> The Outlaw, The Star and the Big, Big Sky
>  by TotalOverflow
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Prologue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Outlaw, The Star and the Big, Big Sky


By TotalOverflow, 2012


        Prologue


        A large, cloven hoof rustled in the inky darkness.  

        Rising from its resting place, the figure pushed aside the curtains of its lavish tent to step out into the cool night.  With heavy hoof-falls, the hulking, grey form made its way through the encampments, breathing in the smell of the mountains under the starry sky.  Torches here and there crackled, lighting the rocky cliff sides.  Moving in a way that betrayed a lifetime of mountain dwelling, the creature clambered over the hills, its lumbering form crushing unfortunate pebbles under its hardened hooves.  Large, spiraling horns glinted in the moonlight, between which glimmered a set of cold, determined eyes.

        “Greetings, Lord Spire,” a raspy voice echoed from behind the rocks, “Aries Parath.”  An oddly shaped boulder contorted and changed in color, shifting into a thin and gleaming white creature.  It deftly hopped down the side of the mountain toward the other, lowering its head in a bow; long, curled horns on the sides of its head nearly touched the ground.

        The first returned the greeting.  “Aries Parath.”

        “Come tomorrow’s eve we shall be ready,” said the second as the pair marched between the clefts of rock.  The first nodded his horned head, his matted beard swaying slightly.  

        “As we should be,” he said, “I will not have a repeat of last year.”

        “I can assure you, we won’t.”

        “Hmm,” snorted the first, “don’t disappoint me, Thorn.  Your head would make a fine trophy should you do so.”

        “Yes, well, I suppose I shall take my leave of you then, Lord Spire,” grinned the white one, “best to ensure the preparations are complete so you won’t have to make good on that threat.”

        “Don’t humor me,” grumbled the elder, shaking his horns.  

        “Your lordship.”  Thorn smirked, gave another bow and with a brief flash of his horns, vanished.  Lord Spire grunted and resumed his journey.

        Small cascades of pebbles ran down the cliffs with each step the large ram took, short tremors rumbling beneath his massive hooves.  Coming into view around the rocky hills was a large tent, its entrance flanked by tall torches and a pair of guards adorned in silvery armor, helmets hiding their faces and accentuating their horns. 

        “Aries Parath!” they said in unison, pointing their hidden snouts to the sky, “hail, Lord Spire!”

        “Aries Parath,” replied the bighorn as he pushed aside the drapes, stepping inside the poorly lit and dank tent.  A creature stirred in the darkness, its movements clinking the chains fastened around its hooves.  Lord Spire leaned over to a weakly sputtering torch.  His long, spiraled horns shone for a moment and the fire surged, illuminating the tent and fully revealing the chained creature.  

        A deer, legs bound in shackles.  Her hooves were sore and bloody, her horns dripped with a thick, black substance that ran down the lines of her slender face.

        “Good evening,” Lord Spire said, his lips curling into a twisted smile, “please forgive the chains, but we were afraid you’d leave us.”

        “What is it you want?” growled the deer.

        “To talk.  Guard!” called the ram.

        “Sir!”  The soldier poked his head inside.

        “Bring us something to eat.  I’m sure our guest is hungry.”

        “Sir!” the bighorn disappeared and barked orders at his subordinates.

        “You fools,” said the deer, shaking the black liquid from her nose, “you truly do not understand what you are about to do.”

        “Oh, no, I think we most certainly do,” breathed Lord Spire, “surely you can see that ours is a noble cause?  Our forefathers have been working toward this for generations.  Ever since those wretched Sisters destroyed the honor of Ovisica.”

        “Spare me your sentiments!” the doe hissed.

        “Ah, here, have some fruit,” said Lord Spire, hoofing the recently arrived bowl toward the deer, “again, forgive us for keeping you this way.  And please, forgive the meager assortment of fruits available to us in these mountains.”

        “You fools are about to make a terrible mistake,” she said, kicking the bowl aside, “your eyes are blinded.”

        “I would say the same for you.  Unlike you forest dwellers, we have faith.  He will not lead us astray.”

        The deer held her piercing gaze upon him, silent.

        The ram sighed, long and painfully.  “A forest.  A sight I’ve only once ever laid my eyes upon.  Can you imagine what our lives have been like, knowing nothing but these rocks our entire lives?  No, of course you can’t.  You’ve lived sheltered beneath those trees all your life, food enough for all with no fear of death breathing over your shoulder.  Being forced to hide in the shadows of these accursed mountains...after countless generations the pieces have at least been set.  And you hold the final key.”

        “I’llitchqa!” spat the deer, the oily ooze pooling beneath her dark eyes.

        “The ancient tongue must not be so carelessly spoken,” whispered Lord Spire, “you are in no position to judge our actions.  Now...” he stepped closer, lifting the deer’s chin in his hoof, who contorted her face in disgust.  “Will you help us willingly or not?  Either way, you will help us.”

        The deer narrowed her eyes in response, squinting through the black liquid.

        “The ceremony begins tomorrow evening.  You have until then to decide,” said the ram, lowering his hoof and stepping toward the exit, “the longest day of the year comes in but a few weeks, and then our conquest will at last begin anew under His leadership.  And...” he gave a light bray, “you shall be the one to free Him.”

        The deer shook in her shackles.

        Lord Spire pushed aside the tent’s curtains.

        “Until tomorrow, then.  Aries Parath.”





This story is incomplete, and I need your help to finish it.  Please comment and leave feedback on this chapter.  Let me know what you think and any way this story can be improved.
Thank you.

> Chapter 1
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Outlaw, The Star and the Big, Big Sky


By TotalOverflow, 2012


        Chapter 1


        It had taken longer than anyone had wished, a month or two at least, until the clock tower was finally rebuilt and restored to its former glory.  It wasn’t that nopony cared about the tall keeper of time, far from it: before it had fallen in the battle it had become a sort of symbol for the small town, a reference point for any wagon trains to spot on the horizon and know they were still on the right path for the settlement of Appleloosa.  Unfortunately, life, as it so often does, came in the way and repairs on the clock tower were pushed further and further back until the townsfolk had nearly become accustomed to the cracked, splintery mess above town hall.  The well-being of ponies was the town’s top priority, and with the number of homes to repair, apple trees to buck and personal businesses to run, everypony just sort of lost track of the unrelenting passage of time.

        “Ironic,” he chuckled to himself.  

        He had missed the sight of the clock tower.  He anointed himself head of the restoration project, constantly pestering Sheriff Silverstar to rebuild the thing.  The sheriff finally agreed, and with some volunteering from the buffalo (who claimed they needed to make up for the awful mess they caused) the tower stood tall once again, proudly and loudly proclaiming the passage of every hour with its bronze bells.  He watched as the minute hand ticked its final tick, and listened with a smile on his face as the tolls rang throughout the town.  He chuckled as few ponies jumped at the sudden noise.  There had been a movement to restore only the clock face and stash away the bells, as many had grown used to and even enjoyed the silence.  He couldn’t agree with them, though.  The town just didn’t feel right without those bright and happy chimes.

        “Braeburn!”

        His golden mane swirling in the air, he turned to face the voice, tipping his hat at the approaching stallion.

        “Sheriff,” said Braeburn, his bright and friendly green eyes glowing beneath his Stetson.  The sheriff was grinning ear-to-ear, although most wouldn’t know it from the massive mustache hiding half his face.

        “You finally got yer wish, huh?” he chuckled, “I gotta admit, the town just wasn’t the same without it.”

        “It sure weren’t.  It was too quiet.”

        “Well it ain’t gonna be fer much longer,” Silverstar said, pulling on his red neckerchief, “tomorrow night’ll be quite the night.  Speakin’ of, the orchards could sure use yer help fer the harvestin’.  I’ve invited Chief Thunderhooves out fer the celebration, so we’ll need ta make plenty o’ extra apple pies,” he added with a chuckle.

        “I didn’t know the buffalo celebrated the Summer Sun Celebration,” puzzled Braeburn.

        “I didn’t know they did either, but apparently them buffalo are pretty big into that sort o’ thing,” said the sheriff, eyeing the cherry-colored clock tower, “Chief Thunderhooves said he’s holding his own celebration as well, but that he’d pay ours a visit.”

        Braeburn nodded his understanding and watched the clock tower tick away for a second or two before bidding the sheriff ‘goodbye,’ then trotted toward the edge of town and its apple orchard.  Silverstar was one Braeburn’s closest friends, being one of the first to arrive into the fledgling town.  At the time he was no more than a wandering cowpony with a strong sense of justice, borderline unnatural accuracy with a revolver and no place to call his home.  The mustache grew in later.  

        Just as he was about to round a corner, Braeburn stopped and looked out into the desert, past the small train station.  Far off into the distance the panoramic view of rocky hills and plains distorted with the heat.  He chewed his lip.  Several months ago, back when the town was little more than a railroad and a pile of timber and Silverstar had recently arrived, somepony had noticed something out in that direction.  A small, black dot, rapidly approaching the new town.  It wasn’t until it came closer that its snarls and shrieks could be heard, but by then it had spotted its equine targets, shaking its frothing head and charging with freakish speed.  

        Few things were more frightening than a rabid coyote.  

        Some ponies scattered while others were glued to the spot in fear as the snarling, gnashing beast bore down upon them.  Just as it leapt the train tracks a deafening explosion rang across the desert.  The coyote fell to the ground, dead.  Shot through the neck.  All eyes were turned to the smoking revolver on Silverstar’s hoof.  Shortly after he was chosen as sheriff for the new town, and ponies slept well at night knowing they were protected by such a skilled sharpshooter.

        It was the first time most of the ponies in town at the time had ever even seen a gun.  The devices were so rare and poorly regarded in today’s time that they had probably hoped to never see one.  It was unfortunate, really, what the invention of the firearm inadvertently brought with it.  Braeburn didn’t know the whole story of what led to its creation, but he knew that many ponies living in the deserts outside Equestria used the devices as a means of self defense.  And that’s all they were for a time: devices, designed to protect one’s family from rattlesnakes, scorpions and the occasional chupacabra.  But at some point a squall broke out between a pair of families, and one drew his revolver upon the other.  

        The first murder by gun.

        From there, outlaws and bandits grew in number, realizing the potential for plundering these new weapons could offer.  Firearms were immediately banned within Equestria, and production halted at once.  Any remaining guns had become relics of a bygone age, kept only by outlaws or those trusted enough to use them in the most dire of circumstances.

        “Hey there, Vinny!” Braeburn smiled as he passed his friend, a pale, cream-coated stallion with an icy blue mane leaning against a doorpost.  He had a bunch of grapes for a cutie mark, and his talent wasn’t too hard to guess at.

        “Hey!” he called back, tipping his ten-gallon hat he wore to better blend in with the town.  A valiant effort, but a city slicker was easy to spot out here in the desert: they never ventured far from the shade.

        “Lookin’ forward ta t’morrow night?” asked Braeburn, slowing his pace a little as he trotted by.

        “You know it,” chuckled Vinny, pulling his hat down over his eyes, “got my harvest all set and ready for the party, but don’t feel too bad; I’m sure everypony will still try one or two of your apples.”

        “You’ll be eatin’ them words come tomorrow night,” guffawed the yellow stallion as he turned a corner, “and you need to work on losin’ that city slicker accent!”

        “Keep walking,” Vinny shouted after him.  

        Smiling and waving to passing ponies, Braeburn approached the edge of town, marveling at just how grand the little frontier town was becoming.  With all the hard work put in by everypony, Appleloosa was built within a year, and then even more ponies rolled in: ponies searching for work or adventure, families looking for a better home, and tired souls yearning for a second chance at life.

        The air around him was suddenly filled with the delicious smell of the bakery.  Out in front of the shop stood two ponies Braeburn knew: a blue-grey stallion and his new fiancé, a light green mare wearing her bonnet.  Braeburn let loose a wide grin as he approached the pair.

        “Slate!  Minty!” he beamed, “just heard the good news!  Congratulations!”

        The two smiled and leaned into each other.  “Thanks Braeburn,” chuckled Slate, “Ah’m a lucky stallion.  Minty’s too good fer me.”

        “She sure is,” whinnied Braeburn, winking to the mare, “it’s not too late ta change your mind!”

        “The stars would hafta fall to earth b’fore Ah’d do that!” she smiled her loving smile and gave Slate’s neck a nuzzle, “I was waitin’ day in an’ out fer Slate ta finally work up the nerve ta ask.”

        “Asked her up on Luna’s Loft, too,” blushed Slate, his cheeks turning pink, “got a great view o’ the valley from up there.”

        “He made you trot all the way past the orchard an’ up Luna’s Loft?” Braeburn gasped dramatically, “shame on you, Slate!  Tain’t no way ta treat a lady!  You’d better learn some manners b’fore the weddin’!”  

        Slate was about to defend himself when a filly with a curly red mane poked her head out the bakery door.

        “Cousin Braeburn!” she called.

        “Applebumpkin!” he tipped his hat to his baker cousin.

        “You’d best hurry to the orchard!  Marmalade’s goin’ ta be furious if she catches you slackin’ off!”

        “Yeah, guess you’re right,” sighed Braeburn, resuming his journey to the orchard, “I’ll see y’all later!”  The others waved goodbye behind him.

        “Lucky colt,” Braeburn muttered to himself, the smile still plastered on his face, “good fer Slate.”  That blue pony was a completely different person the day he stumbled across the town.  The poor colt was beaten, bruised, and even a little malnourished.  He spent days hiding out of sight in the alleys of Appleloosa, stealing food, money and apple pies from window-sills wherever he could.  When he was finally caught, he was backed against the clocktower, his mane slick with sweat and his eyes filled with fear as he clutched his knife, swinging it wildly at the growing crowd.  Silverstar approached him and spoke gently to him.  Braeburn couldn’t hear what the sheriff said, but the blue stallion quickly broke down into tears.  Sheriff Silverstar had compassion on Slate, and offered him the chance to start again.  He wouldn’t even have to serve any jail time.

        That was neither the first nor the last time such an act of mercy happened in this town.  Silverstar, his own past shrouded in mystery, could see past outward appearances and find the goodness within the wandering desperadoes that found the town, repentant of the lives they’d lived and fearful of the futures that loomed before them.  The sheriff offered them solace and protection, if they would leave their dark pasts behind and put their all into building a safe, reliable home for others, to which they were more than happy to oblige, voluntarily relinquishing any weapons they may have possessed.  Some of the stallions that had stumbled across the town were so ragged and beaten, backs burdened with a thousand unspeakable crimes that Braeburn had actually feared for his life on more than one occasion, but like Slate, you’d never know it from their appearance now.  Hard work and the love of others had taken those wretched lives and turned them around into upstanding citizens.  Braeburn could empathize with those ponies; after all, there were things in his past that he’d rather forget about too.

        And so, everypony worked hard, creating a town just as safe and friendly as that little slice of heaven, Ponyville.  The jail they’d built had never been used, and Sheriff Silverstar had only twice needed to use his revolver since the founding of the town.  In fact, his revolver was probably the last firearm in town.

        Well...second last.

        “There ya are, Braeburn!”  

        The sudden shout came from a pony Braeburn knew all too well, his twin sister Marmalade, who currently, as she has often in the past, was standing atop a stack of equines in an attempt to oversee the harvest and pluck a few apples at the same time.  “‘Bout time you showed up!  Now hustle on down here an’ git buckin’!”

        “Hello to you too, sis,” replied Braeburn, hopping down the small hill toward the tree line.  The orchard was filled with busy ponies, bucking the fruits from their leafy homes and hauling them away.  “How’s the harvest?”

        “Just fine, no thanks to you,” she scowled, her purple, perpetually perturbed eyes glaring down her yellow snout.  Save those sarcastic eyes, the younger sibling’s likeness was uncanny: same golden coat, same peachy mane (hers presently done up in a pair of pigtails); the only thing separating them besides their cutie marks was their near polar opposite personalities.  “Now come on!  We’ve got ta get this finished b’fore the celebration!”

        “Calm down, Marmalade!” laughed the stallion, straightening his leather vest, “there’s still a day yet ‘til the celebration!  We’ve got plenty of time.”  Braeburn tipped his hat to the two colts forming Marmalade’s tower (who gave him a pleading ‘help us’ look) and made his way to the nearest tree, then gave it a swift buck, knocking the fruits from its branches and into the baskets around its base.  The mid-afternoon sun cast short shadows between the trees and glittered upon the hills and plateaus in the desert’s distance.

        Marmalade Jalapeno Popette Apple, as was her full name (but don’t ever call her by it), was his only sister, and the only member of his immediate family to stay behind in Appleloosa.  Marmalade took over supervision duties for the orchard, and while Braeburn still helped out with the apple trees, he found himself working closely with Sheriff Silverstar on a daily basis, micromanaging the town and its economy, which he enjoyed.  He liked taking care of the apple trees too, but...well, when you’re the only one out there it can get terribly lonely.

        After the town was running on its own, a fair amount of Braeburn’s extended family had stayed behind, continuing their work in the town.  Only a dozen or so members of the Apple Family lived in the town right now, but the Apple Family itself was incredibly large.  Cousins, uncles, aunts; there were so many that the family often lost track of just how they were all related to each other, which made things awfully confusing during the Apple Family Reunions.

        With satisfying ‘thunks’ apples fell into Braeburn’s basket.  He hummed a little, picking up the basket and trotting through the trees.  The sun’s heat was abated by a light breeze and the shade of the fluttering green leaves, the canopy casting a shining light show upon the dusty ground.  Although not really an ideal location for planting trees (but really, no place in a desert is), it was the best place around to do it, being the only suitable flatland for miles near any sort of river.  Irrigation channels had been built throughout the acreage, and Marmalade would revel in any opportunity she got to tell off a pony for drinking from it.  Still humming his tuneless song Braeburn stepped between the trees toward a large cart, proceeding to unload his basket’s contents therein.  Doing the same thing was a light blue filly, a massively pink hat upon her head.

        “Hey there,” smiled Braeburn, “ain’t seen you ‘round the apple orchard before.  Name’s Braeburn!”

        “Linky,” the mare nodded, “Ah’m jes’ helpin’ out fer the celebration.  Had a day off from work so Ah figured Ah’d lend a hoof.”

        “Well we sure do ‘preciate the help,” chuckled Braeburn, turning to gaze at the small forest, “got a fair ‘mount of work to do yet, but we’ll get ‘er done, no problem.”  

        “That’s fer sure,” sighed the filly, propping her basket onto her back and trotting off, “better git back ta it.”

        “Y’know, them apples are the finest around.  I bet they’re even sweeter’n my relative’s out in Ponyville.  Heh, this one time, me an’ Big Mac-” Braeburn suddenly felt rather silly, having just discovered he was talking to thin air as he looked back.  He sighed, scooped up his empty basket and returned to his work.  “Nevermind, tain’t a good story anyway.”





        The work in the orchard went by, the dry heat of the desert lessened by the small channels of water that intertwined the trees.  After an hour or two of solid work (with the occasional ‘hooch under the tree’ break) the apples were hauled away to the bakery, where they would be transformed into delectables for the following day.  Braeburn ambled back into town with the others, striking up short conversations with whoever he found himself walking beside.  

        “Howdy partner!” Braeburn fell into step with a grey stallion, “Cinder, right?  You were in line fer the promotion at the quarry t’day!”

        “Fell through,” he grumbled, “went ta some kid.”

        “Darn shame,” sighed Braeburn, “I’m sure you’ll get the next one.”

        “Better.  I put a lot o’ hard work into that pit o’ rocks, even with them quakes goin’ on.”

        “Oh, are they still happenin’?  I’da thought they’d be finished by now.”

        “Yeah, couple weeks now, but none too strong, so nopony’s been hurt.  Some of them other yeller-bellies up an’ run whenever a quake starts though, but not me.  Least I deserve is some recognition.”

        “Hey now, that quarry is one o’ the town’s biggest sources of income!” consoled Braeburn, “if it weren’t fer hard workin’ ponies like you, the town wouldn’t last.”

        “Speakin’ of hard work, maybe you should find some,” chuckled Cinder as he hopped up the steps to the saloon.  “Do you do any work ‘round here?”

        “I’m doin’ more’n you at the moment,” smirked Braeburn.  

        Cinder rolled his eyes and pushed through the swinging doors of The Salt Block.

        “‘Do I do any work,’ pheh,” Braeburn grumbled to himself, walking through town.  Admittedly, it may look like he just spent all day talking to people, but he actually had a lot of responsibility on his shoulders.  As an assistant to the sheriff, days were spent engaging townsfolk and organizing events, settling smaller disputes and lending a hoof wherever he was needed.  Helping maintain the town’s economy, following local affairs and acting as goodwill ambassador to any visitors were all things he enjoyed, so he really was a perfect fit for the job.

        It was the hot days, when everyone was itchy and hairy and irritable that Braeburn dreaded.  The days where everypony was too hot to talk, or too busy with work to keep company, and chances of visitors on such days were slim.  But days like today, when ponies were excited, happy to accept help and a cool breeze kept temperaments even that Braeburn enjoyed.  

        “Ahoy-hoy,” blurted Marmalade, who had quietly snuck up beside the stallion, poking him in the neck.

        Braeburn jumped a little.  “Hey sis!  You’re in a good mood!”

        “Don’t get lippy with me, li’l brother,” she pointed a hoof at her twin, trying and failing to hide her smile, “if Ah didn’t need ta go an’ teach some slackers how ta wash them apples, Ah’d give yer hide a right tannin’ fer bein’ late fer the harvest!”

        “Whatever you say, li’l sis,” smirked Braeburn, patting the top of her head.

        She punched him in the side.  And not a light punch, either.

        “If yer lookin’ ta get pummeled, keep on actin’ like a mule!”

        “If I wanted to get pummeled I’d come help you wash apples,” Braeburn winced, “those colts you’re trainin’ will probably need grief counselin’ by the end o’ the night.”

        “Only if they bruise any o’ mah apples!” she snorted as she galloped off.  Letting out a brief chuckle Braeburn massaged his side and resumed his trot.  Even his sister was in a good mood now.





        For the rest of the afternoon, Braeburn did what he did best, visiting businesses and checking up on preparations for the party.  As the day drew to a close, however, the dusty roads of Appleloosa emptied as families gathered for supper.  Braeburn sighed, finding himself alone in the center of town.  With a brisk canter he made his way for home, a small, one-story house on the edge of town, a short distance away from the orchard.  Some may even call it a ‘shack,’ and he couldn’t say much in its defense.  He didn’t waste any time letting himself in, and took a quick glance around the inside.  To his left was what served as a kitchen: a pantry, a table with two empty chairs and a window facing town.  Against the far wall rested the saloon’s old piano he adopted when the saloon acquired a new, automated one with all its keys.  Next to it was the door to his bedroom, slightly ajar.  Against the wall to his right was a sofa, an old record player, a lamp, and that was it.  A functional home.  But that’s all it was.

        “All right,” he hummed to himself, breaking the silence, “let’s see what there is to eat.”  Ambling over to the pantry he took a look inside, sighing inwardly at the nearly empty shelves.  Only a single apple and a can of peaches.  “Guess this’ll have to do,” said the stallion, “apples an’ peaches always go down well together, right?” he glanced back at the empty table.  “...Right.”

        He gulped down his dinner, glancing once or twice out the window to see the sun slowly descending over the empty streets of town.  After he ate he stepped over to his piano, playing out a few tunes here and there that he made up on the fly before pulling out some old sheet music, ‘I’ll Keep Riding On,’ doing his best to play with little success.  His attempts at music were thrown horribly off-kilter by a few missing keys and his large hooves, turning what should have been soothing melodies into exercises in frustration.  Even if the piano still had all its yellowed keys, Braeburn knew he wouldn’t be able to play as well as that little dragon that came with Applejack and her friends during their visit the other month.  Celestia knew Braeburn practiced his piano day in and out, and here comes this little dragon who can play by ear.  He was amazing at that pink pony’s show, and apparently that was one of the first times he’d ever even touched a piano.  Braeburn became even more determined after that, envious of that dragon’s skill -- and his fingers.  “I need to get this thing tuned someday,” he winced after playing a particularly sour note.

        After fooling around on the piano for a while longer, Braeburn peeked out the window to see the distant roads of town once again filling with ponies.  He smiled and trotted out his front door, slamming it unceremoniously behind him.  A quiet night at home alone was not his idea of a good time.





        For a few hours Braeburn milled about town, discussing a few economical matters with the sheriff and checking in on the preparations for the celebration, and he loved every second.  From a distance he watched Marmalade berating some poor colts for their improper technique at washing apples, and he even paid a visit to the local paper, ‘The Mosquito.’  A fitting name, considering the editor’s tendency to make news rather than just report on it, giving for an entertaining (if scandalous) weekly read.  Many considered it less a weekly paper and more a recurring pest.  Headlines such as ‘Gold Rush in Appleloosa’ (when someone planted a golden delicious tree) and ‘Death From Above’ (when a falling apple gave somepony a bump on the head) were standard fare, but probably the most infamous was when the paper reported on ‘Rising Rebellion in Appleloosa’ when a few disobedient foals wouldn’t listen to their parents about eating their spinach. 

        After asking the editor to go easy with the metaphors this week, Braeburn trotted down to his cousin’s bakery where he helped Applebumpkin get her materials in order for the morning, then took a trip over to the clock tower and had a casual conversation with the curator about the restoration progress.  As the evening wore on, Braeburn found himself strolling down the main street again.  He looked to the sun resting upon the horizon and hummed with satisfaction at a good day.  Looking down the road he saw a small crowd gathered around the entrance of the sheriff’s office and trotted over.  Once closer, the yellow stallion could see that a bison had paid a visit, a large fellow (even by buffalo standards) with a dark brown coat and a trio of feathers behind his ear.  He was talking with the sheriff, who caught sight of Braeburn and called him over.

        “Howdy Braeburn!” 

        “Evenin’ sheriff,” nodded Braeburn.  He turned his bright smile to the buffalo and extended a hoof.  “Howdy!  Name’s Braeburn!”

        The buffalo took the stallion’s hoof in his own: large, cloven, and worn with a lifetime of dwelling in the desert.  His right horn was chipped slightly, and his eyes were mismatched: one brown, the other a light blue.  “I am Watergaze.”  His voice was wise and strong, yet still young and energetic.

        “Watergaze here was just extendin’ an invitation fer us ta join Chief Thunderhooves fer an evenin’ o’ story tellin’,” Sheriff Silverstar explained, “but I’m afraid I can’t go.  Got ta keep an eye over the preparations t’night, but if you’d like ta go in my place, Braeburn, be my guest.  I’m sure there’s room fer one more visitor?”

        “There is,” nodded Watergaze, “but we should make haste or we’ll miss the beginning of the stories.”

        “Lead the way!” said Braeburn.  About a dozen or so ponies joined them, and the group kept a brisk pace as they made their way across the plains.  Braeburn recognized most of the ponies in their party, and he saw Vinny near the back, but none of his relatives were among them.  He shivered slightly, the air cooling as the sky grew ever darker.  Quickening his gait he caught up with the buffalo.

        “So Watergaze,” he began, “you don’t seem like some o’ the other buffalo I’ve met.”

        “Why do you say that?” asked the bison, casting a sideways look at Braeburn.

        “The buffalo I’ve met seemed more...uh...” he looked up to see Watergaze holding his steady stare on him, his blue eye unwavering.  “Heh, what I mean is that you’re kinda...um...The way you talk ain’t so, er...”

        The buffalo was silent.

        “...Maybe I should just shut up,” blushed the stallion.

        “That may be a wise decision.”

        Braeburn let his stride slacken a bit, giving Watergaze some space.  

        “Smooth,” chuckled Vinny, who had snuck up behind.  Braeburn frowned and stared off into space.  

        He, as his sister loved to remind him, had a bit of a deficit in the brain-mouth filter department.  Once he got talking he could find it hard to stop.  Luckily, it had never got him into any serious trouble yet, but it sure had come close in the past.  He meant no insult when he spoke with Watergaze.  All he wanted to point out was that many buffalo had a more informal style of speech (excepting the chief) while Watergaze’s was much more thoughtful and deliberate.  Quite unlike Braeburn’s chronic verbal diarrhea.

        He was good at taking it all in stride, so he swallowed down his embarrassment and within a minute was holding a casual conversation with a tourist pony named Berry Punch about her trip, and her home in Ponyville.  Watergaze led the group around a large flat-topped hill, upon which a vigil bison stood, signaling the group’s arrival to another bison on a distant plateau.  

        “That’s weird,” Berry Punch mumbled to Braeburn, “didn’t know the buffalo had lookouts.”  Braeburn chewed his lip for a moment, thinking this over.  

        “There’s probably a lot we don’t know ‘bout them,” he finally answered.  The other pony looked to him for a second before tilting her head in agreement.

        “I guess.”

        After a few minutes of winding trails and silence Braeburn cleared his throat and worked up the nerve to talk to Watergaze again.

        “Uh, hey Watergaze,” he said, coughing a little, “your people are nomadic, right?”

        “Correct,” was the reply.

        “When’s the last time y’all moved?  Er, is that what you call it?  Moving?”

        “Migrating,” said the buffalo, turning his gaze upon the pony, “we migrate far and wide throughout this region over the course of the year: north during the summer seasons and further south in winter.”

        “Why’s that?”

        “It is traditional,” he said, pride filling his voice, “but it is also for food.  Our ancestors charted the best locations to graze at all periods of the year, and we have never been led astray by them.  We hold our traditional stampede in these valleys, and after we were able to complete the run this year,” he added, earning an embarrassed wince from Braeburn, “we settled in these hills.”

        “But that was a couple months ago!  Tain’t a whole lot to eat out here,” Braburn remarked, glancing around the arid and rocky hillside, “how come you’ve stayed ‘round here so long?”

        Watergaze frowned, staring ahead.  “It is...a buffalo matter.  Please do not concern yourself on our behalf,” he said with finality.  Braeburn frowned, carefully navigating the dusty path as he noticed yet another buffalo lookout announce their approach.  At last, Braeburn felt his nose tingle with that distinctive campfire smell as they rounded a massive boulder, bringing the campsite into view.  Tents and teepees were spread over the clearing, and logs had been set up in a ring around a massive fire pit.  Bison of all ages sat around the fire, roasting marshmallows on sticks and chatting to each other.  Calves played around the hooves of the elders, who, while cheerful, held a strange air about them; Braeburn couldn’t quite place it, but they gave off an odd scent.  He chalked it up as another ‘buffalo thing’ as the group neared the camp, navigating between the tents and toward the fire.  

        The large, crimson flames crackled and sent little ember butterflies into the night sky, where shimmering stars were appearing to listen in on the world below, Princess Luna’s ivory moon just beginning its ascent in the distance.  On the other side of the fire sat Chief Thunderhooves, his massive feathered headdress rustling gently in the breeze.  Beside him was Little Strongheart, a young girl Braeburn had come to know over the last couple months.  As the buffalo around the fire cleared room for the ponies to join them, the chief rose to his hooves and lowered his head in a long bow (for a second Braeburn was afraid his headdress would catch on fire).

        “Greetings, ponies of Appleloosa,” he said, his tremendously deep voice instantly earning the respect of anyone within earshot.

        Braeburn and the others returned the motion.  “It’s our pleasure to join you, Chief Thunderhooves.  Sheriff Silverstar wasn’t able ta come.”

        “A pity.  He would have enjoyed tonight.”  

        “If you’ll excuse me, then,” Watergaze said suddenly, making a quick bow to the chief.  Thunderhooves nodded in reply and Watergaze left the camp.  Braeburn watched him weave through the teepees and disappear around a cleft of rock.  

        “If you will all take your seats we can begin,” Thunderhooves motioned for Braeburn to join him, so the stallion took his place beside Little Strongheart.  His face grew hot with the fire’s heat.

        “Hey there,” winked Braeburn.

        “Hello,” she replied, suddenly enthralled by the sand beneath her shuffling hooves.  

        The chief took a long, dramatic breath and closed his eyes.  “A long time ago, before my father’s father, and before his father’s father, there was a young pony named Wingless.  Wingless loved the night, for it was at night that his good friends the Stars would come out.”

        “He sure starts right into it, huh?” whispered Braeburn.

        “Shh!”

        “Wingless talked with the Stars every night, and they told him stories and tales of all that they had seen.  One day, Wingless called out to the Stars: ‘Oh Stars, all my life we have been friends, and yet I have never truly met you or touched you.  Won’t you please come down to the earth, so that we may be together?’  But the Stars said: 
‘Alas, Wingless, but we cannot, for The North keeps us here, and we cannot leave.’”

        “Wait, what’s he mean, ‘The North?’”

        “Shh!”

        “‘Then how may we ever meet?’ asked Wingless.  ‘Perhaps, Wingless, since we cannot come down to earth while The North keeps us, you may fly to us?’  ‘But I have no wings,’ said Wingless, ‘how am I to fly to you?’  But the Stars were silent.  ‘I will find one who can give me wings,’ Wingless decided, ‘so that I may fly to my friends.’  So Wingless traveled, and journeyed far until he met Buffalo.  ‘Oh strong Buffalo,’ said Wingless, ‘can you give me wings and teach me to fly?’  ‘I cannot,’ said Buffalo, ‘for I have no wings of my own.  But perhaps Bird can help you.’  So Wingless traveled further until he met Bird.  ‘Oh wise Bird,’ said Wingless, ‘can you give me wings and teach me to fly?’  Bird looked to the pony with no wings, and was sad.  ‘Alas, I cannot give you wings,’ he said, ‘but perhaps the Wind knows one who can?’  So Wingless journeyed until he found the Wind.  ‘Oh great Wind,’ said Wingless, ‘can you give me wings and teach me to fly?’  Wind looked down to Wingless, and laughed.  ‘Oh, Wingless,’ he said, ‘you cannot fly, and none can give you wings!’  The Wind blew off, and Wingless was saddened.”

        “Kind of a downer, too.”

        “SHH!”

        “But the Sun saw Wingless so sad, and felt pity for him.  So the Sun called her sister the Moon, and they came to earth to speak to Wingless.  ‘Oh Wingless,’ said Sun, ‘my sister and I have seen your quest for wings, and have taken pity upon you.’”

        “Wait, sun and moon?  Does he mean Celestia and Luna?”

        “Yes, I do, Braeburn,” said Thunderhooves, a look of mild annoyance on his face, “are you ready to listen to the rest of the story now?”

        Braeburn’s face grew even hotter and he did his best to hide beneath his hat.  “Sorry Sir,” he said sheepishly.  He could hear above the crackling flames the distinctive noise of a chortling Vinny.

        “Thank you,” resumed the chief, clearing his throat.  “Moon looked to Wingless and said: ‘Why are you sad?’  ‘I wanted to meet my friends the Stars,’ said Wingless, ‘but alas, I cannot fly, and I cannot find one who can give me wings.’  Sun smiled and said: ‘It is of a pure purpose that you wish to have wings, and so we will give them to you.’  And so, they gave wings to Wingless and taught him to fly.  ‘You are no longer wingless,’ said Moon, ‘you are now named Pegasus.’  Pegasus thanked Sun and Moon, and they returned to their homes in the sky.  When night came, Pegasus flew high and met the Stars.  That is how the pegasus ponies came to be.”

        “I love that story,” sighed Little Strongheart, “it’s always been one of my favorites.”

        “Ah alwaysh wondered where them pegashushesh came from,” said a rather tipsy stallion in the crowd.

        “I am glad you enjoyed it,” bowed Thunderhooves, “is there-”

        A bison had slinked up beside the chief and whispered something in his ear.  The chief’s face changed from concern to disappointment as he leaned to mutter something back.

        “What’s that about?” Braeburn whispered to Strongheart.

        “Oh, uh,” she flushed, “it’s n-nothing, it’s fine.”  She waved a hoof in the air dismissively and gave a nervous chuckle.  Braeburn frowned, looking away to stare into the dancing flames, a slight shiver of cold rushing down his back.

         “I apologize for the interruption,” resumed Thunderhooves after the other bison had left, “is there a tale any would like to hear?”

        “Oh!  Oh!” shouted a young bison, his hoof in the air, “tell the one about Falling Rock!”

        The chief laughed, stomping one of his hooves.  “Ah, that is one of my favorites as well.  A long time ago, there was a great buffalo chief, and he had three sons.  Their names were Running Fox, Little Bear and Falling Rock...”





        “Now, c’mon, I’m sure it weren’t that bad.”

        “It was Chief Thunderhooves!  An’ I had ta go and interrupt him over an’ over.”  Braeburn slammed his glass of water on the wooden countertop.  The saloon was unusually quiet tonight.  The townsfolk must have gone to bed early trying to get a good rest before the celebration tomorrow, so only a small hoof-full of ponies were occupying the bar, and the piano sat lifeless in the corner.

        Morton sighed beneath his thick, curled mustache and adjusted his monocle.  “I thought you never let these sorts o’ things bother you.”  

        Braeburn groaned, taking another lick of salt.  He had become skilled at laughing at his mistakes and moving on, but this...

        “B’sides,” continued Morton, cleaning a glass with a cloth, “I’m sure the chief didn’t think nothin’ of it.  He’s probably got bigger things ta worry ‘bout than gettin’ interrupted durin’ story time.”

        Braeburn looked up from his glass to the barkeeper.  Braeburn was a regular at The Salt Block, the town’s local saloon, but he almost never ordered himself any of the signature salt when he visited.  He’d make trips just to talk to Morton, or to hear the latest gossip and stop any little scuffles that arose in the saloon.  Even though he wasn’t exactly a good customer, Morton was always more than willing to take a little time aside to talk with Braeburn and just shoot the breeze.  Morton was also a good counselor, although he didn’t need to use those skills much with Braeburn.

        “I hope yer right,” Braeburn finally said, finishing off his glass of water.  

        “Dey sure do,” said a voice.  Braeburn and Morton turned to look down the counter.  A few seats away sat an older, balding stallion who worked out in the quarry.  Nopony knew his real name, and he’d never give it when asked, so he became known as Salty, the saloon’s best customer.  He was actually one of the wisest ponies Braeburn knew...when he wasn’t sucking on a block of salt.

        “They sure do what?” asked Braeburn.

        “Dey sure do got a lot on deir minds,” mumbled Salty with his toothless mouth, twirling his little glass of water.  “Ah hear dings, y’know, out in dem hills.  Quiet dings.  An’ Ah see dings...secret dings.”  

        “How many has he had?” whispered Braeburn.

        “That’s his first,” replied the barkeep, flatly.  Suddenly Braeburn found himself much more interested in the scruffy stallion’s story.

        “Ah done heard dat dem buffalo...dey’s scared,” he said, a wicked little grin spreading over his saggy face, “dey’s scared o’ sumdin’, an’ dey dun’ know what.  But dey’re lookin’ fer it.”

        “What do you mean?” asked Braeburn.  If this was something the sheriff should know about, then Braeburn needed to hear it first-hoof.

        “Dey’re searchin’ deh hills!” Salty waved a dirty hoof, “Ah ken see ‘em, out dere, lookin’, lookin’, lookin’, fer weeks now!  ‘Bout deh same time dem quakes started!  Dey know sumdin’.  Sumdin’ dey ain’t tellin’ us.”

        “You’re imaginin’ things, Salty,” Braeburn chuckled, “I think the heat’s gettin’ ta you.”

        Salty turned his beady little eyes upon the yellow stallion, sending a shiver up his spine.  “We’ll see, Deputy, we’ll see,” he said, taking a final lick from his salt, picking up his pick axe and holding open one of the double doors.  He stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the star scattered sky.

        “Have yeh ever wondered what it’d be like ta meet a star?” he said suddenly.  He wheezed a noise and marched off into the darkness.

        They listened to the dying sound of his hooves.

        They looked at each other for a beat.  

        “He keeps callin’ you Deputy,” laughed Morton, “you should talk to the sheriff ‘bout a promotion.”

        The spell on Braeburn popped like a bubble blown too large.  He turned to stare at the doors, swinging slightly with the breeze.

        “So are ya gonna tell the Sheriff?”

        “Huh?  Tell him what?”

        “‘Bout what that Salty said, ‘bout them buffalo.”

        Braeburn let loose a long groan.  “I s’pose.  After the celebration, though.  No reason ta get him all worked up now.  ‘Bout nuthin’.”  

Braeburn stood and stepped toward the exit.  “I hope.”





This story is incomplete, and I need your help to finish it.  Please comment and leave feedback on this chapter.  Let me know what you think and any way this story can be improved.
Thank you.
> Chapter 2
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Outlaw, The Star and the Big, Big Sky


By TotalOverflow, 2012


Chapter 2




        “--She done gone an’ broke mah heart--She done gone an’ broke mah heart--She done gone an’ broke mah heart--”

        Braeburn’s ears twitched as he creaked open an eye, releasing him from the grasp of his freakish dream, wherein he was trying and failing to outrun a large, purple tree with carnivorous peaches in its branches.  Smacking his mouth once or twice he slowly sat up, his mind finally registering the sound of a skipping record player from outside his open door.

        “Dang thing,” he yawned, stumbling out of bed, “knew I shouldn’t’ve left the thing on last night.”  He teetered to the door, reaching his hoof over to the contraption.

        “--She done gone an’ broke mah heart--She do--”

        “Yeah yeah, how many times can yer heart be broken...” he mumbled, replacing the needle in its home.  He yawned again, and looked out the window, through which the sun was just about ready to rise above the mountains.  He sighed at his fitful sleep, and walked back to his room to look in the mirror.  A disheveled yellow pony with small bags under his green eyes tried to focus back on him.  He gave himself a sniff, his nose suddenly pervaded with the strong scent of last night’s campfire mixed with the sweat of a bad dream.  “Phew, better take a dunk out in the river before headin’ into town,” he muttered.  He left his hat and vest on their hooks by his bedroom door and walked outside, slamming the front door behind him.

        “Today’s Saturday,” he reminded himself, “still lots of work ta do today...should prob’ly see if Applebumpkin could use any help...need ta check in with the sheriff first...”  He stopped, looking up to the brightening sky.  Dark blue to the West and paler in the East, a single star shone high above, apparently having missed the morning’s memo.

        “Meet a star,” Braeburn muttered.  He shook himself, resuming his trot toward the river by the apple orchard.  When he arrived he dunked his head in the chilly water, and gave himself a brisk bath.  He shook himself dry and shivered in the morning twilight, helped himself to an apple and then made his way back home.  Just as he reached the door the sun rose high enough for its warm rays to fall upon him, sending a brief prickle up his spine.  He looked over his shoulder at the great ball of light in the sky.

        “Heh, thanks Celestia,” he muttered, suddenly finding the sun uncomfortably bright.  He let himself inside and returned to his bedroom, tossing on his dark brown, buckled Stetson hat and his snug leather vest.  Then, more out of habit than anything else, stepped over to his bed and gave it a shove, pushing its wooden frame a couple feet to the left.  Kneeling down he fumbled with a floorboard until it came loose, revealing a small hole dug in the earth.  Inside rested a box a little smaller than his head.  He stared at it.

        “Still there,” he mumbled, his mouth going sideways.  After a tense moment of staring he replaced the plank of wood and moved his bed back, stepped out of the room, closed the bedroom door behind him and stood for a moment against it in a daze.  “Still there,” he repeated, as if to remind himself that he would never forget.  He felt his eyes close.

        Distant bells chimed.  Keeping his eyes closed for a moment longer, a sudden chill rushed around his neck.  “Today.  Today’s the celebration.”  He opened his eyes and did his best to put that little box out of his mind like he did every morning.  Swallowing, he moved away from the door and put one hoof in front of the other until he reached the front door.

        “Why is it still there?”





        Braeburn smiled his friendly smile, the box under his bed forgotten as he trotted down the roads of town, ponies of all ages crawling out of their homes and beds for this Saturday morning.  Grinning and greeting everypony in his path, Braeburn went right to the sheriff’s office, bushy-tailed and bright-eyed for whatever tasks the mustached pony may have for him.  

        “Mornin’ sheriff,” he announced as he pushed open the door, “I was-”

        He stopped when he saw that the sheriff, seated tensely at his desk, was not alone.

        Leaning against the far wall was an aging stallion.  His hide a muddy brown and mane striped grey, the stallion wore a large-rimmed grey hat and a long, tattered duster reaching to his spurred boots.  His arms were crossed and he regarded the world with stoney-grey eyes.

        His name was Tanner.  ‘Rawhide’ to his enemies.

        He was a pony Braeburn had hoped never to see again.

        “What in tarnation is this flour-flusher doin’ here?” Braeburn said cooly, his smile replaced with an icy stare.

        “Speak o’ the devil, if’n it ain’t li’l Braeburn,” said Tanner with his wicked chuckle, “y’all sure’ve grown.”

        “Spare me,” growled Braeburn, “I’ve a right mind to throw you outta town faster’n a hog can squawk!”

        “Best watch yerself there, boy,” hissed Tanner, pulling his coat aside to reveal both his terribly long rifle (a feat of most likely illegal engineering and the last thing countless ponies ever saw) and his glimmering silver sheriff’s star.  “Remember who y’all are talkin’ too.”

        “I ‘member plenty,” retorted Braeburn, “s’though I could ever forget.”

        “Then you keep on rememberin’, or soon a memory is all yer gun’ be.”  Sheriff Tanner fell to his front hooves and stepped slowly toward the door and the yellow stallion in its frame.  “Give me a reason, Apple.  Give me that one thing an’ Ah promise you, you’ll be seein’ the business end o’ my buddy,” he patted the firearm beneath his cloak, “jes’ like yer friend.”

        “Braeburn!” barked Silverstar, interrupting Braeburn’s tensing muscles.  “Git over here.”

        “Listen ta yer sheriff now, boy,” said the brown earth pony, tipping his hat as he stepped out the door, “he’s the only thing keepin’ you outta the ground.”  His spurred boots clinking with every step, ‘Rawhide’ Tanner kicked a cloud of dust behind him as he left the building.  His words rang in Braeburn’s long, pointed ears.

        “Sheriff, I swear...”

        “Braeburn, don’t let that ol’ mudsill get under yer skin.  Yer past is over.  Don’t let guys like him dredge it up again.”

        Braeburn let loose a sigh, any trace of a good mood long faded away.  “Why’d he come here?”

        “Came ta spread rumors ‘bout the buffalo bein’ spies and no-gooders,” said Silverstar, reclining in his chair, “an’ ta throw his weight ‘round.  But don’t pay him any mind.  He’s off ta his backwater li’l excuse fer a town.”

        “He said what about the buffalo?” Braeburn asked, his anger replaced with a cautious curiosity.

        “Jes’ what a snake like him would say, that they’re lurkin’ about an’ watchin’ us.  But Tanner would put out a hit list on baby ducks if’n he thought they looked at him funny.”

        Braeburn stared out the door.

        “Braeburn?  You got somethin’ ta tell me?” 

        “Uh, no, nuthin’.”

        “Have you heard somethin’ ‘bout the buffalo?”

        Braeburn turned to meet the sheriff’s unflinching eyes.  He was not an easy one to pull the wool over.

        “Just ol’ Salty bein’ Salty,” sighed Braeburn, “but like you said, Sheriff, it’s nuthin’.  An’ even if them buffalo are out lookin’ fer somethin’, it’s their business, not ours, right?”

        “Right,” Silverstar answered, leaning forward in his chair, “but if they’re lookin’ fer somethin’ that’d cause ‘em ta stay an extra month in these badlands, why ain’t they tellin’ us?”

        Braeburn swallowed.  So he had noticed.

        “But tain’t important now,” the sheriff conceded, “we’ve got our celebration ta take care of, an’ them buffalo can handle themselves.”

        “Yeah,” the yellow stallion nodded his head, “so what’d you like me ta do t’day?”

        “Best do what yer good at fer now,” the sheriff peered out the window, “I have a feelin’ the town’s gun’ need it.”

        Braeburn looked outside to see the townsfolk walking skittishly through town, whispering to each other and looking around nervously.  The stallion took a breath, pushed back his hat and stepped outside.  A smell rose off the town...it took him a minute to recognize it - it was not one he experienced often in this town.  

        Fear.  

        An unusual sensation, but not unexpected considering recent company.  Tanner was known throughout the western deserts as a brutal enforcer of the law, which made him loved or feared, depending on who you asked.  Pity and mercy were not in his vocabulary, as anyone who’d been on the run from him could tell you, although they rarely lived long enough to tell anyone.  

        “Spurred boots,” Braeburn heard somepony remark, “he wears spurred boots so his bucks can tear a pony in half!”

        “Ah heard he calls his rifle ‘The Reaper!’” whispered another, “Celestia knows it’s lived up ta its name!”

        The yellow stallion let loose a sigh.  Tanner had the worst timing, showing up today of all days.  What should have been a carefree day of festivities was fast becoming rumor riddled, the streets scattered with nervous and guilty-looking ponies.  Braeburn straightened his vest.  He’d do his best to get everypony’s mind off the intrusion, but as a blue-grey pony sulked over to Braeburn - his head low and his ears flat - Braeburn knew it would not be easy.

        “Braeburn?” said Slate, “is it true?  Is ‘Rawhide’ here?”

        “Just left,” replied the stallion, “an’ good riddance.”

        “What...” he stuttered, “what did he want?”

        “Nuthin’.  Look, Slate, don’t worry about him, ‘kay?  You’re under Sheriff Silverstar’s jurisdiction now.”

        “Yeah, but...but it’s ‘Rawhide’ Tanner!  Jurisdiction don’t mean beans ta him!”

        “Slate, just calm down.”  Braeburn began trotting down the road, signaling for the cowering colt to follow.  

        “But!  But if he knows Ah’m here-!”

        “Slate!”  Braeburn scowled, spinning on a dime to face the blue pony.  “You’ve been pardoned, all right?  It don’t matter if he knows you’re here or not.  He can’t touch you.  So don’t let him get to you.  Now, come on.  What’re you gonna get Minty tonight?”

        “Huh?” asked Slate, standing a little straighter.

        “Well, come on, buddy!  Tonight’s the celebration!  Surely you’ve got your fiancé a gift!”

        “Uh, well...”

        “Slate!  Sha-hame on you!  You’d better get your rear in gear!  Now, c’mon, let’s go find somethin’ she’ll like.  I heard Miss Seam just got a new shipment o’ dresses from that designer in Ponyville!”

        “Heh, uh, okay,” chuckled Slate, his ears finally perking up.





        Braeburn tipped his hat to Slate, who galloped off with a package dangling from his mouth.  It had taken the pair at least an hour to pick out the perfect gift for Minty, which turned out to be a pair of candy-cane socks and a pendant in what Slate hoped was her favorite shade of green.  Cheering up Slate took longer than Braeburn had hoped, but it seemed the rest of the town had managed to carry on well enough by themselves.  Most ponies in the street didn’t seem concerned any longer about Tanner’s arrival.  In fact, most found the sky more interesting.  They craned their necks, all staring up at something as they strolled along.  Braeburn smiled, glad that they were able to get their minds off of...

        “Wait, what?” he mumbled, finally glancing up to see what the others found so fascinating.  

        That same star, the one he saw earlier that morning, was still in the sky, shimmering away.  

        “What do you reckon?” said a nearby voice.  Braeburn recognized it as the sheriff’s, but held his gaze upon the star.

        “Kinda strange,” he said, “stars don’t usually show up durin’ the day, do they?”

        “Not usually, no, but it’s probably nuthin’.”

        Braeburn lowered his gaze.

        “What’s goin’ on, Sheriff?”

        “Well,” he said, straightening his vest and beginning a light trot down the road, signaling for Braeburn to follow, “I’d like ya ta go down ta the quarry fer a bit.  Y’know, jes’ ta check up on things, make sure it’s running smoothly an’ all.  And, uh...”  The sheriff leaned in and lowered his voice, “I think I saw Tanner ride out in that direction.  Make sure he didn’t cause any trouble.”

        “All right,” Braeburn nodded, “when’s the next train come in?”

        “Should be arrivin’ any minute, here,” said Silverstar, glancing to the clock tower.  It was mid morning, and from the distance the chugging sound of a locomotive could be heard tearing across the landscape.

        “Oh, an’ Braeburn,” the sheriff called behind him as he trotted away, “don’t be ‘fraid ta let the workers off early t’day.  It’s the Summer Sun Celebration, after all!  Speakin’ of,” the sheriff stopped, peering over his shoulder at the yellow pony, “I just got news that Princess Celestia up an’ changed locations at the last second this year.”

        “Oh?  Where’s it now?”

        “Ponyville.  Ain’t that somethin’?  ‘Parently some stallion in town convinced the royal event planner ta switch at the last minute.”

        Braeburn smiled and gave a silent nod of assent as the sheriff trotted off.  Braeburn licked his lips and cantered over the tracks to the station as the train rapidly approached.  Half a dozen worker ponies littered the station, shovels and pick-axes slung over their shoulders.  Seated on a bench out front was a mare, pale blue with a large pink hat.  Linky, Braeburn realized.

        “Howdy again,” he said, tipping his hat and leaning against the wooden building.  

        “Hey,” she nodded.  Beside her were large satchels filled with canteens.  Little dribbles of water leaked out beneath the caps.

        “What’s all that for?” asked Braeburn.

        “Fer the workers,” she replied, “gotta bring ‘em somethin’ ta cool ‘em down.”

        “Well ain’t that big of you!”

        “Tain’t nuthin',” she chuckled, “it’s sorta mah job.”

        “You work out in the quarry?” frowned Braeburn.

        “Yup, Ah fix any horseshoes that break out there, but sometimes Ah help out with the diggin’ too.  T’day’s mah day ta get the drinks.”

        “That quarry ain’t no place fer a lady like you ta work in,” sighed Braeburn, pushing his hat back on his head.

        “Ah wonder how many times Ah’ve heard that now,” she said, mildly annoyed.  

        A loud whistle blew as the train rounded a wide turn, coming into view in the distance. Massive clouds of dust rose into the sky behind the locomotive, and the great black engine was being pulled by four burly stallions, each adorned in conductor’s gear.

        “Tsk,” Braeburn shook his head, “they still haven’t gotten that engine fixed, eh?”

        “Nope,” replied Linky, “that ol’ train was on its last legs anyhow.  Looks like it’s dead for real this time.”

        “Why don’t they just buy a new one?”

        Linky scoffed.  “Got any idea how much a train costs?  Besides, Promontory an’ his posse love showin’ off how strong they are.”

        “Yeah, but smell ain’t everythin’.”

        Linky laughed for the first time since Braeburn met her, and he puffed out his chest in accomplishment.

        The whistle blew again, proclaiming the train’s arrival as it pulled up to the station.  The four stallions pulling the engine ground to a halt right next to several troughs along the tracks.  The lead stallion stuffed his nose in one and grunted loudly.

        “Hey!  Where’s the water!” he bellowed.  A colt, not quite an adult but not quite a child, wearing a visor and a tag reading ‘Ticket Master’ on his vest teetered out from behind the station, buckets of sloshing water dangling from a pole across his shoulders.

        “Uh, sorry, sir!” he said, his voice cracking slightly, “uh, the pump was stuck!” 

        “Hey, Lucky!” the second stallion in the procession laughed, “better hop to it before old Promontory gets cranky!”

        The lead stallion whinnied.  “Yeah, yeah, shut up back there!  An’ make with the water, Lucky!”

        “Yes Dad!  I-I mean, sir!  Uh, I mean-!” stammered Lucky as he shakily filled the troughs.  The others laughed.

        “Don’t be so nervous, kid,” said another in line, “you’re gonna have ta toughen up if ya ever want ta grow into a real stallion!”

        “Yeah, but don’ toughen up too much,” chortled another, “or you’ll end up like yer pa, all brawn an’ no brain!”

        “Ah said SHUT UP BACK THERE!” bellowed Promontory, trying and failing to hide a goofy grin.  The others laughed as they drank.  Lucky scurried over to open the train doors but they swung open before he could reach them.  Several dirty and sweaty ponies poured out, greeting the ones at the station and exclaiming their relief that their shifts had finally finished.  One arriving colt leaned over to Linky.

        “Hey there little filly, got any water fer me?”

        “Get lost, Peb,” she said, flatly, “this here water’s fer the quarry ponies that actually work.”

        “Fine, fine!” he threw his hooves in the air and walked away, “Ah’ll go get mah own water.”

        “All right, let’s get going,” said Promontory, “ALL ABOARD FOR THE QUARRY!!”  The workers around the station piled in the doors, joking and pushing each other around and teasing Lucky, who profusely apologized for his existence.  Linky whinnied slightly and stood up, reaching for her satchels.

        “Oh, hey, need a hoof?” asked Braeburn.  Linky gave a chuckle and effortlessly chucked the bags on her back.

        “Nah, Ah think Ah can handle ‘em.”  She carried the large, swishing bags into the train with ease.  Braeburn sighed and followed.

        “Oh, hi, Mister Braeburn,” said Lucky, the poor colt’s voice cracking like an eggshell as he closed the door.  “Oh!” he gasped, “did you want to go to the quarry?  Sorry!” he pulled open the door again, “uh, sorry!”

        “S’okay, Lucky,” chuckled Braeburn, “but you need to be a little more assertive.”

        “Oh, sorry.”

        “Hey Braeburn,” called the rail-pony at the back of the line, “takin’ a trip to the quarry?”

        “Yeah, I heard it’s nice this time of year.”

        The pony laughed and Lucky closed the door as Braeburn ambled down the train cars.  The frontmost cars of this train were lined with bunks, ideal for lounging or sleeping in, and the walls had an appealing wooden finish.  It didn’t smell quite as appealing, however, smelling just how you’d expect a train car full of tired, sweaty quarry ponies to smell.  The train’s front car was where the workers decided to reside for the trip, lazing in the beds and chatting it up with each other.  Linky was on one bed, joking around with all the others.  Braeburn had a hard time understanding the ‘quarry lingo,’ but smiled and greeted the workers.  They smiled back, but were content to quickly return to their heated debates about shovels and rocks.  Braeburn sighed inwardly and pushed on to the next car, which was a compartment car with several individual rooms.  He looked inside the first room through its window.

        “Empty,” he mumbled.  The compartment had benches on both sides and overhead spots for luggage, but no-pony was there.  He continued along until he finally found one with somepony inside.  Cinder was reclining on the right bench, his hat resting beside him.  Braeburn tapped twice before sliding open the door.

        “Hey Cinder, mind if I join you?”

        “Naw, go ahead,” he answered, sitting a bit straighter.  The whistle blew and the train lurched forward as the scenery, slowly at first, began passing by the window.

        “Thanks,” said Braeburn, hopping onto the other bench.  “Why ain’t you out with the other miners?”

        “We ain’t miners, kid.  Miners work in a mine.”

        “Oh, aheh.  Well, why ain’t you out with them...uh, the others?”

        “Those kids?” grunted Cinder, “bah, they’re too loud.  Sometimes it’s nice just ta have a li’l quiet, y’know?”

        “I suppose.”

        “An’ you?  Finally comin’ ta the quarry ta try yer hoof at some real work?  Yer hooves could use some toughenin’ up.  Jes’ look at mine!” he held one up, large and dirty, “like rocks, they are!  Not like yer soft city slicker ones!”

        “Heh, maybe they’ll harden up a bit.  The sheriff sent me ta check up on things.  Make sure it’s all runnin’ smoothly an’ all.”

        “It’d be runnin’ a lot smoother if it weren’t fer them quakes.”

        “Oh, right,” said Braeburn, leaning forward, “I heard they’ve been gettin’ worse.”

        Cinder heaved a long sigh and propped himself up on his seat.  “They have.  It’s weird, y’know, gettin’ quakes way out there, but they don’t get felt in town.  That’s not normal.”

        “I’ve never been in an earthquake before.  Are they really that far reachin’?”

        “If a quake happened in Stalliongrad we’d feel it here, even if just a li’l rumble.”  Cinder shuffled in his seat.  “But these quakes...they don’t feel like real earthquakes.   Real earthquakes...they feel like the whole world is shakin’ right beneath you.  These quakes feel more like...like...”  He sighed.  “It’s hard ta say, y’know?  There just somethin’ ain’t quite right ‘bout ‘em.  It’s like...like instead of comin’ from beneath you, it’s like they’re coming from beside you.”

        Braeburn frowned.

        “Hey,” Cinder threw his hooves in the air, “don’t look at me like that.  I don’t understand it neither.”





        About twenty minutes later the train’s whistle announced their arrival, and Braeburn followed the others off the train, stepping down the stairs into the hot desert.  Their ears were assaulted with the noise of shovels, hammers and pickaxes being driven into the rocks behind the hill.  Leading from the tracks was a smaller railway running past the station, over the hill and toward the quarry behind.  The station was little more than a plank of wood on legs, and a few workers were reclining in its shade.

        “All right, ponies!” the lead conductor pony bellowed at the them, “we’ll be back in a minute!  You’d better have the next load ready an’ waiting!”  Yawning and shuffling around lazily the workers came to life.  With a heave Promontory and the others pulled the train away, giving the whistle a blow. 

        An older stallion scratched himself and replaced his hat. “You heard ‘em, fillies!” he yelled “go get that cart up here!”  

        “Moron,” Linky muttered.  Braeburn suppressed a snicker.

        The workers burped, grunted and snorted as they trotted over the hill, following the smaller set of tracks.  Braeburn, Cinder, Linky and the other ponies walked close behind.  As they crested the hill, the full quarry came into view.

        At least as large around as the orchard in town and a hundred feet deep, the giant pit was cut to look like a massive, circular staircase with shoulder-high steps leading downwards to what could make a serviceable amphitheater.  Along the ledges of rock dozens of ponies worked, digging out the precious stones to be shipped off to construction sites in Equestria.  The small set of tracks stopped near the edge of the quarry where several ponies were loading a cart with blocks of rock. 

        “How was the harvest this mornin’?” Cinder asked as the group approached.

        “Eh, s’okay,” replied one of the worker stallions, “we had to throw out a bunch of it ‘cause it was too dry’n crumbly.”

        “Sandstone is like that,” Linky commented as she passed out canteens.  The diggers offered gurgly ‘thank yous’ for her efforts.  Once the cart was loaded they pulled it back toward the station.

        Braeburn coughed at the dusty air.  Cinder laughed and hurried down the rocky steps.  Coughing again, Braeburn crept toward the edge of the quarry, peering down the angular pit.

        “Howdy Braeburn!” shouted a stallion a few levels down, “ain’t seen ya fer a while!”

        “Yeah, I’ve been...Hey, what’s that noise?”

        A rumble, growing in intensity had perked Braeburn’s ears.  A moment later Braeburn felt his hooves tremble as the ground beneath him shook, the heavy noise echoing around the badlands sending small pebbles bouncing.  As soon as it appeared, the tremor stopped.  A small trail of dirt ran down the pit walls and ponies stood straight again.

        “Was...” Braeburn swallowed, “was that an...”

        “A quake?  Ayup,” said the stallion below, “that was a pretty small one.  Nuthin’ too special.”

        “We get those all the time!” laughed another who resumed his work as though nothing happened.

        “Really?” said Braeburn, concern etched onto his face, “uh, where’s the boss?”

        “Took today off,” called Linky, who was hauling her bag of empty canteens back up the pit walls, “said he’d-”

        “Here comes another one!”

        Another sudden earthquake shook the pit, more violent than the first.  Braeburn fell to his knees to keep from falling over the edge as the intense sound churned his innards.  A yelp came from inside the pit as one pony was thrown from his perch, barely gripping onto the step below him.  A few collected stones and cubes of rock shuddered, loosened and inched toward the edge of the ledges.

        And then, it stopped once again.

        Braeburn hopped to his hooves, steadied himself and hurried down the steps.  He got a few levels down and helped the pony who had tumbled.

        “You okay?” Braeburn asked.

        “Fine, jes’ fine,” grunted the stallion, dusting himself off, “now that them quakes are done.”

        “I sure hope that was the last one,” sighed Braeburn, taking off his hat and wiping his brow.  From above, a toothless wheezing sound echoed down the steps.

        “Now, Deputy,” it said.  Everypony looked up in unison to see Salty, covered in dust with a shovel in his hoof standing on the lip of the quarry’s edge.  “Bad luck ‘lways comes in drees.”

        From all around the rock pit an ear-shattering noise erupted, followed by an intensely violent earthquake that turned Braeburn’s legs to jelly.  The ground was no longer ground, now a thrashing beast beneath his hooves.  The thundering tremor knocked pony sized rocks clear from the walls of the pit, sending them careening down toward the workers, bouncing and splintering along the way.  Braeburn barely dodged out of the way of a boulder, and he was thrown to the ground.  The sandstone beneath him split and fell away leaving him frantically clawing for any solid footing.  He found none, instead finding himself swimming in a sea of debris and rubble.  The entire quarry was collapsing, rocks, boulders, ponies and shovels tumbling down toward the crumbling center, screams drowned out by the roar.  Braeburn, his mouth filled with stones and his eyes tearing from the massive cloud of dust, resigned himself to an untimely end.  

        A hoof grabbed his, and through gritty eyes he looked up to see Linky grinding her teeth in exertion.  He looked back to the growing pile of rubble where ponies struggled to break free and evade the onslaught of falling rocks.  Braeburn felt his stomach jerk as Linky momentarily lost her grip on the pit’s wall, which had now lost almost all its angular steps.  All that was left were slippery slants.  

        Hopping down toward the center mass was Cinder, who set to work digging out the ponies.  Once free, Cinder ordered them to run, up the crumbling walls and toward the world above.  

        The rumbling faded for a moment, only to pick up again even more powerful than before.  Braeburn watched as Cinder hurried over to the last entrapped pony who was near the center of the mound.

        But then, a strange thing happened.  Braeburn felt the whole world jerk to the left.

        The pony, whose back leg was caught, suddenly began sinking, the rocks and debris around him began falling downward like sand in an hourglass.  A sharp ‘cracking’ sound rose from the ground, and Braeburn watched on in horror as the quarry became a giant funnel, sucking everything down into the earth.  The pony’s other leg went under, shortly followed by his rear as Cinder bore into the pile of rocks and rubble with little effect: the ground was falling away too quickly, taking the ocean of wreckage and the trapped pony with it.  

Braeburn looked up to Linky, whose eyes were shrunken and mouth agape in terror.  He pulled his hoof free, letting himself plunge down toward the sinking mass.  Clambering up its side to Cinder he set to work digging around the trapped pony, whose front hooves had now fallen under.  His mouth was open in a scream hidden beneath the roaring quake.  The pair threw dirt behind them, managing to pull one of his front legs free, followed by the next.  Braeburn felt his hooves burn in pain and saw the dirt around them suddenly tinged red.  He dug regardless, ignoring the pain and the dust that invaded his eyes and lungs.  He felt his rear hooves sink into the rubble once or twice, kicked to free them and resumed digging without missing a beat.

        The dirt around the three had become a crater, its center dipping low into the earth.  Braeburn’s hooves screamed in pain as the trapped pony pulled his last leg free, and the trio hurried up and over the concave mass, tumbled down the edge and up the quarry’s walls where Linky and the others helped them up, away from the enormous hole.  Braeburn turned and watched in morbid fascination as the rocks and debris in the center of the funnel completely fell away into the earth, leaving a small shallow hole in the very middle of the giant pit.  The sides, now completely smooth and slanted, sent small streams of stones tumbling down, and the rumbling tremor finally abated.  

        The silence was almost as deafening as the earthquake moments ago.  Braeburn looked around at the group, who stared dumbfounded at what remained of the quarry, too stunned to blink or even breathe.  Out of the corner of his eye he spotted something in the west, standing in the shade of a fallen butte of rock, watching.

        A buffalo.

        Braeburn’s hooves thudded in agony, and he instinctively glanced down to see his hooves, their heels bleeding and their tips splintered and cracked, had dust and small pebbles wedged into the exposed flesh.  Linky knelt down and poured some water over them, and Braeburn winced in pain.  When he looked up again, the buffalo was gone.  

        Cinder hobbled over, his own hooves bloody but not nearly as badly as the yellow stallion’s.

        “Well,” Cinder coughed, collapsing down onto the earth, “all that work fer nuthin’.”





        “The quarry is WHAT!?”

        “Gone.  It’s all gone.”

        Braeburn stood delicately on his bandaged hooves inside the Sheriff’s office.  Chisel, the large, tan stallion in charge of the quarry, buried his head in his hooves.  Silverstar sat stoically in his seat, scowling intently at his desk.

        “But,” Chisel muttered, “how ken it be gone?  What’re me an’ mah men an’ Ah s’posed ta do now?”

        “Well...”

        “Ah knew Ah shouldn’t’ve taken the day off!”  Chisel stomped around the office, repeatedly knocking himself in the head.  “Ah mean, there Ah am, loafin’ at home an’ Ah feel a li’l rumble, an’ like the fool Ah am, Ah think ‘prob’ly them buffalo havin’ a li’l fun, stampedin’!’  Turns out ta be the biggest durn quake o’ them all!”

        “Chisel,” interrupted the sheriff, “I don’t think you could’ve done anythin’ even if you were there.”

        “Dang quakes!” Chisel slammed a hoof on the floor, “what’ve they got ‘gainst me an’ mah rocks?  They ain’t natural, Ah tells ya!”

        “Well,” Silverstar cleared his throat and pulled out a few forms, “from what I’ve seen, that quarry was dryin’ up.  The rocks aren’t strong no more.  Maybe now’s a good time ta find a new place ta work?”

        Chisel released a long sigh.

        “Eeyeh, Ah s’pose yer right.”

        “Nopony got hurt bad,” Braeburn offered, “so at least there’s that.”

        “Eeyeh.” 

        “Well,” Silverstar said, standing, “let’s worry ‘bout it later.  T’night’s the celebration!  An’ I’m sure all them ponies could sure stand somethin’ ta take their minds off recent events...an’ recent visitors.”

        Braeburn bit his lip.

        “Eeyeh, Ah guess,” Chisel resigned, “look forwards an’ all that.  Ah guess Ah’ll be headin’ then.  Go get ready fer t’night.  Heh, the wife’s been jumpy as a flea on a hairy mutt she’s been so excited!”  Chisel gave a weak laugh as he left the office.

        Braeburn sighed and hobbled over to the bench on the other end of the room beneath the community events board.

        “Are y’all okay, Brae?” asked Silverstar, still standing, “yer hooves took a right fine beatin’.”

        “Linky an’ Doc said it should heal up within a week,” he sighed, “looks worse than it is.”

        Silverstar nodded and sat down again.  The pair were silent for a minute.  All Braeburn could think about was the buffalo near the quarry.  The way it just looked on in indifference, as though that catastrophe meant nothing.  Ponies could have died, and that buffalo just stood there, watching.

        “Braeburn?  What’re you frownin’ ‘bout?”

        “Oh, uh,” Braeburn swallowed, “just thinkin’.”

        “Hmm.”

        Braeburn kept his eyes focused on the floor and pulled his hat down to hide his face.  He heard the sheriff sigh and begin rustling some paper.

        “Sheriff,” Braeburn said after a moment.  “What’s goin’ on?”

        The rustling stopped.

        “I don’t know.”

        The office was silent.  Silverstar sat motionless at his desk, staring through his papers while Braeburn kept his eyes glued on the floor.  Suddenly the yellow stallion’s hooves got itchy and he stood.

        “What do ya want me ta do?” he said, his voice dry.

        The sheriff stared ahead for a second longer before answering.  “Losin’ the quarry’s goin’ ta mean a lot of paperwork.  I wish I could let ya go an’ enjoy the rest o’ the day b’fore the celebration, but...”

        “S’all right,” said Braeburn, moving toward the desk, “if we start now we should get finished with time ta spare.”

        “Thanks, Brae,” the sheriff chuckled.  “Y’know, ya’d make a fine deputy.”

        “Reckon I would,” mumbled Braeburn.





        Paperwork, files and economy reports were all Braeburn saw for the next few hours.  Once the pair finally dealt with all the necessary forms and mapped out potential new digging sites, Braeburn used the rest of the afternoon to help his cousin Applebumpkin with the baking, stopped a fight over a bet in the saloon, caught a foal slinging rocks at the apple trees (thank Celestia that Marmalade didn’t find him first) and even helped Vinny wash some of his grapes, who didn’t seem to want the help.  He would have helped with the decorating as well, but the mares in charge chased him away.

        By seven the town was radiantly arrayed in multicolored, hoof-sewn banners and streamers.  Foals ran about with home-made lanterns, and tables of baked goods and refreshments lined the roads.  A few games had even been set up, and Braeburn caught a glimpse of Slate trying over and over to win a prize for Minty, whose smile was brighter than ever.  The town was jovial, and somepony had even organized a small choir to sing in front of the clock tower.  

        Braeburn smiled, but it was an unnatural one.  He wanted dearly to enjoy the night, but throughout it all he could not get his mind to stay off of what happened the last two days.  There was a feeling in the back of his head like a crow’s claw digging into his skull.  Tanner’s intrusion, the terrible earthquakes, the buffalo.  He felt particular pangs of anger and guilt whenever his mind dwelt on the buffalo.  

        “Braeburn?” asked Marmalade, “y’all okay?”

        “Yeah.”  

        Braeburn had spent the last hour or so helping his sister at their apple stand, slicing and passing out snacks to ponies.  The night had gone by in a blur, and it was already a quarter to midnight.  

        Braeburn reached for another apple to cut but found the cart empty.  “We’re outta apples,” he announced, “I’ll head down to the orchard an’ get some more.”

        His sister laughed.  “Them ponies are hungry t’night.  You sure ‘bout goin?” she asked as he buckled himself into the cart, “Ah can go.  You should stay offa yer bad hooves.”

        “My hooves are fine,” he retorted, “and...I could use the time ta think.”

        “Hah, don’t hurt yerself.”

        “At least I can think.”  Braeburn rolled the cart away, an evil smirk on his lips.  

        “Yeah, well...shut up,” grumbled Marmalade behind him.

        Braeburn’s smile was short lived.  Trotting briskly for the edge of town, he avoided everypony’s gaze.  He just wanted to be alone.

        “What’s goin’ on?” he muttered to himself as he approached the hill overlooking the orchard, “What’re them buffalo up to?”  He stopped.  “Shouldn’t talk like that.  Them buffalo are good folk.”  He looked over his shoulder to town.  “Right?”

        He sighed and pushed up the hill, his hooves stinging beneath their bandages.  As he came to the hill’s crest he looked down upon the orchard, its legion of apple trees sleeping under the starry sky.  Listening to the sound of the wind through the leaves and the crickets in the dirt and the babbling of the river and the singing and laughing from town behind him, he smiled.  

        “Nothin’s goin’ on,” he murmured to himself, “nothin’.”

        He made his way into the orchard, unbuckled himself from the cart and began bucking a few trees.  It hurt more than he’d expected, putting all his weight on his front hooves.  After a minute or two of work he heard the clock tower chime, announcing midnight’s arrival.  The town erupted in cheers, and fiery crackles echoed through the field as colorful fireworks exploded above town.

        DONG

        “Yeah, nothin’s goin’ on.”

        DONG

        “Once I’m done here I’ll go find Applebumpkin.”

        DONG

        “Hope she’s got some fritters left!”
        
        On the fourth toll the entire apple field lit up in a blindingly white light followed by a heavy thumping sound from above.

        “That ain’t no firework,” muttered Braeburn, looking up to see the sky flash repeatedly.  Something pure white hurtled to the ground far off in the distance, crackling and hissing, scattering sparks and flares throughout the sky.  Overwhelmingly bright, it screeched toward the earth, swerving at the last moment in the orchard’s direction.  Braeburn ducked for cover as it careened overhead.

        Half a second later it impacted with a tremendous CRASH behind him, deafening and blinding him momentarily. He felt a small spray of dirt land on his back and he shakily rose to his hooves.  His eyes starry and ears ringing, he peeked out from behind a tree.

        At the top of the hill, where Bloomburg, Cousin Applejack’s favorite tree was supposed to be, there was instead a burning trench ten feet wide, rounding up over the crest.  Scorched pieces of Bloomburg’s remains littered the hillside, and other nearby trees were shattered, bent, crushed or burning in the crater’s wake.

        Braeburn swallowed.

        “Applejack’s goin’ ta kill me.”





This story is incomplete, and I need your help to finish it.  Please comment and leave feedback on this chapter.  Let me know what you think and any way this story can be improved.
Thank you.

> Chapter 3
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Outlaw, The Star and the Big, Big Sky


By TotalOverflow, 2012


Chapter 3




        Braeburn crept from tree to tree, staying in the shadows and rolling to keep out of the moonlight, his ears still ringing.  Stepping carefully between burning embers and roasted, popped apples he slunk toward the crest of the hill, next to the trail of devastation.  A black apple rolled against his bandaged hoof and he jumped, jerking his hoof away and swallowing his heart.  Approaching the crest of the hill, he peered wide eyed into the dark, as a sizzling crater came into view.

        He stared down in wide-eyed wonder. At least five ponies across, it left the earth scorched and blackened, its edges glowing red with heat.  

        But in the very center of the crater...

        Was nothing.

        Braeburn gulped and skulked down the hill.  Branches and leaves of nearby trees were singed, and the ground around the impact site was hardened into glassy, reddish rock.  Reaching the bottom he walked around the hole, looking from every angle to ensure he hadn’t been mistaken.  It was, in fact, empty.

        “Nothing...” he whispered.  He looked up and glanced around the orchard, trying to see if whatever landed had bounced somewhere, but there was no sign of further destruction. 

        He caught a glimpse of something disappearing around a tree.  Swallowing heavily he stepped in that direction, head low and heart racing.  He weaved through the trees, with the faint sound of running water growing louder as he approached the river.  Just about to exit the tree line, he saw it.

        Standing next to the river and staring into the night sky was a pony.  She stood motionless, her back turned to Braeburn.  Somehow, even under the shade of night, her coat appeared a pale blue, her hair a deep, rich black with streaks of navy and crimson and even shades of pink throughout.  As Braeburn moved closer the colors in her mane and tail ever so slightly seemed to shift and sway, shimmer and swirl.  Braeburn slowly approached.

        “Uhm,” he cleared his throat, “ex-excuse me...”

        The mare jumped, turning her eyes to him.  The air caught in the yellow stallion’s throat as her huge eyes, intense and wondrously scarlet even in the darkness, burrowed into his, sending electric prickles up and down his neck.  Gasping, she took a clumsy step away.

        “Whoa there,” Braeburn cooed, “easy now, I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

        The pony furrowed her brow and calmed somewhat.

        “There we go,” said Braeburn, “it’s all right.  Are you okay?  Are you lost?”

        She stared at him.

        “Er, did you see what landed over there?” he continued.

        Seemingly frozen in place, she just stood there.

        “You ain’t from ‘round here, are you?”

        She stared unblinking at him.

        “Uh, are you here alone?”

        She was silent.

        “Um...” Braeburn scratched his neck, beginning to sweat, “name’s Braeburn.  What’s yours?”

        “...Burn?” she said softly.  Her voice rang like a crystal bell, childlike and confused.

        “Uh, yeah, Braeburn.  That’s me,” he chuckled.

        “Burn?” she said again.

        “Yeah.  Uh, what’s your name?”

        She stared up at the sky.  Braeburn followed her gaze to see the thousands of bright, shining stars.

        “Oh wow,” he said, “look at that!  Look at all ‘em!  Them star lights sure are pretty, eh?”

        “Star...light...?” she said quietly.

        “Guess I don’t often take the time ta really look at ‘em.  So, uh...” he coughed, “w-what’s your name, then?”

        “Star...light,” she said.

        “Starlight, eh?  Well, pleasure ta meet ya!” he jubilantly extended a hoof and she cowered away.  “Oh, uh, sorry, didn’t mean ta scare ya.  Uh, are you sure you’re okay?”

        She stared at him with confused eyes.

        “Listen, maybe you’d better lie down.  My home’s just up the hill.  C’mon, an’ I’ll get ya somethin’ ta eat, too.  Ya look famished.”  Braeburn started in the direction of home before stopping and looking back to see she hadn’t moved.  

        “C’mon,” Braeburn said, smiling his friendly smile and giving a little wave with his hoof, “it’s this way.”  Starlight gave a tiny smile and followed, her hooves pattering along the soft ground, her eyes darting this way and that.

        Braeburn led her through the trees, effortlessly weaving to and fro between their trunks.  Pained grunts came from behind and he looked back to see the filly stumbling over exposed roots.  He directed her from the orchard, to the path that ran around it, making the trip twice as long.  

        “So, where’re ya from?” Braeburn said after a minute of quiet walking, “you here for the celebration?”

        “Cel...br-bration?” she asked.

        “Yeah!  The Summer Sun Celebration!  Well, not the real one...That’s in Ponyville this year, I think.  First time it’s been someplace twice in a row!  Pretty big deal!  ‘Course, it’s always a big deal whenever the Princess pays a place a visit!”

        “Princess?”

        “Yeah, y’know, Princess Celestia.  An’ Princess Luna now too, I guess.  Shoot, it’s already been a year since she’s returned, eh?  Ain’t seen much of her.  I ain’t never seen her at all, actually.  My cousins in Ponyville did, though!  Nice place.  You ever been there?”

        She giggled in reply.

        “Heh, you okay back there?” he grinned awkwardly, looking back to the pale pony.  

        “Burn!” she said, her laughter bright and pure.  Her crimson eyes smiled at him, glimmering faintly like little stars as she sidled up beside him.  Braeburn’s cheeks burned and he felt his heart do a little flip.  

        “So, uh...” he stammered, “um...Right!  You’re probably hungry, ain’t ya?  Here.”  He hopped over to a nearby tree and gave it a swift buck.  Starlight shrieked in surprise and cowered to the ground as apples fell around her.  Braeburn pursed his lips and rolled one over to her.  As it came near she jerked away, her eyes wide.

        “Shoot, you’re really jumpy.  Are you okay?” he asked as he stepped closer.  A thought entered his head, and his eyes narrowed.  “Did...did somepony hurt ya?”

        Her hoof recoiled from the red fruit on the ground.  Braeburn sighed and lifted it in his hoof.

        “Well, listen, you’re safe here in Appleloosa, ‘kay?  Ain’t nopony gonna hurt ya here.”  He passed her the apple, and she cautiously leaned to sniff it.

        “Apple?” she asked.

        “Uh, yes?” he replied.  She gave it a tiny nibble and her eyes lit up.  A few seconds later she devoured it, and happily licked her lips.

        Braeburn chuckled and rolled another toward her.  “See?  Feelin’ better?”

        “Apple!” she grinned, greedily gobbling it up.  Braeburn resumed his trek and she hurried to follow before suddenly teetering to the side.  Braeburn leapt back to steady her, and she looked at him with half-open eyes.

        “Boy, you’re in some real rough shape...C’mon, we need ta get you ta bed.”

        Braeburn stayed close to the filly for the rest of the journey, and they arrived at his home after a few minutes.  Braeburn pushed open the door for the pony who simply stood out front.

        “S’okay,” he reassured her, “c’mon on in an’ make yourself at home.”  She looked at him trustingly and stepped inside.  Braeburn hurried to light a lamp and she backed away from the flame.  Braeburn sighed.  “Poor girl must be in shock,” he whispered to himself, “if I ever find the guy who did this ta her...!”

        He cleared his throat, placed the lamp on a table and helped her over to the couch.  Braeburn pulled a blanket over her, and in the lamplight her coat looked more a light pink, rather than the pale blue it seemed before.  He also just noticed that she had freckles.  He lifted his right hoof toward her head causing her to recoil.

        “Easy now,” he said, “just goin’ ta check if ya’ve got a fever.”  She kept her eyes fastened on his bandaged hoof.  Braeburn looked to it and chuckled.

        “Oh, it’s nothin,” he said, gingerly pulling some of the white fabric down to expose a little of the soft flesh above his hoof, “hurt ‘em in an accident out at the quarry today, but they ain’t that bad.”  

        Starlight seemed to settle down a little and he gently touched her forehead.  The instant contact was made a shiver bolted through his hoof and down his spine.  He yanked his hoof away and suppressed a yelp.  Shaking himself and blinking to focus his eyes, he cautiously leant in again to press his foreleg to another part of her face, expecting another jolt but receiving none.

        “No, no temperature...I wonder-”

        *HIC*

        Starlight stared at him, her hooves clasped over her mouth.  

        *HIC*

        Braeburn let out a guffaw.  “That’s why ya ain’t feelin’ well!  Y’all ate too fast!”

        *HIC*

        “Still, you’d better take it easy for a bit,” he said, pulling his bandage back up, “I’ve got ta run some apples back ta my sis in town, so you should just take it easy for now.  Try ta get some sleep.  I’ll see if I can find you someplace ta stay t’night.  My home ain’t the greatest, an’ uh...” he blushed, rubbing a hoof across the back of his neck.  “...Ain’t really proper, y’know, ta...uh, just...for you, to stay here...with me, y’know...”

        She just smiled at him from behind her hooves.

        *HIC*

        “A-anyways,” he stuttered, his cheeks burning again, “I’d best get goin’.  But don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.”  He moved toward the door, opened it and took a step outside.

        “Burn!”

        He poked his head back inside to see Starlight sitting straight, eyes wide in panic.

        “Don’t worry,” he said, smiling, “I ain’t gonna leave ya.”

        She swallowed, and returned the smile.

        *HIC*





        Braeburn galloped as best he could back to town on his stinging hooves, the half-full cart of apples rattling behind him.  The road to town seemed twice as long as usual, and he was relieved when he rounded the last corner and saw the town lights.  He passed the crowds, heading straight for Marmalade’s apple stand.

        “Oh...kay...” he panted as he arrived in a small cloud of dust, “got...yer apples, sis...”  He removed himself from the cart, and finally looked up to see his sister staring intently down the road.  Braeburn followed her gaze to see the entire town had become enraptured with a conversation between Sheriff Silverstar and...

        “Chief Thunderhooves?” muttered Braeburn.  The large buffalo and the stallion were speaking in hushed tones in the street below the clock tower, and the whole town did their best to listen in.  

        “He came by few minutes ‘go,” Marmalade whispered without looking back, “looks upset ‘bout somethin’.”

        “Like what?”

        “Dunno.”

        Braeburn straightened his hat and puffed out his chest, marching down the road past the crowds.

        “All right, folks!” he bellowed, “ain’t your mothers ever told ya’ll not ta eavesdrop?  C’mon, let’s give ‘em some privacy!”  Ponies chuckled nervously and pretended to walk away, ears tilted back to pick up any bit of gossip they could.  With the crowd dispersing, Braeburn was able to approach Thunderhooves and Silverstar.

        “What’s goin’ on, Sheriff?” Braeburn asked, his voice low.

        “Well,” Silverstar replied, “Thunderhooves came by ta ask us if we’ve seen anythin’...strange lately.”

        Braeburn inhaled sharply and turned to look at the bison.  Thunderhooves glared at him, his eyes narrow, his breathing long and loud.  

        “Like what?” Braeburn asked, brow furrowed.

        “Anything at all,” Thunderhooves replied, his voice raspy.

        Braeburn pursed his lips and glanced around at the crowds of rapt ponies, all with ears pointed directly toward them.  It seemed everypony in town had turned out for tonight, now watching the private conversation with interest.  In fact, they were all here in town!  The crowds were here; nopony had gone to investigate the crash site.  How anypony could have missed that bright-

        “...The fireworks...” he muttered.

        “Now, Braeburn, them fireworks’ve been planned fer months.  Ain’t ya ever seen fireworks b’fore?”

        Braeburn looked to Silverstar, then back to Thunderhooves, whose gaze had become even harsher.

        “Sorry,” the stallion swallowed, “still...not used ta them.”

        “I see,” said Silverstar, “well, other’n that, have ya seen anything...out o’ the ordinary lately?”

        Braeburn held his gaze on the chieftain's eyes.  His nose tickled, and he picked up that scent rising off the bison: the same scent as that night around the fire.  It seemed more recognizable now that it wasn’t mixed with the reek of a campfire’s smoke.  It was eerily similar to how the town smelled after Tanner’s unwanted visit... 

        It was fear.  The huge buffalo was afraid.  

        Afraid...and angry.  

        Braeburn’s mind raced.  The lookouts, that whispering buffalo, Strongheart’s apprehension, their prolonged stay in the desert, Salty’s words, Tanner’s paranoia, and...that buffalo by the quarry...

        The yellow stallion grit his teeth and glared at the buffalo.

        “No,” he growled, his knees trembling, “nothin’ unusual.”

        Thunderhooves heaved a great sigh and looked back to the sheriff.  “Please, do inform us immediately if you do notice anything strange,” 

        “Sure thing, chief,” the sheriff replied, tipping his hat, “but I tell ya, it sure would be helpful if’n y’all would tell us what we’re s’posed ta be lookin’ fer.  An’ why.”

        “Again, I cannot,” said the bison as he turned to leave, “I am sorry, but...you must trust us.”  

        The two stallions watched the chieftain leave in silence.  The lantern-lit town slowly filled with the sound of ponies resuming the celebration, and the sheriff turned to Braeburn.

        “So, Brae,” he said, clearing his throat, “how’re yer hooves there doin’?”

        “Oh, uh, better.”

        Braeburn chewed his lip for a moment before turning and walking down the road.

        “Braeburn.”

        The yellow stallion stopped.

        “Are you sure you ain’t seen anythin’ suspicious?”

        His eyes narrowed.

        “Nothin’ ‘cept them buffalo,” he muttered.  The sheriff sighed and walked away, leaving Braeburn alone in the middle of the road.  

        He felt his hooves tingle a little and he leaned back to take the pressure off.  The sound of talking and laughter and children and games and dancing and singing filled his ears and his eyes closed.  The music of the town calmed him for a moment, but when he looked back up to see the sheriff staring solemnly at him from the porch of his office, Braeburn’s stomach churned.

        Taking a deep breath, he turned and walked down the road toward Marmalade’s stand, where she was sorting through the load of apples he brought back.  She would be more than willing to let Starlight stay with her the night and-

        Braeburn stopped cold in his tracks.

        “I can’t tell anyone ‘bout her tonight,” he murmured to himself.  Ponies here and there were whispering amongst each other, pointing and glancing between him and the sheriff.  “Folks’d get suspicious...an’ if them buffalo hear...”

        “What’s that, Braeburn?”

        Braeburn jumped and looked up to see Linky standing nearby, her big pink hat practically glowing in the moon and lantern-light.

        “Oh, uh, jes-jes’ thinkin’ of turnin’ in for the night.”

        “Oh, good idea,” she said, cantering off, “best ta stay off them hooves o’ yers!  Ah’ll be by t’morrow mornin’ ta change yer bandages.”

        Braeburn smiled weakly and nodded after her.  After a moment, he took a deep breath, cricked his neck and trotted toward the orchard.





        Bristling with the light of a thousand stars, the cloudless night sky stretched out forever, the full moon hanging lazily above the open field of trees.  Carried to Braeburn’s ears by the cool breeze was a sound, ringing and dissonant.  Rounding the last bend, his home came into view, its windows lit.  As he drew near the ringing became louder, and trotting up to the house he peered through the dusty window.  Starlight was seated at his piano, hammering on the keys with the giddiness of a foal.  His ears folded at the sour notes.  Chuckling, he turned and crept down the hill toward the orchard.

        As he followed the path of destruction down the acreage, Starlight’s piano playing became increasingly muffled by the trees.  Once he reached the top of the hill overlooking the crater he rested on his haunches.

        “...the heck happens now?” he muttered.  Pushing his hat away from his tired eyes he let loose a sigh, staring down into the crater.  “Empty.”  The word hung in the air.

        A second passed and a sudden thought struck him.  He stopped breathing and spun around to stare in the direction of his home.  Through the trees he was barely able to see the glow of its windows and the shape of Starlight within.

        “Is it...possible...?”

        Swallowing, he turned back to stare at the empty crater.  A headache gripped the side of his head, thumping with the sound of hooves on a piano.

        “No...That can’t be...right?”

        As he stared into the hollow groove the random piano notes slowly melded together.  One after another they found their place and a simple melody was formed.  He looked back again, listening as Starlight’s hooves began to move from key to key with a newfound elegance.  The music faltered for a moment, then resumed, but now it was different.  

        Braeburn’s eyes shrank and his heart caught itself.  Slow, and guilty of the occasional wrong note, the song from Braeburn’s crumply old sheet music filled the air.  His eyes closed and he began to hum the song he knew so well.

        “Been riding down this road so long,
        ‘Cause I’ve got no place to go.
        I’m on the run
        From the things I’ve done
        And the world that I know.

        Can’t go back the way I came,
        Only road’s the road before me.
        And so I’ll roam,
        ‘Cause I can’t go home,
        To the way things used to be.
        My pistol full
        And guilty as sin,
        I’ll ride out once again.

        Oh I’ll keep...On riding,
        I’ll keep riding on.
        Yes I’ll keep...On riding,
        Oh I’ll keep riding on.”

        Braeburn blinked his eyes dry as the movement of the keys came to an end.  Rocking gently, he stared at the smoldering crater as his mind cleared.  It didn’t matter if it was possible or not...

        “...there’s no way I’m lettin’ anything happen ta her.”

        He stood up violently and galloped into the desert toward the rocky hills.  A minute or two later he rounded a tall cleft of rock and the small field of hoodoos came into view.  He scavenged around until he found a round, smooth boulder and rolled it back toward the orchard. He pushed it over the edge of the crater and scooped up some of the ash and charcoal, smearing it along the rock’s surface until it was dyed a deep black.  Then gathering some burned apples he rubbed them on the boulder in a few places.  When finished, he stepped back to admire his work, and smiled at his makeshift meteor.  

        “That ought ta throw ‘em...off...”

        A great yawn attacked him, and he caught himself swaying slightly to the side, exhausted from a long, long day.  He slowly walked back up the hill, wiping his hooves in the grass along the way.





        When he arrived at home he found Starlight resting on the floor with her chin on the piano bench, looking dreamily at him with unfocused eyes.  He chuckled and helped her up.

        “Burn...” she said quietly.

        “Howdy Starlight...”  He led her to his room.  “Sorry I couldn’t find somepony ta take ya in fer the night,” he said, his gut twisting at the fib, “take my room tonight.  We’ll see what we can do for ya in the mornin’.”  Starlight toddled over to his bed and plopped down.  Braeburn stepped over and pulled up the sheets for her as her eyes fluttered, struggling to stay open.

        “...Buh...” She said weakly.  Braeburn couldn’t help but chuckle and lifted her head onto a pillow.

        “Just try an’ get some rest.  I think we’ve both been through a rough day.  Reckon we could both use a good sleep.”  Before leaving he drew the curtains, leaving only a sliver of moonlight to seep through.  He then turned and left, pulling the door shut as Starlight’s breathing became long and steady with sleep.  

        Braeburn tossed his hat and vest onto the kitchen table, blew out the lamp and fell onto the couch.  As sleep overtook him, he looked out through the window into the starlit sky.


        “...I’ll ride out once again...” he hummed as his eyes blurred shut.





This story is incomplete, and I need your help to finish it.  Please comment and leave feedback on this chapter.  Let me know what you think and any way this story can be improved.
Thank you.
> Chapter 4
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Outlaw, The Star and the Big, Big Sky


By TotalOverflow, 2012


Chapter 4


        WHAM WHAM WHAM

        “Braeburn!  Braeburn!!”

        Creaking open a tired eye, the yellow stallion slowly lifted his head in the direction of his front door.  He smacked his lips and stared bemused as his brain finally registered his sister screaming blue murder.

        “Euh...Yeah?”

        “Git yer fat flank out here now, Braeburn!”

        Braeburn tumbled off the couch with a groan, his neck sore and his bones aching.  

        “Whatever it is, Marmalade, can’t it wait?” he asked, his voice crackly and dry.  “I’m tired,” he added with a bit of an indignant whine.

        “No, it can’t!  Now git out here!”  She stampeded away and Braeburn scraped himself off the floor, yawning.  Teetering toward the door he opened it slightly and winced at the morning sunlight.  He dragged his hooves outside and followed his sister’s tracks down the hill in the direction of the...

        “The crater!!” he gasped, now fully awake.  With a bray he galloped away before he remembered the filly in his room.  Rushing back inside, he peered at his bedroom door, still closed with no light coming from the crack beneath; she must still be asleep, he decided.  Against his better judgement, he ran back outside, down the hill and flew between the trees, narrowly dodging several branches to the face.  Approaching the impact site he found a small crowd of sleepy ponies muttering and marveling at the path of devastation.  Once he came to the top of the hill where Bloomburg once stood he stopped, unable to breathe, staring at the crater and the ‘meteorite’ within.  Marmalade, the sheriff and a few others stood around, shaking their heads and muttering.

        “BRAEBURN!” bellowed Marmalade once she caught sight of him standing slack-jawed on the hill.  Her purple eyes were ablaze and her orange mane was in disarray, missing its signature bows and ponytails. “What in tarnation happened ta mah apple trees!?”

        Braeburn stumbled down the hill toward the small group.  He did his best to appear shocked and awestruck at his rock while legions of grasshoppers paraded around inside his stomach.  Unsure of what to say, he could only stand and stare, occasionally glancing up at the others.

        “Looks like somethin’ done fell from the sky,” offered Silverstar, his mustache messy and his eyes baggy.  Braeburn felt his knees shake a little, hoping to Celestia nopony would notice the guilty look on his face. 

        “Ah can see that, Sheriff!” screeched Marmalade, resulting in a unified folding of ears from all present, “what’ve you got ta say fer yerself, Brae!?”

        Braeburn shot his head up in surprise, the grasshoppers in his stomach now joined by rattlesnakes.

        “W-w-what?  What do ya mean?” he asked, taking a step back from his bristling sister.

        “Y’all were the only one out here last night!  What did you see?”

        “M-me?  What did I see?”

        “Didn’t you see it land?”

        Braeburn swallowed.  He didn’t exactly see it land...

        “No,” he finally said, “n-no I didn’t.”

        Marmalade glared at him with bloodshot eyes before finally turning back to sputter at the destruction around her.  Braeburn looked out to the distance, his chest shuddering as adrenaline coursed through his body, making him nauseous.  He wished he could just run, run and keep running, never looking back.  

        “Did you see anythin’...suspicious out here last night?” Silverstar asked quietly.

        Snapped back to reality, Braeburn turned to look at the Sheriff, whose eyes were serious, unblinking and terrifying.  For a moment, they became Thunderhoove’s.  Braeburn felt his own narrow ever so slightly.

        “I already told you last night.  No, I, didn’t,” he replied.

        “How could nopony even notice this...this...tree-killer fall!?” demanded Marmalade of the crowd.  When nopony answered she turned her attention back to the black rock and leaned in toward it, lifting a hoof.

        “Don’t touch it!” shouted Braeburn.  Marmalade glared at him, holding her hoof steady.

        “Why?” she growled.

        “Uh...It-it could be dangerous...?”

        “Oh my goodness you’re right!” Lucky blurted, poking his head out from behind a tree, “it’s like in that pulp magazine of mine, this big thing falls from outer space, and anyone who goes near it turns into zombies, and then, and then, and then a giant green monster comes out of it, ‘cause it was really an egg all along, and and...”

        “Lucky!” shouted Promontory.  “Ah told ya ta stay back at the station!!  An’ stop readin’ that trash!”

        “But Dad, it’s science!” cowered Lucky as he ran off, tail between his legs.  

        Weary, Braeburn stared at his hooves.  He stifled a gasp as he noticed his own tracks leading to the crater, next to the boulder’s.  Glancing around the crowd, he marveled that nopony had spotted them yet.

        “He’s right, though,” Silverstar began.  As the crowd turned their attention back to the sheriff, Braeburn shuffled over to the tracks and began casually scuffing them out.

        “You think a monster’s in that thing?” Marmalade asked, incredulous.

        “Well, no, but there’s no tellin’ if it really is dangerous’r not.  Best we keep away from it fer now.”

        Scuff scuff rub.  Braeburn looked up to see somepony giving him an odd look.  He blushed and tried to be less obvious, wiggling like a foal who needed a restroom.

        “But!” stuttered Marmalade, “but what ‘bout mah apple trees?  How’m Ah supposed ta do any harvestin’ with some big dangerous space-rock in the middle of mah field?  What if it’s emittin’ some kind of ray or somethin’ that’ll hurt the rest o’ mah trees!?”

        “It-it-it’s emitting a ray?” asked somepony in the crowd as the group took a few nervous steps away from the impact site.  Braeburn swallowed, his gaze focused on the dirt he’d evened out.  His little rock was getting more attention than he’d expected.

“Ah’m sure it ain’t emittin’ nothin’,” said Silverstar, “but all the same, t’day’s the Summer Sun Celebration!  You shouldn’t be doin’ any harvestin’ anyhow.”

        Marmalade’s jaw fell open.  “Uh, Ah guess Ah didn’t...”

        “Hey!” Somepony blurted.  All eyes turned upon the pony, a youthful, orangey stallion with a black bowler cap.  “Y’all realize what this means, don’t ya?”  Everyone looked around, confused.  Braeburn gulped.

        “It means,” the pony continued, “that this town is gunna be famous!  Ah mean, think about it!  A rock from outer space!  Landin’ right here in our town!”

        The entire crowd lit up in bright-eyed smiles.  Braeburn’s jaw fell open in bewilderment.

        “Hey...Yeah!” somepony else said, “folk’s’d be comin’ ‘round fer miles ta see it!”

        “We could put a fence around it!” the orange pony continued, “an’ Marmalade!  Imagine!  Everypony would want to see the apple orchard it rests in!  An’ of course, they’d want ta buy some apples!  Space apples!”

        Marmalade’s face beamed.  “Oh mah gosh!  Why, we’d make so much money!  ‘Marmalade’s famous Space Apple Pie!’”

        “Holy gravy!” Promontory nearly squealed, “imagine all the traffic we’d get!  We could afford to buy a bran’ new engine an’ everything!”

        “We’re gunna be famous!”

        “Yee-haw!”

        “This is wonderful!”

        “This is horrible,” Braeburn groaned softly.

        “All right, settle down, everypony,” announced the sheriff, “I’ll take care o’ this here rock a li’l later.  Fer now, just head back home an’ get some sleep.  Y’all had a late night last night.”

        The crowd slowly dispersed, murmuring excitedly amongst each other as they headed back for town.  Braeburn, his mind still trying to process what had just happened, was about to return home to Starlight when Silverstar called after him.

        “Braeburn, hang on a second.”

        The yellow stallion took a shaky breath before facing the sheriff.

        “Braeburn, there’s been a lot o’ strange things goin’ on these last few days...”  The chestnut-colored stallion stepped closer, his black hat tilted down casting a shadow over his eyes.  Braeburn squinted, trying to disguise his unease.  “I’m gonna need you ta be on the tips of yer hooves an’ ready fer whatever’s comin’ our way.”

        Braeburn let out a small sigh of relief.  

        “I’m gonna leave you in charge of watchin’ this here rock,” continued the sheriff, “yer home’s nearby an’ I’ve got lot’s o’ paperwork ta get back to.  I’ll be back later on ta deal with it.”  Braeburn gave a nod and the sheriff cantered away.  His head low, Braeburn began walking for home.  As he reached the crest of the hill, he looked back to his rock.

        “What in the heck am I gettin’ myself into...?”





        The door creaked as Braeburn pushed it aside.  He glanced around his home, at the messy couch, the silent piano and his hat and vest laying on the kitchen table.  He stepped over to the table and dropped the pair of apples he held in the crook of his arm onto it.  Running a hoof through his golden mane, he closed the front door and leaned against it.  

        “S’okay,” he mumbled, “just calm down.  I got out all the tracks...nopony should figure out where that rock-” he stopped when he heard a rustling noise from his bedroom.  Chuckling lightly, he strolled over and tapped politely.

        “Starlight?” he said softly, “you awake?”  When he got no response he reached for the doorknob.  “I’m comin’ in, ‘kay?”  
        The handle gave and he pushed open the door, poking his nose inside.  Slim rays of sunlight slipped between the drawn curtains to reveal the crouching form of Starlight next to his bed, which had been pushed a few feet to the left.  Braeburn’s pupils shrank as he watched Starlight lift a wooden box out from underneath a loose floorboard.  

        “Starlight!” he shouted, jumping forward and snatching the box out of her hooves, “Don’t touch that!!”  He pulled the box close to his chest while Starlight stared in wide-eyed shock and confusion.

        “Apple?” she asked meekly.

        “Uh, no...It’s...it’s dangerous, ‘kay?”  Stepping past Starlight he lowered the box back into its home, replaced the panel then pushed the bed back in place.  The pale filly sat crookedly on the floor, watching him with fascination.

        Braeburn wiped a bead of cold sweat from his face, his heart hammering in his head.  “Sorry, Starlight, I...I didn’t mean ta yell, just...just don’t go near that box, ‘kay?  It’s not safe.”

        “...‘Kay,” said the filly.

        “Hoo...” he sighed, “how did ya think ta look under there, anyway?”

        Starlight smiled and pulled her hooves close to herself.  He couldn’t help but give a little laugh.

        “You’re a curious one,” he said, “in more ways’n one.”  After a moment of looking into the filly’s scarlet eyes he walked over to the window and opened the curtains letting in rays from the morning sun.  Motes of dust drifted in the angled beam, and when he looked back to Starlight, her coat seemed a tiny shade pinker in the sunlight.  She squinted and looked away.

        “So, uh...You hungry?” Braeburn asked after a moment.  He stepped over to the open bedroom door and beckoned for Starlight to follow.  “I got some apples from the field fer breakfast.”

        “Apple!” Starlight jumped to her hooves and skipped over.  The yellow stallion led her to the kitchen and passed her one of the red fruits while taking the other for himself.  Starlight gobbled hers up in a flash while Braeburn just stared at his.

        “There ain’t much better’n a fresh apple fer breakfast.  Least that’s what Pa used ta say.”  Braeburn spun the apple in his hooves, looking wistfully at the fruit.  “Y’know, my whole family’s always worked with apples, least as long as I can ‘member.  We ain’t called the Apple Family fer nuthin’!  Heh, an’ there sure are a lot of us too.  Why, some of my relatives even started an orchard out in Stalliongrad!  How ‘bout that, eh?  I ain’t never been out there, but boy howdy I’d sure li-EEP!”  

        The apple flew from his hooves as Braeburn jumped in shock at the cold hoof that prodded his flank.  He glared back to see Starlight touching his cutie mark.

        “Apple?” she asked.

        Braeburn’s cheeks flared up and he took an embarrassed step away.  “S-Starlight!  Tha-that ain’t proper!  To go about touchin’ others’...” he brought a hoof to his red face.  “It...Well...you...Ain’t proper!”

        “Apple?” 

        Braeburn looked down to his cutie mark, a red apple.  “Uh, my c-cutie mark?”  His voice cracked suddenly, followed by a cough.  “I mean, yeah, that’s my cutie mark.  It’s an apple.  Like I said, my whole family’s been tied ta apples fer generations.”

        “Cu...tie, mark?” Starlight struggled, frowning.

        “Yeah, ain’t nothin’ too special, I s’pose.  What’s yours?”  He looked to the filly’s flank and she did the same.  It was bare.  “Oh...uh....huh.”  Braeburn said, stepping closer, “now that’s strange...I didn’t notice b’fore, but...you don’t have one.  You shoulda got it by now.”

        “Don’t...have,” Starlight said sadly.

        “Well, hey now,” Braeburn said, smiling reassuringly, “we all get one someday when we find out just what we’re meant ta do.  Guess it just takes longer fer some than others.  You’ll get your’s someday too, when ya find your special talent.”

        The filly looked up at him and smiled.  “Talent.”  She then pointed at Braeburn’s flank again.  “Y...y...you?”  Braeburn gazed down at his cutie mark and sighed wistfully.

        “I know it don’t look like much compared ta some others’ cutie marks, but this li’l apple means a whole lot ta me.  Got it while helping out a friend.  A close friend, went by the name of Jake.”  Braeburn looked over to the brown buckled Stetson on his kitchen table.  “Closest friend I ever had.”  

        Starlight glanced between him and his hat before leaning over and picking up the fallen apple, passing it to Braeburn.  He smiled and took it in his hoof, rubbed it against his chest and admired its red sheen once more before leaning in to bite.
        
        Knock knock knock

        “Braeburn?  You there?”

        Braeburn dropped the apple and spun to stare wide-eyed at the door.  “Ah horse apples...” he hissed, pushing Starlight in the direction of his bedroom, “quickly, hide!  An’ stay quiet!”

        “Bu-”

        Braeburn shoved a hoof over her mouth.

        “Ssh!  Just stay in here an’ keep quiet!”

        Starlight slowly nodded her head and went into the room.  She looked at him, confused, and Braeburn closed the door on her.
        
        Knock knock knock

        “Coming!” he shouted, trotting over and opening the door.  Standing outside was Linky, wearing her huge pink hat and a pair of black satchels.  “Uh, Linky!  Hi!”  Braeburn grinned awkwardly, “fancy seein’ you ‘round here!  W-what’s goin’ on?”

        “Ah’m here ta check up on yer hooves an’ change yer bandages, ‘member?” she said, frowning, “we talked ‘bout this yesterday.”

        “Oh, oh right!” Braeburn said, stepping outside and slamming the door behind him, “well, let’s hurry on down to Doc’s an’ do this!”

        Linky stared disbelievingly at him.  “Uh, Ah brought mah kit, Braeburn.  Ah said Ah’d come by t’day fer a house call, ‘member?”

        “Uh, oh, right, of course!” Braeburn laughed loudly, “just a little tired!  Sorry!  Late night an’ all, heh heh.”  He turned, grimaced and opened the door, holding it open for Linky and then followed her inside.

        “Riiiight,” Linky said, looking around his house, “nice place ya got here.”  She eyed the bruised apple on the floor, his hat and crumpled vest on the table and the messy blanket on the couch.  She clicked her tongue.

        “Uh, thanks?” Braeburn blushed, hurriedly grabbing the apple and setting it on the table.

        “Okay, take a seat on the couch then,” Linky said, already opening her bags, “this won’t take long.”  Braeburn obeyed and held out his hooves as she pulled out new gauze, clips and a knife.  She deftly manipulated the knife with her mouth and cut the old bandages on his hooves.  Braeburn made quick nervous glances at his bedroom door as she peeled away the fabric, exposing his sore hooves, coated in dry blood.  Braeburn winced in mild pain as Linky began scraping the hardened blood off with the dull side of the blade.  She then wiped it away with a slightly damp cloth.  As she held his hooves up to examine them, she frowned and mumbled to herself.

        “Uh, everythin’ okay?” Braeburn asked, his concern taken off the filly in his bedroom for the moment.

        “Now that’s odd...” Linky said, “yer right hoof is healin’ way faster’n yer left.”  Braeburn turned his hooves around and squinted at them.  His left hoof was still cracked, bloody and swollen, while the other had nearly healed completely: only a little reddish with a few small chips and bumps.  

        “Uh, that’s good, ain’t it?” Braeburn said, his voice uncertain.

        “Ah s’pose, but it’s weird.  Ah well, s’long as it’s gettin’ better.”  She began wrapping the new gauze around his hooves while Braeburn chanced another glance at his bedroom door.

        Once Linky fastened the new bandages she packed her things and rose to her hooves.  Braeburn stood and tested the new bandages.

        “That’s it then,” Linky said, slinging her packs over her shoulder, “let me know if they start hurtin’ any worse or anythin’, an’ Ah’ll be by t’morrow ta change ‘em again.”

        “Sounds good,” Braeburn smiled.  He led the blue mare toward his front door, releasing a silent sigh of relief that Starlight hadn’t drawn any attent-

        THUMP

        Braeburn froze in place, not daring to look at his bedroom door.

        “...Heck was that?” Linky asked.

        Wincing slightly, Braeburn looked up to the mare, who stared across the room with a frown.  “Uhh, prob’ly just some...uh, books or somethin’ fallin’ over.  Yeah, it’s a mess in there right now, heh heh!”  He tried to give a convincing smile and nonchalantly strolled over to his hat and vest on the table, fumbling with them for a moment before donning them.  With a sudden blush he removed his Stetson, spun it around and placed it back on his head correctly.

        Linky glared at him from beneath the rims of her pink hat before rolling her eyes and turning out the door.  “Whatever.  Yer place could do with a good scrubbin’.”

        “Heh, sure could!  I’ll get on that!” Braeburn shouted a bit too cheerfully after the mare as she trotted away.  The door slammed behind her and the stallion fell against it, his breathing heavy.  Standing on shaky knees he went to his bedroom door and opened it to find Starlight struggling to free herself from the blanket that had entangled itself around her legs and neck.  She looked at Braeburn with a sheepish grin and held out her hooves toward him.  Braeburn shook his head with a chuckle and stepped over to free the filly.

        “That was close,” he said as he unwrapped her, “good thing Linky didn’t press the matter.”  He looked around his room, which besides the bed, coat-rack and mirror was completely empty.  “I ain’t even got any books.”  

        “Books?” asked Starlight as Braeburn undid the knot around her back leg.

        “Yeah, I ain’t never been big on readin’ storybooks an’ such.  Now, my sister on the other hoof, well she’s always been a big sucker for fairy tales and the like, y’know, where the brave knight finally gets the beautiful princess an’ they live forever after an’ all that.”

        Starlight giggled.  After a few more minutes of disentangling her she stood to her hooves, now freed from the blanket menace.  She threw herself at Braeburn and wrapped her arms around him.

        “Br-brave kn...ight!” she cheered.  

        Braeburn turned bright pink and gave her a gentle pat on the back.  She pulled away and looked at him with big happy eyes as the stallion sat on his haunches for a moment.  He coughed to hide a giggle and stepped over to the crumpled blanket on the floor, lifting it with his teeth and tossing it back on the bed.  He looked back to Starlight and opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a knock on the front door.

        “Braeburn?”
        
        Knock knock knock

        “Oh Luna, not again!” he groaned, placing a hoof on Starlight’s shoulder and pushing her slightly further into the room, “just stay put, an’ stay quiet this time!”  Starlight nodded and ducked into a corner as Braeburn hurried out of the room, slamming the door behind him.  

        “Braeburn!”

        He flung open the front door and tried to smile for Linky, whose hoof was raised to knock again.

        “Hey, Linky!” he said through his teeth, “what’s goin’ on?”

        “Braeburn, you know anythin’ ‘bout that space rock?”

        “Uh,” Braeburn scratched his neck, “a li’l, I s’pose, why?”

        “Well, Ah was hopin’ ta get a look at it after Ah finished fixin’ you up, but Ah couldn’t find it.  Where’s it at?”

        Braeburn frowned.  “I don’t really see how ya could miss it, I mean, that big black crater ain’t easy ta miss.”

        “No, Ah saw the crater, but where’s the rock?”

        “What, you didn’t see it?  Right in the crater!  ‘Bout so big, black...”

        “Nope.  Nothin’ was there.”

        The yellow stallion froze up.  “It’s...gone!?”

        Linky stared at him for a moment before her pupils shrunk to pinpricks.  “Oh mah gosh!  Somepony stole it!  What should we-!  What if-!  Uh, uh, Ah’m gunna go get the sheriff!”  She trotted in place for a moment before turning and galloping away for town.

        Dumbstruck, Braeburn’s hooves were glued to the ground.  Finally, his wits returned.  “W-wait!  No!!” he called, but it was too late: she was already out of sight.  Braeburn began running after her but a shriek from his home stopped him in his tracks only a few meters away.

        He glanced between his house and the path to town.  Taking a step toward his home he paused, turned and ran for town.  A second later he cursed himself and spun around, racing back for his house.

        “Starlight!?” he panicked, running over to the bedroom door.  Starlight leapt into his arms, panting and pointing to the window.  “What is it?” he asked, his voice tense.  “Did somepony see you?  Is it a coyote?  What’s out there?”  Starlight whimpered and moved behind the stallion, using him as a shield.  Braeburn jumped over to the window, but nothing was outside.

        “What was it, Starlight!?” he asked, every fibre of his body quivering with adrenaline.  The filly stepped a little closer and pointed with a shaky hoof at a spider on the window pane.

        Braeburn did the best he could not to face-hoof.  He opened the window and tried to shoo the spider out, but it crouched into a crevice, its legs sticking every which way.  Braeburn shook his head and turned to leave.

        “I don’t have time fer-!” he caught himself when he saw Starlight staring wide-eyed at him.  

        “Grrrrah!” he groaned, removed his hat with his teeth, and tried to convince the spider to migrate to its brim, but the spider seemed quite content in its little crack.

        He sighed and replaced his hat.  “Look, Starlight, it’s just a spider!  I really hafta-”

        “Mmm!” Starlight squealed, clutching tightly onto his vest.  Defeated, Braeburn rolled his eyes and ran into his kitchen with Starlight clinging onto him for dear life.

        “Just gimme a sec, Starlight!” he said as he began rummaging through cupboards and drawers, “I know I’ve got some-Aha!”  He smiled triumphantly at the writing quill and parchment in the drawer meant for cutlery.  Snatching the quill in his teeth he ran back into the bedroom.  

        The window sill’s crack was empty, the spider nowhere to be seen.

        “There!” said Braeburn, “it’s gone now!”  Starlight gasped and started hyperventilating, looking all over the room as if it could jump out at her from anywhere.  Braeburn’s shoulders drooped and he began pulling aside the curtains, looking for the bug.  

        “Eee!” Starlight screamed, pointing at the upper left corner of the window’s pane.  Braeburn glared up at his nemesis in the corner and, poking at it with the old, bristly feather, sent the spider swinging on an invisible strand, climbing madly for safety.  

        “No you don’t,” growled Braeburn as he hooked the spider’s strand on his quill and blew the spider out the open window before slamming it shut.

        “There!  Egad, Starlight!” he groaned.  Starlight embraced him.  

        “Brave knight!” she said happily.  Braeburn couldn’t help but give a smile and patted her on the back before he remembered the missing rock.

        He gently pushed the filly away and hurried into his front room.  Starlight stood in the doorframe and watched as he, stammering, paced back and forth between her and his front door.

        “Dagnabbit, I’m really in fer it now!” he muttered.  Staring at his hooves, he stopped pacing and tried to think.  Not an easy task, as his heart pounded in his head and his mouth ran dry.  Dishonesty was a dirty word to members of the Apple Family, and right now he was neck deep in it.  Momentarily he considered confessing everything, but when he looked up to Starlight as she stood in the doorway to his bedroom, a shiver of terror ran up his spine at the thought of anything happening to her.  The memory of how she played that song resurfaced in his mind, along with something somepony else had once told him...


        “There’s such a thing as a necessary evil, Brae.  Sometimes ta do what’s right we have ta do somethin’ bad.”


        Braeburn grit his teeth and looked back to the dusty floor.  He had hoped never to make such a choice.

        Not again.

        The sound of galloping hooves brought him back to reality.  Panicking, he ran over to Starlight and nudged her back inside his room.

        “Stay here!” he whispered.  She nodded, and ducked inside as he closed the door.  A moment later the galloping stopped as Silverstar hammered on his front door.

        WHAM WHAM WHAM

        “Braeburn!  Get out here!”

        The yellow stallion took a deep breath and stepped over to the door.  “Celestia help me...”

        He opened the door to find Silverstar and a few other ponies glaring at him.

        “Braeburn, what do you have ta say fer yerself?” the sheriff demanded.  Marmalade, Linky and even Vinny drew near the door, along with a dozen or so other ragged looking ponies.  Braeburn stepped outside, closing the door behind him as he stammered for something to say.

        “Sheriff, I-”

        “I gave you one task, Braeburn,” Silverstar interrupted, “all you had ta do was watch the meteorite till I got back.  I expected better of you.”

        “But I-”

        “What were ya doin’ at home?” he panted, exasperated, “how were ya plannin’ on watchin’ it from here!?”

        “Wait, what’s going on?” Vinny asked stupidly.

        “Braeburn stole the space rock!” Marmalade shrieked.

        “What!?” Braeburn bleated, “What would I want with some rock?”

        “What, you sayin’ somepony else took it!?  Y’all should’ve been watchin’ mah ticket ta success!”  Marmalade stammered, her eyes a mix of rage and heart-break, “this rock woulda made me some real money!  Money Ah coulda used ta build an even better orchard!”  She gasped and raised a hoof accusingly at him.  “You did take it!  Y’all were jealous an’ wanted ta keep it fer yerself!”

        “I didn’t touch it, sis!”

        “LIAR!”

        “Hey, now!” Silverstar said, stepping between the two, “let’s settle down here!”  Marmalade recoiled slightly, still breathing heavily through flared nostrils.  “Braeburn messed up - messed up big time, not keepin’ watch on it, but I don’t believe he stole it,” he looked to Braeburn, “did you?”

        “No sir,” Braeburn replied.  Silverstar, his eyes still narrowed, gave a slow nod.

        “I didn’t think so.  Braeburn ain’t got a reason ta hide anythin’...right?”

        “No,” Braeburn said, his stomach shivering. 

        “I never even got to see it...” Vinny said weakly.  

        The group stood around silently for a moment before Braeburn shook himself.  “Well, a fat lot o’ good it’s goin’ ta do us standin’ ‘round here!”  Everyone looked up to him in confusion.  “Whoever took it musta left some hoofprints behind!”

        “Let’s go,” the sheriff said quickly as the group galloped for the orchard.

        “Ah can’t believe it,” Linky bemoaned as they ran, “this was the biggest thing that ever happened in this town an’ now it’s gone!  Ah never even got ta see it either...”

        “Mah Pa was so excited when Ah told him ‘bout it, too,” somepony else said sadly, “he was goin’ ta come out later an’ see it,” 

        Braeburn looked over to Marmalade, who held her accusing glare upon him.  They ran between the trees, a few ponies tripping over jutting roots.

        “An’ here I was hopin’ fer an exclusive interview with the Equestria Daily,” said the orange pony with the bowler hat, “there goes that dream...”

        “Linky!” Silverstar called behind him, “you work with horseshoes all the time, don’t ya?”

        “Yes sir!”

        “Then you an’ Braeburn’ll help me look fer any tracks.”

        Linky looked to Braeburn, and the pair held their gaze for an uncomfortable moment before Braeburn finally looked away, focusing on the ground as he ran.

        “All right, Braeburn, Linky,” the sheriff bellowed as the group approached the hill overlooking the crash site, “let’s find some tracks.  The rest o’ y’all, stay here!  We don’t want anypony messing up the evidence!” 

        “Hmph, Ah bet I’d do just as good a job,” a stallion in the crowd grunted.  

        Braeburn chewed his lip and stared numbly at the now empty black crater as Linky and Silverstar hurried down the side of the hill and spread out, examining the area.  Braeburn, a cold sweat running down his face, slowly slid down the hillside and began searching.  The ponies who watched muttered amongst each other as the trio searched the ground for any sign of a trail.  

        “I can’t believe this,” Braeburn grumbled, “what would anypony even want with a stinkin’ rock anyhow?”  He glanced over his shoulder at the other two, who were advancing further out into the orchard.  Braeburn groaned and moved further out as well.  

        Several meters away from the crater a strange shape in the dirt stood out to Braeburn, and he leaned down.

        The shape looked like a curved triangle, but split down the middle.  Braeburn looked a little further to see another, and another...a whole trail of them leading away, alongside a small, twisting trench in the dirt.

        Braeburn gasped and stood tall.

        “The buffalo!” he yelled, “they took it!”

        “What!?”  Silverstar shouted, his mustache flaring.  He and Linky approached.  “Braeburn, what in tarnation-”

        “Look here an’ tell me these ain’t buffalo tracks!”

        Silverstar fell silent and, after a moment of glaring at Braeburn, stepped over and examined the tracks.  He sighed, and looked back up to the yellow stallion, his expression unreadable.  The other ponies rushed down the hill and clambered over to take a look.

        “No doubt ‘bout it, those are buffalo tracks!” Linky said, “Ah helped out a lone buffalo whose hoof was hurt once, they ain’t anythin’ like a pony’s hoof.  That’s a buffalo hoofprint fer sure.”

        “But, that don’t make sense!” somepony said, “them buffalo are excellent trackers’n such!  Why would they leave hoofprints?”

        Braeburn gave a small, wicked chuckle.  “They only had a li’l time ta get here when nopony was around!  They didn’t have time ta cover up after themselves properly!”  He looked around at the crowd who murmured in agreement before looking over to Silverstar, who held his eyes steady upon him.  

        “He’s right!” Vinny shouted a few meters away, “look over here!  The tracks are all messy and all over the place, like they were in a hurry!”  The others ran over to see.

        “Ah can’t believe it!  Those thievin’ varmints!”

        “They wanted ta take the fame fer themselves!”

        “Naw, c’mon!  Why would the buffalo care ‘bout things like that?”

        As the others all exchanged theories, Braeburn and Silverstar stood silent, staring each other down.

        “Well, Sheriff?” Braeburn finally said, “what do you have ta say for them buffalo now?”

        The brown pony let out a long breath and finally looked back to the tracks.  “Braeburn...Braeburn...” he mumbled.  Braeburn’s smile faded.  “I know the buffalo an’ us didn’t always get along.  We didn’t know what ta think of each other back then, an’ we were reckless an’ afraid.  Heck, I was the one who accepted the chief’s challenge and caused that big fight a few months back...but I like ta think I learned somethin’ from that.”

        He looked up to Braeburn with sad eyes.

        “I had thought you did too.”

        Braeburn looked away.  He suddenly didn’t know how to feel, or what to think.  Had he really learned nothing from that day, or the days after he spent with Little Strongheart and the others?  But the last few days...Braeburn closed his eyes, thinking over recent events.  It was clear they were looking for something, they were afraid - they stunk of fear - and willing to steal.  What would they do if they heard about a pony who just happened to arrive in town the same night as something fell from the stars?  For that matter, what would the ponies in town do to her?

        Braeburn gave a light stomp of his hoof.  

        He had made his choice, and now it was time to follow through.

        “I’m sorry, Sheriff, but...”  He looked up to the stallion before him.  “I didn’t want it to be this way, but...I...I...I can’t trust them buffalo.  They are up to somethin’.  They’ve been spyin’ on us an’ watchin’ us, an’ they won’t tell us why.  What’ve they got to keep secret from us?  An’ now, they go an’ do this.”  When the sheriff gave no reply, Braeburn tipped his hat and turned, walking for home.

        When he was a few feet away the sheriff spoke.

        “You’re beginnin’ ta sound like Tanner.”

        Braeburn grit his teeth, took a deep breath and galloped away.





        “Starlight?”

        When Braeburn pushed open his bedroom door he found the filly admiring herself in the mirror.  She stopped and smiled when she saw him and sat down on the floor.  The sight of her sitting there, her dark mane glistening in the sunlight, calmed him and he was almost able to forget what happened moments ago.

        “Sorry I kinda ran off back there,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, “I had...somethin’ ta deal with.”

        Starlight just sat there, looking at him expectantly.  

        “Hey,” he said suddenly, “I’ve got an idea!  Why don’t I go an’ borrow some books from my sis so you’ll have somethin’ ta do if I...well, need ta run off again?”  He ended with a pang of guilt at how he’d been abandoning her like this.

        “Books,” Starlight repeated sleepily.  

        “That is, if my sis doesn’t kill me when I ask...”

        Starlight frowned and tilted her head.  “Kill?”

        Braeburn laughed nervously and loudly.  “I’m just kiddin’.  She’s been kinda upset with me lately fer...well, I guess I’ve been a little...um...”

        “Kill?” Starlight asked again, sitting straight, her eyes riveted upon him.

        “Uhh,” he stammered, “oh, look, don’t worry about it.  Forget I said anythin’.  I’ll go an’ get some of her books soon, ‘kay?”

        “‘Kay!” she replied happily.  He smiled.  Looking at the pale pinkish-blue filly in his room he blinked, wondering if she even knew how to read.  Then again, she had no trouble reading his sheet music...

        “Hey, Starlight,” he said, stepping out of the room.  Starlight followed him and the pair stopped near the piano.  “I didn’t know you could play the piano.”  Starlight looked between him and the box.

        She pointed at it.  “Piano.”

        “Heh, yup, that thing.  Y’know, bein’ able ta play is quite an accomplishment for an earth pony like yourself.  Oh!  I’m not sayin’ that you’re disabled!  I-I mean, uh, you’re an earth pony, like me!  Well, ‘cept you’re a girl...but we’re both earth ponies!  An’ playin’ is real hard for us.  Playin’ piano, I mean.  Y’know, hooves an’ no magic.  Well, some would argue we’ve all got some sort o’ magic, but...”

        He was interrupted as Starlight burst out laughing.  Blushing slightly, Braeburn scratched his neck.

        “Oh, Burn,” she said, still giggling.  Smiling, she toddled over to the piano, sat down before it and began playing.  Twisting and rotating her slender hooves she deftly maneuvered between the keys, improvising and playing slow, simple tunes.

        Braeburn smiled widely.  “I only ever knew one pony who could play piano.  He was amazin’, I tell you...Most folk only ever expect unicorns or critters with fingers to be able ta play, but there’ve been a few earth ponies who could, including him.  I only got ta see him play once, but I’ll never forget it.”

        The filly kept playing as though he hadn’t said a thing.  He closed his eyes and listened to her music for a bit, thinking back to his youth.  Feeling his eyes moisten and his nose become slightly stuffy, he opened his eyes and walked for his front door.

        “So, uh, guess I’ll go’n get those books, then,” he said with a small sniffle.  “While I’m gone, make sure you...”  He turned back to see Starlight watching him.  She smiled and trotted over to his bedroom, pulling the door to.

        Braeburn chuckled.  “Thanks.”  She smiled wider and closed the door.  Braeburn, after a moment, opened his front door and cantered for town, the late morning sun beating heavily upon him.





        The streets of Appleloosa were nearly bare.  Only one or two ponies milled about, and Braeburn saw at least three tumbleweeds roll by.

        “Howdy,” called a pony resting against a building, “sure is dead out here, eh?”

        “Yeah,” said Braeburn, “everypony must still be sleepin’ off last night’s party.”

        “You shoulda seen it earlier, though: ponies were running all over, hollerin’ ‘bout some space rock or somethin’.  You hear anythin’ ‘bout it?”

        “Uh, a bit,” Braeburn replied, quickening his gait, “prob’ly no big deal, though.  Anyway I gotta run!”

        “Stay safe,” the pony nodded as Braeburn hurried away.  He avoided the gaze of any other ponies who happened to be around for the rest of the trip to his sister’s house.  Once he arrived, he stood on the front porch to her home, a larger house than his and much more appealing to the eye.  He sighed, unsure of what to expect from his sister.  After knocking but getting no reply, Braeburn tested the door to find it unlocked.  

        “Sis?” he called, stepping inside.  The front room had a small table and two chairs, decorated with a potted flower, and a bookshelf full of books.  A staircase on the right of the room led up while two doorways led to the kitchen ahead, and the living room to the left.  Back when his family was here they all lived in this house together, and he had fond memories of it.  One of the first buildings in town...

        “Uh, Marmalade?”  Braeburn poked his head into the living room, where he found his sister resting on a couch facing away, her head on her hooves and her orange hat on a nearby table.  “Hey, uh, I was wondering if maybe I could-”

        “Mmm...cupcakes?  Pass the rainbow juice...”

        “Marmalade?”

        “No, no...more sugar...”

        Braeburn poked her on her back and she groaned.

        “Sis?” he asked, stepping around the table to look her in the face.  She opened her eyes and tried to focus on him.

        “Oh, it’s you.  What is it?” she asked, her voice crackly, “Ah jes’ fell asleep...”

        “I was wonderin’ if I could...” he paused, and looked around the room for a moment.  “Look.  Sis, I’m awful sorry ‘bout what happened ta the orchard.  An’...I’m sorry I didn’t take better care of the trees, or the r-uh, space rock.”

        She snorted.  “Y’all’ve been actin’ mighty strange lately, Brae.  Ah don’t like it.”

        Braeburn sighed and looked away.  “I know.  I...Well, I can’t really defend myself, I s’pose.  Things have been...Changed.  Things’re different lately.”

        “That space rock coulda changed a lot ‘round here.  Made this town the place Pa always wanted it ta be.”

        The room fell silent for a minute.  A long, agonizing minute.  Braeburn tilted back and forth on a squeaky floorboard, staring at his bandaged hooves.  

        Marmalade finally sighed.  “What’d you come by fer?”

        Braeburn had to think for a moment.  “I wanted ta borrow some books.  W-uh, I wanted somethin’ ta read.”

        “What else would ya do with ‘em?” she scoffed.

        “Mind if I pick out a few?”

        “Help yerself.”

        Braeburn strolled over to one of the bookshelves and tilted his head, eyeing their spines.  ‘The Secret of Highyard Hill,’ ‘Rescue at Midnight Castle,’ ‘Daring-Do and the Sapphire Statue,’ ‘Fortress of Fire’...

        “Ah didn’t even know you could read,” snarked his sister.

        He chuckled.  “You’ve got a lot here...what ta pick...”

        “Just choose somethin’ an’ git outta here so Ah can get back ta sleep.”

        His eye fell upon one red bound book without a label.  Pulling it out with his teeth and resting it on the table he found no title anywhere on it.  Not the thickest book, but certainly not light reading.

        “What’s this?”  His sister looked up at his question and her eyes lit up at the book.

        “Heh, Ah ‘member that one.  One of the first books Ah ever read by mahself, actually.”

        “Really?”  Braeburn flipped through the pages.  “Gotta be couple hundred pages in here...how old were ya when you read it?  How come I never saw you readin’ it?”

        Marmalade looked away, her voice low.  “It was while you were...y’know...”

        Braeburn sighed and looked back to the book.  “...Right.  ‘Course.”  He ran his hoof over the cover again.  Flipping it open, he scanned the first few pages for any sort of title.  “I don’t see a name or anything...”

        “Yeah, Ah don’t know.  Ah don’t know what that story’s called.  There’s no title’r nothin’.  Ah bought it at an antiques store after you’d...  Ma an’ Pa didn’t approve of me buyin’ stuff at a time like that, but...well, it took mah mind of it an’ got me through it.”

        “‘Once, in a land far away but not too far, there was a great kingdom...’” Braeburn read the first line aloud.  “Heh, this should do nicely.  Thanks, sis.”  He looked over to his sister who was staring at him with sad eyes.

        “Yer welcome,” she said after a moment.  Braeburn tried to smile, failed, and grabbed the book in his teeth.  He cantered out of the house, gently closing the door behind him.  The warmth of the sun, about midway through the sky, sent a shiver down his spine.  He stood in that spot for a moment until a growl of his stomach snapped him out of his reverie.

        “Haybe I thould geh sawfing frah the fakery for lunsh,” he spoke through the book.  He cantered off, smiling at the thought of his cousin’s apple fritters and wondered if Starlight would like them.


•••




        A torch, burning weakly, crackled in its stand within the tent.  The curtains were pushed aside suddenly, letting in rays of sunlight as two creatures, one large and armor-clad, the other small and wearing a helmet several sizes too large, stepped inside.

        “Aries Parath, Lord Spire!” the large one said, “sorry to bother you sir, but this one was hiding among the ranks again.”

        Atop a large cushion a bighorn stirred.

        “Thank you,” he said, squinting through the beams of light, “I shall deal with this.”

        “Sir!”  The guard bowed and backed out of the tent, drawing the curtains leaving the smaller bighorn illuminated in firelight.

        “Dahlia,” Lord Spire said slowly with a chuckle, “so eager for war.  I admire your bravery, but you know it is no place for you.”

        Dahlia removed her helmet to reveal a young, slender ewe, her ivory coat cut short and her large brown eyes frowning at the ground.  “But sir,” she said, “I’m not a lamb anymore!  I can fight as well as any ram in your army!”

        “No, no, Dahlia,” Spire replied, “your place is here.”

        “But I want to see Ovisica!”

        “And you will, you will!” Spire smiled, “but not before it is safe for you and the others.”  Lord spire sat tall, looking down his snout at the ewe.  “As I have commanded, so it shall be.”

        Dahlia hung her head.  “Yes, my lord...”

Lord Spire regarded her for a moment before sighing and dropping down onto his cushion.  “Has there been any news from Thorn?”  

        The earth shook momentarily as a loud crumbling noise echoed around the mountains followed by cheering, distracting Dahlia momentarily.

        “N...no, sire,” she said, standing straight, “it is at least two days travel to where it fell, even for one as swift as Thorn.”

        Spire hummed in reply.  “Thank you, Dahlia.  Was there anything else?”

        “Well, I was thinking maybe I could assist with the work, and...”

        Spire tried to laugh but coughed instead.  “Do not be foolish; you do not even have any horns.”

        Dahlia huffed.  “But, but, I could...” she sighed.  “Please, I just want to help.”

        “Help can come...in more ways than one,” he smiled, suddenly breathing heavily “why don’t you...take your sister...down to the...valley for a while?”

        She sighed in defeat.  “Yes, Grandfather.  Aries Parath.”

        “Aries Parath,” Spire replied.  The ewe picked up the helmet with her teeth and slinked away, between the curtains.  Spire watched her leave, and closed his eyes for a moment.  He coughed again, dry and painfully.

        “Guard,” he called out. 

        “Sir?”  The soldier stuck his head inside the doorway.

        “Summon Matilda.”

        “At once, sir!”  The guard dashed away.

        Lord Spire took a long, shaky breath and closed his eyes.  “Please,” he whispered, “please let me live long enough...”





This story is incomplete, and I need your help to finish it.  Please comment and leave feedback on this chapter.  Let me know what you think and any way this story can be improved.
Thank you.
> Chapter 5
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Outlaw, The Star and the Big, Big Sky


By TotalOverflow, 2012


Chapter 5


        “Oh, Braeburn!” Applebumpkin said as she descended the staircase on the left of the store, eyes half open and bleary, “how nice ta see you!”

        He grinned.  "Howdy cuz’."  He placed the red book on a nearby table next to a small folded menu.  Being a small bakery, there were only a couple such tables, and on the far end of the room stood a counter with a glass display half-full with muffins, fritters and sweet buns.  Braeburn took a deep breath of the warm, tasty air.  “Just came by fer a couple o’ your famous fritters!”

        Applebumpkin smiled weakly through her red, curly mane.  “Well, lucky fer you I just so happened ta bake a few this mornin’.  Hopefully they won’t be the last ones.”

        “Hmm?  What’s that mean?”

        “Well,” she sighed, stepping behind the counter and collecting the treats, “I was s’pecting a shipment of cinn’mon a few days ‘go, but it never came in.”

        “Cinnamon?” Braeburn puzzled, “didn’t the store...yeah, there was a big shipment o’ supplies the other day!”

        She wrapped the fritters and procured a paper bag, placing them delicately inside and tightening the string around its opening.  “Got most of the supplies I need, but not cinn'mon.  Cinn’mon comes from overseas, but I've never had any problems gettin' it b'fore.”  She walked over to him, tilting slightly to the side and stifling a yawn as she placed the bag on the table.  “But I’m sure it’ll come in.  Anyhow, here ya go, Brae.  Ya must be hungry t’day.”

        “Yup, sure am.  Thanks, cuz’!  How much do I owe ya?”

        “No, don’t worry ‘bout it,” she said, unable to hold back a second yawn, “I baked too many t’day anyhow, an’ I doubt I’ll be gettin’ any other customers t’day.  They’re all asleep...Like I should be.  Even some space rock ain’t enough ta keep me awake,” she added with a weak chuckle.

        “Well thanks fer this, Applebumpkin,” Braeburn smiled sweetly, stuffing the book into his vest.  With a swift flick of his hooves, Braeburn tossed his hat in the air and slipped the stringed bag around his neck before his hat landed back on his head.  “I’ll let ya get back ta sleep.  Sorry ta wake ya!”  She smiled, nodded and clambered back upstairs.  The bell jingled happily behind Braeburn as he left.

        He took a long, leisurely look around the nearly barren streets of town.  He breathed in the smell of the apple fritters around his neck and sighed.  With the rock gone, maybe things could return to normal.  At least, now nopony in town would discover it was a fake after all.  In a few days, this whole thing would blow over and everyone would move on.

        “Maybe...maybe things ain’t gonna be so bad after all.”

        He knew he had spoken too soon, however, once he saw Vinny cantering toward him, a crazed grin plastered on his face.

        “Braeburn!” he nearly shouted before puffing out his cheeks, lowering his head and dropping his voice, “Braeburn.”

        Braeburn rolled his eyes and begun a light gait down the road with Vinny in tow.  “What is it, Vinny?”

        “So, hey, I was thinking...About that space rock, you know...”

        Braeburn’s breath caught in his throat for a second but he walked steadfastly.  “An' what were ya thinkin’ ‘bout it?”

        “Well,” drawled the icy-blue maned stallion, “I feel a little ripped off.  I mean, I never even got to see it!  The buffalo came and took it before I had a chance.”

        “It really wasn’t anythin’ special.”

        “Oh come on!  It was a rock from outer space!  How many times do you get to see something like that?”

        Braeburn licked his rapidly drying lips.  “It really wasn’t very interestin’, Vinny,” he said with finality.  When the cream-coated stallion wouldn’t leave Braeburn pulled out ‘the big guns.’  “Ain’t ya got some grapes ta take care of?”

        Vinny gasped dramatically.  “They aren’t just grapes, I’ll have you know!  It's a full on vineyard, and it takes a lot more effort and care than some apple trees!  And besides, I’ve already taken care of them for-”

        “AH SHAID, GIMME ANUDDER BLOCK!”

        The pair stopped in the road and stared at the double doors of The Salt Block which were rocking gently.  Braeburn smiled inwardly, thankful for the distraction as he trotted over to the doors and poked his head inside the saloon. 

        “Salty, you’re gonna run me dry.  'Sides, I really think you’ve had enough.”

        “You’ve had e-e-nough!”

        Seated at the bar, his lips parched, raged Salty.  Morton, cool as ever, kept rubbing a glass clean.  Salty downed the last of his water and shoved his bowl at the barkeep, demanding another block of salt.  Besides the pair, the saloon seemed empty.

        “What’s going on in there?” Vinny asked, bringing his head beside Braeburn’s.

        “Salty’s bein’ his ol’ self again.  Got an early start t’day, looks like.”  Braeburn pushed through the double doors and approached the bar.  

        “Howdy Braeburn,” Morton said, his voice even as he pushed a salt shaker out of Salty’s reach, “didn’t imagine I’d be gettin’ any other customers t’day.”

        “Salty causin’ trouble fer ya?” Braeburn asked, leaning on the counter, taking care not to damage the bag around his neck.

        “Ah ain’t doin’ no nuddin’!” belched Salty, his eyes lolling, “allsh Ah want ish a deshent block o’ shalt!  Ish dat sho much ta ashk?” 

        “Whoa,” Vinny chuckled, joining the group, “what’s with this guy?”

        “He’s dehydrated,” Braeburn replied flatly.  

        “Oh, oh, oh, oh, an’ like you ain’t?” Salty accused, raising his hoof but unable to ascertain where to point it, “Ah jesh’ watched mah whole diggin’ work go down da drain!  Ah ‘member it like t’were yeshterday!”

        “It was yesterday.”

        “You were yeshterday!  Hee hee hee!”  Salty wheezed uncontrollably at his joke, slamming his hoof on the bar top.

        “Yep.  I sure was.”  Braeburn leaned over and hoisted one of Salty’s arms over his shoulder.  “C’mon, buddy, let’s get you home an’ get ya a nice, cool glass o’ water.  Vinny, help me out here!  This fellow’s heavy!”

        “Ah *cough* godda shay,” Salty reeled as Vinny and Braeburn carried him to the exit, “you five are mah besht friendsh!”

        “This guy’s hilarious!” Vinny laughed.  Braeburn rolled his eyes.

        "It jes'...*hic*...ain't right, y'know?" said Salty, "all dem rocks, Ah dug!  Dug an' dug gettin' rock's'n now dey’re all gone...Ah mean, what'm Ah sh'poshed ta do now?  Dumb rocks..."

        "Speaking of rocks," Vinny said, "I still don't think it's fair that I never got to see the meteorite."

        Braeburn groaned.  "Vinny, just drop it, okay?"

        "I don't get you, Braeburn.  A rock from outer space lands in your backyard, the buffalo steal it, and all you have to say is 'drop it?'"

        The pair stepped outside into the daylight and Salty moaned loudly, drawing the attention of whatever ponies were in the street.

        “Dem buffalo shtole it?  Dey took yer metro light?  Well, den you godda get it back!  Shteal it back, Ah alwaysh shay!”

        “Steal it back?” Vinny said in a tone much too thoughtful for Braeburn’s liking.  “You know, that isn’t a bad-”

        “Yes, it is!  It’s a terrible idea!” Braeburn blurted.

        “Oh, come on!  They stole it, so it’s like, fair game or something now, right?”

        “Egshactly!”

        “Get the idea out o’ yer head, Vinny.  B’sides, you don’t even ‘member the way to the buffalo camp.”

        “Sure I do!”

        “No, you don’t.”

        “I could figure it out.”

        Salty belched loudly, drawing the attention of even more ponies who stuck their heads out their doors and windows, blinking sleepily at the daylight.

        “An’ how would you even plan on gettin’ it back, anyhow?  You expect them ta just hoof it over?”

        “Ah think it’s worth a shot.”

        Braeburn looked up in horror to see somepony approaching the group.  “Ah’m a fair good sneak," he said, "Ah could prob’ly get it back b’fore they notice.”

        “Yeah!” somepony else added, “them buffalo have some nerve, just waltzin’ into ‘pony land’ an’ takin’ what ain’t theirs!”

        “Exactly!” Vinny cheered.  As the crowd grew, the color sapped from Braeburn’s cheeks.  He even saw Slate and Cinder among growing numbers.

        “We can’t jes' ferget the time they busted up our town!”

        “That space rock was ours!  Our ticket to famousness!”

        “Dat’sh da shpirit’r somdin’...”

        “I think we have the right ta head over there now!”

        “They need ta learn ta respect other’s property once an’ fer all!”

        “Let’s do it!!”

        “EVERYPONY SHUT UP!”
        
        The world fell deadly silent as all eyes turned upon Braeburn.  He breathed quickly and sharply, dropping Salty onto Vinny.  

        “Listen ta yerselves!” he shouted, “y’all are soundin’ like savages!  Talkin’ of raidin’ the buffalo camp like y’all have every right in the world!”

        “What are you talking about, Braeburn?” Vinny shouted back, letting go of Salty completely.  The dehydrated stallion fell onto the dusty ground and promptly fell asleep, snoring loudly.  “You sure didn’t have a problem blaming the buffalo out at the crater this morning!  Of anyone in town, I’d have expected you to jump at the chance to get it back!”

        “B-but,” Braeburn stuttered as the audience turned their silent gaze back to him, “we don’t even know for sure that the buffalo did take it!”

        “What!?”  Aghast, Vinny approached the stallion.  “You were the one that spotted their tracks!  What’s the deal, Braeburn?  Why are you so keen on letting them keep that rock?  Whose side are you on, anyway?”

        “He’s not on anypony’s side.”

        The crowd split, clearing a path for Silverstar as he approached Braeburn and Vinny.  Braeburn felt his breathing stop altogether.

        “‘Cause we ain’t playin’ in teams,” the sheriff continued, staring down Vinny through his great mustache, “an’ I sure don’t like the kind of talk that suggests we go sneakin’ around, stealin’ from others.”

        “But Sheriff-”

        “Shut it!”  Silverstar shot a glare that could freeze the sun at the poor soul who had interrupted.  “I’m not finished!”

        A shiver ran up Braeburn’s neck as the sheriff turned his piercing gaze toward him.  “I expected better of you all.  An’ I’ll be danged if I’m goin’ ta allow this sort o’ behavior in my town!”  He slammed his hoof, sending a shudder through the crowd.  “Now.  I want all y’all ta git these ridiculous ideas out o’ yer head’s b’fore-”


        “WHERE IS SILVERSTAR!?”


        Everypony spun in shock to see Thunderhooves and an enormous brigade of buffalo standing tall upon the hill that overlooked town.  The same hill, Braeburn realized as a prickle of adrenaline shot through his chest, that they had used to attack the town several months ago.  The buffalo chieftain and three other bison tore down the side of the hill, charging toward the crowd as a few ponies screamed and ran for cover.

        “I’m right here, Thunderhooves!”  Silverstar replied, stepping forward to the bison as he stopped his stampede mere inches away from the stallion.  The chief’s eyes were burning in anger and terror at once.        

        “What treachery is this!?” bellowed the chief.  Braeburn heard Vinny whimper from behind a barrel.

        “I don’t know what yer talkin’ ‘bout,” Silverstar said, his voice steady and unwavering.

        Thunderhooves looked back to the row of buffalos along the crest of the hill and nodded.  In response, one of them kicked something down the side of the cliff.  It rolled and bounced along the way, until one of the buffalos beside the chief caught it and presented it to the sheriff.  

        Braeburn had to fight to refrain from gasping when he saw his rock, wiped clean of ash and applesauce, held in the hooves of the buffalo he suddenly recognized as Watergaze, his mis-matched eyes glowing with anger at the sheriff.

        “THIS!” roared Thunderhooves, “what have you to say, Silverstar!?  How do you explain this act of deceit!?”

        “An’ just what is this s’posed ta be?” the sheriff responded, his voice raised ever so slightly.

        “This is what we found at the impact site!  How DARE you replace what fell with this...this trick!”

        “Hey now!”  Promontory shouted, stepping forward and standing tall.  He really was a very large stallion, Braeburn realized, instinctively cowering a little.  “That ain’t the space rock!”  The buffalo all glared at him, but he stood even taller, staring down his snout at them.  “Ah got a good look at that rock this mornin’, an’ that ain’t it!  This is jes’ any ol’ rock from the desert!  Seems ta me y’all are holdin’ onto the real thing, considerin’ you stole it!”

        Thunderhooves reared up and crushed the rock beneath his enormous hooves, sending shards of stone flying in every direction.  Promontory and the crowd jumped away, some shrieking in surprise, and Braeburn dropped his head, slowly creeping away toward the alley between the Saloon and the building next door.

        “YOU DARE ACCUSE US OF THIEVERY?  WHERE IS IT?  WHERE HAVE YOU HIDDEN IT!?”

        The bison, his nostrils flaring, stared down the crowd.  Nopony dared speak.  All eyes were on the buffalo chief, allowing Braeburn to sneak further away unnoticed.

        After a long, agonizingly silent moment, Silverstar spoke.  

        “I swear to you, Chief, we ain’t done nothing with whatever fell.  Whatever was there this morning when you...found it, is what we found.  Nopony in town switched it or nothin’.”

        The chief took a long, sad breath and lowered his gaze.  “I...I must apologize, Silverstar.  It is...of great importance that we locate what fell last night.  It is a matter greater than any of you realize.”

        “An’ yet you still won’t tell us what that matter is.”

        Braeburn, creeping between the buildings, could no longer see the chief or the sheriff, but he stopped and perked his ears to listen in.

        “It is a buffalo matter.  Our honor relies upon this, and it is not something easily shared with outsiders.”

        Braeburn curled his lip in disgust.  “Their ‘honor?’  ‘Outsiders?’  Is that what this whole thing is about?  Their pride?”  Fuming, he continued crawling away, unable to hear what was further said.  A few minutes later he heard the distinct sound of hooves galloping away and, peeking around the edge of a building, watched as Thunderhooves rejoined his army on the hill, turning to look once more upon the town of Appleloosa.

        Braeburn growled.  “There ain’t a chance in heck I’m lettin’ you come near Starlight, you prideful bunch o’ thievin’ snakes.”

        The buffalo stampeded away, sending a great cloud of dust into the air behind them.  Braeburn, his eyes narrow, stood and galloped for home, staying in the shadows, never looking back to town.  The bag around his neck bounced noisily and the book in his vest dug into his shoulder.





        Rocking gently on his stinging hooves, Braeburn stared at his front door.  A moment ago he had considered himself lucky for not being seen or followed home.  It was then that he had to pause, asking himself how he had ever allowed himself into a position where being followed would be a concern at all.  

        He clenched his eyes shut and tried to console himself.  “It’s only fer a little while.  Them buffalo can’t keep lookin’ forever.  This’ll all blow over soon.  B’sides, I didn’t leave any proof or nothin’...”  

        He didn’t feel any better.  Taking a moment just to breathe and listen to the wind howling across the desert landscape, he shuffled uncomfortably, suddenly conscious of the book in his vest.  Opening his eyes, he slowly opened his front door and stepped inside, closing it behind him.

        “Starlight?”  No response.  “Starlight, it’s...it’s okay now.  You can come out o’ there.”  Walking over to his kitchen, he reached into his vest and pulled out the red book, placing it on the table.  Then, breaking the string around his neck with his teeth, dropped the paper bag next to it.          

        “Starlight, I brought you somethin’ ta eat,” he said, somewhat guiltily.  It wasn’t right, keeping her cooped up like this, but at the moment he didn’t feel he had much choice.  If she was found...

        He shook his head and walked over to his closed bedroom door, rapping gently on it.  “Starlight?  I’m comin’ in, ‘kay?”  The handle clicking in his hoof, he gingerly swung open the door and poked his nose inside.

        The room was empty.

        “Starlight!?” he shouted, rushing inside.  He threw the blanket aside, peered under the bed, kicked aside the quill on his floor; she was gone.  

        “STARLIGHT!”

        Tumbling back into the main room, he frantically checked every corner and crevice for any sign of the filly.  Besides him, the house was empty.

        “Oh no...oh no, no, no!”  The room spun around him, a dizzying display of brown and grey as the color sapped from his face and the world and he grasped for every breath as he ran for the front door.  He found himself standing outside, every fibre of his body frozen in shock.  Head swimming, hooves itching, chest shaking, eyes shrinking, ears ringing, he couldn’t even blink.

        “STARLIGHT!!”  Although he shot his head in every direction, the empty, dull orange desert landscape, wavering in the heat of the noon sun, offered no sign of the filly.  He coughed, choking on the fear in his throat.  A tremble of his knees and he barely caught himself from falling.  

        “Okay, okay, breathe!”  Inhale, exhale.  Panic would only worsen any prospect of finding her.  He needed to think.  While he was out in town, someone must have found her.  Could it have been the buffalo?  His mind raced with possibilities.  Did Thunderhooves send someone to search the area while it was deserted?  What if whoever hurt Starlight had followed her here?

        Breath sluggishly returning, he looked around in a frenzy for any hoofprints or tracks.  The dusty ground was barren save his own prints, and even they were swiftly being blown away in the wind.  Any hope of tracking her and her captors now would soon be hopeless.

        He ran.  He ran and then stopped, and ran another way.  Stopping again, he ran in another direction.  Ran, stopped.  

        Where could he go?  This desert was far too vast to find one pony.

        It was hopeless.  

        She was gone.

        He had failed.  He couldn’t protect her.

        “No, no...”  His head clutched in his hooves, he choked on a sob.  “No!  This can’t be happenin’!  I can’t lose her!  This can’t be happenin’!”

        His voice cracked into a whisper.

        “Not again...”

        She was gone, and all alone.

        To be all alone in these deserts...

        The wind died and his body quaked in sudden torment.  His ears plugged and his breath caught in his throat as the desert fell horribly silent.

        “Alone...”

        A sudden gust of wind blew the hat from his head.  Dazed, he watched it fly away, fluttering in the breeze.  It flew around to the back of the house and after a moment he gave chase.  The hat was caught on the pile of firewood kept below the bedroom window.  Eyes watering from the dusty wind he grabbed the hat with bandaged hooves and cradled it.


        “No!  Don’t go!”

        “Sorry, son, looks like...like Ah ain’t got no choice.”

        “Please...Please, don’t leave me all alone again!”

        “Don’t worry...You’ll find yer way.  Ah know it.”

        “JAKE!”


        Green eyes narrowed and he stood tall, placing the brown, buckled Stetson back on his golden mane.

        “I will NOT let this happen again!”

        He looked to his open bedroom window, its curtains dangling outside the window and flittering in the wind.  A flash of wit returned to him and he followed the curtains down to the ground with his eyes, where a faintly visible set of tracks led away from his home toward the apple orchard.  

        Dirt grit between his teeth as he galloped off, following the rapidly disappearing trail toward the tree line.  As he bore down upon the apple trees, the tracks became easier to follow, being protected from the wind by the trees.  Weaving and darting between branches and trunks his eyes were locked on the tracks, his hooves guiding him around the trees he’d spent so much time amongst.  He careened over the crest of Bloomburg’s hill, barely able to prevent himself from tumbling down into the crater, in the middle of which stood Starlight.

        “STARLIGHT!!”  He leapt for and tackled her to the ground.  “Starlight!  Oh, sweet Celestia, I found you!”

        “Burn??” she gasped for air beneath him.

        “I thought...I-I thought they’d-!  I thought I’d lost you!”  Opening his eyes he stared down at the bemused filly.  “Oh, Starlight!  I...”

        “H-hi,” she said softly.

        Braeburn closed his eyes held her tightly as though she could vanish should he dare let go.  After a minute, he finally brought himself to stand and release her, and the pair stood in the center of the glossy black crater staring at each other.

        The yellow stallion’s happiness quickly soured.  “Starlight, I told you ta stay at home!”

        “Bu...” she frowned, trying to find the words she wanted to say, “W-w-bu...”

        “Now c’mon!  Before anypony sees you!”  He pulled her by the hoof away from the crater and back up the hill.  Staring longingly at the hole in the ground, she pulled her hoof away and glared at Braeburn.

        “N-no!” she shouted, pointing a hoof at the crater, “wu-wu...what am...”

        “Starlight, we have to hurry!” panicked Braeburn.

        “Wh-why!” She demanded, her scarlet eyes glimmering in angry confusion.

        Braeburn was taken aback.  “Wha...why?”  He stepped closer, breathing heavily.  “Starlight, I...there’s bad people out there!  Like the-”

        The buffalo?

        He choked on air, his eyes clouded.  What had happened?  How did things come to this?  The buffalo were good folk; he’d said so himself.  They were good folk.

        ...Right?

        He looked up to Starlight, her coat gleaming a pale pink in the sun.  The filly was clearly not satisfied.

        “Look, Starlight...” Braeburn clenched his eyes, swallowing heavily.  “I can’t lose you.  I’m sorry I’ve been making you hide, an’...I’m afraid, Starlight...”  His head drooped, his hooves thumping below him.  “I’m afraid of what might happen to you if they...I promised I’d protect you.” 

        A pink hoof touched his cheek and he looked up to see Starlight, her eyes riddled with concern.  She embraced him.

        “Brave...Knight...”

        Braeburn, his green eyes wide with surprise, exhaled long, slow sighs of relief as he stood motionless in her arms.

        After a minute they stepped apart.  Starlight smiled sweetly at him, and he stared into her deep, scarlet eyes.  The sun caught on her dark mane and it glistened as a starlit sky for a moment.  

        “Thank you,” he whispered, “I promise, it’ll only be for a li’l while longer an’ you won’t have to hide anymore.”  

        Stepping toward the stallion she nuzzled him gently, and the pair trotted back toward his home, Braeburn’s hat fastened tightly on his head.





        Motes of dust drifted lazily through the air, thrown from the floor as the door closed behind Braeburn.  Starlight walked, her face unreadable, into the middle of the room and waited, silent.  Inhaling, Braeburn ambled to the kitchen, eyes fastened on the book and brown bag beside it.  He couldn’t, not now anyway, eat one of the fritters in any semblance of good conscience, not after what he’d been putting Starlight through.  Not that he could stomach any food at the moment, his gut still trembling mildly.

        “Here ya go.”  He strained to sound cheery and upended the paper bag, allowing the wrapped (and slightly crushed) fritters to slide to the table.  Unwrapping them and pushing them toward the filly, he smiled widely.  “Eat up.  Made fresh this mornin’ by my cousin.  Ya ain’t gonna find any tastier apple fritters ‘round fer miles.”  

        “Apple!”  Starlight excitedly bit into the treat, her eyes forming happy little crescents as she chewed.  “Mmm!”  Scooping it up into her hooves she took another large bite, chomping rapidly.  His stomach growled a little at the loss of a meal.

        “Whoa, now!” chuckled the stallion, pressing a hoof to her cheek, “slow down or you’ll get another stomach ache an’ more hiccups!”  Starlight stared into his eyes and resumed chewing, slowly and thoughtfully.  Braeburn smiled crookedly and, realizing he was still touching her cheek, blushed and pulled away his hoof.  His eye lingered for a moment on the second fritter but he pulled himself away and trotted over to the couch.  He yanked at the crumpled blanket and spread it out on the floor, then grabbed the book with his teeth and set it down in the center of the blanket before sitting down himself.  Starlight, the half-eaten fritter in her hooves, waddled over and sat down next to him.

        “This book means a lot to Marmalade, I s’pose,” Braeburn said softly, running his bandaged hoof over the cover, “got it a long time ago.  Don’t have a name, though, but I guess that ain’t important.  I don’t read much, so forgive me if’n I stumble over some words, heh.  What say we read together?”

        Gently swinging open the cover, Braeburn read the first line aloud.  “‘Once, in a land far away but not too far, there was a great kingdom.  This kingdom’s name was-’”  He looked over to Starlight, who squinted and tilted her head at the writing.  Sighing deeply, Braeburn’s face lost all expression.

        If she had ever learned how to read at one point she seemed to have forgotten now.  Braeburn had heard tales from Morton of ponies who’d lost their memories through an accident or some kind of trauma.  To be traumatized so badly that you’d forget how to read...and talk...

        Braeburn winced.  What could have happened to her?  Where did she come from?  He looked up to the pale, pinkish-blue mare with the dark, swirling mane who stared at the book and chewed on a fritter.  The stallion fought a sudden urge to hug the filly tightly and protect her from even the tiniest of spiders.

        Could whoever have hurt her still be out there, searching for her?  Moments ago he had been certain she had been kidnapped, stolen away from him while he was gone.  He wasn’t proud of his reaction, nor was he particularly proud of his treatment of the filly.  To another set of eyes, this could very well be kidnapping...

        He looked back to the book.  Maybe if they started with the basics, reading and writing, she could learn to talk properly, and then she wouldn’t draw any unwanted attention to herself.  She wouldn’t have to be hidden anymore, and even the buffalo wouldn’t think her unusual.  They could finally go into town.  She could begin to have a life of her own, if not regain the one she had, assuming it was one worth regaining.

        Standing suddenly, he put on his brightest smile.  “Hey now, guess it’s been a while since you’ve read, eh?  Well, don’t worry ‘bout it.  After all, half the town'r idiots an'  they can read, so it'll be no problem for a smart cookie like you!”  He trotted over to the kitchen and pulled out a few pieces of parchment and some ink before heading to his room for his quill.  “Why don’t we start with the basics an’ just go from there?”





        The pair worked through the afternoon and into early evening, writing down and practicing simple letters.  Starlight learned quickly, and after a few hours was already able to write her and Braeburn’s names, along with several other simple words, the first (and most exciting to her) being ‘apple.’  They went through several sheets of parchment and much ink, and by twilight Starlight had a good understanding of the alphabet.

        They (or more accurately, Braeburn) talked about whatever came to mind over the course of the afternoon.  He told Starlight about his family, about his cousin Apple Cider: an artist who sent her artwork to Canterlot museums multiple times, although it was always rejected.  He rattled on about his relatives in Ponyville and showed her some letters Applejack and Big Macintosh had sent him.  He talked a lot without saying much, but the filly hung onto every word, even if it was clear she didn’t understand half of what he said.  Using the art of writing (although his writing looked less than artistic) he spelled out common words and she was soon able to form simple sentences, finally able to speak what was on her mind, albeit with the skill of a young foal.

        With each hour that passed, Braeburn’s heart froze for a moment at the toll of the clocktower bells, barely audible from this distance.  At any moment he expected the door to be battered down and Silverstar to rush in, with (his imagination would insist) his revolver aimed and ready to fire.  It never happened, though; for the rest of the day the pair were never disturbed.  It made Braeburn even more unsettled for a reason he couldn’t articulate.  He felt like he did before a desert storm would brew, his hair rigid and his ears perked for any noise.  The longer a storm had to simmer, the more destructive its force.

        Apples were their dinner.  Braeburn snuck out and bucked a few from the closest tree, hurrying back inside.  He devoured an extra helping to make up for missing lunch and the two ponies, growing gradually tired as the sky grew ever darker, shared a yawn and finally decided to call it quits for the day.

        “Today was a long day,” Braeburn said, stretching and cracking his sore neck, “prob’ly time we hit the hay.”

        “‘Kay,” said Starlight, springing to her hooves, “bed...time?”

        Braeburn laughed.  “That’s right!  It’s bed time.”

        The filly grinned widely.  “Th-thanks!”

        “You’re learnin’ real fast, Starlight.  Why, I reckon that by t’morrow night, you’ll be smarter’n half the town!”

        “And, read book?”

        He chuckled.  “Well, not t’night.  We’ll get a start on the book t’morrow.”

        Starlight’s face fell and she weakly nudged the red bound book.

        “...Buuuuut,” Braeburn swaggered over to it, scooping it up in his hooves, “I suppose I could read a li’l fer ya t’night.”

        Starlight giggled excitedly and the pair walked into the bedroom.  Starlight, yawning loudly, slid into the covers, her light blue coat radiant, even in the evening light.  Braeburn lit a lamp and sat on the floor next to the bed, the red story book clutched in his hooves.  Gently, he opened the cover, cleared his throat and began reading.

        “‘Once, in a land far away but not too far, there was a great kingdom.  This kingdom’s name was Tam...Tambelon,’” he blushed slightly at his less than stellar reading skills.  “‘An’ it was a wonderful place full of magic.  It was a town full of unicorns, who attended the regal-”

        “Um,” Starlight interrupted, “yoon...corns?”

        “Uhh,” Braeburn said dumbly, “oh, unicorns!  Yeah, uh, y’know, unicorns.”

        Starlight tilted her head in an obvious ‘no, I don’t know’ motion.  Braeburn coughed.  Wasn’t this common knowledge?  Then again, if she was raised only among earth ponies...

        “Um, unicorns are like us, ‘cept they have this horn thingy, right here on their heads.”  He tapped his forehead and Starlight tapped hers, entranced.  “I know a couple of ‘em out in Ponyville.  Friends of my cousins, but I never got too close with ‘em.  Anyway, uh, their horns, I guess, let them do magic.”

        “Magic...”

        “Yeah, like levitatin’ an’ stuff.  Some unicorns ain’t too powerful, but others have so much magic that they can create fire or fight monsters with their magic!”

        “Oooh.”

        “But we earth ponies’r strong too,” he boasted, puffing out his chest, “we ain’t got no magic, but by gum we ain’t gonna let that stop us!  Some ponies - some ponies in town, even - are kinda, well, let’s just say they ain’t too fond of unicorns.”

        “Why?”  Asked Starlight.  ‘Why’ was one of the first words she learned, and she was determined to get as much use out of it as she could.

        “Pride, I s’pose,” he said nonchalantly, “but mostly just ‘cause they’re different.  It ain’t really their fault, though.  Most of the ponies who live out here never even met a unicorn before, since you’d be hard pressed ta find one out here in the badlands.  Plus, lots’o ponies ‘round these parts came from up north, from a place called Gildedale.  Only earth ponies up there, an’ they really ain’t too fond o’ unicorns, so...well, that’s just the way things work out sometimes.”

        He looked up to starlight, who, although trying her best, was having a hard time following what he said.

        “Ah, don’t worry ‘bout it.  Let’s just keep readin’, eh?”

        “‘Kay, Burn!”  No matter how many times he corrected her, she refused to call him anything else.

        He smiled.  “Okay, let’s see...uhh...‘they attended the regal schools an’ ac...academies, where they learned ta do amazin’ magic spells an’ tricks...’”





This story is incomplete, and I need your help to finish it.  Please comment and leave feedback on this chapter.  Let me know what you think and any way this story can be improved.
Thank you.
> Chapter 6
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Outlaw, The Star and the Big, Big Sky


By TotalOverflow, 2012


Chapter 6




        It stretched out forever, it seemed.  

        Dirt, dust, rocks, shrubs, a skull...

        There was no end.  At least, not to this place.  His felt very near.  He may join that skull soon.

        Nothing.  That was the best word to describe it: nothing.  There was nothing here.  

        Dirt, dust, rocks, shrubs, a scorpion...

        Nothing else.  

        Nobody.  

        Nobody, but him.


        “Burn?”

        Braeburn jumped slightly, his neck damp with a cold sweat.  Sleep dirt clouding his vision, he looked up to see Starlight peering upside-down over him.  He smiled, silently thanking her for waking him from that dream.

        He had difficulty falling asleep last night, nervous the whole night about any unwanted visitors.  A chirping cricket kept his focus for much of the time he spent on his couch trying to fall asleep, and though he considered playing a record, he didn’t want to disturb Starlight and left the machine silent.

        “G’...*yawn*...mornin’...”

        “Morning,” she smiled, stepping away, waiting patiently for him to rise.  Doing so proved difficult for the stallion, his back hoof having fallen asleep at some point, refusing to wake up without a fight.  He winced at the pins and needles and sat up on the couch.

        “Have a good sleep?” he asked, suppressing another yawn.  The filly smiled and nodded.

        “Yes, good.”  

        She reached around and pulled the red book from somewhere and held it, gazing expectantly at him.  “Read?”

        Laughing, Braeburn stood and trotted over to the kitchen, his leg finally coming back to life.  “First things first, Starlight.  We gotta get somethin’ ta eat.”

        “Apple?”

        “Oh, heh, yeah I guess it’ll be apples again.  Sorry, I really should get some more food.  Just ‘cause I’m an Apple don’t mean that’s all I gotta eat.”  Opening the cabinets, he grunted at the barren contents he should have expected to see.  Had he used a little foresight the night before, he may have thought to buck a few extra apples for the morning.  “Ah, well.”

        He tossed on his hat and vest.  “I’ll be back in two seconds, ‘kay?  Just gonna grab somethin’ ta eat.”

        “‘Kay!”

        He swung open the door and instantly recoiled at the bright sunlight that attacked him.  Eyes starry, he cantered down the path he knew well enough to navigate blind.  He bucked the closest tree and scooped up a couple of the fallen apples (although he still didn’t think to grab a few extras) and trotted back home on three legs.

        “Breakfast is ready,” he announced, closing the door behind him.  Dropping the apples on the kitchen table he motioned for Starlight to come near.

        “Thanks,” she grinned, admiring the apple’s sheen and biting in.  “Mmm.”  Chewing slowly and thoughtfully, she kept her eyes closed.

        Braeburn took an apple for himself, chewing quickly and swallowing.  “So hey, Starlight, why don’t we go over what ya learned yesterday, huh?”  

        “‘Kay!  Um, table, um, couch, um, hat...” she recited, pointing at each object in turn and spraying bits of apple with every word.

        “Whoa now!  Hold up!”  Braeburn held up a hoof, stopping the filly whose mouth hung open in a gruesome display of her masticated morsel.  He wiped a bit of chewed apple off his snout.  “Y’all can’t talk with yer mouth full!  T’ain’t proper for a filly like yerself!”

        She just stared at him, jaw agape.  His mouth sideways, he leant over and closed her maw with a ‘clack.’

        “T’ain’t ladylike.  Here, chew an’ swallow b’fore you talk, even if you’re asked a question.”

        The filly, blushing and frowning, chewed furiously and gulped loudly.  Her bottom lip protruding in a petulant pout, she glared at him a moment before clearing her throat and resuming her recital.  Naming nearly every object in the room she went on to say the simple phrases she had learned, such as ‘Thank you’ and ‘good morning’ and the like, her grin stretching ear to ear when she finished.  Braeburn smiled warmly and corrected her on a few she messed up and the pair ended their meal shortly after.  

        “Great job, Starlight!” he declared, patting her shoulder, “you sure are a fast learner!”

        “I,” she began, “um...do good?”

        “Oh yeah, real good!  Why, by t’morrow, I reck-”

        Knock knock knock

        “Braeburn?  You in?”

        The stallion barely suppressed a yelp and shot his eyes to the front door.

        “Uh,” he stammered, “yeah!  Just one sec!”  When he looked back to the filly she was gone, her scarlet eyes disappearing behind his bedroom door.  He exhaled, relieved and a little guilty.

        “What’s up?” he asked, swinging open his front door.  Linky stood out front, wearing again the black satchels.

        “Bandage time,” she said, stepping inside as Braeburn made room.  “Ah thought Ah heard voices.  You got a visitor?”

        Braeburn stuttered.  “Uh, just...talkin’ ta myself, heh.”  Linky raised an eyebrow and motioned for him to sit on the couch.  He grinned awkwardly and seated himself, holding out his hooves as she removed her tools.

        “Uh, did ya have a good sleep?” he tried to change the subject, his voice crackling a little.

        “Ah s’pose.”  She snipped the bandages and peeled them from his hooves.  “Good as Ah could have, considerin’ recent events.”  After rubbing them clean of the dry blood with the moist towel she clicked her tongue and shook her head, frowning at his right hoof.

        “Ah jes’ can’t figure,” she said, “yer right hoof’s all healed up.”  

        He pulled his hooves away and examined them.  Ol’ Righty was pristine, aside from being a little pale from being under a bandage for the past few days.  His left hoof however was still swollen and cracked.

        “Yer left hoof’s gonna need another day or two ta heal up, but it looks like yer right hoof is just fine.”  She wrapped his left hoof in gauze and packed away her tools.  “Ah ain’t seen anythin’ like it.  You do anythin’ unusual ta yer right hoof lately?”

        He spun his hoof around.  Nothing unusual, that he could figure anyway.

        “Not that I know of.”

        “Hmm.  There’s been a lot o’ weird things happenin’ lately, an’ this is jes’ one of them.”

        “Tell me about it.”  

        She finished packing her bags and stood, looking at him, her deep pink eyes glimmering for a moment.  “What happened yesterday?”  The question came suddenly.  

        Braeburn glanced around nervously.  

        “Ah mean,” she continued, pacing a little, “first that whole space rock thing, an’ then the buffalo...An’ then you jes’ disappeared fer the rest of the day.”

        Braeburn swallowed, thinking quickly.  “Yeah, uh, I had things I needed ta take care of here.”

        “Ah mean, it’s none o’ mah business, Ah s’pose...Ah jes’ was-” she caught herself and sighed.  “Ah guess, well, Ah was hopin’ to...to talk ta someone.  Someone who knew what was goin’ on.”

        Braeburn blinked.  “Well, um, y’know...I didn’t really hear everythin’ anyway.”

        “Ah guess.  Still...”  She inhaled slowly and turned to face the stallion.  “Could you...Ah mean, do you mind if we jes’...y’know, jes’...jes’ talked, fer a bit?”

        He wasn’t prepared for this.  Brushing his golden mane aside and biting his lip, he glanced sidelong at his bedroom door.

        “Sure,” he answered finally, “sure.  Just gimme a minute an’ I’ll meet ya outside.”

        Linky smiled slightly and moved for the door.  “Thanks.”

        She closed the door behind her with a soft ‘click.’  Braeburn fell back into his couch, eyes closed and hat slipping down his snout.

        A moment passed and he stood, fixing his hat.  “Starlight,” he said softly, walking over to his bedroom door.  He opened it to find Starlight crouched on the ground, staring up at him with wide, questioning eyes.

        “Who?” she asked, “who was?”

        “Uh...”

        “Um, who was?” she pointed for his front door.

        “Oh!  Oh, that was Linky.”

        “Linky,” she repeated, pursing her lips.  

        “Yeah, an’ she wanted ta talk ta me for a bit, so, um...” he looked around the room, before tapping the tip of his hoof against the floor in decision.  “Why don’t ya practice writin’ down your letters for a while?”  Going into the kitchen and rustling around for any blank paper, he set out the quill and ink at the kitchen table.  Starlight followed him, the red book clutched in her arm.  

        “Yeah, why don’t ya practice for a bit an’ I’ll be right back.” 

        “Read book?”  Starlight asked, placing the book on the table.  

        “Well, I can’t right now, I hafta-”

        “No,” she interrupted, and pointed at herself.  “Me read?”

        Braeburn made an ‘o’ shape with his mouth for a second.  “Oh, uh, sure, if ya feel up to it.  There’re some big words in there, though.”

        Starlight smiled widely and sat down at the table, flipping open the book and staring at the writing and scribbling on the papers, the quill in her teeth.

        “So, uh, I’ll be right back.”

        “Bye!” she waved.  Braeburn smiled and stepped outside.





        Leaves fluttered noisily in the wind.  A warm wind, blowing from the south, slipping between the cool shade of the trees.  A fly buzzed nearby, and the dry and dusty ground felt strange under Braeburn’s barren right hoof, still a little tender.  Linky dragged her hooves as she walked, furiously frowning as the two casually strolled through the apple trees.

        “It’s jes-” she began, then sighed.  “Ah dunno.”

        Braeburn, for once, didn’t know what to say.  He cleared his throat, and broke the silence anyway.  “I guess things have been quite different lately.”

        “There was another quake yesterday,” Linky said flatly, “out west.  Ah wasn’t there but that’s what Ah heard.”

        The river babbled and gurgled as the pair drew near.  Linky dipped her hoof in the clear water and wiped it in the short grass.

        “Ah’m kinda scared.”

        Braeburn looked up to her.  Her violet eyes watched the river, unblinking, her curled blue mane falling on her forehead.

        “Ah mean, this stuff ain’t normal.  Quakes are one thing, but not this many, not like these quakes.  An’ then thing’s’r fallin’ from the sky, an’...”

        “An’ the buffalo,” Braeburn offered.

        Linky looked up into the distance for a moment.  “Y’know, that’s kinda funny.  Ah guess...Ah guess whenever Ah think ‘bout the buffalo, Ah don’t...” she exhaled a long breath.  “Ah feel a li’l better.  Ah don’t feel as scared.”

        Braeburn frowned.  That wasn’t what he meant.  “What do ya mean?”

        “Well,” she said, turning and walking slowly along the riverbank.  “Ah helped a buffalo once, out in the desert by the quarry.  Not too long ago; just under two months, Ah think.  Anyway, his hoof was hurt an’ he was alone.  Ah guess Celestia - or someone - was watchin’ out fer us, ‘cause Ah jes’ happened ta have my gear with me.

        “The buffalo didn’t want mah help.  Said it wasn’t their way, ta accept help from others.  But Ah convinced him otherwise.  His hoof was real strange, very different from ours, but similar in ways too.  They’re cloven, see?  They got a split right down-” 

        She paused when she saw Braeburn’s eyes glazing slightly, much as he tried to pay attention.

        “...Anyway.  Ah helped him back ta their camp an’ met some o’ the others.  This was jes’ a li’l after the whole apple orchard fiasco, so they were still a li’l on edge ‘round me but once they heard how Ah helped one o’ them, they invited me ta stay fer the evenin’.”

        “I’d have expected them ta shoo you away,” Braeburn blurted, his voice a little sour, “I mean they said they didn’t want help, so...”

        “Well Chief Thunderhooves was a li’l apprehensive ‘bout it, but he was real kind.  Ah spent some time with them after.  Not a whole lot, but enough ta get ta know them a li’l better, an’ they’re good folk.  They’re strong, an’ even though they get angry easily, they don’t forget who their friends are.”

        “Coulda fooled me with that display yesterday,” Braeburn grumbled.

        Linky stared at him sideways.  “Ah guess you left early, ‘cause the sheriff an’ Ah had a li’l talk with Thunderhooves.  He was real sorry ‘bout the commotion he caused.  Said he’d been on edge lately, an‘ yeah, they have been actin‘ a li’l out of sorts the past couple weeks.  But...”

        She sighed and walked back toward the apple trees, kicking absentmindedly at the grass.  “Ah trust them.  Y’know?  Ah know they wouldn’t act like this if they ain’t got a good reason.”

        “Just ‘cause they think they’ve got a good reason don’t mean it is.”

        “Braeburn,” she shook her head, “you don’t know ‘em like Ah do.  Ah trust ‘em.”

        Braeburn grunted.  “My trust ain’t so easy ta give.”

        “Give...or get?”

        The pair fell silent for a moment.  Braeburn padded the grass uncomfortably, throat dry and heart bitter.

        “They ain’t the only ones actin’ a li’l strange lately.”  Linky’s voice was low and she observed Braeburn with slanted eyes.  Braeburn inhaled deeply.

        “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m...”

        “Silverstar an’ Ah been tryin’ ta sort things out with ‘em,” she said, beginning to trot away, “we could sure use your help, Braeburn.”

        “Linky...”

        “Ah thought you were a good, kind an’ trusting colt, Braeburn...” she looked back to him with sad eyes.  “Please don’t prove me wrong.”

        She left.  He watched her go, his lips parted and parched.  He didn’t want any of this.  Blinking furiously, he stared at the ground.  His hoof started itching.  He scratched it.

        Was he doing the right thing?

        Warm sunlight seeped through the branches and hit his neck.  He took a small drink from the river and walked slowly for home.  He’d need to go into town today.  Yesterday, he reasoned, it was acceptable for him to stay home most of the day.  It was a celebration, after all.  But today there was work to do.  Duties to be done, ponies to talk to, forms to fill.  Besides...He needed to keep up appearances.




        
        The door creaked lazily as Braeburn pushed it open.  Starlight, still seated at the table, looked up to him through her dark, swirly mane and smiled.

        “Hi Burn!” she grinned, “I read!”  Holding up the book, she waited patiently for him to walk over and look.  The yellow stallion smiled broadly.

        “That’s great, Starlight!  How much did ya read?”

        “Um,” she turned the book back to herself, flipped a page or two and moved her hoof about halfway down the right page.  “Here!”

        “You read all that by yourself?” Braeburn said, genuinely surprised, “shoot, Starlight!  Did you have any trouble?”

        “Um, little.”  Starlight pointed at a long word.

        “Uhh...”  His nose crumpled, Braeburn struggled to pronounce the word.  “Re...redemp...tion.  Redemption.  Dang, it’s been a while since I’ve really read anythin’ worth readin’.”

        “Redemption?”  

        “Yeah, I think it means somepony tryin’ ta make up for bad things they’ve done.  That even though they do somethin’ bad, they ain’t bad people.  They can be forgiven an’ still be a good person.”

        “Oh.”  Starlight frowned intently at the word.  Braeburn stepped closer and read aloud the phrase in the book.

        “‘There was one pony, a stallion who was beyond redemption.  Years of evil doin’s an’ hate had removed any good from his heart.’”

        Braeburn whistled and paced for a moment.  “Y’know Starlight, I don’t know if I agree with that.”

        She turned and watched him.  “Why?”

        “Well, I don’t think that anypony ever gets to a point where there ain’t any goodness left inside.  I think...I think that deep down we all want ta do the right thing.  We all have some good inside us.”

        Starlight nodded slowly.  

        “Anyway, um, so...”  He shuffled awkwardly, glancing around the room, “I’m gonna need ta go into town t’day.  There’s things I’m gonna have ta do, but I’ll be sure ta drop by often, ‘kay?”

        “Town?”

        “Yeah, it’s just around the corner.”

        She pointed at her book.  “Town like...Tambelon?”

        “The city in the book?  Haw!  I wish!  No, Appleloosa’s just a li’l place ‘round the corner.”

        “Apple!” she grinned

        He laughed.  “Yeah, well apples are sorta the ‘theme’ around here.  Only apple orchard for a hundred miles.  Only place any apple trees would grow, really.  Used ta be just desert, save the shrub by the river.  When my family an’ I were lookin’ over places we could settle, here was the first place I suggested.  I knew this would be the perfect place ta grow apple trees.”

        “Why?”

        Braeburn looked distant, lost in a memory.  “‘Cause I was here once b’fore.”  The pair stood silent for a minute before Starlight became antsy, suddenly slamming her book shut and trotting over to him.  “What town...like?”

        “It’s a nice place, lot’s o’ ponies of all sorts.  Not that big, but gettin‘ bigger every day, it seems.  Been about a year now since we built it.”

        “Apple...loosa!”

        “No, no..AAAAPPLELOOSA!” he brayed, “gotta say it right!”

        She giggled.  “I go to Appleloosa!”

        Braeburn paled.  “Oh, no!  No, not yet!”

        She frowned.  “Why?”

        “Uhm...”  He licked his lips.  Should he tell her the truth?  He was already up to his snout in lies...but would she understand, let alone comprehend his explanation?   

        Braeburn set his eyes.  She was smart.  Very smart, if her capacity for learning was any indication.  The least she deserved was honesty.  Even if she was the only one he was honest with...

        “Well, Starlight...”

        Pacing the floor, he searched for the right words to say.  “I’m...I think there’s...There’re some ponies - well, not just ponies.  People, who might want to...”  

        He groaned.  The filly in his room watched him with intense interest.

        “Remember out at the crater yesterday?” 

        She nodded.

        “Remember how I said that there’s bad people out there?  Well, I’m worried that some bad people are lookin’ for you.”

        She frowned.  “Why?”

        “I-I don’t know, Starlight...I’m not even sure it’s you they’re lookin’ for, but...well, I don’t know what they might do if they do find you.  I think you’re in danger.  An’ if anyone sees you now, before you can talk normal, they might get suspicious and...”

        “Bad...people?” she asked, her face etched with concern.

        Braeburn simply nodded.

        “Bad people,” she said, stepping a little closer, “good...inside?”

        Caught off guard, the yellow stallion’s mouth fell open.  Rubbing his snout with his hoof he fell back into his couch.

        “I...they...I mean...” 

        He released a long breath.  “I’m not sure, Starlight.  I’m not really sure about anything, anymore.  All I know is I want to protect you.”  He spoke softly.  “I need to.  I can’t let anything bad happen to you.  I can’t lose you.”

        Starlight stepped close and put a hoof on his shoulder.

        “So...so you understand?” he asked.

        “Yes.”

        “I’m sorry I’ve been tryin’ ta keep you hidden, Starlight.  I know it ain’t right, keepin’ you cooped up in here like an...” he shook his head.  “I promise that soon we’ll go into town together.  T’morrow!”

        Starlight beamed.  “‘Kay!”





        ~~~APOCALYPSE IN APPLEOOSA!~~~


THE END OF THE WORLD!?




        Braeburn sighed and tossed the newspaper aside.  Once again, ‘The Mosquito’ had managed to maintain a high standard of insanity.  He considered recommending the editor for immediate committal as he trotted away from the newspony, who resumed hollering the absurd headlines.  The sky was dull and the air was cool for a summer day.  Life once again occupied the streets of town: ponies resumed their daily lives after the holiday’s reprieve, although as holidays go it was not exactly a relaxing one.  

        As of now, the town seemed no different than it had a week ago.  Small groups of artists once again lined the dusty roads sketching whatever passed by and stallions regaled each other with tall tales of gunslingers whose existence was dubious at best.  Even from the other end of town the saloon’s automated piano was clearly heard blaring jaunty tunes and a traveling salespony had set up shop near the clock tower proclaiming the benefits of his supposed ‘cure all elixir.’  Laughter rose from nearby: a young pair of ponies had taken to reading the weekly paper and found endless amusement in ridiculing it.  They were not alone, Braeburn realized, as he found Slate, leaning against a wooden pillar out front a nearby building, reading and snickering to himself.

        “Slate, buddy,” Braeburn forced a smile, cantering over, “Whatchya got there?”

        “Hey Braeburn, ain’t seen you fer a while!”

        “Yeah, I’ve been busy.  Is that the paper?”

        “Yeah, it’s great!”  The blue stallion chortled, holding it out for Braeburn to read the headline.

        “I don’t see what’s so funny ‘bout it myself,” he remarked, pushing the paper away.  “I didn’t even know you could read.”

        “Minty’s been givin’ me lessons.  An’ c’mon!  It’s hilarious!”  Slate turned the paper back to himself and pointed out a line.  “‘Massive sinkholes appearin’ all over, turnin’ planet into cheese!  Stars fallin’ from the sky!’  It all sounds like somethin’ out of a pony tale’r somethin’!”

        “But,” Braeburn stammered, “but this ain’t no pony tale!  This is really happenin’!”

        “Yeah, Ah s’pose,” the stallion shrugged, “Ah guess jes’ seein’ ‘The Mosquito’ ‘port on it jes’ makes me realize how crazy it all is.  Don’t seem so serious when ‘The Mosquito’s talkin’ ‘bout it.  Ha ha, looky here!”

        Braeburn, immensely perplexed, read the line Slate pointed out.  “‘Eyewitnesses have reported seein’ town local Braeburn actin’ strangely suspicious lately, sneakin’ around an’ stealin’ space rocks-HEY!”

        His face crumpled in disgust as he snatched the paper away to read the rest.  “What the...‘Seen with mysterious bags around his neck’...What!?  How was I the cause of all this!?  Ooh that editor’s really done an’-!”

        “Ain’t it hilarious?” guffawed Slate, “imagine, you of all ponies!  Whatever reputation this paper had run dry once they accused you of chicanery!”

        The yellow stallion’s jaw opened and closed in frustrated confusion.  Slate took the paper back and contented himself with the senseless articles.

        “So...you don’t believe any of it?”

        “‘Course not!  Y’all’d have ta be plum loco ta take anything ‘The Mosquito’ says seriously!”

        Braeburn chuckled nervously.  

        “Actually,” Slate said suddenly, tucking the paper under his arm, “now that Ah think ‘bout it, it was really jes’ what Ah needed.  Things ain’t been the greatest lately, an’ Ah guess a good laugh was all Ah needed.  Things ain’t so bad, Ah guess.  Things’ll work out!  They always do.”

        Braeburn glanced sullenly around town.  Most other ponies had seemed to share the same line of reasoning as Slate, milling about happily and chatting amongst each other.  Like nothing had happened at all.

        “So!” Slate announced, beginning a light gait down the road, “how’re things lately, Braeburn?”

        “Huh?  Oh, uh, fine, I s’pose.”

        “You okay?  You’ve been spendin’ a lot of time at home lately.  Minty an’ Ah’ve been a li’l worried ‘bout you.  We figured it’d be rude ta jes’ barge in an’ ask, though.  ‘Sides, we ain’t even sure where you live.”

        Braeburn cleared his throat and stretched his lips into a smile.  “Nah, I’ve been doin’ fine.  How ‘bout you an’ Minty?”

        “Well, Minty’s jes’ down at Ms. Seam’s place now gettin’ fitted fer the dress.”

"What dress?  No!  You don’t mean the dress!”

        Slate giggled.  “Heh heh, yup.”

        “Why shoot, Slate!  That’s great news!  When’s the big day?”

        “Li’l under a month.  Minty wanted ta have it soon as possible.”

        Patting the blue stallion on the shoulder, Braeburn grinned in admiration.  “Well I sure am happy for you!  I’m gonna be the best stallion, right?”

        “‘Course!  Who else could it be?”

        The two laughed and shot the breeze for a minute, Braeburn thankful for the social interaction.  Slate asked about Braeburn’s hooves and Braeburn yammered about how great it was to see the clock tower again.  It felt like ages since he’d just talked with somepony.  Slate was right: a little bit of laughter could really help.

        Slate had to excuse himself as Minty would be expecting him soon, and Braeburn tipped his hat and watched him go.  The last few minutes energized and brought a smile to his face and he trotted down the road, humming tunelessly to himself.  He poked his nose into the bakery to find it bustling once again and he caught two young colts fighting in the alley over a bug or something.  So far, at least, life in Appleloosa had returned to normal.

        Occasionally a flash of colors would brush the edges of his vision and his heart miss-stepped, assuming immediately that Starlight had snuck into town, bringing his short lived bliss back to earth.  He found himself glancing over his shoulder towards home rather often, although it was hidden from sight behind buttes and hills of rock.  Starlight was smart, he reasoned, she knew better than to sneak away now that he had explained the situation to her.  He inhaled and resumed his leisurely walk until somepony’s pale pink dress fluttered in the breeze and he twitched again.

        “I sure hope Starlight’s okay...”  





        Presently he found himself before the sheriff’s office, its murky blue panelling and barred windows dimmed in the shade, bearing down on him with an intimidation only a criminal should feel from such a building.

        “Snap out of it, Brae,” he muttered to himself, “you’ve got a job ta do.”

        Voices came from behind the half-open door as Braeburn neared and when he stepped inside he found Silverstar, Chisel and Cinder all huddled around the desk looking over a large map of the western deserts.  All eyes turned upon the yellow stallion as he entered and his own flashed with uncertainty.

        “Braeburn,” Silverstar said with a moment’s hesitation.

        “Sheriff,” Braeburn replied.  “Mornin’ Chisel, Cinder.  What’re y’all up to?”

        Cinder took the initiative.  “Lookin’ for a new place ta dig.”

        “Ain’t lots’o places worth anythin’,” Chisel grunted, marking a point with an ‘X’.

“Could you excuse us a sec, gents?” Silverstar said abruptly.  “Brae, can you join me outside fer a minute?”  The quarry ponies exchanged a confused look and Braeburn swallowed, stepping back out onto the porch.  Silverstar followed momentarily and closed the door behind him.

        They just stood there, looking out into the street.  Braeburn chanced a glance at the sheriff, whose eyes had narrowed, mouth hidden beneath his mustache.  Licking his lips, Braeburn stared vacantly into the town, clearing his throat and shuffling uncomfortably.  The sheriff’s silence was almost deafening.

        “Brae,” he said at last.  Braeburn squeezed his eyes in preparation.  “I can’t say I understand what’s been happenin’ these last few days.  But durin’ them - especially yesterday, I needed somepony strong ta be there, holdin’ up the townsfolk an’ assurin’ ‘em things’d be all right in the end.  An’ you weren’t there.”

        The yellow stallion clenched his jaw.

        “You caused quite a scene yesterday,” the chestnut stallion continued, “makin’ me wonder if you’re really fit fer yer duties.  I’m hopin’ that yer time off yesterday gave ya enough time ta get yer things back in order and straighten yerself out.  I don’t have ta tell you how important the well-bein’ of our town is ta me - ta both of us, an’ I know you’d put the town’s well-bein’ ahead o’ yer own.”

        Braeburn sighed.  “I’m sorry, sheriff.  I’ve just...had a lot on my plate lately.”

        Silverstar nodded, his voice unwavering.  “Pressure an’ stress can cause a pony ta do strange things.  What I need is a pony who can stay strong even durin’ the rough times.  Yesterday forced me ta reconsider if yer really the right one fer the job.”

        Braeburn bit his lip and looked away.

        “But,” Silverstar exhaled, “I ain’t really been the best leader these last couple days either.  An’ fer that, I’m sorry Braeburn.”

        Braeburn looked over in shock at the sheriff, who observed him with an unreadable expression.  

        “Brae, I don’t think either of us were prepared for this...turn of events.  Ever since them quakes started a few weeks ago, things have been...different, to say the least.  Celestia knows I’ve been tryin’ ta keep things under control, but...”

        He sighed.

        “Braeburn, if you know anythin’ ‘bout what’s been goin’ on lately or seen anythin’ out of the ordinary...now’s the time ta tell me.”

        His voice was not tinted with any measure of uncertainty.  The sheriff was extremely perceptive.  Braeburn could only stare at his hooves.

        “I...” he trailed off.

        “If we can get any clues ‘bout what’s goin’ on, then we might be able ta figure things out with the buffalo.”

        Braeburn frowned.  "You've been talkin' to the buffalo?"

        “‘Course,” said Silverstar.  “I’ve been trying ta smoothen things over with ‘em, ‘specially after yesterday’s...incident, but they’re still keepin’ us at arm’s length.”

        Braeburn snorted without thinking.  “Can’t say that surprises me.”

        “I don’t know what’s goin’ on between you an’ the buffalo.”  Silverstar’s voice had become low.  “But you’d better figure it out, an’ quick.  The last thing I need right now is prejudice comin’ from my right hoof stallion.  Now...have you got somethin’ ta tell me?”

        “I...”  The yellow stallion peered into Silverstar’s dull blue eyes.

        There was no going back now.

        “...No, sir.  I...I have not.”

        Silverstar’s eyes glimmered and he looked away.  “...All right.  I trust you, Brae.  I know you’ll do the right thing.  I wouldn’t put my trust in a pony who wouldn’t.”

        Braeburn glanced over to the sheriff, his mouth searching for words to say but coming up dry.

        “Let’s just put the whole ordeal behind us,” Silverstar spoke, moving for the door, “the last few days weren’t the best time fer any of us an’ I think we’d all appreciate movin’ on.”  

        Watching the sheriff’s hoof reach for the door handle, Braeburn sighed.  “Thank you,” he said, “thanks for...for understandin’.”

        “I don’t understand, Brae, an’ I ain’t pretendin’ that I do.”  His response was flat, his eyes fastened on the door.  “But what I - what the town - needs right now is strength.  A pony who won’t buckle at the first sign of trouble.  And...” 

        Silverstar’s voice became very quiet.

        “...An’ a pony who ain’t afraid ta tell the truth.” 

        After a second of silence, Silverstar pushed open the door and stepped inside.  Braeburn, feeling nauseous, looked out into the roads of town again, and beyond into the distance toward the apple orchard.  Somepony on the street laughed loudly and Braeburn’s vest became uncomfortable.  Tugging on it, he licked his lips and turned to enter the office.

        “So, gents,” Silverstar said cheerily, “any luck?”

        Braeburn, trying to appear unfazed, walked on shaky knees to the trio of ponies.

        “Naw,” Chisel groaned, “we worked a long time jes’ ta find the sandstone quarry.  Now that it’s gone...”

        “I reckon it’s had its toll on lots o’ ponies,” Silverstar said.

        “More’n you’d think.  Lotta ponies lost their jobs thanks ta that quake.  Not jes’ ponies from here in town, either.”

        Braeburn raised his eyebrows.  “Ah, so that’d explain why I didn’t recognize some o’ the workers when I went out.”

        “Yeah,” Cinder answered, “good, hardworkin’ colts.  ‘Twas a shame ta see ‘em have ta head home, knowin’ they lost their jobs.”

        “Well, surely there’s somethin’ we could do for ‘em,” Braeburn proposed, “gotta be some sort o’ work insurance or somethin’ we could give ‘em.”

        “Fer stallions from here in town, sure,” said Silverstar, “but those ponies’r outside our jurisdiction.  They gotta look to their own town fer support, even if Timber ain’t exactly known fer its social security.”

        “Dang, they were from Timber?  Poor souls.”

        “Yeah,” Chisel said softly, “it’s hard ‘nuff ta get any decent work ‘round there in the first place, or so Ah’ve heard.  Gettin’ permission from the Rattlers ta work outside’a town was a nightmare, an’ now they ain’t even got that.  Ah jes’ hope we can find a new site an’ rehire ‘em quickly.  How ‘bout here?”

        “Naw, too dry; the ground’d just collapse,” explained Cinder, “Ah rode out there jes’ the other day.”

        “What ‘bout by Tall Rocks?” Silverstar asked.

        “No way,” Chisel said, “too many coyotes.  Ah ain’t puttin’ nopony in that sort o’ danger.”  He scratched his scruffy jowl.  “Hmm...What ‘bout these hills here?  Ah always though they looked like a good rock deposit.”

        “Nope, no good,” sighed the sheriff, “that there’s a buffalo jump, an’ we ain’t touchin’ it.”

        “A buffalo what?” Cinder asked.

        “A buffalo jump.  They’re like burial grounds fer the buffalo.  Apparently, way way back, they were herded off those cliffs and killed by the dozens.  Hundreds, even.  The way they talk about it, they make it sound like it was some sort of war.  Almost a genocide.  They’re...well, I’m sure you’ve noticed how small their tribe is.”

        “Who would do somethin’ like that?” Chisel’s mouth fell agape.

        “Don’t know, an’ the buffalo won’t say.  But whoever it was, the buffalo ain’t lettin’ it be forgotten.  I’ve been told they take trips out to the buffalo jumps throughout the year an’ hold memorials for their ancestors.”

        Silence settled over the four stallions as all eyes fastened on the small drawing of a hill on the map.  Braeburn found it unsettlingly easy to picture dozens of buffalo driven to their death on those hills, tumbling and falling over the sharp rocks, legs breaking and necks snapping...

        He shuddered.  A hoof stretched over the map and marked the hills with a red ‘X.’




        
        Little progress was made over the next half hour or so.  The group eventually decided to investigate a tall cliff to the south on hoof, as the train didn't lead in that direction.  If the area was suitable (and that was a big ‘if’), they could begin laying new train tracks and transport the needed supplies to dig a new quarry.  With any luck, work could begin within two weeks, and they could rehire their old hooves to help lay the tracks.

        The wooden rail in front of the office creaked beneath Braeburn’s weight.  Cinder, Chisel and Silverstar had begun working over the specifics of the operation and Braeburn, feeling useless, excused himself and watched the town roll by, though his mind dwelt on other thoughts.  A cold chill ran down his neck and he became queasy as his mental image of the buffalo jump returned.  

        And yet...he found entertaining the thought to be strangely enthralling.  

        He rested his chin on his hooves.  A young filly in the streets tumbled over a rock and her father rushed over, helping her to her hooves as she cried out in pain.  Braeburn immediately thought of Starlight, an adult in body, a child in mind.  His hind legs twitched and he wanted desperately to run home and make sure she was all right.

        He looked back to the young filly who hugged her father tightly.  Braeburn never had any foals and he’d never considered it, but strangely, as he thought of Starlight, he felt as though he could empathize with other parents.  

        “I’m takin’ care of a foal,” he chuckled to himself.

        “You’re what?”

        Braeburn jumped and spun to face Slate and Minty, mere hoof-lengths away.

        “Uh, oh, nothin’, just talkin’ ta myself!”

        “You all right, Brae?” Minty asked sweetly.  She wore the candy-cane socks Slate bought her and she carried a large package under her arm.  “We haven’t seen you ‘round much lately.  You been sick?”

        “I’ve...I’ve been feelin’ a li’l under the weather.  I’ve been kinda busy lately, too.”

        “Yeah,” Slate nodded, “we’ve noticed, which is why we were wonderin’-”

        “-If you’d like ta come over t’night!”  Minty smiled her radiant smile, her cyan coat gleaming in the sun.  “Ah’m goin’ ta be makin’ sweet potato stew an’ we’d love ta have you!”

        Braeburn’s mouth watered at the thought of Minty’s sweet potato stew.  It had been months since he’d been invited over for her cooking.

        “Well dang, that sure sounds like a good time!” he grinned excitedly, but he remembered Starlight and his smile faded.  
        “Oh...But I can’t.  Sorry, I’ve...got, um...I’m gonna be busy t’night.”

        Minty flattened her mouth and sighed.  “Ah understand.  Ah’m sorry ta hear that, Brae.  Ah hope ya feel better soon.”  

        Braeburn tipped his hat and the pair trotted off.

        “Ah told you he’s been a little strange lately,” he heard Slate whisper.  That stallion never did learn how to whisper properly.

        “Uuuugh,” groaned Braeburn, leaning upon the wooden post again.  "I wanted that stew."  Starlight was making his life exponentially more complicated by the day.  A week ago, he'd while away the days chatting with anypony and everypony, often spending the evening at a friend's house for dinner and hanging around the saloon in the late hours.  He sighed, wondering if life could ever be like that again.

        When he was happy.  He was happy back then, right?  Without Starlight, he could be...

        A cord of guilt twisted in his gut.  

        "How could I even consider that?"  He mumbled.  Thinking about Starlight's childlike excitement at the red book, her glee at each new word learned and wide grin at every apple she ate brought a smile to the stallion's face.  A different smile, not like the smiles he smiled when around his friends in town.  This was...different.  He wanted to see her happy again.

        A whistle echoed around the town as the train announced its arrival, its loud chugging bringing Braeburn's attention back to reality.  Yawning and stretching, he blinked hard and poked his head inside the office.  He told the sheriff that he'd go off for a while and check back later, and Silverstar smiled and nodded.  A minute later Braeburn cantered down the road toward the general store, listening to the jingling of the bits in his vest pocket.





        “...By then I was pretty tired, what with running back an’ forth an’ back an’ forth between here an’ town an’ it turns out the southern cliffs were marked by bandits, so that place ain’t gonna work for a new quarry.”

        “No good.”

        Braeburn nodded. “Nope.  But t’morrow Cinder an’ Chisel are gonna check out some hills to the east.”  Braeburn lifted his bowl and poured the remnants of his supper down his throat.

        Starlight imitated him.

        “So what’d you think, Starlight?  My potato stew ain’t as good as Minty’s but I think it turned out pretty good.”

        “It was good,” Starlight pondered, licking her lips, “but needed apples.”

        Braeburn laughed.  “If my father were here he’d agree, I’m sure.”

        Starlight dug around in a pile of paper on the counter, searching for a blank piece and pulled out her quill.

        “What was in stew?” she asked, scribbling.  “Potato, and, um...”

        “Carrots, an’ a bit o’ celery.”

        “Carrots...celery.”

        “Uh, what’re you doin’, Starlight?”

        She looked up to him with her large, scarlet eyes.  “I want to remember.”

        Braeburn chewed his lip for a moment and glanced around his house.  Papers covered in scribbles and drawings were strewn about, nearly covering the floor.  He’d bought a whole stack this afternoon and she went through them in a matter of hours, writing every word she knew over and over.  The record player played a slow, harmonic song of bells and flutes, a record Braeburn had nearly forgotten about.  At some point in the day, Starlight had managed to figure out how to operate the machine and dug out his records from behind the couch.  When he first discovered this, Braeburn was rather distraught, fearing somepony may hear and investigate, but he couldn’t stay angry at the filly who twirled and danced about in time to the musical device.

        He smiled.  In one day she had managed to nearly triple her vocabulary through reading and writing with little assistance from Braeburn.  She’d read the first three chapters of her story, and eagerly retold the travels of Swift, a poor pony from the streets of Tambelon and Shimmer, a unicorn princess in the castle who, in a series of unfortunate happenings, wind up lost in the forest together.

        “...in, a, bowl.”  Starlight dotted her note proudly.

        “So, uh, Starlight,” Braeburn said slowly.  He’d been meaning to ask her this for a while, but she probably wouldn’t have been capable of explaining it earlier, let alone understanding the question.  Now, as he looked into her eyes, he couldn’t hold back his curiosity any longer.

        “I was, wondering...um, w-what do you remember?”

        She frowned.

        Braeburn coughed.  “I mean, when I found you two days ago, you were real out of sorts.  Do you remember where you live?  Where you came from, where your family is?”

        She sighed.  “No.  I don’t remember.  I remember...only this.”

        Moving for the piano she reached up and pulled a piece of paper off the top and presented it to Braeburn.  His jaw dropped at the sheer intricacy of the picture.

        Drawn in long, thin lines of black ink, a pair of spirals intersected and swirled into each other, dotted with small triangles and diamonds and surrounded by crude drawings of animals, filled with even more dots and shapes.  A bear, a bird, a dragon, all held in an eternal dance on the piece of parchment.  Tendrils of diamonds and circles wrapped across the page, dotted and scattered with an almost eerie elegance.  It was like nothing he had ever seen, and he could only stare at its beauty.

        “You...drew this?” he asked dumbly.

        “Yes,” she replied, sadly, “I...I see it, sometimes.  When I sleep.”

        “A dream?”

        “I don’t know.  I feel...I know it.  I know that place.”

        Braeburn looked again to the paper.  In the center of the page was a small circle: a ball with tiny markings on it.  He felt as though he should know it as well.  It seemed strangely familiar to him.

        “This...this is really beautiful, Starlight.  You’re a real artist.”

        She blushed.  “Thank you.”

        “But it won’t do ta have your art an’ work tossed all over the house!  C’mon, let’s get this place cleaned up.  Then why don’t we read a li’l more?  Did Swift and Shimmer ever get away from that bas...basi...balis...”

        “Basilisk!” chimed Starlight, scooping up loose papers and dropping them in the paper bags Braeburn carried his groceries home in.  

        “Right, that big lizard thing.  I sure wouldn’t want ta see one o’ those things in real life!  But I did see this real big snake once!  Scared the pigtails right off my sister!  Me an’ my cousin, Applecore, chased it down an’ caught it!  It was a corn snake I think, so it weren’t dangerous.  We were jes’ li’l colts, an’ we thought it’d be hilarious ta put it inside Marmalade’s hat.  We hid behind the barn an’ listened, just waiting for her ta find it.  The only thing louder’n Marmalade’s scream was the sound of her hooves as she ran after us!”

        Twenty minutes passed and they collected and sorted all the littered paper.  They ate a few sweet buns Braeburn had bought for desert, and he lit the lamp as the sky dimmed with evening shortly after.  The record player hummed away in the corner, and together they read a few chapters in the story, Starlight asking persistent questions, trying to satiate her intense curiosity.  Braeburn explained the story’s events and the new words best he could, but even he had no clue what a ‘burgoo’ was or why anypony would want to eat it. 

        In the distance, the clocktower bell could be heard tolling nine times and Braeburn barely suppressed a yawn.

        “I want to see Appleloosa,” Starlight said suddenly, staring out the window.  “I want to meet Minty and Cinder and Marmalade and see the clocktower.  Is the clocktower bell like the Bells of Tambelon?”

        “Naw, far as I know the bells in the clocktower ain’t magical.”  Marking their page with a scrap of paper he closed the book and stood, stretching and yawning again.  “It’s gettin’ pretty late, maybe we should hit the hay for the night.”

        “Tomorrow we go to Appleloosa?” she said excitedly, jumping to her hooves.

        “Yeah, I think so.”

        She squealed in delight and scooped up the book in her arms.  “Can’t wait!  Appleloosa!”

        Braeburn’s face beamed as he removed the needle from the final record.  They had managed to play through every record he owned, some multiple times.  “Well let’s get a good sleep then, if we wanna get up early an’ go into town.”

        Starlight ran into the bedroom (the book still clutched in her arm) and pounced upon the bed.  “Good night!” she said.

        “G’night, Starlight,” he answered, drawing her curtains and pulling the covers over her.  Her light blue coat radiated with happiness, her eyes filled with excitement at the day ahead.  Braeburn, although not as thrilled at the prospect of going into town with her, still couldn’t resist breaking a smile at the filly’s enthusiasm.  He stepped out of his bedroom and pulled the door shut.

        “Don’t let the bed bugs bite,” he said.

        “WAIT!  What bugs!?  They bite!?”





        Ten minutes later Braeburn closed the bedroom door, taking care not to say anything else that might force him to thoroughly investigate the room again and prove to a certain filly that there were no bugs (or spiders) anywhere.  He did find an old coat of his he hadn’t seen in years during the search, so it wasn’t a complete waste of time.

        Dimming the lamp and placing it on the kitchen table, Braeburn laid out a blank sheet of paper and his quill and ink and seated himself.  Over to the right, propped against the counter wall, was the drawing of Starlight’s.  He stared at it for a few moments, swearing he should recognize it, sighed, and dipped his quill in ink, turning to face the blank sheet.

        “All right,” he hummed to himself, “there’s lots to do tomorrow.  I need ta make sure everything goes perfect.”

        STARLIGHT: he wrote, FRIEND FROM OUT OF TOWN?  NEED TO HIDE MISSING CUTIE MARK...


***




        Twisting and writhing, a rattlesnake slithered through the short, bristly grass, hunting a a small mouse that had taken to exploring beyond its hovel at night; a fatal mistake.  The serpent, letting out a short hiss, drew upon its prey, bearing its venomous fangs.  Its meal was not to be, as a blaze of deep red shot by and a scorpion leapt upon the mouse, drilling its stinger into the soft flesh of the rodent’s neck, silencing its squeals of terror.  The snake slithered in a wide circle, observing these events with slips of its tongue.  

        Movement to the left startled the snake and it coiled defensively, hissing and rattling its tail.  It regarded the creature, a large, white thing that drew near, and it bared its fangs in fear and hunger.  The white creature made a sound and a flash of unearthly white flames flew from a pair of glimmering horns upon its head, striking the ground mere inches away from the snake.  The serpent screeched and slithered away, deciding to search for food someplace far away from that thing.

        Moving slowly, the sleek white creature approached the edge of the cliff and overlooked the valley and the town below. 

 
        Appleloosa.

        Between its long, spiraling horns two dark eyes squinted in a smile.





Thanks for reading "The Outlaw, The Star and the Big, Big Sky."  Unfortunately, this is all I am prepared to share of this story in it's current, unfinished state, and it must be placed on hiatus.  
Please leave a comment and give me some feedback.  I need your help to finish this story and make it the best it can be.  Let me know about anything that came to mind during your reading.  This story is in a state of flux, and many elements are likely to change should I resume writing.
Thank you,
-TotalOverflow