“Hey, Applejack,” Apple Bloom said, stepping into the kitchen of the Apple family farmhouse. “Have you seen my photo album anywhere?”
Applejack, up on her hind legs and working at one of the counters, glanced over her shoulder, first at the clock, then at Apple Bloom.
“Why?” she asked. “Ain’t it in your room?”
“Nope. Can’t find it.”
“Well, that’s a shame,” Applejack said, turning back to what she was doing. She took an apple up from the pile beside her and began slicing it with a bladed contraption strapped to her hoof. “No, I don’t think I’ve seen it anywhere. Why are you lookin’ for it?”
“Well, I was going to take it with me,” Apple Bloom said. Applejack’s knife hoof stopped.
“You’re packin’ already?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Apple Bloom said. “Figured I’d get it done today so I don’t have to rush it tomorrow mornin’. Got my suitcase ready and everything.”
The cutting resumed. “Good thinkin’. Less likely to forget anything that way.”
“Yep,” Apple Bloom said. “’Cept I can’t find my album anywhere.”
“You sure it ain’t in your room someplace?” Applejack said. “Maybe you had it out and forgot to put it back.”
Apple Bloom frowned. “No, I’m pretty sure I left it on my bookshelf, like I always do. And I turned the whole room upside-down.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll find it eventually.”
Applejack picked up the cutting board and scraped the apple slices into a bowl to her left, then repeated the procedure on the next fruit.
“Hey, I know this ain’t the right time for this,” she said, “but are you sure you still don’t want me to go with you tomorrow? Cities can be mighty confusin’ places if you ain’t used to ‘em…”
Apple Bloom rolled her eyes. “Sis, I ain’t a lil’ filly no more. I’ll be fine.”
It was true. Time had done well by little Apple Bloom, granting her sturdy legs, a fine coat, and a southern drawl that could seduce a stone. She’d even grown her hair out.
She still wore the same bow in her hair as she always had, though. She’d never outgrow that.
“Sure you are,” Applejack said. “But that don’t mean I have to stop being your big sister, either.”
Apple Bloom rolled her eyes again. “‘Sides, Babs said she’d meet me at the station, so it’s not like I’m gonna get lost or anything. And our house isn’t that far from there, either.”
“Well, that’s good to hear,” Applejack said. “Still…”
“I know, I know. I’ll be careful.”
While Applejack continued working, Apple Bloom crossed the kitchen and sat down at the table in the center. She rested her chin on her hoof.
“Maybe Big Mac knows where it is,” she mused. “He back from the market yet?”
“Nope. Sorry.”
“Fiddlesticks.”
Applejack began cutting into a new apple. “I’m sure it’ll turn up,” she said. “I’ll help you look once I’m done with this.”
“Nah, it’s fine,” Apple Bloom said. “What are you makin’, anyways?”
“Apple pie.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“Well, my lil’ sis is moving to Fillydelphia tomorrow, an’ I want to give her one last taste of home before she goes.”
Apple Bloom winced.
“Also, we’ve got a bunch of apples that’ll be goin’ bad soon, so I wanna use them up before we have to feed them to the pigs,” Applejack continued. She sent another set of apple slices tumbling into the bowl. “And since when do I need a special occasion to make an apple pie?”
Apple Bloom didn’t have a response for that, and for a little while the only sounds in the kitchen were those of fruit dissection.
“Hey, uh…”
“Yeah?” Applejack asked.
Apple Bloom swallowed.
“You and Big Mac’ll be fine without me, right?” she asked. “I know the two of you can handle the farm on your own, but…”
Applejack chuckled.
“We ain’t that old,” she said. “’Least, not yet. We’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, but what about cider season?” Apple Bloom asked. “We barely managed to keep up last year.”
Applejack hummed. “Well, we might have to hire some farmhands, but we’ll manage. I don’t think either of us would mind if you came back to help, though. Of course, if you’re thinking about changin’ your mind…”
Apple Bloom let out a sigh. “No, just making sure you’re okay with it.”
“’Course we are,” Applejack said. “We’re happy for you.”
Applejack laid the knife down on her cutting board and turned around. She was smiling.
“We’re gonna miss you,” she said. “No doubt about that. But if moving to Fillydelphia is going to make you happy, then I’m behind you, no matter what. And I know Big Mac feels the same way. You could be movin’ to Tartarus and it wouldn’t make no difference to us.”
Apple Bloom smiled back.
“Thanks, Applejack.”
“Ain’t no thing.”
She glanced at the clock again.
“Actually, now that I think about it,” she said, “I think I might have seen that album of yours after all.”
Apple Bloom’s ears perked up. “Oh yeah? Where?”
“Out in the barn,” Applejack said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Why would it be in the barn?” Apple Bloom asked, frowning.
Applejack shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I didn’t put it there.”
Apple Bloom’s look remained skeptical. “You sure?”
“Yep. In the back, sittin’ on one of the hay bales. You probably just took it out there and forgot about it, like I said before.”
“Well, uh, alright then. Thanks.”
Apple Bloom hopped off her chair. She headed out of the kitchen and took a right down the front hall.
Opening the front door was like opening an oven. It was a hot day, even for summer; the kind of dry heat that warms you right down to the bone. It had been that way for the past couple of weeks, and there were no signs that it was going to change any time soon.
Apple Bloom didn’t mind, though. She’d always liked Ponyville’s summers, even if days like this one turned routine farmwork into torture. She shielded her eyes from the sun, halfway through its western descent, and headed across the courtyard in the direction of the barn.
The barn’s door was shut tight. Apple Bloom frowned. That was odd; they usually left it open during the day.
She pushed it open.
“SURPRISE!”
A burst of confetti flew into her face.
The barn had been done up in ribbons and streamers. Balloons floated lazily overhead. A blue banner had been strung across the rafters, the words “Farewell, Apple Bloom!” written across it in gold letters, and standing under it was what looked like half the town.
Apple Bloom blinked. “You shouldn’t have,” she said. And she meant it, because it was true, but they’d gone ahead and done it anyway.
Such was the Ponyville way.
“So then,” Berry Pinch said, “Apple Bloom comes around the corner, right? And she says—she says—”
“What’d she say?” came the chorus.
“She says, ‘Pinchy, I ain’t one to judge, but if this is your idea of a fun Saturday night, then I’m goin’ home!’”
Laughter all around.
Apple Bloom stood up. “I’m gonna go get us some more cider.”
“Hey, it’s your party!” someone said. “Let someone else go!”
“Nah, I need a breather anyways. Y’all keep goin’.”
“Well, if you say so!” Pinchy said. “Anyways, there was this one time…”
The night air greeted her as she stepped out of the barn. The light and music grew muffled as the doors fell shut behind her.
Then they grew unmuffled for a moment.
“Couldn’t take any more of Pinchy’s stories?” a voice said. Apple Bloom didn’t have to turn around to know who it belonged to.
“Nope. Just ate too much pie,” she said. “I’m guessin’ this whole thing was your idea, Sweetie Belle?”
“Guilty as charged!”
Now, if time had done well by Apple Bloom, then it had been downright bounteous towards Sweetie Belle, blessing her with the body of a dancer and the voice of an angel. Her curls bounced as she laughed. It was almost unfair.
“Well, you shouldn’t have,” Apple Bloom said. “But I appreciate it anyway.”
Sweetie walked up beside her.
“So, you uh… gonna come to the train station tomorrow?” Apple Bloom asked. “See me off?”
“Of course,” Sweetie Belle replied. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”
Apple Bloom smiled. “Thanks.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Train’s leaving at noon.”
“That early?” Sweetie Belle said. “Maybe holding the party at night wasn’t such a good idea, after all.”
Apple Bloom raised an eyebrow. “Since when is noon early?”
“Not all of us get up at the crack of dawn,” Sweetie Belle said. “Some of us need our beauty sleep.”
“You’re soundin’ more like your sister every day.”
Sweetie Belle’s cheeks turned red. “I am not!”
“Sure you ain’t,” Apple Bloom said, chuckling. “Prissy pony.”
Sweetie Belle pouted. Still chuckling, Apple Bloom turned her attention to the little trapdoor set into the ground beside the barn. Kneeling down, she grasped the iron handle in her teeth and pulled it open, revealing a rickety staircase leading down into the darkness.
“Hey,” she said. “Pass me that lantern, will you?”
She was referring to the oil lantern that hung next to the barn’s door, casting a flickering light over the scene. Sweetie Belle’s horn lit, and the thing floated off its hook and over to Apple Bloom. Taking it into her mouth, she descended the rickety staircase.
“You know,” Sweetie Belle called down after her, “I think the thing I’m going to miss the most after you’re gone is having a direct line to the cider supply.”
“Oh yeah?” Apple Bloom called back. “That’s all I’m good for, huh?”
“Yep! That and free pie.”
“Well then it’s a good thing I’m goin’,” Apple Bloom said. “Wouldn’t want you losing that perfect figure of yours.”
The cellar was filled with all kinds of jars and tins, but what she wanted was in the unmarked glass bottles on the back shelf. Placing the lantern down on a shelf to her right, she grabbed a bottle and tucked it under one leg, thought for a moment, then grabbed a second. Hobbling on three legs, she made her way back to the steps.
“Lil’ help?”
A green aura surrounded the bottles, lifting them up through the trapdoor. Apple Bloom turned around and snatched up the lantern again, then climbed out of the cellar.
Sweetie Belle was standing at the top of the steps, a bottle of cider levitating on either side of her. Gone was the mirth she’d held in her eyes just a moment ago.
Apple Bloom placed the lantern back on its hook. Its flickering light cast shadows on the side of the barn.
“You alright?” she asked.
“I still don’t want you to go,” Sweetie said, her voice quiet.
A lump formed in Apple Bloom’s throat.
“It won’t be so bad,” she said. “Fillydelphia’s only an hour away by train. You can come visit any time you like.”
“That’s not the same and you know it.”
“…Yeah.” She sighed. “I know.”
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke; the silence was filled only by the chirping of insects.
“Just don’t forget about me, okay?” Sweetie finally said.
“Forget about you?” Apple Bloom grinned. “Couldn’t if I tried.”
Sweetie giggled. Apple Bloom stepped closer and drew her into a hug.
Over Sweetie’s shoulder, something caught her eye. She glanced up at the farmhouse. One of the windows was lit up, on the second floor. Third from the left… wasn’t that Granny Smith’s room? That couldn’t be right; there was no way she was up at this hour.
Then, as if it had noticed her looking, the light extinguished itself.
After a few more moments, Sweetie drew out of the hug.
“Alright,” she said, putting on a smile. “Enough being sappy. This is supposed to be a party!”
“Darn tootin’,” Apple Bloom said. “Now let’s get back inside before Pinchy wrecks the place.”
Sweetie smirked. “Now who’s starting to sound like their sister?”
“Shuddup.”
Apple Bloom sat on the edge of her bed, flipping through the pages of her photo album. The party had ended, the guests gone home, and the barn returned to normal.
She chuckled at a picture of her younger self attempting (failing) to juggle, then turned the page. They actually had hidden the book in the barn, if only so Applejack wouldn’t have to lie about seeing it there. She was just glad no one had gotten food on it.
She’d started keeping the thing back when she was thirteen. It had started as a Crusader effort to get a cutie mark in something—amateur photography, or something along those lines—but even after they’d all given up on the idea, Apple Bloom had never stopped adding to it.
She turned the page again.
There was only one picture on this page, stuck right in the center. It had been taken on the day that the three of them had gotten their cutie marks. She was in the middle of the photo, grinning ear to ear, turned sideways so the mark on her flank would be visible. To her right was Sweetie Belle, doing much the same.
And to her left…
Her smile dimmed slightly.
She shook her head and closed the book. Hopping off the bed, she brought the thing over to her suitcase, lying open against the far wall. She laid the album into it, nestling it between two towels so it wouldn’t go anywhere, and pulled the lid of the suitcase shut. It locked in place with a click.
Yawning, Apple Bloom crossed the room to snuff out the candle on her nightstand, then climbed into bed. She didn’t bother with the sheets; the night was warm enough as it was. She let her head rest against the pillow and cast her gaze towards the ceiling. The same ceiling she’d stared at every night for the last twenty years.
If all went well, she wouldn’t be seeing it again for a long time.
Maybe ever.
If all went well.
She smiled and closed her eyes, and soon enough she’d drifted off to sleep.
“You sure you don’t want to stay for lunch?” Applejack called out to her, standing in the shade of the farmhouse’s porch.
Apple Bloom dropped her suitcase into the back of the little cart and wiped the sweat from her brow.
“No, sis,” she said. “I’ve gotta get goin’ if I don’t want to miss my train.”
Yesterday’s heat had continued into today, as Apple Bloom had suspected it would. It did little to quash the nervous excitement that had gathered in her core.
“Well, at least let me bag up some fritters for you,” Applejack said. “In case you get hungry on your trip.”
“It’s only an hour from here to Filly. I don’t think that’s gonna be an issue.”
Applejack raised an eyebrow. “You’re turning down fritters?”
“…Well, I never said that…”
“That’s what I thought,” Applejack said, chuckling. “Be back in a minute.”
Applejack disappeared through the house’s screen door, its rusted spring squealing in protest as it pulled closed behind her.
Apple Bloom bit her lip. Replacing that was supposed to have been her job, had been for a while, but amongst everything that had been happening lately she’d never gotten around to actually doing it. She glanced towards the tool shed, out to the side of the house. Maybe she had time…
“Don’t worry about it,” said Big Mac, as if he’d read her mind. Apple Bloom started; she hadn’t heard him coming up behind her. He could be awfully quiet sometimes, despite his size.
“You sure?” Apple Bloom said, turning around to face him. “I could—”
He set a crate into the back of the wagon; the sound of rattling glass could be heard from inside. “I’ll take care of it,” he said. “You’ve got a train to catch. You ready to go?”
“Almost,” she said.
“Well, you’d better hurry. I’ve only got one more crate left to load.”
“Those the preserves for Mr. Rich?” Apple Bloom asked.
“E’eyup,” he said. He shot her a sideways glance. “Couldn’t help but notice we were runnin’ a little short on cider bottles while I was down in the cellar packin’ em, though. You know anything about that?”
“Nope!” Apple Bloom lied. Big Mac chuckled.
“Well, you get on,” he said, turning back towards the barn. “An’ don’t forget to say goodbye to Granny before we go.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The inside of the house wasn’t much cooler than the outside. Apple Bloom headed up the wooden steps to the second floor and made her way down the hall. Granny’s room was the third door on the left; she pushed it open, just a crack.
“Granny?” she asked, softly. “You awake?”
“Just about,” came a strained voice from inside the room. Apple Bloom smiled and walked in.
Time had not been so kind to Granny Smith. Her breaths were heavy and carried a rasp; her coat was grey and patchy. Cataracts had robbed her of most of her sight years ago. Arthritis had taken her limbs.
Granny’s head slowly turned to face Apple Bloom, who stood beside the bed.
“I’d have thought you’d have left by now,” she said.
“I wasn’t gonna leave without sayin’ goodbye. You taught me better than that.”
Granny Smith chuckled. It came out more like a wheeze. “You bet’cher behind I did.”
Apple Bloom giggled. They were both quiet for a few moments.
“It’s gonna be lonely ‘round here, without you on the farm,” Granny said.
“You’ll still have Applejack,” Apple Bloom said. “An’ Big Mac. They’ll take care of ‘ya.”
“You know that ain’t what I mean.”
Granny Smith’s smile grew mischievous.
“O’course, that’s assumin’ you end up stayin’ in the city.”
“Huh?” Apple Bloom asked, tilting her head slightly.
“Us Apples have a habit of comin’ home earlier n’ we expect,” Granny Smith said. “Your sister did, anyhow.”
“You mean when she got her cutie mark?”
Granny nodded. “M-hm. And your pappy, too. He tried to run out west, back when he was your age. Didn’t even make it a day!”
“Really?” Apple Bloom said. “You’ve never told me that story before.”
“That’s ‘cause it ain’t much of a story to tell,” Granny said. “ One day he just up an’ left, all gung-ho about findin’ somewhere new to settle down with your ma. This was back durin’ the last big westward expansion, you see, it was the trendy thing to do. Well, by the next morning he was back an’ working the orchard. Wouldn’t tell nobody why he’d come back, neither!”
Apple Bloom frowned. “Why not?”
“Well, it didn’t need to be said, did it?” Granny said. “He just realized that Ponyville’s the place we’re supposed to be, that’s all. Don’t matter how.”
Apple Bloom wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. Silence filled the dusty little room for a few moments.
“Well, you should probably get goin’,” Granny Smith said. “Before you miss your train! Come here and give your old granny a hug first, though.”
Granny Smith reached up towards Apple Bloom, her frail forelegs trembling, loose skin hanging off them like leather. Apple Bloom didn’t hesitate for a moment as she returned the gesture.
“I’m gonna miss you, Granny.”
“I know.”
They parted.
“I’ll come back to visit,” Apple Bloom said. “Promise.”
“I know you will, Apple Bloom,” Granny Smith said. “I know.”
Apple Bloom turned towards the door. However…
“Apple Bloom?”
She looked back.
“Yes, Granny?”
“I—”
Granny Smith seemed to start to say something, but then froze. She lay there motionless for a few seconds, her mouth open.
“Granny? Are you okay?”
This seemed to break whatever spell she’d been under, because immediately she relaxed.
“Nevermind,” she said, smiling. “Go on now.”
Apple Bloom nodded and headed for the door. A general unease, however, had settled in her stomach.
For just a moment, she could have sworn Granny Smith had looked scared.
“You take care now!” Applejack called after them from the wireframe archway that marked the entrance to Sweet Apple Acres. “Don’t forget to write, y’hear?”
“I won’t!” Apple Bloom called back.
She turned her head forwards. Big Macintosh walked beside her, pulling the cart along the dirt road that lead into town. The sound of the cart’s wooden wheels crunching the dirt beneath them followed behind.
She could see Ponyville, in the distance. Sweet Apple Acres was a fair distance away from the main part of the town, but it was also slightly higher up, and so from the top of the path Apple Bloom could see almost all of it. Everything from the thatched roofs of the houses, to the sculpted swirls of Sugarcube Corner, to the clocktower, standing resolute at the edge of town.
“You gonna miss it here?” Big Mac asked, catching her looking.
“Of course,” Apple Bloom replied.
“It’s not too late to change your mind, y’know.”
“I know,” Apple Bloom said. “But I’m not gonna.”
They kept walking. Soon enough, they’d entered the town proper, enclosed by painted walls and thatched roofs. The roads grew more even, and their cart rolled without issue.
Even for a day as hot as this one, the town bustled with activity. It was market day in Ponyville, and as they neared the town’s center vendors began to dot the sides of the street. The sounds of haggling and bits changing hooves filled the air, joining the shrieks and cheers of foals as they played among the stalls.
Big Mac brought the cart to a halt.
“Alright,” he said. “I’ve gotta go deliver these to Barnyard Bargains. You want to go on ahead to the train station?”
“Sure,” Apple Bloom said. She circled around to the back of the cart to retrieve her suitcase. “You’re gonna be done before the train leaves, though, right?”
He nodded. “Promise. Filthy’s already paid for ‘em, anyway, so it shouldn’t take long.”
“Alright. But I’m holdin’ you to that.”
Apple Bloom set her suitcase on the ground. It had a set of rollers on the bottom, so all she had to do was pull it along.
The two parted ways, Big Mac heading down a side street towards the general store, and Apple Bloom continuing on towards the train station.
The door squealed as Applejack stepped back into the house. She pulled her hat off and wiped the sweat from her forehead. She’d completed the last of her morning chores; now it was time to make lunch. She replaced her hat and headed towards the kitchen.
It would only be lunch for three, today, so she wouldn’t have to do much. Sandwiches would be easiest; she was pretty sure they had some celery left in the pantry. That would be good on a day like today.
As she reached for the handle of the pantry door, however, she thought she heard the sound of creaking floorboards overhead.
She paused. Her ears twitched. There it was again.
She rolled her eyes.
“Granny,” she called out. “Are you up? You know the doctors said you’re supposed to stay in bed!”
No answer, but the creaking seemed to stop. Satisfied, Applejack returned to her work.
The train was waiting for her when she arrived. It was the same engine they’d been using since they’d first opened the station, back when Apple Bloom had been just a little filly. Some things never changed.
She hauled her suitcase up the wooden ramp that lead up to the platform. The station was mostly clear, with only a few ponies waiting around. Good; that meant she wouldn’t have trouble getting a seat to herself. She headed over to the ticket booth.
“Good afternoon,” the ticket vendor said as she approached the window.
“’Afternoon,” Apple Bloom replied. “One ticket to Fillydelphia, please.”
He nodded. “Should I make that a round trip?”
“One way’s fine.”
“Alrighty,” he said. “That’ll be ten bits.”
She’d known what the fare was already, of course, and she’d already set aside the bits into a smaller pouch, which she pushed through the hole in the bottom of the window. The teller undid the knot and counted out the bits, then passed the empty pouch and her ticket back to her.
“Enjoy your trip,” he said as she tucked the pouch back in her bag.
There was a clock, on the wall of the station; it read forty past eleven. Twenty minutes. She made her way to one of the benches that lined the back of the platform and sat down.
She glanced around the platform again. Still no sign of Sweetie Belle, or of her brother. She bit her lip. Her brother would be along soon, she was certain, but Sweetie…
As it turned out, she needn’t have worried, because not a minute later the mare herself came bounding up the station’s steps.
Slightly red in the face, Sweetie looked up and down the platform. Apple Bloom waved to her, and was quickly spotted.
“Sorry,” Sweetie said, trotting over to the bench. “I lost track of time.”
“You look like you just ran a marathon,” Apple Bloom said.
“It’s the heat,” Sweetie replied, wiping her brow. “It should be illegal to go outdoors when its this hot.”
“It’s not that bad,” Apple Bloom said, poking Sweetie Belle in the side. “You’re just a prissy pony.”
“I am not! I’m just… delicate!”
“Uh huh,” Apple Bloom said, smirking. “Sit down before you fall over, you delicate lil’ thing.”
Sweetie pouted, but she obliged the offer anyway and took the seat next to her on the bench. She glanced up and down the length of the platform.
“Where are the rest of your bags?” she asked.
Apple Bloom gestured to her suitcase, sitting on the ground in front of her. “Right here.”
“That’s all you’re bringing?” Sweetie exclaimed.
“Uh… yeah?” Apple Bloom scratched the back of her neck. “Why?”
“B-but you’re moving!”
“So?”
“So you’ve got to be bringing more stuff than that!” Sweetie said. “What about clothes? Keepsakes? Furniture?”
Apple Bloom tapped the side of her suitcase. “Got all I need of the first two right here. Never thought about furniture, but we can always pick somethin’ up in Filly. ‘Sides, there ain’t anything up at the farm worth bringin’. I swear, some of that stuff’s been around since before Granny was born.”
Sweetie leaned back into the bench.
“I dunno,” she said. “It feels wrong that everything you’re bringing from here fits into one tiny suitcase.”
“Well, how many would you need, if you were the one moving?”
“Oh, three, at least,” Sweetie said. “And I’d have to pay someone to cart everything I couldn’t bring on the train. Probably… a half a dozen boxes, to hold everything. And I’d want to bring some of my furniture.”
“There’s not much point in movin’ away from home if you’re just gonna take home with you,” Apple Bloom said.
Sweetie frowned. “I don’t see what’s so bad about that.”
“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t.”
Sweetie Belle shot her a questioning look and opened her mouth to speak, but Apple Bloom’s attention was drawn away by the arrival of Big Macintosh before she had the chance. His heavy hoofalls sounded loudly upon the wooden floor of the platform as he approached them, free of his wagon and harness.
“Cutting it a bit close, huh?” Apple Bloom said, glancing up at the clock. Eight minutes to noon.
“I said I’d be here before the train left,” he said. “Train’s still here, so I’d say I’m right on time.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“All aboard!” the conductor cried. “Twelve o’clock to Fillydelphia! All aboard!”
Apple Bloom sighed and stood up.
“Guess this is it, huh?” Sweetie said.
“Yep.
She hugged each of them in turn, first Big Mac, then Sweetie Belle.
“I’m gonna miss the heck out of you,” Sweetie said.
“Me too,” Apple Bloom replied. She pulled out of the hug. Her shoulder came away slightly damp.
Then she smiled, turned, and headed towards the train.
Applejack climbed the last of the stairs up to the second floor of the farmhouse carefully, trying very hard not to drop the tray balanced on her back. She had a long day still ahead of her; the northern orchards needed to be checked for tangleflies, and the job would only be made harder without Apple Bloom around to lend a hand.
But first, she needed to bring Granny her lunch. The door to her room stood closed; Applejack walked up to it and knocked.
“Granny! Lunchtime!”
No response.
“Granny?” she called again.
Still nothing.
“Must be asleep,” Applejack muttered. She considered letting her be… but no, the old mare needed to keep her strength up. At least, that’s what the doctors had said.
“Alright, Granny, I’m comin’ in,” she said, and reached for the doorknob. The door slid open with little resistance.
“Got some of your favourites today,” she said. “Daffodil and celery—”
Applejack froze, mid-sentence.
Granny Smith’s bed was empty.
She chose a seat in the first car, slumping against the side slightly so she could see out the window. The summer sun warmed her shoulder as it filtered through the glass.
Soon enough, she felt the familiar shudder of the train’s brakes unlocking. With a long blow of its whistle, the train eased into motion, letting out jets of smoke and steam which clouded the station from her vision. The gentle vibrations of its motion put Apple Bloom’s heart at ease. Through the window, she could see Sweetie and Big Mac waving to her. She waved back until the train pulled too far away to see.
She was off.
The train picked up speed quickly. The thatched roofs and wooden houses of Ponyville gave way to grassy hills and picturesque fields, the kind found on the backs of postcards. Apple Bloom watched through her window as they sped by, thoughts drifting.
In less than an hour, if all went well, she would be in Fillydelphia. With a little luck, she’d be there before they were supposed to meet the landlord.
“Ticket, miss?”
Apple Bloom started, but it was just the ticket collector, coming around with his punch. She held out hers.
“Ah, Fillydelphia, huh?” he said, his little machine click-clicking as it marked her ticket. “Lovely place to visit.”
“Oh, I’m not visiting,” Apple Bloom said.
“Oh. My condolences.”
Apple Bloom blinked.
“What’d you say?”
“I said, ‘I hope you enjoy your time there’.” He smiled, tipped his hat, and moved on to the next passenger. A faint wooden clattering sound seemed to follow him, though it might just have been the noise of the train.
Apple Bloom, frowning, turned back to her window.
The land around Ponyville really was beautiful, she thought, looking out at the rolling fields. So much of her foalhood had been spent out here. So many crusades. And other things.
There had been one summer, a few years back, when she, Sweetie, Scootaloo and a few of the other Ponyville foals had come out here, armed with a picnic basket and a bottle of whiskey Pinchy had swiped from her mother’s stash. They’d spent the entire day out there, morning through sundown and well into the night.
Needless to say, the bottle had emptied faster than the basket. Of course, that had been the night Scootaloo had—
The shrill blast of the train’s whistle startled her out of her reverie. It continued incessantly, one blast, then another, then another.
“What in tarnation…?” Apple Bloom mumbled under her breath.
Then came a sudden lurch, and the squealing of brakes. Apple Bloom was nearly thrown off her seat.
“What is going on up there?” one of the other passengers said.
“Are we stopping?” asked another.
The whistle blasts continued, forming a bizarre harmony with the squealing of the breaks.
Thump.
“Did we hit something?” someone asked.
“Someone must have left something on the tracks!”
“Sounded like a bale of hay or something.”
“Well, we’re still slowing down, we’ll see in a minute.”
And they were right; the train continued to slow, breaks still squealing, until at last it had stopped completely.
Apple Bloom rose from her seat, leaving her suitcase behind. She wanted to see just what it was they’d hit, if only to alleviate her own concerns.
She’d heard something distressingly wet in the impact.
The first thing that hit her upon stepping out of the car was the smell. Metallic. Acrid. It burned her nostrils, but whether it was from the train’s brakes or something far worse, she couldn’t say.
She looked back down the tracks, back the way they’d came, shading her eyes with a hoof.
She could see something lying on the ground, some thirty meters behind them. What it was, she couldn’t tell, but it might have been a—
Numbly, she turned towards the engine and began walking.
Two of the train ponies were already there. They turned at her approach.
“Ma’am, don’t,” one of them, the engineer, said, stepping in front of her. “You don’t want to see this.”
She brushed past him, walked past the other one, came up to the front of the train, and halted dead in her tracks.
Her torso had embedded itself into the slats of the cowcatcher. Her chest had been mangled, her neck folded wrong, her head twisted sideways, one leg torn completely off, but it was still, unmistakably, undeniably…
“G-Granny?” Apple Bloom choked out, and then the bile came up.
Breakfast conversation was light in the Apple family’s kitchen, that morning.
Big Macintosh’s seat at the table was empty; he had already excused himself and gone out into the fields. No farmwork had gotten done the day before, he’d said, so he was getting a headstart on today’s double load.
Apple Bloom didn’t feel much like working. Neither, it seemed, did her sister. They sat across from each other at the table, Apple Bloom poking at her oatmeal.
It was Applejack who finally broke the silence.
“So, uh…” She swallowed. Her voice was rough. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m alright,” Apple Bloom mumbled.
“Now we both know that ain’t true,” Applejack said. “Not after that.”
Apple Bloom winced.
“You were real out of sorts yesterday, is all,” Applejack said. “We were worried about you.”
“Mm.”
“Not that I can blame you,” Applejack continued, leaning back in her chair. “Celestia knows I wouldn’t be much better if I was in your horseshoes.”
Apple Bloom sighed.
“I’m as alright as I think I can be right now,” she said.
“That’s not very alright, is it?”
Apple Bloom ran her spoon around her bowl again, her eyes tracing its path. “No, not really.”
In truth, Apple Bloom couldn’t remember much of what had transpired after she’d seen what she’d seen. Even at the time, following the shock, it had felt like her mind had been enveloped in a haze.
She’d had to walk back to the station, her and all the other passengers, she remembered that much. They’d been told the train wouldn’t be moved until the mess was cleaned up. Those had been the conductor’s words: ‘the mess’. She hadn’t wanted to stick around to watch them pick the pieces of the closest thing she’d ever had to a mother out of the train’s grinning maw. She remembered the motion, and how it had felt like someone else must have been moving her limbs for her, because she certainly hadn’t been up to the task. She remembered, with strange clarity, how all she could think about was how she’d left her bag on the train.
Then the haze had taken her completely, and when it had finally cleared again, she’d been lying in her bed in the middle of the night, listening to the muffled sounds of her siblings’ voices through the floor of her bedroom.
“Did you manage to get any sleep last night?” Applejack asked her.
“I don’t think so.” She certainly didn’t feel like it, and the shadows under her eyes seemed to agree.
“I know it’s hard right now,” Applejack said. “It’ll get better.”
“I know,” Apple Bloom said. She kept her gaze down.
Applejack sighed. “Look, I just… You’ve never had to deal with this sort of thing, but your brother and me, we’ve been through this before. And… it’s gonna be hard. No denyin’ that. It’s gonna be hard for us too.”
She reached across the table and placed her hoof over Applebloom’s. Applebloom looked up at her. Applejack’s smile was weak, but sincere.
“So if you need anything, or you want to talk, we’re here,” she said. “I promise.”
Apple Bloom smiled back.
After a few moments, Applejack released Apple Bloom’s hoof and returned to her side of the table. She stood up, her chair squeaking in protest as it rubbed against the floor.
“I’ve got to get to work in the orchard,” she said. “You don’t have to work if you don’t want to. Mac and I can handle it for today.”
Apple Bloom blinked. “You sure?”
“After what you went through yesterday?” Applejack said. “Sure I’m sure. You rest up. And if you need anything—”
“You and Big Mac’ll be around,” Apple Bloom finished for her. “I got it.”
The shadows under Applejack’s own eyes deepened as she smiled.
Then, she turned around and headed for the door.
Apple Bloom remained at the table. She glanced down at the bowl in front of her, then pushed it aside. She wasn’t hungry, and her oatmeal had cooled off a while ago. She propped her head on her hooves and let out a long breath.
The house seemed so quiet, all of a sudden.
Apple Bloom knew her sister had meant well by giving her the day off, but honestly she would have been grateful for the work. As it was, the walls of the farmhouse quickly became too suffocating to bear alone.
Unfortunately, she soon discovered she wouldn’t have to, because within half an hour of Applejack’s leaving, the first of the well-wishers began to appear at their doorstep. Following those first few ponies, there came a steady stream of knocks on the farmhouse’s door in rough ten-minute intervals. Most everyone in town had known Granny Smith (she’d been living in it for so long she’d practically become a part of the landscape), and so most of the town had their respects to pay. Many of them brought food, dinners and baked goods. Some of them she could swear she’d never seen before in her life.
Apple Bloom accepted their gifts and whatever words of encouragement or sympathy they had to offer, but she turned away anyone who asked to come inside. It didn’t feel right to her, somehow, to fill the hole in the building’s occupancy so soon after it had been opened.
It wasn’t until around noon, long past the point where the pies and little containers of lasagna had taken over their fridge, that Apple Bloom finally answered the door to the one pony she actually wanted to see.
“Hey, Sweetie,” she started to say, but she was cut off immediately by the smaller mare’s legs wrapping around her. After a moment, she returned the hug.
“I only just heard,” Sweetie mumbled. “I’m sorry.”
“S’ alright,” Apple Bloom said. “It don’t make no difference.”
After a few moments more, Sweetie drew out of the hug.
“Are you doing okay?” Sweetie asked her, quickly amending it with it with: “I know that’s a stupid question.”
“It’s fine,” Apple Bloom said. “I’m… I don’t know. I’m doing. You want to come in?”
“Can I?”
“Yeah, sure,” Apple Bloom said, stepping aside. She snorted. “Heck, help yourself to some lasagna. Celestia knows we aren’t gonna be able to eat it all.”
“So she was just… there?” Sweetie said, eyes wide, cheeks a little green, one hoof risen to cover her mouth. “On the tracks?”
Apple Bloom nodded.
“I can’t even imagine,” Sweetie said. “I, I mean, that’s… that’s just horrible!”
“Yeah,” Apple Bloom said, dryly. “It was.”
The two had taken refuge in Apple Bloom’s bedroom, on the second floor. They’d both taken to the bed, Apple Bloom sitting up against the headboard and Sweetie laying across the foot. Sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the room in all its sparseness. The suitcase still sat by the wall.
Sweetie swallowed. “How did…” she started to say, but seemed to think better of it and trailed off.
“How’d she get out there?” Apple Bloom finished for her.
Sweetie nodded.
“I’ve been wondering that myself.”
“You don’t know?” Sweetie bell asked, her eyes widening. Apple Bloom shook her head.
“No idea.” Her gaze drifted over to the door. “It doesn’t make much sense, does it?”
It didn’t. And the more Apple Bloom thought about how a mare who could barely make it out of bed on a good day could have walked several miles to land in the path of her train, the more impossible it seemed.
“Still doesn’t feel real,” she said, looking back at Sweetie.
“Like you’re dreaming?”
“No,” Apple Bloom said. “Not like that at all.”
Downstairs, someone began knocking on the front door. Apple Bloom made no motion to get up.
Sweetie raised an eyebrow. “You gonna get that?”
“No.”
The knocking continued. Apple Bloom shrugged. After a few more moments, Sweetie slid off the bed and headed for the door. It took a few minutes before she came back.
“That was the Cakes,” she said. “They brought a pie. I left it on the counter.”
“You should take it home with you,” Apple Bloom said. “We’ve got plenty.”
Sweetie ignored this and slid back onto the bed. They sat in silence for a little while.
“So, uh,” Sweetie began. She swallowed. “What are you going to do now?”
Apple Bloom raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Like, about…” Sweetie swirled her hoof around in the air, then sighed.
“What are you going to do about Fillydelphia?” she said.
Apple Bloom blinked.
“You’re really bringin’ that up now?”
“I was just wondering.”
“Well, nothin’s changed. Babs is still waitn’ for me, anyway. She can’t make rent on her own.”
“So you’re still going, then?”
“Yep.”
“…Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Sweetie lay a hoof on Apple Bloom’s leg. “Y’know, with you… like this… it might not be the best idea to—”
Apple Bloom brushed her off. “It’s okay.”
“Apple Bloom, it’s not okay. You’re not okay.”
“I know I’m not okay!” Apple Bloom snapped, raising her voice so suddenly that it made Sweetie jump. “How could I possibly be okay after something like that?”
Sweetie flinched. “I just meant—”
“But I ain’t gonna be any more okay if I stay here,” Apple Bloom said. “If anything, I’d be worse off. So yeah, I’m still goin’. Just as soon as the funeral’s over with.”
She laid her head back against the headboard and turned her gaze up at the ceiling. Her momentary frustration waned just as quickly as it had erupted.
“Why would you be worse off staying with us?”
Sweetie’s voice was low, and timid. Apple Bloom saw the look on her face and immediately regretted having said anything.
“Look, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, quieter now. “You know that.”
“I know,” Sweetie said, but the timidity hadn’t left her voice.
Apple Bloom let out a long breath. Then, she sat up.
“C’mere,” she said, holding her forelegs out. Sweetie accepted the embrace.
“It ain’t you,” Apple Bloom said. “I promise it ain’t you.”
Sweetie sniffled and said nothing.
Eventually, Sweetie pulled out of the embrace and wiped her eyes with a fetlock. She let out a weak chuckle.
“And here I thought I was supposed to be comforting you,” she said. “I’m not doing a very good job, am I?”
“Nah,” Apple Bloom said, smiling. “You’re doing great.”
“You’ll be back tomorrow, right?” Apple Bloom said, as Sweetie Belle stepped out of the house, the light of the sunset staining her white coat orange. “I dunno if I could keep going without you.”
“Of course,” Sweetie said, smiling. “That’s what friends are for, right?”
“Thanks, Sweetie Belle.”
“Anytime, Bloom.”
Sweetie turned towards the road, and Apple Bloom pulled the door closed.
Once more, silence ruled the Apple family farmhouse.
Floorboards creaked in familiar ways as Apple Bloom made her way back towards the stairs. As she passed the open doorway to the kitchen, she glanced inside. There was that pie Sweetie had told her about, sitting on the counter. Obviously, she hadn’t taken it with her.
She’d intended to return to her room, perhaps to take a quick rest before heading out to help Big Mac bring the farm tools in (she certainly didn’t feel like greeting any straggling well-wishers), but as she stepped onto the landing a curious expression overtook her features, and she found herself turning towards the other end of the hall.
And, in particular, the door to a certain now-vacant room.
She’d meant what she’d said, earlier. It didn’t make any sense. By Apple Bloom’s estimate, it had to have been at least a five-mile trek from the farm to that part of the tracks. Granny Smith could barely walk ten feet without her joints locking up, so unless she’d pulled a Twilight Sparkle and suddenly sprouted wings, there was no way she could have made it that far on hoof.
But if she hadn’t, then… how had she gotten out there?
What if the answer was behind that door?
Apple Bloom took a step towards it. She wasn’t sure who had closed it, but she could only assume it had been Applejack—respect for the dead, or something along those lines. Applejack had been in the kitchen, but she said she hadn’t seen any sign of her leaving, so she couldn’t have taken the front door—unless Applejack had been getting less observant in her own old age, but Apple Bloom didn’t buy that for a second. If she hadn’t taken the door, then how could she have gotten out? Her window?
But that would have taken her onto the roof. There was no way she could have gotten down from there on her own, even getting out the window would have been difficult for her.
Unless she hadn’t been—
Apple Bloom halted in her tracks.
No. She was being silly. Granny had somehow made it out of the house and committed suicide by train, those were the facts. It didn’t matter how, and it didn’t matter why. All that was important was that she was gone now, and that she wasn’t coming back.
She forced herself to turn around. The door remained closed behind her.
Besides, she thought, as she walked away. That sort of thing just doesn’t happen in Ponyville.
…
The mare in the dark opens her eyes. Or—she thinks she does. It makes no difference, anyway, not down here.
She groans. The sound echoes off of the smooth, solid walls of her prison. The room stinks of sweat and urine, but she’s long stopped noticing it anyway.
She rolls onto her back. She can feel her muscles protesting, feel her skin tightening around her ribcage. She reaches out a hoof, feels around until she finds what remains of the loaf of bread that had appeared at the door that morning. She takes a few bites, forces them down her parched throat. She has already finished the mug of water that had accompanied the meal. At least they will not let her starve.
The bells above ring once, twice, three times. Her prison fills with sound. She has not slept more than an hour since she got here; the bells will not let her. She wishes they could make her deaf, but no such luck. She must endure it.
Four, five, six times.
She screams, but she can’t hear it. No one can.
Seven, eight, nine…
Even as she screams, she smiles.
Ten. Eleven.
She smiles, because she knows she’s never getting out of here.
They held the funeral in the barn. It’d seemed appropriate.
Apple Bloom stood off to the side and watched as ponies approached the casket to pay their respects. Big Macintosh had made the casket himself, from one of their trees in the west field. It was tradition.
Its lid remained firmly shut. They’d placed a picture of Granny Smith on top of it, from when she’d been much younger. Better than the withered thing that had occupied her bed, Apple Bloom supposed, but it still felt wrong, somehow, to mourn the image of a pony she barely even recognized.
But, well, anything was better than the alternative. The image of the body on the cow-catcher forced its way past her mind’s eye. She forced it back down again, along with the bile. She’d been getting good at that.
Big Macintosh stood to her right, Applejack to her left, close enough that Apple Bloom could feel the warmth off her body. Every so often, a group of ponies would break off to give them their condolences. Apple Bloom would nod her head and grunt along, but she’d stopped actually listening to their words after the third time or so. They’d all started to sound the same, anyway.
Now, standing here, Apple Bloom could feel some of the numbness of a few days ago returning. Eventually, after the line of mourners had thinned, Applejack nudged her in the ribs.
“C’mon,” she said, nodding towards the coffin. “Let’s get this done.”
Apple Bloom had never been to an earth pony funeral—not one she could remember, anyway—but she knew what came next. And they certainly weren’t going to bury Granny in the barn.
“Alright, everypony,” Applejack said, stepping forward. “Thanks for comin’ out today, all of you. Feels like we’ve got half the town in here. Granny would’ve liked that.”
A murmur of almost-laughter passed through the crowd.
Applejack swallowed. “We’re… We’re gonna be taking her out to the cemetery, now. Any of y’all who want to see her off, jus’ follow along behind.”
The crowd cleared a path for them through the middle of the barn. Wooden slats were slid underneath the coffin, and slowly, gently, Apple-Bloom and the other coffin-bearers slid under them. Together, they lifted the box into the air on their backs, her and her siblings and Caramel, who had volunteered to be their fourth.
“Alright,” said Big Mac, from the front. “Steady.”
Their first steps with the load were slow, uncomfortable, but the box remained in the air, and quickly they got the hang of it. Slowly and steadily they walked, ponies bowing their heads they passed.
The light nearly blinded her as they stepped out through the barn’s doors. That was wrong, too, she thought. It was supposed to rain at funerals, wasn’t it? Instead, the dry spell had continued, and the midsummer sun was just as strong as ever.
Onwards they marched. Apple Bloom could hear ponies falling into step behind them, but she couldn’t turn to look, not without fear of jogging the load on her shoulders. She was on the back left corner of the box; Applejack had taken the position in front of her, and she kept her eyes fixed on her elder sister’s braid. She felt the weight on her back shift, just slightly, so she adjusted her position to account for it.
They marched across the dirt yard, took the path that lead to the east orchard. The sun was high; her shadow and that of the box intermingled under her hooves.
The weight shifted again. Wood creaked. A foul, musty smell passed Apple Bloom’s nostrils.
“Are you okay?” Applejack whispered.
Apple Bloom swallowed.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m fine.”
Thunk went the box as it hit the bottom of the grave. The ropes it had been lowered on slid easily out from under it, leaving it alone in the hole. From up here, looking down, it seemed so small.
The crowd, assembled behind them, didn’t make a sound.
Applejack stepped forwards. She pulled her hat off her head and held it against her chest.
“Granny Smith,” she said, “Was a tough old hoot.”
More almost-laughter.
“Now, I don’t rightly know how old she was,” Applejack continued. “Never thought to ask. Never needed to ask. She always said she was around for the town’s foundin’. Dunno if that’s true or not—I was always a mite suspicious of that story, myself—but if she was, then I think most of us were expectin’ her to still be kickin’ when it died, too. She was stubborn like that.”
She paused, took a breath.
“Well, now she’s gone—but the town’s still here. An’ I reckon it feels like a part of it’s gone, now, too.”
“But to me, an’ to my brother an’ my sister, she was more than just another piece of Ponyville’s history. Some of you might remember the last time we had a burial, out here in the east orchard. I certainly do.”
She gestured off to the side, to a pair of headstones so close together that they were almost touching.
“I was standin’ right there, with my brother, an’ little Apple Bloom in my hooves—an’ we were alone. All alone. More alone than we’d ever felt in our lives.”
“And Granny—” a tremble crept into her voice “—Granny took one look at us, an’ she wrapped her hooves around us, and she told us, ‘It’s gonna be hard, you three, an’ this time I can’t make it all better. But you just hold on to me, an’ we’ll be alright. We’ll be alright.’”
She sniffed, swallowed, but came up smiling.
“’Cause that’s just the kind of mare ol’ Granny was,” she said. “Strong an’ dependable, even as she got older. Like a rock in a river.”
“To some of us, she was family. To others, she was a friend. To some of you, she might have just been that crazy old mare who lived on the apple farm. But even still, I think every pony standin’ here understands just how much we’ve all lost.”
Nodding, in the crowd.
Applejack let out a long sigh. “So… I guess what I’ve been tryin’ to say this whole time is… Goodbye, Granny. We ain’t gonna forget you, an’ I don’t think anyone in this town could if they tried.”
She turned to the side, where Apple Bloom and her brother were standing.
“Apple Bloom? Big Mac? D’ either of you want to say a few words?”
Big Mac shook his head. Apple Bloom bit her lip.
“I… I have somethin’ I’d like to say, yeah.”
Applejack stepped back from the grave and gestured Apple Bloom forwards.
She took a deep breath. Closed her eyes. Let it out. Opened them.
“I… never really knew my parents,” Apple Bloom said. “I was too young when they… when they passed. Applejack told that story about what happened at their funeral, but the truth is, I don’t remember that either.”
She swallowed.
“What I do remember is Granny Smith. She looked after us after… after mom and dad passed, but she pretty much raised me. And… heh…” She half-smiled. “I can’t say I was the easiest kid to raise, neither.”
Some of the ponies in the crowd nodded at that, too.
“But she did,” Apple Bloom continued. “An’ I might be biased, but I think she did a good enough job of it. So… thanks, Granny. Thanks for lookin’ out for me. You have no idea how much I’m gonna miss you.”
The words weren’t enough—but they’d have to do. She glanced back at Applejack. Applejack nodded.
Saying nothing, betraying nothing, Apple Bloom picked up the shovel and threw the first of the dirt back into the grave.
“If you need anything—and I mean anything,” Mrs. Cake said, “just come calling.”
“We will,” Applejack said. “But don’t worry about us. We can take care of ourselves.”
While Applejack and Big Macintosh had stayed to deal with the well-wishers, Apple Bloom had excused herself. There was an old apple tree off to the side of the cemetery, the only one that hadn’t been cleared from the field years ago. It was too old to bear fruit, and had grown wide and gnarled, but it provided her shade and a view of the tombstones that littered the place. Every Ponyville Apple who had ever worked the orchards had a stone here. Granny’s was just the newest.
Here lies Granny Smith
Mother, grandmother, and caretaker of this land for three generations
May she rest in peace.
Apple Bloom let out a long breath through her nostrils. The light flickered and danced through the canopy overhead. The rough bark pressed into her back. She didn’t mind.
A set of hoofsteps approached her. They stopped to her right.
“Hey,” Sweetie Belle said.
“Hey.”
Silence for a few moments.
“You doing okay?”
“I’m fine,” Apple Bloom mumbled.
“Well, I’m melting,” Sweetie Belle said, wiping her brow. “I thought it was supposed to rain at funerals?”
Apple Bloom snorted. “Prissy pony.”
Sweetie smiled. “Now there’s the Apple Bloom I know.”
The sun-baked wood of the train platform creaked and squealed under her hooves. Insects chirped and cried in the grass of the field across the tracks. The station clock, hanging large over the single ticket booth, tick-tick-ticked away.
This was the first time the station had ever been deserted enough for Apple Bloom to hear any of it.
She shadowed her eyes with a hoof, squinted. No one in sight. No train, either.
“Hello?” she tentatively called out. No reply.
She started forward again. Her hoofsteps echoed in the hollow space beneath the platform.
Rat-tat-tat went her hoof on the glass of the ticket booth. “Hey, anypony in there?”
She didn’t expect a response, and she didn’t get one; she could see that the little hut was empty, the angled sun casting light and long shadows through the window. It was morning, around eight. The station was meant to open at seven.
She knocked on the window again.
“Anypony?”
Still nothing.
She sighed, clamped her eyes shut, and rubbed the bridge of her muzzle.
“Alright,” she said to herself, hoof dropping back to the platform floor. “Guess not.”
She turned to go, fully intending to march straight to town hall so find out just what exactly was going on.
She didn’t take two hoofsteps before a sound behind her nearly made her jump out of her coat. It wasn’t a pleasant sound, a meaty thwack followed by a brittle crunch, and—
The whistle of the train and the screech of the brakes and—
she turned around to find that a bird had flown into the station clock and plummeted to the platform floor.
Swallowing, her heart racing—had a little bird really startled her that much?—she held her breath, waiting a few moments to see if the bird would get up, but it remained deathly still.
She glanced up. The face of the clock had split down the middle.
It had read eight o’clock when she’d arrived, she’d have sworn it.
But the hands had stopped at noon.
“Apple Bloom,” the mayor said, sitting behind her desk. “It’s good to see you. What can I help you with?”
Ivory Scroll had held office as long as she—or anyone else in town—could remember. She looked very different now, of course, compared to how she had when they’d both been younger. More lines in her face, more patches in her coat, and (Apple Bloom was fairly sure) the grey mane was entirely natural, now.
Still, she was as cordial a politician as she always was. For whatever such a thing was worth.
Apple Bloom shut the thick oak door to the mayor’s office behind her. Her eyes ran over the details of the mayor’s office, the filing cabinets, the photographs on the wall, the window behind her desk that overlooked most of Ponyville, with the clocktower in the distance—she’d seen it all before. The place stank of paper and bureaucracy, just as it always had.
Apple Bloom didn’t like the inside of Town Hall much. In her experience, it just wasn’t a place you ever visited on good terms.
“Thanks for seein’ me,” she said. Ivory gestured towards a seat on the other side of the desk, but she remained standing.
“I’ll get right to the point,” Apple Bloom said. “I was just down at the train station.”
“Oh.”
The pleasant expression on Ivory’s face faltered.
“I see.”
But Apple Bloom held up a hoof. “No, it ain’t about that. I just want to know when the trains are going to be up and runnin’ again.”
“Oh.” Her expression shifted to a more apologetic one. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t say.”
Apple Bloom’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“We’re waiting on an investigation by the Equestrian Train and Rail Board,” she explained. “It’s standard procedure in cases like this. We can’t reopen the train station until we get their approval. I’m afraid it’s entirely out of our hands.”
“Funny,” Apple Bloom said. “I didn’t see much investigatin’ going on when I was down there.”
Ivory gave a half-smile. “Well, you know how those Canterlot bureaucrats like to drag their feet when it comes to the smaller towns like ours. I’m afraid we’ll just have to be patient.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. We’ve never had anything like this happen before.”
Apple Bloom squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and let out a breath. She was beginning to get a headache—she could feel it building behind her temples.
“I’m very sorry, Apple Bloom,” Ivory said, as she opened her eyes. “If there was anything I could do, I wouldn’t hesitate to, you know that. But as it is my hooves are tied.”
“S’alright,” Apple Bloom said, after a moment. “Let me know if you hear anything.”
“Of course. You’ll be the first to know.”
“I appreciate it.” She gave a crooked smile. “Me and the other half of the town who’ve come askin’, right?”
“On the contrary,” the mayor said, giving a smile of her own. “You’re the first to complain.”
Apple Bloom’s brow furrowed at that.
“Now, is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Nope,” she said. “That was it. Thanks for the information.”
“It’s what I’m here for,” Ivory said. “And, for what it’s worth, Apple Bloom… you have my deepest condolences. We really are doing everything we can to make sure this never happens again.”
Apple Bloom just nodded.
A minute later, and Apple Bloom stepped out into the sunlight. She squinted, raising a hoof against the glare. The sudden shift from the soft light of Town Hall to the bright, glaring sunlight stung her eyes—and it did little to help with the growing pain in her skull.
After a few moments, though, she adjusted well enough to get on her way. Back to the farm, now, she supposed; time to help with the chores.
It wasn’t as though she was going anywhere soon, after all. Not by train, at least.
The streets of Ponyville were crowded today—for as crowded as Ponyville ever was, anyway. It seemed the heat had not been enough to deter those looking to take advantage of the otherwise nice weather.
She stepped out from under the overhang of the town hall and set off, heading east. She said hello to the ponies she knew as she passed them, of course, but she wasn’t paying much attention, particularly with the headache.
That is, until the ice cream stand.
Perhaps it was the novelty of it. It was a cart sort of a thing, with big wheels and traces at the front so it could be moved easily, and it was painted in stripes of white and bright red. A canopy hung over the top, patterned in the same, and a sign stood next to it reading “Ice Cream, 3 Bits”. It was the sort of thing you might find at a carnival. Goodness knew where they’d rolled it out from.
Perhaps it was the age of the pony managing it. They looked to be no more than thirteen or fourteen, just a filly, with a freckled face and a ponytail. She had to be standing on a stool just to reach the counter.
Or perhaps it was just the crowd of ponies in an un-orderly line coming out from the front of it.
Whatever the reason, something about the stand caught Apple Bloom’s attention, and she found herself lingering on it for a moment, watching as the too-young stall-worker dipped her scoop into a tub of vanilla and reached for a cone.
It was just an odd feeling, at first; a general sense that something wasn’t right, in the pit of her stomach. She frowned, and looked closer. Something was off, she was sure of it, she just couldn’t quite…
She moved closer, circling around to the side to get a better view, all the while asking herself what she was doing but doing it nonetheless. There was something about the filly… no, not just the filly, her customer, as well, and the others in line. Something about the way they were moving…
No, not the way they were moving, she realized. The way they weren’t.
The ponies standing in the line were as still as statues. They didn’t shift their weight. They didn’t change their expression.
The filly at working the stand was moving, but her motions were… stiff. Wooden. Her hooves moved, going about their tasks, but not her torso, her head, or anything else. Her eyes stared blankly forwards at her customer, and her smile never wavered. She passed a cone to the unicorn at the front; he marched away, limbs moving in perfect coordination. The other customers took a single step forwards in unison.
It wasn’t just them. Apple Bloom looked around, and the same was true of all the ponies in the square. Here, a group of teens. There, a mother and her two daughters. They moved like figurines, like dolls, joints bending and limbs moving but with no life behind them, nothing organic to their motion. All too clean. All too precise. All too guided.
Her head throbbed, but she just stared.
A sharp pain ran through her skull, then, and she clamped her eyes shut, grimacing. When she opened them again, she looked at the stand, but whatever spell had overtaken them seemed to have been broken. The customer at the front smiled and handed the filly his three bits, and trotted past her, ice cream cone in tow.
Apple Bloom blinked again, and shook her head. But no; the ponies remained normal. Muscles relaxing, she let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.
“Miss? Are you okay?”
She started, whipping her head around a little too fast to her left side, sending another jolt through her skull. Wincing, she then froze when she saw who had spoken.
It was the little filly from behind the ice cream stand. She looked back at the cart, but now it was a stallion manning the thing, with a paper hat on his head. He greeted the next customer with a smile.
Apple Bloom looked back down at the filly, who was looking up at her with concern in her eyes, and a hint of nervous fear.
“I’m…”
She swallowed, put on a smile.
“I’m fine.”
The sun was beginning its descent by the time Apple Bloom stumbled back through the gates to Sweet Apple Acres. Her headache was in full force, now, pounding behind her ears.
Rubbing her temple, she hobbled on three legs up to the door of the farmhouse. Up the stairs; she needed to get to her room, needed to rest and let things run their course. Let what she’d seen—what she’d thought she’d seen—fade to the back of her mind, where such things belonged. She stepped up onto the landing, happened to glance to the right—
The door at the end of the hall was open.
She blinked. That was Granny’s room.
Frowning, she steadied herself and made her way down the hallway. The pain in her skull seemed to retreat as curiosity took its place.
The door wasn’t fully open, as it turned out, just ajar; it swung inwards slowly and silently under her hoof.
Something seemed to draw her forwards, into the room. There was an incredible stillness about the place. Stepping through the door felt like stepping onto sacred ground; like entering a church.
Like entering a graveyard.
She almost felt she should hold her breath.
The room was the same as it had been the last time she’d been in here—gosh, had that really been a week ago? It felt like forever, now. The only difference to how it had been then was the bed, which was, of course, now empty.
For a reason she’d never have admitted to, Apple Bloom let out a sigh of relief at that.
That wasn’t the only thing that had changed, though, now that she looked more closely. The bed was sitting crooked, the foot a few inches further away from the wall than the head.
Perhaps it was the impossibility of her earlier experience that led her to circle around the foot of the bed and peer into that shadowed gap. Perhaps not.
But there it was. Carved into the wooden frame of the bed, deep, unsteady gouges from a blunt instrument. Cut into the wood facing the wall with barely enough room to fit her hoof in, where no one would ever see it normally.
