sound angry but her words are sharp as if each one is a pointed hoof. It is inevitable that she already knows about what happened. She gets up and has a mouse held in her left hoof. A tail drapes downward and swings side to side.

I look at it with disgust. “Is that thing dead?” I back off a couple steps. My ears fold flat.

She holds it as if nothing more than a toy or a rock. “It better be. Its neck is broken. I heard it when it died and the sound woke me up.” She walks past me and towards the house. She pushes the door open but doesn’t close it behind her so I follow hesitantly.

Everything inside her house looks old but not necessarily filthy. The air tastes stale. A pony mannequin is staring outside. Several coats are draped over it.

“Take a seat if you want,” she says. She doesn’t care that I am in her house. I watch as she walks to a glass tank next to a wall next to a large ashtray filled with rubbish. A thick snake peers at me from behind the glass, its eyes narrow slits and its tail twitching. She drops the mouse inside and the snake nudges it with its head. I look away and murmur uncomfortably.

“What’s the matter? Don’t like snakes?” she says amusingly.

“No, they’re fine.” I can feel my stomach tightening.

“They have to eat too, you know.” She starts for the kitchen. “I’ll get you something to drink.”

I can hear the snake’s hissing as I try to avoid looking at it. She’s right that they do have to eat but I shouldn’t have to think about it. I definitely avoid awful stuff like teeth clamping down on flesh, bones breaking and a snake’s maw ready to consume something whole.

She returns shortly with a glass full of what is probably lemonade and a tall glass bottle. She gives me the lemonade and I sniff it. It smells plain and on the watery side. She pops the cap off the bottle with one hoof and begins to chug the stuff down right away.

It seems like I can never predict how this mare will act at any given moment. I didn’t even think she would let me into her house but here I am, taking the lightest of sips of her drink before setting it down on the coffee table that separates us.

“Are you alright?”

She settles down and her weight causes the chair cushion to sag. “Alright about what? My house? Being suspended from my job of fifteen years? You got to be more specific.”

“About anything. Whatever’s on your mind.” I want to help her but there is such a wide gulf between us. I wish I could meet her halfway but it’s so hard. Time, memories and experiences create two different worlds, one where the past fades away into obscurity. I don’t think she cares for her past too much. Only the present occupies this dark house as if the Cheerilee I knew never occupied it at all. And here I am, facing the emptiness. All the warmth in the world is beyond her door.

“My head is splitting as usual.”

I look down. “I’m sorry.”

She gazes at me coldly. “Everypony is sorry. They can find the time to be sorry but not enough to make things right. It’s either you or Apple Bloom or somepony else.”

“What does she have to do with it?”

“I haven’t seen her in a long time. Probably because there’s nothing I have that she wants unlike you and my job.”

Each jab at me causes me to grow more frustrated with her. If only I could reach over and shake some sense into her but I know it can’t be that easy. Worse than that, I can’t defend myself either. At least I can’t for how things ended up. I am impatient with her.

“That’s not what I want, Cheerilee! For Celestia’s sake….what you’re doing at the school and with those foals. I was just trying to make you see. I was just trying to help!” Those words are off my chest now. I plea not with tears but pins and needles on the floor. I realize that I am scowling at her pretty bad. I never scowl and it feels unnatural. I try to breathe slower and relax.

She gets up with her bottle, an extension of her ugly self. “You sure do a fine job of helping!” She walks past me quickly and kind of stumbles to the door. She goes out in a fluster and I hurry after her. I stop in the middle of the yard as she goes and fetches another dead mouse caught in a trap. My anger turns into alarm. “You’re all the same! You and Bloom and Sweetie Belle and all the rest!” She suddenly turns and throws the bottle against the garage, shattering it to pieces. She drops the mouse and her glasses slips off at the same time. “Dammit…my glasses.” She bends down and scoops it up. Her eyes are reddish. “You stupid foals come and then go. You don’t care about the ponies you hurt. We’re all just insects you step on. Disposable like that bottle. And you think you can help me?!”

I stand there, speechless. How can she think like that about me? When have I ever done anything to treat her like somepony that wasn’t special? I don’t argue back but her anger intensifies.

“Go away, Twist! I do remember you. I always have. I wish you had never come back and never forced yourself into my life! Go away!” I turn and gallop, faster this time, from that horrid place. I go home without stopping. Inside, Sweetie is already there and she notices that something’s wrong. She rushes to me and holds me close and then it is as if that wound that was made opens up as all the sugary tears flow down my face and into her warm and soft coat.




The next weekend is tough. I received extra time to prepare for my sudden promotion but I still had to get acquainted with the lesson plan for the last month or so of school. After two sleepless nights and downing a gallon of coffee with cream and extra sugar, the mornings are not kind to me. Even the light of dawn is a floodlight.

Everything said, I still have high hopes for my new role. There’s nothing in my way now from getting on a personal level with the foals on a way that I haven’t done with Cheerilee around. After morning preparations, I set out my stuff, write the first instructions on the board then set out a plate wrapped in tin foil. Then I head upstairs to the tower to ring the old school bell. I never knew how easy it was. My younger self would have loved to have done it. 

I sit in the firm wooden chair as the foals stream in. I see Busy come in and I smile at her.

“Good morning!” The other foals are startled by the sudden voice.

“Get in your seats, please. Class will begin in one minute,” I say brightly.

They settle quickly and get out their notebooks and pencils.

“Now that I have your attention, I would like to start off the day with something a little new.” I unwrap the plate and the foals in front should be able to see a bunch of peppermint cookies. “When I was a foal, me and my friends would bring stuff to class as a present to the teacher. But I know that you are not used to the idea so I’ve done a little reversal on it and decided to bring some to all of you today.” I beam and show them to the class. Busy Besy’s hoof goes up.

“Yes?”

“Are you sure that it’s alright to have that?”

I nod and smile at her hesitance. “I am absolutely sure. Cheerilee is on a little vacation so while I’m in charge, it’s now okay to have sweets.” After that, ears shoot up in unexpected excitement and some even talk to each other as I have them all come and grab a cookie.

The day is pretty lax as the first hours pass. I make an impromptu back and forth talk between me and the class, a way for us to get to know each other. I do have a syllabus to refer to but I’m in charge so I don’t have to follow it if I don’t want to which is a great benefit if I must say. Besides, it’s valuable to know them on something deeper than on a name only basis. The foals become more animated as time passes. Even when I start my small lecture on the desert climates of southern Equestria, there are more hooves raised and more interesting questions asked. I guess a fear of being yelled at was not that good at provoking discussions after all.

I definitely enjoy how work went today. It isn’t long until the class is about ready to be sent home. There’s only a few minutes left so I tell them to do a little light reading. I take the time to rest a little. The door in the back opens and, to my surprise, Sweetie enters the room. She waves at me. A few minutes later, class is over.

“Alright, everypony. I’ll see you all tomorrow.” Some foals burst out right away while a few says goodbye first. Busy collects her stuff while Sweetie comes to my desk.

“Hello dear, I left work early. How is your first day? I bet it’s good from the looks of things.” She giggles happily.

“It went swimmingly,” I say proudly. I see that Busy hasn’t left yet and is lingering close by.

“Hello there.” She looks at me and smiles.

“I just wanted to say that it’s great that you’re our new teacher and I like you a lot better.”

My heart feels lifted up from her words and a mixture of pride and happiness fills me.

“Thank you very much.” I pat her head lightly and she goes off to play.

“They are taking a liking to you,” Sweetie says. She must be even prouder of me than I am of myself.

“I thought it would take some time but I guess foals are just that much more resilient than adults are,” I ponder. I pack my things and we head out together. “Let’s go somewhere nice.”

She has an umbrella on her back, something I had neglected to bring since it was a bit cloudy this morning. I walk close to her to be in the shade; it’s a good opportunity to put a hoof around her and to touch the softness of her coat.

“The others will be so pleased to hear of this nice day. Let’s go and visit them.”

I kiss her. “Yes, let’s do that, Sweetie.”

As the days pass, I learn the names of my students. It takes time but eventually, I can tell who each of them are as if I’ve known them all year. There are so many different kinds of foals. There are the smarter ones that love to study; if anypony is going to ask a question, it’s them. Then the popular foals, the kind that Diamond was when I was in school. The athletic foals, the kind that’s always daydreaming. Lastly, the quiet types that don’t make a splash in class. I tend to have to look for partners for them when it’s time to do projects. I like them all. They complement each other as a fine ensemble.

I know that they appreciate me too. The very next day after I first started, I was given an apple by Busy Besy. It flattered me to receive something like that and as I ate the sweet fruit during lunch, it reminded me of when I was her age. I bet that Cheerilee thought of me as a teacher’s pet just like that golden haired filly is to me in a way. It’s hard for me not to think about the mare that she used to be. Even during class, I feel as though I can sense her spirit still lingering around. The old sweet voice by the chalkboard, a mere memory.

On the last day, Busy Besy comes to me after class when I’m getting ready to go. I honestly don’t feel like talking on such a dreary day and yet I will. I assume that it has to be about Cheerilee. I talked to the class earlier that she was coming back for the final week. They knew from the beginning that this wasn’t permanent but it doesn’t make it any less difficult to bear. I’ll be a very sad transition when it finally happens and I am hardly looking forward to it.

“What is it?” I say. I sound depressed. I look at her and she is standing very still and gazing at me as foals do when they receive bad news.

“Are you sure that Miss Cheerilee really has to come back?” She frowns and her cheeks puff out. She’s a smart foal and probably already knows the answer I am about to say, which makes it tough for me to have to let her down. She, more than anypony else, likes to have me around.

“I was just taking her place for a little while. I love teaching you all but I have to return to my business in the fall so I can’t really be your teacher long term. I hope you understand.”

She groans and grits her teeth. “I don’t like her. She’s a bad pony.”

I turn around and gaze at her sternly. “You shouldn’t say such things. She’s not bad….she’s just different.”

I don’t know if even I believe that one. I might have been a little too strict with her or maybe not. Dwelling on it won’t help. I walk home. I’ll sure miss the schoolhouse and those foals and that’s what really matters to me. I have become rather fond of teaching, at least as a side job. I guess I just like foals. They really speak to my soul like most adults don’t do. Sweetie does but she’s a rare exception. But my true heart still lies at Peppermint Drops and I don’t think I’ll ever exchange that for anything else.

I go inside and put my stuff down. I hear Sweetie in the kitchen. The water is running.

“I’m home,” I announce myself. “Sweetie, how does a salad sound today?”

Her voice yells back. “That could work.”

I check the coffee table and see today’s mail. A small stack of bills, a letter from Ribbon Wishes, and what looks like another from the school district. My interest is piqued so I tear the end off and pull out the crisp letterhead to read it. Sweetie comes in the room as I’m looking at it.

“That came today. I just put it with the other stuff,” she informs me.

I nod. Wordlessly, I sit down on the chair.

“Are you alright?” Sweetie says with some concern.

I blink a few times, unable to process what it told me. There are a thousand emotions filling my head, leaving me near paralyzed. Only the sweet sound of her voice lifts me out of it.

I put a hoof to my head. “I don’t know….I mean, I do know. The school district…they’ve sent me a notice requesting me to finish off the last week as the head teacher. They said it was a “heads up”. Cheerilee forwarded her resignation to the district. As far as they’re concerned, she’s retired.” Each word is heavy on my tongue.

Sweetie grins and pats my shoulder. “Looks like you won. You don’t have to worry about the foals ending up with her ever again. I am going to make that salad. Maybe I’ll open a bottle of the good stuff and celebrate.”

Celebration isn’t on my mind at the moment. Instead, I feel guilt gnawing at me. Cheerilee is retired because of me. Because of me, she has lost what is the only important thing in her life. How can I live with that? If I can’t then even the sweetest wine might taste bitter and my own signature dish burned. Nothing may be right again. 

I get up and go to the kitchen as Sweetie is busy humming and chopping vegetables.

“Hey, dear,” I say softly. “I think I should go.” Having to tell her this makes me even guiltier.

She furrows her brow. “Why?”

“I just have to go, okay? It won’t take too long so I’ll be back to eat soon enough.”

She looks cross as she puts the spoon down on the table forcefully. “Is this about Cheerilee again? C’mon…it’s not your fault. She was a total bitch of a mare that bothered everypony. Seriously, stop worrying over her.”

I look down and avoid her gaze. “I’m sorry.”

She snorts and resumes stirring the salad. “Fine, whatever. Go if you want. Have fun.” I know she’s annoyed at me. She’s doing that thing where she shuts down and acts sarcastic. We never fight but she used to do that sometimes when I was a foal and I was being difficult. There’s no dealing with that so I get my things and go.

I trot all the way to Cheerilee’s old farm house. The clouds are moving in and it’s windy. The windows are dark and the curtains pulled down. I approach the house quietly. It looks angry. 

I stand at her porch for what seems like an hour. I can’t bring myself to knock nor can I leave. When the wind subsides, I can hear the sound of something inside. Cheerilee could be listening to the radio possibly. I don’t think it’s her talking. After a while, I sigh deeply. There really isn’t more I can say. She won’t listen to me or take my advice. I don’t think she would even take an apology at this point. I want to leave but as I’m staring at her door, I catch a faint sweetness. I am rather confused. There’s nothing around me that would give off anything sweet. Not the old garage, the neglected house itself, or the dirt billowing in the air. Then it suddenly occurs to me that I still have an apple that was given to me this morning. I reach into my saddlebag and pull it out; it’s still in its plastic wrap. It was from Busy Besy but with me worrying about Cheerilee taking over, I was too nauseous to eat it. It’s better than nothing. I put it carefully on the sill facing the window and I walk away.




The first day of the last week is both rewarding and difficult. The foals gave me the most gifts I’ve gotten so far but having to be in charge of the final test is stressing me out. I decide to give them a half day off so I can work more on getting everything graded on time. I am sitting, hunched over my desk, as I hear a knock at the door. It’s rather odd. Nopony ever knocks before. I stand and go see whom had knocked. My heart races and I even gasp. It’s Cheerilee standing there. Her mane is brushed and I no longer smell some heavy drink on her coat. Still, she looks weary just standing there.

“Cheerilee.” I don’t have to ask why she’s here. We both know the reason.

Her ears droop as much as her eyes. “I know.” She starts coughing.

“Come inside…please”

We both go in and sit next to each other.

“Thanks. I’m having a hard time lately,” she says weakly.

“I know and I should be more compassionate towards what you’re feeling,” I reply.

She shakes her head. “No. Quitting is on me. I definitely overreacted.”

“Well, I know that you were only upset because of me.”

She grumbles. “Can’t you just take the hint? I’m trying to apologize here.”

I can’t help but giggle and even her old mouth begins to form a smile.

“I wish none of this had ended. Us talking like friends.”

“But things do come to an end. It’s how life goes.” There is an uncomfortable silence until Cheerilee pulls something from her pack. “I found this in my attic. I had forgotten about it until…something made me remember it.” My eyes widen as I gaze at the old photograph in my hooves. It’s of my old class: of me and Apple Bloom and her friends and all the foals. Cheerilee too, standing in the back with that happy face of hers when her color was still full.

I smell sugar from the tears that well up in my eyes but I wipe them away.

“This should belong to you.”

I shake my head. “I feel like this is all my fault somehow.”

“There are ponies in the world that I should be mad at…but none should be you.” She gets up then breathes heavily. “Come and take a walk with me.”

We leave the school. When she talks, she doesn’t stop but I don’t try and interject. I just listen as we walk peacefully on the rural roads. She tells me how she used to date Big Macintosh. The big red stallion that still farms over at Sweet Apple Acres. She was a lot more naïve back then and ambitious for something the stallion couldn’t offer. She tells me that relationships can sour overnight. It usually doesn’t take much. Just one desire can turn a happy friendship or a cute couple into strangers with years of animosity between them.

Cheerilee saw that there was nothing left after her relationship had ended. She didn’t go to the farm anymore to visit. Not even for the lovely cider that they make. The empty seats in her class reminded her of the friends she no longer had, those that disappeared from her life. They couldn’t be filled and she didn’t wish to try. It was a lot easier to push others away after that.

We walk close enough that I can smell the apples of the orchards.

“We broke up of course. It just wasn’t meant to last. When I went to Apple Bloom, she never wanted to talk about it. She avoided me like I was diseased. It was then that I thought I saw friendship for what it really was. Just a fragile little thing. Ponies didn’t want to see me anymore. I hated being vulnerable so what I did was just to teach. At least I still had that.”

“But friendships don’t make us vulnerable. They bring us up,” I say.

“That’s what I thought too but things didn’t turn out that way. In the end, everypony abandons you.” She lays down and rests her head on her hooves.

All the talk about Apple Bloom dredges up my feelings about her too. I don’t want to be so close to the farm just yet. Maybe she shouldn’t either. There’s just so much that reminds us all of the past around here and the past is such a catalyst for sadness. Some ponies would rather just forget.

“I kind of wonder whether you did the best you could in your situation,” I say.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you just tried to cut yourself off from what was hurting you. Anypony would have done the same. But in your case, you might have lost control.”

She scoffs. “I am a teacher. I do not lose control.”

“Hitting foals?” I chuckle at her expense. “You might have.”

She shudders as if being told what she did is so different from having had done those things herself. “You still don’t understand what it means to change.”

“Maybe you just haven’t had the right kind of change?”

“I don’t know what’s right.”

I smile at her. “Have you ever been to Sweetie Shores?”

We are alone. Two teachers standing together on some old train platform early on a cool morning. The sun has barely risen twenty minutes ago. We watch as the train slowly pulls in. Steam billows outward and a few ponies disembark. Cheerilee picks up her luggage and takes a deep breath. She is wearing a wide hat.

The conductor, a young stallion with a cute face, takes her luggage for her and puts it with some others. When she takes her first step on that train, I look on, full of hope for her and the future she might find out there. I may have given her the idea and encouraged her but it doesn’t make me any less depressed to see my friend go and we haven’t yet began to reconnect after all those years.

She looks at me through the window and waves. She said to me, “It was close, you know. I just wanted to give up on ponies and everything they had to offer. And I would have lost so much if I did.”

As the train disappears, I feel lonely walking back home. I’ll miss her even though she promised that she’ll return to teach foals again. I won’t be worrying about the coming fall and having to deal with that and my work at the shop. There was that apple I had left her. Even I didn’t really believe that I was doing anything to help her when I left it. I guess nostalgia does funny things to ponies. I wonder what it was. Maybe the sweetness of her youth managed to get past all those years of frustration and drinking. A strange thing indeed.


> Ep4: Rainbow Road
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


I am arming myself, perched with my hind legs wrapped around the thick branch of a tree. I fill the last of my ordinance with the green watering spout coated at the end by colorful rubber. I look at the red plastic skin expanding in my lap. It stretches until I take it off and tie it up. I then wait for my unassuming victims. Two fillies skip along the dusty road towards the lake. The sun is roasting today but this is a very good tree. Great for shading me and hiding me from sight. Until it’s too late anyway. I put the red balloon in the sack tied around my neck.

“Oh, this is so much fun!” They giggle and laugh.

I’ll show them fun. I hold them in my stretched hoof then release them like bombs, each hitting them square on the tops of their heads. They pop, reducing their manes into matted messes. It shocks them. It causes them to holler. One even knocks the other over and they roll on the dirt. I slide my leg and drop down to the ground and pelt them with more as quickly as they can lift the hair from their eyes. The two filthy and wet fillies run off, wishing they had never drenched me on the way to a picnic again.

I fall to my side and laugh until saliva drips down the side of my mouth. My side hurts and the last of the balloons break. I hadn’t done that in so long that I’ve forgotten how fun it could be to hit somepony with water balloons. No better classic foal fun than this. I only wish that Sweetie could have been here to get them back but she’s been busy so often that I find myself going out alone. I’m unemployed again now that school is out. I guess hitting my former students will have to suffice as far as something to do is concerned.

I notice that a pony is coming down the road. I get up and brush some leaves off my coat casually. I recognize the mayor and I wave at her as she stops next to me. She looks down at my soaked bag that I put vegetables in at market, the nice one with an embroidered tomato on it and spent water balloons inside. She has a disagreeable look on her face.

“Is this how you choose to spend your time, Miss Twist?” she says, pointing her hoof at my bag. “Is there really no better activity you could be pursuing this afternoon?”

I shift the bag uncomfortably over my shoulders. “I am not sure. The school’s out now and I’ve been looking for something to do. Is it a bad thing to be playing with our neighborhood foals?”

Mayor Mare is an old pony. I don’t know her personally except that I see her grey haired face on posters. Her familiar wrinkled brow tightens when she gets annoyed, like she’s doing now.

“Yes…playing with foals.” She adjusts the glasses that embed themselves in her cheeks. “Be that as it may, our water shortages excludes such activities from grown mares like yourself. I wish for you to refrain from it and to take a more sensible outlook towards our resources.”

“Aren’t you going to the lake?” I ask candidly.

She lifts her nose slightly. “Yes. I am going to photograph the water levels. I do this once a week and have been since early spring. Now, I must go. I assume that you’ll be going to town hall this evening. It is imperative that the towns ponies attend and I insist that you in particular don’t miss it.” She just has to emphasize those last words; I absolutely have to go.

I nod. “Sure.”

“Good day to you.” She hurries off down the road on her stupid water quest.

I mock her elderly voice in an admittedly childish manner. Those politicians are all the same. Not that I know many of them though. I hope that she gets replaced in the next election. A few younger ponies have been campaigning around. I might even help out. Anything to get that sagging pile of bones out of office.

I walk back to town. Its familiar sight comes into view. I’ve gotten used to seeing a brown smear like dirty water on the horizon near the south by the hills. It’s so ugly that I think the sky has been burnt. But at least it looks far from here. I shouldn’t have to worry. I’m not going to act like Lily. The sky isn’t going to fall.

The Sugar Cube Corner café is open for business. I push the door open, ringing the bell. A few ponies are sitting and chatting at their tables. I see the tall and lanky Mr. Cake rolling a large cake on a metal tray elsewhere. The air is sweet in here; it’s just the way I like it. I sit down and look at their clock. The air conditioner makes my coat feel cold so I take off the damp bag.

I tap my hooves on the table until Mrs. Cake sees me.

“Hello, dear,” the pudgy mare chirps.

“Hey, Mrs. Cake. How are things?”

She wears an apron with chocolate stains on the edges. “It’s business as usual around here. You want to see Sweetie Drops?”

I nod. “Yes, please. And also, may I have a soda?”

“Of course. What kind?”

“Uh, make it cherry vanilla.”

“Kay.” She winks then heads to the fountain drinks. She talks to Mr. Cake for a second and he goes into the back. By the time Sweetie comes out, I’ve been sipping the soda in that tall glass for a minute already. My straw dips in and out of the rich cream that floats on top. I like soda. It makes my muzzle scrunch up sometimes.

“What’s up?” she says. Her mane is rolled up in a ball and covered in a white net that makes it look like a nest. A fine layer of flour rests on her coat except for the ends of her forelegs. She wears an apron like Mrs. Cake. Neither of us are wearing our pendants. Mine is safe at home. Hers probably where she keeps her stuff while she works.

Her body sinks into the black metal chair, her foreleg draped over the back. She looks relaxed even after hours of work, packing up cakes and sometimes restocking dough. She is so much tougher than me. I hardly believe I could work like that for long. What I do in Peppermint Drops is something else, more like art through sugar and love.

“I’m well,” I reply. “I wanted to come and say hello. I was bored at home today.” I sip the drink through my straw and let the nectar run down my throat before picking the straw out and licking at the end.

She giggles. “Enjoying your drink?”

“Yeah. It’s my favorite soda here at Sugar Cube.”

“Yes, right. So anything new?”

I shake my head. “Not so much.”

“Why is your bag wet? Is it me but do I smell tree sap on you?”

I didn’t know it was so easily noticeable. I guess I got used to it. “Well, I was playing near the lake. Got some fillies with a water balloon. Then that Mayor Mare came and bothered me. She’s so hung up about water these days.”

Sweetie shrugs her shoulders. “That’s what I’ve heard too. Don’t know a lot about it though. Some businesses are taking steps to improve their water usage though.”

“That’s cool.” My voice is flat because I don’t care.

“I am not sure if it’s true but Mrs. Cake might be considering using cleaned wastewater for her business.”

From hearing that, I shut my mouth hard but red soda threatens to spill out like a breached dam. I swallow and wipe my mouth with a napkin. “Seriously?”

She tilts her head back and laughs at my confusion and the trails of soda on my muzzle. “I think stuff like watering lawns. Not sodas, silly.”

“Whatever. Let’s talk about something else.” I put my head on my hooves.

She sighs. “I know we’ve not hung out as much as we should but I got work and all.”

“They sure do need you around here.” I can’t help but feel a little bitter even with her voice trying to sweeten me. Summers used to be a time where Sweetie and I would spend our afternoons together sipping tea and telling stories. But moving to our new place has changed all that. This first summer feels like a first summer apart from her.

“We should go do something later. After I get washed of course.” She reaches over and squeezes my hoof. “It will be good for us.”

“That will be lovely.” Sweetie checks her mane in her flip mirror and gets up.

“See you soon,” she says. She goes and pushes the swinging door to return to the back. I notice in the corner of my eye that Mrs. Cake is watching, yet pretending to be doing nothing but sweeping the floor. I have no idea why but I feel awkward. I stare at my red soda and the bubbles clinging to the sides of the glass. I drink it then leave.





Most grasses are fading these days. Green turns to dark yellow and I see more patches of dirt that looks like a diseased pony’s coat. The skies are unusually clear. They have been for a month for most days except for the lingering and ominous brown at the horizon. Where are all the clouds? Did the weather ponies take them away?

I wear my umbrella and dark sunglasses on the way to town hall. The withered grasses crumble under my hooves. Town hall square looks so thirsty; it was hit hardest. It’s not as pretty as it used to be.

Sweetie and I walk up to the government office. Other ponies are here as well. Diamond Tiara and her parents. Mr. and Mrs. Cake too with their two foals playing tag on the grounds. Other ponies from our street where all the good shops are. I recognize most of the bigger business owners. The Apples aren’t here. I didn’t expect them to be. They’re technically out of town so this little meeting or whatever Mayor Mare calls it won’t apply to them. I feel both honored that me and Sweetie are considered to be big enough to call with the other businesses but also annoyed that we’re being talked to at all. Surely we don’t need to be talked down to about water of all things.

I try to walk around the Rich family to get inside but Spoiled Rich lightly reaches and taps Sweetie on the shoulder. She turns around.

“Miss Sweetie Drops. It’s so nice to see you again,” the mare says, grinning smugly.

“Likewise, Mrs. Rich.” My Sweetie offers a genuine smile back. I roll my eyes and look away.

“I do hope there is some chance that you can sell my daughter some more of your delicious red velvet candies. She has run out of them already, as she shares them sometimes with friends. I would pay double for it.”

Sweetie sounds unsure. “It’s possible that it could be done. I would have to check my schedule and such. You know how it goes.”

I am focused on looking inside at the group of ponies that are assembling. The mayor is inside, adjusting the microphone. I am suddenly pulled back to Sweetie by a touch on my arm.

“Why don’t you find us a seat? I’ll be in shortly,” she tells me. I nod and agree. I don’t need to be told twice. Better to go in than listen to her talk to Spoiled and Filthy Rich.

I remove my umbrella then I go up to the front row of folding chairs and secure a couple seats. Town hall is a large open space with several balconies overlooking the main auditorium. There is a small stage where ponies often speak. After the ponies finish coming in, it is the mayor’s turn.

“Thank you all for attending this important meeting. All of you are influential ponies, those that provide our town with services and are truly the backbone of this community. However with such importance comes enhanced responsibility that the average pony doesn’t have. Today, an important community leader will help you to fulfill your role in these uncertain times.” After her little speech, she gives the microphone to a pony that comes out from behind the curtains. I recognize her rainbow mane immediately, the beautiful colors of none other than Rainbow Dash!

The mare is wearing a shimmering vest that looks like it’s made of gems. But those are the medals she wears on her chest, the ones she earned as a Wonderbolt elite flyer. She is one of the most famous ponies in our town. One almost never sees her just walking around. She’s always somewhere in Equestria: at a parade, lecturing to young Pegasus ponies, or just being the awesome pony I’ve always known her as. I am rather struck by her presence and I can’t contain my widening smile.

She taps the microphone and gazes at the crowd seriously. “Thank you for the introduction, Mayor Mare. My name is Rainbow Dash.” As if she needs an introduction. Her voice is rougher than most mares and she needs no help projecting it even to the back of the auditorium. She is an amazing motivator. I bet she would make for a fine mayor. “I am afraid to say that I do not speak to you all under pleasant circumstances. What you hear may also be difficult to accept. It is because to overcome our water shortages, the ponies of this town will have to face the situation head on. Our very lifestyles are going to have to change and that goes for most ponies in town.”

I grow concerned and when I look at Sweetie, she looks the same. I grasp her hoof like I used to when I was a foal and we went on dates at the theaters watching scary movies.

Rainbow Dash points to the crowd vigorously. “Each and every one of you will have to do your part. Conserve what little we have left until Celestia sees fit to undo this drought herself. I am just a simple pony and I have faith in her wisdom as do we all.”

“Why do we have to do anything? It’s not that bad really!” Spoiled Rich complains loudly, ignorantly.

“Says the pony with the greenest and largest lawn in town,” Rainbow retorts. She looks back at the audience. “I have a video to show you all so you can understand that this is no small matter.” Dash signals the city hall staff to lower the projector screen. A video flashes on the white fabric. The video is very shaky as it was shot from the air, possibly by a Pegasus pony in flight. Below, long lines of fire shoot up from dense forested hills like lines of massive candles. Ugly smoke climbs into the sky. I’ve never seen anything like it before. But it’s not something fake. It’s very real and it’s quite the downer to see all those trees go up in flames.  

“We’ve not seen wildfires like this in generations. This is happening because of the perfect combination of not being prepared, not having enough water to make clouds and waste. I believe that if we conserve, we will be able to counter this harsh summer and recover through the winter. This is why you all must do your part and reduce your personal consumption. After all, it’s your businesses and homes that use the most. I am personally counting on you.”

Despite the scary scene of destruction I saw, Rainbow’s speech still manages to inspire a desire to do what I can to help. What little a pony like me can do anyway. The ponies are leaving after it has concluded. I see her talking to the mayor so I tell Sweetie to wait for me outside. I walk up to Rainbow Dash. She notices me.

I do know her but she is still a Wonderbolt and everything she does reminds me of that from her rigid posture to her golden emblem on her uniform.

Talking to ponies of substance always makes my heart pound harder. I hope my voice doesn’t crack. “Rainbow Dash, your speech was very good. I just know that the ponies of this town will listen to you,” I say. I bet I come off like a fan but she doesn’t appear to be annoyed but pleased to hear what I have to say. If anything, Rainbow is still very down to earth unlike the rest of her peers.

“Thank you, Twist. You and Sweetie Drops alike are going to be an important part of this. We’ll solve this problem together because this town can never be divided.”

“You’re right. I’m willing to do what I can.”

After that, I leave her alone to continue her chat with the mayor. They look like old friends. It makes little sense except that they are in fact older and way more important so I guess that is how it is. I rejoin Sweetie and we begin walking back home. The sun looks reddish behind smoky clouds. It reminds me of a torch in a cave. As I look at the business owners dispersing from town hall, I think about what I can do to help Rainbow like I said I would. Peppermint Drops isn’t running so that’s a start but I’ll have to cut back on the water balloons at least. I don’t need to be a psychic like Crystal Wishes to know that the rest of summer isn’t going to be so great.

At home, we eat a light dinner and read books for a while. I don’t take my evening bath like I normally do. Whenever my hoof goes near a spigot, it is stayed like it is a thief, stealing water somehow from ponies that really need it. I hate being so uncomfortable about my own water usage.

I go out for a walk the next morning. There are no clouds in the sky. I don’t expect any. I don’t hear the sounds of water sprinklers. A sign at Sugar Cube Corner announces an additional water “surcharge” for all drinks effective immediately.

I walk past the brick wall that borders the Flower Fillies’ property. I open the iron gate below a brick arch. Inside, a path winds to the left towards their architecturally Ponyville style house and their half acre of arable land that even has a greenhouse at one corner. It’s a lot of land in our town but unlike Spoiled with her manicured lawn and flowers she never touches, the Flower Fillies use every square cm of soil to grow vegetables and flowers. Lily lies low on all fours, still as a garden statue, and digs in the soil carefully with a hoof shovel.

She is tenderly touching a small flower, cupping it in her hooves. My shadow falls over her and she looks up, her eyes squinting and slowly blinking as if they’re scratchy.

“Hello, Twist,” she says. Her voice is shaky.

“I was just in the neighborhood. You’re gardening?” A gust of wind comes and brushes some of the dry topsoil into the air. I have to shield my face to prevent some from getting into my eye.

It doesn’t bother her. “My life is a horror show. This plant won’t make it.” Her voice falls to a whisper barely audible over the wind.

“But plants die a lot, don’t they?”

“It’s different,” Lily says. “In my hooves, they always survive. I know all the plant species by name. Each flower native to this region, I’ve grown before. But things are different now and the soil isn’t safe for them anymore.”

She takes me to the greenhouse, a rectangle structure of glass and plastic not much bigger than Zecora’s hut. I’ve been here before and I never really cared for this sweaty green light filled place that’s like the forest in summer. One can choke on the concentrated scent of pollen in here. Climbing plants go up metal pipes and rows of plants lie on the floor in various sized plastic pots.

“These are my best plants, the ones that should survive,” she says. I sense that she’s like a mother to those plants. A proud flower mother. I see a metal claw shaped device and ask about it.

“It’s a pruner. It’s for flowers.” She demonstrates it by removing a petal from a tulip with all the delicacy from an expert like her.

“It’s a great idea to keep sensitive plants in here,” I mention.

“Certainly. We are not called the Flower Fillies for nothing. We know our trade but this is way beyond the normal. I never had to rely on the greenhouse like this.” I look around and I can start to see what she’s talking about. It’s like a hospital for plants and the pots incubators for those too weak to live on outside in the sun. It’s saddening to see it all happen in front of me and there’s nothing I can do about it.

It’s not the sun’s fault. One can look at the same plants I see as I leave her house and determine that it’s killing plants, those that are withering in the soil. But the sun’s the same. It’s our world that’s slowly changing. The mare that I caught up to is perhaps the best at growing flowers in town. She’s who we look to when it comes to the prettiest parade floats, our town’s lovely landscaping, and flowers for our loved ones. I just don’t understand. Rainbow Dash said that she doesn’t question Celestia’s wisdom. But where is the wisdom in letting flowers die for the sake of changing the weather? I have to know what the Wonderbolt would say about it. Something beyond some speech she wrote. I’ll be able to tell Lily why all this happened and maybe then we can talk about other things like how she’ll display the flowers at my wedding. Anything would be better than drooping out here.




I have some money in my saddlebag so I pay to take a hot air balloon for the day. It’s rather easy for me to use and it will get me in the air if I have to. Rainbow Dash has one of the most isolated homes in the Ponyville area. I haven’t been there in years but I remember Apple Bloom’s friend, Scootaloo, taking me there once when we were little. Scootaloo was one of those ponies that had Rainbow Dash on posters and stuff; I actually think she was the first. Their relationship was pretty unique, even going so far as competing together in the Sister Hooves Social even though they’re not actually related. I don’t talk to Scoots much anymore so I don’t know if that’s still the case. I turn my head and see more of the south beyond the close mountains. The sky looks uglier the further I can see. Brown turns near black like dragon territory must be. I almost want to crouch down and hide from it.

Dash’s home is beautiful, modeled after her home city of Cloudsdale, the Pegasus cultural capital of Equestria. It’s where flowing clouds and pillars look elegant and capture the beauty of the sun. Rainbow waterfalls tops it all or at least it used to. I don’t see a trace of the former splendor as I touch down near her front door. Tying the rope down, I jump on the cloud. For some reason, these clouds are infused with some kind of magic that allows an Earth pony like me to walk on them. I have no idea how.

I knock on the door. I wait patiently for a few minutes. Rainbow opens it and sees me. She looks a bit perplexed to be visited by me all of a sudden but she relaxes and gives a warm smile.

“Twist, what are you doing here?” she inquires.

“May I come in?”

“Yeah.” She opens the door and steps aside. I go inside. Her house is open and cold like a museum; fitting since there’s not much in there besides photos of herself and proof of her life’s work: trophies glittering in the sunlight, photos of her racing, and a blue guitar set on the wall over her couch.

She goes to an ironing board and presses an iron into her blue uniform with a low hiss.
“Want anything to drink?” she offers.

“Not right now. I kind of came to talk.”

She looks at me. “I don’t have much time to chat”, she says almost dismissively. “I have to fly elsewhere.”

I sit on the couch. It’s pretty comfortable but cold. Rainbow should put blankets on it.

“I am sorry for coming unannounced but I just need a little bit of your time.” I am distracted by her statement that she is leaving so I ask where she’s going.

“Towards Cloudsdale,” she says, lifting the iron. I see. That’s why she’s going to look presentable.

“I have to ask. Is it about the drought? I bet the Cloudsdale ponies can really provide aid to us.”

“We are all doing our part,” she says firmly as if trying to convince me. “I even shut off my rainbow falls because it uses water. I am directing Ponyville’s efforts to overcome this dry season more than anypony else. Cloudsdale has no part to play.”

“What about the princess? Can’t she do anything?” I say.

“It was the princess which granted me this task. She knows what’s best for her kingdom.” I can’t help but think that none of this makes any sense. So many ponies puts so much faith in others that it clouds their judgment. Rainbow Dash, Twilight, Mayor Mare, Celestia. And the ponies trusts them. They’re the ones with the shiny metal crowns and rows of medals. Rainbow Dash sets aside her uniform.

“Any chance you’ll reconsider the drink?”

My head hurts. “Maybe. What do you have?”

“Lemonade but the kind I don’t like. Fluttershy makes it.”

“Alright, I’ll have some. Do you have an aspirin?”

Rainbow strolls to her kitchen. “I’ll check.”

All in all, I enjoyed my little visit to Rainbow Dash. She took out a photo album from her last Wonderbolt flying circuit in southern Equestria. There were so many of the blue clad flyers in a row with their excited fans in the background. I asked her why she wouldn’t move back to Cloudsdale or somewhere else with more Pegasus ponies. She said that ponies that grow older put down roots sooner or later. Only a few ponies out there are comfortable just drifting from place to place as migrating birds do forever. The places that ponies live in become a part of who they are, something to be loyal to.

I return the balloon and walk casually down the street. It is late afternoon and Sweetie should be home by now. I consider picking up some food to go from one of the local shops but the sound of galloping seizes my attention. Lots of ponies I recognize are going in the same place. Usually that means something interesting around here so I decide to go. Maybe Sweetie is there.

I join the rear of this crowd which coalesces into a large pony mass where I can hardly distinguish individuals out of. Sweetie isn’t here as far as I know. It stops at the massive doors of the Friendship Castle. Its shadow falls over the crowd and the wind that rushes between it and the homes behind penetrates my coat. There is a balcony above where Princess Twilight looks down at her ponies. Her friend and loyal companion, Spike the Dragon, stands by her side. He’s still young and has barely changed in these years but they live for centuries so that’s no surprise. Even from here, I can see the worry on the princess’s face. Spike however, isn’t scared or else he is very good at masking it with youthful courage.

Several ponies at the front which must have started this whole thing are shouting at the princess. I have a hard time hearing what they are saying. I go and nudge a nearby pony, Miss Derpy Hooves. She’s a grey Pegasus mare with lopsided eyes and a crooked smile.

“What’s going on here?” I say.

She shrugs her shoulders and smiles. “I don’t know. I just love crowds.” I turn away from her awkward eyes and try to edge around the crowd. There are large royal guards to our sides, ponies with muscles like rocks, and they gaze at us menacingly. Suddenly the crowd begins to chant about water over and over again. Many of them stomp their hooves and there are signs raised too. My stomach knots up and I sweat. I have no business at a protest of all things. I want to turn and run when I hear the powerful voice of the princess.

“Ponies, we accomplish nothing together by making these demands of me. I am in a difficult situation as you all are. Don’t lose faith that I have your best interests at heart.”

The ponies are angrier than I thought. They shout but I can’t understand their words. There are screams further away and I can’t see why but the result is a wave of fear and pony bodies. Many bolt in my direction and I scuttle away. Derpy brushes past me and takes off. There is a pony which strikes me but I see nothing but a fast moving blur. My body lights up in pain as I roll on the ground, losing all sense of direction. Whatever this protest is about is forgotten. My right hind leg is on fire. But a sweet smell enters my nostrils. I want to keep smelling it so the pain would be kept away but strong hooves pick me up. My vision is blurry and my ears are flat so I can’t hear. I don’t fully fade away but time moves in an uncertain haze.





I don’t remember much. My leg was hurt and a cast forms a shell over it, a hard piece of plaster as white as sugar. But inside, it’s not sweet but bloody and metallic and broken. In the last several days, I’ve had to get used to the whirring of a metal fan keeping me cool. I don’t open the window much because the air is so dry. I look outside and still see no clouds or even birds. Maybe the weather ponies took them away to lakes full of water.

Getting injured has made me tired. I take pain medication that tastes the opposite of sweet. I sleep even during the day. I may as well since I can’t really get up yet. I dream of Rainbow Dash’s house and its rainbow waterfalls which once spilled to the earth. She told us that the rainbows first came from Cloudsdale. Each one was unique but had the same colors that never changed. I craned my neck and looked up in awe then. The memories of that day at the castle are painful so sleeping means I think about it less. Ponies yelled for help. I remember my lips moving. The words “Sweetie….help…shit, no!” were uttered but whether it was me or not which said them is unclear now as I lay in bed. Ponies talk about bad words because they’re unlike our true selves. They don’t come from our sugary hearts at all. If my lips did speak them then they were put there like the medicine I force myself to take that tastes like sickness itself.

Sweetie wakes me later and brings me tomato soup. It looks like a red lake. She thinks I’m lucky to rest every day and calls me strong. She doesn’t really know that I would gladly switch places. Although, I would never wish such pain on her. I would rather bear it so I would have to take that prior thought back. At least we’re spending time together. The Cakes are giving her more time off to help me.

“Any visitors today?” I say. I swirl the soup with my spoon absentmindedly.

“Do I not count?” she asks playfully.

The Flower Fillies came earlier. Sweetie must have told them to be easy because they barely asked about why I was injured. They came bearing roses, cards and pens to sign my cast and drew happy faces. Other than them, nopony came to see me.

Sweetie helps me into the tub one day. I sit in there alone. The water is lukewarm bordering on cold and I do little but think. Does Twilight bathe like I do? Is her tub made of gold? Is it as big as a swimming pool? I’ve never been there but I hear it’s vast and the walls are freezing as they’re made of pure crystal like the Crystal Empire. I am foolish to hope that she would care about me. I have to nearly beg to get the papers every day from Sweetie. She doesn’t want me to burden myself about the problems in town in my condition but that’s just too bad. Several ponies besides me were hurt in the stampede. Some say the guards started it and others say the rioters did. I didn’t see one article about the princess visiting the injured. All she’s good for is standing, waving and giving worthless speeches.

After Sweetie helps me back to bed, I read a book for a while. Sometime later, I hear voices from downstairs. My ears flatten and I scowl. It better not be her, I think. I’ll hobble to the door and lock it first, in pain the entire way. But I know I don’t have to when the name “Rainbow” reaches me and a knock at my door comes after that.

“Twist, may I come in?” Her gruff voice has never sounded lighter.

“Yes, you may.”

She sits in a chair. “How are you coming along? When I heard about what happened, I came back to town as fast as I could,” she says. “Sweetie saw me and told me that you were in here.”

“It hurts sometimes but I’ll recover.”

Rainbow grins. “I know you will. Take it from me, things never stay broken forever. You know, I have an idea. How about I add a little something to that thing?” She has a gold pen with her and I watch as she signs it near my friend’s hoof writing. It’s a lot more professional looking. My cast suddenly shoots in value.

“There, that ought to do it.” She puts the cap back on the pen.

“Thanks so much, Rainbow Dash.”

“You’re welcome, pal.” I smile. I’m her pal now.

Sweetie enters the room with a small bowl full of chocolate malt balls.

“Rainbow, would you like to try one? I’m sure you would love it,” she offers kindly.

“That sounds great. I love chocolate,” she says excitedly. She takes them and pops one in the air like a coin and it lands on her tongue. We both grin as she does that to a few more. She does miss one and it falls to the floor.

“Whoops…sorry.”

“I’ll clean it. Don’t worry,” Sweetie assures her.

“Well, I guess I ought to be off. I should go and see the princess while I’m here,” Rainbow says, getting up.

“Hey, Rainbow,” I say nervously. “Would it be possible for you to come and see us tomorrow?”

Rainbow rubs the back of her head and frowns. “I’m not sure. I have to fly to Cloudsdale in the morning. You know how that goes.”

“I know. But how about just a few minutes?”

“Can you both have coffee here for me?”

“I’m sure we can,” Sweetie says.

“Then sure, I’ll stop by. I hate the morning rush for coffee.” She says bye then goes downstairs with Sweetie. I get my reaching stick, a thing that allows me to grab objects further than my arms, and pick up the small chocolate that fell to the floor. It’s small like a marble. I put it on my nightstand and roll it with my hoof. She touched this chocolate, the pony that calls herself my pal.

Later, I use a wheelchair for the first time. Sweetie was finally able to pick one up today which came at the right time. I am able to use my forelegs to walk with my hind legs suspended so that two large wheels takes their place. I look like part pony, part machine.

I call Scootaloo and ask her how to use rainbow in cooking. I vaguely recall that it could be done but I don’t remember how and I don’t have much experience with it. She tells me that the essence of a rainbow can be isolated from its airy form but it’s rather elusive and she can’t find any more. When I press her further, she admits that she does have one jar left that Rainbow Dash gave her. I ask for some but she refuses. At least not until I offer 50 bits for just a smidgen. I tell her to give it to me right away.

I look at the stuff. It’s barely anything at all, a swirling glob of layered color. It’s not much larger than one of my Peppermint Drops but unlike most things that size, it lasts. I work like a chemist, using a needle to inject rainbow into little spheres of white sugar mixed with a little gelatin. I throw them into the oven and let them set.

I go to bed late. Sweetie doesn’t mind and helps fluff my pillow for me. There, I relax and fall into my spot. I don’t sleep right away. I think about Rainbow Dash, Cloudsdale so far away and candy that I don’t even have a name for yet. I drift to sleep, comforted by the sound of Sweetie’s snoring.

Sweetie and I are up early. My hooves scrape on the floor as I move around in the wheelchair. The yellow light of morning coats the kitchen as I put the hard candies in a glass bowl. They look better than I thought they would be. The kitchen is great too. Sweetie cleaned up after me with a solution smelling like lemon.

I look at the clock as time passes slowly. I am resting my forelegs on the island, giving them a reprieve from moving me around by themselves. Sweetie is next to me and smiling as Rainbow Dash grabs one of my new candies. I am pretty anxious. I have this meticulous procedure when it comes to candy like I’m making medicine. If ponies came back telling me that their candies were too sweet, hard or if the flavor was bad then we would be like any other business that’s failed.

I have to paint a picture in my mind of what a candy will do. It’s so special for all ponies. Rainbow is especially particular. Beneath her proper Wonderbolts exterior, she is finicky as to what she likes and dislikes. I can imagine a surge of flavor going at Rainbow’s tongue like a succession of waves: fruity red, acidic yellow, cool blue. I thought she would let the candy sit and melt slowly but instead, she chomps down and I hear a hard crunching sound. She demands satisfaction from her candy.

Her eyes look energized. “Now this is something else,” she says. Her right cheek is full.

“So you like it?” Sweetie says.

“I love it. I’m impressed that you know my favorite is hard candy, Twist.”

I go and give her a paper towel to wipe her mouth. I don’t want a drop of rainbow dye to fall on her uniform. “It’s what I do best. Is there anything about it that I can do better?”

“I don’t think so. The taste reminded me of the Cloudsdale factories where I grew up with. The taste just put me back to when I didn’t even have my cutie mark,” she says. As she talks, her tongue is visible and there are colorful blotches smeared on it. It looks like patches of oil and it makes me giggle.

She is confused for a moment. Sweetie points to her own tongue and Rainbow picks up a spoon, looks in it and chuckles.

“Wow, that’s amazing. I thought only real rainbow could do that.”

“It’s because it is rainbow,” I say. “It’s so expensive but I managed to get my hooves on some. I didn’t stop until I did because I knew the candy would be perfect for you.”

“You are definitely something, Twist.” She goes and pats my shoulder like a real friend does. She has the firm touch of a Wonderbolt.

She doesn’t stay long but I tell her to take all the candies. She is grateful and promises to come back to visit after her trip. When she is gone, my stomach growls and I ask Sweetie to make me some breakfast. I’m definitely not used to the wheelchair. Forget making food with my two hooves.

In the middle of the night, I can’t sleep. Sweetie is quiet as she lays beside me and the moonlight falls through the slits in our blinds. I use the reaching device to turn them open until I can see the moon, silver and full. I notice that there is a strange sound falling on the roof like pebbles. It distracts me and I can’t close my eyes. I look outside. I don’t know what’s out there but there are fast moving objects streaking across the sky, their silhouettes crossing over the stars. My heart beats faster. I don’t know what’s out there. When they fly away, the sound of pebbles ends and it’s quiet again. When Sweetie’s arm falls over me, I relax. I close the blinds. My heavy eyelids are shut.

I try to force some normalcy into my life after my injury. I go out with Sweetie at least once every day after Rainbow’s visit. A week has passed since then. And another week after that. We go and eat ice cream. It’s expensive these days but Sweetie and I don’t care about that. I think about other things. How I am so self-conscious of everything I do, every action I take. Some ponies stare like they know I was hurt in the stampede and that makes me some kind of novelty, a pony that all the papers are talking about. I just want to go home.

I think about the night that was so strange. Everything is still vivid and real. The sound of rain that was right over my house. But the clouds went away and they don’t do that on their own. The only ponies I knew that could do that are Pegasus ponies. I’ve never seen them working at night either. Eager to learn more about this, I call Rainbow’s personal phone. I leave a message, telling her to call me back. It’s very important. Still, who knows when she’ll ever receive the message? She’s such a busy pony after all. I can only hope that she’ll take the time to talk to me.

No rain comes back since then. No letter from the princess ever arrives in my mailbox. Instead, Rainbow stops by when I’m napping. I am woken one afternoon after a lunch of soup and a sandwich. My belly is still full and my vision is still foggy when I go into the shop area. Rainbow is seated on one of the stools. She has a cup of tea. Her coat is clean and smooth but her posture is anything but comfortable and her eyes are droopy. She is staring into space as I wheel myself to the table. I am surprised to see her but I don’t want to ask too many questions. I don’t know if being too nosy will cause her to shut down or not. I’m just grateful for her being here in my house.

We do small talk for a bit; but instead of the weather, we talk about celebrities and the latest movie to come out. Me and Sweetie went and saw the romantic comedy, Pretty Please, about a mare that’s a doormat in the big city. I snacked on candy while it played. It’s not really Rainbow’s kind of movie. She uses her spoon to turn her lemon slice over.

“I never came up with so many roadblocks in my life back at Cloudsdale. Here I am, a Wonderbolt, and I feel like I’m just a random Pegasus off the cloud. The factories make rainbows but sometimes I feel like red tape is all they got,” Rainbow says, recalling what happened.

“I can’t believe even you are having trouble in your own city,” I reply, frowning. I sort of know what it’s like to be in her shoes with the princess not contacting me. The crown probably doesn’t want ponies to talk about the drought.

She smirks suddenly. “Well, they can always try. But I’m Rainbow Dash and if I want something, no stupid bureaucrats are going to stop me.” She pulls a file from her saddlebag. “Like this. I was looking through it and there’s so much I didn’t know.”

“How did you get that?” Sweetie whispers as if she’s worried that the file is bugged and ponies are listening into our conversation. She watches too many spy movies, I think.

Rainbow crosses her forelegs. “I took it from a high ranking politician close to the city council. The council has a bunch of ponies on it who are responsible for various things. One of them used to work on behalf of a large factory that develops rainclouds. One of his jobs now is being responsible for storing water for the city in case of emergencies but he also works with the council to distribute water as needed to cities throughout Equestria. If it sounds like a big job, well, it is.”

“They just let anypony do it?” I ask.

“Not at all. It’s so important that the ponies vote them in and they serve terms like a mayor. They can’t be fired. Only recalled. That’s where it gets tricky since the ponies of Cloudsdale are notorious for getting upset with their council members for not doing their jobs to their liking.”

I drink my tea. “They would know a lot about the drought, I would imagine.”

Rainbow nods. “Certainly but the guy in charge kept his lips sealed. But he didn’t count on my security clearance. I went to the records they keep at the government facility and after a bit of digging around, I found this. Turns out that the town is reporting drought too which is why they can’t give out as much water to the rest of Equestria. I assume they conform to Celestia’s plans more or less but the town has a lot more unaccounted water supplies. It means they are hoarding.”

“I think they are stealing water too,” I add. I look at her very seriously. Her eyes widen in surprise.

“That’s a bit much even for them. Do you really think they’re doing this?” she says, alarmed. She taps her chin thoughtfully. She is rather suspicious. I hope I am not wrong about this.

“I know it might be a lot to hear but I did see strange movement really early like ponies flying but trying to stay quiet.”

“When did this happen?”

“Like one in the morning or something.”

“That would help to account for them having so much water.” Her voice rises. I can tell she’s pissed. “They’re so arrogant. What they’re doing to my town makes me want to pound their faces in.” She turns to me, her posture apologetic. “Sorry, that’s my old self talking. Still, they would deserve it.” She scowls.

“You should go to the princess and tell her about it,” Sweetie suggests.

“No, not yet,” Rainbow says. “I need more evidence so to speak. The mayor has a lot of basic information on file about water and precipitation but not much about ponies in general except the town’s water usage. If I can get a closer look at individual ponies then I can prove that the effects of the drought are made far worse than Celestia had desired. If Twist is correct then it will only implicate Cloudsdale as being part of this without a doubt especially if it’s done without my knowledge.”

I come up with an idea and I know it will help her a lot. I ask her to come with me to the Flower Fillies. She tells me that she’ll do anything I request so we can get to the bottom of it. At Lily’s house, I am unnerved by the lack of sound. There would always be somepony out here working on the soil but there’s a silence like the place is a graveyard. I look between the bars of the gate. There is nothing but an ugly brown where a garden used to be. I ring the small bell and Roseluck comes out.

Roseluck opens the gate. She looks at my wheelchair. “Hello, Twist. Feeling better?”

“I’m not bad. I was wondering if we could take a look at your property for a moment. Rainbow Dash is here to survey the damage done to our town.”

She lets us in right away. “I thought the mayor was going to do this but she never came. The town only cares about the lake or the rivers. Not about ponies like us.” I feel sad for her. The Flower Fillies must be just desperate. I can even hear it in her voice, the kind that just asks for help.

Rainbow clicks her tongue. She is agitated. “I can’t believe Twilight will do nothing as this goes on. Even with Celestia’s influence, the fact that she’ll sit here and let this happen is just awful.”

“It’s possible that neither took into account the water hoarders at Cloudsdale,” I say.

“True but even so, she should have done something by now. I ought to confront her about this. Perhaps you should come along and say something to her?”

I immediately shake my head. “I can’t. I don’t want to talk to her right now.” I stare at my dry hoof as it pokes at the hard and cracked soil.

She comes up to me and puts her arm around me. I let her comfort me in this barren place and I even do the same, giving her a hug with my muzzle burrowed in her blue coat. With how badly my princess has failed me, I just want to cry. Ponies would expect that weakness. I’m a weak mare, aren’t I? Still, that’s not how I’ve been in the last week. I’m not lying in bed, moping about what happened to me. I’m up and about, even in a wheelchair. I’m haven’t even stopped making candies. But I refuse to see Twilight. If she can’t be bothered to make the effort than neither shall I.

Rainbow breaks away from the hug. Her normally rigid self softens and she looks remorseful. “It might take time but someday you might see that Twilight isn’t like those ponies in Cloudsdale. I hope you find it in your heart to forgive her. Even a princess can’t be perfect.” She opens her wings and before she flies off, looks at me. “I’ll see you soon.”





I am reading the paper in bed the next morning. The sun gives me plenty of light to read. Sweetie’s honey tea is really good today. It always makes me focus on things. The fire is being subdued at last. There’s not much left to it. It’s sputtering its last gasp and its remains can barely be seen from our town. The commanders of the local Pegasus squadrons is interviewed. She goes on about the “tough fight” as she calls it and is proud of her ponies and their victory. Then she thanks Princess Celestia and I close the paper, folding it on my lap.  

I push the blanket aside. I need to be focused for a reason. Today is the day. I feel fine. I reflect on what it was like, those days when I was like a prisoner in that cast. But I touch my hoof alongside where it was signed by Rainbow Dash; the gold stands out in the light. It dawns on me that my imprisonment in this cast could have been far worse. Without a pony such as she that can speak on the same level, I may have never wished to leave, afraid of what ponies may think. I would I be? Just a victim of some tragic circumstance.

I unlatch the cast down the side where it’s bound together. It cracks like a walnut because it’s very tight. It submits to my hooves and my leg flexes. Soon, the pieces fall and I can see my leg again. The coat there is a darker shade than the rest of my body. Makes sense. When I took a bath, I would have to seal the whole leg off with a strong bag like device that we ponies use. It wasn’t too comfortable but I could at least bathe with it. Better than a sponge bath I guess.

The doctor told me that my leg would still be weak even after it’s healed. I press down on it just barely, enough for me to stand on all four legs. My weak leg does its best to mimic a very young foal that can barely stand. I look at the wheelchair in the corner of the room. Sweetie and I are going to donate it to the hospital.

I tread down the stairs as slow as I can. It takes forever, mostly out of worry, for me to get down there. I don’t want Sweetie to interfere. She may be my future wife but this is something for me to do alone. I smell muffins and chocolate. Without even thinking, I find myself walking to the kitchen as if it is just another normal day.

We eat together. She doesn’t cease to praise me for my ability to move around again and has barely touched her muffin by the time I’ve finished mine and drank the milk in front of me. I feel like it’s my birthday.

Then I hear it. The sound of pebbles on the roof.

“It’s rain!” Sweetie exclaims.

I look out the window. I thought there were no clouds in the sky again but I see the brilliant drops out there fall to the earth, each one a beautiful diamond. We both go outside and there are the Pegasus ponies. The white clouds casts shadows over town hall and the Friendship Castle. They kick the clouds and more rain falls. Foals run outside and try to catch the rain on their tongues. Mayor Mare is in the middle of the road with her gaze upwards, not caring that her clipboard is wet. I get wet too but there’s nothing bad about it. I see Busy Besy with the foals and I go to her and we end up splashing around in the deepening puddles.

Then a great whooshing sound comes from above, followed by a gust of wind. The water sprays into my face and whips everypony’s manes into a mess. But I shake my head to get the red strands out of the way and scan the sky. A blue pony, faster than all the others, flies upwards and goes into a dizzying circle around the sun. As she climbs, there is an explosion of color and a rainbow trail which forms a circle around it. Rainbow’s display probably looks very beautiful to all, a display of love from Cloudsdale to the ponies of Ponyville. I see the hard candy I made, a sphere of light with something very bright in the center. It makes me proud to see it. Whatever has bound us together has made our friendship whole.


> Ep5: New Summers of Change
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

        Can a pony count to a billion? Probably not since such a number is so vast as to be unreachable, and yet, it is surprisingly everywhere. There are billions of grains of sand. Billions of blades of grass and flowers grow on the same hills where ponies play. Their princess of the night looks up at billions of stars. Even the ponies themselves are part of it. There are far fewer than a billion of them but each are made of billions of cells. Computers are the only things that have the capacity to calculate such numbers and in the blink of an eye no less. But a mere pony can use numbers in ways computers can’t. They are the reason why computers even exist after all, a thing that has the memory of billions of bytes. 

Ever since ponies started making computers, they’ve done more and more to make them faster and more powerful. They can force computers to do what they can’t. Even connect the whole world of Equestria in their great network. Ponies and computers are a little similar. Ponies have synapses that come and go. Over time, they might number in the billions too. Ponies have their own way of maturing and it takes a long time so no computer could exist long enough to see it. It’s the way of the world. A computer has such little time. When its usefulness runs out then it’s over. A black screen forever. All the billions of bytes reduced to junk. 

But if a computer could think, in its own way, it wouldn’t lament its destruction. Computers are calculating machines. Emotion doesn’t come into play like with a pony. Rather, thought would be devoted towards those that spend their lives alongside computers. Each relationship must be special like how each pony buys a computer to satisfy something in their lives. But that thinking computer would also see the pony who looks into the screen as the object that grows too. Ponies and computers together forever. 

Both ponies and computers are unique. Computers have serial numbers. Ponies have a lot of things. Especially the eyes. They’re like windows or even screens, something a computer would wish to see it as. Ponies blink their eyes to keep them wet but ponies clean the computer screens so it makes sense. Some computers get users more special than others. A colt with two eyes with two different colored irises. 

This colt is young. His birthday is in winter, a good long time from summer where the calendar says that he is enjoying break. A period of time of “relaxation” and trips to the beach. He fills in things on his own. Everything that’s important to him, he makes sure to open up the calendar and type it in. Whenever he does this, he types in the words precisely, one downward stroke at a time. His tiny frame barely makes his head eye level to the screen when he’s sitting down in his black computer chair. When the lights are off, there is nothing visible except for his head and neck. The color of the screen often washes out his coat, making it look darker than the bright red that he really has. 

He loves his videogames. His parents buy them for him and he plays with a button pad on his lap. He stares at the screen, tapping away at the pad, until his eyes glaze over. Everything is automatic: each press of a button, how often he blinks his eyes, the rise and fall of his chest. Playing his games is what he does most often. 

It can be imagined that it has been that way for the colt for years. He is very young and has never known life without these technologies. His next birthday means he will turn 12. A computer might not have the concept of birth and death totally understood but one would know of its own existence as a matter of time. The colt’s computer was dated three years prior. The colt’s parents were prudent, making sure that pictures and videos were carried on to their next computer. The evidence of the colt can tell a mountain of words. He has choppy blonde hair that roams over his face. His parents make him go to the dentist twice a year. He’s had cavities and braces. He doesn’t smile with them on. He’s gone on 14 vacations. It’s with his parents and he’s often photographed alone. He does smile in many photographs but it’s just the whisper of a true smile as if it was urged to come out and that was all the colt had. 

He stops playing his game. An average session all around. Slew 400 monsters and collected thousands of golden coins. He sets aside the game pad next to bottles of soda and candy wrappers before loading up a popular social media site. A valuable asset for a computer is sharing information and with the internet, computers are able to share anything from one end of Equestria to the other as long as the pony users will it; so many of them do. Even the pioneer of this concept uses it. Every computer is aware of the real princess called Pixel Wavelength. If it wasn’t for her, a lot of things ponies take for granted with computers wouldn’t even exist. In the world she serves, computers were meant to be a part of it so in a way, she is their princess too, isn’t she? Computers do their best to carry out her will and through it, ponies like this colt communicate with the outside world. 

The colt has friends on social media. He talks to them routinely, often like clockwork. Not a day goes by where he doesn’t. When they fail to show up, that’s a pouty day in the making. Thankfully, other foals are very much active, chatting to each other and sharing fun things they’ve been doing. He is a great typist. Far faster than most foals. So many have fat hooves that stumble and clatter keyboards awkwardly. Sometimes when his friends visit, they’ll do that. His speed gives him an advantage in many games. 

He is logged on. His name is emblazoned on the social site like everywhere else on his computer. The many pixels form the red letters that spell his name, Raptor Red. His friends wait for him to come and talk. They have been talking about him for some time. Wondering when he’ll show up and he soon does. 

He types skillfully. 

Hey, guys. 

The filly, Gene Gadget, answers back. She doesn’t live far from him. She and many of Raptor’s friends go to the same school. It’s on the outskirts of town. It’s made of red bricks. 

We’ve been waiting. I thought you were going to come earlier. 

Raptor sweats despite the room being at optimal temperature. He types again. 

Sorry, I almost forgot. Can I still come along with you guys? 

A pause. 

Yeah. Just don’t be any later. Meet us on Mane Street. 

He smiles and stands up, pushing away from the desk. He closes the browser and then turns off the monitor and its small camera, blinding the computer as it were. The computer is always connected to the internet as long as it has power though and the colt rarely turns it off. As usual, he doesn’t as he follows through on his desire to meet his pony friends. The computer knows everything and not just about Red himself. Gene Gadget has her own profile on the same social media sites that are frequented by nearly every foal. She’s a grey and silver haired unicorn. A self-declared genius and a straight A student. Lives on Frost Berry St. Has a mother in the textile industry and a father that sells specialty horseshoes on the road. Red will meet her soon at Mane Street. It’s the heart of town where most of the shops are located. 

The foals love to update their statuses, to show the world what they’re up to. Red loves ice cream and licking snow cones in the heat of summer. It’s 98 degrees this afternoon and the high is 102. His friends take lots of pictures. Red is sitting under a shop awning and smiling with his treat. Then he’s walking down the street, shielding himself from the sun with his hoof. He photographs his favorite clothing store’s logo and calls his parents on his smart phone when he’s coming home. Even his phone is connected to his personal profile. It’s always with him, no matter where he goes. 

His status the whole time? Happy. Happy as a foal can be. He is a foal of course. That’s his age of 11 years. Still, statistically foals grow unhappier around that time like their lust for everything they know diminishes in that change from youth to adulthood. Gene and the rest of Red’s friends are all the same. They declare their happiness less and less, at least going by what they choose to show the world. Red is an anomaly, an honesty happy colt, and one that goes out as he pleases into the world. 

His promise to return home before dinner is brought to fruition with his arrival. A computer would know what dinner is; ponies compile their language in online dictionaries. Regardless of the arbitrary schedule, he turns on his monitor again at precisely 4:15 PM. He has a changing rotation of pictures he uses as a wallpaper on his desktop. It’s currently showing him, some friends and various family members celebrating his 10th birthday. He had the computer for nearly two years at that point. 

He goes on a site for music. A popular foal music website displays bright colors and foal models with wide plastic looking grins. They shill music collections that young foals lap up at 14 bits a pop. Red loves watching the music videos. He plugs in his bulky headphones that cover his large ears but as soon as he does, his door opens behind him. His mother, a mare with a subdued reddish complexion like the blush of a rose steps inside, careful to avoid tripping on an electric cord that snakes its way to the back of the room. She wears a turtleneck sweater and a wedding band around her horn. She flicks strands of her golden straight hair aside. 

“Son, I told you not to just jump on the computer the second you come home,” she chides him. It’s taken 100 times for her to get like that. She’s a sweet mare, the hooves behind the camera that took most of Red’s photographs. She’s a photographer by trade according to her website. When she’s not devoting time to her work, she’s a regular sports loving mom. She’s quite tolerant of Red’s shortcomings but even she has a limit and cleanliness is something she needs. She has a short fuse for anything less. 

“But mom…they’re coming out with a new video today,” the colt whines to his mother. She lightly sighs and gazes at him with a quiet but determined look on her face. Red knows better than to protest and gets up. 

“Just help out around the house before you get back on the computer. That’s all I ask of you, Red,” she says. She continues but they turn a corner. The computer microphone is still on. No pony in particular can hear what they are saying but it’s almost always on. 

The colt tries to avoid doing his chores. During the weekend, he’s told to mow the lawn. In the winter, he cleans the gutters. Every day, there are dishes to be washed, pets to be looked after and homework to be done. Sounds of water running and the clattering of plates can be heard throughout the house. And yet, it wasn’t always like that. At least for the colt, things were different. He protests against having to work more for the first time this summer when the temperatures are so very hot. Most foals hate chores but Red has a special dislike for them that few other foals can match. He flinches at their very mention as if his parents are planning to inflict some kind of torture upon him. The colt is very passive, rarely shouting or screaming since he was a young foal. Even when he’s angry, he’ll shut down rather than curse. He’s the only foal in his group to not at least dapple in such language. That’s how he is at home. What anger he has is kept simmering just below the surface. 

He returns later at 6:15. He washed the dishes as usual then they had a nice family dinner, eating who knows what. When Red steps into his room, he moves sluggishly. His head tilts downward but out of weariness. Considering he ate, he puts too much emphasis in making his chores look worse than they really are. 

A few strokes on the keyboard later, he’s back on the social site. He finds his earlier conversation with Gene. According to her, she’s at home. He asks what she’s up to. 

Not much for now. I was going to draw in my notebook. I don’t feel like doing homework.

He types back. 

I just ate. We had pasta again. Mom’s pasta must be famous.

His mother’s pasta must have some effect on him because he’s so happy after he eats it. But even when there’s no pasta at all, he talks and writes like he has no cares in his house. Those same things he grumbles to himself about and writes in his notebook, the chores and nagging parents, gets put aside. Mom’s pasta must be famous. Hardly a negative thought which grazed his mind. Those friends of his, Gene and the others, don’t hold back. They’re just as old if not older and being with their parents isn’t something they see much value in if their own words can be trusted to be the truth. They can’t wait to ditch moms at Mane Street or go to the movies without them. Things parents do are unfair and the parents themselves are selfish. Selfish, lazy, cruel, tyrant: the foals wield the thesaurus against their own creators. 

It can’t be that good. I mean, pasta’s just pasta, right??

Red types faster this time. 

It’s not like you’ve tried that many….they’re not all the same. 

One might wonder if he’s talking about pasta or parents. A computer might think…what’s the difference? He’ll defend them both in the same breath, or breadth of words. And defend them he shall. He’s proud of his parents and loves to spend time around them. He wouldn’t shirk his responsibility towards his family. He doesn’t want to get further away from them, to avoid their touch on his head or their presence in his photographs. The voices from the kitchen that reaches his room are of laughter and positive words. He declares his love in words often. A computer couldn’t hope to define love; ironically so, considering all the love Pixel put into crafting her beautiful operating system. 

The filly types back. 

Like I care…it’s just food. Mean smiley face. So we’re still on for tomorrow morning? 

Red types furiously. The keyboard shakes. 

Yeah. Of course. I wouldn’t miss the parade for anything. I’ve been waiting a while for it!

A second later. 

Good. Don’t be late. We won’t wait up at the coffee place. Don’t forget that we’ll be ushered to the front. 

Red smiles. 

I can’t wait. See you then. 

The filly has other plans. She ends the chat. Unbeknownst to Red, she is making a status about her future trip to the bowling alley with her cousins. 

Red loads his fantasy adventure game, Seeker of Legend, once more. Games are a form of expression for him. Some use them to escape from the real world. In the game, characters go on quests to find legendary artifacts and to eventually become princesses or other royalty. Perhaps the creators find escapism in it. Red only finds part of his childish self, hidden in there. That anypony can become anything they wish as long as they believe in it enough. 

Time drags on. Red plays until 9:30. The night started out well with him helping his allies capture a castle guarded by green skinned monsters. Red finishes his soda, something he snuck into his room earlier. He doesn’t drink coffee but he likes other things that can help him stay awake when he engages in his marathon of fantasy well into the early morning. This particular sessions turns a bit sour. He and his band of knights, himself a pony trotting in gleaming armor he got at a high level, are ambushed by other players at a bridge. His anger can grow out of control when he loses. He tries not to lose his cool. But it’s hard. It’s a bridge ambush that makes him growl at the screen and mash the keys as if it can make his arrows fly faster. When he is killed, Red stomps his hind hoof on the carpeted floor. It earns him a surprise knock on the wall from his mother. He is too loud for his own good and it’s late now. His face turns flush and he looks downward sheepishly. He decides that he’s had enough and takes his leave from his friends. The program is turned off. 

Red rolls a tennis ball between his hooves on the desk. A little pointless thing, something he does when he’s alone and bored. Then he suddenly gets off the chair and rummages in his room for a small blue cardboard box with a plastic opening on top. He sets it down out of sight. He goes to his room and makes sure the door is closed flush and to turn the privacy latch. 

He does this because he’s bored, because his friends are gone and there’s nothing to do. He’s young but he’s seen things in the dark. His youthful mind automatically associates darkness with evil. Good and evil are terms that ponies and other thinking animals believe in. Computers don’t. Still, he wraps himself in this darkness when he opens his internet browser. He has memorized the route to this dark place, the words to take him there. He had to; he couldn’t have his parents know that he was basically handed it on a random search one day of star constellations. It was some kind of accident, a fluke perhaps; or the page was bugged. Regardless, his eyes were shown very strong images. He had a vague idea of mating but he had no way of visualizing it. Not until that day he saw it on a very odd site, the two ponies that as far as he knew were as fictional as the monsters he kills as a knight. All he remembers is what he was drawn towards, the touching, movements and heavy breathing. He knows where to find it and in the process he must think of himself like somepony trespassing where he doesn’t belong. After all, princesses Wavelength and Luna has outlawed any sexual displays being put on the internet for any reason. Violating the law carries a severe fine or even imprisonment. Red can’t possibly understand why. He’s in his dark place and whenever he’s there, he lets his fantasies flourish. He’s not a real knight. He just pretends to be. Just like the mares on the internet aren’t real. That’s why it’s okay to touch himself when he wants, to let his immature body express itself too. And in the end, when a fury of happiness, a pain and a pleasure that causes his teeth to clench together, washes over him, he settles into a true weariness. His parents will never know or even suspect it. He clears any trace of his dark place on his browser then turns off his monitor. Now his room is truly dark and the springs on his bed squeak when he lies down. 

The sound continues throughout the night. Red is a restless colt, always turning in bed and ruffling up his bedsheet. Sometimes he sleeps without anything but the night air over his body. When he grows still, dawn is not far off. Red has a sleep problem according to his doctor. His mother considers various medicines that will help him but she worries about side effects. She tells other mothers of the things she does in her tough position to keep Red safe. 

Dawn comes. Red’s alarm clock rings. There is a flop and a light crash as the foal tries to untangle himself from his bedsheet as usual. He checks his phone. It’s 7:30. Only half an hour before he has to meet his friends. He jumps in the shower. He brushes his teeth at the sink. He usually doesn’t care about personal hygiene all that much but today is different. No ordinary weekend. The princess of Ponyville, Twilight Sparkle, announced the royal parade months ago. Everypony in the colt’s life knows how anticipated he is to watch it happen. It’s so rare that he doesn’t recall the last time one happened. They always occur in the big cities or so he hears. A royal parade and he’ll see it in person. 

He is so excited that he runs out of the house after taking a small saddlebag with him. He sends a message to Gene that he’s on his way. 

Good. I was up an hour ago getting ready. You just got up, didn’t you?

Another pony in the chat, Lumenia, types. 

Well, duh. He’s a colt. What do you expect? Cheeky face. 

Red reaches the corner by the café. His friends are waiting for him. Lumenia, a purple coated filly with a near black mane, is constantly wielding her silver hoof held video camera. It’s a modern one that streams everything she tapes towards her social network profile in real time. She says that she has an “obsessive” condition that forces her to record every major event in her life –and file them in order- so that she can have a complete collection. She’s like one of those ponies that have to have everything on their desk lined up just right or a real clean freak that makes Red’s mother look like a slob. The camera captures Red trotting down the road towards them. 

Red looks at Lumenia and waves at her. “Hey, Lumenia,” he says. “How are you today? Excited?”

The camera moves as she shrugs her shoulders. “More or less. I know it’s important to be here so I am unable to miss this opportunity,” she replies. Her voice is very quiet but not in a shy way. She chooses to be subdued in her emotions. She turns the camera around to capture herself from time to time. The camera catches on her cutie mark, a tall candle in a fancy candleholder. All of Red’s friends have their cutie marks. A computer could never understand the concept of those individual marks, what they mean and where they come from. One wouldn’t even attempt. Gene’s cutie mark is two golden gears held together. Red got his last year before his birthday. It’s a perfectly globe shaped ball of flame, yellow at the bottom and red up at the top. 

Red has been so close to Gene since their elementary years. Yet, even though she’s the pony he spent the most time with, she doesn’t know everything about him. He has her to thank for even having his mark and he’s been too hesitant to say it. His closest friend, the two of them would often walk home after class was over. She’s also the kind to keep a secret and she never told him that she was being picked on for being smart. Bullies called her names a lot and wouldn’t let up. Before then, Red never dreamed of standing up to bullies but his fear of them evaporated the second they approached him and Gene with hurtful intent in their eyes. He refused to let them near her and even though his horn isn’t much to speak of, he was determined to protect her. He ended up summoning enough power to take them somewhere safe. He remembers being so weak after he did that. Even he didn’t expect it. It was as if it had come out of nowhere, an untapped power even he didn’t know he had. He was in a daze and when he came to, Gene was hovering over him, her eyes wide in surprise or shock. Was he injured or burned? No, he had gotten his cutie mark. She told him it was incredible looking and asked what it was for. Red honestly didn’t know how to reply. Who got their marks for protecting their friends? He ended up saying what the world would expect from him. It was a mark for magic. She somehow bought that because it makes sense to them. Even now, he avoids telling the truth except to himself, a diary on his computer where he writes out his secrets and recollections. His computer knows about them and when Red updates them, it’s like a one sided conversation.  

At least his mark is cool and he is going to think of himself as even cooler once he sees the princess up close. 

“Hey, here’s your coffee,” Gene says to Red, who looks at her blankly. “And don’t even think of not drinking it. I don’t want the damn thing to go to waste. It’s an expensive drink, got it?” He nods and takes the caffeine rich cup in his magic. 

They turn and head down the street. A throng of ponies are coming together along the central roads. It will be the thickest near the Friendship Castle. Ponies from town and a few nearby villages are there to see the main event. As promised, Gene talks to an event organizer from the castle staff and she scans her clipboard. She must see their names as she ushers the foals down the street. They go past Sugar Cube Corner, where the Cakes and their assistant, a bouncy mare named Pinkie Pie, are waiting. They are placed behind a red rope partitioning the crowd from the final part of the road before the castle itself. Red and his friends are right in front with nothing blocking their view. 

They wait a full hour. Red looks a little squeamish when the camera held by Lumenia faces him. He must wish that he didn’t drink all that coffee or that the parade would go a little faster. Finally after a long time, the first royal guards come marching proudly. There are those carrying banners and Unicorns with snare drums. Pegasus ponies with baskets of flower petals and ribbons. A carriage with the Mayor of Ponyville passes by with the mare waving to everypony then at last, Red spots the royal chariot. He leans his small head past the rope. 

Red has never met the Princess of Friendship but he knows a lot about her. He opens his saddlebag and retrieves his own video camera. His mother bought it used to save money but it’s still very useful. He aims at the chariot with Twilight Sparkle sitting high up, pulled by two winged and armored stallions. 

Red has always felt some attraction to Twilight Sparkle. He is not alone in seeing her as the greatest ideal to live up to in the realm. But for Red, it’s more than mere respect for somepony in such a lofty position. She is powerful and beautiful which are not things that Red considers himself to be but they do share one thing and that’s friendship. He can’t help but feel a connection between his secret talent and her royal title. He’s spent a lot of time learning more about her. He’s read about her in encyclopedias and read articles on the internet. He’s even bought a magazine with her on the cover, the issue where she was interviewed at the capital. She’s done things that he can only fantasize about. She’s fought battles for real against monsters to defend her friendships. There’s no way a colt like him could compare. 

As he videotapes Twilight, he suddenly shifts his focus. He seems to notice the pony sitting next to Twilight, a smaller filly beside her and waving also. Whoever this pony is, she is stealing his attention away from the princess. Her coat is white as well as her two fluffy wings that drape down her body. Her mane flows down her neck, the blue hair as bright as the open sky above. He gazes at the filly as the chariot passes by. He thinks for a moment that she is looking back at him even though he’s nothing special to look at. He wonders what her name is. Soon, the princess is out of sight and some ponies begin to disperse. Red turns to Gene. 

“Hey, who was that white pony next to the princess?” 

Gene looks at him and scrunches her muzzle. Red doesn’t care. He can still picture both of them so clearly. Twilight Sparkle sitting there with her royal posture, her shoulders and crown high, and the white filly waving along like they belong together. 

“Seriously? That’s a young princess from the west named Prism Wavelength,” Gene says with a tinge of annoyance. “Who do you think this parade was for?”

“The princess is supposedly showing the princess of the internet the castle here as a gesture of goodwill,” Lumenia chimes in. 

For some reason, Red is unable to think about anything but this young filly named Prism Wavelength. Now that the name is said, it does ring a bell. The surname is so familiar. It is Pixel that he remembers, the old lady from Sweetie Shores. At home, he jumps back online and looks up the princess of the internet on the online encyclopedia. He sees that she has two daughters, the one he saw today and a stepdaughter that lives in Las Pegasus. According to the internet, Prism is about 12 years old. Red and Prism are the same age. 

Red sits back and ruminates. Life as a princess must be so very easy especially if she’s young enough to have lots of fame but no responsibilities. Red sort of wishes that he could be like her. She can still act like a foal if she wants. She doesn’t have to grow up and have chores like he does. Royalty are special. Her cutie mark is too; it’s a silver edged glass 3D triangle with a ring of wavy rainbow lines around it. Maybe she didn’t even have to work for it. Maybe she always had it. Either way, she probably doesn’t have to pretend like hers means something it doesn’t. Being the next in line to take care of the entire internet would just command respect. 

Red writes in his diary about his morning for a bit then turns off the monitor. He doesn’t play his games. He must not feel like it. He lies in bed. He must be thinking of her because he is quieter than usual. 

A couple days later, Red is on the social network site again. He is playing a trivia game about royalty in Equestria that somepony from town posted in honor of the recent visit. He does pretty well. In school, they’re quizzed about that sort of thing a lot. But he only gets nine out of ten answers right; he missed the name of Princess Cadance’s foal. The name of that princess always slips his mind. 

He closes the browser. He can hear some soft piano music drifting in from the family room. His mom always listens to it when cleaning the house. His dad is out working so the house has been slow all morning. He looks outside. It’s a nice summer day and he feels like going out. He picks up his phone and heads out of his room. As he walks down the hall, he looks at his contact list. Most of his friends are offline right now. He turns the corner and sees his mother holding a picture frame. She is magically controlling a feather duster and sweeping dust away. 

“Mom, I want to go out. Is that okay?” he asks. 

There is a sound as she puts the frame down. “Have you taken your medication today?” 

“I did. All of it. Even the big pills.” Red has to take the big ones to help control one of his outdoor allergies. 

“Well, if that is the case then you may go out. It is summer vacation after all. I think going outside is good for a foal.”

“Thanks, mom. Bye.” Red steps out the front door. He checks his health application on his phone. His mother added it to help monitor his blood pressure and a few other things like reminding him to take his medications. He doesn’t have to take his medicine until night so he doesn’t have to worry about it. 

Red strolls down the street. He doesn’t have any place in mind but he sees the café at the corner and goes towards it. Red has taken a liking to coffee lately. Ever since Gene bought that drink for him, he’s wanted more. It’s such a good compliment to mornings that not having it makes the day feel a bit empty. He’s tried several times to use his mother’s coffee machine but he’s not very good at it. It has taken the past two days to scrape enough change to buy a coffee of his own from the same shop. He wants the same kind he had before, the drink with a rich caramel flavor and delicious cream. He doesn’t even know the name of it. 

The coffee shop is out of the way and very easy to miss. A little small business nestled next to others just as small. The inside is smart with little tables and black chairs. The walls are the color of old parchment with a stylistic map of Equestria painted over it. Electric outlets line the walls by the floor and coffee permeates the air. 

He looks at the wooden menu and picks what he thinks sounds most familiar. The young cashier takes his order and tells him that he can sit down. She asks if he’s a student and Red replies that he goes to the Ponyville Schoolhouse. She chuckles as if she heard a joke but he doesn’t know why. 

The menu has several items labeled as new, all royalty themed. That’s the new fad these days. Everypony is all about the visiting princess. They can’t stop talking about it and giving her praise. It’s all so disingenuous. They probably don’t even know anything about her. They wouldn’t take the time to care. 

The café has internet service. Most places don’t but it’s very quiet inside so ponies must come to have an area of peace and relaxation while studying or reading. Red changes his status in case somepony is watching. He’s at the café now. Minutes pass and the cashier brings him his hot coffee in a wide speckled brown cup that looks like the outside of an egg shell. Foam floats over the lip. He looks at it hungrily and thanks the pony. He magically holds it to his mouth and blows the surface gently. 

As he lifts his head, he sees a mare sitting on the other side of the room. Her muzzle is halfway buried in a book. She has a half-eaten scone on a plate. A sun umbrella is folded and is leaning against the table. Red feels his heart thump in his chest, which tightens on him. It’s not a dream, an illusion or a figment of some fantasy of his. He would recognize those white wings anywhere. Prism’s face is obscured by a sun hat with a light lacy veil. With it, some might not even recognize her. Red doesn’t understand why a princess of all ponies would wear something like that. He thought they liked attention, even craved it. 

He drinks his coffee and takes a peek at her occasionally. After a while, she gets up and heads to the washroom. The place is otherwise empty. He makes sure that nopony is near and he gets up and ambles over to her table. Her phone is on a white napkin, sitting there. Before he reaches it, the cashier walks in. Red takes a few packets of sugar from another table. 

“You ran out of sugar at my table,” he tells the cashier, who nods and leaves. Red lets out a nervous sigh. He goes and leans close to the phone. The OS symbol is off. He presses the power button and the screen flashes on. A lock screen instantly comes on and he knows that he won’t be able to pass it. 

The washroom door opens unexpectedly and everything after that happens so fast. He didn’t think she would be done in just a couple minutes. He didn’t think she would approach the table in the span of time it takes to raise his head and back up into the next table and strike his back against it. She is standing by the table, looking at him with a bemused look on her face. He winces from the pain in his back and from the embarrassment of being caught looking at somepony else’s stuff. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be looking through another pony’s phone and all…and um, you’re a princess and I guess I was just curious,” Red sputters awkwardly. It took all of his strength just to speak. That is one of the few times that he has had such a hard time talking to somepony else. Prism is so different. He’s never been so close to a princess before. She is right in front of him and he could reach out and touch her feathers or move the veil aside and look into her beautiful purple eyes.

“I suppose I can’t blame you. I am the princess your town is talking about,” she says with some measure of resignation. 

“Are you trying to avoid other ponies right now?”

Prism shrugs her shoulders. “Not really. I just like wearing the veil sometimes when it’s hot out. It’s way hotter here than by the coast, you know?”

“Um, I don’t know. I never been there.” 

“Well, you should. It’s delightful.”

“I didn’t really know about you before you came here,” Red says. 

Prism shifts her weight as if uncomfortable. “I see.”

“We don’t have to talk about it. I’m sure everypony around here wants to.”

Prism nods. “Indeed they do. I don’t mind talking about myself. Who doesn’t, right? But, it’s a bit different here than at my hometown. I’m not used to so much attention.”

“Really?”

“Really. Being a princess comes with a lot of responsibilities. I may be young but it hardly matters.” Prism sits down at the table. “You can sit here by me if you wish.”

“Oh, thanks.” Red sits across from her. “Do you like to drink coffee?”

“Sometimes. I can see this place from the castle so I wanted to come and experience what they have to offer for myself.”

Red smiles. “I just started drinking it a couple days ago. You should try the one with caramel in it.”

She looks down. “Caramel…so sticky,” she whispers to herself. She returns her gaze to Red and waves her hoof as if embarrassed. “Ah, that would be my mother talking. She’s always on about maintaining the health of a princess and such. I swear that her lessons follow me even into my dreams.”

They both chuckle. “It kind of reminds me of my mother,” Red says. 

“Mine is a princess. And yours?” 

“She’s a photographer.”

Her head and ears perk up. “Ah, an artist. I assume that she uses a computer to help her?”

“Well, before computers became a big thing, she didn’t use them. Now, she’s always on her computer and always busy,” Red explains. “She probably buys lots of programs to help her.”

She laughs. “I bet that she and I could talk about it for hours.”

“Is that because your cutie mark is related to what your mother does?” Red asks. 

She stands and Red gets an even better view of her mark. It’s so intriguing to Red, so alive and full of color. “I have the ability to do things with light that nopony else in the world can do. Ever hear of lasers? They are concentrated light. There’s a world of possibility for us to use them for good and I’ll probably be the one to do it.” She sits down. As she speaks, there is a wistful edge to her voice. Red doesn’t understand why it’s coming from somepony with such an awesome cutie mark and talent as she. If he had it, he would be shouting it from the rooftops. 

“Wow, so it’s like changing light…like Princess Celestia?”

She looks amused as she returns to her seat. “Not quite.” She finishes her scone and then crumbles the napkin into a ball. “What is your cutie mark if I may ask?”

The time has come for him to lie again. “Um, it’s a cutie mark for… um… controlling fire.” He has to swallow hard as if doing so would keep the truth where it is deep down. He never lied that badly before. It wasn’t just some magic but the actual ability to do things with fire. He knows that he only said it because she can control light. He just had to try and impress her, no matter how difficult impressing a princess may be. 

“That makes sense. I spotted your mark earlier. It looks cool,” she says kindly. Red thinks that he doesn’t deserve to be complimented by her. They are worlds apart. She is light and he is shadow. 

“Thanks. Most of my friends like it,” Red says, keeping a shy smirk on his face. 

“You have lots of friends?”

“I do. Many are on the social network site your mom made.”

Prism stands once more but is obviously ready to leave. She puts a few bits on the table. “I’m going. If you want, you can come along. I would like somepony to show me around but I don’t want to see any libraries, museums or the like. Your princess does love culture, let me tell you. So that’s about it. Maybe show me things you like to do?”

“Sure, I can go. There are lots to do around here.”

Red pays for his food then they both exit the café. He thinks about where to go, keeping in mind what Prism said. It’s good that she didn’t want to go to the castle library or anything. He would be so bored doing anything that reminds him of school.  He wants to bet that she’ll love the outdoors. He may be inside most of the time but even a colt like him likes going to the lake once in a while. It’s rather sunny so it’s a perfect time to go. As they head there, they trot side by side. 

“Another thing is that you must have your phone signal off while we are out. I don’t wish others to disturb us,” she mentions. 

“Sure thing,” Red says. 

Along the way, Red glances at his favorite chocolate shop in town, Peppermint Drops. It saddened him when he found out that they were closing for summer. He thinks that Prism could have enjoyed their special candies. 

Red sees the lake come into view. A couple of birds pass by overhead. They go down a long slope where the path is mostly gravel. The hill takes them to the edge of the lake and the small pier leading out into the water. But today is different in that the water level is way lower than how Red remembers it. Prism also looks perplexed as if she knows that something’s out of the ordinary. 

They go to a small shack where ponies pay fees to rent rafts, boats and other things. Red and his friends would sometimes buy cold drinks there when they came to swim in the water. Today, there are barely any ponies around. A few fillies are flying kites close to the shore and some colts run on the sun baked mud where water used to be. Red calls the old stallion that works there over to him and asks about the lake. Next to him, a sign says that the rafts are not available to be rented. 

“The water level has been going down since mid-spring. I don’t know why but that’s just how it is,” he says flatly.

“Thanks.” Red and Prism meander near the shore and look out at the sparkly water. 

Prism looks at him with interest. “Shall we swim?” 

“Yeah. Let’s do that,” Red says. Their things are set safely at the end of the dock and they both enter the water; Red with a long jump into a splash and Prism dipping in slowly at the ladder. The initial shock of cold fades almost instantly. They start to swim around the dock, occasionally splashing at one another. Red would have preferred a leisurely raft ride on the water but what they’re doing is fun too. Prism is smiling and laughing as she controls her wet mane. 

They lie on the dock after, letting the sun dry their bodies. Red checks his phone. He notices that his mother sent him a call earlier but he didn’t know about it until now. She is telling him to come home and soon. 

“Is something the matter?” Red notices Prism looking at him. 

“It’s my mom. She wants me to return home,” he says irritably. “I was gone for a while but sometimes I wish she wouldn’t check up on me so often.”

“All mothers do. Mine worries about bullies all the time,” Prism says. 

Red suddenly feels confused. He always seems to know what he wants but whenever he thinks he figures it out, it seems so elusive. He likes how he used to be treated by his mother. How bad could it be for a mother to look out for her son as often as she can? Yet, as Red has been learning more and more about Prism and how she lives, it all seems more attractive. Prism’s mother didn’t hold her back. She was the one that probably urged her to come to Ponyville the most. And here Red is, still wanting to be a foal when he’s not straying into a young adult anyway. 

Red stands up. “I probably should go. I hope it doesn’t mean we can’t keep hanging out.”

Prism smiles. “How about you meet me near the castle this evening? That should be good, right?”

Red grins so wide that all his teeth must be showing. “Of course. We can go to the movies or something.”

“Either that or you can show me what your special talent can do,” she says, clearly intrigued. 

“Sounds great. Bye,” Red says as quickly as possible. He leaves the lake and returns home. What could be more incredible than hanging with a princess? 

Red doesn’t speak much at home. He responds to his parents concisely and does his chores without complaining. He is thinking too much about Prism to care for anything else. He doesn’t know how he is going to impress her or even do much to justify the cutie mark on his flank. At least going by his own narrative, it’s going to be a challenge that he hasn’t prepared for in the slightest. But he can’t back out or she’ll never want to see him again. And he does care to see her again. It’s not like any filly he’s known before. With them, all he ever cared about was friendship with them. He preferred it that way. But something about this filly makes his feelings seem deeper. She was just another princess, a filly beyond his reach, even for friendship. Unlike the fake mares on the internet, she’s somepony real. But the odd desire for her companionship is still there even when she’s gone. These older colt feelings are something he could fear as easily as he could embrace. 

Red writes in his diary until he’s caught up. He then does some research on some fire spells. Learning about magic has never been his forte. Most Unicorns are made to study magical spells at some point and some schools are harder on them than others. In Ponyville, it’s rather lax so Red barely knows the basics. Of course, he knows that it’s like training the body; even he could get better with magic if he wanted but he’s never been one to force himself to study. He gets a lot of C grades in school. And then there was that day when he was powerful enough to perform spells that he had no right to perform. His magical potential could be an A and he doesn’t even know it. His own horn is mysterious to him. 

The websites for spells uses a lot of fancy terminology that he doesn’t understand. Many are for advanced users and many come with bolded and red text cautioning the user about catastrophic burns or knowingly misusing a spell. He almost feels intimidated. He finds a tab about spells for younger foals. Some he reads about are for those even younger than he like lighting candles. He clicks on one called horn based fireworks. There is a picture on the next page showing a pale orange Unicorn filly with large goggles performing the feat outside in what looks like a park. A stream of sparks and a ball of fire was perfectly captured being discharged from her horn. Red writes it down on his notebook. Suddenly, he shifts his focus towards wind spells. He is thinking that if the firework spell on its own isn’t impressive enough, he can use two at the same time to look even better. 

Red is called to dinner. He turns off his monitor, takes his phone, and goes to eat fried mushrooms and mashed potatoes with his mom and dad. 

“How was your day?” Red’s mom asks him. 

“It was fun. I walked to the lake,” he replies, omitting Prism. 

“Did you happen to see that new princess walking around? I heard rumors that she was touring town today,” Red’s dad mentions. 

“No, I didn’t.”

Red hurries and finishes his dinner. He’s not too hungry and all the food feels like a weight settling in his stomach. His mother asks why he’s eating so fast and he says that he wishes to be excused to go play a game with his friends scheduled at 7PM and he would like not to be disturbed for a while. 

Red does a few last minute preparations for going out with Prism. He packs his saddlebags with things he takes when he goes outside of town like water and insect repellant. He makes sure his phone is on. He sits and reads the instructions for the fire spell over and over again until the time slowly turns past seven. That should be close enough, he figures. He goes out into the hall cautiously, not making noise to disturb his parents. He goes to the front door and leaves. 

Prism is waiting for him near the castle. She is sitting at a bench, looking up at the setting sun. Red walks towards her. She turns and smiles. 

The place is over a half hour walk from the castle, going south into the hills. They take the main road, a strip of smooth stones that goes through grassy plains and around mountains. About halfway, they turn to the right on a dirt trail strewn with rocks. It is very quiet. Red can’t hear so much as a bird’s tweet or the sound of moving water. 

At the top of the hill, they can look around. Southward, the slope goes down where the trees grow denser. Behind, they can see trails of chimney smoke from the town and even the castle itself still gleaming by the dying light. Thick shrubbery surrounds them, mostly blackberry bushes; he can’t see any berries though. 

“Do you ever come this far from town?” Prism asks. Her voice is upbeat and full of anticipation for what’s to come. Red wishes he could be so relaxed. Instead, he’s been trying to keep the spell for the fireworks in his mind rather than lose it with all the scenery around him. 

“Not really. There’s not much to see out here.”

“Well, it’s perfect for your little show. Lots of room away from pony houses and way darker so we can actually see it.”

Red’s nerves start to shake. “Yeah. All that’s pretty good.” The wait for the light to finally disappear feels like an eternity even though it is only fifteen minutes or so. The air around them starts to cool a bit. 

“Let’s begin. You probably shouldn’t be out too long,” Prism warns him. “I remember how your mother worries.”

“Well, maybe she would listen to you. You are a princess after all.” Despite his words, Red still feels nervous. He waits for his heart to slow down so he can focus. The spell and its instructions come back to him. He has to charge up his horn in a certain way. It has a golden aura. There is a tingling sensation down the core like it’s turning numb. He tries to ignore it but it becomes stronger as he forces more into the spell. At the same time, he makes his horn reserve energy for the second spell, an easier wind casting spell. It’s already windy up on the hill but he needs the fireworks to stay in place rather than go wherever the wind desires. 

He grimaces. This sort of thing isn’t his special talent and it’s harder than it looks. He shouldn’t even have gotten this far but somehow he persists. When he feels it is ready, Red forces the firework spell to eject dozens of fiery sparks out. They shoot upward as little multicolored spheres. They don’t look the same as he had hoped and anxiety grips at him until the spheres suddenly burst into explosive flurries of sparks and light. His unleashes his wind spell which whips them all into a narrow corridor. As they whip together, the screams echo in the hills. For a moment, it’s quite pretty, the gold and red mixing together so well. 

An unexpected pressure builds in Red’s sinuses. His chest tightens and Red grows alert at the sudden changes. He’s still in the middle of the spell and he doesn’t know if he can stop it. But even if he could, there’s no stopping the allergy induced sneeze that rips his concentration away. For what it’s worth, he remembers that his medicine is sitting on his desk at home. 

When he sneezes, the whirlwind collapses without energy feeding it. He definitely isn’t skilled enough to recover it. It falls so fast that it blows outward, sending sparks and fire everywhere. Red trips on a rock and stumbles to the ground. Prism hollers and Red can hear her running around. Though a layer of dirt billowing in the air, he can see new fires lighting and glowing like coals all around him. In seconds they leap to life and the heat whips his face. 

He yells frantically and runs around in circles, seemingly coming face to face with a new blaze. He can’t see anything. Not the castle, or the stars or the trees below. He starts choking and gasping for breath but before he faints, he is lifted into the sky. White hooves hold him under his arms and he can see the spreading flames scorch the hill as fast as spilled water. 

In minutes, Prism lands at the castle and lowers him on the grass. Red lies there and looks up. There appears to be red stars up above but they are surely a few embers floating on the wind. 

“Are you okay to walk?” she asks him, deeply concerned. 

Red gets to his hooves. “I am okay, I think. I just need to get home.”

“Of course.” 

The two of them take their time to Red’s house. He opens the door and shuffles in like his dad after a few too many drinks in him. He goes straight to his room and lies on his fluffy mattress. His room is dark without his monitor on. His mother and Prism are talking in the family room but their voices are muffled. His phone vibrates and he turns it on. He notices that his hoof has dust layered in with his coat. He makes him look brownish. He’ll have to deal with that later. He checks his messages and a bunch of his friends are talking about the same thing. There’s a fire in the hills. 

The following day, Red stays in bed. He has a sore throat and he can taste smoke when he swallows. He is still weak. His mother isn’t angry like he thought she would be although she is definitely in her concerned mother mode. She may be saving her anger for later when he’s fit enough to receive it. For now, she gives him soup in bed and checks his temperature for a fever. She doesn’t make any demands other than making him take a bath. He was so dirty that he looks like he’s sloshing around in a mud puddle. It’s times like this when a computer might wish it could intervene in its user’s troubles but that wouldn’t be too logical. A computer can only let things happen. 
He still thinks about Prism. He wonders if she’s alright and wasn’t hurt from the accident but he doesn’t hear from her. He talks with his friends on his phone about the fire. He won’t admit that he did it or that he was even there. His mother only knows that he was near the area but she’s not one to go telling others about things that fuel gossip. His friends tell him that the town flying squadrons dealt with the fire quickly, extinguishing it in only a couple hours with various advanced techniques. The news relieves Red since it means that he’s not responsible for anypony’s house being destroyed. 

He spends the next couple days recovering and being bored. He is able to go to his computer and play his games and update his diary but he hates not being able to leave the house. On the social media, he sees that Prism hasn’t updated her blog or posted anything since that day. She usually does that every day at least. He scans some news sites for anything that might tell him something. He does notice something about “growing unrest” in central Equestria concerning an unusually dry climate this year. But nothing about Prism. Yet, Princess Twilight is brought up more and more. Ponies want her to intervene in the changing weather and they’re seeing the fire in the hills like a bad omen. Public opinion is turning against her and almost as fast as the spread of the fire itself. 

When he finally can leave home, he debates whether he should go to the castle and see if Prism is still around. She could have snuck off back to western Equestria for all he knows. He wouldn’t be that surprised if she didn’t bother to speak to him again. She is a princess. Maybe things like friendships are just different from their point of view. Despite his bleak prognostication, he hurries to the Friendship Castle, eager to perhaps find her and apologize for putting her in danger. He takes his phone with him. 

On the way there, he passes by his usual café and hears pitched voices from inside. He turns his head and sees Prism inside. Her wings are folded but at an angle as if out of hostility. She is glaring at several other ponies from town. He gasps and rushes inside, practically slamming the door open. The ponies barely notice but Prism turns towards him. 

“I told you, I just want you to go to the princess and have her do something about the fires!” an angry pony yells. He is a big earth pony, a construction worker type with an orange helmet on. “What part of that do you not get?”

“That’s enough!” Red doesn’t even think as he jumps between the ponies and his friend, who steps back in alarm. “Go away! You shouldn’t bully this filly just because you’re angry!”

The stallion looks pestered but the two behind him smirk at the little foal acting so tough.

“We are adults talking here, kid. Go bother somepony else!” he demands. 

“Why are you three bothering this princess?” Red replies. He is unfazed by these adults and their boisterous words. More ponies enter the shop to see what is going on. Gene is among them but there’s nothing she can do. 

“We just want answers and we aren’t going to stop until we get some! We know that the weather is worse than it has been in years and we aren’t just going to sit around and wait for Princess Twilight to come out of hiding and do her duty!”

“Yeah! Princess Wavelength has been in the castle for days! She should know what’s going on,” another pony adds. 

“I really don’t know,” Prism says wearily. Her voice sounds faint. She’s probably been defending herself for a while. “I came here to learn more about how to be a rightful princess. I am doing my best but Twilight Sparkle doesn’t tell me everything and you shouldn’t expect her to.”

“Oh, figures that the princess wouldn’t know anything,” the stallion says sarcastically. “Sounds like Miss good for nothing should just go home, am I right?”

Some ponies clamor their approval by stomping on the ground. Pumped up by their approval, the stallion actually comes closer. 
Thinking that he’ll actually try to force Prism out of town and lay his hooves on her makes Red’s anger skyrocket like never before. His horn sends a bolt of light, striking the stallion’s head and knocking him back. His body crashes into a table and he doesn’t get up. He’s been knocked unconscious. 

Red goes closer and stands over his body. The stallion’s eyes are spinning and drool leaks from his mouth. Red then looks up at the startled ponies. 

“I’m sorry about all this. But I had no choice. No matter what, I am going to protect my friends from danger.” Red thinks that it feels good to say that. 

“We still want to know about how the hills caught on fire,” a mare says. 

Red turns to look at Prism, who is silent, and then back at the mare. He swallows silently. “I have to be honest. The fires were my fault. It’s because I was trying to make a spell and it got out of control. I can’t control fire. It’s not my special talent.” He walks to Prism. “I’m sorry I lied. It wasn’t the right thing to do. I know that now.”

Red can’t read Prism’s mind and for all he knows, she could be disgusted with him. But even if she was, he is certain that he’s never acted more grown up now than any other time in his life. The real him is here for all to see and even if she rejects his friendship then he’ll just have to live with that. 

A moment passes where the ponies, including Prism, must be registering what he had just said. But Prism soon blinks rapidly and her posture softens. 

“I for one accept your apology,” she says. 

She takes Red outside, leaving those ponies alone to perhaps reflect on things. They don’t say anything as they reach Red’s house. They stand outside it and he fiddles his hooves. He doesn’t know what to say but luckily, she does. 

“Red…if I may ask, what does your cutie mark really mean?” 

Red looks at his flank. “It’s my passion and the fire that represents it. My love towards my friends. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect them, even if it means putting myself in danger.”

She then starts laughing. 

“Hey, I was being serious,” he says, frowning. 

She shakes her head. “It’s not you. I’m remembering something my mom said to me before I came here. She said that I might find something really special that will make me understand what it means to be a princess. I thought it was meeting Twilight Sparkle but while she was an amazing figure to talk to, I think that thing she was talking about was meeting you and understanding what you had to teach me. I guess I just couldn’t believe that I found it.” She goes and gives Red a kiss on his forehead. “Thank you for everything.”

Red feels heat in his cheeks but he doesn’t really blush since he’s already red. “Are you going home?”

“I’m afraid so. I think it’s best to take my leave now that I have a fresh perspective on what it means to be a princess. I don’t think things will get better around here anytime soon anyway. But it will be okay. You will still have my phone number and you can call me anytime you want to talk.”

They hug outside Red’s house. She leaves that very afternoon, taking the first train out of town. While she is making her blog about her trip to Ponyville, Red sits at his computer. He opens his diary and types in it, reporting on the amazing changes that a computer can only recognize in theory but never express on its own. He doesn’t think about his own princess anymore. He fills his new entry with his thoughts on Prism, his true friend. He is certain that they’ll stay in touch through the technology that Prism’s mother created. If he’s lucky enough, maybe he will. It’s one of his many hopes: that she’ll visit him soon, that he can have his favorite candy maker send her something special and that he never forgets what his cutie mark really stands for. He has a lot of ponies to tell about it. Raptor Red stands from his computer and then, with a press of his hoof, turns it off. 

> Ep6: Cake Wars
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

      The glow of morning’s light peeks through my window and my precious Sweetie Drops gets ready for a day of work at Sugar Cube Corner. She moves around, her actions precarious, taking each step with care in our room. I know that she tries to avoid waking me and even now, I am barely aware of what’s around me. My body feels tied down by bags of sand and my eyes are locked shutters. Even if they weren’t, I would rather not get up and make her feel bad for waking me. She shouldn’t have that on her mind as she works for the Cakes. Ah, the Cakes. I get asked sometimes if I feel awkward having my Sweetie work for another place that makes desserts. I tell them that I don’t and it’s true. I’m not very close to the Cakes but I feel that they’re my friends and that our businesses don’t really overlap anyway so it’s okay for Sweetie to work there. It’s her who has a strong connection with the two of them. She’s known them longer than she’s known me. When she was a foal and I was in diapers, Mrs. Cake, who was once a much slimmer mare, taught her the basics of sweets making. In a way, it sort of makes her my teacher as well since…if it wasn’t for her and all...

Sweetie practically lived with the Cakes for years. The two were her spiritual parents in a way since Sweetie and they got along like no others could. Sweetie was seen as one of their own, a pony to confide in and take on vacations to sweets shops in Canterlot. As a foal, Sweetie could count on them to attend her childhood plays when she dressed up as a bee or a flower. Sweetie never really bonded closely enough with her own parents. They don’t know the sweetness of life like we do. I wouldn’t deny her the wonderful relationship she has made with these special friends of hers. It is truly a good thing that I hope she’ll never take for granted. 

As much as I am happy for her, I do feel a bit jealous of Sweetie these days. I don’t do much but lounge around the house. It’s late summer and I still don’t have a job to speak of. I hate having nothing to do. It’s the worst thing for a creative pony like me to not be able to express it. I can’t even make my own candy and pretend to serve it to ponies because we don’t have enough sugar on hoof until our next shipment in fall. At least Sweetie gets to make things all day. It’s a great job for her. The voice in my head tells her that I love her as she closes the bedroom door. See you later. It’s still bedtime for me. 

Sweetie Drops goes down Mane Street. Her saddlebags bounce as she walks to work. The place that looks like a gingerbread house with a pink layered cake tower in the middle. It’s so popular that the town has a picture of it in their brochures for visitors from out of town. She knows the place like the back of her hoof. Every nook and cranny, every weird secret. She only started working there this summer she’s always been welcome in the home that she practically spent her childhood in. She opens the door. She expects that everything about this place is just like it always is: the familiar cool draft from the walk-in freezer, a row of coloring pages that they give to foals who only manage to scribble profusely on, and the many sweets on display. But just one glance tells her that not a single thing around here is anything close to normal. 

She gasps and tries to not step in a pile of flour on the ground. Flour laden hoof prints mark lines on the floor, the counter…and the ceiling? She gazes at all of it in shock. The place is filled with laughter. Suddenly, from the back room, Pinkie Pie jumps from the counter into the shop area. Her body slides into a fast spin on the floor, getting herself even more coated in flour. Her mane looks partially hardened by wet flour. It reminds Sweetie of cement. 

“Whoa!” she shouts as she spins around. She is tightly gripping a neon green water soaker toy. Behind, where she came from, two young foals enter as if in pursuit. Pound and Pumpkin Cake, the Cakes’ twins and perennial hazard to their work and sanity. The two of them, a light golden Pegasus and a yellow Unicorn, sneak up as if they are hunters. They also clutch water pistols and are just as filthy. They shoot at Pinkie a few times and grin. 

Pinkie cuts between light shrieks and laughter. “Ah…I surrender…I surrender!” she says, waving her hooves like a defeated soldier. They all then laugh afterwards while Sweetie can only stand completely still, watching another scene of silliness fold out in front of her in Sugar Cube Corner. She can never get used to it in all her years since she’s known the Cakes. By the time they had their foals, she was already on her own and was teaching the filly that would someday be her fillyfriend. 

Mrs. Cake comes down into the room. She sighs and grimaces. Sweetie has seen that face plenty of times around here. Pinkie gets to her hooves. 

“Oh, sorry Mrs. Cake for the mess.” Her face is powdered white. “We’ll totally get it cleaned up, right guys?” Pinkie assures her in her squeaky voice. She zooms beside the two of them and they all beam in unison. 

Mrs. Cake is wearing a pretty deep purple dress and she clutches the golden pearls that hang around her neck. Her mane is gleaming and her hooves polished. The only thing that doesn’t match her pretty ensemble is the expression on her face at the moment. She doesn’t look where she’s going and almost steps into wet dough on the ground. 

“Pinkie! I can’t believe this! Of all days for you to pull something like this and to rope the foals into it no less!” She’s frustrated at Pinkie today. Usually that’s not saying much but today, it’s way more than usual. 

“Well, duh! How else can I play Cakes and Robbers without the Cakes?!” she asks as if she’s trying to get Mrs. Cake to understand something important. 

“Well, march them up to the tub. They need to be cleaned right away! My parents wants the family to come for their 40th anniversary and those two are going to be as shiny as a new coin. Understood?” She almost has to pant after saying that in one exhausted and irritated breath. 

Pinkie salutes her. “Okie-doke Lokie!” She scoops the two foals in her arms and bolts up the steps in a pink blur. Mrs. Cake turns to Sweetie Drops. 

“I am very sorry for me to ask since I know you technically have ten minutes before you start but is there any way you can perhaps deal with this mess for me. I am in no condition to do it myself,” she requests worryingly. She glances at the clock on the wall as seconds tick away. 

“It’s no problem, Mrs. Cake. I got it handled,” Sweetie says confidently. The mare thanks her and goes upstairs. 

Sweetie puts on her apron and white puffy hat early after putting her things in her cubicle. Her personal apron has her name on it. She grabs a long mop and brush with hard prickly bristles. She tidies up the floor first, sweeping the dust into a pail and going after the mushy stuff with the mop. It’s tough work that makes her sweat but in Sugar Cube Corner, she is used to it. Having to clean up messes is just part of life in the food industry and doubly so for making bread or confectionery. 

The stuff is everywhere. Sometimes Sweetie is just overwhelmed by how easy it is for the combined whirlwind of Earth pony, Unicorn and Pegasus to leave traces of their messes on every surface. She is just one pony and she can’t fly or use magic. She can only break her proverbial back to get rid of every last crumb before customers come in. She has to; the shop can’t be known as that place where the owners don’t care about cleanliness. Who would trust the food from a place like that? 

At last, the shop front is done. Sweetie has five minutes to spare to get the bucket and tools into the kitchen. She notices how the mess had originated near the counter. She thinks of how much flour was wasted. She doesn’t have enough time to clean it up but at least it can’t be seen from the front. She reads from a list by the ovens as to which goods are ready to be displayed. Sweetie returns to the front and goes to the right into the freezer. She rolls out the table with fresh desserts and opens the glass case from the back to place the cakes in one by one. She turns them so the tags with the price and name can be shown easily. She leaves special orders on the tray so ponies can pick them up throughout the day. The list is kept with her so she can check them off. Lastly, she goes and turns the sign around at the door to show ponies that they’re finally open. 

Now that it’s done, Sweetie goes into the back to at least start cleaning up what Pinkie and the foals did. If she’s needed in front, the door will ring as ponies enter. Sweetie refills the bucket with soapy water and yawns wearily. She knows that this will be an especially long day with the Cakes going to see the grandparents on their anniversary. Still, that means that she will be in charge of baking too and she has fun with it. For some reason, ponies are a bit more tolerant with errors when it comes to cakes than candies. She guesses that they’re more of a fun dessert, being offered at birthdays and parties for the most part. She likes writing out names in gel and putting numbers in the center for young foals’ birthdays. They are always grateful rather than demanding. 

As she swirls grayish mush into her mop, she hears yelling from above. It almost sounds as if somepony hurt themselves. It forces her to stop moving. She hears more yelling and she thinks it’s Mrs. Cake doing it. Sweetie shakes her head out of empathy. She can only imagine what it’s like to be having to juggle not only the most popular shop in town but also two rampaging foals too. 

She continues to clean up the place but the noise above bothers her. She wishes they would just go already. They’re loud enough for her to hear through the walls as if they were made of baking paper and Sweetie thinks that they’ll drive away customers. The situation must be pretty bad up there. Sweetie hears a commotion by the stairs. She goes over to the shop to see Pinkie Pie being stared down by Mrs. Cake. 

“Pinkie Pie! What did you do!?” she shouts. Pinkie Pie is doing the opposite of a grin, the edges of mouth pulled down. She almost trots in place out of anxiety. 

“I’m sorry….I couldn’t help it!” she says. She sounds like she’s trying to entreat some mercy from Mrs. Cake but Sweetie is unsure what reason it is for. She sweats and there are tears forming at the edges of her eyes. “You know I do that all the time!”

“C’mon! I thought even you would at least restrain yourself just once.” Mrs. Cake’s eyes bulge in anger. Even Mr. Cake is hard as a week old dinner roll, either in solidarity with his wife or because he is really just as pissed off. Whatever Pinkie did must have been rather serious. 

“C’mon guys, she just played with the foals. It’s not something that I can’t clean up,” Sweetie says in an attempt to calm things down. They stare at her in disbelief. 

“You don’t know what happened,” Mrs. Cake says. “Pinkie ate the special cake that I made for my mom on her anniversary. I won’t be able to make another one in time!” 

From what Sweetie recalls, the Cakes were preparing the anniversary of Mrs. Cake’s parents for some time. They wanted everything to be perfect for how it was going to go including making a very expensive cake to celebrate the day with. There’s nothing Sweetie can say to defend Pinkie Pie. She’s made a serious mistake this time. 

Mr. Cake isn’t subdued in his emotions today. He is visibly angry like his wife and frowning deeply. He hasn’t even finished getting his golden buttons done on the collar on his black suit. 

“Pinkie, there is just no way that we can have you come along with us like we planned. You are going to stay home and think about what you did. When we come back, we’re going to talk about it more and discuss what’s going to happen as far as punishment is concerned.”

Pinkie nods slowly. They turn away, visibly disgusted at her and walk out of the shop with the foals in tow. After they leave, Pinkie is silent as she walks up the steps. She is probably going upstairs to her room. 

There is nothing that Sweetie could have done. She may have a long history with them but she can’t interfere in their relationship for better or worse. She can only go back to work and tend to customers while the Cakes go to the anniversary party sans their cake and Pinkie stews up in her room. Everything in the shop goes as normal though. Sweetie passes out special orders, makes new ones and sells cupcakes to foals wanting something sweet to eat in the afternoon. 

Poor Sweetie! I wish I could have been there. But I wasn’t. I am not somepony to really understand what goes on in the Cake household. They are certainly something else, I must say. Pinkie Pie herself is an odd mare. She’s about as old as my Sweetie Drops but her mental age is anything other than an adult. Who would flip a cake in the air and eat it all without even thinking about whom it’s for? I would say she is a young foal in a mare’s body if that didn’t sound totally mean. I don’t hang out with her because she is way too random for me. I prefer somepony more predictable like the Flower Fillies who all enjoy their tea at the same time. Still, what’s interesting is her relationship with the Cakes and their foals. It’s definitely positive and everypony I know sees it as such. It’s allowed even a pony like Pinkie to grow up in her own way over the years and those twins have helped her to become a better and more mature pony. The twins call her their ‘Auntie’ Pinkie Pie. It’s a cute title, I must admit, and I suppose it’s part of what makes their relationship so strong. She’s always been a part of their lives ever since they were born. Playing with them, taking care of them, loving them. Time sure flies by though. I don’t know how many missteps they can take. They must have more patience than anypony else, save for Pinkie’s parents? 

Time passes until it is afternoon. Sweetie throws several cakes in the oven and dresses a few in frosting and candies. She doesn’t see Pinkie so much as step a hoof downstairs at all. She wonders if the pink pony is sleeping or just lying in her bed, all depressed from being scolded so harshly by Mrs. Cake. It’s hard to believe that though. She’s never known Pinkie to stay sad for long. She always bounces back from anything. She’s like a spring, always able to recover, no matter what. 

Sweetie is cleaning the counter and preparing the last things before closing time as the Cakes appear in the main window. Sweetie smiles as they enter. The parents look exhausted but the foals still look as upbeat as ever. They chase each other around until Mr. Cake orders them to their room to play in there. 

“Hey, guys. How was the event?” Sweetie asks with a smile. 

“Nerve wracking,” Mrs. Cake says. She leans her weight against the counter. “I was worried the whole time about what my parents were thinking that we didn’t bring a cake with us. It was surprisingly okay though. I think they were just satisfied by how everything else went. We had their favorite band play for them and the snacks and champagne were great, right dear?” 

“The best that our money can buy, darling,” the stallion agrees. Sweetie can see that he’s emotionally drained just by being around his frazzled wife. 

“We’ll be back after we get out of these clothes,” Mrs. Cake says. Sweetie nods and the two of them go upstairs. 

Sweetie waits at the cash register as ponies come in for the evening sweets rush. It’s a bit of a swell since it’s after many ponies get off of work and come to collect dessert or a cake for some future celebration. She recognizes lots of familiar faces. She talks to Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle, who are hanging out together. When they return, the Cakes help out briefly in the back. Sweetie goes in there to retrieve a cake that’s done. Mrs. Cake gives the box to her. 

“You were a great help today,” she says appreciatively. “I know that things were difficult and we want to say that we’re thinking of giving you something like a raise.”

Sweetie chuckles. “Oh, thanks but I was just doing all I can to help out.”

“I know which is why we totally insist on doing it! We also know that you prefer to be making our products, don’t you?”

“I sure do. It’s relaxing.”

“Excellent. You’re our most dependable friend. I am going to leave you to create a new design starting tomorrow,” Mrs. Cake chirps. She puts a folded paper in Sweetie’s apron pocket. “Here’s the design. Don’t get it damaged. You’ll need it.”

“Why not start today?” Sweetie asks. 

“We’re going to go to my supplier and ask for a few items we need early. When we get it then you can start in the morning,” she replies. 
“That sounds great, Mrs. Cake. I can’t wait to start,” Sweetie says. She goes and finishes the transaction with the pony who wanted the cake. As she’s counting the bits, she waves at the Cakes, who are heading outside. She wears a smile for most of the evening until closing time. She turns the blinds shut, flips the door sign around and puts her work uniform away. 

Sweetie looks at the recipe for a moment. It’s night and dark inside except for the kitchen light. She has a hard time going through the recipe steps in her head. It is way different than how the Cakes usually do things: different ingredients are called for, strange steps needed and odd measurements. She thinks that maybe it’s all a test. They want to see what she is really capable of and if she does good enough then they’ll let her do more work on her own. They are rather short staffed and they sure do have so much to do with the foals and their school projects or recitals or other foal things.  

Pinkie goes downstairs. She walks towards Sweetie. “Hey, are you going home?” she says. 

“I sure am. It’s been a long day.” Sweetie puts the paper in her saddlebag. 

Pinkie looks at it curiously. Her mouth forms a circle. “What’s that?”

“Just a recipe I need to make tomorrow.” Sweetie walks towards the door to leave. 

“Where are the Cakes? Shouldn’t they be here?” Sweetie catches a hint of worry in her voice. 

“I think they’re out getting some ingredients or something.”

Pinkie’s head tilts awkwardly, lowers an eyebrow and sticks her tongue out. “What? In the middle of the night? What’s up with that?”

Sweetie shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know Pinkie but I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night.”

“Uh, good night to you too.”

Sweetie shuts the door behind her and walks down the street towards her house. Her body is bathed in the yellow glow of the street lamps. 

Looking back, I was definitely in anything but a good mood that evening. I missed her at dinner and I wasn’t really happy about how long she had worked that night for the Cakes. I get lonely all by myself. But she insisted that the Cakes need her so I felt like giving her the cold shoulder even as we went to bed. I turned in bed until I was facing away and clicked the lamp off after saying good night. I think I deserve her more than anypony else. I just want this summer to be over so we can be together and make candies together again. It won’t be long so I just have to be patient as difficult as that may be. 

Sweetie goes to work the following day like normal. The place is quieter without some major event coming to disrupt the peace. When she goes into the kitchen and turns on the light. Near her cubby, she finds a note waiting for her. It was written by Mrs. Cake. She puts her work stuff on and reads it. It tells her where to find the ingredients. She looks in the walk in pantry. On the top shelf are bags she doesn’t recognize. They are full of assorted candies, their colors easily visible through the clear plastic. She uses a stepping stool to reach up and to take the special items over to the counter. 

She sorts out the candies and other special things, measuring out how much the recipe calls for. The batter is made and she turns on the oven. Once she pours the batter into the pan and throws it in to be baked, she starts with the frosting. She whips the pink mixture up until it’s light and airy. She licks the end of her hoof to get a taste. It is overwhelmingly sweet, even in just a dab. She has to flick her tongue out as if it’s bitter and smack her mouth a few times. 

Sweetie makes a few trays of cookies and cupcakes while the new cake is still rising. Time is precious and she can’t waste any when she can be making more stuff that the shop can sell during the day. Its most common items are easiest to make. She hasn’t seen the Cakes yet but she assumes that one of them is manning the counter since she is busy in the back. By the time she is pulling out the pan with pink oven mitts and setting it down on the counter, Pinkie Pie strolls in through the kitchen doors. It’s about nine-thirty. 

“Hey, Sweetie Drops. I didn’t see you come in at all,” she says delightfully. “I was wondering if you hadn’t come to work.”

She comes to the counter and stares down at the golden brown cake sitting in the pan, its heat still radiating from it. 

“Yeah, I know I wasn’t around. I was needed back here for something. What’s up with you?” Sweetie says. 

“Mrs. Cake told me that I needed to be cashier this morning. I guess a mare’s got to do what a mare’s got to do. Usually it’s not as fun and it wasn’t that fun today but it was kind of interesting though. Some foals came for coffee and stuff. I thought I needed to get more pastries so I came in here and you’re here so you can maybe help me with inventory?” 

Sweetie chuckles amusingly at Pinkie’s peppy retelling of her morning as she carefully uses a spatula to lift the cake and transfer it over in one piece to a sheet of wax paper. She lets herself breathe again after it’s done. She relaxes and sets the pan aside to be washed later. 

“Well, we do have lots of new inventory about ready to be used,” Sweetie says while gesturing to the ovens. “You’re not really almost out of food?”

Pinkie shakes her head quickly, throwing strands of her pink hair about. “I guess not.” She looks at the candies that are contained in metal measuring cups. “So what’s this you’re making? A cake for somepony? It must be really fancy. These candies are so super hard to come by that you don’t even know…” Sweetie feels like interjecting and telling her that she knows how rare some of these candies are but doesn’t. It’s not really worth the effort. 

Sweetie starts to frost the outside of the cake. Her skills allow her to get the frosting pretty much even and it’s not that hard. It’s easy for her to decorate even a hot cake. She’s a skilled baker. She layers it on twice to make it thick enough as the recipe calls for. She can already tell that this is going to be a super sweet cake. She wonders what kind of pony would even like it. 

Pinkie sniffs the frosting. 

“That’s yummy…and just the right color,” she says. She then turns quiet for a moment and squints her eyes rather suspiciously. 

“Are you alright?” Sweetie says. 

Pinkie pulls out a magnifying glass and looks at the glassy candy that Sweetie is beginning to arrange on the top surface of the cake in a spiral pattern. She is arranging them carefully. They are supposed to resemble a colored lollipop like the kind they sell at carnivals. Pinkie suddenly releases a long gasp and drops the magnifying glass on the ground. 

She runs around the island so fast that Sweetie’s eyes can barely catch up. “Oh, no! Oh, no, no, no!” she sputters in a frenzy. 

“Pinkie, stop it!” Sweetie demands. She thinks that Pinkie might spill the candy by accident or push the cake off the counter. 

Pinkie stops on a dime and pants heavily. “That’s my cake!” She pushes up to Sweetie and gets muzzle to muzzle. Sweetie can only look into Pinkie’s angled eyes. “My cake!” 

Sweetie backs off, her own eyes widened. She has no idea what Pinkie’s going on about. “The cakes told me to make that. It’s their newest recipe.” 

Pinkie huffs indignantly. “Well then how do you explain this!?” She grabs the bag of candy. 

“Hey, stop it!” Sweetie protests. “I’m going to get Mrs. Cake!” 

“Go ahead!” Sweetie can’t go. She won’t have enough time. Pinkie’s arms move like a machine and soon, the cake’s complex looking design is complete with whipped cream dollops at the edges and ribbons of light pink frosting forming waves around the perfectly decorated lollipop candy. There are steaks of frosting on her face but her tongue licks it off in an instant. 

“How did you do that?” 

Pinkie pulls out a recipe book, opens it, and turns it towards Sweetie. She is smiling smugly. “Because it’s right in here. It’s one of my newer designs.” She shuts the book. “Why don’t you show me that paper of yours?” Sweetie feels reluctant and doesn’t like where this is going but lets her take it anyway. 

Pinkie scans it and gasps again. “Aha! So you’re a thief! You must have copied my recipe when I was too busy with the foals to notice! You must have also snuck past Gummy somehow or he would have stopped you!” 

“You mean your alligator pet thing? C’mon, Pinkie! I didn’t steal anything!” 

They both hear the door ring. Ponies have come into the shop. 

“Pinkie, go help them,” Sweetie tells her, mostly just to get her out of the kitchen.

“No!” she replies rather petulantly. “You go do it! I am not going to let you sell my cake to anypony else!” 

“Be that way.” Sweetie steps towards the door but as she reaches it, Pinkie stomps her front hooves down. 

“Wait…you know what? I will go help those ponies after all!” She zooms past Sweetie and into the shop. Sweetie peeks inside to see her at the counter. The Flower Fillies are standing there. 

“Let’s go! Hurry up! What do you all want?” She looks annoyed and jittery as the three of them place their orders rather than say anything to bother Pinkie. The pink pony grabs their stuff and shoves it toward them and doesn’t even bother putting the bits into the register. Afterwards, she leads them to the door. “It’s going to have to be ‘to go’ today. Sorry for the inconvenience!” She turns the sign around and locks the door. 

“Let’s see now…oh yeah.” Pinkie whistles sharply upstairs. “This ought to get their attention.” Immediately, the two Cakes enter the room. 

“What in Equestria has taken a hold of you this time, Pinkie?” Mrs. Cake says. 

“A hold of me? What is…holding you? These are my recipes! Not yours.”

Mrs. Cake sighs. “Pinkie, calm down. I did take them but I believed that they would help our shop since the things you make are always best sellers.”

“But it’s mean! You didn’t ask for permission or anything!” 

Mrs. Cake glares back. Sweetie hopes that she better not lose it too. 

“Well, just like you ate the cake I made for my parents?” Sweetie makes sure to step back in case they start fighting. But that’s the worst case scenario. 

“Hey, I said that was an accident.” 

“One time is an accident. Just once. Many times is something else,” she clarifies in what Sweetie could only call bitterness. 
“Well, maybe I should leave so I won’t be an accident to you anymore,” she says, her voice trembling. She doesn’t wait for a reply and storms out, leaving through the door and down the street. 

The Cakes are stunned by Pinkie’s angry departure but they don’t have time to reflect on what just happened. They ask Sweetie to keep up with the recipe while they handle the register. They were doing taxes but that will just have to wait until later. Sweetie goes in the back and looks at the completed cake. It’s rather beautiful. She almost thinks it’s a pity that it’s something meant for ponies to cut into pieces and chew in their mouths. She has to make ten more of them too for their test run to see how it sells. But that’s not on Sweetie’s mind as much as she wants it to be. When will Pinkie come back? Does she truly see her as a thief too? Sweetie hopes not because they’ve known each other for so long. Their friendship shouldn’t be as fragile as glass candy. 

Pinkie was gone by the following day. Sweetie would go up to her room several times just to look around at how empty it is. It’s such a big hoofprint left behind that few others could fill and without it, the room feels so bare and empty. Sweetie told me that the Cakes don’t seem to care a whole lot about the fact that she’s gone. Mr. Cake doesn’t protest his wife enough. In their house, she knows best so it’s really the wife that’s the more troubling of the two of them. She doesn’t say much except that it was a long time coming. I don’t know what it’s like to lose a friend. I hate to ponder such things. I mean, somepony that was just a friend and not originally something else like a teacher. It’s hard to believe it can even happen. That two ponies just can’t reconcile. And what about the ponies in the middle? Are they like a boat surrounded by a hurricane? Do they just worry about all the negativity that a broken friendship brings? And as with a storm, can the period in the middle be a time of reflection or fear?
Today is Sweetie’s day off from work. About time, I say. She hasn’t had one in two weeks and this is supposed to be a light job, for pony’s sake. I was almost to my breaking point with her and this job. I don’t want to deal with it today so I insisted that we go out and do something fun on this late summer day. But as we leave, the first thing we see is Pinkie Pie, seemingly loitering on our street. 

Sweetie walks up to the mare, which seems focused on this shop front that has been empty for months. It used to be a bookstore. 

“Pinkie, are you alright?” Sweetie says. Pinkie does an about face. Gummy is attached to her back. “I’ve missed you. How’ve you been?”

Pinkie smiles wide. “Great, thanks. Isn’t this a really awesome and totally professional place a pony can sell stuff at?” She points at the nondescript shop front. 

Sweetie looks at Twist, who looks at Pinkie in confusion. “What are you talking about, Pinkie?” Sweetie asks hesitantly. 

Pinkie giggles loudly. “Obviously, it’s my new shop! I am leasing it and it’s going to be all mine!” She looks at it greedily. 

“It’s got to be really expensive. How can you afford that on your salary?” Sweetie says incredulously. 

“I’ve saved a lot of money. Yeah, I know…hard to believe, right? Well, it’s true!” Pinkie uses her hooves to make a frame close to her eyes as she looks at the roof. “The sign will be above the door so ponies will know that this is the best cake shop in town! And they’ll get to see what I’m selling in the window!”

“Pinkie, this all sounds great but what will the Cakes think?” Twist mentions. Part of her is worried about how another sweets shop will affect her business more than anything else. She wonders if that makes her selfish or not. 

“I don’t want to hear their names!” Pinkie suddenly screams, holding her hooves to her ears. She glares at nothing in particular. “Mr. and Mrs. You-know-who aren’t welcome to my shop because they are mean and unfair…and recipe thieves!” She opens her shop door but turns around to face them and grins excitedly. “Oh…you guys should come for my grand opening party next week! See you then!” The door slams behind her. 

“Wow…the Cakes and Pinkie have really split up for good?” Sweetie says. 

“I’m sorry you have to see this all happen,” Twist tells her. She puts a sympathetic hoof on her shoulder.

“Thanks, Twist.” She kisses her check and they continue on our way to see a movie. 

We went to Pinkie’s grand opening like she asked us to. She called it “Pinkie’s Pastry Palace”. I never thought that alliteration suited a shop name but I guess it works for her. When we walked inside, there were ponies setting up the new logo outside just where Pinkie said it would be. Pink letters surrounded by balloons. The place was packed with ponies. Her whole family was there and all her friends. Even the princess came but I avoided her like she was diseased. As Pinkie set up karaoke, me and Sweetie looked at cakes on a table that were there to show off what was to come in the future. I admired a rich white wedding style cake and we both gazed at it with the thought ever present at having it at our ceremony. 
Sweetie’s time back at work the next day was pretty stressful. She thinks it was like walking on glass. The Cakes were quick to upset as their chores piled up. Even one day without Pinkie and Sweetie was just overwhelming. I don’t think I’ll wait up for her at dinner. Not with her working more hours at it is. Now I’m starting to feel bad for my earlier jealousy. It’s a lot harder in the kitchen these days than I realized. 

Mrs. Cake bursts into the kitchen. Her usually controlled mane is frazzled and unkempt and from the smell, she’s even forgotten to shower. 

“How are those cakes coming along?” she asks quickly. She’s like a parent worrying about a foal that’s being born. It’s really that important to her. 

“They’re still not done. These things take time,” Sweetie says. 

“Yes, I am aware,” Mrs. Cake replies bluntly. “If you’re still waiting, please go upstairs and check on the foals? I get worried when there’s nopony around to supervise them.”

“Sure thing.” Mrs. Cake hurries back into the shop. She’s cashier today. She has to since the schedule for everything has been shifted so badly. They are falling behind on orders which doesn’t happen usually. It forces Sweetie to work overtime. And when the Cakes were working their flanks off yesterday, they forgot to take out the trash and now Mr. Cake has to personally haul a load of it all the way to the landfill. If the stink of trash emanating into the kitchen wasn’t bad enough, Mrs. Cake’s body odor isn’t exactly fresh either. 

Nopony was prepared for what would happen after losing Pinkie. Sweetie most of all. The cake design that had sparked the fuse didn’t even end up as anything but a flop. Most ponies didn’t like it except for foals; when they asked for it, they’re always overruled by their parents. The design had to be scrapped. The last cakes were just given away in the end. Sweetie now makes the standard issue product: cookies, pastries, and birthday cakes. It takes little to no effort to make them and they sell so fast that they’re sometimes still hot in a customer’s hooves. She waits for the Cakes to come up with a new line of wedding cakes since early fall is a prime period for weddings to happen. She knows that it’s going to be like watching paint dry. 

Mrs. Cake gives Sweetie a list of things to do while she’s away. One of them is looking over her designs. She definitely wants a fresh set of eyes to look for flaws that she missed and Mr. Cake is no good at such things. Pinkie used to be the one to do it but she’s gone. 

The last thing that Sweetie wants to do is to look at more cakes after work. Still, there’s no avoiding the other bakery on her street. In the evening, the sign for Pinkie’s shop lights up with a noticeable pink glow. The interior is really bright with white and red tiles and pictures of Pinkie, her family and of Ponyville hanging up. The quality is pretty good as if Photo Finish had done them. It’s hard to believe that Pinkie could afford such a talented photographer. Sweetie decides to walk in so she can at least say hello to her friend. It’s cold inside and instead of tables, there is just one looping counter like a horseshoe with tall red stools lined up next to it. A couple older foals are sitting at the end. A colt and a filly with one milkshake as if they’re on a date. Sweetie doesn’t look at them so she doesn’t embarrass them with attention and checks for Pinkie. 

Sweetie goes to the front area where a simple chalkboard menu is hung. She sees that it’s not written by Pinkie but somepony else with nice penmanship. She rings a little bell and Pinkie bounces inside and lights up when she sees Sweetie. 

“Oh, hey there! Long time, no see,” Pinkie says cheerfully. 

“Hello, Pinkie. How’s the shop doing?” 

“I’m having a great first week so far! You should see how many things I’ve sold. All my friends are buying lots of stuff and even my Maud Pie ate a cupcake. A cupcake! She never does that!” Pinkie bounces up and down ecstatically. “Everypony came to give me all the support they could give.”

“You mean you’re doing well on your own when it comes to making stuff? How are you managing that?”

“It’s certainly not easy.” Pinkie takes Sweetie into the kitchen. It’s pretty packed with a ton of dishes lying around: bowls stacked five or even ten high, boxes full of trays and utensils in piles like kindling. It’s obvious that Pinkie doesn’t take after the Cakes when it comes to their organization skills and just goes for the more laid back approach. Pinkie picks a book from a pile of them. She opens it. Inside are pictures of wedding cakes. Sweetie can’t believe it. Even Pinkie’s old recipe book didn’t really have pictures and if they had any, they were crude and childish at best. These she are seeing now are beautiful and colored designs like they are meant to be shown off. Sweetie thinks that they probably are. No mare just buys a wedding cake after all. 

“They’re very beautiful,” Sweetie says in admiration. She eyes a three layer white cake with a beautiful lacy design. “But, I would still like to know how you’ve done all this.” 

“Well, I went and asked my friends for some help. I told them that I was opening my own shop and that I really needed to get it up and running for the first week. My friend, Rarity, came and did a whole lot for me. She drew these pictures since she’s so great at drawing dresses and now I have stuff to show when a mare wants to buy a cake.”

Sweetie smiles and her ears perk up. “I’m impressed. I really am.” 

“The wedding stuff is just the beginning,” Pinkie says with a grin. She brings out some sweets from the refrigerator and has Sweetie try samples. She tries a brownie, a sugar cookie, a mint candy cane, and a cupcake. By the time she’s tried them all, Sweetie is having a mild sugar rush. Even with her high tolerance of sugar, it can get to her on an empty stomach. But she can just taste Pinkie’s love for baking in every bite. She can’t deny that with this kind of skill, this shop can easily find its own niche in town and even turn a handsome profit in time. As much as Sweetie might hope deep down that Pinkie fails and can return to Sugar Cube, she’s still proud of Pinkie in a way. Maybe it’s just time for Pinkie to go out on her own just like she did years ago. 

Sweetie goes back to her work. She tells Mrs. Cake about how Pinkie is doing. The mare shows very little interest in her former assistant though and pesters Sweetie about the shop itself. Upon hearing about her wedding line, Sweetie can just sense her being wound up. She knew about Rarity and her ability to draw designs but never thought of asking her before. She calls it an unfair advantage to rely on friends for help: Rarity’s designs, Applejack for cleaning, Fluttershy to keep out rats and other animals, and some money and exposure from the princess. She says that Sugar Cube Corner has to make some moves of its own to stay relevant. Such a cornerstone of her town can’t fall to Pinkie’s “sugar factory” as she calls it bitterly. 

Sweetie tries halfheartedly to protest Mrs. Cake’s next move but there’s nothing she can do. The mare is adamant in getting the word out against Pinkie’s new shop. Sugar Cube runs a full page ad in the town paper which not only promotes the hard won popularity of their business but also makes note of “inferior bakeries” that can’t compete. Mrs. Cake is convinced that ramping up pressure in ads and pumping out coupons for 5% off wedding cakes will do the trick. Sweetie isn’t so sure that it will work even as she looks at the paper and her large ad with thick black font. Sweetie doesn’t see any reduction in the number of ponies hanging in or around the shop. She thinks that even Mrs. Cake doesn’t really underestimate the “flavor of the month” and knows that going against it is like trying to row upstream. But its purpose has been done. It’s Sugar Cube’s first broadside in the Cake Wars. 

Not about to be outdone, Pinkie Pie fires back, engaging with the ponies in her own brand of cheerfulness. Sweetie is sweeping the shop one day when she spies Pinkie not far off. The mare is waving, shaking hooves and passing out flyers. After about half an hour of that, Mrs. Cake orders Sweetie to find out what she’s doing. The two talk for a bit and Sweetie finds out that she’s been giving out her own coupons and also mentioning how her wedding cakes are going to be available up to two weeks before anything from Sugar Cube Corner. Sweetie felt a little embarrassed to stand next to somepony being so forceful about leading ponies away from her place of work but perhaps more so that everything she said was actually right. Part of that might be Pinkie’s claim to make custom designs rather than rely on premade sets that require too many ingredients. Sweetie does think that’s an interesting idea but when she mentions it to Mrs. Cake, she rejects it outright. She seems to despise anything that Pinkie comes up with. 

The two shops continue this tit for tat rivalry for a while, neither showing any signs of relenting or slowing down. At Sugar Cube, the atmosphere gets more stressful day by day. The air is electric with this underlying worry. Sweetie can feel it when she hears the sound of Mrs. Cake’s hoof pressing the buttons on her tax calculator. She’s been crunching numbers almost as much as she has been going to work downstairs. A few times, Sweetie would be been working at the counter when the foals would come down and roughhouse. The two parents are nowhere to be seen and Sweetie would have to personally step in and take them back upstairs. They are far too noisy for a place of business. 

Sweetie thinks about quitting a few times. She doesn’t know why she doesn’t bring it up except that Mrs. Cake never seems to be in the mood for that kind of talk. She’s called to her dimmed room sometimes and when she is, it’s always about having her do something to bolster the business. Sweetie knows that the mare gets headaches and maybe if she bothers her about her own problems then it just won’t help anypony. Yet, she may not be the only one that knows it can’t go on forever like this. She’s given a few new flyers and is ordered to post it on poles near Pinkie’s shop. 

Sweetie doesn’t question her and goes out to take the flyers where they need to go. Along the way, she thinks about Sugar Cube. She never thought she would see a time when it wouldn’t exist but the way things are going, anything can happen. Anypony that sees what she sees would agree. Fewer ponies come to buy their food and not as many come for wedding cakes. The shop must be losing a lot of money and that kind of strain would weigh heavily on anypony. Maybe that’s why she hasn’t quit. It would be heart breaking to see their family lose their home and livelihood. 

The flyers are stapled on wooden poles in sight of the new bakery. It’s afternoon and the ponies are leaving work and many are walking in the streets. She can see Pinkie and a few others inside, talking and laughing. Sweetie can only sigh. She finishes with the last one and prepares to turn back. She then notices an outraged colt approach her. His coat his red and his mane a shade of dark blonde. 

“Are you serious?! What’s with this?” he says, yelling loud enough to grab other ponies’ attention. He points to the sign; it’s a picture of Pinkie’s head but her face is green and her tongue is sticking out like she’s sick. Words to the left say: “Pinkie Pie has a history of making ponies sick when baking on her own. Don’t trust your health to anypony other than the fine bakers at Sugar Cube Corner”. 

Sweetie is too embarrassed to do anything but mumble and maybe try to duck out of there. She sees no place to go though and the red colt is still angry. 

“You guys go too far to discredit my friend, Pinkie! Her cupcakes are amazing!” 

Sweetie’s knees shake. She’s suddenly afraid that the crowd’s going to hurt her like that other crowd hurt Twist, all those months ago. She wants to run; anywhere will do. There is a touch on her shoulder and she looks to her right in fear to see Pinkie. She is smiling, strange as that is. 

“Sweetie Drops, my good friend. Why are you just sitting in the street and not coming in to see me?” She takes Sweetie by the arm and leads her to the shop. There are a few ponies inside but they seem distracted from their milkshakes by the commotion outside. The red colt is taking a picture of the ad, likely showing it to his friends in his indignation. 

Once inside, Sweetie feels safe again and her pulse returns to normal. They go inside the kitchen. 

Sweetie is ashamed by what she allowed herself to do. She doesn’t even want to look at Pinkie in the face. How dare she go inside after taking part in such a mean act, even when she had no real choice in the matter? 

Pinkie doesn’t seem to have lost a beat though. She bounces to the oven and takes out a tray of sugar cookies. She sniffs them and drools. 

“Pinkie, I’m glad you helped me but you didn’t have to,” Sweetie says. Pinkie looks at her and snorts as if amused. 

“Of course I did, silly. I know those ponies would get mad at you but it’s not your fault. Also, I almost forgot about the time I made those baked bads and boy, remembering it can make me laugh,” She giggles profusely. 

Sweetie is able to join her, albeit faintly. The way Pinkie is so lax about everything makes her wish that the Cakes were a bit more lighthearted and not always so serious when it came to the shop. She looks around and notices that the kitchen is a total mess. There is a pile of dishes in the sink and materials are strewn about without order. She doesn’t understand. The place was disordered before but she could blame that on her shop being new. But she should be organized by now, right? 

“Pinkie, are you taking the time to make sure the place is clean?” Sweetie whispers. It is a rather difficult subject in her opinion and she wants to approach it with tact. But there is a sound of scratching and she turns her head to see a small mouse scuttle amongst the sacks of flour and sugar. Sweetie yelps and jumps on the nearest stool. “Pinkie!”

Pinkie lowers her eyebrows. “What? That’s just a mouse that Fluttershy says is harmless.”

Sweetie doesn’t get down from the stool. She stares at the mouse, who returns her gaze. “But Pinkie,” she says seriously. “Harmless or not, it needs to go. It has no place in a kitchen of all places. Don’t you know this?”

Sweetie has personally never seen a mouse or a rat in any kitchen she’s ever owned. But they’re so thorough with their cleaning that none could ever find food to eat anyway. Its sight appalls her like nothing else. To her, it looks like a ball of sickness. 

“Aww,” Pinkie says, groaning. “Who says?” 

“The town health department, the mayor, and every food restaurant in town,” Sweetie replies, tapping her hooves together in a counting motion. What she doesn’t say is that she can’t believe Pinkie would even have to ask something like that. 

“I didn’t know everypony would care that much?”

“I thought you said that Fluttershy dealt with pests?” 

Pinkie picks up the mouse and it nuzzles her. “It’s not a pest but Fluttershy did used to take them someplace else. I guess she can’t since she went to visit the Breezies again.”

“What about the mess? I thought Applejack helped you with that?”

Pinkie shrugs her shoulders. “Well, it is nearly Zap Apple season again. They have to prepare for that.”

“It’s important that you get this place cleaned up.”

“Well…I so don’t have time for that,” Pinkie says dismissively. “All my time is spent making the wedding cakes. And that is really important work.” She puts the mouse outside and Sweetie finally gets down from the stool. 

“Well, where are the cakes?” 

“In the refrigerator. You can go see if you want. Anyway, the cakes are my most important thing. I want to get everypony to buy from me instead of from Sugar Cube Corner. And that means focusing on making the sweets.” Pinkie dons a green army helmet and walks up to a map of town. She grabs a paintbrush and dabs pink frosting on parts of it. “As you can see, I’m gaining business all over the place. Nopony is going to want to buy from those two anymore from now on. I think they’re on their way out like moldy bread.” 

Sweetie is content with letting the mare play general. It’s not hurting anypony. While Pinkie continues to sweeten her territory, Sweetie browses in her wedding cake catalogue. All the recipes are incredibly complex and elaborate, calling for unique ingredients each time. It’s as if each cake is tailor suited for each pony that’s ordering it rather than just buying a template. Some call for gold foil and others for rare fruit, black salt and even diamond dust. Sweetie knows that if anypony can pull off these recipes, it’s Pinkie Pie; but she recognizes many of those materials aren’t easy to come by and are out of reach for most businesses. When she gets to an apple flavored cake covered in a crispy crunchy outer shell, she closes the binder. 

“Pinkie, how are you able to afford this?”

Pinkie turns towards her and smiles. “Afford what?”

Sweetie picks up the binder. “I mean this. All these recipes demand a lot of things that cost a lot of money.”

“They do? I didn’t know that.” Pinkie shrugs. “I thought that Twilight would warn me if I couldn’t afford something.”

“Twilight Sparkle? Does she do your finances?” Sweetie probably doesn’t need to ask that question. Pinkie’s blank expression says enough. “Where are your books?”

“What books? This isn’t a library.”

“The ones with lots of numbers representing money,” Sweetie says slowly as if she’s taking to a foal. “Where is it?”

“I think it’s in a box.”

“Where?”

Pinkie scans the room quickly as if it is hiding from her. “Uh, probably in here. The last pony to have it was Twilight and she was using it at the counter.”

Sweetie has the two of them go on a hunt for her finance book in the kitchen and pantry. Sweetie pulls several boxes out of there and opens them. They’re mostly full of kitchen items and supplies. Pinkie is faster at moving things and searching but she doesn’t discriminate and ends up opening every last cookie jar and little box that ends up being full of spices. Sweetie is acutely aware that Mrs. Cake would throw a fit if she knew what she was doing but it doesn’t matter. She is caring less and less about who controls what in this town. The only thing that matters is helping out a friend in need. 

She ends up finding the book amongst a pile of stationary, some pens and a simple calculator. She clears space on the counter and puts the book down. 

“Let’s see what’s inside.” Sweetie opens the book and finds that somepony wrote in quick but neat writing on lined paper used for businesses to tally costs and such. She notices that the money accounted for starts out strong. Pinkie wasn’t lying. She has a lot of money saved up from her job. Thousands of bits in fact. But Sweetie knows it can’t be true now. The list of expenses cuts off abruptly only a few days after her grand opening. Twilight helped her account for the basic materials and her lease but very little else. No rare chocolate or diamond dust. A swirl of emotions come to Sweetie: annoyance at Pinkie’s obliviousness and worry for her sake. 

“How is it? It’s looking good, right?” Pinkie says confidently. 

As Sweetie looks at Pinkie, a part of her sees the pink mare as a foal and it makes the truth that much harder to tell. Because who knows how a pony like her might react but they tend to not keep their emotions bottled up. It might end badly. Nevertheless, she has to make things known. It would be wrong to do anything else. 

“Um, things aren’t looking so good actually.”

The two of them sit down and go over the expenses that were unwritten. Pinkie has no idea how finances really work. She thought that she could deal with things after she sold her fancy wedding cakes. Such an out of the ordinary view could only stem from one with no experience running a business. Sweetie just can’t believe that Twilight would start to help and just stop. Pinkie says that she was called elsewhere for her royal duties but Sweetie shakes her head. She can hardly buy that as an excuse. 

Sweetie does her best to explain things but it’s not easy. After a while, Pinkie complains that she needs to get back to work. Sweetie has to let her. But she doesn’t leave without urging Pinkie to wait on the wedding cakes until later. Even if it delays them, she can’t go on a spending spree just yet. 

Sweetie thinks about how badly things have turned out. She walks down the street towards home, deep in reflection. The two of them, Pinkie and Mrs. Cake, are two sides of the same coin. Why does she feel that she has to be the one to catch it in midair, lest it fall and both of them fail? Mrs. Cake can’t compete with Pinkie. The latter is the better baker by far. And when the pressure’s on, the older mare doesn’t know how to charm the ponies of town. Then there’s Pinkie and her problems, only hers are in the future. Everything she can say to warn the perky mare is technically a prediction but she knows it is a certainty. Pinkie will go bankrupt if she tries to do everything in that binder. No wonder why the Cakes had quality control and did test runs. She also can’t do finances to save her flank. 

Sweetie doesn’t know what to do. Her loyalty is to her friends and they’re both friends in the end. But how can she do it? Especially when they aren’t exactly clamoring for her help. She’s going to be thinking about it all night. 

I can never conceive of me being on my own and working on my own. For that reason, I admire what Pinkie has done. She’s a hard worker even if she doesn’t always seem that way with her lighthearted antics. She’s confident and a great salespony, always getting me to buy more than I intended to at Sugar Cube Corner, and with a smile on her pink face. But I think she and Mrs. Cake are like me and Sweetie. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Me and Sweetie complete each other, are perfect for each other, and so are the Cakes and Pinkie. We teach each other, come to our aid and even lend a sympathetic hoof when it’s needed. When Sweetie came to me to help, I was prepared to do what I could to contribute. What’s happening is an ongoing shame. But whether things can be made whole again is still to be determined. I’m sure that both of those mares has seen what is wrong but are too prideful to admit it. Sweetie and I thought of a lot of ways to try and get those two into a position to reunite. Brainstorming it wasn’t easy but we’re going to do the best we can even if it’s hard. I’m sure that what we can up with is exactly what we need and more importantly, what they need. 

In secret, the two of them whipped up their own battle plans. In essence, they were prepared to use the same things that started this whole mess in the first place. Really nice desserts, courtesy of Sugar Cube Corner’s pantry and its excess of sugar, flour and other confectionary. Sweetie snuck them away so they could use as much as needed. They both got to work. Twist was the chief designer of these treats and Sweetie the main baker. After a couple days, they are ready and not a moment too soon. Twist has been checking on Pinkie and all the constant work has been wearing her thin. Mrs. Cake has fared little better. Sweetie fears that all this will undermine the wedding cake business in town and drive some ponies away. 

The next morning, the two split and head to their objectives. Twist goes to Pinkie’s shop down the street. She notices that the suggestion box is stuffed with paper as she pushes the door open and walks in. The air is sugary but not fresh. It is rather heavy. She goes when it’s early to avoid other ponies. She rings the bell and Pinkie enters with a mixing bowl under one arm. 

“Hey, what’s up?” she says happily. 

“Do you have a minute to talk, Pinkie?” 

“Of course. I’m just mixing a little batter. Come in.” They both walk inside the kitchen. After a little small talk, Twist gives her a little gift. It’s a simple cupcake. It’s not much to speak of as far as its looks are concerned. The layer of white frosting is made of cream cheese rather than the normal sugary stuff. The cake itself is brown and bran like a muffin. Pinkie accepts it and throws it in the air, catching it with her tongue and gulping it down in an instant. Twist giggles and passes a napkin to Pinkie, who burps lightly. 

“Oh, excuse me.”

Meanwhile, Sweetie passes by Mr. Cake and waves to him. It’s her day off but she says she’s there to get some information about Pinkie to his wife. He says she’s in her room. She’s in there alright, cradling a cup of tea in her hooves and blowing on it. She’s at her desk, staring at a picture of her two foals playing some sports game on a field. 

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Sweetie says. 

Mrs. Cake waves her hoof. “Not at all. I’m just thinking.”

Sweetie sits on a chair and puts her little box on the desk. “Thinking about what?”

“The foals mostly. They’ve spent their whole lives here. Not to mention mine. But don’t mind me. I just grow a little melancholy when times are hard.”

“When I’m feeling down, a little sweets always perks me right up,” Sweetie suggests. “I was thinking about you and I got this made so you can have it.” She takes a cupcake out of the box. It’s a tall one with rich frosting, and large multicolored sprinkles. The cake is white with chocolate chips inside. 

“I obviously do love a good cupcake every now and again,” she says, amused. 

“I bet it will go great with that tea,” Sweetie points out. 

Mrs. Cake nods. “I’m sure it will.” She takes the cake in her hoof and sniffs it first before peeling the wax paper and taking a bite. 
By noon, the first part of the plan has gone into motion. The spirits of both mares have definitely improved. Sweetie and Twist make sure that they are engaged in conversation away from the shops and the conflicts over costumers and cakes. They absolutely need them in a good mood when the second part comes into play. 

When it is closing time, it’s time for everypony to go on an outing. Mrs. Cake is convinced to go to dinner with Sweetie after work. The two of them agree and they head out after the shop is locked up and a babysitter is called for the foals. Pinkie closes up early so Twist goes with her. She takes Pinkie to Fluttershy’s house and they have a tea party for a while until it’s night. Fluttershy has returned from her trip last week. 

The two of them planned everything to unfold at Fluttershy’s cottage. They call it neutral territory, a place where neither of the two feuding mares has an advantage. Fluttershy may be Pinkie’s close friend but she never takes sides in an argument and if anything, will be a perfect element of calmness in case things don’t go so well. 

Sweetie leads the Cakes up to the front door of the cottage. 

“I thought we were going out to eat,” Mrs. Cake grumbles, looking around at the rural scenery around her. 

“We are. It’s like a dinner party,” Sweetie says. 

“Restaurant or somepony’s house, a night away from all that stress is plenty good for me,” Mr. Cake says. 

After a couple knocks, Fluttershy answers. 

“Welcome, friends,” she says kindly. “Come in. I was expecting you all.”

“Thank you, Fluttershy,” Sweetie says. 

The Cakes promptly sit on a nearby couch. They look around at the many animals which share this space with the pony of kindness. 
Suddenly, Pinkie Pie enters the living room from upstairs. 

“Wow, Fluttershy, your room is still as awesome as ever…” Pinkie giggles before cutting off and freezing still. The Cakes don’t move either and they stare at each other. 

“Fluttershy, let’s get everypony to the table so we can start eating. I’m sure they are all very hungry,” Twist says, ignoring their shock. 

Fluttershy nods. “Absolutely. C’mon, everypony. Let’s go while the food is still hot.” She goes and gently guides the stunned Cakes and Pinkie over to the table. They don’t speak a single word the whole time. 

Dinner is roasted mushrooms and pine nuts with mugs full of apple cider to wash it down with. The Cakes pick at it like foals and stare down at the table. Pinkie is frowning but still is able to shovel food in her mouth regardless of the situation. There are plenty of glances when they think the other side isn’t looking. Absolutely none of those three starts a decent conversation and they appear as if they don’t want to. 

“Let’s have a toast to our happy businesses,” Sweetie announces suddenly. She lifts her glass and looks around but only Twist and Fluttershy responds, the latter with a little saucer in the air. Sweetie looks at the others. “Um, anypony?” 

Mrs. Cake sighs deeply and gazes at Sweetie. “I don’t think so. I can see that you’re trying to help but things are quite difficult.”

“Obviously. I am trying my best. I think you three are too but from what I can see, it’s not enough. Are you sure you don’t want to toast with us?” 

A heavy pause passes but Mrs. Cake shakes her head. Now, Sweetie ends up sighing. 

“Well, that is unfortunate. Well, since we all can’t do anything in the spirit of friendship today, then I must bring up something not so happy.” Twist looks at her in confusion, which elicits Sweetie patting her hoof silently under the table. “Mrs. Cake, I am sorry but I am afraid that I must resign from my job as Sugar Cube Corner’s baker. It’s certainly not a position I came to lightly but with the situation as it is and the fact that you’re all my friends, it has to be done.” 

All the others, Twist among them, is utterly surprised at the out of the blue announcement. All of them feel it a bit differently. Fluttershy is concerned. Twist is worried for even she didn’t see it coming. The Cakes have just a bit of outrage mixed in. Pinkie scratches her head, perplexed as to why Sweetie would walk away from such a job as it were. 

“But Sweetie Drops, you can’t possibly do this. We need you more than ever,” Mrs. Cake says. There is alarm in her voice now and her lips quiver. She sounds like a mother. “What would happen to us if you leave?”

“Pretty much the same that will happen if I stay,” Sweetie says flatly. 

“What are you talking about?” Pinkie says. 

“I mean to say that both of your business probably will fail eventually. You two are such good competitors that you have both taken at least half of your business away. But you both lack something essential to keep your business afloat. And I can’t work for either of you. If I’m on a sinking ship, I’m jumping off.”

“My shop is awesome and everypony loves it,” Pinkie says, missing the point as always. She is irritated. 

Sweetie smirks. “They sure do love your cakes. Far too much in fact for you to keep up. Will they like you when your wait time is four months?” She clicks her tongue disagreeably. “I don’t think so.” She looks at Mrs. Cake. “You’ve been very quiet this evening when you’ve been oh so very talkative ever since Pinkie left us. Why is that?”

“Um, I don’t know,” she mumbles.

“I think you do know. I think you’ve been thinking about Pinkie. Maybe you don’t even know it but you were.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Mrs. Cake admits sullenly. “Things have gone out of control and I wish none of this had ever happened. Maybe you’re right to leave, Sweetie. After all, I’ve been making a lot of bad decisions lately and making you go along with them even though you’ve been unhappy. I’ve been thinking a lot about that these last few days.” 

“Does that mean that you’re not working for anypony, Sweetie Drops?” Pinkie asks. 

“I guess it does mean that.”

She smiles. “How about you come and work for me then? I totally need help getting the orders filled.”

The Cakes glance at Sweetie anxiously. Sweetie only takes a sip of her drink and then shakes her head. 

“I’m afraid not. What would I use to make your fancy cakes? You’ll be running out of money soon, remember?”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, yeah,” she recalls. 

“What do you mean?” Mrs. Cake asks Sweetie. 

“About…Pinkie? Oh, she sucks at finances so she isn’t going to be able to afford to fill all her orders or maybe even finish out her lease. Who knows though? Either way, I’m not getting involved with that. It’s above my pay grade.” Sweetie knows she sounds rather nonchalant about all of this but she’s doing it on purpose. She doesn’t want to be a distraction, just a pony to help communication. She thinks it’s starting to work. 

“If it wasn’t for this stupid conflict then you could have come to us for help,” Mr. Cake says. 

“Or she wouldn’t have had to leave at all. She could be helping out like she’s been doing for years,” Mrs. Cake says. “Maybe it was our fault that things happened the way they did.”

“No, I’ve been thinking about stuff too and I know I’ve always acted crazy when I didn’t need to,” Pinkie says with a sad whine in her voice. She looks at Mrs. Cake. “I wish I could somehow take back what happened with your special dessert you were going to give to your parents. It wasn’t right of me not to think about what it meant to you when I ate it.”

“I think that taking others into consideration is always the right thing to do,” Fluttershy interjects. 

“I agree. I may be the owner of my shop but I should respect the boundaries of my friends and not take without asking,” Mrs. Cake says. 

“Perhaps this is what we should toast over,” Twist says. “Whether we make mistakes or succeed, we never do it alone. We ponies always have our friends beside us and with them, we’re always stronger for it.” The three of them raise their glasses slowly but soon tap them against their neighbor’s. 

Me and Sweetie had such high hopes going into this but even we didn’t expect such a great result. We got Mrs. Cake and Pinkie talking and we knew our part was done when they were talking over the phone and Pinkie was smiling and laughing again with her. I know that those two will find lots to laugh over in time. When Pinkie tried to steal her customers or when those tacky posters were put up. All I know is that those two will be fine. The Cakes will have their Auntie Pinkie Pie back. They sure missed her and asked about her often or so Sweetie said. I sure do like Pinkie but I also like having her at arm’s length. So when she started her out of business sale, I helped by buying a few things from her. She’ll need the money when she moves. I couldn’t believe that Sweetie would actually quit her job at first. It reminds me of the kind of convictions that made me love her in the beginning. But it makes sense for the days of summer are over. The only baking we need to think about is what kind of cake we want for our wedding next year. Well, except for the recipes we came up with to help them out. It was brilliant. Making cupcakes to make them think about the other and the fond times they had. Pinkie was always the sweet and spontaneous one. Mrs. Cake, the slow and formal one. They need each other as surely as cake needs frosting. 

> Ep7: An Ill Apple (pt 1)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

       On the night of the reopening of Peppermint Drops, I dream about her again. It’s the first dream in a long time and I had foolishly thought that I had stopped worrying over her over summer. But I was wrong. It is weird that it bookends such a wonderful day, a time of champagne popping and free samples given to foals happy to see their favorite candy store back again. My best customer comes and gives me a hug one day, which makes me laugh. It’s a time that I am glad to see again because it means I’m going back to work and I’ll be doing what I do best. This dream of mine is hard to classify. It isn’t good but also not a nightmare. The filly with red hair was far away. I could only stare from afar and I had this feeling that I wanted to get closer somehow. My body felt so small. I was desperate because it seemed that there was no way to do it. She disappeared over the horizon and the lump of sugar in my chest just dissolved. 

Things are different in the day though. Being back at work is glorious. I work in the kitchen all day until I feel ready to fall apart and I’m still full of pride to see the foals come, sometimes tracking in a leaf or two from the ground. The two of us are finally together all the time. We get up together, eat breakfast and open shop. We call it a day as the sun sets lower every evening. Our dinners are lively as we chat. Even sleep couldn’t be better. Of course lately we’ve done far more than that. Our nightly intimacy is better than ever and Sweetie does more to caress and hold me tightly to keep us warm. We are two candies and I’m sweet enough to lick. 

I’ve been trying to keep thoughts of Apple Bloom out of my head, to delay it as long as possible. But I don’t keep myself unoccupied. I’ve done a lot to fulfill our wedding obligations before our ceremony next year. So much has been done that we’re ahead of schedule. The location is set, the flowers, the beautiful cake and even our dresses, the designs sketched by hoof. We are commissioning Rarity to make them. The only drawback is that it leaves me with less to do. I like to daydream and if I’m doing nothing, that’s just more chance for me to think about that filly I wanted first. 

I think it’s wrong to just come up with some excuse to go and see her if I want to confront her with something like this. I’m sure the filly had moved on by now and I have too for the most part. But feelings have a way of coming back. I guess I want to know if things are going to be okay with her as much as it is with me. 

I walk to her farm and take my time. Our whole history flashes before my eyes as I wander between focusing on the road ahead and looking back into the past. For me, the apple was just the most amazing thing. It was sweet and so good to eat. It comes from trees and can be put into just about anything. I liked exploring the farm with Apple Bloom. Those were the days before she met her two best friends and long before they realized that they were meant together. Before that, I thought me and her were meant for something too. I just wasn’t sure what. I liked her company, her beautiful voice and swift body. These were things I weren’t when I was that age. The braces, speech hang up and my mane didn’t make me as attractive as her. It didn’t stop her from wanting to be my friend and we hung out all the time. 

I come from a closed family. We didn’t hug much or even kiss each other on the forehead when we needed comfort. It just made Apple Bloom’s way of touching my shoulder and hugging me tight seem to be so much more than it was. Back then, I hardly knew what it meant to like other fillies. I just knew I liked her. It wasn’t advanced like it is with Sweetie Drops though and the only thing they share in common is being sweet. 

I still remember when things changed between us. It was like the beginning of a new age. Apple Bloom walking sullenly down the street after school like learning about facts just wasn’t enough for her. She only wanted one thing in life. They say that the things left unsaid haunts us. I didn’t comfort her then. I was too self-absorbed in my own life and my own cutie mark. I never knew what she would have said if I had brought up her angst. Instead, two others did and now, they’re her best friends. I guess it turned out for the best but does she still think about me and the past? I still wonder. 

I reach her house and knock on the door. The breeze sways the wind dial at the top of the barn, making it spin around. Apple Bloom soon opens it and smiles when she sees me. 

She lifts a hoof to the edge of her mouth. “Oh gosh, I wasn’t expecting you.” She sounds pleasantly surprised. “Come in.”

I go inside and upstairs into her room. She closes the door behind her. It smells like apples and leather up here. Apple Bloom sits her rump on the bed, a wide one covered in a duvet as bright white as a cloud. A bunch of bows are lying on it. 

“Doing your mane?” I ask her. 

“I am. I’m just picking out a clip to wear today.” She takes a pink clip, looking in the mirror, and puts it at the end of her ponytail. “That’ll do it.”

“How’ve you been lately?” I say. 

“Things are good at the farm. Zap Apple Season was pretty good as always. We had record sales.” She fans herself with a hat. “Is it warm in here?” 

I shrug my shoulders. “I guess?” 

Apple Bloom goes and opens the window. “I’ve been feeling warmer these days even though it’s getting cold outside.”

We hear a swift knock and the door opens up just as fast. Apps turns around. It is Applejack. She’s wearing an apron and carrying a bowl of soup on top of an oven pad. 

“Apple Bloom, I thought I told you that opening that window wasn’t good for you. The cold hasn’t been kind,” she says. She looks worried. Now, I’ve heard of Applejack’s legendary ability to coddle her sister but I’ve never actually seen it in person. Apple Bloom closes the window as requested and walks towards her sister. 

“I just wanted a little fresh air.”

“I know. You just need to be inside, is all.” Applejack puts the soup on the nightstand and looks at me. Her sisterly eyes sparkle. “Hello, Twist. Fancy seeing you back here.”

I stand respectfully. “Thank you. I’ve come to visit Apple Bloom. It’s nice to see you too.”

She tips her brown hat at me. She looks kind of funny wearing that and her apron at the same time. “Nice to have you around but perhaps it would be best for you to come by later when my sis isn’t so tired.” 

“I’m not tired, sis,” Apps says. 

“That’s just your mind talking. Your body, not so much,” Applejack advises her. “I would still get some rest but as long as you’re inside then you’ll be alright. Well, I got to go. The farm needs me.” She leaves and closes the door. Apple Bloom sniffs the steam rising from the soup. 

“Applejack was never the best at making soup,” she says. 

I go near and sniff it too. “It smells good to me,” I say. It almost makes my mouth water. 

“That’s because you’re not used to the stuff Granny used to make,” she says with a chuckle. She takes a sip from a spoon. 
“Hey, Apps, are you sick or something?” 

She looks embarrassed suddenly and rubs the back of her head. She puts the spoon down. “Well, it’s hard to explain.” 

I must appear confused to her. I hardly know why sickness would need to be explained. 

“I have to tell you something but it’s a secret. You can’t tell Applejack or anypony else. Promise?” Apps forces her voice to sound youthful and she extends her lower lip out a bit which is just like her to use on me. I relent and agree with what she wants to hear. 
I take a seat near the bed, pushing aside the clutter of bows and ribbons. 

“Well, I’m not really sick like Applejack things I am,” she continues. “I’m actually pregnant. I’ve found out a week ago. I have these urges to vomit in the mornings sometimes and I’ve been queasy but I haven’t been able to tell my sis why it’s happening. To her, I’ve just caught some bug.”

To me, this is the bombshell of bombshells. I guess all these years, I’ve never even considered that Apple Bloom was into guys. Even when I had stopped picturing her beautiful body next to mine, I always pegged her as liking fillies only. I let my suddenly heavy jaw hang before going over and giving her a tight hug. I grin brightly. 

“Oh, Apps…that’s incredible,” I gush out. “You’re going to have your own foal.” We take turns wiping away happy tears but more comes from my eyes. To me, the shock is double. Apps gives me a kiss on the cheek, which makes me blush. I go back into a sitting position. 
“I know. I can’t wait to be a mom and have a little one run around the farm like Applejack and I did all the time.”

“I just didn’t see it coming, you know?” I say, my voice slightly cracking. 

She puts a hoof on my shoulder. “I know. You probably won’t be the last to feel that way.”

“I really didn’t see it coming.” A mix of relief, happiness and even sadness washes over me. I cry even more. I hear her sighing and she rests her head on my shoulder like we used to do as foals when she had nobody but me to talk to about her blank flank. 

“As long as you’re here, I’ll be fine.” 

I look into her eyes. They’re orange and wide. “It’s wonderful that you’ve gone on to find a colt that would give you such a gift as this.” I chuckle suddenly. “Do you want to know something funny?”

“What is it?” 

“I didn’t think you liked anypony other than fillies.” Apps moves off me. 

“You mean, like you?” she says curiously. 

“Well, I don’t have to mean exactly like me,” I say a little defensively. 

Apps looks down and fiddles with her ponytail. “I suppose I can see where you’re coming from. I knew for years that you liked fillies and I never told anypony, even my friends. We would have supported you…but I digress.” 

“You know for that long?” 

“Of course. I even thought that you liked me too. We spent so much time deep in the orchards all alone like we were more than friends or at least you had that in your mind. I didn’t know about Sweetie Drops though.”

My mouth is dry and I don’t feel like speaking. The words unspoken for so many years are stuck in my throat. But I don’t think I could stop them anymore if I wanted to. She knows more about the past than I realized. 

“I did like you. I thought you did too but were too shy to say anything. I hung out with Ms. Drops a lot but by then, you were off with Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo.”

“And you still thought I liked fillies?” she prods. She looks amused. 

“Well, yes.”

“And you even thought I liked you still?” she whispers, clearly teasing me at this point. She smirks and I look away, nearly flustered. It really is hot in this room. 

“Do I have to say anything anymore? I mean, does it even matter?” 

“Of course it does. Between friends like us, it always matters. It’s okay to have those thoughts.”

She’s such a good friend. I don’t think I know anypony else that would be so open about not only filly foolin’ but about those same feelings from their oldest pal. I’m lucky to have her in my life, fillyfriend or not. I start to feel better and I get up to stretch my hooves. I go to the window and pull it up. I can see Applejack and Big Mac off in the distance, chatting by the barn. 

“What are you going to name the foal?” I ask. 

She shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know. That’s still a ways off. Shouldn’t you keep the window closed?”

“I took that as just a polite suggestion.” 

“Nothing is just a suggestion around here. When we Apples want something, you be sure that we’ll get it.” 

I am suddenly interested in learning more about Apps’ relationship now that the cloud of her feelings about me are settled. 

“Can I meet this colt of yours anytime soon?” I say. I lie on the bed, both nervous and intrigued about the identity of the father. It could be anypony I’ve known for years and never suspected could be with my best friend. 

“Well, that’s the thing. You can’t meet him.”

I frown. “What?”

She squeezes a pillow tightly and gazes at me. “He ran off. He ran away from me, Twist!”



I am walking away from the farm, my stomach all knotted up. My mind is a fog and I can’t think clearly as I pass over the hill and over the bridge leading into town. I get a message on my cell. I assume it’s Sweetie asking me when I’m coming home but it isn’t. The number is unknown but I see a soft face looking back, one that is instantly recognizable to me. 

I am glad to have an opportunity to not have to think about Apple Bloom. Going to the train station will be just fine. I walk amongst ponies going out of town. I can see steam not far off. It has to be the next train. Ponies ready their luggage and cluster in lines. I stand to the side, uninterested in where they’re going. The only thing I care about is the pony stepping off. Soon, ponies exchange their places. Those coming disembark. A host of foals and fillies from the city. I spot the deep red pony right away and wave towards her. She snakes through the crowd and removes her sunglasses. A large brown overcoat prevents me from seeing if she’s smiling or not but I sure am. 

“C’mon, it’s hardly that cold,” I say, amused. 

“After where I’ve been, you would say otherwise.” One hoof unbuttons the coat and it is hung over a body so thin that I can easily see the bulges of her ribs. The wind whips at Cheerilee’s mane and it spreads across her face. She moves it aside with a hoof. Even if she hadn’t taken it off, her voice is the same as it ever was when I was young. It’s as soft as a spring breeze. 

I go and give her a hug. I smell flowers on her coat. It’s almost as silky as Sweetie’s or mine. “Ah, how is Sweetie Shores in summer?”

“So hot but with the sea right there, it gets comfortable. I barely realize the sun is there at times.”

We walk down Mane Street. We don’t really have anywhere we need to be and we just spend the time chatting. We go back and forth about her out on her own in the west, just her and the sand, surf and the sun as her friends. I had a lot to say about the summer we had and about Rainbow and Pinkie. The fires were on the news over there. She tried to stay informed on that as long as they were still going on. 
Cheerilee looks around as if she’s seeing her town for the first time in years. I ask if she wants to get something from Sugar Cube but she is trying to keep her figure intact. It was supposedly grueling work to get rid of years of built up fat. She thanks the sun for melting it like an iceberg, slowly but surely. I tell her about my broken leg and she looks saddened to hear of it. I guess we both had a lot that needed to be healed this summer. 

We end up getting some fresh apples from a nearby stand. A group of foals pass by on the right. I happen to spot Busy Besy and I wave.      

She returns it mid-giggle and is soon gone. I notice that Cheerilee looks at them softly. 

“You thinking of returning to teaching?” I ask. 

“I think it would be for the best.” As she speaks, Cheerilee stands tall, not hunched over so much as an inch. Her whole body seems to show off her renewed confidence. It’s nothing short of amazing. 

“I’m sure the foals are sick of substitutes.” 

“I’m just going to get settled first. Maybe see what’s going on around here and catch up with a few ponies. I should be able to return next week if all goes well.”

I smile. “Who are you planning on seeing?” 

“An old friend or two.” She seems to ponder something for a moment. “I was considering visiting more of my old students than yourself. Do you know how Apple Bloom and her friends have been lately?” She looks at me, her gaze curious and her ears thirsty for a bit of gossip. 

“I haven’t seen the other two in a while but I saw Apple Bloom just this morning.” Just saying her name makes me nervous and I unconsciously dig in the ground with my hoof. 

She notices something is off. She’s pretty good when it comes to minute pony behavior that most wouldn’t catch. Just like a good teacher. 
“How is she?” 

I sit my flank on the ground. The grass is cool. I look up at my former teacher and I can only frown at her question. “It’s kind of hard to say.”

“Why is that?”

“I guess she’s kind of ill and has been in bed for a couple days.”

Cheerilee winces. “Oh dear. I am sorry to hear of that. I should go and visit her. She might be glad to see me. Do you know what she has?”

There’s no way I’m telling her about her pregnancy. I’ll have to just mention the symptoms. “Well, she’s drowsy, feeling hot, vomiting, and is itchy,” I rattle off quickly. “Exactly what she has, I am not sure.”

“It’s okay. Maybe I’ll help figure it out.”

“I’m sure the Apples have it handled.”

I feel like an idiot just for mentioning Apps and I sort of stand in her way. I should stop her, maybe convince her to do something else. 

“They are quite good at taking care of each other but I’m sure a little emotional support can definitely go a long way if she has the flu,” Cheerilee says. 

“If it’s the flu, then you might catch it though,” I try to warn her. 

Cheerilee stops and seems to ponder over that. I hope that she’ll change her mind. The last thing I need is for Apple Bloom to think I’m a bad friend because I accidentally let her secret out. I don’t want to lose her. She’s going to be my special bridesmaid when I get married next year. 

“Well, maybe just sending a letter might be just as good,” she says reflectively. She turns around and I quietly sigh in relief. “I’ll send a “get well” and put a picture of me in it.” Just as I think I’m all clear, I suddenly hear a voice from behind. A very low and familiar voice. 
“Did I overhear that Apple Bloom is sick?

What an unfortunate fate for a pony to pick.” 

We turn around and see Zecora approach from a nearby vegetable stand. Long green leaves stick out of a saddlebag. She is wearing her normal brown cloak. I am awfully surprised to see her, especially out of the blue like this. But for the second time today, I can’t help but smile at the arrival of an old friend. 

“Hey, Zecora. I haven’t seen you in a while. How was your trip to your Zebra land?”

“It was most excellent and grand.

The journey was surely worth going to see my ancestral land.

But what about my pony friend?

Does she suffer from an illness from which her body must defend?”

It’s just what I need. Another pony nosing around with Apple Bloom. And those two just love to pry. 

“Yeah, she’s feeling down. Better not disturb her.” I deliberately try not to say much. I want to talk about Zecora’s homeland some more. 

Zecora laughs. “Oh, but I’m sure that she would love to see me.

I’ve always done my part to help the filly with illness by giving everything from potions to tea.

I’m sure I have something for her in my bag.”

I grumble. “I guess you two are pretty adamant on going?” They both smile and nod after I ask. I know there’s no use arguing. We better head there now. 



We all travel to the Apple farmhouse. I listen to Zecora talk about her journey as we go. I learn that in her homeland, there are a lot of small villages where everyone knows everyone. Hers only has a few dozen individuals. Zebras love to travel and explore the world and Zecora is no exception. She talks about how her family was so pleased as always to receive things from pony lands. The first day, they play instruments and danced until the fires turn to embers. In the dead of night, she’ll look around at the endless wild fields with grasses as tall as her shoulders that are only lit by the wide moon above. I think it all sounds like a very exotic place. 

The wind picks up as we pass the gate and reach the house. I knock and walk in. My friends follow behind. I hear hoofsteps in the kitchen and Applejack turns a corner and sees us. She is still wearing that apron. 

“Hey there. Back again, Twist?”

“I am.” I gesture behind me. “I brought a couple friends with me. Is that okay?”

“I’m as sure as sure can be. Y’all are welcome anytime.”

She goes back to the kitchen to cook I presume. I can hear something boiling. We take off our cloaks, bags and shoes. Zecora removes plastic black boots and sets them down along the wall. Above it is a faded portrait of two ponies in front of a very old barn. It’s in black and white. I’ve seen it a thousand times. The picture of Apple Bloom’s parents. I don’t know their color but it must have been colored at some point because the sky is still steel blue. It’s the only thing to still endure time and exposure. 

I don’t know if the others have been in the house before but they seem familiar with the place enough even if they are looking around with interest at the Apple décor. We reach Apps’ room and I knock. She tells us to come in and asks if it’s me. I remember that Applejack more or less just burst in right away. A normal thing most likely around here amongst family. 

We all file inside the room. Apps is snug under the covers. She has a magazine and a newspaper on the bed with a pencil. 

“Hey, you guys,” she says. 

I smile because she looks cute sometimes when she’s bored. “You busy?”

“Not really.” She looks at Zecora then Cheerilee. “What brings you two by?”

“You just didn’t sound well and I wanted to come and see you,” Cheerilee says. 

“That’s nice of you to come,” Apps replies. 

“I came with medicines for you.

So your health can return anew,” Zecora mentions. 

Apps nods politely. “Thanks, Zecora.”

“If you may, I might like to run a test.

Then I can find out what medicine is best.

Each illness requires something specific.”

Apps suddenly gets out of bed. “I don’t know if a test is really needed. I mean, it’s just a bit of flu. I think some of your herbal tea for that would do just fine.” She goes and unlatches the window to let in cool air. 

“The poor thing is sweating. I hope she’s not burning up,” Cheerilee tells me. 

Zecora raises her voice. “Cool air isn’t kind to a pony with flu.

Aggravating the symptoms, that is true.”

Apps rolls her eyes. “Look, I don’t want any tests.”

“Apple Bloom, you sure aren’t above testing yourself,” I say. 

Apps waves a hoof in frustration. “Nice going. You might as well tell them yourself.” She goes and leaps back into bed. I go and close the window. “Hey!”

“I don’t want you to catch a cold,” I say flatly. 

“But she has a flu already,” Cheerilee says. 

I give a pointed glance at Apps and she grits her teeth. She has no choice but to tell the truth. I know I’m doing the right thing. Keeping this kind of truth away from close friends does nopony any good. 

“Sorry, everypony…but I don’t have the flu. In fact, I’m not really sick in the way most would call it. I’m actually having a foal.”

Cheerilee gasps and Zecora’s eyes widen. 

“A foal? Apple Bloom…I can hardly believe it. You’re going to have a sweet little foal? You’re going to be such a wonderful parent!” 
Cheerilee gushes. She goes to Apps’ bedside and looks at her body as if she was already showing. 

The two of them give their congrats and talk a while about how wonderful foals are. When they’re not looking, Apps glares at me and I guess I deserve it. I know as much as her that talking about the foal will bring up the father too. It’s not going to be easy to explain. I can barely wrap my head around it myself. 

After Zecora mentions how the foal will carry on the Apple family traditions, Cheerilee asks whether the father is around so they can meet him. Apps nearly cringes at the question. 

“Well…that’s a bit of a long story.”

The two of them listen as she tells them what happened. Some seasonal farm workers come during summer and some of them often enter the house to eat with the family on occasion. The Apples love to invite ponies over to eat as they love to share and really love company. There was one farm colt which Apple Bloom took a particular liking to. She says that his hair was the color of a latte. His coat shimmered in the sun. As usual, she stood her distance, knowing better not to become too personal with the help as it were. Apples are always careful who they choose to take as their significant others. But I know it wasn’t the case that time. Apps has an independent streak that’s well known to me. If she wants something, nothing in this world could stop her. Still, the way she tells it, it was the colt that came to her out in the field and she slowly fell to the voice which offers such sweet words. She’s strong but not strong enough to resist. When she mentions that the colt ran off without even telling her, I had to look away. I stare outside as she speaks. Storm clouds aren’t far. 

My attention fades in and out. I already know the story she’s telling. I can see a metal shed not far from the house under the canopy of a tall apple tree. A single decaying rope hanging from a branch was once a swing where Apps and I played. We would go inside the shed with dolls on the dirt floor. I liked playing with dolls a lot when I was young. I would pretend they were real so I would brush them and schedule feeding times for the pretend foal. I would even play with them on the tree sometimes since I could climb them with Apps. Not once did I picture her doll being real. She always threw it down on the ground when she was bored with it and wanted to start coloring. Now she’s going to be the one with the real foal. 


We stayed for dinner like Applejack requested so kindly. Potatoes, carrots and other hearty vegetables were served in white dishes. My stomach still feels full as I stand outside in the fresh air. The wind is carrying the clouds west towards the sunset, a smattering of reds and purples in the sky. My stomach isn’t the only thing that feels heavy. I sort of want to be left alone out here but I hear the screen door open and shut quickly and I know that my desire won’t be met. I am surprised when Apps steps beside me. 

“What are you doing?” she asks me. 

I scrunch my muzzle. “I should ask you the same thing. You should be inside.”

“But I’m not sick. You know that.”

“Still…”

“Look, I came to ask you something important before you all leave.”

“What is it?” I sit down on my flanks and cross my front hooves. I don’t think I feel very generous. For all I know, she’s going to ask me to take care of her while she gets bigger and her sister goes out to farm. 

“I’ve been thinking about things since I got my test back with that positive and something’s been on my mind. No Apple family mare has ever had a foal when she’s not been married. It is part of the legacy for every daughter from even before Granny Smith.”

“That’s pretty fascinating but I don’t think it’s happening this time, Apps. I’m sorry.” I relax my posture. She sure knows what to say to depress me. 

“It can still happen. I need to find the colt that came to the farm.”

“What? You want to find him?” I say incredulously. She told me his name was Wheat Thresher. His body is all shades of brown. His uncle is a traveling stallion named Mr. Greenhooves. 

“He told me once that he has family over at the Horseshoe Bay. It’s pretty far but it’s the only lead I have on where he might be. I think he has family around here but I don’t think he would stay nearby if he didn’t want me to find him.”

“What do you think will happen if you do find him?” I feel concerned at what she might say. I want to tell her to maybe leave him be wherever he has decided to settle down. Then again, a pony like her might not listen. They have all these traditions of theirs. I doubt they would just ignore whatever they’re telling them. 

Apps shrugs. “I’ll convince him to come back with me. Marrying somepony that’s having your foal is the right thing to do.”

“Yeah, maybe.” 

“There’s no maybes about it,” Apps says firmly. “That’s why I need you to come with me to the Horseshoe Bay and look for the colt. I know we can do it together.”

Applejack opens the door. “Apple Bloom! I was looking for you. You shouldn’t be inside in that condition. Come on in.” 

“I’ll take a night to consider it,” I tell Apps. I think that’s all she wants to hear as she nods happily and goes into the farmhouse. The sound of crickets fill the night air. 

I’m full after dinner so I take my dessert in a small dish that Apps says I can borrow. Me and the others walk back to town. We mostly talk about Apps and her pregnancy. Cheerilee thinks I shouldn’t have kept it a secret but does understand that the situation is unusual and unfortunate. Zecora tells us about her family. It would be like a sin for anybody in her village to marry without the approval of the elder. To her, Apps’ secrecy is definitely wrong and that she should tell her older sister. While we talk, I purposely let loose the idea of going and finding this colt. I want to know what they think about it. 

Zecora narrows her eyes. She is near fuming. 

“Maybe we should go and find this colt

And tell him that he is such a dolt. 

Only a fool would abandon Apple Bloom.” 

“Zecora, would your family do something like that?” Cheerilee asks. 

“Most certainly, they would.

They would call it just and good.”

“Well, she can’t go alone, that’s for sure,” I say. “She needs her friends with her the whole way.”

“You can count me in. Returning to the school can wait a little if need be,” Cheerilee says. 

“Are you sure you want to go? I mean, I know you thought she was sick and all so you went to see her but you also had hard feelings towards her in the past.” I feel reluctant to say those things. I hope I am not being unfair. 

I glance at her and her pace doesn’t falter nor does her head lower shamefully. 

“That is true. I did feel those things but after my time away, I know that it was wrong. The problems I had were just mine alone. It wasn’t the fault of my former students.” Her words are reassuring and I leave it at that. 

By the time we reach town, the two of them are on board. I guess it’s happening for sure. We split up and they go home. I return home myself and find a darkened shop front. I unlock the door and go inside. Later, I draw a bath and rest my tired hooves in the hot water. I then put on my nightgown after and head to bed. Sweetie is reading a book. 

I tell her about my day and about Apple Bloom. The pregnancy is a fair shock to her as well but I doubt it is as much to her as it was to me. I don’t think she has the filly in her mind very often. They only see each other occasionally. At least she does understand the idea of going after Wheat. She hates it when ponies aren’t held accountable for their actions. Before we go to bed, she rambles on about a common story about the scourge that was Trixie Lulamoon. I know the story myself but she loves telling it. Even foals I taught know of the “Magician from Tartarus”. She reminds me of my mother when she tells stories but I end up kissing the storyteller good night instead of the other way around when it’s over. 

Sweetie tells me that I don’t have to worry about the shop in the morning. It’s very early out when I get up and prepare to see Apps again. Dew clings to the grass and the sides of the windows. It’s foggy outside and cold in the kitchen. I pack things in my saddlebags. I put on a thick wool cloak. It reminds me of what Zecora wears. 

“I’ll take care of the shop when you’re away. I hadn’t forgotten all the times you were here alone after all,” Sweetie recalls. I put on my pendant last. We gaze at each other lovingly. 

“Love you. I’ll see you later.” I kiss her on her sweet and plump lips. I know I won’t be this warm again for some time. 

I go to the Apple Farm and I see the others are on the ball and are waiting for me. Apple Bloom is putting things in a small cart, one pulled by a single pony. Cheerilee has a green sweater and long socks on her hooves. Her saddlebags bulge. 

“Ah, you’re here now. I hope you’re ready because I’m not turning back,” Apps says. 

I look at the house. It looks cold and gloomy at this hour. “Hey, Apple Bloom, how did your sister take to you leaving?” I say. 

“I just said that I’m going to a Canterlot doctor and that I’ll take a couple days to do it,” she explains. 

“In Canterlot?” 

“They have good doctors there. Granny Smith has one there for her health. It makes sense that I would too.” She seems satisfied with her excuse so I nod. It’s going to have to be good enough. 

Apps pulls her wagon and we follow from behind. We head east, through the hills. There’s no forest between us and the Horseshoe Bay so it’s not going to be that hard to get there. It will just take days. 

We stay at inns that are built to take in weary travelers. A couple times, we eat at big wooden tables with a bunch of ponies we don’t even know. It’s a good place to just be sociable and listen to ponies tell stories. The first time, a plump mare serves a pot of stew and the nest, a stallion with a thick beard makes sure we eat plenty of spinach and coleslaw. The closer we get, the more the food reminds me of the sea. Kelp and seaweed is eaten more often and I sometimes watch a seagull fly past the window of our room. The last night before we reach Horseshoe Bay, Zecora plays a long flute from her homeland. It soothes my nerves and I drift to sleep easily. I dream of Apple Bloom being with the Flower Fillies at my wedding. They all wear the same dresses and the same happy faces.

> Ep7: An Ill Apple (pt 2)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

      I look out over at the bay. I put my hoof over my brow to shield my eyes from the sun. I can see the curvature of the land that gives this body of water its signature name. They look like two long hooves to me, embracing the sea. I feel the wind embracing me too and as I inhale, I taste salt. There is a gnarled cobblestone road that winds down a steep hill. An old stallion with a black brimmed hat leads a herd of goats up the path opposite us, occasionally using a stick to keep them in line. We passed by a lot of pastures going inland. Down there, I see the tops of windmills and pointy houses. 

“It’s so pretty!” Cheerilee exclaims. She takes her camera out and photographs the area. After that, she replaces it with a muffin and chomps down on it. It’s her second of the day. I would have thought that breakfast would have been enough for her but I don’t say anything. 
“I hope we can find this Wheat Thresher. Do we have any idea where to look?” I ask the others. 

“He comes from a family of farmers. He must have a relative that lives close by. Let’s try the outskirts for now. We might not find much going into town itself,” Apps suggests. 

Cheerilee scratches her head. “Maybe later, we can go and check out the town. There’s lots of history around here.”

“Maybe we can but first things first.” 

The road takes us through some rural land. As we continue, we catch a glimpse of the local workers tending to their orchards. A cute farm colt tips his hat at us three, which makes me smile. None who notice us appear to be taken aback at the appearance of Zecora. I doubt Zebras live here so I guess that living as slow as the ponies here do just makes them less susceptible to alarm than the ponies of Ponyville. I don’t want to say they’re friendlier necessarily. My ponies are nice enough but this place is different. I’m having a good feeling about all this. I bet that they’ll see my two friends that have such old family traditions as somebody to relate to. Conservative and kind at heart. 

We come across an old iron gate in the middle of a simple wooden fence. Above it is a curved banner spanning the length of a lane shaded by long rows of tall trees. Apps stops and I do as well. The sign, in black letters, clearly spells out “Thresher Farm”. 

“It appears we have arrived,” Apps says. 

She turns the cart around. Zecora opens the gate for her to enter and we pass through. To the sides of the lane are beautiful grassy fields extending outwards to the hill where we came from and further on below where we can’t see. The air is full of life. Bees and butterflies are everywhere. 

When the path ends, I see a two story farmhouse with a lot of windows. The exterior is painted white and it’s surrounded by tall hedges and climbing vines on one side. A stone path leads to the front door and a veranda. I can hear the sounds of distant cows and the ringing of a bell. 

“Let’s go up and introduce ourselves,” I say. 

“Yeah, we should do that,” Apps says. She is looking around, taking in the sight of this farm. I bet she feels at home around here. In a lot of ways, it doesn’t look all that different from the farm back in Ponyville save for a lack of anything to do with apples as far as I can tell. 

She unhooks herself from the cart and we all walk towards the house. We wait as she knocks on the black wood. A farm cat looks at us from where it was resting on a chair. It gets up and leaves. Nopony comes so she knocks again. This time, we hear heavy clopping and the door opens to reveal a slow old stallion. He wears a wide farm hat and black boots. A white beard drapes from his muzzle. He blinks a couple times slowly. He gazes at us with wise eyes that are surrounded by a wrinkled face under his coat. 

“Welcome to Thresher Farm. What do you all need?” he says in a very neighborly voice. 

Apps smiles. “Hello, Mr. Thresher. My name is Apple Bloom.” She extends her hoof and shakes his. “I am looking for your son or maybe grandson? His name is Wheat Thresher.” 

“Wheat? He came by not long ago. He lives here now I reckon. But he’s not my son. He’s my nephew. Going on 22, I think.” 

“Thank you very much, sir. May I have permission to go and talk to him?” Apps says. 

“You may.” He walks out of the house and points to a dirt road leading away from the house. “Go toward the barn past the windmill. He should be milking the cows right about now.” 

“Thank you again,” Apps says. She turns around and goes towards the cart. 

“Mr. Thresher, do you own this farm?” I ask. 

The stallion nods. “All this land belongs to my family. It’s been that way for generations. We’ve always been kind to strangers so if you’re wanting for a warm meal then you can come by at night.” He tips his hat. “Good day.” I nod back at him. He walks back into the farmhouse and closes the door. 

I like him. He’s a gentle and very polite stallion. I’m not surprised either. I bet nearly everypony around here is like that. Apps gathers her things and we head down the road. I think about how Mr. Thresher acted as we head towards the grey barn off in the distance. He was very easygoing and slow too. It makes me think about flies. I hear that they go so fast through the air that to them, we move in slow motion. I wonder if it’s like that between us and the old stallion. 

Like he said, there is a large windmill. We cross a small wooden plank that crosses a ditch where water flows downhill. The land looks scuffed up by the edge. Animals probably drink there. 

The barn itself looks very large and roomy. It probably fits a good number of animals inside. I can smell hay and dirt. There are rakes and scythes leaning against the barn wall. The tall doors have been left open. 

“Let’s go inside. Zecora and Cheerilee, wait out here, alright?” Apps says. 

They accept and the two of us walk inside. I think we’re both confident that we’ll find who we’re looking for in here. We’ve gone on a long journey but we’re only seconds away from confronting this colt. I am going to let Apps do the speaking. It is her place most of all. 

Our hooves crunch hay on the floor. Two long rows of stalls run along the length of the barn. I glance to my side to see various animals: goats, pigs, and a few cows that are lying down. He’s not in any of them. The back of the barn is opened up too. We reach these open doors and look out into the field. A crowd of cows are clustered near a fenced off area. Apps looks down. I notice the hoof prints too. We make our way towards the cows. One turns its neck and sees us but soon goes back to eating, a bell around its neck clattering. I can now hear the sound of metal being scraped. 

Apps and I walk around the cows until we see the stallion with his back turned. He is removing the top of a second pail like he’s going to start filling it. Apps clears her throat to get his attention. It works and he immediately freezes as if he recognizes her just by the sounds of her grunting. 

I watch him as he turns around. His face seems paralyzed, unable to smile or express fear. He just seems confused. He’s as pretty as Apps made him sound. His coffee colored hair gives way to feminine eyelashes and a sloping muzzle. His muscles are firm and rigid as he stands there. The image of a mallet graces his flank. 

“App….Apple Bloom?” he mutters in shock. 

“That’s right. You’re seeing no ghost. I’m absolutely positively real,” Apps says. I notice that she stands taller than he does. The colt lets himself grow smaller when she’s around. I wonder if that’s the face of a guilty pony. 

Wheat arches his back. A mixture of confusion and anger emerges in a sharp frown. “What in Equestria forced you to come here? Tell me why do you have to disturb my life? To come to my uncle’s farm?” 

“I came because you affected my life. You can’t just go away like there are no consequences.” The colt is trapped and he knows it. Apps approaches, forcing him to back into the fence. “You think coming all the way out here is just going to erase the past? Well, the past has a way of catching up with ponies, doesn’t it?”

I think she’s coming on too strong but there is no way I can interfere, even if the colt does look distressed. I came to provide backup to Apps in case she needed it but it looks like she’s definitely taken charge, putting the colt in his place. 

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about! I didn’t want to leave anything behind. My past is here at the farm just like it was back in Ponyville! Why did you have to follow me here? Can’t you just leave the past alone?”

“Absolutely not!” Apps roars. “Get a grip, stallion. Or are you a stallion at all? You sound like a filly! A weak helpless filly with his flank against a fence! Guess which little filly got me pregnant? Hmm….it was you!” 

He stands there still, dumbfounded at the sudden news. He then glances at me and sweats. He forces himself to stand to his full height. “Is…is that actually true? I mean, how is that possible?”

“Oh, c’mon! You suddenly can’t recall our time in the red barn?” Apps says mockingly. As I watch him, I see how his eyes dart from her to me and back to her again. There is something behind them that I didn’t expect: worry…maybe even fear. I am not sure what though. I don’t think he wants her to touch him, which is odd. 

“Hey, Apps…we should give him a break,” I say with an uplifting tone. “I know he ran off from you but he didn’t know about the foal. We should give him some time to adjust.” She looks at me and I try to make myself look sympathetic rather than firm which would suggest I’m out to get in the way. 

“That’s fine,” Apps says. “In fact, it’s good. Let’s all head back to the farmhouse. We can get everything settled right. I bet your uncle will have a few choice words to use.” All of us, including the trembling colt, reach our friends. We turn back towards the farmhouse. It’s probably the longest walk the colt has ever taken at this farm. 

“Let’s go inside,” Apps says. 

“Alright.” The colt does as instructed, but hesitantly. 

Inside, the interior is old looking and minimalist. Unlike the Apples’ rustic charm, there’s very little color and black dominates the walls and what little décor is around. Around one corner, I spot a mare wearing a flowing black dress sitting at a table, her back hoof pressing on the pedal for a sewing machine. 

“He’s in the study,” Wheat says. We walk up a wood staircase. Aged pictures line the walls and I stare at them as we head upwards and down another hall lit only by old gas lamps. At the end is an old door with its hinges and knob made of solid brass. He knocks and asks for permission to enter which is granted. Inside, the room is white. Pieces of old tools that are probably from generations past are hanging up. A cabinet holds many antique plates. The old stallion is sitting at his desk. I think he was writing a letter as his ink pen is still freshly set in a well. 

“Hello, Mr. Thresher. I’ve come with very important news,” Apps proclaims. Her body language is bright and bold. “This concerns your nephew and your family.” Me and the others step back and let her speak. The old stallion sits there silently, only moving to light a wooden pipe. He doesn’t show much emotion but his brow, and the lines that his hard labor created, tightens as she mentions the foal on the way. When she finishes, I see that Wheat is staring at the floor, his bangs drooping as if saddened too. 

“This is a serious predicament my nephew has went and gotten himself into. Ms. Bloom, I’ve listened to your words with the belief that you are honest and forthright in the way you carry yourself. I know of your family. My brother knew your parents. I suppose my Wheat desiring you was simply how things had to be and now they are the way things are now.” He looks at Wheat, his demeanor no less serious. “Son, are there any words that you may speak for yourself?”

There is a silence as we wait for Wheat. He sighs then looks at his uncle. “I’m afraid not. I didn’t know about the foal but it doesn’t 
matter now.”

“I reckon so. You came to me instead of your father. Looking for a pony out there that stands by you and I do. But here, we have traditions. Whether you knew about the foal or not, you must abide by them or you won’t be welcome in his family any longer.” He looks away from him. The colt’s eyes water. “Ms. Bloom, I’ll schedule your wedding rather soon if you don’t mind. I can’t lose much time away from the farm. I hope you understand.” 

“It’s okay with me,” Apps says. 

“Good.” He takes out a glass liquor bottle. “In our family, when a member is going to marry, we have a toast. Usually, both parents are here but in this case, we’ll have to make do.” He pours one for everypony. We all take one. 

“To the future happy couple,” Mr. Thresher says, lifting his glass to shoulder height. The colt consumes his in one swallow. Apps doesn’t hesitate to drink hers as well. After, Wheat walks out of the room without a word. Everypony else drinks, including me. Cheerilee barely sips hers though. The liquor burns down my throat. 

Apps’ things are stored in a shed. We are invited for dinner and eat with the rest of the family. Apps and Wheat sit at opposite ends of the large dinner table with Mr. Thresher at the head and his wife near him. We have really nice greens for dinner with fried tomatoes. I don’t know who cooked the food. Maybe some other family member or a housemaid. Wheat doesn’t eat much and doesn’t engage in conversation. His uncle does, asking about how things are doing in town and where Zecora is from. Cheerilee asks a lot of questions about the area. They don’t see much around here that’s out of the ordinary. Pretty much everything here is a set pattern and everypony out in the rural lands lives in the same way. They all love family here. It’s one of the most important things to them. Although, such strict traditions is definitely strange to me. I wonder how my life would be different if it was run like the Thresher family was. Would I have a life with Sweetie? Many things could have been different. Even a foal could have been involved. 

After we eat, we decide to call it a night. It’s after eight and dark outside. They don’t have internal heating and it’s freezing. I expected it since it’s the coast and it’s much colder here than in Ponyville. I follow Apps to our guest room. Zecora and Cheerilee gets another next to ours. The wife gives us extra blankets and Apps stacks them on the bed. I am told to find wood for the stove in a chest nearby. I take some cut wood out and put them in the old iron thing. I hope it’s close enough to keep us warm. I have Apps light a match and get the wood burning. As soon as I can, I hop into bed and burrow my body under the heavy covers. 

I let out a sigh of comfort. I hope I’m not crazy but I think I almost see my own breath. There is a bit of light from the fire cast on the far wall of the room. I look at the vertical red lines as Apps comes to bed. She has taken her hair clip off so her hair moves freely. 

“Hey, Apple Bloom,” I whisper. 

“What is it?” 

I bet if I wasn’t so cold, I might blush just thinking of the question. “Is getting married to this colt something you wanted to do? I thought you just wanted somepony to help with the foal.”

“You know what the old stallion said?”

“Uh huh.”

“My family has traditions too. My mom was married before she had foals. So was Granny Smith. And if Applejack has foals, she will too.”

“But do you love him?”

I can’t see her face but she chuckles. “I think I had feelings for him and I will love him even more when we’re together.” She reaches over and kisses my cheek. “Don’t worry one bit. I’ll get married soon enough that it won’t interfere with yours at all.”

“Okay, Apps. Can we cuddle a bit….for warmth?” 

“That sounds good.” She puts her hooves around me and rests her head on my shoulder, her muzzle almost touching my neck. I put a hoof around her too and it gets warmer under the covers. Sleeping should be much more comfortable now. I close my eyes and prepare to fall asleep. 

I don’t know how much time passes but I am suddenly shaken awake. My eyes sag and try to open to see who had done it. I can’t focus in the dark and I feel a slap on my cheek. Cold air rushes into my lungs and I cough and moan from the sharp pain. I blink and see Apps’ face, illuminated by a flashlight like one might do during a scary campfire story. 

“Apps, what did you do that for?” I mumble. 

“I have little time to explain. Zecora is getting up right now. I don’t think we can get Cheerilee up though so she’s not going.”

“Going? For what?” I try to sit up and I push my hoof into the pillow. 

“I had a bad feeling when I went to bed. And what do you know but when I look out the window, I see a certain colt running across the lawn and towards the field,” Apps says. 

“Really? What do you think he’s doing?”

She looks at me seriously. “I’m sorry for the slap but we need to go now. I think he’s trying to run away and avoid marrying me. We have no time to lose.” I get out of bed and we get ready. I put on an extra thick cloak and she has gotten a lamp from our stuff. When I’m set, we go into the hall and find Zecora. She is also cloaked. 

“What time is it, you guys?” I ask, my voice kind of weak. 

“Time to get my future husband back,” Apps declares. 

I groan but I can’t do anything about it. We go downstairs and into the moonlit night. I gaze at the field of stars above us as we trot into the field. It’s such a beauty. We cut through the wheat field, using a path to make it across. Zecora is in front, using her expert tracking skill to try and find any trace of him. What we know is in what direction Apps saw him running in. Soon, we reach the edge of the property at an old run down fence. The area becomes more forested beyond the farm with lots of thorny brush. 

“You think he’s in here?” I ask. It’s so dark that I can barely see inside beyond where Apps is pointing her flashlight. I hope it’s not scary like the Everfree forest. 

“I am sure from what I can see.

He is hiding out here most definitely,” Zecora says. 

“Let’s not split up for any reason,” Apps insists. “My phone has no signal in the hills so it will suck to get lost around here. Anyway, let’s go. Let’s start by just going straight and see what we can find.”

We do as she says and scout ahead. It’s really cold and I shiver as I hold the lamp. It makes strange shadows that plays with my mind. I sometimes think I’m seeing a pony shape but it’s just a branch. I don’t hear hooves running either. Just crickets or an owl. I have no idea if we have any chance of finding him. I sort of worry that he’ll get hurt or freeze out here. I don’t know if he has food or any sense of direction. But Apps marches on, utterly unfazed by the cold. 

Zecora is okay too. She looks around, focused on trying to find his tracks. After a while, she tells us she can smell smoke. I can’t smell anything but perhaps her Zebra senses are sharper than mine. 

We keep walking through the cold night. I grip the lamp in my teeth. I hear Apps mumbling to herself. She’s cursing her bad luck. The woods have a heavy musk smell, of dirt and plant life. These lands aren’t very sweet. The farmhouse too seems to lack sugar from what their cooking tells me. I don’t like it. I miss Peppermint Drops and I haven’t even been gone that long. Does Sweetie often go to many places like this? 

Zecora stops and points at a moss covered log. “Over the log, there’s a slope going down.”

We go to it and crouch low. I can see the faint glow of a fire where I think there’s a clearing. 

“I guess that’s it,” Apps says. “You two approach from different directions. I’ll go in from the front.”

We do as she says. I go quietly around the area, keeping the fire in sight but keeping to the shadows. I see the colt sitting alone in the dirt, watching the flames lick the freezing air. Apps enters the clearing from behind. She makes no attempt to be quiet and he turns around. He stands up, alerted. Then, Zecora and I make our move and form a triangle with Apps. 

“How did you find me out here?” The colt knows he’s been caught and again, has nowhere to go. I don’t think he’ll even try to run away from us. 

“My friend is great at tracking things in the forest. It was a bad time to try and pull this nonsense on me again,” Apps says. 
“It’s not nonsense!” he protests. 

“It is to run from your responsibilities. Now, let’s head back to the house. I dragged my friends into this and I won’t go back empty hooved.”

Wheat has no choice. He silently smothers out the fire and we walk back through the woods towards the house. Apps watches carefully until he goes back into his room and shuts the door. We say good night to Zecora and head to bed ourselves. My head sinks into the pillow and I’m gone. 



Mr. Thresher is rather consternated at the news of what happened last night. He orders Wheat to do double chores just so he’ll be out of his sight. He apologizes to Apple Bloom and says that he’ll keep a close eye on him from now on. He’s also going to push the wedding closer. He’s sending somepony to go to town and ask his friend, who is a marriage clerk, to come and officiate this weekend. 

I write to Sweetie. I tell her about the beautiful countryside and the old fashioned kindness of the Thresher household. But I also relay to her my concern about Apps. I think she’s acting strangely. I’ve never seen her act so possessive before but when it comes to this colt, she just has to have him. It’s odd to me. There’s the foal to take into consideration but I doubt that Wheat thinks about it much. He probably isn’t coming up with names in his head but only ways out. When I write, I remember the days when we used to play with dolls. Things were a lot simpler then. The filly I knew was such a free spirit. Where did she go and why did this mare replace her? This mare that chases other ponies in the woods. 

There’s a swing outside the house that’s tied to a tree branch. I like swinging on it and I find myself there when I want a place to think. I asked Mr. Thresher during breakfast if he liked music and he said he plays a few instruments. He got Wheat’s old guitar for me to try if I wanted. I hold it, balancing it against my shoulder, while I sit on the swing and try to play a few notes half decently. I miss many. I’m not that great at it. 

I watch the season’s changes here at the barn too. Leaves are falling and the workers rake them into large piles. A pretty hummingbird is nesting on top of an old chime set above me. The mother flies off and I lose it among the blinding clouds. 

Mr. Thresher takes his nephew down the farm road. They’re talking to each other. They do look very much alike. The colt must have the upmost respect for his uncle. Probably why he’s still going to go through this whole marriage thing. I doubt he’ll run again. Something tells me he doesn’t have the strength or the will. 

Apps and the others come out of the house. They come to me. 

“Let’s head over to town,” Apps says. 

“Why are we going there?” 

“Mr. Thresher said that he would pay for everything for the wedding so we’re going on a bit of a spending spree this afternoon,” Cheerilee says. She looks excited, probably brimming of ideas for Apps: the many dresses, her makeup, and the jewelry too. 

I get off the swing. “Alright, let me put the guitar away first then I’ll join you at the end of the road.” 

It takes fifteen minutes to half gallop to town. We don’t bother taking our time. There’s not much to see on the way except more farms and even more animals. The streets are pretty lively. It is a coast town after all. There are ponies visiting the many old boutiques and bed and breakfasts that were built in the outskirts decades ago. Tourists from out of town flock to the docks and take pictures by the pretty boats. 

We walk along the cobblestone streets. I have to occasionally nudge old ponies to get by since many walk like turtles. Cheerilee takes pictures left and right. Many houses are off white or blue. The town has many iron lampposts lining the sidewalks. An old fashioned looking traffic officer directs carriages heading in and out of town alongside pedestrians. He whistles for us to cross a busy street. It’s past noon and we’ve arrived at a dress shop that Mrs. Thresher mentioned to Apps earlier. We head inside. 

It takes nearly all day for Apps to do her shopping. I do like the rush of marriage preparations and it’s a thrill to see a mare pick out a dress that’s just perfect. Still, it doesn’t feel complete. Not in this future marriage. Knowing one of the parties isn’t devoted like she is dulls the experience. Although I must admit that almost nothing can diminish the beauty of a perfectly cut gem on a necklace. Apple Bloom makes for a delightful bride in her pearl dress and fine lace. Us girls ogle her beautiful ensemble and reach out to hug her and giggle together. 

Cheerilee doesn’t know the full extent of things yet. She wasn’t there last night and I don’t think Apps wants her to know. But I guess I don’t either. The colt pretty much keeps his mouth shut all the time, wishing to keep to himself as much as he can. 

Apps almost made a huge mistake by going to the bakery at the end of the street. I bet they must make pretty good wedding cakes but I am going to bake for her personally and I will not take no for an answer. I already have some ideas in mind as we head back to the house. 

The days pass by quickly, surprising since the farm is such a serene yet boring place. The family elders don’t even play games. They just work…like, all the time. At least I still have my friends if I need somepony to talk to. The days are hectic though. I have so much to do to fill out the obligations I made for myself. I made the cake as promised and also cooked up a special treat that I’ll give to Apps when the time is right. I don’t see Wheat at all. I was hoping to maybe get to know him but he’s so scarce that I am barely able to say a single word before he’s off to do some work out on the farm. 

The wedding is tomorrow. This morning, the rest of the Apple Family arrived in their large wagon. I could hear the clanking of their pots and pans from the veranda. The Threshers welcomed them, escorting the wagon to a large shed and helping Granny to a comfortable chair. I am glad the family could come and see Apps get married. They should be here. 

Apps told me earlier that this will be the day that they learn about the foal. I don’t try to stop her. It has to be done. I watch as she leads the family inside. They are a loud bunch, unlike the locals. Mr. Thresher has given her the den to have enough private time. Before I go back outside, Apps touches my shoulder to get my attention. I turn towards her. 

“Hey, can you grab my camera out of my suitcase? I would like to show them a few pictures soon,” she says. 

“No problem.” I go upstairs and into our room. I see her brown suitcase with her apple emblem on it. I look for her camera and sift through her accessories and other things. My hoof touches a white container, the kind that usually holds medicines. Out of curiosity, I open it and take a peek. There are a half dozen pill bottles. They are all labeled for Apple Bloom and from the doctor in Ponyville. I am not sure what any of the names mean though. I don’t know anything about medicine. I make sure nopony is looking and I discreetly pocket one of them before taking the camera down to the den. 

I find Zecora and I show her the pill bottle. She takes a look at the label. 

“What kind of medicine is that, Zecora? Do mares take anything when they’re pregnant?” I ask. 

Zecora stares at it for a moment, seemingly taking things into account. But in seconds, she looks quite befuddled. 

“This is not for pregnancy, I think…these pills she takes with a drink. 

These are for poisons or a rash. Can induce vomiting in a flash.”

I have no idea what to think of that. I stare at the bottle. “So, she’s intentionally taking something that will make her throw up?” I say. I can’t even believe my own words. That’s how strange the idea is. Why would a pony do that to herself? 

“I’ve heard her vomit once or twice. 

It doesn’t sound very nice,” Zecora says. 

I thank Zecora and return to our room. I look at the medicines. I think about Apps going to the washroom to vomit. It’s her morning sickness, the signs of a foal. It just makes sense. But these things I’m holding don’t fit in. Apps has no reason to consume something like this since she’s not actually sick. I carefully read the names of the active ingredients in several of the pill bottles. After, I go downstairs and pass the den. At the same time, Applejack exits the room and is startled to see me standing there. 

“Oh, hey there sugar cube.” It looks like there’s something heavy on her mind. It’s obvious to me what it is. The family passes by me in single file. Her brother sniffles a bit as he walks down the hall. 

“They’re going to get some coffee. Think over things,” Apps whispers to me. “Oh, thanks for giving me the camera earlier. It was helpful to lead into what I wanted to talk about.”

“Sounds like they need time to absorb everything,” I say. 

“They sure do.” She excuses herself to get some fresh air. I enter the den. It’s comfortable and closed off with its own fireplace and an old but well-kept sofa. I walk on the rich red carpeting over to the bookshelf. I take out an encyclopedia and look up some of the words I memorized from the bottles. As I predicted, many deal with poisons and infections. They are used in the curing of some illnesses like rashes, food poisoning, and even allergies. 

The words are hard to spell but to me, they all spell the same thing. I know now that Apps has been lying about something. But how much of it? It could just be that she’s making her pregnancy worse than it is to gain sympathy with her friends and the Thresher family. Then it dawns on me in horror that the whole thing could be made up. She might not be pregnant at all. If she wanted to pull something like this off, what better way but fake the typical bodily reactions? Nopony would be the wiser. The only thing I can’t comprehend about such a theory is why my friend would do something like that in the first place? 

I feel an urge to speak to the poor colt more than ever. If anypony’s been fooled the most, it’s him. I go out and head to the barn, avoiding Apple Bloom. I look for him near the stables and I hear voices. One of them belongs to Cheerilee. I turn the corner and find them talking. He’s brushing a cow and smiling faintly. The mare is pointing at something in the stall. 

“So that’s the gist of it?” Cheerilee says, seemingly intrigued by something. She has a gleam in her eye when she gets when she’s interested in what she’s hearing. Lots of teachers have that. 

“I reckon it is. There’s not a whole lot to milking a cow. It’s all about how one treats the animal,” Wheat responds. The animal shakes suddenly and he shushes it. 

I clear my throat and approach them. He turns around. “Hello, you two. What are you up to?” I say. 

“I wanted to know more about how the farm works,” Cheerilee says. “It’s kind of fun to learn about it in person rather than in books.”

“May I talk to Wheat in private for a moment?” I ask her.

“Sure.” She goes into the field, probably to gaze at the animals some more. I look at the colt and I can’t help but feel sympathetic. Suddenly I have no idea what’s going on and I doubt everything I’ve been told. I can’t resist looking at him in a new light. 

“Can I help you with anything?” Strangely, I sense something sweet about him. His words. They’re always so kind. I must have never listened before because I had always suspected him of being a bad pony. What a pity. 

“I don’t think so. I’ve come to tell you something important about Apple Bloom that you must know.”

He doesn’t take it well when I tell him that Apps might not be pregnant. He throws his hat to the ground and kicks the door to a stall. Then he does what I hadn’t expected. He starts talking. Wheat had never been gone far from his home before he went to Ponyville. He lives west, in the hills. There, his mother and father have a corn field and settled down there years ago. He grew up with few ponies as neighbors and liked it. But talking to ponies never came easy to him. Ponies liked to take advantage of him, to lie and expect him to believe everything they say. He never got exact change or ponies told him make up things just to test his intelligence. Sometimes he got the better of them and sometimes he didn’t. 

But then he met the Apples. They were different than the others but so familiar to him. They were honorable and decent folk. He ended up taking special trips just to help out the family and to learn how they did things. It was great at first but he could tell that the younger filly, Apple Bloom, looked at him in a certain way. He thought that she probably saw him as a potential mate since she first laid eyes on him. He tried to help out around the farm but it became more uncomfortable with her staring. Then staring became an incidental brush against his flank or kind words about his hard working muscles. She would give him apple pies to take home with him and flattering words to think about. At least those were good at first. But she wanted more and she was going to draw him closer day by day. 

It was the night of the fall rodeo when the ponies celebrated the end of season with plenty of outdoor festivities. It was night and like the other stallions, Wheat was going to drink a bit and enjoy the company of others. This rodeo was hosted on the Apple farm. Applejack put most of the stallions to shame with her rope skills. With his head in a daze from all that drinking and excitement, it was easy for somepony like Apple Bloom to make her move. It was in the loft of the red barn. The filly doesn’t even need to remind him of it. He still recalls that night and his head hurts in anger. She was in total control then just like she is now. He’s always lying down and letting others walk over him because he’s too naïve to do anything about it. Just like he was on his back and the filly dominating him from above. 

It’s difficult but I manage to convince Wheat to not rush to the barn and confront Apps right away. I tell him that he should continue to brush the animals and calm down. It won’t do any good to be rash. If Apps is allowed to run away in the middle of the night, we won’t be able to confront her real problems. Until we are able to get her family to understand things, Apps must think that the wedding is still going to happen tomorrow, even if it isn’t. 

I stay up late and make some new sweets. I put them in the refrigerator to turn cold overnight. While that’s happening, I think about Apps. She was one of the first to believe in me and my special talent. She is my first true friend after all. I can’t fail to repay that. I don’t know what’s wrong with her but I’m going to try my best to find out. I know she’s not a bad pony. She’s just ill, a sickness that’s just in her head. I have to believe that it’s something that will pass even if we can’t see what’s wrong. I turn off the kitchen light and go quietly into the bedroom. Apps has dozed off by now and I look at her sadly as I step into bed. She looks so peaceful and beautiful that it seems so strange to know that her mind might be a tempest of confusion. 

The day is hectic tomorrow morning. Apps and everypony gets up early. The Threshers and Apples converse in a good mood with the ceremony only hours away. My friends and I are supposed to be Apps’ bridesmaids. But I’m avoiding her. I slip away from the house while things are getting set up and I walk off into the field alone, far enough so that I don’t hear the sounds of pony voices or even animals. It’s quiet and the wind is mild but cool. I lie down in the grass for a long time it seems. I open my bag. I’m feeling hungry so I start eating one of my treats. It’s one of the apple flavored rice cakes. It’s so dense, rich and sugary. As I eat it, I think deeply about the Apple Family. I already understand why Wheat has done what he did. Guys like him don’t like admitting that they’ve been taken advantage of. They’re supposed to be strong and always there for their female companions. But although, Apps comes from a farm family too, they’re not the same in every way. What does Apps have to prove? It’s not strength, that’s for sure. I can’t figure it out. I’m frustrated and I stare at the clouds until my eyes water. 

I then daydream about the past. When we used to play with dolls, Apps and Applejack were a lot younger. They had fewer cares in the world and were concerned with whatever was coming next. Everything seemed expendable and to us, life as we knew it would last forever. Whenever we would go out and play, I would pass through their front door. There would be that same old picture of the two ponies. Their parents, staring forward as if watching over their family. They seemed to do it even after death and the colors in the picture faded. I hadn’t thought about it much these last years. So much of the Apple Sisters’ lives really began anew when their parents died. When we were young, I never knew Applejack as being possessive of her sister. 

Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It’s time. It’s only felt like minutes out here. I stand and shake grass off my belly and hooves. I walk towards the house. There’s no going back now. I won’t wear any dress. This is not a time of beauty or vows. 

I see them all. What few family members were there had broken off into two groups. The Threshers on the left and the Apples on the right. They were all standing save for Granny Smith in her wheelchair. A hearing aid extends out of her ear like a flower. Wheat is wearing some nice leather farm clothes and he, like his father, have wide hats on. A pony from town is there to officiate. Apps has gone up to the front too and all the others stare at her. For such a sad turn of events, she still looks beautiful. I wish it didn’t have to go to waste. 

I come just in time. As is customary, the officiate asks if anypony had any reason to oppose the union of the two ponies before them. Usually this means silence but not today. I stand between the families and, raising my voice, proclaim that I have something to say. 

Apps manages to rip her gaze from Wheat. She notices me and I can read the shock on her face. The ponies around me are confused and Mr. Thresher is frowning badly. 

“This marriage can’t be allowed. Apple Bloom has manipulated everything in order to make this happen. The colt, Wheat Thresher, has been roped into it against his will. It is the honest truth.” 

I don’t think I’ve been so nervous in years save for my own proposal in spring. The ponies start to talk. I can only wonder how horrible they see me as. 

Apps starts to throw a fit. A vein in her forehead pulses. “Your jealousy is just getting out of hoof, Twist! Why would I do the things you’ve accused me of doing?”

“What in the hay is going on around here?” Applejack says. She steps between us, a confused grimace on her face which is shadowed by her hat, a red thing with pretty pink lacy trim. 

“What’s going on is that Twist wants to get in the way of my newfound love,” Apps says, pointing a hoof at me. 

“There’s not a whole lot of love between you two. Wheat was going along with it because of the story of that foal and it doesn’t even exist!”

Apps face flushes. She is growing embarrassed and her voice erratic. “You’re stupid!” she spits. “Stupid! Why are you doing this to me? I thought you were my friend!” She uses her teeth and tears the shoulder straps of her dress and shakes it off. She rips off her veil and everything else falls to the ground. She then bolts away from the group, screaming, towards the field. I chase after her in haste. I can’t let her run away now. I have to stop her. No matter how disgusted I may be at her behavior, I am her friend even if she can’t see it. The others will stay behind and try to get the others up to speed. I am sure they’ll listen. 

I may have hoped that she would stay there and admit to what is going on but that was probably naïve of me. What I had done wasn’t enough on its own but I have to believe that I can talk to her now about her feelings. I just have to catch up to her. I follow her loud voice as it dampens at the edge of the woods. She’s nowhere to be seen but I plunge in anyway. The place is a mess of shadow and light and dust. It’s hard to stay oriented but I can hear the echoes of her voice not far off. 
I pant and take in the earthy air. My hooves crunch on the needles and leaves. As I continue, I’m struck in the head by something hard. I reach for where it hit me with my hoof and prickles of pain spreads across my scalp. I don’t cry out though but only hiss quietly. I look down at the pinecone and know she’s up above me. I leap onto the nearest branch and climb up the tree, getting several meters up on a large branch. I yell her name. 

I see her, a splash of red like an apple at the next tree over. I yell at her to stop but she ignores me. Carefully, I balance myself on the branch and jump to the one below. It sways from my weight. It might look scary but I know my way around a tree well enough. She sees me and goes around the trunk like a squirrel evading one’s sight. I try to make my way there, taking care not to fall. She’s always been better at me but I know I can catch up. Yet, when I reach the other side, I don’t see her. I scan my sides and I don’t think she’s gone to the other trees. Suddenly the branch shakes and I start to slip. My heart scrambles to pump blood through my veins, to give me enough strength as I hurry to keep my footing. 

“You couldn’t leave well enough alone!” Apps shouts. I hear her below. She’s bucking the tree. I can feel each thump on the trunk from her powerful hind legs. “I can’t believe you’re taking this away from me! We Apples never lose ponies! Don’t you understand?”

“Stop it, Apple Bloom!” I start to fear that she’s actually trying to knock me off. I glance at the nearest branch and kick off the one I’m barely holding on to. I grab the branch, my hooves trying to grip it despite there being lots of green moss on it. But I spot a vine or something within reach and bite it. I strain my muscles and pull myself up. My lower body and hooves are all sticky and discolored from the climbing. I’m sure they match the top of my head now. 
I see her going through the woods pretty fast. I leap down into a pile of leaves and run in pursuit. 

“Apple Bloom, you can’t keep every last pony in your life! It’s not possible! You have to let some ponies go!” I say between deep breaths. 

I keep chasing her and we reach a narrow but swift creek going downhill. The water’s as deep as my chest at least. Apps runs across a fallen log then kicks the end of it afterwards so it tumbles down into the water. I stop and look at her. I hate chasing ponies like this. My sides are sore and I’m sweating all over. 

“What would you know about any of this? What kind of family can you have? You’ll never have foals of your own!” Apps says angrily. She takes a narrow path up a scrubby hill. I scan the area for any way to get across the water. There’s a small vine draping from a tall branch above. I jump on a rock. I prepare myself. I guess I already did this once so doing it twice isn’t a big deal. I take the vine in my teeth and use it to swing across. It’s gross tasting and it breaks, sending me tumbling on the dirt but on the other side at least. 

I feel insulted, upset and tired but I know this can’t last much longer. I run up the hill. Apps is there, at the edge of a steep drop. To her side, a boulder strewn hilltop looks far too dangerous to climb. I know she has to be as tired as I am. 

I approach her firmly but slowly enough to not present a reason for her to run even more. “You have to stop running. You have to wake up to the truth. All this is just you living in a bad dream but it can’t go on forever,” I say. 

Her face contorts in pain. “But I don’t know how!” 

“I already told you what you need to do. You have to learn how to let ponies go. Everything you did…faking a pregnancy, trying to marry a colt you have barely known…it’s all an act of desperation. You never learned how to accept loss, Apple Bloom. Your sister didn’t either and she passed it down to you. Your fears and your worries that you can’t protect one another. Your parents died so early but you and your siblings still see them in your hearts and in your house. It’s why when you see somepony you want, you can never let go of them.”

For whatever reason, it seems this has finally sunk into her head. Trapped and with nowhere to go, she is now face to face with an inescapable reality. Still, she reacts, and it shakes her to her very core. She tries to swing her hoof at me wildly but I grab it with my hooves. She smacks me with her other hoof, each strike weakening as she cries. Her body soon ceases and only her mouth and throat move still by the sound of her sadness. I hold her close and stroke her long mane. I know it is over. For the first time in a long time, Apple Bloom has understood the meaning of loss. 



The Apples are able to grasp what happened for the most part. I know it’s difficult to understand things. To them, it must have come suddenly and without warning. I promise to be there for all of it. I can see the regret that Applejack carries and I feel bad for her as I watch her pack up her wagon. We’re all heading home this morning. I finished speaking with her, telling her what I thought should happen with Apple Bloom. She just needs rest and a lot of care. Celestia knows I’ve been down that road. 

I look over at Cheerilee as she converses with Wheat Thresher. She is very comfortable with him and whatever they’re talking about makes her laugh. I like that. I just hope that it didn’t get in the way of her packing. We can’t be delayed. 

I head into the house and return to the bedroom. Apps is sitting silently on the bed, her hooves in her lap. Her mane is styled proper with black ribbons. I take my last piece of luggage and look at her. 

“Are you ready?” I say. 

“Yeah. I suppose I am,” she says. She stares at the floor. 

“I know you’re going to be alright, Apple Bloom. I have faith in you.”

She looks up and makes a sweet smile. “Thanks….do you think that things will change for the better?”

“What do you mean?”

“About loss and all that. I never lost anything as important as a pony before. How do you know I can look forward to a normal relationship?” 

I put the bag down and sit next to her. I take her hoof in mine. “You already have your friends that you never have to worry about losing.”
“Is that even the same thing? I’ve always wanted you guys in my life. Kind of how I foolishly wanted Wheat.”

I giggle. “Just remember that we foolishly wanted you.” She joins me and the girlish sounds reverberate in the room. She then puts her hooves around me and hugs me tightly. I love the smell of her hair. It’s sweeter than this whole place. 

“I still remember that,” she says. 

As I hold her I remember the days when we used to play together by ourselves. Just the two of us. We shared most of our lives together. It was only after we got our cutie marks that things changed. If we could go back to that just one more time then maybe that could help her to take the next step after acceptance. A touch of simplicity and a love between friends. 

“Hey, Apple Bloom.”

“Yes?”

“I think that when we return to Ponyville, I want you to come to my house. I would love it if you talked to Sweetie.”

“Huh….Sweetie Drops?”

“Yeah…I think it will be great for all three of us to get to know each other better.”

She breaks the hug and looks in my eyes. “But I already see her around town.”

I touch her cheek with my hoof. “Trust me. This will be special. Once you’ve tasted Peppermint Drops, I promise that loss will be the last thing on your mind.”